Читать книгу The Consummate Canadian - Mary Willan Mason - Страница 10
Оглавление3 AN IMPROVED BEGINING
ONCE BACK IN LONDON, GEORGE SUTTON WEIR TOOK WHAT employment he could find, some odd jobs and sometimes as a conductor on London’s street railways. The family moved into a small house at 795 York Street in London’s east end, a working man’s district. It was a modest dwelling similar to a number of others on the street, with no means of heating other than a fireplace. All their lives the Weir children suffered from colds, bronchitis and pneumonia and it may well be that constantly being cold as small children contributed to the weakness in their lungs. Indeed the next few years were very difficult ones for the little family. There is no record of George ever attempting to preach on a regular basis again, although the family attended church with great regularity. George probably felt that his health was not up to the rigorous demands made on a preacher or a circuit rider and, as well, he was not connected with The Toronto Conference.
In 1895 another daughter, Martha Frances Irene, was born on July 12. As Sarah’s struggles to keep the little family clothed and fed increased, she did dressmaking. One of her customers, Mrs. Robarts, was the mother of John Robarts, later to become Premier of Ontario. At times she took in washing, an exhausting enough task for her own family’s needs, let alone others. It was a trying comedown for her, living in a small town intent on making its mark financially. Its citizens did not extend much sympathy to the impoverished. Sarah kept her head up as best she could and dwelt on the achievements of George’s brothers, notably Samuel who was doing brilliantly in Germany, to uphold family pride.
A letter from Samuel was always eagerly received by George. On April 3, 1895, he sent a postcard to George from Schenkendorf Strasse, 27, Etage III, Leipsic, Germany:
My dear brother: —
It is so long since I heard from you. I shall only risk a postal this time. I made the examination March 6th with highest honor summa cum laude. This honor is seldom given to anybody and was never before given by the University of Jena to a foreigner. I am now settled at the above address. It took some time to find a comfortable room at a reasonable price but I have it very pleasant at last. Leipsic is a big city and things are not so simple as at Jena. I will study here till Aug. 1, partly in Philosophy and partly in Theology. There are lots of Americans here. I am located pretty well out of their way. Met the preacher however and am probably booked to preach on Easter Sunday in the American church. But for the language and the flags and the official forms one could hardly notice the difference between Leipsic and an American city of similar size. I will find a carry for Harry and send it as soon as you have written. Your address is about as uncertain as mine — Aff. Sam Weir.
George and Sarah had been living at 795 York Street for five years when Samuel’s post card arrived. There may well have been misgivings about the suitability of the neighbourhood on George’s part which gave Samuel the impression that they had moved. For the next few years however, the house on York Street was all the family could possibly afford. On August 12, 1898, Sarah gave birth to her second son, our Samuel Edward, called Samuel after his distinguished uncle.
Whether George was unable to find the cash to pay the realty taxes on the York Street property or whether he was forgetful or even resented paying taxes at all, the tax bill was overdue by the end of the year and was in arrears. Two years later, Samuel Edward’s brother, Charles Wilfred Paul, Sarah’s last child was born. Samuel Edward was known in the family as Ted and sometimes Teddie while Charles Wilfred Paul was called Paul. Later Ted chose to be known to friends and clients as Sam and Paul changed his name to Carl. However, within the household the boys were always Ted and Paul.
When Paul was a year old, George was superannuated by the Detroit Conference and thus was entitled to a pension which he refused to accept, saying that “others need it more than I.” The talk in London was that the Weirs were “poor and proud.” His self denying piety was hard on Sarah and the children.
Samuel Edward, born 1898, photograph taken circa 1901.
In 1902 a warrant was issued by the City of London for unpaid taxes on the York Street property and it was sold to A.E. Danks in two parcels, for $3.37 and $3.38 plus $1.80 each for costs of sale. This was a severe blow to Sarah’s pride. Friends of Samuel Edward’s remember their mothers saying that Sarah Weir seemed to be “always in tears.” With so much stress and worry it was not surprising that George’s health, never robust after the bout of malaria, gave him further trouble. After developing a severe pain in his abdomen and being unsatisfied with the doctors’ inabilities to relieve him, George decided to study medicine himself, with a doctor in London as was the custom. He persevered with his studies even though he had taken on work as a truant officer during the school year and as tram conductor when time permitted.
