Home  >> Stories  >> The Tale Spinner #2012-07

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IN THIS ISSUE

• Charles King reminisces about his early days in Ottawa
• Jean Sterling comments on items in last week´s issue
• Shirley Conlon forwards an essay about the importance of sisters
• Betty Audet writes about Canadian ruins
• Catherine Nesbitt describes conventions for clotheslines
• Tony Lewis suggests a solution for poor pensioners
• Catherine Green and Zvonko Springer forward some sharp political quotes
• Sites are recommended by Barbara Wear, Carol Hansen, Bruce Galway, Pat Moore, Tom Telfer, and Tom Williamson

Charles King, who now lives in retirement in Ottawa, reminisces about

FIFTY-FIVE YEARS AGO ON THE HILL

Fifty-five years ago this month, in a pelting ice storm, I arrived at the old Ottawa station by train in the early morning to start a new job as a parliamentary reporter. Although I had spent 13 years in the newspaper business on the west coast, and crossed the country first as a teenage soldier in 1945, I had never before seen the nation´s capital.

Like hundreds of newcomers before me, I had to ask directions from the station to the Chateau Laurier, where I hoped to spend a couple of nights while I sought more modest accommodation. "Well, you can take a taxi and get a quick tour of the town," I was told, "or you can save your money and walk through the tunnel. The hotel is right across the street."

My second stop, after a bath and a shave, was Parliament Hill. It was a slippery walk up ice-slicked Wellington Street, but I reached the Centre Block without falling and asked directions again to find the press gallery. Once seated at a desk and typewriter in the crowded third-floor room down the hall from the House of Commons, I set about meeting some of the 60 or so colleagues with whom I would work.

"You came on a good day," my bureau chief advised. "There´s a reception tonight where you can meet the prime minister and all the cabinet. The opposition people will be there too."

And so it was that I met Louis St. Laurent, John Diefenbaker, and M. J. Coldwell, leader of the old CCF Party, all within eight hours or so of reaching the capital. To say the least, I was impressed.

Finding temporary lodgings in the city was something else. My editor in Vancouver had authorized me to spend a couple of nights at the Chateau at company expense (at a then-astronomical $7.75 a night) while I looked for something less extravagant. After a futile search for an apartment in the $50 range, I ended up in the old YMCA at the corner of Metcalfe and Laurier. For the next three months it was my home away from home. The price: $9 a week, meals not included.

I kept in touch with my wife and children in Vancouver by means of a weekly call from a public pay phone around the corner. I stuffed 12 quarters into the slot for a three-minute call and held a hurried conversation with my loved ones to beat the cut-off.

Ottawa, I saw right away, was a small town by Vancouver standards. Most of the buildings along Sparks Street, where the streetcars still ran, were two or three storeys in height. The Chateau, at seven storeys, was probably the tallest building in the city, one floor higher than the Centre Block itself.

But like other small towns, it was a friendly place. Within a few days, I had made new friends. And with the imminent arrival of spring, the weather grew warmer, too.

On my second day on the Hill, I ran into John Diefenbaker as I entered the main entrance to the Centre Block. He remembered me from the reception the night before, and introduced me to his companion, Winnipeg MP Gordon Churchill. And I got a friendly welcome from George Hees, then the member for Toronto´s Broadview riding.

At a more mundane level, I found a Chinese hand-laundry a couple of blocks from Parliament Hill that agreed to wash and iron my shirts for 15 cents apiece. Meals in the parliamentary dining room and cafeterias were subsidized, and I was able to save a portion of my $200 monthly living allowance toward a flying trip home in the spring.

With no place else to go but my sparsely-furnished YMCA room - there were few good restaurants, and without an arts centre, a paucity of cultural events - I spent most of my time on the Hill. I ate most of my meals there - dinner in the restaurant was $1.25 - and relaxed after work at night with a 50-cent drink from the gallery´s unlicensed bar. Gallery members were often joined there by MPs or senators in search of liquid refreshment, a bit of publicity, or - like ourselves - some friendly discourse on the political events of the day.

The year 1957 was, of course, an election year, and soon after my arrival, the writ was dropped for a national vote on June 10. Within a couple of weeks, the campaign trains were rolling out of Ottawa, and most of us returned to the capital only sporadically until it was over.

Travelling first with Diefenbaker and later with St. Laurent, I covered the campaign in nine provinces, beginning in the Maritimes and ending up on election night at the prime minister´s home on Quebec City´s Grande Allee. While my colleagues on the Tory campaign were whooping it up in Prince Albert with the victorious opposition leader´s entourage, the Liberal gathering at the other end of the country was more like a wake. It marked the end of 22 unbroken years of Liberal rule. Within a few months, the 75-year-old St. Laurent had retired from politics, and a new Liberal leader, Mike Pearson, had begun a five-year struggle to win back the levers of power.

It was a fascinating period in federal politics, and it was a period in which Ottawa, the bush-league capital, finally came of age.

Many years later, the city is a more crowded and sophisticated place, filled with good places to eat and plenty of opportunities for entertainment around the clock. Perhaps it is a pity, however, that you can no longer get a shirt laundered in this town for 15 cents.

