On to the next phase.......CIBC

Here I am in 1975, graduating High School. Boy, if I knew then what I know now..........

By now I had taken on all aspects of the housekeeping at home, while working fulltime at Larters. I loved that job, but things can change fast when you're young. And you tend to be more impulsive, why wouldn't you be, when you're 18, you have your whole life ahead of you!

Does this sound familiar to anyone out there? Back in the day when I was a little girl just learning to cook, muffins and cupcakes were considered a great way to start off learning to bake, then work up to cakes and pies when you got some experience.

This picture is a Washington Pie that I made for the past weekend, and I have enough experience that I don't really need to test anymore., just a light touch of the inside of my wrist tells me if it's done. But learning to cook on that old wood stove, no oven probes, no temperature guages, how to learn?

Well, in those days, everyone's broom was the old straw broom, the kind some of us are accused of riding around on at Hallowe'en, but that's another story for another time. There was no "magic broom" or the shitty little nylon brooms or Swiffers we use now, in those days it was a stalwart piece of kitchen equipment. Great for sweeping the floors yes, but also getting those pesky cobwebs, beating the dust out of the mats and chasing the dog. Plus it was a perfect cake tester. Did you know that? Momma would just go to the corner, pull a straw out of the broom, snap off the bottom part that actually came in contact with the floor, and voila! A perfect cake tester, worked every time. And she would know. My lord the cakes she used to make.

Momma was a wizard at making the most out of nothing. Almost every wall in the old house was wall papered, out of necessity, and that was in the days of actual "paper" which meant I learned to wall paper with paste. Was there anything more hellish than that stuff? But until pre-pasted paper came into vogue, we didn't know or expect anything else, so I became a genius at matching patterns and making sure that the seam most likely to show in the light was gently folded under the other layer. Funny how that skill was put to the test later in my life as I made custom drapery......It was a hell of a mess, but what a bright fresh improvement!

And then what to do with all those bits of left over paper?

Left over, my Aunt Fannie, nothing was thrown away, that's for sure. Momma would use the larger pieces to line cupboard shelves and dresser drawers. She would wrap some around juice tins to dress up her potted plants. It made a great gift wrap for the odd wedding gift, and we used plenty to make book covers. Remember, it was just a heavy paper, there was no glue on it, so it was perfect. Remember, no one owned their text books in those days, we learned to take care of them for the next year's use. And I proudly and happily and endlessly cut it up to make doll clothes. Another nod to my future? Anyway, let's get back to the story.......

As luck would have it, of all the regulars who came in to the drug store, one was the new bank manager from across the street, and I got to know him quite well that fall. I knew he'd be asking for Old Port pipe tobacco, and he was tall and thin, and his eyes were piercing.

He went by I.L. Fowler, Irvine I think his first name was, and "Bud" to his friends, although you'd never hear that from me, I had way too much respect for my elders, he was and stayed "Mr. Fowler" to me.

After New Years he started asking me questions and I paid no real mind, lots of customers chatted. But in the spring, just out of the blue he asked me to drop in to his office some time for a chat, he was interested in hiring me.

Well, what to do?

No decision was ever made lightly or in isolation, it was discussed and digested and mulled over like a worn out set of prayer beads. I told Lorna and Ida and my other friends. Of course it was considered a great move for me to take the job. An opening had just come up, Vera MacDonald was leaving to get married, so a teller's position had to be filled.

That meant no more evening shifts, no more more weekends or holidays. Paid training, a much higher wage, good benefits and chance for advancement. So, as disheartened as I was, I took the job.

No more light hearted fun. No more shared lunches and tormenting Mike Murphy. No more running up and down the stairs to keep shelves filled. No more big hugs from Wendell Stevenson. No more taking on a little more responsibility and ordering stock. No more enjoying the "regulars" and anticipating just what they wanted. Once I was gone, I was gone.

And of course, all the other friends I had worked with at the drug store right out of High School eventually left for other jobs too. After a year or so, we were all gone, but the memories we made lasted a lifetime.

I wish more pictures had been taken at this time, the days were different at the Bank. Lorraine Hennessey was the poor teller who was tasked with training me. And it was actually interesting to see things from the other side. Like our payroll from the drug store. Marion French was the sweet and mild mannered book keeper who kept us paid. This was 1975, remember, way before direct deposit and all that jazz. But wait, was it?

My first paycheck from Larters was a little brown pay envelope with all the deduction boxes filled on the front. No cash, no cheque. Marion opened a checking account at the CIBC for each and every employee. At the end of every week, she prepared payroll, made out one cheque for the total payroll, and then deposited that one large cheque, divided up into the separate accounts. It was brilliant, simple, and it worked. It saved time and charges. We soon learned to order cheque books for our accounts, and this was the days when "Chargex" the first real credit card, was in its infancy. You had to use the card press for transactions, and fill it out, then keep a copy. It was cumbersome and anything but streamlined, as it is today. And you bought traveler's cheques for trips. Safe and reliable, as good or better than cash.

I clearly remember my first paycheck from Larters was around $85.00, versus about $110.00 at the bank. That was a large difference! After all, $2.00 worth of gas got me back and forth to work and other jigging around in that monster I was driving, for a whole week!

But I was unhappy there. I never felt I fit in. There was no creativity, no laughing out loud, no fun. If you spoke above a whisper, you got the look. The most passive-aggressive I could get was flipping the thermostat down to cool the place a bit while another staff member would go right behind me and send it scorching.

Lorraine was very smart and soon moved off the cash into another position, and I took hers, which was head teller. Again I was given more responsibility and a chance to move ahead. I was fast on cash and customers knew it and my line was always long. But I paid for it behind the scenes....my cash rarely balanced and I was constantly doing searches and cross checks. That can drag you down. I was already rethinking my decision, but first, marriage loomed on the horizon! We had picked the date, August 6, 1977. I had been at the CIBC about 2 years now, had trained my own replacement on cash, and was moving to the back office. I stayed on as head teller, had my own desk, handled all the cash transactions, like ordering cash, sorting out mutilated cash and shipping it, had my own set of combinations to the safe.

But I was still miserable.

Jamie and I got married on a blistering hot humid August morning, thunder rolling in the distance. I sent my mother pictures and invitations and Guardian clippings of our marriage. I shared some pictures and a letter describing the beautiful wedding shower that Agnes Deagle and Lollie had hosted for us.

No response. Again. I know I must have wondered sometimes why she never answered; she certainly answered when Momma phoned. But I moved on.

A year and a half later, We were expecting our first baby and to say we we were excited was beyond. When she was born, I'm pretty sure that there was never a baby who could have been so beautiful! Or smarter! The hospitals took pictures of newborns those days and we got two copies when we were discharged. One of those precious little pictures was enclosed in the Guardian birth announcement and with a letter of all I had endured and overcome, airmailed to Goose Bay, Labrador.

Again I waited. I got the mail everyday in the rickety little box at the edge of our gate, and I always grabbed it quick to see if Jeannette had written back.

How could anybody ignore her family so completely, it was as if we had never existed. High School graduations, Christmases, my wedding, and now my baby, her first grandchild? My hurt was indescribable. I bawled my eyes out when I finally stopped checking the mail for some sign of love or mere acknowledgment. I finally faced it. She was dead to me now. I had given her all the chances I was capable of giving.

It was to be the last time I ever contacted my mother. I had just turned 22 years old.