Here are a few excerpts from this humorous book - after which Kevin titled Season Two's second episode. It chronicles Braithwaite's childhood on the Canadian prairies. As one of eight children, his account is a realistic, yet sentimental, example of a modest upbringing in the post-World War One era.
Here, he describes his night time ritual:
I always think of the brothers and sisters in pairs. As I knelt in my long flannelette nightie on the cold floor of the attic bedroom I shared with Hub I prayed for their blessing in groups of two. It was, “God bless Poppa and Momma”. The essential pair. If anything happened to them I was done for, I knew. They alone stood between me and the moaning wind and the darkness and all the terrors of the night.
Then it was, “God bless Morley and Peter”, the two oldest brothers, always referred to in our family as “the boys”. Born just over a year apart, they played and fought and worked together constantly. They slept together, too, and sometimes when there was company or – later – a roomer, one of us younger kids would have to sleep with them – three in a bed. (This was a horror that I will deal with later). They used to talk a lot in bed those two. I can still hear the soft rumble of their voices late at night or on a Sunday morning, “The way I figure it…if a fellow can only…” Constantly, they would be trying to solve some intricate riddle of life.
And here is his account of a typical family dinner:
Since dad dished everything from in front of him, an equal distribution of food was difficult. Each kid would hang onto the plate handed to him until he could ascertain whether or not the next one coming would be larger. Thus we developed strong grips. And since the first to finish was also the most likely to get a second helping, we all became fast eaters. Otherwise, you stood the risk of being undernourished and small - like the runt in a litter of pigs.
There was rarely anything left for second helpings, however, for Dad never did develop that fine sense of proportion that would make everything come out even. Often as not he ran short before he dished his own plate. Then he would look forlornly down the table and say, “Whoops—seem to be a bit short here.” Trying to get any food back from the rest of us would be equivalent to putting your hand in a tiger’s cage at feeding time. No wonder he was a lean man.
Stay tuned for future posts about the connection between Braithwaite's novels and Wind at My Back!