CORRESPONDENCE

Jean Sterling comments on items in last week´s issue. On the subject of cat bathing as a martial art, she writes: It sure is! Years ago a local news anchor decided to demonstrate how to bathe a cat on TV. The cat climbed up the shower curtain, and as you might expect, was totally uncooperative. It was pretty funny, though I doubt the demonstrator thought it was.

On the statement that more people are killed each year by coconuts than sharks: John was sitting under a cocoanut palm tree down in the [Florida] keys - just relaxing near the water´s edge. Suddenly WHOMP! A cocoanut fell out of the tree and landed right next to him. Cocoanuts are quite large and very hard, so it´s believable that people are killed by falling cocoanuts. Ever since he has taken care not to sit under a cocoanut tree that has cocoanuts in it.

Shirley Conlon sends this story about the importance to women of

SISTERS

A young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid day, drinking iced tea and visiting with her mother. As they talked about life, about marriage, about the responsibilities of life and the obligations of adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in her glass thoughtfully and turned a sober glance upon her daughter..

"Don´t forget your sisters," she advised, swirling the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass. "They´ll be more important as you get older. No matter how much you love your husband, no matter how much you love the children you may have, you are still going to need sisters. Remember to go places with them now and then; do things with them.

"Remember that ´sisters´ means ALL the women ... your girlfriends, your daughters, and all your other women relatives too. You´ll need other women. Women always do."

What a funny piece of advice, the young woman thought. Haven´t I just got married? Haven´t I just joined the couple-world? I´m now a married woman, for goodness sake! A grownup! Surely my husband and the family we may start will be all I need to make my life worthwhile!

But she listened to her mother. She kept contact with her sisters and made more women friends each year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, she gradually came to understand that her mother really knew what she was talking about.

As time and nature work their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, sisters are the mainstays of her life.

After more than 70 years of living in this world, here is what I´ve
learned:

Time passes;
Life happens;
Distance separates;
Children grow up;
Jobs come and go;
Love waxes and wanes;
Men don´t do what they´re supposed to do;
Hearts break;
Parents die;
Colleagues forget favours;
Careers end.

BUT...

Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girl friend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley´s rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley´s end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you ... or come in and carry you out.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, mothers, grandmothers, aunts, nieces, cousins, and extended family: all bless our life!

The world wouldn´t be the same without women, and neither would I. When we began this adventure called womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other.

Every day, we need each other still.

From an issue in 1997, here is a reprint of an article written by Betty Audet:

CANADIAN RUINS

An author, born in Ireland and living in Britain before he immigrated into Canada, was bewailing the fact that Canada had no ruins. Ruins, he felt, are magic places, especially for children.

I agree with him that ruins have a certain magic, but he is very much mistaken if he thinks that Canada has no ruins. They are not well known, not advertised as tourist attractions, but they are scattered around the country. Sometimes people tresspass to visit them, but most are easily available.

The author said that the only ruins he had found in Canada were the old, tumbled-down stone fences, the type that Robert Frost wrote about in New England. Some of these certainly do exist, and some of them have not been maintained as modern fencing became available. I hesitate to call them ruins, but when you think of the pioneer sweat that went into building them, they do have a sort of magic.

If he had been a little more observant he would have noted that there are the remains of old barns, whose boards have long since disappeared, but whose walls still remain, tracing out the horse and cattle stalls. There are a few ruined barns around the country which still have some boards remaining. Beware of these; they are not magic. They are a bit dangerous and children should be kept away.

My private ruin of childhood magic was an old stone house between a wood and a cliff, that had burned down when I was very small. Every spring my sisters and I visited it and picked the snowdrops that had survived in the garden.

But the ruin that held the most magic for me as a child was Fort Mississauga, standing just within a golf course at the edge of Niagara-on-the-Lake. There were even underground rooms in which ammunition had been stored. Today, the golf course seems to have grown and it is more difficult to access the old fort. There seems to have been a partial restoration, as it is the companion of the much better known Fort George.

I have a friend who spent several months visiting old mills around Ontario and writing up an historical account for the federal government. Some have been restored, some have virtually disappeared, and others are genuine ruins.

Canadians do love ruins. Former Prime Minister McKenzie King undertook to create ruins in Gatineau Park near the Prime Minister´s summer home, by having pieces of old Ottawa buildings that were being removed for modernization taken to the park and rebuilt. Tourists can still visit these.

But the most exploitable ruin that I have seen in Canada is little known, although it matches in size and shape some of the old British ruins. It is the gutted St. Raphael Cathedral on county road 18, northeast of Cornwall. Its construction began in 1821 and it was burned in 1970. Sometimes plays or services are held in the ruins and safety is maintained. Some landscaping has been done to enhance the site. If you are in that part of Ontario and can find time to visit, you too could share the magic that made the parishioners decide to maintain this ruin.

Catherine Nesbitt forwards these instructions for old-fashioned clotheslines. She writes: There is one thing that´s been left out. We had a long wooden pole (clothes pole) that was used to push the clotheslines up so that longer items (sheets/pants/etc.) didn´t brush the ground and get dirty.

I can hear my mother now ...

