My old neighbourhood in Toronto, 1969, by SG

From MemoryArchive

Who: GM 
What: Memories of my old Neighbourhood in Toronto
When: 1969
Where: Toronto

TO BE EDITED...SORRY.

When I was a child I lived in a house located in a working class neighbourhood of Toronto.Our home was situated on Perth Avenue; a street running north off of Bloor Street between Dundas Street and Landsdowne Avenue.It was a short distance away from High Park- my favorite park in the whole city. My home was a plain two story semi detached house with three bedrooms, kitchen,livingroom,two bathrooms and a basement with a wine cellar.Most houses on our street were semi detached with narrow front and back yards.Our house had a lawm which wrapped around the house.Tall maple and chestnut trees stood magesticaly on our front yard long before my family inhabited the home. Old trees stood in a long straight line running the entire length of the street, guarding and beautifying our neighbourhood with their branches rising up to the sky like long strong arms arching past the roof tops, protecting the homes from the scorching summer sun and frigid winter winds. During the summer months when the trees where most dense with leaves,they veiled the bald ugly unkept backyards and rid the air of the heavy fumes spewed by the boisterous delivery trucks making there way to the Glidden Paint factory,located at the end of the street.On windy days the rustled leaves muffed those boisterous sounds.During early mornings and late summer afternoons,a magical and mesmerizing ambiance was created by the teasing play of sunlights filtering through the web of branches and leaves: a peek a boo of light and shadow of and of bouncing movements. Gazing out from my bedroom window one could see a panorama of quaint tiny houses with slanted gabled roofs and crouched chimneys; narrow gravelled laneways,rotting picket fences and the empty lopsided garages that smelled o f must and rotting wood.It was there that many abandoned cats and lost kittens could be found sheltered from the sun.In the far distance-looking eastward one could spot the old victorian iron bridge,a mamouth structure of iron trusses and weathered wooden stairs.Like a prehistoric animal the bridge stretched across the train tracks towards the other side of the neighbourhood where the majority of Polish and Ukranian people lived. From atop the bridge one had a panoramic view of the whole neighbourhood including the old factories and warehouses built along the tracks.It was from atop the bridge that most awesome view of the boisterous Canadian Pacific trains could be experiences.On hot summer days nothing compared to the overpowering and thrilling sight and sounds of the train speeding by.It left every kid awestruck and mesmerized. The old bridge was one of my most favorite landmarks in my neighbourhood.It was a place were the boys hung out to competet and share their dreams.

At the base of the old bridge crickets,grasshoppers, caterpillars and long chubby worms existed.There they fed on sweet succulent milkweeds and other wild plants for nourishment.A high quantity of these insects assured and easy catch for the boys.Bees and butterflies swarmed the area too...but they proved more difficult for us to catch. Rarely did the girls play around that area, save Cookie and Coreen the two tom-boys in our neighbourhgood. Other than butterflies there was nothing pretty there that could possibly interest the girls. The boys considered this their territory: a place where the most adventurous boys could test their skills at scalling fences and scavenging through large garbage containers.Above all this was a dangerous place and often the boys were scoulded and chased by the factory workers who guarded the property.This did little to keep the most adventurous and naughty boys away from the area because it was there that the most interesting junk could be found: stinky paint cans,large translucent chunks of parafin wax;chunks of tar,stirring sticks,binders,refundable pop bottles and magazines...dirty ones! The area was filthy dirty and reecked heavily of oil paints,varsols,rotting trash and dog pooh. If you got dirty playing around there your parents knew immediately that you were not playing in the park.

Turning my gaze closer to home,I could see directly across the street the colourful and inviting little Italian grocery store. Colourful adverts, neatly stacked fruits and vegetables and the Coca Cola sign stuck above the doorway like a bright red "smartie" marked its place on the corner of the street. The shopowners were Sicilian.Both husband and wife where very hard working and completely devouted to their little shop. They were always very attentive to everyone and everything;greeting people while dusting,sweeping,stacking or polishing fruits. Their cheery manner,the stores cleanliness,and the low prices of their goods attracted even those people who living more than a few blocks away.It was a very convenient shop for my grandparents who valued its proximity to home and the variety of products they carried from the old country: flavourful Italian cheeses, olive oils,arromatic cold meats,whimsically shaped pastas from varoius parts of Italy,zaffron,cookies, italian rice,bitters,vegetable bouillon,sicilian sardines and anchovies, pesto,powdered vanilla,savoiardi buscuits,torrone,turinese chocolates,Milanese Panettone,Italian Easter eggs and so much more more.

