Chapter 8
Brantford is now a flourishing town—perhaps it calls itself a city. Streetcars run busily up and down the streets, it is a great Center for the electric railways, and the woods where we used to go to pick wild flowers are now cut down and a handsome park and numbers of gentlemen’s residences stand in their place. The shops are large and no longer have “signs” over their doors. When I visited it again a year ago I looked in vain for my old friends “Watts”, “Otts”, “Potts”, and “Apps”, who used to have their business stands side by side. There were motors in abundance, and every house had its electric light and telephone and of course its furnace. But when we came to Brantford in 1872 There were none of these things. Motors were still unthought off; the bicycle was only just coming in, and in a very crude and clumsy form. People heated their houses with big stoves in which they burned hard wood, buying it in the summer, when green, for $4.00 a cord. We lighted our houses with coal oil lamps and rolled up our blinds and tied them with strings. Mr. Bell, a native of Brantford, was even then experimenting with the telephone, but it did not come into general use for some time. Typewriters and gramophones were yet to appear. What a queer world; “I am glad I did not live then,” the young people of today must feel, I am sure. But we did live, and contrived to be very happy and comfortable. And if we lacked some of the present day comforts we also lacked the responsibilities attached to them, and life was not the rush and turmoil it is now. I think people enjoyed their gardens, and perhaps a small croquet lawn, with an occasional picnic during the summer, as much as the present generation enjoy rushing round in motors and taking tea in tearooms.
It was July when we came first to Brandford, the end of the month I think, and we went first to the house of our brother Mr. Bennett, who lived at that time close to the station. That was my first introduction to a family who have been our friends for fifty years now. What a kind welcome they gave us. Mrs. Bennett was a very fragile looking lady even then, depending much upon her three daughters, Sarah, Annie and Maddie. Maddie was my age, the others older. In one sense they did not seem like total strangers, as we found they were cousins of the General Macpherson whose little girls had been at school at Miss Somerville’s. Maddie and I were great friends afterwards, but that first afternoon I was drawn to the older daughter, Sarah, and she tells me (what I have quite forgotten) that I said to her: “I hope you will try to like me, for I have left seventy friends in England”.
Yes, we certainly were very homesick that first winter. Everything seemed so new and different; the house was cold and uncomfortable, and we looked back with great longing to dear little Broadstairs and our many kind friends. After our visit at Cedar Glen and our short stay in Miss Eddy’s boarding house, we moved into our own house as soon as possible and were not long settling. The house had a basement kitchen and dining room, and on the first floor was a large room which made an excellent school room. I can picture it to myself now on that first morning. In the middle of the room was a fairly large table, round which the school children sat, I amongst them, while mother and Dora sat one at each end. Mother had a large Bible in front of her, which she opened and said: “We will read the first of Genesis”. After reading and prayer, the classes were divided, mother taking three younger children to a small table, leaving poor Dora to struggle with her cluster of tall backward girls.
The eldest girl was Julia Reid, the banker’s daughter. She was sixteen and taller and bigger than my sister, and stupid beyond expression. Her great friend Mary Griffin was only fifteen, also a tall, well grown girl, as dark as Julia was fair, and bright enough. I remember Dora asking: “Have you ever learned any dates?” Julia turned with an absolutely blank look to Mary, saying: “What does she mean?” It must have been a trying ordeal to my shy and sensitive sister, but she was a born teacher and the girls were forced to learn something. A few weeks later Lily and Nellie Cockshutt, two nice bright little girls, were added to our number. I greatly enjoyed these lessons; it was certainly the best year’s schooling I ever had and I studied diligently, finding no trouble in keeping ahead of the other girls.
The winter came in with plenty of snow and ice and after much persuasion mother allowed me to buy a sleigh. But unfortunately, hills were very scarce, though I got some fun out of it. We had various experiences that winter. Our house was insufficiently heated by a small wood stove in the hall and was so cold upstairs that my sister constantly broke the ice in her bath. But as to health, I was better than during all the years in England, when I constantly suffered from malaria.
Just after Christmas our servant, who had seemed a decent, quiet girl, went completely out of her mind, and we put in two or three days of great nervousness and uneasiness. At last she was taken away by the policeman on a charge of assault, as she had seized Dora by the shoulders and shaken her. On January 19th, my fourteenth birthday, I was studying my lessons quietly by the stove in the hall, when the door opened and in came our mad friend. I was terrified, but she went straight downstairs to the pantry and ate and destroyed twelve large raspberry jam turnovers. We had invited several to tea that evening, as a brother named Kingscote was in town and we purposed having a reading. It was pretty hard to go on with our preparations with this mad woman in the house, and poor mother went to and fro to the police office, Mr. Bennett very kindly assisting all he could. At last, just as we sat down to tea, a policeman came and carried her off in a cab.
