for motorboats, and Springbank once again became popular for boat rides. On summer weekends there were often up to a dozen operators offering rides on their boats. The large dock where the Victoria and her sister ships tied up was long gone, replaced by several small floating docks that were beached when not in use. Uncle Jack always gave us a free ride. When we were settled in our seats, he would reverse away from the deck, and then swing around. Suddenly the boat would squat and accelerate with a burst of speed that made me almost become unhinged with excitement. A regular ride consisted of one circuit of about a mile, but Uncle Jack always gave us a two-circuit ride. Even though our ride was twice as long, it ended far too quickly. As we headed home, a rare treat of an ice cream cone topped off an exciting day. It was several years later when we learned of a misadventure experienced by their boys. If business was slow, Uncle Jack would go home and return in the afternoon leaving the boys to look after the occasional riders. To put in the time, they took turns on the boat, one driving and the other riding. The rides evolved into a game called “Flip”. The passenger rode up front, straddling the bow while the driver would try to “flip” the rider off by sudden swerves of the boat. Needless to say, they didn’t play Flip when their father was present. On one particular trip, Glen was driving while Lloyd was straddling the bow. They had just turned away from the dam and were heading back to the dock. A sudden jerk of the tiller, an abrupt swing of the boat, and Lloyd was enjoying a plunge into the Thames. “The best laid plans o’ mice and men/gang oft agley” sang the poet, Robbie Burns. While he would have expressed it differently, Glen would have agreed wholeheartedly
with the poet Burns. The sudden swerve didn’t dislodge Lloyd this time; instead, there was a “clunk”, the tiller jerked from Glen’s hand and the motor disappeared into the river. They were close enough to the dock for Uncle Jack to witness the whole affair. The boys rowed back to the dock, and as Glen put it, “Dad seemed a little upset.” He made several comments during which the collective intelligence was compared unfavourably with that of a block of wood. He concluded by ordering them to row back and dive for it, and not come back until they found it. Uncle Jack accompanied them to oversee operations and warn other boats to keep clear. Being strong swimmers, the boys were not at first unduly concerned with the task confronting them. Retracing the course when approaching the dock was the thing to do. It was then that they realized the real problem lay in locating the motor in the fifteen feet of murky water. It took repeated dives and traversing back and forth across the river bottom, like dogs running back and forth to locate the trail of their quarry. It was well over an hour later, after countless dives before they finally surfaced and heaved the motor into the boat. They were back on the river the following weekend, the motor dried out and running smoothly but they never again played “Flip”.
John Caverhill is the younger son of the late Ernest Caverhill and Susie Boyd of Lobo Township. John’s writings often reflect his experiences and observations of growing up on the family farm, attending the one room school, S. S. No. 7 Lobo (Bear Creek School), and Vanneck United Church. John’s sense of humour and story-telling skills are legendary. His keen observation skills have augmented his repertoire .
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Ilderton and Area Villager November 2024 • Page 13
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