Merry Xmas Guelph, 1925

The Christmas card has been a staple of the western, Yuletide celebration since at least 1843, when Sir Henry Cole commmissioned a set of 1,000 engraved holiday cards. As 1843 was also the year that Dickens published "A Christmas Carol," it's fair to say that this was a big year for the origins of contempoary Christmas celebrations.

Naturally, postcard makers got into the act during the medium's heyday in the Edwardian era. Although the foldable Christmas card continued on strong, the postcard version faded from the scene. Still, it is not unusual to find Xmas postcards in the 1920s, one of which found its way to yours truly.

This is a fairly standard scene, presumably of Bethlehem, in a festive frame, made by Whitney Made of Worcester, Massachusetts, a company not confined to the Valentine's Day cards it is most remembered for.

The card is addressed to "Mrs. Jno Mitchell, Arkell, Ont // ℅ D. Tarzwell," with the following message:

with best wishes to Mrs. Mitchell for a Merrie Xmas & a Happy New Year. // Susie Atkinson.

The card was postmarked in Guelph on 20 December 1925.

With generic cards of this sort, the main interest tends to be personal: Who was Susie Atkinson and why was she sending a Christmas postcard to Mrs. Jno Mitchell of Arkell (a village a short distance from Guelph)?

Susan Agnes Atkinson (née Coker) was born in Eramosa, Guelph Township, on 4 March 1887 and seems to have grown up on the family farm there. She became Mrs. Wesley George Atkinson on 15 December 1909. The couple was married in the Speedside church, a lovely rural church that I have blogged about, and had the pleasure of visiting.

The Atkinson's were thick on the ground in Guelph Township. William Atkinson, of Yorkshire, England, arrived in Upper Canada in 1832 with a large family and became a successful farmer with hundreds of acres under cultivation. One of his sons, George, carried on the tradition and, according to the County Atlas, was known as the "King of Marden" (a small village in northern Guelph Township).

(George Atkinson, the "King of Marden;" courtesy of the Illustrated Historical Atlas of Wellington County.)

Wesley, I believe, was a grandson of George's brother Joseph.

In any event, Wesley and Susie moved to Guelph and lived at 25 Queen street (now 25 Arthur street) for a number of years. They lived at 186 London Road west when Susie sent the postcard to Mrs. John Mitchell.

(25 Arthur street; courtesy of Google Street View.)

Wesley worked as a clerk or salesman for local businesses such as the Penfold Hardware store.

Now for the recipient! Mrs. John Mitchell appears to be Lydia Maria (née Haggett) born 21 May 1848 on another farm in Eramosa. She married Mr. John Mitchell, originally of Flamboro, on 10 September 1873, who owned a farm in Eramosa. That makes her a generation older than Susie Atkinson, who also does not seem to be a family relation. So, why were they corresponding?

The answer seems to lie in the 1901 census. In that document, the Mitchells are listed right below the Cokers (spelled Coekers). In short, they were neighbours! Even after Susie got married and moved to town, she seems to have kept in touch with her former neighbour, Lydia Mitchell.

The remaining puzzle is the relationship between the Mitchells and David Tarzwell, whose farm in Arkell was the destination of the postcard. Here, the 1921 census helps out. David Tarzwell, a widower, is listed as the owner of the farm. Not only that, three Mitchells are listed as living under the same roof: Harriet (occupation Housekeeper) and Lydia & John (boarders). In fact, Harriet is a daughter of Lydia & John. It seems that the senior Mitchells had moved in with their daughter, not an unusual arrangement for retired folk at that time.

Still more interesting is that Harriet officially became Mrs. David Tarzwell on 5 December 1929, four years after the postcard was sent. One can't help wondering if Harriet's occupation as "Housekeeper" listed in the 1921 census was some sort of euphemism for common-law wife.

Also interesting is the fact that Mrs. John Mitchell (that is, Lydia) died on 18 August 1929, only a few months before the wedding. Was Lydia's death a factor in the timing of the nuptials? Who now can say?

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Alas, the Guelph Mercury for all of 1925 is missing from archival records, so local news is somewhat lacking in detail. However, some highlights show up in various sources and can give an idea of the state of affairs in Guelph late in 1925 when the postcard was sent.

The assets of the Guelph Co-operative Association were sold off in December (Globe, 12 December 1925). The Co-op had been founded in 1903 by the Guelph Trades and Labour Council in order to provide bread at affordable prices to the working people of the Royal City (Durtnall 2004). The enterprise continued successfully for over 20 years and greatly expanded its affordable offerings but, for reasons that are not entirely clear, went under at the end of 1925.

