Our First Xmas Tree

Our First Xmas Tree
by Celia LeDrew

 On Christmas Eve in 1929, the temperature dropped to seven degrees below zero, with a clear, crisp sky and a thick blanket of snow that crunched underfoot. After three days of snowfall, my father returned home from work early that afternoon. He chatted with my mother on the back porch before heading inside to grab his gun for hunting to prepare for tomorrow's Christmas dinner.
Papa always kept his guns high on the wall, far from our reach as kids. We watched him take down a shotgun before stepping outside, telling Mama, “If I can’t get any partridge, I know I can find a few rabbits.”

Mama was busy in the kitchen, skillfully preparing dinner from whatever she had on hand. She instructed us to watch from the dining room window for Papa's return, hoping he had brought home something for our Christmas feast. My brother and I gazed out at the sunset, the silhouettes of the spruce trees against the brilliant red sky resembling a Christmas card. We spotted movement on a small hill along the road and excitedly shouted for Mama, thinking it was Papa. She came to the window, only to tell us, “That’s not your father; there are two people, and he went hunting alone.” She returned to the kitchen, while my brother and I continued to watch, wondering who the other figure could be, since it was getting dark and seemed too large to be Papa.

Suddenly, Papa entered through the back shed door, carrying four rabbits. Mama was thrilled, as they would serve as our Christmas dinner. After the meal, Papa lit a lantern, announcing he would clean and skin the rabbits for Mama to prepare. When he opened the shed door, we noticed something else inside. Moments later, he came in with a lovely three-and-a-half-foot fir tree strapped to his back, explaining why we thought there were two people. It was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen, lush and perfectly symmetrical. Our excitement was palpable; we were finally getting a Christmas tree. The only one we had ever seen before was at the Mayor’s house, and not many families had them during these tough times.

Mama instructed us to clean up after dinner, promising we would decorate the tree afterward. Everyone helped out, although we had no ornaments, and I wondered how we would adorn the tree. Once the dishes were done, we gathered in the dining room. Mama brought in darning needles and thread, giving me a bucket of cranberries we had picked earlier that month and teaching me how to string them. My brother received a pot of popcorn, a rare treat for us. As I watched him string his popcorn, I noticed he was eating more than he was threading. I alerted Mama, who switched our tasks since no one particularly enjoyed raw cranberries. Once we finished, Mama told us not to hang the cranberries on the tree just yet, as she wanted to do it herself.

She carefully draped the strands across the tree and stepped back to admire it, deciding it needed something more. She handed my brother ten cents and sent him to the store for some molasses candy kisses wrapped in festive paper. When he returned, she showed us how to cut the thread to tie loops around the candies for hanging. As we sat by the warm glow of the Franklin stove, we admired our first Christmas tree, thrilled that we had something so special when no one else in town had one, except the mayor. My brother and I thought it needed a star on top, so we found an old cardboard shoe box, which crumbled as we cut it into the shape of a star.

As we glued it together, arguments broke out over the number of points the star should have—my brother wanted four, while I insisted on five. Mama, acting as the referee, declared my design the winner but insisted it was too large and needed to be trimmed down. We struggled with the scissors, re-pasting the points multiple times. My brother suggested we cover the star in silver foil, which we had saved from discarded cigarette packages, but it wouldn't adhere well to the cardboard. Then we remembered that Mama always bought Red Rose tea in a foil package. We quickly emptied the loose tea into a can, liberating the shiny foil. Soaking it in warm water, we prepared to finish our star.

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))

In 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.

My Mother and the Nazi spy?

 My Mother and the Nazi Spy

During the war in Louisbourg, my mother, Celia LeDrew (née Shaw), operated a boarding house at my grandfather's home on Commercial Street, right by the water near the government wharf and across from Cann's marine yard. She had a few boarders who worked at Cann's, including my father. One morning, the RCMP arrived with a woman and her two children—a young boy of about nine and his sister, who was around five or six. My mother was instructed to refer to the woman as Mrs. Smith and was cautioned not to disclose her presence to anyone, except to call for help if anyone came looking for her.

From what my mother gathered, the woman’s husband had been working in town as a dentist. He seemed wealthy and foreign, and after dating for some time, he proposed to her. She later discovered that he had married her in a rural Catholic church, with a friend posing as the priest while the real one was attending a funeral. They eventually moved to Ontario, where she learned he was German and an ardent supporter of Hitler. He raised their children to emulate Nazi behavior, ignoring their mother's attempts to guide them. He even possessed a secret shortwave radio and would sometimes vanish for days. Eventually, my mother could no longer tolerate the situation and sought help from the RCMP, who brought her back to Cape Breton. The children continued their Nazi antics, much to the dismay of those around them, and were often cruel to their mother, engaging in acts like putting the cat in a box and kicking it down the stairs. One of the boarders, Doug Hannon, intervened and gave the boy a good talking to.

One day, a local policeman arrived at our door with a stranger, claiming that the man was searching for his wife and children. However, when they turned to look at him, he had mysteriously vanished. My mother panicked, alerting the men who were having lunch, and they rushed to find him. She dashed upstairs and confronted the man as he climbed the back stairs. When he tried to shove her aside, she punched him in the mouth, knocking out three of his teeth. This delay allowed the police and the men to catch up and apprehend him.

The RCMP were called in and took them all away. My mother did not hear anything about the incident until ten years later when she received an anonymous letter thanking her and stating that the children had finally become well-behaved. It's worth noting that around the same time, there was a scare about a saboteur who was allegedly placing bombs in the coal used by the ships for fueling. My mother was a strong, determined Cape Breton woman, weighing just 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."

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