In the Shadow of Mount Royal: Growing Up in Montreal's Golden Age

By Cynthia Young

Three years before Canada declared itself a nation, a young immigrant family brought their fourth child into the family. By 1861, over 90,000 people made their home in Montreal. The following years, up to the 1930s, became known as Montreal's Golden Age, solidifying its stature as one of North America's most coveted places to live.

Meet Jamie Gillespie just after his ninth birthday. His hometown, Montreal, bustles with activity as commerce, culture and innovation draws people to its heart. The city's elite expand their horizons, leaving many to seek some form of existence. Life disrupts young Jamie's life, sending him out to make sense of the world. He is driven to create some opportunity and stability. How does he cope with disruption to find a place for himself in this Golden Age?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cynthia Young
• Release date: Jan 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9781738288816

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COPYRIGHT

©Copyright 2022 Cynthia Young: In the Shadow of Mount Royal

All Rights Reserved

e-ISBN 978-1-7382888-1-6

All written material and photographs that appear on this blog are the property of the author and her family, unless otherwise stated. Where material has come from other sources, I have received permission to use it and the source is acknowledged.

Use of my written material or photographs in publications, blogs or websites is not allowed without my prior permission.

Family Photos, including those used on the covers are from various family members. Many of these personal images have been enhanced with Remini App and the cover photos have been colourized using MyHeritage.com tools.

Montreal from the Windsor Hotel, looking north, QC, about 1878 the background image on the front cover, is from the McCord Museum Online Collection. (See listing at the back). It was colourized at MyHeritage.com

Graphics & Typography by Susan Sullivan, familyancestrees.com

DISCLAIMER

This story emerged from my interpretation of the records I have acquired about my ancestors along with stories and memories shared with me by my family. I use my imagination to interpret the various pieces of information I collect. Although the framework of my stories is fact-based, I do not guarantee accuracy and the reader should not rely on information published here for any legal reason.

I have not intended to include any information, which, even if true, would be the cause of hurt or embarrass any living person. If any persons consider that information on this website is incorrect or is the cause of hurt or embarrassment to themselves or to others, they are requested to contact me at www.cynthiayoungauthor.com

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01 THURSDAY, APRIL 10, 1873

It was hard to know when the morning arrived. Frozen pellets tapped against the grimy pane of glass, obscuring whatever light a dawn might bring. Montreal often faced long bouts of spring rain, which, to everyone’s surprise, did little to dispel the mounds of snow and debris built up over the winter.

Jamie tugged at the coarse blanket, worn bare in so many places, desperate to keep the damp away. The rough-textured cloth scarcely resembled the one that kept his mother warm when she crossed the Atlantic in ‘45. The Scottish wool pricked his skin, but the oily fibres did a good job wicking moisture.

Jamie, wake up lad.

His body rocked back and forth in a manner that pulled on his memories. For a moment, Jamie thought it was his mother, then he recognized the voice of his sister, Mary. The eldest, still only seventeen, gave direction to the others, a tenuous attempt to protect their family.

Take Georgie to Uncle Willie’s. The two of you are bound to get a helping of porridge. There are scant provisions in the larder. Pa’s not brought any coins home since Ma took ill.

Since illness took hold of their mother, Jamie’s older brother, William, took on odd jobs, while Maggie, his other sister, took charge of the youngest, Georgie. Maggie was normally very responsible, despite only just passing her thirteenth birthday, but today, she was absent. Jamie’s belly rumbled, so he decided the best plan was to cooperate. Most days, he tried to avoid watching his younger brother. There was something annoying about five-year-old boys. His sandpapery fingertips rubbed the last trace of sleep from his eyes as he pulled himself up from his mat. Across the room, Georgie whimpered like a hungry kitten. What a sod, Jamie muttered as he shook his head.

Mary looked across the living space. He’s just a wee thing, Jamie. Maybe you could ask Aunt Kate to mind him for the day? There’s a good lad. She likes you well enough.

He absorbed her words as he gathered up his bedding. Well, at least Mary was not insisting he attend school today. With much of the household management left in Mary’s hands, lessons were more of an on-and-off thing these last few months.

Jamie called over to his brother. Be quick, Georgie. Let’s go see what we can ind. Keep up, mind you. By this time, the roads are crowded with ladies doing their shopping. They may just want to take a wee boy home with them.

Georgie looked up at his brother, terrified at the thought.

Jamie studied his sister. Tendrils of hair sprung free from the loose gather at the back of her head. Little curls framing her lushed face fluttered as she bobbed her head. Her rose-tinted cheeks contrasted with her soft blue eyes, circled with the simple wire-framed glasses. A younger version of my ma, he mused. The damp found its way into their place, leaving traces of frost along the floorboards. Jamie saw Mary’s breath as she worked in the kitchen. He pinched his nose together as the musty spores clung to his nostrils; more reason to leave the cramped flat.

