SUPERSTITIONS AND FOLKLORE ON THE MUSKOKA FRONTIER

SUPERSTITIONS AND FOLKLORE ON THE MUSKOKA FRONTIER

SETTLERS BROUGHT FEAR AND LOATHING FROM THE OLD COUNTRY - BELIEFS IN HOBGOBLINS, TROLLS, LEPRECHAUNS AND ASSORTED BANDY-LEGGED WEE BEASTIES

I DON'T LIKE GIVING LECTURES, AND I DON'T LIKE SITTING-IN ON THEM EITHER. DID THIS AT UNIVERSITY AND HATED EVERY MOMENT. YES BUT DID I LEARN ANYTHING? INDEED. THAT I DON'T LIKE LECTURES!

WHEN I'VE BEEN ASKED TO GIVE PRESENTATIONS, IN THE PAST, I ALWAYS AGREE AT FIRST, BUT HATE THE IDEA IN RETROSPECT. IT WAS BEFORE SUZANNE TOOK OVER MANAGING MY PUBLIC PERFORMANCES. I'M NOT A BAD PUBLIC SPEAKER, SO I'M TOLD, BUT LIKE FLYING, I STEW ABOUT IT FOR THE WEEKS AND DAYS LEADING UP TO THE ENGAGEMENT. THE FIRST THING THAT SUZANNE DID FOR ME, AS MY MANAGER / AGENT, WAS TO INSIST ON AT LEAST A MONTH'S NOTICE OF A SPEAKING GIG, AND MOST IMPORTANT, THAT I BE ALLOWED TO SELECT THE TOPIC. I WON'T BUDGE ON THIS. I'M MORE COMFORTABLE CHATTING ABOUT THOSE AREAS OF REGIONAL HISTORY, I'M MOST FAMILIAR. WHEN THE MUSKOKA LAKES MUSEUM CONTACTED ME, ABOUT A PRESENTATION THEY WANTED ME TO DO FOR THEIR WEEKLY "LECTURE SERIES," I REFUSED TO DO WHAT THEY WERE MOST INTERESTED IN……..(NOT SURE WHAT THAT WAS), AND INSTEAD TOLD THEM I WANTED TO DO A LECTURE ABOUT LOCAL FOLKLORE, HOMESTEAD SUPERSTITIONS AND REMINISCENCES OF PARANORMAL ACTIVITIES HERE IN THE HINTERLAND OF ONTARIO. THEY WEREN'T SURE ABOUT THIS, BUT I INSISTED. WELL, IT TURNED OUT TO BE A REMARKABLE EVENING, AND WE TALKED WITH GUESTS FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR AFTER THE TALK. IT'S THE REASON I'VE KEPT UP ON PARANORMAL TALES, AND FOLK LORE, AS DOCUMENTED BY HISTORIANS AND STORY-TELLERS THROUGHOUT OUR REGION. I FIND IT COMPELLING.

WE MUST UNDERSTAND, FIRST OF ALL, THAT THOSE WHO EMIGRATED TO CANADA, AND TO THE MUSKOKA REGION IN THE 1860'S ONWARD, BROUGHT OLD-COUNTRY SUPERSTITIONS TO OUR DISTRICT…..CULTURAL FOLKLORE FROM ICELAND, NORWAY, GERMANY, SCOTLAND, IRELAND, ENGLAND AND DENMARK, TO NAME A FEW COUNTRIES, WHERE EARLY SETTLERS CAME FROM, DURING THE YEARS OF THE FREE GRANT AND HOMESTEAD ACT; GUARANTEEING 100 ACRE PARCELS TO PIONEER FARMERS. IT WAS, IN MOST CASES, A WICKED CONTRAST OF ENVIRONS, FROM THE URBAN AREAS OF EUROPE WHERE THEY HAD LIVED, ONLY MONTHS EARLIER, BEFORE FACING A BLEAK SCENE IN THE HEAVILY FORESTED MUSKOKA OF THE 1860'S AND 70'S. THERE IS ONE OF THESE FOLK STORIES, OF WHICH I AM PARTICULARLY FOND, AND ONE THAT I USED IN MY LECTURE, AT THE MUSEUM IN PORT CARLING. IT'S CONTAINED IN THE FIRST BOOK, WRITTEN BY FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA; "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS AND BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP," AND INVOLVES THE INTER-ACTION BETWEEN IRISH PROTESTANTS AND CATHOLICS, LIVING SIDE BY SIDE, IN THE UFFORD / THREE MILE LAKE AREA, OF THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. THE PROTESTANTS BEING THE SHEAS, WELL KNOWN MEMBERS OF THE LOCAL ORANGE LODGE, AND THE LOVELYS, AN IRISH, ROMAN CATHOLIC FAMILY, SETTLED IN THE MIDST OF "ORANGE" AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE. HERE NOW IS BERT SHEA, PROFILING THIS SCENE, CIRCA 1865, (BASED ON FAMILY STORIES) IN THE HILLY, PICTURESQUE COUNTRYSIDE OF UFFORD, TITLED AFTER A BRITISH NAMESAKE.

