Dad with our 1925 Buick, ready for the trip

The following was written by Jim Senior, probably some time in the early 1990s. 

In 1930 my father and mother decided that we should have a real vacation. So following some renovations to the 1925 Buick sedan, we were finally ready to take off for a wonderful and exciting journey westward and down to California. The changes to the Buick included arranging for the back of the front seat to be able to fold backward to form a double bed for my parents. Other renovations were carried out by my father to fit the outside of the car with boxes all over to carry our tent, beds, blankets, food and extra water and gas. These boxes were built behind the front bumper, along the curves of both front fenders, on the running boards that we used to have on cars, and one on each bumperette (the back bumpers) to hold a five gallon can, one for water and the other for spare gasoline. Also included was an extra spare wheel complete with rim, for in those days the tire was mounted on a split rim, and so you had to carry two jacks, one to hold the car up, and the other to spread the rim once you had mended the flat tire (actually fixed the tube of the tire). My Mother was Pauline and my Father was Prof. Wm. McIntosh. My sisters were Marjorie (the older) and Eleanor and myself Jim.

With the car all packed, we finally set out in the last week of June to motor North on Highway 11 (69 was not built at this time, nor was the Trans Canada Highway). Travel was much slower in those days; cars were not built for speed, nor were the highways built for speed. We arrived in North Bay in time to find a camping spot in the Municipal Park where we set up our car and tent. The tent had been given to us by “Aunt May,” Mrs. Lanchbury from Mimico who used to have Mom in to lunch while she was teaching at Mimico High School She really seemed like an Aunt to us, and went on a few summer vacations with us. The tent was called an Auto Tent because the four poles holding up the front of the tent allowed a car to drive under it, and it would be right up against the tent. The tent sloped from the height of the car down to a height of about three feet at the back end. Being the youngest I was relegated to the back of the tent with my folding bed.

The next morning we started out from North Bay along Highway 17 toward Sault Ste. Marie going through the town of Blind River. Unfortunately just before we started out the Blind River had been hit with a log jam and had overflowed its banks and the highway for a distance of about two miles. The highway was flooded to a depth of about two and a half feet, and wound so much that it would be unsafe to try and drive through.

Waiting for a tow near Blind River

At this point there were several horses with farm wagons and they were there to tow the cars through to dry land. The only trouble was that they suggested that we should drain the oil out of the crankcase and move the boxes off the car and onto the wagon. Everything had to be at least two feet above the level of the road. You can imagine the fun we had getting the boxes off the car!

Ready to be towed

As we were ready to go a man driving a Model T car came up and asked if we minded if he hitched on to the back of our car. Of course Dad said O.K. and away we went at a horse’s pace. The water came up over the floorboards of the car and we were forced to hold our feet up. When we got to the other end the man in the Model T started up his engine and went merrily on his way, while Dad had to purchase some new oil and put it in the crankcase. Then away we went to camp at Sault Saint Marie for our second night’s rest.

Next morning we crossed to the American side as there was at that time no Highway north of Lake Superior. We headed south-west to get around Lake Superior and headed for Minneapolis/St. Paul, twin cities in the State of Minnesota. Here we had my first catastrophe. As usual we had pitched our tent in a Municipal Campground and all was well as we settled in for a good night’s rest. However, sometime during the night the rain came down in buckets, and apparently J rolled over in my sleep. In the early morning I awakened to find that I was almost swimming in my bed. I must have touched the tent roof and this allowed water to come through the roof of the tent and soak my bedding, my bed and me. Needless to say, I got up really early and went for a walk. After this I issued an ultimatum: from now on the beds will be set up with everybody’s heads at the front of the tent and their feet at the back, or low end. I guess my parents must have sided with me for that was the arrangement for the rest of the trip.

From St. Paul we headed to Fargo, North Dakota, and from there back up into Canada to Winnipeg, Manitoba. From there we headed west along wide prairie roads, mostly under construction. Driving along one of these roads I happened to be looking out the back window and called to Dad “You have just lost one of your spares. Oh no it is one of the rear wheels”. Indeed it was the right rear wheel and we settled with a list. There was a road construction crew nearby and they just lifted up the rear end with a bulldozer and moved us over onto the side of the road in a nice shady spot. Dad went to a nearby farm house and called for a mechanic to come and fix the broken axle. One came, but he would have to order the axle from a distance and it would be a couple of days before he had it. He didn’t bring anything to catch the grease so we used our enamel pitchers and anything else that would do. The farm from which Dad phoned was owned by a German family and they supplied us ‘with home-made bread and fresh milk and then invited the whole family to a wondrous dinner at noon on Sunday. The mechanic arrived three days later and under strong duress managed with Dad’s instructions to get the axle replaced and we were finally able to get on our way.

From Manitoba, of course, we headed into Saskatchewan where the soil is what they call out there “Gumbo”, a name that really fits the type of soil. When it gets wet you can quite often find yourself firmly attached to the earth, as we were soon to find out. The second day it poured rain and the road we were on didn’t seem too good. Dad stopped at a gas station to enquire and was told to take a different road. We did and eventually came upon a small lake on the road. There was a travelling salesman following behind us. We both stopped to analyze the situation, but decided to chance it, and if we got stuck he would attempt to push us out of the muck. This of course failed and we were both well stuck. Dad could see a farmer working in the field up ahead, so he decided to ask him if he could pull us out with the horses. He asked Dad if he knew how to harness up a team, and when Dad stated he had grown up on a farm, the man told him there was harness in the barn and a couple of horses and a chain to attach to the cars. Dad came walking down the road with the two horses and pulled both cars out of the mud. He then returned the horses to the barn and thanked the farmer warmly. No charge.

We learned our lesson and never trusted “Gumbo” again. While in Saskatchewan we visited a distant (in distance too) cousin of Dad’s who owned a large farm there. We found him driving a seven-horse team across the land dragging a cultivator behind. We had a short visit with them, and took their picture beside our car.

