Lost in Cabbagetown, page 10
It would be a very long time before I saw the light of day. When Da was at work, I could come downstairs, but if we did run into each other, he just ignored me. Going to and from school and Sunday Mass was the only time I was allowed outside. Mamie warned me that if I was even one minute late getting home from school or Mass, she wouldn’t be there to protect me. She didn’t have to say any more.
* * *
Every month more and more families moved into the neighbourhood. By the spring of 1960, the school was literally bursting at the seams. More students meant more portable classrooms. Even recess time had to be staggered because the schoolyard was too small to accommodate everyone at once.
After Easter, it had been announced that a new extension was to be built onto the existing building. The added classrooms would take up most of the remaining property and stretch all the way back to the boundary fence along Salisbury Avenue.
Although the actual construction would not begin until early July, much of the preliminary work had to be done while school was still in session. With all the building materials and scaffolding surrounding the school, the whole property became a large construction site. Three of the portables had to be removed, forcing at least ninety students to move inside the building for the last month of the school year. With forty or more kids now in every classroom, there was barely room to move. The addition of twenty grade-four students to our grade-six classroom had at least brought one positive benefit: Sister Agnes couldn’t easily get at the kids whose desks were in the middle of the room. The extra work made her nastier than ever, but with so many new kids to terrorize, she paid less attention to the rest of us. Sometimes the classroom felt like a pressure cooker ready to explode. Morning roll call was utter chaos. After a day or two, most of the nuns didn’t bother to count heads.
Donny Lund was the first to disappear, and after we saw him get away with it, Harold and I joined him for a morning of wandering around the Don Valley. At first it felt great to be free of St. Martin’s. It was a glorious sunny morning in June. Harold came up with the idea to catch some garter snakes we could take home for pets, so we made our way down to the banks of the Don River. After an hour of turning over rocks and finding nothing, Donny and I were ready to quit.
That’s when all the what-ifs began to creep into my thoughts. What if Sister Agnes had noticed us missing and she was standing by the school gate, ready to whip us with her yardstick? What if we were caught by a truant officer and dragged into Sister Alphonse’s office to be beaten with her leather strap? Worst of all, what if Mamie found out and sent me upstairs to wait for Da?
When I told Harold and Donny I was going back, they both laughed and called me a chicken. Regardless of what they said, I was not about to change my mind. I could see by the expression on his face that Harold was beginning to have some doubts as well. Soon Donny was the only holdout. He called us a couple of babies for being so frightened. Harold just laughed, but I was getting a little angry with being called names.
“It’s easy for you,” I said, pushing Donny backward. “Your old man doesn’t give a shit about ya, but mine will kick the hell out of me if he finds out I took off from school!” The moment I said the words, I regretted them, but it was too late.
Just the mention of his father was enough to send Donny charging at me. Both of us rolled on the ground, arms flailing, trying to land a punch on the other’s face. It was more like a wrestling match than a fist fight, with neither one of us inflicting any real damage. It only lasted a minute before Harold pulled us apart. He laughed as Donny and I stood bent over, trying to catch our breath.
I don’t know if it was because of our little fight or simply the prospect of being left alone, but after a few minutes, all three of us started back up the hill toward the school. By the time we’d reached the edge of the park, we were all talking again. Harold was relatively clean, but Donny and I had mud stains on our pants from rolling around in the weeds. I was surprised when Donny suggested we go to his house to clean ourselves up a bit. Donny was never allowed to bring his friends in the house. He insisted we use the back door so we couldn’t be seen from the street.
After cleaning our shoes and brushing the mud off our pants, we looked a little more presentable. Donny said his father wouldn’t be home before dark, but he still seemed nervous just having us there. Although we were running short on time, Donny insisted on wiping out the sink and mopping up any telltale marks we’d left on the floor.
I had managed to wipe all the mud from my pants, but the dark wet stain it had left made it look like I’d peed myself. It was a warm day, so I hoped my pants would dry before we got back to the schoolyard.
