The outbreak of the Gulf War suddenly provoked this attack of nostalgia, and more. The current Iraq war did it again. In both cases, the result was the same — “Iraq and Honeymoons”. Honeymoons were (are?) an oval-shaped, chocolate-covered treat every Montreal kid of the 1920s bought and savoured whenever he/she had a penny (two for a cent!).
Where is the one-cent candy we used to buy in Montreal when I was a kid? What happened to Orange Crush, Ginger Beer in pressured stone bottles, steamed hot dogs, German doughnuts, Amos and Andy, the Jello radio show with Jack Benny?
Tell me how computers have made my life better. Since when does watching TV compare with going for a picnic in the Van Horne woods or pinching crab apples from Joyce Park or winning at smokies or having the king chestnut on the block?
I’m going through a terrible spell of something as I listen to today’s news. I find myself longing for the pleasures of my childhood that, I am sure, are not equalled or even approached by anything that today has to offer our youngsters.
How do I know that? Easy. I was there when my Mom and Dad agreed to buy me my first bike — it belonged to a Mr. Francis and was a size 16. That made it grown-up and nearly as good as the pony I never did get.
Being picked up at school in front of my classmates by Aunt Ethel and her McLaughlin Buick touring car (with Mom there, too, of course) was a thrill I shall never forget. A ride in a real car in those
days was rare. An expected ride to the country at St. Rose visiting the Muir’s in their cottage there was something else again. Nowadays, I suppose, a transatlantic flight for a child might be comparable if you stretch things a bit.
Where these days can a youngster taste my grandmother’s Chinese Chews or her buttered scones? And have you tried climbing on the back of an icewagon and sucking pieces of ice on a hot summer’s day?
And what about lolling on the couch of friends on a Saturday night, drinking ginger ale, eatin g chocolate cake and reading the funnies with the voices of Mom and Dad, Uncle Bill and Aunt Flossie drifting in from the dining-room where, as always on the weekend, they were playing bridge for pennies and solving all the problems of their world.
What were our troubles back in the 20s and early 30s? I worried a bit, I guess, about being bullied by Ralph Buddo on the way home from school — but that didn’t last as I became a football player of some note. I was more worried about the weather raining out our baseball game, or about Sandy’s old man threatening to tear down our homemade shack which we had built behind his house with such loving care and patience.
Do kids still build their own shacks nowadays? I sure hope so. And no girls allowed, right?
Have today’s pre-teenagers ever heard of corkwork? La That was the one “sport” where boys and girls did mix.
All you needed was an empty thread spool, four little nails 0 and lots of wool. Out the other end eventfully came an endless stream of rope-like braided stuff that really looked AU professional. No matter that we never did anything with. what we produced. It was the concentrated effort needed that really counted.
I suppose there are still snowball fights? But I wonder if they still go on all weekend? They were topped only by sleigh rides that, in turn, were only topped by the sweet brown bread and baked beans waiting for us at the end of the evening’s ride across the fields.
Putting on a play in a neighbour’s basement used to be lots of fun. Once again, here the sexes met. And that was dangerous ’cause it could lead to Spin the Bottle or some other such stupid game that girls always dream up.
I loved hockey played in clear nights on hard ice beneath the stars on the corner rink. Or just plain skating up and down and round and round forever. Boy, that made you feel good all over. And when I got home I probably walked on my skates across our wooden floors — or so my sister tells me now. For some reason, she thinks I was spoiled.
How about pea-shooters? Do they still exist? Dangerous they could be, without a doubt. But they sure gave one confidence to face the neighbourhood bullies. Sling-shots weren’t a bad substitute either.
I could go on and on as I take a trip down memory lane and think about the simple things as they were before life became so complicated by technology, bigger GNPs and larger deficits, both personal and national. No credit cards then. Only coppers, nickels, dimes and, once in a while, a quarter.
As I hear news flashes today about Iraq and Liberia, I wonder what went wrong? As I lift my sore arm to punch this out, I ponder why my arm wasn’t sore then after I pitched nine innings or more? And as I take an aspirin to ward off a headache, why isn’t my head still as Clear as a bell like it used to be? After all, I haven’t done anything today except watch the news.
Maybe that’s the trouble. If people could keep as busy as kids did in my day, there wouldn’t be time to get sick or bored or worse. If nations could do the same, I wonder whether there would be any more Iraqs, Liberias and Trinidads?
It may be a cliché to say we should get back to the simple things of life. But I for one much prefer thinking about them than about a world gone mad with ambition, the search for power and conquest.
Back then, we weren’t ambitious. We like our peace and ordinary pleasures. We didn’t have time to worry about what was happening on the either side of town, let alone in other parts of the world.
Our main problem was how to digest a licorice whip, two honeymoons and a chocolate malted before going home for supper. If Iraqi, Kuwaiti and Saudi children had only that same problem today, then American troops wouldn’t be landing near the Gulf and President Bush could be enjoying his New England vacation instead of worrying about peace and oil and all that grown-up stuff.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 19, No. 4 (2003) — Winter/Spring 2002/2003 // Hiver/Printemps 2002/2003, pp. 34–35. Read the rest of this issue →
