Far too soon the month of August is drawing to a close. Officially summer is still with us; however, the pace of life is changing. School and university will shortly reopen and another camping season is about to end.

For more than a half century Camp Ta-Wa-Si at Johnston’s Point on the Northumberland Strait has played host to hundreds of young people from the Tantramar region and beyond. As the camp reaches the end of its 60th season, a historical flashback is in order.

Founded in 1940, during the dark days of the Second World War, the camp was the dream of the local United Church minister, Rev. Dr. Emmanuel Lockhart (1876–1959). A native of Prince Edward Island Lockhart, in common with many other Maritimers, moved to Western Canada during the early years of the 20th century.

He graduated from Manitoba College, one of the founding institutions of the University of Manitoba. Following theological training, Lockhart went to what was then British Guiana as a Presbyterian missionary. He returned later to the Maritimes, serving with distinction a succession of rural congregations. He concluded his career with a thirteen year ministry in the Shemogue area. This was a deliberate career choice on Lockharts part as he felt called to rural churches. In recognition of this commitment, Pinehill Divinity Hall awarded him an honourary DD in 1948.

It is a tribute to Rev. Dr. Lockhart that he is still fondly remembered over 40 years after his death. As one parishioner expressed it If he called at your house at dinner time, and all that you were having was salt herring and potatoes, he would pull up a chair and join you.

Initially, it was Lockharts plan that Johnsons Point Camp, as it was first known, would primarily serve disadvantaged children within the then Cumberland and Moncton Presbyteries of the United Church. Sixty years later, a handful of congregations still continue to sponsor such children. In establishing the camp Lockhart was ably assisted by Rev. C. Guy MacKenzie (1889–1974) Sackville and Rev. A.F. Baker (1882–1974) Port Elgin, both of whom shared his vision for the camp. Another member of the clergy, Rev. C.C. Walls (1895–1964) was also a strong supporter.

Land for the camp was donated to the local church by Ida Johnson in 1939. In 1967 two additional parcels of land were given by the same benefactor. Although it was, and still is a United Church foundation, the camp has always been open to all, regardless of religious beliefs.

A report at the end of the 1940 camping season indicates that a good start was made. It noted that nature has contributed much to make Johnstons Point an ideal camping site. Five new cabins set among the trees on a high bluff provide adequate shelter. Each is capable of accommodating 12 persons. Meals are served in a large dining hall, with worship services in a secluded grove. Camp fires on the beach each evening feature various forms of entertainment, sing songs and stunts. A camp newspaper is read regularly at the campfire. It records events of the day along with many a good natured story concerning both campers and counselors. Campers from the summer of 2000 will note that the 1940 formula still holds!

While program details may sound familiar, many physical changes have taken place over the past 60 years. The photograph that accompanies this column depicts a group of campers from the early 1950s. Can you identify any of them? I have it on good authority that several are from Sackville! If you can name names, please contact the Trib. See address below.

Over the years, erosion has taken its toll on the property and the original buildings had to be moved back from the shoreline. Later these were replaced and additional cabins added. A major change took place in 1963. By this time the old dining hall (a former lobster hatchery) had outlived its usefulness. Thanks to the generosity of Sackville businessman Carman Dixon (1912–1962), a new facility, the Dixon Memorial Building, was constructed. Not only did it provide new cooking I dining facilities, there was now adequate space for art and craft activities and a refuge for rainy days.

The Johnston family has also been remembered in the naming of the Hollie Johnston Nature Trail. He was a son of Ida and Augustus Johnston. Sometime in the late 1940s the name Camp Ta-Wa-Si was adopted. Perhaps there is a reader who might be able to provide the precise date. It is interesting to note that the current camp director, Karen Trenholm from Riverview, is a descendant of the Johnston family.

The 1940 newspaper read at the campfire, later evolved into a printed publication. First known as Camp Ta-Wa-Si News it eventually became The Pointer. A few copies have survived, permitting me to quote an early camp song. Sung to the tune of the sea shanty Rio Grande two verses will suffice:

I’ll sing you a song of Camp Ta-Wa-Si, Camp Ta-Wa-Si!
Ill sing you a song of the camp by the sea,
For were bound for our old camping ground —
then away boys (or) girls away!

Chorus

Way down Ta-Wa-Si,
So fare ye well my friends and my pals,
For were bound for our old camping ground.
Theres baseball & swimming & lots of good fun, Camp Ta-Wa-Si!
And sore feet and freckles & plenty of sun,
For were bound for our old camping ground —
then away boys (or) girls away!

While these rollicking verses, plus several more in similar vein, would never win an ECMA award, they have provided good fun for generations of young people gathered around campfires on Johnston’s Point Beach.

From the mid 70s and through the 1980s camping, and especially church camping, was experiencing difficulties. Within society, there was a negative reaction toward formally organized camping activities. Camp Ta-Wa-Si was not immune to these trends. The founders were no longer around and earlier leaders had retired. Experienced personnel to staff the camp became increasingly difficult to find. Some camps similar to Ta-Wa-Si were forced to close.

For Ta-Wa-Si rock bottom was reached in the summer of 1981 when the water became contaminated and all camping had to be cancelled. Fortunately for the future, the opportunity was taken to commission a formal study of all facets of camp life. A committee of three persons, Rev. Dana Cochrane, Dennis Livingstone and Brian Tingley was formed. They were aided in their deliberations by Robert Cameron, a member of the Canadian Camping Association and consultant on outdoor recreation.

