 David Morrison Blaikie
A Nova Scotia
lumberman
1909-1976
11. Eva Ella Gray
was about to be married to Eva Ella Gray. We had been introduced in
Truro by Mary Graham. Mary was a native of Burnside, and a
second cousin of our family. This introduction was very casual, I don't
believe it was love at first sight, and probably neither of us was too
impressed.
But we met again later over town, and from then on we did date
occasionally. Eva was from Londonderry Station and was working in Truro
at this time, which was in September of 1940. The winter of 1941 was a
rugged one, and I didn't get to Truro often.
There were no snow ploughs on the road then, and the snow was deep. With
only an occasional date, things didn't change much until the winter of
1942. We met more often that winter, and by July of that year we knew we
were going to be married.
Eva's own parents, Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Gray of East Mines, had died when
Eva was very young. She was only seven at the time of her father's
death, and she was only 13 when her mother passed away. Mr. and Mrs.Ward
Giddens of Londonderry Station became her foster parents, and although
she was working away most of the time, this was her home from that time
on.
Meeting at the Met
One little incident occurred on the night of our introduction, and my
daughters have insisted that it be included. On reflection, if it hadn't
occurred, it's highly unlikely we'd ever have crossed paths again. We
met at the house where Mary Graham was working and shortly afterward Eva
left to do some shopping.
I stayed and talked to Mary for a few minutes longer, then drove uptown
and left my car at Blaikie's garage. Later, I sauntered over town and
turned up Inglis street, where I decided to go into the Metropolitan
store. There, Eva and I happened to meet again as we were coming through
the door. We stopped to talk, and I invited her to come and have an
ice-cream. She agreed, and we got acquainted, then parted for the
evening.
However, I had found out where she lived, and there were other Saturday
nights coming. Soon after this I called for her again, and we went
bowling. It was in this fashion that our acquaintance developed during
the early days of our courtship. Now I sometimes tease her by telling
our family that we met in the Metropolitan.
Hot plate supper
Many occasions followed but I will mention only one or two. One occurred
on Sunday, January 4, 1942, when Eva invited me to have supper with her
at her room in Truro. By this time we were a lot better acquainted. I
sat back and watched her prepare a most delicious meal, which she did
with only the aid of a hot plate.
We ate the meal together in the cozy atmosphere of her room. We had
often eaten in restaurants, but a meal prepared and shared in such an
atmosphere leaves a far deeper impression. Most of the restaurants have
already faded from my memory. But the memories of this occasion are as
clear now as they were on that night, over thirty years ago.
In later years Eva sometimes made derogatory remarks about our kitchen
range. I used to remind her that anyone who could cook such a meal on a
hot-plate should be absolute wizard on a good range. This line of
reasoning did not impress her very much. After supper we went to church,
then came back to her room for the rest of the evening. I left late with
the feeling that one of the most delightful evenings of my life had just
ended.
Eva's family
The second incident happened on the 24th of May holiday of the same
year. We planned to go to Eva's home in Londonderry Station on the
evening of the 23rd, stay overnight, and next day to go on a fishing
trip which we had planned in the brooks on the Westchester Mountain
road. I had met Eva's Mother, but not her Father, who happened to be
away sawing when I was there before. Like myself, he was a millman, and
had been a sawyer most of his life.
This time both her mother and father were home, and I enjoyed swapping
mill experiences with Mr. Giddens. He was a person you could talk to
very easily, a man with a world of sawmill experience, and exceptional
skill and judgement. From the beginning, it was a pleasure to discuss
mill affairs with him, and it always remained that way.
In the morning, with an ample lunch, we set out for Westchester
Mountain. The brook we were going to fish in was the upper section of
the Portapique River. I've fished in brooks where better luck came my
way. But we did get quite a few trout, though most of them were on the
small side.
Country lunch
By noon we'd had enough of this brook - it wasn't an easy brook to
follow, running through woods, and beset by hills and gulches - so we
drove to a more open part of the county and had our lunch. I don't know
just where we stopped, but it was some miles farther along that same
road. And the lunch was good.
