When my dad was just a boy, he and his parents lived with his maternal grandparents in Ottawa, at 336 Metcalfe Street. His grandpa, William John Gerald, had been retired from his position as deputy minister of Inland Revenue for some time in 1920 when young Gerry sent him a note with good wishes for his 70th birthday. Grandpa Gerald wrote back from their summer place in Deep River. Nine-year-old Gerry so treasured this letter that he saved it his whole life in this carefully-marked envelope:

Inside the envelope, I found two fragile pieces of birchbark chosen by Grandpa Gerald for his reply. The handwriting on the bark is faded and difficult to read, but modern digital photo editing can bring out most of the lettering. He used a nibbed pen for the first bit, with the ink flowing quite well at first, then failing, leaving only indentations in the bark. The last bit is in pencil, which has survived much better!

This is what the letter says:

Deep River Aug 3/20

My dear Gerald
Your very welcome letter of the 25th July conveying your good wishes for my birthday reached me to-day and I thank you for kind expressions. Glad to learn that you are all well. Uncle John, Aunt Addie and cousin Gerald came up by auto Saturday afternoon and returned by same means yesterday forenoon. Grandma and I are now all alone but enjoying ourselves. Today is bright

(2nd piece)

and hot and no indication of rain. Sorry about your train but you will have a much better one by waiting until the new ones come in. We expect to leave here Friday morning and will be home in the near future. With love to everybody great and small in which Grandma joins me, I am
Your affectionate Grandpa,
WJG

NB Your letter reached Mattawa, Chalk River and Point Alexander before it was brought here.
WJG

Here’s a map clip to show the route taken by the letter, a long way up the Ottawa River and then partway back down again:

It’s a privilege to be the custodian of a little treasure like this, and I hope it lasts at least another 103 years. No wonder young Gerry kept it safe for so long, such a unique message from his beloved grandfather.

Tags: Gerald, letters, memorabilia

Our great-grandmother, Lily Wilson Borrowman, was our Granny Borrowman’s mother. Born in Ireland, she lived most of her life in St. Catharines’ Ontario, except for a period of time in Toronto and four years homesteading in Alberta. Her husband, Adam’s family had settled in Whitby upon arriving in Canada, and it seems she was a fairly frequent visitor there. She was part of a large family and had many nieces and nephews.

Between 1878 and 1897, she collected autographs and sentiments in an album, somewhat sporadically, to be sure, but the collection reflects her various homes, friends and relatives.

About a dozen of the fifty-five entries are undated; among the others, the earliest is from December 1877, written by her sister-in-law Lizzie (Elizabeth Borrowman) in Whitby, Ontario. It reads:

 “A Wish

I wish that happiness may fling

Her golden sunbeams round thy path

And hide thee ‘neath her downy wing

Till life’s rough storms away have passed.”

Some of the entries include sketches, either in black and white or coloured.  Lily’s other sister-in-law, Louisa, was an artist and an art teacher – her pencil sketch of fuchsia blossoms is quite lovely. It is dated September 1^st, 1880, in Whitby.

Lily’s husband wrote in her book, adapting a poem by Alaric A. Watts, “Home,” sharing his sentiments about their happy and blessed home. I find it bittersweet, as it is dated between the death of their first-born child, John, in 1879 and the birth of our Granny in 1881.

Adam may have misremembered some of the words, but he didn’t have Mr. Google to remind him, as I do, and those he did include are a lovely message for his “dear wife,” Lily.

Nearly ten years later, as the family prepared to depart Toronto for the West, Lily’s pastor Alex Macgillivray, (serving at Bonar Presbyterian Church, and also a close neighbour on Brock St.) wrote an encouraging and apt message for her, mere weeks before they arrived on their land near Red Deer:

Although many of the entries are religious in nature, or feature quotations of inspiring poetry, her younger brother claimed the back page of her book early on, writing in a more humorous vein:

 “Last but not least

“Tis always my fate

Below you will find

My name and the date.