The committee recommended sweeping organizational changes in the operation of the board of directors and a mission statement for the camp was drafted. Three formal committees were recommended to cover program, property and financial matters. With the adoption of these measures as a blueprint for the future, Camp Ta-Wa-Si gained a new lease on life. That the camp is still operating successfully after 60 years is due in large measure to the creative work of this committee.

With a sound organizational structure in place, some interesting new initiatives have been launched. One example is a family camp held during the first week of July. Summer 2000 saw the second such program at Ta-Wa-Si. This permits a group of parents and children to enjoy a full week camping together. For the children a regular program from dawn to dusk is offered. Throughout the day, they are supervised by experienced camp personnel, with parents left free to plan their own time. For the remainder of the summer a schedule for all age groups of young people takes over.

Recently Camp Ta-Wa-Si played host to a group of visitors from away. They were members of CANACOM, an acronym for the Caribbean and North American Council for Mission. These young people were being hosted by the Bayfield-Murray Corner-Cape Tormentine United Churches. Little did they realize that they were visiting a camp founded by someone who once served in a land located just south of the Caribbean Sea. Somehow, I think that Rev. Dr. Emmanuel Lockhart would approve of Camp Ta-Wa-Si in the year 2000!

Many people helped write this Flashback. I would like to thank particularly Judith Colwell, Maritime Conference Archivist, Polly Ervin, Helen Walton, Eunice McCormack, Fran Smith and Dennis Livingstone.

The lazy, hazy days of summer have special meaning this year. A late spring on the Tantramar has made the season all the more priceless. As I write, my view from a cottage window fronting the Northumberland Strait will be familiar to many readers.

Marking the horizon in the far distance is the dark blue outline of the coast of Prince Edward Island. This divide between sea and sky forms the backdrop for a group of sailboats tacking back and forth on the choppy waters of the Strait. There is just enough wind to fill the billowing sails. As the boats dart about, they become punctuation marks on an ever-changing sea.

Nearer at hand, a field ringed on two sides by spruce trees, is filled with masses of sea grass and daisies; while in a secluded corner there is a patch of wild strawberries waiting to be picked. A squirrel is performing acrobatics as he jumps from tree to tree. Overall, there hangs the drowsy tempo of summer, so characteristic of the season in the Maritimes. Was it always so?

The first people to enjoy this setting (minus the sailboats) were the Mikmaq people. Following a winter spent in the forest and upland hills they gathered at the seashore during the summer to play games, partake of lobster and other shell fish and enjoy the warm salt water. All that remains of these summer colonies are a few middens or refuse heaps of shells. Occasionally, a stray stone implement or arrowhead may be found.

We do know that the more venturesome of the Mikmaq crossed the Strait by canoe to spend summer on the land they could see on the horizon. I am certain that the majority of people who today travel the Confederation Bridge are unaware of these very first tourists to Abegweit. Later, as autumn approached, the Mikmaq would return to the mainland from encampments on the shores of Malpeque and Bedeque Bays. Significantly, both locations still bear their original Mikmaq names.

One of the first Europeans to praise the wonders of a Maritime summer was the French explorer Jacques Cartier (1491–1557). During the course of his voyage to the New World in 1534, he entered an uncharted bay. Captivated by the scenery he decided to land and explore the area.

What Cartier witnessed is best told in his own words. The climate is more temperate than Spain (and the landscape) is the finest it is possible to see.

In between wooded areas he found wild wheat as well as peas, as thick as if they had been sown and hoed; of white and red currant bushes, of strawberries. of raspberries, of white and red roses and other plants of a strong pleasant odor. Likewise there are many fine meadows with useful herbs and a pond with many salmon…

This description would fit some locations on the Northumberland coast of Westmorland County; however, Cartier was a bit further north. He wrote: We named it Baie des Chaleurs — the bay of heat — on 10 July 1534.

By now, readers who are critics of summer and cottage living must be thinking: What about the downside of the season?… Has he forgotten those rainy days when the universal refrain is always: Theres nothing to do? Or equally important, can we just dismiss summer afflictions, such as black flies, wasps and jelly fish, to list but three possibilities?

The answer is that its all a matter of perspective! Rainy days at the cottage are meant for reading books, building driftwood fires in stove or fireplace, and playing those board and card games tucked away in the attic. Not to be overlooked is an ancient Spanish proverb designed for such bad weather days. Always take the opportunity to rest and do nothing afterward.

During the course of some recent research I encountered an interesting account of one of the principal pests of a Tantramar summer the mosquito. It takes us back to the 18th century and James Metcalf, then a recent Yorkshire immigrant to the region. In a letter to his fianc Ann Gill, still at home in England, he described his new farm and urged her to join him the following spring.

The tone of Metcalfs letter was upbeat, for he did not wish to emphasize the rigors of life in the New World. But on one point he was candid. There is a little flye called a miskeeto that bites like a midge. Even here he was able to be positive adding: The trobelsome miskeetos can be kept out of the house by smoke pots, and they will in any case disappear when the wild meadow grass is cut. Ann Gills response was positive and the following year, long before the wild meadow grass was cut she arrived at Fort Cumberland. On June 1, 1773 Ann and James were married.

Time passes quickly in summer and my historical reverie was ending. I returned to the scene before me. Little had changed. The sailboats, although fewer in number, were still there. A further reminder of the time occurred when I spotted a pair of blue herons, standing like sentinels, on a reef now exposed by the receding tide.

