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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.
The quilt, backed in pale blue cotton was carefully refolded on
A week later, Doris Fines’ quilt was on display at the Erin Fall Fair. Plenty of people who saw it found names they recognized.
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.
All rights for print and photography owned by S. Traversy. Reproduction by permission only. (Email t1212@golden.net)
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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!
A decade of work has gone into the making of just 950 books, each one accompanied by a certificate signed by Queen Noor of
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.
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.
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.
The Days When Cream Rose to the Top!
Fred Steen, now deceased and founder of Steen's Dairy in Erin shared his memories of the days when good old door-to-door delivery was the way milk made its way into our fridges, brought to us by numerous milk men, driving their Divco trucks. Click here for the full story, published in Sideroads Magazine.
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.
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