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GRANDVIEW STREET
Grandview Street is where I spent most of my childhood until the family moved to Edmonton when I was twelve. It was a ramshackle street, probably typical of Flin Flon with its rapid unplanned growth. I remember the frequent chimney fires next door at the Blake's house and the manual pump for drinking water they had on their kitchen counter.
Further down the street lived a woman alone with her children. She was practically destitute. I visited her when I was eight or nine years old and was much affected by what I saw. I went home and got my Mom to donate things to help her out.
In the opposite direction lived a family that allowed their kitchen waste water to flow directly out of the house into what we kids called a slop ditch. It was quite disgusting to look at, as it had lots of food waste in it. One day, while quite a few kids were playing nearby, my sister Suzanne, who was only three, fell into it. The water was so deep that I was afraid she would drown. I stood there for a moment horrified, before I could control my feelings of revulsion and reach over to pull her out. Of course, she was extremely upset and cried all the way home. I was convinced I had rescued her from drowning. Only much later could I see the humorous side of the incident.
Also on the street lived the Eidt family, whose daughter Norma was a friend. When I went to her house, her father Garnet, who I liked a lot, made bread pudding. To make it, he would put a pan with pieces of bread, milk, sugar and raisins to cook in the oven. I remember not liking it, but I loved the set of books he had called something like "Lands and Peoples". I loved to go to Norma's and look at these books. They help to explain my love of travel. What made them so wonderful was the coloured photos, which for me were a great rarity. The only other colour I recall seeing as a young child was in a film at school about Canada's natural resources that showed salmon jumping in mountain streams.
Memories of my father on Grandview Street may help to give an idea of his life there. He frequently chopped wood for the furnace, stoked it every day and kept a big wood pile in the back yard. His job involved being outdoors a lot which he enjoyed even in winter. I remember that at some point his job with HBM&S became one of a civil rather than a mining engineer.
In the summer, he sailed his boat at Big Island Lake, eight miles from town. I don't remember how he traveled those miles before he got a car in 1949, but I know that he and my mother would sail there. Sailing was unfortunately brought to an end when they had a frightening experience, though no one was hurt. A big storm suddenly blew up when they were in the middle of the lake. The return trip had to be made by tacking. My mother believed she would die, as she couldn't swim. As a child, to deter her from going near the river bank on their farm, her mother had made her very afraid of drowning. Hence, her fear of the water and her decision never to sail again.
We continued to go to Big Island Lake, and my father considered building a cottage, but eventually sold the property instead. My father bought a car after the road into Flin Flon was built when I was nine. The eight-mile drive to the lake on a dusty gravel road seemed never-ending. The dust forced us to close the windows, and as the car took one curve after another, we lurched continuously from side to side. Inevitably, my small sister Suzanne would cry out that she was going to be sick.
Instead of a cottage, my father decided to build a garage. I was enlisted as his helper so I could earn half the money needed to buy my bike. My job was to hand my Dad the tools he needed. We didn't talk much. I just stood there until he would say, "Hammer", or "Chisel", or "Level". By the time I was ten, I was quite an expert on garage construction, only to become even more of an expert when, a year later, he decided to build a new house in the Willowvale neighbourhood.
Another memory of my father during those years was of him putting on his army uniform. He was in an essential industry so didn't get called up during the war, but instead was in the reserve army which held periodic exercises. Another is that one winter he used a wooden box and snow to make me an igloo which turned out to be just like those used by the Inuit. It was big enough to be able to go inside if we crouched down. We didn't stay long, though, because it was so cold.
My father also built me a play house. This provided many hours of fun. It was located part way up the rocky hill at the back of our yard, and so seemed to be my very own pretend home. I was probably bossy towards my sister, Suzanne, when she played there with me. We would make cookies out of mud that we mixed up and allowed to dry in the lids of jam jars. Then we would have fancy teas pretending to eat and drink using our child-sized set of dinner dishes made out of real china. There wasn't a lot of mud in this rocky area, but in the recesses between rocks we managed to find some that hardened very nicely into excellent cookies.
In the photos are:
1) and 2) Annette and the play house
3) Suzanne, aged seven or eight at our grandmother's house in Edmonton
4) My father in the snow with his tripod
5) Annette beside the wood pile, and
6) My father in what may have been his reserve army uniform.
