Arlene Stafford-Wilson's Blog, page 48
October 25, 2019
Hallowe’en in Perth – 1960s and 1970s
[image error]
Oh the tricks and treats in the town of Perth, in the 60s, and 70s!
Come along for a trip down memory lane, as we re-visit the spooky Hallowe’en nights – the candy, the costumes, the dances, and some naughty behavior thrown in for good measure!
The Treats
You might be surprised to find out the kinds of treats we had in the 60s and 70s. One of the most popular treats – Apples! Apples were an economical treat, especially for people who grew them in their own back yards, and it was not uncommon to have seven or eight apples in our sacks by the time we returned home from our trick-or-treating.
[image error]
[image error]
“The Perth Courieer”, Oct. 25, 1962
[image error]
[image error]
1963
Two of the most popular treats back in the 60s and 70s, were peanuts in the shell, and Hallowe’en ‘kisses’. Loose peanuts were an affordable treat to purchase, and often, the people who answered the door would grab a handful from a big bowl, and drop them into our sacks. Same with the Hallowe’en kisses. They were usually given out loose, by the bunch, and weren’t as expensive as some of the other treats available for sale at local stores.
[image error] [image error]
[image error]
In 1961 – Decorated sugar cookies, wrapped brownies, cupcakes – anything homemade, were considered crowd-pleasing treats!
[image error]
You might see a plate of cookies like these, wrapped individually, in saran, at a neighbour’s home, ready for trick-or-treaters!
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Oct. 26, 1961
These were very popular in the 1960s, and it was almost certain that you would get a couple of these candies during a night of Trick-or-Treating – everyone’s favourite – Bazooka Joe bubble gum, with the comic inside, or sour Rockets.
[image error] [image error]
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, October 21, 1971
Hallowe’en Decorations
In the 60s and 70s, we had two main Hallowe’en decorations that you might see at someone’s house – the jack-o-lantern, and the outdoor light.
[image error]
The Jack-o-lantern was usually carved the night of Hallowe’en, and consisted of three triangles – two for the eyes, one for the nose, and a mis-shapen mouth, that was usually a bit crooked. We didn’t have ‘pumpkin carving kits’, or ‘stencils’, or ‘patterns’. The example above, is likely what you might see on someone’s front step, or porch.
The second most common Hallowe’en ‘decoration’ of the ’60s and ’70s was the Outdoor Light. This was the single most important indicator of whether we would be trick or treating at a particular home, or not. If the light was out, that meant that the home-owners had either gone to bed, or had run out of candy, so that was our clue not to bother knocking. If, on the other hand, the outside light was on, then we made a bee-line straight for the house, knowing that someone was willing to drop a candy or two into our sacks.
[image error]
Today, we see very elaborate decorations, strings of lights, fancy candles, strobe lights, spooky music, and more. Kids would be surprised that we did not have any of that.
It was very unusual to see anything other than a Jack-o-Lantern, on Hallowe’en. Many people even thought it was wasteful to buy a pumpkin, carve it up, and throw it out the next day. Not everyone was affluent enough to do this. It was more common to see the ‘Outdoor Light’, and be satisfied with that. How times have changed!
Hallowe’en Dances and Masquerade Balls
Many of the local halls and clubs held special Hallowe’en dances or masquerade parties. Some of the most popular venues of those times for dances, where people dressed in costumes were, the Maberly Agricultural Hall, the ABC Hall in Bolingbroke, the Legion, the Lions’ Hall, and the Ompah Community Hall.
[image error]
You could strut your stuff at the Maberly Agricultural Hall…
[image error]
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Oct. 27, 1966
[image error]
Or dance the night away in Bolingbroke, at the ABC Hall…
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
Even the local ladies’ church auxiliary of Calvin United Church, in Bathurst Township, got in on the Hallowe’en fun, deciding to have a Hallowe’en party for the children in the church…
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Oct. 18, 1962
There was lots of local Hallowe’en fun in the neighbouring communities. Innisville School-teacher, Mrs. Mac McLellan knew how to throw a good party for the kids.
[image error]
1962
The Costumes
The costumes in the 1960s and 70s, at least in our small communities, tended to be the budget variety. Very few people at that time, in our area, thought that it made much sense to go out and spend a lot of money on a costume that would be worn one night only.
Whether the costumes were for kids, or whether they were for teenagers, or adults for a Hallowe’en dance, the end result usually relied much heavier on imagination than cold hard cash.
[image error]
[image error]
“The Perth Courier” Oct. 15, 1964
Remember collecting money for UNICEF?
I don’t remember what year it was, that there was suddenly a big ‘push’ for us to collect money (usually pennies) for UNICEF, in place of gathering candy. Being a kid at the time, it didn’t seem like much of a trade-off to come home with a handful of pennies rattling around in a UNICEF box, instead of putting as much candy as possible into the pillowcase I carried around, on Hallowe’en night. I don’t remember anyone explaining where the money was going, or who it was going to. That didn’t help matters.
Well, the kids in Prestonvale were quite the enthusiastic money-collectors, compared to the rest. Imagine in a very small community, where people usually gave a few pennies per UNICEF box, and these kids managed to collect over $11.00. That’s a lot of pennies! I don’t recall anyone ever dropping more than a penny or two, maybe three, into my UNICEF box, in the 60s.
[image error]
[image error]
The Hallowe’en mischief in Perth !!!
For a town located so close to farm communities, it’s hard to explain that each year at Hallowe’en there was a real fascination for throwing eggs. I don’t know whether the mischief-makers were buying these at Rubino’s, IGA, or maybe Boles’ or East-End Grocers, but I imagine that there were a lot of local businesses who profited from the sharp rise in egg sales every October 31st.
[image error]
Run, everybody run!
[image error]
….and this was the front of many local houses
[image error]
…..and the local car-wash was busy the following day…
[image error]
25 to 50 people raced through Perth, throwing stones, bottles, eggs, and garbage…
[image error]
[image error]
A real mess on Gore Street
….a free-for-all bottle-throwing contest going on from each side of the street
[image error]
...the most expensive piece of vandalism was a late model car, set on fire on Leslie Street…
[image error]
Things continued to escalate into the late 1960s….
[image error]
[image error]
…heaved a nice, juicy tomato
at the windshield of my car….
The egg-throwing in Perth became so rampant throughout the 1960s, that by 1968, companies like Andy’s Window Cleaning, were advertising to come and clean-up your windows, the day after Hallowe’en.
[image error]
More Shenanigans in the 70s…..
Jim Ewart’s farm became the site for one of the best local Hallowe’en tricks in the 1970s. I don’t know which of our local lads pulled this one off, but they must have had one scary climb up the silo in the dark. Someone had a lot of imagination, but maybe too much time on their hands!
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, November 12, 1970
…and the Hallowe’en prank, that topped all Hallowe’en pranks…took place in 1975.
I recall at the time, this particular prank was the talk of the town. In those days, I spent a lot of time in that part of town, so there was much speculation as to which of the lads had pulled this one off. It wasn’t unusual for the boys to climb the water tower in those days, sometimes full of extra bravery, compliments of a night on the town; but it had to require a little extra skill (and maybe some help?) to hang the stuffed dummy so that it was dangling from the tower.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Nov. 6, 1975, p.6
Was Hallowe’en more fun in the 60s and 70s than it is today? Well, if you ask anyone, they will likely say that they enjoyed the Hallowe’en of their youth, no matter what decade it was.
We had a lot of imagination in those days, to make up for the lack of money for fancy costumes and decorations. We never knew what kind of pranks would take place, but we sure became good at dodging flying eggs, while walking down Gore Street.
What do I miss the most? The laughter, the high-spirits, running from house to house, and most of all, I miss the homemade treats!
[image error]
Have a safe and happy Hallowe’en!
