HE HAD GREAT SENSITIVITY TO THE RURAL DWELLERS OF THE REGION - AND SHARED THEIR PRIVATIONS
I ADMIT, I'VE SHIVERED SEVERAL TIMES, IN THE PAST FEW MOMENTS, WHILE WRITING THE LAST PORTIONS OF TODAY'S FEATURE COLUMN, FROM THE VERANDAH HERE AT BIRCH HOLLOW; MY WALDEN POND YOU MIGHT SAY. I'VE SHIVERED MORE, I THINK, BECAUSE OF WHAT LOOKS LIKE A COLD, DAMP DAY, MORE SO THAN IT IS! IT'S ACTUALLY PRETTY MODERATE, IN RESPECT TO TEMPERATURE, AND ITS NOT RAINING AT THE MOMENT, COMPARED TO SOME OF THE BLUSTERY WEATHER WE'VE BEEN EXPERIENCING THIS WEEK. I LIKE TO WORK OUTSIDE AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, BECAUSE IT'S WHAT INSPIRES ME THE MOST. EVEN IN THE WINTER MONTHS. IF THIS LAPTOP WILL HOLD UP TO SUB ZERO WEATHER, I'LL BE SPENDING PART OF MY WRITING TIME HUDDLED RIGHT HERE. THERE IS NO SHORTAGE OF INSPIRATION, LOOKING OUT OVER THE BOGLANDS, WATCHING THE BIRDS RINGED AROUND THE FEEDER, AND THE CHIPMUNKS RUNNING BACK AND FORTH OVER THE DECKING, CHASED OCCASIONALLY BY AN ILL-TEMPERED RED SQUIRREL; AFTER HE HAS BEEN PREOCCUPIED, BERATING A BLACK SQUIRREL ABOUT RESPECTIVE TERRITORIES. IT WAS A BUSY DAY IN THE SHOP, AND SALES HAVE BEEN BRISK. WHICH MEANS I GET TO SHOP FOR MORE INVENTORY, ONE OF MY FAVORITE OCCUPATIONS IN THE ANTIQUE TRADE. I'VE BEEN DOING THIS SINCE I WAS TWENTY. THIRTY-NINE YEARS TO GET GOOD AT IT! OCCASIONALLY, THROUGH THE WORK DAYK, I COME HOME TO TEND THE INMATES OF BIRCH HOLLOW, AND TO PICK UP WHAT THE CATS HAVE KNOCKED OVER. I LOVE THEM DEARLY BUT THERE ARE TIMES....GOSH, I WANT TO MAKE THEM OUTDOOR CATS INSTEAD. BUT THEN BEASLEY, OUR SMALLEST FELINE, WOULD BE EATING MY FEATHERED FRIENDS AND THE WEE CHIPMUNKS. SO I CAN'T DO THAT EITHER. SO I JUST COME HOME, MOP-UP, SPEND A FEW MOMENTS WRITING, AND THEN HEAD BACK TO THE SHOP TO HELP SUZANNE AND THE BOYS.