The Guelph Ontario Hockey Association intermediate team got off to a promising start. The Orange-and-Black of the Royal City handed a 7–2 drubbing to the Green-shirt senior team of Kitchener-Waterloo in an exhibition game on 19 December. A 3-to-2, come-from-behind exhibition decision over the Excelsiors of Brampton on December 22 stoked excitement in the local squad. Interest in competetive hockey had only recently led the owners to expand seating at the Guelph Arena (now the Royal Plaza mall).

However, the year ended on a bit of a low note when Guelph was handed a 3–1 defeat by their hosts for the first regular-season contest in North Toronto. Though the Guelphites skated well and launched many shots at the Toronto goalie, the netminder was hot and the larger ice surface at big-city rink gave the visitors more trouble than they could handle.

Big regional news was the undertaking by the Provincial Department of Public Highways to keep the Guelph-Hamilton highway (now Highway 6) open throughout the winter (Globe, 21 December). Chief Engineer Hogarth said that the Department would keep the "immense" motor plows available in Aberfoyle or Morriston to plow roads out immediately in the event of a big snowfall. In previous years, the highway could be closed for days at a time after a big storm. With increasing reliance on trucking for regional commerce, such interruptions became more and more costly. Regularized plowing was the government's response.

("Snowplough No. P.2." 7 Jan. 1924, courtesy of City of Toronto Archives, Fonds 16, Series 71, Item 2910. I have the feeling that the highway plows were more "immense" than this street plow. If you have a contemporary highway plow photo, let me know!)

The Ontario Agricultural College Review (v. 38, n. 4) celebrated the season by reprinting a short story by Canadian humourist Stephen Leacock, entitled, "The Christmas ghost." In this story, the unnamed protagonist gets to thinking about how Christmas has changed over the years:

I was contrasting Christmas in the old country house of a century ago, with the fires roaring up the chimneys, and Christmas in the modern apartment on the ninth floor with the gasoline generator turned on for the maid’s bath.

Suddenly, a dejected looking ghost appeared and asked if he might haunt his host for a while. Upon receiving the invitation, the spectre sits and complains about his situation. About one hundred years earlier, he had murdered a man on a public road and was, after death, condemned to wander the Earth, dragging around great chains, moaning, and haunting a house.

This employment was finally undone by modernization:

The days of the motor car came and they paved the highway and knocked down the house and built a big garage there, with electricity as bright as day. You can’t haunt a garage, can you? I tried to stick on and do a little groaning, but nobody seemed to pay any attention; and anyway, I got nervous about the gasoline. I’m too immaterial to be round where there is gasoline. A fellow would blow up, wouldn’t he?

Further haunts proved fruitless. Upon hearing a ghost, modern children simply wanted to see if they could pass the radio set through him, whereupon he discovered that electricity "knocks me edgeways."

Worse yet, the ghost says, spiritualists have learned how to summon ghosts at will, thus reducing him to a kind of on-demand entertainment. At that moment, the ghost begins to vanish, saying:

There’s a group of fools somewhere sitting round a table at a Christmas eve party and they’re calling up a ghost just for fun—a darned poor notion of fun, I call it ...

Spiritualism plus motor cars, pavement, gasoline, electricity and radio had certainly changed the world, and Christmas, since Dicken's day.

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Works consulted include:

• Durtnall, B. (2004). "Each for all and all for each: The Story of the Guelph Co-operative Association," Historic Guelph 43, pp. 59–66.

We had a decent Xmas, 1916

The end of the year is often a good time to look back and take stock, and so it is with postcards. Consider the rather watery postcard below, received in Guelph on 22 January 1917:

The naval theme of the picture is reinforced by the information on the back, which looks like this:

To start with, the "A.S.M" publisher's mark in the centre bottom shows that the card is Italian, published by A. Scrocchi of Milan. The postmarks reveal that this card passed through London (England) on 8 January 1917, Toronto on 21 January, and arrived in Guelph the next day. The large blue circle stamp near the bottom centre says, "Passed by censor," revealing tha the card had a military origin. Military personnel sent billions of pieces of mail home from the First World War, most of which had to be cleared by military authories to ensure that they contained no information that was of strategic significance or that would injure "morale."

A look at the message on the card confirms the judgement of the censor:

Dear Sister
Just a card to let you know I am quite well. I hope you are all the same. We had a decent Xmas. Hope to hear from you soon.
Your Loving Brother
Chris
Mess 5.

The addressee was Mrs. G. Bowles whose P.O. Box was in Guelph.

