REMEMBERING

Remembering:

Just the other day I was reminded of what a community is and how one remembers it. 

My father built the house I was born in. It was located in  in Newtonville, a section of Newton and it is close to several other cities namely, Watertown and Waltham. And, as a teen and young adult I lived in Weston located just on the outskirts of Waltham.

So what was so wonderful about Newton you may think. It isn’t like it's a city. But, it is a city, the "City of Newton." But, you of course mean the City of Boston and all its little cities around it.  

Some of the cities around Boston, East Boston, Haverhill, Leominster, Lowell, Cambridge, Newton, and Waltham are all immigrant cities.  These cities housed mills where French Canadians came to work long before the Irish or the Italian influx.  The French Canadians came down to work in these mills mostly in the winter after their crops had been harvested. 

How do I know this you wonder? I have done my homework.  I belong to a genealogy society where we have traced our ancestors back to the 1740 and earlier to the Acadians of Annapolis Valley, NS and the original Quebec settlers. We have many documents of these travels and travelers. And, in the genealogy group I met many people from Newton, Waltham, Weston, and we, of course, shared stories about growing up in these towns.

When I grew up in the 40s, 50s and 60s it wasn’t much different than the description given by a classmate.  We had our church festivals, Italian-Irish Catholic, parades three or four times a year, Greek and Armenian Tavernas in Watertown, and holiday parades, Easter, Forth of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas, in Waltham.  We had two movie houses close buy, one in Watertown and one in Newton Corner where we went to see the latest films on rainy days. (Continued)

SUMMER DAYS

Summer Days

You ask, what about the summer ?  When we were younger there was the Carr School on Nevada Street.  This had a large playground with tall swings, ball fields and a recessed tennis court. If we weren’t on the swings, playing baseball, or playing tennis we were learning how to embroider, make trays out of wood for our mothers or make countless lariats and potholders.  We were busy, very busy.  

And, if that was not enough we could walk down California Street to Watertown Square and take the trolley in to Boston, Jamaica Plane, Hyde Park, Cambridge, Revere, or any other place the trolley could go. 

Some of the best trips are the ones my mother took us on, to the theater for children in Boston.  At the Shubert Theater we saw such plays as Rumplestilskin,  Snow White, Cinderella and more that I can’t remember right now.  We went in each month to see a different play.  I believe I got my love of theater at that time.

I often visited my Godmother and her sister in such cities as Cambridge, Hyde Park, or Jamaica Plane, where they lived at different times.  Those towns were more sedate than they are now.  When visiting we would go to the Franklin Park Zoo or the Arboretum or to the doll museum at the end of her street, not to mention all the other museums in the area, weddings, funerals and many trips to her friend and relative's houses.  And, my Godmother is the person who introduced me to Chinese, Hungarian, Jewish, Russian and German foods. I love all ethnic foods to this day.

Other activities we enjoyed were ballet and piano lessons in Newton Center, Tap and gymnastic lessons in Waltham.  When I became old enough to go by myself,  I walked to Weston where there was horse back riding or took the buss to Wall-x Roller-skating Rink in Waltham. I never felt deprived, or without something to do. Life seemed to go fast. 

From the time I was seven we spent the summers in Humarock, a little seaside village overlapping sections of Marshfield and Scituate.  Here is where we had lazy summer days, swimming, laying on the beach for hours, boating and where I made live long friends. Humarock is 50 miles form Newton and a little more from Weston. My father built the cottage in 1947.  And, I now live in the much altered cottage.

Most of us went to one of the Catholic schools in the neighborhood.  There was the French Church, St John the Evangelist and their school and the Irish Church, Our Lady’s Help of Christians, now known only as Our lady’s and their school.  I went to Our Lady’s because my mother’s best friend was a sister there. 

I always wanted to go to the French school but that was not to be. I loved going to the French Church with my father on Sundays. But, he was the better cook in the family and we had to decide if Dad was going to cook and have a wonderful meal or go to High Mass with him, it was a hard decision to make.

Thou the French community was first to live in the Nonantum area but during WWI  & WWII there was a large influx of Italian immigrants.  They settled in the section of Nonantum known as the “LAKE.” Many of my friends were Italians and we all went to Our Lady’s elementary school. 

On my way to and from school there was a wonderful Italian bakery that we had to walk by.  Oh! Such a delicious aroma of bread came wafting to our nostrils tempting us to linger.  And, there was a lovely little library on the corner of Adams and Watertown Streets that I often frequented. The librarian was a nice lady who would find books, she knew I would like, on geology or science and put them away for me. There was a park but much too small to have a dinner or a picnic in. I would say it was more of a memorial park.  That is where we had our pictures taken on special occasions as First Communion, Confirmation, Easter or Thanksgiving.  The park was next to the Fire Station still in operation today. 

Then there was always my Grandma’s house just down the road on Capitol Street.  It’s a wonder I ever got home on time for supper.  But, supper was always ready at 5 o’clock as my Mom, a housewife, prided herself on making a good home for her family had supper waiting for us. In those days it was common for women to stay home to look after the home and family. To work outside the home was frowned upon. (continued)