Anne Storey’s Story

Y Camp Lake Couchiching, Ontario.

A Storey’s Story

By Anne Storey

PREFACE

When I indulge myself with reminiscences of my childhood I am inundated with warm and cheerful memories.

As you read this book you might get the impression that my

youth was all sunshine and roses. I was very happy although

there were times of frustration, anger and sadness. But what

I recall most of all is the unconditional love that I received.

This tome is a record of my formative years. There is a lot

to be said for new technology but before the digital era things

moved at a slower pace. We had time to talk, play and to

frequently utilize our imaginations. What we wore was never

an issue. If you had a bike, ball, skipping rope, skates and

maybe a gun and holster, you had everything. We were able

to walk and play anywhere.

My desire is that people of my generation will identify and

enjoy my remembrances. I suppose the younger generation

will think I was one step away from the Stone Age.

We can’t go back to those simpler times but every so often it

is fun to rewind our minds and remember. As we grown and

age we are bound to responsibilities.When we step through

the door to our past we are free.

Dedication:

This is a narrative of my youth for my children Vicki, Jamie, and Julie Whitlock.  This is my story.  Without you three my life would have been incomplete. Thank you for your love and support and for growing into such amazing adults. I believe we have deep love for one another and laughter was our glue.

 

 

“Love doesn’t make the world go round; love is what makes the ride worthwhile.”

- Elizabeth Browning

Prince Albert Road with my parents.  The Starr Factory in the background was famous for making ice skates back in the day.

. Me and My Mother.

A Storey’s Story

In The Beginning***1943

On the day of September 16, 1943, my mother was in labour in the Halifax Infirmary. I am almost ready to make my world debut. The doctor leans toward my mother and asks, “When did your water break dear?” My mother, Shirley, looked away from him and in a tiny whisper replied, “the night I was married, if it is any of your business.” He looked at her questioningly and then he ran 

from the room trying not to laugh while my dear mother’s ashen colour face turned a brilliant red.

Next to come into her room was my soon to be uncle, Dr. Sandy MacLeod. The doc’s married to my mother’s oldest sister, Dorothy. Uncle Sandy asked my still crimson faced mother what she and the other doctor talked about. Well my poor dear mother just told him that she was utterly mortified.

“Why is God’s name would that man ask me when my water broke?”

“That’s a common question Shirley. What did you tell him?”

“I told him that it broke the night I was married and I didn’t think it was any of his damn business.”

My Uncle began laughing and couldn’t stop to tell my perplexed and extremely embarrassed mother what the devil was so funny. Finally he regained his composure and explained the difference between the breaking of the water and breaking of the hymen.

Thankfully another raging labour pain gripped my mother, I was getting anxious, and anyway, it was time for my premier performance. In other parts of the world there was a war raging but in Halifax, on that momentous day, I chose to be born.

THOMAS AND Sadie (1902)

Thomas Beazley whistled as he jumped off the Halifax ferry and sauntered along to work.  He valued his new position with Imperial Oil and was informed that he had a bright future with the company.  He was a junior bookkeeper and he had great ambition to become a success with this organization; after all he was only twenty-two years old, and he already had one promotion. 

Thomas Henry Beazley was not a handsome man as thick round glasses obscured his eyes.  The wired-rimmed gold spectacles were a constant irritant when he played baseball and hockey however, he adapted.  His face, awash with freckles, blended well with his fiery red mane of curls, which grew wildly, and with a mind of its own.  This young man was a revered

athlete and he held himself tall and straight.   Thomas was an optimist and his whistling was his constant companion.   He would jaunt along Barrington Street at the end of the workday, glancing in the various window shops he passed along the way.   One such day he noticed a portrait of a beautiful young girl in one of the windows.  The store was a Photographer’s Studio and the girl in the picture held him transfixed.  He wasn't sure if it was a photograph or a painting. The young woman’s cheeks held a hint of pink and they appeared to have been lighted dusted by the sun. Her  hair was long and fell in waves down her back and it was a handsome shade of ruby red. Those were the only colors in the otherwise sepia portrait. She had the largest black eyes he had even seen and there they seemed to be looking at him and only him; he was completely enthralled.  An angel he thought to himself, a perfect angel. 

Each morning and evening he would stop and look at this glorious maiden and would tip his hat to her.  A few weeks later he noticed that there was a new portrait of this girl and it was more beautiful than the last. . When Thomas looked into the young woman’s eyes he could hear a symphony. The poem by Robbie Burns flashed through his mind; My Love is like a Red Red Rose. Months went by and he would walk by the studio and smile as he glanced at this girl in the portrait.   

One evening he was later than usual and the store was in darkness as he walked toward the

 

Ferry.  When he jumped onto the boat as it was pulling away from Halifax; he saw her, his

 

vision in the photograph. 

 

She was sitting a few feet away from him and he was speechless.  He was unable to take his

 

eyes off her and as the Ferry neared Dartmouth he watched as she stood up and walked

 

toward the gate.  He jumped up and stood behind her and then quickly sat back down.  He

 

hoped he might have the courage to speak to her however he thought better of it and backed

 

away. 

The next day he lingered at the Ferry until he saw her walking toward him.  She was with an older woman and they were deep in conversation.  He watched her as the boat crossed the Halifax Harbour and reached the Dartmouth. He had to pinch himself to believe she was really there.  He had been sure the girl in the Portrait was someone famous maybe even Royalty, yet here she was. 

This went on for several days until Thomas was able to speak to this enchanting young woman.  He asked her if she was the girl in the photographer’s window and she nodded in the affirmative.  That was the extent of the first meeting but over the months they began speaking to one another.  She was always with the older woman who Thomas discovered was her sister, Min.  

Due to his easy nature and happy disposition, this young lass and her sister began to look forward to talking with Thomas on the ferry and before long he would walk with them to their boarding house.  The young beauty in the photos was Sadie Boutilier from Glen Margaret.  Sadie was a simple young gal who was brought up on the family farm and was encouraged to leave home and work in the city. Her family were not prosperous and once the children were old enough, they were expected to support themselves. Sadie had no marketable vocational skills but her sister Min took her in to live with her and found her a job at Photography Studio. They needed someone to help around the studio but when the owner saw Sadie’s natural beauty, he began taking pictures of her and his wife would hand paint some of the photographs.

Sadie never met anyone as happy and full of life as Thomas and she also loved that he loved her. He was so proud of her and more they got to know each other the deeper their love. Thomas sang in the choir at the Methodist church in Dartmouth and one day told Sadie that the organist was sick and they didn't know who would play for Sunday’s service. Sarah told Thomas that she played by ear however she might not know all the hymns. That Sunday Thomas kneeled down by the organ and hummed the hymns and once Sadie heard the melody, she began playing.

During the next year Thomas and Sadie spent all their free time together and it wasn’t long before Thomas asked Sadie to be his wife and she quickly said yes. They went to the local courthouse and in July 1904 they were married. He always called her is little angel and she delighted in love. 

In the early days they rented an apartment and after a few years their first child, a daughter, Dorothy was born. They would have three more daughters and a son. 

December 6, 1917, Thomas was at work in Halifax while Sadie was at home in Dartmouth with the children.  The windows in the apartment began to shake and then shatter.  The round stove top cover from the oil stove hurdled across the kitchen and landed in the crib of the sleeping baby. Fortunately the carriage landed at the bottom of the carriage and no one was injured.  Sarah thought maybe the war in Europe had found its way to the Nova Scotia shores. 

Sarah held her children close. She had no idea what was happening and before long, Thomas came running into their apartment.  He had no shoes on his feet, his clothes were torn to shreds and his face was cut and when Sarah asked him what had happened he was unsure.  He had no recollection of how he been transported from his place of employment to his home.  He only knew that there had been some kind of a disaster; and his only thought was of his angel Sadie and his children. 

Tom went outside and was able to talk to some of the soldiers who were home on leave and they informed him of the explosion in the Halifax Harbour.  A few of the soldiers had seen two ships collide in the harbour and they later had witnessed a horrific explosion. Everywhere Thomas went he saw buildings collapsed, windows shattered, fires, and people in a state of hysteria.  Together Tom and the soldier’s worked tirelessly trying to find and rescue the injured.  Sadie was also helping to bandage some of the injured that Thomas brought to their apartment. 

The Halifax Explosion was a horrific time for all Nova Scotians, especially those who were in Halifax and Dartmouth.  It was shortly after this terrible time that Tom bought their home at 47 Prince Albert Road.   

SHIRLEY JEANNE BEAZLEY 1921

My mother, Shirley Jeanne Beazley was born in Dartmouth, Nova Scotia and was the fifth and youngest child of Thomas and Sadie Beazley. Her early years were delightful as she was the baby and Tom and Sadie’s unexpected joy. Tom was overjoyed with his new baby girl and he introduced her to many sports and she was a natural. Shirley excelled in tennis, rowing and swimming and Tom was her greatest fan.

People living on Prince Albert Road never needed a clock at suppertime as Thomas could be heard coming down the road, whistling the latest tune. They knew it must be 5:30 and it has been said that people would often go out to wave hello. His smile was contagious and when people were around Tom it was hard not to return his smile.

The unexpected happened when Tom developed colon cancer. The light that had emanated from Sadie went out the day he died. Shirley was nine years old and her world, as she knew it would change forever. She recalled her father’s hearty laughter especially when he brought home their first radio. He asked her why she kept looking behind the radio and she told him she was looking for the talking man.

Their home was paid for however they would still require monies to run the household so Sadie took in boarders. Shirley hated these men who intruded into her life however money was scarce so she adapted.

When she graduated high school she attended Mrs. Murphy’s Business School. Her first job was at a bank in Halifax and once a week would take the old bills to the Depository in Dartmouth. The song “Pistol Packin’ Momma”could have been written with Shirley in mind. When she was carrying the old bills to the Depository she packed a loaded pistol in her purse (she was eighteen ). When asked what she would do if someone tried to rob her, she would laughingly reply, ‘I’ll just give him or her money because no one ever taught me how to shoot a gun.’

1940

One fateful day Shirl was walking down Portland Street when she ran into some old friends, Marg and Brick Gormley. She was dressed in her white tennis outfit with her racket slung across her shoulder. The Gormley’s introduced her to the young officer they were talking to, Capt. Gordon (Wes)Storey. Shirl really didn’t take too much notice of Wes and continued on her way. Wes however was smitten. He quickly asked for her phone number and Marg informed him that Shirley was too young for the much older Officer. Wes was not going to be discouraged and this is when he began his life-long lying about his age. He shaved off about ten years.

Shirley finally relented and went out on a date with him and still was not very impressed however she did agree to a second date. The only reason she granted him the date was to see what he looked like. Apparently, the first date was in a dark movie theatre and he had on his army uniform with his hat placed well down over his eyes. I do believe she liked what she saw because on May 17, 1941 they were married.

One of their favorite places to go was the Olympic Gardens and danced to the sounds of the Big Bands. Some of the songs that they loved were In the Mood, a String of Pearls and As Time goes by.

Capt. Storey had to return to the troops in Botwood Newfoundland where he is stationed with the PEI Highlander’s. Shirl decided to go for a visit and took the train to North Sydney where she would later board a boat that would take her to Newfoundland. She had to spend the night in Sydney so she located a boarding house. That evening while sleeping she felt the earth move and she became terrified and she soon discovered a huge Saint Bernard under the bed.

1943

I have now been given a name, and of course I had no choice in the matter. So from now on I will be known as Anne Elizabeth Storey. It could have been worse I suppose. My Aunt Bun’s real name was Blanche; there was a Winifred and a Minerva in the family so I suppose I shouldn’t complain with plain old Anne with an `e! The time has come to leave the Halifax Infirmary and move to my new home at 47 Prince Albert Road.

The house is bustling with happy anticipation as forty-seven awaits my appearance. The home is overflowing with my wonderful family, Aunt Bun (Shirley’s sister) and her husband, my Uncle Charlie, Uncle Bob (Shirley’s brother), Nanny Beazley and the three Storeys‘. Sadie’s internal glow is flickering once again as a new child comes into the house and there is much love and laughter as I take my maiden voyage on the Ferry where my grandparents met and fell in love.

The front stoop of the house overlooks the street and the vines and wild flowers grow wildly around the porch and the fragrance is sweet and the colours vibrant. Walking through the front door the hallway takes one directly into the kitchen. This green room is spacious and to the left is a large window where the table and chairs are situated. A plastic tablecloth is draped over the table, hiding the ’good’ lace tablecloth. A green depression glass filled with spoons is situated at the middle of the table. Across the room sits a large oil stove and past the stove is an arch that leads one into the dinning room. There is generous sized pantry at the end of the kitchen.

In the front vestibule one can see the sitting room on the right and to the left take there is a flight of stairs to the second floor. There are three and one half bedrooms and guess who got the got the half room. Yes it was I and since my mother is the baby of her family, I am now sleeping in her tiny room. At the foot of my crib are two pictures of little girls getting ready for bed. They are copies of Paul Pell’s The Tired Model and After the Bath and these pictures will always be a part of my life. My room is decorated in pale yellow and is soft, warm, and I am safe. An old calendar of the Dion quintuplets wearing blue bonnets is also tacked onto another wall.

The wonderful aroma of baking bread creeps up the stairs and comes into my room. I hear my Uncle Bob getting ready for work. I always know it is him because of the whistling and singing. He is a jolly man who laughs loud and often. An inherited trait from a father who died when he was only eleven. When he peeks into my room he gives me a kiss and calls me his little sweetheart. Soon others are moving about the house and that is when my father comes in and picks me up and takes me down the hall to the bedroom where my mother is waiting to feed me. The days pass blissfully and life for me is idyllic.

