The Ruby Glass Mugs

By Guy Bonnetta

The Ruby Glass Mugs is a story of human resilience. George Burges, a very ordinary man living in a very ordinary industrial town in Central Ontario, Canada, manages to survive through multiple personal losses and yet lives on to know and to love his great-grandchildren.

The story unfolds during the 76 years between the 1910 and the 1986 passing of Halley's comet. During this period we follow George and his family through the growing pains of their young country, emerging through war and financial depressions to stand proudly within todays community of nations.

The cast of characters include: The McLaughlin family, emerging giants of Canadian industry, humble Ukrainian immigrants attempting to build new lives in an unwelcoming city, a busybody neighbour and a lonely spinster with a tragic secret who enters the Burges lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Guy Bonnetta
• Release date: Mar 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370646234

Guy Bonnetta

Guy Bonnetta is a Canadian history enthusiast. In his book The Ruby Glass Mugs he has woven a compelling narrative of the lives of his ancestors, played out against the backdrop of the historic events of the period between the 1910 and 1986 passings of Halleys Comet. Guy and his wife Carolyn live in Winnipeg.

Book preview

Preface

When Halley's Comet appeared just before the battle of Hastings in 1066, William the Conqueror is said to have believed it was an omen predicting his victory over the Saxon King Harold. King Harold, on the other hand, is said to have believed the comet was an omen that he would be defeated. As history notes, William won that battle and went on to conquer all of England. The legend of William and Harold illustrates the power that Halley's Comet has had over man's imagination through the centuries.

Halley's is a periodic comet. It returns to Earth's vicinity about every 75 years. Like 1066, the 1910 appearance of Halley's captured the imagination of those who saw it, including the good citizens of Oshawa, Ontario and Canada alike. It ushered in several tumultuous decades for our young nation. The period began with great optimism only to be shaken to its core by events beyond its control. These decades inexplicably changed the lives of those who lived through them. It was a very different world that their great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren lived in when Halley's passed again in 1986.

This is a work of historic fiction, which loosely follows the lives of my paternal great-grandfather, George Burges and his family, through this period.

Chapter 1

1910

Halley's Comet

LILLI-AN, LILLI-AN hurry up, we've got to leave this minute! Mary calls from the vestibule, her voice has an edge of exasperation.

George, that girl of yours, she's always daydreaming. Mary shakes her head in frustration.

George shrugs and smiles, but she's your daughter too isn't she?

Lillian leaps off her bed and races down the stairs. She's been absorbed in reading children's novels lately. Of course this is something Mary has encouraged, but when Lillian reads she seems to be able to shut out the entire world around her. Today she hasn't even heard her mother's summons.

Sorry, sorry Mum, I was just ....

Never mind excuses, just hurry. We're going to miss the next tram. They only run every hour this time of day you know. Get your sweater on now and run ahead with your brother. Ask the driver to wait for your father and me. We'll be right behind.

Russell looks down at his little sister, grabs her hand and winks. Ok Lilly let's go. He dashes out the door and down the steps with his sister in tow.

Russell - Russell - stop, I can't run that fast, I'm going to fall! Lillian protests and tries to wiggle her hand free.

He stops and hoists Lillian up on his back, Ok let's try this. Lillian wraps her legs around his back and throws her arms around his neck and they head off at a sprint down Elena Street towards the tramline.

Russell is tall and gangly, his legs and arms proportionately too long for his torso; the neighours say he's not quite grown into himself. But he is fast. Lillian holds tight.

There's the tram Russell, run faster, faster, she shouts in his ear, and waves frantically to catch the driver's attention. The driver sees them coming and stops at the corner and waits. The other passengers in the tram watch with curiosity, then clap and cheer when Russell leaps dramatically on to the tram with Lillian still clinging to his back.

You're quite the runner there boy, the driver exclaims.

He sure is, Lillian shouts as she slides down Russell's back to the floor of the tram. Our mother and father are coming too. There, can you see them? Lillian points at her parents jogging along about a half a block from the tram. Mary has one hand on her hat and the other grasping tightly to George's arm. It's obvious that her long dress and healed shoes were not made for running. She looks as if she could stumble and fall at any moment.

Can you wait for them? Lillian pleads to the driver. He nods patiently. Folks in a small town like Oshawa aren't usually in too big of a hurry.

Shortly Mary and George stumble breathlessly onto the tram. Thanks for waiting, George gasps and searches his pockets for the five cent fare.

Where you folks off to in such a big hurry this evening? the driver asks.

We're going up to Alexandra Park, George says, still breathless. We want to get a good view of the comet tonight, high ground there you know, should be good viewing. They say that tonight's going to be the best, clear sky they predict.

Up to Alexandra Park eh, you gonna hobnob with the rich folks then? the driver says, insinuating that they are heading to a place where they don't really belong. George ignores the comment, looks around to see where Mary is and takes a seat beside her.