A little genealogical sleuthing reveals that the addressee was Mrs. George Bowles (née Lydia Wilkins), resident of Guelph Township. Lydia was born in Great Missenden, Buckinghamshire, England in November 1888. Her father John was a platelayer, that is, a man who maintained industrial rail lines. On 6 December 1909, she married George Bowles, in St Marylebone, Westminster.

George Bowles was born in Mile End, Essex, England, in 1889. On his marriage to Lydia, his occupation was listed as footman, that is, a domestic servant. However, it seems that a life of service did not appeal to the new couple, who immigrated to Canada in 1911, settling in Guelph.

The 1911 Census lists George and Lydia as residents of 46 Nottingham street and gives George's occupation as "driller" in the employ of the Standard Valve [and Fittings] Co. The city directory suggests that the couple soon relocated to a stone cottage at 64 Albert street, before moving to Guelph Township around 1915. That is likely where they lived when Lydia received this postcard from her brother Chris. (64 Albert Street; Courtesy of Google Street View.)

The writer, Christopher Wilkins, was born in Great Missenden in 1898. Like his older sister, he was not satisfied with his fortunes there—his occupation in the 1911 census is listed as "paper boy"—and so he enlisted in the Royal Navy in 1913. His first assignments were to training vessels such as the Ganges, where his trade is give as "Boy Tel[egrapher]."

Things got more serious in 1915 when Chris was assigned to the Queen, a pre-Dreadnought battleship that participated in the Dardanelles campaign, including the Gallipoli landings.

(HMS Queen, ca. 1909; Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

In August, 1915, Chris was promoted to Ordinary Telegrapher. The Queen was assigned to support the Italian navy, which explains why he was in Italy for Xmas 1916. He was promoted to Leading Telegrapher by the time he demobilized in March, 1920.

Christopher Wilkins wasted no time in seeking his fortunes abroad. He emigrated to Canada in May, 1920, headed to Toronto to join his brother Stanley, who had made the trip around 1914, intending to work as a telegraph operator. What become of him after that, I am not sure.

In Guelph, Xmas 1916 was a difficult one, as you would expect. On 5 December, the Mercury reported that seven Guelph soldiers had been reported killed in action. Privates Henry Emeny, Austin Henry Thomas, Robert S. O'Drowsky, William Macoll, Charles S. Lawrence, Frederick Willis, and Corporal George Thomas Ryder were reported either killed in action or dead as a result of wounds received in action. It was, said the headline, the "hardest blow the city has received since the outbreak of war."

An article from 9 December notes the availability of foodstuffs for Xmas cooking and compares that with the previous year. Regrettably, dates had gone up in price from 10¢/lb to 15¢/lb and gone down in quality. Something similar applied to currants, which were then imported from Australia rather than Greece, and were dearer but not as juicy. British lemon, orange, and citron peel had almost doubled in price and lard was almost impossible to get, likely because hog fat was considered a strategic good. On the up side, there had been a bumper crop of oranges, which were of good quality and cheaper than in 1915. No doubt, many young Guelphites received oranges in their Xmas stockings that year.

On 19 December came the news that George Sleeman was retiring from public life. He was well-known as a prominent, local business mogul and also for his keen interest in civic life. He was elected councillor for the South Ward in 1876 and was elected the first mayor of the City (no longer town) of Guelph in 1880. He was mayor of the city for six years in total, the last time in 1906. He was elected to the Light and Heat Commission and appointed to the Parks and Shades Commission, where he continued to serve until ill health motivated his present resignation.

(George Sleeman; Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums 2009.32.951.)

On the bright side, Santa Claus continued to move with the times. Advertisements in the Mercury show St. Nick making use of all the modern conveniences while going about his job. For example, Bell Telepone noted on 5 December that the jolly old elf highly recommends telephones, including a second telephone in order to save running upstairs to answer the first one!

Another plus appears to be that Santa does not need a red-nosed reindeer, at least where the team can just follow the prolific telephone wires.

Another ad for G.B. Ryan & Co. from 7 December shows Santa ditching the reindeer altogether for another modern convenience, the automobile!

This is not to say that Santa had dispensed with all his magic. Early cars (and many late models) were notoriously hard to operate in the cold and snow, so that motorists tended to put them away in winter and operate sleighs instead in 1916. So, driving a car so readily over the snowy streets of the Royal City would have benefited from Santa's magic touch.

In addition, there continued to be a nostalgia for sleigh rides during the holiday season. On Xmas day, every cutter in the city was rented out so that Guelphites with some money to spare could promenade through town in proper style, with horses nodding and sleigh bells ringing (26 December).

