Johnny Moon Barnardo Boy Part 2

PART TWO; BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON, ARRIVES IN MUSKOKA, DECEMBER 1897

A CITY CHILD IN THE VAST HINTERLAND OF WHAT WAS STILL PIONEER MUSKOKA

     IF YOU HAVE EVER SUFFERED FROM HOMESICKNESS, SAY, IN YOUR ADULT YEARS, IMAGINE THEN, THE SUFFERING OF A FOURTEEN YEAR OLD BOY, WHO HAS JUST RECENTLY BURIED HIS MOTHER, AND THEN HIS FATHER, AND WITHOUT THE RIGHT TO AN OPINION ON THE MATTER, BEEN SENT TO AN ORPHANAGE, BECAUSE NO ONE IN THE FAMILY WOULD AGREE TO LOOK AFTER YOU. AND THEN BEING SHUFFLED OFF TO THE COLONY, TO WORK AS FARM LABOUR? WHO COULD BLAME JOHNNY MOON FOR SUCCUMBING TO HIS HOMESICKNESS, AND REBELLING AGAINST THOSE WHO PUT HIM IN SUCH AN ADVERSE CIRCUMSTANCE, IN THE FIRST PLACE.

     AS WITH MANY EMIGRANTS FROM EUROPE, TO CANADA, FROM THE LATE 1850'S, EVEN TO THE TURN OF THE CENTURY, THEY HAD BEEN URBAN DWELLERS IN THEIR COUNTRIES OF ORIGIN. THEY WERE COMING TO A FRONTIER THAT WAS HARSH IN SO MANY WAYS, WITHOUT THE URBAN LUXURIES, SUCH AS TRANSPORTATION LINKAGES, LIKE BRITAIN'S UNDERGROUND RAILWAY, (EVEN IN THE LATE 1800'S), SUPPLY COMPETITION, (COMPETITIVE PRICES FOR GOOD AND SERVICES), AND CERTAINLY MORE EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES, THAN IN PIONEER VILLAGES AND FLEDGLING TOWNS ON THE ONTARIO SETTLEMENT FRONTIER. LIFE WAS HARD, AND JUST BECAUSE THE FIRST FORTY YEARS OF SETTLEMENT HAS PASSED, DIDN'T MEAN THAT LIFE HAD BECOME MUCH EASIER, THAN IT HAD BEEN IN THE 1860'S.

    THE BARNARDO CHILDREN, SENT FROM THE ORPHANAGES OF ENGLAND, FOR EXAMPLE, HAD MANY MORE URBAN-RAISED CHILDREN IN THEIR CARE, THAN THOSE BORN AND RAISED RURALLY. PART OF THE EXTREME DIFFICULTY FOR THE TEENAGE CHILDREN, SENT TO CANADA, BY DR. BARNARDO, WAS THAT THEY WERE TOTALLY UNPREPARED, LIKE MANY OTHER HOMESTEADERS, FOR THE SEVERE CONDITIONS OF RURAL PRIVATIONS. THEY WERE NOT FAMILIAR WITH FARMING, AND THAT'S WHERE MANY OF THE YOUNG LADS FOUND THEMSELVES. IN MUSKOKA, THEY WERE SENT TO FARMSTEADS, THAT WERE STRUGGLING, BECAUSE IT CAN BE SAID WITH SOME ACCURACY, THAT IN A HARSH ENVIRONS OF ROCK, TREES, BOGLANDS, A SHORT GROWING SEASON, AND THIN, ARABLE SOIL, EVERY AGRICULTURAL ATTEMPT WAS BURDENED BY THE PREVAILING REALITIES, INCLUDING POOR AND SLOW ACCESS TO MARKETS. ANY BARNARDO CHILD, SENT TO ONE OF THESE LOCAL FARMS, WOULD HAVE BEEN EXPECTED TO PROVIDE A YEOMAN'S EFFORT IN RETURN FOR THE APPRENTICESHIP, FOOD AND LODGING. I WONDER IF THERE ARE STATISTICS ABOUT THE NUMBER OF BARNARDO YOUTH, SENT TO CANADIAN FARMS, WHO WERE SO INSPIRED BY THE CHANCE TO WORK IN AGRICULTURE, AS IT EXISTED THEN, THAT THEY SCRAPED UP ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY THEIR OWN FARMS BECAUSE OF THE POSITIVE EXPERIENCE? WELL, I'M BEING SARCASTIC HERE, AS YOU PROBABLY GUESSED. WHILE THERE WERE LIKELY POSITIVE EXPERIENCES, ON THESE FARM PROPERTIES, I THINK THEY WOULD BE FEW, AS COMPARED TO THE NUMBER OF ORPHANS PLACED IN AGRICULTURAL POSITIONS, WHO SUFFERED FROM THE SEVERE NATURE OF THE WORK, AND THE BRUTALLY LONG HOURS OF EACH DAY. PHYSICALLY, MOST OF THESE URBANIZED TEENAGERS, WERE NOT PREPARED FOR WHAT LAY AHEAD, ON THE ROCK STREWN, TREED HOMESTEAD ALLOCATIONS, WHERE EVEN LONG DAYS IN THE FIELD, AND SEVEN DAY DEMANDS, DID NOT MAKE MORE PROSPEROUS FARMS. THERE WAS A LOT OF PHYSICAL DEMAND ON THE SHOULDERS OF THESE ORPHANS, RE-LOCATED FROM THEIR HOME COUNTRY, TO THE COLONY, FOR WHAT SEEMED A PUNITIVE REACTION, BASED ONLY ON THEIR FAMILY CIRCUMSTANCE. THEY HAD'T COMMITTED A CRIME, YET THEY WERE BEING SHIPPED ACROSS THE OCEAN. JUDGE FOR YOURSELF, WHAT IT WAS LIKE ON THESE FARMS, AND IF YOU, UNDER SIMILAR CIRCUMSTANCES, WOULD HAVE RUN AWAY, OR ASKED THE BARNARDO FOLKS, FOR IMMEDIATE RE-ASSIGNMENT. ALTHOUGH HISTORIANS AREN'T REALLY SUPPOSED TO SIDE, IN CASES LIKE THIS, BECAUSE IT SHOW BIAS, FRANKLY, I DON'T CARE. I KNOW WHY JOHNNY MOON KEPT RE-LOCATING HIMSELF, AND I CAN'T BLAME HIM WHATSOEVER.

ARRIVING IN MUSKOKA

      (THE DIARY OF JOHNNY MOON IS IN THE POSSESSION OF THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, AS PART OF THEIR ARCHIVES COLLECTION, SO RESPECTFULLY, I WILL ONLY QUOTE SMALL PASSAGES FROM THE ORIGINAL TEXT, WHICH WAS FOUND WHEN HIS SHANTY, ON THE NORTH BRANCH OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER, IN BRACEBRIDGE, WAS BEING CLEARED AWAY MANY YEARS AGO. THE DOCUMENT WAS GIVEN TO THE TOWN, AND WAS TRANSCRIBED INTO TYPED COPY FROM THE ORIGINAL. IT IS ONE OF THE TOWN'S MOST IMPORTANT RELICS OF WRITTEN HISTORY, REVEALING THE OTHER SIDE, OF THE TO-BE-EXPECTED, TRADITIONAL CHRONICLE OF COMMUNITY HISTORY. JOHNNY MOON'S DIARY IS A PERFECT EXAMPLE OF FOLK HISTORY, AND IT WOULD HAVE BEEN TERRIBLE, FOR THE TOWN, IF THE DIARY HAD BEEN DESTROYED, IN THE PROCESS OF CLEARING THE RIVER ROAD PROPERTY. SO THANKS FOR SAVING THIS INCREDIBLE DOCUMENT FOR THE BENEFIT OF FUTURE GENERATIONS, WHO WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THEIR HOME TOWN)

     In the opening paragraph, of the diary, noted after arriving in Muskoka, Johnny Moon pays particular reference to the fact it was a distance of 122 miles between Toronto and Bracebridge, and that by rail, with stops included, it takes four hours to cover the countryside. This is important because, as you will read later, Johnny Moon wasn't adverse whatsoever, of walking to and from Toronto if that soothed his passion, at any particular moment. He approved of the scenery, as it appeared out the passenger-car window, so he knew the obstacles he would face, if and when he took to the road, on his shoe leathers; what was left of them.

     "As we rode along, the country took on a more wintry appearance. Just out of the city there had been but a little snow upon the ground; nearing Muskoka the snow lay deep. Darkness came on, but we could still see out on account of the snow; also there was a rising moon."

     It was at around six o'clock in the evening, that the steam of the newly arrived train, encircled the roof-top of the Bracebridge train station, in the moonlight of what was a cold night to be out and about! The conductor travelled through the passenger car, letting the Barnardo travellers know, that they had arrived at their destination, and needed to disembark. When they climbed down the steps, to stand on the ice-covered platform, in front of the station, there were two men waiting for them. They were identified by Johnny Moon, as Adolphus and Byron Booth. There would undoubtedly have been a buffalo robe, or heavy wool blankets to snuggle beneath, for the sleigh ride through the snow laden countryside. The route they would have taken then, to the hamlet of Monsell, would have been wild by modest estimation, owing to the winding route, significant hillsides, and slippery declines, with very precarious ditches at the side of these roughly hewn cartways. For a couple of young Englishmen, this would have been both exciting and frightening at the same time. The temperature on a moonlit night in early December, would have been remarkably cold for those used to London winters.

     "We got on a sleigh and after a short ride through the town, getting goods from some of the stores, we drove out into the country, by the way of the old concession, which I shall now call the Bracebridge-Monsell Road. So then, that evening of the 4th of December, 1897, I passed by a spot, just a short way out of town, which, about fourteen and a half years later, I was to build my first little home and live for eleven years. But that, of course, as well as many another event to come, I did not dream of, as the old saying goes, at that time," the teenage emigrant wrote in his journal. "This was my first sleigh ride. It was a cold, bright moonlight night. We travelled along a winding road over a rocky, hilly country. Seeing it for the first time, the country seemed a wild one to me. After a few short hours ride, we arrived at Byron Booth's farm at Monsell, where Willie Price (another Bernardo Boy) was to stay."

     On this bitterly cold, early winter night, Johnny Moon stayed at the Booth farmstead, with Willie Price. He enjoyed a hot supper and then a hardy breakfast, before again heading out by sleigh, to the farm operated by Mrs. Stonehouse, further north to the hamlet of Fraserburg, on the South Branch of the Muskoka River. In the sleigh with Byron Booth, were his children. "I can remember even today, a snatch of conversation between Byron and his little girl, Jessie, concerning the name given to the foliage of the evergreens, which he explained to her was not called 'leaves,' but 'tendrils.' Fraserburg, where we arrived shortly, is calculated at three and a half miles from Monsell. There I was introduced to Mrs. Stonehouse and her son George. At that time, they kept a small general store and post office, George carrying the mail to and from Bracebridge, a one-way distance of nine or ten miles, twice a week, I think."

     At this time, it is noted by the young Mr. Moon, that there were two or three other Bernardo Boys residing in this vicinity of Monsell and Fraserburg, north east of the Town of Bracebridge. Today of course, these former villages are part of the wider Municipality of Bracebridge, as part of regional governance. One of the other orphans, was named Charley Whitfield, and he was staying with Mr. and Mrs. William Stonehouse, and he was much younger than Johnny Moon, being only ten or eleven years of age.

     At fifteen, Johnny Moon had suddenly, without any preparation, physical or emotional, had become a farm labourer, in an unfamiliar land. He was full of anticipation, which masked somewhat, his homesickness, and fear of what might go wrong so far from home. He was glad to have other Bernardo mates near by, but would have benefitted greatly, to have had another chum working at the same farmstead.

     When New Year's rolled around, and Johnny looked ahead to the promises and dreams of 1898, his life was changed, in his words, as a direct result of someone else's authordom. He somehow acquired the book, "Millenial Dawn," by Charles Taze Russell, and it would later reverberate in his personal philosophy yet to mature. This will be noted again in this diary.

     Johnny's work on the Stonehouse farm involved the typical chores you'd expect, but in the bitter cold of a challenging Canadian winter. In the summer months, he had to work in the fields, "seeding, haying, harvesting, besides under-brushing some of the fallow ground in the fall. In the evenings I went looking for cows and drove them home. On some of those trips I sometimes had little bother and adventure. To the same place, there came in the spring of 1898, a girl from a Canadian home. A brother of hers, from the same home, stayed for a short time with James Stonehouse. The girl's name was Hannah Adeline Pellar. The boy's name was John Pellar."

     Johnny writes that his best friend at this time, in his personal biography, was Charley Whitfield. He was moved from the Stonehouse farm sometime in the year, 1900, and placed at another farming operation in Southern Ontario. It is important to appreciate, that a lot of the placements did not work out, and the Barnardo officials were forced to change placements, to please the stakeholders, who were housing these British youngsters, in exchange for services rendered. There were many occasions, when the farmers turned-out the children for being lazy, and poor at their chores. And there were those Barnardo orphans, who escaped what they felt were abusive circumstances.

     He lasted at the Stonehouse farm for a year and five months, according to his accounting. Mrs. Stonehouse and her son George weren't happy with the work they were getting from Johnny, and contacted the Bernardo supervisors in Toronto, and asked that he be returned to their care. There isn't much to suggest why he was sent packing, except that, as you will read later, the teenager was much more a dreamer and country philosopher, than a labourer; and when he admits to having "adventures," during his labours, one can imagine the wee fellow, gad abouting off the farm, seeking inspiration from the countryside appointments. More so than from the company of the Stonehouse family.

