Cauliflower Corners-Part 4

Hank

1894-Lansing’s Ford

Hank Coulsome came into the world prematurely on January 1, 1894. Dr. James Perkins did not expect either mother or son to survive the ordeal. Hank weighed under 4 pounds and his little heart was very weak.  His mother, Agnes, had lost much too much blood, and were it not for Dr. Perkins’ timely arrival and excellent care, she would have died soon after childbirth. As it was, Agnes was bedridden until April of that year, gathering a little more strength as each day passed.

On January 3, Mrs. Beatrice Colter, or Miss Beazy as she had been called all her life, was taken to the Coulsome home by her husband Gar. Gar stayed on for 2 weeks to ensure that more than sufficient water, food, and wood were stockpiled to get everyone to spring. Miss Beazy was Agnes’ sister in law and younger sister of Hank’s father, Thomas.

Thomas Coulsome was not present at his only child’s birth, having passed away accidentally a week earlier. Even though Thomas had worked the lumber camps of the Ottawa Valley for more than eighteen years, as a teamster, lumberjack and cook, his intelligent hands and agile mind did not render him immune to fickle, inscrutable nature. On Christmas Day, 1893, while driving a wedge into the base of a majestic white pine, the tree uncharacteristically split along an invisible vertical fault. The outer strand of the fault gave off a thunderous scream as it tore away from the trunk and was catapulted through Thomas’ torso before he could even think of diving to safety. Death was instantaneous. His body was packed in ice to be brought back to Lansing’s Ford at spring breakup for a proper burial. The terrible news was dispatched to Agnes on Boxing Day and reached her two days later. Most folks believe it was her shock that precipitated Hank’s premature birth.

Thomas was buried next to his parents in the tiny cemetery on the western edge of Lansing’s Ford. As was customary in all small communities of the time, anyone who was able to do so came to pay their respects. A wake was held and fond memories of Thomas Coulsome were recounted in quiet voices.

Lansing’s Ford did not have a large population but most of its residents were generous, as rural folk almost always are. A small sum was raised to ensure the surviving Coulsomes were taken care of. Dr. Perkins was appointed to administer the trust and he did so with a great sense of duty.

Hank Coulsome spent his childhood in Lansing’s Ford. He was a good son who doted upon his mother as best a young boy could. Hank would often help her with wool spinning and the seamstress work with which she supplemented their modest trust. When he wasn’t in school, Hank would hire himself out to local farmers who could use a dependable though inexperienced hand. By the time he was seven years old, Hank knew that some day he would have a farm of his own.

Hank especially loved going to visit his uncle Gar and Miss Beazy at Heart’s Content. From age five onwards, he would travel with his mother to the Colters place to help with the apple harvest. Uncle Gar was the most important man in his life. Nothing made Hank happier than to be in the presence of this gentle, caring man. Gar did his best to cram into those two short weeks of orchard picking as much of an education as he could provide his young nephew, a boy he loved as much as he would have loved his own. Miss Beazy and Gar were not able to have children. Hank was their blessing.

It should be pointed out that Hank, though a good boy, was no angel. He seemed to have picked up a little of his uncle’s benign mischievousness in the hours he spent shadowing him. Like all boys his age, Hank had more than once tied an old tin can to a stray’s tail for the sheer delight of it. His mischievousness reached its acme in the summer of his eighth year. That year, there was an incident whose details continue to be embellished to this day in the mutating folklore of Lansing’s Ford.

For his eighth birthday, Uncle Gar bought Hank his very first rifle: a Daisy Red Eagle, single pump, repeating B.B. gun with a stock of polished ash. Gar and Miss Beazy delivered it personally.

“Someday soon, Hank, you are going to need to learn how to use a real rifle. But first, you’ll need to master this one.”

“Oh, Uncle Gar and Miss Beazy, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Can you teach me right now, Uncle Gar? Can you?”

With that, two smiling boys, one eight and the other forty five, scrambled outside to find as many tin cans as they could. Having collected four sorry-looking containers, they lined them up on fence posts in the back yard. For three hours, they practiced their marksmanship. Hank was a quick learner. The next day, before the Colters embarked upon their trip home, Hank and Uncle Gar were back outside, turning the tin cans into pulverized metal. Gar had no doubt his nephew would be ready for the real thing by summer’s end.