One enterprising Guelphite took the obvious step of combining cars and sleighs. An article in the Mercury (30 December) notes:

An addition to a Ford car, which caused comment and interest yesterday afternoon, was the use of runners in place of the two font wheels. This facilitated the running of the car through the snow, and the driver was quite proud of himself.

Santa take note! I wonder if this innovative automobile looked like this:

("A Model T Souped-Up for Snow, 1920." Courtesy of Plainfield Public Libray, Photo #VV60207.)

The same day came the news that the "Prison Farm" just outside of town might be re-purposed as a recuperation and training facility for returned soldiers. In due course, the Reformatory did indeed become the Speedwell Military Hospital.

George Bowles died on 3 March 1952 and was buried in Woodlawn Cemetery. His obituary dwelled mainly on his involvement with the local chapter of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows (IOOF), of which he was elected Chief Patriarch and District Deputy Grand Patriarch in 1932.

Lydia died on 13 February 1961 and was buried next to George.

Winter was a big one in Guelph, 1911–12

In the so-called golden age of postcards, people often printed pictures on postcard stock so they could send interesting views to wow their friends and relations. Extreme events like train wrecks or fires were especially popular subjects for this treatment. So, it is not shocking to see these three well-dressed ladies posing beside some prodigious snowbanks in Guelph's winter of 1911–12.

(Courtesy of the John W. Keleher collection.)

The caption on the front reads, "Winter scene in Guelph City. Delhi Street, March 23rd 1912." On the back is the message:

May 19th, 1912 // My Dear Molly // Don’t be suspicious if Marg. Wolfe & I am up some Sunday morning when the days are a little warmer. This is a snap I took this winter but is not very clear as the cards & plates are old. It is the sidewalk leading to the Homewood Sanitarium. With love from Ella

The postcard was addressed to Miss Gertie Maitland of nearby Ponsonby, Ontario.

It is always welcome when such real-photo cards include details of the views they depict. It seems likely that one of the women in the picture is Ella, though the identity of the trio remains uncertain. Of course, the remarkable feature of the scene are the heaps of snow on either side of them. Surely, the winter of 1912 is what is now called an "old-time winter". Of course, some strategic shoveling may have been used to exaggerate the extent of the recent snowfall for photographic purposes.

Looking back on this scene from over 100 years later invites us to recall the winter season of 1911–12, starting with the Xmas holiday.

The Christmas season of 1911 began with an athletic spectacle in the form of a ten-mile footrace between Tom Longboat and Fred Meadows (Mercury, 1 December 1911). Longboat was an Onandaga (Haudenosaunee name Cogwagee) distance runner from the Six Nations Reserve and already had an international reputation after winning the Boston Marathon in 1907 and turning professional.

(From left to right: Meadows, Wood, Queal, and Longboat, ca. 1910–1915; Bain News Service/Wikimedia Commons)

The race took place at the Victoria Rink (since demolished), situated behind Knox Presbyterian Church. Since there were 12 laps to the mile in the Rink, the race would go for 120 laps. Over 1000 people crowded into the rink to see the event, which Longboat led all the way, winning in 51.5 minutes, a lap and a half ahead of Meadows.

Longboat also served in the Great War as a dispatch runner and survived the conflict in spite of being wounded twice. June 4, his birthday, is now known in Ontario as Tom Longboat Day in his honour.

Guelph enjoyed a visit from another fine performer on the same day in the person of Miss Mabel Beddoe, a contralto singer from Toronto who was at the outset of a distinguished career spanning North America. The Norfolk Street Methodist Church (now Lakeside Church downtown) put on a choral performance with Miss Beddoe as feature soloist. The Mercury (1 December) expressed the crowd's delight with her singing:

Miss Mabel Beddoe, of Toronto, was the soloist of the evening and her numbers were a veritable treat to the music lovers of the city, who were present. She possesses a mezzo contralto voice of richness and purity, of volume and elasticity, which was delightful to listen to. Her enunciation was perfect, her control thorough, and she possesses dramatic qualities and expression, such as few of the many vocalists who come to Guelph possess. Kipling's beautiful "Recessional" to the music of Reginald DeKoven was especially fruitful in dramatic force, as was Bruno Huhn's "Invictus." Her second number, "I am far frae my hame," the delightful old Scotch air, was a favorite, and brought tears to the eyes of many of the land of the heather. Her other numbers, all of which were heartily appreciated, were the arias, "God shall wipe away all tears," Sullivan; "He shall feed his flock," from "The Messiah," and E.L. Ashford's "My task."