[image error]
October 22, 2019
Perth Library – Heart of the Town
Although there was a reading room established on the main street of Perth in the 1800s, which featured current newspapers, books and periodicals, it wasn’t until the beginning of the twentieth century that a formal library building was constructed.
With the help of a large donation from the Andrew Carnegie Foundation, along with municipal and private funds, a library was built and opened to the public on Dec. 30th,1907.
[image error]
Andrew Carnegie 1835-1919
(Carnegie was a self-made steel tycoon, philanthropist, and one of the wealthiest people of his time. A great believer in the value of libraries, he donated money to build a total of 2,509 Carnegie libraries between 1883 and 1929)
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Dec. 27, 1907, p.4
[image error]
The Perth Library, in its early days – Ontario Archives
Perth received $10,000 from Andrew Carnegie, which was spent solely on the building. Money for furnishings and books had to be raised locally by donations.
[image error]
“The Ottawa Citizen”, Oct. 28, 1907, pg. 12
The Perth Library was one of five libraries in Ontario that was built using grants from American philanthropist Andrew Carnegie. Constructed from local rock and brick, the library was an impressive three story building gracing Gore Street near the Tay River canal.
No Smoking Rule – Jan. 1908
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Jan. 3, 1908, p.4
[image error]
The Perth Public Library, shortly after it was built, 1907
Catalogues Listing all books at the Perth Library – 15 cents each
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Jan. 17, 1908 p.4
New Books Purchased in Feb. 1908
[image error]
“Songs of a Sourdough”, by Robert Service
[image error]
“The Fair Maid of Perth”, by Sir Walter Scott
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Feb. 14, 1908, p. 1
[image error]
One of the books purchased for the Perth Library in 1908
[image error]
The Perth Library, 1970s
The Fire
At at 7:15 p.m on Thursday, January 3rd, 1980, flames tore through the building. It was said at the time that the fire likely began in the basement.
“Shaking their heads in disbelief, Perth’s residents, both young and old, gazed yesterday at the gutted remains of their historical public library.”
For over four hours a team of about 50 fire-fighters fought in freezing temperatures, and poured thousands of gallons of water into the building, through smashed windows and doorways.
Perth police constable, Bob Carnrite, said, “The cause of the fire is a mystery.”
Water soaked books smoldered in the gutted building and nothing could be saved. Over 62,000 books along with paintings, antiques, maps and historical documents were lost.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Jan. 9, 1980
Diana Cleland, head Librarian, said, “It’s almost impossible to place a value on the loss. It never ceased to amaze me the types and numbers of people who used the library. Some came in every day to read, or play records. To them, it was a meeting place.”
[image error]
The Perth Courier”, Jan. 9, 1980
I recall the eerie sight of the building, familiar to so many of us, appeared like an ice castle because of the frigid temperatures, and the tremendous amount of water used to fight the fire.
“Every child is talking about it today.”, said Eve Dodge, Supervisor of the Perth Daycare Center. “Because of all the programs held there and their frequent contact, the library was a very important part of their lives.”
It was a devastating loss to the town of Perth having been one of the loveliest buildings on the main street for so many decades.
“For this town, the library was the heart of the community.”
It also meant job loss for Assistant Librarians, Susan Mackey, and Fay Cunningham.
[image error]
“Ottawa Journal”, Jan 5, 1980
Artist, Dorothy Renals, said she felt sick about the fire. “I had a very personal feeling for that library. As an artist, I helped choose art books over the years and was in there at least twice a week to do research for my own paintings.”
Harold Jordan, Inspector withe the Ontario Fire Marshall’s Office visited the site once the blaze was extinguished, and sifted through the ruins.
“I haven’t formed any conclusions yet”, Jordan said, “I’m considering every possibility. There are some indications the fire may have started in the basement, but I have no information at the moment which points the cause at anything other than accidental. Our minds are still open.”
The inspection showed that no fuses in the library had blown, and that the fire had started in the basement.
Secretary Treasurer, Ivey Mather, said, the investigation continues….
The Perth Public Library Board immediately began to find a temporary location for a public library.
The Board was offered space above the River Guild, and at St. James’ Hall, and even at the old Bell Telephone building.
“We could be back into circulation by next week.”, said Board Chairman, Bernard Elliot.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Jan. 9, 1980, p.2
Other local libraries donated books and these were housed temporarily in the basement of McMartin House, and plans were quickly put into place to establish a new library.
[image error]
The present library, on the corner of Herriott and Drummond Streets, was opened on December 16th, 1981.
[image error]
Photo: Lanark MPP Doug Wiseman cuts the ribbon. Library Board Members: Wes Barber, Bernard Elliot, and Ivy Mather.
The new building was constructed, at a total cost of $800,000.
(the original library in 1907 was built for $13,000)
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Dec. 16, 1981, p. 1,
The ‘new’ Perth Library:
[image error]
The ‘new’ Perth library is located at 30 Herriott St, Perth, Ontario – a beautiful setting, along the Tay River.
[image error]
note: The original Perth Library building was purchased by G.W. McMillan, a local contractor, for $26,000. It has been beautifully restored, and is now known as the McMillan Building. On Jan. 27, 1981, the building was designated a ‘Heritage’ structure, by the province of Ontario.
[image error]
The McMillan Building, Perth, Ontario, 2004
………….
October 19, 2019
Drummond Pioneer Irish Boxty
[image error]
Drummond Pioneer Irish Boxty
Many of the early settlers in Lanark County, arrived in 1816, like our pioneer ancestor, Tobias Stafford. He came from County Wexford, married the lovely Elizabeth ‘Betsy’ McGarry, from County Westmeath, and after a year spent on Stafford Island, built a home on lot 10, 11th concession of Drummond Township.
One of the recipes brought from their native southern Ireland, was for Irish Boxty. It was a simple dish, made with ingredients on hand. In those days, it was a very long trip by horse and buggy to Perth, for supplies. Many of the early recipes relied on staples, ingredients available in the cupboard, at home.
As some may already know, the Irish love their limericks, and poems, and there is a little rhyme about Boxty, that was often recited with a wink and a smile. Although it is not very politically-correct in these times, it gives us a glimpse into the things of the past, that were popular in the early days:
“Boxty on the griddle,
Boxty in the pan,
If you can’t make boxty,
You’ll never get your man”
Recipe for Boxty/ Irish Potato Cakes
2 c mashed potatoes
1 Tbsp flour
2 Tbsp milk
1 Tbsp grated onion
1 egg, beaten
Mix all ingredients together, shape into patties, and fry in a greased pan, until golden brown. (salt and pepper to taste) Serve with eggs, breakfast meats, and hot buttered toast.
[image error]
(enjoy with a cup of hot Irish breakfast tea, or hot black tea, as our parents did)
[image error]
This old recipe, in its simplicity, may not be diverse enough for the modern palate, and some may wish to add spices or vegetables into the mix.
Mother and Dad enjoyed plain food that wouldn’t upset their stomachs, and this certainly fits the bill.
and…never to be forgotten, the ritual that always came before any meal at the Stafford home, was the grace:
“Heavenly Father,
Bless this food to our use,
and us, for thy service”
Amen
[image error]
………….
For more information on the early Irish settlers of Drummond Township, and St. Patrick’s church:
St. Patrick’s Church, Drummond Township
This recipe is from “Recipes and Recollections: Treats and Tales from our Mother’s Kitchen” ISBN: 9780987-7026-09
[image error]
October 16, 2019
Ottawa Valley Poltergeist
[image error]
The Haunting Begins
This eerie tale began in the autumn of 1889, on a farm, owned by George Dagg, and his wife, Susan, located in Clarendon, 10 kilometers from Shawville, Quebec.
George and Susan had three children at that time, Eliza, age 4, Mary, age 3, and baby John. The Dagg family had also taken in a young girl, 11-year old Dinah. Like many orphans from the U.K. at that time, she was brought to Canada, and these children were often placed in farm homes, where they could help out.
