The first clerk of New France, Jean Nicolas, was appointed by Samuel de Champlain in 1621. Since France would not send notaries to the colony, men who knew how to write and had an ”honourable” reputation were allowed to practice the profession . Only from 1647 onwards were colonial authorities, then referred to as the Council of New France (a body consisting of the Governor General, the Jesuit superior, and the Governor of Montreal), mandated by the King to appoint a secretary that could act as notary. Guillaume Audouart, also known as St-Germain, hence became the recipient of the first official commission granting the title of notary. It would take the establishment of royal justice in New France and the creation of the Conseil Souverain (Conseil supérieur de Québec) in 1663 for the notarial profession to be officially recognized. One of the main assignments of the Council was to appoint the bailiffs, clerks and notaries. And so it was that in 1663, the first royal notary of New France, Jean Gloria, was appointed in Quebec City.
Characteristics of notarial records
A notarial record is a deed written by a public officer recognized by the State and commissioned to that effect within his territorial jurisdiction. Notarial archives are the most searched genealogy and family history source in Québec, after registers of civil status and censuses, because of:
the quality and accuracy of the information they contain;
the breadth of their content which relates to all aspects of life in society;
their nearly complete nature, since almost all registries have been preserved and relatively few records have been lost (e.g. several notarial records from the Outaouais region were destroyed in the Great Hull Fire of 1900);
their standardized content in accordance with templates drawn from manuals such as Le parfait notaire by Ferrière;
the fact that most records preserved by BAnQ have been microfilmed and digitized allowing for greater accessibility; only non-probated wills written after 1920 cannot be viewed;
the Parchemin database (developed by the Société Archiv-Histo) for the pre-1799 period;
the reassuring nature of the source for the reason that notaries bestow authenticity to the records they execute (regarding the date, content, signature, and so on).
For genealogists, notarial records can offset the loss or destruction of registers of civil status. In some cases, notarial records are the only documents that can confirm the kinship of an individual.
Notarial archives are very useful for non-genealogical research, including:
to present a property title or to defend a right;
for any research related to history, especially for any research related to local, regional, and family history.
The database below consists of the practices of the notaries of New France.
My mother-in-law’s Expo passport. My husband’s family didn’t go to Expo often; there was a summer marriage.
I remember 1967 as the best of year of my childhood. In the US, 1967 was the Summer of Love (flower-in-your-hair hippies) and of war (Vietnam draft dodgers) and of civil unrest (inner city riots) but in Canada it was our Centennial Year, the 100th anniversary of Confederation. For children across the nation it was an especially giddy year: educators from coast-to-coast were teaching their charges how to sing Bobby Gimby’s exuberant CA-NA-DA song, “one little, two little, three Canadians. We love you. Now we are twenty million.”
For Montrealers like me, it was the summer of Expo67, our fabulous world’s fair, situated just a short bus and metro ride away on two man-made islands in the Saint Lawrence River.
I visited Expo 50 times, if memory serves. I sometimes went by myself and I was only 12 years old!
I could go whenever I pleased because I was in possession of a shiny red passport that cost a whole 17 dollars. With his passport you could go from pavilion to pavilion and get it stamped, just like travelling the world.
I no longer have the passport, but it was not lost. My passport was given away by my mother to a beautiful young African woman – and this is how it came about.
Mentewab (probably) at the coffee bar from a Youtube Video (See notes 1)
A friend of my mother’s had gone through official channels offering to chaperone Expo hostesses from foreign countries. Two Ethiopian hostesses, Hanim and Mentewab, were suggested to her. My mother got into the act and the two girls soon regularly visited our Snowdon home.
Hanim was shy and wore a caftan and hijab. Mentewab was ‘wild’ and wore a halter top, micro-miniskirt and white go-go boots when not in her official costume.
I do not recall having any specific conversations with these young ladies, but I can still see in my mind’s eye their pretty faces as they sat so graceful and ‘grown-up’ on our brown corduroy living room couch, Mentewab so animated, Hanim so quiet.
These women seemed to exotic to me: the reporter in the Gazette had called them ‘goddesses’ after all.
Hostesses from Montreal Star Insert. The media focused a great deal on the attractive and accomplished hostesses of Expo, from Canada and beyond.
I doubt that they were as impressed with us and our dingy upper duplex apartment. These girls must have been from the elite classes to have been chosen to host at Expo.
As it happens, on May 2, I caught a glimpse of their leader, Haille Selassie, as he passed through the Expo crowd to polite applause, a small, very proud-looking man followed by a tiny little dog, Lulu the Chihuahua, whose short legs were working very hard to keep up with her master. My mother, who admired powerful men, was very excited. “The Lion of Judah” she sang out as he passed.
On cold rainy days at Expo I spent a great deal of time in the coffee bar at the Ethiopian Pavilion, a shiny red tent with lion cubs on guard, probably pestering Hanim and Mentewab big time.
