Year: 2018

Begin forwarded message:

From: “Carole Sanford” <carolesan@rogers.com>

Subject: RE: alan

Date: November 1, 2018 at 11:56:26 PM EDT

To: “‘SKEOCH’” <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Well done Al.   Good job Marjorie told you to turn the light on.  I think there would have been a few choice words from “you know who” when you arrived in the pouring rain at the farm and found Woody in the truck.   

Just glad to hear you’re both o.k.   Not a fit night for man nor beast.

Take care.

Warm regards,
Carole

—–Original Message—–
From: SKEOCH [mailto:alan.skeoch@rogers.com]
Sent: November-01-18 11:26 PM
To: d.m.macmorine@gmail.com
Subject: alan


LATE NOVEMBER NIGHT…NOV. 1, 2018

So we drove  home in the teeming rain and the dark.

“Put Woody out for a  leak  as soon as you get home, Alan.”

“Sure.”

Home

“Got that sinking feeling as I reached in the dark truck  for Woody…interior lights  do not work well…felt no fur…Woody…we  left him all alone in
the dark farm veranda in pouring rain…must tell Marjorie although hate to do so.  Maybe best if I not say ‘we’.”

“Woody  is not in the truck…must have left him at the farm…I’ll drive up and get him now   (11.12 pm)…I will be  back bye 1 am…not tired…must go now. Poor Woody
he will be waiting for me.”

“Turn the light on.”

“I already reached  in … no Woody…”

“Turn the light on.”

“OK.”

“And there he is curled  up in a tiny ball…hates the rain…would not move out of the truck.”

“Just think I nearly drove up to  get him and there he was all the  time.”

THOUGHT CAME TO ME: “If I got to the farm and found Woody in the truck seat right behind me it might
be best if  I pretended we had left him there…otherwise I would  look like a dimwit.”

“Stupid, Alan, just stupid.”

“Accepted.”=

Begin forwarded message:

From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: ‘MY DAYS ARE IN THE YELLOW LEAF”

Date: November 5, 2017 at 11:27:17 AM EST

To: Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@rogers.com>

“MY DAYS ARE IN THE YELLOW LEAF”*

alan skeoch

Nov. 3, 2017

“Long ago I hung a little sign in the old pantry of our farm house….before we gutted and rebuilt everything.  It said, “My Days Are in The Yellow Leaf”

It is  a  quote from Lord Byron which he may have borrowed and changed from Shakespeare’s Macbeth, “My  way of life is  fallen into the  sere and  yellow leaf.”

Both quotes  are depressing…expressions of dread…

“I Don’t get the Meaning?”, you say…”Thought you were about to describe  farm sale, not a love poem or a Shakespeare play ? What does the expression mean?”

“Years ago I was saddened  that my Grandparents farm was decaying…collapsing…Meaning the days  of the farm were numbered.  The hand-hewn frame barn had  collapsed  and those wonderful beams chain sawed into kindling blocks.  The hand woven wire and sapling  fence around the garden was aslant and doomed.  Wire worms infested  the carrots. The cattle and chickens were gone leaving Laddie the dog as the only non-human resident.  And  he was accidently shot by Angus Mcechern while worrying sheep.  “Meant to scare him.”  In the house The plastered walls  were cracked  and great slabs fell regularly.  The 

cedar shingle roof was  leaking.  The floors were worn down by heavy work boots…The knots  resisted so the effect was wavy.  The dirt floor cellar was filled

with water come spring time.  The field stone foundation was wonderful…for snakes that is.  And my grandmother and grandfather were just holding on by the skin of their teeth.  Grandma shook so hard with Parkinson’s disease that the coal oil lamp in her hand  cast shaky shadow devils on the walls.   And  granddad needed help to get

to the back house.  Out beside a huge walnut tree bounced baseball sized walnuts off the house roof.  The sound was chilling.  Red squirrels tunnelled their way into the

walls and piled the gaps with those walnuts as if  they were insulation.  Hence my feeling that   “Their days were in the yellow leaf.”

“And all that came to mind today?”

“That was  how I felt at the Farmer Moore auction today, November 3, 2017, as tractors, tools and scrap iron things changed hands assisted  by Jim McCartney, auctioneer..  I do not know what really happened here 15 years ago.  Something bad for sure.  The farm has been padlocked  and untouched for the last 15 years. “He was put in the home,.” said farm neighbours.

His tractors, trucks, Wheelbarrows, tools, furniture, even sexy pin-upgirls have  all been gatheirng dust and vermin footprints  for all these years.”

“What Happened?”

“I have no idea. The hand built ramp at the  farm house means Farmer Moore had difficulty walking, perhaps  wheelchair bound before he “put in the Home”.

“Forgotten. Padlocked gate…laneway leading up a gentle slope to a  place  of mystery dominated by a huge  derelict bank barn whose grim future you can judge in  the pictures.”

“Everything here was new at one time.  Brand new.”,  said auctioneer McCartney.  “Today things are sold to the highest bidder.  I make  no guarantees.  These machines….tractors, trucks, combine…have been safely undercover for the last 15 years.  Be aware of that.  None of them will be started today. “ In other words Buyer beware.

Farm Auction Sale

For Cimino Family (Farmer Moore Farm)

Friday, November 3rd at 12:00 noon
(Preview from 11:00 a.m.)

Located at 866 Safari Rd (7th Concession), Flamborough, ON. 1 1⁄2 miles West of Hwy 6, 4 miles North of Clappison’s Corners (Watch for signs). Tractors – Midsize Farm Equipment – Trucks – VW Beatle – 2004 -21’ Housetrailer (etc) Most items have been stored inside and have not been in use for over 15 years. (Everything sells as is)

Partial List Only: ‒ Case 730 Diesel with Allied Loader – Cab, John Deere 40 – 3 P.T.H. + P.T.O., A.C. – CA with remotes, Belarus 420 4 x 4, Ford 630 S.P. Combine (motor seized), 4 row 36” corn head, 12’ grain head
– 2004 Coachman 22’ model 248 T.B.C. house trailer with roof air – fully loaded (This unit has had very little use)
– 1971 Dodge Fargo 300 (29,050 mi) with 9’ x 7’6” dump box & 4’ racks
– 1979 Dodge S.E. – 300 Adventurer 70,000 kms with 8’ box & duals
– 12’ slide in camper – older Volkswagon Beatle 39,850 miles (rough)
– John Deere 210 riding mower 42” deck, 16 h.p. Master Craft, John Deere 1240 – 4 x 36 corn planter, 12’ 3 P.T.H. cultivator, J.D. 15 run Van Brunt Drill, 10’ Cultipacker, N.H. 351 Mix Mill with Loading Auger, N.H. 269 sq baler, 7’ Brady Flail chopper, 3 gravity boxes and wagons, 3 P.T.H. fert spreader, 3 P.T.H. Haban Corn Sheller, N.I 2 row 30” cor picker model 325 with 327 picker unit, Case 4 x 14” 3 P.T.H. plow, 3 x 12” Oliver drag plow, 7’ 3 P.T.H. single auger snow blower, 11 run McCornmick drill on steel, box trailer, J. D. 300 bale & grain elevator 32’, H. D. Front Mount truck blades 9’-10’-12’,
– (Older Ford 8000 single axle dump truck & other pieces for scrap)
– Antique hand operated forage, walking plow, bag cart, Welder, misc lumber, fanning mill, old hossier cupboard and others, misc farm related items

Terms: Cash – Cheque ‒ Interac® ‒ VISA® day of sale Lunch Booth on Grounds

Jim McCartney Auction Service Ltd.
905-689-8778
Waterdown

“And  here we are, in the  stable, empty. Ghostly”

There is beauty here…sunshine and a light breeze do wonders.

