This issue of the newsletter deals with the Golden Age of Sail that extended from circa 1850 to the early 1900s. The Tantramar area was at the heart of this noteworthy period. Shipbuilding at the Boultenhouse and Purdy shipyards in Sackville and Westcock was a major industry during the Golden Age of Sail. In this issue, Al Smith describes the research done by Belinda Lansley in her book In Sickness and in Health which details the travels of the full-rigged sailing vessel Brother’s Pride built by Christopher Boultenhouse in 1858. The Maritime Provinces are famous for their sailing vessels: think of the Bluenose and its continuing saga to this day. The book describes the tragic role of contagious diseases within the closed quarters of sailing ships in the 19th century and their tragic consequences. Another great danger for wooden sailing ships was the weather. The 26 May, 1941, issue of The Tribune Post presented a detailed (sometimes grizzly) account of the shipwreck in 1900 of the Nova Scotia-built barque the Angola written by a survivor who suffered 42 days with minimal food and water and witnessed the psychological effects in those who survived the shipwreck until death arrived. Throughout my schooling, up to my years at university (Mt.A class ‘73), I heard about wooden sailing vessels being shipwrecked throughout the age of sail. But it was left at that. An old sailing ship sank and everyone died. End of story. But it was not always so. Experience through the words of a survivor the tragedies of those times. How many, who survived such shipwrecks over periods of time, have we never heard from? These are but two stories which reflect why so many Maritime homes, near a coastal harbour, are topped with a “widow’s walk”.
Read and hang on tightly!
Below: Letters to Sally
New Book on the Ship Brother’s Pride
By Al Smith
With deep appreciation from author Belinda Lansley for granting permission to use material from her book.
Following its departure from London, England, on July 23, 1863, the ship Brother’s Pride finally arrived at Port Lyttelton, New Zealand, on December 6 after having endured a long, horrendous voyage of 137 days. A new book (In Sickness and in Health) published in 2013 by New Zealand author Belinda Lansley, chronicles the story of two ships: Bahia and the Brother’s Pride which departed London, England, in late July, 1863, carrying immigrants to the New Zealand colony. Both ships endured the same weather conditions over the passage and arrived at Lyttelton on the same day, although they had vastly different stories to tell. The barque Bahia quickly tied up at the port disembarking healthy passengers while the ship Brother’s Pride was ordered into quarantine. Brother’s Pride had endured outbreaks of typhus, low fever and scarlet fever that had resulted in the deaths of 46 passengers and left many others in a very weakened and sickly condition. Accessing historic archives, passenger lists, and passenger accounts of the voyage, testimonies and records of a public enquiry into the tragedy, author Belinda Lansley chronicles this horrific 1863 journey of the approximately 400 brave souls immigrating out to New Zealand in search of a new life.
Brother’s Pride was the 48th vessel built by Woodpoint/Sackville ship-builder Christopher Boultenhouse.
One of New Brunswick’s most prolific ship-builders, Christopher built 60 vessels over the 50-year period 1825–1875. While the majority of his vessels were smaller brigs, barques and schooners, he did build 10 full-rigged ships ranging in tonnage from 692 to 1320.
The ship Brother’s Pride was launched from his Sackville shipyard on June 26, 1858, and was his ninth full-rigged ship. With a registered tonnage of 1236 t with dimensions 179.8 feet long, 37.7 feet wide and having a depth of 22.55 feet, she was the third largest vessel that he built.
Christopher Boultenhouse had an excellent reputation as of a builder of quality ships. Due to oversupply and the consequent collapse of the market for ships in 1856/57, he nonetheless had no problem selling his 1267-ton ship Empress in 1857 nor the Brother’s Pride in 1858. Shortly after its launching in late June, 1858, Brother’s Pride was sailed to Saint John, NB, and registered July 10, 1858, with official number of 35280. The July 16 issue of the of the Saint John newspaper The Morning News reported:
Mr. Boultenhouse of Sackville has a magnificent new ship lying at the Custom House wharf, finishing and taking in cargo — Mr. B is not discouraged by the dull times, but by the judicious economy in building and by securing first rate quality, he does not despair in making a fair sale. This vessel called ‘The Brothers’ will soon be ready for sea.
The vessel was purchased by Saint John ship-owner John Yeats, sailed to Liverpool, England, and registered there on November 2, 1858, having been purchased by Alfred Radcliffe.
