Memories of Sports and Recreation
By Ken Clippingdale for Golden Memories 2000
One year the baseball team acquired a player as a pitcher who was Aboriginal. Mose was very good on the mound, having a good knuckle ball, a slider and a smoking fast ball. At one meeting of the club, the assets were discussed. Some members wondered why there was not more money in the kitty. The manager’s secretary explained that before Mose would pitch for the team, it was essential the club by him a pair of moccasins and a blanket. So, nobody complained and Mose did his stuff on the mound. The skating rink was a favorite in winter, and, the fancy-dress carnival was one of the highlights of the winter season. My brother, Wyndham, went as a Hungarian dancing girl, with a long switch of hair, a very beautiful costume and mask. Because of the costume and the trimmings, some of the young fellows wanted to date him! My mother constructed my costume which was a series of boxes and wrappings, representing parcel post. My torso was encased in a big box. Subjected to a continual ratatat on the box with quirts from some of the girls dressed as Cowgirls.
Herb Blakely spent many hours in constructing his outfit which was a series of light wooden boxes in various sizes from head to foot. However, when he was rounding the end of the rink, someone bumped into him and he hid a post completely described destroying the masterpiece. He was so unhappy that he peeled the remnants off and through it all out the back door. On the hill overlooking the town, where the Trans Canada Highway now runs, we had a small downhill ski run and also a bobsled and toboggan run that followed the existing road. We had it banked at the bottom but as I recall the helmsman occasionally misjudged the speed and went over the banked berm, and if the crust top of the snow was thick, he slid on top of it for a short distance, until brought to an abrupt end by a barbed wire fence.
During baseball games on the holiday occasions when the local team was playing its deadly rivals, the teams from field and Revelstoke, the grandstand was full and people were packed in near the baselines. Tommy Connor was the mainstay of the pitching staff and Bill Henderson did the catching most of the time. On one occasion, they had a rather ancient former Bush League from outside Golden on the mound. He had made a few pitches at the beginning of the game, and was cranking up for another delivery, when, just at that moment, there was a loud crack and he staggered off the pitcher’s mound holding his arm and moaning, “Give me a shot!” Within a matter of minutes, spectators were converging on the mound tugging at their hip pockets. This was rather a strange thing to a young innocent boy, but on the way home past the hospital, it became clear. As he passed the entrance he saw the pitcher emerging from the hospital weaving a great deal and being supported by one of the male medical staff. After getting home the word shot was explained to me in a very modified manner. High old times even at both athletic contests.
Whenever athletic schedules entail going to the rivals domain they were well supported by the town, and on several occasions, sufficient were signed up to have a railway coach filled up. My father and I attended one of these safaris to Revelstoke over a labour Day holiday. Taking the earliest train in the morning, you had the advantage of a full day there. The homebound train left Revelstoke at midnight and arrived in Golden in the early morning hours. The main hazards of the trip home was dozing off despite the noise of trombones, and various other musical instruments by happy travelers. Woe B to the Goldenite who might doze off in the wee small hours. He awoke to a large chunk of ice in the open mouth placed there by his playful companions. After that happened once or twice, he stayed awake to the journey’s end.
Fishing was a sport enjoyed by many boys. This was no problem as far as tackle was concerned. Had a pole on the way down to the channel, after stopping at Pat Burns meat market to bum a little meat for bait. If it was not available, then some flour from the bakery. To complete the equipment, you needed a small rock as a weight, and a cork for a bobber. Sometimes the Grayling took the bait as fast as you could bait the hook. For trout, the mouth of the kicking Horse River was usually a good spot, as was Hospital Creek. There was no fancy tackle, or an interminable time selecting flies.
One winter we had an exciting armed forces exercise. Two teams were selected, with Norman King as captain of the defending force, based at King’s Big Barn and the attacking force, captain by Neil Scoville. The implements of war were handcrafted wooden swords and Pikes surmounted by flat planar ends. The attack was mounted during a near blizzard snowstorm, but the defenders were well entrenched behind bales of hay on the floor of the barn; and also in the loft, so the attack was not a surprise. However, the soggy attackers and dry defenders, after a truce, attacked their lunches with great figure assisted by some hot beverages through the kindness of Mrs. King.