So let the story begin.  Part fact and  part speculation.   It is  November, 2017 and some trees are still  clothed but today, Nov. 3, it is cold and the wind 

is up.  Soon the maple  will be skeletal.

“I think there were at least two farmers here in the deep past.  Farmer Moore for sure and perhaps his wife, or Farmer Moore and his brother.

The condition of the  farm house with its ripped  and worn linoleum…wallpaper in some rooms but not all…would seem

to indicate a lone male resided here for a number of years.  Just speculation.  A woman would  never let the house be so neglected.

Men often are less concerned.  No furnace…heat provided by a cast iron stove….Naoleon style”

The farm house was sheathed in white siding within the last 20years.  Before that it was perhaps  insulbrick.

Linoleum floor covering  scuffed and  worn out by boots and neglect.

Hand made ramps for wheelchair access to the house.  Much more to the story that will never be known.

A few clippings pinned to the walls…with dates that stop abruptly around  2002 or so.

Now here is a visual story.  Farmer Moore seems to have been heterosexual.  Some ancient pin-ups and one modern.  Dates seem to have ended

around 2002.   Something happened.  Farmer Moore was taken a retirement home.  It would be tough to leave his ladies  behind.

OK.  Tell me what was kept in these crocks?    Something edible…look at the plastic lids.

“Small forge with hand operated lever for blower…sold for $280

Old Hoosier Kitchen cupboard in  workshop with faded  pin-up girls sold  for around $30 or less

Super organized  shelves full of nuts and bolts and tings unseen sold  for $85

Speckled sunshine of a forgotten mow of old hay.  Holes in the roof made walking on the wonky threshing floor problematic.

Looking out from the warm brown granary to the open threshing floor

Farmer Moore  once long ago had a thriving poultry business.  12,000 laying hens snuggled  up to these straw lined nesting cubbyholes.   Eggs  collected  by 

the Moore’s were sold in Millgrove and  perhaps as far south as Hamilton.   I wish it was possible to save a rack of these nesting cubbys   Why in tarsnation did 

I say that?  There  is no place for such.

The great cathedral roof has been ripped  open.  Rain water on piled hay and straw does  not take long to rot the threshing floor…see below.

Stable door.  A kind of invitation to explore..

One was of the fieldstone stable has already collpsed.  Likely to be repeated by others as  no-one cares.

Lots of outbuildings on the Moore farm, all overgrown with shrubs and trees.  A  Tangled Garden.  And dangerous for beneath

every step seemed to be the rusty remains of some long forgotten machine of agriculture.

Acres  of scrap so old that large walnut trees  have wrapped  themselves around rusty iron treasures…whole field of scrap[ machines sold for …I forget.  Make a bid.

This  is the auctioneer Jim McCartney making his way through  one of the hidden scrap pile.  How do I know this was once a horse driven mowing  machine?  Look  dead centre.

One  of the largest outdoor corn cribs  I have ever seen.  Tenty ortirty yearsagoit was filled with yellow corn cobs and teased upon why birds  and lots of rats until

used to feed  the 12,000 chickens that Farmer Moore raised. Empty now..  No longer needed since corn taken off the field below is shelled  and blown

into tractor trailers driven right up to the combine on under tiled fields and hauled to huge drying silos.  Modern corporate agriculture.  This crib is an object of

art … doomed of course.

An abandoned  Belarus tractor (Russian export from Soviet Union) … a green carpet of moss thriving where once Farmer Moore sat.

None of the machines worked…had not been operational for nearly two decades.  This little John Deere sold for $2,200.  Buyer must be a collector.  Lots of bidders.

People are in search of specific treasures such as this tractor tire or…OR?

And  here is the jewel of the auction sale in my opinion.   Wisner Wilcox fanning mill made in Brantford when Ontario was called  Canada West (C.W. stencilled)…made between 1840 and 1867 by skilled  craftsmen who even gussied it up a bit with blue  striping.   This was  the reason I went to  Farmer Moore’s  auction…prepared

to be disappointed  but instead  found the machine in impeccable shape.  Got it on first bid for  $25.  Expected to lose it for I noticed  a guy buy a fanning mill screen

in the  workshop.  Kept my eye on him.  But he was gone.  Guess he could not wait. This  was the last ting sold at the auction.

“It’s all over… pay  up today…you  have only tomorrow to get things out  of here…then the padlock goes  on .”

Next day, Andrew and  Marjorie came with me to load the mill.  By then the farm had been stripped clean.    We were alone.

Want moe?  Just scroll down.

At some time  in the distant past a horses hitched  here.

(Imagine this…not real comments)

“And you  sir are now the owner of the back end of a half ton truck…rust and all.”

“How do I move it?”

“Should have thought of that before you raised  your hand.”

“I was  just scratching my nose.”

“Some bidders just wink or nod their head  so the quick movement to get a bug out of your nose is considered a sound bid…you own

this now.  If you back your truck up, some of the fellows will tip it up and on.”

“I don’t have a truck…just a small car.”

“Well, you could attach a chain  and drag the old truck  bed  down the road.”

“But  I live in Hamilton.”

“Best haul  it  down  there at night then…less police  around….might be a shower of sparks slip an old door under it.”

“What will my wife say?”

“Now that, sir, is a good  question.  Good  luck!”

Wild cucmber vines festoon the place like  neglected  Chinese  Lanterns.

“This Ford combine may be a little  worse for wear but it would make the front lawn of your city home remarkable…and  I mean REMARKable.

Like  everything elsewhere, it was once  new…could be a kind of Gazebo in the back yard…with an elevated glassed  in  

reading room.”   Sold for $200

MY DAYS ARE  IN THE YELLOW LEAF

(Borrowed  from Lord Byron and William Shakespeare by Alan Skeoch…on this  November day, in the year 2017)

alan skeoch

November 3,2017

Farmer Moore auction sale

Auctioneer Jim McCartney

Cashier  Kate McCartney

Begin forwarded message:

From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Music has faded Auction Nov. 22, 2017

Date: November 24, 2017 at 11:16:53 AM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Kate McCartney <katemccartney4@gmail.com>

Cc: johngillespie@sympatico.ca

Mary…This  is  what I am working on to send to our kids and  grandkids…rough , unfinished…but you might like it.  if you do not like it just press Delete.

