Drinking water came from the well pump in the backyard and soft water from the cistern under the kitchen.  In the kitchen all of us boys put our hand to making taffy (and in winter cooled it in the snow) and to roasting ears of corn that surely hit the spot when treated with butter and salt.

The side verandah had lattice and in the corner of the yard next to the verandah was a grape arbour where we all knew when the fruit was ripe.  A lovely thick lawn of grass surrounded the big white brick house in front and on both sides with old trees along the fence line – elms, birch, and a wonderful maple tree in the corner which I could climb to the very top in jig time.

We had two barns, a neat red one up the lane half a block where we kept “Fly” (the mare), a cow and chickens.  The old barn adjoined the house, out of sight but convenient and connected by a woodshed.  Walter and Bill cut holes in the eave of the “house” barn so that the wrens could make their nests.

In the newer, red barn a host of activities kept the youth of the neighborhood well informed that the Turnbull boys were alive.  A circus in full bloom was quite a triumph.  A strong rope was extended across the big room generally graced by the buggy and Walter M. Turnbull gave quite a dramatic exhibition of the latest technique in tight rope walking.  It did not matter that he tumbled off when only half way across for there was no yawning chasm of the Niagara gorge below him.  Those big brothers of mine had initiative, ingenuity, and Tabasco sauce in their make up that kept folks a-nodding.

Bill and Walter each tried to hold me standing upright on one hand.  That Herculean circus stunt they just could not quite complete.  Another exploit proved too hazardous for my liking.  They stood down below the door by which hay was pitched up into the loft and told me to jump from the second floor into their arms in the lane outside the barn.  I debated that one for some minutes before taking off into thin air.  They misjudged my agility for I would have gone right over them if Louis had not been standing behind them and all three grabbed me.  I did repeat this high trapeze exhibition once or twice but was very sure as to where I was going to land.

Our bedsprings were held up on the wooden beds by loose slats that occasionally dropped out to the floor with a bang, especially during a pillow fight.  There was a large poem on the wall that began, “I’m a little pilgrim.”  The words were good but the piety expressed was rather mild in comparison with the wild scenes that boyish enthusiasm sometimes created.  We did not give way to this pillow hassle frequently for mother laid down the law in her loving way, but while it lasted the pillow war was some contest!

Walter’s budding genius was encouraged by a picture he saw in a magazine for curing a bad cold.  Bill had a cold.  The ad showed a man sitting in a box with his head sticking out.  A sweat bath applied in the box by oil heat was supposed to chase the cold into the next county.  Walter had Bill sit on a cane bottomed chair wrapped him voluminously in heavy quilts.  Then he introduced a coal-oil (kerosene) lamp into the scene and lit it with the wick turned down low.  “How does it feel Bill?  Can you stand it a little higher?”  Gradually the heat was increased under Bill.  Suddenly with a yell like a Sioux Indian, Bill rose straight into the air.  When the debris had been cleared away, the following results were observed.  A neat hole the same size as the top of the lamp chimney had been burned through the cane bottom of the chair and a hole of the same dimensions had been burned through Bill’s thick nightgown.  The rise in his temperature was not measured but I think the increase above normal was considerable.  In due time his cold disappeared.

Steamboat City of Peterborough

A Note of Thanks

TCA would like to thank all of you who have renewed dues, most of all, for the lovely notes of encouragement and acknowledgement regarding the changes in Bullseye, and  recognition of the changes being made on your behalf. Our work is always with all of you in mind. Growth of your Association is foremost. Your participation in the progress is needed, family stories, favorite recipes, jokes, tales out of the blue, Hall of Fame needs persons to enter, your favorite object belonging to your family history, a picture of a relative with a short note about the picture, write an article about your family. We can add a section for Queries. We desperately need a Genealogist, who can input the hand written family history into the computer.