A long time ago, far away in a distant Galaxy when I was just a little nipper, we had a real living breathing coal fireplace in the living room of our two bed flat. My dad was away a lot so it was just me and my Mum. Right after the war, so things (including coal) were in short supply. Coal was of poor quality, the good stuff was being exported to pay off war debts. Sometimes we'd throw a bit of sugar on the fire and hold a newspaper tightly against the hearth to get a good draft and thus the fire going. Sugar is a great fire starter/enhancer.

But I digress. One Christmas. I'd be 4 or 5 at the time, I wanted to write a letter to Father Christmas but didn't have an envelope or know what address to put on it. My mother told me Christmas was a magic time, I didn't need an envelope, so just write the letter, then when the fire in the fireplace was lit, just hold the letter close to the top of the fire near the chimney and the fire draft would grab it and suck it up the chimney, by magic taking it directly to Father Christmas's house. She helped me write my wish list then demonstrated and sure enough...........zip it was gone. I believed it for a couple of years, because I'd usually get some of what I'd asked for. The best part was I got to share that bit of magic with my sibs as they slowly but surely arrived.

Clever old girl wasn't she..

 

 

A winter time phenomena with which most Yellowknife residents, old, new or even tempory are all too familiar. I was reminded of it when I came in from outside in the snow yesterday.

In Northern towns, during winter, it's party and visiting season. Northerners are very hospitable and friendly people. Unlike the south, many folks just drop by for coffee or drinks, no invitation is required. Parties are a regular weekend... and at this time of year, evening event.

So, formal occasion or casual drop-in party it doesn't matter, everyone is wearing heavy outside footwear. On entering someone's house, the first thing on does is remove ones parka or winter coat, the second thing one does, while still standing inside the front door by the coat cupboard, is remove ones outside winter boots.

There is usually a mat on the floor inside the front door, often it is piled high with winter boots. The result is, the doormat soon becomes soaking wet from all the snow that has fallen off the boots and melted into the mat. Now the fun part, finding an un-wet bit of the mat on which to step in your stockinged/socked feet. Virtually impossible, causing one to sit/walk around for at least an hour with cold, wet sock bottoms on your feet. It seemed not to matter how long or how often you sat rubbing you socked feet vigorously on the carpdoet, the socks just won't dry. Most joy killing and uncomfortable. As the evening progresses, people come and go, every time they , a blast of -30 to -40 cold air was unleashed from the open door to roll unhindered across the floor and heighten the cold wet feet experience. I've had many an evening's revelry tempered to borderline unhappiness by such events. And of course the joy was reversed as one left.... finally you'd got your feet/socks warm and dry only to have to step on the wet mat again to put your boots on to leave.


Clever hosts deployed a second mat further inside the door, for you to hop one legged onto, as you removed your boots. Smart folks took a pair of slippers of course, but not everyone remembered all the time, specially if it was a spur of the moment, drop-in kind of evening.

A real nice guy, one of our young drivers at Robinson's was somewhat deaf. He was also not the brightest light in the string, but he was very dedicated to his profession and almost single minded in his pursuit of it..... you know the type. One Monday morning after he had returned from a family visit to Hay River, I asked him, "So Ronny, how was your weekend?" To which he replied, "Yup, truck's runnin good."

Funny, the stuff one remembers.

Then there's 'Beetle Bailey'. Working for Frenchy's Transport. Hauling muck out at Giant mine one winter. Backed his tandem dump under the waste chute in 'C' Headframe. It was January, -40, so the wet muck was sticking to the inside of his gravel box. There was a big, steam, unit heater, inside the headframe to keep the area warm. As a stroke of genius, 'Beetle' raised his box under the heater to melt the frozen muck, he then, lay down across the seat and went to sleep. Shift change came along and as one of the miners was leaving he noticed 'Beetle' sleeping in his truck. Wanting to let 'Beetle' know that it was time to go home, the miner banged on the truck door. 'Beetle' totally surprised and waking from a dead sleep, sat up, started his truck, stuffed it in gear and, his box still raised, drove out through the side of the headframe, pulling about twenty feet of it down around him.

One summer day, 'Beetle', hauling mine waste again. Backed his truck inside the headframe under the waste chute, got out and propped the waste chute door open with a piece of nearby lumber, jumped back in his cab and waited for the waste to start coming. Nothing came down the chute for a long time so he lay down again to have another nap. He was really asleep because when the muck started coming down the chute it didn't wake him up. He slept for a couple of hours, when he did wake up his box was full, the arse end of his truck was completely buried and the rock waste backed way up in the chute. It took him a couple of days of hand bombing to dig the truck out.

'Beetle' was a classic.