THE BASIC RULES FOR CLOTHESLINES:

(If you don´t even know what clotheslines are, better skip this.)

1. You had to hang the socks by the toes ... NOT the tops.

2. You hung pants by the BOTTOM/cuffs ... NOT the waistbands.

3. You had to WASH the clothesline(s) before hanging any clothes - walk the entire length of each line with a damp cloth around the lines.

4. You had to hang the clothes in a certain order, and always hang "whites" with "whites," and hang them first.

5. You NEVER hung a shirt by the shoulders - always by the tail! What would the neighbours think?

6. Wash day was always Monday! NEVER hang clothes on the weekend, or on Sunday, for Heaven´s sake!

7. Hang the sheets and towels on the OUTSIDE lines so you could hide your "unmentionables" in the middle (perverts and busybodies, y´know!)

8. It didn´t matter if it was sub-zero weather ... clothes would "freeze-dry."

9. ALWAYS gather the clothes pins when taking down dry clothes! Pins left on the lines were "tacky"!

10. If you were efficient, you would line the clothes up so that each item did not need two clothes pins, but shared one of the clothes pins with the next washed item.

11. Clothes off of the line before dinner time, neatly folded in the clothes basket, and ready to be ironed.

12. IRONED? Well, that´s a whole OTHER subject!

Tony Lewis has a solution to

THE PROBLEM OF POOR PENSIONERS

Let´s put the pensioners in jail and the criminals in a nursing home.

This way the pensioners would have access to showers, hobbies and walks.

They´d receive unlimited free prescriptions, dental and medical treatment, wheel chairs, etc., and they´d receive money instead of paying it out.

They would have constant video monitoring, so they could be helped instantly if they fell, or needed assistance.

Bedding would be washed twice a week, and all clothing would be ironed and returned to them.

A guard would check on them every 20 minutes and bring their meals and snacks to their cell.

They would have family visits in a suite built for that purpose.

They would have access to a library, weight room, spiritual counselling, pool, and education.

Simple clothing, shoes, slippers, PJ´s and legal aid would be free, on request.

Private, secure rooms for all, with an exercise outdoor yard, with gardens.

Each senior could have a PC, a TV, radio, and daily phone calls.

There would be a board of directors to hear complaints, and the guards would have a code of conduct that would be strictly adhered to.

The criminals would get cold food, be left all alone and unsupervised. Lights off at 8 p.m., and showers once a week. Live in a tiny room and pay $400 per week and have no hope of ever getting out.

Catherine Green and Zvonko Springer send these quotes, timely in view of the political news coming out of the US just now:

POLITICAL QUOTES

The problem with political jokes is they get elected. - Henry Cate, VII

* We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office. - Aesop

* If we got one-tenth of what was promised to us in these acceptance speeches there wouldn´t be any inducement to go to heaven. - Will Rogers

* Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber. - Plato

* Politicians are the same all over. They promise to build a bridge even where there is no river. - Nikita Khrushchev

* When I was a boy I was told that anybody could become President; I´m beginning to believe it. - Clarence Darrow

* Why pay money to have your family tree traced; go into politics and your opponents will do it for you. - Author Unknown

* If God wanted us to vote, he would have given us candidates. - Jay Leno

* Politicians are people who, when they see light at the end of the tunnel, go out and buy some more tunnel. - John Quinton

* Politics is the gentle art of getting votes from the poor and campaign funds from the rich, by promising to protect each from the other. - Oscar Ameringer

* The Democrats are the party that says government will make you smarter, taller, richer, and remove the crabgrass on your lawn. The Republicans are the party that says government doesn´t work and then they get elected and prove it. - P. J. O´Rourke

* I offer my opponents a bargain: if they will stop telling lies about us, I will stop telling the truth about them. - Adlai Stevenson, campaign speech, 1952

* A politician is a fellow who will lay down your life for his country. - Texas Guinan

* Any American who is prepared to run for president should automatically, by definition, be disqualified from ever doing so. - Gore Vidal

* I have come to the conclusion that politics is too serious a matter to be left to the politicians. - Charles de Gaulle

* Instead of giving a politician the keys to the city, it might be better to change the locks. - Doug Larson

* There ought to be one day - just one - when there is open season on senators. - Will Rogers

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

Barbara Wear warns that some credit cards may be vulnerable to data theft:

These old clips from long-ago TV made Bruce Galway´s day: From outtakes from the Carol Burnett show, a few slices of Tim Conway´s genius:

From the Johnny Carson show, Why the Japanese didn´t bomb Oklahoma in WWII, with Bob Hope, Dean Martin, and George Gobel:

Carol Henderson sends a link to a story of a remarkable horse and the woman who owned him:

Pat Moore´s suggested site shows a trio of senior dancers jitterbugging:

Tom Telfer sends the URL for a video of a train laying its own track:

Tom Williamson recommends this site, which illustrates very practical furniture, but unfortunately does not give any information about these ingenious designs:

Feeling like the world is becoming less friendly? Social theorist Jonathan Zittrain begs to difffer. The Internet, he suggests, is made up of millions of disinterested acts of kindness, curiosity and trust.

To check out the features of the "freedictionary", which changes daily, go to