Standing Into Danger

Friday, July 1, 2016

The Lansdowne Letters: Difficult Times and Not Just for My Father

Don MacBeath, Circa 1950
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

When I read my father's letters
from over a half century ago,
I find it intriguing to see what
my father shared with different
members of our extended family.

When he wrote to his mother Myrtle,
he was at his most revealing.
Some of his deeper feelings
and insecurities often surface.

His mother saved most of my father's letters
that he wrote from the North,
right down to the stamped envelopes.

Many of the letters he wrote to his wife Sara are missing,
but based on those that I have, my father sheltered my mother
from some of the more difficult things he experienced.

I have mentioned in the past that my father had his demons
and that I share some of those demons.
The most difficult one we share is depression.
Depression runs unbroken through generation after generation
of my father's maternal line.

I know how I have suffered with black periods that can overwhelm me,
and I have watched my father suffer periodically throughout his life.

The more I read my father's words and understand him from an adult perspective,
the more I am in awe of how he managed to do as well as he did.
Having experienced the family curse, I read between the lines
and I find my love for my father expanding, bursting.

On Saturday, January 7, 1961
My father wrote to his mother, Myrtle MacBeath:

Dear Mother:
Well, it’s a long time since
I have felt like writing to anyone.
I have been very dispirited lately- dreadfully discouraged and lonely,
but I’m snapping out of it now,
and I think I have it licked.

A Young Myrtle Jane (Pratt) MacBeath
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Actually, I had to snap out of it or come home,
for if I had carried on in the direction in which I was heading,
I would have had a breakdown.

It is not the easiest thing in the world to be separated
from your family, and especially your wife and children.
However, I have it licked now and am again my own happy self.

It has been very cold up here lately.
For the last ten days the temperature has held
pretty steadily at about thirty below.
It has dipped lower, and one very cold night it hit fifty-one below.
When the temperature rises to about ten below and above,
we think it is quite warm here.

Winter in the Boreal Forest

Northern Ontario

Flickr ~ J.H. License

Uno went out for Christmas, and he hasn’t come back yet.
He is a week overdue now, and everyone is worrying
that perhaps he won’t be coming back.

I know he sure took off out of here like a scalded dog when he left,
and he certainly wasn’t the happiest boy in the world
for about a month before he went home.

I hope he doesn’t decide to quit though,
because it will be lonely in the shack without him.
I’ll go foolish without anyone to talk to.

Uno, Skunked at Cribbage by Brother Bernier

Kitchen, Roman Catholic Mission

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

I imagine that you will have received the latest edition
of the Lansdowne Letter before you get this,
so you will know that the part for Uno’s typewriter arrived.
I am typing this on his machine.

I will be glad however when my machine arrives,
as I have never liked using someone else’s belongings for too long.

I am glad though that I can get into practice again with any typewriter,
because I was just at that crucial stage where I was either going to become
a good typist, or I was going to slip back to my former state of typing inability.

I weighed myself yesterday, and although I am losing weight very slowly now,
I am still taking it off. I now weigh 193 pounds.
That’s 46 pounds that I have knocked off since I came up here,
and most of it off the pot.

When I started this diet, I had my sights set on 190 pounds;
but now I think I’ll try for 185 pounds,
and if I reach that successfully, I’ll try for 180 pounds.

I don’t think I’ll have any trouble holding this weight,
for I’m not exactly starving myself now,
and I’m still losing ½ to 1½ pounds a week.

I am starting to look
more like my father now,
and my height is becoming
more apparent all the time.

Actually I am becoming
a rather fine figure
of a man now.

Of course, I’d have to be
if I was to look anything
like Father.

A Very Young Donald Blair MacBeath

with his Father, Royal Stewart MacBeath

Prince Edward Island, 1926

Maureen had to take Baby Duncan out to Winnipeg for a minor operation.
Do you remember when I wrote and told you that they thought
that Duncan had the mumps?
It was a cyst on one side of his neck, just beyond the jawbone.

