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genealogy

Miss Lindsay’s Curtain Call (updated)

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(Correction: I have been informed that is more likely that Reverend Henry Gordon took these photos, developed them and gave them to Miss Lindsay. The dog team photo would have been taken by Rev. Gordon during the winter and the fishermen in the boat must be south of Cartwright due to the lighthouse.)

Miss Lindsay’s baggage tag- June 1922

Just over 100 years ago, my great-aunt volunteered as a summer teacher with the Grenfell Mission in Cartwright, Labrador, under Henry Gordon. In August 1922, just days before she was due to return home to Montreal, Quebec, she disappeared. Her body was found four months later, in December 1922, with a bullet through her heart.

I already wrote and published her story in seven parts (links below) and thought I had gleaned every bit of information possible from my “dusty old boxes.” But our ancestors want their story told and my great-aunt, Marguerite Lindsay (1896-1922), had quite a blockbuster to tell. Perhaps it was she who “tweaked” my cousin to finally look into his unopened boxes of family papers and memorabilia.

You can’t possibly imagine my excitement when I received his email:

“Hi Lucy,

Apologies for taking so long to get to this. I attach scans of the small

black-and-white prints of Labrador scenes that I found in the box of

clippings and photos. I assume that this is from when Stanley (sic) visited

the area after Marguerite’s death but don’t know for sure. Only two had

writing on the back – the dog team at rest and the school house. I

scanned those too in case you recognize the writing.

Lots of love!

Doug”

Eureka!

It appears that Miss Lindsay had access to a camera while she was there! And yes indeed I recognized her handwriting! It matched the writing on the tag on her baggage that accompanied her when she travelled to Labrador in June 1922. She went there to look after the youngest students (orphaned by the Spanish Flu epidemic) along with another volunteer, Anne Stiles from Boston, while their regular teacher took their summer break. Between the two of them, they oversaw all the children’s lessons, meals and activities.

A few days before she disappeared that August, she mailed a letter to her brother Stanley in Montreal. That precious last letter shared a long and loving detailed description of her life in Cartwright. The five newly discovered photos seem to match several parts in her last letter.

1. The first photo is of Marguerite wearing a hat she fabricated to protect her from all the bugs. The cabin in the background was a family home as she shared a room with Anne Stiles in the school dormitory that summer. This photo along with the commentary in her letter helps me imagine being there myself.

Miss Lindsay wearing her bug hat outside a family home beside the school in Muddy Bay

It is really cold here and foggy quite often, but very bracing, and I like it much better than heat; also when it is cold, there are no flies, and that means a great deal. I could compete with Sir Harry Johnson’s bugs in Africa, and match about even. The mosquitoes just swarm: at first you think it is fog or haze, lying low over the marshes, till you try and walk through them. We bathe in citronella. About 50 of them were getting free transportation on different portions of my anatomy, and I remarked to one of the natives, that the mosquitoes were bad; at which he laughed, and said to wait till they hid the sun, then I would call them bad.

The children are terribly bitten, and wail all night when they are extra bad. Well, there is a species of black fly, and their team work with the mosquito is extraordinary. They don’t bother to pierce your epidermis for themselves, but follow exactly in the footsteps of the mosquitoes, and they hurt. I could hardly turn my head for a day, the back of my neck was so bitten. I may have mentioned that there are no such things as screens on our windows; but we put up some surgical dressings, and tacked the gauze up as a slight protection. As little extras there are deer flies, flying ants and sand flies.


2. The second photo represents not only the local day-to-day fishing activities but other adventures like the exciting one she described in her letter.

Local fishermen in boat with Iceberg, south of Cartwright (there were no lighthouses near Cartwright)

It would be a great help if we had ice; but none comes up the bay. Some of the men tried to capture a young iceberg, and tow it home from the outside coast—behind the motor boat, but the friction of the rope wore through the ice, so it never arrived. Last Wednesday, Mr. Gordon told us we had been working so hard, we had better take a day off, and go up the bay with one of the fishermen, on an expedition for wood. We started off in a motor boat, towing an empty scow: just Anne and I, four boys of about 12, and the fisherman.

It was a perfect warm sunny afternoon, and Anne and I were almost asleep on the sloping bow of the boat, when we came around the point into a heavy wind and all but rolled off. It blew up very strongly, and Anne and I and the boys got into the very bottom of the boat, under our rugs for warmth. I was wearing everything I possessed; about what I wear for skiing. The fisherman was having a very hard time with the scow. It looked once or twice as though water would come down on our heads, when our boat got between the waves and it rested on the crest.

