FUN & GAMES IN DORREEN




By BRIAN GREGG

When we moved to Dorreen, where my mother, Elaine, taught in a one-room schoolhouse, the Gregg family included my father, George born in 1905, Mom born in 1908, my brothers Robert born in 1938, Sean born in 1942 and me, Brian, born in 1948.

George Gregg, Railway Worker	Elaine Gregg, Teacher 1951-1954

Ed Olson and his wife, “Granny”, were the Dorreen grandparents among the folks at the settlement situated 41-km northeast of Terrace via rail. During the 2.5-year residency from 1952-54 I formed a strong bond with the elderly couple whose farm was near the Skeena River.

There was a big old barn with a horse, a cow and some chickens. The farmhouse was a rambling, ranch-style place, which Granny kept surrounded with flowers. A vegetable garden and a hay field were also prominent. Granny had been a widow on the farm when Gramps married her years before we lived there.

Gramps could remember living in the Klondike in the Yukon as a child with his parents in 1898. A few years after we moved away from Dorreen, I heard he died but it wasn’t until I was recently reminiscing with Denis Horwill that I learned he suffered from Alzheimer’s and disappeared while living in Vanderhoof. He kept telling Granny he had to get busy and go prospecting. It was assumed that he was reliving his Klondike days.

(FOR MORE ON LIFE IN DORREEN SEE DENIS HORWILL’S OWN RECOLLECTIONS ON THIS SITE.)

The Olson’s place for me meant fun. They had an old crank-up gramophone with country music on 78-rpm records, which they taught me to play, introducing me to my love of recorded music.

While I lived in Dorreen I actually thought the Olson’s were my real grandparents. Dad’s parents were in Ireland and Mom’s parents were deceased. My fondness for the Olson’s got me into trouble sometimes, like everything else I did. Mrs. Horwill, who ran the General Store with her husband, Bill, was my designated caregiver when Mom was teaching school and Dad was working for the CNR. My real problem was that there were no other preschoolers around for me to play with and the older kids were in school most of the time. The Horwill’s were usually occupied with the store and Post Office.

For something to do I would disappear for hours down at the Olson farm. This left the Horwill’s in a quandary wondering where I was. Had I gotten run over by a train? Was I eaten by the local predatory wildlife? Had I fallen and inured myself? I never asked to go there because I knew the Horwill’s would never give me permission.

One weekend day when everyone else was occupied I was making my way down the road to see Gramps when the thunder of horse’s hooves greeted my ears. I was amazed to see Gramps standing on a sheet of plywood that was being pulled behind his horse. This devise is known as a “go-devil”.

Gramps waved me off the road and reined in the horse. How he managed to stand up on the plywood while it was being dragged behind was his years of experience of having done it since he was age 16. He was proud of that fact; but you’d never catch me doing it like he was accustomed to.

“Sorry, Brian,” he said. “I’m busy today. I have to pick up an item at the store and get back to work. You’ll have to go home and stay there for now. Hop on. I’ll give you a ride back to your place.” I told him I’d fall off. “Hang onto my belt, then,” he said.

It was the experience of a lifetime. I grabbed his belt and felt completely safe hanging on to this “go-devil” rider. When we turned onto the road to the store I felt all shook up standing on a thin sheet of wood between my feet and the road, but I was a happy rider.

The Horwill’s rented two houses next to the store. Our place was the first one we passed that day and as we went by I saw Mom in the kitchen window and waved like I was in a parade. She looked at me in horror and disappeared from view. Within seconds Robert and Dad had rushed out and caught up to us at the store.

Brian, Elaine and Grandson George

Dad was angry. Robert, who was 15, looked concerned. My 11-year-old brother, Sean, had been elsewhere doing his own thing; but he returned in time to see the main event. My father was scolding Gramps. He was saying Mom was having a fit in the house and she was near collapse at seeing her youngest kid hanging onto Gramps on a rig like that. Gramps was explaining that he’d been doing this since he was 16 and he’d never once had an accident. I interjected that I was fine and I had been perfectly safe. My helpfulness was not appreciated.

Dad told me to go into the house and see my mother. “She needs to be assured you’re all right,” he said. I lingered to defend Gramps. Robert ordered me to go into the house. I felt obligated to stay and defend Gramps. Robert grabbed me and dragged me to the house and brought me inside.

I was surprised to discover Mom was in tears. She had always had a bad heart and the sight of me behind Gramps on the “go-devil” had been a terrifying sight for her. She didn’t know whether to scold me along with Gramps, or cling to me in desperate relief that I was safe. I kept saying it was all right, I had been perfectly safe. Gramps had never had an accident on a “go-devil”, so what’s the big deal here?