Good thing we have a runner for a son eh? Mary grins and looks proudly at Russell in the seat behind her. He just rolls his eyes. She shifts her attention to Lillian, And you Miss Lillian, next time you be ready to go when you're told. You're such a doodler, you're always making us late. Her glare is followed shortly with a forgiving smile. Lillian sheepishly returns the smile and tries to explain.

But mum, I was at the part ....

Mary ignores the plea. I hope we get to the park in time to find a good spot. Everyone I talked to today said they were going. I think everyone in Oshawa will be at Alexandra Park tonight.

It is April 20 1910, the Perihelion of Halley's Comet, the night at which the orbit of the comet and the orbit of the Earth are closest. It's been centuries since they passed this close together. In fact, the papers are saying that the Earth will even pass through the tail of the comet. The doomsday crowd is predicting the end of the world, for the tail of the comet is said to contain a deadly cyanogen gas. The hawkers are out selling gas masks, and comet insurance and no end of Halley's paraphernalia. No one in Oshawa is taking the doomsday scenarios seriously though; rather, there is a giddy anticipation, an anticipation that is enhanced by the first smells of spring.

A blizzard in late March had dumped piles of snow on the town extending winter's grasp well beyond normal. On this long anticipated night it's warm again - at last. The heavy winter coats and furs can finally be left in the closet. Everyone is headed out; out to enjoy this fine spring night and a spectacular solar display.

The comet, of course, has not been seen since 1835 and now seventy-five years later, regular as clockwork, it's back, just as it has appeared every seventy-five years since the beginning of recorded time. There are a few octogenarians around who claim they can remember seeing it as a child in 1835, but for everyone else this is the first time and they know that it might well be the only time that they will see it in their lives.

Chapter 2

Oshawa

George and Mary Burges live in Oshawa. It's a small industrial town just east of Toronto and just a few miles north of the lake - Lake Ontario that is. There's a natural harbour at the lake and a rail connection from the harbour to the town. There's nothing remarkable about the town really. It has the usual collection of banks and stores at the cross roads of King Street and Simcoe Street. Residents call it the Four Corners.

King Street is part of the old Kingston Road, which was cut through the bush to join York (now Toronto) the old colonial capital of Upper Canada, and the British fortification at Kingston about a 160 miles to the east. The road was completed in 1817. Oshawa was a stopping off point for coaches making the journey between the two centres, being about one day's coach drive from York.

Simcoe Street was pushed north through the bush in 1822 to join the harbour with the hinterland around Lake Scugog. The intersection formed by these two roads became known as Skae's Corners, after the proprietor of the general store, Edward Skae. Local legend has it that when Mr. Skae applied to the government for official post office status he was told the community needed a more suitable name. Mr. Skae's friend, Moody Farewell, was asked to consult with the local indigenous tribe to enquire as to what they called the area. Moody was told they called it Oshawa, meaning the place where we must leave our canoes. The name was accepted by the government as being suitable and the village of Oshawa was incorporated in 1850.

Shortly after, in 1856, the Grand Trunk Railway built a line between Toronto and Montreal passing through the village. Small industries began to set up shop supported by the railway connections and the village grew quickly to town status in 1879.

Both George and Mary's parents are immigrates from England's West Country, the counties of Cornwall, Somerset and Devon. Indeed many families in the area can trace their roots to these three counties. Their parents and all the West Country immigrants of their generation speak with that broad West Country accent. Its distinctive lilt can still be heard in conversations in the churches, shops and businesses throughout the county.

George grew up on a farm in Reach Township, about fifteen miles north of Oshawa, near Port Perry, as did Mary. Like most young people of the time they met at a church function. One thing lead to another and they were married in 1893, two young lovers with little more than the clothes on their backs.

They bought their house at 24 Elena Street in Oshawa shortly after George started working for the McLaughlin Carriage Company.

The house is modest, two stories, wood frame, practical and functional. Most of the houses on the street look the same. There is a front porch with white, spooled posts, supporting a sturdy railing upon which Lillian and Russell have often played a game of walking the tightrope. Mary's flower garden edges the porch and front stairs. She has had to scold Lillian and Russell many times after they've fallen from the imaginary tightrope and crushed her prized hydrangea bushes. Regardless, the garden distinguishes itself on Elena Street. It's full of perennials that she has dug up from her mother's garden on the farm, up in Reach Township. It's likely that much of the rootstock and many of the bulbs originated from her grandmother's garden back in Devonshire. It's hardy stock and has adapted well to the new world. Iris, Peony, Foxglove, Delphinium, all flourishing under Mary's green thumb. When the lilac bushes bloom in May or the Orange blossoms in June, the air is filled with fragrances which entice the passer-by to pause and admire. Sometimes a memory is triggered, a memory of another garden, another place, somewhere long ago. It is Mary's pride and joy.

