Erin and Hillsburgh: Our Heritage: Barbers in Erin

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Barbers in Erin

Many years ago, Steen's Dairy on Main St. was the site of Joe Steen's barber shop. This barber pole used to be taken by Mr. Steen to the CNE to advertise his haircutting services. It was reportedly never used at his permanent location here in Erin. It has since been sawn in half and it now graces the facade on the garage of a Main St. home.

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Trains Alive!

The little boy raised up on his toes to get a better look in the ice cream stand window, keeping his eye on dad inside, ordering his double chocolate icecream cone. For Corwin Myles, 4 it was another perfect day at the rail museum. He had ridden all the cars he could that morning, first on a trolley then one of the rocket streetcars. He thought the noise was deafening, but he didn’t care as he held his hand up to the window, siphoning air onto his face and his sister, Sonya sitting next to him. Every now and then, the car slowed for the switching sections and overhead wire changes. “Clunk, clunk, clunk,” and then you were all clear. Silently, he marvelled at the big streetcar man in his official hat and who decisively pulled the bell twice to give the “all clear” signal.

There were others too, riding along who sat listening to the grind of wheels on steel, waiting for the blast of the train whistle, experiencing the charm of a streetcar ride for the first time. Looking up, they could see around them the ads that touted the products of the day - the Lone Ranger was confidently astride on Bob’s Bread and Lux Soap offered the comforting knowledge that for ten cents it wouldn’t shrink baby’s woolens.

Climbing into as many of the cars as he could, Corwin tested out the seats and swung around the poles, just as they’d been designed for over 80 years ago. For the Halton Radial Railway Museum, this closeness and interaction with history is what’s important. Over the past 50 years, a steady group of volunteers have managed to save dozens of cars and railway maintenance equipment from the scrap heap, restoring them and putting them back on the rails for the public to enjoy.

It hasn’t been an easy job. Far from it. Seats and woodwork have been restored, broken glass windows have been replaced and electrics have been stripped down and put in working order. Down in the workshop, people with grease on their hands are scavenging from equipment that’s beyond hope and putting it in cars that will once again see the light of day. Some of those cars have made it into movies, such as Cinderella Man, now released, who used two of the museum’s cars for a streetcar scene.

This dedicated group sprang from a few, like Ollie and Ron Cooper, who established the museum initially just as a private club, where likeminded railway fans could gather to share stories and brainstorm on how to save precious artifacts that were quickly disappearing. In some ways, that hasn’t changed a bit, except now the public is also invited to see, hear and feel the thrill of the rail age.

Bob and John Johnson, brothers, are two such volunteers, who together, have each given over 45 years of their time to the museum. John is retired from the Ontario Science Centre in Toronto in display care and his keen eye for detail shows in how he’d like to see the museum run. Having spent so many years in the museum environment, he’s always thinking of the public and planning how to make the museum even more enjoyable and accessible. The work he’s done at the museum has also been very physical. Last fall he was laying track along with other members to the new 19,250 square foot display barn being constructed. This building will enable them to protect and store more of their relics as the elements are particularly hard on any aging stock left outside over the winter.

The stories these men have about their boyhood experiences on and around trains know no bounds. Bob explains how his father, a Toronto streetcar operator was stopped by the cops going 60 miles an hour down Queen St. one night. “They said, ‘You can’t speed,’ and he replied, ‘I’m doing what the law allows – I’m driving by the railway rules!’ They warned him, ‘Well, don’t do it again,’ and they drove off. There was a big harange and it soon stopped after that – the railway men had to drive the speed limit of the cars.”

Clearly animated, the years drop away and Bob’s eyes blaze with excitement as he describes a moment he spent on a railway bridge with his friend Neil McCarton. “I don’t know if you know it, but Toronto sits in a “saucer” and trains coming out of it have to climb the hill. We’d walk home from highschool, over to the Scarborough junction and stand on the bridge over the tracks. You’d see a double header freight coming – dun, dun, dun, dun, dun,” he says as he mimics the noise of the train. “You’d lean over the edge and get a face full of coal smoke, and then you’d be hit again by the second engine – again, another faceful!