I HOPE NO ONE READING THIS, OR WHO HAS ANGLICAN CHURCH AFFILIATION, WILL FIND WHAT I AM ABOUT TO SAY OFFENSIVE IN THE LEAST. THIS IS A PERSONAL SITUATION, AND ONE OF MY OLD TRADITIONS, FOR CELEBRATING SPECIAL EVENTS. THANKSGIVING IN OUR HOUSE IS FULL OF FEAST AND CELEBRATION, AND IN THE PIONEER CHARACTER. OILL LAMPS ILLUMINATED. SUZANNE KNITTING ME A THANKSGIVING SWEATER. SHE'S KNITTING ONE FOR HERSELF INSTEAD. THIS YEAR, WE WILL BE HONORING THE MEMORY OF THE SHEA PIONEERS, OF UFFORD, AND WHAT THEIR STEADFAST COMMITMENT, TO BUILDING THEIR PROSPEROUS HOMESTEADS, MEANT FOR THE WELL BEING AND FUTURE OF THE ENTIRE REGION. WE VISITED THEIR GRAVES THIS WEEK, IN SEVERAL UFFORD AREA (TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES) CEMETERIES, AND OF COURSE, I'VE BEEN WRITING ABOUT THEM IN THIS SHORT SERIES OF COLUMNS ABOUT THE FREE GRANT YEARS OF THE 1860'S. SECONDLY, EACH HOLIDAY SEASON, I FIND SOMETHING OF AGE AND HISTORICAL PROVENANCE, THAT MEANS SOMETHING EXTRA TO ME, AND THEN, WELL, I HOARD IT! THERE'S NO NICE WAY OF SAYING OR WRITING IT. I KEEP IT FOR MYSELF; FOR OUR FAMILY, INSTEAD OF SELLING IT OFF, LIKE A GOOD ANTIQUE DEALER IS SUPPOSED TO DO! IT'S HARD TO EXPLAIN. IT MIGHT BE A PAINTING, OR A UNIQUE PIECE OF FOLK ART THAT WAS MADE BY A LOCAL RESIDENT, A QUILT, AN OIL LAMP OR LANTERN WITH PROVENANCE, OR, AS OF THIS THANKSGIVING, IN 2014, A NICELY PRESERVED, 1920'S WALL CLOCK. IT IS DATED TO AROUND THE MID 1920'S. I FOUND IT LAST EVENING IN A REGIONAL SECOND HAND SHOP, AND AS IS MY TRADITION, I KNEW IT WOULD BE COMING HOME WITH ME, LONG BEFORE I KNEW THE ASKING PRICE. I'M THE MIRROR OF SPONTANEITY.
THE MOMENT I HEARD IT CHIME, (MAGNIFICENTLY SO) AT THE TOP OF THE HOUR, AS ANOTHER CUSTOMER RECKLESSLY FIDDLED WITH THE HOUR HAND, THE LINGERING RING HIT MY HEART. WHEN THE CUSTOMER WANDERED DOWN THE AISLE, I WALKED BRISKLY TO THE SHELF, AND AS SOON AS I SAW THE LEADED GLASS PANELS IN THE CLOCK DOOR, ON TOP OF WHAT I HAD HEARD OF THE CHIME, THE HEAVY TIME PIECE WAS IN MY ARMS, SECONDS LATER. I HAVE TO CONFESS. I LOVE CLOCKS. BUT I AM NOT THE BEST PERSON TO OWN A VINTAGE CLOCK, BECAUSE OF THE MAINTENANCE FACTOR, AND THE REALITY I AM TERRIBLY INEPT WHEN IT COMES SAFE HANDLING OF SUCH DELICATE ANTIQUE TIME PIECES. I'M THE "TIM THE TOOL MAN TAYLOR," OF SUCH THINGS, AND I BREAK MUCH MORE THAN I FIX, OR EVEN SUCCESSFULLY MAINTAIN. I COULD TELL YOU STORIES, OH BOY! AND WE HAVE CATS THAT SHOW NO RESPECT FOR OUR POSSESSIONS. SO IT WAS AN INITIAL WORRY, ABOUT HOW TO ELEVATE THE CLOCK, IF I WANTED TO KEEP IT FOR THE HOUSE.
I FIRST OF ALL, THOUGHT I WOULD SET IT UP IN OUR SHOP, BUT THEN I WORRIED THERE WAS NO SAFE PLACE TO FASTEN IT TO THE WALL. IT IS A HEAVY CLOCK, AND A TAD AWKWARD, NEEDING A SECURE ENVIRONMENT AROUND IT, PARTICULAR WHEN IT COMES TO BALANCE. I BROUGHT IT INTO THE HOUSE, LAST EVENING, TO SEE IF IT WOULD WORK, FIRST OF ALL, AND SECONDLY, IF IT WOULD KEEP ACCURATE (OR CLOSE TO IT) TIME. SUZANNE LOOKED AT ME, WITH A TELL TALE SMILE, KNOWING THAT I HAD ALWAYS WANTED AN OLD CLOCK WITH NICE CHIMES, FOR THE LIVING ROOM AT BIRCH HOLLOW. BUT, THE DEALER'S FOLLY, IS THAT PROFIT HAS TO COME AT SOME POINT, SO ANY OF THE OTHER ONES I'VE OWNED, AND THERE HAVE BEEN DOZENS, I'VE OFFERED FOR SALE, FEARING THAT I COULD WELL FIND MYSELF COLLECTING CLOCKS, IF EVEN ONE FOUND ITS WAY INTO MY HEART AND IMAGINATION. THERE'S ALWAYS A THIN LINE FOR COLLECTORS, TO GO A LITTLE OVER BOARD. AND I'VE BEEN TO THE HOUSES OF CLOCK COLLECTORS IN THE PAST, AND LISTENED TO A ROOM OF A HUNDRED PLUS WORKING VINTAGE MANTLE, WALL, AND GRANDFATHER CLOCKS, KEEPING PERFECT TIME. SO SENSING MY VULNERABILITIES, I'VE ALWAYS ERRED ON THE SIDE OF CAUTION, AND SOLD WHAT OLD CLOCKS I FIND OUT ON THE HUSTINGS.
