Celia LeDrew BIO

Cecilia (Celia) Margaret LeDrew

Born April 1 1917 Louisbourg N.S.

Parents Charles Shaw and Bessie Shaw (nee Snow)

Celia was the first child of Charllie Shaw, she had two step brothers Jake and Sam MacDonald and two step sisters Jessie and Bessie MacDonald. Celia was the oldest of Charlie’s children she had a brother Charles, sister Carrie, Sister Annie and brother Kippy. She was born was born active.  She was a good Fisherwoman and good Hunter. She learned to shoot with her father. They lived on the shore just beside the Government wharf in Louisbourg. He taught her to shoot old lightbulbs he would toss into the sea. She was creative and energetic played hockey and other sports. When the cook at the Dun Donald Inn became sick. She was chosen to become the personal cook to Millionaire sportsman Michael Lerner of New York and later to Marion Hasler.

She married Harold LeDrew in 1940 and had two children Gary July 4^th 1942 and Gail January 17 1945

During the war she ran her father’s house as a boarding house. They moved to Louisbourg lighthouse in 1945 where Harold was assistant light keeper to Wilfred covey until 1947.

They then moved to Uxbridge Ontario where her step sister Bessie had a house and they rented room from her. While they adjusted to a new life in Ontario, Celia amazed the neighbours at her skill at fishing trout from the creek and shooting partridges with a 410 shotgun along the creek.

She soon had a Job at Willis Drugstore for at least 10 years. She bought the family home herself. She was an avid gardener and could grow anything. She was an avid curler. She was a good Artist and started an Art class. She was always busy.

She ran for town council and was very involve in local politics. She then became a real estate sales person and rose to the top salesperson year after year. It seemed that everybody that bought a house from her became a lifelong friend.

Her gardens were amazing and she started the Uxbridge horticultural society. There is a Celia LeDrew Memorial Garden in Uxbridge.

At eighty when her son left $20 to pay to get the lawn mowed he would come home to find her mowing it.

She was best friends with Jean Kyte and never forgot Louisbourg and came home to visit several times.

She died in 2002 at the age of 83.

She was a catholic and had a child out of wedlock with a protestant Boy who was killed overseas. She was forced into a Catholic home for unwed mothers and the baby was taken away from her. She finally got to meet him about 15 years before she died. He doesn’t have a birth certificate only letter from the cardinal of Nova Scotia. He is Jack Boone of New Waterford.

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Our First Xmas Tree

Our First Xmas Tree
by Celia LeDrew

Christmas Eve 1929 the temperature was 7 below and the sky was cold and clear and there was lots of snow. It had snowed for three days and the snow crunched under your feet when you walked. My father had come home from work early that afternoon and talked to mama on the back porch before he came in to get a gun to go hunting or tomorrow’s Xmas dinner.

Papa always kept his guns strapped high on the wall so us kids couldn’t reach them. We watched as he took down a shot gun and he started out the door. He said to Mama as he left, “If I can’t get any partridge, I know I can get us a few rabbits”.

Mama was in the kitchen making dinner - she could make a meal out of almost nothing. She told us to go to the dining room window and watch for Papa to come home and hope he shot some Xmas dinner. My brother and I looked in to the sunset, the tops of the spruce trees silhouetted against the bright red sky looked just like a Christmas card. There was a little hill on the road and we saw something move on top of the hill. We yelled to Mama that Papa was coming. She came into the dining room to look. “That’s not your father, there’s two people there and your father went hunting alone”. She went back to the kitchen. My brother and I looked and looked, It must be Papa but who was with him? It was getting dark and we knew the figure we saw was too big too be Papa.