It took us over three hours to reach our destination – the point at White Bear river. There we went up to the warm cottage of some very kind fisher-folk, just as it started to pour, and thunder and lightning. We had expected to sleep on the floor, so had brought rugs; but Anne and I were given a bunk in a room about the size of a dugout, which was really comfortable after we had skillfully removed a pane of glass with a knife, the window being purely for ornament. They provided us with a feather bed in the bunk and warm dry rugs and fed us with smoked salmon and caribou meat. It was loads of fun.


3. The third photo shows the eager faces of a few of her students by the water’s edge hoping for a swim with Miss Lindsay that afternoon.

Some of Miss Lindsay’s summer pupils waiting for a swim

We are teaching the children to swim; the water is not so cold as you might think. There are some perfect walks around; nowhere are the trees too thick to push through; so though we have got lost once or twice, it is never for long. It is rather fun climbing the mountains; your feet get drenched, in the marsh, but we are used to that now. You would be amused to see me giving the children drill, and getting them to breathe through their noses.

We are going across the bay to hold nutrition classes, and persuade them to order whole wheat flour, instead of white.


4. The fourth photo is of a dog and sled team. According to her note on the back, it belonged to the Doctor from St. Anthony (about 570km away). She noted that two Labrador Huskies lead the team and made special mention of their curled tails and pointed ears.

Local dog and sled team delivering wood in the winter time to the public school in Muddy Bay with a handwritten note on the back


5. The fifth and final photo is of the newly constructed Labrador Public School in Muddy Bay, near Cartwright, which later burned down. The school in Cartwright today was named after her superior: The Henry Gordon Academy. To this day, the children are told Miss Lindsay’s story. Her handwritten note on the reverse side of this photo makes it that much more special for me.

Labrador Public School in Muddy Bay with handwritten note on the back.


I am so delighted about the recent discovery of these photos and very grateful to my cousin for finding these gems! I remain eagerly optimistic for more of Miss Lindsay’s undiscovered treasures to appear someday!

Miss Lindsay – Part 1

Miss Lindsay – Part 2

Miss Lindsay – Part 3

Miss Lindsay – The Early Years

Miss Lindsay’s Last Letter

how i came to write miss lindsay’s tale

The Mothering Bureau

Dusty Old Boxes

genealogy

The Bush Camp Bean Counter

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“Three years ago, Wabush was bush: a rough, scraggly, nearly lifeless wilderness. The hills in summer echoed only with the whir of the black fly. The only way for a man foolish enough to want to go there was to do so by seaplane. The bush, like so many of the parts of Canada that have yet to be opened, had to be broken and tamed, and the men who broke it — the last frontiersmen — are a breed apart.” Macleans Magazine

In November, 1963, Peter Gzowski, the young managing editor of Macleans, wrote an article for his magazine entitled “The New Soft Life on the Last Frontier.”

The journalist – now legendary – had worked ‘like a serf’ as a student on the Labrador railway that was needed before they could start work at the iron ore mines at the Quebec/Labrador border.

Apparently, he was amazed at the advances made in just a few years in the embryonic mining town of Wabush, 1248 kilometers from Montreal.

A rough, scraggly nearly lifeless wilderness is how Gzowski described Wabush back in 1960, and, yes, that is certainly how I remember it – if only from photographs we took on our little Brownie camera.

My brothers, Mark and Phil, and me in front of Little Wabush Lake, 1960, my ridiculous hairdo courtesy of my mother who was trying to make me look less of a tomboy.
A Y Jackson Wabush Lake. If my memory is correct he visited Wabush while we were there and told my mom he would have liked to have painted my twin brother (not me!)

My family moved to Wabush in the spring of 1960 when the only family quarters there were a log cabin owned by the American Foreman and, just up the hill, a few well-equipped house trailers for the families of other supervisors.

The other mostly young unmarried male workers lived in crude canvas tents. They included an athletic young prospector who would go on to share Canada’s only gold medal – in the four man bobsled – at the 1964 Innsbruck Olympics.

Our long, green trailer was state-of-the-art with its own washer-dryer, but it was still a trailer and during the short black-fly infested summers of 1960 and 61 all five of us packed into it. I think my parents slept in a Murphy bed that made room for the kitchenette table when not in use. My twin brother, Phil, and I slept in bunk beds.

I don’t remember feeling crowded but my father, Peter Nixon, certainly did. He spent most of his time at work or outside fly-fishing in summer and taking me and my twin brother for walks ‘across the lake’ in winter.

