Results for ‘Historical MUSINGS’
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 27 July 1922]
Welland is a young city.
“Quite obvious,” most citizens will rejoin.
Yet why do we call the city young? When will it be old? Is the municipality to be in its youth, while the brick of its factories and public buildings reflect the recent touches of the workmen? Is it to be known as old, when these same buildings are darkened with age and weather beaten by the passages of time? Shall we say that London, Paris and Rome are old; that New York, Chicago and Montreal are middle aged; and that such places as Brantford, Niagara Falls, Chatham and Welland are young?
Rather an interesting way to determine the age of a city is suggested in that last issue of the Christian Guardian, where Arthur Barner deals with old age and human beings. He says:
“Old age is a psychological, rather than a physical matter. The division is made in words, “Your young men shall see visions, your old men shall dream dreams.” If we can extend the period of vision until we cross the river, we shall never really grow old. The forward look keeps people young, in spite of physical ailment and weight of years.”
What Mr. Barner says of men may well be applied to cities. Welland is not young merely because a few years have passed since its incorporation. It is in its youth because its citizens are planning for the future, because those who are at present guiding its destiny see visions of a larger, more useful community. Just so long as the future generations keep a vision of something better before them, so long will the city stay youthful and vigorous.
May we never grow old!
Today’s Boys are Missing Something Their Fathers Enjoyed
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 15 November 1923]
“Dad, what was a livery stable?”
Maybe this question had never fallen upon your ears, but it is a very possible query these days from your small son; and it marks the passing of an institution, both equine and social, that may have played no small part in your own boyhood days if you are far enough along on life’s journey to rank as one of the old-timers.
The livery stable is passing, if it has not already passed; which statement is corroborated by the last issue of the Welland city directory, in which but one such enterprise is listed.
Gone is White’s, where once all the latest stories, slang and general news of the world were wont to be told and discussed-around the stove in the copy office when chill winter held Welland in his grasp, and in back-tilted chairs within the hospitable doors when summer’s heat lay heavy upon Main street.
And there was more than one rendezvous of the sort in the then town, for, if memory serves alright, the Dexter House, the Mansion House (now gone, alas!), the Commercial Hotel and the present hostel where Harry Rice once reigned, all boasted similar appurtenances; where kindred spirits foregathered to “set and filloserphise.”
And, when you were a small boy, you liked nothing better than to peer in upon those gatherings, getting a bit of their observations, perhaps, and maybe picking up a few choice cuss words, which, displayed at home, probably led to mother’s performing a drastic operation termed, ‘washing your mouth out with soap” following which, you retired to the woodshed, and longed for the day when you would have attained manhood and be free to rip it off with any of them.
And in those “Days of Real Sport” the air was not contaminated with the odor of gasoline, which you get in passing the garage of today; you had a good stringent whiff of Sabean perfume from the livery, the like of which is not to be had now, and with the olfactory organ of the rising generation will never be pleasantly titillated.
Picturing the livery stable of earlier years, James C. Young, writing in The New York Times, says:
If it was a big stable there was a runway starting not far from the door, which went up to a second floor. It was the immemorial custom to have a row of stalls on each side of the main floor, all whitewashed and kept in order by Jerry and his cohorts. Sometimes the harness hung on nails at the ends of the stalls and there was always a little of straw, oats, and such like on the ground. The main floor in a fair sized stable would hold from thirty to forty horses and away back in the last corner was a box stall when the thump of hoofs and a great champing and snorting proclaimed that the stallion was at home. A brave boy once in a while would crawl up to the lattice work at the top of the stall and look over at the stallion, his fiery eyes shining in the dark. A few chickens ran about the door and got fat off the waste grain. Generally there were plenty of fresh eggs in the hay loft.
But our livery stables are passing, if they have not already passed. The Colonel Taylors of yesterday are pretty old men now, such of them as still hold out against the encroaching automobile. Soon we will have no more livery stables unless something is done to uphold this most typical of institution. But just that much the boyhood of the race will be made poorer.
By
OLIVER UNDERWOOD
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 17 June 1926]
Going back to 1891, which is thirty-five years ago. That may or may not seem a long stretch of time: It all depends. For instance, if you hadn’t happened then, or if you were in the five-year old class or thereabouts, it likely seems a long stretch back. Contrariwise, if you had then been that many years or better in the world yourself, and can remember the things that were happening then, five and thirty years probably does not appear to you as half of a lifetime it does to those who were youngsters then. And it is none too comforting a reflection to realize that is what it really is.
