Bracebridge and The Ghosts of Christmas Past; Winter Tales From The 1960's and 70's

Winter in Muskoka -  Photo by Fred Schulz

BRACEBRIDGE ONCE UPON A TIME - WHEN I VISITED ALL THE SPECIAL PLACES - I WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE

     WE LIVED IN AN APARTMENT, THAT WAS MORE OF A COMMUNE, UP ON HUNT'S HILL'S "ALICE STREET," A COUPLE OF BLOCKS EAST OF BRACEBRIDGE'S MAIN STREET, AND BUSINESS SECTION. I WROTE A BOOK ABOUT IT, BACK AT THE TURN OF THIS PRESENT CENTURY, AND MADE IT A CHRISTMAS-THEMED PUBLICATION, LARGELY AIMED AT MY OLD MATES, WHO KEPT ME ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW FOR A LOT OF YEARS. I HAD ENOUGH "DEVIL IN ME," ACCORDING TO MY MOTHER, MERLE, THAT I COULD HAVE EASILY FOUND MYSELF ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW. FOR THE GOOD OF HUMANITY, I WAS KEPT, AT MY WORSE, ON THE WRONG SIDE OF MOST OF OUR NEIGHBORS INSTEAD. THEY ALL KNEW ME AS "THAT LITTLE BUGGER CURRIE." IF I'D WORN A SHERIFF'S BADGE, IN THAT NEIGHBORHOOD OF BLUE COLLAR WORKERS, IT WOULD HAVE READ, "JUSTICE FOR ME, TO HELL WITH YOU!" I DIDN'T SAY I WAS A NICE KID. I BECAME BENEVOLENT OF HEART, WHEN I WAS FORCED TO REKINDLE MY PAST MISADVENTURES, FOR THE BOOK I MENTIONED. "GOSH, I WAS A LITTLE DINK, WASN'T I?" SUZANNE RESPONDED, "WELL FROM WHAT YOU MOTHER TOLD ME.....YES YOU WERE."
    I WAS A LOUD-MOUTHED KID WHO TRESPASSED EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY YOUNG LIFE. ONE MOMENT, I'D BE ON YOUR FRONT LAWN, EYEING THE GARDEN GNOME, TO ADD TO MY COLLECTION OF ILL-GOTTEN ORNAMENTS, AND IN A SPLIT SECOND, I'D BE SWIPING SOME GREEN TOMATOES FROM THE BACK GARDEN. WE DIDN'T OWN A BACK GARDEN. I WASN'T BOLD AND AGGRESSIVE, BUT I WAS, LIKE HOUDINI, ABLE TO ESCAPE TIGHT SITUATIONS.....WITH GARDEN GNOMES UNDER MY ARMS....AS WELL AS FRESH PRODUCE.
   I WAS QUICK ON MY FEET, AND I KNEW HOW TO DISGUISE MYSELF IN TALL GRASS, AND CORN STALKS, TO LOOK PLANT-LIKE, TO EVADE CAPTURE. SO I'M JUST REFERENCING, THAT WHEN I WRITE ABOUT MY YOUTH GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE, IT HAS A SHARP EDGE OF HONESTY. I MEAN, I'M FIFTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD. I'M NOT REALLY WORRIED ABOUT BEING TRUTHFUL REGARDING MY OFFENCES, BECAUSE MOST OF THE FOLKS WHO WERE THE RECIPIENTS, ARE LONG DECEASED. I'M NOT MAKING LIGHT OF THIS, BUT THE REALITY I ONCE STOLE A COOLING PIE OFF A WINDOW LEDGE, AND BROUGHT HOME-GARDEN FRESH PRODUCE, TO MY MOTHER FOR DINNER, (HARVESTED FROM A NEIGHBOR WHO DIDN'T OFFER IT), IS HARDLY THE STUFF INKED ONTO A POLICE BLOTTER. I WAS MORE LIKE DENNIS THE MENACE, FOR WHAT ANNOYANCES I CAUSED, IN MY YOUTHFUL VIGOR TO EXPLORE AND EXPLOIT. I APOLOGISE TO ANYONE STILL ALIVE, WHO HAD TO LIVE IN THE SAME TOWN AS A KID LIKE ME. SO I'M FEELING A LITTLE SENTIMENTAL ABOUT IT ALL, ESPECIALLY NOW THAT IT'S CHRISTMAS. I ALWAYS ADORED DECEMBER IN BRACEBRIDGE. SOME OF THE FUN WAS PRETTY INNOCENT. OTHER EVENTS, LIKE ENCOURAGING OUR CHUM TO STICK HIS TONGUE ON THE IRON RAILING OF THE HUNT'S HILL BRIDGE, ON A BITTERLY COLD WINTER MORNING, WAS JUST PLAIN WRONG.     