Towns–Bindloss

     I have already told you about Buffalo, Alberta, near where the Skjenna farm is located and described some of our life experiences there.  But we moved back to Medicine Hat – at least I did while my parents and infant sister moved to Bindloss, about 20 miles east of Buffalo.  I don’t know why I wasn’t with them, but I loved staying in the ‘Hat.  Dad had rented a house across from the grain elevators about one half mile from the town.

These were actually tuscan red in the 40's

     My first introduction to Bindloss was rather dramatic as I arrived by airplane!  It was my very first flight and further instilled a passion for aviation (remember the Spitfire model and the kite).  I was only five years old but clearly remember the little Christmas trees lining the runway in the ‘Hat as we raced down the snow covered strip and then lifted into the air and watched, fascinated, as the trees grew smaller in the window and receded as we flew northwards across the city, which looked like some kind of a miniature village.

Home in Bindloss c.2006

     I don’t remember the type of airplane but I think that it was a Stinson or Luscombe –  I remember that it had a green tinted overhead plexiglass window.  My grandmother had given me a chocolate covered candy bar which became my first in-flight meal!  The pilot, a young veteran whose name has been long forgotten, was very kind and friendly and I still remember him sitting in the left seat beside me, the left seat being the traditional position of the aircraft captain.  I wanted to offer him a bite of my chocolate bar but was too shy.  I watched the winter countryside slipping by as we followed the South Saskatchewan River and eventually we made a gentle approach, circled the pasture which would be our landing field – we were on skis – and then settled gently down onto the snow.  Sadly, my pilot hero was killed in a fiery accident a few weeks later.  He had a great influence on my aeronautical aspirations and career in aircraft accident investigation, so maybe he lives on in deed though his name has been forgotten.

Kristine and Me c.1948

     My mom and dad, as well as curious townspeople, met the aircraft and I was whisked away to our new home.  My little sister, Kristine, was asleep in her crib as I peered over the edge, hoping that she would wake up to play, and there were colorful toys dangling from a wooden bar suspended  over her head.  That was my introduction to Bindloss where we would live until I was halfway through grade three.
     At first, my dad was unemployed, I think.  Cash, what little there was, was stowed in a Sweet Caporal tobacco tin.  From time to time, Mom would give most of the remaining money to Dad and he would disappear for a few days, returning with a fresh supply of bills.  I found out later that he would head into Empress, about twenty miles east of Bindloss, and make money playing poker and pool.  Eventually, he got a job as a mechanic at Herman Motors and then Uncle Buster and Dad built their own service station called “Modern Service.”  Watching with great interest as they dug the grease pits and laid the cinder blocks, I would play around the grounds, catching grasshoppers, grass snakes and other specimens, and keep track of the construction.  Dad and Uncle Buster eventually became Cockshutt dealers and the yard was filled with shiny red, yellow wheeled tractors and combines  on which my buddies and I played (note proper position of preposition) (also the alliteration).
     While Dad was working at Herman Motors, the following incident occurred:  An automobile had come in for service in autumn due to a strange sound emanating from beneath the hood.  Mr. Herman opened the hood and leaned in to inspect the engine.  There, on the top of the motor where it was warm, sat a coiled rattlesnake annoyed at the noise and commotion and tired of travelling, whereupon he rattled vigorously.  Dad told us that Mr. Herman’s head left a dent in the hood of the car!

Cockshutt Tractor

     We continued to live in the old house for a couple of years.  We did not have electricity, running water or indoor plumbing but there as a cistern in the cellar for collecting rain water.  The cellar was dark and foreboding and there were Black Widow spider webs along the stairwell.  My dad always called the house a firetrap and we did experience a frightening chimney fire one winter.  As we sat enjoying supper, Dad looked out and saw flames dancing in the snow and, with alarm, herded us out the door into the cold.  Fortunately, the house didn’t burn down because my parents stuffed the chimney with wet rags. 
     There was a large open area upstairs and my sister and I used to play there.  One day, I had to pee very badly and, not wanting to go outside, I urinated into a pop bottle that I placed under a hatch in an opening in the floor.  Unfortunately, the bottle toppled over and I heard a shriek downstairs followed by the sound of footsteps running up the stairs.  The contents of the bottle had found a crack in the ceiling dripping down and running down Mom’s neck.  She had a sense of humor failure and I experienced the wrath of the Hawthorne brush.  This was a black clothes brush that came from Hawthorne’s Men’s Wear in Medicine Hat and was utilized as a threat and a punishment for misdeeds that are wont to occur with little boys (and girls).  Both Kristine and I were terrified of the brush – our parents only had to say “the Hawthorne Brush is peeking around the corner” and we would immediately “straighten up and fly right.”

