III - OBSERVANCES
Articles collected from November 13th, 1952 - March 28th, 1953

THE FIRST REMEMBRANCE DAY - NOVEMBER 11TH, 1918
I wonder how many remember the First Remembrance Day and its joyous tidings - 'The Eleventh Hour of the Eleventh Day of the Eleventh Month.' What a day it was. How we all felt an uplift of spirit with the feeling of no more war, no more bloodshed. No more rationing of food. No more of seeing sons and brothers going away to war, some of them never to return, some of them to come back maimed or sick. We'll never have another war; we've had all the war we want to see. But, on that first Armistice Day, our only thought was thanks for victory. Thanks to those, our brothers and our sons who would never come back and who would only live in memories.

I remember the impromptu parade we had. Everybody was there, including the Polish Army. You ought to have seen the show they put on. They had all kinds of groups mounted on trucks depicting the Kaiser and his minions doing all kinds of menial tasks for us the victors. One must remember that the warlords of Germany considered themselves a superior race. The Poles had been under their heel for many years and it must have given these boys a thrill to think that these archenemies of their race were beaten and well beaten.

I remember that we paraded down our wide Queen Street. We had then no Clock Tower in the middle of it. Everybody and his wife were there. School children, old soldiers, the Town Council of which I was a member and many citizens either walked with us or watched and cheered. It was a memorable occasion. It will live in our memories forever. Since that day, we have had another war brought on us by the same people, who never seem to learn that "Britons never will be slaves." Twice we have gone to War to save the Poles and to save civilization and incidentally our own way of life. The British people have come out of these wars much poorer in purse, but richer far in the satisfaction of knowing that there is no disgrace in spending ones all for the good of humanity.

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REMEMBRANCE DAY AND OUR AMERICAN COUSINS
I was present at the latest of our services at the Cenotaph and found much to be thankful for in the spectacle and in the decorous way in which everything was carried out. There were two things, however, which I missed and which used to add to the service. One of those was the loud speaker at which Charlie Haines used to be announcer. Anyone who has tried to speak or read outdoors knows the difficulty of doing so effectively. I once had the duty of presenting medals to the returned men after the First Great War at Wellandport. I was then Warden of the County and it was the Township Fair of the Township of Gainsborough.

There was a temporary platform from which to speak but there was a brisk wind blowing in one's face so that I felt that it was rather futile to try to make myself heard. However, I did my best and the thing went off very well. Of course, when one is speaking, one can even yell if he has the voice, but to read scripture and prayers and do them reverently, it is hardly fitting that one should yell or shout.

The other thing that I missed was music. When we had the band to lead us, it was nice. I would suggest that if some of our musicians would come along with a cornet, it would be fine. A cornet makes a fine lead for singing. I have known two choirmasters in my time that used a cornet for leading and it certainly was a great help. Perhaps, if we took the matter up with Mr. Willett, he might help us out. I, for one, would appreciate it.

I have been reading lately, some comments on relationships between our American cousins and us. There seems to be developing, both in England and on the Continent of Europe, a great deal of dislike for the American Service Man. Well, that is not new, nor is it to be wondered at. You know that Uncle Sam, during the first couple of years of the First War, bagged about all the gold in the world before he dreamed of going into it himself. And when he did get in, why he just won the War single handed, or so he made out. Quite naturally, those who had borne the "burden and heat of the day" have felt some resentment at this brag on the part of the Americans. I once read a book by Owen Wister, himself an American, and in this book he recounted a number of instances that bore out what I am saying.

Certainly, American service men have more money to spend than do those of other countries, including Britain and this fact gives them a sense of superiority that others resent. One must remember that their country has not been bombed almost out of existence, hence the war has not come home to them as it has to others. I do not wish to belittle what they have done in helping to rehabilitate the countries of Europe. One thing, however, I would like to get off my chest. Great Britain went heavily into debt to Uncle Sam to finance other countries during the First World War and when the war was over, she forgave those debts owing to her on war account, but did anybody ever dream of forgiving her debts? Instead, her currency was depreciated to such an extent, that her debts to the U.S. instead of being reduced were swollen beyond her means to pay. Forgive us our debt as we forgive our debtors does not seem to apply in this case.

We who live across the street from Uncle Sam should know him pretty well. While there are things about him that we don't like or admire, we get along pretty well. Personally, I have had dealings with the Yanks most of my long life. At one time, I knew as many people across the line as I did on our own side. When I was younger, there was a great deal of intercourse between Niagara and Youngstown people. We traded across the line both ways. It is true that neither country's treasuries benefited much from that trade. We went over there to entertainments and they came to ours. They had a small dance band that used to play for our dances and our Town Band always went over there on American holidays.

If our American cousins would just forget their wealth and prosperity and be the good fellows we know them to be, they would be much more popular. I once read and article in which the writer was discussing racial characteristics. He summation was that the outstanding characteristic of the British was "poise." That of the Americans was "progress", while that of the Canadians was a combination of the two. That will be all for now.

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ARMISTICE DAY [November 19^th, 1953]
I attended the service at the Cenotaph on Armistice Day and was pleased to see a goodly array of the Town's people there. It was nice to see the Scouts and the Guides there. We do not do so much of the flag waving and noise making, as do our neighbours across the line. But there seems to be a dignity and an air of deep feeling about such a gathering as ours. Part of our community and those of us whose kin they were still mourn their loss, yet have a pride in the fact that they made the greatest sacrifice men can make for their country, and for you and me. It was nice to see the row of flags too. There is something in the old Union Jack that strikes a chord of pride in those of us who were born under it and love it and its grand traditions.

There were a few things that I would like to see improved. It is not an easy thing to speak in the open air and from the sidewalk, I could not hear Mr. Hughes. His voice did not carry. I could hear Mr. Ball pretty well. Of course, I know that my hearing is not as good as it once was, and there were probably others in the gathering like me. The Legion used to have a loudspeaker that was a big help on such occasions. The chairman could be seen to move his lips but no sound of his voice reached me. Another help to make the Community singing a success would be a musical instrument of some kind. That's one place we miss the old Fruit Growers Band. A cornet makes an excellent lead and there were those present that could have done that duty, had they been asked. I hope that no one will get the idea that I am finding fault. It was a good service and quite fitting that it should be held and it would look better and be better if more of the younger men and women would show up in the ranks of the I. O. D. E. and the Legion.

