My Mothers Stories of the Gallivans and Tynans

The Gallivan Women

Aunt Kate Gallivan

   Aunt Kate was a great influence on my father. He loved her very much and I think that he may have lived with her at some time or another in his youth. She appears here and there in my growing up years, but there is no sequence in my early memories of her. Her husband was a railway man, a brakeman I think. I recall quite vividly the day my father received a telegram and left home immediately to go to Aunt Kate. 

   My uncle Arthur had met a tragic death “between trains”. She was left to raise the five girls alone. Aunt Kate had raspberry bushes in her back yard, a garden swing and a “shed” that had funeral wreaths, and old picture albums and cobwebs. She lived on lower Bagot Street in Kingston. She visited us often and so did her daughters.

    I did not like Carmel who crocheted hats for me that I loathed and had to wear. Doretta had a crush on my brother, Eileen was a nurse and so was Evelyn. 

   I don’t remember Evelyn very vividly but I adored her boyfriend Karl Quinn, who was a football star at Queens University. I remember him tossing my brother and me up so high that we could touch the ceiling. He was fun and became a doctor; they married and went to live in the States. He was a doctor in an insane asylum and one of his patients attacked him with a crochet hook. Isn’t it odd the things that impress?

   Doretta married a hockey player a goalie. They said she married him to get away from her sister Carmel, who undertook to help her mother raise her Fatherless sisters. Carmel became the head of the house, and Aunt Kate let her make the decisions. Aunt Kate was supposed to have a heart condition. When she learned of it the doctor told her she may never be able to walk upstairs again. She must “take it easy”; Aunt Kate informed him that she had five girls to raise, and went on about the business of living. Her only nod to her heart condition was to take a rest “every day after dinner”

    Carmel married very late in life, a plumber Joseph Barrett and proceeded to build his business into a very lucrative business. She “kept his books” and had one daughter Catherine.

   Bernadette was the colorful one of my cousins, how I envied her. She was several years older than I, curly red haired, pretty, high heeled, and beautifully dressed. Popular, drank beer bottled with Carmel, and deceived her mother and had many boyfriends. She finally married an Irish Catholic named Ed Murphy who had lots of money and the same kind of zest for living that Bun had. Bun was a great story teller, not always truthful in her stories, but always entertaining.

    My father’s sister Frances I knew as Aunt Frank, She and my father were not on speaking terms for a number of years. My father “supported” his widowed mother and bought her a small house on Clergy Street in Kingston. He sent her money to live on, and Aunt Frank and her husband Jack Harrigan, son and daughter moved in with my Grandmother Gallivan to take care of her. My father visited his mother at least once a year from Alberta, and when my grandmother died she left the house to him, much to Aunt Franks chagrin. That was the cause of their difference.

   Aunt Frank moved out with bad grace, and did not speak or have anything to do with my father until we moved to Kingston many years later. Their reconciliation is another story. I am getting ahead of myself.

   Aunt Frank’s husband Jack had a broom factory until after the First World War, the disabled veterans took over the business of making brooms, and he went broke. He never changed his life style though which was a cause of much speculation in the family. He had a brother who was a wealthy man, a "gambler", in Ottawa. Now how much is truth and how much is speculation I do not know, but my Uncle Jack is supposed to have been the Kingston connection for his brothers bookmaking business. Aunt Frank was a staunch Liberal politically, and Uncle Jack was a staunch Conservative. They would not walk to the polls together and they always voted on opposite sides.

   They always had money. Aunt Frank was “tight” with money, and my memory of her was that, she was also lazy, always lying on a couch in her kitchen. She was the fattest of my aunts and was short too. Round and round, I guess thinking back rather pretty. She was a seamstress and I think, worked in a factory as a young girl. In later years after Jack died she got a government job as a seamstress at the Royal Military College. She had a stroke in her early sixties and lived for twenty years as a complete invalid in a Catholic Nursing Home in Kingston.

 Aunt Kate the one with the “weak Heart” died in her eighties (late) of hardening of the arteries.

Aunt Min

   Aunt Min married “out of the church” a “black Orangeman” named Tom Funnel. This was confusing but somehow I understood that neither black nor orange described the color of his skin. It had something to do with Protestants. Uncle Tom was white haired and thin. Aunt Min was huge bosomed and ran a boarding house for Queens College students. Uncle Tom did not allow aunt Min to go to mass, and it was said that she cried every time she heard the mass bells ring at St Mary’s Cathedral. I think that was my father’s story too. 

   Somewhere I have gleaned from family gossip the origins of Tom Funnels dislike of Catholic’s. He came to call on her parents with Aunt Min to declare his intentions. He laid his hat on the hall table and my grandmother picked the hat up opened the front door flung the hat out, and said to Tom Funnel “Follow it”. He followed, it but so did Min, and there was a family schism right there and then that was never mended in my Grandmother’s lifetime. Of course I do not know what family shenanigans preceded the hat throwing incident. 

Aunt Nell

   Aunt Nell is just a wisp of a memory from my childhood. Whether I remember her laughter or just have heard of it, I can't really recall. It seems to me that she visited us once, and I hear my father’s voice saying "Nell’s bladder is very near to her eyes she’s either laughing or crying." She married Thomas Cooley and had four children.

   Her daughter Margaret died of tuberculosis at 16. Aunt Nell gave me her ring, an amethyst, and I remember the setting. It was diamond shaped, lacey with a stone at the center. I caught one of the points on something, and it turned up, and I can't remember what happened to it after that.

    I must have seen a picture of my cousin that died or perhaps I imagined what she looked like. Dark circles under her eyes and thin. Aunt Nell is curly haired and jolly looking in my memory, and lived in Utica New York.

    All my aunts were fat with small feet.

The Gallivan Men

The Gallivan’s were Kerry men. Their ancestral home was in the windswept land between Glenbeigh and Kilorglin near Lake Carragh on the Dingle Peninsula, Ireland. Branches of the family lived in Limerick.

Several brothers immigrated to Canada in the middle or latter part of the Nineteenth Century. One of them remained in the Maritimes. Others scattered. Micheal, who always used the Gaelic spelling of his name, settled in Kingston.

Perhaps Kingston was chosen for him by the Government. At one period the Irish immigrants were shipped from the Atlantic coast as far inland as possible because cholera was rampant on the immigrant "coffin" ships. Kingston was the inland terminal in Canada.

Another possible reason was that an Irish immigrant's choice for a new home was the United States. Canada had connection with England which was distasteful to Irishmen but it was difficult to get into the States because of a quota system. The next choice was to settle in Canada near the American border with the hope of eventual to relocate. Micheal was an orphan and remained in Kingston.

Micheal married Catherine Sullivan. The family story is that she was an orphan who came to Canada at the age of eleven, but tombstones in the St. Mary's cemetery contradict the story. Dennis Sullivan, 1799-1867, and Kate Kinnealy, 1808-1878, lived in Kingston and could have been her parents.

Micheal and Catherine had seven children. There were four girls: Catherine (Kate), Mary (Mm), Ellen (Nell) and Frances (Frank). The boys were: Dennis (Din), Michael (Mike), and Edward (Ned). Edward was the youngest child.

There is only one family portrait. Micheal is sitting with Catherine and their four daughters. The boys were not included in the family portrait. The Gallivan's were hard working but poor. Although they were builders by tradition, Micheal had a small store and a wagon to sell coal in the streets of Kingston. Dennis was the only son who became a builder. He moved to the United States to live in Chicago, Illinois. The other children grew up in Kingston.Michael never spoke of his father, although he expressed great love and respect for his mother. He was a sickly infant. His mother took him to the Fort Henry hill daily to help him grow strong. He was also very close to his sister Kate. She always had great influence on him.

The Gallivan's were a typical Irish Catholic family of the time. Their Catholicism was very strict. When Kate married a Protestant, Harry Cooper, he became a Catholic. Min's suitor, Torn Funnel, was a strong Protestant. He was an active member in the Orange Men Order. Min brought Tom home to introduce him to her family. He placed his hat on the hall table expecting a welcome. Min's mother picked up the hat, tossed it out the front door, and told Tom to follow it. He did what he was told, but Min went with him, and was married "outside the church" by a Protestant minister. She was never again recognized by her parents.

The boys were educated in the Christian Brothers' school under rigid Catholic

Teachers with extremely strict discipline. Michael said that the treatment of the students was cruel. He left school with the equivalent of Grade 8 education. He had his first barbershop haircut then, and the barber found grey streaks in his dark brown hair. Up to that time his mother had cut his hair. He was twelve years old.

Michael went to work as a delivery  boy for Stacey's department store in Kingston. The pay was ten cents for each delivery. The hours were long. He worked every day until all deliveries were completed. He told a story of delivering a hat shortly before midnight on Christmas Eve. The lady gave him a dollar which was unbelievable riches.

In his teen years Michael became a sailor on Great Lakes' freighters. He told stories of the dreadful weather, of hands being frozen to the rigging, and of poor living conditions. He always said he would rather weather a storm on the North Atlantic than on Lake Superior. Michael became a First Mate. There is no record of the length of his sailing years.

Michael's ambition was to be a Medical Doctor. Since he knew that it was an impossible dream, he decided to be a Veterinary Surgeon, although even that was stepping out of his class. He did not get any encouragement from his family. His brother Dennis ridiculed him for his big ideas and said he would never make it.

An instructor at the Royal Military College had taken an interest in him. Perhaps through his sister, Frances, who worked as a tailoress at the college? He taught Michael how to box, a sport that became a lifelong interest. He also tutored him in Latin, which was necessary for the Veterinarians to write prescriptions.

In 1895, when Queen's University opened the Veterinary College, Michael had saved enough money to pay the tuition. He passed the entrance examinations and became one of the seven students in the first class in the College. The first year he studied fundamental subjects with the Medical students. He got the highest marks in Pathology in the final examination.

Michael was one of three students who graduated in 1897 with a diploma in Veterinary Science. There was another year to obtain an advanced degree, but Michael could not remain. He was twenty-three years old.  He had to go to work.

There was an opportunity to obtain a veterinary practice in Iroquois. It was a small town on Saint Lawrence River, about eighty miles east of Kingston. Iroquois was in the midst of an established farming community and Michael soon became involved in the new life. He was hard working and fun loving. It was nothing for him to drive miles to a dance, and then hours to get home. This was horse and buggy days.

He met and courted Elizabeth (Eliza) Tallmire, one of the four daughters of six children in the Tallmire family. They had emigrated from Germany and settled on a farm at Dixon's Corners in Dundas County, a few miles north of Iroquois.

In his work Michael diagnosed the first case of hog cholera in Canada. This brought him to the attention of the Health Animal Branch, Dominion Department of Agriculture, in Ottawa. On July 1904 he was contacted by the Veterinary Director, General J.G. Rutherford. He offered an appointment in western Canada as Veterinary Officer in the Royal Northwest Mounted Police with the rank of Staff Sergeant. At that time the Northwest Mounted police inspected animals in the Northwest Territories and enforced animal health regulations for the Dominion Department of Agriculture.

In a letter, July 11, 1904, the Director General sent Michael the following information:

'The position is, by no means, a bad one for a young man, as it gives him an opportunity to accumulate a little money and at the same time, to acquire experience likely to be useful to him in later life. The rank is that of Staff Sergeant and the police pay is at the rate of $1.50 per day, including Sundays, to which is added by this branch of the Public Service, an annual bonus of $200. All rations, clothing of every description, quarters, etc. are furnished free. The North West is rapidly filling up and the police veterinarians have a good chance of becoming acquainted with the living conditions and of selecting a good location for permanent practice."

In Michael's reply to Director General Rutherford, he questioned where he would be stationed; the amount of territory he would be required to cover; how he was going to get there and when he could expect an increase in salary. Dr. Rutherford's response had a rather testy tone. In it he stated that, as a recruit, he would be provided with transportation to Regina, Saskatchewan, but that he could not give him answers to any of his other questions. Michael accepted the appointment. He took the oath of allegiance to the Royal Northwest Mounted Police in Regina, Saskatchewan, on August 24, 1904. He was twenty-seven and eleven months of age.

He was posted to Lethbridge, a town in the Northwest Territories, situated north of the Montana border, in the foothills of the Rockies. In his application in June he had stated that he was single. In September he told the Commissioner that he was to be married and applied for married quarters. He said that he would be satisfied with two rooms for the winter, but he was allotted only one utility room near the Guard room. Eliza Tallmire travelled alone to the West in the Fall of 1904 and married Michael in Saint Patrick's Church on November 24, 1904. Their one room in the barracks was very uncomfortable. On January 11, 1905 Michael applied to live out of the barracks, and to draw the usual amount of cash compensation in lieu of rations. The Commissioner refused his request and he and Eliza continued to live in the barracks.

The first year of marriage was a difficult one. Barracks life was much different from life on an Ontario farm. Eliza was lonesome. There were no other couples, no families nor friends. Michael became ill and had his appendix removed in June of 1905. He was not able to work for some time because of complications. Their first child, Joseph Vincent, was born on October 4, 1905, in a violent storm. "Lethbridge was whipped by a sixty-mile-an-hour Chinook, a wind that whirled down out of the Rockies in a storm of dust dense enough to block sunlight."

In November, 1905, Michael made another request to occupy the larger quarters that had been vacated by another Staff Sergeant. His Officer Commanding recommended him, so he and Eliza and their small son, Joseph Vincent, were able to move to more comfortable rooms.

In 1904, shortly after beginning his work, Michael had made the diagnosis of "maladie du coit", a disease known to affect horses in Europe and Africa, but until that time it had been unknown in Canada. Horses were essential to the life in the West, and herds of wild horses were being destroyed by the disease. Michael began to spend many hours doing further research on the disease.

On June 30, 1907, he was granted a free Honorable Discharge from the Northwest Mounted Police. He was given a bonus of $45.00 for working from August 25, 1904 to June 30,, 1907. He moved his family from NWIVIP barracks to a house in Lethbridge.

Edward Michael, the second son, was born on August 18, 1908. The discharge from the Mounted Police was a transfer to the newly formed Health of Animal's Branch, Dominion Department of Agriculture. He continued his research and was joined by Dr.E.A.Watson, V.S. Together they identified the disease-causing pathogen. It was the first such discovery in the Western Hemisphere. They were given a small log building several miles outside of Lethbridge to be used as a laboratory. By 1913 they were able to devise an accurate test for the disease. By 1920 the disease was eradicated from Canada.

Lethbridge at that time was a small community straddling rail tracks. There was about 2,000 population situated in the heart of the Chinook country. "Although still much in the raw, it was a land of beauty with its sweep of prairies, the gentle foothills where the buffalo grass was deep, its creeks and rivers fed by snows and glaciers, the whole merging southward into Montana." Such was the country Michael travelled.

Family pictures show him driving across the prairie in his buckboard, or on horseback. He was the Government Inspector at the dipping vats, at the round-ups, and with cattle as they were branded. There is one picture of him wearing fur chaps, with a broad-brimmed Stetson hat, and sporting a holster and gun. Michael had become a true Westerner.