It was the whimsical candy cart placed smack in the centre of the store that drew the kids in. Inspired from the colourful and decorative horse carts of sicily it was ladden with a myrriad of multi-coloured candies of all shapes and sizes: rainbow coloured and multi flavoured "Lolly Pops","Jaw breakers", cherry flavoured "Twizzlers","Bazooka Bubble Gum","Sweet Tart necklaces".Suspended above the cart were other goodies and silly novelty items; ropes of black licorice,packs of cherry flavoured "twisters","Surprise Bags","Crackerjack" boxes,fire engines,racing cars,sponge balls,dolls,pink skipping ropes and pinwheels! The cart made kid wild with excitement! It was during Easter time when the cart was adourned with pastel coloured bows and ribbon and baskets filled with eggs,stuffed pink bunnies,white lambs and fluffy yellow chicks.Above all i liked the large brightly wrapped Italian chocolate easter eggs with the toy surprises in them that I like it the the most. These Easter eggs were distinctly different from the tiny ones the pretty Ukranian ladies carried in baskets to church on Easter day. The ones i liked were big,flashy and happy looking.They were sweet and made of chocolate but more importantly they contained the little toy surprise I so desperately craved! On Easter day I received an egg from my parents,grandparents,uncles and aunt.By the end of the day the chocolate would be shared with family and friends and the toy surprise displayed on my night table!

During springtime and summer our street looked delicate and pretty! Chestnut trees,maple trees,lilac bushes,tulips,lilly-of-the valley,bleeding hearts,and during the summer months: merigolds, petunias, panies, snapdragons,roses,rhubarb and vegetable plants...adourned our neighbourhood and surrounded our home. During the spring sidewalks were sprinkled with fragile green buds fallen from the maple trees. tullips and lilly-of-the valley sat poised on moist lawns and the sweet scent of lilacs spread for blocks. Our street was like a refined young woman dressed in her sunday best: a gown of delicate fabric in soft pastel shades.

The autumn season cloaked our neighbourhood in layers of deep and somber shades of colour and textures. Rooftops,pathways streets and sidewalks were covered in leaves tinted in shades of maroon,rust,plum,ochre,orange,red,chestnut and burgundy.The aroma of soil, bark,and smoke tempered all that once seemed,delicate,cheery and bright.The mood was somber mood.The frivolities and freedom of summer gave way to somber autumn. The streetscape resembled a fine oil painting hung in a gentlemans study: a painting by Frankl!

TO BE EDITED

In the home in which I lived resided my parents,my grandparents, an aunt, and four uncles. There were ten people living in that small home yet there always seemed to be enough space to accomodate everyone including guests. Hospitality, generosity and meriment abounded in our home.The more people there were the jollier everone was. Everone felt at ease in our home. Religious holidays were observed and birthdays of close family members and friends were celebrated.Everyone was presented with a beautifully decorated home made cake with brightly lit with the appropriate number of candles.The cake was sure to remind them of the care and love they were lavished with.

The porch,kitchen and basement were the areas of our home I spent most time around because they offered me the most opportunity to discover and learn something new. Like most children at the age of six I was eager experiment and learn new things. The kitchen like most homes was the heart of our home. It was well equiped and organized for the creation of simple meals for few as well as for meals for more grand occasions.The woman of our home made due with the average amount of kitchen work space available.They made due,never complained and uded their creativity and resourcefulness to overcome problems.

Our kitchen was a feminine environment not just because our women were the ones who mostly used the kitchen but because the mechanical elements of the kitchen: utensils and machines were never left on display no matter how fine the quality of the tools were. When all articles were cleaned and put away what one noticed was a simple yet elegant vase with a few lilac branches, tulips or other simply had plants from nearby sitting on the centre of the table on a fine white linen table cloth adorned by simple yet delicate embroidery around its edges. Above the kitchen doorway a very very plain crucifix.Silly novelty items the kind that hang on refridgerators doors never made their way into our home.

