Freedom to Play: We Made Our Own Fun

MORE PRAISE FOR THE RED CROSS

pictures. And one of my hobbies was pressing flowers, and I’d press them and write down where I picked them and what the name of them was and everything. And I’d send some to my penpals, and I got things back. I got a jigsaw puzzle one time from a girl in England. But I can’t imagine any seven year old now writing letters and having them sent in the mail. That was fun, the stamp was three cents I think, now it is an investment. When I think back I think we had a carefree life. We were cared for but not protected to death. Some kids are never out of sight of an adult, but I think they miss out. MORE PRAISE FOR THE RED CROSS Pathfinders, Free Press Prairie Farmer June 14, 1944 Wilhemena Rosin (14) Tomahawk, Alta. Dear Pathfinders: It’s encouraging to see everyone doing their utmost to help the Red Cross and its magnificent life-saving work. It’s up to us back here at home to help the Red Cross make it possible to supply our prisoners of war, soldiers and refugees with things they need. Let us all do what we can cheerfully and willingly. Athlone school’s Junior Red Cross club is still progressing nicely. We are knitting washcloths from warp and the girls are knitting sweaters. I was pleased when I read on this page that another school followed our idea of having a collection at each meeting. I am sure everyone agrees that the Red Cross can’t be beat. Here is a poem that I have written as a reminder. This is surely an awful war, There is always someone at your door, Sure, you don’t forget to pay your taxes, But don’t forget there is an Axis, Whom we have got to help grind, So get the subject on your mind, 92 Freedom to Play Every penny that you save Will help to dig the enemy’s grave, Keep buying stamps and war bonds, too, Till your boys and friends are home with you. BEING YOUNGEST HAD ITS ADVANTAGES Bill Wells, the youngest of a large family, recalls how his older brothers and sisters kept the younger ones entertained. Here are a few memories of how I entertained myself before television . Actually, my father would not allow a radio in the house, so my memories pre-date radio in a sense. I am the youngest of a large family. My parents had fourteen children. On Sunday evening my parents would sometimes go to church. My older brothers and sisters would gather all the chairs that were readily moveable. The chairs were laid on the floor, on their backs, in a “chain-like” fashion. We would pretend that we had a train. We would take turns being the engineer, the fireman, the conductor, the brakeman, or just a passenger. We could easily pass the evening making the sounds of the train, calling out the different stations, collecting tickets, etc. (Perhaps I should have said at the onset, we lived very close to the CNR marshalling yards so trains, boxcars, and steam engines and their noises were a very real part of our lives.) On Saturday mornings, particularly in the winter, the youngest three would climb in bed with our older sister who would read us stories from The Giant Book of Giant Stories. The book was old, dogeared , and yellowed with age. We knew all the stories from memory , long before we could read them for ourselves. I still can get a bit of a vicarious thrill as I recall the story of Molly Whoopee and the Bridge of One Hair. She always managed to escape from the giant by crossing the bridge, which he was too big to cross. In the summertime my neighbourhood friends and I had little toy cars and trucks, some made out of cast iron, some of wood, some of tin. We would play for hours in the dirt of our backyard. We created roads, houses, sometimes whole villages. Playing Is Playing When Shared 93 ...