Iff I had  help I wold have bid  on the big cutting box in the barn…I am an historian and  that machine is  fantastic.  But too hard for me to load and

a  bit too far for my sone to come with  his truck.  I hope you find a proper home for it.  I did  an  MA thesis long ago on machine design in 19th century…yours

was  part of the thesis  (300 pages).

Sorry  about your husbands injury…farming is  a  tricky business…no need to list the injuries for there are many.

the dolly?  No way I could have known it was not part of the purchase, sorry about that.  you will get it back.

alan

Kate and  Jim,

I  just assumed  the dolly was part of the sale…under the  organ…it will be  returned  somehow.

MUSIC HAS FADED

alan skeoch

nov. 22, 2017

McCartney auction at Ayr

“Alan, tell me why you went to that auction today…cold, November day like this…cold, cold, cold.”

“Pushed  on by a force greater than myself…power of change in our society…to be  a ‘witness to history’ as has been said by persons far

more observant than myself.

“But Let me try to answer…”

“There are forces  in out lives…events, people, places,  songs…that get lodged in our brains  and  are so deeply imprinted that they cannot escape.

Some woul call these memories.   But to me they are greater than that…forces.  They just cannot be repressed.

Today this  ancient pump organ forced up the memories of a farmhouse deep  in water…January, february…long long ago in

the late 1940’s when Grandma and Grandpa were still alive living on their tiny hardscrabble  farm on the fifth line of  Erin Township, a farm

lodged on the southern tip of  Wellington County, Ontario.

They had retreated into the small front room of the house…the only place where there was a big wood stove so hot to the touch that it could make a fine pile of toast on the bent wire toasting grill.   Crammed into that room often, so often that those winter evenings  all blend together into one evening…a  forceful memory that just burst forth 

at the farm auction today…November 22,2017.  Grandma cold  play  the pump organ as could my mom.  Look at the worn foot treadles above…and then the  ivory   keys

below.

Who was  in that room?  First there was the big dog Laddie.  He had a fine vice  and  loved to sing as soon as Grandma opened  the organ and

began pumping the treadles to get wind into the hidden reeds.  Laddie howled.  Now I realize he hated the organ. Wanted to protect us from its unholy moaning.  Love and  hate are sometimes confused as you probably know.

Laddie  was not the only animal in the room.  There  were mice lured from hiding to get their necks broken on the Victor snap trap guillotines.  And below the

floor in the field stone foundation there were snakes  hibernating.  And  perhaps  bigger things  being the plaster walls…raccoons for instance.  All made alert

by the moaning organ and the human voices…Grandpa, mom,  Eric, myself and occasionally Dad  if the harness horses were not running at Differin track.

Grandad would get out his Stradivarius violin, the treasure of his life other than Grandma who he called Lou.  And soon Grandad  played the  Devil’s Dream accompanied by Laddie howling.

Not much room for us all.  Big Victorian sideboard jammed with dishes and  food, a  day bed long the south wall tucked safely behind the wood stove which 

dominated the  room.  Grandma treated the wood stove with caution for two reasons  First, she had severe parkinson’s disease which meant her hands shook all the time. Lighting the stove with the paper tubes she made was  done cautiously.  The second  reason was the memory of the log cabin they lost at Krugerdorf in Northern Ontario.

They only had time to rescue a few  valuable things.  One of  which was  the pump organ, similar to the one above only less fancy.  That organ stood beside the hall  door, always ready for use.  Then there was  the  kitchen table and assorted chairs and a small cupboard.  All this in a room that was about 10’ x 15’.  To say we were a close family would be an understatement.

So when I  bought this pump organ at the Gillespie farm sale in 2017, memories popped  up.

This  story will be a bit unusual.  Interspersed  among the tools  of agriculture…ancient and modern…will be  the lyrics  of songs

that came to mind..songs of  the First World War and  songs of  the post war years between 1945 and 1949.  In particular Roses  of Picardy which grandma 

played on her organ many times…and sang until her voice got shaky, All part of my childhood  and

the  reason these farm sales, sad though they be, are important to me.  

upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/b/b2/Roses_of_picardy_sheet_music_01.jpg/500px-Roses_of_picardy_sheet_music_01.jpg 2x” data-file-width=”1596″ data-file-height=”2126″>Verse 1:

She is watching by the poplars, Colinette with the sea-blue eyes,

She is watching and longing and waiting Where the long white roadway lies.

And a song stirs in the silence, As the wind in the boughs above,

She listens and starts and trembles, ‘Tis the first little song of love:

Refrain

Roses are shining in Picardy, in the hush of the silver dew,

Roses are flowering in Picardy, but there’s never a rose like you!

And the roses will die with the summertime, and our roads may be far apart,

But there’s one rose that dies not in Picardy!

’tis the rose that I keep in my heart!

You asked why I go. So now you have your answer.  Complicated  spider web is it not?

All of  the Gillespies family horses and cattle  were gone.  You know where.  To a place few farmers want to mention.  Instead they use the expression “They have been shipped.”  Farmers , most of them , come to love their animals so the whole business of raising livestock has  an unpleasant ending.  One farmer I knew  lived on peanut butter rather than beefsteak  and  bacon.

The last living animal was their dog, an Alsatian with signs of hip displasia.  He endlessly circled  the  crowd wondering no doubt ‘what the hell is  going on?”

The snap of  my  camera startled  him but instead  of attacking he dragged  his back legs in a hasty retreat.

