REMEMBERING ERIC SKEOCH FONDLY…FEBRUARY 8, 1940 TO AUGUST 1, 2O24
alan skeoch
(brother)
October 6. 2024
My brother, Eric Skeoch, died on August 1, 2024. His death was a shock to all who new him and particularly to
me as we were close enough to be twins. The only example of sibling rivalry that comes to mine is the ‘cake
icing caper’ below.
we shared 80 years of adventures. I miss him.
These are my memories of Eric revealed in an imaginary conversation…the kind we had often when
he was alive.
THE IMAGINARY CONVERSATION
Eric, remember The Cake Icing caper? It comes to mind first and foremost as I begin to remember
you.. The Cake Icing caper does not reflect well on me
but the incident shows in a simple way Eric’s planning skill.
Mom made good cakes with real cake icing liberally lathered on cake that had the bad tendency
to dry out. Eric sliced the icing off the cake and looked forward to wolfing it down after the cake was gone. I knew that
and planed to grab te slab of icing and then race down the back stairs before Eric could slide off
the kitchen chair. My moment. I grabbed the slab and raced for the door.
That is as far as I got. Eric knew what was about to happen. He had locked the door. And he pinned me to the wall.
He may have landed a punch but he was too busy laughing to do any damage.
I think mom and dad were part of Eric’s scheme.
Such a trivial story. Then again Such a meaningful story because it shows both Eric’s wit and his knowledge of
my frailties.
Hey Eric, remember Dad taking us sleigh riding. Our new sleigh. Must have been around 1944 or
thereabouts. Remember dad said ‘you boys wait at the top of the Grenadier hill while I test the
sleigh.” We waited and waited and waited but Did never returned. Far below a crowd had gather around a tree.
Eventually we slid downtime hill on our bums to find dad and our slight wrapped around a tree. Dad
broke some ribs but we were more concerned about our broken sleigh.
Hey, Eric, remember those wild peccaries at the High Park Zoo? Vicious little wild kind of pig. Dad thought we could get closer to
them by climbing up behind those pigs. They had tusks. There must have been about 30 of them
waiting to greet us. They had tunnelled under the wire fencing
and were in attack mode. I will never forget dad carrying you Eric and trying to kick the peccaries
while yelling at me to get the hell out of there. He was surrounded but got a couple of good kicks away.
What if he had fallen Eric? Would the pigs devour both of you and then come for me?
That must have been the springtime of 1943. You were 3 years old and I was 5.
Hey Eric, remember perching on old Mr. Howard’s cannon. Dad took us there under duress.
He preferred to take us to Dufferin Racetrack didn’t he? Mom must have persuaded him to keep him
away from the Dufferin track. where he wasted his pay checks. He wanted us to be little more self reliant scam artists
like the Artful Dodgers in Dickens novel.
Dufferin racetrack was close to our flat at 18 Sylvan Avenue. The racetrack was dad’s real home…that was where
all his paychecks were spent. Mom supported our family as a sweatshop garment maker. How she did that remains a mystery.
Remember when we were big enough to sneak into Dufferin Racetrack. You were 8 and I was 9. Just the right age to scamper under the
fence where gamblers gathered. “Boys your job is to Pick up all the tickets that are dropped. Always some
fool drops a good one.” We got piles of them. Dad said not to bother with tickets covered in
tobacco juice. Remember seeing dad checking them? Occasionally he would find a good one
which he could cash. That was his scam not ours. He kept the cash while we enjoyed being part
of his skulduggery.
Remember dad showing us how to run our own scam at the racetrack? “Boys, gather up
some of those racing forms thrown away by people leaving the track then sell them
for a quarter the next day” We did that successfully a couple of times. Good money. Someone
must have complained because we were chased away. Too bad for the guys betting on
yesterdays horses. Good for us.
Hey Eric,remember how dad a showed us how to get into just about any racetrack or Fair free? …like
the Royal Winter Fair. “Eric hold my hand.
look straight ahead as if you own the place.” And dad would put his free hand on the rump of a
Holstein cow or Shorthorn steer being led into the showroom. That worked every
time as I remember. More difficult at the racetracks but doable.
He yEric, remember how dad used that scam wherever tickets were required. Like sneaking into
the Club House at the old Woodbine track. “Look straight ahead…no expression on your faces…slip by the
gate, I know a man there… we don’t look nervous …we will be fine.”
That was a lesson in life skills not taught at school. Bit of a scam. We developed nerves of steel.
Hey Eric, remember when Uncle Norman arrived at our house with half a pig. Trail in blood from
his half ton truck to our flat om Sylvan avenue. Or was that just my imagination? Food was short due to rationing in the war years.
Remember tn\hose pork pies mom made?
Hey Eric remember when dad bought that horse in a claims race…part of a horse really.
We sneaked into the track through the board fence to the stables. We got there just in time
to hear the shot. The horse reared ump a bit then fell down dead as I remember. We were
relieved. How was dad ever going to keep a horse in our flat? Mom would have been fit
to be tied. Not sure that dad ever told her. If he did mom would have said her usual
criticism of him. “Oh Red, you fathead.”
Hey Eric, remember when you knocked Barclay Cormack’s front teeth out with the baseball bat?
His baby teeth. Remember all those kids we played with?…Jimmy Melvin, Joan Linton, Bobby Samanas,
Barclay Cormack, you and me? Barclay was the catcher…played too close to thebatzer.
Even professional catchers get whomped occasionally.
Hey Eric,remember how Bobby Samanas’s dad made us wooden Tommy Guns for our
imaginary war in Dufferin Park? Remember how we ventured up to Mount Dennis and
the Mount Dennis gang smashed our wooden guns against a tree and chased us home.?
Hey Eric, remember how we collected orange crates and roller skates to make scooters.
When the crates broke they were easy to replace so we had our own little demolition derby.
The skates were the running gear…half a skate on each end of a short 2 x 4.
Hey Eric, remember the Robertson candy truck heist ? We made a big mistake that day.
We watched two boys steal chocolate bars from the Robertson truck. They ran home. Down Dufferin
Street below College Street. We knew them. A police car arrived and the cop asked if anyone had
seen the robbery. “We did!” The officer then put us in his cruiser and questioned us. “Do you know where
the thieves live? “Yes sir,” we answered a bit nervously. “Come along.” He knocked on the door
“He turned to us…”Are these the boys?” We new then and there we were in trouble as snitches.
For days we went to and from Kent Public School nervously. Nothing happened fortunately but fingering
bad guys to the police was avoided from then on.
Hey Eric, remember the school dentist. Free for kids. He fixed lone of my teeth. “If it bleeds hold your
mouth over the curb of the sidewalk until it stops.” We were expected to be tough rather than sucks.
Hey Eric, I envied you big time. You were right handed. I was left handed. You could do just about
anything. Like catch a baseball. I fumbled. Baseball gloves were made for right handed people
like you and 90% of kids. I was an oddball. Worse! My teachers in grade 3 or 4 or both decided to
“brake me”. Force me to use my right hand. It did not work so they gave up. Result is that I cannot
tell; right from left. f someone says “turn left or turn right”,I have to think about it. I am no 86 years old
and still have trouble. You became a better athlete than me. I was OK at sports…but not terrific.
You were terrific. You were Chosen to attend the Ontario Athletic Leadership Camp one summer
as I remember. I envied you.
We were close friends all our lives. Little sibling rivalry. I miss you every time I see cake icing.
END PART 1; Celebration of Eric Skeoch’s life. AN imaginary conversation.