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SKUNKS
I wonder if anyone loves a skunk. They are pretty little things and harmless enough unless you get too close to them and startle them. Several times, motor cars have run over members of the tribe in front of my residence and the odor left behind was certainly not the odor of sanctity. It used to be found profitable to trap skunks for their skins. Jack Taylor used to travel over a great part of the Town and Township in pursuit of poor pussy. There were several others who amused themselves in that way and the skunk population was thereby kept down, but it seems that now, nobody traps them and they are becoming quite numerous, at least in our part of the Town. I remember one man who lived here at one time, part of whose time was devoted to skunk trapping. He should not have been so diligent in slaying those poor little beasts, for a lot of us who had some business dealings with him, considered that he was a near relation of his victims. I was only a youth when he flourished here, but everyone around the waterfront knew of his shenanigans. For one thing, he peddled fish and he stung them all in turn. He was the proud possessor of a bony old nag and an ancient wagon that served as his means of getting about Town and Country. He once cleaned out a man's chicken coop on the River Road and sold them on the St. Catharines Market. He had a dog and by some chance, he inadvertently locked his dog in the man's hen house, where it was found by the victim the next morning.

The man happened to come to Town and saw the dog and its owner together. He at once accosted Mr. Haich and called him a chicken thief, whereupon Haich repaired to the office of William Kirby and laid a charge against the man of calling him out of his name. As the victim had no proof that Haich was really a chicken thief other than that of having found the dog on his premises, he had to pay a fine. Haich's explanation of the dog incident was that the dog frequently wandered away and was gone for days at a time.

At that time, the Salvation Army had a small Corps here and they used the Hall at the top of what is now the Stewart Building. One night Haich got converted and went up to the front at wept and acknowledged that he was a flagrant sinner. Unfortunately, some of our fisher laddies were present and were interested witnesses of the scene. One of them, a cousin of mine, met the penitent sinner at the top of the stairs as he emerged from the Hall. My cousin demanded that now, as he had confessed to being a sinner, it would be a good idea to pay what he owed for fish. "Don't dare speak to me", said Mr. Haich. "I'm far above you." Well, by hokey, you'll soon be far below me if you don't shell out, was the rejoinder. However, such a dire fate for the new recruit for the Army was averted by interference by bystanders. However, that cousin of mine bided his time and the following summer, he observed the form of Mr. Haich on the Steamboat Wharf. Taking up a strategic position between Mr. Haich and terra firma, he called out to his prospective victim, "Now Haich, you shell out what you owe me, or into the drink you go." Haich saw that he was cornered and promptly though reluctantly proceeded to comply with this delicate hint and having produced the required amount, he was allowed to depart.

One day, a good while later on, he came down to the Ferry with a bag of skunk skins and I had the distinguished honour of rowing him and his odorous cargo to Uncle Sam's domain, where a market for his wares was available. Along towards evening, I had a trip to Youngstown with a passenger and on landing was called by some small boys to the village lockup. On coming close to the small building, I called out to the prisoner within and it turned out to be our Mr. Haich. He wished me to take a message to his relatives. That night he was tried on a charge of purloining a pair of dollar pants from a store. Being detected before he got out of the store, he was given in charge and received a sentence of thirty days in the Lockport Jail. That about finished him here and shortly afterwards the family moved away from Town. The last I heard of him, he had received a sentence of ten years in State Prison on some serious charge brought by his family. So passed from our scene a man who could have been a good citizen but for his crooked disposition. This all happened many years ago.

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GOSSIPS
I wonder if you have ever met a real, honest to goodness male gossip. I dare say the distaff side of the house will break out in a chorus of "All Men Are Gossips." Well, girls, that's all right. I'm not saying anything about the female sex, at least not right away. But I do remember one man who had the reputation of a male gossip. I don't intend to tell you who he was, but just gossip a little about him. He was brought up on a farm in the Township and he and his brother inherited a farm from their father. Our hero didn't like work, but he was a great conniver and it occurred to him that it would be a good idea to ease his brother out of his share of the farm. He very well knew that ready cash was a rarity so he cannily offered his brother his choice of buying him out for $7,000.00 cash or selling his share for the same amount, but it must be spot cash. He never dreamed that his brother had or could raise at short notice such an amount. Now the brother was a farmer and loved the farm and farming, while our gossip loved neither. However, the best laid plans of mice and gossips do "gang a'gley" sometimes and this proved to be the case. Brother had a friend who loaned him the money and our gossip was hoist on his own petard, whereupon, he forsook the soil and became an urbanite. He dwelt at a hotel where he soon established a reputation as a male gossip and a moneylender. In his time, we had no bank and a man who had command of a little cash could earn many a penny be lending it out at a usurious rate of interest. So our gossip lived and thrived. He learned a lot about people and their affairs and was not averse to telling all he knew or imagined about the people of the neighbourhood. Well, his long tongue finally got him into serious trouble, as long tongues are apt to do. He was in danger of going to gaol or being stuck for a large bill of damages and he couldn't take it. What did he do? Why he borrowed a gun and made a mess by blowing the top of his head off. Certainly, he was not a person to be envied or imitated.

Of course, you girls never gossip. Yet I remember a long time ago, what a whale of a sensation was created when our streets were strewn with pamphlets, naming half a dozen dear ladies as gossips of the first water. Yes, and they named names too, but no one except the perpetrators of the outrage knew whence the things came, or who the authors were. I don't suppose that any of the many ladies of my acquaintance are gossips in the sense that these women were said to be.

Of course, in a small town, we all indulge in a little harmless chat with one another about one another, but there is nothing malicious or harmful about it. Just friendly chat.

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GATHERING PLACES
Most of us have habits or peculiarities that cause us to differ from others. I remember one old lady who made it a point of attending every Funeral in Town whether she knew the people or not. And there were gathering spots where people met and chatted. Charlie Briggs' shoe shop and Paddy Lynch's harness shop were such places. And then there were the Hotels, the Railway Station, yes and I mustn't forget the fish shanties. You could always find someone to chat with in the stores and shops. Nowadays, you never see a chair or a box or a cracker barrel on which to rest while the madam is chauffeuring with the storekeeper I used to notice, as a boy, the gatherings in the stores in Youngstown. I used to quite enjoy just looking at them and hearing their Yankee twang. There was a quaintness about the whole scene that reminded me of those Joseph C. Lincoln stories. I suppose that over there, things have changed as they have here. Here you don't see salt fish displayed outdoors, an exhibit much enjoyed by our fly population. It also had an attraction for dogs and cats. Our pet flies must feel greatly depressed over the lack of sustenance furnished by our merchants.

When I was a kid, there were no door or window screens and very few people had a refrigerator. Electric ones had not been invented. We surely have much to be thankful for in this day and age.

