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More Nobel Memories Along The Nobel Road

Part XII

I received a reminder a couple of days ago that I had not submitted any stories for a considerable length of time. The reminder was a picture of Crawford’s Garage at Nobel. That picture brought back a flood of memories for me of one of my favourite people Uncle Sarnie Crawford. As a result I am going to attempt to write a little history of Sarnie, the Crawford Family and some memories I have about him.

The Crawford homestead was located on Jones Road at Hurdville. Being on Lots 28 & 29, Concession 4 of Mckellar Township. This land had been located by Sarnie’s grandfather. The Reverend James Crawford in 1871 and was a grant under the Free Grants and Homestead Act. Sarnies Father David inherited the land on James’s death in 1883. David and his wife Hannah Elizabeth nee Hurd had seven children. They were Robert, Sidney, Olive nee Sly, Ronald, Ralph, William, and Florence nee Rosewell.

A Child’s Death

A tragedy struck the family in July of 1903 when William died as the result of eating the seedpod of a blue flag flower.

Sarnie was born on the 27 of June 1897. His given names were Ronald James. I asked my father, Sidney one time where the name Sarnie had come from. His reply was: “ one time when Sarnie was a very young boy, (three or four years old) they had brought him down to Parry Sound and stopped at the North Star Office on James St. There was a printer there at the time whose last name was Sarnie. Ronald James was quite taken by this printer. He suddenly climbed up on a table and announced: “ When I grow up I want to be just like Sarnie.” From that day forward he was always called Sarnie.”

Father’s Gone

In 1903 Sarnie’s father David was working on the building of the CPR trestle at Parry Sound. He became ill and was subsequently diagnosed with bone cancer. His one leg was amputated and in April of 1904 the cancer took his life. This left Hannah Elizabeth on the farm where she continued to raise the six remaining children on her own.

The boys worked on the farm and each of them worked in the bush camps at a very young age. I know my father Sidney, only had grade three educations and went into the bush camps at age 14. He was 11 when his father had died. In the summer following harvest they would take the Harvest Train out west and work on the harvest their until it was time to come back to go into the bush. Sarnie was what my father called a natural Mechanic. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was a clock a motor or any other mechanical device. He loved to figure out how it worked. If it were broken he would fix it. I believe his first vehicle was a very early motorcycle. Which he would travel up and down the Hurdville Road. He moved on from the motorcycle to automobiles.

Cupid’s Visit

The Crawford’s next-door neighbours were the Jone’s. A frequent visitor to the Jones household was one Elsie Jane Bilton who I believe lived in Toronto in the early 1920’s. Sarnie was taken by Elsie and on the 19 September 1927 the two were married. This union resulted their having 4 girls. They were Elinor nee Christie, Margerie nee Bowering, Mavis nee Leadbeater and Jill nee Wilkinson

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A Great Loss

In July of 1914 the First World War started. Robert enlisted with Sarnie following a short time later. Robert was killed at Vimy Ridge in France on the 13 May 1917. Sarnie told me one time that he (Sarnie) marched into battle carrying a Louis gun and was carried out on a stretcher as the result of being gassed. This gassing haunted him the rest of his life.

I remember for many years Sarnie and his comrades who survived from his initial company would meet yearly for a reunion. I believe one of those was Len Hailstone from Carling.

Sometime after Sarnie’s return after the war, Sarnie bought the south part of the lot originally owned by Billy Hammel. It was the property lying south of Hammel Ave, that is now bound on the west by the road to the Nobel Village for a quarter of a mile east. On the north side by Hammel Ave and on the south by the CPR tracks. This was either in the late 1920’s or early 1930’s. He built his home on that property, about half way between Hammel Ave and the present Nobel Rd.

He also had a small garage located on Hammel Ave. When the Second World War came along. Sarnie’s property that was between the Nobel Road and the CPR tracks was expropriated for the war effort and Glenrock Subdivision was built to house employees of Nobel Plant. When the war ended the land was given back to him. Most of the houses were sold off at that time. Sarnie also sold much of the land back to the people that lived there.

Another Tragedy

In January of 1934 Sarnie and his brother Ralph were working on a snow plod caterpillar tractor In his garage on Hammel Ave. Ralph hand cranked the tractor and it started. It was still in gear. It moved forward and pinned Ralph between the wall and the V-plow. Ralph died as a result of infection that developed a number of days later. He is buried in the graveyard at Nobel. Left to mourn was his wife Annie nee Hardie and their four children: Dorothy, Robert, Jean and Gordon.

Many of the older readers will remember that old tractor. It was on tracks. It looked like a caterpillar tractor and had a steel frame that boxed in the tractor. It was equipped with a V-plow and wing

plow. There was a running board walkway around the outside of the frame that would allow the operators to walk around the frame to hand crank wenches that lowered and raised both the V-plow and the wing. I was born in 1936 and I can remember seeing that snow plow used on the Side Road now Hammel Ave., and Portage Lake Rd., now Pineridge Rd.

The Bus Line

I believe Uncle Sarnie got his first school bus in the early 1920’s. I can remember my mother talking about that bus. My mother was Violet Calow. She was raised on a farm located in Carling Township across Hwy 559 and in the bush a quarter of a mile north of the Old Carling Twp. Office, on West Carling Bay Road. I believe she travelled in that bus when she attended grade eight at the old brown Nobel School house that was located near the circle at the north end of Hammel Ave. I have included a picture of that bus with this article. Sarnie originally had two buses that he hand built. I believe the one was a rebuild of the bus in the picture. The second was a little wider and built on an old truck frame. It was framed in with wood and covered with sheet metal. I rode in this bus all through primary school. It had a bench that ran around the outside on the inner area. In the winter, one of those old round wick oil stoves was fastened in the center of the bus for heat. I can still remember the feeling as we bounded along over the frost boils. The looks of the frost on the windows and the smell of kerosene from that stove. A far cry from the buses of today. They probably would not pass inspection in today’s world; there are three drivers I can remember. Our bus (the south bus was usually driven by Ken Scott or Ivan Hunt. Uncle Sarnie usually drove the north bus. Rules were pretty simple. You did what the bus driver said or you walked. If you caused a problem that the walk wasn.t going to solve, the driver told your dad. Then you really got it. I don’t remember having a snow day. If the bus got stuck while turning around the kids were piled out of the bus and they shoved. That brings to my mind memories of our grade one teacher Ms. Ruby Cook. She had what was called a Taraplane Hudson Coupe that she drove to school. It had an electric gearshift that looked like a toggle switch in a letter H. She would get stuck in the school yard and a bunch of us kids would go out and push her while she moved that switch back and forth using that switch, I don’t remember any of us ever getting run over.

Another memory was the line-ups we had to form while waiting for the bus to go home. One day a bunch of us were fooling around in the line-up while waiting for the bus on the south corner of the schoolyard. The Principal at that time was a teacher named Orr. He was in the Teacher’s Room located on the second floor on the south side of the school about half way down its length. He was quick to anger. He could see us out the window. He opened the window and yelled at us to settle down and form a proper line-up. Some one made a smart remark; I think he thought he was far enough away. Suddenly the window opened wider and Mr. Orr jumped out of that second story window and it seemed like four more strides he had me by the arm and I got a little cuff on the side of the head. Yes things were different in the fourties. I remember. LOl.

Sarnie’s Cottages

Uncle Sarnie built three cottages over the years. The first one was on Shebeshekong Lake. I remember it was framed then sheeted with galvanized corrugated metal. Uncle Sarnie worked fourteen hour days most days at his garage. He didn’t get to use his cottages as much as he would have liked to, but he was very generous with his family. I remember us getting it for at least a week every year. I remember Mavis would usually come up for at a couple of days when we were there and we would go exploring in their old rowboat. Uncle Sarnie sold that cottage in later years and built another one at Snug Harbour. It was located on top of the cliff on your right when you stop at the Snug Harbour dock. He called that one “The Crow’s Nest”. We had holidays there every year too. It was my favourite; it had a great view of the outer Bay. Red Rock Lighthouse could be seen from there and I remember watching the spray go over the Lighthouse whenever we had a storm. At that time Walter Graham was still operating his fishing business out of Snug Harbour. There was always something new and exciting to see there.

