#(which i got from Action i think it would be a 'dollar stor' in other countries??)

[furaill]

Made a little Reo keychain >:3

[nobelmemories]

,                                               

           More Nobel Memories – Along The Nobel Road

                                       Part II

Picture 1 is of old R.J. Sarnie Crawford Garage at Nobel. Picture 2 is Foundation of George Hunt Barn. See stories to follow:

         A couple of stories ago I told a story about the Harrison farm and how Andy Thompson use to ride a horse named Louie in from Dillon each day when he worked at C.I.L. Well I was talking to my friend Bob Hammel since then. Bob is the son of Gord Hammel and Agnes Thompson. Gord served in the WW 2 and around that time they lived on the old Nuremberg Farm, later the McCoubrey farm on Hammel Ave. Bob advised that the horse old Louie ended up being owned by his father following the end of the war and they traded it for a cow from a family called Little, who lived up Britt way. I asked which lived the longest the cow or the horse and his reply was: He did not know but they got milk out of the cow for the next year.

     This reminded me that when I was young the old timers who loved horses would know all of the horses in the country and would tell you pedigree of each of the horses. They did not have computers in those days so they must have done a lot of talking and stor telling about their horses. They use to do the same thing with the old cars from the 1920’s and 1930’s. They would tell you who bought that old model t or model A etc. and who bought it from who and quite often where it had ended up being the power source for a Saw Mill, Buzz Saw or some other purpose.

      I remember my dad back in the forties buying a 1928 Chevrolet, he then shopped around for an engine and Uncle Sarnie installed the engine in the car. Mother then took a paint brush and she painted the car robin’s egg blue. We had the car for several years and then finally bought a 1948 Mercury. When I was going to High School I met two brothers from the MacDougall Road, their names were Bill and Jack Johnston. They had ended up with the old Chevrolet and cut the top off of it and made a tractor. I was quite interested in that car because when I was quite young I had earned a one dollar bill. We were on our way to the McKellar Fair. I was in the back seat playing with the dollar bill, I was pushing it up and down the window of the door, it slipped from my fingers and slid down the glass and inside the door. I never told my parents. I learned the dollar was definitely gone because the Johnston boys had thrown the doors away when they cut the roof off the car.

     I believe a lot of the talking I mentioned was completed on Friday nights. We always went to town, the ladies would do a bit of shopping and the men would mostly visit. Usually gathering at Beatty’s Corner.  Often beside the old horse watering trough that still sits there. I am not sure wether it was Friday night or Saturday night the Salvation Army Band would also be playing there. They would talk about their horses, cattle and crops and of course the old cars. I remember standing by my dad, he had a habit of standing with his left hand cupping his chin and his right hand cupping his left elbow and supporting arm. I would try to do the same. Dad loved to meet new people and so often I would see him approach a group and start talking to them. Some would kind of ignore him initially, but he would stay there until they warmed up, when he had their attention and had a good conversation going, then he would assume his position. Left hand on chin, right hand on elbow. I loved my dad.

     When I was around 12 years old I bought my first and only bicycle from a fellow named Alex Bull who lived in the Nobel village. I paid $15 for that first bike. I know it represented a lot of trips around that golf course chasing those silly white balls. I don’t know where Alex ended up but I was told he ended up being an airline pilot. At any rate, I had that bike for a while and they came out with a three geared rear wheel that you could buy and simply exchange for your present rear wheel. The gear shift was mounted on your crossbar and there was a little lever that you would move to the three different locations for the three speeds. It really worked well.. One weekend in the fall of 1946 or 1947, I decided to go up to visit my friend Bob Hammel and go hunting. At that time Bob’s family were living in what they called the old Godfrey Place. To get to it you traveled up the Carling Road past Simms Lake and the old Harrison farm and turned up a driveway to the right just past Arden Quinn’s driveway. Their house was located right up against the C.P.R. fence and would be about where the present south end of the bridge of the present day Carling Road Hwy 559 crosses over the railway track. The Carling Road at that time was actually Hwy 69. Bob and I took a little lunch and followed a trail that use to go back to Dinner Lake, hunting for partridge. As kids and young men will do, we got into a discussion. That day the discussion was what happened to a projectile after it hit the water. There was no discussion of killing anyone or committing an armed robbery. Bob was of the opinion that the bullet lost its power after it hit the water. We were sitting there eating lunch and I took Bob’s apple and threw it into the lake. I then proceeded to blow a hole through it using my .22.  Bob argued that was a poor test because the apple was not completely submerged in the water. There was no use arguing with him, so I just kind of filed it away. We continued our hunt and later returned to their house. There was no one home. Bob wanted to try out my new bicycle wheel  He took off down the driveway to Hwy 69. I was a little bored, so I got a galvanized metal pail that was there. I filled the pail with water, held the .22 over top and pulled the trigger. Walla I was right, the bullet blew a hole through the bottom of the pail. I took the pail and threw it over the fence back of the house onto the railroad property. I never thought any more about it until the following week at school. I think it was Ronnie Hunt, Bob and I were eating our lunch. We had been given the ½ pint of milk . I was listening to Bob and Ron talk. Bob had just informed Ron that he was grounded at home. I had just taken a big swallow of milk, when Ron asked how come you were grounded. Bob replied: well some tramp off the track shot a hole in mom’s scrub pail and I got blamed for it.  The milk halfway down my throat exploded coming out my nose, mouth and I think even the corners of my eyes. I started laughing. Bob didn’t think it was so funny. He said it was you wasn’t it you s.o.b. I confessed. I don’t know if it saved Bob from his grounding or not.  I know after that when I was around the Hammel house Agnes always seemed to have one eye on me.