On-Site Farm Auction Sale For John Gillespie & Mary O’Connor (519) 501-1668 (Jomar Cattle Feeders Inc.)   Wednesday, November 22nd at 10:30 a.m. (Preview Tuesday 12 – 4 p.m. )   Located at 869 Brant, Waterloo Rd, (Ayr). From Hwy 401 take Exit 268. Go West on Cedar Creek Rd. (Hwy 97) approx. 2 miles then South on Northumberland (Reg. Rd #58) for approx. 3 miles to Ayr, then South on Swan St. (Reg. Rd. #58) for 1 mile to Brant-Waterloo Rd. (Watch for signs).   Consisting of Tractors – Tillage – Planting – Haying – Livestock Barn & Equipment – Conestoga Wagon   Tractors: ‒ John Deere 4050 Cab & Air 4 x 4 – 20.8 x 38 rears – front fenders – IH 3288 Cab with 2350 Loader – IH 966 – Cab, Case 630 with hyd Loader (gas), 6’ Loader Stone Pork   Equipment: – John Deere 1750 Maxemerge XP 6 x 30” planter with liquid, J.D. 7000 6 x 30 planter (dry), IH 4800 – 24’ Cultivator Vibra Shank with Walking Tandem, J.D. 24’ – 1010 cultivator, John Deere 235 – 24 hyd fold disc, A.C. 19’ 3300 wheel disc, IH – 720 s.m. 4 x18” plow, Kewanee 22’ hyd fold packer, Brillion 3 P.T.H. 6 row corn cultivator, Case IH 5100 soybean special 21 run drill with press wheels and markers (grain only), IH 6500 conser-till 9 shank 10’, Brady 5’ flail chopper, 2 row N.I. Picker sheller (314), 6-gravity boxes (3 with 963 J.D. Gear) and wagons, Fertilizer hopper tender & Auger, Precision Tandem 500 gal 60’ hyd boom sprayer, A.C. (Model 6-30) 6 row 30” corn head   New Holland: – 489 Haybine, bale elevator 30’ steel frame Tandem Round Bale wagon, 4 bar ground drive hay rake, IH 580 Tandem manurer spreader, J.D. 12’ wheel disc, 6” x 32’ transport Auger 6’ 3 P.T.H. B.N.E. flail mower, Flat deck wagons   Cattle Barn & Access: – Approx 120’ x 60’ post & trust open sides to be dismantled, approx. 40-9’ x 4’ H.D. gates – Petitions 2” x 2” tubing, Approx 20 concrete J.Fedders with steel headrail, Approx 140 10’ x 4’ concrete slat flooring, Misc 1” tubular gates, Husky Manure pump & pipes, Butler (Oswalt) 2840 single axle feeder wagon, Farm Hand grinder & blower, new Digi-Starz EZ 2100 scale head.   Good Selection of Rough cut pine lumber mostly 2” various widths & lengths, 3-30” logs up to 20’, misc hand hewn barn beams (varying sizes)   Misc: Conestoga Covered Wagon, Honda TRX 200 4 wheeler, (as is), Watson’s Antique cutting box on steel, 44” x 48” Feedmill scale, old 3 wheel Watson bag cart, 12’ chain harrows, 8’ 3 P.T.H. blade, old 2 wheel 6’ pull type road grader, Acre meter, Barn Scales, 10’ tandem boat trailer, J.D. fast hitch, shair saw, roller chain, shop and related smalls, J.D. Lawnmower LX, digital electronic scale head, Perry grain blower – Antique Bell Pump organ & stool, old cupboards, Pine Boxes, misc. primative tools, Walking plow, 2 row turnip planter, misc. household items Many more miscellaneous farm related items   Terms: Cash – Cheque ‒ Interac® ‒ VISA® day of sale Lunch Booth on Grounds   Jim McCartney Auction Service Ltd. 905-689-8778 Waterdown 1446 Views

Begin forwarded message:

From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: Fwd: FIRST DANCE AND SHE WAS THERE…64 YEARS LATER SHE IS STILL THERE

Date: December 12, 2017 at 10:54:37 AM EST

To: diane <diane.poloczek@gmail.com>

ALAN

 

FIRST DANCE…AND  SHE WAS THERE…64 YEARS LATER SHE IS STILL THERE

 

alan skeoch

oct. nov. 2017

 

 

So the 125th is over.  Return of the Native has happened.   Lots to think about…old friends, older teachers, still older hallowed halls of the old school.   Mistakes made.

Achievements that surpassed me.  Probably a few grads who considered me a fool.  And a few good friends who liked me in spite flaws.  That is how you know colleagues are more than just fellow travellers.  Friends forgive.  Friends like each other in spite of differences.   All these thoughts tumbled through my mind as I sat alone

in the HJumverside quadrangle.   Escaping from the pushing and shoving…the rubbernecking…the fondling…of those who came to the reunion.  

 

What am I doing here?  Why did I come back?  What should I expect after a half century absence?  “I wandered lonely as a cloud..” came to mind.   

And then I remembered.  I came back to see the mural…the Arthur Lismer extravaganza…the largest piece of Canadian art I had ever seen short of a Yukon sunset wile standing on the edge of a hanging mountain valley.   

 

Marjorie did not want to come to the reunion.  “Who would I know?”  Then she commented on the possibility that my old girlfriends would

be there.  Flattering but unlikely.  I always liked  girls.   None showed up.    But one ex-girlfriend  was there.  I never knew her name…never spoke to her…never held her hand…never walked her home from school…never danced with her..

But I liked her.  Looked at her often.  And there she was in the Humberside auditorium now called  the Lismer Hall.  She had not aged a bit.  Looked as young

and attractive as ever.  Semi-clothed as well.   She  was on the wall…a dominating feature of the magnificent Arthur Lismer mural that the staff and students commissioned

in1929.  It took Lismer four years to finish the mural.  I spent more years than that mesmerized by this image of a young aboriginal girl.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FIRST DANCE

 

Hard to forget that  first dance at Humberside.  It was the fall  of 1953, early October and there was a bit of  frost in the air.  The auditorium seats had been-usher  back to expose thence floor.  I was a bit  nervous, a Grade Niner.  Fifteen years,old with lottos testosterone but clumsy on the dance floor.  The big guys in the upper grades

were both intimidating and role  models.   I expected them to be stand offish…ignoring the presence of the new kids but some were supe social.  From the side  door

exit severe gallon stone crocks were delivered…surreptitious hands looped the crocks to slurping mouths.  Not too accurately  for some  sloshed down their cheeks.  First the seniors sucked back  a good slug of whatever those crocks contained.  Then the crocks moved from hand to hand … from boy to boy until  it was my turn.  Hard cider.  Rough cider.  Alcohol from rotting  apples and sugar.

“That will put hair on our chest, kid, take another drag.”

 

There  must  have been teacher chaperones although I don’t remember them.  Maybe they spent their time the staff room with 

coffee cups.  No one stopped the crocks anyway.  Seems there were three or four circulating but  imagination exaggerates  things.  Maybe only one crock.

Certainly one.  

 

We  danced.  One of my dance partners was Elizabeth Kilty who I knew from our church.  She was very short.  I was tallish and lanky infused with the

extra energy  of the hard cider.  The opening dances were square dances.   Lots of swinging.  With hard  cider energy I whirled  Elizabeth around…and up.

Not a good idea.  Should never have lifted  her.  She went up.  I released her and down she came…flat on her bum…legs in the air…underwear exposed.

Some thought her landing was funny.  Both Liz and I  were mortified.

 

As the  evening wore on the revelry  changed.  a fight broke out  among couple of senior boys.  Their names are lurking in my long term memory but just won’t spill forward right now. The fight was serious business.  It began near the Exit door and then spilled out into  the darkness of that autumn evening.  Some followed.  Most

continued  dancing.

 

Why should  you be interested?

 

Because that cute semi-clothed  Mohawk girl was looking down at us…just above our heads  on the wall.  Watching. Perhaps disapproving of the hell raising, the dress flipping, the cider

slugging, the cursing, the fist fighting, the romancing…all done by people  who had taken her land and did not seem to give a sweet goddamn about  her  and the Mohawk

brave who sat along side her with his tomahawk flat to the ground…flat grounded  in defeat. A people soon to be  forgotten.

