cont'd from "Tales From the Crypt"  by Wilma Robinson  

  There was no Lougheed Highway built yet in those days and in its future
place was a small driveway separating our property from the King's
property next door. The king's were a family of five, two parents and three
children. The children consisted of Maurice (MoeXMarjorie, and Wilfred.
Wilfred was the youngest, six months younger than I, and my best and only
friend when I was a pre-schooler. I knew him, as everyone else did, as
"Baby King" which I thought was his real name. It seemed reasonable to
me! But one day I was sternly told by his father that I must, in future,
address him as "Wilfred" which was his given name. I thought this to be
very awkward, "Baby" was much easier. But I was a little frightened by
Mr. King and did as I was told.
The Kings were originally from England and as a result they received in the
mail from friends or family, newspapers and magazines from Britain. We
were particularly fond of the British comic strips, one of them being a strip
called, I believe, "Pipsqueak and Wilfred". At any rate, guess who became
"Pipsqueak and Wilfred" at the hands of our older brothers and sisters!
Radio was just coming into vogue then and, not having a radio at either of
our homes at that time, Wilfred and I would high-tail it over to Mrs.
Armstrong's place which was just across the road, and she would hurry us
in to the living room in time to hear "Cecil and Sally" on her radio.
Another programme we enjoyed was "Amos and Andy". We even fixed up
Wilfred's wagon with wooden laths for sides and called it our "fresh air
taxicab" (like the one they talked about on the air).
We both had little metal cars, copies of a Ford Model "A", I think. Anyway
they were very heavy little things and given to us by Mussallems Garage,
who at that time sold Ford cars. We were down on our knees on King's
wooden sidewalk, pushing these little cars around, making appropriate
"arroooga!" noises when Wilfred's car flipped over and he lost his balance
and landed hard with his shoulder on the wooden walk. For a small boy, he
was capable of earth-shattering wails which now burst upon my eardrums
and attracted the attention of his father nearby. His first thought, naturally,
was that I had done it and he roared over shouting "You get home, you
little brat!" Now I'm wailing and heading for home with the report that
"Mr. King called me a little brat!!" I traded on the insult for awhile but
then discovered that Wilf had actually broken his collarbone and sympathy
overcame justice and the world returned to normal.
When we were about six or seven preparations were being made for the
new "highway* that was to be built through Haney .It's route would take it
right between our two properties, King's on the North and ours on the
South. At that time I was a devout tree-climber and there was a favourite
pussy willow tree growing near our driveway which now was part of the
right-of-way for the new highway. Wilfred and I were horrified to find out
that this tree was slated for removal by the highway workers! I think
perhaps we may have become the first "tree huggers" because we firmly
ensconced ourselves high in the branches of the willow and refused to let
them cut it down. The amused workers left us up in the tree and went about
their business elsewhere. We stayed in the tree for what seemed like hours
until my mother came out and said dinner was ready. I protested that we
had to keep the men from cutting down our tree but she said to let Wilfred
stay there till I returned and then he could go. I reluctantly obeyed but as I
ate I kept an eye on him from the dining room window. Suddenly I saw him
working his way down the tree in answer to his mother's anxious call for
dinner!
Horrified, I tried to leave the table but my mother informed me that I must
finish my meal before I was allowed to go. Angry tears flavoured the rest of
my meal and by the time I had finished, the road crew had done the
dastardly deed and our willow was sacrificed for the good of modern
transportation!
That wasn't the only time I wept for a tree. My father and my brother Jim
were about to cut down one of the big firs that grew in the woods to the
east of our house. The woods belonged to my grandparents and we
youngsters played there, fighting imaginary Indians with the deadly
bracken spears, using the big old stumps for our forts. I could see the trees
from my bedroom window and I felt I knew every one of them personally.
I overheard my father talking about what they were about to do and I burst
into tears and angrily protested the whole idea. But my father was firm
about it and I had to stay at home as they headed out with their saws and
axes. The wood was needed for firewood and, of course that took
precedence over anything else. I sat on the bottom step of the front stairs
and sulked. I might have sat there like that for the rest of the day but when
my father came back from the woods he came around to the front steps and
looking sternly at me, he said, "Shame on you, Wilma, don't you know that
Menzies' don't sulk!" Well, I had never heard that before but it gave me a
legitimate way out, and besides, I was tired of doing nothing but sulk so I
agreed to drop the matter.
Wilfred and I had a favourite stump down in these woods. It was old and
covered with bright green moss and was taller than we were. It was shaped
like a throne with the back of it about three feet higher than the front which
was shaped into a seat. We called it the Queen's Chair and many a royal
decree was issued from it's mossy enclave! One day we trotted down to
indulge ourselves with these high-blown fantasies only to find it shattered
into mossy pieces of rotting wood! Someone had entered our private
kingdom and laid waste the royal throne! We searched our brains for
someone capable of this dastardly deed The only one we felt may have
done it was Georgie Davis and his "gang of thugs". The next day at school
we accosted him but of course, he denied all knowledge of the incident.
We didn't believe him at all and after a few chosen words about him and
his "gang" we left in high dudgeon! Our royal reign was over.