Just seventeen when I came to Toronto. Growing up in a small community – Hickman’s Harbour on Random Island. The community is so much different now. No cars, no cell phones, no hydro, no computers, no TV, battery operated radios; cows, sheep and horses roamed the gravel roads. No locks on the doors – come on in for a mug up and a tea biscuit or a piece of lassie loaf.
Everything was done manually – cutting and spreading hay, bringing water from the well, cutting wood. We all had our chores. Had to fill the water barrel once a day, fill the wood box. Everybody had a vegetable garden. Scrubbing clothes on a scrubbing board, pinned on the clothesline. On a very few had a battery-operated phone. One copper wire going to Clarenville. My father’s number was: one long, one short, one long. Who had a phone could listen in to your conversation. My father had a wind changer on top of the barn hooked up to a 6 volt battery.
Two room school with a potbelly woodstove in each room. Each student was to take turns bringing wood. A large blackboard was on the wall. We had our own slate and chalk. The teacher would put the questions on the board and we would put our answers on our slate and the teacher would correct. Then our slate would be cleaned for the next subjects.
Twice in a term, the school inspector would come from St. John’s. He would bring a can of Coco malt and Gerald S. Doyle cod live oil. We would all have a cup of Coco malt and we could take the oil home.
We had two churches, the Salvation Army and the United Church. The United church had a bell up in the steeple with a rope coming down to the porch. You’d pull on the rope and the bell would swing from side to side. It would ring out come to church for fifteen minutes, same for the evening service.
After my father came home from the First World War he put his hands to many things to make a living – building schooners, making fish barrels – he had his own saw mill. He had a passenger boat and would take passengers to Clarenville to go on the train. He also delivered and picked up the mail there. Every Wednesday as mail day, and I went with him. I would take the morning off from school and we would pick up and deliver to three communities on the route.
Christmas was an exciting time. After we went to bed our parents would decorate the tree. Our stockings were not hung by the chimney with care, but dad’s knitted socks were filled – one apple, one orange, a box of Cracker Jacks, one toy from Eaton’s and 5 cents at the bottom. I remember getting a pair of skates you’d lace on your boots. We would mummer up and knock on doors (Any mummers in tonight?) They’d have to guess who we were. Then we’d get home made Christmas cake and a glass of Purity syrup. Some good. It would last until Old Christmas Day – January 6th. That night, my father would tell us to go out to the barn and listen to the animals pray (no way).
Mother’s Day was a very emotional day. There would a program. If your mother was passed away, you’d put a white rose on the Bible. If she was living, you’d pin a red rose on her bosom.
Bonfire night, or Guy Fawkes night was exciting. Cutting trees all day for a big fire at night in the centre of the potato garden.
If a mother could not breast feed her child, Carnation milk was the menu. I believe it was three parts Carnation milk to five parts warm water with a little sugar. Not in a fancy bottle. The label on the can was different than today, it show a smiling cow. At the bottom of the label it read ‘from contented cows.’
This is just a glimpse of growing up in a small community. I am now 90 and still remember the good old days.

James Thistle
Toronto, ON