Alan Skeoch

Year: 2023

  • EPISODE 739 CAR STORY #1: SNOWBOUND AT SKEOCH HOME FARM CIRCA DECEMBER 1960

    Note:  No time to edit this down to a shorter episode.  For those of you not amused or offended by
    our extended familY, I apologize.  The memories kept coming as I wrote and may be enjoyed by
    those who were there that winter celebration.  The farm is now gone.  Cousin Roy Skeoch’s daughter,
    Roberta, born and living in New Zealand will enjoy Roy’s horse radish devilry delivered personally by our grand
    daughter Molly who is now touring New Zealand and will no doubt find Roy’s grave. Tourists must 
    think that Skeoch is a Maouri word when they see that grave.

    EPISODE 739   CAR STORY #1: SNOWBOUND AT SKEOCH HOME FARM CIRCA  DECEMBER1960

    alan skeoch
    Feb. 13, 2023

    Skeoch Home Farmhouse, circa 1960…Imagine two feet of snow
    and a raging snowstorm on a winter night.  That is the back house on
    far left.

    SKEOCH HOME FARM BARN…”Red, park the car on the south side, away  from the wind and snow”
    “I was raised here and will park the car wherever I want.”
    “Oh Red, you fathead”




    1)  One bitter winter night we drove from Toronto to the Fergus home farm of
    the Skeochs.  Temperature was at the brass monkey stage.  Dad was driving
    which we tried to avoid but failed.  We made it to the farm with ease.

    “Red, park the car out of the wind on the east side of the barn.”
    “No.  Parking it here, close to the drivewau.”
    “Snowstorm coming…wind….drifting snow on North side of the barn.
    “What do you know about this farm?  I was born here.”
    “Oh Red, you fathead.”

    So we left the car and made our through the wind driven snow
    to the farmhouse where dad’s brothers were arguing as usual and his sisters
    were rolling their eyes as usual.  After gorging on heaps of food a poker game
    was started.

    “Red, we should get home. The storm is bad.”
    “Not until I get a few dollars back.”

    Beer was present but in limited quantity thanks to aunt Greta and ‘Lid’  who were not present
    but still had influence.    Eric and I had no
    idea why aunt Elizabeth was cailed ‘Lid’. perhaps because of her hat or more likely from
    the expression “put a LID on it!   She had strong opinions on life and  tried to keep
    her brothers in line.  Failed.   

    Lots of yelling…laughing, arguing…kidding around.  Eric, my brother, was a rather picky
    eater and Mom said “Now Eric, you eat up your dinner tonight.  It’s Christmas, ant Mabel has
    been cooking and baking  all week.”  Which was true.

    Eric and I were rather shy.  City kids.  Not used to the hustle and bustle of farm life in
    big families    Cousin Roy saw this as an opportunity for some devilry when it came
    time for the apple sauce.  Eric took one bite and made a face.  Mom saw that and
    said, “Now Eric, eat up you dessert.”


    Cousin Roy hung around.  Watching Eric like an eagle watching a trout.  Straight face with
    a slight upward curl to his lips.  Eric took a couple bites…and stopped dead.
    Roy let out a hoop of laughter.    Eric’s desert was raw horse radish not apple sauce. 
    Laughter exploded .  Seemed out knew the horse radish joke…even Eric now.

    (Note:  Non Skeoch readers might find these names a burden so just skip along)

    WHO WAS PRESENT THAT NIGHT?  SOME OF THE EXTENDED FAMILY BELOW

    Norman, Arche, Elsie, Arthur, Arnold (Red) Skeoch

    There were 10 children born on he Skeoch home farm (James Skeoch family) most of
    whom filled the local schoolhouse when they were smaller . In Dec. 1960 they were grown
    up and most were present the day we got snowbound

    When Red’s sisters were present the family was less explosive.  Aunts Greta, Lena
    and Elizabeth in from row,  John, Norman and Red (Arnold) in back row.


