It was a Saturday in mid-June, only 10 more days
of school left before the summer holidays. The boy
was up early for he had to be at work in the Feed
Shed. He worked there Saturdays and earned 10 cents
a day. Soon he would be working everyday during the
summer holidays. The weather was warm and he had brought
his bathing suit, just in case. He biked along the
peninsula that led to the wharf .
First on his left was Uncle Dick’s machine shop,
then a small building where Mr. Rankin, the shoemaker
worked. Next was Grannie’s boarding house, then
Mouat’s Store and the Feed Shed. The Feed Shed
was almost on the wharf. Behind Mouat’s was
the power house, across the road from the boarding
house was the garage. The store and the Feed Shed
and all the other buildings in either side of the
road were owned by his grandmother, his father, and
his Uncle Gilbert. There were other people called
“shareholders” who owned shares. Mr. Page,
the manager of the Feed Shed, “owned shares.”
There was more than just feed in the Feed Shed, there
were all sorts of other things. There were sacks of
cement and lengths of galvanized pipe. There was a
separate room where kerosene, naphtha gas, and lubricating
oil were stored. Outside, between the Feed Shed and
the store was a gasoline pump. It had a large glass
tank at the top which held ten gallons. There was
a long hose that fed the gasoline into cars or trucks.
In the shed there was a large scale built into the
floor, and you could weigh very heavy things on it.
Even something weighing 500 pounds! Also, there were
a lot of cats, sometimes as many as eight or ten.
They were there to kill the rats which tore open the
feed sacks and ate the grain. Old Grey was a large
lean tom cat, he was the best ratter.
The Feed Shed was an interesting place to work. Mr.
Page had an office inside just like his father’s
or Uncle Gilbert’s offices upstairs in the store.
Mr. Page had a stand up desk and a telephone connected
directly to Uncle Gilbert’s office. Sometimes
Uncle Gilbert would phone Mr. Page and ask, “Bill,
how many sacks of shorts have we got on hand?”
Then Mr. Page would consult his scoreboard list and
give him the right answer; he always knew, he didn’t
have to go and count. There was a drawer in the desk;
although this was a cash drawer, there was never much
cash in it. There were two indelible pencils, an old
fountain pen and a square tobacco can. In the can
were fine cut tobacco and cigarette papers. Once the
boy and his friend Ted had rolled two cigarettes and
tried to smoke them. They coughed a lot and the cigarettes
fell to pieces so they didn’t bother anymore.
It was one of the boy’s jobs to sew up any holes
in the grain sacks and for this he used a sack needle.
The sack needle was very valuable and was always kept
in the back of the desk drawer in Mr. Page’s
office. It was a curved needle about four inches long
and was very easy to thread; all you had to do was
to pull the twine through a little slit in the eye
of the needle.“Two wheat sacks and one ground
barley need your attention.” said Mr. Page as
he handed the boy the sack needle. Mending the holes
in the grain sacks was not a hard job. It was something
like darning socks and he had watched his mother do
that lots of times. He applied the same technique
to the holes of the sacks. He took the ball of binder
twine and went to work on the wheat sacks. In with
the needle at one corner of the hole, right across
to the other side, then tie the twine. Now back and
forth across the hole. Tie the twine and start weaving
the twine through the other way. There, the first
one was finished.
His friend Ted came in and watched him mend the second
sack.“You gonna stay here and do that all day?”
Maybe.
“Did you bring your bathing suit?”
Yeah.
“I’ve got to take some groceries home
to Mom and then do a few chores. Do you want to go
for a swim later?”
Maybe after lunch.
He hadn’t finished mending the barley sack when
Mr. Page called him to help salt down four hides that
had come from the slaughter house on the farm. These
were spread out on the floor, and coarse salt sprinkled
liberally on the fleshy side. Then they were folded
very carefully, making sure all the fleshy part was
folded against itself and the hair was on the outside.
Then they were tied in neat bundles and labeled, “
Bessinger & Co., Vancouver.