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CHRISTMAS IN THE PAST
Here we are approaching another Christmas and I cannot help remembering Christmases of the days when I was young. What a change has come over the whole nation in the keeping of the festive season. In my early years, Christmas was a very modest affair. There was not the hustle and bustle about it that there is now. Take the custom of sending Christmas cards. Why we never heard of such a thing. Christmas was a simple affair. To be sure we hung up our stockings and we received therein candy, cake and nuts, and we were glad and thankful for what we got. The only thing that we were discouraged from consuming too much of those unusual good things for fear that it would spoil our breakfast. Of course, we had a bounteous repast at dinner with roast goose and pudding, either apple or plum. I noticed a few days ago that a large truck backed up on the sidewalk in front of the Marino store, laded with evergreen trees. Now, when I was a kid, we didn't have trees of that kind. To be sure, the Churches had each of them, a tree, but someone had to go out to the country and cut one in somebody's bush. The giving of presents was not the business it has become. There was no lavish display of goods that we see in our stores today. Nor did we ever hear of a Santa Claus parade. We decorated out Churches, of course, for after all, Christmas is a vital part of Christ's Church; it is not a business. And, after all, I believe there was more quiet happiness and contentment about the season then this present day, with all its hustle and bustle, can possibly afford. For many a father and mother, the coming of Christmas is a season of care and anxiety. One must keep up with the Joneses. And many a fond parent breathes a sigh of relief when it is all over for another year.

[From January 7^th, 1954:]
Well, here we are into a brand new year. Old 1953 has departed this life with all its faults and failings, its blessings and its curses. We've had another Christmas too, and while it, too, has come and gone, I thought it not too late to reminisce a bit about other times and customs. Ye Editor has given us a resume of changes and improvements that have been made in the year now last past, and it started me thinking about what Christmas was like when I was a youngster.

We surely lived in different times. I would like to remind you that we had no electric light to furnish illuminations for us, either in our homes or our streets. So just shut your eyes to our gaily-lighted Main Street and your ears to the motor cars and trucks with their raucous noises. Come home with me to our modest dwelling. Mother has been busy for a week past. A goose has been slain and hung up. I sometimes had the job of plucking the bird. An enormous apple pudding has been prepared. A large plum cake has been manufactured, with various cookies. The air is redolent with savory smells and whenever we kids are allowed within smelling distance of the kitchen, our mouths watered in anticipation of the good things to come.

Christmas Eve, we are put to bed with great reluctance on our part and are sternly bidden to shut our eyes and our mouths and go to sleep. Of course, we promptly obey, for tomorrow is Christmas. Of course, too, in our dreams, or was it in our dreams, we visualize sundry long stockings decorating the doorway to the bedroom. However, in the sweet bye-and-bye, morning comes. We are strictly forbidden to get out of bed until fires had been lighted and the living room warmed. We didn't burn coal, indeed very few people did in those days, but a red-hot box stove soon warmed things up. What did we get in our stockings? Candy, nuts, cookies, perhaps an apple. And therewith we were content. We did not get Christmas presents such as are so plentiful in this day and age. Nor did we get or give Christmas cards. A Christmas Tree in most of our homes wasn't even thought of. We didn't have shows to amuse us; we did our own amusing.

How did we put in Christmas Day? Well, we in our family were regular attendants at Church and Sunday school. For a month or more, before the big day arrived, we practiced Carols after Sunday school. Miss Beaven, who lived in our present abode, was our instructor and a very exacting old lady she was. We had no Parish Hall then. We met in the Church and the appearance of the old Church, like most other things, has undergone changes. Then, there was a gallery all around the Church and the whole front of it would be festooned with wreaths of cedar and the smell was most enjoyable. The organ and choir were in the gallery at the rear of the church. Of course, on Christmas morning, we went to Church and in the afternoon, being filled to repletion with Christmas food, we repaired again to the church, there to sing our carols and listen to a Christmas talk by the Rector.

Then we marched in a body to the home of the Misses Beaven where we were each given a bag of candy and an orange. Mind you, oranges were an unheard of thing in our daily lives. And the candy was not the luscious, gooey stuff that is so common in our candy shops today. We, however, were thankful to get what was given us. It was a break in our lives. After a while, it became the custom to have a Christmas tree, not in our homes, but in some public place.

One must remember too, that the Lions' Club and other such organizations had not then been heard of. I sometimes wonder if children really appreciate what is done for them. Of course, the parents of today were not born in the time of which I write. I feel as if I were speaking from a day that is long gone. With all the changes that have come about in our way of living, is there any improvement in our appreciation of Him whom we are supposed to be honouring at Christmas time, or are we just having a good time because it is the season for it? I suppose someone will say that I have no business to preach, but for many years, while I was Superintendent of the Sunday school, it was one of my duties to address the School at Christmas time. Some things become a habit and a good habit persisted in can do nothing but good.

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CHRISTMAS IN THE PRESENT
All sorts of organizations have sprung up that make special efforts to bring Christmas to the have-nots of their respective communities and they are to be commended for their good work. But too many of these good people have taken away from the Church, its role of dispenser of kindness to its members. I am not decrying the good that those organizations do, for after all, it is the result of the Christ spirit having been spread into our and their hearts that moves them to do these good deeds. It would be a fine thing for the Church and the Nation, if more of these kindly activities were done by those good people as member of some Church. It is not a thing to be ashamed of to be known as a Church member and a Church worker. I suppose that many of them are of the stuff of which heroes and martyrs are made if the need arose, but while we take the Church for granted and do nothing through her and for her, we are missing a great opportunity to help the Church and its Master. I remember an old black fellow who used to come down from the Falls to get fish to peddle. I noticed one day that he was wearing a Salvation Army badge. I asked him if he belonged to the Army. His reply was, "I belong to the Lord, my boy, I belongs to the Lord." I said, "Why we all do, Uncle."

"Yes, my boy, but does ye serve Him?" And there we have the plain duty of man, to serve Him. So whether we have much or whether we have little, Christmas is coming and it is not just a season of giving and receiving gifts, buying and selling. It is a season of goodwill to men and of giving thanks to the Giver of all the best that makes life worth living.

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THE AMERICAN THANKSGIVING
Our ears have been bombarded over the radio with the American Thanksgiving. One of the reasons that our cousins over the border make such a hullabaloo over Thanksgiving Day is the fact that the New England settlers did not celebrate Christmas, but made another holiday and called it Thanksgiving Day. And their keeping of that day has lived and lasted and has spread over into our country. I do hope that it will not put our Christmas into a secondary place. It is a good thing to give thanks to the Almighty for all our blessings, but the giving of thanks to Him for the greatest gift of all, should not give place of any man made holiday.

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SHOPS AND SHOPPING
Reminiscing a bit more about Christmas and the changes that have come to pass, I cannot help noticing the stores and shops. Strolling along our main business thoroughfare, one must admire the decorations in the windows and the interior of the various places of business. When I was a lad, the staid man of business seemed to have enough to do without embellishing their places of business. They were for business, not pleasure. Then too, it is quite apparent that our people have made strides in taste for beauty. When one thinks of the very drab interior of our stores in the old days, one need not sigh for those dear dead days that are gone beyond recall. Gone are the cracker barrel and the row of big tea boxes. Gone are the window shutters and the dim, often smoky oil lamps. Instead of a muddy, sticky roadway, we now have dry, hard streets.

