Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Dave Plays Santa - Dave Plays Santa & Springhill

Episode Date: November 28, 2025

“Christmas in Dave’s record store is just plain fun”On today’s episode, Jess talks about the challenges of trying to create Christmas magic when you’re not necessarily feeling it yourself. That’s a bit of the back story behind Stuart’s writing of “Dave Plays Santa” - we’ll play that story for you. And we’ve got another back story connected to “Dave Plays Santa”, which links to our second story this week. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

from the apostrophe podcast network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton, and this is backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. We've got two Davin Morley stories for you today. let's start with a Christmas story, a story where Dave plays Santa, not the real Santa, of course. He's just pretending here. He dresses up as Santa for an event at the community center. Here's the backstory for this one. It came out of an idea that Meg Stewart and I had, that there can be sort of a no man's land at Christmas. We were all feeling it that particular year. Meg and Stewart both had kids, but their kids had sort of, sort of a no man's land at Christmas. We were all feeling it that particular year. Meg and Stewart both had kids, but their kids had sort of aged out of Christmas. They were too old for the excitement of Christmas morning and too young to have children of their own. And it was the same for me. I was in my early 20s and at that point I didn't have any kids yet. So all three of us were in the zone where Christmas sort of felt a bit meh. And that posed a problem because let's face it, Stewart's job was to create magic at Christmas

for others, to create it, or if not to create it, to capture it and celebrate it. And to do that, you have to access that feeling yourself. You have to find that Christmas spirit inside of yourself. Stuart just wasn't feeling it that year. It was tough. I don't remember whose idea it was to try to work with that. It was probably Meg's. Most of the good ideas were hers. The idea was rather than try to work against that reality, Stuart should try to work with it. Stuart was struggling to capture and celebrate the spirit of Christmas. What if Dave was struggling with that, too? What if Dave was also feeling Christmas, meh, instead of Christmas magic?

Sam and Stephanie were older now, and Meg figured Dave might be in the place where she and Stewart were. So that's how he got to it. And you can see where it went from there. This is Stuart McLean with Dave Plays Santa. Every December, Dave sets up what his neighbors that tell you is the most dramatic Christmas display anywhere in the country. Centerpiece is a six-foot-tall, red and green lava lamp in the shape of a Christmas tree.

You start with that tree, and you add to it some of the most extraordinary Christmas music ever recorded, a bootleg of Sid Vicious playing the harp and singing ten classic Christmas carols, Carol Channing's less than sober rendition of a child's Christmas in Wales. Christmas and Dave's record store is just plain fun, and the spirit which he creates in there

never fails to rub off on him, except this year. This year Dave was looking at Christmas and he was feeling blue. I don't know, said Dave, to Kenny Wong late one Friday night. They were sitting at the counter of the record store near the front. They were drinking scotch and playing a game which involves flipping plastic centers from 45 RPM records at a spinning turntable, trying to land the centers on the spindle.

I don't know, said Dave, getting up and picking up a handful of the colorful plastic centers that were scattered around the floor. Just can't figure it out. It's pretty obvious, said Kenny. and it was obvious. Dave was about to face Christmas with two grown children. Stephanie away at college, Sam, already in middle school. Christmas, which began with a child,

is always richer when they're young children around. And this Christmas, Dave, was going to be caught in that no-man's land between children and grandchildren, a land that can be as cold as the North Pole. he'd already tried to call her Sam to go out to the country with him to cut a tree but Sam didn't want to drive to the country when Dave asked Sam beg Dave to buy the tree at the corner lot instead when Dave called Stephanie at school to ask about her Christmas plan

she wouldn't even talk to him she was too busy she was writing papers studying for exams Dave was doing all this Christmas work at the store but Christmas wasn't working for him not that is until the Tuesday evening Dave showed up at the local rec center. Half an hour late for an organizing meeting of the annual neighborhood Christmas party. He almost didn't go. And if he hadn't gone, he would have missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

For years, the 275-pound Zamboni driver, Bobby Paul Teal, had played Santa. But Bobby Paul Teal had spent the last year shedding 100 pounds. Bobby said My therapist says it would be regressive to play a fat man this year So when Bert Turlington said Volunteers Dave's hand shot up like a

first grader Thinking if he did this thing It would be a big improvement He would do it properly He would be as close to the real McCoy as you can get Now this isn't to be the real Santa Claus Of course

Real Santa Claus is too busy At this time a year to show up at a party like a Dave's rec center This is just a stand-in. Dave never thought Bobby was a particularly good Santa. All he seemed to have going for him was his weight. He had a cheesy, faded costume, an unconvincing fiber beard, and his eyebrows. His eyebrows, his jet black eyebrows, for heaven's sakes, crawling across his forehead like two huge caterpillars.

