Grandma’s Silver Spoons
Family Sunday dinners meant dining with the Dionne Quintuplets and Charlie Mccarthy
As a young child, Sunday dinner at my grandparents’ farmhouse in rural Nova Scotia was usually a family affair, with aunts, uncles and cousins gathered around two large tables. The grown-ups sat at the dining room table, while we children ate at a large round table in the warm, spacious country kitchen. An only child, I looked forward to those lively gatherings with my cousins.
The loud clang of the dinner bell meant a noisy rush to the kitchen to grab our chairs and settle in around the table. The tantalizing aroma of Grandma’s cooking had whetted our appetites, and the promise of her homemade ice cream left no need of a second bell. Grandma had each place setting perfectly laid out—knife and spoon to the right of the dinner plate with the fork on the left. The well-ironed napkin, neatly folded and placed on the bread and butter plate, completed the picture.
”Hey look, I’ve got Marie at my place.” ”I’ve got Yvonne.” In a petulant voice, one of my boy cousins said, ”Emilie’s beside my plate. I wanted Charlie, who’s got Charlie?”
Another announced he had Cecile by his plate, and still another that Annette was positioned at her place setting.
No, we weren’t actually sharing our Sunday dinner with the famous Dionne Quintuplets, nor with Edgar Bergen’s wooden puppet, Charlie Mccarthy. But, they were well represented. Six silver spoons had been placed lovingly, one at each place setting by our grandma—five spoons with imprinted images of the heads of the sisters: Yvonne, Annette, Cecile, Emilie and Marie. And one spoon sporting the head of mischievous mannequin, Charlie Mccarthy. The air was always full of excitement as we rushed to the table, secretly hoping that our favourite spoon would be waiting for us.
The spoons were always randomly placed, possibly because our wise grandma didn’t play favourites with her grandchildren. For some reason, we accepted her choice, never exchanging spoons even if we didn’t get the one we wanted. It never occurred to us to question Grandma’s choice. If she chose to give me Charlie Mccarthy, so be it.
Truth be told, Charlie was my least favourite. On the few occasions I heard him on radio, I found him to be an obnoxious little fellow with his innuendo and wisecracking comments—possibly I was too young to understand his jokes. The gentle little Dionne girls were more to my liking. I was quite content to dip a Quintuplet spoon into my ice cream.
My grandparents’ old farmhouse is long gone, fallen in on its own debris. Where the spoons ended up is anybody’s guess. I like to think that in the future, an unknown explorer will walk by, sweep a metal detector over the ground, and detect the presence of a long-lost treasure. Until then, rest in peace, old memories.