Crossing the Atlantic in 1906

I was going through some of my mother's papers the other day and came across several sheets of three-ring binder paper, my grandad had used to write about his life in Canada including  this story about how he arrived here. His own words, written post-retirement in 1971, cleared up a puzzle I had been trying to figure out: which ship he came on. 

The Rev. Canon Edmund Graff Nicholls Grant  was born on April 28^th, 1887. He died in January1979.  This little excerpt is taken from what he called  Reminiscences 1906 -1964.

He left by train from Cardiff to catch the ship in Liverpool. Quite an adventure for a 17-year-old.

Grandad Grant's voyage away from home in Wales to a new life in Canada:

It was a wet and rather depressing morning in the middle of March 1906 when I boarded the train which was to take me to Liverpool. A couple of brothers and a sister saw me off, on that, which to me was a memorable night, at the age of almost 18 years.

The next day I found the vessel, a CPR ship, called "Lake Manitoba" which was to take me across the Atlantic.

The Lake Manitoba [Source:http://www.norwayheritage.com/p_ship.asp?sh=lamam]

After getting on board, I was shown to my "stateroom," which was the hold of the ship and which the portholes were on a level with the ocean. As far as I can remember, there were about 100 men in this hold, which is a cavity in a ship below deck. We slept and had meals in the hold.

I spent the greater part of my time on deck, although it was chilly. The journey took 12 days, weather at times pretty rough, & 1 day (24 hours) we only made 50 miles. I was not sea-sick at all, but lots of passengers were. We landed at St. John NB on a cool and frosty morning where I took the train for Toronto. I stayed for a day in that city and took the train for Sutton, via the Grand Trunk RR.

Sutton Railway Station in 1906 http://www.trha.ca/trha/history/stations-2/sutton-station/

The Testaments: a clamour of voices, a muted dystopia

 Just finished reading The Testaments; it’s a page-turner I devoured over the last three days or so.

Structurally it is very clever, especially with the ambiguity introduced after all the journal entries, by the addition of the Symposium at the end. 

The language is Atwood in high gear:  sardonic, witty, morbidly funny, and echoing with mischievous literary, biblical, and mythic allusions.  

But the characters are somewhat flat and seem under-developed if not stereotyped and hence, less important than the plot: much like dystopic Gilead itself, subordinating people to ideology. This might be a clever conceit if Atwood meant it that way. But making the characters secondary to the action does not invite closeness to them. I observed them, but I didn’t wholly connect.

The ending seems happy — a wishy-washy version of secular humanism may prevail; however, I wish Atwood had fully grasped the thistle of evil.  The multi-faceted journal format is a recollection of events, mediated only by characters who are reactive, not especially reflective.  The horrific events they describe are certainly objectively repugnant (lots of frissons), but the evil is subjectively dulled. Mind you, I do wonder about some of the comments in the Symposium chapter at the end.

Overall, the novel reminds me of some young-adult fiction — lots of action, weaker character development, and an under-explored moral universe. Atwood is a master of genres, maybe it was the turn of young-adult fiction?? 

In any event, it surprising that this novel is not deeper, for want of a better word. 

It will be interesting to hear what goes on at the interview on October 4^th.  Has anyone else read it? What do you think?

Three stars (out of four). 

Our last days in Scotland then home again

Monday September 19th and Tuesday the  20th

Back to Tweedbank by bus, then by train to Edinburgh, then on to Glasgow:  all smooth. [I really can't say enough great things about the train and bus systems in Scotland.]

Once in Glasgow we found road construction all around the train station. We walked uphill [of course] and eventually (despite or because of directions from various people), we found the Buchanan Bus Station.

The airport bus was there waiting. The driver said we should have had our dual return ticket stamped when we arrived, but he let us on anyway, thank goodness. We had the remains of the previous ticket but not the one to return.  

At the Glasgow airport, there was a lot of road construction and not one, but two, Holiday Inns. The easy one to reach was just across the street from the bus stop. It wasn't ours...We found this out trying to check in and finding no reservation. 

Our hotel was the Holiday Inn Express which we could see but could not get to because of the barricades and the total lack of adequate signage. It was an Alice through the Looking Glass experience. We finally gave up and cut through a parking garage.

Easy when you know how!

Nice room: red and grey, refurbished recently. 

Source: Holiday Inn Express

The bathroom had a grab bar in the shower [the only one in any of our accommodations in the whole trip]. The door to the bathroom also closed the toilet area, which I though was very clever design.

Nice not to have to grab the scalding hot water faucet ...

We went back to the airport to familiarize ourselves with its layout. We had a late lunch at a pub restaurant. I had chili and rice, which was surprisingly good as it spiced up more than usual. I also had a light beer! So far no serious bowel repercussions.

Then we went to the Tesco store and got a banana, an orange, some Babybels,"oaty" biscuits, and mixed nuts and cranberries for a dinner time snack.