And then, in mid-October, Expo was over. I guess the women visited us one more time because that is when my mother gave MY Expo passport away to one of the girls. Upon learning that Mentewab or Hanim didn’t have a passport of her own, she merely grabbed mine and said, “Take this one.” (At least, that is how I remember it.)
Sometimes I wonder if Mentewab and Hanim are still alive (why wouldn’t they be, they were hardly older than me) and whether one of them, living in Addis Ababa or Paris or New York City, occasionally opens a drawer crammed with Expo67 memorabilia and shows to her many grandchildren a shiny red passport belonging to a pimply, brown-haired Canadian girl called Dorothy Nixon – and wonders, in turn, where I am today. I’d like to think so.
A World of Education. No kidding. The copy here acknowledges that Canada is multi-cultural the visuals not so much.
Ethiopian Stamp that was really a stamp.
My husband may not have visited Expo much, but he did keep the newspapers from the opening.
Many French Canadians left the farms of Quebec and migrated to the mills of New England in the mid 1800s. Some worked and then returned home while other like Dolphis Bruneau settled in the United States.
Dolphis was the eldest son of Barnabé Bruneau (1807-1880) and Sophie Marie Prud’homme (1812-1892) my great great grandparents. One would think he would inherit the family farm in Saint Constant, Quebec but he had moved to North Adams, Massachusetts, long before his father’s death.
North Adams, a mill town in Berkshire County, grew at the convergence of two branches of the Hoosic River, which gave the town excellent water power for the developing industries. Dolphis arrived there 1864, at the end of the Civil War. He first lived in a rooming house and worked as an operative, presumably in a mill. At the same time, his younger brothers, Aimé and possibly Napoleon also lived and worked there.
He married Nellie Saunders the daughter of an Irish immigrant Thomas Saunders. She worked in a shoe factory. They started a family with Maude born in 1871 and another daughter Nellie three years later. Tragically, his wife died during that childbirth so Dolphis was left to raise his two daughters alone. He must have had help from Nellie’s family, as he didn’t move back to Quebec like his brother Napoleon and applied for his United States Naturalization Petition in 1895.
Dolphis’ wife Nellie Saunders
Dolphis continued his quiet life in North Adams. He worked as a carpenter possibly not at a mill but for for a cabinet maker. He kept in contact with his family in Quebec. Some pictures of his growing girls were taken in Montreal so they certainly went north to visit. He didn’t move much as his address, a rental property, is listed as 15 N Holden St for most of his life. His daughters continued to live with him. Maud seems to have kept house and Nellie worked as a bookkeeper.
Nellie BureauMaude Bruneau
Dolphis remarried eleven years after his wife died to a widow, Ester Mary Halse Tingue. Information about his second wife is scant and rather confusing. Ester received a Civil War pension from her first husband and so had some income. The census and city directories show them living apart although listed as married. He lived with his daughters and she lived with her daughter Emma Tingue. Dolphis died in 1909 and Ester in 1924. In her obituary she is refered to as Mrs. Ester T. Bruneau, living at 108 Quincey Street and survived only by Emma. “Her death will bring deep sorrow to her many acquaintances,” it said. Dolphis and Ester were buried in different cemeteries.
The year after her father’s death, Nellie married Arthur Henwood. They moved in with her sister Maud at 15 N Holdon Street. Nellie and Arthur never had any children. Arthur kept a steady job working for James Hunter Machinery as a machinist. His draft registration cards for both WWI and WWII showed him working at the same company. Nellie continued to work as a bookkeeper and Maude continued to keep house. Both sisters had a close involvement with the First Baptist Church.
Maude never married and after her sister’s death in 1939, she and her brother-in-law continued to live together for the next twenty plus years, still at 15 N Holden Street. Arthur died in 1960 and Maude then moved to the Sweet Brook Nursing Home in Williamstown, Massachusetts where she died two years later. Maude’s death ended the Bruneau line in North Adams although most of the family are buried in Maple Street Cemetery.
Bruneau Family Tombstone North Adams, MA
Notes:
Dolphis BruneauMassachusetts, U.S., Death Records, 1841-1915 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2013. Original data:Massachusetts Vital Records, 1840–1911. New England Historic Genealogical Society, Boston, Massachusetts.Massachusetts Vital Records, 1911–1915. New England Historic Genealogical Society, Boston, Massachusetts. Accesses March 15, 2022.
Dolphis Bruneau – Massachusetts, U.S., State and Federal Naturalization Records, 1798-1950 [database on-line] NAI Number: 4752894; Record Group Title: Records of the Immigration and Naturalization Service, 1787-2004; Record Group Number: R G 85. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2011. Accessed Mar 12, 2022.
Nellie Bruneau Henwood Obituary.The North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) December 27,1939, Page 3. Accessed on Newspapers.com Mar 27, 2022.
Maude L Bruneau Obituary. North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) March 17, 1962, Page 3. Accessed on Newspapers.com Mar 23, 2022.
