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James is the older brother of William Rhodes Captain James Rhodes 1819-1901 brother of Col William Rhodes James Rhodes (uncle Jimmie) was Col William Rhodes's older brother. He was born in Bramhope, Otley, York, England He came and lived in Canada with his brother at times, and summered in Tadoussac. As the oldest male he inherited from his parents, and it looks like he enjoyed his visits to Quebec. James Rhodes (Oncle Jimmie) était le frère aîné du colonel William Rhodes. Il est né à Bramhope, Otley, York, Angleterre Il est venu et a vécu au Canada avec son frère à certains moments, et ses étés à Tadoussac. Comme l'mâle le plus âgé, il a hérité de ses parents, et il semble qu'il jouissait ses visites à Québec. This portrait of James Rhodes was taken by William Notman in 1871, he would be 52 years old. Some photos in my website have come from the McCord Museum http://www.mccord-museum.qc.ca/scripts/search_results.php?Lang=1&keywords=james+Rhodes%2C+montreal Ce portrait de James Rhodes à 52 ans a été prise par William Notman en 1871. Quelques photos de mon site viennent de le Musée McCord http://www.mccord-museum.qc.ca/scripts/search_results.php?Lang=1&keywords=james+Rhodes%2C+montreal Circa 1885, Col. William Rhodes sharing a drink with his brother Jimmie Circa 1885, Le Colonel William Rhodes partager une bouteille avec son frère Jimmie Circa 1890, with his great-nephew Charlie Rhodes on the gallery at Benmore, Sillery, Quebec (check out the toy) Circa 1890, avec son petit-neveu Charlie Rhodes sur la galerie à Benmore, Sillery, Quebec Census of Canada 1891 James 71, "Gentleman", was living in Quebec with his Brother William, described as "Gentleman Farmer". Recensement du Canada de 1891 James 71, "Gentleman", vivait au Québec avec son frère William, décrit comme "Gentleman Farmer". Census of England 1901 James Rhodes at 81, "Retired Army Captain", is living at Oxford Lodge, Ewell Road, Surbiton, southwest of London, with a housekeeper and her children. Recensement de l'Angleterre 1901 James Rhodes à 81, «capitaine de l'armée retraité ", vit à Oxford Lodge, Ewell Road, Surbiton, sud-ouest de Londres, avec une femme de ménage et de ses enfants. Notice of Death 17 August 1901. His effects totalled £11291 6s 7d! Avis de décès 17 Aout 1901 Ses effets ont atteint £ 11,291 6s 7d! 4

Interesting places on the Saguenay River near Tadoussac La Rivière Saguenay Endroits Intéressants Cool Places on the Saguenay River Pointe à la CROIX Pointe à la Croix Pointe à la Croix L'origine de la croix n'est pas connue, mais il y a des références à la Pointe à la Croix dans 2 livres, de 1889 et 1891. La croix a été remplacée au moins quatre fois ! The origin of the cross is not known, but there are references to Pointe à la Croix in 2 books, from 1889 and 1891. The cross has been replaced at least four times! Circa 1930, tea (with china teacups!) on Pt à la Croix, at center my grandmother Emily Evans, and my father R Lewis Evans Vers 1930, thé (avec des tasses en porcelaine !) sur Pt à la Croix, au centre ma grand-mère Emily Evans, et mon père R Lewis Evans This was the old cross that was mounted on Pointe à la Croix, the little point jutting out into the Saguenay River, from the east below the cliffs between Anse La Barque and La Boule bay. This one fell down and somebody put up another...the cross is dated 1941, the vertical piece on which it stood up supported by a pile of rocks was missing at the time we brought it home, about 1971 (tag by Jack Molson). This cross was replaced by R Lewis Evans and Tom Evans in the early 1970's C'était l'ancienne croix qui était montée sur la Pointe à la Croix, la petite pointe qui s'avance dans la rivière Saguenay, par l'est en contrebas des falaises entre l'Anse La Barque et la baie de La Boule. Celui-ci est tombé et quelqu'un en a posé un autre... la croix est datée de 1941, la pièce verticale sur laquelle elle se tenait soutenue par un tas de rochers manquait au moment où nous l'avons ramenée à la maison, vers 1971 (tag de Jack Molson) . Ce croisement a été remplacé par R Lewis Evans et Tom Evans au début des années 1970 The cross fell down again and was replaced by Tom Evans and friends! 2005 La croix est retombée et a été remplacée par Tom Evans et ses amis ! 2005 more coming soon... 11

PREVIOUS NEXT PAGE Été à Tadoussac Summer 1920-1940 Page 2 of 7 The Summer Cottages Les Chalets d'été I count 17 summer cottages (?) in the 1930's By the 1960's there were about 25, today 45. Tivoli Stevenson (built in the 20's) Amberly Tudor-Hart Ivanhoe Windward (built 1936) Barn Brynhyfryd (old one burned circa 1932, rebuilt) Spruce Cliff Bailey Evans Bayview Dufferin House Fletcher Price Radford and Cap a Jack Je compte 16 chalets d'été Dans les années 1960 il y avait 25 Aujourd'hui environ 45! Ann Stevenson (Dewart), Elizabeth Stevenson (O'Neill), Margaret Stevenson (Reilley) Stevenson Cottage built in 1926 Ivanhoe front porch View from the hill behind Summer House with Dorothy Rhodes (Evans) and Phoebe Evans (Skutezky) and Ainslie Evans (Stephen) and the shed out back, no longer there. Windward built in 1936 The Barn Lennox Williams and his dog Brynhyfryd Burned circa 1932 Rebuilt 1933 Spruce Cliff Bailey Evans Cottage Lewis Evans and his dog Sandy Bayview Cottage Dufferin House Fletcher Cottage Radford in Anse a L'Eau circa 1926, R Lewis Evans with his gun, May Carrington Smith, Nan Gale, Ann (Dewart) Stevenson, Maggie(Reilley) Stevenson at Cap a Jack 10 miles up the Saguenay PREVIOUS NEXT PAGE

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The Sand Dunes at Tadoussac with Historical Photos, old houses, skiing, the marble kilns and more. The Sand Dunes - Les dunes de sable Moulin Baude circa 1965 circa 1900 A Pine Forest until 1845, when Thomas Simard built a sawmill and cut down all the trees. With some settler families who arrived to farm the thin soil, this was the original location of the village of Tadoussac. Une forêt de pins jusqu'en 1845, date à laquelle Thomas Simard construit une scierie et coupe tous les arbres. Avec quelques familles de colons qui sont arrivées pour cultiver le sol mince, c'était le lieu d'origine du village de Tadoussac. Moulin Baude Also known as the sand dunes, this area has changed substantially since Champlain first described it over 400 years ago, particularly beyond the clay cliffs where the land stretched way out towards where the channel markers are today, much of which is exposed at low tide. He talked about a peninsula jutting out into the river and forming a large natural bay, which provided a sheltered anchorage for his ships. However, the terrible earthquake of 1663, whose aftershocks lasted several months, significantly altered the shoreline, so that it no longer accurately reflects Champlain's early description. The present day sandy plateau and sand dunes were all pine forest until 1845, when Thomas Simard build a sawmill halfway down the hill near the Baude river, just below the stone house at the end of the dunes, and cut all the trees down to feed his mill. After that, several families of settlers appeared and began to farm the virgin soil.The lots and names of these families are indicated on the government cadastral maps made by surveyor Georges Duberger in 1852 at 1876. The hamlet formed by this small farming community was the original location of the village of Tadoussac, the present site then being owned by William Price and the Hudson Bay Company. Wandering around where the houses used to be, one can still find rusty old nails, broken bits of plates, clay pipes and other things. At the far end of the sand dunes, about a third of the way down the hill, was the site of the first sawmill. Down at the bottom, on the beach, there used to be a wharf made from large square timbers and slab wood. The ships would light offshore and a barge would be floated in and tied up at the wharf, resting on the exposed sand at low tide. It would take about a week to load the barge with lumber caught at the mill above. When it was full, it would be towed out to the waiting boat at high tide and the cargo would be reloaded from the barge onto the ship. Moulin Baude Aussi connue sous le nom de dunes de sable, cette zone a considérablement changé depuis que Champlain l'a décrite pour la première fois il y a plus de 400 ans, en particulier au-delà des falaises d'argile où la terre s'étendait jusqu'à l'endroit où se trouvent aujourd'hui les balises du chenal, dont une grande partie est exposée à marée basse. Il parlait d'une presqu'île s'avançant dans le fleuve et formant une grande baie naturelle, qui offrait un mouillage abrité à ses navires. Cependant, le terrible tremblement de terre de 1663, dont les répliques ont duré plusieurs mois, a considérablement modifié le rivage, de sorte qu'il ne reflète plus fidèlement la première description de Champlain. Le plateau sablonneux et les dunes de sable actuels étaient tous des forêts de pins jusqu'en 1845, lorsque Thomas Simard construisit une scierie à mi-hauteur de la colline près de la rivière Baude, juste en dessous de la maison en pierre au bout des dunes, et coupa tous les arbres pour nourrir son moulin. Après cela, plusieurs familles de colons sont apparues et ont commencé à cultiver la terre vierge. Les lots et les noms de ces familles sont indiqués sur les plans cadastraux gouvernementaux réalisés par l'arpenteur Georges Duberger en 1852 à 1876. Le hameau formé par cette petite communauté agricole était le emplacement d'origine du village de Tadoussac, le site actuel étant alors la propriété de William Price et de la Compagnie de la Baie d'Hudson. Errant là où se trouvaient les maisons, on peut encore trouver de vieux clous rouillés, des morceaux d'assiettes cassés, des tuyaux d'argile et d'autres choses. À l'extrémité des dunes de sable, à environ un tiers de la descente de la colline, se trouvait le site de la première scierie. Au fond, sur la plage, il y avait autrefois un quai fait de grosses poutres équarries et de planches de bois. Les navires partiraient au large et une barge serait mise à flot et amarrée au quai, reposant sur le sable exposé à marée basse. Il faudrait environ une semaine pour charger la barge avec du bois récupéré à l'usine située au-dessus. Lorsqu'il était plein, il était remorqué jusqu'au bateau en attente à marée haute et la cargaison était rechargée de la barge sur le navire. This text from Benny Beattie's book, "The Sands of Summer" Sawmill Scierie Moulin Baude Thomas Simard, one of the leading members of the Société des Pinières, known as the Twenty-One, who undertook to colonize the Saguenay region. He established a sawmill at Moulin Baude in 1845 and also at Petites Bergeronnes the following year. Thomas Simard Sr. married Euphrosine Brisson of La Malbaie in 1823. They had three sons: Isaïe, Thomas, and Narcisse. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Thomas Simard un des membres importants de la Société des Pinières dit des Vingt-et-Un, qui entreprirent de coloniser le Saguenay. Il établiera d'ailleurs un moulin à scie au Moulin Baude en 1845 et aussi aux Petites Bergeronnes l'année suivante. Thomas Simard, père était marié à Euphrosine Brisson de la Malbaie en 1823. Ils eurent trois fils: Isaïe, Thomas et Narcisse Sawmill-Scierie Sawmill-Scierie Noël Brisson (1867-1945) was a farmer at Moulin-Baude, along with his brother Pépin. He built a stone house there in 1922 (it now serves as a reception building for Saguenay Park). Noël was a good lumberjack, which is why, behind the house, there was a sawmill that burned down in the early 1960s. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Noël Brisson (1867-1945) était cultivateur au Moulin-Baude ainsi que son frère Pépin. Il y construira une maison de pierres en 1922, (elle sert aujourd'hui de bâtiment d'accueil pour le Parc Saguenay). Noël était un bon bûcheron, c'est pourquoi, derrière la maison, il y avait un moulin à scie qui brûlera au début des années 60. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve More evidence of the sawmill in these two photographs, with piles of slab wood (the wood cut off the outside of the trees)in the background Circa 1900 Davantage de preuves de la scierie sur ces deux photographies, avec des piles de dalles de bois (le bois coupé à l'extérieur des arbres) à l'arrière-plan Vers 1900 The first photo might be Piddingtons? The RHODES Family left to right Back row: Frank Morewood (14, my grandfather), his brother John Morewood with a turban, Lilybell and Frances Rhodes sitting on either side of their father Francis, Dorothy Rhodes (Evans) and her father Army Front row: Nancy Morewood, Catherine Rhodes (Tudor-Hart), Charley Rhodes La famille RHODES de gauche à droite Rangée arrière: Frank Morewood (14 ans, mon grand-père), son frère John Morewood avec un turban, Lilybell et Frances Rhodes assis de part et d'autre de leur père Francis, Dorothy Rhodes (Evans) et son père Army Première rangée: Nancy Morewood, Catherine Rhodes (Tudor-Hart), Charley Rhodes More about the Power generating Station on the "Batiments Disparu" page (click the arrow) Plus d'informations sur la Centrale électrique sur la page "Bâtiments Disparu" (cliquez sur la flèche) 37 years later! Peggy Durnford on the left married Elliot Turcot on the right. My mother Betty Morewood (Evans) is at the back, her father Frank Morewood was in the previous photograph. 1937 37 ans plus tard! Peggy Durnford à gauche a épousé Elliot Turcot à droite. Ma mère Betty Morewood (Evans) est à l'arrière, son père Frank Morewood était dans la photo précédente. 1937 Luge sur les dunes s'est avéré très dangereux Tobogganing on the dunes turned out to be very dangerous 1936 ?, Nan Wallace (Leggat)?, Elliot Turcot, ?, Boll Tyndale, Moulin Baude River 1937 ... Betty Morewood (Evans), Bar Hampson (Alexander/Campbell), JohnTurcot, ???, Nan Wallace (Leggat), Elliott Turcot, Peggy Tyndale, ? circa 1950 Skiing on the Dunes 1969 Ski sur les dunes 1969 THE MARBLE QUARRY Champlain and Jacques Cartier both mention the large white pillars of marble in Grande Anse, the next big bay east of Moulin Baude, which could be seen from ships way out in the St Lawrence. However, on closer examination, the white rock turned out to be not marble at all but limestone, and thus remained unexploited until the end of the 19th century. Father Charlevoix, the Jesuit historian and traveller also noticed these white outcrops on the shore, but finding that this strange marble would not polish, discarded it as poor quality stuff. Three round stone kilns, 15 feet high, were built on the shore beside the stream around 1880. The limestone veins were mined, and chunks of calcium carbonate were loaded into the ovens and fired at a very high heat. The rsult was a fine white caustic powder, calcium oxide (lime) which was put in bags and shipped across the river to Rivière du Loup, where it was sold for building purposes. Later, the chunks of white rockwere loaded onto a barge, whwas towed by the goélette "St. Jude" up to Port Alfred, where the limestone was used in the pulp and paper industry. Jude Tremblay, the first blacksmith in the village, and his family operated this industry until the mid 1930's, when the vein ran out of surface rock. A few pieces can still be found in the bed of the stream, which can be reached on a big low tide along the shore from Moulin Baude. (This is not an easy hike!) This area will be more accessible in a few years if the Dunes National Park is created as planned. This text from Benny Beattie's book, "The Sands of Summer" LA CARRIÈRE DE MARBRE Champlain et Jacques Cartier mentionnent tous les deux les grands piliers de marbre blanc de Grande Anse, la prochaine grande baie à l'est de Moulin Baude, que l'on pouvait voir depuis les navires dans le Saint-Laurent. Cependant, à y regarder de plus près, la roche blanche s'est avérée n'être pas du tout du marbre mais du calcaire, et est donc restée inexploitée jusqu'à la fin du XIXe siècle. Le père Charlevoix, l'historien jésuite et voyageur a également remarqué ces affleurements blancs sur la rive, mais constatant que ce marbre étrange ne se polirait pas, l'a jeté comme une matière de mauvaise qualité. Trois fours ronds en pierre de 15 pieds de haut ont été construits sur la rive à côté du ruisseau vers 1880. Les veines de calcaire ont été extraites et des morceaux de carbonate de calcium ont été chargés dans les fours et cuits à très haute température. Le résultat était une fine poudre caustique blanche, l'oxyde de calcium (chaux) qui était mise dans des sacs et expédiée de l'autre côté de la rivière jusqu'à Rivière du Loup, où elle était vendue à des fins de construction. Plus tard, les morceaux de roche blanche étaient chargés sur une péniche, remorquée par la goélette "St. Jude" jusqu'à Port Alfred, où le calcaire était utilisé dans l'industrie des pâtes et papiers. Jude Tremblay, le premier forgeron du village, et sa famille ont exploité cette industrie jusqu'au milieu des années 1930, lorsque la veine a manqué de roche de surface. On en trouve encore quelques morceaux dans le lit du ruisseau, accessible par une grande marée basse le long de la rive depuis Moulin Baude. (Ce n'est pas une randonnée facile!) Cette zone sera plus accessible dans quelques années si le Parc National des Dunes est créé comme prévu. Moulin Baude is a fantastic place! More photographs Moulin Baude est un endroit fantastique! Plus de photos The original settlers didn't settle where Tadoussac is now located, but a few miles away where no one lives anymore. In those early days the trees on the long flat plateau were cut down to feed the sawmill at Moulin Baude. The stumps were removed and the fragile soil was tilled. Several farms prospered for a while, but the good soil formed only a shallow layer on top of the sand, and it was soon exhausted or blown away. Eventually the original area of settlement became a desert, with great sandy dunes descending to the water some 200 feet below. Some older people remember their grandmothers saying that the first village was actually on a bit of land at the base of the cliffs, at the first point south of the dunes. A sandy road angles down through the woods to a small raised area on the shore between the beach and the hillside, where a survey map of 1852 indicates a number of buildings. But because of winter avalanches, the inhabitants move their dwellings to the plateau at the top of the cliff. After a time the farmers moved away from this sandy plateau, some up the Baude river where they found better soil around Sacré Coeur, and others into the curve of the bay near the fur trading post. With the construction of the hotel and a few cottages in the village, jobs became available and some farmers found work. This text from Benny Beattie's book, "The Sands of Summer" Les premiers colons ne se sont pas installés là où se trouve maintenant Tadoussac, mais à quelques kilomètres de là où plus personne n'habite. A cette époque, les arbres du long plateau plat étaient abattus pour alimenter la scierie de Moulin Baude. Les souches ont été enlevées et le sol fragile a été labouré. Plusieurs fermes ont prospéré pendant un certain temps, mais le bon sol n'a formé qu'une couche peu profonde au-dessus du sable, et il a rapidement été épuisé ou soufflé. Finalement, la zone de peuplement d'origine est devenue un désert, avec de grandes dunes de sable descendant jusqu'à l'eau à environ 200 pieds plus bas. Certaines personnes âgées se souviennent de leurs grands-mères disant que le premier village était en fait sur un bout de terre au pied des falaises, au premier point au sud des dunes. Une route sablonneuse descend à travers les bois jusqu'à une petite zone surélevée sur le rivage entre la plage et la colline, où une carte d'arpentage de 1852 indique un certain nombre de bâtiments. Mais à cause des avalanches hivernales, les habitants déplacent leurs habitations sur le plateau en haut de la falaise. Au bout d'un moment les paysans s'éloignèrent de ce plateau sablonneux, les uns remontant la rivière Baude où ils trouvèrent une meilleure terre autour du Sacré Coeur, les autres dans la courbe de la baie près du poste de traite des fourrures. Avec la construction de l'hôtel et de quelques chalets dans le village, des emplois sont devenus disponibles et certains agriculteurs ont trouvé du travail. 48

Tadoussac Main Street - Rue Principale Pierre Cid Cote Mayer Villeneuve Bourgouin Bouliane Cafe Blue Manior Tadoussac Galouine Boheme Tadoussac Main Street - Rue Principale Then and Now - Hier et Aujourd'hui With Biographies of Pierre Cid and Johnny Maher by Daniel Delisle PhD! 1850-1880 There are very few photos of the main street of Tadoussac prior to the construction of the Église de la Sainte-Croix in the late 1880's. These photos show the Hudson's Bay Post on the front lawn of the Hotel Tadoussac, so they are prior to 1870 when the Post was demolished. One of the first buildings on the Main Street is the building that is presently La Galouïne Restaurant. Il existe très peu de photos de la rue principale de Tadoussac avant la construction de l'église de la Sainte-Croix à la fin des années 1880. Ces photos montrent le poste de la Baie d'Hudson sur la pelouse de l'hôtel Tadoussac. Elles datent donc d'avant 1870, lorsque le poste a été démoli. L'un des premiers bâtiments de la rue principale est celui qui abrite actuellement le restaurant La Galouïne. The Hotel Tadoussac was built in 1864, and around the same time five houses were built on the Main Street further east, today they are Cote, Chez Ida, Hovington, Stairs and Beattie. These five houses were built by the Prices, perhaps as residences for the Hotel staff. It must have been a busy time for construction in Tadoussac! There is a gap between the last two houses, that was filled in much later. L'Hôtel Tadoussac a été construit en 1864, et à peu près à la même époque cinq maisons ont été construites sur la rue Main plus à l'est, il s'agit aujourd'hui de Côté, Chez Ida, Hovington, Stairs et Beattie. Ces cinq maisons furent construites par les Price, peut-être comme résidences pour le personnel de l'Hôtel. Cela a dû être une période chargée pour la construction à Tadoussac ! Il existe un écart entre les deux dernières maisons, qui a été comblé bien plus tard. Just up the street overlooking the bay are the first three summer residences, built by Powel, Russell and Rhodes in the early 1860's. Juste au bout de la rue surplombant la baie se trouvent les trois premières résidences d'été, construites par Powel, Russell et Rhodes au début des années 1860. 