1966 is the first time I distinctly remember Halloween, as far as what it's purpose was.And for us, being Protestant,it was a completely secular purpose.The day was like so many of those days in the fall of that year, golden and warm, but not too hot.A lot of sunshine, and very comfortable outside in only a light jacket, or perhaps just shirt sleeves.
All our Halloween costumes consisted of that year were just a mask, of some scary creature or other.But we couldn't wait to hit the streets.By supper time the light was fading and the sun was low in the sky.It's also the first time in my life when I'd began to notice that days were shorter at some times of the year than at others.In summer we played outside until nearly bedtime, but by Halloween,there was hardly any time to play outside after the evening meal. Before we ate, there were people at our house trick or treating, and I was in a hurry to get going.But we had to wait for my mother to get home,and we had to eat all of our supper.Only then could we put on our masks and head out.
In those days,there was no talk of anyone trying to harm children on Halloween.It must be true,though, at least that year,that my parents went out with us, and it's unlikely that we went to more than just the houses on our street,and maybe a few others here and there.We went to my friend Kenny's house at number 59 Watson Avenue, but my parents wouldn't let us near Johnny Bastards...I mean Johnny Basterache's house, being as it was, run down and out in the middle of the field. But.even so, it was great fun, running up to each house and yelling "trick or treat." And of course, I'd never seen so much chips and candy in my life.I enjoyed all of the other kid's costumes too, especially the ghosts.Back then there were literally hundreds of children out and about on Halloween.The sidewalks were just lined with kids from one end to the other, or so it seemed.When we got home,we were allowed to eat a small part of our candy, then we helped my parents pass out treats to all of the other children.That was nearly as fun as our own excursion, and I wished it could be Halloween every day.My grandfather,as near as I can recall was still with us on Halloween.I recall being out in the front yard with him before dinner, but while we were passing pout treats, he stayed off in the background somewhere.
The weather stayed on the warm side after Halloween too for a bit.I can recall the last house on our block being built, and the people who lived there.The house was actually on Willett Street,but just across our backyard.There were a lot of trees about on that property, and one day I saw a man out in what would have been his back yard, cutting bushes with an ax.This vaguely disturbed me, because my mother still read us stories like Little Red Riding Hood,all the time, likely at least once a week or so.The version she always told was one that ended with the Big Bad Wolf getting his head lopped off by a woodsman.The guy outside cutting bushes certainly looked the part of a woodsman,with a red and black checkered jacket, and a hat something like the one Elmer Fudd wore on the cartoons.There were still a few stray dogs around too, so the ending to Red Riding Hood seemed kind of plausible,in the sense of it playing out in our neighborhood.Well, I guess you really had to be there, and had to be five years old for it to have made any sense, but it made a kind of sense to me.In the end, I didn't know if the man I was looking at was good or bad. A few days later, I actually met the man,and his sons, both of whom were older than I was.I couldn't help looking around nervously for the ax.But he turned out to be a decent enough guy.
One thing that people used to do back then was to burn leaves in their back yard.They never really did that for very long, before it was outlawed, but back then they used to do it.It was an easy, if somewhat risky way to get rid of leaves.It tended to stink up the whole street too, and people would complain about it.One Saturday after we watched morning cartoons, I went outside and noticed that our neighbor, the woodsman had a small fire going in the his backyard, so I went down to take a look.He was raking up leaves and piling them onto the flames.They were damp, so there was no real danger of the fire getting out of control.Still,eventually the leaves would dry out and burn.But leaves were not the only thing he was burning.All about his yard, there were scraps of construction material,and these too went onto the fire.And something else too.Remember, the year is 1966, and to the best of my knowledge the word"Tree Hugger" had not yet been invented, or at least was not in common usage, and David Suzuki hadn't emerged on the scene either.That must of been the reason that the woodsmen did something that you would never do today.He slung a couple of old tires onto the fire, and they got going really good.They also stunk like nothing I'd ever smelled, not even the turpentine my grandfather had spilled.It must have covered my jacket as well,because in the afternoon my parents called me home,and we drove downtown to Woolworths. My father asked where I'd been and I told him I was watching the woodsman burn leaves...and tires. This got my father upset, and he said people shouldn't burn tires in their yards.He mumbled something about complaining to the city.When we got home an hour or so later, the whole neighborhood had a low cloud of smoke, and you could smell the burning rubber from our house.