    A WHOPPING BIG FAMILY…AND UNPREDICTSBLE AT TIMES

    Aunts Greta, Lena, Elizabeth, Mabel…Cousins Margie, Sandy, Patti and 
    the twins Joan and Jeannette.  Uncles Norman and Archie and I think Uncle Ernest and his
    wife Ayleen were there.  Along with the Toronto delegations …Uncle Art nd aunt Mary and
    their kids Kenny, Jean and Big John…mom, dad, Eric and me.   Lid and her
    brood were not present (Uncle Frank and Lid with kids Eleanor, mary, Jim and Owen).  Nor were
    the Metcalfes,  (aunt Greta and Uncle Irvine with Harvey and Gordon).. nor Jim and Ruth Skeoch
    with Lloyd and Vernon and his brother Bruce and Jean and their kids.  some of the Tosh family Lena and Wellington Tosh
    with Helen, Lorne. Donald. Audrey.  Ernest was always present. 

    Figure there were between 17 and 20 people present…and about another 20 or 30 who
    were absent but talked about.

    “What’s all the yelling about?”
    “Skeoch men having a conversation.”

    The family was bewildering in numbers….aggressive to passive in behaviour…shy and bold… mostly
    bold…. although Eric and I would be called shy.  Most were Loud…very loud.  The house smelled of ensilage
    and manure in the mud room… then roasted turkey and chocolate cake in the kitchen …then the smell
    of beer, cigars and cigarettes  where the men played poker and occasionally threw a punch.  Catch as catch can seating
    with the unlucky braced against the stone walls of the fieldstone house.  Out door toilet (back house)
    was a long run from the house,,,very social two seater




    The beer was under loose hay in the barn…a safe place that was unlikely to be found by
    the side of the family that considered empty beer bottles marked the trail to damnation.

    Horse radish.  All hooting snd yelling at Eric’s expense.  Mom  had been suckered into playing  a role.
    Dad, too.  Not sure dad thought it was funny.  Dad was always ready to fight if he felt we needed help.
     Eric was more than a little non plussed
    but did not cry.  I was lucky.  Forgotten snd ignored which was fine by  me.  

    The worst wasywt to come.  Norman went out  to check the cattle in  the barn and reported that
    the snow storm was still severe at which point mom suggested it was time to leave and head
    forToronto.   We wrapped ourselves and stepped into the storm.   The barn was just a dark shadow
    as the wind drove the show at almost right angles.

    Dad was cold sober.  He never drank much.  Perhaps a bottle of beer now and then.  His addiction was 
    horses  not alcohol.

    “Oh Red, what will we do now?”
    “pull the snow away from the doors and get in…start the bastard and head home”
    “There, you can squeeze in now Methuselum.”

    (Methusela was the oldest person in the Bible.  Mom was a year older than dad so
    he called her Methuselum as a pet name.    He tacked on the ‘um’ because it sounded
    better…shortened to ‘Method’ sometimes.  Mystified many people.)

    Mom Squeezed in as did Eric and I.  Dad took the wheel. Mom did not offer criticism
    but we all knew she was right about parking debate long hours earlier.

    “Goddamn thing won’t turn over.  Dead as a skunk on the highway.”
    “Lift the hood.”

    We managed to lift the hood with wind blasting us with snow.

    “Where is he motor?” 
    “Packed with snow….invisible”  

    the wind had driven the snow up under the hood then packed it tight
    like a snowball.

    “Get Norman, Red”

    Norman argued clad in buffalo cot and at with ear protecters….grinning.

    “What can we do, Norman, snow has made car into a  goddamn snowman.”
    “Have to haul you to Fergus with the tractor.”
    “What good will that do…it’s near midnight.
    “I’ll get Drew Elgie to open his service garage and we
    can set the car in  there until the snow melts…then jump
    the battery.”
    “Will that work?”
    “How he hell would I know…Drew Elgie will figure something out”’
    “What about Methooz and the kids?”
    “Enough talk.  I’ll get a chain and the tractor.  You can all sit in
    the car was I tow it to Fergus. “
    “Bloody cold job for you  Norman.”
    “Bitch of a job…so let’s get at it.”

