Chiefswood: Ontario’s House of “Royalty”

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Chiefswood: Ontario’s House of “Royalty”

It’s a delicious spring day and the Silcox National Historic Site bus is on the road. We’re heading to Brantford—the First Nation Reserve of Oshweken to be exact. Our destination is Chiefswood, the ancestral home of poet and performer E. Pauline Johnson.

As we approach the Site on the banks of the slow-moving Grand River, snippets of Pauline’s  best-known poem “The Songs my Paddle Sings,” are called up from the depths of my six-decade-long memory.

West wind, blow from your prairie nest,

Blow from the mountains, blow from the west

The sail is idle, the sailor too;

O wind of the west, we wait for you!

Now you remember her from your own school days, don’t you—this half First Nation princess; half proper Victoria lady. And your memories aren’t that favourable are they? Like me, you were forced to study her poetry in high school and we found it sickly sentimental and flowery.  Too bad the English teachers of the 1960’s didn’t tell us about the woman herself.

“Pauline Johnson was before her time,” I remark to my chauffeur. “She lived generations before social media, but still Pauline knew how to get attention.   She was mysterious; she was beautiful; she had talent; she had chutzpa; but more than all this, Pauline Johnson knew how to court the media,” I add.

My driver,who doubles as navigator, dog-handler and purser agrees whole-heartedly.

We’re both hoping to get more insights into her larger-than-life character before we leave Chiefswood for home.

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Born in 1861, Emily Pauline Johnson was the child of a mixed marriage. Her English mother, Emily Howells had married Mohawk George Henry Martin Johnson.  Four children including Pauline were eventually born.

Now George Johnson was no ordinary mortal.  Descended from the great Hiawatha, he was known in diplomatic as circles as Teyonhehkon, (some sources name him Onwanonsyshon)  the esteemed Chief of the Mohawk Confederacy. As such, he was afforded the respect that few of First Nation blood achieved.

As the children of “royalty,” Pauline and her siblings were educated at home in the English tradition. Her diary entries detail her growing infatuation with the romantic poets– Keats, Byron and Shelley. She began to write poetry herself and in her teens, her verse was published in the literary journal Gems of Poetry.

Much to her parents’ chagrin, by her early 20’s, Pauline had begun giving recitations of her poems.  But no run-of-the-mill Victorian poetry readings were these. The first part of the evening’s entertainment would see the night’s attraction  reading poems in her persona as the finely-bred English lady, Pauline Johnson.

Audiences politely applauded but remained restrained. They were waiting anxiously for the main act!

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After a quick wardrobe change–out of hooped skirt and demure long sleeves into buckskin, beads and feathers, the main event returned as Indian princess Tekahionwake. Her verse reflected her altered persona. Birch-bark canoes and brave warriors had replaced flowers and singing birds. Crowds cheered and begged for more.

Pauline Johnson/Tekahionwake was soon in demand across Canada, the United States and Great Britain. She became a veritable celebrity and enjoyed the status that this gave her. This included rubbing shoulders with the literary and artistic crowds of the day.

Two of these luminaries were artists Carl Ahrens and Homer Watson. The artistic trio had also been drawn together as spiritualists who met regularly at séances (usually at the Watson Kitchener-area home) hoping to  seek contact with those who had moved on to the afterlife.

One spiritual tall-tale tells of  Johnson and Ahrens on an evening canoe outing paddling down the Grand River.  Suddenly they are ambushed by a war canoe carrying a vengeful Iroquois hunting party. Only Tekahionwake’s skilled canoeing skills save them from losing their scalps to the vengeful foe.

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Sadly Pauline Johnson’s life was to be a brief one. In 1913, she died of breast cancer in Vancouver where she had relocated in the early 1900’s. she was only 52. 

Time has not been a friend to Pauline Johnson, poet. The writer of 13 books of verse, she is now rarely studied in school. Her name is more associated with overwrought emotion and Victorian angst than outstanding verse. Critics have also dismissed her performance legacy, calling her  nothing more than a savvy “entertainer;” one whose fame was based more on “showmanship” than literary talent.

