Arlene Stafford-Wilson's Blog, page 46
December 2, 2020
Lake 88 – Friday December 4th
Join ‘In Focus‘ Host, Lynda Daoust, with special guest, author, Arlene Stafford-Wilson, as they discuss Arlene’s latest book in the Lanark County series: “Lanark County Collection: Winding Our Way Down Memory Lane”
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Listen live, at 12:10 p.m., right after the news at noon:
Lake 88 listen livestream: https://lake88.ca/listen-live/
Some Highlights from the latest book:
“Lanark County Collection: Winding Our Way Down Memory Lane”
“Travel back in time to the 1960s and 1970s, as the author invites you to come along on this journey through rural Eastern Ontario. Visit the Rideau Ferry Inn, a much-loved dance hall, where rock and roll was king. Watch in wonder as a water-witcher dazzles you with their mysterious abilities to locate the best spot to dig a country well. Spend the evening at the infamous Stumble Inn in Ferguson Falls, known for its bootleg whiskey and legendary fighting among the Irish villagers. Meet the dedicated staff of the Perth Public Library, and discover the tragedy, scandal, and unstoppable spirit that made this place ‘the heart of the town’. Visit a rural farmhouse and discover the secrets behind the art and science of sourdough. Spend a hot summer night at the Port Elmsley Drive In, meet some fascinating people, and find out what happens behind the scenes, while you watch a movie under the stars.”
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Other books in the series, by Arlene Stafford-Wilson:
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Available at:
The Book Nook, 60 Gore St. E., Perth, Ontario https://thebooknookperth.com/product-category/books/adult-books/local-authors-adult/ 613-267-2350, Monday-Saturday 10 am – 5 pm, Sundays & Some Holidays 12 pm – 4 pm.
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The Book Nook – l to rt – owner, Leslie Wallack, and Arlene Stafford-Wilson
The Bookworm, https://www.bookwormperth.com/ 76 Foster Street, Perth, Ontario, 613-264-7257
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Mill Street Books, 52 Mill Street, Almonte, Ontario, https://millstreetbooks.com/ Tuesday to Saturday 10 am – 3 pm, 613-256-9090
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and
Online
online at http://www.staffordwilson.com – Canada Post expedited shipping throughout Canada, and the U.S. (7-day expedited shipping to the U.S. available)
November 30, 2020
Homecoming: Stafford House
and the Spirit of Christmas entered the house,
and walked among us.”
l to r: Wendy Parker, Margery Conboy, Arlene Stafford-Wilson, Beverly Ferlatte, Betty Miller, Eleanor Paul, Heather Paul
For some people it’s the music of the season, the smell of the turkey, or the glittering gifts sitting under the tree; but for me it was a special visit to the house where I grew up, a homecoming, after a long absence of twenty-two years.
It doesn’t really seem that long ago since our father passed away in 1992, and our mother moved to town. I almost half expected to see him coming from the garage, carrying a tangled mess of Christmas lights, asking me if I’d hold the ladder steady, while he fastened the wire clamps onto the big spruce tree at the front of the house.
When I first heard from Wendy Parker, the current owner of our former home, that it was to be part of a Christmas House Tour, my thoughts turned back to days gone by, of the heavenly smells of Mother’s baking, bright cards in the mailbox at the end of the lane, and special concerts and plays at Calvin Church. There would be eight houses in total on the Christmas House Tour, and the event was sponsored by the Canadian Federation of University Women, and the money raised would help support education in the community.
Kevin and I arrived early that afternoon, with ample time to visit some of my old, familiar haunts. We drove first to Christie Lake, a place I knew well, the bridge at Jordan’s, where I’d jumped many times into the cool, clear waters. Hot days spent riding bikes with friends on the Third Line, and when that bridge was finally in sight it was like seeing an oasis in the middle of the desert. What a welcome sight it was! And even on this cold, December day, the lake appeared as serene and as lovely as it always did, calm and blue, waiting patiently for cottage season, and the laughter of little ones, the parties and music of the older ones, and a place of peace and serenity for the eldest ones. We drove along the shore, and then headed back up the Third Line.
The bridge at Jordan’s Cottages – at Christie Lake – a place where we often swam as children, on hot summer days, jumping off the bridge into the cool, clear water.
A visit home would not be complete without making a stop at the church where our Mother brought us every Sunday. This was where we celebrated baptisms, witnessed weddings, and met for comfort after funerals. This was the setting for the Strawberry Socials, Easter Sunday white gloves and hats, the lighting of the advent candles and Christmas Eve. The church stands proudly on Cameron Side Road, looking solid as ever, a place for meeting neighbours, friends, a place for worship, a place for solitude, and a shelter from the storms and turmoil of the outside world.
Calvin United Church, Cameron Side Road, Tay Valley Township, Lanark County, Ontario
We headed back to the Fourth Line and rounded the curve, up to the railroad tracks. There were many strolls along these tracks to the duck pond, watching the beavers at play, seeing the ducks return year after year, raise their babies, and leave at the end of the season. Memories of sitting under the big tree along the tracks with my brother Roger as we patiently placed a penny each on the rails, sat back, waited for the train to go by, then retrieved our flattened pennies. Many hours in my youth were spent waiting for trains, listening to the sounds of the lonely whistles, and hearing the rumbling and chugging down the tracks as they headed for Perth.
Railroad crossing, on Perkins’ Road, near the 4th Line, Bathurst (Tay Valley Township), Lanark County
A view from the railroad tracks, near the 4th line, Bathurst Township (Tay Valley Township)
The gentle slope, under the tree, near the railroad tracks, where Arlene Stafford and her brother, Roger Stafford, often sat on the hot summer days, placing a penny or two on the tracks, and waiting for the trains to go by, and then retrieving the flattened pennies.
We continued up the side road to the little creek and as soon as I spotted it, I remembered scooping up the tadpoles in my sand pail, and then pouring them into a big glass pickle jar to set on the window ledge in my bedroom. Every spring it was a ritual to catch some of these quick, black tadpoles, or pollywogs, as we called them, and watch them for hours, swimming contentedly in the jar, until we dumped them back into the creek.
The little creek, on Perkin’s road, not far from the Stafford House, where the Stafford children collected tadpoles in jars, on warm spring afternoons.
The lowlands, behind the Stafford House, where all the Stafford children learned how to skate
The lowlands, across from the creek were still flooded, and ice was already beginning to form. It was back on these lowlands that we all learned how to skate; not on a flat, pristine ice surface in an arena, but through the weeds, and over the bumps, and up and down the imperfections of a farmer’s field. The fact that our skates were old hand-me-downs was the least of our worries!
We drove up the side road to the laneway and parked the car. As we walked up the lane, the slopes and curves of the land were as familiar to me as if I’d never left, and we made our way to the door and knocked.
Kevin Wilson, at the base of the laneway, leading up to the Stafford House
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An ad for the Heritage Christmas House Tours, 2014
The garage, built by Tobias ‘Tib’, ‘Tib’ Stafford, and eldest son, Tim Stafford, in 1964.
The Stafford House, view from the driveway, at the east side of the property
When the door opened and we stepped inside, the home was beautifully decorated for the season. Wendy’s elaborate table was laid out with her mother’s china and cutlery with festive accents fit for a holiday gathering. The whole house in fact, was lovely and bright, adorned with reds and greens and touches of gold and shimmer. As we walked through the rooms, one by one, they were warm and inviting, and almost made me forget that something was missing – the smell of fresh baked bread, a permanent aroma in our house as Mother baked daily for a family of seven.
There was a lovely display arranged on a table in the den, an album of our Stafford family photos and copies of ‘Lanark County Kid’ and ‘Lanark County Chronicles’. I thought that they looked very much at home in this well cared-for house, so lovingly maintained and obviously cherished.
A view to the east, with the former home of Chris and Leanore Perkins framed in the wreath
Margery Conboy, (front), with Wendy Parker, viewing photos of the Stafford family when they lived in the house
A view to the west, at sundown
Perhaps what made the house seem so much like home, after so many years away, were the familiar faces, friends and neighbours, who came to share the memories, of the things that once were; and to celebrate a new Christmas season, content and happy in each other’s company. Though Wendy’s is the newest face among us, it’s as if she’d been with us all along. Wendy is a gracious hostess, and we all had a wonderful time chatting about the house, and catching up on the news in the neighbourhood.
I walked through the house, room by room, and the memories of the past lurked playfully around every corner. The house seemed to remember me, and the walls and ceilings surrounded me with love, and kept me warm and safe once again. It was a special day, and a rare treat to be back home.
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Heartfelt thanks to Wendy and to the members of the Canadian Federation of University Women, for making our visit possible, and many thanks also to old friends and neighbours Margery Conboy, Beverly Ferlatte, Betty Miller, Eleanor Paul and her lovely daughter Heather, for joining us on our trip down memory lane!
As I continue to bask in the glow of our visit to the old house, I will leave you with this quote from Thomas Wolfe:
“But why had he always felt so strongly the magnetic pull of home, why had he thought so much about it and remembered it with such blazing accuracy, if it did not matter, and if this little town, and the immortal hills around it, was not the only home he had on earth? He did not know. All that he knew was that the years flow by like water, and that one day we come home again.”
