Cape Breton Orphan - Chapter 2

Cape Breton Orphan
Chapter 2 - Welcome to Cape Breton

After two days, we arrived at our new home in Low Point, Cape Breton. When I got out of the car, a boy, a couple of years older than I, came around a barn with sticks in his arms. He had light brown hair and blue eyes, and walked straight towards me.

A few feet away, he stopped, and we just stared at each other in a friendly way. This was my new brother, Bradley. I pulled some French fries out of my pocket and gave them to him. He ate them and smiled. Recently, he told me that they had tasted good.

Low Point would be our new home for the next few years. There was another brother I had not met yet: Junior, four years younger than I and fathered by Johnny.

So, there I was, in a beautiful place — surrounded by trees and green hills. We lived in a little white wooden house with black trim, on a cleared flat spot at the top of White’s Lane. Nothing was paved up there. It was all natural ground and grass.

From that vantage point, you could look down to the blue ocean about half a mile away. To the south were South Bar and Sydney, and to the north, New Victoria and New Waterford. In between the hill and the main highway, which ran very close to the cliffs, were trees, hills, and houses dotted here and there. All around grew blueberries and strawberries.

Behind our house lay Petrie’s Lake — and the great thing about this lake was that it froze in the winter and you could play hockey on it!

Only a hundred feet from my new home was another building, covered with black tar paper. It belonged to the MacKays, an older couple. In between our houses was a well, with a square red wooden covering above it.

Our home had three bedrooms. Bradley and I shared one, Alison had another, and the bigger bedroom was for Ma and Johnny. I can’t remember which room Junior slept in at this time (maybe in Alison’s). There was a small bathroom beside my bedroom, and a small living room with a TV. The kitchen had a coal stove, an off-shoot area for dishes and cupboards, and a pantry with the door that led outside.

As there were now two more mouths to feed, Johnny put in three new vegetable gardens. Bradley and I were responsible for weeding them. We also cut the kindling wood and gathered the coal each day. I remember taking out the garbage to a big dump behind an old wooden out-house in the woods, nearby the house. A fair-sized snake used to frequent the dump too. I was glad that I only saw it occasionally.

I made myself a little hiding place in the forest just below our house. I read books there, and I just loved being among the trees. Having my own secret place was important. Looking back, I had psychological issues, and I was wetting the bed at that time.

Ma and Johnny tried to help me. They talked to a doctor, and he recommended various things, like me scrubbing the mattress with soap and water outside the house each time I wet the bed, and also using a plastic sheet under me at night time. A year or two later, I outgrew it — which the doctor told them would happen eventually.

Ma gave me her empty spice bottles and I used them as make-believe medicine for my doctor’s office — which was in the out-house.

Low Point was filled with blueberries — big, juicy and so tasty. The ones in the hills just past the MacKays’ were the best in the world. In summer time we gathered lots of blueberries for Ma’s pies and muffins, but we also put them in empty milk bottles and sold them at the side of the highway — to tourists or locals — whoever stopped. The money went towards school clothes and supplies. Many blueberries didn’t make it into our house, though, as I ate lots in the fields. If I took any from a bottle on the side of the road, I would then shake the bottle, so it would appear full again. Bradley showed me that trick.

The summers were endless. Besides berry picking and playing games, we spent lots of time down at the ocean — either climbing the banks or fishing.

For some reason, I never had a good rod, and my only claim to fame was catching a tiny little perch one year, which I put in my back pocket and brought home to show to everyone. Ma cooked it and I ate it.

There were some excellent fishermen down there and one guy in particular who stood on a rock out in the water. He had a good rod and reel and cast the lure out far. He caught tons of mackerel.

Each winter we would play hockey on Petrie’s Lake. I was not a good skater. I don’t think I ever skated before, but I loved hockey. This was one big lake. It was the first time I ever heard ice cracking. And if you’ve never heard it before, it’s pretty scary!

You’re skating or playing hockey, and you can see the dark under the ice, and then all of a sudden: Crrraaaccck; a long terrifying sound that travels down the length of the lake.
Yet, none of us ever fell in. Well, none of the skaters …

One winter, at the beginning of the season, Johnny was cutting the ice with his axe to make sure it was thick enough, and somehow Ma, who stood close, crashed through. Fortunately, the water was only up to her waist. It happened right beside the shore, and they managed to get her out without much trouble.

Bradley was a very good skater and hockey player. Being two years older than I, he always seemed stronger and better at everything. Bradley was a Montreal Canadiens fan whereas I loved the Toronto Maple Leafs.
We usually joined in a game of hockey at the lake, and there were other groups and individuals skating all over the huge ice surface.