 

And that was the way the Lismer Mural became part of my life.   Not some grand lecture of the art of the Group of Seven.  Not some art historian pointing out

how Arthur Lismer had combined oil paints wit pastels to make this grand masterpiece.  My experience was as earthy as those  cider apples  sitting bruised and perhaps wormy in the orchards not far from the Humberside  auditorium.

 

There have  been many  books  and crtiques written about the Lismr mural.  Educated stuff.  Intelligent.  Critical. Today there  are people who are offended by the murals.

With good reason.

 

Let me talk to myself for awhile.

 

“Alan, how come the Lismer mural is so much a part of you?  You don’t have much knowledge of art.”

“You  got that right.I ama doodler…not an artist.”

“Then why so interested?

“Get real!  it’s that girl.”

“What girl?”

“The brown skinned girl sitting  beneath the big image of Sir Isaac Brock.”

“Do you mean the girl  with exposed breasts.”

“Oh?  I hadn’t noticed.”

“You must be kidding.”

“She is only  half clothed. “

“I wonder why Lismer did that….painted her half nude?”

“Maybe because  he knew 15 year old  males like you would be fascinated. Painted in the 1930’s…I saw it in 1953…to me that was really risqué.  Had  to look at

her surreptitiously as did most of my classmates it seems.”

 

 

“It’s a  timeworn trick…”

“What?”

“Using sex to fan the flames of imagination.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, maybe Lismer thought  you would  begin to appreciate the  full meaning of the mural…the big  picture.”

“Well, it did not work until now in 2017…that’s 64 years later.  

“Slow learner?”

“Reckon so.   Now that I see the big picture,  I am not too sure I like it.”

“Why?”

“Seems sort of sad…she seems sad…”

“She?”

“The Mohawk girl.  Look at her posture.  Posture of defeat… resignation… accepting  that her world

of innocence and the splendour of living in harmony with  nature are gone forever. And soon she will be gone.  Forgotten.  Perhaps assimilated.  Perhaps moved to some godforsaken corner of Canada and forgotten.

 

 

“Something a little odd here.  The other Mohawk (maybe Mohawk) image  is  so much larger…strange.  Does size of the people in this mural have significance.”

“You might be on to something here, Alan.”

“She is so small…”

“Look at the  other…odd posture of resignation also.  But bigger.  Sitting on a bearskin.  Maybe that represents  something.  The wilderness life…dependence on the natural world which is under threat maybe.  The  bear is dead.”

“Maybe we should look at this mural the way Lismer intended.”

“How is that?”

“The mural tells a story.  Best to start at the beginning.”

“The first panel?”

“Right, there are four panels…apparently there were five originally.”

 

 

 

Arthur Lismer (1885-1969) was commissioned by the Humberside Collegiate Literary Society to produce a  mural for the school auditorium. The mural

was intended to  ‘raise national consciousness’ so Lismer decided to represent Canadian history in five parts.  Four of these have

been restored an placed  in the new  auditorium thanks to Mel Greif and his Centennial Committee who raised $100,000 to retrieve and repair the mural after 

the  old auditorium was  demolished and  the mural rolled up and  almost forgotten.

 

“So this is the first panel, seems to be dominated by the  Union Jack flag held by Wolfe  after he defeated  Montcalm on the Plains of

Abraham. Motcalm sits there defeated.”

“I  doubt that this mural would be  popular in a Quebec High  School.”

“You got that correct.   But suitable for Toronto in the 1930’s…a largely anglo pro British city.”

“Who is the other guy…in blue cape with his arms  crossed.”

“That’s Sir Isaac Brock who defeated the Americans in the War of 1812”

“Seems to me Tecumseh and his warriors had big role in that defeat. 

“They did…see him standing behind Brock.”

 But I am not sure if that is Tecumseh.  Maybe just a symbolic native person…see how his war axe is

cast down…symbolic of acceptance that the original people are now secondary.”

“Not exactly  a prominent position but at least he is given recognition.”

“Better than Montcalm…head bowed and  perhaps weeping into the French flag.”

“Weeping? Not bloody likely, he was dead…as  was Brock.”

 

 

 

 

Panel 2: Lismer Mural

 

Dominating the second panel are well dressed European explorers and ‘discoverers’ standing on a high hill and marvelling at their

new possessions.   The First Nations people, a man and a woman, are secondary and seem submissive.

 

“My  favourite panel…makes me think of my shocked surprise in 1953…”

“How come she is only partly dressed…naked almost?”

“Never though much about a reason.”

“Would a white woman have been treated this way?”

“Do  we have to see sexism in everything we say and do?”

“Wish it were not so but that seems to be a fact of life these days.  Don’t think Lismer gave it a second thought but were he alive today he would 

have changed  his mural I think.”

“How?”

“First off would be the native woman. She would be clothed and given a role.  As it stands she seems to have nothing to do  but stare wistfully

at those European explorers.”

“Explorers?  They called themselves discoverers.  And to prove ownership of their discoveries  they planted their flags…both French and English up here and

elsewhere in the Americas were the Dutch, Portuguese  and Spanish.   All planting flags as if the lands were empty.  In truth, there were  millions of people

already here.”

“Why did they allow Europeans to take over?”

“They tried  to fight back but failed.  Diseases got hundreds of thousands  of them…measles, smallpox…and  then there  was malnutrition after the wonton slaughter of the buffalo in the  west.  European explorers found whole  villages dead because smallpox moved faster than the  European adventurers.”

“Someone said Lismer’s mural is Eurocentric, what does that mean?”

“Europeans, and  that includes  the English and the Scots, believed they were superior people with the God given right to dominate  the world. It was natural for hem to

write  history books that took European domination for granted.   And in art,  like the Lismer mural, the conquest of North America is interpreted through  European eyes.”

“Take a close look  at the first  two  panels.  Proves the point.”

 

 

 

 

 

Panel 3: Lismer Mural

 

Each  of the people  portrayed  stand  for worthy values.

…Truth, Beauty, Wisdom, Courage and Motherhood.

This panels  dominates all the others as the eyes of observers

are drawn to the high peak…the worthiness these values are  to be emulated.

 

“I have trouble with this panel.”

“Why?”

“Because  the people portrayed are wearing what looks like Greek or Roman togas. Canadians do noter these things.”

“Lismer made this is dominant panel for a reason.”

“And  the reason?”

“I am not sure but I  think the purpose of education is touring out the best in students.”

“What has that got todo with wearing a bedsheets?”

“Sort of  emphasis on purity…maybe innocence.”

“Ideals?”

“Yes, something  like that…not sure though.:

“Truth, Wisdom and Courage are ideals we  value are they  not?”

“And  Beauty?”

“Makes  me think of that Mohawk girl in Panel Two.”

“Beauty  is  broader than that.  How about a sunset or the pattern of a snowflake or a Monarch butterfly?

“Or a newborn child…Motherhood..”

 

 

 

 

 

Panel 4:  Lismer Mural     What  is the result of people who value Truth, Wisdom, Courage, Beauty and Motherhood?