KICKING HIM IN THE ARSE, AND TRYING TO DROP HIS TROUSERS WHILE HE WAS FROZEN TO THE RAILING, WASN'T VERY NICE EITHER. WE WERE REMINDED OF HOW CRUEL WE HAD BEEN, EVERY TIME WE CROSSED THE BRIDGE THEREAFTER, AND SAW WHERE A PATCH OF GREEN PAINT WAS MISSING, TONGUE SIZE, ON THE WAIST-HIGH, EAST TO WEST SPAN OF METAL-WORK. I THINK TOWN OFFICIALS LEFT IT UNPAINTED, JUST TO KEEP REMINDING US LITTLE BUGGERS, OF THE PAIN AND SUFFERING OUR PRANKS CAUSED UNSUSPECTING VICTIMS. I COULD STILL POINT OUT ALMOST THE EXACT SPOT, WHERE THAT TONGUE-TIP WAS GLUED THAT DAY, AND BY GOLLY, I WOULD HAVE ONLY BEEN IN GRADE EIGHT AT BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL. I WAS JUST GETTING STARTED AS A PAIN IN THE ASS BY THAT POINT.
     IN THE WINTER MONTHS, ON FREE DAYS AND NIGHTS, I COULD BE FOUND, IN ONE OF THREE PLACES. AT THE BRACEBRIDGE ARENA, PLAYING OR WATCHING HOCKEY (BEING A RINK RAT FOR MANAGER DOUG SMITH), IN THE MIDDLE OF A GAME OF ROAD HOCKEY WITH CHUMS UP ON ALICE STREET, OR IN MY BEDROOM WITH A MATE, PLAYING TABLE-TOP HOCKEY FOR THE TINY STANLEY CUP TROPHY, I MADE OUT OF CIGARETTE FOILS FROM MY PARENTS' PACKS....WHICH WERE ABUNDANT IN OUR HOUSEHOLD. I WAS A RINK RAT AT THE ARENA, A LOT OF THE TIME, AND FOR HELPING SHOVEL THE ICE FOR DOUG, AND HIS ASSISTANT, FRED "BING" CROSBY, WE'D GET A HOTDOG AND POP. I COULD STAY AT THE ARENA MOST OF A TYPICAL WINTER SEASON SATURDAY, AND BE FED WELL FOR WORK RENDERED. OH SURE, MIXED IN WITH THAT, BING AND DOUG WOULD HAVE YELLED AT US A DOZEN OR SO TIMES, BECAUSE OF THE WAY WE USED THE OLD ARENA AS OUR PLAYGROUND. WITH BROKEN "SLIVER STICKS," WE'D GET A GAME OF SHINNY (WEARING SHOES) GOING, IN THE OPEN AREA OF THE ENTRANCE-WAY, TO THE BLEACHERS, USING THE FRAME OF THE METAL FIRE DOORS AS THE NET. IT WAS OKAY UNTIL SOMEONE OPENED THE DOOR, FROM THE OTHER SIDE, AND GOT HIT FROM A SLAPSHOT, WITH AN OLD BATTLE-TORN PUCK, WE'D FOUND IN THE STANDS. GOD FORBID IT WAS DOUG OR BING WALKING THROUGH THOSE DOORS. WE MIGHT EVEN LOSE OUR RINK RAT PRIVILEGES IF WE GOT CAUGHT. AND WE USUALLY DID, BECAUSE THE PUCK HITTING THE DOOR MADE A HUGE BANG, YOU COULD HEAR DOWN IN THE LOBBY. WE DID DOWN-GRADE OUR PLAY, WHEN WE BEGAN USING SCRUNCHED UP POP CANS AND WADS OF FRICTION-TAPE, OFF OLD STICKS, AS MAKESHIFT PUCKS. ONCE AGAIN, WE WERE IN GOOD SHAPE, UNLESS THE PERSON COMING THROUGH THE DOOR, GOT SPOOKED AND DROPPED THEIR TRAY OF COLD DRINKS, IN PREPARATION FOR THE GAME UPCOMING. IT DID HAPPEN, AND WE SCATTERED LIKE THE GOOD RATS WE WERE.