Later we looked for another brook. But we never did get back to fishing
that day, and after a fair amount of driving, we returned to Londonderry
Station for supper.
Later in the evening, I drove Eva back into Truro, since she had to be
back at work next day, then went home myself, as I too had to be at work
the next morning.
From the viewpoint of a fishing trip, it didn't amount to much. But I'd
had a wonderful holiday. I'd met not only Eva's Father, and other
members of the family, and they were people whose interests were much
the same as mine. That, and the trip by ourselves, our afternoon drive
and the trip back to Truro together, made it a special experience.
Wedding in Londonderry
Mr. and Mrs. Giddens' family consisted of three sons and two daughters.
Hibbert, the eldest, was slightly older than me, and the next one,
Arnold, slightly younger. Aubrey was next, about two years younger than
Arnold, and there were two daughters, Irene and Beulah, who were the
youngest members of the family. At the time, all except Beulah were
married.
It was Eva's wish to be married at home. Because we wanted it that way,
and because Mrs. Giddens wasn't in good health, only a few of our
immediate families were at the wedding. The morning of October 10, 1942,
was mild, and mostly cloudy during the forenoon. Around noon the sun
came out, and we had a glorious October afternoon for our wedding day.
Members of the Giddens household who were present included Mr. and Mrs.
Giddens and their niece, Jean Smith; Eva's foster sister, Irene; Arnold
and his wife, Marion; Eva's aunt Vi Giddens, who lived next door, and
Irene's young son, Paul, who was only a few months old. On my side of
the family was Glenn and his wife, Alice, and my mother. Our minister
was Rev. J. K. MacInnes, who had been my own minister in Upper Stewiacke
when I was a boy. His wife was also present.
Arch of maple leaves
This was the group of people who gathered in that living room for our
wedding. We stood under an arch, which had been tastefully decorated
with maple leaves, scarlet with the onset of Autumn. Marion, Arnold's
wife, played the Wedding March as Eva entered the living room, holding
Mr. Giddens' arm. Her sister, Irene, was Matron of Honor, and my
brother, Glenn, was groomsman.
One amusing incident happened during the otherwise quiet ceremony. Jean
Smith was holding little Paul, Irene's son. In order to keep him quiet
he was playing with a spoon someone had given him. The ceremony began,
and had proceeded to the point where, in response to the usual
interrogation Eva had just said "I do", when in the quiet that followed,
Paul dropped the spoon - bang, clatter - onto the hardwood floor. The
disturbance wasn't too serious, and the short, but to us, impressive
ceremony was soon over. We were husband and wife.
At this point we went out on the lawn, where a few pictures were taken.
When this was done we went back into the house, where a substantial
lunch was served. Then, with the blessing and good wishes of all
present, we were ready to leave. Some of the group had thoughtfully
decorated our car - the old Dodge Coupe - with ribbons, and also wired a
bunch of cans underneath, so our departure was accompanied by the rattle
of these cans, which fortunately soon came off.
Autumn sunset
The shadows of evening were falling. We drove away together into the
golden sunset, up through the Wentworth Valley, where the leaves, at the
crest of their autumn glory, looked down on us from hills that towered
high on either side of the road. Neither of us will ever forget that
drive, over the little narrow country road, which since that day has
been paved. The pavement facilitates travel, but its advent did nothing
to enhance the picturesque beauty of one of the loveliest county roads
in Nova Scotia.
Our honeymoon trip had to be a short one. Our wedding was on Saturday,
and I had to be at work on the following Thursday. It was necessary for
us to be home one Tuesday night, as we would have a good days work
getting settled in what was to be our new home for fourteen months.
We had rented two rooms in the house directly across the road from the
Co-op store. At that time this Co-op store was owned by Frank Cox, and
it was in his home that we were to spend the next year or so. Before our
wedding we had our rooms nearly ready for occupation, but the water
still hadn't been connected to the kitchen sink, and there were a few
other details which needed attention.