When Dinah was present, there were often unexplained, spontaneous fires — eight occurring in a single day. Objects – a water jug, butter tub and wash basin ‘flew’ around the property controlled by an “invisible agency.” Stones were thrown through windows, a harmonica played on its own, and an empty rocking chair, rocked back and forth.
Family members and neighbours heard a deep gruff voice, sounding like an old man, in the house and outdoors, and the voice answered questions, and was heard by all.
It all began on September 15, 1889…..
[image error]
“The Philadelphia Inquirer”, Jan. 13, 1890, p.6
Who Broke the Glass?
[image error]
“Oh, Grandmother, see the big black thing pulling off the bedclothes.”
[image error]
“The Philadelphia Inquirer”, Jan. 13, 1890, p.6
The Dagg Family Consulted with The Witch of Plum Hollow
[image error]
Percy Woodcock, of Brockville, a well-known artist, and student of Psychology, began to investigate the strange occurrences at the Dagg home…..
[image error]
[image error]Percy Woodcock, 1879
Was it the farm-hand, Dean?
[image error]
“The Dunn County News”, Menomonie, Wisconsin, Oct. 25, 1889, p.6
Some claimed it was Dinah…
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Nov. 29, 1889
Dinah Burden McLean, the adopted orphan from Scotland, taken in by the kindly Dagg family, was blamed for the disturbances, and eventually was sent away to Fairknowe Home, in Brockville. Fairknowe Home was an orphanage, and at the time Dinah was sent there, it was called The National Orphan Homes of Scotland, and later the building housed a division of the Brockville Children’s Aid.
[image error]
Fairknowe Home for Orphans, Brockville, Ontario
[image error]
Children at Fairknowe Home, Brockville, late 1890s
(a section of the Old Brockville cemetery has a large monument with the names of the children who died at Fairknowe Home)
[image error]
“He claims to be a discarnated being who died twenty years ago, aged eighty years; that he gave his name to Mr. George Dagg and to Mr. Willie Dagg, forbidding them to tell it.”
Seventeen farmers and community leaders, including local politicians and clergymen, signed witness statements to the unusual sightings, and voices heard at the Dagg farm, in the fall of 1889.
[image error]
Seventeen people witnessed the disturbances of the Poltergeist, and signed a statement to that effect…
“To whom it may concern:
We, the undersigned, solemnly declare that the following curious proceedings, which began on the 15th day of September, 1889, and are still going on, on the 17th day of November, 1889, in the home of Mr. George Dagg, a farmer living seven miles from Shawville, Clarendon Township, Pontiac County, Province of Quebec, actually occurred as below described.
1st, That fires have broken out spontaneously through the house, as many as eight occurring on one day, six being in the house and two outside; that the window curtains were burned whilst on the windows, this happening in broad daylight whilst the family and neighbours were in the house.
2nd, That stones were thrown by invisible hands through the windows, as many as eight panes of glass being broken; that articles such as waterjug, milk pitcher, a wash basin, cream jug, butter tub and other articles were thrown about the house by the same invisible agency; a jar of water being thrown in the face of Mrs. John Dagg, also in the face of Mrs. George Dagg, whilst they were busy about their household duties, Mrs. George Dagg being alone in the house at the time it was thrown in her face; that a large shelf was heard distinctly to be played and was seen to move across the room on to the floor; immediately after, a rocking chair began rocking furiously. That a washboard was sent flying down the stairs from the garret, no one being in the garret at the time. That when the child Dinah is present, a deep gruff voice like that of an aged man has been heard at various times, both in the house and outdoors, and when asked questions answered so as to be distinctly heard, showing that he is cognizant of all that has taken place, not only in Mr. Dagg’s family but also in the families of the surrounding neighbourhood. That he claims to be a discarnated being who died twenty years ago, aged eighty years; that he gave his name to Mr. George Dagg and to Mr. Willie Dagg, forbidding them to tell it. That this intelligence is able to make himself visible to Dinah, little Mary and Johnnie, who have seen him under different forms at different times, at one time as a tall thin man with a cow’s head, horns and cloven foot, at another time as a big black dog, and finally as a man with a beautiful face and long white hair, dressed in white, wearing a crown with stars in it.
Signed,
John Dagg Portage du Fort, PQ.; George Dagg, Portage du Fort, PQ; William Eddes, Radsford, PQ; William H. Dagg Port. du Fort; Arthur Smart, Port. du Fort; Charles A. Dagg, Port. du Fort; Bruno Morrow, Port. du Fort; Benjamin Smart, Shawville, PQ.; William J. Dagg, Shawville, PQ.; Robert F. Peever, Cobden, Ont.; Robert H. Lockhart, Port. du Fort; John Fulfrid, Port. du Fort; George H. Hodgins, Shawville; Richard F. Dagg, Shawville; George Blackwell, Haley’s, Ont.; William Smart, Portage du Fort; John J. Dagg, Portage du Fort.”
Curiosity-seekers came by the wagon-load, from neighbouring towns and villages, along with the media, to witness the Dagg Poltergeist
[image error]
The Dagg house, below, as it appeared before the additions
[image error]
Attested by Scores of Credible Witnesses
[image error]
“The Times”, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Jan. 14, 1891, p.3
“The man left with Dinah, and she was never heard from again….”
[image error] [image error]
Charlie Harris, of R. R. # 2, Shawville, was hit on the head by the Poltergeist
[image error]
“It” threw water in Mrs. Dagg’s face…..
[image error]
The Dagg House 2017
[image error]
Charlene Lombard, lived in the former Dagg home in 2017. Photo: Darren Brown, “The Ottawa Citizen”
Noted by the Lombard family – a strange sound of crawling and scratching in the attic, solely focused above the original house.
[image error]
Dagg house, with ‘new’ addition (added after George and Susan Dagg occupied the home)
Eliza Jane, age 4, the Dagg’s daughter, died mysteriously, during the time of the poltergeist’s visit.
[image error]
Grave of Eliza Dagg, daughter of George and Susan Dagg. She passed away in a mysterious accident, during the time of the poltergeist on the family farm. (local lore is little Eliza was playing near a cauldron of soap, her clothing caught fire, and she burned to death)
[image error]
Protestant Cemetery of Portage du Fort, Outaouais, Quebec
After the Poltergeist
After the disturbances of 1889, the lives of George Dagg and his family returned to normal, for the most part. George became one of the most prominent farmers in the region, and served as a Councillor for Portage from 1918-1922. Popular, and well-respected, he ran for Mayor in 1922, and was elected. He served as Mayor of Portage for 16 years, right up until his death, in 1938.
[image error]
“The Ottawa Citizen”, May 30, 1938, p.2
[image error]
Protestant Cemetery of Portage du Fort, Outaouais, Quebec
[image error]
“The Ottawa Citizen”, Nov. 18, 2014,
(Venetia Crawford, author and historian, with the Pontiac County, Quebec, Archives)
[image error]
The Dagg house, as it appeared in 2014
Did it vanish for good, or did it return?
The old-timers say that the poltergeist vanished, and appeared like a streaking flame, as it finally left the Dagg farm, after three long months, of troublesome behavior.
[image error]
[image error]
The Dagg House, as it appears today. Local people and curiosity seekers still drive by this property, and local teens have been known to walk through the yard at night, on a dare.
Would You Dare to Visit at Night?
[image error]
More on the Dagg Poltergeist:
A movie about the Dagg Poltergeist, was produced by the National Film Board, and the story was published in a book by R.S. Lambert in 1955:
Exploring the Supernatural: The Weird in Canadian Folklore
1955. R.S Lambert’s book Exploring The Supernatural: The Weird In Canadian Folklore was published, which includes a chapter of what took place at the farm in 1889.
…..
The Ghost that Talked
The Dagg poltergeist was the subject of 1957 National Film Board movie, “The Ghost That Talked.”
