"Black Bill" Affleck

""Black Bill". A lumber camp foreman, then farmed W.1/2, Lot 15, Conc.V at Middleville. Long-time president, Lanark Twp Agricultural Society. Buried at Middleville."

-- source: "The Ottawa Valley Afflecks"

William B. "Black Bill" Affleck was born in 1845, at, Lanark, .1 He was the son of Robert II Affleck and Mary Grant Borrowman.1 William B. "Black Bill" Affleck was Also long time president of the Lanark Twp. Agricultural Society. between 1868 and 1920, at Lumber camp foreman while he farmed, , Lanark, .

William B. "Black Bill" Affleck married Sarah Mitchell on 25 December 1868, at LANARK ONTARIO.1 William B. "Black Bill" Affleck married Mary G. Rodger, daughter of Henry Rodger and Janet "Jessie" Stead, in 1903.1 William B. "Black Bill" Affleck died in 1924, at, Lanark,

WILLIAM BORROWMAN AFFLECK (1845-1924) by Amanda Affleck Locke

SPRING, 1976. It is now forty years since I resided in Lanark County, where my father, William Borrowman Affleck, lived for most of his life and where he died when I was fifteen years of age. After much searching, little of a documentary nature has been found on which to base a biography - so that the following has been compiled chiefly from the recollections of those who knew him well. The passing years have not dimmed the great esteem which his nearest and dearest held for him, so if some of this biography sounds boastful or prejudiced, let me admit from the outset that I consider my father to have been an outstanding man of his time. In William Borrowman Affleck's time it was necessary to acquire a multiplicity of skills in order to make a satisfactory living in Lanark County. My father not only acquired many such skills but' practised them with great dexterity.

Cousin Hugh Affleck of Peterborough, Ontario has made a most significant contribution to the Affleck connection by preparing a family tree which he regards as never completed bur always open to verified corrections or additions. In the same fashion this biography is open for correction of errors or embellishments, provided they are signed.

WILLIAM BORROWMAN AFFLECK, born October 7, 1845, was the third child of Robert Affleck and his wife Mary Borrowman Affleck, both of whom had emigrated from Scotland with their parents in .the Scottish Settiement of 1820. He was brought up on the family homestead (Se-Lot 14, Con. 5, Lanark Twp.) which in the 1890' s was acquired by Albert Affleck. This farm was subsequently worked by Albert's son Ralph. and is presently operated by Ralph's widow and sons. The earliest picture of William Borrowman Affleck is available from the comments of his older sister Marion ("Aunt Murn" Watt - Mrs. Robert Watt, 1841-1938) copied by me in December, 1930:

". . . BROTHER WILL WAS a gritty youngster. He started to school at four years of age and was seated with Johnny Reid. When they whispered, Teacher Ellen Johnston would knock their heads together. I used to make a clatter with my slate to distract Teacher's attention from little Will ... His first, and much-treasured. book was 'Robinson Crusoe,' bought by his mother. However, Brother Will liked to follow tracks in the bush, while Brother Rob usually preferred to read in the house . . ."

The story is told that, at the age to twelve, Will went off to a lumber camp in the company of an uncle, possibly to Hastings or Renfrew County, but more probably to Quebec. After they had settled in their bunks for the night, and sweaty socks were steaming by the dying fire, some French Canadians continued to chatter in their native tongue. The novice lumber jack was convinced that these men were plotting to kill him and his uncle! No teen-age stories are recalled, except that when he left his parental home to seek fame and fortune, or an honest living, in a lumber camp, he was given a team of colts and fifty cents to pay for overnight lodging. A tin type of a handsome youth of nineteen is presently and proudly displayed here in a Daguerreotype case. He wears an apparently homemade homespun three-piece suit, with white handkerchief, white shirt and necktie.

In 1867 or 1868. William Borrowman Affleck married Sarah Mitchell, and purchased the W1 of Lot 15. Con. 5. Lanark Twp., a farm now owned by Mrs. Matt Somerville. His life followed a pattern adopted by many other local men. In winter he went shantying to earn a cash income. Crowded into the remaining months were the tasks required for the development of a farm: seeding and harvesting, the building of stone dikes topped by log fences, the erection of a fine new house complete with verandah and gingerbread trim and the building of a model banked barn. Tile draining of the land followed. The original log dwelling on the property stood a short distance to the north-east of the present house. Long after all other traces of this original dwelling were obliterated, hop vines continued to grow near the site. The new house was constructed by Samuel and Archibald Affleck, sons of William Borrowman Affleck's Uncle Archibald.

