Family photo taken outside 124 Glenora Street on the day of my sister’s 1958 baptism. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

Barbara Rockburn

It was a simpler time back then, and for young Barbara Rockburn,
life was an unending cavalcade of adventures. In this the
first of two installments, she recounts her memories of life
as a youngster growing up in an Old Ottawa
East family in the 50s and 60s.

“We were all free-range kids then, and parents didn’t hover.
There was no need. It was the 50s. It was Old Ottawa East.”

The newlyweds returned from Niagara Falls in the fall of 1952 to take up residence on the third floor of his parents’ home at 124 Glenora Street. With no plumbing or privacy, the two rooms – one with a hot plate and one with a hide-a-bed – would serve as their honeymoon suite until they could afford a place of their own. That day, my parents put down their roots in Ottawa East and never looked back.

In 1950, my grandparents had moved from Ottawa South with seven of their eight children (their eldest had already married and moved on), upsizing to the four-bedroom rental with a kitchen large enough for all. My Grandpa, a glazier by trade, had trained at Pilkington Glass, but was now self-employed and supported their family by installing new panes in wood-framed windows with putty and knife, and by salvaging scrapyard windshields to replace the shattered glass of not-quite-scrapyard-ready autos.

1958: The author playing in front of 172 Glenora Street with view of houses across the street towards Herridge Street. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

As their eight children grew and married and (usually) moved out, Grandma found her idle hands more of a chore than her housework. So, in the 60s, she joined “Sitters Unlimited,” a company that matched homemakers with local families who could afford to hire outside help with their children and chores. Grandma loved children of all ages, and sorely missed their presence in her home. Through Sitters Unlimited, she helped raise a generation of Old Ottawa East kids, and in her later years volunteered at CHEO where she continued to comfort and care for children.

Monday: Wash Day

But while her own children were young my Grandma had plenty to keep her busy; raising the kids, serving up three squares a day, perfecting her recipes for Nanaimo Bars and butter tarts, and keeping house according to the old maxim “Monday, Wash day; Tuesday, Ironing; Wednesday, Mending; Thursday, Market; Friday, Baking; Saturday, Cleaning; Sunday, Church.”

By the time I was old enough to notice, I decided Sundays were the best. Our branch of the Rockburn clan all attended the Church of the Ascension on Echo Drive, and after Sunday service we would walk back to my grandparents’ and crowd into their kitchen for a huge family breakfast: bacon and eggs, English breakfast sausages with golden syrup, thick slices of blood pudding (don’t ask!), tomato chow-chow, pancakes with maple syrup, toast and jam, fresh squeezed orange juice, and percolated coffee for the adults.

The enormous gas stove dominated the kitchen – white enamel polished to perfection, complete with proofing drawers and warming shelves. The oven and burners were lit with wooden matches stored in an open tin box hung on the wall by the stove. You had to time the lighting of the match carefully to catch and ignite the released gas at just the right moment, or else you’d have to shut off the gas, openthe windows and air the room of the fumes before trying again.

Grandma and Grandpa Rockburn’s 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1976. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

By the end of 1957, after a brief sojourn in Sandy Hill, our little family of four was living at 172 Glenora in a house rented from Mr. Williams who ran his plumbing business from the cinder block structure behind our house. Although we were short a backyard, we had a generous side yard, where my father built a fabulous sandbox for me, complete with four triangular corner seats. There, the neighbourhood boys and girls would socialize and plot our many adventures.

Among my favorite memories of those years are of the birthday parties. The neighbourhood kids, along with my many cousins, would come over to play the fun games: pin the tail on the donkey, toss the penny in the muffin tin, and musical chairs. Mom made the best birthday cake ever – Chocolate Miracle Whip Cake with vanilla icing. And the cake would always come complete with prizes – a penny, nickel or dime wrapped in wax paper was baked into every slice, with the lone quarter being the most coveted prize of every boy and girl.

High Tea with the Queen

At that time, a few of us on the block were enrolled in kindergarten at Lady Evelyn Public School, while most of the others were going to the neighbourhood’s Separate Schools; Canadian Martyrs or Mazenod. Happy as clams, we were oblivious to our religious and linguistic differences. Though there were cross- Main rivalries between our schools,they never presented any obstacles at playtime. We girls loved to dress up in our mothers’ fancy clothes: stumbling around in oversized high heels, a wee smear of lipstick completed our regal ensembles, and we were off to High Tea with the Queen.

And being only 2½ blocks from my Grandma’s, little four-year-old Barbara took every opportunity to sneak out of the house before dawn and scamper down the street for a visit. We were all free-range kids then, and parents didn’t hover. There was no need. It was the 50s. It was Old Ottawa East.
Between 1952 and 2000, my parents rented four different homes in Old OttawaEast: the “OMG-we’re-adults-now” era at 124 Glenora; the “OMG-we-have-twokids” years at 172 Glenora; the “OMG-thegirls-are-teenagers” crises at 121 Glenora; and finally, the “OMG-our-daughters-aregetting-married” frenzy at 55 Hazel Street.

