Archive for April, 2021
H.G. Macklem Direct Descendant of Two Pioneer Families
11 YEARS REEVE OF CHIPPAWA
[Welland Tribune, 3 August 1915]
The late Herbert Gay Macklem, who died at his residence, 112 Bedford Road, Toronto, July 29th last, was born at the Village of Chippawa, Ont., August 20th, 1857, eldest son of Jas. F and Adelaide A. Macklem, the former a descendant of James Macklem, of the earliest settlers of the Niagara district-prior to the year 1800, and the latter, the youngest daughter of the late Col. John Crysler of Crysler’s Farm, a battlefield of 1812-1814. H. G. Macklem was educated at Trinity College school. Port Hope, and subsequently resided at the village of Chippawa, representing that municipality as its reeve for eleven consecutive years, during one of which he was elected warden of the County of Welland. He removed to Toronto in 1901, where he resided until his death. He is survived by his widow, second daughter of the late Lewis Ross, formerly of Port Hope, who represented the county of Durham for eleven years in the Dominion Parliament. Two children, a son and a daughter, Herbert, manager of the Imperial Bank, Niagara-on-the-Lake, and Laura; also a brother, and his aged father. Mr. Macklem was a lifelong Conservative.
[The Welland-Port Colborne Evening Tribune, 9 December 1931]
With startling suddenness, the death of Ruby Beatrice Baxter, beloved wife of Thomas Baxter, occurred on Saturday evening at the family residence, 15 Wolseley avenue, St. Catharines. The deceased, who was in her 21st year had been in her usual excellent health and her demise will come as a great shock by her many friends. She had resided in St. Catharines for the past year, formerly living at Copper Cliff, and during her residence here had endeared herself to a large circle of friends. In religion she was a member of the Anglican church. To mourn her passing she leaves beside her sorrowing husband, who at present is confined to bed through critical illness, her father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Robt. *White of Port Colborne, four sisters, Mrs. George Rymar of St. Catharines; Misses Stella, Doris and Helen of Port Colborne, and two brothers, Robert and Clifford of Port Colborne. The funeral took place on Monday afternoon, from her late residence, 15 Wolseley avenue to St. Barnabas church to Victoria Lawn cemetery where interment took place. –Robert Whyte
[Welland Tribune, August 1983]
It’s been 65 years, August 6, 1918 to be exact, since the steel scow or barge lodged in the Niagara River, about ¼ mile above the Horseshoe Falls. The scow to this day remains a mute reminder of near tragedy and a spectacular rescue. Briefly here’s the story.
That steel barge, loaded with rock and with three men aboard, was being towed to the upper river by a Hydro tug, when its tow line boke and set it adrift. One of the men plunged into the river at once, and swam shore. Soon the River’s swift current seized it and carried the clumsy steel craft quickly toward the brink of the Falls. However, the men on board had the presence of mind to open the dumping hatches in the bottom of the craft and thus admitted enough water to go aground.
Frantic efforts were begun to rescue the two stranded me. All that night and until late the next afternoon, attempts were made to devise some means of getting the two men to safety. The only hope was to shoot a line from the roof of the nearby powerhouse and rig a breeches-buoy onto it. After several lines had fallen short, the men were finally able to grasp one and make it fast but before the buoy could be rigged, the lines became tangled, preventing the buoy from reaching the barge.
Red Hill Sr., a famous Niagara River daredevil, volunteered to swing himself out to the obstruction, hand –over- hand above the ragging water. A false move, a broken rope or a sudden lurch of the Scow would have carried him to sudden death. There he clung by his legs while he straightened the lines with a Marlin spike. The breeches-buoy finally reached the scow and the men aboard were rescued.
[Welland Tribune November 8, 1943]
The playground has grown up with weeds
Since youth has gone to war–
And from the benches half concealed,
The cheers are heard no more;
Upon the diamond many games
Were played in days gone by,
The team work learned in hours of sport
Now serves men in the sky;
And brothers, who are still too youngster
To join them in the fray,
Have volunteered for home defense
At close of working day;
They left their games, because some men
Loved greed and power so well
They made this pleaant world of ours
Unsafe in which to dwell.,
The birds are slowly winging home
This peaceful twlight hour–
An unseen hand must guide them
To their nest in tree and tower;
The sun has thrown its golden beams
Into the darkening sky,
A ray of hope, that soon our men
Will homeward march or fly.
