Amy Cosh was born in 1902. Her parents were both from local families. Her mother, Jane Junkin, was the eldest daughter of Bobcaygeon merchant Irvine Junkin, while her father Hedley Vicars “Vic” Cosh was descended from a family of masons and farmers. Her family lived in a distinctive brick home just north of the canal on the main street (now the site of the Riverwalk). Her family was very interested in learning and education. Jane served as secretary-treasurer of the Mechanic’s Institute (later called the Public Library) until her death in 1933. Vic was very interested in birds and was a taxidermist, creating a collection that was later donated to Bobcaygeon Public School.

Growing up in an era when most teenagers did not complete secondary school and many families would hesitate to invest in higher education, Amy was an excellent student. She won the County Scholarship, which enabled her to attend the Lindsay Collegiate Institute (later LCVI) for one year, not having to pay tuition. To attend this school, she would have to board in Lindsay, which was not included. After working in G.W. Taylor’s office for a year, she went to the Peterborough Normal School, which made her a teacher. After gaining some experience teaching in public schools, she moved on to attend the University of Toronto, where she had an ‘A’ in every subject in her first year. She completed what was normally a five year program in four years. At the time, it was highly unusual for a young woman from Bobcaygeon to even attend university. She went on to teach high school.

When her mother fell ill, Amy started helping her with her job as secretary-treasurer of the Mechanic’s Institute/Library then replaced her mother when she died. Shortly afterwards, no one was available to serve as librarian, so Amy stepped forward to temporarily fill that job, though the salary was just $50 per year. She had taken a course in Library Science and was very interested in books. She would serve as librarian for 34 years, until she died in 1967.

After a public meeting in 1887, the Bobcaygeon Mechanic’s Institute opened a reading room in January 1888. In the early twentieth century, Bobcaygeon’s Mechanic’s Institute was located on the second floor above the Hamiton Book Store on the west side of Bolton Street. Amy’s friend Dorothe Comber recalled, “the hardy children of the pioneers could climb the high and steep stairs. But by 1940 cars were making legs weaker. The library was moved to a very nice location in the former Orr store at the corner of Bolton and King”—a large stone building owned by the masonic lodge. This location was a significant upgrade over the previous location. In 1953, the library would again move to the old classroom attached to the Boyd Lumber Office at the corner of Canal and William Streets (now part of the Boyd Heritage Museum).

For a generation, Amy Cosh was the face of the Bobcaygeon Library, with her “darling personality” as Comber described. She felt it was her job to “enrich people’s lives,” and devoted herself to making the library the best it could be, as it became far larger and better able to meet the needs of its community. She was very attuned to the interests and feelings of the library’s patrons. “When books of doubtful value had been donated to the library I wished to discard them. Amy said severely, ‘Dorothe, people’s feelings mean nothing to you!’” For her years of dedication to her community, the non-fiction section of the Bobcaygeon library was named in her honour and Dorothe wrote a history of the village in her memory.

Originally from Bridgenorth, Bill Dunbar became a legend during his years working for Mossom Boyd as a shanty foreman. In the nineteenth century, many young men went north to work for lumber companies in the winter and lived larger than life. The boys in the shanty were notorious jokesters, they loved playing tricks on each other. There are many tall tales of their unbelievable physical exploits to show off. For entertainment they might assemble a ‘brag load,’ having their horses pull a massive load of timbers. To be a great foreman required an ability to play along with the culture of the shanties, while maintaining the respect of the lumberjacks. Bill Dunbar fit right into this world: he loved horses, was a great hunter, a “crack marksman,” and had a reputation for generosity—a heart of gold.

In 1858, the Bobcaygeon Road (similar to modern 49, 121 and 35 from Bobcaygeon to Dwight) opened to fledgling community of Kinmount, providing access to the district. For years, it served as a supply route for the shanties, as many teams headed north bringing lumberjacks and supplies from Bobcaygeon. Bill married Mary Young and operated a hotel at Union Creek that was complete by 1880. Given the rough road conditions of the era, it was often necessary to stop over on the way from Bobcaygeon to Kinmount. Alcohol was not allowed in the shanties (though there were many stories involving hidden whiskey bottles!) and Dunbar’s Union Creek inn was dry. Three years later, he acquired the Victoria Hotel, which was located near where Monck Road from the west met Kinmount’s Main Street. After his hotel burnt in 1890 (taking much of the business section of Kinmount with it), he borrowed $6,500 to rebuild on a grander scale. The new hotel included a bar, restaurant, meeting room, billiard room, sample room (for travelling vendors to exhibit their wares) and stables for 17 horses.

On a winter’s night in 1894, Bill was on his way home from a Peterborough horse race with friend Bob Cottingham. As was the custom in those days, they travelled on the lakes to make the journey shorter. At Gannon’s Narrows their cutter plunged into the dark, frigid waters of Pigeon Lake. The tragic deaths of men and horses reverberated through the community of Kinmount and the logging camps, inspiring Mrs. Cain to write The Drownding of Bill Dunbar, which was put to music by local fiddler Billy Craig. This dirge was sung in many logging camps, as recited by Bobcaygeon’s Joe Thibadeau:

Come all you sympathizers, I pray you lend an ear.

It’s of a drownding accident as you shall quickly hear.

It’s the drownding of Bill Dunbar, a man you all know well—

He lived in the village of Kinmount where he ran a big hotel.

Bill Dunbar was a noble man as you may understand—

Kind-hearted and obliging, a powerful able man.

It made no difference what you profess, he would always treat you well.

There was no danger of being insulted in Dunbar’s big hotel.

They drove down to attend the races, as you may understand,

Returning home all from the same, he and Bob Cunningham [aka Cottingham].

The night being dark, they lost their way, which grieves me to relate:

They drove into Gannon’s Narrows at the foot of Pigeon Lake.

The team was lost, both men were drowned, which is hard for me to unfold,

It being in the depths of winter and the water was piercing cold.

Poor Bill he fought hard for his life, as I have heard them say;

He threw his mitts out on the ice as a token where he lay.

It was on a Tuesday evening they met with their sad doom,

And their bodies were not recovered until Thursday afternoon.

They were taken home to Kinmount; large crowds did gather there—

The people came from far and near when their heard of the sad affair.

Bill Dunbar in his former days was foreman for Mossom Boyd

And many the river he did run, both narrow, deep and wide.

He was never known to send a man where danger would draw near,

But he boldly took the lead himself without either dread or fear.

Bill leaves a wife and one small child in sorrow grief and pain;

Likewise his brothers and sisters in sorrow to remain.

In meditation they are left, which grieves them to the heart,

That it should ever come their lot that he would from them part.

He’s gone the road we all must go, let the time come short or long,

So I’ll drop my pen, likewise conclude my sentimental song,

Hoping to meet on a better shore where trials they are few,

Where we shall return in happiness old acquaintances to renew.

Freda’s father was the legendary local blacksmith Dick Bulmer, a man that practically everyone in Fenelon Falls knew. In the era before television, this trickster entertained his many visitors with his practical jokes. Throughout her life, Freda enjoyed remembering her father. She liked to tell stories about how she tobogganed down the big hill on Clifton Street. Her son, Robert would relive the experience in a red wagon that Dick made. Some others couldn’t help but think of the cliffs at the foot of Clifton Street, but the Kellys made sure that the wild ride was a safe one. Freda was always someone who could find the positive in life.

As a youngster, Freda inherited her father’s love of fishing, and it would be something that she enjoyed throughout her life. In her 70s, she caught an 18lb musky in Cameron Lake. Freda graduated Fenelon Falls Continuation School (later FFSS) in 1939, just as the Second World War was beginning. She became a school teacher, instructing at local schools (it was still the era of one room schools) and briefly in Scarborough.

At age 40, Freda married Milburn Kelly, who was 17 years older. Milburn had been widowed for many years, and Freda had been through the ordeal of being married to someone who was gay (back then many people thought that gay people should just marry someone of the opposite gender and make the best of things), leading to the marriage being annulled. In keeping with social expectations of the times, Freda retired from teaching to serve customers and keep the books at Foster Kelly’s plumbing and heating business, where her husband worked. At age 43, she became a mom—which in that era was treated like a medical emergency—”she was overjoyed, because she had never thought that she would have a child.”

Milburn retired at age 67—when Freda was 50 years old. Later in life she could say that she was retired for 50 years. Because they both loved outdoor recreation, they bought a camper and a 4-door Dodge pickup and started travelling the country. Everywhere they went, they were very engaged, as they journeyed to every province and both territories, staying at campgrounds, roadsides and gravel pits. Faith was very important to Freda, who was the bookkeeper at Immanuel Baptist Church for 48 years, until she was nearly 90 years old. She kept the records by hand in tall ledger books. With her blue, black and red pens, she did it all manually, and wouldn’t touch a calculator, “because it would slow her down…. And she never lost a penny.”

Freda was very athletic and participated in many sports in her younger years. She loved to listen to Blue Jays games, and enjoyed curling. In her 80s, she was skating on Cameron Lake, her last trip was to Cranberry Bay. She loved to work in her vegetable garden. She gardened on the ground until she was 97, then in a raised bed, where she got in her lettuce and onions at the age of 100. At the age of 98, she still carted her groceries across the bridge in her walker—how many people in their twenties would go grocery shopping without taking the car? Both her family and Milburn’s had a lot of history, and she became a special carrier of the village’s heritage. Milburn’s family was instrumental in setting up Maryboro Lodge as the community’s museum—his aunts had previously operated it as a tourist lodge. She would walk over to attend tea right up until the pandemic.

