Monthly Archives: September 2014

The Mists of Time

Jan 30 2014 005


No one knows exactly what happened on that final day or even what actually happened during the preceding weeks.  He was one of the countless summer visitors that would arrive from places like Toronto by steamship.  As many as 3000 people would visit Oakville in a single day.  They mingled with the local folk in the beautiful summer days of that year.  His name was Aloysius.

Her name was Mary.  She was born on the 15th of April in the year of our Lord 1881.  Her father worked in the Carson & Sons Planing Mill.  He worked there for 30 years and for half of those years he carried a secret.

Mary didn’t have a mother.  Or rather she didn’t remember her.  She died while giving birth to Mary’s younger brother, he didn’t survive either.  When she was very young Mary learned to take care of the house and her father.  It’s what women did in those days, they took care of things.

Jacob was a good man, was Mary’s father.  But he didn’t know what to do with his little girl.  She wasn’t a little girl anymore.  She was a young woman, a young, beautiful woman. Like the youth of all centuries she wanted some excitement.  So on that fateful day she left the chores in her home to go for a walk in George’s Square.

Mary was positively giddy.  It was a beautiful day, bright sunshine, a gentle breeze, and the smell of flowers the air.  She didn’t go far; there was a park very close to her father’s work.  He used to take her there when she was a small child.  It was a favourite place for people to congregate.  It is believed that’s where she met Aloysius.


Mary turned around.  What she saw made her smile and blush at the same time.


“Are you from around here?”  The smiling gentleman asked.

Mary blushed again.  “Yes I am. Are you lost?”

The gentleman breathed deeply and put his hands in his pockets. “I have just come up from the city and I’m wondering where are the best places that I should visit.  I’m only here for the day.”  He looked down at this beautiful raven haired young woman, he was quite tall, “Would you be willing to show me the sites?”

Mary had been feeling the need for little excitement in her life, and here it was standing right in front of her.  He looked to be a gentleman from the city, perhaps a wealthy gentleman.  She was at first a little nervous but it was a beautiful day and she was feeling adventurous.

“I would love to give you a tour of the town.  My name is Mary.”

“And you can call me Aloysius.”

“That is quite an unusual name.”  She tried to hide her smile, unsuccessfully.  Then she thought that perhaps she had been impolite.

The gentleman in question simply chuckled out loud, “I was named after my father, by my mother.  It is quite a moniker.”  His smile deepened.  “It’s nice to be a little different.”

As the two walked through George’s Square they became more comfortable with each other.  He was a young gentleman well attired and well spoken.  She was a young girl, barely a woman with a girlish delight in being free.

We can’t know what was actually said when the two met but Mary kept a diary.  Years later it would be found and many of the questions surrounding their story would be answered.

Aloysius was indeed a gentleman.  Actually he was a gentleman’s gentleman.  He was in service in the city of Toronto.  Every Sunday he was given leave to pursue his own interests, whatever they may be.  Once he met Mary he spent every Sunday of that fateful summer in the small town of Oakville, on  the shores of Lake Ontario.  They would visit the strawberry market, walk along the shoreline and picnic under the trees.  Their friendship grew and over the many weeks so did their love.

During this time Mary’s father was under the impression that she was helping out at their local church.  As he was not one to attend services he never questioned her supposed attendance.  So he was completely unaware of the growing relationship between Mary and Aloysius.  He wasn’t the only one.  While they never intentionally hid themselves from Mary’s friends, they didn’t frequent areas that the others normally attended.  But eventually the summer ended and so did the steamship from Toronto.

“Mary I’m asking you to come back to Toronto with me.  You can live with my sister until the wedding.  I know I can find you work with the mistress of the house.  She is always looking for competent maids or perhaps a tutor for the children.”

Mary held the hands of the man she loved but she could not look him in the eye. “I have told my father nothing.  He doesn’t even know you exist.  I can’t just leave him”.

“Beloved I have to leave. This is the last boat of the season. I have no means to support myself here in Oakville.  I have a good life in Toronto.  We have talked about this.  Let me approach your father and ask for your hand in marriage. He must agree.”

Very slowly Mary withdrew her hands from the grip of the man she loved.  She still had not looked into his eyes.  “I will speak to my father and I will return here shortly.  The boat doesn’t leave for several hours. You must trust me.  I will return.”

Slowly Mary raised her head and looked deep into the eyes of the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.  Her hand touched his cheek gently, no words were necessary.  She smiled and left him waiting on the pier.

