If you’re attempting to trace ancestors and you believe they’re buried in a local cemetery, your first stop should be the historical society. Most historical groups have collected cemetery records and for a modest fee, they’re available for perusal.

For example, the family history committee of the Kings Historical Society has records of most existing county headstones at the courthouse museum. There’s an added bonus that may help you with your search, an extensive obituary file.

What prompts mention of headstone records is a story I found while reading Leon Barron’s photocopies of old newspapers. In a 1923 Advertiser is a short history of the Upper Canard cemetery with a record of the tombstone inscriptions. In the story that follows, note how many people died before age 50.

“One of the best preserved in the province is the ancient graveyard at the old Parade Ground, Upper Canard. It is under the care of the Baptist Church, but Jew and Gentile, bond and free are found there. The widow of Dr. Theodore Harding Rand bequeathed $1,000 for the upkeep. This is a fitting monument to one of Nova Scotia’s great sons, whose remains repose there.

“One gravestone goes back to 1767 – over a century and a half, and from that date there are many graves of the first generation of settlers, some of whom have no stone to record their life or death.

“The following is the list of the older ones; they are given alphabetically and not according to age.

• “James Brag, died 1831, aged 35 years.”
• “Perry Borden, Sr. died 1805, aged 66 years.
• “Martha, wife of Benjamin Borden, 1822, aged 43 years.
• “Williams Cogswell, died 1821, aged 24 years. Eunice, wife of William Cogswell, died 1845, aged 74 years.
• “Elizabeth, consort of James Delap, died 1838 (illegible).
• “Hannah English, wife of John English who departed this life 1767, aged XX.
• “Elisha Eaton, died 1817, aged 71 years. Irene, wife of Elisha, died 1820, aged 66 years.
• “Eunice Harris, died 1803, aged 35 years.
• “Margaret Elizabeth, wife of John Harris, died 1821, aged 32 years.
• “Martha Harris, wife of Daniel Harris, died 1802 aged 50 years.
• “William Loomer, died 1826, aged 29 years. John Loomer, died 1832, 48 years. Lewis Loomer, died 1820, aged 56 years. Levi Loomer, 1843, aged 85 years. Oliver Loomer, illegible.
• “Abigail, wife of John Pearson, died 1820, aged 47 years. John Pearson, died 1848, aged 80 years.
• “Lydia Woodworth, wife of Levi Woodworth, died 1843, aged 81 years. Levi Woodworth, died 1828, aged 62 years.
• “Jerusha Woodworth, died 1839, aged 35 years.
• “Jacob Walton, merchant, died 1811, aged 66 years. Jacob Walton, M.D. died 1840, aged 56 years.
• “Daniel Wood, died 1813, aged 56 years. Lucy, consort of Daniel Wood, died 1825, aged 67 years.
• “Dr. Stephen Wheaton, died 1848, aged 76 years.

“The parade across the highway from the graveyard was set aside in the revolutionary days to keep a rebellious realm in awe. It was adopted by the early Congregationalists from New England, which was soon occupied by Henry Alline. It later became the First Baptist Church of Cornwallis.”

Near New Ross are remnants of an old fort or dwelling, which some suggest was the stronghold of an early explorer. Visible in New Minas as recently as a decade ago was a foundation of a building believed to be of Acadian origin; due to its dimensions it was suggested this was once a church but some historians say the Acadians only had two in this area, at Canard and Grand Pre.

There are few old ruins, Acadian or otherwise, extant in or around the Annapolis Valley today. All around us, however, are many historical remnants and you probably walk or drive over them often. I like to think of them as topographical ruins but this isn’t an exact description and there must be a better phrase.

I’m speaking of remnants of the roads originally laid out and used by the Acadians and Planters. If you live in the Annapolis Valley it’s almost impossible to drive without traversing portions of old Acadian and Planter roads. In some areas, existing roads are the original routes used by early settlers.

Some of the roads leading to Valley towns, Windsor, Wolfville and Kentville in particular, are of Acadian origin. In some cases, existing streets in these towns were Acadian thoroughfares. There is ample evidence that the first road from Windsor to Halifax, from Grand Pre east to Windsor and west to Annapolis were of Acadian origin. It’s likely that parts of the old #1 highway and stretches of the 101 follow Acadian roads or trails.

