Hamilton Cemetery - 1905

On Saturday, May 15, 1905, an article appeared in that day’s Hamilton Spectator under the headline, “Speaking of the Dead : An Afternoon With Those Who Rest From Their Labours.”

        In the article, the reporter recorded his impressions of the Hamilton Cemetery at the end of York street after a visit on a beautiful spring day.

        Reflecting the general pride that the citizens of Hamilton felt regarding the cemetery, the grounds were kept in immaculate condition in particular for the mourners visiting the grave sites of departed loved ones.

        As the reporter put it in describing that mourners “reach out beyond time’s quickly vanishing space and touch the loves of spirit forms in the great beyond, and as they do, the memory of the dead makes better men and women of us all. And we like to be made better: we like to believe in that purer spirit world, hoping our kin and friends are there: and thinking of this, we drop a tear for the dead and plant flowers on their graves.”

        The month of May was one of the busiest times of the year at the Hamilton Cemetery. The workmen were beginning to clip the grass and plant fresh, green sod on graves put in over the winter.

        In the spring, especially as the warm weather returned, York street would be the location of a steady procession of what the reporter described as “mourning-draped women and sable-clothed little ones,” who would be carrying little spades, rakes and potted flowers to decorate the graves of their departed loved ones.

        While at the cemetery, the reporter noticed “many a sad scene – no, not sad but tender.” The grave mounds would be raked very carefully, “as if the noise might disturb the sleeper. The tones are hushed and softened. The mother’s voice, which in the home has sometimes been irritable and harsh, has become sweet and melodious , and the little one who has tried her patience so, and on so many occasions, is awed and wonders why this change. It sees the flowers planted on the mound and sees it watered too, with tears from mother’s eyes as with dropping head she bends.

        “It feels the mist gathering in its own bright eyes, and a great, holy quiet comes over them both – mother and child. And who will dare to say that a loving husband’s, tender father’s, spirit is not hovering near them? ‘Who loves not the memory of his dead loves not his God,’ is a truism, daily proven within the cemetery limits.”

        The northwest corner of the cemetery was the location Potter’s Field, where there were no gravestones. A numbered pine board provided the only identification from most of the graves of Hamilton’s unfortunate poor. The names for the graves could only be obtained through application at the superintendent’s office.

        A few of the graves in Potters’ Field did have a few simple name stones, such as the one which read, “Mary. Mother’s Girl. Aged 8 Years.” The Spectator man speculated that Mary “was taken and mother’s aching grief-stricken heart lives in the memory of her smile, her cheerful willingness, her kindly spirit, and to her still, though in the spirit world, she is mother’s girl.”

        There was another marker in Potter’s Field, a large, impressive stone, with just a Christian name engraved on it. The reporter speculated that “she was polluted and thought herself despised. She loved, with guilty love, a soldier of the British army, and followed him. And the soldier? He had some manhood about him. Above her grave, he reared the monument which bears alone her Christian name.”

        One other grave in Potter’s Field was marked. On the soil of a recently filled-in mound, the children of the grave’s occupant had gathered little pebbles and formed letters with them in the fresh soil. The stones formed the words, “At Rest, Mother.” The reporter noted that it was “a fleeting memorial, but how much it meant to them, whose tenderest earthly friend lies buried there.”

        During the spring afternoon spent at the cemetery, the reporter witnessed two burials.

        One, in Potter’s Field, had neither mourners nor priest in attendance. A curious group of bystanders watched while a pine shell was unloaded from a hearse and lowered into a freshly-dug grave.

        When asked who was being buried, the driver of the hearse replied, “A House of Refuge case. Had the hearse out and used it because it was dirty. If it had been clean, I’d have used the wagon instead.”

        At the other end of the cemetery, there was another burial. This one was complete with a long line of carriages and a host of mourners. After the minister completed a beautiful graveside prayer for the dead, the old grave-diggers went to work filling up the hole, while many of the mourners stood around, weeping.

        There were many interesting gravestones in Hamilton Cemetery, especially the one which marked the final resting place of Alexander Burnfield and George Knight, the engineer and fireman of the locomotive involved in the Desjardins canal accident of March, 1857.

        That monument featured a model of a locomotive placed on top, with the following inscription carved into the side:

        “Life’s railway’s o’er, each station’s past;

         In death, we’re stopped and cease at last;

         Farewell, dear friends, and cease to weep;

         In Christ, we’re safe, in Him we sleep.”

