playing hockey on the canal or Martindale Pond, out past Gary (Frenchie) and Eileen Laba's farm, in the winter riding our bikes and packs about 15 miles to the scout camp – Wetaskawin – affectionately known as “Camp Wet Your Skin” where we would stay for weeks, usually with John Hitchison who later became a helicopter pilot and officer in the US Army. Once, after astute study of his scout manual, Roger dug a cold pit to store hamburger. When cooked, the hamburger tasted great, but obviously the pit was not deep enough for the 25 Celsius days of summer. He was violently sick for hours – his first experience with food poisoning.
Refrigerators were a rare luxury well into the 1950’s, oil heat was unusual and natural gas was unheard of. Johnson’s Ice and Coal delivered both. In the autumn the winter load of coal would arrive down a chute into the basement coal bin and mothers would complain of dust for days. Blocks of ice would be delivered year-round for the highly inefficient ice boxes of the period. During winter the milk boxes or cubby-holes opening into the kitchen with a second small door opening to the outside could double as cool boxes. Every kid in town loved it when the cream on the top of the bottles of whole milk would freeze, push up the lid and afford them a treat – frozen cream - when they brought in the milk. A lot of mothers wondered what had happened to their cream. McMahon’s was the local dairy just up the street, with a few cows there and others further out in the country. Horse drawn carts delivered locally produced milk and bread well into the 1950’s. It was always a huge deal to be allowed to “drive” the carts, although as we learned later when we were old enough to “drive” the whole route, each horse knew the route by heart and if we tried to turn them the wrong way they just ignored us. Sam, Sam the Bakerman ran the town bakery and the horse cart – we used to ask for “stailies” hoping to get some treats, an activity that mortified my mother who worried that the neighbours would think we were never fed.
Horses periodically provided useful droppings for the kitchen gardens that seemed to be in every backyard. You felt fortunate if your house got the deposit.
Rowing was a major sport, much bigger than football, baseball or even hockey. Port Dalhousie is the home of the Royal Canadian Henley Regatta, and host to many national and international rowing events. The annual “Henley” would flood the town with young guys, many of whom were billeted in homes. By the 1960’s women’s rowing was also strong.
The rowing club headquarters used to be adjacent to the downtown and the Legion, but this meant complications in major events since shells for future races would be rowing up the course while races were coming down. By taking over Read’s Island, a unique and uninhabited island which was for many kids an island in the Mississippi where we could be Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, Blackbeard or whoever we chose to be, and filling in the remnants of old towpaths, the rowing club was able to establish a base that is at least 25 times larger and has the added benefit of being about the half-way mark in the course.
The downtown dates to the canal era and boasted 3 hotels with segregated beer parlours when Roger was a kid delivering newspapers to them. Well into the 1960’s Ontario beer parlour had two sections – a Ladies and Escorts and a Men’s Only sections. Coming from a temperance family it was a learning experience for Roger every time he delivered papers to the hotels and to the Legion, a very active place 5-10 years after the end of WW II.
Although only a small town of about 1300 when Roger was 9, Remembrance Day always involved a parade to the Cenotaph. Veterans of the Boer War, WW I, and WWII would always parade with scouts, cubs, girl guides, CGIT, and other organizations.
Born during WW II and remembering the parade of backfiring 1930 cars on VE day, having veterans as neighbours and a Boer War veteran around the corner meant that Roger’s generation had a second-hand but very real experience of war. Some lost parents; other parents were wounded; Roger’s Sea Scout leader, Jack Seymour, had been a Chief Petty Officer in the Royal Navy – WW II and its aftermath were major influences on this generation. Some reacted by becoming involved in an army, airforce or sea cadet corp in their high school; in some high schools it was compulsory for all males.
Port Dalhousie had some veterans whose lives were shattered by war. “Shorty” comes to mind. He was a WW I veteran who would be seen every night after the hotel beer parlours closed at about 10 PM, walking up the center of Main Street in the street car tracks, muttering to himself as he rolled home. Eventually we learned that, as a young man, really a boy, he had seen his best friend killed by a sniper some 35 years earlier.
Roger’s kindergarten teacher, Miss Rough, had been a missionary in China, whose mission had been overrun by the Japanese. She had spent 5 years as a POW – so she too was a veteran when she came to teach in this building on Main St. (now a private home with a magnificent view over 12 mile creek.
The town had a bank – the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce. The manager lived in a bank owned house down the street from us and the assistant manager/teller lived above the bank.
It also boasted a jail built about 1845.
Of course there was a post office (now a pizza parlour) where residents picked up their mail from their private locked box or from General Delivery every day.
Red’s Barber Shop (now a candy store) on Front Street facing the canal and later Gus Holman’s on Main Street was the site for many boys first haircut and the locale for lots of men’s discussions about politics, duck hunting, local gossip – any topic that came to mind – Red or Gus could hold forth on it.
Two restaurants sat side-by-side on Front Street. Blair's, The Dominion Restaurant and Pop's. On the corner, across the street, was Mom's Snack Bar.
Two confectionaries and sometimes three served the sweet teeth of the town. Dickinson's on Main Street (Mrs. Thompson's) and for years Parkinson’s right across the road. Later closer too Roger's home there were Hagen's and Rennie's. All of these were family owned and run.
