For Everything There is a Season: Tales from Fenham Farm

By William R Byers

Captain William Byers, Master Mariner, dreamed of regaining Fenham, his grand ancestral home along the river Tyne, but time was marching on. Disheartened with the seafaring life, he decided to bring his family to Canada to engage in the lucrative timber trade. There he and his dear Mary would build a new Fenham. In 1833 they sailed out of London

• Language: English
• Publisher: Burnstown Publishing House
• Release date: Sep 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781772570106

Book preview

Foreword

EVERY GOOD STORY has a sense of place.

The stories contained within the pages of this book by William (Bill) Byers convey his place in a history that begins when his ancestors first set foot in Canada and follows through all the wearisome toils of both men and women as they made a go of it in their chosen land. He offers us as readers an insight into rural life in a time when horsepower had names, when school and church had a major influence in the community, when farming was a way of life rather than a business, and large families came together—as often as weekly—to celebrate their very existence.

Records show that in 1851, 86 percent of Ontario’s population was rural, and the labour force was dominantly agricultural. Now only about 1 percent of that labour force is involved in agriculture.

He draws on a series of letters and diaries from the Byers and Higginson families that give us a direct link to a life so very different from that which we live today. Unfortunately, we no longer have the sense of community and permanence that our ancestors had.

During the period of time covered here, most lived a rather frugal life where everyone helped each other and no one could really prosper without neighbours. A radio was a luxury, and a TV was a rare bird indeed. The story Party Lines (telephone, not political) is a treat!

Although most of the stories presented here are site specific and relate to a particular place (Green Lane) they really could have been staged anywhere in rural Ontario. They will appeal to anyone who was lucky enough to have been raised on a farm or in a rural community.

Stories of a first bicycle—a young man’s personal means of freedom—can evoke memories for many. Whether it was second-hand or brand-new, a bicycle gave one transportation with one’s own timetable. It offered a way to school, to community parties, and other events. Side roads were not paved, and many a scraped knee and bloody nose attested to the fact that learning to balance a bike on gravel was a major feat!

The author’s description of Christmas on a farm held special memories for me. He describes the magic of Santa, the Christmas church service, the loveliness of the decorations brought down from storage (busy young hands have created decorations that were used time and again, year after year), the trip to the bush to select the tree, and then the setting up in its special place. Oh! The fragrances… The freshly cut tree, the aroma of spices and of roasting meats, the cold air rushing in as doors open to welcome Christmas relatives with special parcels.

He, like many of us, has built happy memories of Christmas in the farmhouse of his youth. Most of us can journey back and remember sumptuous feasts either at home or at Grandma’s place!

So many wonderful tales, happy and sad, make for a satisfying read. A very broad scope of time has been covered within these pages.

This book is a worthy treasure, particularly for those with rural roots and memories associated with times long past. One can liken the stories in For Everything There Is a Season… to a trip to a site like Upper Canada Village and imagine living in the time.

Someone has to preserve the memories. Mr. Byers has done that.

Alice Higginson MacLaurin

January 2015

Acknowledgements

THERE ARE MANY people whose encouragement and assistance have helped me to complete this collection of short stories.

First, I am indebted to my ancestors who chose to keep the treasure trove of letters and documents that chronicle so much of our family’s story. As the current custodian of this part of our heritage, I have pondered how to share the information contained in this collection. This is a first attempt.

I have been greatly encouraged by the interest and assistance of my wife, Audrey, who has read and reread my work so diligently, offering many helpful suggestions. My sister, Mary, has been a constant support as we shared ideas and reminisced day after day. My children, Shannon and Chris, Steven and Jill, and our grandchildren, Liam, Owen, Sam, Henry and Evan, have endured Dad’s telling and retelling of these and other stories, and still have encouraged and helped in many ways.

Alice Higginson MacLaurin’s keen interest in my work and assistance has been a great blessing to me. I am so grateful for her kindness, friendship, and wisdom, and especially for her generous words in the Foreword.

I am blessed to have been the beneficiary of my cousin John Byers’s enthusiasm and technical expertise and I am particularly grateful for his assistance with the preparation of the photography. David Andrews of Digital Art and Restoration has provided valuable assistance in improving many ancient photos.

There are many people who have contributed in other ways—with stories, photos, answers to my questions, and words of encouragement. Thank you to Jocelyn Gordon, Rich Wilson, Rae Fletcher, David Millward, Marion McDonald, Naomi Mahon, Ken Unsworth, Jean MacPherson, Carol Scott, Les Dunning, Terence Bangs, Carol Bangs, Dale MacMillan, Bill Simpson, Allen Simpson, Lynda Laberge, and Eleanor Sides, who have each assisted me to get a clearer picture of some aspect of this work.