                 THE PLANNED HOME INVASION AND ROBBERY

       When the war ended and the ammunition plants were closed down, Many of the people were suddenly out of work. Many of the shacks and hastily built homes were abandoned and left as they were. One such house was located on Felsman’s Drive on the north side of the road just over the railway tracks and was about the same location as Dick Lubbelinkhof’s present house is. There was an old 44.40 cal Winchester lever action rifle leaning up against the living room wall in the house. I was familiar with the rifle as my mother had borrowed one from Dave Lumsden the previous fall to go deer hunting with. My brother had also borrowed it one time, I had shot it and found it to be quite accurate. I reasoned that no one would be back for it anyway and I could steal it, keep it hidden so no one would see it and go hunting with it. I had listened to all of the detective stories on the radio and knew I just had to be careful and be sure to leave no fingerprints at the house. I was pretty sure I would be able to pry open a window and leave no sign of my coming or going. The big thing was it got dark early and I would really have to move fast to make the two and a half miles down then back again before dark. So I got home from school and picked up a set of dad’s old work gloves and headed out on my mission. I traveled down Slaght’s road, crossed over the railroad tracks, into the bush by the little pond. I then started running at a pretty good jog and was just about through to where the present golf course road was. I came full tilt around this big white pine and put on my brakes as fast as I could. There was the biggest black bear I had ever seen. It must have been twelve feet tall standing on its hind legs (actually 6’) and weighed twelve hundred pounds ( actually 250). It was a sow with two cubs. I froze and looked up into the bear’s face. She didn’t seem to see me, just stood there sniffing and snorting and swinging her head back and forth. I finally got my legs to get moving and ran as fast as I could out to Mac Campbell’s house.  He was on the back porch when I ran up to him, but I could just make sounds, I was so scared I could not talk properly. I think I finally got the word bear out then turned and ran on home. I think I later told mom and dad about seeing the bear but never told them about the mission I had been on.  I never did get back to see what happened to that gun or the house. I don’t think it ever crossed my mind to steal anything again either. I kind have had it in the back of my mind that someone was watching me. People often asked me in later years as a police officer if I never had opportunities to break the law and my answer was always the same. Yes, I did, but I had to shave every morning too and I always did it with a mirror. I also remembered that bear.

     Once we had a bicycle we hardly moved without it. There are so many stories that we can tell about our falls and scrapes. I know I sure had a lot of them.Tthe one that sticks in my memory happened on the old Hwy 69 in front of Hartley Bosely’s house. Now Kathy and Ken Rosewell ’s. We all got pretty good at riding with no hands. I was probably eleven or so. I drove out our driveway and headed south, riding with no hands. I remember as I passed Mac Campbell’s driveway thinking, I wonder if I can do it with my eyes closed. I seemed to be doing pretty good when all of a sudden I was airborne. I had crossed the southbound shoulder, hit the guardrail cable and flipped over the handlebars. The ditch right there was about 12’ deep. I landed in a pile on the bottom of it. Today I have pretty severe back problems. It probably would have helped if I kept my eyes opened.