“In the fall of 1889 a mysterious presence took up residence in the Dagg farmhouse in Pontiac county, Québec. This dramatization based on the first-hand report by Canadian artist Percy Woodcock shows that ghosts and poltergeists are as common in Canada as in the Old World.”
March 10th, 1957, 30 min.
…….
Fairknowe Home
For more information on Fairknowe Home, orphanage in Brockville: “The Village, A History of Quarriers” , by Anna Magnusson, 1984.
…….
October 5, 2019
Perth’s Haunted Hospital
[image error]
It wasn’t until I worked at the Perth hospital kitchen in the 1970s, that I began hearing stories about the ghosts that haunted their halls at night.
Although I was born in the Great War Memorial Hospital, and years later would attend high school just a block away, no one had ever mentioned the legends surrounding the original owners of the building, or how that family had been cursed.
Curious to find out more, I began to ask around town. Being a small town where everyone knew someone, who knew something; it didn’t take long before I spoke with someone, who knew someone else, who’d seen something unusual at the old hospital. I began to write down some of the stories about the building on Drummond Street that I thought, had always been a hospital. I discovered that it hadn’t started out as a hospital at all.
The story begins with a Judge John Malloch, a prominent citizen of the early days in Perth, who decided in 1858 to build an opulent stone house on Drummond Street. His home had all of the bells and whistles. There were 17 rooms, along with two large halls that were each ten feet wide. There was a solid walnut staircase, a large library, and a fine polished marble mantelpiece. In those days, it was considered by many, to be one of the finest homes in all of Eastern Ontario. The Judge named the home Victoria Hall, for the reigning Queen at that time.
[image error]
Description of Judge Malloch’s home, Victoria Hall, ‘The Perth Courier’, May 9, 1984, p.21
Judge Malloch had ordered many luxurious materials and finishes for his home, some from a distance, and he often became impatient because his building supplies didn’t arrive on time. One of his suppliers had promised delivery on a certain date and the materials did not arrive when needed. This caused a critical delay in construction. Workers were not able to proceed, and the setback was cost the Judge a great deal of money. When the material finally arrived, the Judge was so annoyed that he refused to pay.
The supplier became extremely agitated, because even though he admitted that he was very late, he stressed to the Judge that he had delivered the supplies as agreed, so he felt that he should be paid. The supplier argued at length with the Judge, but Malloch stood firm and refused to pay. In the heat of the argument the supplier cursed the Judge. He went on to say that the Judge’s entire family would be cursed for as long as they lived in that house.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Nov. 10, 1982, p. 26
Years later, some would say that it was the curse, and some said that it was merely coincidence, that caused the Malloch family members to suffer ill health. Some even succumbed to death prematurely. The old Judge watched as they passed one by one, and he was left all alone in the large stately house.
[image error]
Home of Judge John Glass Malloch, photo: Perth Remembered
Fifteen years after the house was built, the old Judge died, and the once elegant Victoria Hall was left vacant.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, Dec. 12, 1873.
The only time the house was occupied was when distant family members would open the home for the summer season, stay briefly, then leave the house empty and dark for the remainder of the year.
It was during this time, when the house was left vacant, that locals passing by at night often noticed figures walking the halls or staring out the windows. Victoria Hall became known as the Haunted House of Perth.
[image error]
Some said they saw what looked like a thin, sickly. old woman, standing at the window, staring down at Drummond Street below. Others claimed that they saw the ghost of the old white-haired judge, walking up and down the long halls, as if he was searching for something or someone.
[image error]
Grave of Judge John Malloch, Elmwood Cemetery, Perth, Ontario
The Perth hospital, in the former Victoria Hall, opened in 1923. On Armistice Day in 1924 the town of Perth dedicated the hospital as a tribute to the men and women who served in World War I, and proclaimed that it would be known as the Great War Memorial Hospital.
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, May 9, 1984, p. 21
By the time I was hired to work part-time in the hospital kitchen in 1976, there had been many additions, although by that time, the number of beds had been reduced. The provincial Ministry of Health imposed bed closures in the obstetrics ward in 1973 and local mothers had to travel to Smiths Falls to have their babies.
I recall that this was a heated issue at the time, and three years later, when I worked in the kitchen, it was still a topic of great discussion. The other topic, which I overheard many times discussed by the staff, were the ghosts that walked the halls at night.
Being a fairly level-headed person, I was inclined to take the ghost stories with a grain of salt, and went about my usual tasks. I’d been hired part-time to work in the evenings, to deliver trays of food to the patients, after school, and on weekend mornings, to help out with the breakfast preparations.
I recall the first day of work, when I went inside the hospital, and asked one of the staff in the lobby if they could tell me how to get to the kitchen. I got directions, and headed down the elevator to the lower level. When I arrived one of the other part time girls, Darlene Dowdall, took me on a tour of the kitchen, and introduced me to the staff. Dorothy Erwin was the kitchen supervisor. She said she’d be happy to answer any questions, and welcomed me to the kitchen. A few years later, Dorothy’s daughter Ruth, married my brother Roger, but that’s another story.
Next, Darlene brought me over to meet the cook. His name was Wayne Clapp, and he had a quick smile, and was joking around with Leonard ‘Lenny’ Parsons, the dishwasher. Wayne was preparing a beef stew, and he showed me the walk-in refrigerators. I couldn’t believe the size of those things. They were huge.
The next person I met in the kitchen was the baker, and her name was Gladys Thomas. She had a warm personality and very kind eyes. The day I met her she was busy making some vanilla pudding. She had a double-decker bake-oven, mounted on the wall behind her, and an enormous mixer for puddings and cakes.
Leonard Parsons, who I’d met earlier, came breezing by and asked if I’d like to start work by helping him wash some of the pots and pans. Darlene said she’d catch up with me later, and I followed Leonard into the dish-washing room.
Mike, the evening dishwasher, poked his head in the door and with a nervous look on his face, told Leonard that ‘Miss Bosch’ was coming. Leonard explained that Miss Gabriela Bosch was the head of the kitchen, the ‘big’ boss, and she would often drop by for a surprise inspection to make sure that everything was done just so.
He had barely finished his sentence when a very tall, dark-haired lady, wearing a white lab coat, poked her head into the doorway, said hello, and asked how everything was going. She was taller than average, and seemed very serious, and I wondered if that’s why the two men had seemed so nervous.
One of the other part time girls Heather Bell, came in and asked me if I could help her fill up the pop machine in the cafeteria. I recognized Heather from school. There were two Heather Bells, one with dark hair, but this was the blonde one, and she went by Heather ‘N.’ Bell so people would know which was which. Heather had a quick sense of humour, and she was a lot of fun to work with that evening. We joked around as we carted in the cases of pop and slotted them into the machine.
I spotted Bill Farrell coming into the cafeteria from the kitchen and he was holding a mop and pushing a bucket on wheels. He was tall and lanky and had a big smile for everyone. I recognized him from Perth High School, and he came over and introduced himself. He and Heather began joking around about some of the good time they’d had with the kitchen gang since they’d started working there and I knew for sure that there would be some fun times ahead.
Another girl from school Joy Hurren, worked behind the counter in the cafeteria, and she asked me if I’d like to help her fill some dishes with pudding. We spent about an hour doing that, and when we finished, we began to shut everything down for the night.
As we turned off the lights in the cafeteria, I heard an odd sound like someone moaning coming from inside the kitchen, but when I pushed the door open there was no one there. Joy just shook her head and seemed to think nothing of it; so, neither did I.
On my second night I worked with Joy’s younger sister Jennifer Hurren. She and I had been assigned the job of delivering supper to all of the patients. There were huge metal racks on wheels called carriers and every six inches or so there was a slot that held a tray of food.
The trays were already set with the evening meals. The dinner plates each had a metal cover to keep the food hot, and some of the trays had pots of tea or glasses of tomato juice or apple juice. Ethel Scott was working that evening putting the meals together. I recognized her because I went to school with her daughters, Judy, Thelma, and Patsy. Ethel was checking to make sure that the meals on the trays matched what the patient had checked off on their order slip.
