Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines

Childhood Memories of St-Aimé (Massueville)
by
Dolorès Robillard Benoît

Version française

St-Aimé is a very samll village situated near Sorel which, one day, it was decided to rename it Massueville in honor of the Lord Massue who owned most of the land of the Seignory, but the seniors still call their village St-Aimé. Today, if you visit that part of Québec, you'll notice the signs indicated "St-Aimé de Massueville".

In the 1940's, there was only one main street which ran parallel to the Yamaska River. But, facing the church, there was a quadrangle named Place Royal (Royal Square) where one could find the homes of the village officials. There are still, even today, along the Place Royale, some very beautiful homes of this era.

As a youngster, I loved to visit my grandparents. They lived in a small two-storied house on the outskirts and in the countryside of St-Aimé. Since I was a little girl from the city (Montréal), everything was for me a wonder when I went to visit them.

I must first of all write about their home. One would go into the house through the back door, and there, was the kitchen with its wooden floor painted orange, the water pump on top of the sink with the stone cup hanging on the wall; on the left, there was the big, black cast-iron stove on which my grandmother did all the cooking (I remember the delicious, huge crêpes and the buckwheat pancakes cooked right on the stove). It's also on this stove that she heated water for the family laundry in huge buckets. This immense stove was fueled with huge wood logs which needed to stay lit all through the night since it was the only way in which the house was heated.

Next to the kitchen was the bedroom of my grandparents which was a sacred place where no one entered except in winter because in a corner of this immense room, my grandfather has put together a little corner which replaced the "outhouse" during the cold winter months. There was also a stairwell that led to the second floor of bedrooms. At the top of these stairs, there was a trapdoor which was opened only at night to go to bed and during the day, this trapdoor remained closed to conserve heat of the first floor.

There was also the living room which was "closed", that is, never opened except for the pastor's visit. The only other time that I saw this living room open was when my grandmother died since her body was laid out for three days in the home, as was the custom of the times. The people of the village and of the countryside would succeed each other in order to watch over the body and my aunts provided biscuits and cheese during the wake for those who would continue the wake during the night. Some recited the rosary continuously while others gossiped. What really impressed me during the church funeral, were the great black drapes hung everywhere over the church windows and on the statues to indicate that death was a sad event for the survivors and nothing in the church should show any sign of joy. My God, how sad and somber was the church.

Let's return now to more happy events. I recall the joy of my grandfather who, upond seeing me arriving, would go the general village merchant to buy me an ice cream cone. The only "hitch" was that the general store was at a distance from the house and when my grandfather returned, my cone was almost completely melted but he was so happy to offer me his cone...

I can still see my grandmother, very thin, clothed in her habitual gray dress and in her long apron, her hair tied in a bun, who used to go gather chives in her garden to put in her soup cauldron for the visit. At the end of the meal, after having washed the dishes, she would throw the water on the flowers because this was an excellent fertilizer. She would then throw the rest of the meal and the vegetable peels to the little pigs in the pigpen near the house. My grandmother was proud of her garden and nothing pleased her so much as bringing us to admire all her flowers.

Way at the end of the garden, Philias, my grandfather had installed a bench and he would spend most of his leisure time sitting on this bench engraving a tombstone which he acquired when the cemetery was moved from near the church to the outskirts of the village, on a piece of land adjacent to my grandfather's land. He had erased the inscribed names and during his free time, he had engraved his name and that of Marguerite (my grandmother) as well as their birthdates. (Refer to Normand Lévellée's site to view this monument). He always claimed that this would not hasten death before its time. My grandfather, Philias was a very special man...

Let's return to the second floor of my grandparents' home. This second floor was open only for visits after their children left home for the city as they said... I can still recall today the huge feather mattress in which we could hide ourselves within and laugh because we couldn't see each other; we would become invisible also as the person next to us had sunk deeply into the mattress. A very small window allowed us to see a nut tree where the birds came to perch themselves and to wake us up very early in the morning. We can't forget the bedpot placed under the bed for emergencies... What beautiful memories of these nights to dream about everything or about nothing in this huge bed at my grandparents' home.