After that visit we went on our way out of Saskatchewan and headed for Alberta, and the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. From Regina we headed towards Edmonton, Alberta, where we would take off for Jasper National Park. The road from Edmonton to Jasper was over an old railroad right-of-way, including twenty-four trestle bridges with two by eight boards to drive on and six-by-six timbers along the side to keep you from going over the side. Some of these bridges were some two hundred feet above the valley they traversed, and when we reached Jasper we heard that someone had gone over the side of one of the bridges and had been killed. This made Mother quite nervous and if there had been another way to get back to Edmonton she would have insisted that Dad take it. Unfortunately there was at that time no other way out of Jasper by car.

In Jasper there was no Municipal Camp Ground but the owners of Jasper Lodge allowed us to camp at the Lake Shore right in front of the lodge. We made ourselves right at home and had a wonderful sleep in the lovely fresh mountain air. In the morning when we awakened, we kids saw a black bear coming towards the tent. You can imagine the consternation we felt, and we tried to get Mother and Dad to open the car doors in order that we could get in away from the bear. In retrospect, I think that the bear was quite young and we were probably not in any danger. Tell that to three 12 to 14 year olds. We had a wonderful time in Jasper and enjoyed the wonderful mountains and lakes that abound around it.

Eventually we had to make our way back to Edmonton via the railway bridges. On the way back over the trail, we had a fire in the engine compartment. When we lifted the hood we could see that the covering on one of the battery cables had caught fire. We had no fire extinguisher with us but I was able to scrape enough dirt off the side of the road to put out the fire, and we were able to carry on to a little town called Edsun where we took rooms in a small hotel for the night. Next morning we resumed our trip to Edmonton where we were able to purchase a new battery cable.

From Edmonton we drove southward to Calgary from where we would head to Banff Springs in the mountains. Now you can drive direct from Jasper to Banff on a lovely highway. Not then! In Banff we visited several hot springs and finally found our way to Yoho National Park and their camp ground. The shelters there were constructed of what they called “diseased” tree trunks. They had big knobs on them. From information gained here, Dad drove over real mountain roads back in the bush where we saw a beautiful waterfall of over 300 feet.

After leaving Banff as we went through B.C. we drove over many mountain roads that are just wide enough for two cars to pass. Unfortunately, there are many “switch backs” on these roads. A switch back is where you go around the end of a mountain and change the direction you are going by almost 160 degrees. When you approach one of these you cannot see what, if anything, is coming from the other direction. As you approach the turn you sound your horn, and wait to hear if someone does the same. If you hear nothing you assume that there is no traffic from the other direction, so you drive ahead. On one occasion when this happened, Dad proceeded only to come nose to nose with another car. We had both blown our horns at the same time. The other car was driven by a woman, so Dad, like the gentleman he was, offered to take the outside of the road which had a sheer drop of about 100 feet although he had the right of way on the inside. We negotiated the turn all right, but at this point I should mention that there were no cable barriers to keep you on the road at that time.

From Banff we went through Golden B.C. to Revelstoke, Vernon, and the Okanagan area, famous for its fruit, and on to Vancouver on the Pacific coast. We toured the city over a couple of days, including a meal in a delightful Chinese restaurant, of which there are many. After sightseeing for a few days we went down to the Ferry Docks and car and all, boarded a ferry bound for Vancouver Island. It was a relatively short trip over calm waters until we came to Nanaimo (dessert treats called that) where we disembarked. We drove North on the Island until we ran out of road and then turned around and drove to the capitol of B.V.., Victoria. The City of Victoria reminds everybody of an English city. Many of the people are retired Englishmen and they want to live just like they did “back home.” They stop for tea at 4 o’clock and have the food they enjoyed in England. Here we toured the wonderful gardens and especially enjoyed the Buchart Gardens that are a joy to behold.

From Victoria we took another ferry, but this time we landed in the U.S.A. at the Port of Seattle in the State of Washington. The first night in the State of Washington we drove into a State Campground and whom should we meet there but a Teacher and his wife from my school, U.T.S., who were also known to my Mother and Father. They were on their way around the same loop we were on, but they were traversing it in the opposite direction to us. Imagine, meeting up with someone you knew in Toronto at the other end of the continent. This was in 1930 not 1990. Both parties were surprised and delighted to meet there.

The next day we drove onto California Highway No.1, and headed down the Pacific coast to that State. Although they told us that we were right next to the ocean, you sure couldn’t prove it by us. The fog was so thick over the ocean that we couldn’t see it for the first two days of driving. However, when we arrived at the California State border, we were stopped and we had to dump any raw vegetables that we were carrying. You couldn’t bring them in to the State as they were afraid you might introduce insect larvae that could harm their crops. That done we continued down the coast and the weather cleared up so that sure enough, the ocean was right beside us. Just before we came to the California border, we passed through groves of giant Redwood trees. It is hard to imagine the size of these trees, but some of them were over 200 years old. One of them, just off the highway, was so big that the trunk near the ground was hollowed out and you could drive your car right through it, and we did.

On the way down through California, we drove over the Golden Gate Bridge, at that time the longest suspension bridge for traffic in the world. San Francisco, at one end of the bridge, is a city built on hills. All the streets seemed to go either up or down, none of them seemed to be on the level for any distance. We toured the city for short time and continued on down the coast through many interesting towns with Spanish names and full of Haciendas from the time that Spain ruled this land, towards our final destination in that State, Los Angeles. Here we visited my Father’s sister, Mina, married to Andrew Oliver from Seaforth, Ontario, who lived on a chicken farm in a Los Angeles suburb, and his older brother Ernest, married to Gertrude, who with their son, Bobby, lived in a bungalow in the city. We spent about a week in the vicinity, enjoying sightseeing around the city, including Hollywood, without seeing any of the few movie stars there were at that time.