Once we’d loaded the trays on the carrier, Jennifer and I rode up in the elevator, and stopped on the first floor. The big metal carrier was on wheels, so we pushed it along the hallway and stopped by each room. We made sure to check the slip of paper and match the name with the nameplate on the bed and then we set the tray down. Some of the patients were sleeping, but most were awake and happy to see us, and we chatted for a couple of minutes and then went onto the next room. There was one lady at the end of the hall who didn’t get a tray that night. Her room number wasn’t on the list. I thought to myself that she must have already eaten her supper earlier in the evening.
As the months passed by, I realized that the staff members in the hospital kitchen were a great bunch to work with. There were many jokes shared and stories told while we worked, and every so often someone would mention the ghosts that had been seen in the halls over the years. Well, I’d been up and down those halls many, many, months, and the only folks that I’d seen other than the nurses, were from the Hospital Auxiliary.
The ladies of the Hospital Auxiliary were a dedicated group and sometimes we’d see them in the halls. They’d be upstairs on the floors late at night delivering evening snacks to the patients. They called it the ‘Tea and Toast Brigade’ and brought around hot buttered toast with jam or jelly, and tea or juice to the patients, to provide a little late-night nourishment. Along with offering some cheer and a snack these ladies raised a tremendous amount of money for the hospital. They ran a little gift shop on site, and were also in charge of the Candy Stripers – young girls who volunteered to help out with small jobs around the hospital.
I saw quite a few of the ladies from the Hospital Auxiliary like Miss N. Burke, Mrs. Vi Wilson, Mrs. L. Crothers, Mrs. B Watson, Mrs. K. Frizell, Mrs. S. Folkard, Mrs. E. Rilley, Primrose Paruboczy, Harriet Halliday, and Mary McDougall. They were tireless workers, and it was very clear that they really cared about the patients and the hospital.
I also saw many of the local doctors while delivering the trays of food each evening. Many of them looked exhausted as they made their rounds, but they were always friendly and had a few kind words for us as we wheeled our food carrier down the halls. I remember Dr. Holmes and Dr. David Craig tending to their patients; and also Dr. J.A. Kidd, Dr. R. McLean and Dr. Tweedie.
[image error]
Doctor James Tweedie, 1930-2014
We walked those halls on each floor of the hospital two or three nights each week, wheeling our meal carrier up and down, unloading the trays, chatting with the patients and the hard-working nurses. We dropped the trays off, came back later, picked up the empty trays, and brought them down to the kitchen.
I worked evenings in the hospital kitchen for almost two years. I heard many accounts during my time of staff members seeing apparitions. I thought that they must be imagining things, because I’d walked those halls at night countless times, I never encountered any ghosts at the GWM Hospital.
After graduating from PDCI, I worked two more months at the hospital kitchen, then headed off to college. I treasured the friendships formed there, and the building itself was impressive; particularly the original section of Victoria Hall, which at that time was used for administration. Being a keen student of history, it was interesting to learn about the early days, and also the many expansions and transitions that had taken place over the years.
On my last shift, there was a little gathering in the kitchen, and everyone wished me good luck in college. We loaded the trays in the carrier one last time, and headed into the elevator, and up to the second floor to deliver the evening meals. As we made our way to the end of the floor and emptied the carrier, a nurse walked by, and I stopped her, and asked a question that had been on my mind since I started working there.
“Sorry to bother you, but I’ve always wondered why the lady in the last room on the right never eats her supper at the same time as the other patients?”
The nurse gave me a puzzled look and said, “That’s just a utility room. We use it for storage. There hasn’t been a patient in there for years.”
I felt the blood drain from my face and a shiver ran down my spine, as I looked at her in disbelief, and then looked back down the hall toward the room. Was it possible that I had imagined the pale, slender lady with the snow-white hair, in the faded blue robe? Maybe she was from one of the other rooms …but why did she stand in front of the room at the end of the hall each evening?
The girl I was working with said, “Come on! We’ve got two more floors of meals to deliver tonight.”
The nurse had already started walking back to her station, and my co-worker was pulling the carrier down the hall toward the elevator. I finished my shift that evening, and hung up my smock in the change room for the last time.
I left out the side door that last night as usual, and headed up the curved pathway. Once I reached the sidewalk on Drummond Street, I looked back at the building where I’d worked the past two years. Suddenly it looked different, almost eerie, and I recalled what the nurse had said that night.
Who was that small, frail lady with the snow-white hair that I’d seen so many times? She never ate supper with the others. We never brought her a dinner tray. Was it my imagination? Was it just a coincidence?
Or, perhaps, this really was the ‘Haunted House of Perth’.
[image error]
(This story is an excerpt from “Ghosts and Gastronomy in Perth”, from “Lanark County Chronicle: Double-Back to the Third Line” ISBN 978-0-987-702623)
[image error]
http://www.staffordwilson.com
September 30, 2019
‘Witching’ or ‘Dowsing’ for Water
I often wonder what went through our Mother’s mind, when Dad informed her that there was no indoor plumbing in the farmhouse, on the Third Line of Bathurst, where they would be living, after the war.
They purchased the farm from Dad’s aunt and uncle, partly with the help of a Veteran’s Grant, in 1946, when Dad returned from overseas. With two babies in diapers, I can’t imagine that my Mother was very happy at the prospect of drawing water from a well, with a hand-pump, a hundred yards from the house. There was a big cement cistern in the basement as well, which collected rain water, but that was just for washing, not drinking.
Water was often in short supply, and almost every year by summer’s end, the well was running dry. When Dad worked for Chaplin’s Dairy, in Glen Tay, he brought water home from the dairy at night, in big metal milk cans, to hold us over, for a while.
Drilling a well was an expensive project to undertake. People paid by the foot, and we’d all heard the horror stories about a neighbour or acquaintance, who had paid for drilling but had not ‘hit’ water in the process.
I’m not sure if it’s still done, but the practice in those days, back in the 1950s and 1960s, was to hire a ‘Switcher’, or ‘Diviner’, who would walk the property, and use a method called ‘Dowsing’. In fact, this was such a common practice at the time that I recall this technique being called by a few different names: Witching, Switching, and Divining, depending on who you were talking to.
[image error]
Edgar Hamm calls it ‘Witching’, but some call it ‘Dowsing
In many cases, a drilling company either had someone on staff, or knew a person with this skill, and brought them along to assist in finding the best spot to drill, where the water was closest to the surface.
The Thompson brothers, Jerry and Connie drilled our well, although I don’t recall who they hired to walk the land with the willow branch to detect the water.
“I remember when a new well was drilled, and when the men came with the dowsing stick. I can’t recall when they called it – I think a divining stick or rod, but it was used to find water.
I was there, and asked if I could try it. The men seemed amused, but he told me what to do. I can’t remember if I felt anything or not, but when he found the water, it seemed to pull him and the stick almost down to the ground.”
Jackie Stafford Wharton
I recall in those days they used a willow branch, and fashioned it so that it had two short ends, and one long end. Willow was used, because it was supposed to create the strongest ‘pull’ to the water. I’ve also heard that peach branches, or hazel branches conduct water in the same way.
[image error]
The divining rod: A history of water witching, with a bibliography Water Supply Paper 416 (1917)
The practice of dowsing, goes back to the 15th century in Europe, where it was used not only to find water, but to detect metals as well.
[image error]
Divining Rod, 18th century Britain
Dowsing or Witching was used extensively during the building of the railroad, to find drinking water for the crew, along the route.
[image error]
Water-witching, 1907
Farmers have used water-witching for generations, to determine the best place to dig their wells, and to find a source of drinking water for their cattle in a pasture.
[image error]
George Casely uses a hazel branch to find water on his farm, 1942
The practice continues to be used today, in some cities in Canada. Metal rods are used instead of the old-fashioned tree branches.