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This story – in memory of Betty Miller (1934-2015) – “gone, but not forgotten”
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Heritage Perth Christmas House Tour 2014
November 11, 2020
Stafford House: The Post-War Years
This is the house where it all began. It is the place that became the setting for so many stories, so many books; the idyllic backdrop where canopies of Lanark County sugar maples dominated the peaceful grounds surrounding the house.
The home had been in the family since 1936, when Dad’s aunt and uncle, Thomas and Clara Carberry purchased the property, but it truly became the Stafford house, when Mother and Dad returned from the war in 1946.
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Audry stared down thoughtfully, her hands cradling the pink and white china tea cup. Was the war really over?, she wondered. It had been so many months, that turned into years, with those dark uncertain clouds hanging over their heads. All they seemed to hear in those days was bad news; news of young lives lost in battles far away. Could it be true? Could they finally get on with their lives now, and spend time together as a family? She’d read about the victory celebrations, and seen photos in the newspapers of the ticker-tape parades, but it wasn’t until she heard from her husband; it was the news that she’d been waiting for…he’d be boarding a ship bound for Canada. He was coming home.
They met at the #8 Bombing and Gunnery School, in Lethbridge, Alberta. She was a pretty young Air Force Corporal, from Edmonton, and he, a dashing young Sergeant from Lanark County. Mother was drawn to his handsome face, and neat appearance. She claimed that she could spot him across the parade square on the base because the crease of his pants was so crisp.
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Corporal Audry Rutherford, W.D. Royal Canadian Air Force
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Tobias ‘Tim’ Stafford & Audry Rutherford, on a date in Lethbridge, Alberta
In those days, relationships on the military base developed quickly by necessity, never knowing when someone would be deployed to serve elsewhere. Within a few months of their budding romance, the orders came that Dad was to be shipped overseas, to serve at the RAF base in Bournemouth, England. They quickly made plans to marry. Mother would remain on the base, and continue her duties as a Corporal, and Airforce Physical Education Instructor.
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On their wedding day, July 12, 1943
Home At Last
There was an unmistakable sense of hope and optimism beaming from every deck on that grey hulking warship as it left the English port, bound for Halifax. It seemed that every man aboard had a permanent smile on his face, a joke to tell, and precious well-worn photos to show the others; of faces they’d be seeing soon, after so many dark and lonely years.
He longed for home. He missed the rugged Canadian landscape; the tall pines, the colourful sugar maples, and the crystal clear lakes and rivers that dotted the Ontario landscape of his youth. Most of all he missed…her. He could almost see her face above the dark rolling waves of the north Atlantic, as the ship sailed closer to their base in Halifax. The constant ache in his heart whenever he thought of her, gradually easing into a sense of purpose. The nervous dread and unsettling fears of war were behind him now, and he had a wife, and two young children to provide for.
The Stafford House
“My Aunt Clara and Uncle Tom own a beautiful property. They said we can come and stay with them until we get settled. I know you’ll be very happy there; I promise. It’s a red brick house, built on a gentle hill, surrounded by lovely shade trees. There are lots of bedrooms, plenty of space for a growing family. There’s even an apple orchard behind the house. When the kids are older we can send them apple-picking, and you could bake us some pies!”, he grinned.
Clara and Tom were approaching retirement age by the time the young Stafford family moved in with them. Clara didn’t drive, and wanted to move to Perth, so that she could get around a bit easier. Maybe it was time for her nephew and his young family to take over the property….
Some Help for the Veterans
Over one million Canadians served in WWII, and in 1944, the Department of Veterans Affairs was created to assist soldiers returning from duty. Their mandate was to ease the way back to civilian life, after so many years of war. The Veterans’ Land Act was one of the programs established so that veterans were eligible for loans to buy land, livestock, and equipment. Over 30,000 Veterans obtained land for farming through this program.
….and so, the young Stafford family was able to purchase the beautiful property from Aunt Clara and Uncle Tom….
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Tim Stafford & Judy Stafford, in the driveway at Stafford House
….and many years later, this 1947 photo was featured on the cover of a book…
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Tim and Judy Stafford, featured on the cover of “Recipes & Recollections: Treats and Tales from Our Mother’s Kitchen”
…and then there were 3
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Judy Stafford, baby Jackie Stafford, and Tim Stafford, 1948, at the Stafford House
The family settled in, and bit by bit, it grew in size. Jackie was born, then Roger, and finally Arlene, and the family was complete.
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Judy Stafford, Tim Stafford, Jackie Stafford, and Roger Stafford in 1958
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Arlene Stafford in the apple orchard, behind the Stafford House
Many years later, the Stafford House, the picturesque yard, and the woodlands surrounding the property would be the inspiration and the setting for many stories and books.
From the early days of spring and the young buds on the trees, gathering sap, and the house filled with the sweet scents of maple, as the sap boiled in a huge pot on the old stove. The shy tulips and daffodils nudging their way out of the cold ground, and the songbirds returning after a long, cold winter.
Summer was filled with the fresh scents of hay, and the rattling, rumbling tractors and wagons parading up and down the Third Line. Trips to Carl Adams’ swimming hole, and Christie Lake on the steamy hot days, and the nightly spectacles of tiny black bats swooping and sailing through the tall maple branches, followed by the sounds of the bullfrogs in the lowlands, and the crickets lulling us to sleep.
Fall was all about colour, from one end of the yard to the other, and as far as the eye could see; spectacular shades of orange, red, and yellow, and the scents of wood-smoke and the sweet ripe apples hanging low in the orchard.
The year always finished the same way, with the magical weeks leading up to Christmas. It was a busy, bustling, time, for baking, stringing lights, mailing cards, repairing broken ornaments, practicing for Christmas concerts, and most of all, waiting for Santa….
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Arlene Stafford, Mike, the family dog, and Roger Stafford
…and so, these were the early years at the Stafford House; the weeks and months after the war. They were the busy years, and years of adjustment. They were the years after two young soldiers met on an airbase in faraway Lethbridge, and fell in love, in such uncertain times.
It was because of their love, their hope for the future, and their sense of optimism that the family grew and prospered at the Stafford House. It was where we developed a strong work ethic, a respect for others, and where we learned about the importance of honesty, integrity, and faith.
Today, on Remembrance Day, I will think of these two soldiers, who possessed both the courage and the optimism to forge ahead with their love and their commitment, even in the darkest days, when the world was at war, and for this, I will be forever grateful.
Lest We Forget
[image error] “Poppies”, watercolour painting, by Jackie (Stafford) Wharton
October 27, 2020
Irish Hallowe’en in Lanark County
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Hallowe’en was observed by the Irish settlers in Lanark County, in the earliest times, beginning in 1816, after their arrival in Drummond Township. At that time, it was not a holiday centered around children collecting candy, but instead, marked a spiritual night when the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest, allowing spirits, good and evil, to pass through.
The celebration of All Hallows Eve, or Hallowe’en originated in Ireland, with the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, (pronounced sow-win (sow sounds like cow). The Druids, the high-ranking members of the Celts, built enormous bonfires, and everyone in the community, young and old, gathered around. The Celts wore simple costumes, consisting of animal skins, to hide themselves from evil spirits, and believed that on that special night, they had the ability to tell each other’s fortunes.
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Samhain marked the end of the harvest, and the beginning of the dark, cold winter. The Celts believed that on October 31st, the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred, and that the ghosts of the dead returned to earth.
When the evening’s celebrations around the fire were over, each family brought a small torch from the bonfire, and used it to re-light their hearth fires at home, believing that it would protect them during the coming winter.
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Lanark County Irish Hallowe’en
There were many ancient customs, traditions and even food, associated with the early Irish settlers to Lanark County, each year, on October 31st. Although many of the pioneers were Roman Catholic, a handful of customs from the times of the Celts still remained. Some of the traditions were centered around the idea that everyday people were able to predict fortunes on this special night. A traditional Irish fruit loaf was baked, which held specific symbols that were believed to predict each person’s fate. (recipe below)
A large part of the evening was the telling of ghost stories. Some of the early settlers were not able to read nor write, so the story-telling was a way to pass down their traditions and beliefs, so that the next generation would remember them.
On Hallowe’en, after dusk, when the last light had faded from the sky, it was customary light a few candles, push back most of the furniture against the walls, and sit around the hearth. The lady of the house would serve the fruit loaf, with butter, jam, and tea, shots of whiskey for the grown-ups, and the telling of the ghost stories would begin…..
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This is a story that was told in the 1930s in Perth, by Jimmy McNamee, our father’s cousin, about the night his parents Mary Quinn, and Maurice McNamee, heard a Banshee, while they were walking down a dirt road, coming from a house party.
Legends say that the cry of the Banshee foretells of a death, and the old timers claimed that only those with pure Irish blood running through their veins, could hear the cry of the Banshee.
Some of the Irish settlers said that the Banshees were withered, scowling old women, but many said the Banshees were pale, fair-skinned beauties with red flowing hair, who could bewitch men with their charm. It was said that each family had its own Banshee, and that they followed the people who left Ireland, across the ocean, to their homes in the new world.
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Not long after they were married, in the late 1860s, Maurice, and his wife Mary, were coming home after a dance at a neighbour’s house. They were walking down a bush road when they heard a cry unlike anything human they had ever heard. It was half sobbing, half moaning cry, as though someone was in distress.
Mary Quinn McNamee said, “Maurice, can that be a Banshee?”