When we turned onto Winchester Street, it looked like our plan to get back into the school was working out perfectly. The lunch break was almost over, but the yard was still full of screaming kids. The back gate on Salisbury Avenue was open, and with a little luck we could sneak in and be swallowed up by the crowd before anyone knew the difference.
We were literally ten steps from the gate when we heard Sister Mary Joseph’s voice booming across the yard. “You three! Stop right where you are!”
In that moment I knew we were as good as dead. All the horrors I had conjured up in my mind were about to come true. As she approached, Harold muttered something about making a run for it, but it was too late. She knew exactly who we were and where we all lived. The only option left was to tell the truth and take the beating that would follow. At least it was Sister Mary Joseph who’d caught us. She did use the strap from time to time, but she was never as cruel as the other nuns.
“How many times have you boys been told you’re not allowed to leave the yard at lunchtime?” she said.
We just stood there, dumbfounded. We had just been given a way out of our dilemma. It is amazing how fast your mind works when you’re terrified. All we had to do was lie to a nun. The priest at Mass always said that a lie would send us to purgatory. I could only assume that telling a big lie, especially to a nun, would surely send us straight to hell. But then again, if I could just stay alive until Saturday, I could go to confession and save my soul from certain damnation.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” Sister Mary Joseph looked rather impatient as she stared at us, waiting for an answer. In an instant, the words came to me. “Sorry, Sister. We were just playing hide-and-seek behind the cars.”
Then I realized she was staring at the stain on my pants. I knew that the question was coming and that I was about to compound my problem by telling another lie.
Normally the sound of the bell ringing was met by a collective groan through the schoolyard. For the three of us standing there, the bell could not have come at a better time. Would she let us go? All the students were starting to line up, ready to march inside, yet we still stood there, under her knowing gaze. It was like she could see right into us and was trying to decide if we were telling the truth.
“Okay,” she finally said. “Get yourselves back inside and don’t let me catch any of you outside the fence again.”
As the end of the school year drew closer, the chaos within the school only grew worse. More and more construction material was brought onto the site. Bricks and boards and mounds of sand were placed next to the fence, while cans of paint and bags of cement lined the inner hallway. Sister Alphonse had a stern warning for us all. Anyone caught playing around the construction material, either inside or outside, would be strapped so hard they would be sore for a week. Some mornings it was difficult to pay attention in class when all we could see and hear were trucks backing into the yard to offload equipment. At first it was exciting to watch, but when we were told it was not safe to go out for recess, the novelty quickly wore off. Some days felt endless. I am sure the teachers felt as trapped as the students did. Even the normally mild-mannered Sister Mary Joseph could sometimes be heard shouting at kids in the hallway. Sister Alphonse tried to maintain some level of calm through it all, but there was no mistaking the look of relief on her face when the bell rang and we were all set free at the end of each day.
* * *
By mid-June, we could almost feel the excitement in the air. Even Sister Agnes appeared to be in a better mood. I am sure she was thinking the same thing we all were. School was almost over for the summer and soon she could say good riddance to us all.
My only real concern was what I would say when I finally saw Jimmy. No one had seen him in over a week, but we all knew he wouldn’t be moving on to grade seven with the rest of us. I knew he would be unhappy about it, but no one could have predicted what happened the day that Jimmy’s mother found out her son had failed.
Our exams were over, and we thought it was going to be just another boring afternoon of putting in time while we waited for the bell to ring at three o’clock. But then Mrs. Duncan showed up, and her angry voice carrying down the hallway caught our attention. Sister Alphonse tried to calm her down and guide her into the office, but she had no intention of sitting down. Poor Sister Alphonse could hardly keep up with her as she marched down the hall, demanding to see Sister Agnes. When she came banging on our classroom door, Sister Agnes told us to sit quietly at our desks and read our catechism books. Then she went out into the hall.
