The black-leather-lined plasticized bilingual identity card wacked my arm as it fell from the shelf. Until then, I had never really noticed the card among the many items my grandmother left me.
Luckily, its heavy construction protected the words on the card, which remain as legible as they were when my grandfather received it on January 4, 1936.
The Canadian federal “Department of Marine” issued the card to give my grandfather credibility as a radio inspector. It says:
“The bearer G. Arial is hereby authorized to issue and inspect private radio receiving licences in Edmonton East. He is further authorized to require the production of private radio receiving licences for inspection.”
Turns out that this little artifact hints at a short-lived controversy in Canadian history. The card expired on March 31, 1937, but it would be defunct before then.
The Department of Marine seems like an odd overseer of radio licences until you realize that early broadcasting began in the 1890s when Morse Code was used to enable ship-to-ship and ship-to-shore communication. The idea of a public broadcaster begin in May, 1907, when the Marconi station in Camperdown, Nova Scotia began broadcasting regular time signals to the public.
The “wireless telegraphy” industry continued to develop with private individuals investing in ham radios with no regulation. By June 1913, the federal government decided to regulate the industry to protect military communication.
When World War I began in August 1914, private licenses were banned altogether. Only the Marconi Wireless Telegraph Company of Canada, Ltd. kept operating during the war years, in part because it became a research arm of the military.i
After the war, the private industry blossomed, particularly in Western Canada. Many of the new broadcasters came from multiple religious communities, a situation the federal government tried to prevent by setting up a public broadcasting system through the Radio Broadcasting Act of 1932.
That act led to the establishment of a licensing commission called the Canadian Radio Broadcasting Commission under the leadership of Hector Charlesworth. Charlesworth’s group censored many religious groups and political groups, but none more than the Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Norman James Fennema described the controversy in his 2003 dissertation, Remote Control.
…in Canada we find a situation in which the original impetus for regulating radio broadcasting began with the specific aim of putting a rein on religious broadcasting. Originally directed at the radio activities of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, this expanded in the early 1930’s into a policy against the licensing of religious broadcasters, a policy initially justified on the basis of the scarcity of the broadcasting spectrum, but that survived the expansion of the system.ii
By 1935, Clarence Decateur Howe became both the Minister of Railways and Canals and the Minister of Marine,iii the ministry under which my grandfather’s job was created.
Howe favoured private broadcasting, and encouraged new private entities to flourish.
Prime Minister Mackenzie King preferred a public broadcast system however. In February, 1936, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) came into being, and my grandfather’s job ended.
Altonen, Karhu, Kuivinen Family reunion 1919 At the dawn of the twentieth century many of my ancestors from Finland immigrated to the United States. They settled in Ashtabula Harbor, Ohio on the shores of Lake Erie. In the above photo seated are my Karhu great-grand parents surrounded by their offspring. Directly behind my great-grandfather(in the black Jacket – seated) is my Dad, Kaarlo.
Over the past decade a number of stories about my father’s adult life as a Professional Mining Engineer were presented on this blog. However, from his neatly organized photograph album we get a glimpse of his youth.
Kaarlo Victor Lindell was the oldest son of Johan Hjalmar Lindell, a blacksmith and Ida Susanna Karhu. He was born November 14th, 1905. The family lived on Bridge Street above grandfather’s shop. Dad was second of eight children, four girls and four boys
This is one of the earliest photos of Kaarlo pictured here with his four sisters. He was about 9 years old at the time. His brothers were born years later.
Dad would have been about 11 in this photo with his sister Leona.
Kaarlo attended Elementary School in Ashtabula Harbor.
The description says it all!
Grade 5 Class Picture and the signatures of Kaarlo’s classmates
Ashtabula Harbor High School
The Mariner – The yearbook for Ashtabula Harbor High School 1923.
Dad was on the Advertising Committee and was also involved in many of the school activitiesas can be seen in the following photographs.
As a youngster during his teenage years Kaarlo had “many irons in the fire”. He built a crystal radio to the delight of his family. To earn money for college he read meters and ran the movie projector in the local theatre. During the summer months he sailed the Great Lakes as an assistant cook on ore boats.
From his humble beginnings as the son of a blacksmith throughout his life he became a driving force in the mining industry and travelled the world.
Recently, for a minor medical reason, I was referred to Hôpital Sacré Coeur de Montréal, located in the Ahuntsic/Cartierville neighbourhood, North of Montréal. Instead of using the major highway, we decided to travel via Gouin Boulevard. Motoring along a pleasant country road, filled with all manner of houses, trees, flowers and bushes, it was a very enjoyable route.
The reason I wanted to write about this hospital I had never seen before was because when we arrived and I saw the majestic gateway that led up to the main entrance, I thought at first the building may have once been a cathedral.
Although the photo below was taken C. 1940, it looks exactly the same today.
Publisher: Novelty Manufacturing and Art Co. Ltd., Montreal
It intrigued me so much that I wanted to learn about the history of this striking building. As we approached the parking lot, I could see the huge cross on the top of the building. The original stonework, which was masterly, really stood out to me.
Picture Alexis Hamel
The original stonework would reflect the architectural styles popular in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, potentially incorporating elements of the Victorian or Beaux-Arts styles common for public buildings of that era.
Picture Marian Bulford
Excited to begin researching, I found a lot of interesting information. For instance, did you know that the institution was originally founded on June 1, 1898, the day of the Feast of the Sacred Heart, by a small group of women located in a building in downtown Montréal? (1)
They named it the Hôpital du Sacré-Cœur de Montréal, and the women cared for a dozen ill individuals, deemed the ‘incurables’. An unfortunate name, but cancer and patients with serious diseases were incurable then. By 1902, support care was provided by the Sisters of Providence.
In 1900, the hospital moved to a larger building on Décarie Boulevard in Notre-Dame-de-Grâce (NDG). and was known as the Hôpital des Incurables.
Hôpital des Incurables.
This building was destroyed by fire in March 1923, and in 1926, a new building was built on Gouin Boulevard in Cartierville, where it still stands today. With the new building, the administration reverted to using the original name, Hôpital du Sacré-Cœur de Montréal.
