Published in the Fredericton Daily Gleaner, Monday, December 13, 2010
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It’s almost like being a part of a local volunteer fire department is in my blood. For more than 40 years, my father was not just one of the three paid firefighters employed by the then County of Halifax; he was also a dedicated volunteer.
For most of those years, my mother was also a dedicated member of the Lakeside Volunteer Fire Department Ladies Auxiliary.
When I was growing up, the fire department was located just a two-minute walk from our home. It was a cement two-storey building that smelled of rubber and soot. The downstairs housed a pumper and a tanker, a small equipment room, a radio ‘cubby’ and the only bathroom I’ve seen with 18-foot ceilings.
The upstairs consisted of sleeping quarters (the men were required to work 24-hour shifts) and radio room, a small kitchen, and a tiny ‘hall’ with an itty-bitty kitchen to match. There was also a closet they called the ‘canteen.’
My parents being involved with the department meant Tuesday-night training sessions for my Dad and Wednesday night bingo for my Mom. My Mom always worked the bingos.
I don’t remember how much it cost to play, but I remember winning a regular game meant you went home with $3. Mind you, this was also a time when cigarettes cost 60 cents for a small pack and 65 cents for a large one.
You played on hard cardboard bingo cards and marked your place with bingo chips. Many of the older ladies who went had fancy ‘chip’ bags – some made from fabric, others fashioned from plastic cottage cheese containers with holes cut along the rim where a top of a ‘pouch’ was created by crocheting yarn – always pulled tight by a drawstring.
Those were the days when bingo halls were filled with smoke, and the ladies auxiliary members always wore their ‘blazers.’
The ladies worked tirelessly fundraising for equipment – Scott Air-Paks and firetrucks, department jackets and new pagers.
Each year the women also planned the annual children’s Christmas party.
At each party Santa would make an appearance, but because there may have not been enough snow, or the sleigh was in for repairs, Santa always arrived via firetruck.
I remember thinking how lucky the firemen were to be able to pick Santa up for the event. I remember asking my Dad one year if we were allowed to go with our uncle (another firefighter in the department) to get Santa. He always told us no, but with a big smile on his face.
We were herded into the hall, and seated in rows of old wooden stacking chairs in front of the tree. My mother would always try to find me a seat that didn’t have any splinters, so my tights wouldn’t get picked.
And then we waited, not so patiently, for Santa to arrive. Some years there were a dozen or so of us, but many years we were nearly 30 children, all waiting for Santa, high on Christmas, bouncing off the firehall walls.
Closer to the ‘time,’ one of the ladies would lead us in the singing of Christmas carols. Inevitably, one of the men came up the stairs to tell us Santa was ‘close’ and we’d be encouraged to sing louder to make him come quicker. I am sure some of the ladies wished Santa would bring presents of earplugs during these parties.
And then the jolly old elf would appear … perfectly rounded belly, rosy cheeks and a hearty “Ho Ho Ho” and a hush would fall over the kids. And then the procession started …
The sack would be opened and names would be called out, one by one. We’d approach St. Nick with some trepidation, and he’d invariably ask if we’d been good … and even if you had been fighting with your brother, or hadn’t cleaned your room, you’d answer yes, and get your gift.
We’d rush back to our seats to open our present, ripping paper; other kids leaning forward over chairs to see what you got – hoping for the same or better from Old St. Nick.
One year I was given a Spirograph, another year I received the game, Cootie. Our favourite toy came the year my brother was given a game called Ants in Your Pants. The game had little jumping ants you tried to flick into a container in the shape of a pair of pants. We played that a lot that winter and into the following spring.
Then it was the adults’ turn – each name called as the men came forward to get their Christmas ‘bottle’ (a small pint of something alcoholic) and the ladies would come forward to get their ‘turkey’ certificate from a local grocery store.
Each adult would also get his or her picture taken on Santa’s knee. Some of those photos are cherished memories for my family. It all seemed so simple then, and so much more special somehow.
My brother and I always stopped playing when we heard our parents’ names called, and would watch Mom and Dad make the walk up the aisle to sit on Santa’s knee. My father would always make funny faces, my Mom always pink-faced, somewhat embarrassed.
The afternoon would be topped off with a rousing rendition of We Wish you a Merry Christmas and many shouts of “goodbye” to Santa as he waved to us all, rushing out the door on his way back to the North Pole. So much work to do, he’d tell us … and then he was gone, almost as quickly as he came.
Then we were off to get our coats on and handed a special ‘treat bag’ on the way out the door. A simple brown bag filled with wonderful treats – always a large, plump orange and a wonderful-smelling Red Delicious apple, with a candy cane and a few chocolates thrown in for good measure.
You left the party feeling good – a visit from Santa, a promise to him that you’d be good for your parents between now and Christmas, and a promise from him that he’d be stopping by on Christmas Eve if you honoured your commitment.
Last weekend the Woodstock Volunteer Fire Department Ladies Auxiliary put on the annual family Christmas potluck. There was a lot of amazing food, some presentations of service medals to long-serving members, and a visit from Santa for the kids.
Each of the children got to talk with Santa, each got a special gift and each received a small brown bag of goodies. I was instantly transported back, for a few brief moments, to those magical fire department Christmas parties of my youth.
- Serving their department and their community: Members of the Woodstock Volunteer Fire Department Ladies Auxiliary L to R: Heather Doucette, Theresa Blackburn, Theresa Gibson, Melanie Campbell, Kathy Grattan, Angela McLellan and Emily Porter-Lawrence.
My husband, like my father, is a volunteer. And I, like my mother, am an auxiliary member.
I now know why my mother got involved.
I value the friendships I have in the department, I love the men we support for rising to the call every time the pager goes off, and I pray for the safe return of each and every
one of them when they are called out.
The women I work with are amazing and beyond dedicated. Some are new members, like me, and others, like Angela McLellan and Theresa Gibson, have served the department and their community for more than 35 years each.
They’ve been instrumental in the fundraising of more than $100,000 over the course of their involvement. I, like other members, am proud to serve with them, and even more proud to call them friends.
I am also proud to follow in my mother’s footsteps, and proud that this tradition, of caring for the men who give so much, and the community they serve, carries on in departments throughout the Maritimes.
Theresa Blackburn is a wife, mother and New Brunswick Community College instructor who lives and writes in Woodstock. You can email her at theresa@mybigfatlife.ca, or join her group, Big Fat Life, on Facebook. You can also follow here on Twitter @MY_BIG_FAT_LIFE
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