        Two large family vaults, for the Watkins and Tuckett families, were cut right into the embankments which cut across the cemetery grounds. These embankments were actually earthworks constructed during the War of 1812, and were used as shelters from which the British sallied forth to fight at the Battle of Stoney Creek.

        In 1905, the Hamilton Cemetery was a popular spot, which one could visit for the purpose of prayer and meditation, especially concerning loved ones at rest there.

        The cemetery was also a spot where one could get a feeling for the local history of the city.

        Finally, the Hamilton Cemetery was the final resting spot for mortals from all levels of Hamilton society, whether rich or poor, now all equal in death.

       

"Shooting" - James & King William 1913

About 9 p.m., during the evening of May 16, 1913, a large crowd suddenly gathered at the corner of King William street and James street, where, as a Spectator reporter on the scene noted, each man, woman and child “stared into each other’s face, each wondering what the rest of the throng was looking at.”

        The cause of the gathering was the sound of an ear-splitting shriek, which came from the direction of the Lister building.

        A young man, obviously in high spirits, had lifted the window of one of the windows of the large building, and screamed as loudly as possible. The scream, which the Spectator man observed as being “a war whoop,” was “the signal for a small army to run for the corner.”

        When Police Constable Emerson arrived at the scene and saw the quickly gathering crowd, he immediately put in a call from a street police call box to No. 3 police station which was located just a few blocks east of the intersection.

        Within minutes, Deputy Chief Whatley and a squad of policemen arrived the street opposite the Lister Chambers black with gaping citizens.

        After screaming out the window, the young man had ducked back into the room before anyone could see him. Fearing that the building might be searched by the police, the partygoers in that room quickly vacated the premises. The screamer along with his friends simply mingled with the large crowd.

        For awhile the crowd on James street north continued to stand around wondering if anything further would happen.

        Then one of the “partying” young men said to another, in a loud stage whisper. “he’s dead alright. That bullet went right through his lung. I think we had better make our getaway. I felt his pulse before we came out, and he was dead. Must have been killed instantly.”

        The other young men replied, also in a tone loud enough to attract the attention of eavesdroppers in the vicinity, “Well, it was clearly a case of self-defense. He hit me with an iron bar and I shot him on the spur of the moment.”

        Many people in the crowd overheard the conversation and one of them tipped off the police on scene.

Just before the constables could make their way through the crowd to make arrests, the young men hopped into the back seat of a friend’s automobile, which then roared off towards the north at what the Spectator man observed as being “at a hurricane clip.”

        Several people broke away from the crowd, attempting to catch up with the fleeing young men, believing that two murderers were making an escape.

However, after all the rooms of the immense Lister building were searched, no murder scene, or even evidence of any violence, could be found.

In the end, both the police and the gathered crowd were victims of a foolish practical joke.

Later, the police were able to discover the identities of the pranksters, but did not take any specific action. Instead, a warning was placed in all three Hamilton daily newspapers that any further incidents of that sort would be dealt with severely.

Aviation - 1911

1911 – Aviation

       During the last week of July, 1911, people who entered or left the east end of the city of Hamilton saw a small army of men swarming all over a field owned by a man named Arthur O’Heir.

          All the trees, long grass and stones had been cleared off the field to prepare a runway for the upcoming five day aviation meet.

          The meet, which began on Thursday, July 27, 1911, was held to demonstrate the practicality of the recently invented airplane. To that end, members of the Canadian Aeronautical Society were present to take official measurements of heights reached and distances traveled by the airplanes entered in the meet.

          As an indication of the volatile world affairs situation of 1911, there were also tests of what was termed “the utility of air-machines in warfare.” For example, bombs were dropped from the flying machines in mid-air and wireless messages were exchanged between the airborne pilots and men on the ground.

          The meet was officially opened by Hamilton Mayor George Lees, accompanied by members of the Hamilton Board of Trade.

          For most of the crowd present, estimated at over 3,000 people, it was their first opportunity to see airplanes in flight.

The excitement among the spectators was palpable. People climbed over fences, lined the Beach road with rigs and automobiles, and even lined the mountain brow in order to catch a glimpse of the “birdmen.”