     On the wagon ride back to Bracebridge, to meet the next train to Toronto, Johnny observed that, just before town, "we passed a small saw mill on the right hand side of the road coming out; I know today that mill was on Sharpe's (or Black's) Creek. Today, of course, nothing remains of it."

     In May 1899, Johnny Moon was back in Toronto, having bid fellow Bernardo Boy, Willie Price farewell. "With him I had come to Muskoka, and him I saw, on the way leaving it!"

     The young man, fresh from the Muskoka farm experience, spent several weeks, back at the Bernardo facility, on Farley Avenue, before being placed on a dairy farm, just north of the city. It was on a much larger, more prosperous farm, with a significant herd of cattle to tend. He didn't like the change of pace, and never got to know the people who actually owned the farm.

     "I was very homesick, now, so plans of getting back to England were coming to my mind. This was in mid-summer of the year 1899. Having heard that one could go over on a cattle-boat, and that the Toronto cattle market was the place to start from; and finding out, later, where the cattle market was, I decided to go by that route. I got up early one morning, and went off toward the pasture at the back of the farm, near the Don Valley, where the cattle were grazing. But instead of turning the cows homeward for milking, I struck off to the far side of the field, and down into the valley. Followed that down a short distance, and came up to a road which lay just back of the dairy and led to Yonge Street."

     Johnny Moon had escaped. In his mind, it was an important personal liberation, and he saw England as the betterment of his life, if he could only arrange himself, as a working-passenger, on a ship sailing overseas. He made his way along the north-south corridor of Yonge Street, down to Queen Street, and southward to where he found the cattle market, alongside the steam trains, which transported the livestock to the major shipping centre out of Montreal. "I may be said to have walked from the north side to the south side of Toronto, and by a zig-zag route. But for a good hiker, such as I was, this was but a trifle." It would be interesting to know just how far Johnny Moon walked in his life, and the only other Muskoka area individual, to have walked further, would have been Anglican missionary, Gowan Gillmor, known as the "Tramp," who travelled on foot to frontier churches all over the Diocese of Algoma. (You can archive to find out more on this blog collection, about Gowan Gillmor)

     The young man, hopeful of finding an opportunity, to either sneak on-board a cattle boat, or be hired onto the crew, as his step brother William, had become a ship's cook, on his travels. While he thought progress had been made, saddling-up to the crew of one of the vessels, gathered on a rail car headed to Montreal, he was subsequently discovered, without proper papers and train ticket, and thrown off the train by the company enforcer.

    He wasn't the only one, trying to get on a boat, and out of Canada. The shipping companies had to be constantly vigilant for stowaways. He had a great distance to walk back, to the cattle market, from the shipping yard, but had a plan to stay close to the company offices, sleeping on a table near by. He was able to convince one of the market bosses, the next morning, that he was fit to sail, having experience handling livestock. Johnny also scored a free dinner, from another man, who felt sorry for the wee fellow, who looked as if he was starving to death. Some who knew Johnny, claimed he always looked this way, and he did get frequent hand-outs, which he kindly acknowledged, and in most cases, remembered all his life. He got on the cattle train later in the day, joining a new friend, who claimed to be the son of an army chaplain, returning to England, after living in Brantford, Ontario, for a period of time. The next thing wee Johnny Moon knew, was that he was a cattleman, on a train steaming toward Montreal, and eventually, to a ship, for an overseas voyage, to his native England.

     "Ran along by the shore of Lake Ontario that evening (by train)," wrote the young traveller. "Well here was I, now, on the way back home to old England; and my thoughts then, were that my coming to Canada had been a big mistake. But now I know, as I look upon it all, that I was simply coming to another blaze upon the trail. One of the bosses was something of a ventriloquist, and was amusing himself, and the others, with tricks of that accomplishment, at our expense. Stopped for a short time at Kingston, that night to let a fruit train pass. Jogged along all night, and arrived in Montreal about middle of following day. There I was up against another difficulty; I was not quite old enough, to go as a cattleman, being only seventeen, instead of eighteen, the required age. That afternoon I went down to the quay, where the shipping is, by the river side. I went along the shore, making enquiries, looking at one ship after another. Finally I found the right one, an Elder Dempster Company boat, the 'Mount Royal.' There also, I met some of the men who had come ahead of us, from the Toronto Cattle Market. I was taken to an office on the wharf alongside, and there I signed on as a cattleman, by the help of one of the bosses, who answered the questions put to me by the clerk, who was a little deaf."

       Johnny Moon was officially one of the hired hands, on the cattle boat, Mount Royal, which would leave the next morning, with a full cargo of livestock, on the way east in the St. Lawrence River. He observed that they "passed the old City of Quebec that evening, with its many lights shining, some at the river level, but most high up on the rock. There was a band playing somewhere up there as we glided by. I think we anchored somewhere below Quebec that night." He writes that the Mount Royal was a 'cargo boat,' or 'merchant ship,' and not all that comfortable for passengers onboard. The labour on the ship, for the young Mr. Moon, was to water and feed the livestock. There were reportedly twenty horses and sheep on the ship, as well as cattle, and Johnny noted, it was "the sheep most troubled by sea sickness."

     It wasn't a particularly rough voyage, and the young lad had, by immersion, become used to the roll of the sea. He claimed to have been stricken, once more, by seasickness, but for a much shorter period, than on his inaugural voyage on the passenger ship, "Labrador," a few years previous. The teenage crew-member, of the Mount Royal, was emotionally stirred, to see the rugged, dangerous coastline of the Scilly Islands, on the 12th day of trans-oceanic transport. Within twenty four hours, of that point, the ship had entered the Channel, passing the Isle of Wight, then Beachy Head, and the cliffs of England's south coast. Then the ship traversed the waters of the Dover Strait. Soon they arrived at the mouth of the Thames, up through the "green fields and hedgerows of Essex and Kent on either side."

     Johnny Moon had arrived home in August of that year, a stay that would last until June 1901, following the death of Queen Victoria. He would soon thereafter, head back to Canada, and arrive once again, in Bracebridge, Ontario.

     Just last evening, Suzanne and I took a drive down the old River Road, where Johnny Moon, had once resided, and a place he rather enjoyed; his leaky rowboat pulled up on shore, and woodsmoke coming from his tiny cabin, that kept him as comfortable as could be expected, considering his circumstance of irregular, modest income. I could imagine very clearly, the vision of this row boat coming along the dark reflective waters, of the north branch of the Muskoka River, above the Bass Rock rapids. He would have tramped along this dusty trail many times in his life, so it's no wonder, some folktales reference the fact his ghost still travels the same route as it did once, back in the early years of the 1900's, when Johnny Moon called Bracebridge his home. The english Bernardo boy, who wanted so badly to escape Canada, found that his life in England, would be forever limited, and disadvantaged, him being denied opportunity to get ahead amongst millions of citizens, many unemployed and suffering. In Canada, especially in the wilds of Muskoka, he could find work, and afford to acquire property in the still under-populated Town of Bracebridge. He may have been spending those next two years in England, but he was plotting out a new plan for a future in Bracebridge, Ontario.

The Story of Barnardo Boy, Johnny Moon Part 1

THE STORY OF BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON

ONE OF BRACEBRIDGE'S MOST PROMINENT, UNIQUE, AND UNDAUNTED CITIZENS, WHO YOU PROBABLY KNOW NOTHING ABOUT; JOHNNY MOON

THE BARNARDO BOY - WANDERER, PHILOSOPHER, STORY-TELLER WHO TOLD IT THE WAY IT WAS!

     I HAVE LONG BEEN FASCINATED BY THE STRANGE STORY OF JOHNNY MOON. IT WAS ONE OF THE FIRST MEMORABLE FOLK TALES I HEARD, THE SUMMER AFTER MOVING TO BRACEBRIDGE, IN 1966. A MATE OF MINE, FROM BACK THEN, WHILE WE WERE WALKING ALONG RIVER ROAD, ONE HOT AFTERNOON, TOLD ME TO WATCH FOR THE GHOST OF OLD JOHNNY MOON, WHO IT WAS SAID, HAUNTED THE MUSKOKA RIVER VALLEY, WHERE HE USED TO LIVE LONG AGO. ANOTHER CHUM TOLD ME, THAT IT WAS COMMON TO SEE THE GHOST OF JOHNNY MOON, ROWING HIS LEAKY SKOW TOWARD TOWN, TO PICK UP SUPPLIES; A TRAVERSE HE DID HUNDREDS OF TIME IN LIFE. THEY AGREED, THAT IT WAS ON MISTY EVENINGS, ABOVE THE BASS ROCK RAPIDS, THAT JOHNNY REGULARLY MADE HIS APPEARANCE, IN A SPIRITED ATTEMPT, TO SCARE OFF INTERLOPERS, WHO MIGHT BE TRESPASSING ON THE PIECE OF PROPERTY, WHERE HE HAD BUILT A SMALL SHANTY BETWEEN THE TREES. I NEVER DID SEE HIS GHOST. BUT AFTER READING HIS JOURNAL MANY TIMES, AND KNOWING THAT ROAD VERY WELL, FROM YEARS OF HIKING IN THE VICINITY, I HAVE IN A SMALL WAY, COME TO RECOGNIZE HIS PRESENCE, WHEN AT TIMES, I VENTURE TO THE ROCK SHELVES OF THE BASS ROCK NARROWS, TO TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH; OR JUST TO PAUSE DURING A LENGTHY WALK TO WILSON'S FALLS. BASS ROCK, IS WHERE, WE AS KIDS, USED TO SWIM. I THINK WE ALL FELT THAT SOMEONE WAS WATCHING US BACK THEN, BUT WE HAD NO PROOF. JOHNNY MOON HAD BEEN DEAD FOR MORE THAN A DECADE BY THAT POINT ANYWAY. THOSE WHO KNEW HIM, REALIZED HOW POWERFUL HIS CHARACTER, AND AURA WERE, SUCH THAT ONCE YOU MET HIM, YOU WOULD NEVER FORGET THE OCCASION. HE HAD A PENETRATING GAZE, THAT SEEMED TO REACH INTO YOUR BODY, TO SHAKE HANDS WITH THE IMBEDDED SOUL. HE WAS GENERALLY A LONER, BUT WHEN HE LIKED YOU, HE COULD WEAR OUT HIS WELCOME VERY SOON, BUT ACTS OF OVER INDULGENCE, AND PERSONAL INTRUSION. THERE WERE PEOPLE IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHO VIEWED THE YOUNG MAN AS BEING STRANGE, AND ECCENTRIC; A LAZY LAD, WHO COULDN'T STAY EMPLOYED FOR MORE THAN A FEW DAYS AT A STRETCH, AND AT TIMES, WAS DISAGREEABLE AND ANNOYING TO EVERYONE IN HIS COMPANY. NO ONE WOULD MISTAKE THAT HE WAS KINDLY, AND APPROACHABLE, BUT HE WAS ALSO INCREDIBLY DETERMINED; AND POSSIBLY, THIS IS WHAT, AS LEGEND, WHY THEY STILL SAY HE STILL HAUNTS THE MISTY EVENINGS, ON THE NORTH MUSKOKA RIVER, BETWEEN BASS ROCK AND WILSON'S FALLS.

     THERE HAVE BEEN THREE MAJOR MUSKOKA RELATED DIARIES / JOURNALS, I HAVE STUDIED IN THE PAST TWENTY YEARS, THAT HAVE EACH, IN THEIR OWN WAY, CHANGED MY OPINION OF PREVIOUSLY UNDERSTOOD, FORMALLY DOCUMENTED LOCAL HISTORY. ONE WAS THE DIARY OF GRANNY BOWERS, WHICH I RE-PUBLISHED LAST EVENING ON THIS BLOG, IN CASE YOU MISSED IT. THE SECOND WAS, "JUST ONE BLUE BONNET, THE DIARY OF ADA FLORENCE KINTON," PIONEER ARTIST, SALVATION ARMY MISSIONARY, WHO SPENT TIME EXPLORING AND WRITING ABOUT MUSKOKA, PARTICULARLY HUNTSVILLE, DURING THE LATE 1800'S. IN ADA KINTON'S CASE, HER SISTER, SARA RANDELSON, FOUND THE JOURNAL, AFTER THE ARTIST'S DEATH, AND BECAUSE IT WAS SO INTERESTING, AND IMPORTANT, PARTICULARLY TO THE SALVATION ARMY, SHE HAD IT PUBLISHED EARLY IN THE 1900'S. I'M SO GLAD SHE DID. I DONATED A COPY OF THE HARDCOVER FIRST EDITION TO THE MUSKOKA COLLECTION, OF GRAVENHURST PUBLIC LIBRARY. THIS BRINGS ME TO THE DIARY OF BARNARDO BOY, JOHNNY MOON, BORN IN ENGLAND, IN THE YEAR 1882, WHO WAS LATER SENT TO CANADA, FROM A BARNARDO ORPHANAGE, IN ENGLAND, TO WORK AS A LABOURER, ON A FARM, IN THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA. THE PARTIAL DIARY WAS RESCUED FROM THE RUINS OF JOHNNY'S FORMER CABIN, ON RIVER ROAD IN BRACEBRIDGE, WHEN THE PROPERTY HE USED TO LIVE ON, WAS BEING CLEARED. THE DOCUMENT WAS ACQUIRED BY THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, FOR SAFE-KEEPING IN THEIR MUNICIPAL ARCHIVES. THIS MAY BE ONE OF THE MOST REVEALING JOURNALS IN TOWN HISTORY, BECAUSE IT DOES TELL THE STORY OF HARDSHIP, AND HARSH TREATMENT, AT THE HANDS OF HIS OVERSEERS, AND EMPLOYERS, OVER HIS YEARS IN MUSKOKA. IT IS NOT WHAT WE FIND IN THE NORMAL COURSE OF HISTORICAL RESEARCH. THIS IS THE KIND OF STORY THAT INFILLS THE COLORS, ONTO THE BLACK AND WHITE CHRONOLOGY, AS I HAVE BEEN WRITING ABOUT, FOR THE PAST COUPLE OF MONTHS. IT IS AN ABSOLUTELY REQUIRED INSIGHT, TO HOW THE CITIZENS OF THE COMMUNITY ACTED BACK THEN, AND THE EARLY DECADES OF THE 1900'S. IT IS A SAD STORY IN MANY WAYS, BUT FEELING VERY CLOSE TO JOHNNY MOON, BECAUSE I'VE READ THIS PORTION OF HIS BIOGRAPHY, AT LEAST FIFTY TIMES, THAT LIKE ADA KINTON, AND GRANNY BOWERS, I LIKE TO THINK, HE WOULD FEEL PLEASED, HIS OBSERVATIONS WERE HAVING A RELEVANCE IN THIS NEW CENTURY. ALTHOUGH HE DIDN'T INTEND TO HAVE IT PUBLISHED, AS IT WAS MORE OF AN OUTLET, FOR HIS PAST FRUSTRATION, MEMORIES OF PROFOUND LONELINESS, AND FEARS, THAN TO ACTUALLY WRITE FOR EVENTUAL PUBLICATION. LIKE GRANNY BOWERS AND ADA KINTON, JOHNNY MOON'S JOURNAL IS HONEST AND HEART-FELT, MAKING IT SO MUCH MORE ILLUMINATING, AS TO WHAT IT WAS LIKE IN HIS ERA, TO BE STRUGGLING FOR SURVIVAL IN A YOUNG TOWN TRYING TO FIND ITS ECONOMIC BALANCE. WE CAN LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THE YOUNG MAN, THROUGH THE PAGES OF HIS JOURNAL. AS THE DOCUMENT BELONGS TO THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, AND NOT THIS WRITER, I WILL USE A SMALL AMOUNT OF HIS ACTUAL QUOTATIONS, AND OVERVIEW, AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, SO AS TO NOT LOSE THE FEELING OF THE PRECIOUS NOTES OF JOHNNY MOON.