Still fairly close to the neighbour’s house, they decided to turn around and go back, and tell the others what they’d heard. During the short walk back to the house they heard the cry a second time, and just before they reached the front door of the house, they heard it again.
After reaching the house, they told the neighbour and the rest of the guests what they’d heard, and everyone came outside to listen, but the cries were not repeated.
Three days later a man died accidentally in the bush close to the house where the dance was held……
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Many stories were passed down over the years about Jimmy Whelan’s tragic drowning, and his beautiful young lover, who still walks at night, along the shores of the Mississippi River, searching for her beloved Jimmy. This story was told and re-told in the area of Ferguson Falls, particularly at the infamous Stumble Inn, operated by Billy McCaffrey.
The Phelan family (this family pronounced their name as Whelan), had a farm along the 11th concession of Drummond Township, backing onto the Stafford farm. The two farms were separated by the Mississippi river. My great-grandfather, Thomas Stafford, was a friend of Daniel Phelan, younger brother of Jimmy, so he knew the family well. It was well-known in the area that of all the children in the family, Jimmy, was his father’s favourite, and in the father’s will, Old Man Phelan even singled him out, referring to him as “his beloved Jimmy”.
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James ‘Jimmy’ Phelan, of Drummond Township
It was said that Jimmy possessed a spirit of wanderlust, and instead of working on the family farm, he was drawn to the excitement of living in a lumber camp, moving from place to place, along the river. All winter long they cut and hauled tall white pine logs, to the Ottawa River’s nearest tributary, and in the spring, when the ice broke up, they floated the logs down the river. One year, the water on the Upper Mississippi was particularly high, and a dangerous jam formed. The jam shifted, and Jimmy and the foreman, both standing on floating logs, were knocked into the cold icy waters. The foreman was rescued, but they didn’t recover Jimmy’s body for over half an hour. It was a terrible tragedy.
In the old days, the Irishmen would sit outside of Charlie Hollinger’s hotel, and one of the stories they told was about the ‘gates of glass’. They believed that at dusk, between the rising and the setting of the moon, when the waters were still, the veil between the world and the spirit world becomes very thin. It was said that spirits could pass from one realm to another through the still waters, and this was known as the ‘gates of glass’.
Many years later, following the death of Jimmy’s former lover, people in Ferguson Falls began to see what appeared to be a misty image of a young woman, walking along the shores of the Mississippi. The old timers said it was the spirit of Jimmy’s beloved, trying to reunite with him.
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They say she still walks along the river at dusk, searching for Jimmy.
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Although there were three hotels at one time in Ferguson Falls, perhaps none had such a wild reputation as the Stumble Inn. The hotels in the village were popular with the locals, travelers, and the lumber crews who worked along the river. The difference between the larger hotels and the much smaller Stumble Inn was that the smaller bar chose to ignore the local laws for their operating hours, and so, alcohol could be purchased at almost any time, including Sundays. There was even a Sunday ritual among some of the male parishioners of the nearby St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic church – to stop by, before, or after services, for a wee nip of whiskey.
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The Stumble Inn, Ferguson Falls
The longer business hours of the Stumble Inn were perhaps one of the causes of the legendary fighting that took place at this small establishment. More drinking, naturally led to more fighting. Apart from the fighting though, it was also a place where a young musician, like Dad’s uncle, Jimmy Richards, could bring their fiddle or flute, and were encouraged to entertain the patrons; and so, it also became known as a venue where the budding musicians of the area gained experience performing for the crowds. Along with the music, and the fighting, there was card-playing, gambling, and story-telling.
Billy McCaffrey, owner of the Stumble Inn, passed away in 1940, and most of the old musicians who played there are long gone. Some say that if you walk along the river near the Stumble Inn, on a warm summer’s eve, you can still hear the echoes of the music and the laughter – the spirits of the old gang who frequented the Stumble Inn.
(William Henry ‘Billy’ McCaffrey, owner of the Stumble Inn, was a cousin to the Staffords, through his grandfather, Peter McGarry, brother of our great-grandmother, Betsy McGarry Stafford.)
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Michael McNamee and his family sailed from Warrenpoint, Ireland, on the ship, ‘Dolphin’. According to stories passed down by Michael, the voyage took seven weeks, and he sailed in the company of Michael Stanley of Stanleyville, and Michael Cunningham, who settled in Perth.
It was a common belief at that time, when the Irish immigrants arrived in Canada, that their particular banshees, family fairies, and little people, came with them.
Michael’s son, Maurice McNamee, and his helper, George Murphy, worked as charcoal burners on the west side of the hills, close to Westport. They lit the wood, and covered it with a bed of sand so that the wood might be merely charred instead of being burned. They sold the charcoal to local families, and it was used for cooking, to heal wounds, to ingest in the case of food poisoning, and to mix with ash to make cleaning products.
[image error] old fashioned charcoal made in a sand mound
One morning, Maurice and George returned to their work site, and found the sand they poured over the charcoal pit was covered with tiny foot-prints. The prints were about two inches long, and were in the same shape as a human foot. Both the marks of the heels and the ends of the toes were very clear, and the entire surface of the pit was covered with the footprints, as though some tiny folk had been dancing on the mound.
Maurice and George did not want to disturb the sand. They wanted someone to come and see the prints to verify what they had found. There was no camera in those days, and they had neither pen nor paper with them to draw a sketch of what they’d seen……
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Maurice told the story often, and then his son, Jimmy McNamee, passed the story down to the locals in the Perth area. Jimmy was a bit of a legend in the area for his story-telling skills, and often came to one of the hotels in Perth, and passed the old stories down to all who were interested. Our Dad heard that particular story from Jimmy in 1935, in Perth, and passed it down to us.
(According to Jimmy, ghost stories were not told at daytime activities like barn-raisings or at gatherings in broad daylight. It was in the evening, gathered around the hearth, or a bonfire, that the stories were to be told by the old-timers, and passed down to the younger folk, from one generation to the next. Jimmy’s son, Sylvester, was married to Dad’s cousin, Bridget ‘Carmel’ Stafford)
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Predicting Your Future Husband with an Apple Peel:
All of the young ladies present at the gathering carve a long single peel from an apple, and toss it over their shoulders. It is believed that the peel will fall on the floor in the shape of their future husband’s initials!
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Fortunes Told with Saucers
Another custom involved the placing of three saucers on the table. Salt is poured onto one saucer, the second saucer holds a ring, and the third saucer holds a small mound of earth. Each person is blindfolded, and led around the table three times, and then places their right hand on one of the saucers. If they touch the saucer containing the earth it is a reminder that the time is not far off when they will be but a handful of graveyard soil; if they touch the saucer with the ring it means that a happy marriage will be theirs; and if they touch the salt they will cry tears in the next year.
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Leaving a Path for the Fairies
Many believed that on Hallowe’en the fairies like to come in, and warm themselves at the fire. It is customary to move the furniture back toward the walls, and leave a clear path from the front door to the fireplace so the fairies will come in, sing and dance with the family, and tell them what the future holds.
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Many bake a special cake for Hallowe’en called a Barmbrack. Inside the cake the baker places a match, a tiny piece of cloth, a ring, a thimble, and a button. The cake is cut into pieces, and given to those present at the gathering. The person who finds the match will have conflict in their life, whoever finds the piece of cloth will suffer from poverty, the person finding the ring will be the next to marry, the one who finds the thimble will not marry, and if a man finds the button he will be a bachelor forever.
Traditional Irish Barmbrack for Hallowe’en
Ingredients
2 ½ cups chopped dried mixed fruit
(raisins, apples, currants, cherries)
1 ½ cups hot brewed black tea
2 ½ cups all purpose flour
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
½ tsp baking soda
1 egg
1 ½ cups sugar
¼ cup marmalade
1 tsp finely grated orange peel
Soak the dried fruit in the hot tea for 2 hours, then drain and gently squeeze out excess tea.
Stir the flour cinnamon, nutmeg, and baking soda together in a bowl
Beat the egg, and combine with the sugar, marmalade, orange zest, and tea-soaked fruit
Fold in the flour gently and pour into the pan.
Bake in a greased 9-inch Bundt pan at 350, for 1 hour, or until the top of the cake springs back. Allow to cool in the pan for 2 hours before removing.
Wrap the objects in waxed paper (thimble, ring, etc.) and press into the cake through the bottom before serving.
The loaf may be served with tea in the afternoon, after dark on Hallowe’en, or may be sliced, toasted and served with butter and jam for breakfast
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And so, the spooky traditions of Hallowe’en were passed down through the generations, from the earliest Irish settlers in Lanark County, and on down through the years, from the old timers, to the young ones.
The ghost stories were told, and re-told, at night outside, around the Hallowe’en bonfire, or in the home around the hearth. Shots of whiskey were often served, or for the younger folks a cup of strong black tea, along with a slice of the traditional buttered fruit loaf.
As the evening progressed, and the whiskey took hold, there was always music, fiddling, flute-playing, singing of the old traditional songs, the telling of jokes, and many exaggerated tales of glory from days gone by.
Whether you spend your Hallowe’en in the traditional ways of our Lanark County Irish ancestors, or you have your own customs that you practice on this special night of the year, have a very happy and safe Hallowe’en, and be sure to watch out for the ghosts, and the little people!
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For more Lanark County Irish Ghost Stories:
The story of Jimmy Phelan and the Ghost of Ferguson Falls, in its entirety, in “Lanark County Calling: All Roads Lead Home”.