Jamie’s limbs appeared longer than yesterday. He was, what some folks call, gangly. His pants crept up past his ankles as he slid the suspenders over his shoulders. With tentative fingers, he reached into his pockets. His hand passed through to his leg on one side. He hoped his ma would mend the hole when she got better. In his left pocket, his fingers fondled a few glass balls. They clacked against each other, giving him great satisfaction. These treasures, from one boy at school, were the prized possession of nine-year-old Jamie. He won three small marbles and one large alley, his favourite, in a match last week. He loved to look at the patterns and kept them tucked away from curious little fingers, namely Georgie’s.

From the back room, behind the faded curtain, muted voices rose and fell. His father sang a melody of soothing sounds. He sensed his pa’s fear as he hid away back there. He got that way each time his ma was ailing.

Jamie put on his tweed jacket, taking care to push the wooden buttons through the rough openings to fasten each one. His hands poked out of his sleeves further than yesterday. He tugged without success to cover his wrists. Reaching over to take the two smaller caps off the hooks by the door, he set the smallest one on Georgie’s curls before covering his own straight brown hair. Mary stepped forward. Give this note to Aunt Kate, please. Mind you, keep hold of Georgie’s hand the entire way, Jamie. She handed him a piece of paper, folded in quarters, and made a curt nod as she wiped her hands across her apron.

He tucked the letter into his good pocket. Come on, Georgie. Let’s find Uncle Willie. He clutched the little boy’s chubby fingers and creaked the door open. Their disjointed steps descended the narrow staircase as the latch clicked shut behind them. Once they reached the vestibule, Jamie grabbed the wobbly knob and yanked the temperamental door towards him. Rain caused it to stick to its crooked frame, demanding Jamie’s full body weight to pry it open.

The boys crashed through the doorway, tumbling onto the quiet road. Within moments, their shabby boots slid in the mud and frigid liquid seeped in to soak their stockings. Late March thaws released the dank earthy smells. The boys hopscotched their way around the puddles and streams as they manoeuvred along St. Constant Street. The Gillespie family moved into the flat at number 139 last year. Set back from the main drag in the St. Louis Ward, there was a safe place for children to play. The family seldom stayed in one place for long. Somehow, each time they moved, they found a home in this neighbourhood, or in the adjoining St. Lawrence Ward. The lower rents attracted new immigrants and the working poor, like his own family. Jamie’s maternal grandparents first settled in this part of Montreal when they arrived from Scotland about thirty years ago. They established themselves as hard-working people, never forgetting their past hardships.

As the boys approached the major intersection at St. Urbain Street, the noise and action intensified. Jamie’s instincts took over as he tightened his grip on Georgie’s slippery fingers. People clutched their parcels against their bodies, with their heads focused on their path, not on little children. For a fortunate few, their umbrellas provided protection from the worst of the rain as it pelted to the ground. Everyone hustled to complete their chores before the shops closed at 5 o’clock, to remain closed for at least four days until Easter Monday passed.

02 ST. LAWRENCE WARD

As Georgie’s pace bogged down from the weight of his sodden pants, Jamie tugged his brother forward. Water droplets dripped off the brim of their caps as they dodged around the throngs of people. Keep up, Georgie. Not much further.

He took a sharp turn at the laneway behind Cotté Street² School, knowing they could move better off the main road. His eyes licked over to the building where his classmates focused on their studies. For a moment, he imagined the scene, a nice dry room with nothing but schoolwork to do. In his mind, he heard the children reciting their lessons. Once the bell rang, the scramble of youngsters competed to fill the hallways. Jamie wished he could pull out his marbles and join the fun. He glanced over once more, but then kept walking.

After Uncle Willie married Catherine Oswald a few years ago, they set up their own home. Jamie’s instincts guided him to the back entrance, given his Aunt Kate, the name she preferred, was particular regarding her place. Besides, landing by the pantry door gave them the best chance to get something to eat from that young lass, Fiona. She often took pity on the boys. Most mornings, she had a steaming pot bubbling on the cooker.

Jamie pulled his sibling onto the stoop and rapped against the glass window. He saw the swaying dress dance across the floor as the plump girl approached them. With a promising click, the latch released, and the door opened. A wisp of warm air brushed over their faces. Fiona stood before the boys; fists clenched by her hips. My oh my, looksee what just come in to make a mess of me floor, she teased.

Jamie grabbed his cap off his head and elbowed Georgie in a not-so-subtle gesture to do the same. Morning Miss Fiona.

Oh, you poor lads, soaked clean through. Dreadful day out there. Come on in and shed those soggy things. Fiona spread out her arms to guide them to the table. Set them coats on the hook by the stove, and leave those muddy things, pointing to their boots, on the mat, yeah? What’s brought you out on such a miserable day?