Still, some with broader perspectives, treat Pauline Johnson with  more respect. She’s lauded as the woman who opened the door for succeeding female Canadian writers and performers.

In 1992, Chiefswood was designated a National Historic Site. Set on a hill overlooking the Grand River, the property is well worth a visit. If only to see the photographs displayed of the Mohawk Princess in buckskin, feathers and beads.

 

You Say: “Only Three Women?” Surely that’s Wrong!

Here’s a quiz, so put on your thinking caps. Name 5 Canadian women whose achievements rank them as heroes and trailblazers, worthy of national recognition. It shouldn’t be hard. Canada’s women are a luminous group.

Painter Emily Carr? Laura Secord, the War of 1812-14  saviour? Agnes Macphail, first woman elected to Canada’s Parliament?  Suffragette Nellie McClung or Emily Stowe, Canada’s first female medical doctor? In recent times Canada’s first female astronaut Roberta Bondar? Michaelle Jean, former Governor General? Some might nominate writers Margaret Laurence and Margaret Atwood.

Now that wasn’t hard, was it? 

But it seems that Parks Canada, the government bureaucracy that oversees Canada’s National Historic Sites is firmly behind the barn door when it comes to honouring our female achievers.  They number only 3 in Ontario: Mohawk poetess Pauline Johnson; domestic crusader Adelaide Hoodless and Anne of Green Gables author Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Tag along with me as I hop-scotch around Ontario to visit the Sites that pay tribute to these trailblazers. You’ll learn a lot. imgresimages

Pauline Johnson and Chiefswood

West wind, blow from your prairie nest,

Blow from the mountains, blow from the west

The sail is idle, the sailor too;

O wind of the west, we wait for you!

“The Song my Paddle Sings” by Pauline Johnson

On a crisp Ontario winter day, your intrepid explorers are seen heading towards Brantford and Chiefswood, the childhood home of Canadian poetess Pauline Johnson.

Now you remember Pauline. You were introduced to her in a high school English class. An intriguing figure–a Canadian Indian princess who wrote poetry and gave “recitations.”

But much more lay behind the surface of Pauline than her striking good looks and romantic verse.

For here was a single woman, of First Nation blood, without fortune, making her way in a man’s world.  And doing it with style and a hefty dose of chutzpah!

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Born in 1861, Emily Pauline Johnson was the child of a mixed marriage. Her English mother had married Mohawk Chief of the Confederacy Council, George Henry Martin Johnson.  Chief Johnson was aboriginal “royalty,” having descended from the legendary Hiawatha.

Pauline was educated at home in the English tradition. As a young woman, she devoured the poetry of the Romantic poets: Keats, Byron and Shelley. She wrote poetry too and published her first work in the journal Gems of Poetry while still in her teens.

Much to her parents’ chagrin,  the theatre called Pauline, and she began appearing in amateur productions. In time she made her mark in the literary world, giving literary recitations of her own verse.

But this was a young woman savvy beyond her years. She took to giving her recitations as Tekahionwake, her Mohawk name. Decked out in buckskin and feathers and reciting her “Indian” poetry, she had crowds on their feet. 

Soon Pauline was in demand across Canada, the United States and Great Britain. She was a celebrity and enjoyed the status that this gave her.  Sadly, ill health curtailed Pauline Johnson’s career and she retired to Vancouver in 1909.  She died of breast cancer in that city in 1913.

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Pauline Johnson is regarded by some as the woman who opened the door for female writers in Canada. Other critics have dismissed her reputation as one based more on “showmanship.”

In 1992 Chiefswood was designated a National Historic Site. Set on a hill overlooking the Grand River the property is well worth a visit. If only to see the photographs displayed of the Mohawk Princess in full regalia.

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Adelaide Hoodless and her Homestead 

We’re remaining in Brant County to meet our second Ontario woman who has been honoured with a National Historic Site. She’s Adelaide Hoodless, celebrated around the world as the founder of the Women’s Institute movement.