For the complete story of the Banshees in North Burgess Township, and the Little People of Westport – “Lanark County Classics: A Treasury of Tales from Another Time”
For more information on The Stumble Inn of Ferguson Falls – “Lanark County Collection: Winding Our Way Down Memory Lane”
Books available at:
The Book Nook in Perth https://thebooknookperth.com/shop/
The Bookworm – https://www.bookwormperth.com/
Mill Street Books in Almonte – https://millstreetbooks.com/
For Irish Genealogy records at the Library & Archives Canada
https://www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/discover/immigration/history-ethnic-cultural/Pages/irish.aspx
Lanark County Genealogical Society – some good research links:
https://lanarkgenealogy.com/research-tools/genealogy-research-links/
Irish Genealogy records:
https://www.irishgenealogy.ie/en/
[image error] Arlene Stafford-Wilson, September 2020
October 22, 2020
Families of Flower Station
Long before the days of fast-paced living, our family had a weekly ritual, known as the Sunday drive. It always took place after church, following the noon-time meal. Families were large in those days, and Mother wanted to make sure that everyone had a hearty lunch before heading out into the country. Looking back, it seems like a curious thing to do, when you already live in the country, to drive to another part of the country, but it wasn’t uncommon in those days.
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The Staffords, getting ready for a Sunday Drive: left to right, Roger Stafford, Jackie Stafford, Tim Stafford, Tobias ‘Tib’ Stafford (Dad), Arlene Stafford, missing from the photo: Judy Stafford who was taking the photo, and Audry Stafford (Mother), who was likely making one last trip to the pantry to pack some cookies for the ride.
Home, the starting point for our drive, was the Third Concession of Bathurst Township, some called it the Third Line, or the Christie Lake Road. After we’d all climbed into the car, we often headed straight to Balderson, to pick up a bag of squeaky curd for the trip. We almost always visited Ferguson Falls, where Dad grew up, and Lanark was another familiar stop along the way. There was sometimes a debate in the car at this point about whether to travel up toward Calabogie. Mother often protested, saying that all those hills, twists, and turns on the back-roads made her stomach queasy. With a twinkle in his eye, and a promise to take it slow, more often than not, Dad headed up the road toward Clyde Forks and Flower Station.
The landscape around Flower Station was a spectacular sight to behold in the autumn, when the colourful maple leaves were at their peak. Gold, red, green, and orange, in every direction, as far as the eye could see; just like a postcard. Small in size, but big in heart, it was one of the tiny hamlets that sprung up in the late 1800s, during the heydays of the nearby mining operations; and the Kingston and Pembroke ‘K & P’ Railroad stopped daily, bringing mail, and supplies.
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[image error] “The Montreal Gazette”, Dec. 19, 1882, p.1
[image error] Historical Lavant Township, Lanark County
Families of Flower Station
Alberts, Alcorn, Arnott, Barker, Barr, Bingley, Bissett, Bradford, Brown, Browning, Caldwell, Cameron, Cardinal, Cassel, Clark, Cleland, Clements, Clifford, Closs, Cloutier, Coupland, Craig, Crawford, Crosbie, Cumming, Deachman, Deschamps, Desjardine, Dignon, Dunham, Dunlop, Dunn, Easton, Elliott, Ellis, Ferguson, Fisher, Gallagher, Gardiner, Grey, Giffen, Guthrie, Haskins, Horn, Jackson, Jamieson, Jabot, Johnston, Kelly, Knight, Lalonde, Laroque, Lee, Leahy, Love, Lyon, Machan, Mahan, Major, Majore, Majaury, Martin, McArthur, McCurdy, McDonald, McDougall, McFadden, McGonegal, McInnis, McIntosh, McIntyre, McKinnon, McLaren, McWilliams, Metcalfe, Miller, Milotte, Moffat, Morris, Moulton, Nicholson, North, O’Brien, O’Donnell, Ogilvie, Patterson, Paul, Pierce, Pearce, Percy, Peterson, Power, Purdon, Reed, Reid, Roach, Robertson, Rodgers, Rousseau, Rutherford, Sheridan, Simpson, Sly, Spencer, St. Pierre, Stedman, Stewart, Storie, Stratford, Thurlow, Turnbull, Umpherson, Wales, Wallis, Watt, White, Williams, Willis, Woods, and Wright.
[image error] K & P Railroad stops from Kingston to Renfrew
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The village was named for Roswell Pettibone ‘R.P.’ Flower, Governor of New York, who financed this section of the railway. At the height of the mining operations in the late 1880s, there were three boarding houses, two general stores, a church, a school, and a railroad station. Postmaster, Gilbert White, operated the post office, and sold general merchandise, out of his residence.
[image error] Entering Flower Station
[image error] Flower Station
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Thomas Miller’s General Store – 1905
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, May 22, 1905, p.9
Emerald Cleland
[image error] “The Windsor Star”, Aug. 31, 1910, p.8
Albert ‘Abbie’ McGonegal
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, April 21, 1934, p.14
Mildred Desjardins
Tragic Loss Follows Dance
at Flower Station
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, June 23, 1936, p. 7
Mrs. Deachman
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, July 22, 1939, p.21
Effie Giffen
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, June 9, 1941, p.22
Joseph Lalonde Walks 15 Miles
in 1942 to Recruiting Center
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, Jan. 31, 1942, p.16
‘Granny’ Jennie Crawford Majaury
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, June 30, 1950 p.5
Jackson Siblings Die Within
Hours of Each Other
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, June 4, 1954, p. 43
George Wales
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, Dec. 8, 1955, p.20
Maud Bradford Hart
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, Oct. 1, 1956, p.37
Calvan McGonegal Wins
James Brothers Fishing Trophy
[image error] “The Ottawa Journal”, Feb 27, 1960 p. 13
Cardinal, Lalonde, & Kells
Take Top Spots
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[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, April 29, 1961, p.13
Minnie McGonegal Ferguson
[image error] “The Perth Courier”,
March 1 1962, p.6
Party for Wilfred Jackson
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Aug. 2, 1962 p.11
Reeve Henry McGonigal
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Jan. 31, 1963, p.1
John Coupland
Follows in his Father’s Footsteps
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Aug. 22, 1963, p.15
Robert Closs
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Sept. 19, 1963, p.13
Mrs. Eldon Majore
Peace of Mind in the Country
[image error] Mrs. Eldon Majore – “The Ottawa Citizen”, Jan 21, 1969, p. 41
[image error] Excerpt from “The Ottawa Citizen”, Jan. 21, 1969, p. 41
Adam Fisher
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, Dec. 14, 1994, p. 23
Stranded by Floods
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[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen, April 5, 1998, p. 18
Irene (Gemmill) Crosbie
[image error] Irene (Gemmill) Crosbie – at Crosbie’s General Store, Flower Station in 1976
Irene Crosbie’s
90th Birthday Party
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, March 15, 1999 p.43
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[image error] Article and photos on Irene Crosbie from “The Ottawa Citizen”, Mar. 15, 1999, p.44
[image error] Irene Crosbie working at the store
[image error] Crosbie’s store
Don and Marlene Love
Met at a Sugar Camp
[image error] Don & Marlene Love – “The Ottawa Citizen”, Nov. 16, 2003, p.33
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen” Nov. 16, 2003, p.33
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[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, Nov. 16, 2003 p. 34
an excerpt from a story by Ron Corbett with photos by Julie Oliver
Winnifred Closs – 1916-2008
Extraordinary Local Writer
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen” Feb. 9, 2008, p.39
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[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen” Feb. 9, 2008, p. 50
[image error] One of Winnie Closs’ columns, “The Perth Courier”, Mar. 28, 1963, p.5
As the lumber business tapered off, and the mining operations slowed down, the K & P railway never saw the volumes of traffic they had anticipated in the beginning. By late in the 19th century, the railroad was experiencing financial difficulties, and by 1894, the company, operating at a loss, went into receivership.
[image error] K & P Railroad – photo: Library and Archives Canada
The Canadian Pacific Railway, ‘CPR’ began to buy up shares, and by 1901, owned 83% of the shares, and had replaced many of the top executives with their own. The C.P.R. officially gained control of the K & P Railroad in 1913.
By the 1930s, passenger service declined and they began to operate ‘mixed trains’ of passenger cars and some freight cars. By the late 1950s, only freight cars remained. The last ‘through’ train ran on December 29, 1961. As time passed, in the 1960s, the smaller, less profitable stations along the railway line were closed, including Flower Station.
K & P Trail
The original route of the K & P is being converted, in sections, to a recreational walking and biking path, known as the “K & P Trail”
[image error] K & P Trail
Take a Sunday Drive
Visit Flower Station
The tradition of the Sunday drive at our house went on for as long as I can remember. Mother occasionally scolding Dad because he was over the speed limit, and he always countered with the same excuse – that he needed to burn the carbon build-up off of his sparkplugs.
There were often bags of squeaky curd, and sometimes a stop for ice cream cones, or a cold bottle of Pure Spring pop. Once in a while there was pushing and shoving in the back seat, met by a stern glance backwards from Mother.
No matter where those winding back roads in Lanark County led us, there was always beauty around every corner; with crystal-clear lakes and streams, quiet spots for a picnic, trails and paths beckoning us to come for a stroll.