MY MOTHER, DONALDA DARIMONT
At this point, I think I should say something about my mother. After her marriage, she led a very conventional life, likely similar to the lives of the majority of her contemporaries. She was content with her role as wife and mother. There must have been ups and downs. However, as a child, I was unaware of the important milestones in her life. For the most part, I took her for granted. She was always there to do everything that needed to be done, without asking for or receiving much credit. So, although this is an account of my father's life, it should not in any way detract from how important she was to me.
My mother lived her first six years on a farm on the banks of the Sturgeon River at Lamoureux, near Fort Saskatchewan. After the death of her father from the flu in 1918, the family moved into Edmonton and lived with the grandparents.
She would frequently be taken out to the country to visit her many cousins. Her Uncle Ernest Lamoureux, her mother's brother, had a big farm on the Correction Line. When he bought one of the earliest cars, family members laughed at him because he couldn't drive it properly, but instead drove it into the ditch all the time. Fortunately, at the speeds of travel in those days, neither driver nor passengers were at much risk of injury.
After completing Grade 12 in Edmonton in 1930, my mother attended Normal School, the teacher training college, for one year. She told me that she had difficulty getting her first teaching post, and was successful only because she was fluent in French. Bilingual teachers were in demand in Alberta's many small French-speaking farming communities. As teaching contracts were for only one year, she taught in several places: Horse Hills, Halkirk, Mallaig, and Morinville are some that I remember. She taught until she married my father in 1939.
Her schools had only one room and accommodated all grades. This meant that when she first began to teach, she had high school kids in her classes who were almost as old as she was! As a young child, I loved nothing more than to look at her scrapbook which was filled with mementos from her teaching days, including hundreds of beautiful valentines. I'm afraid the valentines and the scrapbook itself were much the worse for wear after this, and to my knowledge have unfortunately not survived.
Winter weather in the Alberta prairies was almost as bad as it was in Flin Flon. The schools were heated with pot-bellied wood-burning stoves. The teacher's room and board would be arranged by the School Board at a nearby farm. One day, a bad blizzard came up suddenly and Mom closed the school and sent everyone home. As she lived only a mile away, she set off on foot alone, following the fence posts to find her way. Soon, the wind was so severe and the blowing snow so heavy that she could no longer see anything. It was only by chance that she arrived home safely, terribly cold and frightened for her life.
For all this trouble, she was paid between $70 and $80 a year, and received her money only in the autumn of the next year, assuming, that is, that the farmers had enough money from the harvest to pay their taxes. In spite of the hardship, my mother loved her life as a teacher and considered herself fortunate to be employed during the Depression. From her valentines, I believe she was loved by her pupils. For fun, she went horse-back riding or went into the nearest town on Saturday night with friends. In the winter, they would harness the horse to a wagon full of hay and bundle up warmly. The horse would pull them on the rail line which was always kept clear of snow. She assured me that this was totally safe, as they knew exactly when to expect the trains.
In the photos are:
1) My mother
2) My parents in front of my great grandfather's house in Edmonton
3) My mother
4) Four generations (mother's mother, mother's grandmother, mother and daughter, and
5) My mother in front of one of her schools.
LIFE IN FLIN FLON - FROM A CHILD'S PERSPECTIVE
As a child growing up in Flin Flon, my life would not have been very different from the life of any other child. My father went to work at the plant every day, came home each night, rarely went out on his own; my mother did the usual things, cooked and cleaned, made clothes on her sewing machine, read fairy stories to me, listened to the radio, picked cranberries and blueberries, went out to shop and visit her friends, and had a new baby, my sister Suzanne, when I was five.
What made Flin Flon different was its lack of road access, and its rocky topography. Getting away from the town meant taking the train, which my mother did almost every year to visit her family in Edmonton. As there was no bus service and few cars, children beginning at age six walked to school even in the depth of winter. The bedrock on which the town was built meant no gardening, sewer boxes built above ground, and the scarcity and expense of fresh fruit and vegetables especially in winter.