Sarah Affleck was destined to enjoy the new farm house for a few short years, as she died in 1894 at the age of forty-seven. A search for information about this fine lady has yielded little. Her late son, Boyd, has been quoted as saying that she possessed considerable literary ability, but that the life style available to Lanark County residents at that time didn't offer much opportunity for development in this field. Once, many years ago, I somewhat timidly asked my Aunt Amanda Affleck about my father's first wife, Sarah. My aunt recalled her as a woman of considerable religious fervour, a factor indirectly contributing to her early demise. On the occasion of some religious revival meetings taking place at Watson's Corners, Mrs. Sarah Affleck had walked the considerable distance there in order to attend. Heavy, cold rains had fallen, soaking the clothing of the worshippers. Sarah Affleck developed a severe chest infection, from which she never fully recovered. The precise origin on the Mitchell family has not been determined. It may be that they came from the lumbering district in Hastings County. A grandchild, Bessie Affleck Phinn, is said to resemble Sarah Affleck. My own recollection is of a large, framed portrait - the likeness of an intelligent, capable-looking woman. which hung on our parlour wall until after the death of my father in 1924, then went to the home of one of her daughters. My own mother. to her credit, appeared to feel no resentment because of the prominence given to the likeness of her predecessor.

At the time of Sarah Affleck's death, William Affleck's household comprised two teen-aged daughters, Jean and Hannah, and the three youngest boys, Boyd, Garnet and Clifford. The girls, for the time being, took up the household tasks and the boys continued their education. In addition to relatives, there were many kind neighbours and friends willing to assist this motherless household, in particular, David and Agnes Somerville, whose farm almost adjoined the Affleck property. Included in the Somerville household was Agnes's youngest sister, Mary Gillies Rodger. On October 6, 1903 (or 1904), William Borrowman Affleck and Mary Rodger were married at the Somerville home. To this union were born two daughters, Jessie Stead in September, 1905, and Amanda Grey [the present writer] in August, 1908. The family continued to reside on the farm until the passing of William B. Affleck in 1924 and the subsequent sale of the farm 1925, at which time the widow and daughters moved to an "improved" pioneer log house in the village of Middleville.

One may not write as one feels about parents. but I can state unabashedly that I have never ceased to feel highly honoured to have been born into the William B. Affleck home. My mother's outside interests were centred on the church. She was for many years a member of the Presbyterian Church Choir, and also served as a Sunday School teacher and as Secretary of the Women's Missionary Society. Mother's home-dyed, hand-hooked rugs were much admired, and were, indeed, a work of art. On a visit to Middleville after mother's death, Mrs. James Penman commentded to me: "You girls were always very well-rigged," (i.e. we were suitably and very adequately dressed, mother having been a dressmaker). Mrs. Penman further remarked, "The ladies of the W.M.S. could always count on a good meal when your mother entertained them." Granddaughter Jean Affleck Adamson recalls, "Your mother was quiet and deferred to your father. She was a good cook!" Certainly Mary Affleck was kindly and conscientious, and she harmed none. She passed away as unobtrusively as she had lived at our home in St. Thomas, Ontario on October 2,1944.

On one occasion I wondered to Miss Jean Rankin, a lifetime resident of Middleville, whether my sister Jessie and t arriving as we did to rather elderly parents, might not have been considered something of a "mixed blessing." Miss Rankin vetoed this suggestion in no uncertain terms, and assured me that our father was tremendously proud of his dozen children!

My father maintained a progressive interest in farming methods. My sister Jessie recalls that he waged war perpetually on weeds, and that our farm was cited by an agricultural representative as one of the few in the county to be free of noxious weeds. Dad's son-in-law, James C. Currie of Lammermoor, was amongst the first, if not the VERY first, to import dual-purpose Shorthorn cattle from Scotland. Father purchased from him a beautiful heifer calf by the registered name of "Barbara" - price, twenty-five dollars. "Barbara" is the cow whose picture, with her owner, may be seen elsewhere in the Museum. She was entered for R.O.P. testing. and carne close to leading her class of three-year olds. I think that she was top-producer at one point. After the birth of her second calf, "Barbara" developed mastitis, or what was commonly calied "milk-fever". Neither loving care nor the skill of several veterinarians could save her, so she succumbed almost at the height of her glory! This would have been almost thirty-five years prior to the discovery of antibiotics. A buyer from Western Canada had previously offered father $500.00 or a new Ford car for this animal, but he had scoffed at the suggestion that money might buy her! Her death was the nine-days wonder of the village, and my sister Jessie reflects that people spoke of her as though she had been a human being. Some records of animals in her strain are still in the possession of dad's grandson, Stewart Rodger of Rosetta. Ronald Currie comments to me that, "My dad always claimed some credit for that milk production record, although it was the tender and expert care of YOUR dad that made it possible."

My father was also intensely interested in sheep raising, and our farm was well adapted to this branch of agriculture. In the early days, father used to attend all the local Fall Fairs to judge sheep and cattle. Later, this function was taken over by graduates from Agricultural Colleges. For some number of years, Dad estimated the lamb population of the area and on behalf of the local farmers accepted bids from drovers. The crop went to the highest bidder. A date was set and the stock was assembled at our farm. Hour after hour. wagon-loads of lambs arrived, were weighed out, and their producers paid in crisp bills. The lambs were then herded into a well-fenced pasture field for overnight. The following day they were driven, on foot, to Perth for shipment. It was a day of high excitement! But finally the sound of the last wagon wheel died away, darkness fell, and the lambs cried out in loneliness and fear, expecially the few who hadn't previously been weaned. This caused my sister and me to shed many a tear, although we could only vaguely understand their fate.