The next thing we knew there was Papa coming in through the back shed door with four rabbits. Mama was pleased as that was to be our Christmas dinner. After dinner, Papa lit a lantern and said he would clean and skin the rabbits so Mama could prepare them. When the shed door opened we saw something in the shed. A few minutes later Papa came in with a little three and a half foot fir tree. He had strapped the tree to his back and that is why we thought there was two people. I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life, it was a lush green and every branch was even. I don’t think we had ever had such an exciting moment than that. All of us kids were yelling at one another, we were going to have a Christmas tree. The only Xmas tree we had ever seen before was at the Mayor’s house.
In these tough times not many people had them. Mama told us to get the dishes done and then we would decorate the tree. Everyone pitched in. We all knew we didn’t have any decorations and I wondered how we were going to decorate the tree. We finished the dishes and gathered together in the dining room. Mama came in with darning needles and a spool of thread. She gave me a bucket of cranberries we had picked earlier in the month and showed me how to string the berries.
My brother was given a pot full of popcorn. We’d never had popcorn before, it was a luxury. I watched my brother to see how much popcorn had on the string. He only had strung about a yard and my cranberry string looked about three yards. We were so excited and busy getting these done. I looked over at my brother and saw he was putting one popcorn kernel on the string and two in his mouth. I told Mama and she switched jobs. No one liked eating cranberries raw. When we finished Mama told us not to put them on the tree that she would do it. She strung the strands across the tree and stood back to look at it. She decided that it need something else. She gave my brother 10 cents and sent to the store to buy 10 cents worth of molasses candy kisses wrapped in Christmas paper and twisted on both ends. I tried to figure out how to put them on the tree.
Mama came back with the spool of thread and showed us how long to cut each piece of thread to tie on the twist of the candy and make a loop so it would catch on the branches. We thought it looked great as we sat by an open Franklin stove where we burned soft coal and the embers were glowing red. We sat admiring our first Christmas tree and we were excited as no one in town had one except the mayor. My brother and I thought it needed a star on top. We found an old cardboard shoe box that was so old it started to crumble when we cut it after we had drawn the outline of a star on it. As we were pasting it together my brother and I got into an argument about how many points should be on the star. My brother’s had four points and mine had five.
Mama, the referee said mine was the best, but that it was too big and I would have to cut it smaller. All the points must have been pasted about three or four times as we weren’t the best when it came to cutting with scissors. My brother said the star should be silver and we used to save the foil from cigarette packages when people threw them away, but it wouldn’t stay on the cardboard. Then we remembered that Mama always bought Red Rose in a one pound foil package and she put the whole package into the tea can. We dumped the loose tea directly into the can and absconded with the foil wrap. Two sides of the foil had Red Rose tea signs from end to end and we couldn’t pull them off or we would break the foil. We soaked the foil in warm water and we tried to it off with our fingernails. Mama was always there to rescue. She told us to use the inside of the package. Now we had to put it on the top of the tree. Mama told us she would put it on and out came the needle and thread again. She punched a hole in the bottom two points, but it just flopped over. This time Papa came to our rescue. He said he had some stove pipe wire out in the barn and that it bends easily. He lit the lantern, took his pliers and went to the barn.
Mama threaded the wire through the bottom of the star, but it still flopped over. Papa strung the wire from the bottom of the star to the top making it firm and at long last our star sat on the top of the tree like an angel. We couldn’t take our eyes off of the tree. To us it was the most beautiful Christmas tree in the whole world.

No one in our town had a Christmas tree. They couldn’t afford one. I had only ever seen one Christmas tree in my life. The mayor in our town had electricity in his house. They had four windows side by side in their living room and we could see it from the street decorated with red and green ropes, Christmas paper bells, gold, red and green balls. We knew we would never have a tree like that, only rich people had them. We had never asked for a Christmas tree because we knew we wouldn’t get it.

It didn’t take long to ask all the kids on our street to come see our tree. We were so proud of it. All the kids got a Candy Kiss, but not from the tree. Mama got the remainder of the bag of candy which was almost still full even after we had put them on the tree. All for 10 cents. From that year on we always had a Christmas tree and all our decorations were handmade. Mama could teach us everything that was possible under the conditions of the depression.

My father was earning $150.00 a month but when the depression hit, his boss told him he would have to let him go unless he was willing to work for $50.00 a month which he did and 10 cents for a spool of thread was a lot of money and we couldn’t waste one inch of it.
Celia