Then, without any warning, the late afternoon peace was shattered. Two racing speedboats appeared. Fortunately, they were soon lost to both sight and sound as they roared beyond a nearby point. What is sometimes described as the silence of a summers day returned.

Suddenly my attention was drawn to a blur of movement in the spruce trees. No more than a few metres away stood a deer, a doe with ears cocked intently. Soon the reason for her caution was revealed, as out from the low shrubbery there came a white-spotted fawn. Somewhere the doe sensed danger and in a flash she slipped back into the woods, followed closely by the fawn. A bonus sighting for a summers day!

From a nearby bookshelf I picked up a book of poetry. While browsing, I discovered that Douglas Lochhead had captured, as only a poet can, the essence of this season.

In one of his randoms or poetic essays he wrote: Towards the sea (the wind) moves with grasses, daisies and strawberries One could say there is a constant agitation about all of this. Music comes closest to it. All of its moods. The wind changes and I read its notes in the leaning grasses. Out there, waves come heaving or gently in to counter it. Or to play There is much to learn by watching and listening to the field of wild grasses, daisies and strawberries.

August 3rd will mark the official opening of Yorkshire 2000. Leading up to this important event, the last Flashback focused on the reasons for the Yorkshire migration; today the spotlight turns to its long range impact.

The years 1771-75 were destined to be significant both locally and internationally. Relations between Britain and the thirteen American colonies were approaching the point of no return. The famous Boston Tea Party had taken place the previous December. During April and May of 1774 the British government retaliated with a series of acts designed to curb further difficulties in the colonies. These measures only succeeded in adding to the growing resentment against Britain.

The largest group in the then population of Nova Scotia was composed of New England Planters. They had moved, more than a decade earlier, across the Gulf of Maine to settle in the Annapolis Valley, along the south coast of Nova Scotia and on the Isthmus of Chignecto. The question on everyones lips was: Would Nova Scotia become the fourteenth colony to rebel? In this conflict the Yorkshire settlers were to play a lead role.

At first, the Chignecto New Englanders believed that the revolutionary cause might appeal to the non-conformist Yorkshire settlers. However, when the latter compared their former life in England with the many opportunities in Nova Scotia, they were content.

Aside from their strong loyalty to the crown, the Yorkshire settlers were opposed to the rebellion on religious grounds. Fortunately a series of letters between Yorkshire settler Nathaniel Smith (1720–1791) and relatives back home in Yorkshire have survived. As no other source, they succeed in explaining the Yorkshire position during the Eddy Rebellion on the Isthmus of Chignecto in 1776. Jonathan Eddy, a native of New England and local MLA, gave leadership to the uprising that bears his name.

In one letter Nathaniel Smith used John Wesleys 1775 speech quaintly entitled: A Calm Address to the American Colonies as an argument against armed rebellion. He wrote: John Wesleys address to the Americans… is alone sufficient to convince every reasonable man, of the necessity… of bringing the Americans to a sense of duty by force of arms. Our constitution is not to be equalled by any other power, our laws are grounded upon sound principles, and if perhaps… they are ill used, the fault is neither in the laws nor the author of them.

In 1927 the Historic Sites and Monuments Board erected a cairn on the grounds of Fort Beausjour marking the role of Yorkshire settlers in the revolutionary conflict. While this first result of the Yorkshire migration has often been forgotten, this does not lessen its importance. Most historians are in agreement that Yorkshire loyalty was an important factor in the British control of Nova Scotia.

The religious climate on the Isthmus of Chignecto was also discussed by Nathaniel Smith. Writing in 1779, he described Methodism as a spark of fire cast into the bushes, which for awhile smudgd at the bottom, but at last broke into a flame. Referring to the local revival that swept the Isthmus in the spring of that year, Smith described it as a Glorious war [that] is being fought among us… Jesus is our captain and many are enlisted into his service almost everyday. By this time, Methodist classes and prayer meetings were being held regularly.

A convert at one of these Methodist meetings was William Black Jr., son of William Black Sr. The family had emigrated from near Huddersfield, Yorkshire, to Fort Cumberland in 1775. The elder Black could not have foreseen that he was to found a dynasty that would make its mark on Nova Scotia and beyond. Nor in his wildest dreams, could he have imagined that his second son, William Jr., was destined to leave a legacy as great, if not greater, than any other Yorkshire settler.

Immediately following his conversion, William Black Jr. volunteered his services as a leader in local Methodist classes. At first Blacks efforts were focused on the district immediately adjacent to his home. Assisted by other class leaders, he preached as often as his duties on the farm would permit; at Fort Lawrence, Amherst and Tantramar. Soon afterward, William Black Jr., destined to be the founder of Methodism in the Maritime Provinces, launched his career as a full-fledged roving evangelist.

The strategic location of Yorkshire settlements contributed, in no small measure, to the spread of the Methodist church throughout the region. While Methodism was the bond that united all Yorkshire settlers; it was the particular ministry of Rev. William Black that must be credited with much of this legacy. Eventually the entire region became his parish. When he died on September 8, 1834, Methodism which had started in the words of Nathaniel Smith as a small spark on the Tantramar, had burst in flame throughout the Maritimes.

The Yorkshire zeal for education and the furtherance of Methodism, so evident in these early years, reached its peak in 1839 with the founding of Mount Allison Academy and later the university. Were it not for the Yorkshire migration, and with it, a strong Methodist presence on the Isthmus of Chignecto and throughout the Maritimes, Mount Allison University would not exist today.

