March, 1900 had a lion-like, not a lamb-like
beginning. As citizens of all ages began their day and looked out their
windows, there was new-fallen snow and a lot of it.
As the darkness was turning to light, the
only noticeable sounds were the noise of snow shovels. Then, around 6:45 a.m.,
everything changed:
For months, the news of the events in the
South African was had dominated the local press. Specifically, there were deep
concerns about the troops surrounded by the Boers and trapped at a location
called Ladysmith. For 118 days, the siege there had been ongoing.
As 7 a.m. approached, life in the city was
transformed : “The news reached Hamilton by telephone from the C.P.R. offices
in Toronto about 6:45 this morning. It was too early for many people to be on
the streets, and most men who were on the streets were handling snow shovels in
front of their own homes. When the message came from Toronto , the central
telephone office here gave it out, in accordance with Mayor Teetzel’s
arrangement, to everyone who had a whistle to blow. The Canada Colored Cotton
company whistle and the Grand Trunk engine whistles were the first to break the
stillness of the snow-laden air, and these were quickly augmented by the
whistles on the engines of the T.H. & B. and the various factories. There
was a suspicion at first in the minds of the people that a railway accident had
occurred, but quickly the good news dawned on them, and in most instances they
left their snow shoveling and hurried
through the big snow drifts to the center of the city to confirm their
suspicions of cause for rejoicing. From seven o’clock there was a constant stream
of humanity coming up the street railway tracks to the city’s center from east,
west, north and south, and within an hour, there were more people on the
streets than are usually there at midday.”1
1 “Great Jubilation Here Over Glorious
News : Since Seven O’Clock, the Men, Women and Children Have Done Nothing But
Cheer and Yell and Hurrah for Butler : Never Before Was There Such a Scene of
Wild and Continued Enthusiasm – It Excelled Election Times : Salute Fired By
the Fourth Battery on the Gore – There Will Another Big Celebration This
Evening.”
Hamilton Spectator. March 01, 1900.
The long-awaited news concerned that siege of
Ladysmith. It was over and the British troops there were rescued.
Hamilton newspaper offices soon swung into
action and hastily-prepared extras were put together. The Times began its
coverage as follows :
“Nothing that has occurred since the jubilee of
Queen Victoria has caused so much stir and merriment in Hamilton as the
announcement of the relief of Ladysmith. The new first reached the city by
telephone from the Canadian Pacific telegraph office at Toronto about 6:45, and
a copy of the official message came a few minutes later by wire over the same
company’s line.
“The receipt of the news by the telephone
company was the signal for carrying out the arrangements made by Mayor Teetzel
for disseminating the glad tidings by means of whistles and bells. The
telephone people promptly called up the Grand Trunk and T.H. & B. railway
offices, and in a few minutes – before 7 o’clock – the locomotive whistles were
shrieking out the news in their loudest and shrillest tones. The fire chief
sent a gang of men up to the big alarm bell, and that was the first signal the
uptown people got. The city hall bell and other bells and whistles all over the
city took up the refrain, and by 7 o’clock almost everybody in Hamilton knew
that Ladysmith had been relieved.”2
2 “Our Hamilton People Celebrate Victory
: Jolliest Day This City Has Seen in Many Years ; The Whole of the City Went
Wild : Whistles and Bells Announced the Relief of Ladysmith Before 7 o’clock”
Hamilton Times. March 01, 1900.
It did not take long before the celebrations
that Ladysmith had been relieved went much farther than just the noise of bells
and whistles :
. There was a suspicion at first in the minds
of the people that a railway accident had occurred, but quickly the good news
dawned on them, and in most instances they left their snow shoveling and hurried through the big snow drifts to
the center of the city to confirm their suspicions of cause for rejoicing. From
seven o’clock there was a constant stream of humanity coming up the street
railway tracks to the city’s center from east, west, north and south, and
within an hour, there were more people on the streets than are usually there at
midday.”1
The three Hamilton daily newspapers, the
Times, Herald and the Spectator, scrambled to get their already
partially-prepared extras printed and in the hands of newsboys for distribution.
As usual, the spirit of competition between the papers manifested itself. The Times described its efforts in this manner
: “No details were given out to the general public until the Times extra made
its appearance on the streets about 8 o’clock, and was eagerly snatched up by
many hundreds of readers.”2
While the Times staff bragged, the Spectator
staff did as well : ““The first proof of the authenticity of the rumor that the
anxious public received was from the first edition of the Spectator, which as
usual, was on the streets away ahead of the other local papers. It was just ten
minutes past seven this morning when the newsboys started out with the
Spectator’s first edition announcing the war office statement of the relief of
Ladysmith, and the papers were bought up by the thousands. A second and third
edition followed in quick order, as rapidly as the dispatches were received
from the war office, and these two were eagerly scanned.”1
Despite the heavy, wet and very deeply-drifted
snow which blocked easy use of the streets, citizens celebrating the news soon
started to head to Hamilton’s downtown core:
“The city had begun a grand celebration,
which developed as the morning wore on. It was an inspiring sight to see
processions of young men and young women, too, making their way to their
various places of employment, plodding through deep snow banks, their faces all
aglow from the exercise and beaming with delight, while they waved flags and
occasionally joined in the cheering. Numbers of these merry little processions
were to be seen about 8 o’clock. Some of them followed the car tracks, where
the big sweeper had made walking possible.”2
One portion of Hamilton’s population had to
follow their regular routine, snow or no snow, Ladysmith relieved or not. The
children had to make their way to school :
““When the news was given out in the schools,
there was great excitement and the teachers had all they could do to hold the
patriotic youngsters. The headmasters in the various district schools gathered
the children together, and besides telling them the joyful tidings, delivered
patriotic addresses. The children sang the Maple Leaf, Soldiers of the Queen
and the National Anthem and were dismissed for the day. At the Collegiate
Institute, J.B. Turner, the assistant principal, assembled the students in the
big hall, and there were patriotic speeches and much singing of patriotic
songs. The students were then dismissed. Rev. Father Holden carried out the
same program in the separate schools, and in a very short time after the young
folks were dismissed, they were on their way up to the center of the city in
procession, carrying flags, shouting and singing the right sort of music to
march by on such a happy occasion. The young women of the Collegiate were as
enthusiastic as the young men, and a small army of them marched to the Post
Office early in the morning, where they sang and cheered till Adam Brown made
his appearance and delivered a short address. Then they dispersed all over the
city.”1
In the meantime, the general celebrations
kicked into high gear: “There was no system or order in the demonstration of
the morning. It was simply a time when every man, woman and child felt that he
or she was too happy to keep still, and the only way in which to find relief
was by marching up and down the crowded streets, shouting if they had nothing
to make a noise with, and making noise if they happened to have the necessary
machine. Bells of all sorts were carried by the joyous ones, from the hand bell
of the public school to the dinner bells in the hands of a small boy. Everyone
had a flag of some sort, and most of the paraders wore large Ladysmith relief
badges, which were supplied by Stanley Mills and which were all sold out long
before the noon hour, though the supply on hand was enormous. Though the
streets were almost impassable on account of the heavy snow, the people didn’t
seem to know it, and with heads up and eyes front, they stumbled along through
the drifts and over slippery places with an abandon that was positively
enjoyable, especially in the case of the women, who were just as numerous and
joyous as the men.”2
(To Be Continued)
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