Just A Gal From Glidden: Glidden hall at 100: What happens next matters
By Kate Winquist
In the past while, I’ve caught myself reminiscing about the Glidden skating rink and the old post office. But in one of those photos, something else stood out.
The Glidden Community Hall.
It’s been there since 1926. One hundred years this year. That alone should make you pause.
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While digging through As It Happened… History of the R.M. of Newcombe No. 260, I learned a committee formed that same year to build it. Debentures were sold. People invested. The Glidden Ladies Community Club stepped in to raise money and furnish it.
My Grandma Maclennan and my mom, Bev Drummond, were both part of that club. It started around 1925 with a simple goal. Improve the community. Help pay for the hall. Help people when they needed it. Show up.
And they did.
They raised money any way they could. Auction sales. Sports days. Field days. Fowl suppers. Bonspiels. Wheat Pool and R.M. suppers. Weddings. Anniversaries. They canvassed food from neighbours. Ran bake sales, card parties, bingos. Sold cookbooks, Glidden spoons, school plates.
Nothing fancy. Just consistent effort.
I still have one of those school plates in my office. I never went to school there, but it still feels like part of me. That matters more than logic.
This weekend I had Robert dig out a couple of the Glidden cookbooks. I’m too short to reach them. Flipping through those recipes and names, I caught myself smiling.
That’s when the memories came back.
Christmas concerts in the early ’70s. The hall packed. I was usually a shepherd. One year I made it to innkeeper. That felt like a promotion.
I remember standing beside Mom’s good friend Joyce Arthur for the national anthem. I couldn’t have been more than five, but I remember this clearly.
Joyce was not a strong singer.
Funny what sticks.
Santa always showed up at the end. Every kid got an orange, a candy cane and a small gift. The one I remember best was a little hand-held slot machine. One AA battery. No sound. No prize. But it kept me busy, which was no small thing even then.
Then there were the bridal showers.
The hall would be full of women and kids from all over. Dainties. Finger sandwiches. The bride at the front. Poems written just for her. Games and laughter.
But the highlight was always the little bride and groom. Two local kids dressed up, pulling a wagon full of gifts.
I never got that role. But I did sit at the guest registry table. And I remember the Ladies Club putting together a scrapbook for the bride. Something permanent. Something thoughtful.
That’s the thread through all of this.
Nothing was outsourced. Nothing was passive. People built it, paid for it, ran it and filled it.
Which brings me to now.
That hall mattered. It still does.
The harder question is not what it was. It’s what it could be again.
A building doesn’t lose its purpose on its own. A community decides that.
It would be a shame to let it end there.