Mrs Ester T Bruneau Obituary. North Adams Transcript (North Adams, Massachusetts) Dec 19, 1924, page 14. Accessed on Newspapers.com Mar 30, 2022.
1900 Census: North Adams Ward 3, Berkshire, Massachusetts;Roll:632;Page:7;Enumeration District:0051;FHL microfilm:1240632Ancestry.com.1900 United States Federal Census[database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2004. Original data: United States of America, Bureau of the Census. Twelfth Census of the United States, 1900. Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records Administration, 1900. T623, 1854 rolls. Accessed Mar 2, 2022.
Arthur Henwood: Draft Card H. Registration State:Massachusetts; Registration County: Berkshire Source Information Ancestry.com. U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917-1918.Imaged from Family History Library microfilm M1509, 4,582 rolls. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2005. Accessed April 5, 2022.
My Mum and her brother, Kenny c. 1932 my Mum would have been about 9 and Kenny 11 years old.
Two years into Uncle Ken’s apprenticeship, his life takes another turn…
A few days before Christmas, a neighbour visited Granny and saw her putting Holly branches around the fireplace and remarked “You should not put up Holly, it means a death in the family’ Gran chose to ignore this ‘old wives tale’
The United Kingdom declared war on Germany on the 3rd of September 1939, after Germany invaded Poland. France also declared war on Germany later the same day. The state of war was announced to the British public in an 11 am radio broadcast by Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain. (1)
Most of the country was in shock. Kenny as my grandparents always called him, was 17 years old that July 31st, and I have no doubt that he would have signed up as soon as he was 18 years old.
On about the 20th of December, Kenny complained of a tummy ache, so he stayed home from work. The pain got progressively worse, so the family doctor was called in. This was before the National Health Service was formed in 1948, so all house calls were to be paid in cash.
Because Kenny was feeling so poorly, Granny put a stool next to his bed, piled it up with books and put his food and drink on it, so it was eye level and easy to reach.
When the doctor arrived he examined Kenny and said it was nothing just an upset tummy. My Mum also had the same stomach pains so the doctor thought it was this. Days later, he worsened and the doctor was called in again.
By this time, my gramps was very worried and asked for him to be taken to the hospital as the pain was getting worse, but the doctor refused to admit him saying” With all those books piled up next to him, he can’t be that ill’
The next day, 23rd December and again, Gramps called the doctor in. This time he examined my Mum and left some mixture for her to take. Mum told me, that she refused to take it, because he had a strong foreign accent, and she was certain he was a ‘spy’ and the mixture was poison! Kenny worsened on the 23rd of December.
My mum remembers her parents and neighbours at his bedside, whispering ‘Is he still breathing?” Get a mirror and hold it up to his mouth’ Mum was in the bedroom next door worrying and in pain herself. Kenny died that evening. He was 17 years old.
Once again, the doctor was called and Gran and Gramps made him examine Mum at the same time. She was admitted to the hospital immediately with the same symptoms as Kenny had.
She had appendicitis and was operated on that day, and she recovered. Kenny meanwhile was autopsied. They discovered he had peritonitis. A ruptured appendix spreads infection throughout the abdomen. it requires immediate surgery to remove the appendix and clean the abdominal cavity or death occurs.
Mum was lucky her appendix had not yet burst. Kenny was not. My Granny and Gramps were so upset they tried to sue the doctor. I read Gramps’ diary of these events leading up to Uncle Ken’s death and wept.
My Gramps was not successful in suing the doctor although he tried very hard. Granny told me of her visiting the cemetery after Kenny’s burial and sitting on his gravesite and weeping, every day.
Plymouth was one of the most heavily bombed British cities during World War Two. The first bombs fell on the city on 6 July 1940, with the heaviest period of bombing occurring in March and April 1941. (2)
Many years later when she related this sad family history to me, we were at the cemetery visiting Uncle Ken’s grave. I noticed a large chip in the granite headstone and pointed it out to Granny. ‘Oh, yes” she replied, “I remember that!” She continued, “One day when I was visiting the cemetery, sitting on the edge of the grave, when the air raid sirens went off. I just carried on weeping and shouting to the sky ‘Take me now! I don’t care!” when a large piece of shrapnel hit the side of the headstone!
I asked her if she was afraid but she said ‘Not in the least!” and told me, that she continued to sit there and cry and shout, all whilst the air raid roared and blazed around her. I think this was her expressing her grief in a most dramatic but cathartic way, and was probably a good thing to do.
Grief can drastically alter a person’s attitude to life and I know families who lose a child never really recover from the shock.My grandparents, whilst not always talking about Kenny, did answer my questions and let me look through all his sketches and drawings they had.
My Mum was affected by her brothers’ death. Her parents were strict she said, timing her outings and expecting her home at a certain time, if she was spotted talking to boys she was called into the house.