I SET DOWN THE CLOCK, ON OUR HARVEST TABLE, WHICH IS NICE AND LEVEL, AND STUDIED THE TICK-TOCK, AND CHIMES OF THE HALF HOUR AND HOUR. I ESPECIALLY AWAITED THE CHIMES AT MIDNIGHT, AND SITTING ALL ALONE IN THE DIM LIGHT, THE GLORIOUS, ANGEL-SENT CHIMES; I KNEW THIS CLOCK WAS THE ONE I HAD BEEN QUESTING FOR, OVER THESE MANY YEARS. IT CAPS OFF TWO WEEKS OF WRITING ABOUT THE GOOD OLD DAYS. THIS WAS A GOOD OLD CLOCK. IT SURVIVED WHAT WAS OBVIOUSLY A TOUGH LIFE, WITH SOME MISHANDLING, AND IMPROPER STORAGE, INCLUDING SOME ROUGH HANDLING TO GET IT TO THE SECOND HAND SHOP, THEN AT THE MERCY OF CUSTOMERS PLAYING WITH ITS HANDS. I SAT AND LISTENED TO IT FOR ANOTHER FIFTEEN MINUTES, FELT SOOTHED BY ITS GENTLE TICKING, AND THEN MADE THE DECISION, TO MORE FORMALLY PLACE IT IN THE ROOM; BECAUSE IF IT WAS THUSLY AFFORDED PERMANENT FIXTURE STATUS, SUZANNE WOULD WAKE UP IN THE MORNING, ARRIVE IN THE LIVING ROOM, AND KNOW I HAD MADE MY DECISION. I FOOTNOTED, LATER ON, THAT IT WOULD BE OUR ANTIQUE THANKSGIVING TRIBUTE TO THE JOYS OF OLD TIMES AND FESTIVE OCCASIONS. I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, DURING THAT LATE NIGHT SOJOURN, THAT I SHOULD CALL THIS GERMAN-MADE 1920'S CLOCK, MY "GOWAN GILLMOR" TRIBUTE. WHILE NOT IRISH-MADE, AS HE WAS, THE CLOCK REMINDS ME OF HIS RESILIENCE AND LONG-SERVICE, HIS FAITHFULNESS TO HIS PARISHIONERS, DESPITE MANY PERSONAL SET-BACKS AND OBSTACLES SET DOWN IN HIS WAY. NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I MISHANDLED THE CLOCK, LAST EVENING, AND NEARLY DROPPED IT IN THE DRIVEWAY, WHEN I TRIPPED OVER A NEIGHBOR'S CAT, THE OLD TIME PIECE QUICKLY REGAINED ITS COMMONPLACE, AS SOON AS BALANCE WAS REGAINED; AND THE TICK-TOCK WAS MUSIC TO MY EARS.
SO I HAVE DECIDED TO CALL IT MY GOWAN GILLMOR CLOCK, OUT OF THE MOST SINCERE RESPECT AND THANKSGIVING, FOR SHARING HIS STORY WITH ME, COURTESY THE BIOGRAPHICAL WORK BY E. NEWTON-WHITE, AND THE DIOCESE OF ALGOMA. THE CHIMES WILL REMIND ME, TWICE EACH HOUR, DURING MY MOMENTS OF REFLECTION, ABOUT THE SPIRIT OF "THE TRAMP," TO TEND THE SPIRITUAL NEEDS OF HIS FLOCK. A FITTING THANKSGIVING REMEMBRANCE. IT IS A PLAIN, HUMBLE (IF A CLOCK CAN BE HUMBLE AT ALL), FUNCTIONING WORK HORSE OF TIME KEEPING, WITH A BEAMING FACE AND BEAUTIFUL CHIMES; THE SPIRIT WITHIN, WARMING OUR LITTLE ABODE ON THE BOG. I WILL THINK OF "THE TRAMP," EVERY TIME I LOOK AT THE CLOCK, AND ADMIRE ITS SENSE OF DUTY, TO KEEP GOOD TIME IN THE SPIRIT OF HISTORY.