Crawford’s Nobel Garage

Like most of Uncle Sarnie’s Family and Friend’s I worked at the service station when I was about 12 yrs. I have included a picture of the garage, which shows the old pumps that I used to serve gas. The pumps worked on a gravity system the long glass tubes that were at the top of the pump was marked off in gallons. The hand pump was on the side. When a customer came in you would asked him how many gallons he wanted, then you would hand-pump those gallons up to that mark on the glass tube. You would then insert the nozzle into the cars fill tube and gravity would drop the gas into their vehicle. You always asked if you could check their oil. In those days most cars burnt a little oil. If they needed oil you went into the little room behind Uncle Sarnie’s counter. There was a very large tank in that room that held the oil. You would then take a glass bottle that was tapered and had a long tapered funnel cap on it. You would hand pump the oil into the jar, replace the funnel cap then run back out to the pumps and pour the oil into the cars motor. That little room I have mentioned also contained a workbench where Uncle Sarn would rebuild carburetors. They would be sent to him from all over. He was one of the few people to do that in those days. If you walked further and out through the back of that little room, you would come to another room where he would charge batteries. In those days, most car batteries were 6 volt and were used for other things besides cars. Many of the old radios used six-volt batteries. There was also a small metal lathe in that second room that was used to make different parts. There was a small building behind the garage that housed a Delco system that produced electricity for both the garage and the house. Hydro didn’t arrive for most of us Nobel residence until 1947. I can picture Uncle Sarnie standing behind the counter with an unlit cigar in his mouth or hand. He always had a little smile on his face. To his right and behind the counter was the black cash register. On the counter was a large peanut butter jar that was full of packages of Planters Peanuts. The knob for the lid of that jar was a large peanut molded as part of the clear gas lid. The counter itself was full of all kinds of cigarettes and tobacco including chewing tobacco, papers and some candy.

At that time Uncle Sarnie had installed a sawdust-burning furnace to heat the house. It had an auger system that moved the sawdust from a hopper into the furnace firebox. I haven’t seen another one of those. Oil burning barrel stove that he had built heated the bays of the garage. The barrel was on its side. It looked like an ordinary barrel wood stove, but he had taken and placed a horizontal steel plate about four inches off the bottom inside the stove. Used oil was saved and placed in a five gallon metal pail that hung over the stove with a copper tube running out of the bottom side and inserted through a hole midway on the top of the stove. There was a petcock valve on the tube. A bit of oil would be run into the stove, a rag would be placed under the plate to act as a wick. The oil soaked rag would then be lit. It would then heat the plate, the valve would then be turned so it just let a drop come through and drop onto the heated plate, the oil would then ignite as it hit the plate causing a roar. The oil was free as it came from oil changes.

Later Years

Uncle Sarnie kept his bus business for over fourty years, I think it was in the sixties he gave it up. He had gone for a driving test that he had to do every year, When parking the bus he touched the curb. He decided to give up his bus-driving license at that time. He told me that touching the curb was a sign to him that he was getting older and should give it up, as he was concerned about the children’s safety. He sold the bus business to Ivan Hunt. A few of you should remember driving with Ivan.

In time Uncle Sarn sold his garage business too. During the 80’s he had built a third cottage about half way out the bay at Snug Harbour on your right. He kept busy maintaining landscaping and spending time with his daughter Elinor and his son in law Don Christie and grandchildren Anne, William and Robert who lived at Snug Harbour.

Uncle Sarnie always had a quick wit and was good for a laugh. Near the end he was afflicted with problems with his legs and was confined to bed in Belvedere Home. Aunt Elsie had developed Alzheimer’s and had been placed in a secure area at Belvedere. They initially were allowed to visit each other every day, but they had come to a time where Aunty was wondering so they kept her contained and had not allowed Uncle Sarn to visit. One morning he demanded to see the administrator. He told them he wanted to see a lawyer. When they asked why his reply was. “ I have been married to this woman for over sixty years and now you say I cant see her. I want a divorce.” They suddenly seen the light and Uncle Sarn was allowed to see Aunt Elsie every day. I remember how good I felt when I went in with my wife Rhoda to visit. There was a small-enclosed grass section in the secure area with a bench in the middle of it. Their sat Uncle Sarnie holding Aunt Elsie’s hand the both of them staring off into space. I thought that’s how I want my days to end.

Uncle Sarnie passed in the early spring of 1989. Aunt Elsie passed two years later. They are missed.

Garry Crawford

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                 More Nobel Memories

                 Along The Nobel Road

                                   Part XI

           Some time has passed since I last contributed any stories or memories for your enjoyment. Recent articles I have read have encouraged me to do so. It must be remembered that my memories are mine and although they might not be totally accurate they are as I remember and perceive them.

           I always have to laugh when I think of my mother’s stories. One thing I always believed was that my mother would not lie. However? She lived to be a month short of 95 years and chose to leave on her terms. In her mind, people had started living forever, and she didn’t like it.  She did not retire from nursing until she was 69 yrs. In her later years she did a lot of travelling. She travelled to England where she was born and visited Buckingham Palace and seen the changing of the guard. She also went to Rome and visited the Vatican square and seen the Pope address his flock from his balcony. She travelled to many other countries as well. I remember one day, after retiring she told me she would really like to travel but did not want to spend her money. My reply to her was: No don’t travel, save your money because when you pass Deane and I are going to have a ball. For some reason she started travelling shortly afterwards. The stories kind of changed in the last year or so of her life. She had particular stories that would be triggered by the time of day of some other daily event. The story about visiting Buckingham Palace became when I met the Queen. The trip to Rome involved an audience with the Pope. Now I have long realized that this is normal and happens as we age and when we change the story slightly this is just normal. It is real and true in this storyteller’s mind. So be forewarned. I will be 85 years in just a few months.

                                    Champlain’s Cup

            Both Nobel and Parry Sound lie within McDougall Township. There are so many historical things that have happened here that we are all part of. One story that my dad first told me about involved the Little family who had a farm in McDougall Township off the Hurdville Road. There are many of their descendants living in McDougall and Mckellar and Carling Townships to this day. The old Little farm was located on Trout Lake. It was part of the old Portage Trails the Natives travelled to and from the Georgian Bay and up the Seguin River System. The story as first told to me by my father was that the Little’s had been clearing land when they discovered a cup in the roots of an upturned tree. He referred to the cup as Champlain’s Cup. In years since then I have been told that Nathaniel Little found the cup in 1870, 23 years before my dad was born. It was in the roots of an up-turned tree. It actually was a bronze French apothecary’s mortar weighing 16 Kg. It bore the date 1636. It would appear that the Mortar was left by some travellers, however I think we can pretty easily rule out Samuel Champlain as he lived between August 17,1567 and December 25, 1635.

            It has never been established for sure, just where this Mortar came from, however the following theories have been suggested. The old explorers were known to leave a marker when they discovered a new place or country. The idea was that they could say they were there and could prove it by telling what they had left and where to find it. Such was the case when the astronauts landed on the moon and left the American Flag. As most people realize a mortar and pestle are used to make medicine. There is a mineral in the area that the natives use to grind up and make an ointment to treat skin disease. They passed on many of their secrets to the missionaries. The Missionaries from the Midland area were known to travel up and down the Georgian Bay exploring. One of these persons was a donne’ (a support person to the missionaries), he was a medical doctor from France. His name was Francois Gendron.

The theory was that he either took the mortar with him when he was exploring or retreating from the Iroquois and placed it where it was found.  It is also a known that Father Bre’beuf travelled this area in 1645 and visited an area called Tangouaen, which means “In site of the falls or rapids. The place where the mortar was found was on a portage around a waterfalls.  NOTE: The forgoing theory was copied from the Internet.

            It is said that the Mortar was subsequently purchased from Nathaniel  Little by William Beatty who kept it in their company vault. The Beatty family subsequently placed the mortar in the Canadian Museum of Civilization, across the river from Ottawa. This is a little bit of local history that kind of affects all of us. If you are not a Little and have been in the area any length of time you at least know a Little.

                                          The Lumsden’s

            James Lumsden was one of the original homesteaders to the Township of McDougall. If one looks at the Guide Book & Atlas of Muskoka and Parry Sound Districts dated 1879 and the maps produced by J. Rogers. You will see that most township maps are laid out having an approximate ¼ mile width, in the Township of McDougall. Those along the shore of Georgian Bay have a broken frontage and are laid out having the length in an East West direction. What became the Lumsden Farm consisted of Lots 3,4,5,6 Concession A. Lot No. 3 bears the name D.L.Corbiere, Lot 4 J. Lumsden, Lot 5 D.E. Corbiere, Lot 6 Jas. Lumsden. The abutting lots to the east run with the length to the north and south. Lots 28 & 29 Concession IX bears the name George Hunt.  When I was a very young boy Lots 3 to 6 Concession A were mostly owned by Dave Lumsden, James’s son. While lots 28 & 29 were mostly owned by Arthur Wright. There were some small parcels that were sold to people to build their homes on.