Gramps apologized and promised he’d never give me a ride like that again. He admitted he hadn’t considered the shock of my folks seeing me on the rig. I don’t think he really apologized for actually giving me the ride. It did take many weeks before they all calmed down and feeling were back to normal. During this time I was grounded from going to the Olson’s.

I wonder now if this was any less dangerous than the resident of Dorreen who went fishing at Lorne Creek with a rifle. He would lie on the train trestle, shoot the fish while Robert and Sean, or other kids, would retrieve them. Denis Horwill remembers seeing the Crocodile Dundee method of fishing with dynamite at Fiddler Creek.

Another startling incident for Mom was the day Robert and Sean flew a homemade model World War II Japanese airplane. They had built the model and often flew it. When it crashed they would patch it up and continue until it got too beat up to have fun with anymore. After one Hallowe’en they had a bunch of firecrackers left over, which they stuffed into the plane’s wings, filled the body with toilet paper and doused it with kerosene.

Lighting it on fire they sent it flying but the wind caught it and sent it towards the house. To our alarm it was heading straight for the kitchen window where Mom was washing dishes. It exploded 25 feet from the window and Mom gave a horrified cry and broke two dishes.

Generally fun and games involved playing baseball after supper at the school with a ball sewn up with haywire. Another impromptu activity involved saving dozens of fish trapped in a backwater from the Skeena on the riverside of the school. The Skeena had flooded allowing the fish to swim into the backwater but when the waters receded they were trapped there. Robert and Sean organized a rescue with other kids. They caught the fish in pails and released them back into the Skeena a mile way.

Tommy Henesy was a Dorreen old-timer who lived a few yards down the hill from the school. Sean recalls a rumor that he had stacks of uncashed CNR paycheques in his cabin. Sadly, one day while we lived there, Mr. Henesy died.

Now, Robert, Sean and I had never seen a corpse before and we decided to have a forensic experience when the RCMP came up from Terrace to retrieve Tommy’s body. Mr. Henesy had been so frail that either Mr. Horwill or Dad (and I) visited him almost daily to make sure he was still among the living. After the body was discovered Mr. Horwill instructed the three of us to stay away from the cabin. “Don’t go in there,” he warned.

We had to agree to this but the morning the police came up and were talking to Mr. Horwill the three of us went down to the schoolyard to await the removal like we were at a parade. When the officers went down to the cabin we were on the other side of the schoolhouse but we were at the road waiting for them when they came back. They saw us immediately and waved us away. We played dumb until they put down the stretcher. One of the officers came over and told us sternly to get in the schoolhouse.

Later we all got hell from Mr. Horwill (who was Dorreen’s unofficial mayor), as well as our parents, for disobeying his orders. Robert argued that technically we hadn’t disobeyed him because we had stayed well away from the cabin by remaining on school property.

Since Mom had taken time off to have children her teacher’s training was pre-war and she needed it upgraded while we lived at Dorreen. During the two summer-breaks from school Mom took me to Victoria with her while she attended Normal School. We took the marine highway in the second summer. Mom justified this expense by having the doctor at Prince Rupert remove my tonsils as a precaution. There as no room in the children’s ward and I was put in with the adults. After the operation I wailed in agony to the complete annoyance of the men in the ward. When one man was discharged he gave his condolences to his ward-mate at having to put up with me. This fellow tried to solve the problem by regularly ordering the nurses to give me ice cream. “It’s the only thing that shuts him up!”

Meanwhile, back in Dorreen, Dad was working on the CNR while Sean and Robert were having the best times of their young lives. Jimmy Jones, an Algonquin native lived with Juliette Joseph, a local native, out at Lorne Creek. Juliette was delegated by Mom to come to our house while Dad was at work to take care of Robert and Sean. To simplify the situation, Juliette talked Dad into releasing the boys into her care at her place. Everyone got a holiday and the native couple got extra money for it.

Robert remembers that Juliette made a big pot of porridge in the morning, served them some at breakfast and left the rest to warm on the stove. She then instructed them to go outside and play. They could do whatever they wanted. When they got hungry at lunch or supper all they had to do was come back and help themselves to some porridge. Just as well I wasn’t in on this, as I’ve always hated porridge.

Needless to say, Robert and Sean were free to do as they pleased on those two summers and fun was had by both of them.

Another time when Sean and Robert were about to go on a hike Mom decided I needed some quality time with them. Since I was so little I slowed them up whenever they went on hikes and they objected strenuously to the idea. This was not an issue with me because it meant I could visit Gramma and Grampa Olson; but on this particular day Mom was insistent they spend some time with their little brother.

Back in the war in the Pacific, a group of heros known as Merrill’s Marauders were the elite of jungle warfare. There’s a 1962 movie named after this group. Robert had wanted to trek the swamps around Dorreen like the Marauders. He and Sean planned to take the rifle out with packsacks on their backs and rough it for the day. Their survival food was always a few cans of beans pork and beans because they tasted much the same cold or hot. No cooking needed.

