151 Years Of Community History In Bracebridge Without Embracing Rightful Legacy Of Washington Irving

WASHINGTON IRVING, WROTE ABOUT NEWSTEAD ABBEY SUPERSTITIONS - IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD WHERE ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN HUNG OUT

A STORY SHOWING REVERENCE TO THE OLD COUNTRY FOLK TALES, SOME CARRIED OVER TO THE HOMESTEADS OF CANADA IN PIONEER TIMES

     Today, I understand why it is, the very mention of folk tales, and their historic value, sends ripples of "who the hell cares," radiating amongst readership. It does the same for the general population of this district, with bigger ripples, warning of oncoming waves of boredom, which is one of the tell-tale reasons, I don't get a lot of speaking engagements. There is no urgent interest, or any interest at all, in making sure we have documented successfully, most of our cultural heritage notched in this part of Ontario.  It's important to me, because I consider myself a folk historian, so obviously, I get a rush being at the centre of so much energy and excitement. Who am I kidding, right? Yet as the fool's folly, I still can't let it go, as being irrelevant, and that's exactly what happens when the aspect of local history is dropped from the public domain. You see, ingrained in the history of Muskoka, are stories of the rich folkish variety, brought to this country from what many refer to, as the "old country." These cultural and folk lore yarns and related delicious superstitions, were implanted in the farmstead neighborhoods, hamlets, villages and towns of the newly opened frontier, of the District of Muskoka, as far back as the late 1850's. They were brought here in all their wondrous character and embellishments, and sewn in the pioneer lifestyles, to mature and charactize in respect to the way families were forced to live at the time of great hardship, and suffering in the wilds of Canada. New folk stories took root, some based on old stories from Europe, that survived generations in good stead, only to be forgotten and disrespected for the cultural heritage they represented, considered outdated and nothing more than old wives tales best forgotten. Yet this folk history, as relates to the history of our region, is the color painted upon the black and white of factual history as recorded. Without it, we lose the soul of what we have accomplished, and the legacy we extend into the future. Believe it or not, Muskoka has a cultural history to be proud of, regardless what the critics argue to the contrary. Muskoka identity, some suppose, begins and ends with the cottage lifestyle. Well, they're wrong!
     I don't anticipate that I will ever be able to sell the politicians and the business community, of the Town of Bracebridge, on the merits of celebrating the 151 year old relationship with American Author, Washington Irving. They didn't budge on the 150th, when I asked them, so I'm not printing up any invitations to the Washington Irving dinner party this year either. It will be 151 years, this August, when William Dawson LeSueur, turned down the name "North Falls," as requested by the few residents then, of the hamlet on the shore of the Muskoka River, for their new post office granted in 1864. Instead, LeSueur, a literary critic when not a working for the federal post office authority, named the post office, "Bracebridge," after the title of a book written by Irving in 1822. But, it can be argued, that if LeSueur, in fact, had named the hamlet post office, after the name "Bracebridge," belonging to the owner of the estate, "Squire Bracebridge," then it ties in with Irving's internationally popular text, "The Sketch Book," published in 1818, (some say 1819), which of course contains the famous "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." This is a literary connection that needs to be exploited, and profoundly celebrated, in the spirit of a fine author, Iriving, a revered literary critic, Dr. LeSueur, and a fine town in South Muskoka.
     In the back of my 1893 reprint edition, there is a story by Irving, entitled Newstead Abbey, with a story embedded about "superstitions" at the historic building, situated in Robin Hood's legendary Sherwood Forest, in vicinity of Nottingham, England.
     Irving writes, "Newstead Abbey is one of the finest specimens in existence of those quaint and romantic piles, half castle, half convent, which remain as monuments of the olden times of England."
     He writes under the heading "Superstitions of the Abbey," the following description: "The anecdotes I had heard of the quondam housekeeper of Lord Byron, rendered me desirous of paying her a visit. I rode in company with Colonel Wildman, therefore, to the cottage of her son William, where she resides, and found her seated by her fireside with a favorite cat perched upon her shoulder, and purring in her ear. Nanny Smith is a large, good looking woman, a specimen of the old-fashioned country housewife, combining antiquated notions and prejudices, and very limited information, with natural good sense. She loves to gossip about the Abbey and Lord Byron, and was soon drawn into a course of anecdotes, though mostly of an humble kind, such as suited the meridian of the housekeeper's room and servants' hall. She seemed to entertain a kind recollection of Lord Byron, though she had evidently been much perplexed by some of his vagaries; and especially by the means he adopted to counteract his tendency to corpulency. He used various modes to sweat himself down; sometimes he would walk up the hills in the park, wrapped up and loaded with great coats; 'a sad toil for the poor youth,' added Nanny, 'he being so lame.' His meals were scanty and irregular, consisting of dishes which Nanny seemed to hold in great contempt, such as pilau, macaroni, and light puddings."
     Irving notes that "Finding that we listened to her with great attention, Nanny Smith went on with her gossiping. 'One time,' said she, 'Lord Byron took a notion that there was a deal of money buried about the Abbey by the monks in old times, and nothing would serve him but he must have the flagging taken up in the cloisters; and they digged and digged, but found nothing but some coffins full of bones. Then he must needs have one of the coffins put in one end of the great hall so that the servants were afraid to go there of nights. Several of the skulls were cleaned and put in frames in his room. I used to have to go into the room at night to shut the windows, and if I glanced an eye at them, they all seemed to grin; which I believe skulls always do. I can't say but I was glad to get out of the room. There was on time (and for that matter still is), a good deal said about ghosts haunting about the Abbey. The keeper's wife said she saw two standing in a dark part of the cloisters just opposite the chapel, and one in the garden by the lord's well. Then there was a young lady, a cousin of Lord Byron, who was staying in the Abbey, and slept in the room next to the clock; and she told me that one night when she was lying in bed, she saw a lady in white, come out of the wall on one side of the room, and go into the wall on the opposite side. Lord Byron one day said to me, 'Nanny, what nonsense they tell about ghosts, as if there ever were any such things. I have never seen any thing of that kind about the Abbey, and I warrant you have not.' This was all done, do you see, to draw me out; but I said nothing, but shook my head. However, they say his Lordship did once see something. It was in the great hall - something all black and hairy, he said it was the devil.
