When I say Moncton was almost a fifty fifty split between Franco-phones and Anglophones,the statistics have born me out for most of my life.It has varied slightly from year to year,but over the years it's been a very close split.And,for the most part,our street pretty much reflected that.
On our block,though,there was only one French family and they lived right beside us.Across the street,the names living in the houses were,in order,Wilson,Sherwood,Carter,Savoie,Duffy and Constable. I've left out Karen's family,who lived directly across from us because I've forgotten their last name,but I believe it to be slightly ethnic,but not French.That's two French families on the whole block.But farther down,past the first house on the next block,an ,the street turned Francophone rather quickly.In fact,to the best of my recollection,an Irish family was the last of the houses of English speaking families until the other end of that block.Across the street seemed to be mixed.I wasn't allowed to ride down that side of the street,but I could tell from the mix of language being spoken that it was a mixed block.The other thing that I recall was that almost all people,at that time were white,and spoke one of either English or French.Very little else was spoken,and is was rare to see a black or a brown person.
At the far end of the next block down,I found a friend at house number fifty-nine,one of the older houses on that block,one of those that was there before the rest of the sub-division.All the houses in between that and the Irish family seemed to be French speakers.While I remember that time during the spring of 1966,running all the way up to when I started school in the fall of the next year as being a time the two of us,me and that kid were inseparable,all I really recall about him was that his name was Kenny,and that he moved before school started.As hard as I try,though,I can't bring his face to mind.I do recall meeting him again,after he moved,years later,just before I left Moncton.
Parts of our neighborhood were left undeveloped.There was a big field,a meadow running up from the corner of Mountain Road between Watson and Crandall Streets.It was wide at the Mountain Road end and it narrowed out as you walked up towards Willet Street.Along one side of this meadow was a big stand of trees,what we called the woods,though it really was kind of puny to have been called woods.There was a path that cut diagonally through the meadow too,from the corner of Mapleton Road up to the dead end of Gilbert Street.And there was one old house in the meadow between Gilbert and Willet Streets.The people living there were French,and very poor indeed,the house being best described as a shack,though it was rather large.
So,when I was five years old,that was my hood,and I consider myself blessed to have lived there then.The meadow and the woods were my favorite places to explore and play in.The meadow was always full of birds and tall grass,and there were many things in the woods that were new to me.There was a lot of various kinds of junk laying around,and trying to figure out what it was and how it came to be there occupied a lot of my time and energy.If it was hot outside,the woods was usually cool and shady,and it smelled good,at least most of the time.There was a lot going on there too.Interesting,though not always wholesome things,and if my mother had ever taken a walk through there,I would likely have been forbidden to play there.But,to the best of my knowledge,she never stuck her head into those trees,so it remained my playground for a few years.The woods was also useful to another end.If you were outside,and you needed to pee but didn't want to run all the way home,the woods is where you went.It was convenient that way.
On our block,though,there was only one French family and they lived right beside us.Across the street,the names living in the houses were,in order,Wilson,Sherwood,Carter,Savoie,Duffy and Constable. I've left out Karen's family,who lived directly across from us because I've forgotten their last name,but I believe it to be slightly ethnic,but not French.That's two French families on the whole block.But farther down,past the first house on the next block,an ,the street turned Francophone rather quickly.In fact,to the best of my recollection,an Irish family was the last of the houses of English speaking families until the other end of that block.Across the street seemed to be mixed.I wasn't allowed to ride down that side of the street,but I could tell from the mix of language being spoken that it was a mixed block.The other thing that I recall was that almost all people,at that time were white,and spoke one of either English or French.Very little else was spoken,and is was rare to see a black or a brown person.
At the far end of the next block down,I found a friend at house number fifty-nine,one of the older houses on that block,one of those that was there before the rest of the sub-division.All the houses in between that and the Irish family seemed to be French speakers.While I remember that time during the spring of 1966,running all the way up to when I started school in the fall of the next year as being a time the two of us,me and that kid were inseparable,all I really recall about him was that his name was Kenny,and that he moved before school started.As hard as I try,though,I can't bring his face to mind.I do recall meeting him again,after he moved,years later,just before I left Moncton.
Parts of our neighborhood were left undeveloped.There was a big field,a meadow running up from the corner of Mountain Road between Watson and Crandall Streets.It was wide at the Mountain Road end and it narrowed out as you walked up towards Willet Street.Along one side of this meadow was a big stand of trees,what we called the woods,though it really was kind of puny to have been called woods.There was a path that cut diagonally through the meadow too,from the corner of Mapleton Road up to the dead end of Gilbert Street.And there was one old house in the meadow between Gilbert and Willet Streets.The people living there were French,and very poor indeed,the house being best described as a shack,though it was rather large.
So,when I was five years old,that was my hood,and I consider myself blessed to have lived there then.The meadow and the woods were my favorite places to explore and play in.The meadow was always full of birds and tall grass,and there were many things in the woods that were new to me.There was a lot of various kinds of junk laying around,and trying to figure out what it was and how it came to be there occupied a lot of my time and energy.If it was hot outside,the woods was usually cool and shady,and it smelled good,at least most of the time.There was a lot going on there too.Interesting,though not always wholesome things,and if my mother had ever taken a walk through there,I would likely have been forbidden to play there.But,to the best of my knowledge,she never stuck her head into those trees,so it remained my playground for a few years.The woods was also useful to another end.If you were outside,and you needed to pee but didn't want to run all the way home,the woods is where you went.It was convenient that way.
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