What most do not know about the indomitable “Addie” is that she was also the driving force behind the founding of the MacDonald Institute at the University of Guelph, the YWCA, and The Victorian Order of Nurses (VON).

She too was responsible for Domestic Science (Home Economics) finding its way into Ontario school curriculum, 

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Adelaide Hunter, born in 1858 was one of 12 children. Four months before Addie’s birth, her father passed away, leaving her mother to raise the large Hunter brood and tend to the family farm.

With minimal secondary education, Addie escaped poverty by marrying businessman John Hoodless of Hamilton.  And she moved up in the world. Were it not for a family tragedy, Addie Hoodless may have spent her days at tea parties and church socials.

The couple’s youngest child, John died at 14 months of what was known in those days as “the summer complaint.” It was so-named as the warm months seemed to bring more deaths to infants. We recognize it today as the outcome of babies drinking unpasteurized milk that had not been stored at a safe, cool temperature.

Adelaide was horrified when she learned the cause her baby’s death. She blamed her own ignorance of proper food storage, and vowed to save other mothers from a similar tragedy.

Over the coming years, Addie became a tireless crusader for better education for women. She urged them to “demand a knowledge of their own body,” and to “seek a knowledge of their social environment.”

At a meeting of the Farmer’s Institute of Ontario where she’d been invited to speak, Addie urged farm women to educate themselves. Out of her talk, evolved the Women’s Institute. From one chapter, it grew to 500, in Canada within 10 years.  

Adelaide also worked tirelessly to include the teaching of Domestic Science (Home Economics) in every school in Canada. She then took her message to the university level, convincing wealthy businessman Sir William MacDonald to put up money to assist in her cause.  

The MacDonald Institute at the University of Guelph opened its doors to students in 1903. It offered courses in Nature Study, Manual Training, Domestic Science and Domestic Art.

Fittingly when death came to Adelaide Hoodless, in 1910, it was while she was delivering one of her impassioned speeches to women.

Her family home, the Adelaide Hunter Hoodless Homestead was designated as a National Historic Site in 1995 and is  open to the public. The space also serves as the Headquarters of the Women’s Institute of Canada.

Today there are Women’s Institute chapters in over 70 countries, with more than 9 million members.

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Lucy Maud Montgomery and the Leaskdale Manse

“I cannot remember the time when I was not writing, or when I did not mean to be an author.” Lucy Maud Montgomery

 Art surely imitates life in the case of Lucy Maud Montgomery.  Born in 1874, in Prince Edward Island, Maud became a virtual orphan when her mother Clara died of tuberculosis less than 2 years after her birth.

Distraught, Maud’s father John Montgomery gave custody of his daughter to his in-laws, and moved to western Canada. Maud was raised by grandparents whose rules were rigid, whose love was restrained.

Not surprisingly she retreated into the world of books. They  eased her profound loneliness.

By Maud’s teens she’d begun writing poetry and imagined herself a writer. But practicality won out. After high school, she achieved her teacher’s certification. Evenings were when joy visited young Maud.  She routinely took pen to hand and wrote well into the night, primarily short stories and poems.  

Maud’s life changed dramatically with the publication of her full-length book, Anne of Green Gables. Its success allowed her to leave teaching, an occupation she had not enjoyed.  

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Maud arrived in Ontario in 1911 as a preacher’s wife. She’d married Ewan MacDonald, a Presbyterian clergyman who’d been posted to the little hamlet of Leaskdale, in York County, Ontario.  The little village was understandably “agog” with the arrival of such  celebrity!

It wasn’t long before trouble was brewing in the MacDonald home. Ewan was given to “religious melancholia” (depression) which at times incapacitated him. The birth of the couple’s two sons, Chester and Stuart did little to ease Maud’s concerns about her increasingly distraught spouse.

Only Maud’s writing brought her fulfillment. Lucy Maud Montgomery completed half of her writing output, feet up, notebook and pen in hand on the sofa in the manse parlour.