Back to the hotel, checked the email:  the WiFi worked!! 

To bed at 10:23 pm, still awake at 11:30, woke up at 5:00 am, got up at 5:31. 

***

Tuesday September 20, 2017

Checked out of our hotel after a light breakfast (way too many calories yesterday). We followed the crowd back to the terminal: took a long way around, but it was apparently the intended route.

Checked in at the airport: all went smoothly. Now we are sitting in the departure lounge. We don't sit by the gate we leave by. The gate number pops up on a screen in the general lounge just before boarding time ,and then we head to where we board.

A six-hour and 13-minute flight awaits. Glad I had the banana for breakfast. The potassium may help my twitchy legs.  

It will be light out, so I will read Dr. Thorne. We have seats together at the exit seats.

***

To the best of my recollection writing today eight months later, the flight went well. I received my pre-ordered Thai chicken wrap, which was tasty. I don't know why more people don't do this.

I enjoyed my book and even more, the fact I was finally feeling better!

We were early approaching Nova Scotia. However, when we got to Halifax, there was so much fog we couldn't see anything, and landing seemed problematic. In any event, the pilot came on the loud speaker and said we would be circling the airport to try a different approach. He added that we had plenty of fuel, something I hadn't actually considered until that precise moment. We eventually landed in fog like cotton batten. I saw the runway speeding below us about three seconds before we landed on it.

Customs was no problem and the shuttle to the parking lot was waiting; we were the only ones on it. Our driver fulminated over the American election and praised Donald Trump. I wonder how he feels about him now (likely the same). We found our car exactly as we had left it and headed for the ferry at Caribou.

No reservations needed this time.

It was nice to see the Canadian flag on the mast of the ferry and truly feel we were home again.

Here are some shots  I took of the harbour at Caribou while we waited to "sail" across to PEI:

The  lobster boats are ready for the fall lobster season.

After the crossing, we headed to Montague and a comfort-food supper at Pizza Delight. It still seems amazing to me that you can eat breakfast in Glasgow and  have dinner in North America. We were glad to be home, but over the ensuing months, I feel sorry that we can't just hop in the car and go back to the Orkneys, revisit Nairn, or go on another walk around the Eildon hills.  It was in retrospect (and now with completely normally functioning innards) a wonderful trip.

Family history unfolds at the Eildon Hills

Sunday Sept. 18, 2016 

We had breakfast with several serious hikers, the kind who don't wear their boots in the dining room but have only their heavy socks on their feet. Our host nodded to the out-of-doors and pronounced it "a dry day." In Scotland this means it was not actively raining. I wore my rain pants for the first time during the trip, as I thought we might encounter wet grass and muddy paths on our hike to find Eildon Hall.

I had been curious about this house for many years. My maternal grandmother's family came to Canada in the 1830s, and our ancient matriarch Susan Sibbald lived in a house by Lake Simcoe, which she called Eildon Hall after her father's home in Scotland.

My fourth great-grandfather had work begun on Eildon Hall in the spring of 1802. According to his daughter Susan, he located it "on a spot where as a schoolboy he said he should like to build a house on account of the magnificent view, which was open to the Cheviot Hills 6 miles off (Memoirs of Susan Sibbald, p. 210).

This is what the house looked like in 1804, apparently, according to the list of illustrations in the Memoirs. 

It has undergone changes in ownership and renovations over the years since and has been owned by the Dukes of Buccleuch since about 1860. This is what it looks like now, although not on the day we went, which was very overcast. Also we approached it from the north side, through the fir trees behind it to the right in the photo:

Eildon Hall as it is today looking north
Source: http://newtowneildon.weebly.com/eildon-village.html

After walking out of Melrose and following a footpath south off Dingleton Road and across the Malthouse Burn, we found the main hiking trail to the easternmost peak of the three Eildon Hills. My journal continues: 

We climbed straight up 140 steps, resting every 10 steps, and being passed by other fitter walkers and hikers...spectacular views of the Tweed Valley, hills and Melrose Abbey.

You can see Melrose Abbey in the mist in the left corner of the picture.

Rather muddy at times, but very fresh air, just what I like: a hike in the outdoors. 

The village of Melrose is in the Tweed Valley.

We didn't go to the top of Eildon Hill as that would have taken much more time and over 1300 feet of climbing: too much for our elderly out-of-shape selves. Still the view from about halfway up was impressive. 

We took something of a wrong turn at a critical juncture and found ourselves on a paved road, near what turned out to be the monument to the Eildon Tree, immortalized by Thomas the Rhymer.

He was a 13th century poet and prophet whose poems were popularized by Sir Walter Scott in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border published in 1802, the same year as work began on the Hall.