She was constantly “kept an eye on” not allowed much freedom, or chance to meet people, and consequently, married far too young and too fast. However, I believe that they were afraid that they would lose her too, especially during the war years with constant bombs and air raids.
When her brother died and Mum’s infant son, my baby brother Christopher, died at three days old and she thought they were ‘cursed’ I must admit when my own son was born, the thought did cross my mind that the boys of the family did not live for long….. but I quickly quelled that thought! (3)
Today, my two ‘boys’ are healthy happy men and I am grateful.
October 1938. A sketch by Uncle Kenny of the Barbican where the Pilgrim Fathers sailed for America on the 16th September 1620
August 1939, This was taken four months before Uncle Kenny died. He is 17 years old, and it was taken at the Whitsands Beach, near Plymouth Devon.
The above photo was the one that I always remember, it is hung on the wall when I lived with my grandparents and is still there today. Below is Kenny’s Death certificate. The cause of death reads: “Perforated appendix generalised peritonitis Certified by W. E. J. Major Coroner for Plymouth after post mortem without inquest”. Because there was no inquest, I believe this is why my grandparents decided to try and sue the doctor. There should have been an inquest, so they could express their outrage, grief and sorrow at the behaviour of the doctor.
A few days ago I received an email from HM Coroner’s Office in Plymouth Devon. I had inquired about obtaining the Post Mortem report.
OFFICIAL: SENSITIVE
Good Afternoon
Thank you for your email and for updating the information provided.
I have made enquiries with our archivists and unfortunately, they do not hold any Post Mortems reports for 1939. Unfortunately, we are unable to assist with your enquiry any further.
Kind regards
Debbie, HM Coroners Office1 Derriford Park, Derriford Business Park Plymouth PL6 5QZ
I had hoped to obtain them to add to this story. It was not to be. Perhaps, in the future, I may be luckier. I am sure they are held, just not digitized yet.
A Brief Note on Holly Beliefs in the West Country of Devon, England.
“It was always considered terribly unlucky to bring holly into the house before Christmas Eve and even more so to leave it in the home after Candlemas Eve (1st February)“.
The McHugh brothers were just in their early twenties when they left County Sligo, Ireland to try their luck in Dundee, Scotland.1 When John and Edward McHugh arrived in Dundee, they had lodgings on Scourin Burn. Edward was a tinsmith and John, my 2X great-grandfather, was a sailcloth weaver. 2 A burn is a watercourse and the name Scourin Burn, or ‘cleansing burn’ probably referred to the process of scouring (textile term for cleaning the yarn) the yarn before dyeing as the nearby jute factories used the burn for this purpose. Scourin Burn no longer exists in modern Dundee and is now called Brook Street.3
Malcolm’s Pend, from the Scouringburn, Dundee, Photograph James Valentine (1815-1879), created 1877, Courtesy Scottish National Portrait Gallery, no copyright infringement intended
The McHugh brothers were part of a wave of Irish immigrants to Dundee, a city with a thriving jute industry, which had earned the nickname “Juteopolis.” By 1850 there were 47 spinning mills and eight power-loom factories employing some 11,000 people, as well as 4,000 handlooms. Linen goods, especially canvas, were exported to the Mediterranean, Australia, America, and the West Indies.4 Jute was a versatile fabric and used for everything, including the ropes made by the British Navy, sacking, tents, gun covers, sand bags, and horse blankets.5
Work in the mills was grim with the workday lasting twelve hours, from 6:00 a.m. to 6 p.m., with additional shifts on Saturday. It was not unusual for workers to bring sacks home to sew at night. 6 Three quarters of the workers were women and children, who could be employed at cheaper rates than the men. Injuries and accidents were commonplace. Dust would be everywhere and the machinery produced heat, grease and oil fumes, leading to a condition that was known as “mill fever.” The constant noise of the machinery led to many workers going deaf. 7 The booming jute industry provided plenty of work, but there was a shortage of housing due to the large influx immigrants. Wages remained low. Overcrowding meant that many migrants boarded with other families in cramped rooms.8
John settled in Dundee and married Mary Garrick, also from Ireland, in 1845. They both worked in the jute factories. It is no surprise that John and Mary raised their family close to the jute mills. In 1861 they still lived very close to Scourin Burn, in Henderson’s Wynd.9
West Henderson’s Wynd, looking towards the Scouringburn [Dundee]. 1877, James Valentine Photographic Collection, Courtesy of the University of St Andrews Libraries and Museums, ID: VGA-122-40a
John and his family lived in tenement housing all their lives. Tenement housing was hastily built to accommodate the rapid growth of the city due to the influx of workers. The construction quality was poor and the living spaces were small. It was not uncommon for families to share flats. As it was not profitable for landlords to build brand new affordable housing for the workers, pre-existing tenements were subdivided into smaller rooms, making living space even more crowded.10
“In 1861 with 91,664 inhabitants Dundee had only five WCs, and three of them were in hotels. All water in the city was drawn from wells of which the chief, the Lady Well, was heavily polluted by the slaughterhouse. Of the total housing stock of Scotland 1% had no windows, which meant that 8,000 families were without access to natural light. “11
Tour Scotland website, no copyright infringement intended
In the photograph of the tenement above, people are gathered on the outside staircase and the platforms or “platties.” Outside staircases were a way of saving space inside the building. In the photo, you can see how tiny each of the flats are.