Mother's Blue Ribbon Cow

During the Great Depression, my family was fortunate to have access to valuable resources. We lived near the sea and my father was able to maintain his job, although his salary was reduced to only $50 a month, a third of his previous earnings. Fortunately, he was also a skilled hunter and fisherman, which provided us with a reliable source of food. We even had our own fishing boat to catch fish for our meals. In addition, we were fortunate enough to have a small barn where we raised two pigs for meat and a cow for milk, cream, butter, and cottage cheese. We were constantly reminded of how lucky we were to have these provisions during such a difficult time. Our cow, Blossy, was a beautiful Jersey cow who was a beloved part of our family. It was my responsibility to take her to the pasture every morning before school. I would lead her on a rope to the pasture, which we rented for only $3.00 a year. Blossy was a gentle and kind cow with the most beautiful eyes, and it was always a pleasure to care for her. She never caused us any trouble. In the evening, I would bring her back home for the nightly milking and keep her in the barn until morning. It was a chore to care for the milk, and my mother mostly took charge of this task. We had a separator to separate the cream from the milk, and the extra milk was stored in large black pans until the cream rose to the top. My mother would then scoop off the thick cream with a spoon. Jersey cows were known for their high-quality cream. Later in the day, we would use an old wooden butter churn to make our own butter. The remaining milk was used to make curds, which were then hung to dry on the clothesline and turned into cottage cheese. Curds and cream were a delicacy in our household. Although we had an abundance of food, including homemade bread twice a week, we also had salt fish and pork. My mother always reminded us to "go easy on the butter," but my siblings and I couldn't resist smothering our bread with it when she wasn't looking. Sometimes, she would even take the butter off the table if she thought we were using too much. We also had a chicken pen and my mother would preserve eggs in Isinglass for the winter. Occasionally, we would even have a chicken for dinner on Sundays. We raised our own chickens with the help of a clucky hen. I still remember my mother borrowing a hen from our neighbor to sit on the eggs and hatch our chicks. When the chicks were old enough, we would return the hen and give our neighbor a few young chicks in return. We also sold a few quarts of milk each day, but it didn't bring in much money. Sometimes, we were even paid with nothing at all, but my mother never complained. One day, my mother was walking home after helping a woman who had just given birth. The doctor would always call upon my mother for assistance if needed. On her way back, she passed a house where a woman with six young children lived. The woman called out to my mother, saying, "We don't even have a piece of bread to feed the children." My mother then asked me to take a double loaf of bread to the woman, instructing me to hide it under my coat so my father wouldn't see it. However, as I was leaving, my father noticed the bread and asked where I was going with it. He scolded me and told me to put it back, saying that he didn't work hard to provide for the family of a man who spent all his money on alcohol. After my father went back to work, my mother gave me the bread again and told me to take it to the woman without my father knowing. She couldn't bear to see children go hungry, even during the hardships of the Depression. In 1932, the worst thing happened. We used to give Blossy our vegetable peelings as a treat, and she loved them. One night, I brought her home from the pasture at 5 o'clock as usual. However, someone had forgotten to remove a potato from the peelings, and Blossy accidentally swallowed it. She became bloated and started choking. My mother sent for our neighbor, who was a blacksmith, to help us. He tried pushing a broom handle down Blossy's throat to push the potato down, but it didn't work. Sadly, she passed away that night. My siblings and I were heartbroken, but it was an even bigger blow to my parents. We were left without milk, cream, butter, or curds and cream. It was a disaster.  

My father was speaking to a man from a vessel that had just arrived from Prince Edward Island. The man mentioned that they had black and white cows on the island that produced three times more milk than a Jersey cow. He also mentioned that these cows were not expensive. My father was intrigued and decided to borrow $50, which was equivalent to a month's salary, from his boss. He then sent my mother on the produce boat to buy one of these cows. The owner of the boat charged a small passenger fee for my mother and promised to bring back a cow for her. I remember watching the two-master vessel leave the harbor from our kitchen window. It left us kids in a frenzy as the boat was old, leaked, and constantly needed to be pumped. After five days, the boat returned and we saw a black and white cow on the deck, strapped to whatever was available. We quickly ran to the wharf to see the cow. My father used a hoist, which was usually used to haul up fish, and a piece of canvas to lift the cow's stomach. Finally, she was standing on her own four legs again. We then put a halter on her and a rope to lead her from the wharf to our barn. Our barn became a busy place with many people coming in and out to see the blue-ribbon cow that my mother had paid the full $50 for. For the first few days, we tied her to a rope and stake so she could graze on the grass behind the sheds and stores near our house. However, the first time my mother tried to milk her, the cow kicked over the bucket and we lost all the milk. We lost a few more buckets of milk before we could manage to milk her. We had to hold a dipper in one hand, milk with the other hand, and keep the milk pail far away from the cow's hooves because she was a real kicker. Finally, my mother thought I was ready to handle milking the cow, so she sent me out to do it. She watched as I started, and after a few kicks at my milking stool, I was able to milk into the dipper. It was strange for me, as our previous cow, Blossy, would let us put the pail down and milk with both hands, making the job faster. However, we had deadlines to meet, such as taking the cow out to pasture and going to school. One evening, when I was alone, I tried to rig up two poles under the cow and against the barn wall to hold her legs back so I could milk with both hands. I only had an old anchor to secure the poles, and they ended up getting kicked off the wall, spilling the milk. After six months, we finally managed to tame the cow and milk her with both hands. We discovered that she was a great milker, and we never had enough pots and pans to hold all the milk. We were able to sell more milk, which gave my mother a few extra cents to buy things like a spool of thread. As we kids were growing up, we received old clothes from our Aunt in Boston. My sister Carrie found a beautiful blue Celanese dress in the bundle, and it fit her perfectly. She washed it and hung it on the clothesline to dry. However, our beloved blue ribbon cow was grazing nearby and ended up chewing off half of the dress before we could stop her. We had to keep a close eye on the cow and make sure she was tied away from the clothesline. This cow was quite a handful, always knocking down fences, and causing my poor father to have to fix them after a long day of work. He cursed the blue ribbon cow every day, whether we had milk or not.