"At Eildon tree if yon shall be
a brig ower Tweed, yon there may see"
Thomas the Rhymer

Sir Walter Scott identified this location near the foot of the Eildon Hills as the site of the ancient tree because three bridges over the Tweed  were visible from this vantage point. (Source: wikipedia.)

Susan Sibbald was familiar with the legendary poet and perhaps Sir Walter Scott's pronouncements about the famous tree. In any event, in her memoirs, she says to her son, "you must remember, Hugh, to have read another of Thomas  the Rhymer's predictions ... 'betide befa' whate'er betide, Haig sal be Haig of Bemersyde'."  

This one concerned a local ancestral home and predicted dire consequences if the last laird died without issue. The last (20th) direct descendant of the first lord died childless in 1854. Just as his coffin was being lowered into the grave, a tremendous thunder storm broke out, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and loud roars of thunder, to the distress of the mourners (Memoirs, p.185). 

It is exciting to read (albeit after the fact) that Susan Sibbald was familiar with Thomas the Rhymer; I also wonder if the actual paths we walked on she had also trod upon. 

We came upon a man walking his dog. "Do you know where you are?" I asked him, thinking he might also be a tourist. But he was a local person (which explained the odd look he gave me). He gave us excellent directions to Eildon Hall: go up and down two dips in the road, then see a nice entrance on the right.

He also gave us information on the house and told us, "There is no one living there now." He added it was owned by the Duke of Buccleuch and was intended as the home for the duke-in-waiting i.e., the eldest son of the existing duke.

The 9th duke of Buccleuch, who died in 2007, was the last to live at Eildon Hall. Incidentally, his funeral was held at Melrose Abbey and he is buried there; the Buccleuch family received some of the monastery lands after the Reformation and the dissolution of the monasteries.

No one seems to like these (or other) dukes. Perhaps it also stems from the on-going effects of the Enclosure Movement, which peaked about two hundred years ago, but whose effects still ripple down the generations.  

Someone told us that one of the Buccleuchs used to ride his horse to the post office in Melrose and would order some bystander to hold the animal for him while he went in for his mail. One of the locals objected and ended up punching the duke. Surprisingly when the matter came before the local magistrate, he was let off. 

Anyhow, we walked and walked and finally found the gate: curved sandstone walls with white gates, which were wide open:

I took a picture of them and of the gatehouse, a charming stone cottage:

Then we walked up the incline 

until we came to Eildon Hall:

There was a black utility vehicle parked by the door, but while I peered through the glass of the front door, I didn't knock. It was a bit spooky. 

The vehicle is barely visible behind the over hanging branches.

It looked very run-down and dusty inside. There was an old wooden chair leaning against the wall and what might have been a dog-toy on the floor of the vestibule. It looked  like a stuffed sock —  a dirty yellow knit thing knotted at the top.

The whole place looked neglected:

Dr. Thomas Mein died 1815, not long after the completion of the house in about 1806. Later it was owned by a William Henderson and was lived in by the "Misses Henderson" in 1845. Architect William Burn redesigned and remodeled it (from 1861 to 1867) for the 5th Duke of Buccleuch. 

Why it did not remain in the Mein family is something of a mystery. Susan Sibbald continues her account of her father's desire to build Eildon Hall:
...he had the expectation of the property coming to him after his father's death [in 1794] and no doubt it would have been the case had matters been properly arranged as to his brothers' and sisters' portions, but he was abroad some years and did not hear of his Father's death till his return to England. My Grandmother was never satisfied about the sale of the property and always alluded to something being wrong in the agent's  management (p. 211).

A picture says a thousand words.

I considered trespassing onto the front lawn, but loud barking from an indeterminate direction gave me pause. This is all I managed to see. The Cheviot Hills, beloved of my great-great-great-great grandfather, are in the distance perhaps:

Although it was disappointing to see the house in such a state of decline, I was not as troubled as I might have been if it had been the original house, begun 215 years ago this spring. Somehow the mid-century renovations made it a different house to me, at least on the outside. 

Also something I discovered while re-reading Susan Sibbald's memoirs for this blog took my attention away from the house itself. She reminisces that her father had planted fir trees at the foot of the "east hill" (p.166), which I take to be the area through which we were walking back in September. 

Could these be the descendants of the original trees planted over 200 years ago?

How quickly do fir trees grow? Might this one be close to 200 years? 

They lend a special resonance to the term 'family tree'! How many hundreds of people now planted all over the world are part of this original family. 

Then we retraced our steps down the lane  to the disused road

and eventually back to the warmth of our BnB, where I slept for most of the rest of the afternoon. It had been a long walk in more ways than one.

Off we go to Melrose and the Scottish borders

Journal entry from September 17, 2016

Everything went smoothly getting checked out of the Cairn Hotel. We had too little hot water for our morning showers, but the cheery tooth-challenged desk clerk said it was "all fixed now." So that was good, but not awfully useful, news — at least not for us. Despite that and the less than delicious breakfast the first morning, the Cairn was a most serviceable place to stay.