Eliza became ill shortly after Edward was born. After she had been treated in Lethbridge, Michael took her to the Mayo Brothers Clinic in Minnesota. The diagnosis was cancer. In the following years Eliza was an invalid until her death in 1912. Her sister, Mary, had come from Iroquois, Ontario, to care for her and to keep house for the family. Edward's recollections provide the record of the family life in this period. He recalls being brought to stand at the foot of a bed where there was "a very sick lady". Later he had a vivid memory of a room where there were tall lighted candles. It was his mother's wake at home.                                                                                                           

Edward was an invalid as a child. He had been born with a hip problem that made one leg shorter than the other. "Dr. Mewburn, the family doctor, saved my leg. He marked my back, and he and Dad made some kind of a contraption. They used 3/4 inch gas pipe attached to the frame of the cot which Dad had made especially for me. They attached a rope and pulleys with weights to the pipe, and then fastened them to my instep. The weights were bags containing 2-1/2 pounds of buckshot. "I had to remain lying down most of the time, but Dad often rolled my cot out on the veranda just for a change. He bought me a bugle." There are pictures of the veranda with Edward wrapped in heavy clothing, wearing a fur hat and playing his bugle. The treatment worked. He became able to walk normally.

Edward tells of travelling with his brother, Vincent, and his Dad to visit the ranches. One of them was to the Circle D ranch, owned by Ray Knight. It was one of the largest ranches in Alberta. It took them almost two days riding in the buckboard to get from Lethbridge to the ranch. There were no roads. They followed a wagon trail through long prairie grass. There was an overnight stop at Raymond, and another full day on the trail before reaching the ranch. Ed says that eating and sleeping at a hotel in Raymond was a treat, "just like Christmas."

The cowboys were very good to the boys. After their long day's work, when they came back to the ranch in the late evening, they would let the boys watch them bathe in the sloughs, shouting and laughing, and pelting one another with mud.

When working they wore leather chaps, or overalls. They changed to fur chaps, three cornered scarves, and pointed Stetson hats when they "went to town" on a Saturday. There is a picture of Michael wearing the traditional costume. Edward said he watched in awe as the long-horned steers were moved from their grazing grounds in the foothills and herded towards the corrals. There were so many and all were so closely packed that it looked as if the whole side of the hill was moving. Mange was a plague on the ranches. To control the disease, animals were immersed in dipping vats in a sulphur solution. Edward says there was much wild thrashing and bellowing. It was part of Michael's work. He monitored the activity because too strong a solution damaged the animal's eyes. He also tallied the numbers of the diseased and the dipped cattle in his reports to the Department.

Michael had his own Range Rider, a big, black-mustached Irishman-- Pat Murphy. He was the advance man. He rode around the ranches and reported any problems to Michael, then made arrangements for his inspection visits. On the way to and from the ranches, Michael and the two boys often stopped to eat at the Mormon homesteads. Edward said that you knew they were Mormons because the doors were always open, and the buildings were whitewashed. On one trip when they stopped at the homestead there was no one at home, so they continued on without eating. On the way back, the owner was there, and Michael was chastised for not helping himself. "Thee did not come in for lunch.""There was nobody home." "Thee must never pass a Mormon home without eating. There is always ample food. Help thyself. There is only one rule: Leave everything as thee found it, and leave no money. If thee leave money, do not stop here again."

Edward wondered why they were taken on these trips to the ranches, because there wasn't much for children to do. There wasn't anyone to play with, except pigs and chickens.  One time, Vincent decided to learn how to manipulate a braided rawhide lariat. In one of his practice maneuvers he lassoed a pig. The pig escaped squealing, and dragged the lariat across the prairie. Neither the rawhide lariat, nor the pigs were ever seen again. That ended Vincent's cowboy career. Vincent also chased Edward with a water snake. Ed fell in the creek amongst reeds and slimy branches of fallen saplings. He thought there were millions of snakes. Sometimes they saw rattlesnakes sunning themselves on warm rocks. There seemed to be hundreds of them. "If they rattled, we ran."

The boys also saw much wild game. Sometimes there were buffalo, but always deer and antelope. The jackrabbits were the size of small dogs. They jumped from behind boulders, a good ten feet in the air from a standing start. When travelling Michael was positive that the coyotes knew when he had a rifle in the buckboard because the animals either kept out of sight, or stayed at the far edge of the range. No rifle, they ran close to the trail. There was a bounty offered for coyotes. Edward remembers one time he spoiled his father's aim when his straw hat blew off at the crucial moment, and his father was annoyed because he had missed the bounty.There are many pictures of Michael with the two boys when Eliza was gravely ill, and after she died in 1912. He tried to take them with him often because his work took him away so much of the time. The boys missed the usual family life. Ed and Vincent were classified as "little hellions"-- always in trouble. Their Aunt Mary, who stayed as a housekeeper after Eliza died, had a string of complaints for Michael when he came home.

They were not allowed to play on the huge threshing machines that were stored in the field close to the home. Vincent ignored the restriction, managed to operate one, and in the process threw one of his friends off the machine, breaking the boy's arm. They told their father that they were "playing rooster" on a fence when the friend fell off.  Michael was left in charge of his neighbor’s house while the owner was away. The boys broke into the house by sliding down a coal chute into the basement, and then they went to the kitchen and decided to make a cake. They mixed flour and baking powder and beer, lit the wood stove, and put the cake in the oven to bake. It overflowed the oven, and flooded the floor. In the meantime they painted their names on the wails with axle grease, "Rather stupid of us," recalls Edward. "We were whaled for that one," The instrument for 'whaling', at that time, was the leather razor strap.

Another adventure was to put blasting caps on the street car tracks. "The caps didn't derail the cars," Eddy remembers, "But they sure scared the passengers."

Michael had become recognized as an expert in the treatment of animal diseases. He frequently went on trips to represent the Health of Animals, Department of Agriculture, and to share his knowledge and experience.

There is a picture of him in 1913 in a touring car with a group of men. It was taken in British Columbia, a stop on the way back from Old Mexico. Mexican ranchers were experiencing an epidemic of Maladie du Coit in their herds. Because of his knowledge Michael was loaned by the Department to advise them. When World War I was declared in 1914 he applied to enlist in the army, but was rejected because his work was essential to the war effort. At that time horses were important in the transportation of the artillery, and the cattle provided the beef that was needed for feeding the army.

In 1914 Michael was sent to New York several times on government business. It was on his first trip that he met the Irish girl, Katie Tynan. While in New York he stayed at the Knickerbocker Hotel on the floor where Katie Tynan was the desk clerk. He was impressed and made certain that he stayed on her floor whenever he was in the city. In a short time he became a persistent suitor. Katie did not encourage his attentions. She was reserved and retiring by nature. She was the sole support of her mother, for whom she felt totally responsible. It was also against the hotel rules for an employee to socialize with a guest. Michael would not be discouraged. He was always "at her elbow."  Their first date was to go to Midnight Mass at Saint Patrick's cathedral.

Katie eventually introduced Michael to her mother, Mary Tynan, but the introduction was not a success. He made the serious mistake of saying that he would always take care of her and Katie. This brought an angry retort from Mary, that she had always been able to take care of herself. Katie's mother was very happy in New York. She was well known in the city's Irish community. There was no room in her life for an interloper. Katie sent Michael "packing" at one point, because her mother was so opposed. She thought the matter was settled only to have him appear again at her desk. Michael was insistent. He gave Katie lovely gifts: a gold lapel watch; a topaz brooch and lavaliere set; a heart-shaped brooch with a turquoise floral spray outlined in gold; and a lovely pearl necklace. When jewellery failed to impress her, he knew how to reach her heart. He had two small boys who needed a mother. If she would care for them, he would care for her mother. In late 1914 they exchanged photographs. Michael's picture was with his two young sons.

There was considerable change happening in work at the hotel. The Knickerbocker was owned by the Astor's who were passengers on the Titanic when it sank in 1912. Mr. Astor drowned and his young wife, who survived, was left with a tangle of financial problems. Katie's position at the hotel was no longer secure. Katie did not turn to her mother to help her make the decision. She went to her Supervisor, Miss Cameron, who had been her mentor and her friend. She advised Katie to accept Michael's proposal.

Michael went back to Lethbridge to make arrangements for their marriage.

On the way home he stopped in Winnipeg to buy a diamond engagement ring at Ryrie Birks, the foremost Canadian jeweler of the time. He chose a single diamond ring, with Tiffany setting. When he got home he sent his Range Rider, Pat Murphy, to ride from Lethbridge to Montana to mail the ring. It would go safely to New York by United States mail.

Michael was not wealthy, but comfortable. He had made money in the real estate boom in Lethbridge. He owned a couple of houses. He had investments in the early Alberta oil companies. He had a profession, and important work with the government. He was known and respected in the community.  In August, 1915, Katie Tynan travelled west from New York with her mother. Michael came east from Lethbridge.  They met in Port Arthur, Ontario, and were married there at St. Andrews Church on August 23, 1915. Edward, Michael's son, tells the story of their arrival in Lethbridge. His aunt, Mary Tallmire had left before Michael and his bride arrived. She warned Edward and Vincent that stepmothers were cruel, and were to be feared. It was night when Michael and Katie arrived. The boys were in bed. Katie had gifts for them. Vincent's was a tennis racket and Eddie's gift was a toy

sailboat. Katie sat on the bed and put her arms around them.

Edward said he knew then that everything was going to be alright.

In Lethbridge, Michael was very involved in his work, in sports, in church affairs, and in the Knights of Columbus. He played baseball for the Lethbridge team. He played tennis. He was an avid hunter. He won prizes in trapshooting, and curling. When Katie was invited to join the Catholic Women's League, he objected, because Eliza and her sister Mary had been very active socially. He said he had seen too much of that. Katie did not care. She was busy at home. She had the care of the two boys and her own mother. There were also many visitors of Michael's friends and colleagues, and their families, There are pictures of his sister Kate and her daughter Carmel. Eliza’s relatives were always welcome guests. One year Michael went east to Kingston and bought a house for his mother. He settled her in the house with his sister Frances (Frank), her husband Jack Harrigan and their two children. Frank looked after their mother's physical needs and Michael took care of all her financial needs. Michael also kept in touch with the Tallmire family, particularly with Will, Eliza's brother. In a letter he sent money, and expressed condolences to Will, when Eliza's young sister died of tuberculosis.

Katherine Loretta was born on September 23, 1916. James Francis arrived fifteen months later on December 14, 1917. There were difficult times.

In 1918 Michael nearly died in the flu epidemic. Katherine had scarlet fever and barely survived. Frank was very ill with severe ear infection. When Katie became pregnant again, she had a bad fall, and lost the child.

Vincent was a problem at school. He had taken up with bad companions. Michael sent him to board at the boy’s Catholic school in Edmonton. It was known for very strict discipline. Mary Tynan's implacable dislike of the West created another problem for Michael and Katie. Her unhappiness worried Katie, and affected their home life. On Michael's part he was always respectful and considerate, and accepted his mother-in-law moods without comment. He had promised to take care of her and this he always did.

Michael's work in the West was changing. Heavy immigration was occurring, so there were many farms both large and small that affected the importance of the big ranches.

Dr. Watson, Michael's partner in research activities, and a close friend, was transferred to Ottawa to become head the Pathological Division of the Health of Animals Branch in the Department of Agriculture. He coaxed Michael to move to Ottawa, where he would be working at the Laboratory as well as at the Dominion Experimental Farm.

At first Michael resisted the offer. It was a very difficult decision for him to make. He would sacrifice friends of many years and the outdoor life he loved.  The change in his work, and Katie's concern about her mother's unhappiness, tipped the balance. He told Dr. Watson he would go to Ottawa. There were many gatherings held in Michael's honor before moving East. There were articles in the Lethbridge newspaper about his transfer:

"Lethbridge will early in November lose a popular citizen in the person of

Dr. M.V. Gallivan, veterinary inspector for the Lethbridge district, to take up his residence in Ottawa. "Doctor Gallivan, after 17 years in Lethbridge, has received a well-earned promotion which will attach him to the Pathological branch of the department in Ottawa. "Dr. Gallivan came to Lethbridge in 1904 from Kingston, and was inspector here for three years while the work was being handled for the government by the Mounted Police. In 1907 the work was taken out of the police department and made a separate branch of the Department of Agriculture. Dr. Gallivan transferred to become the government Inspector. "The doctor will be chiefly remembered by the stockmen of Southern Alberta for the winning fight he put against the dourine invasion of the horses of the south. This fight lasted for ten years until disease being finally stamped out in 1914. "During the past summer he has also been actively engaged in trying to stamp out the mange in cattle in Southern Alberta and at the present time he is hopeful of success in that endeavour.

"While in this district Dr. Gallivan has done splendid work in the pathological branch and his promotion is the result. He is widely known throughout Southern Alberta and his host of friends will wish him much success in his new field of endeavor".

In another article: "Lethbridge friends surprised citizen decked in overalls."

"The affair was a surprise to Dr. Gallivan in every sense of the word. The doctor was all decked out in an old pair of overalls and was head over heels in work when his friends arrived on the scene. He was hiding behind a barricade of packing boxes and industriously filling them. His friends presented him with a handsome oak-finished clock. Dr. Gallivan was also presented with a wrist watch by the Knights of Columbus."

 Michael moved the family to Ottawa in November of 1920. Michael bought a house in the Glebe, 157 Third Avenue, and commuted across the Ottawa River to work in the Pathological Laboratory in Hull, Quebec.

He soon became active in the Blessed Sacrament Parish, and became a chartered member in the Bays water Council of the Knights of Columbus. He had a membership in the Ottawa Hunt & Gun Club. He also got annual tickets for the hockey games to watch the Senators.

Katherine and Frank often accompanied him when he went skeet-shooting to the Hunt and Gun Club. They gathered the used shotgun shells and watched as the clay pigeons exploded in the air. He was an expert marksman and won several competitions.

The atmosphere in the club was not the same as in the West. He did not feel comfortable because there were more social gatherings rather than sports and hunting events. It was also very expensive so he cancelled his membership.

His new job made use of his experience and his talents. He did experimental surgery at the Dominion Experimental Farm, and was on call to treat the difficult sick animals. He judged cattle and horses at the Ottawa National Exhibition. He was often sent to Montreal to give special treatment to Percheron horses, the show horses that belonged to Labatts and Molsons.

Michael travelled across the Atlantic to England as the Government inspector, on the cattle boats. While in England he lectured on Animal Husbandry.

He always returned "first class" at the captain’s table, on the Cunard White Star line of passenger ships. These trips occurred in the early 20's-- 1923 and 1925 are the only known exact dates. On one of them he made a side trip to Ireland where he visited Katie's home, and spent some time in retreat at an Irish monastery. His sailing experience on the Great Lakes helped him on his voyages. He was proud that no matter how rough the sea became he was never seasick. One of his trips was in November of 1923 when there were terrible gales on the North Atlantic. It was a worrisome time for all the family. They said many rosaries in grandmother's room for his safe return. Michael became discontented. His work was changing. Most of work was laboratory and office work. Young scientists were being recruited from Germany and England. Michael was bypassed for promotion because he did not have credentials required. He complained to Katie that he was turning into a 'bottle washer'

Michael and Dr. Watson were still friends. The families had changed, but often enjoyed visiting together. Madame Graef was a beautiful French woman for whom Dr. Watson had left his wife, Marie. She went home to her family in Germany. Madame became his "housekeeper". Although personal contacts remained strong, Dr. Watson was now on a different level. Their working relationship had changed. They no longer worked together as equals.

Dr. Cameron, Dr. Mitchell and other former Western colleagues were also family friends. In work they were trained scientists who were comfortable in the laboratory environment. Michael was an action person. He missed the actual work with the animals and with the people in the area. Michael was still busy in society.

He maintained his association with the Knights of Columbus, and was a charter member of the Bays water Council. He became close friends with Canon Fitzgerald, parish priest of St. Patrick's parish. In Blessed Sacrament, the family parish, he was active in the Holy Name Society, and was working on a building committee to plan the new church.

