The Citizen, 2003-12-10, Page 11THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 10, 2003. PAGE 11.
Book review
Former Brussels resident’s book a gift
McColl’s talent and the book’s
charm.
“There could have been no belter
time and no better place in which to
grow up. Of that 1 am certain."
Meant as a gift to her daughters
Happy as the Grass was Green is
also a touching tribute to a family, an
era and a place.
A very limited supply of the book
will soon be available at The Citizen.
www.medicalert.ca
1-800-668-1507
Medic Alert
Speaks For You.
They can also be ordered through the
publisher at www.trafford.com or
on-line from Chaptcrslndigo
Beat the
temptation.
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Sharing memories
Catherine McColl has penned a book of her memories of
growing up in a small town. (Photo submitted)
dressed like Mom and Dad, when
imagination was needed to fill
leisure hours, one pl ace was much
like any other.
As someone born more almost 15
years after McColl, for me it was
interesting to note how little things
had changed. Five-cent popsickles
and marching for the school fair
were as much a part of my world as
hers.
While McColl writes in a breezy,
chatty style, she is extremely
articulate. Though all of the book
entertains, it would be the chapters
referring specifically to the life she
knew with her parents, brother and
extended family where her writing
shines. With warmth and wit she
makes vivid the era when parenting
was pragmatic and family was
everything.
“I don’t care where you heard it,
it’s wrong. And anyway, nothing
good ever came from boys hiding
behind a furnace,” spoke Mom after
hearing a fractured version of Good
King Wenceslas.
.Intertwined with the chapters
about the
Brussels.
comic to
manager.
By Bonnie Gropp
Citizen editor
In 1995 Catherine McColl began
writing a series of short stories to try
and tell her grown daughters about
their grandfather who had passed
away before they were born, and
their grandmother, whom they only
knew for a few short years. McColl
also wanted them to know what it
was like for her growing up in a
small town.
The result Happy as the Grass was
Green, is truly a gift she has given
them, a story as warm and charming
as a fireside chat on a snowbound
night. In light, though intelligent
prose, McColl writes of a simpler
time with a sense "of humour, often
self-depracating. that will appeal to
readers of both genders and all ages.
That the small town McColl is
writing of happens to be Brussels,
will certainly attract attention there.
And though she occasionally pokes
fun at the people she knew and the
ways of village life, it is with such
gentle affection one cannot
offended.
The author
childhood as
happy time.
Happy as the Grass was
Green is “a love story
about my family and
the village.”
McColl was two
when her parents, Bill
and Jean Leach, moved
with her and her brother
Doug to Brussels in
1942. Mr. Leach
opened a jewellery
store, which he owned
for 34 years. Her book
begins when at the age
of 18 she has decided to
trade in smalltown life
for Toronto.
On the four-hour
McColl said she told herself stories
of the world she’d left behind to help
ward off the homesickness which
overtook her on her journey. Those
stories are what she put to paper
decades later.
While her writing tells much of the
village of Brussels one need not
have lived there to know its
experiences. In an era when kids still
be
her
and
has referred to
a “a very safe
an innocent time.”
train ride,
Leaches are memories of
From Mel the classroom
Watty the caustic arena
McColl recreates a time
and place which has in
some ways moved on,
yet in many stayed still.
"Wide green lawns
and overarching trees
gave a sense of cosy
togetherness to a village
that provided far more
freedom than privacy.”
Some gaffes
(“screeching like
banshees when our toes
became entangling in
the moss” or referring
to the cemetery as being
west of Brussels; it’s
actually south) are little
blips in an otherwise delightful read.
Having come to Brussels myself
long after McColl had left, 1 do not
know how accurate her memories
are. There may be some long-time
residents who will argue points,
perhaps not. As said, I’m the last to
know.
Either way, whether the work is
autobiographical or more fiction
than fact, it cannot take away from
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