JOSEPH NESTOROVICH ANNIVERSARY
SALEM-Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Nestorovich of Wellandport, R.R.1 celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary at Wellandport Community Hall, Saturday evening. The three daughters and son were hosts and over 60 guests were present.
They were married in Poland in 1924. The groom’s brothers John from Toronto and Nick from Beamsville and a cousin John Nestorovich from Toronto. Mr. and Mrs. Nestorovich had four daughters, Mary, Mrs. Wm. Kerniky; Nellie, Mrs. Gordon Cavers; Katy, Ms. Howard Climenhaga; Pauline who predeceased them, and one son, John at home.
The table was decorated with a wedding cake in the centre with two tapers in silver candle holders and red and white carnations. A number of beautiful gifts were received. After the wedding supper, dancing was enjoyed by all.
Mr. and Mrs. Howard Climenhaga held a surprise birthday party in honor of their little daughter Pamela at the home of her grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Nestorovich.
Present were Sandra Stayzer, Cathy Stayzer, Eleanor Costello, Julie Coverdale, Susan Hayward, Judy Stayzer, Dorothy Henderson, Mark and Miles Climenaga. A number of gifts were received. Friends assisted Pamela in opening her gifts.
[Welland Tribune, 31 October 1964]
Arthur G. Halstead of 246 Alexandra St. Port Colborne died at his residence last evening in his 46th year.
He was a member of St. James Anglican Church, Port Colborne and a veteran of the Second World War.
Surviving are his wife, Catherine Fraser; three daughters, Joanne, Nancy and Leslie, all at home; one sister, Mrs. Lloyd Goss of Port Colborne; two brothers, Robert of Port Colborne and Capt. Jack Halstead of Montreal. He was predeceased by three brothers, three sisters and his mother, Beatrice Halstead.
His body is resting at the Port Colborne Chapel of the Davidson Funeral Homes where services will be conducted by Rev. G.N. Standish of St. James Anglican Church Monday at 2 p.m.
Interment will follow in Pleasant View Memorial Gardens.
By David Len Blazetich
From the personal files of his grandfather George ‘Udy” Blazetich
My father saved many of the articles DOWN MEMORY LANE printed in the Welland Tribune from the files of George Blazetich and I would like to share a couple of them. No dates were saved.
Captain and former Police Chief of Welland and Crowland Harry Jones. In the 1920’ served as police chief in Welland and 10 years in Crowland Township and later as police chief in Timmins. He was a charter member and founder of the Great War Veterans Association of Welland later Branch 4 Royal Canadian Legion and founder of the Sons of England Lodge. He was a member of All Saints Anglican Church, Welland A.F. and A.M. he was a captain of the 2nd Dragoons 57 Field regiment and was a commander of C squadron. He was very popular with the children of Crowland and originated an annual picnic to Nickel Beach in Port Colborne. He obtained use of the land owned by Pere Marquette railway and set up Crowland’s first playground. With the aid of Reverend H. G. Forster and parish priest Charles Barron, pastor of Sts. Peter and Paul Parish, swings, teeters and other playground equipment was installed. Later a wading pool was made available on the present site of No. 2 fire hall and provision was made for skating in the winter.
Captain Jones retired in 1946 and resided with his niece Mrs. Art Jones, at Welland Junction. He passed away March 3, 1964 at the age of 89.
Branch 4 of the Canadian legion held a memorial service under the direction of Vice-president Wm. Haig and Leonard Wintle. At the cemetery the last post was sounded by bugler Allan Crichton. Pallbearers were all members of the Legion, James Green, Alfred Cope, Dan McIntyre, Maurice Dolan, Robert Russell and Fred Battle.
[April 6, 1961]
HE’S 100 AND HAPPY
Augustus Misener, 8 Herick Ave, is a wrestling fan, an avid reader of newspapers and a man who wouldn’t change a thing. He’s also 100 years old today.
“In the old days a man worked from sunrise to sundown,” he said, referring to his farm, now sold in Crowland township near Port Robinson
“The shorter work week and all the other changes all for the better,” Mr. Misener .said.
Crediting his longevity to moderation, not only of pleasures but of work, the cleareyed oldster noted that it’s all right for a man to work hard but he shouldn’t overdo it.
Having retired 30 years ago, at the tender age of 70, Mr Misener now lives here with a son, Cecil. A second son , Arthur lives in Brantford. Two daughters and two sons, reside in the United States.