Some of the stories are derived from the letters of my great-great-grand-parents, Captain William Byers and Mary Dudderidge Byers; my great-grandparents, William Edward Nelson Byers and Ellen Higginson Byers; and my grandparents, Charles Edward Byers and Mary Ethel Grout Byers, and members of their respective families. Others have been gleaned from the stories I have been told and retold by my father, Charles Edward Byers, my mother, Marion Ruth Allen Byers, and my aunts, Jane Byers Partridge and Ethel Byers Weir. Others emanate from my own memories and experiences. I am thankful that I have been so richly endowed.

When writing September 1848, I relied heavily on the diary of my great-grandmother Byers’s brother, Thomas Tweed Higginson, for insight. Thomas Tweed Higginson kept a diary for many, many years. I am honoured to have one volume, which spans the period from September 1, 1848, to August 15, 1849. Thomas was a young man when he wrote this volume and was still living at Emerald Hill, next door to Fenham. I have taken the liberty of assuming that what was happening at Emerald Hill would also be occurring at Fenham. Indeed, there are many references in the diary that support this decision.

In this story, I make reference to James Carr, a fourteen-year-old Irish boy who survived the potato famine in Ireland and the perilous voyage to Canada onboard the ship Sarah in 1847. His parents both perished, victims of ship’s fever. Early in 1848, my great-grandfather visited the Montreal Protestant Orphans’ Asylum and brought James (whose surname was actually Kerr) to Fenham. James prospered, eventually bought a good farm near Vankleek Hill, and became the patriarch of a fine family. His great-grandson, John Kerr, and his family still farm that land.

I am indebted to Ms Joanne Marcotte of Youth Horizons Foundation in Montreal for her valuable assistance, which enabled me to gain access to the records of the Montreal Protestant Orphans’ Asylum, now in the care of Archives Canada, as well as to Ms Eileen McKenna of Archives Canada for her work in making it happen for me.

There are many resources that shed light on the plight of the Irish famine emigrants and that are readily available on the Internet and in libraries. In particular, I have appreciated and benefited from A Register of Deceased Persons at Sea and on Grosse Ile in 1847 by André Charbonneau and Doris Drolet-Dubé of Parks Canada.

In the story Cheese, Cheese, Cheese, my information was gleaned from the records of the Hawkesbury Dairy Company, which are a part of my collection, and from family letters. Heather Menzies, whose book In the Labour of Their Hands—The Story of Ontario Cheddar Cheese, published by Quarry Press in 1994, has made such an important contribution to the history of the cheese industry in Ontario, has kindly given me permission to use her work. This I have done and I am most grateful to Ms Menzies for her kind permission and interest in this work.

Fire Raging around Us began with stories I was told by my father and my aunts. I wanted to tell the story but was unsure of many important facts. The story began to come together when Marion Higginson McDonald and Naomi McDonald Mahon gave me a letter written by my great-aunt, Jane Dickey Tweed Byers, on behalf of my great-great-grandmother, Ellen Higginson Byers, to their mother and grandmother, Margaret Fraser Higginson; but it was not until I visited the archives of the Eastern Ontario Review that I discovered much more than I had previously imagined. I wish to applaud Louise Sproule, the editor of The Review, for providing this fine archival resource and for enthusiastically giving me her permission to reprint part of what I discovered, a discovery that brought the pieces of the story together.

Fifteen Minutes of Fame was made possible by two newspaper clippings I discovered in our family collection. Unfortunately, these clippings do not include the names or dates of the newspapers from which they were gleaned, so I am unable to give proper credit.

In 1984, the people of Hawkesbury compiled an impressive collection of historical information to celebrate the 125th anniversary of the incorporation of the Town of Hawkesbury. In this uncopyrighted work, I found very helpful information, especially when I was writing Living on the Other Side of the Tracks. One article, How the Railway Came to Hawkesbury, contributed by J.V. Alexander, was very helpful, and I thank the late Mr. Alexander for his contribution. Similarly, detailed submissions about the telephone in the community submitted by unnamed contributors helped me greatly in writing Party Lines. It was also great fun to gather information from a very early telephone book owned by our friends Eileen and Richard Cherry.

As the reader will see, a story about Fenham submitted by free-lance journalist Ralph Purser titled, Guernseys Thrive in Ottawa Valley and published in the October 20, 1937 issue of The Family Herald and Weekly Star, has been reprinted in its entirety. The Family Herald and Weekly Star—Canada’s national farm magazine—ceased publication on Sept. 26, 1968. Mr Purser died on Sept. 9, 1959. I was pleased to chat with his great-grandson, Michael Purser, recently.

I am most grateful to Tim Gordon of Burnstown Publishing for believing in me and the many authors who have dedicated their time to keep so many important stories alive; and John Stevens, my editor, has been both a source of encouragement and wisdom. My thanks and appreciation to Wendy Clements of Higher Ground Creative, who designed the book so beautifully, and Chantal Duguay-Hyatt at Burnstown Publishing who co-ordinated their promotion of this book.

Along the way, many others have encouraged me by their expressions of interest in my work. It is with gratitude for all who have helped that I conclude these acknowledgements.