To the delight of Maud scholars, she was also a faithful journal- writer, filling 10 volumes of her thoughts, fears and observations.  These diaries reveal that Maud also suffered from periodic bouts of depression.

Maud and Ewan retired to Toronto in 1935. That year she was made an Officer of the Order of the British Empire and was decorated by King George.

Lucy Maud Montgomery’s final years remained heart-wrenching ones, as both she and Ewan continued to struggle with mental illness. On April 24, 1942, she passed away, at age 67.

In recent years, her family have indicated that death came (voluntarily) from an overdose  of sleeping “draught.”

The Lucy Maud Montgomery National Historic Site, her former Leaskdale home welcomes over 5000 visitors each year. The church where Ewan preached is also on their agenda. Visitors are sure to sit in the pew that was occupied by the preacher’s wife every Sunday for over 15 years.

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Fascinating, capable Canadian women  who transformed the society in which they lived and worked.

But only 3 National Historic Sites in Ontario to honour them? This is surely wrong.

What’s This? There’s NOTHING Here!

Heading to the Clearing
Heading to the Clearing
Om the Earthworks
Om the Earthworks
Iroquois Longhouses
Iroquois Longhouses
"These trees are old, very old."
“These trees are old, very old.”
The Clearing
The Clearing

Two summers ago, just novices at the National Historic Site “game,” Louis and I headed Brantford way. The area is a Historic Site hot spot, with no less than 6 designated properties. First on our agenda this day was St. Paul’s, Her Majesty’s Royal Chapel of the Mohawks, (of which I’ve blogged earlier) the first Protestant Church in Ontario.

Then on to Chiefswood, Indian Princess Pauline Johnson’s childhood home. Both sites are lovingly-preserved and open the door to the First Nation’s contribution to Ontario’s history.

Finally, off to discover Brantford’s ancient history. There are a number of archeological sites in Ontario—evidences of  civilizations that flourished before the arrival of Europeans.

 Both the Walker and Middleport Sites,which were inhabited by the Iroquois and Iroquois Neutrals are located on Six Nation Land, near the city of Brantford.

Iroquois Lore

My previous research has prepared us for a bit of Iroquois history. A war-like people, the Iroquois were a matrilineal society with clan mothers having considerable power. Women decided who would serve as band chief.

The Iroquois often took prisoners too, both native and  European. Usually, captured children were adopted and raised as their own. Researchers have determined that this practice kept the bloodlines strong, avoiding in-breeding.

 After European settlement in the 15th and 16th centuries, and for the next 200 years the Iroquois remained a powerful factor in Ontario. European policy-making was often enacted with the “natives” in mind. The fact that the Iroquois were uniformly feared by the European settlers helped their lot considerably.

The Walker Site

The website “Digging Ontario” gives some illumination on the Walker Site to where we are headed. Called a “fortified Iroquois tribe village,” it was occupied between 1630 and 1640. During this time, the tribe had their first European contact– with the Jesuit priests, Brebeuf and Chaumont.

Modern day archeological digging has reinforced this. Both native artifacts – clay bowls and crude utensils, and European artifacts – rugs, copper kettles and glass beads of the period provide certain evidence of trading between the two cultures.

So with “I know where I’m going” Louis at the wheel, Amber the elderly Golden as co-pilot in the front seat, and Nancy in her usual back seat lookout, supervising young dog Hailey, we head toward the Grand River along whose banks the Walker Site is located–somewhere. 

As for directions, we have no more to guide us than the scanty Parks Canada information. It locates the Site at 43 degrees 7’0’N by 80 degrees 7’0’W. “What on earth does this mumbo-jumbo mean?” I ask my more geographically-literate spouse. He understands his directions perfectly!

To make matters more clouded, Walker ranks only one scant sentence on the Parks Canada website, naming it: “a large Iroquoian archeological site, pertaining to the Historic Attiwandarok tribe.”

Arriving At the Site

Louis stops the van on a vista overlooking the slow-flowing Grand River. We leash the dogs and set off to explore. Come along on the voyage of discovery to learn what we didn’t find.