Katie was not well at this time. Shortly after moving to Ottawa she became pregnant. and had to have a Cesarean section. The baby, another boy, lived only for two days. She also suffered from chronic leg problems. Phlebitis was one of them. Katie did not take part in any social activities outside the home, although constantly entertained friends and relatives. Michael often coaxed her to go to the social events but she refused. One reason was that her Mother was not any happier in Ottawa than she had been in Lethbridge. She was very cross and unsettled. Francis and Katherine were never left alone at home with her. Katie walked the streets of Ottawa with the children to parades and celebration so that the house would be quiet for her mother. Michael had to sell the house. There were difficult neighbours next door. Mary Tynan was ready to do battle with them but Katie believed in "peace at any price". Michael lost money on the sale and did not buy another house. He moved the family to a rented house on a different block on Third Avenue-- a big, three storey double house. No. 1 Thornton Avenue was the next move. On August 20, 1926 there was an unexpected and joyous family event. Mary Aileen was born, There was a spread of years between Mary and Frank. Katherine was in the middle: Vincent ten years older; Mary ten years younger. Katherine felt her prayers for a sister were finally answered. The new baby was a delight for everyone. Michael was overjoyed. Even Grandmother Tynan was happy. She felt that she had a new purpose in life. Katie was an invalid for some time after Mary's birth. Michael's sister, Kate Cooper, came to help care for the family. Michael had bought a car, a Dodge sedan. It was the open style with Isinglass windows to put up if it was raining. Nearly every evening he took the family to the parks, or to the small towns close by, so he and Frank could fish. On weekends in the summer, they often went to Britannia Beach. He taught Frank and Katherine how to swim. One afternoon, Grandmother Tynan went with them. She wanted to see where they went and if it was safe. She dressed in her long black overcoat, and her Queen Victoria bonnet, with ribbons under her chin. It was the first time, and the last time she ever went in the car. Michael had great respect for education. He insisted that the boys have a classic education, so Vincent and Edward attended the High School at Ottawa University College. Vincent learned easily, but had neither focus nor discipline. He lost interest, and decided that he wanted to become a priest, so Michael sent him to the Holy Cross College at Dunkirk in New York State. It was a costly sojourn that did not last very long. Vincent was sent home: "unsuited to clerical life."

Edward had trouble with his school work. He struggled with Latin and Greek. Katie drilled him but he did not graduate. He was apprenticed to a plumber company. Vincent was unsettled. He worked for a while in a bank. He took courses in banking, and made Michael very proud of him because he did so well. Working there did not last. Vincent became friends with a fast group, and got into debt. Michael paid his bills, and financed his departure to Detroit, to The-Henry-Ford-Land, where many young people were successful in the booming auto industry. The year was 1928.

Michael was not a gambler. He had resisted the investment mania of the Twenties, but finally listened to friends who were making great profits in the stock market. On their advice he invested most of the balance of his savings. His investment was made in the August of 1928, only a few weeks before the entire market crashed in October. All of his western profits disappeared in that infamous crash.

The environment of Michael's work became more and more unsatisfactory. He was old  fashioned in his respect for women and was upset by the poor treatment received by the young women who worked in the government office. He also had a bad relationship with one of the German scientists, which ended in a fist fight on the grounds. Michael was the winner. Although his early boxing training stood him in good stead, he was battered when he came home. There is no family record for the cause of the fight. Michael applied for a transfer from the Pathological Laboratory to return to field work. In the spring of 1930 he moved the family from Ottawa to Morrisburg, where he became the officer-in-charge of the district. Iroquois was included in the district, so he was back in the area where he had started in private practice over thirty years ago. Michael was happy again, working with animals on the farms, and with the people. In May of 1930, shortly after the move, Mary Tynan died. She was 76 years old. She was buried in the Catholic cemetery in Morrisburg, finally at rest. Money was very scarce. It was the depression years. Michael's salary was reduced again and again, but he was very happy in his work.

He had several veterinarians working on the farms with him. It was the time when tuberculosis was epidemic amongst the dairy farms. For public health reasons all the herds had to be tested and culled of the tubercular cows. The farmers were paid compensation by the government for any cattle destroyed. Michael made many friends and renewed his old Iroquois friendships. It was a happy time for all the family, so it was a shock to him and to the family when he was transferred from Morrisburg to Kingston on a week's notice.

Michael was a very honest man. His sudden move occurred because he had discovered fraudulent claims being made in the Morrisburg district by some of the farmers. His records and statements to the Head office in Ottawa were being tampered with. When he reported that they were being altered, and that the government was being overcharged, he was warned by head office "not to stir up a hornet's nest". He continued to report the dishonest claims. He was swiftly moved out of the district. He would have no further authority in the Morrisburg area. The "hornet's nest' ' was political. Michael was back in Kingston, his birthplace. It was a very different life being so close to sisters who were not always on good terms with one another. Katie was the usual peacemaker. She insisted on maintaining good relations with all of the relatives. Edward left home and worked in the mines in Northern Ontario.

Vincent visited with his wife, Marian. He worked in a transport company and had taken courses so that he could represent them in court when there were any legal problems. He was successful. Marian was a patient, loving influence on Vincent. In a few months, Edward came back from the North He worked in Kingston first as a clerk in a plumbing store, then changed to be a sailor on the Lake freighters. The living in Kingston lasted less than two years (December 1932 to November 1934).

Most of Michael's work was in the office rather than on the farms. He was pleased when he was asked to relieve the Government Inspector in Sault Ste Marie in Northern Ontario, He worked there for a time and when the Inspector retired, Michael applied to be transferred. Michael was very happy in the Sault. He was working in Algoma district's rural areas, "down the line", and on St. Joseph's Island. The first summer in 1935, Michael rented a cottage for the family on the Island, a few miles east of the Sault. He wanted everyone to like the Sault as much as he did. The family had been introduced to life in the north in November, and had experienced a long, stormy, cold winter, so they were not very impressed. Michael's experiment was a success. The summer was enjoyed by the family on lovely St Joseph's Island. The final years of Michael's life in Sault Ste Marie were a bonus to him. Life was more like the West. He became well known and was respected in the community. He was in charge of the Algoma district at a very busy time. He became friends with the farming people and was their support and counsel. He was involved again in church activities, and in Knights of Columbus. He was a member of the group headed by Monsignor Crowley, his parish priest, who regularly hunted and fished together. He joined the Curling Club and was a member of the champion teams.

He was also a comfortable distance from the politics in the Head Office in Ottawa.

Frank (Francis) worked at the Steel Plant in the summers to earn his way to University at Guelph to become a Veterinarian. On his days off Michael took Frank with him on his calls to the farms. Frank was anxious to work with him, and to learn from him.

Vincent came once again for Christmas with his wife, Marian, and daughter, Mary Gail, after long absence. Michael welcomed them and made a great fuss over Mary Gail, who was five years old. He bought her a red Canadian winter snow suit, and rented a horse and sleigh to take her for rides. Edward came to the Sault to make it his home.

Michael retired on September 13, 1941, on his 65th birthday. He had hoped, because it was wartime that he would be kept in what had been designated as essential work. He had been assured that his work would continue, but he did not get the extension. He was at a loss without his work He had been working and was independent from the age of twelve. He had spent almost forty years as a civil servant. He had vague plans to start a private practice. He was well known in the city and the district; He had done some private practice as well as the government work. There was no other Veterinarian in the city nor in the district. He could not follow his idea because his health became poor. He did not have the energy to start all over again, to go out on the farms and do the heavy work with large animals.

 Francis graduated from University of Guelph in Veterinary Science and decided that he did not want to work in private practice. He accepted an offer to work for the Dominion Department of Agriculture in Edmonton as a Government inspector.

Michael's doctor diagnosed his illness as duodenal ulcer of the stomach. Michael refused to accept the diagnosis and said, "That fellow doesn’t know what he is talking about! He selected a new doctor who was a personal friend. One evening he came home from the curling rink and complained about a strange feeling. He sat at the dining room table and when he tried to write a cheque, he turned to Katie and said that he couldn't hold the pen.

His new doctor diagnosed his condition as exhaustion and told him that he just needed to rest. Michael did as he was told, and remained in bed in his room. The doctor had to be away for the weekend and said he would see Michael when he got back. Michael did not live to see him. He died on Saturday, March 19, 1941.

The wake at home was the traditional two days and nights. A large black wreath was placed on the front door. The neighbours lowered their blinds in respect. Michael lay in an open coffin in the living room. People came constantly for the two days. Men from the farms. Italian people. Finnish people. Polish people. Members of the Chinese community came with an offering of ginger and tea as a gift to the family, because Michael had been so kind to them. Groups of men, his friends, remained during both nights to watch with him. From time to time they knelt to say the Rosary. Edward and Frank were still living at home. Vincent came home from Pontiac, Michigan. Michael's sisters, Kate and Frank arrived from Kingston.

Michael's funeral Mass was said by his friend, Monsignor Crowley, in the Precious Blood Cathedral. He was buried in the Holy Sepulchre cemetery. Dr. E.A. Watson, his friend and partner in the West, wrote Michael's obituary in the Canadian Journal of Comparative Medicine and Veterinary Science in May 1941.

He reviewed his life and accomplishments in the West and concluded with these

words:

"In the wide open spaces or by the fireside in an easy chair, and in the reveries of those who knew him and survive him, he was and is the ideal companion."

On November 1, 1968 the Honorable H.A. Olson, Minister of Agriculture for Canada spoke when he unveiled a plaque in honor of Michael Vincent Gallivan and Edward Arthur Watson. The plaque stands in front of a large laboratory, near the site of the humble wooden frame laboratory where they had conducted their experiments in 1904, on the mysterious disease that was attacking herds of horses in southern Alberta.

"The disease was identified as "maladie du coit" by Dr. Michael V. Gallivan, a Royal Northwest Mounted Police veterinarian, attached to the Health of Animals Branch of the Canadian Department of Agriculture at Lethbridge. The chain of events that followed earned Canada a worldwide reputation for outstanding scientific work and rescued the Canadian horse population.

"The original laboratory has been demolished and the newly built institute is now located in a building about 500 feet from the original site beside the Oldman River.

"Even today many years after the disease was identified, the control program that was developed by Drs. Gallivan and Watson, is still in use worldwide."

Uncle Eddy Gallivan's Interviews by Katherine Punch

March 1992

How old were you when your mother died?

She died in 1912. 1 was four years old. I only remember her as a very sick lady. I remember being in a room where she was in a bed, and then I remember seeing big candles in our parlour. Probably her wake. Her sister, Mary, had come to take care of us when mother was sick, and when Dad took her to Mayo Brothers to get treatment. She stayed on after my mother died. She was good to me but she didn't like Vincent.
You told me that Dad took you and Vincent to the ranches. Tell me what you remember.

For the life of me I cannot understand why Dad would have taken Vincent and me to spend a week or two on one of the province's largest cattle ranches. There was nothing for us to do. It was the big Circle D ranch owned by Ray Knight.

How did you get there?

In a buggy. Dad had a jet black team, Nellie and Bess. We also had a horse called Honey. A real pet. We could walk around under her.
The ranch was about forty miles away, and we made it in two stages. We stopped over in Raymond, at a hotel. To have supper and sleep in a hotel was the next best thing to Christmas. We arrived at Raymond about 5 p.m after a 6 a.m. start. There were about 500 people in Raymond. The hotel was rustic, but clean.
I can still hear the music of a blacksmith shop as the smith's hammer pounded iron into horseshoes and wagon rims. We stood at the open door to watch him.

Was there a good road?

Just a trail through long grass. Stones. Always you see animals
We saw a herd of buffalo once. Many antelope and deer. Jack rabbits jumped from behind boulders, a good ten feet without a running start. The rabbits seemed to be the size of small dogs. The coyotes were western pests. There was a bounty for them.

Dad have guns with him?

Always. Dad claimed that coyotes knew if you had a shotgun or rifle in the buggy. You seldom saw one if you had a gun, and if you did have a gun and see them the coyote could keep just out of range. I remember one time when my hat blew off when he was about to shoot a coyote. He was very angry because I spoiled his shot.

Did you ever see a rattlesnake?

Yes. They were coiled on the road. At the ranch they sunned themselves on the rocks. When they rattled, we ran.
You said you sometimes stopped on the road. 
Where was that?
The Mormons houses were never locked. They were spotlessly clean. We generally stopped at noon for soup and sandwiches. We were never charged. Dad and the Mormon almost came to blows when Dad offered to pay for the food. One hot day we stopped at a Mormon house and there was no one at home. It was a tough trip for us kids with only lukewarm water for lunch.On the return trip we stopped at the same house."Thee did not come in for lunch."
"There was no one home."Never pass a Mormon house without eating. There is always ample food. Help thyself. There is only one rule: Leave everything as found.. Leave no money. if you do, do not stop here again.'

HOW did you know it was a Morman's house?

The grounds were clean. The fences and the buildings were whitewashed. Dad used to talk about Sadie Winhack. 
Was she a Mormon?

Yes. She was the cook at the ranch. She made chocolates that would put Laura Secord to shame.We have ii picture of a group at the ranch. She is in it. There was also a Chinese man. He worked at the ranch. He had a pet rat. He cut off its tail to identify it, so it wouldn't be used for experiments in the lab.
Dad had a range ruler by the name  Pat Murphy.

 Did you know him?

Yes. He had a big black moustache. He reported any sick animals to Dad. He also let the ranchers know- when Dad would be coming for the dipping and inspecting He was very good to Vincent and me. He always had presents for us.

What did you and Vincent do at the ranch?

There was nothing much for us to do. Usual barnyard animals. Pigs. Many chickens. The rooster cornered in the chicken coop. There were a few milk cows but what seemed about 10,000 steers—long horns. It appeared to me that the whole side of a small mountain was moving when they were herded down a slope toward the corrals.
We were invited to a society wedding. Stoltz, a rich man. Everyone was in tuxedos. We turned our coats backwards to copy them. We pelted the bride and groom on the verandah with paper. 

Why were the cattle being herded into the corrals?

They had mange. They waited in line for the dipping vats. Water and sulphur mixed. There was bellowing and splashing as they came down. The solution was hard on the animal's eyes. Dad was there to make sure the dipping was done right and no animals were missed. The mange was an epidemic.

What about the cowboys?

They kept to themselves. They worked hard. They went out early and when they came home after a long hard day they were like kids. They would go into the slough (pond) and splash each other and have mud fights.
How did they dress?

They had leather chaps and spurs for work, and fur chaps for their nights off in town.

How did you and Vincent amuse yourselves?

Vincent tried to learn how to lasso. He tried to rope a pig with a braided rawhide lasso. The pig took off and the lasso with him. We never saw that pig again. Dad had a lariat. He used to spin it in circles and stand in the circle the way cowboys did.I always hated snakes. Vincent chased me with a water snake. It was in long grass near the slough. I fell in the creek amongst reeds and slimy branches of fallen saplings. I thought there were millions of snakes. My stomach turns at the thought of snakes.We watched the rattlers sunning themselves on the rocks. From a long distance there seemed to be hundreds. If they rattled, we ran.

We watched at the slaughterhouse. There was a stink when the cattle were opened. These were being slaughtered just for consumption at the ranch.

We played baseball when we found a grassy place. There was a lot of dust on the ranch.

Lethbridge. 1119 Third Avenue

Dad was away from home a lot while Mother was sick, and after she died, Aunt Mary (Mother's sister) took care of us. We were always in trouble. She would report to Dad when he came home, so would our teachers. Then we got it. I could never understand my father's idea of punishment. He saw danger in everything. Serious mischief seemed to get light punishment, even a scolding, while simple things earned heavy punishment— the razor strap.His hand was heavy punishment, too.