In the 1800s, several cholera epidemics swept Dundee. Poor sanitary conditions were a direct cause of these epidemics. Dundee was a crowded and smelly city and, as in the above photograph, toilets were outside the flats and shared by many families living in the same tenement block. There were very few public facilities available for bathing. Disease was everywhere and it was believed that foul smells carried the disease. Inadequate sewerage and drainage facilities, and poor water supplies contributed to the increasing unsanitary conditions in Dundee and with its rapidly growing population.12
By the early 20th century, housing in Dundee continued to be problematic. Even though houses without windows had disappeared by 1881, overcrowding continued to be a problem. The 1911 census reveals that 72% of Dundonians lived in crowded conditions, in a one or two roomed home. Only 32% of the population of London lived in a one or two roomed home.13 In 1911, my grandparents had seven children and were living in a two roomed flat in Dundee.
My McHugh ancestors lived in Dundee about 72 years, from around 1840 to 1912. During their time in Dundee, every member of the family worked in the jute factories. In 1912, they emigrated to Canada and found jobs in other industries.
Death of brother Thomas McHugh in Sligo, Ireland, 1871. Deduced from Ancestry public member tree. To date, this cannot be confirmed.
1841 Census, Scotland, Scotland’s People, entry for John McHugh, National Records of Scotland, referenced January 2, 2021.
In 1984, at the age of 35, Harold Rosenberg discovered he had been adopted. Fourteen years later, he found out who his birth mother was – or so he thought. Today, he is still searching for his roots.
His adoptive parents never told him he was not their natural child, and both were already deceased when he learned the truth. His cousin Dinah, who was almost a generation older than him, could only recall that a Mrs. Baker, a matchmaker in Montreal’s large Jewish community, had done Harold’s adoptive father a favour and found the baby. The Rosenbergs had paid Mrs. Baker $1800 to make the arrangements.
Harold Rosenberg, age 8, in 1957.
Harold, who is my husband, tried to find out more, but there were no official records of his adoption and even the record of his birth kept by the synagogue was fake. He followed many false leads and ran into brick walls everywhere he turned.
In 1998, he opened The Gazette to see a front-page article about a group of women who had gathered in Montreal to search for their roots. All had been adopted into Jewish families, most eventually discovered that their birth mothers had been Catholic.
The article described a black-market baby ring that operated in Montreal in the late 1940s and early 1950s, trafficking about 1,000 babies to adoptive parents in Canada and the United States. A small group of doctors, lawyers and various intermediaries arranged these adoptions for childless Jewish couples who could not find babies through regular adoption channels. At the time, it was illegal in Quebec to adopt a child from another religion, and, while there were no Jewish babies available, there were lots of Catholic ones. Most of these babies were delivered at a handful of private maternity clinics in Montreal. The money went to the doctors and the people who arranged the adoptions, or who turned a blind eye to the transfer of small bundles. The mothers were not paid, but they were able to stay for free at the clinics during their last weeks of pregnancy, and they did not have to worry about medical costs.
When the ring was busted in 1954, The Gazette reported, several lawyers and a woman named Rachel Baker were arrested. Suddenly, Harold realized that Mrs. Baker did not just find a baby for his parents, she arranged for many under-the-table adoptions.
Years later, his cousin Moe told Harold that he had seen a tiny hospital bracelet with the name “baby Boyko” in the Rosenbergs’ safe deposit box, and he recalled that a girl named Mary Boyko had lived in his neighbourhood. Harold checked a list that a volunteer researcher had made of single mothers who gave birth in the late 1940s, and there was the name: Mary Boyko. She must have been his birth mother!
Harold asked a friend, a retired police detective, to look for her. It was a challenge because Mary had married someone named Tremblay, and Tremblay is one of the most common family names in Quebec. Nevertheless, three days later, the friend phoned to say that he had found her. Unfortunately, she was deceased, but he had tracked down her husband and her son. They said they had been looking for Mary’s baby for years, and they couldn’t wait to meet him.
Harold became good friends with his new-found half-brother, Sonny Tremblay. All the pieces seemed to fit, except for a few minor details. Meanwhile, he became an unofficial spokesperson for black market babies, participating in television documentaries in English and in French, and being interviewed for newspaper and magazine articles. He hoped to help other adoptees, as well as their birth mothers, learn the truth.