Apparently two records were kept of the weight of the lambs, I have in my possession one record, an old black leather-covered book. In it, in my father's handwriting are entered names of farmers who marketed their lambs in this fashion, with the weights of their crops. Included are: Dave Somerville, Harry Rodger, Chas. Easdale. T. Manson, R. Nairn. M. McKay. another H. Rodger, W. Rodger. J. Manson .... McKirdy, J. Somerville, A. McKay, R. S. Rodger, T. Miller, David Boyle, D. S. Rodger, J. Yuill, J. C. Currie. J. Paul, J. Willson, C. Craig, James Rankin, R. Somerville, Robert Barr, John Mather and W. B. Affleck. In the same black book are records of land surveys, for in the early days, Dad had assumed this responsibility.

My sister Jessie has some recollection that sometimes, prize monies from our sheep and cattle paid our property tax. and she still cherishes some special prizes won. She also recalls that father was skillful at "doctoring" sick or injured animals.

I understand that our versatile and energetic Dad also had to do with organizing an "egg circle" for the co-operative grading and marketing of eggs. When feed crops were insufficient. a "farmers' club" in which he was interested used to purchase railway car loads of feed. My sister Jessie recalls that teams of horses with wagons or sleighs would transport the feed from Perth to the various farms. From Agnes Yuill comes the information thaI' the late William B. Affleck was President of the Lanark Township Agricultural Society for eight years, from January, 1908 until December, 1915. It was during his second year in office that the Dining Hall was built. Agnes comments, "While the credit for the Hall was due to all the members of the Directorate, I do know that Mr. Affleck spent much time. supervising its construction. and was most likely interested in the financial end of the venture -- his Scottish background allowed for no unnecessary waste of either time or materials." I recall an engraved silver (or gold) headed cane, a gift from the society, doubtless presented at the time of his retirement from office. Attached is a photostatic copy of a now yellowish letter, addressed to "Mrs. William B. Affleck" in the exquisitely beautiful, free-hand writing of the late Mr. Archibald Rankin. It is a letter written on behalf of the Agricultural Society to the family at the time of my father's death, expressing appreciation for the work which Dad hadl carried out for the Society. Attached also are copies of three other letters from the nineteenth century which have somehow been preserved. The earliest, dated January 1883. was the joint effort of three members of the family of Henry Rodger. namely: Agnes (later Mrs. David Somerville), Mary (later Mrs. William B. Affleck), and Robert Henry, to, their married sister "Jen" (Mrs. Andrew Baird) residing in Hopelown. It provides some insight into the country life of that period.

The second letter, dated September, 1887, is a letter of recommendation given to my father by Boyd Caldwell on the occasion of his leaving the employ of the Caldwell lumbering concern. Bill and Margaret Croft claim that Dad was a foreman for the Croft Lumber Co. in the Renfrew area in 1881, but this date appears to conflict with Mr. Caldwelts record. The last letter. dated December. 1899, is from a John Ferguson, requesting my father to view timber limits in the Capreol area and to estimate the cut.

Aunt Mum Watt had the following story of Dad's logging activities dating from the days when she lived in Lanark near the banks of the Clyde River. It seems two erstwhile river drivers were loafing and smoking on the shore. One was heard to remark. "Things had to move when Affleck was boss." The rejoinder was, "Yes, but he never said 'go!' - it was always 'Come on boys!'" In Aunt Murn's eyes, "Brother Will" could do no wrong.

The following are comments of William B. Affleck's grandchildren, some of whom knew their grandfather and others who recollect having been I-old of him. ALL WERE WARNED THAT THEY MIGHT BE QUOTED.

William Affleck of Oshawa. son of Nelson Affleck, knew his grandad and recalls some stores of strength and daring. Firstly it was claimed that Dad could lift a barrel of salt pork and put it on his shoulder. Secondly. Dad once killed a black bear with an axe. Presumably he was following a woodland trail and had the misfortune to come between a mother bear and her cubs, thus posing a threat to them. He quickened his pace on the trail, the parent bear in pursuit. Becoming winded, he dodged behind a tree and struck the bear with his axe as she came by on the trail. I find this story sad, but prefer that it ended with the death of the bear rather than of my father! Bill Affleck further remembers his grandfather as having reddish hair as did another relative. So his tenacious nickname of "Black Bill" remains a puzzler.