Maybe one of these Sundays, you’ll venture out to Flower Station. Travel north on highway 511 past Hopetown to Brightside. Turn west on Waddell Creek Road to the French Line. Proceed north on the French Line Road to Joe’s Lake, then west on Flower Station Road to Flower Station.
Be sure to walk or hike the beautiful K&P Trail in the village of Flower Station. Head north past Flower Station, to Round Lake and Clyde Lake or, walk south, past Widow Lake to join Clyde Forks Road. Be prepared to enjoy the unspoiled forests, the sounds of nature, breathe in the pristine air, and spend a tranquil day in one of Lanark County’s special gems – Flower Station.
[image error] Scenic views near Flower Station
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Discover some fascinating stories about Lanark County back-roads tours, like “Mills, Mines, and Maples: Touring the Back Roads of Lanark County in the book, “Lanark County Connections: Memories Among the Maples”
Read about a WWII war-time encounter overseas, with a young soldier named Jim, from Flower Station, in “A Grand Era in Lanark”, from “Lanark County Classics: A Treasury of Tales from Another Time”
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Books available at:
The Book Nook, in Perth, Ontario https://thebooknookperth.com/shop/
The Bookworm, in Perth, Ontario https://www.bookwormperth.com/
Mill Street Books, in Almonte, Ontario – https://millstreetbooks.com/
or at:
October 16, 2020
Calabogie Cold Case
The warm spring sun flooded the playground that June afternoon at Glen Tay Public School. Only two weeks of classes remained for the year, when I first heard about the lost boy, from my teacher, Mrs. Conboy. One of my friends had seen the story on the evening news, and asked our teacher if she thought they’d ever find the little boy…..
………….
Many decades have passed since the young Adrian McNaughton disappeared near Calabogie, Ontario. Police call it a cold case, but promised they’ll never stop looking.
It was June 12, 1972, when five-year-old Adrian was on a fishing trip with his father, his father’s friend, and his three siblings, at Holmes Lake. Holmes Lake is about an hour’s drive from Lanark village, half an hour from Burnstown, and around a 15 minute drive from Calabogie.
Adrian wandered away from the area where everyone was fishing. He was last seen playing near the shoreline, wearing a blue jacket and brown shorts.
[image error] Holmes Lake shown in red. (Google maps)
He was wearing a blue nylon jacket, brown shorts, an orange-striped shirt, and rubber boots.
[image error] “Ottawa Citizen”, June 13, 1972, p.3
Divers Search Holmes Lake
[image error] “Ottawa Citizen”, June 14, 1972, p. 1
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[image error] “Ottawa Citizen”, June 14, 1972, p. 1
[image error] “Ottawa Journal”, June 14, 1972, p.1
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[image error] “Ottawa Journal”, June 14, 1972, p.1
Footprints?
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[image error] “Ottawa Journal”, June 15, 1972, p. 1
[image error] “Ottawa Journal”, June 20, 1972, p.1
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Reward was Offered
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[image error] “The Perth Courier”, July 13, 1972, p. 2
Father Seeks Help from Psychics
[image error] “The Ottawa Citizen”, July 29, 1972, p. 3
[image error] “Ottawa Citizen”, July 29, 1972, p.3
Psychics Point to Clyde Forks
Psychics were consulted and advised the McNaughton family that Adrian was taken to, or somehow ended up in Clyde Forks, a forty-minute drive from Holmes Lake.
…………
What visions and impressions led the clairvoyants to the small village of Clyde Forks in Lanark County? What did they find there? Discover the fascinating details of this decades-old cold-case.
“Mystery in Clyde Forks”,
a story from “Lanark County Classics: A Treasury of Tales from Another Time”
ISBN: 9780987-7026-54
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Available at: The Book Nook, in Perth, Ontario – https://thebooknookperth.com/product/lanark-county-classics-arlene-stafford-wilson/
Also available at The Bookworm, in Perth, Ontario – https://www.bookwormperth.com/
Also at – Mill Street Books, Almonte, Ontario – https://millstreetbooks.com/
or at:
[image error] Author Arlene Stafford-Wilson
at the Crystal Palace, Perth, Ontario
October 15, 2020
Families and Memories of North Sherbrooke
Families mentioned:
Bain, Balfour, Barber, Barnes, Bowes, Brownlee, Budd, Cameron, Caldwell, Campbell, Clement, Crawford, Davies, Dowdall, Duncan, Dunlop, Ferguson, Geddes, Gilbert, Gordon, Greer, Izatt, Kennedy, Love, McAlpine, McAulay, McDonald, McDougall, McFarlane, McIntyre, McIlquham, McLaren, McVean, Millar, Miller, Munro, Nisbet, Paul, Pitcher, Sergeant, Smith, Stewart, Weir, Wilson.
The map below shows the historical townships, including North Sherbrooke:
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[image error] (no author was listed in the ‘Good Old Days’ article)
“The Perth Courier” May 1, 1975
Annie (Geary) Miller 1903
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Oct. 9, 1903 p. 8
Elphin News
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Elphin School – 1910
[image error] photo: from the collection of Charles Dobie
back row: L to R: Sherman Gordon, Robert Geddes, John Balfour, George Gordon, Mannie Gilbert, Mabel Dunlop, Iva Duncan, Laura McIntyre, and the teacher: Annie C. McIntyre
front row: L to R: Tom Balfour, Lindsay Duncan, Gerald Gordon, Dorothy Duncan, Margaret Gilbert, UNKNOWN, Agnes Duncan, Janet Duncan, Ruby Campbell, Agnes Balfour, Margaret Balfour
Mr. Joseph Sergeant
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[image error] “The Perth Courier”, July 18, 1930, p.4
History of the First Baptist Church in the Perth Area
[image error] “The Perth Courier”, Nov. 4, 1932, p.3
North Sherbrooke v.s. McDonald’s Corners – 1934
[image error] “The Perth Courier”, Sept. 21, 1934, p.4
Robert Ferguson’s Chain Saw Business
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Jan 14 1960 p.10
Elphin Church Candlelight Service – 1975
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Jan. 16 1975 p.16
Crawford’s Cemetery
Memorial Service
[image error] “The Perth Courier” Aug 7 1975 p.11
Robert J. Balfour 1897-1976
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Kathy Brownlee Ordained at Elphin – 1976
[image error] “The Perth Courier” June 3, 1976 p.16
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[image error] “The Perth Courier” June 3, 1976 p.16
Miller Anniversary – 1976
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“The Perth Courier”. July 1. 1976, p.11
Elphin Music Festival
Elphin calls itself the “funkiest little village in Lanark County”, and has been the home to an annual music festival. Some of the popular bands who have played there are: Jenny Whiteley, Still Winter Hills, Claudia, Krisi Allen Band, Fiona Noakes Band, Ben and Me, and Stormin’ Norman and the Stray Dogs and Sonic Roots, Jim Bryson, Sheesham and Lotus, Leavin’ Train, Chris Brown, Melwood Cutlery, Luther Wright and the Wrongs, Kyra and Tully, Emily Fennel, Dan Whiteley, Joey Wright, and Butterfingers.
[image error] Photo of Elphin Fest 2010 – by Charlie Dobie
October 11, 2020
Thanksgiving at the Stafford House
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“The air was fresh and crisp and had a distinct smell which was a mixture of the dried leaves on the ground and the smoke from the chimneys and the sweet ripe apples that were still clinging onto the branches in the orchard behind the house.”
“Recipes & Recollections: Treats and Tales from Our Mother’s Kitchen”
Thanksgiving at the Stafford House
Everyone came home if they could. By the mid-1970s Tim and Roger were both in the O.P.P., which meant they weren’t always able to be there for family holidays. Judy and Jackie were busy with their careers, and I was at the Perth High School, trying to figure out what I’d do when the time came for me to try my luck in the world.
The setting was postcard-perfect. A big red brick farmhouse, with enormous maple trees displaying their kaleidoscope of fall colours, and at the back of the house were a dozen McIntosh apple trees loaded with ripe red fruit. Warm in the daytime, and cool enough at night for the local farmers to fire up their woodstoves, and that rich scent of wood smoke drifted across the fields, – the perfect fall incense.
As we gathered together, the old house was filled once again with our pockets of conversation, in the kitchen and living room; Dad and the boys talking about cars, and Mother discussing her menu with us, assigning us jobs – “fill up the pickle dish”, “pour the tomato juice into the small glasses”, “fold the napkins….diagonally across”.
In the evening after the meal there were games – sometimes cards, or maybe Monopoly. There were jokes and laughter, and unguarded conversations of the news of the day, and our hopes for the future.
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left to right – Judy Stafford, Jackie Stafford, Tim Stafford, & Roger Stafford
One of the things we all looked forward to was Mother’s homemade stuffing. (recipe below) The recipe was her mother’s recipe from England. Granny Rutherford’s father was a butcher in Huddersfield, and so sausage meat was the key ingredient, along with dried bread and seasonings.
There were lots of Thanksgiving favourites – the savory pumpkin pie baked in Mother’s light, flaky pastry, the farm-fresh mashed potatoes and homemade gravy, seasoned to perfection, the mashed buttered turnip, and the homemade rolls, fresh from the oven.
