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Niagara Village News
[Welland Tribune, 23 April 1897]
George Packer’s little child, aged about three years, died suddenly of diphtheria one night last week, and was buried next day. The same family lost a daughter by being killed by the cars some years ago. In their deep affliction Mr. and Mrs. Packer have the sympathy of our people.
Effingham News
[Welland Tribune, 23 April 1897]
Henry Smith, an old and respected resident of this section, passed away last week. Mr. Smith came to St. Johns early in the forties, and was employed in the foundry of that place for years. He was buried in Thorold R.C. cemetery, of which church he was a lifelong member.
Port Colborne News
[Welland Tribune, 23 April 1897]
Residents of this village will be pained to hear of the death of John W. James, who succumbed to an attack of typhoid fever at Rossland, B.C., last month. Mr. James was a member of the staff of engineers engaged here during the canal enlargement, and many warm friends sincerely mourn his death. Deceased was a prominent resident of South Bend, Washington, for several years, and the Herald of that place says: “Too high tribute cannot be paid to the memory of J.W. James. He was a man of noble character, fine integrity and high ability.”
Thorold News
[Welland Tribune, 23 April 1897]
The many friends of Mrs. Matt Henderson learned with regret of the death of her daughter, Clara, at Port Colborne, on Saturday, from that dread disease consumption. The deceased had many warm friends here, where she was born and lived until a year ago. On the death of Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Henderson and daughter moved to Ingersoll, afterwards removing to Connecticut. About a month ago they returned to Port Colborne. The funeral took place on Monday afternoon at 5.30, from the G.T.R. station to Lakeview cemetery. Rev. Dr. Clark conducted the services.
TO JAMES HINDSON, WELLAND, ON HIS BIRTHDAY MARCH 28TH, 1897-BY
WILLIAM HINDSON, PRINCIPAL, DUNNVILLE PUBLIC SCHOOL.
[Welland Tribune, 2 April, 1897]
Dear uncle, as your birthday comes in sight
I feel a strong desire some lines to write.
And, first of all, I wish you health and peace;
From every care God grant you sweet release;
May, He whose love has guarded all your days
Still guide and keep you thorough life’s devious way.
Although the psalmist, with inspired pen,
Has bounded life with three score years and ten,
Yet God in grace has given you seven beside;
And still, we pray, He’ll let you long abide
To cheer us in this world of care and woe,
From which we all must soon or later go.
My fancy’s flight now takes me ‘cross the seas
To Mellguards, nestling ‘neath o’erspreading trees
Where long ago you played, an artless boy.
And found on Petterill’s banks unending joy;
To that dear home you turned your wandering feet,
In winter’s cold and summer’s fervent heat.
Nut Syke, Cross Hill and Southwaite in those days
Were sacred to your merry games and plays,
In Broughton Gill, o’er wooded banks you’d stray,
And while away full many a summer’s day,
Till all the fields and lanes and plantings round
Become familiar and enchanted ground.
Soon came the time when you must go to school
And learn to master many a tedious rule;
That pleasant walk to Hescott oft you took,
With satchel holding dinner, slate and book,
Till perseverance and steadfast will
Conveyed you safe up Learning’s rugged hill.
Methinks I see you crossing Southwaite bridge,
And then ascending, step by step, the ridge;
Past Moorhouse Hill and Tally Ho you wend,
And on to Lingey Moor and Barney Ling ascend;
The turnpike gained, you travel more at ease
Past Toll Bar and the jerry house, Cross Keys.
Ascending still, past Salutation Inn,
Where neighbors met to quaff their ale or gin;
The hoary church and churchyard next you pass
Where all your fathers sleep beneath the grass;
And ere you reach the White Ox tavern grand
The modest school house on your right will stand.
Though many years since you those ways have trod
And schoolmates all may sleep beneath the sod,
Yet memory oft brings up each lovely scene
And views the fields in ever-changing green;
In dreams you have tread the well-known paths once more
And feel life’s joyance as in days of yore.
The vale through which the winding Petterill flowed
Dear lovely vale, your childhood’s first abode,
Is bound to you by many sacred ties.
At every turn a thousand memories rise;
For though in this fair land for years to roam,
We still are exiles yearning for our home.
How grandly rose the peak of Barrock Fell,
O’erlooking river, brook and woodland dell,
And fertile holms of never-fading green,
With winding Petterill flowing fair between, (sweet)
While woods and fields and flowering hedgerows
In wildest beauty and profusion meet.
Our dear loved home, around which mountains
Our picturesque old county, Cumberland, (stand)
Dear land of river, lake and towering fell,
Shall ever in our inmost memories dwell;
And though we tread its smiling fields no more,
We aye shall love it as we did of yore.
[Welland Tribune, 9 April 1897]
Wedding bells have been ringing in our midst. On Monday afternoon a quiet wedding took place at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. A. Welstead, when their daughter, Rose, was married to Price Brown, of Willoughby. The Rev. A.E. De St. Dalmas of Fonthill tied the knot and the newly wedded couple left for their new home in Pelham, followed by the best wishes of their many friends here.
Niagara Falls Town
[Welland Tribune, 9 April 1897]
Mr. Reilly, the blacksmith, Simcoe st., died on Tuesday after a very short illness.
Welland Tribune
2 April 1897
The funeral of J.J. Reilly, blacksmith, who died last week, aged 45, took place at Niagara on Saturday, after service in St. Patrick’s, conducted by Rev. Dominic T. O’Malley. Deceased belonged to the C.M.B.A. and I.O.F., the members of which societies attended the funeral.
Welland Tribune
9 April 1897
Port Colborne News
[Welland Tribune, 9 April 1897]
Mrs. Michael, wife of Edward Michael, died on Monday afternoon after a lingering illness of consumption. The funeral was held yesterday from the house at 9.30, and from thence the body was taken to Sherkston for burial, service being held in the brick church adjoining the cemetery. Rev. W. Morrin conducted the burial service. Deceased leaves a husband, but no family.
Wainfleet News
[Welland Tribune, 9 April 1897]
FATALLY BURNED- Alice Beckett, aged nearly 9 years, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W.H. Beckett, was fatally burned on Wednesday evening of last week, resulting in death the following evening. Between 5 and 6 o’clock in the evening, the little girl and her brother had kindled a fire on the river bank around which to play. While sitting with their backs to the fire the wind blew the flames toward them and the skirt of Alice’s dress was ignited. Naturally the frightened child ran screaming toward the house, 100 yards away with her clothing burning from her body. Her father ran and met her, burning his hands severely in trying to extinguish the flames, and finally ran with the unfortunate child to the river and put out the fire. The little one was not burned about the face, but the heat had penetrated deeply on the back and hips. All possible was done to save her life, but the shock to the nervous system was so severe that recovery was impossible, and twenty-eight hours after the accident death came. The parents have the heartfelt sympathy of the community in their great sorrow. The remains were interred at Dawdy’s cemetery on Sunday, service being conducted at the Fenwick Methodist church by the Rev. J. P. Bell. The funeral was a very large and sympathetic gathering….Mr. and Mrs. Beckett desire to express their heartfelt thanks to friends and neighbors for their kindness and for services rendered during their time of trouble and bereavement.
[Welland Tribune, 9 April 1897]
Now Known as Unity Island
JASON O. THORPE, the giant hermit of Squaw island in the Niagara river, just below International bridge, on the American side, was found dead in his shanty on Sunday morning. Thorpe spent time and money inventing a boat and engine, but on being launched the boat turned upside down and could not be gotten to stay any other way. Disappointed and soured, Thorpe built a hut on Squaw island where he lived alone the past twelve years.