His major pleasures include reading the daily newspaper from front to back (“I wouldn’t want to miss any scandals,” he says, chuckling) and watching the weekly wrestling matches on TV.
A non-smoker, who prefers his tobacco the old-fashioned way, as something to chew, not inhale, Mr. Misener’s great-grandfather emigrated to New Jersey from Germany in the middle 17th century.
The family then came to the peninsula, bringing grass seeds and fruit tree startings with them. At the time of the Fenian raids, Mr .Misener was six years old.
“I don’t remember the raids,’ he said. The invaders reached Ridgeway “smuggling themselves in and thinking Canada was such a small place they could take it over…”
He was reluctant at first to sell the family farm on his retirement, he said until he was shown that one son could make more working in a factory than two sons could hope to make working the farm. “That seemed to settle it,” Mr. Misener said.
He described the farm operation as a mixture of grain crops and cattle. Plus fruit. “In those days we never had the insect or disease problem growers have now.”
Members of the family and former neighbors from Port Robinson attended a special birthday party honoring Mr.Misener last weekend.
One of the highlights of the evening was the arrival of happy birthday wishes from Prime Minister John Diefenbaker.
Children living in the U.S., are Mrs Sadie Monti, Baltimore, Md; Mrs Irene Bernier, Highland Park, Mich.; Milen Misener, St Clair Shores, Mich. And Morris Misener, Tamps Florida.
HE’S 103 TODAY FINDS LIFE HECTIC
[April 6, 1964]
Harmon Misener doesn’t have much use for today’s world.
“Too much hurly-burly..it’s no good, too fast for me,” he said.
But then, it’s not too surprising that a man who counts 103 years of yesterdays finds the hectic pace of 1964 a little much for him.
Whatever his opinion of the pace of modern life, it didn’t prevent him from taking his first airplane ride-to Florida-when he was 100 years old.
And until a little over a year ago he lived with his son on Herrick Ave. And made his own solo trips downtown- but his doctor decided it was time he took it a little easier, so now he lives in Bellevue Convalescent Home.
It is there they are holding a 103rd birthday part for him today.
He was born on a farm property at Doansridge in Crowland township and farmed it himself for most of his life. The property has been owned by his grandfather before him
Most of his youth was spent in the Niagara peninsula- but he did spend time west of Chicago when he was a youngster.
He speaks of a fire in Chicago about that time that was started by “Some old woman’s cow.”.In 1871 a fire-caused by a cow kicking over a lamp-swept through the city causing some $200,000,000 damage and high loss of life.
Now from a comfortable seat in a nursing home bedroom he offers this advice to youngsters wondering how he remains so alert with all the years behind him.
“Work hard and steady..and never abuse yourself.”I never smoked…could take a drink, but never too much. It’s not good to drink to excess either. Work hard, but not to excess.”
What about war record? “It’s a poor business, this fighting. I was never in the army..never saw any use in it,” he sniffed. There was always more than enough to do down on the farm.
When he finally gave up farming he went to live with his son, Cecil Misener at 8 Herrick Ave, in St Catharines-and from there flew to visit another son in Tampa, Fla., after his 100th birthday.
Last week a framed message on behalf of Premier John Robarts was sent to the nursing home wishing him well on his birthday. He recalled that on his 100th birthday the prime minister of Ontario had come in person to congratulate him.
He still has a lively curiosity and gave Standard Photographer Dick Titley and his equipment the once-over.”What does he want?” he asked. Then added; “He’s a big fellow.. I wouldn’t want him to be mad at me. What do you want me to do?”
He’s still lively enough to remember it’s spring too. What about the nurses, he was asked.”They’re really good and lovable..a jolly good bunch.” he said emphatically, as one brushed his full, silver head of hair. And how does he keep all his hair at this age? “Why, I never gave it away,” he said with a grin.
HARMON MISENER, OLDEST RESIDENT, DIES AT 104
[November 2, 1965]
St Catharines’ oldest citizen 104-year-old Harmon Augustus Misener, died yesterday at a city convalescent home where he had ived for the past two years.
Mr Misener was born in Crowland township April 6, 1861. He lived most of his life in the Niagara peninsula, and was a farmer until his retirement at 70.
He was a tobacco-chewer whose family emigrated from Germany to New Jersey in the mid-18th century. When his family came to the Niagara.