Sometime before Christmas, but perhaps not much before, it turned cold, and there was snow.We went out and cut down a Christmas tree that year.The trip took a whole day, and I don't really recall where we went, but it couldn't really have been that far away from Moncton. There is a lot of woods everywhere around there, and that's all I remember.That we cut the tree down in the woods, and there was not a lot of snow.
My grandfather resurfaced for a short time too.All of an afternoon to be exact.By this time my fathers sister and her brood of kids had moved up to Pleasant Street in Springhill, up near the hospital.It was not a very nice house, but better than the one they lived in out by the prison.It was at the end of the street, and there were trees around and it was quite dark.The older kids always told us not to go outside there, because there were bats that would get into your hair.But one day, we'd made a roadtrip to visit my aunt and her kids.At some point my grandfather came by.I have no real idea of where he came from.He might have even lived there, but Springhill was small, so he wasn't that far away.But when he got there, he and my father left, and were gone for a few hours.I didn't like being at my aunt's house at the best of times, those being the occasions when both of my parents were around, so I'd started to put up a bit of a fuss.My aunt came into this room, with an old stove in it, and got this idea that she would help me write a letter to Santa Claus.When we were finished, she opened up the top of the stove, the part where you feed in the coal, and put my letter in.I was appalled, afraid Santa Claus would never get it.But she explained that that is how it got to the north pole,that it turned into smoke, then, when it reached it's destination, it turned back into a letter.It sounded kind of silly to me,but I didn't say anything.I was just anxious to have my father return so we could leave.I seemed to have had a bit of an attitude about being around my aunt, for as long as I can remember.Later, back in Moncton, I told the babysitter' oldest daughter, the one with the mouth, all about the letter.She just said"Your aunt is so full of shit'" I knew I would have to try hard not to repeat that.
Eventually Christmas arrived, and gifts were piled high under the tree we had decorated a few days before.Guns and toy soldiers were the theme that Christmas, and for my sister there was a doll, and coloring books and new books for the both of us.We ate a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, then a Turkey for supper.Both of my parents were home, we were all together, and the season was bountiful.A week later, 1966 disappeared into memory and history book.For me, it had seemed a long and eventful year.
All our Halloween costumes consisted of that year were just a mask, of some scary creature or other.But we couldn't wait to hit the streets.By supper time the light was fading and the sun was low in the sky.It's also the first time in my life when I'd began to notice that days were shorter at some times of the year than at others.In summer we played outside until nearly bedtime, but by Halloween,there was hardly any time to play outside after the evening meal. Before we ate, there were people at our house trick or treating, and I was in a hurry to get going.But we had to wait for my mother to get home,and we had to eat all of our supper.Only then could we put on our masks and head out.
In those days,there was no talk of anyone trying to harm children on Halloween.It must be true,though, at least that year,that my parents went out with us, and it's unlikely that we went to more than just the houses on our street,and maybe a few others here and there.We went to my friend Kenny's house at number 59 Watson Avenue, but my parents wouldn't let us near Johnny Bastards...I mean Johnny Basterache's house, being as it was, run down and out in the middle of the field. But.even so, it was great fun, running up to each house and yelling "trick or treat." And of course, I'd never seen so much chips and candy in my life.I enjoyed all of the other kid's costumes too, especially the ghosts.Back then there were literally hundreds of children out and about on Halloween.The sidewalks were just lined with kids from one end to the other, or so it seemed.When we got home,we were allowed to eat a small part of our candy, then we helped my parents pass out treats to all of the other children.That was nearly as fun as our own excursion, and I wished it could be Halloween every day.My grandfather,as near as I can recall was still with us on Halloween.I recall being out in the front yard with him before dinner, but while we were passing pout treats, he stayed off in the background somewhere.
