Vacation Day 15 – Where the Sidewalk Ends

Yesterday I stood where the sidewalk ends. I first stood at this site about 57 years ago. This was likely to be my last time to do it again.

It was an ominous moment in my life that I wasn’t expecting – yet I had planned for this little visit for months now. I saved this adventure for the last days of this vacation.

In the last century…
In 1950 our small family had moved to Regina from Milestone, Saskatchewan. Prior to that, we had lived in Lang, a small town a few miles further southeast of Milestone. In the 1950 we didn’t have much. There was no car, nor bicycles – only the goodness of a relative or a neighbour that pitched in to help you move or go somewhere. I was 6 years old at the time – just about to begin school. I think we actually had a car when we moved to Regina but my dad sold or traded it to get down payment on the house we needed. He then bought a bicycle that would take him to and from work.

Where the sidewalk ends is actually 1422 Elliott Street, in a rough neighbourhood of Regina. It was rough when we lived there and it is even rougher now. In 1950 it was filled with families that were immigrants and the poor. We were not immigrants from the Ukraine or Rumania – but for sure we were poor in the ‘post war era’. Having moved from the rural areas of Saskatchewan we were starting out like every one else. There were lots of poor families in our community mixed with the new people that spoke ‘funny’. But none of us knew we were poor nor did we know that people spoke ‘funny’. The kids were all the same. It was the parents that were a little different from each other – but no one cared.

My best friend Barry and his brother Eddy lived across the street. Their mom had a funny accent in that she was a war bride from England. Their dad had been a soldier in the war. (As a sideline to this story, Barry and Eddy’s dad is buried directly across from my father at the Riverside Cemetery.)

In 1950 the streets were not paved. There was no running water. Water was available one block away and had to be carried down the sidewalk in two pails at a time. On rainy days and in the spring time the roads were impassable. The ruts we filled with water and made great places to float a war ship.

In the wet season the Milk Wagon wouldn’t venture to the end of the street to our house, as it was too hard for the horse to pull the wagon through the sticky muck. The milkman walked that distance with the glass bottles clanging in his carrier.

To the north of the house was an open field and to the east of that the field led to an open prairie that ran along side the railway tracks. It was without a doubt the place that all adventures started. A boy could walk forever from the end of the sidewalk.

Yesterday…
As I approached the house from the end of the sidewalk something was different. There was no sign of life. There were some old beds in the front yard and junk that had been expelled from the house. One bed was charred – the first sign of a fire.

As I came up the front sidewalk I could see that the door was open. I knocked but no one was home. Carefully I opened the door and stepped in. What a mess. Following the fire someone had been trying to clean the rooms – but had given up. The buckets were laying there with the rags hanging over the side. There was smear marks on the walls after attempts were made to clean the soot off. The paint now was hanging from the ceiling and large pieces were covering the floor. It has been sitting this way for a long time from the look of it all.

I couldn’t see the fire damage at first because the memories rushed back at me as I entered. This was home so long ago. That is where the Christmas tree used to sit. Over there on the right is where the first TV was carefully placed and over there was the spot where the couch was placed. Across from that couch was another one. Together they supported our family as we first watched the Ed Sullivan Show that night Elvis Presley was singing.

There was the kitchen with all the cupboard doors open. Just off the kitchen was mom and dad’s bedroom. Back in the living room the stairs led up to the kid’s bedroom. As I walked up the stairway, the bathroom was on my right, my sister’s bedroom was directly ahead and mine was on the left – at the front of the house.

As I stood there soaking in the feelings the rooms were suddenly very, very small. They didn’t seem that small when I lived there. It didn’t look that meager when it was my bedroom.

I suddenly remembered the time that dad did the renovations on the upstairs to make the bathroom. There it was the way that he had done the work those 50 plus years ago. If I am not mistaken the decorations are the same now. Prior to this washroom/bathroom we walked out to the outdoor toilet at the back of the lot – and bathed in a tub in the kitchen. Remember there was no running water on our street.

Outside I looked at the house for a long time. The street is now taken over by storage units. The lot beside our old house is now filled with old shipping pallets as is the yard around 1422. Most of the old houses on the street are now boarded up. As people leave these houses they are being torn down – and big trucks are now parked on the lots.

For a few minutes there was a twinge of sadness as I stood looking at the present. But in moments the sounds of laughter with lots of kids on our street filled my mind. I could see Barry and me hunched over the wooden sidewalks with a magnifying glass. We were burning our names on the wooden surface. To the north of the house in the open field the kids were playing baseball. Across the field others were crawling through the long grass near the railway fence. The street was still alive and so much was happening as we looked to the future…somewhere out there at the end of the sidewalk.

~ Pastor Murray Lincoln ~

Click here for a “Map Quest” view of 1422 Elliott St