So Dave came home from that meeting, and he told Morley what he was going to do, and she said, that's sweet. and then the next morning she came downstairs to find Dave standing by the stove Dave who normally has a coffee for breakfast and not a lot more Dave standing by the stove looking guilty his hands behind his back so Morley said what are you doing and Dave said nothing I'm not doing anything nothing honest 20 years married they stared at each other and they both knew he wasn't fooling either of them

he was hiding something behind his back and the thing that he was hiding was a piece of white bread that he had dipped in the frying pan in Sam's bacon grease he said I want to gain 30 pounds by Christmas now fat has twice the calories of protein or carbohydrates therefore the most direct and efficient way to put on weight

is to eat fat that night Dave came home with two bags of fat. Cream, he said, pulling a full liter, 18% cream out of the bag of groceries. For coffee, said Morley, and for when you're thirsty, said Dave. Then he reached into his bag of grocery, smoked meat, he said. Sausage. Then he was waving a bag of Tim Horton donuts at his wife. Maybe you'd like to be Mrs. Claus, he said.

Mere week later, Dave stood in front of the bedroom. jiggling the little mound of fat that was gathering under his ribcage. There is more of me than there used to be, said Dave cheerfully. I'm defying physics. I'm creating matter. A week later, Dave stopped shaving. The night before, he had watched the miracle of 34th Street. He'd always liked the story. This time, however, he'd been watching from a technical point of view.

When Sam sat down beside him, he was making notes about, Chris Kringle's beard. It's a little too groomed, he said, too neat. Dave's beard did not come in too groomed or too neat. By the middle of the month, Dave looked more like he was getting ready to play a diseased werewolf than Santa Claus. I'm not sure that beard is making you look at all like Santa. Morley grumbled one morning. She had slept badly. All night long, David bumped into her. His growing belly was like having a third person in bed with him. And each time his face, or more correctly, his facial hair had touched her, Morley had awoken thinking someone was grooming her with a wire brush. She got dressed for work that day. She was thinking when she got

home, they'd have to have a serious talk. The whole Santa thing was going just a little too far. Dave was thinking that Morley was right. Beard wasn't doing a lot. for his Santa look. David decided if he was going to make a more convincing Santa, he should have a soft white head of hair to go with his beard. David decided he was going to bleach his hair. He went to the basement and he filled the laundry tub with four liters of water. He added a liter of bleach. He stood there in his boxer shorts. Not sure how long you were supposed to do this sort of thing. Set the alarm on

his watch for five minutes. And then he had another idea. Not only would he bleach his hair, he would bleach his beard at the same time. He took a deep breath of air. He dipped his whole

head into the same. His scalp began to tingle. Not an unpleasant feeling. At first. At first, it was rather invigorating. It was invigorating, that is, until it began to sting. It began to sting, and then the stinging moved on to pain.

And Dave did a little dance trying to distract himself, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. His head still bent into the water, determined to go the full five minutes. And because he was concentrating so hard at staying the whole five minutes, because he envisioned the bleach slowly working at Santa Magic on his hair, when Arthur the dog came up quietly behind him. When Arthur the dog, fascinated by Dave's protruding, dancing, jiggling bottom,

when Arthur came up behind him and gave Dave's bottom a quick little sniff with his wet nose. A little prod that said, hey there. Dave jerked up in surprise and cracked his head on the tap. Then he staggered backwards too stunned to do anything about the bleach dripping down his face. And suddenly his face was burning and, of course, he had his eyes screwed shut and he dared open them. So he staggered around the basement looking for something, anything, to wipe the bleach off his face. And the first thing he came across was Morley's blue sweater. The cashmere one.

Of course, Dave had no idea it was a blue sweater. till he opened his eyes. When he finally got himself settled and dried off, he went upstairs to the bathroom. And when he looked in the bathroom mirror, he was startled to see that his head looked like the head of Stephanie's old Barbie doll. The one that Arthur had chewed. His hair was stringy and brittle and sticking out in all directions.

More yellow than gray. With just a hint of green. And as for his face, His face was an alarming shade of red, and he was beginning to peel. He looked like a dehydrating strawberry. The experience shook him up. He'd have to work on a Santa makeover to be sure, but he knew he'd have to have a backup plan as well.