    And so we were hauled to Fergus.  Storm still raging.  Four of us in the car, freezing cold
    as Uncle Norman drove the tractor with a long chain attached under our bumper.  Slowly
    moving down the lane and along the sideroad to Fergus where Drew Elgie had opened
    up one of the service bays where Uncle Norman wedged our car.

    And we sat there.  The snow melted.  The battery was boosted and miracle of miracles the car started.
    No money changed hands.  This was a rescue not a profit making enterprise.   

    As a matter of fact this was not even the 53 Meteor.  It was our next used car, a Dodge I think.  A used
    car though and therefore not always dependable. 

    Back in the Skeoch home farm the poker game continued and a few beers were slipped into the
    farm house from the manger in the barn.  Cigarettes and cigars were lit.  Laughter and arguments
    …a remarkable extended Skeoch family at ease.  

    I wonder if all this could happen today?   Our extended family has drifted apart and many have died.
    Perhaps only this memory remains now that the big barn has been taken apart by Mennonites and the stone
    farm house has been remodelled by people we no longer know.

    Methuselum (Elsie) Skeoch and her husband  Red (Arnold) Skeoch will never be
    forgotten as long as memory serves.

    alaln



    Eric and I Have always fowler lucky ro have been fragment of the Skeoch family.   I do not know if Eric
    ever adopted a taste for horse radish.   I know we miss Roy.

  • EPISODE 735 TEMPLIN FANNING MILLS, FERGUS, ONTARIO — FACTORY GIFT TO ONT. AGRIC. MUSEUM

    EPISODE 735     TEMPLIN FANNING MILLS, FERGUS, ONTARIO — FACTORY GIFT TO ONT. AGRIC. MUSEUM


    alan skeoch
    february 7, 2023

    Templin Manufacturing Company, Fergus, Ont., circa 1890



    Templin Manufacturing Company,, circa1900

    Replica Templin Manufacturing Company (circa 1970),  Milton , ontario


    SUNNY AFTERNOON ABOUT 1970

    “Just down the hill was the Templin Factory, Alan”  said aunt Greta (Skeoch) Metcalfe one sunny afternoon
    “Right here in Fergus?”
    ‘Yes, now the Howes and Reeves Garage Repair shop.”
    “That was where Perfection Fanning Mills were made,”

    “I believe the factory is still there…on the second and third floors…untouched
    for decades….access only by a ladder.”
    ‘Do you think Mr. Reeves would let me climb the ladder?”
    “I believe so…I will come with you.”

    Aunt Greta Skeoch Metcalfe was about 80 years old at the time we spoke,  My dad’s
    oldest of four sisters…keeper of the family records…sharp as a tack.  

    I climbed the ladder first, pushed open the trap door.  Aunt Greta followed but only
    head and shoulders exposed to the site.   What we behind was heart stopping.  There before
    us was the Templiin Manufacturing Company…intact.  Like Miss Havisham’s cake
    in Dickens ‘Great Expectations’.  Everything in place but coveedi in half a century
    of dust.  My boots left a trail from station to station where the Perfection Fanning
    Mills were assembled.   Shelves along the walls contained the inventory…the parts
    stations in line … ready for assembly.

    What should I do?  What could I do?

    “Mr. Reeves, I have an idea for you to consider.  Bob Carbert is the manager of the
    new Ontario Agricultural Museum on the outskirts of Milton.  I am a director…along 
    with many others.  Maybe we could find a home for the old Templin Factory,”
    “Sounds fine to me.  Nobody other than you and your aunt have shown any interest.”

    And so for the next few week ends we moved the factory to our farm while
    Bob Carbert built a replica factory on the Museum grounds.  The end  result
    was marvellous as you can see below.