(Mabel Beddoe, Courtesy of The Globe, 11 September 1929.)



Perhaps an idea of the performance can be gained from Robert Merrill's performance of Invictus in 1947.

Besides these special visitors, Guelphites awaited the arrival of old man winter, whose snow and ice afforded pleasant, seasonal recreation. There was both bad news and good news (Mercury, 4 December). The bad news was that Mr. Foster, Manager of the Street Railway (streetcar), had decided against providing a toboggan slide in the park behind the car barn on Waterloo Avenue. The children, and some adults, of the Royal City could take consolation in the use of their usual toboggan venues, which often included the precipitous hills on Cork Street and Eramosa Road.

The good news was that the skating rink behind the car barns was to open in a few days. So, anyone looking to get an early start on skating could simply ride the streetcar down Waterloo Avenue and skate on the pond at the current location of Howitt Park.

Of course, the most anticipated visitor of the season was Santa Claus. To judge from the pages of the Mercury, no one looked forward to this night with more gusto than the storekeepers of the Royal City. Many ads urge Guelph's citizens to shop early and often so as not to disappoint the many good girls and boys of the town. Pictures of Santa generously imparting gifts are included as a model of the appropriate behaviour.

The ad above, from 9 December, announces the opening of Toyland at D.E. Macdonald & Bros. emporium, on the southeast corner of Wyndham and Macdonnell streets.

With the fireplace in the background, this first ad refers to the tradition that Santa flew from house to house in a magic sleigh and entered each dwelling down its chimney. Other ads testify that Santa was progressive and could change with the times.

This ad on 15 December, from the Kandy Kitchen on Wyndham Street, shows that the jolly old elf grasped the advantages and perhaps the pleasures of the automobile, anticipating by many years the modern reliance on delivery vehicles to bring Christmas home.

Another ad on 18 December from D.E. Macdonald & Bros. shows Saint Nick riding the cutting edge of contemporary technology, delivering presents from an airplane resembling a Wright Flyer.

This advertisement eerily foreshadows the use of drones to bombard houses with Xmas presents greatly anticipated by Guelphites today.

Perhaps because it was then old hat, Santa was not depicted making deliveries by streetcar. Yet, a significant development in Guelph was the expansion of the streetcar network into St. Patrick's Ward (AKA "The Ward") in 1911. On 14 December, shortly before 11am, the first streetcar made its way from St. George's Square into the Ward (Mercury, 14 December). Inside it were the usual dignitaries, including Manager Foster and Commissioners Lyon, Ryan, and Drew, and reporters from the Mercury, Herald, Toronto Globe, and the Mail and Empire.

The procession made good time and was observed by many of the Ward's residents from their sidewalks and doorways. The route went down Neeve street, over the bridge, along Ontario street and then York road. The route was originally conceived by J.W. Lyon for freight only, to help service the factories that were springing up in the area. However, passenger service was added in 1912, which proved to be popular with Ward residents who commuted to work in other parts of town.

The highlight of the maiden trip of the new line was when James Gow, of Ontario street, stopped the car and presented each passenger with a cigar.

(Streetcar on York Road, 1920s. Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums 2014.30.1.)

Xmas day itself passed quietly in the Royal City in 1911. This calmness may have had something to do with the general satisfaction derived from Santa's use of new technologies to delivery presents more efficiently. Also, as noted in the Mercury (26 December), festivities may have been affected by the closure of bars and liquor stores on the day itself, due to the recent Ontario Liquor License Act:

Never in the history of Guelph has there been such a lack of evidence of excessive use of intoxicants on the streets as there was yesterday.

One hopes that Xmas 1911 was a merry one in Guelph nonetheless.

As the postcard above suggests, the winter of 1911–12 brought a heap of snow to the Royal City. That was great for Santa Claus and winter recreation enthusiasts. However, the all the snow and ice did not go quietly.

A peculiar incident presaged a precipitous end to winter. Around 10:30pm on 4 April 1912, residents of Cardigan street heard cries of "Help, help!" coming from the river (Mercury, 6 April). Through the gloom, they eventually spotted a man floating down the Speed River through Goldie's Mill pond on an ice floe. Although the block of ice was not far from the bank, the man refused to launch himself to shore. As the cake of ice sank beneath his weight, it swung towards the bank and the man was saved from an icy dip in the flood.

Once safely ashore, the man gave his name as Richardson and said that he was a resident at Cardigan street. He claimed to have no idea how he ended up on an ice floe in the Speed River at that hour. However, his rescuers gained the impression that Richardson was suffering the influence of alcohol and had wandered onto the ice "in a dazed condition." At any rate, he seemed not much the worse for wear.