Initially, it specialised in the treatment of tuberculosis. This was soon followed by the development of orthopaedic surgery (Dr. Édouard Samson, 1931) and thoracic surgery (Dr. Norman Bethune, 1933). In 1973, the Hospital became a tertiary care trauma centre for Western Quebec, together with the Institut Albert-Prévost, to provide psychiatric care and was affiliated with the University of Montreal as a research and teaching centre.(2)
In 2022, an expansion by Provencher_Roy and Yelle Maillé was completed, adding 16,252 square meters, which complements this heritage structure. (4)
Although a visit to a hospital is sometimes an anxious experience, the building and staff at Hôpital du Sacré-Cœur de Montréal were most helpful and attentive. Young volunteers are situated on each floor, ready to give directions to various parts of this now vast hospital.
Along Gouin Boulevard, we passed the affiliated Institut Albert-Prévost, set in a pleasant park-like area, before reaching the Hôpital du Sacré-Cœur de Montréal.
Entrance to the Institut Albert-Prévost
Before becoming a hospital, Albert-Prévost may have changed names from sanatorium to pavilion, but never its vocation: it has been treating mental health problems for over 100 years. This influence is due as much to the teaching it provides as to the care it gives.
Who was Albert Prévost?
Albert Prévost
He was a Quebec neurologist and forensic physician, born in 1881 and died in 1926. He was the first holder of the chair of neurology at the Université Laval in Montreal and the founder of the institute that bears his name. (5)
Ten years ago in July 2015, my sister and I shared a “Sister Pilgrimage” to Shediac, New Brunswick, the home of our maternal ancestors. Here is a part of the story I wrote upon our return:
“Early Sunday morning, dressed in our special t-shirts, we left in plenty of time for the morning church service at St Martin’s-in-the-Woods. The greeter welcomed us warmly, and we asked if there might be any Haningtons at church that day. She beckoned down the aisle to her husband who then introduced himself as Allen Hanington. Overjoyed, we threw our arms around our surprised distant cousin and snapped a commemorative photo. And so our journey began.
My 3x great grandfather, William Hanington William Hanington comes to Canada, was the first English settler in Shediac, New Brunswick, in 1785. He was an amazing fellow who emigrated from England at the age of twenty-six, built a whole community, set up lumber exports, built ships, married a PEI girl Shediac’s First English Woman Settlerand had a family of thirteen. Later in life, in 1823, he donated a piece of land and built St Martin’s-in-the-Woods Anglican Church, where he was buried in 1838.Later on that Sunday after the morning service at St Martin’s-in-the-Woods, we visited with Allen’s charming sister Lilian, the family historian who knew our exact location in the Hanington family tree!
… PS The August 2015 family newsletter, the Hanington Herald, just arrived by mail! Included in the comments from the President’s Desk (that would be our cousin Allen!), it says: “We just experienced a lovely visit from the Anglin sisters; Lucy (Montreal) and Margaret (Ottawa) who were visiting in the area and attended morning service at St Martin’s-in-the-Woods Anglican Church on Sunday, July 5th 2015. We had a very nice visit on Sunday afternoon. They are descendants of Daniel Hanington.” Roaring Dan
After the recent passing of Allen Hanington, I spoke with his sister Lilian—and it quickly became clear that her story deserved to be shared.
Lilian is my third cousin once removed on the Hanington side, and she’s made a lasting impact as our family historian. Her most significant legacy is the Hanington Book—a detailed 394-page family tree that she compiled and first published in 1983, then updated in 1988. Every Hanington was assigned a unique number to trace their lineage. Lilian herself is #2-4-6-10, meaning she is the 10th child of the 6th child of the 4th child of the 2nd child of our original Shediac settler, William Hanington. I now have a PDF copy of the Hanington book and happily share it with cousins near and far.
To keep the family connected, Lilian also created The Hanington Herald, an annual newsletter filled with updates on births, deaths, travels, and all things Hanington. She maintained it faithfully, offering four years of family news for the modest subscription price of just $12.
Lilian’s father, John Moore Hanington (1886–1967) ventured west from his birthplace in Shediac, N.B., in the early 1900s on a “grain excursion,” later joining the 145th Battalion in WWI, though he never served overseas. A skilled carpenter, he worked on the Scoudouc airport and maintained a thriving farm when he returned to Shediac. At one point, he had over 100 plum trees and picked more than 100 pints of raspberries in a single day. He also kept cattle, pigs, and hens for the family’s use.
His wife, Ada, came to Canada from Cheshunt, England at age 12. Together, they raised a large family—Lilian, their tenth child, was born in 1940.
Lilian attended Moncton High School, graduated from Teacher’s College in Fredericton, and taught school briefly before working at T. Eaton Co. Mail Order for 12 years. Like her father, she grew fruits and vegetables, ran a farm stand, and still maintains a huge garden. Her beautifully handwritten multi-page Christmas letters always include updates on her abundant harvest of that year.
I received my first Christmas letter after we met in 2015… and now I look forward to it every year:
Christmas 2015
Dear Lucy,
It was so good to meet you & your sister after hearing about you for so long from your Uncle Bob. My father always said that nothing is so important that you can’t stop & talk to someone. I always enjoy meeting relatives. There is now a note on the church bulletin board for any relatives visiting to contact me…
My garden did well in spite of the late planting. I had peas to freeze, beans to sell, bushels of potatoes, some large carrots, cucumbers & small tomatoes to give away. I also had lots of gooseberries, pears & grapes. Allen had black currants and crab apples so I made lots of jam, jelly, preserves & marmalade. Some of which I will give as Christmas gifts. I also make dozens of cookies, many of which I give as gifts also. Easier shopping that way…
I wish you a very Merry Christmas with peace, joy, love & happiness. All the best in 2016. It was so nice to meet you. Please keep in touch.
