Funny Stuff
The part of Ontario that I grew up in had no hydro-electric power until I was about seven years old, and when it did become available, many people couldn’t afford it. This led to a lot of strangely wonderful childhood memories for me. One is of my grandfather, who used to use kerosene in a squirt can to get the fire started each morning in the old wood cookstove. One day, my uncle borrowed my grandpa’s squirt can and put Naptha in it to squirt down the sparkplug hole of an old gasoline lawnmower, hoping to get it going. Naptha, similar to lighter fluid, offered a cleaner and bigger bang for the buck for that particular job. Anyway, Grandpa later spotted his squirt can out of place and put it back in its usual spot on the shelf near the woodstove.
The next morning, I was lying awake in bed when Grandpa got up. I soon heard the old lids clanking on the woodstove as he crumpled up some paper and tossed it in with some kindling. Next came the usual “Doonk, doonk” noises as Grandpa pressed the base of the old squirt can, adding what he thought was kerosene into the stove. Then came the scratch of a sulphur match— and a terrific “KA–BAM!”
“Holy cow, Annie!” Grandpa yelled at my grandma, “Get the kids out of the house—the damn stove blew up!”
Nobody was hurt and the house did not catch fire, but my uncle was in deep disgrace for the next couple of weeks.
Another vivid memory is of my Aunt Betty’s Naptha-powered clothes iron. And, yes, she was married to the same illfated uncle who put Naptha in Grandpa’s squirt can. My uncle never worked too steady—it interfered with his whiskey drinking and fiddle-playing. As a consequence, he and Aunt Betty lived in a tiny house on a piece of my grandpa’s land.
Aunt Betty’s Naptha contraption kinda looked like an electric iron, but it had a round, blue globe about three inches in diameter on one end, which had a screw-on lid and a pressure pump, like a gas lantern. You had to fill the globe with Naptha, pump up the internal pressure, then light it with a kitchen match and let it preheat—that was the fun part! When you lit it, blue flames shot out in all directions, totally enveloping the iron and the hand of whomever lit it. The thing would hiss like a ruptured dragon until the burners inside heated up, and then it would settle into a rather contented hiss and you’d be ready to iron. Aunt Betty was deathly afraid of the damn thing and made my uncle light it for her outside. He knew no fear—he even used Naptha in his Zippo cigarette lighter, because it was cheaper than lighter fluid. No wonder I always loved it when I happened to be at Grandpa’s house on ironing day!
Grandpa wasn’t big on working either, but he was great with all the nephews and nieces—and could always be depended on for some great pyrotechnic displays!