The origin of the vessel’s name is somewhat of a mystery, but it was clearly chosen by Christopher and first registered as Brothers Pride without the apostrophe, but once it was registered in England, Lloyds registry added the apostrophe. Two of Christopher Boultenhouse’s sons, Amos and William, undoubtedly worked at their father’s shipyard in Sackville. In 1859, the two sons are the shipbuilders of record for the little 46-ton schooner Bella, launched April 30, originally built for the seafaring Anderson family. So one can speculate that they likely learned their shipbuilding skills by working closely with their Dad on the large ship which he named Brothers Pride, possibly to acknowledge the contribution made by his two sons and their pride of accomplishment. Tragically, son Amos died at home in mid-June, 1859, and William drowned in February 1860 in a shipwreck.
Brother’s Pride was built as a merchant ship and had to undergo refitting in Liverpool to accommodate passengers. The ship’s owners at the time of the 1863 passage to New Zealand were W & R Wright who leased the Brother’s Pride to the firm of Shaw, Saville and Co., operators of a fleet of packet ships carrying mail and passengers to British colonies around the world. Firms offering passage to New Zealand advertised in English newspapers, often embellishing the features of the vessels and stretching the truth. The two ads shown below that appeared in the London Times are good examples of a firm stretching the truth in order to entice passengers to book passage. Advertised fares for a space on the Brother’s Pride were £13 6/ for a single man or woman, £26 12/ for a couple and £6 13/ for a child. Part of that fare would be subsidized by the New Zealand government, eager to get settlers.
Under the command of Capt Alexander Glendinning and overloaded with passengers, Brother’s Pride departed London on July 23, 1863, arriving at Gravesend near the mouth of the River Thames later that same day. The ship’s doctor mustered all passengers at Gravesend and discovered that a seven year old boy had scarlet fever and was sent ashore. At that point no one realized that the fever had already been transmitted to other passengers. Thus began the first of a long string of incidents that made for an abominable journey for both passengers and crew.
A few days after leaving Gravesend, a large number of children came down with scarlet fever with the first death recorded on August 5. Typhus was next to hit and by September 9 there had been nine deaths that was somewhat offset by five births since leaving England. The ship crossed the equator on September 16 and passengers had to endure the celebratory and rowdy antics of crew members as the Captain made no effort to control the situation. The sultry and oppressive weather, combined with the persistent fever, were causing panic amongst the passengers. On the 84th day out of London (October 18) the Brother’s Pride arrived in Cape Town, South Africa, having endured 14 deaths to that date — four adults and ten children. The ship stayed for 3 days in Cape Town while being re-provisioned.
Three days after leaving Cape Town, Capt. Glendinning discovered that in addition to provisions taken on board they had also at least 16 stowaways adding additional strain on the ship’s capabilities. After four days out to sea, a 13 year old boy became sick from a particularly acute case of scarlet fever and died a few days later. This acute and often lethal form of scarlet fever began spreading throughout the ship in some case wiping out entire families.
Entering the southern ocean, the weather turned vile adding significantly to the discomfort of the passengers. Medical supplies were in short supply and the onboard Doctor was often drunk. Finally, on Dec. 6, they sighted New Zealand. Typhus was still rampant on board and diseases were still very much present when they finally reached Port Lyttleton on Dec. 9 and ordered into quarantine. The hellish 4 1/2 month journey had resulted in the deaths of 46 passengers, far greater than any other immigrant ship to that date.
Petitioned by the passengers, a public enquiry against Capt. Glendinning was formally held to delve into the ill-fated voyage. That enquiry found many deficiencies of the ship for carrying passengers, poor conduct and misjudgments made by the crew, among other things. The Captain was also put on trial for misconduct after several incidents with authorities in Lyttleton.
Brother’s Pride remained in New Zealand until the end of February, 1864, finally departing for Callao, Peru, with no passengers on board but destined to take on a cargo of guano. The ship-owner, Andrew Radcliffe, kept the merchant vessel until 1868 when it was sold and renamed Sealkote. Afterwards, the ship was owned by The Merchants Trading Company when it floundered off Cape Seal near the Cape of Good Hope. The vessel’s register was closed on July 16, 1877.
A copy of the book (kindly donated by the author) In Sickness and in Health — Brother’s Pride and Bahia is located in the Resource Centre at the Boultenhouse Heritage Centre. If anyone is interested in purchasing a copy it is available at Amazon.
