This sad sentence concludes the obituary of Mary Boggie who died by drowning on September 6, 1884 when she was just thirty-four years old.1 Her death was a suicide and this one sentence tries to explain why. Of course, no one will ever know why she jumped off a cliff into the cold and inhospitable waters of the North Sea. What we do know is that it was a desperate and definitive act.
Mary Boggie was Henry Boggie’s sister. Henry, my great-grandfather, was taken to court by my great-grandmother, Annie Orrock, in a paternity suit. He never lived with Annie and, as far as I know, did not participate in bringing up my grandmother, Elspeth Orrock. Mary and Henry were the only children of George Boggie and Elspeth Milne. The Boggie family lived all their lives in Arbroath, Scotland. Arbroath is a coastal town located on the North Sea, about 26 km northeast of Dundee and 72 km southwest of Aberdeen.2 In the 19th century, Arbroath experienced a rapid growth in population with an influx of workers needed for the expansion of the jute and sailcloth industry.3 George was a member of the merchant navy and would have been absent from home most of the time. Both Mary and Henry lived at home, with their mother, all of their adult lives.
The registration of Mary’s death indicates that Henry was one of the “finders” of her body. The cause of death was “mental disturbance.”4 Who knows how long he and others were searching for her? She was found at the bottom of Whiting Ness, a cliff in Marketgate, Arbroath.
Part of the cliff face on Whiting Ness walk, James Herring, James Herring c10 Day Blog, Whiting Ness walk: The Needle’s E’e, The Deil’s Heid and Castle Gate, September 7, 2021
In 1884, sudden deaths in Scotland were referred to the Procurator Fiscal, known in other jurisdictions as the public prosecutor. The inquiry found that that the cause of Mary’s death was drowning and that she had committed suicide. The corrected entry notes that Mary had not been certified, meaning that she had never been certified as being mentally ill.5 The newspaper article implies that she was suffering from some mental affliction. And this is in accordance with the thinking at the time; that suicides were thought to be temporarily insane, thus being innocent of “self-murder.”6 Committing suicide was not considered a crime in Victorian and Edwardian Scotland. Citizens were free to take their own life, but it was assumed they would be answerable to God. This was not the case in England and Wales, where suicide was decriminalised only in 1961 with the passing of the Suicide Act. Prior to this, anyone who attempted suicide could be imprisoned and if they were successful and died, their families could be prosecuted. 7
No matter what the attitudes towards suicide at the time, Mary’s death was a tragedy. She could have been suffering from any number of mental or physical afflictions that would cause her to take her life. We can only imagine the anxiety and agony that Henry and Elspeth were feeling as people were desperately trying to find her. The trauma of finding her must have been almost more than Henry could bear. It would then be up to him to tell his mother. The suddenness and the violence of Mary’s death would have been a shock and difficult to understand. Henry and Elspeth were faced with an investigation and they would have had to deal with the press. Sadly, they may have had to deal with shame and the stigma of mental illness in the family.
Obituary for Mary Boggie, Glasgow Daily Mail, 8 September 1884, newspapers.com, accessed 23 May 2024.
Scotland’s People, Registration of Deaths 1884, Mary Boggie, accessed 3 April 2024.
Scotland’s People, Page 105, Register of Corrected Entries, Mary Boggie, signed by the Procurator Fiscal’s Office, 24 September 1884, accessed 3 April 2024.
– “Society Woman flees home in pyjamas after she elopes”
– “Former Alberta Sherron keeps pledge with Dr. D.B. Cooper”
– “Slips down sheet ladder in Germantown darkness as parents slumber”
The Philadelphia Inquirer dated November 18, 1927, covered my great-aunt’s private life in great gossipy detail for its hungry readers. Alberta Sherron (1906-1992), my grandmother’s younger sister by 13 years, was just a girl in love at 21. Her 29-year old dentist boyfriend must have been equally enamoured as they couldn’t wait for the expected high society wedding that their well established families would have insisted upon.
Alberta graduated from Miss Irwin’s School1 and made her debut at the Acorn Club2 two seasons before her wedding. On her paternal side, she descended directly from Sir John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and on her maternal side, she descended from Sir Anthony Loupe, who was knighted under Mary, Queen of Scots3, in the mid-sixteenth century.
Donald Cooper’s grandfather was the late Senator Thomas V. Cooper of Media. On his paternal side, the groom descended from Andrew Griscom, who came to the USA with William Penn in 1682, and maternally from Richard Sanger, the Puritan, who settled in Massachussetts in 1632.
Unbeknownst to the both sets of parents, the wedding took place at the Church of the Holy Trinity4 on the Wednesday afternoon of November 16, 1927, with Reverend Dr. Floyd W. Tomkins5 officiating. It was a simple ceremony with only a few friends invited.
According to the Philadelphia Inquirer – “The bride was a “debutante” two years ago and the bridegroom who has a dentist’s office at 317 South 15th Street, is a graduate of the Germantown Friend’s School6 and the University of Pennsylvania – where he was president of the senior class – and is a former instructor in bacteriology at the Evans Institute of the University of Pennsylvania.”
