When it was time to clear out Grandma’s room at the Wentworth, I was invited to choose a few things I wanted to remember her by. My items were her desk (the boy uses it every single day and it has been a most treasured item for him for most of his life), her bible, and the memory book created for her 90th birthday party. I carried all of these while we travelled, and when I felt disconnected from who I was, I’d read her bible or look through the memory book to remember. Her memory book is made up of her autobiography and photos put together (I think) by my aunt. I thought I’d take a brief break from the letters and share her story here. As I’ve been reading and sharing her letters I’ve begun to better understand what an incredible woman she was and thought it may be interesting to share her life story in her words.
I remember Grandma telling me of her adventures sledding down the hill in Cochrane with such a look of happiness on her face, until she looked at me and saw the wheels turning in my head. The stories always ended with “but it’s not safe now, you should never do that”. So instead I went tobogganing down the buffalo jumps until I got caught, apparently that also was not acceptable haha. It also didn’t make for a very smooth ride so I was happy not to have to repeat it.
Cochrane September 27th 1908
The Fairies and the Leprechauns were in Cochrane and they clapped their hands in glee
When the Doctor spanked the bottom
Of a baby that was me.
Woe is me.
“Ow”. That was me when Dr. Park spanked my bottom when I was born in our house in Cochrane. What a difference to the soft touch the babies have now when born. No wonder we’re a hardy race, it was survival of the fittest. Then I remember my mother trying to talk me into an afternoon nap a few years later. My father rocking me in his arms in the rocking chair and singing to me to ease the pain of an earache with a bag of warm salt pressed to it. The rocking chair had a coyote skin draped over it, a big hide tanned and lined with red felt with scalloped edges.
These dear old hills of Cochrane provided endless fun and adventure for a child living in the village. Picking flowers in the spring. Building play-houses out of stones just laid on the ground in a pattern etc and galloping around on my stick-horse. Then when the winter snows came there was nowhere could compare with the marvellous speed of a bob-sleigh coming down the hill, then hitting the road and flying down nearly to the front street. The only traffic was horse drawn and they panicked from us, not us from them.
It was awful having only one sister and she was six and a half years older than me. I just couldn’t keep up to her, hard as I’d try, and she tried equally as hard to leave me behind. So I amused myself with whatever was handy and that nearly always was a horse.