When someone came to visit, Freda made the effort to prepare a full meal, even when the guest showed up unannounced. She loved to bake biscuits and muffins, sharing them around town with her many friends. Freda had the unusual experience of living to 100, in her own home right to the end, being mentally sharp. Freda lived a life of kindness, and she was always thankful for what she had. In so many ways, Freda lived a remarkably good life—being an inspiration to many for a century.

Dick Bulmer was a local legend. He was among the last traditional blacksmiths in Victoria County. He made his living fabricating whatever people needed. Many of his older customers wanted parts for old farm equipment—threshing machines, combines, hay rakes, and so on. They would come in and bring or describe what they needed, and Dick would sketch a picture on the back of an old envelope. Once they figured it out together, he would get to work at the forge. Some of the newer customers wanted beautiful hand-made decorative rings for their docks. But his shop was so much more than just a useful manufactory.

Dick Bulmer’s blacksmith shop was smoky, dirty and damp, being located in the old livery stable that once served the McArthur House hotel (Now the Fenelon Falls Brewing Company and Waterbridge Cafe). But just about everyone in Fenelon Falls visited Dick’s blacksmith shop at one time or another.  Much of the time there was a card game or two at the table set up in the shop, not too far from the forge. Dick would be grinding away on his latest smithing project.

Dick was perhaps best remembered as a jokester or trickster. Sometimes, when someone new came in, Dick would act a little bit quiet, which was out of character for him. Then he would go to the window and pick up and old box, and blow off the dust. He would start telling the story about how his uncle went to war, and all they sent back was this finger. Showing it to them, he would encourage them to touch it, then just as they nervously reached out, the blackened finger would lift up—it was really his own blackened finger, projecting through a hole he cut in the bottom of the box. If someone was running out the door screaming, it might well be the latest victim of the dead finger in the box trick.

He had plenty of other pranks. While hammering at the anvil, he would scream, drop his hammer and turn around, making it look like he had driven a nail through his finger. He electrified a bench so that he could flip a switch under his chair and give unsuspecting visitors a jolt. For 55 years, there never was a dull moment at Dick Bulmer’s blacksmith shop, as he thought of one way or another to get a rise of the people who visited. He retired in 1976.

From the time he was a boy, Lorne was very interested in bees, and persuaded his parents to help him get his own hive when he was 8 or 9 years old. It was an unusual interest, there were not many other beekeepers around Dunsford. As a teenager he built a honey house on his parents’ farm. At 22 he fell ill with Polio and would never be as strong again—he could no longer lift his arm over his shoulder.

While his brothers were working in the construction business, Lorne would be at the hives, putting nail polish on bees so he could learn about them—something that could aggravate his father. For his entire career he used the honey house he built as a teenager. His mother, Anna, enjoyed helping to sell the honey—she enjoyed visiting with the customers when they came to the farm. Lorne was quiet and enjoyed reading, and even as an adult would voraciously read anything relating to bees or honey.

A few stores like Lamantia’s in Lindsay carried Lorne’s honey, but he sold most of his produce from the farm or at local fairs—he became the honey man that many people in Victoria County knew. He was inspired to make the best honey that he could, and wherever he competed, whether it was at the Royal Winter Fair or the Canadian National Exhibition, he would win first prize. His mother thought the number of prizes he was winning was unfair and that others would lose interest, so he became a judge. Then one day he met someone who shared his passion for bee keeping—Joe Valas, who became a best friend.

Lorne would care for bees as long as he could, until he was 87. He loved beekeeping—it was what made him happy. It also made life a little sweeter for the countless people that visited Springbank Farm to buy a jar of honey. As he chatted at the Bobcaygeon Fair, not everyone realized that the ordinary-priced honey, that looked just like something they would buy at the grocery store, was hand-made by one of the most skilled apiarists in Canada.

Sam Hughes grew up at Solina, near Bowmanville in Durham County, was very interested in the military and joined the local militia at age 13. After attending the University of Toronto and teaching briefly, he purchased the Warder newspaper and moved to Lindsay. Under Sam’s management, the Warder became a very conservative rag, attacking Catholics, Liberals and anything else that raised his ire. Though the Victoria Warder was not a newspaper for everybody, Sam’s combative ways attracted a following, which he parlayed into a seat in the House of Commons—after a successful court challenge of his opponent’s dirty election tricks. He was elected, then he had a public street fight in Lindsay with the town’s Catholic Reeve-elect. He would never be defeated in an election again.

As Member of Parliament, Sam continued to be very interested in the military and remained as truculent as ever. He founded the Victoria County Rifle Association. When war broke out in South Africa, Sam demanded that Canada send 5,000 soldiers. Prime Minister Wilfrid Laurier decided to offer a volunteer contingent, and Sam was not going to miss out, being perhaps the Dominion’s most eager recruit. Sam was included, but without any official role. G.T.H. Hutton, the British General commanding Canada’s militia specifically warned his British comrades about including Sam. (This may have contributed to Sam’s long-standing disdain for British officers commanding Canadians.)

Sam was not to be deterred, he brought his own colonel’s uniform from the Victoria Regiment, and was in his glory, ordering around the soldiers on the ship as then travelled. Once the contingent arrived in South Africa, Sam got to work writing letters, eager to find a role in the military. Persisting through many disappointments, he landed himself an appointment as a supply and transport officer. He showed a lot of cleverness as he defended transports against Boer attacks. He earned a promotion, becoming an intelligence officer. He was fearless and once single-handedly captured eight Boers. He became openly critical of General Charles Warren, and was soon on his way home. He became a self-proclaimed war hero, falsely suggesting that he earned a Victoria Cross or even two! As he shouted down his opponents in Parliament, citing dubious figures and statistics, he could claim a military background.

Sam was more interested in the militia than anyone else in the Conservative caucus. Though he hated the Liberals, he would support his counterpart Frederick Borden if he thought a proposal would benefit the militia. By 1911, he was beloved by Orangemen, but seen by others as a “champion of race hatred.” (At that time, French/English or Catholic/Protestant would be described as ‘races.’)  At times his performances were so assertive that it became farcical—but he did manage to double the departmental budget.

When the Great War began, Sam’s moment had come. For English Canadians, he was a brilliant military recruiter, travelling the country to encourage men to enlist. He had always been great at getting crowds riled up. Though not everyone agreed with Sam, he could pack venues like Kinmount’s Forester’s Hall, with his loyal followers. The crusade to fight the Germans (or Huns, as they were then pejoratively called) appealed to a lot of young men looking to escape the monotony of farm life in Snowdon, Galway or Somerville Township. By the end of June 1916, 312,000 Canadians had volunteered to join the colours, with Sir Sam Hughes (knighted in 1915) as the public face of the war effort. The next day, the Battle of the Somme began, with the British Fourth Army sustaining 57,470 casualties in one day.

Sam was equally enthusiastic to supply shells for Britain. He went around his own department to create the Shell Committee of prominent industrialists, and by 1917, Canada produced one-quarter of all British shells. Sam founded military bases at Gagetown, New Brunswick and Valcartier, Quebec, which are both still in use today. Though he was extremely enthusiastic about war and Canada’s military, he had no practical experience of life in the trenches. He never seemed to understand the difficulties that his soldiers faced—though he was at the same time their loudest advocate. When he visited the trenches, he often proposed war-winning tactics that were out of touch with reality.

Sam made the war equipment his own. Though it had been adopted by the Liberals to arm Canadians serving in the Boer War, he referred to the Ross Rifle as “his” rifle. Upgraded versions of the rifle were used in international shooting competitions, so clearly it was just what his accurate-shooting marksmen soldiers needed. Hughes did not seem to be able to hear that it often did not function in the muddy conditions of the trenches. He also designed and patented the MacAdam Shield-Shovel—a portable infantry spade with a hole in the centre, designed so that his marksmen could be protected while shooting through the hole in the blade. In practice, they were not good for digging or shielding soldiers, and were eventually sold for scrap.

Sam was such a character that it was easy to make fun of him. But by 1916, when it the unmistakeable truth was hitting home that his glorious crusade was a blood bath, the jokes were not funny any more. Sam was not going to win any popularity contests with soldiers in the trenches whose boots dissolved, rifle jammed in the mud and shovel had a large hole in the centre. All of the hasty (patronage) contracts for war supplies created a national profiteering scandal—“The Million Dollar Rake Off.” True to form, Sam was in no mood to moderate or back down, thundering that a firing squad would solve the problem. Nor did it look good that as the country was fixated on these problems and the soldiers dying by the thousands in the trenches, Sam was busy strutting in his militia uniform, in his glory, visiting England. Bit by bit, Prime Minister Robert Borden, brought in others to help carry part of the load. Sam bitterly fought those who were appointed to help, including Peterborough’s Sir Joseph Flavelle, chair of the Imperial Munitions Board. As he saw every delegation of authority as an expression that the Prime Minister lacked faith in him, this poisoned their relationship. On November 9, 1916, the Prime Minister felt compelled to ask Hughes to resign.