Again Sister Alphonse tried to move the discussion to her office, but Jimmy’s mother refused to budge. The moment the door closed, the shouting began. Everyone in our class looked stunned. We had all heard the men in our neighbourhood cursing, but we had never heard such language from a woman. We tried to stay quiet, but it was difficult not to laugh when we heard Mrs. Duncan calling Sister Agnes an old cow.
The moment the door opened again, every head in the room shot straight down, pretending to read our books. Sister Agnes never said a word, but we knew she was watching us. No one dared look up. She was clearly upset and no one wanted to give her an excuse to turn on us.
I don’t think there was a single person in the entire school who didn’t enjoy hearing the wicked witch of the west being finally put in her place. We only wished it would have turned out better for Jimmy. Unfortunately, Mrs. Duncan’s anger did not change his fate. Jimmy would have to spend another year in grade six.
One morning when school had been out for almost a week, Jimmy and Wayne came knocking on our door. It was the first sunny morning after days of rain, and Mamie was only too happy to get us kids outside so she could relax in the quiet of her kitchen. Fred was sent off to Power Supermarket to pick up a bag of potatoes. Thankfully, Marie was now considered old enough to watch over David and Philip. At first Philip whined that he wanted to go with me and my friends. I only had ten cents in my pocket, but I gave it to Marie to buy some Popsicles at the corner store. I didn’t like being completely broke, but it was the price I had to pay to get away from babysitting and be with my friends.
As soon as we were clear of the neighbourhood, Wayne lit a cigarette and we passed it around. By the time it got back to me, the butt was so short that I had to drop it before it burned my fingertips. As usual, Wayne was doing most of the talking. Normally I found Wayne’s constant chatter a real annoyance, but at least today we weren’t talking about school.
Maybe it was my fault for bringing up the subject of money, but when I mentioned that I had no money for the movie matinee, Wayne pulled a crisp, new five-dollar bill out of his pocket. He went on and on about the money he’d received from his father for having such a good report card. Jimmy just kept walking. He didn’t say a word, but judging by the look on his face, I guessed Wayne was just seconds away from a punch in the mouth.
I told him twice to shut up before it finally dawned on him. If he had just stopped talking, that would have been the end of it. Instead, he prattled on about how sorry he was that Jimmy’s father was missing and how he didn’t think it was right for Jimmy to have to go back into grade six.
I had never seen Wayne look so afraid as he did when Jimmy grabbed him by the shirt. A lot of kids, including me, would have enjoyed watching Wayne get knocked to the ground with a bloody nose, but Jimmy didn’t hit him. Jimmy finally released his grip and began to walk away. Wayne took a deep breath and almost smiled once he realized he wasn’t going to get punched in the face. We both called after Jimmy, asking him to stay, but he just kept walking.
Then he turned around, an odd smile on his face. “Don’t worry about me,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Those nuns are never going to get their hands on me again.”
I yelled back that I would call on him later, but I never did. Months would pass before I laid eyes on Jimmy again.
Chapter 7
The one big drawback to the warm July weather was that it cut into my ability to make money at the grocery store. When the sun was shining and the sidewalks were clear, women were much more inclined to carry their own groceries. Sometimes I would spend hours sitting on my wagon in front of Power Supermarket and not have a penny to show for it. But there was still a little money to be made if you knew where to look. On Friday nights, most of the stores along Parliament Street put out their garbage just before they closed their doors at nine o’clock. Mamie insisted that I be home by nine thirty, which gave me just enough time to scour through all the garbage bins, looking for pop bottles. I could usually find enough empties to cash in for the twenty-five cents I would need for the Saturday matinee.
Once school was out, there were plenty of jobs to do at home every morning before we were allowed to go anywhere. There were dishes to be done, floors to be swept and mopped, and furniture to be dusted. Mamie could always find something for idle hands to do, but Saturday mornings were the worst. That was the day, year-round, that Mamie cleaned the house from top to bottom — and no one was going anywhere until the work was done.
