Ted Currie; Antique Head

A Cyberbully and Survival On A Muskoka Homestead

2017-03-22T04:32:00.000-07:00

SORRY FOLKS. I'VE BEEN WRITING FOR FORTY YEARS AND WHILE IT'S TRUE I HAVE NEVER WON A PULITZER, A BOOKER PRIZE OR ANY KIND OF MAJOR CASH AWARD THAT WOULD ALLOW ME TO QUIT MY DAY-JOB, IN ORDER THAT I MIGHT SPEND FROM HERE TO ETERNITY WRITING, IN THIS BEAUTIFUL REGION OF THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA, I HAVE BEEN AWARDED SOMETHING I HAVEN'T HAD BEFORE.

DARN TOOTIN' ! I GOT MYSELF A CYBERBULLY TROLL WHO MAKES RIDICULOUS COMMENTS NUMEROUS TIMES EACH WEEK. TRYING I SUPPOSE TO BE SOMETHING SPECIAL AT LEAST IN HIS OWN MIND. YET AS A RATHER GLARING CONTRADICTION, IN THE SPIRIT OF BEING A CYBERBULLY TROLL TYPE CHARACTER, IT SEEMS ABUNDANTLY SENSIBLE TO PROTECT ONE'S IDENTITY, WHICH IN THIS CASE BAFFLES ALL LOGIC. WE KNOW WHO THE BULLY IS, WHERE HE LIVES, WHAT HE DOES AS A PROFESSION AND A WHOLE BUNCH OF OTHER INTERESTING DETAILS WE NOW APPRECIATE BY THE COURSE OF DUE DILIGENCE. WHAT OUR TROLL, AND ANY COLLABORATOR HE MIGHT HAVE EMPLOYED TO HELP FULFILL THIS DIRTY DEED, SHOULD BE AWARE OF, IS THAT IT ISN'T ALL THAT DIFFICULT TO FIND OUT THE INDIVIDUAL WHO SIGNED-UP THE FAKE ACCOUNT. WE DON'T REALLY NEED THIS HOWEVER, AS THE FELLOW OUTED HIMSELF FOUR OR FIVE TIMES ALREADY IN HIS MEAN-GUY COMMENTS, WHICH WERE INTENDED, AS HE NOTED THIS WEEK, JUST TO "MOCK" ME AS THIS BLOG'S "ONLY READER." GEEZ, THINK I CAN DO BETTER THAN JUST YOU CHUCK! IT SHOULD ALSO NOT COME AS A SURPRISE TO OUR FRIEND CHUCK LORRIE, THAT THE EDITORIAL MATERIAL HE SENT US DURING THE PAST TWO MONTHS, IS NOW MY PROPERTY TO DO WITH AS I PLEASE, AND SEEING AS YOU HAVE BEEN INTENT ON BEING RECOGNIZED FOR THE BULLY YOU ARE, I HAVE A PLAN TO PUBLISH THEM IN AN ESSAY ON CYBERBULLYING SOMETIME IN THE NEAR FUTURE. WE WILL PROSECUTE YOU MR. TROLL. BUT, HERE'S THE PLUM IN THIS PARTICULAR PUDDING. CEASE AND DESIST MAKING YOUR UNREMARKABLE COMMENTS, NOW AND IN THE FUTURE, AND BE SPARED THE PUBLIC HUMILIATION OF BEING OUTED IN THE LEGAL PROCESS, WE HAVE ALREADY SET IN MOTION. IF YOU ARE AS WISE AS YOU THINK YOU ARE MR. TROLL, YOU WILL DISAPPEAR INTO THE ABYSS OF CYBERSPACE TO NEVER BE HEARD FROM AGAIN. ON THE OTHER HAND, IF YOU WISH TO CONTINUE THESE SENSELESS ATTACKS, THE FILE WILL BE TURNED OVER TO THE THE POLICE AND WE WILL PRESS CHARGES FOR CYBER-BULLYING AND HARASSMENT.

AS FOR MY BLOG READERS, I OFFER MY SINCERE APOLOGY FOR TEMPORARILY SUSPENDING THIS PAGE. SEEING AS MY WIFE AND RESEARCH PARTNER SUZANNE IS UPSET AT THE COMMENTS, MORESO THAN MYSELF, IT JUST SEEMS APPROPRIATE TO TAKE A BREAK TO MOP-UP A TROLL. SEE YOU AGAIN AT A FUTURE DATE.

Survival On The Muskoka Homestead

I CONFESS, TO BEING IN AWE, WHEN SUZANNE AND I TRAVEL AROUND TO OUR REGIONAL CEMETERIES, PUBLIC, AND THOSE AFFILIATED WITH AREA CHURCHES, AND STAND ON THE GRAVES OF THOSE PIONEERS, I RECOGNIZE, IN NAME, FROM THE HISTORY TEXTS I'VE BEEN READING. I DO THINK ABOUT THE WAY MUSKOKA APPEARED, TO THESE SETTLERS, WHEN THEY ARRIVED IN THE REGION, SO FULL OF EXPECTATION, AND HOPEFULNESS, A PROMISING NEW CHAPTER WAS ABOUT TO BEGIN. I THINK BACK TO THE HARDSHIPS THEY FACED, AND THE BACK BREAKING WORK THEY HAD TO PERFORM, TO MAKE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST GAIN, ON THIS PRECARIOUSLY APPOINTED LANDSCAPE. YET, I GET MOST SATISFACTION, WRITING THEIR STORIES FOR A CONTEMPORARY AUDIENCE, THAT I BELIEVE, SHARES SOME OF THIS REVERENCE FOR THE GROUND BREAKING EFFORTS OF OUR TRUE FOUNDERS. THERE ARE MANY UPLIFTING STORIES, ABOUT PIONEER SUCCESSES, AND ACCOMPLISHMENTS, TO OVERCOME ADVERSITY. SO VERSUS A SAD TALE, THE CONCLUDING CHAPTERS, WHENEVER I WRITE ABOUT THE HOMESTEAD PERIOD, FOR ANY PUBLICATION, IS ALWAYS OF A MUCH MORE RESOLVED, ACCEPTING, REVERENT TONE. I SUPPOSE I'M TAKING A PAGE OUT OF MY MOTHER'S PLAY BOOK, WHEN I WRITE THESE PIECES, TRYING TO IMPRESS THE POINT, THAT WE SHOULD ALL BE THANKFUL TO THOSE WHO BRAVED THE ELEMENTS, AND ENDURED THE SHORTFALLS, TO INVEST IN THE FUTURE OF THIS REGION OF ONTARIO. WHILE IT'S CERTAINLY TRUE, THAT MANY PIONEERS DID ABANDON MUSKOKA IN THOSE FIRST YEARS OF SETTLEMENT, BACK TO THE 1860'S, AND SOME EVEN DIED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF HARDSHIP, THE MAJORITY DUG-IN, AND MADE THEIR FARMSTEADS WORK; OR THEY FOUND A WAY TO GENERATE INCOME, EVEN BY TRADE, WHEREVER IT EXISTED AT THE TIME. THEIR FAMILY NAMES ARE STILL IN EVIDENCE TODAY, IN THIS DISTRICT, SHOWING THE RESOLVE THEY HAD, TO CONQUER WHAT AT TIMES, SEEMED WELL BELOW PROSPEROUS CULTIVATION, AND A BOUNTIFUL HARVEST. WE DO OWE THEM THIS RESPECT. THEY GOT THE BALL ROLLING, SO TO SPEAK, FOR WHAT WE CALL HOME TODAY. YES, WHEN I LOOK AT THEIR MOSS COVERED TOMBSTONES, AND CAN JUST BARELY READ THE INSCRIPTIONS, I THINK ABOUT WHAT SOME TODAY CALL "THE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE," TO PROMOTE THEIR CONTEMPORARY BUSINESS VENTURES. THESE PIONEER FOLKS KNEW THE TRUE MUSKOKA LIFESTYLE. IT WASN'T EXACTLY, LEISURE AT LAKESIDE.

HERE'S ANOTHER RECOLLECTION, WRITTEN BY SHEA FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA, IN HIS LATE 1960'S BOOK, "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS AND BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP." BERT SHEA IS SUZANNE'S UNCLE, AND HE WAS WRITING ABOUT THE UFFORD, THREE MILE LAKE AREA, OF THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. THE BRIEF CHAPTER, IS ENTITLED, SIMPLY, "THE HARVEST."

THE HOMESTEAD HARVEST

"Every member of the Shea family (circa 1863) realized the importance of passing time, so many things to do while the warm season lasted; the summer was not an idle one. John Lily and William, (brothers), had made a canoe each. Susanna had made several trips to South Falls, for the mail and to post letters." This was a difficult and long canoe traverse, with portages necessary. "The garden seeds that had been sown in the new land, by showers and sun, had grown in abundance. By mid August, the corn stood tall and loaded with golden ears, ripening in the hot August sun; the buckwheat was coming in, the wheat had found the high fallow land an ideal place to root; and the opening in the bush for the summer sun to pour in, and in the refreshing showers, there was no question as to quantity, and quality, when August still stirs, the rank golden heads stood hardening in the sun."

Mr. Shea writes, "And all about the plot, the chirp of the chipmunk was heard, as he strove to harvest as much of the new grown food; though strange to him, he knew it would be grand for his winter store. The raccoon would take a share of the golden corn whose dry leaves rustled in the harvest moonlight, as he tore open the husks and helped himself to the golden grain, but plundering the precious crop could not be tolerated. Needless to say, John Lily's big hound played havoc with the destructive raccoons. But better still, Grandaddy picked the corn, stripped back the husks, braided the ears together, in long strings, and hung them on oak pins driven into the shanty wall, to dry and harden the golden grain. The wheat and buckwheat, he cut with his new sickle, bound into sheaves, stooked and capped to cure in the harvest sun, among the stumps and charred logs. The days passed, and when the plump kernels had dried and would separate, from the shuck, 'twas time to thrash. In ancient days the flail had served well, and he had often revelled in his ability to swing the flail, and wield it well to separate from the shuck. This was fine but where the threshing floor, and where the lumber to build it with, (spaces left between the boards) the wheat was precious and not be lost by carelessness.

"And here to serve the purpose, the Indians had used on such occasions, tanned moose or deer hides sewn together. But to serve his purpose, Grandaddy (James Shea) brought out of the shanty, a good wool blanket, and stretched it out on the level ground, and placed the first sheaf of wheat on it, and with a good, stiff hardwood stick, about two feet long, he began the operation of thrashing, pounding the wheat, out of the heads, turning the sheaf over and over, and more pounding, till the heads were broken up, and the grain had been shelled; then another and another sheaf, till the golden grain left the straw, and sufficient wheat was rant its emptying. With the help of Granny Shea, they took the blanket by the four corners, and with care, poured the wheat from one end into a container, while in the process of pouring, the wind blew away the chaff. This process and operation continued for hours."

He writes, "The threshed wheat grew from quarts to bushels and to bags, till the threshing was over, and the steady thump, thump of the operation died away, and the bags were tied with buck-skin strings, or strings from the back of the moose-wood, and set inside the shanty, ready to be taken to the mill (Washago was the closest mill). At that date, this operation could be paid for by flour, taken from the grist, and was called 'toll' if according to your wishes, or your circumstances, you desired to pay that way. Needless to say, in a new country, more paid with toll, than cash, even though they had not sufficient flour to show a surplus, or sufficient to the date, when these stocks could be replenished. Flour received as toll, by the miller, for his work, could be resold by the good miller, to those who had no wheat and money to buy. There was a ready market for flour in a new country. It was about the first of October, when the bags of wheat were ready to be taken to the grist mill.

"It was with pride, Granny and Grandaddy Shea, looked on these two able bodied sons, John Lily, and William, with admiration, as they shouldered the heavy bags of wheat, and made their way to the Beach, Lot 16, Concession 6, the canoe landing. They even packed if necessity called, but to them packing would be part of the added work; they had no intention of carrying a pack of wheat from Watt (Township) to Gravenhurst, or at that date, to Washago, and carry it back. To go by water, there would be two portages out of Three Mile Lake, over the Indian Trail, into Lake Rosseau, at Portage Bay, and another portage at the Indian River rapids at Port Carling, but for the miles by water, they had provided two new canoes and paddles, made from second growth maple, split thin as a knife blades and strong. With the trip before them, the two brothers made their way to the lake, loaded their wheat into the canoes, and pushed off the beach. The first wheat from the township of Watt, was on its way to Gravenhurst by canoe, and paddle, to be made into flour, borne over the waters of the Muskoka lakes, by the young Sheas, leaning slightly forward to paddle with long steady strokes.

"Gun laying before him in the canoe, they set their course for the Portage Bay, and via the Indian Trail to Lake Rosseau. According to my information (author, Bert Shea), this was a trip when hauling to Gravenhurst, that took three days and according to first hand information, few were they of the pioneers, though courageous, were they, who ever took the trip. I do know that some have journeyed with them, but not to any extent. A courageous old pioneer said in his old age, while reminiscing on the past, speaking of the trip he made with John Lily, and William Shea, to Gravenhurst with wheat. Said he, 'One trip like that was enough for me. Conscience. I wasn't afraid, but I was no white-water man'. So on this particular trip, they paddled on to dine on dried venison. Granny's special provision, carried with them for emergencies, or from the gun that was always at hand, to bring in a partridge for their evening meals. As they camped for the night on the sheltered side of some island, the days speed on and in the evening light, on the great waters of Green Bay, two objects were to be seen steadily moving up the bay; with a surge of thankfulness, James Shea saw his two sons paddling their precious cargo up the bay to their landing. Their young eyes had caught sight of their father as he stood to scan the waters of the bay; by the setting sun, they too felt the joy of returning home with flour for bread, for their father to feed his family, through the long hard winter which was rapidly approaching."

The following poetic lines, follow up the story, told by Mr. Shea:

"I saw the summer waining late; I saw the sunlight glisten on the lake; I saw the evening after glow, the sun kiss deep the waters of the lake. I felt the quiet settle in of night, the twilight take of evening's splendor glow, and erase the coloured rugged shore, whose heights stood deeply mirrored in the lake. I felt the night so settle all around, the dark of air and sky and ground, and then the jewels appeared above, and then in awe, I thought of home and them I loved. And as my feet trod o'r the turf, uncertain steps uneven earth, I heard the voices of night around, of wild birds by my footsteps put to flight. And then I saw the light from window clear, my home and loved ones there so dear, awaiting from my burden to partake, of food our supper fresh to bake. The perspiration stood upon my brow, my body weary from the heavy load, but my voice welcome loud and clear, my faithful do announce my coming near."

"The writer (Bert Shea), cannot recall any remarks in particular as to the potato, turnip (called the poor man's butter on dry bread), and other garden crops. But it could be taken for granted, in consideration of the abundance of grain, that the garden produce would be excellent; the ground new and on the south side of the lake, this is a protection from frost. I could add, at this point, an account as related by William Kay, when an old man, reminiscing about the past, and relating to the earlier years in Watt, with much satisfaction, as he stood in the sunset of that lovely October evening. And from his gateway he looked across to the familiar spot, where Shea's first shanty stood. Amidst the quiet autumn fields, and with a movement of his hand, familiar to his way, said he, in referring to a visit to the Sheas, when potato digging was the order of the day. Granny Shea was justing finishing the picking-up job, that totaled for her day's digging. A measure of forty bushels having been dug by herself in new land. In these days there were no potato bugs or parasites of any kind, to affect the crop, except the green cabbage worm that appeared at a very early date, perhaps a native of the green woods, that added to his list of edibles; the newly planted and succulent cabbage plants.

"However, Granny Shea settled his reign by the use of fine, dry hardwood ashes, dusted over the cabbage plants. This fine dust, entering the most wrinkles of the worm's body, producing lye which proved too strong for his survival. Later years, lime dust was used, this being beneficial to the growth of the plant. But the use of lime came in later years, when Grandaddy Shea had built a lime kiln down on the beach, by the foot of the hill. The writer just recently in searching, found splinters of lime stones and other remains, and remnants of his works, and of stone brought there to process for house plastering, chimney or fireplace construction, in pioneer days."

Once again, I have retreated to my favorite portal, at Birch Hollow, looking out over The Bog, with my good friend Muffin, who has been studying the resident red squirrel who was born here at our modest Gravenhurst homestead. Muffin isn't fond of wet weather, and has to be coaxed to go for a walk. We have both come back, this afternoon, shivering from the cold wind and rain, over-taking this early March day. I've been listening to the steamship's whistle for the past few minutes, wondering what it would be like out on the lake, on such a blustery, rainy day. Despite what inclement weather unfurls from the heavens today, it is still a magnificent scene from here to there, and I cherish every moment. I have just had the pleasurable company, of the county crows, who find our hardwoods perfect for their great debates, of which are, me thinks, full of theatrics and bird-kind hubris, and all at considerable volume. I think I could retire to Birch Hollow, without any fear, of having little to write about; because even in the dullest, most adverse circumstance of weather, I am so glad to have this opportunity, to share nature as a comfortable voyeur. From this vantage point, I can very much relate to the pioneer stories told by Bert Shea, from his remarkable little history book about our family; the Muskoka pioneers.

Thank you for joining with me today, to explore the life and times of the Muskoka homestead community.

The Allure of Muskoka

2017-03-21T04:26:00.001-07:00

MUSKOKA HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE ALLURE, BRACEBRIDGE THE HOME TOWN

G.H.O. THOMAS WROTE ABOUT BRACEBRIDGE OF 1884 - BUT PENNED ELOQUENTLY ABOUT ITS PLACE IN MUSKOKA

I was once again chased out of my studio setting, at our Gravenhurst music and antique shop, for some special guests, so I had to retreat home to Birch Hollow, and a chair on the front verandah, where I've been sitting for the past two hours. We are across from a wonderful little urban oasis, known with considerable affection, as "The Bog," and it is lively today. It is what I so enjoy about living and working in this beautiful district of Muskoka. There are hundreds of birds singing and chattering all around me here, this portal onto fern, forest and lowland. There are the sounds of squirrels thrashing from leafy bough to bough, and the country crows are cawing off to my right. The wind is washing through the full maples and thick, and thriving evergreens, and just now, several children rode by on their bikes, laughing and cracking their pedals; and how pleasant it all sounds to a writer, displaced from his usual digs. It is pleasant, and it does influence my writing. Muskoka influences us all, but we often don't think about it, and it doesn't come up in general conversation. Going back in history, many pioneer writers knew that such a rough topography, its huge watershed, and severe winters, hot summers, and bugs, would affect the way they lived, and how they prospered on respective homesteads. Even today, we are influenced by the hinterland, whether we choose to believe it or not. Today, at this precise moment, I am so pleased to be a part of this amazing scene, and feel fortunate I don't have to leave at the end of a vacation. And by the way, my vacations are spent in Muskoka. Much of it is spent on this verandah overlooking Birch Hollow and The Bog.

"The end of winter reminds me I have lived in Bracebridge through fifty winters, (1884-1934) and a glance about town, assures me very few of my fellow townsmen have. This set me wondering whether Gazette (Thomas family owned Bracebridge Gazette) readers might be interested in a word picture of their home town as it then was. It is not easy to go back fifty years and be sure that no part of the picture of the intervening past, has not entered into it. In my case, I have seen Bracebridge change from the frontier village of fifty years ago, to the modern, sedate town of today (circa 1934). It may be, then, that slight chronological errors may creep into this story."

I have always enjoyed reading, especially at intervals when I become uninspired, the insightful heritage notes made by former teacher, publisher G.H.O. Thomas, and his son, Redmond Thomas Q.C., who both wrote columns, at times, for the Bracebridge Gazette. Redmond wrote one of the best Bracebridge histories ever penned, known as "Reminiscences," because much of it is anecdotal. He was an exceptional story-teller, and he included social / cultural history, which often times, is excluded from some of the more detailed, factual, chronological histories. Redmond, and G.H.O. Thomas, put some color onto the black and white sketches, of town history. What draws me back to this Gazette history, which I acquired quite a few years ago, written by the elder Thomas, is that Muskoka is a fascination to him, and this aspect of nature, isn't excluded in what he determines as the town's chronicle. The editorial work of both G.H.O. Thomas, and Redmond Thomas, coincide with my own feelings about our region, and the development of our communities; as proportional to the environment and landscape. Our pioneer communities were influenced by nature, in this huge hinterland, but it is often omitted in tightly written histories, which I have always considered a tremendous shortfall of relevant information. The facts are important, but they are not the end-all. What roll did our geographic location, and topographical realities have on the community, that evolved, along the shoreline, and up the hillside, of the dark flowing Muskoka River?

Bracebridge, and all the other towns, villages and hamlets, of Muskoka, were profoundly influenced by the geography, environment and shortage of arable land; while impacted heavily by the reality, Muskoka was one of the accessible, and accommodating regions in the most populated province of Canada. For hunters and anglers initially, vacationers following close behind. Bracebridge, like other Muskoka communities, learned quickly, that the hardships of the frontier, and immense difficulties of homestead economy, could be supplemented, with the new tourism interest. Even as far back as the 1870's, tourism had become a minor economic interest, and homesteaders were often asked to take-in sportsmen, as lodgers, during their stay in the region. It became obvious, tourist accommodation was needed, and although the conversion of industries, from logging to tourism, took time to evolve, by the time Mr. Thomas had arrived in Muskoka, economic changes were favoring tourism, in significant increments, year by year. So Mr. Thomas gives considerable credit to the region, for its natural allure, which helped the early settlements progress and expand their economic base. The navigable waterways helped immeasurably, the fledgling economy take hold, and eventually, prosper with early industrial diversity. Logging, tanneries, Woollen Mill, agriculture and transportation. Tourism became the unexpected bonus, of improving transportation, and the availability of provisions.

I like his work, because it reflects in so many interesting ways, my own interest in our region. When someone asks me what it's like to live in Muskoka, I never base a response, entirely on my passion for a "rural" lifestyle. In many ways, and although I also like the idea of progress and diversity in the local economy, I often think our regional governance has forgotten, to some degree, the importance of maintaining and conserving a healthy environment. Tourism, as the region's number one industry, depends on the health and well being of the natural qualities of the lakeland. There has been an intrusive arrogance, about economic development and urban sprawl, such that protecting the nature of our region, has, to some of our movers and shakers, become a lesser concern. If the hinterland is compromised, it will change the nature of our tourist economy. The cottagers and day travellers who honor us with their regular trips to Muskoka, do not come here for what they can secure in the urban areas, where they have a permanent residence. They undoubtedly see enough urban sprawl elsewhere, and don't wish to see it encumbering the present wilds of our district. There is a passage written by Mr. Thomas, that I often quote, that points out, as far back as 1884, just how important it was to appreciate the natural surroundings, and its inherent beauty, as it related to the whole Muskoka experience; whether you were a seasonal visitor or a new homesteader, looking to farm this rocky, boggy, and heavily treed region of frontier Ontario. Nature had to be dealt with, in all its excesses, from early winters, heavy snows, frigid temperatures, to the rainy springs, and bug infested summers. Yet there was something compelling about the nature of Muskoka, that kept families here for generations; just as there are still descendants of the Thomas family still working and residing in the town today.

"Before attempting to give you a picture of Bracebridge of fifty years ago, it might be in order to give a summary of its history prior to that time. Men are somewhat like fish; fish want to get as far up stream as the can, to begin family life; men want to get as far up country as possible. The spirit of adventure attracts some; hope of better things urges others. At any rate we find men always pushing into unknown regions. Muskoka was a rough, unbroken forest, when adventurers got as far as the unbridged river at North Falls, the present site of Bracebridge. Odd ones got this far even in 1861, but settlement was only beginning in earnest in 1866. When A.P. Cockburn built the Wenonah, and brought his good ship to Bracebridge in 1866, 'there were not more than twenty people to welcome her.' Yet in 1872 Bracebridge had a population of five hundred. Steamboats had much to do with the making of Bracebridge. Settlers were coming and going on, up country. With the advent of the Wenonah, and shortly afterwards, the Waubamik, all summer travel was by water to Bracebridge, head of navigation."

The newspaper columnist writes, "Bracebridge was a forbidding place to build a town. It was one of the roughest spots in the district. But the necessity of changing from boat, to overland conveyance, just naturally made for business in Bracebridge. In 1878, the steamer 'Northern' was launched at Port Sydney, giving water transportation to all parts adjacent to Vernon, Fairy and Peninsula lakes. Next year the 'Dean' gave similar service on Lake of Bays. Settlers poured in; business boomed in Bracebridge. Buildings went up almost overnight. By 1878, the village had two newspapers, 269 children of school age, a Mechanics' Institute with public library, a Fire Company (department), with 50 volunteer members, who wear handsome uniforms, a powerful hand (pump) fire engine, a lofty bell tower, a Winter Amusement Society, Masonic Lodge, Orange Lodge, Cricket Club, Bowling Alley, Billiard Rooms, Agricultural Society for Muskoka and Parry Sound, five churches, several Temperance Societies, two hardware stores, six general stores, seven groceries, a drug store, a photographic gallery, three bakers, three butchers, tailors, two milliners, six dressmakers, a watchmaker, a cooper, five tinsmiths, seven painters, twenty-six carpenters, four wheelwrights, ten blacksmiths, six printers, five lawyers, and three editors. There were three wagon shops and two tanneries. So, you see, Bracebridge was no insignificant village in 1878."

As the author notes, "But really, I started out to tell what Bracebridge looked like in 1884, and had better get back to my job. My first twenty years were spent chiefly in Victoria County, except when studying in Hamilton and Toronto. That stretch of Ontario from Lindsay to Toronto was all with which I had any familiarity. There was no Sunday motoring (by horse and buggy) then into regions 150 miles away. It was an event to go to a celebration ten miles from home. You readers have grown up in motor cars. You know what all parts of the country are like. Fifty years ago (1884) it was so different. You know that in the territory of my boyhood experiences, there is nothing but one hundred percent country. Level, fertile fields and orchards, straight roads, square fields, prosperous farms, villages, towns and cities. Until I came to Muskoka, at the age of twenty, I had never seen a rock or an unfenced bush. That's probably accounts for the vivid impression remaining after fifty years."

"It was a warm, bright day in August 1884, that I left the train at Muskoka Wharf, to take a boat Bracebridge. The trip from Orillia to Gravenhurst, had a depressing effect. Instead of the fertile fields down home, I had come through what seemed endless miles of rocks and tangled forest, for even that time, all bush in that stretch, had been robbed of its timber. and left in horrible condition, in which many parts of our forest lands are still being left. Fires had followed lumbermen, and left bare rocks with charred tree trunks, in desolate confusion over them. At school in Toronto, that year, one of my classmates came from Barrie, and the other boys used to kid him about it. 'Isn't Barrie in Muskoka?' they would say, and laugh about it. And in a few short weeks afterward, I was coming to live in Muskoka. As I passed through those rocks with charred dead trees, how glad I was that my engagement was for four months only."

Mr. Thomas reports of his boat trip, "At Muskoka Wharf, the scene changed. There was the beautiful stretch of water, the trim boats, (Kenozha and Nipissing), gay tourists, and all around the hum and bustle of sawmills. They told me there were over a dozen sawmills around the bay. The trip up the lake was enchanting. Never had I seen or imagined anything so beautiful. In those days the pilot houses were kind of down among the passengers, rather than secluded and unapproachably aloof, as they are now. Somehow acquainted with Captain Henry, on that trip, and it seemed to me we were always intimately acquainted from that day. Then suddenly the Kenozha turned into the river mouth (Muskoka River). On both sides dense forest. Again the feeling of depression but the feeling of gladness that the contract (as a teacher) was for four months only; and I vowed I would stick it for that time, if there was nothing but bush life in the interval. We are so familiar with Muskoka Lake, and the river mouth, that we hardly realize the surprise a visitor has when he first turns into the river. Earliest Bracebridge pioneers came overland. John Bell, however, came by water in 1861. He knew of the existence of the river but it took him five days paddling, along the shores, before he found it.

"The depression didn't last. I got watching the marvelous shadows in the black water. You have often watched those shadows haven't you? Surely there is nothing like it anywhere else. In the water, deep down in the water, away under the land, are trees and hills and sky. Then rolling waves gently heave the trees, until the tops of one grove meet the tops of a similar grove, and they gradually merge into one grove, to be followed by other trees, shrubs and hills, kissing tips, and gradually growing into each other. Then in the water came a farm house, and barn, with cattle grazing in cultivated fields, natural but upside down. Then leaving shadows for reality, I found the Kenozha plowing a beautiful river, with fertile fields, and good farm homes on both sides. Yes, Muskoka River in 1884 was very much like it is now. The tannery, then a tall wooden building, was the signal that Bracebridge was reached. In a few minutes, the Kenozha tied up at the wharf. The wharf at that time, was on the point, opposite the present Motor Camp (Kelvin Grove Park, below Bracebridge Falls). Here all was a bustle. Busses for the various hotels, were there to meet passengers. Wharf Master, Andrew Harvey, was there to attend to freight. Quite a large freight house stood there, and from the boat came barrels, boxes, crates of all sizes that piled the freight shed high. It was surely a busy place."

To get to Bracebridge, most passengers, including homesteaders, had to pass along the winding length of the Muskoka River with all its inherent enchantments. Not as wide, long, and deep, as the historic Hudson River Valley, in New York, made famous by revered American author Washington Irving, but the scenic Muskoka River did lead to a sort of "Sleepy Hollow;" the picturesque smoke-filled village perched high on the hillside, neatly above the sparkling cataract of North Falls. The title "Bracebridge," was the name chosen for the hamlet Post Office, by William Dawson LeSueur, of the federal postal authority, in 1864, inspired by Washington Irving's book "Bracebridge Hall," originally published in 1822. LeSueur, also a literary critic, and Canadian historian, when not working for the civil service, had also named Gravenhurst, two years earlier (1862), after a book written by British author / historian, William Henry Smith, being "Gravenhurst; or Thoughts on Good and Evil."

Part 2 Early Newspaper Publishers in Muskoka

2017-03-20T04:25:00.002-07:00

ANOTHER GLIMPSE AT THESE HISTORIC NEWSPAPER PUBLISHERS

"LET US GLANCE FOR A MOMENT, AT ALL THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THESE TWO EDITORS," WRITES CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, IN HIS BOOK, "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA," CIRCA THE 1940'S.

"GEORGE (G.H.O.) THOMAS CAME TO BRACEBRIDGE WHEN ABOUT TWENTY YEARS OF AGE, TO FILL A VACANCY ON THE TEACHING STAFF (SCHOOL) FOR SIX MONTHS. THE COUNTRY LOOKED SO FORBIDDING TO HIM THAT HE WONDERED IF HE COULD ENDURE THAT LONG. BEFORE THE SIX MONTHS HAD EXPIRED, HE BECAME ENGAGED AS PRINCIPAL FOR THE FOLLOWING YEAR, 1885, A POSITION HE HELD FOR MANY YEARS DURING WHICH TIME HE BECAME ENGAGED IN THE JEWELRY BUSINESS, MARRIED AND OF HIS THREE SONS, ONE IS AN OPTOMETRIST (PHILIP), THE OTHER TWO STUDIED LAW, AND NOW ARE PARTNERS IN A LAW PRACTICE (DOUGLAS AND REDMOND). THE OLDEST (REDMOND) IS ALSO A MAGISTRATE AND EDITOR OF THE BRACEBRIDGE GAZETTE. D.E. BASTEDO CAME FROM BAYSVILLE TO BRACEBRIDGE, ON FOOT, IN 1870, WITH HIS MEAGRE BELONGINGS TIED IN A COLORED HANDKERCHIEF, ACCEPTED THE POSITION OF 'PRINTER'S DEVIL,' ON THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE, AND LATER WAS ON THE FREE GRANT GAZETTE. HE MARRIED AND RAISED A FAMILY OF FIVE BOYS, AND SEVERAL GIRLS; OF THE BOYS THREE ARE LAWYERS, ONE A HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER AND ONE A DOCTOR (DR. A.F. BASTEDO OF BRACEBRIDGE). THESE ARE NOT ONLY MUSKOKA PIONEER FAMILIES, WHO HAVE TURNED OUT PROFESSIONAL MEN. THE BACK TOWNSHIPS AS WELL AS THE TOWNS, HAVE PRODUCED THEIR QUOTA. I ONLY MENTION THESE TWO FAMILIES, BECAUSE THEY ARE CONNECTED WITH THE PRESS, OUR PRESENT SUBJECT."

CAPTAIN FRASER ADDS, "THE GRAVENHURST BANNER WAS THE LAST MUSKOKA PAPER, TO BEGIN PUBLICATION. IT MADE ITS APPEARANCE IN THE 1880'S. THE BANNER WAS THE FIRST NEWSPAPER THAT I EVER READ, AS AT THAT TIME, I WAS JUST LEARNING TO READ. IN MY CHILDISH IGNORANCE, I THOUGHT THAT A NEWSPAPERMAN MUST BE A WONDERFULLY WISE MAN. I WONDERED HOW HE COULD KNOW ALL THE THINGS THAT APPEARED EVERY WEEK IN THE BANNER. I ANXIOUSLY LOOKED FORWARD TO ITS ARRIVAL EVERY WEEK. IN THE EARLY DAYS THE BANNER WAS ABOUT THE ONLY PAPER THAT CAME TO OUR SETTLEMENT. LIKE ALL OTHER DISTRICT PAPERS, IT WAS A GREAT BOOSTER OF MUSKOKA. ITS WEEKLY BUDGET OF NEWS, TOLD OF NEW SETTLER ARRIVALS, OF NEW ROADS BEING BUILT AND OF THE EVER-INCREASING LAKE TRADE. SUCH NEWS HAD THE EFFECT OF MAKING OUR PEOPLE BELIEVE THAT THEY WERE LIVING IN A FAVORED LAND. NOTHING STIMULATES CIVIC PRIDE LIKE GOOD NEWSPAPER LEADERSHIP AND SUPPORT. ALTHOUGH MANY OF OUR PEOPLE FOUND THE GOING TOUGH ENOUGH, THEY RESENTED ANYTHING THAT CAST A REFLECTION ON THE COMMUNITY. AN INCIDENT OCCURRED IN THE MID 1880'S, WHEN AN ELDERLY CLERGYMAN, WHO HAD CALLED TO ONE OF THE TOWN CHURCHES, (AND WHO EVIDENTLY HAD COME FROM A MORE ADVANCED COMMUNITY), MADE A REPORT, THAT APPEARED IN THE PRESS (NOT IN THE BANNER), DEPICTING MUSKOKA AS A POVERTY-STRICKEN DISTRICT. FEW INCIDENTS IN THOSE DAYS CAUSED SUCH WIDESPREAD INDIGNATION, AS DID THIS REPORT; THE RESULT BEING THAT THE REVEREND GENTLEMAN'S STAY IN GRAVENHURST WAS OF SHORT DURATION.

"THE BANNER WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1882 BY W.R. TUDHOPE, LATER IT WAS TAKEN OVER IN TURN BY A. FAWCETT OF UFFINGTON, THE GRANT FAMILY, G.H.O. THOMAS, DALTON CAMPBELL, MR. REYNOLDS, AND FINALLY BY ALF AND R.T. DASS, OF WHOM ALF IS STILL THE PUBLISHER (CIRCA 1942). IN THE EARLY PART OF THE 20TH CENTURY, ANOTHER GRAVENHURST PAPER, THE HERALD, FOUNDED BY DR. BEATTIE NESBITT, RAN FOR AWHILE, AND WAS THEN ABSORBED BY THE BANNER."

CAPTAIN FRASER ASTUTELY OBSERVES, THAT, "AS AN UNBIASED OBSERVER, WITH NO AXE TO GRIND, I WOULD SAY THAT THE PRESS OF MUSKOKA DESERVES THE COMMENDATION OF THE WHOLE DISTRICT, FOR THE PART IT HAS PLAYED IN PROMOTING THE VARIED AND NUMEROUS INTERESTS OF THIS FAIR LAND OF OURS. TO THE PRESS, I WOULD SAY, 'DO NOT REST ON YOUR OARS FOR THE GOAL HAS NOT BEEN REACHED; MUSKOKA IS NOT YET FULLY DEVELOPED AND THE PRESS CAN BECOME A POWERFUL INSTRUMENT IN STIMULATING INTEREST IN SUCH PROPOSITIONS, AS RE-FORESTATION AND TREE-PLANTING ALONG OUR HIGHWAYS AND THE BANKS OF RIVERS AND STREAMS, TO PRESERVE MOISTURE AND KEEP THE LITTLE BABBLING BROOKS ALIVE AND ACTIVE TO THE DELIGHT OF THOUSANDS OF CHILDREN FROM MANY LANDS. STAY OUT IN FRONT; GIVE US LEADERSHIP AND EARN THE GRATITUDE OF AN INTERESTED PUBLIC; FOR AFTER ALL MUSKOKA IS DESTINED TO BE JUST WHAT WE MAKE OF IT."

THIS WAS THE PERSPECTIVE OFFERED IN MUSKOKA, BY A MUSKOKAN, DURING YEARS OF THE SECOND WORLD WAR. WHY WOULD THE MEDIA EVER BE OF LESSER CONCERN, AS A LEADERSHIP MODEL, EVEN IN THIS, OUR MODERN ERA OF DEVELOPMENT?

The First Newspaper in Muskoka - "The Northern Advocate"

2017-03-19T05:53:00.001-07:00

THE FIRST NEWSPAPER IN MUSKOKA - "THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE"

NEWSPAPERS KEPT A RURAL POPULATION IN TOUCH WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD

LET'S LOOK AT SOME OLD TIME VALUES IN THE COMMUNITY PRESS

SO HOW IMPORTANT WERE COMMUNITY NEWSPAPERS DATING BACK TO THE LATE 1860'S? HOW RELEVANT WERE THESE PAPERS, TO THE ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT OF THE REGION, SINCE THEIR NEWS PAGES BEGAN ROLLING OFF THE PRESSES? HOW ABOUT POLITICS? HOW RABID WERE THESE PUBLISHERS AND EDITORS WAY BACK.....EVEN A COUPLE OF DECADES AGO, WHENEVER THERE WAS A MUNICIPAL, PROVINCIAL OR FEDERAL ELECTION? HOW IMPORTANT WAS IT TO HAVE A NEWSPAPER OFFICE ON THE MAIN STREET OF OUR MAJOR TOWNS?

AS AWARE AS I CAN BE, REGARDING THE MODERN DAY ECONOMICS FACING NEWSPAPERS ACROSS THIS COUNTRY, I WOULD LOVE A RETURN TO THE OLD TIME, FAMILY OR PARTNERSHIP OWNED PUBLICATIONS, LIKE WE USED TO COUNT ON......TO KEEP US UP TO SPEED ON THE LATEST NEWS FROM HOME AND ABROAD. BACK TO A TIME WHEN JOURNALISM WAS MORE THAN JUST A REPORTER HUSTLING UP A STORY, OR A PHOTOGRAPHER GETTING A GREAT FRONT PAGER........OR THE PUBLISHER CELEBRATING A "SOLD-OUT" EDITION. IT WAS WHEN A COMMUNITY LOOKED AT ITS REPRESENTATIVE PAPERS, AND BELIEVED IT WAS AS MUCH A SIGN OF PROSPERITY AND FUTURE POTENTIAL. AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO BELIEVE ME....BUT POSSIBLY YOU MIGHT BELIEVE THESE HISTORICAL OBSERVATIONS, FROM FOLKS WHO DID, FROM CLOSE QUARTERS, APPRECIATE THE ROLE OF THE COMMUNITY PRESS IN OUR REGION OF ONTARIO.

"THE FIRST NEWSPAPER IN THE SETTLEMENT (BRACEBRIDGE) WAS PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR (THOMAS MCMURRAY), ON THE 14TH DAY OF SEPTEMBER 1869, BEARING THE TITLE OF THE 'NORTHERN ADVOCATE.' IT WAS FIRST PRINTED AT PARRY SOUND, BUT FROM THE FACT THAT BRACEBRIDGE WAS MORE CENTRAL IT HAS BEEN REMOVED THITHER. THE OBJECT OF THE PUBLISHER WAS TO GIVE RELIABLE INFORMATION ABOUT THE FREE GRANT LANDS, AND HIS LABOURS HAVE BEEN VERY SUCCESSFUL. THE CIRCULATION IS 1,000 COPIES WEEKLY. A GREAT MANY COPIES GO TO ENGLAND, IRELAND AND SCOTLAND FOR INFORMATION OF INTENDING EMIGRANTS, AND THROUGH THE ADVOCACY MANY HAVE BEEN INDUCED TO SETTLE IN OUR MIDST."

THOMAS MCMURRAY, WAS OF COURSE, THE AUTHOR OF MUSKOKA'S OWN SETTLERS' GUIDEBOOK, SIMPLY ENTITLED "MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND," IN THE EARLY 1870'S, AND HE USED THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE IN MUCH THE SAME MANNER AS THE BOOK.....TO ENCOURAGE SETTLERS TO INVEST IN OUR REGION OF THE PROVINCE. THE CONFLICT FOR MCMURRAY, THAT HE OBVIOUSLY DIDN'T CARE ABOUT, WAS THAT HIS EDITORIAL CONTENT, AND OUTRIGHT SOLICITATION FOR EMIGRANTS, WAS TIED INTO HIS BUSINESS INVOLVEMENTS, FROM NEWSPAPERS TO REAL ESTATE SPECULATION IN ITS INFANCY. THE SETTLEMENT OF THE FREE GRANT LANDS, OF OUR DISTRICT, EARNED HIM MONEY, FROM THE SALE OF NEWSPAPERS, THEN HIS BOOK, AND PROPERTY SALES ON TOP OF THAT. BUT HE WAS ALSO HEAVILY INVESTED IN THE COMMERCIAL AREA OF PIONEER BRACEBRIDGE, WHICH OBVIOUSLY BENEFITTED FROM A POPULATION INCREASE. MCMURRAY DIDN'T HAVE PARTICULAR INTEREST, IN SHARING THE WHOLE STORY ABOUT PIONEERING DISADVANTAGES IN MUSKOKA, BECAUSE HIS PROFITS WERE BASED ON ATTRACTING EMIGRANTS.....NOT DISCOURAGING THEM FROM TAKING A CROSS-ATLANTIC ADVENTURE.

MCMURRAY WAS AMBITIOUS AND MADE MAJOR CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF BRACEBRIDGE, AND INDEED, THE SETTLEMENT OF MUSKOKA, BUT HE MADE ERRORS IN JUDGEMENT THAT COST HIM SERIOUS FINANCIAL REPURCUSIONS. IN BRACEBRIDGE, FOR EXAMPLE, HE WAS IN SUCH A HURRY TO ERECT HIS BRICK BUILDING, ON MANITOBA STREET, THAT HE FAILED TO ALLOW THEM TO CURE PROPERLY, BEFORE HAVING THEM CEMENTED IN PLACE. SO THEY BEGAN CRUMBLING EARLY IN THE HISTORY OF THIS MAIN STREET ARCHITECTURE. THE LARGE BUILDING WAS LATER HAULED DOWN, AND THE PROPERTY RE-DEVELOPED. MCMURRAY DESERVES A STREET NAMED IN HIS HONOR, IN BRACEBRIDGE (BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC SCHOOL IS ON THIS STREET), AND HIS NAME IS PERMANENTLY ETCHED ONTO THE PAGES OF REGIONAL HISTORY. HE WAS A BIG MUSKOKA BOOSTER, A CHAMPION OF THE PIONEERING MOVEMENT INTO THE HINTERLAND, THE FIRST MUSKOKA HISTORIAN, AND THE FIRST NEWSPAPER PUBLISHER. FOR ALL THAT HE DID ACCOMPLISH, IN THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE TOWN, THINGS JUST DIDN'T WORK OUT AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED. HE THEN RETURNED NORTH TO PARRY SOUND TO RECOUP HIS LOSSES.

ACCORDING TO MCMURRAY, "IT IS SOMEWHAT SINGULAR, THAT WHEN THE WRITER FIRST CAME TO MUSKOKA, HE HAD TO ROW ACROSS MUSKOKA LAKE, AND WHEN THE FIRST ISSUE OF THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE, WAS PUBLISHED, IT SO HAPPENED THAT THE STEAMER WAS UNDER REPAIRS, AND HE HAD TO ROW SIXTEEN MILES ACROSS THE SAME WATER IN ORDER TO DELIVER THE FIRST NUMBER." NO ONE SAID THAT THE NEWSPAPER BUSINESS WAS GOING TO BE EASY.

"THE FREE GRANT GAZETTE (THEN BY THE 1940'S, THE BRACEBRIDGE GAZETTE), IS MENTIONED FOR THE FIRST TIME, IN THE AUDITOR'S REPORT OF 1872 AND 1873, BEING PRINTED BY IT. THE FIRST AUDITOR'S REPORT FOR 1869, WAS PRINTED BY THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE, BRACEBRIDGE'S FIRST NEWSPAPER, WHICH LATER BECAME DEFUNCT. WE OFTEN HEAR IT SAID THAT PEOPLE TODAY ARE DIFFERENT FROM WHAT THEY WERE 75 TO 100 YEARS AGO. THERE IS, OF COURSE, A VAST DIFFERENCE IN THE WAY PEOPLE LIVE TODAY, AS COMPARED WITH 75 YEARS AGO, BUT FUNDAMENTALLY HUMAN NATURE IS THE SAME." WROTE CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, IN HIS 1940'S CHRONICLE, "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA." MCMURRAY RECOGNIZED THE ECONOMIC IMPORTANCE OF A COMMUNITY NEWSPAPER, AND WRITES ABOUT IT, IN THE FOLLOWING PASSAGES, TAKEN FROM HIS CHAPTER THREE.

"THE PRESS OF MUSKOKA HAS INDEED BEEN A GREAT STIMULUS TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE DISTRICT; AND IN THE EARLY DAYS ALONE, BUT UP TO THE PRESENT TIME (1940'S), OUR NEWSPAPERS HAVE GIVEN SUPPORT IN FULL MEASURE TO EVERY PHASE OF LIFE IN THE DISTRICT. IN POLITICAL AFFAIRS THERE HAS BEEN, AT TIMES, BITTERNESS; BUT TO SUPPORT THE DISTRICT, COMPLETE ACCORD, AND WOE, TO THE ONE WHO WROTE ANYTHING DISPARAGING OF THE HOME FRONT. THE APPRECIATION OF THE PUBLIC IS EVIDENT IN THAT EVERY NEWSPAPER PUBLISHED IN MUSKOKA, IN 1874, OR LATER, IS STILL GOING STRONG. THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE IS NOW ONE OF THE FEW TOWNS OF ITS SIZE IN ALL OF ONTARIO, WHERE TWO WEEKLY NEWSPAPERS ARE STILL PUBLISHED. TODAY ONE MARVELS AT THE ENTERPRISE OF SOME OF THE EARLY SETTLERS. IN 1869 THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE WAS PUBLISHED IN PARRY SOUND BY THOMAS MCMURRAY, BUT FINDING THAT LOCATION WAS TOO FAR TO ONE SIDE OF THE TERRITORY, IT WAS MOVED TO BRACEBRIDGE ONE YEAR LATER, IN 1870."

CAPTAIN FRASER WRITES, "BRACEBRIDGE AT THAT TIME, BEING THE CENTRE AND DISTRIBUTING POINT FOR THE WHOLE COUNTRY, AS FAR NORTH AS LAKE NIPISSING. MR. MCMURRAY WAS BY THIS TIME WELL KNOWN, AS HE WAS ONE OF THE VERY EARLY ARRIVALS, AND HAD BEEN ACTIVE IN COMMUNITY AFFAIRS; HAD BEEN REEVE OF THE UNITED TOWNSHIPS OF DRAPER, MACAULAY, STEPHENSON AND RYDE. HE WAS ALSO A BUILDER AND REAL ESTATE MAN, OWNING CONSIDERABLE LAND IN BRACEBRIDGE. THE LAND ON WHICH THE PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH AND THE BRACEBRIDGE HIGH SCHOOL STAND, WAS PART OF HIS HOLDINGS. HIS RESIDENCE, FOR A TIME, WAS THE FINE BIG HOUSE, 'THE GROVE,' LATER THE HOME OF THE LATE J. EWART LOUNT, AND WHICH WAS TORN DOWN TO MAKE ROOM FOR THE PRESENT HIGH SCHOOL (CLOSED AND RELOCATED). MR. JAMES BOYER (FATHER OF GEORGE BOYER, AT PRESENT, CUSTOMS OFFICER AT BRACEBRIDGE, WAS EDITOR. FOUR YEARS LATER, IN 1873, MR. MCMURRAY FAILED IN BUSINESS AND THE ADVOCATE WAS CONTINUED BY A MR. COURTNEY WHO, A SHORT TIME LATER, WAS DROWNED. THE NORTHERN ADVOCATE WAS THEN DISCONTINUED. LATER IN THE YEAR OF HIS FAILURE, MR. MCMURRAY BEGAN PUBLICATION OF THE NORTH STAR IN PARRY SOUND, WHERE HE HAD BEEN APPOINTED CROWN LANDS AGENT.