They removed the cyst this Thursday,
and now Maureen and Duncan Sr. are waiting rather anxiously
for the result of the analysis of the cyst.
They are worried that it might be malignant,
although the chances are against this being the case.

Poor Duncan is both lonely and worried right now,
but Maureen and the baby are expected back
next Friday on the mail plane.

I think I’ll go to the movies in the hall.
I’ll continue this when I come back.

Baby Duncan and Maureen

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Winter 1960

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

Well. I’m back from the show, and it was one
of the foolishest shows that I have ever seen.
Actually, to be grammatically correct, I should have said most foolish,
but anyway, I think you understand that it was a foolish show.
It was a combination musical and love story.
A very poor combination.

It is a real cold night tonight.
The snow squeaks underfoot when you walk,
and whenever I open the door of the shack,
great clouds of condensed warm air are formed,
when the warm air from inside mixes with the cold air from outside.

I haven’t looked at the temperature,
but I’d guess that it is at least thirty-five below
and going down steadily.
To use a reverse paraphrasing of that foolish song
that was popular last summer, “It’s thirty-five below and falling.”

I had hoped to have some pictures to send you
of Santa’s visit to my school,
and a visit I made with one of the outlying camps,
but the film didn’t come back this week.
I’ll send them to you as soon as I receive them, and
when you are through with them you can send them to Sara.

Santa's Visit on the Ice at Webequie

Major McKinney, Commanding Officer U.S.A.F. Base, Armstrong, Ontario

donated most of the gifts for the Indians at Webequie. December, 1960

Note: Woman with tikanogin on her back (middle left)

Photo by Don MacBeath (shadow)

I’ll tell you how cold it is right now.
There is a strong wind blowing, and in spite of the fact
that I have a real good fire in the shack,
the storm windows are all frosted over,
the inside windows are also heavily frosted over,
and there is frost on the window shades.

Not only that, but all the nails in the woodwork
around the windows and the doors are covered with frost.
Also the hinges and doorknob of the door are covered
with a thick layer of frost.

However, I have a good fire on, and it is quite comfortable,
as long as I keep the fire stoked up.
The temperature would drop pretty quickly though,
if the fire ever went out. I know just how cold it would be.
I’ve had it go out on me during the night and have waked up freezing
and have had to get up and light the cotton pickin thing.
It’s no fun – I can assure you.

My Father's Bed and Uno's Typewriter

in the Two-Room Shack

He Shared with Uno

Photo by Don MacBeath

Well, I guess I had better sign off now and get a few more letters written.
I have to write today’s installment of the Lansdowne Letter,
and I also have to write one to Sara.

Oh, could you send me up another typewriter ribbon, please?
You have all the particulars. The smudges you see in the two lines above
were caused by my having to turn the ribbon upside down.
I feel that I should at least buy ribbons for the typewriter,
because I do about 99% of the typing that is done on it.

I could also stand some more stamped envelopes, business size.
I keep asking everyone to send me envelopes,
because you can’t buy business-sized envelopes,
stamped or otherwise up here.

Perhaps Aunt Maude could send me some
since she is in receipt of the Lansdowne Letter too.
Mrs. MacDonald doesn’t send me stamped envelopes
because she lives in the States,
but every so often she sends Sara some money
especially to buy stamped envelopes to send to me.

A Long-Ago Stamped Business Envelope

Stamps are the only thing that you can’t charge up here,
and since I live in a moneyless world, I nearly always have no money
and have to go scrounging around among my friends
to see if they have any money, if I happen to run out of stamps.
However, I’ve loaned money for stamps just as often as I have borrowed it,
so I don’t feel too ashamed. It is just the inconvenience.