After the wedding, Alberta returned home to her family as usual and prepared for her “elopement” that evening.
I don’t think the tabloids could resist using the word “elopement” in their sensational coverage of the events that took place that evening (given that the marriage had already taken place) and how did they even know the details? What a great “tip-off”! The couple went the extra mile (an added bonus for the paper) when she climbed out her window and descended using a knotted sheet instead of the traditional ladder.
(“Elopement-A Hasty Descent” by E.W. Kelley)
According to the newspaper, the couple left a note for her parents to find in the mailbox the next morning after “she eloped with her new husband.” Her parents, when interviewed, flatly denied ever locking their daughter in her room nor did they object to her marrying Dr. Cooper. That stopped any rumour that they had some young millionaire in mind for their daughter to marry. They finished their comment saying that they think the couple will be very happy and “Dr. Cooper is a fine young man.”
Thankfully, the destination of their month long honeymoon remained a mystery to all. And, nine months later, Donalson Beale Cooper, Jr. was born!
Alberta Sherron Cooper (24) and her son Donald (2-1/2) – 1931
Unfortunately, the marriage didn’t last and Donald remarried nine years later in 1936 and then so did Alberta in 1938.
By the time Alberta married her second husband, Bruce Lewis (1903-1971) in 1938, her son Donald was already 10 years old. Alberta and Bruce had three more children together – two daughters and a son. The last one born in 1950 when Alberta was 44 years old! Donald and his younger brother were 22 years apart.
My grandmother Josephine (left) and her younger sister Alberta.
In January 1929, my Dad drove west to Tiger, Colorado where Royal Tiger Mines had hired him. It was his first job after completing his engineering studies. He was employed there for a mere two weeks. His honesty cost him his job.
A page from the Mariner Harbor High Yearbook 1923
My Dad, Kaarlo Victor Lindell was born November 14, 1905, and grew up in Ashtabula, Ohio, the son of Finnish immigrants where Finnish was spoken in the home. He attended Ashtabula Harbor High School. He was a go-getter. He went about town reading meters, ran the projector in the local movie theatre, worked as an assistant cook on the ore boats on the Great Lakes, and consequently made his way to Houghton, Michigan where he graduated in 1928 as a Mining Engineer at Michigan College of Mines, now known as Michigan Technological University – MTI) in Houghton, Michigan.
Upon graduation he drove to Tiger, Colorado where he had been hired by Royal Tiger Mines. Below are two articles written about his very short time in Colorado.
Once more he set out on the long drive back east after contacting his Alma Mater in Michigan.. They suggested that the International Nickel Company (Inco) in Copper Cliff, Ontario had positions for newly minted mining engineers. His next goal was to head north in his 1928 Ford Model T to the Canadian Border where he entered Ontario, Canada January 31, 1929. It was the beginning of a stellar mining career that took him around the globe.
On Dad’s 1929 Canadian Income Tax form indicates the time he was employed by Royal Tiger Mines in Tiger, Colorado. Jan 1,1929 – Jan 15,1929
Times were difficult with the depression (1929-1941) looming on the horizon and employment at an all-time low, and certainly not the ideal time to be seeking a job. Dad was among the fortunate ones.
While driving back east from Colorado to Ohio, he must have imagined the path ahead. His future was before him. He had taken the necessary steps to secure another job.
He began working for Inco in the Sudbury area where the company recognized his work ethic and ability to speak fluent Finnish. In 1934 Inco seconded him to Mond Nickel an International company (England) with offices in London.1, The purpose of the trip: to explore the possibilities of opening a nickel mine in northern Finland. At the time, there were rumblings and talks of a war brewing in Europe, and nickel was deemed essential in manufacturing tanks and artillery.
Kaarlo Victor Lindell’s Passport
Dad being an American citizen had his United States of America passport issued in Toronto, Ontario June 25, 1934 before he departed for England and Finland.
The Empress of Britain .2
In June 1934 Dad set sail on the Empress of Britain and made his way from Southampton to the London offices of Mond Nickel. During his stay as the necessary arrangements were being prepared for the next leg of his trip to Finland he took advantage of this time to enjoy the city. He attended the famous Henley Regatta 3. and took the delightful photograph of people enjoying Trafalgar Square.
Once all the all the necessary Mond Nickel documents were completed Dad was ready to make his way to Helsinki, the capital located in the southern tip of Finland and then by car to Petsamo, one of the most northern villages in the country.
This trip to England and Finland was the first of many overseas trips to mining sites around the world. In many ways, it may perhaps be the most important one of his forty-year career as a mining engineer. 1930-1970.
To be continued in Part 2The Exploration Trip tp Finland
What is in a name? Aglae Bruneau (1837 – 1906) was the oldest of 13 children in my great-grandfather’s family. How did her parents Barnabe Bruneau and Sophie Marie Prud’homme come up with that name? Aglae is a name of Greek origin meaning splendour, brilliance and the shining one. She was one of Zeus’s three daughters, with her sisters Euphrosyne and Thalia known as the three graces. Apparently, it is not as strange a name as I thought, as the BAnQ (Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec) website has many references to Aglaes even other Aglae Bruneaus.