Most kids owned a slingshot, but we were not allowed to have one. I hid a slingshot in the tall grass and got caught. Dad hit me on the backside with the slingshot all the way home.

We had large white beans when the rice ran out.

We put a blasting cap on the streetcar tracks. The car didn't go off the track, but it sure scared all the passengers.

We were told not to play on the huge reaping machines, so of course we did. They were parked in a field close to us. Vincent was operating one with a friend suspended from it. He fell off and broke his arm. We told Dad that we were playing rooster on the fence, and he fell off the fence.

Dad was left in charge of the house next door while the owner, a friend, was away. We broke into the house through the coal shine. There was a big barrel with beer packed in straw We tore that apart. We decided to make a cake. We made a batter with flour and beer and other things, and put it in the oven of the wood stove to bake. Of course it went all over the floor. Then we wrote our name all over the walls in axel grease.It cost Dad a lot of money to get the place all cleaned up. We got flailed for that one.

There was no organized sport activity.. We played baseball where we could find a grassy place, and hockey if there was ice. We had a lot of time on our hands, so we got into a great deal of mischief
There was a flying exhibition in a field. An acrobat went up in a balloon and did stunts, and then came to the ground in a parachute.I thought I could do that. 1 went up to the loft in the barn. I tied a cat to an umbrella, then I tossed it out the loft door. The cat took off when it landed and we never saw the cat or the umbrella again.

Vincent got into real trouble with his friend Aubrey Tennant. Mr Tennant, Aubrey's father was the CPR agent for Lethbridge. Aubrey and Vincent stole boxes of pencils from his office, and then went door to door selling them. CPR was printed on all the pencils.
I don't remember what happened to Aubrey, but Vincent was sent to boarding school in Edmonton.

You were sick once. 1 here are pictures o1you in bed on the verandah:

Dr. Mewburn was a friend of Dad's. He was our doctor. I was born with one leg shorter than the other. He saved my leg. He marked my back and Dad had a cot made. Then he and Dad made a fitting for the cot: a 3/4 inch gas pipe frame, and at the foot were pulley's with weights and a rope that went from the pulley's to my instep. The weights were 2-1/2 pounds of buckshot in leather bags. I had to stay lying down. I spent most of the time on the big verandah. I had a fur hat and blanket covers, and dad bought me a bugle to play. The treatment cured my leg.

How did you/eel when you were fold that your Dad was going in be married again?

Aunt Mary was angry that Dad was going to be married. She told us that we would have a stepmother, and she made us afraid of what would happen to us.

What is your first memory ofyour new mother?

Dad went away to meet her in Port Arthur. Mother came with her mother from New York to meet him there. They were married in St. Andrew's church in Port Arthur. (August 23, 1915).It was night time when they came back. Aunt Mary was gone. We were in bed when they came into the room. Mother sat on our bed and put her arms around us, and we knew everything was going to be all right. She brought me a boat with a real motor and propellor that I could float in the bath tub, and Vincent got a tennis racquet.We were always able to run to mother and grandma when Dad was mad at us.

What was the house on 7th Avenue like?

It was a big white house with a verandah that ran all around it. It had a big back yard and a barn for the cow and a stable for the horses. There was a chicken coop for the chickens and a big lattice summer house.The cow was a jersey, name Goldie. Granny milked her. When she had milked a pail full she would dip her finger in it and make the sign of the Cross to bless it.Vincent and I would stand back and she would shoot the milk into our mouths.We had too much milk for us, so I used to take it around in little pails to people in the neighbourhood. We used to make ice cream in a container surrounded by ice and salt. I had to turn the handle until it froze.

I had a toy I liked. It was a Sandy Andy. It came with white sand. You could fill it to the top, then back a little truck up to it, and fill the truck. I ran out of the sand, so I took a bag of sugar and used that.

I remember the celebration when we all planted trees. There were not many trees in Lethbridge so they had an Arbor Day. It was a holiday. We all planted trees, school children and everyone.

After Grade Five we had to go to school across the railway tracks. The North Ward was all foreigners. We called them Slays.Granny stored money in her hose. If you needed money she would hoist her skirt up and roll down her hose to get at the money.Granny had a huge Adam's Apple goitre. Mother was bothered with sinus from the wind and the many dust storms.

Christmas in Lethbridge

This story was told by Edward to his sister Katherine Galliivan.

It was a strange and wonderful fact that no matter what age a person reaches Childhood memories remain. For a child what season is more crammed with unforgettable events than Christmastime. I feel I was fortunate to be born and raised in a western Alberta town that was situated where the prairies meet the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. As everyone knows these mountains are eternally covered with snow and wherever that much snow exists in my childish imagination it must have been the North Pole where Santa lives and works between his annual trips on Christmas Eve. I imagined that I could hear the tap tap tap of the elves little hammers as they fashioned toys to fill Santa's sleigh with gifts for the children of the world. I never knew the exact day that Santa was to arrive. On Christmas morning my father would wake me and quietly tell me that he was going down to see if Santa had arrived. Put your robe on he advised the house is cool and I will stir the fire and call you in a few minutes. Those few minutes seemed like years. " You can come down now" I heard my father’s voice call softly from the downstairs. "Don't rush and be careful on the stairs. Half way down I could see a soft  coloured glow coming from the living room. Two more steps and I was able to take in the entire scene. It was like some fairyland had been transported to our living room. In the corner was our tree. It stood with dozens of tiny candles twinkling abound the evergreen branches. This to me was Christmas. The gifts and greetings could wait. My oohs and AAhs were interrupted by my Dad extinguishing the candles from the tree. My Mother was there as she had followed me down the stairs. 

When I grew older I realized the risk that my Dad took lighting candles on the dried pine or evergreen trees and I feel certain there was a pail of water close and a fire extinguisher in his hand. 

EPILOGUE THE WEST, 1915.

My mother, Catherine Tynan, left New York with her mother, Mary Doran Tynan, on August 20, 1915. They traveled by train, crossing at Buffalo, New York, into Canada, staying overnight in Toronto, Ontario, probably at the King Edward Hotel. Then they proceeded to Port Arthur, Ontario. My father, Michael Gallivan, came from Lethbridge, Alberta, and met them there.

Katie Tynan and Michael Gallivan were married in St. Andrew's Church, Port Arthur, Ontario on August 23, 1915. They then traveled for days and nights to Lethbridge. My grandmother felt that she was being taken to "the ends of the earth."

My brother Edward remembers the night they arrived in Lethbridge. My father was a widower with two sons, Vincent, nine years old, and Edward, six. Eddy said they were scared of having a stepmother come, because their Aunt Mary Tallmire (their mother's sister) had been taking care of them. She warned them against stepmothers.

Eddy and Vincent were in bed. Mother came in and sat on the edge of the bed and put her arms around them. "I knew then," Eddy told me, "That it would be all right."

She brought them each a present. Eddy's gift was a miniature ocean liner that had a propeller, so it could be sailed in the bath tub. Vincent's gift was a tennis racquet. That was the beginning of a lifelong loving relationship between the boys and their new mother.

My grandmother, Mary Doran, did not like Lethbridge. My mother also found it bleak. Trees were scarce and spindly, and there were strong, unpredictable winds. Many times a walk downtown ended with a dust storm.

There were adjustments to make more than the weather. The ladies of the church asked the new Mrs. Gallivan to join them in their teas and meetings, but my father vetoed the invitation. Evidently he felt that his first wife had been overly active in social affairs. Another incident occurred when she went shopping and bought a hall table. It was an octagonal oak table for the front hall. My father was very annoyed. "So I never did that again."

She had also brought her "Savings" with her; what was left after she had independently refused passage from my father, and had paid her own way and her mother's way. "I had $800.00 left, and I never saw that again."

My father was a kind man, but very much the head of the house. The $800.00 would have been added to the family funds. His wife would have no need of it. He would take care of her.

My father was always respectful and courteous to my grandmother but she did not return the compliment. She was resentful of him, but he had made a commitment and would honor it even though she was difficult to please. She was not happy and made it quite obvious in many ways. Friends of my father felt that mother never did "settle into the West", but it was my grandmother's attitude that unsettled my mother and her main purpose in life was to ensure her mother's happiness.

** ** * ** * ** * ** * *

There are pictures of mother in Lethbridge in the late summer of 1915. She was a very stylish lady; sitting on the struts of a bridge with the two little boys; standing in front of a flower beds in a park; driving the team of black stallions that Michael was so proud of."I was afraid of those horses," she once told me, "Big, rawboned beasts!"

It must have been very difficult for her. My father was a well known citizen, highly respected with many friends. He worked very hard for long hours. He was successful and had made money in booming real estate market. He had just built a new house at 1119, Third Avenue, in a fashionable location.

His first wife, Eliza Tallmire, had been a social person who made many friends in her years in Lethbridge (1903-1912). Her long struggle with cancer required that her sister, Mary, came to help her. Mary became involved in the social life of the town and made many friends, too.

This unknown woman from New York entered the scene. I am sure there were many barriers that she did not even attempt to break down. My grandmother's barely veiled discontent would not help her. My father was away much of the time. He wanted to take her to Victoria, B.C. but she could not go. It was impossible to leave the children with the grandmother. 

I was born on September 23, 1916, in an early snowstorm that whirled down from the Rockies. My brother Eddy remembered that it was two days before they could go to Van Harlem Nursing Home to see the new baby. My brother was born on December 14, 1917.

The property with the house on Third Avenue included outbuildings for my father's beloved "black team", Babe and Bess. There was another horse named Honey and Goldie was the name of the Jersey cow. There were also chicken runs. There was also a lattice playhouse, that .my father built for Frank and me.

I remember the house, big and white with wide veranda. There was a glassed center door, wide steps, sweet peas growing the side of the veranda, and a long terraced lawn. We had a rocking horse on the veranda, and a toy horse and wagon of milk cans. Frank and I pretended to "deliver" milk to neighbors.

I have three vivid memories of the back yard. I was once trapped in the

summerhouse by a giant (to me) rooster. I was also knocked to the ground when the cow swung her head and tossed me. I was terrified when my father put me on one of his horses and backed us out of the barn. I remember screaming mightily on all those occasions.

I remember my brother, Eddy carrying pails of bran across the yard to feed the cow. He has told me that grandmother did the milking, and that he would stand close to her so that she could squirt a stream of warm milk into his open mouth. I also remember Eddy turning the crank on a metal container to make ice cream. He delivered pails of milk to neighbors because we had surplus.

My father was very busy in his work and was away frequently. When he was home he played baseball, and curling in the winter. He also hunted many often. He was involved with the Church, and with the Knights of Columbus.

My mother's life was centered in the home, as it would always be, because grandmother would not be left in the house without adults.

My father was very ill but he survived the virulent flu epidemic in 1918. 1 was sick with scarlet fever to the extent that the church sexton was alert to toll the bell. Mother told me that Dad spend the crisis night with an eyedropper dropping water on my tongue to cool my fever. I survived. My head was shaved during my convalescence because it was believed that long hair drew strength from one's body.

Frank was sick with an abscessed ear. He was operated by Dr. Mewburn on our kitchen table. He wrapped a kitchen towel around the blade of butcher knife, leaving the tip bare. lie used the tip to puncture the abscess.

At some period during this time my mother had two problem births. One was miscarriage when she fell across a rail. The other was a Caesarean, an extremely rare and dangerous procedure at the time. The baby was apparently healthy but lived only a short time. Both were boys..

My brother Eddy says that grandmother was always cranky, but he also credited her with often saving him and Vincent from father's wrath. They were always mischievous. Eddy says that they were little demons, always being in trouble in the neighborhood and at school.

I do not remember my brother Vincent at all in Lethbridge. He was sent to boarding school in Edmonton. It was to remove him from companions, one of whom ended up in reform school. Mother called Vincent a "scallywag", worried about him, prayed for him, and loved him. Vincent loved her dearly to the end of his life.

In 1920 we moved to Ottawa, Ontario. It must have been a very difficult transition for my father to make.

He was forced into it for two reasons. First, he had to make a career choice. His friend and colleague, Dr. E. A. Watson, had been transferred to Ottawa as Head of the Pathological Laboratory, Health of Animals, in Department of Agriculture. It was he and my father who had discovered a cure for Malade du Coit, Dourine, disease of horses that was decimating the western herds. He wanted my father to be in Ottawa so they could continue their work together.

The second reason of leaving Lethbridge was that my grandmother was discontented. Her unhappiness influenced my mother greatly. Although mother had never have expressed thankful to my father for his sensitive to grandmother being unhappy. It was certainly the original commitment to care her feelings that tipped the scales for Ottawa.

We moved in November. There were newspaper accounts of Dad being honored by his friends and colleagues. It must have been a very trying time for him. He loved the West. He loved his close association with the ranchers. The life was the outdoor life he most enjoyed. He had earned a respected place in the community. lie would never be quite as happy ever again.

EPILOGUE Ottawa, --1920-1930.

I have a blurred memory of the train and the rattling noise of its wheels on our way to Ottawa.

The eastward journey of several days and nights must have seemed endless to Mother and Father, although I never heard any discussions of problems and complaints.

My Grandmother traveled like Queen Victoria-- unimpressed. Grandmother would look like Queen Victoria because her clothing was not changed over the years. Her wardrobe consisted of ankle length black skirt and black long-sleeved and pin-tucked bodices. She wore black sateen aprons. For the outdoors she added along, black cloak. She covered her beautiful, wavy, silver-white hair with a black "widow bonnet" (Queen Victoria, again) tied under her chin with wide silk ribbons. Grandmother was in her Seventies.

Brother Eddy was rambunctious twelve years old. I was four; Frank, almost three. We were quite an expedition.

One clear memory of the train remains with me. When we passed over a high bridge near Lakehead we saw a soar of flight of seagulls. Father convinced Frank that the gulls needed his beloved baby bottle for their young birds. He tossed it off the bridge to the birds. Frank and I believed him so Frank was finally off the bottle.

We stayed overnight in Toronto at King Edward Hotel. Mother took us to Eaton’s to the toy department. It was an awesome experience. Mother was as excited as we were.

Eddy raced through the hall at the Hotel, and collided with a waiter, and knocked over a trolley laden with glassware.

T was happy to walk on red carpets on the stairs, under a huge crystal chandelier.

* ** * * * * ** * *

In Ottawa we moved into a house on St. Francis Street in Flintenburg area. I have no memory of the house but I do remember the Monastery and a chapel with a grotto in it. Mother took me over there. The house was rental and according to Father's colleagues it was not in an acceptable area.

Father bought a house in a new area, known as The Glebe. 157 Third Avenue. It was in a "good neighborhood, close to church and schools", on the edge of the city, with open fields beyond the corner.

We lived there for a while. I started to school from that house, so did Frank. The school was kitty-corner from the house, so close that Frank, who was very shy, could run home when he had to go to the bathroom. Probably he had another reason-- to make sure that Mother was there.

************

One day Dad went downtown and bought Mother some new clothes. There was a beautiful taupe wool coat with batwing sleeves and a sheared beaver collar and cuffs. Her hat was matching in fir felt and a wide brim with a curled ostrich feather laid flat on the brim. He bought her new a pair of shoes. Mother always had to wear high-laced shoes because her legs were always swollen. Dad had a raccoon fur coat, with a big collar and deep pockets—high style in the Twenties.