Marion Affleck Baldock of Port Hope, daughter of Grant Affleck, on only slight acquaintance, considered her grandfather to be a very hard-working, no-nonsense type of man. Her sister, Jean Affleck Adamson of Ottawa writes, "My memories of your father and mother . . . both of them were kind and hospitable. Like most people of his day, your father didn't have the opportunity of going very far in school, but he was a great reader and was very well informed. He was a good talker, and could discuss many topics in an interesting way. I had the impression of him as appearing rather stern, and he was certainly the boss of his family, but was kind-hearted. Your mother was quiet and deferred to your father. She was a good cook!" (Incidentally, my father did return to Middleville School for a period, and for special study, when some of his children in attendance were as tall as he).

Jean Adamson's remarks seem to bear out a persistent impression emanating from the West Coast. that Lanark County women, at least in the first,quarter of the 20th century, were considered to be second-rate citizens very much dominated by the male members of the family. This is an interesting opinion. Perhaps such a tendency prevailed, although never did I hear any complaints in this regard. I do believe that the ladies of that period were generally well-content with their status. Still, in support of this charge of male dominance another story comes to mind. I was reared in a household of five - my father, mother, half-brother Clifford, sister Jessie, and myself. Always, without fail, pies were cut in the same proportion as petals of a pansy blossom, i.e. two large sectors, and three smaller ones. Little need to explain this division - of course, the two larger pieces were for the men, even though calories were of small consideration. Not until I had grown up and left the home nest did it occur to me that pies might be cut in any other fashion.

Ronald Currie, of Carleton Place, writes about Dad: "He was a good deer hunter, and enjoyed the fall hunt right up to the last years of his life. I remember when Grandfather Affleck used to come to our place to visit; he and my father used to exchange hunting stories which Ken and I would sit and listen to in wonder. I guess I inherited my love of deer hunting from my grandfather, as well as from my own Dad."

Stewart Rodger comments: "I recall being at Grandpa's once to see the cattle, and also recall him being here once, early in the morning, with a transit instrument, on his way to survey a road around Penman's Hill on the 8th line, a road which is still being used. Another thing I do recall indelibly. When Mother and Dad were out, Grandpa slipped me a five dollar bill, and then sternly remarked, "Now, don't go and spend if foolishly on something like a bicycle.' I suppose he WALKED down! Well, with that much money around, I couldn't sleep! You can imagine at my age (7 or 8) in those days $5.00 must have been the equivalent of $1.000, tax free, today. Ken Currie was then a teller in the Bank of Nova Scotia at Lanark. so I asked him to open an account for me. I still have that pass book (# 2232), it is dated May 14, and for several years only entries were interest - the first of such entires being one cent! Working back from the appearance of the first year given, it would seem to have been May 14, 1923. P.S. - I let my own dad buy me a bicycle!"

In our childhood, my sister Jessie and I also had bank accounts. Our chief source of revenue was prize money from school fairs, plus an occasional piece of silver, slipped to us by departing guests. These guests were numerous and often unexpected, as for a number of years it was Dad's practice to go into Middleville each day at noon to pick up his copy of the OTTAWA EVENING CITIZEN. During that time. Middleville was without a public eating place, so Dad would bring any stranger he encourtered in the village home with him to dinner, quite unannounced, of course. Mother always seemed to be able to cope with equanimity, even in those pre-refrigeration days. However acquired, our savings were accumulated until they totalled the impressive sum of five dollars. When this sum was achieved, our Dad would match it with another five dollars from his pocket. So for years the deposits were always the same - i.e. ten dollars. Well, was there a better way??

On my visit to Middleville in 1975, I contacted few pecple who could remember my father. Agnes Yuill, as mentioned before, kindly supplied records from the Lanark Township Agricultural Society. On a more personal level, she recalled one year when seed potatoes were extremely scarce, Dad offered them some small, really small potatoes, with the suggestion that they not use their crop for seed again. The season was favourable, and the harvest superabundant, both in quality and quantity. Perhaps only a Scotsman would have troubled to pick up such tiny potatoes.

During the same visit, Bill and Margaret Croft and I chuckled over some funny happenings of days long gone by. The Crofts ran a large general store and post office in Middleville, and by custom kept considerable cash on hand for the convenience of the neighbourhood, since it was quite some distance to the nearest bank. One day, word came to the village that there had been a robbery in Balderson, involving two strange men. They were believed to be heading towards Middleville in a horse and buggy. Would Croft's Store be their next target?? The village must be ready for them! It was told that all night long, William B. Affleck, William Mcintyre and James Bennie sat out at the front of the store with rifles at the ready, not to maim but certainly to frighten any would-be robbers. If Middleville had ever been the objective of the desperados, they must have had a change of heart, for the Middleville posse awaited them in vain.

The next story has a fanciful, Hallowe'en quality about it. It seems a well-known villager liked to dress as a ghost and terrorize people. On one very dark and chilly night, he chose to follow my father on his half-mile hike from the village of Middleville to our farmhouse. On discovering that he was being followed, my Dad quickened his pace. The ghost did likewise. At length, Dad broke into a run, the ghost following closely. At length, the pursued, feigning exhaustion, allowed his eerie pursuer to overtake him, but on being overtaken, suddenly wheeled about and ripped the sheeting disguise from a discomfited ghost! He who laughs last, laughs best; the humiliated ghost was then forced to retreat in very scanty attire through the village to his home. .

