‘Heading South’ by Len Wilson

From Whalley’s Corner Series

In the forties, rural Surrey was a great place to grow up in, especially for our family of eight children in Whalley’s Corner. Most of the time we played well together, but periodically sibling squabbles did occur. One day one of these squabbles became too much for my sister and I. When we threatened to run away and ignored, we had no choice but to leave. We planned carefully, a seven and a six-year-old ready to meet the world. Isabel was ready to sacrifice everything for our escape; even the shiny dime she had just received for her birthday.

We stopped at the Star Grocery to purchase our supplies, a loaf of bread for eight cents and a little brown bag filled with jawbreakers and jujubes. We decided to travel through unknown country and head south.
We made up songs as cars sped by, their wind adding to the excitement of our newfound freedom. We took turns carrying the loaf of bread, our lifeline of survival as we ate our candy and planned our future. Cows behind barbed wire fences chewed their cud and watched as we marched to freedom.

We stopped beside a farm where there were some posters on a metal shed in a blueberry patch. We read the words, ‘Enjoy the circus’. I loved the pictures. Snarling lions showing their long teeth; huge elephants, their heads held high their white tusks flashing; and tigers sitting on boxes, round black eyes staring in open defiance. We stood mesmerized as we sucked our jawbreakers.

It was necessary to find shelter for the night, so we continued on our way. We came to a forest and entered an area of dark underbrush beneath huge trees that crowded close together. The musty smell of the damp earth was the smell of wild animals. I saw lions and tigers moving stealthily through the deep underbrush. My sister heard elephants crashing through the trees. We were back on the road heading home.

Now we approached that metal shed with trepidation. Those cold hard eyes stared at us as we scurried past, but no matter how fast we moved the eyes followed us threateningly. We ran for home.

As we rushed along, the loaf of bread became heavier. What had been food for freedom became a symbol of defeat. It also represented my sister’s total assets, and she wished she still had her birthday present. As we approached the Star Grocery, we argued about returning it. By this time, it looked like a waxpaper-wrapped concertina.

I heard the buzzer, then the door slammed shut behind us. We approached the counter. Mr. Brown’s round black eyes stared down at us and we looked up at him with huge eyes filled with tears.
My sister drew in a huge breath, stuck out her chin, and said, ‘Mama doesn’t like this bread and she wants her money back’.
He glared at us as he slapped the eight cents on the counter. His cold eyes never wavered as we slowly backed out the door.

We ran the rest of the way home. The steel gate squealed as we opened it, only enough to squeeze through. Isabel put the eight cents in her bank and soon we joined in a game with the rest of our family as if we had never been away.

Previously Published
Len’s Weblog, 2009
Vancouver Sun, July 5, 1995