Instead of the odd tie posts with here and there a steed tethered thereto, now we see thousands of dollars worth of fiery chariots standing peacefully at the curb. Up and down and round about are dozens of the same, wherein are seated the lords and ladies of creation, all seemingly liberally endowed with the spirit of hurry, hurry, hurry. After all, one does not stroll peacefully anymore. Instead, one has frequently to play the role of "Hop-a-long Cassidy". One of the rules of the road with which I was familiar when pursuing a marine avocation runs thus, "When in danger, or in doubt, always keep a good lookout," and it comes back to me as I cross our streets.

Another one of the changes that have come about our shops and shopping, is that none of our shops confines itself to one line of business. For instance, Butcher shops sell groceries and fruit and canned goods. Groceries sell meats, probably because of the competition from the Butchers. Drug stores sell a variety of things that could not by any stretch of imagination, be called drugs or medicines. A man starts up an electric business and you find his place of business crammed with all kinds of goods, except perhaps, dry goods. I think that the drygoods stores are about the only ones that stick to their own line of business. On the other side of the line, I believe that drug stores serve meals. Now, mind you, I am not criticizing the businessmen, I am only noting some of the changes in business methods, for they are changes. Another business change that has come about is that we now have insurance and real estate offices, where formerly, those businesses were more a matter of chance. At one time, the Carnochans had a lumber business. Now, our dealings in that line are mingled with paints, hardware and a thousand and one other articles.

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OUR WAY OF LIFE [from January 22nd]
I was thinking of the tremendous change that has come over out way of living in my short span of life. It used to be that when a couple married, they started out on the sea of matrimony in a very modest way. First of all, they both managed to scrape up a little money, he to get a decent suit in which to be married and she to furnish what used to be called a hope chest. Probably, he would manage to get enough to buy very modest equipment for kitchen and bedroom. Now you see bridal couples blossoming out with radio, a car, all kinds of silverware, probably a house the government built and a fervent ambition to outdo all the Joneses that came out of the Ark. What would people do without a government? It is expected to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and provide doctors and hospitals. Why on earth doesn't someone start a movement to have some government produce the babies? Bye and bye, you young people will need a government permit to have children. Government tells us how to run our civic affairs, how to teach our kids and more and more, we are shoving off onto the government, all responsibility for our living. And say, you fellows that pay taxes of one kind or another, who pays the shot. Why you do and you are apparently willing to give someone else control of your purse strings. Your elected councilors can no longer run your affairs on a tax levy of l5 or 20 mills on the dollar. The average young couple is not satisfied nowadays with living modestly and economically. They must have a car right away. They must have a radio and in many cases a television set. My lady must have as many and ornate dresses as Miss or Mrs. Jones. In short, most people live far beyond their means. They are thoroughly imbued with the spirit of "taking no thought for the morrow", for the morrow or the government or some organization will take care of me. What silly asses many of us are. We cannot see another with something that we have not, but we must forthwith have it whether we can afford it or not. Even the small kids are imbued with the same spirit. Look at the lineup outside the Brock Theatre on Saturday afternoon. Children are not taught to make their own fun or entertainment. Sometimes, you know, I feel sorry for parents who have a flock of children to bring up. They may be jewels, but jewels can be darned expensive.

Another change I have observed in our way of life is shown by the traffic on our business street. One must be struck by the number of trucks delivering the goods that our stores retail to us. For instance, I once counted twelve different bakery trucks passing by in a short time. Our meats, canned goods, our drinks and items of merchandise innumerable are so conveyed. Our railway is nearly out of existence. Gone are Bill and George Murray, Tom Mills, Bill Wright and a host of others who used to convey our goods from dock or railway to our homes and stores. I wonder what one would think if he could see Tom Mills pick up a barrel of coal oil and put it in his wagon, a mere matter of 400 pounds. Or see Bill Wright yank the hind end of a wagon loaded with coal over onto the scales. They were men of might.

Few housewives know how to bake bread any more. The can opener plays a more and more important part in catering to a family's appetite. In my young days, we never saw canned goods. I do not say that this is not better, for it greatly simplifies the work of feeding the hungry. Another change is in the treatment of the sick. It used to be that a few old women were the mainstay of the Doctor in caring for the sick. Now we have a hospital and trained nurses and if you dare to catch a cold or get what a fellow I used to know called "Sick a do bell." why away you go to "de hospital". All to the good I suppose. I hope my readers will not get the idea that I am grouching about these changes. I am only pointing out some of the changes. You can do the grouching if you feel so disposed.

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HEATING
There has been a tremendous change in the heating arrangements of our homes and places of business. When I was a boy, wood was the fuel mostly used. Even the railway engines and the steamboats used wood. The late John Clockenburg told me of helping his father carry in a load of cordwood for the office of William Kirby. The schools were heated by wood. There was a small coal bin at the Dock, owned by Forbes Geddes, the Station Agent. It held about two carloads and served the needs of the toffs who could afford to have coal heaters. The country was dotted with woods, which furnished the fuel for the Town. Then W. H. J. Evans came to Town and started a Coal business. At first, he had his office in the Lake View House, but later built a substantial row of bins on the railway line leading into the engine house. Here he built up a substantial business and a reputation for himself as a businessman. He became one of our leading citizens. He sat in Council from 189l to 1896 inclusive and served an additional four years as County Commissioner, being County Warden in 1900. He was followed in the coal business by James Longhurst, Paddy Miles, Bob Cumpson and Harvey Caughill and in later years by Billy Richardson. Now many homes and places of business are using oil for heating. I daresay that some day, some form of steam power will be devised for use. Nothing seems to be beyond the power of man to devise or invent in this our day.

