Yesterday Once More

Last night I dreamed I walked through Atherley again. I seemed to be about nine years old, just leaving the little red brick schoolhouse that was SS Number 5, Mara, making the leisurely walk home at the end of the day with no deadlines, and no bell to say,  "You're late" like in the morning. Off to my left I could see the hill where we tobogganed in the winter and on the other side, the fields that sometimes flooded and froze so we could skate. As I passed Pete’s gas station, I thought that Atherley might have been called a village of brothers. Here the Bowers brothers, Pete and Bob, ran their service station and variety store.

The road I walked was called "the cut", which at that time was a recently built paved road cut across the farmlands to shorten the earlier route which went from the highway, over Morrison's Hill to the 11th concession (now Courtland Street and Balsam Road). The cut was a lonely stretch with few houses in sight till I approached the Atherley Arms where I prudently crossed over to the far side to avoid whatever might spill out of there.

Just beyond the hotel, I passed the BA service station where the Morris brothers, Pat and Mike, not only sold gas but also had a small hexagonal kiosk where they sold ice cream and other treats.

Next on my right was the roadway leading off to the railway and the charming tiny station known as "Atherley Junction". One of my childhood wishes was to some day have a ride on The Peanut which was a little two-car train,( hence the name), that journeyed  back and forth between Orillia and Atherley several times a day. Perhaps it went further, maybe to Longford or Washago or even down to Brechin. I never knew. I just wanted to get on the Peanut and cross the Narrows on the railroad bridge and into town.   It never happened.

I walked on toward the bridge, passing an unusual house built just at the eastern end of the bridge. It seemed like a normal house with the usual rooms but underneath, where the basement should be, was a boathouse with slips where the boats could come right in under the house.

The bridge was always a place of fascination and apprehension. I longed to be one of the brave kids who ran up and over the concrete arches that separated the road from the sidewalk.  I crossed the bridge in fear and trembling, always walking at the very centre of the sidewalk, totally convinced that one day a section of the metal grillwork would rust away and I’d fall into the dangerous current of the Narrows. I was even fearful of one day being in the wrong spot and hearing the bell, like the alarm clock of a giant, warning all oncoming traffic that a boat was approaching. I was never one of the cocky ones who stayed on the moving part of the bridge as that piercing bell kept ringing and the gates came gracefully down, and all the cars stopped. Then a fierce grinding sound would start and the centre section of the bridge would rise a few inches and swing slowly to the left, opening a passage for the boat to pass through. It might be a solitary sailboat or a flotilla of boats or even one of the sleek Fairmiles boats that were built and launched in Orillia and sent off through the Narrows to carry out their wartime duties.

Once the boats were on their way, the bridge swung majestically back and the growling sound started again as the bridge settled back into its place in line with the highway.

The gates went up and the bell stopped its incessant ringing. The cars moved off on their way with drivers no doubt fuming and fretting at the delay. But watercraft have the right of way.

On the town side of the bridge I passed a number of stately old red brick houses bearing wide, shady verandahs and names of historical significance like Gill, Gaudaur and Whitney.

Here there is another pair of brothers, the Harris boys. Mansell runs the boat livery and he’s the one you see running to the railway to open and close the railroad bridge when the main bridge opens.  His brother Ozzie runs the little two-pump Esso station and inside his tiny shop, has a small grill where he cooks hot dogs (5 cents) and sells Coke in its distinctive, flaring-skirted bottle, also 5 cents! Best of all are the generous ice cream cones Ozzie serves at the same price. Was it only my imagination or did they always seem to taste vaguely of the gas he had just pumped or the oily rag he used to check a dipstick?

In my dream I keep walking past my own little white house next to Ozzie’s and on towards town. I pass the mysterious wooded cloisters of Invermara, hoping to catch a glimpse of the nuns in their black habits.

Further on there is another mysterious secluded area with a sign that says “The Hermitage”.  Does a hermit really live there?   Not far away is the home of Stephen Leacock. Could the Hermit be Mr. Leacock?   A child’s mind wonders.

My dream fades, as dreams do….

Today I drove through Atherley again. There are houses everywhere! The schoolhouse is no longer a school, but now a place of worship. Pete’s gas station has disappeared. The toboggan hill is now a paved road with houses mushrooming alongside. The skating fields are now  “Approved for Development”.  The cut is no longer a lonely stretch of road. It is now a busy highway with traffic lights and signs beckoning all comers to visit the Casino. The Atherley Arms looks much the same except for some rather lurid pictures painted on the windows, a neon sign that has been vandalized and another, smaller sign with “Atherly” misspelled.

Across the road is the busiest place in sight --- one of Orillia’s many Tim’s.  With parking lots full and drive-thru full, the cars are lined up around the corner causing traffic congestion and driver indigestion as the swing bridge never did on its busiest day.

Pat and Mike’s kiosk is long gone, as is the train station and even the swing bridge with its little boathouse house. Today’s bridge is high and wide with no more arches to tempt brave youngsters, with a solid concrete wall to keep you safe from falling into the water but nothing at all to protect you from the cars whizzing past.