Sam became an angry backbencher and died in 1921. By then he was discredited internationally, but received a hero’s funeral in Lindsay. His beloved hunting lodge, Glen Eagle, lives on as Sir Sam’s Inn. Hughes Point, Fenelon Falls is named in his honour, as he also had a summer property there. Lindsay’s legion and armouries both honour Sir Sam Hughes. Borden would later write: “About half the time he was an able, reasonable and useful colleague, working with excellent judgement and indefatigable energy. For a certain other portion of the time, he was extremely excitable, impatient of control and almost impossible to work with; and during the remainder, his conduct and speech were so eccentric as to justify the conclusion that his mind was unbalanced.” Hero? Madman? History students will likely be debating the legacy of perhaps the most unforgettable character ever to come from the Kawarthas for generations to come.

As a boy, Randy Meredith loved Halloween and as a merchant his Colborne Street store always had a great Halloween display. Some of his friends would remark that with Randy, Halloween seemed to last all year round. He loved shopping for clothes, and had many memorable looks, often shared with the community on Wacky Wednesdays. He was never afraid to be creative and express himself, and there was a never a dull moment when Randy was around. “He was so colourful, had so much spirit and showed so much love.”

In 2009, Randy Meredith opened Grr8 Finds Markets, in partnership with Bruce Muir and with the help of his parents Ellison and Janey. By the time he passed away in 2022, many people would say that he was the soul of Colborne Street, or the Unofficial Mayor of Fenelon Falls. For decades, the shop had been a general store, operated by Fred & Ethel Warren, then Ed Taylor, Stedman’s and Pick N’Save. Grr8 Finds was a vendor market, laid out in Randy’s own “hectic-eclectic” style, that was in many ways reminiscent of the old general stores. It included a display of candy in memory of his soulmate, Andrew. He had a very interesting variety of merchandise, so people enjoyed visiting to see what was new—and what Randy was up to today.

Randy probably did more than anyone else to make the LGBTQ community feel accepted in Fenelon Falls. Secondary school students and youth who needed someone to talk to knew that they could open up with Randy and that, whatever they needed to talk about, he would understand. It was a welcoming place, somewhere where anyone could go, be themselves and be accepted. He was a people person, who always made the effort to engage with everyone hos visited. Few would ever forget the experience of meeting one of Fenelon Falls’ most memorable characters on a Wacky Wednesday.

Burritt Kerr (often pronounced “Bert”) grew up in the construction and aggregate business, in the era before there was heavy equipment. His father, Clayton had been working since the early twentieth century, and it was without doubt heavy and hard labour. They started in the business before stone crushers were common and were mining a deposit of natural gravel located between Pigeon Lake Road and Ranch Road, south of Bobcaygeon. All of the aggregate had to be loaded by hand, initially into a horse-drawn dump cart. The Kerrs’ ability to shovel was legendary. Anyone else would have used a spade to load gravel, but Burritt Kerr used a grain scoop.

Burritt grew up working as a human excavator, and persevered through back problems for his entire adult life. He wore a corset to provide support and would not let it slow him down. He embraced self reliance and had the determination to overcome practically any problem… by himself. “If a man made it, a man could fix it.”

In 1958, Burritt bought an International backhoe that dug the graves in Verulam Cemetery for 50 years—living with the painful reminders of the physical costs of manual labour, he embraced heavy equipment when it became available. For many years, Burritt plowed snow in the Bobcaygeon area and collected garbage with his father. One would drive the truck, while the other walked along the street throwing the bags up into the dump box.

As he was collecting Bobcaygeon’s trash, Burritt had the ingenuity to imagine how to make art from waste. He took propane cylinders and make people out of them. He designed chairs from tractor seats and turned hames into cup or ashtray holders. One year, the Boyd Museum exhibited his art. He travelled far and wide with his wife Mildred in their Ford Deluxe Car—Black Beauty. They were among the first Bobcaygeon residents to acquire a snowmobile and made many memorable journeys together. They were also remembered for their creative parade floats. For one, Burritt modified a cutter to be propelled with a lawn-mower, inventing a braking system, so it could be steered like a skid-steer. He then cut out wooden reindeer, which he suspended out front. Bobcaygeon residents will long remember the sight of Mildred driving a dump truck in the parade at the age of 80. Together they brought a lot of smiles to the faces of Bobcaygeon residents. When someone said the world’s gone crazy, Burritt would reply: “No, no it hasn’t, it’s just the people.”

Bill operated a grocery store on the main street of Kinmount, just north of the bridge alongside his wife Betty. She was really the one who managed the business, and practically everyone in town knew them. One day the butcher wasn’t able to come in, so she asked her husband (who knew the trade) to cover for him. Bill was right there to help, spent the morning talking to everyone who came into the store, and found the time to cut about six pieces of meat… then gave each one away. Betty, of course, didn’t think that the family business should entail just giving the produce away. On the other hand, local residents really enjoyed visiting with Bill.

In 1965, Bill became the Conservative candidate for the Victoria riding, and was a great fit. He was a farmer at heart, he loved horses, and loved to visit with people. In an era when many people were fashion conscious, he was the kind of person who was not afraid to get his hands dirty. While gladhanding during the 1984 election campaign, he asked one lady what it would take to get her vote. She replied that she would like to see him milk her goat and he was happy to oblige. He had the ability to walk into a room and make everyone feel better, which helped him win eight consecutive elections.

Bill was energetic. He would stop at nothing to help community organizations, and he particularly cared about the Kinmount Fair. Through his tireless work, it became a great community celebration, even as ever fewer people around Kinmount actually farmed. He loved horses, and he had a wonderful ability to train them. Few locals would forget the sight of Bill Scott riding Blaze at many of the parades and fairs of the region.

Every year, the local Conservative Party association would host a barbeque—where else, but the Kinmount fairgrounds. Whereas some other candidates would think that the riding association should be focused on the great political questions of the day, Bill Scott knew how to have a great barbeque. They would bake 40 or 50 pounds of beans in a sap kettle and had a huge barbeque that would cook enough beef for 500 people. With a few drinks and some entertainment, what was not to like?

Bill loved the time he got to spend in Ottawa just as much. He was always a part of the social gatherings, and never missed the chance to go to a Chinese restaurant. Just as he loved going to his constituents’ anniversary gatherings, he was part of many joyous parties on Parliament Hill. It was an era when representatives would know the prime minister personally, even if their politics differed. One of Bill’s best friends was a member of the NDP. He often said that he worst thing that happened was when cameras were introduced to the House of Commons, because members started to perform for the viewers at home. The personal relationships that he had spent a lifetime building became more difficult to maintain, in the face of all the partisan bickering that came with what seemed to be increasingly a win-at-all-costs mentality.

Bill was a career backbencher, his only post came in 1989 as secretary to the Minister of Veteran’s Affairs. He was happy to focus on his own riding. After having represented the region for almost 28 years, he was forced to retire in 1993 due to Alzheimer’s—the man who had known everyone by name suddenly couldn’t remember what he was talking about long enough to give a speech. He would miss seeing all the people both in his riding and in Ottawa. His daughter, Laurie Scott is now the MPP for Haliburton-Kawartha Lakes-Brock.

Mossom “Monty” Robson’s great uncle had operated Fenelon Falls’ foundry, manufacturing farm equipment, which transitioned into an implement dealership at 49-51 Colborne Street, Fenelon Falls. Monty would be the third generation of the Robson family to serve the farmers of his community. His uncle, Art Robson was the long-time editor of the Fenelon Falls Gazette. Beulah Hanthorn’s father was the CNR section foreman at Burnt River. Together they became two of the region’s most memorable personalities.

Monty and Beulah both cared deeply about their community—they helped with countless events over the years. Members of Fenelon Falls Baptist Church, Beulah happily volunteered to accompany gatherings on the piano or organ—including afternoon tea at Maryboro Lodge. She was an artist who enjoyed depicting her community. She really cared for the people around her—especially Monty. She was a wonderful host, “an absolute sweetheart” and it seemed like she and Monty had practically everyone over for a visit at one time or another. Many people really looked forward to seeing the Robsons.

Monty had the gift of the gab and a very distinctive voice. Wherever he went, people loved visiting with him. He was “master of ceremonies for damned near any gathering of more than ten people.” He was the voice of events like the horse pull at local fairs. When a fair did not have an announcer’s booth, as at Fenelon, he brought his cream coloured van with loudspeakers attached. He was the local face of the Conservative Party and helped organize many of their events like the annual barbeque at the Kinmount Fairgrounds.

Monty was a charter member of the Rotary Club, and organized rural-urban nights, where village residents were encouraged to bring a farmer friend. He helped work toward the creation of the village’s ball park, and, of course, was there to host the event when it opened. Later in life he became an insurance salesman, then Registrar of Deeds for Victoria County. He served on the Water, Light and Power Commission for Fenelon Falls and the school board. But Monty is probably best remembered as the voice of the community.

George Crandell was born in Borelia, near Port Perry in 1828, where his family were the first deeded settlers and also members of the Markham Gang, a society of thieves who had agreed to be mutual alibis. Though they got away with their escapades for a while, it became noticeable that the same group of people were either the suspects or alibis in a rash of crimes that had escalated to murder. Seventeen-year-old George was caught red handed stealing his neighbour’s gun, and sentenced to five years of hard labour in the Kingston Penitentiary. Incarceration certainly did not soften George at all, but when he was released in 1850, he set out in a new direction from the life of crime that he had known as a child.

