Ask any youngster if they know what a shivaree is and you’ll either get a blank stare or a guess that it is some kind of frozen treat.

In his book My White Rock Bert Young mentions shivarees and the senior generations know precisely what he’s talking about. Chances are that anyone in their 70s or 80s who grew up in the Annapolis Valley participated one way or another in a shivaree; which for the benefit of younger readers was a noisy boisterous serenading of the bride and groom on their wedding eve, just when they’ve settled down on the first night of nuptial bliss.

This is what’s special about Bert Young’s reminiscing. Bert recalls the old days when instead of a honeymoon, the bride and groom took a horse and wagon ride as far as a parent’s home to spend the first night there. This, of course, made it convenient for anyone with a shivaree in mind.

Burt writes about the turn-of-the-century period in the Valley; a period when cars and telephones were relatively new, the choice of transportation was either the horse or shank’s mare, and the pleasures of life were simple and down-to-earth. If you wonder how our grandparents and great-grandparents lived, what they did for work and recreation, some of the answers are in this book.

I enjoy reading personal accounts of the early days because they often introduce fascinating new words and phrases – words and phrases that often have vanished or are no longer used in the old sense. Take “burnt land,” for example. Far from being self-explanatory, this phrase rings of a time when the clearing of wooded land was a laborious process that sometimes took years.

When woodland was clear cut in Bert’s boyhood period, the work was done with axes, handsaws, horses and oxen. Bert writes that the “brush was burned where it lay and the charred stumps left to rot.” For a year or two, the stumps stood like black sentinels on what was called “burnt land.” The soil between the stumps was tilled and planted, a practice that harkens back to pioneer days.

I learned two new words when reading Bert’s book – lockshoes and lockchains. These are wonderful old words of another era, the era of horses and oxen. Lockshoes were used on wagon wheels to slow them on a downhill grade. Bert describes it as a “little wooden sled” made of “a piece of hardwood about eight or ten inches wide, eighteen inches long by four or five inches thick … (with) a seat in the middle for the wheel.” They were, Bert said, “works of art.”

Lockchains performed the same function as lockshoes, except that they were used in winter on the runners of sleighs. Bert describes the lockchains as “eighteen inches long, made of large iron links with the two end links being larger.” The lockchain was wrapped around rear runners and held in place with a wooden key that was inserted through the end links.

Bert mentions Hank Snow twice in his book and, yep, there’s a White Rock connection. Hank Snowophiles (is that a word?) will find glimpses in the book of the great country and western singer in his younger days.

As you probably read in this paper, the second edition of Bert’s book just came out. The first issue was a sell-out, so if you missed it, I suggest you check with a local bookstore right away; the second issue won’t be around long.

Thanks to working on assignments for this newspaper, I’ve been reading a lot recently about apple growing and Blossom Festival history. To use an old cliché, this has been an eye opener. For example, while I knew the Acadians had apple orchards, I never understood until now how their fruit growing evolved into a major Nova Scotia industry. As well as shaping our early history, the Acadians laid the groundwork for the future prosperity of the Annapolis Valley.

While researching for my assignments I learned a lot about apples. I always wondered why so many of the apple varieties of the past century disappeared from our orchards and are now found only in history books. I discovered several answers to this puzzle. Some of the old varieties didn’t store well; some were cooking varieties only and were no longer suitable for today’s fresh fruit market, and so on.

Then there was a bunch of interesting apple trivia, some of which I found in unusual places, such as Marguerite Woodworth’s history of the Dominion Atlantic Railway.

In the chapter on the apple industry and how it spurred the coming of the railroad to the Valley, Woodworth offers readers an intriguing aside about the word “graft.” As orchards expanded with the railroad’s arrival, the Valley became infested with tree peddlers and tree grafters from the United States, Woodworth says. The grafters frequently defrauded the farmer by selling him grafts from the trees in his own orchard. “So prevalent was the practice,” Woodworth writes, “that the professional ‘grafter’ came to be looked upon with suspicion, and one wonders if the modern conception of the word might not have had its origin in the activities of these gentlemen.” (On “graft” and “grafter” as used in the sense Woodworth mentions, the Canadian Oxford Dictionary notes that its origin is unknown).