After enjoying a good visit with our relatives, we set out in the afternoon to drive across Death Valley and the desert. As Death Valley is very hot in the daytime, we decided to stop for the night when we were well into it. Rather than try to pitch our tent, we instead tried to sleep all of us in the car. We pulled off of the main road and settled down for the night and were soon fast asleep. Suddenly there was a crashing sound close by as though two cars had collided. There was nothing to see in the darkness and in the morning there was nothing to see either. We still don’t know what caused the noise as there was no sign of a crash anywhere. We started out after a brief breakfast to try to cover as much of the desert as we could before it got really hot.

Through the heat we managed to go through the corner of Arizona and into the State of Utah and finally into Salt Lake City, the headquarters of the Mormon religion. Climbing a steep hill outside of the city, we had to stop about three-quarters of the way to the top as the radiator started to boil over. We were only one of several cars with the same trouble. After the radiator cooled down, we started up and finally reached the top of the mountain. From there we headed towards the badlands of Wyoming, which are not much better than a desert. We were headed for the city of Cheyenne, Wyoming. The badlands were awe inspiring to see and we could just imagine the desperadoes hiding out there while the Law agents tried to find them. We hoped to get to Cheyenne early that afternoon, but no luck on that score. Before we had gone very far we had our first flat tire. After repairing the tube we pumped it up with a hand pump and put it back on the spare. That was the first of seventeen flat tires that we had that day. Finally with seven miles to go to get to Cheyenne Dad decided we had had enough and drove those seven miles on a flat tire. The next day Dad purchased four new tires in the city of Cheyenne which saw us through the rest of the trip.

It was here I should mention that one hot day as we were driving through the State’s mountains, we spied a snow drift in the hollow of a hill. We were delighted, never having seen snow in August before, so we urged Dad to stop so that we could see whether the snow was real..It really was, and it was good packing snow, so my sisters and I had as wonderful snowball fight in the middle of August, caught on film by Mother. We were more than 12,000 feet above sea level. Mary says that we still have the snapshot taken of this wonder.

From Cheyenne we travelled fairly quickly to Des Moines, Iowa, through Rock Island, Illinois, to Bloomington in the same State. Here we were forced to stop because the car quit, and the parts to repair it had to come from Detroit, Michigan. I believe that it was while Dad was arranging in the bank for more money to be wired to him from his Toronto bank, that he met a kind gentleman who, when he found out that we were from Toronto insisted that the whole family stay with his family in their home. Imagine taking in five strangers without a thought. We stayed with them for four or five days until our car was fixed. We were treated royally, and their children who were much the same age as us, saw that we kids had a wonderful time. Here I had my first “skyscraper” ice cream cone, and I have never seen one in Canada. It was most delicious with several flavours of ice cream in one cone. Finally our car was ready and so we said a fond farewell to our American hosts and headed south of Chicago by way of Davenport and Joliet into the State of Michigan, through Kalamazoo, Lansing and Flint Michigan to Port Huron, where we crossed back into Canada, at Sarnia, Ontario.

From Sarnia we headed back to Toronto via Highway No. 5,a black ribbon of road that has since been superseded by Highway 401. We arrived home late at night and tumbled into our own beds for one of the best night’s sleep we had had in the past seven weeks.

In 1956 with our own children about the same age, we once again travelled across Canada to Vancouver and back through Yellowstone Park to home. That could be another story.

I have specifically requested that there be no eulogy held for me, and I feel that my family will honour that wish. Instead, those of you who have been kind enough to be present today are mostly here because of some association with me over the years. I have been blessed with so many different directions in my life, and consequently have had many years of some very wonderful personal contacts. Each of you present no doubt hold some memory, feeling or thought of our times together, and might find that, rather than hearing a Eulogy, it could be more meaningful to share any positive memories with my family and their friends during the reception.

Those of you who have blessed me over the years are first and foremost my husband Jim, who has been loyal and faithful over the many years providing our family with a great lifestyle. I have never once doubted his love for me all through the years.  I have been blessed with four remarkable children and have been so proud of them all. They have “been there” for us and given true meaning to my life.  Their spouses and the Grandchildren, Heather, Scott, Kevin, Cameron, Colin, Gil, Amanda, Cindy, Mathieu, Caitlin, and Nicole, are indeed a special bonus. And the beat goes on.

Then there was Kay, my step-mother-in-law, a no nonsense, generous and remarkable lady who has always been a good friend and support to me. 

There is my beloved Scarborough Study Group with very special friendships and sisterhood, formed many, many years ago, always widening our horizons and sharing many memorable thoughts and experiences together. 

My “bridge Club that doesn’t play Bridge” and who truthfully haven’t played Bridge for well over forty years (the reason we were formed in the first place).  Instead, we became a group of close, concerned and helpful friends to one another, always treasuring our time together, and the great fun and exchanges we always had in being part of that group!

Then there was the Scarborough A.O.T.S. Glee Club years – over 30 years in all, where the Glee Club members and their families formed close bonds and relationships, as we traveled with them from coast to coast as they entertained and sang their hearts out in Christian Service, under the masterful leadership of Sid Bagnall.  He was supported faithfully by his dear wife, Dorothy, both of whom have remained loving and caring friends.

There are our cottage friends from Balm Beach, which is absolutely the most delightful place in the whole world. We all seemed to “grow up” together raising and watching our children as they grew up and matured.  We have spent many summers together as we walked, sun-bathed, swam in the cleanest waters of Georgian Bay, managed a few games of bridge, and the occasional trip into town to the theatre.