Valerie Malcolm Baker
[Welland Tribune November 8, 1943]
She was a plump, good-natured wife
And he a grouch for years;
But they lived quite harmoniously
And seldom were there tears,
In all their married life he had
Just slipped along the way
Without a compliment to her,
Though he had lots to say.
He’d seldom see her new spring hat,
Or notice what she wore;
As long as life went gliding on
The same as years before.
But one fine day he paused to think
A compliment was due–
He thought of all she’s done for him
And what she had been through.
“My dear,” said he, “it’s wonderful,
These grim and anxious days,
To see the way you stand the strain,
It’s worthy of all praise.
You may be stout, and sometimes seem
As frisky as a pup;
But I admire your courage, for
You’ve more chins to keep up!”
William McClure
By Louis Blake Duff
In heaven, when the summer comes,
I shall hang my harp and say,
I am off to walk my garden
At the dawning of the day.
A-weary of jasper walls
Homely flags I’ll walk once more,
A-weary of your purple thrones–
Oh the bench beside my door!
I am off to walk my garden
In the grey and creeping light;
To drink the keen, cool wines of morn
From flagons filled in the night.
I’ll see the quiet day come up
In search of the sleeping lea,
And hear the solemn trees confer
In whispering mystery.
Aloft the locust by the bridge
Her uncounted censers swings;
The brook below in sweet content
Sings of happy wanderings.
Fair Flora in her robes of white
As in summers gone will smile
And wave to me from the hedgerow
When I mount the meadow stile.
And when I mount the meadow stile
I shall know my journey done;
The new heaven far behind me,
And an old one just begun.
O paradise; when summer comes,
I shall hang my harp and say,
I am off to walk my garden
At the dawning of the day.
By Winston E. Ralph March 21, 2021
When ever we are out and driving around
We look for barns and many are found
There are log ones down near Killaloe
But others are a pile of logs with them what do we do
Years ago in the Bancroft area many barns were seen
Now few are left as farming is hard it seems
Some were big while others were small
While everyone had at least six cow stalls
The cattle knew which stall they went to
Bringing them in one at a time you didn’t do
In this area every road had at least three
Now there’s none in operation that I can see
Folks want bacon for breakfast and milk to drink
But these come in with chemicals if you only think
Years ago loose hay was forked from the wagon into the mow
And youngsters tramped it in the dust somehow
After feeding and bedding cattle houses and pigs in the pen
Before going to the house we checked on the hens
There was a track along the rafters to lift the hay
As it wasn’t forked in they done it the easy way
The wagons came in and the fork came down
And with three lifts no hay on the wagon was found
Barn swallows built nests on the rafters up high
Where they were safe and the little ones wouldn’t die
Some barns were built against the side of a hill
So the wagons of hay the mow they could easily fill
These old barns were built back many years ago
And how much snow has fallen on them God only knows
When these barns were built there was a large bee
As many folks in construction pictures that I can see
Some were painted in colors of red white or others
While others were left to fade as their owners didn’t bother
Milking was done by hand but a machine soon took over
But the cows never cared as they ate grain hay and clover
If these barns could talk a good story they would tell
Of those working around and how children did yell
After putting in loose hay people felt it would be better to bale
Its hard to farm among rocks so most of them did fail
This area wasn’t meant to be farmed in a big way
Go to Peterborough or Belleville and you’ll see nice farms I’ll say
Niagara Falls Centre
[Welland Tribune, 4 June 1897]
Edgar G. Chesterman, a young man aged 32 years, died at the home of John R. Lord on Thursday of last week, of consumption. The remains were interred at Fairview cemetery on Saturday last, Rev. Mr. Wilson of Drummond Hill Presbyterian church conducting the service.
[Welland-Port Colborne, 11 April 1934]
Death yesterday (10 April) removed from Welland one of its well-known figures in the person of Andrew Willard Van Alstine, well-known local musician and in business as a barber more than 40 years in the city, who died at his home, 29 Dorothy Street, after a lingering illness.
Mr. Van Alstine had been ill for more than two years. He was born in Crowland township 60 years ago and had lived in the vicinity of Welland most of his life. He was one of the best known fiddlers of the district.
Deceased is survived by his widow (Cora Evelyn Hannah) and one sister, Mrs. Fred Anderson, Buffalo. The funeral will be held on Friday at 2.30 p.m. from the late residence, Dorothy street, to Fonthill Cemetery.
[Welland Tribune, 10 April 1906]
Mrs. Wm. J. Marshall died on Friday last, at her home on St. Davids street, of pneumonia after a few days illness. Deceased was the daughter of late James Grant of Dunnville. A husband and four small children survive to mourn.
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