"THE SECOND NEWSPAPER PUBLISHED IN THE DISTRICT, THE FREE GRANT GAZETTE, IN 1872, BY MR. E.F. STEPHENSON, APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN A LIVE NEWSPAPERMAN, AS THE GAZETTE SOON BECAME VERY POPULAR THROUGHOUT THE DISTRICT, AND STILL RETAINS ITS POPULARITY AFTER 73 YEARS OF PUBLICATION (CIRCA 1940'S). MR. STEPHENSON STARTED THE PUBLICATION OF "THE LIBERAL" IN HUNTSVILLE UNDER THE EDITORSHIP OF DR. HOWLAND; IT WAS PRINTED IN BRACEBRIDGE BUT AFTER AWHILE, IT WAS DISCONTINUED AND IN 1877 THE HUNTSVILLE FORESTER, MADE ITS APPEARANCE AND FOR 68 YEARS IT HAS BEEN ACTIVE IN PROMOTING THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE DISTRICT. FEW JOURNALS HAVE SHOWN MORE ENERGY AND FORESIGHT, OR HAVE GIVEN BETTER LEADERSHIP IN FURTHERING THE MANY VARIED PROBLEMS WHICH ARE OF VITAL INTEREST, TO A NEW AND GROWING TOWN AND ADJACENT COMMUNITIES (WITH SPECIAL EMPHASIS ON THE TOURIST TRADE) THAN HAS THE HUNTSVILLE FORESTER. THE FORESTER MIGHT BE CONSIDERED A CONTINUATION OF THE LIBERAL, THE DIFFERENCE BEING THAT THE PAPER WAS NOW BEING PRINTED IN HUNTSVILLE, WITH MR. F.W. CLEARWATER, ASSOCIATED WITH DR. HOWLAND, WHO STILL RETAINED THE EDITORSHIP. THREE YEARS LATER MR. CLEARWATER PURCHASED DR. HOWLAND'S INTERESTS AND CONTINUED AS EDITOR AND PUBLISHER UNTIL 1899 WHEN THE BUSINESS WAS SOLD TO MR. GEORGE HUTCHESON WHO CONTINUED THE PUBLICATION UNTIL 1913 WHEN IT WAS TAKEN OVER BY MR. H.E. RICE, WHO, TOGETHER WITH HIS SON PAUL, STILL EDITS AND PUBLISHES THE FORESTER (1940'S).

"THE LUMBERMAN WAS PUBLISHED IN GRAVENHURST IN 1876 BUT AFTER SIX MONTHS CIRCULATION WAS DISCONTINUED," NOTES CAPTAIN FRASER. "IN 1878 MESSRS. GRAFFE AND OATEN BEGAN PUBLICATION OF THE MUSKOKA HERALD; THE HERALD WAS THE FIRST CONSERVATIVE NEWSPAPER TO BE PUBLISHED IN MUSKOKA, ALL OTHER JOURNALS WERE OF LIBERAL PERSUASION. SO WITH THE ADVENT OF THE HERALD, BRACEBRIDGE SOON BECAME A HOT-BED OF PERMISSIBLE POLITICAL PROPAGANDA."

HE WRITES, "ALTHOUGH THE LIBERALS WERE STRONGLY ENTRENCHED AT QUEEN'S PARK, MUSKOKA HAD ALWAYS BEEN GOOD FIGHTING GROUND, BUT WITH THE ADVENT OF THE HERALD, THE POLITICAL PENDULUM BEGAN A DECISIVE SWING TOWARD TORYISM. FROM THE TIME AWAY BACK IN 1886, WHEN G.F. MARTER WRESTED MUSKOKA FROM THE LIBERALS, UNTIL 1934, ONLY ONE LIBERAL, THE LATE DR. BRIDGLAND, MANAGED TO CRASH THE CONSERVATIVE STONEWALL DEFENSES, BUT IT WAS DR. BRIDGLAND'S OWN POPULARITY THAT CARRIED HIM THROUGH, AS HE WAS BELOVED BY THE RANK AND FILE OF THE MUSKOKA PEOPLE. IN 1884 MR. D.E. BASTEDO PURCHASED MR. GRAFFE'S INTERESTS AND FOR A TIME THE HERALD WAS PUBLISHED BY OATEN AND BASTEDO. IN 1886 MR. BASTEDO SOLD HIS INTEREST IN THE HERALD, AND WENT TO GEORGETOWN AND PURCHASED THE GEORGETOWN HERALD, THAT WAS IN FINANCIAL DIFFICULTIES AT THE TIME; MR. BASTEDO SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN FROM THE BEGINNING A SUCCESSFUL NEWSPAPERMAN AND IN A SHORT TIME HE HAD THE GEORGETOWN HERALD ON ITS FEET, BUT HIS HEART WAS IN MUSKOKA AND WHEN AN OPPORTUNITY OFFERED FOR SALE OF THE GEORGETOWN PAPER, AT A SUBSTANTIAL PROFIT, HE SOLD IT, RETURNED TO BRACEBRIDGE AND PURCHASED THE MUSKOKA HERALD; THIS WAS IN THE 1880'S. HE CONTINUED AS EDITOR AND PUBLISHER UNTIL HIS RETIREMENT IN 1919, WHEN THE HERALD WAS TAKEN OVER BY THE MUSKOKA PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED, AND IS STILL BEING CIRCULATED BY THAT FIRM, WITH MRS. R.J. BOYER AS EDITOR. MR. E.F. STEPHENSON CONTINUED PUBLICATION OF THE FREE GRANT GAZETTE UNTIL ABOUT 1903, WHEN HE SOLD IT TO MR. DUNCAN MARSHALL, WHO AT THAT TIME WAS THE FEDERAL LIBERAL CANDIDATE IN MUSKOKA.

"MR. STEPHENSON WENT TO NEW ONTARIO WHERE HE FOUNDED THE NEW LISKEARD SPEAKER. MR. MARSHALL'S ELECTION CAMPAIGN WAS UNSUCCESSFUL AND A SHORT TIME LATER, THE GAZETTE WAS SOLD TO MR. ALF MCISAAC. WHILE OWNED BY MARSHALL THE NAME WAS CHANGED TO BRACEBRIDGE GAZETTE. IN 1906 THE GAZETTE WAS SOLD TO MESSRS. G.H.O. THOMAS AND HARRY LINNEY. A SHORT TIME LATER, MR. THOMAS MR. LINNEY'S INTERESTS AND CONTINUED AS EDITOR AND PUBLISHER OF THE GAZETTE, WHICH SOON BECAME ONE OF THE MOST POPULAR WEEKLY NEWSPAPERS IN THE PROVINCE. DURING ELECTION PERIODS THE PEOPLE OF MUSKKOA LOOKED FORWARD WITH ZEST TO THE WEEKLY DUELS BETWEEN THE GAZETTE AND THE HERALD. FEW MEN IN ONTARIO HAD THE PLATFORM ABILITY OF MR. THOMAS, BUT FOR POLITICAL ORGANIZING ABILITY, THERE WERE NONE IN MUSKOKA AT THAT TIME, THE EQUAL OF MR. BASTEDO. I HAVE OFTEN THOUGH THAT MUSKOKA AND SCOTLAND PRESENTED A SIMILARITY, NOT IN SCENIC GRANDEUR ALONE, BUT IN THE FACT THAT EACH HAD PRODUCED A SURPLUS OF PROFESSIONAL AND BUSINESS MEN. WHERE A CONDITION OF THIS KIND OBTAINS THERE MUST BE A DEFINITE INCENTIVE, AND IN MUSKOKA THE INCENTIVE WAS THAT MANY OF THE EARLY SETTLERS WERE PREPARED TO LABOR AND SACRIFICE IN ORDER THAT THEIR CHILDREN MIGHT RECEIVE AND EDUCATION."

IN TOMORROW'S BLOG, I WILL CONTINUE THE STUDY OF CAPTAIN FRASER'S OVERVIEW, OF THE EARLY YEARS OF THE NEWSPAPER PUBLISHING ENTERPRISE IN MUSKOKA....AND SOME IMPORTANT OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THE PUBLISHERS WHO RAN THEM.

The Unceremonious End Of The Steamer "Lake Joe"

2017-03-18T04:26:00.002-07:00

THE UNCEREMONIOUS END OF THE STEAMER "LAKE JOE" - THE HIGH PRESSURE FLAME THROWER

ACCORDING TO CAPTAIN FRASER, IT WAS A FIRE IMPOSSIBLE TO EXTINGUISH

"EARLY IN MAY, 1906, WHILE UNLOADING MY LITTLE STEAMER, LINDEN, AT MUSKOKA WHARF, I WAS ALARMED AT HEARING THE CRASH OF HEAVY TIMBERS, AND A WARNING CRY TO WORKMEN FROM ACROSS THE NARROW BAY, WHERE THE MIGHTY STEAMER, SAGAMO, WAS BEING BUILT. ON LOOKING OVER I WAS HORRIFIED TO SEE A SCORE OR MORE OF WORKMEN RUSHING FRANTICALLY FROM UNDERNEATH A SECTION OF THE SHIP, THAT HAD CRASHED THROUGH ITS FOUNDATION TIMBERS AND WAS TUMBLING TO THE GROUND. FORTUNATELY NONE WERE INJURED, AT LEAST NOT SERIOUSLY. THE SAGAMO WAS BEING PUT TOGETHER ONTO A HUGE TIMBER TRESTLE AT THE WATER'S EDGE IN MICKLE'S YARD, JUST ACROSS FROM MUSKOKA WHARF. SHE WAS BROUGHT FROM THE SHOP IN WHICH SHE WAS BUILT IN NINE SECTIONS, THE BOW OF THE SHIP, BOTH PORT AND STARBOARD, MADE UP ONE SECTION. THERE WERE FOUR SECTIONS IN EACH SIDE, EASH SECTION BEING ABOUT THIRTY FIVE FEET LONG. THESE WERE ELEVATED ON TO THE TRESTLE, RIVETED ONTO THE KEEL AND TIED TOGETHER AT THE GUNWALE WITH STEEL CROSS BEAMS, AND IT WAS WHILE PLACING ONE OF THESE SECTIONS, THAT THE TIMBERS GAVE WAY, CAUSING THE ACCIDENT. I DO NOT REMEMBER SEEING THE SAGAMO AGAIN UNTIL SHE WAS PLOUGHING HER WAY UP MUSKOKA LAKE, ROLLING UP BOAT SWELLS IN PROPORTION THERE AFTER, UNKNOWN ON THE MINOR INLAND WATERS OF CANADA; A BEAUTIFUL SHIP, THE QUEEN OF NOT ONLY THE MUSKOKA LAKES FLEET, BUT OF ALL INLAND WATERS EXCEPT THE GREAT LAKES." CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, 1942 "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA."

A FEW DAYS AGO, I RECALLED A STORY ABOUT OUR MARINE HERITAGE, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS BLOG, REGARDING CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER'S EXPLOITS, WORKING ABOARD THE SMALL STEAMER, "LAKE JOSEPH." AS THE FINAL STEAMSHIP-RELATED STORY, FROM HIS 1940'S BOOK, "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA," I COULDN'T RESIST RE-VISITING ONE OF MY FAVORITE CAPTAIN FRASER RECOLLECTIONS, PROFILING THE ILL-FATED JOURNEY, OF THIS TOUGH LITTLE BOAT; THAT FOR THOSE WHO WORKED ON HER FOR MANY YEARS, SEEMED INDESTRUCTIBLE. I USED THIS STORY MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN I WAS AN ASSOCIATE WRITER OF THE MUSKOKA SUN, BACK IN THE LATE 1990'S. AND IT WAS THE FIRST TIME I'D HEARD OF A STEAMBOAT BEING DESCRIBED AS A "HIGH PRESSURE FLAME THROWER." THERE WERE A NUMBER OF STEAMSHIPS GIVEN THIS UNFORTUNATE TITLE, RATING THEM AS FIRE STARTERS. IT WAS SO BAD, IN FACT, THAT SPARKS WOULD LAND ON THE MEN OF THE CREW, AND START THEIR CLOTHING ON FIRE. THERE WERE LOTS OF LITTLE FIRES THAT WOULD BREAK OUT, BUT MOST OF THE TIME, THEY WERE EASILY EXTINGUISHED. IN THE CASE OF THE LAKE JOE, THE SPARKS WERE NOTORIOUSLY PREVALANT, BUT THE SEASONED CREW NEVER ALLOWED ANY OF THE OUTBREAKS TO GET A HOLD, BEFORE BEING PUT OUT. ON THIS EVENING, THE STORMY CONDITIONS MADE A BIG DIFFERENCE, AND THE FIRE FOUND A CAVITY FROM WHICH TO GENERATE FROM, IN THE WOOD PILE, THAT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO EXTINGUISH.

IN THE WORDS OF THE MASTER STORY-TELLER, CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, HERE IS THE MARINE CHRONICLE OF DISASTER...A SPARK UPON DRY WOOD:

"NOW FOR THE LAST TRIP THE ILL-FATED 'LAKE JOE,' WAS TO MAKE. IT WAS AGAIN ABOUT THE SAME TIME OF YEAR. WE LEFT BOYD'S MILL WITH A TOW OF RAFTS FOR HARDWOOD JUST AFTER DARK. IT WAS RAINING AND A MODERATELY STRONG WIND WAS BLOWING. AFTER CLEARING BURNT ISLAND, THE ENGINEER AND COOK WENT TO BED; THE FIREMAN AND I WERE TO STAND THE FIRST WATCH. MY CREW CONSISTED OF ENGINEER, T. DUNCAN, MATE TOM BRUCE, COOK MALCOLM BLACK, AND THE FIREMAN HERB MEEKS. BRUCE HAD OCCASION TO GO TO TOWN THAT AFTERNOON, SO WAS NOT WITH US WHEN THE FIRE OCCURRED. I HAVE ALWAYS REGRETTED THIS BECAUSE TOM WOULD BE ABLE TO MAKE A FAR BETTER STORY, OF THE BURNING OF THE SHIP ON A STORMY NIGHT AT SEA, THAN I CAN HOPE TO DO.

"AN HOUR PASSED. WE WERE NEARING THE BROTHER ISLANDS. EVERYTHING SEEMED TO BE GOING FINE. THE WIND WAS GETTING A LITTLE STRONGER. IT WAS STILL RAINING WHEN, MEEKS, IN AN ALARMED VOICE, SUDDENLY CALLED FROM BELOW, 'CAPTAIN,' THE SHIP IS ON FIRE!' MEEKS WAS A NEW HAND. I MENTION THIS BECAUSE THOSE OF US WHO WERE ACCUSTOMED TO THE OLD HIGH PRESSURE FLAME THROWERS, THOUGHT NOTHING OF A LITTLE FIRE STARTING HERE OR THERE. OUR GREATEST DIFFICULTY WAS TO KEEP OUR CAPS AND SHIRTS FROM BEING PERFORATED BY THE CONSTANT SHOWER OF SPARKS, WHEN THE EXHAUST WAS IN THE STACK; SO I TOLD HIM TO THROW A PAIL OF WATER ON IT AND PUT IT OUT. IN A FEW MINUTES HE CALLED AGAIN THAT HE COULD NOT PUT IT OUT. I THEN TOLD HIM TO CALL THE COOK AND ENGINEER, THINKING AS THEY WERE ACCUSTOMED TO THOSE LITTLE FIRES, THEY WOULD SOON PUT IT OUT. BUT IN THIS, I WAS MISTAKEN." MEANWHILE, THE STORMY CONDITIONS WERE MAKING THIS AN EVEN MORE PRECARIOUS BATTLE BETWEEN CREW AND THE OUT OF CONTROL FIRE; AND THE WAVES AND WIND, MAKING A SHORE-LANDING VERY DIFFICULT.

"IN A FEW MINUTES BLACK, THE COOK CAME ON DECK SAYING THEY COULD NOT GET AT THE FIRE AS IT WAS UNDER THE WOOD PILE; THE FRONT CABIN WAS FULL OF SMOKE AND HEAT THAT THE ENGINEER WAS SCARED STIFF. I ORDERED BLACK BELOW TO TRY AND HOLD THE FIRE IN CHECK WHILE I LET THE CRIBS GO AND RAN IN CLOSE TO SHORE, THINKING THAT WITH ALL HANDS WE COULD YET PUT OUT THE FIRE. BUT BEFORE WE REACHED THE SHORE FLAMES WERE COMING THROUGH THE PILOT HOUSE FLOOR AND THE SIX WINDOWS, IN THE FRONT CABIN, WENT OUT WITH AN EXPLOSION AND FLAMES TEN FEET OR MORE HIGH, ROLLED OUT OF EACH WINDOW, A BEAUTIFUL, YET TERRIFYING SIGHT. IT WAS NOT A GOOD PLACE TO LAND BUT THERE WAS NO CHOICE OF LOCATION; THE OLD JOE GROUNDED WITH HER BOW PERHAPS THIRTY FEET FROM THE SHORE, BUT THAT THIRTY FEET WAS IN DARKNESS WITH WAVES DASHING HIGH ON THE ROCKS, WAS TO THOSE WHO COULD NOT SWIM, WHAT THE ENGLISH CHANNEL WAS TO HERR HITLER, A DANGEROUS PASSAGE.

CAPTAIN FRASER NOTED THAT, "NEITHER BLACK NOR DUNCAN COULD SWIM. IN LATER DAYS OF WAR AND EXCITEMENT WE HEAR SUCH REMARKS AS 'WHY DID NOT SO AND SO DO SUCH A THING?' THESE WISE PEOPLE FORGET, OR PERHAPS NEVER KNEW, THAT IT TAKES A CRISIS TO MAKE A HERO; THAT IT TAKES SOMETHING UNUSUAL TO BRING OUT THE BEST THAT IS IN A PERSON. MALCOLM BLACK, A TYPICAL SCOT, IN HIS EARLY FORTIES, WAS A REAL GOOD COOK AND A JOLLY SHIPMATE; A DEVOUT ROMAN CATHOLIC, A FACT WHICH I DID NOT LEARN UNTIL WE HAD BEEN TOGETHER FOR OVER SIX MONTHS, NOT THAT I EVER THOUGHT (OR CONCERNED MYSELF) ABOUT WHAT A MAN'S RELIGIOUS VIEWS WERE, SO LONG AS HE WAS A GOOD SAILOR. BUT WITH ALL HIS GOOD QUALITIES, I HAD LONG SINCE DESPAIRED OF EVER MAKING A SAILOR OUT OF BLACK. HE NEVER LEARNED TO HANDLE A ROPE OR PIKE POLE PROPERLY. IF YOU SPOKE SHARPLY TO HIM, HE LOST HIS NERVE AND BECAME ALMOST USELESS, BUT TONIGHT, WITH RAIN FALLING, WIND BLOWING, TOTAL DARKNESS, BOAT GROUNDED A DISTANCE FROM SHORE, WITH LURID FLAMES BURSTING FROM EVERY FORWARD WINDOW, BLACK WAS THE COOLEST AND MOST USEFUL MAN ON BOARD. HE CAME FROM BELOW JUST AS I HAD PULLED THE CLEARANCE BELL, FOR THE LAST TIME ON THE OLD JOE. HIS ONLY REMARK WAS 'WHAT NOW, CAPTAIN?" TO ABANDON SHIP WAS OUR MOST IMMEDIATE NEED. I SENT HIM BELOW TO GATHER HIS BELONGINGS AND TELL THE OTHERS TO DO THE SAME, AND TO COME ON DECK AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, TO PUT ON SHORE WITH THE LIFE LINE."

CAPTAIN FRASER RECALLS THAT, "IN A FEW SECONDS, THEY APPEARED ON DECK. DUNCAN ALMOST PARALYZED WITH FEAR. I GAVE BLACK THE LIFE BUOY. HE IMMEDIATELY JUMPED IN, GOING OUT OF SIGHT AT FIRST, BUT SOON APPEARING AGAIN, MAKING HEADWAY TOWARD SHORE. HE HOWEVER, SOON GAINED FOOTING AND WAS SHOUTING ENCOURAGEMENT FROM SHORE. WE ALL GOT ASHORE WITHOUT ANY MISHAP AND WATCHED THE OLD VESSEL BURN TO THE WATER'S EDGE. WE LANDED BETWEEN WHAT IS NOW CLEMSON'S AND COLSONS, ON THE MONCK SHORE OF LAKE MUSKOKA, BUT THESE HOUSES WERE NOT THERE AT THAT TIME. WE WANDERED THROUGH THE WOODS FOR ABOUT TWO HOURS, ARRIVING AT MAURICE FITZMAURICE'S ABOUT ONE IN THE MORNING. ON HEARING OUR TALE OF WOE, MRS. FITZMAURICE GOT UP AND GAVE US A REAL GOOD MEAL. ONE OF THE BOYS DROVE US TO BRACEBRIDGE, ARRIVING AT DAY-BREAK. BLACK AND DUNCAN WENT WEST A FEW DAYS LATER, AND I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF BLACK SINCE. DUNCAN AND MEEKS HAVE BOTH PASSED ON. HERB WAS THE FATHER OF BOB AND NORMAN MEEKS OF BRACEBRIDGE."

HE CONCLUDES, "A MONTH AFTER THE FIRE, ANDY BOYD BOUGHT THE SOUTHWOOD AND SHE BECAME MY SECOND CHARGE. CREW WERE AS FOLLOWS: ENGINEER, DAVE CLAPP, A WELL KNOWN FIGURE AROUND BRACEBRIDGE IN THOSE DAYS, MATE, BERT CAMPBELL, LATER CAPTAIN OF A NUMBER OF BOATS INCLUDING THE MEDORA (AND THE EATON YACHT, WANDA); FIREMAN, SIM RUSK, WHO LATER LIVED ON MCMURRAY STREET FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS."

CAPTAIN FRASER, REGARDING ANOTHER STEAMBOAT STORY, WRITES, "ONE FINE MORNING, SHE "THE COMET" WAS RUNNING FROM MILFORD BAY TOWARD BALA WITH A PARTY OF FISHERMEN. THE FELLOWS WERE ALL BUSY GETTING THEIR FISHING TACKLE READY. SOME WERE SITTING, SOME WERE STANDING. THEY HAD JUST PASSED FAIRHAVEN ISLAND. THE ENGINEER WAS PUTTING A FIRE IN THE FURNACE; THE CAPTAIN WAS SITTING IDLY ON HIS HIGH STOOL WITH THE WHEELHOUSE DOOR OPEN. THE BOAT DREW SIX AND ONE HALF FEET OF WATER. ALL OF A SUDDEN HER KEEL CAME IN CONTACT WITH A ROCK JUST FOUR AND ONE HALF FEET BELOW THE SURFACE, SO IN ORDER TO GET OVER IT SHE MUST, OF NECESSITY, RAISE TWO FEET, WHICH SHE DID NOT GRACEFULLY; BUT WITH A SUDDEN FIERCE LURCH WHICH THREW ALL THE PASSENGERS, ALONG WITH THEIR CHAIRS AND FISHING GEAR TO THE DECK. THE CAPTAIN, NOT BEING ABLE TO SECURE ANYTHING TO STOP HIS SUDDEN FLIGHT, JOINED HIS PASSENGERS AT THE RAIL, NOT VOLUNTARILY, BUT HORIZONTALLY, AND BY THE TIME HE HAD EXTRICATED HIMSELF FROM THE DEBRIS, REALIZING THAT AT THE HELM IS THE CAPTAIN'S PLACE, WHEN HIS SHIP IS IN TROUBLE, HE WAS SURPRISED TO FIND THE SHIP ON EVEN KEEL PUFFING ALONG AS IF NOTHING HAD HAPPENED, WITH THE OFFENDING SHOAL NOW FAR BEHIND. LUCKILY THERE WAS A STRONG RAILING AROUND THE DECK SO THERE WERE NO CASUALTIES, AND IT WAS NOT REPORTED THAT THE SHIP HAD SUFFERED ANY DAMAGE."

The Bear, The Moose And The Omen - A Folk Tale

2017-03-17T04:26:00.002-07:00

THE BEAR, THE MOOSE AND THE OMEN - A FOLK TALE ABOUT THE INTERACTIONS OF CIVILIZATION ON NATURE

BUT IT WAS OUR PAST! GOOD OR BAD!

THE SUPERSTITIONS OF NAVIGATION, OF COURSE, GO ALL THE WAY BACK TO THE BEGINNING OF MARITIME EXPERIENCE AND ECONOMIC ENTERPRISE. IT MAY NOT BE A STORY-WORTHY TO SOME, WHO ARE INFINITELY MORE INTERESTED TO READ ABOUT THE OPERATIONS, OF SAY, THE BOAT'S STEAM PROPULSION SYSTEM, AND ABOUT ITS PORT OF CALLS. BUT THE SUPERSTITIONS ATTACHED TO MARINE HERITAGE ARE NUMEROUS AND FASCINATING. ALTHOUGH THESE MANIFESTATIONS OF SUPERSTITIOUS BELIEFS, DIDN'T ALWAYS MAKE THE GRADE OF FOLK STORY, REGIONALLY, THERE ARE A FEW THAT ARE FAIRLY SIGNIFICANT.....IF YOU BELIEVE IN THESE THINGS. MARINERS OFTEN SEE THINGS THAT JUST CAN'T BE EXPLAINED; ENCOUNTERS ALL TIMES OF DAY AND NIGHT, THAT MAY BE CONSIDERED THE MIND PLAYING TRICKS, THE SCENERY TAKING ON A SURREAL APPEARANCE, THAT MAY HAVE CREATED A SUSPICION OF A PENDING, INTRUSIVE OMEN. ONE OF TWO STORIES TODAY, HAS A MILD MORAL SIDE, WHILE THE OTHER POSSESSES A LITTLE PARANORMAL "SHADOW OF DOUBT". YOU BE THE JUDGE. BUT ONE THING'S FOR CERTAIN. THEY ARE BOTH NEAT FOLK STORIES, THAT ENHANCE OUR VIEWPOINT OF WHAT THE HISTORY OF MUSKOKA WAS LIKE, BEYOND THE BARE BONES OF ITS RECORDED HISTORY.

THIS IS NOT A STORY FOR EVERYONE. IF YOU'RE A LITTLE SQUEAMISH ABOUT CRUELTY TO ANIMALS, YOU MAY WISH TO BYPASS TODAY'S BLOG, BECAUSE IT INVOLVES THE VERY POOR TREATMENT OF A MOOSE AND A BEAR, ONE THAT JUST HAPPENED TO GET IN THE WAY OF A STEAMSHIP, AND A CREWMAN WITH A GUN.

CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER, IN HIS BOOK, "HISTORY OF MUSKOKA," WRITES THE FOLLOWING, ABOUT THE INCIDENT WITH A VERY LARGE MOOSE:

"WILD LIFE AT THAT DATE (LATE 1800'S) WAS PLENTIFUL THROUGHOUT MUSKOKA. PARTRIDGE, DEER, BEAR AND AN OCCASIONAL MOOSE WERE TO BE SEEN. A STORY WAS TOLD OF THE KILLING OF A MOOSE IN THE FENN'S POINT SETTLEMENT. FATHER FLEMING WAS HOLDING A WEEK-DAY MASS AT THE HOME OF THE KELLYS. FROM THE HOUSE COULD BE SEEN THE LAKE AND AN ISLAND IN THE DISTANCE. DURING THE SERVICE SOMEONE NOTICED WHAT THEY THOUGHT WAS A LARGE DEER OVER ON THE ISLAND. IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF HUNTING SEASON AND SOME FRESH MEAT WOULD BE VERY WELCOME, SO THE MEN DECIDED THEY WOULD TRY TO GET THE DEER. A LAD OF FIFTEEN OR SIXTEEN SAID HE WOULD GO TO THE ISLAND WITH A DOG, AND DRIVE THE DEER INTO THE WATER TOWARD THE FARM. THE LAD AND THE DOG SOON PICKED UP THE DEER'S TRACK AND WERE HURRYING ALONG, THE DOG NOW KEEN ON THE SCENT, LEFT THE BOY BEHIND. THEY WERE NO NEARING THE SHORE, BUT SO FAR THE LAD HAD SEEN NO DEER, WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN THE DOG CAME RACING BACK WITH HIS TAIL DOWN, AND CLOSE BEHIND HIM, APPARENTLY IN NO HURRY, WAS THE LARGEST ANIMAL THE LAD HAD EVER SEEN; A HUGE MOOSE. AS THE DOG CONTINUED TO FLEE, THE LAD, FOR SAFETY, CLIMBED THE NEAREST TREE AND REMAINED THERE UNTIL THE MOOSE WAS DISPOSED OF." THE MOOSE, SENSING THE INTRUDER HAD BEEN TAKEN CARE OF, TURNED AROUND, SNORTED, AND LEFT THE SCENE.

"IT WAS NOW EVIDENT THAT THE MOOSE WAS NOT GOING TO SWIM TOWARD THE FARM, SO A GUNMAN WENT OVER TO TRY FOR A SHOT AT THE MOOSE ON THE ISLAND, BUT BY THIS TIME THE ANIMAL HAD TAKEN TO THE WATER, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ISLAND, AND WAS OUT OF GUNSHOT RANGE. SEVERAL MEN HAD COME OVER WITH ANOTHER BOAT; THEY FOLLOWED THE MOOSE AND GOT HIM, SOME DISTANCE OUT, AND TOWED HIM TO SHORE. THE ANIMAL WAS SO LARGE THAT IT TOOK SEVEN OR EIGHT MEN TO DRAG HIM ACROSS THE BARN, WHERE THEY AT ONCE SKINNED AND DRESSED THE CARCASS. THE MEAT WAS DIVIDED AMONG THE NEIGHBORS, A CHOICE CUT OF FIFTEEN OR TWENTY POUNDS, GOING TO FATHER FLEMING. NEXT MORNING AS FATHER FLEMIING WAS TAKING THE BOAT, A DECK HAND RUSHED OUT TO TAKE HIM ONE OF HIS GRIPS (SUITCASES), GETTING THE ONE CONTAINING THE MOOSE MEAT. HE SAID, 'WHAT ON EARTH FATHER, DO YOU CARRY IN YOUR GRIPS TO MAKE THEM SO HEAVY.' FATHER FLEMING REPLIED, 'OH I CARRY MANY THINGS, IF IT IS TOO HEAVY FOR YOU, I WILL TAKE IT MYSELF. I HAVE LEARNED TO BEAR BURDENS, MY OWN AND THOSE OF OTHERS.' A FEW DAYS LATER, A NEIGHBOR FROM SOME DISTANCE, WHO WAS NOT IN AT THE KILL, STOPPED AT THE KELLY HOME FOR DINNER, AND DURING THE MEAL REMARKED THAT MRS. KELLY'S BEEF WAS CHOICE STUFF. THE LADY ASKED HIM IF HE REALLY THOUGHT IT WAS BEEF. HE ANSWERED YES AND THE VERY BEST OF IT. SHE TOLD HIM IT WAS MOOSE MEAT, ALSO TELLING HIM HOW THEY GOT IT.

"SOMEHOW THE KILLING OF THE MOOSE LEAKED OUT (ALTHOUGH THEY WERE PRETTY SURE IT HAD COME FROM THEIR DINNER GUEST), AND TWO MONTHS LATER A GAME WARDEN (MICHAEL WOODS) AND A CONSTABLE (ROGER MAHON), ARRIVED AT THE KELLY HOME, TO SEARCH FOR EVIDENCE OF A VIOLATION OF THE GAME LAWS. THE LADY, I AM TOLD, WAS A BIG WOMAN, COMMANDING AN ELOQUENT FLOW OF LANGUAGE WHEN THE OCCASION REQUIRED IT. SHE NOW PROCEEDED TO POUR OUT HER VIALS OF WRATH ON THE CONSTABLE WITH WHOM SHE WAS ACQUAINTED, WHILE MICHAEL SEARCHED THE HOUSE. THE ONLY EVIDENCE OF THE MOOSE WAS THE HIDE WHICH WAS IN A SMALL OUTHOUSE ENTERED BY A DOOR FROM THE KITCHEN. THE KITCHEN WAS LINED WITH V-JOINT AND THERE WAS NO CASING AROUND THE DOOR. THE WALL APPEARED AS THOUGH THERE WAS NO DOOR. MICHAEL, NO DOUBT, WAS ANXIOUS TO COMPLETE THE SEARCH OF THE HOUSE, AS THE TIRADE WAS IN NO MANNER COMPLIMENTARY, SO HE MISSED THE DOOR THAT CONCEALED THE EVIDENCE. HE THEN SEARCHED THE BARN WITH THE SAME RESULT; WENT ON TO JOE FENN'S, AND GAVE HIS PREMISES THE ONCE OVER, BUT JOE HAD NOTHING HIDDEN, SO MICHAEL FOUND NOTHING. THE BOY AND THE DOG RETURNED SOME HOURS AFTER THE KILL. WHEN ASKED WHERE HE HAD BEEN, HE REPLIED, 'IF YOU HAD SEEN THAT DOG RUNNING AWAY, YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THE SAME AS I DID; CLIMB THE FIRST TREE YOU CAME TO." ME THINKS, HOWEVER, THE HUNTING VIOLATION WAS NEVER PROVEN, WHICH WAS A GOOD THING FOR FATHER FLEMING....AS IT WOULDN'T HAVE LOOKED VERY GOOD TO HIS FLOCK, IF HE'D BEEN BUSTED FOR ILL-GOTTEN MOOSE MEAT.

NOW IN THE WORDS OF CAPTAIN LEE, AS QUOTED IN CAPTAIN FRASER'S HISTORY, THERE IS A UNIQUE STORY ABOUT AN ILL-FATED BRUIN, IN THE WRONG PLACE IN NATURE, CROSSING THE PATH OF A STEAMSHIP, AND A CREWMAN WITH A GUN....UNAFRAID OF FIRING IT WHILE TRAVERSING THE LAKE WITH PASSENGERS ABOARD.

"SAILING ON THE MUSKOKA LAKES HAS ALWAYS BEEN MORE OR LESS FASCINATING TO THOSE ENGAGED IN IT. OF ALL THE CAPTAINS ON THESE LAKES, DURING THE LAST 50 YEARS (BEFORE 1942), ONLY A SMALL NUMBER HAVE LEFT FOR OTHER OCCUPATIONS; CAPTAIN JACKSON, CAPTAIN W. BOARD, AND CAPTAIN E.E. TAYLOR, LEFT THE WAVES FOR THE FARMS; CAPTAIN GEORGE PARLETT WENT INTO THE LUMBER BUSINESS; NEARLY ALL OTHERS HAVE MADE OF IT A LIFE JOB.

CAPTAIN FRASER, AS AN INTRODUCTION, WRITES OF HIS FRIEND, IN THE FOLLOWING DESCRIPTION: "CAPTAIN LEE RELATES THE STORY AS FOLLOWS - 'IT WAS A NICE COOL MORNING. WE HAD LEFT PORT COCKBURN. IT WAS THE STEAMER NIPISSING. CAPTAIN GEORGE BAILEY IN CHARGE. I WAS MATE. WE HAD GOT DOWN NEAR ROUND ISLAND. I WAS AT THE WHEEL, CAPTAIN BAILEY WAS AT BREAKFAST, WHEN A LADY PASSENGER, SITTING NEAR THE BOW OF THE BOAT ASKED ME WHAT WAS CAUSING THAT STREAK ACROSS THE SURFACE OF THE CALM WATER. SHE THOUGHT IT LOOKED LIKE A BIG SNAKE CROSSING SOME DISTANCE AHEAD OF THE BOAT. I LOOKED AND AT FIRST, THOUGHT IT WAS A DOG, BUT AS WE GOT CLOSER, I PERCEIVED IT WAS A BEAR, AND A BIG FELLOW AT THAT. I AT ONCE CALLED THAT A BEAR WAS CROSSING OUR BOW. THE CAPTAIN ALMOST IMMEDIATELY APPEARED ON THE DECK WITH A RIFLE. BY THIS TIME, WE HAD SLOWED DOWN AND WERE VERY CLOSE TO THE BEAR. THE CAPTAIN FIRED TWICE BUT FOR SOME REASON OR OTHER, BOTH SHOTS MISSED; UNDER ORDINARY CONDITIONS BAILEY WAS A REAL MARKSMAN."

WHAT'S IMPORTANT, IN TERMS OF FOLK HISTORY, ABOUT THIS ENCOUNTER WITH THE BRUIN, AND THE FACT THAT BAILEY WAS INDEED A GOOD SHOT, (AND SHOULD HAVE STRUCK THE BEAR EASILY, FROM THAT DISTANCE).....IS THE CURIOUS SUGGESTION, A SORT OF CURSE WAS ENVELOPING THAT WOULD STRETCH OUT FOR SOME TIME AFTER.

ACCORDING TO CAPTAIN LEE, "THE BOAT WAS STILL GOING AHEAD AND BY NOW WE WERE RIGHT ON TOP OF THE BEAR. A PADDLE WHEEL CAUGHT THE BEAR, AND PULLED HIM UNDER. WE THOUGHT, OF COURSE, HE WAS DEAD BUT IN A FEW SECONDS HE APPEARED ON THE SURFACE, SNORTING AND SHAKING HIS HEAD, AND SWIMMING AS STRONGLY AS EVER. BY THIS TIME WE WERE GETTING CLOSE TO THE SHORE. THE CAPTAIN FIRED AGAIN AND CALLED US TO BACK UP. I SIGNALLED TO REVERSE THE ENGINES AND IN A FEW TURNS THE PADDLES. OF THE BIG WHEEL. ONCE MORE CAUGHT THE BEAR AND PULLED HIM UNDER, AND AGAIN HE CAME TO THE SURFACE APPARENTLY UNHURT. ANOTHER SHOT, HOWEVER, TOOK EFFECT AND THE BEAR'S HEAD WENT UNDER WATER. HE WAS NOW QUITE DEAD. WE AT ONCE LOWERED A BOAT AND PULLED OUT THE BEAR. TO GET HIM TO THE STEAMER WE WOULD HAVE TO PUT A ROPE AROUND HIS NECK AND TOW HIM IN. HE HAD PUT UP SUCH A FIGHT FOR LIFE, AND HAD BEEN SO HARD TO KILL THAT WE WERE IN NO HURRY PUTTING THE ROPE AROUND HIS NECK. HOWEVER, WE AT LAST HAULED HIM ON BOARD.

"A GENTLEMAN ON BOARD BOUGHT THE BEAR AND WAS TO TAKE IT ASHORE, A DISTANCE FROM THE GRAVENHURST WHARF, SKIN IT AND SINK THE CARCASS. TWO WEEKS LATER, AS WE WERE NEARING THE LITTLE ISLAND OUT FROM THE GRAVENHURST WHARF, THE CAPTAIN SIGHTED SOMETHING UNUSUAL IN THE WATER. HE CALLED TO ME, 'WHAT IS THAT IN THE WATER RALPH?' AS WE DREW NEARER I RECOGNIZED IT AS THE BEAR'S CARCASS. WHEN WE GOT TO THE DOCK, THE CAPTAIN ARRANGED WITH A MAN TO GO OUT, AND MAKE A SURE-JOB OF SINKING THE BEAR. NEARLY A MONTH LATER, WHEN APPROACHING THE WHARF, WE AGAIN SIGHTED THE BEAR'S CARCASS, BUT THIS TIME IT WAS NEARLY TWICE THE SIZE. WHEN WE LANDED, THE CAPTAIN GOT A BOAT, SOME OLD IRON AND SOME WIRE; HE ALSO TOOK ALONG A BUTCHER KNIFE. ARRIVING AT THE BEAR, HE COULD SEE NO WAY OF FASTENING ON HIS SINKERS AS THE BEAR'S LIMBS WERE ALL UNDER THE WATER, AND THE CARCASS WAS TERRIBLY INFLATED. IN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW THE JOB WAS TO BE DONE, THE CAPTAIN THOUGHT THAT BE PIERCING THE BALLOON SHAPED CARCASS, HE MIGHT BE ABLE TO GET AT IT BETTER; SO HE PLUNGED THE BUTCHER KNIFE INTO THE CARCASS. BUT ALAS, THE THING EXPLODED, AND WITH SUCH FORCE AND SUDDENNESS, THAT THE CAPTAIN'S FINE UNIFORM WAS BESPATTERED WITH DECOMPOSED BEAR. THE STENCH SO SICKENED THE CAPTAIN, THAT IT WAS WEEKS BEFORE HE AGAIN COULD ENJOY A GOOD MEAL. AFTER HAVING TAKEN HIS REVENGE, WHAT WAS LEFT OF THE BEAR SETTLED PEACEFULLY INTO THE DEEP, AND WAS SEEN NO MORE."

ACCORDING TO LEVI FRASER, "THE STRANGE PART OF THE STORY, IS THAT IT WAS ALWAYS THE NIPISSING'S CREW THAT CAME UPON THE CARCASS IN THE WATER; NO ONE ELSE EVER REPORTED HAVING SEEN IT. THE CREW OF THE NIPISSING AT THAT TIME, WAS CAPTAIN BAILEY; MATE RALPH LEE, ENGINEER C, MCARTHUR, PURSER W. LINK, BOB SIMMONS, JAMES MCCULLEY, JOE MORTIMER, AND BOB MCINTYRE, WERE THE OTHER MEMBERS."

HAD THE BEAR BEEN TAUNTING THE STEAMSHIP CREW? KILLING THE BEAR TO EAT, FOR SUSTENANCE, WAS ONE THING. TO KILL THE BEAR ONLY FOR ITS SKIN, WAS WASTEFUL, ALTHOUGH AT THE TIME, THE BEAR POPULATION WAS CONSIDERED INEXHAUSTIBLE. POSSIBLY GOD DIDN'T FEEL THE SAME WAY, AND LET CAPTAIN BAILEY KNOW ABOUT THIS INDISCRETION, ALL FOR THE PRICE OF A FEW DOLLARS' PROFIT.

The Great Steam Powered Merry-Go-Round and The Medicine Shows in Bracebridge

2017-03-16T04:22:00.002-07:00

THE GREAT STEAM POWERED MERRY-GO-ROUND - AND THE MEDICINE SHOWS ON THE MAIN STREET OF BRACEBRIDGE

REDMOND THOMAS BRINGS THOSE HALCYON DAYS BACK TO FULL BRIGHTNESS - UNDER THE GLOW OF THE SILVERY MOON

WE MORTALS, WERE GIVEN THE CAPACITY TO MAKE MEMORIES. WE WERE GIVEN IMAGINATION IN ORDER TO EXPLORE "THE FANTASTIC," OF LIFE AND BEYOND. EACH OF US HAS A PERSONAL ARCHIVES, FULL OF MEMORIES, AND ALL THE PRECEDENTS OF FAR FLUNG ENTERPRISES, OF THE IMAGINATION. IS IT THEN, SO FAR FETCHED, TO THINK OF OURSELVES INTIMATELY, AS ARCHIVISTS AND HISTORIANS IN OUR OWN RIGHT? RECOLLECTIONS, LIKE THE ONES PUBLISHED BELOW, ARE THE QUILTED TOGETHER SHREDS OF EXPERIENCE, AND SHADES OF CREATIVE THOUGHT, IMBEDDED IN FOND MEMORY, OF WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO HAVE BRACEBRIDGE, IN THIS CASE, AS A HOMETOWN. IT'S WHAT I HAVE USED, TO INSPIRE A MAJORITY OF MY COLUMNS, ABOUT GROWING UP IN BRACEBRIDGE; AND I AM SO PLEASED THAT I HAVE REMEMBERED SO MUCH, OF WHAT WAS AN AMAZING CHILDHOOD, AND EXCITING YOUTH SPENT IN WHAT REDMOND THOMAS, HIMSELF, WAS A HOMETOWN WITH BOUNDLESS POTENTIAL, AND NEIGHBORLINESS. HERE NOW, ARE SOME OF HIS OBSERVATIONS, ABOUT WHAT IT WAS LIKE, IN THOSE EARLY YEARS OF COMMUNITY-BUILDING, ESPECIALLY IN SOCIAL / CULTURAL ENTERPRISE.

"THE GOOD SIZED FIELD," WROTE WELL KNOWN BRACEBRIDGE COLUMNIST, REDMOND THOMAS Q.C., "COMPRISED THE LAND OF THE PRESENT CARNEGIE LIBRARY, AND NEARLY ALL THE LAND OF THE SERVICE STATION, NOW SOUTH OF IT. IT WAS RENTED OUT FROM TIME TO TIME, TO SUCH VISITING ACTIVITIES AS THE MERRY-G0-ROUND, AND THE MEDICINE SHOWS."

THIS IS ONE OF THE STORIES CONTAINED IN HIS 1969 BOOK, "BRACEBRIDGE, MUSKOKA REMINISCENCES," PUBLISHED BY THE HERALD-GAZETTE PRESS. HIS FOLKISH STORIES, ARE FROM THE HEART, AND BRING THE READER INTO HIS REMINISCENCES, SUCH THAT YOU MIGHT HEAR THE HAUNTING ECHO OF "MEET ME IN ST.LOUIS," THE CHUG OF THE STEAM ENGINE, THAT DROVE THE WHEEL ON ITS IRON TRACKS. YOU CAN SMELL THE BURNING COIL OIL FROM THE LAMPS AROUND THE FIELD, AND POSSIBLY HEAR THE SMOOTH-TONGUED BARK OF THE PROPRIETOR, FROM THE TRAVELLING MEDICINE SHOW, WHO HAS JUST PUT OUT HIS SIGN-BOARD TO ANNOUNCE THE COMING DEMONSTRATION. PEOPLE ARE GATHERING. IT IS ON THE MAIN STREET OF BRACEBRIDGE. MANITOBA STREET. WHAT A WONDROUS, FASCINATING SCENE, IS UNFOLDING IN FRONT OF OUR EYES. THANK YOU MR. THOMAS, FOR LEADING US DOWN THIS FAMILIAR PATH TO OUR PAST!

IT SEEMS SUCH AN APPROPRIATE REVIVAL, TO PRESENT THIS STORY, AT A TIME IN OUR HISTORY, WHEN THE HISTORIC DOWNTOWN, IS IN THE MIDST OF ITS OWN REVITALIZATION FOR THE FUTURE.

REDMOND'S ORIGINAL COLUMN, CARRYING THIS STORY, RAN IN THE JULY 1967, AND MARCH 1968 ISSUES, OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE.

NOTE: THE FIELD THAT REDMOND THOMAS IS REFERRING TO, IS WHERE THE OLD STATION RESTAURANT IS NOW LOCATED, INCLUDING THE PROPERTY OF THE BRACEBRIDGE PUBLIC LIBRARY AND THE CURRENT POST OFFICE.

"ON THAT FIELD I HAVE RIDDEN ON THE BIG STEAM-POWERED MERRY-GO-ROUND, WHICH RAN ON A HEAVY CIRCULAR STEEL TRACK, AS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL, IN ONE OF MY PREVIOUS ARTICLES. ANY MEDICINE SHOW WAS GIVEN (BY LIGHT OF COAL OIL FLARES), ON A WAGON, OR SMALL STAGE. THE USUAL SHOW WAS PUT ON BY AN ENTERTAINER, (GENERALLY, A BURNT-CORK COLORED MAN) WHOSE PROGRAM WAS JOKES, SONGS AND BANJO MUSIC, AND WHO WAS SOMETIMES ASSISTED BY THE SPIELER. BETWEEN THE NUMBERS OF THE SPIELER, HE GAVE HIS PITCH TO SELL HIS MEDICINAL PRODUCT - MAYBE A WONDERFUL OIL MADE FROM HIS OWN SECRET FORMULA, GUARANTEED TO BE THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD FOR HUMANS, HORSES AND HARNESS. THOSE SPIELERS WERE MARVELS OF SMOOTH LOQUACITY."

JULY 13TH, 1967, THE BIG ATTRACTION

Redmond Thomas was fond of attending these community events. It was a big deal, when the train arrived with something special on board. It was for the entertainment of the local citizenry, and reportedly, it came courtesy a fine fellow from Gravenhurst.

"Nice merry-go-rounds now come to Bracebridge but, though more glittering, none of them is nearly as big, heavy, or spectacular as the old steam-powered one. It was built in North Tonawanda, New York, but was owned in (or at any rate managed from) Gravenhurst. It was a feature in itself, and was not accompanied by any other amusement device, or any kind of game. It was in Bracebridge every summer, usually twice and for a week each time. Its arrival and departure were on a Grand Trunk Railway freight train, with a steam locomotive."

Mr. Thomas paints a picture for the reader. What a tantalizing one it is, such that we wish to see it, spinning in the moonlit summer night. "The merry-go-round was located at several places on land, which was then vacant, but its chief and final location, was on the north side of Thomas Street, where now stand the bowling alley building, Muskoka Trading Company Store, but which, in those days, was vacant land, except that far back from the street, there was the Storey wagon-shop, and closer to the road, was a rusty boiler on its stone foundation, remains of a planning mill, which had burnt before my time." The land referred to, by Redmond Thomas, was behind the former Queen's Hotel (which became the Patterson Hotel), a building still standing on the corner, and the former Albion Hotel, adjacent to the train station. This was a much easier haul, from the station, where the ride was unloaded, and moved in pieces to the site; versus when it had to be brought up a steep length of the Queen's Hill, to upper Manitoba Street.

"The big merry-go-round revolved on a heavy circular steel track, of which the rails were almost square instead of the shape of those used by the railroads. The track was laid in a shallow trench, and great care was taken to have it absolutely level. The heavy body of the machine, rested on numerous heavy steel wheels, which had flanges on the inside much like those of railroad cars. One of the wheels was under every pair of animals, and every seat, and the individual motion of the animals, was provided by eccentrics from the wheels," wrote Mr. Thomas.

