To the editor:
We did it. In 1939 my family moved across the border from Tinker, New Brunswick to Fort Fairfield, Maine. After 67 years three school friends met again. ECHOES, our northern Maine magazine, made it happen.
I wrote an article for ECHOES No. 75 about our wonderful 1930s school bus sled. For a picture of our teamster, Ed Walker, I contacted his son who lives in Aroostook Junction, New Brunswick. Regrettably no pictures were available. However I learned that Ed’s daughter, Edith, an old school best friend, lived in Halifax, Nova Scotia. I was younger than my sister, Alene, and Edith, but they let me tag along and be a best friend.
We telephoned and wrote letters. It was fun, but we agreed that we needed a reunion. Edith, Alene (Sister Mary Denis), and I are all under doctors’ care. Around appointments we arranged a reunion in Perth-Andover, New Brunswick. My daughter, Dottie, drove Sister Denis from Portland, Maine. Edith’s daughter-in-law, Muriel, drove her from Halifax.
Reunion day arrived. My husband, Leonard, drove our car, and at the Canada-United States border a young lady Canadian customs officer asked our destination and business.
I said, “We are going to Perth-Andover to meet a friend we haven’t seen for 67 years.”
“Sixty-seven years,” the lady said. “That’s three times my age. You have a good visit.”
We arrived for our reunion perhaps ten minutes early. There waiting for us in the middle of a large, almost empty parking lot stood Edith. Sixty-seven years ago Edith might have been five feet tall if she wore high heels. She might have weighed ninety pounds if she carried a full purse. She had not grown an inch nor gained a pound. Nor had her ear-to-ear smile changed.
The years slipped away. We were kids again.
Edith said, “Hey, remember stealing apples from the neighbor lady’s tree? We watched for her in her window. The apples were delicious. I can still taste them.”
Sister Denis said, “Remember picking strawberries in the pasture with the unpredictable bull? We always knew how fast the bull could run and how far we were from the page-wire fence. It was hard to keep one eye on the bull and the other on the berries. The bull never caught us.”
“On my first three school days,” Edith said, “my teacher strapped my hands. I still don’t know why. It hurt and I cried. After she strapped me, she set me up on her knees so I would feel better.”
“I went to school a year early because my older sister was lonesome for me,” Sister Denis said. “They let me stay, and I made a new best friend.” She hugged Edith, her new friend.
I said, “Remember that Christmas pageants were really big events? They put long boards across the schoolroom seats so people could sit in the aisles between us kids. Remember the year they had a real live baby for the Christ child?”
Edith said, “Who was that big, strong girl we always picked first for our softball team? She could hit a ball a mile.”
I said, “Remember the boys paddling a raft across the Aroostook River (and the United States-Canadian border) to caddy at the Fort Fairfield golf course? Kids can’t do that now.”
Sister Denis said, “Remember the grumpy old man who lived in the little log cabin? He had the hot water tank of his stove stuck through the wall into his bed room to keep him warm. We used to tease him. That’s what we should have been strapped for.”
Our reunion was short, but it was prized time. We and our children who chauffeured us had appointments to keep. If our doctors are successful, if our children can find time, we will meet again— sooner than 67 years.
West Chapman