Children had a freedom that would be virtually unknown today. There was an outcropping of bedrock in the backyard of the bigger house on Grandview Street that my parents bought when I was two. This rock flattened out before descending to Ross Lake some distance away. At quite a young age, I was allowed to roam freely though this area, fortunately never falling down and injuring myself, though on one occasion being reprimanded for ripping a new dress.
I often went to a small stream of running water where a few willows and blue bells were growing. This became my very own secret place that was never mentioned to anyone. It was especially precious in that it was surrounded by acres and acres of bedrock. In summer, all the kids on our street played outside together. We had a game called Aunty Aunty Eye Over that involved, as far as I can remember, hurling a ball over a roof, then racing around the house trying to be the first to find it.
It was very cold in the winter, and the Northern Lights made beautiful shimmering patterns in the night sky. In the evenings, we took our sleighs, which had steel runners and a wooden cross piece for steering, up to the top of Hillcrest Avenue and sledded down in the dark and cold under the Northern Lights.
Because there were no telephones, I had to take a note to the babysitter on my way home from school when my parents wanted to go out for the evening. On one occasion in Grade One, we were doing splatter work which involved a tooth brush, a screen, some paint, and with the brush trying to splatter the paint through the screen onto a piece of paper. I was so involved with this that I failed to notice that Miss Dunning had come and taken my note. Later, in a panic I went up to her desk to tell her it was lost, only to be reprimanded for having had it in the first place as she returned it to me. Oh, the injustices of childhood!
Another incident involved two sisters, Carol and Joan Kent, daughters of my mother's friend Kay Kent. Their father was also an HBM&S engineer. We were at the Kent's cottage (my parents weren't there) and were given pumpkin pie for dessert. We would have been perhaps five, six and seven years old. Joan and I hated the pie, but Mrs. Kent made us sit at the picnic table until we had eaten all of it. To this day, I have never been able to eat pumkin pie.
In the photos are:
1) Carol and Joan Kent with me in the middle on a day when we had obviously been very naughty.
2) My sister, Suzanne, and me, aged 2 1/2 and 7 1/2.
2) The coat with fur trim which is my first memory.
3) My parents first house on Callinan Street.
4) My parents and me in front of the Grandview Street house.
5)My Mother with me as a baby.
6) My Sister Suzanne and me in 1946.
MARRIAGE
My parents first met in high school. Several years later, when my father was in Edmonton on vacation from Flin Flon, his sister Jacqueline invited my mother for dinner to greet him. On July 8, 1939, they were married at Lamoureux, Alberta, across the Sturgeon River from Fort Saskatchewan.
My mother, Donalda LePage (called Don by my father and Donna by her friends), was a school teacher. She was born in 1911 on a farm at Lamoureux, Alberta, but spent most of her childhood in Edmonton after her father's death in the influenza epidemic of 1918. My grandmother, Leonie, then sold the farm and, with her two children (my mother and aunt), lived with her parents, Docithee and Donalda Lamoureux until the children grew up.
Docithee, born in 1860, was an early pioneer who had a large farm at Lamoureux, and who, with a partner, had the contract to supply beef for the North West Mounted Police. The only time I recall seeing my mother cry was when she heard he had died in 1945 at the age of 85. Having lost her father at age six, he must have been like a father to her. She admired him very much and told me that during the Great Depression, unemployed men frequently went to his house for money. The word spread in Edmonton about his generosity so that after he died hundreds of I.O.U notes were found in his bureau drawer.
After their wedding, my parents had a honeymoon in Banff and Jasper, then went to live in Flin Flon where my father had bought a small house on Callinan Street.
In the photos from top to bottom are:
1) My parents' wedding photo.
2) My mother in her wedding dress.
3) The newlyweds leaving on their honeymoon (in the row behind my parents from left to right are Therese, my father's mother, Leonie, my mother's mother, and Albert, my father's brother; in the next row are Henry Pirot, my aunt Jacequeline's husband, and Jacqueline, my father's sister.
4) The Honeymooners.
5) My grandmother, Leonie, with her parents, Donalda and Docithee Lamoureux, and her brothers, Ernest and Hector.
6) My grandmother, Leonie Lepage, and her husband who died in the flu epidemic after going out every day to tend to the sick, and whose first name I don't remember.