• 1913

Gordon Strathy Storey was born on August 28, 1913 to JJ Storey and his wife Elizabeth (Eliza) Jane MacDonald. At the time of his birth Gordon had two sisters, Helen and Irene and two brothers, Harold and Joseph number two. Joseph number one died in infancy. JJ was a prosperous farmer in the village of Winsloe and the family was to be blessed with one more child, a daughter Isabelle.

The fact that JJ (John Joseph) and Eliza ever married was an exceptional accomplishment. Eliza’s family originally came from the Isle of Skye. She was related to the MacDonald Clan of Peake’s who were devoted Roman Catholics. JJ was a dedicated Presbyterian from Millview and in those days families did not stray from their own code of belief. Eliza defied her own kin, married JJ and converted to the protestant faith. Over the years liquor became JJ’s dearest comrade and the ‘drink’ would become his downfall.

Gordon and his two brothers, Harold and Joe went to the Winsloe School and would go early in the morning to light and stoke up the wood stove in the winter. They also did other small jobs around the school and at the end of the year they would receive a small stipend. The three decided to use their hard earned money to purchase a bicycle in Charlottetown. One day they noticed that the bicycle was missing and later discovered that JJ took the bike to the city and sold it for alcohol. The good life as they knew it was changing. JJ lost the farm and family moved into Charlottetown and rented a duplex at 74 Bayfield Street. JJ opened Storey’s Grocery around 1918 at the corner of Bayfield and Queen Streets. The late Betty Large told me that her family also lived on Bayfield Street and she remembered JJ standing in the doorway of the store wearing his long white apron.

The Storey’s always had food on hand and over the years the business although modest; allowed them to visit the Boston States every winter. In her younger days, Eliza had been a domestic in Boston and she and JJ would go by train to visit friends and relatives. This was a grand time for the Storey Siblings. With JJ out of the home they could laugh, sing, and dance as well as making and pulling taffy.

The Storey’s belonged to Zion Church and JJ appeared to be a pillar of the church however this was not the case in the home. When Gordon (later to become known as Wes) disobeyed his father his punishment would be ominous. When JJ was in a really foul mood, Wes would be banished to the woodshed and once had to spend the night alone, a severe and unwarranted punishment for a small boy.

Her six children worshipped Eliza and she did her best to be an intermediary between JJ and her children. The Catholic Church still had hope for Eliza and when they knew JJ was at work, various nuns would visit with her and she enjoyed conversing with them. One fateful day JJ came home early and when he saw the two habited woman drinking tea in his living room he exploded. The story has become legendary as people witnessed these two ladies being roughly ushered out the door of 74 Bayfield Street. People watched as the nuns, habits flowing in the wind, running quickly down the street, yelling that there was a madman after them. There were no more visits from the sisters in black and white after that fiasco.

Gordon loved his mother however he knew that living with JJ was a tall order and he believed that hockey would be his way off the Island. He soon left his beloved isle and began playing semi-pro hockey in the U S of A. He played in Lewiston Maine however he had stints in Colorado and other US cities and towns. When it was between seasons, Wes would come home driving a sports car and dressed like some distinguished dandy. He loved the attention.

In the summers he often rented a cottage in Keppoch. One lovely summer day, Wes and a few friends were driving his car on the beach. There were a few girls waving to them from the beach so the boys began to show-off and soon the car was bogged down in the sand. He had to be at brother Harold’s for supper so he got another drive to town. When he returned to Keppoch the tied was high and his car had drowned.

When the war broke out, hockey was put aside for another uniform, that of the PEI Highlanders. He was stationed in Halifax and would go to Newfoundland to train the troops.

After the war it is time for the three Storeys’ to move home to their glorious Island. The first memory I have is our third floor apartment at 92 Brighton Road.

Charlottetown

Brighton Road, Brighton Shore and Victoria Park were the playgrounds of my youth and my memories are interlaced with mixed sensibilities. My feelings vacillate between sweetness of youth and sadness of the loss of this most precious innocence. Cares and worries would catch up with me at some future time, but for now, I was lost in the delightful days and nights of my childhood. I was safe and happiness was my constant companion. I could go out on the roof of our apartment and everywhere I could see was my universe.

Elizabeth MacKenzie (Gaudet) and Danny Fraser lived on the second and first floor respectively and on the other side of the building lived a man called Spooney Cameron. I don’t remember him but I could get lost in his name.

In front of our apartment building and hugging Brighton Road are two identical stucco homes, one pink and one green. The first family I recall living at 94 Brighton Road, in the green stucco, were the MacIssac’s. Mait and Lynn MacIssac were two of my earliest playmates.

To the right of our home lived the Ivan Horne family, (kids, Alex, Anne, and Libby), and in front of that home the Lantz’s dwelled. Beside the Lantz home lived Reg and Helene` Bell along with their children Rogers and Carolyn. Soon a new folks moved into 94 Brighton Road, the Mcdonald’s. Dr. Wen and Liz Mcdonald were the new owner’s and they had three children, Patsy Jane, Janet and Kenny. Janet and I forged a friendship that lasts and continues to grow.

Victoria Park became our favourite place to play during all four seasons. Dead Man’s pond was in the heart of park and it held many mysteries. We knew not to go too close to the water because if we fell in there was no bottom and we would continue to fall forever. Was it haunted? We believed so.

In the winter Dead Man’s Pond was a terrific place to skate. Brodie Lantz, Alex Horne and some of the other neighbourhood boys would clean off the snow for hockey. When they grew tired then the rest of us were allowed to skate. There were days we sat in the snow for hours waiting for our turn to have a twirl on the ice. It was not long after an exceptionally long wait at the pond that my father decided to make me my own skating rink. Every night he would get out the hose and put on another coat of water.

Soon my rink was ready. Spotlights were erected and a record player was hooked up for music. While old 78’s played in the background, many would come and skate, no hockey sticks permitted. I’m sure as he stood outside in the freezing cold preparing this rink, my father would never know how I would come to treasure these perfect memories. Skating under the stars to the Skater’s Waltz as the snow gently swirled around the spotlights is forever etched in my heart.

The Jardine’s who lived in the duplex beside the Horne’s had a daughter Margie. She was attending West Kent School and there was a particular day that she was allowed to bring a younger child to class. When she picked me I felt like I was extremely special and was very excited. It was a wonderful day but I must say here and now that was probably the only day that I ever looked forward to school.

Click, click, and click! Here she comes. I close my eyes as tight as I can. Please go away and leave me alone, I whisper. She keeps walking closer, as the clicking of her shoes becomes louder; I am aware of her looking over the rails of my crib. I must not open my eyes; I cannot bear to look at her. She speaks, “I am going to get you, and I am going to get you.”

Finally I stare at her and I see those detestable eyes. They are huge and they ogle at me. They are not like any eyes I have ever seen before. She is enormous in stature and has a full head of white hair, which is braided and wrapped around her head and pinned at the nape of her neck. She is wearing the same patterned housedress partially hidden by the ever-present white-bibbed apron.

She continues to lean over the crib; those eyes are like no other. Just round and white (tiny dots as pupils) as they continue to bore into mine. I call out and soon my father comes into the room and turns on the light. She was here again I tell him. He tries to comfort me but I insist that he search the room. There will be no sleep here tonight.

In the light of day, my father shows me a wire that is loose on the outside wall of my bedroom. He tells me when the winds blow; the wire makes a clicking sound on the wall. That maybe so I tell him, but I saw her. I even saw the black shoes that laced up and I watched her walk across the floor. I know it was she and that she would be back tonight, just like always.

The next day my father arrived home with the biggest panda bear I ever saw. It is longer than me and at night he put it in my crib. He tells me to hold on to the bear and if I hear any noise, to bury my head into the soft bear and that no one could scare me because panda would protect me. It worked. I will never be able to tell anyone how old I was before I stopped sleeping with the panda. I was no longer in a crib and I believe my parents had to hide it from me when I became a Big Girl. I think they hide it because it was completely worn out, tattered, and beyond repair. It was a tired soldier and had assumed the status as a retired vet. That Panda stood sentry over a small child for many years. And to this very day, I still can feel a shudder go down my spine and when I recall those eyes.

Dr. Wen would drive us to West Kent School. What a driver he was. He would pretend he was going to hit on coming cars and would move out just in time. He drove up over people’s lawns and would drive very fast. In the winter we ended up in more than one snow bank. We were terrified, but loved it at the same time.

I recall the winters where we would go driving on the ice in the Charlottetown Harbour. Homes that had to move would be taken across the ice and they would have Sunday afternoon harness racing, also on the harbour. I remember one particular day I was driving with my father and we saw a yellow coup that had gone through the ice and we later learned that one person had died. That, thankfully, ended the driving of cars on the ice in the Charlottetown Harbour. In the spring, stumping became a favourite past time. It had to be a covert sport because our parents and teachers had forbidden Stumping.

STUMPING

Old Mumpsy is going to kill me dead. Great just great! Who wants to live to be ten anyway, even if it is a double digit? I can’t believe that the ice was so thin and I fell through. My leggings, pants, and repulsive ribbed Lyle stockings are wet. The heartless Mumpster is going know that I was Ice Stumping.

I earned my rite of passage this winter as a West Kent Stumper and I never had a as much as a wet toe and now, both feet and legs are wet. As long as Mumpsy doesn’t see my legs I might not get caught.

I rush from Government Pond and dash to the school. The front doors are opened and I dart to the girl’s bathroom. I pull off my snow boots, the wet leggings, next comes the pants and lastly I pull off the atrocious Lyle ribbed stockings after undoing the hideous garters. I push the stockings into my school bag and put my pants back on. Oh no, I don’t have any socks to wear. Well too bad Annie girl, push on those shoes in your bare feet. I rush to the cloakroom and hang up my leggings, coat, and put away my galoshes.

Thank goodness my last name starts with an S. I can go to my seat at the back of the class and hopefully the old Mumpster won’t see a thing. In walks Mumpsy, who has been saddled with chubby round cheeks? The grade six kids say she stores her food in there, just like the chipmunks. She must have enough food for the whole winter. Her sharp eyes survey the room and I feel a shudder go down my spine as she glances in my direction. Her gaze does not linger on me, so far so good.

Ouch, what is that I’m sitting on? Something is pinching my leg. It must be my garter. I should have taken the garters off when I took off my disgusting Lyle stockings. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to get some real nylons stockings, the ones with the seam up the back. I could endure the appalling garters if I could wear the real stockings but of course that isn’t going to happen until I’m ancient, at least sixteen. Then I can shop at Moore and MacLeod’s like my mother instead the Missy’s Holmes and Bradley’s for girls.

Mr. Hynes comes on the loud speaker reminding the students in Miss Boswell’s choir that they are to go to the fourth floor for practice. At least I won’t have to go outside at recess and freeze. Finally the lunch bell rings and I return to the bathroom and put the wet Lyle stocking back on before rushing home for lunch. At lunch I talk constantly trying to keep my parents so busy they wouldn’t notice my wet clothes. It worked.

As I walk back to school I see kids stumping on the pond. The ice has melted even more since this morning but I am drawn back to the scene of my earlier crime. With teeth clenched I jump on that first piece of ice. The trick to going from being an average Stumper, to a great Stumper, is in the timing. You have to seize the moment and not hesitate. I could see five large pieces of ice with not too much water around them and I leapt like a frog from one ice cake to next. I could feel eyes watching me and that made me even more determined to reach the other side. There is such a sense of pride reaching the bank without getting wet, because, as a rule, the boys think they make the better stumpers. I would have been dry as a bone however I was still quite damp from this morning.

Looking back at the pond I surmised that by three o’clock the ice would have melted even more. There will be more stumping this afternoon and any Stumper worth their weight knows the thinner the ice, the greater the Stumper.

Government Pond in winter is where we skated as we grew older and on the weekends everyone came; parents, siblings and of course the family pet. On Sunday afternoons they often had recorded music play while we skated. There were benches around the edge of the pond near the armoires. After skating we would go into the armoires for hot chocolate. The pond ran from Victoria Park straight through to Brighton Road. Today it is the parking lot for the Government Buildings. Joni Mitchell knew about this would happen, in her song, Put up a Parking Lot.

If the snow was too deep on the Pond it meant that it was probably a perfect day to go sledding at the Back Hill. After school and on weekends the Back Hill was filled with kids on toboggans, sleighs and even a few skiers‘. The hill was beside the Hyndman house on York Lane and it went down to where Queen Elizabeth Drive stands today. There were no homes along there, no Prince Charles Drive and York Lane was a dirt road, which led to the cottages on Brighton Shore.

When my parents were going out for the evening I got to pack up my suitcase and get dropped off at my grandparents. They must have deposited me there a lot because I have so many pleasant memories of being on Bayfield Street. I slept in the middle bedroom upstairs. My grandparents slept at the front of the house and my Aunt Isabelle at the rear leaving me Uncle Joe’s room. The closet didn’t have a door, just a patterned curtain that did not fully close and caused a huge problem. The Stuffed Owl. A huge owl that was placed in a glass case stood on the floor of the closet. The eyes on this owl were terrifying to a young girl and no matter where I was in the room his beady eyes followed me. I couldn’t lift this owl to move it so I had to put a towel over the glass so it wouldn’t glare at me. Maybe those beady eyes are the same ones as the old woman in my dream. Maybe the owl was the old lady. I know that this was a room where the light stayed on and I did not fall asleep very well.