Mannekin Pis - Brussels

     Because we did not have indoor toilets, Mom used to allow me to pee in the slop pail that resided beside the stove.  I guess that I found the act of peeing rather boring so I would amuse myself by seeing how close to the top of the bucket I could direct the stream .  Once I was too careless or overconfident with my aim and the urine flew over top of the bucket, hitting the side of the hot stove with an ensuing hissing sound and a cloud of rather foul smelling steam.  You can be certain that Mr. Hawthorne convinced me to discontinue my attempts at marksmanship!!
  In the summertime my sister and I would amuse ourselves outside except in August when we were confined to barracks due to the moulting rattlesnakes that frequented the yard.  One day, I think it was on Kristine’s birthday in June, we were playing ball with some of our little friends near the lumber pile. It was one of those hollow rubber balls painted in bright colors on the outside that was Kristine’s birthday present.  I missed catching the ball and it landed in the tall grass behind me.  Hearing a hissing sound,  I ran over to the ball and discovered two fang marks penetrating the shell and venom on the surface.  That ended our game (and ruined the ball)!
     I had three main little friends in town – Billy Herman, Harvey Stoltz, and Dale McMorran (her mother was a widow as Mr. McMorran had been killed in the war, I believe).  As kids, we didn’t have money though I did make a bit trapping gophers and selling their tails for five cents apiece.  So we used to play hide-and-seek in Quan’s general store and one of us would hide near the candy counter pocketing the occasional packet of chewing gum, usually Beeman’s.  Quan would look on with amusement written over his kindly face.  I really liked Quan and invited him to my birthday party.  He did not attend but gave me – guess what? – a carton of Beeman’s gum.  I guess he knew what was going on but allowed us our fun as this lonely Chinese man enjoyed having us kids, criminals as we were, playing in his store.  Quan is gone now as is any trace of his store as Bindloss is now a ghost town.

     In wintertime as well as in other seasons, it was a long hike, or so it seemed, to the one room school on the north side of town.  It doesn’t appear to be so far now, but to a little boy every journey seemed an adventure.  The school was for grades one to seven and there was the traditional pot bellied stove in the middle of the one room.  The older boys took turns stoking the coals during the winter months.  I would often ski to school and sometimes my father would use a tractor to plough a trail, the snow banks being higher than my head.  On more than one occasion, my dog, Spot, would follow me to school despite my protestations and would become  the class mascot for the day.
     Occasionally we would have fire drills in the school as prescribed by the Social Plains School Board.  The evacuation process was to line up by the exit in double file with the smallest in front (me) and tallest taking up the rear.  I figured that it was because taller people burned more slowly.  One day our teacher surreptitiously built a fire in the coal scuttle (a bucket for coal) which she had placed in the vestibule.  When she rang the bell and shouted “fire!” I raced to the door of the vestibule in order to take my assigned place in preparation for the orderly march to safety.  However, when I saw the actual flames, my body would not permit me to halt and I continued my egress from the building and raced outside, enveloped in the laughter and taunts of my fellow pupils and the teacher.  In retrospect I would question the wisdom of having a fire, confined as it was to the coal scuttle, in the only escape route from the schoolhouse and I have forgiven my body for not stopping beside the flames.
     One autumn day as I trudged home from school I noted what seemed to be a huge brown curtain or wall stretching from horizon to horizon.  It approached rapidly and I was soon engulfed by a massive sand storm and I could see only a few feet in front of me whenever I was able to open my grit filled eyes.  As I approached the well halfway between town and home, I saw a shadowy apparition-like figure approaching through the storm.  It turned out to be my mother who was concerned that I would be lost.  She brought wet rags with her and, covering our faces, we traced the path home.  I couldn’t understand why she was worried as I knew the path well, but it was reassuring to meet up with her.  Since then I have seen similar storms from the air.
      There were only three pupils in my grade, Billy, Harvey and me, and we used to watch the lessons the other grades were receiving and, being interested in what they were learning, we progressed rapidly.  Our teacher approached our parents and suggested that we could complete three grades in two years.  My mother was against the idea so the three of us proceeded at a normal pace.  One time my Aunty Jean sent me a yellow plastic ruler, the first one that anyone in the school had seen.  I was immensely proud of it but some of the other kids were envious.  Billy Herman snatched it away from me and threw it into the pot bellied stove whereupon we discovered the inevitable outcome when plastic is exposed to excessive heat.  I was devastated.  Billy passed away very suddenly a few years ago on his ranch near Bindloss following a dispute with the Canada Revenue Agency and is interred in the Empress cemetery.  I forgive you, Billy.
     There were many other adventures that occurred during this period and I will tell you about some of them later.

                When travellers pass through across our great plane,
                They all view our home, they all say the same:
                "It's simple and flat!" They've not learned to see,
                 The particular beauty that's now part of me.

                 David Bouchard, "If you're not from the prairie"