Another manifestation of my father's sense of humour occurred once during sugaring time. Our maple sugar bush was for the young fry of Middleville, but a pleasant hike away, so that when the trees were tapped and sap was running, we had many juvenile guests. Though sometimes gruff, my father was extremely fond of young folk. They were welcome to drink all that sweet nectar of springtime that they could hold. It was even permissible to carry home bottles full. There WAS, however, one stipulation: the sap buckets should be replaced on their spiles so that the precious life-blood of the trees should not be spilled on the ground. One season there had been repeated failures to observe this stipulation, until, one day, Dad called out to my brother Clifford, loud and clear, "GET ME MY GUN!" There followed a speedy exodus from the sugar bush and temporary respite from offenders. How Father's eyes would twinkle as he recounted this story!

Dad continued to make maple syrup -- such a sweet, thick, amber liquid ! - until the year of his demise. One spring's output would overlap the next, and there was always a treat for relatives or friends who lived far from maple sugar country. Once Dad gave a guest from Western Canada a gallon of new-crop syrup. I was asked to accompany the guest in his hired horse-and-buggy to Lanark village to assist in opening and closing farm gates. On reaching the public road, he gave me two dollars, for my help, as he said. I was dumbfounded and didn't know how to refuse it.

Maple sugar season was followed in time by the fishing season. Dad used to keep a small boat in a little bay. where, I suppose our own creek emptied into Baxter's Lake. Of necessity. a paddle was hidden close by the path. Dad loved to fish for pike on a cloudy summer's day. During school holidays, my sister Jessie and I were allowed to go along, but only "turn about", for, as he would remind us, he might manage to swim with one child if the boat overturned. but not with two clinging to him. These fishing trips were indeed fine treats, Fishing tackle was simple, but efficient. A cotton or linen fishing line was attached to a smoothly-whittled, rectangular cedar stick. scooped out in the middle to fit the hand, and at the ends to hold a line. At the for end was a float and hook. In preparation for the adventure. I would wrap some ginger jim-jams in a piece of newsprint. Although fraught with exciting moments fishing could also be tedious, hunger-producing work. Dad would fold up a gunny sack to contain our catch and we would set out, back our long lane which gave access to our various fields, through Peter Reid's pasture and Jim Dodd's swamp. Here Dad would catch and dispatch small frogs for bait. We were always joyously accompanied by Dad's hunting dog, Jack. Our trail was as direct as his was devious, for of course he must track down all tempting scents. At last there was the smell of water and aquatic plants. Short legs must step cautiously, as Dad held the boat still. After a few paddle strokes the whole expanse of the lake came into view. Slowly around the shallows Dad would paddle while we each held a line. Should my interest begin to falter. Dad would furtively give my line a little jerk, which would bring me swiftly back to the business at hand. When I would excitedly start to draw in my line he would grin, then I would know it had been he and not a fish that had been nibbling. I think that we ALWAYS caught fish, which made me happy, yet sad for the fate of the poor creatures. 1 would look the other way while Dad swiftly unhooked and dispatched the fish. He was not the type to leave them flopping around in the boat until death came to them. We iust caught the number which we could eat at the table, for we had no refrigeration. An occasional excess would be shared with my Aunt Amanda or the neighbours. The homegoing ritual was always the same. As we neared our moorings, Dad would paddle amongst the water lily pads so that I might pick a bouquet for Mother. Jack usually awaited us at the landing. having tired of trail-following. With gunny sack of fish slung over his shoulder, Dad would retrace his steps. The homeward path always seemed twice as long. I recall following in his footsteps and never looking up to see where we were. The journey somehow seemed shorter that way. Always the fish were dressed on the same scrubbed board, our White Wyandotte hens bustling up for their pickings. Followed a careful washing in spring water. then a feast of fish coated with seasoned flour. and gently fried, by my mother, in plenty of fresh dairy butter!

The winters on a Lanark County farm in the first quarter of this century were long and often lonely. Those who had automobiles winterized them by removing the battery and putting the car up on blocks, calculated to ease the strain on the tires. There was no radio nor T. V., of course, so families made their own fun. Sometimes there were supper invitations to neighbours. We would travel in a horse-drawn sleigh, the whole 'family being included. Some lengths of stove wood might be put to heat in the cookstove oven, later to be wrapped in newspapers and put on the hay-covered floor of the sleigh to keep toes warm.'