[image error]
CBC News, Dec 02, 2017, City of Ottawa Still Using Divining Rods
“The city (Ottawa) says it still routinely uses the age-old detection technique, also known as dowsing or water witching.
“Definitely the other technology works more consistently,” said Quentin Levesque, manager of what’s known as the city’s “locates group.”
“Should they have difficulties or troubles using the other equipment, the divining rod is there as well.”
The practice involves walking slowly over an area while holding one of the L-shaped rods in each hand. When the two rods cross, that’s supposed to signify the diviner is standing over water.”
Some Call it ‘A Gift’
Can anyone use divining rods, or a willow switch to find water?
Some say it is a gift, and only those with this natural, intuitive, sensing ability can detect water. Some say that it doesn’t necessarily pass from father to son, or down through the family.
Some people claim that dowsing is a psychic ability, and some scoff and say that it is a learned ability, and that anyone can be trained to do it.
Whether it’s a gift, or something that can be learned, it’s still being practiced today by some, to pinpoint sources of water.
Were my parents happy when the well-witcher located the water in our yard, and the Thompson brothers drilled our well? They sure were!
Was it mystical or magical or other-worldly, when our Mother turned on the tap in the old house, and drinking water gushed out for the first time?
I’m sure to her, it was.
[image error]
Audry (Rutherford) Stafford, in front of the old house, c. 1965
story is an excerpt from “The Well’s Run Dry”, in ‘Recipes & Recollections: Treats and Tales from our Mother’s Kitchen, ISBN 978-0-9877026-0-9
[image error]
September 28, 2019
Walter Cameron: Forging in Fallbrook
When you are old, keep company with the young;
In this way, you never get too far to one side.”
Walter Cameron
Sometimes we look at a painting or sculpture, and we wonder what inspired the craftsman to create such a masterpiece. For one local artist, Walter Cameron, this is not the case. Walter was born and raised in one of the most picturesque spots in the country. Like many communities in Lanark County, Fallbrook is situated near several rivers and streams, and in fact, is named after the Fall River, that flows right through the community.
[image error]
Although some would argue that the autumn is the prettiest time of year in Fallbrook, I would have to say that the spring, just after the snow melts, and nearby Bolton Creek, and neighbouring rivers of the Clyde, and the Mississippi, show their true spirit. It’s the fast, powerful force of the waters around Fallbrook, in the early part of the spring, that reminds us how this water powered the mills back in the old days. At one time in Fallbrook, there was a carding mill, a shingle and saw mill, two wooden mills, and a grist mill, harnessing the energy from the rivers to produce goods.
In the years to come, however, it may not be the mills that are remembered, it will be the blacksmith shop. Walter’s father, James Lockland Cameron, came to Fallbrook from Lachute, in 1888, and set up his blacksmith trade, in a small wooden structure, built by the founder of Fallbrook, William Lees, in 1865. Alongside the blacksmith shop, his father built a woodworking shop, and in its busiest time, employed five men. They built sleighs, cutters, and buggies in the wood shop, and made ploughs in the blacksmith shop before there were motorized farm tractors.
Walter’s father – James Lachlan Cameron, passed away in March, 1950, age 95:
[image error]
“The Perth Courier”, March 23, 1950, p. 3
At the height of the blacksmithing business, Walter once estimated that they were using 100 pounds of horse nails in a month. He began to work for his father in the shop in 1912, at the age of 17. He worked at the trade for many years, but as the horseless carriage became increasingly popular, the blacksmith trade began falling off, by 1935. He carried on with his trade as long as he could, but finally retired in the 1940’s, when cars became ‘king.
“In 1925, he married the former Isobel Blair, of Brook. They have a son, Graham Cameron, who works with the Department of National Defence, in Ottawa.”
“The Ottawa Journal”, Dec. 14, 1957, p. 17
Maybe it wasn’t a complete loss when Walter retired from his ‘smithy’ shop, because it meant that he had some spare time on his hands. Although whittling objects from wood had always been a hobby of his, he began working more seriously on his wood carvings in 1956.
[image error]
‘Ottawa Journal’, Dec. 14, 1957, p. 17
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
May, 1958, Walter makes tiny shoes to fit his carved horses
By the early 1960s, Walter was already becoming well known for his wood carvings. He carved mostly cows and horses, but also did carved bulls and deer. He began to make a name for himself, and was asked by Upper Canada Village, to carve some animals for them to display at the park. Considering all of the intricate detail in the carvings, it was surprising that he used a simple jack-knife to do most of his work. He loved to study the animals that he carved, and he and his wife attended all of the local fall fairs, where he sat for hours, observing the animals.
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Sept. 3, 1966, p. 37
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Sept. 3, 1966, p.37
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Sept. 3, 1966, p.37
Many people in the area were busy in 1966 with ‘Centennial Projects’, to celebrate the 100th anniversary of confederation in 1967. Walter’s project was to remember the Ox, and the contribution made, by this humble animal, to the early days, when the pioneers settled the area. The back of his ox-shoe plaque reads:
“Oxen played an important role in developing the early Canadian frontier. These slow-moving, stalwart animals, which were a common sight around the time of Confederation, required individual shoes, for each half of the cloven hooves. This shoe has been hand-forged, by Walter Cameron, in his Blacksmith shop, at Fallbrook, Ontario, which he and his father operated, for some 90 years. Eleven Canadian woods have been selected, to display these shoes, symbolic of the Canadian scene, of a century ago.” Walter Cameron
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, June 12, 1972, p.5
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Oct. 27, 1973, p. 34
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Oct. 27, 1973, p. 34
He carved every fall, and through the months of long winter evenings, in their home, near the blacksmith shop. He always used good basswood, and some of his pieces were extremely intricate and complex. He once carved a small wooden box frame, and inside was a round ball, which could be rotated. It was carved from one block of wood. He also made wooden chains, also carved from one piece of wood. Of course carving cows and horses were his main artistic pursuit.
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
“His favourite tool is a 60-year old, Henry Boker, Jackknife. He observed that any boy in the early 1900s, who possessed a Henry Boker jackknife, was the envy of all his friends.”
[image error]
Walter at the century-old forge in Fallbrook
One of his most interesting carvings, was a wooden miniature replica of the old blacksmith shop. It was complete with human figures, and depicted a horse, being shod. In order to forge the tiny horseshoes he had to first make miniature tools. The replica shows his father, seated on a nail keg, and nearby seated on a box is Walter’s son Graham, as a little boy. Also depicted in the scene is his favourite grey horse, being shod by Walter himself, with a tiny farrier’s hammer in his hand.
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Aug. 14, 1971, p.43
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Aug. 14, 1971, p.43
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Aug. 14, 1971, p.43
Over the years, Walter became a local legend around Lanark County. He’d been featured on many different television programs in the 1970s and 1980s, such as: “Kingston Calendar”, “Four for the Road” “This Land” and “From Now On”. He was a frequent guest speaker at the Perth Museum, and he also gave tours of his blacksmith shop to both locals and tourists.
[image error]
quote by Walter Cameron
[image error]
Putting the final touches on the horseshoe
Walter’s shop became a regular stop, on what was known as ‘Byway Tour No. 3’, and it wasn’t unusual for over 200 people to visit, during busy weeks. There was even talk at one time of the National Museums of Canada buying all of Walter’s carvings, and turning his old blacksmith shop into an historical site. Over the years, thousands of people visited Walter in his shop. Often in the summer, there were bus loads of people coming to see his blacksmith shop. Walter never charged, although it took a great deal of his time. At one time he even had a sign posted with his opening hours each day.
[image error]
By the time I met Walter, he was in his late 70s, and had reduced his opening hours to 9-11 a.m., and 2 – 5 p.m., daily. He was always firm about closing his place after the middle of August, so that he and his wife could attend local fairs – in Perth, Almonte, and Richmond. He said that he would sit and watch the horses and cows, and make sketches for his future wood carvings.