BORN IN 1882 TO LOVING PARENTS

     There is every reason to believe, the infant child of the Moon family, of Bethnal Green, London, England, born on August 31st, 1882, was joyfully welcomed, when he uttered those first gurgling sounds of a newborn. The crying that could be heard, coming from the Moon family's residence, on Robinson Road, was the vigor of the young fellow expressing himself, something he would become highly skilled at, in writing, and in articulation every-after. His stay in Bethnal Green, lasted for only a short while, when his family, moved to Peckam, and the reason given, was that his parents did not want to have their young son vaccinated, for personal reasons that are not specified in the journal. It must have been a situation that followed them around, because they then moved once more, to Old Ford, the the district known as Tiny Hamlets.

     The young Mr. Moon began school at around seven years of age, and he remembered his mother taking him, and another neighborhood lad, he names as "Albert Hobart," his neighborhood chum, on the walk to the school both were to attend. Albert wasn't placed in the same class as Johnny Moon, as the young diarist had enjoyed the benefit of home instruction from his mother. Thus he was advanced in the school system, based on this advantage given to him by his mother, who by admission, he was exceptionally fond.

     He remembers there being an unsettling thunderstorm, on that first day, and his mother came to the school after the heavy rain subsided, to take him and Albert back home. She was doting of her boy, and shocked the day her son was carried home, in a state of unconsciousness, after a school yard injury. He wasn't sure how the accident occurred, other than he hit his head when he fell off a piece of outdoor gymnasium equipment, and still unconscious, was lifted-up by a number of older students, and undoubtedly with the teacher's knowledge, carried back home for his mother to make the decision, as to whether to take him to the hospital or not.

     The doctor, tending the small-framed, delicate, Moon child, who came out of the incident without permanent injury, suggested that the boy would be better looked-after, in a school that was private; one having less physical demands for him to cope with. The suggestion being, that as he was not athletic, and considering it could not yet be determined, if there was going to be a lasting brain injury, of undetermined severity, the slower pace of a private school would be best suited, the recovering youngsTer. So he was enrolled in a private school, on Cadogan Terrace, across from the landmark of Victoria Park.

     His father, James Moon, was originally from the village of Tavistock, which was a border community between Devon and Cornwall. His mother was born, Mary Jane Bolham, the daughter of John Bolham, an Irishman from Dublin, who had come to England, settling in the district of Northumberland, and this is where he would eventually come, to marry a woman of Scottish ancestry; Johnny's grandmother.

     Johnny Moon's mother, was a sister to two brothers, Albert and David, and three sisters, being Anne, Elizabeth and Ruth. Her father, John Bolham, was a tailor by profession, and what was called a "home missionary,' when time afforded. He notes though, that his mother, was his father's second bride, which meant that the youngster had two step brothers, Frederic and William, and two step-sisters, Anne and Elizabeth. He pays special attention to the fact, his step brother William, ran away from home at the age of fourteen, to pursue a life on the high sea, where it was said he was employed, for some time, on schooners (windjammers) as a ship's cook.

     The Moon family moved again, to Ripporth Road, for several years, up to 1890 or early 1891, and once again, re-locating to 18 Bristol Road, in East Ham.

     The elder Mr. Moon was a professional in the print industry, as it existed during this period in England, working for the firm of Waterlow and Laytons Printers and Lithographers, situated at "Broken Wharf, Upper Thames Street, London. The company bonus, you might say, was that employees were given vacation outings, if they so desired, once each year, to what Johnny Moon suggested was a "seaside resort," on the west coast of England. The youngster recalled several of these fascinating excursions, to both Bournemouth and Brighton, including on one of the trips, a side-venture to the village of Swanage, accessed by a small coastal region steamship. This was something special to the astute young Johnny Moon, who adored the idea of travelling and having outdoor adventures, like the ones he read in his story-books. He could understand why his step-brother William, had wanted to escape the city, by signing aboard a sailing ship as a crewman.

     Johnny also keenly reminisced about a family trip to Epping, via Chingford, and travelling through the forest where he caught a glimpse of former Queen Elizabeth's (then Queen Victoria's) hunting lodge. It involved a period of enjoyable hiking along the Epping Forest's trails, and rail travel with his mother and father. His most memorable visit, was to see the famous "Crystal Palace," near the community of Sydenham, the beauty of its architecture, even at fifty two years of age (when he wrote the journal), was still clear in his memory.

     His mother had been prone to illness, throughout her adult life, and when the family was living in East Ham, she became seriously ill, such that she was removed entirely from the Moon household, which may have been considered too damp and cold, and sent to live in Chatham (England), at a home owned by her brother, David, in Kent, in order to have the peace and quiet she needed, in order to recover. Johnny's step-sister, who he called "Bess" took him to visit his mother, circa the summer of 1892, and the young man recalls the enjoyment of going blackberry picking, with his cousins. He recalls that it was most likely in the month of August when they visited Kent, to see his mother, who it was said on some authority, was on the mend. Most of all, he enjoyed the steam train ride back home to London, following the short stay. Unfortunately for the family, Mrs. Moon, having returned back to her home in London, had never regained all of her strength, and a year later, in 1893, suffered a second bout of her illness, and this time, passed away as a direct result. With great sadness, Johnny Moon watched as his kindly mother, who had looked after him so well and thoughtfully, for the early years of his life, was buried in Manor Park Cemetery, amidst floral tributes to her life's work. One can imagine the little fellow, tears running down his rosy cheeks, hanging on to his father's hand, as the minister concluded the ceremony, being ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But he claimed later, that he had dreamt about this scene sometime before.

     One of his greatest characteristics, is that he made friends easily, no matter where they lived, or where he went to school, something he was known for even in his Muskoka years. He was a particularly affectionate child, something characteristic, presumably given to him by his mother, who was well liked, as was his charitable father, the printer. There were times, especially in Muskoka, that he became obsessive about friendships, as it turned out, with children many years younger than himself, and this did not please some of the parents, wondering about his intentions. As it would turn out, as the journal entries mature, that Johnny was not adverse, to intervening between his younger mates, and their parents, and in one case, contacting a doctor directly, because he felt a serious affliction, hurting the child, was being ignored. He went so far as paying the doctor to treat the ailing youngster. It was just his nature, and something that developed very early in his life, when for example, he refers in the journal, to Albert Hobart, and Ernest Harcourt, as being his close friends when they lived in Old Ford. He referred to Harold Cook, for example, as not only a "special friend," but a boy he loved the first. His other close chum was James Burt. Keeping it in perspective, however, and with some respect to modern times, there is nothing to suggest any of his affections toward male friends, was perverse in nature, but in later references, if one reads between the lines, it's likely some of the parents who wanted him to stay away from their sons, may have suspected there was more to the friendship, than what was being confessed by Johnny Moon. It was just his nature, and it went all the way back to childhood, but these concerned parents had mo way of appreciating this, as they didn't want to talk to the young man, let alone give him the benefit of the doubt.

     Johnny Moon loved to talk about his gad-abouts, in his region of England, with trips to Illford, Barking, Leytonstone, and other locations, in and around the famous woodlands of Epping Forest. He remembered vividly the "little River Roding" and other of the scenes he had studied in passing, that were still vivid memories forty or more years later, when he penned his journal.

     Johnny Moon's mother passed away, when her child was only eleven years of age, and he remembers moving from place to place with his newly widowed father, one being a short stay in Plaistow, lodging at the homeplace of a Mr. Barlow, known as a dockside worker, and a "market gardener". As a matter of ongoing misfortune, it was in this locale, that his father was seriously injured in an unspecified accident, at the Uptown Park Station, while coming home following a day's work in the city; landing him in the hospital, in London. Johnny was told his father was likely to recover, but like his mother, he knew better of the situation. It's interesting to note here, that the younger Moon, had a privileged vision, first of all, of his mother's imminent death, well before she passed away, and it had happened similarly, prior to his father's demise. Call it premonition, but it seemed Johnny Moon may have had an "in" with the so called paranormal side of life. He was known to be very intuitive in his observations, and this is in evidence throughout the journal. Johnny, at the time of his father's death, was only fourteen years old. Now an orphan, who would have to be cared for by family members, until he was of working age. It was a period of great turmoil, temporary residency, and part-time employment, at the firm his father had been employed; he would work as a printer's assistant and messenger, but for only a short time. He clearly recalls the adventure of carrying messages, letters and parcels, on the underground railway, (early subway trains), that ran under the city, which was then known as the "District Railway."

     It needs to be recognized, at least in my opinion, and knowledge of the story, that the earlier injury to they young man's head, may have involved a serious concussion, and potential brain injury, that effected in some acute cases, his emotional stability. After only two months, at a job he might well have kept for the rest of his life, he became dissatisfied with the opportunity, and like many of his employment positions yet to come, was dispatched from the company payroll. His brother Fred, had tried to look after the teenager, but he was not secure in his own residence, or with finances, to take on the roll of guardian. Especially under the circumstances, of Johnny's disinterest in gainful employment. So he was taken, quite without understanding the whole situation, and all its implications, to the offices of Dr. Barnardo's London Homes. As he points out, in retrospect, "This event marks the first turning point in my career," although, it can be said with some accuracy, that Johnny Moon never really had what could be considered a career, except as a sort of undefined hobo, who would stay at a job long enough to earn a little money for provisions, and then retreat into his private world; which in Muskoka, became a tiny rustic, riverside shanty, with a row boat pulled up on the shore near by, which he used to navigate to town for supplies.

     It is known that he stayed at the Stepney Causeway home, for two months, before being placed in Canada, by Dr. Barnardo's staff. During the stay at the orphanage, he was given an opportunity to pursue some skill training, in the trades, as there were imbedded facilities, and equipment, to foster this hands-on education. Johnny however, when asked by staff, insisted that he wanted to become an "engineer," and when he was told there was no capability of staff helping with this, he opted instead, to train as a carpenter. He couldn't deal with either the nature of the work, or the fact he had been placed in a wood working shop, with much more aggressive youth, from much poorer backgrounds than his, and he found himself being bullied right out of the classroom. He left after less than two full days, and refused to go back to the shop. But he was intrigued about going to Canada, which he considered a great life adventure, especially considering he had nothing holding him, as far as family that wanted him, in England. His brother Fred, had been advised, by Barnardo's staff, after the initial paperwork, admitting him to the home, that it was most likely he would be sent to Canada; so it was no surprise to Johnny, when word finally came, that he was going to be sent across the ocean for farm placement. There were four trips abroad, for these orphan children, each year, and because the teenager didn't want to learn a trade, which may have kept him at home, the only other option was being sent to Canada, to work as a farm labourer. There was no down side to this, as far as he was concerned. It was instead, a glowing opportunity, to be, in part, like his step brother William, working the high seas.

     His cross-Atlantic adventure began officially on September 23rd, 1897, and with a legion of others from Barnardo homes, were transported via rail, to port at Liverpool, where, on the platform, he recalled the "Home Band" playing two memorable songs; one being "Auld Lang Syne," and 'Till We Meet Again." The youngsters were probably teary eyed, for this part of the adventure, but soon were too full of anticipation, to worry about such trivial matters, as the early stage of homesickness. The trip was from London's Euston Station to Liverpool, which is a distance of 180 miles, taking a total of four hours in transit. Later that evening, the train arrived at Riverside Station, and the young emigrants had to walk to the dock in Liverpool, to where the Dominion Liner, "Labrador," was tied up. A party of Bernardo girls came aboard shortly after.

