Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

VERY EARLY YEARS

This chapter contains some incidents which took place when I was still a very young child, and were omitted by Clifford in his write-up of those times during which we were very much together.

I was born on March 27, 1901 in my grandmother Park's house. What was most significant to her was that I was born on her birthday. On this date she was 65 years of age, so I have no recollection of my grandmother as being anything but an old woman.

Since I was born on her birthday, grandma was invited to give me a name. She chose to name me after Thomas Alva Edison who was, at that time, becoming famous as an inventor. She gave me the name Edison but my parents didn't like it well enough to use it as my first name. Rather they called me Wilford, being careful to spell it that way to make it closer to the spelling of Clifford, and at the same time definitely not like Sir Wilfrid Laurier who was Premier of Canada at that time, and a leader of the liberal element in politics, whereas my father was a staunch conservative.

My grandmother, however, would never call me Wilford, but always addressed me as Edison. She always pronounced it with a long "e" and I never learned what was the correct pronunciation until I entered high school. Under the circumstances it is not surprising that I was her favorite grandchild.

One of my earliest memories is of tin pans of milk standing in the pantry in grandmother's house. After standing overnight there was thick cream on the top which was skimmed off with a large tin scoop with holes in it, through which the milk would run but the cream would not. Of course there was no mechanical cream separator in grandma's household and this was the only way to collect cream for churning. When enough cream was collected to make butter it was churned in a churn with a dasher which was operated up and down by hand. Since there was no refrigeration in grandmother's day the butter was always made from sour cream. Many a time I have sat and watched her squeezing the buttermilk out of the clotted butter, in a large wooden bowl with a wooden paddle and after salting it, forming it into large rolls of butter.

My grandmother had a treadle-operated sewing machine, which I spent many pleasant hours playing with. The foot-plate was of metal with small holes in it which was large enough to accommodate both feet of an adult operator. The foot-plate was mounted on an axle in its middle. It provided power by the operator alternately tipping the feet so that pressure on the ball of the feet followed by pressure on the heels kept the foot plate moving. A wooden shaft from the edge of the foot-plate passed to a short crank on the side of a large fly-wheel which would spin beautifully while I pumped the pedal. Of course nothing happened to the sewing machine mechanism because, all of the time I had anything to do with it, the sewing machine head was packed away in its recess, and the round leather belt from it to the fly-wheel was so slack that no power was transmitted to it.

Another mechanical hand-operated machine in grandma's house which intrigued me was a machine for peeling apples. It was attached near the end of a narrow board upon which the operator sat to hold it steady. The operator turned a small crank with the right hand, which was attached to a circular cogwheel with the cogs on its circumference on the side of the wheel away from the crank. The axle of the cog-wheel extended to the left where it terminated in a four pronged instrument on which the apple was spitted at its stem end, when the machine's peeler was automatically positioned well out of the way. The peeler consisted of a sharp knife fixed on the end of a curved spring-pressured shaft which, when the crank was turned and the apple spinning, came down slowly onto the blossom end of the apple and moved slowly over the spinning apple until it had covered the whole surface and lifted off again, at the stem end of the apple. The knife was attached to the shaft with a guard on the end so that a slot about 3/4 of an inch wide was created. During the peeling of each apple a continuous strip of apple peeling came through the slot so that the collecting pail beneath the machine contained many strips of apple peelings about three feet long. What fun I had with those long strips of apple peeling, sometimes even eating them without their breaking.

Grandma had a high-backed rocking chair which she kept near the wood-fueled cooking-range in the kitchen. One day I was standing up in her rocking chair, with my back to the stove, having a glorious time rocking briskly in the rocking chair, while hanging onto the back of the chair to maintain my standing position. Suddenly I rocked so hard that I went over backwards taking the rocker with me. Of course the back of my head struck the iron edge of the stove and cut a wound about 3/4 of an inch long all the way through my scalp. It bled profusely and I still carry the scar on the back of my head.

In grandma's large living room over the large dining table, in the center of the room, was a beautiful lamp which hung from the ceiling. It had a large porcelain shade on it which was decorated in interesting flower-like colors. It also had a metallic perforated gold-colored rim which helped to support the porcelain lamp shade. The lamp was suspended by a counter-weighted contraption which allowed the lamp to be raised or lowered by simply pulling it down or pushing it up. It was so well balanced that it would stay in any position one wished to put it. It was, of course, a kerosene lamp, but it was both beautiful and efficient and a marvel to a small child.