"The merry-go-round had a broad lower deck, of heavy slatted wood and passengers stepped onto it, in the spaces between the pairs of hand-carved wooden horses, lions and other animals, or the sets of wooden seats - then the passengers climbed to the upper wooden deck, from which they took their places for the ride. To collect tickets, the conductor made a circuit of the upper deck, while the ride was in progress. The centre of the machine was an open circular area, in which suspended from a pole, were the big coal oil flares, which provided the light at night, which was about the only time the machine was in use. The top of the merry-go-round was of rather flattened conical shape, and was made of canvas with scalloped edges. (When not in use, the sides of the machine were closed by canvas curtains.)"

He writes that, "receiving its power from one of the wheels was a melodious organ, which the conductor cut in as soon as the merry-go-round was nearing full speed. Some distance behind the merry-go-round stood a powerful stationary steam engine, with an upright boiler. The engine operated from a drum, from which (through a series of fixtures containing pulleys), a heavy wire cable ran into a deep groove, in the outside edge of the lower deck, and caused the merry-go-round to revolve; on the same principle as an old fashioned top, which was spun by rapidly pulling a string, which had been wound around it. There were, in Bracebridge, no automobiles or moving picture show - and, of course radio, and television had not been invented."

"So the merry-go-round, was a centre of attraction for a throng of spectators, as well as for the patrons. Not only children but grown-ups (especially young men with their girl friends) were customers, and so were some older people. Some of those of rather mature years, who rode, claimed that they were doing it solely to look after their small children, or grandchildren aboard. Once I saw a sedate middle-aged businessmen, fall off the outside, one of a pair of animals, because he became dizzy, while his young daughter, had been expertly riding the inner one of the pair - fortunately he suffered only a shaking up."

"Tickets for a ride were small dark-blue, oblong pasteboards, with rounded corners, like milk tickets of those times," writes the master story-teller, Redmond Thomas. "They were five cents each, or six for a quarter, regardless of whether for use by a child or an adult. (But in those days the little silver five cent piece, would also buy a loaf of bread, or a quart of milk) The ticket seller was a man who had a satchel, suspended from a strap over his shoulder, and who stood on the ground sufficiently close to the merry-go-round, to be within the circle of light cast by its big flares. After having later been collected by the conductor, the tickets were sold again, just like the milk tickets were used again and again."

Redmond concludes, "To start or stop a ride, the conductor blew a whistle of the kind used by sports referees, and this was acknowledged by two toots on the whistle of the steam-engine. A ride was really spectacular. After the whistle by the conductor, and the two toots from the engineer in answer, the engineer gradually opened the throttle, and the merry-go-round, in its mellow glow, began to revolve with gathering speed, while from those aboard, came the delighted shouts of the kids, and the rippling laughter of the young ladies. Soon the conductor cut in the organ which forthwith, gave out the very latest popular tunes. A few years ago, the nice song 'Meet Me In St. Louis,' had a revival of popularity, because of the splendid motion picture of the same name, and then whenever I listened to it, there came to mind the first time I heard that piece - from the merry-go-round organ, when I was a very small schoolboy, in the summer of the St. Louis World Fair of 1904."

THE TALE OF THE FIRST "TAILS" WORN HERE (FROM A COLUMN WRITTEN BY REDMOND THOMAS, IN THE APRIL 27TH ISSUE, OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE)

"This tale, of the first tails work in Bracebridge, is brief, but so was the wearing of them. It was told to me more than once by the gentleman who wore them. Mr. J. Ewart Lount, who as long as I knew him, was Registrar of Deeds, and at whose funeral I was a pallbearer. In 1868, the first Ontario Government, under Premier John Sandfield MacDonald, appointed C.W. Lount (a Toronto Barrister, related to Samuel Lount, who was hanged for being a leader of the 1837 Upper Canada Rebellion), to be Muskoka's first Division Court Judge, Stipendiary Magistrate, Registrar of Deeds, Crown Lane Agent, etc. Leaving his family in Toronto, Judge Lount came to Bracebridge, and put up at the Victoria Hotel, of which Alex Bailey was the proprietor, and which stood on the west side of Muskoka Road (the pioneer colonization road) at the top of Free Methodist Hill. Shortly afterwards in that year, his eldest son, Ewart, then barely out of boyhood, came here to help in the Judge's work, as Registrar of Deeds and Crown Lands Agent; and Ewart alighted from the stage in front of the Victoria Hotel, and, like his father, put up there. It chanced that a ball had been arranged for that night at the hotel, and shortly before it was due to begin, the landlord invited young Ewart Lount to participate in it. Ewart, being fresh from the refinements of society life, in Old Ontario, went upstairs, unpacked from his trunk, his suit of formal evening clothes, and donned them. As soon as he heard the fiddles, he began to descend the stairs, to the main room of the hotel, which was then a ballroom, but stopped in amazement, when part way down. A square dance was in progress."

Redmond writes, "Many of the dancers were shantymen, dressed in rough clothes, and wearing heavy boots with soles studded with corks (calks). The apparel of every such man, included a brightly colored sash around his waist, with a long end, adorned by a tassel, hanging down. The women wore very plain attire. One of the men, who had been 'tamaracking'er down,' caught sight of Ewart, and stopped in amazement at the sight. This stalled the shindig and everyone followed his gaze. It was a time of general amazement. Ewart Lount was amazed. The dancers were amazed too - but not for long. The shantymen 'let out one roar,' (as Mr. Lount used to say in telling of it), and they rushed up the stairs, grabbed Ewart, and carried him down into the ballroom, where they tore off his suit and left him standing in his underwear. According to Victorian etiquette, the genteel thing for the ladies to have done, was swoon. But not so the belles of Bracebridge. They just roared with laughter."

Muskoka History and Its Healthy Harvest Of Folk Tales

2017-03-15T04:26:00.001-07:00

MUSKOKA HISTORY AND ITS HEALTHY HARVEST OF FOLK TALES

CAPTAIN L. R. FRASER CIRCA 1942

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE I GOT MY COPY OF CAPTAIN LEVI FRASER'S SELF-PUBLISHED HISTORY OF MUSKOKA, BUT IT LOOKS TO HAVE FIRST BEEN RAVAGED BY A LAWNMOWER BLADE, BEFORE IT BECAME PART OF MY ARCHIVES. IT HAS ENOUGH INTEGRITY LEFT THOUGH, TO MAKE A HELL OF A RESOURCE FOR MY SUNDRY HERITAGE PROJECTS.....BUT AS FOR RE-SALE, IT'S NOT WORTH MUCH. I USED TO BUY AND SELL BOOKS LIKE THIS, ON MUSKOKA HISTORY, BUT THE SUPPLY OF THE BEST ONES DRIED UP. THE LAST TIME I BOUGHT A LEVI FRASER BOOK, IT WAS OFF A FRIEND FOR FIFTY BUCKS. I SOLD IT A FEW WEEKS LATER FOR A HUNDRED. BY ANTIQUE BOOK SELLER RETAIL PROTOCOLS, A HUNDRED PERCENT PROFIT IS PRETTY MODEST, SEEING AS HIS WORK TODAY CAN SELL FOR TWO TO THREE HUNDRED OR MORE, ESPECIALLY VIA EBAY AUCTIONS.

WHAT I LIKE ABOUT LEVI'S WORK, IS THAT HE WASN'T SHY OF OFFERING AN OPINION, AND I'VE HAD A FEW FEMALE CONTEMPORARIES, WHO WERE OFFENDED AT WHAT THEY PERCEIVED WAS HIS SEXIST SLANT ON, FOR EXAMPLE, WOMEN BEING ABLE TO VOTE. IT'S ALL PART OF THE PACKAGE OF THE TIMES, I HAVE EXPLAINED OVER AND OVER, AND WHETHER YOU AGREE WITH HIS POINT OF VIEW OR NOT, WE'RE USING THIS BOOK FOR THE CAUSE OF HISTORICAL PRESERVATION, AND RE-DEVELOPMENT, NOT TO WRITE A PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY.

MY ONLY GRIEVANCE WITH HIS OVERVIEW, OF THE PIONEER PERIOD, IN OUR DISTRICT, IS THAT IT IS, WELL, JUST A NO FRILLS, SHALLOW RESEARCHED GENERALIZATION, WITH A CONTRARY OPINION ATTACHED, OF WHICH I DON'T HAPPEN TO CONCUR. HE HAD A CLOSER GLIMPSE UPON THE PIONEER PERIOD, THAN I'VE HAD, SO HE HAD BETTER INSIGHT TO OFFER AS AN INFORMED JUDGEMENT. IN A RETROSPECTIVE DEBATE HOWEVER, HE WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY SIDE WITH MUSKOKA'S FIRST PUBLISHED AUTHOR, HISTORIAN, THOMAS MCMURRAY, WHEN IT COMES TO HIS ASSESSMENT, THAT THE PIONEER PERIOD WASN'T SO BAD AS IT WAS....., AND STILL IS PORTRAYED BY OTHERS; THOSE DISTRICT-HATERS, WHO MADE INTERPRETATIONS BASED ON THE MOST DEPRESSING OF HOMESTEADING ACCOUNTS. BASICALLY, CAPTAIN FRASER BELIEVES, THAT BECAUSE OF THE TYPE OF IMMIGRANT ATTRACTED TO THE HOMESTEAD GRANT LAND, OF THE 1860'S, THE OBSTACLES OF POVERTY, PHYSICAL INABILITY TO FARM, INEXPERIENCE AND SKULLDUGGERY, HAD NO SERIOUS IMPACT ON THE MISSION OF THE SETTLERS TO ESTABLISH PROSPEROUS FARMS AND THRIVING BUSINESSES.

LEVI FRASER WAS UNQUESTIONABLY A STALWART MUSKOKA ADVOCATE, AND WHETHER IT WAS IN BUSINESS, WITH HIS OWN STEAM BOAT, OR AS A LOCAL POLITICIAN, A FREQUENT NEWSPAPER CONTRIBUTOR, OR HISTORIAN, HE FIRMLY BELIEVED IN THE INHERENT ABILITY OF HOME-GROWN MUSKOKANS, TO WEATHER THE STORMS OF ADVERSITY. WHAT HE WAS ALLUDING TO, WAS THAT THE PIONEER PERIOD WAS MUCH LESS DIFFICULT AND TRAGIC, AS OTHER CRITICS, FROM THE 1860'S ONWARD, WERE CLAIMING, IN THEIR WIDELY PUBLISHED LETTERS, TO NEWSPAPERS, WITH SUCH BOLD HEADLINES AS "THE BLACK PICTURE IN THE DISTRICT."

I COULD NOT AGREE WITH CAPTAIN FRASER IN THIS REGARD, BUT I RESPECT HIS OPINION. HAVING RESEARCHED THIS PERIOD OF OUR HISTORY, FOR WELL MORE THAN THREE DECADES, MY IMPRESSION IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE, AND I'VE TRIED TO PRESENT SOME EVIDENCE, IN THIS REGARDS, OVER THE PAST FEW WEEKS. BUT THERE ARE NO STATISTICS TO BACK UP EITHER POINT OF VIEW. THE GOVERNMENT DIDN'T KEEP THE STATISTICS OF SUCCESS AND FAILURE ON THE HOMESTEADS, OR HOW MANY SETTLERS FROZE TO DEATH, STARVED, OR WERE KILLED AS A DIRECT RESULT OF FARMING ACCIDENTS, DUE TO INEXPERIENCE. WE ALSO KNOW THAT THE AGRICULTURAL DEPARTMENT, OF THE PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT, IN THE EARLY 1880'S, PUBLISHED A GLOWING COMMITTEE REPORT, ON THE PROGRESS OF SETTLEMENT IN THE FIRST TWENTY YEARS. INDICATING BASICALLY, AS A SUMMARY OF INVESTIGATION, THAT THE EXPERIMENT TO SETTLE THE MUSKOKA AND PARRY SOUND DISTRICTS, HAD ACHIEVED ENOUGH GAINS, SINCE THE 1860'S, WITH SUCCESSFUL, PROSPERING HOMESTEADS, TO DECLARE THE WHOLE INITIATIVE A POLITICAL TRIUMPH. IF YOU READ BETWEEN THE LINES, YOU'D RECOGNIZE THAT THE ONLY WAY THEY COULD ASSESS THIS, IS IF THE NUMBER OF FAILURES, AND THE DEATHS THEY KNEW ABOUT, FELL UNDER WHAT THEY BELIEVED WAS "ACCEPTABLE LOSS." IN OTHER WORDS, THEY HAD NO DOUBT FAILURES AND DEATH, AS A RESULT OF THEIR PROGRAM OF SETTLEMENT, WAS GOING TO OCCUR, BUT UPON SURVEY IN THE 1880'S, ASSUMED BY WHAT THEY SAW, LIFE ON THE WHOLE WAS GOOD AND PROSPEROUS....WHICH BY THE WAY, GAVE THE GOVERNMENT FUEL, TO COMMENCE SETTLEMENT INITIATIVES FURTHER NORTH, WHERE THE LANDSCAPE WAS EVEN MORE ADVERSE THAN IN MUSKOKA. IN MY OPINION THE REPORT WAS FUDGED TO READ BETTER THAN IT WAS, TO SERVE THE POLITICAL AMBITIONS OF THE POLITICAL PARTY IN POWER. IF THEY HAD DONE A PARALLEL REPORT, FOCUSING-IN ON THE DISGRUNTLED FARMERS, WHO FELT THE PROVINCE AND FEDERAL GOVERNMENTS HAD LIED TO THEM, AND FAILED TO LIVE UP TO PROMISES, IT WOULD HAVE PROVIDED A TRULY, NO HOLDS BARRED "BLACK PICTURE." INSTEAD, THEY ACCENTUATED THE POSITIVE. NOT MUCH HAS CHANGED, HAS IT?

BESIDES THIS, WHICH JUST HAPPENS TO BE A SOURCE OF CHAGRIN FOR ME, BECAUSE I KNOW MORE ABOUT THE CASUALITIES THAN CAPTAIN FRASER DID, IN 1942, WHEN THIS BOOK WAS RELEASED FOR LOCAL CONSUMPTION. LIKE MY FAVORITE MUSKOKA WRITER / HISTORIANS, LIKE BRACEBRIDGE'S REDMOND THOMAS, AND BERT SHEA, OF UFFORD, LEVI FRASER WISELY CONSERVED MANY IMPORTANT STORIES IN THIS BOOK, ABOUT EVENTS IN WHICH HE HAD BEEN INVOLVED.....WHICH RANK, IN MY OPINION, AS A RICH MINE OF HERITAGE FOLK TALES. I HAVE USED HIS WRITINGS, IN MY RESEARCH WORK, FOR AT LEAST THIRTY YEARS, AND FOUND SEVERAL OF HIS ACCOUNTS SOME OF THE FINEST, MOST INTERESTING, IN ALL OF MUSKOKA'S COLLECTION, OF WHAT CAN BE CONSIDERED "FOLK HISTORY." ONE OF MY FAVORITES INVOLVES THE EERIE ENCOUNTER OF TWO SMALL STEAMSHIPS, IN DARKNESS, THAT COULD WELL HAVE ENDED WITH SERIOUS LOSS OF LIFE. GOD'S WILL, IT SEEMS, SPARED ALL ON BOARD. BUT WHAT A GREAT STORY TO GRACE OUR HISTORY PAGES.

"I REMAINED IN CHARGE OF THE (STEAMER) 'SOUTHWOOD' FOR ANDY BOYD, AND LATER FOR THE LAKE ROSSEAU LUMBER COMPANY, FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS. DURING THOSE YEARS I BECAME VERY MUCH ATTACHED TO MY EMPLOYER, BOYD; I FOUND HIM TO BE A MAN OF STERLING QUALITIES, ALWAYS LOOKING ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE, TRYING TO BE HAPPY AND MAKE OTHERS THE SAME. TO ANDY THE FUTURE ALWAYS SEEMED BRIGHT AND PROMISING BUT THEN THE PRESENT NEARLY ALWAYS HELD ITS DIFFICULTIES, BECAUSE HE WAS DOING A LITTLE MORE BUSINESS THAN HIS FINANCIAL SET-UP COULD COMFORTABLY STAND. ONE OF HIS PECULIARITIES WAS A HORROR OF BAD BUTTER.

CAPTAIN FRASER WRITES, "DURING THE WINTER HE AND I TRAVELLED A LOT TOGETHER, BUYING LOGS AND LOOKING AFTER CAMP OPERATIONS, FREQUENTLY STOPPING AT HOTELS. ANDY USUALLY SELECTED A TABLE WHERE WE WERE MORE OR LESS BY OURSELVES, AND HE PROCEEDED AT ONCE TO SMELL THE BUTTER, THEN TURNING TO THE WAITRESS WITH A GOOD NATURED GRIMACE, WOULD SAY, "SUSIE, LIKE A GOOD GIRL, SEE IF YOU CAN GET US A BIT OF GOOD BUTTER - THAT STUFF WOULD POISON ANY DOG IN TOWN.' SUSIE USUALLY RETURNED WITH A SMILE AND THE GOOD BUTTER.

"ALONG ABOUT 1900 ANDY, IN PARTNERSHIP WITH HIS BROTHER DAVE, OF GRAVENHURST, BOUGHT BIG ISLAND, THE LARGEST ISLAND IN MUSKOKA LAKE, CONTAINING ABOUT 1,200 ACRES. IT WAS WELL TIMBERED WITH HARD AND SOFT WOODS, AND HAD LARGE TRACTS OF GOOD FARM LAND AND SCORES OF BEAUTIFUL POINTS SUITABLE FOR TOURIST COTTAGES. ANDY SAW GREAT POSSIBITIES IN THIS VENTURE, LUMBERING, FARMING AND TOURIST DEVELOPMENT. WITHIN THE FOLLOWING FEW YEARS, HUNDREDS OF MEN FOUND EMPLOYMENT ON BIG ISLAND; WINTER AND SUMMER WORK WAS CARRIED ON. THE PLAN WAS TO REMOVE ALL THE MERCHANTABLE TIMBER FROM AN AREA SUITABLE FOR FARMING. THE TIMBER NOT SUITABLE FOR SAW-LOGS WAS CUT INTO CORDWOOD. (THERE WAS IN THOSE DAYS AN UNLIMITED DEMAND FOR ALMOST ANY GRADE OF CORDWOOD). THE LAND WAS THEN BURNED OVER, CLEARED UP AND SOWN OR PLANTED. SO IN COMPARATIVELY SHORT TIME, THE ESTABLISHMENT OF TWO FINE FARMS WAS STARTED. THE ISLAND WAS DIVIDED EQUALLY. ANDY KEEPING THE NORTH AND DAVE THE SOUTH. THE FINE LARGE FRAME BARNS WERE ERECTED, WITH STONE STABLES UNDERNEATH."

CAPTAIN FRASER NOTES, "WHILE THE ISLAND WAS OWNED BY THE BOYDS, WHO ALWAYS ENCOURAGED THE GENERAL PUBLIC, LARGE SCALE PICNICS WERE BECOMING AN ANNUAL AFFAIR; THE IDEA WAS TWO-FOLD - TO MAKE THE ISLAND A SPORTS CENTRE FOR BOTH GRAVENHURST AND BRACEBRIDGE, AND TO ATTRACT AND ACQUAINT POSSIBLE BUYERS OF THE TOURIST PROPERTY, WITH THE GENERAL LAYOUT OF THE ISLAND. THOSE PICNICS WERE BECOMING VERY POPULAR; THE NAVIGATION COMPANY CO-OPERATING TO THE EXTENT OF SENDING THE ISLANDER AND THE MUSKOKA, EACH LOADED TO CAPACITY. SOMETIMES THE ISLANDER MADE SEVERAL TRIPS. THERE WAS NO DOCK THEN IN WHAT WAS LATER CALLED ROWAN'S BAY. WE USUALLY MOORED A GOOD SIZE SCOW AT A CONVENIENT POINT, MAKING A VERY SATISFACTORY WHARF. THESE PICNICS CONTINUED TO BE HELD FOR A NUMBER OF YEARS BUT WHEN THE ISLAND CHANGED HANDS THESE GATHERINGS WERE DISCONTINUED. AMONG THOSE WHO HELD SUCH PICNICS WERE THE BRACEBRIDGE CITIZEN'S BAND.

"AN INCIDENT OCCURRED ON THE NIGHT OF ONE OF THESE PICNICS THAT NEARLY SENT THE SOUTHWOOD AND THE COMET TO DAVEY JONE'S LOCKER. THE COMET WAS RUNNING DOWN FROM THE ISLAND SHORTLY AFTER DARK, WITH A PARTY THAT HAD ATTENDED THE SPORTS; THE SOUTHWOOD COMING BACK FROM GRAVENHURST RUNNING ITS LIGHTS. THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR WAS IN FULL SWING AT THE TIME, AND AN ACCOUNT OF A FIERCE RUNNING NAVAL ENGAGEMENT WAS IN THAT DAY'S PAPER. I HAD SECURED A PAPER AT MUSKOKA WHARF AND AFTER CLEARING THE NARROWS LIGHT-HOUSE, I GAVE THE WHEEL TO THE MATE, ELWOOD IRELAND, AND WENT INTO MY ROOM BEHIND THE PILOT HOUSE, TO READ OF THE GREAT SEA BATTLE. IN A FEW MINUTES THE MATE CALLED TO ME THAT THERE WAS A BOAT'S LIGHTS AHEAD, AND ASKED AS TO WHICH SIDE HE WOULD KEEP. I TOLD HIM TO KEEP ON HIS OWN SIDE WHICH MEANT STARBOARD, AND CONTINUED TO READ THE WAR NEWS. TEN MINUTES LATER I WAS ALARMED AT HEARING THE EXTREMELY UNUSUAL TWO BELLS, A SIGNAL TO REVERSE ENGINE. RUSHING OUT ON DECK I WAS HORRIFIED TO SEE THE COMET, NOT MORE THAN THIRTY FEET AWAY, WITH OUR BOW POINTING DIRECTLY FOR FINE MIDSHIPS. SO CLOSE WE WERE THAT I HEARD DISTINCTLY THE COMET'S CLEARANCE BELL, AS THE CAPTAIN RANG FOR MORE SPEED AHEAD, AND HEARD THE ACCELERATED CHUG OF HER ENGINE. OUR HELM WENT HARD TO PORT, THE COMET'S HARD TO STARBOARD IN AN EFFORT TO LAY THEM ALONGSIDE, AND IF POSSIBLE, ESCAPE WITH A GLANCING BLOW; AND TO ADD TO THE INTENSE HORROR OF THE MOMENT, TWO WOMEN APPEARED AT THE COMET'S WINDOWS, THEN A SPLINTERING CRASH."

CAPTAIN FRASER STATES, OF THE COLLISION, "THE SOUTHWOOD'S BOW GRAZED THE COMET'S STERN AND SAVAGELY CRASHED INTO THE RIVER-DRIVERS LARGE PUNT THAT WAS BEING TOWED BEHIND THE COMET, CUTTING THE PUNT TO THE CENTRE. THE COMET AND THOSE ON BOARD WERE SAFE AND CONTINUED ON THEIR WAY. I RUSHED BELOW TO DETERMINE WHAT DAMAGE WE HAD SUFFERED BUT TO MY SURPRISE AND RELIEF, I FOUND NO SIGN OF A LEAK. THIS WAS THE ONLY NEAR COLLISION OR ACCIDENT INVOLVING ANOTHER VESSEL THAT I HAVE EVER HAD, AND THE ONLY TIME I HAVE EVER KNOWN FEAR IN A CRISIS. THE MUSKOKA LAKES SAILORS ARE JUST AS FEARLESS AS THE MEN WHO RECENTLY FACED HELL IN THE CLOUDS OR DESTRUCTION ON THE HIGH SEAS. NEITHER FIRE NOR FLOOD NOR TEMPEST WILL DISMAY THEM, SO LONG AS THEY HAVE A CHANCE TO FIGHT BACK. THIS HAS BEEN DEMONSTRATED ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION.

"A NUMBER OF YEARS AGO, THE AHMIC, ON A COLD, SNOWY DAY IN LATE NOVEMBER, AT ST. ELMO (ISLAND - MOUTH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER), AN OVERTURNED CANOE, WITH TWO MEN CLINGING TO IT, WAS SIGHTED. THE AHMIC AT ONCE SPED TO THE RESCUE. COMING ALONGSIDE, THE BOAT'S SWELL BROKE THE HOLD OF ONE OF THE BENUMBED MEN, AND HE BEGAN TO SINK. MATE (LATER CAPTAIN) JACK BIBBY, WITHOUT WAITING TO REMOVE HIS WINTER COAT, DOVE FROM THE UPPER DECK AND KEPT THE EXHAUSTED MAN AFLOAT, UNTIL THEY COULD BE TAKEN ABOARD. NO HERO IN ANY CASE WOULD HAVE DONE MORE. THEN THERE WAS THE CREW OF THE CAPSIZED STEAMER, WAOME, (BLOWN OVER BY A SUDDEN AND VIOLENT WINDSTORM ON LAKE MUSKOKA, NEAR BEAUMARIS. THEY DID JUST WHAT THE SAILORS ARE DOING TODAY (1942 NAVAL ENGAGEMENTS), SEIZED UPON THE WRECKAGE THAT WOULD FLOAT, ASSISTED AND ENCOURAGED EACH OTHER AND MANAGED TO GET TO SHORE; THE SURVIVORS WERE ENGINEER ALVIN SALTER, FIREMAN BOB BONIS, COOK REG. LEADER (SOON TO BE CAPTAN OF THE SAGAMO), AND PURSER, GEORGE HARVEY. THESE MEN DID ALL THAT SHIP-WRECKED SAILORS COULD DO, AND BY HELPING EACH OTHER, PERHAPS SAVED A LIFE. THEY HAD A CHANCE TO FIGHT BACK AND WON. BUT WITH US THINGS WERE DIFFERENT; THE CASE WAS HOPELESS BEFORE I BECAME AWARE OF DANGER, THE SIGNAL TO REVERSE ENGINES HAD ALREADY BEEN GIVEN, BUT AS A SINGLE ENGINE CANNOT BE REVERSED UNTIL THE VESSEL HAS LOST MOMENTUM, I KNEW THAT BEFORE THE ENGINE COULD BE REVERSED (IF THE COMET COULD NOT CLEAR) THE SOUTHWOOD'S RELENTLESS BOW WOULD PIERCE HER VERY VITALS AND SHE COULD NOT REMAIN AFLOAT FIVE MINUTES. THE IMPACT WOULD UNDOUBTEDLY HAVE LEFT THE SOUTHWOOD, ALSO IN A SINKING CONDITION. IT SEEMED TO ME THAT THOSE WOMEN AT THE WINDOW, WERE STANDING AT THE VERY PORTALS OF DEATH, AND THAT I, IN MY HELPLESSNESS, WAS IN SOME UNACCOUNTABLE WAY RESPONSIBLE. I LEARNED LATER THAT SEVERAL CHILDREN WERE PEACEFULLY SLEEPING IN THE COMET'S CABIN. TO THIS DAY I CANNOT ACCOUNT FOR HOW THIS NEAR COLLISION HAPPENED. CAPTAIN W. FINDLAY OF THE COMET, (A BROTHER OF R.A. FINDLAY, BRACEBRIDGE ASSESSOR), COULD SHED NO LIGHT ON THE CAUSE. BILL WAS ONE OF THE MOST TRUSTWORTHY FAITHFUL-TO-DUTY AND UPRIGHT MEN, THAT I HAVE EVER MET; AND ON HIS PASSING SOME YEARS AGO, I FELT I HAD LOST A REAL FRIEND."

THIS IS AN IMPORTANT INCLUSION, IN THE PROFILE OF MUSKOKA HISTORY; A STORY FULL OF PARALLELS TO OTHER WORLDLY EVENTS, INCLUDING THE EARLY YEARS OF WORLD WAR II. THANKFULLY, CAPTAIN FRASER DECIDED THIS WAS THE KIND OF STORY, FUTURE GENERATIONS WOULD FIND INTERESTING. FRASER MAY HAVE CREDITED A GUARDIAN ANGEL, FOR SPARING ALL THOSE LIVES, DURING THAT DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER BETWEEN TWO WELL KNOWN STEAM BOATS, PLYING THE MUSKOKA LAKES. WHAT A TERRIBLE WAY IT WOULD HAVE BEEN, TO END A DAY OF RECREATION WITH UNTOLD TRAGEDY.

Excelsior Cup, Horner Auto Sleigh and Winter Travel by Redmond Thomas

2017-03-14T04:26:00.003-07:00

EXCELSIOR CUP DAYS - THE LEGENDARY RIVALRY BETWEEN THE TOWNS AS TOLD BY REDMOND THOMAS OF BRACEBRIDGE

"People get real tingling thrills from the matches for the paragon of hockey trophies. 'The Cup,' usually called for short; 'The Excelsior Cup'. The silverware was put up (or by his company through the influence of) the late Harry Linney, of The Excelsior Life Insurance Company, who was a prominent Bracebridge citizen, of whom I have kind memories. It was a challenge cup open to teams of Intermediate type in the Districts of Muskoka, Parry Sound, and Nipissing, and was first played for, in the winter of 1904-1905. Any club which could win the cup three times, would own it, and eventually it became the property of the Parry Sound Club.

"As my father was very fond of sports, I went to hockey matches about as soon as I started school. Well, do I remember the thrill of anticipation with which, when I was a young school-boy, I pored over a bill, which said: 'The boys from The Sawdust City, will be here to try and lift The Excelsior Cup. Come and cheer the home team to victory! Admission, gents, twenty-five cents, Ladies twenty cents, children, fifteen cents.' Note that ladies were accorded real gallantry then. And bear in mind that the admission prices were set in the days when five cents would buy a loaf of bread, or a quart of milk, and twenty-five cents would pay for a full course meal at a hotel. And mark how Gravenhurst's pioneer nickname had lingered into the early part of the 20th century."

Redmond Thomas records, that "The rink in every town was wooden and had natural ice, of which the area was small by present day standards. The Bracebridge one (called originally Jubilee Rink, and later Palace Rink), stood on the east bank of the Muskoka River just north of the Hunt's Hill bridge, and across the riveR from the present railroad station, then belonging to the Grand Trunk Railway. A team consisted of seven players, namely goal-keeper, two defencemen and four forwards. The defencemen were called point and cover point, and the later lined up a little ahead of his partner, but as soon as the game got under way, the pair usually played side by side, or nearly so. The forwards were the same, three, as at present, plus one called the 'rover,'who at the face-off, stood back of the centreman. If any player was forced to retire because of injury, the sides were equalized by the opposing team, laying off whatever man they chose. Though every club had some spares, they were merely to assure having a complete line-up, and never to substitute during the game. The referees had a big handbell which he held by the clapper when not being rung.

"A game was two halves of thirty minutes each, separated by a ten minute interval called 'half time.' The ice was not bedizened by lines or circles of any color or kind. No forward pass (no matter how short) or kicking the puck was ever allowed anywhere. The goal-keeper had to remain on his skates at all times, and thus was prohibited from kneeling or sprawling. His pads were just leg-guards, and a rather meagre body-protector. His stick had a blade barely twice the width of that of any other player. Those days of small ice, seven man teams and no forward pass, were the heyday of stick-handling. A goal was wedge-shape and without any top such as now forms a sort of roof, and the cordage was taut. Often the puck rebounded from the net. The goal umpire, stood on the ice behind the net and indicated a goal by raising his hand. Later he had a small flag to hold up."

"A player's uniform included a turtle-neck sweater, long stockings, and a toque, all being of heavy wool and in the club colors; and plain white knee-length pants. His sweater bore the town initials on the front but no number anywhere. From the top of the toque there hung by a cord, a big tassel. Later the tassel was smaller and attached directly to the top of the toque. Unless he was the goal-keeper, he had no pads except a piece of harness-felt inside, the front of each stocking. Skates were bigger and heavier because the tube skates had not (yet) been invented. Bracebridge town colors were then purple and white for hockey, although black and white for lacrosse. Everything about hockey was still the same when I played it, on a Bracebridge High School team, in the Palace Rink. The B.H.S. colors were read and white. Most of the fans," recalled, Redmond Thomas, "wore on their overcoats long ribbons in their town colors. Many of them brought along horns made of tin or cardboard. At half-time there was singing, and every town had its own song consisting of words sung to some well-known tune. The present practice of some professional hockey players remodelling their sticks (curving them), is nothing new. Away back in Excelsior Cup days, one of the Bracebridge players contrived a magic stick. It was uncanny how he could fish the puck out of a scrimmage. Some how he had managed to embed a nail in the blade of the stick near its tip in such a manner, that a little of the point stuck out of the bottom of the blade, and then he had a way, as to conceal the remodelling from every sort of painstaking inspection. This skulduggery was greatly facilitated by the fact that sticks were so sturdy then, that in most games, not even one of them broke. But if one did break, the referee stopped the play until the stick was replaced."

Mr. Thomas writes, "There was such great interest in Excelsior Cup hockey that (in those days before automobiles were owned in Muskoka) a special train on the Grand Trunk Railway was a commonplace for a game. Rivalry among the towns with competing teams was intense. In particular one game between Gravenhurst and Bracebridge resulted in very deep bitterness in our fine sister town. The next day, following the arrival here of the northbound afternoon mail train, the old Canadian Express Company, delivered to the president of the Bracebridge Hockey Club, a shipment from Gravenhurst which had no wrapping on it. It was a chamber pot such as to reposed in countless bedrooms in those days, when bathrooms were much rarer than at present. It was a metal one and emblazoned on it was 'The Excelsior Mug'."

One might assume the team from "Sawdust City," otherwise known as Gravenhurst, won that year's Excelsior Cup. No details on if there were any surprises in the chamber pot as an added award.

SNOWMOBILE RAN IN SOUTH MUSKOKA AT LEAST NINETY YEARS AGO - THE "HORNER AUTO SLEIGH"

LEAVE IT TO REDMOND THOMAS TO COME UP WITH NEAT STORIES ABOUT OUR PAST. ONE OF THE BEST BOOK INVESTMENTS I'VE MADE, IN REGIONAL HISTORY, WAS TO RE-ACQUIRE THE LONG-OUT-OF-PRINT, REDMOND THOMAS REGIONAL HISTORY, ENTITLED "REMINISCENCES," A BRACEBRIDGE COLLECTION OF STORIES, THAT ARE VERY MUCH, THE MODEST BUT UNIQUE ARCHIVES OF OUR FOLK HISTORY IN THESE PARTS. OUTSIDE OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN BY BERT SHEA, ABOUT WATT TOWNSHIP IN PIONEER TIMES, AND THE SHEA AND VEITCH FAMILY CHRONICLES, REDMOND'S BOOK IS MY MOST REFERRED TO, OF ALL MY MUSKOKA ARCHIVE HISTORIES. TAKE FOR EXAMPLE, THE STORY OF MR. HORNER, AND HIS MOTORIZED CONTRAPTION, THAT LOOKED LIKE A SLED, BUT MOVED LIKE A HORSELESS CARRIAGE, BUT ON TOP OF THE SNOW. IF YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE ONE OF THESE FORERUNNERS OF THE MODERN SNOWMOBILE, WELL, YOU'VE GOT A VALUABLE RELIC OF NOT ONLY MUSKOKA HISTORY, BUT CANADIAN TRANSPORTATION HERITAGE. NOW, IN THE WORDS OF REDMOND THOMAS, Q.C., A FORMER COLUMNIST FOR THE BRACEBRIDGE-GAZETTE, OWNED BY HIS FATHER, G.H.O. THOMAS. (THE BOOK, BY THE WAY, WAS PUBLISHED BY THE HERALD-GAZETTE, BY FORMER EMPLOYER, AND IT WAS INTRODUCED TO THE READER, BY MY GOOD FRIEND AND FORMER BOSS, ROBERT BOYER. THE TWO PAPERS, ONE BEING THE BOYER FAMILY'S "BRACEBRIDGE HERALD," MERGED IN THE 1950'S, TO MAKE "THE HERALD-GAZETTE." REDMOND HAD WORKED AS A COLUMNIST FOR MR. BOYER'S PAPER, AT THE TIME THE BOOK WAS PUBLISHED. IN CASE YOU WOULD LIKE A COPY OF YOUR OWN, YOU CAN SEARCH THE LISTING OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND OUT OF PRINT BOOK COLLECTIVE, THE ADVANCE BOOK EXCHANGE (ABE) ONLINE, AND CONDUCT AS SEARCH FOR "REMINISCENCES," BEING OFFERED BY MEMBER DEALERS. IT'S WHERE I BUY MOST OF MY VINTAGE MUSKOKA HISTORIES. YOU MIGHT HAVE TO WAIT AWHILE, BUT THEY DO TURN UP QUITE REGULARLY.)

"As in recent winters (circa 1969) the modern snowmobile has come into popularity here, it may interest some readers, who did not live in Bracebridge, at least forty-five years ago (1920's), if I mention that as far back as those times, there was running in Bracebridge, a vehicle powered by a gasoline engine, and designed for winter-time cross-country travel, and which today would be called a snowmobile; though originally the word 'snowmobile' had a different meaning from its present one. The word was first applied to a single seat closed motor vehicle, having at its front a pair of runners, and its back four wheels equipped with endless belts, and which was used on the roads in the winters, before regular snowplowing kept them open for ordinary motor vehicles," wrote Mr. Thomas, in his regular column of January 23, 1969.

"Frank Gilbert Horner, though still in his prime, had retired in ample financial circumstances, after having been engaged in gold mining in Alaska. It seems to me that he hailed from some place in one of the Northwestern states, probably Washington, which is the state immediately south of British Columbia; and I have forgotten how he came to choose Bracebridge as a place of residence. In the early 1920's he purchased the old Sheriff Bettes place. Its extensive grounds ran from McMurray Street, westward to John Street and from Hamilton Street northward to the schoolyard of old Central School, where the public school now is. On those grounds stood an elegant big, old style residence facing toward McMurray Street, but far back from the sidewalk along which stood a high cedar hedge; behind the house the was small barn."

Judge Thomas recalled that, "When snow was on the ground, Mr. Horner used to occupy his time by designing and testing what would today be called a snowmobile but which he called an auto sleigh. As well as I can remember it, the vehicle was a sort of cross between a sled and toboggan, and had at its gasoline engine at the back; it was about a dozen feet long and at its front there was a freely revolving circular rudder, which was very much similar in appearance, to one of the very big disk wheels which were the height of style, on the biggest automobiles in those days, when cars had very much higher clearances than now, in spite of the small old-time high pressure tires. Those are the chief details remembered by me.

"On the only occasion that I saw it really under way, the auto sleigh seemed, to me, to be running perfectly. But as Mr. Horner was not satisfied with its all-round performance, he had not put it on the market. His concern that the vehicle be available for cross-country travel, under every conceivable condition of snow and weather, will be appreciated, if it is borne in mind, that the auto sleigh was basically intended to replace dog-sled transportation, in many parts of Alaska, the Yukon Territory, and the North West Territories. The last running of the Horner auto sleigh here, could not have been later than the winter of 1923-24, as according to an old ledger of mine, it was in the following January (1925) that I drew, for Mr. Horner, the deed by which he sold the old Sheriff Bettes place, and he was then residing in Timmins. Snowmobiles are not new, just numerous, and nice!"

THE OTHER MOST RELIABLE MEANS OF WINTER-TIME TRAVEL - THE HORSE-DRAWN SLEIGH IN THE SNOWY CLIME OF SOUTH MUSKOKA

"Freight traffic on Bracebridge streets, in winter-time, was much heavier than in present-day winters; even though the town's population was not quite as big as it is now (1969). Nearly all the fuel used in houses, stores and offices was wood, requiring many sleighs. Many loads of ice for ice houses (commercial and private) were hauled from the river beside River Street, where they were cut in those days, when there was no electric refrigeration. Far more stores had delivery sleighs than now have motor trucks. Great loads of bark went to the Old Tannery (Muskoka Leather Company) in the Hollow, and the New Tannery, (Anglo-Canadian Leather Company) in the 4th ward. Three of the important industries, Bird's Woollen Mill, Dominion Linen Mill, and Old Tannery, had no railroad switch. So on sleighs went all their freight, to and from the Grand Trunk Railway Station. The Old Tannery had so many teams, going to and from the railroad yards, that at almost any time in the day, one could see one of its huge sleighs hauled by a team of beautiful big horses. There were so many of those horses, that in the Old Tannery yards, there was a stable covering a big area of ground, and it was double-decked. In addition to the foregoing there was hauled on sleighs ample goods, for the stores; and coal was hauled from the G.T.R. freight shed, and yards, by sleighs owned by stores or carters. The only big commodities of which I can think that are now carried by motor truck, but were not hauled by sleigh, are gasoline fuel oil and saw-logs. The logs for each of the old sawmills here, were floated down whichever branch of the river ran past the mill," writes Redmond Thomas, about the necessity of horse power the old fashioned way.

He continues, by noting, "But passenger traffic was very much lighter. Few people owned a driving horse, or (for a trip within the town) would hire a rig from a livery stable. There was nothing corresponding to the present day school bus. Nor (except the bus from the railroad station) was there anything equivalent to the present-day taxi, for trips with the town; but for a trip out of town, a rig (with or without a driver) could be hired at a livery stable. The roadways of the streets were not snowplowed and were kept open by only the traffic on them; except that in the Downtown business section, the roadway on Manitoba Street was kept hand-shoveled for absolutely its whole width, between the outer edges of the sidewalks. There were no snowbanks along the sidewalks like there were in business sections in other towns. Even though the Downtown roadway was narrower than it now is (because each sidewalk was very much wider than at present), it was a great task to keep it snow-shoveled by hand, and keep the snow from it hauled away on sleighs to the river.

"Sleighs were for freight passengers or both. All (except a bus mentioned later) were open. Some were hauled by one horse, others by a team. All were driven fro the right-hand side. Runners on opposite sides of a sleigh were closer together than wheels on opposite sides of a summer-time wheeled vehicle. Sleigh bells were required by law; most were strings of small globular bells buckled around the horse but some were larger bells, much like cowbells, fastened to the shafts of a sleigh. Freight sleighs (and the bigger passenger sleighs) were bob-sleighs; they had two sets of runners of which the front set was pivoted. The freight sleighs were of considerable variety, ranging from very heavy ones for heavy loads, to light ones such as used for store-delivery rigs. The floor of some had no sides and back but not top. The big sleighs had at the back end of each of the rear runners, a dog; namely a hinged big spike which could be swung down, and tramped into the road, to hold the sleigh on a hill, while the horses got a breather."

The columnist writes that "Passenger sleighs were of several varieties. The kind for fast travel was the cutter. It had one pair of runners. Most cutters had just one seat but some had two, and the latter varied among themselves inasmuch as though, almost all had the back seat facing forward, there was a type having the seats back to back. Though most cutters had high spindly runners there was a kind called a Quebec cutter, which was built low-set and had solid runners.

"Meeting such four of the G.T.R. passenger trains as arrived in daytime, there was a bus which was a bobsleigh with a fully inclosed body, resembling that of a small street car. It would take a customer to any place in the town, upon payment of a small fare. The passengers used a door in the back of the vehicle, and occupied long seats whose backs ran along the sides of the bus, the two seats facing each other across a narrow aisle. The driver sat outdoors on a seat across the very front of the bus. For groups of people wanting to go elsewhere that from the railroad station, there was a kind of bus like the one just mentioned, except that its body was fully open. There was a dual-purpose small sleigh, called a jumper, which was light, sturdy, and low-set and had only one pair of runners. It was a dandy for getting over drifted roads. The jumper could be used for passengers or light freight or both together, like the station wagon of today. The foregoing does not deal with all the kinds of sleighs, but enough of them to give the highlights of their era. The station bus described was the elegant replacement of a plainer one which I remember. Winter traffic in the old days was slow but picturesque."

The River That Runs Through

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THE RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT - HAS INFLUENCED RESIDENTS FROM THE BEGINNING - BUT HAS ANYONE NOTICED

THE MUSKOKA RIVER HAS BEEN PART OF OUR PYSCHE, OUR HISTORY, AND THE INDIVIDUALITY OF THE COMMUNITY

I nearly drowned in the Muskoka River, once upon a time. I saw my wee life pass before me, and it was a short review. A rather pathetic replay, truth be known, to show for all my many exciting adventures to that point. I was fifteen years old, and I came within a hair's breadth of being on display, in all my lost youth, at the local funeral home. So when I write or talk about the Muskoka River, I do so with the greatest reverence. I survived a frightening encounter with its undertow; and what had appeared so gentle and soothing, in casual recreation, possessed, in stark contrast, a serpent's constriction of invisible current.

It was the first warning I was given, less than twenty-four hours, after we arrived as new permanent residents, of the Town of Bracebridge. "Stay away from the river," my mother warned me, as I put on my winter boots, with the failing sole, and my coat that had been repaired at least twenty times, to the point you could see all of Merle's scattering, of less than proficient stitches, on the shoulders and arms. She was more concerned that I would drown, in the black water of the Muskoka River, than die of wet feet or from the chill-wind, cutting through my old parka.

When we lived in Burlington, up on Harris Crescent, a block off Lakeshore Road, Merle warned me to "Stay away from the lake," instead, which meant that while I could play in the ravine of Ramble Creek, I was forbidden to cross through the conduit under the road, which would have put me on the slippery rocks of the lakeshore. So in Burlington Merle worried I might be swept away by a wave on Lake Ontario, and in Bracebridge, she figured my curiosity, the lure of adventure, would pull me to the bank of the Muskoka River. She was right, you know. I frequently arrived on the rocks of the lake, in Burlington, after a short, wet hike, and I spent a good portion of my youth, sitting with mates, and swimming off the embankment of Bass Rock, southeast of the rapids, and Wilson's Falls, on the North Branch of the Muskoka River.

I've been indebted to water for enhancing my life, in so many ways. At the same time, I have to admit, that despite my mother's most emphatic warnings, I nearly drowned on four occasions. First of all, I fell through the thin ice over a chest-deep pool on Ramble Creek, one spring afternoon, wearing a bulky snowsuit. Which by the way, immediately acted like a bladder, trapping gallons of creek water. My mother always warned me to stay away from the creek as well, in the spring of the year. I just didn't listen. I almost drowned in Lake Muskoka, at Kirby's Beach, after Al "Weasel" Hillman, jumped off a dock onto my head, knocking me out temporarily. I came to in the knick of time, because no one knew I'd been injured as a result. Then I almost succumbed to exhaustion, while trying to swim across Bass Rock, and once again, Al was with me. We had been on the opposite side of the river, and our mates were on the west, or downtown side. As they wanted to head downtown for an ice cream cone, after swimming, and Al and I were too lazy to go all the way around, and down Hunt's Hill, we decided to swim across, like we had done about ten thousand times. The only difference, is that we had to bring our dry clothes across, meaning we had to keep one arm in the air, while we dog-paddled with the other. Al was wearing diving flippers, so he was across the narrows of Bass Rock, in less than a minute. I wasn't a great swimmer to begin with, and I got caught by the current, and pulled down toward the larger bay, south of the same narrows.

The danger of this, was that entering the bay, as the current pulled me downstream, was the reality the distance to shore doubled and tripled the further along I was pulled, because of the shape of the bay. Add to this, the fact I dropped my arm and the clothes I had elevated, thusly submerged, quadrupling in weight. None of my mates had any idea what had happened, and were getting ready to head downtown. I dropped some of the clothing, worrying less at that moment, about my mother being mad, at lost attire, than if I had become a casualty of her greatest fear; the river. I could have drowned and my chums, who were all good lads, wouldn't have thought it odd, until halfway uptown. "Where's Ted?" "Oh, he'll catch up." By that point, I would probably have been cast over the falls, to add insult to a drowning victim. It was my fault on several counts. When I got home that night, Merle seemed to know that her son had come within a whisker of drowning, just by the look of me coming through the door. I was also wet, which kind of gave the swimming part away, but she never said a word about my missing shirt, socks and dress pants. I'd thrown my shoes across the river before I got into the water that evening. So the Muskoka River spared me. There are hundreds of former residents who weren't as fortunate. From pioneer times to the present, a lot of lives have been lost in the deep running currents of that black snaking river, that looks so picturesque on post cards, and in tourism videos.

As I've written about many times previously, in these blogs, I was nearly drowned, as was my wife Suzanne, as well, during a canoe mishap, on the South Branch of the Muskoka River, during the annual Muskoka Shield Canoe Race. We toppled out of the canoe in a small rapids, and we weren't wearing life jackets. After some precarious moments trying to balance, in the middle of the rapids, we were rescued by Dan Lacroix and his daughter, Angie, a father-daughter team entered into the event. A few moments longer, and I would have lost my balance, and fallen right into the area of the rapids, where the undertow would have been strongest. Suzanne had an injured hand, and couldn't use it to swim free of the rapids. So we survived because of the proximity of our rescuers.