It all depends. Anyway, perhaps a look-back on the Welland of 1891 as presented in the local papers in the merry month of May of that year may be of interest to the old boys and girls and to those who are not so old.
Take for example, the ad of O.H. Garner, in which appears the item: “Boat Tickets, Empress of India, 20 trips, $5.” Safe to assert that this same will bring a thrill of reminiscent joy to many an old-timer, for was it not a great day in one’s young life when one went to Toronto, with father and mother aboard that stately palace of the inland sea?
It was some journey in those days from Welland to Port Dalhousie, for one had to get up in the middle of the night in order to take the 6.41 on the old Grand Trunk.
A long sight better mode on getting to the boat was behind “Old Maud,” with father driving and mother beside him on the buggy seat, most likely with a lunch basket in her lap, while one was packed in between them seated on a now extinct article of furniture known as a hassock, with the top of the dashboard within easy grasping distance whenever Old Maude strutted an unusual burst of speed. If the family were more extensive, the seating arrangements were more complicated, but they always managed to stow all of them in, some way or other. Beats all what a lot of people a buggy could carry when need arose.
And if one were a boy he always went along with father to attend to the important business of putting the horse up for the day, which business usually included tipping the hostler the whole of twenty-five cents, and in some cases, a stop with father in a room in the hotel where there was a long, high counter with a rail along the top and another rail on the floor upon which one could stand for a better view of the beautiful decorations, tastefully worked out in soap upon the large mirror on the wall at the back.
And here was a shirt-sleeved man behind this counter whom father addressed as Eddie or Charley or Old Hoss. And this man would be glad to see father, and would say, “What’ll it be?” and father would answer, “A little Labatts’s and a bottle of pop for the boy.”
Then the man would serve father a large glass of some amber beverage and the boy would be handed a small bottle with a jigger on the top which the man would drive in with a blow from his hand and decant the foaming contents into a glass, and while one quaffed the sarsaparilla or maybe nectar, father would be putting the contents of his glass into him. Then father would order a seegar, first picking a clove or a few grains of coffee from a glass that stood in the middle of the long counter. These he would chew on, carefully wipe off his moustache, and the merry party would rejoin mother who was waiting at the boat, and who always asked where he had been so long. And father would of steer clear of her and mutter something about meeting a man from Pelham; and you would all go aboard the stately Empress and the trip was on.
The Empress of India has gone hence-still cleaving the waters of the upper lakes somewhere; a boat book costs $8 now instead of $5, and you get sixteen rides now instead of the twenty; there is no long drive nor tiresome steam railway trip to Port Dalhousie any more. Everything has changed save O.H. Garner, and he is still selling tickets here, there and everywhere.
Good For What Ailed You
There is another ad of interest, that of W.F. Secord of Welland-“LaGrippe is Here,” and going on to tell that “Thousands of cases have been cured.”
There has been a lot of grippe around in this year of grace, and some of the sufferers might like to get a little of the curative offered in this old-time ad. The name might be mentioned only for the fact that some of the brethren maintained that it is very hard to get nowadays, and if that were also stated it might be read by some who have cracked lips, and it would be sort of mean to make them laugh, for Brother Secord was booming his Red Rye Whiskey.
Strike On
Laborers working on an extension of the raceway at Brown Bros’ mill were offered a raise of 12¢, two cents per day, but struck for a 25-cent boost in pay. Nothing doing on that proposition, however, and by noon a full gang was on the job again, glad to get the extra shilling over and above the one dollar per day they been drawing.
New on the Job Then
W.M. German, M.P., left town to attend to his duties at Ottawa.
Another prominent citizen (then in the making) also left town, Master Harry Cowper, who went for a visit in Toronto. It is not stated whether or not he travelled on a half-fare ticket.
One Tory to Another Tory
After noting the politics of the newcomer, one does not need to be told that it was the Welland Telegraph that handed out the following glad-hand: “The new Conservative newspaper, The Standard of St. Catharines, made its appearance on Tuesday and received a cordial welcome at the hands of the public. It is a well got-up sheet, brim-full of spicy local news and vigorous articles. Nicely printed, neatness displayed in every column, and general healthy appearance, such as has characterized it so far, will make it a welcome daily visitor. The Conservatives of London have long felt the need of a good organ, and now The Standard has appeared, and they should liberally support it and keep it up to the degree of excellence it has started with.”