"THE COMING OF THE LOVELYS"

"Pat Lovely, a stout, heavy bodied man, born in Ireland, a shoemaker by trade, migrating to Canada, and settled around or near Sarnia, moving to the County of York, where he traded twelve pairs of men's handmade boots for the one hundred acres where sits the St. Clair Railroad Station, who from there, having heard the call of free grant land in Muskoka, with his young wife and family of small children, joined in the great move northward; their destination Watt Township and the Three Mile Lake settlement of Ufford," penned Bert Shea, about the coming of this hopeful, enterprising young family.

"Journeying by rail as far as the Iron ran, then on foot, carrying their belongings, stopping somewhere within the boundary of Muskoka for a night's lodging. And in conversing with others, someone inquired where his destination lay, to which Pat answered, Watt Township. 'Ah,' says his friend, 'I would advise you to stay away from there: in that Three Mile Lake settlement, they are a bunch of savages. Around Three Mile Lake, that place in known far and near as the home of the Three Mile Lake Wolves. And Ufford is the centre of it. On your way in you will come over Bogart's Hill and before you is the place known as the Devil's Den, and the next big hill you look down is Smalley's Hill, and that is the home of the Three Mile Lake Wolves. They will poison your cattle, they will burn you out. You will never get along; you are Irish Roman Catholic and they are all Orangemen."

NOTE: Did you think I was fooling, in an earlier blog, when I noted that Bert Shea is my wife, Suzanne's uncle, and her grandfather, John Shea, had the farmstead in Ufford, the epicenter of the Wolves activities. One day recently, a customer came into our boys' music shop, on the main street of Gravenhurst, and started talking to them about her particular stake in local history. I'm not sure how it came about, but the customer mentioned the community of Ufford, and both boys perked up, and Andrew said, "Maybe you've heard of my family?" She asked who they were, and Andrew very proudly said, "I am a descendent of the Three Mile Lake Wolves." The customer stepped back, chin on chest, shocked these two young men knew about such a thing. It turns out, the boys found a distant cousin of the wolf den……and they shared some other family anecdotes. The Wolves (Sheas), used to visit Bracebridge monthly, and it was common for them to lock arms, and walk down the centre of Manitoba Street, looking for any local citizen, to challenge their authority…..and their fighting prowess. They beat a waiter at the Queen's Hotel, as they say, "to within an inch of his life," because he made the mistake of stepping on Old Shep's (their dog) tail, while they were enjoying their lunch. Suzanne scoffs at the idea she is a modern day carry-over of the family tradition, yet I have often thought, deep in the shadows of the moonlit night, I saw her wandering the woodlands, and heard the faint howling of a latent wolf-kind. Don't you dare tell her to read this blog. Or I'll be living in the woodlands. So if and when you meet our wee lads, in their music shop, beware of their family roots. Let us continue with uncle Bert's re-telling of this pioneer story.

"A blast like this to a man on his way to a new home, among strangers, a law-abiding citizen and a young family, was a terrible dampener to his inspirations. Pat stood silent and motionless for a short time in deep thought. Then turning around facing the direction of his journey, in a low voice and Irish accent say he, 'I'm going anyway.' Pat arrived in Ufford in the dark dreary month of November in the late afternoon. The heavy clouds skidded across the sky, borne on the northwest wind. Darkness creeping down as he travelled over Bogart's Hill and through the Devil's Den. And over Smalley's Hill into the home of the Three Mile Lake Wolves, to the centre of the valley. And wending in the darkness up the brush trail to his little shanty on the hillside of Lot 15, Con.4, the naked limbs clashed in the wind overhead, low whirling blasts swirled the dead leaves around, the little shanty door creaked, as he swung it open to admit the good wife and children. In the dim light of the little lantern, he started a fire on the hearth, that brought light and cheer. This was their home."

Bert Shea records that, "It is hard to know what thoughts may have run through the mind of an Irishman awakened by the voices of the wind or the night, moaning of the trees and the clashing of the gads. And above all, the recommendations he had received on his way in, from his friend at the tavern, regardless of thoughts or feelings that may have reigned in the heart and mind of Pat Lovely; prayers were said and all was left in the keeping of the Good Saint and the little family slept, as only they of clean conscience and weary from their travel. The morning broke. Pat and the good woman were astir, the children's voices were heard and little feet pattered about the shanty. Then suddenly from the cover of thick bush walked a tall black whiskered man. He walked directly to the cabin door. Pat met him at the step, and an Irishman whose face bore the scars of fighting in Ireland, and ready for the worst. Not saying a word, the stranger strode to within arm's length of Pat, and stopped looking the Irishman in the eyes, extending his hand saying, 'I'm Bill Shea; I believe you are Pat Lovely.' 'It's Pat Lovely I am,' says he, as he slowly accepted the outstretched hand as a female voice from within the shanty proclaimed, 'May the Gods in mercy give us peace'."