Love,
Lilian
It feels fitting that I met Lilian at St. Martin’s in the Wood Anglican Church—a place deeply rooted in our family history. Built by her 2x great-grandfather (my 3x great-grandfather), the church has been a cornerstone of her life. She married Robert Hamilton there in 1967 and served faithfully for over 20 years as a Sunday school teacher, sewer, knitter, and superintendent.
In 1985, Lilian helped organize the 200th Hanington Reunion, a celebration that brought together 400 relatives for a parade and lobster dinner—honouring a legacy built on faith, hard work, and community. I only wish I had been there to witness it!
Before we ended our phone call, she fondly recalled my grandparents’ summer cottage Iona Cottage down the lane from the church and how my grandfather, an Anglican priest The Priest, would occasionally step in to lead summer Sunday services.
A natural historian and gifted storyteller, Lilian clearly inherited not only her father’s green thumb but also an extraordinary memory.
The Mile End neighbourhood of Montreal is famous as the home of Montreal bagels and of novelist Mordecai Richler. Its iconic architecture features outside staircases attached to two- and three-storey rowhouses, next door to churches, synagogues, shops, cafés and renovated manufacturing buildings. But Mile End’s history goes back to one small tavern at a crossroads in the countryside more than 200 years ago.
The Mile End Tavern was located at today’s northwest corner of Saint Laurent Boulevard and Mount Royal Avenue,1 now the starting point of the Mile End neighbourhood. In turn, Mile End is on the Plateau, an elevated plain lying north of Sherbrooke Street and east of Mount Royal.
The first known reference to Mile End was dated April 21, 1808, when landowner John Clark placed a notice in the Gazette advertising Mile End Farm as providing “good pasture for horses and cows at the head of the Faubourg [suburb] Saint-Laurent.”
Screenshot
Clark (1767-1827), an English-born butcher, acquired the land he would call Mile End Farm in several transactions, including purchase agreements and leases, between 1804 and 1810.2 Like most farms in Quebec, it was long and narrow. At its greatest extent in 1810, it measured 2.5 kilometers from south to north, and between 400 and 550 meters wide. Clark was almost certainly the one who chose the name Mile End. The centre of his property was about a mile north of the small city of Montreal, and the area might have reminded him of another Mile End, a mile east of London, England. The name caught on and has been in use ever since.
John Clark, a butcher from Durham, England, settled in Montreal around 1797. Portrait in a private collection.
When Montreal was founded in 1642, Mile End was probably uninhabited. The ground was too rocky for settlements or agriculture, and few Indigenous artefacts have been found there. The northeastern region of the Island of Montreal was covered by a vast cedar forest. The heart of Mile End was also forested, but there, both cedar and ash trees were the dominant species. This forest was still intact when the Sulpician priests mapped the area in 1702, but as the city’s population grew — it stood at around 1,200 residents in 1700 – more and more trees were cut to provide firewood.
By 1780, most trees had disappeared from the foot of the mountain, replaced by houses, farm buildings, hay fields and pastures. In the Mile End area, livestock pastures, vegetable crops, tanneries and quarries dominated the countryside, and orchards were planted in the mid-1800s.
In 1663, the Sulpician priests became the seigneurs, or feudal lords, of the entire island. In 1701, the Hôpital Général acquired an extensive piece of land from the Sulpicians in the future Mile End area, and the Grey Nuns took over the hospital and all its lands in 1747. In 1803, the nuns sold the piece of land that would become Mile End Farm to two masons, Jean-Baptiste Boutonne and Joseph Chevalier. They wanted to quarry its stone and sand for building materials.
The masons had to pay the Grey Nuns a rente constituée (annual interest), as well as yearly seigneurial dues to the Sulpicians. So when John Clark bought the property – the first part of his Mile End Farm — in 18044 and gave Boutonne and Chevalier the right to continue collecting building materials for seven years after the sale, they must have been relieved. Meanwhile, Clark found another use for the land, first advertising pasture for other peoples’ cows in 1808.
When the same ad for livestock pasturing at Mile End Farm appeared the following year, it was placed by Phineas Bagg (c.1751-1823) and his son Stanley Bagg (1788-1853), my four-times and three-times great-grandfathers. A farmer from western Massachusetts, Phineas had brought his family to Canada around 1795. Initially he worked as an innkeeper in LaPrairie, near Montreal, and then the family moved onto the island. In 1810, Phineas and Stanley signed a lease with John Clark.5 Paying an annual rent of 112 pounds, 10 shillings, they ran the Mile End Tavern and managed the farm for the next seven years before subletting to another innkeeper.
description below.
The lease described the property as having a two-storey house (which at some point must have been converted into the tavern), a barn, stable and outbuildings. The Baggs were required to sufficiently manure the pastures and arable land, to cultivate and to perform road maintenance and other required duties. They were permitted to cut wood for fencing and firewood, but they had to preserve the maple grove. They were also permitted to cut and remove stone.
No doubt the tavern brought them a good income since it was located at an important, if somewhat remote, intersection. Stanley must have attracted many additional customers after he built a racetrack nearby. In May 1811, he signed an agreement with the Jockey Club of Montreal, subletting a piece of land to the club and promising to build the track within five weeks. The club supervised the races. The track, partially on land leased from the Sisters of the Hôtel-Dieu, was about a mile in circumference and what is now Jeanne Mance Park, extending east to Saint-Laurent. It was most likely the first racetrack in Montreal.6
Another reference to Mile End appeared in the Gazette on August 4, 1815 when Stanley Bagg, Mile End Tavern, placed a notice offering a reward for information about a lost bay horse, about 10 years old, with a white face and some white about the feet.7
In 1819, Stanley married John Clark’s daughter, Mary Ann (John Clark was also my four-times great-grandfather). Their son, Stanley Clark Bagg (1820-1873), eventually inherited the Mile End Farm, as well as other properties Clark had owned nearby.
In the second half of the 19th century, Stanley Clark Bagg began subdividing and selling the properties he had inherited from his father and grandfather. He died in 1873 and the next generation of the family continued to sell building lots from the Stanley Clark Bagg Estate.
