A terrific old photo of the two general stores in “downtown” Queensborough that was recently posted on Vintage Belleville, Trenton & Quinte Region on Facebook. While my childhood at the Manse in Queensborough doesn’t quite date back to the time of this photo, I remember those facing-each-other general stores very fondly.
It’s quite possible that many, or even most, of the good people who read this blog are familiar with Vintage Belleville, Trenton & Quinte Region on Facebook. I personally am next to useless when it comes to Facebook, and only recently discovered this site (or page, or whatever it is one calls things on Facebook), but I am delighted with it and thought I should share.
The Realm Restaurant in Marmora – do you remember that? Am I right in thinking that the long low section to the right was a sometime dance hall? (Photo from Vintage Belleville, Trenton & Quinte Region)
Basically it’s a feed of vintage photos of Hastings County and the Bay of Quinte region, and these photos are charming, nostalgic and lovely. If you like (that is, tell Facebook that you like) Vintage Belleville, Trenton & Quinte Region, these photos show up in your news feed – and speaking strictly for me, it tends to make my day when they do. Mostly, of course, they’re about the populated and pretty southern part of the county – Belleville, Trenton and environs; but fairly often there are also photos from the region’s more northerly parts: Madoc, Tweed, and even Queensborough.
Followers (is that what you call people on Facebook? Can you tell I’m way more comfortable with Twitter? I am @ksedgwick there, by the way) are invited to post their own vintage photos, which means there’s great potential for tons of new old stuff to show up and surprise us all.
I may not be Facebook’s biggest fan or best practitioner, but I love those vintage Quinte photos!
One of the many beautiful displays of lilacs that Raymond and I saw this past long weekend, this one along Cooper Road between Queensborough and Madoc, at Hazzard’s Corners.
This won’t be the first post I’ve done about how much I like lilacs – a previous one is here – but this past long weekend the lilacs in the central Hastings County area were, I think, at their absolute prime, and they were just so beautiful. Now, I fully realize that many other places also have lilacs; certainly you see them (and smell their beautiful scent) in residential districts right in the heart of Montreal. And from May 25 to June 2 this year the village of Warkworth in neighbouring Northumberland County – a very pretty place, full of interesting shops and lots of artistically minded people – will be holding whole festival about lilacs; details here.
But there are lilacs in profusion in the Queensbrough area. It’s like the long-ago settlers there took a special liking to lilacs. Or perhaps the lilacs took a special liking to the area; perhaps they do well despite the thin, rocky soil that characterizes the area. Raymond and I drove past so many places that had a gorgeous mix of light, dark and sometimes white blooms; sometimes their beauty just takes one’s breath away. The photo at the top of this post is of a lovely display at Hazzard’s Corners, but one could see them all over the place.
All of which reminds me once again that we must get a lilac bush for the Manse, to replace the one that flourished there when I was a kid and that is now, sadly, long gone.
Should we go for dark purple, light mauve, or white? Perhaps a mix of all three?
The Fisher-Price Garage, late-1960s edition. Best toy ever. I have been seeking one out for years, and was thrilled to find one at a yard sale this weekend. Now if I just had the little cars and drivers…
This long weekend – the first of the almost-assured good spring/summer weather of the year – saw an absolute bonanza of yard sales in Hastings County. In the village of Madoc, in fact, there was an event called “The Whole Darn Town of Madoc Yard Sale,” and it lived up to its name. Raymond and I love yard sales, and we must have stopped at close to a dozen in Madoc and environs.
Best find? The Fisher-Price Garage, of course!
Is there anyone below the age of 55 who didn’t grow up with a Fisher-Price Garage? And were they not the best toy ever? That elevator that could move the cars up and down from the ground to the third floor, dinging at every level; the rotator that could circle cars around on the top-floor parking lot; the stop signs that went up and down as the elevator passed each floor; and of course the ramp that the cars could zoom back down once they were finished parking. It made for endless hours of fun!
When my siblings and I were growing up at the Manse, the Fisher-Price Garage was my brothers’ toy (though my sister and I enjoyed playing with it too); it was the 1960s, after all, and Barbies were for girls and trucks and garages were for boys. So I never had a Fisher-Price Garage of my own.
And I always wanted one. Not one of the new ones; have you seen them? Click here if you haven’t, and you tell me: does that look like the Fisher-Price Garage of your childhood? Of course it doesn’t! Not my cup of tea at all. I bet it’s not yours either.
