Standing Into Danger: November 2014

Friday, November 28, 2014

The Lansdowne Letters: In Isolation

When I started sharing my father’s letters,
I decided to proceed chronologically.

I skipped this letter originally
because it seemed so ordinary.
Then I returned to it for that exact reason.

Today it’s hard to imagine
waiting for a weekly bush plane
to deliver mail and news.

Mail Run

Wikimedia

Or the isolation of an Indian teacher
who could talk to an administrator
only by shortwave radio.

Or the loneliness of long nights
in the boreal forest.

Boreal Forest and Lakes.

Northern Ontario

Wikimedia

So here it is, an ordinary letter,
written by my father
on Thursday, September 23, 1960:

Hi There!
Everyone at Lansdowne is busy
reading letters, magazines, and back issues
of their hometown newspapers,
for today is MAIL DAY,
a very important day in the week
of every person in Lansdowne.

I received four lovely letters
from you, Sara,
and three others, also lovely,
from you, Mother.

There is going to be a plane
in tomorrow or Saturday,
and I have written
individual answers to each of you,
so I will be able
to send them out on that plane.

A Letter from Lansdowne House

Well, I wish you
could have seen me this afternoon
holding a singing session with my pupils.

First we sang "O Canada,"
and then we tried
"When Johnny Comes Marching Home."

Cover of Sheet Music

When Johnny Comes Marching Home, 1863

Wikimedia

I won’t vouch for
the tonal integrity of this recital,
but the enthusiasm was overwhelming,
and that is the main purpose
of the singing sessions –
to draw the Indians out,
overcome their shyness,
and encourage them
to use the English language.

After we finished murdering
"When Johnny Comes Marching Home,"
we proceeded to demolish
"Oh Dear, What Can The Matter Be,"
"K-K-K-Katy,"
and "I’ve Been Working On The Railroad."

Original 1918 Cover of K-K-K-Katy

Wikimedia

I don’t know if these songs
are on the approved list
for use among the Indian schools,
but they are the only ones
that I can sing and be sure of
being reasonably in tune.

Oh yes, I also tried them singing a round.
The one I picked was
"Row, Row, Row Your Boat."

This selection was nothing
but disorganized confusion at first,
because the children had never tried
singing rounds before,
but as soon as they got the idea,
they made a great job of singing rounds.

Have either of you
got any old song books
that you could send me,
or song sheets used by the BYPU1
or other church societies?

I don’t want hymns though,
because the Indians are Anglicans,
and the Bishop might not appreciate it
if he heard all his little charges
singing Baptist hymns.

I bought a battery-operated
transistor radio today.
It is a portable.
It cost $59.95.2

Transistor Radio

Photo by Don MacBeath, Fall of 1960

This may sound extravagant,
but a radio is almost a necessity
up here in the bush.

The nights are awfully long,
and there isn’t too much entertainment.

Bill Mitchell3 has agreed
to let me pay for it
over a period of several months.

It is a nice little radio
and gives wonderful reception.
It only has the standard broadcast band,
and no shortwave band,
but it has all the Mid-Western U.S.A.
and Canadian stations.

In fact, at night, we have more stations
than we know what to do with;
although, the morning and afternoon reception
leave a lot to be desired.

Oh yes, one beautiful feature
of this radio is that it operates
on three flashlight batteries.
This is better than paying $17.50
for a power pack.

Everyone up here
has radios similar to mine,
and they tell me that the batteries
last for several months
of rather continuous listening
before they wear out.

I can’t think of anything more
to put in today’s Edition
because I have had no more
misadventures in that damned canoe,
or anything else amusing or interesting,
so I will close till tomorrow.

Bye now,
Love,
Don

Bill Mitchell and Local Man

Hudson Bay Store,

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Don MacBeath, Fall of 1960

Notes:
1 Baptist Young Peoples Union
2 My father was making about $300/month
3 Manager, Hudson Bay Store.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue.

Monday, November 24, 2014

Oh How I Miss You Blogfest

Today I am participating in the
Oh How I Miss You Blogfest.

It is hosted by
Alex J. Cavanaugh,
Andrew Leon,
and Matthew MacNish.

To participate is simple.
List one to three bloggers you really miss.
List one to three bloggers you would really miss
if they stopped blogging.
And then go let them know!

Blogs I'm Missing:
There are two bloggers I have been missing terribly.
Both are creative, intelligent, talented, widely-read,
and passionate about the environment.

They are wonderful and dedicated mothers
who live on opposite sides of the world
and want, more than anything,
to raise happy, healthy, and well-adjusted children.
Which, of course, probably explains their absence.

National flower of Singapore
Wikimedia

The first is B&R
from Singapore,
and her blog is
Bikbik and Roro.