Canadians trump over the natural world…Canada.  There is a boy reading a book, a mother with a child, and 

sturdy pioneers  shaping the land with axes and scythes…tools poised for action.  Victory over  the land by Europeans.

With the help of the original people who carry the packsacks for white adventurers.

 

“Now this  panel makes  sense,  People doing things.  Men clearing away the forests with axes and logging hooks.”

“Who is that guy carrying the pack sack?”

“Brown skin…must be  a native.”

“How  would you interpret his role in this panel.”

“Pretty damn obvious…he is working  for he  white men…carrying their loads.:

“Who is the dominant figure?”

“The guy in the blue shirt.”

‘Who is he supposed to  be?”

“A farmer.”

“breaking up land after the trees have felled  and hauled away by the second  largest figure…the logger.”

“Triumph ,right?”

“Carving  up the land into blocks of 100  acres…crushing the wilderness.”

“What do you  think the person with the packsack is  thinking.?”

 

Panel 5:  Lismer Mural

 

No loner extant. But it was installed in 1932 . Thispanel featured representatives of Canadian young people standing in front of  

images of 20th century such as sky scraping office buildings, vast ploughed fields and aviation symbols.

 

WHAT ABOUT THE ‘HOT MUSH’?

 

Arthur Lismer’s paintings are strkingly different from his  Humberside  Mural.  Perhaps he undertook the job just as he  undertook

other  commercial art projects…for the money.  Six members of the Group of Seven supported themselves by commercialart projects. Designing

packages, sales signs,   Maybe the Humberside  Mural was just a job.  I doubt it.   But the mural does stand in sharp contrast to his

wilderness paintings of twisted pine trees in agony from  water storm winds or lashing turbulent waves of Georgian Bay.

 

WHO WAS  ARTHUR LISMER

 

“So, why is the mural famous?

“Painted by Arthur Lismer…”

“So?”

“Lismer…LISMER…helped found Group of Seven.”

“Group of  whom?”

“Come on…don’t kid around.  You are just playing with me.   The Group of  Seven was crested in 1920 by a bunch of artists who believed Canadian landscapes were astounding…Franklin Carmichael, Lawren Harris,  A.Y. Jackson, Franz Johnson, J.E.H. MacDonald, F.H Varley and Arthur Lismer…”

“You forgot Tom Thompson…”

“No…Thompson mysteriously drowned in1917 in Algonquin Park.  If he had lived they would have called themselves the Group of  Eight…does not sound so romantic.

 

“I thought those guys painted  bashed up mountains and ragged jack pines with waves and  wind  lashing them?”

“That’s what most Canadians think…obviously not true…look at the mural here…mostly people…a history of Canada  in huge panels…perhaps the largest

mural of its time.”

“How long did it take to do.”

“Four years, maybe longer.”

“And  isn’t it odd for a man like Lismer to spent his time painting the wall of a high School auditorium?

“You said ‘a man like Lismer’…what did you mean by that?”

“He was rich, wasn’t he?  I read somewhere  that a painting of his sold for nearly a million dollars.”

 

“Your  thinking of ‘Spring on the Sackville River’ which sold for $855,500.”

“Rich man, right?”

“That was sold in 2016…Arthur Lismer died in 1969.  He never got rich..few painters ever do until long after

they die.”

 

 

Spring on the Sackville River, Nova Scotia, sold for $855,500 in 2016

 

 

Values of Lismer paintings   1) Dark Pine,  Georgian Bay, $241,500 in 2007

2) Reflections, Georgian Bay, $140,400 in 2010   3)  Pines,  Georgian Bay,  $152,100,  in 2010

 

“These paintings are so different when compared to the Humberside mural. ..could  have been done by a different painter…”

“Agree…may be possible because I see  the word  ‘collaboration’ mentioned…seems others  may have been involved but  Lismer is  dominant…and  

different.  Of course  he was  different…grew up in a tough place.  Sheffield, Yorkshire  as a kid  sketching.  Just fooling around as kids do. Some of his work involved cartoons later…like the cartoons on the  editorial pages  of newspapers.  He was versatile…even humorous.”

“Educated guy I bet.”

“Parents were not wealthy…his  dad was a textile salesman.”

“Poor, then?”

“Let’s just say his family was getting by but they were certainly not toffs…gentry.”

“Born in Sheffield…good silverware came from Sheffield. England…sold all over the world…must be nice place.”

“Are you joking?  It was a grubby industriAL city when Lismer was a kid.  Working  class.  Low  wages, dirty jobs…even 

dangerous jobs.  Early deaths for workers.”

“How can manufacturing knives and forks and spoons and silver plated tea pots be dangerous.?”

“Grinding metal without face masks…put tiny pieces metal in the air…then into lungs…silicosis must have been result for many just like the coal miners in Newcastle which was not that far  away. Frederick Engels described Sheffield in 1844 this way:”

 

     In Sheffield… certain branches of work are to be noticed here, because of their extraordinarily injurious influence upon health. Certain operations require the constant pressure of tools against the chest, and engender consumption in many cases; others, file-cutting among them, retard the general development of the body and produce digestive disorders; bone-cutting for knife handles brings with it headache, biliousness, and among girls, of whom many are employed, anæmia. By far the most unwholesome work is the grinding of knife-blades and forks, which, especially when done with a dry stone, entails certain early death. The unwholesomeness of this work lies in part in the bent posture, in which chest and stomach are cramped; but especially in the quantity of sharp-edged metal dust particles freed in the cutting, which fill the atmosphere, and are necessarily inhaled. The dry grinders’ average life is hardly thirty-five years, the wet grinders’ rarely exceeds forty-five.^[73]

 

“Now that was  more than 50 years  earlier but the city does not seem to have change much. On the streets of Sheffield Little Arthur Lismer had difficulty finding natural; beauty that he seems to have craved. indeed,  Even the footpaths seem to be  barren. 

“Sterile is a better word…that footpath below doesn’t even have weeds.”

“Grim.  Yes.  But not far away were the hills  and dales of rural Yorkshire.  Sheep, stone barns, cattle, cheese factories, grist mills and miles and miles  of green grass  field hemmed in by stone fences.  Arthur saw these fields at some point.  Maybe not often but any visit to rural Yorkshire is remembered  forever.  I’ve been there.”

 “Quite a contrast.”

 

“Contrast aids thought.  Lismer’s upbringing was in sharp contrast to the overwhelming beauty he found in the Canadian wilderness.   He seems to have been particularly  overwhelmed by the way wild winds twisted and contorted the Jack Pines of Georgian Bay.  Just imagine the impact by looking at the footpath (below) and then his “Pines on Georgian Bay (above)”

 

 

 

Sheffield circa 1900.  Not a tree in sight.