     WE HAD SO MANY LEGENDARY ROAD HOCKEY GAMES, UP ON ALICE STREET, THERE SHOULD BE A HALL OF FAME DEVOTED TO IT SOLELY. RANDY CARSWELL PLAYED THE ROLE OF PLAYER-COMMENTATOR.....THE FOSTER HEWITT VOICE-OVER, FOR ALL THE ACTION. WE HAD MATES LIKE JIM NIVEN, RICK HILLMAN, DON CLEMENT, LARRY TOUGAS, THE SMITH BROTHERS, MONTY AND ROD, AND ANYBODY ELSE WHO HAPPENED TO BE FOOTLOOSE AND HOCKEY SAVVY. THAT STRETCH OF ICE-COVERED ASPHALT, WAS OUR MAPLE LEAF GARDENS, AND FOR EACH GAME, RANDY GAVE US THE TEAMS WE WOULD MIMIC, RIGHT DOWN TO THE KEY PLAYERS ON EACH TEAM. THE LEAFS WERE ALWAYS THE HOME TEAM. FOR MOST OF THOSE YEARS WE HAD TRADITIONAL GOAL POSTS. TWO BIG LUMPS OF SNOW. NOTHING FANCY LIKE METAL NETS. I DID GET TWO NETS FOR CHRISTMAS, THE FIRST ONE BEING DESTROYED BY NEW YEARS EVE. A FROZEN TENNIS BALL COULD BULGE THROUGH THE MESH EASILY, AND IF WE USED THE SOFT RUBBER PUCKS, AS SOON AS THEY GOT WET AND FROZE, THEY'D RIP THE STRING RIGHT OUT OF THE METAL FRAME WITH THE ADDED WEIGHT. YOU DIDN'T NEED AN OFFICIAL HOCKEY PUCK TO DESTROY A ROAD HOCKEY NET. GETTING ONE OF THESE DRIFTING, FROZEN PROJECTILES, IN THE GROIN AREA, WAS THE WORSE-CASE-SCENARIO, AND IT BROUGHT A LOT OF US TOUGH HOCKEYISTS TO THEIR KNEES....IN TEARS.
     IT MUST HAVE BEEN QUITE A SIGHT BACK THEN, TO LOOK OUT THE APARTMENT WINDOWS, AND SEE THE SNOWY-ROAD VERSION, OF HOCKEY NIGHT IN CANADA. LONG AFTER THE FINAL BUZZER FOR THOSE EVENING GAMES, I'D BE OUT UNDER THE LAMPLIGHT, IN THE SNOWFLURRIES, SLAPPING THE BALL OR PUCK UP AND DOWN THE ROAD, CALLING THE PLAY BY PLAY FOR MY OWN BENEFIT, AS I SCORED ON YET ANOTHER AMAZING BREAKAWAY. IF THERE WERE A COUPLE OF STRAGGLERS, AFTER THE GAME, MERLE WOULD LET ME BRING THEM UPSTAIRS FOR SOME HOT CHOCOLATE, TO PLAY MY FAVORITE MUNRO TABLE TOP HOCKEY GAME; WHEN THE BEST OF THE PHYSICAL PLAYERS ON THE ICE, OR ROADWAY, WEREN'T NECESSARILY THE BEST WITH PLAYER RODS, AND TIN MEN. RANDY CARSWELL DIDN'T HAVE THE PHYSICAL PROWESS TO BE A GREAT ROAD HOCKEY STAR, BUT WHEN HE TOOK OVER ONE END OF A TABLE TOP GAME, HE WAS A MASTERFUL FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH. IT WAS HARD TO BEAT HIM, AND IT TOOK ME YEARS TO FIGURE OUT HIS STRATEGY. HIS