When the spring came, we moved to a much pleasanter house, in a more suitable locality, where we actually lived for three years. A good many of the older girls left at the end of the school year, and their places were filled by younger and more promising pupils, who remained with us for several years. Our new house was not far from Dr. and Mrs. Brendon’s. They lived in a comfortable house on a pleasant street. He had a druggist shop in the town. They had only one daughter Mary, who was at school in Montreal when we first came to Brantford, but they also had a little girl living with them, the daughter of Dr. Christopher Wolston. She was two or three years younger than I, but we soon became fast friends, and many happy Saturday afternoons I spent there, playing croquet in the summer and sleigh riding in the winter, but after a time, when her father got married, she went to her own home again and I missed her very much.
There was another sister in the meeting, a Mrs. Watson, who had four tiny girls. They lived a long way from us, but my sister, being greatly urged by Mrs. Watson, used to go up three afternoons a week to teach the little girl “Pussy” to read. In addition to this Dora had several music pupils, so her time was more than occupied. If she bad had any recreation, it might not have hurt her so much, but she had no interests outside her work and little or no exercise beyond a dull walk occasionally. People talk much now of eight hour days and even six hour days. We knew nothing of such hours. Graham went to work at seven and worked until six, with an hour for his dinner. On Saturday he remained at the store until ten or eleven p.m. and all for $50 a year. The second year I believe he got $100. Boys were not overpaid in the seventies, nor underworked.
He too had no suitable companions, and perhaps that was the reason he and I went in so keenly for animal pets. We had dogs and chickens mainly, but at one time we owned a large brown rabbit, “Artaxerxes Longimanus”. He was perfectly tame and ran all round our large yard, but when spring came he found the delights of the neighbors’ gardens and his life was in danger, so Graham got a small collar and chain and secured him to the chicken run. Alas, he jumped over the fence once too often and hanged himself. Our favorite dog was poisoned by a half witted boy next door. The little creature was a black and tan toy terrier, very, very small, and greatly loved by us. We also had a large hound named Don, and a third dog constantly made its home with us, whom we named “Timothy Bonepicker”.
After the end of that first year I did not go on in the school. For one thing my eyes gave out, which was a great trial. I had to give up all my beloved books and often sit in a dark room at night. My mother suggested my taking some music lessons, which I eagerly consented to and went for three months to a Miss Dempster. These lessons were a great delight to me, and when at the end of this time mother said she could not afford for me to go on, I determined to earn the money for myself. I went round to several of the mothers of our pupils and suggested that I should teach some of the younger members of the family to read. My quest was not very successful, but kind Mrs. Cockshutt sent her little Harry, who was five years old, and a small girl friend accompanied him, and what I earned in this way paid for my having a lesson once a week. It is funny to look back on those days and remember that now “little Harry” is a lieutenant-governor and his name is in all the papers. In the course of the winter, two or three other boys came to my class, and I finally had six or seven. But I was a regular child and every morning played baseball with the older girls. They called me “Peter”. I hardly know how I got the nickname but it stuck to me for years.
Our first holidays were not very enjoyable. Mother had been persuaded by Mrs. Brendon to let her servant go, that we—Dora and I—might learn to do housework during the summer. That we needed the instruction I do not doubt, as neither of us had the faintest idea of how to care for a house. We had always had a servant, even in our poorest days, and if anything extra was needed mother much preferred doing it herself to bothering with our unskilled hands. She had taught herself all she knew of housekeeping, as I do not suppose she ever had occasion to enter a kitchen until she had a house of her own, and then her “two Katherines”, of whom she often spoke, looked after both house and children. However, she was an excellent cook and a frugal one, and her house was always nicely kept. I had a great desire to cook. I remember making a cake on my thirteenth birthday, as a special treat. But to turn to and do all the work of a house, in the great heat of summer, we felt to be a real hardship. I remember Dora saying, when the matter was discussed, almost with tears: “... and then there’s the jam”. The “jam” was no small item in the home at that time. It all had to be made on a wood stove, pound for pound, and boiled and boiled until it became a stiff jam. People made a great deal too, as it was the chief provision for winter. Things came to a climax when mother went for a little visit to Galt and we were left to manage for ourselves.
I do not think our managing was a signal success and we were more than relieved when mother returned, bringing a little French girl with her, who at least could wash dishes and scrub floors. So the time went on and at Christmas Lady Robinson wrote (they had lately returned from England) inviting mother to spend Christmas with them, and also to bring me. What preparations we made and how I looked forward to that visit, and what a happy one it was.