The back yard is George's domain. Virtually the whole space has been dug up to grow vegetables, save for a few rows for Mary to plant seeds for cut flowers. Horse manure, which of course is available in abundance, has been worked into the soil every spring since they moved there. The soil is rich and black and vegetables thrive. George is meticulous about his garden. Rows must be straight as an arrow and any plant out of place is a weed. For him it is more than a source of food it is a work of art.

Through the centre of the garden there is a dirt path that leads to the back of the lot where bushes partially obscure an outhouse, or privy as some call it. It's tucked in the back so the smell is as far from the house as possible. The Burges, like most in their neighbourhood, can't yet afford the plumbing that would be required for an indoor toilet. Lillian dreams of the day when she doesn't have to trudge back to the privy in the cold of winter.

Just a few blocks south and east of Elena Street is the area of town where the new immigrants are beginning to settle. The polite call them Foreigners, the less polite have more disparaging names. Here the houses are small, wood framed, dilapidated. They give an impression of being temporary. The first Ukrainians had come in 1907 and the locals started calling the area Little Odessa, after the Black Sea port in the Ukraine by that name. Polish and other East Europeans followed shortly after.

Oshawa, like other towns and cities in Canada, is filling up with new immigrants from Eastern Europe. Immigrant trains destined for Winnipeg and the west can be seen almost daily passing through the station in Oshawa. They're part of the Liberal Government's plan to settle the vast prairies west of Lake Superior. Clifford Simpson, the Interior Minister, refers to them as, 'stalwart peasants in sheep-skin coats'.

Last winter Russell took Lillian down to the station to see one of the immigrant trains, which had stopped to refuel with water and coal. The station platform was filled with a menagerie of strangely dressed people taking advantage of the stop to stretch their legs. They could hear them speaking, but couldn't understand a word. They stood back a distance, feeling a bit apprehensive about what they were witnessing. The men and women on the platform took no notice and continued to shuffle about in their lavishly embroidered sheepskin coats. The women wore brightly coloured headscarves. Most looked haggard, some looked confused, others looked frightened. Everywhere there were children, dressed like smaller versions of their parents. Some were running wildly about the platform but there were others who were more circumspect. They clung to their mothers' skirts. They sensed their parents' apprehension, their reticence to embrace the new and strange land where they found themselves. A couple of children stared curiously at Lillian and Russell.

I bet they're thinking we are strange, just like we're thinking they are, Lillian observed succinctly. She waved and smiled, one brave girl waved back. It was quite possibly her first communication with the locals in this new country.

Most of the families re-boarded when the conductor called, All Aboard. They would be continuing on for days, until they reached Winnipeg and points beyond. But a few brave souls hesitated. They had decided to stay and take their chances here in Oshawa. They had heard of jobs, good paying factory jobs. They needed to save more money before they could buy all the supplies that would be required to survive the first years on that quarter section of land in the West, that coveted parcel of land that was advertised by Canadian recruiting agents all over Europe as, 'The Last Best West'.

Oshawa was meant to be just a pit stop, but most who did not re-board would end up staying on permanently and becoming part of the community. Those good paying factory jobs would remain elusive however, until they learned at least some English.

Chapter 3

Alexandra Park

The tram stops every few blocks to pick up more passengers. Mary was right, everyone seems to have had the same idea about seeing the comet from the high ground in Alexandra Park. By the time the tram reaches King Street all the seats are full and people are standing, holding on to railings and ceiling straps, swaying with the rhythm of the car as it clatters and clangs northward.

Lillian sits quietly beside Russell. She's doing sums in her head. 'It's 1910 now, then in 75 years it'll be.... 75 plus 1910 equals 1985!'

Hey Russell did you know the comet will come again in 1985 and I'll be.... She pauses to check the calculation, I'll be 86 ... 11 plus 75 equals 86. Can you imagine me ever being 86?

Yeah and I'll be 90, that is if I live that long, Russell muses.

I'll be older than Grandma Burges is now, Lillian continues. I'll likely be a grandmother too, maybe even a great-grandmother!

Lillian stares out the window trying to imagine her future and conjures up a picture of herself as a distinguished elderly lady sitting demurely in an armchair surrounded by little children. Their cherub faces look up at her. They laugh and giggle at a story she's telling them. She's dressed like a typical Edwardian woman of means: a skirt that brushes the floor with an incredibly narrow 'hour glass' waist and a blouse, full in front and puffed into a 'pigeon breast' shape. The attire makes her sit straight and rigid and look very uncomfortable. She hears herself speaking to the children in a west country accent like her own grandmother's.

The tram stops and Lillian is jolted back to reality as most of the passengers disembark and begin the short walk to Alexandra Park.

