HISTORY OF BOWMANVILLE

Part 27

By Mr. J. B. Fairbairn, P. M.

The Muir’s, another name closely identified with the early records of the village, lived on the lot where Mr. Murdoch now has his seed store. He occupies the rooms which once formed part of the original house, they being removed from where they then stood. One of the daughters was married; I have forgotten which and on the refusal of the groom to submit to the customary penalty the edict to compel submission was issued by the gang and determined effort made to enforce it. During he foray a gun was fired off, the contents of which passed through the door and either wounded some of the inmates or came so near doing so that the leaders called a halt. Whether my friend James was the party who actually handled the gun or not, I cannot say, though he had to and did bear the brunt of it, the accusation being made against him as the guilty party. In due course the mighty arm of the law was raised and came down with sledgehammer force. If I remember rightly, he was retire d for some time from active labour. He was among the first who took up arms at the time of the rebellion in defence of the country. He shouldered his musket and marched with the other volunteers to Toronto. He was one of the kind out of which good soldiers are made, - no flinching in face of danger. The material out of which he was built was good fighting stuff. When the California gold fever broke out and spread so widely, in 1849, he took the disease and went out there in search of the precious metal. It tried a man’s hope and grit to take the dreadful journey around Cape Horn. He did it and reached the diggings in safety. After three years trial, as it did not pan out as he anticipated, he returned home and stayed here for some time, but his former migration had left some of its effects in his blood. He got restless and resolved once more to try his luck under our own flag, and British Columbia became the centre of attraction. After fourteen years spent in the almost fruitless search, he bid fare well to the golden prospects and came home to end his days, as he did in peace and comfort. He had a mania for gardening in all its branches; Flowers were his especial hobby. As I am writing this a oleander (which we highly prize, that he so kindly brought to the house) is fronting me in the window, a constant reminder of him and his love for those inanimate but living testimonies of God’s love for us and them. The two daughters both married. I like to recall an incident in this connection, as it shows that down in nearly every human heart there is a spark of the Divine Spirit of forgiveness and sympathy. Hannah, married a Mr. Eck, of Oshawa. They had an only daughter whom they sent to be educated at the Ladies’ college, in Whitby. To be near her they moved into its immediate neighborhood. I happened to be in that town on business and heard that Mrs. Eck was seriously ill, I went to see her. Let me explain briefly the result of that visit. When James returned from his last adventure in the west he somehow got it into his mind that he had not been fairly dealt with in the division of his father’s estate and blamed his sister, believing that she had influenced the old gentleman in making disposition of it. In the course of a conversation with her, she spoke strongly, expressing what a source of grief the estrangement had been to her, saying he was her especial favorite and it would be a great consolation to her if a reconciliation could be made. Immediately on my return I took the first opportunity to interview him and related the conversation verbatim. "Did she want to see me," he said, so earnestly. I said "Yes, lose no time, the sands are sinking." He accompanied by Mrs. Heal, went up the very next day and I knew it was a source of great comfort to them both. With all his brusqueness of manner there lay under it a good, kind, generous heart. Mrs. Heal and one daughter are still residing here. The only son William, is in busines s in New York City. He comes frequently to see them. He does not, like some, forget his mother. A mothers heart is the one casket that holds to the end, boundless love and affection. "Boys guard it carefully."

A friend wrote to the Editor of THE STATESMAN some time ago and in the letter alluded to those reminisciences that I have been serving up for future use. Old clothes was the text Carlyle took upon which he preached his famous sermon Sarter re Sartis. In this case I am not going to confine myself altogether to the old but will try my hand at a new style of garment. He has evidently been reading what I have already written and says with interest noting that I have paid a good deal of attention to the English and Scotch and he wants to know where the Irish come in. Why, my friend, they are everywhere present, like the heavens on a clear frosty night, spangled with glistening stars so the dome of the great empire over which King Edward reigns with such unparrelelled lustre there are constellations of them in every walk of life giving light and leading all over Canada and the United States. One could not even fancy to get on without them.

An Irish grievance has been the steam engine of politics in Great Britain keeping the atmosphere purified and the country free from the blight of indifference and stagnation. I can remember the burning eloquence of Dan O’Connell raising a flow of sympathy for his suffering countrymen reaching out to this new land and although time had not laid his heavy weight on my youthful spirits, I was up in thought if not in arms to do valiant things for the supposed down-trodden Isle of the Saints.

The House of Commons has for the last hundred years reverberated with streams of fiery denunciation against the perfidious Saxon. The burning eloquence of such men as Fergus O’Connor, Smith C. Brien, and others of that ilk are still echoing down the corridors of time and will I suppose continue to do so till the last man stands on London Bridge and witnesses they dying struggles of this now mighty nation. No people on earth have produced greater orators, in the forum, courts of law and the pulpit, than of the emerald Isle. Such names as Edmund Burk, Parnell, and in the present day our own Hon. Edward Blake, M. P. will not soon die out. The latter still advocates Home Rule, aiding the movement by his wonderful insight into the perplexing problem. I myself believe in its justice. It will surely come, Tom Moore sang in mournful strains what he thought was the passing glory of his country and did much in the sweet songs about Erin to raise into wider ch annels their native love and enthusiasm for Ireland.

"The harp that once through "Tara’s halls"

The soul of music shed

Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls

As if its soul had fled.

Was he right or was this an airy flight of imagination? The ould instrument may have lost its strings but the living Irishman has not nor ever will his love for the music that has entered into his soul from the cradle, upon which he was nursed at his mother’s knee. Start up "The Battle of the Boyne" or "Croppies Lie Down," and you’ll find them as redy to dance the Orange jig, or "Wearing of the Green," hornpipe, as ever they were at Donny brook fair. Forget the Irish? Not much!

The grandmother of my children was bred and born in the ancient town of Marysboro, Queen’s county, the ancestral home of the late Dr. George H. Lowe, and the Weslh family, one member of the latter, Miss Mary Julia lived till May of this year in the Waltham Cottage, revered and loved by her many old pupils whom she educated not only in pure English but also taught them how, after they left her care, so to demean themselves as to do credit to her training, fitting them to adorn as gentlewomen any station in society in which they might move. The dearest memories of my past are associated with many who first saw light in that wonderous Isle, so famed in song and story.

There came to the shore of Ontario not exiles of Erin but a lively lot from the county of Tyrone, their tongues tinged with the melodious notes of the language of that Protestant county, the McClungs who arrived at an early period. I cannot give the date. The wife and mother was a sister of old Mr. Grey they having preceded them in the voyage of discovery. The string, the end of which was placed in the soil of Darlington by some unseen power leading them to what is now quite a little village. They were exceptionally fine emigrants, well educated and must have moved in good society in the home land. The Irish are great believers in the kind of blood they may have inherited. There was no bad drop in them. The father died in Bowmanville at the Evergreens during the time his son-in-law James McFeeters lived there. James Grey,a son, spent a long life in the ministry of the Methodist church for several years an important position in connection with the work of the conference. John was a merchant and post master and did a large flourishing business at Tyrone where they located. His son again is the agent of the Standard Bank at Harriston and shows the peculiar qualities of his ancestors. He is a success. Thos. Bingham, our big insurance agent, served his time with Mr. Grey and like all Irishmen had any amount of fun in his composition. I dare not mention some of his pranks. He assisted in the post office and occasionally sent us some peculiar missives. He didn’t always pay postage on his correspondence with us. I put this in to remind uncle Tom that I have not forgotten his having made up the mails for Bowmanville at that time.

NOTE--The foregoing is the preface to the McClung article which will appear in the next section.


Next - Bowmanville and Darlington History Part 28



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