In The Beginning...

Thinking back, I am very warm and cozy in my little house in Sandhurst, just through the Royal Military College grounds. I was born on June 7, 1886 in this very small village which I hope will always remain a very small village, at least as long as I am here to enjoy it. Although there have been many changes there are people born around 1886 that still remain here to think and talk about, so I think I will write of some of the things I can remember. Maybe someone will chance to pick up this book and remember the dear world, as it was not so very long ago, just a mere 85 years.

I can remember so much of my childhood, almost from the day I was born. You see I didn’t enter into the world with great rejoicing. My father loved my mother very dearly and childbirth was a very anxious and difficult time, even for a healthy person, which my mother was not. So, it was not surprising that when the doctor announced that things were not going well and it might be a case of saving mother or child, my father made no bones about his decision to save his wife. Doctor Stead, being our family doctor, and a very conscientious one at that, did as my father asked him and saved us both. I sometimes wonder if that was a wise decision on my father’s part, as I have heard many folk to regret the day I was born.

I was not really a bad child, just very active and always wanted to do something mischievous. I sometimes wonder if I was really as much trouble as everyone seemed to think, because until I was 10 years of age I was rather a sickly child, bronchitis being my chief enemy. No sooner did the dull days of November appear than I would start to wheeze. My mother would move my young brother Will from the bedroom he had been enjoying up to the attic and establish me in his place. Out would come the bronchitis kettle, the flannel chest protector and the hot camphorated oil. After being rubbed down, front and back, my mother would then give me a large dose of appicaciama (?) wine, wrap me in a flannel nightdress and pop me into bed. As soon as the wheezing and tightness in my chest was relieved I was fed every two hours with spoonfuls of beef tea. I doubt readers of this episode have ever heard of beef tea. It is made from shin-of-beef, cooked in a crock and allowed to gently stew for 3 or 4 hours in the oven of the kitchen stove, which was kept going with wood. How many years it has been since I have tasted such a delicious broth. For two to three weeks I would have the pleasure of seeing my two sisters, Rose and Nell, performing their allotted tasks, including my own. We each had our allotted tasks and did them to the best of our ability and if by any chance we neglected to do our best, it would have to be done again. I remember one day, my work for that week was to sweep and dust the stairs. My mother would always inspect our work when we had finished and that morning I was anxious to get my work done and go out to play so I had gone into the corners but had not swept from the center of the stairs. My mother was very cross and scolded me very much, so I said, “Mama, you always say, look after the corners and the middle will look after itself”. Of course I had to do it all over again but that was the kind of parents I had. My father was a good and just man who believed in spare the rod and spoil the child.

more will follow...