Camping in Maine

Camping in Maine.

It was in the summer of ‘62 that we had a reunion with our wonderful friends with whom we had spent those four  magical years in France. The parents decided it would be camping in Maine, in Kennebunk Port.

It was pretty exciting to see them again and to be in a camp ground with lots of activities for teenagers.  It didn’t take me long to single out this dark haired cutie pie.  If I wasn’t being grounded for something, I’d look forward to the sock hops they had where I could keep an eye on him.  I liked those feelings you got as a young teenager for a member of the opposite sex. It was called having a ‘crush’.

All went relatively well with my father, barring the groundings and control issues; well that is, until the water incident.

Karen and I had our respective duties.  With sibling rivalry at play, it wasn’t wise of my father to ask me to do one of her chores. I was incensed that I was being forced to cow tow to her.  I was to fetch the bucket of water over at the shower center which was a bit of a walk away.  This was much more difficult for me than for her, because I was so much frailer. I, very begrudgingly, complied. Was I mad.  I wouldn’t dare not get the pail of water, or worse yet, say no. But when I returned with the water, I did make the mistake of saying to my father in a reflex kind of way, ‘Here’s your damn water.’

I never cussed so this was a complete surprise to me.  Very appropriate under the circumstances, I smugly thought.  But my father didn’t think so.

He ordered me into the tent. Ah oh.  I was really going to get it now. These strappings were wearing thin for me and I could sense the end of them coming.  I just wasn’t going to go along with them any more.  I was fifteen. 

Within earshot of all of those great friends, he proceeded to beat me with his strap.  He asked me the question, where did I want it, on my hands or my bare bottom?  I said neither, that I was too old for this.  I don’t know if you can blame the drink or the challenge to his authority, but he proceeded to beat the crap out of me, leaving me with heavy welts on my back, arms and legs.

I think his friends were shocked but still made no move to help me. My Dad must have been humiliated to now know that they knew his disgusting secret. The next day when I went to the beach with my friends, they asked me how I got those marks.  I said I fell in the bushes, but hadn’t they heard everything too?

In retrospect I see that this was a dirty family secret that no one talked about. Up to this point, I thought every kid got the same treatment. It was bittersweet to see other fathers treat their daughters so lovingly.  I got a glimpse of what I missed.

The Capitol Theater

The Capitol Theater

Ottawa had the most beautiful theatre in the down town area.  It was right out of ‘Gone With the Wind’ with its magnificent winding staircase and chandeliers.  I remember lots of dark wood and red velvet.  And they wanted to tear it down.  My lack of experience  left me paralysed.  But I was raging inside.  How could they be so stupid?  I often looked back with more life behind me and I could see myself sitting on the steps of the theatre in front of the wrecking ball defying their decision.  I guess that was the beginning of the activist in me!  They tore it down.  But I was right in the long run, because years later, they regretted it.

High School, 1960-1964

High School 1960-1964

My parents found the social demands were too great at Avenue Road, so we moved to the West end of Ottawa to Rushton Road.  I finished elementary school at D.Roy Kennedy and it was there that I first met Art Beers, my high school sweetheart. 

The next three years my dad stayed at Headquarters downtown and we were able to do a three year stretch at one school, Woodroffe High.

It was a new school.  I remember getting lost in it several times and fighting tears of frustration figuring out how to get from class to class. 

My favourite part was the walk to school.  You had to pass through a forest and I found that so enchanting.  It must have reminded me of the forests of my childhood and the ravine in France.  I loved the smell of the ground, the sounds of the birds, the shade of the magnificent trees.

The inevitable happened of course.  Progress. I remember the day I walked to school and the forest was gone.  I had that helpless feeling again and an emptiness filled me.  Eventually houses, cars and pavement replaced the forest and the earth.

Chapter 5

Ottawa, Grammy, Shatsi and the kitten.

Ottawa

When we got to Ottawa, we stayed with my Dad’s father and mother, Herbie and Norah. At least the four of them did while I went to stay with my Dad’s brother, John and his wife Ginny. They all lived in the same neighbourhood on Revelstoke Drive. My uncle and aunt had 4 boys and boy did they have fun with a girl in the house. Jay ganged up on me the most.  They must have resented me because I got the bath first then they each had to take their turn. 

I remember one day, my aunt was doing the dishes and my uncle came up and gave her a hug and said, ”What are you doing the dishes for with a girl in the house?” I guess they just were used to boys who weren’t good for much, seemingly, they needed a girl to really get things done. I say this tongue in cheek of course.

They had a large, old, grumpy German Shepard, Zucha.  It growled at me and that experience instilled a life long fear of German Shepherds. 

Fortunately my parents found a house shortly after on Avenue Road near the famous Rideau canal. I went to Hopewell Public School for grade 7. That was the first school I was to teach in years later. 

My cousin, Susan Law, lived around the corner and I just loved her.  She was Karen’s age and at that time she was more friends with her than with me. But she was always one of my favourite people. We were to become closer later in our lives.

Grammy

That first summer back home my dear grandmother, Norah, my Dad’s mom, passed away at the cottage.  Even though I didn’t see much of her, she was so special to me.  I remember she liked picking the strawberries around the cottage and she was the one who made all those smocked dresses for Karen and me when we were little girls.  She was a beautiful person.  Her cigarettes must have gotten the better of her and she died of a heart attack.  It was as though she was waiting for us to get back home; she was just hanging on. She couldn’t have been 70.

Shatsi, the hamster and the kitten

That first school year at our new home I was in grade seven at Hopewell P.S. I had a pet hamster named ‘Shatsi’. I felt an inordinate affection for this little animal. Maybe he gave me a place for loving.  He would escape from time to time and we’d find him and put him back in his cage.  Once he got into my father’s map drawer and chewed them to pieces. This was one of the few times Dad was upset at an animal. He was an ardent animal lover, preferring them to people.

I don’t remember how, but somehow we got a kitten.  It was really cute and I loved it too.  My mother couldn’t stand to have a cat and a ‘mouse’ in the house… I guess she thought the cat would eat the hamster and she told me I had to get rid of one or the other.

I came home from school one day and they were both gone. She made up some story but I knew in a foreboding way that she had taken them to the humane society.  I was heart broken, but I had no way to express it. It was a done deal.  I buried my tears and moved on.

Back to Canada

Back to Canada, 1959

We were due for another posting in 1959 and this time we were headed for Ottawa. I was eleven when we crossed the ocean again, and again on the same boat, The Homeric. 

I was older now, eleven, so I had a better understanding of the trip and I knew we would see land before I got old.  I still enjoyed the mints outside the dining room.  I liked that we were with friends that we had spent the last four years with.  Time was moving on and I would likely not see them again because we would no longer live on air force bases.  At least on the base, you had the feeling you belonged to a huge family who shared similar experiences. We were different from the civilian kids who never moved and didn’t understand the world in the same way.

The voyage back to Canada was full of events.  They really went out of their way to entertain the kids with parties and activities. 

There was one traumatic moment that quelled my soul.  

I vividly remember the day in the cabin that my Dad hit me across the head so hard that I went flying into the wall. It was a familiar pain of my brain hitting my skull at 500 miles an hour as if my skull moved, but my brain didn’t.  I felt I was going to pass out, but I was just dazed.  My tongue ran across my front teeth. The jagged chip felt huge. When I told him he broke my tooth, he became more infuriated. But he stopped hitting me. I wondered why it never occurred to me to play dead.  That would have wakened him up.

Chapter 4