There may well be friends here from Bowmore Road (our first home} and then Cliffside our home in the suburbs.  Those were the exciting years as we watched our Church, – St. Paul’s United – grow to almost “bursting at the seams.” We moved yet again to Chipper Cres. forming more friendships. We met Bill and Delma Grant there, and the “League of Nations,” the Tidds and the DiDomenicos. 

In our later years came life at Royalcrest, a wonderful condominium complex, where we made many friends as we became involved in many exciting activities. It was one of the best “moves” we ever made.

Our final church was St. John’s U.C. in Agincourt where I played a much more passive role, but much appreciated the spiritual guidance gained there.

There are so many names and I don’t dare “single out” – like Ann and Lynn Emerson, and many, many other beloved friends that I can’t begin to categorize – but you know who you are, and please treasure our many good memories of times together.

I am more than ready for my “new venture” – it will be a “new beginning” and God Bless.  My PARTING message is “PLEASE CARE FOR THE EARTH” and help it to recover from the onslaught of our generation!!

To begin with may I say how fortunate I have been in being so much a part of Balm Beach. I am quite convinced that there is no more beautiful place in the whole world. We have been the length and breadth of Canada, into the U.S.A., even to Florida, California and Hawaii, and while the scenery in those places range from majestic, lush, and very lovely – Balm Beach brings to me a different kind of beauty with its ever-changing seasons, it’s ever-changing play of sun and cloud, of light and shadow, of never quite the same colours of sky and waters, a veritable feast for the soul and for the eyes.

The pristine clearness and cleanliness of the water as I enjoy my swims in it, through its periods of calm to its wild restlessness, never fails to rejuvenate and revive me, and the warmth and healing qualities of the beautiful sunshine always manages to calm me. I am convinced that the fresh air, sunshine and water are indeed God-sent healing qualities. I revel in them. Thank you to Pauline and Will whose foresight and generosity has led to my good fortune.

As you no doubt have ascertained, Balm Beach is your father’s “home”. NO other place could equal it for him.

Mary McIntosh 1936

Well I remember my first visit to Balm Beach with Jim and his parents while I was still a young girl somewhere in my mid-teens. While our family owned a car (not many folks did) and my father would take us swimming and on picnics to Cherry Beach, Musselman’s Lake and Lake Prescott, and very occasionally to a cottage to visit friends, certainly “cottaging” was not the “norm” in those earlier times for most people.

Jim McIntosh 1938

I was invited to go with Jim to his parent’s cottage for the week-end. I arrived with 2 BIG suitcases filled with clothing to cover any and every eventuality. Jim’s father, as he was packing food, bedding etc., for all the expected guests, in a very kindly way, pointed out that it would be necessary to reduce it all to just one suitcase, and he felt quite certain I would have enough to see me through.

Well, for someone whose limit of auto travel was Bond Lake, or Lake Simcoe – this was indeed a long, long way over hill and dale and what seemed like pretty twisty roads. I am sure we came up Yonge Street, Highway #11, but it was far from straightforward in those days. I felt quite nauseous, and I guess had what I didn’t recognize at that time, the start of a nasty migraine attack with its strange aura, and pain. However, I don’t think anyone but myself knew I was suffering, and, as always, no matter what, I could rise to the occasion. I don’t recall a lot about the week-end, except the wonderful food that was set up like a banquet each meal. Jim was, as always, pressed into service re cottages that were to be rented out. I remember a pleasant fire on the beach that we all enjoyed that evening. This all took place in the lovely cottage known simply as the “green cottage” from its colour of paint. The setting in the fir trees overlooking the Bay was very lovely.

Betty & Peg Reilley

One memorable two week stay I remember at Balm Beach, before we were married, was with Jim’s sister Eleanor, a distant cousin, Alice Brown, (who was the person who introduced me into our now famous “Bridge Club” that doesn’t play bridge), the Reilley twins from Montreal, also relatives, and a young girl, Margaret McDonald, from Kingston. We lived and slept in the two bunk houses, located about where Sally Atkins property now stands. There were bunks, and a gasoline stove, and the six of us managed quite well. Of course we spent lots of time on the beach and in the water, and played some tennis at the Balm Beach centre Athletic Field. Jim’s father was a charter member of the Athletic Association at that time, and it was, I believe, understood that his family would retain lifetime membership there. Over the years it didn’t quite work out that way

Eleanor McIntosh & Mary Emerson, 1938

A highlight of those days was that Eleanor and I would “hitch-hike” to the centre (a mile away) and would often be “picked-up” by Group of Seven Franz Johnston’s son, who himself is now a famous painter, who owned Tondakea Lodge in those early days. He was a very nice, quite handsome young man, and it was a big thrill for us. His name also escapes me….. Oh my!!

Another memory I have of early days, was bringing Jimmy, a baby of 6 weeks, up to Balm, I think just for a week-end. Jim’s parents and sisters stayed in the “Blue Cottage”, and Jim, Jimmy and I in the bunk houses. Quite an experience for a “City Girl” I must say!

We lived in WeIland and Dundas for some of our earlier years but would always holiday at Balm Beach. Weren’t we lucky to have such a pleasant place to holiday? Jim. of course, continued to maintain the 4 cottages, and our holidays when possible were usually Spring or Fall, where his main job, along with keeping water and pumps going, was to paint the four cottages, 2 Red, 1 Green and 1 Blue. They definitely needed paint every year.

In time, the children and I would spend our summers in the Blue Cottage, leaving the city the day school closed, and going back home the day before school started. I was always careful to have left a clean set of clothing for each child to return to school in, and hoped they didn’t grow too much during the summer months.