My father and me with his fly fishing catch which I always ate because no one else liked trout.

It helped that outside the summer months my older brother, Mark, attended prep school in England. He missed out on the Wabush winters where the annual snowfall is twice that of Montreal, the days one hour shorter, and the average daily temperature what a Montrealer would consider part of a mercifully short-term deep freeze.

I do remember visiting the Foreman’s log cabin as a friend of his daughter who was a few years older and a full head taller. (Well, I remember the memory of the memory of the memory.)

She confidently made a pie, plopping peaches out of a can onto a pre-prepared pastry impressing me no end. Apparently, we played together a lot because I am in a few of the family pictures she still has in a box at her home in the U.S.

I may remember the Foreman’s daughter, but she doesn’t remember me. She attended school in Sept Iles and had other older, more intriguing friends to play with.

There were 21 children living in Wabush in summer. The many boys contented themselves with mischief, such as chasing behind the D D T truck! I mostly pushed my beige doll carriage around the small trailer camp, sometimes talking to the lonely mothers there. One of these women made me a beautiful doll’s quilt, the highlight of my entire Wabush adventure!

Generally, I lived a rather feral life with no TV and no colourful picture books to keep me amused.

My most vivid memories are not of other children but of animals: a frightened snarling fox in a cage that men were poking with a stick; a dead baby bear shot while trying to get at someone’s larder; oh, and the owl that flew down and lit upon Mark’s shoulder.

A newsclipping from 1960: “Wabush presently has crude wooden buildings, tent bunkhouses and a few housetrailers and about 125 workmen. But it boasts a fine 4,600 foot airstrip, and a daily schedule air service to Sept Isles, plus a twice weekly shuttle service to Shefferville operated by Quebecair. The Foreman says it will take five years to build a town site, a grinding and concentrating plant and a loading facility.”

My mother Marthe’s catch. They were spawning, she said.

We arrived at Wabush in April or May of 1960, taking a very noisy and cold DC 3? plane, I remember, with our young dog, Spotty, the coonhound wailing in a cage at the back of the plane.

A brilliant 1990 history of Wabush using first-person testimony, written by Dana Hines and available at their Town Hall has a telling quote:

“Some of these early residents recall stepping off the plane or train and sinking up to their knees in mud. This was to be their first taste of what initially appears to be a very barren place indeed, for Wabush at that time was nothing but wilderness. “(Page 12)

So, I am not imagining things: my family arrived in the Labrador bush at the very beginning. My father’s job was to oversee the money being used to create this model family mining community, for two years on-site (1960-61) and for another four years (1961-1965) out of the Canadian offices of the Wabush Mines Company on Dominion Square in Montreal.

In late 1961, he moved my Mom, my twin brother and me back to the big city, into a relatively spacious upper duplex apartment in Snowdon. I started the first grade, an over-due November arrival who still couldn’t read. How embarrassing!

The change of work locale for my dad, from a crude wooden structure in the deep bush to a storied edifice at the ‘cross-roads of Canada,’ also must have been truly head-spinning.

Mark returned to live with us a year later, a British schoolboy in every respect. So pudgy, polite and bookish he was, I hardly recognized him.

The town of Wabush was designed by the same architects who created the Expo 67 islands. ( It is no surprise, then, that my father went on to work in 1965 as an auditor for the Fair Commission instead of taking a transfer to Cleveland, Ohio, the seat of the US head office of Wabush Mines.)

And those architects did a very good job designing the mining town judging from the many happy, nostalgic postings on the Memories of Wabush Facebook page.

There were 293 families in Wabush by 1967 and the many children living there had lots of things to do. By then the town had a school, a library, a recreation centre with television and movies and a bowling alley, as well as a swimming pool with sauna and sundeck – and even a small shopping mall.1.

(Of course, in Montreal I had Expo 67 with its endless wonders to keep me amused, so it was no contest.)

My older brother summed things up upon reading the town’s history: “We left before things got good.”

1. Hynes, Dana. Untitled History of Wabush. 1990. Available at the Wabush City Hall.

A call for an auditor for Wabush a few years after we left. My father still worked for the company at their head office at 1010 Ste Catherine Street, the Dominion Square Building.
Grandiose 16MM film promoting Wabush in 1960. Big money is being spent: I guess my dad had to keep track of it.