If you were to conduct a modern day survey, to ask permanent residents, especially in the urban area of town, most exposed to the river, whether or not they think of the waterway frequently, some times, seldom, or not at all, the results would be predictable. If you were to ask, regardless of the answer to the first question, whether or not they considered the Muskoka River part of their psyche, living in Bracebridge, I doubt there would be anyone who would answer affirmatively. It's not something we think about, as such, unless we are boating on it, or swimming in its chill water. From an historical perspective, the Muskoka River, being the north and south branches, has been part of the characteristic of this community, dating back to the first explorers and surveyors. The river has provided a canoe route, a navigation link, a power source, a water resource, and the means of transporting logs to mill sites. The first settlers selected this location because of the cataract, of the present Bracebridge Falls, which in the very early 1860's, was known as "North Falls." The larger of the cataracts, but located on the South Branch, was known as "The Great Falls." The falls and the navigable waters, represented economic potential, and a connectedness with the wider Lake Muskoka, and Gravenhurst, where the first steamship was launched. In those early years of town history, the river was all important to economic development, and future prosperity. From a toppled pine tree, that served as an inaugural bridge across the rapids, above the falls, to the construction of several major iron linkages, across the waterway, this permanent relationship with the river became part of the culture of the hamlet, village and then town. It became so ingrained in fact, that most residents probably would have answered the questions above, roughly the same as they would today; denying that they spend much time at all, thinking about the "river that runs through it!" I know differently. It is a quality and quantity of living in Bracebridge. It is just a deeply imbedded reality. We know it's there, and we see it numerous times each day and week, but it never seems a rite of passage, or necessity, to analyze its social / cultural or spiritual connotation. It is what it is! Or maybe there's more to it!

Quite a number of years ago, a group of citizens, with the backing of town council, launched a spring-time event, known as the "Festival of the Falls." It was a good idea, and I joined as a volunteer historian, to help write promotional material. I sensed a political vein to the event, I didn't care for, infiltrating what had been a largely successful citizen initiative. The problem with the event was a simple one. It shouldn't have been a spring event. The best time to have run such a weekend festival, to maximize attendance, would have been during the autumn season, as a sort of rejuvenation of the former Cavalcade of Colors event that used to bring in visitors by the bus-load. This was once a district-wide celebration and recognized throughout the province. Tourists even arrived here via special-event passenger train to participate. I believe the Festival of the Falls would have had much greater success, in the fall of the year instead, and I truly believe, with focus on the Muskoka River as an historic resource, a much more compact, central, and easy-to-manage event would have manifested over time. My focus, would have been on river-lore, and on the economic realities of having established the town along its banks in the first place.

The dark ribbon of the Muskoka River is part of every Bracebridge resident's day to day existence, whether they know it or not. If they live in the urban area, and walk or drive to and from work, they will cross over the river at some point in the day, and again on their return home. I'm willing to bet, the last few coins in my pocket, there are some folks who cross one of our bridges upwards of ten times each day; and who drive regularly alongs its basin, on the River Road, Beaumont Drive, or Santa's Village Road. Travellers on foot, on bicycles and in motor vehicles, who view it, fully or out of the corners of their eyes, during all times of day and night, and through the influences of the four seasons. They may not think about the river specifically, yet will ponder or remark to a passenger, or someone at home or work, how beautiful it was, on a such a spring morning as this, to drive along and see the rolling mist in the first light of a Muskoka morning; or having just watched a beaver rippling the water, while traversing its width; or seeing a deer standing along the shore, its image reflecting in the silver on black, of the deep river flow. I've taken many photographs like this, in my years living in Bracebridge and area, especially during the several years we resided just beyond the Beaumont Farm. I often walked to and from town, in all kinds of weather, and all hours of the day. There is a vibration made by this river, that at times, can sounds like a deep, mournful voice coming from the middle, bracketed by the constant wash and ripple over the shoreline rocks; and gently against the summer vegetation, growing in its shallows. I have seen the moon reflecting on its surface, so distinctly, such that the voyeur can get mesmerized, momentarily about which way is up. The poet takes over from here, and plays with the images in verse.

In the autumn of the year, the reflections of the hardwood colors are exceptional, and the Muskoka River becomes the centre of attention for romantics, the sentimental of heart, hikers, dawdlers, sightseers, artists and photographers. In the winter, the steam rises from the cataract of Bracebridge Falls, into an ice-crystal plume, that you can see rising from a half mile away. I could watch it, as a youngster, from the top of Hunt's Hill, on my way to Bracebridge Public School, on those frigid January mornings with a sting in the air. There was the so-called (and very convenient) "magic spell," you see, we all knew about, cast upon us weak mortals by that black unfrozen river. This was the story, in our defense, that we told our guardians, whenever we got into trouble, that inevitably had something or other to do with exposure to the river. I suppose now, reflecting back, how magical it was, had a lot to do with the winter season enhancements; the sparkling snowscape of the shoreline, the twinkling sunlight, and mirrored clouds in the water, which, in our words, must have enchanted the spirit of a school chum, on one of those mornings, to defy the laws of nature and climate; being commanded by forces unknown and undetected, to place his big wet tongue on the iron railing, right at the middle of the bridge, and river. His view from there, for the better part of an hour, was looking directly down (now other choice) at the fast moving water, and he may have even been able to see his reflection; a toque, eyes wide open, and the upper part of his mouth wide open; tears of pain dripping down from his cheeks, into the steaming water below. After that, his chums, who abandoned him there, to fend for himself, could truthfully admit, the Muskoka River had now officially entered their consciousness, of what it meant to be a home-towner, in a place where the river does run through it!

I have stood on the concrete brakewall, just below the falls, in Bracebridge Bay, when the former freight shed was still standing, in order to get a better view of police, in an array of boats, dragging the river bottom for a swimmer, who drowned the day before. He wasn't found that day, but a lot of old logging tools, were pulled up in the grappling hooks instead, and I remember them being lined-up, as if they were corpses as well, beneath the canopy of the wharf building. There were quite a few pike poles and related implements, pulled from an area of river, that at times in history, had been shore to shore logs, during the spring drive. The body of the deceased swimmer, was spotted floating on the opposite side of the bay, a few days later, by someone walking over the silver bridge. To my knowledge, the river has always given up its dead, sooner or later. There have been others claimed by the heavy undertow in the bay, and more than a few, have perished initially, from a crash onto the rocks of the falls themselves, having been carried by the rapids over the brink. Many settlers and their family members, were claimed by misadventure, in much the same fashion, having taken the river for granted, losing their lives in the gamble.

I told historian, Gary Long, a long time ago, that his book, "This River, The Muskoka," was one of my favorite regional histories, because it is how I have always felt about this mysterious, yet predictable length of watershed, dissecting the rugged topography of our region. Personally, I have always treated the river more intimately, because there weren't many days in my youth, after having moved to the town, that I wasn't at some point, staring into its blackness, pondering what was swimming and thriving in its depths. On the way to school, each morning, I respected it as a living, breathing entity, with a personality reflective of the time of day, and prevailing weather. One day, it would seem the perfect companion waterscape, for music from Bach to Mozart, bright and cheerful, yet with the approach of a late spring thunder storm, its mood quickly became as dark as the sky overhead; and it seemed, that its slow motion caress against shore, and dull roar of the distant falls, was instead, more of a funeral dirge, with its vapor veil of melancholy. On sunny spring mornings, it would mirror the overhead leaves of venerable shoreline maples, and hardy evergreens, leaning out over the water. Later in the hot afternoon, the river seemed as if it was painted in place, much as an artist's rendering shelved upon an easel. The local youth, heading home from school, would toss it leftover sandwiches and uneaten fruit, as if to feed it; truthfully though, just getting rid of the evidence, before someone at home investigated what was supposed to be an empty lunch box. Others of us, with a bottle of pop in hand, purchased from the machine in front of the Muskoka Trading grocery store, would just cross our arms, rest our chins, and ponder what life, and girls were all about. The girls we knew, from our part of town, never stopped to ponder anything; that's how self assured they were back then. Later in the evening, the river would appear more green than black, and then silver in the midst of a slowly setting sun, and soon, it would mirror the evening's moon and twinkling stars; becoming fabled and legendary, by those daydreamers and young poets, who thrived on strange fictions, and grand curiosities, that could never be solved in this life or the next.

This dark band of ribbon water, has inspired joy and promise, speculation and realization; brought about success and prosperity, while supplying the needs of commerce and industry. It has been an important regional attraction, in its natural grandeur, and a boon to tourism. It has been a source of pleasure, joy, entertainment, recreation, and a vision of solitude ever-enhancing "the picturesque," forwarded by hundreds of artists over the centuries, who believed they had exploited its soul. It has, at the same time, inspired fear during spring floods, when it bleeds over its banks, and generated fear and loathing, when we learn that another life has been claimed by its undertow. It is both beauty and beast, a blessing and a curse, and it is our heritage, being in its company.

Through history, the Muskoka River has been in our pysche. We just haven't appreciated how deeply imbedded it has become. I have been using the image, illusion, romanticism and danger of the Muskoka River, in my writing, from my first attempts at short story composition; and yes, as far back as grade six, at Bracebridge Public School. While at the same time, an hour later, in history class, learning about its natural heritage. Even though my mother has been gone for quite some time now, I can still hear the echo of her time-honored warning, "Teddy Currie, don't you dare go near that river, do you hear?" It has always begged the question, why not? Even when I know the answer, the river compels me to disobey. When it had me in its grasp, and could have absorbed me into itself, in a mortal heartbeat, I was shown its mercy. It spit me out, like a pit from a cherry. I can never dismiss its presence, as being, just "a river." There's something more. Something fantastic. A life force that defines us in so many ways, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not; that runs its course all the live long day. Fiction and Non-fiction at the same time.

Author-Historian Wayland Drew

2017-03-12T06:05:00.002-07:00

What I learned from author-historian Wayland Drew

I believe it was the winter of 1978. The first meeting of the soon-to-be Bracebridge Historical Society, was unofficially held at the home of well known Canadian author Wayland Drew. It was a meeting between a citizen, this writer, who was interested in preserving an historic building in the Town of Bracebridge, (an octagonal home constructed in the 1880’s by former woolen mill owner Henry Bird)……and the second party, at the informal meeting, Mr. Drew, was in my mind, a writer-historian of considerable national reputation, (eg. the landmark text entitled, “Superior, The Haunted Shore.”) That’s correct. I’m so very proud to write that Wayland and I made up the first full planning meeting of the soon to be elected historical society. As an aspiring writer, I was in awe that he would give me a private audience to discuss the possibility of forming a local historical society, to implement a conservation strategy to save Woodchester Villa (the Bird House). I had been attempting to drum up support for a citizen-driven initiative to create a community museum, and Wayland must have thought I had at least a spark of credibility to follow through on the project. He called me over to his house for a discussion about all the possibilities of saving this particular Victorian era home. We worked well together and our plans merged to give rise to a new historical preservation group, and eventually, with a huge commitment of citizen involvement, a newly restored town museum would open on that pinnacle of land above the cataract of Bracebridge Falls. My first position was “Recording Secretary,” which I conducted poorly, but rebounded some years later as President and then site manager. Much of the credit goes to Wayland for negotiating so well for the Historical Society generally, and always being its ambassador.

This editorial segment is not a biographical study of my writer-associate, Wayland Drew, or a re-telling of the work of the Bracebridge Historical Society. There is a story about Wayland I have often repeated in environmental presentations ever since, about the importance of listening and learning from expertise. And while we might all believe we’re the best experts we’ve ever met, I was to learn up close and personal how little I knew about the bigger picture of conservation. This is a story that’s of great importance to this on-line inventory of blog editorials because it is at the root of every entry in one way or another.

Several years into the museum’s operation, a situation arose with the town about the necessity of removing numerous large trees lining the old laneway at the front of Woodchester. If memory serves, the problem was that if any emergency vehicle had required access to the building, via this riverside route, the narrow artery would not allow safe, unobstructed passage particularly for the larger fire-fighting equipment. It probably was the case as well that the large border trees would cause great difficulty for snow removal, important for emergency vehicle access as well. The town public works department had recommended the removal of those trees that limited the width of the driveway, and the recommendation did not sit well with Wayland and several others. At the time Wayland was no longer a director of the Historical Society, but was part of a delegation that attended to object to the cutting.

I sat as a voting director.

As I recall now, Wayland made a sensible, balanced, gentle argument to spare the trees by making accommodations with a rear parking area, offering adequate clearance for the larger emergency vehicles. I don’t remember all the details of that lengthy afternoon meeting, except that I acted as the part of “ass” very well. I shot down Wayland without mercy, suggesting that emergency services access to all corners of the site greatly outweighed the scenic splendor of a few large evergreens to be expended. He wasn’t against making provisions for emergency services in numerous other ways, including carving out some of the embankment, all alternatives being well thought out and workable I might add. He was adamant the trees, having been there for a good part of a century, and being an important part of the Woodchester and Muskoka ambience, deserved to be spared the teeth of the industrial strength chainsaw.

I have no idea now what really generated my opposition to alternatives that would spare the trees. I know it was largely a case of ignorance on my part, and a general immaturity, that I would ever have challenged someone who made such a sensible, researched, community minded presentation. I can still recall the shocked look on his face when I cast forward a resounding reprimand for even thinking about any compromise that would limit entrance to the property; and that afterall, “they’re just trees…..they’ll grow back.” I had shown great disrespect to a person who I had always admired in both historical preservation and conservation of the environment. I voted against the conservation of those trees but the good news is my position wasn’t on the winning side. I believe a compromise was reached and although some trees may have been removed, (I don’t remember exactly the reduced cull), Wayland’s argument made sense to the group at large. Although Wayland never said a word about my indifference to the matter of Woodchester’s natural heritage, he didn’t have to say anything at all. It was an awkwardness in our conservations from that point on but always the result of the unfortunate weight of my own conscience. I should have been wise enough to realize that if Wayland Drew had thought it important enough to interrupt his busy day to discuss several trees in peril, it must be a landmark situation deserving the most clear thinking appraisal in response.

A short time before Wayland passed away, after a lengthy illness, we found ourselves both sitting comfortably in the cool shade of a perfect summer day, during a writer’s gathering held ironically at Woodchester Villa. It was a modest, unplanned homecoming to Woodchester, dealing with writing this time, not history, with nary a chainsaw rattle within ear-shot. I took a turn at the podium to read one of my short stories and following the presentation, Wayland left his seat to congratulate me on the subject of my recitation, a fellow writer, (and student from Bracebridge High School) named Paul Rimstead, well known Toronto Sun columnist who had died a short while earlier. It seemed Wayland and I agreed upon the great talent of the “Rimmer,” and that the world would be disadvantaged without his daily barbs and insights.

At the time Wayland knew his life was being seriously shortened, and as it turned out this was the last time I would talk to this amazing, talented gentleman. I can remember wanting so badly to offer a sincere, belated apology for the great tree-debate of once but foolish pride got in the path of an honest, heartfelt regret. I let him walk away without clearing my conscience about a ill-conceived, childish stubbornness that very nearly cost this beautiful tree-lined property even more of its historic, natural charm.

I have attempted many times since Wayland’s death to make amends with the issue, as if expended ink can make up for what I didn’t accomplish in person. Wayland’s passionate appeal for environmental conservation did however, over so many decades of re-consideration, generate within this writer the first and enduring interest to get involved, and speak out about the reckless destruction of forests, the infilling of wetlands, and the damning realities of urban sprawl across the entire Muskoka hinterland.

I wish I had listened more patiently to the sage advisories of the good Mr. Drew. He wasn’t wrong, and his concerns were just as valid then as today. I seldom if ever visit a Muskoka woodland for a hike, that I don’t tribute the experience and enjoyment, in some way, to the inspiration I received from a true friend of Muskoka. My only wish, as a writer, is that I could one day be as effective and enlightened an author, as the man who challenged me to take up the pen in the first place.

Thank you Wayland Drew. The experiences you shared have not been forgotten, the lessons you taught have not diminished; your passion to protect the environment, is the passion now carried forth by your students.

Bracebridge Revisited

2017-03-11T04:25:00.001-08:00

Bracebridge re-visited; and the times I shall never forget

A writer friend asked me one day if there was some sort of historian’s mutual admiration club in Muskoka, where old farts like me could go and talk with vapid vigor about the days of yore….you know the kind of club where we have smoking jackets with crests and glasses of port to mix with a quarter-pounder Cuban cigar….with companion piped-in music from some aged, venerable folk musician regaling us with nostalgia..

“No……local historians around here don’t socialize…..most of them wouldn’t drink Port on a dare and they’re too bloody health conscious to chomp down on a rich, juicy length of wrapped tobacco,” I replied. “It’s not that we don’t agree with the rights and responsibilities of historians of the empire, we just don’t feel like any company just now.”

At one student-parent day at the local school, the teacher asked me to give a talk about being an historian…..after ten minutes of shooting the concept well over the fourth graders’ heads, I said in conclusion…....”let’s just say that being an historian doesn’t get me invited to many parties…..did I say many….ha…ha.” Well, they were still lost but after class, the teacher asked me for some research tips….as it was the case she was embarking on work to uncover some family history. While my kid was fed-up having an historian for a dad, I helped a teacher find her roots.

In Bracebridge I grew up historically. While other of my chums just chewed gum, basked in the sun listening to the transistor radio….playing Dylan or some period rock’n’ roll, I was paying attention to the way the town was advancing day by day. Now while this might seem a tad nuts, and who would be interested in such minute transitions, it was something I needed to know. I somehow knew that the town was on the verge of profound change, and that it would be important one day to know how this wee burg of 2,500 souls would become a sprawling half-empire by 2008.

When I began writing a column in the early 1990’s called “Sketches of Historic Bracebridge,” all the observations and explorations of my times spent here began to make sense. As a matter of some irony I had to move away before I could really make sense of it…..so here I was then…..writing about Historic Bracebridge while living in uptown Gravenhurst, in South Muskoka. Living ten miles away, in the tropics of true South Muskoka, meant I could look more objectively at my hometown experience. There was a sense of nostalgia and there have been times since 1989 when the thought of moving back to Bracebridge crossed our family’s collective mind. With my parents still residing in Bracebridge and business taking me there three to four times every week, I can’t get too homesick afterall….but I can view change with an added measure of objectivity…..I don’t have to give up my nearby meadow for a shopping centre as I might have in Bracebridge, a town with city aspirations here in the Ontario hinterland.

My columns from this period were full of people sketches, reminiscences about old friends and strange encounters. I realized that I was probably one of the only historians who believed it was more important to recognize the history of the people, the everyday front-line folk who built the town’s economic future in the same effort as they struggled to make daily ends meet. I had a greatly diminished interest to highlight local politicians and the major players in local wealth building. I always gravitated to the stories of the bakers and janitors, clerks and post office workers……I held patiently to the words of retired farmers and police officers, teachers and electricians, waitresses at the local greasy spoon, and lumbermen who always smelled like pine.

I despised the histories that over-estimated the contributions of the elite, the rich, the political mucky-mucks, and the social club executives; their stories as a rule always being half as interesting as the worker-bees of the community, the stay at home moms, the clerks, plumbers, and candlestick makers. We were a family of paycheck to paycheck working stiffs and sometimes we had to scrimp real hard and real long to make rent and eat at the same time. But we found kindnesses amongst our mates, our friends up at 129 Alice Street, the apartment where those of modest income could have a few residential comforts. And it was a community within a community, and to this day I will never forget how everyone kept their doors open in the evening, and residents trailed from one apartment to the other, getting in on conversations, good television or a radio program, or even a game of euchre needing a new player.

I have often wondered whether it is true of myself, as an historian, that I have been tainted by this general mistrust for the upper echelon and their still faithful historical scribes, who believe the only history worth telling is what great new thing the community leaders have bestowed on the future this time. While I have always paused to mindfully glance at the society news, just to keep up on what some believe to be the way toward salvation, it’s my opinion the pulse of the community is better understood being close to those in the midst of this ground level machinery….versus listening to the mutual admiration of cronies in between fat cigars.

I grew up as a street kid, tumbling through the alleyways across the town, investigating every nook and cranny, and watching events unfold both humorous and tragic and then, well “tragically humorous”…..such as when the local bouncer at the former Albion Hotel would eject a trouble-maker without first opening the door. Us wee lads used to sit on the railing by the tracks watching the front door for these flights of despair. For the bouncer there was no sense going to the extra effort of opening the door with one arm when a patron’s head would do just fine. When I used to write about events like this….. some of my historical colleagues would become quite belligerent about my cavalier approach to report the history of their town. While I have a great respect for protocol I have no respect for revisionists or those who believe local history begins and ends at town hall.

When I became editor of The Herald-Gazette in the early 1980’s, it was “one for the gipper,” I can tell you. And there were a lot of powerful folks who couldn’t figure out why the publisher would hire someone without social standing, a rootedness in the local service club program, or at least someone who could be moved by the will of protectionist reason. Here I was in the editor’s chair with about fifteen cents to pay that month’s rent, no earthly reason to bow to any of the political grandstanders who used to get all the press, and a person uncommitted to follow any protocol other than honest, responsible, unbiased reporting. I could think what I wanted about the folks in my community and their bad habits but it wasn’t going to influence my editorial capacity….and it never did. Now of course, after I had given up the editor’s desk and settled into a long tenure as a columnist, I let it all hang-out. Needless to say I made more than a few enemies. The combined forces of opposition began tightening the noose I knew was around my neck, and after I’d made my peace with local history….. and presented a new look at what has always been steadfastly maintained as fact ingrained, I knew it was time to move on and celebrate a period of relative non-confrontation in print or otherwise.

Today I’m a tad gentler, somewhat less resolved to save the world from tyrants and local politicians but I really haven’t changed my mind about the good folks who keep our communities alive and thriving……and admittedly I don’t mention the names of politicians, although I’ve met a few recently who have made me wonder if a trend is developing….or a new complacency arrived at.

I loved my job as editor because it allowed me to drink it all in, just as when, as a kid, I sat on the stoop at Black’s Variety and watched the adult world folly and fiddle, hustle and dawdle through each god-blessed day. I was proud to represent my hometown and yet I wasn’t about to hide news or bury what the public needed to know. And I had lots of angry readers who demanded that I bury what they believed wasn’t in the best interest of home and family. I fought them every inch and printed what I believed, in heart and soul, needed to be in the public domain. I was right more than I was wrong. I took a lot of abuse in a decade editing the Muskoka press but it was an experience I needed to expand my appreciation for life and times, good and evil, joy and tragedy. I had readers embrace me with heartfelt appreciation after a feature story…… and then I had angry readers intent on hurting me when we ran stories about their relatives being busted for impaired driving. I took a lot of heat for running negative news reports of any kind. For the first two years of my editorship, every Wednesday in local publishing was like driving with high beams into a blizzard…..amongst those mesmerizing, dizzying snowflakes, there were a few good wishes….and you know, it was all I needed. Just a few folks to say, “Nice work Scoop….I wondered when someone was going to blow the whistle.”

I was born a writer and I shall die a writer. I will always show my goodwill toward those unsung community builders who work progressively and patiently, most often with modest return, who build the future one brick at a time…..one cheeseburger and fries, one bagged carton of milk in the bag.

Please check out Curious; The Tourist Guide for my newest column series in 2008 regarding the good old days as a beat reporter-controversial editor, working in the South Muskoka region of this grand old Ontario.

Johnny Moon, Barnardo Boy Part 6

2017-03-10T04:25:00.001-08:00

THE FINAL CHAPTER: THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON - A CABIN AT WATER'S EDGE

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A WANDERER - THE ALLURE OF THE OPEN ROAD, A BRACEBRIDGE FOLK STORY

I HAVE READ THE MANUSCRIPT AT LEAST FIFTY TIMES SINCE I ACQUIRED THIS COPY, BACK IN THE EARLY 1990'S. EVER SINCE, I'VE TRIED TO LEARN AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, ABOUT THE WEE ENGLISHMAN, WHO ONCE LIVED IN A TINY SHANTY, ON THE BANK OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, A SHORT DISTANCE FROM WILSON'S FALLS, ON RIVER ROAD. I HAD HEARD STORIES ABOUT JOHNNY MOON, AS FAR BACK AS MY FIRST SUMMER LIVING IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN 1966. MY MATES HAD HEARD THE STORIES ABOUT THE FORMER BARNARDO BOY, FROM THEIR PARENTS OR GRANDPARENTS, WHO MAY HAVE EVEN KNOWN HIM, BACK WHEN HE CALLED BRACEBRIDGE HIS HOME TOWN. THEY SAID THERE WAS A GHOST CONNECTED TO THE STORY, AND, AS DID JOHNNY MOON IN HIS LIFE, THE APPARITION CAN BE SEEN IN A LEAKY OLD ROW BOAT, TRAVERSING BACK AND FORTH, THE BLACK WATER OF THE WINDING RIVER, ON LATE SUMMER EVENINGS, WHEN THE MOONLIGHT BEAMS DOWN, JUST RIGHT, OVER THE PINE VALLEY.

TODAY WE WILL LOOK AT THE FINAL FEW PAGES, FROM THE "DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON," WHICH IS ONLY PART OF WHAT HE MUST HAVE WRITTEN FORMALLY, IN HIS BIOGRAPHY. BUT ALAS IT IS ONLY COMPLETE UP TO 1926. THE ORIGINAL HANDWRITTEN JOURNAL, WAS FOUND IN THE LITTLE SHANTY, HE HAD BUILT FROM RECYCLED WOOD, ALONG THE SHORE OF THE NORTH BRANCH, OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, AND WAS TURNED OVER TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE FOR SAFE-KEEPING IN THEIR ARCHIVES COLLECTION. IT IS AN IMPORTANT RELIC OF MUSKOKA, AND BRACEBRIDGE FOLK HISTORY, AND IT'S GREAT TO KNOW JOHNNY MOON'S STAKE IN OUR HISTORY, HAS BEEN PRESERVED FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS. JOHNNY, IT CAN BE SAID WITH CONSIDERABLE ACCURACY, HAD A DIFFICULT AND EMOTIONALLY TROUBLING LIFE, HAVING ARRIVED IN MUSKOKA INITIALLY, AS AN ELEVEN YEAR OLD LAD, COURTESY THE EMIGRATION PROGRAM OF DR. BARNARDO, AND HIS ORPHANAGES IN ENGLAND, IN THE LATE 1800'S. JOHNNY HAD LOST BOTH OF HIS PARENTS, EVEN BURYING HIS FATHER, FOLLOWING AN ACCIDENT, ON CHRISTMAS EVE. HIS STEP BROTHERS AND SISTERS COULDN'T AFFORD THE ADDED BURDEN OF LOOKING AFTER JOHNNY, SO HE WAS SENT TO THE BARNARDO HOME, AND THEY, IN TURN, SHIPPED HIM OFF TO CANADA, AS A LABOURER. ONE CAN IMAGINE HOW FRIGHTENED HE MUST HAVE BEEN, TO WATCH FROM THE SHIP, "LABRADOR," AS ENGLAND FADED FROM VIEW, ON HIS 1897 TRANS-ATLANTIC JOURNEY. WORKING ON A FARMSTEAD, NEAR BRACEBRIDGE, MUST HAVE ALSO BEEN A TREMENDOUS SHOCK TO THE PRE-TEEN, AND THE PHYSICAL DEMANDS OF THE WORK, HE WAS EXPECTED TO DO, A CRUEL INTRODUCTION TO NEW POTENTIAL IN A NEW LAND.

IF YOU HAVE JUST JOINED THIS STORY, YOU CAN CATCH-UP BY ARCHIVING BACK TO THE FIRST OF THIS WEEK. I HAVE ONLY QUOTED SMALL PASSAGES, AS THE MANUSCRIPT BELONGS TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. MOST OF THE CONTENT IS AN OVERVIEW OF THE TEXT. SOME NAMES WILL BE REMOVED DUE TO PARTICULAR FAMILY SENSITIVITIES TODAY; SOMETHING JOHNNY MOON DIDN'T WORRY ABOUT AT THE TIME. HE NEVER INTENDED FOR THE JOURNAL TO BE PUBLISHED, SO HE DID TAKE SOME LIBERTIES. WE RE-JOIN THE DIARY IN THE YEAR 1912.

He writes under the heading, "The Year 1912," that he had once again left the employ of the Albion Hotel. For lodgings, he turned back to the Banks family, who had moved to another location, after a serious flu outbreak some time previous. Johnny had actually been forced to move as a result of the quarantine, issued by the medical officer, as the flue had infected numerous residents of the boarding house. This time, he was living on James Street. There were the Banks family members, John and Mrs. Banks, Helen, Robert, Herbert and Agnes. He made money by doing odd jobs for homeowners, which seemed better for him, because of the short term he was locked-in, as he saw it as a sort of prison term. His biggest problem, of holding a job, was the long-term commitment, which frustrated him. During this period, he worked for Mr. Wallace, Mrs. Arnold, Mrs. Henry Bird, and Mr. Foulkes, of whom he was particularly fond. He was capable of hard work, and long hours, but his best performance was always short term. As he had problems with authority figures, and had a low threshold of tolerance, when it came to accepting criticism, or what he considered mean treatment, he had discovered part-time employment, and odd-jobs, far more comfortable.

Johnny, on his travels around the town, one day, heard a rumour about Mr. Tillson, being in the process of setting up a chicken farm in Bracebridge, on the north side, near the public school (not sure which one), and it sounded like something he could handle, as far as farm labour. He decided that instead of going to the tannery again, to seek work, he would go to where Mr. Tillson lived with his family, to enquire, in person, if there were any jobs available, at the new farm. As he was usually able to talk his way into employment, Mr. Tillson, who had been involved in the tannery business, was willing to give the young man a chance, and employment began immediately after. He claimed that this was a "turning point in his life." Some of you, reading on, past this point, will appreciate that Johnny was again, being overly optimistic. He did enjoy a longer relationship with the chicken farm, but he was continually being turned-out by the proprietor, without the words "laid off" being used. Johnny Moon was at his peak for the first week of employment, and then, depending on how bored he got, proprietor's would get the message that he wasn't a long-term kind of employee. Whether he was found sleeping on the job, or participating in any form of misconduct, isn't known. He did like working on the egg farm, which is important to note, because he didn't speak well of many of his former places of employment.

As was also his habit, he started to spend money after his first full day of work, feeling confident everything was finally going to work out; and he would have a fountain, of earned money, dropping into his lap. "On the evening of this same day, I made arrangements for purchasing a lot from Mr. Barron. Shortly after, I paid $20 down, the balance being $25., to be made in installments, and paid up by the 31st of October. Forty-five dollars was the total," he wrote in his journal. "Also I negotiated with Ed Buker to build a shack for me on the lot, me supplying lumber, and paying for the work done. Working on the farm, as I was, I had no time to do this myself. I think the shack was finished in July, and I left Banks and went to live there. I lived on my own lot for a couple of months, and then began to stay on, as such an arrangement was more convenient."

Johnny Moon lived in the little shack until it seemed a better situation, to live on the farm, "using the front part of the incubator house as living quarters. Such an arrangement was more convenient."

He enjoyed working on the farm for Mr. Tillson, especially the fact he could connect with visitors, who lived in and around the neighborhood, such as the Beatty family, and their son, Steve who was seven years old at the time. He had always found it easier to get along with children, and young adults, than those of his own age or older. Unfortunately, there were parents who felt uncomfortable with Johnny Moon getting too affectionate with their offspring. He was known to take them to movies and buying them candy treats, without consent of the parents. This would get him into trouble, as he used to write about in his journal.

In the early days of December, 1913, his old friend, Fred Foulkes, came back to Bracebridge, from where he was working, in Detroit. For a time, he was planning to work at his uncle John's Brackenrig farm. But it didn't appeal to him, and shortly after New Years, in January 1914, he had returned back to Detroit. It was in 1914, that Roy Beatty, had contracted spinal meningitis. Ed Hunt's boys had been stricken with much the same illness shortly before, one having died.

A devastating blow for Johnny Moon, came when one of his closes friends took ill, and succumbed. He pens into his journal, "One day, in the third week of April, the Kaye family, relations of the Foulkes, came on a visit to Tillson's Farm. Ruth Kaye came up to me where I was working, close by the long poultry house, at the rear of the place, and asked me if I was not going to see Fred?" Johnny hadn't heard about Fred coming home again, and looked surprised, at what may have been a reversal in his decision, to come back to Muskoka to work. "Then she (Ruth) told me he was dead, and they had brought him home. In a daze, I went down to the incubator house, changed my working coat for another, and went over to the Foulkes. Fred Foulkes died on the 15th of April, 1914. He had been recovering from sickness, when he fell and struck his head, the blow killing him. He was brought home from Detroit. He was nineteen years of age. He died on his birthday. He was born on the 15th of April, 1895. They buried him out at the Port Carling Cemetery; for a short distance, I followed the funeral procession, as far as the top of the hill at the north, west corner of town, above Monck School Road, and watched it till it passed beyond my sight. Then I returned to the farm. I had known him seven years, from the beginning of 1907 to 1914. In December 1906, I first saw him; the last of him, I saw in December 1913." He suffered a profound period of mourning for his good friend.

In the early part of July, 1914, Mr. Tillson fired Johnny from the chicken farm, without reason; or at least what the young diarist would write into his biography as a sudden dismissal. He moved back to his own shack, and for the two summer months, picked raspberries and sold them to Mrs. Beatty.

"In the last days of July and first part of August, 1914, the Great War broke out," he wrote. "In September I went back to Tillson's Farm, and was there until the last day of December, when he was once again, discharged from his position. "So ended the year 1914, a dramatic year for me, as for the world."

He comes to what is his final chapter, in this portion of the biography, and pens it all under the heading, "My Own Lot: Baysville Road, January 1915 - May 1923." He reports that he returned to his shack on Baysville Road, where he remained for the rest of the winter. He'd take occasional jobs at Leishman's Albion Hotel, for food money. In 1915 he got additional work with Fred Higgins, an owner of the Queen's Hotel, and was employed by the Grand Trunk, to clean the Bracebridge Train Station. Joe Willoughby was station master at this time. Johnny chummed around with his two you sons, Edgar and Gordon.

All the way now, to the 4th of February, 1922. In Johnny Moon's own words, "I took sick with the influenza. I went to see Dr. Grant. After examining me, he got me in at the British Lion Hotel, (corner of Dominion and Ontario Streets) which was still managed by Mrs. Sibbet. The hotel was being used as a hospital just then, as there was much sickness at that time in the country, and for that matter, the whole world; for this was the time of the big flu epidemic. I stayed at the British Lion Hotel, ten days. It was at this time that Bob Leishman's wife died. On the 14th of February, I staggered back home. I was still very weak. At this time I considered my prospects, sufficiently gloomy. First I was in debt to Mrs. Sibbett, for my hospital bill, at the British Lion Hotel. Secondly, I owed a bill to Dr. Grant, for his attendance, medicine, etc., thirdly, for the rest of the winter, I was going to need liquor for strength to pull me through, which under the prescription system, then in force, was going to be expensive. Also there was an item, which, although it had nothing to do with those matters, yet was serious enough. That was the future fuel problem. For up to that time, I had been using dry poles, deadwood, brush etc., from Barron's bush. But now it was practically cleaned out. I came to a decision. There was but one way out of the dilemma. I would sell my lot to Wilson, my nearest neighbor, and come down to the old abandoned road to live, down by the river."

Johnny pens in his journal, that the previous fall, in 1922, he had made a purchase, of a 15 foot rowboat from Jack Dunn, and brought it to the lot on the North Branch of the Muskoka River, between Wilson's Falls, and the Bass Rock Rapids. He received thirty dollars for his former lot. He tore down the shack Ed Buker had built for him, and hauled the wood on a cart, down to the river-front property. He then loaded the lumber and roofing materials into his row boat, to traverse the width of the river, to where he was building his new cabin. He began re-building it in May 1923. The bugs would have been epic at this time of the year, in this location (I know it well). He took up residence on this property in May, and he recalled it being bitterly cold, and snowing at the time. Not unusual in Muskoka.

Johnny writes of his cabin, with the following description: "The new shack was but a mere shell, being only single-boarded. therefore was cold. On morning of 25th, of May, it was so cold that I went to Keeler's Restaurant to get breakfast. I began using my boat in real earnest now. Crossed the river every day to downtown, that being the shortest way. I named my boat 'Kingfisher'."

He would return to work for Mrs. Sibbet, of the British Lion Hotel, and it would end as it did all the other times; he did not get along with the proprietor, and he did not like her management style. "I returned to my own home here, by the river,' he noted, as if it was his true safe haven. "I was thoroughly exasperated by things here."

In the early days of the summer, of 1925, Johnny Moon purchased a hand-crafted canoe from Art Leeder. His rowboat, the Kingfisher, had been damaged by the winter ice. There was no way to seal the cracks in the bottom, and it was taking on too much water, every time he crossed the river. At a purchase price of two dollars, Johnny called it "The Boglewump." It did prove too heavy to portage, but it met with all his normal, day to day needs.

There was a situation, at the end of the journal, involving a local family, and their young son, who Johnny developed a particular affection. I won't use the family name. Johnny would take the young boy to see movies in Bracebridge, and delighted in buying him treats before and after. His parents were unhappy with the attention he was affording the boy, and demanded he not come around any more. There was a substantial age difference, and really no reason for them to be friends in the first place. Their son was instructed likewise, and had been told he would be "skinned alive," if he was caught in his company ever again. Johnny couldn't stay away, and found many opportunities, when the boy's father was working at a camp, north of town, to make a visit to the family home.

On one particularly damning occasion, Johnny had employed Dr. Peter McGibbon, to have him see the boy, his young friend, who was having serious tonsil problems. His parents had refused to get him medical treatment, and this greatly annoyed the young Mr. Moon. The problem was real, and Dr. McGibbon prescribed the medicine to reduce the boy's suffering; but his parents were outraged by this unwanted intervention. Once again, Johnny was ordered to stay away from their son, and off their property. On the day the boy was travelling with his father, on the northbound train, to the Burk's Falls area, for reasons or employment, the man caught a glimpse of Johnny Moon, far down the train platform, watching as his little friend boarded the train. It ends, with the young Mr. Moon, travelling after him, some time later, and following a train trip to Utterson Station, walked all the way to a Sand Lake farm, where the boy and his father were working. Heart breaking in its own way, one can't help feeling sorry for the wanderer, Johnny Moon, who had never really grown out of his childhood, dating back to those first eleven years as a doted-upon child, in England. There is no evidence that he had any other intentions with these boys, other than to share some of the childhood he had been robbed of, by circumstances, first of his parents's deaths, and then his subsequent fobbing-off, to Dr. Bernardo's homes, which by itself guaranteed he was going to be sent to Canada, for work placement. He wound up on a Bracebridge area farm at eleven years old. It is somewhat understandable that his life was frozen in time; except the hard realities of every day life. He was afterall, a dreamer. A wanderer. A kindred spirit with all the creatures who dwelled and interacted with him, at his riverside shack, for many years, residing in this nook of forest, not far from the urban area of Bracebridge.

This portion of the journal was signed-off, officially by Johnny Moon, on Sunday, the 5th of July 1926.

It is suggested Johnny Moon died sometime in the 1950's, while institutionalized in Peterborough, Ontario. It is understood that in 1949, that he was receiving a pension for his blindness, which likely explains his being institutionalized.

Thank you so much for joining this extended series of blogs, about Johnny Moon, an odd little character, who is very much a part of the folk history of Bracebridge, and the wider Muskoka, he often travelled day and night, through the four seasons.

Johnny Moon, Barnardo Boy Part 5

2017-03-09T04:27:00.001-08:00

THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON PART FIVE - A FAILED RELATIONSHIP WITH LOCAL HOTELIERS IN BRACEBRIDGE

HOLDING A JOB WAS TOUGH - HE WAS A WANDERER, A BUDDING "THOREAU" IN MUSKOKA

JOHNNY MOON, ACCORDING TO MANY WHO KNEW HIM, IN THE YEARS PRIOR TO THE FIRST WORLD WAR, WOULD HAVE AGREED, HE WAS JUST A LOST SOUL, WHO COULDN'T STAY IN ANY PLACE VERY LONG; AND WHO WAS, IN A STRANGE WAY, ADVERSE TO HARD, REPETITIVE LABOUR, AND THE DIRECTION OF ANYONE WHO PRESUMED TO BE HIS EMPLOYER. EVEN THOUGH HE WOULD THINK NOTHING OF WALKING A HUNDRED MILES A WEEK, HIS IDEA OF IDEAL WORK CONDITIONS WAS SIMPLY UNATTAINABLE. HE COULD CONVINCE A BUSINESS OWNER TO HIRE HIM, BUT DIDN'T HAVE MUCH LUCK CONVINCING THEM NOT TO FIRE HIM LATER ON, WHEN HE BEGAN FALTERING IN HIS RESPONSIBILITIES. HE MIGHT BE DESCRIBED AS A TRAGIC CHARACTER, IF A NOVELIST WAS TO USE HIM TO BASE A STORY UPON. REGARDLESS, HAVING HIS BRIEF BIOGRAPHY IS REMARKABLE IN MANY WAYS, BEYOND WHAT WE MIGHT VIEW ONLY, AS A DISASTROUS TREK ALONG LIFE'S HIGHWAY. HIS TRIUMPHS ARE MODEST, HIS FAILINGS ARE EPIC. HIS FOLK TALE, AN IMPORTANT DOCUMENT TO ENHANCE THE FOLK HISTORY OF OUR REGION OF CANADA.

NOTE: IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE FIRST FOUR PARTS OF THE "DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON," YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK ON THIS BLOG SITE, TO CATCH-UP. THE ORIGINAL HANDWRITTEN MANUSCRIPT, IS SAFELY CONSERVED IN THE ARCHIVES COLLECTION, OF THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE. IT WAS FOUND IN THE SHANTY, ON THE NORTH BRANCH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, IN BRACEBRIDGE, MANY YEARS AGO, WHEN IT WAS BEING TORN DOWN AND THE DEBRIS CLEARED-AWAY. THOSE WORKING AROUND THE SHANTY, DISCOVERED THE BEAUTIFULLY PENNED JOURNAL, AND DECIDED IT WAS AN IMPORTANT RELIC OF LOCAL HISTORY, AND SUBSEQUENTLY TURNED IT OVER FOR THE TOWN'S SAFE-KEEPING. IN RESPECT FOR THE TOWN'S OWNERSHIP OF THE DOCUMENT, I WILL ONLY QUOTE SMALL PASSAGES OF THE JOURNAL, AND OVERVIEW THE BALANCE. THIS IS A CRITICALLY SIGNIFICANT PIECE OF MUSKOKA, AND CANADIAN FOLK HISTORY, IN THE WORDS OF A FORMER BARNARDO BOY, WHO CAME TO THIS COUNTRY CIRCA 1897, ABOARD THE STEAMSHIP, "LABRADOR," AT ONLY ELEVEN YEARS OF AGE. HIS PARENTS HAD PASSED AWAY, HIS FATHER ACTUALLY BEING BURIED ON CHRISTMAS EVE, AND HIS REMAINING FAMILY DID NOT HAVE THE RESOURCES TO LOOK AFTER THE CHILD. THE STORY HAS EXTRA IMPACT FOR ME, BECAUSE MY OWN GRANDMOTHER, DORIS HARDING, WAS A BARNARDO CHILD, WHO WAS SENT FROM ENGLAND, TO WORK AS A MAID, IN A CHURCH MANSE, IN DUNDAS-TOWN, AT ONLY 14 YEARS OF AGE.

WHEN WE LEFT JOHNNY MOON, IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, HE HAD JUST ARRIVED BACK IN BRACEBRIDGE, AFTER HAVING AN INCIDENT WITH A GRAVENHURST AREA FAMILY, WHO DEMANDED THEIR INVESTMENT OF NEW BOOTS, FOR THE YOUNG MAN, BE RETURNED FOLLOWING HIS DECISION TO LEAVE THE FARM ON A SNOWY DAY IN THE LATE FALL. THE BOYS OF THE FAMILY CHASED AFTER HIM, AND FORCEFULLY BROUGHT HIM BACK TO THE FARM, AFTER A FAIR AMOUNT OF WRESTLING, AND TOOK OFF HIS BOOTS, HANDING HIM THE WORN-OUT SHOES HE'D LEFT BEHIND. AS WE RESUME THE STORY, JOHNNY HAS ARRIVED, PENNILESS, COLD AND HUNGRY, BACK IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHERE HE SEEKS SHELTER AT THE PROVINCIAL COURT HOUSE. IT IS THE FOURTH OF DECEMBER, 1906, A REALLY UNFORTUNATE TIME TO BE WITHOUT RESOURCES, WARM CLOTHING AND SHELTER FROM THE IMMINENT ARRIVAL OF WINTER.

IT'S HARD NOT TO FEEL BAD FOR THE LITTLE FELLOW. BUT HE WAS, AS THEY SAY, A SURVIVOR.

"It was a cold day, and snow was on the ground. For awhile I stayed in the hall of the courthouse. and then was advised by someone, to see Magistrate Spencer; so I went to his house, which was just across the road, on the opposite corner and saw him," penned Johnny Moon in his diary, much later in his life as a retrospective.

"There was another man with him, whom I afterward knew to be George Greer, at that time, Chief of Police for Bracebridge. Greer went over to the British Lion Hotel (Dominion Street and Ontario Street), and spoke to Jack Keeler about me. Then he came back to Spencer's, and took me over to the hotel, to see Keeler. Keeler took me on. This was the 4th of December, 1906, therefore, exactly nine years since I first arrived in Bracebridge."

At the time, the British Lion Hotel (still on the site but with a flat roof instead), "belonged to Mrs. Sibbett; Jack Keeler was the manager."

Johnny Moon notes that George Foulkes was the stableman at the British Lion, and it was with this connection, that he made contact with his two little boys, who were named Fred and Aubrey. He was particularly fond of Fred, and this would continue for many years. He would visit the Foulkes home frequently after this, and meet up with Fred, which would later come to a tragic end after an accident.

"About the last of February (1907) and first of March of the following year, Young's Travelling Show Troupe came to town, and put up at the British Lion. They put on their plays at the Town Hall; I saw most of them. I forget how long they stayed; a couple of weeks, I think. The bartender at the British Lion Hotel, at that time, was a fellow by the name of Tom Thornton, who had come from Seattle, U.S.A. He was, to me, a nasty character, and I was glad when he left, shortly after the departure of Young's Travelling Show Troupe."

Johnny notes in his journal, that George Greer, the Chief of Police, died suddenly in April 1907.

The young Mr. Moon, had held his job at the British Lion, from the early winter of 1906, to the autumn of of 1907, when he reported that a disagreement with the hotel owner, Mrs. Sibbett, forced him out of his position, and presumably lodgings. He referred to himself as being "turned out" by the proprietor, but he doesn't offer a further explanation. It is most likely, he would be found asleep, or shirking his responsibilities, of which he had many warnings.

He went to the Albion Hotel, on Main Street, opposite the Bracebridge Train Station, and was hired-on the same day as he had been fired, by Mrs. Sibbett. The proprietor of the Albion, was Robert Leishman, and he gave Johnny Moon the responsibility of being the hotel's porter; and when he was available, he tended the shoe-shine stand in the lobby, "which made a little extra money." His wages then, in 1907, were two dollars a week. He lasted at this position until the next spring, 1908, and in May of that year, rented an old home belonging to Henry Goltz, who lived in the same neighborhood. "The Goltz family, beside Mr. and Mrs. Goltz, were, in order of age, Gustave, Francis, a girl whose name I have forgotten, and a baby boy, Henry. I grew fond of Gustave," he writes.

He would go back to see Mr. Leishman at the Albion, to see if he could have his job back, but was instead, offered a lesser position, of working on the proprietor's farmstead on Baysville Road, north of the urban area of the town. At this same time, Bob Johnson and family, were living on the farm, and were in charge of its operation. Johnny worked through the haying season at the farm, and then was permitted back at the Albion, to resume his former duties.

An interesting side-bar notation, is his reflection on a pamphlet he picked up, from the counter of Whitten's Store, out of curiosity, as published by the International Bible Students Association, warning "1914, as end of age." Presumably this meant the end of the world.

In 1908 he went to the offices of the Muskoka Lakes Navigation Company, in Gravenhurst, attempting to find employment on one of the steamships plying local waters. He was unsuccessful. "About this time, I worked out a debt for a coat bought from Flaxman, the tailor, from Huntsville, in shoe shines (at the Albion)," confesses Johnny Moon. "I had a scheme for small waterpower, which did not materialize, fall of 1908."

There is also another interesting passage, involving a local death, that Johnny Moon decided was important enough to include in his personal diary.

"Roy Goring was killed by a fall from beneath road bridge at head of falls, above power house, and fell into the river, on Sunday evening, the first of August, 1909. Was carried over the falls. All previous efforts to locate and reclaim his body having failed, he was found floating in the water below old dock, at about ten o'clock on Thursday morning following. Was taken home and buried the next day, Friday, in the Methodist Cemetery, just past the old tannery site."

So then there was the time, that while carrying a hotel guest's bags onto the train, stopped on the platform, opposite the British Lion Hotel, when he got trapped by the large crowd, onboard, and decided he would just stay in the passenger car, as the steam locomotive carried-on south to Gravenhurst. He was forced to walk back to Bracebridge as a result. It is likely, Johnny just wanted to get out of work, and used this as an excuse to Mr. Leishman of the Albion. He didn't see walking as work.

He notes that in August of 1909, he began making payments to Ed Buker for lot 15, concession 4, in Macauley Township, which he had bought from him.

With more bad timing, Johnny was once again "turned out," of his place of employment, and he records that when Mr.Leishman fired him, for undisclosed reasons, he had paid him only ten dollars, of the twenty-five he was owed. As he had been staying in a room at the hotel, he had no where to go for shelter. He went to see Ed Buker, who had sold him a piece of property, a short time earlier, and he was allowed to lodge at his home temporarily. He was situated on Baysville Road, opposite what he refers to, as being "a pinery". He referred to him, (Mr. Buker) in his journal, as being hard to get along with, (a cuss of a man) and particularly interested in running up his fees for accommodation. At this point, Johnny Moon, outside of what he had paid, initially, for the property he purchased from Ed Buker, had approximately $34 left in his account at the Bank of Ottawa Branch, on Manitoba Street. Without a job, it was being quickly depleted.

