When I was born on Bond Street in 1935, Oakville was a picturesque little village overlooking Lake Ontario and extending from roughly Brant Street in the West and Gloucester in the East and Queen Elizabeth Highway to the north. Our home overlooked a beautiful cherry orchard bordered by a magnificent perennial garden that was breathtakingly beautiful. The "Home" (I.O.F.-Independent Order of Forresters) was home to orphans until the Second World War when it was transformed into Ortona Barracks, a military headquarters. The cherry orchard came down to make way for the quonset huts that held the offices for the new operation and the beautiful spring blossoms no longer blessed the view.
Back to 1935: I was born at home with Dr.E.P.Soanes delivering as at that time there were no hospitals in the town and home deliveries were "the norm". Foresters Bush was a wonderful area to go for walks in the spring to collect wild flowers and pollywogs and fish in the little cove on the banks of the river. Kerr Street was residential to Stewart Street and then opened to farms and strawberry fields. Bread and milk were delivered by horse-drawn carts; the horses always seemed to know which house was a customer. Ice trucks delivered blocks of ice for the "ice boxes" and was a great way to get a little frozen ice to munch on in the hot summers.
Oakville in memory seems like "Brigadoon"; a magical village that was idyllic and peaceful. In reality, it was a time between two World Wars and the Depression, commonly called the "dirty thirties".
Swimming in the harbour between the two piers, cycling, skating at the town Arena on Reynolds Street, Brownies and Guides at the Scout Hut on Randall, Gymnastic classes at St.Jude's Church, tobogganing on the many hills and canoeing on the Sixteen were the many delights for children & teens.
Westwood School with its four classrooms was the primary school for the west side; Linbrook for the East Side; and Central School for grades 4 to 8. Oakville High School was the only high school for Bronte, Oakville and all the rural district. One managed to know just about everyone in their age group. Summertime was a wonderful time to visit my grandparents' farm in the country on Rural Route #1, now 1705 Rebecca Street. I learned to swim in a delightful little pool that was a natural formation on the little creek that wound its way down through Lady Baillie's Estate on the Lakeshore. Indian arrow heads were often unearthed when exploring the surrounding area and casually tossed backed. Wish I had them now!
The farm produce was mouth watering and delicious. My Uncle George would often take a few children in to Bronte to buy ice cream at Allan's pharmacy to fill a half freshly-picked melon. I can still taste the treat fit for a king! Strawberries were another delight from my Aunt Hilda and Bob Burton's 100 acre farm on Rebecca Street near the Third Line and my mother had a wonderful recipe for Strawberry shortcake that still swirls in my mind and tickles my taste buds. The strawberries managed to find their way to "The Jam Factory" where students would often cut classes to hull strawberries by the pail. I managed to earn my money for Guide Camp this way. When we closed our eyes at the end of the day, we would see nothing but strawberries.
Surrounded by farms provided an "oldy worldy" bucolic countryside. I often cycled from Bond Street, along Upper Middle Road to the Howell's Farm where driving the cows home for milking, bringing in the sheaves, playing in the hayloft seems now like a world that existed centuries ago. I remember the co-operative effort of several farmers who banded together and went from farm to farm to bring in the sheaves by horse drawn wagons, filling the barn to the rafters with hay.
The farms I knew did not have tractors, just horses, and dogs that scurried after all the mice that had built their homes in the cozy stacks of hay. The farm meals for these hard working farmers were a banquet; meat, vegetables and mashed potatoes, home-made bread and the most mouth-watering array of freshly baked pies. I remember vividly the farm of the Savages at the comer of the ninth line and upper middle road.
Winter always seemed to bring abundant snow for winter sports and temperatures that were adequate for skating on the Sixteen.
My father, who was a World War I veteran, married "his sweetheart from Simcoe" in 1919 and worked various jobs as his family of four thrived and grew. Working at the aluminum factory on Trafalgar, air plane factory Dehavilland during World War II, and as a Game Warden after the war, brought many interesting aspects to our life. Plastic picture frames that were riveted together, cribbage boards, aluminum bowls, copper trays and artifacts were all a product of his spare time and ability. He worked hard and I can never once remember hearing him complain. Working six days a week gave him little time for pleasure, but he seemed happy with his home life and found time for the Legion Hall where he worked on all their various projects. Having taken the "Oath of Sobriety" at the Temperance Hall on Trafalgar Road (now Tim Horton's), he was determined to educate and provide for his family. He was also Chairman of the Library Board which saw the library move from a small little shop on Main Street to a more substantial dwelling nearby where it then became the Post Office.
My mother made the most amazing culinary feasts from a wood-burning stove, a monstrous creature that burned both wood or coal. I swear she could have earned an engineering degree! Opening the doors just right to let the amount of oxygen in to keep the temperatures at just the right level to create the loaves of bread, the berry pies, the Yorkshire Puddings, the Toad-in-the-hole, the roasts, the turkeys, the cakes and tarts ..... truly a work of art! ... and this while a quilt was on four chairs in the dining room. Bacon fat was saved to make her own soap along with Gillet's Lye. She claimed she had the whitest wash in town for just a few pennies a week. Chickens in the back yard for eggs, a garden for fresh vegetables, rhubarb patches, and clusters of lilacs were natures gift. Pet rabbits, a cocker spaniel and canaries and budgies were added to the menagerie - my father even bred canaries! Their songs filled the air and they always seemed to accompany the records we played on the Motorola which we cranked vigorously at regular intervals.
My mother's basement was filled with jars of produce; yellow peaches and plums, and jams of all kinds. At one point she even "canned" vegetables; peas and tomatoes. Amazingly, she still found time for "The Mother's Union" at St. Jude's, Red Cross work at the Masonic Lodge and many projects at the Legion Hall. These are a few of my happy memories of growing up in Oakville - and I have many more!
- Midge Philbrook