Walter was always keenly interested in passing on his knowledge of the blacksmithing trade to the younger generation. He often spoke at the local schools, and brought samples of both his tools of the trade, as well as his wood carvings.
I spoke with Walter, at the Perth High School, in May 1974. There was an Arts and Crafts Exhibit in the Resource Center of our school. I asked him about his carvings, and the drawings that he worked on, before he sat down to carve a new piece. He was a kind man, and eager to share his knowledge with those of us in the younger generation.
Many other local artists attended, set up displays of their work, and were there for the full day, to answer questions from the students. Along with Walter, were local Sculptor John Matthews, potter Marion Sinn, and the ladies of St. Paul’s United Church worked on a quilt. Other artists there were Dorothy Moffatt, Mrs. M.E. Forrester, Jill Lewis, Pat McGonegal, Miss C. Rice, Mrs. Meuser, Frank DeLaute, Vernon MacPherson, and Mrs. O. Scott.
[image error]
Walter Cameron, April 1974, at the Perth High School
[image error]
quote by: Walter Cameron, March, 1975
I could see by the way Walter smiled, and patiently answered question after question from the students that day, that he really enjoyed spending time with young people, and sharing his knowledge. He was fascinating to listen to, and told us that he had hung around the blacksmith shop as a young lad, and he used to watch the men and listen to the old stories. He talked about the old days, when cars were first driven on the roads, and they would hear one coming, the men in the shop would all stop working, and go out to watch. He told us that it was the opposite in the 1970s. People were used to cars, and when they heard a horse go by, they would run outside to watch.
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, June 16, 1979, p. 44
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Mar. 24, 1975, p.2
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Mar. 24, 1975, p.2
[image error]
[image error]
“The Ottawa Journal”, Mar. 24, 1975, p.2
Over the decades, thousands of people visited Walter in his shop, and his reputation as an artist and storyteller grew. To ensure that his story reached a wider audience, Audrey Armstrong, a neighbour of Walter’s, wrote a book about him in the spring of 1979 – “Walter Cameron, the Blacksmith of Fallbrook”. She tells in her book how he came from the time of the horse and buggy, carried through his life the memories and knowledge of the lost art of blacksmithing, and chose to share it with others.
[image error]
Audrey Armstrong, author, and neighbour, with Walter Cameron 1979
[image error]
Audrey Armstrong’s book, “The Blacksmith of Fallbrook”, Musson Book Company; First Edition edition (1979), ISBN 978-0773710306, 96 pages, paperback.
[image error]
An excerpt of the book review by Henry Heald, ‘The Ottawa Journal’, June 16, 1979, pg. 44:
A man who appreciated prose and poetry, Walter Cameron read and memorized many of Longfellow’s poems
Walter was an admirer of Longfellow, and his poetry, and often recited his work to visitors, as part of the tour of his blacksmith shop:
[image error]
(from an article by Dave Brown, in ‘Brown’s Beat’, may 19, 1979, pg. 27, ‘The Ottawa Citizen’.)
Walter Cameron lived a long life, and even on his 90th birthday, over sixty people turned out at his blacksmithing shop, to watch him shoe a horse. His hands were still strong, and his mind was as clear as ever. As usual, he answered questions, and shared a bit of his own philosophy of life, as he often did. He loved people, and wanted to share his knowledge and talents with them. In her book about Walter, Audrey referred to him as “Lanark’s Living Legend”. Walter truly was a living legend.
[image error]
Walter Cameron, age 88, in June, 1982
“On his 90th birthday, a crowd gathered, to watch the old master shoe a horse.”
[image error]
“He was a great teacher, and instructor, recalled his son, Graham. “An old, Scottish-style man, who was very exacting.”
Many of Walter’s carvings were auctioned off in the summer of 1987, by local auctioneer, Charles Hollinger
[image error]
Charles Hollinger, Auctioneer, at the Walter Cameron estate auction, August, 1987
“Hundreds turned up to bid on his beautiful carvings.”
[image error]
“The Cameron family donated one of Walter’s best-known works, a carved miniature blacksmith shop, to the Perth Museum, and kept a few carvings and mementos for themselves.”
[image error]
carving by Walter Cameron
Walter Cameron often said his favourite quote was by Ghandi: “My life is my message.”
[image error]
“Graham Cameron (Walter’s son), and David McCormick, present Walter Cameron’s wood carving tools to Keith Kerr, Reeve of Tay Valley Township”
“The Perth Courier”, July 11, 2013
Although he passed from this life, late in November, of 1986, Walter Cameron left a legacy, not only of his beautiful carvings, but the stories that he shared with many of us, and we are all the richer for having known, “the Blacksmith of Fallbrook”.
Early families of Fallbrook: Ashby, Bain, Blair, Buffam, Ennis, Donaldson, Foley, Keays, Playfair, McKerracker, Smith and Wallace
“Walter Cameron: Forging in Fallbrook”, an excerpt from ‘Lanark County Kid: My Travels Up and Down the Third Line’, ISBN:978-0-987026-16
[image error]
September 18, 2019
Lanark Sweaters: Soft as a Kitten
Each year, in the late summer, thoughts at our house turned to all the rituals associated with going back to school. This included inspecting last year’s clothing, shoes and boots, gathering up pencils and erasers for the inevitable homework that would take place at the big kitchen table, and checking to see if the old lunch pails were still intact. Some articles would be passed down to younger members of the family, and some things would have to be purchased new.
[image error]
Glenayr Kitten Logo
It was usually on a Saturday, the first or second week in September, that we made the annual trip to Lanark, to buy a couple of new sweaters at the Kitten factory outlet, and a new pair of shoes, maybe some new snow boots, at Gus Quinn’s store.
We drove down the Third Line, turned at Glen Tay, and headed up Highway 7, toward Lanark. The village of Lanark was a nice easy drive from our house – about twenty minutes or so. I suppose we could have done it in a bit less time, but Mother was never one to let Dad go over the speed limit; she was very strict about that and said that the laws were there for a reason. Dad would sometimes say that he ‘had’ to speed a bit, to burn the carbon off of his spark plugs, but Mother never fell for that, and she’d just give him ‘the look’, and he’d be back under the speed limit in no time.
After about ten minutes had passed, we’d be driving into Balderson. Sometimes Mother would stop and get some curd for us kids, and some old sharp cheese for Dad, but that was usually on the way back home from Lanark, so it wouldn’t spoil in the heat. We all knew the story of the giant cheese, made in Balderson, in 1893, for the World’s Fair in Chicago. The old timers said that it was six feet high, and weighed over 22,000 lbs. It was mostly butter and cheese that was produced there, when we were kids, and people would drive for miles around, even up from the States, because it was so good.
[image error]
The former buildings of the Glenayr Kitten Mill, along the Clyde River, Lanark, Ontario
Another ten minutes or so and we’d be driving into Lanark. It was a pretty little village, built along the Clyde River. Mother said that it had been named for Lanarkshire in Scotland, and had been settled back in the 1820s, mostly by Scottish weavers and farmers.
Dad grew up on the family homestead, on the 11th concession of Drummond Township, not far from Lanark, and he often visited his Aunt Stacia, who owned a home in Lanark Village, right along the Clyde. Dad said that the Caldwell Woollen Mill, in Lanark, was a big employer back in the early days, but the building had been destroyed by fire. He said that there had been another huge fire in the late fifties, that destroyed many of the old original buildings in Lanark, and over 100 people had lost their homes.
[image error]
Caldwell Woollen Mills, Lanark – Perth Remembered
After passing many of the homes and businesses along the main street, we finally arrived at 44 George Street, at the Glenayr Kitten Outlet. The business was started in 1944, by the Markle family, from Toronto, and Derek, son of the founder worked there as the superintendent of the mill. Some of the wool was already spun onto cones when it arrived from Scotland, and was knitted by circular machines. In 1951 they began to produce sweaters under the ‘Kitten’ label.