It’s amazing, but no one carries money up here.
The whites write cheques, and the Indians operate on credit from the Bay.
They get their supplies from the Bay, and then they sell their pelts to the Bay.
If they have any over after their debts are paid,
they usually spend it all immediately so they never have much money either.

Well, as I started to say quite some time ago, I must sign off.

Bye now,
Love, Don.

My Father Snowshoeing Across the Ice

to His Shack between the Church and Wind Charger

We all have our demons.
What matters is how we face them.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Temperature Conversions:
-10º F. = -18º C.
-30º F. = -34º C.
-35º F. = -37º C.
-51º F. = -46º C.

2. Uno Manilla:
Uno was the teacher at the Roman Catholic Day School at the mission.
He shared a two-room shack with my father.

3. Weight Conversions:
46 pounds = 20.8 kilograms
180 pounds = 81.6 kilograms
185 pounds = 83.9 kilograms
190 pounds = 86.1 kilograms
193 pounds = 87.5 kilograms

4. Duncan and Maureen McRae:
Duncan worked for the Department of Transport, and one of his duties was running the weather
station in Lansdowne House. He and Maureen were the parents of Baby Duncan.

5. The Hall:
The Hall was located in the Roman Catholic mission on the Father's Island. Father Ouimet,
the priest, had films brought in on the weekly mail planes. He would show these at the hall
on Saturday, and sometimes, Wednesday evenings. The Indians especially enjoyed The Three
Stooges and westerns with cowboys and Indians.

6. Outlying Camp:
My father accompanied Santa Claus to the village of Webequie to deliver Christmas gifts to the
Ojibway people who lived there.

7. Mrs. MacDonald:
This is Dad's mother-in-law, Mom's mother, Ella MacDonald. She worked as a nursing
companion in New York City, and we lived in her home in Smith's Cove, Nova Scotia.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Northern Ontario Communities

Wikipedia

Location of Winnipeg, Manitoba

Wikipedia

Friday, June 24, 2016

The Lansdowne Letters: Requisitions ~ Argh!

Teaching Indian children in the remote village of Lansdowne House
in the wilderness of Northern Ontario over fifty years ago
was a challenging undertaking for my father.

During the time I have been sharing his letters on my blog,
I have written about the challenges he faced.

Don MacBeath
Graduation, Acadia University, 1950
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

He headed North to teach Indian children
for the first time after a one day introduction course
he attended in Sault Ste. Marie.

My father later said of this experience in a handbook he wrote:
"Far from being encouraging and informative, the introduction I received
was a veritable nightmare of half-truths, outright falsehoods, rumours,
and misrepresentation of facts which, instead of being informative, helpful,
and reassuring, left me so mixed up, frustrated, and apprehensive
that I almost resigned then and there."

When he reached Lansdowne House after a multi-day weather delay in Nakina
and looked at his belongings off-loaded on Father Ouimet's beach,
my father realized that he was truly on his own.
His new job would test him in ways he had never been tested before.

On His Own

The Beach on the Father's Island

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, Fall 1960

Some years later my father wrote a short handbook for northern teachers
while attending St. Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, Nova Scotia.
At that time he planned to return to the North and resume
his education career with the Department of Indian Affairs.

My father hoped to publish the handbook and use it with all teachers
working for the Sioux Lookout Indian Agency.
If the handbook proved a successful instrument,
he hoped it would be adopted by other Indian agencies as well.

However, life for my father took a different direction,
and regrettably, the handbook was never published.

My Father's Handbook

I refer to my father's handbook often when I am writing,
because it contains information about what my father thought
and felt about his teaching experiences in the North.

Curiously, in the handbook, he never addressed his school's physical problems
that he constantly had to solve - from the lack of furnishings, to the falling ceilings,
to the cantankerous and dangerous oil stoves.
My father's new school, I might add,
because the previous one had burned down the year before.
He also didn't refer to the constant battle he had to wage
trying to move the government bureaucracy to action.

My father rarely complained and usually made light of his problems.
His following terse letter says so little and so much.