In grandfather's house near the head of the narrow stairway in the attic was a small mysterious room which had no light in it. It was frightening to me because it was so dark in there, and hanging from the ceiling was a collection of smoked and sugar-cured hams. It served well its intended purpose but to me it was a place to be avoided.

Grandma Park was very religious. She read scarcely anything except her bible, and her songs were always hymns. She liked to sing and I learned to like many of the hymns she sang. She had a favorite farewell goodbye message which she frequently used when leaving friends or relatives. It was the words, "Meet me in heaven". Obviously she believed in the life hereafter and expected to meet and know people there.

Many of my early childhood memories are associated with grandfather's farm animals. I remember so well the strutting gobbler, with his beautiful tail unfurled and showing off for his adoring females. I was impressed with the size of the goose

eggs, so clean and white, much larger than hen's eggs and longer in shape. The turkey eggs looked huge to me, with their brown spots on them.

I was somewhat afraid of the flock's gander. He like to hiss at me and chase me, although he never actually attacked me.

Grandfather's flock of sheep were mild mannered and tolerant of us children. The ram, however, although not vicious, used to take pleasure in pushing me over and doing it again whenever I stood around among them.

I remember one time Clifford and I had a luxurious time lying in the warm straw in the sow's pen under the barn. When we eventually tired of it and went into the house and told mother about it, she was horrified and immediately set about ridding us of the fleas we had collected.

I remember the time mother had quite a time with all of us sick at once with scarlet fever. Fortunately we all recovered with no serious effects. While on the subject of illness I should mention mother's favorite medicine for anything. It was a tiny vial of a black concoction called medicumentum. She always served a few drops to us on a spoonful of sugar. I do not recall that it ever did us any good nor did it ever do us any harm.

I remember that when a small child Clifford and I were always around together. Some of our friends thought I was slow in learning to talk. The trouble was not that I couldn't talk but that I didn't need to. Whenever there was any communication with anybody Clifford was always ready to give all the answers and I got along very well without having to say anything.

Our mother was an expert seamstress and made all of our clothes for us. One time she dressed both Clifford and me in little suits with plaid skirts and took us to Tillsonburg where we were photographed by a professional. I still have a copy of that picture. It really is a nice picture but I am obviously too fat in it. I don't know why our mother wanted to dress us in skirts but maybe she secretly, at that time, was hoping for a daughter or perhaps she had a desire to see her boys in kilts because of her Scottish ancestry.

I remember one hot summer day Clifford and I were on our way to grandfather Cutler's house on the corner in Fair Ground. That day we were strolling along with nothing on but our short pants, held up by suspenders, which we called braces. I got too hot so I took my pants off and carried them by the braces over my shoulder. When we were about to pass Sol Smith's place a couple of doors from grandpa Cut ler's house, he stopped us and jollied me about walking without my pants on. It was Sol's custom to call us Pat and Mike. Pat meant Clifford and I was Mike. He treated us like two inseparable Irishmen. Maybe he wasn't so far off at that, because our grandmother Park was Irish.

The general store in Fair Ground, in those early days, was operated by W. B. Gates. He and his family lived next door on the south side, in a fine house. My earliest remembrance of being in the store was associated with the presence of the Gates' huge black Newfoundland dog. He strolled harmlessly about the store dragging his long toenails on the wooden floor at every step.

Right next to the general store on the side next to grandpa Cutler's property was a small shop where Mr. Lindsay, Mrs. Gate's father, made shoes and boots. They were all custom made from a piece of leather. It was a fascinating shop to a small boy.

I remember one time, in the winter after a snow storm, Clifford and I were proposing to walk up to grandpa Cutler's. My father discouraged us because he said he didn't think the road was broke. I didn't know what he meant, but I pictured a dangerous crack in the road which we might fall into.

I remember one Sunday grandma Park was dressed to go visiting and she appeared on the lawn, in front of her house, wearing a huge hooped skirt. I think it was the first time I had ever seen a hooped skirt. It reached all the way to the ground and I could not even see her feet.

One time I recall ~ found myself looking anxiously through grandfather's fence at the road where a huge puffing steam engine was passing by, hauling a threshing machine. The engine was one of those early models which had a huge funnel-shaped Smoke-stack never seen in later models.