The "BLUE" cottage, Mary's summer "home"

The summers were lovely. The Blue Cottage that we stayed in, located on the main road (now Tiny Beaches Road South), while not a choice location, was very interesting to live in. The screened-in outdoor kitchen had a “dumb waiter”, a sort of elevator of shelves on a pulley that lowered into the earth, providing us with great refrigeration. Jim’s father designed neat table and benches in the inside breakfast room that hooked upon the wall, and came down for eating when the weather was poor. Mostly we had our meals on the table and benches in the screened front porch. The breakfast room then could double as a bedroom to put cribs or small cots in, and was most often used in that way. There were 2 bedrooms – one was a stationary bedroom you might call the Master Bedroom, and the other bedroom was the living room wall swung forward and out to reveal a good-sized bedroom with a “Murphy Bed” concealed in the wall. . With the bedroom opened, it made a small but adequate living room, complete with a Quebec heater that was our main source of heat. When the bed was closed up, concealed in the wall, the living room was then the width of the cottage. The water came from a hand pump in the kitchen, from a well beside the cottage, and there was an outhouse out back. I’m sure Jim’s father would get a “Special Award” of some kind to-day for the unique and interesting features he built into all the cottages. I understand from the present owner of the Blue Cottage that the “Murphy Bed” is still in existence.

In those early days we had milk, ice and newspaper delivery. When the delivery of milk began to fall away, we were able to arrange for all the milk to be left at the Blue Cottage for any of our interested neighbours. Then for some years young Jimmy would load it on his wagon and deliver it to the neighbours (gratis). Or sometimes the neighbours would come to the cottage to pick it up, depending on the circumstances.

Jim and I became friendly with a Bell couple, Norah and Sid Brownless. Norah’s parents, the Aylings, owned a cottage on what is now Cobblestone Road, near Stone Cottage, and Norah, like myself, spent the summers at Balm with her two girls, Linda and Karen. We whiled away many a happy hour going between our cottage, which had access to the best swimming and their cottage, where the water bottom was quite rocky, but great for bathing children in. The children were of an age and enjoyed playing together, and Norah and I always had some knitting or sewing to go on and lots of talking. Norah and Sid eventually divorced and each remarried, but daughter Linda inherited the grandparent’s cottage and she is now a full-time resident there. Norah, now living in B.C., manages frequent visits to Balm and we always manage at least one day on the Beach with a dip into the water, which is as lovely now as it was those many years ago. Incidentally, Norah’s daughter Linda, was in Grace Hospital (the Old One) having a baby and I was in the next room having Cathy!

One of the neighbours on what is now known as Sand Road had a very nice cottage overlooking the water. She was a widow and her name was Laura May Thompson. She had a son, John, now a Doctor in Ottawa, and a daughter, Mary, who had Encephalitis, who died at 21 years of age before I met the family. Jim used to be their chauffeur, taking them back and forth between the city and the cottage, which was a good help to Mrs. Thompson.

Mrs. Thompson was very good to me, who at that time was a very young and inexperienced mother. I remember when Paul was a baby, too young for the Beach, she would keep him while young Jimmy and I went down for our afternoon dip. It meant a lot to me. As the children got older, she would often include me in a bridge game in the evenings to help pass the time.

Her next door neighbours, Vic and Elsie Perry, were very pleasant and interesting folk and always jolly to spend time with. Mrs. Thompson’s cottage sold to the Pinkneys, and the Perry family still have their cottage and put it to good use. Their son, Dick, now a lawyer, took over Jim Jr.’s milk route in those early days.

I also became friendly with the Nugent family who resided in the U.S.A. Mrs. Nugent and I became food buddies and enjoyed each other’s company. Her children were Dawn and Perry. She died at an early age and Mr. Nugent (Stan) remarried and I have lost track of the children.

A family who has been a large part of our Balm Beach days is the Dovers. I well recall, and can actually still see in a photographical picture, still tucked away in the back of my mind, of Jim and I talking to a young Stell and Bob Dover with dear wee Sharon holding fast to their hands. If I am recalling correctly, Sharon had pigtails and a white sun dress and sandals on. We casually mentioned that there was a cottage being built by Lesperance and it was for sale – never dreaming they could be interested. To our delight they were, and were able to go ahead and purchase it, and have never looked back. Two of their daughters have acquired properties nearby, and it is a delight to see the closeness of that wonderful Dover clan. They have greatly enriched our lives over the years as Estelle and I exchange recipes, hints, and where to get the best bargains – and our walks and swims together. Jim and Bob Dover enjoy a comradeship in tools and work jobs. What one can’t fix, the other one can, and what tool one doesn’t’ have, the other one does. Anyway, the Dovers are a great family, and the parents an example of wonderful parenting.

L-R: Bob & Estelle Dover, Wilf & Corenne O'Brecht, Jim & Mary, Ada Schrives, June Condon, Clem & Verna Leaman

As I write, my brain becomes flooded with other people and memories. Marg and Bert Duke, who were in their cottage in the early days, were good company. Marg’s sister, Vi and her husband Yvonne Doucet arrived on the scene a very short time later. I always enjoyed times chatting with them, for they always had interesting things to talk about, and in turn were always interested in us and what we were doing. Then Dick and Bea Waddington bought the cottage next to Dover’s, and I found Bea to be a very special lady. She was so kind and generous in all ways, recognizing the best in people. They settled in Balm because of their friendship with Eleanor and Keith Beckett – as did Corrine and Bill Ladell, Molly and Bill Lowden and Verna and Clem Leamen. It made for a pleasant social group, and the ladies became a fairly close-knit relationship as we tended our families as they were growing up.

One experience that we all recall, one that is definitely taboo to-day – was sitting on the beach in the mornings, watching the children swim, as we did our laundry. We would fill our pails with water from the bay, and then place them up in the dunes to heat up a bit. Then we would wash and scrub our clothes as we chatted away. Then the children would delight in taking the laundry, diapers, sheets, towels, whatever, out into the bay to rinse them for us. They indeed got a wonderful rinsing! We would then hang them to dry in the sunshine and breezes. Laundry had never since been such a happy experience. Eat your heart out Mr. May tag! !