TO BE CONTINUED. TO BE EDITED

was the most It was a feminine environment where my gradmother, my mother and my aunt created their delicious specialties and shared their many happy and sad memories of lost relatives and friends. Here they discussed their weekly plans, counciled each another and celebrated their successes. Here they dreamed while they lovingly and skillfully cooked and baked; blending memories, hopes, dreams with patience,perseverence, determination and love. In the kitchen I was embraced with affection,inspired and given the freedom play and creat along with them. I was instructed on how to roll, amalgamate, poke, sprinkle, whip and pour the precious ingredients that went to making their goods. I remember awaking one day after a nap and smelling the sweet and comforting aroma of vanilla, cinnamon, roasted almonds, honey, chocolcate, and sweet Italian liquor. I would spring out of bed and run right to the kitchen to find trays of cookies or cakes cooling on the kitchen counter.

Ma would remind me to have patience and that I would be able to eat some once they had cooled. I was informed too that they were the cookies that her grandma - my great grandmother uses to make for her when she was a little girl! She had told me stories of her grandma - she had show me pictures of her when they came to Toronto for the first time in 1966. I remember a photograph of a sweet looking old lady with wavy white hair a fair complexion wearing round eyeglasses,and a dark coat with an interesting broach on it. She was standing in front of a lillac tree and an old rusty wire fence. She looked kind and gentle. Sweet like the cookies ma baked.

The aroma of the cookies floated throughout the kitchen and out toward the veranda where my grandfather often sat conversing in broken english with his scotish friend. They shared their war stories over a bottle of home made wine and small chunks of cheese, sausage, olives,and fennel. Naturally the freshly baked goods would be offered too. I would sit on the top step of the forest green painted porch and observe their gestures; smiles, smirks, pats, expansive arm waves, directional gestures. I would be transfixed.

My grandpa's friend Saul was a tall, heavyset man with a ruddy face and white hair. Saul was a serious man. I had seen him conversing with others in our neighbourhood but never had I seen him happier than with my grandpa. Sauls was a serious man yet when he interacted with grandfather he seemed more at ease-more more relaxed. He smile and laughed more. My grandfather lavished him with kindness and generosity; my grandfather was very hospitable, gentile, attentive, and generous. He lavished all his friends with his best qualities.

It was rare the times when he wouls see his friends off without a little baga of homemade goodies: wine, cake, cookies bread. Sitting there watching them laugh and sharing food and wine made me laugh too. I giggled at my grandpa who communicated in broken English and Italian. When he failed to express what he intended to say he compensated in other ways. His warmth and gentile ways made him respected and loved. I remember one sunny and breezy june day while observing them laugh and share their wine and food on the veranda, I looked up towards the tall magestic maple tree whose branches seemed to sway back and forth, and bob up and down in synchronicity with their joy and laughter my grandpa and his friend shared. Saul lived on Wallace Ave., one block away on from our home.

The basement of our home was old. The exposed wooden beams and joists exuded an earthy and musty odour. The exposed red brick walls sweat during the hot summer months. The basement floor was always cold. Above the doorway to the basement was hung a simple small crucfix and on the floor slippers were neatly places for anyone spending time down there so that feet would not get cold. The basement was always dimmly lit save a stream of sunlight that shot through during late afternoon through the window above the laundry sink. It illuminate the old roller washing machine which made a loud humming sound and swayed back and forthe when in use. In the basement was stored old tool boxes, hardware, msking tape, paper bags, hockey sticks, brooms, brushes, rags, detergent, boots, winter coats, shovels, mats, half empty paint cans, over alls, water hose, sprinklers, seeds. In the basement you one was sure to find anything they were looking for ever those things which were long forgotten!

I had explored every nook and cranny in that basement. Behind the beams I had found spools of wire; old hinges, bags of fabric, rubber inner tubes, old newspapers, an old wooden picture frame, rope, pipes, light bulbs, driftwoodan and an old calandar. I had come to discover most everything in that basement except the two locked wooden chests hidden in the far corner near the washroom. I was so curious to see what they contained.I was told that what what they contained was precious not materially but sentimentally. During the those sweltering august months when the heat was unbearable outdoors I would sit quitely and draw or when I felt more adventurous and mischevous I would explore those areas which were out of bounds for me - these were areas where I could get hurt. While either mom or grandmother did laundry and chatted I played confortably in the cool environment of the basement drawing, and waiting for dad, grandpa and uncles to return from a hard days work.