In 1891, they sold most of the Mile End Farm property to McCuaig and Mainwaring, a pair of promoters from Toronto who envisioned a high-end residential suburb they called Montreal Annex.8 The project got off to a slow start because basic services such as water, sewers and streetlights were nonexistent and a promised electric tramway did not materialize in time. A recession that started in 1893 put an end to their dreams. A few years later another group of investors, the Montreal Investment & Freehold Company, took over the property and the area developed as a mixture of duplexes, triplexes and commercial buildings.
Meanwhile, the Mile End Hotel continued to appear in city directories at the corner of Saint- Laurent and Mount Royal until 1900. The property was expropriated for road widening in 1902 and the building was demolished. A department store had replaced it by 1906.
Description ofMap: The areas with a greyish tinge are the areas that John Clark held by lease rather than owning them; none of them ever came back to Clark-Bagg possession after the leases ended. The yellow areas are cutouts belonging to and reserved by other people, excluded from the rectangles describing the property leased to P & S Bagg in 1810. Mile End Farm was bounded by the modern Saint-Laurent Blvd. in the east, while the future Park Avenue was just to the west and Pine Ave. would have been the southern boundary. RHSJ refers to the Religieuses Hospitalières de Saint-Joseph de Montréal, a religious order dedicated to caring for the sick.
1. Mount Royal Avenue is the continuation of Côte Sainte-Catherine Road, which traverses the northeast slope of Mount Royal and continues east of Saint-Laurent Boulevard. Saint- Laurent, now a busy commercial street, was at one time the only road leading north from city to the Rivière des Prairies, on the north shore of Montreal Island. Built by the Sulpician priests in 1717, Saint Laurent was initially known as Le grand chemin du Roy – the Great King’s Highway. Over the years it has been known by many names, English and French, including Chemin Saint-Laurent, St. Lawrence Street and “the Main”. Since 1905, its official name has been Boulevard Saint-Laurent.
2. Yves Desjardins, Histoire du Mile End, Québec: Les Ēditions du Septentrion, 2017, p. 22.
3. Island of Montreal property owners were required to pay dues to the Sulpicians every year until the seigneurial system was gradually abolished there, starting in 1840. The system was abolished in the rest of Quebec in a gradual process starting in 1854.
4. Louis Chaboillez, n.p. no 6090, 30 May 1804. A reference to the purchase also appears inJ.A. Labadie, n.p. no 16733, 7 June 1875. This was the inventory of Stanley Clark Bagg’s Estate. It includes the name of the seller, the date of the sale and the notary who prepared the deed. This part of Mile End Farm is item #264.
5. Jonathan A. Gray, n.p. no 2874, 17 Oct. 1810.
6. Justin Bur, Yves Desjardins, Jean-Claude Robert, Bernard Vallée, Joshua Wolfe, Dictionnaire historique du Plateau Mont-Royal (Montreal, Éditions Écosociété, 2017), p 107.
7. Justin Bur, “À la recherche du cheval perdu de Stanley Bagg, et des origines du Mile End.” A la recherche du savoir: nouveaux échanges sur les collections du Musée McCord; Collecting Knowledge: New Dialogues on McCord Museum Collections. Joanne Burgess, Cynthia Cooper, Celine Widmer, Natasha Zwarich. Montreal: Éditions MultiMondes, 2015, p. 143.
8. Justin Bur, Yves Desjardins, Jean-Claude Robert, Bernard Vallée, Joshua Wolfe, Dictionnaire historique du Plateau Mont-Royal (Montreal, Éditions Écosociété, 2017), p 271.
One of my favourite recipes in Mom’s recipe book is for chilli con carne. It has only a few ingredients: hamburger, kidney beans, onions, Heinz tomato soup, salt, pepper and chilli powder but only if desired. With fresh rolls and tomato slices, it was a meal we often had at the cottage, without the chilli powder. I was surprised to see that there was no Campbell’s tomato soup in the recipe.
Mom’s famous Chilli Con Carne!
Mom started this book when she got married in 1948. It contains recipes cut out of magazines and newspapers, her handwritten recipes and ones collected from friends and family. In her later years, she mostly cooked from memory but sometimes would open the book just to check.
The indes page
The book is now falling apart. It has been taped and covered with mactac but those adhesives don’t hold forever. The favourite recipes are worn, smudged with sticky fingerprints and ingredients. The newspaper clippings are starting to disintegrate.
A favourite Christmas treat
My mother’s recipe book used to travel back and forth from Montreal to our cottage in the Laurentians. When Mom moved into a senior residence, it remained in Dunany. I then took charge of it, not wanting to leave it to the mice over the winter.
I thought I would make a book or calendar of some of the recipes as they all have stories to tell. Funny how most of them are for sweets. Main dishes at home were mostly roasted meat and boiled potatoes, which didn’t require recipes.
As kids, we would ask Mom what was for supper but all we really wanted to know was what was for dessert. Would it be a cake, a pie, a pudding, a cobbler, squares, cookies and ice cream or my least favourite, canned fruit? We had to eat our dinner before we got dessert but we always had dessert.
Inside front cover and sweets
Mom’s planned menus were similar each week. She would make a list and only buy what was on the list. On Sundays, we had a roast at noon with potatoes, vegetables, gravy and then omelet, pancakes or bread broiled with cheese and bacon for supper. Monday was usually chicken, with one cut up for six people. Tuesdays meant leftover roast and on Wednesdays the menu varied with veal patties, liver, sausages or pork chops. We ate leftover roast again on Thursdays, sometimes being shepherd’s pie. On Fridays, we always ate fish even though we were not Catholic. This was our least favourite meal as it mostly consisted of frozen white fish, sometimes with a soup sauce. On Saturdays, we had hamburgers, usually without buns.
Our meals didn’t look like these pictures
Mrs McNally’s cookie recipe came from the mother of a university friend of mine. Eileen’s mother used to send cookies back with her daughter, much to the enjoyment of her roommates. It is a basic oatmeal cookie with raisins, nuts, chocolate chips, cinnamon and nutmeg. It became my mother’s go-to recipe and she added whatever was in her pantry. The cookies were often stored in a ceramic cookie jar in the kitchen. Dexterity was needed to quietly raise the top and sneak a cookie.