The weather stayed on the warm side after Halloween too for a bit.I can recall the last house on our block being built, and the people who lived there.The house was actually on Willett Street,but just across our backyard.There were a lot of trees about on that property, and one day I saw a man out in what would have been his back yard, cutting bushes with an ax.This vaguely disturbed me, because my mother still read us stories like Little Red Riding Hood,all the time, likely at least once a week or so.The version she always told was one that ended with the Big Bad Wolf getting his head lopped off by a woodsman.The guy outside cutting bushes certainly looked the part of a woodsman,with a red and black checkered jacket, and a hat something like the one Elmer Fudd wore on the cartoons.There were still a few stray dogs around too, so the ending to Red Riding Hood seemed kind of plausible,in the sense of it playing out in our neighborhood.Well, I guess you really had to be there, and had to be five years old for it to have made any sense, but it made a kind of sense to me.In the end, I didn't know if the man I was looking at was good or bad. A few days later, I actually met the man,and his sons, both of whom were older than I was.I couldn't help looking around nervously for the ax.But he turned out to be a decent enough guy.
One thing that people used to do back then was to burn leaves in their back yard.They never really did that for very long, before it was outlawed, but back then they used to do it.It was an easy, if somewhat risky way to get rid of leaves.It tended to stink up the whole street too, and people would complain about it.One Saturday after we watched morning cartoons, I went outside and noticed that our neighbor, the woodsman had a small fire going in the his backyard, so I went down to take a look.He was raking up leaves and piling them onto the flames.They were damp, so there was no real danger of the fire getting out of control.Still,eventually the leaves would dry out and burn.But leaves were not the only thing he was burning.All about his yard, there were scraps of construction material,and these too went onto the fire.And something else too.Remember, the year is 1966, and to the best of my knowledge the word"Tree Hugger" had not yet been invented, or at least was not in common usage, and David Suzuki hadn't emerged on the scene either.That must of been the reason that the woodsmen did something that you would never do today.He slung a couple of old tires onto the fire, and they got going really good.They also stunk like nothing I'd ever smelled, not even the turpentine my grandfather had spilled.It must have covered my jacket as well,because in the afternoon my parents called me home,and we drove downtown to Woolworths. My father asked where I'd been and I told him I was watching the woodsman burn leaves...and tires. This got my father upset, and he said people shouldn't burn tires in their yards.He mumbled something about complaining to the city.When we got home an hour or so later, the whole neighborhood had a low cloud of smoke, and you could smell the burning rubber from our house.
Sometime before Christmas, but perhaps not much before, it turned cold, and there was snow.We went out and cut down a Christmas tree that year.The trip took a whole day, and I don't really recall where we went, but it couldn't really have been that far away from Moncton. There is a lot of woods everywhere around there, and that's all I remember.That we cut the tree down in the woods, and there was not a lot of snow.
My grandfather resurfaced for a short time too.All of an afternoon to be exact.By this time my fathers sister and her brood of kids had moved up to Pleasant Street in Springhill, up near the hospital.It was not a very nice house, but better than the one they lived in out by the prison.It was at the end of the street, and there were trees around and it was quite dark.The older kids always told us not to go outside there, because there were bats that would get into your hair.But one day, we'd made a roadtrip to visit my aunt and her kids.At some point my grandfather came by.I have no real idea of where he came from.He might have even lived there, but Springhill was small, so he wasn't that far away.But when he got there, he and my father left, and were gone for a few hours.I didn't like being at my aunt's house at the best of times, those being the occasions when both of my parents were around, so I'd started to put up a bit of a fuss.My aunt came into this room, with an old stove in it, and got this idea that she would help me write a letter to Santa Claus.When we were finished, she opened up the top of the stove, the part where you feed in the coal, and put my letter in.I was appalled, afraid Santa Claus would never get it.But she explained that that is how it got to the north pole,that it turned into smoke, then, when it reached it's destination, it turned back into a letter.It sounded kind of silly to me,but I didn't say anything.I was just anxious to have my father return so we could leave.I seemed to have had a bit of an attitude about being around my aunt, for as long as I can remember.Later, back in Moncton, I told the babysitter' oldest daughter, the one with the mouth, all about the letter.She just said"Your aunt is so full of shit'" I knew I would have to try hard not to repeat that.
Eventually Christmas arrived, and gifts were piled high under the tree we had decorated a few days before.Guns and toy soldiers were the theme that Christmas, and for my sister there was a doll, and coloring books and new books for the both of us.We ate a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, then a Turkey for supper.Both of my parents were home, we were all together, and the season was bountiful.A week later, 1966 disappeared into memory and history book.For me, it had seemed a long and eventful year.
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