Excerpt from: The Secret of the Old Swing Bridge

A steady downpour pelted the windows of the Wolfe family automobile as it headed north to Washago after breakfast. Undaunted by the weather, Angus had coaxed his father and younger brother to don his rain gear and take a trip north to the scene of their adventure a day earlier. Although he had mulled over the contents of the first page of coded documents, Angus had no clue as to their meaning. His father was equally in the dark.

Approaching the small railway town, the car decelerated quickly in order to negotiate a tight turn off the highway. For some years, Angus and his Dad had noticed a derelict wooden building on what appeared to be the original route of the two-lane highway through the town. From outward appearances, the structure had been an old gasoline service station. Nowadays, it sat abandoned among tall grass, a number of derelict automobiles and other cast-off junk. Nonetheless, the garage door was open, and a couple of men could be seen leaning over the engine of a pickup truck.

Drawing to a stop in front of the old building, Angus, Dougie and their father climbed out of the vehicle. With rain hoods over their heads, the three walked briskly to the open garage door where the men were engaged in their task. "Hi fellows", the older of the two gentlemen said as they approached. He was dressed in blue coveralls, with gray hair and mustache, and a grease-stained baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. Hanging the workshop trouble light onto an opening in the hood, he wiped his hands on a rag and inquired of the elder Wolfe as to how he may be of service.

"We were wondering if this used to be an old service station," Angus jumped in. When answered in the affirmative, he prompted "Do you remember what oil company it was?"

"White Rose," came the immediate reply. "Eddie ran the place until the early 1960s when he closed it up after the highway bypass was put in."

"Is Eddie still around?”

"Yep, lives just two houses down. Still owns this place, we just work here occasionally." A soft chortle, followed by an agonizing grunt and expletive, came from the companion who had been wrestling with the fan belt. "He'd be happy to talk to you, talks to anyone these days. Eddie goes way back, farther than either of us. He's a little funny sometimes, though, you know," the elder gentleman said, tapping a finger to his temple in a demeaning manner. "Don't believe everything he tells you, most of it is hogwash, but he sure tells a good tale!"

Mr. Wolfe thanked the man, then led his two sons back to the vehicle. Removing his hood, Angus said "Dad, I want to talk to somebody in this town who goes back to 1943. Maybe they’ll remember what was going on that summer. After all, that old service station is just a stone’s throw from our tree which toppled in that park." Looking through the rain-streaked windows, the boys could indeed see their favorite playground, separated from the row of old buildings along the former highway by only a grove of trees and a swamp. Where the downed trunk had stood yesterday, only piles of sawdust remained.

As the vehicle pulled over to the shoulder, Angus, Dougie and their father realized that once again they would have to put on their hoods and walk through the rain. Stepping along a wooden walkway, they approached the front porch, where Angus pushed the ringer. A middle-aged woman came to the door, gasped at their drenched condition, then urged them inside. With no hesitation, the Wolfes entered the front hallway and once again doffed their headgear.

"We were speaking to the two gentlemen down at the old service station," Angus began. "They mentioned that a fellow named Eddie used to run the business, and he lived a couple of doors down."

"Yes, he's my father," replied the affable woman. "Would you like to speak to him? He's been sitting on the back porch watching the rain for hours. I imagine he would love someone to talk to. Just as much as you fellows would love a cup of hot chocolate?" she ventured, kneeling down to help Dougie remove his raincoat. "Don't be shy, fellows, just head right in through the back room there and you'll find him. I'll bring the hot chocolate and some biscuits right away."

With a smile, the boys and their Dad headed to the back veranda, where an elderly gentleman was indeed reclining in an old wooden rocking chair. Approaching the oldtimer hesitantly, Angus held out his hand and said "Hi Eddie. My name is Angus, this is my little brother Dougie, and this is my father, Mr. Wolfe." While the lads settled into a hammock chair, the father sat down on a comfortable armchair nearby and clasped the man in a firm handshake.

"Is that so, then," Eddie began. "Well, fellows, what brings you here today? It's too doggone rainy to go fishing and I doubt that you will be playing in your favourite park!" Father and sons looked at each other incredulously as they realized that the gentleman must be familiar with their local haunt. "Yes sir, I seen you brothers playing there for well nigh three years now. Never seen yous come over here, though I wish I coulda been playin’ with that fancy rocket I seen you shootin' off t’other day!"

While the two boys looked at each other with smiles on their faces, their father addressed their new acquaintance. "Eddie, the fellows down at the old service station tell us that you have been here for awhile. I wondered if you went back all the way to 1943, and if you were living in this house then."

Grasping the arms of his chair, Eddie pulled himself forward to accept the mug of coffee which his daughter offered. Angus and Dougie hungrily eyed the plate of cookies which had been set on the table before them, and sipped at their cups of hot chocolate. Mr. Wolfe thanked their hostess, after which she shuffled out of the room with a smile. It was evident that she was very pleased that her father had company on this rainy morning.

"You say 1943. Interesting that you should mention that year, but I'll come back to that later. My dad opened the White Rose station in the mid-1920s, just after the Trent Seven Canal came through. A few years before the War, I became his grease monkey, changing tires, filling radiators, checking oil, all that kind of thing. Gosh, we was busy then. You wouldn't know any of this, but that road out there used to be the main highway through Washago. There were only two service stations in the town, and we got the lion's share of the business. Folks in their cars would be backed up for miles sometimes, with the old swing bridge and two railway crossings.” He guffawed and reached for a cookie. “Would you believe that they even got into fist fights? On holiday weekends, the traffic in one direction could be backed up five miles! The poor bridge tender barricaded himself in his shack! Boats would be a honkin’, cars would sideswipe each other on the narrow bridge, with door handles and chrome bein’ scraped off. There were more lawsuits and complaints over that one bridge than any on the entire highway! But,” he smiled as he watched Angus tackle a peanut butter cookie, “all those cars stopped in front of our service station meant lots of business. As a boy, I used to walk up and down the whole string of ‘em selling candy bars, chips, cigarettes and even ice cream on some days!"

Mr. Wolfe could see that the old fellow was indeed getting worked up, and the tales were indeed entertaining. He wanted to steer Eddie back to their matter of interest, though. "You mentioned 1943 as being an interesting summer. Had you taken over the service station from your father by then? Or did something else happen?"

Sipping on his coffee for a few moments, the old fellow winced and then settled back into his chair. "Well, there were a lot of things that happened during the War, but I remember the summer of 1943 especially. Dad was still runnin’ the shop, but I was doing everything with him by then. It wasn't anything to do with the service station that was of interest, though.” He paused, and his voice sank to an undertone. “It was the big kerfuffle down by the railway yards."