“There’s absolutely nothing here,” I note to Louis as we trudge along the banks of the Grand. “There’s no plaque, no designation, no nothing. What kind of a National Historic Site is this with absolutely no marker?”

He counters: “It’s almost like they don’t want people like us—outsiders– to find it.” Given the lack of readily-accessible information on the internet and the absence of signage, I have to agree. “The Site is probably considered sacred by the Six Nation people. Maybe we should leave,” I suggest.

We trundle back through waist-high goldenrod to the van, unsatisfied and unrewarded. We hope to have better luck at the nearby Middleport Site.

On to Middleport

I’ve been stymied in my attempts to find research on Middleport so I hope we’ll at least find a plaque with some scant information. But again we are disappointed. We ask residents in the vicinity of the geographical coordinates what they know, and we’re given blank stares.  

It appears we have met our second National Historic Ninja-Site and so we head home. 

Having Better Luck

It will take another 8 months for us to hit the archeological site jackpot. We’re scheduling a visit to the Southwold Earth Works, south of the village of Iona in Elgin County, west of St. Thomas. Given our previous experiences with archeological sites our expectations are not high.

It’s so rewarding to be wrong!  

as we approach the Site, a  highly-visible road sign invites us to stop and connect with Ontario’s distant past. We park the van, unload the dogs and set off across a carefully tended and fenced green ‘avenue’ toward the “Earthworks. ” It’s the remains of a ceremonial Neutral Tribe site.

 “Look at the trees, Louis,” I suggest as we walk towards the clearing. “They’re the largest I’ve ever seen in this part of Ontario.” “Beech and Chestnut,” he offers.  Of a literary, rather than botanical mindset, I’m immediately transported to Middle Earth, channelling Legolas the Elf’s observation as the Fellowship enters Fangorn Forest. “These trees are old, very old,” the photogenic, but astute Elf observes.

The Earthworks Themselves

We’re now at the clearing, and with no one around, we let the dogs have a run. Before us lies a double oval ring of raised “earthworks.” The humps are the remains of a wooden palisade which rose up to 20 feet high.  Built around 1400, at one time the fortifications surrounded up to 24 longhouses.

Archeologists believe these wooden barriers provided more privacy than protection. It’s thought that the Neutrals used the site as a holy place rather than a year-round residence. The entire community would pick up stakes and move to “the Earthworks” on a religious pilgrimage. Inside the palisades healing and purification took place. 

We leave Southwold feeling satisfied and refreshed. And once again, we are awed by our province’s history and heritage.  

The Great Telephone Caper: Boston or Brantford?

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Here’s a riddle. What’s the connection between “The Great White Plague”–consumption, or tuberculosis the more common names–and the invention of the telephone?

We’ll peek through the curtains into the parlour of the Melville Bell home in London, England, circa 1867. There we’ll find a family wracked with sorrow and we’ll uncover the answer to our riddle.

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Two of the adult sons of Melville and Eliza Bell have succumbed to consumption. Edward, the youngest has died at age 18. His mother wrote of his untimely passing: “he was a good dear boy, and our way will be dark without him.”

Three years later, the Bells’ eldest son, Melville, 25 passes away of the same rampant disease. With the discovery of effective antibiotics still decades away, contracting the dreaded consumption was a likely invitation to the afterlife.

Now, only 23 year-old Alexander (Alec) remained to carry on the family name. And, as Alec was prone to what his mother called “head-achey fits,” Eliza worried incessantly about his health.

Melville’s subsequent decision to uproot his only son, his wife and his son’s widow from the smog and soot of London for the clean air of Canada was not a popular one with young Alec. He had a sweetheart and a job he liked. What upwardly-mobile Englishman would have traded this for backwoods Canada, just recently become a nation?

Fascinated by Sound

Alec Bell had a position as a teacher of deaf children at a private school in Kensington. It was through this connection that Alec had become fascinated by sound. He’d begun to conduct experiments using tuning forks and crude “sound machines.”

