Memories from Childhood Summers

The Flying Horses came to the Island in 1884 from Coney Island. I came from NJ in 1944.  

The Flying Horses don’t actually have wings, but as you make the first circuit you feel like you’re about to fly out the open windows.

I flew on these beautiful horses every day when I was a little girl (still do when I get the chance). The ticket-taker was a young man who would never take my tickets! We tried everything to get him to take them. We brought him candy and cookies and tried slipping the tickets in with them . . . nothing worked. At the end of the summer I said I wanted to buy him a gift, so off my mom and I went to purchase what I thought was a novel idea: a tie. I was 5 years old; what did I know about buying gifts for men? He, by the way, was about 13, but in my eyes he was a grown-up. We put the tie in the box with all of summer’s uncollected tickets.  As he came around to NOT collect my ticket I handed him the box. He smiled. Ah ha, success . . . or so I thought. As we were leaving the Flying Horses, he came over and thanked us for the tie. And as we turned to leave, he handed us the tickets. I won’t say who he is, just that he turned out to be an official in Oak Bluffs in later years . . . and someone I’ve never forgotten.

Another childhood memory was going to Bible School in the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle, built in 1879 and Trinity Methodist Church, built in 1878 have shared the same grassy circle known as Trinity Park for over 130 years.

Many of my summers I spent my mornings at Bible School in the Tabernacle.  As was the custom, a girl and a boy would be chosen each morning to walk from the Tabernacle to Trinity Church and ring the 8 o’clock bell. I waited almost all summer to hear my name called, I didn’t think it was ever going to happen. Finally, it did and off across the lawn my partner and I scampered.

Inside the vestibule tied to the staircase railing was the thickest rope I’d ever seen. The rope was attached to the bell way, way, way up in the steeple. The longer we stood there and pondered the situation, the higher up the bell seemed to get.

First, though, we had to untie the rope. It did not go well; we fumbled along and finally the rope was free from the railing. Time was ticking, but neither of us were aware of how close to 8 o’clock we were coming.

Now all we had to do was pull the rope and the bell would ring and . . . well, that did not go well. either.  Neither one of us had enough weight to pull the rope hard enough to ring the bell. Rope burn was the least of our problems, though, as now we were sure it was after 8 o’clock and we’d failed our mission. With what strength we had left we both grabbed the rope, stood on one of the steps and jumped.  Just as our teacher walked in the door to see what the problem was . . . bong, bong, bong! It was ringing; the bell was peeling loud and strong. We had succeeded . . . we had only missed the 8 o’clock bell by, oh, 10 or so minutes.  Who would notice!

When I got home at lunch time the first thing my mother said was “the 8 o’clock bell was a bit late this morning. Do you know who was ringing it this morning?”  I said it had been me. She shook her head slowly and said nothing, but I did notice a little smile. By the way, I was never asked to ring the bell again.