I got to thinking the other day about many events in my early years – some mundane and others slightly mundane.  None of these events were earth shaking or of great historic interest, but they were part of a young farm boy’s life.  Our farm/market garden was located in part of what is now the community of Pump Hill.  By being referred to as “dirt farmers” we also enjoyed the experience of being “dirt poor”.  We had many friends who were in the same monetary class as ourselves, so it wasn’t a big deal.  

Anyway, let’s proceed with my Vignette.  Occasionally I would experience the excitement of going to the big city of Calgary for an overnight with two of my cousins. The two instances which I will relate occurred in the late 1930’s when I was eight or nine years of age.  Cousin Stan Holmes was six months younger than me and resided with his parents, Aunt Lily (my father’s sister) and Uncle Edgar, on 13th Avenue and 5th Street S.E. in Victoria Park.  Their home was located a “stone’s throw” from the southern edge of Stampede Park.  On two or three Calgary Stampedes I was invited to stay overnight and next day enjoy this great event with my cousin. Entry to the grounds was accomplished by Stan prying open one of the wooden slats in the Stampede fence and we would then wiggle through the opening and enjoy the wonders of the Midway.  Especially exciting was our sifting through the sawdust (which was spread over the grounds) in the hopes of finding a stray penny, nickel or dime – we never did experience the thrill of finding a quarter.  An added luster to my visit was the lack of farm chores and the exciting presence of indoor toilet facilities – it certainly beat that outdoor “two-holer” back home.

Another cousin was Roy Holmes and a year younger than me.  Roy resided with his parents, Art and Janet Holmes, in Tuxedo Park at 125 – 31st Avenue N.E. just east off of Centre Street.   Art was an older brother of the aforementioned Stan Holmes, so that would make Roy my second cousin.
Close by to Roy’s home and on the corner of 32nd Avenue and 1st Street N.E. was a general store which sold an incredible drink.  The first taste of it made me an addict for the rest of my life – chocolate milk.  Even though our Jersey cow was named Brownie, she belied her name by producing only white milk, and no way was my father going to buy that “city stuff”. I was tall for my age and skinny while Roy was shorter but very wiry.  I was nervous around Roy’s city playmates, and by sensing this, they occasionally threatened to “punch me out”.  This never happened because Roy would challenge the bullies, and they quickly backed away from this little “buzz saw”.  It’s not because I was a coward, it was because I didn’t know how many city kids would “jump me”.  On our country school grounds any fights were “one on one” and monitored by other students.  Roy lived next door to a popular park named fittingly, Tuxedo Park, which contained what seemed to me to be a multitude of conveniences i.e extensive playground equipment, baseball diamonds, skating and hockey rinks in winter and other athletic facilities.  Small wonder he was such a good athlete. That amazing park remains in place to this day. Roy passed away some years ago and Stan in September, 2009.  They were not only cousins to me, but also good friends.  I miss them!

Let us now fast forward to 1945 when I was in Grade 9 at Milton Williams School which was located a few hundred feet east of Elbow Drive S.W. and on what is now Glenmore Trail S.W.  Sadly this school no longer exists. I have fond memories of two girls in Grade 9 and one boy in Grade 8.  The girls were Esther Goodfellow and Winnie Morgan, and the boy was Allan (Al) Stiansen.  Esther was thin and wiry, a bit of a “tomboy” and could handle herself in any situation.  Winnie was a very sweet, gentle girl and everyone’s friend.  Al was a good athlete as well as being tall and well-liked.  One day Esther and Al got into a heated argument and neither would back down from their opinions.  In those days the manly sport of boxing was quite popular so our school was equipped with boxing gloves and couple of punching bags.  Boxing matches were supervised by the school principal, Mr. Floen.  Esther challenged Al to an unsupervised boxing match, and the winner would also be winner of the argument.  There’s no way Al would have risked a match with this firebrand, so he had to think quickly.  Drawing himself up to his full height he gravely intoned “Esther, I am a gentleman, and never in my life, have I or will I, hit a lady”.  Everyone present declared him chivalrous and extremely wise.

Esther and Winnie both lived in the community of Kingsland, which in those days comprised Avenues 67, 68 and 69 being located between Elbow Drive and Macleod Trail S.W.  This area was still fairly rural in the early 1940’s, and the Goodfellow family had assembled three or four large lots where they raised pigs and poultry on 69th Avenue.  Winnie’s family didn’t have such a huge spread and their home was located on one large lot on 68th Avenue.   I enjoyed our telephone visits as Winnie, (who has resided in Fountain Valley, California for many years) recalled the “water well caper” with her best friend, Esther.  The well in question was dug to provide water for their “livestock”.  It sat apart from the well that supplied water to the Goodfellow residence, and as the water table was very high in that area, there was no problem drilling this additional well.  The well consisted of a cribbed cellar about six feet in depth with the wooden surface area being about five feet by five feet.  A hinged trap door on the top completed the ensemble.  Water entered the structure by gravity flow to a certain height and was hauled out by a bucket on a pulley through the trap door.  One day Esther and Winnie were exploring the intricacies of the structure when Esther dropped her mitten down the well.  No problem!  Esther would climb into the bucket and Winnie would use the pulley to lower Esther into the well and then pull her to surface upon mitten retrieval.  Going down was no problem and Esther was able to grab her mitten.  HOWEVER, Winnie, not being built like a weight lifter, was unable to hoist Esther back up again. Esther, of the “short fuse” went ballistic, and I think Winnie learned a whole new vocabulary.  Help, however, was within calling distance and a distraught Esther was brought to the surface with the aid of her mother, Mrs. Goodfellow.

Some of  these memories are a “drop in the bucket” to the many memories even these stories precipitate.  Both Al and Esther have passed on now, and   I was privileged to be an honourary pallbearer at Esther’s funeral, and deliver the eulogy at Al’s funeral.  They will always be my friends!


Acknowlegments: Margaret Holmes, Winnie Robbins (nee Morgan)