 

Dirty Old Town

The Pogues

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds are drifting across the moon
Cats are prowling on their beat
Spring’s a girl from the streets at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
I smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I’m going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
I’ll chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Dirty old town
Dirty old town

“You may find these lyrics too much to handle.  Stick with me.  I have always loved Dirty Old Town (sung by many including The Pogues) because it adds music and poetry to  the visual impact of industrial England.  Little wonder that so many migrated to  Canada in those years before World War One.”

 

 

Sheffield factory circa 1900

 

 

Sheffield street scene circa 1900.  Canadian officials had much success  encouraging

young men fro Sheffield to migrate to Can appears similar to Arthur Lismer, even holding what could be a sketch pad.

 

 

As boy, Arthur Lismer would go on long walks at night which worried his mother for the city streets were dangerous.  Lismer loved the natural world of trees and country lanes.  Such were  hard to find in Sheffield around 1900.  The countryside outside Sheffield  was beautiful and  is currently one of the largest heritage regions of Britain…YorkshireHills and dales.   Did  Lismer ever get that far?  Doubtful.

 

 

Sheffield craftsmen  adwomen produced some of the finest metalware in the world.  But there was a cost.

 

LISMER AND THE GROUP OF SEVEN

 

“That’s Arthur Lismer with the prominent forehead, second from the right.”

 

 

“In 1920 Carmicael, Harris, Jackson, Johnston, Lismer, Macdonald and Varley got together … formed theGroup of Seven…lasted until  1921…another guy joined them in

1926 called A.J.Casson.’  

“They were an odd  lot.  Landscape painters…loved our northern wilderness. Toured our empty lands.   ”

“Like?”

“Like the north shore of Lake Superior…brutal place, images of a  harsh and stark land.”

“Where did  they get  that name?”

“Having a  coffee or a beer, the seven of them were trying to  think of a name that would give them character…a name they could use to market 

their paintings.  Critics and friends , later, would call their work “hot mush”, a slur more than a name.”

“Then one of them, perhaps Lismer, said ‘Why not call ourselves the Group of Seven’?”

“Funny name but let’s run with it…and  now the name is known by most Canadians and their paintings sell for millions of dollar.”

Must have been rich men to be able to wander around so much.”

“Only Lawren Harris was  wealthy. Inheritted  money from the Massey Harris Company, manufacturers  of farm machinery made in Ontario  but sent

around the world in the earl 20th century.  Harris bankrolled some things. The rest of the fellows worked as commercisl artists doing advertising broasdsheets and such.”

“Very odd that Lismer became famous…cards  stacked  against him.”

“That’s  for sure. Luckily he got a scholarship to a Sheffield art school.  Night courses for seven years. Then more years doing commercial art in England… came to realize prospects  for work in Sheffield were close to nil.  Associates and friends had  already buggered off to Canada.  Lismer decided to do the same and  migrated to Toronto.  Best move  heever made.”

“Explain this term ‘Hot Mush’

“Let me try.  Get a canvas and lots of bright coloured oil paint, thick brushes.  Now drive  to Georgian Bay or some God forsaken lake in Algonquin Park.  Pick a distressed Jack Pine maybe and then start to paint…FAST.  A trunk twisted and contorted, a dark green blob for living matter, some red and gold for underbrush, perhaps a dark grey

slash across  the top for stormy sky and steel blue water with white  foam, rocky red granite outcrop ground smooth long ago by the age of ice…  Hot Mush. Canadian wilderness.”

“Get off it, the Group of Seven did  lots of different things.”

“Just trying to simplify…Hot Mush…do an impression with gusto and  colour…and do it with energy. How’s that?”

“OK, but keep your day job.”

“I am just trying to give a short version. You want the big picture?”

“yes.”

“Then go to the McMichael Gallery in Kleinberg…just a stone’s throw north of Toronto…you’ll find 6,000 pieces of their work and the

graves of  six of the fellows.”

 

ARTHUR LISMER…TEACHER

 

 

 

 An understanding of psychology, a touch for the maternal, and a capacity for looking at the world through the eyes of a child – these are the marks 
of good guides and teachers.  

Lismer was a social person.  He thought art should be shared and encouraged  by all classes of people.  So  he gathered young people together

and  prompted them to press themselves.  He likely noticed that children love art when they are very young and their imaginative representations

are exciting.  Somehow, as  they grow older, their artistic endeavours end  for most young people.  Why?  Criticism maybe.  Lismer wanted

art … doing art … to become part of daily life for as many people as possible. 

 

 

Lismer believed artistic expression was in all of us, particularly young children.

 

 

One of Arthur Lismer’s sponsored Children’s art classes 

 

 

 

Artistic expression … having fun with art …A Lismer comment of the JazzAge.

 

 

The original Group of Seven included Franklin Carmichael, Lawren Harris, A.Y. Jackson, Franz Johnston, Arthur Lismer, J.E.H. MacDonaldand F.H. Varley. They befriended each other in Toronto between 1911 and 1913.

 

 

LISMER WAS NOT ONLY AN ARTIST

 

Just because Sheffield was  ugly…streets without greenery, houses built row on row,  smoke with sharp edges enclosed, long hours of work  with little reward….just because of all  this and more Does not mean Sheffield was a backwater.   Quite the opposite.  Engels quote in 1844 associates Sheffield with social thought of the day…Karl Marx in particular.  Remember the opening of the Communist Manifesto?  Here’s  a reminder, “The  history of all hitherto existing people is the history of class struggle.” Marx argued that violence  was inevitable since the rich would never give up their wealth voluntarily.  Through the 1860’s Sheffield had  confrontation  between workers and capitalists that cumulated in the ‘Sheffield Outrages’…bombings and murders  by union extremists.  In1866 the Sheffield Trades Council formed the United Kingdom Alliance of Organized Trades which would ultimately become the Trades Union Congress.   

 

Where  did  Lismer fit?  Did he nuzzle up to the owners of capital, traditionally funders of art, or was he sympathetic  to the earthy and confrontation prone labour  movement?

Lismer only became an artist after years of studying  art at night  school.  But his mind was in harmony with the labouring classes.  “In Sheffield,  he came to  believe that art was the right of the many, not a  privilege of the few.’   

 

Arthur Lismer’s family were  Unitarians and this liberal approach to religion was another factor that affected his approach to art.  The free expression the Group of Seven when they broke away from the European art strait jacket could be expected for the Unitarians had broken away from the concept of the Three in One…i.e. the  Father, Son and Holy Ghost basis of much Christian thought.  Lismer’s parents and their unitarian fellow travellers admired  Jesus Christ but considered  him a normal human being

whose ideas…ideals…were worthy of emulating.

 

Sheffield was quite a city for a young boy to mature from child to adult.  It is  worth noting that five of Lismer’s fiends in the Group of Seven also had to work in commercial

art in order to support their adventures as interpreters of the Canadian wilderness.

 

They had their detractors…lots of  them…who rejected their work describing it as  ‘hot mush’…just splashing of colour on a canvas…waste of good paint and stretched canvas.  Being born and raised in Sheffield  gave Lismer the guts to go against the tide.

