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Hobos I Have Known
Hobos I Have Known
Hobos I Have Known
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Hobos I Have Known

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Hobos became the face of the Great Depression for the people who lived on small family farms in the rural areas of our country. These farms were mostly self-sufficient. The farmers practiced living locally long before it became the fad it is becoming today with things like the hundred mile challenge. They raised their own animals, cows, chickens, pigs; grew their own fruits and vegetables; and heated their homes with woods cut from their own woodlots. For many of them, helping others was the natural thing to do when less fortunate strangers came knocking of their door.
These short stories share the events that happened to one family in central Nova Scotia told through the eyes of writer's mother as she remembered and related them forty years later. The stories are presented as fiction, but each contains a kernel of truth as its central theme. These are stories I heard so often, that indeed the characters seem like Hobos I Have Known.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherArt Burton
Release dateFeb 28, 2011
ISBN9780986891809
Hobos I Have Known
Author

Art Burton

Art Burton lives in Latties Brook, Nova Scotia, Canada. He writes murder mystery novels and short stories. He is the author of For Hire, Messenger of God; Caught in the Line of Fire and Concealed From Sight, all murder mysteries and two books of short stories: Hobos I Have Known, and More Hobo Stories. He also has a popular two related-story edition: Cabin Fever and God Works in Mysterious Ways.

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    Book preview

    Hobos I Have Known - Art Burton

    Hobos I Have Known

    By Art Burton

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2011 Art Burton

    License Notes

    This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Table of Contents

    THE FIRST TIME

    NO ONE TURNED AWAY

    SANDY, MY PROTECTOR

    NEW BOOTS

    THE WALKING SUITCASE

    THE TEA DRINKER

    WILLING TO WORK

    SOCKS OR FOOD?

    THE QUARTER

    Closing Notes

    During the Great Depression of the 1930s, central Nova Scotia became the highway for many hobos coming from the rest of Canada in search of work. Most traveled without the encumbrance of money in their pockets. To eat, they relied on the generosity of the local people to feed them. These are some of their stories.

    The elements of truth that inspired most of these adventures were passed down to me from my Mother and Father, both of whom survived the Great Depression and met and fed the real life hobos who passed through the area in the thirties.

    My mother, with just the slightest bit of encouragement, never tired of telling these stories. Indeed, I heard some of them so often that I truly felt these were Hobos I had known. All the stories are told in a first person, female voice.

    Other ideas came from readers like you who have their own recollections of the time. Each story represents one of these remembrances which I then embellished to a length which qualifies as a short story.

    Although these stories are fictional, there is a kernel of truth in each one. Nothing happened exactly as described. Literary license has been liberally applied.

    All the characters are my own. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

    In memory of Jean and

    Raymond Burton

    THE FIRST TIME

    You never forget the first time.

    This is true of a lot of things in life. It was early spring of '30 when the first knock came to our door just after sunrise. The dew still lay heavy on the grass making the color seem more white than green. The birds were establishing their territory for the day with a barrage of twittering and chirping. The milk train had passed through about ten minutes before. As always, I used its shrill whistle as my alarm. If I wasn’t making bread, preparing breakfast for the men folk was my first chore of the day. They were already hard at work in the barn. This was usually my quiet time.

    I had no concern about opening the door, even at this early hour. It was just habit. A knock, you answered. There, standing before me, were four strange men of indeterminate age but if I had to guess I would place them all in their mid-to-late thirties. My eyes opened wide and I stepped back a short pace. This was totally unexpected.

    My friend here is sick, one of them said. Could you spare just a little bit of food for him? He hesitated before going on. "And perhaps a slice of bread for the rest of

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