HARRISON STREET BLUES - PART ONE

(This is the first article I ever wrote - several decades ago. It deals with some of the memories of my teen-age years. When it appeared in the paper, I received numerous phone calls from various people saying how much they had enjoyed my story and was I going to write more? That encouraged me to continue writing.  The article is rather lengthy by blog standards, so I'll split it into sections, for the pleasure of today's readers! Hope you enjoy it...)

For the last year or so, I have had this yearning to return to the house on Harrison Street, Victoria BC, where I lived as a teen-ager 45 years ago.

I could picture in my mind the cosy entrance hall and heavily varnished curving stairs with fancy carved bannister leading up to my bedroom.  I remember the flowered wallpaper my father and I painstakingly pasted and applied to my bedroom walls and the odd-shaped walk-in closets.

Then there was the enormous bathroom which nowadays would be a decorator's delight, but to us was just a bathroom.  Off the entrance hall the small front room contained a tiled fireplace which fired many a romantic evening.

I think the room I remember best was the dining room which was spacious yet warm with its dark varnished wainscotting and accompanying plate rack encircling the room. This room with its potbellied stove, complete with mica window revealing flickering flames, holds many memories. I think back to the card games and homework at the big table and the lesson in hair cutting from my dad.  I still cut his hair and he is now 94.

There was a swinging door to the pantry which contained all the household supplies and boasted a sink.  Another swinging door led from the pantry into the big kitchen.  I can still see my mother standing at the old wood stove, stirring scrambled eggs, while to one side the kettle steamed comfortingly and continuously.  

In those days, moms were moms. Not too many that I came in contact with were as much concerned with perms, hair coloring or weight watching as they were with where the next meal was coming from.

Memories flood back.  The Saturday and Sunday mornings I slept in and awoke to the steady comforting whirr of the now old-fashioned pushmower as a neighbor lovingly tended his lawn. 

As a result of the Depression years, my older brother Les taught himself to make candy and peddled it door to door.  I recall one time when Les had just put some lovely creamy fudge on the back porch to cool.  My other brother Ken decided to 'test' it and burned the tip of his nose in the process.

Once, my dad set a trap for a neighborhood boy who had taken to 'borrowing' dad's bicycle in order to complete his paper route. Twice dad's bike had disappeared and then been returned by the stealthy intruder.  Dad strung a line, complete with tin cans, across the entrance to our garage. Very early in the morning there was a great clatter and dad sprang from his bed.  The would-be borrower fled and we were never bothered by him again.

Dad was greatly relieved, as his bike was his mode of transportation to and from work where he was employed by McLennan, McFeely and Prior (commonly known as Mc&Mc's), a popular hardware store located at that time on Government Street, opposite the present Century Inn.  He was in the parts department in the basement and was so well known and knowledgeable that he was affectionately referred to as 'Pop'.

Also employed at this firm was a young boy by the name of Robin Justice.  Fellow employees and all Victorians were shocked to hear of the brutal murder of Robin's sister, Molly, who was head seamstress at the Government Street General Warehouse store.  Molly was only 15 years of age and was killed by knife wounds on her way home from work one night.  Her boy was found on the Canadian National right-of-way near Vernon Avenue in Saanich.  Her murderer was never identified.

I remember that while attending Central Junior high school I was instructed to write an essay on a 'character'.  I chose old Bill Nye who was well known by all Victorians.  He had a dirty, stringy beard and his pants were held up with the aid of a piece of rope.  He used to wander the downtown streets and often shopped at the old Safeway store, or Chinese vegetable store, which were both located on Fort Street opposite the present location of the Dutch Bakery.

I recall working away on this essay while sitting at our big dining room table in my favorite room with the fire crackling in the old heater.  I must have run into difficulties as I asked my mother for some help which she willingly provided.  I proudly presented my completed essay to my adored English Teacher, Rudyard Kipling (yes, this was really his name).  It didn't take him long to spot my mother's British influence in my masterpiece.  I had innocently inserted the phrase 'green grocer' in describing the Chinese vegetable store Bill Nye entered on Fort Street.

The principal of Central Junior at that time was Miss Olive Heritage who was ahead of her time, being the only female principal in the school district.  She was an imposing figure, tall, good-looking and always elegantly dressed.  She was an excellent principal and well-liked.

I recall walking along Fernwood Road, wearing my sloppy-Joe sweater, saddle shoes and bobby socks.