On a routine winter's evening. Jessie would do her school homework while Mother would knit socks by the light of the big Bull's Eye kerosene lamp, a hold-over from the nineteenth century. Dad would relax on the wide black leather-covered kitchen lounge, while I, being the youngest, might curl up beside him. There were favourite stories, oft repeated. but one which appealed to me more than all others. It went as follows: when I grew iust a little older, Dad and I were going to build a candy store on a certain height of land on our farm. (To this day. I can pin-point its location precisely). There would be showcases full of different varieties of candy: Humbugs, Bull's-eyes. Peppermints. Chocolate Dewdrops. etc., each in its allotted bin, closely resembling the arrangement in Mclntyre's store. I should "keep store" and it went without saying that I should have access to whatever sweets I should fancy. As for Mother or Jessie. should they come shopping, there was a bottle of Castor Oil and a spoon ready, high up on a shelf behind. I believed in these plans completely, and today I need only to close my eyes to see this candy store, down to the last detail!

Like all children, we were loathe to go upstairs at bedtime. My eyes would close in spite of my most strenuous efforts to keep them open, but I would protest that I wasn't sleepy, it was just that my eyes wouldn't stay up. At length, Mother would read our Sunday School lesson, we would say our prayers in unison at her knee. and then, small lamp in hand, she would escort us up to our bed, a deep feather bed, in what had been formerly known as "the boys' room" over the kitchen. A stovepipe from below entered through the floor, being encircled by a grill. This insulated the floor against overheating while also allowing warm air - and voices - to rise into the room. The comforting stovepipe rose until well overhead, then an elbow-turned and directed it into a chimney. While dressing we gathered about that warm black pipe and held our clothing around it, particularly if we had neglected to put our garments in bed with us to keep them warm for the morning.

One of Mother's evening chores was to make shavings for the morning fire. She would choose a dry, knot-free stick which split well and would ignite readily. Her implement was a draw knife, a "U" shaped tool with the blade as the base and the sides being the two handles. After supper, firewood was piled on the metal platform under the stove so that by the time the fire had died out for the night, the morning's wood would be thoroughly dry. Mother never considered it to be a hardship to rise early in the cold of the morning in order to get the house warmed for the rest of us.

Our drinking water was carried by our men folk in pails from a nearby spring-fed well. Rain water was collected in a stone cistern in the cellar and was drawn up to the kitchen by a hand-operated pump. A conservative supp Iy of warm water was provided by a reservoir at the end of the wood-burning kitchen range and was supplemented by the contents of a big nickle-plated tea kettle. In the spacious farm kitchen, an interesting, tall cupboard had been built into the wall above the high ash baseboard. This cupboard contained all manner of basic medicines for both human beings and livestock. The blue bottle of Laudanum (used for toothache) .was however stored with due respect in the big kitchen clock) well out of reach of little people.

Mother made butter (very excellent butter. so they said), which Dad hand-delivered on foot to our customers. One customer was Mrs. George Mather. who occupied the big brick "stopping place" at the Middleville village crossroads. The business in hand completed, Mrs. Mather would turn to me and in all seriousness inquire what religion I followed. I would, with equal gravity, reply that I was a PRESBYTERIAN. Why did Mrs. Mather always laugh so light-heartedly at my reply? Was it because she was a Congregationalist. or was it because in my pre-school years my enunciation left something to be desired? From the Mather home, I would go with Dad to the store across the street to spend my precious coin. The choice of this treat warranted long and careful consideration, but usually I selected one:of the colourful. all-day suckers - round and brilliant as the stained glass windows of our church. This candy-with-a-handle never really lasted for a whole day, but if one were sparing and removed it from one's mouth for short intervals, it might be made to last until the half-mile trudge home had been accomplished.

On occasion Dad would take me with him to visit a very good friend and neighbour, Peter Reid, who lived in a sturdy log home with his wife and only son, Wilfred. Mrs. Reid always had a cookie available for a little girl. In the archway between the "Butt and Ben" hung the most sumptuous, colourful beaded pincushion! I couldn't see it very well, for it hung rather high up and I was much too timid to ask Mrs. Reid to see it at closer range. I did, however, sincerely wonder if the day would come when I might own one, and I am happy to report that years later I did secure such a pincushion at an auction sale.

Sometimes on a moonlit evening, Dad and Mother would take Jessie and me to visit Uncle Dave and Auntie Aggie Somerville. During the growing season we would trace a zig-zag along fence rows; but before planting or after harvest we would cut across fields. We girls went barefoot in warm weather. Mother and Jessie would walk hand in hand, but being the Baby, I was often allowed to ride on my Father's shoulders. While he grasped my ankles. I would hug him tightly about the neck. So I have seen my Husband in his time carry our son, and so I expect have many generations of young fry been carried. I was no shirker at walking, however, for there were no school buses in the second decade of the twentieth century. Jessie and I walked faithfully to the Middleville school. Usually the main roads were hard-packed by farmers with sleighs, hauling cord wood or logs. However, if the path from our house to the public road had "drifted in", Dad, notwithstanding his seventy years, would lead the way and break a path for us.