- Lansley, Belinda, 2013, In Sickness and in Health: Brother’s Pride and Bahia, 120 pages, published by Belinda Lansley, Harewood, Christchurch, NZ ISBN: 978-0-473-25016-4.
- Armour, Charles A. and Smith, Allan D., 2008, Shipbuilding in Westmorland County NB 1784–1910, published by Tantramar Heritage Trust, 138 pages.
- The Morning News, St. John NB, July 16, 1858, in Mount Allison Univ. microfilm library
The Tragic Story of the Angola
Copy of original article submitted by Bill Snowden; transcribed/edited by Peter Hicklin with additional research by Al Smith
This story is based on a newspaper article published in The Sackville Tribune on May 26, 1941, signed by Hjalmar Jonssen and Miguel Marticorena of Singapore, Straits Settlements, with the signatures dated April 16th, 1901. The story occupied three pages of the Tribune-Post in May, 1941, and thus too long to print here in its entirety. Unedited sections are presented word-for-word in regular print (including all original uncorrected mistakes) while all edited sections (including descriptions of what was omitted) are presented in italic bold. The 1672-ton Barque Angola was built by William Mosher and launched in Newport, Nova Scotia, in 1890. Its captain was Henry Crocker (1859–1900), son of Jacob (1834–1917) and Elizabeth (1835–1899) Crocker and grandson of Isaac (1806–1886) and Sarah (1816–1904) Crocker of Wood Point. Isaac Crocker came to Wood Point in 1825 as shipwright and, after marrying Sarah, settled on land owned by his father-in-law James Ward where grandson Henry was born. The Crocker home is now owned and occupied by Cheryl Read.
In the 1890s, Jacob bought the Captain Evander Evans property in Westcock and Henry and his wife Charity Milner of British Settlement moved there a few years later. The 1851 census listed Isaac as a farmer and shipwright and he most likely worked as a ship carpenter at the Boultenhouse yards in Wood Point and Westcock at that time and later for Henry Purdy when Purdy took over the shipyard from the Boultenhouses. Henry Crocker (and probably Jacob) lived on Barren Ground hill in Westcock in the house bought by Joe Boyer in 1947 and later occupied by John Wilson. More recently, the property was purchased by Peter Mesheau and, a few years ago, while the house was vacant over the Christmas holidays, the old house was irreparably damaged by fire. The remnants of the burnt house were cleared away and a new home built on the site. It is presently the home of Danny Bowser.
The Angola had a busy career making port in Cape Town, South Africa, Newcastle, Australia, and Manila and Iloilo in the Philippines. Captain Henry Crocker lost his life in the China Sea, October, 1900, aged 41 years. His wife died a few months later after learning of her husband’s death. She was 36 years old. Henry Crocker’s seafaring story is one worth re-telling and remembering.
The Tragic Story of the Angola Under Captain Henry Crocker of Wood Point
From an article printed in Sackville Tribune Post
May 26, 1941
The following “Sea Story” was brought to the attention of the Tribune Editor recently by Mrs. Minnie F Amos, of Sackville, and will be recalled by a few “old timers” and read with interest by younger readers. Captain Henry Crocker, the Captain o the ill fated Angola was born the son of Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Crocker of Wood Point. He married Miss Charity Milner, of British Settlement, and they had three children: Roland Crocker, of New Glasgow, N.S.; Miss Florence Crocker, in the U.S.A., and Murray Crocker, in Western Canada. He was a nephew of Mr. John Crocker who still resides at Wood Point, and was a brother of Mrs. Nettie Amos and Mrs. Minnie Amos, both of Sackville. Two brothers are still living: Charlie, in Vancouver, and Isaac, at Chase, B.C.
The tragic story of the wreck of the Angola was prepared for the World Wide Magazines by Edward E. Long, member of the staff of the Singapore Free Press, and is told in the simple language of Hjalmar Jonssen, a Swede, one of the two survivors, as follows:
I am an able seaman, Hjalmar Jonssen my name, a native of Hekingborg in Sweden. I am just over twenty years of age, and have been at sea for five years, having left Helkingborg in 1896. In August, 1899, I shipped at Cape Town as an A.B. on board the barque Angola, Captain Crocker, of Sackville, New Brunswick, and made a voyage in her to Newcastle, New South Wales. From Newcastle we went in the Manila run, making journeys from Newcastle to Ilollo, and thence back to Newcastle.