The historian, Mr. Shea, writes, "What else was said, we do not know, but from that day on, the Lovely's and Sheas were the best of friends. This friendship extended from neighbors to neighbors, till Pat became the Irish seasoning in a mixed community. But as time went on, he became regarded by some in a very serious way. As one who possessed certain powers that were mysterious, which he could use in different ways. One most talked of, especially by the young people who declared to be true, that Pat had the power to put himself in a 45 gallon oak barrel with both ends closed, the only opening being the two inch bung out of which he would talk to them. (He could throw his voice). Pat was a good neighbor and had good neighbors, but sometimes neighborly good nature will wear threadbare. In this particular case, Wm. Kay had a very fine black boar that was hard to keep in his pen; a log enclosure and when free, took a particular liking to the flavor of Pat Lovely's potatoes. Pat continued to fix the fence and chase the boar out till at last his potato crop was going to be ruined. This, to an Irishman, was sufficient reason and justification for retaliatory actions; so he openly pronounced a curse on Kay's pigs for a duration of twenty years. The writer is not adding to or taking away, when he related that it was acknowledged by Wm. Kay that he had trouble raising pigs for some years. After the pronouncement of Pat's curse, and not until the elapse of the years of its duration did he enjoy the measure of satisfaction that eventually became his in later years. The following account is a true happening and known throughout the neighborhood. Though years have passed since its time, the writer has often heard the aged of the community relate this marvelous affair."

He writes, of the near tragic mishap, that "A neighbor boy of ten or twelve years had gotten seriously cut and was bleeding to death. The bed was soaked with blood. All efforts to save the boy seemed to be a failure; he could not last much longer. The father walked out of the house, leaving the mother and the boy alone, as he stood there before the door, the thought came to him. He immediately called the younger son, a boy of perhaps nine years old, saying 'Go over and tell Pat to come over quick, your brother is bleeding to death.' The young man fleet as the wind, lost no time on the run and delivered the message. As the father of the bleeding boy stood on the door yard waiting to see Pat's sturdy body coming hurriedly over the fields. But not so; he appeared from the door of his own house. Before the door, he stood looking over to this troubled neighbor for a short time, in whose interval the mother of the bleeding boy rushed out the door to the father saying the blood has stopped. The writer heard the father, when an old man, declare the truth of the whole affair, saying, 'Pat didn't need to come over. He could stop the blood from where he was, and the boy got better. Pat, as others, gave his time and energy to the rolling back of the frontier, and bringing in an era of development to the community. He built the first frame house in the Three Mile Lake settlement. The writer would question, the thought; at that date it could be the first frame house in the township, as at that date there was a sawmill at Lot 8, Con. 4, to cut the lumber. This house was lath and plastered, the lath having been made by hand. The man who did the plastering and carpentry, his name has passed from the memory of the writer. And at this date there are some remaining to ask, but this home has since been remodeled and is in a state of good repair."

This is a good story of tolerance….. most of the time, except for the black boar incident. A story of the Green and the Orange living side by side in a new country, and actually getting along. Is it possible that Pat Lovely had such power of prayer, that he could stop a child's bleeding? It's a folk tale. It's just one of thousands, a majority of these remarkable stories having been lost over the centuries. It is thanks to family historians like Bert Shea, who have saved this important tale, for enjoyment by a modern, new century audience.

Thanks for joining me today, for this historical blog. There are so many wonderful regional and family histories, contained in the respective Muskoka Collections, of our district libraries. Go and have a look for yourself. Today when we travel frequently, looking for antiques and collectibles, in virtually every nook and cranny in this district, we appreciate the ghost towns and forgotten hamlets, the less travelled crossroads and country lanes, as being the habitations and former caraways that opened up this region to settlement. We are reverent of all the things that have come before us……we are but voyeurs upon the work of so many others. Knowing the history of this region, as antique hunters, has always given us a big advantage over our competitors, especially when dealing with long-time citizens, who wish to share their memories of important heirloom pieces they wish to sell……many items tied in to those earlier days on the Muskoka frontier. We love to talk history.

See you soon. You can visit my other blog-sites, or archive your way through this Gravenhurst site, now more than three years old.

Lots more regional history to come…..whether you're a voyeur yourself, collector or dealer of antiques