He’d come by his vocation and interests naturally. Eliza suffered from deafness caused by a childhood infection and Melville, a former actor, now was a Professor of Elocution. He’d invented a method he called Visible Speech for teaching deaf children.

So despite Alec’s protestations, in July 1870, Melville booked passage for his family on a steamer bound for Canada. Alec’s diary entry, written a few days before his departure indicates his state of mind ahead of the adventure. “I tried to imagine myself in the Backwoods of Canada…it was not very hard to imagine…”

Still young Alec Bell must have known in his heart, the wisdom of the momentous step he was embarking on. For Alec was in the early stages of tuberculosis himself. He suffered from severe headaches and a constant cough. On his 6 foot frame, he carried only 130 pounds. He had written to friends: “I went to Canada to die.”

Settling in Brantford

After arriving in Quebec City, the Bells boarded a train for Paris, Ontario, where Melville’s friend Reverend Henderson lived. There the family would stay until they found a home. It did not take long.

Within days, Melville had located a 10 ½ acre property with a comfortable “country house” just outside the town of Brantford, less than ten miles from Paris. It was called Tutelo Heights and was situated on a high bluff overlooking the Grand River. The Bells renamed their home Melville House.

Melville and Eliza soon found their place in Brantford’s social life. Alec did not and spent much of the coming months “healing,” wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the garden. He grew impatient and bored.

Still, Alec must have been thankful too. The fresh air of Canada was gradually improving his health. He put on weight and the pallor of his complexion lessened.

Alec’s sedentary life had also given him considerable time to ruminate. Still fascinated by sound, his ruminations centered on electricity and how it could be used for long distance communication. He envisioned a “speaking telegraph,” that could carry the human voice over telegraph lines.  It had been little more than 20 years since Samuel Morse had sent the first telegraph message.

As his health improved, Alec set up a small laboratory in the house to conduct his sound experiments.  But they did little to quell his mounting frustration with his uninspired existence in little Brantford. When he heard of a teaching position at a private school for “Deaf Mutes” in Boston, Massachusetts, he applied.

In March 1871, eight months after he stepped foot on Canadian soil, Alexander Graham Bell was bound for Boston. He took up a position, at $500 a year at Miss Fuller’s School for the Deaf in that American city. Boston became his home and ten years later, he became an American citizen.

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A collective shriek of incredulity bounds into cyberspace towards me. “But I thought that Bell was a Canadian and he invented the telephone in Brantford!!” “You say he was an American?”  “What’s next? That Don Cherry orders his suit jackets in Los Angeles?”

So here’s the Bell story. Over the coming months, Alec Bell spent his days teaching (and earning a paycheck), and worked far into the night with his experiments on the sound telegraph. He was convinced that the device would allow long-distance communication. He only needed to grasp the principal.

On a visit to his parents’ home in Brantford in 1874, Bell’s epiphany came. He rushed back to Boston and his laboratory. It was here where the first intelligible speech over a telephone connection occurred. “Mr. Watson come here. I need you,” was spoken by Bell to his assistant, James Watson, who was working in another room of the house.

Brantford’s Claim to Fame

Now to what happened in Brantford. Forging ahead with this invention, in 1876, Bell completes the first long-distance transmission of sound. The call takes place between a transmitter in Brantford and one in the village of Mount Pleasant, several miles distant. Two other such calls were made between other Brantford-area points. A plaque in downtown Paris, Ontario commemorates the telephone transmission between that town and Bell’s home.

The invention of the telephone would make Alexander Graham Bell a wealthy and world-famous man. In 1877, he married the former Mabel Hubbard, the daughter of a prominent Bostonian. Mabel was profoundly deaf and communicated expertly by reading lips.Curiously, despite his advocacy for the deaf, Alexander Graham Bell strongly opposed marriage of two deaf individuals. He feared “contamination” and “propagation of deafness.”