On October 12, 1900, we left Cavite, Manila, for Singapore in ballast, intending, if possible, to obtain a cargo at that port for Newcastle. There were nineteen hands on board, including the captain (Crocker), a Dane, and the officers. Their names were: Mr. Campbell, first mate, a Nova Scotian; Mr. Brown, second mate, a Norwegian; Bjorsen, the carpenter, a Norwegian, Alexander, the cook, a Madrassi Christian; myself; Miguel Maticorina, a Spaniard; Vhile and Brown, Germans; Bill and Tom, Englishmen; Pieder, a Russian; Antonio, an Italian; Emanuel, a Chilian; Lloyd, an American; Aegustus, a Frenchman; Emil, a Russian Finn; Hjalmar Inquist, a Norwegian; and Eulys, the cabin boy, a native of Mauritius.
About six days out from Manila a stiff gale began to blow, increasing in violence, and at 11:00 pm on the sixth night after leaving Manila the ship drove right on a reef. By the captain’s reckoning we were then about six hundred miles from Manila, a hundred and fifty from the coast of Cochin, China, and south-west of Manila. We were under close canvas at the time, carrying fore-topmast.
Fast on a Reef
Immediately she struck the Angola heeled right over on her lee side, and mountainous seas, which were breaking over the reef with terrific force, swept her decks from side to side, starting planks, ripping off stanchions, carrying away bulwarks and everything movable, and creating great havoc. All night the gale continued, and it was impossible for us to do anything to save ourselves. When day dawned we found we were in a perilous position on a coral reef, with no prospect of getting off, and the ship fast breaking up, strained as she was from stem to stern by the huge crested breakers, which continually crashed against her sides with a noise like thunder. Next morning, the 18th, the fore-mast went by the board, and at three in the afternoon the captain gave orders for the main and mizzen masts to be cut away, which was done immediately.
There were only three boats on board, and one of these it was impossible to get at, it being on the lee side of the vessel, which had now heeled over so much that the boat was under water. We attempted to launch one of the boats from the davits on the weather side, but before it touched the water a heavy sea came rolling in and smashed it to pieces against the ship’s side. Finally we managed to launch the third boat on the lee side aft and got the boat into the water all right, but the difficulty was to get into her. Eventually we had to swarm down the mizzen rigging. After me into the boat came five others. Some had lifebelts on, and they soon needed them, for though we bent to the oars and tried with might and main to pull off the reef away from the ship we were unable to do so.
Battling for Dear Life
Presently a huge roller caught the boat broadside and overturned it, and in a second all six of us were battling for dear life in a boiling sea. Pieder the Russian, and Vhile, one of the Germans, could not swim. Both disappeared almost instantly and never rose again. The other three, with myself, got back to the vessel safely, but all of us were terribly battered and bruised by the waves and thoroughly exhausted. Our only chance of taking to the boats was now gone and blank despair settled on us all. To add to our misery, that same day the ship turned completely over. All hands, however, managed to climb safely to her bottom. There we sat for four days, our only food some cans of meat saved from the wreck, but we had no water to drink.
To escape, as we thought, a lingering death, we decided on building rafts. We were lucky in securing some axes, and other tools from the ship, also sails and cordage, and we soon rigged up two rafts from the materials at hand, the spanker boom being knocked into one small raft, and a bigger one made from the planks from the Angola’s sides. Getting all we could from the wreck before we left — unfortunately there was only a little food and no water — we set out on these rafts. On the smaller one were Bill, Antonio, Brown, Emanuel, and Euleys; the remainder, including myself, were on the bigger one. All one day we floated together, but during the night we lost sight of the smaller raft and never saw it again.
Adrift on a Raft
Our raft was about forty-five feet in length and from nine to ten feet wide. Running down the centre was a long narrow well, a foot or so below the level of the raft, and capable of seating several men. For and aft we rigged up a mast, and on each we had a square sail, but we couldn’t fix up a rudder, and consequently were unable to steer.
For the next few days we drifted along before the wind and tide. On the fifth day a steamer passed us, but not within hailing distance. Then began a succession of cruel, burning days, with the food getting scantier and scantier. We lay listlessly about the raft, too weak to exert ourselves, saved when a vessel passed, as many did. I remember counting thirteen, but not one of them saw us, nor could we succeed in attracting their attention. The nights — beautiful starry nights — brought but little relief for our empty stomachs and parched throats. For twenty days this state of things lasted. We chewed our boots, tore barnacles from off the raft’s bottom and eagerly swallowed them, but no rain fell and there was nothing wherewith to slake the burning thirst that possessed us. At last, in desperation, Lloyd, the American, started to drink salt water, and on the twenty-first day he died raving mad, and we reverently threw his body overboard, where it was greedily seized by countless sharks that had persistently followed us from the first day, as if in anticipation of the awful feast that was to come. The next to go — he too had been drinking salt water, unable to resist the terrible cravings of thirst — was Hjamar Inquist, one of the Norwegians, who died and was thrown overboard the night after Lloyd died.
