Sudbury's Jan Buley remembers the day her family lost all their belongings

As part of CBCSudbury'sCanada Reads book contest, we asked listeners to send in their stories about starting over the theme of this year's national competition.

By Jan Buley

I can remember looking out the windows in my Grade 3classroom on that snowy January day in 1966 and thinking how lucky I was to be able to stay after school and help clean the blackboards for my teacher.

I had been chosen.

My best friendDarlenewhispered "Teacher's Pet" as my name was called, but I didn't care.I sat tall in my desk seat, counting down the minutes to 3:30p.m. and the end of the school day. Swishing the felt board brushes over the slate and erasing all of the dreaded math questions, homework reminders and spelling lists was a privilege worth fighting for.We all crossed our fingers that our name would be selected out of the red cookie tin on the teacher's desk.

This was my day to celebrate. I waited for all of my classmates to tug on coats, boots, mittens, hats and scarves and then surveyed the delicious task ahead of me. We had begun some work on perimeter in math class, and it would be my great delight to slowly erase "Farmer Brown's hay field" and his large rectangular cornfield.

The spelling list was next on my cleaning list and I switched to using the soft chamois, closing my eyes as I ran my fingers through the rippling suede.I took great joy in eradicating all of the spelling words for the week, staring as the white and yellow chalk lines blurred together, eventually revealing the dull black slate board beneath.

Pending storm

Mrs. Campbell's familiar teacher voice interrupted my dreamy state:"Jan, when you finish with the boards, please push all of the chairs in for me.It makes it easier for Mr. Simpson to push his broom around in here and clean the floors. And then you best get on your way home. It looks like a good snowstorm is closing in on us."

I glanced out the window and winced, remembering my winter clothing in the back of the classroom on my designated hook.My striped mittens were hand-me-downs and rather thin, but they would keep my hands warm for the quick run home after I completed my tasks.

Morning North5:14Your starting over stories: Jan Buley

Starting over is the theme of this year's Canada Reads and we asked to tell your own stories. Here is one sent in by Jan Buley of Sudbury, as read by the CBC's Fiona Christensen.

I was just finishing up with the chairs when I heard the classroom door click open.Carol, a neighbor on my street stood with her snow covered coat and hat on, and I could tell that she was very upset. Immediately she blurted out, "Jan! Jan! Hurry up and come with me. Your house is on fire."

Mrs. Campbell looked up from her desk where she had been marking papers.

"No way!" I responded."It is not.That's a mean joke, Carol, and you know it," I retorted.

But something about Carol's face made me race over to the window of the classroom and gawk out.

"I'm tellin' the truth.I really am, Jan! Mrs. Campbell, I ain't lyin'. Jan's house is on fire!!!!"

Snow was now falling heavily outside and it was difficult to see even across the street.

"I'm not kidding, Jan," Carol, a known prankster, continued again, her voice shaking and stuttering.

"I'm serious. I'm tellin' you the truth. There's fire and flames everywhere coming out.You won't believe it!" And then Carol sobbed and rushed towards me, grabbing my arm and pulling me aside.

'We stood in amazement'

By now, Mrs. Campbell had moved between us at the window and she had my winter clothes draped over her arm."Hurry then! You best be on your way, Jan.Go with Carol and I'll follow right away! Quickly!"

I dressed as quickly as I could, racing towards the hallway and out the front door of the school.The moment of truth was at hand.

I don't fully recall the speed with which I raced down the block from the school to our house, but I fairly flew.As I got closer to our house, I could smell smoke. And then the most curious sight greeted my eyes. There, in the middle of the intersection, stood our grandfather clockupright in the swirling snow.

There must have been 200people standing on the opposite sidewalks watching, as flames licked like monstrous orange tree roots out of every window in our house. Liquid flames curled up under the eaves and snarled up onto the roof.I was completely immobile in astonishment at the scene in front of me, and don't even recall my three brothers and my sister finding me.

We all stood in amazement, staring at the huge gushing fire hoses pouring water onto the roof and sides of the house. Firemen were shouting directions to each other and at one point, I remember looking around for my parents, wondering where they were.

There was something strangely fantastic about seeing the flames licking and devouring the house where I had been sleeping only eight hours previously. Seeing thick smoke belching out of my brothers' bedroom window was curiously fascinating to an eight year old.

My brothers shrieked when our verandah roof caved in. Only then, did I see my mother and father standing together weeping. We ran towards them and I can remember clinging to my father's hand.

Starting over

One of the beautiful things about growing up in a small town was the way everyone cared for everyone. Our whole family five kids and parents were given an empty church manse to live in for sevenmonths while our house was gutted and rebuilt.

Boxes of clothing, towels, bedding and toys arrived at our doorstep weekly.Food magically appeared.

Slowly, we all found our way again.And one of the best memories of starting overafter this devastating house fire was returning to my Grade 3 friends.

Mrs.Campbell had purchased the board-game "SORRY," and everyone in my class had signed their name inside the cardboard lid.

I still have that board game.