1880-1910 Église de la Sainte-Croix in the late 1880's. The first photos (maybe) just before it was built. The panorama with the steamer is early 1890's, after the church was built but before the hotel was expanded in 1900. There's a big gap just east of "Cid's" so the Bourgouin house has not yet been built. Interesting building by the bridge with a gallery on the roof! Église de la Sainte-Croix à la fin des années 1880. Les premières photos (peut-être) juste avant sa construction. Le panorama avec le bateau à vapeur date du début des années 1890, après la construction de l'église mais avant l'agrandissement de l'hôtel en 1900. Il y a une grande brèche juste à l'est du "Cid's", donc la maison Bourgouin n'est pas encore construite. Bâtiment intéressant près du pont avec une galerie sur le toit ! Circa 1905 This photo is from my family album of 1901. According to the biography of Johnny Maher (below) he built a house next door to the Cid Store, and it burned in 1902. He then built the larger building in the next photo. The "Cid's" building has no sign (maybe a small one over the door?), although the store started about this time. Cette photo est tirée de mon album de famille de 1901. D'après la biographie de Johnny Maher (ci-dessous), il a construit une maison à côté du magasin Cid, et elle a brûlé en 1902. Il a ensuite construit le plus grand bâtiment de la photo suivante. Le bâtiment du "Cid's" n'a aucune enseigne (peut-être une petite au-dessus de la porte ?), bien que le magasin ait ouvert ses portes à cette époque. Circa 1910, the Maher building has expanded, and the "Manoir Tadoussac" has a new roof with a tower! (Or maybe it's a new building?) Vers 1910, le bâtiment Maher s'agrandit et le "Manoir Tadoussac" a un nouveau toit avec une tour ! (Ou peut-être que c'est un nouveau bâtiment ?) Closer up the store signs are visible, "J N Maher Épicièr" and "Pierre Cid Marchand General". Biographies of both Maher and Cid below! Plus près, les enseignes du magasin sont visibles, "J N Maher Épicièr" et "Pierre Cid Marchand Général". Biographies de Maher et de Cid ci-dessous ! Tadoussac Main Street - Rue Principale Then and Now - Hier et Aujourd'hui 1909 < > 2023 This diagram from 1909 helps to explain the location of the buildings, the Cote's Grocery store is on the land that used to have 2 buildings, Bourgouin & Dumont Ce schéma de 1909 permet d'expliquer l'emplacement des bâtiments, l'Épicerie Côté est sur le terrain qui abritait autrefois 2 bâtiments, Bourgouin & Dumont Maher Cid's Bourgouin Dumont Galouine Manoir Tad Cafe Bleu Bouliane Construit 1900's 1860's 1900's 1880's 1850's 1860's 1860's 1860's Jusq'ua 1970's Now 1923 1923 Maintenant 1970's? Now 1970's? Johnny Maher Johnny Maher, Merchant in Tadoussac Daniel Delisle PhD At the end of the 19th early 20th century, the village of Tadoussac had a few merchants, among others, the oldest according to our research, which was founded around 1864, François Bourgoing's business. There was also that of Alfred Vaillancourt, the store of Pierre Cid and the store of Johnny N. Maher. Johnny Maher, marchand à Tadoussac Daniel Delisle PhD À la fin 19e début 20e siècle, le village de Tadoussac comptait quelques marchands, entre autres, le plus ancien selon nos recherches, qui aurait été fondé vers 1864, le commerce de François Bourgoing. Il y avait aussi celui d’Alfred Vaillancourt, le magasin de Pierre Cid et le magasin de Johnny N. Maher. Alfred Vaillancourt's store was located on rue du bord de l'eau, in the building that currently houses the Micro-brasserie de Tadoussac. The other three businesses were located on Main Street, then Elgin Street, now Rue des Pioneers, close to each other. The current Intermarché-banner Hovington grocery store succeeded the Côté grocery store as well as the business of François Bourgoing and later his son Ernest. The current premises of Café Bohème housed the general store of Pierre Cid and on the land where the Nima store is now located was the Johnny N. Maher store. Joseph (aka Johnny or Johnney) Napoleon Maher Family Johnny Maher, born in 1863 and died in 1939, is the son of Joseph "Jerry" Maher and Clarisse Gagné. On August 10, 1886, Johnny married Évelyne (Marie Auveline) Hovington (1865-), daughter of Édouard Hovington and Flavine Pedneault. The couple gave birth to a son, Édouard Thomas (1891-1980) who in 1918 married Emma Vauthier (1898-1966) daughter of Édouard Vauthier and Annie-Bridget-Ann Sullivan of St-Godefroi de Bonaventure in Gaspésie. Following the death of his wife Évelyne Hovington, Johnny married again in 1898, Laure Boulianne daughter of Joseph Boulianne and Alfeda Levesque. Two children were born of the union, a daughter, Marie-Paule (1904-1997) married to Ernest Lizotte, and a son, Robert (1900-1970) husband of Florette Harvey (1918-1985). Professional activities Johnny Maher is said to have owned a house on Pointe-de-l'Islet. Forced to demolish it due to its expropriation, he erected a new one near the Côté bridge, next to Pierre Cid's future store. At the end of the 1800s, Johnny Maher experienced some financial difficulties, notably bankruptcy in 1891. The height of misfortune, a few years later, in 1902, a fire completely destroyed the house which housed his store. His home was uninsured. Yet as a shrewd trader he knew the high financial risks and the obligation to be careful. Both at the first marriage, following bankruptcy, and at the second, the Maher spouses ensure a union in "separation of property" in order to protect the family patrimony. In the 1911 census, Johnny Maher declared himself of Scottish origin, "merchant" as his main occupation and "fisherman" as a secondary occupation. As for his Scottish origin, according to genealogists, the Maher ancestors are of Irish origin and not Scottish. For her part, Mrs. Gaby Villeneuve claims that he is of Germanic origin. His business is mainly oriented towards dry food and sewing accessories. Depending on the season, it offers its customers fishing products, in particular fresh salmon. When the municipality of the Village of Tadoussac was created, Johnny Maher was appointed alderman of the first municipal council under the leadership of Mayor Eugène Caron. Later, he will sit on the Peace Commission for the district of Tadoussac. The descendants Johnny's eldest son, Thomas Maher, will achieve some fame in the Quebec City region and beyond. After graduating from the classical course at the Séminaire de Chicoutimi in 1913, he continued his studies in agriculture in Chicoutimi and obtained his diploma in 1914. After his training at Laval University, he became a forest engineer in 1917. Subsequently, a professor at the university Laval where he has had a great career. Involved in the Quebec City region, he is recognized as a “great developer” of Lac Saint-Joseph. He will also be associated with the Deschênes de Tadoussac family when the Compagnie de navigation Charlevoix-Saguenay was created in 1918, of which he was vice-president. The company will obtain a government subsidy to provide a link between the Carlevoix region and the North Shore. Thomas married Emma Vauthier on January 3, 1918, the couple had 3 children. He was a professor at the Faculty of Sciences at Laval University from 1933 to 1958 and professor emeritus in 1958. He was vice-president of the Canadian Broadcasting Commission (now the Société Radio-Canada), “he is president of the National Gallery in Ottawa since 1959; president of the Association of Forest Engineers of the Province of Quebec(1928-30 and 1952-54); founder and administrator of the weekly Le Journal (1929-31); President of the Diocesan Council for Oeuvres de Charité du Québec (1950). He is the author of books on Quebec forests "Our forests in decadence", "Pays de Cocagne ou terre de Caën" and of the novel "Fascination ”, as well as numerous newspaper articles and conferences on the theme of the forest. In 1921 he created with his son Robert and a man named Henri Grenier of Quebec, a logging company, Thomas Maher inc. This company was dissolved in 1932. He died in Quebec on March 7, 1980. Robert Maher, Johnny's second son, and his wife Florette Harvey will have two sons, one of whom they will baptize Thomas, with the same first name as his uncle, a second Marc and a daughter Hélène. Thomas became a teacher at École Saint-Joseph de Tadoussac, principal and later principal of the Commission scolaire de Tadoussac. He will also be Commodore of the Tadoussac marina and the xth mayor of the village of Tadoussac and president of the Corporation de développement tourisme de Tadoussac. He will also be a director on the Board of Directors of the Société des traversiers du Québec. Hélène will marry Doctor Claude Bossé and Marc will marry Michèle Plouffe. Johnny's only daughter was Marie-Paule, married to Ernest Lizotte. Involved in the local section of the Red Cross, she was secretary in 1941. After her marriage, she moved to Chicoutimi where she died in 1997. Johnny Maher died in Tadoussac on June 25, 1937 at the age of 74 years and six months. At the ancestral cemetery of Tadoussac we find his burial place on the east side, at the cemetery entrance leading to the old presbytery. On the epitaph, only his children born from his union with Laure Boulianne are listed. No trace of Thomas in Tadoussac cemetery, the remains of the latter and his wife rest in Belmont cemetery in Quebec. Daniel also added an extensive bibliography, if interested please contact me! Le commerce d’Alfred Vaillancourt était situé sur la rue du bord de l’eau, dans l’édifice qui abrite actuellement la Micro-brasserie de Tadoussac. Les trois autres commerces étaient localisés sur la rue principale, la rue Elgin de l’époque, aujourd’hui la Rue des Pionniers, à proximité les uns des autres. L’actuelle épicerie Hovington de bannière Intermarché a succédé à l’épicerie Côté ainsi qu’au commerce de François Bourgoing et plus tard, de son fils Ernest. Le local actuel du Café Bohème abritait le magasin général de Pierre Cid et sur le terrain où se situe aujourd’hui la boutique Nima se trouvait le magasin de Johnny N. Maher. Joseph (dit Johnny ou Johnney) Napoléon Maher La famille Johnny Maher, né en 1863 et décédé en 1939, est le fils de Joseph « Jerry » Maher et de Clarisse Gagné. Le 10 août 1886, Johnny épouse Évelyne (Marie Auveline) Hovington (1865-), fille de Édouard Hovington et de Flavine Pedneault. Le couple donnera naissance à un fils, Édouard Thomas (1891-1980) qui épousa en 1918 Emma Vauthier (1898-1966) fille de Édouard Vauthier et Annie-Bridget-Ann Sullivan de St-Godefroi de Bonaventure en Gaspésie. À la suite du décès de son épouse Évelyne Hovington, Johnny épouse en seconde noce en 1898, Laure Boulianne fille de Joseph Boulianne et de Alfeda Levesque. Deux enfants sont issus de l’union, une fille, Marie-Paule (1904-1997) mariée à Ernest Lizotte, et un fils, Robert (1900-1970) époux de Florette Harvey (1918-1985). Les activités professionnelles Johnny Maher aurait possédé une maison sur la Pointe-de-l’Islet. Contraint de la démolir en raison de son expropriation, il en érige une nouvelle près du pont Côté, voisin du futur magasin de Pierre Cid. À la fin des années 1800, Johnny Maher connait quelques difficultés, financières, notamment une faillite en 1891,. Comble du malheur, quelques années plus tard, en 1902, un incendie détruit complètement la maison qui abrite son magasin. Son habitation était sans assurances. Pourtant, comme commerçant avisé il connaissait les risques financiers élevés et l’obligation à la prudence. Tant au premier mariage, à la suite de la faillite, qu’au second, les époux Maher s’assurent d’une union en « séparation de biens » afin de protéger le patrimoine familial,. Au recensement de 1911, Johnny Maher se déclare d’origine écossaise, « marchand » comme occupation principale et « garde-pêche » comme occupation secondaire. Pour ce qui est de son origine écossaise, selon les spécialistes généalogiques, les ancêtres Maher seraient d’origine irlandaise et non écossaise. Pour sa part madame Gaby Villeneuve prétend qu’il est d’origine germanique. Son commerce est surtout orienté sur les denrées sèches et les accessoires de couture. Selon la saison, il offre à sa clientèle des produits de la pêche, notamment le saumon frais. À la création de la municipalité du Village de Tadoussac Johnny Maher est nommé échevin du premier conseil municipal sous la direction du maire Eugène Caron. Plus tard, il siègera à la Commission de la paix pour le district de Tadoussac. Les descendants Le fils ainé de Johnny, Thomas Maher, connaitra une certaine célébrité dans la région de Québec et au-delà. Après sa graduation au cours classique au Séminaire de Chicoutimi en 1913 il poursuit des études en agriculture à Chicoutimi et obtient son diplôme en 1914. Après sa formation à l’Université Laval il devient ingénieur forestier en 1917. Par la suite professeur à l’université Laval où il connaît une belle carrière. Impliqué dans la région de Québec il est reconnu « grand développeur » du lac Saint-Joseph. Il sera également associé à la famille Deschênes de Tadoussac lors de la création en 1918 de la Compagnie de navigation Charlevoix-Saguenay dont il sera le vice-président. La compagnie obtiendra une subvention du Gouvernement afin d’assurer la liaison entre la région de Carlevoix et la Côte-Nord. Thomas épouse Emma Vauthier le 3 janvier 1918, le couple aura 3 enfants. Il est professeur à la faculté des Sciences de l’Université Laval de 1933 à 1958 et professeur émérite en 1958. Il sera vice-président de la Commission canadienne de la radiodiffusion (devenue la Société Radio-Canada), « il est président de la Galerie Nationale à Ottawa depuis 1959; président de l’Association des Ingénieurs forestiers de la Province de Québec (1928-30 et 1952-54) ; fondateur et administrateur de l’hebdomadaire Le Journal (1929-31); président du Conseil diocésain des Oeuvres de Charité du Québec (1950). Il est auteur des ouvrages sur les forêts québécoises « Nos forêts en décadence », « Pays de Cocagne ou terre de Caën » et du roman « Fascination », ainsi que de nombreux articles de journaux et conférences ayant pour thème la forêt. En 1921 il crée avec son fils Robert et un dénommé Henri Grenier de Québec, une compagnie d’exploitation forestière, Thomas Maher inc.. Cette compagnie sera dissoute en 1932. Il décède à Québec le 7 mars 1980. Le Robert Maher, deuxième fils de Johnny, et son épouse Florette Harvey auront deux fils, dont un qu’ils baptiseront Thomas, du même prénom que son oncle, un second Marc et une fille Hélène. Thomas deviendra enseignant à l’École Saint-Joseph de Tadoussac, directeur d’école et plus tard directeur de la Commission scolaire de Tadoussac. Il sera également Commodore de la marina de Tadoussac et le xième maire du village de Tadoussac et président de la Corporation de développement touristique de Tadoussac. Il sera également administrateur au sein du Conseil d’administration de la Société des traversiers du Québec. Hélène épousera le docteur Claude Bossé et Marc s’unira à Michèle Plouffe. La seule fille de Johnny fut Marie-Paule, mariée à Ernest Lizotte. Impliquée au sein de la section locale de la Croix-Rouge, elle en fut secrétaire en 1941. Après son mariage, elle s’installe à Chicoutimi où elle décède en 1997. Johnny Maher décède à Tadoussac le 25 juin 1937 à l’âge de 74 ans et six mois. Au cimetière ancestral de Tadoussac nous retrouvons sa sépulture du côté est, à l’entrée cimetière menant à l’ancien presbytère. Sur l’épitaphe, seuls ses enfants nés de son union avec Laure Boulianne sont inscrits. Aucune trace de Thomas au cimetière de Tadoussac, les restes de ce dernier ainsi que son épouse reposent au cimetière Belmont à Québec. Pierre Cid Marchand General 1960's Back row on the right, ?, Beth Dewart, Maggie Reilley, Michael Reilley, ?, Marie Cid (who ran the store with her brother Joe and sister Alexandra) Joe, Alexandra, Marie Cid Joe, Alexandra, Marie Cid Coosie Price and his granddaughter Elise Mundell Herve Desrosiers From the Middle East PIERRE CID, GENERAL MERCHANT IN TADOUSSAC Daniel Delisle PhD Most of Tadoussac's elders remember the Pierre Cid general store, located in the center of the village on Rue des Pionniers, in a pretty period house with attics where the Café Bohème is today. Perhaps some will even have known Joseph Cid, the son of Pierre Cid, who took over the business upon the death of his father. Venu du Moyen-Oriant PIERRE CID, MARCHAND GÉNÉRAL À TADOUSSAC Daniel Delisle PhD Les ainés de Tadoussac se rappellent, pour la plupart, le magasin général Pierre Cid, situé au centre du village sur la rue des Pionniers, dans une jolie maison d’époque à mansardes où se trouve aujourd’hui le Café Bohème. Peut-être même quelques-uns auront connu Joseph Cid, le fils de Pierre Cid, qui a pris la relève du commerce au décès de son père. Pierre Cid (1866-1948) in his time was undoubtedly a well-known person in Tadoussac and the surrounding area. Local history first identifies the character at the general store, and a general store means a meeting place for village residents. But there is also his West Asian origin which makes the character even more intriguing. The oral transmission of Tadoussac's history suggests that he was born in Syria in 1866. He arrived on Canadian soil between 1894 and 1897, aged in his early thirties. He was then accompanied by his wife Marie Halissah (1877-1945), often named Alice, Marie-Alice, Marie-Halissa, or Alisse, and two children: Victoria (1892-1949), the eldest, and Geneviève (1893-1974). ). According to Ms. Gaby Villeneuve, the little Cid family settled in the Quebec region upon their arrival in Canada, a brother of Mr. Cid, Michel, would already be recognized there as a merchant. This point is confirmed by data from the 19017 census. Syrian-Lebanese immigration is now well documented. Middle Eastern Immigrant From its presumed country of origin, Syria, it should be noted that at this time, the end of the 19th century, the Middle East was experiencing multiple changes due to the fall of the Ottoman Empire. France is present as a colonizing state and plays an important role in this region of the world, in particular to put an end to the massacre of the Catholic communities of Mount Lebanon. This French presence also explains the French-speaking nature of Lebanon and Syria, among others, for many years and still today. Of course, the borders between Lebanon and Syria have fluctuated during this century and the beginning of the 20th and certain cities or regions thus see themselves under different influences. From the Ottoman period until 1920, Lebanon was part of Syria. According to the death notice published in the newspaper L'Action catholique on Saturday March 20, 1948, Pierre Cid was born in the town of "Massoun in Lebanon (Syria)" in 1866. Could this be the current town of Massoud (Massoudiyeh or Massoudieh) from the Akkar district in northern Lebanon? This city is in fact located very close to the current border of the country, in a mountainous region bordering Syria, where Wikipedia reports a significant exodus of its population across the world, including to Canada. The hypothesis of this origin of Pierre Cid seems interesting. However, at the wedding in Ontario of his eldest daughter Victoria, the bride's father claimed to have been born in Tripoli, Syria. Here again, the only city named Tripoli in this region is currently located in Lebanon. In the suburbs of Tripoli there is a town named Hasnoun Massoud region. However, at the time of his birth, Lebanon and Syria were one and the same country: Syria. “This geographical and historical Syria roughly corresponds to the current territories of Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Israel as well as the occupied Palestinian territories of the West Bank and historic Gaza”, region known as Bilad al -Sham. In any case, Pierre Cid spoke French when he arrived in Canada. Like the majority of Syrian immigrants at the end of the 19th century, he is Catholic. This will facilitate his integration into rural Quebec where he initially worked as a traveling trader between Quebec and the north coast. As previously noted, some suggest that Pierre Cid came to join a brother, Michel, in Canada. We found his trace in the 1901 census data. He was 38 years old and lived in Saint-Romuald, Lévis county, in the company of his brother Pierre, then aged 34, Pierre's wife, Alicia who is 24 years old and three of their children; Geneviève 6 years old, Joseph 3 years old and Antoine 1 year old. Victoria, the eldest, is absent from the census data. The spelling of their last name is incorrect and presented as Seed. A few years ago, during Joseph's baptism on January 2, 1898 in Saint-Romuald-d'Etchemin, his name is indicated in the registers of the parish of Saint-Romuald as godfather of the child. Finally, a funeral notice published on March 20, 1908 announced his death in Saint-Romuald d’Etchemin. Pierre Cid, merchant, father, good practitioner Like many of his Syrian compatriots, trade is a strength and a tradition. In Quebec, they are omnipresent in large urban centers and quickly we find them in the main regions of the province. Good traders, they are associated with the profession of peddler, itinerant seller, to the point where a Quebec expression is associated with them: “the Syrian is coming” to signal the arrival of the traveling merchant. After a few years traveling the Charlevoix and Haute Côte Nord regions as a traveling salesman, offering the population small items such as buttons, pins, threads, scissors, lace, fabrics, stockings, pens, etc.8, he settled in the village of Tadoussac at the beginning of the 1900s. This period corresponds to when his brother Michel died in Saint-Romuald in 1908. His commercial activities in his new host village were initially quite modest, starting from a small local located in the house of Mr. Omer Bouliane, merchant and registrar. After a few years, with business going fairly well, he bought the house from its owner and set up his own general store. It was he who, a few years later, had an extension built at the back of the store to accommodate his family. Pierre Cid quickly became an important and respected personality in the village and in the region. He collaborated on all development projects and his name frequently appeared in the Quebec newspapers of the time, Le Soleil, La Presse, L’Action Catholique and Le Quotidien in particular. We note in particular his numerous trips to Quebec, probably to supply his business. The newspapers also mention his Christian community involvement, either as a member of the Temperance League or as part of the 200th anniversary celebrations of the historic Tadoussac chapel. Over the years the family grew and included a dozen births, four boys and eight girls. Unfortunately, in 1917 he lost a son, Antoine, aged 17. Three other children also died at a young age; two boys, Louis-Joseph at the age of two (1905), Joseph-Paul at three (1915) and a girl, Marie-Juliette during her first year in 1915. There was also a death in 1897, a daughter, during her stay in Saint-Romuald. Some of these burials are engraved on the stele of Pierre Cid at the ancestral cemetery of Tadoussac. During the 1911 census, the children identified in the national register were Victoria, the eldest, who was born in Syria on December 17, 1892, as well as Geneviève on March 16, 1893, who died on June 26, 1974. On January 2, 1897, a girl (anonymous) who died the day before in Saint-Romuald was buried (hence the hypothesis of the arrival of Pierre Cid in the country before 1897). Then followed the children born in Quebec: Joseph, baptized on January 2, 1898 in Saint-Romuald-d'Etchemins, Antoine on December 11, 1900 and died in 1917 (on the epitaph it is indicated 1901 as the date of birth, then that the census specifies that he was born in 1900), Alexandra, June 7, 1904, Joséphine, March 5, 1905, Marie and Antoinette the twins, born April 1, 1910. The children are educated in the Catholic religion as the indications in the newspapers suggest. Indeed, some of the girls were even novices among the nuns, notably Geneviève (Sister Marie-du-St-Esprit) and Antoinette (Sister Alarie-du-good-Pasteur). Joseph also studied at the Sherbrooke Seminary. He obtained good results, particularly in English, a discipline in which he earned a mention in 1918. Witnesses from the time claim that Alexandra and Marie worked with Joseph at the store. Marie apparently suffered from Parkinson's disease. Alexandra's death notice, found in the newspaper Le Soleil on November 7, 1978, announces her death on November 6, 1978 in Quebec at the age of 74. The obituary relates the presence at the funeral of Joseph, Joséphine and Marie. We did not find any other traces of them after this date, other than the mention in the Quebec city directory of Joséphine Cid, annuitant. The Cid descendants Victoria, the eldest, and Antoinette, the youngest, will be the only Cid children to marry. Victoria left Tadoussac around the age of 17, wanting to free herself from overly strict parents, according to local rumors and confirmed by the testimony of her granddaughter Susan Stone. Still according to the latter, she will work as a caregiver within a family of Hungarian origin in Ontario. Victoria married on September 20, 1920, in Toronto, Mr. John Moses Cooley, son of James Cooley of Irish origin and Agnès Clair. During the 1921 census, we found traces of the couple in Niagara Falls. Five children were born from the union: Marie-Agnès, the eldest, was born in Niagara Falls on October 13, 1921. Subsequently, the other four children were born in Toronto: James-Bernard, on December 6, 1923, Margaret-Evelyn on November 24 1924, Clair-Edward May 10, 1927 and John-Leo March 7, 1931. The Cid-Cooley family subsequently grew to include five grandchildren, two boys and three girls, including Susan, who kept us pleasantly informed. Five great-grandchildren were added to the family in subsequent years. During her life in Ontario, Victoria maintained contact with her family in Tadoussac, although infrequently. An article in the Quebec newspaper Le Soleil reports the visit of her brother Joseph to her sick sister in Toronto in 1949. She died that same year at the age of 50. Her grave is located in Saint Michaels Cemetery, Dunnville. Haldimand County, Ontario. For her part, Antoinette Cid, the youngest of the family, after having completed her secondary school studies like her sister Geneviève as novices at the convent of the Antoniennes-de-Marie sisters in Chicoutimi, undertook training in nursing. at the Nursing School of Sainte-Justine Hospital in Montreal. At the end of her studies in May 1940, she began her professional practice in Quebec. His last known address at the time was 6056 rue Saint-Denis in Montreal. In September 1942, at the age of 32, she left the country to settle in New York as a nurse. Having received her training in pediatrics, she will be hired at Misericordia Hospital. It was in the American metropolis that she met David Joseph Barr from Baltimore, widower of the late Mabel Dorothy Tuttle. She married him in October 1954 at Saint-Jean-Baptiste Church in New York. The year before her marriage, a trace of her was found in the American Immigration Service, on a list of passengers from the ship S/S Nassau arriving in New York on April 26, 1953. In July 1978 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Antoinette died at the age of 68. Having married at the age of 44, she did not have any children, but evidently, at her marriage her husband had a son, Robert W. Barr who gave her two grandchildren. His grave is located in Saint John the Evangelist Cemetery, Hyde, Baltimore County, Maryland. A few years earlier, on March 16, 1948, the funeral of Mr. Pierre Cid, who died at the venerable age of 82 years and 5 months, was celebrated in Tadoussac. Three years earlier, Madame Marie Hallissah Cid died on July 26, 1945 at the age of 68. An epitaph to their memories is inscribed on a tombstone near the stele of Pierre Cid's lot at the Tadoussac cemetery (photo 4). In his will, as a good Christian, Pierre Cid bequeathed to the factory of the parish of Exaltation-de-la-Sainte-Croix, a sum of $1,000 for the repair of the church bell which had been damaged during of the fire of 1946 which