Ah, but the vintage Fisher-Price Garage that I spotted at a yard sale along Frankford Road between Stirling and Frankford: that was the one! And now it is mine. Well, ours – though I don’t think Raymond gets quite as much a kick out of it as I do.
Mind you, it came without the little wooden men and the cars. But I have great confidence that another yard sale will turn those up soon enough. Will my life then be complete? Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. But let’s put it this way: any little kids who visit the Manse will be in heaven.
Okay, as of today, Raymond has a new moniker, at least when he’s in the Queensborough area. Thanks to our Prince Edward County friend Hilary, who found some resonance in my post about “The Midnight Ride of Red Dog Ray,” we have decided that Raymond should be not Red DOG Ray, but Red TRUCK Ray. Because he has that great red truck!
Happy Victoria Day long weekend, everybody! (Or at least those of you who are in Ontario, where this IS a long weekend, and where it is still – unlike, say, in Quebec – named for that longest-to-reign-over-us monarch.)
Of course the Victoria Day (or whatever you choose to call it) weekend is, by Central/Eastern Canada tradition, when one can safely put plants in the ground, because the risk of frost is supposedly past. So naturally I have plants on my mind for this long weekend at the Manse.
But here’s the wonderful thing: thanks to the folks at St. Andrew’s United Church here in Queensborough who cared for the garden at the Manse when it WAS the church Manse, and who brilliantly chose to plant perennials, our garden is – as Raymond and I discovered when we arrived this evening – looking smashing. And with absolutely no assistance having been given by us.
It’s been three weeks since we were last here, and back then the garden looked pretty dead. Now there are plants and flowers coming up all over it, and even some pretty mauve blooms.
And we did nothing to deserve this! Thank you, past Manse gardeners!
And thank you, perennials, for being – well, perennial.
So I gather that even as I type this much of Ontario is aghast at the prospect of a strike by workers at the LCBO (the Liquor Control Board of Ontario, the odd – when you think about it – name for the provincial-government-owned chain of stores selling wine and liquor). There are news reports of crazy lineups at liquor stores as people stock up for the long weekend, fearing that today is their last chance. (The deadline for the contract talks is midnight tonight, I believe.)
As I was reporting all this to Raymond while following the news on Twitter during our commute home from work tonight, I pointed out that should the strike kick in tomorrow, we will be in the fortunate position of starting our long weekend (to be spent at the Manse in Queensborough) here in Montreal. Which means we can buy a long weekend’s worth of red and white wine before we leave the province. (Don’t tell the Ontario Provincial Police, by the way. I think it’s still, quaintly, technically illegal to transport alcohol across provincial boundaries.)
Anyway, it all reminded me of a funny song that a legendary Peterborough, Ont., band named Reverend Ken and the Lost Followers used to perform back in their heyday. (Reverend Ken subsequently left the band and it morphed into Hank and the Honkers, the new leader being a legend in his own right, Washboard Hank. Hank played – and continues to play – not just washboard [and guitar, trombone, etc.] but also the kitchen sink. Really.)
But back to the song. It was inspired by what the lyrics fittingly call “The Great Ontario Beer Strike,” which an internet search tells me happened in 1985. Employees at the province’s Beer Stores and breweries struck for quite a long time, as I vaguely recall; since I’m not much of a beer drinker, it didn’t have a large impact on me. (Besides, I think one could still buy imported beer at LCBO stores. But many Ontarians turned up their noses at Heineken and Tuborg [remember Tuborg?], considering Molson Export and Labatt’s Blue infinitely superior.)
The bar where Revend Ken and the Lost Followers played most frequently was Peterborough’s famous Red Dog, a dingy-but-cool place frequented by both your typical beer-parlour crowd and the young people who attend Trent University. I think it was the latter set that favoured the band. (And how do I know all this? People, I confess that I have darkened the door of the Red Dog once or twice. Or, you know, maybe more.)
So apparently – or so the song would have it – the proprietor of the Red Dog, a chap named Ray McGregor (whose death in 2001 prompted many tributes from the Peterborough community – and who, according to his obituary, was born in St. Thomas, Ont., not Scotland as the song suggests) decided to make a daring run across the border into Quebec to acquire some domestic beer for the bar’s regulars (who in the song have the nickname “chubbies” – perhaps someone who knows the Red Dog [you know who you are] can explain that to me), who were suffering mightily because of the strike. (Doubtless Ray was sufferering too. Financially.) Since, as I’ve already mentioned, it’s illegal to transport booze across provincial borders, Ray was engaging in risky behaviour.