[Welland Tribune October 31 1964]
Salem-Mr and Mrs Nestorovich of Wellandport RR 1, celebrated the 40th wedding anniversary at Wellandport Community Hall. Saturday evening. Their three daughters and son were hosts and over 60 guests were present
They were marrired in Poland in 1924. The groom’s brothers John from Toronto and Nick from Beamsville and a cousin John Nestorovich from Toronto.
Mr and Mrs Nestorovich had four daughters. Mary, Mrs Wm Kerniky, Nellie, Mrs Gordon Cavers, Katy, Ms Howard Climenhaga, Pauline, who predeceased them, and one son John at home. There are also seven grandchildren.
The table was decorated with a wedding cake in the centre with two tapers in silver candle holders and red and white carnations. A number of beautiful gifts were received. After the wedding supper, dancing was enjoyed by all.
Friends and relatives were present from Toronto, Welland, Niagara Falls, Buffalo, Fenwick, St Anns, Beamsville and Wainfleet.
Mr and Mrs Howard Climenhaga held a surprise birthday party in honor of their little daughter Pamela at the home of her grandparents. Mr and Mrs Nestorovich.
Present were Sandra Stayzer, Cathy Stayzer, Eleanor Costello, Julie Coverdale, Susan Hayward, Judy Stayzer, Dorothy Henderson, Mark ad Miles Climenhaga. A number of gifts were received. Friends assisted Pamela in opening her gifts.
Personals
Mr Nick Nestorovich, daughter and son from Beamsville spent the weekend with Mr and Mrs John Nestorovich.
Mr and Mrs Irvin Holmes of Welland were recent supper guests of Mrs C.E. Strawn.
Mrs C.E. Strawn spent last week at Toronto the guest of Mr and Mrs Clifford Hansler, also visited at Orangeville with Mr and Mrs Kenneth Hansler.
Mr and Mrs Clifford Hansler of Toronto visited friends and relatives in the neighborhood over the weekend.
Salem UCW bazaar and hot beef supper will be held Nov 4. The bazaar is at 3p.m. and supper from 5.30 to 7.30 in the church basement.
The UCW will meet at Mrs Gavin Henderson’s Nov 10.
[Sands of Time by Lorne C Loney, 1964]
‘Neath shading and greenwood bough
The Ploughman’s team doth stand,
But where to find the ploughman
For he seemth not at hand?
While echoing down the valley
Though it soundth far away,
There comes a faint but earnest call
At the waning of the day.
Oh! Robbie come ta supper lad
For it canna’ longer wait,
Now ye’ve ploughed enough the red-soil
And the hour is getting late,
But lying on the river bank
With foot in cooling stream
We find the weary ploughman
Where he’s ever prone to dream.
For he’s watching as the white clouds
Drift on a lazy sky,
And the verse that forms within his mind
Through pen will never die,
With beauteous thought, his mind hath caught
The gladness born of May,
For dawning love hath filled his soul
To form a poet’s lay.
There are meetings in the twi-light
Along the River Ayr,
For Robbie and his Jeannie
Have their trysting places there…
But echoing down the valley
And out across the glade,
There comes a faint and loving call
The woodlands to invade.
Oh! Robbie come to supper lad
For it canna’ longer wait,
Now ye’ve ploughed enough the red-soil
And the hour is getting late
Dedicated to the memory of Robert Burns and all his fellow Scotsmen throughout the world.
ON ROBERT BURNS
There’s a hush in the air of Ballachmyle woods
Near the banks of the river Ayr,
See the fisherman pause as he whiffs on his pipe
For he senses a presence there.
With a whispering breeze, comes a sigh in the trees
And it seems of a past refrain,
For two lovers of old haunt the woodland path
To stroll through the green-fern again.
“Oh! Dear Robbie Burns, can ye catch me the noo
As I hide ‘neath the greenwood tree?’
“Oh! Sweet Jeannie Armour, I’ll find ye for sure
Cause ye niver can hide fra’ me”…
“Oh! Robbie, dear Robbie, the years have sped by”
“Whatever awa’ can ye be?”
“Oh! Sweet Jeannie Armour, ye’ll be wi’ me soon
And ‘twill be forever ye’ll see
There’s a sunset glow on the river of Ayr
Reflecting the willows of gold
And ‘twas here they went wandering arm in arm,
On that fern-strewn path of old.