Harold in 2022
In 2020, our sons persuaded Harold to try to find his birth father. He did a DNA test, and he asked Sonny to do one also. Everyone was shocked when the results came back – they were not related! Just to be sure, Sonny’s cousin also took a DNA test, and it confirmed that the cousin is related to Sonny, but not to Harold. He then hired genetic genealogist Mary Eberle, of DNA Hunters, to help him make sense of his DNA results. He had many matches, but no one closer than a third or fourth cousin. Clearly, Harold is of Eastern European descent, and his birth father was probably Ukrainian. Many of his matches on his father’s side live around Cleveland, Ohio, an area where many Eastern Europeans settled.
Recently, he made a big break-through and got in touch with Lynne, a woman in Cleveland with whom he shares a whopping eight percent of his DNA. She is probably a first or second cousin and has been delighted to help out. Harold is still not sure who his birth father was, but at least he now has a genuine, close genetic cousin.
As for the identity of his birth mother, that remains a mystery. Was Harold really born at a Montreal hospital, as his cousin told him? And what should he now make of the story of the baby bracelet and the name Boyko? Hopefully, he will find out some day soon.
CTV News Montreal, “Special Report: Black Market Baby”, Dec 18, 2017, https://montreal.ctvnews.ca/video?clipId=318300 This interview was done when Harold mistakenly believed that Mary Boyko was his birth mother. I have included it here anyway because it includes more background on the black-market baby ring.
The wedding of a thirty-six-year-old widower and his nineteen-year-old orphaned cousin took place the day before the Feast of St. Jean in 1750. The marriage bolstered a resilient family community that remained in the Saguenay through local strife, high taxes, and the burning down of their farm by the British in 1759. Together, the couple produced six children, including our ancestor, Marie-Anne, who was born in 1761.
The match may also have been one of many successful unions organized by the bride’s godmother, an Ursuline nun named Félicité Poulin.
Poulin was an 18th century career woman and eventually became known in religious circles as the “Mère de L’Assomption” (Mother of Assumption). She served in the St. Anne de Beaupré Shrine when her god-daughter was baptised there but became leader of her order by the time of the wedding. Her influence over the bride, whose name was Félicité Simard, would presumably have increased as Simard’s mother died when she was only seven years old. When Simard’s father died in 1741, Poulin may have taken over the responsibility for her marital prospects.
The groom was a farmer named Joseph Dufour. His mother and Simard’s grandmother were sisters, so Poulin would have at least known his reputation, if not him personally. She must have acted quickly after Dufour’s first wife, Marie Anne Tremblay, died in September 1749. Dufour’s wedding to Simard occurred only seven months later.
Jesuit Father Claude-Godefroi Coquart likely played a role too. During the winter of 1749, Coquart inspected the farm Dufour and three of his children were running on Crown land in La Malbaie (Murray’s Bay) along the Saguenay for the King of France. In a report dated the day after Dufour and Simard’s wedding, Coquart urgently requested that the King of France lower Dufour’s taxes. The farmer could starve, wrote the Jesuit. The requirement that Dufour send the King half the wool produced by eight of his own sheep wasn’t fair, he explained. Dufour and his three grown daughters were working “even beyond the limits of their strength.” (See the story Joseph Dufour’s Farm for a description.)
Was Coquart’s plea to the King a wedding gift? Did Poulin have anything to do with it? We don’t know.
I haven’t even confirmed whether Coquart and Poulin knew one another, but the Ursulines and the Jesuits were close colleagues in New France, so they probably did. Coquart moved into an Ursuline mission after he retired, though that was after Poulin had died.
Did the King eventually lower Dufour’s taxes? Did the family rebuild their farm after it was burned down? It’s not clear. All we know for sure is that the couple stayed in Malbaie and continued raising children there until Dufour’s death on April 1774, at 61 years of age.
Our direct ancestor Marie-Anne would have been only thirteen years old when her father died. Fifteen months later—on July 20, 1775—her mother and nineteen-year-old brother, Dominique Benjamin, died too. Like her mother, she became an orphan.
From pastry dough based on 3 cups flour, roll out four 10” rounds. Place on baking sheet, or backs of 9” cake tins. Fold under 1/2 inch around edges. Flute. Prick well. Bake in hot oven 475 degrees….
It’s been over 50 years since I’ve typed the above words in that exact order from a recipe for a gunky (but delish) 60’s confection, 51 years to be exact. Now, I’m doing it again, as an exercise in memory.
In 1971, when I was in 10th grade at high school, I helped my mother type out her favourite recipes onto file cards, many of which I still have – and treasure – today.
I found them again in 2009, in a hidden drawer in a Chinese cabinet, shortly before my mother’s passing.
My mother, a bilingual legal secretary, could type up a storm in both English and French and I was just learning to type, but she left me to perform the honours for some reason, hence all the typos and misspellings. 3 ripe bababas, lemong, seperate the eggs.
Today, half a century later, as I meditate on these yellowed, oil-stained recipe cards and their deeper meaning, I realize that this may well have been the only sustained project my Mother and I ever worked on together.