In Herbin’s history of Grand Pre, for example, the author writes that one of the major roads in the Valley (from the settlements on the Minas Basin to Annapolis) was of Acadian origin. “They (the Acadians) engaged to make a road through the woods to Port Royal, a distance of 10 leagues, as soon as the harvest was over. Only a trail existed at this time (1701) between the two centres.”

Herbin also confirms that Acadian roads connected Windsor, Wolfville and Kentville: “The French road ran through the present village of Grand Pre, north of the main highway which it joined near Scott’s Corner. Thence the road led to Johnson’s Hollow … in Wolfville. Here it diverged and lay near the railroad to Kentville. From the main village of Grand Pre the road to Windsor ran south over the hill to Walbrook.”

Other historical writers have noted the Acadian influence on the origin of many existing local roads and streets. E. J. Cogswell in his 1895 history of Kentville writes that the Acadians built the first bridge over the Cornwallis River at the site of the shiretown. This is where the bridge spans the Cornwallis in Kentville so we can assume that one or both of the streets running north from the crossing (Cornwallis and Belcher) are of Acadian origin.

In his History of Kings County, Eaton states that two of Kentville’s streets, Cornwallis and Main, are of Acadian origin. In her history of Greenwich, Edythe Quinn refers to the Acadian origin of local roads: “One (Acadian road) ran near the south bank of the Cornwallis River just north of the railroad track; another along the hill slightly below the ridge; another south … through the woods to Gaspereau.” In his history of Wolfville, James Davison writes that the Acadians began to build paths and roads “through the woods to Port Royal and La Have as early as 1701.”

In some areas the Acadians used and improved the centuries old trails blazed by the Micmacs. Which of the roads we use today are of Micmac/Acadian origin?

When 15 millimeters of rain fell on the second weekend in July, there was hope that the long spell of dry weather was over. A few days later newspapers were calling the rainfall a “drop in the bucket” and predicting possible disaster for berry and apple crops. And there was talk that the second dry season in a row was a portent of drastic climatic changes.

While it is of little or no consolation for drought-stricken Annapolis valley farmers, droughts and other natural disasters are not uncommon in the province. Just before the expulsion of the Acadians, for example, a major forest fire destroyed vast areas of woodland. Herbin and other historical writers refer to periods of drought and ravaging fires during the Acadian period.

There are at least two references to decimating forest fires in A Natural History of Kings County that likely occurred during drought conditions. In Kings County a fire destroyed old timber grow in the Acadian period. Another fire of province-wide proportions in the early 1900s contributed to the decline and eventual extinction of the caribou herd.

A few years after the Acadians were deported a storm, what we’d call a hurricane today, destroyed many of the dykes in this area, a set back for the fledgling Planter colony. In 1815 Nova Scotia farmers were nearly wiped out by a province-wide plague of mice. Through spring, summer and fall, hordes of mice swept through vast areas of the province, eating everything edible in their path. Only the advent of cold weather stopped what likely would have been the greatest natural disaster to strike Nova Scotia since it was first settled by Europeans.

In September 1930, after a summer of no rain, emergency conditions were declared in the Annapolis Valley. “Water famine becomes severe,” the Advertiser said in the headline to its drought story. Hardest hit were towns up and down the Valley which were running out of water.

“The past months of drought … has exacted its toll throughout the provincial towns, causing strict economy in the use of water,” the Advertiser said. Berwick, Canning and Wolfville are “virtually without water,” the Advertiser reported, warning readers that inspections would be made to ensure that no one used water to wash cars, windows “and the like.” There was no mention in the Advertiser story on the state of agriculture in the Valley during the drought. If town reservoirs were low due to lack of rain, the 1930 drought must have hurt farmers as much then as the dry spell is today. Another case of history repeating itself.

Mystery Solved

In a recent column on the discovery of a stone documenting the 1831 schooner Caroline tragedy, I observed that a final mystery remains:

When and by who was the memorial plaque erected on the Bay of Fundy shore.

Thanks to a reader who suggested that the Leonard Sarsfield family of North Medford might have been involved with placing the plaque, this mystery has been solved. The Sarsfields tell me that the idea for the plaque originated with the late John Bigelow. Mr. Bigelow did the research on the Caroline and had the plaque prepared. Two years ago, with the assistance of Leonard Sarsfield and Tom Taylor, Mr. Bigelow placed the plaque in the cove where the Caroline washed ashore.