I did love being here because whatever little Anne asked for little Anne received. My grandmother would play the piano and I would dance up a storm. Whenever Grampy’s sister, Aunt Hannah, came into town, I would get my hair treatment, especially if the moon was full. If my mother saw Aunt Hannah she would tell her firmly, do not cut Anne’s hair. There would be the obligatory nod of the head but as sure as the moon would come up, the brown papers would come out. The belief was that when the moon was full, cutting one’s hair and tying the wet ends in brown paper ensured that one would have thick healthy hair. My parents would pick me up the following day and would see that my hair had been cut. The only thing I can say in Aunt Hannah’s defence is that I have healthy thick hair and my mother and sister, who did not have the brown paper treatment, have extremely thin hair.

It amazes me how people made ends meet in those days. When I would visit my grandparents there was no visible means of support other than Aunt Izzy who worked at Hughes Drug Store. I am of the opinion that the Storey siblings helped sustain their parents in those days. JJ’s health was deteriorating and he had not worked in a few years. I recall being there one day for lunch and JJ was still at the table while I was singing and dancing in the living room. The news came on the radio and he told me to be quiet and in my demure little way said, “Shut up old man” and apparently he laughed so hard he cried.

Aunt Izzy sometimes took me with on Saturday’s to Hughes Drug Store and I loved the big old place. Rosa the druggist never seemed to mind me being there. Isabelle was always so neatly turned out. Her dark hair was short and permed and she always had on red lipstick with nail polish to match. She would dress up her white uniform with a colourful scarf and broach. She sang in the Zion Choir and was often in plays put on by the local Little Theatre. There was a large bevelled picture frame that held a picture of a handsome young solider in the room with the owl. When I asked about this man was; I never really received a straight answer. Rumour had it that it was Aunt Izzy’s boyfriend who had been killed in the War. She must have been lonely however she was usually upbeat and smiling.

One cold winter’s day Aunt Izzy had borrowed someone’s horse and sleigh and off we went around Victoria Park. We were wrapped up in blankets and we drove that old nag around and around the park singing and laughing. When we got back to Bayfield Street we were warmed up with Hot Apple Cider and toasted Bacon and Tomato Sandwiches. In the evening Nanny Storey would get out the deck of cards and Aunt Izzy’s friend, Margaret Ross and I would sit around the table for a game of Auction 45's. If I was to be a regular visitor at this house, learning to play this card game was a must and age was not to be a factor. We had to get lots of hands in before Sunday because Nanny would not let us play on the Sabbath. Yet she was known to have the odd card up her sleeve.

Some evenings the entertainment would be the drama on the Radio. We listened to Fibber McGee and Molly, The Shadow, The Green Hornet, Boston Blackie, and the Cisco Kid. If we were’t sitting around the radio we would stand around the piano and sing. Songs like Piano Rolls Blues, Sentimental Journey, Roll out the Barrel, Now is the Hour, I’m Looking over a Four Leaf Clover, Paper Doll, and every song recorded by Vera Lynn.

The Car Ferry

The family is off for a visit with our family in Dartmouth.

The excitement of seeing my grandmother and uncle, and the

fun things we would do filled my mind with excitement. On this trip, we were taking my Nanny Storey to Halifax to visit with her daughter Irene and my cousin Barrie.

We were on our way across the straight when the boat went

aground. The day was foggy and for some reasons the boat-

scrapped bottom in very shallow water. Fishing boats from

Pictou were summoned and soon we were being transported to

Shore.

Mom’s sister, Aunt Bunny, had moved to Pictou and her husband, Uncle Charlie, came to meet us at the dock. He drove us to their home were we awaited news of the grounded boat.

I listened as my father talked about insurance if anything should go wrong. I asked many questions about this insurance and was able to determine that I had a Brownie Box Camera and a doll worth five dollars. That night as I slept in my aunt and uncle’s home, I prayed that the ship would sink. Of course sinking in a couple of feet of water was highly unlikely, yet I dreamed of ways to spend my new found fortune.

The following day dad and Uncle Charlie went down to the dock to discover the fate of the ship. We watched out the window as my uncle drove like a madman across his front lawn and parked. Aunt Bun was heard to say, “Look at that crazy Chas, if anyone else drove across his lawn that way he’d shit his pants and die with the measles.” I thought it was the funniest thing I ever heard and I laughed until I hurt. The rest of the family also thought it was funny because they were laughing so hard they cried. Then Nanny said, “Here comes Gordon in his car.” Mom was overjoyed and I was disappointed because I was never going to see that five dollars. Oh well I was only six and had lots of time to learn about the dreaded insurance.

Cottage

We lived approximately two city blocks from Brighton Shore and about three city blocks from the Mcdonald cottage. If I stood on the roof of our home I could see the Mcdonald house and cottage in the same view. Yet every summer they moved lock, stock and barrel to their summer cottage. In the backyard they had a bunkhouse and this is where the kids slept, played, and traded comics. We were always putting on plays and we loved to swim around the lighthouse. When the tied was high we could inch our way around the ledge at the base of the lighthouse and we would spend hours jumping and diving into the water.

The Cox family cottage was situated where Mary Jane Irving house now stands. They had a large cottage but an even larger barn to keep their horses during the summer. They owned a local dairy (Garden City) and used the horses to deliver their milk and other dairy products. We sometimes went bareback riding on these horses with the Bobby and John Cox in the nearby fields as well as along the shore. One summer evening Janet got on one of the horses with her cousin, Roger Mcdonald. Roger was a lad who knew no fear and as soon as Janet was mounted, he pulled on the reins and the mare took off like a bat out of hell. Janet had her tiny arms wrapped around Roger and was holding on with the death grip. Off they galloped through the fields and all I could hear was Janet screaming at Roger to stop. These days Janet prefers to be a spectator where horses are concerned especially if she is watching her cousin Ian Millar, the renowned equestrian.

Our family moved around the corner to 47 York Lane and Billy Fish Cudmore’s family moved into our old apartment. Billy would soon become a close friend. There were a lot of new homes being built in the area and we now had a new past time, climbing around these new structures. In the fall it was time for families to rake and burn leaves.

There is no scent that can compare to the wonderful smell of burning leaves. Out of no where, potato sacks appear and when a fire got out of hand, it was time to thump the hell out it. First we had to wet the bags, and then the beating would begin. This had to be another covert activity as parents forbid their children to be fire beaters. The excitement would begin when a fire engine could be heard. This meant a fire was out of control. Time to find the big one. When we went home it was hard to tell our parents we were not at a fire when we smelled like smoke stacks.

One day my father told me we were going out to the Village Diner in Southport for supper and that after we were finished eating they had a surprise to tell me. Now you should never tell an eight year old they would get a surprise if you are not going to tell them what it is right away. My parents would not budge so once again I am stuffing the food down my throat. Finally the meal is over and we are driving in the car but I have to wait until we get to Victoria Park. When the car is parked I’m told they are going to tell me a secret and that I am not allowed to tell a living soul. At this point I would agree to eat a worm if they would just tell me the secret.

“You are going to have a new brother or sister.”

This was the best news in the world because having a sister was all I ever wanted. Well maybe a pony. I was over the moon but I needed to know how this happened. How did this baby come to be?

“Your mother and I went to Hughes Drug Store and asked for a pill. If you want a boy baby you ask for a blue pill and if you want a girl baby you ask for a pink pill.”

“What color pill did you get?”

“That is a surprise.”

“I don’t care because I know you took a pink pill so I could have a sister. Why can’t I tell anyone?”

“It is very early and we don’t want people to know for a little while.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Okay.”

As soon as the car was parked I told my parents I had to see Janet. Her house was the first place I stopped to tell the news, and then I just knocked on all the doors of people I knew and some that I didn’t. Soon the phone was ringing off the wall with congratulations. I think my parents were ready to kill me. They don’t have a leg to stand on. After telling their daughter that the way you have babies is to take a pill, they needed some payback. I can’t tell anyone how I old I was before I realized that babies didn’t begin as a colored pill from the drugstore.

MY OLD CHUMS

I was so fortunate to have so many friends during my childhood. One of my earliest friends was Carole Anne Michael. When we were about three years old we met and played on the train. We were traveling with our parents to Nova Scotia and I recall running up and down the train cars with CA wearing our Patten leather Mary Jane’s.

Carolyn Bell, Elizabeth Horne, Janet Macdonald, and Billy Cudmore, Elizabeth MacKenzie and Danny Fraser were my best friends on Brighton Road. When I moved around the corner to York Lane I played cowboys and Indians with Hope and Zoë Hyndman, along with Barry Taylor and Billy (the) Kidd. The Boys would wear their Coon skin caps and we’d sing, “Davy, Davy Crockett, and King of the wild frontier.” I traded comics with the Larter Brothers and once I began school I had a host of new friends. Many kids in my grade one picture from West Kent are still my friends today. We were so fortunate that first year to have Mrs. Bethune as our teacher.

In the summer time we could hardly wait for Old Home Week. As soon as the animals and rides hit the exhibition grounds my father would drive me past the gates. My anticipation was at an all time high and I could not wait to hit the grounds. Anne Horne would take a bunch of us to the exhibition for the afternoon and we had a great time. My father would throw balls at objects in June’s Booth trying to win us stuffed animals. He could have bought 20 animals at Michael Brothers for what he paid June trying to knock down things for prizes at her stand.

The greasy French fries and hot dogs were a must. After lots of grease it was off to have a taffy apple and some angel hair. Each year I wanted a cane with a cupid doll attached and we always had to watch the motorcycle driver go around the track on his side. The smells, the lights, and colors were certainly a draw as were the races.

Andrea Duvar and I became very close in elementary school and I wanted to be just like her. She wore glasses so I wanted to wear glasses. I kept telling my parents I couldn’t see so they made me an appointment with Dr. Houston for an eye test. I did not require glasses so I begged Andrea to give me her old pair. I tried wearing them and couldn’t see a darn thing. Then I wanted Andrea’s turned up nose so I slept with my nose pressing on the pillow all night. The next day I had a large red ridge across the tip of my nose. I tried and tried but my nose never turned up.

I was invited for a sleepover and the Duvar’s and was very excited. After supper Andrea told me it was time to wash and dry the dishes. Time to what? There were six people’s dishes, oh my goodness. We were in the kitchen for an hour. Finally we got to go to bed. The next morning after breakfast I was informed it was time to do Saturday Chores. What the devil is going on? We had to wash down the bathroom, clean the bedroom and once again there were dishes to be washed. I was pooped. I made Andrea promise to never tell my parents about this chore thing. I didn’t want my parents to know how well I could clean. This was never to be discussed again. I still loved Andrea but I wasn’t crazy about her sleep-over.

Sleepover’s at Janet’s proved to be less of a hassle, I don’t recall doing chores. We pulled taffy, popped corn, and made prank phone calls. Janet’s mother made us Caramel Fudge and Marshmallow squares to die for and we read comics half the night. Ringing doorbells was a nighttime sport and if we rang Myron Bell’s bell, he would actually come out and chase us. That was so much fun. We would ring Dr. Lantz’s bell and ask for treats and he always found something nice for us to eat.

In the winter the Bell’s garage and Lantz’s roof were best for climbing and jumping into the snow banks. This was another covert activity however we were often caught and would promise never to do it again. Whenever a big storm came we were back jumping off those roofs. The boys taught us how to hang on to car bumpers and go for a nice ride when the streets were slippery. This was strictly forbidden however it was so much fun we kept doing it. Fortunately we were never hurt except if our parents found out then the punishment could be rather severe.

The roller skates we wore fit on the bottom of our shoes. I recall having my first roller skates and wearing the key tied to a long string around my neck. We would skate down Brighton Road to the shore and thank goodness the fence was there to stop us or we would have skated straight into the water.

I loved Easter, not only for the treats, but it was time to put away the snow boots and we were once again wearing our shoes outside. I loved the sound of the clicking of my shoes on the sidewalk. My father believed the bottom of shoes lasted longer if they had clickers on them. I clicked those shoes of mine all over the neighborhood. It was also time to go to Holmes and Bradley for a new Easter outfit and of course my new Easter bonnet from Adele’s. My ensemble was not complete unless I was wearing my white gloves.

Eldon Larabee took up the collection at Sunday School and we often would make change on the Collection Plate. Debbie Pletch, Pam Stewart and I would scurry off to Johnny’s Mayfair and Tea Room for delicious French fries with gravy and a large coke. The Rendezvous Restaurant was across the street from Johnny’s and we knew when we were a bit older we would graduate to the Rend. Eating at Johnny’s was great and it was our rite of passage to the Rendezvous.

On Sunday afternoon we would walk to the Rendezvous for a chocolate derby and a vanilla coke. We would be dressed in our Sunday best hoping that the guys would also be dropping by for something to eat. Eating was our strategy but the boys were our objective.

Skating at the Charlottetown Form was a wonderful activity. We were always waiting to be asked to skate with some great guys. My cousin, David Storey, was often at these skates, and lucky for me, the girls all thought he was cute. David would always skate with me and he was a wonderful skater. He would buy me treats and if David was there, I always had someone to skate with.

Ice Sports was a time of immense excitement. I always thought I was a great skater however when push came to shove, I never ever won a ribbon for coming in the first three. I would start off great, usually try too hard, fall and promise myself I would come first next year. My parents were always in the stands cheering.