                                    THE GEORGE HUNT FARM

      In my time George Hunt did not live on his farm. He had sold the farm to Harry Demick who owned the Garage on Gibson Street in Parry Sound. George Hunt was foreman on the Highways Department and worked with a crew including his nephew Vernon; Milt’s son on Hwy 69 in the Nobel area. It seemed we would see them working every time we made a trip to town. George lived in a two-story house that still sits there. It was at the bottom of the hill on Nobel Road, about a quarter of a mile south of the old barn. George’s son Arnold lived in the house beside him and immediately south across the shared driveway. Arnold’s family were Gwen, Ron, Doug, Gary, and Lois. I spent a lot of time at the Arnold Hunt house. They had pigs in a pig pen over near the tracks. Ron and Doug were two of the best pig riders I ever saw. They had a huge dog house for a shelter for the pigs. One day one of the boys was riding a pig and got caught between the fence and the eve of the dog house. The big pig was just a bucking, every time it bucked it would lift up the side of the dog house. I thought there was going to be real damage for a while, but they survived. The Hunts were sturdy people.

     I spent a lot of time at the old farm too, now owned by Demick’s. I don’t remember them living there full time. I remember one of the daughters.  I think her name was Shirley. She was close to my age, cute and a real Tom Boy. There were not too many things that she would not join in.  One day a group of us including Dean Simpson and Gary Mace were in the Hay Mow. It was all loose hay then, we would climb to the top of the mow then slide down the hay onto the thrashing floor. Some hay had already been thrown onto the thrashing floor. It was one of the mentioned boys jumped from the top of the Hay Mow, slid down onto the thrashing floor, across the floor and kept right on going through the Hay Hole where the feed was thrown down to the stable. The stable floor was solid cement. I remember there was a lot of moaning and groaning going on. Like we use to say, he was pretty near knocked out.

He did survive and I think we probably went home after that one.

     Two other stories that come to mind that happened down in the barnyard. One day I spotted a rabbit in the yard, I thought it was a pet rabbit and I chased after it. It took shelter in a pile of rocks. I crawled in and grabbed hold of the rabbit. I never thought before about a rabbit’s back legs. It turned out it was a wild snowshoe rabbit, I was scratched up pretty good before I finally smartened up and let the rabbit go. The second happening involved Roman. Roman was a hired hand and came from one of the Baltic countries. He lived on the premises and did the farm choirs. One day I was down there and I saw Roman walking across the yard. He was not a very a tall man, but he was built like a weightlifter. He was carrying one of those 3 gal tapered horse watering pails. Demick’s had some sheep when Roman got halfway across the yard, the old ram came around the corner of one of the buildings and spotted Roman. The ram charged. Roman seen the ram coming, squatted and held the pail out in front of himself, holding onto the top ring of the pail. The ram hit the pail and folded it skidding Roman backward. He did not fall over. The ram shook his head and walked away. Roman laughed and went on his way.

     In the old days there was a trail that crossed the railroad track behind Hartly Bosley’s house, now Kathy & Ken Rosewells and also behind the Mac Campbell house, now Richard Cloutier’s. It swung slightly to the right running down behind Lumsden’s backfield then south coming out onto what is now the George Hunt Memorial drive. I remember walking through there when I was quite young, hunting partridge. I saw this bird high in a pine tree. I thought it was a partridge and shot it. It turned out it was a Barred owl. I had broken its wing. I thought perhaps I could take it home and my mother would be able to mend its wing. She was good at that sort of thing. I picked the bird up and held out my finger and let it grasp my finger in its talon’s. Don’t ever do that. It just about squeezed my finger in two. I was feeling pretty bad about shooting the owl, but not so bad once he got hold of my finger.

     Prior to about 1950, there were few municipal dumps around. Everyone who had any acreage at all had a spot on their property designated as a dump. Most items that were burnable would be thrown in the stove and burnt. Kitchen waste and ashes went over the bank or into the gardens as compost. When you drive down George Hunt Drive towards the present Golf Course, Demick'ssdump was on that flat rock you can see on your left shortly after you pass the present day Driving Range. Most of us kids would check out the dumps for treasure. One day Dean Simpson and I were on our way home and passing their dump. We checked it out. We found one of the glass cylinders that formed the part of the really old gas pumps. The side was marked off showing the gallons. The hand pump on the side of the pump was used to pump up the gas into the glass cylinder.  If a person wanted five gallons of gas you would pump up to the five-gallon mark, then fill the car or container using the hose and gravity feed. Having found this cylinder I thought I could make a really nice aquarium out of it. I was really excited as I had wanted one for a long time and now I could make one. Dean and I looked and found a pole to put through the cylinder to carry it home. The bad thing was, we used a white birch pole. It was too rotten. We got about halfway across that rock and the pole broke and the glass fell on the rock and broke. I never did get my aquarium until I was married and had children of my own. Then I bought it for them. Lol.