Bob laughs with merriment as he describes the odour. “These engines had steam and oil mixed together so things wouldn’t get all jammed up. That soft coal smoke smelled like rotten eggs. It was marvellous! In those days there were lots of trains, so it wasn’t long before another freight came along and the game began all over again - lean over and get a head full of warm soot.”

Will, a 77- year-old walks by and nods, his demeanor serious as he heads for the work shed, a toolbox in his hand. Out of the blue, he had shown up and offered his services for a week. Buried in the back corner, forlorn but not forgotten was the same old 1920’s Grand River car he had once worked on as a student. Armed with the original plans and the know how, he’d decided he’d donate his time to getting the electrics up and running. As he steps nimbly over the sawhorse I can’t help notice he handles it like a 17-year-old and he remarks, as he looks at the colour of his car, “This is the wrong shade here – it’s supposed to be Tuscan Red.”

Next to it, sits a very old trolley car, complete with its “people catcher.” Ron Cooper made the whole assembly from steel scrap on his picnic table in Bracebridge, then he and Ollie loaded it into a two-wheeled trailer and dragged it to the museum. For people not quick enough to get out of the way of the streetcar, it caught you in the ankles, broke both of them and knocked you down into the people catcher so you wouldn’t get run over and killed. Mr. Sleeman of beer making fame, and who developed an electric streetcar system for Guelph, had a factory that made people catchers and other parts for streetcars.

Bob lyrically describes the “trailers” being hooked up to the “motors” on Queen St. and describes his ride up Yonge Street to Richmond Hill where he, his mom and his brother would get off to go visit Aunt Clara. “We’d be in the lead car in a two or three-car train. We’d be roaring along and it was like a party, going like mad and shaking – the cars were dancing, yes, they danced! I’m leaning out the window and thinking, ‘Wow, this is thrilling - seeing and feeling the cars dancing along the tracks!”

The Museum is located at 13629 Guelph Line in Milton. Directions: Take highway 7 to just west of Rockwood, turn south onto Wellington Road 44 (runs along the west side of Rockwood Conservation Area) until it becomes Guelph Line at the Wellington/Halton county line. Continue south along Guelph Line approx. 3 miles/5 km, museum on the east side. From the 401: Take Exit 312/Guelph Line and travel north on Guelph Line approx. 10 miles/15 km.

Felton Bookbinding - Illuminations!

You might think that you’d have to love books to get into the profession of bookbinding, but Keith Felton honestly admits he didn’t particularly like books when he was a kid. His dad was an engineer and he had his own business repairing televisions and stereos; he had plans for his son to follow in his footsteps. Keith, although good with his hands, was impressed by the lifestyle of the man living next door to them - he had, perhaps, a lasting effect upon the young boy.

He was an older guy who loved cigars, and he used to send young Keith to the store to buy his aromatic stogies for him. Keith’s eyes widen a little and he laughs as he remembers, “He had a huge roll of money, he worked in printing and newspaper business and so that’s how I decided I wanted to get into this line of work. During my education they had wanted to put me into print management, but I said, “No, I just want to make money!”

Since those early days, the book binding industry has become highly automated – the books we buy now have rarely been touched by human hands. So in the the world of modern publishing, it’s nice to find a little bit of the “old world” still exists – with attention to detail and pride in work, still at play.

As I step through the doors into Felton Bookbinding Ltd.in Georgetown, I’m about to meet four talented men who gather at 6 a.m. every day to cover books that will last and be loved for generations. Owner and president, Keith Felton has lured some of his employees from the U.K. – talented men who are highly trained and who are studied in the ancient art of bookbinding. Felton’s men and women not only bind new books but they’re also in the business of rejuvenating very old, rare and expensive books. As he explains, their clients range from collectors and dealers to university libraries and publishers.

Many family bibles too have been saved over the years. One of the most memorable ones to be restored 20 years ago was owned by Norman Jewison, film director of “Agnes of God.”. The movie company had approached Keith to use some of his very old bookbinding equipment to set up a bindery in the old “Rockwood Boys Academy,” the setting for the movie. The scene never transpired, so his old presses and clamps were not required. Instead, they brought him Jewison’s bible to have it restored.