Evidently, they did and it has; ask J.D. Chaplin, M.P.
Art, or What Have You?
C. Swayze, photographer at Welland, offered cabinet photos at $1.50 per dozen, and for only $8 one might obtain a dozen cabinets and “a life-size picture, framed in an 18×22 inch gilt frame, with moulding three inches wide, very handsome.”
The world has moved upward and onward quite a bit, after all, when one looks back at those activities, anyone willing to take a dare, and go in and ask Walter Dixon to get him out such a job?
Here’s a mean slam at somebody: “Complaints are being made of gentlemen residing on East Main street of allowing their fancy fowls to wander at large to the detriment of the immediate flower beds and lawns.” Chickens would find that a fine grazing ground in these days of the motor car.
Any of the old-time horsemen will testify that Billy always knew how to handle the ribbons, and here is a news item that shows it: “W.J. Best’s horse tried to run away, but by the quick and timely action of its master his mad career was cut short without any damage being done.”
Precursor of the Bob
Wonder what in heck the lower portion of the uniform consisted of? In those days real gents were supposed to blush vividly and look the other way at the exposure of anything above a jane’s shoe, and surely, they could not have worn bloomers. But here’s the item: “A girls’ baseball club is the latest addition to Welland’s sporting fraternity, and it’s the most handsome nine in the district. The club rejoices under the name of the Sunflowers. The members wrangle over strikes, fouls, outs etc., and raise the temperature for the umpire, just like a league club. An exhibition game by this club will be a big attraction at the county fair.”
They Had No Bananas Maybe, But-
The following liquor licenses were granted in Welland: J.R. Dowd, W.J. McCoppen, Wm. Earley, G.W. Ramey, J.B. Flynn, J.C. Seglehurst, D. Poole, Brown Bros. and W.F. Secord.
C.H. Reilly had some new lines of gents’ fine congress gaiters.
The business card of W.H. Lowe, carriage painter and agent for sewer pipe, seems to hook up with our present city assessor.
B. Lundy announced the removal of his book and stationery store to the Griffith block, near the postoffice; and it is gratifying to note that he makes a strong play on his stock of Bibles and hymn books.
The Ross Co. then carried a complete line of boots and shoes, and they had just purchased 50 suits of men’s clothing which they offered at $5 a suit.
Most of the Telegraph’s single editorial column is devoted to calling The Tribune this, that and other anent political matters, which were evidently stronger meat then than in these days.
The Pioneer of Boom Fonthill
An item in the correspondence from that up and coming village says: “Mr. John Gore, the ninety-year old furniture merchant, has added baby carriages to his business.”
Social Note from Falls View
“If that poor, hungry, emaciated individual who stole the eatables at the party held in Stamford Temperance Hall last week, will return the basket and plates, no further questions will be asked.”
That is that, but on the other hand, listen to this one from Stevensville: “Mr. Lepper of Thorold will be engaged at the mason trade with us this summer. Mr. Lepper will be an addition to our society’s circle.”
Thorold Challenges the Ancient Egyptians
“Mr. A.W. Butler is to be congratulated upon the excellent manner in which he preserved the body of Joseph P_ for a week, no change being noticeable.”
Port Colborne Troy Knock for W.M.
“Mr. German has been elected not quite two months, and the shipping was never so bad in the spring as at the present time.”
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 6 May 1926]
Letter written in reference to article of 27 April 1926 by Meta Schooley Laws
Editor Tribune and Telegraph
Very interesting and informative are the articles on “Point Abino and Vicinity” contributed to the Tribune and Telegraph by Meta Schooley Laws, I have never seen, nor even been near to Point Abino, but I read these recollections of folk-lore, legend and reminiscences with attention and appreciation.
In the issue of April 27th, the authoress gave a scrap of information about Otway Page. This pioneer of Bertie was a prominent man in his day, but, so far as I know, no comprehensive biography or sketch of his career has ever been published. He is often mentioned in old records, but I did not know until reading this recent reference, that he was once High Sheriff of the Niagara District. I hope that Mrs. Laws will give T. & T. readers some more particulars concerning him.
That was a pretty good story of the Governor drawing to the roadside in the snow and waiting, uncovered, while the funeral passed. I doubt, however, that it was Governor Simcoe. Probably it was one of his successors.