Some of the old varieties of apples Arthur W. H. Eaton mentions in his Kings County history are Nonpareil, Golden Russet, Yellow Belle Fleur (Bishop’s Pippin), Calkin Pippin, Greening Spitzenbzerg, Pearmain, Ribston and Gravenstein among others. Some of these varieties are still grown in Kings County orchards.

Historians agree that the Acadians planted the apple orchards Nova Scotia, (between 1606 and 1610) but the statistics they use regarding tree numbers differ slightly. An Agriculture Canada booklet on apple production says a 1698 census shows that 53 Acadian families had 1,375 apple trees. A three-page overview of apple growing, which I picked up at the research station in Kentville, gives the 1698 census figure as 1,584 apple trees. In Valley Gold, Anne Hutten’s superb history of the apple industry in Nova Scotia, the author gives the 1698 census figures as 54 families of Acadians with 1,584 apple trees.

And speaking of Anne Hutten’s book, it must rank as the definitive history of the apple industry in Nova Scotia. Published in 1981, Valley Gold is now out of print; copies are difficult to find and are sure to be collector’s items in the future. At a Wolfville used book store, The Odd Book, there’s a waiting list for Hutten’s book. If you have one, hold on to it.

One more piece of apple trivia. A number of Valley orchardists are operating farms that have been in the family for more than 100 years.

While it’s publicized as a Valley event and the majority and towns and villages between Windsor and Digby participate, I believe Kentville could rightly call itself the home of the Apple Blossom Festival.

The first Blossom Festival, which was held in Kentville, seems to have resulted from a series of earlier summer celebrations in the shire town. The celebrations were dubbed “Old Home Week,” “Old Home Summer Celebration,” and the like. Kentville’s 1928 summer carnival, which saluted the Planters and had a historical theme throughout, called itself a “Valley Pageant.” Since various Valley communities participated, this event may have been the forerunner of the apple blossom festival. As will blossom festivals in later years, the summer carnival featured a “queen” of the event, a Miss Helen Wickwire dressed to represent Nova Scotia.

From reading newspaper accounts of the 1928 carnival, one can see that the format for the first Apple Blossom Festival of 1933 is already established. There is a grand street parade through downtown Kentville with floats (100 in all) decorated cars, dignitaries and bands; some 3,000 people watched the mile-long 1928 parade which for the most part followed today’s festival route and terminated with a concert.

In his book on the history of the Apple Blossom Festival, Harold Woodman suggests that Kentville can be credited with originating the event or, to be precise, Kentville business leaders can be credited. Mr. Woodman mentions in particular the former publisher of The Advertiser, Clifford L. Baker, as being the first to suggest an Apple Blossom Festival. Woodman quotes two sources who attributed to Mr. Baker the original idea for an annual celebration with a blossom theme.

Clifford L. Baker apparently played a prominent role in organizing the summer carnivals that preceded the Blossom Festival; and he is mentioned in newspaper accounts as adding a personal touch to Kentville’s 1928 carnival. “There was a moment of silence – the band and orchestra crashed into the strains of ‘Rule Britannia’ and the ‘Hymn to Nova Scotia’, composed by Clifford L. Baker was sung by the entire stage group of 400 people,” reads a newspaper account of the 1928 carnival. (Mr. Baker’s composition, called “an original piece” in the account, has apparently been lost.)

In my early days with this newspaper, I had the pleasure and the honour of associating with one of the festival founders, Frank Burns. In his later years, Mr. Burns often came into The Advertiser, where he was once general manager, and we had many long talks. I questioned Mr. Burns often about the early days of the festival. From our discussions, I have no doubt that both Mr. Burns and Clifford Baker were the main movers and shakers in originating the Blossom Festival. Burns was modest about his contribution but on one occasion he told me, “I guess Baker and I were the first push the idea of a Valley-wide blossom festival.”