Now Lansing’s Ford had a tradition that dated back to its founding. Every first Saturday in July, the chapel would be reconfigured into a makeshift bingo hall. The bingo was for adults only. For three hours, the grownups would howl and squeal as numbers were tumbled from the bingo cage. There were no money prizes, but baked goods, donated by the members of the Women’s League, could be won with just the right amount of luck and timing. The monies raised were used to keep the chapel in a good state of repair.

The chapel had been built on a piece of property bequeathed by Seth Armstrong. The Armstrongs were cattle ranchers and from time immemorial had been farming the acreage surrounding the chapel. On this particular Saturday, the Armstrong’s only bull had been tethered to the back wall of the chapel. The bull, known to all as Serene Dean, was anything but. Serene Dean had not one chromosome that wasn’t tainted with anger and orneriness. If let loose, he would have stomped everything within his poor eyesight into a fine powder. This day, Serene Dean was unusually quiet. He stood impassive behind the chapel, slowly digesting his lunch. Inside the chapel, the unpracticed gamblers roared and taunted and teased, as they waited happily to strike off their cards the next number to escape the bingo cage.

As it so happened, Hank was on his way to the river with his Daisy Red Eagle, single pump repeater. Upon hearing the commotion coming from the chapel, he turned his gaze to his left and spotted Serene Dean lazily munching away. Serene Dean and Hank were not on the best of terms. Not since the bull had surprised him as he took a shortcut through the Armstrong’s back forty. Never had a boy’s underwear been so soiled on such a desperate run to safety.

No one really knows where young boys get their ideas. Most people wouldn’t even call them ideas…more like half-formed, irresistible notions. Well, a notion came to Hank as he unmindfully caressed his Daisy Red Eagle. He moved stealthily to the east side of the chapel, making sure to keep the fence between him and his nemesis. Without thinking further, he took aim and pulled the trigger. A B.B. spun through the barrel and violently launched itself upon the seat of Serene Dean’s sovereignty. In a nano-second, the leviathan sprang six feet straight up into the air. He seemed to levitate forever as his short tether yanked forcefully at the back wall of the chapel. Hank looked on, frozen, as the whole wall was separated from the rest of the ecclesiastical structure. Serene Dean returned to earth with a gigantic thud and visions of bullish revenge.

Milus Armstrong, acting as bingo caller, was the first to look beyond the vanished wall. He could see all the way up Serene Dean’s nostrils right into the malicious bovine intent that flooded his tiny brain.

“Run everybody, run!” Milus bellowed.

Out of the chapel the bingo players spilled, tripping over pews and knocking down the baptismal font. As the last of the gambling enthusiasts squeezed himself out of the pandemonium, Milus slammed the big iron bar across the massive oak doors and then collapsed in a puddle of shocked perspiration. Hank, finally exiting his daze, flung himself to the ground and lay hidden until nightfall. He would tell no one of his misdeed until he was much, much older.

Note: This will be the last of the Cauliflower Corners installments until September, at which time the story will resume. Will Gracie Birdsong get married? Will Hank Coulsome be the one? Will Gorgis Cornelius Gustavius Burden Squeers weasel his way into her heart? Will the shady dealings of the Reverend Cornelius Augustus Ramses Squeers, Doctor of Divinity, catch up to him or will he continue to prosper? Find out soon.

Cauliflower Corners-Part 3- Gracie

Miss Gracie Birdsong was born in Lansing’s Ford on September 11, 1894, in the warmth of her parents’ small farmhouse. It had been an easy birth according to Mrs. Grant, the local mid-wife. A healthy 7lbs. and 14 ounces, composed mostly, it seemed, of inexhaustible lungs. Feisty from inception. Destined for great things.

On her first birthday, Gracie was christened in the tiny chapel which served as Lansing’s Ford’s place of worship and community centre. Anyone who had the pleasure of knowing the Birdsongs had congregated to be present at the baptism. The proudest of all were Gracie’s god-parents, Gar Colter and his wife, Miss Beazy. The day before, they had made the twenty nine mile trip from Heart’s Content, pulled happily in a two-seat buggy by their sturdy Percherons, Max and Red. Gracie was their first god-child, and, unable to have children themselves, Gar and Miss Beazy were determined to lavish her with all the love they could.  Gracie could not have chosen better.

Gracie grew up strong with a will of iron. She could run as fast as any boy, climb any tree, mend any halter or harness. Early on, she knew she would be a teacher. Whenever she got the chance, she played school, sometimes with her friends but even more often, out of necessity, with her dolls. Gracie loved to pretend she was Miss Lowe, her teacher for all of the 11 years she attended Public School 43 in Hanover County. To her, Miss Lowe was beautiful, graceful and the smartest person in the whole world. If she could have become anyone, Gracie would have chosen to be Miss Lowe.