He writes that "I spent Christmas Day at Ed Goring's house," presumably related to Roy Goring, who had been drowned during a fall over the Bracebridge Falls. He sold Mrs. Goring a little rocking chair, he had hand crafted, specifically for their young son, Edgar, for the price of fifty cents.

On the ninth of January, 1910, Johnny started to work for the Anglo-Canadian Leather Company, on the Muskoka River, in Bracebridge, working in what was known as "the inside yard." Frank Thompson was listed as foreman. He was being paid twenty-five cents a day. But he only lasted a week, being laid off on the 17th of January.

He includes the important observation, that "Between the dates of Monday the 24th of January to Saturday the 25th, 'Berakes great comet, or "Comet 1910A," was plainly visible in western sky during the evenings. This was the largest comet I have ever seen, much larger than the widely advertised Halley's Comet, which appeared later in the year."

He was paid off for his hours at the tannery, by January 31st, of that year, and could not land a job for some time to come. He did get some hope for a job, at a wood camp at Nelson and Anson Rowley's property, travelling with Amos Buker to Utterson. The Rowleys did not want to employ Johnny, but allowed him to stay in the camp shelter over-night. Turned out again, he confessed, "not knowing what to do next". He realized then, that walking back to Bracebridge was pointless, considering there were no jobs there, and he couldn't return to any of the places he had once been employed. He decided, that being that far north, he would travel west to the hamlet of Raymond, in the area of Three Mile, and Skeleton Lake, and visit at the farm owned by George Hammell, who he knew had just suffered a serious injury, the result of a kick from a horse. His friend, Fred Foulkes, was there, working around the farm, to help the Hammels out. Johnny Moon felt there was no other choice, but to see if the Hammels would offer him a position, on the farm, even if it was only in return for room and board. He had burned most of his bridges, by this point, in Bracebridge and Gravenhurst.

"Leaving Utterson,' he wrote, "I made several enquiries on the way, as to how to find Hammell's, and was told, often, to look for the little log house and the big frame barn. I arrived at the little log house, and the big frame barn that afternoon. This was the 9th of February, 1910. The first to greet me, as I entered the wide gate near the barn, was the big dog, Hammels had at that time. Right behind the dog came Fred. with Fred I went to the house, and into the kitchen. In the kitchen was Annie, Mrs. Hammel. From the kitchen I went into the sitting room, or parlor, where George Hammel was. George took me on, explaining there would be no wages, as, for Fred was to return home, and to school again, the following Monday. The Hammels, at that time, had two children; Aubrey and Annutt. Aubrey was three years old; Annutt one year old. Fred went back home to Bracebridge the following Monday, the 14th of February. I felt lonely without him. The winter dragged slowly on. Choring, splitting wood; and later, when George was able to get around again, sawing wood in the bush, down by the lake, and occasional trips with George, for hay, on some farm at some distance off. Came March, about the middle of which month, the (maple) sap gathering and boiling began in the maple bush down by the lake. This is Three Mile Lake, at the back of Hammells."

He includes the fact, that on the 24th of that month, 1910, another Bernardo Boy arrived in Muskoka, this time at the Hammell farm, being only eight years of age. His name was Thomas Harold Brown. The historian has to pause a moment, in contemplation, of what exactly Dr. Bernardo was thinking an eight year old boy, likely from urban England, could do, in terms of chores, at a backwoods Muskoka farmstead.

Hiking back to Utterson, Johnny then caught the southbound train, back to Bracebridge. He stayed with the Foulkes family until the 6th of April, and then headed back to Raymond, and the Hammell Farm. This must not have been met favorably, especially as far as room and board went, because he was back in Bracebridge a couple of days later. He didn't have enough money for a train trip, so he began the long walk back. He records in his journal, that he met his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Goring on the way back to Bracebridge, between the hamlets of Beatrice to the north, and Falkenburg on the south. When he finally arrived back in Bracebridge, he decided to afford himself a room at the Albion Hotel that evening. The next day he tried to find a suitable place to lodge, but he found himself again homeless. By good fortune, he was given another chance, at the Anglo-Canadian Leather Company, later that same afternoon.

He was able to rent a house from Nelson Powley, where he was happy to live alone. Within days, he was once again fired from the Bracebridge tannery, with no reason given. Later he went to Shier's Lumber Mill, and was given a yard job, but several days after this, he was discharged by the proprietor. One can assume Johnny wasn't very good at listening to his bosses, and competent at the jobs he was given. He went back to the tannery, and after a week, was dumped once more. Bouncing back, a day after dismissal, he was hired on at Watson's brick yard, where Arnott was the foreman and manager of the operation.

"On Wednesday evening, the 25th of May, I had first sight of Halley's Comet, in west sky (1910). For several evenings after, it was visible; then it disappeared. As this comet was said to appear regularly at intervals of 75 years, it's next appearance will be in the year 1985."

He adds in the very next paragraph, that "Gustave Goltz died on Sunday, the 17th of July, 1910, after a serious illness, in the Sick Children's Hospital in Toronto. He was brought home and buried in the English Cemetery, just north of town, on Tuesday the 19th. He was eleven years and eleven months old. He was born in August, 1898, which was the time I was just beginning the blazed trail of destiny."

In the days that followed, he had been able to get a small amount of work time, at Watson's brick yard, until the machine broke down. He notes that Nelson Rowley was laid up with a fever, and Ed Buker, had come to live with him in the rented house. Johnny went to George Foulkes home and sold all is tools. He got paid from a chap he called "Eddy."

On the 8th of August, he started a job at Eddy's Brick Yard, but by the 30th of August, he was off to Toronto by train, where he would commence looking for work. He reports that the Canadian National Exhibition was still on its summer run, while he was lodging there. But despite his best efforts, he had to return, after only a few days, back to Bracebridge by train, where he again begged accommodation from the Foulkes' family. Then he went back to work at the tannery. As was becoming a tradition for the young man, it didn't work out for him for very long. His residential opportunity, was at Ed Goring's place, at Longford Mills, on the east side of Lake Couchiching. Goring had been a former bartender at the Albion Hotel, in Bracebridge. After failing to get a job at the local stone quarry, he once again, hopped on a southbound train, arriving in Toronto, a short time later; where he would stay at the home of James Gordon, someone he had met at the funeral for Roy Goring (drowning victim).

Once again, he landed a job, this time, at a glue factory. He was sent to Talbot's Farm, where he had to pull roots such as turnips, and because it was hard work and bitterly cold at the time, he claimed to have been very unhappy in his circumstance. He quit on the third day of November. You guessed it. He headed back to Bracebridge on the 1:45 p.m. train, which he referred to as the "ol '65," and became a boarder at the "Banks" rooming house. Then there was a sickness spreading through the residents of the house, so it was quarantined by the local medical authority. He was forced to leave. He stayed temporarily with George Foulkes. Back to Gravenhurst, and then returned to Bracebridge. Johnny could not stay in one place for long, or hold down a job, before emotions got the better of him.

In this time, he made his way back to the Hammell Farm in Raymond, and walked both there and back in twenty four hours, which by the way, is a long, hard, hike on foot. He found odds jobs around the community, including handyman assignments for the Presbyterian Church, under direction of Mr. Bastedo, and he was dwelling at a house, belonging to Hudson Burton. Also, he was hired by the Lount family, to do odd jobs around their large house, perched on the top of Rosemount Hill, (Tanbark Hill) where Bracebridge High School would eventually be built, in the later 1920's.

Call it the happenstance of life, his life, but whenever Johnny would find himself in a secure position, with money, and a piece of property to build-on, he would become indebted, and have to sell-off possessions to pay for such things as medical bills and a hospital stay when he suffered during the influenza epidemic of the 1920's. Something always seemed to come up, that knocked him off his feet financially. Some times it was the result of his handiwork, but often it was just the luck of the draw. It might be said then, that Johnny Moon was an unlucky man. Yet, I don't think he felt this way, day to day; because he never gave up trying to improve himself, despite the many set-backs.

It can be said, based on his biography this far along, that the good Mr. Moon was much better suited to occasional employment over days versus months and years. He was a friendly soul, who seemed to make friends easily, but as experience had show, there were many who targeted him for labour, with no intention to offer compensation. He did feel others were trying to steal his money, of which he was usually careful to conceal, but because of his unfortunate penchant for quitting his job, and train travel to and from Toronto, he was virtually guaranteed, to never have much in the way of a bank balance. He would soon come to settle down on his little riverside lot, between Bass Rock and Wilson's Fall, on Bracebridge's River Road, where some oldtimers used to say, when I was a kid, that his ghost still rowed the leaky little scow, he used for many years, to cross the river, to shorten his walk to town, and transport his supplies to and from his property. He loved this little slice of paradise, and it would thusly be logical, at least in the paranormal sense, for his ghost to haunt this stretch of black river, in the misty pine valley, of the North Branch of the Muskoka River. It was his Thoreau's "Walden Pond." His company consisted of all the forest creatures, who used to visit him, from the blue jays, and chickadees, to the chipmunks that ran in, and out, of his wee shanty. Of all his emotional eccentricities, he was undeniably kind, and he shared what little he had, with the creatures around him. He knew what it was like to be hungry and alone.

And we conclude today's chapter, with Johnny Moon's declaration, which read, in beautiful penmanship, "On September 4th, 1911, I began writing first record of my life."

Please join me in tomorrow's blog, for part six, of the "Diary of Johnny Moon." Thanks for joining with Johnny (in spirit), and I, for this special heritage series, of Muskoka folk tales.

See you tomorrow. Thanks again for your kind support.

Johnny Moon, Barnardo Boy Part 4

2017-03-08T04:15:00.001-08:00

THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON PART 4; WORK FOUND IN TORONTO, BACK NORTH, TO BRACEBRIDGE, MUSKOKA

LOOKING FOR A DECENT LIFE BUT UNSURE WHAT THAT WOULD EVENTUALLY REPRESENT

WHEN WE WORK ON RESEARCH PROJECTS, WE NEVER STOP LOOKING FOR NEW INFORMATION, TO ADD TO THE EDITORIAL CONTENT. OFTEN, WE FINISH THE ASSIGNMENT, BUT FIND MORE INFORMATION, POKING-UP FROM GROUND WE'VE ALREADY PLOWED, SO TO SPEAK. WE ALSO PUBLISH ANY LATER FINDINGS; AND EVEN THEN UNTIL THERE IS NO MORE FORTHCOMING. WE ANY NEW MATERIAL AS SOON AS WE GET IT, SO THAT IT BECOMES A PART OF THE RECORD WITHOUT DELAY. IN THE CASE OF JOHNNY MOON, WE WILL NEVER DROP THE FILE, OR CONSIDER IT COMPLETE, UNTIL WE RECOVER AS MUCH INFORMATION AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE, USING ALL THE RESOURCES WE HAVE ACCESS TO, AT PRESENT. THE INFORMATION PUBLISHED BELOW, WAS GATHERED AS THIS PROJECT WAS WELL UNDERWAY, WHICH ADDS AN INTERESTING ACTUALITY TO THE PROJECT. SO HERE ARE A FEW UPDATES WE'VE INCLUDED, SO THAT YOU CAN SEE FOR YOURSELF, HOW HISTORICAL INACCURACIES CREATE OBSTACLES, FOR THOSE WHO ARE WRITING A SENSIBLY PROPORTIONED BIOGRAPHY.

LAST EVENING, MY RESEARCH ASSISTANT, SUZANNE, TOOK US BOTH ON A TRIP BACK INTO JOHNNY MOON'S PAST. SHE IS A SUBSCRIBER TO "ANCESTRY.CA", A GENEALOGY SERVICE WE REQUIRE, FOR THE MANY HERITAGE PROJECTS, WE GET-UP-TO THESE DAYS. WE WERE ABLE TO FIND CENSUS DOCUMENTS FROM THE LATE 1800'S, TO LEARN MORE ABOUT JOHNNY MOON'S PARENTS. HIS FATHER, ACCORDING TO THE 1881 CENSUS, WAS LISTED AS HAVING BEEN BORN IN 1844, IN CALSTOCK CORNWALL. HE WAS A WIDOWER IN 1881, WITH FOUR CHILDREN, INCLUDING ANNIE, AGE 15, JAMES, AGE 13, ELIZABETH, AGE 10 AND FRED AGE 4, HAVING BEEN BORN IN 1877. JAMES MOON WAS A "PRINTER COMPOSITOR" BY TRADE. IN 1882, THE WIDOWER, JAMES MOON, MARRIED JOHNNY'S MOTHER, MARY JANE BOLHAM, AGE 28, IN BETHNAL GREEN, MIDDLESEX, WHO WAS LISTED AS BEING A MACHINIST BY TRADE. THEIR SON, JOHNNY, WAS BORN ON THE 31ST OF AUGUST, 1882, BY HIS OWN RECKONING, BUT IF YOU WERE TO BELIEVE THE BARNARDO HOMES LIST OF ORPHANS, SENT TO CANADA ABOARD THE STEAMSHIP "LABRADOR," WHICH SET SAIL ON THE SECOND OF OCTOBER, 1897, THE MANIFEST CLEARLY INDICATES, OF THE "BARNARDO PARTY," THAT THE YOUNGSTER WAS ONLY ELEVEN YEARS OLD AT THE TIME. THIS MEANS HE COULDN'T HAVE BEEN BORN IN 1882, AS HE DECLARES IN HIS JOURNAL, BUT INSTEAD, IN 1886. IT IS MOST LIKELY THE BARNARDO REGISTRATION IS ACCURATE, AS IT CAME DIRECTLY FROM FAMILY, WHEN HE WAS SURRENDERED BY HIS STEP-BROTHER FRED, TO THE BRITISH ORPHANAGE. WHAT IT MEANS, IS THAT JOHNNY MOON ARRIVED AT A CANADIAN FARMSTEAD, AS A LABOURER, WHEN HE WAS ONLY ELEVEN YEARS OLD. IT WOULD APPEAR, JOHNNY MOON MISREPRESENTED HIS AGE MANY TIMES, TO APPEAR OLDER THAN HE ACTUALLY WAS; THIS HOLDING TRUE, WHEN HE SOUGHT EMPLOYMENT ON CATTLE-BOATS, CROSSING TO AND FROM ENGLAND. YESTERDAY, FOR EXAMPLE, WE LOOKED AT HIS GRUELING HIKE FROM KINGSTON TO TORONTO, OVER NUMEROUS DAYS, AND GETTING BEAT-UP ALONG THE WAY. HE WAS STILL A CHILD, WANDERING THROUGH THE CANADIAN HINTERLAND, AND WAS OBVIOUSLY A TOUGH LITTLE FELLOW, TO HAVE SURVIVED HIS TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS.

HIS MOTHER DIED IN 1891, AFTER A RECURRING ILLNESS, AND HIS FATHER DIED TRAGICALLY, THE RESULT OF AN ACCIDENT, COMING HOME FROM HIS WORK PLACE, AS A PRINTER, AND WAS BURIED ON CHRISTMAS EVE, 1896, IN PAULTON SOMERSET, ENGLAND. JOHNNY MOON HAD EVERY RIGHT TO POSSESS SOME ATTITUDE ISSUES, AFTER SUCH A TRAGIC EARLY LIFE; HAVING RECEIVED A SERIOUS CONCUSSION IN A SCHOOL-YARD MISHAP, AND LOSING BOTH HIS PARENTS BY ELEVEN YEARS OF AGE. THEN BEING FOBBED-OFF, BECAUSE THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED, BY AUTHORITY OF HIS OLDER STEP-BROTHER, FRED, AT THE BARNARDO ORPHANAGE. FEELING UNWANTED, AND DISRUPTED FROM HAVING A CHILDHOOD, LIKE SOME OF HIS YOUNG MATES, HE WAS SENT TO CANADA AS A FARM LABOURER. MAKES THE HISTORIAN MAD! HOW ABOUT YOU?

THE BIOGRAPHY OF JOHNNY MOON ISN'T A WORK OF FICTION, ALTHOUGH IT WOULD MAKE A HELL OF A MOVIE SCRIPT. THE TRAGEDY HERE, IS THAT MANY OTHER CHILDREN, ARRIVING IN THE COLONY, AS ORPHANS, ON RIGOROUS WORK-DETAILS, WOUND UP IN SIMILARLY ADVERSE CONDITIONS, AND HAD TO FACE UNCERTAIN FUTURES, IN THE HARSH ENVIRONS OF EARLY CANADIAN FARMS; AND AS DOMESTICS, AND NANNIES, FOR SOME CRUEL AND UNPLEASANT FAMILIES. MY OWN GRANDMOTHER, ON MY FATHER'S SIDE, WAS A BARNARDO CHILD, SENT TO CANADA AT THE AGE OF 14, TO WORK AS A MAID, IN A MINISTER'S HOUSE, IN DUNDAS-TOWN NEAR TORONTO, CIRCA 1921. HER NAME THEN, WAS DORIS HARDING. SO IN MANY WAYS, I DO RELATE TO THE STORY OF JOHNNY MOON, HIS TRIUMPHS AND HIS TRAGEDIES, WHICH WERE MANY. THE DIFFERENCE? MY GRANDMOTHER WOULD NEVER ADMIT TO HAVING BEEN A BARNARDO CHILD, SOMETHING WE FOUND OUT BY SLEUTHING THROUGH THE ORPHANAGE ARCHIVES, FOLLOWING HER DEATH. THUS, WHATEVER HER EXPERIENCES THEN, WERE TAKEN TO HER GRAVE. MY FATHER ALLUDED TO THE FACT, BEFORE HIS OWN DEATH, THAT SHE HAD BEEN VERY COMPROMISED BY THE EXPERIENCE OF WORKING AT SUCH A YOUNG AGE, AFTER HAVING COME FROM A WELL-OFF FAMILY, UNFORTUNATELY STRICKEN WITH DEATH BEFORE HER MID-TEENS. SHE HAD BEEN LIVING WITH HER GRANDFATHER, AFTER THE DEMISE OF HER OWN PARENTS, AND IT WAS WHEN HE PASSED AWAY, THAT SHE FOUND HERSELF AT THE BARNARDO HOME IN LONDON, WITH A FATE SIMILAR TO JOHNNY MOON, AND HAVING NO CHOICE ABOUT BEING SENT ABROAD, AS FORCED LABOUR IN CANADA. I GRIT MY TEETH EVERY TIME I STOP TO THINK ABOUT THE CRUELTY TO SUCH RECENTLY BEREAVED CHILDREN, BEING TAKEN AWAY FROM THEIR COUNTRY OF ORIGIN, SOME WITH THE GRAVES OF THEIR FAMILY MEMBERS NOT YET GROWN-OVER. IMAGINE IF YOU CAN, THE TERRIBLE WEIGHT OF HOMESICKNESS THEY MUST HAVE FELT, WATCHING AS THE ENGLISH SHORELINE DISAPPEARED, AS THE STEAMSHIPS HEADED OUT TO SEA.

IN TORONTO, AND EXPLORING THE POSSIBILITIES OF A NEW LIFE, AND RESIDENCY IN MUSKOKA

Having arrived in the City of Toronto, foot-sore and exhausted, walking all the way from Kingston, Johnny Moon wasted little time trying to seek work, as his finances were desperately low, and he had no accommodation. He hadn't been able to afford train transportation from Quebec to Toronto, because he had been so modestly endowed by his previous employment. He depended on the kindness of strangers, and was often provided meals and some financial assistance along the way to the city, of which he had once been a resident, at the Bernardo Home several years earlier. Imagine this little chap, showing up at your front door, dirty, wearing tattered clothing, shoes that were falling apart, with a genuine appearance of malnourishment? His was not a swindle, by looking worse off than he actually was! He earned every scar, and the sunken eyes and soot smears on his forehead, were hard earned, as were the sores on the bottoms of his feet, where jagged stones had ripped into the flesh of his soles. He had landed on this shore, when he was only eleven years old, and a long, long way from home and family. It can be said with some accuracy, that he gained his scars early in life, and learned his lessons, as would an adult, before he hit his middle teens.

When in Toronto, for the second time in his young life, he wandered that day, to the area of Toronto known as Swansea, near the Humber River, and applied for a job at nearby Toronto Bolt Works, and was immediately hired. He was to start the next morning. As he had discovered many times in the past, he could seek temporary shelter at a police station, and get a nice dinner and breakfast as well. So he was able to find a station on Yonge Street, and the constables found a cot for him to sleep on overnight.

The next morning, he travelled back up to the Toronto Bolt Works, and began his labours on their behalf. He met a lad named Albert Mallyon, who brought him to his parents' home, as a temporary "paying" lodger. This residence was situated on Edwin Avenue, at the Toronto Junction. He had to walk three miles one way, in order to get to the Bolt plant; six miles over the course of a day.

It was in the year 1901, that Johnny Moon went to the Canadian National Exhibition. While in Toronto, he saw the train carrying the royals, "then known by the title of Duke, and Dutchess of York," when they ended their world tour in the city. "I watched the royal train pass the Diamond Crossing, just a short distance north of the Junction; I think it was the next day, the celebration and parades went to the Exhibition grounds." The passage was included in his diary, along with the explanation that, when he wrote the diary out, in June of 1934, the Duke and Dutchess, he had seen in the rail car, were then, in that decade, the King and Queen of the British Empire.

"I stayed at Mallyon's till the following spring; and then on account of trouble, I left, and went by train to Bracebridge, thinking to try my luck in Muskoka," he writes, but not explaining what "trouble," meant under the circumstances. This had happened previously, each time feeling it was important to make the inclusion, as a it related to his life's story, but never defining if it had been the result of theft, or some type of emotional, physical or sexual abuse. It must have been shattering to him, to have these events occur, which always seemed to change his plans, and shift him from one locale to the other. It would continue happening for many years to come, which suggests somewhat, that he may have been the instigator of at least some of these troublesome circumstances that prevailed.

(In Bracebridge) "I stayed a day or so at a Free Methodist minister's house, up on Hunt's Hill, overlooking the falls, the Woolen Mill, and the old lower bridge. His church stood next to his residence. It stands there yet, but is now kept as a kind of storehouse. It must have been about the same time of year as this (early part of June), in the year 1902. I could not get anything to do around there, so I returned by train to Toronto. There I began to board with an Irish family by name of Crilly, living in a cottage in High Park. Mr. Crilly was one of the Park attendants. I returned to the Bolt Works. Early in July, a hurricane passed over the city doing some damage," wrote Johnny Moon, in his later day retrospective. Of the great weather event, the young voyeur wrote the following:

"On the afternoon of Saturday, the 26th of July, I had returned from work. The air was sultry, with signs of an approaching storm. Some visitors were at Crilly's that day. At about three o'clock, a heavy, violent thunderstorm came on, the worst I have ever known. At 3 p.m. it was as black as night. There was flash after flash of fork and chain lightning, and the rattle and crash of thunder was continuous. When the worst of the storm had apparently passed over, I went into my little room, and looked out of the one small window, kneeling upon the head of the bed (most likely an iron headboard). The window had no glass, but a wire mesh mosquito screen upon it. Suddenly I got a terrific shock and then I must have fallen sideways across the bed, with my head jammed against the wall. I had come within a hair's breadth of death. I was only partly conscious; the sensation was awful. Recovering slowly, I began to realize what had happened to me. I could not move. I made attempts to call out, but could utter no sound, not even a whisper. The pain of the shock had not passed, but I was completely helpless. Strength gradually returning, first to my arms, I pushed myself off the bed, thinking I might be able to stand, but I only fell to the floor.

"Recovering my voice by degrees, I called the others, and after awhile, two of them, one boy of the family, came in. The boy was crying. I understood him to say, 'Mother is killed,' but I was still somewhat dazed, and unable to yet fully grasp the meaning of what he was saying. They helped me to my feet and got me placed upon the bed, where I sat down weakly. I began to realize that something was seriously wrong, in the other part of the house. Finally, becoming able to stand, I got to my feet, and staggered into the sitting room (sitting down upon the nearest chair that was handy). Then I learnt what had happened. Mrs. Crilly was dead; killed by a bolt of lightning. The bolt which had struck her, had come through the chimney, scattering the bricks onto the roof, and bursting through a paper covered stovepipe hole, had hit her where she lay upon a lounge (likely with metal springs) just beneath it. Crossing the room, from where it had caught Mr. Crilly, who was standing by the front door, and taking him by the legs, had thrown him flat on his back, stunning him into helplessness. It had passed out by the open door and scattered the poles which comprised the dog's kennel, at the same time killing the dog. Then it had turned sharply to the left, and taken a big piece out of a clothes-line post. That event broke up the family; also making it necessary for me to get another boarding place." (recorded by Johnny Moon in his journal)

Shortly thereafter, he found temporary lodgings with an Irish family near Dundas Street. Johnny claimed, in his diary, that the couple were not easy to get along with. It also marked the period, where his interest in re-locating back to Muskoka, accelerated, and he reports having made two serious attempts to walk back to Bracebridge, from Toronto, failing both times to cover the distance successfully, before having to retreat. No reasons were given for his failures. He gave up on getting along with the Irish landlords, and moved in with a Scottish family, on Dundas Street, by the name of McBride. The job market had changed, and he was no longer with Toronto Bolt, and instead, got some night work with Canada Foundry. He hated the position, and managed to be re-hired at Toronto Bolt, where he had some machinery experience, and knew the physical rigors of the job on his slight body.

One of Johnny Moon's most profound statements, that may explain some of his future difficulties, is summed up in the entry, which begins, "Since the (lightning) shock I got the previous summer, city life was wracking my nerves. It seemed certain that unless I got into the country, I was due for a complete breakdown. Muskoka, I reasoned, was the logical place for me."

He had no prospects in Muskoka. But he took the train north, from Union Station, and one of the most poignant sightings he had, upon leaving the city, was passing the McBride house, where had just left; and seeing Mrs. McBride out on the porch, watching as the passenger cars rolled down the ribbon rails. He doesn't claim to have waved to her, but he saw fit to include it in his brief biography; much as if it was important, and that he had been treated respectfully, while living with her family.

When he arrived at the Bracebridge Train Station, a modest hike, to the property where he would eventually live, he wandered back to the hamlet of Monsell, where he had once been employed at the Stonehouse Farm, sleeping on this night in a cluster of trees at the side of the road. He knew that where he had hunkered down, was very close to the farm that had belonged to Sam Taylor, at least, when he had been a resident of this rural area, as a Bernardo boy on placement. The following day, while wandering the road, he met up with James Stonehouse, who was, at that time, living in the former home owned by Jonathon Leeder. As fortune would have it, someone in the rural clime may have tipped-off a local constable, thinking a thief was working the area, and Johnny Moon was subsequently arrested by Chief McConnell, for vagrancy. It was rumored that Ernest Kirk had been the gentleman, who had advised the police of a suspicious character "lurking about." On the way to the lock-up, with Chief McConnell, they ran into James Stonehouse, who spoke on Johnny Moon's behalf, but it didn't sway the police chief, who took him directly to the jail facility, and turned the key on the teenage traveller.

When he was later taken to the courthouse, James Stonehouse was in attendance, and Judge Spencer, listening to the evidence presented, and the testimonial offered by Mr. Stonehouse, dropped the charges of vagrancy, and set the prisoner free. A terrible re-introduction to his new life in Bracebridge.

"The next day I walked out to William Stonehouse's farm, at Fraserburg," penned Johnny Moon, into the pages of his biography. "Will Stonehouse's former wife, who was one of Jonathon Leeder's daughters, had died a year or so previously. Will had married again, to one of the Harrison girls. George Stonehouse was married to a daughter of Taylor's, and lived on the old homestead, where the post-office was. Old Mrs. Stonehouse, his mother, was living in a house of her own, on Will's farm. Charley Whitfield had gone away sometime in 1900, to a place in Southern, Ontario, about three years before. I worked for Will that fall, and the winter following, until the spring of 1904. I left Will's place then, and lived a short time in a vacant house that stood upon an unused farm owned by a person, whose name I have forgotten. Later on that summer, I stayed in a shack at the one corner of the Post farm, and close by a sharp bend in the river." He remembered this place most, not because of its creature comforts afforded the tenant, but the fact a swamp-land at the rear of the property, generated a large population of mosquitoes, making his spring-time stay unbearable.

Johnny moved to another residence, in the neighborhood, boarding with Mrs. Cameron and her two small boys, known as Bobbie and Jimmie. He moved to the farm home owned by Bill Stonehouse again, in the late summer, and then a short period of residency with John Crockford, halfway by sleigh, between Purbrook and Fraserburg. There was an orphan boy living with them, by the poetic name, Walter Scott, minus the "Sir." Their own children were named John and Carlton.

He notes with simple reference, but no details, that "this time was the deer hunting season, the first half of November 18." Then there is the add-on to this entry, reading, "Purbrook, December, 1904, Fred Hungerford." It's printed in capital letters.

He writes later, "From there I went to work for Robert Crockford (brother of John) at Purbrook. This place is about three miles south of Fraserburg. It was there I got to know Fred Hungerford. I took a strong liking for him. Fred was a Bernardo Boy, who was staying with the Colson's about two miles from Purbrook." John Crockford, at the time, operated a post office in Purbrook, and it was directly across the road from Bob Crockford's house. The Colson family, was related to Bob Crockford's wife, and got their mail in Purbrook. "Fred used to come to Purbrook for the Colson's mail, three times a wek, and I occasionally saw him there," writes the young Johnny Moon. It was soon the case however, that Fred Hungerford was sent to another farm situation, in Southern Ontario, and Johnny notes in his diary, "His going away was a hard blow to me, and I was very miserable for some time after he left."

He also found another Bernardo Boy in the area, by the name of Fred Saxton. He was a bigger boy than his other mate, at the Crockford Farm, who was fourteen while living in the neighborhood. Johnny was on the move again, this time residing in another abandoned farm house, located between the hamlets of Purbrook, and Fraserburg. He did wind-up back at the farm operated by Will Stonehouse, during the time another little boy was in the house, named Bob Lawler. In late October of 1906, Johnny was asked to leave the farm, and left, but first travelling to John Crockford's place at Purbrook, just to return a copy of a book he had borrowed previously; the title being, "King Solomon's Mines," by Rider Haggard. Disillusioned about his life, and future, he trudged on through the countryside, considering a walk back to Toronto, where he knew he could find employment again, possibly at Toronto Bolt, where he had some history.

With spirits low, and "a seemingly hopeless prospect ahead of me, I trudged on the way to Uffington, and thought of Fred Hungerford, who had left a year and a half before; also to a lesser degree, the younger John Crockford family, who had gone to Thessalon, Algoma, in the fall of 1905, and whose cattle I had helped to drive, to the railway yard, at Bracebridge Station. What prospects lay ahead of me now. Small wonder that I was almost in despair, and utterly dejected. I trudged along through Uffington and reached Reay (Township) that evening; a short distance from which place, I laid down upon the roadside, and slept the best I could that night. The next morning I started on again toward Gravenhurst, which was not far off. But as I neared that town, a young fellow driving a milk rig, stopped and got me to go with him, to his people's place, just as short distance along a side road. These people, whose name I have forgotten, were of German descent; the mother having come from that country; the father was not now living. There was another branch of the family in that vicinity." He reports that he didn't care for the place nor the owners of the property, being as he said, "hard to endure." He got the itch to wander onward, shortly after arriving, and with little money, and feeling desperate for self improvement, he began the march back to Toronto once more. He managed to get to Orillia, and secured enough money to afford a train ride the rest of the distance to Toronto. Johnny Moon looked very much like a beggar, by the tatters of his attire, and personal grooming, and the fact he would hang around train stations, and inevitably, find a kind soul willing to finance a lunch or dinner; or a few coins donated to him, for train passage. There is no indication he ever begged for money in these circumstances, and the fact he walked hundreds of miles, and would only eat plain biscuits and white bread, on the road, would attest to the fact he didn't wish to appear in the light of a Dickensian character, out of, for example the story of Oliver Twist; which he had known in his days at school. If someone was to give him food, he would thank them. But he would do without, rather than beg for assistance. He was a proud little chap, and that's what people came to admire of the character that was "Johnny Moon"!

As was his unsettled nature and emotional state, he no sooner arrived in Toronto, and failing to get employment first off, he decided quickly, his place was not the city under any circumstance. Without any money, he decided to hike the one hundred and twenty miles back to Bracebridge. In his words, he explains, "I bought some soda biscuits in a store near Sunnyside (in Toronto), and then began the long walk back to Muskoka. From Sunnyside I went over the old trail I used to walk to and from work, to Toronto Junction, and from the little Davenport flag station, walked northward by the railway track. There began a tramp that may best be described as a nightmare. On no other of my many walks had I endured such misery. Cold weather and wet; sore feet, nothing but white bread to eat, nothing but cold water to drink, cold, practically sleepless nights. A week of this I endured before I reached Gravenhurst. Just north of Severn (hamlet of Severn Bridge), I slept by the road-bed, with my old overcoat pulled around my ears for warmth. There was a hard frost that night. My overcoat, green with age, was coated with frost the next morning. Reaching Gravenhurst the next night, I slept in the waiting room of the station there."

Weak from travels, "I staggered back to the farm I had previously left, but the people there were mean and stingy, and very hard to get along with; much was expected and little given," according to Johnny Moon's journal.

He decided that he would head back north to Bracebridge. It was, by this point, the late days of November, 1906. He knew the winter was moving in, and he would have to find suitable shelter, at least for the coming five to six months of cold and snowy weather. I think one of the saddest stories told by Johnny Moon, comes in the poignant text of the following explanation of his ongoing hardships. Still a young man, his life, as his overcoat, is in tatters.

"Early one morning, (at the Gravenhurst farmstead owned by the German family) I quietly walked away. There was some snow upon the ground. (This did not work to Johnny's advantage, as they followed his trail) I was walking down the side road to the railway track, and had just reached it, when the youngest of the fellows of that family, came running after me and tried to stop me going any further, but not succeeding; he went back for help. I went northward along the track, for about a mile, then that fellow with two others, who had come along by a short cut that they knew of, stopped me and took me back to their place. I happened to be wearing a new pair of rubbers they had given me, in place of an old worn out pair I had been wearing. These they took from me, and gave me my old ones. Then they let me go. This time I travelled by the road, and arrived in Bracebridge late that afternoon. December 1906." Winter had arrived. Johnny Moon had no place to stay, and spent the first hours, after arrival, huddling in the hall of the courthouse, on Dominion Street, where his fortunes were about to change for the better; at least for awhile, thanks to some prominent Bracebridge citizens, who came to his assistance.

Please join me again tomorrow, for another glimpse back, at the life and times of Bernardo Boy, Johnny Moon. Thanks so much for visiting with me today. Isn't this a fascinating story? It gets even better!

What a treasure of folk history. I hope the spirit of Johnny Moon, that may still dwell in the hollow of the North Branch of the Muskoka River, will be pleased, to have his story rekindled, as there are many lessons to be learned about humanity and kindnesses bestowed. More tomorrow, in Part Five.

Johnny Moon, Barnardo Boy Part 3

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PART 3: THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON, BARNARDO BOY, ENGLAND TO MUSKOKA

ESCAPING CANADA TEMPORARILY; RETURNS TO BRACEBRIDGE ONCE AGAIN BY STEAMSHIP, HORSE-DRAWN CART, AND ON FOOT

IT MUST HAVE BEEN A WELCOME SOLITUDE, FOR JOHNNY MOON, THINKING BACK TO THE MORE TUMULTUOUS PERIODS OF HIS EARLY DAYS, TO THEN LIVE ON HIS LITTLE BUSH PROPERTY, ON BRACEBRIDGE'S RIVER ROAD, BETWEEN THE NARROWS AND RAPIDS OF BASS ROCK, ON THE SOUTH, AND WILSON'S FALLS, ON THE NORTH. HE WOULD HAVE HAD THE COMPANY OF A GREAT MANY CREATURES OF THE WOODLANDS, IN HIS VICINITY, ESPECIALLY GARTER SNAKES, THAT THRIVE IN THAT AREA EVEN TO THIS DAY, A CENTURY LATER IN HISTORY.

FROM HIS SMALL WOODEN SHANTY, THAT THE WIND PENETRATED EASILY, DURNG THE COLDER TIMES OF THE YEAR, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO HEAR THE CATARACT OF WILSON'S FALLS, WHICH IN THE SPRING, WOULD HAVE BEEN THUNDEROUS, WITH THE ADDED RUN-OFF, OF THE SNOW-MELT. OVER HIS YEAR'S OF RESIDENCY, IN THIS RURAL PART OF THE TOWN, A SHORT DISTANCE TO THE URBAN SETTLEMENT, HE WOULD HAVE SEEN NUMEROUS YEARS OF LARGE SCALE FLOODING, FORCING HIM TO THE HIGH GROUND TO THE WEST, WHERE THE TRAIN TRACKS STRETCH NORTH AND SOUTH. HE HAD A SMALL LEAKY ROW BOAT, THAT HE USED TO TRANSPORT HIS SUPPLIES, BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE, AT CERTAIN TIMES OF THE YEAR, TRAVERSE THE RIVER, WHEN THE RAPIDS WERE MOST AGGRESSIVE, WITH WATER FLOW, MAKING PASSAGE DANGEROUS. WHEN THE FLOW WAS REDUCED, ALONG THE MUSKOKA WATERSHED, SUCH AS DURING THE DRY SUMMER MONTHS, HE WOULD HAVE BEEN ABLE TO NAVIGATE SAFELY, UP AND DOWN THIS FIFTY YARD STRETCH OF RAPIDS.

FROM HIS HUMBLE PORTAL ONTO THE HINTERLAND, A MODERN ERA THOREAU AT HIS OWN WALDEN POND, JOHNNY MOON WOULD HAVE HAD THE WELCOME INTRUSIONS OF TRAIN HORNS, AND THE SOUND OF THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE CHUGGING UP AND DOWN THE RIBBON RAILS, ITS BELL AND STEAM WHISTLE CUTTING THE BITTER WINTER NIGHTS. HE WOULD HAVE HEARD THE RINGING OF THE BELL OF THE FEDERAL BUILDING CLOCK TOWER, ON THE CORNER OF MANITOBA AND THOMAS STREETS, BUT MOSTLY, HE WOULD HAVE GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO THE NATURAL SOUNDS OF BIRDS, SQUIRRELS, THE WATER TRICKLING OF THE NORTH BRANCH, AND THE WIND SINGING THROUGH THE TALL SHORELINE PINES. AN INDEPENDENT FELLOW, HE WAS CONTENT AS MUCH AS COULD BE EXPECTED. HE HAD HIS FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATIONS IN BRACEBRIDGE, USUALLY WITH THOSE BOYS YOUNGER THAN HIMSELF, AND HIS WORK RELATIONSHIP WAS ALWAYS AN ISSUE OF HAPPENSTANCE. HAVING BEEN SENT, INITIALLY TO MUSKOKA, AS AN ORPHAN FROM DR. BARNARDO'S HOMES IN ENGLAND, AFTER THE DEATH OF BOTH HIS PARENTS, THE INTRODUCTION TO THE REGION DID NOT GO WELL; ALTHOUGH ARGUABLY, IT HAD A PROGRESSIVE IMPACT ON HIS PYSCHE. JOHNNY MOON WOULD RETURN TO ENGLAND, UNHAPPY WITH THE COLONY, AND THE FORCED LABOUR AT A FARM NEAR BRACEBRIDGE. HE THOUGHT IT WAS MORE THAN A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD BOY SHOULD HAVE TO ENDURE. WHEN HE GOT THE OPPORTUNITY TO CROSS THE OCEAN AGAIN, AS WAS DETAILED IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, HE HAD NO INTENTIONS OF RETURNING UNDER THE SAME CIRCUMSTANCES. WHO, READING THE STORY, COULD HAVE BLAMED HIM.

NOTE: THE ORIGINAL HANDWRITTEN JOURNAL, PENNED BY THE GOOD MR. MOON, WAS FOUND WHEN THE SITE OF HIS SHANTY WAS BEING CLEARED AWAY, MANY YEARS AGO NOW, AND TURNED OVER TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, FOR SAFE KEEPING IN THEIR ARCHIVES COLLECTION. THANK GOODNESS FOR THIS ACT OF CONSERVATION, WHICH HAS PRESERVED ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT RELICS OF FOLK HISTORY, IN THE ENTIRE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA. IT COULD HAVE JUST AS EASILY BEEN TOSSED OUT WITH THE OTHER DEBRIS, TAKEN FROM THE SITE, SO MUCH CREDIT HAS TO BE EXTENDED TO THOSE THOUGHTFUL GENTLEMEN, WHO THOUGHT IT SIGNIFICANT ENOUGH, TO BE PRESERVED FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS. AS THE MANUSCRIPT BELONGS TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, I WILL USE A MINIMUM OF DIRECT QUOTATIONS.

FINALLY BACK IN ENGLAND

Sharing the voyage back to his native England, in company with two thousand sheep, three hundred head of cattle and thirty horses, which he had to feed and water, as part of his job, Johnny Moon was happy to be back in the country of his origin; where the rest of his family was still situated. Although they had also be the ones who had given him up to Dr. Bernardo, because they claimed they didn't have the resources to look after him. He wasn't at all sure how he was going to get by in England, but he believed it would be infinitely more humane, than having to work on a backwoods Canadian farmstead, with uncaring landowners.

It was in the summer of 1899. He had earned just five shillings for thirteen days work onboard the cattle ship. The trans-oceanic passage, food, and lodging aboard the ship had been factored in, for a gent in this temporary position. It was not the amount of money he had hoped for, and he knew it wouldn't last him long, having to spend on food and lodging in the city. He was in the company of the minister's son, he had met earlier on the train to Montreal, and they jointly travelled by rail to East Ham, where he thought he could locate family members. At the East Ham railroad station, the minister's son was transferring, so he said a tearful farewell, and the young man then, carried-on his trip to Leytonstone. Johnny walked from the station to Manor Park, where he knew he could find his step brother, Fred; the chap who had put him in the care of Dr. Barnardo, in the first place. Had Fred's opinion changed in two years?

Fred Moon decided to keep his younger brother for a short while, to see in he could find a job to support himself. He was, with some good fortune, hired-on as a van boy, at Pickford and Company, and agents for the L.N.W. Railway Company. He seemed to be thriving, from his past days, as a forced labourer on a Canadian family farm. It was as if he had never left. He felt comfortably at home. He did try to re-connect with a mate from his childhood, Harold Cook, of Bristol Road, East Ham, but for some unknown reason, circumstances prevented a return to their old friendship. He writes in his journal that it was when "circumstances over which I had no control, entered into the matter." Johnny does suggest however, that he will eventually see him again, and their friendship will be restored. Obviously it was an intervention by family of Harold Cook, who got in the way of their friendship.There is no detailed explanation offered.

There is however, the strange inclusion of the information, "I was circumcised in the London Hospital, in the early part of 1900," which seems a rather out-of-place inclusion. It may have had some relationship to a more significant health related problem for the young Mr. Moon.

He adds to his journal, a reference to the commencement of the Boer War.

Johnny went to work at Pickfords, Aldgate, for a few months, until the early days of the summer of 1900. It was the same period he left his step-brother Fred's place of lodging, and went to live with Bass and Ted Lee, at their abode in Canning Town, and began working at the Thames Ironworks, where Mr. Lee was also employed as a labourer. "At this place they built battLEships, bridges, etc. The first job, I was a 'point's man' with a travelling crane. After that, I was a caulker, and then plater's labourer. I was at the Thames Ironworks until the beginning of winter, in the late part of 1900, then I was laid off," writes Johnny Moon, in his modest diary / biography. "Then I answered an advertisement for an under-cowman's job, on the Honourable Cecil Howard's estate, near Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire, and got the position. Sometime in December 1900, I left Canning Town, and rode by tram and bus to Baker Street Station, in the west end of London. This was a district railway terminus. After a short wait I got aboard a train, and after a ride of about thirty to thirty-five miles, arrived at the village of Great Missenden. Got off there, and walked about a mile out to 'Dutchland's', which was the name of the Howard Estate. I lived with Mr. Farr and family, in one of the cottages or lodges, on the estate. The coachman lived in the other cottage. Mr. Farr was the cowman; I was his helper."

The Howard farm maintained a herd of twenty or more goats, on the farm, and other cattle were left to graze on another parcel of farm property down the road, according to Johnny Moon. It was operated as a dairy farm.

Mr. Farr, the cowman, had six children, representing four boys and two girls.

"Queen Victoria died in January, 1901, and we heard, far off, the guns booming at Windsor (Castle)," out of respect for the long serving monarchy, writes the young Mr. Moon.

As was becoming his tradition, but without any explanation, Johnny was fired from his job at Dutchland's Farm, in March 1901, and all that was noted in his journal, was that "trouble arose and I was discharged." After his dismissal, and the trip back to his step-brother's residence, in East Ham, he did some gardening work for a period of time, and then laboured mixing mortar, with Fred, for Albert and Bob James. When that job ceased, Johnny took a part-time handyman job, for an elderly couple, who lived in Cray's Hill, in Essex, about thirty miles from London. As usual, he got into some problems with the property owners, and left the job to look elsewhere.

"So I got up very early one morning and left the place, walking back to Chadwell Heath. Shortly after, went to the offices of Elder Dempster Steamship Company, Aldgate, London, and got a chance for a passage to Montreal. They gave me a note to hand to Captain Jones, of 'The Mantauk,' lying in Millwall Docks."

For whatever reason, whether it had been the result of a brain injury, after a schoolyard mishap, earlier in his youth, or the Barnardo experience on a Muskoka farmstead, that caused him to suffer unspecified emotional problems, Johnny Moon would have a problem with long term employment often in his life, and had a serious issue with authority; and those who he felt were being unkind to him while in their employ. It could also have been the fact, he was not particularly well suited to physically challenging tasks, and he was known to dawdle and wander, when he was supposed to be working. He did appreciate the allure of the road, and ocean travel, as it represented independence to him, that he seemed to crave the older he got.

On June 18th, 1901, Johnny Moon, as part of the crew aboard The Montauk, embarked on his latest trans-oceanic adventure, headed back to Canada. The boat steamed down the Thames, passed through Dover Strait, and down the (English) Channel. "Had last view of south coast of England next morning, and then on to the Atlantic. I was seasick for a day or so, and then got my 'sea-legs,' as they call it. My work on the trip across was light; helping the cook, peeling potatoes. We were bound 'light' for Nova Scotia; the captain having received orders to proceed to Sydney, Cape Breton, there to 'pick up' a cargo (most likely of coal), for New Orleans," wrote the young crewman. "Ran into fog near Newfoundland, and went half speed for some time. The vessel running light and encountering heavy seas, during the latter part of the voyage, her propellor often was lifted clear of the water, and raced with the accompanying clatter of the engines. As our sleeping quarters were close by the engine room, the aforementioned commotion was rather disturbing. A school of porpoises followed our ship all of one day, diving from and through wave to wave. This was an amusing and interesting sight."

Johnny Moon writes, that they narrowly missed a large iceberg, which had been made invisible by the prevailing fog that had just set in. The onboard warning siren was blaring at this point. It was to alert the crew to the situation and as a warning to other vessels in the vicinity. It was also the case that the echoes of the siren blasts, let the captain know how close the looming iceberg was to the ship. The prevailing fog cleared away just before the steamship reached Newfoundland, affording the crew a good view of the coastline of the great rocky island. Following a thirteen day voyage, The Montauk arrived in Sydney Harbor, Glace Bay, Nova Scotia, on Dominion Day, July 1st, 1901.

The ship didn't actually land on this day, but rather, on the 2nd of July. For whatever reason, a crew of cattleman were picked up at this port, for the continuation of the voyage to Montreal. There was no room for the cook's assistant, so he had to find another way to get to Montreal, which would mean a trip of nearly 800 miles. He thought about walking, but had to admit it would probably injure him in the process. Dumped in Nova Scotia, he managed to travel to the small community of North Sydney, situated three miles from Glace Bay. He had no money for lodging, so he decided to go to the local police station, where the constables on duty, kindly gave him a cot to sleep on, and a breakfast meal in the morning. He had remembered that some of the constables, from the evening before, were singing the song, "The Maple Leaf Forever," outside the station, when he arrived looking for temporary shelter. He had always liked that music, from the first time he had heard it, while in Toronto, at the Bernardo facility, some four years earlier.

Sensing that his best luck for passage to Montreal, aboard a steamship, was to head back to port, and walk along the docks, looking for an opportunity to work aboard any of the ships, needing hired hands. He spent a lot of time looking, and asking for available positions, but was turned down by every captain. He didn't look hale and hardy as they might have preferred instead. It was then that he spotted the tramp steamer, "Escalona," which had accepted some of the other displaced crew from the Montauk, for passage to eventual port at Montreal. There was no position for Johnny Moon, except as a stow-away. A crewman aboard, motioned the young man aboard, and quickly escorted him to the 'forecastle' (seaman's quarters), and after lifting up the hatch, motioned for him to duck beneath, before anybody witnessed him. He was told to go into the hollow and be quiet, until the same man would come for him, when port had been reached. As the stow-away discovered, the compartment was black, and all he could depend on, was his sensory perception, to tell him where the rats were scurrying around his seat, on the top step, beneath the hatch, of the precariously narrow staircase. While in the compartment, he would occasionally hear the crash and deafening thud, of coal tumbling down the chute, into the black hold. The boat was taking a load of coal to Montreal, and Johnny Moon was right on top of it! Literally. The air quality was horrid. His face was blackened by the rise of soot after the dumping of the coal.