Lady Robinson had brought out a young lady with her as governess to the girls, Miss Matty Archer. She was perhaps a better companion than governess, and she and Mim were together a great deal, leaving due and me to our own devices. Our mornings were often spent playing chess, or we curled up in comfortable chairs with a book and a big lump of maple sugar. In the afternoon we often walked to town, doing Christmas shopping, but the evenings were perhaps the pleasantest. There was always a big fire in the grate both in dining room and drawing room. We young people had the drawing room to ourselves and our devices were various. Sometimes we played games or read or talked.
Fred never would sit with us. He said we were frivolous and spent his evenings with his parents reading good books. Poor Fred, he was really an earnest Christian and very anxious to please the Lord. He and I were still great friends, but he loved to argue, and would say: “Let us have an argument on baptism”. But to go back to our evenings. At nine o’clock Sir James and Lady Robinson came in to the drawing room and we sat quietly while Sir James read us something profitable. On Christmas morning we went for a long walk on the Don River. The flats were not drained then and the river meandered round at its own sweet will. We skated all the way to the bay, which, counting all the turns and twists in the river, amounted to about 7 miles. Fred was with us and also Osmond Cayley, who shared in all our walks and was often at the house. Two other friends also were often with us, Agatha and Kate Reid. Their father, Dr. Reid, was a very dear good man, a Presbyterian minister and a faithful devoted Christian. They lived just round the corner from the Robinsons and were, I think, their dearest friends. But the holidays soon passed and we returned to our duties at Brantford.
One very great interest I had while in Brantford was the Sunday School. I began to teach a small class soon after I went there and by degrees the little ones were given over to me, until I had about 19. I visited them in their homes and often begged clothes for them from my rich pupils. Mr. William Cook was the superintendent and Miss Sarah Bennett taught the big girls. Later she gave up the class to Mrs. Brendon. I was very fond of my little class and I think they were of me. One little girl confided to me that the reason she did not try to learn to read was because she did not wish to go out of my class.
So the winter passed and the summer of 1874 arrived. Dora was so played out and in such poor health that mother decided to send her to the sea for a change. She found that our cousin Sophie Cayley was going to Murray Bay, and they went together and spent a very pleasant summer. The sister, Mrs. Watson, whose children Dora had been teaching, had now moved to Barrie and she invited mother to visit her there. She was very pleased to do this, as many of the friends of her early life lived there—the O’Briens in particular. While she was away, Graham and I kept house and I was very proud of being mistress of the house. I decided that one of my duties should be to mend the stockings. I spent many weary hours over a big bag of “holey” white stockings; everyone wore white balbriggans then.
Dora came back, better and stronger for her trip, and we began our third school year. It passed uneventfully. I was teaching quite a class of younger children now and studying French with Dora, and also going on with my music. In the spring of 1875 Miss Dempster was married and I left off the music lessons but shortly afterwards I had the opportunity of learning from a master, Prof. Martens, who was teaching at a new Presbyterian college which had just begun in Brantford. He required me to practice three hours daily, which with what I was already doing kept me pretty busy. But I have always felt that the diligence which I was obligated to use in practicing, and the valuable lessons which I learned of economizing my time, were worth far more to me than any amount of music. It was about this time I think that I used to say “Speed is my motto”.
In this same summer Lady Robinson suggested that mother should come and keep house for Fred while she and Sir James and the girls went to the sea. The proposal was very agreeable to me, and mother and I went to Toronto as soon as school closed. Dora had been invited to spend the summer with old Mrs. Keefer of Galt. It was not a very cheerful place for a young girl, but Mrs. Keefer had taken a great fancy to her and liked to have her with her, though sometimes for days she would hardly speak to her. My summer was a very cheerful one. Fred and Osmond—who also spent the summer at “Robinson Villa”— went yachting every afternoon when there was a wind, and I frequently accompanied them. I was a splendid sailor in those days and did not know what fear was. I learned to know a good deal about a boat, which I have forgotten since. The boating did me a great deal of good and I came back to Brantford with my eyes perfectly well.
On opening the school for this the fourth year, we found a good many of our most promising pupils had gone to the Presbyterian College. Of course this was not to be wondered at as they had many more advantages there, but it made a great difference to us. My sister was asked to go to Barrie and teach the children of Dr. Ardagh, a brother in fellowship. She was to live with them and teach a few other children with theirs. The arrangements seemed good and she went about Christmas time. Mother and I had now to manage the school. We had about 18 or 19 children, counting my class of little ones. Mother said she could not manage the arithmetic and grammar, so I used to teach the whole school arithmetic for an hour every morning. Then I taught the little ones and mother took the older ones and three times a week I taught the older ones grammar. Now I knew very little grammar, so it meant my studying up the lesson every time beforehand.