But it all turned out all right in the end, as you’ll hear from the song. Have a listen to the video (is there anything one can’t find on the internet?) – and just in case you have trouble making out the lyrics, I am going to helpfully provide them for you. Hooray for Red Dog Ray!
The Midnight Ride of Red Dog Ray
Well the Great Ontario Beer Strike was in its 21st day
And all the Red Dog’s chubbies were fadin’ clear away
For weeks they’d been denied the drink they loved so dear
So they turned to Red Dog Ray and said, “Could you get us some more beer?”
Well Red Dog Ray he swore, “By gosh by gum by heck
I’ll get my chubbies beer if I have to go to old Quebec!”
So Percy the French waiter, he told him what to say -
And thus began the famous midnight ride of Red Dog Ray.
‘Twas the midnight ride of Red Dog Ray
‘Twas the midnight ride of Red Dog Ray
He drove down Highway 7 to our nation’s capital
And he slipped across the river to the town that’s known as Hull
And he tried hard to remember the words he had to say:
“Pardonnez-moi, mon dieu mon frère, I need some beer today.”
Well René Lévesque gave him some but still he wanted more.
“But what the heck? I’m in Quebec! I’ll go to the corner store!”
He filled his station wagon till the springs were sagging low
And he headed down the highway to thirsty Ontario.
‘Twas the midnight ride of Red Dog Ray
‘Twas the midnight ride of Red Dog Ray
[Bridge featuring highland-fling-type music]
He was singing a song about Scotland, the homeland of his birth
When the cops they pulled him over just the other side of Perth
And ever so politely Ray asked was there anything wrong
And the cop said, “Roll your window up if you’re gonna sing that song!”
Well the OPP he turned away, his fingers in his ears
He didn’t even notice that carload full of beers
So Ray just kept on singin’ until he reached his bar
And the chubbies shouted out for joy when they saw the beer-filled car.
‘Twas the midnight ride of Red Dog Ray Well Red Dog Ray, he saved the day And you can hear the chubbies say, “Hip, hip, hooray for Red Dog Ray!”
This is what Raymond won’t be doing (because of the blackflies) this coming weekend: outdoors work in the Manse’s yard. But he sure worked hard during our big cleanup the last time we were there, which is when I took this photo.
Tonight I was going to leave off the blackfly theme of the past two posts (here and here) and write about – well, you’ll have to wait for another day to find out.
But I’m putting the Hasenpfeffer on hold because I have breaking news to share. I have just learned something from Raymond that keeps the blackflies-at-the-Manse saga alive. He is – wait for it – allergic to them.
Because contrary to my hopes that the cold spell would have knocked this year’s blackfly crop out, and my (possibly delusional) insistence that the blackflies in Queensborough have never been all that bad anyway, there seems to be some pretty solid evidence (see comments here and here) that the blackflies are not only out, but out in force, at the moment. This very evening our Queensborough friend Marykay reported that she was outside watering her plants, “not in my Darth Vader gear [protective hats and other stuff] and they are terrible!!!”
It was when I was reading aloud that rather alarming comment to Raymond a few minutes ago that he casually informed me that he is allergic to blackflies. Good lord.
Regular readers will know that the reason Raymond and I have been waging fierce battle against wasps at the Manse is that he is allergic to them, too. Deathly allergic, basically; a wasp sting means he must get to the ER very, very quickly. (Needless to say, EpiPens are at the ready when we are in Queensborough. And this potentially fatal allergy is another reason why I think there should be a hospital emergency room in central Hastings County.)
But until about the third inning tonight I was blissfully unaware that he is allergic to blackflies too. And this as we’re about to spend the Victoria Day long weekend in what people in Queensborough seem to be suggesting is Blackfly Central!
Fortunately, Raymond’s blackfly allergy is nowhere near as severe as his wasp allergy. Blackfly bites make him puff up a lot, that’s all – he says. But still, this is going to mean there won’t be a lot of outdoors time for Raymond this weekend.
Especially because he is the biggest bug magnet I have ever seen. He and I can be sitting outdoors for half an hour and I won’t even have noticed that there are bugs – blackflies or mosquitoes or whatever – and will be utterly unscathed. And Raymond will have bites all over.