The Escalona left port in Nova Scotia, and the stow-away awoke, as the ship was now rocking wildly with the waves, on the open water. The crew member came shortly after, and lifted the hatch cover, to allow the young man to breathe fresh air, and climb out for the night. He was told that he could stay at the bow area of the steamer, as if he was found near the seamen's quarters, it would "make trouble for them," presumably the crewman and Johnny Moon. It was in the dark of night, that he huddled at the front of the boat. It was a rough night on the open water, and many waves rolled over the deck, soaking Johnny Moon to the bone. To warm himself, the stow-away found shelter, by the side of what appeared to him, as a water storage tank, affording him very modest shelter and protection from the rushing water. When the water rushed back and forth across the deck, there was always a danger of being swept off, and thrust into the water, which would have meant almost certain death. He had to keep his wits about him, and anchor against the water tank, as protection from the flooding, powerful waves. Cold and wet in the night air, he finally succumbed to his exhaustion. He fell asleep, vulnerable to these powerful waves crashing over the bow. Unfortunately, he was discovered, along with another stow-away, and taken by crew to the captain. He threatened to turn them out, at a stop before Montreal, but he either forgot his promise, or decided to show mercy to the penniless travellers. The other stow-away was much older than Johnny Moon.

The smallest ship in the Thompson Line, her heavy load of coal, placed the Escalona low in the water, of the rough St. Lawrence, and as her deck was close to the water, there was a wash of water constantly flooding over the sides, in the heavy seas experienced in passage from Cape Breton to the St. Lawrence. The roll of the small steam vessel, was enough to cause a relapse of Johnny Moon's seasickness, although it didn't last for long. He remained wet for most of the voyage. To pay for his passage, the captain set about chores onboard, including swabbing the deck, and cleaning the brass-work. It took four and a half days to reach port at Montreal.

"From the quay, I went to an emigration office, on Craig Street. This was an employment agency. I was hired for a month by a farmer named Dugald McEwen, who lived in a little settlement called Allens Corners, near Howick, on the south side of the St. Lawrence. This place is about forty miles from Montreal."

Johnny Moon writes in his journal, "I stayed a month at this place. The work was hard and the hours were long. It was July, the haying season. We got up at a quarter to four in the morning, did a few chores, had a rush breakfast, lasting ten or fifteen minutes, worked in the fields from then until twelve, and got a hurried dinner, lasting no longer than fifteen minutes. Then work in the fields again till six, get supper over at lightning speed, time, ten minutes, then work on till nine PM. We might have worked all night if it had been the land of the midnight sun. There was a boy from a Canadian Home (orphanage) staying there. I have forgotten his name."

Johnny would quit the McEwan farm at the end of that month, and collect the five dollars in wages, that had been promised. Then he began to walk, and walk and walk till he could travel no further. He initially walked twelve miles from the Montreal area farmstead, to the community of Valleyfield Station, where he arrived in the late afternoon. The frequent traveller was planning to catch the train west, to Coteau, on the Ontario side of the river, but it wasn't scheduled to arrive until the evening. Johnny was invited by a station employee, to join him and his family for dinner, at his home, which he did, and enjoyed. He returned with the station official, later that night, to catch the train. He only had enough money in his pocket, to secure train passage as far as Kingston, which he estimated was a hundred and sixty miles shy of Toronto; which was his ultimate destination at this point. And upon arriving at the Kingston station, there was a heavy thunderstorm passing the region, and it was pouring outside. As was his safeguard, against sleeping out in the open, or in a doorway, he found a police station once again, where he was able to secure a lobby situation, in which to rest, uncomfortably so, sitting upright in a chair for the entire night. He didn't sleep much through the night, and was admittedly weak for the next day's lengthy travel west, toward Toronto.

The next morning, he set off wearily down the road, headed back to Toronto, where he had once resided in a facility operated by Dr. Bernardo. He was fortunate to be offered rides along the way in a horse-drawn rig, to the community of Napanee. He began walking once more, following his ride that far, to within a short distance of Belleville, where he got another ride, which took him into the town. But he was to experience some of the harsh realities of being a traveller without means.

"In Belleville I got tricked by some young fellows into calling upon a suspicious pair of men, living upon the outskirts of that town," wrote Johnny Moon, in his diary. "I was roughly refused, so I went a little further along, and being completely tired out, laid down by the side of the road, and went to sleep. (He was aware, by this point, that he could have been devoured by wolves or a bear, but had simply run out of steam himself, and fallen to the ground exhausted.) When I awoke, the sun was high up. A boy was standing close, looking at me. When I got to my feet and started to walk on again, he tossed a five cent piece at me. Thanking him for it, I picked it up and went on. A little farther on, I came to a farmhouse by the right hand side of the road. The woman of the house gave me a good breakfast, then I went on again."

After miles more on his remaining shoe leathers, he arrived in Trenton near mid-day. He was once again given dinner at a "working man's" house, and reached as far as Cobourg on the second night. When he finally arrived on the outskirts of Toronto, it had taken him a total of four and a half days, of hard walking. It would be a physical capability, that would serve him well in the years to come, once he arrived in the District of Muskoka.

Please visit this blog again tomorrow, for Part Four of the "Diary of Johnny Moon". Thanks so much for joining me today, for this amazing story of endurance and determination, to live an independent life in Bracebridge, Ontario, soon to become his long-term home town. An intense, thoughtful and articulate young man, he had a lot of history to imprint yet, in the District of Muskoka.

Johnny Moon Barnardo Boy Part 2

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PART TWO; BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON, ARRIVES IN MUSKOKA, DECEMBER 1897

A CITY CHILD IN THE VAST HINTERLAND OF WHAT WAS STILL PIONEER MUSKOKA

IF YOU HAVE EVER SUFFERED FROM HOMESICKNESS, SAY, IN YOUR ADULT YEARS, IMAGINE THEN, THE SUFFERING OF A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD BOY, WHO HAS JUST RECENTLY BURIED HIS MOTHER, AND THEN HIS FATHER, AND WITHOUT THE RIGHT TO AN OPINION ON THE MATTER, BEEN SENT TO AN ORPHANAGE, BECAUSE NO ONE IN THE FAMILY WOULD AGREE TO LOOK AFTER YOU. AND THEN BEING SHUFFLED OFF TO THE COLONY, TO WORK AS FARM LABOUR? WHO COULD BLAME JOHNNY MOON FOR SUCCUMBING TO HIS HOMESICKNESS, AND REBELLING AGAINST THOSE WHO PUT HIM IN SUCH AN ADVERSE CIRCUMSTANCE, IN THE FIRST PLACE.

AS WITH MANY EMIGRANTS FROM EUROPE, TO CANADA, FROM THE LATE 1850'S, EVEN TO THE TURN OF THE CENTURY, THEY HAD BEEN URBAN DWELLERS IN THEIR COUNTRIES OF ORIGIN. THEY WERE COMING TO A FRONTIER THAT WAS HARSH IN SO MANY WAYS, WITHOUT THE URBAN LUXURIES, SUCH AS TRANSPORTATION LINKAGES, LIKE BRITAIN'S UNDERGROUND RAILWAY, (EVEN IN THE LATE 1800'S), SUPPLY COMPETITION, (COMPETITIVE PRICES FOR GOOD AND SERVICES), AND CERTAINLY MORE EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES, THAN IN PIONEER VILLAGES AND FLEDGLING TOWNS ON THE ONTARIO SETTLEMENT FRONTIER. LIFE WAS HARD, AND JUST BECAUSE THE FIRST FORTY YEARS OF SETTLEMENT HAS PASSED, DIDN'T MEAN THAT LIFE HAD BECOME MUCH EASIER, THAN IT HAD BEEN IN THE 1860'S.

THE BARNARDO CHILDREN, SENT FROM THE ORPHANAGES OF ENGLAND, FOR EXAMPLE, HAD MANY MORE URBAN-RAISED CHILDREN IN THEIR CARE, THAN THOSE BORN AND RAISED RURALLY. PART OF THE EXTREME DIFFICULTY FOR THE TEENAGE CHILDREN, SENT TO CANADA, BY DR. BARNARDO, WAS THAT THEY WERE TOTALLY UNPREPARED, LIKE MANY OTHER HOMESTEADERS, FOR THE SEVERE CONDITIONS OF RURAL PRIVATIONS. THEY WERE NOT FAMILIAR WITH FARMING, AND THAT'S WHERE MANY OF THE YOUNG LADS FOUND THEMSELVES. IN MUSKOKA, THEY WERE SENT TO FARMSTEADS, THAT WERE STRUGGLING, BECAUSE IT CAN BE SAID WITH SOME ACCURACY, THAT IN A HARSH ENVIRONS OF ROCK, TREES, BOGLANDS, A SHORT GROWING SEASON, AND THIN, ARABLE SOIL, EVERY AGRICULTURAL ATTEMPT WAS BURDENED BY THE PREVAILING REALITIES, INCLUDING POOR AND SLOW ACCESS TO MARKETS. ANY BARNARDO CHILD, SENT TO ONE OF THESE LOCAL FARMS, WOULD HAVE BEEN EXPECTED TO PROVIDE A YEOMAN'S EFFORT IN RETURN FOR THE APPRENTICESHIP, FOOD AND LODGING. I WONDER IF THERE ARE STATISTICS ABOUT THE NUMBER OF BARNARDO YOUTH, SENT TO CANADIAN FARMS, WHO WERE SO INSPIRED BY THE CHANCE TO WORK IN AGRICULTURE, AS IT EXISTED THEN, THAT THEY SCRAPED UP ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY THEIR OWN FARMS BECAUSE OF THE POSITIVE EXPERIENCE? WELL, I'M BEING SARCASTIC HERE, AS YOU PROBABLY GUESSED. WHILE THERE WERE LIKELY POSITIVE EXPERIENCES, ON THESE FARM PROPERTIES, I THINK THEY WOULD BE FEW, AS COMPARED TO THE NUMBER OF ORPHANS PLACED IN AGRICULTURAL POSITIONS, WHO SUFFERED FROM THE SEVERE NATURE OF THE WORK, AND THE BRUTALLY LONG HOURS OF EACH DAY. PHYSICALLY, MOST OF THESE URBANIZED TEENAGERS, WERE NOT PREPARED FOR WHAT LAY AHEAD, ON THE ROCK STREWN, TREED HOMESTEAD ALLOCATIONS, WHERE EVEN LONG DAYS IN THE FIELD, AND SEVEN DAY DEMANDS, DID NOT MAKE MORE PROSPEROUS FARMS. THERE WAS A LOT OF PHYSICAL DEMAND ON THE SHOULDERS OF THESE ORPHANS, RE-LOCATED FROM THEIR HOME COUNTRY, TO THE COLONY, FOR WHAT SEEMED A PUNITIVE REACTION, BASED ONLY ON THEIR FAMILY CIRCUMSTANCE. THEY HAD'T COMMITTED A CRIME, YET THEY WERE BEING SHIPPED ACROSS THE OCEAN. JUDGE FOR YOURSELF, WHAT IT WAS LIKE ON THESE FARMS, AND IF YOU, UNDER SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCES, WOULD HAVE RUN AWAY, OR ASKED THE BARNARDO FOLKS, FOR IMMEDIATE RE-ASSIGNMENT. ALTHOUGH HISTORIANS AREN'T REALLY SUPPOSED TO SIDE, IN CASES LIKE THIS, BECAUSE IT SHOW BIAS, FRANKLY, I DON'T CARE. I KNOW WHY JOHNNY MOON KEPT RE-LOCATING HIMSELF, AND I CAN'T BLAME HIM WHATSOEVER.

ARRIVING IN MUSKOKA

(THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON IS IN THE POSSESSION OF THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, AS PART OF THEIR ARCHIVES COLLECTION, SO RESPECTFULLY, I WILL ONLY QUOTE SMALL PASSAGES FROM THE ORIGINAL TEXT, WHICH WAS FOUND WHEN HIS SHANTY, ON THE NORTH BRANCH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, IN BRACEBRIDGE, WAS BEING CLEARED AWAY MANY YEARS AGO. THE DOCUMENT WAS GIVEN TO THE TOWN, AND WAS TRANSCRIBED INTO TYPED COPY FROM THE ORIGINAL. IT IS ONE OF THE TOWN'S MOST IMPORTANT RELICS OF WRITTEN HISTORY, REVEALING THE OTHER SIDE, OF THE TO-BE-EXPECTED, TRADITIONAL CHRONICLE OF COMMUNITY HISTORY. JOHNNY MOON'S DIARY IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF FOLK HISTORY, AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TERRIBLE, FOR THE TOWN, IF THE DIARY HAD BEEN DESTROYED, IN THE PROCESS OF CLEARING THE RIVER ROAD PROPERTY. SO THANKS FOR SAVING THIS INCREDIBLE DOCUMENT FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS, WHO WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THEIR HOME TOWN)

In the opening paragraph, of the diary, noted after arriving in Muskoka, Johnny Moon pays particular reference to the fact it was a distance of 122 miles between Toronto and Bracebridge, and that by rail, with stops included, it takes four hours to cover the countryside. This is important because, as you will read later, Johnny Moon wasn't adverse whatsoever, of walking to and from Toronto if that soothed his passion, at any particular moment. He approved of the scenery, as it appeared out the passenger-car window, so he knew the obstacles he would face, if and when he took to the road, on his shoe leathers; what was left of them.

"As we rode along, the country took on a more wintry appearance. Just out of the city there had been but a little snow upon the ground; nearing Muskoka the snow lay deep. Darkness came on, but we could still see out on account of the snow; also there was a rising moon."

It was at around six o'clock in the evening, that the steam of the newly arrived train, encircled the roof-top of the Bracebridge train station, in the moonlight of what was a cold night to be out and about! The conductor travelled through the passenger car, letting the Barnardo travellers know, that they had arrived at their destination, and needed to disembark. When they climbed down the steps, to stand on the ice-covered platform, in front of the station, there were two men waiting for them. They were identified by Johnny Moon, as Adolphus and Byron Booth. There would undoubtedly have been a buffalo robe, or heavy wool blankets to snuggle beneath, for the sleigh ride through the snow laden countryside. The route they would have taken then, to the hamlet of Monsell, would have been wild by modest estimation, owing to the winding route, significant hillsides, and slippery declines, with very precarious ditches at the side of these roughly hewn cartways. For a couple of young Englishmen, this would have been both exciting and frightening at the same time. The temperature on a moonlit night in early December, would have been remarkably cold for those used to London winters.

"We got on a sleigh and after a short ride through the town, getting goods from some of the stores, we drove out into the country, by the way of the old concession, which I shall now call the Bracebridge-Monsell Road. So then, that evening of the 4th of December, 1897, I passed by a spot, just a short way out of town, which, about fourteen and a half years later, I was to build my first little home and live for eleven years. But that, of course, as well as many another event to come, I did not dream of, as the old saying goes, at that time," the teenage emigrant wrote in his journal. "This was my first sleigh ride. It was a cold, bright moonlight night. We travelled along a winding road over a rocky, hilly country. Seeing it for the first time, the country seemed a wild one to me. After a few short hours ride, we arrived at Byron Booth's farm at Monsell, where Willie Price (another Bernardo Boy) was to stay."

On this bitterly cold, early winter night, Johnny Moon stayed at the Booth farmstead, with Willie Price. He enjoyed a hot supper and then a hardy breakfast, before again heading out by sleigh, to the farm operated by Mrs. Stonehouse, further north to the hamlet of Fraserburg, on the South Branch of the Muskoka River. In the sleigh with Byron Booth, were his children. "I can remember even today, a snatch of conversation between Byron and his little girl, Jessie, concerning the name given to the foliage of the evergreens, which he explained to her was not called 'leaves,' but 'tendrils.' Fraserburg, where we arrived shortly, is calculated at three and a half miles from Monsell. There I was introduced to Mrs. Stonehouse and her son George. At that time, they kept a small general store and post office, George carrying the mail to and from Bracebridge, a one-way distance of nine or ten miles, twice a week, I think."

At this time, it is noted by the young Mr. Moon, that there were two or three other Bernardo Boys residing in this vicinity of Monsell and Fraserburg, north east of the Town of Bracebridge. Today of course, these former villages are part of the wider Municipality of Bracebridge, as part of regional governance. One of the other orphans, was named Charley Whitfield, and he was staying with Mr. and Mrs. William Stonehouse, and he was much younger than Johnny Moon, being only ten or eleven years of age.

At fifteen, Johnny Moon had suddenly, without any preparation, physical or emotional, had become a farm labourer, in an unfamiliar land. He was full of anticipation, which masked somewhat, his homesickness, and fear of what might go wrong so far from home. He was glad to have other Bernardo mates near by, but would have benefitted greatly, to have had another chum working at the same farmstead.

When New Year's rolled around, and Johnny looked ahead to the promises and dreams of 1898, his life was changed, in his words, as a direct result of someone else's authordom. He somehow acquired the book, "Millenial Dawn," by Charles Taze Russell, and it would later reverberate in his personal philosophy yet to mature. This will be noted again in this diary.

Johnny's work on the Stonehouse farm involved the typical chores you'd expect, but in the bitter cold of a challenging Canadian winter. In the summer months, he had to work in the fields, "seeding, haying, harvesting, besides under-brushing some of the fallow ground in the fall. In the evenings I went looking for cows and drove them home. On some of those trips I sometimes had little bother and adventure. To the same place, there came in the spring of 1898, a girl from a Canadian home. A brother of hers, from the same home, stayed for a short time with James Stonehouse. The girl's name was Hannah Adeline Pellar. The boy's name was John Pellar."

Johnny writes that his best friend at this time, in his personal biography, was Charley Whitfield. He was moved from the Stonehouse farm sometime in the year, 1900, and placed at another farming operation in Southern Ontario. It is important to appreciate, that a lot of the placements did not work out, and the Barnardo officials were forced to change placements, to please the stakeholders, who were housing these British youngsters, in exchange for services rendered. There were many occasions, when the farmers turned-out the children for being lazy, and poor at their chores. And there were those Barnardo orphans, who escaped what they felt were abusive circumstances.

He lasted at the Stonehouse farm for a year and five months, according to his accounting. Mrs. Stonehouse and her son George weren't happy with the work they were getting from Johnny, and contacted the Bernardo supervisors in Toronto, and asked that he be returned to their care. There isn't much to suggest why he was sent packing, except that, as you will read later, the teenager was much more a dreamer and country philosopher, than a labourer; and when he admits to having "adventures," during his labours, one can imagine the wee fellow, gad abouting off the farm, seeking inspiration from the countryside appointments. More so than from the company of the Stonehouse family.

On the wagon ride back to Bracebridge, to meet the next train to Toronto, Johnny observed that, just before town, "we passed a small saw mill on the right hand side of the road coming out; I know today that mill was on Sharpe's (or Black's) Creek. Today, of course, nothing remains of it."

In May 1899, Johnny Moon was back in Toronto, having bid fellow Bernardo Boy, Willie Price farewell. "With him I had come to Muskoka, and him I saw, on the way leaving it!"

The young man, fresh from the Muskoka farm experience, spent several weeks, back at the Bernardo facility, on Farley Avenue, before being placed on a dairy farm, just north of the city. It was on a much larger, more prosperous farm, with a significant herd of cattle to tend. He didn't like the change of pace, and never got to know the people who actually owned the farm.

"I was very homesick, now, so plans of getting back to England were coming to my mind. This was in mid-summer of the year 1899. Having heard that one could go over on a cattle-boat, and that the Toronto cattle market was the place to start from; and finding out, later, where the cattle market was, I decided to go by that route. I got up early one morning, and went off toward the pasture at the back of the farm, near the Don Valley, where the cattle were grazing. But instead of turning the cows homeward for milking, I struck off to the far side of the field, and down into the valley. Followed that down a short distance, and came up to a road which lay just back of the dairy and led to Yonge Street."

Johnny Moon had escaped. In his mind, it was an important personal liberation, and he saw England as the betterment of his life, if he could only arrange himself, as a working-passenger, on a ship sailing overseas. He made his way along the north-south corridor of Yonge Street, down to Queen Street, and southward to where he found the cattle market, alongside the steam trains, which transported the livestock to the major shipping centre out of Montreal. "I may be said to have walked from the north side to the south side of Toronto, and by a zig-zag route. But for a good hiker, such as I was, this was but a trifle." It would be interesting to know just how far Johnny Moon walked in his life, and the only other Muskoka area individual, to have walked further, would have been Anglican missionary, Gowan Gillmor, known as the "Tramp," who travelled on foot to frontier churches all over the Diocese of Algoma. (You can archive to find out more on this blog collection, about Gowan Gillmor)

The young man, hopeful of finding an opportunity, to either sneak on-board a cattle boat, or be hired onto the crew, as his step brother William, had become a ship's cook, on his travels. While he thought progress had been made, saddling-up to the crew of one of the vessels, gathered on a rail car headed to Montreal, he was subsequently discovered, without proper papers and train ticket, and thrown off the train by the company enforcer.

He wasn't the only one, trying to get on a boat, and out of Canada. The shipping companies had to be constantly vigilant for stowaways. He had a great distance to walk back, to the cattle market, from the shipping yard, but had a plan to stay close to the company offices, sleeping on a table near by. He was able to convince one of the market bosses, the next morning, that he was fit to sail, having experience handling livestock. Johnny also scored a free dinner, from another man, who felt sorry for the wee fellow, who looked as if he was starving to death. Some who knew Johnny, claimed he always looked this way, and he did get frequent hand-outs, which he kindly acknowledged, and in most cases, remembered all his life. He got on the cattle train later in the day, joining a new friend, who claimed to be the son of an army chaplain, returning to England, after living in Brantford, Ontario, for a period of time. The next thing wee Johnny Moon knew, was that he was a cattleman, on a train steaming toward Montreal, and eventually, to a ship, for an overseas voyage, to his native England.

"Ran along by the shore of Lake Ontario that evening (by train)," wrote the young traveller. "Well here was I, now, on the way back home to old England; and my thoughts then, were that my coming to Canada had been a big mistake. But now I know, as I look upon it all, that I was simply coming to another blaze upon the trail. One of the bosses was something of a ventriloquist, and was amusing himself, and the others, with tricks of that accomplishment, at our expense. Stopped for a short time at Kingston, that night to let a fruit train pass. Jogged along all night, and arrived in Montreal about middle of following day. There I was up against another difficulty; I was not quite old enough, to go as a cattleman, being only seventeen, instead of eighteen, the required age. That afternoon I went down to the quay, where the shipping is, by the river side. I went along the shore, making enquiries, looking at one ship after another. Finally I found the right one, an Elder Dempster Company boat, the 'Mount Royal.' There also, I met some of the men who had come ahead of us, from the Toronto Cattle Market. I was taken to an office on the wharf alongside, and there I signed on as a cattleman, by the help of one of the bosses, who answered the questions put to me by the clerk, who was a little deaf."

Johnny Moon was officially one of the hired hands, on the cattle boat, Mount Royal, which would leave the next morning, with a full cargo of livestock, on the way east in the St. Lawrence River. He observed that they "passed the old City of Quebec that evening, with its many lights shining, some at the river level, but most high up on the rock. There was a band playing somewhere up there as we glided by. I think we anchored somewhere below Quebec that night." He writes that the Mount Royal was a 'cargo boat,' or 'merchant ship,' and not all that comfortable for passengers onboard. The labour on the ship, for the young Mr. Moon, was to water and feed the livestock. There were reportedly twenty horses and sheep on the ship, as well as cattle, and Johnny noted, it was "the sheep most troubled by sea sickness."

It wasn't a particularly rough voyage, and the young lad had, by immersion, become used to the roll of the sea. He claimed to have been stricken, once more, by seasickness, but for a much shorter period, than on his inaugural voyage on the passenger ship, "Labrador," a few years previous. The teenage crew-member, of the Mount Royal, was emotionally stirred, to see the rugged, dangerous coastline of the Scilly Islands, on the 12th day of trans-oceanic transport. Within twenty four hours, of that point, the ship had entered the Channel, passing the Isle of Wight, then Beachy Head, and the cliffs of England's south coast. Then the ship traversed the waters of the Dover Strait. Soon they arrived at the mouth of the Thames, up through the "green fields and hedgerows of Essex and Kent on either side."

Johnny Moon had arrived home in August of that year, a stay that would last until June 1901, following the death of Queen Victoria. He would soon thereafter, head back to Canada, and arrive once again, in Bracebridge, Ontario.

Just last evening, Suzanne and I took a drive down the old River Road, where Johnny Moon, had once resided, and a place he rather enjoyed; his leaky rowboat pulled up on shore, and woodsmoke coming from his tiny cabin, that kept him as comfortable as could be expected, considering his circumstance of irregular, modest income. I could imagine very clearly, the vision of this row boat coming along the dark reflective waters, of the north branch of the Muskoka River, above the Bass Rock rapids. He would have tramped along this dusty trail many times in his life, so it's no wonder, some folktales reference the fact his ghost still travels the same route as it did once, back in the early years of the 1900's, when Johnny Moon called Bracebridge his home. The english Bernardo boy, who wanted so badly to escape Canada, found that his life in England, would be forever limited, and disadvantaged, him being denied opportunity to get ahead amongst millions of citizens, many unemployed and suffering. In Canada, especially in the wilds of Muskoka, he could find work, and afford to acquire property in the still under-populated Town of Bracebridge. He may have been spending those next two years in England, but he was plotting out a new plan for a future in Bracebridge, Ontario.

The Story of Barnardo Boy, Johnny Moon Part 1

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THE STORY OF BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON

ONE OF BRACEBRIDGE'S MOST PROMINENT, UNIQUE, AND UNDAUNTED CITIZENS, WHO YOU PROBABLY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT; JOHNNY MOON

THE BARNARDO BOY - WANDERER, PHILOSOPHER, STORY-TELLER WHO TOLD IT THE WAY IT WAS!

I HAVE LONG BEEN FASCINATED BY THE STRANGE STORY OF JOHNNY MOON. IT WAS ONE OF THE FIRST MEMORABLE FOLK TALES I HEARD, THE SUMMER AFTER MOVING TO BRACEBRIDGE, IN 1966. A MATE OF MINE, FROM BACK THEN, WHILE WE WERE WALKING ALONG RIVER ROAD, ONE HOT AFTERNOON, TOLD ME TO WATCH FOR THE GHOST OF OLD JOHNNY MOON, WHO IT WAS SAID, HAUNTED THE MUSKOKA RIVER VALLEY, WHERE HE USED TO LIVE LONG AGO. ANOTHER CHUM TOLD ME, THAT IT WAS COMMON TO SEE THE GHOST OF JOHNNY MOON, ROWING HIS LEAKY SKOW TOWARD TOWN, TO PICK UP SUPPLIES; A TRAVERSE HE DID HUNDREDS OF TIME IN LIFE. THEY AGREED, THAT IT WAS ON MISTY EVENINGS, ABOVE THE BASS ROCK RAPIDS, THAT JOHNNY REGULARLY MADE HIS APPEARANCE, IN A SPIRITED ATTEMPT, TO SCARE OFF INTERLOPERS, WHO MIGHT BE TRESPASSING ON THE PIECE OF PROPERTY, WHERE HE HAD BUILT A SMALL SHANTY BETWEEN THE TREES. I NEVER DID SEE HIS GHOST. BUT AFTER READING HIS JOURNAL MANY TIMES, AND KNOWING THAT ROAD VERY WELL, FROM YEARS OF HIKING IN THE VICINITY, I HAVE IN A SMALL WAY, COME TO RECOGNIZE HIS PRESENCE, WHEN AT TIMES, I VENTURE TO THE ROCK SHELVES OF THE BASS ROCK NARROWS, TO TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH; OR JUST TO PAUSE DURING A LENGTHY WALK TO WILSON'S FALLS. BASS ROCK, IS WHERE, WE AS KIDS, USED TO SWIM. I THINK WE ALL FELT THAT SOMEONE WAS WATCHING US BACK THEN, BUT WE HAD NO PROOF. JOHNNY MOON HAD BEEN DEAD FOR MORE THAN A DECADE BY THAT POINT ANYWAY. THOSE WHO KNEW HIM, REALIZED HOW POWERFUL HIS CHARACTER, AND AURA WERE, SUCH THAT ONCE YOU MET HIM, YOU WOULD NEVER FORGET THE OCCASION. HE HAD A PENETRATING GAZE, THAT SEEMED TO REACH INTO YOUR BODY, TO SHAKE HANDS WITH THE IMBEDDED SOUL. HE WAS GENERALLY A LONER, BUT WHEN HE LIKED YOU, HE COULD WEAR OUT HIS WELCOME VERY SOON, BUT ACTS OF OVER INDULGENCE, AND PERSONAL INTRUSION. THERE WERE PEOPLE IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHO VIEWED THE YOUNG MAN AS BEING STRANGE, AND ECCENTRIC; A LAZY LAD, WHO COULDN'T STAY EMPLOYED FOR MORE THAN A FEW DAYS AT A STRETCH, AND AT TIMES, WAS DISAGREEABLE AND ANNOYING TO EVERYONE IN HIS COMPANY. NO ONE WOULD MISTAKE THAT HE WAS KINDLY, AND APPROACHABLE, BUT HE WAS ALSO INCREDIBLY DETERMINED; AND POSSIBLY, THIS IS WHAT, AS LEGEND, WHY THEY STILL SAY HE STILL HAUNTS THE MISTY EVENINGS, ON THE NORTH MUSKOKA RIVER, BETWEEN BASS ROCK AND WILSON'S FALLS.

THERE HAVE BEEN THREE MAJOR MUSKOKA RELATED DIARIES / JOURNALS, I HAVE STUDIED IN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS, THAT HAVE EACH, IN THEIR OWN WAY, CHANGED MY OPINION OF PREVIOUSLY UNDERSTOOD, FORMALLY DOCUMENTED LOCAL HISTORY. ONE WAS THE DIARY OF GRANNY BOWERS, WHICH I RE-PUBLISHED LAST EVENING ON THIS BLOG, IN CASE YOU MISSED IT. THE SECOND WAS, "JUST ONE BLUE BONNET, THE DIARY OF ADA FLORENCE KINTON," PIONEER ARTIST, SALVATION ARMY MISSIONARY, WHO SPENT TIME EXPLORING AND WRITING ABOUT MUSKOKA, PARTICULARLY HUNTSVILLE, DURING THE LATE 1800'S. IN ADA KINTON'S CASE, HER SISTER, SARA RANDELSON, FOUND THE JOURNAL, AFTER THE ARTIST'S DEATH, AND BECAUSE IT WAS SO INTERESTING, AND IMPORTANT, PARTICULARLY TO THE SALVATION ARMY, SHE HAD IT PUBLISHED EARLY IN THE 1900'S. I'M SO GLAD SHE DID. I DONATED A COPY OF THE HARDCOVER FIRST EDITION TO THE MUSKOKA COLLECTION, OF GRAVENHURST PUBLIC LIBRARY. THIS BRINGS ME TO THE DIARY OF BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON, BORN IN ENGLAND, IN THE YEAR 1882, WHO WAS LATER SENT TO CANADA, FROM A BARNARDO ORPHANAGE, IN ENGLAND, TO WORK AS A LABOURER, ON A FARM, IN THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA. THE PARTIAL DIARY WAS RESCUED FROM THE RUINS OF JOHNNY'S FORMER CABIN, ON RIVER ROAD IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHEN THE PROPERTY HE USED TO LIVE ON, WAS BEING CLEARED. THE DOCUMENT WAS ACQUIRED BY THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, FOR SAFE-KEEPING IN THEIR MUNICIPAL ARCHIVES. THIS MAY BE ONE OF THE MOST REVEALING JOURNALS IN TOWN HISTORY, BECAUSE IT DOES TELL THE STORY OF HARDSHIP, AND HARSH TREATMENT, AT THE HANDS OF HIS OVERSEERS, AND EMPLOYERS, OVER HIS YEARS IN MUSKOKA. IT IS NOT WHAT WE FIND IN THE NORMAL COURSE OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH. THIS IS THE KIND OF STORY THAT INFILLS THE COLORS, ONTO THE BLACK AND WHITE CHRONOLOGY, AS I HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT, FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS. IT IS AN ABSOLUTELY REQUIRED INSIGHT, TO HOW THE CITIZENS OF THE COMMUNITY ACTED BACK THEN, AND THE EARLY DECADES OF THE 1900'S. IT IS A SAD STORY IN MANY WAYS, BUT FEELING VERY CLOSE TO JOHNNY MOON, BECAUSE I'VE READ THIS PORTION OF HIS BIOGRAPHY, AT LEAST FIFTY TIMES, THAT LIKE ADA KINTON, AND GRANNY BOWERS, I LIKE TO THINK, HE WOULD FEEL PLEASED, HIS OBSERVATIONS WERE HAVING A RELEVANCE IN THIS NEW CENTURY. ALTHOUGH HE DIDN'T INTEND TO HAVE IT PUBLISHED, AS IT WAS MORE OF AN OUTLET, FOR HIS PAST FRUSTRATION, MEMORIES OF PROFOUND LONELINESS, AND FEARS, THAN TO ACTUALLY WRITE FOR EVENTUAL PUBLICATION. LIKE GRANNY BOWERS AND ADA KINTON, JOHNNY MOON'S JOURNAL IS HONEST AND HEART-FELT, MAKING IT SO MUCH MORE ILLUMINATING, AS TO WHAT IT WAS LIKE IN HIS ERA, TO BE STRUGGLING FOR SURVIVAL IN A YOUNG TOWN TRYING TO FIND ITS ECONOMIC BALANCE. WE CAN LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THE YOUNG MAN, THROUGH THE PAGES OF HIS JOURNAL. AS THE DOCUMENT BELONGS TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, AND NOT THIS WRITER, I WILL USE A SMALL AMOUNT OF HIS ACTUAL QUOTATIONS, AND OVERVIEW, AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, SO AS TO NOT LOSE THE FEELING OF THE PRECIOUS NOTES OF JOHNNY MOON.

BORN IN 1882 TO LOVING PARENTS

There is every reason to believe, the infant child of the Moon family, of Bethnal Green, London, England, born on August 31st, 1882, was joyfully welcomed, when he uttered those first gurgling sounds of a newborn. The crying that could be heard, coming from the Moon family's residence, on Robinson Road, was the vigor of the young fellow expressing himself, something he would become highly skilled at, in writing, and in articulation every-after. His stay in Bethnal Green, lasted for only a short while, when his family, moved to Peckam, and the reason given, was that his parents did not want to have their young son vaccinated, for personal reasons that are not specified in the journal. It must have been a situation that followed them around, because they then moved once more, to Old Ford, the the district known as Tiny Hamlets.

The young Mr. Moon began school at around seven years of age, and he remembered his mother taking him, and another neighborhood lad, he names as "Albert Hobart," his neighborhood chum, on the walk to the school both were to attend. Albert wasn't placed in the same class as Johnny Moon, as the young diarist had enjoyed the benefit of home instruction from his mother. Thus he was advanced in the school system, based on this advantage given to him by his mother, who by admission, he was exceptionally fond.

He remembers there being an unsettling thunderstorm, on that first day, and his mother came to the school after the heavy rain subsided, to take him and Albert back home. She was doting of her boy, and shocked the day her son was carried home, in a state of unconsciousness, after a school yard injury. He wasn't sure how the accident occurred, other than he hit his head when he fell off a piece of outdoor gymnasium equipment, and still unconscious, was lifted-up by a number of older students, and undoubtedly with the teacher's knowledge, carried back home for his mother to make the decision, as to whether to take him to the hospital or not.

The doctor, tending the small-framed, delicate, Moon child, who came out of the incident without permanent injury, suggested that the boy would be better looked-after, in a school that was private; one having less physical demands for him to cope with. The suggestion being, that as he was not athletic, and considering it could not yet be determined, if there was going to be a lasting brain injury, of undetermined severity, the slower pace of a private school would be best suited, the recovering youngsTer. So he was enrolled in a private school, on Cadogan Terrace, across from the landmark of Victoria Park.

His father, James Moon, was originally from the village of Tavistock, which was a border community between Devon and Cornwall. His mother was born, Mary Jane Bolham, the daughter of John Bolham, an Irishman from Dublin, who had come to England, settling in the district of Northumberland, and this is where he would eventually come, to marry a woman of Scottish ancestry; Johnny's grandmother.

Johnny Moon's mother, was a sister to two brothers, Albert and David, and three sisters, being Anne, Elizabeth and Ruth. Her father, John Bolham, was a tailor by profession, and what was called a "home missionary,' when time afforded. He notes though, that his mother, was his father's second bride, which meant that the youngster had two step brothers, Frederic and William, and two step-sisters, Anne and Elizabeth. He pays special attention to the fact, his step brother William, ran away from home at the age of fourteen, to pursue a life on the high sea, where it was said he was employed, for some time, on schooners (windjammers) as a ship's cook.

The Moon family moved again, to Ripporth Road, for several years, up to 1890 or early 1891, and once again, re-locating to 18 Bristol Road, in East Ham.

The elder Mr. Moon was a professional in the print industry, as it existed during this period in England, working for the firm of Waterlow and Laytons Printers and Lithographers, situated at "Broken Wharf, Upper Thames Street, London. The company bonus, you might say, was that employees were given vacation outings, if they so desired, once each year, to what Johnny Moon suggested was a "seaside resort," on the west coast of England. The youngster recalled several of these fascinating excursions, to both Bournemouth and Brighton, including on one of the trips, a side-venture to the village of Swanage, accessed by a small coastal region steamship. This was something special to the astute young Johnny Moon, who adored the idea of travelling and having outdoor adventures, like the ones he read in his story-books. He could understand why his step-brother William, had wanted to escape the city, by signing aboard a sailing ship as a crewman.

Johnny also keenly reminisced about a family trip to Epping, via Chingford, and travelling through the forest where he caught a glimpse of former Queen Elizabeth's (then Queen Victoria's) hunting lodge. It involved a period of enjoyable hiking along the Epping Forest's trails, and rail travel with his mother and father. His most memorable visit, was to see the famous "Crystal Palace," near the community of Sydenham, the beauty of its architecture, even at fifty two years of age (when he wrote the journal), was still clear in his memory.

His mother had been prone to illness, throughout her adult life, and when the family was living in East Ham, she became seriously ill, such that she was removed entirely from the Moon household, which may have been considered too damp and cold, and sent to live in Chatham (England), at a home owned by her brother, David, in Kent, in order to have the peace and quiet she needed, in order to recover. Johnny's step-sister, who he called "Bess" took him to visit his mother, circa the summer of 1892, and the young man recalls the enjoyment of going blackberry picking, with his cousins. He recalls that it was most likely in the month of August when they visited Kent, to see his mother, who it was said on some authority, was on the mend. Most of all, he enjoyed the steam train ride back home to London, following the short stay. Unfortunately for the family, Mrs. Moon, having returned back to her home in London, had never regained all of her strength, and a year later, in 1893, suffered a second bout of her illness, and this time, passed away as a direct result. With great sadness, Johnny Moon watched as his kindly mother, who had looked after him so well and thoughtfully, for the early years of his life, was buried in Manor Park Cemetery, amidst floral tributes to her life's work. One can imagine the little fellow, tears running down his rosy cheeks, hanging on to his father's hand, as the minister concluded the ceremony, being ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But he claimed later, that he had dreamt about this scene sometime before.

One of his greatest characteristics, is that he made friends easily, no matter where they lived, or where he went to school, something he was known for even in his Muskoka years. He was a particularly affectionate child, something characteristic, presumably given to him by his mother, who was well liked, as was his charitable father, the printer. There were times, especially in Muskoka, that he became obsessive about friendships, as it turned out, with children many years younger than himself, and this did not please some of the parents, wondering about his intentions. As it would turn out, as the journal entries mature, that Johnny was not adverse, to intervening between his younger mates, and their parents, and in one case, contacting a doctor directly, because he felt a serious affliction, hurting the child, was being ignored. He went so far as paying the doctor to treat the ailing youngster. It was just his nature, and something that developed very early in his life, when for example, he refers in the journal, to Albert Hobart, and Ernest Harcourt, as being his close friends when they lived in Old Ford. He referred to Harold Cook, for example, as not only a "special friend," but a boy he loved the first. His other close chum was James Burt. Keeping it in perspective, however, and with some respect to modern times, there is nothing to suggest any of his affections toward male friends, was perverse in nature, but in later references, if one reads between the lines, it's likely some of the parents who wanted him to stay away from their sons, may have suspected there was more to the friendship, than what was being confessed by Johnny Moon. It was just his nature, and it went all the way back to childhood, but these concerned parents had mo way of appreciating this, as they didn't want to talk to the young man, let alone give him the benefit of the doubt.

Johnny Moon loved to talk about his gad-abouts, in his region of England, with trips to Illford, Barking, Leytonstone, and other locations, in and around the famous woodlands of Epping Forest. He remembered vividly the "little River Roding" and other of the scenes he had studied in passing, that were still vivid memories forty or more years later, when he penned his journal.

Johnny Moon's mother passed away, when her child was only eleven years of age, and he remembers moving from place to place with his newly widowed father, one being a short stay in Plaistow, lodging at the homeplace of a Mr. Barlow, known as a dockside worker, and a "market gardener". As a matter of ongoing misfortune, it was in this locale, that his father was seriously injured in an unspecified accident, at the Uptown Park Station, while coming home following a day's work in the city; landing him in the hospital, in London. Johnny was told his father was likely to recover, but like his mother, he knew better of the situation. It's interesting to note here, that the younger Moon, had a privileged vision, first of all, of his mother's imminent death, well before she passed away, and it had happened similarly, prior to his father's demise. Call it premonition, but it seemed Johnny Moon may have had an "in" with the so called paranormal side of life. He was known to be very intuitive in his observations, and this is in evidence throughout the journal. Johnny, at the time of his father's death, was only fourteen years old. Now an orphan, who would have to be cared for by family members, until he was of working age. It was a period of great turmoil, temporary residency, and part-time employment, at the firm his father had been employed; he would work as a printer's assistant and messenger, but for only a short time. He clearly recalls the adventure of carrying messages, letters and parcels, on the underground railway, (early subway trains), that ran under the city, which was then known as the "District Railway."

It needs to be recognized, at least in my opinion, and knowledge of the story, that the earlier injury to they young man's head, may have involved a serious concussion, and potential brain injury, that effected in some acute cases, his emotional stability. After only two months, at a job he might well have kept for the rest of his life, he became dissatisfied with the opportunity, and like many of his employment positions yet to come, was dispatched from the company payroll. His brother Fred, had tried to look after the teenager, but he was not secure in his own residence, or with finances, to take on the roll of guardian. Especially under the circumstances, of Johnny's disinterest in gainful employment. So he was taken, quite without understanding the whole situation, and all its implications, to the offices of Dr. Barnardo's London Homes. As he points out, in retrospect, "This event marks the first turning point in my career," although, it can be said with some accuracy, that Johnny Moon never really had what could be considered a career, except as a sort of undefined hobo, who would stay at a job long enough to earn a little money for provisions, and then retreat into his private world; which in Muskoka, became a tiny rustic, riverside shanty, with a row boat pulled up on the shore near by, which he used to navigate to town for supplies.

It is known that he stayed at the Stepney Causeway home, for two months, before being placed in Canada, by Dr. Barnardo's staff. During the stay at the orphanage, he was given an opportunity to pursue some skill training, in the trades, as there were imbedded facilities, and equipment, to foster this hands-on education. Johnny however, when asked by staff, insisted that he wanted to become an "engineer," and when he was told there was no capability of staff helping with this, he opted instead, to train as a carpenter. He couldn't deal with either the nature of the work, or the fact he had been placed in a wood working shop, with much more aggressive youth, from much poorer backgrounds than his, and he found himself being bullied right out of the classroom. He left after less than two full days, and refused to go back to the shop. But he was intrigued about going to Canada, which he considered a great life adventure, especially considering he had nothing holding him, as far as family that wanted him, in England. His brother Fred, had been advised, by Barnardo's staff, after the initial paperwork, admitting him to the home, that it was most likely he would be sent to Canada; so it was no surprise to Johnny, when word finally came, that he was going to be sent across the ocean for farm placement. There were four trips abroad, for these orphan children, each year, and because the teenager didn't want to learn a trade, which may have kept him at home, the only other option was being sent to Canada, to work as a farm labourer. There was no down side to this, as far as he was concerned. It was instead, a glowing opportunity, to be, in part, like his step brother William, working the high seas.

His cross-Atlantic adventure began officially on September 23rd, 1897, and with a legion of others from Barnardo homes, were transported via rail, to port at Liverpool, where, on the platform, he recalled the "Home Band" playing two memorable songs; one being "Auld Lang Syne," and 'Till We Meet Again." The youngsters were probably teary eyed, for this part of the adventure, but soon were too full of anticipation, to worry about such trivial matters, as the early stage of homesickness. The trip was from London's Euston Station to Liverpool, which is a distance of 180 miles, taking a total of four hours in transit. Later that evening, the train arrived at Riverside Station, and the young emigrants had to walk to the dock in Liverpool, to where the Dominion Liner, "Labrador," was tied up. A party of Bernardo girls came aboard shortly after.

NOTE: I should make it known here, at this point in the story of Johnny Moon, that my own grandmother, on my father's side, Doris Harding, was also a Barnardo child, sent to Canada, as a domestic, quite a few years later in the Barnardo story. We found this out, via the Barnardo Home registry, still in operation, in England, one year ago, after a decade of suspicion this was the case of her emigration, as an orphaned teenager, to Canada.

His was a feeling of excitement, about what was unfolding on the ship, and could be seen on the broadening seascape unfolding, as the tugs pulled the "Labrador" to mid-river, and the ship could thusly steam free into the ocean, on the first hours of the trans-Atlantic crossing. Before getting to the geographical mouth of the Mersey River, the Barnardo children onboard, were taken below deck to have their supper. It was one of many meals on that trip, of "corned beef," from a tin, which most of the children exposed to it, vowed, once ashore, to never eat again, including Johnny Moon. You see, the first meal, was just ahead, of what would be a rolling, early part to the voyage, meaning sea-sickness would prevail for most of the youngsters, unfamiliar with boat passage on a rough ocean. As most were able to get some sleep that first night, they awoke after being encouraged by a Barnardo representative, to come onto the deck, to see a wonderful sight. The steamship Labrador, at that point, was moored in Lough Foyle, of Port Rush, a short distance from Londonderry. This was the first time most of them had seen Ireland, a country in Johnny's blood, on his mother's side. He writes of the scene thusly:

"The country to the west consisted of meadow and woodland, sloping gently to the Lough side, on which nearby stood the buildings of little Port Rush. To the east, some fair distance off, rose a lone mountain, with its top wreathed in hazy clouds. Meadows, woodland, mountain, village and lake-like expanse of Lough Foyle made a beautiful scene." Johnny Moon knew how to express himself in words.

The first bout of seasickness had ended for most of the teenage passengers, but there was more to come, once the roughness of the ocean returned, to rock the smaller steamship. They stayed on the deck for a long time, consuming the scenery, and talking about the voyage yet to come. Some were homesick already. Others didn't want to go at all, wishing to return to the remnants of family, but not Johnny Moon, who felt there was nothing left for him in England, in the way of family, who would help him move-on in life. They were all struggling on their own, except for his step-brother William, who had also taken to the sea, as part of a windjammer crew, many years earlier. He makes the interesting observation, that amongst the passengers, who were boarding from this location in Ireland, were two priests, going on to do missionary work in the colony, and young men, with gear to tackle the bountiful fields of the Klondike, as it was around this time, that the well known gold rush, in Northern Canada, was unfolding, circa 1897-98; with thousands of new prospectors arriving to quest for buried treasure.

The Labrador, under a full-head of steam, propelled itself back out on the ocean, and "Port Rush and the calm waters of Lough Foyle were left behind, and the ship rose and fell to the billows of the ocean, as we rounded the shoreline of the rugged north coast. Two priests were standing at the bow of the vessel, when the spray from a heavy wave, striking the ship, head-on, dashed over the deck, wetting both of them; they laughed and stood further back," penned Johnny Moon, about his vantage point on the Labrador, as it headed out to the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. "Before long, the deck was almost deserted; most of us retiring below. The previous night's experience (seasickness) had been bad enough; this was worse."

Johnny admitted the next affliction with seasickness lasted six days and nights, a period where he wasn't able to take food and little water, so he was becoming malnourished and dehydrated. It wasn't until eight days later, that he was finally able to ingest some food and water, enough to stave off an impending serious medical crisis. "When we came in sight of Belle Island, I was able to move about a bit, though still very weak."

He had made much more progress, with his health, by time the Labrador had reached the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, strong enough to climb on deck, to see his new home country, Canada. "There, I looked at the shores of the big river, as we sailed on upstream; viewing for the first time, the scenes of a new and strange land. In Canada now! Old England, very far away. That evening, of a day's sail up river, brought us, to the Levis dock, opposite the old city of Quebec. Just before tying up at the Levis Wharf, a rocket or two was fired over our ship; this evidently being a signal of welcome or 'all clear'. From Levis quay we, along with our boxes, were taken over across to Quebec, where we landed, for the first time upon the soil of Canada. The trip from Port Rush to Quebec, had taken ten days; so this must have been the evening of the 4th of October, 1897," according to the young traveller, who found the sights of the new land quite pleasing and full of untold potential."