Further up the street past the public school and St. John’s Anglican Church was Buchanan’s or “Buckie’s”. Being equidistant between St. John’s and St. Andrew’s United Church it was often a gathering place for kids after church. My friend Roger Johnson, having done his duty as an altar boy at St. John’s would magically appear there about the time I was getting out of St. Andrew’s after an hour of Sunday School and an hour of church. In fact for many people it was a bit scandalous that “Buckie’s”, or any store would be open on a Sunday in 1950’s Ontario.
Refrigerators were a rare luxury well into the 1950’s, oil heat was unusual and natural gas was unheard of. Johnson’s Ice and Coal delivered both. In the autumn the winter load of coal would arrive down a chute into the basement coal bin and mothers would complain of dust for days. Blocks of ice would be delivered year-round for the highly inefficient ice boxes of the period. During winter the milk boxes or cubby-holes opening into the kitchen with a second small door opening to the outside could double as cool boxes. Every kid in town loved it when the cream on the top of the bottles of whole milk would freeze, push up the lid and afford them a treat – frozen cream - when they brought in the milk. A lot of mothers wondered what had happened to their cream. McMahon’s was the local dairy just up the street, with a few cows there and others further out in the country. Horse drawn carts delivered locally produced milk and bread well into the 1950’s. It was always a huge deal to be allowed to “drive” the carts, although as we learned later when we were old enough to “drive” the whole route, each horse knew the route by heart and if we tried to turn them the wrong way they just ignored us. Sam, Sam the Bakerman ran the town bakery and the horse cart – we used to ask for “stailies” hoping to get some treats, an activity that mortified my mother who worried that the neighbours would think we were never fed.
Horses periodically provided useful droppings for the kitchen gardens that seemed to be in every backyard. You felt fortunate if your house got the deposit.
Rowing was a major sport, much bigger than football, baseball or even hockey. Port Dalhousie is the home of the Royal Canadian Henley Regatta, and host to many national and international rowing events. The annual “Henley” would flood the town with young guys, many of whom were billeted in homes. By the 1960’s women’s rowing was also strong.
The rowing club headquarters used to be adjacent to the downtown and the Legion, but this meant complications in major events since shells for future races would be rowing up the course while races were coming down. By taking over Read’s Island, a unique and uninhabited island which was for many kids an island in the Mississippi where we could be Tom Sawyer, Huck Finn, Blackbeard or whoever we chose to be, and filling in the remnants of old towpaths, the rowing club was able to establish a base that is at least 25 times larger and has the added benefit of being about the half-way mark in the course.
The downtown dates to the canal era and boasted 3 hotels with segregated beer parlours when Roger was a kid delivering newspapers to them. Well into the 1960’s Ontario beer parlour had two sections – a Ladies and Escorts and a Men’s Only sections. Coming from a temperance family it was a learning experience for Roger every time he delivered papers to the hotels and to the Legion, a very active place 5-10 years after the end of WW II.
Although only a small town of about 1300 when Roger was 9, Remembrance Day always involved a parade to the Cenotaph. Veterans of the Boer War, WW I, and WWII would always parade with scouts, cubs, girl guides, CGIT, and other organizations.
Born during WW II and remembering the parade of backfiring 1930 cars on VE day, having veterans as neighbours and a Boer War veteran around the corner meant that Roger’s generation had a second-hand but very real experience of war. Some lost parents; other parents were wounded; Roger’s Sea Scout leader, Jack Seymour, had been a Chief Petty Officer in the Royal Navy – WW II and its aftermath were major influences on this generation. Some reacted by becoming involved in an army, airforce or sea cadet corp in their high school; in some high schools it was compulsory for all males.
Port Dalhousie had some veterans whose lives were shattered by war. “Shorty” comes to mind. He was a WW I veteran who would be seen every night after the hotel beer parlours closed at about 10 PM, walking up the center of Main Street in the street car tracks, muttering to himself as he rolled home. Eventually we learned that, as a young man, really a boy, he had seen his best friend killed by a sniper some 35 years earlier.
Roger’s kindergarten teacher, Miss Rough, had been a missionary in China, whose mission had been overrun by the Japanese. She had spent 5 years as a POW – so she too was a veteran when she came to teach in this building on Main St. (now a private home with a magnificent view over 12 mile creek.
The town had a bank – the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce. The manager lived in a bank owned house down the street from us and the assistant manager/teller lived above the bank.
It also boasted a jail built about 1845.
Of course there was a post office (now a pizza parlour) where residents picked up their mail from their private locked box or from General Delivery every day.
Red’s Barber Shop (now a candy store) on Front Street facing the canal and later Gus Holman’s on Main Street was the site for many boys first haircut and the locale for lots of men’s discussions about politics, duck hunting, local gossip – any topic that came to mind – Red or Gus could hold forth on it.
Two restaurants sat side-by-side on Front Street. Blair's, The Dominion Restaurant and Pop's. On the corner, across the street, was Mom's Snack Bar.
Two confectionaries and sometimes three served the sweet teeth of the town. Dickinson's on Main Street (Mrs. Thompson's) and for years Parkinson’s right across the road. Later closer too Roger's home there were Hagen's and Rennie's. All of these were family owned and run.
Further up the street past the public school and St. John’s Anglican Church was Buchanan’s or “Buckie’s”. Being equidistant between St. John’s and St. Andrew’s United Church it was often a gathering place for kids after church. My friend Roger Johnson, having done his duty as an altar boy at St. John’s would magically appear there about the time I was getting out of St. Andrew’s after an hour of Sunday School and an hour of church. In fact for many people it was a bit scandalous that “Buckie’s”, or any store would be open on a Sunday in 1950’s Ontario.