A reporter for the Hamilton Times described the first flight of the meet made by Charles F. Willard in a Curtis Bi-plane as follows : “the sudden elevation of machine and man was greeted with loud cheering from the spectators, who stared breathlessly upward as the venturesome young airman sped along at a tremendous rate and took all sorts of sensational dips over the land and sea.”

On the second day, an English aviator, J. V. Martin, narrowly missed being involved in a serious accident.

Upon take off, the airplane developed engine trouble and the machine was barely able to raise over the tree tops at the end of the take off and landing strip.

Martin then circled over the bay and made a forced landing in the middle of a marsh near the airfield. His assistants rushed over to help him carry the plane to the road, from which he took off again, managing to keep his machine between the overhead wires on poles placed on each side of the road.

The crowd gathered on O’Heir’s field could not see the forced landing and, for a few moments, it was feared that the pilot may have gone down in the bay. Soon, however, the buzz of the machine was heard, and then Martin and his plane appeared over the trees. The pilot then made a safe landing to the relief and loud applause of the crowd.

Another feature of the second day of the aviation meet was the attempt to set a new altitude record for what the Times called the Canadian “cloud navigator,” J. A. D. McCurdy.

McCurdy’s flight was described in the Times as follows : “(McCurdy) rose until his machine looked like a speck in the sky, but at a height of 3,000 feet, he struck a cold wave and was forced to descend. His teeth were chattering when he landed.”

After the flight, McCurdy was interviewed by a reporter with the Canadian Press in which he gave his opinion on the potential use of airplanes in warfare.

“Aeroplanes will be used in wars,” he predicted, “but not for shooting, dropping bombs and destructive purposes. The flying machine will do the scouting work. Airships are practically safe from shot and shell after they reach an altitude of 2,000 feet.”

On that subject, a Spectator editorial weighed in, saying “while aviation may be the most seductive, as well as dangerous, of sports, it is yet far distant from the goal of real utility. There is little likelihood that any present day grownups will live to see the time when for instance, His Majesty’s mails will be carried from place to place through air rather than along the surface of earth and water.”

The third afternoon of Hamilton 1911 aviation meet was cancelled because of high winds. By the early evening hours, the winds were still blowing very steadily, but not as dangerously for the flyers as they were earlier in the day.

Despite the fact that refunds were provided because of the cancellation, a large crowd remained at the O’Heir farm in case it was decided that conditions might improve enough to allow a flight.

Finally, Pilot Willard was prepared to attempt a flight in what the Times called “a daring attempt to conquer the elements invisible.”

Willard’s take off was excellent, but he got his plane out over the bay, it started to lose altitude rapidly. As happened the previous day, the plane was forced to land in the marsh at the mouth of the Red Hill Creek, out of sight of the crowd.

Many in the crowd, including Willard’s wife, feared that a fatality had occurred. Thankfully after five minutes or so, Willard, who had abandoned his damaged plane, was seen being driven into the grounds in an automobile to sustained applause of the assembled and the relief of his wife’s concerns.

In a subsequent interview, Willard said, “One cannot appreciate, until they are up in the air, the strength of the winds as they sweep across the mountain, and it is almost as much as life is worth to try and make a flight when they are unusually strong.”

Back in the city’s downtown core and neighbors, a peculiar wave of aviation fever had swept over the hearts of citizens during that windy afternoon.

There had been many rumors that one of the airplanes from the meet would be making an aerial pass over Hamilton’s downtown core.

Then, what looked to be the shapes of three flying machines appeared in the sky towards Beach Road. As described in the Times, “crowds gathered at the corners in all parts of the city and on housetops, and even those with opera glasses and telescopes were under the impression that they were getting a free exhibition of aerial navigation.”

It turned out that the “flying Machines” that were causing all the excitement were actually box-kites, which at a distance, did indeed have the shape of biplanes, sort of.

Many citizens found it hard to believe that the kites were not airplanes, convinced that it was because of the high winds that the “planes” could not get very high in the air.

The kites were of unknown origin, but some suspected that they were flown by organizers of the meet to attract more ticket buyers.

The next day, July 31, 1911, J. A. D. McCurdy actually did make a flight over the downtown residential and business areas of Hamilton.

His “fancy” flying antics were full of dramatic showmanship. McCurdy was buzz low over the heads of those in gasoline launches on the bay. A reporter for the Hamilton Herald who witnessed McCurdy, flying at 65 miles an hour, come within 15 feet of those one the boats, wrote that “the shrieks when they though the aviator was about to fall could be heard for blocks.”