A bout of mild weather produced a quick and heavy melt off. The result was the biggest flood in Guelph since 1869 (Mercury, 8 April). Several bridges were swept away, including the footbridge to Homewood above Goldie's dam, the footbridge from Goldie's mill to the cooperage across the river, and the centre span of Well's bridge (Edinburgh Road today).

Goldie's dam nearly burst its banks. However, flour sacks filled with earth by a gang of workmen were employed successfully to shore up its sides. Of course, this success meant that floodwaters were squeezed downstream into the centre of town.

The rushing water broke up the river ice north of Allan's dam, which then piled up and burst the mill race there. Combined with a pileup of debris from the washed out bridges upstream, Allan's bridge was put under a great deal of pressure. Water poured over the occluding mass in what the Mercury described as a "miniature Niagara." Happily, the debris was dislodged before the bridge collapsed. Nonetheless, the flood tore up the earth next to the nearby Light and Power substation, recently converted to Niagara Power, undermining a critical transmission pole, which was then held in place solely by its guy wires. The Taylor-Forbes plant next door was flooded well above the 15 inches for which it was prepared, destroying thousands of dollars of tools and materials.

(Allan's bridge during the the 1929 flood, which perhaps gives an idea of the 1912 event; Courtesy of Guelph Civic Museums 1971.6.2).

Ice built up against the low arches of the Neeve Street bridge. The bridge remained intact but floodwaters rose up and spilled over into the neighboring streets. The Guelph Spinning Mills on Cross Street was flooded to a depth of two feet.

(The Neeve Street bridge in calmer times, 2018. From the author's collection.)

Water flooded up Huskisson Street (now Wyndham Street south) and Wellington Street. The Guelph Waterproof Clothing factory there was flooded. Little damage was done, not because the goods were waterproof but because workers had spent the previous day moving everything to higher ground. Floodwaters scooped dirt from the Wellington Street roadbed, to a depth of three feet in places, and piled it up on the far sidewalks.

In spite of the extensive damage done, the flood was not without its lighter side, duly noted in the pages of the Mercury:

Mr. J.M. Taylor, of the Taylor-Forbes Co., was down at the factory on Saturday night at about eleven o'clock, having a look around to see what could be done. He was walking on the York road behind the moulding foundry, when he saw a lady standing at the corner of Cross street, evidently desiring to get to her home, which is in the flooded section. He volunteered to carry her home, he having long rubber boots, and she mounted on his shoulders, while he painstakingly walked through the water, with Chairman John Kennedy acting as rear-guard with a lantern, shedding some light on the situation.
Mr. Taylor dropped his burden at the first house, having been nearly choked as she hung on to his windpipe, and though there was a good deal of pleasure in assisting one of the fair sex, it would not be out of place to say that he was pleased to have the pressure on his windpipe released.
"This is not my house," said the lady in surprise as he dropped her, and again he had his burden to carry further down the street, while John Kennedy chuckled with laughter, adding to Mr. Taylor's injured feelings.

Mr. Taylor was not the only one whose rubber boots led him to folly. The Mercury also relates the following tale about Mr. H.H.O. Stull, a dealer in animal hides and tallow, who donned his galoshes to probe the floodwaters at the south end of Huskisson Street:

Mr. H.H.O. Stull waded out in the stream, clad in a pair of rubber boots. Suddenly he put his foot into a washout, and went in, only his head and one arm remaining out of the water. The large number of spectators had a hearty laugh at his expense.

It is sometimes said that comedy and tragedy are each the mirror image of the other. Here, the flood of 1912 gives us further grounds to reflect on the truth of this statement.

At any rate, some kind soul got out a canoe and rescued the many stranded residents of the Cross Street area who did not possess rubber boots.

Certainly, the winter of 1911–1912 was a memorable one, mostly because of how it ended. Yet, memories, like floodwaters, recede over time. Happily, we have old accounts, photos, and postcards to remind us.

Merry Xmas Tokyo, 1908!

The picture side of this postcard is common enough, providing a view of the Priory, the "First House in Guelph, now CPR Station" printed by Warwick Bro’s & Rutter, Limited of Toronto.

However, the reverse side is more interesting, for two reasons.

First, it conveys Xmas greetings from Guelph to an unusual destination, that is, Tokyo Japan:

Xmas 1908 // Dear Miss Blackmore, As you are so ancient I suppose you will remember dates prior to the building of this house. I thought that you would be interested in old things. Merry Xmas. Hope you got my other message. Sincerely Yours, Margaret E. A.