     NOTE: I should make it known here, at this point in the story of Johnny Moon, that my own grandmother, on my father's side, Doris Harding, was also a Barnardo child, sent to Canada, as a domestic, quite a few years later in the Barnardo story. We found this out, via the Barnardo Home registry, still in operation, in England, one year ago, after a decade of suspicion this was the case of her emigration, as an orphaned teenager, to Canada.

     His was a feeling of excitement, about what was unfolding on the ship, and could be seen on the broadening seascape unfolding, as the tugs pulled the "Labrador" to mid-river, and the ship could thusly steam free into the ocean, on the first hours of the trans-Atlantic crossing. Before getting to the geographical mouth of the Mersey River, the Barnardo children onboard, were taken below deck to have their supper. It was one of many meals on that trip, of "corned beef," from a tin, which most of the children exposed to it, vowed, once ashore, to never eat again, including Johnny Moon. You see, the first meal, was just ahead, of what would be a rolling, early part to the voyage, meaning sea-sickness would prevail for most of the youngsters, unfamiliar with boat passage on a rough ocean. As most were able to get some sleep that first night, they awoke after being encouraged by a Barnardo representative, to come onto the deck, to see a wonderful sight. The steamship Labrador, at that point, was moored in Lough Foyle, of Port Rush, a short distance from Londonderry. This was the first time most of them had seen Ireland, a country in Johnny's blood, on his mother's side. He writes of the scene thusly:

     "The country to the west consisted of meadow and woodland, sloping gently to the Lough side, on which nearby stood the buildings of little Port Rush. To the east, some fair distance off, rose a lone mountain, with its top wreathed in hazy clouds. Meadows, woodland, mountain, village and lake-like expanse of Lough Foyle made a beautiful scene." Johnny Moon knew how to express himself in words.

     The first bout of seasickness had ended for most of the teenage passengers, but there was more to come, once the roughness of the ocean returned, to rock the smaller steamship. They stayed on the deck for a long time, consuming the scenery, and talking about the voyage yet to come. Some were homesick already. Others didn't want to go at all, wishing to return to the remnants of family, but not Johnny Moon, who felt there was nothing left for him in England, in the way of family, who would help him move-on in life. They were all struggling on their own, except for his step-brother William, who had also taken to the sea, as part of a windjammer crew, many years earlier. He makes the interesting observation, that amongst the passengers, who were boarding from this location in Ireland, were two priests, going on to do missionary work in the colony, and young men, with gear to tackle the bountiful fields of the Klondike, as it was around this time, that the well known gold rush, in Northern Canada, was unfolding, circa 1897-98; with thousands of new prospectors arriving to quest for buried treasure.

     The Labrador, under a full-head of steam, propelled itself back out on the ocean, and "Port Rush and the calm waters of Lough Foyle were left behind, and the ship rose and fell to the billows of the ocean, as we rounded the shoreline of the rugged north coast. Two priests were standing at the bow of the vessel, when the spray from a heavy wave, striking the ship, head-on, dashed over the deck, wetting both of them; they laughed and stood further back," penned Johnny Moon, about his vantage point on the Labrador, as it headed out to the great expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. "Before long, the deck was almost deserted; most of us retiring below. The previous night's experience (seasickness) had been bad enough; this was worse."

     Johnny admitted the next affliction with seasickness lasted six days and nights, a period where he wasn't able to take food and little water, so he was becoming malnourished and dehydrated. It wasn't until eight days later, that he was finally able to ingest some food and water, enough to stave off an impending serious medical crisis. "When we came in sight of Belle Island, I was able to move about a bit, though still very weak."

     He had made much more progress, with his health, by time the Labrador had reached the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, strong enough to climb on deck, to see his new home country, Canada. "There, I looked at the shores of the big river, as we sailed on upstream; viewing for the first time, the scenes of a new and strange land. In Canada now! Old England, very far away. That evening, of a day's sail up river, brought us, to the Levis dock, opposite the old city of Quebec. Just before tying up at the Levis Wharf, a rocket or two was fired over our ship; this evidently being a signal of welcome or 'all clear'. From Levis quay we, along with our boxes, were taken over across to Quebec, where we landed, for the first time upon the soil of Canada. The trip from Port Rush to Quebec, had taken ten days; so this must have been the evening of the 4th of October, 1897," according to the young traveller, who found the sights of the new land quite pleasing and full of untold potential."

     Following the landing, the Barnardo children were taken to the railway station of Canadian Pacific, to the lunch room made available for their large number. "Those of us who had money to spent, spent it in buying candies, drinks, etc. while those who had none, had to be content with either being treated by others or doing without. I was one of the latter; but that did not matter because just at that time, I was not feeling well, so was not hungry. Presently, we were led out of the lunch room to the platform, where our train was standing. We climbed aboard," wrote Johnny Moon, in reflection, when he was fifty-two years of age, with failing eyesight. He died legally blind.

     Some of the older Barnardo teenagers, were thusly ticketed to travel on the trans-continental train, heading for job placements with farms on the prairies. The others were headed to situations arranged, in the Province of Ontario. He penned that, "On we rode (via steam train), hour after hour, through rugged country, rural districts, by lakes, streams, hills and valleys, by villages and towns, coming to a stop at Peterborough, where the girls' contingent, alighted for Hazel Brae; the Peterborough girls branch of Dr. Barnardo's homes." Carrying on, the Barnardo boys arrived in Toronto, later that evening, at the Union Station. They disembarked, and were walked by supervisors, to 214 Farley Avenue, arriving at "our destination," according to Johnny Moon. Another Barnardo home for children, who had emigrated to Canada, and were awaiting placement. This was documented by him, as being the night of October 5th, 1897. He and the other boys were led to the back of the large building, and to a dormitory room, where there were rows of bunkbeds. He remembers sleeping well, and then being stirred back to life, at first light, by the crowing of a rooster, in a neighbor's yard.

     A significant entry is made by Johnny Moon, in his journal, at this point, that references what I wrote about earlier, as regards his friendships with other males, which to some degree, he became unusually obsessive. He writes, "That morning, the dawn of another day, was the sixth of October. Now, at this date, nearly thirty-six and a half years later, I know that the hand of destiny (and he really did believe this as true, just as having the premonitions of his parents deaths) was directed all my ways. For on that day was born Aubrey Foulkes, with whom, and his brother, Fred Foulkes, I was to meet some years later, and a chapter of my life to be lived and written, in which they played a part."

     One of the most profound insights, of the Barnardo situation, and the lives of the boys compromised, was covered in the following explanation offered by Johnny Moon. He writes:

     "Occasionally some boys returned from farms, remaining a short time until news situations were found for them. I remember two boys who had been together a few years at some place, on a Muskoka farm, I think, and had become attached to each other. After a short stay at Farley Avenue (Barnardo facility in Toronto), one of them, the eldest of the two, I think, was told that a new place had been found for him, and that he would shortly be sent away. When the other heard of it, he broke down and cried; and tears were in the eyes of the other one also, when they parted. This incident, so clearly remembered by me now, took place in the small school room which was a part of the Farley Avenue lay-out."

     On December 4th, a Barnardo supervisor, from the Farley Avenue home, took Johnny Moon, and another boy, William Price, to Toronto's Union Station, to catch the 1:45 p.m. train to North Bay. Their destination, on this journey, would be the Town of Bracebridge, where they would disembark, and be picked up by property owners, and then transported to the farms they had been assigned. This would bring about a new misfortune to Johnny, and make his stay in Canada, quite unpleasant. The host families were not generally known for their kindnesses bestowed on these orphans.

      Please join me for the continuation of the story of Johnny Moon, in my next blog. Thank you for joining me today!

Unidentified Flying Objects and Movie Stars?

UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS - IN MUSKOKA? WHY NOT, WE'VE GOT MOVIE STARS, PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES, CELEBRITY MUSICIANS AND GHOSTS!

     MOST WON'T KNOW THIS, OR EVEN BELIEVE IT, BUT THERE HAVE BEEN NUMEROUS "OTHER WORLDLY" SIGHTINGS, IN THE MUSKOKA HINTERLAND. AND A FEW NUDISTS. CREDIBLE REPORTS BY CREDIBLE INDIVIDUALS GO BACK TO THE 1800'S. SOME STORIES OF EXTRA TERRESTRIAL ENCOUNTERS ARE LEFT TO THE TELLERS OF FOLK TALES TODAY, AS MANY WEREN'T WRITTEN DOWN, MADE INTO FOLKS SONGS, OR INTERPRETED IN FOLK ART. THEY'RE JUST PASSED DOWN STORIES FROM ONE GENERATION TO ANOTHER, WITH LIBERAL EMBELLISHMENTS. A SORT OF MODERNIZATION THAT MAKES THE STORIES APPEAL TO THAT ERA'S LISTENER. THE HISTORIAN HAS TO EDIT AND SPLICE, TO GET BACK TO THE ORIGINAL VERSION. YOU HAVE TO CUT THROUGH SOME OF THE OBVIOUS FICTIONS, TO GET TO WHAT WAS LIKELY A LEGITIMATE FIRST PERSON EXPERIENCE, I DID HOWEVER, PURCHASE A VERY OLD WOOD CARVING, HERE IN SOUTH MUSKOKA, OF WHAT LOOKED LIKE AN UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT, CARVED ONTO A HUGE PINE SLAB OF WOOD, PROBABLY SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS OLD; THAT IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS MAY HAVE BEEN A FOLK ARTIST'S WAY OF PRESENTING THE SIGHT OF EZEKIEL'S SPINNING WHEEL OF FIRE, INSTEAD OF A FLYING SAUCER.

     I HAVE WORKED ON JUST ABOUT EVERY OTHER KIND OF MUSKOKA HISTORY. I HAVEN'T DONE TOO MUCH ABOUT UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECTS. YET THERE HAVE BEEN MANY REPORTED SIGHTINGS, AND A FEW CLOSER THAN COMFORTABLE ENCOUNTERS IN THE PAST FIFTY YEARS. THE MOST FAMOUS HAPPENED IN THE RAYMOND AREA, OF THE TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES, QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO. WHICH, ACCORDING TO THE REVERENT TIMES ABOUT SUCH THINGS, SPAWNED A LOT OF UNWANTED MEDIA ATTENTION, BOLD, FRONT PAGE HEADLINES, TELEVISION COVERAGE, AND A PLETHORA OF UNKIND COMMENTS AND EDITORIALS; FROM CITIZEN-CRITICS, WHO SUGGESTED THAT ONLY A "NUT" ON HOMEBREW, WOULD ADMIT TO SEEING ALIEN LIFE FORMS AND UFO'S, HOVERING OVER THE FARMS OF MUSKOKA LAKES. WHAT THESE IGNORANT FOLK DIDN'T APPRECIATE, WAS THAT THERE HAVE BEEN UFO SIGHTINGS REPORTED IN MUSKOKA FOR DECADES, POSSIBLY EVEN BACK AS EARLY AS PIONEER TIMES. THEY JUST DIDN'T REFER TO THEM AS FLYING SAUCERS. THEY WERE CONSIDERED ANOMALIES OF NATURE TO HOMESTEADERS, AND MIGHT HAVE BEEN INTERPRETED AS THE ILLUMINATION OF LEGEND, AND SPIRIT MANIFESTATIONS, BY THE PEOPLE OF THE FIRST NATIONS, WHO MAY HAVE SEEN MORE THAN SHOOTING STARS, BUT HAD NO KNOWLEDGE OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS, THAT MIGHT BE INVESTIGATING OUR SOLAR SYSTEM. THEY WERE OBSERVED BUT NOT OVER ANALYZED AS WE PERPETUATE TODAY, IN AN EFFORT TO PROVE THE EXISTENCE OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS. BUT FROM AN HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE, THESE NOTED ODDITIES IN THE SKY, AND STRANGE ANOMALIES OF FLASHING AND STREAKING LIFE, WERE EXPLAINED OTHERWISE, AS GOD DOING HIS THING WITH HIS UNIVERSE; OR AS THE MIND PLAYING TRICKS ON THE SENSES; OR, YES, HOMEBREW.