As mentioned, Kentville’s summer carnivals and old home festivals established the pattern for the Blossom Festival. In fact, some of the first Blossom Festival committee members had previously helped to organize the Kentville carnivals. Harold Woodman pays tribute to one of these committee members in his book and at the same time confirms the carnival-Blossom Festival connection: “Bob Palmeter was a member of the management committee of the Kentville Summer Carnival, which paved the way for the Apple Blossom Festival.”

“On the morning of the 9th of September between the hours of 9 and 10 o’clock, I was working in my barnyard when I heard my name called by J. W. R…., who was sitting in his wagon with his wife in the road, some four or five rods from me. He said, ‘Trueman, come out here; I want to talk to you.’

“I put my shovel down by the fence and went to the road. I spoke to and shook hands with Mrs. R….; then Mr. R…. said, ‘Trueman, did you say so and so,’ repeating something I had said. I said I had. Mr. R…. then said ‘You are a liar.’

“I replied that if I am, there are a pair of us here; you are another one then. Then Mr. R…. said, ‘Old lady take these lines; I will settle with this young man.”

This heated discussion which took place over a century ago on a quiet farm road near Hall’s Harbour lead to an altercation and the death of Mr. R…. in the autumn of 1886 at the hands of Trueman T….. The unusual aspect of this old killing is that it did not come to trial. Instead, the case was tried in the pages of a Kentville newspaper, the New Star. The paragraphs highlighted above are taken from a letter to the New Star‘s editor, a letter written by Trueman T…. who in effect, pleaded self-defense and had written to defend himself.

It may seem strange to us today that someone would use the pages of a newspaper to answer possible manslaughter or murder charges; or that a newspaper would dare print such a letter before charges had been laid or an inquest had been held.

But that’s what it was like here in the last century. Not only would newspapers conduct trials in their pages but people were freely defamed, libeled, slandered, labeled as scoundrels, swindlers, drunkards and so on. When they talked about freedom of the press in the 19th century, that’s exactly what they meant. Late in the last century, for example, a local newspaper devoted its entire front page to a raid on a bootlegger, naming the man and using scathing adjectives in describing him.

The killing of Mr. R…. by Mr. T…. is a typical example of how far newspaper could safely go at one time. The letter from Mr. T…. spelled out exactly what transpired (from Mr. T….s point of view) during the fatal argument. No details are spared.

Even more amazing, the newspaper had earlier printed the entire sworn statement of the wife of Mr. R…., which was given at a coroner’s inquest nearly two months after her husband’s death. Mrs. R…. recounted the events leading to her husband’s death, which prompted the rebuttal letter from Mr. T….

On printing the statement Mrs. R…. gave at the inquest, the editor of the New Star tells its readers that “now we are able to give the evidence and the verdict of the Coroner’s Jury so that the public may be able to judge of the facts themselves.”

In other words, the New Star is asking its readers to be judge and jury. The trail has already taken place – in the pages of the New Star. Mr. T…. has already convicted himself of manslaughter, thanks to the letter the New Star printed. There was nothing else for the Courts to do except to lay sentence on Mr. T….

According to the New Star, however, that will be impossible. The newspaper dutifully reported that Mr. T…. has skipped the country.

In 1940 the Federal Government decided that the area comprising Long Island, Grand Pre and Boot Island would make an excellent artillery range. The Federal plan to expropriate this land was announced in the October 24 edition of the Wolfville Acadian; at first, the plan aroused the ire of landowners but there was soon a change of heart.

Several weeks after the announcement the Acadian reported that dykeland owners were willing to sell if “justly remunerated.” The plan to convert the Long Island, Grand Pre dykelands into a military range was discussed in the Acadian over a four-week period in October and November. Sherman Bleakney came across the story while doing dykeland research and it is his compilation of the event that is used here.

Grand Pre farmers opposed using dykelands for military purposes announced an Acadian headline on October 24. In the accompanying article, the Acadian said British technical experts had selected Grand Pre as an ideal site for an artillery range as it had no trees to clear, was flat, had an adjacent railway line and was backed by the open ocean. The Federal Government had already formulated detailed procedural plans; gun emplacements would be built on the Wickwire Dyke east of Wolfville and the dykeland, Long Island and Boot island would become target areas. To set up the practice range (which would be one mile wide at Wolfville, three miles wide at the west end and extend outwards for 10 miles) some 15 families would have to be uprooted.