If he couldn't look like Santa, he'd better be able to think like Santa. So the next day he went to the library to bone up. He checked out three books on Santa Claus, 101 questions about Santa Claus, how to be Santa Claus, and the most helpful, the flight of the reindeer. He had two weeks to cram, and cram he did. And eventually, the big day arrived, as big days always do. And at seven o'clock that Saturday night, Dave got dressed, and he headed off. Good luck, said Borley as he left. Dave didn't feel as if he needed good luck. He'd finally finished his Santa transformation. He had put on 27 and a half pounds. His skin had healed. His beard had finally grown in.

He had, despite his reservations, trimmed it neatly. And he had rented a deluxe velvet costume trimmed and soft white fur. It even had an impressive black leather belt with a shiny silver buckle. He looked, no doubt about it. like the real McCoy. And he was going to sound like the real McCoy, too, because he had borrowed a walkie-talkie and a small earpiece, so his assistant, his Christmas elf,

his neighborhood nemesis, Mary Turlington. So Mary Turlington could feed him information. He would call each child by name as they sat in his lap. Oh, he's going to dazzle him with his magical knowledge of their lives. For one night, he would be sad. He gave his hat one last adjustment, tossing the white fur pom-pom behind him as he bounced through the rec center door, and a cluster of small, intent children immediately formed around him. Seven-year-old Chantelle Richards tugging at his jacket.

Hi, Dave, she said. Dave, he said, who's Dave? I'm Santa. Whatever, said eight-year-old. Hayden Clark. Mrs. Turlington is looking for you. Dave couldn't believe it. He hadn't fooled them for a minute. The moment Dave settled into his Santa throne, he knew he was in trouble. Mary Turlington is Christmas elf, who was wearing red stiletto heels, green fishnet stockings, kept calling him Dave in a big booming voice. At least call me Chris Kringle or St. Nicholas or or Nick or something, anything, he said.

Mary had been working on the logistics of the night. She had written down stuff on cue cards to get Dave out of sticky situations, things that he could say so he could slide by inappropriate requests. Dave flipped through the cards with Mary. He read her one out loud, well, I don't know about a motorbike, but I can promise you some wonderful surprises under the tree. Then he looked at Mary Turlington and he said, you know, Mary, I don't think.

Santa is a fence sitter. Whatever you say, Nick, snapped Mary as she wandered away with a walkie-talkie to the far side of the room. With the two of them squabbling, where else was the night heading except South? Right off the bat, Dave couldn't hear what Mary was saying to him over the walkie-talkie, so he had to improvise right from the beginning. Hello, Holly, said Dave to the first little girl who crawled up on his lap. Molly, screamed Marion to her microphone. It's Molly with an M. She has lice, Nick. What? Said Dave, squirming awkwardly. He was trying to keep his beard from touching the kid's head. He was trying to peer through her hair nervously. What do you want for Christmas,

Holly? My name is Molly, said the little girl. I'm I want toys for my mice. Oh, said Dave, squinting at Mary. Mice. At a boy, Nick. And that pretty well summed the night up. There were the kids who screamed. There were the terrified kids who fought to get away,

who didn't want anything to do with them. There were the kids who just stared, stared and stared, and wouldn't talk, wouldn't say a word, no matter what, Dave did or said. There were the cocky kids who gave him a rough time. and the older kids who didn't give them the time a day. It wasn't the way Dave had imagined it at all. Dave felt downright melancholy.

And while all this was going on, one little boy, his name is Aaron, and he's seven years old. While Dave was suffering through his dark hour, Mary Turlington barking at him more and more belligerently, Aaron was standing on the side, eyeing Dave suspiciously. and then almost when it was over Aaron seven years old climbed into Dave's lap and he said I don't like Mrs. Turlington's earrings. Me neither said Dave and Aaron smiled and he said you're not

the same guy as last year. Now Dave's first instinct was to deny it and he almost did he almost said of course I'm the same guy what do you think but there was something about that kid that stopped him, the way his ears stuck out maybe, or the glasses, he was wearing thick glasses with clear plastic frames, or maybe it was his arms, which were too skinny. The kid reminded Dave of himself when he was a boy, and instead of denying it, Dave said, you're right, I'm not the same guy. Guy last year was a fake, said the boy with a skinny arms. Dave didn't say anything. And then the boy said, I have some questions. And Dave nodded.