Thursday, January 12, 1961
My father wrote to our extended family:

This has been a bad week,
and I am going to have to make this letter short also.

Tomorrow is mail day, and I have just discovered
that I have to make up several requisitions
and submit a couple of reports in tomorrow’s mail.
I promise that I’ll have a much longer letter next week.

I have been having a lot of trouble with my school, stoves, and oil supply,
and I have to make out a detailed report,
so Mr. Foss can act on it for me and get things fixed for me if he can.

Bye now. I will start a nice long letter tomorrow
and have at least seven pages next week.
Love,
Don.

My Father's School

Church of England Day School

I think what kept my father from resigning on the spot in Sault Ste. Marie

was that he had a wife and five young children dependent upon him

and the position paid more than a teaching job on the Outside.

Whatever his reasons, I am grateful that Dad went on to Lansdowne House.
My experiences there had a profound and lasting impact on my life.
Some of them were wonderful and others were devastating;
but they were all enriching and unforgettable.

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Mr. F. Foss:
Mr. Foss was the Indian Schools Inspector who visited the two Indian schools
(Anglican and Roman Catholic) in Lansdowne House two or three times a year.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Aerial Photograph of Lansdowne House

The Mainland and The Father's Island (Couture Island), 1935

You can clearly see the Father's beach where Dad's luggage was offloaded from a canoe.

Credit: Canada. Dept. of Indian Affairs and Northern Development / Library and Archives Canada / PA-094992

Original of Above Photo

Credit: Canada. Dept. of Indian Affairs and Northern Development / Library and Archives Canada / PA-094992

A Quick Sketch of Lansdowne House by My Father

Lansdowne House, Ontario

Wikimedia

Friday, June 17, 2016

The Lansdowne Letters: A Narking Situation

The day after Mr. Foss, Dad's boss, spent the day
observing him in his one-room northern classroom,
my father solved an ongoing and perplexing problem
causing contention between his Indian students and him.

It doesn't matter where or when someone teaches,
puzzling situations are bound to arise
if the students must learn a new language
to function socially and academically in the classroom.

Lansdowne House's Two Teachers (with Baby Duncan)

Uno ~ Roman Catholic School

Dad ~ Church of England School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo Probably by Duncan or Maureen McCrae

On Wednesday, January 11, 1961
My father wrote to our extended family:

Here we go again Folks:
The cottonpickin’ weather closed in on us, and Mr. Foss is in for an extra day.

Thank goodness, though, that he spent all his time with Uno.
I don’t think that I could have stood another day with him in my room.

Uno's School at the Roman Catholic Mission

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

I do know, though, that it is a good sign for me
that he elected to spend his time in Uno’s room.
It shows that he saw nothing in my room that he wanted changed,
or he would have been over advising me.
It shows that he was pretty well satisfied with what he found.

Well, I finally unraveled a mixed up situation
that had me up in the air for quite a spell.

Some of My Father's Ojibway Students

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo Probably by Duncan McCrae

Previous to today, whenever I saw a kid not doing anything,
I’d ask him: “You’re not through with your work, are you?”

Most of the time the kid would say: “Yes.”

Then I’d tell him to put away his books and read a magazine or a storybook.
In a very short time I’d have most of the kids in, say grade three,
reading magazines; and when this happened, I’d tell them
to take out their books, and we’d start to correct the work.

Always, as soon as I started to correct the work,
I’d discover that no one had anything done.

Of course, I’d be understandably narked
about the whole thing,
and relations would be a bit strained
for a while in the classroom.

The funny part of the whole thing was that the Indian children
would be just as narked as I would, and after I had given them Hell,
they wouldn’t be a bit repentant, merely righteously indignant.

Well, as I said earlier, it finally untangled itself today
and turned out to be a language problem.

Whenever I asked a kid, “You haven’t got your work done, have you?”
and he’d answer, “Yes,” I’d assume he meant yes he had it done.