One day when Dad came home he told me to put my hand in his pocket. I got a kitten! When "Kitty" became a grown cat , he always followed us on Sunday to the church. He climbed a tree and sat on a branch during the service, and then walked home with us. Kitty disappeared one day and I was afraid that the nearby Methodists had trapped her in their church basement.

In winter Mother pushed a chair ahead of her on the ice. Frank and I had double-runners on and hanging onto her hands. In that way she taught us how to skate on the rink that Dad made for us in the back- yard.

We often went tobogganing at the Experimental Farm. One time Dad coaxed Mother to sit on the toboggan—she usually stood watching us. He assuredly her that it would be a slow ride, then he gave her a mighty push that sent her screaming down the hill.

One day Mother took us to Echo Drive to the high built-up toboggan slide. Only once. I remember her strident prayers as Frank and I disappeared down the steep icy incline onto the Rideau Canal below.

** ** * * * * * * * * *

My Grandmother wasn't any happier in Ottawa than she had been in the West. No matter how Dad tried to make her happy he could not make her feel better.

There was one time that she fell down the back-steps, and cut her leg. She blamed Dad. She glared at him because he was the one who had put the large flat stone at the bottom step.

Frank and I weren't allowed to make any slight noise playing in the house because it bothered Granny. Mother spent her days keeping us away from bothering Grandmother.

In Ottawa there were many events and ceremonies. We attended to many parades and celebrations.

I remember standing by the road when there was a military funeral. There was a flag draped on the soldier's coffin, and drawn on a gun carriage by his black horse and boots turned upside down beside the empty saddle.

We always attended the Armistice Day celebration at the Cenotaph. I was very

impressed by the soldier, the sailor, the airman and the nurse who stood beside the four corners of the memorial.

We went to Parliament Hill when the Peace Tower was being built and we played on the grass around the huge bells that were on display there.

We rode on the train across the river to go to Aylmer Park, and to Luna Park in Quebec.

In summer time we traveled on open street-cars to Rockliffe Park. We walked to the Orangeman's Day celebrations at Lansdowne Park. We bought ice cream cones and Mother's admonition was to not tell Grandmother.

We went swimming to Hog's Back and watched Eddy climb up on the high tower and dived into the river.

We prowled through the Bytown Market on Saturday's morning. We guessed the number of pennies on the Anniversary Cake in the window of Freeman Department's store. If we got home a bit later than expected, we met Grandmother at the door and she scolded Mother angrily. She must have been very insecure and totally depended on Mother's presence.

** * ** * * * *

Father often took Frank and me with him to the Experimental Farm. While he was working we were roaming the barns and rolling down the grassy hills. He had joined the Ottawa Gun Club and often we went with him to watch him shooting at clay pigeons. He often won games.

On Sunday mornings we visited Mabel Sullivan, a cousin, for a short time and then went over to Brownlee's dog kennels. Dad advised Mr. Brownlee for the health of his dogs, and often went hunting with him during the Autumn months. He gave us a puppy, an Irish setter, which we named "Patsy".

At some time in the Twenties Father bought a car. It was probably shortly after he borrowed Dr. Watson's Model Ford to take us to see Tailmire relatives in Iroquois, about fifty miles south of Ottawa on the Saint Lawrence River.

Late in the day we were coming home, and ran out of gas. Of course in that time there was no such thing as a gas station. My mother was sure that we were doomed, when Frank and Father disappeared up the road in search of a farm where he could borrow, or buy some of gas. When they came back with the can of gasoline there was much pouring and fussing and cranking until we finally resumed our journey. Mother knew that we would be late getting home and Grandmother would be frantic.

*********

Dad's purchase was a big, heavy, Dodge touring car with wide running-boards and blue leather seats. It was open but no glass windows. It was only isinglass curtains-- a translucent form of gelatin. The car was only used in the summer.

In the winter it was put up on blocks in the garage. The battery was removed from the car and placed in an unheated part of the back-kitchen. We were warned not to go near it for fear of getting a shock.

The streets were plowed with horse-drawn plows. Most people stored their cars. The milkman and the bread man changed their wagons for sleighs to deliver in the wintertime. The treat on Saturday was to go around the neighborhood riding with them on their sleighs

***********

Father never used the car to go to the Laboratory, where he worked, across the river to Hull, Quebec. He used the streetcars.

Father was never a relaxed driver and Mother was a tense passenger. There was no fooling around in the back seat when Frank and I were passengers. Dad yearned for his "black team" whom he could control so much better than a car. My mother was always quite certain some calamity would befall us.

The car was used for family expeditions. We went swimming at Britannia Beach or to Palm Beach. Usually to Palm Beach because it was less crowded. Dad taught Frank and me to swim. Mother was very afraid of the water, having never even gone wading, but she supervised from the beach. My grandmother came once to see what we were up to. She sat in the car, dressed in her usual Queen Victoria, and held Mary. I remember being embarrassed by her clothing. None of my friends' grandmothers wore a black cape and a bonnet at the beach.

* ** * ** * * * *

Some episodes in the car stand out in my memory. One time a bee flew into the car and mother, who was sitting in the back seat behind Father, screamed and flung her arms around his neck. We nearly ran into the ditch. Father bellowed, "Hell, woman, do you want to kill us all!"

Once on the way home from the beach we got caught in one of those terrifying Ottawa thunder storms. Dad and Frank got out on the road and put on the icing glass curtains on the car.

In between lightning and thunder Mother moaned and prayed. The wind lashed us and blew trees down. Frank shivered and curled on the seat with a rug over his head, and pounded me because I wanted to see what was happening.

Another event was the day in 1928 when Lindbergh came to Ottawa in his plane. We drove out to the landing field which was named that day, Lindbergh Airport.. Now it is Ottawa International Airport, but then it was just a level field with cars parked all around the perimeter.

We were getting out of the car, when Mary, two years old, had to do Number One. Mother took her back to the car. She whipped the rug up from floor in the backseat where there was a convenient knot-hole. Mary squatted.

Father happened to look back at the car and shouted, "What in Hell! The car is leaking!" He was reassured. Then Mary put her hand in the car doorway, and Frank slammed the door on her fingers. Such a heavy door and much howling!

We did not see Lindbergh. One of his friends was his escort plane, and it crashed when landing. Lindbergh left the field.

We walked across the field to see his plane, "The Spirit of Saint Louis". Eddy got into the plane, and sat in the pilot's seat!

Lindbergh was one of the first American flying heroes. Everyone went around singing his song: "Lucky Lindy, up in the sky; Lucky Lindy flying so high!"

**********

Grandmother maintained her dominant role in the family. Father always spoke to her first when he returned from work, and if he forgot to do so, an icy pall hung over the supper table.

I remember one mealtime when a tack was found in the loaf of bread. Grandmother glared at father as if he had put it in there. Father had great patience with Grandmother and both he and Mother ignored many problems.

"Peace at any price" was often quoted.

Grandmother spent a lot of time in her room. Once in a while Frank and I were allowed to look in her trunk, with her supervision, of course. She kept her trunk under the bed.

The contents were mostly religious mementoes: medals, prayers on cards yellowed with age, spare rosaries, candles, linens and the Crucifix necessary for Sick Calls, and letters from Ireland.We were fascinated watching her unwound the bandages from her old legs, and put zinc ointment on her ulcerated ankle.

**********

In Lent we gathered every evening in her room to say the Rosary and The Thirty Day's Prayer, and the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, and whatever extra prayers that came to mind. Grandmother sat, but Father and Mother, Vincent, Eddy, Frank and I knelt on the floor with chairs overturned to become a predieu. We could put our clasped hands on the seats, but were not allowed to slouch. Mary was the only exception. She was allowed to play quietly, or to sleep on grandmother's lap.

**********

One time,  my brother Vincent purchased a Crystal Radio set and we gathered in Grandma's room late one evening. We took turns with the earphones to listen to the squeaks, and the squawks, and only occasionally a voice. I think we were supposed to be listening music from Chicago radio.

Grandmother wouldn't trust 'newfangled' things. She wouldn't answer the phone. Often when we came home from one of our excursions, she would glare at us and at the phone, too. She would say, "That thing has been ringing off the wall!"

Mother became friends with Esther Sims, a neighbor who lived two doors away from us on Thornton Avenue. Mother and Esther had a friendship that lasted throughout Mother's lifetime. She was much younger than Mother but her daughter, Joan, was the same age as Mary.

Esther had come from Ireland as Governess to two boys in a wealthy Ottawa family, so she and Mother had common careers. Mother was a Governess, too.

Walter Sims, her husband, was a lumber salesman, and a stock investor. He spent much time away from home. When he was away, Mrs. Sims and Joan came with us on our evening drives. Mary and Joan were constant playmates. Esther was sprite Irish, full of energy and laughter.

When Mr. Sims was away, I was a shadow of Mrs. Sims. She had great patience with me. She had time to listen to my dreams, and she thought my poems were great. I thought she was wonderful.

She had beautiful tablecloths, and fine plates of china, and silver knives and forks. We had oilcloth tablecloths and hodgepodge of table settings. Mrs. Sims had time, with only one child, whereas Mother couldn't. She was caring a family of eight. Sometimes on Saturdays, Joan McElroy, a friend who lived nearby, and I were allowed to take Joan and Mary for a walk. At that time there was no such baby-sittings that would be paid. It was a privilege to push them in their wicker carriages to the Bank Street park, and to let them roll, laughing and screaming, down the grassy inclines. On rare occasions we were permitted to take them to the playground on swings and let them watching us where we played Jacks.

I had sewing lessons when I was going to school in Gloucester Covent. I was allowed to embroider a bedspread for Mary's crib. I remember the pattern well. It had rabbits walking up a path to a cottage. I was given the special privilege because no girls in my class had a baby sister.

** ** * * * * **

Frank and I teased Mary at every opportunity. Once we frightened her with Golliwog doll until she had hiccups and near hysterics. We disappeared when Mother came, and the Golliwog was gone forever.

I wasn't too happy with Mary in the Halloween night when I had finally got my father's permission to go "treat or tricking". I was dressed as a ghost in a white sheet. I was about to leave when Mary howled, wanting to accompany me. I stayed home.

Mary got lost one terrible evening and I remember Frank wildly scouring the neighborhood until he located Mary several houses away at the neighbor's back yard, trying to catch the cat.

Mother came with us to visit Dr. Watson, at his home in Hull, Quebec. It was a beautiful estate owned by government at the Pathological Laboratory.

In the Laboratory there were white rats in cages. In the house there were fur rugs on the floor in front of the big fireplace.

On the lawn Frank and I amused ourselves by riding the Great Danes, as if they were

ponies.

Dr. Watson and his housekeeper companion, Mme. Graeff, frequently traveled to Europe and brought lovely gifts to Frank and me. Once it was a wax doll in peasant clothes from France for me, and a fur hat from Lapland for Frank.

* ** * ** * * * *

My brother, Eddy was constantly working for Frank and me. He made kites for Frank and me; he skated with us; he helped Mother making harness for the dog out of Father's old suspenders. Patsy, the setter could pull us on the sleigh. Patsy was a bird dog. When sparrows flew by us, Patsy jumped and dumped us.

I remember watching in awe when Eddy dived off the high tower at the Hogs Back Lake I remember trips with him on the streetcars with him and in a little rowboat crossing Rideau Canal. It was a shortcut to Ottawa East, to get Mass Cards at the Monastery for Mother. I remember him sitting with Mother at the dining-room table when she helped him with his homework. Ed was always good at compositions. I remember both working on an essay on Ireland. He won the prize for the oral--a silver Celtic Cross.

Eddy had a lovely voice, alto. He was a star in the church choir, also in the Ottawa Boys

Choir.

He entertained Frank and me for shows with his Magic Lantern. The backstairs was the theatre until one show went up in flames when he put a celluloid picture in the machine that was lighted by a candle. Grandmother threw a pail up the stairs onto Eddy. He escaped the fire with singed eyebrows and it was the last time of his picture show.

* ** * *** ** *

I only have sporadic memories of brother, Vincent. When he came home from being a boarder in Edmonton, he and Eddy attended the University of Ottawa in the High School. Then Vincent decided to become a priest. Dad outfitted him for the Holy Cross College, the seminary for the Holy Cross Fathers, in Dunkirk, New York State.

I don't think that he lasted there very long. When he came back Mother told me that Vincent's eyes has poor sight, which prevented him from continuing with his studies. Later I learned that there had been a few incidents of missing Mass wine. Mother worried about Vincent and was defensive of him.

He went to work in a bank and concentrated on his social life. He became champion of the Glebe Tennis Club. He had many pretty girls friends, with bobbed hair, short skirts and high heels.

"Flappers!" my father would grunt.

Vincent played "Bye Bye Blackbird" on the Victrola until Father would roar "Turn that damn thing off”.

I remember sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace while Vincent stood, his arm draped casually on the mantelpiece, and recited, "The Cremation of Sam McGee. I was the rapt audience of one.

The he was gone again. This time to Detroit, Michigan, where many young Ottawa ones went to seek their fortune in Automobile Land. That was in 1927.

He visited me once when I was a boarder at the convent, when the family had moved to Morrisburg in 1930. He terrified me by putting his feet up on the small highly polished table in the parlor where we were sitting. If he had been sighted by a passing nun, I would have been in serious trouble. Vincent was always full of fun and devilment.

Father was involved in the affairs of Bayswater Council of the Knights of Columbus with his friend, Canon Fitzgerald. He was also active for Father O'Gorman in organizations of our parish, Blessed Sacrament.

Dad would often come home from work, have supper, shave, change his clothing and go out for an evening to play cards at the Knights.

He often coaxed Mother to attend events and parties with him, but she would not go. I remember him asking her to wear her diamond ring, but she never did. There was one time that all the family went to see the play in Galvin theatre-- "Abies' Irish Rose"-- on Saint Patrick Day.

Mother rarely visited anyone. Occasionally she spent an afternoon with Aunt Josie (Tallmire) Smith in Ottawa East with Frank and me in tow. We also visited to Uncle Will Tallmire and Aunt Eileen.

Father's colleagues were often at the house: Dr and Mrs. Mitchell and their daughters, Pauline and Isobel; Dr. and Mrs. Hall and the daughter Bernice; the Dr. Cameron's family; Dr. Watson and Madame Graeff with his children, Rosemarie and Manfred. There were many drop-in-visitors from the West.

One time Father brought two strangers home with him. He had been sent to England on government business and on the return voyage he met Winnie Smith and her young brother Bernard. They were traveling via Canada to live in the United States. They ran into difficulties at Immigration, so Dad brought them home to stay with us until their problems were solved.

Bernard was a very proper English boy, about Frank's age, and we had a great time teasing him. Mother was cordial, but reserved, with the English visitors, Grandmother was cool.

Father sold the house on Third Avenue, and we moved to a rented double-house, still on the Third Street, across Bank Street nearer to the Driveway-- #74. It was a three-storey house with a second floor balcony and an attic where Frank and I had a playroom. Our favorite game was saying Mass in a mumbled imitation of Latin, at a little altar with tiny brass flower vases and candlesticks.

I have one memory of Vincent at this house. We were sitting on the Second Floor balcony one evening when there was an earthquake strong enough to have the balcony shudder and move slightly away from the brick wall.

Vincent was "baby sitting" for one of Father's friends who lived nearby. He appeared at the door, panting and wild-eyed with fright. Father exploded at his lack of responsibility and ran him back to his charges.

Mr. Quinn, the landlord, was cranky and the landlady was curious!. There was no backyard, and very little private, so we moved to Thornton Avenue, to a single dwelling. The first day of May was the usual moving-day in Ottawa.