Robert was always thinking of ways to survive in the wild. All one really needed was an axe, which could be used as a tool or a weapon. Bottom line: a bottle of Deep-In-The-Woods insect repellent would ensure your survival. But this day they took a rifle. Their idea was to wade, waist-deep, in the swampy water with one of them holding the rifle over his head, military style. The country wasn’t in a panic about gun control in those days, which has come about from a lot of abuse by city slickers and politicians. People in the hinterlands are more self-reliant when it comes to fire arms safety.

Robert and Sean were not happy hikers as we three set out to storm the swamp. I always thought Robert did it deliberately to get back at me (and I told him so) but it was all part of their plan when they led me through (for them) waist-deep swampy water. Robert held the rifle as he went but there was one big problem for me.

What was waist deep for them was neck deep for me. They were have a good time ahead of me as the water was lapping my chin and then my mouth. By this time I was protesting behind their backs but they were ignoring me as they went into deeper water.

Finally I ordered them to stop, turn around and look at me. They did and Robert quickly became alarmed, directing us to land.

When we got home Mom was elated we were all safe and sound. She hadn’t seen that I was completely soaked from head to toes. She asked Robert how it went. “Terrible!” he said. “Brian slowed us down just like I said he would; and even worse he got himself all wet behind his ears when we were only waist deep in water.”

Mom took one look at me and was aghast. “Robert! How could you? Sean, what were you doing while this was going on?” Sean said he was following Robert. I tried to show solidarity by explaining the difference between their waists and my neck but Mom didn’t accept this excuse. Anyone could see that I was smaller than my two brothers were.

Robert ended the discussion by saying they would never take me out again. I was too small and I couldn’t keep up. As Mom removed the wet clothes and toweled me off, I said that I’d prefer going to see Gramps anyway. She then scolded me, saying I spent too much time there.

As a schoolteacher of the one-room schoolhouse In Dorreen, Mom arranged a couple of activities herself that may or may not have gone over. Having a degree in history meant she was always thinking of a pageant or activity that she could have fun with and teach the kids some history at the same time. Hallowe’en is also Guy Fawkes Day when the English burn the “terrorist” in effigy. Fawkes was a Papist who the Protestants of England in the time of King James I (a contemporary of William Shakespeare) claim tried to blow up the Parliament Buildings in London. Just think of Northern Ireland today or the Middle East to get the mood of those times.

We not only had a Hallowe’en party at the school but we built a big, big bonfire so we could dump the Guy Fawkes dummy on the flames. All this was foreign to the good residents of Dorreen who were still waiting for the punch line well after the effigy had gone up in smoke.

Mom had always wanted to conduct a Maypole Dance despite its rumored occult origins. She struggled with her conscience over the idea of doing one at Dorreen. (The only Maypole Dance I’ve since seen is in the Doctor Who episode of, THE DAEMONS, should the reader ever see this program.) Mom wasn’t interested in the silly, satanic aspect. Artistically it was wonderful to watch as two lines of dancers held their multicolored ribbons as they bobbed and weaved their way around the pole until it was covered in a checkerboard pattern.

The parents, having never seen one, were intrigued enough to ignore the satanic elements. One of the fathers agreed to erect a pole in the schoolyard after receiving Mom’s instructions. By now all of Dorreen was intrigued by the idea and they decided to make a party of it. Everyone was invited. When it was all over they all shook their heads and wondered how it got its silly, satanic reputation.

Among those in attendance was Della Wilkinson who lived beside the school on the store-side. Della was pleased to come out to introduce her sister, Margaret McNab to everyone that night. People were watching the dancers weave their ribbons as they danced around the pole when Della stopped me to make an introduction. I was on an errand for Mom and really didn’t have time to chat, so I just said, “When we heard you were coming from England, Ms. McNab, Mom arranged this little event in your honor.” They laughed, thanked me and I went on with my errand.

Comics were as scarce as hen’s teeth until one of the train workers, who went up and down the line, generously bought a half dozen books and threw them from the caboose onto the track embankment that sloped down towards our house. We had been warned to expect this gift on a certain day when the train went through.

When the other kids heard about this there was a frequent gathering where he tossed the comics and it was a grab all to get one. Robert or Sean tried to get the bundle first so they could check out the super-heroes, or war comics, first and pass along the dumb animal type to the younger ones. Eventually we all got to read every book, anyway.

But this annoyed one kid who scrambled to grab whatever he could and run home with it, or them. The idea was to all sit on the hillside and swap them as we finished each book. Robert told this kid to share. But the kid bolted the minute he got one, even if it was passed to him. Robert finally had a talk with the kid’s mother and said if he didn’t share, the kid would be chased away in the future. The kid’s dad threatened to beat Robert up if he ever threatened his son in any way again.