The red brick homes have vanished and been replaced with a row of businesses with names of commercial significance like Subway and Hock Shop. Even our little white house has been replaced by one of the Self- Serve Pay-with-a-Wave-of Plastic gas pumps.

Nothing remains of the wooded seclusion of Invermara. There is no forest at the end of Forest Avenue, no hint of hermit dwelling there. The once private estate of the reclusive gentleman author is now a public tourist attraction. The place I visited in my dream has vanished as with the turn of a kaleidoscope. What was once Leacock’s little Sunshine Town of Mariposa has burgeoned and moved eastward, changing the landscape and altering everything in its path like a glacier that has shifted into high gear.

Leap Year 2012

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.

These lines are as familiar to most of us as the A,B,C’s. There are a number of versions of the rest of the poem, such as:

Of twenty eight there is but one,
All the rest have thirty-one.

or

Save February with twenty- eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.

or 

Leap year coming once in four.
February then has one day more.

    Why do we have leap years? The Gregorian calendar now serves as the standard calendar throughout the world. The Gregorian calendar is closely based on the Julian calendar, introduced by Julius Caesar in 45 BC. A leap year occurs every four years to help synchronize the calendar year with the solar year by adding an ‘intercalary’ day, which is the day we insert and “leap” one day forward. Thus we will add an extra day, February 29th, making 2012 a leap year.

    How many people do you know who were born on 29 Feb? I can only think of two, other than myself, plus the boy, Freddie, who was born a few hours before me in Orillia, Ontario on February 29th, 1932. Being first, he received the lion’s share of the gifts donated by local businesses to celebrate the event. These gifts were coupons for free milk, baby food (Pablum) and baby clothes. Disposable diapers had not yet been invented!

    I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth but, thanks to one of the merchants, I did receive a silver baby cup to hold in my hand. It even had my name engraved on it. That was the one lasting gift and I still have it among my treasures.

    Being a leap year baby was something of a hardship to a small child. Birthday parties were few and far between. I do remember the parties at four, eight, twelve and sixteen. Then my childhood was over and birthdays became less important. What a long time it seemed between birthdays then and what a short time it seems as  I grow older!

    People ask a lot of questions when they find out that you are a leap year baby. What day do you celebrate in non-leap years? To which I answer, whatever day is most convenient---the last day of February or the day after the twenty-eighth or not at all!  How old are you really? (and they come up with the wildest guesses!) They don’t know whether to divide or multiply by four (which would make me 320 years old this year!)  Move over, Methuselah!

I don’t know whether or not the merchants of today offer gifts to leap year babies. I do know that the best gift for me is spending time with my family. I hope it will be a day to remember. And Happy Birthday, Freddie, wherever you are!

Tim Horton Xmas 2009

There was a young man from Nepeen
The busiest fellow we've seen
He gets into tasks great and small,
He's building Melrose Taj Mahal.
Michael says he can cut a fine brick
(But he'll sit by your bed if you're sick.)
If your icons are changed'
And all rearranged
You can tell Jimmie Watchorn has been !


He plays a great role at the Church
"Need a hand?" it's for Jimmie they search
He'll count the collection
Or supervise 'sound'
Convene the convention
Take poinsettias 'round
He'd hang decorations
Or sweep the front steps
And never leave folks in the lurch !


He's known by a number of names
You can call him Jim, Jimmie or James.
He'll answer your call
But there's no doubt at all
That 'Bompa's his favourite of names !




Theres one charact'ristic of Jim's
His car's closely related to him
They can carry five people
Or take a great load,
They can pass any vehicle
Seen on the road.
With radio popping
Go miles without stopping
But they just cannot pass any Tim's !

Shaking the hand of a Pope

On a sunny September afternoon in 1987, Ramara residents all along the sandy shores of Lake Simcoe sat, one or two at a time or in groups invited for a Pope-spotting party, all eagerly watching Strawberry Island, waiting for the arrival of Pope John Paul II.

The Pope had returned to Canada to fulfill a promise to visit the Northwest Territories. His scheduled visit to Fort Simpson had been cancelled during his 1984 Canadian tour because the airport was socked in.

As he had done on his first visit and again when he returned in 2002, The Pope stayed at Strawberry Island, which was then a spiritual retreat run by the Toronto-based religious order the Basilian Fathers.

Throughout the afternoon, helicopters hustled back and forth like harassed stage managers getting ready for opening night. Each time a chopper approached the island, folks wondered if this might be “the one,” but time passed and one after another the small aircraft came and went.

At last, a whole squadron approached in a tightly knit flight pattern, surrounding one helicopter just slightly larger and of a different colour. There was no doubt that His Holiness had arrived.

For my husband and me, that was all we saw of the Pope’s visit to Ramara, but it was as if our township was reciprocating the hospitality that had been extended to us two years earlier in Rome.

On Jan. 18, 1985, we had the honour of attending a private papal audience with the faculty and members of the NATO Defense College and their families. The college trains military and civilian members of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization in preparation for their work with the organization. As part of its international diplomacy, the Vatican maintains a relationship with the college, sometimes inviting members to sit in a reserved section in St. Peter’s Square for one of the weekly public audience sessions. From time to time, a private audience is granted to the group.