Click here for the Gzowski article: https://archive.macleans.ca/article/1963/11/2/the-new-soft-life-on-the-last-frotier Gzowski’s main point: The workers still had it very hard and the prices were scandalous!

genealogy, Montreal, Newfoundland, Newspapers, Volunteering

Miss Lindsay – Part 3

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Miss Marguerite Lindsay, working as a summer volunteer teacher, went missing from the Grenfell Mission in Cartwright, Labrador, in August 1922. Her body was finally discovered four months later, in December 1922.

The nearby authorities in Battle Harbour were notified immediately, as was her family in Montreal. When her body was gently pried loose from its frozen grave, they were stunned to discover a bullet wound in Miss Lindsay’s chest.

John Martin, the young trapper who found her body, was unable to provide any more information upon further questioning. When interviewed over 50 years later, he recalled his sad discovery that day by remarking: “Twas a remarkable place where she was found. There was a pool (Salt Water Pond) with two big junipers beside it. It was only about 15 minutes walk from the (Muddy Bay) boarding school.”1

Journalists suddenly had ample new fodder for their newspapers, and the story of Miss Lindsay dramatically bounced back into the headlines. Murder? Suicide? Accidental death?

In no time at all, a bullet wound in her chest evolved into riveting stories of “foul play,” a “love affair gone wrong,” or “shot through the heart” and other sensational headlines that sell newspapers. However, the possibility of a tragic and fatal accident was barely mentioned, as that version wouldn’t satisfy scandal hungry readers.

After three inconclusive investigations, Detective Head Constable Byrne was dispatched to Cartwright nine months later, in September 1923. Twenty-two local Cartwright people were interviewed in an effort to gather more information and rule out the rumours of foul play and murder.

Fifty years later, in 1976, Ida Sheppard recalled that time in another interview “I was workin’ at the Muddy Bay School when Miss Lindsay got lost. We were all cryin’ for her ‘cause we fair loved her, she was such a nice person.” This poignant statement seems to echo the sentiment of the people of Cartwright even to this day.2

Eventually Detective Byrne concluded the following in his statements to the press:

          “The presumption is that Miss Lindsay on her way to take a bath in Salt Water Pond into which the brook flows, stopped to shoot some muskrat which abound in the river, and that she fell on the firearm which she was known to have carried.”3

           “The postmortem examination held at Cartwright showed that a bullet had entered the left side, passed through the heart and out on the other side of the body. From this it is concluded that Miss Lindsay must have fallen on the weapon as it was almost impossible to turn it on herself in the direction.”4

In her coat pocket were a dozen bullets that would fit her Browning pistol, also supporting the accidental death theory.5

Detective Byrne terminated his investigation with the statement: “The postmortem disclosed nothing which would tend to indicate deliberate suicide.”6

Once the sea ice had melted in June 1923, permitting navigaton once again, Miss Lindsay’s body (preserved in salt) was transported to St. John’s, Newfoundland. There a funeral was held for Miss Lindsay before her body was taken by train back to her family in Montreal.

           “As the cortege wound its way to the railway station, citizens stood with uncovered heads evidencing their respect for the departed heroine and sympathy for the sorrowing relatives at home. Marguerite Lindsay will rank with the great women of the world who have given their lives for others”. 7

She was finally laid to rest in the family plot in the Mount Royal cemetery in Montreal where, as it happens, I went to visit her recently.

So whether someone today strolls by “Miss Lindsay’s Marsh,” fingers her name on the local church’s plaque8, listens to a song written in her honour9 or reads a poem written by school children… the Cartwright community continues to honour Marguerite’s memory almost 100 years after her death.

Now that’s a legacy!

The grave of Helen Frances Marguerite Lindsay

1“I found Miss Lindsay,” John Martin, 1976, Cartwright, Labrador. Researcher Doris Saunders.

2“We Fair Loved Her,” Ida Sheppard, 1976, Happy Valley, Labrador. Researcher Doris Saunders.

3Evening Telegram, “Miss Lindsay’s Death Accidental,” September 24,1923.

4Evening Telegram, “Miss Lindsay’s Death Accidental,” September 24,1923.

5Evening Telegram, “Miss Lindsay’s Death Accidental,” September 24,1923.

6Evening Telegram, “Miss Lindsay’s Death Accidental,” September 24,1923.

7Evening Telegram, “Miss Lindsay’s Death Accidental,” September 24,1923.

8St. Peter’s Anglican Church, Cartwright, Labrador

9“Somewhere Beyond the Hills,” words and music by Harry Martin

Notes:

Miss Marguerite Lindsay 

By: Adam Dyson and Brandon Cabot (Grade 4 – Henry Gordon Academy, Cartwright, Labrador)

Once on a summer day in 1922,

A fine young lady died and only a few know.