As historical restoration is often required, Felton says that it’s important to know the techniques and materials used to produce books over the centuries. So he and his fellow bookbinders are well versed in the skills needed to turn back the hands of time when it comes to their tomes.The University of Toronto brought him a book produced in the 13^th century that it was in amazing condition – all handwritten, there were beautiful handpainted illuminations and decorative motifs on the parchment skin pages.

“Someone though had done a bad job of rebinding it in the 1950’s. The covers had to be removed and recreated using the knowledge of the tools and materials available at the time. Seven hundred years ago, they used whatever was at hand - often the covers were made of solid wood. We get as close as we can and we try and save the covers, but sometimes, that’s not possible.”

Another book that brings a sparkle to Felton’s eyes is a book that was brought to him by a private collector. He had an “amazing” first edition of Captain Blye’s own account of the mutiny on the Bounty, first printed after he testified to the Admiralty, during the late 1790’s. It was one of the books he’s bound that he actually sat down and read, though it took some time because it was written in old English.

He reaches into a pair of cupboards that display the apparatus of the bookbinding trade, the finishing tools - wonderful wheels and stamps that are pressed into the leather covers or used to lay on gold foils as additional decorative elements. Each stamp has a mate, made in the reverse so that all the corners of a book can be properly marked. New, these sell for upwards of $200 apiece so he’s been lucky over the years to pick up some when he’s bought out other smaller binderies.

Out in the workshop, a large work bench runs down the centre of the room, its broad expanse separating Willy Albiez and Chris Narayan as they work on separate projects. A few feet away, Dean Wright hammers relentlessly on the “shoulder” of a book. Stitched and coverless, he’s coaxing it into a nice rounded shape and the pages on the open edge take on the typical concave aspect of a well-made book. It’s the only noise in the room, other than soft music and the quiet conversation of men who’ve worked together for years.

Next to a row of windows, stacked to the ceiling, is a skid of very large display boxes, covered in Dutch linen and being made by Felton to house a very grandiose and award winning book known as “Antarctica.” The photographers, Pat and Rosemarie Keough have taken on the daunting task of financing, publishing and marketing the book themselves. At 31 pounds, it’s a true heavyweight in the book world. Silently, I marvel at its size and can barely lift it off the table.

A decade of work has gone into the making of just 950 books, each one accompanied by a certificate signed by Queen Noor of Jordan. All the net proceeds of the book are going to help fund BirdLife International’s “Save the Albatross Campaign.” Seventeen of the world’s 18 species of albatross are at risk of extinction said HRH The Prince of Wales at the book’s unveiling presentation.

Felton was proud his company was chosen to handle the “Explorer Series” job of binding the first book – they had to compete with one other Boston area firm for the prestigious job over three years ago. The Keoughs researched the old bindery techniques, so they knew what they were looking for. “We each had to make a sample that the publishers paid for. We did it to their specs, exactly, but we thought we could do it better. Pricing was important, but I’m sure it was secondary.”

It took months to come up with the first prototype cover and archival quality, velvet-lined presentation box. The pages of the book at that stage were blank and shipped to each of the book binders. Keith says the whole project has been “a massive undertaking - more than they ever expected. Physically, spacewise and logistically, it is very challenging.”

The materials to make it have come from all over the world. The covers are each made from two goat skins shipped from India and processed in Scotland. Joined together along the backboard, the seam is disguised under an embossing line. The cost of the hides alone has approached $200,000. Inside, the 336 pages depict 330 full colour photos on luxurious heavy paper, using light fast pigments and the world’s highest resolution lithography.

Felton Bookbinding has also been binding together the pages, stitching each book with Irish linen thread by hand on a sewing frame. Keith allows that it’s “hard on the hands” but this technique was used 300 years ago. His sewers, Joan Gaffey who had done it many years ago, knew another lady, Jackie Willows who was good on a sewing machine. She said “Jackie could do this – she’s good with a needle.” So Jackie comes into the shop to work and Joan, who lives in Niagara-on-the-Lake sews them at home.

The Keough name and the graphic adorning the front cover are made using “high point” solid brass dies, made in Markham by an Austrian craftsman. The stamps are heated up in a 450 degree fahrenheit stamping press and then pressed into the leather, giving it a beautiful sheen. The bookbinders all have to be careful as they can suffer burns to their hands. “It’s all old world right down the line,” says Keith. The technique used is a revival of book-binding artistry dating from 15^th century Venice.