The following year, 1903, in a letter to his brother Samuel, he mentions “trying to hustle the boys off to school.” By then Samuel Edward was five, Carl three and George Harrison, or Harry, was fifteen. Sarah had travelled to Duluth to help Mary, her sister, in her first childbirth and had brought the baby back with her to London as Mary was considered too frail to care for the baby herself. In the meantime George’s father, Robert, now blind and unable to continue with his dairy farm and milk delivery, came to live with the Weirs and also was cared for by Sarah in the cramped quarters of York Street. Certainly Samuel Edward was given an example of service to others from his early childhood.
Martha Frances born 1886; Charles Paul born 1900; and Samuel Edward born in 1898. Photo taken on York Street in 1903. Sarah peeks around the door.
By December of 1903 the sale of York Street for unpaid taxes was completed. Early in 1904 George bought a larger house for $150.00 down at 197 Sherwood Avenue. Set on ten acres, the storey and a half dwelling with four bedrooms, a parlour, a kitchen and study, also had a long verandah with a rod for hanging fowl. The heat for this house was supplied by a fireplace. By August George had assumed a first mortgage of $900.00 and a second of $500.00. Odd jobs helped the family’s meagre income. Now that the Weirs lived on ten acres of land they acquired a cow, Stella’s Cream Cup. She is alleged to have produced milk with a butterfat content of 7.5%. It seems that everybody in London knew about the Weirs’ remarkable Stella.
Samuel Edward was sent off to school in Grade 1 with holes in his stockings and his clothing much the worse for wear. He was teased, laughed at and picked on by the other children and frequently had to defend himself physically. The area in the east end of London has been described as brutal, where fists and hard fighting determined the social pecking order. Fortunately, six year old Samuel was big for his age and strong, but the bitterness of those early years of extreme poverty, the hazing and having to look out for Paul left its mark on a proud and sensitive child. Paul became very ill in the same year with encephalitis, now known to be a viral infection, but at that time it was thought that encephalitis could be caused by a blow to the head. Samuel Edward, our young Teddie, now had even more responsibility for Paul, especially after his brother developed a permanent limp.
By 1905 the family finances showed a slight improvement, but the reason for the lessening of money troubles increased the tension in Teddie’s and Paul’s social lives. With both in the public school system where George, their father, was the truant officer, student life held other difficulties for the two boys. ‘Monkey Weir’ was the name given to George by a student faction more noted for its high spirited flouting of authority than for obedience and scholarship. Teddie’s soubriquet was, naturally, ‘Little Monkey,’ a name he detested. It was bad enough for a very intelligent high-minded proud child to turn up at school in torn and shabby clothes, but the taunt of ‘Little Monkey,’ attacking both the child and the father, laid the foundation for a certain resentment of the well to do and accepted children of his age.
Just as in his earlier days as a teacher, George Sutton Weir was a strict disciplinarian and an upholder of respect for the law as well as for himself as an embodiment of law. At this time Dr. John Dearness was a school inspector, well known and feared. With his approval, persistent cases of truancy and general mischief were put in detention rooms in the Children’s Shelter at George Sutton’s direction. Upon one occasion three unusually troublesome lads were placed in solitary detention overnight on George’s suggestion and under his control, but it was noted that in this instance he obtained the consent of the parents first. This sort of action may have given George and perhaps the parents some satisfaction, but it did nothing for the acceptance of Teddie and Paul into the society of their peers. Fisticuffs and torn clothing continued, much to the despair of Sarah.
It is interesting to note that in 1905 and the early years of the century no one thought to question children on their reason for fighting, or if they were questioned, some sort of personal pride forbade them telling their mothers of the situation. Telling their fathers would, of course, have made the whole situation even worse. There is no evidence that Ted’s Aunt Jennie, a teacher in London, ever interested herself in her cousin George’s fortunes or the predicaments of his children.
In 1955, the London Free Press ran a fiftieth anniversary issue, and harking back to school matters in 1905, reprinted an excerpt:
“A new venture in public relations was undertaken in 1905 by Inspector Edwards and the public school staff. This was an elaborate exhibit of work done by the pupils. It was held in the City Hall and was open to the public for a week. At the invitation of the trustees, the Minister of Education was invited as their guest. On Friday, the concluding day, the teachers from Chatham attended in a body. The undertaking proved to be an unqualified success and netted a profit of $235, which was divided among the schools for library books.