Mrs McNally’s Cookies
There are many pictures of decorated cakes. Mom took a class but only made a few very fancy cakes. Most were just plain iced layer cakes. She made some doll cakes with a Tammy or Debbie doll (we never had a Barbie doll) in the center of an angel food cake with fancy icing for her skirt. She also put money between the layers of cake, wrapped in wax paper. Pennies, nickels and dimes with one quarter. She would mark on the cake plate where to find the quarter and show the Birthday person.
Very fancy decorated cakes
Rhubarb upside-down cake replaced pineapple upside-down cake when my mother got the recipe from her sister. We always had this dessert in the spring and summer with rhubarb from the garden. Rhubarb and chives were the only edible things my mother grew.
Mom was an excellent pie maker. Her book does contain a booklet on how to make pie crust. She mastered this skill in no time. She would make all her fruit pies without looking at a recipe. I preferred blueberry and raspberry pies made from berries she picked around our cottage. Apple was my father’s favourite. One day, she anxiously watched as he cut into a pie and asked if it was ok. “When is your pie not alright? ” answered my father.
There would often be a little sugar pie made with the leftover pie crust sprinkled with sugar, cinnamon and little pats of butter. Pieces were eaten right out of the oven if you were lucky enough to be around.
There were definitely things we didn’t like, such as porridge every morning before school but we were well fed!
A World of Education, page from a pamphlet given out to school children in 1967 about Expo 67.
My mother, Mary-Marthe, would put herself out for people. At the check-out counter of the grocery store; on the bus; in the park my mother was not shy about helping out others. She sometimes forced spontaneous acts of kindness on complete strangers, often to my childish embarrassment.
This habit, I imagine, she picked up from her own mother, Maria, a pious French Canadian who married well in 1901 and was generous with food and home-remedies.
The story goes that in the 1920’s my mother’s Sherbrooke Street West grey stone had a mark on the gate that indicated to homeless men, or ‘tramps’ as they called them, that a hearty meal was in store for them should they knock at the back door.
I most vividly recall an incident that unfolded in the summer of 1967, the year of Expo 67, the World’s Fair, when I was a young adolescent and because of my prickly age extra prone to being embarrassed by my mother.
My family lived in Montreal and we all had ‘ passports’ so we could visit the nearby World’s Fair anytime we wanted.
The Canadian section of Expo 67. The Western Provinces Pavilion, a forest, smelled so wonderful compared to smoggy city air!
I was 12 years old and I sometimes took the number 65 bus to those blissfully bright Expo isles alone, likely skipping school, and the bus stop was right under my 6th grade classroom window! I wasn’t too afraid to be found out. Didn’t my teacher say we’d learn more at Expo than at school?
Over that six month period from May to October 1967 I travelled the short bus and metro route to Expo 50 times, sometimes alone, sometimes with my brothers or other relations and sometimes with friends and their families. I recall that one mom was so afraid of losing her many tweenage charges in the swelling sea of thrill seekers she looped a long rope around our waists to keep us contained. How embarrassing!
I wandered to the Expo site in all weather with a packed lunch since I had no extra money to spend.3 I liked the wide open Canadian and Ontario pavilions the best. I’d eat my sandwich on the Katimavik watching the rusty monster emerge from the lake adjacent. I experienced their exhilarating movies1 over and over again. The five Expo theme pavilions were a hit with me, too. 4I mostly avoided the popular national pavilions: the American, Russian, Czech and British pavilions with their long long line ups.
The movie We are Young in the Cominco Pavilion another favourite haunt of mine in the summer of 67. The exhibits explored the five senses. See link below that includes info about The Eighth Day at the Christian Pavilion and all the other landmark films that prepared us well for the future of media.
But I did like escaping to the sculpture garden behind the American pavilion. It was uncrowded, cool and peaceful in that place and all the avant-garde works of art, both life-like and abstract, were exciting to behold.2
One installation at the Sculpture Garden. The Watchers.Lynn Chadwick, UK 1960. No wonder I felt safe.
My older brother, a cutting-edge type, liked the Cuban pavilion for the vibes so we went there together, feeling slightly rebellious. He dragged me into the Christian pavilion one day and we saw a film with a monk setting himself on fire that depressed me for a days. And together we saw Harvard’s famous all-male Hasty Pudding troupe at an outdoor bandstand in a play called a Hit and a Myth that was quite bawdy. Although a good fit for my brother, it was bit mature (sic) for my tastes. I recall the energetic finale, Acalpulco, with a group of ‘grown men’ dressed like Carmen Miranda dancing in a conga line. Their unanchored brassieres kept riding up to their necks.
The list of songs inside this programme reveals that Acapulco was the penultimate song in the play, not the last. Characters in the play included Xerox and Tenintius and there were also Vestal Virgins. The Montreal Gazette said the play was written by the sons of Pulitzer Prize winning playwrights and would be of interest to anyone willing to get into the panty raid spirt. (I checked on Wikipedia: one writer, Timothy Crouse, became a journalist for Rolling Stone. The other, John Weidman, wrote for Sesame Street.)
Yes, I went alone to those glittering Expo Isles in the St. Lawrence, despite the fact that in the spring a policeman had visited our sixth grade classroom to tell us about the dangers lurking there. He said a girl could be drugged in a bathroom and then sold into white slavery. I’m guessing I never mentioned this to my father and mother. I wasn’t too worried being used to walking the big city streets on my own and not understanding the term white slavery – something to do with snow, I imagined. However, I did keep a look out for any suspicious Boris Badenof types around the Russian Pavilion.
Yardley paintbox eye liner from the era. So obviously aimed at little girls like me. I still want one!
My father worked for Expo as a comptroller but I never visited the fair with him. He obviously was too busy. I did go with my mother, though, a few memorable times. On one occasion we saw Bobby Kennedy walk by surrounded by his team of FBI agents in dark glasses, and on another day we witnessed Haille Selassie, the Emperor of Ethiopia. He had a little dog following him. (I assume this wasn’t a coincidence. My mother wanted to see these famous figures.)