With a hefty price tag of $4,000, new limited editions like Antarctica are made primarily for the American market. Felton has dropshipped on behalf of the publishers all over the world and to royal families in Europe, Holland and to people such as Sir Richard Branson. The authors gave one to Prince Charles after the book presentation ceremony.

Keith Felton got his start in the business early in life. At 16, he served a five-year apprenticeship while attending the London College of Printing in the City and Guilds of London Institute. “It was a full blown old fashioned apprenticeship – for five years, you’re cheap labour.” Eventually he became a full fledged journeyman, and got his papers. He followed that with another two years in restoration work with the company he was with. Reminiscing, he adds, “There was a very old guy there, Ron Charles who had done this for 50 years and he took me under his wing,” teaching me everything I needed to know about paper conservation and restoration. He adds, “You have to love the work -you’re always learning in this trade.”

He came to Canada in 1982 at the age of 23 on a holiday and found out that bookbinders, a rare breed on this side of the Atlantic, were making three times what he was making back in England. Emmigrating in the early 80’s during the recession however, wasn’t easy for him. He did a number of jobs and eventually he started up in a small, 100 square foot room on Armstrong Ave. in Georgetown. With a bench on the side, he did all of his first jobs alone.As the work increased, he found he needed more help. It was about that time when Willy Albiez showed up with his impressive bookbinding credentials and they worked side by side – that was 21 years ago.

As we leave his office, we pass a framed poster that hangs next to his desk, the image of a beautiful gold embossed and gem studded leather bound book – the “Holy Grail” of book binders the world over. Keith says it’s the “Great Omar,” a book that was comissioned for a wealthy New York investor in 1908, designed and created by Francis Sangorski in London. The binding, which took two years to assemble, had 1,051 semi-precious stones set in 18-carat gold, 5,000 separate pieces of coloured leathers and 100 square feet of 22-carat gold leaf in the tooling.

It had taken Sangorski two years to finish the binding before it was placed it into an oak crate in 1912, to be loaded onto the Titanic for the quick sail to the U.S. Between the covers were the seductive words of the “Ruba'iyyat,” written by 11th century, Persian poet and mathematician Omar Khayyam. For centuries, it was unknown in the English speaking world, until 1859, when the English translation was first published by Edward Fitzgerald.

Written during the dark ages, Omar’s erotic work, which excited Victorian England, still blazes a bright light across a thousand years. Deep under the sea, still enclosed within its miraculous covers - their artistry inspiring the Felton four, who now create their own magestic volumes, are the words:

With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow;
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd:
'I came like Water, and like Wind I go.'

You can find out more about Felton Bookbinding Ltd. at: www.felton-bookbinding.com or by phone: 905-873-2665.

A Quilt Tells Many Stories

The friendship quilt was unwrapped and spread out carefully, as its new owner, Cathie Keeler excitedly reccounted how she’d discovered it last August, during an auction sale for Doris Fines of Ospringe. Doris was born and raised in Erin Twp. and she was moving and selling 90 years of accumulated treasures and memories – it wasn’t easy. Amongst the buyers that day were many who knew her and shared her love of things handmade.

Cathie was drawn to the quilt as it lay folded on a bed in Doris’ home. When she opened it up, she saw there were over 111 names embroidered on the quilt, many she recognized and a few were also related to her husband Jim (Ed. note: sadly, Jim died in 2008). Doris had included some of the Sim names because Helen Sim was a friend at Cedarvale School, and the family were also her neighbours. Even closer to Cathie were the names of her aunt Myrtle White (Erin Public School teacher) and Uncle Alvin.

When it came time to bid, another lady was also intent on the quilt - her father, Ken Stubbington was a neighbour of Doris’
at the time. Together they they pushed the price up to $50 –Cathie breathed a sign of relief when the bidding stopped, but she says she would have paid three times as much, it was so important to her.

Although Cathie knew a dozen or so people on the quilt, there were many she didn’t know, so we thought it would be a good idea to ask Doris, now living in Guelph to help explain how she made it and to explain the significance of some of the names on her quilt. Although she doesn’t recall where she got the idea to make the quilt, friendship or autograph quilts were not unknown at the time – they’d already had a long developed history and were common amongst the early pioneers who’d had to leave home, move to a new land or go off to war.