Prologue

FENHAM WAS A special place to me. I grew up there, immersed in the folklore of generations of my family and surrounded by the fruits of their labours. Everything about Fenham was a testament to their vision, ingenuity, and stubborn dedication to hard labour.

Fenham was a working farm for all of its 133 years. Just about every type of agricultural enterprise you could imagine had been tested there at one time or another, but it was dairy farming that persisted for most of its long history.

Our home, a big farmhouse with no less than nine bedrooms at one time, was filled with relics of the past. Each piece of furniture, every article of china, the artwork, the books in the library, and the treasures carefully stored away in every nook and cranny of the house all told a part of our story. I listened to tales told and retold by the constant stream of relatives who made their pilgrimages home to Fenham.

There was a lovely old Georgian desk that stood in the corner of the dining room for as long as I can remember. It came over from England with the family in 1833. I loved to rummage through its contents, reading the ancient letters and old documents it housed. This disorganized archive piqued my imagination, often evoking in me more questions than answers. I dreamed of faraway places and distant times, of swashbuckling sea captains and marauding pirates, of sailing ships, pioneers, and settlers. I wondered what it was like for each generation and marvelled at what each had accomplished.

In 1976, when we were preparing for the auction sale that would disperse so much of our past, my sister Mary and I were charged with cleaning out the loft located over Dad’s workshop. It was crammed with cast-off furniture and tools. Our job was to retrieve anything that could be turned into cash from this attic treasure trove.

I picked up a strange-looking box. It was heavier than I had expected. When I opened it up it was crammed with hundreds of old letters—a veritable gold mine of historic information. Who knew how long it had been there or how it had come to be stored among broken chairs and obsolete farm tools?

So began the odyssey of the creation of an archive of letters and documents dating as far back as 1720, now containing over 1,500 letters and about 150 legal documents and diaries. This collection of stories is my first attempt to put the story of Fenham together for others to enjoy.

No farm or farm family exists in isolation from its neighbours. For generations we lived among good people—each family having its own stories to tell. These are some of our stories and some of the stories of our community.

Most of what I have written is true. Actually, I have tried to be completely accurate but there are gaps in some stories, so I have filled in those spaces to the best of my ability. If I have erred, it is unintentional, and I apologize.

It is my hope that these stories will evoke in others a desire to tell their own stories. Our country and our families continue to be built by visionary people whose hard work and strong values have moulded our history. Our storytelling honours their memory and their legacy.

I have more stories to tell. My sister Mary and I are anxious to tell the story of our great-great-grandparents Captain William Byers and his wife, Mary Dudderidge Byers. In addition, we have much more to say about our great-grandparents William Edward Nelson Byers and Ellen Higginson Byers, and our grandparents Charles Edward Byers and Mary Ethel Grout Byers and their families. So stay tuned!

The title of this collection of short stories, For Everything There Is a Season…, draws its inspiration from the beginning words of Ecclesiastes 3:1-13.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to throw away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace.

What gain have the workers from their toil? I have seen the business that God has given to everyone to be busy with. He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I know that there is nothing better for them than to be happy and enjoy themselves as long as they live; moreover, it is God’s gift that all should eat and drink and take pleasure in all their toil. (NRSV Bible)

I hope you enjoy our stories and in them find your own.

Fenham, the Dream

THE SEASONED CAPTAIN stood on the bow of the ship Success, gazing out over the Atlantic. As far as he could see, the azure green waters twinkled under the blaze of a cloudless sky, reflecting the heavens above.

It had been one of those frustrating days. The wind had died, and now the ship bobbed on a calm sea, going essentially nowhere. Oh, for a fair wind and a following sea! But for now, he must wait… far from his London home, even farther from his destination, yearning for the island of Antigua, where he hoped to secure a full cargo of sugar and rum, that he might return quickly to his Mary and their bairns.

Here he bobbed, wondering which ships had reached Antigua before him, who was already loading, and how the sugar crop was faring. If it was as windless in Antigua as it was here, the mills would not be grinding the cane, either. Everything about his life depended on the winds, for they could be capricious and unconcerned one moment, and violent and vindictive another.

Oh, for favourable winds—the kind that filled the sails and let the ship run before them, taking her ever closer to her goal. He was wasting time, valuable time, time with his family, time to pursue his dreams, time to make the fortune he would need to leave this life and build their future in the New World.

As he gazed upon the sea, his thoughts returned to his past. The seventh generation of Master Mariners to sail the oceans blue, Captain William Byers had been thrust into the responsibility of maintaining the family tradition by the premature death of his father in 1800. Young William was barely eighteen years of age, but he felt he had no choice. It was now up to him. It had been a rocky beginning with many disappointments. Shipwrecked three times, he knew too well that the life of a Master Mariner was a difficult one. Did he really want his boys to go to sea? They soon would, if the family tradition were to be maintained.

Captain William