Ugly baby!
1943 in a Northern Ontario town, Central Patricia Gold Mines, an Ugly baby was born. Well, that’s what her Dad said to himself the first time he laid eyes on her, which was probably 2 days after the actual birth that was followed by, an appropriate for the time, drunken celebration at the local Moose Hall or whatever the venue was before “Pub” was popular. She was named Patricia. She was born with Jaundice and a short muscle in the neck, and all the usual ugly baby traits (no hair, no teeth-) Luckily, her mother thought she was just wonderful, and had a knack for making the best of it, anyway. Her Father didn’t have any idea what to do with babies, he was a hard-rock miner, but he was actually very happy to have a family of his own and he enjoyed the kids more and more as he would recall a conversation (imagine that, with a 2 year old), and some antic he could recount. I wish I had taken notes of all the stories he told. He lived during the depression, rode the rails from East to West, combined wheat from September in Montana to November in waist high snow drifts in Edmonton, Alberta.
Back to Central Patricia: Patti’s Mother was a”natural”. She did her version of physio under her old local Doctor’s tutelage, and in no time that ugly baby was not only Jaundice free, but the neck muscles were normal. Patti was blond haired & blue eyed & proved to be a real “handful”(that was the parents’ description).
Central Patricia was an isolated town in Northern Ontario, no roads in or out and everything came in by planes that landed on the lake in the early years. There were many times when fresh goods were just not available although, during the war years, the mine was running full tilt with every consideration given to keep the employees working there for the much needed gold. We didn’t see food rations until we moved to the city briefly in 1947.
The town probably had several hundred people. My Mom, Mary, and my Dad Elmer moved there in 1936 right after they married. Mary was a city girl from a large, fairly prosperous immigrant family and Elmer was a near orphan. They lived in a log cabin to start and eventually some company houses were built. As years went by, there was a community center and a hospital, probably a small school, but I remember that the Catholic Mass was held at my home, when the priest came to save souls, once a month or so. That priest became good friends with my parents and when they visited him once in Sioux Look Out, Mary was shocked to find that his fridge was full of beer!
No movies, TV or entertainment, but there was plenty of fresh air and we could dig in the dirt to our heart’s content. Mary belonged to a Bridge Club that met once a week over tea & sandwiches & date squares. (I remember those date squares). Life was hard enough compared to today’s standards. I can remember my Dad installing a cooking stove that had a pressure cooker inserted in the back burner opening.(1946) I can’t imagine what they cooked on before that, I was too young. Dad made beer and root beer. The winter’s must have been harsh there, but I only recall my older sister stuffing me in a barrel & rolling me down a hill. I guess it was fun until my Dad on his way home in one of the few Company trucks, narrowly avoided hitting the barrel, which he instinctively thought was “out of place”, so he got out and examined it and found me inside. He confessed years later that was certainly proof to him that one should listen to those little voices in the head, sometimes.
W e left Central Patricia in summer~ 1946. Elmer had been with the company for 12 years, suffered a permanent eye injury and survived a couple of harrowing mining accidents. He was gaining a reputation for being very knowledgeable, and he was offered positions in new mines opening across Canada. But first he had to travel. He rigged up an old van, bought camping equipment and Mary, Elmer & 2 daughters went on a two month camping trip across Canada- Banff, the Jasper highway, the Glaciers, all the way to Vancouver. I think that he was surely ahead of his time.
I have visited this site in recent years and amazed at how much the glaciers have receded.
This is how it looked back then:
June 19, 2007 at 2:23 pm |
Until I read your blog, I had forgotten my own experience of rolling down hill in a barrel. The one I remember was a fairly small wooden “keg”. I believe it had originally been a container used for shipping fencing staples. I can’t imagine being small enough to actually get inside it — and maybe it is all in my imagination. I do seem to recall rolling into a tree or something, and being surprised at how much it hurt!
We had another barrell (Metal, 45 gallon) in the barn that had once been filled with molasses. When we were small, my brothers and I would remove the “bung” and reach through the hole where we could still get a little taste of the molasses residue that was on the inside surface of the barrel. Small pleasures!
August 18, 2007 at 3:48 pm |
I think you can either write a short book OR a cartoon ..there are many funny analogies, even if times were hard . You could do a cartoon of little patty..a little jaundiced, maybe with a short neck, rolling in a barrell, laughing hysterically ..i can see it all in my warped mind!~
Kass
August 18, 2007 at 4:44 pm |
littlepatti was a littleterror, or as her mother Mary, nicely described her “a Handful” or “lively”.That was so kind of her, but then I also remember that Mary said “she was brought up at a time when women wouldn’t say S—, if they had a mouthful of it”.
But even littlepatties grow up if they are lucky!
Thanks for the comic suggestion, I could do that, if I could live another whole lifetime!