left the temple in ruins. When his father died, it was Joseph Cid who continued the family business. Single, he is supported in the store by two of his sisters: Alexandra and Marie, Amtoinette's twin. The Pierre Cid general store permanently ceased operations in 1976. The house was sold to Mr. Guy Bouchard and subsequently to Gai and Gary Brown who have still owned it since 1981. There will therefore be no descendants with the surname of Pierre Cid. However, several Cid-Cooley descendants in Ontario are from Victoria's marriage. Pierre Cid (1866-1948) à son époque est sans contredit une personne bien connue à Tadoussac et dans les environs. L’histoire locale identifie d’abord le personnage au magasin général, et qui dit magasin général dit lieu de rencontre pour les résidents du village. Mais il y a aussi son origine de l’Asie de l’Ouest qui rend le personnage encore plus intriguent. La transmission orale de l’histoire de Tadoussac suggère en effet qu’il serait né en Syrie en 1866. Il arrive en sol canadien entre 1894 et 1897, âgé dans la jeune trentaine. Il est alors accompagné de sa femme Marie Halissah (1877-1945), souvent prénommée Alice, Marie-Alice, Marie-Halissa, ou Alisse et de deux enfants: Victoria (1892-1949), l’ainée et Geneviève (1893-1974). Selon madame Gaby Villeneuve, la petite famille Cid s’installe dans la région de Québec à leur arrivée au Canada, un frère de monsieur Cid, Michel y serait déjà reconnu comme marchand. Ce point est confirmé par les données du recensement de 19017. L’immigration syro-libanaise est aujourd’hui bien documentée. Immigrant du Moyen-Orient De son pays d’origine présumé, la Syrie, il est à noter qu’à cette époque, soit la fin du 19e siècle, le Moyen-Orient connaît de multiples changements en raison de la chute de l’Empire ottoman. La France est présente comme état colonisateur et joue un rôle important dans cette région du monde, notamment pour mettre fin au massacre des communautés catholiques du Mont-Liban. Cette présence française explique d’ailleurs la nature francophone du Liban et de la Syrie entre autres, depuis de nombreuses années et aujourd’hui encore. Bien entendu, les frontières entre le Liban et la Syrie ont fluctué au cours de ce siècle et du début du 20e et certaines villes ou régions se voient ainsi sous différentes influences. De la période ottomane jusqu’en 1920, le Liban fait partie de la Syrie. Selon l’avis de décès paru dans le journal L’Action catholique du samedi 20 mars 1948, Pierre Cid serait né dans la ville de «Massoun au Liban (Syrie)» en 1866. S’agirait-il de l’actuelle ville de Massoud (Massoudiyeh ou Massoudieh) du district de l’Akkar au nord du Liban? Cette ville est en effet située très près de la frontière actuelle du pays, dans une région montagneuse limitrophe de la Syrie dont Wikipédia relate un exode important de sa population à travers le monde, entre autres vers le Canada. L’hypothèse de cette origine de Pierre Cid semble intéressante. Cependant, lors du mariage en Ontario de sa fille ainée Victoria, le père de la mariée prétend être né à Tripoli en Syrie. Ici encore, la seule ville du nom de Tripoli dans cette région est située actuellement au Liban. Dans la banlieue de Tripoli se trouve une ville au nom de Hasnoun région de Massoud. Or, l’époque de sa naissance, Liban et Syrie ne sont qu’un seul et même pays : la Syrie. « Cette Syrie géographique et historique correspond à peu près aux territoires actuels de la Syrie, du Liban, de la Jordanie, d’Israël ainsi qu’aux territoires palestiniens occupés de Cisjordanie et de Gaza historique », région connue sous le nom du Bilad al-Sham. Quoiqu’il en soit, Pierre Cid parle donc français à son arrivée au Canada. Comme la majorité des immigrants syriens de la fin du 19e siècle, il est de religion catholique. Cela facilitera son intégration au Québec rural où il exerce au début, le métier de commerçant itinérant entre Québec et la côte nord. Comme indiqué précédemment, certains suggèrent que Pierre Cid serait venu rejoindre un frère, Michel, au Canada. Nous avons trouvé la trace de celui-ci aux données du recensement de 1901. Il a 38 ans et habite à Saint-Romuald, conté de Lévis, en compagnie de son frère Pierre alors âgé de 34 ans, de l’épouse de Pierre, Alicia qui a 24 ans et de trois de leurs enfants ; Geneviève 6 ans, Joseph 3 ans et Antoine 1 an. Victoria, l’ainée est absente des données de recensement. L’orthographe de leur nom de famille est erronée et présentée comme Seed. Quelques années au paravent, lors du baptême de Joseph le 2 janvier 1898 à Saint-Romuald-d’Etchemin, son nom est indiqué aux registres de la paroisse de Saint-Romuald comme parrain de l’enfant. Enfin, un avis funéraire paru le 20 mars 1908 annonce son décès à Saint-Romuald d’Etchemin. Pierre Cid, marchand, père de famille, bon pratiquant Comme plusieurs de ses compatriotes syriens, le commerce est une force et une tradition. Au Québec, ils sont omniprésents dans les grands centres urbains et rapidement nous les retrouvons dans les principales régions de la province. Bons commerçants, ils sont associés au métier de colporteur, vendeur itinérant, au point où une expression québécoise leur est associée : « le Syrien s’en vient » pour signaler l’arrivée du marchand ambulant. Après quelques années à sillonner les régions de Charlevoix et de la Haute Côte Nord comme vendeur itinérant, offrant à la population de menus articles tels des boutons, épingles, fils, ciseaux, dentelles, tissus, bas, stylos, etc.8, il s’installe dans le village de Tadoussac au début des années 1900. Cette période correspond où son frère Michel décède à Saint-Romuald en 1908. Ses activités commerciales dans son nouveau village d’accueil sont au début assez modestes, à partir d’un petit local situé dans la maison de monsieur Omer Bouliane, marchand et registrateur. Après quelques années, les affaires allant assez bien, il achète la maison de son propriétaire et y installe son propre magasin général. C’est lui qui, quelques années plus tard, fait construire une extension à l’arrière du magasin pour y loger sa famille. Rapidement Pierre Cid devient une personnalité importante et respectée au village et dans la région. Il collabore à tous les projets de développement et son nom revient fréquemment dans les journaux du Québec de l’époque, Le Soleil, La Presse, L’Action catholique et Le Quotidien notamment. On signale notamment ses nombreux voyages à Québec, probablement pour approvisionner son commerce. Les journaux font également mention de son implication communautaire chrétienne, soit comme membre de la Ligue de tempérance ou encore dans le cadre des fêtes du 200e anniversaire de la chapelle historique de Tadoussac. Au cours des années la famille s’agrandie et compte une douzaine de naissances, quatre garçons et huit filles. Malheureusement, en 1917 il perd un fils, Antoine, âgé de 17 ans. Trois autres enfants décèdent aussi en bas âge; deux garçons, Louis-Joseph à l’âge de deux ans (1905), Joseph-Paul à trois ans (1915) et une fille, Marie-Juliette au cours de sa première année en 1915. On compte également un décès en 1897, une fille, lors de son séjour à Saint-Romuald. Certaines de ces sépultures sont gravées sur la stèle de Pierre Cid au cimetière ancestral de Tadoussac. Lors du recensement de 1911, les enfants identifiées au registre national sont Victoria, l’aînée, qui serait née en Syrie le 17 décembre 1892, de même que Geneviève le 16 mars 1893, décédée le 26 juin 1974 . Le deux janvier 1897 est inhumée une fille (anonyme) décédée la veille à Saint-Romuald (d’où l’hypothèse de l’arrivée de Pierre Cid au pays avant 1897). Suivent par la suite les enfants nés au Québec : Joseph, baptisé le 2 janvier 1898 à Saint-Romuald-d’Etchemins, Antoine le 11 décembre 1900 et décédé en 1917 (sur l’épitaphe il est indiqué 1901 comme date de naissance, alors que le recensement précise qu’il est né en 1900), Alexandra, le 7 juin 1904, Joséphine, le 5 mars 1905, Marie et Antoinette les jumelles, nées le premier avril 1910. Les enfants sont éduqués dans la religion catholique comme le laisse présumer les indications dans les journaux. En effet, certaines des filles ont même été novices chez les religieuses, notamment Geneviève (Sœur Marie-du-St-Esprit) et Antoinette (Sœur Alarie-du-bon-Pasteur). Joseph a également fait des études au Séminaire de Sherbrooke. Il obtient de bons résultats, notamment en anglais, une discipline où il se mérite une mention en 1918. Des témoins de l’époque prétendent qu’Alexandra et Marie travaillaient avec Joseph au magasin. Marie souffrait, semble-t-il, de la maladie de Parkinson. L’avis de décès d’Alexandra, retrouvé dans le journal Le Soleil du 7 novembre 1978, annonce son décès le 6 novembre 1978 à Québec à l’âge de 74 ans. La nécrologie relate la présence aux obsèques de Joseph, Joséphine et Marie. Nous n’avons pas trouvé d’autres traces de ces derniers après cette date, sinon la mention à l’annuaire de la ville de Québec de Joséphine Cid, rentière. La descendance Cid Victoria, l’ainée et Antoinette, la cadette, seront les seuls enfants Cid à se marier. Victoria quitte Tadoussac vers l’âge de 17 ans, désireuse de s’émanciper de parents trop stricts, selon les rumeurs locales et confirmées par le témoignage de sa petite-fille Susan Stone. Toujours selon cette dernière, elle travaillera comme aide familiale au sein d’une famille d’origine hongroise en Ontario. Victoria épouse le 20 septembre 1920, à Toronto, monsieur John Moses Cooley, fils de James Cooley d’origine irlandaise et de Agnès Clair. Lors du recensement de 1921, nous retrouvons la trace du couple à Niagara Falls. Cinq enfants naîtront de l’union: Marie-Agnès, l’aînée naît à Niagara Falls le 13 octobre 1921. Par la suite les quatre autres enfants naîtront à Toronto: James-Bernard, le 6 décembre 1923, Margaret-Evelyn le 24 novembre 1924, Clair-Edward 10 mai 1927 et John-Leo le 7 mars 1931. La famille Cid-Cooley s’est par la suite agrandie de cinq petits enfants, deux garçons et trois filles, dont Susan, qui nous a agréablement informé. Cinq arrière-petits-enfants se sont ajoutés à la fratrie au cours des années subséquentes. Au cours de sa vie en Ontario, Victoria garda, bien que peu fréquent, contact avec sa famille de Tadoussac. Un entrefilet dans le journal Le Soleil de Québec, signale la visite de son frère Joseph auprès de sa sœur malade à Toronto en 1949. Elle décède cette même année à l’âge de 50 ans. Sa sépulture est située au Saint Michaels Cemetery, Dunnville. Haldimand County, en Ontario. De son côté, Antoinette Cid, la plus jeune de la famille, après avoir fait ses études de niveau secondaire à l’instar de sa sœur Geneviève comme novices au couvent des sœurs Antoniennes-de-Marie à Chicoutimi, entreprend une formation en soins infirmiers à l’École des gardes-malades de l’hôpital Sainte-Justine de Montréal. À la fin de ses études en mai 1940, elle débute sa pratique professionnelle au Québec. Sa dernière adresse connue à l’époque est le 6056 rue Saint-Denis à Montréal. En septembre 1942, à l’âge de 32 ans elle quitte le pays pour s’installer à New York comme infirmière. Ayant reçu sa formation en pédiatrie, elle sera embauchée au Misericordia Hospital. C’est dans la métropole américaine qu’elle fera la rencontre de David Joseph Barr de Baltimore, veuf de feue Mabel Dorothy Tuttle. Elle l’épouse en octobre 1954 à l’église Saint-Jean-Baptiste de New York. L’année précédent son mariage, une trace d’elle est retrouvée au Service d’immigration américain, sur une liste de passagers du navire S/S Nassau arrivant à New York le 26 avril 1953. En juillet 1978 à Fort Lauderdale en Floride, Antoinette décède à l’âge de 68 ans. S’étant mariée à l’âge de 44 ans, elle n’aura pas eu d’enfant, mais de toute évidence, à son mariage son mari avait un fils, Robert W. Barr qui lui donna deux petits-enfants. Sa sépulture est située au cimetière Saint John the Evangelist, à Hyde, comté de Baltimore au Maryland. Quelques années plus tôt, le 16 mars 1948, sont célébrées à Tadoussac les funérailles de monsieur Pierre Cid, décédé à l’âge vénérable de 82 ans et 5 mois. Trois ans auparavant, Madame Marie Hallissah Cid est décédée, le 26 juillet 1945 à l’âge de 68 ans. Une épitaphe à leurs mémoires est inscrite sur une pierre tombale près de la stèle du lot de Pierre Cid au cimetière de Tadoussac (photo 4). Dans son testament, en bon chrétien, Pierre Cid lègue à la fabrique de la paroisse de l’Exaltation-de-la-Sainte-Croix, une somme de 1000$ pour la réparation de la cloche de l’église qui avait été endommagée lors de l’incendie de 1946 qui laissa le temple en ruine. Au décès de son père, c’est Joseph Cid qui poursuit le commerce familial. Célibataire, il est appuyé au magasin par deux de ses sœurs: Alexandra et Marie, la jumelle d’Amtoinette. Le magasin général Pierre Cid a cessé définitivement ses opérations en 1976. La maison fut vendue à monsieur Guy Bouchard et par la suite à Gai et Gary Brown qui en sont toujours propriétaires depuis 1981. Il n’y aura donc aucun descendant au patronyme de Pierre Cid. Cependant, plusieurs descendants Cid-Cooley en Ontario sont issus du mariage de Victoria. Bourgouin Cid addition Under Construction MAHER CID'S Bourgouin & Dumont Both these buildings burned in July 1923, and were replaced by the Cote Grocery store. Ces deux bâtiments brûlèrent en juillet 1923 et furent remplacés par l'épicerie Côté. Maher Cid's Bourgouin Dumont Galouine Construit 1900's 1860's 1900's 1880's 1850's Jusq'ua 1970's Now 1923 1923 Maintenant In the town plan it is clear that the Bourgouin and Dumont buildings were close together, and thus were destroyed at the same time, whereas the Cid building and the Galouine on either side were saved. Dans le plan de la ville, il est clair que les bâtiments Bourgouin et Dumont étaient proches l'un de l'autre et furent donc détruits en même temps, tandis que le bâtiment Cid et la Galouine de part et d'autre ont été sauvés. "Magasin Bourgoing" was the first general store in Tadoussac. It was located in the center, almost on the same site as the Côté grocery store. It burned down in 1923, at the same time as Thimothée Dumont's house, which was the first to catch fire. It was built so close that Mr. Bourgoing could not save his store. He rebuilt it in 1925-26, Raymond Côté bought it, and it took the name "Magasin Côté." Later, his son Paul ran a grocery store there, which today belongs to Daniel Hovington of Sacré-Coeur. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Le "Magasin Bourgoing" fut le premier magasin général à Tadoussac. Il était situé en plein centre, à peu près au même emplacement que l'épicerie Côté. Il a été incendié en 1923, en même temps que la maison de Thimothée Dumont qui fut la première à prendre feu. Elle était construite si proche que M. Bourgoing ne put sauver son magasin. Il le reconstruira en 1925-26, Raymond Côté l'achètera, il prendra le nom de 'Magasin Côté". Plus tard, son fils Paul y tiendra une épicerie qui appartient aujourd'hui à Daniel Hovington de Sacré-Coeur. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Cote's Raymond Cote La Galouine Café Blue Albert Perron married Emma Marquis in Tadoussac in 1908. He owned a house in the center of the village (owned by Dr. Claude Bossé, then Van Alstyne family). He was a shoemaker like his father.After his death, his house became the property of his daughter Gabrielle, who married Roméo Lapointe, son of Albanas and Azélie Lavoie, on October 9, 1923.They had children: Louisette, Ernest, and Léo. The house, which had been a shoemaker's shop, eventually became a café known as "Café Bleu." Much of the youth of the 1950s was spent in this café. It was the rock 'n' roll era! A few years after the café closed, the Lapointes left Tadoussac. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Albert Perron épouse Emma Marquis a Tadoussac en 1908. Il possédait une maison au centre du village (propriété du docteur Claude Bossé, puis à famille Van Alstyne). Il était cordonnier comme son père. Après sa mort, sa maison devint la propriété de sa fille Gabrielle qui était l'épouse de Roméo Lapointe, fils d'Albanas et Azélie Lavoie, le 9 octobre 1923. Ils eurent comme enfants: Louisette, Ernest, Léo. De cordonnerie qu'elle était la maison devint un café connu sous le nom de "Café Bleu". Une grande partie de la jeunesse des années '50 s'est déroulée dans ce café C'était les années rock'n roll! Quelques années après la fermeture du café, les Lapointe quittèrent Tadoussac. Hotel Boulianne Jeanne Olsen The hotel BOULIANNE was owned by my aunt and my uncle EDGAR OLSEN I worked there at 12 years old and I left to get married Jeanne Olsen l'hotel BOULIANNE cela apartenai a mon oncle et ma tante EDGAR OLSEN j'ai travaillé la a 12 ans et je suis partit pour me marié Chez Mme Ida François Deschênes and his sons were excellent carpenters. They built several houses in Tadoussac. François built the grocery store at Ida Lavoie's in the 1920s, after the old house built by Mr. Price burned down. He built it with materials from the last house in Moulin-Baude and the one he owned on the golf course. (Testimony Roméo Simard, 1986). Louis and Pierre Deschênes built several houses in Tadoussac, including Janet Beattie's house at the corner of Pionniers and Montagnais Streets, Marguerite Relley's pink house, and Glenn Bydwell's house, which also belonged to the Deschênes. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve François Deschênes et ses fils étaient d'excellents menuisiers. Ils ont contruit plusieurs maisons à Tadoussac. François a construit l'épicerie chez Ida Lavoie dans les années 20, après que l'ancienne maison construite par M. Price fut incendiée. Il l'a construisit avec les matériaux de la dernière maison du Moulin-Baude et de celle qu'il possédait sur le terrain de golf. (témoignage Roméo Simard, 1986). Louis et Pierre Deschênes construisirent plusieurs maisons à Tadoussac, la maison de Janet Beattie au coin de la rue Pionniers et des Montagnais, la maison rose de Marguerite Relley, la maison de Glenn Bydwell a aussi appartenu aux Deschênes. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Villeneuve Charles Harvey owned a house behind the store at Villeneuve et Frères (now Le Bateau restaurant). It was during the 1950s, when his son Alphège lived there with his family of five children, that the house burned down. His sister Rose-Alma was the barber in Tadoussac. She owned a small shop behind Eugene Villeneuve's store. All the men in the village came to get their hair cut by Rose-Alma, nicknamed "Tetit." LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Charles Harvey possédait une maison derrière le magasin chez Villeneuve et Frères (aujourd'hui restaurant Le Bateau). C'est au cours des années cinquante, alors que son fils Alphège l'habitait avec sa famille de cinq enfants, que la maison brûla. Sa soeur Rose-Alma était le barbier de Tadoussac. Elle possédait une petite "shop" derrière le magasin chez Eugene Villeneuve. Tous les hommes du village venaient se faire couper les cheveux par Rose-Alma qu'on surnommait "Tetit" LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve 1960's 77

Saguenay Geology The Saguenay River Geology[edit ] The geological origins of Saguenay Fjord National Park can be traced to the Grenville orogeny during the Precambrian era. This event is considered to be the beginnings to the Laurentian mountains . Around 200 million years ago, a rock basal complex between a north fault and a south fault collapsed, creating the Saguenay Graben . The graben was 250 kilometres (160 mi) long and 50 kilometres (31 mi) wide. During the last glacial period , the region was covered by ice sheets two to three kilometers deep. The ice sheets cut deep into the Saguenay graben, gouging the fjord in the process. The weight of the ice sheets also caused the region to sink. When the claciers melted around 10,000 years ago, the graben was flooded by seawater. The subsequent post-glacial rebound lifted the terrain, shaping the fjord valleys in the process. Saguenay Graben From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia I've always wondered about the Geology of the Saguenay. There's lots on the internet, this is from Wikipedia! Géologie Les origines géologiques du parc national du Fjord-du-Saguenay remontent à l'orogenèse de Grenville au cours de l'ère précambrienne. Cet événement est considéré comme le début des montagnes laurentiennes. Il y a environ 200 millions d'années, un complexe basal rocheux situé entre une faille nord et une faille sud s'est effondré, créant le graben du Saguenay. Le graben mesurait 250 kilomètres (160 mi) de long et 50 kilomètres (31 mi) de large. Au cours de la dernière période glaciaire, la région était recouverte de calottes glaciaires de deux à trois kilomètres de profondeur. Les calottes glaciaires ont entaillé profondément le graben du Saguenay, creusant ainsi le fjord. Le poids des calottes glaciaires a aussi causé l'affaissement de la région. Lors de la fonte des glaciers, il y a environ 10 000 ans, le graben a été inondé par l'eau de mer. Le rebond postglaciaire qui a suivi a soulevé le terrain, façonnant ainsi les vallées des fjords. The Saguenay Graben is a rift valley or graben in the geological Grenville Province of southern Quebec , Canada . It is an elongated flat-bottomed basin 250 km (155 mi) long and 50 km (31 mi) wide, bounded by normal faults running parallel to its length. Formation of the Saguenay Graben The time of formation of the faults related to the Saugenay Graben is still under debate because it is difficult to accurately measure the age of faulting. Evidence suggests it was either the opening of the Iapetus Ocean (600-400 Ma), or the opening of the Atlantic Ocean (195-170 Ma) that caused the faulting. During the opening of one of these oceans, fragmentation of the landmass occurred creating two fault planes, one to the North and one to the South. The resulting bedrock between dropped down along the normal faults, creating the Saguenay Graben. The extent of these faults are only known at the surface and therefore their extension and shape at depth is unknown. The faults associated with the Saguenay Graben have been the source for earthquakes , including the 1988 Saguenay earthquake . Glaciations The area was covered by ice sheets several times throughout the Pleistocene . The graben was located relatively parallel to the ice sheet movement and therefore caused it to become a preferred travel pathway for ice. The glaciers cut into the graben and widened it in some places as well as making it considerable deeper in others. After the retreat of the final ice sheet, there was considerable isostatic rebound . The total amount of rebound varied from 140 m on the north side and 120 m on the south side. Present day geography The lowlands within the graben have an altitude of between 100 and 200 m. To the east there is the Kenogami threshold which is characterized by having an altitude of 200 to 260 m. This threshold splits the graben into two physiographic regions; the Lac Saint-Jean region to the west and the Saguenay region to the east. The plateau around the Graben is between 200 and 800 m in altitude. The Saguenay River as well as the Lac Saint-Jean are both contained within the Saguenay Graben. Le Graben du Saguenay est une vallée du Rift ou graben située dans la province géologique de Grenville, dans le sud du Québec, au Canada. Il s'agit d'un bassin allongé à fond plat de 250 km (155 mi) de long et 50 km (31 mi) de large, délimité par des failles normales parallèles à sa longueur. Formation du Graben du Saguenay L'époque de formation des failles liées au graben de Saugenay fait encore l'objet de débats, car il est difficile de mesurer avec précision l'âge des failles. Les preuves suggèrent que c'est soit l'ouverture de l'océan Iapetus (600-400 Ma), soit l'ouverture de l'océan Atlantique (195-170 Ma) qui a causé la faille. Lors de l'ouverture de l'un de ces océans, la fragmentation de la masse continentale s'est produite, créant deux plans de failles, un au nord et un au sud. Le substrat rocheux résultant s'est effondré le long des failles normales, créant le Graben du Saguenay. L'étendue de ces failles n'est connue qu'en surface et donc leur extension et leur forme en profondeur sont inconnues. Les failles associées au graben du Saguenay ont causé des tremblements de terre, dont le tremblement de terre du Saguenay en 1988. Glaciations La région a été recouverte de calottes glaciaires à plusieurs reprises tout au long du Pléistocène. Le graben était situé relativement parallèlement au mouvement de la calotte glaciaire et en faisait donc une voie de déplacement privilégiée pour la glace. Les glaciers ont creusé le fossé et l'ont élargi à certains endroits et l'ont rendu considérablement plus profond à d'autres. Après le retrait de la dernière calotte glaciaire, un rebond isostatique considérable s'est produit. La quantité totale de rebond variait entre 140 m du côté nord et 120 m du côté sud. Géographie actuelle Les basses terres du graben ont une altitude comprise entre 100 et 200 m. À l'est se trouve le seuil de Kenogami qui se caractérise par une altitude de 200 à 260 m. Ce seuil divise le graben en deux régions physiographiques ; la région du Lac Saint-Jean à l'ouest et la région du Saguenay à l'est. Le plateau autour du Graben est situé entre 200 et 800 m d'altitude. La rivière Saguenay ainsi que le lac Saint-Jean sont tous deux contenus dans le graben du Saguenay.