           There is a small cemetery located off Nobel Road just to the south side of the Esso property. It is referred to as the Lumsden Cemetery. To get an idea how these Lumsden lots ownership eventually evolved you have to view these markers. One marker was for James Lumsden died February 15,1875 age 63 years Husband of Elizabeth Corbiere. One marker was for Elizabeth Corbiere died September 24,1897 62 years. One marker was James Lumsden son of Elizabeth and James Lumsden died 18 July 1875 age 17 years. There was one marker for Mary E. Wright wife of J.D. Lumsden born 1861 died 1948. There was no marker for J.D. Lumsden however I remember both J.D. (Dave) Lumsden and his wife Elizabeth. Dave was another son of James Lumsden and Elizabeth Corbiere. Just going by my memory, I believe Dave died around the late forties. I think he also is buried in this cemetery. I remember Elizabeth as a small frail lady who had a very kind heart.

            I was told that Elizabeth was a sister to Art Wright who owned the farm at the edge of Portage Lake. Art’s house and farm buildings were located to the east of the side road that ran behind the Esso and Tim Horton’s. This was the original road as shown on the old township of McDougall map. Art’s house was approximately where Gary Barager’s house is now. I have faint memories of Art Wright, as being a small wiry man. I don’t remember his wife, although I know my parents talked kindly about her. Art Wright had three fields that he worked. One was between Nobel Road and the old side road where the Esso and Tim Horton’s and the Motel were later situated. One was to the east of the original side road that ran behind the Municipal buildings and Pineridge Drive. It was parallel to the road on the east side down His third field was behind where Gary Barager’s house was a short road towards the water.

           In about 1932 my Dad, Sid Crawford purchased five acres from Dave Lumsden. This parcel of land was bound by the old Nobel Road, which lies behind the Municipal buildings on the east, Pineridge Drive on the north, the extension road that lined up with Hammel Ave on the west and the present road going into the Township Office. Highway 69 now Nobel Road cut across this property at an angle on the front corner. Dad built the house that is presently occupied by Lemore Johnston in 1932. There was a summer kitchen on the back of our house. (A shed that was used to cook in when we had warm summer weather.) The kitchen stove was wood heated and had one of those warming closets on top and a tank you filled with water on the right side, It was a Findlay.

           I remember the stove well due to a life lesson. One time we were having supper in the dining room. We were served blue berry pie for desert. I think I got it in my head that my brother Deane got a bigger piece of pie than I. At any rate I left the table in anger, stormed out of the house and slammed the door. It was obviously too hard, because the 2’x 2’ glass that was in the upper part of the door kept on going and fell in many pieces all over the kitchen floor.

           Now my mother was the disciplinarian in our house. I think I can count on one hand the number of times my father ever laid a hand on me. This time it was a little different. I heard a loud bellow. GARRY GET BACK IN HERE. I walked back into the house, probably a little sheepishly. I had a smirk on my face. I walked right up to Dad and I guess it was a little too much for him. He hit me on the side of the head with an open hand. I did a flip in the air and ended up on the floor in front of the stove. I was a little shook-up, I looked up and all I could see was FINDLAY, which was stamped below the oven.  (I have attached a photo so you can remember this lesson whenever you see an old wood-burning kitchen stove.) It was about that time I got my wits about me and decided I had better leave for a time. I write this with tongue in cheek and take full responsibility. I have nothing but love for my dad.

           There were two items in that summer kitchen that I remember. One was a coal oil or kerosene stove range. It looked just like the picture I have attached, accept the oil container was clear glass in ours. You would fill the container with oil then turn it upside down into the holder. As you can see there was a little door in the front of the blue chimneys, you would open this door and see a circular wick similar to a lamp wick that you would light. There was a control below the chimney that allowed you to control the wick and thus the heat. I have attached a picture of a stove similar to mothers.

           The second thing I remember being in the summer kitchen was an old galvanized rocker washing machine. Mother would usually put the wood stove on to heat the water for washing. She would take the warm water from the copper boiler on the stove and the boiler in the stove for the washing machine. She used Naptha soap, anything that was particularly stained; she would first give a little scrubbing on the washboard. Then put it in the rocker washer. She had a square of bluing that she quite often put in with the white clothes and sometimes boiled them in the copper boiler. Coloured clothes were done separate to whites. Then the handle was rocked until she felt the clothes were well washed. We had an old hand pump in the kitchen from which mother would get the water, pumping it in from the well in our field. She had a stand, which she would put beside the rocker washer and put a large round galvanized tub on. This would be filled with cold water. Once the washing in the rocker washing machine was complete, she would put the clothes through a wooden wringer that attached to the side of the rocker and dropped the clothes into the tub of cold water. They were then rinsed, put back through the wringer again and were ready to be hung on the line. The clothes line was out behind our woodshed and had a 4’ stand she would climb up on. She still liked to use that in the summer time when she was in her 80’s. In the early years she had clothespins that were made out of a single piece of wood, but she eventually had the modern clothespins with a spring in them. I have attached a picture of a rocker washing machine similar to mothers.

           Around 1946 father and mother decided to put an addition on the back of the house to replace the summer kitchen. Dad had been a teamster prior to his marriage. He had started working in the logging camps when he was 14 and had made at least ten seasonal trips out west on the Harvest Train. He loved horses and was a friend of Dave Lumsden who had a couple of teams of horses. Dad would quite often look after these animals. He borrowed one of Dave Lumsden’s teams and a scraper. I have a very clear memory of his digging out a hole for the basement of that addition. I have found a picture of a horse drawn scraper that was similar to the one Dad used and have attached it. The one in the picture is missing the handles, which would be in the round tubes you can see in the picture. The teamster would have the reins to the horses crossed behind his neck, one hand controlling each of the handles. He would have the horses move forward with audio messages. Gidup, ( I don’t remember ever hearing get up.) haw or gee, being left or right. He would lift on the handles causing the scraper to dig in and fill the scrapper. He would then push back down on the handles as they moved forward stopping the scrapper from digging in. The horses would move forward or out of the hole where the teamster would give a lift upwards on the handles causing the scrapper to dig in, flip and dump the load of earth. The teamster would then drive the team around in a circle and take the next load of earth out. Dad eventually completed pouring the basement walls and floor. He was raised on a farm in Hurdville and was a rough carpenter. Dad then proceeded to build a story and a half addition that matched the front part of the house. I remember I was around ten that year. I was helping Dad put the shingles on the roof. The second story had a hip type roof at the ceiling line of the first floor, then a vertical wall and the main roof about four feet above that. I was laying shingles on the top roof and Dad was finishing up the hip about a 4’ drop below me. I suddenly started to slide, fell off the upper roof down to the roof that Dad was working on. I just had a pair of pants on but no shirt. As I slid past Dad and went over the edge, he reached out quickly and locked his fingers into the soft flesh of my lower side. I continued off the roof and he held on. I remember hanging there squealing like a pig, for a second or so before he lifted me back up to the level he was at. Dad calmed me down and we continued laying the shingles. Dad proceeded to finish the house then built a complete set of kitchen cupboards without any power tools. In later years when I thought back I was always so proud of him, you see he only had grade three education. His father passed when he was very young and he had six siblings. He assumed the father figure and was the last to marry. He was able to earn his third class Stationary Engineer’s papers and obtained a job in the Power House at CIL, where he worked for 24 years.  The biggest regret I have to this day is that I never really expressed to him how very proud I was of what he accomplished in his life. He passed in 1967.

           I have attached a picture of my mother and father’s house as it sits today. I am afraid I got a little carried away on my story and will have to continue my memories of the Lumsden’s in my next submission Part XII.