Boy said, where do elves come from? Saskatchewan, said Dave. Adding Saskatchewan originally. Then they spread to Greenland and Ireland. Boy nodded earnestly. I thought so, he said. Then he said, can all reindeer fly? Dave said, some can only glide.

They have very flexible ligaments. And they get up some speed and then they jump and glide. It's like a flying squirrel sort of. There are very few who can actually gain altitude, who can mount to the sky. How do they do it? said the boy. Well, I get a running start and then they grunt softly when they lift off and they tuck their heads in and once they're underway,

it's part gliding and part flying. It's pretty hard to believe, you know, said the boy. I understand, said Dave. And the two of them stared at each other for a while. In his ear, Dave could hear Mary Turlington saying something, probably telling him to hurry up. And then Dave said, you shouldn't feel bad about that, you know.

About doubting, I mean. Anything worth believing in is worth doubting. People have been arguing about it forever, and not just children, adults too. Lots of people don't believe. Every day you pass many people on the street who don't believe. I know, said the boy, my brother doesn't believe, said Dave, there are lots of brothers who don't believe. I knew you weren't the same guy as last year, said the boy. He wouldn't answer my questions, and besides, I saw your sleigh on the

the way in. You saw the sleigh, said Dave. Not many people see the sleigh. It was just a glimpse, said the boy. It was like a flash. Those must be very good glasses, said Dave. Did you want a present? No thanks, said the boy. The presents are dumb here. I have another question. Fire away, said Dave. Why do you do it? What? said Dave. Why do you do it? Last year you brought me a train.

Uh-huh, said Dave. What did I do to deserve it? Said the boy. It doesn't matter, said Dave. Whatever it was, it doesn't matter. I don't know, said the boy. I can't believe that you would do that for me. How does it make you feel? said Dave.

makes me feel warm inside and that's when Dave noticed that they were holding hands well they weren't holding hands the boy had Dave's fingers in his hand he was fiddling with Dave's fingers Dave wasn't sure how long this had been happening sometimes said the boy when I'm sad I think about you and it makes the sad go away that's why I do it said Dave that's why

the boy nodded and he said oh and then he climbed down out of Dave's lap awkwardly and he stood in front of him and he said thanks and then the walkie-talkie was crackling in Dave's ear come on Nick said Mary we're falling behind Dave looked up and there was another kid walking up the ramp this one's Brian he has worms Nick what said Dave squinting his eyes trying to make sense of the squawks. It took only 15 minutes to finish with the rest of the children. Aaron hovered around Dave the whole time, hovered and watched and listened until his parents scooped him up to take him home. And with the last child left his lap, Dave went to the

Zamboni room. He was going to change, but a few of the other fathers came in and someone had a case of beer, and they sat there and drank the beer. And when it was time to go, everyone had left from the arena. And Dave thought, what the heck? And he left. And he left. his costume on. Kenny Wong said he'd drive Dave home, but Dave said, I think I'll walk. Dave said, I want to enjoy this a few minutes longer. He pointed to his belly, to his suit, being sad, he said. Dave went out the back door of the arena and started home. It was snowing out and the city was bathed in the still white silence of winter. Dave thought maybe he'd see a decoration on someone's roof or something on a lawn somewhere that Aaron might have

mistaken for a sleigh, for his sleigh, but he didn't see anything. Halfway along the street, he began singing quietly, jingle bells. It was snowing hard now, big, thick flakes coming down. He was walking down the middle of the road where the walking was easier, wearing his bright red jacket, his soft velvet hat. He was the only person there. And up the corner, something made him look up, up at the third floor window, and he saw a young head staring out into the night, and he stopped, and he waved, and the child who was maybe five, maybe six, and should have been asleep hours ago, raised his small hand in a kind of salute, and Dave smiled, and Dave made a little bow toward the boy, and he saw the boy turn around

and he could tell the boy was calling for somebody to come quick, and Dave turned to. Dave turned and kept walking, heading home, into the night, and into the snow. Thank you very much. Thank you. That was the story we called Dave plays Santa. I'm not sure where that was recorded, but it was back in 2003. I told you the backstory of that one earlier, but that story is also the backstory for a totally different story. That Dave and Morley story, you heard, is the backstory of a different Dave and Morley story.