Snow was a joy as well as a trial, however. One Christmastime, Jessie received a hand sleigh and Dad took us sleighriding. Sister had her proud new sled, while Dad took me on a homemade sleigh used to transport turnips from the root cellar to the vegetable chopper in the cow byre. We ran races, but the memory is of the joy of participation rather than of winning. Dad used to make beef-hide moccasions for us to wear in the winter. They were not as flexible as deer skin, but they kept out the dampness much better. A sharp awl was used to make the holes, waxed hemp served for stitching, while laces were thin strips of the hide.

Pictures of the Middleville Deer Hunters Club and trophies are still to be seen. What grand times the members had! I recall the deer carcasses being brought to our home to be further dressed and cut up. There was a gunny sack for each member of the Club - a sort of grab bag idea. Dad and Mother canned our share of venison, usually filling large two-quart sealers. The contents were so good when made into a venison pie! Mr. James Bennie tanned deer hides and Dad made everyday mitts from these. They were worn for outdoor winter work over heavy mittens which Mother had knitted. After a few days wear, they would take the shape of one's hand, thus becoming almost like lined mittens.

A pig was always raised for wintertime pork, and all sorts of table leavings were added to its regular diet in that earlier period. In late fall, when cool temperatures were assured, came pig-killing day. Uncle Jim Rodger was considered to be an expert at this rather gruesome business, so he would be engaged. A sinister-looking knife kept for this purpose was honed to razor-edge sharpness, the big cooper was filled with water and brought to the boil in prepartaion for scalding the carcass prior to scraping off the hair. Sister and I always hoped that we could be away from home on that traumatic day but sometimes this wasn't possible. I recall going to a spare bedroom on the side of the house furthest from the barn, drawing the blind, closing all doors 'and plugging my ears. Sister, similarly equipped with cotton wool, would then join me in dancing and singing our lustiest in the hope of drowning out the death squeals of the poor, unsuspecting pig. At first, in the depths of mourning, it was very difficult to down the meat - but as our grief subsided we scarcely associated the meat with the late pig and ate it with detached relish.

An earlier, and happier, autumn event was the "School Fair Day" for our area. We entered into as many competitions as possible, but our registered calves and our lambs were perhaps our special pride. Two prizes were offered, one for the best animal and the other for best showmanship. In the latter skill we had been well-briefed, and I once received two first prizes. Just after Red Ribbons had been presented, someone tooted a car horn close to the ring and my calf bolted! For a fleeting moment I had taken my hand away from the side of the calf's head, and found myself being led across the Fair Grounds, in exceedingly long steps. My beautiful pink hair ribbon went flying on a breeze and eventually I lost my grip on the end of the halrer. Some men came to my rescue and soon cornered the frightened calf, but oh the shame of it all for a proud first-prize winner! It was my last chance too, to exhibit Dad's cattle, for next autumn I was off to Lanark High School, and Father's health was beginning to fail him . . .

. . . We turn the clock ahead a decade. Dad's long, varied, and active career is drawing to a close as he fights a losing battle with cancer of the lip. The skills of the most learned cancer specialists of the period, and the devoted loving care of his family are to no avail. On July 4, 1924, William Borrowman Affleck passed away in the home which he had built less than a mile from his birthplace. To the foregoing store of homely reminiscences, selected at random from my storehouse of memories in an attempt to record a way-of-life that will soon be forgotten, I will add a number of stories, which I believe to be authentic, gathered on the occasion of a family reunion in Sarnia affer the death of Mrs. George Allen (née Jean Affleck, second daughter of Nelson and Annie Affleck) on April 30, 1976.

The Caldwells, for whom Dad worked, and the McLarens were contemporary and rival lumber companies in Lanark and Frontenac Counties of the 1870's. For their river drives, the McLarens had constructed the "Ragged Shutes" on the Mississippi River. Later, the Caldwells purchased timber limits on the Upper Mississippi and used McLarens' facilities to transport their logs. This practice stirred up a feud, with McLarens claiming exclusive rights to the water way, The STREAMS BILL, passed by the Ontario Government, legalized Caldwelts activities. In Federal Court, however. the provisions of this bill were disallowed. The dispute was then carried to the Privy Council in London, England. On March 6,1884, this court of highest resort sustained the Caldwell claim and "established the right of river usage to one party through improvements made by another." One of the witnesses to appear for the Caldwells was William B. Affleck, who had travelled to England for this purpose.

The Rev. George A. Affleck, D.D., recalls having been told that his Granddad had contracted to cut and deliver to Quebec City a specified volume of squared timbers. Presumably the negotiations were with the Caldwell Lumber Company. The project involved a winter's work of a gang of men, and the Drive in the spring to the Ottawa River, where the logs were rafted and floated to Quebec. Despite the complexity of this operation, it was carried out without pen being put to paper between employer and employee! George Affleck further recalls a summer holiday job at his grandfather's during hay-cutting time. George's job was to follow the mower, remove any stocks of mullein, and deposit them on a stone pile for burning. Manpower, not poison spray. was pitted against weeds in those days!

