MY SUMMER OF 1945

WRITERS’ CHAPTER STORY-OF-THE-MONTH – SEPTEMBER 2017

MY SUMMER OF 1945

By: Joan Barnes

I turned 15 in May of 1945. The War had just ended in Europe but was still being fought in the Pacific. My mother had taken my 16-year old brother and my baby sister, just five, by train to Edmonton, Alberta, her home, to see her mother who had been widowed three years previously. I would be traveling west by myself also by train later on in the summer to join them but I had a summer job and my mother wanted me to stay in Toronto until the job was over. My paternal grandparents lived with us. Grandma would be doing the cooking and my father felt that it was up to him to keep me busy and occupied and entertained. Those must have been his thoughts as he really did a wonderful job. Between us we had a summer I never forgot.

The first thing he arranged was a sightseeing flight over Toronto on one bright summer day. I had never been in a plane before.. I sat next to the pilot and Dad sat behind us. I was not the least bit fearful,,only excited. Toronto is situated on Lake Ontario. The city stretches out north, east and west of the Lake. Once in the air I can still see how green Toronto looked. The city is full of trees and parks not to mention church steeples. It was not called “Toronto the Good” for nothing. We flew up and around, over the Lake, back over the City. I could see the heart of the city, Bloor and Yonge and could even see little sailboats out on the water, skimming along in the summer breeze. I’ve always been a happy tourist and remember being delighted at the chance to see Toronto from the air.

Like most men, Dad loved sports, mainly hockey but also baseball and football. This being the summer of 1945 there were no professional baseball games as all the young men were in the service but there were plenty of girls’ softball games. Dad liked those almost as much as the men’s games. I was not as enthusiastic as he was but I certainly enjoyed having my Dad take me anywhere. He was not afraid to put his hand in his pocket for treats unlike my mother who hated to spend an unnecessary penny. The games were fun. The women threw the ball underhanded but so fast and with such energy. If one of the girls got a home run Dad would be up on his feet yelling for her to get home. Maybe the girls could not hit a ball as hard and fast as the men but they could run. One of our waitresses at London Lennie’s used to be a professional soft ball player, a pitcher. I’ll watch her sometimes as she is walking around the restaurant. She has a kind of rolling gait to her walk,almost like a sailor. I can imagine her walking to the plate, eyeing the batter and pitching a fast ball, striking out the batter and confidently waiting for the next batter up.

The next adventure my father had for me was a professional tennis game. My parents did not play tennis but my Dad must have played once as there was an old Slazenger racquet in the basement still in its clamped wooden protector. The whole tennis thing seemed so upper class to me with the players all in whites,not quite the world I was used to but one I thought I could become accustomed to, given the chance. The male tennis players all seemed so handsome. I was too young and shy to flirt but I could certainly dream. I remember going to sleep that night and dreaming about one dark-haired, dark-eyed young tennis player.

One night that summer Dad and I went to our local United Church, the church I was subsequently married in, to hear a piano recital. I was taking piano lessons and always loved music. I don’t remember anything else on the program except the last piece – Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. I was so thrilled to hear it live played by a really good pianist. I was completely enthralled. Even then it was a very familiar piece, so melodic, so jazzy and syncopated. We walked home from the church and I know I kept talking about how much I enjoyed the program. I still like going to a concert in a church – the acoustics seem better somehow.

Dad took me out to dinner one night, just the two of us. A popular local restaurant was “The Old Mill”, set down in the Humber River Valley. This was a special treat. My parents seldom went out for dinner. Mother knew it was much cheaper to cook for the family at home. But here we were, white tablecloth, silver cutlery and attentive waiters. I remember looking at the menu and ordering trout. Even then I liked fish. I have no idea what we talked about. For dessert I had apple pie with a slice of cheddar cheese on top – the height of sophisticated culinary eating in my mind. I tried to sit in the chair properly, no elbows on the table, to watch my manners. For a girl I always think it’s special if her father takes her out for dinner.

The highlight of that summer was a trip to Quebec by car. Dad was born in Montreal as was his father. The original Phelps line (Phelps was my maiden name) came from Windsor Connecticut, then to Vermont and on up to the Eastern Townships of Quebec. Dad had cousins in the area with whom we stayed. One cousin had a daughter,Joyce, my age. We got along fine. She suggested that we climb Mount Magog one day so the three of us set off. It was not a hard climb for us 15-year olds and even my 45-year old father did not have any trouble with it. We sat at the top admiring the view and wished we had thought to bring some water and a sandwich with us. But the walk back downhill made my legs tremble. I was not in as good shape as I thought I was. But what a delicious swim we two girls had later in the cool dark waters of Lake Magog. All the sweat from the climb washed off as we treaded water, giggled and laughed.

The summer drew to a close. I took the train all by myself from Toronto to Edmonton, two days and two nights,  spent a few days with the relatives there and then my mother, my brother and my sister and I all came home together. School started just after Labor Day. My Mother took up the cooking chores again. I was happy. My mother was a good cook. I practiced the piano dreaming one day of being able to play Rhapsody in Blue – it never happened.

My father and I bonded that summer. I could see he liked the good things in life but never complained about not being able to afford them as a steady diet. He and my mother lived within their income which did not often allow for special events like sightseeing flights over Toronto, dinner at the Old Mill, tennis matches, softball games, road trips to Quebec but for me they all came true the Summer of ’45.