Aglae seated and her youngest sister Anais
Aglae was born on her parent’s farm in St. Constant, Quebec. The family was Catholic as recorded in the 1851 census but converted to Protestantism soon after. Aglae married Pierre Charles Paumier (1828 – 1914) in the First Baptist Church in Montreal in 1860. He was born in France and immigrated to the United States in 1856. He had a farm in Mooers Forks, New York close to the Quebec border. It is possible that they met at religious services held at the Felleur Institute in Grande Ligne, Quebec as French Protestants often moved back and forth across the border for religious events.
Pierre Charles Paumier
On many of the US census, Pierre Paumier is listed as a farmer but was he originally a Baptist minister from France? My great uncle, Sydney Bruneau, wrote in his recollections “One of my aunts had married a Baptist minister from France, a man who made no secret of loving his pipe and his homemade brew of well-fermented cider, to the no small scandal of his congregation. When he was informed of complaints which had reached the higher authorities, he lost no time in preaching his farewell sermon, flaying his listeners without mercy for their narrowness of mind and their intolerance of the harmless pleasures of life, and retired to a farm where he grew his own tobacco and lived to a ripe old age.”
Like many of Aglae’s siblings, they only had one child Sophie F. Paumier. The family continued to live on their farm which Pierre owned outright and Aglae “kept house” until she died in 1906.
It appears that after Aglae died Sophie and her father sold the farm, packed up and moved to California, as they were living in Los Angeles according to the 1910 census. Two of Aglae’s sisters had also moved west to California. Pierre owned the house and neither he nor his daughter had an occupation listed so he continued to be a man of some means. In some directories, he is listed as Rev. Peter Pomier. Sophie died in LA only five years after her father.
The name Aglae has not been used again in our family. Aglae herself called her daughter Sophie after her mother rather than naming her after another Greek goddess.
Notes:
Census of 1851 (Canada East, Canada West, New Brunswick and Nova Scotia) for Image No.: e002302444 Archives Canada.
Bruneau A. Sydney. Walking With God in Dequen. Page 6. A memoir of his early childhood through the summer of 1910. Written by A. Sydney Bruneau in the late 1960s and transscribed by his granddaughter Virginia Greene, in January 2017. The author has a copy.
Tobacco was grown in Upstate New York and in Quebec and Ontario in the mid to late 1800’s. This shade tobacco was used commercially as cigar wrappers.
In April, 2008 I received an unsolicited email from a Mrs. Joan Hague of Montreal with just one word in the subject line: Changi.
She had seen an article I had written about my grandmother in the Facts and Arguments1section of the Globe and Mail. She wanted to tell me about her father, Thomas Kitching, who had been interned at Changi Internment Camp in Singapore during WWII, just like my grandmother Dorothy Nixon.
I visited the gracious Mrs. Hague (recently deceased at the ripe old age of 99) only to discover something extraordinary: Mrs. H. and my own father, Dorothy’s first son, Peter, had led parallel lives!
My father, Peter, was born on October 24, 1922 in Kuala Lumpur, to a Selangor planter, Robert Nixon of North Yorkshire and his wife, Dorothy Forster of Teesdale, County Durham. Mrs. H. was born in Batu Gajah, Malaya in early November, 1922, to Thomas Kitching, the Surveyor of Singapore and his wife Nora.
As was the custom for British Colonials in the era, Mrs. H. was sent away at age six to go to school in England. She attended Harrogate Ladies’ College in North Yorkshire. My father was sent away at age five to go to a school in Maryport, Cumberland and then he went on to St. Bees prep school on the coast of Cumberland.
Senior Rugby St Bees School, Cumberland. My father at top, fourth from left. Courtesy St. Bees School Website.
Mrs. Hague told me she spent her holidays with a loving grandmother in Lancashire. My father and his even younger sister, Denise, were shuttled on vacations between random relatives who resented having to care for them.
Mrs. Hague’s mother, Nora, a nurse by profession, filled the void in her life with sports, golf mostly. She also scored cricket for Singapore. My grandmother, Dorothy, became the librarian at the Kuala Lumpur Book Club and she was Selangor’s official cricket scorer.
My grandmother, scoring cricket at Royal Selanor Club in K.L in 1952. Courtesy of a March of Time Newsreel. She was the ‘grand dame’ of Malayan cricket apparently. She told a reporter that she got into cricket because her husband, my grandfather, was one of the finest players in Malaya in the 1920’s and 30’s.
In 1939, when the phony war broke out in England, my father was about to go to Oxford. Mrs. H. was in her last year at her ladies’ college. The Harrogate students were evacuated to another town. Mrs. H’s parents, in England for a time, brought her back to Singapore because they thought she would be safer. After two years at Oxford’s St Edmund Hall (where he was awarded ‘colours’ for rugby) my father signed up with the RAF and went to train in Saskatchewan, Canada.
The Japanese invaded Malaya on Boxing Day, 1942.The Japanese planes bombed “the green” at the center of KL, the site of many government buildings. My grandmother’s library building, adjacent the legendary Royal Selangor Club, was hit. During the bombing my grandmother hid under a desk. Later, she helped dig four dead bodies from out of the rubble.