Crandell returned to Borelia, then took a job working on the first steamer on Lake Scugog, the Woodman. After the vessel caught fire, his employer moved on, allowing George to purchase and refit the boat—just as Canada was signing a reciprocity treaty with the United States, which made the export of lumber practical by vastly reducing tariffs. Reflecting its name, the refitted Woodman was kept busy towing timber on Scugog and Sturgeon lakes to Port Perry, which was then the most convenient route to reach Lake Ontario from the Upper Trent Valley.

Crandell admired shipping magnate Cornelius “the Commodore” Vanderbilt, who was by then likely the richest man in the world. From New York, Vanderbilt had risen through inland shipping, then invested in railways. Like his hero, Crandell would become a commodore of his own fleet, as he built up an interconnected network of ships. In 1873, Crandell christened the Vanderbilt, the largest and most comfortable passenger ship in the area, running regular service on Scugog and Sturgeon Lakes. He had become the most successful steamship operator in the region.

Owning a fleet of ships made it possible to offer passenger service that co-ordinated with the rapidly expanding rail networks to make recreational travel practical. He recognized the natural beauty of Sturgeon Point, and opened the luxurious, three-storey Sturgeon Point Hotel three years later. It soon boasted a dance hall, bowling alley, shuffleboard courts and bath houses. He operated another hotel in Fenelon Falls, until the Great Fire of April 21, 1884 started in its kitchen.

Crandell did not dabble in the hotel business long, selling the Sturgeon Point Hotel to E.H. Dunham of Cobourg in 1883. But he recognized the potential of Sturgeon Point for cottaging, subdividing the property he retained into building lots. By taking a trip on one of his steamers, prosperous Lindsay business owners could enjoy summers on Sturgeon Lake, without neglecting their enterprise. Before long, Sturgeon Point had become a much-loved cottage community. He retired at the end of the 1901 season, fifty years after the Woodman was launched at Port Perry, and died three years later.

To the end, he was remembered as one of the feistiest characters on the back lakes. In 1876, he punched out the Lindsay lockmaster, Robert Douglas, who refused to put his boat through after the locks had closed and he had gone to bed. Crandell feuded with the Boyd family, and boiled over when their log drives blocked navigation in the Fenelon River. Throughout his life, Crandell would not back down from any adversary. As a 56-year-old, he singlehandedly took on a group of roughs on the streets of Lindsay, including the notorious outlaw Paddy Bain. Though he had his skull fractured and ribs broken, Crandell lived to tell the tale, being as strong willed as ever. He may not have won the fight, but there was no doubting he had guts. Despite (or perhaps because of) all of the transgressions he committed relative to genteel Victorian notions of propriety, he was one of the leading figures of late nineteenth century Lindsay. Beginning in 1866, George Crandell served on Town Council for 32 of 33 years. As in all his pursuits, no one on Council would ever forget the unique experience of working with Lindsay’s commodore.

In the mid twentieth century, there were not nearly as many cottages surrounding local lakes. Many visitors to the Kawarthas would stay at a lodge/inn/hotel and enjoyed fishing. Just about every community boasted of having the best fishing. It was a huge part of the culture in the village of Bobcaygeon. There were multiple bait shops along the canal, many fishing guides, many local anglers and visitors, particularly from Ohio. Many Bobcaygeon guides were from the Nichols and Kimble families.

Stan Nichols had five younger brothers—Hort, Len, Percy Jr., Ernie and Don, and they all guided, as did the previous generation of his family. He spent basically his entire summer in a boat on the lakes. There was a list of guides posted at the end of the swing bridge, where visitors could see whether they were available that day. The guides often went to the Canal Boat Livery for breakfast, then loaded up their boat for the day. Stan’s boat had a car engine modified to be a boat motor. There was no alternator, so he started it with a battery that he had to charge and carry to the boat each morning. He had a wooden boat that he maintained himself.

Once a guide picked up their customer for the day (often at the locks or their accommodation), they headed out on the lake. Hopefully the customer would have the thrill of catching a fish, and then the guide took them for a shore dinner. Stan would paddle up to an island, just south of Boyd Island. They would start a fire, peel and boil potatoes, and fry bacon. The fish was fried in bacon grease, with a little lard or butter. After boiling the potatoes, they were fried in the grease, which was called Yancey potatoes. Bobcaygeon was a dry town, but Harvey Township and Lindsay were not, so many customers enjoyed a drink with their dinner—which scandalized some Bobcaygeon residents. Stan’s brothers Ernie and Percy both made their own lures.

Stan lived a very different life than many other Bobcaygeon residents. In winter, he went trapping with his youngest brother Don, either north of Bobcaygeon or on Emily Creek. At the end of the day, he brought the animals (often muskrats) home to skin. He operated the Ark floating restaurant, near the mouth of Big Bob Channel in Pigeon Lake. In winter, he enjoyed spending his spare time at Anderson’s Pool Hall and playing euchre with his friends at the firehall or in the arena dressing rooms. At the age of 80, Stan was still guiding in his plywood boat, right up to the year he passed away in 1991. It always made him happy to share the joy as someone caught a fish.

James Wallis’ father owned the Maryboro Estate and Drishane Castle in County Cork, Ireland. The family was one of the protestant British houses who became overlords in Ireland after King William’s military victories ensured the protestant ascendancy in both Ireland and England. James’ family embodied wealth and power in his home community, but as a younger son, James would not inherit the family fortune and had to make his own path in life, with the advantages of an education and elite upbringing.

At age 27, he emigrated to Upper Canada, and took on an ambitious, speculative business in partnership with Robert Jameson (grandson of John Jameson, the famous Dublin distiller) in 1834. They speculated massively in property, concentrated around Fenelon Falls, but also including the harbour at Windsor (since renamed Whitby) and town lots in Lindsay and Peterborough. Their local holdings included 22.7% of Fenelon Township and 9.3% of Verulam Township. They purchased Lot 23, Concession 10 of Fenelon, which included the falls, from Duncan Cameron, a Toronto banker and the provincial secretary. Wallis spent more time at Fenelon Falls than Jameson—and was often in practice seen as the village’s proprietor. He liked to say that his native appellation was “Ogemah”—Ogima/Gimaa is a civil chief, so he thought of himself as chief of the village. As the village’s proprietor, Wallis could build anywhere he chose, and Maryboro Lodge came to mark the head of the Fenelon River at Cameron Lake (for a gentleman like Wallis, it was a lodge in the backwoods, not a proper country home).

In this era, many nascent settlements in Upper Canada were privately owned—which was always a speculative venture. To help attract settlers, Wallis operated a tavern, store and mills at the falls. He donated land to build a church and led services until the community attracted a minister. He surveyed village lots around the falls. But not many of them sold, and as the years passed, the financial pressure he faced mounted. Hope dwindled that Fenelon Falls would rapidly pay off as an investment. In 1842, Wallis moved to Peterborough, where he operated a steamboat, the Ogemah and founded a new estate, Merino. He raised fine livestock and his daughter, Katherine, became an internationally renowned sculptor.

As Jameson and Wallis both moved on to other lives, Fenelon Falls was left to languish—though he later built a stone grist mill for the benefit of local residents. In time, his property was liquidated, and other entrepreneurs stepped forward to rebuild or supersede their ventures. R.C. Smith became the village’s prominent miller, while visitors had several hotels to choose from. The original log St. James Anglican Church was replaced by a frame chapel that became a local landmark. By the time James Wallis was an old man, Fenelon Falls had developed into a village—largely after his holdings were liquidated. In the years that followed, Maryboro Lodge became a tourist lodge. In October 1959, Ontario Premier Leslie Frost dedicated an historic plaque to James Wallis as a community founder in front of his old home. In 1963, Maryboro Lodge became Fenelon Falls’ museum and continues to welcome thousands of visitors each year.

John Langton grew up in a wealthy mercantile Lancashire family. His father, Thomas, ran a business importing flax and hemp for the manufacture of sail cloth, just the type of venture that did conspicuously well in Britain during the Industrial Revolution and Napoleonic Wars. John grew up at Blythe Hall, a country estate, adhered to the Church of England, and had the opportunity to go on the ‘Grand Tour’—travelling across Europe to be taught by masters including educational pioneer Johann Heinrich Pestalozzi.

The Grand Tour came to an abrupt end. Thomas had left his nephew in charge of the business while they travelled, who proved unequal to the task of navigating the economic uncertainties that followed the Napoleonic Wars. The Langtons returned to England and were forced to sell Blythe Hall. As they struggled to find a new way forward, they often looked back to Blythe, the life and prosperity that they had lost. Though they found themselves in “embarrassed circumstances,” John was able to attend Cambridge with the help of an aunt.  John was a younger son and would not receive a large inheritance, so he emigrated to the north arm of Sturgeon Lake in 1833.

When John began building his new home in the backwoods, many of his neighbours were also aspiring young gentlemen—younger sons who were looking to make their own way, after crossing the Atlantic. Most looked back to the landed class in Britain, but none had the money to live like a real lord of the manor. It was a world where there were literally more lords than labourers, But, as they remarked on who had a musical instrument or silver spoons, a table might be a door supported by two pork barrels.

John hired labourers to help him create a farm from the forest, and soon had the most productive and best developed plot in the community. It was named Blythe, after his home back in England. He became a community leader and Justice of the Peace, quickly aligning himself with the Conservative, Anglican political elite (the so-called Family Compact, on the eve of the Upper Canada Rebellion). He was joined by his sister (Anne), parents and aunt in 1837. His parents and aunt died of malaria (which was then endemic in Upper Canada), and he realized that his farm, though the biggest around, was not profitable—his humbler neighbours did the farm work themselves.

