By Marina Gambin Placentia, NL When I was a child in Branch, "under the bed" was a very significant part of our house. That of course, was at a time when we didn't have closets, plastic storage containers or anything of that nature. All kind of stuff was packed in cardboard boxes and shoved in as far as possible because beds were usually set up next to a wall. I don't know why I loved foraging under beds but I always thought I might find something important or different. That was me, a child with an overactive imagination. The first time I ventured under my parents' bed, I was probably about five years old and what a scary incident that turned out to be. The cat scratched me, the feathers from the mattress nearly smothered me and my woolen sweater got caught in a metal lath that was hanging down. I had to scream and scream until someone came and rescued me. In our bungalow on the Hill, there weren't a whole lot of places when we played hide and seek indoors. My sisters and I would try to be innovative when hiding under a bed. One time, Jean unwrapped a roll of wallpaper and wound it around her body. Our mother wasn't too happy later on when she needed to spruce up her walls. Yes, a roll of wallpaper was another item you might find tucked away under a bed. Of course, if you were in trouble or trying to avoid getting whacked by a sibling, under the bed was the first place you headed. More than once, I got poked out of there with a broom or a mop. When my brother Reggie was trying to get back at someone under there, he would jump, jump, jump making the old springs squeak and the mattress sag. After I learned the truth about good St. Nick, I always went searching under beds before Christmas. If I happened to find a box with Simpson-Sears or Eaton's on it, I peeked and then spent agonizing weeks trying not to blab. One time I found a really nice pair of green earmuffs and I dreamed about skating on Red Cove Pond wearing them. However, when Christmas came, that gift was for Jean, not me. That was a let down I caused myself by snooping under the bed. Once when I was scrounging around under there, I found a big medical book that my mother had hidden. The mere fact that it had been concealed made me very curious and I investigated. One chapter involved the facts of life complete with big coloured pictures of the human body. To a twelve-year-old of the 50s, an age when nobody told you anything, such illustrations were pure fodder for the inquiring mind. Another page describing the incidentals of baby-making accompanied by diagrams caused me to crawl under that bed more than once and scrutinize all the details. Given that I only understood half of it often left me more confused than informed. Oh yeah, it was a major hiding place, under the bed. As rebellious teenagers, we hid our Export A cigarettes and explicit magazines that we weren't allowed to read. You might find anything in there from a bottle of liquor to old love letters, from a box of flannelette diapers to a photo album. Of course, the chamber pot was in there. But times have changed and things are different today because all I find under my bed are dust bunnies and small change.