This is a very different world from Elena St, and a universe apart from 'Little Odessa'. The houses are big, brick, solid and covered in Victorian ornamentation reflecting the wealth, status and confidence of the new industrialists and professionals who inhabit them. Shiny cars line the side streets like trophies of their owners' success. Manicured front yards are just beginning to turn green and the new leaves on the trees and bushes are just beginning to unfold. Everything seems orderly, planned and perfect on these tree-lined streets. Even so the Edwardian ladies still have to take care that their dresses do not drag in the mud as they step from board sidewalks to cross the unpaved streets.

The Burges join the crowd of well-dressed locals strolling towards the park. They feel just a little out of place though. Mary's hat is plain and unadorned, unlike the huge flamboyant hats of the other ladies. The flat cap, which George wears, indicates he is a labourer unlike the other men with their bowlers and fedoras. But the evening air is soft and there is a smell of new growth, no one seems to care too much about these distinctions tonight. It's a festive atmosphere. There are vendors selling everything from cotton candy to small postcards showing the likeness of Halley's Comet. One of the vendors has set up a tent for taking photographs in the hope that some in the milling crowd will want to record themselves with a backdrop image of the comet.

Oh George, lets have a picture taken of Russell and Lillian, they are growing up so fast and we hardly have any pictures of them. Feeling buoyed by the festive atmosphere, George agrees and they enter the makeshift tent studio. Inside it is ablaze with light and shadows. The smell of the kerosene lamps tickles the nose. The photographer explains to Lillian and Russell that they must strike a comfortable pose and hold it without moving until he says to stop. Since it's easier to hold a straight face for a long period of time, he tells them that they must not smile. For Lillian, holding a straight face proves to be almost impossible. She can't stop herself from giggling and it takes her several minutes to compose herself and hold the required pose. For Russell it is easy, he is older and a serious boy.

It's dark when they emerge from the tent. A panorama of stars arches over them as they walk slowly to a grassy knoll, which has an unobstructed view of the sky. As they wait, George points to some of the more obvious constellations. The Big and the Little Dippers; they are easy to find of course.

Russell, eager to show off his knowledge of the constellations, jumps in. Now follow the arc from the handle of the Big Dipper over to that very bright star, see there, that's Arcturus, he says. If you continue along that same arc you can see Spica, it's part of the constellation Virgo, they say that it appears blue if you view it from a telescope....

Hello Mary, Russell's enthusiastic narrative of the night sky is interrupted suddenly as a rather stern woman walks brusquely up to his mother.

Oh - oh - yes, Rosalie, you startled me, Mary stutters, taken aback by the sudden and rather aggressive interruption. Have you come to see the comet too?

Rosalie states matter-of-factly that she is just out for her regular evening walk. She says she's really not all that excited about Halley's.

Why, didn't you see the 'Day Light Comet' back in January? It was far more brilliant than what you will see tonight you know. Rosalie was referring to the unexpected appearance of another comet prior to Halley's that year, which some say was brighter than Halley's and could even be seen in the daylight.

Why yes, I did hear about that one but didn't see it. Mary nods and smiles cautiously.

Rosalie, my son Russell here has just been showing us the constellations, care to join us? She begins to introduce the others in her family. George you remember Rosalie don't you, and Rosalie this is ....

She is cut short as Rosalie interjects, I really must be off now Mary I'll see you in Church on Sunday. She turns abruptly and walks briskly away, without so much as a goodbye. The Burges stand in an awkward silence for a moment, baffled, not quite believing how rude and abrupt this Rosalie lady has been.

What a corkhead that lady is, Russell says sarcastically.

Now now, Mary rebukes. Don't judge people you hardly know.

Rosalie and Mary are acquaintances through the Methodist Church in town. They've worked together at various church bazaars and in the Sunday school, as teachers. Rosalie has always been brusque almost snobbish. Most consider her rude, at best. She has no friends to speak of. Mary, not being the type of person to easily take offense, has always been curious about Rosalie's mannerisms, and has made efforts to befriend her.

Rosalie is not a pretty woman. Thick dark brows lay straight over her eyes giving her a rather sinister, angry appearance. She also has a nervous tic, which causes her upper lip to curl up slightly and to the side, adding a look of distain to the mix. Curiously, this seems to become more pronounced when she encounters men. Her look quickly silences any brave man who attempts to strike up a conversation with her.

Needless to say, the thirty-three year old Rosalie is a spinster. She is a live-in maid at the home of the Storie's, a prominent Oshawa family who live near the park. Years ago Jane Storie took her in as a 'project' despite her youth, that facial spasm and her brusque nature. Rosalie has been in service of the Stories ever since.

Shortly after their encounter with Rosalie the Burges watch Halley's flare through the sky. The crowd takes