She was one of my
earliest followers,
and so encouraging to
this beginning blogger.

I never knew what B&R would post.
It could be a step by step record
of how she handcrafts her exquisite Blythe dolls
and other unique creations,
a moral, ethical, or religious dilemma,
thoughtful commentary on music, books, or theatre,
or the difficult challenges of parenting.

But always, B&R was honest, fresh, and authentic.
I miss her voice and window on her world truly!

The second is Audrey from North Carolina, USA,
and her blog is Life's Simple Pleasures.

Cape Hatteras National Seashore, NC
Wikimedia

When you view
Audrey's blog,
you know immediately
that she is passionate
about her family,
nature, and the outdoors,
passions she shares generously.

Audrey may focus on the simple things in life,
but she quickly makes you recognize
how profoundly important and rich they are.

While we come from very different backgrounds,
we are kindred spirits,
and I miss her every bit as much as B&R.

Blogs I Would Miss:
This is a brutal category,
because there are fabulous blogs
I read almost every day,
and I would miss each one.

So I'll go with my earliest blogging buds,
starting with my eighth grade friend, Ron,
whom I reconnected with after almost fifty years;
a friend who pushed me into the blogging world
and has been cheering me on from my very first post.

Don't be confused
if you visit Ron's blog and find
a four-footed, long-lashed,
and waggy-tailed charmer
named Sophie who races through
her Nova Scotian world
with Mr. Orangie in her mouth.

It's really my creative, funny, smart,
and thoughtful friend Ron
who shares his passion for photography, writing,
and living life fully through Miss Sophie Doodle
and her blog From Sophie's View.

Do visit, please;
but I warn you ~
you will fall in love with sweet Sophie
and Nova Scotia will steal your heart!

And the second blogger I would truly miss,
is none other than Ron's hubby Jim.
Jim's blog is Ocean Breezes,
and he posts daily with remarkable consistency.

Jim is a gifted photographer
with a keen eye
for capturing his world
in all it's moods and colors.
I never miss his Saturday Morning posts,
containing his favorite photos of the week.
They push me to be a more creative photographer,
and it's always a delight to see the world
through his curious and intelligent eyes.

And I never miss Jim's Contemplative Monday posts
that inspire his readers and soothe this restless soul.

And ~ well, let's just say, I read all of his posts!

Ron, Me, and Jim

Last Summer in Nova Scotia

The truth is, it's not so much about the blogs.
It's about the amazing people
you meet through blogging
who transcend space and time to become your friends.

Friday, November 21, 2014

The Lansdowne Letters: Lessons in Ojibway

When my father

arrived in Lansdowne House

to teach in the fall of 1960,

he began studying the Ojibway language

almost immediately.

Dad's School

Church of England Indian Day School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario

Photo by Don MacBeath, Fall of 1960

He could not have had a better teacher

than Father Maurice Ouimet.

Father Ouimet was a French Canadian priest

of the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate.

He devoted a selfless thirty-seven years

to working among the Indians of Lansdowne House.

Passionate about promoting literacy among the Indians,

Father Ouimet spent time teaching them

to write Ojibway in Syllabics.

Father Maurice Ouimet, OMI

with my father, Donald MacBeath

Fall, 1960

Syllabics is a Canadian Aboriginal writing system

that uses symbols to represent consonant sounds.

An English missionary James Evans developed Syllabics

when he worked among the Swampy Cree and Ojibwe

in Northern Ontario and Manitoba in the 1830s and 1840s.

Father Ouimet gave weekly

language lessons to my father,

mostly by writing Ojibway phonetically

using the English alphabet,

but he also taught my father

some of the Ojibway words using Syllabics.

Myntne Nouise

Myrtle Louise

 On Wednesday, September 28, 1960,

my father wrote:

I had another session with the Father

in an effort to learn some more of the Ojibway language.

I will be letting you know

what words I learned in a few moments;

but first, permit me

a short dissertation on the language.

The first thing you have to realize is

that there is no alphabet in Ojibway.

The language is written in Syllabics

which is a form of hieroglyphics,

and the words that I write to you

are just the Indian sounds

translated phonetically into English.

It is an effort by the white man

to try to fit his alphabet into a language

that has no alphabet of its own.

Another thing to remember

is that all the English sounds

aren’t present in Ojibway.

For instance there are no “r” or “l” sounds,

both sounds becoming n in Ojibway.

Consequently, the name “Roland,” when translated,

becomes Nonant, and “Roy” would be Noy.

Noyan Stewant

Royal Stewart

However, the Indians are starting to use

all the linguistic sounds of the white man.

