16 Kelvin Road 1959-1962
I was born into a northern suburbs dwelling reform Jewish family, the youngest son to two older sisters, Sue (8 years older) and Carol (9 years older) and my brother Derrick (12 years older) of Cynthia and Selwyn. I was born when we lived at the Kelvin Rd house, but I have really no ongoing memory of 16 Kelvin Road. There was one time when I do recall the maid beating a snake in my bedroom, a Cobra as I recall, coiled to strike! My earliest continuous memories are related to a time only after we moved into our house at 44 Linden Road. My earliest childhood memory there is driving my blue peddle car up and down the long driveway at the Linden Road house. I think that memory is so strong because the new driveway was so long that I really got up a head of speed in my little peddle car.
44 Linden Road 1962-1970


Linden Road was a double story house with 3 upstairs bedrooms and a glassed in patio. My parents room and Susan’s room opened onto the patio. Derrick and I shared the patio, which means that it was more or less my room since Derrick was mostly no longer home being that he was in England at Leeds University. When I was 6 he was home for a little while, and then again when I was maybe 12 years old. My parents room and Carol’s room opened onto a wooden deck on the opposite side of the house over looking the Stead Neighbor’s house.
The house had two bathrooms and both were upstairs. My parents had a full bathroom on suite while all the sibs shared the other bathroom and separate water closet with just a toilet and sink. That little room lived at the top of the slate covered stairs. I remember it vividly. There is a memory trick called the “memory palace” where you use your childhood home to recall non-related items. I can vividly recall this home with great detail, and used that trick once to great effect while studying in college.
I remember my kindergarten years going to the little nursery school down the street. Certain features stand out. In addition to the long driveway that I used to drive my sky-blue pedal car up and down, one of my favorite memories is of the sweat pea flowers. My mom planted sweet-peas outside along the whole length of the fence facing the street. It was about 50 feet long and the spring bloom had a wall of aromatic pastel flowers outside. We literally had full vases of sweet smelling sweet peas all over the house! It was glorious.
There was a “Wendy-House” in the backyard, underneath a great big old oak tree that I loved climbing. There were fig trees, a mulberry tree, a green-gauge tree, a granadilla vine, and a couple of plum trees. Summers were great. We spent all our time outdoors climbing trees, playing cricket and one bounce (a soccer skills game), and we ate so much fruit off those trees. My neighborhood friends or my cousins or even my siblings boyfriends were all at one time playmates.
I also kept silkworms because we had a mulberry tree and silkworms eat mulberry leaves. I recently read about how it was illegal to take a mulberry leaf out of China, who were trying to protect their silk trade. It was always a fascinating thing to watch a silkworm making its cocoon. And it was magical to watch them emerge as moths and mate and lay eggs. We kept the silk worms in a shoe box that had a few knife-poked holes in the lid. Picking fresh mulberries while we gathered leaves for the silk worms was fun. We would be stained purple from the juice running down our chins.



We also used to keep an eye out for the occasional chameleon that showed up in the yard. They were fun animals to play with. They really could change color effortlessly. I was fascinated by how their eyes moved independently and with their ability to gradually blend into the background. Sort of like those body paintings where the model is disappeared into the background.

We used to try to catch those giant grasshoppers when they were around to watch them feed on grasses we pulled, but the best insects to capture by far was the Preying Mantis – super creepy to watch as it decapitated the male as they mated.