As before, we breakfasted  around the corner at the "Taste of Italy" and then walked the half-mile or so back to the Waverley train station. It was  mostly uphill, but we were "used to it now."  

We got on the 10:25 am Borders Railway south to Tweedbank  and were there by 11:25 am. The previous year on September 9th, the day of her becoming Britain's longest reigning monarch, Queen Elizabeth had re-opened the rail line and  then traveled along it to Tweedbank, just as we did.  (However, unlike her Majesty, we  weren't treated to fireworks.)

http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-south-scotland-34177585

On an average weekday, there are "48 trains per day travelling from Edinburgh south to Tweedbank" (www. thetrainline.com). I love the Scottish rail system; oh that we might have something like it here in Parkhill so we could get to Grand Bend, Exeter, and London by train (or even bus!).

Then we took a bus on to Melrose ("got a return ticket") and had our bags stashed in our room at the Braidwood Bed and Breakfast by noon.  The bus stop was only steps away.

Source http://www.braidwoodmelrose.co.uk/ caption

Exploring the town, we bought Cornish pastries, fruit, and water for lunch, which we ate sitting on a bench at Melrose Abbey. The abbey, founded by Cistercian monks almost a thousand years ago, was another highlight of our trip. We used the audio guide and wandered around for a couple of hours — very serene place.

Seen from the west: Source: http://earthwise.bgs.ac.uk/index.php/
Building_stones_of_the_Border_Abbeys_-_an_excursion

Founded by David I of Scotland in 1136, it is best known as the resting place of the heart of  his descendant Robert the Bruce. (The rest of the latter's mortal remains are at Dumferline Abbey.)

David was the paternal fourth great-grandfather of Robert the Bruce. (Source:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_the_Bruce)

The abbey suffered numerous attacks during the border wars with the English beginning in 1296.

This is the north side of the Abbey.

In the background is one of the Eildon Hills, which we climbed the next day

The abbey was  rebuilt after an attack by Richard II in 1385:




Local quarries provided  sandstone and red trachyte (a type of feldspar), which gave the abbey its pinkish tone: 

The monks' rule of life (a combination of frugality and hard work) had the unintended, but not surprising, consequence of bringing prosperity to the abbey. The monks adopted new farming methods and sold Melrose wool throughout Europe, thereby providing employment for the local people. They also fed the locals during times of famine.  The photo below shows where the refectory was:

Water was diverted from the River Tweed and ran along this drainage ditch through the abbey, a fairly detailed engineering feat in the middle ages:

After the Reformation,when its land and goods were seized by the crown during the dissolution of the monasteries, the abbey fell into disrepair. However, in the early 19th century, Sir Walter Scott began a restoration.

A century later, during more work at the site in 1921, a small casket containing a heart was found and reburied; Robert the Bruce's heart  had been reputedly buried in the church. By coincidence, the  lead container was unearthed during an archaeological dig in 1996. An engraving said it had been found in 1921 under the chapter house floor and that it contained a heart. In June 1998, it was reburied under this memorial stone in the lawn on the east side of the abbey:

"A noble hart may have nane ease. Gif freedom failye:" from the poem The Bruce by John Barbour

Or was it? No tests were done on it, but I like to think it was The Bruce's:

In any event, Melrose Abbey is reputed to be one of the finest examples of medieval church architecture in the British Isles and was a pilgrimage destination at the height of its influence.

The juxtaposition of the contrail and the ruins:What would the monks have thought of jet travel!

While I explored the graveyard, Greg climbed the 74 steps to the bell-tower; I doubt if he climbed on these. If he did, he didn't mention it:

The view from the top of the roof is made more stunning by the apparent lack of a railing: 

Greg was trying to get a shot of the bagpipe-playing pig, which is likely one of the figures carved on these two columns:

 This shot provides a glimpse of the construction methods: 

 Then to our delight, we were treated to this:

The two people had used one of the Eildon Hills as a take-off point and were drifting towards the abbey. We could hear them talking in the sky.

As they floated off towards the River Tweed, we left Melrose Abbey and found the tourist centre and a lovely garden just beside it. The tourist official helped us find the right path to Eildon Hall, home of my fourth great-grandfather Dr. Thomas Mein RN. Then he also searched the Internet but come up with the other Eildon Hall — the one at Jackson's Point in Ontario. My third great-grandmother named her home in the backwoods of Ontario after her father's near Melrose. More about that in the next blog.

My journal continues: "We will will attempt  to go there tomorrow. The present owner, a duke of Buccleugh  may not be too pleased with trespassers. The house is not listed in any of the guidebooks, so we may not get too far... Nice dinner at the Marmion Brasserie across the street from the Braidwood. Then we shared an orange later in our room."

And that was all the excitement for that day!