*** ** * ** * *

The Thornton Avenue house had three stories and the second floor had a balcony. It had a side verandah that swept around to the back of the house. There were flower beds of geraniums at the side door. The tree in the front yard was Frank's favorite perch. He had his cap gun and was happy to hide there and to scare unsuspecting passers with his "Bang! Bang!"

Only the first and second floors of the house were heated. In the summer Eddy and Frank were in the big front room on Third Floor. Vincent had the back room, and I had the middle one. We moved back to the second floor during the winter. I can't remember exactly how we had the rooms. Eddy often slept in a camp bag on the second floor balcony and I slept in the porch room that opened to it. I was sleeping there on the morning when Father knelt on the floor beside me to tell me I had a sister.

*******

Mary's birth in August 1926 was a wonderful family event. For to me it was a miracle. I was ten years older and had been praying for a sister for a long time. I was tired of brothers.

My first view of Mary was of a mite in a long cream flannel coat. She had been brought from the hospital to the church to be baptized, and Frank and I were allowed to peek at her when she was being carried down the aisle.

In Lethbridge Mother had two babies who died shortly after birth, neither were baptized, so the parents were not taking any chance with Mary. She did not come home with us but was taken back to Mother in the hospital. Aunt Josie Tallmire Smith was her Godmother.

Father often took Frank and me in the car when he made his visits to see Mother and Mary at the Ottawa General. We could not go into the hospital and had to wait outside in the Dodge open touring car. We amused ourselves by hiding on the floor, and popping up to make faces at passers by.

One group happened to be three startled nuns. Oh, what shame we felt to have stuck our tongues out at NUNS!

Mother was 46 when Mary was born, and was in the hospital for quite a long time, and then stayed in bed for weeks at home, suffering from her old problem, phlebitis. Aunt Kate came to take care of us, and it must have been interesting for Father to be a buffer between his sister and his mother-in-law.

Grandmother found a new purpose in life with baby sister, Mary. She held her and rocked her endlessly. In the summer she sat outdoors beside her while Mary slept in her wicker carriage. Grandmother fanned the air to keep Mary comfortable. However, Grandmother had time to make Frank and me for quilt vests to ward off the cold in winter. We hated them. They were buttoned down the back and were thick and ugly. When Spring was coming we were allowed to divest ourselves of them.

Grandma also tucked us in bed in nights and heard our prayers. Frank liked to be coddled. I didn't. It was a fact which prompted Granny to warn Mother that I would come to no good end.

I remember our walks along Bank Street with Mother as she pushed Mary in the carriage. Frank and I checked on all the babies we passed, to reinforce what we already knew, that we had the prettiest baby in Ottawa.

Eddy dropped out of High School and was apprenticed to a plumber. Vincent was still in Detroit. I was in the High School at "Congregation de Notre Dame" -- Gloucester Convent. Frank was still in Corpus Christi school. Mother had requested them to allow him to stay

another year. Frank had told her that he couldn't understand what the teacher was putting on the blackboards.

Mother was always busy.. She did all the cooking and the laundry and the ironing, and planting the flower beds and watering them. Sometimes she was talking to the old Rag Picker. He cruised in the neighborhood on horse wagon. He even called in a singsong: "Any rags, any bones, any bottles today?" Mother always had something to sell-- a heap of old clothes, a few bottles, butter boxes--whatever. It was a time to be careful of each penny. Every late Saturday afternoon Mother and Frank and I with Mary in her carriage went to the grocery stores and the bakeries along Bank Street. That was the time that their produce prices were reduced before they closed the store.

In spite of having to be careful of pennies, Mother always had a sandwich and a cup of tea for the many tramps begging at the door. One episode was frightening. Mother fed a tramp on the side porch and when he finished his meal he was aggressed, and he tried trying to pass her and enter the kitchen. Mother, with Mary in her arms, stood blocking the doorway. Mother looked at the the man and stared in his eyes and said:

"My husband is sleeping upstairs. He is Royal Mounted policeman. Take one more step and I will call him, and it won't be well for you!" The man left.

Father was very unhappy at his work in the Laboratory. It was becoming very new. Scientists were brought from England and Germany. He applied for some of the new jobs when they were advertised, but he didn't get them.

He did the experimental surgery at the Experimental Farm, and was consultant always when there were problems in the horses. He was sent to England by his Department to the farmers to teach surgery. Even though he did all that, he did not have the paper credentials to compete with the young "qualified" scientists.

I heard Father complain to Mother that he was sick and tired of washing bottles.

He applied for a transfer to return to Field Districts.

In Spring of 1930 he became in charge of a South Ontario district with the Headquarters in the town of Morrisburg,

EPILOGUE Ottawa, --1920-1930.

I have a blurred memory of the train and the rattling noise of its wheels on our way to Ottawa.

The eastward journey of several days and nights must have seemed endless to Mother and Father, although I never heard any discussions of problems and complaints.

My Grandmother travelled like Queen Victoria-- unimpressed. Grandmother would look like Queen Victoria because her clothing was not changed over the years. Her wardrobe consisted of ankle length black skirt and black long-sleeved and pin-tucked bodices. She wore black sateen aprons. For the outdoors she added along, black cloak. She covered her beautiful, wavy, silver-white hair with a black "widow bonnet" (Queen Victoria, again) tied under her chin with wide silk ribbons. Grandmother was in her Seventies.

Brother Eddy was rambunctious twelve years old. I was four; Frank, almost three. We were quite an expedition.

One clear memory of the train remains with me. When we passed over a high bridge near Lakehead we saw a soar of flight of seagulls. Father convinced Frank that the gulls needed his beloved baby bottle for their young birds. He tossed it off the bridge to the birds. Frank and I believed him so Frank was finally off the bottle.

We stayed overnight in Toronto at King Edward Hotel. Mother took us to Eaton’s to the toy department. It was an awesome experience. Mother was as excited as we were.

Eddy raced through the hall at the Hotel, and collided with a waiter, and knocked over a trolley laden with glassware.

T was happy to walk on red carpets on the stairs, under a huge crystal chandelier.

* ** * * * * ** * *

In Ottawa we moved into a house on St. Francis Street in Flintenburg area. I have no memory of the house but I do remember the Monastery and a chapel with a grotto in it. Mother took me over there. The house was rental and according to Father's colleagues it was not in an acceptable area.

Father bought a house in a new area, known as The Glebe. 157 Third Avenue. It was in a "good neighborhood, close to church and schools", on the edge of the city, with open fields beyond the corner.

We lived there for a while. I started to school from that house, so did Frank. The school was kitty-corner from the house, so close that Frank, who was very shy, could run home when he had to go to the bathroom. Probably he had another reason-- to make sure that Mother was there.

************

One day Dad went downtown and bought Mother some new clothes. There was a beautiful taupe wool coat with batwing sleeves and a sheared beaver collar and cuffs. Her hat was matching in fir felt and a wide brim with a curled ostrich feather laid flat on the brim. He bought her new a pair of shoes. Mother always had to wear high-laced shoes because her legs were always swollen. Dad had a raccoon fur coat, with a big collar and deep pockets—high style in the Twenties.

One day when Dad came home he told me to put my hand in his pocket. I got a kitten! When "Kitty" became a grown cat , he always followed us on Sunday to the church. He climbed a tree and sat on a branch during the service, and then walked home with us. Kitty disappeared one day and I was afraid that the nearby Methodists had trapped her in their church basement.

In winter Mother pushed a chair ahead of her on the ice. Frank and I had double-runners on and hanging onto her hands. In that way she taught us how to skate on the rink that Dad made for us in the back- yard.

We often went tobogganing at the Experimental Farm. One time Dad coaxed Mother to sit on the toboggan—she usually stood watching us. He assuredly her that it would be a slow ride, then he gave her a mighty push that sent her screaming down the hill.

One day Mother took us to Echo Drive to the high built-up toboggan slide. Only once. I remember her strident prayers as Frank and I disappeared down the steep icy incline onto the Rideau Canal below.

** ** * * * * * * * * *

My Grandmother wasn't any happier in Ottawa than she had been in the West. No matter how Dad tried to make her happy he could not make her feel better.

There was one time that she fell down the back-steps, and cut her leg. She blamed Dad. She glared at him because he was the one who had put the large flat stone at the bottom step.

Frank and I weren't allowed to make any slight noise playing in the house because it bothered Granny. Mother spent her days keeping us away from bothering Grandmother.

In Ottawa there were many events and ceremonies. We attended to many parades and celebrations.

I remember standing by the road when there was a military funeral. There was a flag draped on the soldier's coffin, and drawn on a gun carriage by his black horse and boots turned upside down beside the empty saddle.

We always attended the Armistice Day celebration at the Cenotaph. I was very

impressed by the soldier, the sailor, the airman and the nurse who stood beside the four corners of the memorial.

We went to Parliament Hill when the Peace Tower was being built and we played on the grass around the huge bells that were on display there.

We rode on the train across the river to go to Aylmer Park, and to Luna Park in Quebec.

In summer time we traveled on open street-cars to Rockliffe Park. We walked to the Orangeman's Day celebrations at Lansdowne Park. We bought ice cream cones and Mother's admonition was to not tell Grandmother.

We went swimming to Hog's Back and watched Eddy climb up on the high tower and dived into the river.

We prowled through the Bytown Market on Saturday's morning. We guessed the number of pennies on the Anniversary Cake in the window of Freeman Department's store. If we got home a bit later than expected, we met Grandmother at the door and she scolded Mother angrily. She must have been very insecure and totally depended on Mother's presence.

** * ** * * * *

Father often took Frank and me with him to the Experimental Farm. While he was working we were roaming the barns and rolling down the grassy hills. He had joined the Ottawa Gun Club and often we went with him to watch him shooting at clay pigeons. He often won games.

On Sunday mornings we visited Mabel Sullivan, a cousin, for a short time and then went over to Brownlee's dog kennels. Dad advised Mr. Brownlee for the health of his dogs, and often went hunting with him during the Autumn months. He gave us a puppy, an Irish setter, which we named "Patsy".

At some time in the Twenties Father bought a car. It was probably shortly after he borrowed Dr. Watson's Model Ford to take us to see Tailmire relatives in Iroquois, about fifty miles south of Ottawa on the Saint Lawrence River.

Late in the day we were coming home, and ran out of gas. Of course in that time there was no such thing as a gas station. My mother was sure that we were doomed, when Frank and Father disappeared up the road in search of a farm where he could borrow, or buy some of gas. When they came back with the can of gasoline there was much pouring and fussing and cranking until we finally resumed our journey. Mother knew that we would be late getting home and Grandmother would be frantic.

*********

Dad's purchase was a big, heavy, Dodge touring car with wide running-boards and blue leather seats. It was open but no glass windows. It was only isinglass curtains-- a translucent form of gelatin. The car was only used in the summer.

In the winter it was put up on blocks in the garage. The battery was removed from the car and placed in an unheated part of the back-kitchen. We were warned not to go near it for fear of getting a shock.

The streets were plowed with horse-drawn plows. Most people stored their cars. The milkman and the bread man changed their wagons for sleighs to deliver in the wintertime. The treat on Saturday was to go around the neighborhood riding with them on their sleighs

***********

Father never used the car to go to the Laboratory, where he worked, across the river to Hull, Quebec. He used the streetcars.

Father was never a relaxed driver and Mother was a tense passenger. There was no fooling around in the back seat when Frank and I were passengers. Dad yearned for his "black team" whom he could control so much better than a car. My mother was always quite certain some calamity would befall us.

The car was used for family expeditions. We went swimming at Britannia Beach or to Palm Beach. Usually to Palm Beach because it was less crowded. Dad taught Frank and me to swim. Mother was very afraid of the water, having never even gone wading, but she supervised from the beach. My grandmother came once to see what we were up to. She sat in the car, dressed in her usual Queen Victoria, and held Mary. I remember being embarrassed by her clothing. None of my friends' grandmothers wore a black cape and a bonnet at the beach.

* ** * ** * * * *

Some episodes in the car stand out in my memory. One time a bee flew into the car and mother, who was sitting in the back seat behind Father, screamed and flung her arms around his neck. We nearly ran into the ditch. Father bellowed, "Hell, woman, do you want to kill us all!"

Once on the way home from the beach we got caught in one of those terrifying Ottawa thunder storms. Dad and Frank got out on the road and put on the icing glass curtains on the car.

In between lightning and thunder Mother moaned and prayed. The wind lashed us and blew trees down. Frank shivered and curled on the seat with a rug over his head, and pounded me because I wanted to see what was happening.

Another event was the day in 1928 when Lindbergh came to Ottawa in his plane. We drove out to the landing field which was named that day, Lindbergh Airport.. Now it is Ottawa International Airport, but then it was just a level field with cars parked all around the perimeter.

We were getting out of the car, when Mary, two years old, had to do Number One. Mother took her back to the car. She whipped the rug up from floor in the backseat where there was a convenient knot-hole. Mary squatted.

Father happened to look back at the car and shouted, "What in Hell! The car is leaking!" He was reassured. Then Mary put her hand in the car doorway, and Frank slammed the door on her fingers. Such a heavy door and much howling!

We did not see Lindbergh. One of his friends was his escort plane, and it crashed when landing. Lindbergh left the field.

We walked across the field to see his plane, "The Spirit of Saint Louis". Eddy got into the plane, and sat in the pilot's seat!

Lindbergh was one of the first American flying heroes. Everyone went around singing his song: "Lucky Lindy, up in the sky; Lucky Lindy flying so high!"

**********

Grandmother maintained her dominant role in the family. Father always spoke to her first when he returned from work, and if he forgot to do so, an icy pall hung over the supper table.

I remember one mealtime when a tack was found in the loaf of bread. Grandmother glared at father as if he had put it in there. Father had great patience with Grandmother and both he and Mother ignored many problems.

"Peace at any price" was often quoted.

Grandmother spent a lot of time in her room. Once in a while Frank and I were allowed to look in her trunk, with her supervision, of course. She kept her trunk under the bed.

The contents were mostly religious mementoes: medals, prayers on cards yellowed with age, spare rosaries, candles, linens and the Crucifix necessary for Sick Calls, and letters from Ireland.We were fascinated watching her unwound the bandages from her old legs, and put zinc ointment on her ulcerated ankle.

**********

In Lent we gathered every evening in her room to say the Rosary and The Thirty Day's Prayer, and the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, and whatever extra prayers that came to mind. Grandmother sat, but Father and Mother, Vincent, Eddy, Frank and I knelt on the floor with chairs overturned to become a predieu. We could put our clasped hands on the seats, but were not allowed to slouch. Mary was the only exception. She was allowed to play quietly, or to sleep on grandmother's lap.

**********

One time,  my brother Vincent purchased a Crystal Radio set and we gathered in Grandma's room late one evening. We took turns with the earphones to listen to the squeaks, and the squawks, and only occasionally a voice. I think we were supposed to be listening music from Chicago radio.

Grandmother wouldn't trust 'newfangled' things. She wouldn't answer the phone. Often when we came home from one of our excursions, she would glare at us and at the phone, too. She would say, "That thing has been ringing off the wall!"

Mother became friends with Esther Sims, a neighbor who lived two doors away from us on Thornton Avenue. Mother and Esther had a friendship that lasted throughout Mother's lifetime. She was much younger than Mother but her daughter, Joan, was the same age as Mary.

Esther had come from Ireland as Governess to two boys in a wealthy Ottawa family, so she and Mother had common careers. Mother was a Governess, too.

Walter Sims, her husband, was a lumber salesman, and a stock investor. He spent much time away from home. When he was away, Mrs. Sims and Joan came with us on our evening drives. Mary and Joan were constant playmates. Esther was sprite Irish, full of energy and laughter.

