ShiloBrats-InterActive!

[Doc J]

Memories of winter in Shilo from Doug Jordan

As I write this, it is - 41 (Winnipeg, Feb 5, 2007), but I recall
winter was colder in Shilo in the 60's, or at least it felt that way.

The army always built a rink near Kingston and Royal at the Greenwood
School end of town. I remember it had boards for real hockey and they
left a big wooden scrapper to remove snow. It would take two of us to
push that thing around the rink. We would always have to rest before
we played. We would take our skates to the rink and have to put them
on there – no shack, heated or otherwise. We would play until our
feet hurt from the cold.

Walking through the willows with a certain girl friend and freezing
the mittened hand I used to cover her nose to keep it warm. Chivalry.

Stamping out in huge letters "HELLO TEXAS" in the snow in the field
behind the willows and taking a picture of it to be sent to the
Howie's, friends in El Paso. They also got a picture of the old snow
blower machine (the one with the screw that threw the snow into
neighbouring fields).

Hallowe'en seemed to have snow most of the years I was there. If not,
it was always cold.

Going to Princess Elizabeth to catch the bus to Brandon each morning
to go to university and walking through the yard of a certain girl
friend, who daily awoke early to wave goodbye from her window.

The girls always wore skirts, nylons and high boots to school – never
anything sensible, thank God. They must have frozen their legs from
thighs to calves. Fortunately, it was never very far from the schools
to anywhere in the camp.

Taking my Renault Dauphine and ramming it through snow drifts on that
road between Princess Elizabeth and the Catholic chapel.

Being at the Howie's on Sunnybridge and building a bomb with Brian.
We threw the bomb into a snow drift behind his house. When it didn't
go off, I carefully crept up to it to find the reason for its failure.
Little did I know that Mr. Howie had ignited a couple of blockbusters
and had thrown them right behind me. When they went off, I almost wet
my pants.

Speaking of Brian, we were walking through O'Kelly school yard late
one winter's night when we were attacked by a dog. I wanted to run,
but Brian made me stand behind him and when the dog got close, Brian
threw his arms into the air and let out a bellow. The last I saw of
the dog, he was disappearing into the darkness.

Me shooting the town tough guy in the back with a BB gun (he was
wearing a heavy parka) and just as he was turning, I gave the gun to
Brian who momentarily stood there with a blank look and then the two
of us took off running with the tough guy chasing us. Along the way,
Brian threw the gun into a snow drift to hide the evidence. I
actually don't remember this, but Brian reminded me about it the last
time he, Bruce, Don and I met.

Walking with Jamie and Peter on The Packway one New Year's Eve. For
some reason, we had to go to a house just after midnight. Jamie
knocked on the door, looked through the door window, and then turned
and ran; we followed fast, with Jamie yelling "I just saw a naked
woman run upstairs!!" Peter and I missed it….

Midnight services at the Protestant Chapel at Christmas but before
ending up there we went caroling. We must have gotten a little bored,
because a certain Byron started singing "Balls to Mr. Banglestein,
dirty old man" at one place on Sunnybridge while the rest of us
collapsed in laughter.

Walking with Amber, and a couple of others, to someplace in the camp
to have our pictures taken for The Stag. It was bitterly cold but we
were laughing and throwing snow at each other, oblivious to the cold.
I still have those Stag pictures.

Playing hockey at the arena and having my nose broken when an opposing
player hit me in the face with a wrist shot. Real men didn't wear
face masks. Oh, that's right, they weren't invented at that time –
neither were helmets.

Playing football in the snow and having my elbow broken when I dove
onto the ball and somebody landed on my arm. It was justice, as my
mother had told me not to play football that day (can't remember why).
I spent a few weeks in a sling and just when I thought I was better,
I took my arm out of the sling, threw a snowball and spent additional
weeks in the sling as a result.

Walking through the snow in the field between Alfreston and The
Packway and again being attacked by a dog. Fortunately, David
Miller's father was a ham operator and had a tower aerial in his
backyard that I climbed and nearly froze to death waiting for the dog
to get bored. Nobody was home to hear me yelling. All's well that
ends well.
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