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“… if you know what’s good for you!”
When I read a memoir I really enjoy reading about the author's childhood memories. Assuming many of you are the same, I’ll give you a taste of being me as a kid.
Sweet innocence. That’s how I would describe the first decade of my life in ‘The Beaches’ area of Toronto … or is it ‘The Beach’. Has that controversy ever been settled? I’m sticking with The Beaches because that’s what we called it back in my time there.
Many summer days had us, where else, down at the beach at the foot of Kew Gardens. We’d pack a lunch and be gone from breakfast until supper. No sun tan lotion, no protective headgear and just about freezing our feet and calves off in Lake Ontario. It was never warm enough to swim, besides, we had our marching orders from Mum and they included, “Only go into the water up to your knees”.
We stuck by that rule probably more because of the icy temperature of the water and not so much because we were as sweet as we might have tried to be. It took until September for Lake Ontario to become remotely bearable for going any deeper than our knees.
Our sand castles, by the end of the day, were something to behold. Mainly it was the three of us … my two older sisters, Gina, Jacqueline and myself and sometimes a friend or two from our block. We also loved digging deep holes to see how long it took to get to water. Of course, the closer you are to the shoreline, the sooner you get to your water goal.
If we weren’t down at Kew Beach we were with our skipping ropes on the street or playing hide-and-go-seek or a multitude of other childhood games. Will we ever forget our neighbourhood friend, Esther, getting her toes run over by a car when she walked out onto the road AND between two parked cars while reading a gripping comic book? Probably it was Katy Keene, Archie, Little Lulu or Donald Duck, or, or, or … that had distracted Esther to the point of what could have been fatal.
On hot, hot days we’d be sitting on the curb waiting for the iceman to arrive. Yes, we had an icebox back then. The ice man would use his ice pick to break off chunks of ice for us before making a delivery to our house. Other delivery men back then included those who delivered bread, milk, and coal. Some of them, including the iceman, drove horse a buggy.
It always amazed me how they’d throw a disk out onto the road to stop the horse from running off. I could have picked up that small weight so, how the heck did it stop a huge horse? The explanation was something about the bit in the mouth of the horse which hurt if they tried to pull that weight.
Let’s not forget the ice cream man with their tinkling bell warning mothers and fathers to get their dimes ready. A bag of popcorn or peanuts from the Popcorn Man was also a dime. I can still hear the whistle from the kettle that kept the melted butter for our popcorn.
We three girls were always into crafts and making things ourselves. I guess that’s pretty much what we had to do … if you didn’t have it, then make it. Mum wasn’t too pleased when we made our drum majorette sticks. Apparently, one broom handle divided into three just perfectly for our sister’s marching band. Imagine the look on Mum’s face when she couldn’t find her broom but did find the three of us marching up and down our backyard. We’d even made pom-poms for our shoes out of red and white tissue paper. If I remember correctly, red and white were the colours of our school, Norway Public on Kingston Road.
Dad made us gizmos for doing cork work. He just used four nails and an empty wooden thread spool. Somehow we came into a huge spool of baker’s twine. It was that fine string used to tie around a box of baked goods. We worked that baker’s string into a piece long enough to reach from the front room, upstairs and into the back bedroom. Did we stop there? Oh no, we girls didn’t stop until we could stretch that handmade cord around our block. Can you imagine our excitement when we got to the point where two sisters at either end could see each other having reached three sides of the block?
Speaking of ‘around the block’, do all kids feel a sense of freedom and responsibility when they are allowed to ride their trikes around the block? I mostly remember how it felt to roller skate around the block. We had a bit of a downhill on one side of our block coming down Elmer Avenue from Kingston Road. The feel of the sidewalk cracks rhythmically vibrating my entire body sent chills of excitement through me. Of course, the roller skating would naturally lead to skinned knees. They could be nasty, especially when you woke up in the morning to find both knees stuck to the sheets.