During those years, Bradley had a good friend named Brian. His family was very poor, and some local people called them names. It was mean and I never forgot it.

One time, the three of us climbed the banks along the shore, which was a new experience for me. The two older boys were in front and disappeared over the edge, leaving me close to the top. I was stuck and couldn’t go up any farther. It was a long way down, and I was pretty scared. I hollered to them, and they quickly re-appeared, laughing. They grabbed my arms and pulled me over. I never felt like they were mean to me, though, just boys being boys.

In the summer, we often went to Austen Robert’s store, which was at the end of White’s Lane, the winding country road that led from our place to the New Waterford highway. They sold meat and bread and other grocery items, but most importantly, popsicles, ice cream sandwiches and other cold treats. I especially remember the three-coloured Popsicle Pete, and the Buried Treasures drumsticks that had a little plastic figurine hidden under the ice cream.

We got fifty cents each as our weekly allowance, and you could buy a bottle of coke and a bag of chips for less than a quarter.

I entered Grade 3 that first year at my new school, which was aptly named, Low Point School. My classmates had already learned to write the year before, but I had not. My teacher gave me lots of extra attention and turned me into a pretty good writer.

I loved school. Ma packed us peanut butter and jam sandwiches and some cookies, wrapped in wax paper. I can still smell the inside of the lunch box when opened up.
Ma made me wear a dorky ‘Londoner’ hat to school in the first year, and some of the boys made fun of me. I slapped one boy and then sat by myself crying. He and some others threatened to beat me up, but thankfully didn’t. I wasn’t much of a fighter.

Bradley taught me my multiplication tables and always had interesting tricks to show me. For example, how you could do the nine times table by putting down the numbers from 1 to 8 and then writing them backwards on the other side — 8 down to 1. He also taught me that spelling GEOGRAPHY could be remembered as ‘George Eaton’s Old Goat Ran After Pat Hinchey Yesterday.’ I still remember that and chuckle!

One evening, we were studying together in the bedroom. I was lying in bed, close to our table lamp, which had no shade. When I reached for something, my hand accidentally touched the bare light bulb. It left a scar on my hand for many years.

Winnie Chafe was our math teacher. She also happened to be one of the best fiddle players in Cape Breton, and that is saying a lot, because there are many great players there. We did a math test and nobody passed it. She lined up the entire class at the back of the room and proceeded to give us the strap for failing! I remember the parents getting really upset about that.

One day, while we were getting ready for school, Brian knocked on the door and came in. Bradley was making toast and burned it. He tried to brush off the black crumbs and even put some water on it. The piece of toast was completely ruined, but Brian still wanted to eat it, and did. I felt really bad for him.

Johnny was a very good provider. He worked hard at the Steel Plant in Whitney Pier, and we four children lacked for nothing. He used to take some of the vegetables we grew, put them in the trunk of the Impala and bring them to some black families in the Pier — close to the coke ovens. I was in the car at least one time to see that.

One thing I disliked about Johnny, though, was that he had something against Bradley. He often called him by a nick-name Bradley didn’t like.

We owned a family dog, Spotty, white with black spots, part Labrador and part Dalmatian. He was an outside dog and always around. I considered him my dog. Spotty and I were very close. I used to show him my hockey cards, both of us sitting up against the MacKay house.

Another thing I used to do with my hockey cards was making little table-top games at the kitchen table. I cut out the players to make two teams, and crumpled the silver foil from Ma’s cigarette package into a ball, which I passed between the players. I also created small baseball games outside in the dirt with sticks and pebbles.

One day, when I was playing road hockey by myself on the field between the houses, Spotty came down from the woods, acting strange. I had a funny feeling about the situation, so I called to him from the other side of the well. Sure enough, he walked right into it. Spotty was blind! I hollered towards the house. Ma and Johnny came out and examined him. They discovered that someone had shot him with buckshot right in the face. There were hunters in the area up by Petrie’s Lake.

That night, I slept with Spotty on the pantry floor.

Either the next day or shortly thereafter, Alison went to get the newspaper. Back then, you had to walk the long gravel road to the highway, then cross to the other side to pick up the paper that was thrown there. Spotty followed Alison and got hit by a car and was killed instantly.

Sometimes I wonder if they just told me that story, but put Spotty out of his misery.

Of course, I was heartbroken, but I still had the woods, the blueberries, the lake and the ocean.

I loved the spectacular beauty of Cape Breton, but I would soon learn that there was another side to the island — a dark side.

Cape Breton Orphan - Chapter 2
Randall James