When asked about something special for my sixteenth birthday, my parents surprised me by renting the Charlottetown Forum for mixed party. It cost them $25.00.

My mother decided my straight hair would look much nicer if it had curls. She took me to Mary Gunn who told me I was going to have my first Perm. She took about 100 tiny pink rollers and began rolling my hair up as tight as she could. Then she had the nerve to pour this revolting smelling solution over the curls. It was putrid and it stank almost as bad as a skunk. It was truly horrific. After about what seemed like hours, she began washing the stink off my hair and finally took out the rollers. Some of them were so tight I think they left a permanent dent in my head. After going under the dryer she began trying to comb his mass of fuzz. Yikes I looked like I stuck my finger in an electric socket. I not only looked bad but for weeks I smelled like a skunk and my friends stayed far away. I was living in a nightmare. I was not a pretty sight but I did have curls, thousands of them.

Get Thee to a Nunnery

I don’t recall my earliest memory of my religious aspirations; I just know they came prematurely and expeditiously. Most girls love to play dress up and I was no exception. I loved wearing my mother’s dresses and shoes however my costume was not complete unless I had a towel draped over my head and hanging down my back. I wasn’t going to be confused with those Princess types, I was a nun. Grasping my mother’s string of pearls in my hands, I would walk around the apartment, head bowed, in prayer. I was a rather rambunctious and loud girl however when in my nun’s habit, I was rather quiet and demure. Although my parents enjoyed the subdued child they were extremely perplexed. I suppose the confusion stemmed the fact that we were Protestants, Presbyterian’s no less. Every Sunday our family went to the Kirk of Saint James Church and I suppose my mother and father were wondering want was going on in my mind.

Being with my friends on Bayfield Street was when I first discovered that there were religions differences from my own. My church was an enormous component of my life as a child. As a very small child I went to Sunday school with Carolyn Bell and Mrs. Somers taught us to sing hymns and told us many biblical stories. When one entered the Sunday school there was a picture of Jesus surrounded by children who were looking at the scars on his hands. This picture moved me and I would often touch it as I walked into my class.

My religious conversion may have happened on Bayfield Street. I would visit my grandparents frequently and while I was there I got to know and play with several of the children on that street. Many of the children that I played with were Roman Catholic and I would witness a new ritual that many of them celebrated--afternoon prayers. I was playing in the street one day when the children were all called home for their prayers. One family allowed me to observe the family at prayer. As the prayers began the whole family fell to their knees, eyes closed, hands in prayer, they began a rhythmic chant as they caressed the beads. I was mesmerized. All I wanted that Christmas was my own prayer beads. My parents were perplexed and amused. I was adamant. Never did get my prayer beads but every time I went to visit my grandparents, I would ask to see my friends beads. I discovered that they came in various colours, sizes, and some were adorned little crosses. I was sure if I own a pair of beads God would know that I was a true believer.

The days on Bayfield Street meant I had a complete new set of friends. I played with Muriel St. John, Harry and Butch Callaghan, the Phalen’s, McWade’s, McGonnell’s along with several others. Our family was very entrenched in this part of Charlottetown. It was like I had a secret society of friends completely separate from those I played with on a daily basis and with those who were my school chums.

My father only had to have a hint of information that there might be a parade in Charlottetown and we were off to find a spot to watch. One particular Sunday we were watching a parade and I saw several young girls about my age all dressed in white. They were magnificent as their heads were adorned with white flowing veils and each girl was carrying a set of those coveted prayer beads. Who were these girls and how could I become one of them?

I was informed that they were going to church to take their first communion. I knew right there and then I wanted to belong to their church but again my father just turned a deaf ear to my yearnings.

I couldn’t wait to become a member of the Junior Choir at the Kirk of Saint James. My only hesitation was singing a solo for Miss Lillian MacKenzie, the choir director. No matter how badly I sing, I was going to get into one of those Choir Gowns and sit at the front of the church. I remember feeling faint as Miss MacKenzie played and I sang alone. I loved to sing however it wasn’t as much about the singing as it was about the gown. I knew all the hymns by heart because our car didn’t have a radio and the family went for drives every Sunday and with my Dad, hymn singing was a must. I recall wearing that white billowing tunic top and the long black skirt that hung to the ground. If I couldn’t be a nun, being in this gown was the next best thing. Even the colors were the same. A coincidence, I think not!

My religious quest continued on into my adolescence. I recall one particular day I was alone in the den watching the television when the evangelist Oral Roberts TV show came on. I began watching him as he prayed over people with various ailments and disabilities. Why I saw people get up out of their wheelchairs, crutches were thrown away, the deaf could hear and blind could see, miracles were happening before my very eyes. After performing many miracles, the exhausted evangelist, asked the people watching television to get up and come to the set. He put his hands over the lenses of the camera and they appeared on my TV. He then asked all the TV viewers to put their hands over his and pray with him. I ran to the television, dropped to my knees and put my hands over his as I was waited for my miracle. Just then my father strode across the room and turned off the TV. I begged him to turn it back on. Didn't he know about the miracles that Oral had just performed? By now tears were streaming down my cheeks as I told him about what I had just witnessed. I was a believer. He tried to explain about what I had just seen and how many of these things were not always what they appeared to be, but deep down I know what I saw.

Bussell Somers was the minister of the Kirk and I was terrified of him. Rather than helping me feel the love of God he installed in me the fear of God. When preaching a sermon, he would hit that pulpit and his face would puff up and become crimson red. He would continuously wipe his brow with a large white cloth hanky as he turned himself into frenzy. Two things I recall he yelled about was the need of more money for the church and the many flaws of the Catholic Religion. His sermons were never dull and when I became older I went to his bible study class. This was an inmate setting with about ten or twelve students and it was in these classes I came to know a calmer and gentler man. However I never liked him enough to disclose my earlier yearning for prayer beads and wanting to become a Catholic.

He asked me to sing a duet with Suzanne Shaw at the Christmas concert and I was afraid to say no. On that fateful day he announce that Suzanne and I would be singing, Oh Come All Ye Faithful. We walked up to the stage and when Miss MacKenzie began to play and I froze. I did move my lips while Suzanne sang all the versus. This may have been the first lip-sync ever performed. Not my finest hour.

Another great religious moment happened in my sixteenth year. I was working as a waitress at The Stanhope Lodge. There were six girls living on the third and top floor of the Lodge. As fate would have it, three girls were protestant and three were catholic. It was so nice to be able to fraternize with people of other religions because at home it was frowned upon. We came to know and like each other a great deal. The owners of the Lodge insisted that we be in our room by 11:00 each night and if we were’t we would be locked out and fired. We obeyed. In the evenings we would often put on our pyjamas and talk about boys of course. Many times however our conversations would lead to religion and we all wanted to know about each other’s faith and how we differed from each other. We soon came to understand that the differences were not so great.

One particular evening we decided that if there is indeed a God that we would like to have some proof. We came up with a plan that we thought just might prove God’s existence. We all got down by the side of our bed, heads bowed, we all prayed for God to give us a sign. The room was very dark and quiet. All of a sudden a huge gust of wind blew up and the tree next to the window began to rustle. At first it was just a gentle noise but the wind grew fiercer and by now the window was rattling and the tree began banging on the window. There was a scream, and then another scream and then crying.

“Please someone turn on the light. Please turn on the light.”

Finally some brave girl, not me, turned on the light. We were all crying and one girl ran down the hall to the bathroom. We were all sitting on the floor holding on to one another looking out the window. As quickly as the wind blew up, it was now very calm outside. Suddenly a heavenly form appeared to be walking toward us through the window and one girl jumped up with arms outstretched and sighed, “Jesus my Lord and Saviour.” We were surely witnessing a vision, when someone realized that we were just seeing a reflection of our friend coming back to the room from the bathroom in her nightgown. Just for a moment she looked like Jesus walking toward us and we were certain we were in the midst of a miracle. We asked for a sign and we were certain that we had just received one however we never ever turned the light off in the bedroom for the rest of the summer. We never told anyone about our sign but we knew we had received one and it was Interdenominational.

Two Christmas’s

As a small child I was enormously privileged because I got to experience two Christmas’s. A few days before the 25th we would drive over to Dartmouth to spend the holidays with my mother’s family. The night before we were to leave I could never sleep, the excitement was overwhelming. The harder I tried to sleep the worse it got. We always headed out in the dark of early morning trying to catch the first boat.

To a little girl, the drive seemed to take forever. Then we would reach Waverly and I knew we were getting close. Finally we would be on Prince Albert Road and my Nanny Beazley would be waiting for me. I would scamper up the front steps and dash into the kitchen and there she would be on her rocking chair. In a few quick steps I would be safe in her lap, her special angel. As I write this, I am sitting on that very rocking chair.

She would wait for my parents to enter and when everyone said their hello’s she would take me into the living room to see the Christmas tree. I was never disappointed as each year the tree appeared bigger, taller, and more spectacular than the year before. The tree was ablaze with blinking colored bubbling lights and on every single branch hung yards of silver tinsel. Each strand of tinsel was put on painstakingly one piece at a time and each branch was loaded. On Christmas Eve real candles were lighted and the room took on a soft mystical glow. The anticipation in the air was all encompassing especially when I looked under the tree and saw box after box wrapped in colored paper with multi-colored ribbons and bows. When I was old enough to read my own name I could see that most of the presents were for me.

In the morning I could hardly contain myself wanting to see what Santa had left under the tree. My father would not let me go downstairs even though I could smell biscuits baking and could hear the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Nope, the men of the house had to shave first. Oh my goodness this was becoming painful. My father and Uncle Bob were both in the bathroom talking as they shaved. I would sit on the edge of the large bathtub and wait as they lathered up their faces and slowly slid the razor across their beards. Finally they finished and my father scooped me up in his arms and carried me down into the kitchen. Oh no, don’t tell me I have to eat first. I push the food into me without tasting a bite. This type of eating was becoming a habit.

When the adults finally finished eating my father put a blindfold over my eyes and guided me into the living room. He turned me around three times and then removed the blindfold. Where to begin, what to look at, what to open first. I could hear Christmas music faintly playing in the background and the tree was bursting with color but I was entranced with a small piano that stood unwrapped under the tree. The rest of day was spent playing with my new toys, trying on new clothes, and of course having a delicious turkey dinner. Christmas night many visitors and friends would come to call and more food was served.

A few days later we would be driving back to our Island home. Once we drove off the boat I would begin to anticipate my second Christmas on Brighton Road. My father would run up to our apartment, open the doors, turn on the Christmas lights and when I reached the living room, there it was another Christmas. All the Storey relatives had given us presents and before bed, I got to open a whole new bunch of gifts.

1951

DALE EVANS QUEEN OF THE WEST

All I want for Christmas in this, my eighth year, is A Dale Evans Cowgirl outfit. As is my usual custom, I begin snooping, looking into closets, cupboards, and under the beds, to ensure I would definitely be getting this most coveted present. Scouting out the apartment I soon find a box in my parent’s closet. There it is, a fire engine red cowgirl hat with an under-the-chin strap containing a yellow whistle.

All I can see is the hat and what looks like a gun. I stop looking because I think I hear my Mother walking

down the hall and I don’t want to spoil her Christmas fun.

Christmas morning is perfection as I unwrap my Dale Evans Cowgirl outfit; I do my best Sarah Bernhardt

impression. “Oh this is just what I wanted I can‘t believe you got it for me, you‘re the best.”

I put on my red hat and adjust the strap and give a blow on the whistle. Next I find a brown leather vest and skirt to match with yards of Fringe hanging from both. The pièce de résistance is my gun belt. The belt is complete with 6 silver bullets, double holsters with matching pearl-handled guns. The last item in the box was my matching brown leather cowgirl boots. I quickly try on my outfit and when that was complete my father pins on my official sheriff’s badge and he dubs me Dale Evans of 47 York Lane.

Finally the snow has melted and I am patrolling York Lane. I have Barry Taylor pegged as Smiley

Barnett; a kid across the street is Gabby Hayes and we are busy rounding up all he outlaws. I have a lasso and

I rope them up and tie them to the nearest tree. My horse, Buttermilk, is a kind and gentle horse unlike that

Wild Bullet of Roy’s. The kids on my street have the look of fear in their eyes when they see me running down the street in my Dale outfit looking for bad guys. Yes, the neighborhood is safe now that Dale Evens Queen of the West is in charge.

Dale is seen daily sashaying up and down York Lane looking for varmints to throw into jail. In the words of the Sons of the Pioneers Happy Trails to you until we meet again, Happy Trails to you, keep smiling’ until then.

I had always believed that I was the greatest Dale Evans fan in the Province and then I found out that my friend Joni Auld might have been an even bigger fan. When she went to the dentist and he asked her to open her mouth, she refused. When she was in her Dale costume she refused to talk to anyone unless they called her by her proper name, Dale. Now that my friends is a true Dale Evans Fan.

I have to admit the older I got the worse I became when the Christmas season came around. I would begin the annual Christmas Snooping Campaign. My parents were become great at hiding my presents but I was becoming quite a little detective. Sometimes I couldn’t find their hiding place so when the presents were wrapped and under the tree, I began my feeling and shaking movement. When the house was empty, I am not proud to say this; I would open my gifts and then re-wrap them. Sometimes if I was feeling extremely curious, I opened not only my presents, but those of the rest of the family.