When Mr. Sims was away, I was a shadow of Mrs. Sims. She had great patience with me. She had time to listen to my dreams, and she thought my poems were great. I thought she was wonderful.

She had beautiful tablecloths, and fine plates of china, and silver knives and forks. We had oilcloth tablecloths and hodgepodge of table settings. Mrs. Sims had time, with only one child, whereas Mother couldn't. She was caring a family of eight. Sometimes on Saturdays, Joan McElroy, a friend who lived nearby, and I were allowed to take Joan and Mary for a walk. At that time there was no such baby-sittings that would be paid. It was a privilege to push them in their wicker carriages to the Bank Street park, and to let them roll, laughing and screaming, down the grassy inclines. On rare occasions we were permitted to take them to the playground on swings and let them watching us where we played Jacks.

I had sewing lessons when I was going to school in Gloucester Covent. I was allowed to embroider a bedspread for Mary's crib. I remember the pattern well. It had rabbits walking up a path to a cottage. I was given the special privilege because no girls in my class had a baby sister.

** ** * * * * **

Frank and I teased Mary at every opportunity. Once we frightened her with Golliwog doll until she had hiccups and near hysterics. We disappeared when Mother came, and the Golliwog was gone forever.

I wasn't too happy with Mary in the Halloween night when I had finally got my father's permission to go "treat or tricking". I was dressed as a ghost in a white sheet. I was about to leave when Mary howled, wanting to accompany me. I stayed home.

Mary got lost one terrible evening and I remember Frank wildly scouring the neighborhood until he located Mary several houses away at the neighbour's back yard, trying to catch the cat.

Mother came with us to visit Dr. Watson, at his home in Hull, Quebec. It was a beautiful estate owned by government at the Pathological Laboratory.

In the Laboratory there were white rats in cages. In the house there were fur rugs on the floor in front of the big fireplace.

On the lawn Frank and I amused ourselves by riding the Great Danes, as if they were

ponies.

Dr. Watson and his housekeeper companion, Mme. Graeff, frequently traveled to Europe and brought lovely gifts to Frank and me. Once it was a wax doll in peasant clothes from France for me, and a fur hat from Lapland for Frank.

* ** * ** * * * *

My brother, Eddy was constantly working for Frank and me. He made kites for Frank and me; he skated with us; he helped Mother making harness for the dog out of Father's old suspenders. Patsy, the setter could pull us on the sleigh. Patsy was a bird dog. When sparrows flew by us, Patsy jumped and dumped us.

I remember watching in awe when Eddy dived off the high tower at the Hogs Back Lake I remember trips with him on the street cars with him and in a little row boat crossing Rideau Canal. It was a short cut to Ottawa East, to get Mass Cards at the Monastery for Mother. I remember him sitting with Mother at the dining-room table when she helped him with his homework. Ed was always good at compositions. I remember both working on an essay on Ireland. He won the prize for the oral--a silver Celtic Cross.

Eddy had a lovely voice, alto. He was a star in the church choir, also in the Ottawa Boys

Choir.

He entertained Frank and me for shows with his Magic Lantern. The backstairs was the theatre until one show went up in flames when he put a celluloid picture in the machine that was lighted by a candle. Grandmother threw a pail up the stairs onto Eddy. He escaped the fire with singed eyebrows and it was the last time of his picture show.

* ** * *** ** *

I only have sporadic memories of brother, Vincent. When he came home from being a boarder in Edmonton, he and Eddy attended the University of Ottawa in the High School. Then Vincent decided to become a priest. Dad outfitted him for the Holy Cross College, the seminary for the Holy Cross Fathers, in Dunkirk, New York State.

I don't think that he lasted there very long. When he came back Mother told me that Vincent's eyes has poor sight, which prevented him from continuing with his studies. Later I learned that there had been a few incidents of missing Mass wine. Mother worried about Vincent and was defensive of him.

He went to work in a bank and concentrated on his social life. He became champion of the Glebe Tennis Club. He had many pretty girls friends, with bobbed hair, short skirts and high heels.

"Flappers!" my father would grunt.

Vincent played "Bye Bye Blackbird" on the Victrola until Father would roar "Turn that damn thing off”.

I remember sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace while Vincent stood, his arm draped casually on the mantelpiece, and recited, "The Cremation of Sam McGee. I was the rapt audience of one.

The he was gone again. This time to Detroit, Michigan, where many young Ottawa ones went to seek their fortune in Automobile Land. That was in 1927.

He visited me once when I was a boarder at the convent, when the family had moved to Morrisburg in 1930. He terrified me by putting his feet up on the small highly polished table in the parlour where we were sitting. If he had been sighted by a passing nun, I would have been in serious trouble. Vincent was always full of fun and devilment.

Father was involved in the affairs of Bayswater Council of the Knights of Columbus with his friend, Canon Fitzgerald. He was also active for Father O'Gorman in organizations of our parish, Blessed Sacrament.

Dad would often come home from work, have supper, shave, change his clothing and go out for an evening to play cards at the Knights.

He often coaxed Mother to attend events and parties with him, but she would not go. I remember him asking her to wear her diamond ring, but she never did. There was one time that all the family went to see the play in Galvin theatre-- "Abies' Irish Rose"-- on Saint Patrick Day.

Mother rarely visited anyone. Occasionally she spent an afternoon with Aunt Josie (Tallmire) Smith in Ottawa East with Frank and me in tow. We also visited to Uncle Will Tallmire and Aunt Eileen.

Father's colleagues were often at the house: Dr and Mrs. Mitchell and their daughters, Pauline and Isobel; Dr. and Mrs. Hall and the daughter Bernice; the Dr. Cameron's family; Dr. Watson and Madame Graeff with his children, Rosemarie and Manfred. There were many drop-in-visitors from the West.

One time Father brought two strangers home with him. He had been sent to England on government business and on the return voyage he met Winnie Smith and her young brother Bernard. They were travelling via Canada to live in the United States. They ran into difficulties at Immigration, so Dad brought them home to stay with us until their problems were solved.

Bernard was a very proper English boy, about Frank's age, and we had a great time teasing him. Mother was cordial, but reserved, with the English visitors, Grandmother was cool.

Father sold the house on Third Avenue, and we moved to a rented double-house, still on the Third Street, across Bank Street nearer to the Driveway-- #74. It was a three-storey house with a second floor balcony and an attic where Frank and I had a playroom. Our favorite game was saying Mass in a mumbled imitation of Latin, at a little altar with tiny brass flower vases and candlesticks.

I have one memory of Vincent at this house. We were sitting on the Second Floor balcony one evening when there was an earthquake strong enough to have the balcony shudder and move slightly away from the brick wall.

Vincent was "baby sitting" for one of Father's friends who lived nearby. He appeared at the door, panting and wild-eyed with fright. Father exploded at his lack of responsibility and ran him back to his charges.

Mr. Quinn, the landlord, was cranky and the landlady was curious!. There was no backyard, and very little private, so we moved to Thornton Avenue, to a single dwelling. The first day of May was the usual moving-day in Ottawa.

*** ** * ** * *

The Thornton Avenue house had three stories and the second floor had a balcony. It had a side verandah that swept around to the back of the house. There were flower beds of geraniums at the side door. The tree in the front yard was Frank's favourite perch. He had his cap gun and was happy to hide there and to scare unsuspecting passers with his "Bang! Bang!"

Only the first and second floors of the house were heated. In the summer Eddy and Frank were in the big front room on Third Floor. Vincent had the back room, and I had the middle one. We moved back to the second floor during the winter. I can't remember exactly how we had the rooms. Eddy often slept in a camp bag on the second floor balcony and I slept in the porch room that opened to it. I was sleeping there on the morning when Father knelt on the floor beside me to tell me I had a sister.

*******

Mary's birth in August 1926 was a wonderful family event. For to me it was a miracle. I was ten years older and had been praying for a sister for a long time. I was tired of brothers.

My first view of Mary was of a mite in a long cream flannel coat. She had been brought from the hospital to the church to be baptized, and Frank and I were allowed to peek at her when she was being carried down the aisle.

In Lethbridge Mother had two babies who died shortly after birth, neither were baptized, so the parents were not taking any chance with Mary. She did not come home with us but was taken back to Mother in the hospital. Aunt Josie Tallmire Smith was her Godmother.

Father often took Frank and me in the car when he made his visits to see Mother and Mary at the Ottawa General. We could not go into the hospital and had to wait outside in the Dodge open touring car. We amused ourselves by hiding on the floor, and popping up to make faces at passers by.

One group happened to be three startled nuns. Oh, what shame we felt to have stuck our tongues out at NUNS!

Mother was 46 when Mary was born, and was in the hospital for quite a long time, and then stayed in bed for weeks at home, suffering from her old problem, phlebitis. Aunt Kate came to take care of us, and it must have been interesting for Father to be a buffer between his sister and his mother-in-law.

Grandmother found a new purpose in life with baby sister, Mary. She held her and rocked her endlessly. In the summer she sat outdoors beside her while Mary slept in her wicker carriage. Grandmother fanned the air to keep Mary comfortable. However, Grandmother had time to make Frank and me for quilt vests to ward off the cold in winter. We hated them. They were buttoned down the back and were thick and ugly. When Spring was coming we were allowed to divest ourselves of them.

Grandma also tucked us in bed in nights and heard our prayers. Frank liked to be coddled. I didn't. It was a fact which prompted Granny to warn Mother that I would come to no good end.

I remember our walks along Bank Street with Mother as she pushed Mary in the carriage. Frank and I checked on all the babies we passed, to reinforce what we already knew, that we had the prettiest baby in Ottawa.

Eddy dropped out of High School and was apprenticed to a plumber. Vincent was still in Detroit. I was in the High School at "Congregation de Notre Dame" -- Gloucester Convent. Frank was still in Corpus Christi school. Mother had requested them to allow him to stay

another year. Frank had told her that he couldn't understand what the teacher was putting on the blackboards.

Mother was always busy.. She did all the cooking and the laundry and the ironing, and planting the flower beds and watering them. Sometimes she was talking to the old Rag Picker. He cruised in the neighborhood on horse wagon. He even called in a singsong: "Any rags, any bones, any bottles today?" Mother always had something to sell-- a heap of old clothes, a few bottles, butter boxes--whatever. It was a time to be careful of each penny. Every late Saturday afternoon Mother and Frank and I with Mary in her carriage went to the grocery stores and the bakeries along Bank Street. That was the time that their produce prices were reduced before they closed the store.

In spite of having to be careful of pennies, Mother always had a sandwich and a cup of tea for the many tramps begging at the door. One episode was frightening. Mother fed a tramp on the side porch and when he finished his meal he was aggressive, and he tried trying to pass her and enter the kitchen. Mother, with Mary in her arms, stood blocking the doorway. Mother looked at the the man and stared in his eyes and said:

"My husband is sleeping upstairs. He is Royal Mounted policeman. Take one more step and I will call him, and it won't be well for you!" The man left.

Father was very unhappy at his work in the Laboratory. It was becoming very new. Scientists were brought from England and Germany. He applied for some of the new jobs when they were advertised, but he didn't get them.

He did the experimental surgery at the Experimental Farm, and was consultant always when there were problems in the horses. He was sent to England by his Department to the farmers to teach surgery. Even though he did all that, he did not have the paper credentials to compete with the young "qualified" scientists.

I heard Father complain to Mother that he was sick and tired of washing bottles.

He applied for a transfer to return to Field Districts.

In Spring of 1930 he became in charge of a South Ontario district with the Headquarters in the town of Morrisburg,

EPILOGUE —Morrisburg - 1930-1932

We were on the move again.

The family went to Morrisburg but I stayed in Ottawa as a boarder at the Convent. I was in Form and to be change it at that time I would have lost my year

.Grandmother was having difficult trouble for having to move again. She had been deteriorating slowly for some time. She had been imagining strange goings on in next door. She thought she saw old Neddy Cushing riding his bicycle in his bedroom.

She was often afraid at night. She thought she heard strangers walking in the hallway. I remember Mother, with Mary in her arms at night-time, trying to reassure Grandmother. The move from Ottawa to Morrisburg was too much for her.

She died on May 16, 1930, one month after transferring from Ottawa. She was buried in the quiet country graveyard and I was sure that her spirit would be in peace back in Ireland.

Father was happy in Morrisburg and was very busy. He was in charge of the District with several veterinarians working for him. They were inspecting dairy cattle to see if they had tuberculosis, to ensure that the milk was free of bacteria. If the test showed that the cattle had tuberculosis, they were slaughtered and the government compensated the owner.

**** ** * * * *

In summer Dad rented a cottage only a few miles west of the town, near Iroquois on the Saint Lawrence River. Mary was in a cottage for the first time. She was almost four years old. She was glad to go to the cottage when she was allowed to take her cat.

One morning the cat killed a bird, a pretty robin, one who must have been very important. A flock of the birds gathered in the trees around the cottage and filled the air with their mourning. Mother, Mary and I stood quietly in the kitchen watching them until one by one, and then in groups, the birds flew away, leaving us alone.

That summer Mother spent most of her time in the kitchen. The cottage was just a pleasant drive from Ottawa and many Dad former colleagues took advantage of the weekends. We had visitors, visitors, visitors

It was deep in Depression. Father's salary was cut, time and time again. He had resisted to invest in the stock market until just before the Crash. He had invested and lost all his Western estate profits. I remember Father paying monthly instalment for Grandmother's funeral. It was something he had never done before. He was proud that he had always debt free.

There a monthly ritual. He laid all the bills on the kitchen table and wrote the cheques for payment, and then gave Mother the "house money" for the month.

He often remarked: "Well, we're not broke, just badly bent".

**********

In September Frank went to Collegiate in Form One, and I went into the Third Form. Collegiate was different from the Convent. It was easier to talk to the teachers.

I had new friends. I became a member in the Literature Club at school and began to take part in the sports. I played in the Basketball games.

In the Fall there was Annual Sport Day and I ran and did high jumps. I won Second in the jumps, and First in the quartet race.

Frank had fun when fishing, and trapping rabbits. He wanted Mother to bake the rabbits but she wouldn't.

I went to church with the Priest's sister to help her cleaning the altar, and placing flowers on it. I often went to see the hockey games with the Priest's sister until Dad decided that I was going out too often.

Mary started school in September, 1931. She thought that she was going to Collegiate with Frank so she cried all the way with Mother to another school into Kindergarten.

Father was very busy in the office, checking the work of the veterinaries. They were inspecting the cattle, and listing the farmers who were to be compensated. Dad observed some illegal dealings going on in his district and reported them to Ottawa.

Some cattle dealers had found a fraudulent way to prefect it. They bought diseased cattle from the farmers and they charged the government larger sums of money for compensation.

When Father reported that they were stealing, and had changed the reports from the office, he was told by his Ottawa superiors that he was not to stir up "a hornet's nest".

Father refused to go along with the dishonesty. Apparently local politicians were involved and Father was transferred to Kingston, with only two weeks notice.

EPILOGUE - KINGSTON, ONTARIO - 1932-1934

Kingston was our next stop. Father was back to his birthplace, and to a lot of relatives. This was a new experience to all of us. We had always been distant from the Gallivan connection and had always been closer to the Tallmire family. Father's sister Kate, said she had never known children with so many aunts, uncles and cousins.

There were dissensions. Aunt Kate was the matriarch, so no one could ever disagree with her. Aunt Mm (Father's sister) was not tolerated in the family because she had married Tom Funnel, a Protestant, in his church.