WINNING COMBINATION, WAS THE FAMOUS "BOBBY ORR TO PHIL ESPISITO PLAY," TO THE FRONT OF THE NET. ALL OUR PLAYERS HAD NAMES WRITTEN ON THEM, AND I HAPPENED TO OWN ALL THE ORIGINAL SIX TEAMS, AND THE FIRST EXPANSION CLUBS. BY THE WAY, I DIDN'T USE MY NEAR-LEGENDARY EXPLOITS AS A TABLE-TOP HOCKEY STAR, OR ROAD HOCKEY ACE, OR RINK RAT HANGER-ON, TO IMPRESS THE YOUNG LADIES. I FOUND VERY LITTLE FROM YOUTHFUL ADVENTURES, TO USE AS A GOOD REASON TO DATE A GUY LIKE ME. I WAS A DECENT GOALTENDER IN MY EARLY YEARS OF MINOR HOCKEY, BUT I WAS ONLY A BACK-UP ON THE "ALLSTAR TEAMS," THAT TRAVELLED OUTSIDE THE REGION TO PLAY. I BECAME KNOWN AS "THE KID WHO BACKS-UP TIM MORRISON," WHO WAS THE STARTING NETMINDER IN MOST GAMES, DURING THOSE YEARS. I WAS GOOD WITH THAT. I WAS ON THE WINNING CLUB AT LEAST, AND HE TOOK ALL THE RUBBER SLAPPED AT HIM, FROM ALL PARTS OF THE ICE-SURFACE. HE WORE THE WELTS THAT CAME WITH BEING IN THE FRONT-LINE. I LOOKED LIKE I'D JUST COME OUT OF A SPA FOR BACK-UP GOALIES. THE BIGGEST RISK I HAD, WAS GETTING A SLIVER FROM THE PINE I WAS RIDING, OR TOPPLING OUT OF THE PLAYERS' BOX, WHILE CHEERING AFTER ONE OF OUR GOALS.
     I LOVED THE WAY BRACEBRIDGE LOOKED AFTER A MAJOR SNOWFALL. FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, I'D ARRIVE AT THE TOP OF HUNT'S HILL, ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL, AND VIEW THE MOST PICTURESQUE SCENE, AT LEAST IN MY LIMITED VIEW OF THE WORLD BACK THEN. THE BACKS OF THE OLD MANITOBA STREET COMMERCIAL BLOCKS, THE PATTERSON HOTEL AT THE THOMAS STREET INTERSECTION, AND THE CHEERFUL CLOCK TOWER, OF THE OLD FEDERAL BUILDING, IN FRONT OF THE DISTANT TOWER OF THE FIRE HALL, CONNECTED TO TOWN HALL, LOOKED SO ROCKWELLIAN, ADORNED IN THE PAST EVENING'S SNOWFALL. THEN THERE WAS THE BLACK SERPENTINE FLOW OF THE DEEP MUSKOKA RIVER, ABOVE THE CATARACT, AND THE GLISTENING RAILS OF THE TRAIN TRACKS, CROSSING THE SCENE NORTH TO SOUTH. THE SNOW-LADEN TRAIN STATION WAS RIGHT OFF A CHRISTMAS CARD, AND EVEN A YOUNG LAD COULD THINK IN SUCH SENTIMENTAL AND NOSTALGIC TERMS. EVEN AS A WEE LAD I WAS SENDING CHRISTMAS CARDS TO MY FAVORITE TEACHERS AND GIRLS I WANTED AS CLOSE FRIENDS. SO I KNEW A PRETTY PICTURE WHEN I SAW ONE.
