Subway with my Mummo, 1980's by Nicole Winchester

From MemoryArchive

Who: Nicole Toivonen, Katri Toivonen
What: Subway Rides
When: 1980's
Where: Toronto

When I was a kid, I used to come to Toronto from Peterborough fairly often. My father had grown up in the city, though he and my mother were no longer big fans. My grandmother still lived in a post-WWII bungalow just off the Danforth, and we visited once every few months. When my mom and dad would go away on vacation minus the kids, we’d stay with my Mummo and Pappa more often than not.

Both my grandparents immigrated after the war – they were both from Finland, both with harrowing tales of narrow escapes from the Russians. I used to love to hear Mummo tell me about how she and her mother escaped the part of Finland occupied by Russia. There were other, more difficult stories that I didn’t hear until I was older: my Mummo’s first husband, killed in the war, my Pappa’s avoidance of a Russian POW camp. My grandfather worked in welding, while my grandmother worked on Spadina and at The Room at the Bay, sewing fabulous clothing – which she also did for me from the time I was born. I’ve always felt there’s something essentially Toronto about their story – immigrants have built this city over the years, and continue to do so. The diversity of the city has always felt unique and right to me.

On my trips to Toronto when I was young, the highlight of my stay was always taking the subway. I didn’t have anything like a subway at home, and there was something about the magic of ducking underground on the Danforth and coming up across town that appealed to me. The where of the trip hardly ever mattered – to this day, all I can remember is going to the Science Centre – but I do remember asking my Mummo repeatedly if we’d be taking the subway – and my disappointment when the answer was no. I wasn’t even one of those kids that needs to sit at the front – though I still find that fun. The subway itself was enough for me to be excited, for me to feel grown-up and sophisticated, and far from my small city to the north. I also loved to be with my grandmother, and travel around the city she knew so well with her. In future years, she would take me to Finland and to Russia so I could see my homeland and visit my family – and though those memories are also good, it’s Toronto where I felt closest to her.

Maybe because of my initial childhood fascination with the subway, I find that many of my Toronto memories centre around it – making out with a guy I met at my Ryerson audition, trying out a sales-cult job at Sheppard and ducking out by Davisville, trying desperately to study my Japanese on too-short hike to Downsview, then York University. But then, it’s near impossible to not have memories of the subway in this city. It’s how we get around, it’s how we drag ourselves to work and back, it’s where we try not to pass out after drinking too late.

Even though it’s an everyday thing for me, I still like taking the subway. A few weeks ago, I heard two women speaking Finnish, and I couldn’t help but smile – remembering my Mummo and her friends talking, her familiar pressed-powder smell, the way her arthritis-knotted hand felt in my childish one as the train came into the station.