Stewart struggled to write Dave play Santa. As I told you earlier, he just wasn't feeling it that year. He struggled to get into it. And when he was struggling like that, one of his tricks was to go into deep research mode. He would write pages and pages of backstory to understand what the characters were going through, contextual details to help him understand the stuff beneath the surface that would lead a character to behave one way or another. That research could also spark something fun for him, an idea maybe, or a feeling to be explored. Like I said, Stuart went into deep research for that Santa story, and the first draft of it was very different than the

the one you just heard. It included a scene where Dave went down the chimney. Stuart spent several days writing that one scene and he researched the physics of it, trying to understand how it would work. Would he fit down the chimney or would he get stuck? Would he go head first or would he go foot first? What type of chimney would it have to be for the physics of that to work? What would happened to him when he went down the chimney? Would he be covered in soot? Would he get caught on something? What would that look like? What would that feel like? He researched all of that and he wrote the scene. And in the scene, he had Dave get caught halfway down the chimney. His clothing, I think. I don't remember it exactly, but I think his clothing got stuck on something.

when Stuart read that first draft to me probably Meg too I don't remember talking to her about this but when he read that first draft to me I was like uh Stuart I mean that's kind of a downer for Christmas I mean he's trapped alone in a chimney do we really want Dave to get trapped in the chimney for Christmas it felt lonely and sort of claustrophobic and not at all the feeling we go for for the big, funny Christmas story. So he put that idea aside and he went down another path. But he didn't throw that idea away. He saved it. It didn't make it into that story, the one you just heard, but it became the impetus for another story, the story where Dave as a boy gets caught in a laundry shoot. That story, the one you just heard, Dave is Santa. That story, that story,

story was the inspiration for Stuart to write a wildly different story called Spring Hill. We're going to play you that one after the break, so stick around. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. Before the break, I told you that the first story we played, Dave plays Santa, originally had a scene in it where Dave tried to go down the chimney. But as he went down, he got caught. Most of that early draft of the story was about what it felt like for Dave to be trapped in the chimney. But it didn't really feel Christmas-y to us.

Christmas, for me anyway, is mostly about others. It's about being with other people and spending time with the people you love. having a claustrophobic story where Dave spends Christmas alone in a chimney, it just didn't feel Christmassy to us. So Stewart started again, but he didn't throw away that original idea. He saved it. And it was the jumping off point for this story. This is Stuart McLean with Spring Hill. Spring comes later to the Cape Breton Highlands than it does to other parts of this country. It came this year to Dave's hometown, the village of Big Narrows, as it always comes, on the sudden cry of a crow flapping over the hill behind the Macaulay's farm.

The sound of the crow brought old man McCauley sprinting out of the barn, as sure a sign as spring as anything. He stood in his muddy farmyard, squinting into the pale sun, his dog beside him, tail wagging, head cocked, staring into the sky too. overnight the snow on all the hills turned granular and little rivers began appearing everywhere all the kids in town got wet and pretty soon everything smelled of damp wool by the weekend even the adults adjoined in the festivities on saturday afternoon it seemed everyone in the narrows was out in their yards trying to hurry spring along chipping away at stubborn piles of snow with shovels hose and axes on monday Dave's mother Margaret struck with spring fever

decided it was warm enough to walk downtown to get the mail she stopped at McDonnell's grocery and picked up a pint of milk for her tea and that was when the most unexpected thing in the world happened Margaret was chatting with Julie DeSette about something for the life of her she can't remember what maybe about the weather maybe about how nice it was

to be warm again when Margaret turned and saw the man sitting at the table by the door. There was a sign taped to the table. A sign read Big Narrows Volunteer Fire Department, Home Safety Inspections. It wasn't, however, the sign that caught Margaret's attention. It was the man. He was adorable, said Margaret, when she was telling the story to her friend Ruth. He was wearing a soft plaid shirt, cotton, and a beige windbreaker. He had thin gray hair and large ears. And before Margaret knew what she was doing, she was talking to him. His name was Smith Gardner. He told Margaret he was new in town, used to be the fire chief in Port Hawkesbury. Margaret, 27 years widowed, signed up for a home inspection.

I'll put you down for Thursday morning, said the adorable. horrible man. Margaret went right home and started cleaning. Deep cleaning. She dragged the scatter rugs into the backyard and drooped them over the clothesline. She beat them with an inch of their lives. She mopped and waxed the kitchen floor. She polished the silver. On Thursday morning, she was waiting in her kitchen when Angus McLeod pulled into her front yard and his red pickup and walked up to her front door carrying a clipboard. Hello, Margaret, said Angus. They sent me over to do a safety inspection.