It is not generally known that Centennial Hall on the Mount Allison campus commemorates a Methodist rather than a university anniversary. Built in 1884, it marks the centenary of the ministry of Rev. William Black. Two large memorial windows once dominated the Black Memorial Chapel, located on the second floor. One was in honour of Black, the other Charles F. Allison, founder of the university. On March 17, 1933 Centennial Hall was gutted by fire. Following its reconstruction the building housed a mix of classrooms and offices. Today it is the exclusive domain of the universitys administration.

Two important aspects of the Yorkshire legacy remain to be considered. From the very beginning, there is evidence of their almost reverential respect for the land. Since the majority of Yorkshire immigrants were experienced farmers, one of their first objectives was to locate the best possible agricultural land.

It was not by accident but by design that they were first attracted to the rich farmlands of the Isthmus of Chignecto and secondly to outlying areas that bordered on rivers. These other settlements were located on the Petitcodiac, in the Maccan-River Hebert area, on the River Philip and in Newport and Granville townships in the Annapolis Valley.

Some of these locations had access to arable marshland while in other instances settlers had the advantage of rich alluvial soil in the river valleys. Crop rotation was practiced and efforts made to enrich the soil through fertilization. This was a friendly environment for Yorkshire immigrants, so much so, that after 225 years, these areas still boast some of the best farmland in the Maritimes.

There was still another reason for selecting these locations. From previous experience in Yorkshire, many settlers had familiarity with the potential of water power. Very quickly water driven saw and grist mills became a feature of the landscape; especially along the River Philip. The Yorkshire farmers also had a great interest in animal husbandry. Accompanying some of the more affluent immigrants were a few carefully selected farm animals, destined for breeding stock.

One important characteristic separated Yorkshire immigrants from many of their contemporaries. Most of them were literate, as shown by their ability to sign legal documents, carry on extensive correspondence, read their Bibles and exhort when called upon in Methodist classes. As soon as adequate shelter was provided for their families, either through purchase or by building temporary log buildings, they turned their attention to the erection of chapels. Schools were soon to follow.

Many were skilled carpenters and artisans and willingly accepted the challenge of creating furniture from native maple, oak and birch. Unlike a number of other pioneers, they did not curse the forest. Instead each tried to obtain some upland for a ready supply of lumber and firewood.

The Yorkshire migration of 1771-75 has, all too often, been overshadowed and in some quarters overlooked in the history of the region. The Yorkshire immigrants were admittedly fewer in number than the New England Planters who preceded them, or the Loyalists who followed after 1783. Yet in the final analysis their number and their contribution do not justify this past neglect.

It was Will R. Bird who summarized the impact of the Yorkshire migration in the title of his novel Here Stays Good Yorkshire. It’s still here… just look around!

One outcome of the New Brunswick Free School Act of 1871 was a dramatic increase in the number of one room schools. For approximately 80 years, until the consolidation movement of the 1950s, the one room school was a feature of rural life in this province. As we near the end, not only of another school year, but of the twentieth century, it is worth noting their special place in education.

Unfortunately, there is a tendency to look back on these schools as somehow inferior. A few undoubtedly were; but not all. Today, the prevailing trend is in the opposite direction. Larger and larger school districts are the norm; bus routes are becoming ever longer and the rural school boards of three elected trustees and a secretary have been relegated to the dustbin of history.

Following interviews with students and teachers of the 1930s, 40s and 50s one conclusion is inescapable. The successful one room school revolved around the respective teachers ability and skills. What a challenge! Faced, as they were, with enrollments that varied from 12 to 36+ students and every grade, through to early high school. How did they cope? The teachers answers were unequivocal: preparation and organization.

Following roll call and opening exercises, each day was filled with activity. When not having lessons, students were involved in planned seatwork; arithmetic or exercises in grammar, creative writing or further preparation for assignments that would follow. Students were often grouped according to ability, rather than rigidly following grade levels. In this way, bright students were not held back and more time could be alloted to slower learners. In some instances, older students acted as monitors and helped out with the lower grades.

One teacher recalled: The invention of the hectograph was a god-send. For the uninitiated: a hectograph was a tray filled with gelatin. Exercises were written or printed with special ink on paper; the page was pressed on the tray and multiple copies could be made. The busy teacher could thus plan ahead and distribute hectograph seatwork while hearing other lessons.

Another teacher emphasized the unique role of school readers. Books were scarce in rural schools; thus these texts filled a void. Through them, students were exposed to the best literature in the language. Nor was Canadian content neglected; as many selections highlighted national themes. Although memorization of poetry is totally out of fashion today; several x-students were still able to recite poems from these readers. For example: Bliss Carman’s: There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood Touch of manner, hint of mood; and my heart is like a rhyme with the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. Others recalled Charles G.D. Roberts’ collection of nature stories.

In the afternoon, the routine was similar to the morning; however, the emphasis changed to other subjects: social studies, nature, and elementary science. If the teacher possessed musical ability a period of singing might take place. Physical drill would often be held outdoors on fine days. The lower grades were usually dismissed at 3 oclock. During the remainder of the day (until about four oclock) the teacher concentrated on lessons with the upper grades.

Throughout the year, the daily routine was broken by special events. The Christmas concert was always a highlight. Friday afternoons from late November onward were devoted to the practise of recitations, drills, dialogs and carols. Arbor day, in late May, was another important date. The school room was thoroughly house cleaned, the yard raked and tidied up; flower beds and trees were often planted. Sometimes the day ended with a community picnic.

