Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I went to class in a one room school house in South Slocan. There was just one teacher for all eight grades. His name was Mr. Street. Every Friday he would give me a ride into Nelson so I could go to the butcher to pick up our meat for the weekend. I never spoke to him while I was in his class and we never spoke during the twelve mile trip into Nelson. He would stay at the hotel Friday night. I would have dinner at the hotel - Pork, vegetables, a drink, and a piece of pie all for thirty-five cents. I would go and see a movie and then catch the Kettle Valley train home. I was twelve years old. Sometimes I would meet Ed Mathieson and we would visit his father's bootlegging place. Ed and I would sit in a corner. Ed would whistle so his dad would bring us a ginger beer. Ed called the drink a "whistle." Ed once gave me two pigeons. I took them home in an orange crate, the kind that was divided in two - one side for each pigeon. A few days later Ed's dad came to get the pigeons. He said they were too young to be on their own.