Red Tape and Torpedo Nets

 Me and the barge (Gary LeDrew

"Red Tape and Torpedo Nets" by Celia LeDrew nee Shaw Shortly after VE day during World War II, the Canadian Navy disposed of a large amount of torpedo netting into Louisbourg Harbor. This netting, made of hawser steel wire with each link measuring about twenty inches in diameter, was used to create a mesh that would prevent torpedoes from entering past the torpedoes gate. At the time, loaded merchant steamers were waiting at anchor for convoys and orders. My family lived in an old frame house on Commercial Street, right next to the government Wharf. Our lot was 50 feet deep and stretched 180 feet along the harbor. We were proud to have a beautiful sandy beach just below our house where we learned to swim and play in the sand. This beach was everything to us, and our entire lives revolved around it. It was heartbreaking to see the Royal Canadian Navy dumping all this wire mesh onto our beloved beach. I knew that the first strong wind would cause an undercurrent, spreading the mesh all over the shoreline. Not only would our beach be ruined, but the lobster fishing that provided a livelihood for the fishermen would be lost forever. I decided to take action and approached my father with my concerns. He told me that I would be wasting my time because there was a war going on and I couldn't fight the Royal Canadian Navy. But I couldn't just stand by and do nothing, so I set out to speak to the commander in charge of the Navy in Louisbourg. However, he was dismissive and told me that there was a war on and he had no time for such nonsense. Undeterred, I then went to our mayor, who also went to speak to the officer in charge. However, he received the same answer – it was impossible because of the war. I then spoke to the harbour master, and we had a long conversation about the potential impact of the wire on the lobster fishing. He agreed that it would be disastrous, but when he went to the commander, he was met with the same response. A heated argument ensued, but the officer walked away and slammed his door. By this time, it was 1pm, and I had already spoken to over 160 men working on the marine repairs. Next, I went to Mr. L H Cann, the owner of the marine company that serviced the naval ships. He was reluctant to help me, but I persisted and asked him for the phone number of the naval headquarters in Halifax. I went to the harbour master to get the phone number of the Department of Fisheries, and he encouraged me to continue my efforts. I then called the Commander of the navy and explained the situation, using as many "yes, sirs" and "no, sirs" as I could muster. To my surprise, the commander was sympathetic to my concerns and promised to give the matter his immediate attention. I asked for his name and rank, in case I needed to contact him again. At the time, a navy minesweeper was undergoing refitting, and the captain and his wife were staying with us. I couldn't wait to tell them the good news, and they all laughed when I showed them the name of the man I had spoken to in Halifax – Rear-Admiral L.W. Murray. The commander of the minesweeper said that they never got to talk to someone of that rank. At the time, I didn't know the difference between a Sub-Lieutenant and a Rear-Admiral, and no one wanted to believe me. I felt like a fool, but my embarrassment was short-lived. The very next morning, at 8 o'clock, my father called everyone to the window, and we saw a large scow with a derrick lifting the discarded nets onto it. My father's expression was priceless – "I'll be damned, you did it, little girl. You beat the Navy."