My mother was a doer, not a teacher and her only creative outlet (outside of coordinating her work outfits) came in the kitchen and at the bridge table. She didn’t have much patience, any patience for that matter, so she commandeered the kitchen using me only to convert fractions as she doubled and tripled the recipes and to sift the mountains of flour for her classic cakes. I sometimes helped her stir the various batters with our little yellow Mixmaster with the motor that smelled of burning plastic as it heroically whizzed away. For this reason I still can’t make a pie crust – even after watching my mother ply so many apple pies right in front of me, but who bakes any more, anyway?
My Aunt Flo, me and my brother and my mother at Old Orchard Beach 1962 ish. My nickname was “Stringbean” or “SkinnyHymer” so all that Cafe Bavarian (my fave dessert from the inside of a Carnation Milk label) didn’t hurt me.
My mother , Marie-Marthe Crepeau Nixon was a terrific cook, at least that is how I remember it.
But reading the recipes on these battle-scarred cards I realize these are mostly very simple back- of -the -magazine recipes, using products advertised within the pages like Fry’s Chocolate or Hunt’s tomato sauce and in the case of the above 4 Decker trifle-style dessert, Delmonte fruit cocktail.
I also realize, now, fifty years later, that I didn’t like some of these recipes. The chicken mole was too authentic using unsweetened chocolate. The tokay grape aspic or gelatin mould, so trendy at mid-century, well, what can I say. Yuk.
I sort of liked the hot tomales, except the sauce was too hot for my immature taste buds. All that tobasco.
But most of these recipes I remember as rib-tickling: a simple lasagna (you could use “real” swiss instead of mozzarella) that only had one herb, rosemary. It called for two teaspoons of olive oil, but I suspect my mother used Mazola. The beef stroganoff (another 60’s favourite) called for one cup of white wine. My parents never had wine in the house, so I doubt my mom added that ingredient.
My mother’s go-to meals are not on the cards I still have: her fabulous Italian spaghetti that when cooled had at least an inch of fat on top and her equally hearty chili con carne, from which I would pick out all the mushrooms before it hit the table. (She fried the hamburger first for the chili. She put the raw beef into the simmering sauce for the spaghetti.) Her southern fried chicken put the Colonel to shame. It attracted the neighbourhood kids to many a picnic on our back porch.
I even adored her calf’s liver and onions, ‘as delicious as steak’ she said, and it was.
My mother’s only heirloom recipe in her writing for turkey stuffy from her mom. A real cholesterol bomb. One pound of sausage meat and 1/2 pound of butter.
Yes, I remember my mother for being a fabulous cook, despite the fact she obviously didn’t come to her marriage at 30 armed with years of experience and a file folder filled with secret family recipes. She looked to Redbook and Ladies Home Journal for ideas, just like many other new ‘housewives’ of the era.
My mother was born in 1921, to middle-aged parents who, by that time, were very well off. She went to a fancy boarding school nearby, learning Greek and Latin but probably not domestic science. I doubt she lifted a finger when at home.
Her unschooled older sisters who who had known leaner times were the ones who helped out at home. In her twenties, my mother lived with her widowed mom (famous for her fatty tortiere and savory baked beans) and two sisters on Oxford in the Notre Dame de Grace section of Montreal, one of whom, Cecile, is listed as ‘housekeeper’ on the Voting Register. My mother was working as a ‘stenographer’ for a movie distribution company down the street, RKO, so she likely helped support the family.
Yes, my mother was a great cook (I seem to remember) but one lousy home economist, but what could you expect from a “daddy’s girl” who, by her own admission, was always exceeding her allowance at boarding school.
If there was a more expensive way of making something, my mother would find it. She would buy Kraft dinner for the macaroni and discard the little aluminum packets of processed cheese product, adding her own fresh cheeses and herbs and spices. The metallic packets piled up 40 high in our pantry.
The A and P on Queen Mary and Earnscliffe, Snowdon. BANQ. In 1960 there was a bowling alley over top. My mother loved to bowl but I don’t remember every going there.
I recall 1964, when we would go grocery shopping at the A& P on Queen Mary at Earnscliffe. It was an old-fashioned (see dingy) store, opened 22 years before, with wooden floors covered in sawdust to soak up the slimy spillages; the pleasant aroma of their famed Eight O’clock coffee; grey display counters filled with 1960’s staple vegetables, like iceberg lettuce and broccoli, big baskets of juicy peaches, but only for a few weeks in late summer, and all the 20th century commercial brands that made America great.
My mother would fill to heaping two shopping carts with food. The cashier would often ask, “Are those BOTH yours?” I seem to recall the bill coming to a whopping 60 dollars. We were only a family of five. 1
Prices in 1962 in Quebec City from Le Soleil newspaper BANQ. My mother’s coffee was instant Maxwell House with Carnation Milk. I made a bazillion cups for her.