There would be many decades of Thanksgivings at the Stafford House on the 3rd Line of Bathurst. The setting was always the same – the sturdy, welcoming red brick house, a spectacular backdrop of maple leaves in orange, red and yellow, as far as the eye could see. The sounds were always the same – the pots and pans clanging and clattering in the kitchen, Dad’s even melodic voice sharing a joke or story with the boys, and the girls talking about the latest fashions, or a dreamy new movie star. The scents were the same outside – the dried leaves on the ground, and the sweet apples hanging from the trees behind the house. Inside the scent of turkey filled the air for hours, and the aroma of the sausage meat, and the homemade rolls baking in the oven.
Those special Thanksgivings still live in our hearts and in our minds – the times when we were all together, back in the old house, enjoying a special meal made with love for all to share, the warm smiles and the laughter, walking through the yard, under the colourful sprawling maples. We were home again.
….
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Stafford House
Mother’s Sausage Dressing:
1 lb of sausage meat
2 eggs
1 cup hot milk
7 cups bread crumbs
1 c chopped celery
2 Tbsp chopped onions
1 Tsp salt
4 Tbsp parsley
Method: Fry meat until brown, drain off fat, add the eggs, hot milk, and the rest of the ingredients
recipe from: “Recipes & Recollections: Treats and Tales from Our Mother’s Kitchen” ISBN 978-0-9877026-09
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October 1, 2020
Ferguson Falls and the Stumble Inn
Stumble Inn of Ferguson Falls
“It was a little shack very close to the old Mississippi, just across the bridge, coming down from the church; probably not room for more than twelve Irishmen at a time, if they could get along, and if that didn’t work, some would be out in yard ,or in the river.”
Thomas Joseph Stafford (1921-2018)
[image error]A view of the Stumble Inn from the Mississippi River
“The Stumble Inn was operated by Billy McCaffrey. He was a very, very, short man, with a curved back. His bar was located right beside the river, when you crossed the old bridge, across the Mississippi River, coming down from the Catholic church. I remember it around 1927 to early 1930s. The horses were stabled across the road in an open shed at Charles Hollinger’s, the auctioneer. We walked across the bridge up to church for mass. After mass the Catholic brethren would stop in at the Stumble Inn. You could get a shot of something for the trip home. There was also a lot of Poker played there, which was frowned on in the community. There were also lots of ghost stories told there.”
quote from 2012 by Thomas Stafford (1921-2018)
[image error]Thomas Stafford, son of Thomas Patrick Stafford and Margaret Doyle Stafford
“There would be music at the Stumble Inn. There was always music where the Irish gathered. I remember Jimmy (Richards) playing the fiddle. I spent quite a few days at Richards’ visiting with your dad ,Tib (Tobias Stafford). Clara (Richards Carberry) would feed us cookies. Jimmy thought we were a pain in the ass, I think. Peter (Stafford) was a great fisherman of mud pouts from the old Mississippi. In Ferguson Falls they were all related, either before or after they arrived in Canada from Wexford.”
(quote from Thomas ‘Tom’ Stafford 1921-2018)
(James ‘Jimmy’ Richards was Dad’s uncle on his Mother’s side. Clara Richards, Dad’s aunt, was Jimmy’s sister. Clara Richards married Thomas ‘Tom’ Carberry, a descendant of one of the ‘Seven Irish Bachelors’ of Ferguson Falls. The Richards homestead was next door to the Stafford homestead on the 11th concession of Drummond Township. Dad’s parents – Anastasia ‘Stacy’ Richards married Michael Vincent ‘Vince’ Stafford – the boy next door) Peter Stafford was Dad’s brother) ‘Wexford’ refers to County Wexford, Ireland. Jimmy Richards played his fiddle at the Stumble Inn on a regular basis. His fiddle was passed down to Dad, then to me.)
Billy McCaffrey, owner of The Stumble Inn
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William Henry ‘Billy’ McCaffrey, (1869-1940), was the son of Joseph McCaffrey, and Ellen McGarry McCaffrey. Billy’s ancestor, Thomas McCaffrey was the first settler and resident of the village of Ferguson Falls, arriving in 1815.
Billy’s mother, Ellen McGarry McCaffrey:
[image error]Ellen McGarry McCaffrey 1837-1917
Ellen McGarry McCaffrey and her husband, Joseph McCaffrey had ten children:
Mary McCaffrey 1861-1944 – was a tailorJulia Ann McCaffrey 1863-1944Thomas McCaffrey 1866-1913. Thomas married Margaret Doyle and they lived on the McCaffrey homestead on the 8th concession of Drummond Township. Thomas died age 46 of tuberculosisPeter McCaffrey 1867-1895 – died age 28 of dropsyWm. Billy McCaffrey 1868-1940 – saddler by trade, owned a hotel in Ferguson Falls, and later, owned the Stumble InnMargaret McCaffrey 1874-1917 died age 43 of pernicious anemiaLoretta McCaffrey 1872-1941 was a dressmakerGertrude McCaffrey 1875-1918 died age 38 of pernicious anemiaJosephine McCaffrey 1877-1931 trained as a nurse and worked in New York, died age 52 of cerebral hemorrhageTeresa McCaffrey 1879-1935, married Martin Sylvester Grace. Their children: Harold Francis Grace, Ursula Grace Kehoe Bent, Helen Grace Butterworth, Kathryn Grace Daley, and Reverend Sister Anna Gertrude.
[image error]Ellen McGarry McCaffrey, daughter of Peter McGarry, niece of pioneers Elizabeth McGarry Stafford and Tobias Stafford
After operating his successful and much-loved community gathering spot, the Stumble Inn, Billy passed away in 1940.
“The late Mr. McCaffrey was a man of sterling qualities, and possessed the good-will and esteem of all who knew him.”
[image error]Billy McCaffrey’s obituary from “The Perth Courier” Aug. 2, 1940, p.3
[image error]Billy’s and some of his siblings, St. Patrick’s cemetery, Ferguson Falls
Ferguson Falls
(sometimes written as Ferguson’s Falls, or Fergusons Falls, depending on the era)
Originally known as Milford, Fergusons Falls was renamed in honor of the early settler Captain Ferguson when a post office was established there. This was the closest village to the Stafford farm and was a source for supplies, postal services, blacksmith services, social activities, and later St. Patrick’s Church.
Thomas McCaffrey was the first settler coming in 1815. McCaffrey was a close friend of Tobias Stafford and Betsy (McGarry) Stafford. Thomas was one of the witnesses to their marriage ceremony in St. John’s Church in Perth. He also signed his name as witness to one of Tobias’ later land transactions, and was present at the baptisms of some of the Stafford children.
Other early Ferguson Falls residents were John and Patrick Quinn, Patrick and Martin Doyle, James Carberry, James Power and William Scanlon. Two Stafford girls married into the Quinn family. The Hollinger family was also among the first settlers. By 1857, Ferguson Falls was booming. John Doyle was the Innkeeper, James McCaffrey was listed in the business directory as a Wagon Maker, and John & Michael McCaffrey were the local Blacksmiths. John Stafford, Tobias Stafford and Elizabeth McGarry’s son, was the area Shoemaker, and would later open a shoe store in Almonte, then in Perth. There was also a saw-mill, and a grist mill owned by Robert Blair and a hotel owned by Charles Hollinger.
Some history of Ferguson Falls:
[image error]1884 Farmers’ and Business Directory
[image error]1904 Business Directory for Lanark County
[image error]1916 Farmers’ and Business Directory for Lanark County
A note on the local school:
“In 1894 Miss Mary Stafford taught, and then in 1901-1909 Miss Maggie Doyle of Drummond Twp (who later married Thomas Patrick Stafford).
In 1901 the teacher’s salary was $240.00 dollars a year. In 1905 it was $250.00. 1943-1946 Miss Mary Phelan of Lanark was the teacher. Her salary was $1000.00 a year and she had 9 pupils.”
(quote from Gail McFarlane, taken from the Tweedsmuir history of Ferguson Falls)
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[image error]S.S. # 15 Drummond Township School, class of 1928-29, with our cousins, Thomas ‘Tom’ Stafford (1921-2018) , Patricia ‘Pat’ Stafford, and Nora Stafford, (children of Thomas Patrick Stafford and Margaret ‘Maggie’ Doyle Stafford) Original photo at the Lanark Museum.
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[image error]“The Perth Courier”, August 10, 1934 part 1 of 3
[image error]“The Perth Courier”, August 10, 1934 part 2 of 3
[image error]“The Perth Courier”, August 10, 1934 part 3 of 3
[image error]“The Perth Courier” Sept. 13, 1962, p.3
[image error]“The Perth Courier” Sept. 13, 1962, p.3
[image error]“The Perth Courier” Sept. 13, 1962
[image error]James ‘Jimmy’ Phelan (pronounced Whelan) Local lore says his lost love wanders in Ferguson Falls, along the Mississippi River at night, searching for Jimmy. The Phelan farm backed directly onto the Stafford homestead on the 11th concession of Drummond Township. Tim Doyle of Lanark village is said to have written the song.
Ballad of Jimmy Whelan
All alone as I strayed by the banks of the river
Watching the moonbeams as evening drew nigh
All alone as I rambled, I spied a fair damsel
Weeping and wailing with many a sigh.
Weeping for one who is now lying lowly
Mourning for one who no mortal can save
As the foaming dark water flow gently about him
Onward they speed over young Jimmy’s grave.
She cries, “Oh, my darling, please come to me quickly
And give me fond kisses that oft-times you gave
You promised to meet me this evening, my darling
So now, lovely Jimmy, arise from your grave.”