Alec and Mabel’s was a happy marriage that produced four children—two boys, who died in childhood, and two girls. The Bells now divided their time between Boston and their summer home near Baddeck, on Bras D’Or Lake, Cape Breton Island. For the rest of his life, Bell focused his attention on building flying machines.

Both Alexander Graham Bell and Mabel Bell are buried on the top of Beinn Bhreagh Mountain near their Cape Breton home. A plaque marking Bell’s grave reads: “Teacher-Inventor-Citizen of the U.S.A.”

Finally to the Bell Homestead

Melville House passed out of Bell ownership in 1881. A succession of 6 owners followed. In 1909, the house and property was purchased by the Bell Telephone Memorial Association. It was then deeded to the City of Brantford. One year later, it opened its doors to the public as a museum. Extensive restorations and recovery of original Bell furnishings have continued over the years.

Living no more than a 45 minute drive from Brantford, I had never visited the Bell Homestead. So it was with a sense of embarrassment that I introduced myself to Bell Homestead National Historic Site Curator Brian Wood.

He and a young assistant were in the gift shop taking down Christmas displays when I arrived. Curator Wood apologized that the Homestead’s Tea Room was not open this time of year, but invited us to see the rest of the Site.

Our first stop was into the home itself, a model of Victorian decorating. We wondered if the unwieldy “ear trumpet” was Eliza Bell’s, and if so, had she developed admiral arm muscles tone holding it to her ear! A handsome piano dominates the parlour. Alec had skill at the keyboard.

A tour of the Telephone Museum is the highlight of a visit to the Bell Homestead. And while the telephones, from the earliest models through to today’s mini-cell phones remind the visitor of the great progress of technology, it is the lifelike mannequin of an early telephone operator wearing 6-pound headgear that brings the concept of “progress” to the fore. If the tonnage on the operators’ heads was not sufficient to cause discomfort, the arched-back posture they needed to adopt to do their job surely invited eventual infirmity.

My visit to the Bell Homestead was long overdue and brought me a prize past the Historic Site itself. In the gift shop I purchased author Charlotte Grey’s excellent biography of Bell called Reluctant Genius. It is a fascinating study of a complex man.

St. Jude’s Anglican Church-Exquisite Beauty in Need of Saving

rear-view_of_stJudesdove2fishesjesus_in_templeNever judge a book by its cover is surely the motto of St. Jude’s Anglican Church in Brantford.

One fine summer day, your intrepid National Historic Site adventurers headed to Brantford, the “Telephone City” to take in all four of the sites there: Chiefswood, the childhood home of Indian poetess Pauline Johnston; the Bell Homestead; Her Majesty’s Royal Chapel of the Mohawks and St. Jude’s.

By the end of the day, while we judged all sites worthy of their designation, it was little St. Jude’s that caused our eyes to open in awe—and our hearts to break. It is St. Jude’s that remains deep in our memories months later.

Stay awhile to find out why.

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In Brantford’s downtown core, we came across St. Jude’s unexpectedly. Modest and diminutive, the yellow brick building rests unpretentiously on a quiet, residential street.

“Are you sure this is it?” I ask the navigator, my spouse Louis. “It hardly looks like a National Historic Site—at least from the outside.”

“Well, the sign says it is,” he answers, dubiously. We’d called ahead to make sure that the building was open, so we pressed on. Opening the wooden door, we stepped into the church’s office area.

From inside her cramped and cluttered office, the Church secretary invited us to wait in the common room until Pastor Bill Graham was free. There several members of the congregation were working on a table that had seen better days, preparing for a church event.Children’s drawings were taped to the walls.

“Well, if this is a National Historic Site, I’ll eat my hat,” Louis whispered to me. I couldn’t help but agree.

One hour later, sitting in our vehicle after a tour of “the heart” of St. Jude’s, Louis took a bite of his Tilley hat. He offered it to me, and I bit too.

“That was spectacular,” said my hard-to impress spouse. Lost for words, I could only nod my assent.