Aunt Frank (Father's sister) had difficulties about property owned by Father. They had not been on good terms for some time.

**********

Mother intended to live in peace. She insisted that Father and his sisters mend

their fractured relationships. Mother and Father called on them, and they reconciled. Aunt Frank and Uncle Jack Harrigan often visited us. Dad and Mother went to

visit Aunt Min and Tom Funnel, but Tom was not there. Even of that Dad visited Mm. I became friends with my cousins Catherine Harrigan and Bernadette.

**********

I was very lonely leaving Morrisburg. I had made good friends there and had been involved in school affairs, in sports, in plays, and recitals. I was voted to be the President in Literary Society. I had written the school song.

In Kingston I was going into my third High School, again into a convent. It was Notre Dame, taught by the same order of Nuns who at Gloucester Street in Ottawa. I had to start all over again to make new friends and try to fit in the classes.

Eddy's job in Ottawa petered out and he came to Kingston.

Father got him a job on the lake freighters. Captain Smith who owned a ship was a friend of Father's, and he gave work to Eddy.

Eddy's job was Second Cook and he didn't like it. He said all he did was peeling the potatoes. He quit and went to North Ontario to work in the mines around Porcupine.

Father was always dealt with Aunt Kate. One of the problems happened with me. I couldn't wear shorts to play tennis because Aunt Kate would not allow Bernadette to wear shorts when playing. Aunt Kate and Aunt Frank had a bad time. Aunt Kate's daughter Bernadette, her daughter, left home (she was in love with a Protestant) and Aunt Frank took her in. The sisters were not talking to each other. Mother carefully remained on the middle line of the family and kept a fragile peace.

There were only two pluses for me in Kingston. One was that I would be going to Queen's College in the Fall, and the other was that in the summer I could play tennis in the Regis Tennis Club and make friends there.

I had a bad time adhering to the Kingston-Irish mores.

Bill Amadeo, whose father owned the corner store on our street, asked me to play tennis with him at Queen's tennis court--a rare treat. He was a medical student in the college. I accepted happily.

Bill was Italian. When I told them at home that I was going, Father became angry and said I could not go. I was about to defy him, but Mother begged me not to go, for I would make trouble in the home.I made a feeble excuse to Bill to tell him I couldn't go to tennis. I suffered shame because I felt that Bill would know why it was an excuse.

***********

Dad used to take me to see the boxing matches at Queens. He had been trained in boxing in his youth. Dad taught Frank and he became the boxing Champion at Regiopolis College.Mary contracted Scarlet Fever--a children's disease in the years before there were any antibiotics. She was very sick and had a long and difficult convalescence.

We were quarantined. Frank stayed with Aunt Frank so he could go to school, but I missed several weeks. A few days each week I went to the garden in the convent and a nun came out to help me keep up with my studies.

Father became increasingly uncomfortable in his old home town. He was always working in the office of the District, and was never out to the farms.

When he got a chance to supply for the veterinary on sick-leave in

Sault Ste. Marie, he welcomed that he would get away from Kingston. When he came home he praised the way life was in Sault Ste. Marie. He supplied in Sault several times in 1933 and 1934 and he was offered permanent transfer to be Manager of the Algoma district in Sault Ste. Marie.I lost my dreams of going to Queen College in Kingston.In September I began to attend Kingston and Brockville Business College. hated it, but there was no alternative.

Frank's next year was destined for Guelph College to study Veterinary Science. There was no way my father could finance both of us at universities. A boy needed career trained; a girl did not. She would only get married.In November 1934 we moved to Sault Ste Marie

EPILOGUE -- Sault Ste Marie, Ontario--I934 - 1941

In December of 1934 we moved to Sault Ste. Marie. It was the last move for our family; a very happy one for Father. In the Sault he could hunt and fish and curl and go to the Knights of Columbus. He became involved in church activities and developed friendship with Monsignor Crowley who was a hunter, a fisherman, and a curler. Father made many friends. He became well known and was liked by the people he worked with. He did not have to be every day in the office. He travelled to the farms in the district and worked directly with the people. Mother was relieved to be out of Kingston, when she got over her fear of travelling into the North. She had been told that the children would have to go to school in armoured cars because of the wolves. She was also told to buy the children for high-boots because they would have to wade through deep snow to get to school. Aunt Kate labelled us "the gypsies" because we had moved so often.

 Father was not prepared for retirement, neither financially nor mentally. He had worked from the age of twelve. He did not know how to sit home during every day.

He had the idea of opening a private practice, but when the time came he did not feel able to do so.

Frank had graduated as a Veterinary Doctor, but would not stay in Sault. He wanted to live in the West. He went to Edmonton, Alberta, to work for the Dominion Government Department of Health Animals. Father was promised that he would have an extension to remain working in the Sault, but it did not materialize. It was a bitter disappointment.

Dr. Michael Gallivan died on March 19, 1941, during his first year of retirement.

The Town of Castlecomer 
Where Catherine Tynan grew up.

   There were four Streets in the town of Castlecomer. Chatwick Row, Kilkenny Street which was the Main St., Barrack Street which led to the police barracks. The Square was where the doctors and the “moneyed people” lived. There were was a fountain in the middle of town for the horses to drink.

   We lived a bit out of town on the Donegal where there were four houses. My grandparents once lived right in town, but the landlord wanted to build something there so they moved to the country. My grandfather had first choice of the land and the house. It was a cottage. Some cottages had thatched roofs but ours was slate. He was angry at being moved and called the place “Van Damien’s Land”.

   When Suzanne and I visited Ireland there was no fountain. It was long gone we were told. We couldn't find the cottages on the Donegal. The river Dean was there. The Bridge over it and the convent where mother went to school was still there. It was run by the presentation nuns. Mother was monetarist there for two years, the nuns recommended her as a governess to Mme. Baroness when she went to Belgium.

 I attended school at the Presentation Convent. It was a big stone building with many rooms. When I completed the required classes I was made monetarist (which was a teaching assistant) and worked for two years. After those two years I should have gone to Kilkenny too for a year to become a full-fledged teacher but my grandfather died so I didn't have the money to continue. Through the nuns I was offered the chance to become a governess to the children of Baron and Baroness Fallon in Belgium.

    Some of my teachers were Mother Xavier a nice quiet old type, Mother De Piazzi an Italian, I think some saint or other but I don't think she was wealthy in her own right. Then there was mother Bridget, no one liked her, shew was cranky, her nose was always red.
There was Sister Ursula. I helped her doing sewing for the poor and she showed me how to use the foot machine. I thought it was much fun. Then there was Sister Mary Catherine and Sister Mary Joseph.  They were sisters with two brothers who were priests. There was a big garden at convent and they were in charge of it, and grandfather was forever trying to please them.

   The convent was a very good school fitted up in every way. There were about 16 nuns and they were very good to the poor. A girl who went to America sent them money to buy cloth to make clothes for the poor. We had to make a pattern first on paper, after measuring the poor kids that we were making them for. She also sent a big medal that was worn by the student with the highest marks. I wore it sometimes, but I was always afraid I would lose it or damage it in some way. A nun put it around my neck and took it off. We weren't allowed to touch it.

    The nuns and priests were always daughters and sons of wealthy farmers. The poor didn't have the money for the  nuns dowries, nor to send their sons to get the education they needed to be a priest. Some of the priests were Father Cody, Father Brennan, and Father Doyle, who was a lover of horses. Father Prendergast said mass at the hospital and Father Dooley was from Castlecomer, but was not a priest here. He came home for holidays and had a lovely voice. He used to come to sing at the school.

    Mike Healy my cousin was a very musical man with the band and always played at New Year's and on St. Patrick's Day. At midnight at Christmas he would go up alone on the hill over the town, and play Adeste Fidelis on his bugle. Biddy Tynan the sister of my father Joseph Tynan was a housekeeper for a very well-to-do farmer in Ardaloo.

Catherine Tynan’s Memories of Ireland 
As told to Katherine Punch 1972.

One of my cousins was Mike Healey, a musician whose father had played organ  in the church, and had a band. 

My best friend was Nora Dooley. We went through school together. Her parents were well off farmers and she was able to go to Kilkenny to continue her studies to become a teacher. 

Maggie Ring was a classmate and a friend. Lawrence Hetherington was a friend. Judy Tearnes had a small store.

The Hetherington’s were friends and also the Bergins and the Rings. I corresponded with Kathleen Bergin for many years after I left Ireland. 

My Mother worked for the Rings. Kept house, and was timekeeper for the men who worked for him. They took produce and coal in two wagons throughout the county. 

   My sister Mary left school and went to America before I left home .

   My brother Joe went when he was very young to become a Brother with the “White Father’s Missionaries” in America. They came to the school to recruit young boys. He died in Texas. He was only 11 years old when he arrived in the United States with the brothers on the Lucania on August 28th 1898 at Ellis Island.

BELGIUM Chateau d'Arbre, 1900- 1902

I was never on a train until the day I left Ireland. The only time I had ever seen one was when I walked the tow path beside the stony Kilkenny road, and looked through the trees to watch the Express rattle its way to Dublin. Nor had I been out of Castlecomer other than the occasional trip to Kilkenny city, nine miles away. It was a trip that seemed then as far away as San Francisco is now.

It was cold and bleak that February day when I took the side-car out the Bally Ragget road, with the poor old horse weaving his way up the hills. The side-car was very uncomfortable.

You had to just hang onto it with nothing to keep you sticking to it, and nothing to keep the wind from cutting through you. It took two hours to get to the station.

I was dressed in long grey serge dress-- heavy Irish serge— a sac coat and a black sailor hat with a small prim veil. I was supposed to be twenty-one and was trying to make my nineteen years into that.

Through the nuns the word had come that I was to go to Anvers, Belgium. No one not even our geography teacher, Mother Mary Ann, knew where it was. She sent me to the Postmaster who was supposed to know everything. He looked on all his maps and could find no record of it.

Well, I had to go anyway.

When I got to Dublin I took a cab to visit a girl from Comer, Brigid Hyland, a bookkeeper, who lived there. Her sister, Katie Hyland, was a classmate and friend of mine.

I had tea with her, and she came with me to the dock at Kingstown where I took the boat to cross the Irish Sea to Harwich, England.

The trip from Kingstown to Harwich was beautiful. The Irish Sea was supposed to be a terrible rough trip, but it was so calm that you wouldn't know you were on a ship. The rest of the trip was a little on the rough side. It was February and not many people were traveling.

We landed on the docks at Antwerp. It was the Anvers we couldn't find on the maps at home. It was the French spelling.

There were many people walking around in their peasant dress with their clacking sabots. Inside the station there were men at desks waiting to translate into whatever language you needed, so it was easy to get information.

My next stop was Lustin, where Madame Paul Wery, the daughter-in-law of the Baronne Fallon, met me. It was her children I was to take care of. I wore a little red hankie in the pocket of my dress and that was the way she knew me.

The Madame didn't look any older than myself, but she had her coachman and her footman and a carriage. I only had my forty bags with all the things my mother had fortified me with to live in a foreign land.

She tried to be very friendly and talked all the time we travelled. The Namur road was cut through rock. I could hardly see the sky. When the rock let up for a bit, there was nothing but dark woods. I would look out and say to myself, where am I going? I was scared stiff. I didn't think we would arrive anywhere. But we did.

There was a big iron gate and an approach lined with dark, ivy-covered houses. There were carriage houses, horse stalls, a laundry and a vegetable house, and a huge place with fifteen steps going up to it, like when going into a cathedral but I thought for sure I was going into the Tower of London. It was the Chateau d'Arbre.

The footman took my bags, and I was settled into a nice little bedroom. When the door closed I cried myself sick, thinking-- well, here I am now.

My French was what I had learned at school, and none of the servants spoke English. There was a cook and a scullery^, maid, a personal maid and a laundry maid, a coachman and footman, a gardener and his wife, and a butler-- Camille-- a little black thing with hair standing straight up.

At first I got what I wanted by writing it in French, but the language came very quickly to

me. There were three children in the family.

    Paul and Pierre were aged seven and nine. Paul was called Coqcoq and Pierre was Pepete. They were the ones I was to teach. Felicy was much older, around fifteen. She went to a private school, I did not teach her. The children had a tutor. I was there to help them with French and English, to have conversation with them and to take care of them.

I couldn't believe the books the boys had, and the toys. We never had toys in Ireland. I played with them harder than the boys did.

We spent a lot of time out of doors. We often went out walking, and driving in the pony cart, and just to play. When we walked it was around the lake or through the walnut grove to the top of the hill. Then we would roll down to see who would get to the bottom first. I often wondered what the old Baronne, with her prim ways, thought of me.

The son, Paul Wery, and his family lived at the Chateau belonging to his parents, while their own home was being built. They had one whole side of the Château.

The Château was a big place. It had about twenty-four rooms. I was amazed at the size of everything. It was like a castle. There were lovely gardens and a lake with swans swimming in it, and a walk all around.

The kitchen had a huge wood stove and the walls were lined with pewter pots and pans. The Salon was at the center of the Château. There was a winding staircase lit with chandeliers. The Salon could be cut in two and opened out to the garden in the summertime. The Baronne had her own chapel where Mass was said every day.

In the summer there was a chapel outdoors. There were priests all over the place. There were many processions of the Blessed Sacrament. Benediction was always said in one of the cottages and all of the peasants sang the Tantum Ergo.

Madame Wery was a plain little woman, very nice. She had spent most of her life in a convent until she got married. There was not really good feeling between the Baronne and her daughter-in-law, although it was a happy home. I didn't like the Baronne. She was very businesslike, she ran the place. They had lovely gardens and orchards. There were beehives and lots of bees in the back fields. There was much property with cottages and many men working the land. The old Baron had a place, a laboratory of some kind, two or three roads down in the village. He went there every day.

The young Baron was skinny and miserable looking. He went out with his gun on his shoulder with his dogs to hunt. He wasn't around very much in the daytime. Hunting was all he cared about.

In the evenings he and the young Madame often went to the other Chateaux to balls in Profondville, or to the village of D’Arbre.

The Madame had many lovely dresses. One was of lace-- Irish Carrickmacross lace, so beautiful. I was surprised at her shoes. She must have had thirty-five pairs of them. I had one pair.

I always ate with the family. The first time I drank coffee I drank too much of it. I thought it was wonderful, but I got very sick and they had to send for the doctor. I never drank it again.

I had my first toothache. I went to the country doctor about four o'clock in the morning. He nearly pulled half of my jaw out, and when I came back I just sat in the summer house. I don't know what was in me, no fear, and I wanted help from no one.

In the winter the feast of St. Nicholas was celebrated. The cook baked big gingerbread men and animals. There was a tree for the children of the village. The Baron dressed like a Santa Claus and all the poor children and the tenants came to the Château about eight o'clock in the evening. Felicity, the daughter, played the piano and all the children sang hymns. When Santa Claus came in, he greeted everyone, and then gave out the gifts. There were little dresses and shoes, some toys, and candies, too. Pierre and Paul got some gifts there amongst the other children.

After the new house was built we moved to it-- the Chateau Bourinot. It was a nice enough place, but it was not near the village, and I had to walk a long way to go to Mass.

After a while there was nothing new. The same people, the same walks, and I decided that I wanted to see something different. I had been there about a year and three or four months and I didn't want to stay for a lifetime.

I saw an ad for an English governess in the paper and sneaky of me I wrote a letter and she told me she would like to meet me.

So then I went to work with the children of Monsieur and Madame Jan de Kuyper, in Rotterdam, Holland.

First I went home to Ireland to see mother, and stayed three weeks. That was long enough. Everything was changed there.