    Unfortunately Bob Carbert retired and the whole site of the Agricultural Museum
    fell into neglect.  Many tried to resuscitate the site but government support was minimal.
    Museums are loss leaders.  They do not make a profit.  Visitors come once or twice
    and then get on with their real lives.  

    Museum managers try to change this pattern of neglect.  Try and try and try.

    I suppose there are only a few people who want to climb that museum ladder
    to see the dust covered reminders of past lives.  

    As to the replica Templin Fanning Mill Factory, it remains.  Closed.  Perhaps
    covered in the dust of the past couple of decades.

    The pictures below were taken when the replica factory was first opened.
    Makes me sort of weepy.

    alan skeoch
    Feb, 7, 2023

    Perhaps the Wellington County Museum might start to pay attention,






  • Fwd: EPISODE 730 I wrote a book! Would you read it? Dealt with machine design in 19th century, 1850-1891, (memorize sentence 8. OK?)

    Fwd: EPISODE 730      I wrote a book!  Would you read it?   Dealt with machine design in 19th century, 1850-1891, (memorize sentence 8. OK?)


    alan skeoch
    Feb. 3, 2023





    Pride! Arrogance!  Both are a part of all of us.  Best kept in check.   
    But who would know if the small candle is hidden under a bushel?

    So let me get this bit of pride and arrogance off my chest and into
    the digital world.

    Around 1980 I applied for sabbatical leave from my job teaching history
    at Parkdale Collegiate Institute.  For decades we had been watching the
    Ontario rural landscape changing as small 100 acre farms were disappearing
    several of which were Skeoch farms in the vicinity of Fergus where our ancestors
    arrived in 1846.  

    Wth the disappearance of these farms…hundreds of the them…the machines of
    19th century agriculture were going to scrap yards across the province.  Some of them
    we rescued and trucked to our small farm, 25 acres, in Wellington County.  Others
    we bought and donated to various museums…Ontario Agricultural Museum, City of
    Toronto Riverdale Farm, Doon Pioneer Village, and others.

    There were precious few records of these machines.  So I decided to apply for the MA
    program at the University of Toronto and as accepted.  This was not an easy decision as
    we had already decided that raising children was best done by one parent staying in the
    home.  Other families made different decisions….or were forced to make different decisions.
    Our decision meant that one salary would be ours and living could be tight.  We could live with
    that.

    But to take a year off was another matter.  I will forever be in debt to the Toronto Board of
    Education which had instituted a sabbatical leave program for oddballs like me..  My salary
    would be reduced to 80% and I would be committed to return to teaching in Toronto.
    In other words we now had a green light to pursue our MA program.  Our?   Did I say
    ‘our’?  Indeed I did.  Marjorie was in full agreement.

    So I joined three departments at the U. of T.  The history graduate program under Dr.
    J.M.S. Careless, (who only had one arm),  The Fine Arts program under Dr. Webster,
    and the School of Practical Science (S.P.S.) under several professors.  The engineering
    profs were so helpful .  Three departments
    was strange but my desire was strange.  I hoped to consider the changes in agriculture
    which swept through the 19 th century and resulted in the fact that we only needed 4 or 5
    percent active farmers to feed 100% of our population.

    The inventions of the 19th century were revolutionary.  From sicles and cradle scythes to
    hore drawn binders to early threshing machines and combine harvesters pulled by
    steam and fossil fuelled tractors.   No facet of agriculture was untouched by these changes.

    IN the end I wrote a 300 page paper titled Technology and Change in 19th century agriculture
    between 1850 and 1891.   Research involved a couple of trips to the Ford Museum in Dearborn
    (Detroit), the New York State Historical Society in Cooperstown, Black Creek Pioneer Village, and others.

    What a grand time we had doing this book.  Each machine had a history…a human history.