Rolling with their R's

ROLLING WITH THE R’S

CCC.G.S. Montcalm (Source: Vintage Canadian Coast Guard (CCG))

n the 1930s, Canada was home to one of the most efficient ice breakers in the world - the C.G.S. MONTCALM. This impressive vessel was used to break up ice in the St. Lawrence River, as steel and coal were shipped from Sydney and Louisbourg. During the winter months, Sydney Harbour would freeze over, rendering it inaccessible to icebreakers. As a result, all shipping was directed to Louisbourg Harbour, which remained open year-round. When the C.G.S. MONTCALM sailed into Louisbourg Harbour, it was a moment of great excitement for the townspeople who would gather at the docks to greet her. This magnificent icebreaker was known as the most powerful one in the world at that time. The crew of the MONTCALM was mostly comprised of French individuals from Quebec. The Captain was English, while the Chief Engineer was a six-foot, curly red-haired Scotsman from Scotland. The crew members were welcomed by the townspeople and often attended social events in the area. One such event was the card games organized by the Catholic Parish, located about two miles from the town. These card games, usually a game called 45s, were accompanied by socializing and refreshments provided by the ladies of the church. One day, Margaret Murphy, a friend of mine whose father owned a local grocery store, invited me to join her for a card game. I had never played before, so she kindly dealt me a few hands to show me how to play. Despite my initial hesitation, I agreed to join her. That evening, the weather took a turn for the worse, with freezing rain making everything slick and slippery. Margaret had her father's old Chevrolet to take the Captain and Engineer to the card game. However, when we arrived at the store, we found that the sidewalk leading up to it was covered in a thick layer of ice, making it nearly impossible to walk on. I attempted to stand up, but ended up sliding down. Margaret faced the same fate. We ended up crawling up the incline on our hands and knees, with me opening the car door and waiting for Margaret to reach it. This took some time, and during that time, the Captain and Engineer engaged in a conversation while walking to the car. The Captain remarked that the Engineer spoke French very well for a Scotsman, but as he said this, he slipped and fell on his bottom, sliding down to the car. Margaret couldn't resist making a joke, saying that anyone would roll on their "r's" in these conditions. We managed to hold back our laughter as the Captain picked himself up. Margaret's father then threw ashes from the stove over the incline to make it easier for them to reach the car. Despite our slow and cautious driving, we still ended up being a little late. Upon arriving at the hall, we found everyone waiting to fill the last available table. We quickly joined them, and when asked why we were late and why we were laughing, we shared our story. This caused a great deal of laughter among the players, as the game of 45s involved players moving from one table to the next when they won. As a result, the whole room soon heard our story and joined in on the laughter. However, not everyone found our mishap amusing. The priest, Father Doyle, was not pleased, as he saw the card game as a serious event, not a circus. While some players were there to have fun and help with the church's funds, others were known as skilled card sharks who were solely focused on winning. Father Doyle was eventually informed of our story and, despite his initial disapproval, he couldn't help but laugh along with the rest of the room. As the game ended and prizes were handed out, everyone gathered for lunch, which soon turned into more of a circus. Father Doyle reminded everyone that it was not appropriate for some to be laughing so loudly while others remained unaware of the joke. In response, Captain O'Hearn stood up and explained our mishap to everyone, while the Chief Engineer added, "I am glad I rolled on my 'r's' as it made for an entertaining evening for all." Despite the initial disapproval, our mishap ended up bringing laughter and joy to all those present.

Celia LeDrew Artist

My Mother and the Nazi spy?

My Mother and the Nazi spy? During the war in Louisbourg my Mother Celia LeDrew (nee Shaw) ran a boarding house from Grandfather's house on commercial St right on the water near the government wharf and across from Cann's marine yard. Mother had a couple of boarders that worked at Cann's and my father worked there. One Morning the RCMP showed up with a woman and two children a young boy about nine and his sister 5 or 6. Mother was told to call her Mr's Smith and she was not to tell anyone that she was there and to call if anybody came looking for her. Mother gleaned some of the story. The man was working in town as a dentist and he was foreign but well off and they dated and he proposed. She later found out he had married her in a rural Catholic Church when the real priest was off at a funeral. he had a friend pose as the priest. They then moved to Ontario. She then found he was German and a fan of hitler and raised the children to be little Nazis heiling and goose stepping and ignoring anything their mother said. she said he had a secret shortwave radio and sometimes disappeared for days. Finally she had had enough and went to the RCMP who brought her back to Cape Breton. The children continued their nazi ways to everyone's chagrin. And were cruel to their mother and did stuff like putting the cat in a box and kicking it down stairs. One of the boarder's Doug Hannon gave him a licking. So one day the local policeman showed up at the door with a stranger. He said that the man was looking for his wife and two children When they looked to the man he was gone. Mother screamed and the men who were having lunch came running and started looking for the man. Mother ran up stairs and cut the man off as he was coming up the back stairs. he tried to push her out of the way so she punched him in the mouth knocking out 3 teeth. This gave time for the police and the men to catch up and take him away. the RCMP were called and took them all away and mother never heard anything until about it 10 years later she got an anonymous letter thanking her and saying the children were now well behaved. it should be mentioned at the same time there was a saboteur scare on that somebody was putting bomb in the coal that the ships bunkered. My Mother was a strong determined Cape Breton women packed into 118 pounds.

