KAWARTHA LAKESMy very first memory of Mom is standing by my crib, which was beside my parents’ bed. I liked the Sun Bonnet Sue (a quilt pattern) coverlet that she had made for me. Rose worked very hard to provide for me and my siblings and as a child you often take that for granted. Another early memory was wearing a scarlet snow suit that she had knit for me. I was standing at the kitchen door crying because I had wet myself and thought that I was bleeding for death—this was very traumatic for a three-year-old. I got a spanking—one of many I received during my childhood.
My parents had moved to Burnt River in 1932, because my Dad had been transferred by the Canadian National Railway to become the station agent there. I was born shortly after they arrived. When I was three, I told my brother Terry that I wanted to drive. He boosted me up into Dad’s Buick and said step on the pedals. I did and ditched the car. When I told Dad that I wanted to drive he laughed so hard and said, ‘Get in, I’ll teach you!.’
I remember when I had whooping cough and I had excruciating ear aches. Mom and Dad would put two dining room chairs together. Mom warmed oil and Dad sat on the left and administered the treatment. All the while I was screaming with pain. Dad held me until I fell asleep.
One Sunday when I was six, my brother Blake dared me to put my tongue on the metal pump handle in sub-zero weather. When it stuck my mother absolutely went hysterical—she was very ‘high strung’ and reacted strongly to any sign of trouble. Lucky me that Dad was home, he just poured boiling water on the pump handle to extricate me.
I can only recall one incident where Mom remained calm and knew exactly what to do in a crisis. Terry and Mervin Hunter were jumping off the snowplow for fun (unbeknownst to the crew), when Terry slipped and fell under the truck. His right arm was crushed by the double chained wheels. Mom had been reading her huge black medical bible the day before: ‘In case of crushing apply warm towels.” When we arrived in Lindsay, Dr. Parker commended her quick response and said that otherwise Terry would have lost his arm.
Raising a family in Burnt River during the Dirty Thirties involved constant work. Without the electric appliances that are taken for granted today, every task was laborious. As the saying goes, Monday they washed, Tuesday they ironed, Wednesday they mended, Thursday they went to market, Friday they baked, Saturday they cleaned and Sunday they went to church.
It was a life that Mom never imagined having to live. She grew up on Kent Street in Lindsay, and would later write that she had a “fear of ever having to live on a farm or anywhere north of Lindsay. At that time, the ‘north’ had not been opened up to tourists. To her it was just a wilderness of the lakes, forests and farms.” She was also a little shy when boys from the high school asked, ‘May we walk home with you and your friend Emily from Church on Sunday evening?’ and would politely reply ‘No thank you.’”
Rose and Stanley had met while she was “selling tickets at the Park corner for a worthy cause.” He “made three excuses to buy three tickets from her.” She explained that “at that time, young ladies had to be formally introduced to the boys before they talked to them. This obstacle was soon overcome by two maiden ladies at his boarding house, much interested in his welfare.”
Stanley was a telegrapher, who at that time was working as a train despatcher in the Lindsay Grand Trunk Railway office. Upon learning that his ambition was to remain a train despatcher or become a station agent, she promised to marry him in 1920. Rose had not realized that he had been raised in Lochlin, and was a country boy at heart. Over the course of his career, he would work in smaller communities, and his job would require their family to move several times—her childhood fears would be realized.
Mom made the best of being a country wife, though she never did learn how to milk a cow. Everyone was assigned an age-appropriate task. As a girl, my jobs included keeping the reservoir in the stove filled (that was how we had hot water), polishing and blackening the stove, keeping the scuttle filled with coal, emptying the ash box each morning, filling the coal oil lamps and cleaning their glass chimneys. We didn’t have an Aladdin lamp until much later. Imagine what it was like sitting at the kitchen table doing homework by that dim light.