     I HAVE READ THROUGH MOST OF THE BOOKS WRITTEN ON MUSKOKA HISTORY. BUT THEY ARE STILL, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF A VERY FEW, LIKE THOMAS MCMURRAY'S SETTLERS GUIDE OF THE 1870'S, CONSIDERED CONTEMPORARY. MEANING FROM THE LATE 1940'S TO THE PRESENT. THUS, THESE AUTHORS MAY HAVE BEEN AWARE OF WHAT WAS THEN CONSIDERED, NOTHING MORE THAN SCIENCE FICTION, AND FANTASY; AND NOT WANTING TO CONTAMINATE THE HONEST STORIES REAPED FROM PIONEER JOURNALS, OF THEIR FAMILY'S CHRONICLE, DATING AS FAR BACK AS THE 1860'S, WITH UNSUBSTANTIATED INTERPRETATIONS OF FAST MOVING LIGHTS IN THE NIGHT SKY; OR HOVERING WHITE DISCS LIKE THE FLAMING WHEEL OF EZEKIEL, FROM THE BIBLE. THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN FAR MORE PALATABLE THAN SEEING A GARDEN VARIETY FLYING SAUCER. IT MAY BE THE CASE, THEY EDITED OUT ANY SUCH REFERENCES, BECAUSE OF CONTEMPORARY PRESSURES TO DO SO; SUCH THAT THE FAMILY CHRONICLE WOULDN'T ITSELF, READ LIKE A SCIENCE FICTION NOVEL. THE REASON I NOTE THIS, IS BECAUSE OF WHAT SOME OF THESE AUTHORS, AND JOURNAL OWNERS TOLD ME, DURING CHATS ABOUT THEIR HEIRLOOM BOOKS, AND HOW MANY PAGES HAD BEEN PURPOSELY DESTROYED, BECAUSE IT WAS CLAIMED, THE MATERIAL WAS TOO SENSITIVE TO PRINT. I WOULD NEVER CENSOR AN HISTORIC, ORIGINAL JOURNAL. IT'S ONE THING TO OMIT CERTAIN  REFERENCES FROM PRINT, BUT ANOTHER THING TO ACTUALLY CUT-OUT PAGES, AND SHRED OR BURN-UP THE CONTENTS. SO WHILE IT MAY SEEM LIKE A STRETCH, TO SUGGEST THERE MAY HAVE BEEN REFERENCES IN SOME OF THESE JOURNALS, TO ANGEL ENCOUNTERS, GHOSTS SIGHTINGS, CROSSED PATHS WITH FAIRIES IN THEIR MIDNIGHT REVELS, AND UFO'S, I KNOW WHAT EDITORS, GOOD AND BAD, ARE CAPABLE OF, AT THE PEAK OF POLISHING A TEXT. IT IS POSSIBLE, OWING TO THE FAMILY'S CONCERNS, AND RELIGIOUS SENSITIVITIES ABOUT SUCH THINGS, THAT THEY MIGHT HAVE HONESTLY COME TO BELIEVE, THEIR ANCESTOR-WRITER, HAD BEEN TAKING TOO MANY LIBERTIES AND STRETCHING TRUTHS. IT HAPPENS. MAYBE THERE WAS WORRY, READERS WOULD THINK THE STORY-TELLER HAD BEEN HITTING THE MOONSHINE IN BETWEEN CHAPTERS. IF I WENT PUBLIC RIGHT NOW, AND ADMITTED I HAD WITNESSED SUCH AN ALIEN ENCOUNTER, RIGHT HERE AT THE STUDIO, HALF OF MY READERS WOULD ASSUME I HAD BEEN DRINKING AT LUNCH. ANOTHER TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT WOULD THINK IT WAS JUST THE WORK OF AN OLD MAN TRYING TO WIN OVER AN AUDIENCE BY ANY MEANS POSSIBLE. THE FINAL TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT MIGHT BE INTERESTED ENOUGH, AFTER ALL THE STORIES I'VE SPUN PREVIOUSLY, TO READ-ON JUST IN CASE. SO I DO UNDERSTAND WHY THESE REFERENCES MIGHT HAVE BEEN ELIMINATED, FROM JOURNALS OR COLLECTED STORIES, (AND ORAL FOLK TALES) OR SOMEHOW EXPLAINED IN PRINT, WHERE IN HONESTY, THEY SHOULD HAVE BEEN LEFT ALONE.

     I HAVE WRITTEN EXTENSIVELY ABOUT GHOSTS, BUT ONLY ABOUT ONES THAT I HAVE ACTUALLY EXPERIENCED; OR BY ANY OF OUR FAMILY MEMBERS, WHO HAVEN'T MINDED GOING PUBLIC. WE'VE NEVER ONCE BEEN REFERRED TO AS "NUTTERS," BUT BOY OH BOY, DO WE GET A LOT OF QUESTIONS, AFTER FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES OF OURS, FOR EXAMPLE, FINALLY READ ONE OF THE BOOKS, OUR STORIES HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED IN, (OR ONLINE) SUCH AS BARBARA SMITH'S BOOK ON "ONTARIO GHOSTS," AND THEN JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO'S BOOKS ON CANADIAN GHOSTS, BOTH RELEASED BACK IN THE LATE 1990'S I BELIEVE. WE LOVE TO TALK ABOUT GHOSTS, AND OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM. MORE PEOPLE TODAY ARE OPEN TO THE POSSIBILITIES, AND ARE JUST EAGER TO QUESTION THOSE, WHO HAVE HAD FIRST-PERSON ENCOUNTERS. WE THINK THERE IS A SCIENTIFIC CONNECTION, BETWEEN WHAT HAS ALWAYS BEEN A RELIGIOUS DOMAIN, TO WHAT IS UNDERSTOOD OF EARTHBOUND SPIRITS, OF THOSE WHO HAVE CROSSED OVER. I THINK ONE DAY, EXPERTS ON RELIGION AND THE SCIENCE COMMUNITY, ARE GOING TO FIND SOME MISSING LINK, THAT WILL EXPLAIN WHAT "THE OTHER SIDE," REALLY IS, IF AT ALL! WHAT REALLY CAUSES THE BRIGHT LIGHT AT THE TIME OF DEATH? CHEMICAL REACTION? JUST THE DEATH THING CHANGING THE BODY'S CHEMICAL CONSTITUTION? OR IS IT THE BRIGHT, WHITE LIGHT AT HEAVEN'S DOORSTEP? WHEN I ASKED, VIA PRAYER, MY DECEASED MOTHER, MERLE, TO COME TO MEET HER AILING HUSBAND, IN THE FINAL HOUR OF HIS LIFE, WITHIN MINUTES, HE LOOKED TO THE CEILING OF THE HOSPITAL ROOM, AND HELD OUT HIS ARMS AS IF TO EMBRACE SOMETHING HE SAW. WAS IT THE IMAGE OF MY MOTHER? I REALLY WANT TO THINK SO. I COULD NOT LOWER MY FATHER'S ARMS FOR LONG. HE KEPT RAISING THEM AND LOOKING, AS IF SEEING SOMETHING COMING THROUGH THE CEILING. HE WASN'T FRIGHTENED OF IT, AND CERTAINLY WELCOMED WHATEVER INTERVENTION IT WAS, AND AFTER CALMING DOWN, PASSED AWAY PEACEFULLY A SHORT WHILE LATER. IS THERE A PARALLEL UNIVERSE? DID MY FATHER SEE HEAVEN? WAS IT MY MOTHER REACHING FOR HIS OUTSTRETCHED HANDS, FROM THE OTHER SIDE? ALL FASCINATING THINGS TO PONDER; JUST AS RIGHT NOW, I'M GOING TO EMBARK ON A LITTLE UFO SLEUTHING AS WELL.

     I REALLY CAN'T EXPLAIN WHY I HAVEN'T PURSUED THIS PART OF HISTORY PREVIOUSLY, OTHER THAN I'VE NEVER THOUGHT OF IT AS HAVING MUCH HISTORICAL MERIT. I REALIZE NOW, THIS WAS FAULTY LOGIC. OF COURSE IT IS HISTORY. WE JUST THINK OF IT MOSTLY, AS A SITUATION FOR SCIENTISTS AND THE GOVERNMENT TO WORRY ABOUT. I PROBABLY WORRIED A LITTLE, IN MY EARLIER YEARS AS A NEWSPAPER COLUMNIST, AND EDITOR, THAT ADVERTISERS WOULD NOT SUPPORT SUCH MADNESS IN EDITORIAL COPY; SUCH AS TO SUGGEST ALIENS WERE MAKING REGULAR VISITS TO COTTAGE COUNTRY. "BAD FOR BUSINESS," THEY WOULD HAVE SAID. "SOMETHING FOR THE CARTOON WRITERS, NOT THE EDITORIAL STAFF." I KNOW, FOR SURE, I HAD TWENTY TO THIRTY TIPS FROM READERS ABOUT UFO SIGHTINGS, AND ALTHOUGH NOT FREQUENT, THEY WERE RECEIVED SEVERAL TIMES EACH YEAR, FOR AS LONG AS I WORKED AT MUSKOKA PUBLICATIONS. I WAS NERVOUS OF CREATING A SITUATION, LIKE WHAT HAD HAPPENED WITH THE RAYMOND / THREE MILE LAKE SIGHTINGS, OF THE EARLY 1970'S, AND CAUSING A MEDIA CIRCUS FOR THE WITNESSES, THAT I REALLY COULDN'T PROTECT FROM UNWELCOME SCRUTINY. I MADE THE VALUE JUDGEMENT, IT WASN'T WORTH ALL THE CRITIQUES TO PUBLISH THESE STORIES. I WASN'T INTERESTED IN GENERATING INTERNATIONAL ATTENTION, TO WHAT MAY, AT BEST, HAVE BEEN A READER'S IDEA OF A JOKE; OR A PUBLICITY RAISING STUNT TO GET THE WORLD'S ATTENTION FOR PRIVATE GAIN. AND WITHOUT QUESTION, I TALKED TO A FEW DELUSIONAL PEOPLE, WHO JUST WANTED TO SPIN THEIR WILD TALES, TO SEE IF I WOULD TAKE THE BAIT, AND COME TO THEIR HOMES FOR A VISIT; TO SIT OUT IN THE BACK FORTY, TO SEE THE ALIEN LIGHTS FOR MYSELF.

     THERE HAVE BEEN MANY SIGHTINGS OF STRANGE WHITE LIGHTS IN THE SKY, IN QUITE A FEW LOCALES IN MUSKOKA, INCLUDING HUNTSVILLE, THE VANKOUGHNET AREA, (UFFINGTON INCLUDED) AND WATT TOWNSHIP, OF THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES (MORE THAN ONE RESIDENT SAW THE SAME THING). BUT TRUTH BE KNOWN, THERE HAVE BEEN SIGHTINGS THROUGHOUT THE REGION OVER THE PAST FIFTY YEARS, MANY THAT NEVER MADE IT PAST ORAL RE-TELLINGS; NEVER TO MAKE IT TO A GOVERNMENT REPORT, OR TO BE PUBLISHED VIA THE LOCAL PRESS. I BELIEVE THEY ARE STILL OCCURRING REGULARLY, BUT TODAY, THERE SEEMS TO BE A LOT LESS ALARM FROM THE WITNESSES, AND A GREATER RELUCTANCE TO GO PUBLIC WITH THE NEWS. MANY ARE PROBABLY WRITTEN-OFF AS FIGMENTS OF THE IMAGINATION, OR UNKNOWN EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND WEATHER BALLOONS, INSTEAD OF ALIEN SPACE CRAFTS. I HAVE TALKED WITH A NUMBER OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN WORKING ON PRELIMINARY RESEARCH ON SUCH UFO SIGHTINGS. MY FRIEND, AUTHOR JOHN ROBERT COLOMBO, PRODUCED A TINY BOOK ON UFO SIGHTINGS IN CANADA, A FEW YEARS BACK, AND HE KINDLY SENT SUZANNE AND I A SIGNED COPY. HE HAS BEEN ONE AUTHOR, SERVING THE WIDER CANADIAN AND INTERNATIONAL AUDIENCE, WHO HASN'T BEEN FRIGHTENED TO WRITE VOLUMES ON THE PARANORMAL. AND PUBLISH FIRST PERSON ACCOUNTS OF THOSE WHO HAVE HAD FACE TO FACE MEETINGS WITH FLYING SAUCERS, AND ALIEN LIFE FORMS. AS I THINK THE WORLD OF JOHN COLOMBO, AND APPRECIATE THE THOROUGHNESS OF HIS RESEARCH WORK, I WOULD LOVE TO FOLLOW IN HIS FOOTSTEPS, SLEUTHING MORE ACCOUNTS OF THESE EXTRA TERRESTRIAL ENCOUNTERS THROUGHOUT THE DISTRICT OF MUSKOKA.

     THERE ARE SOME BELIEVERS IN THE EXISTENCE, OF LIFE ON OTHER PLANETS, WHO BELIEVE THAT WE HAVE AN ATTRACTION IN MUSKOKA, IN PART, BECAUSE OF METEOR REMNANTS LEFT AFTER THE BIG-BANGS OF THE PAST. IT IS SAID THAT THE SKELETON LAKE DEPRESSION, WAS CREATED BY AN IMPACT OF A METEOR, MANY THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO. IT IS SAID THAT THERE IS SOMETHING UNUSUALLY MAGNETIC, AT THE BOTTOM OF LAKE ROSSEAU'S PORTAGE BAY, NEAR WINDERMERE, THAT CAN CAUSE A COMPASS TO MOVE WILDLY, WHILE PASSING OVER; EG. VIA A BOAT. IT WAS TOLD TO ME, BY A RELIABLE SOURCE, THAT THERE WAS A METEOR THAT HIT OFF THE BRACKENRIG ROAD, AND THAT ITS RADIATION CAUSED AN UNSPECIFIED NUMBER OF CANCER CASES. I'VE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO VALIDATE THESE STORIES, EXCEPT WHAT I'VE HEARD IN CONVERSATION, AND IN ONE CASE, READ IN AN HISTORICAL DOCUMENT.  IS MUSKOKA A HOT SPOT ON EARTH FOR UFO'S? GEEZ I HOPE SO! I WANT AN ENCOUNTER MYSELF, ALTHOUGH I'M NOT SO SURE ABOUT THE PROBE PART OF THE RELATIONSHIP. I HAVE A LOW THRESHOLD OF PAIN. IN THE COMING YEAR, I PLAN TO DO SOME RESEARCH ABOUT THIS UFO AND ALIEN SIDE OF HISTORY, AND SEE IF I CAN DRAW ANY INFORMATION FROM THE DISTANT PAST, SO THAT WE MIGHT KNOW, IF THIS HAS BEEN A LONG TERM RELATIONSHIP WITH EXTRA TERRESTRIAL INTERVENTIONS....OR SOMETHING MORE NEW AGE AND CONTEMPORARY.