     IN LATER YEARS, I WOULD ALWAYS FIND THOSE MEMORIES OF CHRISTMASES PAST, REKINDLED AGAIN, WHEN I'D SET OUT TO WRITE NEWSPAPER COLUMNS, ESPECIALLY IN MY YEARS ASSOCIATED WITH THE MUSKOKA ADVANCE, WHICH CARRIED A COLUMN I ENTITLED "SKETCHES OF HISTORIC BRACEBRIDGE." WHEN I STARTED TO REMINISCE MORE PERSONALLY, WITH LOTS OF RISQUE ANECDOTES, I DROPPED THE "HISTORIC" PART FROM THE TITLE, TO PACIFY THE HARDCORE READERS WHO WANTED FACT WITHOUT ITS STRANGE AND COMPROMISING FICTIONS. I HAD MORE FUN WITH PERSONAL REMINISCES ANYWAY. WHEN I BEGAN WRITING ABOUT THE OLD LANDMARKS, AS I HAD KNOWN AND APPRECIATED THEM AS A KID, I FOUND A LOT OF KINDRED SPIRITS, WHO FELT I HAD REPRESENTED THEIR EMOTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS ALMOST PERFECTLY. ESPECIALLY WHEN IT RELATED TO THE VISUALS OF OUR TOWN, AND THE CHARACTERS WHO INFILLED IT WITH EMOTION AND ADVENTURE. WE HAD OUR SHARE, THAT'S FOR SURE.
     THE OTHER DAY, I WAS LOOKING THROUGH AN OLD WOODEN BOX, I KEEP BY MY DESK, AND I FOUND A COPY OF A LETTER I HADN'T SEEN FOR YEARS. IT WAS SENT TO ME BY BOB BURTON, WHO ONCE OWNED THE FEDERAL BUILDING, AND THE GLORIOUS CLOCK TOWER WITH ITS FOUR ILLUMINATED FACES. THE LETTER WAS A THANK-YOU FOR A COLUMN I WROTE, IN THE MUSKOKA ADVANCE, ABOUT THE IMPORTANCE OF THAT ICONIC CLOCK TOWER, I HAD SEEN EVERY DAY, SOME TIMES NUMEROUS TIMES, EACH MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT; DURING THE PERIOD I HAD LIVED IN THE URBAN AREA OF BRACEBRIDGE (FROM MY ARRIVAL BACK IN 1966). THE STORY GAVE A PROFILE OF THE CLOCK TOWER MOST HAD NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT, BUT RECOGNIZED AS FACT, ONCE THEY READ IT. IT WAS PART OF THE CULTURE OF GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE, TO BE AWARE OF THE CLOCK. IT WAS TOO BIG TO AVOID, OR IGNORE. WHEN I WAS A KID, I NEEDED IT TO TELL ME THE TIME OF DAY, BECAUSE I KEPT LOSING MY WATCHES. MERLE WOULD TELL ME THE TIME OF DAY I WAS TO BE HOME FOR DINNER, AND GOD FORBID I WAS LATE. SO I WATCHED THE TOWER. IN ALL KINDS OF SITUATIONS, THAT CLOCK WAS MY BEACON. IF I WAS SAD, IT MADE ME SMILE. IF I WAS LOVE-LOST, IT SEEMED A GOOD CHUM AMIDST DESPAIR. I CAN REMEMBER COMING HOME, FROM A GIRLFRIEND'S HOUSE ON LIDDARD STREET, AND BEING QUITE LOST IN A VICIOUS SNOWSTORM, AS I WALKED ALONG THE RAILS TOWARD THE TRAIN STATION. IT WAS A BITTER WIND, AND THE GOING WAS VERY SLOW. THROUGH THE BLOWING SNOW, I COULD CLEARLY SEE THE SOFT ILLUMINATION OF THE CLOCK FACE, HIGH ABOVE THE SNOWSCAPE, AS MY GUIDING LIGHT. I CAN REMEMBER LOOKING AT THE CLOCK TOWER SHORTLY AFTER ANDREW WAS BORN, AS I WAS DRIVING HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL, AND THE SAME OCCURRED AFTER ROBERT ARRIVED. FOR WHATEVER REASON, I'D CATCH A GLIMPSE OF ONE OF THOSE ILLUMINATED DIALS, AS IF IT WAS IMPOSED UPON ME BY THE SPIRIT KIND. I ALSO MADE A POINT