Jennie

By Roy H. Wilton

The book was written after Roy had retired to honor his beloved mother, Jennie. She passed away when he was just seven years old. He had such fond memories of her. The book is about his life with her and after she passed away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638748663

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Jennie

Roy H. Wilton

ISBN 978-1-63874-865-6 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63874-866-3 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Roy H. Wilton

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Introduction

Mom's Dream House on McLean Street

1940, When We Moved

1941—Relationships: What Is Tough Love?

The Folks from Boston, USA

Skooshing Clampers

Ration Books

A Great New Mom

Back to Boyhood with a New Mother and Sisters

Wally, Brud, and the Garden Fork

Nancy Watched Me Stupid

The Railroad Raft (Nancy I)

Brud and Wally's Raft (Nancy II)

The Bicycle Race

Finally, I Got a Bike—147 Mclean St.

The Carrot Bandit

Playing Hooky/Bootleg Pit—Fourteen Years Old in 1948

Back to Teen Time

Delivering Groceries with Horse and Wagon

Sam, His Dad, and Shirley's Brother, Uncle Joe

Cleaning Henhouses with Eddy

1951

1951–1952

Back to Chatham

Bessy, My First Car—Model T and Education

1953

RCAF and Military Life, 1954

Back to Kids and Wally

1954—Europe, Africa, and Canada

Mom, I'm Back in School

Köln, Germany

Italy to Brenner Pass (George, Lew, Ernie, and Roy)

Brenner Pass

Back to Chatham

Studebaker

This Car and That Car

Golf—Rockcliffe, Ottawa

1962—Wife and I Transferred to Trenton

Fourplex Bills to Pay

1968

Sea Island Duty

SIT Course

New Mom's Trenton Visit

Roy and Joy Meet and Marry

Robby Burns Celebration and Golf and Bagpipes

Mom and I and the Headstone

New Trailer and Good Neighbors

Old Trailer then New Trailer

About the Author

Introduction

This is a story about a little boy and his mom and the other folks that touched their lives—for example: people we met; friends we made when we moved from home to home; experiences we had, good and bad.

I grew up in a coal-mining town where I learned that being slapped around was part of growing up. After a while, relatives and friends taught me how to defend myself and also to look after the little guy or girl anywhere I went through my life.

Through the years, lots of trials and tribulations and funny stuff that happened to me made me think to write this tribute to my mother, Jennie!

This book is named Jennie.

Jennie was born and brought up on a farm in a place called Catalone on an island in the Atlantic provinces of Canada. She did men's work, stooked and baled hay, milked cows by hand, fed farm animals, cooked, etc. She knew what hard work was all about.

Every now and then, she would hitch a ride from a farmer neighbor to the small railway station and treat herself to a vanilla ice-cream cone, and life was good. Every Sunday, the whole family would hitch up the church wagon to big farm horses and head for church. Being Scottish descendants, they went to either the Presbyterian Church or to the Scottish Kirk.

My dad went out west, looking for work, preferably farmwork. He rode in the train as far as his money could take him then, in empty railcars and sometimes under the railroad cars, lying across the rods, which was very dangerous. They called it riding the rods! Many died because they would fall asleep and fall on the track. Once Dad was in Alberta, he walked and hitchhiked from farm to farm. He worked hard. He said coal mining was hard work and to try farming. They worked from morning to night and sometimes longer. Dad got homesick, so his father sent him some money to get home on the train.

His father got him a job in the blacksmith forge in a colliery near where my father was brought up and had his first family house. He met a beautiful young lady; Jennie was her name. She was visiting the town, and they met. And that was that!

On one of Jennie's trips to the city, she met the handsome dude, a blacksmith by trade; fell in love; married; moved to a coal-mining town on that island; and had three children, two girls and a boy.

Their first house was a converted barbershop at the intersection of Lake Road and Brookside Street at Caledonia Crossings.

Their first child was a girl, 9 lbs., 2 oz.; the second, a boy, 2 lbs., 2 oz.; and the third child, a girl, 6 lbs. They eventually moved from their small house on the edge of town to a larger house in town owned by her father and mother. We lived upstairs, and Grandpa and Grandma lived downstairs. The two-story house was on a street named after Queen Victoria, Victoria Street.