Slowly he rose from the dark, stormy waters
A vision of beauty more fair than the sun
Saying “I have returned from the regions of glory
To be in your dear loving arms once again.”
“Oh, Jimmy, why can’t you tarry here with me
Not leave me alone, so distracted in pain.”
“Since death is the dagger that’s cut us asunder
Wide is the gulf, love, between you and I.”
“One fond embrace, love, and then I must leave you
One loving farewell, and then we must part.”
Cold were the arms that encircled about her
Cold was the body she pressed to her heart.
Slowly he rose from the banks of the river
Up to the heavens he then seemed to go
Leaving this fair maiden, weeping and mourning
Alone on the banks of the river below.
(local Irish legends told of the ‘gates of glass’, where one could pass between this world and the next, through the water of a lake or river, at dusk)
[image error]“The Perth Courier” continued from article above
[image error]“Perth Courier” article – continued
[image error]“Perth Courier” article continued
[image error]“The Perth Courier” – article continued
[image error]“The Perth Courier” – article continued
[image error]“The Perth Courier”, Sept. 13, 1962, p3, end of article
A Return to Our Roots
Archives Lanark celebrated their 10th Anniversary in October of 2012, at the Ferguson’s Falls Community Hall. There were local dignitaries from Drummond Township, and Doug Bell made a presentation of a 200 year old artifact, – an original settler’s trunk from pioneer Sutton Frizzell, and his land documents that were found in the trunk.
[image error]Sutton Frizell’s trunks presented by Doug Bell to Archives Lanark
[image error]Sutton Frizell, one of the first elected Councillors in Drummond Township in 1850, along with Thomas McCaffrey, Murdock McDonald, Patrick Dowdall, and John Thompson
There were also displays showing some highlights of the work that the Archives has done, and the variety of resources available for local researchers.
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[image error]Ferguson Falls Community Hall, Oct. 12, 2012
[image error]Archives Lanark 10th Anniversary – Arlene Stafford-Wilson at the book-signing table
[image error]Archives Lanark 10th anniversary 2012 – entertainment by ‘Memory Lane’, Mark Labelle on guitar on far left, Leo Scissions on guitar, with Heather Johnston on fiddle, and Jack Greer on banjo. (thanks to Stacey Horne, Arlene Quinn, and others who provided the names of the band members)
[image error]Archives Lanark 10th anniversary – with Elaine Morrow, from DeWitt’s Corners
[image error]Archives Lanark 10th anniversary 2012, with Lanark County Genealogical Society members,
Arlene Stafford-Wilson (left) and Irene Spence (rt)
[image error]Archives Lanark 10th Anniversary in 2012, with Lanark County Genealogical Society President Janet Dowdall (left) , and LCGS member, Arlene Stafford-Wilson
[image error]Arlene Stafford-Wilson at the Authors Corner, Ferguson Falls Community Hall, October 2012
Autumn in Ferguson Falls
[image error]quote from “Lanark County Connections: Memories Among the Maples”
[image error]Picturesque Ferguson Falls, along the Mississippi River
Stafford family Sunday drives in the 1960s and 1970s began on the Third Line of Bathurst, often involved detours though Balderson and Lanark village, but they always seemed to end up at Ferguson Falls. Our father was born and raised on the 11th concession of Drummond Township, on the ancestral Stafford farm, settled by pioneer, Tobias Stafford in 1816. Our ancestor spent his first year on what became known as Stafford Island on the Mississippi River before building a home.
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In the earliest days of the settlement, priests would travel to these small communities, and Sunday mass would be held in someone’s home. Once St. John’s Church in Perth was built, the pioneers travelled by horse and buggy, or horse and cutter, to attend services, until 1856, when St. Patrick’s Church was established, along the river.
[image error]St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church, and my brother, Roger Stafford, in Ferguson Falls
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…And so, we returned again and again to Ferguson Falls on our Sunday drives; to the pretty village in Drummond Township. We listened to our father’s accounts of the glory days of the Prestonvale ball team, and the long walks to school in snowstorms. We always stopped at St. Patrick’s church, and walked up and down through the rows of the graves of our ancestors. Dad’s parents were buried there, and his grandparents, and the oldest ones, who had come from Ireland. The old families were all connected by marriage – Quinn, McKittrick, Richards, Carberry, Carroll, Ryan, McCaffrey, and the rest; and he pointed to the headstones as we walked through the rows.
There were always stories of the infamous Stumble Inn, across the bridge from the church, and the card-games, and the drinking, and the fighting. We heard about Billy McCaffrey and how he sold whiskey at all hours of the day and night from his modest establishment. We learned of the Hollinger family and the generations of local auctioneers, and their busy hotel that catered to loggers. The loggers danced in their spiked boots and old Charlie Hollinger had to replace the floors once a year. We heard about the McEwen family and visited their popular maple shack in the spring. We heard the local names over and over: Blair, McFarlane, Horricks, Rathwell, Cullen and Kehoe.
We learned that the Irish Roman Catholics were a devoted bunch, loyal to their church, but also possessed an entirely different belief system that included ghosts and fairies, and the little people. We heard about Jimmy Whalen, a neighbour to the Stafford family, and how his lover could still be seen late at night walking along the banks of the Mississippi River, searching for her long lost Jimmy. We listened to stories about the lumber wars in the old days between the McLaren and Caldwell families, and the yearly cattle drives to Carleton Place.
The Sunday drive always ended the same way, with a visit to Lloyd and Evelyn Dickenson’s store for an ice cream cone and a bottle of Pure Spring pop. Dad and Lloyd talked about the old days, and walked together along the shore, near the cottages, recounting tales of catching bullfrogs, and fishing in the river.
I miss our drives to Ferguson Falls, and stopping for a bag of curd at the Balderson Cheese Factory along the way, visiting the graves of our ancestors, walking where they walked, and hearing the stories of the good old days. Dad, and his cousin Tom are gone now, but their stories live on. I often wonder if they told the same stories again and again so that we would remember; remember the place where the ancestors settled, remember the customs and legends from the old country, remember so that we could tell their stories, of this special place, called Ferguson Falls.
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The old families of Ferguson Falls: Badour, Bennett, Blair, Byrne, Byrnes, Carberry, Closs, Craig, Cooke, Cullen, Cunningham, Cuthbertson, Dickenson, Donnelly, Doroway, Doyle, Ebbs, Ferguson, Finlayson, Forrest, Giles, Gommersall, Grey, Haley, Harrington, Hartney, Hicks, Hickey, Hogan, Hollinger, Horricks, Ireton, Keefe, Kehoe, Kenny, Little, McCaffrey, McEwen, McFarlane, McGarry, McIntyre, McIlquham, McLaughlin, McLenaghan, McNaughton, Montgomery, Moran, Moulton, Murphy, Murray, Nagel, Neville, O’Connor, O’Keefe, O’Sullivan, Phelan, Poole, Power, Price, Quinn, Rathwell, Robinson, Rothwell, Richards, Ruttle, Ryan, Scanlon, Spence, Stafford, Sullivan, Traill, Tullis.
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For more information on Ferguson Falls and St. Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church: https://arlenestaffordwilson.wordpress.com/2012/07/06/st-patricks-church-fergusons-falls-lanark-county/
For Thomas Stafford’s account of the “Cattle Drives in Ferguson Falls” in “Lanark County Chronicle: Double Back to the Third Line”
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For the legend of Jimmy Whelan, – “The Ghost of Ferguson Falls” – “Lanark County Calling: All Roads Lead Home”
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The story of “The Stumble Inn of Ferguson Falls”, from the book “Lanark County Collection”
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September 18, 2020
Chaplin’s Dairy in Glen Tay
Whenever I saw the big white and pink Chaplin’s Dairy truck pull into the yard, I had only one thing on my mind; and that was their delicious chocolate milk. It came in small pint-sized glass bottles, and had a round, waxed cardboard cap on the top to seal it in. The cap had a little tab, so that you could pull it off of the bottle, and the pint bottle was the perfect size for small eager hands. After the cap was off, I was just seconds away from tipping the bottle and tasting the richest, creamiest chocolate milk ever produced.
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Our Dad worked for Chaplin’s Dairy for decades. He drove one of the big pink and white trucks, and had a regular ‘route’ of customers in Perth. He used a big, black, metal carrier to transport milk from the back of the truck to the customer’s front door. The carrier had eight slots, and each slot held a quart bottle of milk. He also had a book of order slips. It was a small, thick pad of paper about three by six inches, stapled together at the end. There was a top sheet that was numbered, a small sheet of carbon paper under that, and a blank sheet at the bottom. On the top copy, Dad wrote the customer’s name, address, and what they had ordered, along with the total price and that was the customer’s copy. Because each order was written on top of the sheet of carbon paper, the Dairy had a carbon copy underneath for their records.
Once in a while Dad would bring me to the Dairy and I was fascinated to see the many steps that the milk went through in order to end up on someone’s table. It was fun to sit in the big truck so high up, and the ride was very different from our car at home. The truck bounced up and down a lot more, and made a lot of noise, as we drove down the lane, and up the third line toward Perth. It was neat to look outside, and see how much lower the other cars were on the road. Every time we’d go over a bump or hill the truck would bounce again, and of course there were no seat belts in those days, so it was quite exciting.