At a meeting of farmers on October 21 it was agreed that if there was no alternative, landowners would not thwart wartime plans; however, adequate compensation was expected. The secretary of the Grand Pre Dyke called for an emergency meeting on October 31 – at the request of certain proprietors – to consider what action should be taken on the government’s proposal.

Before this meeting was held, the Wolfville Acadian ran an editorial (October 24) stressing that “anything that is absolutely necessary in order to win a victory must be gladly sacrificed.” The editorial mentioned a strong protest against taking the land for the proposed range and outlined the areas of compensation that should be considered.

Despite an announcement in the Acadian that Federal engineers had ruled out the Grand Pre site as a potential artillery range, there is a strange development. The Acadian reported on November 7 that a meeting had been called by those proprietors who wish to have the government take over their land. At the meeting, dykeland holders voted almost overwhelmingly in favour of selling their land to the government. However, the government had to agree that “as soon as circumstances permit,” (i.e. the war ends) the land would be returned to the original owners.

The final chapter in this wartime saga appeared in the Acadian on November 14. “Will Not Use Dykes for Artillery Range” was the heading the Acadian ran over a report that the Grand Pre site had definitely been eliminated from consideration.

In his compilation of this event, Sherman Bleakney points out that the use of the Grand Pre terrain as an artillery range would have saturated the area with unexploded munitions, rendering future ploughing extremely hazardous. There was also the possibility that shelling would have destroyed the ancient seawalls and inundated the dykelands. These potential hazards were ignored by landowners who saw an opportunity to rake in Federal gold and still have the land when the war was over.

“The War on Tuberculosis,” my daughter said, reading aloud the title of the old book she spied on a dining room table. “You must be bored if you’re reading that.”

“It’s interesting,” was all I could manage.

I could have answered that thanks to the book, I learned the name of a rare malady I was afflicted with when I was a boy. When I was growing up near the old Nova Scotia Sanatorium I suffered from a severe case of phthisiophobia.

In fact, most of the kids in my neighbourhood had this phobia, a morbid fear of phthisis, which is another name for tuberculosis. There were times when we were afraid to walk downwind of the “San,” believing we could pick up TB germs that were blowing in the air. Any contact with patients at the San was rigorously avoided and the buildings were shunned. Contact of any sort with the San meant we would catch TB, which we believed was incurable and deadly.

Our childhood fear of the San was fed by adults, in most cases our parents, who were ignorant of the facts regard tuberculosis. My old phobia was recalled when I read the 80-year-old handbook my daughter called boring. The War on Tuberculosis was written in 1921 by Dr. A. F. Miller and Jane W. Mortimer. Dr. Miller was the pioneer director of the San from 1910 to 1947.

When Dr. Miller took over as medical director, the San had been in operation for less than a decade. Little was known about tuberculosis at the time but there were many myths about the disease which Dr. Miller wished to dispel. Hence the writing of this book, which while apparently prepared as a guide for TB patients and close relatives, also dealt with facts and fallacies about tuberculosis.

When Dr. Miller co-authored The War on Tuberculosis, TB was killing 1,500 Nova Scotians a year. We were decades away from the discovery of Streptomycin, the drug that would eradicate tuberculosis. All that was really known about tuberculosis at the time was that the only “possible cure” was rest, sunlight, good food and fresh air. The sanatorium set up by the provincial government north of Kentville in 1904 was laid out to apply this cure in good measure but when Dr. Miller arrived the death rate at the facility was 50 percent.

In writing a historical review of the San in the period 1904 to 1975, Dr. J. J. Quinlan said that in his struggle to combat tuberculosis, Dr. Miller faced “apathy and ignorance, not only from the public but from his own medical associates.” Tuberculosis was largely believed to be incurable but Dr. Miller’s earlier experiences with the disease showed it could be beaten. Miller himself had developed the disease shortly after graduating from Dalhousie University in 1904.