Margaret was expecting the adorable man in the soft plaid shirt. Angus McLeod, she heard herself say, you're not inspecting my house. I want someone with a little more experience than you. And then Margaret, who's known throughout the Narrows as one of the kindest and most sensitive women in the village slammed the door in Angus McLeod's face. Oh my, she said.

Her back to the door, her hand to her mouth. She watched Angus through the kitchen curtains as he drove away. Leonard Milton showed up two hours later. Margaret sent Leonard away too. Leonard Milton, she said, not you. On Friday afternoon, Arnie Gallagher called. Arnie as big narrows as one man band. From his storefront on Water Street,

Arnie serves big narrows as florist, funeral home director, gift store manager, and travel agent. Arnie is also fire chief and mayor. Margaret said Arnie, I have been thinking on things. I've been thinking that I've been sending you men who aren't as experienced as you might require. Margaret, there's a new gentleman in town.

He used to be the chief of the Port Hawkesbury Fire Department. I think he might have the sort of experience necessary to inspect a house like yours. Margaret said, that would be just fine, Arnie. Smith Gardner arrived at Margaret's house the following Tuesday. just after lunch. He was wearing a gray fisherman sweater with a rolled neck. He said, I'll start upstairs and work my way down. He smelled of old spice. Day's father, Margaret's late husband, Charlie, he was an old spice man. It took him 20 minutes. When he was finished, he walked

into the kitchen. You need a smoke detector upstairs, he said. The court on the big lamp in the living room should be replaced. Otherwise, you're in good shape. I'll write it up. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. Would you like a muffin, said Margaret? He sat down. He nodded at the baseball hat hanging by the back door. You a Yankee fan, he asked. Margaret told him all about her trip to New York City. Charlie and I had always planned on going together, she said. And she told him how she had gone by herself, how she had met Ruth in the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel. Ruth bought me the hat, she said. I wear it in the garden. She was warming her hands on her mug of tea. Going to New York, she said, meeting Ruth. It changed my life. They sat silently for a few moments and then she said,

when your wife died, did people stop including you? Smith Gardner smiled. Then Margaret said, my friends would only have me over on the nights their husbands went out. I was okay for girls' nights, but not for the nights people really got together. Like you would upset the balance, said Smith. He stayed for two hours. Margaret told him about her grandchildren, Sam and Stephanie in Toronto, Margo in Halifax. Smith had just finished telling Margaret about his grandchildren, when she picked up a towel and wiped at the table absent-mindedly, she stood and walked across the kitchen, she opened a tiny door in the wains cutting of the kitchen wall, and she threw the towel in and shut the door.

Whoa, said Smith, rising out of his chair. Is that a laundry shoot? He was so alarmed that it scared Margaret. I'm sorry, he said, but it's a huge fire hazard. If you like, I could come back and seal it up. He said he could fix the lamp cord, too, and bring a smoke detector. Margaret said, that would be nice. He said, well, I better be going then. But he didn't leave for another hour. After he left, Margaret picked up her New York Yankees baseball hat, and she fiddled with it. She put it on, and she went into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror.

She twirled the hat around, so the peak was facing backwards. Play ball, she said. Then she phoned her friend Ruth. Sounds like you're falling in love, said Ruth. Don't be ridiculous, said Margaret. I'm too old to fall in love. How old are you, said Ruth, who had been dying to ask.

There's an eight in it, said Margaret. That afternoon, Margaret wandered around her house aimlessly, walking between the parlor and the living room in a daze until she was standing beside the laundry chute, with her hand on the laundry chute door, not at all sure how long she'd been standing there. When she realized what she was doing, she went and fetched a flashlight from under the,

sink. If Smith Gardner was going to board the laundry shoot up, Margaret wanted to see the little piece of leather hanging halfway up at one last time. It got there in 1959, the year after the last big bump at Spring Hill. Dave was still a young boy, Annie was even younger. Margaret had gone out to take food up to her sister who had lost her Donnie when the mine went down, and Dave nine years old, alone with his little sister, Annie, was all about playing Spring Hill mining disaster. They began to mine for coal in Spring Hill, Nova Scotia, in the 1800s. So by 1958, the coal mine in Spring Hill was one of the deepest mines in the world.

The number two collier, the colliery that collapsed. was a labyrinth of tunnels and caverns. At the face of the mine, it was over 14,000 feet deep. It was a couple of hours after supper on a Thursday evening near the end of October when the mine face collapsed. People who lived in Spring Hill knew what had happened right away. It was like a earthquake when it went. Phones bumped off tables.