Several people came to get gasoline, some only wanted
a few gallons. He enjoyed working the pump and watching
gasoline flow down into the tank. You had to be sure
to stop the flow right on the correct line. When you
filled the tank you didn’t have to be careful;
you just worked the pump and when it got up to the
zero mark, the excess drained out.
After lunch there were many other jobs for him to
do. He filled one four gallon container with kerosene,
then measured out a gallon of naphtha gas. These were
set for delivery down to Fulford on Monday morning.
There were several other errands to do, then he went
back to mend the hole in the sack of barley. Just
then Ted came back. “O.K. Let’s go!”
Is Mr. Page in his office?
“No.”
So the boy and his friend Ted set out. As they biked
along the road they discussed the merits of various
good swimming spots. It was too cold to swim off the
wharf, Vesuvius was almost four miles away, and the
tide was too low for the canal, so they decided to
head for Bullock’s Lake. Although it was really
too early for the lake to have warmed to any great
extent, they were soon diving in and swimming back
to the float. The top foot or so was warm, but below
that level it was cool. They lay in the sun and got
warm, then went in again. The boy was practicing a
“jack knife” dive that he had seen some
big kids doing. He wasn’t too successful, and
didn’t pursue it because Ted could only belly
flop, and it really wasn’t fair to do specialty
dives in front of someone who could only belly flop.
Swimming and resting on the float took up the rest
of the afternoon and they tried to estimate the time
by the sun, but could not agree. Ted insisted it was
only about four o’clock, but the boy thought
it was nearer five. Then he suddenly remembered that
he had not put the sack needle back! Quick! I’ve
got to get back to the Feed Shed! They dressed in
a hurry, grabbed their bikes and were soon approaching
the wharf. There wasn’t anybody in sight. Looking
through the locked front door of the store, they could
see the big clock that was high up in the center of
the store. It was ten past six. And the sack needle,
the valuable sack needle, was just lying where he
had left it, in the middle of the shed.
The boy knew what Mr. Page would say about that. His
father and Uncle Gilbert would hear about it and there
would be no end of trouble. He rushed home for supper
and managed to escape a scolding because his mother
and father had left to get in some fishing. His sister
told him if he had come home for supper on time, instead
of gallivanting all over the country, he could have
gone with them. He didn’t reply to that; he
was thinking about the sack needle. Somehow he would
have to get it back in the drawer of Mr. Page’s
desk before Mr. Page found it was missing. All sorts
of unpleasant things would happen if it wasn’t
back in the drawer.
All over the weekend he worried about it. What could
he do? He couldn’t check on it before school
on Monday, he would just have to wait until after
school. And then he would have to get into the Feed
Shed when Mr. Page wasn’t there.
Mr. Page had always told him to be very careful with
the sack needle. It was the only one in the whole
store. Mr. Page had also told him it had been in use
in the shed for 22 years! If Mr. Page had found it
just lying in the middle of the shed, he might not
want to have the boy working in the Feed Shed ever
again.
When he went to school on Monday it was still very
much on his mind. Although Ted had promised not to
tell anyone, and had kept his promise, he wasn’t
much help. Ted just couldn’t realize the importance
of the sack needle; all he could do was suggest it
was no use worrying, because most likely Mr. Page
had already found it and put it back. The boy couldn’t
get his friend to realize that if Mr. Page found the
needle just laying on the floor, that meant trouble.
After school he rode his bike down to the Feed Shed.
There was no sign of Mr. Page so he went quickly into
the office, opened the drawer and felt at the back.
The sack needle was back! He would just have to face
Mr. Page, but not now. He should leave quickly and
wait until Saturday before he saw Mr. Page. The boy
had just got out the Feed Shed door when he saw Mr.
Page coming toward him down the walkway. Well, here
it comes! As he met him on the walkway he said, “Hello
Mr. Page.”
“Hurrumph,” said Mr. Page.
Mr. Page always said hurrumph, even at the best of
times.
Well, the sack needle was back, Mr. Page wasn’t
angry. Now he could relax, and he would be working
in the feed shed all summer long.
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