           Anyone wishing to read my previous submissions can find them at the following URL:  <https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com>

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                                                     Part X

                    More Nobel Memories Along The Nobel Road

     The attached picture represents a Sunday School class on the steps of the United Church at Nobel; around 1944. I don’t remember all of those in the picture but a good number. In the front row left to right beginning with the fellow buttoning his hat, is Garry (Guy) Mace, Dean Simpson and yours truly Garry Crawford. These were the veterans of the Cow Boy and Indian wars that took place in Lumsden’s Bush during the 1940’s. The particular  battle depicted whether we were a Cowboy or an Indian. These three were noted for getting into a lot of mischief between the ages of 7 to 13. Through my life I was always able to keep track of Guy until his passing a few years ago, but Dean was another story. I never was able to find out what happened to him after the age of 13 or so. I had heard that at one time he was in the army and stationed at Base Borden where he was supposedly teaching hand to hand combat. This kind of fit with the Dean that I remembered, but all of these 70 years or so since I had last seen him I wondered.

     I guess I should tell a couple of stories so that the reader will understand why I wondered and worried. As a child,  Dean was quite a guy. He was always getting into trouble, he would just about do anything on a dare. The sad thing was he usually got caught. Dean was the son of Stella Lumsden. I know Stella was the adopted daughter of Dave and Elizabeth (Wright) Lumsden. He spent most of his time living with his grandmother and grandfather who lived at the Lumsden farm which was directly across the road from our home. It was later owned by John Vigrass and finally Ivan Mcnaught. I remember as a kid Dean telling me he could remember being at his mom and dad’s wedding and eating a piece of apple pie. It seemed that we three were always together. I remember after Dave Lumsden sold the farm to Vigrass’s they lived in a small house that was behind the Harry Smith house.

     Dean had swiped a box of 44-40 cartridges from his grandfather. Garry, Dean and I went up on that high rock across the pond behind where Richard Buttineau now lives. We started a bonfire then proceeded to throw handfuls of the cartridges into the fire. When they exploded of course the shell went one direction and the slug went the other.  For safety we hid behind a juniper bush. We were having a great time not really realizing the danger, until we heard a very loud gruff voice yelling. It was grandfather Dave. Guy and I scooted off through the bush and headed home. Dean took the punishment.

     There was another time when we were about 8 or 9. It was in the winter. Dean and I had spent all day building a snow fort in our field. After supper Dean and I were in our driveway out near the road having a snow ball fight. The snow was sticky and made really good snowballs. Dean said to me: I am going to throw a snowball at the next car that comes along. I don’t remember exactly what my reply was but most likely was something like okay or whatever you think. Nothing helpful like: don’t do it. Anyway as the next car got a little closer it seemed to slow down a little, Dean let the snowball go. The car stopped, Dean ran, I headed up the driveway into our house. I remember hurriedly hanging up my clothes then heading upstairs to my bedroom. A short time later I could hear a knock at our door. Mother answered the door and then she called me. Garry there is someone down here that wants to talk to you. I crept down stairs and walked out into the kitchen. There right in our kitchen stood the biggest policeman I had ever seen, he must have been 12 feet tall. He had a very serious look on his face and he had snow on his collar and shoulder. It was Constable Cec Dean of the OPP.  He told my mother and dad that he was on the passenger side of the police car when he notice two kids standing close to the pavement. As they drove up he rolled down the window intending to tell us not to play so close to the road. As they got close, pow, he was hit in the side of the head with a snowball. I was quick to defend my buddy. I said something like: It was not me, it was not me, it was Dean Simpson. I remember getting a lecture from Constable Dean, that was fully backed by both my mother and father. Then being grounded for quite a while. They never did follow up with Dean, but I found out later that he got in trouble at home anyway, because he never got home until ll oclock that night. He had hidden in our snow fort. At any rate that’s how life seem to go for Dean. He usually got caught and he usually was blamed. I knew that Guy Mace had followed me into the Lands and Forest and spent his working life with them. I had worked at various jobs until I was married and had then settled down and joined the OPP. Years later while stationed at Huntsville, Ontario I met and was talking to Fred Dean who was on the OPP and stationed at Bracebridge. I told him about the episode with the snowball and his dad.

     I never was able to find out what happened to my old chum Dean Simpson. I always wondered was he in jail because of his free spirit and always getting caught. What had happened to him. Then on facebook one day I seen where a Chuck Simpson had commented on a posting from Parry Sound. The name rung a bell. I made contact with him and also did a search on google. It turned out that Dean had moved to Saskatchewan after a time in the army. He had met a wonderful woman had a family and a full life. The sad part was he had passed before I was able to make contact. May he rest in peace. I am attaching his obituary for those other friends to remember. I wish his family well and am happy they knew such a good person.

Simpson

Dean Alexander

Date of death:

Tuesday December 8, 2015

source

The Star Phoenix, Saskatoon, SK

2015-12-12

Simpson, Dean Alexander March 17, 1936 - December 8, 2015 It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of our dear father and beloved husband, Dean Alexander Simpson. Dean passed away peacefully with his family by his side on December 8, 2015 at 79 years of age. He is lovingly remembered and will be dearly missed by his wife of 55 years Lorna (nee Heppner), daughters Jackie (Murray) Wankel, Michele Simpson and Tracy (Troy) Harkot, grandchildren Courtney (Keith), James, Branden, Brooklyn, Hayden and Rhett. He is also survived by his sister Dianne and brother Chuck (Julie). Dean spent 7 years in the Army and was stationed in Germany for 2 years where he enjoyed travelling and exploring Europe. In the winter of 1959 he moved to Saskatoon where he met and married Lorna and started his 33 year career as a signal maintainer for CN Rail. Dean enjoyed spending time with family, golfing, curling, bowling, playing softball, playing cards, singing and playing guitar and spending time at the cabin at Turtle Lake. Dean enjoyed making people laugh, and was loved by all who knew him. As per Dean's request, no service will be held. The family would like to express their sincere gratitude to the Palliative Home Care nurses and St. Paul's Emergency nursing staff that provided exceptional care for Dean. Donations can be made to the Canadian Lung Association or the Heart and Stroke Foundation of Canada. Arrangements are entrusted to Mourning Glory Funeral and Cremation Services. Published in The Star Phoenix on Dec. 12, 2015

Note: Previous stories are filed under <[email protected]>

Nobel Sunday School Class 1944 - Dean Simpson

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[nobelmemories]

                                                 PART IX 

                  More Nobel Memories – Along the Nobel Road

    I have not submitted any articles for some time now, but being as our local health team have made me a little more mobile, plus I had another visit with my best friend Mauri Harrison I thought I would tell a few more stories.

     Mauri is pushing towards 90 now, but his wit and stories remain intact, although as you can see in the attached photo our hair is a little whiter. He reminded me of the entertainment we had during the years of our youth. We did not have TV. We did have radio. Most people had a battery radio. The battery life was limited. I know at our house, mother made up a schedule. We knew what time the Happy Gang ,  Green Hornet, the Lone Ranger, Boston Blackie, Big Town, the news and many others favorites came on. That’s when the radio was turned on. We were lucky, Uncle Sarnie had a battery charging service at his Nobel Service Station. He would charge our battery for free. We still had to disconnect and transport the old six volt car battery to his place, have it charged and then reconnect to the radio.

    We had shinny games on a pond, a lake or sometimes the old side road. (Hammel Avenue.) I can still hear the familiar call from one of the members of our group.

CAR ! We would grab our goal post boots and whatever else was obstructing the roadway and rush to the side of the road. Usually we got an ooga and wave as the car went by. Tobogganing and skating parties were often held at the old Golf Course or on Portage Lake. These would often be carried on late into the evening and involve as many as twenty kids. We would gather a big pile of wood and have a big fire burning. We had some pretty good ski hills and always had a jump that one of the foolish boys would go over with a toboggan. (Now I wonder why I have a bad back) LOL

    Outdoor summer time entertainment usually involved a lot of swimming, boating, fishing and of course golf. Most of the boys were caddies at the old golf course. We charged 75 cents for 9 holes and for those learning the game, we would teach them. Blanche Harvey kept us in line and entertained us with board games to keep us around when we were needed.    