To Moncton
So Moncton was as far as we got on our trip. On our wedding day we
arranged for a cottage a few miles from Oxford, and there we spent our
first night. That evening we drove into Oxford and had some supper,
which we didn't need, after the lunch we'd had following the wedding.
Then we came back to our cottage, which was really a cheery place.
In that day, of course a wood stove was all that was provided, but a
good fire had been prepared for us, and the cabin was warm and cozy.
We spent the next night in Amherst with my cousin, whose name was also
Eva. She had been Eva Woodworth from Stewiacke, and was now Mrs. Harold
Steel. The next night we spent with Mr. and Mrs. Lund, friends of Eva's,
who lived in Sackville. We arrived back home in Upper Stewiacke late on
Tuesday afternoon.
Newlyweds' serenede
That night, quite a number of people gathered at Glenn's house to
serenede us. They made a terrific racket, audible for miles. One of the
famous noise-making devices of that time was to take a circular saw,
carried on a piece of pipe which was thrust through the hole in the
centre of the saw. One person at each end of the pipe kept this
apparatus off the ground, while other people hit the saw repeatedly with
heavy hammers.
The din caused by this was terrific, and when it was punctuated at
frequent intervals by blasts from shot-guns, it was enough to raise the
dead.
After allowing it to continue for many five minutes, we made our
appearance at the door. The noise soon stopped. One by one the
participants came to offer congratulations and were invited into the
house for a treat. By ten o'clock all were gone, and we went down to our
new home. We were proud to have a place of our own, even if it was only
a rented one.
As anyone would gather from all that has been written here, we had
little in the way of worldly goods to begin with. But we had each other,
and we were happy together with a quiet happiness that has remained
undimmed down through the years.
Kitchen range
It took us only a short time to get settled in our new home. Even in
those days we had little in the way of furniture. By modern standards,
nothing. Still, we got along very well. We had the two downstairs rooms
in this house, the ones that still face toward the Co-operative store.
One of these was our kitchen, and we did at least have a good, new
McClary range in it. It was a wood-burner, all anyone had then.
This stove held out well, and we still have it, but with the acquisition
of an electric range a few years ago, our poor old McClary's stock has
sadly deteriorated. I still like it, in spite of insinuations, more
pointed as the days go by, which suggest its superannuation in the near
future.
There was little in the way of other furniture to ornament our kitchen.
We had an old table that had been left in the room when we moved in. It
wasn't much of a table, but we had some good meals off in the year that
followed. Eva brought out the two chairs she'd had in her room in Truro,
and Mr. and Mrs. Giddens gave us two more.
Cardboard cabinet
An old closet, built into one corner of our kitchen, did duty for a
china cabinet. We only had about enough dishes to eat from, so the
problem of a place to put them never became critical. Another closet,
which I made myself, was used for a linen closet. A third closet, made
of heavy plasterboard, we used to put clothing in.
This closet we bought at Eaton's, and being made of cardboard, you
wouldn't think it would be very substantial. It wasn't, but it lasted as
long as we stayed there.
Our other room had to serve as a combined living room and bedroom. Eva
had a fairly good chesterfield, which she had been using in Truro, and
at night we opened this out for our bed. We had two rocking chairs, and
another old chair that had been left there, plus Eva's hope chest, and
that just about constituted that room's furnishings.
In addition, an old organ had been left in the room. The condition of
its interior was such that you couldn't play on it; it wasn't
ornamental. But it was held in tender regard by the family simply
because it had been one of their cherished possessions for more years
than they themselves could recall.
Tuneless and useless
As far as we were concerned, it was in the way, and we wanted to get rid
of it. But have you ever tried to get rid of a family heirloom? People
hang on tighter than a pup to a root.
The uselessness of such items seems to add a charm to past associations.
I did once venture to suggest that disposing of the organ would create a
decided improvement in our living room. But the expression of shocked
concern with which this recommendation was received discouraged me, and
this tuneless and unattractive instrument remained there until we moved
out.
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