When John had to sell Blythe, he turned to politics and was elected as Member of Parliament for Peterborough County in 1851. He also took an interest in developing higher education in the colony, becoming Vice Chancellor of the University of Toronto. He was active in building University College. In 1855, he became Inspector General of Accounts and was part of the delegation that went to London to plan Canada’s Confederation. He served as Canada’s first Auditor General retiring in 1878. Though he did not return to the Sturgeon Lake community that he had helped to found, his letters home continue to be an important literary record of living conditions in the backwoods of Upper Canada.

Mark Fell was a farm boy from Somerville Township, who had the misfortune to have his father die. His mother remarried, but his step father was abusive and it is said he drank himself to death. To escape his unfortunate situation, Mark Fell enlisted in the army, becoming part of the 252^nd Battalion of the Victoria Regiment. He was transferred to the 2^nd Division and served near Ypres from 1917 to the end of the Great War.

Mark arrived on the Western Front in time to witness some of the most intense fighting. He felt the ground shake under the great artillery barrages, watched friends fall, and was himself wounded when he was hit with shrapnel in the left foot.  He recovered sufficiently to return to active duty, but as he lived in the trenches, he couldn’t help but wonder if a shell hole in no man’s land wouldn’t end up being his final resting place. Though he was one of the fortunate soldiers that survived the war, after returning to Fenelon Falls, he would never be quite the same again. He did not marry and had a room filled with his war memorabilia, where he spent time remembering his friends who did not return.

Mark used the gratuity he received when he retired from the army to buy a cement block maker, cement mixer and 6 horsepower—1 cylinder Fairbanks-Morse gas engine to run it. He began to make concrete blocks, filling one form at a time. At his peak, he was making batches of 50 blocks. He worked hard, and developed a reputation as one of the best carpenters and masons in the community. Block by block, he constructed many local buildings. Mark continued to make cement blocks until after the Second World War.

For all the money Mark earned over the years, he spent little of it on himself. Though he would dress appropriately when he served on village council, as president of the Legion, or attended a Rotary Club meeting, he spent practically every other moment in his denim bib overalls, grey plaid work shirt, undershirt, and black leather work boots—even for Sunday dinner. To the end of his life, it always looked like he was marching as he walked, with proper posture, a habit engrained during his years in the military. Everyone could see that Mark Fell had a purpose in his stride. A safety pin kept a great wad of cash in his chest pocket. Eddie Wong was one of best friends, and it seemed that he ate most all of his meals at Eddie’s Chinese restaurant—often sitting by himself. When he passed, he would be buried beside Eddie, leaving sizeable donations to the Ross Memorial Hospital, Five Counties Children’s Centre, the Lindsay Boys and Girls Club and the Salvation Army. Mark Fell was someone who really liked to help Fenelon Falls residents, as he worked day after day, helping to build his community.

“The oldest and most experienced bush ranger in Canada,’” Vannier was an excellent judge of standing timber. He inspected forests from Alaska to Labrador, often for Mossom Boyd. A skilled ranger was invaluable in the 1890s, as virgin berths were scarce.

Al was a remarkably devoted Fenelon Falls village employee for 35 years. He fixed every pot hole, knew about local water and sewer, broke ice dams, and tirelessly shovelled pedestrian bridges. When he retired, he refused to take a pension.

A mason by trade, Robert Jackett privately installed Fenelon Falls’ first water system in 1894. Initially using tamarack pipes, when upgraded to steel it lasted 70 years. His descendants created the village’s largest construction company.

Minister at St. Andrew’s Fenelon Falls and Knox Glenarm from 1969 to 1988, William was beloved by his congregation. With his Scottish brogue, he was a very warm and engaging speaker. He and wife Rita devoted their lives to caring for his congregation, particularly those who were unwell. St. Andrew’s has never been the same since he retired.

William Mackenzie was born in a log shanty near the Portage Road in North Eldon Township in 1849—the ninth child of a poor tenant couple. Unlike many boys in his era, he moved to Lindsay to complete grammar school, which allowed him to become a teacher at age 19. Two years later, he and his brother opened the Shoofly Store in Kirkfield and a construction business. Initially constructing buildings, his life would never be the same after George Laidlaw hired him to build bridges and Kinmount station for the Victoria Railway.

William Mackenzie soon earned a reputation as an excellent contractor, which attracted the attention of James Ross, the project’s chief engineer—who would go on to oversee the Canadian Pacific Railway. Mackenzie got another job working on the Credit Valley Railway, then for Ross on the CPR. Soon he was one of North America’s best known railway contractors. It was a very lucrative business and made Mackenzie into a millionaire. He then went on to build Toronto’s electric railway (precursor of the Toronto Transit Commission), before building similar transportation networks in Montreal, Winnipeg, and Birmingham, England.

In 1895, William Mackenzie partnered with Donald Mann to obtain his own railway charter and in the years that followed acquired the charters of many railways. His railway ventures would merge into the Canadian Northern Railway, which was initially a route to take immigrants to the northern prairies. At some point, they began to dream of building a transcontinental railway. As they worked towards building another national railway, they secured government backing whenever possible. But often they had to offer bonds on their own credit, as they built a line across the northern prairies, which would not be as profitable as the Canadian Pacific Railway. Locally, they purchased the IB&O railway, which connected settlements such as Howland Junction, Irondale, Wilberforce, Baptiste and Bird’s Creek—none of which would ever be mistaken for a metropolis.

By the time that Mackenzie and Mann were knighted in 1911, they were trying to sell $55,000,000 in securities on the London market to finance the construction of the CNoR—about 30% of all Canadian securities for sale in London that year. By 1914, Henry Ford’s assembly lines had made automobiles much more affordable. Beginning in urban areas, motorized jitney (or taxi) services began to spring up which would compete with railways. Investors became reluctant to pay the face value of railway securities, even if they were backed by government. He persuaded Prime Minister Robert Borden, to guarantee $45,000,000 in bonds in 1914. Costs spiralled as the CNoR built a tunnel through Mount Royal and as they headed west through the mountains from Edmonton to the Pacific Coast. Then on August 4, 1914, Sir William Mackenzie heard the news that Great Britain had declared war on Germany. He knew what it meant: “I’m finished,” he remarked, as his face became ashen.

Mackenzie had been there when Donald Smith drove the last spike on the Canadian Pacific Railway, but his own last spike ceremony in 1915 did not match the jubilation. As Mackenzie drove the last spike himself, was the last nail already in the coffin of the Canadian Northern Railway? By 1917, the CNoR had become a serious national political issue because it owed so much money that it threatened the solvency of the Bank of Commerce. At about the same time, the Grand Trunk Railway became insolvent while building another transcontinental railway. The GTR and CNoR were nationalized into the Canadian National Railways (later CN).

Though the Canadian Northern Railway was insolvent, Mackenzie remained personally solvent and one of Toronto’s most prominent businessmen. Years earlier, he had given his old Kirkfield classmate, Pat Burns a contact to supply meat to feed railway workers. Mackenzie owned stock in Burns’ company, which would later become part of Maple Leaf. Who would have imagined that two Kirkfield school chums would one day become two of Canada’s leading businessmen.  Mackenzie passed away in 1923 and was buried in Kirkfield, not far from the unassuming log shanty where he entered this world.

In 1833, Upper Canada commissioned N.H. Baird to survey the proposed Trent Waterway. He estimated the total cost at $1,167,236, easily enough to bankrupt the government. Nevertheless, he completed a thorough survey of the route, which would facilitate its subsequent construction. Baird later went insane shortly after the birth of his eighth child.

Starting out as a tinsmith, he expanded to operate Fenelon Falls’ hardware store from 1886 until his death in 1911. His son William John carried on the business. He was also an avid sportsman, as shown here with an impressive Musky.

An original Bury’s Green settler, Matilda faced an arduous life raising a backwoods family. When husband James passed, neighbour Richard Arkwright helped her manage as her children matured. Matilda later enjoyed many happy moments with her grandchildren.

Edward Deanes Hand emigrated from England to Canada around 1850. About 1854 or 1855 he founded the Lindsay Advocate newspaper (a name since revived by publisher Roderick Benns). Then as now, newspapers tended to assume a political stance, and Hand was a liberal. In 1861, the Canadian Post moved from Beaverton to Lindsay (it later became the Lindsay Daily Post) and became the most successful outlet in the community. By 1868, Hand’s Advocate was out of business.

Hand moved to Fenelon Falls in 1868, opening a grocery and shoe store. The next year, he headed to Bobcaygeon, founding the Independent, which was first printed in 1870. Two years later he sold this newspaper to Charles Stewart, saying that he had been offered a bonus to start the Fenelon Falls Gazette. He later recalled that the first issue of the Gazette was published in the bar room of the Clifton House Hotel in February 1873.

The Fenelon Falls Gazette the voice that shared the moments and events of the community. The Gazette continued to be liberal or “Reform” in editorial stance. As he took on Tories, he attracted some controversy and admirers, depending on his readers’ political views. Looking back on the Gazette, the record of what one man managed to investigate, record and print is remarkable.

The Gazette office moved to the corner Francis and May Streets in 1875, then burned in May 1880—unfortunately for historians, all back issues were lost. The new office would continue to serve the business into the 1960s. It later moved to Colborne Street, near the Bank of Montreal. E.D. Hand operated the Gazette until he retired at age 84 in August 1915, selling the business to J.J. Lee.