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CATTLE AND MILK
As I look out of my front windows at the Common, I picture in my mind's eye, the herds of cattle that used to browse on its supply of luscious grass. I suppose few of our people remember the time when cows loafed about our streets. There was then no need to worry about cutting the grass; the cows did that. All over the Town, there were people who kept a cow or two. Around my own section, people who kept a cow were numerous. There were the Doolans, The O'Melias, The Crosses, The Kennedys, Addisons, Abbotts, Bests, the Pattersons, Ed Bradley, John Simpson, both the hotels, Jimmy Tay, Sherlocks. Now isn't that quite a list for one section of our Town? Nobody peddled milk from door to door. I can remember many a trip with a tin pail to procure a pint or a quart of milk. There was then no thought of pasteurizing the milk, no attempt at keeping stables or barns clean. It was a common thing to plant your nice clean shoes in the droppings from somebody's bovine pet, for the dear creatures played no favorites when they left a calling card. It may be that it added zest to walk along our wooden walks to fall over a cow reclining under a tree on the walk. We bought milk then at three cents a pint or five cents per quart. As time elapsed, the peddling of milk developed into quite a business. I remember when Eddie Patterson had quite a Dairy in the west end of the Town. At one time, he had a chap working for him and one day I observed this fellow at the spring just opposite the house where I was living and he was busily engaged in ladling water into the milk cans. The Military Camp was on at that time, and thither the milk was destined. When the driver saw me eyeing him and his activity, he grinned and remarked, "That for Tal." Milk was not bottled in those days, but was lugged around in large cans.

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SPRING WATER
Speaking of spring, we always had good spring water at the Dock. Three of these springs are still there, one at Fort George, one at Nelson Street and one at Belaire Street. The one in the Fell lot, just below Wellington Street, was spoiled when the sewer was laid on Ricardo Street. I knew a young man who one summer took daily samples from all four of those springs. He was employed by a Commission that was investigating the pollution of boundary waters. I had the job of conveying him on trips around the mouth of the river to get samples of water. He told me that they never found a single instance of pollution in any of the springs, but there was plenty of it in the River and well out into the Lake.

There seems to be a scarcity of water in various parts of the country on both sides of the line and a good deal of it is attributed to the cutting off of the trees and forests. You make take our own neighbourhood as an example of those cuttings. When I was on the water, one could survey the landscape and see groups of trees everywhere. Now, it is quite different. Not many will remember when the road to St. Catharines was known as "The Black Swamp Road." I remember that in my youth, there were heavy growths of trees pretty well all along it.

I once had the duty of taking service for the Reverend Mr. Nye at St. George's Church at Homer. The service was at night and my only way of getting home was by driving his team of mustang ponies down the road. There was no moon and along that road, it was as black as a string of black cats. And those ponies were wise, for you couldn't drive them faster than a walk. I arrived at Doyle's Hotel where I was to leave the ponies at eleven o'clock and delivered the ponies to the care of Charlie Chandler. I never met a soul all the way down that dark and dismal highway. The coming of the gas wagon has changed all that. I see every once in a while, a truck laded with a huge tank of water bound for the country which seems to have gone dry. Like other parts of the country, are trees are pretty well cleaned out and many of our bird friends have gone with the trees. When I was a boy, there was quite a lot of shooting of game birds. There are not the pigeons that used to be plentiful nor snipe, nor snow birds, nor plover to mention a few that were common to our District.

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THE FIREMEN'S BALL
Well, New Years has come and gone once more and the Firemen have held their Ball. This is quite an institution and has been going almost since Adam was a baby. The Firemen seem to have had this Annual Shindig for longer than I can remember. But things are a bit different now from what they were in my young days. I remember that it used to be the custom to send out to a carefully prepared list of ladies, an ornate invitation card, without which no female could attend. And all those ladies so invited were gathered by a very ornate carriage and pair from Donelly's Livery Stable. I fancy I can see that rig now, with Pete McCormack on the driver's seat, going from house to house gathering up the belles of the Town who had been invited to come to the Town Hall to grace the Ball with their gracious presence. For the men, no invitation was needed, as long as they could produce the price of admission. In my younger days, these Annual Balls were held in the small hall, as the one now used then had the old permanent seating arrangement that did not afford room for dancing. The dances were not as large as they are now, as the size of the room did not permit a large crowd.

The Firemen later on were responsible for removing the old seats and putting down a hardwood floor, so that now there is ample room for tripping the light fantastic. I sometimes picture to myself, the carriage from Bill Donelly's stable with its spic and span team of horses, its immaculately dusted interior and with Pete on the box, it was a sight for sore eyes.

This Annual Ball drew customers from the American side of the River; in fact, on many occasions, the music was furnished by King and McLaughlin from Youngstown. I remember that on one New Year's Eve, the Lake Erie ice came down in the night and my Dad and I had a job next day, getting a girl who was employed at Fort Niagara back to her job.

Fred Bolton was her company and he went with us to get across through the ice. We made it but it was some job. We landed at the Run above Youngstown. For those who are not up on River Topography, the Run is the point on the river shore just above Youngstown, and there would be no eddy ice there. After making a landing, Dad and I waited there while Fred piloted his lady friend to her destination and this having been done, we wound our way homeward.

To return to the subject of dances and dancers, what a change has come over both. Now I am told the Firemen pay three hundred dollars for an Orchestra, whereas in my youth, they would pay at the most twenty or twenty-five dollars. A couple of fiddles, a cornet and a piano were considered ample. A dollar and a half was about the extent of what the male patrons were required to pay, while the ladies were admitted free on invitation. I do not remember much about the supper arrangements, but I don't suppose the cost would be more than fifty or sixty cents per couple.

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THE ICE BRIDGE AT NIAGARA
There does not seem to be the ice in the River that there used to be. There were many ice bridges or jams in earlier years, when it would be possible to walk or drive across. There used to be a roadway down the bank at the old Ferry and I think I can see the path zigzagging across. Usually someone marked out the path with sticks or branches. The Path was never very smooth or straight, but a lot of people crossed. I remember one man who had a rather harrowing experience on night. It was an American soldier named Larkin. He started across one dark night towards the American side carrying a borrowed lantern. The ice-bridge moved while he was on it and he walked into open water. He lost his lantern, but managed to get back on the ice and make his way back to Canada soaking wet and half frozen but tinkled pink to be alive.

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FRED WILLETT'S BAND
"O, Listen to the Band." Did you hear Fred Willett's band? If you didn't, you missed a treat. I don't know where he gathered that bunch up, but he surely did a good job while he was at it. I listen to all the much-publicized bands on the radio and I really do see no reason for Fred to take a back seat to any of them. It seems to me that it is a well-balanced ensemble, its tone is good and its timing excellent and Fred's work as Conductor is beyond praise. Personally, I foresee a great future for Fred as a Conductor and for his Band as a purveyor of good music.

This Art Wilson they were touting in between must be something. I see a chap of that name every once in a while and it seems to me he must be one of those "flowers that are born to blush unseen, and waste its sweetness on the desert air." It seems to me that we people of Niagara should wake up to the fact that we have such a successful businessman in our midst. I hear there is some talk of taking up a collection to buy him a new hat, as a token of our recognition for his superlative qualities as a businessman. Seriously though, Art has made a success of his business and deserves all the good things that were said about him.

