and Grampy were well matched.
Later, I’d lie on the Grampy-
shaped kitchen couch, my
favourite place on Earth. Poring
silently over old copies of the
Family Herald and Weekly Star,
I could distinguish the voices of
my grandparents and the aunts
and uncles who still lived at
home.
Nanny was busy rescuing
tempting molasses cookies from
the gleaming black and chrome
woodstove. I savoured the aroma
of freshly baked cookies, and
the murmur of voices rising and
falling—I was content.
At mealtimes, we ate in the
dining room. Nanny scurried
here and there like a fussy bird,
never alighting anywhere until
Grampy would scold, “Sit
down, woman.”
“Oh, hold your horses,
Mister,” she would retort.
Across the street
from our grandparents’
home were a couple of
old buildings convert-
ed to apartments that
had once been a part
of the proud Acacia
Villa school founded in
July 1852 as a private
school. Originally a
boys’ school, it began
welcoming girls in
1905 and closed its
doors in 1920. Even-
tually, these buildings
were demolished,
and a cairn now
marks the place
where the school
once stood.
Our grandparents’ lovely
farmhouse had been one of the
school’s residences, apparently
housing staff and some students.
The house was subsequently
sold to Grampy’s parents and
they presented it to Nanny and
Grampy as a wedding gift.
The blue-grey house seemed
enormous to us. Six bedrooms
graced the upstairs; the walls
were papered with pretty pastel
flowers. Each bedroom had its
own commode set, a pitcher,
basin and potty.
During late summer, when the
nights were cool and the parlor
stove still not lit, no warmth
would steal through the grates in
the bedroom floors. We’d snug-
gle into bed, warm and satisfied
despite our cold little noses.
The sounds in the country
were different to our city-dulled
ears; the train as it whistled
along the shore, a branch tapping
against the window, and the un-dulating tide in the Minas Basin
that lulled us to sleep.
The farm seemed vast to our
childhood eyes. Apple trees pop-
ulated the orchard with a sprin-
kling of cherry, peach and plum
trees. Fresh garden vegetables,
as well as cultivated raspberries
and strawberries, were in abun-
dance. Much to my surprise, I
realized in my 20s that the farm
was less than three acres.Childhood Delights
Two big attractions for us were
Charlie the horse and Daisy the
cow. Grampy would often milk
Daisy in the pasture. We thought
Grampy slightly wicked when
he would point Daisy’s “you
know whats” in our direction
and we’d experience a mouthful
of rich warm milk. “Don’t tell
your grandmother,” he would
say. What Nanny didn’t know
wouldn’t hurt her.
We didn’t venture very far
on our own. Nanny didn’t trust
everyone, but we’d go to the
corner store for the mail or a few
groceries. On sunny days, Nanny
and our mother would take us
down the hill to the beach. As
evening drew near we’d some-
times visit Miss Curtis, who in-
variably wore a kerchief covering
her head. My sister Ruby was
sure Miss Curtis was bald. Upon
request, we would faithfully sing
“Jesus Loves Me” in our high
treble voices. Miss Curtis was a
gracious lady. She’d applaud and
reward us with little cakes and
cookies. We would only take one
as we were raised to be polite,
even though we were longing for
more.
One day, we experienced an
adventurous departure from our
usual haunts. Following is an
excerpt from a diary I kept.Left: Donna gets a ride on
Charlie with Uncle Gerald’s help.
Above: Grampy gives Ruby and
Dale a taste of fresh milk!55