In the days when photography was still in its infancy, these signed quilts were a tactile way of holding onto or “keeping in touch” with loved ones. Often the names on these quilts were penned by its creator or someone with accomplished penmanship. Not so with the Fines quilt – every signature is different.

Back in the winters of the 1920’s and 30’s when she was just a young girl; there was less for a girl to do on the farm, no place to go and no way to get there. Doris had some time on her hands to be creative and making a quilt seemed to be just the ticket.

When she first started at about age 16, Doris lived on the 5th line in the stone house she was born in. It was easy enough at first, just ask your sisters, Audrey and Orma and your parents (Thomas Fines and Laura Russell) to sign a piece of cotton – they did, so “Mother” and “Father” are depicted amongst the 119 names. Extra squares were kept in a box and when school friends, or the odd relative stopped in at the farm, they were enticed to sign a patch. Later, she’d embroider over the pencil lines.

Even a couple of her teachers, and a boyfriend at the time, Grenfell Wright signed theirs. The pile of signed pieces grew and were added to by relatives who sent Doris their contributions through the mail from Saskatchewan or the U.S. – some were signed and others were embroidered.

Cathie’s husband Jim is related to Doris Fines’ sister Audrey, whose name is embroidered on the quilt – she is Jim’s grandmother and today she’s living in Campbellford. Excited, Cathie leans across the quilt and explains, “There’s Doris and Marg Keeler – they’re Jim’s aunts, and Gladys Sim, that’s his mother - and there’s Bessie Leitch, Keith Leitch’s mother. You know Ken Graham – those are his relatives, Donald, Jeanette and Lois Graham.

Amongst the many names, were six Peavoys. She explained, “I took the quilt over to the firefighter’s garage sale in Hillsburgh and of course Jim Peavoy was there. He was saying, ‘Oh, there’s my dad on there and there’s my uncle.’ I was thrilled to get it. My husband’s family had a picnic back in August so I took the quilt up there, and we took closeup photos of them alongside their names as well as their sister’s and we sent the photos to them in Toronto. Mrs. Elwood Peavoy was Doris’ father’s sister so most of the other Peavoys were her cousins.

Doris’ mother’s family were Russells, and their names: Grandpa (William John), Grandma (Agnes), Louise, Melville, Dorothy, Babe, and Hazelton all appear on the quilt. Hazelton Russell was Doris’ mother’s brother. “He never liked “Hazelton” for a name – it came from Grandpa’s side of the house – his mother’s last name was Hazelton. William Hazelton was his name and when he went to Detroit to live, he went by William and dropped the Hazelton,” explains Doris.}

“My Grandpa’s people came from Ireland and Grandma’s people came from Scotland – they had the same last name, “Russell” but they weren’t related,” she adds. There were ten in her mother’s family and 11 on her father’s side, so there was plenty of relatives.

There is a musical component to the quilt as Harvey Fisher and his mother, both named on the quilt, lived on the 4^th line and they had an orchestra called “Fisher’s Orchestra.” They used to go around playing for dances at Stanley Park and the Town Hall in Erin and Thelma Cotton and her son Wayne used to play with the orchestra too. Charlie Packer, whose name is there, played sax in Harvey’s orchestra, while Harvey himself played the violin. When the Fishers moved to Ospringe, Doris went with them and lived with the family for four months while she decorated their house, and that’s how their names came to be on the quilt.

Further up the fifth line of Erin, her father rented a farm that was situated on a quarry owned by the Ritchie Cutstone Company. During the war, the quarry was mined for rock and much of it ended up as flooring in Toronto factories and commercial buildings. She brings out a small piece of the rock from the quarry, fingers it briefly and then hands it over to me to feel. Several of the names on the quilt recall those early days, including Alex McDonald and Fred Kidd, who both worked at the quarry. William Mack lived across the road from the quarry and he used to help look after Doris’ grandfather, William John Russell once in a while, after he’d moved up to live with the family.