     I'VE SEEN LOTS OF GREEN PEOPLE, BUT ALL OF THEM THE MORNING AFTER PARTIES. I'VE SEEN WHAT MAY HAVE BEEN UFO'S STREAKING ACROSS THE SKY, BUT THE ASTRONOMERS INFORM ME, THEY WERE METEORS ENTERING THE EARTH'S ORBIT. THERE'S ALWAYS BEEN A GOOD EXPLANATION TO DEBUNK MY SIGHTINGS. BUT I'M STILL CURIOUS ABOUT THIS, BECAUSE, LIKE GHOSTS AND WANDERING SPIRITS, AND THE PARALLEL DIMENSION THING, I DO VERY MUCH BELIEVE THERE IS INTELLIGENT LIFE ON OTHERS PLANETS IN THIS SOLAR SYSTEM, OR THE ONES WE'VE YET TO DISCOVER. THIS IS WHAT I CALL A "REST OF MY LIFE," RESEARCH UNDERTAKING.

The Legend of Skeleton Lake, Fact Or Fiction

THE LEGEND OF SKELETON LAKE, FACT OR FICTION; BUT A GREAT FOLK TALE FROM PIONEER TIMES

CREATED BY METEOR IMPACT? THIS BEAUTIFUL MUSKOKA LAKE HAS ITS MYSTERIES

    IT'S HUMID OUT. I'VE BEEN WORKING AROUND THE YARD, EARLY THIS EVENING, TO PREPARE FOR THE COMING RAIN WE'RE SUPPOSED TO GET SOMETIME BEFORE THE MORNING. IT WAS SO NICE TO HEAR THE YOUNGSTERS OUT PLAYING, ON PROPERTIES BORDERING THE BOG.....AND IT REALLY IS NEAT TO HEAR THEIR LAUGHTER, MIXED SO SENTIMENTALLY, WITH THE SOUND OF THE LEAVES FALLING, HITTING THE GARDENS AROUND OUR HOUSE. IN THE PAST SEVERAL HOURS, IT HAS GONE FROM A PLEASANTLY COOL DAY, TO BEING ONE QUITE HOT, AND HUMID, ESPECIALLY IN HERE RIGHT NOW. I WISH I HAD WRITTEN THIS SOONER TODAY, BUT WE WERE OUT TRAVELING THIS AFTERNOON, TAKING IN THE AUTUMN SIGHTS AND OF COURSE, STOPPING IN AT ALL OUR FAVORITE ANTIQUE VENUES. IT WAS JUST A NICE SUNDAY, MIXING A LITTLE HOME IMPROVEMENT WITH RECREATION....AND WITH OF COURSE A LITTLE BUSINESS THROWN IN. I HAVE RUSTLED-UP A FEW MORE FOLK TALES TO ADD TO THIS SMALL SERIES OF BLOGS ON OUR SOCIAL - CULTURAL PAST.

      "BEFORE THE ACTS OF DEVELOPMENT LEAD US INTO THE 1870'S, THERE ARE INCIDENTS IN THE LIVES OF OUR PEOPLE, THAT IT WILL BE OF INTEREST TO RECORD," WRITES FAMILY HISTORIAN, BERT SHEA, IN HIS BOOK, "HISTORY OF THE SHEAS, BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP." AS IT HAS BEEN SAID, THE WORK OF THE SURVEY WAS THE FIRST SOURCE OF INCOME TO THE SHEAS. YOUNG WILLIAM, AND LATER, JOHN L., IN WORKING WITH THE SURVEYORS, IN THEIR ARRANGEMENT, THE MEN LIVED A COMPLETE OUT-OF-DOOR LIFE. IN THOSE DAYS IN DEEP OF WINTER, THE BRUSH SHANTY WAS THEIR SHELTER; AN OPEN FIRE AT THE DOOR."

     HE CONTINUES, "AS JOHN L. SAID, 'EVERYONE SLEPT WITH THEIR FEET TO THE FIRE AND MANY A NIGHT I SLEPT WITH MY BOOTS UNDER MY HEAD FOR A PILLOW.' THE BLANKETS AND GRUB WAS SUPPLIED BY THE GOVERNMENT BUT WE HAD TO BRING IT. THIS WAS PART OF CAMP MANAGEMENT TO SEE SUPPLIES WERE KEPT UP. AT CERTAIN PLACES, CACHES WERE MADE. THE PLACES OF STORAGE WERE OF NECESSITY, MADE OF LOGS FOR SUFFICIENT SECURITY TO KEEP THE BEARS OUT; THAT WERE FOND OF BACON. ONE OF THESE CACHES WERE ON LOT 13, CON. 5, ON THE HILLSIDE NORTHEAST OF THE FALLS. IT WAS IN FEBRUARY, WE WERE CAMPED IN NORTH CARDWELL. I WAS SENT DOWN TO OUR CACHE AT THE FALLS TO GET A BAG OF FLOUR AND A SIDE OF PORK. THE SNOWSHOEING WAS VERY GOOD IN THE BUSH, BUT THE LAKES I HAD TO CROSS, THERE WAS NO SIGN OF A TRAIL.

     "I HAD A HAND SLEIGH WITH WIDE RUNNERS. I REACHED THE STORE-HOUSE, GOT THE FLOUR AND PORK AND STARTED THE RETURN TRIP. I WAS WEARING LEATHER SHOEPAKS, AND ONE SHIRT. THE TRIP WOULD BE TWENTY MILES THAT DAY WITH TEN MILES OF LOAD UP HILL AND DOWN. AS THE DAY WORE ON THE TEMPERATURE BEGAN TO FALL; THE LAKES WERE TERRIBLY HEAVY GOING; IT WAS IN THE NIGHT WHEN I GOT INTO CAMP WITH MY LOAD. MY BOOTS WERE FROZEN ON MY FEET AND MY FEET WERE ALSO FROZEN. I NEVER GOT OVER THAT TRIP. MY FEET WERE NEVER THE SAME."

     BERT SHEA CARRIES ON HIS STORY, NOTING, "HE TOLD US ABOUT A FIND THAT FOR YEARS WAS OF MUCH INTEREST TO ME. I WAS A BOY AT THE TIME AND NEVER FORGOT THE STORY. THE SURVEYORS HAD CROSSED SKELETON LAKE, AND WERE WORKING SOMEWHERE ON THE NORTH SHORE. THEY FOUND TWO HUMAN SKELETONS LAYING ON THE ROCKS. APPARENTLY TWO PEOPLE HAD DIED THERE ALONE AND NO ONE HAD FOUND THEM TILL THE SURVEYORS CAME, AND BY THE APPEARANCE OF THE BONES, THEY HAD LAIN THERE FOR SEVERAL YEARS. THIS STORY STAYED IN MY MIND, AND MANY TIMES HAVE I THOUGHT OF IT AND WONDERED. THE YEARS PASSED BY AND I BECAME OVER MIDDLE AGE; THE OLD PIONEERS HAD GONE WHO KNEW OF THE INCIDENT. MANY ASK THE QUESTION, 'HOW DID SKELETON LAKE GET ITS NAME?' WHO COULD ANSWER, SHROUDED IN MYSTERY? FEW, IF ANY, I THOUGHT, OTHER THAN MYSELF, WHO KNEW THE FIRST HAND STORY OF THE SKELETONS, TILL ONE DREARY AFTERNOON IN NOVEMBER, ONE OF THOSE LATE AUTUMN DAYS WHEN THE GLORIES OF ALL NATURE SEEM BURIED; AND WE LONG FOR SOMEONE OR SOMETHING TO FILL THE LONGING DEEP DOWN IN OUR HEART; SOMEONE TO CONVERSE WITH, WHO TOO ARE DREAMING OF OTHER DAYS, AND FRIENDS THEY HAVE KNOWN.

     "I SAID TO MY WIFE, BERNICE, LET'S GO OVER AND SEE BILL HAMMELL AND MRS. HAMMELL. PERHAPS THEY ARE ALONE TOO. NOW THE HAMMELLS AND THE SHEAS WERE OLD PIONEER FRIENDS AND WHEN I KNOCKED AT HIS DOOR, AND HE OPENED IT, THE SMILE OF HIS FACE SHONE WITH THE GLOW OF PIONEER FRIENDSHIPS. AS THEY WELCOMED US INTO THEIR HOME. IT WAS NOT HARD TO LEAD THE OLD GENTLEMAN INTO CONVERSATION OF YESTERYEARS. AND WHEN I SPOKE OF THE TWO SKELETONS, HIS EYES BEAMED WITH INTEREST. 'YES,' SAID HE, 'I CAN TELL YOU, THIS AFFAIR WAS A MYSTERY TO OUR PEOPLE AND WE THOUGHT MUCH OF IT, BUT BY GRANDFATHER ROBINSON, WHO LIVED UP IN CARDWELL, LEARNED FROM THE INDIAN CHIEF OF THAT DAY, HE AND HIS PEOPLE HAD CAMPED FOR THE WINTER ON THAT SITE. THE LAKE WAS AN EXCELLENT ONE FOR TROUT, AND THE SWAMPS OF CARDWELL WERE USUALLY THE YARDING PLACES FOR THE DEER. BUT WHATEVER TOOK PLACE, DUE TO LACK OF FOOD, THE CAMP WAS FACING STARVATION; THEY MUST MOVE THOUGH IN THE WINTER; IF NOT, ONLY DEATH BY STARVATION FACED THE WHOLE CAMP. SOME OF THEIR MEMBERS WERE ALREADY WEAK. AND ONE BOY WAS UNABLE TO MOVE, AND WOULD HAVE TO BE LEFT. HIS MOTHER, A YOUNG SQUAW, WHO HAD LOST HER HUSBAND, REFUSED TO LEAVE HER SON, ABOUT FOURTEEN YEARS OLD, TO DIE ON THE BLEAK SHORES OF THE LAKE; THAT AFTERWORD SHOULD BE A LASTING MEMORIAL TO ESPECIALLY THE AFFECTION OF A MOTHER FOR HER HELPLESS SON."

     THE HISTORIAN WRITES, "THERE IS LITTLE MORE TO SAY, SAVE THAT WHEN THE VOICES OF HER PEOPLE FADED FROM HER HEARING, THE DEATHLY SILENCE OF WINTER SETTLED IN AROUND THEM. A MOTHER AND HER SON. THE REMAINS OF THE FIRE BURNED LOW AS THE COLD CREPT TO THE MARROW OF THE BONE. SILENCE REIGNED, AND SLEEP, THAT GHASTLY THING GIVEN FROM THE HAND OF THE FROST KING, THE SNOW SPIRITS, BORN ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND, PLAYED OVER THE PLOT, AND COVERED THE TWO LIFELESS FORMS IN A SHROUD OF WHITE. THE FOREST SAPPED IN THE FROST, AND IN THE NIGHT THE POLAR STAR LOOKED ON UNMOVED IN HIS STARS, FROM SOME HEIGHT. THE BLOOD CURDLING HOWL OF THE OLD DOG WOLF, WHO HAD LED HIS PACK OF WHELPS AND BITCHES INTO THE DEER YARDING AREA OF CARDWELL BESPOKE SLAUGHTER AND DEATH. YES, THE DEATH OF A MOTHER AND SON, THROUGH STARVATION."

     AS A LONG-SERVING REGIONAL HISTORY MYSELF, I OWE A HUGE DEBT OF GRATITUDE TO BERT SHEA, FOR THE TWO IMPORTANT BOOKS HE WROTE ON HIS FAMILY HERITAGE, AND THE CHRONICLE OF WATT TOWNSHIP, THE LOGGING INDUSTRY IN MUSKOKA, AND SOCIAL, CULTURAL HISTORY AS IT PREVAILED IN THAT PIONEER HAMLET BORDERING THE SHORE OF THREE MILE LAKE, IN THE PRESENT TOWNSHIP OF MUSKOKA LAKES. HE WAS AS MUCH, A CONSERVER OF FOLK TALES AND LOCAL LORE. EVEN BY HIS OWN ADMISSION, HE HAD MISSED A LOT OF PIONEER TALES, AS THOSE WHO WITNESSED THEM HAD PASSED ON, BEFORE HE COULD HARVEST THEIR OBSERVATIONS. HE WRITES, OF THIS, AS FOLLOWS:

     "WITH HESITATION, BUT WITH DEEP CONCERN, I HAVE TAKEN UP THE PEN TO RECORD THE HISTORY OF MY FAMILY; THE SHEAS, LEST AT THIS DATE I FAIL THIS, A DUTY TO OUR RACE; LEST THE RECORD SHOULD BE LOST THAT I HAVE BEEN PRIVILEGED TO HEAR FROM THE TONGUE OF THE ELDERS, WHOM I HAVE BEEN PRIVILEGED TO KNOW, OF RECORDS HANDED DOWN TO THEM, AS WELL AS IN LATER YEARS, THE FIRST HAND ACCOUNTS OF THEIR OWN EXPERIENCES AND ADVENTURES. I HOLD IN MY HEART, A DEEP SENSE OF GRATITUDE FOR THE TOWNSHIP OF WATT, AS WHEN FRIENDS AND RELATIONS FAILED IN MY PEOPLE AND THEY WERE HOMELESS, AND ALMOST DESTITUTE OF A PLACE TO LAY THEIR HEADS, THE GREAT ANCIENT FORESTS OF WATT RECEIVED THEM, AS ITS OWN, AND GAVE SHELTER AND WARMTH, WITH MEAT FROM ITS EARTH AND HIDDEN BOWERS.