The remainder of the story focuses on the delicate state of mind of the crew and the madness that overtook nearly everyone. The end began on the twenty-fifth day after the ship capsized. On that day, Augustus, the Frenchman, grew “frenzied” and, seizing an axe, “rushed at the captain, with a murderous gleam in his eyes” but was stopped by Mr. Campbell, the first mate, who was felled and killed by Augustus.
We saw it all, but felt too weak and languid to do anything, nor had we much time to, for the whole thing happened in the twinkling of an eye. Presently, the crazy Frenchman shouted that he was going to kill the captain and the cook, but he did not proceed to carry out his threat. Instead, dropping his axe, he went to a corner of the raft and lay down to sleep placing his straw hat over his eyes to shield them from the fierce sun-glare.
The captain, the second mate, and myself then held a conversation in Swedish, which we all understood. We agreed that, if we didn’t kill the Frenchman, now that he had once shed blood, he would murder all of us. We therefore decided to cast lots as to who should kill Augustus. We got three splinters of wood from the side of the raft, two long pieces and one short piece. These were put in a hat, shook them up and down and then drew. The second mate got the short splinter, and thus the terrible task fell to him. (The detailed account of “the terrible task” will not be recounted here, suffice it to say that it was completed successfully — ed.)
Soon after this double tragedy Providence came to our rescue, for by tearing up strips of canvass sail-cloth and using bent wire nails from the raft as hooks, with pieces of white shirting for bait, we managed to catch several large dolphins and other fish, and once more the pangs of hunger were appeased. We still had no water, however, and the sufferings of some of the weaker men were fearful to behold. On only a very few days did rain fall, and then only in small quantities, and though we saved all we could, it was little indeed.
Jumped Overboard While Crazy
Soon Emil, the Russian Finn, went crazy from the thirst and in his delirium jumped overboard (end of sentenced omitted —ed.). Very pathetic was the end of Tom, the Englishman. He was a good-natured chap, one of the best-liked of the crew. Soon after Emil had gone he developed madness. For hours together he would sit counting on his fingers an imaginary crew of nineteen. “Look” he would say “there’s Tom, Vhile, Brown,” — and then he would stop and begin over again, growing so frantic at last that I tried to quiet him, but all to no purpose. At last he threw off his clothes, and before I could prevent him he was overboard. In a thrice I hurried to the side of the raft and pulled him back again. Twice after this he jumped over the side, by sheer luck missing the waiting sharks, and each time I managed to pull him back. The fourth time was the last. Poor Tom had scarcely touched the water when a huge shark darted up like a streak of lightning (portion of sentence omitted —ed.) … and the next minute his cruel jaws had snapped and closed! This was the last we saw of poor Tom. Bjorsen, the carpenter, was a strong man, but at last he gave way. The cursed seawater he drank to quench his dreadful thirst drove him mad, and he, too, died and was thrown overboard to the sharks.
Attempted Death Three Times
For four or five days no one else died. There were only five of us left now — the captain, Mr. Brown, Marticocera, Alexander, and myself, and we were all so bad we could scarcely speak to each other. Three times, in my agony, I tried to drown myself and thus end my sufferings, but each time I found myself in the water, being a strong swimmer, the instinct to save myself became too strong and I struck out and reached the raft again. Then the cook sickened. I can see him now lying prone on the raft, smiling in spite of his awful suffering, because in his delerium, he imagined he was eating. He was shouting: “All right; have got mango, pigeon, dove, olive, bread, plenty eat, plenty eat.” At night he died, and the waves bore his body away in a gleam of phosphorescence. Two days after this the second mate went mad and died.
We had now been away from the ship about thirty-six days. Next the captain showed signs of insanity. Up top this time he had been the quietest of the lot. Sitting apart by himself, steadfastly gazing over the boundless expanse of sea with sunken eyes, in search of the rescuing vessel that never appeared in sight. Just before he died he said “I’m all right”. I asked him whether I should give him some salt water to drink, and he said “No, I can’t understand”. These were his last words for soon after this he passed away. Thus we two, Marticorena and myself, were left alone, so weak and helpless that it was as much as we could do to drag he captain’s body to the side of the raft and push it into the sea. We had not lost the use of our limbs and we could still fish; and now, strange to say, we caught numbers, when hitherto we had only secured one occasionally, but our sufferings without water were terrible to think of. Oh, it was an awful time!