And on one very hot day my mom decided to visit the British pavilion. That place, more than any other, always had an especially long line up. This was the era of Swinging London, after all, and the pavilion included a MOD London exhibit with the Beatles (remember them?) and a Mini Minor Car. I was excited to go. I was a big fan of The Avengers with gorgeous Emma Peel karate-chopping Cold War baddies in her colourful Carnaby Street attire and of the Monkees TV show that featured Yardley commercials and “the London Look.”
The long line up at the British Pavilion. No shade. Wikipedia Commons.
My mom and I queued up realizing we probably had a very long time to wait. It was a hot day and in the line you couldn’t escape the sun. The person ahead of us was an ‘older’ woman with a young child – perhaps around 15 months old -who was not happy in the heat. The baby girl was kicking up a big fuss the whole time and would not be pacified, not in her stroller, not in her mother’s arms.
As was her way, my mother struck up a conversation with this woman.
She was British but this is where the similarity to Emma Peel or any other British ‘bird’ ended.
She was tall and thin, yes, but with wispy light brown hair and lots of stress lines around her eyes. Dowdy would be a good way to describe her attire. She was self-conscious about it, too. “I must look like the wreck of the Hesperus,” she said, combing back a rogue lock of hair with her hand.
This statement impressed me. Here was a smart British lady, just like my 6th grade teacher. And yes, in fact, this beleaguered mom was a teacher but in Toronto. She also had a 15 year old son who was off somewhere exploring the grounds – and she was divorced.
I started to feel sorry for her. She said she had driven to Montreal for just one day so her son could visit the Fair. Just one paltry day to see Expo, how sad! And all she wanted was to visit the pavilion of her homeland. Minutes, maybe hours ticked by and the long line inched forward. The little girl squirmed wildly in her mother’s arms, her shiny face getting redder and redder.
We were getting closer to the entrance and then my mother offered to do something very generous. She said WE would watch the baby for the woman in a shady area nearby so that she could visit the British pavilion in peace. (Our own visit would have to wait for another day.) And, what do you know, the woman took her up on the offer. I guess all that time in the line had made us seem safe and familiar to her.
The harried British mother passed through the turnstiles by herself and my mother and I and the baby found a big tree to sit under.
Detail of Mod Britain exhibit British Pathe video.
Then the lady returned and we said our goodbyes.
At Christmas she sent us a card with a long thank-you note written in impeccable teacher handwriting. (She had told us she didn’t have a phone. Too expensive.) I remember the note was on blue paper, maybe one of those aerograms popular in the day for overseas correspondence.
So, it seems, this overwhelmed mother did, indeed, appreciate my mother’s spontaneous act of kindness, as outrageous as it was – even for the 1960’s. I, myself, don’t recall being embarrassed at all.
3. ” Take a bag of ham sandwiches and a thermos of coffee to Expo- where there are 146 restaurants and snack bars, 46 food shops and 500 automatic vending machines to serve you,” says the opening line of the article “Easting Exotically and otherwise at Expo,” in the Star Weekly insert for February 11, 1967. The pic shows Indian, Japanese, Italian and Mexican chefs with their exotic fare: tacos, pizza, sushi and a meal with pilau and nan. (I think I ate all these things this past weekend.) A pic on the next page caption says :A snack bar in Expo terminology means glamorous dining, indeed. (So, no real cheap food at Expo.) Oddly, the advert in this article was for KLIK and Kam luncheon meat with a pic of little squares of this ‘meat’ on toothpicks on a pickle. How ironic.
4. Man the Explorer; Man the Producer; Man the Creator; Man the Provider. I recall Man and the Community had a revolving exhibit (Czech artist) with little wooden models of a man and a woman in bed and all their needs revolving around them on a belt. “The cause of all progress is laziness.” Reading a list of that place’s exhibits, it sounds amazing. I want to go back!
The Star Weekly insert wrote about the Man out of Control? exhibit in Man the Producer with it’s “maze of signs showing man besieged by the information explosion.” The article continues: “The question mark in the title is no accident. Will the devices of man swallow him up or will he remain in control?” Hmm. Why do I feel this question to be extremely timely?
When I discovered that my Great-Uncle, John Hunter died at the age of 20 in either France or Belgium in 1917 during World War I, I assumed that he had died in battle. He was a gunner, which mean that he either served the guns, handled ammunition, or drove the horses. My first thought was that this seemed like a particularly dangerous assignment.1 With further research, I discovered that it was almost inevitable that he would die.
John was assigned to the 87th Brigade of the Royal Field Artillery (RFA). He lived in Fife, Scotland and the RFA was actively recruiting there. In World War I, the minimum age was 19 to sign up, so John would only have seen a year of active fighting before his death. 2 He either enlisted voluntarily or was forced to as the Military Service Act was passed in 1916, requiring the conscription of unmarried and widowed men without any dependents.3
Courtesy War Museum, Recrutment Posters
The 87th Brigade was an infantrybrigade formation of the British Army. By the time John would have joined the Brigade, it was serving on the Western Front.4 John would have likely participated in the Battle of the Somme and Passchendaele.
John was taken ill when he was in the theatre of war. He was sent to the Lord Derby War Hospital in Winwick, Borough of Warrington, Chesire, England. He was in a diabetic coma when he died on September 7, 1917, with my grandmother, just 16 years old at the time, at his side. Their mother had died in April 1917 and their father was also serving in World War I and was positioned in France at the time of his son’s death. My grandmother would have been summoned to his bedside and she would have had to make the journey from Lumphinnans, Scotland to Chesire, England by herself.5
Imagine the terror of being diagnosed with diabetes prior to 1921, the year insulin was discovered by a team of doctors, Charles Banting, Charles Best, and J.B. Collip and their supervisor, J.J.R. Macleod, working at the University of Toronto.6 The symptoms would have included a terrible thirst, excessive urination, lethargy, and perhaps confusion. A urine analysis would have been done and a high glucose level would have confirmed diabetes but there was nothing to be done before the discovery of insulin except a strict dietary regime. We now know that diabetes can be triggered by trauma in someone with a genetic predisposition. There Is no doubt that the trauma of trench warfare would have had its toll on John.