“The people of Nova Scotia, and especially the residents of this county, are much exercised by the tragic events of Thursday night last, when a colored man, Prior James, aged, and it is said of unsound mind, was killed while resisting arrest at the hands of the newly formed Nova Scotia police. As a result of the affray a charge of manslaughter has been made against two members of the police force.”

The shooting of alleged bootlegger Prior James occupied the news pages of provincial newspapers for the better part of two months during the autumn of 1930, and the excerpt above from an editorial in this newspaper accurately reflects the public’s reaction to the event. While newspaper accounts of the shooting report contradictory evidence, the conclusion can be drawn that Prior James’ death could have been avoided.

That, however, was not what raised the ire of the public and lead to an editorial crusade by The Advertiser. In question was the right of police officers to apparently act without legal warrants:

“The incident brings to public attention once more a very dangerous weakness of some of our modern legislation in this Province. We refer to the right to enter private homes and to effect arrest without magistrate’s warrant of any kind which has been given to police officials, temperance inspectors, etc. under legislation passed in Nova Scotia in recent years.”

While the above was the focus of the editorial crusade, The Advertiser was concerned as well with political interference in the justice system and the negative publicity Kentville was receiving: “The town has already received too much publicity of the wrong kind over this regrettable incident and unfortunately it would appear that the circumstances surrounding the laying of information are not entirely free from a political atmosphere of the most unsavory kind.”

A careful reading of accounts gives no clear indication of what part politics played in the James incident. What is clear, however, is that the coroner’s inquest, which found the shooting justified, had neglected to call a key eyewitness. And when the testimony of this witness was eventually made public, it contradicted the official version of the James shooting.

Events then proceeded much like they do nowadays when controversial issues arise involving our police forces. In the James case, the verdict of the coroner’s inquest was overturned, the Attorney General’s intervening and setting up what amounted to a one-man commission. At stake was the reputation of the recently formed provincial police force, which had come under fire for using excessive force.

Eventually, the officers involved in the James shooting were exonerated a second time and the Advertiser editorial writers did an about-face. Earlier in the case an editorial the Advertiser criticized the provincial police force, noting that they “seem to have come to the point where (they) believe that the enforcement of a prohibition statute, or a statute for the government sale of liquor or other legislation, warrants the very abrogation of Magna Charter itself.”

This was written on September 4. Three weeks later the Advertiser proclaimed that the discharge of the police officers charged with manslaughter in the death of Prior James has “brought a sigh of relief from every corner of this county.” The matter has been fully investigated the Advertiser said and “the public is satisfied that no cruelty or injustice has been done by the officers of the law.”

We can assume that friends and relatives of Prior James, noting the sudden turnabout of the Advertiser, were not amused.

The discovery of a long lost granite plaque on the Fundy shore has awakened interest in the tragic story of the schooner Caroline.

In mid-December, 1831, the Caroline left Digby bound for St. John with four crew members and 10 passengers. Three days later the battered hulk of the Caroline drifted ashore about a mile east of Baxter’s Harbour with five frozen bodies on board.

What happened to the Caroline on that fateful voyage is still a mystery; but given the condition of the ship and the condition of the corpses found on board, it’s likely the schooner was a victim of the savage storms that plague the Fundy in winter.

As is usual with tragic mishaps, a number of myths and misconceptions arise. The story of the Caroline has been passed on from generation to generation; in the process some of the facts have been embellished or distorted. In 1981, on the 150th anniversary of the mishap, this newspaper carried an interview with county residents and it was said that the Caroline had been missing for a month. “The bodies were never identified,” the report said, “and (were) buried above the high-water mark.”

But for the recent discovery of the plaque that was placed as a memorial for the Caroline, the newspaper account of the mishap may have been treated as gospel. This June people walking along the beach discovered a large, rectangular-shaped stone engraved with printing; the stone lay at the base of a 10 meter cliff and apparently had been recently uncovered by tidal action.