On that ominous day, Mrs. H and her mom were safely in “fortress” Singapore. They joined up as VADs, tending to the severely burned survivors of two navy ships that had been blown up by the Japanese in Singapore Harbour. Mrs. H. had a vivid memory of unfolding the hospital cots that were all covered in a sticky goo to prevent rusting.
Kuala Lumpur soon fell. My grandmother was commanded to take a noisy, unlit night train to Singapore. Upon arriving, she immediately joined the ‘resistance’ at the Malaya Broadcasting Corporation.2
Giles Playfair, a reporter, wrote Singapore Goes off the Air in 1943, so it was likely a bit of wartime propaganda. He oft mentions my grandmother and seems to like her, but he disparages Colonial Wives as lazy and living above their station.
To everyone’s surprise and to Winston Churchill’s embarrassment Singapore soon fell as well. Mrs. H. escaped to Batavia and made it back to England but tragically Nora, her mother, took another boat, the Kuala, with 500 others including 250 women and children, and was lost at sea when her ship was bombed by the enemy.
Mrs. H. trained as a physiotherapist at St Thomas Hospital, London and volunteered at the Canadian Camp.
Mrs. H’s father, Thomas Kitching, was interned at Changi Internment Camp, as were my grandmother and grandfather, Dorothy and Robert Nixon. (Upon the fall of Singapore, Dorothy had stubbornly refused to escape to Batavia, staying instead to support wounded soldiers. A good thing, perhaps.)
Thomas Kitching’s diary was published posthumously. Mrs. H. lent me a copy.
Kitching died of throat cancer in the men’s section of Changi prison in 1944 but he kept a diary of his time there that was later published. For a six month period my grandmother was Commandant of the Women’s Camp and according to her own unpublished memoirs she liked sneaking into the men’s camp, which was strictly against the rules, to gather information. The men had secret radio sets, you see, and she was an amateur radio enthusiast.
Malaya Straits Times 1936. The only woman among men. From what I have learned, that’s how “Granny,” educated at a co-eductional quaker school, liked it. This is why she just had to sneak into the men’s camp, a very dangerous act, I think. it certainly got her into trouble! Here she is described as Mrs. Dorothy Nixon. In those days and well into the 1960’s in newspapers in North America women were referred to as Mrs. John Smith.” They had no first names.
On October 10, 1944 many of these men and a few women were accused of spying in the infamous Double Tenth incident and taken by the Japanese Gestapo to a room in the basement of the local YMCA to be harshly interrogated, some men horribly tortured. My grandmother stayed in that stifling, bug-infested room with the crazed, half-starved men for a month, enduring a kick in the ribs on occasion, and then she was put in solitary confinement for another five months.
She survived her ordeal, but barely.
My father, meanwhile, was posted to the Ferry Command based in Dorval, Quebec, a suburb of Montreal. A member of both the RAF and RCAF, he flew planes around the world, mostly mosquitos he told me.
A range of Mosquitos were manufactured to do everything from reconnaissance to bombing. Some were made in Downsview, Ontario. Ferrying planes from Canada to Europe was dangerous and many planes didn’t make it, but, hey, it was war.
In Montreal he met my mother, a French Canadian stenographer at RKO Radio Pictures probably at a party at the Mount Royal Hotel. They married after the war in 1949 once my father had finished his war-shortened math degree at Oxford.
My father’s Sir George Williams grad pic, 1952, that I recently found online. Sir George Williams University night school was designed for returning soldiers, many of whom already had families.
In Montreal, my father added on a night time Commerce Degree from Sir George Williams University and a CA from McGill while working full time and raising a family.
Mrs. H. met her future husband, Mr H., the son of a prominent Westmount banker, during the war in London at a party for Canadian soldiers. The invitees brought with them a big juicy turkey apparently. The couple married in Morecambe Parish Church and moved to Montreal on the war bride scheme.
It is too bad I never got the chance to introduce Mrs. H. to my father as he succumbed to Alzheimer’s in the St. Anne de Bellevue Veteran’s Hospital in 2005. They certainly would have had a great deal to talk about!
Indeed, they may have already met. They both sent their sons to Lower Canada College on Royal Avenue in NDG in the 1960’s.
2. Chronicled in a 1945 book Singapore Goes off the Air by Giles Playfair. The author wrote fondly of my grandmother, although he held the common belief (from back then) that Colonial women were indolent parvenues, ‘who would be sweeping out a four bedroom cottage back home’ were they not in Malaya attending fancy liquor-oiled soirees and waited on at home by a slew of servants.
3. Joan Hague obituary, chronicling her ‘interesting’ life with portrait young and old. I wrote this piece years ago and posted it on my personal blog after passing it by Joan Hague but also added two tidbits from her online obituary: Her marriage details and her work details.LINK HERE
On a recent family trip to Cork, Ireland, we detoured briefly looking for the Anglin Family farmhouse ruins from the early 1800’s. Several Anglin cousins over the years recorded and shared their trips so that with copious precious notes in hand we thought we were well equipped for our adventure!