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PASSENGER PIGEONS
Listening to that Toronto School Quiz on the radio on Saturday, I heard some mention of the passenger pigeons, which once abounded in these parts. I don't remember them, but my father has told me of men standing on the Railway track opposite the Beach and knocking them down in the hundreds. They seem to have come over in such huge numbers that they darkened the sky. And now they have entirely disappeared. The last was heard of them was that a few had been seen in the mountains in the far Western States, but that was a good many years ago. People about home used to keep pigeons. Nobody considered them a nuisance, but in Toronto they seem to cause a lot of concern on the part of owners of houses. There certainly are plenty of them, especially in North Toronto and I see that someone has suggested greasing the places where they are in the habit of roosting. It seems to me that with the many available roosts, someone is going to have a steady job and an everlasting one. Pity the poor birds however. They are pretty and harmless. Some darn fool even wanted to cut down the trees in some of the city parks to get rid of the birds. What fools these mortals be.

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RADIO
One of the many modern things that we did not have in my youth was the Radio. It has much about it that is enjoyable and much not so nice. We get quite used to having a good programme interrupted by commercial announcements and we bear them though not gladly, as they help by their support to bring us entertainment. But Good Lord, Deliver us from the so-called "singing commercials."

Of all the silly, asinine rackets that ever were invented to torture our ears, they take the cake. They are not musical and they are anything but amusing or diverting. Whoever devised such an instrument of torture ought to have his head or what passes for a head, thoroughly housecleaned. I wonder if it were not possible to establish a school to teach radio announcers how to pronounce the English language. I am continually hearing announcers mispronounce common words. You must know that I went to school when Janet Carnochan was our Teacher and one of the things about which she was most insistent was correct punctuation. Her spirit could teach even smart radio announcers, a trick with a hole in it when it comes to proper use of our English tongue. Not all the mispronunciations are made by radio artists. I was listening to President Eisenhower's address to Congress and I noticed him pronouncing the word sacrifices as if it were spelled "sacrifisses." It's darn aggravating when you can't correct some of these fellows.

Some of those so-called singers on the radio need a few lessons in the rudiments of voice culture. Some of them cannot take a middling high note without yelling their bally heads off. One fellow who has quite a vogue is dreadfully nasal and slurry in his vocalizing. Well now that I've got that off my mind, I shall await whatever fate shall befall with patience and equanimity. Those are good words, if you know what I mean.

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PIG BUTCHERING
One thing that I had in mind of quite a different nature was pigs. Are there any pigs in Town now? When I was a boy, about half the people kept those odoriferous pets. Did you ever suffer from a steady diet of salt pork for a whole darn winter, varied only occasionally by a bit of beef or a meal of fish? We hadn't the canned meats and vegetables that grace our grocer's shelves. The Annual Pig Killing was quite an event. When you got Pat Flynn and Toby O'Brien together, they were quite a team. If you could be around when Mike Hahassey had pigs to kill, you would have got an earful. Bill and Joe Fellows and the whole family of Egans were usually to be found assisting at the obsequies. Down in our neck of the Town, there used to be a large pigpen just where the waterworks building now stands. The Bests were Butchers and lived in the house that Jim Usher now has and they kept their porcine stock in the pen of which I speak, until they were wanted for slaughter in the Slaughter House at the rear of their dwelling and which has now been taken down. I remember the keen interest we kids used to have in seeing Jimmy Tay's pets being slain. That's one gory scene that our present kids with their picked looking outfits miss. Ted Bissell used to do Jimmy's killing. How we watched every detail of the spectacle, the scalding, the scraping and the hanging up. Nothing escaped us. So you modern kids missed quite an experience by being born so late in the day. There is always something or somebody to take away our innocent pleasures. The Government Inspectors come along and say you can't do this and you can't keep that. I think I told you about a character that stole a litter of pigs. This fellow owed my Dad and my Uncle some money and my uncle was able to get one of these young pigs from the man. Of course, he didn't know the pigs were stolen until long afterwards. We shared the pig between us when it was ready to kill and it was very fine pork. I don't know of any pigs being kept in Town now, unless it should be in what is left of Irishtown, which is not at all Irish anymore. Gone are the Murphys, the O'Briens, the Mahasseys, the McMann's, the Flynns, the Lynches, the Campbells, the Careys, and the Barnes. The only remnant of the Irish is the Fellows'. The original Fellows came from the Town of Enniscorthy in the County of Wexford, the same town from which my paternal grandmother came. Of course, not all the Irish inhabitants lived in Irish Town. They were scattered all over the place, and they were not the only people who kept pigs. But pigs and Irish have gone. The aroma of the pigsty has vanished and in its place, we have the reek of gasoline. The squeal of the pig has been replaced by the blare of the horn and those people of the long ago have been replaced by a new people, whose most familiar weapon is the can opener and whose only aim in life is to get nowhere in a hurry.

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RIP VAN WINKLE
I happened to be looking through a book of short stories a few days ago and I came across an old friend in the tale of Rip Van Winkle. I remember having that tale for a literature study at High School. You who are familiar with the story will remember that Rip was an idle fellow and his wife had a tongue with a tang. To get away from her and her tongue, he would take his gun and his dog and sally forth among the Catskill Mountains, there to attain the peace that he desired and to cause as much damage to the bird population as he could. On this occasion, after seeing some very strange people amid the mountain scenery, and partaking freely of a beverage to which he had access, he just naturally fell asleep. When he awakened, his dog was gone and beside him lay a rusty gun. He looked all over for the dog and for the people whom he remembered seeing, and finding neither, he shouldered the rusty musket and tramped off towards his home, wondering as he went, what kind of welcome he would get from his indignant spouse. He must have been a woebegone object. His clothes were ragged and his beard had grown overnight to a great length. When he approached the Town, it seemed to have changed. Its shops were different, and while the old Tavern was still there, a different person was in charge. His own house he found empty and deserted. He later learned that he had been asleep for twenty years. His wife was dead, his dog was gone, his family grown up and dispersed. Nobody remembered him. He finally found a daughter, married and with a family and made his home with her and he also found one or two of his old cronies. You may bet that old Rip had some tall tales to tell about his long absence. And you can just imagine the unbelieving looks on the faces of his hearers as he spun them.

It occurred to me that had we a Rip Van Winkle living in this Town of say three score years ago and came trudging home, he would have found some change today. Supposing he had been hunting rabbits on Queenston mountain and had fallen asleep and after a lapse of some five dozen years, awakened to a new life and started for home and his own familiar haunts, what changes would he have found. Let's jog along with Rip and hear him talking to himself. Of course, he came along the old River Road and as he emerged from the shade of the Oak Bush, he would stop and look. Is this my Town? Why this road across the Common seems to be deserted. And what do I see? What is that great outspread building I see. That wasn't there yesterday. I'll have to see about this. I must be dreaming. As he approached the Town, he found that a hospital had sprung up overnight and looking along the street, it seemed different. The muddy, dusty wide thoroughfare seemed to have been changed. Down its center was some kind of garden, planted with shrubs. It had been surfaced with some kind of hard material and there were queer looking iron posts planted in it and altogether it looked different. The houses somehow were different. And where has Jimmy Doyle's Hotel got to? Why, it's gone. Poor old Jimmy; he was a good scout.

