A POOL ON THE HILL

A POOL ON THE HILL

Have you ever seen an outdoor public swimming pool built on a high hill? Picture this: a public pool, surrounded by a high chain link fence, built on an elevation with multiple concrete steps leading to the entrance area. This is what the pool was like in the small town where I lived more years ago than I care to count. Who but the fit and healthy could climb all those steps? It was long before the advent of handicap accessible entries, which are required now.

Why this pool was built at such an elevated level is anybody’s guess. Perhaps the area was a flood plain because of the river that meandered through town. Maybe the water table was too high to dig down for a swimming pool, so instead they built up. The clay soil could have caused frost heaving in the winter, resulting in concrete cracks that would require expensive repairs year after year. Whatever the reason, the pool was unique.

As a child, that hill looked like a huge pyramid to me. I imagined myself an Egyptian princess on her way to cool off in the Nile River. No crocodiles to be aware of though, just some chlorine to bring me back to the 1960’s.

We were fortunate to live within close proximity of the pool, only having to walk to the end of our street and down a woodsy shortcut path that led to Elks Park where the pool was located. Wild irises and ferns grew alongside the river, and at times we saw hundreds of wood frogs. This natural beauty was like a Mecca for the young at heart. We often played there, swinging high on the big swings and enjoying the other playground equipment. There was a merry-go-round spinner that was the cause of many a child losing their lunch from twirling on it too much and too fast.

The Parks and Recreation Department had free summer programs that took place outside, weather permitting, in the park area around the pool. The programs, probably subsidized or paid for by the Township, were on a drop-in basis. This made them very popular with children during the summer holidays. The instructors were high school students, full of interesting project ideas. We always came home with all sorts of crafts, but the swimming pool was really our major source of summer entertainment.

The cost of public swimming was minimal, but the lucky ones had season tickets. The cashiers who worked at the window had lists of season tickets holders, updated daily. First they verified the list, for all you had to do was say the magic words, “season ticket,” and you were granted admittance. In a small town, everyone knew everyone, and even if you tried to sneak in by lying about having a season ticket or pretending you were someone who did have one, you were soon found out. I always held my breath the first time I said those words, in fear of the information not having been received yet by the pool officials. It never happened though; I always got in. After a week or so, the cashiers recognized the season ticket holders and just gave a bored nod when the troops marched in, rattling the “season ticket” mantra.

A hot day would find a queue of children snaking from the pool entrance atop the hill, all the way down the many steps, and out across the grass below. Most of the kids already had their bathing suits on as well as flip-flops (previously called thongs), and a towel wrapped around their waist. Sometimes we brought clothes to change into after our swim, and other times we just wrapped ourselves in a towel and walked the short distance home, shivering at first but soon warmed by the hot summer sun.

Inside the pool building were two large communal change rooms, one for boys and one for girls. We were required to walk through a shower before we could swim, and I always did it again after my swim to rinse off the chlorine.

The pool was not a heated one so first I sat on the ledge, gingerly dipping in my big toe to test the water. Then I slowly I eased the rest of me in and hopped around in semi-delighted shock, gasping and shivering. After a few minutes I got used to the cold water, wondering why I thought it was cold when it didn’t seem to be so anymore.

Sometimes the lifeguards would blow their shrill whistles that meant everyone had to exit the pool. Usually it was because of some swimming infraction such as running on the deck, and we all had to endure a lecture from the lifeguard.

I vaguely remember my brother and I taking beginners’ swimming classes called “Minnows” where we learned basic things such as the jellyfish float. Swimming lessons were generally held in the mornings, and public swimming in the afternoons. We were in awe of the lifeguards and instructors who looked so smart in their black bathing suits. Once we had some level of skill, we didn’t bother with lessons anymore, but continued to improve our proficiency by daily swimming.

For several years I swam only in the shallow end of the pool which was separated from the deep end by a yellow rope. The rule was that once you could swim three widths of the pool, you were then allowed in the deep end. The day I swam my three widths under the scrutiny of a lifeguard and was granted approval to swim in the deep end, I dunked under that rope and felt a rush of pride. It looked different on the “other side!” At last I could swim in water over my head.

What a long way I had come from a girl who had been traumatized by a near drowning at a young age. After falling into a partially hidden old well on some farm property, my older sister managed to pull me out by my long hair. I remember nothing of this incident, being only two years old at the time. I wondered why I was frightened of something I could not even remember. I decided that from that moment on I was no longer going to fear the water.

Years later, that old swimming pool was demolished and a new, modern indoor one was built at a different location. Now the citizens of my hometown enjoy a five lane, 25 metre pool with many aquatic programs and a swim club.

To this day, no matter what pool I swim in, when I smell the chlorine I am reminded of that pool on a hill, and I become an Egyptian princess once again.

Maria Harden
(c) 2007

Photos: My Mother, with my brother Tim and our cousin Ritva, standing in front of the old pool.

My sister, our cousin and me, playing on the slide at the park where the pool was.

More fun at the park.

Story ID:	2798
Written by:	Maria Harden (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Family Memories
Writers Conference:	$500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project
Location:	Atikokan Ontario Canada
Year:	1959
Person:	Maria