While I was waiting for the big yellow bus to pull up in front of the house, that first week of September, I had some time to reflect on the summer that was. As I sat on the front steps of the old clapboard house, my mind wandered back to a busy but difficult summer.
That first summer in East Clifton was by no means a picnic. The transition from being a bored army brat city kid, always in trouble, to one that lived in the country with chores and responsibilities was a tough one.
The old house, built in the late 1800s, was in need of a lot of attention, the stone foundation was in bad shape, the water pump was worn out and had to be primed often, and the roof leaked. Even with all that, it still seemed more of a home than any of the places I’d lived in the last 12 years.
As I continued to ponder the events of the summer I began to understand and accept the seasonal rhythm of farming life in a rural community. I had learned that a family’s wellbeing depended on the intersection of hope, hard work and good timing. I also learned that each season offered different opportunities and challenges; gardens had to be planted, hay put in the barn, logs cut, brought out of the woods, cut, split and then dried as firewood for the winter among many other things.
Later, as the summer began to ebb, I could also see that focus and priorities change with the season. The fact that I was sitting there waiting for the school bus to come was to me a clear indication that summer was nearly over and the one thing I had been dreading all summer was now about to happen. As I saw the bus round the corner, Bob Blair, my cousin and next door neighbour, was rushing the cows across the road after the morning milking. Seeing the bus I couldn’t hold back the anxiety of having to fight my way into yet one more school.
The bus pulled up in front of the house at precisely 7:10, right on time. It was an awkward moment for me to climb the stairs of that bus for the first time. Doug Mackey, the bus driver, said hello with a smile. Although I didn’t know him I sensed that he knew all about me. I think I was the fourth one on the bus after Norma Bain, Ann and Michael McBurney. As Doug continued picking up more kids in Clifton and High Forrest everyone seemed to know each other except for me. Most kids were eager to introduce themselves to the new kid on the block and by the time the bus was full I learned family names like Bain, Lowry, Montgomery, Rowell, Blair, Forgrave, Graham, French and more.
A nice lady with a clipboard and spectacles, met the bus at the side door by the gym, put a checkmark beside my name, and then pointed me to Mrs. Prescott’s 7th grade class on the north side of the 2nd floor. The halls were lined with lockers, trophies, pictures and art that provide a well worn in feel. Entering the classroom, the old wooden desks were carved with initials and hearts in various spots. There was a hole for the ink pot and ink stains speckled the desktop around the inkpot hole and the desktop was covered with a fresh coat of varnish. The drawer under the seat was stuck and had to be forced open to put my bag of new pencils and erasers away. The room smelled a bit musty, probably because the big wooden windows hadn’t been opened all summer.
Some of the seats were already taken but I managed to get a seat fairly close to the back but in a middle row. Robin Montgomery, who I already knew took the desk on one side and who I later learned was Tom Statton took the desk on the opposite side. Both Robin and Tom eventually became good friends.
Mrs. Prescott, who I immediately perceived to be a stern, no nonsense lady with greying hair and dressed in granny shoes came in and took the seat at the large desk facing us at the front. She let the class chatter settle down and then stood and told us what she expected of us and how things were going to work in her class, all the while holding a yardstick in her hand. Shortly after, Mr. Patton, the principal, walked in and introduced himself. He had an Irish sounding accent and one leg that didn’t seem to bend at the knee. Andrew Patton’s military style of describing the consequences of insubordination rubbed me the wrong way from the very start. I knew from that very minute that we were not going to get along. Having lived and been taught in military communities for all my years up to that point I was hoping to leave that behind.
The following days and weeks that led into fall, were spent getting used to my new school surroundings, in addition to all the new chores and responsibilities I had acquired that summer. Most of the kids were friendly but a bit standoffish, they must have sensed there was something different about me. A previous teacher in Angus Ontario had noted in one of my report cards that I had “a chip on my shoulder” and for good reasons. I tried hard to mask my anxiety and bottled up aggression, but one day the “bear got let out of the cage”.
During lunch break not long after the first day of school, I was leaning on the ping pong table in the corner of the cafeteria. Apparently there was some invisible boundary that I had missed because my very presence in that spot seemed to piss off the two Humes brothers. One of them ordered me to move. At the time it just wasn’t in my nature to be told what to do, at least from someone that wasn’t smiling and especially by a scowling school mate. So I decided to hold my ground by responding with something that I won’t repeat here. One of the brothers didn’t like my witty and thoughtful response so he grabbed me by the arm and tried to jerk me away from the ping pong table. A nail on the corner of the table caught on my new school pants, bought at Au Bon Marche a few weeks before, and ripped about a 2 inch hole on one leg. This just set me off and despite the Humes boys being at least six or eight inches taller than me I tackled the first one with all the fury that I had bottled up from having to fight my way into so many schools before. I was already well versed in defending myself and I think it took them off guard that anyone would actually fight back. When the second of the two realized that his older brother was taking a beating and was in retreat he decided to jump in. Another 60 seconds and he too, knew he had taken on something he couldn’t handle. By this time I well knew what the inside of Andrew Patton’s office looked like so I was more than prepared for the strap that hung on he wall behind Andrew Patton’s desk.
I began to look forward to that big yellow bus picking me up and dropping me off at the same time each day. Life up to that point had been far from stable and having something that I became to rely on left me with a sense of security I hadn’t felt in a long time. The images remain with me today of the amazing scenery of rolling hills and valleys that I saw through the windows of that bus. The happy chatter of the kids and the many of the friendships that were created on the big yellow bus endure to this day.
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