Miller’s firm conviction that TB could be conquered shines through in every page of The War on Tuberculosis. In many ways Miller is years ahead of his time in that he praises the value of fruits and vegetables over meat; Miller almost but not quite recommends a vegetarian diet, noting that meat really isn’t a necessary diet item.

Sex was a delicate, taboo subject in 1921 and one certainly wouldn’t find many discussions on it in print during this period. But Dr. Miller and his co-author tackle this subject with little mincing of words. One finds their thinking on tobacco well ahead of its time as well. The smoking and chewing of tobacco is harshly condemned and its ill effects on health clearly spelled out.

Far from being boring, I found The War on Tuberculosis enlightening, educational and in some ways prophetic regarding health and nutrition.

In one period during my long stint with newspapers, my office was opposite the editorial department and I heard firsthand the wrangling and agonizing that went on about the daily problems encountered in a newsroom.

This was an educational period. For one thing, I heard some colourful phrases they wouldn’t dare print in the paper. I learned that a weekly migraine was one of the perks of the editor’s job, said headaches often being caused by printing errors and ambiguous story headlines. Once, for example, the police arrested a suspect in an arson case and the story headline read, Arson Suspect Held in Berwick Fire. A reader called to comment that grilling the arson suspect over the fire – as the heading intimated – was probably fitting but rather severe punishment.

The editor chuckled over that one but there were times when a heading with a double meaning was embarrassing. Due to common words having several shades of meaning, newspaper headlines like the arson example are difficult to avoid. Watch the newspapers carefully and you’ll find a heading with a double entendre now and then. An amusing example follows.

Hot on the trail of a renegade gene that was suspected of causing dwarfism, British researchers needed cells from a person who was a dwarf. An advertisement was placed in a large circulation newspaper asking for volunteers but none came forward and the research had to be stopped. In an article about the research problems and the futile search for volunteers, a newspaper came up with this heading: Researchers Find Dwarfs in Short Supply.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, the word “contain” can mean both “control or restrain” and “hold or be capable of holding within itself.” Using the latter definition gives both a humorous and gruesome twist to this heading, which appeared in a daily newspaper: New Vaccine May Contain Rabies. A similar example occurred when pharmacies decided to remove a questionable eye drop product from their shelves. A newspaper dutifully reported the removal with a story headed Eye Drops Off Shelf.

It wasn’t all that long ago that a provincial daily startled readers with a story that turned out to be a report on the annual deer harvest. Deer Kill 1,600. Those nasty deer, eh?

Even the big time newspapers goof with ambiguous headings now and again. The Globe and Mail once ran a story headed War Dims Hope for Peace. Remember when the attempted mating of captive giant pandas failed? Apparently, they tried an alternative method since an American newspaper reported that Pandas Mating Fails – Veterinarians Take Over.

Each new newspapers turn out hundreds of such humorous headings. Here are a few that I culled from the Internet:

New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group.
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks.
Drunk Gets Nine Months in Violin Case.
Iraqi Head Seeks Arms.
British Left Waffles on Falkan Islands.
Teacher Strikes Idle Kids.
Squad Helps Dog Bite Victim.
Planes Too Close to Ground, Probe Told.
Miners Refuse to Work After Death.
Stolen Paintings Found by Tree.
Two Sisters Reunited after 18 Years in Checkout Counter.
Man Minus Ear Waives Hearing.
Stud Tires Out.
Cold Wave Linked to Temperature.
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridge.
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant.

In a recent column, I mentioned that efforts will be made to mark a 19th century accidental drowning in the Minas Basin. Ivan Smith, Canning, has come up with a novel suggestion, a possible alternative to the standard plaque on a cairn. In the following letter received via e-mail, he outlines a proposal for a monument on an Internet site.

“You mentioned,” Smith writes, “that Roscoe Potter, Wolfville, is spearheading a fund-raising effort that he hopes will result in a cairn-mounted plaque commemorating the tragic sinking of a sailboat in the Minas Basin in 1852. Certainly, I support the idea of establishing a memorial to this event, but there’s another way – I believe a better way – to do it. I refer to the Internet.

