I’ve wracked my mind, and I cannot think of who the storytellers in our family might be. However, I have no problem identifying the storykeepers. They might not spin yarns or be captivating narrators, but they are always willing to share the family lore if asked. I wouldn’t call my mother a good storyteller, but I can absolutely count on her to provide the answers to questions I might have about even the most obscure bits of familial trivia.
I’ve been keeping the family history since I was in elementary school!
While I don’t consider myself a storyteller, I definitely count myself amongst the family storykeepers. I think by definition, genealogists are storykeepers. It’s not often that I’m asked, but I’m more than happy to share the stories whenever someone in the family should ask.
I will concede, however, that maybe I have become a storyteller. This blog is now two-and-a-half years old. This is my third time participating in Amy Johnson Crow‘s 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks and my 129th post as part of the challenge. I’ve even turned my first year’s set of posts into a print book and have nearly completed turning the second year’s worth into a digital book.
When I was a kid, we moved around a lot. People often asked my if my dad was in the military. No, he was a Woolworths manager.
My father entered the Woolworth manager training program right out of high school. Back in the day, the program involved a lot of moving around. Later, promotions almost always meant a transfer. He was with the company for 28 years, leaving the company about six months after Wal-Mart bought it out in Canada. That’s a story for another time.
My sister and me at the Woolworths in Regina
My dad began his career with Woolworth’s in Lethbridge, Alberta as a management trainee. He once told me that his very first assignment on his first day was to unload a shipment of bras, and the female staff stood there giving him a hard time. Next, my dad trained in the Regina, Saskatchewan and Medicine Hat, Alberta stores, where he was an assistant manager.
Dad’s first store as manager was in Flin Flon, Manitoba. After Flin Flon, dad was transferred to Terrace, B.C., and shortly afterward to Duncan, B.C., where he opened a new store there as the Associate Manager.
Grand Opening of the Woolworths in Duncan. My dad is second from the right.
At one point, the Canadian head office in Toronto transferred dad to Kirkland Lake, Ontario. However, when the international head office learned about the transfer, they cancelled it. They thought it was too much to move a man with young kids halfway across Canada.
My dad (left) at the Canadian head office in Toronto.
Dad transferred to North Battleford in 1974 and was General Manager when Woolworths opened a large new store there as the anchor tenant of the Frontier Mall in 1975.
Big news in a small town.
Dad quit in the early 80s and went into business as a sales agent for a furniture company. The new career was not what dad anticipated, and he did not enjoy being separated from his family as the job entailed a great deal of travel. He returned to Woolworth’s a few months later. As he had been replaced at the North Battleford store, he was assigned to the Woolworths in Swift Current, Saskatchewan. He commuted from North Battleford to Swift Current, a distance of about 320 kilometres. Dad was there until he was transferred to Terrace, British Columbia six months later.
Four years later, the company transferred dad to William’s Lake, B.C. In 1989 Woolworth’s converted all of its larger Woolworth stores into Woolco stores, which included the Williams Lake location.
Until last Christmas, I had no idea my mom still had these.
In August 1991, dad was transferred to the Woolco in Chilliwack. In March 1994, Woolworth’s sold its Woolco stores to Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart transferred Hans to Hinton, Alberta that same month. Dad left the company in August 1994. My parents and younger siblings then moved to Lethbridge, where we still had a fair amount of family. My dad briefly went into sales before he and my mother bought a small motel in southern Alberta. My dad has now been a motelier longer than he was a Woolworths manager. My youngest sibling and I have had much different fathers!
One of my brothers had this on his bedroom door for years.
I am absolutely certain my grandmother, Helen Lerner, could have made anything from scratch, sweet or savory. She was a fantastic baker. She made her own pickles from what my grandfather grew in the garden. She made homemade noodles for her homemade soups. I’m pretty sure there was a time back in the day she made her own soap. Of course, she made her own jams, jellies, and preserves. One of my favourites was her chokecherry jam.
Chokecherries
My grandmother passed away when I was finishing my last month of grade eleven. In the last year or two of my grandmother’s life, my mother often went to Lethbridge to help her out and, later, visit her in hospital. After one of her last visits, my mother returned home with a bunch of things my grandmother had made, including several jars of chokecherry jam. I was pretty sure that they did not last long in our family of seven.
Fast forward to just over a year later. I moved to Vancouver to attend my first year of undergrad at the University of B.C. A few weeks after having moved into residence, my mother sent me a box of my things. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the box included the last jar of my grandmother’s chokecherry jam. Needless to say, I did not rush through that jar. I used it judiciously and sparingly, without being stingy, and savored every bit of it. It was a wonderful way to remember my grandmother.
In the early 1970s, my maternal grandparents, Leo Burgess and Helen Lerner, were more than happy to rely on what seemed me to be horribly outdated and obsolete technology. My grandmother still used a wringer-washer and my grandfather used a push mower that to me seemed to be older than Methuselah.
These were both very much like the implements my grandparents used. I remember they each let me have a try at using them. Needless to say, both were hard work. I’ll stick to our modern gizmos, thanks. [Images shared per Creative Commons licences 3.0 Unported and 2.0 Generic, respectively. Links: washer; lawn mower.]
My mother still has the scrub board my grandmother used. She used to keep it in a spare room, which is where I photographed it. A few years ago my folks built a new house, so it now sits in a place of pride.
As can be faintly seen on the washboard, it was manufactured by Fraser Western Broom and Woodenware Ltd. in Vancouver, B.C. I see that the Museum of Vancouver, which is less than a half hour drive from where I live, has one in its collection. Based on the information on the item on its website, this washboard could not have been manufactured any later than 1950. That means my grandmother’s washboard must have been at least 25 or 30 years old when I first saw it.
While it may seem my grandparents clung to the past, they did not eschew more modern technology. Ever since before I was in kindergarten, my grandfather always used an electric razor. We always loved it when he would hold it up to our cheeks so that we could have a shave, too. I have the last electric razor my grandfather owned before he passed away in 1995, a Philishave 765. Not only does it still work, but to my surprise I’m still able to buy replacement blades for it. I rarely use it, however, because I still prefer to use a manual razor; plus, several years ago my wife bought me a new one.
This razor must be at least 30 years old, if not older, but it still works!
A Deck of Ancestors 
