EPISODE 790 ANGUS WAS A NEIGHBOUR —MUCH MORE THAN THAT, A CARING FRIEND
alan skeoch
April 2, 2023
Angus McEachern —his barn in the distance when it was intact
Mom often said that Marjorie and I named our first born, after my favourite stuffed toy….a ’teddy’ bear that
I slept with as a child. Partly true and partly false. The stuffed toy was called ‘Angus” but the name
chosen was certainly not fictional. Angus was a real person. The kind of person that makes an
indelible mark among the neurons of a child’s brain.
Angus McEachern watched over my grandparents, Ted and Louisa Freeman. His farm fence was a joint fence.
“Your Granddad owns the first and last half. We own the middle”
Angus kept an eye on the whole fence lest his herd of cattle got in among the wild apple
trees on the Freeman farm.
Angus cared for the Freemans When they reached an age that they
could no longer handle their small 25 cre farm. Angus McEchern picked up
the slack. Helped grandma and granddad overcome the problems of aging.
In those days
of the 1940’S and 1950’s Angus often wheeled his tractor in behind the Freeman farm house and cut enough fire wood
to cover the winter months.
When a hole in the rail fence allowed Angus’s cattle to break through and gobble their way through the piles of
wild apples. Really nasty danger of Bloat which could kill. Angus fixed the fence. When the icicles began to form inside the Freeman farm house
Angus often dropped by just to see that grandma and grandpa had safely retreated into the front room where
the wood stove was belting out life saving heat.
As a child and young adolescent my brother and inoiticed this.
Time moves forward. Eventually grandma and grandpa Freeman passed on. And Angus got older.
Eric and I got older as well. Became grown ups, albeit grudgingly.
One day in early fall, around 1980, I got word that Angus was selling his Hereford herd of beef cattle.
It was a sunday. I Walked down the fifth line and up the maple tree lane to see Angus. I know this
was tough time for him. And knew it would get worse. Angus pulled up a couple of stools in his woodshed and we spent a couple
of hours sipping Scotch whisky from a bottle hidden away among the split maple. Seems to
me the bottle came from the Isle of Islay. the Scottish island from which the McEcherns emigrated
in the early 19th century. I think They were Scottish hand loom weavers displaced by the steam driven
mills of the industrial revolution.
I will never forget that afternoon because it was the last time we talked. The following Wednesday
the auctioneer arrived to auction off the McEchern herd of Herefords. Angus died before the
auction. He was torn by the necessity of the auction and the fate of his beloved cattle.
“Let’s go up to the barn, Alan, I want you to meet some friends of mine.”
Angus was lame so the effort to reach the barn was not easy. So he fired ups his John Deere tractor
and idled along beside me as we headed for the barn.
“these are my babies, Alan”
Angus could name each one. Rubbed
a neck on one ….scratched the forehead of another…rested his ar across the
back of another.
“Feeding time…..they know that.”
There was much they did to know.
I do not want to say anything else about that afternoon. I hope you can peruse the photos and
feel as choked up as I did.
alan
POSTSCRIPT: Special Note to my cousin Ted: LEST I FORGET! ANGUS was not alone. Others helped Grandma and Grandpa through the last years
of their lives. Their son Frank Freeman, his wife Lucinda and their son Ted were just as caring as Angus. Moreso which I will record later.
My mother, Elsie Freeman, also did much to help her mother and father from money earned in the
sweatshops of the needle trades. Every second week end she went back to the taking Eric and I along.
Dad helped a bit but he had racetracks to support as well.
Our little section of the Fifth line, Erin Township, was settled by Scots. The land was not terrific.
Lots of rocks which land agents felt Scots could handle.
Jean and Janet McLean farmed across the road and dropped by often as did Janet MacDonald
who had her own farm to run as well. Both these farms were operated by women who took
time to help Grandma and Grandpa Freeman. None were wealthy. All tried to live off farmland
that was really a terminal moraine where an ancient ice monster dumped gravel and boulders and
a touch of top soil.
There may have been anti-English prejudice when the Freeman moved into their farm surrounded
by Scots. But that did not last long.