The trustees at this time had a very resourceful truant officer in the person of George Weir. His monthly reports to the board indicate that truancy was probably a more serious problem than it is now. Mr. Weir, however, had no intention of being thwarted in the successful performance of his duty by any mere boys. In handling persistent cases he made use of detention rooms in the Children’s Shelter. On one occasion, with the consent of the parents, three unusually troublesome lads got a taste of solitary confinement. Whether Mr. Weir ever taught school is not known. He appears, however, to have been a man who would try anything once, for in one of his reports he tells of Substituting for two weeks for one of the teachers in the school on Colborne Street south, a two room building that for many years had a heavy enrolment of primary children. Undoubtedly Mr. Weir had a busy, if not pleasant, two weeks.”
George Harrison born 1885. The photo was taken 1905 when he was 19 years old, the year prior to his death of typhoid fever in Winnipeg.
Ted’s sister, Ruth had left school with a leaving certificate and had gone to work in the classified advertisement section of the farmers’ Advocate. Harry soon followed and found work as a monotype operator with The London Free Press. He seems to have had considerable skill in draughtsmanship and in composing a picture with a camera. Ruth took every opportunity to see something more of the world than London offered. With her friends from the office she went on overnight trips, sending postcards to her mother from Toronto and Buffalo. She sailed on the Turbinia from Hamilton, round trip $2.39. “This boat belongs to Eaton’s,” she wrote. Paul’s postcard from Buffalo came with the message, “Yesterday we went through coontown and you never saw so many blackberries in your life,” a statement reflecting the racism of the time.
In the summer Harry was transferred to the Winnipeg office as a monotype operator. He took delight in photographing the city and made up some of his best views as postcards, probably with the idea of making a sideline business for himself. The examples show a keen eye for ‘taking a good shot.’ By wintertime his mother was concerned lest he not have enough warm clothing. Early in 1906, she hastened out to Winnipeg with an overcoat for him. He had contracted typhus and, by the time she arrived, he was hospitalized with typhoid fever and died shortly afterward. Sarah was heartbroken. It was said of her that “she never got over her son’s death at the age of eighteen.” Sarah kept the cards and letters she received from church members. One sad note starts, “We hope Mr. Weir is better,” and goes on to discuss church meetings with a strong note of complacent piety, but by the time the letter was delivered Sarah was on her way back to London and Harry was dead.
Ruth was doing very well and had risen to be head stenographer at Canadian Woman, a subsidiary of Farmers’ Advocate and, in her summer vacation of 1906, went west to Oxbow to visit her Aunt Susannah Weir Burnett. In the same summer in the continuing saga of misfortune that seemed to shadow the Weirs, Ted was involved as a catcher in a baseball game and, having discarded his mask, caught a hardball on his forehead. He was knocked unconscious for a short period, probably about half an hour. Later in life he would blame his eye troubles on that game of baseball. The pitcher was a student minister and somehow that seemed to make everything all right in his parents’ eyes.
Sarah’s health deteriorated slowly but steadily. There is a continuing sense of hopelessness in her letters, a few that have survived, a bending to what God has ordained for her with yet an attempt to keep her pride intact. The following year, in 1907, George was ready to take the Council examinations. He had been at a medical school which belonged to a company, Eckels and Moorhouse, with Dr. Hugh McCollum as his mentor. Having studied on a part-time basis and obtained his medical degree at the University of Western Ontario in the first medical convocation, class of 1907, George was then named Medical Officer of Health for the Middlesex Board of Education, London School District. Again their father’s new position did not help the boys get along with their peers. Part of Dr. George Weir’s responsibilities was to vaccinate each student. It is entirely possible that the new M.O.H. was not particularly gentle with the obstreperous.
Ted was now nine years of age, and while life was a little easier financially, George Sutton was still a stern and strict Father in the God fearing manner of the times. Ted joined the work force as a carrier boy delivering the Farmers’ Advocate. Hating the circumstances of the impoverished family, he was determined to work his way out of the situation, a determination that never left him.
George’s brother, James Weir, the newspaper columnist from British Columbia, came through town in the summer of 1907 and, seeing how very keen Ted was to play baseball, took the boy downtown and outfitted him with a mitt, grander than anything Ted had dreamed of possessing, along with a good bat. Ted was ecstatic. However, after James left town, the shop sent George the bill. Perhaps it was James’ way of letting George know he had been hard on his children. “You can imagine what effect this had on my father’s temper,” Ted wrote to a relative years later.