We had a pump in our kitchen and an ice box, which were luxuries that not everyone had in those days. In winter we had to keep the double wood box filled and the furnace stoked with coal, as we tried to keep the embers alive. We carried bags of coal into our basement to maintain our supply. Despite our efforts, it was still cold in the house. The week after I was born the temperature was -50 in Burnt River. In the midst of that cold winter, the nurse had taken my mother out to walk up and down on the furrows of a frozen field, trying to induce me to be born. It did not work, then much to my mother’s surprise my Dad proposed giving me the nurse’s name as a middle name—Bernice.
We had a Jersey and other cows that had to be milked. We separated the milk from the cream, and churned the cream to make butter. We would drink our own milk. My Dad had prize chickens that had to be tended as well. Our garden was huge, and weeding it was not a favourite chore. Harvest season was even worse. My brothers would put up a big fight about that! Our house was at the very end of the garden.
In summer and winter, we used the Eaton’s catalogue for toilet paper—we had a chamber pot (thunder mug) under each bed. These came in different sizes, and we had one for guests too. They saved us from having to head out to the outhouse at night—especially on those bitterly cold winter nights.
Laundry was a very labour-intensive job that women in that era knew well. Then men would pump the water and carry it to fill up two wash-tubs, one for hot water the other for cold. Once they were filled, they were very heavy to carry. The hot water was heated on the cookstove. Mom’s hands were raw from all the scrubbing that she had to do—it was something she was conscious about. We bought sunlight soap by the bulk, with blueing and starch for the white shirts. I remember seeing 12 shirts on the line—all carefully hand-washed.
Our clothes line was held up by a pole. In winter the shirts would freeze, so Mom had to bring them in and thaw them on clothes horses in the house. Eventually, mom had a turn buckle on the clothes lines, with a pulley on the other end, so she could fill up both lines with clothing. She had to make sure that we all had enough clothing. For winter this meant knitting enough scarves, hats and toques for a family of six. In summer, grandma and mom would sit by the lamp, using its dim light to knit everything that we needed to survive those cold winters.
Because wool socks would shrink when they were washed, mother dried our socks on wooden sock stretchers—which had holes for the air to pass through. Since they were made of wool, they would dry quickly. To iron, she heated a metal iron on the stove. She had a larger, solid iron and a smaller one with removable wooden handles. Before ironing each shirt, she had to dampen it down.
On Fridays, Mom and Dad would go to Lindsay to shop. Though Dad worked for the railway, we always had a car—often a Buick or Dodge. I loved going to Claxton’s with my mom. It was like a sky scraper to a kid. We would take the elevator to get to the third floor, where she picked out flannelette to make pajamas and the backings of quilts. It was memorable going to Claxton’s because they had a system where your bill dropped down from the upper floors and landed at cash at the front of the store. I can remember walking down the stairs watching the bill come down the tube. I only saw that system in one other store, it might have been in Kingston.
Mom bought her yardage so she could select the material that she would use for the quilts and dresses that she made for us. When she was younger, Mom had taken a tailoring course, that is where my mother developed the skills to make beautiful clothing. I would go to McCallum’s Men’s Wear in Fenelon Falls when Dad picked out his suits. Once they were worn out, mom would use the fabric to make my clothing. Old fabric was too good to throw out, so Mom would make quilts out of old flannelette sheets. Quilting bees were a great way to visit and catch up on the latest news.
Mom had an old singer sewing machine, and it seemed like it never stopped, because she could really sew. She sewed practically all my clothes, all my dresses, right up to when I went to Albert College. She would take me with her to buy the latest patterns. If I liked the pattern, she would make me three or four dresses. I had the most beautiful navy blue blouse that she made me. She could make navy blue cord that covered the buttons. When I worked at Cedar Villa, I earned enough money to buy a suit to take to Albert College. Because of her skills, I was the envy of lots of kids. She didn’t make the clothes for the boys in our family, because there is not much that you could make for boys. They wore tweed breeches, which extended just below the knee, with leather on the inside. She made all our pajamas, but our underwear was purchased. During the war, mom and grandma knitted socks and scarves—‘Knittin’ for Britain’—and my grandma always put a note in with them. All the women made their own curtains and drapes. You didn’t pick up a catalogue and order that stuff at least until the 1940s when we moved to Fenelon Falls.