THE NEW SANDALS

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"Mother and I took a trip to Glace Bay on the train to go shopping. I was thrilled when she surprised me with a brand new pair of summer sandals. The leather was smooth on the outside and rough on the inside, with a stylish T-strap and a buckle. The front of the sandals had intricate punched out patterns that made them stand out from any other pair I had ever owned. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world as I strutted around in my new shoes. On a beautiful summer day, all of the neighborhood kids were headed to the beach. But before I could join them, Mother made sure to give me strict instructions to keep my sandals away from water. She warned me that the leather would shrink and harden if they got wet, making them unwearable. I promised to keep them safe and headed out to meet my friends. As soon as I arrived at the beach, the temptation to join in on the fun was too strong. I left my sandals on the shore and jumped into the water with my friends. But when I returned, it was a struggle to get my sandals back on. By the time I was able to buckle them up, all of the other girls had already left. I felt disappointed, but then I noticed one person was still there - Bessie, the telephone operator who was well-known and loved in our small town. She was accompanied by a little girl named Annie, who had lost her leg at a young age and used a crutch to get around. Annie wandered over to a nearby stream where the tide had come in, washing smooth stones onto the bank. I followed her, curious about a bird that was flapping around the edge of the water. Suddenly, Bessie's voice echoed across the stream, frantically calling for help. Annie had fallen into the water and was struggling to stand on the slippery rocks. I was in tears, but I couldn't move because my sandals were still wet from swimming. Bessie yelled for me to go help, and I cried back that I couldn't because of my sandals. But she shouted, "Forget about the sandals, go save Annie!" With those words, I ran into the rushing water, which almost swept me away. I held onto the shore and reached Annie, who grabbed onto me so tightly that we both fell under the water. But we managed to make it back to safety, and Bessie was there to comfort and thank us. I realized how lucky it was that I was still there when everyone else had gone home. But when I got home, my luck quickly turned. Mother saw my wet sandals and immediately scolded me, reminding me of her warning not to get them wet. She sent me straight to my room to wait for my father to come home and punish me. I begged to explain, but she refused to listen. I sat in my room without dinner, watching the sun set. The next day, Annie's uncle came by and told Mother the whole story of how I had saved Annie's life. She was shocked and felt guilty for not listening to my side of the story. When my father came home for lunch, she told him everything and they both apologized for not believing me. To make it up to me, Papa oiled my sandals and stretched them on a 'last'. I wore those sandals until they were completely worn out. For the next few weeks, I was treated like a queen. My parents couldn't do enough for me, and I could do no wrong. Mother even admitted that her big concern about the sandals getting wet was not as important as saving a life. It was a lesson we would never forget."

PET SEAGULL BIDDY

"When I was just eight years old, I stumbled upon a young seagull while exploring the beach near my house. Despite being newly hatched, this little bird had some impressive running skills. It took me a good thirty minutes to catch it, as there were no adult birds in sight. As I petted the gull, hoping to find its mother, I realized I couldn't just leave it there. But when I brought it home, my mother was not pleased. A heated argument ensued, with my mother adamant that the gull could not stay in our house. After some pleading and heartfelt stories, she finally relented and allowed me to keep it in a cardboard box for the night, with the condition that I release it back into the wild the next day. But as soon as I held that soft, fluffy creature in my hands, I knew I couldn't let it go. I was constantly petting and feeding it, and the gull quickly became attached to me. The next day, my mother once again protested against keeping the gull as a pet. But she agreed to let me keep it in the barn, where I could take it outside and it would follow me everywhere. I was overjoyed and decided to give the gull a name - Biddy. My father warned me that seagulls grow rapidly and would need live fish to survive in the wild. My brother and I came up with a plan to catch some perch from the nearby wharf. We carefully removed the hooks from the fish's mouths and filled a pail with water before running back home. We poured the fish into a large tin washtub, but Biddy struggled to swim in the deep water. So we took turns holding a fish in our hands for her to eat. She devoured every single one. As Biddy grew older, my brother and I decided it was time for her to learn how to fly. We tried all sorts of methods, but nothing seemed to work. Finally, my brother had the idea to use a ladder and hold her up while she took off from the top of the barn. It was a bumpy start, but eventually, Biddy was able to fly short distances and return to the washtub for her fishy meals. One morning, Biddy decided she was ready to spread her wings and leave for good. Despite my constant calls, she didn't come back. I was devastated, imagining all the dangers she could encounter out in the wild. It wasn't until my father came home for lunch that I learned about Biddy's whereabouts. One of the pilots my father used to work with had found her on their veranda, leaving quite a mess behind. My father ordered me to go clean it up, which I did, spending the entire day scrubbing and washing until the veranda was spotless. As Biddy continued to grow and mature, she started flying out with the adult seagulls. And just like that, she was gone for good. Whenever I saw a grey seagull, I would call out for Biddy, hoping she would come back to me. But she never did. I missed her terribly and would often check every seagull that crossed my path, hoping it was her. It took a long time for the feathers to turn white, a reminder of my dear Biddy who gave me so many happy memories as my very own pet."