                                                         Deer Stories

    Mauri reminded me of one form of entertainment that I had forgotten about. It was story telling. Smile! He started out by stating the young people now, don’t know how to tell a story. When we were young, most of the men and some women took a week or two off every fall to go deer hunting. They would hunt during the day and at night gather in their homes or more importantly the hunting camp and tell stories about their hunting experiences. Those experiences were often like stories of the fish that got away. If the listeners were not present at the happening, you could make the buck as big or the shot as fantastic as you wanted to. Each day of the hunt would develop another story to tell. It just wasn’t about the meat. Those stories would continue until the next hunting season and be told over and over again. I can remember as a small child visiting with Uncle Herman Rosewell or Uncle Elmer Sly and my dad and they would exchange stories all evening. I would sit on the floor and make every step of the hunt with them. These stories are still told by the old timers today. One of the longest story tellers was Norm Knechtell. Norm would tell you about every stump, boulder, tree and creek you crossed before he ever got to the punch line. I must have enjoyed them though as I still remember. I can still hear Oscar Mace who was one of the best hunters and story tellers, I ever hunted with .te Oscar came from Sutton West Virginia and never lost his mountain accent.  One time Oscar, Harry Calow, my brother Deane and a couple of others were hunting up the West Branch Road north of Webbwood, Ontario. They had drove up to about the six mile then headed in towards May Lake. In doing so they had to cross McGilveray Creek on a big pine log. Harry had an old hound called Sally. Well they hunted all day and were returning to their vehicles that night. I think everyone had crossed the creek accept Harry and Sally. Harry got half way across the log, Sally decided that she wanted to cross at the same time. In doing so poor Sally knocked Harry off the log into  about four feet of water in the creek. If  any of you; knew my Uncle Harry, he had quite a temper. The rest of the crew tried not to laugh, but it came out any ways. Oscar could always tell that story best.

    Mauri told me another story about when his dad, Gord Harrison Sr. was young, he and a fellow named  Jack Ramsay from up Dillon way use to guide for a hunt camp up on Big Wilson Lake. It was quite remote at the time and they use to take a horse in with them on trail somewhere north of the Shawanaga River. The evenings were long and Jack was a really good story teller. He would entertain the hunters with his hunting stories. One night Jack was telling stories and he said: Yep I remember the best days hunting I ever had. I shot 4 deer and 4 bear one morning. One of the guests responded: Jack, there is no doubt you are a pretty good hunter. Jack’s response was quick and simple: Yep and that was before breakfast too!

    My final story is one that I heard when I was about seventeen. I don’t remember whom the hunter was involved, but it happened out in Christie Township. Perhaps someone will remember. Apparently this older hunter was sitting on a rock over looking a large swamp. A dog was chasing a deer around and around in the swamp, but it would not come out.  Apparently the old chap was pretty excited, probably at the point of a severe case of Buck Fever.  Just when the animals were getting closer, he heard a snort behind him. He looked around and a big buck was immediately behind him smelling the rock he was sitting on. The old chap was so startled that he gave a yell and fired his rifle straight in the air. The deer got away.

    Be assured, all of these stories are true. If you wished to see some of my previous ones you can find them at the following U.R.L   <https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com>

[nobelmemories]

                                      Part VIII

     More Nobel Memories – Along The Nobel Road

     I have attached two  photos with this article. The first was given to me by Isabel Little. It is the grade six class for 1947-48 at Nobel Consolidated School. She provided me with the following names: Front L/R – 1. u/k, 2.Bud Foley, 3.Kirwin (Beasaw }Cummings, 4. Reg Lawson, 5.Clair Lamondin, 6. Allan Hancock, 7. Charlie Lamondin, 8. u/k, 9. Howard Schnieder. Middle – 1. Colleen Lamondin, 2. Clara Hoot?, 3. u/k, 4. Annette Little, 5. Isabelle Little, 6. Marilyn Mace, 7. Connie Bates, 8. u/k, 9. U/k, 10. Mr. Cecil Stevens. Back: 1. u/k, 2. Eleanor Hamilton, 3.Joyce Payne, 4. Muriel Chevrette, 5. u/k, 6. Shirley Hodgson, 7. Muriel Hodgson, 8. u/k, 9. u/k, 10. u/k. If anyone recognizes the U/k, please let me know. The second picture is of the whole school for years 1939 – 40 The only one I will identify is Miss Ruby Cook on the far right. I do know many of them, I think the youngest living one would be 79 years of age. Many have passed on but this is their and our history.

       I thought I would start to nights article with what I could remember in and around the Nobel Consolidated School back in the 1940’s.

     I should have started school in 1942, however because of the large influx of families that worked at DIL and CIL, the schools were crowded and they had to make a cutoff date for the grade one pupils at the first day of September. My birthday was on the 24th of September before I was age six. So I had to wait until 1943. I remember the excitement on my first day, the first thing was being able to go with my older brother, carrying a lunch pail. We only had to walk out our driveway cross the road and wait in the entrance of Slaught’s Road. Sure enough along came Uncle Sarnies fat bus it stopped and picked us up. I am not sure who was driving but think it was Ken Scott. The bus seats were not like a modern bus. They were just a bench that circled the sides and back of the bus. The front heater worked for cool mornings, but in the really cold months, later on, they had a circular wicked Kerosene Heater that was fastened in the middle of the floor towards the back of the bus. Getting back to that first bus ride, I think Ken had previously picked up on the Gagnon’s and the Annette Little on the way to pick us up. We traveled south to Felsman’s road there was usually at least one pickup there. We then turned around and headed back north, the first stop then was at Hunt’s driveway where we picked up Gwen and Ron, the next stop was at Fisher’s where we picked up Helen and Glenna, Jeanette Philips, and I think Alfred Campbell. Then we stopped at the intersection of Nobel Road and Portage Lake Road and picked up a crew there. I remember Guy and Marilyn Mace, Dean Simpson and I think there were a couple of others that first morning. We traveled to the end of Portage Lake Road (now Pineridge) where we picked up Jimmy Scott, I think on the way back out we picked up a Brookland girl and of course Florence Sly. When we got back as far as the Side Road we headed north on it, (now Hammel Ave) We picked up along there following that I can remember: Geraldine Claudney, Shirley & Muriel Hodgins girl, Ron & Muriel Chevrette, Allan Scott, Norma, Louis and Edna Odd, Lawrence and Enid Rosewell, Bob and Wilma Hammel, then Otto Kraus, and I think Monica Mann. I know there were a lot more in the following years and I may have forgotten some or spelled their names wrong, but those are the ones I think I can remember from that first morning of school in 1943.

     On reaching the school we all unloaded and went into the school; girls on the girl's side and boys on the boy's side, as I remember we went to Ms. Ruby Cooks class which was S.E. Corner of the school. As I remember the classroom was all decorated with the ABC’S above the blackboard and there were lots of pretty action pictures of children running and playing. It seems we only had Ms. Cook for a short time then we had a Ms. S.L. Leighton for the remainder of the year. It seems whatever we did that year we were either lined up or holding hands. I remember practicing our ABC’S and I think we started simple math using those tiny sticks that looked like mom’s knitting needles but were brightly coloured. We learned most things by rote, and that continued all through public school. Another thing; I remember was Mrs. Virgo, she was the school nurse. It was always exciting on Vaccination Day. The kids were all lined up some laughing and some crying. Some just had long faces. I have to confess I never got mine at school. You see I had a little problem that never left me until I was fifteen years old. Every time I got a needle I would faint. It did not matter where I was or who it was I would just Keel over. I never did feel scared, one time when I was about fifteen I was working for the Lands and Forests at Parry Sound, I jumped off of a hose ramp and put a nail right through my foot. I had to go for an anti-tetanus needle. The nurse was bathing my foot in a solution of and a disinfectant, she came in with the needle to give me. I explained that I had a problem,  I fainted whenever I got a needle. She laughed and said a big guy like you couldn’t be afraid of a needle. I said I am not afraid I just faint. She laughed and gave me the needle. When I came to I was on the floor, the water was all over and the nurse was in hysterics.  I got my needle at Doctor Applebe’s and he laid me on an examining table before he gave it to me. LOL.

     That first year or two we played a lot of games with both boys and girls participating, such as Hopscotch, Skipping and Red Rover. The year ended in June of 1944 with my receiving a pass. My marks indicated that I was just an average student.

     I started grade two the following September with Ms. Harrison I believe as I do not have that report card. The classroom was on top of the stairs coming from the boy's side, on the left. I seem to remember grade two as being notebooks marked with stars, each star indicated the height of success eg. Silver star honour, red was really good and blue was just good. It seems the teacher had a lot of rubber ink stamps she used too. I remember we had the Lord’s Prayer every morning at commencement and we sang God Save The King and The Maple Leaf Forever. It seems to me that O’Canada came a little later. The other thing I remember was Beverly Hallet, she was just a little girl I had a crush on. I don,t remember her being in school after grade two. Either she moved away or I lost interest. LOL. I seem to remember we did little exercises with drawings or writings as to each day of the week. We also had a little song we sang that went along with the same theme. As an example, Sunday was a rest day and you went to church, Monday was Wash day, Tuesday for ironing, and so on.