    At the same time I was writing this thesis (If I can call it that) I got an extra job teaching at 
    the Faculty of Education, Type A students, helping them become teachers. That job was exciting.  
    I owe thanks to John Ricker, Dean of the faculty and Evan Cruickshank who had been my high
    school history teacher at Humberside Collegiate and became head of history at the
    Facultyof Education.   When the year ended I was offered a job at the Faculty but I was
    duty bound to return to teach at Parkdale Collegiate.  Glad to do so.  Loved teaching young
    people and loved my fellow teachers at Parkdale.  Absolutely no regrets.

    Many of my friends and my brother took different tracks.  I had one amusing job as a Vice Principal
    at a summer program at Monarch Park Collegiate.  Walter C., the principal, told me this was the
    way to be upwardly mobile,  To do so he gave me a yard stick and told me:

    “Alan, I want you to stand outside the summer school and measure the length
    of the girls dresses”
    “What then?”
    “If they are too short send them home to get changed.”

    My immediate thought was “Are you kidding?” Walter was not kidding.  I am proud to 
    say I never sent a girl home to change her shorts  for a dress.  I did stand out
    In front of the school with the yard stick though.  That was humiliation enough.

    “Alan, I want you to check the boys’ washrooms”
    “Why?”
    “Just in case some wiseacre is smoking?
    What if a smoker is in the toilet stall with the door closed?”
    “Kick it open.”

    That was a learning curve for me.  Other principals were not as right wing as Walter.  Many were terrific
    people.  Duncan Green, for instance, when I asked him about a newspaper interview regarding history
    teaching in secondary schools.  “What should I say?”

    “Say what you believe…and say it in as few words as possible.”

    Which takes me back to the 300 page book I wrote on my wonderful sabbatical.
    I can still see the face of Dr. Carelss when I handed him my bound copy of the book.
    I knew at that moment he was unlikely to read the whole thing.  He would not have time.
    What would I do if some kid handed me a 300 page essay?  Point made.

    There were so many funny things that happened on that sabbatical.  And some challenges.
    The big challenge was the French compulsory requirement.  Each grad student was expected to
    be fluent in a second language.  Holy Samoley!   So at the same  time I was doing all this research
    in three departments I had to be studying French to see if I could pass the compulsory language
    rule.  

    I wrote the French test  twice.  Failed the first time and got  zero.  Zero!  Zero was a mid mark between
    +7 and -7.  I don’t know how this was arrived at.  But I would have to get a +2 or +3 to get my MA.
    So I rewrote the test again one spring day along with a bunch of other grad students who accepted me
    as a peer even though there was a gap in our ages…a big gap.  

    One of the most flattering things happened in that second attempt at French.

    “Al, you are number 8, remember that”, said one my fellow students.  I did not know
    what the designation 8 meant until we all went for a beer after the test.  The organizer had
    a pen and paper to record each sentence in the test.  We were not expected to pass the test.
    We were expected to memorize a sentence each.  Sentences translated would be provided
    for the next test.  We were expected to cheat.  (Not sure the same test would be presented)

    What a great feeling i had that day.  My fellow students accepted me.  I was one of them.
    Even though I let them down with sentence number 8.  

    Walter C., my former principal would expect me to see him right away to report the cheating.
    Are you kidding?   That’s a laugh.   I do not rat on friends.

    I passed the second test…got a +2 I think.  None of my friends did that I know about.  How could
    they?  French was no longer compulsory in high school.  Those kids did not have snowballs chance
    in hell to get their MA as long as the French requirement was in place.   

    The requirement was quietly dropped a year of so later I was told.   I was still basking in the
    reflected glory of being Number 8.   Immediately sent a note of thanks to Maida Schroeder,
    my high school French teacher who kept me in the front seat and during the final exam
    slipped me a cartoon that said it takes skill to invent words that do not exist.  She knew.

    My friends at Parkdale held a party for me when I got the zero.  It was good party complete with
    a big poster and my mark emblazoned in red as I remember.