Short Stories by R Lewis Evans R. Lewis Evans was an English Teacher who loved to write. Although his books are quite well-known, his short stories and articles belong mostly to the more distant past. It was during the 1940s and 1950s that magazine short stories were popular and sought after and Dad wrote over 20 of them. Most were published, and many are of interest especially to those of us who know and love the Lower St. Lawrence and Saguenay areas of Quebec, so I decided to get them out of the file and onto the web-site where they can be read once again. I've divided the stories into categories. While he wrote mostly river stories about the Tadoussac area, including some historical fiction, he also wrote 6 stories about World War II (4 of which overlap with our beloved river), and a number of odd inspirations, one biblical, several inspired by newspaper items, and even one (gasp!) Science Fiction. There are also some non-fiction articles which will be coming along later in the year. I love them all partly because he wrote about what he loved and I love it too, but partly because his characters are thoughtful, compassionate and real. I've included a few notes that he kept in the file. Some are news articles he drew his ideas from; others are comments he received from editors either printed in the magazine or sent along to him separately. I've also tried to reproduce the illustrations, duly credited, as all the stories that published were supported by visual art. Only one, Casual Enemy, has no illustrator mentioned. My guess is he drew that one himself. I've read all these stories several times in my efforts to get them up onto the web-site correctly and I've never tired of them. I hope you enjoy them. A fair warning: some readers might recognize a few people! Alan Evans NEXT PAGE R Lewis Evans More Stories "Zeb," he cried. "Zeb, come on up top. Bring your bucket. make it quick." In Case of Fire A Short Story by Lewis Evans (Published in The Standard, October 5th, 1946 - $60.00!) ILLUSTRATED BY MENENDEZ The old hand and the novice found hostility turned to friendship in a battle with death THE windward edge of the fire was below them now, a line that straggled across twenty miles of forest and ate its way in little salients doggedly westwards against the draught. Downwind, ahead of the aircraft, all was confusion for countless square miles—white smoke, and gray and brown, air-borne ashes, and occasionally the peach-glow of flame dimly reflected on the driving smoke. Don Ross, late of the RCAF, held the F-24 on its course, passing over the centre of the vast burning area where thousands of cords of Northern Quebec pulpwood were going up in smoke instead of fulfilling their destiny of providing Canadian and American papers with newsprint. With him in the cabin bronzed, graying Zeb Stearn sat with map on knee, pencilling in the present area of the fire for his report back to the Canadian Forestry Service and the Long Lake, Wolf Lake and River Beyond Pulp and Paper Company, which owned these limits. Old Zeb Stearn concentrated on the job and said nothing. He had been saying just that ever since they had taken off from the North Shore that morning. The northward border of the forest fire seemed to follow the curves of River Beyond, and Don Ross swung the aircraft in that direction. As they approached the river they could see that the fire had already jumped it in several places. Zeb Stearn noted them on his map. Suddenly Don peered at the river beyond the eastern edge of the fire, set the plane on a glide towards it, and then banked on a curve. He pointed, and Stearn followed his finger. A herd of caribou was fording the river to gain the safer north bank. Don turned to smile at Stearn, but the old fellow did not evince interest by even so much as a grunt. He was again working on the map. Don felt rather foolish, as though he had excitedly pointed out the Rhine to a man who had already made many operational tours. THE F-24 was now over the advancing eastern edge, of the fire, and the air was rough. Now and then the thermals rising from the hot earth bounced the plane uncomfortably upwards, and the cabin filled with the raw smell of smoke, making its occupants cough—the first sound Stearn had made so far, Don thought wryly. He started a slow climb to get above the smoke, and suddenly the engine sputtered, livened up again, and quit cold. Don worked at his controls, but nothing happened, and a great appreciation of the multiple engined aircraft he had known overseas was born in him in a flash. He shot a glance at Stearn. The older man’s face betrayed no emotion, but he was peering out at the landscape below — already looking for a spot for a forced landing, Don knew; and Don followed suit. Behind him was River Beyond, but like most northern rivers it was shallow, sown with rocks and seamed with sand and gravel bars—a landing there meant two shattered floats at the very least. To the south, beyond the path of the fire, was Wolf Lake, a perfect landing place, but with a cross wind and his present altitude he didn’t think he could make it. Downwind from the fire was the nearest water—he picked it out between waves of smoke—a tiny lake, almost round, possible for a landing, too small for a take-off. Don tried desperately to make up his mind—take a long chance on Wolf Lake, and maybe not make it and come down in the fire area, or land on this little pond and probably stay there, right in the path of the fire. Stearn grabbed his arm. "Wolf Lake,” he shouted. Don swung the gliding plane towards it, and as soon as he had done so he knew— knew for certain—they couldn’t make it. He shook his head and swung again, losing altitude rapidly. The little round lake appeared and disappeared through the smoke as though it were winking at him. "Okay, honey; here I come,” he murmured, and circled to come at it upwind. The tall spruce round it forced him to glide flatter than he wished, but he almost brushed their tops as he crossed them. The other side of the lake seemed to rush at him, a solid phalanx of dark spruces, but the pontoons took the water with a clumsy splash, the F-24 rocked forward as if she were going to stick her nose down, rocked back, and bucked gently into the matted bushes fringing the shore. “Well,” said Don, “here we are.” “And here we stay till we fry,” commented Stearn. “Why didn’t you try for Wolf Lake, where we could have fixed the engine and had room to take off?” “I knew I couldn’t make it,” said Ross. “It wouldn’t have been any fun putting down in the bush—and the fire.” “It was a chance,” said Stearn. “This is certainty. The fire will be here by tonight.” “We have plenty of water,” said Ross. “We can keep ourselves and the aircraft wet.” ZEB STEARN snorted. “Ever been close to a fire of this size?” he demanded. “Yes,” snapped Ross. “Mannheim.” “You weren’t as close to that as you will be to this, my boy. You try keeping the plane wet, and yourself wet, and breathing at the same time. Take my advice and drown quietly. It’s the more comfortable death.” “Oh, go jump in the lake,” said Don curtly as he opened the door. “I’m going to. I want to find what's wrong with this motor.” He dropped onto a pontoon. “Why?” demanded Stearn. “Even if you fix it you can't get out of here. “I'd feel a lot better if the engine could go, though.” “What're you going to do? Move it on top and take off straight up like a helicopter? We'll get to heaven soon enough without all that trouble.” “Aw, pipe down, and come and help me get this cowling off.” Stearn's reply was to settle back and light his pipe. For ten minutes Ross worked at the engine. The acrid smoke filtering through the bush and bellying out across the lake kept him coughing. Several times he turned the motor over without getting even a kick. At last he opened the cabin door. “Come on and have a crack at this thing,” he pleaded. “The smoke out here tastes much better than that ‘tabac canadien’ you’re inhaling, anyway.” “Fix the thing yourself. You're the pilot,” grunted Stearn. “Oh, come on. You know this engine much better than I do.” “How should I know anything about it?” Stearn's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "I'm too old to know about things like that.” The older man spoke with force, as though he were getting a weight off his chest. Ross stood looking at him for a moment. “Look, Zeb,” he said at length. “Let's have it. What's your gripe?” Stearn's eyes drilled him. “I'm too old – that's what they tell me. For years I fly this bush and never have any trouble—not like this, anyway—” he gestured at the tiny lake. “Then the war's over and they tell me that I’m too old, that young fellows like you must have my job, that I'm on the shelf. On the skids, more like,” he added bitterly. “Who says so?” demanded Ross. “When I got the orders to cover this fire,” said Stearn, “they gave me to understand very plainly that you were the pilot, and I was to leave the flying to you. I was to go just because I knew the country, because I have experience.” THERE was a silence. Don had only come to the base a week ago, but already he had heard the story that Zeb Stearn had learned his flying in World War I, had come to the bush in 1919, and long ago had been forced to reckon his air time in months instead of hours. He felt sorry for the old fellow, and admired his pride and his record. He felt that what he said next—and how he said it—was desperately important. “Well, you may be too old, and you may not—I haven’t seen you fly. But I’ll tell you two things: first, I’ve seen plenty of pilots who were too old at twenty-one; second, I’m darn glad that you’re along.” “Thanks,” said Zeb Stearn dryly. "It’s nice to be wanted on what looks like a fatal journey.” Ross grinned at him. “Come on and play with the engine.” Zeb Stearn climbed out of the cabin, a little stiffly. “Why do you want to fix it?” he demanded. “It’s just work for nothing.” “Feel a lot better when it’s in working order,” said Don, and Stearn snorted. “We can move it to the far side of the lake, keep it wet with buckets, and maybe save it.” Stearn turned on him almost savagely. “You talk a lot of hot air,” he shouted. “Save it for what? A curiosity for the caribou?” He ended up coughing. Ross gestured towards the yellow and black fuselage and the big CF and three more letters on the wing. “That’s the best mark there is for anyone looking for us,” he said shortly. That shot went home, for Zeb Stearn nodded and turned towards the engine. “Air intakes clogged up, I’ll bet,” he said. “Those ashes, maybe.” Inside ten minutes he proved himself right, and the engine exploded into life. Don Ross plunged waist deep into the water and weeds and brush of the lake edge and heaved on a pontoon. Slowly he worked the aircraft round and shoved out from shore. Live sparks were falling round them as they taxied to the down-wind edge of the pond, and when the motor was cut they heard for the first time the actual sound of the fire to the west, a faint menacing roaring that rode on the wind. Zeb Stearn listened to it for a few minutes and shook his head. “There'll be a hot time in the old town tonight” he quoted. “Put on all the clothes you have, get well soaked in the lake, and have a wet rag to tie over your face.” Don nodded. There were a canvas bucket and a galvanized iron one in the plane, and he was tying a length of rope to the handle of each. He got a blanket from a packsack in the cabin, wet it, and draped it over the nose of the aircraft. He climbed onto the wing top and sent a few preliminary buckets full splashing over wing, fuselage and tail, killing several hot sparks. The exertion made him pant a little, and his coughing became steady from then on. IN THE last of the afternoon light he saw a couple of porcupines and a skunk pass along the shore near by, all very intent on their business, which was travel. The faster moving animals and the larger ones must have cleared out long ago, he thought. Smoke snuffed out the last of the daylight, and the fire became visible, like a nearer after-glow of the sunset, silhouetting the tall timber on the west bank of the pond. Right opposite him, across the water, the trees seemed more widely spaced, and Don could see an inferno of flame roaring towards him. Now and then an evergreen ahead of the fire would flare with the roar of a rocket as its branches caught, and then the blackened trunk would be surrounded and hidden by flames. Don had a sudden qualm—the gas in the tank. Perhaps they should have tried to drain it off somewhere, but it was too late for that now. He went on lowering the bucket, dragging it up, sloshing the water on the aircraft. Below him he could hear old Zeb wheezing and coughing as he stumbled waist-deep from side to side underneath the plane, dashing water up at the fuselage and tail assembly. Now and then Don's clothing steamed out and began to feel hot, and he had to climb down and dunk himself in the water. He fought against the temptation to stay in its delightful coolness — each time the climb back seemed tougher, dragging his sodden clothes, and each time the plane was drier and hotter as the first bucketful dashed over it. The hot blast of the wind seared his throat and was painful in the lungs, and coughing was agony that never ceased. His thoughts became disjointed and he knew it and could do nothing to marshal them. In case of fire break glass . . . for use in case of fire . . . those funny axes like tomahawks — if he had one he could chop up the plane and save it from being burnt. Nuts — that was all wrong. Ice — that would be swell, a great big block of it on top the plane, melting and running down all round. Heat, hot as hell, hot air . . . “You talk a lot of hot air." Zeb had shouted . . . hot air bouncing the aircraft upwards — up — hey! wait a minute! Don slithered down into the water and ducked his head under. Hot air — thermals — there must be a lift from all this heat — quite some lift. In the red glare he measured the distance across the water — not enough, of course, but that place where the trees were more widely spaced — even as he looked the branches of the spruces flanking that gap went up with a roar and a fountain of sparks. “With those branches gone and the heat,” he thought, “there’s a chance.” “Zeb,” he croaked. “Zeb, come on up on top. Bring your bucket. Make it quick. He clambered up again, wincing as the heat blasted through the cloth muffling his face. Zeb dragged himself up, and Don told him. “We could hold her while we rev. her up,” he added, “and get a fast start.” Zeb Stearn manipulated his bucket in silence, and squinted at the far bank of the pond. “I don’t like the frying pan,” he said at last. “I'll take a crack at the fire with you." Don left him to sluice her down, and dragged a mooring rope from the cabin. He wrestled it into a sort of bridle on the rear struts of the undercarriage, stumbled ashore with the end, and took a turn round a tree. Already sparks had started fires on this side of the water, he noted. HE GOT up on top again at last, his mind snatching at the problems to be solved. “Go on down, Zeb. Get yourself cooled off, and then start her up. When she’s ripe race her a couple of times and I’ll come down.” Stearn literally fell into the water and Don could hear his coughs bubbling through the wetted mask. Get the blanket off the nose, chuck it in the lake . . . up with a bucket, slosh it on, up with a bucket — the branches seem burned out of that gap . . . the trunks are burning now . . . up with another . . . which pocket's my knife in? . . . got to get it . . . He felt the aircraft heave as Zeb got aboard again, and then the engine started. The slipstream blasted the heat at him and dashed the water away in spray. He couldn’t wait for Zeb to signal. He plunged down, got his head into the cabin door, groped for and found a packsack to wedge it open a bit against the slipstream. “You take her up,” he yelled at Stearn. “No,” shouted Zeb, “You take her — better chance . .” “You gotta take her,” Don yelled. “I’ve got to cut the rope. You couldn’t climb back in — Zeb Stearn nodded. He knew he was too old for that. “Give her the gun,” yelled Don. He had knife in hand now, and crouched on the pontoon, one hand gripping the door jamb, the other holding the blade on the quivering rod-like rope. The engine roared, the aircraft strained, and water squeezed from the taut rope. Don slashed and the plane leapt forward. Water and spray snatched, at his feet, hot air punched and tore at him. Inch by inch, straining and groaning, he fought his way into the doorway. Head and shoulders in, he felt the aircraft lift steeply. He panted and prayed. Zeb Stearn sat like a statue. There were flashes of fire and blackouts of smoke and then, suddenly, he gasped air that was fresh. With a last struggle he got his legs in, kicked the pack out, and the door slammed shut. He lay half on the floor, half on the seat for a minute. Zeb was coughing again, he noted, coughing continually, and he was heavy on the controls. You could feel it. “Take over,” the old man wheezed. “Can’t take it, I guess . . .” They changed places with the supreme care and slow effort of drunken men, and Zeb slumped in his seat. Don Ross settled his course by the stars and shivered. The cold was seeping through his wet clothes, blessed cold. Not good for the old man, though, he thought. “Get out of your clothes, Zeb,” he said. “Get a blanket or something.” Stearn moved slowly and said nothing. He seemed to be trying to stifle his coughing. Don suddenly realized that he was broken by the knowledge that he was too old — too old to climb into a moving plane, yes, but far worse than that — too old to fly it after that tough afternoon. Don eased the plane gently off course, steering a wide arc under the stars. “You sure lifted us out of that frying pan, Zeb,” he said. “Nice piece of judgment. I was glad to be out of that job.” ZEB STEARN said nothing, but went on fumbling with the blanket and coughing sporadically. Don tried again. “Check my course, will you, Zeb?” he asked. “I'm not sure of myself.” Zeb glanced at the sky, and gestured Ross back onto his former bearing. “Thanks,” said Don. “I'm a bit shaky on direction in these parts. You navigate, huh?” Zeb Stearn slowly straightened in his seat and cocked an eye at the sky. “Okay, I'll navigate,” he said. “Steady as you are.” There was a pause, and then Zeb added, “Don't you worry, Don. I'll get us home.” The End Note: 22 years after he wrote this story Dad was interested to find this short article in the Montreal Star, (Sept. 28, 1968) which tells of a similar, if less successful, situation. Team seek to salvage vintage plane from lake Kapuskasing Ontario, Sept. 28 — A federal team will go into a remote lake in this area next week to salvage an ancient seaplane that may be the last of its type in the world. The Curtiss HS-2L has been sitting in the silt in about five feet of water since 1925 or 1927, when the vintage “flying boat” made a crash landing on the lake. Air museums all over North America have sought one of the twin-engined H-boats, used as submarine hunters during the First World War, then as bush planes, but the one on the lake bottom is the world’s only confirmed find. R. W. Bradford, curator of the aviation and space division of the National Museum of Science and Technology, described it in Ottawa today as “a real find.” A team from his division will salvage the plane for the museum. The work may take a year. The HS-2L’s last flight was a colorful combination of ingenuity and farce but not tragedy. Bush Pilot Duke Schiller was forced down by engine failure on the tiny lake or so the story goes. The engine was repaired but to take off from the short lake, Schiller had the seaplane tied to a tree while he revved it up to full throttle. A woodsman was supposed to chop the rope at the appropriate time. The woodsman chopped but the rope was only partially severed. The fearless lumberjack then gave the rope a shake and it broke, hauling him into the lake as the seaplane burst away. Maybe it was the drag of the lumberjack but the plane didn’t gain quite enough altitude to get over the trees. It brushed them, then gently twisted back into the lake. No one was hurt but the plane was written off as a loss. The Fishermen Published in the Quebec Diocesan Gazette, (November, 1968) By Lewis Evans CARRYING the fishing rod, Joe left home at dawn for two reasons: he wanted to be a hero, and he couldn't stand another day of listening to his little brother Johnny whining. He really couldn't blame Johnny for whining, because Johnny was desperately hungry, and not old enough to understand why, or tough enough to be brave about it. Joe was both, because he was seven years old. But he was desperately hungry too, and had been ever since his father had had the accident at the mill, and was still too sick to work. Joe wasn't sure just how he could be a hero, but he figured if he could be the breadwinner even for one day his father would be pleased, and perhaps Johnny would stop whining for a while. The last time his father had gone fishing, on a holiday a week before his accident, he had taken Joe with him, and they had caught nine fat perch. Well, his father had done the actual catching, but Joe had helped by finding some of the worms for bait. As Joe ran down the valley path he had visions of coming home as proudly as his father, with nine perch dangling from a hooked twig. When he came to the place where the stream had undercut the valley side in flood-time, and had caused a small landslide, he stopped and put down the rod and started digging into the soft earth with his fingers. There was a worm - but he was too slow, and got only half of it. Those things could really move. There was another, and this time he was quicker, it took him about half an hour to get a dozen, and he shivered when he felt them wriggling in his pocket. He picked up the rod, and ran on down the valley, which flattened and widened out into grasslands as he neared the shore of the lake. The sun was higher now, and it was going to be hot. Where the stream flowed into the lake and the fishermen’s boats were drawn up it was too shallow for fishing from the shore, but a couple of hundred yards to his right there was a steep bank, and the water there was deeper closer to shore, and shaded at this hour by the height of the bank. Joe scrambled to the very edge of the bank and peered down. The lake water was very calm, and he could see the stones and pebbles dim and wavering on the bottom. He unwound the line from the rod, and impaled a wriggling worm on the hook. There was no barb on the hook, and Joe was afraid the worm would wriggle off, but that was a chance he had to take. He dropped the hook into the lake, and watched it waver down till it was on the bottom. He twisted the rod over and over so that it wound up the line a little and the hook hung about a foot above the pebbles. Then Joe began to learn how hard it was to be a hero. Nothing happened. The sun climbed higher, and it was getting hot. He tried to concentrate on the line where it passed through the surface, watching for any tremor that might be the sign of a bite. He felt a little dizzy, lying there staring down, and his eyes didn't focus very well. He pulled up now and again to check the worm, and twice found it had wriggled off and he had to put on a new one. He began to feel that nothing would ever happen, and he again raised the rod to check the worm. This time something did happen - the line went taut, and there was weight and a wriggle on the end. He scrambled to his feet and raised the tip. The rod bent a little, and there was a flash and then a splash on the surface. Joe heaved back and the perch soared over his head onto the grass behind him. He dropped the rod and fell on the perch, which had come off the hook, finally got hold of it, and banged its head on a stone, bruising his fingers. Triumphant, he laid the perch - it was a very small one - in a shady spot, and baited up. Where there had been one surely there were more. Sure enough, hardly had his hook broken the surface when he felt a tug. He jerked up and thrilled to the pull of the line. He swung the rod up violently, and it cracked and the tip sagged. He dropped it and snatched at the line, pulling hand over hand, and another perch came flipping to him over the edge of the bank. Two! But the rod - it was finished, it wasn't much of a rod really, and his father could make another when he was better, but how could he, Joe, catch more perch? Two little ones wouldn't mean much at home, and without a rod he couldn't get the line far enough out from the bank. He unwound the line from the broken rod, wondering how else he could be a hero. Putting it in his pocket he felt the remaining worms, and thought of throwing them into the water. That would be nice for other perch, but not for the worms. Instead, he dropped them to fend for themselves in the shady spot, and picked up the two perch. They were so small he didn't bother with a twig to carry them, but stuck them in