Hearing about the discovery, Lochlan (Bud) Rafuse and his wife Elizabeth, Sheffield Mills were among the first people to investigate. “We found the stone on the beach where some friends told us it was,” Mr. Rafuse said, adding that he was surprised by “how good a condition it was in since it must have been buried for quite some time.” Rafuse described the stone as measuring approximately 42 inches wide and about 42 inches deep. “It’s granite and must weigh around a thousand pounds,” he said.

Unable to read the complete message – the stone was engraved on both sides and was too heavy to lift by hand – Mr. Rafuse made another trip to the beach with jacks. When the stone was hoisted into an upright position, his wife copied what was engraved on it and the story of the Caroline was revealed. Following is the stone’s message:

Caroline Beach

On December 17, 1831, the new Digby Packet Schooner Caroline left Digby for Saint John with a cargo of 40 sheep, 7 head of cattle, 17 barrels of beef, 3 barrels of apples and the following people on board:

Crew: James Bryant, Master John Hayes, Henry Carty, John Calligan.

Passengers: David Cossaboom, Solomon Marshall, James Harris, Henry Kennedy, Mr. Eldridge, Mr. Carter, Patrick Connolly, his wife and two children (names unknown).

Three days later, on December 20th, the dismasted vessel drifted ashore on this beach with five frozen bodies on board. The remaining passengers and crew were never found. The Caroline, a Schooner of 63 tons, was built in Clare N.S. by Charles R. Crawley. Named for his daughter, registered at Halifax on June 2, 1831, and owned by Charles R. Crawley and James Crawley. The vessel survived the tragedy, was repaired by the owners and sold in Saint John N.B. in Aug. 1832 She was lost at sea in 1836.

A final mystery remains. In what year was the memorial plaque placed on the beach (or on the cliff) and by whom? There’s the possibility that the Kings Historical Society will be involved in placing the Caroline plaque on a permanent site nearby. I’ll have more about this later.

Historians rarely dwelt upon the fate of the Acadians after the tragic expulsion in 1755 and we must turn to sympathetic writers such as John Frederick Herbin for this tragic tale. Forced to leave Nova Scotia with little more than they could carry, separated from their families and dumped in various areas of the United States, the impoverished Acadians suffered a fate similar to that of other refugees.

In his Grand Pre history, Herbin follows the Acadians after the expulsion. It is a terrible tale of hardship, rejection and tragedy, and if you are proud of your New England, Planter ancestry, I suggest you avoid reading it. The treatment of the Acadians, from the expulsion to their resettlement, is a shabby page in our history.

On the lighter side, Herbin included many interesting asides about the history of this area while writing about Grand Pre and the Acadians. On the origin of “Acadia,” for example, he tells us that it comes from the Micmac language. “The frequent use of the word ‘Cadie’ or Acadia by the Indians led to the adoption of that name for the country inhabited by them,” Herbin says. Kaddy or Cadie, (as seen in Shubenacadie, Tracadie, etc.) is the equivalent of region, field, ground, land or place, Herbin said.

Herbin has an interesting discussion on the word “aboiteau.” which to us in this area today generally means the sea walls and sea-gates that control the waters of the Minas Basin. “The part of the dyke with the sluice is called an arboiteau, aboiteau, abateau,” Herbin writes. Note that one of Herbins spelling of aboiteau has an “r.” In an earlier column on aboiteaux I mentioned the tendency of some locals to pronounce aboiteau incorrectly as “arboiteau;” according to Herbin, however, pronouncing the word with an “r” is historically correct.

There were two Acadian churches in this area, at Grand Pre and at Canard. “The district of Minas included the parish of St. Joseph at Canard River and that of St. Charles at Grand Pre,” Herbin said. The “district” Herbin refers to included all the lands bordering the Gaspereau, Cornwallis, Canard, Habitant and Pereau rivers. Herbin said that the district included what is now Avonport, Hortonville, Grand Pre, Gaspereau, Wolfville, Port Williams, New Minas, Kentville, Starr’s Point, Canard, Cornwallis, Pereau, and at one time Windsor.

On the origin of Minas Herbin writes: “Minas, Manis, Menis, as it has variously been called, was named by the French Les Mines and referred to the south shore of Minas Basin, from which the name was derived. Mines, later Minas, owes its name to the fact that veins of pure copper had been found at Cape D’Or, called also Cap des Mines. Hence the adoption of the names Minas Basin, Minas the region, Minas the French settlement south of the Minas River (the Cornwallis River).”