     'For my part,' continued Nanny Smith, 'I never saw anything of the kind - but I heard something once. I was one evening, scrubbing the floor of the little dining-room, at the end of this long gallery; it was after dark; but I expected every moment to be called to tea, but wished to finish what I was about. All at once I heard heavy footsteps in the great hall. They sounded like the tramp of a horse. I took the light and went to see what it was. I heard the steps come from the lower end of the hall to the fireplace in the centre, where they stopped; but I could see nothing. I returned to my work, and in a little time heard the same noise again. I went again with the light; the footsteps stopped by the fireplace as before; still I could see nothing. I went back to my work, when I heard the steps for a third time. I then went into the hall without a light, but they stopped just the same, by the fireplace, halfway up the hall. I thought this rather odd, but returned to my work. When it was finished, I took the light and went through the hall, as that was the way to the kitchen. I heard no more footsteps, and thought no more of the matter, when, on coming to the lower end of the hall, I found the door locked, and then, on one side of the door, I saw the stone coffin with the skull and bones, that had been digged up in the cloisters.'
     Irving continues, "Here Nanny paused. I asked her if she believed that the mysterious footsteps had any connection with the skeleton in the coffin; but she shook her head, and would not commit herself. We took our leave of the good old dame shortly after, and the story she had related gave subject for conversation on our ride homeward. It was evident she had spoken the truth as to what she had heard, but had been deceived by some peculiar effect of sound. Noises are propagated about a huge irregular edifice of the kind, in a very deceptive manner; footsteps are prolonged and reverberated by the vaulted cloisters and echoing halls; the creaking and slamming of distant gates, the rushing of the blast through the groves and among the ruined arches of the chapel, have all a strangely delusive effect at night.
     "Colonel Wildman gave an instance of the kind from his own experience. Not long after he had taken up residence at the Abbey, he heard one moonlight night a noise as if a carriage was passing at a distance. He opened the window and leaned out. It then seemed as if the great iron roller was dragged along the gravel walks and terrace, but there was nothing to be seen. When he saw the gardener on the following morning, he questioned him about working so late at night. The gardener declared that no one had been at work, and the roller was chained up. He was sent to examine it, and came back with the countenance full of surprise. The roller had been moved in the night, but he declared no mortal hand could have moved it. 'Well,' replied the Colonel, good-humoredly. 'I am glad to find I have a brownie to work for me.'
     According to author, Washington Irving, "Lord Byron did much to foster and give currency to the superstitious tales connected with the Abbey, by believing, or pretending to believe in them. Many have supposed that his mind was really tinged with superstition, and that this innate infirmity was increased by passing much of his time in a lonely way, about the empty halls and cloisters of the Abbey, then in a ruinous melancholy state, and brooding over the skulls and effigies of its former inmates. I should rather thing that he found poetical enjoyment in these supernatural themes, and that his imagination delighted to people this gloomy and romantic pile with all kinds of shadowy inhabitants. Certain it is, the aspect of the mansion under the varying influence of twilight and moonlight, and cloud and sunshine operating upon its halls, and galleries, and monkish cloisters, is enough to breed all kinds of fancies in the minds of its inmates, especially if poetically or superstitiously inclined.
     "I have already mentioned some of the fabled visitants of the Abbey. The goblin friar, however, is the one to whom Lord Byron has given his greatest importance. It walked the cloisters by night, and sometimes glimpses of it were seen in other parts of the Abbey. Its appearance was said to portend some impending evil to the master of the mansion. Lord Byron pretended to have seen it about a month before he contracted his ill-starred marriage with Miss Milbanke."
     Irving concludes his story, by noting, "For my own part, the moment I learned the wonderful stories and strange suppositions connected with my apartment, it became an imaginary realm to me. As I lay in bed, at night, and gazed at the mysterious panel work, where Gothic Knight, and Christian dame, and Paynim lover gazed upon me in effigy, I used to weave a thousand fancies concerning them. The great figures in the tapestry, also, were almost animated by the workings of my imagination, and the Vandyke portraits of the cavalier and lady that looked down with pale aspects from the wall, had almost a spectral effect, from their immovable gaze and silent companionship. In this way I used to conjure up fictions of the brain, and clothe the objects around me with ideal interest and import, until, as the Abbey clock tolled midnight, I almost looked to see Sir John Byron the Little, with the long beard, stalk into the room with his book under arm, and take his seat beside the mysterious chimney piece."
     It is what I cherish the most, of all my time spent, mired in research, these past twenty years, in the good company of Mr. Irving, such that I too must confess, to a highly stimulated imagination, about the potentials of the world seen and unseen. Sensing that the potentials for afterlife, and hidden existences, are so very much greater, than our imaginations, at the very peak of curiosity, and expectation, can yet fully appreciate, let alone analyze as being natural or supernatural, normal or paranormal. Maybe one day, science will prove all the marvelous remnants of legend, lore and superstition, worthless in fact, and pointless in story. In the meantime, I am happy to dwell in a world, that still possesses mystery, for ponderers like me, to speculate over, and spin stories around.
     I do believe, Bracebridge should soon embrace the literary legacy, afforded them in a most kindly manner, as a tribute to one of the best known authors in the world, which they have pretty much ignored, for the past 151 years. For no good reason!