his pocket where the worms had been. He was aching with hunger and discouraged. How could he get something more than two little perch to take home? Suddenly he put his head back and sniffed. A gentle breeze was blowing down the hillside now, and the odour it carried was like an answer to his question. Someone at the little farm had been baking. Perhaps . . . Joe started up the hill, not knowing what he would do, but drawn irresistibly by the smell. There was the squat little farmhouse, and there, off to one side, was the hump of a clay bake-oven. Joe paused in the last cluster of bushes before the open ground around the farmhouse. There was the farmer's wife, laying her baking in a row to cool on a wooden bench in the shade thrown by the house. Joe stared, and his hand crept to find the size of the perch in his pocket. He could hear Johnny's whining, and see his father lying hopelessly on his mattress. The farmer's wife wiped her hand on her apron, took a look at the sky, and went into the house. A moment later she reappeared with a basket of linen, and went round to the back, out of sight. Joe moved forward, and then broke into a tip-toe run. he reached the bench, and snatched up as much bread as he could carry, ramming it under his arm, and darted back to the bushes, he looked back, panting. There was no movement. Crouching, he started away to his right, back towards the valley that led homewards. Keeping among bushes and trees wherever he could, he stumbled along, sweating. He felt the heat of the bread through his shirt, and the smell of it was almost unbearable. Ahead of him was the crest, and beyond was the valley, wide and grassy near its mouth. He reached the crest and stopped dead. The valley was full of people. Joe sank behind a bush and stared, he had never seen so many people in one place in all his life. He had never imagined that there were that many people in the world. What could they be doing there? For a moment the awful thought flashed in his head that they were all waiting for him, to catch him and punish him for stealing the bread. But they weren’t looking at him. They were all in groups of different sizes, some standing, some sitting, some moving about from one group to another, and all, it seemed, talking at once. What in the world could they be talking about? Joe straightened up and moved closer. He had never been more curious. Closer and closer till he was almost up to the nearest group. Why were they there? Suddenly a big strong man, just an ordinary fellow, a fisherman perhaps, turned and looked straight at Joe, and his eyes fell on the bread. He started towards Joe. Joe dropped the bread and turned to run, but in a couple of long strides the man had him by the arm, and swung him to a stop. “Here, my lad,” said the man, “not so fast. You have nothing to fear.” Joe looked up at him trembling. The man did not look angry. He was smiling down at Joe. “Where are you off to with all that bread?” he asked. "I . . . I don't know,” said Joe, and in his confusion he really didn't. “Well,” said the man. “I'll tell you what. How about letting me have the bread? I'll find some way of paying you back for it.” “But I need it,” cried Joe. “That's all right,” said the man. “I'll see you get some more. But right now you just let me have it, will you?” And with that the man stooped, and swept up the bread, took Joe by the arm again, and led him into the midst of the nearest group of people, and up to a tall gentleman in the centre. “What have you there, Andrew?” asked the tall gentleman. “There's a lad with five barley loaves,” answered the man called Andrew, “he is willing to help us.” Some strange impulse sent Joe's hand to his pocket. “I have a couple of fish too,” he said almost proudly, pulling them out. The tall gentleman smiled, and all the people around laughed when they saw the two small fishes. * * * “I think, Joe,” said his father after the men had gone, and Joe had told his story, “you'd better take some of those twelve baskets to the farmer's wife, it may be only fragments of bread and fish, but there is more than you and I and Johnny can use, and, as the gentleman said, it should not be wasted.” The End NOTE: I remember when Dad wrote this story, back in 1968. At chapel that morning at Bishop's College School where he taught, the lesson for the day had been from the Gospel of John, Chapter 6, Verses 1 - 14, The Feeding of the Five Thousand. For some reason Dad took an interest in the actor in the story with the smallest role, and of the smallest size. Dad went back to the staff room and spent every spare minute he had that day writing feverishly and telling his colleagues to go away! I have included the text of the gospel reading below: John 6:1-14 Revised Standard Version (RSV) Feeding the Five Thousand 6 After this Jesus went to the other side of the Sea of Galilee, which is the Sea of Tibe′ri-as. 2 And a multitude followed him, because they saw the signs which he did on those who were diseased. 3 Jesus went up on the mountain, and there sat down with his disciples. 4 Now the Passover, the feast of the Jews, was at hand. 5 Lifting up his eyes, then, and seeing that a multitude was coming to him, Jesus said to Philip, “How are we to buy bread, so that these people may eat?” 6 This he said to test him, for he himself knew what he would do. 7 Philip answered him, “Two hundred denarii[a] would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” 8 One of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, said to him, 9 “There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two fish; but what are they among so many?” 10 Jesus said, “Make the people sit down.” Now there was much grass in the place; so the men sat down, in number about five thousand. 11 Jesus then took the loaves, and when he had given thanks, he distributed them to those who were seated; so also the fish, as much as they wanted. 12 And when they had eaten their fill, he told his disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, that nothing may be lost.” 13 So they gathered them up and filled twelve baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves, left by those who had eaten.14 When the people saw the sign which he had done, they said, “This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world!” Winged Victory PUBLISHED IN THE MONTREAL STANDARD November 1, 1947 ($50.00!) He'd been waiting since last Hallowe'en to show them he wasn't afraid anymore By Lewis Evans ILLUSTRATED BY JEFF CHAPLEAU Pete cowered, and a sob of fear shook him “WELL, I made them for you,” said the old lady, and watched the light of excitement and anticipation flare up in Gordie’s seven-year-old eyes. He bounced off the chair by the kitchen table. “Oh Granny, did you? Can I see them? Can I see them right now?” “They’re upstairs. You’d better come up and try them on, in case they don’t fit.” Gordie shot out of the kitchen into the hall and up the long flight of stairs. The little old lady could hear his restless feet drumming their impatience on the floor above, but, spry as she was, she did hot hurry. “Wings, indeed!” she murmured as she started up the stairs. “What an imagination they have at that age!” When Granny Tompkins reached the top of the stairs she opened a large linen closet, and from the bottom shelf drew out a complicated black object. As she unfolded it it resolved itself into a pair of wings, and, between them, a sort of hood with pointed ears and nose, and slits for eyeholes. Gordie’s round eyes could not take it all in at once. They darted here and there, and his feet danced under him. He recognized parts of two huge old-fashioned black umbrellas — or was it one of them cut in half ? -— that made the framework of the wings and gave them their bat-like trailing edges. He remembered those umbrellas among countless other treasures he had seen in Granny’s marvellous attic. But over the umbrellas was some shiny black stuff, sewn on as though it were feathers, stuff that shook and rustled as the wings were moved, and the same material covered the head and shoulders. “Oh Granny!” cried Gordie. “They’re wonderful! Pete won’t have anything as good as this for his costume. Why — why he may even be scared of me in this!” Gordie became so enthralled at the prospect that his Granny had to shake the wings to recall his attention. “Here,” she said. “You’d better try them on. Why are you so worried about Peter Martin?” "OH,” said Gordie, as he struggled to get his arms into the tight sleeves that ran across the forward edge of the wings, “he thinks he’s pretty good. At the Hallowe’en Party last year he was dressed like a skeleton, and he kept jumping out and scaring people, and—” Gordie paused. “And?” “And he jumped out and scared me when I was passing the cemetery on the way home. I was dressed as a ghost and I tried to run and I fell down and I cried.” “And he’s never let you forget it all year, I suppose?” said Granny. She knew Peter Martin and had some idea of the constant battle Gordie had with him at school. Peter was a year older, but in the same class, and at everything but school-work he was just a little bit better and stronger and quicker than Gordie. “There,” said Granny. “They fit pretty well. How do you like them?” Gordie contorted himself trying to take in the general effect. “Can I go down to the hall and look in the big mirror?” he asked. “Of course,” said Granny. Gordie bounced to the head of the stairs. He was already savouring a triumph over Pete. “Whee! I’m a bat!” he cried, and he spread his wings and jumped down two steps at once. Then he emitted a shrill squeak of surprise and fear, which sounded quite bat-like, for his feet barely grazed the second step down, and he found himself floating swiftly and silently down into the gloom of the big hall below. Granny Tompkins gave a gasp of amazement and started down the stairs at a speed that did not look much like that of a seventy-year-old, but before she was half way down Gordie caught a wing-tip in the hatstand and crashed to the floor. “Gosh, Granny, they work!” he gasped, struggling to his feet. “Are you hurt, boy?” demanded the old lady. “Gee, Granny, you sure are smart. Betcha Pete’s granny can’t make a pair that really work.” Granny Tompkins took Gordie by the shoulders and shook him. “Listen to me,” she said. “They’re not supposed to work. It’s — it’s an accident. You must promise me never to try to fly with them again. You might break your neck, and then what would your mother say? Will you promise?” “Aw, Granny—” began the boy. “Promise!” demanded the old lady. “Or I’ll take them back and break them up.” “I promise,” said Gordie reluctantly, starting at his macabre reflection in the hall mirror. “Very well. Now get along with you to school. I’ll put these away so no one will know, and you can pick them up here on your way to the party.” She watched Gordie go down the path and turn left along the road past the cemetery and the church towards the school. He had not even thanked her, but Granny Tompkins was wise enough to realize that that was a compliment to the magnitude of the thing she had done for him. He would have thanked her for a doughnut, all right. The joyance in his gait was enough thanks for her. Note: This article is the one Dad had pulled from the paper to inspire his reluctant students: The Montreal Gazette. ADVENTUROUS WOMAN MAKES PAIR Of WINGS Virginiatown, Ont., Oct. 2/46. CP. An adventurous Virginiatown housewife has invented a pair of wings which she uses to jump from buildings 20 to 25 feet high. Mrs. Phil Golden, the mother of two children, began working on her wings two years ago after disecting birds in an attempt to learn how they fly. She made the wings of parachute silk and bits of plastic. They look like a mass of gigantic feather-like pockets built onto even larger feathers. These feathers or air pockets flush the air back through the larger feathers on to a plastic back. In so doing, a vacuum is formed underneath the outer feathers. The vacuum together with a movable outer attachment at the wing tips allows for the possibility of propulsion by means of earnest wrist action. Mrs. Golden said a weak heart so far has prevented her from more stringently testing her wings. Up until now she has been jumping from platforms at least 20 to 25 feet in height. Most of her "flying" has been done at night because she is shy of publicity. She started folding up the costume, but then she paused, and stood in the hall staring thoughtfully at the wings. “YAH! Gordie Allen — think you’re smart, eh? We all know you’re Gordie Allen.” The words ripped through Gordie’s disguise, and inside the black hood his face turned scarlet with disappointment and rage. Peter Martin was supposed to be a black cat, and he had a long black tail made of stuffed cotton stockings. Picking it up in one hand he swung it at the bat, and Gordie felt the umbrella ribs buckle under the blow. Powerless to retaliate, he turned to walk away, and another blow curled itself round his ankles and he fell to his knees. “Weren’t you scared to come?” went on the hateful voice. “Bet you went all the way round by Main Street so you wouldn’t pass the graveyard. “Bet you’re scared to pass it going home. Remember last year?” “I am not scared,” exploded Gordie, forgetting his incognito. “I’ll go past it any old time,” and he moved away, followed by Pete’s unbelieving laughter. There were witches on broomsticks and owls and ghosts and all sorts of spooky creatures in the big assembly hall, and the decorations were all orange and black, and there was even orange coloured stuff to drink and black candies that tasted much as they looked, and were probably designed to induce dreams of “things that go bump in the night.” GORDIE forgot all about Pete Martin for a while and began to enjoy himself again, but all of a sudden his stomach felt empty and his heart dropped into the void. Pete was nowhere to be seen! Gordie knew what that meant. The party was nearly over. Pete had gone to hide in the cemetery. When Gordie went past he would jump out and scare him. If Gordie detoured it he would broadcast the fact that he was afraid to pass it. Miserable, Gordie lingered in the coatroom as the children left. Finally, last of them all, he started homeward, his battered costume clutched under his arm. As he passed the church his steps slowed, and his ears and eyes strained to catch some forewarning of Pete’s onslaught. The tombstones loomed grey in the darkness to his right, and his footsteps grated loudly on the road. Suddenly, far ahead of him, there was a piercing shriek. He stopped, frozen stiff. Then there came the sound of running footsteps, pounding down the road towards him. He couldn’t move. “Gordie! Gordie!” It was Pete Martin, white-faced and panting. He grabbed Gordie by the arm and cowered behind him. “You should’ve seen it. It flew down out of the sky and landed right beside me . . . it was like a great big black bat with big black wings . . .” GORDIE tried to steady his voice. “Where were you?” he asked. “In the cemetery.” “Yeah — down at the end near the old Tompkins place, where there aren’t so many gravestones. I—I was waiting for you. . . . Come on, Gordie— go round by Main Street with me.” In all his confusion Gordie’s mind was able to realize that this was his great opportunity, if he only had the nerve to use it. “There’s nothing to be scared of in a cemetery,” he said stoutly. “Come on, Peter. I’ll take you past.” He gripped Pete’s arm, which made him feel a little braver himself, and set out. “We’re nearly past,” he whispered to the dragging Pete as the black shape of the Tompkins place loomed against the night sky ahead, and the tombstones on their right thinned out. Pete’s fingers sank into his arm. “Look,” he breathed, and pointed. Silhouetted over the roofline appeared a winged creature, and suddenly it launched itself into space, floating down towards the cemetery. Pete cowered, and a sob of fear shook him. Gordie braced himself. If it was Granny Tompkins practising flying with the wonderful wings she had hit upon, he wasn’t scared of her. If it wasn’t—well, they were nearly past, and the street lamps began in another hundred yards. “Come on,” he said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” And he led Pete on. NEXT morning Gordie fell in beside Granny Tompkins as they came out of church. “Enjoy your party?” she demanded. “Sure did,” said Gordie, and told her all, ending in triumph with the victory over Pete. “You sure are a wonderful grandmother,” he added. “I bet not many guys have grannies that can fly.” Granny Tompkins made no rejoinder, and after a short pause he clutched her arm. “It was you, Granny, wasn’t it? It was you who flew?” The old lady hesitated, and then glanced round to make sure no one else could hear them. “Yes,” she said. “It was your Granny, all right. Thought I’d scare that Pete for good and all. But don’t you breathe a word of it, Gordie.” She shot a frightened glance at the long line of respectable neighbours filing out of church. “Just think how folk would talk!” “He’d never go by it again, day or night,” she added to herself, “if I told him the truth.” She had gone to bed with a headache last night — right after supper. THE END Short Story 3300 words DEAD MAN STEERING by Lewis Evans UNPUBLISHED (Dad always said there was no accounting for publishers who couldn't recognize sheer genius when they saw it!) AHEAD in the darkness, a pair of red and green running lights, canted at a sharp angle, told Pete that a sailing vessel was beating up the Sound towards him. He stuck his head down the cabin companionway and called to his wife. “Ann, there's a yacht about a quarter of a mile ahead. Want to have another try at a night photo?” “Sure.” Ann left the supper she was fixing in the galley, grabbed up the necessary equipment, and came out into the cockpit. “Careful going forward,” warned Pete. “There's a fair sea running.” They took most of their photos from the forward deck of the cabin cruiser in order to keep their own wake out of the pictures. Pete had built a sort of sword-fisherman's pulpit just aft of the anchor bitts. “Don't worry about me,” said Ann, climbing round the edge of the bridge deck. “Concentrate on getting me a good angle and distance.” Pete altered course to pass close to the yacht on her leeward side, so that her angle of heel would present her deck to the camera. Experience had taught him that most yachtsmen liked to see all their favourite gadgets in a photo, and most of these were on deck. Pete cut down the speed, and the little cabin cruiser's exhaust made bobbling noises as her stern squatted and lifted in the quartering seas. He hoped that the motion of the boat wasn't too difficult for Ann's aim, and that their speed in passing the yacht wouldn't be too much for Anne's camera. It would have been better to turn and run with the yacht, but it was too late for that. The green starboard light was abeam, and the flashbulb went off. Pete got a momentary impression of a yawl under plain sail smashing along close-hauled, and then the blackness of the night contrasting with the white flesh left him blind. He closed his eyes tight for a moment, and then opened them, and could pick out once more the flashing lights of buoys and the shore lights a mile away. Ann clambered back into the cockpit. “Not bad,” she commented. “I got it at the end of a roll, so I don’t think the camera was moving too much.” She went below and back to her job as cook, and Pete advanced the throttle and steered for their anchorage at Porthaven, twenty minutes away. The worst of this racket, he thought, was that it looked to the outsider as if his wife did all the work. And so she did, as far as the photography went, but he was learning the job fast and had some outstanding pictures to his credit already. And the boat was his responsibility - its maintenance and navigation, and the selling end of the business too. He had become engaged to Ann during the war, when he was in the Navy and she was a photographer for a small town newspaper. He remembered the first date they'd had after he'd been demobilized. He remembered the canned music in the little restaurant, and the cuba libra on the table, and that he had had to drink it with his left hand because his right was gripping Ann's under the tablecloth. He remembered too how desperately they wanted to get married, and how they had got the idea that had made it possible. “Got a break last week,” Ann had told him. “Had to cover a sailing race for my paper - it was for a trophy the paper puts up every year. I was lucky and got a really perfect picture of the winner crossing the line, and now one of those boating magazines wants to buy it for a cover, and the owner of the yacht wants a dozen big prints.” “Yachtsmen love to have pictures of their boats,” Pete had said. “Guess it's because it gives them something to dream over through the winter.” “Yes, and they never can take them themselves, because they’re always aboard the boat at the most photogenic moments,” added Ann, and Pete had got the idea. “Look,” he cried. “We want to get married and have somewhere to live - the only thing I know is boats, the only thing you know is photography - “ “Not the only thing, Pete,” murmured Ann. “Well,” continued Pete after a pause while his eyes answered that one, “we get a boat out of what I saved in the Navy, and live on it, and follow the regattas and races and sell photos of their craft to owners. Why, we could go South in the winter and keep right on with the job.” And so it had worked out. “Sea-Photos, Inc.” was well established, and the thirty foot cabin cruiser Photofoam was beginning to be recognized and welcomed at regattas and yacht clubs. Pete eased the cruiser into the anchorage, put her into the wind and cut her way, and went forward to drop the anchor. After supper the cabin became a darkroom, and the day’s take was developed and printed. Later, when Pete had worked over Lloyd's Yacht Register and other lists, small prints were mailed to owners, with a price list of enlargements. “That flashlight job we took on the way home looks good on the negative,” said Ann. “I'm going to enlarge it right away.” Night photos were an experiment they were trying out - the novelty might be good advertisement. So far their attempts had been disappointing. He bent over the developer tray with Ann. He still got a kick out of watching a picture emerge on the white paper like a ship breaking out of a fog bank. Slowly the photograph materialized - much the same as the split second impression he had got at the moment of the flash. He made out the yacht's name, Mistress Mine , on a ring lifebuoy on the shrouds. Suddenly Ann drew in her breath sharply, plucked the enlargement out of the developer, slid it into the hypo, and pointed. Her finger indicated the only figure visible on the yacht - the helmsman in the cockpit. “Look, Pete, look!” she breathed. Pete bent closer. The man sat with the long tiller tucked under his arm, and his bare head was slumped forward and to one side, presenting his right profile to the camera. Down his cheek ran a dark smear. “That man's dead,” whispered Ann, and her voice shook. “Get a magnifying glass and turn up the light.” Pete took the lens and peered through it. He couldn't be sure, but it certainly looked as if that dark smear started from a round dark spot on the helmsman's temple - a spot that could be a bullet hole. “But Pete, it's impossible - the yacht sailing straight on like that....” “No, it's not. With a yawl close-hauled and well balanced, and the hold he has on the tiller, even if he is dead - that's what would happen. She'll plough straight on till the wind shifts or she piles into something.” Ann sat down suddenly. “But who – what....?” she began. “Look up Mistress Mine in the register,” ordered Pete. “I'm getting the hook up.” “But Pete,” cried Ann, “you can't handle this. Go ashore and phone the police.” “Meanwhile the yawl piles up and the evidence is lost.” He scrambled forward and hove on the ground tackle. In three minutes the Photofoam was at full speed, bucking the chop in the Sound. Ann came to his side at the wheel, the register in her hands and a flashlight to read it by. “'Mistress Mine , yawl, built 1938 by....'” “Skip that,” cut in Pete. “Who's the present owner?” “'Joseph D. Bartram,'” read Ann. “Oh, Pete, I know who he is - he's 'Little Joe' - he's a sort of successful racketeer. The paper I worked for used to have a lot to say about him. He's always mixed up in something shady like gambling and the black market, but he always keeps just out of trouble.” “Just the sort of guy who'd get himself bumped off,” commented Pete. “But who - ?” began Ann and her voice suddenly lowered. “Pete, the murderer might still be aboard.” “Uh-huh,” said her husband. “But why should we stick our necks out? If it's 'Little Joe' he probably got what was coming to him, and I'm not crazy to meet his murderer.” “Listen, Ducky,” said Pete; “our picture is very dramatic, but it might be a picture of a suicide, not a murder. If we find