Saturday was baking day in preparation for the guests that came to visit on Sunday or for us to enjoy during the week. Mom was famous for her Heavenly Cloud Tea Biscuits and Pies—apple, lemon and berries of all kinds. She helped to cook for the fowl suppers at church. Dad ordered barrels of applies and bushes of peaches and pears from Newcastle to see us through the winters. Dad called March the hungry month, because we would be running out by then. He would buy a side of beef and sometimes a pig would be hung and frozen (naturally in winter) so he could cut off whatever Mom needed to cook.
Once or twice a summer Dad would make ice cream. His ice cream maker produced one pound at a time. It was an exciting event for the kids in town when he made a batch, they would take turns cranking the handle. Because a batch of ice cream was so small, as you can imagine we only got a taste, a teaspoon or two.
During the war, school children gathered milkweed and we also planted hundreds of pine trees as part of reforestation projects. As a reward, one year on the 24th of May, we met at the Pinery and a plane flew over throwing out coupons as it passed. If you found enough of them, you got a mallow roll. At the end of the day everyone got ice cream.
Having a beautiful home was important to Mom and she did all her own painting and paper after a painter she hired failed to meet her expectations. Our home in Burnt River had old wallpaper in every room, which she stripped it off and applied new wallpaper. She may have hired a girl to help her.
Sunday was ‘the Lord’s Day.’ There were no cards, games or dancing. We never missed church or Sunday School, and I always sang in the choir wherever I was. Mother was a lifetime member of the United Church Women. She was an excellent pianist and singer. She made sure we had music lessons and when I went to college a voice teacher. She was a beautiful dancer and enjoyed square and round dancing, which were both popular at the time. She was proficient at all those social graces. When we got a gramophone, we all danced. There would be dances in the Orange Hall. The Wonderland near Coboconk had great square dances. They would fill that place. There might be 6 or 8 squares going on at one time.
Being a wife and mother was hard work, but women did find time to have fun. On Saturday nights the adults played bridge and learned a new game called mahjong. We had all kinds of board games, Chinese checkers, snakes and ladders, dominos and just plain checkers. I remember when movies came to the Community Centre (Orange Hall) in Burnt River. They projected it on a sheet, and it was so close that I found it frightening as a young girl. Mom and Dad took us to the Academy Theatre in Lindsay and when the Wicked Witch appeared, I screamed so loudly they had to take me home.
The Big Fire in Burnt River (October 19, 1944) ended life as we knew it. Dad was still the station agent, but there was a house that Mom wanted in Fenelon Falls at 20 Market Street. George Allen [Donna’s sister’s father-in-law] rented it and wanted to buy it. Dad went to see the owner and was told that Mr. Allen had offered $5000 for it. Dad said ‘I only have $4,000. The owner pondered for a moment and then told Dad he could have it for $4,000! When we went to see it, Daddy said ‘Here are the keys to your dream house. Do whatever you want to make it your own.’ And she did.
When we moved to Fenelon Falls, mother’s joy was apparent. Liberated from all the labour-intensive activities that she had needed to do when we lived in Burnt River. With electricity, stores and a beautiful big church, she was free to do so much more in this new town. Her first purchases were a stove, fridge and the latest invention—a Bendix Washer/Dryer combination. Then she could start a load of laundry at night and have it dry the next morning.
Mom hired Bill White (carpenter) to build the kitchen cupboards with pine. Later on, the back porch was closed off. He built a nook out of cherry wood that Dad had dried. All the old wallpaper was stripped away, trim was varnished and book cases built in the den. Mom designed them to fit around the heat outlets—Yes, we had a coal furnace with a chute to fill the coal bin. We had a cistern full of water and a pantry. Mom no longer had to make preserves, because she could buy jam in a jar at Vanatter’s grocery store. It had a delivery boy—can you imagine the change in mother’s life?
The bathroom was transformed into a beautiful sanctuary, with a table at the window looking out at the old Anglican Church on the hill. Grandma and I would sit here when I came home from school to tell me stories. Mom chose burgundy fixtures, sea shell turquoise and peach wallpaper and all the fluffy towels to match. She had pretty linoleum for the floor. Once we moved to Fenelon Falls, we had clothes closets and a big linen closet.