    The thesis had an impact.  Copies were made and are on file at the New Yorks State
    Historical Museum, the Ontario Agricultural Museum, Black Creek Pioneer Village.  Parts have
    been quoted here and there.  

    I returned to Parkdale C.I. for the  rest of my career.  Never regretted one moment.  Just loved
    sharing history with younger generations. 

    The yardstick?   The girls skirts and shorts?  What a humbug.  But I suppose standards have 
    to be set in life.  We can’t have students coming to class nearly nude? That might be too distracting
    for anyone  wanting to do an MA program.  Hard to memorize sentence 8 in that case.

    Now here is a test.

    If I handed you my thesis…all 300 pages nicely bound.  Would you read it?  AHAH!  Thought so,
    Would you read sentence 8 for the test?  Now that’s more like it.

    alan skeoch
    Feb. 3, 2023

    P>S>  NICE things do happen in life.  One of the nicest that year was when my Type A Class
    at the Faculty of Education gave Marjorie and me a gift…an overnight stay at the Moffat Inn
    at Niagara on the Lake.  We went there the  following winter with the kids.  We had a fireplace
    in the room   That is how we celebrated my Master of Arts.

    PPS   And after it was all over a gang of my fellow teachers spent several memorable
    weekends at the Henry Ford Museum in  between the consumption of beer. Henry Ford
    was an oddball collector of old machines.  I think a copy of my thesis resides there although
    I am not sure.   I was asked by the Mellon bank to rebuild a McCormick 1831 reaper and
    ship it to the Northern Ireland Pioneer Village.  That was another result.  

    So there you have it.  Pride and Arrogance.

    alan





  • EPISODE 731 FEB. 2, 2023 COLDEST NIGHT OF WINTER COMING IN 1 HOUR


    EPISODE 731    FEB. 2, 2023  COLDEST NIGHT OF WINTER COMING IN 1 HOUR

    alan skeoch
    Feb. 2, 2023

    NOTE:  This story is to be read/viewed  twice.  Once now on this frigid day and
    once next August when the day is hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk.
    Then you will have to decide which is best…FIRE OR ICE?   The truth of the
    matter is that neither fire nor ice are nice. They are killers.  Our lives as human
    beings are IN BETWEEN.  Take a moment to consider that and to think of the
    wonder or wonders.  What wonder of wonders?  That we have peopled the
    earth,   Maybe our arrogance.  Our belief that  we deserve the Earth is just
    a matter of chance.   And our place here is just a lucky quirk of time.  Those
    dinosaurs lived longer on this planet than we have.   And if we want to live
    here longer then we have a task indeed. Lots of people have mulled over 
    these thoughts.   Thoughts made simple and melodic by Robert Frost as
    you know.

    Fire and Ice 

    Some say the world will end in fire,
    Some say in ice.
    From what I’ve tasted of desire
    I hold with those who favor fire.
    But if it had to perish twice,
    I think I know enough of hate
    To say that for destruction ice
    Is also great
    And would suffice.


    AND ALL THE EARTH WAS LOCKED IN ICE AND SNOW….OR SEEMED SO


    note:  This is why second winter scene Episode….the worst or the best

    OUR FARM ANIMALS KNOW THE COLD NIGHT IS COMING


    MARJORIE ALL DECKED OUT IN PINK AND GREEN AND PURPLE…WITH A FUEL STICK OF KIT KAT

    OUR SMALL BARN IN BACKGROUND WAS ONCE ON THE FARM OF J.S. WOODSWORTH…FOUNDER OF THE CCF….
    WE HAD IT MOVED HEERE FROM ETOBICOKE



    NOT LONG AGO THIS WAS A FARM AND THE DRIVEWAY HAD MEANING

  • ADDITON TO EPISODE 728….THE MANURE BOB SLEIGH AND TEAM …LORNE SAUNDERS FARM

    Just fond actual picture ….moving manure by bob sleigh