Last month we began the story of G.A. Royal’s memory of a trip to Dunedin from the farm just to the west of Creemore. It was around the turn of the century, the beginnings of the 1900s, and of course, unlike today, the journey had to be made with a team of horses pulling a sleigh. Today’s story begins about one kilometre west of Creemore.
Across from the Featherstones and just beyond Sheppard’s bush live an old couple by the name of Walkers. Theirs is the only house that I have visited that has a cellar kitchen. It is their main living room and opens to the railway. It is a warm room, indeed in coldest of weather, being sheltered by the hill into which the house is built and exposed only to the weather from the south.
We hurry past Walkers and in no time at all we are passing Mrs. Alonzo Webb’s home. Mrs. Webb has a large family of boys, two of the younger ones near my own age, are in my room at school.
The place I am looking for, however, is a little further along and on the other side of the road, for there lives Willie McBain. He and I go to school together and walk home together, and with my cousin, Gordon, have many things in common. I hope I see him as we pass. His father, Don McBain, is talking about moving to western Canada, so Willie told us, and I am fearful of losing a good friend. We do not see any of the McBains, however. Maybe they are already packing up.
We go down the hill just past McBain’s gateway and across the bridge with its boarded insides painted red, which even in the winter time with two feet of snow for a cushion wobbled and rattled dangerously. This is a short bridge over an arm of the main river, but a good volume of water flows under it. The boys of Websterville have a swimming hole here just inside McBain’s fence. The arm of the river makes an island upon which Websterville is located.
Just over the railway is Mustard’s large planing mill and residence. I can recall many visits to Mustard’s and many hours spent in and around the mill. It is most interesting to see the machinery in operation, and I like to hear the singing of the saws and the planes and sometimes Levi Mustard will take me downstairs to where the water wheel is located, to see the water gushing out from under the flanges, as the wheel revolves. It was, indeed, a great adventure that day he permitted me to pull the lever to start the water wheel and a little frightening, too, when the shafting started revolving with a loud clattering noise.
Levi is the youngest of the Mustard boys and a frequent visitor at my house, which gives my brother and me the excuse if we need any, to drop at Mustard’s whenever we pass that way. Mr. Mustard is a very busy and active man, and in spite of the fact that he has lost nearly all his fingers from too close contact with the saw, he continues to operate all the machinery as expertly as though he still is in possession of them. It is always a marvel to watch him at his work. Today, being quite cold, the mill windows and doors are closed but we can hear the hum of the shafting and the high screams of the saws within.”
(to be continued.)