There’s a whispering sigh in the woods near Mauchline
Oh! fisherman hark to the sound,
For two lovers of yore haunt the woodland path
And ‘tis here their story is found.
Though the years have been many and far between
Since she hid ‘neath the greenwood tree,
There’s a whispering sound of a song in the birch
And there’s love in it’s melody.
“Oh! Robbie, dear Robbie, where are ye the noo?
“A’ the ache in my heart is for thee,’
Oh! sweet Jeannie Armour, ye’ll be wi me soon
And ‘twill be forever ye’ll see.
[Sands of Time A book of Poetry & Prose, 1964]
Lorne C. Loney spent much of his early childhood in and near the village of Fonthill, Ontario, Canada. Here among the beautiful rolling hills of the adjacent St John’s Valley, he has found much of his reminiscent inspiration for such poems as “WHEN AUTUMN COMES’’ ‘’BOYHOOD MEMORIES’’
‘’WHEN WILD GEESE CALL’’. He is also the true balladier of the sea and when reading these poems the individual finds himself at once transported into an enhanced spirit of adventure. It is indeed only through this deft and rare manipulation of exacting genius that such communication of zeal is extended from author to reader. The meter is smoothly lyrical and always easily read. Although the poet has been writing for only two short years, already he is making himself heard around the world. For a bard of the present century to achieve this type of recognition is to say the least unusual. This in itself would seem to be a banner of the true talent which has manifested itself in this meteoric career.
The author’s father, a printer by trade, later moved his family from Fonthill to the city of St Catharines, Ontario, where the poet received a more extended education in the T.R. Wright Business College, and the St Catharines Collegiate Institute. Mr Loney’s ancestry being of U.E,L, stock, one of whom was “The Baron Bishop Christopher Springer” who immigrated from Stockhom, Sweden to Wilmington, Delaware in 1689, later moving north to Canada. These ancestors also including “Colonel Richard Beasley being among the first white setters in the area where Hamilton, Ontario now stands.
Harold P. Stewart.
WHEN AUTUMN COMES
When autumn’s smoky haze drifts low above
The hick’ry ridge, blending her dulcet tones
To rhapsodize the sweep of azure hue.
Then is this feeling born akin to love
To reconcile with this serenity.
Then, insistant comes the urgent call
This searching, yearning to be part of it
Blending the soul with all infinity.
Ere I had roamed the world with searching heart
With hope for that which none but few attain,
Found beauty as an earthly radiant part
Where scarlet sumac borders down the lane.
Here, with childish awe my eager footsteps, lent
To fervoured leap and barefoot rapture, sped me
Through red and misty maze of autumn’s gold
As down, down, through fiery woodland dales,
Where bright palat’al carpets there unfold
I plumbed the haunts which then alone were mine-
A kingdom where the boyhood heart prevails…
Ah! there my subject sits, on your pine tree
Whose bushy tail to mock attention snaps
As with scolding, chattering glee..drops it–
His tribute acorn to my feigned royalty.
So bent my steps and childish laughter thus
When autumn doned her scarlet robber’s coat
To plunder verdure green of oak and ash
With defly moving stroke of Master’s Brush.
Yet knew I not the meaning of it then–
A wild duck winging,–silouettes a sunset sky..
My kindred spirit soaring up to him
To feel his loneliness and know not why.
Since I have roamed the world with searching heart
With joy for that which I through God have known.
Since I have quested those far alien shores–
Found all of beauty stems a Heav’nly part.
‘Tis He that marks the sumac in the lane,
As guiding now these wiser footsteps, while
With slower tread and knowing rapture, leads me
Through red and misty maze of autumn’s gold.
As down, down, through fiery woodland depths
Where bright palat’al carpets there unfold
I plumb the haunts wherein His Spirit dwells,
A kingdom which my grateful heart accepts.
BOYHOOD MEMORIES
(A tribute to an old friend)
There’s a vision I have of a valley
Where a laughing brook shimmers and gleams,
There’s a barefoot lad with birch fishing pole
Who inhabits the land of my dreams…
They shared many things, this boy and his dog
When the summer sun grew mellow and warm,
When the picket-fence garden, back of the house
Came alive with the hum of bees a-swarm.
Then the lure of the valley called them both
To the alder haunts along the brook,
And they hied them there, this carefree boy
And his faithful dog, to their secret nook.