An Anglin letter from 1963 pinpointed the location of the family home somewhere between Farranmareen in the north and Rushfield (one kilometre further south) “near Bandon” just 36 kilometres west of Cork. We looked up the two geographic latitude and longitude (GPS) coordinates for the two markers so … how hard could it be?
All eyes were focused left and right as we drove the kilometre between the two points. Alas! Nothing to see but green fields everywhere and a scattering of houses. Where were the signs with “The Anglin Farm was HERE”?
Upon reaching Rushfield, my notes referred to a chapel not far from a farmhouse on the corner. Spying a farmhouse nearby, we made our way through the barking dogs and knocked on the door, but no one answered. We persevered as there was a vehicle in the driveway and a huge transport truck parked nearby. Another knock. Suddenly a farmer walked around from the side of the house munching on a bit of lunch.
I introduced myself as an Anglin and referred to the cousins over the years who had made the same pilgrimage. The farmer looked puzzled. So I inquired about the whereabouts of the Rushfield Chapel to which in reply he pointed to some ruins across the road that barely even looked like a building anymore. Disappointed but refusing to give up, I checked my notes and inquired if he knew a Mr. Shorten who was helpful to my cousin in 1963. He smiled and introduced himself as … Mr. Shorten!
Rushfield Chapel ruins
This Mr. Shorten didn’t recognize the Anglin name (it must have been his father in 1963) but guessed where the Anglin farm might have been. Back up the road to Farranmarren we drove to knock on a few more doors. The next stop was a bungalow with another barking dog. A middle-aged lady came to the end of the drive and thought the Anglin farm might have been in the field beside her. However, she suggested that her elderly neighbour across the road might know more and brought me to meet her.
“Looking for the farm some years ago, with my wife and two Anglin cousins, we could not find any buildings. But we knocked on a door at a corner where you leave the main road. The door was answered by an older lady whose maiden name turned out to be Duke. She gave us tea and said that our Anglin ancestors operated mixed farming and would have been comfortable during the famine.” (Perry Anglin)
After a brief introduction, I couldn’t resist asking her: “Is your maiden name ‘Duke’ by any chance?” Well her eyes lit up and she smiled saying: “Yes!” My great great grandfather William’s oldest brother John Anglin married Sarah Duke in 1836 in Cork. I was speaking with my (very) distant cousin!
William and John’s parents, Robert Anglin and Sarah Whelpley, had four sons and one daughter. All four sons emigrated to Kingston, Ontario, one by one, with my great great grandfather William (the youngest son) leaving Ireland in 1843 just before the Great Famine. John eventually joined the others in Kingston but only after the death of their parents. Their sister emigrated to the States possibly not wanting to stop in Kingston to care for four brothers!
William married Mary Gardiner in 1847 in Kingston and had two daughters (both died young) and two sons (William and James) who both became doctors and surgeons.
It appears likely that over the years Mother Nature reclaimed the Anglin Family farm with its defining stone walls having disappeared completely beneath the greenery. However, I can attest to the fact that the view described by my cousin remains the same:
“It is a stunning view from the farm down into the Bandon River and beyond to a coastal range tinted mauve in the distance.”
I would like to finish my little story by sharing some helpful information with my Anglin cousins! Here are the GPS coordinates of the Anglin Family farm: 51°47’00.3″N 8°56’09.8″W
When I was a teenager, I came across a book in my parents’ house called Intention and Survival, written by T. Glen Hamilton, my grandfather. Inside a plain beige cover, the text was illustrated with grainy black and white photographs. Many of them showed a middle-aged woman, her eyes closed, with a white substance coming from her mouth or nostrils. Tiny images of the faces of deceased individuals seemed to be embedded in this substance.
Those photos gave me nightmares, and for decades, I have been trying to figure out what to make of them. Now, a new book called The Art of Ectoplasm: Encounters with Winnipeg’s Ghost Photographs is helping me understand them.
Edited by Serena Keshavjee, a professor of art and architectural history at the University of Winnipeg, and published by the University of Manitoba Press, The Art of Ectoplasm looks at the context in which my grandparents researched and photographed psychic phenomena, including that white substance called ectoplasm. The book describes their work and the many artistic projects it has inspired.
Published on large-format paper, the book itself is a work of art. The black and white, sepia and contemporary colour photographs almost glow. Most of the old photos were taken during séances held at the Hamiltons’ Winnipeg, Manitoba home 100 years ago. Shot in a darkened room, lit by flash, with large-format cameras, these are sharp, high-contrast images that can be seen as both documentary photos and as art. Meanwhile, the 300-page text explores the history of these séances and includes an extensive bibliography.
Dr. Thomas Glendenning Hamilton (1879-1935), known to most of his friends as T.G., was a family physician and surgeon, president of the Manitoba Medical Association and member of the Manitoba Legislative Assembly. He was a strict Presbyterian and elder of his church. He and his wife, Lillian (Forrester) Hamilton (1880-1956), had four children, including twin boys. Everyone in the household got sick during the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic, and one of the twins, three-year-old Arthur, died of the flu.