"A MAN OF THE PAST BUT NOT YET SO LONG PAST THAT SOME OF US STILL WELL REMEMBER HIM IN THE FLESH IN HIS LATER LIFE," WROTE BIOGRAPHER E. NEWTON-WHITE. "FOR HE WAS ONE OF THOSE WHO TOOK THEIR PART IN THAT EPIC MOVEMENT OF DEVELOPMENT; WHEN THE GREAT TRANS-CANADIAN RAILWAYS WERE LAYING THEIR STEEL THROUGH NORTHERN ONTARIO, ON THEIR LONG DRIVE TO THE FAR PACIFIC; AND SPURS FROM THESE WERE PUSHING NORTHWARD. THESE WERE THE TIMES WHEN THE LOCATING ENGINEERS, THE LAND SURVEYORS, AND THE MINERAL PROSPECTORS WERE TRAMPING COUNTLESS MILES OF HITHERTO UNTRODDEN WILDERNESS; AND WHEN THE FIRST SETTLERS OF THE SCATTERED ARABLE LANDS, WERE GOING IN TO THEIR LONELY LOCATIONS IN THE NORTHERN BUSH. IT WAS A SEVERAL DECADE PERIOD OF MANY, MANY CHANGES. THESE WERE THE TIMES WHEN THOSE WHO MOVED AMONG THE EVER-DRIFTING, EVER CHANGING HUMAN CROWD OF TRANSIENT PIONEERS, KNEW MOSTLY EVERYONE, AND WERE KNOWN BY MOSTLY ALL; ESPECIALLY WHEN LANGUAGE WAS NO BARRIER. THEY MET AND RE-MET IN BRIEF ENCOUNTERS, ON LONELY TRAILS, ON THE PORTAGES, IN WOOD-CAMPS, IN TAR-PAPER HOTELS, HALF-WAYS (HOUSES), BOARDING CARS, SETTLERS' CABINS, THE CABOOSES OF WORK-TRAINS; SOMETIMES THE NEAREST LOCK-UP! THEY MET IN THE COURSE OF ALL THE VARIED ERRANDS, JOURNEYINGS AND HALTS OF MEN ON THE MOVE IN A NEW LAND; JOB TO JOB, INSPECTION TO INSPECTION; HOPE TO HOPE, THE OCCASIONAL BINGE. THEY MET SEEKING SHELTER FROM STORM, COLD AND WET; LONG WAITINGS FOR STAGE OR STEAMBOAT, OR THE 'MIXED' IN SESSIONS OF STORY-TELLING, IN EARNEST DISCUSSIONS OF GREAT ISSUES AND TRIVIAL, IN THE CLASSLESS COMPANIONSHIP OF THE BOTTLE, AT BLIND PIGS, THE CARD GAMES AND THE BROTHELS. AND FOR SOME, THE GATHERINGS OF THE FAITHFUL AT RELIGIOUS SERVICES, HELD IN ALL MANNER OF IMPROVISED CHURCHES BY PRIEST AND PREACHER; IN BOX-CARS, WAITING ROOMS, BARS, COOK-TENTS; WHEREVER TWO OR THREE COULD BE GATHERED TOGETHER IN THE SUPREME NAME. THAT WAS THE FRONTIER OF THOSE DAYS. NOT A TRACE OF IT REMAINS' IN ITS PLACE, AS THE THINGS THEN BEGUN ABUILDING."
GOWAN GILLMOR FOUND THIS, THEN, THE LAND OF OPPORTUNITY, AND APPLIED HIS HUMANITARIAN WAY OF LIFE, FOR THOSE THAT NEEDED FRIENDSHIP AND SPIRITUAL RENEWAL MOST OF ALL!