Life is good! My fourth birthday party in 1958 – Chocolate Miracle Whip Cake with vanilla icing. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

We left 172 Glenora for the wilds of Ottawa South in 1960 for reasons unknown to a little girl who had just finished five-year-old Kindergarten. I would sorely miss the joy of being so close to my grandparents, but soon discovered the new joy of now being only blocks away from my mother’s family home.

By 1963, we had moved back to Old Ottawa East and into apartment #3 at 121 Glenora, down the hill on the dead end block and right across the street from Grandma and Grandpa Rockburn. My sister and I had returned to Lady Evelyn and every school day at 7:00am Mom roused us from bed and ensured we were washed, dressed and fed by 8:30am, when CFRA’s Ken “The General” Grant would march us off to school. And every day we’d hope Mom and Dad didn’t notice we were taking the illicit shortcut through the hole in the fence at the bottom of the hill into St. Pat’s College (now Immaculata High School) football field, then wriggling out through the gate onto Main Street. We imagined we were the first kids to discover it; never giving much thought to the fact that the hole in the fence was regularly repaired, and just as regularly re-opened.

That year I was in grade four, and my teacher was the wondrous Mrs. Poff. I thought she was the kindest, sweetest, most understanding teacher the world had ever known. One day just before the summer break, she took us all to Granby Zoo, east of Montreal. It was quite an adventure, and a long day for her, no doubt, but she endured it all with a smile.

The first day of school, Mrs. Poff introduced me to my first BFF, Debbie. She and I were inseparable through our three years at Lady Evelyn and the following two years at Glashan. We parted ways when she chose Lisgar and I chose Glebe, but until then, our camaraderie was pure joy.

Oddly oblivious to my charms

Another close friendship was forged with Susan, who also joined us at Glashan. Her mother worked at the Bank of Nova Scotia and was, therefore, a Very Important Person. Susan lived on the north side of the train tracks, while Lady Evelyn was on the south. This was 1963; the railroad tracks wouldn’t be replaced by the Ottawa East stretch of the Queensway until 1966. I would cross those tracks with her whenever we went to play at her house after school. Sue would have crossed them four times a day, every school day. No traffic barriers that I recall, we just looked both ways with a little added caution, listened carefully for whistles or bells, and hurriedly crossed.

It’s 1957 and that’s me and my maternal grandfather in front of 172 Glenora Street, looking south towards Clegg Street. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

It was that same year that I met my first crush, Ricky. He was dreamy but oddly oblivious to my charms. His Mom was a nurse and a few years later — with my Mom’s permission — she pierced my ears in her Marlowe Crescent kitchen with a darning needle and ice cubes. Ricky also introduced me to my first guy pal, Billy. Billy and I shared a love of long bicycle rides that took us far from Old Ottawa East. Between 1964 and ’66 we biked up to Hog’s Back via Colonel By Drive more than once, occasionally joined by Ricky. Another time, Billy and I cycled all the way to the Canadian Tire on McArthur in Eastview (now Vanier).

Lady Evelyn had two schoolyards – the one on the west side was the girls’ and on the east side was the boys’. In the boys’ yard there was a softball diamond painted onto the pavement, which made for nasty scrapes when sliding into home. In the girls’ yard a hopscotch grid was painted, and a sand-filled trench had been dug into the pavement for practicing our long jumps. You really didn’t want to jump outside the lines. An alley behind the school linked the two yards and occasionally shenanigans ensued, but it was all innocent enough.

A neighbour girl sliding down from the balcony of 121 Glenora, apartment 3, circa 1968. Notice our clothesline mounted on the left frame of our kitchen door. Photo Supply Rockburn Family

By the time we got to Grade Six we were a very different group of kids than those Mrs. Poff had nurtured. We had hit puberty, and things got serious. Girls sang “Yesterday” and “Unchained Melody” in the girls’ schoolyard with tears running down their cheeks – some tears stained with mascara. Boys compared biceps in the boys’ schoolyard. I was a School Patrol, working the corner of Main and Lees with my friend George, and I distinctly recall him lecturing me on how The Beatles were a superior band to The Monkees because they wrote their own songs and played their own instruments. He was particularly fond of “Ticket to Ride.”

But everything changed in the fall of 1966, when the arbitrary boundary line of Clegg Street separated my classmates forever. Those who lived to the south of Clegg went off to Hopewell Avenue Public School for grades 7 and 8; we on the north side of Clegg went to Glashan. For the next seven years – including the five spent at Glebe Collegiate Institute — I walked across Pretoria Bridge twice (and occasionally, four) times a day.

I discovered a whole new world on the other side of the Canal