“A cairn with a plaque will be seen only by a very small number of people, maybe a few dozen a year. Consider the cairn-mounted brass plaque that was installed some years ago in a little park beside a paved highway in Nova Scotia, in memory of Abraham Gesner. How many Nova Scotians stop to read that plaque in a year? How many Nova Scotians even know this memorial exists?

“Narrow the query to Kings County, where the plaque is located. How many residents of Kings County have read that plaque? How many even know this memorial exists? Or where it is located?

“In an ordinary week I drive past the Gesner memorial four or five times. In the last eight years I’ve passed by there more than a thousand times. I always look at it as I drive by, and I’ve never seen anyone in the vicinity of the Gesner plaque. Not even once.

“Compare that with the Gesner material that is available on the Internet.

“At [http://newscotland1398.ca/99/gesner-whales.html] there’s an excellent article describing how Abraham Gesner saved the whales. It is quickly and easily available any time to anyone in the world who has Internet access – which includes almost all of the high school students in Nova Scotia. I believe this one Internet article is a far more effective way to commemorate Gesner than any plaque, and there is much more about on the Internet.

“[http://ns1763.ca/kingsco/gesnermem.html] there is a collection of… links to an assortment of historical information about Gesner, which provides an excellent overview of what Gesner accomplished and the circumstances in which he worked. These references contain many thousands of words of first-rate information. And there are pictures. Today, Google (the best search engine now available) reports 147 webpages in response to the keyphrase “Abraham Gesner.”

“The webpage techdt03.html has been viewed by more than 1400 people in the last six months. Have 1400 people stopped to read the Gesner plaque in six months? In six years? Compare this rich resource with the sparse information – a paltry 93 words – on the Gesner plaque.

“In my view, there’s no contest. The Internet in one day reaches more people than the plaque does in a year, even in a decade.

“How can a memorial to the 1852 tragedy be set up on the Internet? The quickest and easiest way is to find out who owns the copyright to Esther Clark Wright’s book, Blomidon Rose, chapter 12 (per your column). Then negotiate the purchase of the right to publish this text on the Internet.

“Almost certainly the purchase of this permission to publish will cost much less than the price of a decent cairn with a plaque, and the result will reach many more people than any plaque ever could.”

There are many reasons why Kingsport should be designated as a historical site. But says Kentville marine and railroad buff Leon Barron, we only have to look at shipbuilding and the era of sailing ships to realize how important Kingsport once was.

Some of the largest sailing ships ever built in Canada came from Kingsport, Barron says. Down the ways at Kingsport slid the Kings County and the Canada; built in 1890 and 1891 respectively, both were full rigged and exceed 2,000 tons – which Barron says “was huge for a sailing ship.”

Today Kingsport is a quiet seaside community on the Minas Basin with a popular beach and a wharf eroded by time. In the age of sail and rail, however, Kingsport connected the western end of the Annapolis Valley with the world. The vessels that rose from the stocks at Kingsport carried goods to and from distant ports around the globe. Kingsport had one of the first railway lines that ran to the sea. Laid over a century ago, the Cornwallis Valley Railway symbolized Kingsport’s importance as a commercial port in the 19th century.

While perhaps not as bustling or as large as Canning, its sister port up the shore, Kingsport was noted for turning out larger and finer vessels. In its heyday Kingsport boasted three hotels, a mill, a shipyard and a flourishing shipping trade. Late in the 19th century the “Parrsboro packets” made regular calls at Kingsport and it flourished as a holiday resort.

In its early days, Kingsport was known first as Indian Point and then Oakpoint, two names of obvious origin. Leon Barron tells me he has been looking through old newspapers and government documents for years, hoping to discover when Kingsport got its name. Sessional papers from the 1800s, the government records of public works, use Oakpoint and Kingsport interchangeably. “The change to Kingsport (as the sole name) must have been gradual,” Barron says.