My room was decorated in pink and grey with a dresser that had a round mirror attached, drapes and a blanket box in pink. The boys’ room was furnished with red maple twin beds, at the front of the house, with an escape hatch in the way of a window onto the porch roof. This provided access to the tennis court across the street!
Mom and Dad’s room was huge, it accommodated their beautiful walnut suite plus a big arm chair. Now mom could display her sterling silver dresser set from Birks—clothes brush, hair brush, nail file, shoe horn, button hook, hand mirror, two crystal jars with sterling lids on tatted doilies. The dining room with this big arch displayed their dining room suite beautifully with the addition of a tea wagon. The ceiling was wall paper with brown background and little flecks of yellow and green to enhance the woodsy wallpaper. The den had a red maple set comprised of 2 chairs and a table—all very comfortable. She had two armless dusty rose love seats for the living room and the piano fit there as well. Mom was in her glory!
They joined the United Church and were invited to join the bridge club—what an honour that was! She continued putting her heart and soul into everything that she did, including her work with the UCW. My mom packed boxes for her church that they sent to Indigenous women in remote areas and on reservations. She was a very generous and kind lady in every sense of the word.
Mother was not well and when I was 14, she was referred to a specialist in Toronto. On her way to this appointment, she collapsed on a street car and was rushed to a hospital. From this collapse she was ordered by the physician to rest ten minutes out of each hour. Her life was altered thereafter. Now she had grandchildren to fill her life and leisure time to enjoy them.
On Father Day weekend 1958, while my parents were coming to visit me, they were involved in a head on collision while turning into our subdivision. Dad had a severe cut to his head and the impact knocked him out of his shoes. Mom had a broken arm, 60 stitches in her nose and eyes from when she went through the windshield of the car. The doctor on the scene personally rushed her to Guelph General Hospital, where her heart stopped. She was saved by open heart surgery.
When I told Dad what had happened, he fainted and couldn’t stop crying. He was driving into the sunset and the sun had blinded him. He blamed himself for what had happened and neither one of them would be the same again. One Sunday shortly afterwards, a group from the United Church came to visit. My Dad escaped to the back yard and became a recluse. He wouldn’t talk.
Mother’s recovery was long and arduous. We dealt with not only physical challenges but psychological ones as well. She was not able to walk, was not going to get into a car again. When she was out of the hospital, I would take her outside and sit in the sun. While sitting out there one day, my cat brought a mouse to Mom. I heard the screaming and that’s the day my mom found out that she could not only walk, but run. We had Dad admitted to Pinecrest Nursing Home with Parkinson’s disease and in the end he couldn’t talk. Mom lived until January 2, 1974, long enough to see me happily married to Arthur Logan.
Looking back, you realize all the skills that your mother had, and everything that she did for you. Mom was really strict, and she was not a demonstrative person. As a kid, it seemed like nothing was ever good enough to please her. It seemed that there was not one thing that would please her. At the time I felt like she was the sergeant major that wanted to run everyone’s life. But she had a heart of gold, and was the first one to help you if you needed help. When you are raising your own children, you start to see things differently. You have to expect them to excel and give them the space to grow. As a kid, you take your mother for granted. Later in life you realize how much she cared and how much work went into everything that she did for us. She was a loving mother who only wanted the best for all her children. She was a lady to the end.
This story is a memory and nobody’s memory is perfect. Sometimes details get a little mixed up, things get forgotten or overlooked, and the perspective is inevitably subjective. If you notice something that not right, have something you would like to tell us, or a memory to share the museum would be happy to hear from you: [email protected]
This story is part of our partnership with Maryboro Lodge, The Fenelon Falls Museum and was written by Glenn Walker.
If you want to make a donation to the museum, you can e-transfer to: [email protected] or mail a cheque to :
Maryboro Lodge Museum
Box 179
50 Oak Street
Fenelon Falls, ON
K0M 1N0