As the young boy took his first breath on April 22, 1934, little did I realize that for the first six months of my life, I would be sleeping in a shoebox, lined with cotton batting, rubbed down with oil, and oil was pumped down my throat and sucked out with an ear syringe. This was to temporarily clean my lungs and airways so I could breathe and not turn blue and choke all the time. This shoebox was placed on the oven door of the coal stove in our kitchen to keep me warm. These procedures, I was told, lasted for six months. Mom and Dad took turns staying up all night, watching over me, applying oil, pumping oil, and keeping me warm. They had no incubators in those days, so they had to come up with one of their own.

Mom wanted a boy or girl as long as it was healthy. Oh, sure, I was a little wrinkled purple baby that, to keep me alive, they fed oil down my throat and sucked out mucus that was making it hard for me to breath. They used an ear syringe to pull out all of the junk, placed me in a shoebox ladened with cotton batting, covered me with oil, and placed me on the oven door of our coal stove (with a good fire in the stove; now they use incubators). My parents took turns staying up all night for six months. By then, the doctor came by to visit and said I'd live, but I'd be a small runt of a thing the rest of my life.

My middle name is Howard, after my uncle Howard, Mother's brother. My mom called me after him, Roy Howard Wilton. I was told a story that Uncle Howard said, You're not calling that wrinkled little prune [2 lbs., 1 oz.) after me! He lost that battle! My mom said, It's done, brother. Live with it! I liked him the best, after my grandfather.

As we slid down the sandpaper-covered banister of life, we wondered, What's it all about Alfie? Born at seven months and weighing 2 lbs., 1 oz., the doctor said to the young couple, He can die here in the hospital or at home. It's up to you, folks. Dad said, Home, and he will live. I always wanted a boy. I have a girl, and I want a boy [a millionaire's family].

Mom carried me everywhere. I wasn't very heavy, she said. My mom was so strong in many ways. We lived in a converted barbershop with the barber chair missing to make room for all of us: Mom and Dad, Joan, me, and Arlene, my new baby sister that arrived not too long after my birthing ordeal was over.

We had a large cast-iron coal stove for warmth, cooking and warming babies on the oven door, oh yes, and a metal shield hung with three pieces placed behind the stove in the corner to protect our little house. You could also hang clothes, like cloth diapers and such, to dry. One day my mom tried to move that cast-iron stove a bit because the place was so small, and she hurt herself pretty bad trying to make a little room for everything.

So my dad moved us all to a two-story house on the other side of town with my mom's mom and dad downstairs and our family upstairs. Gramps needed the downstairs because of the stairs, and there were duplicate washrooms upstairs and down; and we all lived well together. Joan and I went to school, which was quite a walk from Victoria Street. We had no car, so we walked everywhere. I would run to the store about one-half mile up the street and ran so fast. My mom would tell me, You are so fast! I said I would run to the moon for her.

We were in our grandparent's house on Victoria Street for a while, and my first recollection was digging in the dirt around their house where the rain that dripped off the roof and down the shingles left a small trench, so you never know what may be buried in that trench. I had a broken carpenter's file and was digging in the small ridge along each side of the house. I dug until my hands were sore.

My next recollection was sledding with the little girl next door. I had a nice sled, and it had metal runners with the braces holding the wooden body. You had to lie down and take the two handles, one left and one right, so you could steer. We were having fun until my sled and I hit a dry patch; and the ice, sled, and I tilted forward. I stuck my nose on the dry patch and saw lots of stars all over the place, and it was still day out.

On the street where we lived, we had very thoughtful neighbors. If you had problems, they were there for you. Millie, whom I liked, lived on the right side, and Kevin and Teddy on the left side of us. Across the road was an old foundation left unattended after the house that it supported had burnt down. At night, it was so spooky. I believed that the boogeyman lived there and hid under my bed sometimes. Every night when I said my prayers on my knees with my elbows on the bed and my hands held together under my nose, I would sneak a peek under the bed before I started my talk to God, thanking him for looking after us all and that he kept the boogeyman away from our house, especially from under my bed.

Millie taught me how to toss and throw rocks overhand and underhand. It came in handy in later years playing baseball or softball and horseshoes,