Memories Of Locks Road

Locks Road, in Port Wallace Nova Scotia, was a great place to be a kid. The village is a part of Dartmouth, on the northeast edge. People were proud to be from Port Wallace and from what I hear, they still are. From 1953 to 1963 it was officially known as Port Wallis, named after Admiral Provo Wallis, but the name was changed back to Port Wallace in 1963 after Michael Wallace, the 19th century administrator of the Shubenacadie Canal Company.

Shubenacadie Canal was cut in the 19th century from Lake Micmac to Lake Charles near Locks Road and all the way to the Bay of Fundy. The lock near Locks Road, known as lock 2 or second lock, was walled on either side with stone and wood with a narrow lock crossing the gap. As kids, we would walk across the top of the lock, without fear of falling, to get to the other side. Even my younger sister Agnes, who was about 3 or 4, would walk confidently across with a sheer drop-off of about 50 feet on one side and water on the other. It looked even more impressive to small children.

I lived in Port Wallace from my birth, in 1955, until I was about nine years old, on Locks Road. It was a gravel road winding through a hilly landscape with houses built on the upper and lower side of the road. The road’s mouth was at Waverly Road and it had a couple of bends running past Beverly Street. Not far past our house, you could walk off into the forest and various lakes were not far away.

All the families on the road knew each other and the kids all played together. Barefooted during the summer, we had the run of the road. We were outdoors all day and stayed out until dark. Our yard was big enough that on one occasion two greyhound buses turned around in it at the same time. There used to be baseball games all the time there.

Once, the older siblings of us neighbourhood kids sent us to the lake to get bull rushes. They then put gasoline in tin cans and soaked the bulb ends. That evening, after sunset, we each took a bull rush and the elder kids lit them. We all ran around with the rushes held high as torches.

One end of Lake Micmac was down a narrow dirt road off Locks Road and we would go there to swim. When I was small I took swim lessons there in the summer. Once I stayed after swim class to play on the beach despite instructions to go home after class. More time than I thought must have passed as my older sister Jean came looking for me. She was in charge of us younger ones and she was not happy. With one hand gripping me firmly on my left wrist, she marched me up the road to home, which might not have been so bad but I was barefoot and struggled to keep up on the gravel road.

At home, she sent me to get her a willow branch then proceeded to apply it liberally to my wet bottom. Strangely enough, despite my adventurous nature, that is the only time I can remember physical punishment at home.