What happened to her is a mystery,

And will every be part of Cartwright’s history.

Harry Martin wrote a song, we really thank him.

They know that the chance she was alive was very slim.

The newspaper says a mystery was found,

The dogs found her body in a snowy mound.

She went for a walk 15 minutes away,

From a land she loved called Muddy Bay.

She never came back, not even the next day,

She was supposed to catch a boat heading far far away.

She was found by the edge of a big marsh,

The winters were violent an her death was harsh.

Miss Lindsay and her life at Muddy Bay,

Is a mystery that is unsolved today.

Somewhere Beyond the Hills 

Words and Music – Harry Martin of Cartwright, Labrador

Have you ever wondered, as you listened to the wind,
What secrets does she carry, what sad things had she seen?
Well, I’ve listened to her stories a thousand times before,
But still, I have to question her once more.

What happened on that summer’s day in 1922?
Has been talked about by many but the truth is known by few;
And those who knew the answer have been silenced by the years,
But suspicion on the wind have reached my ears.

Someone said somebody knew but when he spoke he lied,
Others said they saw them talking on the day she died;
When the darkness found her she was silent, cold and still,
And her body lay somewhere beyond the hill.

Somewhere in some city a grey-haired mother prays,
Please, God, protect my angel in that land so far away;
But tonight her youngest daughter lies asleep beneath the snow,
In a winter land so far away from home.

Then one cold December day a mystery was unveiled;
They found the poor young maiden there beside a trapper’s trail;
Her body, cold and lifeless, had a bullet through the breast,
Now, the reason why won’t let this poor soul rest.

I have often wondered, as I listened to the wind,
What secrets did she carry, what sad things had she seen?

But those who knew the answers are no silent, cold and still,

And the secret lies somewhere beyond the hill.

genealogy, Montreal, Newfoundland, Newspapers, Volunteering

Miss Lindsay – Part 2

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In June 1922, Miss Marguerite Lindsay arrived as a summer volunteer with the Grenfell Mission in Cartwright, Labrador. Two months later she went missing.

When Miss Lindsay didn’t return from her afternoon walk that fateful day, an extensive search took place immediately. All of Cartwright took part and did their utmost to find her.

Indeed, Marguerite was held in such great affection by the local children and their families that a thorough search of the area was made by her boy pupils, who combed the shoreline and nearby woods inch-by-inch.

Reverend Gordon, with several others, took a motorboat and cruised along the Cartwright shore without luck. They concluded that she must have drowned, perhaps by hitting her head while swimming or falling down some cliff into the fast tidal currents, which then carried her away.

It wasn’t long before the news got out. On August 15, 1922, The Evening Telegram in St. John’s, Newfoundland, published the first of many articles about the fate of Miss Marguerite Lindsay with the headline: “Tragedy at Cartwright – Volunteer Teacher Supposed Drowned.” This was the type of sensational story that sold newspapers and, for the next year, the media worldwide went wild with it.

In one extreme case of yellow journalism, several American tabloids published an article which originated in Britain, devoting an entire page to an appalling story with this ridiculous headline:

“Kidnapped by Savage Eskimos – Beautiful Canadian Girl Suffers As Tragic a Fate As Ever Befell a White Woman; Carried Off by the Dreaded “Fish Fang” Tribe Into the Trackless Wastes of Labrador.” 1

IMG_1576

The article described, in horrific fictional detail, Miss Lindsay’s new life as the captive wife of one of the imaginary savages. One can only hope that her family didn’t read these newspapers.

A month after her disappearance, in September 1922, my great uncle Stanley Lindsay, another of Marguerite’s brothers, arrived in Cartwright by ship. Unfortunately, nothing was accomplished by his northern trip except the melancholy satisfaction of learning firsthand that no effort was spared to trace his sister. He simply thanked the good people of Cartwright for all they had done.

Imagine their relief at his kind words.

Upon Stanley’s return, the Lindsay family held a memorial service in Montreal at the Church of St John the Evangelist in October 1922. Reverend and Mrs. Gordon attended the “impressive ceremony” on behalf of The Grenfell Mission and the people of Cartwright.

Helen Frances Marguerite Lindsay 1896-1922
Helen Frances Marguerite Lindsay 1896-1922

On December 13, 1922, four months after her disappearance, Marguerite’s body was discovered by John Martin, one of two trappers whose dogs dug deep into the snow by the shoreline. The frost had heaved her body upward out of the bog.