Some historical quickies from Herbin’s history:

A census taken here in 1671 lists Acadian surnames and many are found in today’s telephone books.

Wolfville was originally an Acadian village. “It (Wolfville) occupies the site of an Acadian village,” Herbin writes.

The Acadians began dykeing in Nova Scotia as early as 1636. Minas was first settled in 1761 and the chief founder, according to Herbin, was Pierre Terriau.

Starr’s Point may have been the site of a Micmac burial ground. Herbin mentions the find of Indian skeletons, noting also that “various; stone implements and arrow heads have been found in the same locality.” A kitchen-midden “with its heaps of large clam shells, bones of various animals and pieces of copper, hand implements of stone, axes, adzes and arrow heads …” was discovered near Starr’s Point.

“Dedicated to awakening interest in Acadian history (he was) instrumental in creating the Grand Pre National Historic Site.”

This quote from the Oxford Companion to Canadian Literature (1997 edition) refers to John Frederick Herbin, who perhaps is best known here for his history of Grand Pre and other writings. Born in Windsor in 1860, Herbin attended Acadia University, graduating in 1890 with a Master’s degree. While at Acadia, Herbin settled in Wolfville; there he put his skills as a goldsmith and watchmaker to use, opening a jewelry store in 1887 that still bears his name.

Herbin’s mother was an Acadian and it appears that his interest in the plight of her people was awakened early. A man of keen intellect, Herbin’s diligent research lead to several books about the Acadians. Herbin wrote two novels and three volumes of poetry. A paper he wrote in 1898 about life around the Minas Basin in Acadian times was later reworked into a history of Grand Pre, which was published in 1907.

In most of his work, Herbin portrayed Grand Pre as the spiritual heartland of the Acadians. For a lifetime dedicated to the Acadian cause and for his historical writing, Herbin is remembered and honored today by their descendants. The park at Grand Pre salutes what Herbin called the “Acadian fact,” but it is also a reminder of his dedication to his people.

In 1996 John Frederick Herbin’s manuscripts and papers were deposited at Acadia University. There, in the Kirkconnell Room, I found his Grand Pre history and in the introduction Herbin notes that “the pages of Acadian history make unique and strange facts.” Herbin proceeds to verify this statement in a review of the complicated series of events leading to the expulsion in 1755. We can conclude from reading these pages that the expulsion need not have taken place, that a different solution to the Acadian question was possible.

People unfamiliar with the Acadian story may be unaware that the deportation took place without the sanction of the British government. In fact, Herbin points out that orders forbidding the expulsion had been issued but arrived in Nova Scotia after it had been carried out.

Herbin also notes that later historians writing about the expulsion – Haliburton and Richard are mentioned, for example – did not accurately tell the Acadian story; which may be one of the reasons Herbin took on the onerous task of researching and writing the Grand Pre history.

Be that as it may, the story of the Acadians has been told and retold in books and articles and my rehashing of that old tragedy will solve nothing. My interest is in Herbin’s history book and in Herbin himself. Frankly, I’m surprised that the role Herbin played in recording the Acadian story is not given more prominence. Herbin may be remembered for his pioneer work but he is rarely saluted. Little mention is made of Herbin, for example, at the annual Acadian celebration days at Grand Pre.

I enjoyed reading Herbin’s history of Grand Pre for the insights into the life of the Acadians. In their petitions to the government the Acadians come across as a resolute, dedicated and proud people who were willing to compromise up to a point. Herbin’s account makes it clear that the Acadians also were a hardworking people whose labor actually shaped the Minas Basin landscape as we know it today. Wresting the vast dykelands from the sea was a monumental task and this work still stands as a silent tribute to the Acadians.

Next week some interesting trivia from Herbin’s Grand Pre history.

Since history books are written by scholars who tend to deal with events on a grand scale, one often must turn to memoirs, diaries and letters for an intimate look at the early days.

If you’re interested in what life was like as recently as the 19th century, however, just read the old almanacs. While dry and boring from our point of view, the almanacs published in the 1800s give us accurate glimpses of the period. The advertisements, the endless lists and compilations are peepholes into the past; they tell us more about what early life was truly like in the Annapolis Valley than a hundred historical tomes.