     "AND FOR THREE MILE LAKE, WHOSE FIRST SIGHT WAS A VIEW OF SPOTLESS WHITE AND AS THE CHANGING SEASON BROUGHT ITS SPARKLING WATERS, THAT GAVE FROM THEIR DEPTHS SUPPORT FOR LIFE AND RECREATION TO MY FATHERS; WHOSE CANOES OFT CUT THEY WATERS, AND WHOSE BEAUTY OFT CAUSED THEIR SOULS RESPONSE, AND VOICES RAISED IN SONG. BECAUSE I LOVE THEE AND THY MEMORIES; I DO WRITE ABOUT THEY SHORES AS THE GREAT FOREST TREES. SHEAS HAVE SET THEIR ROOTS, THE PARENT TREE HAS CAST ITS SED THAT HAS SPREAD TO DISTANT PARTS OF THE EARTH. BUT YET OUR HOME IS BY THY GLISTENING WATERS AND THE EARTH THAT HAS SO BOUNTIFULLY FED, SHALL GIVE ME COVER WHEN I LAY WITH THEM TO SLEEP."

     BERT SHEA LOVED MUSKOKA, AND HIS BOOKS REFLECT THIS UNYIELDING PASSION.

     SUZANNE AND I  ALWAYS ENJOY OUR TWICE WEEKLY DRIVE BETWEEN BRACEBRIDGE AND GRAVENHURST, ALONG OUR FAVORITE MUSKOKA BEACH ROAD. THE AUTUMN COLORS ARE DEEPENING, AND A LOT OF LEAVES ARE ALREADY SPIRALLING TO EARTH. THE TEMPERATURES ARE MUCH WARMER TODAY AND THE SUNSHINE, WELL, AS PERFECT AS THE SKY; APPEARING SO ENDLESS, AND BEAUTIFULLY BLUE. IT'S HARD NOT TO BE AFFECTED IN SOME WAY, BY THIS DRAMATIC CHANGE OF SEASON, AND SPELLBOUND BY THE TWISTS AND TURNS OF THIS WINDING COUNTRY ROAD, THROUGH THE HAUNTED MUSKOKA WOODLANDS. WE DROVE THROUGH MANY OF THE THICK, WINDBLOWN SPIRALS OF OLD LEAVES, DUSTING LIGHTLY UPON THE PASTURES AND LANES, AND WHEN WE STOPPED FOR A WEE RESPITE, WE COULD CLEARLY HEAR THE WHISPER OF WIND THROUGH THE PINE BOUGHS THAT BORDER THE ROAD; OVER THE CAWING OF SEVERAL CROWS IN THE PINE TOPS. THE AREA I CALL THE MAPLE CATHEDRAL, IS AN ALMOST HEAVENLY VISION, ON THE APPROACH FROM THE SOUTH, AND ALL THE VOYEUR CAN HEAR, WHEN ALL ELSE IS QUIET, IS THE GENTLE LANDINGS OF THE LEAVES UPON THEMSELVES, STILL WET WITH MORNING DEW. IT IS AN IDENTIFIABLE ENCHANTMENT, YOU FIND YOURSELF AMDIST, AND AT THE SAME TIME, LIKE THE AUTUMN SEASON IS FAMOUS FOR, IT'S LOGICAL THAT WE WILL, AT SOME CROSSROAD, OR LOOKOUT, FIND OURSELVES BECOMING SENTIMENTAL AND NOSTALGIC, FOR THOSE DAYS OF ONCE, WITH FAMILY; WHEN WE COULD, WITHOUT FEAR OF WHAT IT WOULD LOOK LIKE, TO OUR PEERS, JUMP INTO THE NEWLY PILED LEAVES, AND MAKE SILLY IN PLAY, IN THE SPRAY OF LIGHT BEAMS, BLOTCHING ONTO THE FLOOR OF LEAVES, LIKE AN ARTIST'S PALETTE, FROM THE BORDERING BIRCHES AND PICTURESQUE MAPLES.

     THERE ARE TIMES, IN THIS SOOTHING SOLITUDE, THAT ALONE, WE MIGHT FEEL A WARM HAND SUDDENLY SLIP INTO OURS, WHILE REMINISCING ABOUT THOSE WE USED TO WALK WITH, ALONG THESE SAME COUNTRYSIDE LANES.....OR HEAR A VOICE CALL OUT TO US, WHEN NO ONE IS ANYWHERE NEAR. IF YOU WERE TO HEAR A CHILD'S LAUGHTER, OR THE SWEET SINGING OF AN AUNT OR MOTHER, FROM YOUR OWN CHRONICLE, THEN YOU SHOULD BE PLEASED THESE MEMORIES HAVE BEEN SET FREE, AS YOU FIND YOURSELF, TO MEANDER AS YOU WISH, THIS PAINTED MUSKOKA LAKELAND.

     "A CHIEFTAIN FROM THE HIGHLANDS BOUND, AS WELL YE ALL MAY KNOW, TO SEEK FOR ME A HAPPY HOME, BY ROSSEAU'S SPARKLING GLOW. BY LOCK AND FERN I'LL SETTLE DOWN, AND SWEAR TO LEAVE IT NEVER, FOR 'TIS THE PLACE I HAVE SOUGHT SO LONG, MY HOME AKIN TO HEAVEN."

(BERT SHEA, BIRTH OF A TOWNSHIP)

     THIS IS LIVING HISTORY.

Archdeacon Gown Gillmor

"TO FEED AND PROVIDE FOR THE LORD'S FAMILY"

     IN THE 1967 BIOGRAPHY, "GILLMOR OF ALGOMA - ARCHDEACON AND TRAMP," AUTHOR E. NEWTON WHITE, (PUBLISHED BY THE DIOCESE OF ALGOMA, ANGLICAN CHURCH OF CANADA) WRITES OF GOWAN GILLMOR, THAT "THE THREADS OF HIS HOME AND FAMILY FRAYED BEYOND REPAIR." HE RECORDS THAT "GOWAN WENT ON WITH THE FABRIC OF HIS PARISH MINISTRY - THE SERVICES, THE TRAMPINGS, THE VISITING, THE SICK NURSING, THE APPROACH TO CHILDREN. PERHAPS MORE THAN EVER NOW, THE CHILDREN. (HE HAD LOST HIS, WHEN HIS WIFE MOVED WEST). TEN YEARS AFTER GOING TO (VILLAGE OF) ROSSEAU, GOWAN WROTE THIS COMMENT ON THE LIFE HE HAD THERE; 'WE LIVE HERE SOME TWELVE MILES FROM A RAILWAY STATION. THIS MEANS THAT THROUGH THE WINTER WE ARE VERY MUCH ISOLATED FROM THE OUTSIDE CIVILIZED WORLD. NOT THAT WE OURSELVES ARE WITHOUT CIVILIZATION, AND WHAT WE DO POSSESS - AND IT IS CONSIDERABLE, WE ENDEAVOUR TO EXERCISE AS WELL AS WE CAN, DURING THE LONG LIVING SNOW SEASON.' HOW MUCH GOWAN APPRECIATED FRIEND AND FAMILY CIRCLE GATHERINGS, WITH MUSIC, READING, SINGING, DISCUSSIONS AND JUST PLAIN FRIENDLY TALKING, CAN BE GATHERED FROM HIS WRITINGS AND DIARY ENTRIES. ON A VISIT TO THE REVEREND A.J. COBB, AT SEGUIN FALLS, ALONG WITH MR. WILSON OF MAGNETAWAN, 'IT WAS JUST LIKE A SMALL-SCALE CLERICAL RETREAT.' SEVERAL YEARS LATER, ON ANOTHER VISIT TO THE SAME MR. COBB, HE PLAYED SOME VERY DIFFICULT AND BEAUTIFUL PIECES OF MUSIC FOR ME; AND THEN MRS. COBB ACCOMPANIED WHILE HE SANG SEVERAL GREAT SONGS, ONE OF THEM THE 'FINE OLD VICAR OF BRAY.' DID WE HEAR A VOICE; WHAT A WAY TO SPEND AN EVENING!' BUT THERE SPOKE A POOR UNDERPRIVILEGED MODERN."

     E. Newton-White writes, "We are told that Gowan's housekeeping methods were unique, and that his cooking was atrocious; one can well believe it from a few remembered visual evidences. Because of circumstances he was batching for a greater part of his ministry, and later on, a good deal of his batching was done in forlorn empty rectories, and parsonage shacks, while he supplied for a vacant parish anywhere, between the Head-of-the-Lake and Gravenhurst. At Rosseau, the ladies of the congregation would clean up the Rectory in his absence - where they might. Part of his study was a spider preserve; not because of a possible feminine abhorrence of spiders, but because they, the spiders, were his friends. Sometimes Gowan would remonstrate with the cleaner-uppers. 'Let the nice dirt be!' Once, finding a lady dusting the Altar, he said, 'Just leave that dust lie, it's holy dust!'

     "In his parochial duties, the parish of Rosseau provided Gowan with some very respectable walking mileages. The area was comparatively small as related to his previous charges, but he covered it intensively. On Sunday, he would preach at Rosseau in the morning; walk to Ullswater, via Rosseau Falls, and the mouth of the Skeleton River, 12 or 16 miles (and eating a lunch as he walked); then walk to Bentriverdale (now shrunken to Bent River), or North Cardwell or Windermere, for evening service; then home. With modern changes of road location, the actual distance in now hard to estimate; but made a full Sunday and meant three different sermons - he made no rehashes. When they could, and he would let them, the farmers would drive him from one point to the next, in their old buggies, and with sometimes tired horses. Farming was hard on man and beast in those days also."

     The biographer, E. Newton-White records, that "a one time old parishener, says that Gowan preached in a small frame school house near her home, for fifteen years, yet never allowed a collection to be taken up, or anything else given. The epidemic diseases did not spare Rosseau, and Gowan took up his self-appointed duties again. Small-pox broke out in Ullswater, and he closed up the Rosseau Rectory to take up residence there, to minister to the sick. When diptheria was rife in Rosseau, he had his parsonage quarantined and spent all his time among the stricken homes; only stopping when, as he said, 'there are no more throats to look down.' Years later, when preaching in New Liskeard, he told of an episode of that time. Late on very cold and stormy night, word came to him of a family eleven miles down the lake, where eleven children were all down with diptheria. Gowan went into the village, to get groceries and medicine, and some neighbours gathered. As he was pulling on his heavy outgoing clothes, someone said, 'Where are you going now? An' where would I be going but to get these things out.' And swinging his pack, to his back, he stepped out to face the wild storm. Arrived safely, he nursed the family until all were well. That was Gowan's story but we can be sure that he belittled the conditions. After the service, a lady introduced herself to him. She was one of the family, she said, but wanted to correct one of his statements. There were not eleven sick ones, but fifteen!

     "Gowan used to tell Rosseau people what he told many others in his long experience, that only he and Death had undisputed entry into the homes where contagion had taken hold; quarantines notwithstanding. Death kept very close vigil while his own presence lent help, hope and consolation. He did not tell them that he often disputed Death's sentry, and many a time was able to bar the door to him. Gowan's diary of those days sometimes noted extraneous matters as this; 'June 22nd, at Rosseau. Voted for Beattie for Provincial Parliament.' Or this, 'June 22nd. at Rosseau. Met Col' O'Brien.' But who was Beattie? Was this the O'Brien of Rebellion days? Did his Irish name gain him Gowan's vote? Seventy years from now, the names of many a politician, now local household words, will be equally in limbo. About voting, Gowan would have made one of his usual kind of observations; 'Voting,' he would say, 'was not nearly as much fun in Canada, as in Ireland. There you fought your way to the polling station, and then you fought your way home again!"

"THE WORD GOD TO GIVE ME SPEECH!"

     "Let us try to picture Gowan, once again, as he would have appeared at this time in his life, and as Rosseau knew him. We have said he was tall and upright - a big man. Although he always showed the effect of his R.I.C. training, he had in no sense the military bearing nor the voice; rather those of the Irish gentleman. His clothes were nondescript; with his clerical garb a sort of foundation, he wore whatever made for protection against the elements, and convenience, in his peculiar modes of travel - like the outdoor workers he moved among," wrote E. Newton-White, his biographer.

     "His distinguishing badge was his black cloth bag; no one else carried one like it. The prospectors, bushmen and their like carried canvas bags and packsacks; settlers and farmers used bean bags and grain bags. Gowan toted his black bag from the construction days onward, until his final activities in Sault Ste. Marie; and became a well known figure in consequence. Said a Canon friend once, 'I never had a look into that black bag,' (which sounds as though he would have liked to have done that) but I do know that it held his vestments, his Bible, Greek Testament and Prayer Book.' As he said himself, 'Tramps were never known to carry excess gear.' Nevertheless it was actually crammed to capacity, and that would have been with things for the needy, and for his 'fairies.' People who were children in the Rosseau days, say of Mr. Gillmor, things like this, 'I shall always remember him as I used to see him in my growing-up years. His jolly chuckle and cheerful smiling face, which wrinkled all over when he laughed, which was often. And the brogue in his voice when he spoke.' Gowan loved to hear the Irish manner of speech, sounding in the Canadian born. Once during a spell of intensely frosty weather, he was visiting a parishioner family, and told them that he had just been out to see a man, who told him to sit in the dark these nights because, 'the kyle-ile was froze!' The brogue, indeed, seemed always ready to take over in Gowan's speech, even as he read the Prayers and the Lessons - even in the Communion Service itself. His reading with its curious flow of runs and hesitations, always at the same places, made delightful music. As for his sermons, sometimes they were in the brogue entirely. Any mention of his sermons, and speeches, must try to convey his manner of long pauses - or rather, abrupt and lengthy stops, during which the listener could only wonder, as perhaps he had intended; 'What next?' That the method was effective is shown by a Priest, who says he can still remember Gowan's sermons; a fact he regards as remarkable, because he can say the same of no other preacher."