     Grade three teacher was Ms. V. J. Edwards.  The school must have been more crowded that year, as I think our classroom was downstairs in what later became the girl's lunchroom. I am not sure whether it was grade two or three we went through a series of readers that were referred to by the colour of the book. There was a red book, a blue book and so on. They were all about Dick and Jane and Spot and Puff. The outdoor play involved a little more afield now. We had that old rock on the north side of the school polished ice in the winter. It was so slippery you had to walk well to the side as someone would come flying down and knock you over. Most kids just slid on their bums, but the odd one would have a piece of cardboard. There were a few split lips and bruises but it didn’t seem to dampen the enthusiasm. I think how the teachers etc. take such care now to see that the children don’t get hurt that this would not be allowed now. One thing I remember often happening in the winter was people getting stuck with their vehicles. Many times I can remember the teachers and even the buses getting stuck and the kids of all ages getting together and pushing the vehicles out of a snow bank. One memory is of Ms. Cook getting her old Terraplane Hudson coupe stuck. She had an electric gear shift in that car that looked like a little toggle switch. It moved to the old H position. Top left was low, bottom left was second, top right was high and bottom right was reverse. At any rate, she would rock the car from reverse to low and depend on which way she was going a group of about ten of us would push. We finally got her going and off she went home. Can you just imagine the liability involved in today's world? I must not forget to mention that 1945 was a very exciting year as we had the end of World war two, our relatives and friends and moms and dads could come home. I well remember being over at Mace’s playing. We had a well-worn path that we kids used in traveling back and forth. It was in May, Dad had burnt the field as he did every year. All of the field was black except for the path which was white. Mrs. Mace must have told us that it was on the radio. I was all excited and ran home across the field shouting the war is over, the war is over. Then in August of that year, we had V J day or Victory over Japan. That night we went into Parry Sound to celebrate. Everyone was congregating up and down the main street, especially at Beatty’s Corner. All of a sudden everyone was talking, there is a fire at Depot Harbour. The men all knew that explosives were stored there. All the families went up to Belvedere Hill and stood on the lawn in front of the Old Belvedere Hotel. We watched the fire across the Sound at Depot Harbour. The explosions would shake the ground. I remember seeing the flames and explosions as stored explosives went off. I can distinctly remember seeing what looked like forty-five-gallon barrels exploding and going up in the air like rockets. It was not until years later that I realized that we were actually in a great danger as if all of the explosives had of exploded at once there would have been a devastating shock wave come right across the sound.

     As most years in Public School I ended up with another average report card, but I did pass. I know I was more interested in other things than school. I got A’s and B’s in everything except Workbooks which only receive a C. No doubt they showed my interest and were all dog-eared and messy. I look at the signatures my mother made the cards and feel sorry for her. I am sure she was having thoughts early in my life that I was not University Material. I was passed at the end of the year.

     Grade four was a new excitement as we had the little brown annex as our classroom. It had been moved in on the northwest side of the school to take the overflow. We still used the facilities of the main school but we kind of felt special in our own school. Miss Denholm, Dr. Denholm’s daughter was our teacher. She was very pretty and had a great personality. I think she well thought of by all of the students. I especially remember Bud Foley joining us that year. Bud had been out of school for a long time with Polio. He was just learning to walk properly again with the use of a brace. It was a new experience for most of us as we only seen people in that situation at a distance. Now here was a person that was just the same as the rest of us accept he had a little handicap. I say little because it was not long before Bud showed us that it did not amount to much. He was as active as the rest of us, he just had a little problem and it was not long before he took part in everything the rest of us did with much enthusiasm. Most of the students looked for his companionship. I think Grade four was the year I started slipping down to Uncle Sarnie’s garage on a regular basis at noon hour. There were lots of interesting things going on and Uncle Sarnie would let me help out with the odd jobs and pumping gas. I guess initially I was a bit of a nuisance. I remember Murray Alves working there after he came back from the war. He knew my mother quite well as she had babysat him when he was small. He must have gotten fed up with me as he grabbed hold of me and took a handful of grease and dropped it down my pants. It made quite a mess, but it did not deter my visits. It was not long and Uncle Sarnie would give me a job on weekends and holidays pumping gas and running the front. It was really interesting because someone would come in for gas and they would tell you how many gallons they wanted. You would simply go out and pump a vertical hand pump back and forth until you had the required gallons pumped up in the glass cylinder on top of the tank. Then you would insert the hose nozzle into their gas tank pipe and dispense the gas through gravity. In those days the cars burnt a lot more oil. So you would almost always check their oil, depending on how much oil they required, you would go to the back room at the garage. There were a number of glass oil jars with a long spout on them. I think there were both quarts and pints. I would unscrew the long tapered spouts, then depend on what grade of oil they wanted to pump the oil into the jar from that grade of the oil tank. The oil could then be drained into the vehicles motor. I don’t remember much about my marks that year but they must have been acceptable as I passed into grade five.

     My teacher in grade five was John McCollough from Pointe au baril. He, in my opinion, was a very good teacher. He always enthused his teachings with personal stories. They usually were ones about happenings around or near the Pointe au baril area. I did not know at the time but learned years later that he had worked with my dad in the bush camps along the Pickerel River chain.

     He was telling a story one day that I have always remembered. He was talking about storytelling and said you have to use your imagination and always be ready to make change where necessary. His story was that a boat captain was navigating out the Pointe au baril harbor one day and there was a passenger standing up in the pilot house with him. The passenger made some remark about the captain seems to know his way around the channel very well. The captain replied: yes I know every rock in this channel! Just then his boat hit a rock and the captain finished his sentence with: except that one.

     I had one bad session in grade five. One of the kids in school was tormenting me a lot and it got to the point I didn’t want to go to school and I had missed a couple of days. The kid would tease and tease me and he could run faster than I could and would just stay ahead of me taunting me. My parents were quite worried about it. My dad got me up about 5 AM one morning and told me we were going for a drive. I remember we drove all up through Carling and dad kept telling me different stories about things that had happened here and there. Many of them involved things that had let him down and how he had worked through them and felt better for it. We drove around for the better part of three hours and we suddenly were back at the school. He opened the door and said: your all right now, away you go. I went to school and everything was alright thereafter. I should add that it also helped that the kid that was tormenting me slipped and I caught him a couple of days later. I have always questioned the way schools handle bullies today. In most cases people have to deal with bullies all of their lives, a good example of that is happening in the U.S.A today. My question is how do children learn to deal with bullies if they are protected all of the time. I think it better to give them the tools both physically and mentally to deal with them. The other thing is how do bullies learn not to be bullies; if they are not made to learn respect and perhaps get a smack on the end of their nose, once and a while.

     In grade five we were starting to get a lot more freedom. I remember one Christmas that myself and three other boys were sent out right after 9AM to cut a room Christmas tree. We headed north behind the United Church. We must have walked close to Nine Mile Lake before we finally found a tree and it was pretty scrawny. We were on our way back and about a mile north of the circle at the end of Hammel Ave. when we met a search party coming to look for us. It was after 3PM. then. Apparently, the teachers had become alarmed and they sent out a search party of volunteers from CIL. In this time period, the poor teacher would probably be fired. My parents were not too concerned as we roamed all over the country anyway and we always came home when it got dark. I thought it was a good lesson in responsibility. We should have thought a little further than just getting a Christmas tree.