Some time later the kid’s dad was in Terrace and sought out our benefactor. The man dropped off at Horwill’s General Store one day and demanded to see Robert and the kids. He told us that he was disappointed his gifts were causing strife in Dorreen and said he wouldn’t be tossing any more comics off to us in the future. Robert tried to explain the true situation – that it was the other kid who was excluding the rest of us – but the damage was done. We never got any more comics bundles again.

Usually things happened out of the blue. An Irishman named Paddy Craig lived at Pacific, six miles west of Dorreen. Paddy was a miner at Carpenter’s Creek. His cabin was another two miles west of Pacific, named after the “Pacific” in Grand Truck Pacific Railroad.

Paddy heard a family named, “Craig”, or “Gregg” lived at Dorreen and he marched up to pay a visit one day. Even though we weren’t related he was greeted like a long, lost Irishman. Robert was taken by the fellow and still remembers him fondly. Whenever he came to visit he always wore a white shirt and tie as he walked the tracks to our place.

Paddy’s first visit was eventful. The Gregg’s welcomed him into their home with enthusiasm. He was invited for supper and he agreed to stay awhile. But just before dinner, the subject of the clergy came up and Paddy learned the Gregg’s were not Catholic; and, horrors of horrors, Dad claimed he was Presbyterian. At first it appeared like Yassir Arafat discovered Ariel Sharon was having tea in his compound. Paddy was not amused!

As Mom was calling us to supper, Paddy got up and walked to the coat rack where he began putting on his coat and hat. “Where are you going, Paddy, it’s suppertime,” said Mom. To which Paddy replied, “I’m going home. I won’t stay in a house full of Presbyterians.”

Mother was not amused; even though it wasn’t Dad’s fault his father was a Presbyterian. Dad’s mother was Roman Catholic and proved her faith by bearing twelve children. It was a union of the Orange and the Green, as the Irish Rovers liked to sing about it. Mom had been educated as a child by the nuns at parochial school; but by this time both my parents were Anglicans, which was less terrible than being an Irish Presbyterian.

Mom sighed sympathetically with Paddy and scolded Dad for claiming to be a Presbyterian when he knew he was half Catholic himself and now was an Anglican whenever possible. That is to say, every Sunday some of the residents got together at Bill and Noni Campbell’s for services because theirs was the only home in Dorreen that had a piano.

“We’re in Canada now, Paddy,” said Mom with a wink. “Let’s leave all that quarreling across the Atlantic. Supper is served. Please, won’t you stay and have a meal with us?”

Paddy agreed to dinner. He stayed and enjoyed himself, once Mom straightened out Dad’s story. After that, Paddy became a regular visitor to our house and a splendid time was had by all.

Robert recalls that years later when he visited Pacific he came across an old wooden tombstone claiming it as belonging to Paddy’s dog. It said that the dog was better company than most people and God help anyone who disturbed the grave. Robert spent a moment clearing away the debris and weeds from around the marker, leaving a clean area there when he left.

Yup, Paddy was okay!

Another unexpected guest was the Biology Professor from UBC, who was on a walking tour from Prince George to Prince Rupert. When he stopped at the store and was told about Mom, he came right over and stayed for dinner before going back to the Bed and Breakfast at the Horwill’s store. The Professor was looking for mountain cats and seals. Robert remembers he dressed in a suit and tie also, had good walking shoes and carried a rucksack.

When we arrived at Dorreen people were still talking about lucky Oscar Neilson who shot himself in the shoulder. He had lain his gun down to rest when it slid off the rock, pointing in his direction and went off. Think of the sliver of a chance Oscar missed of having himself shot in the head that day in 1951.

Another character we remember at Dorreen was Olie Hansen, who was married to Peggy Scully. Olie was known to lift 45-gallon drums like they were sacks of potatoes. His son, Bob, was no slouch, either. Bob was built for strength and he was nicknamed, “Porch”. When Sean was working in Prince Rupert in 1971, he was stopped on the street by a “stranger” who hailed him as an old friend. It was Porch, though Sean had not seen him since Dorreen and had no idea how the man recognized him.

I remember Herb White very well. He lived in a cabin between Oscar Lundeen and Tommy Hennesy on the hill below the school. Next to Bob McLean, east of the store were Verna (Olson) and her husband, Vic Neighbor. Bill and Noni Campbell were my godparents. Bill was mine manager and they later moved to Usk where they took over the store in the late 1950s.

George and Leona England also lived at Dorreen. Their daughter, Helen, married Ray Blair and their kids also attended school. Denis Horwill recalls that long-time Terrace resident, Tom Olson, who died in late April 2002, once had a cabin at Dorreen.

THE END

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