POSTING #64

A Rainy Day in London---Ontario, That Is; Some London Highlights

Pat and I went for a mini-holiday in London last weekend.

The weather forecasters were right. They said it would be wet and it was.

But we had a good time.

The rain reminded me of another rainy trip to London, on Saturday, October 16, 1954.

I was in Grade 13 at the Arthur District High School and leader of the school's drum and bugle band. The band was made up of fellows in army cadet uniforms and young women in white blouses and pleated skirts, with saddle shoes (and white socks) along with a blue and white cape with a blue pill box hat, held on by an elastic band under the chin. (It will not surprise you if I say that the school colours were blue and white.)

Over the years the band had done well in a school band competition held each autumn as part of the Western Ontario Athletic Association meet that took place in London on the campus of the University of Western Ontario. Fairly often the band came home with the top prize.

But as with bands from other small high schools, the quality of the Arthur band ebbed and flowed, as experienced drummers and buglers left and new ones were brought in.

The 1954 edition of the band was not one of the strongest, musically, but we worked hard on our drill, which was quite intricate.

The high school principal watched our last practice on Friday, the day before the competition. Clearly unimpressed by what he saw, he wished us well and told us that we shouldn't be disappointed if we didn't win. The important thing was to be good sports.

A lukewarm send off!

The next day, Saturday, we left Arthur very early in a school bus for the two hour trip to London. It was overcast and drizzling.

Bothered by the principal's negative attitude, I decided to stand up as we drove along and give the band members a pep talk.

"The principal has told us how to lose", I said, "I'm going to tell you how to win."

I told them that we should play and march our best and we should show lots of energy. It was important to pick our feet up high and put them down smartly.

By the time we got to London there was a light but steady rain. I was wondering how we could perform---snare drums don't like rain.

The event organizers came up to the bus to tell us that the forecast wasn't good and they had decided to hold the band competition in a gym instead of on the usual large field.

We got out of the bus, leaving our instruments in it so they would stay dry, and went to check out the gym.

I tried to imagine how we could change our drill---with its marching, counter-marching, elaborate pivots and so on--- that was designed for a space the size of a soccer field so that it would fit onto a basket ball court.

We would have to compress things a lot.

As I was trying to figure this out, an organizer came over to us.

"Of course, you can't wear them", pointing to our army boots and saddle shoes, "on the hardwood floor."

How could we pick-them-up-and-put-them down in our sock feet on a slippery floor?

But, I told myself, the other bands would have to cope with the same problems of the size of the floor and the no-shoes rule.

At that point, our bass drummer came up to me, "I'm afraid there's a problem. I had to leave in a hurry this morning and one of my socks has a huge hole. My big toe is going to show."

He unlaced one of his boots, and there indeed was his big toe.

My strategy for compensating for weaknesses in our music by energy, and spit and polish was collapsing.

We all met and agreed on some changes to our drill to fit the smaller space.

When it was our turn, things didn't augur well.

The music sounded tinny, bouncing off the hard walls and ceiling of the gym.

And marching was next to impossible---we were reduced to something like a sock-hop shuffle.

Then there was the bass drummer. Tall, good looking and a virtuoso, he always attracted a great deal of attention as he pounded the drum, twirled the beaters and added extra beats to jazz up the marches.

But I felt sure that when the London judges looked at him they focused not on his playing but on that big white toe.

Finally it was over, and we marched (shuffled?) off the floor.

As we got back on the bus, the rain was pelting down and the wind was strengthening. We had a great driver and although it took him far longer than usual we got home to Arthur safely.

And how do I remember the day and date?

That was the weekend that Hurricane Hazel chose to visit Ontario. The storm brought massive flooding especially around Toronto, the death of some 80 people and enormous property damage.

(Officially, Hurricane Hazel arrived on Friday, October 15, but the full brunt of the storm was not felt until the next day.)

Oh, you ask, 'How did the band do?'

I'm sorry, I thought I'd told you.

Turned out that the principal was right. We were beaten by--- I think---an all-female band from a high school near London.

I should make it clear that the loss wasn't the fault of the bass drummer and his big, bare toe. He played superbly, and managed somehow to maneuver the big drum in the tight turns in the drill without knocking over any buglers. If more of us had had his talent, we would have won.

In the end, we were good losers, congratulating the winning band.

But it was hard.


Some London Highlights

Last weekend , Pat and I visited the London's Maggie's Supper and Jazz Club and were very impressed with the food, service and the jazz (but less impressed by some clods who talked, during the performances).

Our waiter, an engaging university student (psychology and philosophy), looked after us well.

Too well, at one point.

I don't know about you, but I always know when there is a bit of coffee left in the cup, or a bit of dessert left on the plate. And I don't want the waiter walking off with that last bit.

At Maggie's our waiter, took my beer glass which contained, well, perhaps not a full swallow but at least half a one.

When I protested he gave back the glass and told us that reminded him of a story.

First he wanted to find out whether we were Irish, and if so whether we were easily offended. Pat said she was about as Irish as it comes, but not easily offended.

The story:

There were three men in a pub, an Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman. A fly flew into the beer of the Englishman, and he sent the beer back to the bar.

Another fly flew into the beer of the Scotsman. He picked it out, threw it on the floor and continued drinking the beer.

The Irishman picked up the fly and squeezing it over the glass said, "Now, spit it out, will ya".

000

We've been visiting London for years and often drop into the Museum which is both an museum and an art gallery (with many splendid paintings by Paul Peel. who was born in London in 1860 and died in Paris in 1892).

At the Museum there are notices about Eldon House, a few blocks from the Museum, that is also situated above the Thames River. I had thought of visiting it but never got around to it---until last weekend.

What a jewel it is!

The house was started by John and Amelia Harris in 1834 and expanded until it was nearly 10,000 sqft. Descendants of John and Amelia lived in the house until around 1960, when they donated it to the City of London.

Pat and I love old houses and have brought back to life two, one from 1911 and the other from 1840. And Pat worked on heritage preservation committees when we lived in Ottawa.

Eldon House took our breath away. The house, the furnishings and the stories about the house and the family---stories that live on partly because of diaries maintained by Amelia and the other Harris women---are treasures.

Tara Wittmann, the Heritage Site Coordinator for Eldon House, loves the House and is extraordinarily knowledgeable about it and about the historical context into which it fits.

Go and see it if you are in London.

And don't forget to see the kitchen with its 1920-1930s Moffat electric stove and Westinghouse refrigerator, (the fridge still works---the staff keep their sandwiches and milk in it). My family had a Moffat stove and a Westinghouse fridge of about the same vintage---talk about nostalgia!

As with the other rooms in the house, the kitchen has a 'lived-in', not a 'museum' look. It doesn't take much imagination to see an Irish maid working at the long kitchen table making scones for breakfast.

The London Museum and the folks of London have every reason to be proud of this wonderful house.

000

As she does every trip to London, Pat visited the Cotton-by-Post II Quilt Shoppe in nearby Arva, to stock up on fabrics.

While there she learned that the Shoppe is organizing an exhibition of quilts made by a tiny African-American community in Alabama, called Gee's Bend. The exhibition which will be held at the London Convention Centre from August 9-14 will display a hundred of these spectacular and sought-after quilts. Click here for some images of the famous quilts

We plan to attend the exhibition.

And while in London, we will make return visits to Maggie's and to Eldon House.


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See you next Sunday for Posting #65 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.