One such publication is Belcher’s Farmers Almanack, which was first published over 100 years ago. I have a copy of the 1893 edition – on temporary loan from a friend – which in format is similar to other almanacs from the same period. By perusing this old almanac, reading the lists, looking at what the old advertisements offer in goods and services, I find myself transported to my great-grandfather’s day. And I discover that …

The relatively new railroad runs through my home county on a regular basis. The Windsor and Annapolis Railway (not yet incorporated into the D.A.R.) makes at least a dozen scheduled stops between Windsor and Kentville; and if I was living in that time and didn’t own a horse, I could hop on the train and go west as far as Annapolis and east to the Halifax city limits.

I learn that stagecoaches were running on a schedule connected with train runs. My great grandparents could get off the train at several places along the line in Hants and Kings County and take a coach into the hinterlands; at Middleton they could have caught another train and traveled to Bridgewater or Lunenburg.

While reading the advertisements I notice something curious; only a few of the old store ads – five in total – have telephone numbers and all are located in Halifax. We can surmise that there were even fewer telephones in private residences, most of which were probably located in Halifax and larger towns. And since there was a lack of instant communication, the ads urge people to “write for prices,” send for prices” and “write for a copy of our guide.”

As for the advertisements, they tell us it was definitely the era of the horse and buggy. One A. A. Archibald offers fine carriages; other advertisements offer sleighs, harness and saddlery hardware, horse boots and halters. Hotels boast in their ads that they have electric lights and they offer free buggy rides to ferry and train terminals.

Since doctors were as “scarce as hen’s teeth,” – undoubtedly one of our great-grandpappy’s favorite saying – one finds advertisements for patent medicines. Grandpappy had to treat various ills and chills with such concoctions as antibilious pills, milk of cucumber, cocoa cough cure, tonic phosphate, and so on, all of which are offered for sale in the almanac.

I see that my great-grandfather had a great many weekly newspapers to read, in fact, many more than there are today. There were two newspapers serving Kentville, the New Star and Western Chronicle, two in Windsor, the Hants Journal and Tribune, one in Wolfville, the Acadian and one in Canning, the Gazette.

The editors of the old almanacs liked to compile boring lists. Listed, for example, are dignitaries from mayors to heads of state, doctors, lawyers, justices of the peace, coroners, ministers, clubs, and so on. From these lists I’ve picked a statistic that may have excited my great grandpappy, or at least made his day. The number of lawyers in the corridor between Kentville and Windsor in 1893 totaled 25 and only three were located outside these towns. Grandpappy must have been ecstatic when he learned this.

Since the Cornwallis Town Book records that John North married Mary West on October 12, 1770, we can assume that he emigrated here from Birmingham, England, before that year. In his Kings County history, Arthur W. H. Eaton doesn’t concern himself with the date of John North’s arrival in Nova Scotia. However, in his family sketches Eaton does tell us that North’s first child by this marriage was William; and it is William North who is the topic of this column.

Born in 1771, William North farmed all of his life in Kings County. He married Lois Strong when he was 26, sired nine children, and apparently lead an uneventful, quiet life. However, William was not an average 19th century man of the soil. His penmanship, spelling and bookkeeping indicate he was well educated in a period when formal schooling was scarce.

William North reveals others things about himself, his business acumen for example, in a farm ledger he kept for most of his working life. North’s ledger was discovered in the attic of his old home in the Sheffield Mills-Atlanta area. The first entry in the ledger is dated 1814 and was made when North was 37 years old; the last entry is dated 32 years later when William North was in his 69th year.

At first glance North’s old ledger appears to be little more than a mundane record of farm commerce in the early 19th century. But as we read the yellowing pages and look at the simple entries, life as it was in our great-grandfather’s day is vividly described. “Settled (an account) by road work,” reads one entry, for example. Which tells us that in North’s day there were no paved highways and landowners were responsible summer and winter for maintaining the piece of road that skirted their property. We learn that the barter system, trading goods for goods, services for services, greased the wheels of everyday living, and that without bartering life would have been difficult.

Basically, North’s ledger is simply a record of the goods and services he provided to his neighbors and the goods and services received in return. While the goods and services are assigned a value in pounds, shillings and pence, apparently no great amounts of cash changed hands. On one side of the ledger we see, for example, that North supplied Oliver Thorp with flour, pork and wheat; provided in returns for such goods were “one days chopping,” “one day fencing,” “two days carting dung,” and so on.