One of the scary things I remember is looking down into grandfather's cistern for the first time. This was once when he had the cover off. That big tank of black water down in the concrete hole frightened me.

One time Clifford and I climbed on top of the fence behind grandpa's root and fruit cellar, which was a low building with the room built down into the ground. From the fence we were able to crawl through a small opening 8 or 10 inches square into the attic of the building. Here we lay comfortably on the sawdust covering the lath and ceiling of the room below, not realizing that the ceiling might give way and drop us down into the room below. Fortunately the ceiling held and nothing happened to us.

One of the interesting small buildings on grandfather's property was the Smoke house. This building was kept locked and we never got into it except when some adult opened it. It was a room wherein the walls were blackened by much smoke. It was used to smoke hams to give them a special flavor. Controlled smoke was admitted to the building for a definite period of time to get the meat treated long enough to attain the desired flavor.

One time I had done something wrong. I don't remember what, but my father had to punish me for it. For the purpose he wanted to use a switch. So he gave me his knife and made me go to some growing lilac bushes and cut my own switch. I don't remember the extent of the punishment but I do remember having to bring my own switch for the purpose.

I don't remember much about my brother Montie's early days. He seemed to cry a lot. I don't know whether he was unwell or not but Clifford and I were always busy with our own affairs and didn't contribute much in looking after him. I remember one time after Mama had cleaned him up and arranged his hair in long up-and-down rolls of curls she put him in a little wagon and we pulled him around the yard. Maybe Mama wanted to pretend that he was a girl for she kept his hair long and arranged in curls like a girl. Later my sister Leta was born.

I recall one winter we had a severe snow-storm when great banks of snow gathered and leaned high upon the walls of grandfather's farm buildings and almost completely hid the fences. Then the storm changed to sleet. When we awoke the next morning we found our undulating world of snow banks covered with a glistening cover of ice, which was strong enough to hold us up. We played and slid around on the glossy slopes. Then we found we could, with shovels, break through the crust and dig tunnels and caves under it where we played with a roof over our heads.

One bright sunny day in summer I accompanied my father and some other men as they drove grandfather's sheep down the road about a half a mile to a place where the creek curved right out to the road. Here the men stripped to the waist and took the sheep one by one into the water and washed their wool thoroughly in the running water. The sheep could not touch bottom but floated easily and their heads were kept well above the water.

A day or two later the sheep were sheared on the floor of grandfather's barn. The animals were thrown onto their sides, and the head held down by one man while another cut off the wool with huge shears that were kept very sharp. Great fleeces of wool were gathered up. When a sheep was sheared and set free she was unharmed, but she sure looked naked.

One fall Clifford and I were taken by our parents to the agricultural fair in Guelph, Ontario. We started out early one morning in a one-horse buggy. Clifford and I sat on a little bench with our backs to the dashboard and facing our parents on the seat. We were warmly dressed and comfortable but still sleepy. When we were a few miles from Courtland on Talbot Road, where we were to take the train, my father realized that we were late, and likely to miss the train. So he took out his whip and made the horse take the last mile or so on the run. Anyway, we made it. The horse was left in the livery stable and we boarded the train. I don't remember much about the fair, but my father, being a farmer, had much to learn because Guelph was the center of Ontario's farm industry, and they had an agricultural college there. I do remember the antics of some clowns and the horse-races. When it was time to eat, great numbers of people sat on the grass and opened their food baskets and had their picnic lunches. When looking at the farm animals we came to a high enclosure which contained a huge bull. I remember standing on the railing of the cage and looking up at an enormous animal which seemed to tower over me.

I didn't see much of my Uncle John, who owned and operated the farm north of Grandpa Park's. He was a good farmer and took pride in his fine horses. He was much bigger than my father, as I particularly noted when he pulled a baby tooth for me with dental forceps.

One story about Uncle John which I remember hearing indicated how strong he was. A number of men were having a competition of strength on the wharf at Pt. Burwell, with Uncle John among them. They finally came to a ships anchor which weighed 700 pounds. My Uncle John was the only one who could lift it free of the floor.

One time when visiting at Grandpa Cutler's I remember standing by a small iron gate which was covered with hoarfrost. I thought it would be nice to lick it off with my tongue. At the first touch of my tongue it froze fast to the iron gate. It took a little while for my body heat to warm the iron sufficiently to free my tongue.