January 8, 2009 at 8:45 pm |
Hi
Found your Blog entries entirely by accident, one of those really nice accidents. I was born in the hospital in the Central Patricia mining town July 18, 1946, A son for Ella and Dick Glover. I don’t remember the occation, but I was told I was pretty hard on my mom and she was glad she only had to do that once, for me, that is. My sister Ginny-Lynne came along 3 years later.
We have some old pictures of the mining town and some of the homes we were in. My Uncle Jack Glover worked in the mine for a while and then went back to the family farm in Glenavon Saskatchewan.
One of the last memories of “the Mine” I have at age 6, just before we left in 1952, was our house being towed by a catapilar tractor over a hill on a road to I don’t know where. Must have evoked quit a strong emotion for it to have stuck in my memory for 56 years.
I remember the police station was across the street near a white church that was directly across the street. One day I was watching as the police executed one of the local stray dogs that used to play with our American Husky, Skippy. They put him in a large box in their garage and put the exaust from the police car through a hole in the box. When I told my mom she was really upset that they did that while I was there and secondly because he played with and protected Skippy.
I remember going int the field behind the Church and picking mushrooms for my mom and she was afraid to use them. I had seen my dad picking them so thought I would pick some for mom too! I guess 5 year olds aren’t to be trusted picking mushrooms. I wonder why!
I was googling today and wondered what would come up when I put in “Mining towns “Central Patricia” and found yours.
I have a friend Tim Musiky who was born their too, about a year before me, and wants to go on a road trip to “The Mine” There was an other family there we knew, The Sobovitches and they had a son Barry about the same age too.
Do you know if there was ever a reunion of families. My mom is ninty now so most of the families that remember the place are probably gone by now.
Glenn
January 8, 2009 at 10:36 pm |
Hi Glen!
You are a “first”. A person who was there at the time I was there…or close enough. And someone who actually lived in that community!
I hope that you went on to read all the other Postings (there have been 81), like “The day Jimmy Scott died” “Mary, the Miner’s wife” etc. which are about Central Pat. Also-”Air planes & mining towns”.
I remember being in my father’s arms the day we left The Pat. He was talking to someone, standing on the road. I turned to look at the house and saw the curtains in the upstairs window and wondered why they were left there. Yes, it’s odd what sticks!
I remember picking berries in every town we lived in!
I don’t remember the names that you mentioned. I didn’t know until recent years that Central Pat was back on a map and I suppose used for fishing, these days. I never heard of a reunion there. All I remember is my Mother talked about the mine when it closed, the natives moved into the houses and then the houses were hauled away or demolished. (?)
If your Mom can do some reminiscing, please get all the information you can from her about those days. Something may emerge…family names etc.
I relate to the carbon monoxide treatment- Under the bunkhouses in Chibougamau were over run by feral cats. We had to walk from the office to the Cafeteria or the Shifter’s office, and the cats were starting to attack our feet. The miners collected them up in bags and gassed them all. We didn’t think much of it in those days.
My parents lived in a lovely log cabin that was later built onto. They were true pioneers, as were your parents.
Good Luck & please keep in touch. Leave another message, so I know that you have seen my response.
Patricia
January 8, 2009 at 10:38 pm |
PS: Correction.
I am sure that we left Central Pat in 1946 not in 1947 as I wrote.
January 12, 2009 at 7:06 pm |
Hi Patricia,
Yes, I did read your post. It is almost like meeting a long lost member of your family. It must be because there are memories and sites that you share, and nobody else has any idea what you are talking about. Maybe it’s because you hold so dearly to those few memories, as they are a child’s memory and they connect you to where you came from.
The date on the story about Jimmy Scott said the Christmas of 1946, so if you were there then, maybe it was 1947 when you left.
You had that picture of your mom and dad standing by the gas pumps on one of the postings. I was going to print it and send it to my mom to see if she recognized them.
Good to hear from you. I will have to tell Tim about your Blog and see if he still wants to go on that road trip. It sounds like there are some tourist places to stay up there now.
Happy New Year.
He is the King of Kings, “I wonder, do you know Him?”
January 12, 2009 at 7:31 pm |
Hi Patricia,
I ment to include my story about that river. It occured to me that, the memory of Jimmy Scott must have been fresh in my parents minds as I was growing up. My dad got a call while he was at work in the mine mill one day–Glenn is play in the boats down by the river. I was 5 or younger. He went running and found me there with Barry. He grabbed me by my coat and said “so you want to play in the water do you?” He dunked me in the river 3 times and then set me on the road and told me to get home. I remember walking home soaking wet and crying. Some people came along in a car and offered to drive me home. I didn’t want to get into their car, beacause I would get it all wet, but they made me anyway. Different times. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself,but I don’t think I went anywhere near that river again.
Glenn
January 12, 2009 at 9:42 pm |
I have to correct the dates I mention in the blogs. I recalculated. We must have left in summer 1946, because we camped across Canada in summer, and then my brother was born in Port Arthur in June 1947.