MY SISTER

My mother and Janet’s mother were both expecting babies around the same time. When I learned that Liz had gone to the hospital to have her baby I was inconsolable. Why, oh why did she have to go first? Janet already had a sister and a brother and I had neither. It just wasn’t fair. When the Mcdonald baby arrived home I was asked to come for a viewing. One look at Debye and I was smitten. What a little doll and I got to hold my first newborn. I was practicing for when my little sister arrived. No boy babies allowed.

Because of my love and admiration for Janet’s big sister, I pleaded with my parents to name my new sister Patsy Jane. When asked what name I would like if I had a brother, I stated the obvious; no boys will come into my house. Finally a month after Debye’s birth, it was time for my little sister to be born. Patsy Jane Storey was finally here and I thought I would never get to meet her. They kept my mother in the Prince Edward Hospital for ten days and I was not old enough to visit. Sure I was old enough when they took out my tonsils, but now that I had a sister there was no way they would let me walk over the doorstep. I would stroll home from school and yell underneath my mother’s room and she would come to the window and wave at me. I was so lonesome. I was staying with Carolyn Bell and we had lots of fun however I wanted see my new sister.

The day they left the hospital my father picked me up at school and when I got into the car I saw her and it was love at first sight. I was her big sister and it was a role I was born to play. If there was any jealousy I certainly can’t recall however that just might be selective memory on my part.

Shortly after her birth I do remember telling my parents all I wanted was to be able to play the piano and before long, one was purchased. A teacher was soon located and I took lessons at Trinity Church. He always held a pointer and when I hit a wrong key, he hit my fingers with the pointer. To say I did not like this sadist would be an understatement. He told my parents I didn’t practice enough. Well who wanted to play stuff about little Indians, I thought my playing would just come naturally. I wanted to sit at the piano and play the tunes I heard on the radio. Apparently it didn’t work that way so soon our piano became a very expensive end table.

As much as I loved my little sister, she did cry and poop all the time. I wanted someone to play with but that would be a long time so I believed I should have a dog. Libby MacKenzie’s father, Gus had a litter of Boston terrier’s and he gave me one. We called him Mister Winston Churchill, Mister for everyday. My father said if he put a cigar in Mister’s mouth he would be as dead ringer for Churchill. Life was good, I now had a piano I didn’t play but I had a sister and a puppy that both pooped all the time.

Sharing a room with a baby and dog can have its downsides so my parents decided to move to 57 Ambrose Street. I now had my own room and my walls were filled with pictures of Rickey Nelson and Elvis. We had a nice backyard with another rink for skating. Patsy was getting old enough that I could dress her and curl her hair. I no longer needed dolls to play with as I had the real thing. When she got fussy, I always had Mister.

Patsy was a real ham and when my father put on the movie camera, she was ready to roll. We have miles of footage on this little blonde haired girl dancing and making faces at the camera. I remember when she began grade one at West Kent and watching her come home from school. We could see her walking up the street talking a mile a minute. When asked who she was talking to, she would put her hands on her hips and reply, “the birds and flowers”. Silly me for asking.

TELEVISION

One weekend while we were visiting Nanny Beazley in Dartmouth, I kept hearing a new word, television. It was supposed to bring moving pictures with sound into your living room. Dad heard about a television viewing in Sunnyside so we all piled into the car and headed off to see this new invention. We could see several people all crowded around the outside of an appliance store. The place was closed however the television was on and sure enough, people were walking and talking on the screen. We couldn’t hear the sound however we stood there entranced for a very long time. My parents thought this television was pretty remarkable and hopefully, televisions would soon come to PEI.

The first person I knew to have a television was Daryl MacLean and she invited all her friends over on Saturday afternoon’s to watch Lassie. We came bearing Ritz Crackers, Cracker Jacks, bags of Scottie’s potato chips, bottles of Coke and other goodies purchased from the Brighton Grocery. We sat in Daryl’s Rec Room waiting for the test pattern to fade away so that our show would finally come on. The reception left a lot to be desired, lots of waves and snow; however we were enthralled and loved every moment. Lassie always saved the day and we cheered as the showed ended. If we were lucky we also got to see The Lone Ranger and Tonto as the rode their horses around the same rock week after week. Then there were the singing cowpokes, Dale and Roy with the hilarious Smiley Burnett. It is fair to say that in those early days, we would stare at the test pattern for hours just waiting for another show to begin. We had one station and it only played shows during certain hours of the day.

When we got our first television, it was a big deal. We must have been really bored as she sat and looked at that Indian on the test pattern. Saturday evenings was parent’s night out so it was my responsibility to be the babysitter. After Patsy was asleep it would be time for The Charlie Chan movie. Charlie Chan was the great detective with his sons, number one son, and number two son. When my father arrived home the first thing he would do was feel the top of the set and if it was warm he would know I watched Charlie Chan.

SLEEP OVER’S

My first sleep over was at Carolyn Bell’s and soon after I stayed at Janet’s. These were fun times and the two things we enjoyed most was making pop corn and pulling taffy. It was at a sleep over at Daryl MacLean’s that became quite a momentous occasion, our first Bra’s. We went to Moore and MacLeod’s and were fitted and purchased our ‘over the shoulder bolder holder’s’. After paying the sales clerk we watched as our money was put into a cylinder and zapped upstairs. Soon the cylinder came whipping down the little track to the cash. The clerk would take out our receipt and change and in no time we were on our way. We wore them with such pride and that night we slept with them on. I don’t think I took it off for a week.

Daryl’s father got us jobs at the Co-op on Saturdays. I was over the moon with excitement because I’d be making $10.00. We arrived at the store and lucky Daryl was taken to the bakery counter. She would be assisting in frying the donuts. I was not so lucky, I got the meat department. I was given a white jacket to wear and ten minutes in I was slicing bologna, unfortunately I sliced my finger and my white coat had turned a scarlet red. Nothing serious however that was the last time they allowed me near any machinery.

As we grew older, parents often went away for the weekend and that is when we had some very serious sleep over’s. Sometimes there would be six to eight girls talking, playing records, calling boys on the phone, and of course eating. We always ended the night with a game of Truth or Dare. I recall Flora MacLeod climbing a lamp post in her pajamas late one night.

There was a sleep over at Gayle Ramsay’s and we walked to Peter Tanton’s home in the early hours of the morning. This was a long walk across town. We entered the unlocked house and found many fellows asleep. We didn’t wake them but left a few calling cards so they would know we had been there.

I recall my parents being away and my mother allowed my sister to have a sleep over. She had several girls and the noise they made was ungodly. I fell asleep around the three in the morning as the house had finally become very quiet. The following morning the girls had breakfast and were finally leaving. The next Monday the Guardian had a picture of the fountain in front of the Legislature on the front page. It talked of the bubbles flowing down Grafton Street on Sunday morning. Apparently someone had filled the fountain with some kind of soap. When my mother came home she soon discovered that her stock of Tide had been depleted. I guess the girls walked to the fountain and filled it with Shirl’s Tide. I slept through the entire drama.

Sleepovers or slumber parties would continue on right though our years at Prince of Wales. My parents often went to Dartmouth to visit family and I was left home along. These weekends the house was filled with my friends. We often had classes on Saturday mornings and as my buddies went off to class I would give them an apple for breakfast and I would head back to bed. My mother always knew when I had friends over because the house was so clean when she returned.

Just down a block from Prince Street School stood a little church. Patsy and her friends used to climb up on a tree and peer in at the parishioner’s. They were over heard yelling, “Allah, Allah, lend me your canary.” I suppose this became rather annoying and one day my mother answered the telephone and the man on the other end said, “Hello, this is Brother William,” to which my mother replied without skipping a beat, “Hello Brother Billy, you have reached Sister Shirley.”

My poor embarrassed mother thought it was my father playing a joke and when she hear the Brother’s story, little Patsy was in some big trouble.

Ballet to Rock and Roll

My first dance class was ballet. I believed I could be a ballerina, apparently so did my parents. I took my first classes behind Foster’s Store. My mother thought I might do well under the tutelage of a more experienced teacher; however she resided and taught in Montague. Janet’s mother, Liz, decided the two us would take dance to together so every Saturday we drove to Montague the Beautiful. Janet and I could have cared less about the 

ballet however the chocolate sundae’s after classes were always a big hit.

Soon we were preparing for the Charlottetown Dance Festival. My costume was being made by a local seamstress however I was dismayed that I would be playing the part of a boy. Janet got to wear a black velvet skirt and satin blouse while I wore the same blouse; I had to wear black velvet pants. My partner in this dance was Nancy White and although I constantly asked to be the girl, my yearnings fell on deaf ears. I believe I began to suffer from this forced role reversal because I was not learning my steps as a boy. I knew the girls part and the night of the big performance on stage I told Nancy she had to be the boy. The poor girl had no idea what I was doing so we were both dancing the girl’s part and of course, we were abysmal. That ended my ballet career but not so my fore` into the world of dance.

Maybe Nancy’s mother decided we should learn to Square Dance after witnessing the ballet because soon we were learning “all around Left, Ladies, bow to your beau, Duck for the Oyster and Dip for the Clam”. The White’s basement was where we learned the art of this dance as well as at the home of Dr. Joe MacMillan and we were becoming quite adept. I am sure I was a good student because I could be a girl and got to dance with real boys. This was cool. The MacMillan family had lots of boys so I never had to pretend to be a boy anymore. Two of my partners during the dance festival and the Uncle Bill show were Billy and Colin MacMillan.

We danced at various venues but the most unusual was dancing at the Charlottetown Forum at the Uncle Bill’s Radio Show. Uncle Bill featured lots of local entertainment and on this particular event he had a new cowboy singer on the show, Tommy Hunter. The featured entertainer was King Ganam with the Sons of the West and then came the Square Dancer’s. Thank goodness there was a live audience who appreciated our dancing. I’m certain it must have been rather dull for the radio audience. This form of dancing was becoming lost on us as rock and roll was our new passion.

Jiving was our dance of choice and some of us became local celebrities. We danced live on Saturday afternoons at the local television station in the Bonshaw Hills. The Americans had Dick Clark’s Bandstand and the Islander’s had teens from the local high schools jiving on community (CFCY) TV. I suppose this was a natural segue to neophyte, Mike Duffy. Mike was the youngster who knew all the music and he spun those old 78’s. He later graduated to being in front of the cameras and he was a natural in any media and continues to host his own television series. I remember when he was broadcasting a live event on CFCY; I believe it was a fire. It must have been big and out of control because as he was explaining the fire on the waterfront when something exploded and so did Mike when he said shit on the radio. I thought it was hilarious as I’m sure did the rest of his listening public. Today Mike is one of Canada’s most respected Journalists.

The Kiss

BRIGHTON SHORE

 

We moved to the cottage in late May or early June depending on the weather.  An early spring meant that we would be all moved in before school closed.  I loved coming home for lunch and sometimes having a swim if it the water was warm enough.

 

My room at the cottage was small but held all my hopes and dreams.  My walls were plastered with pictures of Jerry Vale, Rick Nelson along with swimming ribbons and awards.  Not many knew who Jerry Vale was but I was a member of his fan club.

 

I recall going to the Cadet Dance at Queen Charlotte and I even remember my beautiful green and blue dress.  Underneath the dress, I had buried two starched crinolines, which were a prerequisite for all teenaged girls.

 

A boy who was a friend asked me for the last waltz and I was flattered that he wanted to walk me home.  When we got near the cottage, he leaned in for the big kiss, however I moved quickly.  Unfortunately, I stepped into a puddle, which immediately turned my white shoes into a new color of reddish brown.  Embarrassed I raced into the cottage.  Looking into the mirror, I noticed that my face was flushed and I vowed never to let boys kiss me until I was much older.

 

I wasn’t long in breaking that vow.  It was a year or two later while at a dance at the YMCA, a university fellow asked me to dance.  I didn’t know him however one look told me that he was better than Jerry and Rick put together.  He, now known as the magnificent one, asked me if I would like to go to a party at the Experimental Farm, and a new experiment was about to happen.  I knew the kids (Burns Family) that were having the party and when it was over, we drove to my house.  This time when the magnificent one, leaned it, I didn’t pull away.  One kiss and I was floating in air, my heart was racing and butterflies danced in my tummy.  I opened the door of the car and glided across the street and then it happened, smack, I walked into the lamppost.  I felt my head reverberate as I almost passed out.  Holding my forehead I dashed into the house, praying that the magnificent one hadn’t seen my fiasco.  I ran up to the bedroom and could see my forehead was beginning to swell.  I felt like a brainless twit.

 

The next day was Saturday and I had to be at the Y for some activity.  The bump on my forehead was large and red and I had to camouflage it with my hair.  When I met up with my friends at the Y, they all wanted to know how my date went.  When I told them about the kiss, they asked me if I opened my mouth.  Yuck, I thought, no way.  Then I was told about the art of kissing and the opened mouth.  Well I had kept my lips pressed tightly together and had no idea about this open mouth concept.  This was a disaster, a lump on my head and a closed mouth; I would probably be dateless for years.

 

I never did hear from the magnificent one again but in a few short years, I would meet ‘The Royal One.’

Junior High

I would never feel the same about school after leaving Elementary. Excitement coursed through my veins at the thought of attending Junior High, however it was soon depleted. I liked my friends, met new ones and I had fun, however it was never my forte`. I loved learning; however the structure of the school and how we learned was, for me, dismal.

I loved to read and that would be my escape. Why does a twelve year old need to escape? High School and all the convoluted facets of this institution were daunting and intimidating. I spent more time trying to fit in and have my peers like me than I ever spent studying. What to wear, how to talk to boys, who to be friends with and who to avoid were the social norms.