"I STARTED OUT FROM TEN MILE LAKE ON FOOT, AND HAD BEFORE ME SEVERAL MILES OF UNBROKEN, LONELY ROAD; CROSSED HERE AND THERE BY WOLF TRACKS. THIS TIME, TO MY JOY, THERE WAS A FRESH SNOWSHOE TRACK AHEAD OF ME. (AND THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN AN UNBROKEN TRAIL AND ONE USED EVEN BUT ONCE, IS EXTREME). I KNEW AT ONCE THAT THE SNOWSHOER WAS A GOOD MAN, BY THE LENGTH OF HIS STRIDE, WHICH NEVER SHORTENED, AND THE STRAIGHTNESS OF HIS TRAIL NEVER WAVERED. AND SURE ENOUGH I FOUND AFTERWARD THAT HE WAS MY OLD FRIEND, COMING HOME FROM A LUMBER CAMP," WROTE GOWAN GILLMOR IN HIS JOURNAL, PUBLISHED IN THE BOOK, "GILLMORE OF ALGOMA - ARCHDEACON AND TRAMP," BY E. NEWTON-WHITE," IN CANADA'S CENTENNIAL YEAR, 1967.
THERE WAS ALWAYS A QUESTION WHY GOWAN WOULD REFUSE OFFERS OF A HORSE RIDE OR DRIVE IN HIS MISSION WORK; AND SEVERAL WERE THE SUGGESTED REASONS. ONE WAS THE MATTER OF FODDER; USING MONEY WHICH COULD HAVE BEEN USED FOR PEOPLE; ANOTHER, QUITE VALID, WAS THE LACK OF STABLING AT MANY OF THE PLACES HE VISITED," WRITES E. NEWTON-WHITE, IN THE ALGOMA DIOCESE PUBLICATION, FOR THE ANGLICAN CHURCH OF CANADA. "HE SAID THAT HE WOULD HAVE TO GO HOME EVERY NIGHT THEN; BUT THERE WAS ALWAYS A CORNER WHERE THE 'OULD TRAMP,' COULD LIE DOWN. AND MANY VARIED EXPERIENCES DID HE HAVE DOING THIS LAST. HOME FOR HIM WAS WHERE HE FOUND IT. ANOTHER REASON WAS THAT ON MANY OF THE TRAILS HE USED, HE COULD NOT HAVE RIDDEN BECAUSE OF THE WINDFALLS AND OVERHANGING BRUSH. ANOTHER SUGGESTION WAS THAT HE HAD A DISLIKE FOR HORSES ARISING FROM THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF COTTIE'S DEATH; BUT THIS ONE CAN BE RULED OUT COMPLETELY.
"MORE LIKELY THAN ANY REASON WAS ONE WHICH MIGHT BE INCOMPREHENSIBLE TO MANY MODERN PEOPLE, AND SOME PARSONS! HE LOVED WALKING. 'SHURE IT KAPES ME FIT'; AND THERE WAS NO DOUBT ABOUT THAT - IT DID. BUT THERE WAS ANOTHER REASON, USUALLY UNADMITTED. WHEN HE WALKED, HE WAS FREE TO THINK HIS THOUGHTS; AND THEY WERE DEEP AND GLAD. BY DAY, HE WOULD WATCH THE BIRDS AND ANIMALS, AND STOP AND TALK TO THEM. BY NIGHT WATCH THE STARS, AND TALK TO THEM TOO! BUT ALWAYS HE COMMUNED WITH GOD, ON WHO MAY TELL WHAT SUBJECTS, AND ALWAYS FOR HIS FELLOW MEN, WE ARE SURE. ANENT HORSE-BACK RIDING; A LONG TRIP ON GLARE ICE ON LAKE MUSKOKA BEHIND A FAST HORSE AND CUTTER, REMINDED GOWAN OF HIS BOYHOOD. 'ONCE UPON A TIME, IN IRELAND, WE USED TO GET THE LOAN OF A PONY AT WEEK ENDS; HIS USUAL PACE WAS A CANTER. THE SOUND OF HIS HOOVES ON THE HARD ROAD WAS LIKE 'SATURDAY, SATURDAY,' AND THAT IS WHAT THE BOYS CALLED HIM. I RECALL THE HEXAMETER LINE 'QUADRU-PENDANTE PUTREM SONITU UNGULA CAMP,' JUST LIKE A HORSE CANTERING."