At the time, many people were strongly religious and believed in personal survival after death. Some tried to communicate with deceased loved ones. Alhough T.G.’s experiments in telepathy date from 1918, before the influenza pandemic, Arthur’s death may have stimulated the Hamiltons’ interest in the psychic field. Lillian started experimenting with table movements and rapping, and eventually T.G. was encouraged to participate. He decided to take a scientific approach. He prepared a room in the family home where the conditions could be carefully controlled and, in 1923, he began to conduct a series of experiments related to telekinesis, trance and mediumship that included the appearance of ectoplasm. These séances took place once or twice a week over a twelve-year span.
Lillian encouraged and collaborated with her husband, conducted research to make sense of alleged trance communications, did much of the organizing and often chaperoned the mediums. After T.G.’s death, she compiled the notes taken during the séances, as well as the photographs, her husband’s speeches and other material. She also continued to attend séances. She has received little public credit for her contributions, but that is beginning to change as Katie Oates, of Western University in London, Ontario, contributed a chapter in this book that focuses on Lillian’s role.
In 1979, T.G. and Lillian’s daughter, Margaret Hamilton Bach (1909-1986), donated the original photographic plates and documents to the archives at the University of Manitoba. Since then, the university has received many other collections of material related to psychical research and, as archivist Brian Hubner writes in The Art of Ectoplasm, the city has become known as “weird Winnipeg, an unlikely centre of the paranormal”.
Shelley Sweeney, archivist emerita and retired head of the University of Manitoba Archives and Special Collections, notes that the Hamilton Family Fonds has inspired a variety of projects, including books, plays and visual arts. It is the most utilized collection of personal records held by the archives, and photographs from the Hamilton collection have been exhibited in museums around the world.
In another article, Esyllt W. Jones, a professor of history and community health sciences at the University of Manitoba, puts the Hamiltons’ séances into the context of the couple’s grief following their child’s death. She also shows how their experience was an example of the trauma caused by the pandemic and the loss of loved ones during World War I.
Miniature face in ectoplasm of C.H. Spurgeon, with medium Mary Marshall, taken by T.G. Hamilton, May 1, 1929. UMASC H.A.V. Green Fonds
Thanks to the movie Ghostbusters, the word ectoplasm became popular in the 1980s, long after T.G.’s research involving ectoplasm took place between 1928 and 1934. Ectoplasm has been described as a vaporous substance that appears from the mouth or other orifices of a medium. Formless at first, it can change to resemble muslin or cotton batting before being reabsorbed into the medium’s body. T.G. thought of it as a living thing, directed by an internal intelligence. Ectoplasm has not been tested in a laboratory and, since World War II, it has not been considered a topic for credible scientific study.
The scientific methods that T.G. used in his “laboratory” are outdated today, but during his lifetime, as editor and contributor Keshavjee writes, psychical research was considered within the bounds of accepted scientific inquiry. There was a large body of literature on the topic and a number of well-respected scientists of the era accepted that strange things happened in the séance room. But, Keshavjee suggests, when the Hamilton séance activities began to be directed by an unseen personality called Walter, T.G.’s claims that he followed scientific methods lost credibility.
Today, questions about fraud hang over many psychic activities. Some people are convinced the Hamilton séances were fraudulent, others believe they were genuine. For the most part, this book accepts the Hamilton séance photographs without trying to address the issue.
In his chapter defending the Hamilton family psychical research legacy, Walter Meyer zu Erpen, founder of the Survival Research Institute of Canada and an archivist who has spent more than 30 years investigating these events and the people involved, concludes that the ectoplasm photographed by the Hamiltons was genuine.
Whether the appearance of ectoplasm was proof of survival after death is another question. In general, Keshavjee writes, there is little basis for belief that psychic phenomena inherently provide evidence of life after death. Meyer zu Erpen admits he is taking a middle-of-the-road position when he suggests that, in the Hamilton séances, only the ectoplasm samples with miniature faces of the deceased contribute to evidence for survival of human personality beyond death.
T.G. was convinced, however, that what he experienced in the séance room could only be the work of surviving spirts. For him, and for Lillian, survival was a fact.
The Art of Ectoplasm did not answer all my concerns, but for anyone interested in the Hamilton séances from an artistic, historical or psychical research perspective, it is worth going beyond the amazing photos and reading the text.
Full disclosure: as family historian, my research has been quoted several times in The Art of Ectoplasm and my father edited Intention and Survival.
The Art of Ectoplasm is available from the University of Manitoba Press, https://uofmpress.ca/books. It can also be ordered from Amazon, Indigo and other booksellers.
I had a great-granduncle who went by the name of William Richard Case Palmer O’Bray. William Richard was a brother to my great-grandfather. William Richard and his wife Margaret Elizabeth Burnett had a family of 14 children eight girls and six boys.
Three of his girls died within a month of each other and William Richard died at quite a young age, 44.
A shipwright by trade he lived, worked and died in New Brompton and Gillingham Kent, England. It would appear he had a hard life at work and at home.
William Richard’s occupation, in St. Mary, Pembrokeshire, Wales in 1871 when he was sixteen years old, was as an apprentice blacksmith. In 1881 he was a shipwright in Gillingham, Kent. By 1891, he lived in New Brompton, now part of the Medway District still working as a shipwright.