Being an “environmentalist” at heart, I now realize that those some 50 years ago, our little band of mothers and homemakers must have added somewhat to the pollution of the bay, which is maybe why I work so hard now for the environment. But no matter what, I somehow have no guilty feelings of those happy carefree days. Today, no washing in the bay, and visitors are always offered only bio-degradable soaps and shampoos for their daily baths in the bay.

Another happy memory of the small band of women was our annual trip into town to enjoy dinner and a show together as husbands were available to baby-sit. It doesn’t sound like a big deal do-day, but in those days it was one of the highlights of the season for us.

Deck Party 1988

Another annual event was the gathering of the families on the hill at Waddington’s cottage, with our assortment of fireworks to celebrate the 24th of May festivities. When it was too cold, the adults were able to view it all through Waddington’s picture window – and there were always refreshments for all.

There was many a boisterous wiener roast, held behind Beckett’s cottage usually to celebrate some birthday or other. There were as many as 31 children plus assorted dogs who attended from the cottages from our “right-of-way” to the now 9th Concession, from back and front cottages stretching to what is now Taylor’s cottage. We would go into town to a meat store on the main street that sold hot dogs by the pound and for a very reasonable price we would purchase enough to feed the hungry hordes. There would also be marshmallows and Freshie winding the evening down with a swim in the Bay at sunset. These were fun times, often with games, or opportunities to sing your own special song, or recite a bit of poetry. I still see Joan Beckett doing “I’m a Little Teapot” bit – and she still carries on musically, teaching and leading choirs in both church and school.

Other pleasant times were passed with some rip-roaring games of Canasta, after Norma and Don Sims moved to our Beach, usually played in their cottage. We did miss those fun times when the Sims moved further along the Beach.

Beckett's Cottage, after front room added

It was pleasant having Eleanor and Keith as our next-door neighbours. We were close friends as well as relatives. Their three children and our 3 children all fit together, and we were able to baby-sit for each other – sometimes for a weekend away – or for a wedding or suchlike. It was always 50/50 with neither party ever taking advantage. In the miserable weather, we would take over one cottage and the children the other, where they could have their boisterous games. When things seemed to be getting out of hand, Jim would roar a loud “settle down there” and things would calm down immediately. The six children were considered “ours” and were treated the same way as our own – and of course vice-versa. I think our satisfactory relationship was and is a rare thing. I missed Eleanor when they left Balm for Muskoka. She was more like a sister I never had, than a sister-in-law. I miss her more now that she has passed on, than I will ever truly let myself admit to. Life goes on. The funny and strange thing is that I have lost the relationship that should still exist with her children. It is O.K. but no closeness. I expect it’s all too deep for me to try to figure out at this late stage. Even the cousins aren’t much “in touch” with one another. Maybe it’s a lot like brothers and sisters.

What is now the “9th Concession” was in the early days referred to as the “8th” – an unpaved dirt road, then a gravel road, not greatly travelled. It was a great source of interest and wonder constantly for the children. “Clay Hill”, at the top of the hill on that road, was a wonderful place to slide down. At the foot of the hill was a swamp (or wetlands) that held all kinds of little animals – polliwogs, salamanders, turtles, water spiders, and so on. There was always something fascinating to bring home. Those wetlands has since been filled in and actually built upon, sad to say. There is, however, always the pond that used to overflow the road in the Spring, and continues to hold lots of good stuff. Trips up the 8th were always fun.

Another wonderful place to go was to the “creek” along the beach part way between our cottage and the Centre. When one was allowed to go that far alone, one knew they were beginning some form of independence. It was generally known as “the Point” and we adults could see it quite clearly from our cottage. What treasures could be found there – small shells, beautiful stones and rocks, bird feathers, driftwood. It was always wise to have something with you to carry home these treasures. I always found it a pleasant way to while away an hour or two when in charge of a young one (or ones).

The younger Balm Beach gang

The hordes of children that mostly chummed together – or not – as children seem to do, had good comradeship together. They would swim and sun together, play “hoist your sails” and “flashlight tag”, play baseball, have races, do acrobatics, etc. They consisted of our Jim, Paul, and Pat, Becketts Nancy, Doug and Joan, Dovers Sharon, Caroline, Janice and Johnny, Burgs George and Mary Claire, Don and Sally Atkins, Ron and Harriet Waddington, Bruce, Bob and Joan Lowden, Paul and Joyce Leamen, Barry and Carol Duke, Beverley and Donnie Sims, Peter, David and Mary K. Ladell, Debbie Shrive, Ernie, Don and Jim Seeback. Other families bought and sold again, such as the Wakefields with about 6 or 7 children. The Hortons, another Vic Atkins and others that I just can’t call to my so-called mind!

Jimmy, Mary, Patsy and Paul

Something else of interest was the ongoing paper route! Anyone who knows Jim has doubtless heard many times of his famous paper routes of well over a hundred morning and evening papers delivered each day by bicycle, and later a Model “T” Ford. Well, when Jim Jr. got to an appropriate age, he got a “paper route” of maybe 12 to 20 papers. Then his brother Paul inherited it (or did they work together – I can’t remember) and finally Pat. She was a tough cookie and wouldn’t leave a paper unless the customer paid first, for often when the one or two week vacation was over, it was easy to forget their paper bill. I believe the Beckett children were very much a part of this paper route, probably interspersed with our 3 – or working with them. I, and the children hated the final tally-up when the Telegram circulation man came to collect. Of course, no one had accurate records and never seemed to end up making as much as they should have. We figured it to be a good learning experience in many ways, standing them in good stead over the years.