Pictures fell off walls. And off-duty coalmen dropped what they were doing and ran for the mine. There were 174 men trapped underground. By dawn, they had 75 of them on the surface. That's when the real work began. Soon men were heading for Spring Hill from all over Nova Scotia to help. Dave's dad, Charlie, drove five miners from Glace Bay.

They drove all night. It was one of the biggest mine disasters in North American history. On Thursday, a week after the collaboration, collapse, they brought 12 miners up alive. On the Friday, when men were still missing, Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, visited the site with Premier Stanfield. They brought the last living men up on the Sunday. Seventy-five men didn't make it, including Dave's Uncle Donnie. And like I said, it was about a year after the bump that Margaret said, I'm taking this roast chicken up to your aunt Elizabeth.

It was about 20 minutes after she left that Dave called Annie. I need your help, he said earnestly. I'm pretending this is a mine shaft. I have to climb to the bottom of the shaft. You can't do that, said Annie. You're not allowed. I have to, said Dave. Why do you have to, said Annie?

There are men trapped down there, said Dave. Annie frowned. She was only five years old. She wasn't tall enough to see into the chute, but she was pretty sure there weren't men down there. I don't hear them, she said. Dave was wearing a windbreaker and a toque. He had a flashlight stuck in under his tuk. He was climbing into the laundry chute. You aren't allowed, said Annie. Dave looked at his sister earnestly. Look, he said, Mom doesn't know everything. We do lots of things we aren't supposed to do. We aren't supposed to stand up on toboggins. We aren't supposed to play in the creek with our clothes on. We aren't supposed to ride cows.

I don't do any of that stuff, said Annie. We aren't supposed to go outside in the winter with wet hair. said Dave. You do that. That's because I like the way it freezes, says Annie. You're not supposed to do it, said Dave. I have to rescue the men at the bottom of the shaft. I need you to hold the rope. Dave handed his sister the end of the rope that was tied around his waist. He crawled into the laundry chute. He began to work his way down, bracing himself by pushing his feet and his arms into the wall in front of him and his back into the wall behind. It was hard. harder than he'd imagined. He'd wormed his way down about eight feet before he realized he wasn't

going to be strong enough to make it all the way to the bottom. There and then, doubt seized him. And then, as doubt always does to the weary, it overtook him. And Dave felt a rush of fear. He called his sister's name, Annie, he called. Before she could answer, Dave was dropping down the chute like a stone. The rope burned through Annie's hand and then it jerked to a stop. Ow, said Annie, looking at her hands. And then she said, Dave? There was no answer. Annie put the rope down and went into her parents' bedroom. She dragged the chair they kept by the bedroom window into the hall. She pushed the chair against the laundry chute. She climbed up onto the chair. She peered into the shoot. Her brother was about halfway down. I'm stuck, he said. It serves your right, said Annie.

She got off the chair and she disappeared. The wall was squeezing Dave around his waist. His left arm was pinned against the wall and he couldn't move it. Pull on the rope, he called. Annie's face appeared at the top of the shoot. Mom's going to kill you, she said. Then she threw her end of the rope into the shoot. Pull on the rope yourself, she said. And she disappeared again. Dave could hear Annie walking down the stairs.

Then everything went deadly silence. What are you doing? Called Dave. There was no answer. It was pitch dark in the shoot. Annie had closed the door upstairs. Dave had dropped his flashlight. He held his hand out in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. He couldn't see them. He couldn't see anything. He was all alone. He was scared. Suddenly there were beams of light shooting from below him. Annie had opened the door in the kitchen. What are you doing? said Dave. I'm making chocolate. I'm making chocolate. chocolate milk, said Annie. You're not allowed, said Dave. Stop me, said Annie. She closed the door and the chute went pitch dark again. Annie? She ignored him.

She sat in the kitchen and she drank her chocolate milk. Dave banged on the wall with his free hand. Annie! He called. Fifteen long minutes passed before she appeared at the top again. When she did, she could hear a strange, snuffly sound coming from the shoot. She peered down. Her older brother was crying.

Don't cry, Davy, she said, surprised. Mom and dad are coming home soon. They'll get you out. But what if they don't, sniffle Dave? What if they can't rescue me? They'll save you, said Annie. but this time with less certainty. Then she said, just wait a minute, I'll be right back.

And her head disappeared from the chute. A few minutes later, the chute door opened again, and Annie lowered a little brown lump of something down the chute. It was attached to a string. What is it, asked Dave. It's the ears from my chocolate Easter bunny. I hid them in the bottom of my toy box, so you wouldn't eat them. him. Dave grabbed the chocolate with his free hand. It was covered with lint.