Ray Handley grew up in Burnt River, where his ancestors farmed, while operating saw and shingle mills. His father Joseph Handley Jr. bought Fred Chambers’ sash and door factory in Fenelon Falls, which allowed him to dress lumber for sale. In 1937, the company bought a tractor trailer so they ship their lumber more efficiently to Toronto. As a boy, Ray became best friends with Chester Godwin, and they would spend countless hours together for the rest of their lives, whether at work or the masonic lodge.

In 1945, Joe passed away, as the business transferred to Mattie, then Ray. Before long, Fenelon Falls residents grew accustomed to seeing Ray and Chester working side by side, as they sold lumber from a small building beside the Helen Street mill. They were both hardworking and made an effort to look after their customers. In an era when people did not watch television, neighbours often gathered to tell stories about the people they knew. Many tales around Fenelon Falls involved Ray Handley. Before long, many people had a hard time distinguishing the larger-than-life Ray, from the man who spent every day at the lumber yard with his work clothes on. Ray earned a reputation by telling people exactly what he thought. Some people may have found his openness and honesty off putting, but he could be very generous, and helped many young people get started.

Many customers would never forget Ray’s accounting system. At the beginning of the day, Ray and Chester would empty their pockets and count how much money they had. They would do the same at the end of the day, and the difference would be what they ‘made.’ When someone made a purchase, Ray would pull out his brown leather wallet, typically containing a thick wad of bills (back in the days of $1 and $2 bills).

Initially, Handley Lumber sold lumber that they cut themselves, much of it originating around Burnt River or Crystal Lake. However, beginning around 1960, stamped lumber became mandatory, and Handley’s did not transition to grading lumber. As the years passed, Handley Lumber became a building centre, retailing an ever-increasing variety of materials to keep up with changing construction standards. For years, Handley Lumber produced many wooden windows in the planing mill, but it has become more economical to purchase windows manufactured in a factory, as the volume of sales has drastically increased. Ray continued as company president until he died in 1999. Then the business passed to his four sons. Today, Handley Lumber, now in its fourth generation, is operated by Ray’s grandson, Chris.

Image: Ray Handley and Chester Godwin in front of the Handley Lumber sales building

Myrtle worked as a milliner for J.A. McDougall before opening her own hat business, that operated from 1902 to 1928. She and Rachel McFarland made hats to suit on site, and both were devoted members of Fenelon Falls United Church.

To the end of the nineteenth century, the lakes of South Central Ontario were typically just called the Trent Valley, which was assured a place in the Canadian English-language public, because of the never-ending political lobbying to get the Trent Canal built. Once the region was served by railways, tourism became practical. The Muskoka Lakes were already a successful destination, and if the Trent Valley had a similar handle, the Grand Trunk Railway would promote the region alongside the Muskoka Lakes, ensuring that many more visitors would come.

The Trent Valley Navigation Company (who hoped to profit because tourists would need their steamships to get around the region), Bobcaygeon Reeve Albert Edward Bottum and Bobcaygeon Independent publisher Charles Stewart set out to create a new name as the new century began. These promoters hoped to capitalize on the international fascination with indigenous peoples to maximize the appeal of the region. So, they travelled to Curve Lake and asked their friend Martha Whetung to propose a name. She suggested Ka Wasa (Ka = Water, Wasa = Shining). By the time they got back to Bobcaygeon it had become Kawatha. They sent the name off to the Acme Marketing Company of Buffalo (Looney Tunes fans may appreciate that there really was an ACME), who added the ‘r.’ Before long there were brochures all over North America, which employed much creative licence to transform the region into a pristine, natural, health resort. By this time, “Kawartha” was translated as “bright waters and happy lands.” Many locals could see how exaggerated the claims were and that Kawartha was not actually a word, but there was no doubting the effectiveness of the advertising campaign.

Within a few years the Trent Valley had become the Kawarthas, a popular destination for visitors from throughout North America. The Trent Valley Navigation Company quickly found that despite the influx of visitors, offering a coordinated network of steam transportation was not profitable, especially as gas powered motor boats appeared, and the railway reached Bobcaygeon, so they folded. But a trip through the beautiful lakes on one of their white paddlewheelers, adorned with maple woodwork and red plush seats was the original iconic image of the Kawarthas.

For her help, Martha Whetung received free passage for life on Trent Valley Navigation Company steamers. She died just as the company was winding up, and its manager, W.T.C. Boyd donated her tombstone.

Garnet Graham grew up in Kinmount and entered adulthood just before the Great Depression began. His father became the general manager of the Gull River Lumber Company’s sawmill in Coboconk, and arranged for young Garnet to work in the mill. It was dangerous and deafening work, that Garnet did not enjoy, so he became a truck driver. He married Helena Burgoyne, who was from a Fenelon Falls merchant family—much to her family’s chagrin. Instead of a delivery driver, they had hoped that she would marry an insurance agent.

One day, Garnet had a chance encounter with a Confederation Life executive, who instantly liked the young delivery driver, and signed him up to be an insurance salesman. Garnet was a restless soul—always on the go, always doing something productive, and became a tremendously successful representative for Confederation Life, winning many awards for his sales. So, it turned out in the end, that Helena did marry a very successful insurance salesman, just her mother did not live to see it happen.

Garnet loved magic tricks, and he would walk into customer’s homes or bars with his tricks in hand. He particularly liked the Yip Stick, that Dick Bulmer showed him one day. Before long, his customers remembered him for his antics, as much as the life insurance policies he sold. He would entertain families, as he checked in to see if they had thought to take out a policy on their latest child. Even when he was an insurance agent, he was deeply interested in supporting his community and donated to local causes.

When Garnet retired from selling insurance at age 65, he continued to work just as hard as he had during his career. He turned his attention to improving his community and entertaining friends. Garnet became known as Mr. Yip, and by the 1980s, he had turned the Yip Stick into the most popular souvenir of a visit to Fenelon Falls. One year he sold more that 1000 yip sticks, donating all proceeds to local charities—supporting practically every good cause in town. He spent many days at the beach park and his garage next door, which he called “Ye Olde Curio Shope.”

His other favourites tricks included a snapper that he called a “Goes-Into,” a 3-piece chicken dinner for $1 (consisting of 3 pieces of corn to feed a chicken) and antique water (a bottle said to contain the actual water that Champlain paddled on, nearly four centuries before). His side-kick Bobby Beau (pronounced “Boo”) was a black terrier-poodle that could climb trees and add. Garnet would ask what’s two plus two and Bobby would bark four times. In honour of all his charitable work, the beach park, where he had spent so much time entertaining families was named in his honour.

Mossom Boyd’s father served in the British Army in India, then at age 14 both his parents died of cholera, leaving him and his sister Anne in the care of guardians in London. He later recalled, “I was intended for the army & was only waiting about to be sent to India,” when at age 19, he went to visit a friend, John Darcus, “a wild reckless but clever fellow, something like a storm in his flighty ideas.” Arriving at Darcus’ clearing on the north shore of Sturgeon Lake, he was taken aback by what he found. This dandy, who was known for his foppishness, looked very different than in the old country: “His ragged shirt & pants, his close cut hair, face all red with gored blood from mosquito bites. … I felt like turning back but he insisted on my stopping a week with him, which I did.” Boyd decided to stay, started his own clearing, then took a job working for Thomas Need who owned the recently constructed mills at Bobcaygeon.

When Mossom Boyd arrived in the upper Trent valley, there were many younger sons of British elites who were looking to create estates in the region. Boyd was an orphan, and he did not have the same social pretentions. He was frequently, though not always, absent from the Sunday teas, chess matches and outings of the University Club members—graduates of Oxford or Cambridge. But he knew how to work! He developed a reputation as being an extremely industrious, determined, meticulous, hard-driving man who got things done. He would become the only one of these aspiring young Sturgeon Lake gentlemen to make a sustainable livelihood in the community.

When Need returned to England, Boyd took over the management of his mills. In 1848 he ran his first raft of timber to Quebec, only to arrive in the year of the greatest recorded timber glut. Boyd always found a way to keep working, with business partners and Need’s generosity. Eventually, on September 2, 1869, more than thirty years after Need had first entrusted him with the mills—Boyd completed the purchase of his interest, which included the Village of Bobcaygeon.

Mossom Boyd rose to become one of the best-known and most successful timber barons in Canada. After the railway reached Lindsay and the colonies of British North America signed a Reciprocity Treaty with the United States, American lumber exports superseded the British timber trade as the primary market. Boyd did not own the largest sawmill in the region, but he found a way to succeed in a high-risk business, where many of his peers went bankrupt.

Boyd was never the same after suffering a stroke in 1880 and control of the business passed to his son Mossom Martin or Mossie Boyd. By the time he passed away in 1883, he owned Bobcaygeon and was one of the most powerful men in the district. The single-minded determination that made him so successful, made many people admire him or despise him. His family would live in a mansion, behind a stone wall, gated off from the rest of the community. Called ‘the Big House,’ it brought back the memory of the Big Houses back in Ireland. There were many Irish settlers around Bobcaygeon, and as had happened during the Protestant ascendancy on the other side of the ocean, one Briton ended up owning much of the land in the area and embodying local power. For generations, local families would talk about how cheap he was—that he would pay $1 for a wagon load of stone brought in from farms to build the walls around his home. (In fairness to Boyd, for $1 the farmer could then purchase a load of mill culls, it was trading one waste product for another). In another famous incident, he effectively decided that Bobcaygeon’s wharf was for his business, and stacked so much lumber on it that others could not use it. All the government could do was encourage him to move his mill to another location, further from the downtown. Love him or hate him, there was no denying that Mossom Boyd had risen from being an orphan to become Bobcaygeon’s dominant businessman.