The annual school festival, also held in May, provided an opportunity to engage in choral reading, public speaking and music. Most schools had a Junior Red Cross branch, affording experience in conducting meetings. Interspersed with regular lessons were spelling bees and mental arithmetic competitions. The advent of radio in the 1940s, with regular CBC school broadcasts, served to enrich the curriculum.

At least once each year, there was a visit from the school doctor. After checking basic items such as students eyesight and vaccinating for smallpox, he would, to everyones delight, declare a half holiday. Not so popular were visits by the school inspector. Some were content to teach a model lesson; while others would subject students to an impromptu quiz in mental arithmetic. This visitation was a measure of the teachers rapport with students. One recalled: We always could count on their best behavior.

The majority of former teachers and students retained fond memories of one room schools. Not surprisingly, many remembered pranks played on teachers and schoolmates. Almost everyone had a stovepipe story. Most of the schools were heated with wood burning stoves with pipe extending to the chimney on the far wall. (See floor plan of the Frosty Hollow School). At least once a year, a holiday could be guaranteed if the pipe mysteriously fell apart, and the room filled with smoke.

No experienced teacher would ever leave the symbol of authority, the strap, in an unlocked desk. To do so guaranteed that it would be hidden; usually somewhere in the schoolroom. Admittedly, some teachers abused corporal punishment to the point where every red-blooded boy had to experience the strap at least once a term. However, the successful teachers found more effective ways to discipline students.

This brief overview of the one room school raises some important questions: Is bigger necessarily better? In 1999, are schools of 1,000+ students really desirable? Have not the marvels of a technological age, such as classroom computers and use of the Internet, made smaller schools more feasible? Are the mega-schools part of the problem or part of the answer to the ills of todays society? Why are more and more parents opting for home schooling?

While no one would suggest a return to the schools that are forever out; the above questions make the point, that this backward look is not totally an exercise in nostalgia.

By coincidence, as I began typing this column, the CBC’s This Morning featured an interview with John Gray and Eric Peterson. They were discussing the return of their highly successful 1978 musical Billy Bishop Goes To War. I stopped to listen, as the two enacted several scenes; noting particularly how the play was, once again, speaking to a new generation.

During the first world war Canada did not have its own air force. Nonetheless, hundreds of Canadians joined the Royal Flying Corps where many achieved fame as pilots. Thanks to John Gray’s musical, the exploits of Billy Bishop are well known; but what about the others? Not many people are aware that, listed among the top ten Canadian flying aces of that war, was one from this region.

Albert Desbrisay Carter was born at Point de Bute on July 3, 1892, the son of Leonard Carter (1850–1928) and Violetta Lettie Goodwin Carter (1864–1922). This branch of the family was of Yorkshire origin and successive generations of Carters had lived in the area since the late 1770s.

After attending the local school, and Fredericton Normal College, Albert Carter taught briefly in New Brunswick and at Stanstead College in Quebec. Later, in 1913. he enrolled at Mount Allison University intending to pursue a career in law. The following year, the outbreak of war intervened. On February 25, 1915 he enlisted in the army at Saint John, NB. His progress through the ranks was rapid as he already had three years experience in the militia.

Proceeding overseas in December 1915 Carter saw action as a machine gun officer on the front line in the infamous Battle of the Somme. Described by military historians as one of the most futile and bloody battles in history it accounted for the staggering number of over 24,000 Canadian casualties. In this bloodbath Carter was wounded in the hip and thigh. As a result, he was invalided home. After regaining his health Carter returned to England in early 1917.

Because of a commendable war record he was placed in command of an army discharge depot. Not content with the safety of a desk job; Albert Carter volunteered for service in the Royal Flying Corps. After qualifying as a pilot Carter perfected his flying skills in patrolling the English coastline. He reported for active duty in France on December 29, 1917.

By February 18, 1918 Carter’s first of several citations for bravery, conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty were announced. These were to climax in the award of the Distinguished Service Order. Soon afterward, the Belgian Croix de Guerre was bestowed on April 13, 1918. A bar was later added to the DSO and Carter’s courage in battle was mentioned in dispatches on three separate occasions.

What was behind these honors? Reliable statistics were difficult on the battlefields; but even more so, in the dog fights that took place in the air. The most accurate figure of downed enemy aircraft attributed to Albert Carter (provided in official Royal Flying Corps communiques) was 27. To this was added the ambiguous note that he might have been credited with several more. At least one other source raises the number to 31. Incredibly, he was on active duty with the RFC for less than five months!

Statistics aside, Carter’s bravery and extraordinary skill as a pilot were never questioned. George Drew in his book Canada’s Fighting Airmen commented: He was a fighter, continually seeking combat, and finally after numerous almost unbelievable escapes, his aircraft was shot down behind the German lines on May 19, 1918. Reported missing and presumed dead, it was not until the Armistice, that his survival became known. He had been interned in a prison camp in Bavaria.

Although badly injured Carter recovered, and returned to England in December 1918. Immediately he resumed flying; and joined one of the Canadian squadrons organized following the war. A few captured German Fokker aircraft were used by this squadron for training purposes.

Ironically, it was while flying a Fokker D.7 that Albert Desbrisay Carter’s luck ran out. Again, in the words of George Drew: Carter’s friends on the ground were horrified to see [the Fokker] suddenly go to pieces in the air, hurling its daring pilot to the death which he had so miraculously escaped while on active service.