And they’d seek the shade of the willow tree–
Not where the brook went a-panting by,
But a spot where it stopped to rest awhile
In peat-brown pools, where lily pads lie.
And the boy would get lost in wondrous dreams
As he pondered the brook-trout’s darting glee,
And he’d span all the years till manhood’s grace
A-lying beneath the willow tree.
And the dog would watch with adoring eyes–
A trusting friend who would e’er abide,
Though the lad knew not that he reigned a king
In the guileless heart, close by his side.
So they lay on the cool green moss-banks there
A-tuned to the new born summer’s joy,
While the locust hummed in the tall tree tops–
This happy dog and a carefree boy.
And then with the rainbows— a goodly string,
They’d leave their quiet sequestered nook,
As if by some magic signal given
To follow the lure of beck’ning brook.
Where a collie dog of sable and white
Goes a-bounding over the lea,
Then waits up ahead for tow-haired boy
A-wagging his tail in urgent glee,
Thus laughing and leaping through moss and fern
They quested their daily ultimate goal,
As dodging through alders and willow branch
They came at last to the swimming hole…
Now the picture fades like a childhood dream
With the boy long grown to manhood’s grace,
As my thoughts stray back to the long ago
And the trusting friend I can ne’er replace.
Yet I’ll ever remember the valley
Where a laughing brook shimmers and gleams,
And the barefoot lad with birch fishing pole
Who inhabits the land of my dreams..
And a collie dog of sable and white
Who is waiting ahead on the lea..
‘Tis the fondest of mem’ries no time can erase
And will ever shine brighter for me
‘Tis a lonely cry and I know it’s part
For it lures my soul to the marsh and heath.
‘Tis the cry of a wild and beating heart
With it’s bourne sky and earth beneath.
I saw them come near the closing of day,
Their north-bound wings a-beating the sky,
And their spirit called “fly up and away
“For a kin of the north we’ll not deny.
And I’ll have no part in the haunts of men
When wild geese calling a-becken to me,
And I’ll hie me thither and on again
For we’re kin of the north and friends are we.
As a clarion note rings clear to the heart
Is the wildling call of the marsh and heath,
‘Tis the cry of an untamed world apart
With it’s bourne the sky, or the earth beneath.
I saw them go near the close of the day
Where a moulten sunset ribboned the sky.
And their north-bound wings went fleeting away
With my spirit a-tuned to their fading cry.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C, Loney, 1964
Of the many things we love the best,
Of these that humans share,
There are some that stand above the rest
For God has put them there.
Of things that touch the human heart
And make us all Divine,
It’s hard to find a place to start
With these blessings, yours and mine.
I know I love the sunset’s glow
A-sinking in the west,
And winding brooks with shady pools
Where water-lilies crest.
Or forest nook with verdure bright
Where sunlight finds it’s way,
Through branches, filtered Heavenly light
Where cool green moss-banks lay.
A puppy-dog with wagging tail
I count among the best.
I love a ship with billowed sail
Or an April robin’s breast.
And blossoms white in spring-time
That come heralding the May
And frogs that sing “it’s green-up time”
And the smell of new-mown hay.
I love a home with hearthside bright
And children small to hug,
I love to sit by candle-light
When all is warm and snug.
And the at night all gathered there
A family round the fire,
With gladsome song to quell despair
And fulfil the heart’s desire.
I love the autumn’s red and gold
I love the sunrise fair,
And among them does my heart enfold
A maid with shining hair
A moonrise on some hidden lake
Among the forest pine…
There is so much from life to take
In this world of yours and mine.
Then I love the blessed Christmas-tide
The Birthday of Our Lord.
For He who came and for us died
Shall ever be adored…
Of the many things we love the best
Of these that human’s share,
There are some that stand above the rest
For God has put them there.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C, Loney, 1964.
Lest grieving tears and sorrow damp my cheek
Hark not I to grieving with it’s kin to pain
Though mortal flesh be wilted like the rose,
If I have greatly loved. His soul shall ne’er be slain.
Then soars the loosed spirit, like beauteous butterfly,
As earthly shell like spent cocoon by shed.
Through mists of dark eternity, may God’s love on High
Still light the darkened path of earthlings tomb.
Oh! flesh-bound spirit in my earthly span,
May this beacon-light through darkness, guide my loved one safely home.
A Book of Poetry & Prose by Lorne C. Loney, 1964
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