Ruth was learning to get along in the business world. She was twenty-one, popular with a group of friends and, sensing the repressed atmosphere in the family, tried to ameliorate it in various small ways. She mailed cards to Ted and Paul for Easter, knowing how pleased they would be to receive their own mail, even though posted locally from London. By Christmas, the cards were posted from New York City, the message to Paul, a typical older sister admonition, “Don’t eat too much candy.” To Teddie she asked, “What will Santa bring you?” Ted’s answer, written the day after Christmas was that he and Paul “…got rubber boots from Santa and that there had been a Christmas tea party with a great many cousins.”
In early springtime of 1907 Paul had come down with mumps, but Martha and Ted apparently escaped. About the same time of the year, Ruth had noticed an advertisement in the Farmers’ Advocate offering positions to train young ladies as nurses in the Roosevelt Hospital in New York. Ruth left home on September 12, 1907 and, although she faithfully wrote letters to her mother at least once a week, Sarah felt her absence keenly. George’s father, Robert Weir, died the same year. Sarah had cared for him faithfully in his blindness for all the years he had made his home with them.
That Ruth found the regimen at Roosevelt Hospital arduous goes without saying. Sarah kept her many letters and they tell of long hours, the many cases of typhoid fever and her excitement at witnessing a transfusion, “a very rare operation,” she writes. When bats got into her ward, she told her women patients that they were sparrows. The incident apparently went off without panic. From her inquiries about the health of her family, it seems that George’s face had been a concern for some months, apparently a rash. As well, Ruth was disturbed about Sarah’s pain in her head and ears. “If your ears bother you, you should have them looked after. I lost a patient last week from septic meningitis induced by ear trouble.”
Sarah kept the invitation addressed to Dr. and Mrs. G.S. Weir to be present at Ruth’s graduation on Friday May 7, 1908, but either they could not afford the trip or George was reluctant to spend the money. Ruth continued to nurse at Roosevelt Hospital and on December 23, she sent a card to Martha, “How does the medal look?” Martha, now fourteen, had graduated with distinction from public school.
On September 12, 1908 Ruth wrote, “A year ago tonight, I was in Buffalo at this time.” Once when she had been on vacation, “Returned safely. I have to put in another year. I dislike it.” Nursing seemed to be Ruth’s avenue of escape from Sherwood Avenue. The next day she wrote, “I have a patient who weighs 400 lbs — hemiplegia and aphasia. A Catholic priest came to see her, a very handsome young priest. Another patient, typhoid, is going home. She is an actress and a widow by courtesy. She is a lady friend of the night city editor of The Sun and we are going to have dinner together.” Sarah’s reply to this has not been preserved so we can only conjecture what the reaction of Sarah might be and particularly of George, to their daughter’s hobnobbing with handsome young Catholic priests and her friendship with an actress of questionable reputation indeed. From both their backgrounds, there must have been misgivings about her exposure to sinful temptations.
With a growing worldliness, Ruth refers to her patients as “old frauds,” but she writes that she is pleased that the family is having gas illumination installed. “I suppose you will be turning night into day when the gas is installed — hope you don’t get in too deep. We have just been entertaining Father Walsh, the finest looking young priest.” Did she mean to provoke them, or was she letting them know in subtle ways that she was her own person now? Ruth continued to send postcards and short notes to Martha and the boys, always keeping in touch with their progress in school and their interests…to Martha, “How’s the French coming along?”… to Paul, “I will look after the watch and the gun and the shot. But you know I will not be home for a long time. Maybe not till a year from Christmas.” — to Ted, “Thanks for the Easter card.” Sometimes there was no message, just “Dear Ted” on a postcard.
By now the family’s finances had improved to the extent that the Sherwood Avenue home contained a piano. Both Ted and Paul were given lessons by a Miss Northcott who came to the house. Ted continued to love playing baseball although at various times there was concern that he had some sort of heart trouble. When he was almost twelve, Sarah went to Duluth to be with her sister Mary in her second childbirth. She stayed with Mary until she felt her sister could cope and sent a postcard of a laker to Paul with the message, ‘How would you like to see a sight like this, Paul?” The boat was laden with 150,000 tons of coal. To “Teddie dear,” she wrote, “We will soon be home so keep your courage up. Uncle (Will) says he will send something beside the ball for the ‘little boys.’” Sarah brought the baby, Shirley, back to London in June of 1910. In October, Ruth took Shirley back to her mother in Duluth, writing to Sarah that, “Baby was fine all the way. Mary is pretty tired and so am I. Uncle Will is as fresh as a daisy.” Ruth remained in Duluth to do private nursing for a period of time.
