A Year Away From The Colonies

A Memory of Ilford.

I lived in Ilford in 1963. My father had won a scholarship to study chest disease in London, so he and Mom packed us up and carted us off to England. Ilford offered the cheapest acceptable lodgings close to London for a family living on a shoestring. We moved into a house that had been passed from one medical resident family to another. In all, there were seven of us including my parents. My oldest brother, Blair, was nine years old, Gary was eight, I was seven, Mark was five and Rob was four. My sister, Janet, was born in July. As I recall, the address was 24 Shawville Gardens. But when I look at a map I don't see the street anymore, so perhaps the name has been changed. Our next-door neighbours were the Bakers. Susan Baker was eleven then. As the house was a semi-detached, Susan and I used to tap messages through the wall between our bedrooms. I remember our school - St. Augustine's Primary School, and the church, also St. Augustine's. I also remember being paraded in front of my classmates in the winter garb Mom had dressed me in. I wore a long camel-colored , knee-length winter coat, with matching jodhpur style woollen pants and buckle boots. The teacher was particularly intrigued by the buckle boots. "This is how Canadians dress," she said, turning me around in front of everyone. This was the only time in my life that I had ever been a fashion statement. I did feel a bit labeled, and I was treated as an oddity thereafter. On the bright side, I remember the double deckers buses and the park down the street, where my brothers and I learned to play cricket. Ilford is also where we started drinking tea. Afternoon tea was a ritual we discovered that all of our classmates took part in. So of course we felt as if we were being left out. I remember racing home from school, one afternoon, and insisting that my poor mother make us tea. As if she didn't have enough to do. My most vivid memory was of coming home one day to find her crying in the kitchen. When I asked her what was the matter, she looked at me and said, "The President is dead." She was referring to President Kennedy. We Canadians feel very close to our American cousins, particularly during times of tragedy. Also, my father was American. Being Canadian, we got the day off school to stay home and watch the funeral, because if we were Canadian, then naturally that meant that we were almost American. At least that was the distinction made back then. I found a site on-line where I can navigate down Cranbrook St. and onto Loudoun so that I can see my old school. But I can't find the house we used to live in - 24 Shawville Gardens. I am thinking that it has been so long that the house is no longer there, and that the street has a new name.

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