One of my favourite pictures is of them, standing together; they look young, so vulnerable and so thin. We think it was taken during World War II when food was a bit scarce and wages very low. But they are smiling, she attractive and he so very handsome. The interesting American Indian-like planes in his face closely resemble our grandmother as a young woman, she purported to have those types of ancestors. While our father had many family ties to Bermuda, our mother, an only child of a divorced US mother, had none. Their early days were never discussed in our household; but we suspect that they shared an apartment before marriage, supporting each other long before it was considered acceptable.

With no resources to call upon and my father, the primary breadwinner with a fourth grade education, they developed their own financial strategies. They would have been amused to know that their quest for achievement would be so classified today. They were in total survival mode — along the way, there were little acts of heroism and kindness. Ultimately, they were to raise seven children. This is a litany of what they taught themselves (and us) about money.

The things we were taught. Our parents believed in a highly developed code of operation to provide for seven children:

[bul] Free

[bul] Barter

[bul] Make do

[bul] Use it up or wear it out

[bul] Do without

[bul] Never throw anything away

[bul] Never buy anything processed, fancy or packaged

[bul] If you want something, find a job to pay for it

[bul] Never Ever spend money if you can get it for free

[bul] Save, save, save and then save some more

We never went to restaurants, the movies, Sunday rides (our father did not acquire a car for many years) and left Bermuda only once to see our ‘Merican grandmor.

Food for free: Never bake without completely filling the oven — this makes maximum use of every kilowatt-hour. Our mother taught herself how to cook and made everything from scratch, always producing doubles of cakes, muffins, cookies, pies, breads, stews, etc. Endlessly inventive in using food for free, we were exposed to some real ‘unique’ meals.

Her doubles were given away, little home cooked goodies in exchange for endless supplies of bananas, orchard fruit, oranges, grapefruit, cherries, paw paws, limes, lemons, garden veggies, the occasional chicken and the like. One elderly lady made us soap from the grease and oil we brought. We always got the better of the deal, as our mother was a master at bartering. For years, she worked part-time at night for a large bakery, coming home with a paycheque plus endless supplies of fresh bread, cream buns, pastries, oh those days were so good. In recollection, many of the friends who received all the double goodies had no family themselves. They loved seeing our mother at their doorstep.

Ice cream was bought in end run buckets, ten different flavours at each layer. Cheap and a little confusing to the palate, but we didn’t care. Free Popsicles were produced by freezing ultra-sweet Kool-Aid in ice cube trays.

Winter time was spent picking buckets and buckets of bay grapes, loquats, Surinam cherries for jam. The only cost was the sugar and the hours spent boiling and packing home made ginger loquat and other types of jam — it was truly superb.

Mayonnaise was spread on everything, peanut butter, rat cheese, cheap Australian butter and whole dry milk were also huge staples. No food was thrown out; it instead went into thin ‘clean the fridge out’ soups, just like the Zone diets of today. Brewed left over tea was mixed with Kool-Aid and sometimes one can of frozen orange juice to create our early version of trendy iced teas. Dried-up cheese bits were hoarded to create Harris cheese biscuits, terrific when generously lavished with home-made jam and butter. Bread pudding was consumed in endless quantities covered in honey bartered from some dear soul.

Our Mom had a razor sharp brain when it came to food shopping. Always ready (and not above moving a few pricing labels if she thought it justified), she’d pounce on mispricing, such as potato chip mark-downs just before new shipment. Home she’d come loaded down with bargains — victorious — having beaten the system again!

Volunteering at Church bazaars, she’d bring her own clean-up crew of Hoover upright children who cleaned up all the dishes, as well as all the left over food. We loved these events, little tiny white bread sandwiches (with crusts cut off), endless pound cake and sweet, sweet tea.

Home-made fudge, penuche and peanut butter cookies were craved, and often, eaten before a big event happened. Our mother resorted to hiding ‘party’ food to keep voracious kids from spoiling the big event.

Our dad recycled coffee grounds twice each day and used only one cup, spoon and bowl most days of his life. He had one outfit for weekdays and dressed upon on the Lord’s day.

Our parents were not above pushing the envelope. We watched in amazement (and horror) one night as they climbed a ladder (in the dark at age 70) to knock avocados from the tree next door into their own yard. The neighbours will never miss them, my mother whispered!

Utilities were not to be used, only if necessary. There was endless harassing to turn off lights, no clothes dryer existed — everything hung out to dry. Sweaters hand-washed, towels over dyed, and recycled when old and tired. Severe punishment was meted out for wasting precious water. Dishwater was recycled into plants and gardens, along with vegetable matter.

Clothes and other adornments. Our dad repaired and sold sewing machines. My mother could sew anything, using up every single material scrap purchased. There are pictures in the family album of five or more of us (and her) posing in the same fabric, turned into dresses for the girls, shirts for the boys, and drooling bibs for whatever baby happened to be around.

She knitted, crocheted, and created — family Christmas stockings, baby blankets, sweaters, hats, mittens, stockings, scarves — endlessly spinning colours and textures of lasting memories.

Thrift shops and second-hand store trips were adventures. Of course, we hated second hand clothes. Salvageable old material was re-invigorated into quilts, potholders, bibs, aprons for her favourite charity, Mount St. Agnes Bazaar. Zippers, buttons, pretty fabric and lace became wrapping paper for gifts; school uniforms, she copied the design and we made them.

Mr. Fix It. Our father loved WD-40, machine oil and later on, duct tape. Everything in our home was jerry-rigged; fine for him, but often no one else could figure it out. Ever resourceful if something did not work; no problem, give him a bit of time and he would figure it out. Then fix it. The boys pushed a three-wheel lawnmower for years, after they broke off the fourth wheel. He built an addition to our house because we needed a large water tank, it still stands today as a doctor’s office.

Wasting anything in his mind, was almost a sin. Having had nothing, he was grateful to have owned anything. His shop was almost barren of commercialisation, yet his service to his customers was impeccable. We walked there from school for solace when we had a bad day. He always managed to make a feel a bit better.

In today’s world these two people would be classified as highly intuitive, highly intelligent motivated self-starters with unique and innovative problem solving abilities. They saved, and learned and more than survived, because they had to. Larger than life in our eyes, these two people committed themselves to us, their children, and their community. By example, they taught us. We miss them.

In memory of our mother, Anna Clarine Sawyer Harris, 1918-1997 and our father, Cecil Edward Harris, 1918-2004.