As usual Fred was the good son who never complained, but during the colder months there was one job that we both hated. At 8:00 a.m. every second Saturday, the coal man would make his delivery. It would have been nice if he brought the coal down to the basement, but he dropped the sacks at the back door and hurried away to his next stop. It was left to Fred and me to get it all down to the basement. It took both of us to lift each of the forty-pound burlap sacks, carry them down the narrow stairway and across the cement floor, and then dump the contents into the coal bin next to the furnace. We tried to empty each bag slowly, but still a cloud of coal dust steadily built up all around us. Once the bin was full, we had to gather up all the pieces that had missed the bin and sweep away the thick coating of coal dust that had settled on the floor. Regardless of how careful we were, our faces and arms ended up black with dust and soot. As soon as we came up the stairs, Mamie filled a basin full of water and sent us to the back porch to wash ourselves clean.
Normally I hated to go shopping, but it was certainly better than making beds, cleaning the toilet, or peeling the ten pounds of potatoes we always needed for dinner. The moment Mamie reached for her purse, I was right there, ready to get anything she needed. The Becker’s store was farther away than Power Supermarket, but Mamie liked the gallon milk jugs we could get there for forty-nine cents. If I took my time and checked all the alleys for pop bottles, I could make a little money, and with any luck most of the housework would be done before I reached home. It didn’t take long for Mamie to catch on to my little scheme, and she made sure to save at least one dirty job just for me. At first I tried protesting my innocence, but she just gave me that look that said she’d heard it all before. All I could do now was get the work done quickly and hope Mamie was satisfied enough to let me out in time for the matinee.
By late spring, there was no need for coal, but once the snow had disappeared and the ground had thawed, we set about digging a vegetable garden. Our backyard wasn’t nearly as big as the one back in Ireland, but it still took three weeks of shovelling the hard, stony ground before Mamie was satisfied with our efforts.
The jobs were hard enough as it was, but having Fred boss me around all the time only made it worse. If Mamie wasn’t there to hear, I would tell him to bugger off and leave me alone. Sometimes I would fantasize about what it would be like if he weren’t there to torment me all the time. Maybe, I thought, when his back was turned I could whack him in the back of the head with my shovel. I could try to make it look like an accident so Da wouldn’t wallop the hell out of me. Later on at confession, I could tell the priest all about my big sin, knowing he had to keep my secret. He might have me say the rosary three or four times, but that would absolve me of my mortal sin and keep from going to hell. Of course I would never do it, but thinking about it helped a long day of digging go a little faster.
Mamie tried planting all manner of vegetables in her new garden, but the soil was so poor that almost nothing seemed to grow. When everything else failed, we were left with only potatoes. Even in the poorest soil, they always seemed to thrive. By early summer we would have more potatoes than even our big family could eat.
Once Mass was out of the way on Sunday, we could finally look forward to a peaceful afternoon. Mamie would sit in the kitchen, enjoying her tea and listening to the Irish show on the radio. If it was a pay week, Da and my older brothers might walk down to Varsity Stadium and watch a football game. If Fred and I did a good job cleaning the dinner dishes, I might be allowed outside until it got dark at nine o’clock.
That Sunday evening in July started out like any other. Some of the boys on the street got up a game of road hockey at the bottom of Dermott Place, where the asphalt wasn’t quite so rough. It was just past seven o’clock when someone noticed a cloud of black smoke rising above the houses to the north. We all ran up the street, expecting to see someone’s house on fire. When we turned off Carlton onto Sackville Street, we could just hear the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. By the time we reached Winchester, we were all out of breath. That’s when we saw the dense cloud of black smoke hanging over St. Martin’s. There must have been fifty or more kids lining the street, directly across from the school. From our vantage point, it looked like the old part of the school, which faced onto Winchester Street, was generally intact, but the new part of the school, which backed onto Salisbury, was engulfed in flames. By now the firefighters were pouring water onto the back of the building, trying to contain the fire before it reached the portable classrooms along the fence line.