If you should see a lot of “Beach glass” at our cottage, it has been a great exercise bending over to pick it all up along the shore, as we marvel at its beauty and smoothness, and fantasize about where it came from. One can usually tell it’s age and what kind of bottle it came from its colour. The deep blue, presumably from an Epsom Salts bottle, is a treasure for it’s been years since that blue glass was around. The more recent colours are brown (beer bottles), green (ginger ale) or clear glass – and sometimes a pale aqua – from what I don’t know. Sometimes, if you are lucky, some folded money might float into shore. I once found $20.00, and I believe Gert Ross is lucky in that way too.

Another strange collection we have are beer bottle caps! We began gathering them up so that small children wouldn’t step on a rusty one and hurt themselves. I became intrigued (since I don’t drink) with the many different varieties, and began to “keep track”. I would say that about the year 1979/80 Labatt’s Blue was the most popular drink at the foot of the 9th Concession on Balm Beach. I wrote Labatt’s to tell them my story, unkindly remarking that I wasn’t sure if it was that Labatt’s Blue was seemingly the most favoured drink that summer, or if Labatt’s Blue drinkers were more careless with their “tops.” I never heard back!

When the children were young, the group used to find it a big thrill to be able to walk down to the Balm Beach Centre and have a swim in the waters there. I remember packing a lunch of peanut butter sandwiches and Freshie and hiking down to the “Centre” for a picnic and swim. They thought it rather special, and I have a picture of much of that group taken down at the “Surf”, ranging in age from about 4 years to 9 or 10.

Or, if the weather was not pleasant at the Beach, another treat would be to pack a picnic lunch and go into Little Lake in Midland. While the water there was sometimes mucky on the bottom (and we were spoiled) it would be warmer, and there was always a raft to swim to.

As our first three children grew and started working in the summer, we would rent the cottage out, usually to friends, or friends of friends

Then we had Cathy, and the process started over again. I still remember the night we told the assembled Beach bunch to guess who was having a baby! They were dumbfounded to discover it was us – well into our forties!!

I again had a good excuse to spend the summers at Balm – and another series of tradition built up. I remember – walking the Beach road from 6:30 A.M. on as Cathy and I would leave our cottage so the rest could sleep on! There were a series of friends again built up, the main one being Leslie Brams who was eventually Cathy’s Maid of Honour ..

As I sit here at our dining room table, June 13/96, I am enjoying for the umpteenth time a most spectacular sun-set, as it is due to set about five to nine this evening. The seagulls all head home (wherever home is I don’t know) every evening without fail as the sun sets. We never fail to marvel at God’s wonderful artistry. Many times the sunsets are so spectacular that if you saw them in a painting you would say they aren’t for real. We appreciate the quiet time, before many people are around, as we drink in the beauty, ever-changing, of the marvellous scene surrounding us. It is indeed food for our souls, always healing and restoring us

Well, to get back to my Memoirs. I recall the many games of “hog” that we young parents used to play in the water. It’s hard to believe now that we were ever so young and crazy and energetic. Our hog consisted of the females trying to capture a ball away from the males in the water, and vice-versa. There didn’t seem to be any rules or regulations and it often becomes quite hilarious as the women, driven to it by the men’s complete lack of consideration of us, would leave scratches on their backs, and it is rumoured that we have been known to try to pull their bathing suits down in an effort to get them to relinquish the ball. Mind you, we played as couples, so it isn’t quite as bad as it might sound. I recall the Lowdens, Dukes, Becketts, Dovers, and Waddingtons as being the ring-leaders, with many other couples, or the older children joining in. They were indeed carefree days, when we were young, poor and carefree.

Another astounding experience I well remember is about a rocking chair. This incident occurred about 1950, long before the restructuring of our cottage. I need to try to set the scene. Our cottage consisted of a living room across the front of the cottage – a short hall with two small bedrooms going off one on either side – down into a small kitchen. It was you might call to-day a cathedral ceiling going up high – and the partitions of the bedrooms didn’t go up to the ceiling, and were quite open above. There was a wicker rocking chair that we used to hang from the bedroom partition by its rockers – bringing it down only when we needed extra seating. Are you with me? One evening we had a number of people in for coffee and of course the rocking chair came down for extra seating. Pat who was quite small at the time, used to go to sleep in our bed, and we would then move her out to the living room couch when we went to bed, and on this particular evening she was sleeping peacefully in spite of the noise and hilarity (she was used to it). At the end of the evening, as folk were helping to clear dishes away, etc., Gord Lowe said, “Where does the rocking chair go?” “Up on the rafter Gord” – and with that Gord picked up the chair and threw it up, thinking there was a ceiling in the bedroom. WELL! Of course it simply went over the partition and landed down on our bed! You can imagine the panic! I thought Jim would tear the door off its sliders (it was a sliding door) trying to get it open and into Pat! When he finally got in – can you believe Pat was still sleeping soundly, the chair having landed on the other side of the bed, and to this day she has no knowledge of the rather scary event.

The McIntosh Cottage. 2 bedrooms added in the 1970s

Here is an interesting side issue you may or may not get around to reading, but it is a kind of nice positive development.

Since Jim has “retired” and is constantly in search for work projects, he and Bob Dover frequently team up on various projects, particularly where they can dip into one another’s very extensive experience and help one another out. I am sure you have already heard of the decks they have built for neighbours as required. It has always been good fun though hard work for all as everyone seemed to enter into the spirit of the project, either as part-time workers, observers, advisors or whatever. In the end Dove was often the boss and Jim the supervisor (or was it the other way around?) It seems to me back on Shirle’s deck, one Saturday morning there were 7 or 8 (or more) nearby neighbours on site, hammers in hand and pounding boards into place in a very short time.

Bill Ross has quite recently retired and getting involved in some of these projects. Bill acts like he doesn’t know anything much about anything, but he is either a “very quick learn” or a lot smarter than he realizes. He certainly keeps our property in tip top condition, and, if we are lucky, we can sometimes try to show our appreciation by very occasionally treating them to a nice dinner, either “in” or “out”.

