OLD WIVES’ TALES

[History of the Village of Fonthill. 1944]

There was an old Scotchman, James Lay. A tailor. Who lived by himself at the top of the hill and always wore a Scotch cap perched jauntily on his head. At one time Frank Ell, a paperhanger, lived with him. One morning before leaving for work. Frank made a large pan of flour paste for next day’s papering, and set it down cellar to cool. The next day when he went for his paste the pan was empty, and on enquiring of Mr Lay he was told “ That was such an extra fine pudding I ate it all up.’

Another old resident by the name of Sandy Hill. Who lived where the Gadsby’s now reside, was always working in her garden, and would lean on her hoe handle and talk with every passerby, until it came to be a familiar saying that Sandy Hill would die leaning  on her hoe. Sure enough, one morning a villager, missing her greeting looked over the fence and there she was lying on the ground, in her last sleep, still clinging to her old friend, the hoe.

Our earliest settlers had many hardships with which to contend, and the year 1789 was long remembered as the Hungry Year, the people having very little to eat, but what they had they shared with another and survived. The next two years were good ones, but in 1792 a violent hurricane passed over the southwestern portion of the township, levelling all houses in its path, but at the same time up-rooting the trees, thus clearing the roads. A road was afterwards built through this cleared portion from Fonthill to Port Robinson and was named “Hurricane Road.”

On a sunny afternoon in the fall of the year 1854, Jacob Gainer, a farmer living near Welland, was driving over to see a neighbor, Dennis Rice, a great grandfather of Dr Allan Rice, now practising in Welland.

He was  about a mile and a half from the village when he noticed two men crossing a field and climbing a fence a short distance ahead of him. As they walked  toward him he supposed they wanted a ride, but instead, one grabbed the horses’ bridles and the other, holding a gun in Mr Gainer’s side, demanded his money. Fortunately he had bought a horse that morning, paying $100 cash for it. So he had only $25 left. As he passed it over he asked the man why he chose that way of making a living, to which the man  replied “I am a Townsend, and there is $1,000 reward offered for me, so I have to have this money for travelling.” He handed back the pocketbook which has been treasured by the family ever since, and urged Mr Gainer not to say anything about the hold-up, and that he would get his money back.

As soon as the men had gone, Mr Gainer drove furiously into Welland where he gave the alarm, then down the Canal road to Burgar’s Bridge, where they had been seen and on to Port Robinson. Here the men were eating their supper at Jordan’s Hotel. Outside, quite a crowd had gathered, including a constable named Charles Ritchie, and as the two highwaymen stepped out of the hotel, he put his hand on Townsend’s shoulder, declaring him a prisoner. Townsend, however, refusing to be taken, shot and killed Mr Ritchie.

During the excitement which followed, both men escaped by swimming the Chippawa Creek, Townsend making his way to his father’s home in Canboro, where he remained for a time, eventually going across the Border, and some say he went to California.

This particular episode in the life of the outlaw Townsend was recorded by Mrs E.E. Learn, a daughter of Jacob Gainer.

About seventy years ago Fonthill had a Brass Band, which must have been popular, for they had an elaborate Band Wagon drawn by four horses, in which they toured the surrounding country. This wagon had a high seat for the driver, and cushioned seats along the sides, and at the back there was a curved iron rod with a hook at the end on which to hang the ‘Big Bass Drum.’ The whole outfit was well painted.

Geo. A. Hill, John E. Cohoe, an ancestor of Col. Cohoe of Welland, Nathan Randall and Benedict Dentz were among the men who played in the old Fonthill Band.