By Betty Hansford

When we came to Oakville in 1958, we were one of hundreds of couples who had trekked from Toronto in order to take advantage of purchasing a small detached home on a large lot with not only a 25-year NHA mortgage (courtesy John Diefenbaker), but also a minimal down payment.

It was strange: here we were literally stuck in what was then the middle of nowhere: the much vaunted suburbs.

We moved in September just in time for our son to start attending the school at the end of our short street. Hundreds of children streamed past my window, some kindergarten mites so unwilling that their mothers literally had to drag them. All the children were dressed in what used to be termed their Sunday best. School buses and eating lunch at the school were practically unknown entities.

With the children in school and the husbands having driven to work in the only car, a hush would fall over the street. The wives were left - stranded if you like! Even the birds had deserted us for there were no trees.

The winter of 1958-59 passed by and unless we had visitors from Toronto, usually on weekends, I saw not a soul; for I hadn't time to get acquainted with the neighbours plus the fact the lots were so large that no one wanted to walk over to visit in the middle of the winter. At least I think that was the reason although the number of children in each family made the moms very busy.

In view of this I looked forward very much to seeing the Eaton's delivery man, the postman and various other tradesmen including the Fuller Brush man. The Italian baker was also welcome although we had a problem with language.

With Spring, the dandelions in the front garden arrived at the same time that I gave birth to twin boys, incidentally, five sets of twins were born that year of 1959 in an area of two blocks. We made the newspapers on that one! The Toronto Star and the Journal Record. Getting back to the dandelions. We spent the whole of one Sunday digging them up (our frontage was 75 ft.), but upon looking out the window the next day to admire our lovely green lawn we saw it was completely yellow again, something in our ignorance we did not envisage.

The summer of 1959 was very hot. The front lawns sported the little round plastic paddling pools and the heat had enticed even the dogs to sit in them, which although unhygienic looked very funny. The back lawns, most of which were very expansive, had not been sodded. When we had first moved in, my son sank in to the red clay and it sucked him as though it were quicksand. Hearing his anguished screams I hurried to his rescue and in so doing had to lift him out of his boots. Perhaps ,they are still there together with the carrots we tried to grow - only thing was they came out like corkscrews.

The street came to life. The little children played in their pools, the boys played baseball in the road.

The mothers watched from their porches dressed in short shorts and halter tops, all tanned and healthy looking. Everyone was anxious to improve their properties so fences went up and the recreation rooms were started.

Everything was 'do it yourself,' no credit cards in those days: except for Eaton's and Simpson's it was cash-on-delivery. Their catalogues were precious to us because we could shop completely from them and did not have to pay cash. The area was treeless as the builders regarded them as an impediment: as well they had stripped the land of topsoil. Everyone wanted fast growing trees so most of us planted willows and poplars, something we all bitterly regretted later.

The only grocery store in town was Loblaws and transportation was needed to get there so we were all happy when in 1961 the Hopedale Plaza was built.

It was here that the mothers would meet at Kresges where excellent tea was served in a fine china cup. I remember this because I hate mugs and paper cups.

There were no streetlights, no paved roads, and the ditches caught the overflow when it rained. How the children loved splashing around in the rainwater that collected in the ditches as it rushed toward the storm sewer after a thunder storm.

The creek was just behind us and it was full of frogs that my boys would collect and let loose on the lawn.

I had to be careful when I mowed that I didn't run over dozens of little green bodies.

Once they brought home a painted turtle which we eventually returned to the creek, as well as a snake that got lost in the house.

A sense of community gradually developed through the Home & School organization, the Cubs, Scouts and Guides. The mothers put on Grade 8 dinners, etc. The grocery store was crowded in the day and closed at night. We had parties, euchre nights, pig roasts. The conversation was always how brilliant our children were or were going to be.

We as parents, were much more ambitious for our children than, perhaps, our own parents had been for us.

This was the era of the child. The children reigned supreme.

With the advent of the so-called '60s revolution our well-ordered, perhaps over-routined life came to an end.

We, as parents, suddenly became 'squares'. The generation gap had arrived.

I suppose it is safe to say that in the '50s and '60s the children, not ourselves, were our main concern.

All our energies were expended on them. Never again will a generation of youngsters be so nurtured.

In this, I think that the stay-at-home mothers of the era deserve a lot of credit if only by reason of their unselfishness.

I think we really believed that the 'Hand that rocked the cradle ruled the world.'

Betty Hansford
June 1992