Leon Barron has a special interest in Kingsport and especially the Kingsport wharf. Through diligent digging into old papers and documents over the years he has collected a lot of wharf history. Barron discovered, for example, that in either 1856 or 1857 the Oakpoint Pier Company was incorporated solely to construct a wharf at Kingsport. The Company didn’t build the wharf until 1865, however, and Barron speculates that problems with funding may have caused the delay. In his Kingsport file is a copy of the Oakpoint Pier Company incorporation papers.

Oddly, little information exists about any Acadian settlements at Kingsport. However, there is a Planter connection. After the expulsion of the Acadians, the area that eventually became Kingsport may have been granted to a Planter named Benjamin Newcomb in 1761. Some sources say that Kingsport was part of a grant given to Isaac Bigelow in 1761 or 1762.

Whether Newcomb or Bigelow were the original grantees, Kingsport is believed to be one of the oldest settled areas in the province. While this claim may be disputed, there is little doubt that after the Planters arrived, Kingsport proved to be a vital link with the outside world. During the 1800s and decades after the era of sailing ships had passed, Kingsport played a commercial role that historians tend to overlook.

Perhaps when Leon Barron completes his research on the Kingsport wharf and the scale model of the wharf that he’s working on, this oversight will be rectified.

The column late last February on Ralph S. Eaton brought a number of reader responses and some additional information on this pioneer fruit grower.

One of the readers who commented on this column was Lyna Connors. Ms. Connors, who is 90 and a resident of a senior citizens complex in Kentville, has photographs of Eaton and has his moustache cup. After Mr. Eaton’s death, Ms. Connors looked after his widow for a number of years and was a friend of the family.

Connors tells me that in addition to operating his fruit orchards, Ralph Eaton also established a pickle factory – which possibly may have been the first in the area. Ms. Connors believes the factory was located near the famous Hillcrest Orchards off Middle Dyke Road.

Another reader, Eunice Wannacott, left a message through the answering service that she had a handwritten notation in her Eaton book regarding Ralph and his wife. Before I could return this call the message was accidentally erased. If Ms. Wannacott ( I hope I’m spelling her name correctly) reads this, please write me c/o of this newspaper. You can also reach me via email at edwingcoleman@gmail.com.

Another reader who left a message on the answering service – but not her name – responded to the columns on Henry Magee (January 21 and February 11). The caller gave me the name of a Canadian book published in 1984 that contains “an excellent article on this pioneer merchant and early entrepreneur.”

I found this book in the Annapolis Valley library system. Loyalist Mosaic, published by the Ontario firm Dundurn Press Limited, traces the movement of Loyalist groups into various parts of Canada. The author, Joan Magee, devotes a chapter to Henry Magee and she tells his story well. There is a great deal of detail, including references to historical sources researchers will find helpful.

Joan Magee (is she a descendant of Henry?) calls the pioneer merchant a banker, pawnbroker and “general factotum for the district.” The author is blunt in her description of Henry and doesn’t paint all that nice a picture of Kentville’s first merchant.

Anyway, if you’re interested, read the story for yourself. The book is currently in the Kentville library but may be obtained by request at any Valley branch.

Plaque For Gaspereau Man

Readers of this newspaper may have seen the March 3 story about the 1852 sinking of a sailboat in the Minas Basin. “The “man from Gaspereau,” a phrase immortalized locally, referred to the loss Perez Coldwell who along with another Gaspereau resident, George Benjamin, manned the ill-fated sailboat.

Readers interested in this tragic tale are referred to Esther Clark Wright’s book, Blomidon Rose, chapter 12. Wright describes the incident in detail. The loss of Isaac Chipman and the students was a serious blow to a young Acadia University. “The loss of the students meant that there were none to graduate the following year and only one the year after,” Wright said.

I have none of the details but I understand that a move is afoot to preserve the memory of Perez Coldwell and the 1852 tragedy. Roscoe Potter, Wolfville, is spearheading a fund raising effort that hopefully will result in a cairn-mounted plaque. No decision has been made on where the cairn will be placed but Potter says the most likely site is the Gaspereau Valley.