Sarah’s remark to Teddie on courage may well have been occasioned by the effects of an attack of George’s ulcer in her absence. More than likely it was a recurrent ulcer disease caused by an infection which resulted in a chronic and painful inflammation for which there was no real help or cure until antibiotics. George suffered periodically and his family suffered along with him.
Ted worked hard at his studies, but it was Martha who stood first in her class year after year and it was Martha whom the family considered the ‘real student.’ Paul was not inclined to excel at school work, his injuries and illness from earliest childhood no doubt contributed to his difficulties. As well as delivering papers, Ted began to work in the Post Office as soon as he was fourteen. During rush seasons, he brought a little money from the sorting departments in to the household. “Letters,” he later wrote to an art dealer in England who had sent him an etching which had arrived rather bent, “are handled rather respectfully but packages are thrown all over the offices, sometimes as far as fifty or seventy five feet. The mail sorters get a good skill at throwing things into bags a long distance away and they won’t bother to walk with them.” This first hand information doubtless accounted for the detailed instructions Sam gave to various art dealers later on and his fury when his instructions were not carried out.
It was while Ted, or Sam as he now wanted to be known to the world at large, was working in the Post Office that he noticed a lithograph in a shop window. He passed it by many times and finally decided to part with fifty cents, a not inconsiderable sum of money in 1912, and take it home. It was the first acquisition, a lithograph of Sir Wilfred Laurier from the J.W.L. Forster portrait, in what was to become the consuming passion of his life, amassing a remarkable and significant collection of Canadian art and artifacts, along with an extensive library.
During this period George Sutton was able to acquire a ten acre property on Oxford Street West. The Sherwood Avenue property was sold and the family moved in to 139 Oxford Street. This would be home to Sam until his retirement from his law practice and the move to River Brink at Queenston. There were fruit trees on the property and room for the children to indulge their separate loves. Paul was the young farmer on a modest scale. Sam was the horticulturist. A love of beautiful, unusual and exotic plants and flowers remained an absorbing interest to Sam all his life. Although there had been difficulties with the tax department as George Sutton either had a bad memory or intentionally ignored the notices, but here at last the family could settle down. However, the house was anything but luxurious, without a furnace and dependent on coal oil lamps for light.
When World War I was declared in August of 1914, Sam was still at Central Collegiate High School with one more year to go, a teenager with a passion for baseball and a growing interest in the garden and the flowers it produced. Paul was still a problem, given to attacks of irritability, a legacy in all probability of the encephalitis as well as pain from an arthritic condition of the spine. He seems to have been very much the baby of the family, being given extra consideration by all, but was more interested in taking care of the livestock than in doing well at school. In such a situation, it can be understood that serious minded Ted was taken for granted and sometimes his achievements were passed over lightly in the family.
Paul received a Christmas letter from Ruth on Roosevelt Hospital stationery, dated January 3 on the envelope. Ruth never dated her correspondence, but fortunately her letters to her family were preserved in their envelopes, the cancellation marks revealing when they were written.
“How was the New Year’s goose? I suppose the Weir family did not get much of the Christmas one. How are Pat and Buster and the cows? Is Buttercup giving good milk? It was too bad about the poor chickens. Did you save any of them? (I think you are a regular Shylock.)”
Perhaps a cold snap was too much for the hen house. It would seem that Paul had a little business venture going in the back yard.
At some period before Sam graduated from the collegiate, possibly in the Easter holidays or on weekends in early 1915, he found work in a wartime factory producing explosives. Sam was fascinated by the processes and told his father he wanted to study chemistry and work in that field. George was opposed and persuaded Sam to stay in school, graduate and get himself articled in a law firm. A career in chemistry for Sam would mean that two of his children would be living at home and pursuing degrees. At this time Martha was working part time in Dr. Hadley Williams’ office while studying at the University of Western Ontario for a degree in English and History. Sam reluctantly agreed to abandon his hopes for a degree in chemistry or chemical engineering and, immediately after his graduation with honours from the collegiate in June of 1915, started working as an articled clerk at Meredith and Meredith, a very highly respected law firm, for the sum of $2.00 a week.
Samuel Edward, after high school, while he articled with Meredith and Meredith.
