In this column I want to focus on our childhood neighbourhoods and examine the part our early environment played in colouring our development. Our childhood neighbourhood often remains deeply ingrained in our psyche to this day.
Throughout this article I will be sharing my personal memories of my own ‘childhood neighbourhood’ which consisted of the area of Queen and Niagara streets during the early 1950s to 1974 when I would head off to university and the ‘big smoke’. In many ways, I have never been able to recapture that magical time and place no matter where I have roamed in the last 50 years. I hope that my story will trigger some fond memories of your childhood neighbourhood. Perhaps your current neighbourhood encompasses all of the elements that I shall share with you in this article. In that case, you are indeed blessed.
When I say that my ‘childhood neighbourhood’ was Queen and Niagara streets, I mean that that was its general coordinates. My ‘home turf’ spread south to Millard and Niagara, east to Main Street, west to Arden Avenue and north to Simcoe Street. A relatively small area as I look back now but as a child it seemed a virtual city, with everything that I valued within its environment.
Today, I would be hard pressed to name more than one or two neighbours where I currently reside but ah, back then I seemed to know everyone. The funny thing is I can still name all those who dwelt in my little ‘childhood city’ and still tell you all about them. I remember it contained a real cross section of Newmarket at the time, an environment rich in every way.
We had the Bondi family down the street who seemed to me so hard working within the fruit and vegetable business which was likely the best job to have in my opinion. I remember Philip’s parents being so very kind to me and sharing the bounty of their business with the area children.
We had so many different occupations within our area, from fireman (part-time) to lawyers and doctors and then there were the Metcalfes, the Grahams and the Wightmans who ran care homes for the elderly people, those who were less fortunate as my mom would often put it. Given that we were actually quite poor (a fact that I never really realized at the time) I tended to see my neighbours as people just like our family, trying to live their best lives.
My grandparents lived on Arden Avenue, just up the street from our home on the northeast corner of Queen Street and Niagara. My grandmother had grown up in the house next door to us on Queen Street and had moved just up the street to Arden Avenue. My mother was born on Arden Avenue and moved down to Queen and Niagara when she was married. When I think about it, my mother lived in that neighbourhood for over 96 years, and it seemed to me that she never had any desire to leave. Now that is being comfortable in your surroundings. Back then, most of my neighbours were long-standing residents of the area, that is just how it was.
The infamous Miss Denne lived just down the street from me and she would often call me over to chat about local history, knowing that it was my passion. I always found it so strange how different she was outside the classroom. I guess it was just because I was considered part of ‘our community’.
I can still tell you all the people who would take our ball, puck, or bat and refuse to return it just because it went on their property. Never did get my balls back.
There was little or no traffic back then so we would turn the roads into our own private sports complex. The Ortons and the Drurys would make an ice rink which drew the neighbourhood hockey fanatics every winter. I do remember getting hit by a car when I was about 6 years old and the man complaining that my head had damaged his car grill.
We also had three churches in our area, the Free Methodist, the Salvation Army, and St. John’s Catholic Church. Back then, I would attend services in all three churches on occasion. As a child I was unaware of any differences in the various churches or their congregations. That was where my friends received their salvation so why not try them out. Sadly, I discovered later in life that religion, language, and place of origin tended to segregate people but back then, I never thought about it. I used to love listening to the Salvation Army Band, on a warm summer night, belting out their music. They often chose our corner to perform, affording me a front row seat.
The area children ran wild back then. However, don’t get the idea that we were unattended as I think there existed some sort of secret organization of parents in our neighbourhood as we always felt watched; we knew that if we needed anything, we could go to any door for assistance and we also realized that everything we did would be reported back to central command, our moms.
Why do these people, these streets still bring back such strong memories within one? Is it that I have gotten older and nostalgic? Were times better or simpler back then? Let us look at a few reasons that I have often thought about to explain this phenomenon.
Having discussed this question with many over the years, I believe that longing for one’s childhood neighbourhood is a common sentiment for several reasons.
Many of us associated childhood with innocence and a plethora of carefree moments. This feeling of nostalgia, which includes the neighbourhood where one grew up, often evokes positive emotions and a longing for simpler times.
I think that there is a familiarity with the area. Our childhood neighbourhood is a place where we spent our formative years, so it’s deeply familiar. We know that people often feel a sense of comfort and security in familiar surroundings.
Many significant life events and memories are tied to one’s childhood neighbourhood, from playing with friends to family gatherings. Revisiting these places can often rekindle these memories. I walk a lot, given my hobby of conducting heritage walks and a trip back to the Queen and Niagara streets area is always part of my routine when possible. I can still remember things that I experienced by simply closing my eyes.
We all need a sense of belonging, a place where you are part of the communal fabric. My old neighbourhood represents for me a sense of belonging and community. I find this feeling of being part of something larger can be a powerful draw.
I mentioned earlier that I believe that ‘your neighbourhood’ influences your identity. Our childhood neighbourhoods played a role in shaping our identity. Going back can reconnect us with our roots and help us to understand who we were and who we have become.
We all experience ‘life’s transitions’ and many of these major life transitions occurred during our childhood. I find that a longing for ‘my’ neighbourhood can be a way for me to cope with change or to recapture a sense of personal history (who I am and what I believe).
We cannot forget the sensory triggers. All those smells, sights, and sounds of a childhood neighbourhood often evoke strong sensory memories that contribute to the desire to return. Perhaps it is grandma’s apple pie or Mrs. Smart’s tea biscuits.
No matter what the reason, the longing for a childhood neighbourhood is often a complex blend of emotions, memories, and a desire to reconnect with a simpler, more carefree time in one’s life.
It’s a natural part of the human experience to reflect on and yearn for the past, especially when it’s associated with positive experiences and feelings of belonging.
I am often speaking to people who’s ‘childhood neighbourhood’ was somewhere else in the world, a place they left behind when they came to Canada. I realize that these people tend to go through the same emotions, memories, and longing that I experience.
My wife left her home to come to Canada when she became my wife. It was understood that she would return ‘home’ yearly if not more frequently. I sometimes return with her, and I am amazed at the transformation that takes place, seemingly upon landing. It is obvious that she has been transported back to a time and a place where she really belongs. She becomes more ‘child like’, more at ease somehow.
Often it is not about wanting to live there as much as a longing to return there, to visit a place where you once felt comfortable, where you belonged. Perhaps this is all in our heads, perhaps this place we call our ‘childhood neighbourhood’ is not real but it sure seems real.
They say one can never really go back. All I can tell you is that in my mind, my heart, and my soul, I can go back, I must go back. Back to a place that is personal, a place where ‘my people’ still live in my mind.
Have memories of your ‘childhood neighbourhood’? Why not share them in the comments?
I hope to see you all back here next weekend.
Sources: My mind, heart, and soul
Newmarket resident Richard MacLeod, the History Hound, has been a local historian for more than 40 years. He writes a weekly feature about our town’s history in partnership with Newmarket Today, conducts heritage lectures and walking tours of local interest, and leads local oral history interviews.