Today, nearly eighty years later, an inscription on a monument in the Point de Bute cemetery and war medals displayed in the Fort Beausejour Museum are local reminders of the remarkable exploits of Albert Desbrisay Carter DSO and Bar, Croix de Guerre — a forgotten Canadian Hero.

But one question remains. Why is it important that ALL Canadian service personnel be remembered on November 11, 1998? It is not, as some critics would have us believe, for the glorification of war. Far from it! Ask any battle-scarred veteran and they will tell you that War Is Hell. The significance of their sacrifices lies deeply buried within Canada’s psyche.

Two respected Canadian historians, J.L. Granatstein and Desmond Morton have placed the question in perspective: While the quest for peace and global harmony is a noble one, it should not blind us to the lessons of history. Canadians took up arms without joy, but with ample courage and resolution. And while the fires of war inflicted terrible sufferings, they also forged a stronger, surer, and more sovereign nation. Canada is a nation forged in fire.

I am indebted to John Carter who suggested the subject for today’s Flashback. As always, he was helpful in providing me with background material. Cheryl Ennals and Donna Beal of the Mount Allison University Archives were of special assistance in locating information concerning the region’s Forgotten Hero.

Any review of Canadian history during the twentieth century will inevitably red circle 1967 as a year of significance. From coast to coast to coast, celebrations marking the 100th anniversary of Canadian confederation were the order of the day. A central figure in these activities was a native of the Tantramar. On July 1, 1999, let’s recognize this individual, who during his lifetime, came to be known as Mr. Canada.

John W. Fisher (1913–1981), son of Frederick and Nora Wiggins Fisher, obtained his early education in Sackville schools; later graduating from Rothesay Collegiate and Mount Allison University. Then it was on to Dalhousie Law School; and admission to the bar of Nova Scotia in 1938. Destiny, however, was to intervene and he did not pursue a career in law.

Following a stint as a newspaper reporter, Fisher accepted in 1943, an appointment with the CBC. Almost overnight, his voice became one of the best known in Canada. Radio programs such as: The Wandering Observer and later John Fisher Reports. attracted a national audience. He had found his niche, as a colorful and creative radio journalist and commentator.

Crisscrossing the country time and again, John Fisher was at home wherever he went. In his broadcasts he sought the unique aspects of Canadian society and reported all discoveries with boundless enthusiasm. As he expressed it: I roam across this country, probing, portraying and prodding with but one purpose: to awaken Canada to its true potential.

Several characteristics resounded throughout his broadcasts. One was a strongly held pro-Canadian point of view. Each corner of Canada stabs my soul, he once remarked; for I am in love with the whole. Yet in his radio scripts, which numbered in the hundreds, Fisher never lost sight of the little places. It was from obscure and out of the way locations, that he made some of his most memorable broadcasts.

John Fisher always remembered his roots. Time after time he would return to the Tantramar for inspiration. One broadcast began: It comes to my desk every week. I never fail to read it. It’s only a small town newspaper, full of the doings of a small place. You’ve probably never heard of it, the Sackville Tribune Post. The other day I noticed a story about a little church known as St. Ann’s in nearby Westcock… Then Fisher’s words tumbled out; as the story of the Bard of the Tantramar, Sir Charles G.D. Roberts, came alive for his listeners.

Growing up in Sackville and spending summers on the family farm in Frosty Hollow, he developed an affinity for the Tantramar landscape. Here is one of John Fisher’s carefully crafted passages, written in late autumn, when local scenery is never at its best:

Just over the hill from a little grey church, is the great divide between marsh and upland. As your car climbs the hill you look back on Westcock, then suddenly a new world looms and spreads before you, almost hits your windshield. The land is as different as day from night, the winds are cold now, the color weird. As far as the eye will stretch there is marsh and salt water and then chill of ocean. This hill is the dividing line. Through these marshes winds the Tantramar River, snaking, turning back to look on itself; forming strange patterns in the brown mud, empty onetime, overflowing the next. Tides ferociously keep the warm chocolate color agitated.

In 1956 Fisher’s career took yet another turn when he was named Director of the Canadian Tourist Association. This was a logical appointment; for no one could lay better claim to knowing Canada in its entirety. In this role he continued to be in demand as a guest speaker and commentator.

Once John Fisher was asked to address a conference of Canadian Food Industry executives. After a glance at the printed menu, he threw away his notes and ad libbed a new speech. Never one to shy from controversy he commented: The worst thing about conventions are the banquets. Picking up the menu, he chided the organizers for their lack of imagination in not providing a unique Canadian meal.

Unfortunately, I have only space to quote a few of Fisher’s local examples. How about fiddlehead salad or quahaug chowder? No one at the head table had heard of the latter delicacy. He went on: Surely then, you’ve heard of PEI’s famous Malpeque oysters, or lobster or perhaps shad fresh from the Bay of Fundy? For dessert, he suggested something featuring either New Brunswick cranberries or Nova Scotia blueberries. He then took the audience on a cross country gastronomic tour reeling off menu suggestions from every region. His insight and good humor earned a standing ovation. John Fisher had made his point!

He held this position with the CTA until named special assistant to Prime Minister John Diefenbaker in 1961. Two years later he was appointed Centennial Commissioner, charged with the responsibility of coordinating events that culminated in the celebrations of 1967. In this capacity he again toured the country urging Canadians to rid themselves of that strange disease of apology and non-support for things Canadian. In no small measure, the success of Canada’s 1967 Centennial may be traced to the enthusiasm and energy of Mr. Canada.