In September of the year she turned 16, Gracie went off to Normal School at the University of Toronto. It was arranged that she would board with Miss Beazy’s great aunt Violet in Cabbagetown, a short walk away from her classes. At first, the big city scared her more than just a little. It was nothing like Lansing’s Ford or Hanover. If you didn’t pay attention, you could be killed just crossing the street. Yet, day by day, the city took on a comfortable familiarity and she learned to enjoy the clamour and noise and frenetic industry which surrounded her. Eight months later, Gracie passed her provincial exams and was conferred the title of teacher. It was the most rewarding accomplishment of her life. She could hardly wait to be in charge of her own classroom.

Almost exactly at the moment Gracie became a teacher, Cauliflower Corners, a village 32 miles from Hanover and only 16 miles from Lansing’s Ford, was elevated to the status of Auxiliary County Seat. As such, Cauliflower Corners would be entitled to its own school and to its own school teacher. Gracie sent a letter to the Hanover authorities requesting an interview for the newly opened position. This she was granted by return correspondence. On June 21, 1911, Miss Gracie Birdsong was offered the position of “Schoolmistress, Public School 46, Hanover County. Annual Salary: $654.34”. The acceptance was whisked back before the glue was dry on the envelope.

All summer, great preparations were made. Material for dresses was purchased in Hanover. Accommodations were secured with Mrs. Sam Ketchill, a widow with a spacious room and adjoining parlour for rent in Cauliflower Corners. “Ketchill Arms: No gentleman visitors after 7 pm.”

School supplies were ordered from Toronto, including a six foot by four foot map of the world, boxes of coloured chalk, a hand bell, ten pairs of scissors, construction paper galore, a three foot ruler and a large box of stick-on stars. Four months of lesson plans were prepared for grades 1 through 8. Outings were planned and holiday decorations fashioned with imagination and care.

On September 1, 1911, Gracie, helped by her father and her mother, packed up the farm wagon for the long trek to Cauliflower Corners. It was a beautiful late summer day with a sun that still held a lot of warmth. Just before sundown, the Birdsongs pulled up to the Ketchill Arms. Introductions were made and Gracie’s householdings were moved into her new rooms. Mrs. Ketchill had prepared a welcome dinner for her new boarder and her parents, who would be staying that night as honoured guests. Stories and histories were exchanged long into the evening. The bonds of friendship were not long in taking root.

The following morning, the Birdsongs made their way to the school where they were met by Pericles MacPherson, a short powerful man with directionally-challenged hair of such redness that it looked as if his head were on fire. The Periclean handshake was of such vigour that it caused Mr. Birdsong to check for broken bones when he was finally able to extricate his swollen digits from the human vise which had grasped it with unmitigated enthusiasm. With the ladies, Pericles was the picture of gallantry, holding Mrs. Birdsong’s small hand gently in his and bowing ceremoniously in Gracie’s direction.

“It is indeed a pleasure and an honour to meet such a fine family. We have the highest hopes for and greatest confidence in our new schoolmiss. You must be so proud of your daughter, Mrs. and Mr. Birdsong”.

“Why, thank you indeed, Mr. MacPherson. We are sure Gracie will be a credit to your new school.”

“Well, Miss Gracie, let’s get you settled.”

Soon the wagon was emptied.

“Would you like us to stay to help you, dear?”

“Thank you, Mama, but you need to be getting on so that you can get home before dark. I promise to write every day.”

“Good luck, darling.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Write to us.”

“I will, Mama.”

“We will miss you.”

“I miss you already.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

At this, Gracie turned to the classroom which would change her life.

Cauliflower Corners-Part 1

From Hamlet To Village

In 1911, Cauliflower Corners was on the verge of greatness. It had recently fully molted from hamlet to village. Two hundred and fifty six citizens in total, with two more expected in the spring. Like all small settlements, it had its eccentrics, geniuses, harmless lay-abouts, scads of decent folk and a budding sociopath, destined to destroy more than one august local institution with his ruthless ambition, vile arrogance and a brain three sizes too small for his already small cranium.

We mention the verge of greatness not without justification. With the County capital 32 miles away in the larger settlement of Hanover (population: 645), Cauliflower Corners had recently been appointed the auxiliary county seat, an honour it had been seeking for over a decade. Being the auxiliary meant that a circuit court judge would come by for Assizes four times a year. More importantly, the village would get its very own schoolteacher, the first of which was to be Miss Gracie Birdsong, all of seventeen years old.