There’s also a connection to the early local pioneer McMillan family as seven of them make their appearance on the quilt - Doris’mother’s sister married Clarence McMillan and another sister married Hugh McMillan. Ross Ferguson was Doris’ sister’s husband and that’s where the McMillan’s come in again. Ross’ mother died when he was just about ten year’s old and Clarence McMillan was Ross’ uncle and Mary McMillan was Doris’ aunt. All through the years they would come to visit.

The Griffins were cousins who lived in Indiana – their mother was Doris’ mother’s sister. Their three boys: Russell, Lloyd and George used to live in Erin, in the house that the Lougheed’s used to live in, in the stone house across the road from Mundell’s, back in off the street. Before they moved to the U.S., the three boys and their parents used to visit Doris on the farm quite a bit as they were the same age as Doris and Audrey.

Numbering amongst the names were Gladys Metcalf, Audrey Irene Leppard and Irene Rourke (1932). Toronto used to advertise for people to take children for fresh air out into the country and the Fines family always used to have one of these “Fresh Air Kids” for a couple of weeks each summer. “We had one every year and they’d be about the same age as (sister) Orma, so they could play together. We picked them up from the train station, their expenses were paid and they stayed two weeks.”

Doris’s blue eyes crinkle as she remembers, “It was fun having them around. When we were growing up, I thought the people from the city knew more than what we did in the country, like they looked down on us country people, but I was amazed at how little these kids knew about things. One girl, she always liked drinking milk and she came out to the barn with me one day when I was milking the cows, ‘I’m not drinking that after the cow having it – my milk comes from the bottle!’ She didn’t know where milk came from – she wouldn’t drink milk after that!

“Another time we were gathering eggs in the henhouse. Mother - she’d put in “nest eggs” when the poults were starting to lay to make them lay up in the nests and not on the floor. They were china eggs and one of them had a chip off the end and when Irene went to take it out of the nest, she said, ‘This one isn’t done yet – I’d better put it back!’ I couldn’t believe my eyes. She had no idea how the eggs got there,” she said, with a laugh.

The quilt, backed in pale blue cotton was carefully refolded on Doris’ bed– some of its secrets and stories now revealed in the community where it had its beginnings 80 years ago. Although Doris expressed her sadness at having to let such things slip away from her, she said softly, “I’m glad somebody got it who can appreciate it.”

A week later, Doris Fines’ quilt was on display at the Erin Fall Fair. Plenty of people who saw it found names they recognized.

Names on the quilt are: Sister Audrey, Claude Caesar, Aunt Cattie, Uncle Carman, Donna Marie, Fay Louise & Judith Evelyn Chamberlain, Mrs. Ross Cook, Thelma and Wayne Cotton, James Cox, Adeline Cunningham, Gladys & Emma C. Doig, Ross, George & Katherine Ferguson, Alvin, Harvey & Mrs. A. Fisher, Douglas & Richard Fines, Samson Gisby, Donald, Lois & Jeanette Graham, Russell G., Wm. Lloyd,& George H. Griffin, Doreen Hough, Doris & Mrs. D. Hurren, Margaret, Jean & Doris Keeler, Fred Kidd, Audrey Irene Leppard, Keith, Calvin & Bessie Leitch, William Mack, Donald MacNabb, Marjory, Myrn, Norma & Mrs. A. McArthur, Alex McDonald, Clarence, Hugh, Nellie, Eujean, Hazel, Hattie and Mrs. W.E. McMillan, Gladys Metcalfe, Florence and John A. Moffit, Ethelyn, Lorraine & Mrs. B.L. Mooney, Aunt Nell, Charlie & Alice Packer, Elwood, Delymer, Harvey, Roy, Evelyn, & Gordon Peavoy, Robert (Russell), Uncle Rob (Russell), Irene Rourke (1932), Grandpa and Grandma Russell, Louise, Hazelton, Herman, Dorothy, Babe & Melville C. Russell, Aunt Sadie (Griffin), Mrs. Sarah J. Scott, James Service, Helen, Betty, Flora Billie, Gladys & Mrs. R.M. Sim, Eileen Sinclair, Reta, Wilbur, Donnie, Aunt Maggie, Russell E., Marguerite & Douglas Smith, Ken Stubbington, Marjorie Thomson, Arline Touriss, Lorna, Kathleen & Laurence Tweedy, Alvin, & Edward White; Sadie, Viola & Mr. E Wood, Grenfell Wright, George, Marilyn & Mrs. George Young.