What made my mother’s food so tasty and so memorable? Was it the simple ingredients? Was it the fact that she never overcooked the high quality meats she purchased from Queen Mary Provisions, a specialty store? Was it the Hollandaise or white sauce that always topped the lightly steamed veggies we ate?
Maybe her meals were so satisfying because she had no fear of cholesterol and didn’t skimp on the seasoning and, truth be told, didn’t hesitate to add cascades of Accent to any soup or stew.
Or maybe, there’s another reason. Maybe her meals are so memorable because cooking for her family was the only positive way my mother, who was bright as hell, frustrated with her domestic life, and bipolar, expressed her love for us. Oh, yea. That last one. That’s clearly the reason I treasure these scruffy little yellow recipe cards from over 50 years ago.
I did the research and according to Statistics Canada historical 60 dollars every two weeks was the average amount spent by families every two weeks in Canadian cities.
I promise to my dear Anais never to use alcohol or tobacco
and not to lie to her anymore and to be good to her.
E Patenaude”
This note found in a box of Bruneau family pictures, along with an invitation to Anais Bruneau and Etienne Patenaude’s wedding made me wonder. At first I thought it was a promise made before they married but then realized the date was ten years later. What had Etienne done?
Anais, the sister of my great grandfather Ismael Bruneau was the youngest of 13 children of my two times great grandparents, Barnabé Bruneau and Sophie Marie Prud’homme. She appeared to be my great grandfather Ismael’s favourite and only three years his junior. He wrote many letters to Anais and some survived but none of her replies. He traveled for his studies and his ministry while she remained close to home in Saint Constant helping their parents. When Ismael was ministering in Kankakee, Illinois, he wrote that he wanted her to meet his beautiful soon-to-be wife. He asked her to come and visit and said that he would find her a tall strong farmer for a husband. As far as I know, Anais never visited and she found her own husband.
Anais married Etienne Hilaire Patenaude on a Thursday at ten and a half in the morning in L’Eglise Ecossaise in Laprarie, Quebec. I thought it was a strange day and time for a wedding but Anais dressed the part of a bride in a fancy white dress and veil with a bouquet of flowers as their wedding photograph shows. She was 33 and Etienne only 27.
They seemed to live a quiet life on a farm south of Montreal. They had no children. Her mother lived with them for a time after their marriage and most likely until her death. Anais was the good daughter and following her brother’s instructions, continued to look after her mother after her father died. Although Anais had seven sisters only she remained near St-Constant.
Nephews Edgar & Gerald Bruneau with Anais & Etienne in Grande Ligne
Etienne died in 1931 and Anais a year later at 77 years old. They are both buried in the cemetery at St Blaise Baptist Church in Grande Ligne showing they led a religious life. This church was associated with the Feller Institute, founded by Henrietta Feller a Swiss missionary who came to convert the native population but had greater success with the French Catholics. Madame Feller and her partner Louis Roussy were responsible for the conversion of Anais’ parents. Etienne’s parents were also Baptists.
What did Etienne do to have him write this promise? They were both French Baptists and involved in the Mission at Grande Ligne where sobriety would be expected. Did he go off and drink, smoke and lie about it? Who saved this paper and how did it come to me? On the back is written, “What Aunt Anais made him sign.” So, according to family lore, it wasn’t his choice to make this declaration.
Notes:
Note by Etienne Patenaude translated by author.
Ancestry.com. 1921 Census of Canada[database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2013. Original data:Library and Archives Canada. Sixth Census of Canada, 1921. Ottawa, Ontario, Canada: Library and Archives Canada, 2013. Series RG31. Statistics Canada Fonds.Images are reproduced with the permission of Library and Archives Canada.
Ancestry.com. 1901 Census of Canada[database on-line]. Lehi, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2006. Original data:Library and Archives Canada. Census of Canada, 1901. Ottawa, Ontario, Canada: Library and Archives Canada, 2004. http://www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/census/1901/Pages/about-census.aspxl. Series RG31-C-1. Statistics Canada Fonds. Microfilm reels: T-6428 to T-6556.Images are reproduced with the permission of Library and Archives Canada.
Ancestry.com. 1891 Census of Canada[database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations Inc, 2008. Original data:Library and Archives Canada. Census of Canada, 1891. Ottawa, Ontario, Canada: Library and Archives Canada, 2009. http://www.bac-lac.gc.ca/eng/census/1891/Pages/about-census.aspx. Series RG31-C-1. Statistics Canada Fonds. Microfilm reels: T-6290 to T-6427.
Ancestry.com. Quebec, Canada, Vital and Church Records (Drouin Collection), 1621-1968 [database on-line]. Lehi, UT, USA: Ancestry.com Operations, Inc., 2008. Original data:Gabriel Drouin, comp. Drouin Collection. Montreal, Quebec, Canada: Institut Généalogique Drouin.
Genealogy Ensemble 