My Junior High School experience was such a time of confliction. My body was going through several changes, as my hormones beat to their own drum. I discovered, to my horror, that my parents were not perfect. I also realized that most adults were fallible and that was an enormous disillusionment. I felt as if the cosmos had played a horrific joke on me. My precious innocence was forever lost and the acute ache was unending.

There was a shift in my equilibrium and for a long time a sadness washed over me. I was not able to understand or articulate my melancholia during those years but it was always just below the surface. Sometimes the sorrow was replaced with indignation, how dare the universe play such a cruel joke on me. These things were never discussed so they just simmered in my soul for many years and dimmed my spirit.

How many parts can one twelve year old play? The real me or the one my parents wanted me to be? The student the teachers expected me to be? Was I good enough, pretty enough, nice enough, funny enough, the actor in me emerged as I tried to be all. Often I got lost in the various performances. How long can this drama last? Will the real me please stand up? It is hard to concentrate on learning while my mind is trying to remember which character I’m playing.

The extraordinary thing about high school is that the feelings can last a life time. It can take several years and a lot of study to realize how indelible and deep seeded our fears really are. Thank goodness for friends, family and the ability to laugh for it is the laughter that will be my mantra. Laughter assisted me on my journey through the murky corridors of high school while books whisked me away to magical kingdoms. When life became difficult, I flew to distant shores and soared over the oceans and mountains of the universe. My existence was once more tolerable and the disappointments were banished to a covert hiding place. Many times I donned red ruby shoes and danced with munchkins.

My teacher in grade seven was Doris Ferguson. She had long red hair that fell in waves down her shoulders. I had her sister in grade two at West Kent; however Doris was much stricter and expected a lot of her students. To get on her good side I joined a youth group at Zion Church. She led this group and I believe 

being a part of the group helped as I did very well in her class. Grade eight was a little more relaxed as we got to change classes for the first time. I was a poor math student however Mr. Jenkins class was always a lot of fun. He would always get a boy and girl to do our sums on the black board. The man was a natural tease and I recall he once took Jake Kennedy and put him in the waste basket upside down.

David Wood and I always tried to sit in front of one another. He would help me with the math and I would assist him with English and French. I don’t know how much we helped each other in the long run, but we have been friends ever since those days. Along with Billy Fish, Woody was a great jiver. The boys were all good dancers; Moose was always ready for a bop along with Tommy Johnston, Roy Scantlebury, Peter Tanton, Pewee Lee, as well as the Hambly Brothers. We were very fortunate to have a nice gang of guys and dolls.

When the Robinson Brothers and Bobby Clow arrived at Queen Charlotte, they were all very popular. As they got older they were even more popular as they got to drive cars to school. In grade ten Carol MacKenzie often had her mother’s car and nothing was better than skipping school on a nice sunny day. We were off to the beach without a care in the world. Of course our parents would be notified, but for the moment, we were driving and smoking our brains out.

Slam books were very popular in high school. This was a scribbler that would be passed among students. The kids would often sign their own page and then fill in the various questions that were posed. Most kids had them and they were passed to as many students as possible. They were called slam books because of the slamming the person commented on and the students’ habit of slamming the book shut and hiding it so teachers wouldn’t confiscate them.

Clothes were very important during these times and I remember feeling wonderful in my grey poodle skirt held tight with a cinch belt, pink kitten sweater, saddle shoes, topped off with white pompoms. In the higher grades I was so proud to get my first tartan reversible skirt. I wore it with my ban Lon yellow twin set sweaters and I had traded in the saddle shoes for a pair of brown penny loafers.

Unfortunately around this time we all thought we needed to wear girdles. Also we now were being told we needed the new and wonderful Maiden Form Bra. When going to church we wore feather hats, just one large feather that was more like a head band. My hair was still problematic and I sent hours and hours putting it up in rollers and sitting under my pink hair dryer with matching pink bonnet. Of course when my hair was combed out I would have lovely curls. I was now ready to jump into a car with a group of friends and we would cruise around dizzy block. When we became bored we would head out Elm Ave to the A&W. They had great service, we would just blink the lights and the waitress came out to take our order. When our food was ready she was back with the food on a tray that hooked over the window. When dusk arrived we would head out to the North River Drive Inn. If we didn’t have enough money for everyone to get in, some kids would hide in the trunk. I remember seeing one girl’s crinoline hanging out of the trunk in front of us. Because we often had seven or eight to a car, some people would find an empty speaker and sit outside to watch the movie.

Cadets

Most students signed up for Cadets. Not that we were excited about being a cadet but it did mean lots of time out of the class room. As soon as the weather became fit, we were out on the school grounds marching. Why were we cadets? Were the adults teaching us to become soldiers? I don’t know really but it was a way to get out of going to class and that was all I needed to know.

We marched on the school grounds, we marched down North River Road to Victoria Park and we marched around the ball field. The boy cadets wore real uniforms while the girls wore white blouses, black skirts and tams as well as white socks and white buck shoes. I had stripes on my sleeve because I was a Sergeant. Great, the one thing I do well at in high school is march. Too bad we weren’t graded in marching. I might have had a ninety.

Queen Charlotte and Birchwood were great cadet rivals. On the day of the big Cadet Inspection there was much ado about nothing. We would march at Victoria Park, get graded, and then have ice cream and pop back at the school. If the weather was really hot, the boys often fainted which the girls thought was very funny. If it rained, the girls blouses got soaked and became see-through, the boys thought this was a great treat. Forget the ice cream! That evening there would be the Cadet Dance and my almost kiss.

THE CURSE (AKA ALBERT)

I was 12 and when I discovered my period had begun. My emotions were all over the place as I was enraged, devastated, distraught, and I wasn’t going to have it, do you hear me world. Damn it to hell! I marched into the kitchen where my parents were having breakfast and announced my fate. My mother began to tell me about the physics of my body so I yelled at her.

“Call Doctor Irwin this minute and tell him I am not ready. I demand a delay of this period for at least one year.” Then I promptly fainted dead away on the kitchen floor after hitting my head on the garbage can the way down.

The next thing I remember was lying in my bed with my mother trying to explain to me the facts of life. Well could this damn day get any worse? Intercourse, oh my God that sounded cruel and inhumane and there was no way on this earth that would ever happen to me. Oh no, you mean the minister and his wife do it. Thank God you and Daddy only did it two times. Oh please tell me it isn’t so. The thought of the holy Bussell Somers on top of Mrs. Somers made my already nauseous stomach even queasier.

A large package arrived from Hughes Drug Store from my Aunt Izzy. Thinking I was receiving gifts I tore into the box. Oh great, just great. Now everyone in Charlottetown would hear about me ‘becoming a woman.’ Square Kotex Boxes of Sanitary Napkins filled the box along with a garter belt, and several pamphlets on becoming women as well as a box of chocolates. Well the candy would mean the whole day wouldn’t be a total bust. Now just maybe that is where my love of chocolate began and why whenever I need comfort or not, I eat chocolate.

Soon I learned that many of my friends were also ‘young women’ and we now belonged to a very select group. When we were fourteen and thought we were smarter than the average teen we began to call our periods Albert. Why you ask? I cannot for the life of me think why but we got so brave that we actually began to have parties for Albert. Two years can make such a difference. Ya think?

The Convent 

I had always hated school, especially math and anything mathematical.  It would be my demise.  In my day if you failed math, you failed the year and that is what happened to me.  I was devastated, humiliated and of course felt like I was the biggest failure on earth.  All my friends would be graduating from Queen Charlotte and I would have to return for another year.  

I went to my father and asked if he would send me to Edgehill or Netherwood (private boarding schools for girls) so I could finally get this math thing out of the way.  He told me he would think about it.

 

One day in early September in 1960 he told me it was time as he had found me a wonderful private school right here on PEI.  I had no idea where we were going as we headed out the Trans Canada highway but I was filled with happy anticipation.  I would not have to face people that I knew, I would get lost in a new place.

 

We passed Summerside and came to a small village and my father slowed down when we came to the town of Miscouche, the car turned into a driveway and before me appeared this large foreboding red building beside a huge grey church.  What the hell is going on and where the devil were we? 

Then my father said, “Welcome to Miscouche Convent”.

“What do you mean Convent, where is the private school for girls,” I wailed.   

“This is it, a great school with a wonderful reputation.  The nuns here will give you individual attention, there will be no distractions and you will graduate.”

 

The tears came fast and furious.  I cannot live in a convent with nuns, I protested, I am a protestant.  I will die here and I am only sixteen years old.  This cannot be happening.  My parents kept telling what a wonderful experience this was going to be, a wonderful adventure.  Jesus are you guys nuts, I thought to myself.  I was thinking that I would never speak to them again as long as I lived.  As of this moment, I was going to be emancipated from them as soon as I get a lawyer.  My life is over.  I’ve had one kiss and I forgot to open my lips, this must be hell.

Soon I was meeting the nuns and I was to call them Mother.  Well I think not.  I only have one mother, or at least I did until I arrived here.   These women are not my Mother so get over ladies; I’ll not be calling you Mother.  I was taken to top floor and we are now in the dormitory.  A nun guides me to my room.  Oh my dear God, a metal bed, a hook for closet and one small dresser and there are no walls.  Curtains divide the beds.  

Then I am taken to see the rest of the Convent, the chapel, the kitchen and dinning area and across the yard to the High School.  My father then walks me across the street to the local garage, which doubles as a corner grocery store.  He introduces me to the owner and tells me that I have a small charge account at this store for things that I might need.

Soon my parents are getting ready to leave and I cannot believe that I have to live here until June.  I go up to my curtained room and contemplate my life.  Finding nothing redeeming in that area, I open the curtain and peek out at the rest of the dorm.  Everywhere I look, I see religious statues and soon I hear footsteps and voices.  The other students have been to church and are now coming to meet me.

One girl, Nancy Clark from Summerside, is also protestant and I like her instantly.  Then I meet another girl I know from Charlottetown, Linda Egan, and I am thinking, well at least I am not totally alone.

The girls begin introducing me to the other boarders and I find, much to my dismay, that they are nice and they are extremely welcoming to me, the new girl.  We begin to share our stories and I think to myself, I just might make it here. 

Soon it is time for bed and I go into my minuscule space called a bedroom and try to sleep.  As I am drifting off, I hear the clicking of shoes on the wooden floors.  Then a light goes on and I see a shadowy figure in the next room through the curtain.  Oh bloody great; I am sleeping next to a nun.  She coughs, and wheezes up a storm and then I hear her turning the pages of a book, probably the bible I thought. If she farts, I’m going to die.  Every move she makes or any of the boarders make, I heard.  It was like a being at Y Camp without the fun.  Will this night ever end?

 

In the morning, we all march down to breakfast and I must admit that it was delicious but I was nervous about going next door to the High School.  All the day students were there along with the boarders.  It was a bit of a haze but there seemed to be some nice kids and a few boys that were somewhat cute, so it was not a total loss.

That night I met another girl, Gertrude, who was from Rustico and she had her own room.  I believe she had been sick and was now recuperating and returned to finish her grade twelve.  I thought she was wonderful and a few of us spent a lot of time in her room.  This would be come our refuge from the nuns.  The charge account at the store became a godsend and we stored our food in Gertrude’s room.

After a short period, I settled in at the Convent and even got used to the night sounds of snoring, wheezes, and coughs.  Nancy, my friend from Summerside was loved by all the students and as her friend, I was granted access into the inner sanctum of the group.  Days passed quickly and I was getting used to the nuns and the other students gave me lots of advice on how to keep on the good side of these women of the clothe. 

 

My parents advised me that I was stay at the Convent during most weekends to study.  What teenager studies on the weekend?  None that I know.  They were adamant about this so I had to stay in Miscouche.  The first weekend the nuns rented a movie, The Silver Chalis, for the boarders to watch.  Of course, it would be a religious movie but Paul Newman was in it so it would not be a complete waste of my time.  The nuns also had other activities for us to do, like cleaning the dorm, going to confession for the catholic girls and studying.  I knew one thing for sure; I would not be spending many weekends in Miscouche.  The next weekend I hitchhiked home and my parents threw a fit.  The fact that I hitched a ride home made them scared and the fact that I was not studying did not help either.  So we made a comprise, I could come home every second weekend.  Elton and Ruby Doucette were living in Summerside and I could come home with them, which was great.

This every second weekend turned out to work okay for me.  I was able to visit with the other boarders in their homes and I was beginning to like my life in Miscouche.  This had to be a clandestine affair, as I could never let my parents know that I was having a great time.  One weekend I went to Rustico with Gertrude and I was welcomed with great enthusiasm.  Her parents, bothers, and sisters were delightful and included me in every activity.  The kitchen was a huge room with a sofa, wooden stove, and wooden floors that beckons one to come in and enjoy the company.  Mrs. Arsenault was constantly cooking biscuits and other delightful culinary wonders that tempted the taste buds and there was music constantly playing in the background.  In the evenings, family and friends gathered around the pump organ in the parlor for singing.  Soon a fiddle began strumming and feet were tapping.  What a happy family.

Her older brother was also home for the weekend from Saint Dunstance and he had brought along a friend.  This friend was very easy on the eyes, he told great stories, and when he began to sing and I was smitten.  Yes, I liked this family in Rustico. 