George Affleck also recalls his Granddad lighting his pipe with a cedar splinter ignited ot the kitchen range, to save matches. Waste was sinful. Integrity and frugality patterned his way of life! George grieved over his Grandfather's passing, as only a dear and sensitive little boy of twelve may grieve. Mr. Caldwell (I believe Mr. T. Boyd Caldwell) noted his depression and admonished him, "Do not feel so badly over your Grandfather's death. WHEN HE WAS ALIVE, HE WAS A GREAT MAN." The descendents of William Borrowman Affleck are to be found today in many different walks of life in various parts of North America. Happily, W. B. Affleck's example of industry. iniative and integrity appears to be remembered by most of his descendents in pursuing their own lives. Can any man receive a better tribute?

I. THE FAMILY OF WILLIAM BORROWMAN AFFLECK AN 0 SARAH MITCHELL (1845-1924) (,1847-1894)

1. ELIZABETH PLA YFAIR (LIZZIE) (1869-1953): Taught school. Married James C. Currie. Farmed at Lammermoor. Retired to Lanark Village. Buried at Hopetown. 2. ROBERT GRANT (1871-1924): Taught school at Watson's Corners and Cedar Hill. Studied law at Toronto. Practised law in Winnipeg, Vancouver and Ottawa. Prior to World War I joined the 79th Cameron Highlanders in Winnipeg and later became Major in that company. Married three times. Upon Grant's death, the late Senator Andrew Haydon was quoted as saying, "Grant has forgotten more (law) than most of us ever knew." 3. JOHN NELSON (1872-1953): Trained as a blacksmith under Peter Fife at Watsons Corners, then operated a blacksmith shop and later a garage in Lanark Village. Married Annie M. Penman. Died and buried at Lanark, where ample records of his life may be found. 4. MARY ELLEN (MINNIE) (1874-1956): taught school, then trained as a nurse in Kingston Hospital. Nursing sister in Boer War, later nursing sister with Canadian Army in Vancouver. Married Adolphus Wolfe in Vancouver. Died and buried in Vancouver. The story of her activities as a nursing sister in the Boer War are to be seen elsewhere in the Museum. 5. JEAN WHYTE (1876-1965): Married David S. Rodger of Rosetta, and farmed there all her life. Jean appears to have stepped in to fill the "gap" left by the early death of her mother, and indeed to have continued to care for relatives as the need arose. 6. WILLIAM LLOYD (1878-1940): Biographical sketch aHached. 7. MARION HANNAH (1880-1947): trained as a practical nurse in Kingston Psychiatric Hospital. Moved to Vancouver, BC, where she continued to practise her profession until shortly before her death from lung cancer. Buried in Vancouver. 8. BOYD CAMPBELL (1882-1969): Biographical sketch attached. 9. GARNET (1885-1947): Became a civil engineer. Married Jennie James of Hopdown. Resided for many years in Winnipeg, where he worked for the Manitoba Government. 10. CLIFFORD WATT (1888-1949): Spent most of his life on the home farm.

II. THE FAMILY OF WILLIAM BORROWMAN AFFLECK AND MARY GILLIES RODGER (1866-1944). 11. JESSIE STEAD (1905- ): married Arthur Master of Highgate, Ontario. Widowed. married Robert Miller of Sarnia, again widowed. Retired from "Presto Lite" after 23 years of service. Previously had done some Hospital nursing. In 1964, one of a small group to be honoured with long-service medals (nearly 25 years) with St. John's Ambulance. 12. AMANDA GREY (1908- ) [the present writer]: Graduated Ottawa Normal School, 1927. Taught for eight years in Lanark County. Moved with family to Highgate, Kent County in 1935. Trained as nurse in Memorial Hospital, St. Thomas and graduated in 1938. Married Thomas J. Locke of St. Thomas in 1939. Resides in St. Thomas, Onlario.

Children of William B. "Black Bill" Affleck and Sarah Mitchell Elizabeth Playfair Affleck+1 b. c 1864, d. 1953 Robert Grant Affleck+1 b. 4 Aug 1871, d. 1924 J. Nelson Affleck+1 b. 1872, d. 1953 Mary Ellen "Minnie" Affleck+1 b. 8 Mar 1874, d. 1956 Jean Whyte Affleck+1 b. 1876, d. 1965 William Lloyd Affleck+1 b. 7 Feb 1878, d. 23 Nov 1940 Marion Hannah Affleck1 b. 5 Feb 1880, d. 8 Feb 1947 Boyd Campbell Affleck+1 b. 24 Mar 1882, d. 14 Apr 1969 Garnet Affleck+1 b. 1884, d. 1947 Clifford W. Affleck1 b. 1888, d. 1949

Children of William B. "Black Bill" Affleck and Mary G. Rodger Jessie Stead Affleck+1 b. 1905, d. 1988 Amanda Grey Affleck+1 b. 1908