Look at that Park over there. Where has the hedge gone and the wire fence? And the trees, why they have grown wonderfully overnight. Well, there is Candy Evan's wee shop, but it seems to be closed. Can it be that he is gone, too? And the Whitewings Hotel, it used to be right here and it too, has gone and the shop that stood beside it. Oh yes, there's Bill Long's Hotel, but it looks different. Bill isn't in sight, or the men that used to be sitting on the verandah. Or Clement's house on the other corner. It doesn't look the same. It used to be just and ordinary frame dwelling with a smaller kind of shop or store behind it. Look at those windows. Somebody must do some kind of showy business in there.

And there is a separate store as part of the same building. The Hydro, it says on its sign. Hydro, what is that? Nothing like that was here to my recollection. And a Fire Hall. The only Fire Hall I remember was a room under the Town building. Let's see, where was Clement's store? Why there is where it used to be but how it has changed. I don't see old George A. or Johnny about. Steve Follett's was next. He must be gone too and Henry Crysler. There is a different look about that place. The Cryslers were all temperance people, so how does it come that there should be a Liquor Sign on the place. I wish I could see someone I know, so I could find out about people and things. Well, we shall see.

The street seems to be cluttered up strange looking machines. I asked a man what they were and he looked at me in such a queer way. "Say Mister, where have you been? Didn't you ever see a car before?" Yes, I said, but they used to run on Railway Tracks." He laughed, and looked me over as if I was a strange animal. I didn't bother him anymore. Well, any way, there was the Town Hall pretty much as I remembered it. But what does that sign in the window say? "Police Office." Well, my gosh, Bob Reid must have got up in the world, for he never had an office in my time. I saw a very important looking man in a uniform standing nearby and I heard someone address him as Chief, so I asked who he was and was told that he was Chief Warner, so I concluded that Bob must be gone too. I wondered what in thunder they wanted of a brick thingummy in the middle of the street, and right in front of the Town Hall, too. I didn't like to ask, so I walked over and there was a slab on it. It appeared to be a Memorial to men of the Town who died in a War. Well, for goodness sake, so they went and had a War, yes, two of them while I was asleep. "Gosh, I'll believe anything now." But, let's get along. There was Jack Bishop's old store. It seems to be occupied by a newspaper. I didn't see anything of Jack and his cigar, nor hear his hearty voice. How the Dickens has the town got on without Jack Bishop? Bill Longhurst had a Butcher Shop next door. It looks like a shoe repair shop now, so I suppose Bill is gone. And Jim Walsh's barroom has another business in it, while the rest of his hotel has a grocery store. Of course, the Dave McMillans were gone before I left and on the next corner, Harry Woodington seems to have gone too; there is a Clothing and Shoe business there now. His Liquor Store next door is now occupied by a firm named Eaton, who must have come in from Toronto, as I remember a small store in Toronto under that name.

So far, I have not found a single one of the old timers I used to know. Even Paddy Lynch's place is gone and I suppose that Paddy too has gone. That whole street seems changed. There is a Bakery and a place where they repair those new-fangled cars and a sort of storehouse by people named Greaves. Never heard of them in my time. And where has old Henry Paffard's quaint old house gone from the corner. Why Henry used to just about own the Town. Ah, there's a familiar name, McClellands. I peeped in, but none of the McClellands I used to know were to be seen. The store didn't look like the same place inside, either. Hello, what's this? A new Post Office. No use going in there. Nobody would know me. Bob Warren would never be found in a place like that. As I went along, I could see several new houses. I got down to the corner where we used to turn up for St. Catharines and there I missed old H. A. Garrett's house, which used to be there close to the street. From here, the other side of the street looks much the same, but let's wander along it for a closer look. Why, on the very next corner, the Roger's building has vanished and the Sando house across from it. In fact, there are some changes in that whole next block. Thompsons and Connollys and Taylors and Biddy Mayo used to be here. There seems to be only one house left and Jack Thompson lived in it. The rest are gone, even the old Centre House on the corner. Campbell's Blacksmith Shop has gone and so too Bob Kearins' Bake Shop.

What the dickens is that place with a hump on its back like a camel? A picture theatre. Well, that's something new. As I walk along, I can't see a single familiar sign on a building. Rowland's old store is there yet, but what a change there is in it: no tailoring or dry goods but jam, of all things. Golly, the only jam there was in my time was what mother used to make and it wasn't put up in little glass bottles, but in crocks that could hold as much as a whole flock of bottles. Sando's meat shop and Blain's drygoods seem to be missing, as well as Tom Holahan's bootshop. There used to be a little shop along here where the telephone started. Here is a deserted and rather dilapidated looking building that seems to be deserted. Where the fire was a few years back there now is: a Meat store, a Bank, a Furniture store, and a Lunch store. Two new places have been built - a barbershop and a telephone office. There's a new name on the Barber Shop, Curtis instead of Frank and dear old Henry Paffard's name has gone from the Drug Store. What changes there have been. There is not a single person in business on that whole street that I know. Gone are the Boyles, the Longs, the Clements, the Cryslers, the Bishops, the Longhursts, the McMillans, the Walshes, the Woodingtons, the Paffards, the Sherlocks, the Bests, the Rosses, the Petleys, the Blains, the Rowlands, the Pattersons and the Folletts. In fact, there are only two people living along the whole length of the street who lived there in my time. I wonder how many can name those people.

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NIAGARA'S EARLY MAYORS, REEVES, AND COUNCILORS
I was asked a few days ago, who was Niagara's first Mayor? It was in 1850 that we were able to elect a Mayor, although we had been incorporated as a Town by an Act of the Parliament of Canada, the style of the Act of Incorporation being 8th Victoria, Chapter 62, dated March 29th, 1845. In l850, there was a general act incorporating all Towns, Villages, etc. and setting forth the title of those holding office. According to the terms of the first Act of Incorporation, we were governed by a Board of Police and the title of the head of that Board was President. When the new Act came into force, the presiding officer was styled Mayor and until 1858, the Mayor was elected from and by the Councilors. We then had five wards with three Councilors from each ward. The Reeve and Deputy Reeve were also elected in the same way and continued so until 1866. In 1860, the number of Wards was reduced to three and in 1899, instead of electing three Councilors from each ward, Council was reduced to six Councilors and the Mayor, all elected at large. For a long time, the municipal year began on the first day of May. Then in 1907, we again had a Reeve in the person of Joseph Greene and in 1952, we added a Deputy Reeve in the person of W. M. Theobald. There had not been a Deputy Reeve since 1865 when George C. Secord held the office. Some of the men of former days served a long time in Council, the longest time being that of Henry Paffard, who served 26 years in all, as Mayor, but not continuously, he having three terms, from 1876 to 1880 inclusive, 1863 to 1874 and 1888 to 1895. Only one Mayor died in office, T. F. Best in 1912, in his 6th year as Mayor.