Deer Meat and Hungry People

By Celia Shaw LeDrew

Deer season in Cape Breton Island during the Depression was one of the big events of the year. Everyone would be talking about it.
Weeks before the season opened I used to beg my father to take me with him as I loved to see the trees, birds, squirrels, partridges, pheasants- I was fascinated by everything that moved in the woods. My father always refused.
When I was 16 my father bought me a single shot, Colt 22 rifle. My father trained me with the gun to shoot the seabirds that came in the harbour quite close to our house and barn which were built on a breakwater. He taught me with old light bulbs we would get from the Marine Repair shop next door. They would bob up and down in the water with the waves, so he felt this was the best way to teach me. He said I should be able to shoot a few ducks when he was at work and our Labrador dog would fetch them in from the sea.
I had to shoot with a direct hit on three out of five bulbs. At first it wasn’t easy but after three or four times I shocked him by getting five out of five.
I loved tramping through the woods that could be so silent, until an animal or a bird would make a move. You must stand very quiet and still to make sure what you were shooting at. Silence is golden when you’re out hunting for food.
It was after the duck episode that I really wanted to go deer hunting but my father insisted it be not for girls. He said, “Never try to shoot a deer with a single shot 22 rifles, and don’t even try! And remember, there’s no such thing as an empty gun, even if it is empty!” We sure had to treat it as loaded.
The day the season opened my father took his 45 Winchester repeater and went off for a deer. He was gone only six or seven hours when he came home with his prize. All us kids could think of was a good hot dinner in the winter and we all seemed to be very happy about my father getting the deer so early in the season.
It didn’t take my father too long to prepare the meat for Mother to put in preserve jars and when the meat was prepared to her specifications out came the Mason jars, the big boiling pot to cook the meat. She would put in one row of meat in the jars and one row of bay leaves until the jars were full and added water. Then the jars were put in the big pot and boiled till the meat was cooked. Usually we had enough meat to do us for the winter but those who never went hunting or never owned a gun came to our back yard where my father was cutting the deer, everyone asking for a piece of the meat. No one was refused, but Mother was giving my father heck because she didn’t have enough preserved for the winter as he gave so much away.
My father told my youngest brother to get a license and asked him if he would try to get another deer to please my Mother. My brother took two days to get a deer and brought it home where every cut had to be perfect.
As he was cutting the meat, there had to be thirty or forty adults with a pot or pan or new paper saying, “I hope you have a piece for me.” I don’t think my brother ever looked up to see who he was giving the meat to. Most of the deer was given to other hungry people. Everybody shared food when plentiful, but he realized that he did not have very much left for my Mother.
There was lots of talk about giving away the most of the deer. Finally, my father said to my brother to take me up to the business office and get me a license (one deer one license.) This was my big chance. My father had taught me and trusted me with the gun and it was O.K. to go look for another deer. They were very plentiful that year, and this was the last day of open season. My father gave me his 45
Winchester repeater.
My brother took me through the swamp. Brush and woods so thick I thought I’d never get out of it. When we came across a small clearing, there were deer everywhere. My brother said, “Aim for the shoulder.” One shot and it dropped right on the ground. My brother said, “Get right over there and put another shot in the head “ (he had to point out where), “and kill it outright. Not a bad shot for a first time.” Then the worst thing happened that could happen.
My brother put his hand in his back pocket and pulled out the hunting knife and said, “Now go slit its throat, and bleed the animal.” I went around the deer in a few circles but fell to the ground. I don’t know how long I was there. My brother kept looking after the deer but stopped once in a while and with his hands scooped up some dirty swamp water and threw it on my face. When I came to my clothes were wet with swamp water, and mud all over me. Everyone in town ribbed me for years about always wanting to go deer hunting.
I never went deer hunting again and never killed a deer since. It was only for food, which meant so much to all of us in the depression in our town.
Many seasons afterwards the people that got some of the meat would always make sure when they saw me to ask if I would be going deer hunting this fall. Never! Never! Never! Once was enough to live down.
When mother prepared the deer meat, every piece of fat or sinew had to be cut off. The meat was soaked in salt water over night, then parboiled in baking soda, to take the game taste off the meat, then into the oven to roast. She always saved bacon fat to baste the meat so it wouldn’t be too dry. The same treatment was given to the sea birds to take away the fishy taste of the fowl. The birds were always roasted with bread dressing. We had much to be thankful for as the Depression was more of a case of survival and we were all made aware of it, and we were all in the same boat.
My parents were always teaching us to make things out of nothing. Mother was an excellent sewer and we wore hand me overs and hand me downs but Mother would make them to fit us kids so that we weren’t too poorly dressed. We never had new clothes for years. Mother would card wool and spin the yarn and we always had sweaters for the winter. She would dye the wool Royal Blue and Cardinal Red and the sweaters would always turn out to be red with blue trim or blue with red trim.