The Governor who had a residence near Niagara Falls was Sir Peregrine Maitland. He bought a large tract of land on the brow of the mountain in Northern Stamford and built a 22-room cottage. The estate was called “Stamford Park.” Governor Maitland left the province in 1828 and the “cottage” was burned some years later. Another house was erected on the grounds, but not on the same site. This was occupied by the late William Henry and was burned in the ‘eighties’. The original gate-ledge of the Governor’s park still stands, though recently much altered. It is on the road from Stamford Village to St. Davids, just where it detours to the west before passing down the ravine. The original iron gates were purchased by Colonel R.W. Leonard and are now at the entrance to the grounds of his residence in St. Catharines.
ERNEST GREEN
By
OLIVER UNDERWOOD
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 16 March 1922]
We hate like sin to tell it, brothers and sisters, and no disloyalty should impute to us for the telling. It is printed here to forestall the possibility of its first getting to that Ananias Sapphira Munchaussen who writes for this paper out there, for it may be imagined how the tale would then be magnified and distorted.
A resident of this neck of the wood who is in California for the winter, writes that one day near the Southern Pacific station in San Francisco he was asked for a direction by a passing stranger, who it developed in the course of the conversation, was from Montreal.
Our friend of course gladly announced that he was from Canada, too, and named Welland as his abiding place. The other Canadian looked rather nonplussed for a moment, following which the light of recognition crossed his features and he delivered this astounding response: “Welland, Welland? Yes, I have heard of it. Let me see, Isn’t it somewhere near Fonthill?”!!!!
Boy, page the Industrial Commissioner!
——
The only redeeming feature about the above is that the Montrealer did not link us up with Dunnville. But then he likely never heard of that place at all, for Montreal is outside of Reneu’s jurisdiction.
——
The magistrate at St. Catharines is assessing Sunday drunks $15, while the fine for this offense on week days is a ten-spot.
This doesn’t seem exactly fair. Were you ever in St. Kitts on a Sunday? What else is there to do?
——
They have landed another industry at Bridgeburg, the Fedders Mfg. Co.
No, they do not make stuffing for pillow ticks; their product belies the name, for they manufacture radiators.
Straws usually show which way the wind blows, but in the case of the industrial breeze at Bridgeburg, it seems to be Fedders.
Congratulations to the border burg. And it will mean more people to come to Welland when they want to get a really safe distance away from the U.S.A.
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 27 June 1922]
The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, Limited
Louis Blake Duff, Editor
One summer day nearly sixty years ago a boy hoeing corn on a Crowland farm, reaching the road end of the row, hung his hoe on the rail fence, leaped over into the highway and set out for the Village of Welland.
Jumping the fence Alexander Griffith took an unceremonious farewell to agriculture and made an unpropitious entrance to town life. He hadn’t any capital except his character and his physique. He died last week a wealthy man and an honored citizen.
When he jumped from the cornfield he landed, as may be guessed, on no bed of roses, but on a flinty road, and flinty it proved to be for many miles and years that lay before him. He learned a trade as harness maker and all he ever learned about it was how to make a good harness. Then with a partner, he bought out a business and we have heard him tell how for the first few winters the firm had only one overcoat to its name. When one partner went out the other had to stay in.
His life is closed now and there are some things one can say about it and should say about it, as due his memory. To add a brighter color or to exaggerate would be particularly out of place. He never tried to appear anything he was not, nor shall we do him the dishonor of giving him any garb but the one he wore. He gained his foothold in a hard school and he never acquired any frills, but he had qualities of character that were pure gold. There are fine things one can truthfully say of him. For instance, no man ever had a doubt as to the absolute truth of anything he ever said. No man ever doubted when he had given his word as to whether or not he would keep it in spirit or in letter. No man can point to his long and varied business life, for he dabbled in many fields, and say this deal or that one verged on the shady side. His ethics were like his speech, straight and clear. He could look to the core of a thing, for shrewd thinking was his second self, and his transactions were in terms of dollars and cents.
He knew men by vote, he knew values, he knew always the essentials of a proposal, and upon his judgment in these he was inexorable. Having entered a proposal his regard was to give full measure and that without quibble or subterfuge. Not a few strugglers owe their start to Alexander Griffith and bless his memory today. He was never a hard taskmaster to the man who wanted to play fair. Insincerity, false sentiment, shilly shallying- these were marks for his relentless irony.
