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Saturday night house party a way of life for Mary EMC Lifestyle - What was left of the Christmas tree, was dragged out to the back of the woodshed. Standing in the kitchen, in the farthest corner, away from the Findlay Oval, was not enough to save the sprigs of the Spruce tree, most of which had been swept up and fed into the fire box. The decorations, loops of silver rope, saved year after year, the clip-on candle holders, which always terrified Mother, so sure was she the whole place would go up in smoke, and the few felt animals we attached to the branches, were finally wrapped in issues of the Renfrew Mercury and packed away for another year. The house was back to normal, and a new year was beginning. It was time to get back to the Saturday night house parties. In the summer time, most of the community activities centred around the church, but in the winter, socializing was done in the homes. I loved the Saturday night house parties. No formal invitations were necessary, and it was beyond me how anyone knew where the party was being held. My much older, and wiser, sister Audrey said she was

sure Central would simply start ringing everyone who had a phone, and tell them where the next party was taking place. At that time in my life, I thought that was a perfect explanation. When the party was at our house, everything movable was shoved against the kitchen walls to make way for the square dancers. Of course, the house had to be cleaned from top to bottom too. Even the bedrooms upstairs had to be readied ... that’s where the youngest of us ended up. Neighbours started coming early in the evening. Horses and sleighs lined up in the yard. None had to be tied ... they seemed to know they were expected to stay put, which always amazed me. Enough food would be brought to feed half of Renfrew County. Sandwiches filled 11 quart baskets, which had been lined with spanking clean flour bag tea towels. These were of the simplest kind ... roast pork and beef, and egg salad. Canned salmon was unheard of. Anyone who wanted to be real fancy, brought bologna, which was my very favourite.

Mary Cook’s Memories BY MARY COOK

Slab cakes and molasses cookies were taken out to the summer kitchen to keep chilled and covered with more tea towels. Before anyone arrived, Mother would have the big shiny kettle boiling and at least two white aluminum tea pots simmering with green tea on the back of the stove. Of course, there were no clothes closets, so the coats were piled on the nearest bed, and it always amazed me that no one went home wearing some else’s coat. Around the kitchen stove, galoshes and rubber boots were kept warm for the trip home. At our house the baking table was moved into the parlour for euchre and another game was always going on around the old pine table in the kitchen. There was much pounding of fists, loud laughing, and frivolity at both tables, and I often wondered if they took the

game as seriously as I thought they did. And music filled the house. Uncle Alec Thom would bring his fiddle, Mother would take her mouth organ out of its blue velvet box, Father would grab two spoons, one of the Beam boys would tune up his guitar, and there was always someone ready to call for a ‘square’. The youngest of us would be upstairs in a bedroom playing Parcheesi, or Jacks, and as the night wore on, it wasn’t

unusual for five or six of us to stretch out crossways on a bed and fall asleep. When the Saturday night house party was at a neighbour’s home, and I was one of the ones bedded down, it was a mystery to me how I would wake up the next morning in my own bed! I would have no recollection of being carried out to the sleigh, or of being put into my bed. I would be wearing the same clothes I had worn that evening. The only thing missing would be my galoshes. So I often didn’t have to get dressed for church the next morning. When the party was at our house, I always hoped there would be some cookies or slab cake left to be enjoyed on Sunday, but there wouldn’t be

a crumb of lunch left! By Sunday morning, everything in the kitchen would be back to normal. Mother and Audrey would have washed the dishes, and the furniture would all be back in place. The parlour door would once again be closed, and a braided mat rolled up against it. There was no need to heat a room that was never used in the winter time except for the Saturday night house party. And so it went ... all winter long. As normal as going to church every Sunday, or going into Renfrew to peddle chickens and butter, the Saturday night house party was a way of life back in those Depression years. And the price was right too.

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West Carleton Review EMC - Thursday, December 27, 2012 19

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