     E. Newton-White writes, "Then this at a Synod Meeting, many years after, at which Archbishop Thorneloe announced his impending retirement. In his own speech, Archdeacon Gillmor said, 'The first time I met his Grace, he was at sea! - on the Muskoka Lakes - At Rosseau; I boarded the ship, and he had two bags. When he saw me he put them both down. He came toward me with out-stretched hand. And d'ye know, I have felt the warmth of that handshake ever since'."

     The biographer records of his subject, "One to who we are most indebted for memories, and pictures of Rosseau, the unofficial archivist of the Parish; a devoted church-worker and member of one of the first settler families, says of his appearance, 'he peculiar walking gait as he set out on one of this trips. It was as if his head was in a hurry to reach the destination before his body. It was a gait which made for great mileage.' The same lady remembers that Protestant settlers from a distance, would sometimes take Gowan for a Roman Catholic priest; partly because of the large silver cross he always wore. They would address him as 'Father,' when that title was quite unknown among Anglicans, and he would be pleased. One lady remembers her brother always calling him, but respectfully, 'Father Kelly.' He enjoyed that too. The cross he wore was often the subject of questioning by some people in those days. When asked he would explain that his work took him among all sorts and conditions of men, and those who did not respect him as a man, would at least have regard to the Cross.

     "The lady of the Parish tells how she once noticed a freshly blazed tree in the bush, well back from the road, she was walking, and went in to see it. She found a Cross cut into the blaze, and above and below it was written, 'The Tramp - His Mark.' Seeing that no kind of axe was part of his equipment, someone else must have blazed the tree, and Gowan made use of it. At Sault Ste. Marie, at least one home of his good friends has a treasured birthday book, in which Gowan hand-entered, for Nov. 22nd, 'The Tramp - His Mark."

1836 Perspective About The Legacy Of A Community Cemetery

A PERSPECTIVE, CIRCA 1836, ABOUT THE LEGACY OF A COMMUNITY CEMETERY

REVEREND CLARK TAKES US FOR A WALK THROUGH A PIONEER CEMETERY

PART TWO 

     Even though we think we're pretty well served by the internet, as far as information goes, let's face it, there's a great deal we don't have access to, on any given day, on any given research project. This isn't just the bias of a bibliophile either. There's a treasure trove of important, forgotten information, buried in those old books, thought best these days, to be either recycled or placed on a shelf, to prove to guests, you aren't the shallow character some claim. There is a wealth of amazingly insightful stories contained in many of these antiquarian, rare, and old books, adored in the contemporary condo for their attractive bindings. Makes me crazy, I'm not kidding. For those of us who like to be inspired, and who aren't adverse to the premise of life-long learning, these old books contain stories that are pertinent to contemporary issues. This may seem strange to some others, but regardless, it's true. Just because it's antiquated, doesn't mean it's irrelevant. The information contained in Reverend Clark's book, for example, which we browsed through yesterday, reflects on a cemetery visit in his former hometown, circa 1836, and the cholera epidemic of 1932, from a New York City perspective, that claimed almost half the city's population. This book, published four years later, is still current to this crisis, and it gives a first person account of the cholera horror, and the ceaseless work of the undertakers and their crew, picking up the dead. Reverend Clark's observations are astute with a sense of actuality, such that you feel you are walking along the cemetery pathways in his company.        

     "As I passed along from grave to grave, the names that I read upon the stones called up the images of a numerous group that I had once known. A plain marble slab that lay near me apprized me, that I was treading over the ashes of one whose countenance and character I recollected very distinctly. He was a small thin man, and well known to all the village. Professionally he was an apothecary (druggist), and for many long years had he dealt-out medicine to heal the sickness of others. Though thin and sallow, he had been so long at his post, and was by night and by day surrounded by so many powerful agents to ward off disease, that many supposed that he had discovered the true elixir of life, and could bid defiance to the shafts of mortality. What a commentary did that stone read to me upon the vanity of all such expectations. His medicine availed nothing when God remanded the dust, out of which he had been formed, to its native and inanimate state."

     On the weekend, poking through a number of our favorite antique and collectable shops in the region, I found a fair condition copy of Reverend John A. Clark's text, "Gathered Fragments," published as a third revised edition, in 1836, by William Marshall & Company of Philadelphia. I always look in obscure places, like bottom shelves of cupboards, where old books are often relegated these days. This is good for me, because most customers couldn't are less about old books, and leave these outcasts for me. I always look for books penned by well-travelled, and biographical / journal-writing ministers, and countryside preachers, because of what observations they contain, about experiences and adventures they've had, wherever they've attended their mission and ministerial responsibilities. Even in the District of Muskoka, and the Diocese of Algoma, books like Reverend Clark's are of critical importance to historians, looking for these tidbits of actuality, as experienced by roaming preachers such as the legendary "Tramp," Gowan Gilmor (Rosseau), of the Anglican Church, who walked thousands of miles through the rugged terrain of Muskoka and regions north, to tend his huge flock. Which to the kind natured Gilmor, was just about everyone he crossed paths with! His biography contains a wealth of information about the region in the later pioneer period of the district, and about the people he got to know in small and bigger communities where he stopped to rest, and take charge of a local Anglican Church needing his leadership. Reverend John Clark was doing roughly the same work in the northern, and eastern regions of the United States in the 1820's and 1930's, especially in New York State. He offers some interesting opinions about dying, the celebration of life, mourning, burials and cemeteries. Here are some observations, from a trip Reverend Clark took, prior to 1836, back to the town where he spent his early years of life, but finding that most he knew from those years, had wound up in the local graveyard; the place where he had taken an afternoon stroll.

      "A little farther, and I read upon a splendid monument - the name of one who, in early life, had figured largely in the gay world. Beauty of person, and elegance of manners, joined with uncommon brilliancy of intellect, made her an object of universal attraction. One of the wealthiest young men in the country succeeded in gaining her hand. They lived in great splendour, and for a while their path seemed strewn with flowers; but soon some hidden source of sorrow stole the colour from her cheek, and spread a shade of gloom over her once bright countenance. Common report declared that the cause of her unrevealed trouble was conjugal infidelity on the part of him, who had won and wed her. Whatever that cause was, it drove her to the foot of the cross for blessedness, and in Jesus Christ she found a faithful and unfailing friend. Many years had passed away since I had heard her name pronounced, and when I read it on that proud monument, I could not but exclaim, 'How valueless and unmeaning does all this sculptured marble that covers thy poor dust appear to thee now! And if, through infinite mercy thou art among the blood washed throng around the throne, how loud are thy praises to the Eternal, for that bitter drug mixed in the cup of thy earthly happiness, which made the pleasures of the world pall on thy taste, and led thee to the well of salvation in quest of the waters of life!"

     Reverend Clark's journal continues, "Upon another stone, I read a name that made me feel more solemn than I had before since I entered within these precincts of the dead. The name was Harry C___-. He had been all his life a ceaseless trifler. Possessing naturally great humour, and a talent for keen, sarcastic repartee, he cultivated and cherished this propensity, to the neglect of every thing sober and serious. He could not go to the house of God, nor even to a funeral, without finding something to make all around him laugh. But now, there he lay before me in the silence of the grave! His laugh was over - his jokes were done - the worm was feeding on his dissolved frame, and his soul was in a world where all was sober and serious reality.

     "As I walked onward a little further, I found myself standing over the grave of one whose venerable form and silver locks, I had often seen in the house of God. This aged saint was a living epistle of Christ, known and read of all men. While gazing upon the spot where his mouldered ashes reposed, and lifting up my thoughts to the glorious rest upon which he had entered, I could not but say, 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.' Having at length reached a distant corner of the burial ground, I read on four stones that were ranged close to each other - 'Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who departed this life in the 43rd year of his age.' 'Mary, relict of Frederick Lindsley, Esq., who fell asleep in Christ in the 37th year of her age.' 'Hezekiah, son of Frederick and Mary Lindsley, who died in the eighth year of his age.' 'Mary Anna Lindsley, who died in May, in the 18th year of her age - much beloved in life, lamented in death; her memory will long be cherished on earth, - her many excellencies can be fully known only in heaven'."

     "Ah,' I said to myself, as I read these names with a throbbing heart, "then they are all gone - they are now a family in eternity - I shall meet them no more till I meet them there," wrote Reverend Clark. "I had known this family intimately, and spent many happy hours in their society. Their history was one truly eventful; replete with reverses, and furnishing many instructive lessons to those who ponder the ways of God, and consider the operation of his hands. Mr. Lindsley was a lawyer, and had, at an early age, acquired not only eminence in his profession, but in a distinguished degree the confidence of the community in which he resided. This confidence had been inspired, not only by his accurate and extensive legal knowledge, but by his great integrity of character and uprightness of conduct. He was particularly blessed and happy in this family. Mrs. Lindsley, the partner of his bosom, added to polished manners and a well balanced mind, great amiability and sweetness of tember. She was the mother of two interesting children. The oldest was a daughter, who, at the time that our narrative commences, was about twelve years of age. Mary Anna bore an exact resemblance to her mother in all the delicate touches and interesting features of her character.

     "Mr. Lindsley, among his many other excellencies, was distinguished for his kindness and great hospitality. In him the poor and the fatherless found a friend, 'the blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him,' and often he, 'caused the widow's heart to sing for joy'. His wife and children he almost idolized. Where their comfort or happiness was concerned, he spared no expense, shrunk from no sacrifices. His home was a little paradise, where all hearts seemed bound together by the rosed wreath of love. All who visited his house went away with the full impression, that if there was a happy family on earth, it was Mr. Lindsley's."

     But Reverend Clark notes, in a retrospective of the family, that, "The voice of sorrow and mourning was now heard in the dwelling of Mr. Lindsley. His only son, a lad about eight years old, had fallen from a neighbouring hayloft, and was taken up dead. Mr. Lindsley was absent on business when this melancholy event occurred. As soon as the intelligence reached him, he instantly hastened home. 'Never shall I forget,' said one who was present on that occasion, and from whom I have derived several important facts in this hasty sketch, - never shall I forget Mr. Lindsley's expression and attitude, as he entered the room, and approached the corpse of his child. His hands were clenched, every feature of his countenance was wrought up into an expression of agony, and his whole frame shook with emotion. He stood and gazed for a moment upon the sweet and motionless face of his boy, and then, as if he could no longer restrain himself, rushed from the room to give vent in private to his feelings'. After the funeral had passed, and the first excess of grief had subsided, this family were visited by the minister of the place, and kindly, but faithfully reminded, that the bereavement which they had sustained, was a solemn admonition from God, urging them to enter upon the business of their everlasting salvation. His words were listened to with seriousness and attention. A change from this time was discoverable in both Mr. and Mrs. Lindsley. The Spirit of God seemed to have touched their hearts."

     Earlier in the text, Reverend Clark overviews a country scene, where a funeral procession is taking place. The scene of course, would have been prior to 1836.

     "To the reflecting mind, a funeral scene is always instructive. It was infinite wisdom that dictated the sentiment, that 'It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to the house of feasting.' It is true that some men can remain unmoved and unimpressed amid the most solemn scenes of death. But they, who look at the relation of things, and gather, from the events transpiring around them, that moral instruction which God intends they shall convey, can hardly fail to have their 'heart made better,' by the solemnities of a funeral scene. I speak now particularly of a funeral in the country.

     "No one that has been bred in the country can have witnessed a funeral in the city without having felt some violence done to the sensibilities of his heart. I have often stood at the corner of some square, upon whose area might be seen, from the earliest dawn even to the midnight hour, bustling thousands, and observed the train of coaches with their sable equipments moving-on upon their melancholy errand, with slow and solemn pace, through this mass of beings, and wondered that it made so slight an impression upon the busy crowd. The funeral train, as it passed, perhaps flung a momentary feeling of solemnity upon the lookers-on; but in an instant the impression was gone. It was like a passing cloud that had darkened, for one fleeting instant, the splendour of the sun, and then was for ever after, lost in the effulgence of his bright beams. There was no fellow feeling between the gay world without and the broken-hearted mourners within those vehicles.

      "A funeral in the country presents a different aspect. When death enters the humblest cottage, the sympathies of the community are awakened; the whole surrounding neighborhood participate in the feelings of the bereaved, and make every sacrifice to be present to pay their last respect to the dead. At the appointed hour of the funeral there may be seen, in all directions, the repose and stillness of a Sabbath season. Men, who on no other occasion are present to witness religious exercises, deem it a debt they owe to society, to attend all the funerals in their neighborhood. Everything was in readiness when I arrived; and they were waiting to form the procession. The burial ground was about a quarter of a mile distant from Robert McEllen's house. Twelve strong-framed, but hoary headed men had been selected to bear the body to the grave; and on each side of the coffin there walked three aged and infirm women as pall-bearers. Behind the coffin followed the children and grand children of the deceased; and in their rear, the promiscuous multitude who had been drawn together, on the occasion, either by curiosity or regard for the deceased. The procession was no sooner in motion, than an aged and venerable man, whom I had always seen at church when I preached at my missionary station in that neighbourhood, joined me, and walked at my side. As we preceded the procession, we were frequently so far before the bearers that we might have, with propriety, engaged in conversation. But I was too deeply impressed with the solemnity of the present scene, and the recollections of the past history of this family, to open my lips. For a short distance we moved in silence; then, in a subdued and under tone of voice, the aged man said, 'Elizabeth has gone to rest'."