The postcard was postmarked in Guelph on 30 November 1908 and in Tokyo on 26 December 1908.

The reverse side also has an interesting Japanese postmark and some Japanese writing on it.

Perhaps the Japanese writing provides a more specific address. If anyone can read it, please let us know what it says in the comments below!

I am not sure who the sender is. There was a Margaret E A Griffin, matron of the House of Industry and Refuge near Fergus. That would fit the signature "Margaret E. A." but that's about it.

Oddly, I have a better idea about the addressee, Miss Blackmore. I believe that she is Miss Isabell Slade Blackmore of North River district, Colchester County, Nova Scotia. Born in 1863, the third daughter of Richard and Margaret Blackmore, a Truro area farm family, Isabell had become a local school teacher. At age 19, she had joined the Methodist Church and began thinking about missionary work.

By her own account, the calling to spread the gospel overseas became urgent and she applied to join the Canadian Methodist Women's Missionary Society (WMS), noting in her application ("A sensitive independence", Gagan 1992, p. 26):

[T]he conviction that help such as I could give was needed in the Lord's Vineyards abroad, became so strong that I could no longer put it aside ... All I have and am I wish to belong to Christ. Gladly will I work in His service in any way or anywhere, if I may but know I am doing His will. As to how soon I can go, I feel I am given but one answer. When the Master has need of me.

Evidently, the WMS was impressed and sent Miss Blackmore to Tokyo in 1889, where she remained (with occasional furloughs back to Canada) until 1924.

Japan was an exciting place to be a missionary in that time. With the Meiji Restoration of 1868 and the establishment of the Meiji constitution in 1889, Japan became open to western influence. The WMS seized the opportunity to set the Japanese people on the right path amidst the resulting cultural tumult ("Missionary leaflet," February 1892, v. 8, no. 2, p. 7):

Great changes, due to contact with the West, are in progress, some of an alarming nature. We refer to Rationalism, Unitarianism, and the New Theology, which has filled the minds of some of young Japan’s travellers to the West. It is encouraging, however, for us to know that those missionaries, whose sole aim is to lead men to Christ and to build them up in holiness, have very little trouble with the new “isms” among their converts. The missionary, political and commercial atmosphere of Japan is now electrified as never before. The land lies before us, and shall we not “go up and possess it?” Pray that the God of all wisdom may guide this intelligent and energetic people in this transition period of their country’s history.

The missionaries set up schools, concentrating on the Christian education of Japanese children. Apparently, these institutions were popular and successful.

Of course, along with Japanese receptivity to western ideas came military friction with western powers, as everyone jostled for influence in East Asia. In the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905, for example, the Japanese navy decisively defeated the Russian navy, thus giving Japan hegemony over Korea and Manchuria.

Japanese expansion put it on a collision course with the United States, which was moving into the Philippines and Guam. Realizing the the US Navy was not up to a fight with Japan, President Theodore Roosevelt had ordered the construction of 11 new battleships. In 1908, in a sort of pivot to Asia, Roosevelt sent the newly beefed-up Atlantic fleet on a world tour, which included a call on Yokohama in October. Known as the "Great White Fleet" for its white paint job, the visit sent a not-very-subtle message that American power in the Pacific was not to be taken lightly.

The event was recorded in many postcards, which may be viewed online at the Old Tokyo Vintage Japanese Postcard Museum and at The Peaceful Sea. Perhaps the oddest souvenir of the visit is this ashtray with a commemorative postcard embedded in the bottom!

By Naval History & Heritage Command from Washington, DC, USA (76-172-I Ashtray, Souvenir, Great White Fleet) [CC BY 2.0], via Wikimedia Commons.

The postcard shows a picture of the USS Kansas and what I assume is her commander, Captain Charles E. Vreeland.

Although the missionaries of the WMS seemingly paid little attention to world events, they must have wondered what this visit portended.

Shortly thereafter, Miss Blackmore received a postcard from Margaret E A from Guelph. Isabell and Margaret may have met in Guelph before. Miss Blackmore had visited the Royal City during the week of 22 October 1901 on furlough, during the annual meeting of the Board of Managers of the WMS, that year in Dublin Street Methodist (now United) Church (Globe, 23 Oct. 1901).


(Dublin Street United Church, Guelph. Courtesy of Google Street View.)

Isabell expressed optimism about the work of the WMS in Japan:

Miss Blackmore, home on furlough from Japan, spoke on the revival there. She was sure the work would be permanent. The Japanese had shown a great deal of activity during the revival, in their giving and in their work. Results could be traced directly to past work, and the Japanese Christians had learned to delight in the work.