[image error]
‘The Ottawa Citizen’, 1953
All kinds of sweaters were made at the Kitten mill, knitted with orlon, angora, mohair, lamb’s wool, or pure cashmere. There were a number of different styles– pullovers, cadet style, cardigans, ski styles, crew necks many different colours, zip front, turtleneck, six button, eight button cardigans, and alpine styles.
Glenayr Kitten also manufactured pantsuits, skirts, blazers, blouses and slacks.
[image error]
Mary Graham, Lanark, Ontario
[image error]
Buttercup yellow cardigan sweater from the Glenayr Kitten Mill, c.1970s
[image error]
Label from the yellow sweater
[image error]
Ad, 1978, ‘The Ottawa Citizen’
[image error]
[image error]
Blue sweater suit, Glenayr Kitten Mill, Lanark, Ontario
[image error]
Workers at the Glenayr Kitten Mill stitch sweater pieces together
[image error]
[image error]
Terra-cotta orange short-sleeved sweater, Glenayr Kitten Mill, Lanark
[image error]
The Kitten Mill stores were a popular tourist attraction, and visitors traveled by motor-coach from Ottawa, Kingston, and the U.S.
[image error]
Kitten Mill ad, ‘The Ottawa Citizen’, 1980s
[image error]
[image error]
Violet, long-sleeve, collared sweater, Glenayr Kitten Mill, Lanark
[image error]
Blazer and matching slacks, Glenayr Kitten Mill, 1990s
[image error]
Peach popcorn knit, Glenayr Kitten Mill, Lanark
[image error]
Rumours of Closure – 1992
[image error]
[image error]
‘The Ottawa Citizen” – 1992[image error]
[image error]
Aqua, fine, combed-wool, long-sleeve Glenayr Kitten sweater, Lanark, Ontario
[image error]
The Kitten Mill Remained Open
[image error]
1993, ‘The Ottawa Citizen” – Kitten Mill Stays Open
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
[image error]
Display at the Lanark Museum, Lanark, Ontario
[image error]
Storyboard display highlighting some of the former staff of the Glenayr Kitten Mill,
(Lanark Museum)
[image error]
Many items from the glory days of the Glenayr Kitten Mill, Lanark Museum
I think one of the things that attracted my frugal Mother to the Kitten outlet, was the fact that they sold ‘seconds’. They sold some sweaters that had small defects – without labels, and sold discontinued colours, ends-of-lines, and clearance items. The ‘seconds’ usually sold for between $4.50 and $12.00 at that time, so was very appealing when you were buying back-to-school clothing for a large family.
After a busy afternoon in Lanark, we’d head back home, with our new sweater ‘seconds’, ready for the new school year. Looking back, we were lucky to live such a short drive from the Kitten Mill, because the sweaters there really were lovely. Mother always found a way to add on the missing button, or to mend the seam that was beginning to unravel, so that you couldn’t tell that it was a second. Most of my Kitten sweaters lasted for years, because they were so well made, and were knitted with such high-quality yarns.
Sometimes during our visits to Lanark, I’d see huge, sleek, modern buses, pull up out front, and forty or fifty people got off the motor-coach, to shop at the outlets. I think many of them came all the way from Kingston or Ottawa. We didn’t realize it at the time, but people in the cities had already figured out that in our little corner of the world, folks had crafted their products with skills, passed down over generations, and they took great pride in what they manufactured.
Every spring, around the middle of March, we’d see city folks, suddenly appear around the Perth area, because they knew that the best tasting maple syrup came from Lanark County. It was also no secret that the finest tasting cheese in the world was made at the modest, little, factory in Balderson, and, if you wanted the highest quality sweaters, at a good price, and ‘soft as a kitten’, there was only one place to get them, and that was the village of Lanark.
(This story is dedicated to the people who worked at the Glenayr Kitten Mill. Many families had more than one member working at the Mill, and some worked for two or three decades, or more. Thank-you for producing the beautiful, cozy, sweaters, that kept us warm on those chilly days. You won’t be forgotten.
Thanks also to the Markle family, who provided work for the village of Lanark, and who kept their prices fair, so even those with a modest income could afford to purchase one of their high quality sweaters.)
[image error]
A reunion for former staff at the Glenayr Kitten Mill, was held in 2017 at the Lanark Museum
This story is an excerpt from – ‘Lanark Sweaters – Soft as a Kitten’ – from the book, “Lanark County Kid: My Travels up and down the Third Line” ISBN: 978-0-9877026-16
[image error]
September 5, 2019
Mother’s Farmhouse Sourdough
[image error]
When the cool winds signaled the beginning of a new season, Mother’s thoughts always turned to baking her mouth-watering Sourdough creations.
She had a jar of ‘starter’ that she kept in the pantry. She’d often scoop some of the mixture out to add to her recipes, and it gave them a distinct, classic, sourdough flavour. Every week, without fail, Mother ‘fed’ the starter, by adding more flour, milk, and sugar.
[image error]
Sourdough ‘Starter’
A Jar of History
Each baker’s sourdough may have years of history, as the original batch is fed and re-fed each week, to keep it active. Sourdough creates a very individual taste, unique to each baker, depending on how often the starter is re-fed, including rest-times, air temperatures, and humidity.
Origins
Sourdough goes back many centuries, and became popular in Western Canada, back in the days of the gold rush, in the Klondike. Conventional leavenings, like yeast and baking soda, were not very reliable in some of the harsh conditions faced by the prospectors.
[image error]
Miners and pioneer settlers often carried a small pouch of starter with them, so that they could bake bread in their less than ideal camps and shelters.
Mother used sourdough in place of yeast in many of her recipes, and it gave the food a wonderful, rich, flavour. Sometimes she shared a little container of starter, along with some of her prize-winning recipes, with the local women in DeWitt’s Corners, Glen Tay, and Christie Lake.
In addition to feeding the sourdough each week, some of the starter needed to be scooped from the jar, or the mixture would bubble up, and overflow. This seldom happened at the old farmhouse, where Mother baked almost daily.
[image error]
Make the sourdough starter at least two days ahead, and don’t forget to feed it once a week!
Mother’s Sourdough Starter
(feed at least once a week to keep active)
2 c all purpose flour
2 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
2 c warm water
Mix in a non-metallic bowl
Cover with a tea towel and let stand at room temperature for two days
This becomes a spongy, bubbly mass, and develops a yeasty aroma
Refrigerate if desired, but not necessary, keeping the jar covered
Use starter for sourdough recipes
Once a Week: Add to the starter –
1 c flour
1 c milk
1/4 c sugar
Add to the starter, and stir well.
Be prepared to use it often, or if you want to stop using it for a while, cover, freeze, then thaw, and feed again when you want to resume. Do not use for 24 hours after thawing.
[image error]
Sourdough Biscuits (Dad’s favourite!)
1 c sourdough (starter)
2 tsp baking powder
1 c flour
1/2 tsp salt
1/3 c vegetable oil
1/2 tsp baking soda
Mix well (until it comes away from the bowl)
Flour the board, and knead 12 times
Roll, and cut into biscuits
Allow to stand 15-30 minutes
Bake in middle of oven at 400 degrees for 10 minutes
(Raisins may be added)
For more sourdough recipes:
Sourdough Pancakes, Sourdough Cinnamon Rolls, Sourdough Cheese Rolls, Sourdough Donuts, Sourdough Light Cake, Sourdough Coffee Cake, Sourdough Chocolate Cake, Sourdough Strudel Cake:
“Recipes and Recollections: Treats and Tales from our Mother’s Kitchen” ISBN 978-0-9877026-09
(available in local book stores, and online)
[image error]
August 18, 2019
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.
[image error]
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.
[image error]
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.
[image error]
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.
[image error]
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.”
[image error]
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.
[image error]
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’)
[image error]
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’
[image error]
photos: Stafford family collection, Perth Remembered