Shipwrights were responsible for constructing the structure of a ship and most of the internal fittings. Shipbuilding was a tough job, ships were built in open-air shipyards throughout the year, even in winter. The tools used, such as drills and riveters were loud and dangerous. (1)
However, upon researching his family I discovered to my sadness that in 1890 on the 6th of March his eldest daughter, Isabella Mary aged 13, died. The very next day, Margaret Elizabeth, aged 9 years and 8 months died.
On the 13th of March 1890, the family posted an obituary for Isabella and Margaret.
Unfortunately, on the 23rd of March 1890, Minnie Ann (twin to Florence Ann), aged 3 years and 3 months also died. Below is the death card, typical for that era, for the three sisters. (3)
The text reads:
Three lights are from our household gone, three voices we loved are stilled; three places are vacant in our home, which never can be filled.
Not gone from memory, not gone from love, but gone to our Father’s home above”
I am in the process of obtaining the death certificates of the three girls, and I hope to add an update later on the cause of their deaths.
The 19th century in England was marked by the widespread prevalence of diseases such as tuberculosis, cholera, typhus fever and smallpox. These diseases posed significant medical challenges to society, with limited medical knowledge and resources available to combat them.(2)
My first thought was the profound shock my poor family must have suffered. William Richard Case Palmer suffered many tragedies in his short life.
Ten years later, on the 3rd of August 1899, William Richard Case Palmer O’Bray died by his own hand. His death certificate reads:
“Hanging himself during temporary insanity”
Losing a child is not what a parent should experience, but to lose three in the same month is unimaginable. Was he depressed? I would think so, even 10 years later. There was nothing to help with the heartfelt losses in the 1800s. His wife, Margaret Elizabeth died in June 1919 aged 62 in Medway, Kent.
James Cecil Hunt (1879-1937) worked a 30-year career as a Locomotive Engineer in Manitoba, Canada. He left his birthplace in Owen Sound, Ontario, at the age of 22, and headed west to Port Arthur (now Thunder Bay), Ontario. There he met and married Cassie (Catherine Elizabeth Grummett 1884-1966), a glamorous Winnipeg girl, at the age of 28. They raised their five children in Brandon, Manitoba, and eventually moved back to Winnipeg where they bought a house and stayed the rest of his life.
Cecil and Cassie’s Wedding 1907Cassie on her wedding day 1907
His first job as a “labourer” according to the 1901 Census might have been with the Canadian Northern Railway (CNoR). “The Canadian Northern Railway was incorporated (1899) as a result of the amalgamation of two small Manitoba branch lines. It was built up over the next 20 years by its principal promoters, William Mackenzie and Donald Mann, to become a 16,093 km transcontinental railway system.”
However, the competition with their transcontinental rivals proved to be insurmountable and Mackenzie and Mann were forced out of the company, which then became one of the first major components of the soon publicly owned Canadian National Railways (CNR).1
Cecil Hunt (second from the left) and other locomotive engineers posing in front of a First Class car.
After 18 years working up the CNoR ladder, Cecil’s career as a Locomotive Engineer began shortly after the June 1919 incorporation of the CNR, which then consisted of several other bankrupt railways belonging to the Canadian government.2 The CNR is the longest railway system in North America, controlling more than 31,000 km of track in Canada and the United States. It is the only transcontinental rail network in North America, connecting to three coasts: Atlantic, Pacific and the Gulf of Mexico.3
As a Locomotive Engineer, Cecil would have operated and controlled a locomotive engine (No. 73083.5 to be exact) that powered the train on railways. His responsibilities would have included controlling the speed, acceleration, and braking to ensure smooth and timely journeys as well as a thorough knowledge of the entire railway system, signals, and track conditions, all while adhering to strict safety regulations and protocols.4
Cecil and children Allan, Lyndon, Holman and Beatrice circa 1916
Cecil’sCNR Steam Engine no. 7308(scrapped in November 1951)
According to the 1931 Census, Cecil at age 52 owned a three-story eight room stucco house at 588 Warsaw Avenue, in Winnipeg not far from the Red River, and made an annual salary of $3,200 ($65,000 in today’s dollars). Locomotive engineers easily make double that today.5
Cecil had obviously done well for himself since ten years before becoming a proud homeowner, he already owned a Model T Ford which, according to this photo, the whole family enjoyed!
Cecil, Sydney, Cassie, Beatrice, Holman, Lyndon and Allan (my husband’s father) circa 1920
Although, travel by car did not become common until the mid-1920’s, most people could take the “beach train” for their excursions to the famous nearby Winnipeg Beach. By 1912, ten trains took 40,000 vacationers to the beach each weekend.5.5
Winnipeg Beach had developed into an impressive amusement park – complete with a roller coaster, merry-go-round, and “moving picture house”. Over the years, more attractions were added, including bumper cars and an airplane ride. All this as well as the very popular dance pavilion and multiple arcades along the boardwalk. The “Moonlight Special” provided a round trip by train for 50 cents and a night of dancing could be purchased for another nickel. It is rumoured that “many generations of people owe their existence to the fact that their parents, grandparents or great-grandparents met on the ‘Moonlight’.”6
Winnipeg Beach: L to R – Beatrice, Sydney, Cecil, Cassie, Allan, Lyndon and Holman (notice the locker keys pinned to their bathing suits!)