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Conforming to most of the other “low-Anglican” places of worship in the Diocese of Huron, circa 1871, St Jude’s was modest indeed. It had been architecturally designed in typical cruciform shape, with central nave and two shallow transepts forming the arms of the cross.

The little church’s only structural “flair” was its nautical design, a tribute to patron Saint Jude. The ceiling resembles the inverted hull of a ship.

Although various modifications and additions were made to St. Jude’s in the decades after its construction, not until 60 years later was the “wow factor” added.

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In 1936, one Peter Charles Browne, a Canadian mural artist, with offices in Toronto, but trained in Scotland was hired to add some religious artistry to St. Jude’s.

Browne had been highly-influenced by the Arts and Crafts movement. Led by designer William Morris and given voice by writer Oscar Wilde, “Arts and Crafts” had swept the United Kingdom in the late 1800’s. Its effect reached “the colonies” sometime later.

Arts and Crafts artists—-painters, textile and furniture designers, as well as architects–had reacted against societal industrialization and mechanization across Great Britain. They advocated instead the “natural” world in the decorative arts. As such Arts and Crafters favoured pastel colours, as well as floral and vegetative motifs such as trees, leaves, vines and flowers. simplicity was all.

In North America, much of the Arts and Crafts influence had come about as a result of the flamboyant Wilde’s North American publicity tour of 1878.*

(*See http://www.nancyshistoricsites.com blog #1-3. National Historic Site Annandale House in Tillsonburg owes its extravagant interior design to Wilde’s whistle-stop Arts and Crafts talk at the Woodstock Town Hall. Details of Wilde’s talk (and the reaction of the townsfolk to the eccentric novelist) can be read in blog entry “No Ordinary Oscar: Shaking up the Good Folks at the Woodstock Towne Hall” )

The artistic Browne and his sons were ardent disciples of the Arts and Crafts movement. Since 1905, they had travelled from coast to coast, adding their lyric style to churches and public buildings.

By the time the Browne business closed in 1968, some 480 churches had come under their artistic influence. Most observers believe Browne used the very best of his gift for little St. Jude’s.

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A series of biblical scenes, set within graceful Gothic arches decorate the walls of the nave of St. Jude’s. They include: the Cross and the Trefoil—emblems of the Trinity; the Pelican: a bird that pierces its own breast to feed its young, hence a symbol of sacrifice; the Peacock—a symbol of immortality; and the Three Fishes—to represent the Trinity.

Linking these religious scenes one to the other are the Arts and Crafts “natural world” motifs: vines—to indicate Christ and the Church; the rose—Martyrdom and Divine Love; the pomegranate—The Resurrection; the olive—Peace and Healing, and the jasmine—Hope. All have been deftly painted free-hand.

In 1996, the Historic Sites and Monuments Board recognized the paintings of St. Jude’s Anglican Church as being of national architectural significance.

Indeed the unassuming Brantford church is designated as “being the only known example in the country so clearly reflecting the designs of the movement’s founder William Morris.”

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The murals of St. Jude’s Anglican Church are at risk. Age has taken its toll and the Browne family’s exquisite work is beginning to peel from the walls.

The situation causes Pastor Bill Graham considerable heartache.
“With the congregation shrinking—sometimes there are no more than 40 worshippers here for Sunday Service—there is barely enough money in the collection plate to cover expenses, let alone foot the bill for restoration of the murals.”

Reverend Graham estimates that repairs to the bell tower and murals will run in excess of $250,000.

Designation as a National Historic Site often brings more headaches than benefits. Little or no money flows from Ottawa for such rehabilitation work. The burden remains on the Sites themselves to “keep up appearances.” And so the faithful of St. Jude’s busy themselves with revolving fund-raising events.

Pay a visit to St. Jude’s before it becomes too late. And if you feel generous, pass that $20 bill you were planning on spending for coffee and doughnuts at Tim Horton’s to the collection plate. Reverend Bill will be grateful.

St Jude’s Anglican Church
81 Peel Street,
Brantford Ontario
519-752-0562
http://www.stjudesbrantford.com
519-