THE AUTHOR RECORDS THAT, "GOWAN ONCE TOLD HIS FRIENDS, OF HAVING TO SPEND A LARGE SUME OF MONEY (FOR HIM) ON A PAIR OF HIGH BOOTS OF STOUT LEATHER, BECAUSE 'THE FARM DOGS DON'T SEEM TO KNOW AN ARCHDEACON'S LEGS FROM ANY OTHER LEGS,' WHICH BRINGS A MEMORY THAT HIS PRESENCE SEEMED TO WORRY SOME DOGS. AT A FARM HE WAS VISITING, THE DOG, USUALLY FRIENDLY TO STRANGERS, PERSISTED IN STANDING ON HIS HIND LEGS AT THE WINDOW, TRYING TO LOCATE HIM IN THE HOUSE, WHINING AND BARKING. STILL MORE ABOUT PAROCHIAL VISITING; THE MEMORIES ARE, THAT WHERE THERE WAS A PIANO HE DID NOT KNOCK AT THE DOOR BUT WALKED IN, SAT DOWN, AND PLAYED HYMNS TO ANNOUNCE HIS ARRIVAL. AT SOME HOMES HE WOULD GIVE A RECITAL OF MANY HYMN TUNES, EACH PLAYED ONCE, BUT ALWAYS ENDING WITH 'ETERNAL FATHER.' THIS ONE HE WOULD PLAY OVER AGAIN, VERY SOFTLY, AS THOUGH TO HIMSELF; HIS LISTENERS WOULD WONDER WHERE HIS THOUGHTS WERE THEN. AS FORTUNATE ONES MAY TESTIFY, SOME OF THESE LITTLE RITUALS HE KEPT UP LONG AFTER ROSSEAU DAYS. AT ONE HOME, THAT OF THE DOCTOR PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED (A COTTAGER ON LAKE ROSSEAU), WHERE HE MIGHT TURN UP AT ANY OLD TIME, HE MIGHT ANNOUNCE HIS ARRIVAL BY CALLING, 'HERE IS THAT WRETCHED OLD TRAMP AGAIN,' (PROBABLY IN AN IRISH VERSION OF A HOUSEWIFE'S TONES) IF SHE HAD THE CHANCE, THE DOCTOR'S GOOD LADY WOULD SEE THAT HIS CLOTHES WERE WASHED AND MENDED.
"BUT SOMETIMES GOWAN HIMSELF WAS VISITED. THERE WAS THE TIME WHEN HE HAD PROMISED TO 'CHAIR' A SCHOOL CONCERT ABOUT EIGHT MILES AWAY. IT WAS A BITTER COLD NIGHT, AND HE WAS ALL READY TO START WALKING, WHEN A DRUNK STUMBLED INTO THE PARSONAGE AND POLITELY WAVED TOWARD THE PIANO, AND SAID, 'PLAY SHUMTHIN!' GOWAN OBLIGED AND THE DRUNK-ONE SAT DOWN ON THE SOFA AND IMMEDIATELY FELL FAST ASLEEP. NOW GOWAN COULD NOT PUT HIM OUT TO FREEZE, COULD NOT LEAVE HIM ALONE IN THE HOUSE, COULD NOT GO FOR HELP. HE HAD TO STAY WITH HIM, KEEP HIM WARM, AND MAKE HIM BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING. OF THE CONCERT THERE IS NO RECORD. TRULY, THE APPEAL OF GOWAN GILLMOR'S PERSONALITY TO CHILDREN, WAS ABSOLUTE. HIS LOVE FOR THEM WAS SUCH THAT, THE RECIPIENTS OF THAT LOVE HAVE ALWAYS REMEMBERED IT. THE LETTERS WE HAVE HAD FROM THOSE WHO WERE YOUNG WHEN HE WAS ACTIVE, PROVE THIS. A CHILD OF THAT TIME REMEMBERS HIM AS 'VERY TALL AND STRAIGHT, WITH PIERCING BLACK EYES, AND A MOST FRIENDLY SMILE.' THIS CHILD ANECDOTE OF GOWAN'S EARLY DAYS IN ROSSEAU, IS IN PART, CONTRIBUTED BY THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER HERSELF. SHE WAS THEN A SHY LITTLE THING WHO NEVER SAW STRANGERS, LIVING WITH HER PARENTS AND A BROTHER AND A SISTER. THEIR HOME WAS TWO MILES OUT, AND SHE COULD NOT GO TO THE VILLAGE CHRISTMAS TREE."