     Another memory that comes to mind involved Ronnie Hunt. He and I had come into possession of some tobacco. We climbed the fence on the west side of the school grounds, made ourselves comfortable in a patch of Hazel brush. We had hollowed out some acorns and fitted them with hollow straws to make pipes. I don’t know just what happened, but we must have left our pipes on the ground when we finished. It was not long after we left that the bush was on fire. They had a firefighting crew come from the plant and put the fire out. Whether they found our pipes or what I didn’t find out, but we were not back in class very long before they started calling the boys to the Principals Office, one class at a time. I realized what was going on when they marched our grade, five class, up. I had my tobacco wrapped in a folded piece of paper. As I passed the boys' lunchroom door I threw it in the little nook at the bottom of the stairs. We arrived in the Principals Office and Mr. Dunk had us all line up facing him, then pull our pockets inside out. Ronnie was standing right beside me. When he emptied his pockets, his loose tobacco fell on the floor. Harold Dunk was the best one to give you the strap. He would have you stick out your hand then he would reach out and hold you by the wrist of that hand with his fingers down. For those of you that never got the strap: It is made of rubber and coated fiber about 1 ½”x 14”, it actually looks about three times as big if you are on the receiving end.  Mr. Dunk held you in that manner so that you could not pull away and make him miss and also so that he would not hit your wrist and cause a cut etc. He would give you the first whack then lecture you for two minutes when the sting was just about out, he would give you the second one doing the same. Seldom did he give more than three. Some of the other teachers were not so kind, they didn’t hold your wrist and would often hit it, but then sometimes they would hit themselves if you pulled your hand away and then they got really mad! At any rate, Ron got the strap standing there beside the rest of us. There was not even a whimper. I don’t think he even looked at his hand until we were on the way back to our room. He also did not tell on his buddy Garry. Some friend! Aye?

Thanks to the perseverance and patience of Mr. McCollough I managed to pass another year and was ready and anxious for grade six the following September.

     I had C.W. Stephens for both grades six and seven. In my opinion, Cecil was an excellent teacher. He got all of the kids participating and sparked an interest in science. For the first time in school, I started getting some marks in the mid and high 80’s. I remember also I still had time to get into a little trouble. The first year in grade six I think it was he was teaching penmanship. In those days ballpoint pens were just coming into use, but we were not allowed to use them initially. We were taught to write with straight pins, the old quill type pens. They were like a tapered pencil with a band on the big end that you inserted a metal quill tip. The tip was inserted into a bottle of ink and you would write with that. The ink and some of the quills were made by the Parker Pen Company. They also made what we called fountain pens. These had a little bladder in them, you would insert the tip into a bottle of ink and work a little lever that pressed on the bladder, removing the air. When you released the pressure it would suck in the ink. These were also made by Parker, Sheaffeur and company name that sounded something like Waterman.

      I especially remember one day in Mr. Stevens class I was pestering Barbara Burridge. She had beautiful long braids. I probably gave them a little tug. At any rate, she had enough. I don’t know whether she had her straight pen in her hand or just grabbed it by the top, but she turned and she threw it at me as hard as she could. I saw it coming and ducked. The pen went over my back and stuck in the back seat rest just like a dart. It quivered and made a vibrating sound. I think I kind of chuckled, but I left Barbara alone after that. Sorry, Barb.

     Mr. Stevens would quite often have a little contest in order to get you to learn something. We taught a lot about our native birds. Their habitat, description, their songs etc. One time he had a contest to see who could memorize the most native birds and give their call. I won that contest and I think there was a cash prize. One of the birds was the Ovenbird and its call is Teacher- teacher- teacher. It is a little brown bird that is seldom seen but often heard. I don’t know how many times I have surprised someone by identifying it for them. The last time I did it was to a retired Principal from Newmarket. I had been known to pull her chain. I saw her a week or two later and she was quite surprised. She said you told me the truth! I was looking in a bird book and it described the bird exactly as you did, call and all. I couldn’t believe it. Lol.Mr. Stevens hung in there and I was finally recommended from grade seven to eight.

     Grade eight was taught by Harold Dunk. He was also our Principal. He was a really good teacher although his methods were different from Mr.Stevens. He was more of a no-nonsense teacher. He was just what I needed at that time. Sometimes he would say to me Crawford you pound and pound your head against a brick wall and you feel so good when you stop. It suited me because I always seemed to take a different route to reach a solution, so often there is a much more direct and simple way. I always get self-satisfaction out of reaching an answer.

     The last person I need to remember from public school is Mr. Badger our caretaker. I think they call them custodians now. Mr. Badger was a caretaker. He took care of our school and also took care of us. I wish I could go back and shake his hand and that of every teacher I ever had because they deserve a lot of thanks.

     If you wish to view my previous submissions under this title, please go to the following URL: https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com

                                                   Garry Crawford

[nobelmemories]

                                                         Part VII

       More Nobel Memories – Along The Nobel Road

       I am starting tonight’s article back at the Nobel  Ebenezer United Church located at  145 Hammel Ave in Nobel. I have a lot of good memories on looking back through my collectables the first record I found was one of my being enrolled in the Cradle Group in 1937. It is a good thing they issued a certificate as I would not have remembered it, as I was only born in 1936. I know I use to balk at having to get all dressed up for Sunday School every Sunday, but the truth is I kind of enjoyed it. Pretty well all of the neighbor kids went to that Sunday School,

We had quite a time socializing as we walked the two miles. We usually picked up a good number of other kids on the way. There were a lot of adults involved in teaching the various classes. I remember Mr. & Mrs Maule, Mr and Mrs Stevens, Mrs Ketching, Mrs Wondland and there were several others, whose hames  do not come to mind . I am sure my readers will think of them.  

     The younger classes usually involved some colouring  and the older would have their bible assignments and discussions.  Sometime through the year we usually had a picnic. Sometimes they were held in the church grounds and I seem to remember sometimes going to the Nobel beach, which was down the hill from the village circle.

      I remember we would have a hymn sing and we really had some great voices in our group. Two that come to mind are Tom Tristram and Alfred Campbell. I can still hear their deep voices in harmony. I understand Alfred joined a Barber shop group in later life and continued his singing and entertaining for most of his adult life.

     I remember we often took a walk through the cemetery. I would read the stones and try to place the people and wondered what they would have been like. My mother told me a story about Grandmother Calow having twin children that died shortly after they were born. I guess they had some kind of service at home, then Uncle Walter had taken them down to the cemetery and buried them near the fence. Now the fence has four sides and I would wonder where they were, kind of like lost souls. No one knows to this day.

     My Uncle Ralph Crawford was also buried there. He had been working on the old caterpillar snowplow that  they used to plow the Side road, (Hammel Ave) back in the forties. They were working in an old garage that use to be across the road from Ed Hammels place on Hammel Ave. He went to crank start it, it started; it was still in gear and pinned him against the wall of the garage with the blade. He live for a while but got gangrene and died. That was in 1934. I always wondered what he was like. Later when I seen pictures of him as a young man,  I was surprises to see how much he and I looked alike as young men.

     Attendance at Sunday School was voluntary although sometimes I wondered at our house. It seems to me my mother and Dad had other ideas. I don’t remember missing any Sundays. I do remember how proud I was when they issued what they used to call Certificates of Attendance for Scholars. They also use to issue little lapel pins as you reached each new goal. I believe the first one was bronze. The second blue or silver and the last one was gold.

     I have attached several pictures. The first one is the Nobel Church as I remembered it during the 1940’s and early 50’s. The second is a picture of a young fellow back in the 40’s all dressed in his best on his way to Sunday School. The third is a picture of certificate of attendance that I received in 1943. The final one is of the three pins I still treasure.

     Looking back I am thankful to my parents, our neighbours, relatives and especially our Sunday School teachers who volunteered their time and helped us to understand that each of us must know right from wrong and develop a set of morals that more or less follow the ten commandants. I also do not believe that the people who do not go to a church have no morals. They can be learned in many ways. I am not saying that our church or our religion are the only ones that can do this. I do believe strongly that to survive in this world, these morals must be learned.

      If you wish to view my previous submissions under this title, please go to the following URL: https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com

                                                   Garry Crawford

[nobelmemories]

                                           Part VI

      More Nobel Memories – Along The Nobel Road

     I have inserted two photographs. The first being the Hammel homestead as it is today, the second is of the homesteaders William James “Billy” Hammel and his wife Jessman “ Emily” Hailstone and their three daughters. Elizabeth, Berta, Mable.  The two boys Charlie and Gordon were not in the Photograph.