Following the landing, the Barnardo children were taken to the railway station of Canadian Pacific, to the lunch room made available for their large number. "Those of us who had money to spent, spent it in buying candies, drinks, etc. while those who had none, had to be content with either being treated by others or doing without. I was one of the latter; but that did not matter because just at that time, I was not feeling well, so was not hungry. Presently, we were led out of the lunch room to the platform, where our train was standing. We climbed aboard," wrote Johnny Moon, in reflection, when he was fifty-two years of age, with failing eyesight. He died legally blind.

Some of the older Barnardo teenagers, were thusly ticketed to travel on the trans-continental train, heading for job placements with farms on the prairies. The others were headed to situations arranged, in the Province of Ontario. He penned that, "On we rode (via steam train), hour after hour, through rugged country, rural districts, by lakes, streams, hills and valleys, by villages and towns, coming to a stop at Peterborough, where the girls' contingent, alighted for Hazel Brae; the Peterborough girls branch of Dr. Barnardo's homes." Carrying on, the Barnardo boys arrived in Toronto, later that evening, at the Union Station. They disembarked, and were walked by supervisors, to 214 Farley Avenue, arriving at "our destination," according to Johnny Moon. Another Barnardo home for children, who had emigrated to Canada, and were awaiting placement. This was documented by him, as being the night of October 5th, 1897. He and the other boys were led to the back of the large building, and to a dormitory room, where there were rows of bunkbeds. He remembers sleeping well, and then being stirred back to life, at first light, by the crowing of a rooster, in a neighbor's yard.

A significant entry is made by Johnny Moon, in his journal, at this point, that references what I wrote about earlier, as regards his friendships with other males, which to some degree, he became unusually obsessive. He writes, "That morning, the dawn of another day, was the sixth of October. Now, at this date, nearly thirty-six and a half years later, I know that the hand of destiny (and he really did believe this as true, just as having the premonitions of his parents deaths) was directed all my ways. For on that day was born Aubrey Foulkes, with whom, and his brother, Fred Foulkes, I was to meet some years later, and a chapter of my life to be lived and written, in which they played a part."

One of the most profound insights, of the Barnardo situation, and the lives of the boys compromised, was covered in the following explanation offered by Johnny Moon. He writes:

"Occasionally some boys returned from farms, remaining a short time until news situations were found for them. I remember two boys who had been together a few years at some place, on a Muskoka farm, I think, and had become attached to each other. After a short stay at Farley Avenue (Barnardo facility in Toronto), one of them, the eldest of the two, I think, was told that a new place had been found for him, and that he would shortly be sent away. When the other heard of it, he broke down and cried; and tears were in the eyes of the other one also, when they parted. This incident, so clearly remembered by me now, took place in the small school room which was a part of the Farley Avenue lay-out."

On December 4th, a Barnardo supervisor, from the Farley Avenue home, took Johnny Moon, and another boy, William Price, to Toronto's Union Station, to catch the 1:45 p.m. train to North Bay. Their destination, on this journey, would be the Town of Bracebridge, where they would disembark, and be picked up by property owners, and then transported to the farms they had been assigned. This would bring about a new misfortune to Johnny, and make his stay in Canada, quite unpleasant. The host families were not generally known for their kindnesses bestowed on these orphans.

Please join me for the continuation of the story of Johnny Moon, in my next blog. Thank you for joining me today!

Unidentified Flying Objects and Movie Stars?

2017-03-04T04:28:00.002-08:00

UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS - IN MUSKOKA? WHY NOT, WE'VE GOT MOVIE STARS, PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES, CELEBRITY MUSICIANS AND GHOSTS!

MOST WON'T KNOW THIS, OR EVEN BELIEVE IT, BUT THERE HAVE BEEN NUMEROUS "OTHER WORLDLY" SIGHTINGS, IN THE MUSKOKA HINTERLAND. AND A FEW NUDISTS. CREDIBLE REPORTS BY CREDIBLE INDIVIDUALS GO BACK TO THE 1800'S. SOME STORIES OF EXTRA TERRESTRIAL ENCOUNTERS ARE LEFT TO THE TELLERS OF FOLK TALES TODAY, AS MANY WEREN'T WRITTEN DOWN, MADE INTO FOLKS SONGS, OR INTERPRETED IN FOLK ART. THEY'RE JUST PASSED DOWN STORIES FROM ONE GENERATION TO ANOTHER, WITH LIBERAL EMBELLISHMENTS. A SORT OF MODERNIZATION THAT MAKES THE STORIES APPEAL TO THAT ERA'S LISTENER. THE HISTORIAN HAS TO EDIT AND SPLICE, TO GET BACK TO THE ORIGINAL VERSION. YOU HAVE TO CUT THROUGH SOME OF THE OBVIOUS FICTIONS, TO GET TO WHAT WAS LIKELY A LEGITIMATE FIRST PERSON EXPERIENCE, I DID HOWEVER, PURCHASE A VERY OLD WOOD CARVING, HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA, OF WHAT LOOKED LIKE AN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT, CARVED ONTO A HUGE PINE SLAB OF WOOD, PROBABLY SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD; THAT IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS MAY HAVE BEEN A FOLK ARTIST'S WAY OF PRESENTING THE SIGHT OF EZEKIEL'S SPINNING WHEEL OF FIRE, INSTEAD OF A FLYING SAUCER.

I HAVE WORKED ON JUST ABOUT EVERY OTHER KIND OF MUSKOKA HISTORY. I HAVEN'T DONE TOO MUCH ABOUT UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS. YET THERE HAVE BEEN MANY REPORTED SIGHTINGS, AND A FEW CLOSER THAN COMFORTABLE ENCOUNTERS IN THE PAST FIFTY YEARS. THE MOST FAMOUS HAPPENED IN THE RAYMOND AREA, OF THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO. WHICH, ACCORDING TO THE REVERENT TIMES ABOUT SUCH THINGS, SPAWNED A LOT OF UNWANTED MEDIA ATTENTION, BOLD, FRONT PAGE HEADLINES, TELEVISION COVERAGE, AND A PLETHORA OF UNKIND COMMENTS AND EDITORIALS; FROM CITIZEN-CRITICS, WHO SUGGESTED THAT ONLY A "NUT" ON HOMEBREW, WOULD ADMIT TO SEEING ALIEN LIFE FORMS AND UFO'S, HOVERING OVER THE FARMS OF MUSKOKA LAKES. WHAT THESE IGNORANT FOLK DIDN'T APPRECIATE, WAS THAT THERE HAVE BEEN UFO SIGHTINGS REPORTED IN MUSKOKA FOR DECADES, POSSIBLY EVEN BACK AS EARLY AS PIONEER TIMES. THEY JUST DIDN'T REFER TO THEM AS FLYING SAUCERS. THEY WERE CONSIDERED ANOMALIES OF NATURE TO HOMESTEADERS, AND MIGHT HAVE BEEN INTERPRETED AS THE ILLUMINATION OF LEGEND, AND SPIRIT MANIFESTATIONS, BY THE PEOPLE OF THE FIRST NATIONS, WHO MAY HAVE SEEN MORE THAN SHOOTING STARS, BUT HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS, THAT MIGHT BE INVESTIGATING OUR SOLAR SYSTEM. THEY WERE OBSERVED BUT NOT OVER ANALYZED AS WE PERPETUATE TODAY, IN AN EFFORT TO PROVE THE EXISTENCE OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS. BUT FROM AN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE, THESE NOTED ODDITIES IN THE SKY, AND STRANGE ANOMALIES OF FLASHING AND STREAKING LIFE, WERE EXPLAINED OTHERWISE, AS GOD DOING HIS THING WITH HIS UNIVERSE; OR AS THE MIND PLAYING TRICKS ON THE SENSES; OR, YES, HOMEBREW.

I HAVE READ THROUGH MOST OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN ON MUSKOKA HISTORY. BUT THEY ARE STILL, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A VERY FEW, LIKE THOMAS MCMURRAY'S SETTLERS GUIDE OF THE 1870'S, CONSIDERED CONTEMPORARY. MEANING FROM THE LATE 1940'S TO THE PRESENT. THUS, THESE AUTHORS MAY HAVE BEEN AWARE OF WHAT WAS THEN CONSIDERED, NOTHING MORE THAN SCIENCE FICTION, AND FANTASY; AND NOT WANTING TO CONTAMINATE THE HONEST STORIES REAPED FROM PIONEER JOURNALS, OF THEIR FAMILY'S CHRONICLE, DATING AS FAR BACK AS THE 1860'S, WITH UNSUBSTANTIATED INTERPRETATIONS OF FAST MOVING LIGHTS IN THE NIGHT SKY; OR HOVERING WHITE DISCS LIKE THE FLAMING WHEEL OF EZEKIEL, FROM THE BIBLE. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN FAR MORE PALATABLE THAN SEEING A GARDEN VARIETY FLYING SAUCER. IT MAY BE THE CASE, THEY EDITED OUT ANY SUCH REFERENCES, BECAUSE OF CONTEMPORARY PRESSURES TO DO SO; SUCH THAT THE FAMILY CHRONICLE WOULDN'T ITSELF, READ LIKE A SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL. THE REASON I NOTE THIS, IS BECAUSE OF WHAT SOME OF THESE AUTHORS, AND JOURNAL OWNERS TOLD ME, DURING CHATS ABOUT THEIR HEIRLOOM BOOKS, AND HOW MANY PAGES HAD BEEN PURPOSELY DESTROYED, BECAUSE IT WAS CLAIMED, THE MATERIAL WAS TOO SENSITIVE TO PRINT. I WOULD NEVER CENSOR AN HISTORIC, ORIGINAL JOURNAL. IT'S ONE THING TO OMIT CERTAIN REFERENCES FROM PRINT, BUT ANOTHER THING TO ACTUALLY CUT-OUT PAGES, AND SHRED OR BURN-UP THE CONTENTS. SO WHILE IT MAY SEEM LIKE A STRETCH, TO SUGGEST THERE MAY HAVE BEEN REFERENCES IN SOME OF THESE JOURNALS, TO ANGEL ENCOUNTERS, GHOSTS SIGHTINGS, CROSSED PATHS WITH FAIRIES IN THEIR MIDNIGHT REVELS, AND UFO'S, I KNOW WHAT EDITORS, GOOD AND BAD, ARE CAPABLE OF, AT THE PEAK OF POLISHING A TEXT. IT IS POSSIBLE, OWING TO THE FAMILY'S CONCERNS, AND RELIGIOUS SENSITIVITIES ABOUT SUCH THINGS, THAT THEY MIGHT HAVE HONESTLY COME TO BELIEVE, THEIR ANCESTOR-WRITER, HAD BEEN TAKING TOO MANY LIBERTIES AND STRETCHING TRUTHS. IT HAPPENS. MAYBE THERE WAS WORRY, READERS WOULD THINK THE STORY-TELLER HAD BEEN HITTING THE MOONSHINE IN BETWEEN CHAPTERS. IF I WENT PUBLIC RIGHT NOW, AND ADMITTED I HAD WITNESSED SUCH AN ALIEN ENCOUNTER, RIGHT HERE AT THE STUDIO, HALF OF MY READERS WOULD ASSUME I HAD BEEN DRINKING AT LUNCH. ANOTHER TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT WOULD THINK IT WAS JUST THE WORK OF AN OLD MAN TRYING TO WIN OVER AN AUDIENCE BY ANY MEANS POSSIBLE. THE FINAL TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT MIGHT BE INTERESTED ENOUGH, AFTER ALL THE STORIES I'VE SPUN PREVIOUSLY, TO READ-ON JUST IN CASE. SO I DO UNDERSTAND WHY THESE REFERENCES MIGHT HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED, FROM JOURNALS OR COLLECTED STORIES, (AND ORAL FOLK TALES) OR SOMEHOW EXPLAINED IN PRINT, WHERE IN HONESTY, THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN LEFT ALONE.

I HAVE WRITTEN EXTENSIVELY ABOUT GHOSTS, BUT ONLY ABOUT ONES THAT I HAVE ACTUALLY EXPERIENCED; OR BY ANY OF OUR FAMILY MEMBERS, WHO HAVEN'T MINDED GOING PUBLIC. WE'VE NEVER ONCE BEEN REFERRED TO AS "NUTTERS," BUT BOY OH BOY, DO WE GET A LOT OF QUESTIONS, AFTER FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES OF OURS, FOR EXAMPLE, FINALLY READ ONE OF THE BOOKS, OUR STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED IN, (OR ONLINE) SUCH AS BARBARA SMITH'S BOOK ON "ONTARIO GHOSTS," AND THEN JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO'S BOOKS ON CANADIAN GHOSTS, BOTH RELEASED BACK IN THE LATE 1990'S I BELIEVE. WE LOVE TO TALK ABOUT GHOSTS, AND OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM. MORE PEOPLE TODAY ARE OPEN TO THE POSSIBILITIES, AND ARE JUST EAGER TO QUESTION THOSE, WHO HAVE HAD FIRST-PERSON ENCOUNTERS. WE THINK THERE IS A SCIENTIFIC CONNECTION, BETWEEN WHAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN A RELIGIOUS DOMAIN, TO WHAT IS UNDERSTOOD OF EARTHBOUND SPIRITS, OF THOSE WHO HAVE CROSSED OVER. I THINK ONE DAY, EXPERTS ON RELIGION AND THE SCIENCE COMMUNITY, ARE GOING TO FIND SOME MISSING LINK, THAT WILL EXPLAIN WHAT "THE OTHER SIDE," REALLY IS, IF AT ALL! WHAT REALLY CAUSES THE BRIGHT LIGHT AT THE TIME OF DEATH? CHEMICAL REACTION? JUST THE DEATH THING CHANGING THE BODY'S CHEMICAL CONSTITUTION? OR IS IT THE BRIGHT, WHITE LIGHT AT HEAVEN'S DOORSTEP? WHEN I ASKED, VIA PRAYER, MY DECEASED MOTHER, MERLE, TO COME TO MEET HER AILING HUSBAND, IN THE FINAL HOUR OF HIS LIFE, WITHIN MINUTES, HE LOOKED TO THE CEILING OF THE HOSPITAL ROOM, AND HELD OUT HIS ARMS AS IF TO EMBRACE SOMETHING HE SAW. WAS IT THE IMAGE OF MY MOTHER? I REALLY WANT TO THINK SO. I COULD NOT LOWER MY FATHER'S ARMS FOR LONG. HE KEPT RAISING THEM AND LOOKING, AS IF SEEING SOMETHING COMING THROUGH THE CEILING. HE WASN'T FRIGHTENED OF IT, AND CERTAINLY WELCOMED WHATEVER INTERVENTION IT WAS, AND AFTER CALMING DOWN, PASSED AWAY PEACEFULLY A SHORT WHILE LATER. IS THERE A PARALLEL UNIVERSE? DID MY FATHER SEE HEAVEN? WAS IT MY MOTHER REACHING FOR HIS OUTSTRETCHED HANDS, FROM THE OTHER SIDE? ALL FASCINATING THINGS TO PONDER; JUST AS RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO EMBARK ON A LITTLE UFO SLEUTHING AS WELL.

I REALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN WHY I HAVEN'T PURSUED THIS PART OF HISTORY PREVIOUSLY, OTHER THAN I'VE NEVER THOUGHT OF IT AS HAVING MUCH HISTORICAL MERIT. I REALIZE NOW, THIS WAS FAULTY LOGIC. OF COURSE IT IS HISTORY. WE JUST THINK OF IT MOSTLY, AS A SITUATION FOR SCIENTISTS AND THE GOVERNMENT TO WORRY ABOUT. I PROBABLY WORRIED A LITTLE, IN MY EARLIER YEARS AS A NEWSPAPER COLUMNIST, AND EDITOR, THAT ADVERTISERS WOULD NOT SUPPORT SUCH MADNESS IN EDITORIAL COPY; SUCH AS TO SUGGEST ALIENS WERE MAKING REGULAR VISITS TO COTTAGE COUNTRY. "BAD FOR BUSINESS," THEY WOULD HAVE SAID. "SOMETHING FOR THE CARTOON WRITERS, NOT THE EDITORIAL STAFF." I KNOW, FOR SURE, I HAD TWENTY TO THIRTY TIPS FROM READERS ABOUT UFO SIGHTINGS, AND ALTHOUGH NOT FREQUENT, THEY WERE RECEIVED SEVERAL TIMES EACH YEAR, FOR AS LONG AS I WORKED AT MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS. I WAS NERVOUS OF CREATING A SITUATION, LIKE WHAT HAD HAPPENED WITH THE RAYMOND / THREE MILE LAKE SIGHTINGS, OF THE EARLY 1970'S, AND CAUSING A MEDIA CIRCUS FOR THE WITNESSES, THAT I REALLY COULDN'T PROTECT FROM UNWELCOME SCRUTINY. I MADE THE VALUE JUDGEMENT, IT WASN'T WORTH ALL THE CRITIQUES TO PUBLISH THESE STORIES. I WASN'T INTERESTED IN GENERATING INTERNATIONAL ATTENTION, TO WHAT MAY, AT BEST, HAVE BEEN A READER'S IDEA OF A JOKE; OR A PUBLICITY RAISING STUNT TO GET THE WORLD'S ATTENTION FOR PRIVATE GAIN. AND WITHOUT QUESTION, I TALKED TO A FEW DELUSIONAL PEOPLE, WHO JUST WANTED TO SPIN THEIR WILD TALES, TO SEE IF I WOULD TAKE THE BAIT, AND COME TO THEIR HOMES FOR A VISIT; TO SIT OUT IN THE BACK FORTY, TO SEE THE ALIEN LIGHTS FOR MYSELF.

THERE HAVE BEEN MANY SIGHTINGS OF STRANGE WHITE LIGHTS IN THE SKY, IN QUITE A FEW LOCALES IN MUSKOKA, INCLUDING HUNTSVILLE, THE VANKOUGHNET AREA, (UFFINGTON INCLUDED) AND WATT TOWNSHIP, OF THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES (MORE THAN ONE RESIDENT SAW THE SAME THING). BUT TRUTH BE KNOWN, THERE HAVE BEEN SIGHTINGS THROUGHOUT THE REGION OVER THE PAST FIFTY YEARS, MANY THAT NEVER MADE IT PAST ORAL RE-TELLINGS; NEVER TO MAKE IT TO A GOVERNMENT REPORT, OR TO BE PUBLISHED VIA THE LOCAL PRESS. I BELIEVE THEY ARE STILL OCCURRING REGULARLY, BUT TODAY, THERE SEEMS TO BE A LOT LESS ALARM FROM THE WITNESSES, AND A GREATER RELUCTANCE TO GO PUBLIC WITH THE NEWS. MANY ARE PROBABLY WRITTEN-OFF AS FIGMENTS OF THE IMAGINATION, OR UNKNOWN EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND WEATHER BALLOONS, INSTEAD OF ALIEN SPACE CRAFTS. I HAVE TALKED WITH A NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN WORKING ON PRELIMINARY RESEARCH ON SUCH UFO SIGHTINGS. MY FRIEND, AUTHOR JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, PRODUCED A TINY BOOK ON UFO SIGHTINGS IN CANADA, A FEW YEARS BACK, AND HE KINDLY SENT SUZANNE AND I A SIGNED COPY. HE HAS BEEN ONE AUTHOR, SERVING THE WIDER CANADIAN AND INTERNATIONAL AUDIENCE, WHO HASN'T BEEN FRIGHTENED TO WRITE VOLUMES ON THE PARANORMAL. AND PUBLISH FIRST PERSON ACCOUNTS OF THOSE WHO HAVE HAD FACE TO FACE MEETINGS WITH FLYING SAUCERS, AND ALIEN LIFE FORMS. AS I THINK THE WORLD OF JOHN COLOMBO, AND APPRECIATE THE THOROUGHNESS OF HIS RESEARCH WORK, I WOULD LOVE TO FOLLOW IN HIS FOOTSTEPS, SLEUTHING MORE ACCOUNTS OF THESE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL ENCOUNTERS THROUGHOUT THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA.

THERE ARE SOME BELIEVERS IN THE EXISTENCE, OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS, WHO BELIEVE THAT WE HAVE AN ATTRACTION IN MUSKOKA, IN PART, BECAUSE OF METEOR REMNANTS LEFT AFTER THE BIG-BANGS OF THE PAST. IT IS SAID THAT THE SKELETON LAKE DEPRESSION, WAS CREATED BY AN IMPACT OF A METEOR, MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO. IT IS SAID THAT THERE IS SOMETHING UNUSUALLY MAGNETIC, AT THE BOTTOM OF LAKE ROSSEAU'S PORTAGE BAY, NEAR WINDERMERE, THAT CAN CAUSE A COMPASS TO MOVE WILDLY, WHILE PASSING OVER; EG. VIA A BOAT. IT WAS TOLD TO ME, BY A RELIABLE SOURCE, THAT THERE WAS A METEOR THAT HIT OFF THE BRACKENRIG ROAD, AND THAT ITS RADIATION CAUSED AN UNSPECIFIED NUMBER OF CANCER CASES. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO VALIDATE THESE STORIES, EXCEPT WHAT I'VE HEARD IN CONVERSATION, AND IN ONE CASE, READ IN AN HISTORICAL DOCUMENT. IS MUSKOKA A HOT SPOT ON EARTH FOR UFO'S? GEEZ I HOPE SO! I WANT AN ENCOUNTER MYSELF, ALTHOUGH I'M NOT SO SURE ABOUT THE PROBE PART OF THE RELATIONSHIP. I HAVE A LOW THRESHOLD OF PAIN. IN THE COMING YEAR, I PLAN TO DO SOME RESEARCH ABOUT THIS UFO AND ALIEN SIDE OF HISTORY, AND SEE IF I CAN DRAW ANY INFORMATION FROM THE DISTANT PAST, SO THAT WE MIGHT KNOW, IF THIS HAS BEEN A LONG TERM RELATIONSHIP WITH EXTRA TERRESTRIAL INTERVENTIONS....OR SOMETHING MORE NEW AGE AND CONTEMPORARY.

I'VE SEEN LOTS OF GREEN PEOPLE, BUT ALL OF THEM THE MORNING AFTER PARTIES. I'VE SEEN WHAT MAY HAVE BEEN UFO'S STREAKING ACROSS THE SKY, BUT THE ASTRONOMERS INFORM ME, THEY WERE METEORS ENTERING THE EARTH'S ORBIT. THERE'S ALWAYS BEEN A GOOD EXPLANATION TO DEBUNK MY SIGHTINGS. BUT I'M STILL CURIOUS ABOUT THIS, BECAUSE, LIKE GHOSTS AND WANDERING SPIRITS, AND THE PARALLEL DIMENSION THING, I DO VERY MUCH BELIEVE THERE IS INTELLIGENT LIFE ON OTHERS PLANETS IN THIS SOLAR SYSTEM, OR THE ONES WE'VE YET TO DISCOVER. THIS IS WHAT I CALL A "REST OF MY LIFE," RESEARCH UNDERTAKING.

The Legend of Skeleton Lake, Fact Or Fiction

2017-03-03T04:28:00.001-08:00

THE LEGEND OF SKELETON LAKE, FACT OR FICTION; BUT A GREAT FOLK TALE FROM PIONEER TIMES

CREATED BY METEOR IMPACT? THIS BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA LAKE HAS ITS MYSTERIES

IT'S HUMID OUT. I'VE BEEN WORKING AROUND THE YARD, EARLY THIS EVENING, TO PREPARE FOR THE COMING RAIN WE'RE SUPPOSED TO GET SOMETIME BEFORE THE MORNING. IT WAS SO NICE TO HEAR THE YOUNGSTERS OUT PLAYING, ON PROPERTIES BORDERING THE BOG.....AND IT REALLY IS NEAT TO HEAR THEIR LAUGHTER, MIXED SO SENTIMENTALLY, WITH THE SOUND OF THE LEAVES FALLING, HITTING THE GARDENS AROUND OUR HOUSE. IN THE PAST SEVERAL HOURS, IT HAS GONE FROM A PLEASANTLY COOL DAY, TO BEING ONE QUITE HOT, AND HUMID, ESPECIALLY IN HERE RIGHT NOW. I WISH I HAD WRITTEN THIS SOONER TODAY, BUT WE WERE OUT TRAVELING THIS AFTERNOON, TAKING IN THE AUTUMN SIGHTS AND OF COURSE, STOPPING IN AT ALL OUR FAVORITE ANTIQUE VENUES. IT WAS JUST A NICE SUNDAY, MIXING A LITTLE HOME IMPROVEMENT WITH RECREATION....AND WITH OF COURSE A LITTLE BUSINESS THROWN IN. I HAVE RUSTLED-UP A FEW MORE FOLK TALES TO ADD TO THIS SMALL SERIES OF BLOGS ON OUR SOCIAL - CULTURAL PAST.

"BEFORE THE ACTS OF DEVELOPMENT LEAD US INTO THE 1870'S, THERE ARE INCIDENTS IN THE LIVES OF OUR PEOPLE, THAT IT WILL BE OF INTEREST TO RECORD," WRITES FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA, IN HIS BOOK, "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS, BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP." AS IT HAS BEEN SAID, THE WORK OF THE SURVEY WAS THE FIRST SOURCE OF INCOME TO THE SHEAS. YOUNG WILLIAM, AND LATER, JOHN L., IN WORKING WITH THE SURVEYORS, IN THEIR ARRANGEMENT, THE MEN LIVED A COMPLETE OUT-OF-DOOR LIFE. IN THOSE DAYS IN DEEP OF WINTER, THE BRUSH SHANTY WAS THEIR SHELTER; AN OPEN FIRE AT THE DOOR."

HE CONTINUES, "AS JOHN L. SAID, 'EVERYONE SLEPT WITH THEIR FEET TO THE FIRE AND MANY A NIGHT I SLEPT WITH MY BOOTS UNDER MY HEAD FOR A PILLOW.' THE BLANKETS AND GRUB WAS SUPPLIED BY THE GOVERNMENT BUT WE HAD TO BRING IT. THIS WAS PART OF CAMP MANAGEMENT TO SEE SUPPLIES WERE KEPT UP. AT CERTAIN PLACES, CACHES WERE MADE. THE PLACES OF STORAGE WERE OF NECESSITY, MADE OF LOGS FOR SUFFICIENT SECURITY TO KEEP THE BEARS OUT; THAT WERE FOND OF BACON. ONE OF THESE CACHES WERE ON LOT 13, CON. 5, ON THE HILLSIDE NORTHEAST OF THE FALLS. IT WAS IN FEBRUARY, WE WERE CAMPED IN NORTH CARDWELL. I WAS SENT DOWN TO OUR CACHE AT THE FALLS TO GET A BAG OF FLOUR AND A SIDE OF PORK. THE SNOWSHOEING WAS VERY GOOD IN THE BUSH, BUT THE LAKES I HAD TO CROSS, THERE WAS NO SIGN OF A TRAIL.

"I HAD A HAND SLEIGH WITH WIDE RUNNERS. I REACHED THE STORE-HOUSE, GOT THE FLOUR AND PORK AND STARTED THE RETURN TRIP. I WAS WEARING LEATHER SHOEPAKS, AND ONE SHIRT. THE TRIP WOULD BE TWENTY MILES THAT DAY WITH TEN MILES OF LOAD UP HILL AND DOWN. AS THE DAY WORE ON THE TEMPERATURE BEGAN TO FALL; THE LAKES WERE TERRIBLY HEAVY GOING; IT WAS IN THE NIGHT WHEN I GOT INTO CAMP WITH MY LOAD. MY BOOTS WERE FROZEN ON MY FEET AND MY FEET WERE ALSO FROZEN. I NEVER GOT OVER THAT TRIP. MY FEET WERE NEVER THE SAME."

BERT SHEA CARRIES ON HIS STORY, NOTING, "HE TOLD US ABOUT A FIND THAT FOR YEARS WAS OF MUCH INTEREST TO ME. I WAS A BOY AT THE TIME AND NEVER FORGOT THE STORY. THE SURVEYORS HAD CROSSED SKELETON LAKE, AND WERE WORKING SOMEWHERE ON THE NORTH SHORE. THEY FOUND TWO HUMAN SKELETONS LAYING ON THE ROCKS. APPARENTLY TWO PEOPLE HAD DIED THERE ALONE AND NO ONE HAD FOUND THEM TILL THE SURVEYORS CAME, AND BY THE APPEARANCE OF THE BONES, THEY HAD LAIN THERE FOR SEVERAL YEARS. THIS STORY STAYED IN MY MIND, AND MANY TIMES HAVE I THOUGHT OF IT AND WONDERED. THE YEARS PASSED BY AND I BECAME OVER MIDDLE AGE; THE OLD PIONEERS HAD GONE WHO KNEW OF THE INCIDENT. MANY ASK THE QUESTION, 'HOW DID SKELETON LAKE GET ITS NAME?' WHO COULD ANSWER, SHROUDED IN MYSTERY? FEW, IF ANY, I THOUGHT, OTHER THAN MYSELF, WHO KNEW THE FIRST HAND STORY OF THE SKELETONS, TILL ONE DREARY AFTERNOON IN NOVEMBER, ONE OF THOSE LATE AUTUMN DAYS WHEN THE GLORIES OF ALL NATURE SEEM BURIED; AND WE LONG FOR SOMEONE OR SOMETHING TO FILL THE LONGING DEEP DOWN IN OUR HEART; SOMEONE TO CONVERSE WITH, WHO TOO ARE DREAMING OF OTHER DAYS, AND FRIENDS THEY HAVE KNOWN.

"I SAID TO MY WIFE, BERNICE, LET'S GO OVER AND SEE BILL HAMMELL AND MRS. HAMMELL. PERHAPS THEY ARE ALONE TOO. NOW THE HAMMELLS AND THE SHEAS WERE OLD PIONEER FRIENDS AND WHEN I KNOCKED AT HIS DOOR, AND HE OPENED IT, THE SMILE OF HIS FACE SHONE WITH THE GLOW OF PIONEER FRIENDSHIPS. AS THEY WELCOMED US INTO THEIR HOME. IT WAS NOT HARD TO LEAD THE OLD GENTLEMAN INTO CONVERSATION OF YESTERYEARS. AND WHEN I SPOKE OF THE TWO SKELETONS, HIS EYES BEAMED WITH INTEREST. 'YES,' SAID HE, 'I CAN TELL YOU, THIS AFFAIR WAS A MYSTERY TO OUR PEOPLE AND WE THOUGHT MUCH OF IT, BUT BY GRANDFATHER ROBINSON, WHO LIVED UP IN CARDWELL, LEARNED FROM THE INDIAN CHIEF OF THAT DAY, HE AND HIS PEOPLE HAD CAMPED FOR THE WINTER ON THAT SITE. THE LAKE WAS AN EXCELLENT ONE FOR TROUT, AND THE SWAMPS OF CARDWELL WERE USUALLY THE YARDING PLACES FOR THE DEER. BUT WHATEVER TOOK PLACE, DUE TO LACK OF FOOD, THE CAMP WAS FACING STARVATION; THEY MUST MOVE THOUGH IN THE WINTER; IF NOT, ONLY DEATH BY STARVATION FACED THE WHOLE CAMP. SOME OF THEIR MEMBERS WERE ALREADY WEAK. AND ONE BOY WAS UNABLE TO MOVE, AND WOULD HAVE TO BE LEFT. HIS MOTHER, A YOUNG SQUAW, WHO HAD LOST HER HUSBAND, REFUSED TO LEAVE HER SON, ABOUT FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, TO DIE ON THE BLEAK SHORES OF THE LAKE; THAT AFTERWORD SHOULD BE A LASTING MEMORIAL TO ESPECIALLY THE AFFECTION OF A MOTHER FOR HER HELPLESS SON."

THE HISTORIAN WRITES, "THERE IS LITTLE MORE TO SAY, SAVE THAT WHEN THE VOICES OF HER PEOPLE FADED FROM HER HEARING, THE DEATHLY SILENCE OF WINTER SETTLED IN AROUND THEM. A MOTHER AND HER SON. THE REMAINS OF THE FIRE BURNED LOW AS THE COLD CREPT TO THE MARROW OF THE BONE. SILENCE REIGNED, AND SLEEP, THAT GHASTLY THING GIVEN FROM THE HAND OF THE FROST KING, THE SNOW SPIRITS, BORN ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND, PLAYED OVER THE PLOT, AND COVERED THE TWO LIFELESS FORMS IN A SHROUD OF WHITE. THE FOREST SAPPED IN THE FROST, AND IN THE NIGHT THE POLAR STAR LOOKED ON UNMOVED IN HIS STARS, FROM SOME HEIGHT. THE BLOOD CURDLING HOWL OF THE OLD DOG WOLF, WHO HAD LED HIS PACK OF WHELPS AND BITCHES INTO THE DEER YARDING AREA OF CARDWELL BESPOKE SLAUGHTER AND DEATH. YES, THE DEATH OF A MOTHER AND SON, THROUGH STARVATION."

AS A LONG-SERVING REGIONAL HISTORY MYSELF, I OWE A HUGE DEBT OF GRATITUDE TO BERT SHEA, FOR THE TWO IMPORTANT BOOKS HE WROTE ON HIS FAMILY HERITAGE, AND THE CHRONICLE OF WATT TOWNSHIP, THE LOGGING INDUSTRY IN MUSKOKA, AND SOCIAL, CULTURAL HISTORY AS IT PREVAILED IN THAT PIONEER HAMLET BORDERING THE SHORE OF THREE MILE LAKE, IN THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. HE WAS AS MUCH, A CONSERVER OF FOLK TALES AND LOCAL LORE. EVEN BY HIS OWN ADMISSION, HE HAD MISSED A LOT OF PIONEER TALES, AS THOSE WHO WITNESSED THEM HAD PASSED ON, BEFORE HE COULD HARVEST THEIR OBSERVATIONS. HE WRITES, OF THIS, AS FOLLOWS:

"WITH HESITATION, BUT WITH DEEP CONCERN, I HAVE TAKEN UP THE PEN TO RECORD THE HISTORY OF MY FAMILY; THE SHEAS, LEST AT THIS DATE I FAIL THIS, A DUTY TO OUR RACE; LEST THE RECORD SHOULD BE LOST THAT I HAVE BEEN PRIVILEGED TO HEAR FROM THE TONGUE OF THE ELDERS, WHOM I HAVE BEEN PRIVILEGED TO KNOW, OF RECORDS HANDED DOWN TO THEM, AS WELL AS IN LATER YEARS, THE FIRST HAND ACCOUNTS OF THEIR OWN EXPERIENCES AND ADVENTURES. I HOLD IN MY HEART, A DEEP SENSE OF GRATITUDE FOR THE TOWNSHIP OF WATT, AS WHEN FRIENDS AND RELATIONS FAILED IN MY PEOPLE AND THEY WERE HOMELESS, AND ALMOST DESTITUTE OF A PLACE TO LAY THEIR HEADS, THE GREAT ANCIENT FORESTS OF WATT RECEIVED THEM, AS ITS OWN, AND GAVE SHELTER AND WARMTH, WITH MEAT FROM ITS EARTH AND HIDDEN BOWERS.

"AND FOR THREE MILE LAKE, WHOSE FIRST SIGHT WAS A VIEW OF SPOTLESS WHITE AND AS THE CHANGING SEASON BROUGHT ITS SPARKLING WATERS, THAT GAVE FROM THEIR DEPTHS SUPPORT FOR LIFE AND RECREATION TO MY FATHERS; WHOSE CANOES OFT CUT THEY WATERS, AND WHOSE BEAUTY OFT CAUSED THEIR SOULS RESPONSE, AND VOICES RAISED IN SONG. BECAUSE I LOVE THEE AND THY MEMORIES; I DO WRITE ABOUT THEY SHORES AS THE GREAT FOREST TREES. SHEAS HAVE SET THEIR ROOTS, THE PARENT TREE HAS CAST ITS SED THAT HAS SPREAD TO DISTANT PARTS OF THE EARTH. BUT YET OUR HOME IS BY THY GLISTENING WATERS AND THE EARTH THAT HAS SO BOUNTIFULLY FED, SHALL GIVE ME COVER WHEN I LAY WITH THEM TO SLEEP."

BERT SHEA LOVED MUSKOKA, AND HIS BOOKS REFLECT THIS UNYIELDING PASSION.

SUZANNE AND I ALWAYS ENJOY OUR TWICE WEEKLY DRIVE BETWEEN BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST, ALONG OUR FAVORITE MUSKOKA BEACH ROAD. THE AUTUMN COLORS ARE DEEPENING, AND A LOT OF LEAVES ARE ALREADY SPIRALLING TO EARTH. THE TEMPERATURES ARE MUCH WARMER TODAY AND THE SUNSHINE, WELL, AS PERFECT AS THE SKY; APPEARING SO ENDLESS, AND BEAUTIFULLY BLUE. IT'S HARD NOT TO BE AFFECTED IN SOME WAY, BY THIS DRAMATIC CHANGE OF SEASON, AND SPELLBOUND BY THE TWISTS AND TURNS OF THIS WINDING COUNTRY ROAD, THROUGH THE HAUNTED MUSKOKA WOODLANDS. WE DROVE THROUGH MANY OF THE THICK, WINDBLOWN SPIRALS OF OLD LEAVES, DUSTING LIGHTLY UPON THE PASTURES AND LANES, AND WHEN WE STOPPED FOR A WEE RESPITE, WE COULD CLEARLY HEAR THE WHISPER OF WIND THROUGH THE PINE BOUGHS THAT BORDER THE ROAD; OVER THE CAWING OF SEVERAL CROWS IN THE PINE TOPS. THE AREA I CALL THE MAPLE CATHEDRAL, IS AN ALMOST HEAVENLY VISION, ON THE APPROACH FROM THE SOUTH, AND ALL THE VOYEUR CAN HEAR, WHEN ALL ELSE IS QUIET, IS THE GENTLE LANDINGS OF THE LEAVES UPON THEMSELVES, STILL WET WITH MORNING DEW. IT IS AN IDENTIFIABLE ENCHANTMENT, YOU FIND YOURSELF AMDIST, AND AT THE SAME TIME, LIKE THE AUTUMN SEASON IS FAMOUS FOR, IT'S LOGICAL THAT WE WILL, AT SOME CROSSROAD, OR LOOKOUT, FIND OURSELVES BECOMING SENTIMENTAL AND NOSTALGIC, FOR THOSE DAYS OF ONCE, WITH FAMILY; WHEN WE COULD, WITHOUT FEAR OF WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE, TO OUR PEERS, JUMP INTO THE NEWLY PILED LEAVES, AND MAKE SILLY IN PLAY, IN THE SPRAY OF LIGHT BEAMS, BLOTCHING ONTO THE FLOOR OF LEAVES, LIKE AN ARTIST'S PALETTE, FROM THE BORDERING BIRCHES AND PICTURESQUE MAPLES.

THERE ARE TIMES, IN THIS SOOTHING SOLITUDE, THAT ALONE, WE MIGHT FEEL A WARM HAND SUDDENLY SLIP INTO OURS, WHILE REMINISCING ABOUT THOSE WE USED TO WALK WITH, ALONG THESE SAME COUNTRYSIDE LANES.....OR HEAR A VOICE CALL OUT TO US, WHEN NO ONE IS ANYWHERE NEAR. IF YOU WERE TO HEAR A CHILD'S LAUGHTER, OR THE SWEET SINGING OF AN AUNT OR MOTHER, FROM YOUR OWN CHRONICLE, THEN YOU SHOULD BE PLEASED THESE MEMORIES HAVE BEEN SET FREE, AS YOU FIND YOURSELF, TO MEANDER AS YOU WISH, THIS PAINTED MUSKOKA LAKELAND.

"A CHIEFTAIN FROM THE HIGHLANDS BOUND, AS WELL YE ALL MAY KNOW, TO SEEK FOR ME A HAPPY HOME, BY ROSSEAU'S SPARKLING GLOW. BY LOCK AND FERN I'LL SETTLE DOWN, AND SWEAR TO LEAVE IT NEVER, FOR 'TIS THE PLACE I HAVE SOUGHT SO LONG, MY HOME AKIN TO HEAVEN."

(BERT SHEA, BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP)

THIS IS LIVING HISTORY.

Archdeacon Gown Gillmor

2017-03-02T04:27:00.002-08:00

"TO FEED AND PROVIDE FOR THE LORD'S FAMILY"

IN THE 1967 BIOGRAPHY, "GILLMOR OF ALGOMA - ARCHDEACON AND TRAMP," AUTHOR E. NEWTON WHITE, (PUBLISHED BY THE DIOCESE OF ALGOMA, ANGLICAN CHURCH OF CANADA) WRITES OF GOWAN GILLMOR, THAT "THE THREADS OF HIS HOME AND FAMILY FRAYED BEYOND REPAIR." HE RECORDS THAT "GOWAN WENT ON WITH THE FABRIC OF HIS PARISH MINISTRY - THE SERVICES, THE TRAMPINGS, THE VISITING, THE SICK NURSING, THE APPROACH TO CHILDREN. PERHAPS MORE THAN EVER NOW, THE CHILDREN. (HE HAD LOST HIS, WHEN HIS WIFE MOVED WEST). TEN YEARS AFTER GOING TO (VILLAGE OF) ROSSEAU, GOWAN WROTE THIS COMMENT ON THE LIFE HE HAD THERE; 'WE LIVE HERE SOME TWELVE MILES FROM A RAILWAY STATION. THIS MEANS THAT THROUGH THE WINTER WE ARE VERY MUCH ISOLATED FROM THE OUTSIDE CIVILIZED WORLD. NOT THAT WE OURSELVES ARE WITHOUT CIVILIZATION, AND WHAT WE DO POSSESS - AND IT IS CONSIDERABLE, WE ENDEAVOUR TO EXERCISE AS WELL AS WE CAN, DURING THE LONG LIVING SNOW SEASON.' HOW MUCH GOWAN APPRECIATED FRIEND AND FAMILY CIRCLE GATHERINGS, WITH MUSIC, READING, SINGING, DISCUSSIONS AND JUST PLAIN FRIENDLY TALKING, CAN BE GATHERED FROM HIS WRITINGS AND DIARY ENTRIES. ON A VISIT TO THE REVEREND A.J. COBB, AT SEGUIN FALLS, ALONG WITH MR. WILSON OF MAGNETAWAN, 'IT WAS JUST LIKE A SMALL-SCALE CLERICAL RETREAT.' SEVERAL YEARS LATER, ON ANOTHER VISIT TO THE SAME MR. COBB, HE PLAYED SOME VERY DIFFICULT AND BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF MUSIC FOR ME; AND THEN MRS. COBB ACCOMPANIED WHILE HE SANG SEVERAL GREAT SONGS, ONE OF THEM THE 'FINE OLD VICAR OF BRAY.' DID WE HEAR A VOICE; WHAT A WAY TO SPEND AN EVENING!' BUT THERE SPOKE A POOR UNDERPRIVILEGED MODERN."

E. Newton-White writes, "We are told that Gowan's housekeeping methods were unique, and that his cooking was atrocious; one can well believe it from a few remembered visual evidences. Because of circumstances he was batching for a greater part of his ministry, and later on, a good deal of his batching was done in forlorn empty rectories, and parsonage shacks, while he supplied for a vacant parish anywhere, between the Head-of-the-Lake and Gravenhurst. At Rosseau, the ladies of the congregation would clean up the Rectory in his absence - where they might. Part of his study was a spider preserve; not because of a possible feminine abhorrence of spiders, but because they, the spiders, were his friends. Sometimes Gowan would remonstrate with the cleaner-uppers. 'Let the nice dirt be!' Once, finding a lady dusting the Altar, he said, 'Just leave that dust lie, it's holy dust!'

"In his parochial duties, the parish of Rosseau provided Gowan with some very respectable walking mileages. The area was comparatively small as related to his previous charges, but he covered it intensively. On Sunday, he would preach at Rosseau in the morning; walk to Ullswater, via Rosseau Falls, and the mouth of the Skeleton River, 12 or 16 miles (and eating a lunch as he walked); then walk to Bentriverdale (now shrunken to Bent River), or North Cardwell or Windermere, for evening service; then home. With modern changes of road location, the actual distance in now hard to estimate; but made a full Sunday and meant three different sermons - he made no rehashes. When they could, and he would let them, the farmers would drive him from one point to the next, in their old buggies, and with sometimes tired horses. Farming was hard on man and beast in those days also."

The biographer, E. Newton-White records, that "a one time old parishener, says that Gowan preached in a small frame school house near her home, for fifteen years, yet never allowed a collection to be taken up, or anything else given. The epidemic diseases did not spare Rosseau, and Gowan took up his self-appointed duties again. Small-pox broke out in Ullswater, and he closed up the Rosseau Rectory to take up residence there, to minister to the sick. When diptheria was rife in Rosseau, he had his parsonage quarantined and spent all his time among the stricken homes; only stopping when, as he said, 'there are no more throats to look down.' Years later, when preaching in New Liskeard, he told of an episode of that time. Late on very cold and stormy night, word came to him of a family eleven miles down the lake, where eleven children were all down with diptheria. Gowan went into the village, to get groceries and medicine, and some neighbours gathered. As he was pulling on his heavy outgoing clothes, someone said, 'Where are you going now? An' where would I be going but to get these things out.' And swinging his pack, to his back, he stepped out to face the wild storm. Arrived safely, he nursed the family until all were well. That was Gowan's story but we can be sure that he belittled the conditions. After the service, a lady introduced herself to him. She was one of the family, she said, but wanted to correct one of his statements. There were not eleven sick ones, but fifteen!

"Gowan used to tell Rosseau people what he told many others in his long experience, that only he and Death had undisputed entry into the homes where contagion had taken hold; quarantines notwithstanding. Death kept very close vigil while his own presence lent help, hope and consolation. He did not tell them that he often disputed Death's sentry, and many a time was able to bar the door to him. Gowan's diary of those days sometimes noted extraneous matters as this; 'June 22nd, at Rosseau. Voted for Beattie for Provincial Parliament.' Or this, 'June 22nd. at Rosseau. Met Col' O'Brien.' But who was Beattie? Was this the O'Brien of Rebellion days? Did his Irish name gain him Gowan's vote? Seventy years from now, the names of many a politician, now local household words, will be equally in limbo. About voting, Gowan would have made one of his usual kind of observations; 'Voting,' he would say, 'was not nearly as much fun in Canada, as in Ireland. There you fought your way to the polling station, and then you fought your way home again!"

"THE WORD GOD TO GIVE ME SPEECH!"

"Let us try to picture Gowan, once again, as he would have appeared at this time in his life, and as Rosseau knew him. We have said he was tall and upright - a big man. Although he always showed the effect of his R.I.C. training, he had in no sense the military bearing nor the voice; rather those of the Irish gentleman. His clothes were nondescript; with his clerical garb a sort of foundation, he wore whatever made for protection against the elements, and convenience, in his peculiar modes of travel - like the outdoor workers he moved among," wrote E. Newton-White, his biographer.

"His distinguishing badge was his black cloth bag; no one else carried one like it. The prospectors, bushmen and their like carried canvas bags and packsacks; settlers and farmers used bean bags and grain bags. Gowan toted his black bag from the construction days onward, until his final activities in Sault Ste. Marie; and became a well known figure in consequence. Said a Canon friend once, 'I never had a look into that black bag,' (which sounds as though he would have liked to have done that) but I do know that it held his vestments, his Bible, Greek Testament and Prayer Book.' As he said himself, 'Tramps were never known to carry excess gear.' Nevertheless it was actually crammed to capacity, and that would have been with things for the needy, and for his 'fairies.' People who were children in the Rosseau days, say of Mr. Gillmor, things like this, 'I shall always remember him as I used to see him in my growing-up years. His jolly chuckle and cheerful smiling face, which wrinkled all over when he laughed, which was often. And the brogue in his voice when he spoke.' Gowan loved to hear the Irish manner of speech, sounding in the Canadian born. Once during a spell of intensely frosty weather, he was visiting a parishioner family, and told them that he had just been out to see a man, who told him to sit in the dark these nights because, 'the kyle-ile was froze!' The brogue, indeed, seemed always ready to take over in Gowan's speech, even as he read the Prayers and the Lessons - even in the Communion Service itself. His reading with its curious flow of runs and hesitations, always at the same places, made delightful music. As for his sermons, sometimes they were in the brogue entirely. Any mention of his sermons, and speeches, must try to convey his manner of long pauses - or rather, abrupt and lengthy stops, during which the listener could only wonder, as perhaps he had intended; 'What next?' That the method was effective is shown by a Priest, who says he can still remember Gowan's sermons; a fact he regards as remarkable, because he can say the same of no other preacher."

E. Newton-White writes, "Then this at a Synod Meeting, many years after, at which Archbishop Thorneloe announced his impending retirement. In his own speech, Archdeacon Gillmor said, 'The first time I met his Grace, he was at sea! - on the Muskoka Lakes - At Rosseau; I boarded the ship, and he had two bags. When he saw me he put them both down. He came toward me with out-stretched hand. And d'ye know, I have felt the warmth of that handshake ever since'."