Jamie replied, Mary asked us to bring Aunt Kate a note. The boys, wasting no time, were busy shedding them- selves of their dripping clothes. Jamie dug into his pocket to retrieve the letter while trying to peer around Fiona to see if there was a simmering pot left on the stovetop. She suggested you might find a wee bowl for Georgie. He’s had nowt to eat today. Jamie sighed. He hoped she’d offer him a plate of food too.

Sit yourselves down. I am sure you’ll both manage a ladle of porridge to banish the chill? She knew full well no growing boy ever refused a meal, especially these two, who generally went hungry. How’s your mama doing, lad?

She’s still ailing, Miss Fiona.

Two heaping bowls of steaming oats, both with a generous dollop of butter, arrived. The room fell silent as the two tucked in, then they nodded with appreciation as Fiona deposited large slabs of warm bread, with a drop of strawberry preserve, onto the table. With the note in hand, she said, I’ll fetch your aunt, straight away. She’ll come to meet you here, I expect. She’ll not be wanting you to traipse through to her parlour, will she now? Master Fraser left for the store hours ago. Eat up, fellas.

Just as the spoons were circling the sides of the bowls, they heard footsteps approaching. The lads’ aunt pushed through the swinging door with brisk efficiency. She held the paper in one hand as she fingered the cameo fastened at her neck. Even with her slight frame, she still conveyed an air of authority. She dressed in a simple grey skirt with a crisp white blouse and a striped silk waistcoat.

Jamie looked up, scraping the wooden chair against the tiles as he stood to greet his aunt. Good morning, Aunt Kate. Sorry to bother you so early.

She bore a kind demeanour most days, but today she sounded worried. Hello, boys. There is always a welcome for you in our home. I read this message from Mary, waving the page in the air. Your mama’s not improving yet?

No, ma’am.

Kate re-opened the paper. She set her lips and shook her head as she scanned the contents. We should send word to the shop. Uncle Willie might ask you to escort your granny to your flat. Can you face the rain once more, to deliver a message to the store, Jamie?

I’d move faster if I travelled alone. Could I leave Georgie here?

Kate stared at the puddles under the coats. Aye. It’d be best if we let your brother dry out for a wee bit. We’ll find something for him to do today. Isn’t that right Fiona?

Oh, yes. Indeed. Georgie shall be my little helper.

His brother responded with enthusiasm. Time with such cheerful company, along with warm rooms and plenty of food to ill his belly, described Georgie’s favourite kind of day.

Jamie dressed again, layering on his damp clothes. He had to sit on the stool to pull the saturated boots back over his socks. He reached for his jacket and took the same care as before to fasten the front, though now the buttons were as slippery as a wet bar of soap. At last, he collected his cap.

Be quick, Jamie. Don’t dawdle along the way. Your ma’s counting on you. She handed him an envelope. Take this to your uncle.

Aunt Kate’s voice troubled him. He nodded, then turned to his younger brother. You keep yourself out of mischief, Georgie. Jamie left by the back porch, careful to avoid the lingering ice made more treacherous by the drizzle.

The rain let up for a spell, but out of habit, he pulled up his collar. Tucking the letter into his good pocket, his fingers touched against those marbles. Ah, the joy; but today was not the day to take them out. Too much mud, he said.

03 THE FRASER CLAN

Solo travel made the journey faster. His route took him along the main streets to take advantage of the cleared walkways due to the foot traffic. Horses’ hooves clattered on the cobblestones as carriages pulled both passengers and parcels. The air filled with the pungent smell of fresh animal droppings.

Once he reached the square, Jamie turned right on Bleury Street. The Fraser’s grocery store was a few stores north of St. Catherine Street at number 184. Uncle Willie took care of the business, helped by three of his brothers. Jamie’s granny, Margaret Munro Fraser, along with several uncles, lived in the flat over the shop.

Margaret Wilson Munro. Courtesy of the family

Truth told? Granny Fraser scared Jamie. She was a sturdy woman, with strong opinions. She ruled the family with a strict Scottish Presbyterian code. No one in the family challenged her word.

Outside the store, the bins stacked up below the big windows looked as if careless children abandoned their oversized building blocks. In this weather, the goods stayed indoors. Jamie pushed open the door and triggered the welcome jingle of the bells.

Uncle George glanced up at the tinkling sound. Leaning against his now idle broom, he called out. Well, good morning, Master Jamie. What are you doing outside in this foul weather? Shouldn’t you be at school today?

I’ve come with a message for Uncle Willie, Jamie replied.

Ah. You’ll find him in the back. Wipe those boots afore you go any further. I’ve mopped that floor a hundred times today. I’ll be mighty glad when this weather breaks.