           My starting point for this session is the laneway that runs from present day Nobel Rd to Hammel Avenue. I think we use to call it Cecs Lane.  As most  of the old timers know the confectionary store located there was owned by Cec Mayotte. Pretty well everything in that part of Nobel was supplied by Cec’s Confectionary. Cec was a shrewd business man business man and had his hand in many ventures. He was also an excellent dry wall and plasterer.  His companion was Dot Edwards who usually could be found behind the counter in the Confectionary store.  Dot had two boys that I remember Jimmy was the oldest and Reg a year or two younger. Reg was a likeable sort and was involved in hockey and other sports. I never chummed with Reg, but we often would be in the same crowds and spoke often. The last time I seen Reg was about 1952 or 53. In 1979 I was on the OPP stationed at Wawa Ontario. I was acting Detachment Commander at the time. One weekend we received a call that an airplane had crashed on Midgin Lake about 25 miles south east of Wawa. This was a fly in lake about ten miles off the Highway. I sent a Constable down to investigate with instructions to call me and fill me in when he returned. About six hours later I received the call from the Constable, he filled me in on his investigation and the notifications he had made. Then he informed me that the pilot knew me and wanted to talk to me. The Pilot came on the phone and it was Reg Edwards. It turned out that he had screwed up and did several things wrong which led to the crash but the good thing was he and his three passengers were not hurt. Before he hung up he said to me Garry I have always remembered something you told me about girls. He never did tell me just what I had told him, but I have always wondered what great piece of advice it was. I have been married for almost 59 years and my wife Rhoda will tell you that I still don’t understand women. Can you just imagine, it was something I said to him when I was 15 or 16 years old and he remembered it for another 27 years?

     Now Jimmy Edwards was tarred with a different brush. He taught me a lesson which I have never forgotten.  Jimmy had a reputation for being a bit of a bully and a dirty fighter. One night at the High School I picked a fight with him. I thought I was going to teach him a lesson. Jimmy was a pretty good boxer but I thought I could handle that part. Anyway we sparred around a little bit and I was planning on giving him an Elephant Fling. It is a wrestling move where you grab the opponent’s right wrist with your left hand, put your right hand under his left armpit, pull, lift and twist.

If done properly, he goes up in the air does a summersault and lands on his back. It usually ends the fight. I was dancing around with my right fist cocked and my left hand open. Jimmy threw a right heading for my nose and I blocked it with my open left hand. His fist struck my hand where the joint is that joins your thumb to your hand. I did not realize what had happened, but my thumb joint was suddenly in the palm of my hand. I made a fist and struck him with my left hand and suddenly was on my knees with the pain. Jimmy stopped fighting, took one look and said you better get to a doctor. Now if he had been a dirty fighter, he certainly had me at a disadvantage. So the lesson learned was never ever pick a fight. When you lose it is double embarrassing. Don’t say someone is a dirty fighter unless you can prove it. By the way it took three doctors to put the thumb back into place.

     Moving on west on Hammel Ave from Cec’s Lane was the Galipeau’s. Alex and Nora were the parents, and I remember Roger and Milly as being two of the children. Roger was a little younger than I, but was always happy and friendly. Roger became a very good hockey player and was quite successful as a teacher and a lawyer. I did not know this but stumbled onto the fact that he was inducted into the Bobby Orr Hall of fame in 2010. Anyone querying his name will see just how successful he was. Sadly he passed to Cancer in 1997. He certainly came from humble beginnings at Nobel and reading his story will make any local person proud.

     I know there were more houses as we travelled on west on Hammel Ave., but I don’t remember who they were. I do remember a certain maple tree as you start down the hill on the north side of the road. It came up out of the ground and hooked to the right like a chair back. As a young boy I went to the Nobel United Church Sunday School and I seldom walked by that I did not stop and admire that tree. That was close to 72 years ago and the tree is still there, just grown closer to the ground. Speaking of Sunday School, how many of you older people still have your pins for perfect  attendance. I have both the silver and gold ones.

     The next place I remember from the 1940’s is the Hammel Place. It is presently located at 125 Hammel Ave. and is occupied by my friends Bob & Isabel Hammel. In the 1940’s it was occupied by Ed & Maggie Hammel. Ed was a Master Mechanic at DIL during the war. He was well respected for his work both at DIL and his shop which was located just west of his house at the edge of the road.

     I remember when I was eight or nine years old. My Dad had a 1928 Chevrolet. It had a crack about 10” long in the front fender. The metal in those fenders was quite thick. Dad took me with him and we drove up to Ed’s to get it welded. Ed took the wheel off and welded the fender from the underside. It’s not everyone who can do overhead welding. Ed’s weld was a thing of beauty, every bead was like a wishbone, all neat and in a perfect row. They put the wheel back on and Dad was on his knee’s looking at the weld. He could not resist reaching up and touching it. He quickly pulled back his hand and stood up and I noticed he put his hand in his pocket. He thanked Ed and paid him for the job and we left. As we were driving down the road, Dad lifted up his hand and looked at his fingers. The skin was burnt off the tips of three of them. I said that must hurt, Dad said: when you do something stupid you don’t advertise it! I often thought of that in later years when I likewise did something stupid. Ed’s shop was something very special even compared with shops of today. He had just about ever tool you could imagine. There was grinders, saws, drill presses, lathes and more. The fascinating thing was that they were all driven by an old gasoline hit and miss motor. A series of belts and pulleys were distributed around the shop so they could all be engaged as they were needed using the same drive source.

     In later years I worked at Stanrock Mine during the uranium boom at ELLIOT Lake and also spent a few years working as a Lead Burner at the Sulphuric acid plant at Cutler. It did not seem to matter where I went in the north I would run across someone who had worked with or knew of Ed Hammel.

     I remember my Uncle Harry telling me that when he worked with him, Ed developed a way to successfully weld cast iron. He built a small furnace that he could preheat the cast iron, then lift up the top, lean in and weld it while it was still hot. This prevented it from cracking as it cooled.

◦                It was sad, years later that I learned that old age did not treat him well. He developed memory problems. He had walked the land behind his farm most of his life. He first got turned around on the rocks behind his farm and was found I believe on Hwy 124 near Waubamic. Sometime later he walked in the same area, but never was found. Many people have searched the area hoping to find his remains. At one time the Canadian Army had a search for him. To date all searches have been unsuccessful.

     Ed & Maggie had two daughters, Isabel & Beryl. I think in the 40’s Beryl lived in the house that was located between their shop and their house. The thing I remember is that there was a very tasty crabapple tree beside Beryl’s house that the kids from the school would visit quite often. This resulted in an announcement being made at school that the Apple tree was on private property and we were not to pick the apples. I think it helped, Some!

     I recently visited Bob and Isabel Hammel nee Gougeon and learned some very interesting information. I am not sure whether Hammel Ave., is named after Ed or just the family, either way it is well deserved. To begin with six generations of Hammel.s have lived on that property. The first generation began with the marriage of Willam James “Billy” Hammel and Emily Hailstone. I am assuming that this took place in the early 1880’s. I am told there were three girls and two boy as a result of this union. I only learned of the name of one of the girls, who was named Mable. The boys were Charlie and ED. These were second generation. Charlie and Ena nee Fenton had two boys, Gordon and Jim. Ed and Maggie had two girls, Isabel and Beryl. These were third generation. Gordon and Agnes nee Thompson had a boy, Bob and a girl Wilma, these were fourth generation. Bob and Isabel nee Gougeon had a boy Chuck, fifth generation and finally Chuck had a boy Cameron who would be the sixth generation. The Hammel’s have continued to contribute to the growth of the Municipality for these many years. Gerry Hammel one of Billy Hammel’s grandsons was killed in one of the tow explosions that took place at Nobel. He lost his life in 1940.

     The next home that I remember from the forties is the old United Church Manse. The first name that comes to mind was Tristrams.  The father was the church minister and I remember two boys one was Tom I believe and the older brother was John. John worked for a number of years in the carpenter trade. I remember the old Shebeshekong Church that my mother and dad were married in was located on the right hand side of Hwy 559 just before the hill that Hare’s road is on. The church was built in 1911. I believe it was during the Easter holiday of 1949 John Tristram and Slim Colberg had taken a contract to tear down the church. They hired me to remove the nails to salvage the boards. I was paid 59 cents and hour. I also was given the old organ which I tore for the wood.

     The last building I remember on what was then called the side road and now Hammel Ave, was the United Church where I went to Sunday school. It did not have the added room on then. The Nobel Consolidated School was there with the old annex beside that I attended grade four in. Then on past the present circle that now ends Hammel Ave was the old brown school. It was situated just about where Avro Arrow road now exists. My mother attended that school in grade eight and said she was taught by Ruby Cook. My brother also attended there and I believe his teacher was a Mr Mendelson. In the 1940’s the side road continued out past the school to Hwy 69 then also called the Nobel Rd.

      If you wish to view my previous submissions under this title, please go to the following URL: https://nobelmemories.tumblr.com

                                                   Garry Crawford