Early in 1915, Ruth apparently left the staff of Roosevelt Hospital and went into private nursing. She sent postcards home to the boys with views of her whereabouts: Larchmont, New York; Allenhurst, New Jersey. Sam received a postcard in June, “How are the exams?” By August the adventurous Ruth Weir R.N. had volunteered to go overseas with the American Red Cross and on October 27 she wrote to her mother, “Just sailing, La Touraine.” For the remainder of the year Ruth sent cards to everyone in the family at the rate of two or three times a week. No doubt her tidbits of news were received with rapt attention: to Martha from Bordeaux, “very beautiful;” to Sarah, “a view of the cathedral;” to Ted, “How goeth the law? Do you know what this statue commemorates? I don’t.” It was a view of the Girondins. Just the sort of communication that would have Sam going to an encyclopaedia, Ruth knew, to discover details of the political party, named Girondins for the members of the French Legislative Assembly and National Convention from the Gironde region between 1791 and 1793. Their views were verging more on republicanism than the Parisian deputies, but ultimately they were defeated by the Montagnards. Ruth was well aware of Ted’s compulsion to learn and to investigate every field that came to his attention. In November, Ruth visited Paris and wrote, “Paris is lovely. We drove through the Arc de Triomphe along the Champs Elysee, saw the Eiffel Tower. Love to all.”
Ted had been working long hours every day, six days a week after his graduation. On Friday August 15, Sarah made him a little presentation. “My dear Ted. Birthday greetings. Here is Harry’s tie pin. I know you will take care of it and perhaps value it as highly as he did.” But Ted’s birthday was August 12. She missed it by three days and Harry had been dead for nine years. One wonders how strong a memory Ted retained of the brother who had died nine years ago. In the hundreds of Ted’s letters to his relations later in life that have survived, never once was mention made of Harry.
The family’s interest was centred on the faraway doings of Ruth. How the family must have marvelled at their Ruth seeing the wonders of the world! Postmarked again from Bordeaux, she wrote to Paul, “You should see the big carts drawn by little donkeys about the size of Buster.”
By December Ruth was one of the hard working nurses caring for the French wounded in the disastrous offensives of late 1915. On December 26, Ruth wrote to Martha, “We are having a party — plum pudding — and I may be incapacitated. I got a real American fruit cake for the blesses and champagne and we had a grand treat this afternoon. Last night at midnight mass in the chapel — the patients went on stretchers, chairs and crutches. It was a sight never to be forgotten. Our Abbe is a dear old soul.” Sarah kept this letter so presumably Martha shared its contents. Ruth drinking something alcoholic, going to mass in a Catholic chapel and speaking so warmly of a Catholic priest — George and Sarah must have had grave misgivings about temptation assailing Ruth and that more than the war was contributing to the world’s downfall.
For Ted, the combination of his new world of learning at Meredith and Meredith, together with Ruth’s accounts of a sophisticated existence, made for a broadening insight on the world which contrasted strongly with the blinkered attitude of his religious upbringing.
Ruth encouraged Martha, Ted and Paul to learn French and, early in 1916, sent Martha a ring made by a wounded French soldier, out of apiece of German shrapnel. As the war drew on, Ruth wrote more and more frequently of food shortages, sugar every other day and lack of heating for the patients. She frequently reminisced about the food in her family home, Paul’s maple syrup, the hens laying fresh eggs and about an animal, Sherry, who “is most disappointing in the matter of progeny.” She did manage to get a Swiss cowbell for Buttercup, and from a letter of Ruth’s, we learn that Sarah’s mother, Martha Amanda, was making one of her prolonged and tiresome visits. George and his mother-in-law did not find each other companionable, a family situation bound to be upsetting to the sensitive Ted. By August Ruth had been promoted to Major and had started her long search for a suitable present for Ted. It was to be a chess set worthy of an up and coming young lawyer and Ruth kept on searching until she found what she wanted.
Sarah kept many letters from Martha Amanda. In one short note her mother details her travels from one relative to another, discusses her health and ends with a post script, “You forgot to send the money.” This last is possibly a contribution to Martha Amanda’s welfare or an agreed upon sum to be sent by all the sisters to Bertie, but it must have been a drain on the Weir finances. Martha Amanda Bayne’s letter to Sarah in July of 1916 asks rather anxiously about Paul, “How is Paul standing the work?” Allowances were made for the baby of the family by everyone.