On the last day of the aviation meet, a bailiff appeared on the grounds with papers calling for the seizure of McCurdy’s plane.

The meet had not generated enough revenue to turn a profit. One of the aviators, the Englishman, Martin, had abruptly left after a dispute over his $500 appearance fee.

When local creditors heard about Martin’s departure, they decided that perhaps they had better make sure that they were not going to be “stiffed” by the promoters of the meet.

One creditor group had contracted to take out and then replace a number of farmers’ fences around the O’Heir farm location so that an airship of sufficient length could be created.

The manager of the aviation meet, in an interview, claimed that all accounts owing would have been settled if the creditors had shown up, as arranged, at the proper time in the lobby of the Waldorf Hotel.

The manager further claimed that the fence contractors were trying to get paid in full, although they had no intention of replacing the fences after the conclusion of the meet. He also argued that the planes were the personal property of the aviators and could not possibly be held against debts of the organizers of the meet.

A resolution of the difficulty was eventually reached, and McCurdy’s plane was released for his attempt to establish a new Canadian record for long distance flying.

Two aviators, McCurdy and Willard, would attempt to successfully fly from Hamilton to Toronto. McCurdy would fly the shorter route, directly across the lake, while Willard would use the “iron compass,” the railroad lines between the two cities.

The Hamilton to Toronto flights were held on a hot Wednesday half holiday afternoon.

Hamilton’s Beach Strip was crowded with thousands of people seeking rest and recreation, and in the words of the press, thinking only of “their fishing, their evening luncheon and their picnic pleasure.”

There had been no formal announcement of the departure times for either McCurdy or Willard. The only people to witness the take off of the two aviators were mechanics and a stray newspaper reporter or two at the O’Heir field.

At one minute after 6 p.m., Willard’s plane ascended and headed northward across the bay.

Along the Beach Strip, the cry of “Here come the Flyers!” could be heard, as people scrambled to get the best vantage point to watch Willard follow the Beach strip and then head off towards Burlington.

J. A. D. McCurdy, with a faster plane, decided to wait ten minutes, and then take off, heading directly to Toronto across Lake Ontario. He planned to arrive at the same time in the Hogtown as Willard.

As the ten minute delay was up, someone at the O’Heir farm called to McCurdy saying that he would bet the pilot five dollars that Willard was going to arrive in Toronto first.

McCurdy at that point finally started his plane and began his take off, and as he rose in the air, McCurdy shouted over the motor’s roar that he accepted the bet.

Sixty-five minutes after take off, Willard was spotted by Torontonians coming into the city from the west. From his airplane, Willard could see the large crowds gathered along the lakeshore from Mimico to the Canadian National Exhibition grounds.

As the original plan had been for McCurdy and Willard to arrive at the same, McCurdy, who was familiar with Toronto, was chosen to lead Willard up the Don Valley to the Donlands air field.

However, when Willard arrived in Toronto, he was exhausted from the flight and simply decided to land in the Exhibition grounds.

While there were thousands who saw Willard’s plane coming from the west, only a few boys playing cricket actually saw Willard’s plane land. It did not take long though for a great crowd to rush up from all directions to greet the flyer and inspect his plane.

When asked why he landed where he did, Willard said, “I got tired of fighting against the wind, my shoulders feel as if they are broken, as the straps cut into my flesh with the pressure I had to exert to keep myself braced. This was the first place I saw which was suitable for a landing as the smoke completely concealed the city from sight so that not even the houses were visible.”

McCurdy was spotted only a few minutes after Willard’s landing. He noted that he too had a problem with visibility as he arrived in Toronto saying, “the smoke and haze was so thick over the city that I could not see even as far as King street, and I could not make out the Don Valley at all. I could see the motor boats and other vessels in the harbour.”

McCurdy said that he had to keep circling the harbour looking for a place to land claiming that “as I neared the city, I could distinctly feel the warm air ascending, and to avoid the air movements that this creates, I kept out over the harbour.”

McCurdy finally put his plane down at the end of Fisherman’s Inlet, near the Cherry Street bridge.

With that landing, the July 1911 saga of  pioneer Canadian aviators demonstrating their daring skills in Hamilton and Toronto came to an end.