More and More of the Past Disappears

To Blog or not to Blog? That is a good question. Is it more noble to be rude on someone else's space or to retire to that dusty corner in the attic, where all the the family archives go.

It's like that Christmas cake you get and not eat ,so you pass it on to someone else. And a few years later it magically appears back in your keeping.

When you get older and it comes to us all. You start to think about your mortality and what will happen when it's your turn to go. This happen's after you lose your parents or close friend's and you inadvertently open a box or old tin full of family photos that you having no clue as to who they are or where they were taken.

It's sad each generation that passes, we lose so much. Not just in the lack of really skilled craftsman. Eg. The Cathedrals, there are no skilled people who would take several generations or centuries to build something; it is totally unheard of today. Its the reason these beautiful buildings exist today. Not some knock-up that last for 20 or so years. We are so busy, that everything has to be done now or yesterday.

I remember vaguely trying to be interested in the stories both my Mother and my Grandmother told me about the photo's and their lives. Instead I day dreamed of going out playing with my friends or watching the Telly. So now that I am much older, the family oral tradition's are getting to be very important to me. As many of you have reasoned out by now that I am the Mermaid's sire.

So if my blog turns out to be boring and full of ante dotes, it's because I do not want these stories to be lost forever when its my time to go. With MM over in the UK and me here in Nova Scotia, it feels good to blog to each other. I kind, of get the feeling of how she is doing and know when to call and when not too. I miss her writing, if things haven't changed for a few days as then I start to worry whether she is OK.

Now if only someone could help me figure out how to post the picture from my desktop to the blog. I keep getting post URL , try and get nothing. I can get the photo in the text of the post but want it up on the comments page. The master must become the student.

So if any of you have the time to teach this old dog some tricks of the information age. MM and I worked at it for a long time to no avail. Perhaps I need to change something in the tools section?

Help and Thank you

Tire Swing and Cigarettes-Life in Stephenville NFLD

We lived on Maxwell Street in StephenVille, NFLD. in the mid -to late 50's. In those days there was only about 30 miles of paved road in the whole province. Newfoundland had only just entered Canada as Great Britain got rid of her poor cousin.

It was a small and dingy 2 bedroom, kitchen and living room combination. It had a shared bathroom with the front unit. My dad put in the bath tub and the indoor plumbing as the place didn't even have running water when we moved in.

The roof leaked and the window sills let cold air in. The only thing that lived in the house before us I think were the roaches and mice. It was the 2nd house on the right side of the road and we lived next door to the Gallant family.

One of my best friends was Jackie Gallant who lived in the back unit while his grandfather lived in the front. Jackie was one of 7 or 8 kids in the family , I do not remember if he was the oldest or youngest. As it was about 50 years ago, when I first met him. I looked over the fence and he called me some name, I jumped over the fence and pounded him some good. We became best of mates.
Jackie's family were RC and went to the Catholic School on the main Street. While I went around the corner to the regular school.

We had a large dog named Toby, he was part Great Dane and part German Shepard. So he was rather large and lots of teeth and mean but liked kid's. We used to give him Dog Cookies, "Milk Bones" I think. As they were in different colours. My Mom and Dad figured Toby ate these rather fast and bought him a lot of boxes of these things. He was around 120 lbs. So he did eat a lot of food.

One morning, early around 6 a.m., Mom was by the door and heard children's voices outside in the front Hall. We had just let Toby out and put out a bowl of food (Gravy Train) and a bowl of milk Bones. She peered out the door and saw Jackie and his siblings outside eating the Dog's Cookies. She heard Jackie say to his brothers and sisters. " Mrs. Girard is real kind to us as she leaves these great cookies out each morning for us to eat and take to school. Mom really likes the green ones and I prefers the black ones." So the dog just lay ed there; while the neighbourhood kids filled their pockets and mouths with the dog's breakfast. She never stopped buying the cookies and the Gallant children always had cookies in the morning for school.

I was 8 years old when my parents bless them, bought me 2 cartons of "Buckingham Cigarettes" for my B'day. It might have been two packages; it could have been two boxes for all I know. They were trying to get me to stop smoking. I had to smoke that brand and I couldn't smoke their "Players" and I had to pay for my own.

I smoked for almost 30 plus years and was up to almost 4 packs a day when I quit. I was the envy of the Gang and I was the only kid in school that had a note from his Mother that gave me permission to smoke. In those days they were the worst and the strongest cigs. you could buy and cost 38 cents a package. I used to sell them for 5 cents each to the kids at school so I always had cigarettes and was the leader of the local gang, thanks to Mom and Dad.

Think of it an eight year old who could smoke in front of his parents and behind their backs and had a note at the Sweetlands Corner Store giving me permission to buy only "Buckingham's". Every time the school took the smokes from me, Mom would call them and I get them back with a promise not to smoke on school property or sell them to the kids on the premises. So I waited off the school grounds or went to the RC School where I wasn't a student and peddled my cigarettes.

Now, for the real reason for the story. The Tire Swing. Dad put up a tire swing in our back yard or side yard in an old maple tree. The fence divided the property between the Gallants and our house. As I mentioned earlier Jackie's, Grandfather lived in the front and didn't talk to his son who lived in the back. The local kids used to hang out at our place and play on the tire swing.

Jackie's grandfather always complained to Dad about the tree that it cast a shadow on his home. On night we heard an almighty crash and thought it was thunder so Dad went back to bed. He was snapped on home brew anyways as was per normal for him.

We woke up next morning and the entire tree was missing , stump and all; just a large hole in the ground and the tire swing and rope were left on the ground. The fence was broken down and the yard was all torn up.

In Mr. Gallant seniors yard was the tree all cut up into firewood. Dad was going to call the Mounties but as he had a "Still" in the garage and "Home Brew" in the baby's crib in my room on the go. I am the only child by the way.

They did some strange things to hide the illegal booze from the RCMP in those days. Dad, decided that bootlegging was more important than getting busted.

About a week later Jackie's dad and my father got together over a few drinks and stole the wood from the old man , we had enough fuel for the winter. Life was weird on Maxwell Street, but never a dull moment.