In May 1937, Cecil and Cassie attended their son Allan’s wedding to Agnes Kirk (my husband’s parents). Allan worked his whole life in aviation with several airlines culminating in a 37-year career with Trans-Canada Airlines (which later became Air Canada) and my husband also had a 30-year career with Air Canada. Three generations of Hunts working in national transportation!
Shortly after that May wedding, Cecil suffered heart failure and Cassie nursed him at home until November when he died at age 58. The “weak heart” gene plagued all the Hunt men and continues to do so even to this day.
Tall stylish Cassie, however, lived almost another 30 years, and as a CNR widow, travelled with her train pass visiting her family from coast-to-coast every few years. After Cecil’s death, she lived for a while with her son Holman in the Slate River district near Thunder Bay, and then with her daughter Beatrice in Richmond, British Columbia until she died at the age of 82. Her obituary pays tribute to her lifelong commitment to the Order of the Eastern Star (part of the Masonic Family) both in Winnipeg and in Richmond.
Cassie and her two sons Allan and Sydney
The glimpse into the life of any ancestor makes writing about genealogy so gratifying … and the best part about this story is my husband getting to know a little about the grandfather he never met.
Please read my story about my husband and his father Allan Hunt:
In the summer of 1948 one sunny afternoon, our dad called my brother, Paul, seven years old, and me eight, to hop in our 1947 black Ford. This did not seem unusual. Often on a Sunday afternoon, he would take us for a long drive around the Eastern Townships. However, this was not a Sunday. We both gave each other a quizzical look and wondered, “What’s up?”
Dad soon explained. We were on our way to the Richmond train station, about fifteen miles from home to meet an important person. “Who could this person be?” Our curiosity was aroused. Before long Dad had us reciting a Finnish greeting: “Hei isoaiti.”
We were on our way to welcome our grandmother.
As life would have it, this was the only opportunity I had to spend time with my grand-mother, Ida Susanna Karhu. She lived in Ashtabula, Ohio, far from Asbestos, Quebec. Over the years she visited her son, Karl, my dad, only twice. The second time in 1954 she visited the family with her third husband, Gust and his son, Elmer..
Ida was born in Isokyro, Finland in 1886 and emigrated at nine. In 1903 at sixteen, she married, Johan Hjalmar Lindell, nine years her senior. During their forty-one years of marriage, they had eight healthy children and their ninth child lived only 4 days.
Johan and Ida
Grandfather Lindell was a blacksmith with four forges and shod the horses of large brewery wagons that were drawn by these very large strong horses. With the advent of trucks, automobiles, and the Temperance League, circumstances forced him to close shop.
Johan began working in a munition factory. In October of 1944, he was tragically struck by a forklift and ultimately died due to his injuries.
Johan Herman Lindell’s 1944 death certificate
Two years after Johan’s passing in 1946, Ida married Heman Haapala from Ashtabula. He had been employed as a car repair man for the railroad company. They were both in their sixties and in good health. This allowed them to travel to Florida during the winter months. Alas! this union lasted a few short years. Herman died of lung cancer in February 1951.
Ida and Herman’s Marriage Record
Herman’s Death Record
Ida found herself a widow once more. However, not long after Herman’s passing, only after a few brief months, she met a Swedish dairy farmer from Cook, Minnesot, Gust Gustafson. He had been widowed twice. How they met is a mystery. Perhaps they knew one another from their traveling days. Together they embarked on their third marriage, June 16th of 1951.
Ida and Gust (circa 1952)
The dairy farm in Minnesota
In 1954 Ida, Gust, and his son Elmer visited Mom and Dad at their recently acquired farm in Asbestos.
Ida and Gust were together for many years. Just how many is a bit of a conundrum. At this point, I can only speculate as to the outcome of their marriage. I surmise that perhaps my grandmother decided to visit California. Her children, my Uncle Milton and Aunt Helen Lindell Lev had settled there with their families. Ida always enjoyed travelling and visiting her children.
Had she moved to be closer to family or was she visiting? While in California she died on December 17, 1967, In Belleflower. She was eighty-one years old at the time of her death and had led a full and interesting life. She had been active in the Ashtabula community, Bethany Lutheran Church, and the Ladies of Kavela, while raising her family, and in later years enjoyed travelling.
She is buried in Edgewood Cemetery in Ashtabula, Ohio beside Johan Hjalmar, her first love and husband of forty-one years.
Gust Atiel Gustafson born in 1884 lived another 4 years after Ida’s passing. He died at the age of 86 in the spring of 1971 and is buried in Cook, Minnesota beside his first wife, Josefina
Below is a link to a previous story about Ida Susanna Karhu, my Finnish grandmother, written in 2017 for Genealogy Ensemble: “Sisu, Saunas and Ida Susanna”. More records about her life’s pursuits have become available since that first story was written.
Genealogy Ensemble 