the Mistress Mine as she was in the picture, and no gun in Joe’s hand or on the cockpit floor, we know it was murder. Personally, I think we may find the yawl, but I don’t think we’ll find Joe.” “Why?” “Seems to me the murderer would plan to tip Joe overboard with a weight to keep him down, and leave the yacht drifting, as though he’d been knocked overboard by the boom in the dark. That has been known to happen to men sailing single-handed. No body, no crime - and no Joe. A perfect set-up.” “How does the murderer get away from the yacht himself, though?” asked Ann. “Maybe we'll be in time to find out,” said her husband. “The yawl carries a dinghy, but that would be missed. To make it a perfect crime he would have to be taken off by a pal in another boat, or better still sail the yawl in close to shore and swim. Then no one need know he was there.” There was a pause while Ann thought it over. “Pete,” she said, “if you're right the murderer must have been aboard when we took the photo.” “He must have been somewhere below,” said Pete. “My guess is he hid aboard, waited till Joe sailed her well offshore, and shot him from the darkness of the cabin.” “Well, what about our flash?” demanded Ann. “What would he think of that?” “I don't know. He wouldn’t see much from inside, especially when the portholes on the side near us were heeled 'way down almost to the water. I don't think he could help seeing a bit of a flash wherever he was. He might have thought we'd raked him with a spotlight for a second. I don't think anyone would think of a photoflash.” There was another pause, and again the girl broke it. “You'll be careful. Darling? If we find the yawl, I mean?” “Of course. You're the only wife I've got.” “I don't know why I married such a madman,” sighed Ann. “If there was any truth in what you said when you proposed,” said Peter quickly, “you couldn't resist my good looks and you were dying to get your hands on my money.” Ann let him have a left jab to the ribs and Pete slid an arm round her and sought safety in a clinch. The Photofoam ran down the Sound on long zig-zags. The breeze was moderating and the water calmer. It was after midnight now, and most pleasure craft were snug in anchorages, so Pete was not surprised when the first running lights he picked up turned out to be those of the Mistress Mine . As the cabin cruiser closed the distance between them Pete switched on his spotlight and caught the yawl in its beam. She was hove to, fore reaching a few yards and then luffing and falling off. “There's a man moving about in the cockpit,” he said. “Get your photoflash and give it to me. We'll be friendly and pretend we think it's 'Little Joe' - what's his other name?” “Bartram,” breathed Ann. Pete leaned beyond the side wing of the bridge and hailed. “Mistress Mine , ahoy! Do you need any help?” “Sounds just too romantic,” he heard Ann murmur behind him, and his brain took a split second off to think what a swell girl she was. “What boat's that?” demanded the man on the yawl sharply. “Take us alongside,” Pete told Ann, “and give me that camera.” He slung it round his neck and clambered forward. “Photofoam , of Sea-Photos, Inc.,” he shouted. “We saw you hove to, and thought you might be in trouble. Mr. Bartram, isn't it?" The direct beam of the spotlight was off him now, but Pete could make out the man steadying himself with his left hand on the cockpit coaming. His right was below its edge; Pete could guess what that hand held. “No trouble, thank you,” the man replied, and Pete felt he could almost hear the fellow's brain racing to explain his position. At length the explanation came out. “I am cruising single-handed,” he said, “and I was cold, so I hove to to go and get myself some warmer clothes and a drink.” He paused, and then asked as if he couldn't resist it, “How do you know my name?” “It's our business to know yachts and who owns them,” said Pete. “We take photos of them, you know. Mind if I take one now?” “Portrait of a murderer,” Pete's brain quoted at him. The flash was over and he was blinded again before the man's reply started. In the blackness Pete moved quickly to one side. He was afraid of a shot. “No - I don't mind a bit.” The words came smoothly and slowly, and Pete's impression was that the man on the yawl had everything figured out now. “How many have you aboard?” the voice went on. “Can't see a thing after that flash.” “Two,” replied Pete. “Myself and my wife.” Only a yard or two separated the craft now. “Come aboard and join me in a drink,” the smooth tones continued. “The boats will be okay alongside each other - there’s little wind now. Come along.” The last two words were edged with insistence. “Hell,” thought Pete. “I'm behind the eight ball now. He’s got to have the camera....” His stomach contracted as his mind added, “and he’s got to have us, too. We're too close - he can get us both if we try to scram.” The boats bumped gently. “Play along, play along with him,” Pete’s mind kept telling him. “Maybe you'll get a chance to slug him or something.” He moored the cruiser fore and aft and helped Ann out of the cockpit. She slipped and he caught her to him. “It’s 'Little Joe',” she breathed. Pete's brain reeled. 'Little Joe' was the murderer, not the victim. Who, then, was the corpse? Bartram was awaiting them in the cockpit, his right hand in the huge side pocket of the heavy canvas hunting jacket he wore. He motioned them down the companionway ahead of him. “Whisky, rum, gin?” he asked. “Glad to have someone to drink with. Sit down, won't you?” Pete sat on a transom on one side of the central table, and Ann beside him. Joe moved past the table on its other side towards the door in the bulkhead at the forward end of the cabin. Beyond it was the galley, Pete guessed. “Whisky for me,” said Pete. “Ann?” “The same, thanks,” said Ann. She looked at her husband, and for a second her eyes crossed. Pete felt that his senses were leaving him, and then he got her warning - 'Little Joe' would probably fix those drinks, the two of them would go out like lights, and he would dispose of them and their films as he wished. Bartram was standing in the doorway, his left shoulder towards the cabin. Pete could bet that the gun was out of that right side pocket now and handy to grab. Bartram smoothly small-talked about the delights of night sailing and his sentences were punctuated by the clink of bottles on glasses. They couldn't refuse the drinks - that would just bring the gun out. They must drink, and go out like lights - out like lights - like a flash.... Pete remembered the way the photoflash had blinded him twice already that evening. He unslung the camera from his neck, and leaned over Ann as he put the sling over her head. “Here, Honey,” he said, “why don't you try a snap of this cabin? It's a swell job.” And he added under his breath, “You flash, I switch 'em.” Bartram placed the drinks on th e table, Ann's, Pete's, his own at the end nearer the galley. Ann stood up. “How about a picture, Mr. Bartram?” she smiled. “'The skipper at home' - that sort of thing.” She raised the camera. There was a pause and Pete imagined Bartram thinking, “One more doesn't matter - camera and all will be at the bottom of the Sound in a few minutes.” “Okay,” said 'Little Joe', leaning back against the side of the doorway, glass in left hand and his right in that side pocket again. Pete's heart sank, but Ann came through. “Put the drink down, if you don't mind. They spoil a photoflash - er - reflections, you know.” 'Little Joe' placed the glass on the table. “Ready?” asked Ann. “One, two, three....” Pete knew she was counting for his benefit and on three he shut his eyes. The flash was still perceptible through his eyelids, and he opened them quickly, reached out both hands, and switched his drink and Joe's. Then he looked up to find Joe passing a hand over his eyes and blinking. Pete copied him. “Some flash, eh, Mr. B?” he laughed. “Well, here's cheers.” He picked up his glass and knocked back about half of it. Thank Heaven it was whisky too - had 'Little Joe' decided on something different that gun would be out with his first sip. He was glad to see Ann fussing with the camera, not drinking. “Mud in your eye,” said Bartram, and to Pete it sounded as though, he meant it. The Sound had a muddy bottom. 'Little Joe' drained half his glass, and noticed Ann's preoccupation with her camera. “Drink up, lady,” he invited. He raised his glass to her. “Here's luck.” With that his knees folded and he crashed down across the table. Pete leapt on him to pinion his arms and yelled the one word “Rope” at Ann. Their haste was from fright rather than from necessity, for 'Little Joe' was out cold. In two minutes they had him trussed up, and Pete broke open the gun he had taken from his pocket. “One shell fired,” he commented. “But who at?” “At whom,” corrected Ann automatically. She was crumpled on a transom, white and shaking. Pete raised her head and kissed her. “Stick with me a little longer. Darling,” he said. “Pull yourself together.” He pointed forward. “There's a big sail-locker in the forepeak - that's probably where Joe hid when the other guy sailed the boat out into the Sound. But who was that other guy?" His eyes fell on a club bag on the port side berth. He started pulling out shirts, a toilet case, an opened envelope. “Ann,” he said, “ever heard of anyone called Victor Marsh?” “Sure,” said Ann. “He's an associate of 'Little Joe's'. He was up on a gambling rap last year. Got off with a fine or something, though.” “Listen.” Pete had the letter out of the envelope. “'Dear Vic: In reference to our conversation yesterday, about your borrowing the Mistress Mine next week end, you can pick her up at her moorings in Flounder River any time Saturday afternoon or evening. Have a good cruise, and don't worry about being single-handed - she handles very easily. Drop into the office Monday and tell me all about it. Joe.'" “Exit Vic,” commented Ann. “Don't let me hurry you, but don't you think we'd better scram? We're not close enough to land for Joe to swim ashore, so he must have been waiting for a pal to come and take him off.” Pete sprang into action. He lowered the yawl's sails, left them lying unfurled, and took her in tow. When they were some three miles on their course to Porthaven he caught a glimpse of a speedboat's white bow and red sidelight as she whipped by a mile away. Perhaps she was going to pick up 'Little Joe'.” By five in the chill dawn a sleepy Porthaven policeman was in charge of the yawl Mistress Mine and her passenger, police headquarters had been notified, and detectives were on their way. Once more the Photofoam dropped her hook. Pete yawned and stretched. “Bed, bed, beautiful bed!” he exulted. “Pete I'm going to develop those last two pictures first. If they're good we're famous.” “Aw Ann,” expostulated her husband, “for Pete's sake-” Ann smiled at him. “Okay; I'll come – for Pete's sake.” The End (Short Short Story) 1000 words (Date unknown. Sometime in the late 1970s or 1980s.) (Unpublished) FLASH POINT by Lewis Evans We on the planet Nereus, who have through these many aeons communicated with each other by thought-transmission, find it limiting to try to express ideas in the antiquated medium of language. However, as my report concerns the planet which calls itself ’Earth' (but which we know as The Flasher) it would seem appropriate, and an interesting exercise, to express the report, this time, in an 'Earth' language. I have chosen the language they called English, for it was, perhaps, used by most of the people responsible for the recent incident on their planet, though had the incident been delayed for a few of their years the Russian and Asiatic tongues might well have been by then the sole surviving languages. It is with this incident that my report is mainly concerned. We have, of course, been expecting it for some time, for these things generally run true to pattern, but the thing happened while the attention of most Nereans was centred on the Millenium Peace Celebrations on The Blusher (which in 'Earth' parlance, ironically enough, is called Mars after, of all things, a war god), and I was, by chance, the only close observer on this planet. My attention was first attracted to 'Earth' by my happening to notice the detonation on that planet of two nuclear explosions in short succession, evidence that the inhabitants had developed their intelligence and ability to the point where they had discovered and begun to make use of that type of energy. These first two explosions, which occurred at almost the same spot on the 'Earth's' surface, were shortly followed by others, of different intensity and at varying intervals and widely separated points. Assuming that the inhabitants of various parts of 'Earth's' surface were, as usual, at war with each other, I thought it might be interesting, and useful for our records, to have detailed information about the steps leading up to the inevitable climax of a nuclear competition, and so, through our normal channels, I arranged to obtain this information. I dispatched, therefore, a thought-conveyor of moderate size to 'Earth' from an orbit where it had been cruising until needed. It landed successfully in a good central position, and immediately went into action, receiving significant thought emanations from various parts of 'Earth', and relaying them to our receiving recorders here. The accuracy and delicacy of this thought-conveyor were well attested, by the way, almost as soon as it got there, by the fact that it immediately absorbed and passed on to Nereus the news of its own arrival. I record the actual item here as a quaint insight into 'Earth' lore, though, of course, it is scientifically ridiculous: “Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (an English language place name): Scientists here announced today that a meteorite ('Earth' name for our thought-conveyors) is believed to have fallen in barren lands near the northern borders of the province. An expedition under the leadership of Professor Hegstein is being organized to ascertain the exact locality of its crater and other scientific data.” (Though hardly credible to us, there is a widely accepted belief on 'Earth' that certain large circular declivities on the planet's surface mark the landing places of what they call meteorites. We, of course, know what really created these ancient craters, and the latest ones as well.) As soon as I began to correlate the information which came in from our thought-conveyor, I realized that my first conjecture had been wrong. The widely spread and sporadic detonations of a nuclear nature were merely the proving of scientific products by various inhabitants of 'Earth' who were, apparently, working independently of each other, and against 'Earth' time. It seems that each group felt that the more powerful and more numerous the items of nuclear energy it had, the less likely would any other group be to use its own stock against them. This state of affairs, with each group afraid of provoking the other, and yet equally afraid of falling behind in stock and power of nuclear energy, continued for some 'Earth' years, until I was almost convinced that the moments I devoted to its observation and record were being wasted, since the outcome was a foregone conclusion. However, curiosity as to the exact manner of the actual impulse which would promote the final incident prompted me to persevere in my observation. The primary impulse was one that appears to be second nature to the inhabitants of 'Earth', and one without which they do not seem able to survive for any extended period of their time – war. A trifling dispute between two small groups over the control of a small area of solid surface surrounded by liquid - or it may have been over a small area of liquid surrounded by solid, for the thought-conveyor did not seem to be able to gather the details, or perhaps did not consider them worth gathering - and all inhabitants of the planet ranged themselves in one or other of the two camps. Some desultory campaigning with antiquated weapons ensued, but each side existed in fear of the other initiating the use of nuclear energy. This situation might have continued until I was sure that the subject was not worth my momentary attention, had not the secondary impulse suddenly occurred. A single individual of one of the opposing groups, while controlling an air-borne vehicle on patrol over a large liquid area, feeling, no doubt, weary of the situation in general and of his own activity in particular, yawned uncontrollably. His primitive pressurized garment became disarranged, he made a sudden movement to adjust it, and triggered a nuclear item which his vehicle carried as a precaution against the surprise use of such by the other group. This item was detonated in the water area without damage to any inhabitants of the planet, but the detonation was recorded by both sides. At once each side assumed that the other had initiated a nuclear competition, and threw all its most potent weapons into the action. The result was an interesting - even spectacular - sight, and I was glad that I had not desisted from my observation a few moments earlier. First one and then another area of The Flasher, or 'Earth', was momentarily illuminated by the comparatively brilliant flashes that inspired our name for it. Beautifully patterned cloud formations occasionally obscured the play of light, and the emanations from our thought-conveyor became weak, confused, and distorted. Undoubtedly some of the larger detonations meant that the surface of the planet was again being pitted by large craters, and it amused me to conjecture that perhaps they in their turn would be explained by 'Earth' inhabitants of the future as the landing places of 'meteorites'. Hardly had it begun when all such activity ceased completely. The surface of the Flasher reappeared, unobscured by cloud or vapour, its well known features hardly altered, but with no illumination of any sort in any place. Needless to add, there was no communication whatever from our thought-conveyor, for a thought-conveyor cannot convey thoughts when there are none to convey. Such is my report of the most recent of such incidents on 'Earth'. Since we Nereans have been equipped to observe that planet, our records show that this is the fifth time that life on 'Earth' has destroyed itself, and, if the established pattern is repeated, in several Nerean years (or 'Earth' aeons) infinitesimal and primitive forms of life will gradually develop, and finally attain to the intellectual standard which is the prerequisite to the 'invention' of nuclear energy. Almost immediately, control of this medium will be lost, and it will once more destroy all life on the planet. If I thought that there was any hope that the pattern might be changed when next the inhabitants of The Flasher approached the flash point, I would be willing to take the time to observe the course of events. It would be an interesting study if they learned to live with and by what they have evolved, and it might even result in our having to discontinue the name The Flasher as inappropriate. (Short Short Story) (1000 words, Unpublished. Date unknown.) THE PLOTTER by Lewis Evans A great B-47 of a June-bug droned in through the open window of the class-room and started making bombing runs at the chandelier. Flak in the shape of Johnny Calder's Geometry book whizzed up and the dazed insect crashed on my desk. He was still alive, so I swept him into my pocket for future reference and was hard at work, like everyone else, when the master on duty stuck his head in at the door to see what the disturbance was. I wondered whether this particular bug was fast on his feet. The night before I had won thirty-five cents in the dormitory when my June-bug had been the first to crawl from the centre to the circumference of a circle chalked on the floor. Then I had sat on him by mistake at Prayers that morning, and so had to build up a new racing stable. The blank pages of the exercise book on my desk caught my eye. Old Hawk-eye, the English master, a guy with the most extraordinary ideas, had been teaching us the short short story in class, and we were supposed to have one written for him by next day. A thousand words to write, and I had not even the first glimmerings of a plot. I could remember most of his lesson, though. “Short first paragraph,” he had told us; “jump right into the middle of action at the beginning. Get some dialogue on your first page if you can. And don’t forget that somewhere in the first third of your story there must be a clue to your surprise ending - your 'kick in the tale'.” That was one of Hawk-eye’s little jokes - the same every year, they tell me. He had droned on about development of tension up to a crisis where everything was right for the crooks or the communists, or wrong for the cops or the Yanks or the British, and then the sudden twist. Oh, I could remember all that, but my mind was still as blank as the pages. The only thing I could think of was how I hated evening preparation in springtime, with the windows wide open and the smell of fresh leaves and grass coming in from the playing fields. “Hey, Johnny,” I whispered. “Lend me a cigarette? I’m going out for a smoke.” Johnny looked impressed - smoking is against the law at our school for some ridiculous reason. He found a battered butt in his pocket and chucked it across. I waited till the master - it was Davies, the Science man, and he's a bit vague or I wouldn't have thought of skipping out - went past again in the classroom corridor, and then I whipped over the window-sill. There was an eight foot drop to the ground, but I knew there was an old plank near by that I could lean against the wall to help me back. I had found it near the carpentry shop and brought it over for just such an occasion. I ran across the quadrangle, keeping out of the splashes of light from the windows, and ducked round behind the dark mass of the gym. There I sat down and lighted Johnny's weed and tried to enjoy life, but that blasted story was still on my mind. Perhaps if I started with the crisis I might get somewhere, I thought. Let's see - the good guy has to be in a jam. His plane's on fire and he has left his parachute at home - no, that's too tough; I'd never get him out of that. Well, he's a paratrooper, and on his way down. He realizes that he is going to land in the shark-infested sea, so what does he do? I don't know. Let's make him drift down over a volcano, and just when he thinks he's done for the hot air from the cone sends him up again; kind of hard to persuade old Hawk-eye there wasn't too much accident in that, though.... Oh, the heck with it. The cigarette was down to the last half inch so I stamped it out and started back. Half way across the quadrangle a familiar voice from the school steps said, “Johnson, come here." It was Hawk-eye in person, having a pipe in the fresh air - a good idea too, if I know his pipes. I started thinking fast and getting nowhere, except closer to him. “What are you doing outside the building during preparation?” he demanded. “Well, sir,” I began, and then I had an idea, a poor thing, but mine own, as someone said before I did. “Well, sir, Mr. Davies told us all to bring a specimen of insect life to his biology class in the morning.” “Yes?” “Well, sir, that's why I'm out here. I suddenly remembered I didn't have one.” “And have you succeeded in getting your - er - specimen, Johnson?” “Yes, sir,” I said, and produced the June-bug from my pocket. “Get back to your class-room,” ordered Hawk- eye. It was too dark to see the expression on his face, but his voice sounded amused. I don't think he liked Davies much. That meant I had to go back by the corridor instead of through the window, but Davies was quelling a noise in another class-room, and I made it without being seen. “Okay?” asked Johnny Galder. “Hawk-eye pinched me in the quad,” I whispered, “but I talked my way past him. I'm all right if he doesn't check with Davies.” As I turned to the blank pages of my English exercise book the bell went for the end of preparation. The next morning in English period old Hawk- eye made us read out our stories. The first two were passable, in a comic-book sort of way; lots of screaming jets and chattering guns spitting death, and stuff like that. Johnny was the third boy he asked, and he had summarized a de Maupassant story in the hopes that Hawk-eye didn't know any French. He did, though, and an afternoon dropped out of Johnny's life forever. Then it was my turn. “I'm sorry, sir,” I apologized, “but I couldn't think of a plot.” Hawk-eye chose to be sarcastic. “You couldn't have written a story with a June-bug as the hidden clue, I suppose?” he suggested in honeyed tones. And as he measured out my doom I thought, “My gosh! I could have, at that!” The End Dad did submit this story for publication but it was soundly rejected with the following note. I include it because Dad thought the note was very funny and he always kept it clipped to the top of his manuscript. NEXT PAGE