I first met John Fisher during one of his visits to the University of Western Ontario. He was always pleased to come to Western and was proud of the fact that he had graduated from the University’s famed French Language Program at Trois Pistoles, Qubec. In this and through later contacts, I came to appreciate the private John Fisher, a man of sparkling wit, wisdom and thoughtfulness.

My last meeting with him was twenty years ago, on July 1, 1979 when he chaired a panel discussion on Canadian unity at a conference convened at Thinker’s Lodge, Pugwash, Nova Scotia. It was held to coincide with the International Gathering of the Clans, which rotates every four years between Old and New Scotland. John Fisher was at his persuasive best as he pleaded for understanding between all races and peoples in a united Canada. Would that we had someone with the same devotion and eloquence in 1999!

John Fisher died on February 14, 1981. In a symbolic move, a grateful House of Commons passed a motion paying tribute to his outstanding contribution to his country. On July 1, 1999, let’s pay homage to Mr. Canada; for John Fisher’s message is as relevant today, as it was in 1979.

New Brunswick society a century ago was notable for the number of its benevolent and fraternal orders. The provincial almanac for 1899 listed twelve of these organizations as being active within Westmorland County alone. Many, such as the Sons of England Benefit Society, and the Grange or Patrons of Industry, have long since disappeared. Others, for example, the Knights of Columbus, Oddfellows and the Masonic Order are still with us.

Historians of Free Masonry trace its origin to the mediaeval stonemason’s guilds, who used secret signs to ensure that unqualified persons were not employed in their trade. The term lodge was derived from the worker’s quarters that were built adjacent to their construction sites.

Centuries later, a society was organized utilizing Masonic terminology and Christian doctrine in its rituals. Shortly after the creation of the Grand Lodge of England, on June 24, 1717, the order crossed the Atlantic to take root in the New England colonies. The first Masonic Lodge, within present day Canada, was organized in Annapolis Royal, Nova Scotia, in 1738.

On November 28, 1871, the Sackville Borderer reported that Lebanon Lodge #28 F & AM Sackville, heretofore working under a dispensation, was duly constituted. Present were a large gathering of members from Sussex Lodge, Dorchester, and Acacia Lodge, Amherst. After the ceremonies, a supper was served at the Brunswick House and the usual toasts were given, accompanied by speeches and songs. The Masonic Order had arrived in Sackville.

Now to the Masonic Mystery. In 1997, following the death of George Anderson Sr., the family discovered among his effects, a handmade silk apron, which they believed might be of historical significance. Fortunately they were able to call upon someone knowledgeable, in the person of David Jones, who identified the object as a rare Masonic apron.

Convinced that a story lay behind this item, David embarked on a quest to trace its background. What follows is a summary of his research in tracing the apron to its original owner. As he expressed it: Who was the man of the apron? What of his Masonic career? What of his life?

Further investigation uncovered a Grand Lodge Certificate bearing the name, Master Mariner Thomas Rheese Anderson (1840–1918), father of the deceased George Anderson Sr. A further search of the records of Sussex Lodge revealed that Captain Thomas R. Anderson was initiated on July 5, 1866, passed on July 12 and raised on August 2 all within a thirty day period during that summer.

It is David’s surmise that Captain Anderson was in Dorchester for ship repairs, and thus had limited time to properly receive his degrees. The search also disclosed that his brother, Captain Charles M. Anderson (1838–1895), also became a member of Sussex Lodge on June 20, 1867, just a few days prior to Confederation. He was later to withdraw his membership before emigrating to New Zealand in 1870. Captain Charles M. Anderson died there, December 5, 1895.

Unfortunately a gap remains in tracing Captain Thomas R. Anderson’s later career in the Masonic Order. Records show that he remained on the roll at Sussex Lodge until 1872, when his name disappears. Since Lebanon Lodge received its charter in 1871 it was thought that he may have simply transfered his membership. To date, no verification of such a move has been found.

Beyond his involvement with the Masons, Captain Thomas R. Anderson’s seafaring career is well documented. This is, in part, due to the deposit in the Mount Allison University Archives of his valuable papers. Briefly stated, he spent more than thirty years travelling the world to ports in the United States, Europe, Africa, Australia and the Orient. Some of the famous ships under his command were the Arcadia, Gideon Palmer, Gussie Trueman, Algeria and the Asia. David Jones has also uncovered a fine painting of the latter vessel.

Captain Anderson retired to his home in Sackville in 1892. In later life he played an active role in community affairs. A supporter of the incorporation of the town of Sackville in 1903, he was elected an alderman in the first civic election.

A contemporary account of Anderson’s entrepreneurial success concludes: His record as a successful shipmaster would be hard to excel. He never made a voyage without it resulting in a dividend for the shipowners, never stranded a vessel or had it touch the ground, nor varied from the voyage for repairs or stores in short never went into a port in distress. His integrity, no less than his seamanship and business ability, was always recognized

I wish to express my gratitude to Sherman Estabrooks for suggesting this Flashback topic. Special thanks must go to David Jones for his historical detective work and willingness to share this story with a wider audience.

This is the time of the year when Atlantic Canada undergoes its annual hurricane watch. No words or pictures can truly convey the impact of these freaks of nature; they must be experienced to be understood. Of all the first hand accounts, the most frightening come from those who experienced the eye of the hurricane, and lived to tell the tale.