It may be that Isabell and Margaret met and struck up a correspondence then.

The United Church of Canada Archives have some pictures of Isabell (called "Isabella Blackmore"). Here is a small detail of one taken in 1910 ("A sensitive independence", Gagan 1992, p. 23):

In her other message to Isabell, Margaret may have spoken about recent events in Guelph. It had been a significant year in the Royal City. Guelph's first Old Home Week, a prolonged bash for Guelphites past and present, was held in early August. Harry Peer had skated 186 miles in ten hours at the Victoria roller rink. A new bridge across the Speed at been built on Eramosa Road.

On the police blotter, six prisoners attempted to escape from the County Jail by scratching a hole through the wall of their cell with iron parts harvested from their beds (Globe, 10 March 1908). However, the ring leader, John Cox, was caught scaling the wall and, after being "hauled over the coals", ratted out the whole scheme.

In addition, Inspector Oakes expressed concern over some "blind pigs" operating in St. Patrick's Ward (Mercury, 11 December 1908):

That the liquor traffic carried on in St. Patrick’s Ward amongst the Italians has reached very serious proportions, is the conviction of Inspector Oakes, who is still working on the case.

A "blind pig" was originally a drinking establishment that charged people to see oddities, like blind pigs, but provided alcoholic beverages "free of charge", thus circumventing laws against sales of liquor. Supposedly, the term "blind pig" was reserved for lower-class establishments, such as those of recent immigrants like Guelph's Italian community. More respectable, British, illegal drinking establishments would have been called "speakeasies."

Perhaps my favorite law-and-order item concerned efforts to keep people off the grass around the Blacksmith Fountain in the middle of St. George's Square (Mercury, 3 Nov. 1908):

At the Council meeting last night, Ald. Carter asked if the Parks and Shades Committee could not do something to keep the general public off the grass plot in the centre of St. George’s Square. Everybody seemed to want to walk on it, he said, or throw peanut shells all over it, and even the street railway employees made it a resting place.

Carter thought that some "Keep off the grass" signs would do the trick. Eventually, a fence was placed around whole installation.

Xmas in Guelph in 1908 was congenial (Mercury, 26 Dec. 1908). The weather was mild but winds were "raw", and the ice in the Victoria Rink (behind Knox Church) was too soft for skating. Even so, people enjoyed skating and tobogganing in the Open Air park (now Howitt Park), where the toboggan run had recently been improved.

Perhaps the weather was too good. Rev. Caleb Buckland of St. James's Church, evidently miffed at how many of his parishioners had voted with their feet, "took occasion to comment on the fact that Christmas day was looked upon by too many as a day of pleasure instead of one of worship."

Services at the Church of Our Lady were well attended. People may have been curious to see the results of the extensive interior renovations recently untaken there. However, many wanted to hear Rev. Dr. Drummond, a visiting priest widely known for his oratorical eloquence. Apparently, they were not disappointed.

Choral performances were put on in the city's hospitals, the Elliot Home, and the Homewood Sanitarium.

On the downside, 20 gallons of milk were spilled on the road at Quebec and Woolwich Streets (now beside the Cooperators Building) from a delivery sleigh after the horse pulling it took fright for some reason (Mercury, 24 Dec. 1908). The report neglects to say whether anyone cried over the spilled milk or not.

Guelphites took little notice of Japan that Xmas. However, the Ontario Agricultural College Review (v. 21, no. 3, p. 166) noted that December that some Japanese students were studying there. It published a picture of the main building surrounded by the coats of arms of some of its international students. The symbol of the rising sun can be seen among them.

Miss Blackmore remained in Japan until 1924. Her return to Nova Scotia was likely prompted by the great Tokyo-Yokohama earthquake of 1923. The powerful earthquake, followed by fire storms and tsunami, nearly obliterated Yokohama and likely swept away the institutions built by the WMS.

The event was also seized upon by Japanese nationalists as an excuse to remove foreign and liberal elements from Japan. It may have helped to set Japan on a militaristic course:

Though they may dispute its effects, historians agree that the destruction of two great population centers gave voice to those in Japan who believed that the embrace of Western decadence had invited divine retribution. Or, as philosopher and social critic Fukasaku Yasubumi declared at the time: “God cracked down a great hammer” on the Japanese nation.

The Japanese navy attacked Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, an act that put Canada and Japan at war with one another. One wonders what Isabell Blackmore thought of that development. She died 26 days later, on 2 January 1942 and was buried in the Crossroads Cemetery, Valley, in her birthplace of Colchester County, Nova Scotia.