When my grandson was diagnosed with diabetes when he was 16 months old, the doctors questioned whether type 1 diabetes was in the family. We could not think of any relative who had type 1 diabetes. We now know that we were wrong. My grandson will live a normal life with the help of a pump that provides insulin as he needs it. But John did not have a chance. He was living through traumatic circumstances, had a genetic predisposition, and life-saving insulin was not yet discovered.
During World War I, 4,000 people, many of them women, assembled eight million fuses in a building locally known as “La Poudrière.” Given that the job required mounting a detonator cap over a gunpowder relay charge and attaching a safety pin (read more about WWI fuses here), the job was risky and monotonous at the same time.
Who were these people? How can we honour their work?
Recently, while looking through the records of World War I soldiers, I realized that their records may offer us ways to discover our homefront heroines. Several women moved to Verdun and lived within walking distance of the armament plant while their husbands or brothers served overseas.
Patrick Murray
When Ethel Henrietta Murray’s husband Patrick volunteered for the Canadian Over-Seas Expeditionary Force on Wednesday, April 12, 1916, the couple lived at 80 Anderson Street, in downtown Montreal.[1]
According to his military records, he died on October 29, 1917, driving with the 4th Brigade of the Canadian Field Artillery. She went by the first name Henrietta. Initially, she had moved to 1251 Wellington Street. Later, she lived at 956 Ethel Street.[2]
None of her addresses exist anymore, nor have I yet found any evidence explaining why she moved to Verdun. Based on her address and circumstances, however, I suspect that she—and three other women who lived nearby—worked at “la poudrière.”
La Poudrière
Locals call a building that currently houses 64 units for senior citizens “La Poudrière,” which means powder keg. The Canadien Slavowic Association (l’Association canadienne slave de Montréal) operates the space.
I haven’t yet looked into the records of the company to find out if there is a list of employees so that I can see if Ethel or Henrietta Murray appears on their rolls.
Other women I’d like to verify include Marjorie Victoria Stroude Luker, Ellen or Helen Elizabeth Winsper, and Mrs. John Sullivan. These three women also lived within walking distance of la poudrière between 1916 and 1919.
Military records include the addresses of these women because all of them received telegrams about loved ones being wounded or killed overseas.
Arthur Stroude
Marjorie’s husband Arthur was wounded in Italy on August 20, 1917, and then died of the flu in Belgium on December 2018. Although the couple lived in Point St. Charles when he signed up, her benefits were sent to her at 714 Ethel Street by the time he died.[3]
George Winsper
Ellen or Helen Elizabeth Winsper, the wife of George Winsper who died on November 7, 1917, had moved from Rosemont to 196 St. Charles Street in Pointe St. Charles by the time he died.[4]
William Wright
Two records mention the grief of Mrs. John Sullivan when Private William Wright, a steamfitter from Scotland, died in action at St. Julien on April 24, 1915. Neither have her first name. One document describes William, who was 21 when he died as the adopted child of Mr. and Mrs. John Sullivan. The one I think is correct mentions that she is his sister. Her address at the beginning of the war was 9 Farm Street, Point St. Charles, the same as his when he enlisted. His medals were sent to her at 431A Wellington St., Point St. Charles.[5]
If these women worked together, as is possible, they too risked their lives.
Employees with the British Munition Supply Company–which was created by The British Government under the auspices of The Imperial Munitions Board–faced the possibility of accidental explosions. Britain paid $175,000 in 1916 to construct a building that could contain shockwaves. It also included a saw-tooth roof to prevent sunlight from entering.[6]
British Munitions Limited
One description of their work comes from the biography of Sir Charles Gordon, who led the team that arranged for building construction.
The IMB had inherited from Sir Samuel Hughes’s Shell Committee orders for artillery shells worth more than $282 million, contracts with over 400 different factories, and supervision of the manufacture of tens of millions of shells and ancillary parts. Its most serious problem was acquiring time and graze, or percussion, fuses for the shells produced by its factories. There was no capacity to create and assemble these precision parts in Canada, and contracts with American companies had proved dismal failures.
The problem was given to Gordon to solve. He recommended that fuse manufacturing be done in Canada. The IMB set up its own factory in Verdun (Montreal) to make the delicate time fuses. Skilled workmen and supervisors were quickly brought over from Britain to train Canadian workers. British Munitions Limited, the IMB’s first “national factory,” was open for business by the spring of 1916. The last order from Britain, for 3,000,000 fuses, came in 1917 and the last fuses were shipped in May 1918. British Munitions was then converted by the IMB into a shell-manufacturing facility.[7]
Another source I read said that Dominion Textile Company purchased the site for its textile operations when the war ended in 1919. Two decades later, Defence Industries Limited revived the site for a shell factory during World War II, between 1940 and 1945. David Fennario’s book “Motherhouse” offers a good look at the women’s lives during this second wartime era.
[1] Attestation Paper, Library and Archives Canada, RG 150, #347740, Patrick Murray, a derivative copy of the original signed by Patrick.
[3] Attestation Paper and address card, Library and Archives Canada, RG 150, #1054006, Arthur Luker.
[4] Attestation Paper and address card, Library and Archives Canada, RG 150, #920146, George Winsper.
[5] Library and Archives Canada, RG 150, #26024, William Wright.
[6] “Usine à munitions pour retraités slaves” by Raphaël Dallaire Ferland, ttps://www.ledevoir.com/societe/354100/usine-a-munitions-pour-retraites-slaves, accessed September 22, 2018.
Nancy Karetak Lindell is my nephew Jon Lindell’s wife, my niece by marriage.
It is with great pride that I acknowledge her many contributions and her recent appointment to the Senate of Canada.
It is indeed “History in the Making”.
The Senate of Canada Crest
December 19, 2024 Ottawa, Ontario
The Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, today announced that the Governor General, Her Excellency the Right Honourable Mary Simon, appointed the following individuals as independent senators to fill vacancies in the Senate.
