This is the house my mother was born in. My grandfather built it. Both my grandparents had come to Montreal from Newfoundland--not a Canadian province at that time, it joined confederation in 1949 or 1950. My grandparents met each other in the community of "Newfies" who had migrated to Montreal looking for a future? Expatriots always find each other. One thing Newfoundlanders have in common is that they always miss home and they always want to return! That is another story.
My grandparents, William and Sophie, married, saved their money for a few years, then bought some land on the south shore of Montreal. The community they bought their land in is East Greenfield, a little neighbourhood of St Hubert. My grandfather built this little home in 1920, and in 1925 added an extension to the back for their growing family.
I Googled to find directions to the area, no longer able to rely on Mom's directions...she was in a bit of a blur as we drove, yet she has driven herself to the old home a number of times in the past. We drove around a bit to find the house.
This was the first time I had been to the area since I was a child. I was amazed to find streets named after people my mother had talked about growing up with.
In the car, she kept telling us to look for the old horse gate...it led to the house. We saw nothing but new houses jammed together...how could we find that. Then we drove to the bottom of the street she had lived on where she pointed out Mr Campbell's house, an elderly man she had befriended as a child...he gave her his bible and she still has it. ( I am thinking I would like to have that.) She used to go to his house after school and do small chores for him and sometimes he let her make fudge in his kitchen. I used to love to hear such things as a little girl and I finally saw his house last week. Mr. Campbell had loved a woman who was married and broke it off with her. because it wasn't right. He never married after that.
We drove past streets with the names of people she used to play with...it was strange. I wonder why there was not a Mugford street....named after her family.
We finally drove past the horses gate, as she called it, and in unison we shouted, " THAT'S IT!!!, There it is!!!" We were so excited! So was she.
We pulled into the long driveway off the regular street where buried in the back was her first home. The lady who now owns it came out and was very happy to see her again...Mom had dropped by a few times over the years.
She showed us the upstairs window that Uncle Bill and Uncle Ronnie had sometimes taken a pee out of into the garden because the naughty boys had been too lazy to go to the outhouse, saying that part of the garden was well watered and the lady who now owns it laughed, saying yes, they told me that! Mom also showed us where she and Uncle Hedley had made mud pies and pretended to bake them, not far from the house.
Much of the property has been sold off, and homes have been built on the perimeter but the gardens are still lovely. An old oak tree is still standing, it is about 90 years old. It had to have been planted a few years before my mom was born in the little room off the kitchen.
The old vegetable gardens that my grandparents fed a family of eight children on during the Great Depression are long gone, but the trees are still there and current owner (originally from France) loves the house, the land and the peace of her home, an oasis in the middle of a now bustling community. She loves the home my grandfather built with his hands.
I went to school with your "Uncle Hedley"
Hello John, it is nice to hear from you! If you knew my Uncle Hedley you must have known my mom also; she was close to Hedley in age. I would love to know who you are and tell her about you. She still remembers much about her childhood. I know she would be delighted to hear about you. I was unable to get to your page because your profile is not public. I do hope you will contact me again.
Thank you for your comment. This is not my regular blog (I am over at Multiply) but I cross post everything here.