 

LOTS OF QUESTIONS IN My  MIND

 

When I looked at the Lismer  Mural  at Humberside Collegiate in October 2017, a  lotto questions came to mind.

 

1) I noted  the huge panels were  described as the result of Lismer’s collaborative approach  to  are.  Collabrative?  Does that mean a bunch of unrecognized artists also contributed  to the massive work?   Likely.  No about  someone can answer that question.

2) The Mural was a gift of 

the staff  and students of Humberside to their high school.  And it was a gift stretching over many years from 1927 to1933.  Did it take 6 years to

finish the painting.  What prompted staff and students to commission such a piece  of work?  How much did  the pay Lismer?  Who led?  There must have been a person

who came up with the idea of the mural.  Who was he…she?  There must have been a  powerful argument presented by someone.  Was it Lismer?

3) The Great Depression was triggered by the stock market collapse of 1929.  This happened  in the middle of the years  when the mural was being painted.

Did the Depression have any effect on the project?

4) The Mural is not typical of the work being done in those years by the Group Seven.  No Hot Mush.  Human beings dominate the panels.   Hints  of the Canadian wilderness are present but definitely background hints.  Would it be safety say that the Humberside  Mural is not typical of Group of Seven.  Maybe but other members

were also doing urban paintings…villages in Southern Ontario for instance.

 

 

BACK TO THE DANCE FLOOR:  AN ENDING OF SORTS

 

“All this began for me on that October night in1953…first dance. I was just a lowly and frightened Grade Nine kid suddenly 

immersed in something far bigger than myself.  So big it was mystifying.   Turning Liz Kilty, ma dane partner upside down  was only part of it.  

The senior boys  passing around those hard cider crocks. (Was it several  or just one crock?).  God awful taste that made me  feel  adulthood

would not be all sweeties and  light.  Then a fist fight occurred and bled out the auditorium door into the shadowy  movements of a moonstruck night.

So exciting.  Especially when the whole affair was being politely watched  by that beautiful young Mohawk girl painted larger than life on the  west wall, a mural

painting so large that my neck had to twist upward.  

 

She was so sad. I wondered why.. Only now do I realize she was watching her culture disappear, watching her people  be moved to the  periphery of

Canadian life.  Watching us.  And not too sure we were worthy inheritors of the land.

 

alan skeoch

Nov. 2017

(thoughts  after 125th reunion of Humberside Collegiate)

 

 

 

1) Canadian Historical Murals, 1895-1939 – Material Progress, Morality and the disappearance  of Native People,  by Marilyn McKay , Nova Scotia College  of

Art and Design, Halifax, Nova Scotia.

2)Lismer in Sheffied, by Anita  Grant, Montreal

3)  Arthur Lismer’s drawings for the Humberside mural; development of  a grand patriotic theme,  Hodkinson, Ian,  1935- , 1992, book, 48 pages, Toronto Public Library, 751.73074 L39 H57 reference only

n

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

%3CD65BF627-B901-4A41-849E-AA69319DE06D@hitronhub.home“>%3C2375180A-162D-4648-9297-69B6F3A8DF01@hitronhub.home“>

Begin forwarded message:

From: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>

Subject: DAD HITS THE DTICH WITH THE 1953 METEROR

Date: January 14, 2018 at 11:07:16 AM EST

To: Alan Skeoch <alan.skeoch@rogers.com>, Marjorie Skeoch <marjorieskeoch@rogers.com>

DAD HITS THE DITCH…BLAMES  THE  ROAD

alan skeoch

Jan. 2018

“Fix your goddamn road…hear me….FIX YOUR ROAD!!”

‘Red!  Red!  Be careful, you’re weaving all over the road.”

“have to miss the pot holes…could break a spring.  If that son of a  bitch would  fix  his road, I wouldn’t have

play  Dodge ‘Em all the way to the farm.  FIX YOUR ROAD!!”

“Red! You Fathead!*  You’re off the road…Yiiiiii…we’re going to tUrn over in the swamp.”

“Get out ..  everybody out.”

“Elsie…get out my door….not yours”

“I can’t…I  cannot move.”

“Why not?”

“High heels have gone through the floorboards….pinned me here.”

“Take off your shoes…crawl out…not that way…boys can see top of your nylons…girdle clips…be more graceful can’t you?”

{*Calling Dad a Fathead  was the  closest Mom every got to swearing.  Dad made up for this lack  of obscenities however.}

“Slip up the road  and  get Frank or Ted to come down  to haul us out.”

That little adventure was just taken for granted  when driving with Dad on the Fifth Line.  For some perverse reasons he held

farmers accountable for the roads  in front of their farms.  As  if we were still living in pioneer times.  And he loved to

yell  obscenities  at them. Most of them knew him and probably let the words  slides of them like  water off a duck’s back.

In this caee  we had to get cousin Ted  Freeman to bring the tractor down with a chain to get us out of the ditch.

turned  out to be a good chance to laugh at Dad’s expense.

Dad was never easy to control.  Impossible really.  

We bought the 1953 Meteor for $400 in 1958.  None of us  could drive…neither Dad, mom, Eric nor myself.  By 1958 every one we knew seemed

to have a car so  Eric  and  I sleuthed  out the Meteor from a used  car dealer on Bloor. We believed his sales pitch. 

 “Great car…the owner

developed  gangrene in his right leg and cold no loner drive.  This car just came on the lot today but won’t be here long.”

Eric and I believed  his  sales pitch.

“Mom, we should  buy this car.  Can you find  $400?”    

Mom was the stable part of our family.  She made her money as  a seamstress in

various garment factories and sweatshops in west Toronto.  And  she saved what she could.  Dad had a good job…high paying tire 

builder at Dunlop Tire Corpoation…skilled..but he never saved a cent.  Plowed his money and  any he  could  beg, borrow or steal down the throats

of race horses across Ontario and even into New York State’s  Batavia Downs.  I thought the word Garnishee was just a  normal deduction from 

wages.   Later we came to understand  that Finance Companies had long arms that could reach right into the accountants office at Dunlop’s.

Dad treated debt just like he  treated the farmers on gravel roads.  People that had money should be willing to lend a  bit to him.  Non refundable loans.

To Eric and  I, this was normal.  Adventures with finance companies need a whole chapter.  “Bastards have more money than  they know what to do with…”  

Should make you laugh or cry. We never could  understand  why people would  say  “those poor boys”  because we never felt poor.  Dad  loved  us although he

never said so.  Love was a word used by sissies. But we knew…as did Mom.  We

felt we were part of a  great adventure…new surprise every  day.

The car gave Dad  more freedom.  Which  unleashed even more  weird behaviour.

Ten few  years later when Marjorie and I were married we were at the farm and entrusted Dad with the kids

while we went shopping .  When we returned a couple  of hours  later.  There they were…all three of

them chomping and puffing on White Owl  Invicible cigars.

Not a bad thing really for neither Kevin nor Andy became  smokers….except of course for the odd cigar now and then.

alan skeoch

Jan. 2018