PREVIOUS R Lewis Evans 1911-1988 Betty Morewood Evans 1922-1993 NEXT PAGE Circa 1900 Tadoussac Dad's family before he was born, Dean Lewis Evans (sitting), his first wife May, his 4 children Basil, Trevor (with pipe), Muriel and Ruby. On May 7th, 1911, Emily Elizabeth (Bethune) Evans, at age 46, gave birth to her first and only child, Robert Lewis Evans. Her husband, the Reverend Dean Thomas Frye Lewis Evans, was 67 and the father of four adult children and already a grandfather. So baby Lewis entered this world with a readymade niece and nephew, and only nine years to get to know his father. Born in 1911, RLE held by his nephew Miles who was older than he was. RLE with his mother, Emily (Bethune) Evans RLE at Cap a Jack with his Dad Doris Molson and RLE on the beach in Tadoussac Dean Lewis Evans and his (second) family Miles Hudspeth and RLE on the beach in Tadoussac RLE with half-brothers Basil and Trevor Evans, about 1914 RLE with half-brother Trevor Evans, about 1916 RLE with friend Ralph Collyer Dad always loved this photo, with his friend Marjorique sailing a model of a lower-St Lawrence Yawl. Later he owned a boat almost exactly like this one, called the Bonne Chance. There he is, sailing with the dog Fancy. RLE and his dog at the cottage in Tadoussac RLE with his mother, and in a photo by Notman Above, RLE with his half-brothers Basil and Trevor, and father Dean Lewis Evans (Dean of Montreal), at the cottage in Tadoussac. At right on the same day, mother Emily, Kae, Miles and Muriel have joined in. St Stephen's Rectory in Montreal RLE beside Ann Dewart at Cap a Jack RLE worked at a camp at Bon Echo, lots of sailing and building props circa 1930 RLE combining his interest in boats and stage sets! He seems to have mocked up an enormous miniature CSL boat and launched it! Lots of boats! The raft above wouldn't work in the Saguenay, probably above the dam at Moulin Baude, with Harry Dawson, cousin No complaints! RLE on a BOAT with 7 girls Below with the older crowd, tea at Pte a la Croix! Camping at Petit Bergeronnes above, and at Cape Eternity, probably by rowing in a nor-shore canoe Betty Morewood age about 16? on the Saguenay. It looks like Trevor Evans and Bill Morewood in the canoe. This photo was in RLE's photo album from the late 1930's, he married Betty in 1944. Late 1930's, RLE bought a small schooner built in Tancook Island, Nova Scotia, called it the Noroua The Tadoussac gang on the wharf circa 1939, l to r (Mickey) Ainslie Evans (Stephen), Mary Fowler, Marion Strong, Bill Morewood, Barbara Hampson (Alexander/Campbell), Jim Alexander (sitting), Teddy Price, Mary Hampson (Price), Evan Price, Jim Warburton, Jack Wallace, John Turcot RLE taught at Bishop's College School from 1933-1972. Above the only time I've ever seen him on skates much less in hockey gear. Notables include Graham Patriquin, Headmaster Grier, Oggy Glass, and RLE on the right. Mid-1930's, RLE is the coach, and on the team is EM Fisher, son of Evelyn (Meredith) Fisher, she is widow of Jim Williams (died in WW1, see his page). EM Fisher died in 2012. Small world in those days, they were definitely aware of the Tadoussac connection. RLE was a keen skier, coached the ski team at BCS. He broke his right arm badly in the 1930's, and this restricted movement meant he couldn't hold a gun properly (or salute) and it prevented him from serving in WW2. I didn't know about the cool car RLE owned until I went through these albums! He took it to Tadoussac in the winter in the 1939, left, "on the road between Cap a L'Aigle and St Simeon". Above on a sketchy ferry near Portneuf. Left in front of the Prep school at BCS. Below RLE teaching a class! RLE did this drawing of the Noroua and sent it to his future in-laws, the Morewoods, for a Christmas card - what could anyone want more than a picture of his boat! Betty (Morewood) Evans and R Lewis Evans on the beach in Tadoussac circa 1945? married but before kids? 1951 - the Noroua and the Bonne Chance together briefly at the wharf in Tadoussac. The Noroua was sold to someone in Ottawa, shown below on the delivery trip up the river, with John Price one of the crew. (Note I was born on July 4 1951 so I was probably a week or 2 old at this time! I made it to Tadoussac at the end of July, so I'm told) Mum and Dad in 1961 Us kids on a trip to Tad about 1963 Lewis, Tom, Alan, Anne. Lewis Evans in a Tadoussac with Betty 1961 at his desk in the Common Room at BCS and directing a play and all summer on the Saguenay The family in 1975 Back - Lew & Cathy, Alan, Heather, Tom and Rocky Front - Anne, Pauline Belton, Dad & Mum, Ian Kids - Carrie and Ian Belton Wedding of Tom and Heather 1976 Gord, Wilf, Heather, Joan, Gail (all Smiths) Heather, Hank Law, Tom, Suzanne Skolnick Mum, Dad, Alan, Anne, Cathy Kids - Ian and Carrie Belton NEXT PAGE about 1987 in Tadoussac Mum & Dad, Heather and I, and our kids Julia and Sarah R Lewis Evans died in 1988 at the age of 78. This biography is quite random, driven by the photographs that are available. Thus there's a lot missing, and many photos of boats! To be continued... On May 7th, 1911, Emily Elizabeth (Bethune) Evans, at age 46, gave birth to her first and only child, Robert Lewis Evans. Her husband, the Reverend Dean Thomas Frye Lewis Evans, was 67 and the father of five adult children and already a grandfather. So baby Lewis entered this world with a readymade niece and nephew, and only nine years to get to know his father. On October 19th, 1922, Caroline Annie (Rhodes) Morewood, at age 42, gave birth to her second child, Elizabeth Anne (Betty) Morewood. Her husband was her first cousin, Francis Edmund Morewood, who was 5 years her junior. Twenty months earlier, Carrie and Frank had produced a son, William Harold Morewood. On August 5th, 1944, at the Coupe in Tadoussac, 33-year-old Lewis asked 21-one-year-old Betty to marry him. She said yes, and their lives came together on December 27th of that year. Until the Dean died in 1920, the Evans family had spent their winters in Montreal and every summer in their house in Tadoussac, which at that time was the farthest east Price brothers house, later sold to the Beatties. After his death, however, mother and son moved to Toronto for the winter, but still got to Tadoussac each year. Emily must have been concerned that her son should have male role models in his life, so she had him attend Trinity College School – a boys boarding school in Port Hope, ON. Lewis liked the school and had positive memories of it. This is remarkable because on a personal level, these were difficult years. At the age of 14, he was hit by a severe case of alopecia, an autoimmune disorder whereby one’s hair falls out, and over the next year or so, he lost all his hair. When asked how Lewis handled this in an often unsympathetic boarding school environment, one of his classmates said that such was his quick wit that any boy who set out to tease him was swiftly put in his place. Between graduating from TCS and starting at Trinity College in Toronto, Lewis was taken on a European tour by his mother. They travelled extensively and visited many specialists in an effort to reverse the effects of alopecia. The tour was wonderful, the hair did not come back, and perhaps worst of all, they missed their summer in Tadoussac. This was the only summer Lewis missed in his 77 years. It was after this tour that Lewis chose to wear a wig, a decision he frequently regretted especially in the heat of the summer. Meanwhile, Betty, one of Col. William Rhodes’s many great-grandchildren, was growing up in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. She attended the Baldwin School for girls and subsequently Bryn Mawr and University of Pennsylvania. Her family would spend time in Tadoussac most summers, renting rooms in Catelier House (now the Maison du Tourisme) but then, in 1936, her father designed and built a house, now called Windward. From then on, she never missed a summer visit. In 1948, Frank Morewood sold Windward to Betty and Lewis for $1, and suddenly, Lewis, whose mother had died the year before, found himself with two cottages in Tadoussac. He chose to keep Windward, partly because it was newer, partly because it was politic, partly because of its view, but especially because he could see his boat at its buoy in the bay! At university, Lewis had studied English, graduating in 1933, and Betty had majored in business, graduating in 1944. Lewis followed through on his plan to be a teacher, receiving offers from a school in Bermuda and one in Lennoxville. Because Lennoxville was closer to Tadoussac, he started his career in 1934 at Bishop’s College School from which he retired in 1972. He did take a year away to get his teaching credential at University of London where he was delighted to have a front-row seat for the abdication of King Edward VIII and was on the very crowded street watching the parade leading to the coronation of George VI. Any career plans Betty had upon graduation were trumped by her summer engagement and winter wedding... and in the fullness of time, by the arrival of Anne, Lewis, Tom and Alan. She was of the generation when women were mothers and homemakers, and to these functions, Betty added the role of steadfast supporter of all that her husband did, and BCS benefitted from her unpaid and often unknown contribution. For the first 18 years of their marriage, Lewis was a Housemaster. Betty knew all the boys and welcomed them into her home as a matter of course. Every teacher new to BCS was invited to Sunday dinner, and she frequently found herself hosting parties for faculty and friends. She has been called a world-class knitter and a world-class worrier (especially about her children no matter how old they were). Meanwhile, Lewis, who had moved to the Upper School after five years teaching in the Prep, was completely immersed in the life of the school – teaching, coaching, directing plays and running his residences. He was one of the pioneers of ski racing in the Eastern Townships, and spent many hours freezing at the bottom of a hill, clipboard in one hand and stop watch in the other. He was an example of service and character. When he died, one Old Boy remembered him as “an oasis of calm in an otherwise harsh and demanding school.” Indeed, he was. But his contributions went beyond BCS. From the mid-50s until his retirement in 1972, he spearheaded the Lennoxville Players, directing many plays from British farces to Broadway musicals. This was a group of amateur “actors” from all levels of the community who were, like their leader, looking for an enjoyable night out... and all proceeds to go to a local charity. In 1972, Betty and Lewis retired to Brockville, Ontario. Here, they joined Tadoussac friends, Rae and Coosie Price and Jean and Guy Smith who had already retired to this comfortable town on the eastern end of the Thousand Islands. From there, they travelled to Tadoussac – for many years by boat, almost 700 kilometers down the St. Lawrence in their cabin cruiser, Anne of/de Tadoussac. For all their lives, home was where the family was, but Tadoussac was where the family was at home. The village, the river, the tides, the mountains, the beaches, the people, all had a strong hold on their hearts. In late spring, the family would leave Lennoxville before dawn on the first morning after the last teachers’ meeting, and at the end of the summer, they would return the day before the first meeting for the coming school year. After retirement, the summer would extend from the May long weekend until Thanksgiving. An accomplished sailor and boatman, Lewis knew every cove and anchorage on the Saguenay, learned from his own experience, but even more, from local captains whom he respected and adored, and, it would seem, they held him in equal esteem. Over the years, his passion for boats gave way to his passion for fishing. There were many overnight trips up the Saguenay, often to the Marguerite, to fish the falling tide, then the rising, then up early to start again. One can still see him standing in hip-waders off the point above the crib, rod in hand, pipe upside down against the drizzle, as dawn was lighting the sky. Betty and Lewis were practicing Christians, and while their church in Lennoxville tended to be the BCS Chapel, the one that they were most committed to was the Tadoussac Protestant Chapel. Betty’s great-grandfather had been instrumental in its creation, and Lewis’s father, the Dean, had, for decades, been the summer priest. In 1972, Betty, undertook to organise several summer residents to needlepoint the altar kneeler cushions with images of local wild flowers, and for many years, Lewis served as the secretary on the church committee executive. They were also strong supporters of the Tadoussac Tennis Club. Though Lewis played more than Betty, each made a memorable comment about the game. In his later years, Lewis would stand on the court, ready to deliver a flat baseline forehand or backhand (being equally good at both) and declare, “I’ll do anything within reason, but I will not run!” Betty’s line was less attitudinal, but gives an insight to why she did not play as much: “I find every shot easy to get back except the last one!” And then there was golf, which Betty loved and Lewis tolerated, and Bridge, which… Betty loved and Lewis tolerated. Their love for Tadoussac is best articulated in Lewis’s book, Tides of Tadoussac, and his fascination with the history of the place in his fictional Privateers and Traders. Betty and Lewis were amused at the double numbers that marked their lives: Lewis born in ‘11, Betty in ‘22, Lewis graduates in ‘33, Betty in ‘44, marriage in ‘44... so it was not a surprise that in 1988, Lewis died at age 77. Betty survived him just 4 ½ years. Theirs was a great love, a love of each other, a love of family and friends, a love of people and community, and a love of place, and that love of place, of that place, of Tadoussac, has been inherited by each of their four children and by each of their families. God gave all men all earth to love, But, since our hearts are small, Ordained for each one spot should prove Beloved over all. Rudyard Kipling written by Lewis Evans

Godfrey Rhodes & Lily Jamison Godfrey Rhodes 1850-1932 & Lily Jamison 1859-1939 Godfrey Rhodes is the second oldest of 9 children of Col William Rhodes and Anne Catherine Dunn. Godfrey married Lily Jamison, and they had one daughter Catherine Rhodes, who married Percival Tudor-Hart, an artist. Godfrey bought the estate Cataraquai in Sillery, Quebec City, in the early 1900's, located next door to his family home at Benmore. The story is that the estate was being auctioned by a friend of the family, and Godfrey had no plans to buy the place but placed a bid just to keep the bidding going. The family lived there until Catherine's death in 1972 (they had no children). It is now owned by the Quebec government. Catherine and PTH (as he was known) also built a summer house in Tadoussac in the early 1900's, still known as the Tudor-Hart house. Godfrey Rhodes est la deuxième plus ancien des neuf enfants de Col William Rhodes et Anne Catherine Dunn. Godfrey épousé Lily Jamison, et ils ont eu une fille Catherine Rhodes, qui a épousé Percival Tudor-Hart, un artiste. Godfrey achète le domaine Cataraquai à Sillery, Québec, dans le début des années 1900, situé à côté de sa maison familiale à Benmore. L'histoire, c'est que la propriété a été mis aux enchères par un ami de la famille, et Godfrey n'avait pas l'intention d'acheter, mais placé une enchère juste pour garder l'appel d'offres en cours. La famille y vécut jusqu'à la mort de Catherine en 1972 (ils n'avaient pas d'enfants). Il est maintenant la propriété du gouvernement du Québec. (les photos nécessaires!) Catherine et la PTH (comme il était connu) également construits une maison d'été à Tadoussac dans le début des années 1900, encore connu sous le nom de la maison Tudor-Hart. Godfrey is on the left, age about 5 circa 1855 circa 1893 on the beach - the Mums with 6 little girls! Nan Williams (Mary3 and Gertrude2), Minnie Morewood (Nancy5 and Billy2), Totie Rhodes (hat) (Lily4), Lily Rhodes (Catherine5) circa 1894 Godfrey on the left, then Nan Williams, Lily center, Hem and Lennox Williams top right back - Mrs Frank Jamison, Minnie Rhodes Morewood middle - Mrs Jamison (Lily's mother), Carrie (Nan) Rhodes Williams, Granny Anne Dunn Rhodes and Lily Jamison Rhodes in front circa 1893 Rhodes family - Godfrey back row with hat, Lily back row second from right Godfrey and M. Poitras with game circa 1895 Godfrey and John Morewood on the steps of the Poitras house 1898 - Godfrey, his wife Lily and daughter Catherine (age about 10) on the Tadoussac beach early 1900's - from left - Minnie Rhodes Morewood and Lily (sisters-in-law), Armitage with stick. bottom right - Carrie Rhodes (my grandmother) and Catherine Rhodes (age about 20) circa 1908 - Lily Jamison Rhodes and her daughter Catherine Rhodes (~20) 1910 - Catherine, Godfrey, Lily in Europe circa 1910 - Harriet Ross, Dorothy Rhodes Evans, Catherine Rhodes and Godfrey Drawing of Godfrey by Catherine 21

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Tadoussac has one of the largest natural drydocks, filled with boats in the winter / Une des plus grandes cale sèches naturelles. The Drydock - La Cale Sèche Read Armand Imbeau Contractor and Builder of Goélettes by Daniel Delisle PhD with the precious collaboration of Claudine Imbeau, granddaughter of Armand Imbeau at the bottom of this page Imbeau biography NB We have no photos of Armand Imbeau! Please help! Send to tomfevans@icloud.com Lire Armand Imbeau Entrepreneur et Constructeur de Goélettes par Daniel Delisle PhD avec la précieuse collaboration de Claudine Imbeau, petite fille de Armand Imbeau en bas de cette page Imbeau biography NB Nous n'avons pas de photos d'Armand Imbeau ! S'il vous plaît aider! Envoyer à tomfevans@icloud.com Samuel de Champlain drew this small bay on his map from 1600 Samuel de Champlain a esquissé cette petite entrée sur sa carte de 1600 BEFORE there was a drydock in Tadoussac, there was a lovely small bay with a beach, which filled up and emptied with the tides. This is the oldest photograph I have found which shows part of that bay, about 1900 (colourized) AVANT la cale sèche à Tadoussac, il y avait une belle petite baie avec une plage, qui rempli et vidé avec les marées. C'est la photo la plus ancienne que j'ai trouvé qui montre une partie de cette baie, vers 1900 Painting by Frank Morewood 1930's Painting by Tom Evans 2022 In this aerial photo from 1940's the drydock looks like it is full of water. Photo aérienne environ 1945. La cale sèche semble être plein d'eau. Painting by Thomas Garside from 1930, with the Pilot House and some sheds, probably before the gates were installed by Armand Imbeau in 1932. Peinture de Thomas Garside à partir de 1930, avec le Pilot House et quelques hangars, probablement devant les portes ont été installés par Armand Imbeau en 1932 A good place to repair the boat in the 1930's Un bon endroit pour réparer le bateau dans les années 1930 Imbeau's Drydock The establishment of Imbeau's drydock at Tadoussac in 1932 is a fine example of ingenuity and economy of means from its designer. Taking advantage of the natural features of a small bay with steep rock walls, the doors are attached directly to the rock, at the place where there is a narrow entrance to the bay. It's the tide that does the work. Once the boats are aground in the bay, the doors are closed and the trick is played! Painting by Tom Evans Armand Imbeau revisited a tradition dating back to the birth of New France. Prior to 1630, ships supplying the colony stopped over at Tadoussac where lower-tonnage boats took over to reach Quebec. Before going back to their home port, the ships were refurbished by the village's carpenters and caulkers. Armand Imbeau renouait ainsi avec une tradition remontantaux aux débuts de la Nouvelle-France. Avant 1630, les navires qui ravitaillaient la colonie s'arretaient a Tadoussac. Des embarcations de plus faible tonnage prenaient ensuite le relais jusqu'à Quebec. Avant de rapartir vers leur port d'attache, les navires etaient remis en état par les charpentiers et les calfats du village. Painting by Tom Evans Sketch by Lilybell Rhodes circa 1939 Noroua, a small schooner owned by my father, Lewis Evans, and stored in the drydock in the winter, 1940's Noroua, une petite goélette appartenant à mon père, Lewis Evans, et maintenus en la cale sèche en hiver, 1940 The new boathouse above was built for Arthur Price for his boat the "Empress of Tadoussac". In the winter many goelettes were kept in the drydock, a beautiful sight. Le nouveau hangar à bateaux ci-dessus a été construit pour Arthur Price pour son bateau "Empress of Tadoussac". En hiver, de nombreuses goelettes étaient conservées en cale sèche, une belle vue. In 1951 Lewis Evans (my father) sold the Noroua and bought a very old Lower St Lawrence Yawl, the "Bonne Chance", above sailing on the Saguenay. The gates to the dry dock can be seen in the background. The boat was christened in the drydock with my baby bottle (I was born in 1951). Doing the honours, my sister Anne and brother Lewis. En 1951, Lewis Evans (mon père) vendit le Noroua et acheta un très vieux Lower St Lawrence Yawl, le "Bonne Chance", au-dessus de la voile sur le Saguenay. Les portes de la cale sèche sont visibles à l'arrière-plan. Le bateau a été baptisé en cale sèche avec mon biberon (je suis né en 1951). Je fais les honneurs, ma soeur Anne et mon frère Lewis. Many photos of the Bonne Chance in the dry dock in 1951! The 3 colour photos were taken by Jack Molson, who bought the boat from my father in 1967 and built a barn for it in Anse à L'Eau, where it still resides! De nombreuses photos de la Bonne Chance en cale sèche en 1951! Les 3 photos en couleurs ont été prises par Jack Molson, qui a acheté le bateau à mon père en 1967 et lui a construit une grange à Anse à L'Eau, où il réside toujours ! Some photos are in poor condition, but still have a lot of information, I bet that's James Beattie (from a negative). Certaines photos sont en mauvais état, mais contiennent encore beaucoup d'informations, je pense qu'il s'agit de James Beattie (d'après un négatif). When I was a kid in the 1950's I'd climb the mountain beside the drydock. The photo above is our boat the "Bonne Chance" (now stored in the Molson Barn by the lake). Recently I tried to take the same picture during the end of season party, but the trees had grown so I couldn't get quite the same angle. Quand je suis jeune dans les années 1950 je monte la montagne à côté de la cale sèche. La photo ci-dessus est notre bateau, le "Bonne Chance" (maintenant situé dans la Molson Barn au bord du lac). Récemment, je ai essayé de prendre la même image pendant la fête de fin saison, mais les arbres sont devenus donc je ne pouvais pas obtenir le même angle. Drawing in coloured pencil by Lilybell Rhodes 1958 The Pilot House 1960's The end of the season - Guy Smith on the "Hobo" entering the drydock at high tide, for winter storage. Lots of spectators on the rocks, maybe his daughters Ann, Pam and Penny? Années 1960 La fin de la saison - Guy Smith sur le " Hobo " entrant dans la cale sèche à marée haute, pour le stockage d'hiver. Beaucoup de spectateurs sur les rochers, peut-être ses filles Ann, Pam et Penny ? In this close-up, Guy Smith is steering the boat (no shirt) and that's probably ARMAND IMBEAU sitting on top of the gate! Dans ce détail, Guy Smith est le pilotage du bateau (pas de chemise) et c'est probablement ARMAND IMBEAU assis sur le dessus de la porte! This painting was done by Guy Smith, the owner of the Hobo, from the photo above. Cette peinture a été réalisée par Guy Smith, le propriétaire de la Hobo, partir de la photo ci-dessus Painting by Tom Evans These two photos were taken at the same time, with the Hobo and a large yawl. Ces deux photos ont été prises en même temps, avec le Hobo et un grand yawl. The Pecks from Cocouna had a sailboat called "Redwing" and it rested in the drydock one winter. about 1960 Le Pecks de Cocouna avait un voilier appelé "Redwing" et il reposait dans la cale sèche d'un hiver. vers 1960 The other boat started out as Lex Smith's "Penwa" (left) and later owned by the Leggats, called the "Gal" (for Gertrude Anne Leggat (Nan)) and below there's Bob Leggat doing some repairs! L'autre bateau a commencé sous le nom de "Penwa" de Lex Smith (à gauche) et a ensuite appartenu aux Leggats, appelé "Gal" (pour Gertrude Anne Leggat (Nan)) et en dessous, Bob Leggat fait quelques réparations ! In 1962 my family visited Tadoussac at New Year's. We stayed at the Hotel Georges. The goelettes in the drydock were a beautiful sight. En 1962, ma famille a visité Tadoussac au Nouvel An. Nous avons séjourné à l'Hôtel Georges. Les Goelettes dans la cale sèche étaient un spectacle magnifique. That's me and my brothers on the left. Ce moi et mes frères sur la gauche. This photo was sent to me by Patrick O'Neill, many of the boats are the same but some are different, not the same winter! Cette photo m'a été envoyé par