When Mary returned home her father wasn’t there.  She knew he sometimes went into the plant on Sundays so that is where she went.  It’s difficult to know what actually happened on that tragic day in Carson and Sons Planing Mill.  What we do know is that Mary died in there.  She may have fallen or she may have been struck down. No one knows or no one is speaking of it.

Mary’s father would not speak of that day except to say that there was an accident.  Aloysius waited on the pier but his beloved never showed and he didn’t know why.  He left on the last steamship of the summer.

The next year the steamships did not return to plying the waters near Oakville for passengers and Aloysius was unable to return to Mary.  He tried writing letters but they were never answered. Many years went by, Jacob mourned the loss of his daughter but he never spoke of it to anyone.  Some said they often found him sitting on a chair outside the Mill talking to himself.  It sounded as if he was talking to someone else but no one was nearby.  There are those who said he was talking to his daughter, or the spirit of his daughter.  Perhaps he was trying to atone for what had happened.  Jacob never said and he died the year the Mill was closed.

Aloysius eventually married.  He had three daughters, the last one he called Mary.  He was never a happy man; he rarely smiled and was never seen to laugh.  After many years of marriage his wife died and his daughters married and had children of their own.  In time Aloysius once again visited Oakville.  It had been a lifetime and the town was no longer sleepy anymore.  It was vibrant and alive.  Aloysius went back to the places that he and Mary had once known. The shoreline was much more built up and the main street had more stores. The house where Mary had once lived was gone. George’s Square was still there and the trees were bigger and lusher.  Aloysius sat on a bench and remembered how happy he had been so many years ago and he wondered if Mary was happy now.

It was dusk when a married couple out walking in the fresh autumn air noticed a well-dressed older man sitting on a park bench. When they returned from their constitutional the gentleman had not moved.  The man stopped to inquire if there was anything wrong.  That’s when he discovered that Aloysius had died.  He had died in the last place that he was happy.

There are those who say that on a warm summer night just about dusk if you’re very careful and very lucky you can see the misty outline of two people sitting on a park bench. One shape is that of a well-dressed gentleman, a young man and the other is of a very young woman with long dark hair.

Perhaps what they could not have while they lived, they found together in the mists of the spirit world.



This story was written for my Mother. For a few years she lived in a Retirement Residence built on the site of  Carson & Sons Planing Mill.

He Speaks!



He has a lot to say

This little friend of mine

not often will he stop and stay

but when he does it’s fine

He chatters up a storm

his manner so divine

some would say it’s not the norm

his verbs they don’t align

he speaks his mind this very day

from behind this silly tree

I know he speaks it all his way

when my chipmunk speaks to me




Several days ago I was out for a stroll.  As I walked down this beautiful well treed street I became aware of a rather discordant noise.  Somebody was screaming at somebody.  As I got underneath this particularly verdant tree I discovered party one.  Now I don’t know who or what had annoyed this individual but he or she was thoroughly pissed off!

I should probably point out that the individual in question was a chipmunk.  He was literally screeching!  For sake of brevity I’m going use a male pronoun because I hate flipping back and forth.  Now this individual had one look at me and stopped.  So we had a little eye contact and a few seconds of “who the hell are you?”.  And then he started screaming at me.  But it was different.  It wasn’t as loud and it was of shorter duration.  It was still incredibly high-pitched.  So I asked him what he was bitching about and he responded with a screech and then he stopped and looked at me.  I asked him another question and I kid you not he responded and then he stopped and looked at me.  It was almost as if we were having a conversation.

Yes I understand we are different species.  We don’t speak the same language.  But don’t you sometimes feel that you communicate with the animals around you?  For the most part I am referring to the animals that share our immediate world.  We have companions with our dogs, our cats and other animals.  Over the years I’ve had a great many animals share my life.  I have lived with fish, birds, cats and dogs.  And a few human males that fall in that category but I digress.  Especially with dogs and in some cases cats we develop a language that we both understand simply by virtue of the fact we spend so much time together.  What about the wild animals that we share this big world with.  There is no danger from a chipmunk, for the most part.  And we do share a world with a great many of them.  It stands to reason that they have come to understand us while we are for the most part ignorant about them.

I felt that I had gained something from that pseudo-conversation under the big tree.  Each time I’ve gone past that spot I stop and look to see if that chipmunk is back.  While I might want a relationship I’m pretty sure he only saw me as an annoyance.  Whether he likes it or not we share this world and I’m not leaving anytime soon.



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