February 17/79

Harper Wilson

It is something quite special to hold this book, obviously treasured for many years by Lily, knowing all these different relatives of ours also held it. To read their words, to see their signatures and drawings, is to reach lightly into the past to meet each of them, if only for a moment.

Tags: autographs, memorabilia

Vintage magazines can make for very interesting reading! The October 1920 issue of The Ladies’ Home Journal, which cost 20 cents, contained 212 pages filled with short stories, essays, fashion, home and garden advice and advertisements. These included still-familiar items such as Ivory Soap or Cream of Wheat as well as long-gone ones like the Electric Laundress (Cleans Two Ways!), the Victrola and many styles of corsets. I found a copy of this issue here.

My Granny, Edith Borrowman, was perusing her copy and came across a poem by Alfred Noyes with a reproduction of the vivid painting by William G. Krieghoff which had inspired it. This painting, entitled The Burning Boughs, was extolled by the Tribune journalist as quoted in my post of March 26, 2023.

Granny contacted the artist about acquiring the painting for her home and a correspondence ensued. I do not have Granny’s letters, only the replies that she received. Here is the first one, and my transcription of it, in which he says the painting is not available, but that he could paint a similar, larger one for her:

A second letter followed about a month later, explaining that he did have the original after all, and quoting a price for it, unframed. I love the reference to her sending him photos of her “sturdy son”!

However, unbeknownst to Granny, our Grandpa, Leroy Borrowman, had also been in correspondence with the artist, William G. Krieghoff, to acquire the painting as a surprise Christmas gift for his wife.

Here is the artist’s reply:

Clearly from this reply, Grandpa had asked for Mr. Krieghoff’s discretion in keeping his plan a secret from Granny. Notice that the letter is addressed to Grandpa’s place of work, his construction company.

This next letter shows that Grandpa has indeed purchased and paid for the painting, and had instructed the artist to ship it to his mother’s home address in Minneapolis, Minnesota. (Perhaps a Christmas visit was planned?) Mr. Krieghoff took the liberty of having it framed and also enclosed a second (deceptive) letter to be shown to Granny, regretting that the painting was no longer available; he hopes the subterfuge will ultimately appeal to her sense of humour! Seems it was a good thing Grandpa committed to the purchase when he did, as the poet who had been so inspired by it had also written, eager to own the original.

And here follows the letter suggesting that he had sold it to the poet, which was to be shown to Granny, no doubt to her great disappointment:

The final piece of correspondence is Mr. Krieghoff’s acknowledgement of receipt of the returned frame, which was apparently not to our grandparents’ taste.

All these letters together provide an interesting record of the provenance of the painting.

I can just picture Granny’s surprise and delight that Christmas when she did, in fact, receive The Burning Boughs. It graced her mantlepiece in Winnipeg for the rest of her life and is now much appreciated in my sister Jeanne’s home in Edmonton.

Tags: letters, memorabilia, painting

When my sisters and I were children, our birthday cakes were always served on a special plate, reserved for just that purpose. It depicts a scene of ducks flying over marshland, against a cloudy sky, with the various parts of the picture raised and contoured. As it also has plate-hook holes on the reverse side, I don’t think it was ever meant to be used for food. Perhaps it was the most appropriate-sized plate our mother had available and was special simply because it was only used for these festive occasions.

Our birthday cakes contained little treasures, usually small-denomination coins, wrapped in waxed paper.  If it was a layer cake, they would be nestled in the filling, but if it was a tall cake like a chiffon, Mum would slip a knife into the side of the cake before icing it and insert the coins at appropriate intervals so that most people would receive one. Hopefully, the birthday girl got the best coin! To that end, I think the picture plate helped with remembering where the treats were placed. I remember instructions like, “No, start cutting just here,”  with the plate facing the server.