Nancy asked me to spend weekends with her in Summerside and I enjoyed going to her home.  Her parents and brother were so nice to me and we had many great times.  My parents never knew about all my busy weekends and I never had to stay at the Convent on a Friday or Saturday night.  There was one terrible snowstorm that saw the Convent in complete darkness and we were shepherded out to various families in the community.  This turned out to be such a wonderful experience.  I stayed with a DesRoches family and they were so unassuming and gracious to this stranger.  I was received in this home as if I was family.  I was getting to know people that I otherwise would have never had the pleasure to know.  I was learning a little about the community of Miscouche and the people who lived there. 

The DesRoches family told me about the history of their community, about the rewards and the difficulties of farming.  At night, we sat around the fire and again wonderful stories about the people and their families were shared with this girl from the City.  The people did not watch much television as they were more interested in talking and singing and that storm weekend turned out to last well into the next week.  I secretly wished that I could stay there for an even longer extended stay. 

It took me a long time to realize that I was just being me, enjoying things that in the City, I would probably just ignore.  I was learning and my time was not constantly being used up by thinking about boys, clothes, make-up and where I was going on Friday Night.  This was Anne in a new and natural way, and I liked being able to just be me.  In fact, I rather liked who I was becoming. 

 

Of course there was a few times that, we were a little devilish and took advantage of our situation. There was the day when a few of use were in the dorm one afternoon and we decided we wanted to dress up in the nun’s outfits so we snuck into one nun’s bedroom and began dressing in her clothing.  When we were dressed, we pranced around the dorm saying our Hail Mary’s.  I hate to admit that I took the holy out of the holy water.  I emptied the holy water down the sink and replaced it with tap water.  Finally, after many years of yearning, I was holding real beads, said to blessed by the Pope himself.  Now that I was completely dressed from head to toe, I was disappointed I did not feel some holy presence.  Then I surmised that I did not feel the presence of the Lord because I had thrown out the holy water. 

When the year was up, I headed back home and was at the cottage when the paper came which would hold my fate.  The Guardian announced the names of those who had passed their Entrance Exams.  I was terrified to look but finally I saw my name and I was elated.  Finally, I would be admitted to Prince of Wales College in September. 

People often teased me about my private school experience but I would not have missed it for the world

YMCA

When I was eight I became a member of the Y and this red brick building became my sanctuary. We would go to the Y on Saturday mornings for a movie and then it was off to Johnny’s Mayfair and Tea-room for French fries and gravy. After our nutritious lunch it was back to the Y for bowling. The pin-boys would jump down and pick up the pins after each frame. Sometimes they came down when we still had a ball to throw and it became a game of cat and mouse. If you couldn’t hit a pin you might just wipe out a pin boy. We couldn’t wait until we were old enough to use the front door on Prince Street but for now we were relegated to the side door on Euston Street.

When we were older we walked to the Y after school for organized activities in the gym or to play board games. I made so many friends at the Charlottetown YMCA, many who are still my cronies. This wonderful institution’s doctrine espoused working with the total person in terms of body, mind, and spirit. The staff in the early fifties was a magnificent group of individuals who believed in the youth and as kids we were treated with kindness and more importantly, respect.

The first year I listened as the older kids talked about a mystical and enchanting placed known as Holland Cove Camp. I convinced my parents to allow me to attend. The site evokes very vivid and delightful memories. The camp motto: ‘the place of million memories’ is emblazoned in my consciousness. My minds eye transports me back in time. I see the little ferry that we had to board at the Charlottetown Wharf and it would sail us across the harbour to Rocky Point. Waiting for us at the dock would be the camp van (driven by one of the few fellows who worked at the camp, Millsy AKA David Mills, Jimmy Phillips, and/or Rossy AKA Jack Ross). They would load up the van with our sleeping gear and suitcases and they we would begin the trek to the camp.

When we turned into the camp the first thing one saw was

the Leader’s cabin and the Union Jack blowing in the breeze. As we continued past the cabin we came to the dining hall and tuck shop. Looking down a large slope there were six green cabins nestled amongst the trees. The fertile green grass blended well with the cabins. To the right of the cabins there was a wooded area with a narrow path that led to an opening. This was the campfire site and it is completed surrounded by trees. There are large smooth logs around the fire site for campers to sit on.

To the left of the cabins were the outhouses which were hidden by trees and brush. We had no indoor plumbing or lights in the cabins. Not having the luxury of lighting only enhanced the charm of this rugged place. There were five double bunk beds in each cabin, two at each end, and in the centre of the cabin was where the counselor and counselor in training (CIT’S) slept. Each bunk had its own tiny closet and the only light at night was that of a kerosene lantern along with a multitude of flashlights blinking through the night. The cabins were crudely erected wooden shacks, but to us they were our summer homes. Time spent with friends, swimming, crafts, stories, songs, and late night capers was such fun.

I remember those damn tick mattresses that we had to fill with straw. They were lumpy, damp, and musty but we learned to adjust. At the top of the hill in front on the dining hall stood a gigantic bell (AKA the Gong), that was struck at meal time, campfire, chapel, swim, and bed time. The campers were assigned a cabin and counselor and soon they were putting away their clothes and making their beds. Next the gong was rung and it was time to have a swim. Each activity was done by cabins. We lined up with our counselor’s and CIT’s in front of the dining hall and we would walk down to the shore with our cabin mates.

To reach the shore we would walk past all the cabins and then begin the descent to the shore. The path was downhill and through a densely wooded area. Year’s prior rocks had been embedded into the path and were used as steps when the path became slanted or uneven. In some places there were poles attached to trees to be used as rails and we could hold on when the path became too steep. These rails became extremely helpful when walking back up to the camp. Soon we would come to an opening in the trees and the smell of salt water filled the senses and the eye was treated to the alluring beige sand and azure water. The sand was silky and warm under foot. The shore extended out before us and flanking both sides were tall red cliffs with trees dotting their edges. Directly ahead was the endless water where we often watched ships sail into the mouth of the Charlottetown Harbour.

No one needed any prompting and soon all were off into the beautiful water, splashing and swimming out to the raft. Diving into the water, laughing, doing duck dives, hand stands. Yep, summer had officially begun. The water feels cool yet refreshing and soon our counselors are telling us it is time to head back to camp. Back in our cabins it is time to get out of our wet bathing suits and into dry clothing. Our towels and bathing suits are taken outside to dry. We often use the branches of the nearby trees as our clothesline. Modesty now becomes a distant memory as we have to dress and undress in such close quarters.

My first year at Holland Cove was terrific and my cabin mates were my friends, Carolyn Bell, Debbie Pletch, Glenys Hughes, Diane MacLellan, Andrea Duvar, Mary Phillips, and Cheryl Paquet. Betsy Boo Houston was our counselor and we adored her. This might have been my first camping experience however it would continue for years because of the leadership of Boo and Ruth.

The outhouses are now known as the Lats, short for Latrines. The Lats provide even less privacy as they are six hollers. The counselors and CIT’s have a two holler on the other side and there is only a plywood wall dividing the two. The wall does not go to the ceiling so there were many times a camper might get struck in the head with a flying roll of toilet paper.

Meal times in the dining hall are always entertaining not to mention very competitive. Each cabin would sit at their own table and after each meal it was time for a rousing singsong. The first year I attended camp Ruth Boswell was our Camp Director and many of the campers knew her from West Kent. Ruth was a superb director and singing was paramount. After the singing it was time to do the dishes. The rivalry will continue throughout the days, it is important to be the best cabin. After the evening meal it was time to head to the field behind the dining hall for a game of baseball. This was a time to get to know each other. There were campers from the city and others from the country however at Holland Cove there was no city limits. It was time to come together and as the sun begins to set, the gong sounds telling us it is time to prepare for the evening campfire. The first night the Counselors direct the events during the campfire. On succeeding nights, each cabin will be responsible and lead the activities at the campfire.

We would leave the ball field and scamper down the hills to our cabins. It was time to put on our pajamas, grab a flashlight and a blanket and head off to the campfire. Campers had to leave their inhibitions in their cabins if they were to enjoy the total camping experience. Every first time camper had to endure initiation and the more experienced campers told us many scary stories. Carolyn Bell and I were asked to come and stand near the fire. We were covered with ground sheets and blindfolds were tied across our eyes. Next we were each given a spoon for one hand and in the other we held a bowl. We were told to paint each other and so we began dipping our spoons in the bowl then trying to spread the substance over each other. Carolyn’s spoon reached my open mouth and I tasted strawberry jelly. By the time we finished we had the jelly in our hair, faces, feet and anywhere else that the ground sheet didn’t protect. We ran back to our cabin to clean ourselves however I tasted that jelly for days.

Most campers’ slept well due to the busy days and nights spent at Holland Cove. At 7:30 am the gong would ring and all campers were expected to jump out of the bunks and run to the top of the hill in front of the director’s cabin. This was the moment for the raising of the flag and singing the national anthem. When that was completed it time to rush back to the cabins and dress, wash, and beat it back up to the dining hall for breakfast. We were usually bare foot and the wet grass had turned our feet green and now we were colored coordinated with our cabins.

After a hardy breakfast there was more singing, laughter, and clean up. Some girls did dishes; others cleaned the cabins for inspection. The glass lanterns were cleaned, floors to be swept, beds make and clothes to be put away. After inspection there was little time for primping as there were other daily duties to be preformed. The chores to be completed were the pealing of vegetables, the cleaning off the sawdust from the large blocks of ice, sweeping of the dining hall, preparing the campfire site, and the worst job of all, the cleaning of the lats.

The gong would ring out and the girls would run up once again to the dining hall and take their places. We would walk past the tuck shop and off into the woods for morning chapel services. This was a unique space and I believed it had been kissed by angels and even the most mischievous campers talked in whispers as they proceeded down the tree lined path. We approached a small clearing in the forest where the outdoor place of worship had been constructed many years ago. There was a small wooden staging that was used as an alter and above the alter was a large wooden cross. The benches where we sat were logs that had been smoothed out over the years by so much use. A log railing completely surrounded the chapel and when sitting on the benches I could look up at the sky and watch the clouds drift lazily across the sun. Ladies Slippers grew nearby as well as many wild flowers and their sweet scent permeated the air. The harmonious voices raised in song are forever etched in my memory. The fragrance of wild flowers always brings me back to those days and I am reminded of happy days. Our church in the woods was not like any traditional church as the sky was our roof and our singing seemed to be just us and our God.

Crafts were a significant part of each day. We used plaster of Paris clay to make various masterpieces. We poured the clay into unique moulds and wait for them to dry. Then we would paint our priceless pieces of art and keep them hidden away until visitor’s day. I still have one mould of a cupid sitting on a half moon. The most popular craft was the braiding of long plastic strips which were made into ankle and wrist bracelets. We also weaved baskets and of course the boxes made with Popsicle sticks. These crafts brought out a lot of talent in some girls. Not me! These activities were not taken too seriously as it was the participation and interaction with the other girls was paramount.

Most counselors doubled as swimming instructors and before lunch it was time for swimming lessons. Again swimming was the goal however the task was always meant to be pleasurable. At the conclusion of each camp a Red Cross Instructor would come to Holland Cove to give swimming tests. There would be merit badges, pins, and certificates for the successful participants.

Doug Cudmore was the instructor the year I was being tested for my bronze medallion. I swam out to the raft and then I had to swim several laps. I had just begun when one of my bathing suit straps broke. I was in a panic but I continued doing the laps and holding up the bathing suit. At some unknown point Doug was to jump into the water and I was to rescue him. The moment he jumped into the water my I yelled and pushed him under the water and beat it towards shore. Once he found out what happened he was a great sport. A safety pin was located and I was ready to begin again. I had to start over so I probably did more laps than necessary. This time when Doug jumped into the water, I was able to do a rescue. That evening I received my award, however the teasing lasted for years.

After the lessons it was time for lunch. After eating it was rest period. This was when the campers often sun bathed, wrote letters, read and chatted. It the weather was nice, and it usually was, the girls would head back to the water for another swim. This time there were no lessons, just fun in the water. We would head back up to our cabins for a shower. This took a lot of grit and determination as there were no showers. We had a pump that only gave freezing cold water. At the rear of each cabin stood a wooden table which held a pitcher and large metal bowl. We would fill the jug with water, pour it into the bowl and dip our heads into the bowl. After a quick shampoo the remainder of water was emptied on the head as a rinse. This was impossible to complete with out the appropriate sound effects. Burr, this was a real torcher tests however this was a very important part of each girl’s day.

The campers spread out their blankets while their hair was draped in towels. The sun was our hair dryer. Brushes and combs appeared along with rollers and bobby pins. We would spend hours curling our hair and when we were older make up became a salient part of this production.

During the supper meal the girls appeared like new with lots of curls, make-up, and fresh clothing. They looked like they might have been going somewhere very special instead of preparing for a ball game and campfire. The camp was becoming a cheerful and tight-knit community. Leaders were established followers followed and clowns made laughter.

The massive fire flickers thought the trees and a few counselors go up to the dining hall to prepare hot chocolate for the girls before lights out. I recall sitting at the top of the hill one particular night and for an instant the world stood still as I listened to those precious voices singing the hymn How Great Thou Art. Tears filled my eyes as I thought, ‘my God perfect they sound’ and I watched as the stars twinkled in the sky. The only thing audible was their melodious voices and the water as it lapped upon the shore. The next song was Jacob’s Ladder and I secretly wished it would never end. This appeared to be a perfect place in time and for one short moment I was in perfect harmony with time and space. That memory is an s clear to me today as it was all those many, many years ago.

