Winter Memories
Although it has never been my favourite season,
I have two memories of winters in the city, over half-a-century
ago.
Walking home from public school, in the
days when money was 'tight', sometimes I would find a real treasure.
When the coal truck made its deliveries, a large lump of coal
would often get left behind on the curb. What a find!
Trying not to get black from it, I would
carry my ebony treasure proudly - a surprise for my mother. After
showing it to her I would carry it down to the cellar to the coal
bin and place it on top of the rest of the coal. It just seemed
to get lost amongst what was there, but I knew that every little
bit helped.
That evening, when Mom would send me downstairs
with potatoes to bake in the furnace, I would carefully place
them inside on the ledges, on each side of the hot fire. I often
wondered, when I felt the heat of the fire, if it was 'my' piece
of coal that was making the fire that would cook our potatoes
for supper. ~Joan Adams Burchell~ (copyright)
***
The Coal Man
Not often did I meet up with the coal man
but that was probably more good luck than good management, as
he had a regular route, as did the ice man, bread man and milk
man. Perhaps it was the weather and some people ordered more coal
during a cold spell.
It was heavy work, I am sure. The fact
was, and I am ashamed to say this, I was really afraid of him.
He may have been a handsome family man but all that I saw was
a soot-covered figure, stooped with the weight of the bag of coal
slung over his shoulder. He was soot from head-to-toe.
There were a certain number of bags that
made up the half-ton that my mother ordered, and she used to watch
from the window and count the bags as he trudged through the narrow
alley with each one, dumping the contents through the cellar window
that opened in and hooked up on the rafters.
If I was home when he came I was always
relieved to hear his big truck drive away. That is what I remember
about the coal man. ~ Joan Adams Burchell ~ (copyright)
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