Therefore, the Jimmy Scott story would have been December 1945. Please tell your Mom that my parents names were Elmer & Mary. I hesitate to give any further names on the internet, but she may recall, by the photos. My Dad was a miner and Mary was a very gentle soul. She had a nice soprano voice and sang La Vie en Rose at the Recreation center. (Before it burned down).
Mary talked about the forest fire, when they had to bury all their valuables in a trench the mine had dug in front of their homes, and all the women and children were flown to a local island to live for a week until it was safe to go back home. I have no recollection, but I remember as a child I used to bury everything of value and then try to find it. (?) Mary told of her early years: looking outside to see a row of miners laid out in front of all the houses. They were greenish! They were alive & survived, but they had been gassed, which was not that unusual in a gold mine and the miners carried canaries underground to warn the of gas leaks in the air.
Yes, they are days gone forever and you are right not many people have those poignant memories. Little precious vignets. We moved so many times, that in later years I could hear a song and know exactly the town, place & year.
In 1957, I went to Fort William Collegiate, & lived in Kakabeka, Dad worked at Coldstream where there was no family living/town at the time. The “city kids” would ask me what my Father did and when I said “he’s a mine Captain”, I cannot imagine what the stunned silence meant. DUH?
You may be interested in Matt Waddel’s site/ or just Google Burchell Lake-He has great photos of the ghost town- That was a vibrant community in the 60’s but by then, we were off to Elliot Lake followed by Chibougamau.
I hope your mother recalls those days in Central Pat.
By the way, the name “Musikey” is familiar to me, once I played it through my mind a couple of times. My parents must have known them. Did they move on to other mining towns like Snow Lake, Elliot Lake?
Funny story about your “dunking”. Our parents didn’t have “Dr. Spock” in those days.
October 8, 2009 at 11:48 am |
I found this blog by accident when I was looking for information on my birthplace. I too was born in Central Patricia but in 1950, after it appears that you had left town. My sister, Marnie was born in 1948. My parents were Margaret and Ernie xxx and my dad worked at the mine until 1955. The mine actually closed in 1952, I guess, but he was kept on in a closing down function. We then moved to the head office of Central Patricia Gold Mines in Toronto,cultural shock!! My memories of Central Patricia are sketchy at best, even though I have been back several times (last was in 1968).
October 8, 2009 at 12:21 pm |
Hi Randy, I hope you read the other comments from “ex-Pats” (ha ha). I had no idea that the town went on until 1955, and I thought that it was another abandoned mining town. Not so, if you visited in 1968! I had a comment from someone else who lived there at your time, and someone else who works in Pickle Lake (or Crow) & lives there now. I would like to know what is there now. You may have gone on to read “The day Jimmy Scott died”. That was in Central Pat, and I always wondered about the parents. I too transitioned out of mining to the big city (Montreal), but I was 20 years old and it was very exciting! The excitement wore off in about 10 years and I had to get back to a smaller place, which I did…. “You can’t take the country out of the girl”. I have always longed for those days. It’s a lifestyle that is long gone and there’s no such thing as a company town now. We were so lucky (or blessed) to have lived that experience and I hope that you realize we are unique because of it.
Best regards,
Pat
October 8, 2009 at 8:57 pm |
I just received the blog post written by Randy xxx but I have no way to send him my e-mail contact information.
I have lost track of how to find your Blog on line Patricia. I see you mentioned there are 81 posts. I would like to read them but don’t know how to find the Blog posting.
When I get a post like Warren’s I can respond to it via the box that appears at the bottom of the page. It only shows me the last correspondence I had with Patti .
So good to hear from “Ex Pats” When I told my Mom (90 now) she remembered the story of the child lost.
It is good to bring up those memories again. I was very care free then.
Glenn G.
October 9, 2009 at 1:38 am |
Hi Glenn- Do I have your permission to contact you at your email address? You may or not know that when I receive a notice from wordpress that there is a comment, it contains the author’s email address. I NEVER keep or use or pass that information along, but I would be happy to contact you.
The blog is reached by Google: MINING TOWNS IN CANADA~ There have been 13,500 readers to date! We are a small group, but “mighty”. Please note also that there are other postings on Central Pat. I didn’t write in chronological order, rather as the thoughts hit me.
Randy: If you are reading, let me know if I can contact you also and if you want me to give each others email addresses.
October 9, 2009 at 2:46 pm |
For sure! That would be great!
I keep thinking I have to go back there at some point. It must be a primal need to connect with where you were born. When I met Tim Muzikky (Still not sure of the spelling but phoneticly that is how it sounds in my head) at a sales conference in Toronto, that was almost the first thing we talked about. Making a road trip back to “The Pat”
Good to hear from you.
I would like to correspond with Randy as well so pass it on to him. I will try to get Tim in on this as well. I think there is a way to set up a private blog so just the people you know are in there. I will look into it. Thanks for your idea to find us all and get us talking.