The Indian, on the other hand, was only confirming that he didn’t have it done.
In other words, his “yes” meant “Yes, I haven’t got it done.”

As it turned out, the Indians were just as puzzled and upset
about the whole thing as I was.

They couldn’t figure out why I would tell them to put away their work
right after they had told me that they weren’t finished with it;
and, if you think this confused them, just imagine
what a crazy white man they must have thought me
when I’d bawl Hell out of them for not having their work done.

Anyway, it’s all sorted out now, and we all had a great laugh
over it when we finally discovered each other’s confusion.

I bought a nice new Harris Tweed sport coat today for $15.00.
Uno had this coat that he had bought last summer
and had only worn two or three times.
It was in perfect condition.
The nap had not been worn a bit.

He didn’t like the color, and it was too large for him.
It fitted me perfectly, and the color looked good on me.
Harris Tweed sport coats usually cost from $35.00 up.

This is just about it for tonight, as I am very tired,
because I hardly got any sleep last night.

Uno was all worked up worrying about Foss,
and he was up wandering around and smoking all night,
with the result that I got no sleep either.

Bye now,
Love, Don.

My father considered the language barrier
one of the biggest challenges for Indian teachers.

When Indian children first entered school,
they had no knowledge of English.

They also came from a remarkably dissimilar cultural background
and perceived concepts such as time, property, or spirit
very differently from white people.

Mix in the students' reticence and diffidence when confounded
by an idiosyncrasy of a "crazy white man" teacher,
and my father had a potentially serious situation developing.

My father later wrote of this incident:
"If I had not stumbled
on the solution myself,
they would have put up with it
for a while longer,
and when they were finally fed up
with the whole issue,
they would have stopped school.

"It has quite frequently happened that Indian teachers have opened school
in the morning and not a single pupil had turned up for class.

"Investigations would always disclose that the teacher
had offended the children, confused them, or perhaps just bored them,
till finally they had had enough.

"When a situation like this develops,
a teacher has a serious problem on his hands,
and unless he can do something to regain the interest
and confidence of both the children and their parents,
he might just as well pack it up and go home."

Fortunately for my adventurous heart
my father didn't have "to pack it up and go home."

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

Bay of Fundy out of Westport, Brier Island
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue

Notes:

1. Mr. F. Foss:
Mr. Foss was the Indian Schools Inspector. I have not been able to track down his home
office. He would have visited each of his various schools two or three times a year.
Getting stranded by bad flying weather was a hazard of the job. Mr. Foss probably spent
both nights as Father Ouimet's guest, which meant he also shared his meals with Dad and Uno.

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Map of Lansdowne House

Sketched by Donald MacBeath, Fall 1960

#23 Dad's School

# 6 Uno's School

Lansdowne House, Ontario

Wikimedia

Friday, June 10, 2016

The Lansdowne Letters: The Inspection

Does anyone enjoy being observed as a teacher?
I certainly didn't.

When I read the following letter of my father's,
I had to laugh at how similar our reactions to being observed were:
from the high energy nerves we shared during the observation
to the frazzled adrenaline crash that inevitably followed.

He may have taught in an Indian school
in a remote village decades ago in Canada,
while I taught in an elementary school
in a large city recently in the U.S.,
but the feelings were the same!

Dad's Indian School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

On Tuesday, January 10, 1961
My father wrote to our extended family:

Well, here I am again:
This may very well be an extremely short edition,
because I am extremely frazzled tonight.
Mr. Foss, the Inspector, was in to my school today,
and spent the whole blasted afternoon in my school.

It is very disconcerting to have to teach with a stranger
who is also your boss watching your every move.
I was so unnerved that if he had asked me my name quickly,
I couldn’t have told him what it was.

Dad's Oji-Cree Students

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

I got along well though.
Mr. Foss was very pleased with my pupils and said that
I was evidentially going to be a very successful Indian teacher.