     The old George Hunt (Demick’s) Barn caught fire in 1950 and burnt to the ground. I remember going down after school and standing on the ramp that led into the thrashing floor. There were many heads of cattle and several horses that burnt in that fire. That’s all that could be seen, the roasted dead animals smoking in the ruins. The faces of the people showed the loss. The old George Hunt Barn was no more. I could not remember the exact date of the fire. Jack Vigrass advised me that he and Gary Mace were on their way to school on their bicycles, seen the fire and spent the day watching the fire. On their way home, they stopped at the golf course and were hired to caddy for the famous boxer Joe Louis. I know Joe Louis was touring with the circus in 1950, so the barn burnt in 1950.

     In 1950 the Nobel Parry Sound area also experienced the Oil Spill that contaminated almost all of the beaches in both the inner harbor and the entire Big Sound. It was a means of employment, attempting to clean up the spill for a couple of years thereafter. But they still just scratched the surface to this day, 67 years later you can still find signs of that spill.

                                     COWBOYS AND INDIANS

        During the war, there was a bus service run by McIssac Bros. that ran between Nobel and Parry Sound. If my memory was correct it cost 10 cents to go from our house to Parry Sound. The main bus stop in Parry Sound was on the corner in front of Shamess’s store. Corner of James St and Sequin St. We used it to go to the movies at the Strand Theatre on the main street just before McKinley’s Hardware. The best movies, of course, involved Cowboys and Indians. We all had cap guns and rifles and of course bows and arrows. Most of them were homemade, the guns were often made by cutting out a dynamite box in the shape of a gun, fasten a clothespin to the hand grip with the open end up where the hammer would be. We then cut rubber bands from an old inner tube, strung them from the front of the barrel back and hooked them in the mouth of the clothespin. Then we would just aim, squeeze the trigger and the clothesline at the same time releasing the band as a projectile. Bows were made from Hazelwood or ironwood and the arrows from dry cattail stems or dry cedar. We would force empty .22 shell over the end and find some feathers to whip on with thread on the other end. Gary Mace, Dean Simpson, Dale Godfrey , and later Allan Manning Jack Vigrass played in every bush for a couple of miles. I earlier mentioned a circular trail being built behind the outbuildings on the Lumsden Farm that circled the backfield behind the outbuildings coming back out behind the old Harry Smith Property. Starting ¾ ‘s of the way around that trail during the war there were at least two shacks and an old house trailer. I remember the couple living in the trailer had the last name of Penny. There was a trail that went down the hill about 1/3 of the way around the circular trail and came out near the entrance to Ben Ritchie's present home off  Slaught’s Road; Now Murray Point Road. During the war, there was a family named Fox lived there. One of there boys also joined in our wars. The favorite spot to play was on a bluff of rock immediately behind where Ben’s house now stands. There was a trail gradually sloped up about twelve feet to an overhang of rock that we called the cave. When the overhang was formed a smaller block of rock fell off the point and was like a table in front of the Cave or overhang.  This was where we would pick off the Indians or bad guys as they tried to sneak up on us. That was unless one or two of us wanted to be an Indian or bad guy that day. There are some readers who would like to take offense to my telling this story, but in my time we also did a lot of reading. I will admit that we were somewhat influenced by the western movies, but we were equally influenced by the stories of the North American Indian and his way of life, living off the land, appreciating nature, learning the ways of the animals and birds so that you could live with them and harvest them as you needed for food and clothing. I am inclined to walk with a slight stoop, most people who know me well can recognize me a mile away by my stooped walk. My mother use to get after me all the time to stand straight, I still walk with a stoop. I had read and to this day believe there is some truth to it, that Native or Indian people are inclined to walk more pigeon-toed or with the toes turned in, where most European descendant people are inclined to walk with their toes pointed out and walk like a duck. I wanted to be an Indian so badly that I would constantly try to walk with my toes pointed in.  I am probably the only one of my group who is inclined to walk with my foot straight instead of in or out.  So obviously my life was influenced by the Indian of that day.

     I just made a trip home from town, I passed the Municipal Road on the way. I was just remembering that the Municipal Road use to be called Hoddy’s Side Road and for those of you who still enjoy your old memories, the entrance off of Nobel Road use to have a big White Pine tree right in the middle. The Locals all referred to that corner as THE PINE TREE CORNER. If you drove out of Hoddy’s Side Road to Nobel Road, if you were going north you drove around the right side of the tree, if south you drove around the left side of the tree.

     These are my stories for this session.