Ted continued to work hard at Meredith and Meredith and to save every penny he could. For the next three years he would have to live in Toronto when attending Osgoode Hall, the only way to qualify for the bar in Ontario. He seems at this juncture to have had no social life at all outside church attendance. Martha, at twenty-two, obtained her B.A. with honours in her English and History course and won the Governor General’s gold medal for obtaining the highest marks of all arts graduates. Ruth wrote to her in August upbraiding her for not learning to swim. “So what if you swallow some water?” but ending with “Hope you get a nice school. How does Ted like the law?” By the last year of the war, Ruth was worried about Sarah’s health and urged her not to work so hard — “Let things slide a bit.” While Paul’s health was a concern to Ruth, she asked her mother about Ted. Martha apparently had written to say that Ted was not well. Ruth was continually concerned about Ted’s heart troubles. She speaks of being very cold, that they cannot keep the hospital warm with its hard stone floors and the lack of coal for the fires. Sarah had obviously found the cows a chore, and Ruth’s advice was “to do what you please with the cows.”
In 1917 after two years of successful articling, Ted went off to Toronto for his studies at Osgoode Hall. Shortly before his lectures were to begin in September of that year, he left home and made his way by train to the big city. His feelings can be imagined on the ride from London into Union Station, a mixture of the excitement and anticipation any young person must feel at the start of a major adventure, coupled with concerns and worries about the state of his finances. Had he saved enough? Would there be expenses he had not counted on in his budget? Apparently he went directly to a boarding house run by a Mrs. Susan O’Shea, listed as a designer who let rooms at 74 Baldwin Street. It was Martha who travelled to Toronto to see how he was making out. She spent Labour Day weekend with him, leaving very early on the Monday morning in order to get to Sarnia for commencement of her teaching duties on Tuesday morning.
Ted wrote home: —
“Labour Day 1917 Dear dad and all: — Martha got here safely and Mrs. O’Shea let her have a room. The train was an hour late caused, I suppose, by Exhibition and Labour Day traffic. We went to the Exhibition Saturday afternoon. There was a crowd and that made it difficult to see the exhibits. I expected, at least, to see something extra-ordinary but was disappointed and although there was a huge conglomeration of things I found nothing of interest but some rattlesnakes, deep-sea fish, a West Indies Exhibit, and some cottage cheese mixed with a little peanut butter and moulded in various shapes.
I got up early this morning and went down with Martha to the Union Station, breakfasted at the Walker House Cafeteria, spent the morning reading at the office and wandered around town this afternoon. I will read some more tonight but I find it tedious and hard to keep my interest up. I haven’t touched law.
A week ago Sunday I sat out on the Island and finished Salton on “Hereditary Genius.” I now have on hand Hamerton’s “Intellectual life,” “Essays in the Art of Writing” by R.L. Stevenson, “The Ocean,” by Sir fohn Murray and a book on authors called “18th Century Sketches.” Quite a collection as you see.
I’m a bit worried about my Law School work. In the first place, I don’t know how to study. I thought of taking a heavy meal in the morning and quitting supper but it wouldn’t be feasible when boarding. I have decided to try getting up at 5.30 and have some toast and cocoa and study until breakfast. I will try walking or exercising an hour after supper to overcome its effect of drowsiness and reading say from 7.30 to 9.30. I have some doubt whether I can stand that much work but it will probably be necessary.
The enclosed circulars were got at the Exhibition. I wish you could send me some magazines for light reading — some Literary Digest if you have any. Martha found her pin — Ted.”
Both loneliness and anxiety were Sam’s lot as he began the formal part of his legal training, and his reading material as he outlined to his father was hardly likely to afford him light hearted amusement.
Five days later on September 6 he wrote again to the family.
“Saturday Dear People: — I have moved and am writing this in my new room. The address is
S.E. Weir Knox College Residence Toronto,
but as the parcel will come by express possibly you had better send it to the office (120 Bay). It is unlikely the delivery man could find anybody to sign his book. It is chilly down here and I caught a cold last night or this morning. I think I had better have my overcoat. I don’t know whether to go up thanksgiving or not. I could go up Saturday noon & return Tuesday morning. I could bring the overcoat back with me then. I don’t like to spend the money (something like $5.00) as I have so little left and must buy some text books. I lost $2 out of my pocket Friday. I will have to have the coat pressed anyway and am not particularly anxious to go up. What do you think about it? For myself I think I had better have the coat sent down with the bathrobe. I suppose they could both go in a suit box. …”
Sam went on to describe his room, its position facing east onto the quadrangle and its bay window.
Although it was not encouraged, but it may have been condoned, Osgoode students were not expected to work in a law firm. For many a student however, it was a necessary adjunct to a livelihood. Sam seems to have been taken on by G. Wilkie of Corley, Wilkie, Duff and Hamilton whose address was listed at 120 Bay Street.