E. NEWTON-WHITE NOTES IN GILLMOR'S BIOGRAPHY, THAT, "THE OLD LADY REMEMBERS HOW MR. GILLMOR BROUGHT 'FOR LITTLE ME,' A LOVELY DOLL, ALL BEAUTIFULLY DRESSED IN HANDMADE AND EMBROIDERED GARMENTS.' SHE REMEMBERS CLEARLY EVERY DETAIL OF THAT DOLL AS SHE SAW IT THROUGH THE CRACK OF THE DOOR. EVEN GOWAN COULD NOT COAX THE LITTLE MITE TO COME FOR IT, BUT HE FINALLY PERSUADED HER TO PUT HER ARM AROUND THE DOOR, WHILE HE PUT THE DOLL IN HER HAND. THEN SHE FLED WITH HER TREASURE. FOR ANOTHER STORY WE HAVE NO DATE OR PLACE, BUT AN EX-ROSSEAU LADY TELLS IT. GOWAN HAD HEARD OF A YOUNG BOY OF A NON-ANGLICAN FAMILY, LYING QUITE ILL. HE WENT TO THE HOME AND WAS MET BY A STRANGER NURSE. HE TOLD HER THAT HE HAD SOME MEDICINE FOR THE BOY, AND MIGHT HE SEE HIM. THE NURSE WAXED INDIGNANT AT ONCE; IN OTHER WORDS, WENT UP IN THE AIR. INDEED, LOUDLY, SHE WOULD NOT ALLOW ANY MEDICINE OTHER THAN THAT THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBED. SAID GOWAN, QUIETLY SMILING, 'OH, THIS WON'T HURT HIM. IT'S JUST A JACKKNIFE'. 'AN D'YE KNOW, I THINK IT DID MORE GOOD THAN THE DOCTOR'S STUFF. I DO; I DO INDADE'."
A PARTING OF THE WAYS; AND A SAD ONE IT WAS - NEW RESPONSIBILITIES FOR GOWAN GILLMOR
"In 1907 came the definite parting from Rosseau and its people. Gowan, writing his own notice of appreciation, (as was evident), in the Missionary News, said, 'They would not permit him (himself) to leave without some expression of regard - indeed they seemed rather loath to part with him, for he had warmed himself into their hearts - an address was signed and presented, together with a purse, far from empty, and a good leather suit-case on which are the letters 'G.G.' One suspects a few quiet and embarrassing tears being shed on that occasion." One member (of the congregation) said, "Our memories of the Archdeacon will remain precious as long as life shall last.' Another said, 'He is one of the great in my memory.' Another said, 'We know now the secret of the love he inspired in us. It was his kindly, selfless life; and because in all those long years of service, as he walked through the new land, he walked with God.' Some of us would give much to have such things said of us." E. Newton-White writes, "He (Gowan) had been stationed at Rosseau for over fifteen years, during which time he had tramped in his ministrations, over practically the whole of Parry Sound and Muskoka districts. Now the whole Diocese of Algoma was to be his field; and to this diary he said this; 'I am now on the move once more, and I pray the Saviour will give me strength and power to the work well. I can have no more rest until I lie quietly in my grave.' His prayer was answered.
"A Rosseau lady remembers another lady, who used to write for the Old Toronto GLobe's Homemaker Page, over the name 'Gowanne.' This writer had lived in Muskoka and had been baptized and prepared for Confirmation by the Archdeacon. The Rosseau lady wonders now, might this have been actual or a pen name? A whimsical remark, Gowan was known to have made to the parents of these namesakes. 'How are you going to explain to the young fellow, when he is old enough, how he came to be named after a poor old Tramp!"