The same situation holds true in wartime. What’s it like to be in the midst of a battle? Ask any veteran or civilian who endured the Second World War, or listen to the stories of Canadian peace keepers returned from duty in Bosnia, to mention but one recent conflict.

It is sometimes overlooked that the Tantramar region was, more than once, in the eye of a battle. The last occasion took place during the American Revolution and is usually referred to as the Eddy Rebellion.

But first let’s focus on its impact on those who once lived here. By this time the area was largely resettled by New England Planters, drawn from Massachusetts, Connecticut and Rhode Island. Each of these colonies strongly supported the revolutionary cause.

Following the Declaration of Independence on July 4th 1776 there were many unanswered questions: Should the Tantramar settlers follow the lead of their friends and relatives to the south and take up arms? Would Nova Scotia, which then included present day New Brunswick, be the fourteenth colony to rebel?

Certainly Jonathan Eddy, who served as MLA for Cumberland Township from 1770 to 1775, thought so and did his best to enlist sympathizers to the revolutionary cause. Further, there was concern among the British authorities that uprisings might occur, particularly in areas settled by New Englanders.

When a call went out for the establishment of militia units to cope with such possibilities, one recruiter reported to Governor Francis Legge: As nineteen out of twenty are natives of New England, what dependance or reliance could Your Excellency have on such troops? In the end although the rebellion failed, its repercussions were to be felt for many years. Psychological wounds created by families and neighbors once bitterly divided take time to heal.

What was it like to live on the Tantramar in the midst of the Eddy Rebellion? What immediate effect did the conflict have on daily life in the autumn of 1776? One surviving account fills in some of the detail. Unlike many others, this person and his family did not support the uprising. A teenager in the eye of the battle of 1775-6, he was later to recall his experiences:

In the fall of 1776 some people [Eddy and followers] came among us; raised all the disaffected and disarmed all friends of the government. They forbade us to stir off our farms, burned buildings and threatened many with imprisonment and death. In the night they would fire upon the garrison, [Fort Cumberland previously Fort Beausejour] and the garrison would fire back on them.

It was our usual custom to sit up the whole night at cards and dancing. When we heard the cannon roar, and the discharge of musketry, we would watch the flash of fire from the guns; and as soon as that was over, return again to waste our time in sin and vanity. We could easily see the fort from my father’s house. Death and danger were at our door.

Such were the memories of Reverend William Black of his boyhood on the Isthmus of Chignecto in 1776.

One of the pleasures in writing the twice monthly Tantramar Flashback has been my contact with you, the readers of the Trib. From the beginning I’ve encouraged feedback and to date, have not been disappointed.

My original comment that a region with over three centuries of recorded history would supply lots of subject matter has been borne out. In addition to a list of personal topics, there is now a thick file containing your suggestions for future Flashbacks. Keep them coming — they’re the lifeblood of any newspaper column!

As regular readers will have noticed, I try to vary the subject matter and at the same time, provide coverage to the Tantramar region and beyond. This can mean that your suggestion for a Flashback may not appear immediately. Also, some subjects require more research than others; often causing unavoidable delays. Since I am involved in a number of writing ventures, there are always those additional deadlines to meet.

Modern technology has been especially helpful, as a number of comments have reached me via e-mail. The fact that the newspaper is now online means that the audience is much wider than the regular subscription list. Several people, with ties to southeastern New Brunswick, have made contact as a result of surfing the net. Your queries and comments are always welcome.

In addition to regular letters through Canada Post, a number of you have taken the time to give me a telephone call; to chat during line ups at the bank, drug store or in the Post Office. Like many others, I always sort the junk mail for recycling before stuffing the real mail in my briefcase. This daily chore has provided an opportunity for conversation with many people.

Let me provide one example of reader contact. Last June, I received an e-mail from Brian Dunfield of Braintree, Massachusetts. He was writing in response to one of my early columns: Murder On The Marsh. He mentioned that his mother, Marion Fawcett Locke, was originally from Middle Sackville. The latter had just celebrated her 90th birthday on June 2, 1998. He further noted that Marion would be visiting relatives in Sackville, Shelagh and Austin Ward, during the first week of August.

Immediately the thought occured: Is this an opportunity for an interview?? I hesitated… then an inner voice told me Go for it. Arrangements were soon made to meet Marion. Very quickly, I realized that this was going to be an enlightening and valuable experience. Not only did she fill me in on her early years in Middle Sackville; she walked me through a remarkable lifetime spent in several parts of the Maritimes, Quebec, Ontario, Florida and now Massachusetts where she retired to be near her son and daughter.

As is well known, the Sackville Fawcetts have descended from James, John and William Fawcett who emigrated in 1774 from Hovingham, Yorkshire, and Marion is no exception. Her parents were C. Fred Fawcett and Myrtle Wheaton Fawcett. Marion’s reminiscences of the one and two room country schools will be incorporated in a later Flashback.

During the interview I could not help but be taken with her recall of past events and dates. For example, she remembered Christmas 1917, and her first pair of skates. It was a clear, sunny day and Bowser’s Pond beckoned, despite parental warnings that the ice might not be safe. The inevitable happened; however, resourceful even then, Marion rescued herself thanks to a nearby tree branch.

Perhaps even more important than remembering past events was her optimistic approach to life. Proud of her heritage, she turned the tables and questioned me about plans for Yorkshire 2000 and the 225th anniversary of the arrival of her ancestors. I will publically confess that Marion and I have a date to meet when she visits Sackville in the year 2000!

With many other interesting people waiting in the wings, writing this column will never be a chore.