Three Mayors resigned before finishing their term: L. W. Marcer resigned in 1856, and was succeeded by F. A. B. Clench; W. S. Winterbottom resigned in 1883, and was succeeded by T. M. Rowland; J. M. Mussen resigned in 1923 and was succeeded by J. E. Masters. I am the only one who served as Reeve and Mayor at the same time.

Only one Reeve has died in office, Fred McCusker in 1942, being succeeded by T. A. Haines. On Councilor died in office, J. W. McMillan in 194l.

Several Councilors have failed to finish their term: L. W. Mercer resigned as Councilor in 1856; R. M. Wilson in 1875; J. R. Wilkinson in 1892 to become Clerk; James Coleman in 1912; T. W. Bishop in 1920; Wm. Crawford in 1920; Wm. Kirby in 1929 to become Division Court Clerk. Two Reeves have died in office: Col. W. P. Butcher in 1921 and Fred McCusker in 1942, succeeded by T. A. Haines.

The following list of long service men in Council might be of interest:

The man who served the longest continuous term was Robert Bishop, who sat continuously from 1886 to 1900 inclusive. In the period from 1850 to 1953, 32 men have served as Mayor and six of them have become Warden while serving as Reeve: John Simpson, S. H. Follett, John Bishop, James Aikins, J. E. Masters, and James MacPhee.

Having devoted some time and space to the Mayors of Niagara, I thought it might be of interest to some, to do a little bit about the Reeves. Now some may get the idea that the Reeve is a sort of pale shadow of the Mayor, but that is not the case. For some reason, when our Parliamentary Solons at Ottawa set about incorporating the various Towns and Cities, they decreed that Villages and Townships should be headed by an official who should be known by the title of Reeve. Now in early times in England, the Reeve was an official appointed by the King to carry into execution, the judgments of the courts presided over by the "Ealdorman" and other high dignitaries, exact the imposts, contributions, tithes and take charge of the prisoners. So you see that the Reeve was a very important person with a very definite set of duties. The Sheriff was the shire of county Reeve, a step up in the scale. Having given the title of Mayor to the Towns and Cities, no doubt it was considered that that position, having as it did and does have the responsibility of practically having to oversee and direct the whole business of all their people, they thus had enough to do. There remained, however, the desirability of having someone charged specifically with the duties of representing their towns in the councils of the larger municipalities called the counties. Now, as most of us know, a county Council consists of the Reeves and Deputy-Reeves of the Towns, Villages and Townships of which the county consists. So you will readily see that the position of Reeve carries responsibilities and has duties beyond the limits of any particular local municipality. You will thus see that in some respects, the Reeve's duties are of a wider scope than those of the Mayor. My own personal experience has been that I learned far more of the duties and privileges of a Municipal Official while serving in the County Council than I ever did in the Council of the Town.

At one time, the Provincial Government decided to make a change in the setup of County Councils, so they provided for a County to be divided into Districts, with representatives elected directly by the voters without respect to their local municipalities. Lincoln County was divided into four divisions with two Commissioners from each. This change was made in 1897 and we thus had no more Reeves until 1907, when a change was made back to the old order. One of the Town's men, W. H. J. Evans served in County Council for four years from 1897 to 1900 and was Warden in the last year of his service. He had served six years as Town Councilor before going to the County.

REEVES 1856 - 1953
I have a list of the Reeves from 1856 to 1953, and I find that 21 men have held the office in that time. Here they are:

Of these men, eight served as Warden of Lincoln, as follows: John Simpson, S. H. Follett, John Bishop, Joseph F. Greene, James Aikins, Joseph E. Masters, James MacPhee, Wilfred L. Patterson.

John Bishop served 16 years as Reeve; W. L. Patterson is in his 9th year; S. H. Follett served 8 years; J. E. Masters 8 years; W. H. Harrison 7 years; William Kirby, 6 years; James MacPhee 6 years, John Simpson, 5 years; J. F. Greene, 5 years and Fred McCusker was in his 4th years when he passed away.

I have the names of nine Deputy Reeves. They are F. A. B. Clench; George A. Clement; Joseph T. Kirby; J. M. Lawder; Robert Connor; Thomas Daly; William Kirby; George C. Secord and the last and present holder of the office, W. E. Theobald.

I hope this will give my readers a better idea of the importance of the office of Reeve. As far as the Mayor is concerned, don't forget that he is the Chief Magistrate of the Town. I was told by the late Mr. Mussen that he had learned while in England that we were the only Town in Canada, whose Mayor was entitled "Lord Mayor." I think that in view of this information, our Mayor, whoever he may be, should have a suitable badge of office. I have a list showing that in the period from 1856 to 1953, two hundred and one men and one woman have served in the Town Council, the one woman having been Mrs. B. A. Taylor, who was a member of Council in 1945. The terms of service have varied from Henry Paffard's twenty-six years to a few months. Several resigned, leaving a term unfinished. Two of them, R. Wilkinson and J. H. Burns resigned to take the appointment as Town Clerk and Treasurer. Wm. Kirby, the second, became Division Court Clerk, while W. S. Winterbottom and Wm. Crawford left the Town without resigning. L. W. Mercer led the parade of resigners by doing so twice, once as Mayor and once as Councilor. Three resigned before finishing a term as Councilor, T. W. Bishop, James Coleman and J. J. Doyle.

A great many of the names, which appear in the Council lists of nearly a century, have entirely vanished from our midst. No doubt some of you will remember such names as these: Abbot, Acton, Avery, Baxter, Benedict, Burtwell, Butcher, Cairns, Callory, Camidge, Cathline, Christie, Claus, Clement, Clench, Connor, Coyne, Crysler, Daly, Date, Denison, Dixon, Donelly, Doyle, Duignan, Finn, Follett, Gardner, Heron, Houghton, Insater, Kennedy, Kirby, Long, Lyons, Mercer, Milloy, Moffatt, Monroe, Mussen, McConkey, McNally, Nash, Nelles, Oliver, Paffard, Randall, Roddy, Rousseau, Rowland, Schmidt, Simpson, Shearer, Singer, Swenerton, Swinton, Turner, Waters, Watts, Wilson, Winterbottom, and Winthrop.

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