Bob Hasler
First name Bob
Last name Hasler
Community Paris


When I was a small child, in the 1950's, my parents were deeply involved in the girl guide camp, called "Camp Teka". You go down a long county lane located at the eastern end of Silver Street to reach the camp.

In those days you would enter the camp from Golf Links Road, through a tunnel under the old railway line, up a hill into the camp. I remember there were only two buildings on the site, the first cook house and dining room. My mother, Mabel Hasler and father, Bert Hasler helped build them.

My mother was a Brown Owl leader and my sister a girl guide in the Brantford guiding group. I spent many summers at the camp since I was to young to stay at home on my own. I remember exploring the country side and when my mother would let me have my friend, John Harris with me, we would explore all around the area. I can remember a time when we were chased by cows and had to run pretty fast to get away. It was a time when kids were told be back by a certain time and that was it! We could explore on our own where ever we wanted without supervision as long as we behaved our selves. It was a great time to be a kid! I remember a picture my mother had of me, three feet tall, with overalls, wearing a colourful beanie with a propeller on top. She said she had me wear it so that she could see me where ever I was when I was running around the meadows.

My best memory of Paris was the days that my dad would bring me to the camp via Mr. McComb's ice cream wagon. I vaguely remember the wagon and horse except that it kind of looked like the milk wagon that came by our house at the corner of Charring Cross and Fulton Streets in Brantford. What I do remember is the ice cream cones that were served. They were a two scoop cone in which two "mello" roll tubes of ice cream were inserted. You had to be very careful because the ice cream was wrapped with a type of cardboard that was peeled off when the ice cream was put into the cone. If it was put in to hard the cone would crack or break. Then what a mess you would have and a crying kid when he lost his ice cream cone! I usually got a vanilla and a chocolate mello cone. One time dad had a hard time finding Mr. McComb because Grand River Street North was under water and we had to detour via West River Street and then find him.

Those were the Good Old Days!

- Bob Hasler