It was a mystery why Miss Birdsong was not yet married. Not that suitors had not been plentiful. On at least five occasions, she had to summon all her tact to let down softly her ardent swains without bruising their fragile egos. Miss Birdsong had always known what she wanted and would not settle for less. Better single and little wishful rather than married and a lot regretful was her philosophy. This outlook had saved her from certain disappointment on several occasions.

Of course, Miss Birdsong’s arrival in Cauliflower Corners was anticipated with more than just a passing interest. The village fathers were pleased with the prestige a full time educator would bring them. Parents would no longer have to spend their exhausted day’s end, struggling to give their children what modest book learning they could. The eligible bachelors, sensing the opportunity of a lifetime, began bathing more frequently, cussing less and spitting their tobacco juice with much more ceremony and renewed accuracy.

Within days of the announcement of the new schoolteacher’s appointment, the whole village turned out to transform the underused church basement into a passable classroom. Desks were built, a blackboard imported from Hanover and the pot bellied stove replaced with one that actually functioned. Walls were scrubbed spotless.

With great solemnity, the children were taught the brand new official welcoming song crafted by Mrs. Gustavia Squeers, church organist, choir leader, and neglected wife of the presiding minister of the Glorious Church of Golgotha, The Most Reverend Cornelius Augustus Ramses Squeers, Doctor of Divinity. The Most Reverend Squeers had, hitherto, been doubling his meager clerical stipend with an annual salary from the County for acting as the local judge, jury and executioner. This annual salary was, of course, augmented by the fifty percent of all fines he greedily meted out and collected, one way or another: usually another.

Cornelius Augustus Ramses Squeers: it was a rather long and imposing name for a man who stood no more than five feet tall in best Sunday shoes. The Reverend believed himself to be a just man, a merciful man even. Under his munificent legal rule, no one was ever flogged more than once a month unless he deserved it. And there was always the option to substitute any flogging or incarceration with the immediate payment, in cash or in kind, of a monetary penalty commensurate with the seriousness of the offence. Reverend Squeers was the richest man in Cauliflower Corners in 1911.

The Reverend and Mrs. Squeers (nee Burden) had met as quietly desperate Hanoverians. He was 38 at the time and Gustavia was in the last month of her twenty third year. The courtship was short and their marriage was propelled more out of resignation than love. Cornelius’s mother had passed away the year previous and he needed someone to starch his collars and prepare his meals. Gustavia had been flirting with spinsterhood and was willing to bargain away her limited autonomy for what she considered “respectability”. She thought of her husband as a somewhat less than adequate catch, despite Cornelius’s recent inexpensive acquisition of a Doctor of Divinity degree from an obscure diploma mill somewhere in Michigan; or maybe it was Utah or Central Africa. Gustavia summoned all her will and decided she would make do with a less than optimal situation.

Within the year, they were blessed with a son. He was christened in a converted wash basin near the altar of the Glorious Church of Golgotha, an institution hastily established by The Most Reverend Squeers only months before his betrothal to Gustavia. Difficult negotiations had preceded the christening and the newborn child was finally labeled, after much compromising and tears. Gorgis Cornelius Gustavius Burden Squeers was adored by his mother and grudgingly tolerated by his father, who, given his druthers, would have been content with a barren yet quieter childlessness. Crying babies interfered with his digestion and customary afternoon naps. Plus, there would have been more money for his secret habits.

Fortunately for Gorgis, his mother loved him to the point of spoliation. The sun rose and set upon Lil Gorgeous (or just plain “Gorgeous”, as she often called him).  It would be her life’s mission to mould him into something special. And special he turned out, as we shall soon see.

Cauliflower Corners-Part 2

Lil’ Gorgeous

In 1886, Gorgis Cornelius Gustavius Burden Squeers emerged into this world as the unfortunate by-product of a loveless, passably convenient marriage between two undistinguished citizens of Hanover. His father, Cornelius Augustus Ramses Squeers, Doctor of Divinity, was practised in the profitable use of an elastic moral code. His mother was a gentle creature, chosen by fate to spend too large a portion of her life regretting her desperate marital compromise.

Before acquiring his dubious ecclesiastical credentials in 1885, Cornelius Squeers skulked about the countryside looking for suckers. He would rotate his moral and intellectual mediocrity through the villages and hamlets of Hanover County. Places like Cauliflower Corners, Heart’s Content and Lansing’s Ford were among his favourite haunts. He would stay in one place until the probability of his detection became too great. It was his genius to move on just before disaster hit. Never caught. Infrequently suspected. Always guilty. A human weasel. Polished scum.