Sadly, Miss Lindsay’s boy pupils had been searching within ten yards of her body but the Indian Tea bushes native to the area had hidden her.2

She was fully clothed, her exposed frozen face was disfigured and… she had a bullet hole in her chest.

Miss Lindsay – Part 1

Miss Lindsay – Part 3

how i came to write miss lindsay’s tale

1 The Springfield News Leader 10 Dec 1922 – https://newpapers.com/newspaper/39664723

2The Evening Telegram 24 Sept 1923

genealogy, Montreal, Newfoundland, Newspapers, Volunteering

Miss Lindsay – Part 1

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In June 1922, young Marguerite Lindsay travelled from Montreal, Quebec to Cartwright, Labrador, for a summer of volunteer work. Two months later she went for an afternoon walk and disappeared.

Marguerite, aged 25, had volunteered as a teacher with The Grenfell Mission in Cartwright. The International Grenfell Mission is a non-profit organization that was formed in 1892 by British medical missionary Sir Wilfred T. Grenfell to provide healthcare, education, religious services, rehabilitation and other social services to the fisherman and coastal communities of northern Newfoundland and Labrador.1

She taught the older girls sports such as swimming and cricket and ran the recreation program at the Labrador Public School at Muddy Bay, 10 km from Cartwright. Miss Annette Stiles, an American and the other summer volunteer, worked as the school’s nutritionist and cook.

Marguerite was my grandfather’s baby sister. The youngest of six children born to Mary Heloise Bagg and Robert Lindsay, she grew up privileged in a prominent English Montreal family. Her brother, my grandfather, was an Anglican priest in Montreal.The Priest

Marguerite Lindsay and her brother Sydenham circa 1922
Marguerite Lindsay and her brother Sydenham – photo taken in Montreal, Quebec – circa 1917

An article in The Montreal Standard newspaper described Marguerite as being “popular in Boston, London and Montreal Society.” She attended a girls’ school near Boston and, in 1918, actively took part in The Sewing Circle (making quilts for charity) and The Vincent Club (supporting women’s health issues). Later she volunteered with the Canadian Red Cross in England during WW1. Her fine education and choice of social circles and volunteer work were evidence of not only her elite upbringing but her ingrained kindness towards others.

In June 1921, a year before her departure for Labrador, Marguerite returned home by ship after a three month visit to England. She was only 24 years old at that time and most likely already considered a spinster!

Her marriage prospects were not good, since after The Great War, there was an excess of females over males of about 5,500 in English Montreal alone. 2 The women’s rights movement had already made progress for women’s suffrage, education and entry into the workplace. Might these changes in society have encouraged Marguerite’s decision to pursue her teaching? Perhaps she learned about The Grenfell Mission itself during her last trip to England. But how on earth did she convince her protective parents to allow such an adventure? Did her brother (the priest) approve of the idea, support her calling and aid in her plea?

Marguerite Lindsay 1922
The Grenfell Mission photo of volunteer Miss Helen  Frances Marguerite Lindsay

The two young volunteers, Marguerite and Annette, were under the direction of the Reverend Henry Gordon. He and his wife ran the school in Muddy Bay. Annette, perhaps a little homesick, described the area as “a bay surrounded by spruce-clad hills, resembling Lake George (New York), warmly sheltered from the Arctic winds.”3

Annette wrote an article depicting some of her experiences with Marguerite and the local people. It was published in an issue of the journal Among the Deep Sea Fishers. She described food demonstrations held for the adults and nature outings with the children in their collective care noting that “the children’s enthusiasm was very contagious – a great contrast to the boredom of some in more civilized places.” And then she continued:

Miss Lindsay was a very good swimmer and the older children loved her teaching them this as well as loving to work with her in the mornings … even on cold days they would beg to go in (the water) and the little ones would join in the chorus: “O! Miss, take I in swimmin’ too!”

It was a hot day on August 4, 1922, when Marguerite left her fellow teacher and friend in Cartwright possibly to go for a swim somewhere along the Sandwich Bay shores. She often took walks alone and was known to be a young lady very capable of taking care of herself. However, that evening when she hadn’t returned in time for the evening meal, a search party was organized immediately.

Miss Lindsay was missing!

(Updated by author – 2021-07-18)

1FindingGrenfell.ca – accessed October 19, 2019

2Westley, Margaret W. Remembrance of Grandeur–The Anglo-Protestant Elite of Montreal 1900-1950, p. 126

3 Stiles, Annette – “The Cartwright Expert Cook” – Among the Deep Sea Fishers, January 1923