All of these photos will enlarge considerably if you right-click and open in a new window.
RECREATION AT FLIN FLON
Flin Flon, though a substantial town when my father arrived, was very isolated. There was a native community fairly close to the town at Cranberry Portage and a small town at The Pas about 60 miles away. Until 1949, Flin Flon could be reached only by train. It was very cold in the winter and darkness fell early. For a child who had known nothing else, living there would obviously require no adjustment. For an adult, though, it could be difficult.
Still, there were plenty of recreational opportunities, particularly if you enjoyed the outdoors. The Company, as it was called, created a beautiful beach at Phantom Lake, one mile from the town. Many tons of sand were imported, a footpath to connect with the town was put in, and beach facilities were constructed. I remember the change house and cafeteria, a huge roundabout, a picnic area set amongst birch and poplar trees, the beach itself, and a large dock.
The Internet site, www.flinflon.net, revealed that initially the beach was developed by volunteers, and only in 1943 did the Company take over. In addition to the facilities I remember, the Company also put in "expanses of grass, ... a playground area, ... and a dance hall, all gleaming white with red trim. A quaint bandstand provided a venue where entertainment and concerts were provided. Tennis courts were laid out in two locations. The landscaped grounds at Phantom Lake were accented by formal flower beds and stonework ledges, paths, and a pond."
For winter recreation, there was curling and snowshoeing. In summer, besides the beach at Phantom, you could, play tennis and sail a boat, both enjoyed by my father who purchased a lot at Big Island Lake where he kept his sailboat. As well, there must have been great fishing in the many lakes around the town.
On May 12, 1937, the coronation of King George VI of England was celebrated with a major event in the town: a parade with floats. From the photos, it was obviously much enjoyed by the inhabitants.
The first three photos above are of the 1937 Coronation parade, the third showing the winning French Canadian float which depicted the arrival in Canada of Jacques Cartier. The following photos are of Phantom Lake (courtesy of www.flinflon.net); my father's sail boat; my father sailing with friends; and, finally, the Flin Flon bonspiel of 1936 (a curling competition). If you right click on the photos and then open them in a new window (the top item on the list), they will enlarge, some to a full-page size.
FLIN FLON
After completing his engineering degree, my father took a job with Hudson's Bay Mining and Smelting Co. Ltd. in Flin Flon, Manitoba. Flin Flon is located on the Saskatchewan border about 850 km. from Winnipeg. It was here in 1915 that David Collins, a local trapper, discovered mineral ore. He gave it to Tom Creighton, a prospector. This discovery led ultimately to the development of a large mine and a town whose population grew from 5,000 in 1935 to 10,000 by 1950. The name Flin Flon came from a novel that either Creighton or some other prospector was reading at this time in which the main character was called Flintabbetey Flonanton.
After World War II, particularly during the Great Depression, thousands of people moved north to Flin Flon as the mine developed. Not only copper was found, but nickel, zinc, cadmium, and I think perhaps silver as well. Today, Flin Flon is a city, and HBM&S (now called Hud Bay Minerals Inc.) continues to be the main employer, with a large smelter at Flin Flon and big ore deposits at Thomson, Manitoba. Tourism has also become a significant part of the local economy.
Flin Flon is located on the Precambrian Shield which extends in a huge horseshoe shape around Hudson's Bay. It is an area of granite bedrock interspersed with many small lakes and bogs containing muskeg. Much of Shield country has coniferous forests, though at Flin Flon itself there were not that many trees. Because of the rock, the developed part of the city extends over a large area.
I'm not sure when my father arrived in Flin Flon. He left a photo (see above) of a strike that occurred there in July 1934, so possibly he arrived soon after his university graduation, which would have been in the spring of 1934. From various photos I've seen, his life there must have been enjoyable. He had lots of friends, a sail boat, and much outdoor recreation which I'm sure he loved. Unlike many if not most of the men in the town, he didn't work underground.
In the photos, from top to bottom, are the mill at the HBM&S plant; Schist Lake, typical of the many lakes in and near Flin Flon; my father on the left with his friends (I was surprised to see photos of my dad with a gun, as to my knowledge he never owned one); the 1934 strike; and, finally, two photos of Flin Flon.