Laying Foundations in Erin

Years ago, the main street of Erin was filled with the sounds of grain-filled, horse drawn wagons bumping over the rutted road, across the raceway and down to the old grist mill. For a century, it served the area and always at this time of year, it ran at full power. The harvest was in and wagons loaded with grain ready for milling were unloaded at the dock, as the farmers worked, smoked and talked. Click here for full view of the photography.

Today the mill silently stands sentry against the west branch of the Credit River, behind Erin's post office, encrusted in a yellow, cookie dough-coloured paint.
Many people still remember those halcyon days, including Jim Evans, who reminisced, “I used to play with my friend Patsy Kirkwood; her dad Donald was a big, old guy as I remember – he owned the mill, and we’d run and hide around the old feed bags upstairs. There were great big high ceilings and you could see all the belts running up top - there was very little electricity then.

The old raceway ran underneath Davidson’s butcher shop and Jackson’s barbershop and under the Co-op store and they’d open the gate up underneath there, and the water would flow down and that would turn the wheel under the mill get the other wheels and all the belts going. I think that raceway is still there; they used to go over there to crank it open to let the water come through. There were two separate raceways that serviced the two mills, the grist mill and Mundell’s lumber mill.

The raceway had another utilitarian function as well, and its recollection makes all can remember it laugh. Jim explained, “The toilet in the mill used to be up in the upper storey over the raceway and – it must have been forty feet up above the water - you’d get quite a breeze when you used it in the mill!”

The raceway, which went underneath the street and even under several of the stores on the west side of Main Street provided a conduit for kids who’d steal rowboats from Stanley Park, pull them over the upper dam and ride them downstream through the mill raceway. Come Monday, some poor kid had to bring rowboats back upstream to the Park, where they were rented out to picnicers.

Fred Cox of Hillsburgh worked in the grist mill in Erin as a 14-year-old, and he recalled, “Underneath the cooperative building there was a race, it ran right across the Main St. I pretty near went in it once with a ’36 Dodge coupe - the brakes went, but the emergency worked. Oh, we did lots of things,” he said laughing
He doesn’t remember the mill being noisy, but it was dusty. “They had an old chopper and a roller going and the old wooden 12” elevators would be running with the chains in them. There were cups attached to the chains and that’s what would take the grain up and down. On the far side of the mill, towards Mundells’ there was a line shaft with a big steel pulley on it so if the water got down low and they didn’t have water to run the mill, they’d get Rolly Leitch and a John Deere tractor and he used to put a belt on there and run it with the tractor. Up where the dump used to be and up past the fairgrounds, there used to be a lot more water coming down there.

“Years ago, Donald fed pigs down in under the mill there. I can’t remember how many he had, but he had quite a bunch of fat pigs down there,” added Fred. D.C. Kirkwood of the Erin Grist Mill certainly had the makings of ready made pigfeed at his mill - all byproducts of his milling operation and he carried all the medicinal additives to achieve “capacity production” for everything from pigs, chickens and rabbits, to horses and cattle.

A lot of feed was processed and a lot of paper went across Donald’s desk in the mill office in those days. His desk had a history of its own, as he had purchased from local doctor Henry Gear, who practised for many years in the area. When conditions at the mill caused the desk’s slatted roller to swell and bind, it was taken off and left in a corner of the mill.

Other mill owners have included Ronald Leitch, Rolly Leitch and today Dana Mundell, who is amazed at the building, saying “I cannot believe that they built that in three days. You should take a look at the back of that mill - it’s dead on, it’s just perfect.”

Ada Kirkwood also related a story she heard that when the mill was being constructed none of the men were anxious to install the roof trusses due to the height of the building so they were quite relieved when one of the men, whose fear of heights had possibly been diminished by his inebriated state, volunteered for the task. A crowd gathered below with some trepidation as the man carried out his work without incident.