Our house on Rhyl Avenue was the typical semi-detached, red brick style of the area. A very small yard both back and front which was connected by an alley-way between houses. The house had two storeys and a cellar. Remember the mention of a coalman? There was a bin in the cellar that received a multitude of burlap bags filled with coal when said coal man made his delivery. A basement window opened and the bags were dumped into a waiting bin creating an enormous amount of coal dust in the process. We liked to go to the basement with our Dad each night after supper when he stoked the furnace and removed the ‘clinkers’.
Cellar aside, we actually played outside all day, most days. I think only a hard rain would have stopped us but not if it was a summer storm. Then we’d don our bathing suits and swim in the deepest rainwater next to the curb. We could catch quite a current where the water rushed towards the sewer grate. Can you imagine? We lived through it, too.
There was a pretty scary time in my life the summer after Grade One. I’d had teeth extracted and, as it turned out, I proved to be allergic to the gas used to put me out. For days after the extraction, I could not swallow. That meant no food or drink. I just couldn’t do it in spite of the pleading parents. On the third day of not taking in nourishment and not swallowing the doctor was called in. After the doctor left I remember a very angry father trying to force feed me a gleaming saucer of Golden Syrup. I guess my sweet tooth had not been removed … in fact, I still seem to have that dastardly tooth.
I did not know what I’d done to make my Dad so angry with me. I’ve since learned, from my years on 'the shrink's couch' that anger, fear, and anxiety are like brothers and travel together. So, when you’re angry, ask yourself what are you afraid or anxious about and, when afraid ask, what am I anxious or angry about and so on. The doctor had told Mum and Dad that if I didn’t take in food or drink that night I’d have to go to the hospital the next day. Now that I’m a parent I know I’d have been incredibly worried under the same set of circumstances. My grown up kids will tell you I must have been worried a lot when they were growing up. i.e. angry Mummy! Actually, they scared me half to death a lot but that’s another story for another time ... perhaps under another name.
The night that followed the threatened force-feeding of the sticky syrup had me awake feeling incredibly thirsty. I can still remember going into the dark bathroom and drinking three cups filled to the brim with water. Then, of course, I threw it all back up, however, that was the turning point needed to have my body heal. My older sisters still remember hearing my screams during this critical time when they were outside playing. Apparently part of my treatment involved a needle jabbed painfully into a bum cheek. And yes, doctors made regular house calls back then. And, yes again, the whole block knew something painful was happening to Marlene.
Wouldn’t it have been nice if, as kids, we understood when our parents appear angry with us it could be because of their love for us they are worried about our well-being? Would we have even understood such a concept as the traveling brothers Anger, Fear and Anxiety?
As I leave recording these particular memories of earlier times it’s only fair to say I do remember being a somewhat solitary kid who often lived in her head. Was I born with a vivid imagination or was that how it developed? I spent many hours alone in my bedroom, just daydreaming. To this day I need alone time just to reflect and be quiet. My nighttime dreams were and are quite vivid and at one point in my life I could return to an unfinished dream and complete it the following night. Sure wish I still had that talent today.
This would be the pram spoken of in the previous chapter however, Artie would have been the rider in that part of the story. This is me who got the ride around five years before my baby brother was born.
Is it any wonder those knees were often skinned? There's a song that goes with this in spite of the fact it came out much later than this photo.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cvIjQSFLb3U
The proud neighbourhood gang with their snowman. He's wearing our Dad's navy hat and those were the days when we actually had chunks of coal to use for facial features. Esther, the friend who had her toes run over, is standing third from the right. Gina and then Jacqueline are to the right again from Esther. That's me sitting on the left. Hate to say I don't remember who any of the boys are but I look to be pretty young here
Apparently, Dad was called up by the Navy when Mum was in the hospital delivering me. She sure doesn't look pregnant here so this must have been on his return. They are standing in front of our Rhyl Avenue home. Yes, Dad, I do see that cigarette in your hand.
I'm the tallest here (don't often get to say that) in our backyard. My friend, Judy, is giving that shy smile and that's my brother Artie in front.
Emails welcome at funeralsarefordancing@rogers.com.
