Twenty-Nine

Twenty-Nine

The Great Crash

“During the summer and early fall of 1929 wheat prices on the Winnipeg Grain Exchange dropped off gradually. Then came Black Thursday, October 24, 1929, greatly influenced by the events of the preceding few days on New York’s Wall Street. The following Monday saw the slide continue at an accelerating rate … and then came Tuesday, October 29, 1929 — the day of the Great Crash, the day the twenties flew

1930

The prosperity of the twenties contributed to a strange mix of technical advancements and financial ruin, which came to be known as “the dirty thirties.” In later years, those who’d lived through the Great Depression criticized anyone who spent recklessly or refused to save for a rainy day.

     Hamiltonians, like the rest of the world, lost their jobs without any warning or severance pay and had little security to fall back on. Some never worked the entire decade. Young people full of boundless energy and enthusiasm, having just graduated from school, were lucky to find jobs at the local soda shop or selling encyclopedias door-to-door.

     More women found themselves in the workforce as the divorce rate increased. Although people tolerated this trend, a fair degree of scorn went along with it. Work camps were established in the country by the Department of National Defence to provide jobs for unemployed single men in an attempt to alleviate the growing number of transients and panhandlers in the big cities. Families who in the past would have been too proud to ask for handouts or second-hand clothes were grateful for them. People improvised with flour-sack lingerie and cardboard insoles. Soup kitchens, bread lines, and penny cigarettes were commonplace on the street.

     The Depression didn’t affect Mary as much as some. She was no stranger to hand-me-downs and doing without. Her prettiest dress, one of the few store bought that she owned, was the one Jim had insisted she buy almost a decade earlier. Her cotton voile peach chemise with the scooped neckline hadn’t been worn for five years. Neither had the leather shoes with buttoned straps or bowler-shaped brimless cloche at the back of her closet. Women were starting to wear slacks and smoke in public but covered their bathing suits with short skirts. Mary never felt comfortable in pants and considered smoking a man’s pastime. Men wore short pants called “plus fours” for golf and other casual occasions but it was still illegal for them to go topless in most places.

     Mary continued to correspond with Emma, whose letters were mostly about her children and homesteading. Mary’s were about Ross. Since she still wore her wedding band and hadn’t gone back to her maiden name, she saw no reason to tell Emma the truth about her marriage. She longed to see her sister and hoped she’d keep her promise to come east for a visit someday.

     The birth of the Dionne quintuplets near North Bay was timely since the world was eager for a distraction amidst the financial turmoil in 1934. No quints in the history of the world had ever survived for more than a few minutes. The girls became the world’s youngest celebrities and a bigger tourist attraction than Niagara Falls. Advertisers grabbed the story of the “million dollar babies” and used it to their advantage to sell toothpaste, corn syrup, soap, and baby products. Even the Life Saver Company used the quints to promote their five famous flavours in one package.

     Advertising in the thirties had to be dramatic and gimmicky to attract attention when money was so scarce. Mary looked longingly in a shop window at the new $125 refrigerator, an appliance slowly replacing the icebox. She knew others who were worse off. At least she could afford canned soup and the new wonder wrap called cellophane.

Mary posed for a photo beside the petunias in full bloom outside the Woods brothers’ house at 265 James Street South, September 1934.

The Hewson Collection.

     While people were forced to live hand-to-mouth, technology continued to forge ahead. Greater distances could be travelled by car and airplane, the telephone made it easier to communicate with families separated by many miles, and more houses were equipped with electricity. By the mid-thirties radio had come into its own and kept folks informed as well as entertained. The noisy crackly crystal sets were being replaced with more modern New Westinghouse Pilots and Stromberg-Carlsons. Not everyone could afford one, but there was usually someone in the neighbourhood who could. When something big hit the news, people crowded around the little gadget that brought the world into their living room.

     Mary would never forget listening to snippets of the 1936 Moose River Mine Disaster in Nova Scotia. She was working as a maid and cook for two bachelors and had a room at the back of their large house. During the live broadcast she happened to be in the dining room polishing silver, and when she was finished she decided to dust the tiny crystal droplets on the huge chandelier to stay within earshot.

     J. Frank Willis from the Canadian Radio Broadcasting Commission had been sent to the site and was granted five minutes of airtime every half hour to broadcast the news. It meant that almost everyone in North America who could get to a radio could hear what was going on at the exact moment it happened. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) was born six months later. While few realized the political significance of broadcasting the mining disaster, everyone understood the power of radio.

     Three years later, Mary, along with hundreds of others, got hooked on “The Happy Gang,” a noon-day program full of music, banter, and jokes sent in by the public. The infamous knock on a door, someone answering, “Who’s there?” and the predictable reply, “It’s the Happy Gang!” gained unprecedented popularity. And her British roots were stirred as she fondly remembered the CBC broadcast covering the entire six-week royal tour of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to Canada in 1939. She’d caught a glimpse of the royal couple during their tour when they paid an official visit to Hamilton’s Market Square.