So this is all leading up to this morning’s work adventure for the three of them. It must start early (8:30 AM.) and must be completed in time for Bill and Dove to get away for cards at the Seniors’.

The line-up this morning appears to be – meet at Liz McTague’s, take back in the pump that Dove has overhauled and I think then maybe get her water on. Then, if all goes well, there will be a move to Clem’s where his water will hopefully get started up – then maybe on to Shirle’s water pump.

Jim also has an electrical project at Leamen’s (he is the electrical expert) in installing an outlet for the new stove to be put in place as we are to inherit the one they are replacing. Verna and Clem are moving to the Ottawa area and have sold their house in Islington, and so, both in their eighties, have lots of decisions to make about what to do with what.

Now whether this will all take a week, or just a morning, no one really knows, including themselves. It doesn’t really matter. What does matter is the lovely comradeship that exists as they approach what one may well call their “volunteer” work. It is always surprising to Jim and I that he and Dove, both pretty strong-willed and opinionated, work together so well and respect one another’s knowledge. Bill now claims he “just wants to learn”, but I rather expect he will in his quiet way, teach some things to them.

In this crazy fast-moving dog eat dog times, the example of these three musketeers can stand us all in good stead. God Bless them!!

Since I started this excerpt – the three of them, Dove the expert, Bill the brawn, and Jim the boss, have installed a lovely drop ceiling in our basement room – making the room much more useable and attractive. It took about ten days, as they, of course, took time out for cards, golf, and we spent three days in Toronto. There was indeed great laughing and hollering and pounding as they all put their shoulders to the wheel, as it were.

Also, on a sad not, Shirle Gurney passed away as he and Liz were attending a Lawrence Welk show at Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto.

Something else that should come in about here is the story of Jim’s “work shed”. I can remember when it was built, and it is quite attractive with dark brown siding, sitting neatly in the grove of green pine trees. Jim, with help from Floyd Stringer (a neighbour then in his seventies) erected it, its purpose to be to house his great collection of tools and hold a small work bench. At this point, Jim owns so many tools that I sometimes think he doesn’t know what he does have. They have indeed stood him in good stead and have been put to good use over the years. Jim is, of course, very generous in loaning out his tools to anyone in need, and they do seem to get returned in time. I think that 90% of our community have the combination to the lock, and often borrow and return without our knowledge – especially if we are away for a few days. It is just that kind of a comfortable community with lots of give and take. One story in this connection is – one evening as we were all at someone’s for an evening, Jim mentioned that he was missing a mitre box, and wondered if someone had borrowed it, for he needed to use it for a project. Lo and behold, the next day on entering his work shed, he found that there were two mitre boxes in place. No one mentioned it, nor did Jim, and so now he owns two mitre boxes.

To get back to Cathy before I wind this down and my brain shuts off – I have to speak also of our beloved dog, a Golden Labrador, Kip who lived to be nearly 15 years old. He bridged the time as a companion to our first three children, and of our later child, Cathy. While Jim, Paul and Pat knew him as a wee pup into his maturing years, Cathy was his good pal into his later year, until he died. He was a truly superior being, beloved by everyone who came to know him. His tricks of running around house ( or cottage), playing dead, saying his prayers, his food and goodies “in trust” and then “sold”, shaking hands and even getting the correct tin of his food for supper off the shelves in the basement, are all well known.

He and Cathy were great friends, for he was there when she was born, and was always with her, suffering any indignities to which he was subjected as she was growing up. It was a very, very sad evening indeed when Cathy came home from an evening’s fun at her summer camp at Stott Park at Ossossane Beach, to finally realize we had had to have him “put away” that morning. It was a stormy grievance time as she came to terms with the inevitable fact of his being gone. It was interesting that her Camp Counsellor at that time was Debbie Kirk – known then and now by us as “Scoobie-Doo”. Anyone who knows Debbie realizes that she is indeed true dog lover and owner of some spectacular pure bred dogs. Consequently, she was most sympathetic with Cathy.

Aunt Eleanor was always a great pal of Cathy’s. Since she was in the cottage next door, Cathy was always able to crash in on any occasion, it seems, and Eleanor was always ready to spend an hour or two with her much to my relief. And Uncle Keith was always great fun and games for her.

Cathy loved the beach and the water, but I often felt she enjoyed the social aspect more.

As a small child she always managed to desert Jim and I on the beach and plunked herself in the middle of the largest group around, whoever it might be. Of course she was still small and young enough to get away with it.

An annual event at the end of each summer, was when Cathy would bring back home to Toronto with her a Monarch butterfly (named Butt I, Butt II, and so on) in a shoe box and would manage to keep it alive for some weeks, feeding it a sugar and water solution. It would fly about her room occasionally, but always went back into the shoe box. It was obvious these particular Butts weren’t going to make the trip down to Mexico.

There is so much more to tell of Cathy, much more than these few meagre details, but this must suffice for now. I am all “thought out” at this point, and will simply close off my off my remarks on Cathy.

Well I don’t think that I have enough energy left to do any more on my part of the Journal or Memoirs of Balm Beach. There is a lifetime of “happenings” to recall, but I shall let this suffice for now.

My love to everyone who happens to read this!

Mary McIntosh  – 1996

Please add your comments.

for more details on this film:  http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0070351/

Here is an article from Modern Mechanix Magazine from 1968 on what life will be like in 2008.  Pretty accurate in some areas although terminology is different.  Even calls out e-commerce!  I would like to see the car / commute prediction come true though!

 http://blog.modernmechanix.com/2008/03/24/what-will-life-be-like-in-the-year-2008/

 Also there are some very funny videos pertaining to the US election and candidates at http://www.democracycalls.com including this one of Presidential Candidate Mike Huckabee with our own Rick Mercer:

Post your guess in a comment.