"If Gowan knew all the constellations he also knew all the plants and flowers of the north country. His eye for beauty was very keen, and he could cleverly adapt these things in all their range to his sermons, in the most vivid terms. Survivors of the children of those days can well remember the way in which natural phenonmena, and wildlife, would creep into his discourse. An Alberta lady, once of Gravenhurst, has treasured memories of him in her childhood. Especially she recalls, a Sunday School Christmas Concert, which he opened with a most fascinating account of his approach to the town at dusk, that evening, and seeing the Evening Star, rise over Gull Lake, 'with fairies accompanying it.' He held us spellbound. Another Muskoka story, as told by a Gravenhurst businessman, noted that "On one of his regular trips, Gowan had to pass an empty house, said to be haunted. One day, curiosity got the better of him, and he went inside to look around. He moved very quietly, and listened. Hearing a mysterious noise upstairs, he went cautiously, all ready to come down in a hurry. There was nothing. Then he found the sound was coming from the attic. Taking some time to gain courage, he finally climbed the attic ladder - 'and there, sitting up and staring at me, was a groundhog. Yes, a groundhog! And d'ye know he was almost as scared as I was?' The grumpy-looking groundhog provided the peg, upon which many an apposite tale could be hung to fit an occasion. The groundhog being, as Gowan would say, the most curiosity-stricken person of all our Little People; he had only to stand close to the hole, in which one had vanished, at his approach, and it would appear again. First the tip of its nose, then its eyes, then its ears and finally its shoulders. Then they would talk; Gowan would ask questions or make the statement, and the wood-chuck would reply in perfectly good Connaughtese brogue. The uses of such discussions were inexhaustible. It is almost certain that the haunted house episode was expanded, into such dialogue many times, at appropriate junctures; but if so, they are lost to posterity."
E. Newton-White tells the story of a near fatal encounter in a most vulnerable circumstance. "In the northern bush, on a cold winter's night, Gowan was traveling on snowshoes, and found that he could not reach his destination before very late. He decided to light a fire and sleep in the snow. Before his fire was going, he heard the distant howl of a wolf, then another and another. Before long the cries were coming from all directions, and closing in! Soon they were forming a fairly close circle around him. Their eyes and fangs and sinister movements in the darkness, would be described with telling effect. Then a large wolf, evidently the leader (and Irish it would appear), slipped to the front, eyed Gillmor very closely, sniffed, then wheeled suddenly to the others, 'Och! That's only ould Gillmor! Let's go, b'ye,' and they vanished. Once, in a child audience, the suspense over, a bright one asked, could he not have climbed a tree? But that would not have helped; the wolf-pack kept a trained beaver for just such emergencies.
"Another story example concerned a corpse; and was not quite as macabre as that sounds. Gowan was visiting a lonely settlement in the bush; a place unknown to him. He had been walking all day, and was tired. At dusk he came to a dark and gloomy looking house, where he asked for shelter for the night. The man who came to the door looked worried at his request; and called to his wife. The two had a whispered discussion, and then, the man said glumly, 'All right, you can stay. But you won't like your room.' When Gowan went to his room later, he found it bitterly cold. Lowering his voice, he would say solemnly, 'An' what d'ye think was in that room? A dead body!' At this he would pause, while his listeners would gasp and ask him whatever did he do? 'Why, blew out my light and went to sleep, of course.' Then, with another pause to let it all sink in, he would add in a relieved voice, 'It was just a dead mouse, y'know!' Years after telling this yarn, to a somewhat impressionable person, she reminded him of it. But the Archdeacon looked genuinely horrified. 'Oh,' said he. 'I ought not to have told you that one'."
His biographer concludes his story with the following observations. "A better term than 'passed' for him and for us, would be that 'he tramped.' Just as he once told his parishioners that he would be 'tramping' from Rosseau out into the wide Diocese, so now he tramped from Algoma into the Greater Life." "He died (at 78 years of age) on the first of September, 1928, and was buried from the Pro-Cathedral of the Diocese, at the Alter of which he had made his Priestly vows forty-three years earlier. Never could the incomparable burial service of the Anglican Rite have shown greater beauty; never could the simple ritual have carried greater meaning."
Thank you for taking a few minutes out of your busy holiday weekend, to visit with me. I hope you have a lovely Thanksgiving weekend, and get a chance to go out and enjoy the sunny day....which has been promised for tomorrow. If not, sit back, relax, and archive back, because there's a lot to read in this blog collection. See you again tomorrow, for the Thanksgiving wrap-up to "The Seasons of the Lilac."
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