A far cry from the plans they had to become bush pilots in northern Ontario. After the first winter in the 'cottage', they decided it was time for some modern conveniences and tried their hand at digging a well. Shitting outside in the 'Thunderbox', as the outhouse was affectionately referred to had become a bit of a bore. Time for indoor plumbing. Their first objective was to dig a well, their first obstacle was how to keep the sides from caving in. They discovered well tile and also the fact they couldn't afford to buy them in quantity. They found a manufacture that was willing to part with an old mold, learned to mix concrete and made their own. Thus, in an apple orchard in Guildwood was born "King Bros" Well Tile. By 1951 they were able to move their operation to an old barn in Highland Creek Ontario. The property owned by Cecil Wretham was to become their manufacturing home until late 1952. We had now moved from the cottage to an old farm house on Kingston Rd., owned by said owner of the Guild Inn. During our stay there, Dad and Syd bought a manufacturing facility in Pickering, once owned by Art Mitchell. The facility was located on the north east corner of Altona Rd and the 2nd Concession. They built a house there in 1952 and once again the Kings picked up their meager belongings, and moved to Pickering. This is where my life took a turn that I would continue to follow to this day.A slight aside before I continue. I remember my childhood in quite vivid detail and it seemed to have lasted an eternity. As I write this and try to get the time lines correct, I realise just how short it was. I guess it is true what hey say about aging. To a six year old, one year is a sixth of his life, to a sixty year old, one sixtieth. No wonder time flies as you get older.
Cherrywood Public Schoolhttp://cherrywoodon.blogspot.com/ was a two room school built around the turn of the century (the one before this one). I entered in mid grade three and even though coming from the big city, was way behind in arithmetic. Yep...those were the days of the 3 'Rs', readin, ritin and rithmetic. A bottle of pop was $0.09 at Morrish's store, and if you returned the bottle you got two cents back. I was given $0.10 a day and had to return home with the correct change or $0.01 and the pop bottle. Every now and then desperation for a jaw breaker would take over and I would spend a nickel to phone home and ask if I could spend the change (Mr Morrish leant me the nickel and Dad had to pay him back). Eventually that whole coveted dime became mine.
Miss Rupert, Mr Lowen and Mrs. Wilkinson were my teachers for grades 3 to part way through grade 7.
The King Bros. operation grew and they ended up manufacturing well tile, concrete blocks,
concrete patio stones (with the left over concrete from the days pourings) and also got into lumber and hardware supplies. Life was grand, except for that two and a half mile walk to school everyday. I guess my Dad took some pity on me as by the time I was 9 I was driving myself to school (with Dad's company of course) in our 1949 Ford F47 half ton pick-up. I had learned to drive in our gravel pit and every chance I got, I was out driving in the 'pit'. I had imagined a small course which I practised getting around as quickly as possible. My best friend (sorry Andy) was John Meyers (and here is where my life took that all important turn) and his Dad owned a 1954 Austin Healey 100/4. John had a highly advanced curiosity and between us we disassembled almost every piece of equipment his Dad owned that had an engine, and, in some cases we were able to get it back together without his Dad ever finding out. It was by my competitive nature that I should always try and stay one step ahead of John in our quest for knowledge of the internal combustion engine. John also had this outrageous thing with fire and flame throwers....but that is another story.I thought John's dad's Austin healey was the most beautiful thing on the face of the planet, UNTIL.....I went to my first sportscar race in Canada, at Edenvale.
Once again I must digress. My first ever car race was at Silverstone in 1949. Stirling Moss made his debut in the 500cc class and I got to sit on the lap of Louis Cheron as his GP car was towed to the paddock at the end of the day.
I was hooked forever...sportscars and the smell of Castrol 'R'. John and his parents moved to California in 1956 and I haven't seen him since. I still miss him. I believe John's dad was one of the founding members of the British Empire Motor Club in Toronto. Through him I enjoyed many pleasurable moments at Edenvale, sitting on the haybales as cars went whizzing by and spending hours down at Rootes Motors in Scarborough for the start and finish of The Canadian Winter Rally. I have stepped from the beaten path a few times in my life and owned domestic cars but I always come back to my roots. Sometimes British, sometime German, once even Japanese (oops, twice), but never Italian or French.
In 1954 the family grows by one. My cousin Claire is sent from England to live with us and is
consequently adopted. At the time we thought nothing of this arrangement but when she arrived at Toronto International Airport in the company of a BOAC stewardess there were scores of newspaper people there. Apparently she was the youngest (and still may be) person to ever cross the Atlantic on her own. Cynthia Arpthorp, from Middlesex was her companion on the flight and became an instant celebrity and had her 15 minutes of fame..
No comments:
Post a Comment