At least I know that I can still have my job back next year if I want.
He told me that, as far as he was concerned,
I was doing an excellent job; and after all,
he’s the only one that I have to please.

He said that to be a successful Indian teacher,
it is almost essential that the children like you.
Teaching white children is different.
It is not necessary that they like you;
but with Indians, if they don’t like you, you are beat.

Dad's Oji-Cree Students

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1960

Photo by Donald MacBeath

He said that from the attitude of the children towards me,
both inside and outside the school,
it was quite obvious that they just about worshipped me.

I don’t want to sound too bragging, but he also said
that I must have a God-given gift with children
to have won them over in such a short time.
A lot of Indians teachers take over a year just overcoming their shyness.

Well, you’ll have to excuse me for tonight.
In spite of a successful inspection, I am just pooped.
As I said, I have been working under terrific pressure all day.

Bye now,
Love, Don.

Heading off to School

Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario, 1961

Photo by Donald MacBeath

Oh the relief when an observation was over!
Or the "inspection" of a half century ago!
Especially when the feedback was positive and constructive.

Sometimes it would take me hours to discharge
all the nervous energy built up inside me during an observation;
and then I would feel wrung out, like I'd been squeezed
between the rollers of an old-fashioned wringer washer.

Yes, I know exactly how my father was feeling
after the Indian schools inspector visited my father's school
in Lansdowne House, Northern Ontario so long ago.

Notes:

1. The Indian Schools inspector:
The only information I have been able to track down (so far) about Mr. Foss
is a reference to him in an article in the September 1960 issue of The Indian Record.
Mr. F. Foss spoke to a homemakers' convention at the Couchiching Reserve on
How Parents Can Take Part in Education. Some things never change! I've spoken to
parents about this same topic at workshops and meetings many times. archives.algomau.ca

2. A Personal Note:
I'm home again, and one thing I learned on my trip was that I'm not yet skilled enough to handle
my blog with my iPhone.

Sorry about the scrambled post I published last week. I was proofing this post on my iPhone
and accidentally deleted a photo. I couldn't get the photo back; so I decided to publish the post
I had scheduled for the following week. I was afraid to double check it for fear of messing it up
too, forgetting that it was an unfinished draft.

I'm happy to be reunited with my computer! I'll finish the draft I published last week and schedule
it for next Friday. It makes no sense without reading today's first. I'm looking forward to catching
up on all your blogs and comments!

For Map Lovers Like Me:

Lansdowne House, Ontario

Wikimedia

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

IWSG: Wednesday, June 1, 2016 ~ Chasing Dreams!

Happy June to all
the IWSG members
making the rounds today!

It's the first Wednesday
of the month ~
the day when members of the
Insecure Writer's Support Group
share their writing struggles
and offer their encouragement
and support to other members.

To visit the IWSG website, click here.

To become a member of the IWSG, click here.

Our wonderful co-hosts who are stepping up to help IWSG founder Alex J. Cavanaugh are:

(If you see last month's with Fundy Blue,
then you will know that I have not been able to get online.)

Stephen Tremp , M.J. Fifield, Loni Townsend, Bish Denham, Susan Gourley, Stephanie Faris, and Fundy Blue (That's me!).

I hope you have a chance to visit them and thank them for co-hosting.
I'm sure they would appreciate an encouraging comment!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I cannot believe it!
I am flying again on IWSG Wednesday.
Different ocean, different direction,
but I am definitely close to eight miles high.

Passing by My Childhood Home ~ Wish I Could Land!

Wikimedia

"Why? Why are we flying again on the first Wednesday
of the month?" I asked my husband, exasperated.

Turns out that the cheapest fares are on Tuesday and Wednesday.
Duh. We are budget travelers.
I'm surprised Terry doesn't have me strapped to the wing.

I've been chasing some dreams that will definitely
give me writing material.