Let me now write about the evenings spent in the light of the oil lamps because at my grandparents' home, there was no electricity in 1940. At night, we would gather around a small crystal radio where with earphones, we listed, each in turn, with much static, music of the songs of the times. Very rapidly, we had to pass the earphones to the next person because the radio battery weakened very quickly.

I must also add that what became a sport for the village gossips was the ringing of the telephone. A long ring, two short rings and ... Oops, all the gossips knew who was being called. Nothing prohibited certain ones or even many among them to listen in on the conversations. We had to make sure that we did not speak of intimate subjects on the phone because the whole village was made aware of all the family secrets in the parish.

There was also an RCA "Gramophone" with a huge speaker and the picture of a dog who was listening to "The voice of his master". We could play music from the cylinders. A certain arm strength was needed to turn the handle while the music was playing. This instrument of the times is still preserved today at one of my cousin's home.

During one of my visits to St-Aimé, I unfortunately had a toothache. I needed to visit the doctor who had to pull the unfortunate tooth. He made me sit on one of the straight chairs in his kitchen, and I, little city girl, had a tooth pulled for the first time, and this, in conditions that were out of the ordinary... I still remember this visit to Doctor Falardeau; I really believe it is because of this experience that I fear going to the dentist even today.

My grandfather, who was a self-taught person and a man with a thousand professions, had conceived and built the aqueduct of St-Aimé which provided water for the entire village. He had to climb up the ladder, several times a day, to reach the top of the tower for his daily check. For me, my grandfather was a true hero because the whole world knew him in St-Aimé and in the surrounding areas. I was so proud to say that Philias Rivard was my grandfather. For miles around, we could find my grandparents' home because of the aqueduct which Philias had built and which was located very near his house.

New Year's Eve, we would place our stockings near the big cast-iron stove and Philias would lend us his socks so that St. Nicholas would place in them more presents because our stockings were too small according to my grandfather. The morning of this great day, we would empty our stockings to find an apple, an orange, a piece of coal and a barley sugar cube which was undoubtedly made by my grandmother. To enliven the day, we played games. I can remember especially blind man's bluff and "burnt rag". My grandmother which was very much a tease, would hide a rag inside her blouse and we would not dare to search for the famous rag there where she had placed it. I remember we would run around my grandmother while she cried out "You are getting warmer, you are getting warmer...". But we would not dare look for the famous rag where it was hidden and I can still see Marguerite laughing as we went around her.

I must not forget to write about my grandparents' famous house key. This huge key was hung outside the house, above the door, in full view. The door was rarely locked but my grandfather wanted to see the key, there, in full view, for ???? Nobody knew the reason.

After Marguerite's death, my grandfather continued to live in his big house, but during the winter, he came to live at our home in Montréal. He would spend his days roaming through the neighborhood, and if he were lucky to meet workers, he would spend long hours watching them, at times forgetting meal time. At the first days of spring, he returned to his home in St-Aimé. There, he was truly happy.

I was seventeen years old, when he died and this day was for me a very sad day, because from that moment on, I had no reason to spend my vacations in St-Aimé. A big part of my youth disappeared with him.

I can at least say that I have preserved unforgetable memories of my maternal grandparents. I would have liked to have had the same memories of my paternal grandparents which I really never got to know; no photos of them, because both of them had died when my father was very young. I miss this, but I have my beautiful memories of Philias and Marguerite.

PS: Please forgive the "bit unordered" style of this article, but I have such beautiful and pleasant memories of St-Aimé that I did not take into consideration the hierarchy of the related events.

Translated by Norm Léveillée

Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines
Copyright © 2003-2008 Norm Léveillée
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Created 1 Feb 2003