We’d drive along until we could see Nick and Doreen Webber’s house at the corner, and we’d begin to slow down. Just a bit past Webber’s house we turned right, and Chaplin’s Dairy was a small building on the right side of the road, just up from the corner at Glen Tay.
We’d park the truck, and I would follow Dad into the Dairy. As soon as he opened the door I could see all of the steam in the air. It was really, really, humid. The inside of the building was grey and concrete and the floor was always wet. Sometimes we’d see one of the Chaplin brothers Cameron or John, and they always wore big rubber boots and the steam rose up all around them.
Because the milk came in glass bottles in those days, a lot of the steam was produced from the big machine that they used to sterilize the bottles. When the customers were finished with their milk, they would rinse their bottles (hopefully!), leave them on their doorstep for Dad, and he would bring them back to the Dairy that evening. John or Cameron Chaplin would take the empty bottles and put them through the bottle washer. The bottle washer washed, rinsed, sterilized, and then rinsed again, so the bottles were sparkling clean and ready for the next batch of milk.
The next machine filled the bottles, then capped them with the little waxed cardboard caps. There was a large room toward the back of the Dairy, and that was a cold storage room, where the freshly bottled milk was kept. Most of the time when I visited I saw them bottling homogenized, 2 per cent, skim, and chocolate milk. Sometimes, one of the Chaplins, would hand me a pint bottle of chocolate milk, right off of the filling machine. I would gladly accept, and thought to myself that if Mother was here she would say that I was going to spoil my supper. Dad never said anything though, because he knew how much I loved Chaplin’s chocolate milk.
Chaplin’s Dairy was a family business. The dairy was started by Delbert Chaplin in the early 1900s, and his brother Edgar Chaplin also worked in the business. The Chaplin family owned a large 300 acre farm at R.R 4 Perth and Delbert demonstrated his ingenuity by setting up a method to process their milk from their Holstein herd. At first he operated the business from their farm, but later in 1935 he built the Dairy building at Glen Tay corners.
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1920 – Edgar Chaplin, (Uncle of John and Cameron Chaplin)
When Chaplin’s Dairy began to deliver milk from the new location at Glen Tay, the quarts of milk were just 5 cents each, and it was delivered by horse and wagon. The milk was not bottled at that time but was distributed to the customers from a large tank at the back of the wagon. The customer would leave a container on their front step or front porch, and Delbert or Edgar would ladle the milk out of the larger can with a pint or quart measure.
The Chaplin farm was producing an average of 3,000 quarts of milk per day and John, Cameron and their brother Don processed the milk and delivered it in the Perth area.
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photo: Nancy Gingerich
The demand for their milk increased, and they expanded, and made arrangements to have five neighbouring farms supply their business with additional milk. They were also producing chocolate milk and buttermilk at that time. They made butter as well, but only to supply their own families and it wasn’t for sale to the public.
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L to R: Gordon Chaplin, (Royce Frith seated in truck), Donald ‘Don’ Chaplin
By 1945 the sons had taken over the dairy farm and Don took on the responsibility of managing the farm, but their father continued to be active at the Dairy. They continued to expand their business and operated for many decades. They expanded their product line to include grape juice and orange juice.They were successful and respected in the community and were known for their high quality products throughout the Perth area.
Tim Stafford: ” When I turned nine, Mom told Dad that she could no longer put up with me on Saturdays because of my bad behavior. That’s the ‘how and why’ of me working with Dad, on the milk truck for Chaplin’s Dairy.
I wasn’t much help at first, but he gave me fifty cents and a chocolate bar purchased at McGlade’s service station, on Gore Street.
Later, when I got my driver’s license, John Chaplin hired me and another high school student, Don Lindsay, to do his milk route, and the Christie Lake cottage route, while he covered the other routes and the ‘inside’ workers for summer vacations.
We were making $25.00 a week, plus we were expected to eat at the restaurants we delivered to on a rotating basis. The daily meal was paid for by Chaplin’s Dairy. John Chaplin’s favourite restaurant was Wong’s Chinese, but Don and I preferred ‘The Bright Spot’, where Muz MacLean, Hillis Conroy’s son-in-law worked. We usually ordered grilled cheese, french fries, and cokes.”
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Quart milk bottles – 1960s
Roger Stafford: “I am not positive, but I believe I was about 12 when I started working Saturdays and summers with Dad on the milk truck. The first Summer I worked with Dad, our brother, Tim, was working with Grant or Gary Chaplin.
They were delivering to the stores and restaurants in Perth, and to summer camps and cottages. They drove to Christie Lake to deliver to Cavanagh’s (general store) and the Lodges (Norvic Lodge and Arliedale Lodge) . I believe Tim had been Dad’s helper on the milk truck, prior to me starting to work with Dad.
We used to be at the dairy by 7:00 a.m., and usually got home between 17:30 and 18:00 in the evenings. When I first started with Dad, we delivered milk out of the back of a pickup with a tarp over the glass bottles to protect them from the sun and cold. Milk was 23 cents a quart bottle, and 25 cents for chocolate milk. We also had pints and half pints in glass bottles. Whipped cream and buttermilk were also carried on the truck. It was not long after I started that we used an enclosed truck to deliver out of. It was much easier, but it had no air conditioning, and a piss-poor heater. When I worked six days a week in the summer, I earned $6. for the week.”
In 1970 Don decided to sell the farm and a few years later in 1974 John and Cameron made the decision to stop processing the milk themselves and just be distributors. In total, John worked for 42 years in the business and Cameron for 30. At that time Chaplins were one of the last small dairies that still processed their own milk. They began to sell milk for Clark’s Dairies in Ottawa. John felt that there were too many changes taking place at that time and that the cost would be too prohibitive to continue processing their own milk.
The milk industry in the 1970s was changing from glass bottles to paper cartons,although most customers preferred the taste of milk in glass bottles. The process of returning and washing the bottles was becoming too time consuming, and too expensive. The federal government was also insisting that businesses use the metric system. This conversion would have meant purchasing new equipment because their milk was sold in pints and quarts, and they would have to begin selling in litres.
At the point in time when John and Cameron decided to sell the business, they had 1,000 customers, and a modern fleet of trucks, doing 12 runs per day, with four salesmen. They also offered a complete line of dairy products which included cottage cheese, eggs and also several types of juice. Their last delivery was made by Cameron, on Sept. 17, 1977 and their milk at that time, was 65 cents a quart.
Chaplin’s Dairy was sold that year to Bill McConachie. Bill was formerly a driver for many years who brought the milk from Ottawa. His plan was to begin delivering milk to Smiths Falls, to increase his market.
It’s likely difficult for the younger generation to believe that milk was delivered door to door each day, or that it had no expiry date stamped on the bottle. The milk was fresh from the cow either that day, or the day before, processed at Chaplin’s Dairy, and delivered right to your door step. There was no need for an expiry date. It’s also interesting that they managed to have a pretty successful recycling process of sterilizing the bottles and getting them back on the trucks by the next morning. That was all accomplished without ‘blue bins’ and recycling plants.
Did the milk taste better in a glass bottle? Yes, it did; and anyone who has drank it from a bottle will tell you the same thing. We certainly drank enough of the stuff at our house to offer an opinion on that. One of the benefits of having your father work as a milk man is that he brought home enough milk for the family, each night, in his milk carrier. When you are raising five children, that’s a lot of milk. We were fortunate to have had such fresh milk each and every day and we never ran out.
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One Pint, glass milk bottle, 1960s
Although the work wasn’t easy, I believe that Dad enjoyed his customers in Perth, and the quick chats had each day. Whenever Mother and Dad shopped at the IGA on Wilson Street, customers from his milk route would often come up to say ‘Hello’, and exchange a few words. Dad was well liked, and at Christmas his customers showered him with gifts. He received many, many boxes of chocolates, packs of cigarettes and one and two dollar bills in lovely Christmas cards. He was always late getting home Christmas Eve, and part of the reason was that his customers took a few extra minutes to wish him a Merry Christmas, and give him their gifts.
We were fortunate to have grown up at a time when there were family businesses, producing high quality products, and selling them door to door. At one time we had a milk man, an egg man- (Mr. Greer), and a bread man, delivering right to our door.
As the years passed by, many of the small family businesses have closed down, one by one, and in many cases our products are produced far away by people we don’t know. There are dates stamped on the products now telling us when they are destined to ‘expire’. We often have no idea what processes are used to make some of the things that we eat, and so we purchase them on faith alone. Gone are the days when we always knew what we were eating, and even knew the people that made the goods.
Now, we are left with the memories of Chaplin’s, our small, local dairy in Glen Tay. It was a place where we could stop by for a visit and be greeted by John, Don, or Cameron in their big rubber boots, clouds of steam rising all around them. With a big smile they’d pluck a pint of chocolate milk off of the line, and hand it to a little girl from down the road. Their products were made with pride and care, and they were confident that their customers would be satisfied. For years, Chaplin’s Dairy was a well known business in our community, and their products were enjoyed in Perth and area homes for many, many decades.
(excerpts from ‘Lanark County Kid: My Travels up and down the Third Line’)
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Memories of working at Chaplin’s Dairy – my brothers Tim Stafford and Roger Stafford, excerpts from the book ‘Recipes and Recollections: Treats and Tales from our Mother’s Kitchen’
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photos: Stafford family collection, Perth Remembered
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