Mum told me this plate was a wedding gift from William and Gwen Nutter, the parents of Alex Nutter. Alex, who was just six months older than Mum, had been her sweetheart before the war. He served on the destroyer, H.M.S. Jupiter, as an ordinary seaman in the Royal Canadian Naval Volunteer Reserve and was killed on active-duty 25 January 1941. His name appears on panel 8 of the majestic Halifax Memorial, which honours over 3000 Canadians buried at sea and also on page 40 of the Second World War Book of Remembrance, which is displayed in the Memorial Chamber of the Peace Tower.

The plate itself is displayed in my dining room, serving as my own small memorial of Alex, and our young mother’s grief, but it is also a reminder of prairie sloughs and the delight of hearing returning waterfowl and the hope that springs anew each year, and of course, of many happy birthdays past.

Tags: Borrowman, memorabilia

The Tribune article continued to describe other finds and treasures in Edith Borrowman’s home, most of which are now appreciated in one or another of her grandchildren’s homes. It is lovely to know where each item has come from and to know its story before passing it to yet another generation. Art, flowers, light–all these are important to each of us today, too.

“The visitor crosses a small hall to a big living room — with windows west and south–which rises up three steps to the garden room beyond. All dull golds and soft greys this room is, with Mrs. Borrowman’s favorite color, flame, for the accent. “We built it around the painting over the fireplace, because I have a passion for Ontario maples.” It is William Krieghoff’s The Burning Boughs. The poet Alfred Noyes coveted it as well as Mrs. Borrowman. He wrote a poem to it, a copy of which is pasted to the back of a small reproduction of the picture, which hangs in another room. The line “And the clouds of the sunset burn on the maple bough,” describes the painting and the room. Grandmother’s brass candlesticks brought from Scotland in a sailing vessel stand one each side of The Burning Boughs.

“The house-finder loved another spot; the little walnut desk with its pot of pussy willows and the boxed framed daguerreotypes on the wall behind and Marie Guest’s painting of silvery crocuses. The pot was lovely: grey green, with a frog’s head in relief, as he reached out to put a hand on a lily pad. “Simple jars with dull surfaces are right for flowers,” says Mrs. Borrowman, “but they’re hard to get.”

The Famous Wolseley Elm

“Number 1192 is opposite the famous Wolseley elm in the middle of the road. “That’s one reason we chose this site.” The times were recalled when the axe had threatened it and the community had risen up. Eighteen years ago, when they built the house, the family got to know little Mrs. Good, who lived opposite, the planter of the tree during the 1850’s.

“Sit down here, look!” invited the beauty-lover. Bits of ice were sliding lazily eastward. You felt dazed and happy: you were on the river, gliding, going nowhere. At your feet lay a little grey hooked rug with roses in it. A beautiful, quilted spread “done by a girlhood chum” was brought out. Sweet peas made a garland. There were blankets on the sunroom roof where the son and daughter were doing their university studying.

“Then down for tea by the fire, where tight-rolled logs of newspaper gave off colored flames. “I dip them in a solution.” You must sit on the grey chesterfield a moment to see the westward sky. “Mr. Fitzgerald says it’s a Corot frieze, that bit.”

Here also was Philips’ bend of the Assiniboine by Omand’s creek; Franz H. Johnston’s Black Eagle pine tree picture; Tom Tomson’s Lone Pine Tree, and a copy of Millais’ The Cabbage Woman.

“The garden outside you pictured as the tale was told. It starts here under this arch where Heavenly blue morning glories bloom and winds by a cobblestone path to the Japanese tea house with the curly roof that hangs far out over the river. “From snow to snow there is something blooming; the little blue scillas first, and the tulips, and in the end the scarlet asters. I have 500 gladioli — I need something for cutting.” The lakeside church is supplied with blooms every Sunday.”

News article written by Lillian Gibbons, Winnipeg Tribune, 22 April 1939

Tags: memorabilia, newspaper, painting, Winnipeg