Village Squire, 1979-10, Page 24Heat, wonderful heat
Most of us take heat for granted, until we have to do
without it sometime
BY G.P.
We cope with temperature changes so readily by either adding
or subtracting layers of clothing, turning up the thermostat or
turning it down, that we tend to forget the blessings of heat.
Probably the only time in these days of push-button
conveniences that it ever enters our heads is if we chance to read
a bit about Arctic or Antarctic exploration. Then for a fleeting
second heat does seem an important commodity.
Let me tell you the grim way that I found out all about heat and
cold the first year I taught in a little red school house up on the
edge of the northern forests.
There was only one possibility in this decaying community, for
room and board. Rumour had it that 1 well might have to share
my bed with bugs. The alternative was a nearby summer cottage
that could be rented in the off season for the trifling sum of eight
dollars a month.
Like most young teachers, 1 was green in more ways than 1 like
to think back on. Only slowly as September cooled did I realize
that in a land where the thermometer could drop to -40 degrees
F, this was no fit accomodation for the winter months that were
soon to come.
The cottage consisted of one oversized area that served as
kitchen dining, and livingroom combined. There were two big
windows on each side plus a door leading to a screened veranda.
The upstairs was divided into three small bedrooms. On the
outside to protect me from the weather was a single layer of cove
siding and on the inside one thickness of gyproc minus vapour
barrier. The cottage was on posts about eighteen inches out of
the ground and open below the single board floor to every wind
that blew. The door as well as all the windows lacked storms.
The old cast iron range, the only source of future heat, I soon
22 Village Squire, October 1979
found was burned out. Baking proved impossible. The wretched
beast gobbled up wood and offered barely enough heat for
top -of -the -stove cooking.
The future began to assume the shape of a gray and chilly
spector.
In due time the place could be banked with snow, but who
could tell at what date the needed snow would arrive.
Meanwhile, I took a pile of old newspapers from the corner and
tacked them over all but two of the eight windows and onto the
inside of the storm door. Each time my mail arrived with fresh
Toronto Stars they were hurriedly read and added as a further
barrier to the cold. Struggle as I would, I could get no extra heat
from the old stove, and my winter's supply of hardwood had not
yet been delivered. In the mornings I was soon to be greeted with
ice in the washbasin.
The aging schoolhouse, soon to be abandoned was drafty. So I
was uncomfortable by day and right down cold at night, even
when I pulled the table up close to the firebox end of the stove. It
was impossible to be genuinely comfortable even with a thick
jacket on, while I prepared the next day's lessons by lamp -light.
At bedtime I undressed by the stove, donned thick flannelette
pajamas, followed by a robe, left on my heavy wool socks, tucked
my "pig" (heavy earthenware hotwater bottle) under my arm
and headed reluctantly up to a frosty bedroom warmed only by
the rising heat in the stovepipe.
Inevitably I caught a cold and it worsened to settle in my chest.
And so I lived as the days grew colder, uncomfortable by day and
still more uncomfortable by night. I was under contract. There
was no way out. The days dragged like a nightmare that would
not come to an end.
The first ray of sunshine proved to be a false dawn. My good