Childhood on Cape Cod ‘back then’ was simpler, less managed and more spontaneous than the experience of today’s kids who are living their wonder years here and now.

‘Back then’ refers to 1945-60, a post-war period that folks who themselves grew up here recall with fondness. Most judge their own childhoods not as better or worse, but rather as merely different from a typical child’s journey today.

Memories of that time revolve around the Cape’s special spots, visited on foot or by bike, train or family car. Swimming, boating, fishing and walks along what were then our less-travelled trails and roads provided opportunities for childhood adventures. It was a time when kids came home muddy and when their parents were more likely to smear stinging Mercurochrome on their cuts than call the doctor, who at that time made house calls!

“Our summers were carefree and spent mostly around Cape waters,” recalls Susan Bonnell, who grew up near Dennis Pond. She and her friends regularly rode back and forth between nearby Bay beaches and the Pond, where lifeguards monitored and taught them to swim. “Parents co-operated to keep tabs on us and supervision was looser,” says Bonnell. She, like other local kids, jumped off the old boardwalk extention and was even allowed to ‘tide-ride’ at Bass Hole, meaning float up and down stream with 6 mph tides supported only by an inflated inner tube. Winters were spent sledding on nearby slopes and openings left by an abandoned golf course behind the Yarmouth Port Post Office or skating on local ponds.

Summer days spent at Dennis Pond included swimming out to the raft with friends, placing pennies on the railroad tracks and waiting for the passing train to “smoosh” them, and hoping the ice cream truck would arrive soon for a cold treat.

John Sears III says that by age eight, children enjoyed lots of freedom and learned to be quite self-reliant. He and his friends made their own entertainment and “lived more in the raw.” Sears credits the widespread use of bikes, on which kids ranged far and wide without the presence of adults. Route 6 did not yet exist, traffic was light and kids were often let loose to play, explore and visit others to make their own fun. The rule was to come home for lunch when the noon whistle blew and then later be home in time for supper.

Sears recalls peddling north up Station Avenue from South Yarmouth to wage fierce pickup baseball games with pals from Yarmouth Port. A rite of passage for boys was a daring plunge off the Bass River Bridge and into the river (a practice now illegal!). Youngsters would often spend the night camped in the woods alone or with friends.

Ross Joly, a Yarmouth Port native, pumped gas and “learned to be a gentleman” in his teens at a Jenney station on 6A, in what is now Barfield’s store. Earlier, he mowed lawns, cleared snow and collected eggs for a farmer (the pay was in eggs!). “The look and exteriors of buildings lining 6A in Yarmouth Port village are little changed since then,” reports Joly.

Jolly’s riskiest childhood escapade was an ill-timed trip into a nearby marsh on a duck hunting expedition. Alone except for his hunting gun and part-retriever dog, the ten-year-old headed into the wilds only to be trapped by the unexpected arrival of a Northeaster. Joly and Spot were lucky to emerge next morning from the boiling tide after a night huddled in the branches of a lonely tree.

Pat Grindell’s memories are suffused with a sense of place. She remembers the ear-splitting blast emitted daily from the northside fire station. For her and friends, this lunch-hour whistle at noon was a signal to jump on their bikes and ride fast to Hallet’s general store on 6A where they would devour the shop’s shakes and homemade sandwiches.

She adds that the then largely uninhabited area northeast of Center Street and the Ancient Cemetery (now called Whaling Port) was covered with many distinctive mounds said to be burial grounds of its long-gone Indigenous occupants. Grindell’s father would escort her, shovel in hand, to delve into those mounds in exciting (and fruitful) quests for ancient arrowheads or to find marbles on marble hill.

The ambiguity of childhood in the old days is well captured in memories of a train ride taken by Cape resident Wanda Loring. She recalls her mother herding her and six other kids on a holiday train ride to a Cape Cod beach from their home near Boston. After a long day the group missed their last connection home. “We were stranded in the waiting room of Bourne station, but the stationmaster kindly allowed us to spread out on the wooden benches for the night,” she says, adding: “That adventure that would get you arrested today!”

Yarmouth Port Railroad Station, Willow Street, 1946

Excerpted from an article written by Bob Leaversuch.