An exciting time at camp was the out of doors sleep over’s for the older campers. We would pack up our sleeping bags, ground sheets, flashlights as well as food and take it to the van. Then we would troop over hill and vale until we reached Marshmallow Cove. A bivouac would have to be built, firewood to be gathered, and holes dug for toilets. When all this was completed, it was time for a swim.

After the swim it was time to prepare supper. When the fire was blazing we cooked hot dogs on sticks, and other delightful culinary delights. With every cooked hot dog one was lost to the fire. We toasted marshmallows and told haunting ghost stories and then a rousing singsong would break forth. In the morning we were all damp, cold, as well as very hungry, it was time to cook breakfast. The favorite breakfast was angels on horseback. They were made with dough pulled over a large still stick and toasted over the fire. When the dough was cooked it was filled with jam and butter. To top off any meal we would split a banana down the middle and place a chocolate bar in the middle, close up and banana and wrap it in tin foil. This would be heated over the fire before eating this tasty dessert.

It was now time to clean up the campsite and take down the bivouac, pack up our garbage and stack up the sleeping gear neatly for the staff to come and take our things back to camp. We would begin our walk back to the camp, as we came into sight of the camp; we raised our voices loudly in song. No matter how tired we were it was imperative that all the other campers knew that we had returned.

Visitor’s day was very special and the campers were jumping with excited anticipation. They knew that their parents would soon be arriving. The camp had to be cleaned and all the crafts were brought out and put on display. Parents, grandparents, siblings, neighbors, friends, and the family pets all came to Holland Cove on this particular day. Soon the first cars began arriving and it was fun to see what goodies were brought to the campers. Home made fudge and brownies were sure to be a hit. The most popular treats were hidden in the cabin to be eaten covertly.

Camp stoves were lighted as the scent of cooking hamburgers and hot dogs filled the air. Everyone went to the beach for a swim. The boys from town arrived looking cool and could be found hanging around the tuck shop. When this day ended we were all just a little homesick. There would be the odd camper who might leave that day however that was a rare exception.

One evening Mr. Walter Hyndman came to our campfire and told us some of the history of this special place called Holland Cove. I believe I was a counselor at the time and I recall listening to his every word. He informed us about the ships of long ago that came to our Island carrying rum. This would have been during prohibition. Large barrels holding the rum were unloaded into smaller vessels and rowed to shore. The rum would then be put onto wagons and hauled away. Sometimes the barrels were hidden in nearby caves close to the shore.

The next morning we went walking in the vicinity of where they used to unload the rum. We came to a path that might have once been a road. We continued along road and were surprised to find a cave that had fallen in. We found many old things, such as a wagon wheel and our imaginations went wild with speculation.

There are so many remembrances of those happy and carefree days at Holland Cove. The pains it took Gayle Ramsay and me to learn how to smoke. This had to be another clandestine activity at the camp because smoking was strictly forbidden. We knew lots of girls who smoked and we wanted to look cool. We hated the taste and it made our heads dizzy but we persevered and finally we could smoke without coughing and spitting. It took a few days to learn to smoke and several years to give it up.

Gail Cameron became ill one year at camp she was very sick to her stomach and I thought maybe she needed to throw-up. I make her a potion of water and soap and she got sick all right. The poor kid had sun stroke and pneumonia. The dear girl was ailing enough without taking my home remedy. Gail is still my friend but only God knows why.

Since the first day of camp everyone was talking about a mysterious ghost who walked on the water every July. The new campers would hear little tidbits of the legend however the whole story was told one evening during campfire. The camp director told the girls that when the moon was full Lady Holland might appear on the water. She informed the campers that Captain Samuel Holland had been lost at sea many years ago and every year since that time his wife could be heard and seen looking for her husband. The director told the campers if she heard anything she would have the counselors ring the gong and take us to the beach to see if we could witness this miraculous event. Nothing much happened for a few days so the campers figured that they would never see this ghost.

One night at midnight the gong sounded and the girls nervously bounded up the hill. The campers were told to be very quiet because if Lady Holland heard us we would frighten her and she would disappear. The only people frightened that night were the girls. Everyone held hands and walked in silence toward the shore. Some giggled and a few were near tears but didn’t want the others to witness their fear.

The counselors whispered for everyone to sit down and be very still. Soon a faint voice could be heard, “Samuel, Samuel, where are you?” We could see a flicker of light coming near the high bank to the right of the beach. Someone whispered, “Look, it is her lantern.” Then, a figure appeared; a white form appeared to be floating along the top of the water. The lantern was swinging lightly as the voice became a little louder. Soon Lady Holland was disappearing behind the cliff on the left of the shore. It became very quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the crickets and frogs. The counselors gathered up the campers and whisked us back up to the camp. We were treated to hot chocolate in the dining hall and the girls were now true believer’s of Lady Holland. After all they had seen and heard her. She was a real ghost.

One year when someone was rowing the boat out across the water, Norma Duvar was wrapped in a sheet waving her lantern and calling for Samuel when she lost her balance. That night Lady Holland went in for an unexpected dip as did her lantern.

My first overnight was an excursion to Fort Amherst. There was no shelter as we slept out under the stars. One had to be careful when walking as the field was mined with cow paddies. We were sleeping when we awoke to the cries of Flora MacLeod.

“Wake up you guys, I’m going to be trampled to death.”

In the darkness it was hard to see what her problem was but as soon as some turned on a flashlight, we were dumbfounded. Flora was looking up at the belly of a huge work horse. She was still in her sleeping bag and the fact that the horse never stepped on her was a miracle. Someone rushed to her aid and slowly pulled her out from under the horse. As soon as she was safe the horse just ambled away.

The last night at camp it was impossible to get the girls to sleep. Threats were used but went unheeded. Toilet paper was wrapped around trees, the gong and anything else that was available. The gong went off almost every hour and laughter could be heard in every cabin. It didn’t pay to fall asleep because you would probably get a mouth full of toothpaste, fingers dipped in ice cold water, and the list goes on. Camp was over for another summer but the friends and lessons learned each year would go with the girls for a lifetime. These were certainly the best of times.

As youngsters, adolescents, and teenagers we were never at a loss for things to do. September until June our lives revolved around the YMCA. We were so fortunate to have a place to call our own. On Friday nights we had Junior and Senior Hi-Y, dances, and he practiced for the annual Y-Circus, as well as fashion shows, afternoon teas, basketball, bowling, sleigh rides and Christmas Eve Caroling.

The staff at the Y hired the most wonderful people and how lucky we were to have them as our role models. The most influential person at the local Y was Mr. John Evans. He cared deeply about young people and he was always available. He was treated with the greatest of respect. He had a serious side but it was his childlike qualities that made him so special. He was a tease, he loved to laugh and joke with all who passed through the Y doors. He related so well with the youth and they were able to turn to him for advice. He would always listen and he was never condescending. He was a father figure, a surrogate father, a favorite uncle, a teacher, and a friend all rolled into one person.

Everyone who spent time at the Y has a Mr. Evans story to tell. My favorite memory is when the Harlem Globe Trotters came to play at Prince of Wales College. There could not have been a player under 6’4” and Mr. Evans was approximately 5’ 5” and he was the referee. “How high?” This could be heard every time Mr. Evans ran down the court. The players picked him up and carried him under their arms, put him in the garbage can, pushed him through the hoops, and he just laughed and blew his whistle.

STANHOPE BEACH INN

I worked one summer at Stanhope Beach Inn for Inn Keepers Michelle and Fernando Vidal. Janet was working there along with some other girls from town. I was given a room with Leigh (Fid) Jamieson while Janet roomed with Jan Beasley. Sandra Ramsay was the babysitter for the Vidal’s boys and the Ballum sisters worked in the kitchen.

We were waitresses and along with serving the guests we were expected to do kitchen chores. When we were finished waiting on guests, we reset the tables for the next meal. Then we went into the kitchen to assist the kitchen staff. We cleaned fridges, helped the dishwashers, swept floors and a host of other long forgotten duties. The pay was one dollar a day plus tips.

The hours were long and it was very hard work but we had a lot of fun that summer. When the Vidal’s found themselves a waitress short, we encouraged them to hire Barbie MacDonald. Barb was new to waiting tables so we helped her learn the ropes. Her first duty was to server the Vidal’s and we told her not to be nervous. We had her so scared that her tray was shaking. When she placed the tomato juice in front of Mrs. Vidal, it spilled. Barb was mortified but we told her not to worry. The next day when she was to serve the Vidal’s once more, we took one of her shoes and placed it at the far side of the dining room. She waited on them with one shoe on and a white sock on the other foot. She spied her shoe after taking their order and I could tell Mrs. Vidal was on to us but her husband was oblivious to the whole scene.

When the breakfast meal was over we had really no down time as it was time to serve lunch. We finished the lunch around 2 and we would be off until dinner. This was time to wash our uniforms, run down to the beach for a swim, or just sit in the sun. The dinner meal plus other duties were usually completed by 8 and we were free until the next morning. Some mornings we had to be in the kitchen before six if guests wanted a box lunch to take deep sea fishing.

We had a curfew and no friends, especially boys, were allowed on the grounds after eleven. If Mr. Vidal saw cars near our quarters, he would come out and put a chase to them. One evening Liz and Shirl came out to visit Janet and me and sometime past eleven, Vidal rushed into our room holding a gun. Liz and Shirl almost had heart-failure and the rest of us nearly wet our pants. I don’t know if the gun was real however it put the fear of God in us for the rest of the summer. Our mothers thought Fernando put a whole new meaning on the word curfew. He assured everyone that he had our best interests in mind and that he was taking good care of his staff. Hmm.

The Raymond’s, who were Michelle’s parents, ran the Dalvay Hotel and we were often seconded to assist at special functions. At the Inn, we always served the same guests and we met some wonderful people. I had one family for several weeks, the Pitre family. Mr. Pitre was a wheelchair user however was as active as any other guest and loved to go deep sea fishing. If they were going out for the evening, I would baby-sit the children. When they left they gave me a cheque for $400.00. I was over the moon especially when I discovered my cheque for the whole summer was $72.00. I worked seventy three days and the day I had off, I didn’t get paid.

We were all saving money to buy new clothes for September when we would be attending Prince of Wales College.

PRINCE OF WALES COLLEGE

Going to PWC was an adventure, not too mention much more fun than high school. Some professor’s smoked pipes in the class rooms and we could take a coke to class. Of course studying again was not my greatest strength. Lets face it, some people are social and some are studious and some are both. I was just social.

We had to wear a one piece gym suit for physical education classes. There were red with bloomer type bottoms and we hated them. One day Janet and I told the Phys Ed teacher, Jack Proud that we forgot it was gym day. For some reason, he didn’t believe us and sent us home to get them. We left the gym and it took the rest of day walking home and then back to PWC. Jack was not impressed but we did wear the bloomers to the remaining classes.

I became a good card player at Montgomery Hall, especially the game of hearts. In fact I spent more time in Monty Hall then I did in the classroom. We would to Monty Hall for a cards, a smoke, coffee, and to listen to music. I was falling in love with college life.

One morning we decided to skip class and we were in the ladies locker room which was in the basement. We heard the janitor and Mr. Bennett, Principal, walking toward us. Jean Court and I jumped into the bathroom stalls and stood on the toilet seats while little Barbie MacDonald squeezed into one of the lockers. We had been smoking and the air was filled with cigarette stench. They walked knocked and called out, there wasn’t a sound. Mr. Bennett went directly to the locker where Barbie was and opened it. When he saw her he asked what she was doing and her reply:

“Just hanging around looking for my sneakers.” He told Barb that she would be spending extra time in the library as punishment.

They didn’t come into the bathroom area and finally we heard them leave. Jean was so nervous that one foot fell into the toilet. We knew that the next time we skipped, and there would be many times, we’d get off the college property.

Many students hung out at Larry’s however I preferred the Rendezvous Restaurant. They had the best French fries and gravy and there chocolate derby’s were awesome. The derby was made with a sugar donut topped with vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce poured over it. I think they decided to charge a minimum purchase for each table. So vanilla cokes and fries became a staple. If I could have received credits for the hours I spent at the Rend, I’d have my doctorate. Lucille AKA Lucy was the nicest server and all the students loved her. She had so much patience with us and her sense of humour was appreciated.

There were times we would go down the block and have a coke at The Old Spain. This was where the guys from SDU, (Saint Dunstance University) gathered and it was always nice to look at the new arrivals to the city. Many of the students came from other provinces as well as the United States. It was important for us to make them feel welcomed in their surroundings.

There were times when we would drive over to Southport to the Village Diner for a coke and to listen to the jukebox. We were even allowed to jive to the music however the Roll Away was the place to go if we wanted to dance. In the early years this dance hall had a rather dubious reputation and some parents refused to allow their kids to go. My father was no exception and I was told I’d be grounded for life if he caught me going there.

There were the Saturday afternoon sock hops and I had to go, father or not. They also had great dances on Friday and Saturday nights and this was the place to be. The hall was large with tables surrounding the floor and was placed along the walls; a large silver ball hung from the center of the ceiling and at the end of the floor was the stage. Most weekends there was a live band playing and our local boys were a favorite. When the Tremtones played, the place was packed. As you entered the dance floor, it was always the same, the girls sat at the tables on the left and the guys stood on the right. It was a long lonely walk across the floor for the guys to ask a girl to dance. As we sat we would watch the fellows walk over to the gals, and if he was a great dancer, we’d be hoping he would ask one of us. They had a few Sadie Hawkins dances and the girls were not shy in crossing the floor to get a chap to dance with. If you were asked for the last waltz it was a good indicator that you’d be asked to be walked home.

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