This occasion was organized with all the precision and protocol of a military exercise or a royal visit. As instructed, we were driven to a specified entrance in St. Peter’s Square where two Swiss Guards in their colourful uniforms stood guard. A third Guardsman led us up a steep staircase to a small but beautifully decorated auditorium. It was about the size of a country church, just right for our group of about 70.

The military members wore the uniform of their respective countries. The women were instructed to wear “sober attire.” Most chose black or dark colours and all the women wore hats with the exception of the ladies of Spain, who arrived bare-headed, and one French woman wore severe black from her toes to her elaborate lace mantilla. An English woman appeared very regal in a long cape of royal purple with a hat of the same rich shade on her snow-white hair.

When everyone was in place, a door opened in the wooden paneling and the Pope entered with his entourage, one of whom spoke words of welcome to NATO and to the college. The college commandant, Lieutenant General Franz J. S. Uhle-Wettler, responded with a short speech of appreciation for the invitation. He also presented a gift book for the Vatican Library in commemoration of the event.

After these introductions, the Pope, slipping seamlessly from one language to another, delivered a short homily and then, stepping away from the lectern, rubbed his hands together and said with a grin, “Now for the pictures.”

With cameras recording every moment, the German commandant and the three deputy commandants, one Dane, one Italian and one Canadian, and their wives, were presented to His Holiness. His comment, on seeing the Canadian uniform, was, “Ah, Canada! I liked Canada.” This was just four months after his 1984 visit.

After the formal presentations, the Pope moved among the rest of the members, seeking out the few children who were there. He laid his hands on their heads and gave them his blessing. The mother of two little boys remarked later, “I may never wash their hair again!”

Too soon the appointed hour came to an end. The hidden door opened and the papal party took its leave.

Among those invited that day, there were many, like ourselves, who were not Roman Catholic. In fact, given the diverse composition of NATO, it is likely that some were not even of the Christian faith. Yet there is no doubt that every person in the group was touched by the aura of that devout and gentle man. He stood before us clad in heavenly white garments but he kept his feet on the ground in a pair of brown oxfords.

It was an honour and a privilege to shake the hand of a Pope. Perhaps one day we will be able to say we shook the hand of a saint.

This article was originally published in the July/August 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.

On land or at sea, happy Mother’s and Father’s Day

We are in the last few weeks of the academic year, when young students count off the days remaining until “no more pencils, no more books,” and nothing but weeks of lazy, hazy summer days in the offing. May and June have always been the best months of school.

They are also the months our society has chosen in which to “honour thy father and thy mother” on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. The greeting card industry, the florists and even the companies that make men’s ties are all going into high gear at this time of year. We are urged to take our parents out for a meal or at least give them a phone call to express our appreciation of their love and caring. After the card is sent or the phone call is made, we feel we’ve done all that’s necessary. But do we ever think back to the ordinary things parents do to make family life easy and fun?

Think back to family vacations and what made those days of summer so great. Was it camping, with the special smells of canvas and campfire smoke? Was it the family cottage where you went back year after year and found things just the same as last year, like the special feather you hid away on a closet shelf, or last year’s too-small bathing suit waiting for this year’s first swim?

Here in Ramara there are campgrounds and cottages galore where families can enjoy their summer fun. As we watch those families, it’s easy to see that although it’s a change of pace, there is still plenty of work to be done. It’s the task of the parents to see that the car is ready, the pantry is well stocked with groceries for those never-ending meals and snacks, the wet, sandy bathing suits are picked up and hung on the line and there is always a pile of firewood chopped and ready for those pleasant evening bonfires.

It’s all part of the joy of getting away from it all, but sometimes, if they are really honest, fathers might admit that it’s rather nice to get back to the routine of work after a spell of roughing it. And more than one mother has been heard to remark that she felt like kissing the washer and dryer and dishwasher when she returned from a vacation.

How wonderful it would be if every parent could have the opportunity to be a kid for a while, and relive the carefree days of childhood when every need is taken care of.

For parents of a certain age, with grown children and their cottaging days behind them, that carefree experience is now achieved on the water, with a cruise-ship holiday.

For a few days, every task is done, every need fulfilled. When you leave your stateroom, someone comes in to tidy and clean it. There’s no shopping or meal planning. Whenever anyone talks about a cruise, the two words one hears most often are “food” and “pampering.”

The food is plentiful and available around the clock, everything from exotic foreign dishes to familiar fare like omelettes, roast beef or a simple bowl of oatmeal. If it’s windy and rough, you can stay in bed and they’ll bring you their “high-seas” menu of clear beef bouillon, dry crackers and clear tea.

There’s no risk of boredom, with a seemingly endless list of activities to choose from. Or you can just relax on deck chairs and see the sea, enjoying cold drinks and snacks served by cheerful deck stewards.

So whether this year’s vacation is a cruise or simply a few days at the lake, may your family enjoy the holiday, and have a Happy Mother’s and Father’s Day together.

This article was originally published in the May/June 2011 issue of the Ramara Chronicle.