An October 1917 letter had Ruth musing that “Ted seems to have a near thing of it making ends meet.” For his second and third years he found a cheaper lodging on Washington Avenue nearby. Later he claimed he had been at Osgoode on scholarships. All his professional life Ted, or Sam, longed for an undergraduate degree in law, a LL.B.
In writing to Ruth in 1917, Martha may have sounded gloomy and depressed in her letter as her friends, including a special one, went off to war. She apparently indicated to Ruth that she did not enjoy teaching particularly. After the war her special friend returned from overseas, shell shocked and with amnesia. Remaining unmarried, Martha stuck it out teaching English and History at a high school in Sarnia, until her retirement in 1959.
The year after the war ended the family was eagerly waiting to hear that Ruth would be coming home. Ruth wrote on January 22, 1919, “I am on my way to Rumania. The Red Cross gently but firmly suggested that I go. It’s only until July. There will be 60 of us in the party — six nurses. I will keep a little diary. I will be giving out aid and food. No nursing.” Unfortunately, although Ruth’s letters number in the hundreds, the ‘little diary’ has not survived.
Ruth’s career in Romania centred around parcelling out food in remote mountainous areas and ensuring that peasants planted the seeds rather than eating them at once. In this she was so successful that her activities came to the notice of Queen Marie of Romania. Ruth was invited to stay in the palace upon more than one occasion and the Queen accompanied her on several of her missions. Ruth was decorated with the Regina Maria medal, the highest honour that could be bestowed on a foreigner by the Romanian government. Altogether she had provided 700,000 meals in one year. In June of 1920, Ruth contracted malaria and was invalided to Paris. Part of her prescribed treatment was taking pills laden with arsenic. By October, Ruth was invalided back to New York City and although still ill, she returned to London, celebrated as a war heroine.
When Ruth first arrived in Romania, she was headquartered in Bucharest, but when visiting Constanta on the sea coast, she celebrated her thirty-third birthday with a party. Her presents were jokes from her friends, except, “but I did get a beautiful Turkish rug from my buddy.” This was more than likely a reference to Wilbur Howell of New York, also serving in the American Red Cross and whom she later married. In Constanta also Ruth found what she had been searching for, a chess set for Ted. The one she found was of amber, intricately and delicately carved, and made in Moscow. Wilbur approved saying, “it was very fine.”
Ruth and Wilbur Howell announced their marriage in the City of New York as having taken place on January 22, 1921. No mention was made of a specific location, neither a church nor a city hall civil ceremony. Apparently there were no Weirs present, with the exception, of course, of the bride. Wilbur was to become a great influence on Sam in his growing interest in and appreciation of art. The two men became devoted friends and Wilbur’s acceptance of and hospitality to his wife’s family made him a quite exemplary son-in-law.
At some time between 1915 and 1920, Sarah underwent an operation for exophthalmic goitre. Dr. Hadley Williams, Martha’s former employer, performed the operation. Sarah must have been feeling tired and irritable, usual symptoms of the condition quite often brought on by strain and worry. Although letters written to those serving overseas were not to be retained, a letter from Sarah to Ruth from 1919 has survived, telling that, “Paul has sprayed the fruit trees. Ted is a very important person in some ways, in others the veriest infant, but he will improve with age in both directions, I hope.”
There was more encouragement for Ted from Ruth than from Sarah. She wrote to Ted, “Don’t worry about your shingle. There is always room for a good lawyer.” To Sarah she wrote that she was happy that Martha now had a good school. “We have all got that wretched lack of self confidence “and with Martha in Sarnia and Ted in Toronto, “you must be very quiet with only Paul at home.”
Ted was still a most impecunious student, studying and working with great earnestness and with no social life, no money to spend on dating girls or any sort of student high jinks and frivolity. In his final year in the spring of 1920 it was Ted’s turn to succumb to the influenza epidemic that took more lives than the hostilities then known as The Great War. He was at home for three weeks, cared for by his mother, and was allowed to write his final examinations late.
On October 1, 1920, Ted was called to the bar. Although he had graduated from Osgoode Hall earlier in the year despite the influenza, he had to wait for the first graduation ceremonies succeeding his twenty first birthday. His were the highest marks, one of four out of a class of 244 who graduated with honours, a most distinguished record but at a cost of loneliness and with none of the light-hearted camaraderie typical of an undergraduate.