     Mary worked for the Woods brothers until ill health forced them to sell their house and move into an old folks home. She had a number of domestic positions after that, but none were as fulfilling. Invariably, she had to move on when conditions became intolerable. Ross continued to live with Mrs. Harkness, and when he was old enough, got a job as a delivery boy. His father stayed in Hamilton and carried a note in his pocket: “If anything happens to me, contact Ross Church at Tamblyn’s Drug Store, 753 King E.” Mary never knew if Jim ever made any attempt to locate his son.

     Jim died of heart problems in January 1939 and was buried beside Mona in the Hamilton Cemetery. For some strange reason Mary felt more alone after his death, even though she hadn’t lived with him for almost fourteen years. Years later, Jim’s uncle, Walter Church, was buried in the last family plot, which meant there’d be no room for her.

     That fall Canada went to war. Six days after the British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain admitted that he’d been unsuccessful in keeping his country out of war, Canada joined the fight against Germany. Canadians panicked just as they had during the First World War and stockpiled things like sugar and flour. Women took up the cause and began to knit, as young men hungry for employment poured into the cities to enlist. With a decade of high unemployment, the promise of clothes, boots, shelter, pay, and medical care led to over-crowded recruiting stations.

     The Depression had left Canadians tired and desperate, but once the country was at war it seemed to make people feel more determined and less victimized. Prairie wheat prices rose and textile mills prepared themselves for the inevitable demand for an endless supply of uniforms and wearing apparel. Employment soared as Canada braced itself for the war. Hamilton’s armouries downtown quickly filled with people willing to enlist — in the first ten days of the war 1,500 Hamiltonians enlisted. Orders for war materials such as guns, shells, and tank and airplane parts poured into Stelco and Dofasco.

     At fifty-five, Mary didn’t have the same energy that she’d had during the Great War and was struggling to make ends meet. This time she didn’t join the local knitting club but helped the Red Cross wrap Christmas boxes to send overseas. Ross, now eighteen years old, joined the Air Force and was sent to England as a pilot and a gunner for the Air Sea Rescue. Mary was extremely proud of him and her letters out west invariably included tidbits about her son.

     By the fall of 1941 the cost of living had risen considerably and Mary was finding it difficult to pay bills on time. Sales and excise taxes on phonographs, radios, cameras, cigarettes, and liquor were increased, which didn’t affect her at all. But she was disappointed when the price of soda pop went from a nickel to six cents because carbonic acid gas was taxed more heavily. She loved the occasional ginger ale when she tired of her usual tea.

     Ration booklets were issued for sugar, butter, tea, coffee, and meat. She was thankful the butter ration never fell below six ounces a week per person and the meat ration never less than two and a half pounds of the cheaper cuts. It helped that she knew the owner of the corner grocery store, and sometimes Mrs. Reynolds offered to sell her a tin of salmon from under the counter. This particular day she’d done just that. As Mary hurried home with her small brown bag, she was thinking about how different this war was from the first one.

     During the First World War, the Fish Sales Branch was established under the provincial Department of Game and Fisheries. Their mandate was to secure fish and ensure that they were made available at fixed prices to Ontario Mary had never been much of a fish eater but had little choice when it was so much cheaper than meat. Canadians had been on their honour to limit themselves to one-and-a-half pounds of butter per person per month. By October 1918, the ration had increased to two pounds per person. Mary remembered eating less “war bread” because it had substitutes for 20 percent of the flour. The hardships were worse then, but they didn’t seem to bother her as much. At that time she was only thirty, preoccupied with her family, celebrating her tenth wedding anniversary, and excited about Emma getting married, which reminded her that it was her turn to write. Her sister had been happier since moving to their new home. Mary could only imagine the excitement of owning such a pretty two-storey house with a white-picket fence.

Walter Touchings (Emma’s son) and Emma stood on the veranda of the four-bedroom house that Harry built in Elbridge, Alberta, in 1935. His brother Bob was sitting on his horse Pal near their 1928 Chevrolet.

Courtesy of Gail Horner.

     As Mary stepped off the curb, she heard a voice yelling, “Hey lady, watch out!” A car was rounding the corner and nearly hit her. She was thankful that a stranger was looking out for her. The world was becoming such a busy place. There were so few cars on the road twenty-five years ago and everything had been much simpler. Her life now revolved around her son and she anxiously waited for him to come home.

     Ross returned in January 1944 after his plane crashed in England. A girl named Rene Enright, whom he’d never met but who had been writing to him for the past four years while overseas, met him at Sunnyside Station. She told him he’d be able to recognize her by her black coat with a silver fox fur collar and silver fox

     On October 28, 1944, they were married in Toronto. Mary wore a long, two-tone purple gown and gave them a wedding gift of fifty dollars. As time went by, even though Ross lived in nearby Weston, he had little contact with his mother. Mary missed him terribly and regretted never having grandchildren.

     In 1947, Emma and her husband moved to Victoria, British Columbia. Mary wasn’t surprised; farming was hard work and they’d been looking forward to their retirement on the island. Harry passed away two years later.

     Things were becoming harder for Mary. She was having difficulty finding work as a housekeeper or cleaning lady. “We’re looking for someone much younger,” was becoming an all too familiar response. In desperation, she found a job cleaning churches and schools at night. It was lonely, backbreaking work that began to take its toll as she grew older.