10 Point Buck
My father went deer hunting the next year. He was way back in the bush probably 5 miles from the road when he brought down the biggest deer he had ever shot. It was a ten point buck and he was very pleased.
He no sooner started to clean it when an American hunter came on the scene and offered him a hundred dollars for the deer. Papa said no thanks although it was very tempting. A hundred dollars went a long way in the thirties. But the pride of getting such a big deer won out and he had to cut it up into 3 pieces and make three trips to the road to take it home. All his life he would tell this story and finish it by saying. That deer was so tough you couldn't stick your fork in the gravy.

Hockey Game

                  My father, Charlie worked for a ship chandler that supplied the pilot boat to put the pilots aboard any ship entering the harbour to the docks.  He also put all the stores on the ship for the ship.

            My father met a lot of Merchant Marine ships carrying coal to American and Canadian ports and became friends of the captain of the local tug boat which had to dock the larger merchant ships.  The captain and the engineer loved to listen to the hockey games on Saturday radio (a battery radio). They always wanted to play cards (45’s) in silence while the game was on.

            We kids were always allowed to stay up and listen, too.  We dared not open our mouths to say one word – if we did we were sent to bed.  Discipline was number one when the hockey game was on.  We all got so much from Foster Hewett and I remember the night he let his son Bill, who was 12 years old, broadcast part of the game.

            The engineer of this tug was a religious man and never said a cuss word in his life.  Mother moved her oak drop leaf table she used for cutting clothes, quilt patches, etc.  on because the oak  was hardwood  and it never got scratched.  

            The engineer thought the game was over, the Leafs won the game, Mother made them lunch and it was in the kitchen when all of a sudden  Howie Morenz scored a goal at the last minute  (the engineer was a Leaf fan) when the engineer put his fist up in the air and hit the table and said, “I’ll be damned!” and he broke the leaf in two pieces with his fist. Mother was upset about this table.  The men tried to fix it but Mother said it was never the same.  So every time she used it she would say, “That darn  Howie Morenz broke my table.  My father would tell her "Howie Morenz didn’t break your table the engineer did." She always answered, "if   Howie Morenz hadn’t scored that  darn goal, I would still have my table.    "

Celia Shaw LeDrew

The Home On the Hill

The Home on the Hill
By Charlie Shaw

We live at the house by the side of the hill,
A home away from home.
A better place you couldn't find
No matter where you roam.

For when the rain beats on the windows
Or the snow piles high outside,
Your sitting here in comfort
With your roommate by your side.

The nurses arc a kindly lot
They are always happy and gay.
They make your bed and clean your room
And bring meals on a tray.

Even those in wheelchairs,
They greet you with a smile."
There are a few exceptions,
They are a bit senile.

Sometimes we get so lonely,
And sometimes we blue,
But cheer up and do not worry
There's a lot worse off then you.

And when we die, we don’t know where we go.
For life is such a mystery that no one knows for sure.
We hope that we will meet again
On Heaven’s distant shore.

Now I'm speaking for my self alone
But what I say is true...
If you are good to people,
They will be good to you.


Charlie Shaw was my grandfather, he wrote this in a seniors residence in Sydney when he was in his ninties. he died when he was 96.

Mother digging clams.(coal pier in bg) 

Celia & Harold on their Wedding Day