Gorgis, or Lil’ Gorgeous as he was fondly called by his mother, never really had a chance. His mother, though doting, was weak and detestable in his view. His father, distant and calculating, had no time for him. As a child, Gorgis ached for his father’s approval. Until he turned 10 years old, everything Lil’ Gorgeous did was designed to squeeze out the tiniest evidence of paternal affection. The best he ever got back was a grudging indifference. Finally, he just plain gave up. By this time, he was already a budding sociopath, unknowingly following in his father’s oily footsteps.

At age 11, Gorgis had set fire to his first stray cat. At age 12, he graduated from burning cats to torching abandoned barns. By age 13, he had been banned from Anson’s Feed and Hardware Store, having been rightly suspected of lacing the bundled oats with a strong laxative purloined from the apothecary of Dr. Finch. The accusation, though never proven, clung to him like a bad smell, immune to any attempts at cleansing.

As can be readily guessed, Gorgis had no friends. He spent his solitary hours imagining his rise to sociopathic glory. By what means, he had not yet determined. He used everyone and everything in his path. He read voraciously. While fumbling through a well-thumbed comic book being passed around among his classmates, he came upon an advertisement whose shadowy nature appealed strongly to him. It read, in part:

“Are you tired of getting no respect? Then buy it!

Bachelor of Agriculture Degree…98 cents. Optician’s Licence…$1.10

Chemist’s Licence…$1.15. Doctor of Divinity…$1.48

All framing of the highest quality.

University of Ledes. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

Little by little, Gorgis removed small amounts of money from his mother’s purse until he had amassed sufficient funds for his own mail order Doctor of Divinity. Wouldn’t his father, whose own fake credentials had been acquired by the same means, be taken aback when he saw his son’s purchased diploma hanging proudly in the den?

Alas, after waiting six months for his credentials to appear by post, Gorgis finally admitted to himself that he had been had. “How could these hucksters live with themselves?” he muttered, oblivious to the irony.

Despite his growing sociopathy, Lil’ Gorgeous was not without a warped sense of humour. Once, in 1901, on a visit to the movie theatre in Hanover, he executed an anonymous prank, still now remembered in awe. Saturday afternoons at the Hanover Cinematopia were reserved for kids only. For five cents, children could watch six hours of movies and stuff down cheap candy until they were green to the gills. No one was allowed in the balcony. If caught, the trespasser would have to deal with Big Bubba, a post-pubescent Cro-Magnon Man so thick he signed his name with a single downward slash (\) because he had trouble completing a full X.

Gorgis waited until the third feature had begun before entering the theatre. He kept the admission money given to him by his mother and snuck into the Cinematopia through a washroom window. He emerged from the washroom unseen and scurried to the refreshment counter. He ordered the Monster Tub of Popcorn and paid the full price, a thing which never failed to make him feel cheated.

While making sure no one was watching, Gorgis sidled up to the water fountain and, by a miracle of science, used the water to turn his mountain of popcorn into a gelatinous goop. Armed with his newly christened Monster Tub of Ooze, he climbed the stairs to the balcony as soon as he saw Big Bubba slide out an exit door for a well-deserved smoke. Up, up he went, smiling his fiendish smile. As he reached the edge of the balcony, he donned his mask. On the screen, the evil gunman was tying a fair maiden to the railway tracks. Every kid in the theatre was on the edge of his seat as the train stormed down the rails.

As the train rounded the last bend, Gorgis, hanging over the balcony railing, wailed in his loudest voice:

“I feel sick! Gawd! Oh Gawd! I’M GOING TO THROW UP!

AAAAAAHHHHHH! RAAAAALLPH!”

One hundred and twenty faces simultaneously turned up to the balcony as Gorgis squeezed the Monster Bucket of Ooze against his chest, thus causing its contents to fly up and over the throng below. Gorgis intensified his wretching noises as the slimy, snot-like tsunami splattered his helpless victims. Already stuffed to the gills with Gummy Bears, Sweet and Sours, popcorn, peanuts, licorice and soda pop, it did not take long for the first be-gooed kid to throw up. He was followed by the next, and the next, and the next, until the theatre was transformed into one gigantic vomitorium.

Gorgis calmly dropped the empty bucket and dashed out of the theatre in the same way he had come in. His exploit became the stuff of legend, a perfect crime in Gorgis’s eyes. Perfect because he would never be caught.