For several days longer we drifted aimlessly about the ocean, at the mercy of the wind and waves, and then, on the forty-second day after leaving the wreck, as near as we could make it by our reckoning, we drifted ashore on the island of Soubi, one of the south Natuna Group. By this time our bodies were in a frightful condition, blistered by the scorching rays of the pitiless sun, chapped and scared by the action of the waves, which at times almost submerged the raft, and covered with large boils. We were unable to walk ashore, being far too weak, so we were carried by the natives, who showed themselves very friendly. They took us to the Chief’s house, pleasantly situated amidst tall groves of cocoa-nut palms. His name was Haji Samman, and there we lived for about two months.
The Malays made a healing compound from certain herbs and leaves and smeared this on our bodies, and I a remarkably short time we became well and strong again. The healthy diet of cocoa-nut palms, mangoes, and fish helped, in a great measure, to achieve this. At first we could not converse with the natives, but after a few weeks we picked up enough to be able to ask for most things, and thus all our wants were attended to whilst we were on the island. It was a pretty spot, with rich tropical scenery common to so many islands at these latitudes, but after a while the diet became monotonous, and we grew lonely for the want of white companions. We longed to get back to civilization to let our relatives know of our safety and tell the awful fate which had overtaken our comrades.
Farewell to Malay Friends
Pleased, indeed we were one day when a Chinese junk was observed bearing down for the island. She brought a cargo of rice from Singapore, and the captain, a Chinaman by the name of Tan Boo Foo, readily agreed to take us to Singapore when he returned. Some time later, therefore, we bade our Malay friends — not without feelings of regret, for they had been very kind to us — and set out on a junk for Singapore. We were made as comfortable as possible on board, and, being able seamen, we gave our services in helping to sail the junk. After stopping at several places, we finally entered Singapore Harbour on April 3rd, after a lengthy voyage, and at once reported ourselves to the marine authorities, who kindly sent us to the Sailors’ Home, pending a Court of Inquiry. We each received a suit of clothes and under-linen, for we had lost our all in the wreck, and we were treated with every consideration.
I certify that the above is a true account of my experiences.
(Signed) HJALMAR JONSSEN
I also certify that the experiences in the above story are true.
(Signed) MIGUEL MARTICORENA
Singapore, Straits Settlements,
April 16th, 1901.
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Heritage Day — Saturday, February 14
Tantramar High School
The theme of the morning session will be The Flag as on that day we will be celebrating the 50th anniversaries of both the Canadian and the New Brunswick Flags.
In light of the main theme for the day (Hope Restored), we ask if members could bring family memorabilia of the First and Second World War for a display. All members who may have such memorabilia and which they would like to share with other members on this special day, please bring your items to the Boultenhouse Heritage Centre (29 Queens Road, Sackville) on Tuesday-Friday (9 am-2 pm) or call Karen Valanne at 536-2541 and your items will be put on display throughout the day.
19th Annual Heritage Breakfast (7:30-10:30 am)
The day will begin with our popular Heritage Breakfast at the TRHS Cafeteria featuring eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, toast, juice, tea and coffee. Tickets are $7 for adults and $4 for children to age 10 and can be purchased in advance from Trust members, at the office at the Boultenhouse Heritage Centre, or at the door that morning.
Heritage Displays (7:30-11:30 am)
Heritage Displays in the foyer.
Antiques Roadshow (10-11:30 am)
Breakfast will be followed by an Antiques Roadshow in the TRHS lobby. Bring your favorite items for appraisal ($5 per item), particularly if they have a Sackville connection.
Anderson Octagonal House — Boultenhouse Heritage Centre, 27 Queens Road, Sackville
Letters Home (1:30-3 pm)
The afternoon will consist will consist of dramatic readings followed by the launching of a new book.
A selection of readings from ’14–’18: Allisonians at War by Alex Fancy; My Dear Alice: War Letters 1937–1950 by Clare Christie and the launch of the newest Trust Publication Letters to Sally by Eugene Goodrich. Reception with light refreshments and book sales included.
For more information, please contact the Tantramar Heritage Trust at (506) 536-2541 or