He brushed it off as best he could, and he took a bite. You can eat as much as you want, said Annie. After a few minutes, however, Annie could hear her brother sniffling again. Dave, she said, remember when dad won the pie-eating contest and he barfed in the car? She went on like that for an hour and 20 minutes. She reminded Dave of all the funny things that she could think of. And when she ran out of funny things, she told him every knock-knock joke she knew. And then she launched into the story a Hansel and Gretel the way her father Charlie told it,

where the witch's house was made of Cape Breton shortbread. When she couldn't think of anything more to say, she started to sing. She sang, she sang, Jesus loves me. I know. And Diana. And her favorite, Splish-splash, I was taking a bath. When Margaret finally walked through the door,

Dave was humming along with Annie to the theme from the radio show, The Shadow. An hour later, Dave's dad, Charlie, was standing in the basement, peering up the shoot, and poking at a small son's bottom with a broom handle. It was Charlie who guessed that Dave's belt was snagged on some rough piece of the wooden shoot. It was Margaret who carefully lowered Dave her pair of sewing scissors and told him how to cut the belt loops off his pants. And it was Dave's father standing at the bottom of the chute with his arms outstretched,

who caught his crying son and held him tight to his chest when it was all over. Later that night, as Margaret was tucking Dave into bed and kissing him good night, Dave asked his mother about the Spring Hill miners. Do you think they talked to each other when they were trapped down there? Do you think they sang? Yes, I do, said Margaret. I'm quite sure they sang. And now, some 40 years later, Margaret was shining her flashlight up the dark shoot

and telling Smith Gardner her rescue story. What's the matter with me, she said? I'm getting all choked up about a laundry shoot. She turned and she began to shut the door. Anyway, she said, that's the whole story. Smith Gardner didn't say anything. Instead, he reached out and he took Margaret's hand. And they stood there for several minutes more,

looking up at the small bit of leather belt, still hanging in the chute. Then Smith moved over to his toolbox. Are you sure it's okay for me to start? he said. Margaret smiled at him and nodded. You get going, she said. I'll go upstairs and make tea and fix a snack for when you're finished. Thank you.

That was the story we call Spring Hill. That is one of my favorites. We recorded that story back in 2005. All right, that's it for today. But we'll be back here next week with two more festive Dave and Morley stories, like this one. And sometimes you do things because you've never done them before, and you want to see what would happen if you did. And sometimes it's hard to figure out why you do some things at all.

Dave looked at the TV antenna. He'd never put his tongue on a TV antenna. on a cold night in December, and although he knew perfectly well what would happen if he did, the moment his mother's voice came into his head, he could feel himself drawn to the antenna. And as he moved across the roof towards the chimney to which the antenna was attached, he was saying to himself, this won't happen. I won't do this. Why would I do this? I'm not that stupid. I'm just trying to scare myself. Yet he felt as if he was outside of his body, as if he was a car skidding out of control.

And although everything was moving in slow motion, there was nothing he could do to stop it. Part of him was saying, I don't want to put my tongue on that TV antenna. But another part of him, the part which seemed to be in control, the part which his tongue seemed to be listening to anyway, was saying, just do it, Dave. you're an adult you can do whatever you want you don't have to listen to your mother anymore

he he was surprised by how unequivocably his tongue grabbed onto the metal it was not at all uncertain about what it was expected to do Dave himself was uncertain that he had even touched the metal he thought there was still some space between him and the antenna and then suddenly he was adhered to it.

At first, he was intrigued, by the way, it stuck. It was kind of proud of it. It was as if it was an accomplishment of some sort. And then he noticed it hurt a bit, but not really hurt. It hurts sort of the way melted wax hurts when you put your finger into the rim of a candle. And then it hurt a bit more. And Dave thought, okay, that's enough.

And he tried to pull his tongue off the antenna. and it didn't come. And he leant forward because it hurt when he tried to pull off, and then more of his tongue was stuck to the antenna. And he felt a wave of panic rushed through him, as if he was alone in an elevator, and the power had gone off, and the elevator was stuck between the floors, and it was dark in there between the floors,

and maybe the power had gone off because the building was on fire, and he had to get out of there, which is when his mother's voice filled his head again, and she said, I told you not to do that. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is a man who doesn't need to dye his hair white, Greg DeCloot. The music is by Danny Michelle, and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg DeCloot, and me, Jess Milton.

Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now.