I was still taking music lessons and practicing three hours a day. I used to get up at six and come down and practice an hour before breakfast, my hands often so cold that I had to breathe upon them continually to enable me to play. I had taken over Dora’s three music pupils, besides three of my own, and as two hours a week was then the custom for music lessons, it kept me very busy. Fortunately I had to walk to the houses of most of my pupils, so I got a little exercise. But it was a very strenuous winter for a girl barely seventeen. I remember I often fainted, one day especially three times, and I used to lie awake with nerve pains in my feet.
In the early spring, mother had a bad fall, coming from the market on Saturday. Her arm was sprained very severely and she could hardly do her teaching. At the same time I had a large stye on my eye. It did not get better and had to be lanced. Someone coming in—I forget who—told us of a lady, a Miss Risk, who had been a governess in the family of some of our cousins. She had no employment and was very hard up and she was glad to come and spend a little time with us and help in the school. She was not much of a success and the children disliked her but she tided us over an emergency. We were better in a short time, but Miss Risk declined to move on. Mother was greatly upset and finally secured her a place in a boarding house and insisted that she should go next day. In the morning while her things were in process of packing, she fell down the back stairs and sprained her ankle. My brother declared she did it on purpose. Mother supplied her with arnica and of course she had to remain on. She put on so much arnica it produced erysipelas. Poor mother was in despair as the days went on and our unwelcome visitor still stayed on. I remember the day so well when she came in saying: “I have arranged it all. The baker has promised to drive you over”. This was really carried out, much to our relief. She must have been a long time with us, as it was warm weather when she left. That evening, as mother, Graham and I sat at our tea, Mrs. Brendon came to call. Graham mischievously exclaimed (he could see her coming in from where he sat). “Here she is again”. Mother sprang up and ran into the hall exclaiming to the astonished visitor: “Are you really back again?” It was now the summer of 1876, but that was a summer so full of interest in my life that I must give it a chapter to itself.
I have said very little about my brother, though as may be supposed he meant a great deal to us in those days. He was full of life and it seems to me wonderful the steady way in which he went on year after year in that store. Gradually he worked his way up to be head clerk, though then he only earned $400 a year. Charlie Rubidge, who afterwards married Mr. Brendon’s daughter Mary, was also in the store, but he left before Graham. It was rather a dull life for a boy. He had one friend Goodwin by name and they used to go fishing and sometimes “coon shooting”, but his amusements were very few. His tastes were all for a country life.
I remember his buying a new suit and when we asked what kind he was getting, he said it was a new style; its name was “Fence Climber and Woman Pleaser”. He and I were great friends always and still made plans for going “somewhere” and having adventures. Each spring he declared he must go and farm, but he did not actually leave home until the spring of 1877.
Another thing I must mention was the visit of Mr. Pressland in the autumn of 1874. He brought from England a beautiful model of the tabernacle and lectured in a most interesting and acceptable manner. It was very helpful to me, making many things clear in the Scriptures. As he went from Brantford to Toronto, I heard all the lectures a second time, for I was spending Christmas again at Lady Robinson’s.
It was the same year I first began to write for the Sunday School Magazine. I have forgotten its name. My article was accepted and I wrote several more. I thought out many things while in Brantford. I think the first decision I came to after deep thinking was that it was more difficult to master oneself and give up one’s own wishes than to get what you wanted from others. “Of course,” I said, “I will do the more difficult thing”. I had early learned a measure of self-control, but from then on I did it on principle. Another point I discussed with myself was hypocrisy. I decided that one should never pretend or attempt to be anything one was not. “I will never play a part, but just be myself,” was the result of my cogitations. I remember also writing a long treatise on pride and arguing out that many traits which we gave more attractive names to were simply a form of pride—as shyness, for instance.
I also first made the acquaintance of my grandmother in Brantford—my father’s mother. I had not seen her since I was four years old, when my mother left the Church of England. However, she came to Brantford and spent a week with us, and she and I became very good friends. She was a wonderful woman in her way, with great force of character and strong individuality. She was one who always went the way she considered right, irrespective of others, and yet with an immense amount of generosity and benevolence. As her sister told Dora years afterwards, she would as a child keep the fruit and wine they were given at Sunday dinner and take it to some poor woman. That was my grandmother. She was an earnest Christian but one in deeds rather than words. While spending Christmas at Lady Robinson’s in 1874 she invited me to spend the day with her, accompanied by Agatha Reid. She was staying at old Colonel Denison’s at “Dovercourt”, his house. It is now the Center of the city, but then it seemed so far away that Lady Robinson was worried as to how we should get there and finally decided to take us herself in a cab. We had a pleasant day there. My grandmother set us to dress a doll. My sewing apparently pleased her, for she presented me with a pretty little ring which I am sorry to say was lost. In the evening she took us back by car. We had to walk to Queen Street and then change at Yonge, paying a second fare. The Yonge Street car went to Bloor and from there we walked to Sherbourne. There was only one track and no heat in the car. The bottom was covered with straw as a means of warmth.