He had but one dissipation, and that came from his love of horses. In his day he owned many famous horses. Races had for him a never failing charm.
In his death there is ended a long chapter in the history of Welland-Welland that he saw grow from a village to a city, the Welland to whose business and growth he contributed so much.
By
OLIVER UNDERWOOD
[The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 27 June 1922]
Full twenty years have we known Alex Griffiths, and his passing on leaves a gap in the ranks of the Old Guard of Welland, whose acquaintance we first formed that long ago.
Two incidents in connection with him come to memory. One was that he made the first set of driving harness we owned. That was back in the days when a good roader and a red-wheeled, rubber-tired road wagon or runabout, was the equivalent of today’s six-cylinder car; and if the outfit were topped by a set of Alex Griffiths’ handmade harness, the last word was said. And the fact that this same set is still doing service today is pretty good evidence that he tried to deliver the goods in his dealings with his fellow men.
The other follows later, when a little boy, a two or three year old, would sometimes come to town with daddy. Whenever son saw Alex Griffiths, there arose an enthusiastic shout of greeting, and followed a prompt transfer of the charge of one small boy from us to him.
The two would disappear in the direction of the bridge, there to await the coming of what the small son termed “a bid bote,” from which inspection they would return together, a bag of peanuts, popcorn or candy always in the hands of the small boy, and the two of them manifesting every evidence of having had a mighty good time.
That boy is an older boy today, but he remembers and will always remember the kindness of Alex Griffiths; and, when you come to think it over, a man could not leave a much better monument to his memory than that builded upon the affection of a little child.
..goes a lot further back than twenty years; in fact it is a glimpse of the Merrittville of the 1850’s-“on the corner of West Main and North Main streets stood a long Gothic building, the property of Seeley & Betts. The front of this building contained a store while in the rear were apartments for dwellings. On the opposite corner the late Elias Hoover (sire of D.D. Hoover) kept the Welland house. Across from the store Wm. A. Bald had a dry goods store, and west of that stood his residence. There were no railways, and the canal, which was west of the present one, was content to have its boats hauled through by horse power and tow ropes. Steamboats were few and far between. The bridge over the river was an old wooden structure without a railing. Among the business firms were Daniel McCaw, who did shoemaking; (the business is still conducted under the family name), Mr. Shrigley sold drugs; Wellington Hellems kept a furniture store; Betts & Seeley had a sawmill. There was no jail; no church-an old log school house where model school now stands (later the Y.M.C.A.) served both as church and school and was lighted by tallow candles; oftentimes the members of the congregation bringing their own candles with them. The side walks were either Mother Earth or two planks with a space between them.
20 YEARS AGO
“A new industry will be established in Welland shortly with a capital of $150,000. It will be known as the Welland Tin Plate & Sheet company, limited.”-People’s Press. Yeah
The Welland-Port Colborne Evening Tribune
28 February 1929
A Village Publication Ere Welland Was Named- Merrittsville -a Suburb of Fonthill-Names Known Today and Names Lost to Memory
By
Frank C. Pitkin
II
Page 2 of the Welland Herald, printed at Fonthill and dated September 20, 1855, brings us to the editorials, the sanctum sanctorum of the newspaper of that age as it is of the press of our own day.
But before venturing upon this holy of holies of that dead and gone journalist, A. Dinsmore, editor and proprietor, have pause for another of those times the columns of the paper afford, for the lack of local news and personals referred to in the opening story of its first page marks the sheet throughout, and only the advertising columns reveal names of those who then walked and had their being.
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A Village Publication Ere Welland Was Named- Merrittsville -a Suburb of Fonthill-Names Known Today and Names Lost to Memory
By
Frank C. Pitkin
Let us turn the pages of a newspaper- a paper differing radically from the Tribune and Telegraph you are wont to peruse twice a week.
Its pages reveal no reference to many things that are today found in the columns of the press. There is not a word of telephone or trolleys, the O.T.A. and its presumed alleviator, four point four, find no mention; radio and jazz are subjects not touched upon, nor can a cross-word puzzle be found in any of its corners, and the comic strip is likewise noticeable by its absence.
The title of his paper is The Welland Herald, but Welland as we distinguish it is not noted therein, although reference may be found to Merrittsville, not of the fair province of Ontario but of Canada West.
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