Poem: The Old Swimming Hole

I remember going to the old swimming hole,

So many years ago;

It was known as the ‘Clear Landing’

And why I’ll never know.

 

We’d spend many fun-filled days there,

Every summer it was the place to go;

During our summer vacation from school,

Where the old Salmon River flows.

 

The Salmon River flows through Bible Hill, Nova Scotia

And Truro is just across the way;

It was incorporated many years ago,

It’s a nice little town to this day.

 

The area is pretty well built up now,

With new houses standing side by side;

But it used to be pastures and wide-open spaces,

As on our bicycles we would ride.

 

There was an old farm-house at the top of the hill,

Just before you went down to the ‘Clear’;

That’s what we called our swimming hole,

Where we went swimming year after year.

 

It was ‘back in the day’ many years ago,

When you could walk on private roads;

And never have a fear of trespassing,

As we walked to and from our abode.

 

It was a sheltered area by the river,

Where our change room was back in the bushes;

We’d quickly climb in to our swim suits,

So no one could see our bare tushes.

 

It was a time before we had indoor plumbing,

So we’d go and bathe in the river;

After we finished swimming and splashing,

We’d dry off on the beach and shiver.

 

I remember there was an old abandoned car

Near the road where we went for our swim;

It was called an Overland Whippet

And was half-buried in the grass and tree limbs.

 

I don’t know what year the car was,

But it was probably built in the twenties;

I can still see its big shiny name-plate,

That car today would be worth plenty.

 

That old car was top of the line,

But that’s a whole other story;

I’d love to own an old car like that

And restore it to its original glory.

 

It is kind of appropriate when thinking about it,

In a coincidental kind of way;

There is now a cemetery at that same location,

Where the old car had rusted and decayed.

 

My friend Cecil lived just up the road,

Or ‘Timer’ as he was known by all;

We’d go swimming just about every day,

From early spring ‘till late in the fall.

 

Sometimes we’d go down a farmer’s side road,

It was beside their strawberry patch;

It reminded me of my mother’s strawberry shortcake,

That no one will ever match.

 

This was rural Nova Scotia,

Where we grew up, ‘way back in the fifties;

Where everybody knew everybody for miles around

And where we learned to be economical and thrifty.

 

But getting back to the old swimming hole,

Pardon me if I digress;

The river was about a mile-and-a-half away,

From our East Court Road address.

 

There was more than one swimming hole in the area

But the ‘Clear’ was the one we liked best;

We’d swim ‘till we got tired,

Then lie on the beach for a rest.

 

It was one of my favorite pastimes,

On summer vacation from our school;

To spend a day at the Clear Landing

And dive in to its deep dark pools.

 

It’s where I first learned how to swim,

I must have been four or five;

Using an old inner-tube from my father’s truck,

To keep me afloat and alive.

 

Everybody had a favourite swimming hole,

When they were growing up as a kid;

It helped us grow up through those childhood years

And we’re happy that it did.

 

Most people wouldn’t walk two miles,

To go swimming every day;

But back then it was the thing to do,

As we passed our summer away.

 

People would come from miles around,

To swim and relax by the campfire;

Sometimes we’d have a ‘corn-roast’ at night

And have a sing-song from a river-side choir.

 

I went back to visit the old swimming hole one day

I think it was about ten years ago;

Surprisingly enough, it looked quite the same

And it was nice to stop and say ‘hello’.

 

One day I’ll go back for another visit

And maybe on a nice summer day;

I’ll go swimming at the ‘Clear’ again

And wash all my cares away.

 

Bob Bartlett,

North Bay