Patrick O'Neill, la plupart des bateaux sont les mêmes, mais autres sont différents, pas la même hiver! The "Bonne Chance" ready to go at the beginning of the summer, owned by Lewis Evans. La "Bonne Chance" de Lewis Evans prêt pour son lancement au début de l'été. Yawl built by Captain Dallaire Yawl construit par le capitaine Dallaire Armand Imbeau standing on the gate of the Drydock Armand Imbeau debout sur la porte de la Cale Sèche Imbeau biography Armand Imbeau Contractor and Builder of Schooners Certain people, places and events are essential to Tadoussac. The bay, one of the "beautiful bays in the world", the dunes and of course, the "Toupie" from the Prince Shoal in the distance, the little chapel, all are distinctive emblems of the place. The fire of the SS Quebec at the Quai de Tadoussac in 1950 will also remain an event that will be remembered. Among the people, we certainly recognize the names of certain witnesses of the past. This is the case of the famous captain Jos Deschênes and the entrepreneur Armand Imbeau, Tadoussaciens whose names have been attributed to the first and second generation ferries that shuttle incessantly between Baie-Ste-Catherine and Tadoussac. Long before the ferries, the Côte-Nord knew the age of navigation born of local necessity: transport of essential products from the large centers to towns and villages, and shipments of natural resources, notably wood from the sawmills of the region to distribution centers. To meet these needs, Quebec shipbuilders have developed expertise in the construction of wood, sail and later motor vessels, particularly flat-bottomed schooners allowing beaching on the shore to facilitate loading in places without dock. Among these renowned schooner builders from the Charlevoix and Côte-Nord regions, is Armand Imbeau, son of a shipwright from Baie-Ste-Catherine. Navigator, carpenter, entrepreneur, citizen involved in his community, Armand Imbeau left his mark on his profession, his city, his region and his time. Imbeau de Charlevoix The surname Imbeau (Imbeault, Imbault or Imbeaux) was very common in the Charlevoix region between the 17th and the 19th century. We find traces of the ancestor of the Imbeault, François Imbeault (1737-1823) dit Lagrange, a French soldier, and his wife Catherine Ringuet, in La Malbaie – Pointe-au-Pic. Gradually, we note the presence of many families of descent further north of the region, from Saint-Siméon to St-Firmain (Baie-Sainte-Catherine). At the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th, Imbeau moved to the Haute-Côte-Nord. (1, 2) Born in Baie-Sainte-Catherine on August 30, 1896, Armand Imbeau was the son of Thomas Imbeau, from Baie-Sainte-Catherine, a carpenter by trade, and Marie Laprise from Grandes-Bergeronnes. At that time, several Imbeau families were established in Baie-Sainte-Catherine. Thomas, Armand’s father, had another son, Lucien, and six daughters who all married in St-Firmain. He also had a famous cousin, Thomas-Louis (Mrg Imbeault, Bishop of Charlevoix), the son of Louis Imbeault, also from Baie-Ste-Catherine. Armand studied carpentry and learned shipbuilding from his father. Erudite and self-taught, Armand Imbeau mastered the language of Molière as well as that of Shakespeare. According to his granddaughter, he had a vast vocabulary and expressed himself in an excellent way. At the age of 25, on April 22, 1919, he married in Tadoussac, Marie-Louise Caron, teacher at the village school (1900 -?), 19 years old, daughter of Mr. John (Benny) Caron and Ms. Éveline Pedneault from Tadoussac. From this union are born five children; Georgette (Marie-Louise-Emma-Georgette), March 11, 1920, died May 25, 1973. She will marry Émile Baril (1904-1989) from Saint-Charles de Mandeville on June 30, 1956. The couple will have no children. Mr. Baril will be a teacher and principal of the Tadoussac elementary school; Jacques, born in 1924 in Tadoussac and died in La Malbaie in 2011. On October 1, 1949, he married Jaqueline Gauthier (1930-2013), daughter of Hector Gauthier, owner of the Hotel Gauthier which would become the Manoir Tadoussac, and of Émilie Brisson. Jacques Imbeau, employed by the Ministry of Lands and Forests, is called upon to work in Hauterive and Havre-St-Pierre. A child will be born from this union, Claudine, the last of the line of Armand Imbeau; Simonne, who died very young (1927-1939); Rachelle (1933-1937) died at the age of 4; Jacqueline (19 ??), who married Rosaire Bouchard (1924-1987) on May 15, 1954 in Tadoussac. The couple settled in Chicoutimi, parents of two boys, Pierre and Jean, who died in infancy. The Imbeau dry dock At the western end of the beach, overlooking the bay before reaching L'Islet, is to the right, at the south-eastern foot of the hill of Anse à l'eau, a small cove, a natural basin which extends the Anse à L'Islet, of which a band of rocks delimits the entrance: the “Dry dock”. Filling at high tide, the place provides access to the deep fjord and makes it easier for ships to enter and launch. On the beach side, the cove is separated from the bay by an isthmus connecting the peninsula to the mainland. Some residents of Tadoussac settle on the bay beach to build boats. In 1923, Mr. Imbeau rented the site from its owners: the Canada Steamship Lines. In 1930, he founded the “Imbeau Dry Dock” in Tadoussac, a company specializing in the construction and repair of wood-hulled ships, particularly those intended for the transport of wood and for yachting. The dry dock will be operational in November 1931. It will be dug by hand the following year to improve its functionality. Thanks to a government subsidy obtained with the support of the municipality and the village priest, the citizens are hired for two weeks at the dry dock site. In order to stimulate the local economy, after two weeks another group of workers took over to allow as many people as possible to get paid work in these difficult times. A building for the storage of materials and tools is erected on the rocks, where the facilities of the "Center for the Interpretation of Marine Mammals" are currently located. We found in this garage, the various tools of the carpenter, such as adzes, several caulking irons and caulking mallets, augers, hand chignoles, crankshafts, planes, gouges, several wood chisels, saws, scrolling hands, planes of all sizes, etc. Massive wooden doors are installed at the entrance to the cove to control the entry of water. Construction and repair activities would take place there until around 1965, a few years before Mr. Imbeau's death. The golden age of the shipyard's activities was between 1930 and 1950. According to government statistics for the registration of new ships, during this period at least 300 motorized wood coasters were built in Quebec, of which nearly 40% in the Charlevoix region. In Tadoussac, a dozen goelettes will emerge from the Imbeau dry dock, including the Saint-Jude in 1935, the Victoire in 1936, the Tadoussac Transport in 1938, the Royal Trader in 1939 and the Vaillant in 1943, his personal boat the St-Étienne Murray Bay in 1939, the Raguenau in 1941. Given the limited space of the dry dock, the boats built had to be of small and medium tonnage. (3, 4) The post-war industrial boom and the construction of roads connecting the towns and villages of the Charlevoix and Côte-Nord regions contributed to the decrease in naval transport needs and marked the end of the schooner era as well as small shipyards. Armand Imbeau nonetheless continued to repair and winterize the boats in the dry dock until around 1965. A man of many talents, he builds a few houses. To fill in the free time that remains to him, he tinkers, repairs everything that is entrusted to him. He even went so far as to act as a shoemaker, an area in which he excelled. When a national park was created, the "Saguenay – St. Lawrence Marine Park" in 1998, the then inactive site was acquired by the provincial government and integrated into the park. Today, under municipal administration, the Imbeau dry dock accommodates pleasure boats during the winter season. In summer, the place serves as a car park for tourists. Armand Imbeau: The involved citizen The social involvement of Mr. Armand Imbeau is also notable. A city councilor from 1928 to 1939, he devoted his life to fostering the economic prosperity of his region and employed up to 75 people at the turn of the 1940s. (5) Armand Imbeau was also involved for several years in the organizations of the Sainte-Croix Church as churchwarden or in the League of the Sacred Heart. An unusual event: The archaeological treasure An unusual event happened to Armand Imbeau in 1923. The year following his marriage, he bought Arthur Hovington's residence located near L'Islet, on a plateau overlooking the Dry Dock Cove, facing the Saguenay River. The young father is busy digging the dirt cellar. A few shovels from the surface, he discovers a canvas pouch containing old coins. The nest egg consisted of 102 coins. Two of them were white metal coins of a size equivalent to today's Canadian dollar. They are in good condition, without excessive wear and bear the effigy of Louis XIV, and date respectively from 1655 and 1659. Two others of the same metal are smaller and more worn, dating from 1591. The rest of the collection includes pieces of yellow metal, a little larger than a dime and relatively worn with time. They are from the same period as the first two. (6) History does not say whether the "treasure" had a great market value which would have enriched its owner, but according to the numismatic archaeologists consulted, the historical value is really significant. Where are these coins? After a while, Armand Imbeau gives them to his boy Jacques, who takes care of them for many years. While the latter resided in Hauterive, the coins disappeared during a theft from the family home. At the end of a busy life, Armand Imbeau passed away in Tadoussac in 1969 at the venerable age of 76. A family monument is erected at the ancestral cemetery of Tadoussac. He left as a legacy marking his village a host of economic achievements and social contributions. His name, which now names two ships of the Société des Traversiers du Québec, is known throughout the province and beyond our borders. Daniel Delisle PhD with the precious collaboration of Claudine Imbeau, granddaughter of Armand Imbeau Armand Imbeau Entrepreneur et Constructeur de goélettes Des personnages, certains lieux, des événements sont incontournables à Tadoussac. La baie, une des « belles baies du monde », les dunes et bien entendu, la «Toupie » du haut-fond prince au lointain, la petite chapelle, tous sont des emblèmes distinctifs de l’endroit. Le feu du Ss Québec au quai de Tadoussac en 1950 restera également un évènement qui restera en mémoire. Parmi les gens, on reconnaît assurément les noms de certains témoins du passé. C’est le cas du célèbre capitaine Jos Deschênes et de l’entrepreneur Armand Imbeau, Tadoussaciens dont on a attribué les noms aux traversiers de première et deuxième générations qui font la navette incessante entre Baie-Ste-Catherine et Tadoussac. Bien avant les traversiers, la Côte-Nord a connu l’âge de la navigation dite de nécessité locale: transport de produits essentiels depuis les grands centres vers les villes et villages, et expéditions de ressources naturelles, notamment le bois des moulins à scie de la région vers les centres de distribution. Pour répondre à ces besoins, les constructeurs navals québécois ont développé une expertise dans la construction de bâtiments de bois, à voiles et plus tard à moteur, particulièrement les goélettes à fonds plats permettant un échouage sur la grève pour faciliter le chargement dans les endroits dépourvus de quai. Parmi ces renommés constructeurs de goélettes de la région de Charlevoix et de la Côte-Nord, Armand Imbeau, fils de charpentier naval de Baie-Ste-Catherine. Navigateur, charpentier, entrepreneur, citoyen impliqué dans sa communauté, Armand Imbeau a marqué sa profession, sa ville, sa région et son époque. Imbeau de Charlevoix Le patronyme Imbeau (Imbeault, Imbault ou Imbeaux) était très répandu dans la région de Charlevoix entre le 17e et le 19e siècle. Nous retrouvons les traces de l’ancêtre des Imbeault, François Imbeault (1737-1823) dit Lagrange, militaire français et de sa conjointe Catherine Ringuet, à La Malbaie–Pointe-au-Pic. Graduellement, on note la présence des nombreuses familles de la descendance plus au nord de la région, à Saint-Siméon jusqu’à St-Firmain (Baie-Sainte-Catherine). En fin de 19e et début du 20e, des Imbeau se déplacent sur la Haute-Côte-Nord. (1, 2) Né à Baie-Sainte-Catherine le 30 août 1896, Armand Imbeau est le fils de Thomas Imbeau, de Baie-Sainte-Catherine, charpentier de profession et de Marie Laprise de Grandes-Bergeronnes. À cette époque, plusieurs familles Imbeau étaient installées à Baie-Sainte-Catherine. Thomas, le père d’Armand aura un autre fils, Lucien et six filles qui se sont tous mariés à St-Firmain. Il a également un cousin célèbre Thomas-Louis, (Mrg Imbeault, évêque de Charlevoix) le fils de Louis Imbeault également de Baie-Ste-Catherine. Armand fait ses classes en charpenterie et apprend la construction navale auprès de son père. Érudit et autodidacte, Armand Imbeau maitrise la langue de Molière aussi bien que celle de Shakespeare. Selon sa petite fille, il possède un vaste vocabulaire et s’exprime d’une excellente façon. À l’âge de 25 ans, le 22 avril 1919, il épouse à Tadoussac, Marie-Louise Caron, enseignante à l’école du village (1900 -?), âgée de 19 ans, fille de monsieur John (Benny) Caron et madame Éveline Pedneault de Tadoussac. De cette union naissent quatre enfants; Georgette (Marie-Louise-Emma-Georgette), le 11 mars 1920, décédée le 25 mai 1973. Elle épousera Émile Baril (1904-1989) de Saint-Charles de Mandeville le 30 juin 1956. Le couple n’aura pas d’enfant. Monsieur Baril sera enseignant et directeur de l’école primaire de Tadoussac; Jacques, né en 1924 à Tadoussac et décédé à La Malbaie en 2011. Il épouse le 1er octobre 1949 Jaqueline Gauthier (1930-2013), fille de Hector Gauthier, propriétaire de l’Hôtel Gauthier qui deviendra le Manoir Tadoussac, et de Émilie Brisson. Employé du ministère des terres et forêts, Jacques Imbeau est appelé à travailler à Hauterive et à Havre-St-Pierre. Un enfant naitra de cette union, Claudine, dernière de la lignée de Armand Imbeau; Simonne, décédée très jeune (1927-1939); Rachelle (1933-1937) décédée à l’âge de 4 ans; Jacqueline (19??), qui épouse Rosaire Bouchard (1924-1987) le 15 mai 1954 à Tadoussac. Le couple s’installe à Chicoutimi, parents de deux garçons Pierre et Jean, décédés en bas âge. La cale sèche Imbeau À l’extrémité ouest de la plage, donnant sur la baie avant d’atteindre L’Islet, se trouve à droite, au pied sud-est de la colline de l’Anse à l’eau, une petite crique, un bassin naturel qui prolonge l’Anse à L’Islet, dont une bande de rochers délimite l’entrée: l’«Anse à cale sèche». Se remplissant à marée haute, l’endroit donne accès au fjord profond et facilite l’entrée et la mise à l’eau des navires. Du côté de la plage, l’anse est séparée de la baie par un isthme reliant la presqu’ile à la terre ferme. Certains résidents de Tadoussac s’installent à même la plage de la baie pour construire des embarcations. En 1923, monsieur Imbeau loue l’emplacement à ses propriétaires : la Canada steamship lines. En 1930, il fonde la « Cale sèche Imbeau » à Tadoussac, une compagnie spécialisée dans la construction et la réparation de navires à coque de bois, particulièrement ceux destinés au transport du bois et à la plaisance. La cale sèche sera opérationnelle en novembre 1931. Elle sera creusée à la main l’année suivante pour améliorer sa fonctionnalité. Grâce à une subvention gouvernementale obtenue grâce à l’appui de la municipalité et du curé du Village, les citoyens sont embauchés pour deux semaines au chantier de la cale sèche. Afin de stimuler l’économie locale, au bout de deux semaines un autre groupe de travailleurs prenait la relève afin de permettre à un maximum de personne d’éteint un travail rémunéré en ces temps difficiles. Un bâtiment nécessaire à l’entreposage des matériaux et des outils sont érigés sur les rochers, là où actuellement se trouvent les installations du « Centre d’interprétation des mammifères marins ». On retrouvait dans ce garage, les divers outils du charpentier, tel que des herminettes, plusieurs fers à calfat et maillets à calfat, des tarières, chignoles à main, vilebrequins, planes, gouges, plusieurs ciseaux à bois, scies, égoïnes à chantourner, rabots de toutes grosseurs, etc. De massives portes de bois sont installées à l’entrée de l’anse afin d’y contrôler l’entrée d’eau. Les activités de constructions et de réparations s’y dérouleront jusqu’en 1965 environ, quelques années avant le décès de monsieur Imbeau. L’âge d’or des activités du chantier se situant entre 1930 et 1950. Selon les statistiques gouvernementales d’enregistrement des nouveaux navires, au cours de cette période au moins 300 caboteurs de bois à moteur furent construits au total au Québec, dont près de 40% dans la région de Charlevoix. À Tadoussac, c’est une douzaine de bâtiments qui sortiront de la cale sèche Imbeau, dont le Saint-Jude en 1935, le Victoire en 1936, le Tadoussac Transport en 1938, le Royal Trader en 1939 et le Vaillant en 1943, son bateau personnel, le St-Étienne Murray Bay en 1939, le Raguenau en 1941. Étant donné l’espace restreint de la cale sèche, les bateaux construits devaient être de petites et de moyen tonnage. (3, 4) L’essor industriel d’après guerre et la construction de routes reliant les villes et villages des régions de Charlevoix et de la Côte-Nord contribuent à la diminution des besoins en transport naval et marquent la fin de l’ère des goélettes de même que des petits chantiers maritimes. Armand Imbeau continu tout de même la réparation et l’hivernent des bateaux dans la cale sèche jusqu’en 1965 environ. Homme aux multiples talents, il réalise la construction que quelques maisons. Pour combler le temps libre qui lui reste, il bricole, répare tout ce qu’on lui confie. Il va même jusqu’à faire office de cordonnier, domaine dans lequel il excellait. Lors de la création d’un parc national, le « Parc marin du Saguenay–Saint-Laurent » en 1998, le site alors inactif, est acquis par le gouvernement provincial et intégré au parc. Aujourd’hui, sous l’administration municipale, la cale sèche Imbeau accueille les bateaux de plaisance pendant la saison hivernale. En été, le lieu sert de stationnement automobile pour les touristes. Armand Imbeau: Le citoyen impliqué L’implication sociale de monsieur Armand Imbeau est également notable. Conseiller municipal de 1928 à 1939, il a consacré sa vie à favoriser la prospérité économique de sa région et employait jusqu’à 75 personnes au tournant des années 40. (5) Armand Imbeau s’est également engagé plusieurs années dans les organismes de l’église Sainte-Croix comme marguillier ou encore à la Ligue du Sacré-Cœur. Un événement inusité : Le trésor archéologique Un événement inusité arrive à Armand Imbeau en 1923. L’année suivant son mariage, il achète la résidence de Arthur Hovington située près de L’Islet, sur un plateau surplombant l’Anse à cale sèche, orientée face à la rivière Saguenay, le jeune père de famille s’affaire à creuser la cave en terre battue. A quelques coups de pelles de la surface, il fait la découverte d’une pochette de toile contenant des pièces de monnaie anciennes. Le magot était constitué de 102 pièces. Deux d’entre elles étaient des pièces de métal blanc d’une grande équivalente à une pièce d’un dollar canadien actuel. Elles sont en bon état, sans usure excessive et portent l’effigie de Louis XIV, et date respectivement de 1655 et 1659. Deux autres du même métal sont plus petites et plus usées, datant de 1591. Le reste de la collection comprend des pièces de métal jaune, un peu plus grandes qu’une pièce de 10 cents et sont relativement usées par le temps. Elles sont de la même époque que les deux premières. (6) L’histoire ne dit pas si le « trésor » avait une grande valeur marchande qui aurait enrichi son propriétaire, mais selon les archéologues numismates consultés, la valeur historique est réellement importante. Où sont rendues ces pièces de monnaie? Après un certain temps, Armand Imbeau les donne à son garçon Jacques qui en prend un soin jaloux pendant de nombreuses années. Alors que ce dernier résidait à Hauterive, les pièces disparaissent lors d’un vol au domicile familial. Au terme d’une vie bien remplie, Armand Imbeau s’éteint à Tadoussac en 1969 à l’âge vénérable de 76 ans. Une stèle familiale est érigée au cimetière ancestral de Tadoussac. Il laisse en héritage marquant à son village une foule de réalisations économiques et de contributions sociales. Son nom, qui baptise maintenant deux navires de la Société des traversiers du Québec est connu dans toute la province et au-delà de nos frontières. Daniel Delisle PhD avec la précieuse collaboration de Claudine Imbeau, petite fille de Armand Imbeau Inconnu, Illégitimes en Charlevoix (2), les Imbeault, https://www.touslestemps.net/2-imbeault-1-2/ Inconnu, Illégitimes en Charlevoix (3), les Imbeault, https://www.touslestemps.net/imbeault-2-2/ Frank, A., Les chantiers maritimes traditionnels: il était de petits navires, Continuité, 2001, (89), 37-39 Desjardins, Robert, Les voitures d’eau, le cabotage artisanal sur le St-Laurent, 2013, http://goelettesduquebec.ca Société des traversiers du Québec, https://www.traversiers.com/fr/a-propos-de-la-societe/nos-navires/nm-armand-imbeau/ Bulletin des recherches historiques : bulletin d'archéologie, d'histoire, de biographie, de numismatique, etc., décembre 1923 another story...from writings of Ann Dewart Late in the1920s, Dad (Dr Stevenson) bought one of the old Price Brothers Company's abandoned houses in Baie Ste. Catherine for $25 and had it knocked down and ferried across the river. For several years the wood lay on the ground near Pépin's Road (Rue de la Pointe Rouge) until finally Armand Imbeault, the carpenter, persuaded Dad to build with it before it rotted away. Again, Dad did the design, patterned after our original house (the Stevenson/Reilley house). This house would later become Elizabeth’s and my house (the O'Neill house). (The Dewarts eventually sold out of that house and bought Tivoli, and...) Later, we had Armand Imbeault, the founder of the cale sêche, close in the sundeck to make a sleeping porch. une autre histoire... d'après les écrits d'Ann Dewart À la fin des années 1920, papa (Dr Stevenson) a acheté une des maisons abandonnées de l'ancienne Price Brothers Company à Baie Ste. Catherine pour 25 $ et l'a fait renverser et transporté de l'autre côté de la rivière. Pendant plusieurs années, le bois est resté sur le sol près du chemin Pépin (rue de la Pointe Rouge) jusqu'à ce que finalement Armand Imbeault, le menuisier, ait persuadé papa de construire avec avant qu'il ne pourrisse. Encore une fois, papa a fait le design, sur le modèle de notre maison d'origine (la maison Stevenson/Reilley). Cette maison deviendra plus tard celle d'Elizabeth et moi (la maison O'Neill). (Les Dewarts ont finalement vendu cette maison et acheté Tivoli, et...) Plus tard, nous avons demandé à Armand Imbeault, le fondateur de la cale sêche, de fermer le solarium pour en faire une véranda pour dormir. Maurice and Pierre Tremblay were excellent carpenters. Maurice excelled as a cabinetmaker and sculptor, Pierre as a joiner-carpenter. Maurice sculpted several statues for our church, including the Saint-Joseph and Thérèse-de-Lisieux statues. He worked on the construction of the dry dock doors with Mr. Armand Imbeau. He became the owner around 1965 and remained so until his death in 1975. Pierre built several houses in Tadoussac. He worked primarily for the English-speaking community, maintaining their cottages; Hector Gauthier trained him for this work. He built the old barns behind the Maritime Museum, erected the Jacques Cartier Cross, and carried out repairs to the Chauvin House and the Old Chapel in the 1960s. After his death in 1991, Roger and Jean-Philippe Hovington took over from the summer residents. LES VIEILLES FAMILLES DE TADOUSSAC, 1850-1950 Gaby Villeneuve Maurice et Pierre étaient d'excellents charpentiers. Maurice excellait comme ébéniste et sculpteur, et Pierre comme menuisier-charpentier. Maurice a sculpté plusieurs statues pour notre église, dont celles de Saint-Joseph et de Thérèse-de-Lisieux. Il a travaillé à la construction des portes de la cale sèche avec M. Armand Imbeau. Il en est devenu le propriétaire vers 1965 et l'est resté jusqu'à son décès en 1975. Pierre a bâti plusieurs maisons à Tadoussac. Il a principalement travaillé pour la communauté anglophone, entretenant leurs chalets ; Hector Gauthier l'a formé à ce travail. Il a construit les vieilles granges derrière le Musée maritime, érigé la croix Jacques-Cartier et effectué des réparations à la maison Chauvin et à la vieille chapelle dans les années 1960. Après son décès en 1991, Roger et Jean-Philippe Hovington ont pris la relève des résidents estivaux. 85