The biographer records of his subject, "One to who we are most indebted for memories, and pictures of Rosseau, the unofficial archivist of the Parish; a devoted church-worker and member of one of the first settler families, says of his appearance, 'he peculiar walking gait as he set out on one of this trips. It was as if his head was in a hurry to reach the destination before his body. It was a gait which made for great mileage.' The same lady remembers that Protestant settlers from a distance, would sometimes take Gowan for a Roman Catholic priest; partly because of the large silver cross he always wore. They would address him as 'Father,' when that title was quite unknown among Anglicans, and he would be pleased. One lady remembers her brother always calling him, but respectfully, 'Father Kelly.' He enjoyed that too. The cross he wore was often the subject of questioning by some people in those days. When asked he would explain that his work took him among all sorts and conditions of men, and those who did not respect him as a man, would at least have regard to the Cross.

"The lady of the Parish tells how she once noticed a freshly blazed tree in the bush, well back from the road, she was walking, and went in to see it. She found a Cross cut into the blaze, and above and below it was written, 'The Tramp - His Mark.' Seeing that no kind of axe was part of his equipment, someone else must have blazed the tree, and Gowan made use of it. At Sault Ste. Marie, at least one home of his good friends has a treasured birthday book, in which Gowan hand-entered, for Nov. 22nd, 'The Tramp - His Mark."

1836 Perspective About The Legacy Of A Community Cemetery

2017-03-01T04:30:00.001-08:00

A PERSPECTIVE, CIRCA 1836, ABOUT THE LEGACY OF A COMMUNITY CEMETERY

REVEREND CLARK TAKES US FOR A WALK THROUGH A PIONEER CEMETERY

PART TWO

Even though we think we're pretty well served by the internet, as far as information goes, let's face it, there's a great deal we don't have access to, on any given day, on any given research project. This isn't just the bias of a bibliophile either. There's a treasure trove of important, forgotten information, buried in those old books, thought best these days, to be either recycled or placed on a shelf, to prove to guests, you aren't the shallow character some claim. There is a wealth of amazingly insightful stories contained in many of these antiquarian, rare, and old books, adored in the contemporary condo for their attractive bindings. Makes me crazy, I'm not kidding. For those of us who like to be inspired, and who aren't adverse to the premise of life-long learning, these old books contain stories that are pertinent to contemporary issues. This may seem strange to some others, but regardless, it's true. Just because it's antiquated, doesn't mean it's irrelevant. The information contained in Reverend Clark's book, for example, which we browsed through yesterday, reflects on a cemetery visit in his former hometown, circa 1836, and the cholera epidemic of 1932, from a New York City perspective, that claimed almost half the city's population. This book, published four years later, is still current to this crisis, and it gives a first person account of the cholera horror, and the ceaseless work of the undertakers and their crew, picking up the dead. Reverend Clark's observations are astute with a sense of actuality, such that you feel you are walking along the cemetery pathways in his company.

"As I passed along from grave to grave, the names that I read upon the stones called up the images of a numerous group that I had once known. A plain marble slab that lay near me apprized me, that I was treading over the ashes of one whose countenance and character I recollected very distinctly. He was a small thin man, and well known to all the village. Professionally he was an apothecary (druggist), and for many long years had he dealt-out medicine to heal the sickness of others. Though thin and sallow, he had been so long at his post, and was by night and by day surrounded by so many powerful agents to ward off disease, that many supposed that he had discovered the true elixir of life, and could bid defiance to the shafts of mortality. What a commentary did that stone read to me upon the vanity of all such expectations. His medicine availed nothing when God remanded the dust, out of which he had been formed, to its native and inanimate state."

On the weekend, poking through a number of our favorite antique and collectable shops in the region, I found a fair condition copy of Reverend John A. Clark's text, "Gathered Fragments," published as a third revised edition, in 1836, by William Marshall & Company of Philadelphia. I always look in obscure places, like bottom shelves of cupboards, where old books are often relegated these days. This is good for me, because most customers couldn't are less about old books, and leave these outcasts for me. I always look for books penned by well-travelled, and biographical / journal-writing ministers, and countryside preachers, because of what observations they contain, about experiences and adventures they've had, wherever they've attended their mission and ministerial responsibilities. Even in the District of Muskoka, and the Diocese of Algoma, books like Reverend Clark's are of critical importance to historians, looking for these tidbits of actuality, as experienced by roaming preachers such as the legendary "Tramp," Gowan Gilmor (Rosseau), of the Anglican Church, who walked thousands of miles through the rugged terrain of Muskoka and regions north, to tend his huge flock. Which to the kind natured Gilmor, was just about everyone he crossed paths with! His biography contains a wealth of information about the region in the later pioneer period of the district, and about the people he got to know in small and bigger communities where he stopped to rest, and take charge of a local Anglican Church needing his leadership. Reverend John Clark was doing roughly the same work in the northern, and eastern regions of the United States in the 1820's and 1930's, especially in New York State. He offers some interesting opinions about dying, the celebration of life, mourning, burials and cemeteries. Here are some observations, from a trip Reverend Clark took, prior to 1836, back to the town where he spent his early years of life, but finding that most he knew from those years, had wound up in the local graveyard; the place where he had taken an afternoon stroll.

"A little farther, and I read upon a splendid monument - the name of one who, in early life, had figured largely in the gay world. Beauty of person, and elegance of manners, joined with uncommon brilliancy of intellect, made her an object of universal attraction. One of the wealthiest young men in the country succeeded in gaining her hand. They lived in great splendour, and for a while their path seemed strewn with flowers; but soon some hidden source of sorrow stole the colour from her cheek, and spread a shade of gloom over her once bright countenance. Common report declared that the cause of her unrevealed trouble was conjugal infidelity on the part of him, who had won and wed her. Whatever that cause was, it drove her to the foot of the cross for blessedness, and in Jesus Christ she found a faithful and unfailing friend. Many years had passed away since I had heard her name pronounced, and when I read it on that proud monument, I could not but exclaim, 'How valueless and unmeaning does all this sculptured marble that covers thy poor dust appear to thee now! And if, through infinite mercy thou art among the blood washed throng around the throne, how loud are thy praises to the Eternal, for that bitter drug mixed in the cup of thy earthly happiness, which made the pleasures of the world pall on thy taste, and led thee to the well of salvation in quest of the waters of life!"

Reverend Clark's journal continues, "Upon another stone, I read a name that made me feel more solemn than I had before since I entered within these precincts of the dead. The name was Harry C___-. He had been all his life a ceaseless trifler. Possessing naturally great humour, and a talent for keen, sarcastic repartee, he cultivated and cherished this propensity, to the neglect of every thing sober and serious. He could not go to the house of God, nor even to a funeral, without finding something to make all around him laugh. But now, there he lay before me in the silence of the grave! His laugh was over - his jokes were done - the worm was feeding on his dissolved frame, and his soul was in a world where all was sober and serious reality.

"As I walked onward a little further, I found myself standing over the grave of one whose venerable form and silver locks, I had often seen in the house of God. This aged saint was a living epistle of Christ, known and read of all men. While gazing upon the spot where his mouldered ashes reposed, and lifting up my thoughts to the glorious rest upon which he had entered, I could not but say, 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.' Having at length reached a distant corner of the burial ground, I read on four stones that were ranged close to each other - 'Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who departed this life in the 43rd year of his age.' 'Mary, relict of Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who fell asleep in Christ in the 37th year of her age.' 'Hezekiah, son of Frederick and Mary Lindsley, who died in the eighth year of his age.' 'Mary Anna Lindsley, who died in May, in the 18th year of her age - much beloved in life, lamented in death; her memory will long be cherished on earth, - her many excellencies can be fully known only in heaven'."

"Ah,' I said to myself, as I read these names with a throbbing heart, "then they are all gone - they are now a family in eternity - I shall meet them no more till I meet them there," wrote Reverend Clark. "I had known this family intimately, and spent many happy hours in their society. Their history was one truly eventful; replete with reverses, and furnishing many instructive lessons to those who ponder the ways of God, and consider the operation of his hands. Mr. Lindsley was a lawyer, and had, at an early age, acquired not only eminence in his profession, but in a distinguished degree the confidence of the community in which he resided. This confidence had been inspired, not only by his accurate and extensive legal knowledge, but by his great integrity of character and uprightness of conduct. He was particularly blessed and happy in this family. Mrs. Lindsley, the partner of his bosom, added to polished manners and a well balanced mind, great amiability and sweetness of tember. She was the mother of two interesting children. The oldest was a daughter, who, at the time that our narrative commences, was about twelve years of age. Mary Anna bore an exact resemblance to her mother in all the delicate touches and interesting features of her character.

"Mr. Lindsley, among his many other excellencies, was distinguished for his kindness and great hospitality. In him the poor and the fatherless found a friend, 'the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him,' and often he, 'caused the widow's heart to sing for joy'. His wife and children he almost idolized. Where their comfort or happiness was concerned, he spared no expense, shrunk from no sacrifices. His home was a little paradise, where all hearts seemed bound together by the rosed wreath of love. All who visited his house went away with the full impression, that if there was a happy family on earth, it was Mr. Lindsley's."

But Reverend Clark notes, in a retrospective of the family, that, "The voice of sorrow and mourning was now heard in the dwelling of Mr. Lindsley. His only son, a lad about eight years old, had fallen from a neighbouring hayloft, and was taken up dead. Mr. Lindsley was absent on business when this melancholy event occurred. As soon as the intelligence reached him, he instantly hastened home. 'Never shall I forget,' said one who was present on that occasion, and from whom I have derived several important facts in this hasty sketch, - never shall I forget Mr. Lindsley's expression and attitude, as he entered the room, and approached the corpse of his child. His hands were clenched, every feature of his countenance was wrought up into an expression of agony, and his whole frame shook with emotion. He stood and gazed for a moment upon the sweet and motionless face of his boy, and then, as if he could no longer restrain himself, rushed from the room to give vent in private to his feelings'. After the funeral had passed, and the first excess of grief had subsided, this family were visited by the minister of the place, and kindly, but faithfully reminded, that the bereavement which they had sustained, was a solemn admonition from God, urging them to enter upon the business of their everlasting salvation. His words were listened to with seriousness and attention. A change from this time was discoverable in both Mr. and Mrs. Lindsley. The Spirit of God seemed to have touched their hearts."

Earlier in the text, Reverend Clark overviews a country scene, where a funeral procession is taking place. The scene of course, would have been prior to 1836.

"To the reflecting mind, a funeral scene is always instructive. It was infinite wisdom that dictated the sentiment, that 'It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting.' It is true that some men can remain unmoved and unimpressed amid the most solemn scenes of death. But they, who look at the relation of things, and gather, from the events transpiring around them, that moral instruction which God intends they shall convey, can hardly fail to have their 'heart made better,' by the solemnities of a funeral scene. I speak now particularly of a funeral in the country.

"No one that has been bred in the country can have witnessed a funeral in the city without having felt some violence done to the sensibilities of his heart. I have often stood at the corner of some square, upon whose area might be seen, from the earliest dawn even to the midnight hour, bustling thousands, and observed the train of coaches with their sable equipments moving-on upon their melancholy errand, with slow and solemn pace, through this mass of beings, and wondered that it made so slight an impression upon the busy crowd. The funeral train, as it passed, perhaps flung a momentary feeling of solemnity upon the lookers-on; but in an instant the impression was gone. It was like a passing cloud that had darkened, for one fleeting instant, the splendour of the sun, and then was for ever after, lost in the effulgence of his bright beams. There was no fellow feeling between the gay world without and the broken-hearted mourners within those vehicles.

"A funeral in the country presents a different aspect. When death enters the humblest cottage, the sympathies of the community are awakened; the whole surrounding neighborhood participate in the feelings of the bereaved, and make every sacrifice to be present to pay their last respect to the dead. At the appointed hour of the funeral there may be seen, in all directions, the repose and stillness of a Sabbath season. Men, who on no other occasion are present to witness religious exercises, deem it a debt they owe to society, to attend all the funerals in their neighborhood. Everything was in readiness when I arrived; and they were waiting to form the procession. The burial ground was about a quarter of a mile distant from Robert McEllen's house. Twelve strong-framed, but hoary headed men had been selected to bear the body to the grave; and on each side of the coffin there walked three aged and infirm women as pall-bearers. Behind the coffin followed the children and grand children of the deceased; and in their rear, the promiscuous multitude who had been drawn together, on the occasion, either by curiosity or regard for the deceased. The procession was no sooner in motion, than an aged and venerable man, whom I had always seen at church when I preached at my missionary station in that neighbourhood, joined me, and walked at my side. As we preceded the procession, we were frequently so far before the bearers that we might have, with propriety, engaged in conversation. But I was too deeply impressed with the solemnity of the present scene, and the recollections of the past history of this family, to open my lips. For a short distance we moved in silence; then, in a subdued and under tone of voice, the aged man said, 'Elizabeth has gone to rest'."

Gathered Fragments By John A. Clark, 1836

2017-02-28T04:28:00.002-08:00

THE FATAL DISASTER, AS OBSERVED BY REVEREND JOHN A. CLARK, IN HIS 1836 BOOK, "GATHERED FRAGMENTS"

THE SCARCITY AND EXPENSE OF MEDICAL CARE WAS, BY NECESSITY, OFTEN OVERTAKEN BY FAITH IN GOD

Looking back in time, as romantic and sentimental as Hollywood can color it, for audience approval, visions of hardship enter the picture soon after the nostalgia wears thin. Along with the hardships of living without contemporary conveniences, we must also look at the problems associated with a limited health-care efficiency, akin to "living in the past." Today, if we have to wait a half hour in the hospital emergency department, we feel seriously disadvantaged, thinking our ailment, must, therefore, be of little concern to medical professionals. Or, we would be looked after soon after arriving for care. At least that's the opinion you hear, while sitting in the hospital waiting room, or for that matter, at the doctor's office.

This has a relevance to the story I want to share with you today, about a child, in the early 1830's, who sustained serious burns, while making breakfast for her siblings, in the absence of her mother, who had left earlier for her work place. While medical care was available eventually, it was too little, and too late, to promote proper healing. The saving grace in this case, wasn't the medical community, but rather, divine intervention. The outcome wasn't a good one from a medical perspective, but in terms of the child's belief in God, it was a peaceful, hopeful end to a short life. She was like many folks who lived in antiquity, when faith was a powerful force of healing, as medical assistance was often denied because of living circumstances. Living rurally was a big disadvantage when it came to getting medical care in a timely fashion. In the pioneering years of Muskoka for example, which began in 1859, an ill settler would probably have suffered considerably, without relief, and would have had to be transported south to the community of Orillia. This would have been a torturous cart ride.

Churches however, began to appear early in most regional settlements, in Muskoka, and in fact, non-denominational congregations first met in neighborhood homesteads prior to church construction. Faith was an important reality in those pioneer communities, and prayer was the most exercised health remedy, when medicine and medical assistance were unavailable. In concert, prayer and medicine, were optimum resources, moral and physical, but in the case of those isolated in the wilds of the district, a strong belief in God represented most influence, serious illness could be overcome by regular prayer.

"No present health and health ensure, for yet an hour to come; no medicine, though it oft can cure, can always balk the tomb."

The above passage, penned by Cowper, was the verse used by Reverend John A. Clark, to open his chapter entitled "The Fatal Disaster," in his 1836 biographical text, "Gathered Fragments," which was in fact his 3rd revised edition. The reference he makes to "Little Ann," and the crisis that was to unfold, reminds us of the very great burden of ill health, at a time when medical care was a fraction of what it is today; and doctors were much less abundant in rural communities. Many died awaiting medical assistance, and it was especially grim in the countryside, where it would take a long horse and buggy ride, to attend a doctor's office or hospital. As it was in Muskoka, on a par with doctors, were the rural preachers, like Anglican Minister, Gowan Gilmor, in the late 1800's, serving the Diocese of Algoma. Gilmor would be called to a "sick house," at his own risk of contracting the disease, and assist the family with their recovery, for as long as it took. He would even cook their meals. He travelled thousands of miles on foot, along the bush trails all over the Diocese, to administer to his flock, and that included all religions when it came down to his humanity and sense of commitment to all God's children. Faith played a huge role in medical care in many of the pioneer farmsteads of this district, as it did in the northeastern United States, where Reverend Clark tended his flock, also a large one representing thousands of square miles he was known to travel each year.

Reverend Clark writes in his journal that, " Anna Wenman was the child of a poor widow, who supported herself by the labour of her own hands. Perhaps the thought may cross the reader's mind, that it is hardly worth his while to stop to read the next dozen pages of this volume, inasmuch as all they promise is to conduct him into the lowly tenement of want, that he may learn how a poor sick child, whose intellectual powers were not above mediocrity, and in whose religious exercises there was nothing remarkable, felt and acted, on a dying bed. And yet if the reader loves the Saviour, and bears in mind how much it cost to redeem the soul of a poor child - if he can find pleasure in tracing the workings of divine grace, in the humblest subject upon which the Holy Spirit operates, we think he will find, even in this lowly instance, around which no feelings of sentimentalism can be gathered, enough to awaken the emotions of adoring love, and cause him to exclaim, 'This is the mighty power of God!' Into that abode of poverty, whither we purpose to conduct the reader, the Lord Jesus Christ, condescended to enter; yea, the Holy Spirit thought it not beneath the exalted work on which he was sent, to visit that humble spot daily with his sacred presence.

"As we have already remarked, Ann's mother was obliged to earn her livelihood by daily toil, which usually took her away early in the morning from her family, whom she did not see again till evening. Ann, being the eldest of the children, was usually left in charge with the other children. She was now about eleven years old, and uncommonly sedate and womanly for one of her age. On the morning upon which the fatal accident occurred, to which allusion has already been made, Mrs. Wenman, went from home at a very early hour, leaving Ann to prepare breakfast for herself and the children. About the time her mother left, Ann arose and entered upon the duties which had been committed to her. She had already made a fire in a moveable furnace which stood on the hearth, in the fire-place, and had placed the lamp with which she had kindled the fire down on the floor beside her."

Reverend Clark continues, writing, "As (Ann) she proceeded in these preparation for breakfast, while in the act of stooping down to place the tea kettle on the furnace, her clothes, which were of a cotton fabric, came in contact with the flame of the lamp, and were in a moment in a light blaze. No one that has not witnessed a spectacle of this kind, can scarcely conceive the agony of such a moment. What could she do? There was no one near her that could render any assistance. Her screams brought some person in an adjoining tenement to her aid; but before relief cold be rendered, her back from her neck to her feet was so burned, that the physician remarked, that had the flame continued unextinguished two minutes more, she would have been a corpse. The first thing that Ann said, after her wounds were dressed, and her mother sat down by her to try to soother her suffering, was 'Will you not send for Mrs. R____, my Sunday School teacher. I think I shall not get well, and I wish to see her.' Mrs. R____was immediately informed of the dreadful accident that had befallen Ann. Very much distressed with the intelligence, she hastened to the spot, to see what relief or assistance she could render. The remark that this little sufferer made when Mrs. R_____ first entered the door, shows that pious remarks addressed to children are seldom lost. 'Do you not recollect,' she said, 'that you told me last Sunday, that very likely some one of us would die, or would be laid upon a dying bed before the close of the week? I think this is my case - I do not think I shall ever get well'."

According to Reverend Scott, ""Mrs. R____ was deeply affected by this burst of deep and ingenuous feeling on the part of Ann, and gave her that kind and salutary advice which her case seemed to demand. Ann had no personal acquaintance with her pastor. She had heard him address the children frequently, and speak to them about their eternal salvation, as from Sunday to Sunday he came into the school, to see how they were progressing. Her mind was impressed with the conviction, that there was but little probability that she could get well, and she now felt anxious to do all that she could to be prepared for death. She thought her minister could tell her what she must do to die happy, and she, therefore, besought Mrs. R____ to invite him to come and see her. Several days, however, passed after this occurrence, before he could visit her. The impression made upon my mind, at my first call, will never be erased. The spirit of this child seemed to be in strange and striking contrast with every thing around me. It was a hot summer's morning, the weather exceedingly sultry and oppressive. All nature appeared to droop, and the feeble and unsteady step of each passer-by, indicated the universal sense of lassitude that was felt. Ann's mind alone seemed unenfeebled, and full of wakeful and active energy. The place where she was lying was a low basement room, in an indifferent looking house. The room itself, however, bore the aspect of cleanliness and comfort.

"As I entered, Ann recognized me, and announced my name although I had no recollection of every having seen her before. Though suffering much and intense pain, a smile lit up her countenance at the sight of one who could speak to her about her soul. I sat down by her bed and remarked, 'Ann, I feel grieved to hear of the dreadful accident that has befallen you; but God, I doubt not, means to do you good by this affliction. Perhaps he has let the fire burn your body, so that your soul need not be burnt up for ever. If all the suffering you feel shall lead you to pray and seek God's face and favour, so that in the end you become his child, you will not regret that this dreadful accident has happened. I was very happy to know that you wished to see me. I presume you wish me to talk to you about hour soul. I trust you have learned by your attendance upon the Sunday-school, that in order to die in peace and dwell with God in life everlasting, it is necessary we should be changed and made new creatures. Are you aware Ann of this?' Yes sir,' she replied, 'and it was on this account I wanted to see you."

After a lengthy discussion between the injured child and Reverend Clark, he "then kneeled down by her bedside, and prayed; she repeated with me the Lord's Prayer, and appeared deeply affected by this devotional exercise. As I left the room, Ann begged of me that, if it would not be too much trouble, I would call again. Her widowed mother followed me out of the door, and with wide eyes full of tears, said, 'Ann is indeed an altered child. She used to be fretful, and easily irritated; but now, she is as meek and patient as a lamb. O, sir, you cannot think with how much patience she bears all her pains; and she is talking constantly about religion. Last night, as I was lifting her up in the bed, she said, 'Dear mother, I expect I shall die, but I hope we shall meet at God's right hand.' The mother was not professedly pious. Like hundreds of others in our large cities, who seldom attend upon any place of public worship, though the streams of earthly happiness were dried up around her, she was still looking to the broken cisterns of earth for relief. The Lord saw it necessary to lay the rod of affliction upon her again and again. One and another were taken, till she was a childless widow. These multiplied afflictions, it is hoped, led her to the fountain of living waters."

Reverend Clark, in a poignant passage writes, "Eight or ten days before her death, her mind seemed somewhat clouded and depressed. The Lord was evidently revealing to her more of the evil of sin. There was a hymn that she recollected having heard, although she had not committed it to memory. She wished her mother to read it to her again. The hymn was the following: 'O for a closer walk with God! A calm and heavenly frame; A light to shine upon the road, that leads me to the lamb.' About a half hour before she ceased to breathe, she intimated a wish that this hymn might be read to her. It was; and while the fourth verse was being read, 'Return, O heavenly Dove, return, Sweet messenger of rest,' she smiled, laying her fingers upon her breast, as much as to say, 'I now feel his holy and peaceful influence within. She then closed her eyes, and lay for a while. Her mother went to her bedside, and said gently, 'Ann, my dear, do you still know me?' She opened her eyes, and replied by a faint smile. 'I fear,' continued her mother. 'I fear that you will soon leave us; do you feel willing and resigned to go?' 'Yes, yes,' was her reply. Shortly after, she clasped her hands together, as if in prayer, and said aloud, 'O God receive_______.' Her breath had left her motionless body before the petition was concluded, and doubtless her soul was received into the rest of the blessed. It was early in the morning that the liberated spirit of little Ann winged its way to the bright abodes of everlasting peace."

Sure, we like to re-enact history, as long as we don't sacrifice too much of contemporary convenience; that exists for us, just out of sight, maybe down the road a few miles, or a modest drive away. Even the bravest of contemporary historians aren't crazy about the idea, of forwarding the cause of time-travel, just for us, in order to immerse ourselves further back in our studies, to enjoy (or not) all its unpleasant actualities. We know too well, the hardships our ancestors had to suffer with, because of these shortfalls of medical attention and treatment options. It takes a trip back, via stories like this, to recognize how good most of us have it these days, being in close proximity to emergency medical care. Ann suffered with her burns for upwards of two months, all of the time, spent at home with only occasional medical intervention. If the same injury was sustained today, the survival rate would obviously be much greater. Alas, history is what it is! And most of us, hope that it will never repeat! Historians included!

A Profile of "Old Style Funerals," by Redmond Thomas

2017-02-27T04:27:00.002-08:00

A PROFILE OF "OLD STYLE FUNERALS," BY REDMOND THOMAS, FROM HIS BOOK OF "REMINISCENCES"

1969 HISTORY, PUBLISHED BY THE FORMER HERALD-GAZETTE PRESS

If you've been a regular reader of this blog (column), you will remember my previous reference, to having an interest in funerary collectables. Yes, I did once own a portable embalming machine, and I loved having at our former shop, in Bracebridge, as a matter of some irony, in a storefront built onto the former W.W. Kinsey home, on upper Manitoba Street. Mr. Kinsey, of course, being one of two undertakers at the turn of the 1900's, in Bracebridge. When customers asked what the contraption was, they'd jump back, when I told them it was an embalming machine, that could be taken to any site, to perform the pre-funeral preparations. Well sir, it always got a hands-off reaction, that's for sure, although I was surprised by how many people did ask questions later, about the device, while, of course, standing well back; much as if there was still a spirit residue contained inside. I eventually donated it to my friend Dave Brown, a Hamilton teacher, who was planning to use it in an education display, for students, about early medical equipment, and how it was used.

I also got a good deal on a beautiful spindle bed, circa 1875, made in Ontario, that was once the comfortable accommodation, on which the newly deceased were placed, for viewing, in the church manse, of the Alhambra United Church, in Toronto. We call it our death bed, but it isn't haunted. It doesn't levitate, or occasionally show up the form of one of those corpses, which had been laid out, prior to the coming funeral. It is however, a short bed, as from this period, folks were generally a little shorter than they are today. We sleep on it every night, and well, it's quite comfortable. You'd sort of expect we'd have nightmares or something, but honestly, it is quite benign in terms of paranormal anything. Suzanne was mad at me for buying it, but as I told her, being an antique dealer by itself, dictates that we are going to be handling possessions of the deceased constantly, in order to stay in business. Those folks didn't die in that bed. They were embalmed, and then placed there, for viewing. There are lots of antique beds, that were a lot closer to the precise moment of death, than this fine piece of Canadiana.

I have a sea shell memorial cross, that was hand made, following a maritime boating accident, that is definitely creepy, in the Victorian style. I've turned down lots of funerary antiques and collectables, including a child's casket with a window, for public viewing, without needing the lid open. I've also had many photographs of the deceased, some appearing as if the subject of the photograph was just sleeping. I had to point this out to an antique clerk once, that a vintage photograph, they were advertising as a Victorian portrait, was actually a death image; the man lounging on a chair, had been situated that way, for purposes of this final photograph. This wasn't uncommon, and in the previous blog, regarding the folding casket, for Mr. R.B. Browning, it was created to appear as if a parlor couch, to make it appear the subject was only relaxing; not actually deceased. Death pictures do creep folks out, and of this, I feel much the same. But, it was done, and often, soon after the invention of the camera. I also owned, at one time, death images of children, painted with watercolors; each of the five portraits, given angel wings, and halos, via the artist's intent. These were painted in the early 1800's. Suzanne didn't like them whatsoever, and was glad when a gentleman insisted on making the purchase, against his wife's vehement protest. They got into an argument right in the hall of the shop, and she walked out on him, in the middle of the debate. Her concern was, that they would bring an unwelcome spirit, or group of spirits, into their happy home. As he had experienced the death of a sister due to a childhood illness, these portraits, in a way, reminded him, in a positive way, of her memorial tributes, that he remembered as a child himself. "What negativity could possibly come from these little angels," he said, as he thanked us for uniting him with this work of 'mourning' (memorial) art.

"In my previous article, there was mention of the funeral of R.M. Browning, at which the horses, hitched to the hearse, plunged with such violence that the casket, broke loose from the fastenings, and crashed through the glass doors, at the back of the vehicle," wrote Redmond Thomas, in his popular book, "Reminiscences." "After publication of that article (in The Herald-Gazette circa 1967), it occurred to me that there are now many mature young men, and women, who have neither seen a funeral cortege, or horse-drawn vehicles; nor have heard about the very sombre trappings of death in such times.

"Coffins had so nearly gone out of use by my earliest recollection, that I cannot remember ever seeing one, though I have seen the impression of the shape, of one, in the clay bottom of a grave, which had been opened to remove one. They were, generally speaking, form fitting, widening from the top downwards to the shoulders, and then tapering towards the feet. Caskets, now universally used, have in general appearance, changed very little within my recollection, except that no longer is seen the folding casket, such as the one to which Mr. Browning was buried; and gone also is the style in which, (until the casket was closed for the funeral) the face of the deceased could be viewed through a glass window, near the top of the casket. And no longer is affixed to the casket, a 'coffin plate' of polished metal, engraved with the name, date of death, and age, something which it seems to me, would be very useful if (as sometimes happens) bodies are moved."

Mr. Thomas notes that, "Embalming was, when I first remember funerals, not in its present standard use. Of the two funeral establishments in Bracebridge, only the Kinsey one had an embalmer, namely Joshua L. Yeoman, who was a graduate of the Chicago College of Embalming, but in that establishment, embalming was optional. The other establishment, White's, had no embalmer, but if one was desired, would bring one from Gravenhurst. There was no funeral home. The two establishments engaging in undertaking, were basically furniture stores, and in fact, the Kinsey one, handled not only furniture but pianos, organs, and agricultural implements. A corpse was never taken to an undertaking establishment (even to be embalmed), unless the deceased had no home here, in which event, the body was placed in some secluded room, to await being sent away by railroad or being given burial here.

"The bereaved household was a grim place. Crepe hung on the front door (and in case of a merchant, on the store door as well). Though the crepe was usually black, it was sometimes purple, if the deceased were very old, and was invariably white, if the deceased one was a young child. The door bell was muffled, until it gave apparently no sound. While in the room containing the casket, people spoke in whispers, or scarcely any louder. All the outer clothing of the woman, of the household, was dyed black, and many ladies added black borders to their white handkerchiefs. The men of the house wore black suits, and ties, and often had a black band of crepe sewn on an arm of the coat. The social stationary of the household, had black borders on note paper, and envelopes, hence a reference in an old song, to a letter edged in black. All this was 'full mourning' and lasted for a year. There were no sympathy cards. Friends wrote letters of condolence, and these in strict etiquette were of mourning (black bordered) stationary, though this strict rule was commonly ignored."

The Herald-Gazette writer recollected that, "During the second year, after bereavement, the ladies wore half mourning which was a mixture of black and white. I have forgotten how (if at all) the men marked the second year.

"Every pallbearer work a dark suit (preferably black) and a black tie. The undertaker provided him with black cotton or woollen gloves, and attached a bunch of long crepe, to whichever arm, was not to be used for carrying the casket. The undertaker wore formal attire, including black frock coat, and plug hat, and rode beside the driver of the (horse drawn) hearse. The hearse had large windows on each side, and the top of the vehicle was ornamented by metal imitations, of crepe-draped urns. (If the funeral to St. Joseph's Church, a cross was added to the top of the hearse). The horses pulling the hearse were a black team."

Mr. Thomas adds, "Across the open grave were sticks on which rested the rough box, with its top removed. The pallbearers placed the casket in the rough box, to which the undertaker then fastened the cover. Using heavy straps of tug-leather, running from side to side, under the rough box, the pallbearers, three on each side of the grave, lifted the rough box until the sticks could be removed from under it, and then they lowered it to the bottom of the grave, after which those on one side, let go, and those on the other side, drew the straps up to the surface. The committal service, even in bitterest winter weather, was at the graveside, and all men present, stood bareheaded, hence the grim saying, that many a man got his death of pneumonia, while attending the winter-time funeral of a friend. I have been pallbearer at old style funerals in summer and winter.

"As all horses in a funeral cortege proceeded at a walk, the progress was slow. If the deceased had belonged to a fraternal society, the members of the lodge walked at the front of the procession. When I was a small lad, before the motor age, I saw the two largest funerals every held in Bracebridge, and the like of which will never be seen again, or even approached in impressiveness.

"They were those of Angus McLeod, M.P., from his home where the hospital now is, to the Methodist Cemetery, and of Dr. Samuel Bridgland, M.P.P., from his home, on the west side of McMurray Street, to the Anglican Church, and Anglican Cemetery. In fact, I rode with my father in a buggy, at Dr. Bridgland's funeral, which took place less than two weeks after that of Mr. Browning (yesterday's blog).

"But I never saw a bang-up funeral, like the one described to me, many years ago, by an elderly gentleman, whom I met on a train. His early childhood had been spent in a remote rural part of Southern Ireland, where many old customs then remained, a century after they had gone out of use, in the more sophisticated parts of that land. He told me of the funeral of one of the gentry, whose elegant mansion was commonly called 'The Hall,' and who, because of his affability and generosity, was beloved by the poor people. So the poor folks decided to pay him every possible honor. Hundreds of them walked in the funeral procession, and among them was a group of elderly women who were known by a Celtic name, meaning wailers.

"When the great Cortege (which included a vast number of carriages of the affluent), left the Hall, for the church, the wailers were much in evidence. All the way, they walked and shrieked at the top of their voices. One of them would scream, 'He was such a grand man,' whereupon the others would scream, 'and indeed he was,' and then the whole caboodle would shriek. The horses, in the cortege, did not take kindly to this display of feminine grief, and the steeds wanted to depart post-haste, to some quieter environment, in which desire they were restrained by only a most adept display of horsemanship by the drivers, whose arms were very tired by the time the church was reached; and the wailers quit their shrieks (as after the service, the coffin was placed in the family vault in the church yard). How did the bereaved family regard the wailers? Very appreciatively indeed. For the family knew that the wailers never appeared just because a deceased person was prominent. In addition to being prominent, he must have been beloved by those of humbler station."

I have read a number of early Muskoka histories, that refer to the dreaded sound of the horses' hooves, clomping down on the hard packed rural trails, often late in the evening, with the undertaker and helper, at the reins. During the days of epidemics, it wasn't uncommon to have the hearses and sometimes just farm wagons, picking up the deceased from those homes, that had been particularly hard-hit by influenza, for example, amongst other outbreaks. What would happen, in these cases, is that the deceased, which could be as many as four family members in one night, would be picked up by courageous funerary staff, and taken immediately to the nearest cemetery for burial. They did not want any mourners, or sight-seers in attendance at these rush-funerals, for fear of contamination spreading. These homesteaders knew the sound of the wagon wheels, and the team of horses, that what was passing out front, had an omen attached; and these alerted folks, would take their lanterns out onto the road, to see what farm the undertaker and hearse were going to visit. An eerie scene unfolding. Just as much, to see the long weaving funeral processions, through the rolling countryside, with the casket (or earlier coffin), raised onto the pallbearers shoulders, on a footpath to the appropriate, or nearest cemetery, without a horse in the solemn parade, and no hearse as part of the transport of the deceased.

I have to thank Redmond Thomas, for writing the column above, which contains a considerable amount of important heritage information, on a subject many of us would rather not think about. But it is none the less important to understand and appreciate, about what our forefathers and mothers had to content, when mortality was much higher than it is today; especially amongst children. There is a story in the Shea Family chronicle, of a deceased child, being carried from the hamlet of Ufford, to the churchyard in the hamlet of Falkenburg, just north of Bracebridge, a distance that would have taken two hours to walk, coffin on shoulders. When they got there, the open grave, dug in advance by cemetery caretakers, was full of water, and the family insisted it be drained dry, before the body was committed to the ground.

Fascinating history. It really is!

Thanks so much for visiting with me today.

The Riders In The Night

2017-02-26T05:36:00.001-08:00

THE RIDERS IN THE NIGHT - BRING OUT THE DEAD - THE HOMESTEADER'S DEMISE

MEDICAL ASSISTANCE WAS DAYS AWAY - AND DEATH COULDN'T WAIT

MAYBE I AM "OLD BEFORE MY TIME," AS SOME OF OUR FAMILY FRIENDS CLAIM. I CAN BUY THAT. HAVING SPENT SO MUCH OF MY TIME RESEARCHING THE PAST, I SUPPOSE IT'S POSSIBLE I HAVE ABSORBED QUITE A BIT OF HISTORY WITHOUT KNOWING IT! I'M NOT UNHAPPY ABOUT THIS. I REALLY FEEL I'VE LEARNED SOMETHING IMPORTANT, ABOUT THE PERILS OF DISCONNECTING FROM THE PAST……BECAUSE IT MISTAKENLY SEEMS IRRELEVANT. I FEEL DIFFERENTLY ABOUT THIS, AND I HAVE A GRAVE CONCERN THIS INCREASING IGNORANCE OF HISTORICAL PRECEDENTS, WILL SNAP BACK ON US ONE DAY, WHEN WE ARE MOST VULNERABLE. WE HAVE SEEN EXAMPLES OF THIS RECENTLY; AND THERE HAVE BEEN HUMBLING CIRCUMSTANCES, CREATED BY THE HAND OF NATURE, THAT HAVE MADE US ALL OF A SUDDEN, WONDER OUT LOUD, WHAT OUR PARENTS AND GRANDPARENTS WOULD HAVE DONE, DEALING WITH A SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCE OF HARDSHIP.

THERE SEEM TO BE A LOT OF PEOPLE THESE DAYS, WHO HAVE FORGOTTEN THE PASSED-DOWN STORIES, ABOUT THE INHERENT HARDSHIPS OF RESPECTIVE ERAS IN OUR FAMILY'S PAST. THE JOY AND TRAGEDY AS EXPERIENCED BY OUR ANCESTORS. MORE THAN EVER, I BELIEVE, WE ARE OBSESSED WITH THE RIGORS OF THE PRESENT, AND DRAW VERY LITTLE FROM THE EXPERIENCES OF THE PAST. WHICH OF COURSE, ARE LIFE EXPERIENCES THAT SHOULD MAKE US MORE RESOURCEFUL AND PREPARED. EVEN FOR WHAT WE ONLY PERCEIVE TODAY, AS ANNOYING INCONVENIENCES. YET IF YOU GO BACK INTO YOUR FAMILY TREE, YOU WILL CONNECT WITH A BLOOD-LINE THAT HAD IT VERY MUCH WORSE, THAN EVEN THE MOST TROUBLESOME DAY YOU CAN IMAGINE TODAY. AS AN HISTORIAN, I FIND THIS DISASSOCIATION WITH THE PAST RATHER DISTURBING, BECAUSE IN THAT SAME FAMILY HISTORY, WITH CENTURIES OF EXPERIENCE, THERE ARE LESSONS ABOUT SURVIVAL, AND ADAPTABILITY TO DO SO, THAT WE SUDDENLY FEEL WE DON'T NEED TO KNOW.

WE ARE NOW BECOMING ISOLATED FROM A MEANS OF COPING WITH HARDSHIP THAT WAS ONCE COMMONPLACE. AS IF WE KNOW IT ALL, IN THIS MODERN TECHNOLOGICAL ERA, IT'S AS IF WE HAVE EVERYTHING WORKED OUT IN ADVANCE. WE CAN HANDLE CRISIS. THERE IS NO STORM BIG ENOUGH. NO EARTHQUAKE VIOLENT ENOUGH. NO FAMINE. NO DROUGHT SERIOUS ENOUGH TO DESTROY CROPS. THERE IS THE FEELING THE PAST WILL NEVER RETURN. SO WHY WORRY ABOUT THE WAY OUR ANCESTORS LIVED THEIR DAILY LIVES. WELL, THIS IS A BIG PROBLEM FOR MODERN SOCIETY. THE RECENT HURRICANE THAT HIT THE EASTERN SEABOARD OF THE UNITED STATES, TOOK THOSE AFFECTED, BACK TO PIONEER DAYS IN A MATTER OF HOURS. IF THEY HAD FOLLOWED SOME PIONEERING ADVISE BEFORE THE STORM, MAYBE THERE WOULD HAVE BEEN LESS HARDSHIP AND DEATH ASSOCIATED, WITH THIS VIOLENT BUT NATURAL TURN OF WEATHER.

OUR PIONEER COMMUNITY DIDN'T HAVE THE PRIVILEGE OF ANYTHING MORE THAN BASIC PROVISIONS, IN ORDER TO SURVIVE THE HARD LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. THEY HAD LITTLE CHOICE BUT TO PREPARE FOR THE COMING WINTER, EVEN IF IT WAS THE EARLY SPRING. IT WOULD TAKE THE BETTER PART OF A YEAR, TO MAKE SURE THERE WAS A FULL SUPPLY OF FOOD AND WOOD IN TIME FOR THE TURN OF WEATHER IN OCTOBER. AS FOR PROFIT, IT WASN'T NEARLY AS IMPORTANT AS PREPARING FOR WINTER WITH THE RESOURCES AT HAND. ANY PROFIT WAS TURNED BACK INTO THE FARMSTEADS, TO MAKE A MORE COMFORTABLE LIFE FOR THOSE KNOWING FEW COMFORTS IN A SMALL, DRAFTY LOG CABIN CARVED FROM THE MUSKOKA BUSH.

ONE OF THE GREAT HARDSHIPS ENDURED, OF COURSE, WAS THE DISTANCE FROM MEDICAL ASSISTANCE. IT WAS BAD ENOUGH TO BE A CONSIDERABLE WALK OR WAGON RIDE TO THE NEAREST CHURCH, OR GENERAL STORE, BUT THE LIFE AND DEATH STRUGGLE IN ISOLATION, COST A LOT OF LIVES THAT COULD HAVE BEEN SPARED, HAD THEY BEEN RESIDENTS OF ONE OF THE LARGER SETTLEMENTS…..WHERE A DOCTOR OR TWO HAD SET UP PRACTICE. IN TERMS OF HEALTH, THE HOMESTEADERS WERE CONSTANTLY AT HIGH RISK, BECAUSE OF THE NATURE OF THEIR LIFESTYLE, SHORTAGE OF NUTRITIOUS FOOD, LACK OF MONEY TO PAY FOR A DIVERSE FOOD SUPPLY, AND THE PHYSICAL STRESSES OF THE HOMESTEAD. THERE IS A STORY TOLD BY SUZANNE'S UNCLE, BERT SHEA, IN HIS WELL KNOWN TALES OF PIONEER TIMES, IN THE THREE MILE LAKE AREA OF THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, ABOUT AN ELDERLY WOMAN, LEFT ALONE AT HER CABIN, WHO WAS INJURED WHILE SPLITTING WOOD TO KEEP THE HOME FIRE BURNING. A SHARP FRAGMENT OF WOOD FLEW-UP WHEN THE AXE HIT THE LOG, AND HIT HER EYE, EDGE FIRST. THE WOOD SHARD IMBEDDED SO DEEPLY INTO HER EYE SOCKET, THAT SHE COULDN'T PULL IT OUT BY HERSELF. MEDICAL HELP WAS A LONG DISTANCE AWAY, AND SHE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO WAIT FOR SOMEONE TO COME BY HER CABIN, SO SHE COULD ASK FOR ASSISTANCE. SHE LIVED WITH THAT WOOD SPLINTER IN HER EYE FOR SOME TIME AFTER, BUT THE INFECTION PROVED TOO MUCH FOR THE ELDER SETTLER, WHO EVENTUALLY SUCCUMBED. THERE ARE MANY SIMILAR STORIES ABOUT SICKNESSES THAT HAD TO BE TENDED BY THE SETTLERS THEMSELVES, AS DOCTORS OF COURSE, WERE NOT AS NUMEROUS AS THEY ARE TODAY.

THE SUDDEN ONSET OF A SICKNESS THAT COULD KILL OFF A HOUSEHOLD WITHIN HOURS

DIPHTHERIA: "AN EPIDEMIC INFLAMMATORY DISEASE OF THE AIR-PASSAGES, AND ESPECIALLY OF THE THROAT, CHARACTERIZED BY THE FORMATION OF A FALSE MEMBRANE." BY ANY OTHER NAME, A KILLER DISEASE THAT SPREAD RAPIDLY UNDER THE RIGHT CONDITIONS.

Suzanne's grandfather, John Shea, a former clerk in the present Township of Muskoka Lakes, and farm owner in the hamlet of Ufford, on the shore of Three Mile Lake, took it upon himself, to erect a fence around a small previously unmarked multi-plot gravesite, belonging to a family, wiped out by an outbreak of diphtheria, sometime, we believe, in the late 1800's. The Dougherty family, of which "Dougherty Road" was named, in Ufford, (near Windermere), had contracted the deadly disease, at a time when it was ravaging the pioneer communities in this vicinity of Muskoka. From what we can find, of this tragic circumstance, upwards of five family members died within twenty-four hours, and had to be hastily buried in the late hours of the night to avoid spectators, who could also become infected by close proximity. A number of lilacs were planted by neighbors at the gravesite, some time after, and it was how John Shea knew where to find the plots, when he decided to create a fence to mark the family plot as a latent memorial. This came many years after their deaths. Suzanne and I have visited the site numerous times, and it was always the same lilacs, that led us to the spot. The fence has long since deteriorated. It is located only feet from the route of the present Dougherty Road, not far from the present Ufford Community Cemetery.

"Diphtheria, in the old days, took its course - whole families were wiped out. Burials after midnight by law," wrote family historian, Bert Shea. "The ghastly sound of wagon wheels and horses feet, or the thump of the jumper and the rattle of the bullchair, as slowly the oxen drew the caskets in the dead of night to the place of burial. I will not write more of the terrible procedure, save to say that there are cemeteries in Watt, where there were none present at the midnight burial, save the dim oil lantern…..two figures, one at each side of the grave, shovels in hand, and the good man at the head, conscious of the risk he was taking with his own family, but who, in faith, stood with his parishioners to declare the words of the Master….'I am the resurrection and the life."

He also notes that fumigations were ordered by doctors to prevent diphtheria outbreaks, including after infectious events had occurred. Diphtheria was an agonizing ailment marked by severe fever, coughing, choking, and sore throat. Having a whole house infected, must have sounded horrible, to the attending doctors, nurses, and preachers, if in fact, they were able to attend, related to proximity from established villages. One can imagine the fury of activity around these affected homesteads, and the worry in the surrounding neighborhood, with rampant fear that they would be the next victims of this most vicious illness, that killed children in front of their helpless parents…..the weakest succumbing first. Then the elderly and parents meeting the same fate, often in the same day. There were survivors. But it depended on the care the victims received.

Imagine hearing what Mr. Shea reported, on those fateful nights, the eerie sounds of wagon wheels on the hard packed dirt roads, and the twinkle of lamplights on the sides, helping to guide the way through the woods and partly cleared pastures, to the afflicted household, where death was imminent, some family having already succumbed, and been hastily prepared for a quick funeral before sunrise. This was not the work of an author penning a horror story, or a movie script for profit. It was reality at its most unfortunate, and there were many heroes from this period, and one of them was known as the "Tramp," an Anglican missionary of considerable acclaim, and compassion, by the name of Gowan Gillmor. From his Ministry in the Village of Rosseau, and the Diocese of Algoma, he moved his residence to nearby Ullswater, at the time of a smallpocks outbreak, (and circulated similarly during the diphtheria epidemic) and was one of very few who would tend the sick and those near death, medically and spiritually, and of this, he became a Muskoka legend in his time and beyond.

"Gillmor of Algoma, (written by E. Newton White), is the story of a missionary's life, his struggles, heartaches and joys in those early wilderness areas, along the base of the Canadian Shield, which one Bishop used to describe as 'a land of rock of ages and Christmas trees.' It is the story of a beloved priest who tramped over those rocks and probably even slept under some of those trees, here and there, carving upon them, 'The Tramp'."

"During the years Gowan Gillmor was at North Bay, the scourge of diphtheria was sweeping the north country. It was then a lethal disease and caused terror in the backwoods communities," notes E. Newton White. "What his son in Canada did, is best pictured in Gowan's own tribute to a predecessor in the Parish of Rosseau; the Rev. A. W.H. Chowne - "when there was a terrible epidemic of diphtheria and scarlet fever, he himself nursed the child patients; with his own hands, he prepared the dead for burial, put them in their coffins, dug their graves, and committed them therein, - in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to Eternal Life."

"The epidemic diseases did not spare Rosseau, and Gowan took up his self appointed duties again. Smallpox broke out in Ullswater, and he closed up the Rosseau Rectory, to take up residence there to minister to the sick. When diphtheria was rife in Rosseau, he had his parsonage quarantined and spent all his time among the stricken homes; only stopping when, as he said, 'there are no more throats to look down'." Additionally, according to White, there was also a case further north, when, on a bitterly cold winter night, with a storm brewing, he planned to attend a family suffering from diphtheria, more than ten miles away. He was to travel on foot, as he usually did. Before he left, he had secured groceries and medicine for the family. Eleven children were infected. According to Gillmor, "Arrived safely." He nursed the family until all were well.

"Gowan used to tell Rosseau people what he told many others in his long experience….that only he and death had undisputed entry into the homes where contagion had taken hold; quarantines notwithstanding. Death kept very close vigil while his own presence lent help, hope and consolation. He did not tell them that he often disputed death's entry, and many a time was able to bar the door to him," notes the author / historian.

There were others throughout our district who defied the deadly disease, to help those in need. It is known that amongst the bravest, were those who tended the burials of the deceased, risking the possibility of carrying the contagion into their own homes. Often there were no doctors attending, and it was family that had to send for help to bury the deceased. This was life and survival on the frontier.

"I have heard the voices of his loved ones in mourning, and the men of the river in silent groups, standing around, the slow tread of the horses and wheels of the carriages, as they bore him away to the quiet burying ground." From the book written by Bert Shea.

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