Hendrikus “Drikus” (Harry) van Oudenaren was born in Holland in 1924. Raised by his older siblings, he was practically an orphan, and trained to be a machinist as a teenager. When he was 16, his country was invaded by the Germans. When he turned 18, he was required to go to a compulsory labour camp. Often hungry, he survived having the camp bombed by American air force, then was liberated when his guards fled before they would have been captured by the advancing Russians. He made his way home across Germany, encountering the naked survivors of a concentration camp en route. His experience of living through the war persuaded him to leave Europe: “I had made a commitment to myself that if there was ever another war, I would be on the opposite side of the world.”

Harry arrived in Bobcaygeon on Thanksgiving Day, 1950 to work at Cecil Pogue’s garage knowing only one line of English: “Good day sir, nice to meet you.” A neighbour from Holland had told him that Canadians would have a hard time pronouncing his name. He was eager to fit in, so he became Harry. Though he knew little English at first, Harry committed to speak English even at home, and soon became fluent. He joined Trinity United Church, made many friends and remembered the stories that people told him. His neighbour Dorothe Comber shared his interest in Bobcaygeon—they both enjoyed learning about the village’s history. As he fixed people’s cars, Harry became a keeper of his community’s heritage.

In 1975, Harry began to collect historical postcards. Within a year he had amassed enough images that he was able to give a slideshow at Trinity to celebrate the village’s anniversary. As he gave more presentations, people would share their photographs with him and Dorothe left him her collection when she passed away. Often hearing that he should publish a book, in 1992 he released Bobcaygeon: A Picture Book of Memories. For decades, Harry van Oudenaren developed a reputation as the man who did more than anyone else to keep the history of Bobcaygeon alive. Because of Harry’s countless hours of labour, the community has a significant pictorial record, which now resides at Kawartha Settlers Village.

When James Wallis built Maryboro Lodge, he literally owned the town and so could choose any site he wanted. Ever since the building has marked the entrance to the Fenelon River from Cameron Lake. By the early twentieth century, the railway had been built through the parkland that had once been part of his estate, but also brought many visitors to the community. The park west of the railway (now the south end of Garnet Graham Park) was the village’s tourist camp. Beginning in 1913, three sisters, Belle, Tilly and Kate Abbott operated Maryboro Lodge as a tourist lodge, with guest cabins and a tennis court on the grounds. These three sisters never married and many people referred to them collectively as the Misses Abbotts.

The Abbott Sisters were devoted members of Fenelon Falls Baptist Church, and were very proper ladies, which suited many of their visitors. Their first guest was the village’s Presbyterian minister, Reverend C.S. Lord. Belle was remembered for her sense of humour. The Misses Abbotts worked very hard to ensure that their guests enjoyed their stay at Maryboro Lodge—in an era before they had electricity or running water. They had a hand pump for water, did laundry by hand and cooked over a woodstove—particularly in summer, when the lodge was its busiest.

When visitors came to Maryboro Lodge, they often spent time enjoying summer on the porch overlooking the river. To be gracious hosts, the Abbott Sisters often served tea with their homemade cookies. One of their favourite recipes was Gem Gems—two sugar cookies with a jam filling between. They also served lunches and dinners at their lodge. After Kate passed away in 1922, Belle and Tille carried on the business. As they aged, they were very slender ladies, who were often quiet and wore proper dresses—which were old fashioned by the 1950s. At first glance, some younger visitors with a vivid imagination took them to be ghosts.

Belle and Tilly Abbott operated Maryboro Lodge as long as they could manage. When they had to move to Waterman’s Nursing Home in 1958, their nephew Milburn Kelly believed that the building should become a museum, and transferred it to the village on that condition. In 1963, Maryboro Lodge became a museum, which has carried on the Abbotts tradition of hosting tea. As long as she was able, Milburn’s wife, Freda, regularly walked to attend tea at the museum—right up until the pandemic—she was almost 100 years old at the time. In memory of the Abbott sisters, Maryboro Lodge Museum has tea and cookies for visitors. Afternoon Tea, one of the village’s oldest social traditions, is Wednesdays between Canada Day and Labour Day from 1 to 4 pm.

Susannah was expecting when she arrived in Verulam Township in 1833. Daughter Maria became the new community’s first child. The family survived the trials of farm creation, and Susannah later became one of the few original settlers to be photographed.

In the late nineteenth century, most Canadians were farmers and there was an expectation that practically all land would ultimately become farmland. The conversion to farmland happened quickly in much of southern Ontario, but stalled on the fringe of the Canadian Shield. Ontario was not dissuaded, and created Colonization Roads to open up the region for agriculture. It laid out townships well into northern Ontario, far beyond what had any hope of becoming family farms.

James Dickson of Fenelon Falls was one of the surveyors hired to lay out the Nipissing District. He also served as the village’s reeve and was an articulate gentleman, who also happened to be really interested in outdoor recreation. While he was slogging his way through the bush, trying to lay out straight lines through the forests of Algonquin Park, it was evident to him that the region could never support farm families, but was a place he would love to go hunting and fishing.

Dickson wrote a book, Camping in the Muskoka Region, that explained how wonderful the region was for outdoor recreation. Other advocates pushed the Ontario government to set aside land for conservation. When the Royal Commission on Game and Fish found that Ontario’s fish and wildlife were in imminent peril, Ontario scrambled to create a provincial game park. Perceiving that, just because a lot of people would enjoy a park, was not a justification that would fly in provincial politics, the cause was buttressed by the claim that it was necessary to set aside the forests at the headwaters of Ontario’s major rivers so that they could be maintained for commercial navigation.

The idea of creating a public nature park was not entirely new, Yellowstone had opened in 1872 and Banff (being Canada’s National Park) fifteen years later. The Commissioner of Crown Lands then wrote to Dickson for his opinion, who was of course enthusiastic. Dickson was given a seat on the committee that oversaw the park’s founding.

Given the chance to help create the Ontario’s Provincial Park, James Dickson had many ideas of how to make it succeed. He proposed a guide book, maps and marked trails. He suggested banning hunting in the park, reducing the wolf population to increase the number of deer, and stocking animals such as beavers. His ideas laid out what Algonquin Park would be when it opened in 1893.

Fenelon Falls’ first postmaster, Powles later farmed Lot 15 VIII, Fenelon. An avid gardener, he is remembered for his ability to graft fruit trees, along with his productive orchard and vineyard. Powles’ Corners is named in his honour.

Fenelon Falls Librarian from 1977 to 1993, Marg demonstrated a sincere, loving interest in the community she served. Story time at the public library was a much appreciated community event. An avid member of the local stamp club, Marg began collecting local postcards. After many years of devoted labour, she pulled together a remarkable archive of community images and memories, published as Fenelon Then & Now in 2000.  A woman of many talents, who willingly shared with the community, young and old.

Mossom Martin “Mossie” Boyd was the fifth of Mossom Boyd’s children. His father had come to Bobcaygeon as an orphan, and worked his way to become “the Lumber King of the Trent.” Mossie was born in 1855, and grew up as his father’s business was becoming one of the most successful lumber companies in Canada. By the time his father passed away in 1883, Mossie’s brother Gardiner, and brothers-in-law James Irwin and John MacDonald helped to market the produce in the United States through associated companies. But the supplies of timber tributary to the Bobcaygeon mill were finite.

After the death of two men heavily involved in marketing the lumber (Christie Johnson, 1891 and John MacDonald, 1892) Mossie and his brother Willie had to raise the money to pay off MacDonald’s share of the company’s capital. They decided to reduce the scale of operations at Bobcaygeon. Later they founded the Cowichan Lumber Company in British Columbia.

While Mossie’s father had run the rivers with the rafts of timber, Mossie had more time to pursue his interests. In 1883, he partnered with Willie and John to found the Trent Valley Navigation Company, which operated an integrated steamship transportation network. In that era, most people were farmers, literally living off the fruits of their own labour, produced with little machinery. Finding ways to improve agricultural practice was seen as a great social good, and Mossie was interested in improving beef cattle.

Mossom had acquired Big Island (AKA Boyd or Chiminis Island), and Mossie would transform it into one of the most renowned farms in Canada. Initially, he had little experience with breeding fine cattle, so he wrote to Professor William Brown, of the Ontario School of Agriculture at Guelph, who suggested he work with some of the most renowned breeders. After briefly breeding Shorthorns (which were then much appreciated for their ability to produce both beef and milk), he moved on to Angus cattle, along with Clydesdale and Percheron horses. The cost of his farming ventures was staggering—thirty of his finest cows might be worth more than the sawmill that had made his father into a millionaire. He sold off much of his herd at Chicago in 1888.

In 1893, while travelling in California, he encountered a buffalo (bison) bull named Napoleon Bonaparte, and believed that crossing Napoleon with domestic cattle would yield “radical improvement obtained in one cross; as much as, or more than, we could reasonably hope to effect in a century by the customary method of selecting.” Napoleon or Old Boney, as he was familiarly known, arrived in Bobcaygeon in 1894 and became a marvel. The buffalo and descendants were kept on Big Island, but could swim quite well. Mossie’s barn south of Bobcaygeon included a cupola, so his workers could track the animals. Unfortunately, the crossbreeding program did not prove successful, though after Napoleon passed away in 1896, his stuffed head hung in the Bobcaygeon Council chamber. Boyd then moved on to breeding the horns off Hereford Cattle, by intensively breeding freak polled animals. The Polled Hereford became one of the most popular cattle breeds in Canada. For his efforts, Mossie was elected to the Canadian Agricultural Hall of Fame in 1965.