It is only when they try to write these sounds

into Syllabics that they have trouble.

Also “b” becomes p in Syllabics,

“d” becomes t,

and “f “becomes v.

My name translated into Syllabics becomes Tonant.

Well, here are the new words:

Kisis----------------------sun

Tipiki---------------------night

Tipiki Kisis--------------moon (night sun)

Washekwon------------It is sunny.

Kimiwan-----------------It is raining, or it is rainy.

Kon-----------------------snow

Sokipon------------------It is snowing.

Kisiswaiab---------------rainbow

Waiab--------------------cord or string (You can see that the

rainbow is literally cord of the sun.)

Mino Kishegaw--------It is a very nice day (or it is a nice day).

Matchi Kishegaw------It is a very bad day (stormy).

Wakaigan----------------house

Wakaiganens-----------small or little house

Wakaiganish------------run down house, or poor house

Nabens-------------------boy

Ikuesens-----------------girl (little woman)

Ikues----------------------woman or wife

Anishinabe--------------man (single)

Nabe----------------------man (married)

Nikosis-------------------my son

Kikosis-------------------your son

Notonis-------------------my daughter

Kitonis--------------------your daughter

Your name in syllabics, Sara, would be Sana;

and yours, Mother, Myrtle that is, would be Myntne.

Nouise with Nopenta Anne

Finding Bertie and me apart is a challenge.

Louise would be Nouise.

Barbara would be Panapana.

Roberta would be Nopenta.

Roy’s full name would be Noyan Stewant.

Barbie’s full name is cute:

Panapana Enna (Barbara Ella).

Panapana Enna

Barbara Ella

Below my signature,

I am going to type two English words,

then the same two in phonetic Ojibway,

and then the same word in Syllabics.

By the way, Ojibway translated

into Syllabics

becomes Ojipway.

Bye now,

Love ,

Tonant (Don)

On Thursday, September 29, 1960,

my father added:

I didn’t forget Donnie

when I was giving you all the names in Ojibway.

It is just that I figured

that you could figure her name

from my name and yours Sara;

then I got thinking that

the poor little dear might feel slighted

if she didn’t see her name, which would be Sana Tonanta.

Sana Tonanta

Sara Donalda

We Five, Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia

Grammie's Backyard, Fall 1960

Monday, November 17, 2014

A Message in the House of Mirrors

Have you ever gone to a medium?
I did last night.

This was only the second time ever
that I have visited a medium,
although I have had
some interesting experiences
with Tarot readings,
fortune tellers
and psychic friends.

So when one of my special friends
with healing and intuitive talents
invited me to go to an event she had arranged
with a nationally known medium,
I was all in!

What can I say?
Curiosity is one of my strongest traits.

What a venue!
The House of Mirrors
on Market Street
in Denver's
LODO district.

Now, I've taken many
walking field trips
to LODO
with my third graders,
but somehow
our historical guide
never told us about
the House of Mirrors.

Source

Good thing too,
because it was once notorious
throughout the Rockies
as Denver's premier brothel.
Try explaining that to third graders!

Denver Madam Jennie Rogers
built the House of Mirrors in 1889
with money
tainted with blackmail and murder.
She successfully ran it
until she died in 1910.

Source

Jenny's rival
Mattie Silks purchased the brothel
and reigned as Denver's
Queen of the Row,
until prohibition fever in Colorado
shut down prostitution in 1916.

Wikimedia

So I walked into this upstairs room
of polished wooden floors, red bricked walls,
historical photos, floor to ceiling mirrors ~
and I had no camera! Rats!

A small group of us gathered
about pushed together, white-cloth-covered tables,
enjoyed dinner and drinks,
and settled in for a fascinating ride.

I am highly skeptical about contacting
spirits on the other side,
but there is just enough
of my Scottish father in me
to approach the event
with my nemesis, curiosity.

I have to say, I was really intrigued
by the way the medium connected with each person
and touched on important people and events in their lives.

For privacy reasons I won't say anything
about what transpired with the others,
but I will share part of my experience.

Bam!
Dead first husband, Ray,
from a difficult marriage and painful divorce ~
which I don't regret,
because there was much that was good
and it led me to the Ever-Patient.

So Ray's message was:
He didn't expect to go so young.
He was sorry for the separation
and he's claiming responsibility.
He's sorry he caused me pain.

At which point I burst out,
"He should be sorry!"
and planted my face in the tablecloth
with my arms over my ears.
(I hadn't expected that move on my part!)

His message continued:
He's really has a lot of regret and remorse.
He says that he's a lot smarter on the other side
and a lot less dumb than he was in this life.
He's sorry he caused me pain
for such a long time.
He didn't take care of my heart.
He was too narcissistic in life.
He said I was his healer
and that I needed healing.
He was lonely when he died.