Jamie stomped his feet on the mat and brushed them back-and-forth, remembering what his ma taught him. He passed the barrel of apples and the bushels of potatoes. As he approached the entrance to the storeroom, he hitched up his jacket to pull the note from his pants pocket. It was nice and dry, but the pristine letter that he stuffed into his pocket did not resemble the one that came out. He pressed it flat with his hands, as best he could.

Uncle Willie faced the back wall of shelves with his pencil poised over a ledger. He was a large man, over six feet tall, with arms and legs strengthened by the years of carting grocery goods. He hunched over to scrutinise the contents of the shelf, tapping the pencil in concentration.

Jamie called out, Uncle Willie.

The spell broke, and the man swivelled to face his nephew. Give a man some warning, lad. You startled me.

He looks like my ma, too, Jamie thought. It was striking to see the resemblance, though it always caught him off- guard. The telltale blue eyes were the same as was the thick, sandy-brown hair, with a hint of curl.

Dressed for his work, Willie tried to keep his clothes clean with forearm protectors, and a sturdy white apron fastened around his neck, tied at the waist with a string. How are you, son?

Jamie smiled at his uncle. I am well enough, sir. A mite damp and all.

Willie chuckled, I can see that. What can I do for ye, lad? Is everything well at home?

Jamie cast his eyes down to the floor. Ma’s confined to bed, still. Aunt Kate sent you this note. He extended his arm, letter in hand, towards his uncle.

Willie put his ledger on the shelf and pried open the seal using his pencil before he tucked it behind his ear. He scanned the contents, stepping forward to give Jamie’s shoulder a squeeze. He locked eyes with the boy. It doesn’t look good, lad. Things are not improving, and it sounds to me, your pa is struggling. I think it best if your Gran goes back with you.

Jamie nodded, but even the idea of taking Granny the whole way home, made him cringe. She lectured him on every occasion, convinced he was not getting sufficient instruction from his own parents. The entire journey required non-stop listening on his part anytime they walked together. No chance of letting her carry on though, for she demanded proper responses, or he was apt to get cuffed for rude behaviour.

Jamie was the quiet sort, measuring out his words as if he only had so many to use in his lifetime. Not his granny. She used words as if there was an infinite supply. To her, words were mighty important, especially those coming from her mouth. But she was old. She had lived a long time and already used lots of words. So maybe she’ll run out of words soon. Yet again, she sure didn’t seem to be near the end of her allotted words. Those back-and-forth discussions in his own head created constant debates for Jamie.

Uncle Willie gestured with his hand. You go on up and tell your gran that she’s needed at your place. Make sure she understands there’s no putting things off for a few days. Uncle Willie, won’t you tell her? He pleaded.

Pull up your brave britches, Jamie. You can do this. Your ma’s counting on you.

Jamie drew in a large breath. Why does everyone have to bring up his ma, as if he didn’t know how she counted on him? I’m a kid. What do they expect me to do?

Like a boxer preparing for a match, he shifted his weight, front to back, to gain courage, then propelled himself up the rear stairs. Once he reached the landing, he unlaced his boots and kicked them off his feet. He glanced at them, deciding he should set them straight. He brushed off his socks as best as he could and took his cap in his hand. As he opened the door, he felt the welcome warmth of the place. Granny, it’s me, Jamie.

No need to holler, lad. I am right here. Kin you not see me. Granny still spoke with a heavy Scottish accent. Jamie saw her by the stove. The aroma of braised meat and pungent onions filled the kitchen. His mind and his belly told him it was a long time ago since he ate breakfast.

She gave the pot another stir and turned to face him. My word, Jamie. You are a right mess.

Jamie held his cap in both hands and hung his head. Sorry, Gran.

Take off that damp jacket and come sit at the table. I will ix you a wee plate. It canna be much. Those boys of mine eat their way through house and home, and they’ll be expectin’ a proper meal, don’t you know?

Jamie was quick to unbutton his coat. His fingers were warmer now, but they were still red and chapped from his morning adventures. He used to have a pair of gloves, but he couldn’t find them. One was missing, for sure.

Gran placed a steaming plate on the table and pushed it towards him. What news are you bringing from home?

Uncle Willie says it’s not good, and you need to come see Ma. He left out the part about straight away, fearing he might not have time to finish his dinner. She is still ailing. Georgie and I took a note to Aunt Kate this morning. She asked me to come with another message for Uncle Willie. That’s why I am here. Jamie scooped up the stew and blew over the fragrant morsels. His granny was the expert at conjuring up good things to eat. His stomach growled as he tossed the scalding mess into his mouth. He sucked in air to cool it, while he juggled it around in his mouth before chomping into a chunk of potato.

She bent her head to the side and bristled, Why am I always the last one to know about things in this family?

Jamie shrugged his shoulders with an unconscious lack of opinion when he felt the sharp sting at the back