Annie Sheila Boyd was the youngest daughter of Mossom Martin and Ida Lillian deGrassi Boyd. Her grandfather, the first Mossom Boyd of Bobcaygeon, had come over as an orphan and risen to become one of Canada’s best known timber barons. By the time Sheila was born in 1894, the Boyd family owned the village and lived in ‘the Big House’ behind a stone wall. Lumber operations at Bobcaygeon were waning, and the following year the Boyds bought a mill at Cowichan on Vancouver Island, moving operations west.

Because she was born into such a successful family, Sheila had a private tutor as a girl, but it was expected that she would grow up, marry and raise a family, so she was not given the same kind of education as her brothers, who became engineers. She was engaged, but broke it off when her father died in 1914. She felt, as the youngest daughter, that she should stay home with her mother.

Sheila enjoyed the time she had together with her mother. They travelled together extensively throughout Europe, purchasing art, clothing and other treasures. They both were intrigued with motor cars and purchased a variety of automobiles. When overseas they would often buy a vehicle and sell it before returning home. They lived together in the Big House until Lillian died in 1942. Sheila continued to be part of the residual of the Boyd Empire, going to see the cattle at the farm and looking after the family estate. By then, her brothers had moved on. Sheila lived alone, in a small corner of the mansion, surrounded by its beautiful stone walls, a symbol how prominent her family had once been.

Sheila loved to travel and paint. Many Bobcaygeon residents would remember seeing Miss Sheila happily setting out in her 1952 Woody Wagon to paint the landscape of the Kawarthas. She painted for the joy it brought her, and was happy to share this with her community. The former offices of the lumber office were across the road from her home, and she donated them to the village to house the library. She built an addition on the library, which became her art room, where she taught art and brought in other artists to provide painting instruction. She curated art exhibitions in this gallery. Her generosity allowed the A. Sheila Boyd Foundation to be set up, to maintain this building for her community.

Byron Martin grew up on his family’s farm that was located on the road between Fenelon Falls and Bobcaygeon. Because his mother died when he was 8, he and his brother Wallace came to rely on each other. They would live beside each other, sharing and co-operating throughout their working lives. Their farms were best known for their maple syrup. Initially their customers were their neighbours, but their business grew until they were selling maple syrup worldwide. Their maple syrup became a very memorable part of Bobcaygeon.

In 1942, Byron married Kathleen Lee, whose family owned the creamery in Bobcaygeon. They both loved sports and supporting their community. Byron liked to help at the old Bobcaygeon arena, when it was located on King Street. His father was a longtime Verulam Township Councillor, Clerk and Treasurer, and he inherited a sense of community service. When the community began to fundraise to build a new rink, Byron organized a fair on Bolton Street. He helped to build the arena, and once it was completed, he was still there helping out at the rink.

For the rest of his life, Byron was a fixture at the Bobcaygeon Area. In the era before television, just about everyone came out to community events. In Bobcaygeon, Friday night was Junior ‘D’ Hockey, and the rink was packed with fans. The Bible Conference was also popular, as were movie nights, roller skating and dances. Many locals called the arena Foxy Martin’s Den—it seemed like he was always there.

Byron was a bit of a trickster, and it was often said that you were never sure if you should take him seriously or not. When he wasn’t at the arena, he was often volunteering for the Anglican Church, Fair, Fiddle and Step Dance Contest, Curling Club, or helping his brother on the farm. For everything Byron Martin did to help Bobcaygeon—earning him Citizen of the Year for 1982—he was best remembered as the face of the arena. For most Bobcaygeon residents, the two were inextricably linked. When he passed away in 2010, after the church service, the procession headed to the arena, where someone turned out all the lights. It was a fitting tribute to the man who had such a great impact on the community centre for so many years.

As a boy, Ingvar Skoog was always interested in furniture, designing his first stool when he was fourteen. He would make a career out of creating simple, functional pine furniture in a Scandinavian style. He stared out in Slatte, Sweden with a factory named Slatte Mobler (mobler=furniture). By the 1960s, he was operating SwedFurn in Toreboda. This 25,000 square metre factory was making 300 swivel chairs and 65 upholstered sofas per day that sold in Sweden, Norway, Great Britain and North America.

Ingvar’s former salesman Jan Fenelius moved to North America, and contacted his old employer about setting up a factory in Canada. Ingvar was interested and in 1974, purchased Fenelon Falls’ former Allen Wood Products factory. At first, this factory was a distribution centre for product made in Sweden. His furniture was very fashionable in this era, selling through retailers like Sears, Simpsons, Hudson’s Bay, Mobilia, Nordic Craft, Scandinavian Design, Eaton’s, Idomo and Ikea. Typically, the furniture did not have markings to identify it as SwedFurn, Fenelon Falls, but it was commonly featured in the catalogues of these national retailers. The old cement block factory near the shore of Cameron Lake was painted blue and yellow, like the Swedish flag, reopening in January 1975. The Swedish factory closed in the 1980s.

Some of the former Allen Wood Products employees returned to work for the new company. In contrast to the strict regimen of years past, Ingvar and Maud were remembered for their warmth, and making their agreements with a handshake. Jan once again travelled as a salesman. Maud visited upholstery factories in Toronto to select fabrics. In the 1980s, the business grew closer to Fenelon Falls’ other furniture factory, Rosedale Furniture, which Jan briefly owned. The Skoogs sold their business to Folke and Bjorn Alfredsson (Rosedale Furniture) in 1984. Six years later, when Rosedale Furniture ran into financial difficulties, the Skoogs reacquired the old Allen Wood Products factory.

Ingvar and Maude named their new company Swed Design, which also had a retail component—SwedFurn had been wholesale. Ingvar passed away in 1999, then Maud carried on the business with her sons Chris and Daniel. But things were not the same without Ingvar’s interest in designing furniture. By the beginning of the new millennium, fashions had changed and the company faced competition from factories overseas, where the cost of labour was lower.  The factory closed, then burned in 2001. Though the factory is now the site of a condominium, SwedFurn’s cottage furniture has a lasting appeal to it. Many local residents still appreciate what SwedFurn created.

Fenelon Falls’ self-identified “Bad Ass,” Jim had a sense of humour that few who met him will ever forget. He had many careers (teacher, school board trustee, handyman, worker at Allen Wood Product), but is particularly remembered as the local animal control expert. He had a unique ability to befriend a skunk and carry it outside without getting sprayed. During one school board meeting, he famously showed up with a bottle of wine and started drinking to question the appropriateness of allowing alcohol at school dances.

Bobcaygeon’s energetic librarian exhibited a zest for life that few could match. She helped her husband Don farm, being the last family to pasture Big/Boyd Island, and was active in the Ontario Hereford Association. She authored multiple local history works, including Timber Empire and The Bad Luck Bank Robbers. Even in her eighties, she was still hiking across Scotland. She touched everyone she knew, and was an inspiration to many friends and neighbours.

A very popular minister, Walter led a large youth group from St. Andrew’s Fenelon Falls and Knox Glenarm. His followers remembered looking up at the stars with him and learning about the constellations. As a bomber navigator over Germany during the Second World War, his plane was hit and lost its navigational equipment. He managed to find his way back to England flying by the stars.

Born into the large Verulam township family, Joe stood out as a goaltender in minor hockey and for the Bobcaygeon Bobcats, then went on to play for the New York Golden Blades of the WHA and Boston Bruins. He was a hero to many local boys growing up.

One of the last traditional blacksmiths in Victoria County, Melrose had a shop at his home farm near Bury’s Green. He loved working with horses, and his neighbours looked forward to bringing their teams to be shod or implements for repair. He always had a story to share.

The last Reeve of the Village of Fenelon Falls, Roger Bellwood enthusiastically backed countless proposals to improve the community. He spearheaded efforts to create the Community Centre and Langton Gallery, while volunteering to help practically every organization in town. As a mechanic, he loved restoring old cars, which inspired Memory Lane Motors. As a politician, he liked to say, “it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

An All-Star defenceman, Allan won four Stanley Cups with the Toronto Maple Leafs before retiring to the Beehive near Bobcaygeon, where he operated the golf club and resort, while founding a waterfront community. He helped organize the Byrnell Manor Hockey Camp, which allowed local youth to learn the game from NHL stars like Pierre Pilote and Dennis Hull.

Doc Bill operated a Fenelon Falls physicians’s office, while also making house calls round the clock. Starting out before public medicare, he treated patients for free when they could not afford his services, and made house calls round the clock. For a generation, Doc Bill delivered practically every child in town.

Jack operated Van’s Groceria in Fenelon Falls, where he typically served customers from the meat counter, slicing off whatever cut a customer desired.  A devoted fire fighter for 51 years, when the fire bell rang, he is remembered for running out of the store, racing down the street to the fire hall.

Fenelon Falls remembers Fred as the ever pleasant and helpful Home Hardware owner, working there for 50 years. He volunteered for a great many community organizations, including baseball, curling the Hydro Commission, and as a volunteer fire fighter.