Mishap on the Hill
What began as a moonlit adventure ended in disaster
It had been very mild during that January thaw, followed by a full day and night of rain before the temperature dropped and everything froze. It was the mid-1940s and our family lived on a farm in L’isle-aux-allumettes, Que. Thanks to the ice storm, there was no school the following morning, so my brothers, Eddie and Denis, and I went out sliding on the hill on our property. Our younger sister Ethel was not allowed to join us, as our mother worried that she would not be able to keep up with us climbing back up the hill. What a day of fun we had.
After supper, when the boys had brought in the wood and I had finished the dishes, we begged to be allowed to go sliding again, as there was to be a full moon that night. We also pleaded to be able to go to our grandfather’s farm next door, as he had a much longer and steeper hill. Once given permission, we quickly headed for the path that crossed the fields.
When we arrived, other family members asked why our mom hadn’t come with us, so back to our house we went. Mother was pleased to be asked to join in, as our Uncle Oliver and Aunt Beatrice were also visiting our grandfather, or pépère as we called him. This time, Ethel was allowed to come as well. It was decided that we would all go sledding.
Pépère took out his long sled, the one that was usually reserved for the sled dogs to pull. Aunt Beatrice, Aunt Irene, Mom, Ethel and I walked up the long, long hill. We were all loaded on to the huge sled and Eddie gave us a good, strong shove. As we sped down the hill, our sled began to turn around and around, spinning faster and faster until we were finally heading down the hill backwards. Then we hit the one and only small but very solid tree in the field.
Mom was on the back of the sled and took the full brunt of the impact. She began to moan and kept repeating, “My back, my back.” She couldn’t move. Later, we learned that she had broken her pelvis. Eddie and I were sent back to pépère’s house to get help to pick Mom up, put her back on the sleigh and return her to the farm. After that, Eddie and I were sent to our house to fetch Dad.
It was decided that Mom needed to go to a hospital in Pembroke, Ont., about ten miles away. This meant crossing the Ottawa River via an ice road. Pépère harnessed his team Belle and Britt to the horse-drawn sleigh and placed a thick layer of straw in the back, covered with ticking and warm blankets. It was hoped that this would help make the long, cold trip a little less uncomfortable. However, the icy roads proved to be extremely bumpy and Mom cried out in pain at every bump and turn in the road. The trip took more than three hours to complete.
When they finally arrived at the hospital, Mom couldn’t be admitted immediately. In those days, the administration required a guarantee in advance of $700. Thank goodness my grandfather had close friends living nearby that he could rely on to vouch for payment.
Mom ended up in a full body cast from her chest to her toes for the next three months.
As I was the eldest girl at ten, and Ethel
was too young to help, I was responsible for the household chores, including cooking and cleaning. Dad didn’t require Eddie and Denis to help with “girls’ work.” My oldest brother Earl was working in Sudbury, but Dad had him come home to help around the farm. As my school was a good four-mile walk from home, I didn’t attend class much that winter. I have often wondered how I was able to manage all the housework on my own at such a young age, but we got through it.
When Mom finally came home in the spring, she got around by supporting herself with the help of a wooden kitchen chair.
What started out as a moonlit sledding party with the promise of great family fun ended up being a horrendous experience that none of us would ever forget. Thankfully, Mom eventually made a full recovery—but she never went sledding again. ■ Anything for The Way It Was? Submit online at ourcanada.ca or turn to page 64.