Amongst those people staring up at that brave man were quite possibly the parents of the mill’s builder Daniel McMillan - Donald McMillan and his wife, Catharine Miller. They came with their family from Argyleshire, Scotland in the early 1820’s and like those early settlers, everything was done by hand. The first wheat they grew in their small clearing was carried through the bush to the nearest grist mill – in Brampton!

It may have been those hardships which drove their three sons, Daniel, Charles and Hugh to put forth such tremendous effort as to be responsible for establishing at least four local mills. Daniel takes most of the credit in the history books, for he was a man of tremendous energy and planning ability and a known entrepreneur. Once he got a project up and running, he’d hand it over to other capable hands while he moved on to his next venture.

Daniel was well acquainted with the design of grist mills, as he’d also built two others in Erin, all within a stone’s throw of each other. The first was on the site of what is today Mundell’s red painted planing mill. He obtained millstones for the mill from lot 12, later known as Shingler's Lime Stone Quarry, (not far from Butcher’s Funeral Home) and he dressed the 34 inch millstones himself.

In 1838, Daniel built a three storey stone grist mill at the end of Woolen Mill Lane, just west of St. John Brebeuf Catholic School. It had a large trade for about ten years, where they also made oatmeal. It reputedly did good work with dry wheat, but not if the grain was damp. This building eventually became a woolen mill, which was later taken down by the town and today the ruins are a feature on a walking trail that’s being developed along the east side of the Credit.

Erin Village expanded rapidly through the 1840's. Lumbermen and millers enjoyed favourable tariffs with the U.S., as wheat was brought from the States to Canada where it was processed, then shipped to Britain. This increased demand for flour was the reason Daniel McMillan built his new grist mill, which he planned to have in operation by Christmas, 1849.

The new mill, for its time and even by today’s standards was a miraculous feat of engineering. Stone masons were brought from the “Old Country;” to build the raceway, which became known as the "Big Ditch", and which was designed to bring water from the Upper Dam to drive the mill. During the construction of the building itself, hundreds were involved, likely drawing on the muscle power of most of the men in the village. Incredibly, it is reported that the mill took three days to erect! The intricate machinery was being put into place and the roof was going on. Then catastrophe struck.

December 14 was a rainy day and during that day, the mill’s 39-year-old builder somehow got a sliver in his hand. Perhaps he was too caught up in the excitement seeing his mill go up and dealing with the logistics of organizing 200 workers, but for whatever reason he seemingly didn’t look after it. It quickly became infected and he suffered unspeakable agony from blood poisoning, succumbing to his wound in just three days.

It must have been quite a sad time for the town, for the man had accomplished so much, building four mills and working alongside his father and two brothers to not only establish their own businesses but giving others a start as well. On a cold, rainy December 17, 1849 Daniel McMillan was laid to rest in the Erin Pioneer Cemetery on the 9th line, just north of the 17th Sideroad.

Today, the mill is quiet, the windows boarded up, and the interior is dark. The two huge millstones that once ground food for the village have been divided up between Jim and Bill Mundell, each serving as the base for their flagpoles in their back gardens.

At the front of the old mill, the old doors swing no more. One door handle in particular is worthy of mention – it’s well rusted and layers of green and red paint curl and flake around it. No one knows for sure who forged it. Perhaps it was 63-year-old Donald McMillan who was a wagonmaker and a blacksmith, or maybe it was George Walker, who was a wagon and carriage maker, or John Darrock the blacksmith – any of these men could have crafted the handle.

At first glance, it appears to be based on the shamrock. On closer inspection though, it’s a four-sided motif, rather than the common three-leaf shamrock shape. It’s possible that it’s a “shield knot,” an ancient and universal symbol used for thousands of years for protection. The design has been linked to the Celts and ancient Norse and it’s associated with protective spells, invoking the gods of the four corners of the earth.

The design could also have been inspired by “Solomon’s Knot,” an ancient symbol of eternal motion and the intertwining of space and time. Well time and space have certainly intertwined in the 157 years since the construction of the Erin Grist Mill, and many changes have been made since Daniel McMillan walked our streets with big plans in his head – an industrious builder who laid new foundations all over our town, and after whom Erin was first named, “MacMillan’s Mills.”

Thank you to all those mentioned in this article who shared their wonderful stories and memories.

Erin and Hillsburgh: Our Heritage