The medium told me other things as well,
but this was the most fascinating.
She had immediately zeroed in on
the most painful experience of my life
and spoke words that so resonated
with my dead husband.

So, I don't know what to make
of last night's experience.

I'm highly skeptical,
but I woke up this morning
feeling much more at peace.

This from me, the woman who learned of his death,
did a dance on the floor (visualizing his grave),
and said, "Take that you bastard!"
Not my finest moment, I admit.
One I've regretted many times since.

But, real or not,
I'm grateful for the release.

So, how about you?
Had any powerful experiences with a medium
or thoughts you'd like to share?

Wikimedia

Friday, November 14, 2014

The Lansdowne Letters: The Ups and Downs of Teaching

In his Lansdowne Letters,

my father, Donald MacBeath,

often wrote of the challenges

he faced teaching Indian children.

No matter where he taught,

Dad always said that the greatest rewards of teaching

were bestowed by the children themselves.

One challenge Dad faced teaching Indian children
was overcoming their shyness.
This he attributed to
native reticence and fear of the white man.

Another was providing
a safe and suitable learning environment.

Like all teachers,
Dad had up days and down.

My Father Outside His Cottage
and Ready for School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Teaching is a tough job.

I know.

I taught for twenty-five years.

Now, when I read my father’s words,

I understand what he dealt with

so much more than I did when I was a girl.

On September 26, 1960,

my father wrote:

The time sure didn’t fly

during the last twenty-four hours

like it does sometimes.

I had a rough day today at school.

I just couldn’t seem to make any headway

with those cotton-picking Indians.

Right now, I am fed up to the gills with Indians,

but I suppose that by tomorrow

I will be over my temporary discouragement.

It frequently happened

while I was teaching white children,

that there would be days when I thought

that I just couldn’t take another day of it.

I think the main trouble today was

that seven new pupils arrived in school

and completely upset the relationship

that I was so slowly establishing

between the Indians and myself.

The Indians are so shy.

They are shy about talking to strangers

or in front of new pupils.

I just could not get a word out of them today.

They wouldn’t even sing.

I really should not say wouldn’t.

Couldn’t actually comes closer

to describing their quietness.

It’s really amazing how shy they are.

There was one little girl that I tried to talk to today

who just couldn’t get a word out to save her soul.

Oh how hard she tried!

She’d open her mouth time and time again,

but not one squeak would come out.

It was really painful to watch her efforts.

Another reason that today was so poor

was that I had to leave them alone

for about an hour this morning

while I tried to hunt up

some seats and tables for the new pupils.

As you know,

my new seats and desks haven’t arrived,

and I have been using

some old homemade ones that the Father had;

but I have used all those that are available,

and today I had to go scrounging somewhere.

My Indians in School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Photo by Don MacBeath, Fall of 1960
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Back of the Photo Notes:
Notice the girls all on one side, and the boys all on the other. This was the first day.
Since then I have them shifted about and have stopped the girls wearing kerchiefs.
See the Father's homemade desks.

I finally succeeded in borrowing

a card table and four folding chairs

from the nursing station

and a card table from the MacRaes.

That solved my seating problem temporarily.

But what do I do if more turn up tomorrow?

On the following day,
My father wrote
(with additional details from an unpublished paper):

Well, today I love my Indians again.
Today we got along just peachy.

There is this little one in,
I guess you could actually call it kindergarten,
and she is so shy.
Her name is Daisy,
and she is barely six years old.
She is as cute as a button.

Ever since school started,
I have been trying to get her to talk to me,
but with no success.
She won’t even say, “Here, Teacher”
when the roll is being called.

I always have the children answer
the roll call mornings and afternoons
just to give them practice in speaking English
as an aid to overcoming their shyness.

Daisy is a beautiful child,
in spite of her poor, hand-me-down clothes,
her shoes which are so much too large
that they are tied on with rabbit wire,
and the strong Indian odour
which seems to permeate the atmosphere
when she is near at hand.

But her shyness is so severe
that it actually renders her speechless.

That's possibly Daisy

on the left.

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Canada

Whenever it is Daisy’s turn
to answer roll call,
she stands up, smiles,
and makes all sorts of friendly overtures,
just like a young puppy
(In fact, if she had a tail,
I am sure she would wag it.),
and she opens her mouth and goes through
all the motions of saying, “Here, Teacher,”
but not a sound emerges from her mouth.

However, today she screwed up her courage
and came out with a tremulous, “Here, Teacher.”

I’m telling you
it was quite an accomplishment for both of us.
I almost felt like cheering.

Bye for now,
Love,
Don.