The Pub, 1943, St Catharines, Ontario

From MemoryArchive

Who: Bob Perras
What: The Pub
When: 1943   
Where: St. Catherines, Ontario

Bobbie's Pennies

In 1943 I was six years old. My mother and stepfather used to frequent the local pubs in St. Catharines. This is an exerpt from my book (work in progress), The Perras Files.

Late one night James and Gwen managed to scrounge up enough change to buy a couple of glasses of ale at the local pub. There wasn’t anyone available to baby-sit, so I was brought along. I was left in the hallway sitting on a bench to wait, while they drank beer and pretended that they didn’t have a care in the world.

It was still early. The after work crowd had not yet begun to fill the empty corners, and the late afternoon hangers-on were finally giving up their seats and making their way to the doors.

The hotel lobby smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke.. Bare concrete bled through the permanently stained tiles, marking forever the trails laid down by the legions passing from the front desk to their sheltered cubicles. Tired travelers upstairs, made all their necessary telephone calls, washed up and put on their last clean shirt before heading back through the lobby, in search of either food or fun or both.

Sitting in the lobby on the heavy wooden bench against the wall, I was unaware of the history surrounding me. I was also unaware that the people coming and going in front of me were, equally oblivious and unmindful of the hotel’s past. I knew nothing of why these people were laughing or why they were talking so loud. I did know, that they smelled of beer and cigarettes. But, why were people I didn't know, smiling at me and pointing? Why were they looking around? Were they looking for my mommy?

Was it my new blue cap? I took off the cap and examined it. Perhaps it looked funny. Maybe it was dirty. No, it appeared all right. I turned it over, it was clean on the inside too. A man and lady stopped and watched me examining the inside. I looked up at them wonderingly. Then it happened. They dropped three coins in my hat, patted me on the head and walked across the lobby, casting a sad wave, as they disappeared through the big doors. I looked down and counted, one, two, three. Three shiny pennies. I was not yet six years old and had already made my first monies.

I couldn't wait to tell mommy. I ran to the edge of the doorway into the big room and waved my arms till I caught mommy’s attention. She motioned James to check out the problem. His scowl scared me as he approached, but I told him of the pennies I had collected, and he was all smiles. He sent me back, cap in hand, to raise another two pennies, which incidentally, added to the others, was the required amount for another glass of beer. I was pleased that I was able to make him so happy.