Miscellaneous entries, taken from the ledger at random, tell us much about farm life in North’s day. North kept his ledger in a period when both horses and oxen were the beasts of burden; thus we find entries such as “gray mare folded” (foaled), and “to mending yoke.”

Other simple entries are also revealing. The goods commonly traded were hay, oats, turnips, potatoes, butter, flour and pork. The services provided are indicated by such entries as “for mowing orchard,” ” two days digging potatoes,” “for 30 lbs. clover seed,” “for one days dressing flax.” Cider and rum may have been frowned upon by the temperance societies of North’s day but we find entries such as “for one barrel cyder (cider),” “to making one barrel cyder,” and “for 1/2 gallon rum.”

Other entries that give us a glimpse of life North’s time: “Paid by wife in tallow fat,” “wood lent for school (one cord),” “to one stear (steer),” “making two pairs womings (sic) shoes.”

If you trace your ancestors back to farmers in this area, your great-grandfather’s name may be in the ledger and he may have traded with William North. In the ledger (to mention a few) we find accounts for William Chipman, Samuel Woodworth, Cyril and Isaac Newcomb, Jeddiah Ells, John Rockwell, Lemuel Rogers, Caleb Foot and Enoch Scofield. Families with these surnames still farm in this area.

Almost everybody collects something. Stamps, coins, books, badges, Canadian Tire money, marbles, full-color car ads from the 50s and 60s and old wood carvings, for example, are a few of the things I can think of offhand that friends collect.

When it comes to collecting I’m no exception. However, what I collect can’t be placed in display cases, hung on walls or held in your hand. As for the value of my collection, well literally it’s worthless; no one would pay you one red cent for it and it’s the kind of collection that doesn’t appreciate. My collection is one of a kind and I doubt that anyone has one like it.

After this build up, I’d better tell you what I collect. To start with it’s connected with learning to play the bagpipes when I was a teenager. I started my collection one day when our band was tuning up in a field in Waterville; while we were tuning a spectator walked over and announced that he was a lover of pipe music. “By the way,” he said casually, “I’ve been a piper for over 50 years.”

We were awestruck, impressed. Wow, imagine someone piping for over 50 years. Then came the punch line: “Let me introduce myself,” the man said to our pipe-major. “I’m George Piper.”

If that brought a groan, how about this bagpipe joke. A piper is stomping up and down the hallway of an apartment building late at night, playing his pipes. One of the tenants shouts, “Cut out that infernal racket.” The piper obligingly removed his boots and continued to play.

Obviously what I collect is piping stories and jokes. I have scads of them, all relating to that fine musical instrument the Scots claim and the Irish invented – or at least introduced into Scotland. I’ve been gathering piping stories and jokes for decades and if I don’t have them in my collection, then I probably heard them somewhere. Piping jokes are like Newfoundland jokes; they go around and around and are retold and reinvented again and again and again.

My favorite bagpipe story, a slightly gruesome but supposedly true tale, involves a piper and the great London plague of 1665.

During the peak of the plague people were dying by the score. Every morning, the plague accounts tell us, “death carts” made the rounds of London streets picking up the dead and taking them to a mass burial site.

It was the misfortune of a piper to be in London when the plague struck. Attempting to escape the hardships of life in Scotland, he ran into harder times in the great city. With a miniature set of bagpipes, the Scot roamed the streets of London with his dog, playing tunes and begging for money. The piper was soon starving. The few people left in London when the plague was at its peak were mostly poor and money was scarce.

Roaming the streets one day with his bagpipes, the piper was offered some grog. He had gone for several days without food and the grog was too much for his empty stomach. The piper collapsed on the street and it was assumed that he was dead. When the dead-cart came along he was thrown in, pipes and all; on the way to the burial site other corpses were piled on him.

The piper’s dog, following the dead-cart and barking shrilly, is said to have aroused him. He stood up in the cart among the dead, still too intoxicated to realize where he was, and began to play his pipes. The piper, it is said, did not catch the plague despite his nearness to the dead. A statue of the piper stands today in a London museum to commemorate this event.