The Lansdowne Letters: Changes

That northern time, when my father wrote his Lansdowne Letters,
can feel as close as a breath I took a moment ago;
and then, suddenly, an ordinary sentence or two of my father's
can slam me with the weight of a half century of change.
  

Winter Night, Northwestern Ontario

Flickr:  Jeremiah John McBride   License

On Thursday, January 19, 1961
My father wrote to his extended family:

Hi There:
I can never seem to get a good edition off on Thursday,
because I usually have so much official correspondence
to do that night.  This Thursday is no exception.  

However, I think that this week’s output is quite respectable
considering the curse and everything.  
It's not every editor that works with such a handicap, is it?

I’ll have to beg off tonight though,
because I am swamped with correspondence.  
If I had my own typewriter,
I might be able to write more, because I could
bang out my correspondence on the typewriter.
I can really rattle along on one now.  

However Uno wants to write one short letter on the machine,
so that means that it will be occupied for the rest of the evening.

I don’t see why he doesn’t write his official correspondence by hand.
It wouldn’t take him nearly so long, and they would look a whole lot neater,
considering the amount of mistakes he makes.
Either this, or allow me to type his official correspondence for him.

I type a lot for Mike and even compose his letters for him.
He just gives me a general idea of what he wants to say and sets me loose.

Well Uno is beginning to pace the floor, so I better sign off.
Bye now, till next week.

Love, Don.

Winter Night, Hudson Bay Lowlands 

Flickr:  Emmanuel Milou   License

I type a lot for Mike ... 
Mike was the only nurse in remote Lansdowne House,
and he provided basic medical services for people in the community.
Today it's hard for me to imagine that my father often went
to the nursing station and typed medical letters and records for Mike.

Just this morning I went  to my doctor's office for an appointment. 
I had to sign in on a sticker on a clipboard when I arrived.
That sticker was removed before another arriving patient could see it.
I usually take my medical privacy for granted
and forget how different things were even a few years ago. 

Here was my father typing medical information 
about people he knew in that tiny place.
That's how my father discovered the medical record
of the Indian woman possessed of a Wintigo,
whose tragic story I shared in a recent post. 

Those remote nursing stations scattered across the North
may have operated with a rough-and-tumble casualness,
but they were no laughing matter.

Life was precarious in the far-flung First Nations villages,
and the presence of a nurse could mean life rather than death.

My Father Collecting Water Samples in the Bush

as He Works with Lansdowne House's Nurse

Photo by Mike O'Flaherty

© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

All Rights Reserved

Just two days ago,
I found a sadly prescient letter of Father Ouimet's,
as I browsed through piles and piles of old papers.
He wrote to my parents in his terse English 
of the nursing station and community 
on December 18, 1982: 

"We lost our Nursing Station -
Government cutting on expenses.
The nurses moved to Fort Hope - 
but they keep a clinic over here -
coming every 2 weeks for 3 days.

"School still going - lots of kids in town.  
A few accidents - 
a girl 21 years old committed suicide 
(Tim W.'s daughter called Lynn).

"Another young fellow was drunk. 
Made too much fire - 
Burnt his home and himself on September 21/82.
He was 29 - Joe S.  Married with a wife and two young kids..."

The Best of Friends:  Father Ouimet with My Father

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

All Rights Reserved

Now Lansdowne House has the Rachael Bessie Sakanee Memorial Health Center.
It coordinates health care services through the community's newest nursing station, 
and it provides a variety of physical and mental health services,
including access to specialized medical care via videoconferencing.

From a single nurse with a shortwave radio 
to a nursing station and modern health center with videoconferencing, 
health care has dramatically changed in fifty years.

But all that change doesn't much matter
when someone commits suicide
or has a senseless, alcohol-fueled accident.  

There is still a long way to go to resolve
the complex health issues in the Canadian North.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue



On the Shore of the Annapolis Basin
Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia, Canada
July 24, 2016
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Notes:
1.  "Considering the curse and everything"
      My father was cursed by the grandmother of one of his Indian students:  TLL: Cursed.   

2.  "possessed of a wintigo"
     My father wrote of a mentally-deranged woman who lived and died tragically:  TLL: Cursed.

3.  Rachael Bessie Sakanee Memorial Health Center:  
     Services  


For Map Lovers Like Me:

Location of Lansdowne House

Known Today as Neskantaga

Wikipedia