Nancy Karetak-Lindell, for Nunavut
Nancy Karetak-Lindell has been a strong voice for the North in Canada throughout her life, advocating for the region’s unique cultural, economic, and environmental interests. From 1997 to 2008, she was the first Member of Parliament to represent the newly established riding of Nunavut. A strong Inuk leader, she served as President of Inuit Circumpolar Council Canada. She is also an active member of her community and the recipient of various honours, including the Order of Canada.
These new senators were recommended by the Independent Advisory Board for Senate Appointments and chosen using a merit-based process open to all Canadians. Introduced in 2016, this process ensures senators are independent and able to tackle the broad range of challenges and opportunities facing the country.
Below is a biography of Nancy’s many accomplishments.
A Biography of Nancy Karetak Lindell
December 19, 2024 Ottawa, Ontario
Nancy Karetak-Lindell has been a strong voice for the North in Canada throughout her life. Born and raised in Eskimo Point (now Arviat), she has first-hand experience of the challenges faced by Inuit and has long been advocating for her region’s unique cultural, economic, and environmental interests.
Fluent in Inuktitut and English, Ms. Karetak-Lindell worked for 15 years in managerial positions for the Arviat Housing Association and Eskimo Point Lumber Supply. In 1997, she ran and was elected as the first Member of Parliament representing the newly established riding of Nunavut and the first female Member of Parliament for the Eastern Arctic. She was re-elected in 2000, 2004, and 2006, serving 11 years in Parliament.
During her time on the Hill, Ms. Karetak-Lindell was Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister of Natural Resources and sat on various parliamentary committees, groups, and associations, including as Vice-Chair and Chair of the Standing Committee on Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development. She was also a key player in the negotiations to establish Nunavut as a political jurisdiction in Canada.
After leaving politics, Ms. Karetak-Lindell worked as a consultant, independent contractor, guest speaker, election officer, and instructor. She was Director of the Jane Glassco Northern Fellowship Program, chaired the Indigenous Knowledge Program at the International Polar Year Conference, and served as President of Inuit Circumpolar Council Canada, where she advocated for Inuit at the international level.
Ms. Karetak-Lindell has been an active member of her community, serving on the Arviat Hamlet Council, the Arviat Education Council, the Kivalliq Regional Education Authority, Sport North, and the Board of Governors of the Nunavut Arctic College. She also served as Chair of the Nunavut Development Corporation and of the Nunavut Business Credit Corporation, as a board member for Polar Knowledge Canada, as a Trustee for Nunavut Trust, and as Secretary-Treasurer for the Kivalliq Inuit Association. She helped found and volunteered at the Arviat Amateur Athletic Association and gave her time to various other community groups.
In recognition of her leadership and contributions, she was invested as a Member of the Order of Canada and received the Queen Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee Medal.
Nancy Karetak-Lindell Vows to be the Northern Voice for Nunavut in SenateArticle written by By Nehaa Bimal
Nancy Karetak-Lindell is Nunavut’s new senator, Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced Thursday in a news release almost a year after the territory’s lone seat became vacant
“It hasn’t really sunk in for me yet,” Karetak-Lindell said in a phone interview an hour after her appointment was announced.
“I am truly honoured and humbled that I’m able to be selected for this position,” she said.
The territory’s only seat in the Senate — the upper house in Canada’s Parliament — has been vacant since Dennis Patterson retired last December, nearly a year ago.
At 67, Karetak-Lindell is set to serve until she reaches the Senate’s mandatory retirement age of 75. The Senate appointment comes with a base salary of $178,100 a year, according to the Library of Parliament.
She said she plans to focus on issues important to the North, including the high cost of living, housing shortages, and access to education.
“Inuit and people in the North really need to have a voice speaking on their behalf, making sure our points of view, our values and our knowledge are being used to make decisions in the North,” Karetak-Lindell said.
While she expects to travel frequently down south for her new role, she said Arviat, where she was born and raised, will remain her home.
This is not Karetak-Lindell’s first time making leadership strides in the south.
She made history in 1997 as a Liberal MP — the first female MP for the Eastern Arctic, and the inaugural representative for the newly established Nunavut riding.
Re-elected in 2000, 2004 and 2006, she served 11 years in Parliament, where she was parliamentary secretary to the minister of natural resources and chairperson of the Aboriginal affairs and northern development committee.
Representing the largest geographical riding in Canada, Karetak-Lindell said it is important to work collaboratively with others to ensure northern perspectives are understood in Ottawa.
“When you’re one lone voice representing such a large and unique riding, you have to work with people to make sure other colleagues understand the message you’re trying to share,” she said.
Nunavut’s current MP Lori Idlout, acknowledging the challenges of being the territory’s only voice in the House of Commons, congratulated Karetak-Lindell in a Twitter post Thursday.
“I have always admired Nancy, and her appointment will mean Nunavut has another strong Inuk female voice in Ottawa,” Idlout tweeted.
In Parliament, Nunavut has one seat in the House of Commons, whose members are elected, and one seat in the unelected Senate.
Karetak-Lindell’s contributions to the North continued after she stepped down from her MP role in 2008.
She served as director of the Jane Glassco Arctic Fellowship Program, chaired the Indigenous Knowledge Program at the International Polar Year conference, and led the Inuit Circumpolar Council Canada as its president from 2016 to 2018.
Her commitment extended to community work, including serving on the Arviat hamlet council, Arviat Education Council, and Nunavut Arctic College board of governors.
She also held leadership roles with the Nunavut Development Corp. and Polar Knowledge Canada, and co-founded the Arviat Amateur Athletic Association.
Karetak-Lindell’s advocacy has been widely recognized. In 2022, she was invested as a Member of the Order of Canada.
While she is looking forward to taking on the responsibilities of her new role, for now Karetak-Lindell said she is “going through all the wonderful messages I’m receiving from people.”
“I really appreciate the trust that people have in me and the confidence they have in me to represent this position,” she said.
“And I intend to do it with every ability I have.”
Nancy Karetak Lindell and the Governor General Mary Simon
Genealogy Ensemble 