The ol' swimmin' hole - Glimpses of the Past with Karen Webster

There was a time, and it really wasn’t all that long ago, that the concept of having a private swimming pool or a local municipal pool was a far-off fantasy. Perhaps the mention of one conjured up thoughts of Hollywood stars’ homes or mansions of oil-rich tycoons. For the average youngster of our area, relief from the smothering heat of summer could be found as close as the nearest creek or river, where many natural basins of water served as a delightful playground. 

 

Many are the happy memories that the old swimming hole have evoked. In 1967, Duncan McTavish shared his recollections with the readers of the Lucknow Sentinel. He related that from the Twenty-fourth of May holiday until “the frosty nights of fall chilled the waters”, legions of boys hastened to the river to don their “birthday suits” and plunge into the welcoming water. Duncan felt that swimming was a good body builder. He admitted to only knowing three strokes: belly stroke, back stroke and side stroke. He remembered one specific time at the river when he saw a snake gulp down a hapless frog which was more intent on catching insects than looking out for danger. Duncan sprang into action and with his trusty knife secured the freedom of the dazed amphibian.

 

Another letter writer, this time to the Brussels Post in 1938, scoffed at the idea of instructor, Johnny Gray, who organized swimming lessons at the Y.M.C.A. in Toronto decrying the practice of throwing young boys into deep water and telling them to “swim out or go down”. The scribe felt that Mr. Gray would be at a loss to know how to navigate the etiquette of Mud River. First it would have been prudent to throw a few rocks into the deep water to persuade the turtles, crabs and blood suckers (leeches) to move on. Also, that it would be wise to have a small fire on the riverbank to have embers ready to encourage any blood suckers attached to a swimmer to let go.

 

There were many favoured places to go to cool off. In Clinton there was a spot “down by the depot”, near Auburn, folks could travel to the riverbank near the Wightman farm, or further south near the chopping mill.

 

There were plenty of adventures available along the riverside. How many young folk tried to emulate Tom Sawyer by constructing a raft? While much effort may have gone into such ventures, often seaworthiness was not always the result. Fortunately, a quick dunking in warm river water was not a hardship. 

 

One young lady from the Brussels area found that when she exited the swimming hole, her clothes had disappeared forcing her to walk back home clad only in her swim suit. To her dismay, she found, upon entering the village, that her underclothes were flying high above her reach. It seems that boys will be boys!

 

Cooling off on a hot, humid summer’s day was not the only reason to head to the river. My friend, Dave, recalls that when he stayed with a bachelor uncle, Saturday evening or Sunday morning meant it was time to grab a towel and a bar of soap and head to the Teeswater River for a weekly bath. In the days when not every house was outfitted with indoor plumbing, this was an alternative way to achieve personal hygiene.

 

Unfortunately, among all the stories of how wonderful were the good old days and the glories of the old swimming hole, there were also those of misadventure and drownings. Many parents recognized the dangers of deep water and insisted on their children taking swimming lessons.

 

Some places had more structured areas to enjoy the refreshing qualities of the Maitland River. In Turnberry Township, there was a swimming hole alongside Jeffray Line. Due to road reconstruction and a bridge being built, excavation work led to the formation of a riverside park complete with a concrete pad, bath house and a cordoned-off area in 1957. Regular swimming lessons were held for about 20 years, but when pools opened in Teeswater, Brussels and Wingham, the popularity of the area decreased although the parkland remained.

 

Similarly, in Wingham where once water fun had been enjoyed below the Howson Dam and at First Bush in natural basins, in the 1950s, residents were able to enjoy a fenced-off area on the south bank of the Maitland where a cement floor made access easy. Two of the lifeguards were Bob McIntyre and Hugh Sinnamon. Swimming lessons were available. There was a change house and even a diving board for the deeper water. When the Centennial Pool was built in 1967, this area declined in use. In 2026, large graceful trees hang over the cement pad that acts a reminder of days gone past.

 

The Swimming Hole
“When the sun rides high in a summer sky
And your shadow is no longer than your nose,
On the country road where the earth, dust-dry,
Puffs up through your naked toes;
When the grasshopper scrapes his monotonous drone
Half asleep in the withering grass,
When the thirsty leaves scarce turn their leaves
In the listless breezes that pass;
When the heatwaves quake and shiver and shake
On the crest of a sun-baked knoll-
Come away with me to the willow tree
That shelters the old swimming hole!”
Author unknown