OF RECKONING WITH THE CLOCK TOWER, ON THE DAY MY MOTHER PASSED AWAY AND THEN AGAIN, WHEN MY FATHER ED, PASSED AWAY, SEVERAL CHRISTMASES AGO. MAYBE I HALF EXPECTED TIME TO FREEZE AT THAT MOMENT; PRESERVING MY CHRONICLE. I HAVE LONG FOUND SOLACE IN THAT OLD RELIC OF EARLY 1900'S ARCHITECTURE, THAT SEEMED TO BE WATCHING ME, AS I LOOKED BACK UPON IT! IT ALWAYS APPEARED STORIED AND PROFOUND, LIKE THE FICTIONAL REFERENCE IN THE BOOK, "THE GREAT GATSBY", TO THE GIANT BILLBOARD WITH THE ADVERTISEMENT FOR EYEGLASSES, WHICH BECAME KNOWN AS THE HAUNTING "EYES OF ECKLEBURG." THOSE ILLUMINATED CLOCK DIALS GREETED ME A MILLION TIMES. THEY WERE THE FRIENDLY EYES OF MY HOMETOWN. THEY WERE THE EYES OF GOODWILL AND CHARITY, AT CHRISTMAS, AND THE PORTALS TO ADVENTURE, ON NEW YEARS EVE. BUT IT WAS JUST A CLOCK TOWER. LIKE A THOUSAND OTHER CLOCK TOWERS. EXCEPT THIS WAS THE CLOCK TOWER I NEEDED AS A BEACON. IT DIDN'T JUDGE ME. IT DIDN'T RULE ON MY OFFENSES. YET WITH ITS SOFT GLOW, IT SEEMED TO HAVE SENSITIVITY TO CHARACTERS LIKE ME....AS IF I WAS THE STRANGE FICTION AMIDST COLD REALITIES OF LIFE AND TIMES. MY GUARDIAN OF SORTS. WE MADE EYE CONTACT DAILY. IT KNEW WHEN I WAS SKIPPING SCHOOL, BECAUSE IT FOLLOWED MY TRAIL INTO THE NOOKS AND CRANNIES I USED TO HIDE-OUT. IT KNEW, BUT REMAINED NEUTRAL, WHEN I OCCASIONALLY TOOK THE WARM, FRAGILE HAND, OF A YOUNG LADY, WHILE DATING ANOTHER. I KNOW IT WAS COMMUNICATING WITH ME THEN, BECAUSE I FELT GUILTY LOOKING UP......REMINDING MY CONSCIENCE OF THE LATEST INDISCRETION.
     WHEN MY PARENTS ARRIVED IN BRACEBRIDGE, FROM THE CITY, THEY DIDN'T THINK THEY WOULD BE STAYING FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. EVEN WHEN THEY HAD THE CHANCE TO MOVE, TO BE CLOSER TO FAMILY, THEY OPTED TO REMAIN ANCHORED TO THE TOWN THEY CALLED "SLEEPY HOLLOW." THEY SPENT THEIR FINAL YEARS LIVING HAPPILY AT THE BASS ROCK APARTMENTS, ONLY SEVERAL BLOCKS FROM THE ALICE STREET APARTMENTS, WHERE THEY BEGAN THIS HOMETOWN EXPERIENCE. THEY LIKED TO LOOK OUT AT THE SILENT, DARK FLOW, OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, AND ENJOY ALL THE WILDLIFE DRAWN TO ITS SHORELINE. THEY COULD HEAR THE TOLL OF THE CLOCK TOWER BELL, ON THE HOUR, AND THE BLARING HORN OF THE PASSENGER AND FREIGHT TRAINS, THAT PASSED BEHIND THE BUILDING.....ON THE SAME LENGTH OF SILVER RAILS I USED TO WALK ALMOST DAILY IN MY YOUTH. THEY WERE CONTENTED, YOU SEE, WITH ALL THE MEMORIES THEY HAD ACCUMULATED, AND ALL THE FRIENDS THEY HAD MADE.....IN WHAT WAS TO BE A SHORT TERM RESIDENCY; BUT LASTED MOST OF A LIFETIME.
     THIS SERIES OF CHRISTMAS SEASON COLUMNS, (BLOGS), IS DEDICATED TO SOME OF MY OLD SCHOOL MATES, AND CLOSE FRIENDS, WHO MA DE MY EARLY LIFE EXPERIENCES SO PRECIOUS TO ME TODAY. I'D LIKE TO SHARE SOME OF THESE RECOLLECTIONS IN THE SPIRIT OF THE CHRISTMAS SEASON.
MORE TO COME DAILY UP TO AND INCLUDING NEW YEARS DAY.