I am asked almost daily to continue my writings in your paper in spite of my 90 years of age. So here goes.
There is much said in articles about breast feeding in public. Have any of you dissenters ever considered eating any of your meals in total privacy? I’m sure none of you would do this. Then why in the world do you think you should hide a baby having his or her dinner in privacy? Those babies are doing what comes naturally and we all love milk, so what is the big deal? Mary suckled Christ, so what’s new?
Now, this is a separate article of history my readers like.
I am not a highly educated man, so this is in handwriting passed down to me for ages.
My mother was a Spencer whose forebearers fought in the battle of 1066 in Britain. Later they were honoured and were ones that Althorp Palace was built for in the 1600’s. I have a letter from Earl Spencer in answer to a letter I wrote to him. He does not have a history but it is in the London Archives now. There are eight Spencers in the family back there. Three of them came to Rhode Island in 1621 (or so) and were boys. One did not like it and he returned to England. My mother is a descendent of one of these. A decendent of theirs, Correy Spencer, came north up the Hudson and Mohawk Rivers. They chased the livestock up through the dense bush and elderly women and children came by canoe and portaged down the Oswego River to Picton, Ontario. The only thing there then were Indians, mosquitoes, and muskeg. This is hand to hand history, but rather accurate.Somehow from there, the families moved on and my mother’s forebears wound in Belville, Ontario, where my mother was born on Sept. 18, 1890. From there they moved to St. Joseph’s Island near the Soo in Ontario, and there my mother was brought up and went to school.
We visited there, years later, and found the road and the log house my mother was brought up in. The local school she went to (now a museum) had a picture of my two aunts while still in school there. The old school was made of “pudding stone” (they called it) and I sat in chairs my mother likely sat in when attending there. Early in the 1900’s these Spencers moved to an area close to Vernon, B.C., and then later to the Lane and Climy area near Lanes Lake at Castor before the town was built in 1904. There she met my father, Art Miller, when he was hauling coal to the Lane and Cleary Ranch. I might say that dad had his leg run over and crushed above the knee. His buddy put him up on the load and he had to drive his team
the rest of the way (12 miles) with a broken leg. When both teams got to Lane’s they put him to bed and in the morning took him 40 miles to Stettler to the hospital.
Now I will leave this part of my history and continue with my father’s history.
His forebears came from Ireland in 1822 to visit some people here in Canada. The trip over was so very rough and a baby was born on board the ship. They landed at Newport, Nova Scotia. That baby was Samuel Miller, our predecessor. I have his picture.
He married Martha Jane Nicholl and they wound up half way down Foundry Hill, now known as Young Street. I have been there.
The Miller family were all born there. There were many stories.
My dad was born there. In 1904 dad was not getting along well with grandpa. They had built the first Stanfield buildings and dad made a checker board from the two colours of wood from the Stanfield’s house. They built the old station (now gone) and the university buildings. A harvest train went west so dad got a free ticket on the harvest train and threw the return ticket out the window, never to return for 60 years. In 1911 the rest of the family came west and dad housed them until they got settled. Uncle Edson joined the army in 1914 and was wounded at Vimy Rodge, returning to Castor with a British war bride. After city life she could not take the lonesome prairie, so they all wound up in Summerland from those times. Dad was married and had a business in Castor with a brother and my sister Velma, was born there. The other seven of us kids were also born on the land section by Lanes Lake.
My father, Art Miller, kept this farm all the rest of his life. He was a partner with Uncle Mel as blacksmiths, and so we had a blacksmith shop on the farm. As we had no money in the ‘20’s and ‘30’s, we had to do it ourselves.
I learned blacksmithing mechanics, electrical, plumbing and carpentry work so well that when I came to B.C. I hired on and kept my job at these trades.
I also came to B.C. in 1939, played music - accordion and guitar, sang on the radio out of Vancouver, fired and drove steam locomotives out of Brookmere. I have my walls covered with my historic oil paintings (I paint my history and some First Nations history. I repaired watches at Castor school to earn my spending money.
I write for pleasure.
In 1939, my father took us to Summerland to visit our relatives when I was dyed-in-the-wool farmer. When I had one look at the beautiful scenery and the girls, I moved to B.C. in 1940 and this is now my home. I have kids and grandkids and great grandkids now.
How about that.