The Problems Associated With Old Paper Recovery Can Affect Your Health

 

Photos of vintage New Year post cards by Suzanne Currie

THE OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS OF BEING A PAPER SLEUTH AND BY THE WAY …..”HAPPY New Years”

 A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     I had a number of conversations with my old archivist friend, Hugh Macmillan before he passed away some years back, and we debated, of all things, the health risks paper and old book wranglers face rescuing their bits and bobs from a wide variety of inadequate, often overly moist enclosures. He maintained and with considerable evidence, that the mold and other assorted contaminates we often encounter in paper rescues, can cause a varied number of health complaints, especially to the respiratory system as you might imagine. Even as far as infected the heart with these nasty airborne qualities and quantities that are released in our work space, when we mount what we believe to be an historic rescue well worth the risk. Hugh told me about one particular old paper find, that somehow connected to the late World War Flying ace, Billy Bishop, if memory serves; and of course having particular war time and aviation significance, it needed to be retrieved from inadequate storage where moisture had ravaged much of the collection in storage. I believe the materials had belonged to another military of Air Force veteran, but because of poor health and lack of proper storage, and a water leak in the roof of the unit, much had been damaged beyond rescue. But Hugh never gave up on anything made of paper, that had historical significance, if by any heroic effort of conservation, could be saved even in part, for the use of future generations of researchers on topics of Canadian history. Gosh, he was an important mentor. But he took risks that most of us, even in the history business, wouldn’t touch with, as they say, a barge pole.

     He told me about bringing box loads of wet paper into his vehicle, during a rain event, and sitting there for long periods, trying to separate the moldy paper-works from what had been protected by some layers of plastic, and that he had, on occasions, felt nauseated by what he had been handling, in yes, a closed vehicle. But he soldiered on with the mission of conservation, and we have many more pieces of paper heritage because of his Herculean efforts to save what was headed for the landfill site. He couldn’t handle that reality, without giving it his utmost attention, care and handling of an expert, and with the kind of on-the-fly recognition, that allowed him to whip through the many pounds of sodden documents, identifying key pieces quickly and efficiently. But it may have all come with a huge cost to his health. Not just on this occasion. It was years and years of being in situations where important archives had been uncovered, and sorted by Hugh Macmillan and others, who didn’t think too much of the contamination coming off the old paper, and musty books also found in the often hoarded collections across Canada and beyond. I have much less experience in this area, than Hugh had over many more years in the retrieval and conservation component of his archives missions, but I haven’t smelled much of anything for years now, having a nose that only works part time. I’ve been in roughly the same enterprise since the late 1970’s, when I first began buying and selling old books and some antiquated paper, including journals and legal documents. And yes, I’ve worked in similar environments for long periods of time, without a mask or proper ventilation. Suzanne has often chastised me for this reckless endangerment, and to keep her content I’m more safety conscious these days, I have indeed turned down opportunities to poke through piles of wet paperworks, even though the temptation has been huge.

     I have always wondered, for example, how many of our dark room technicians from our old newspaper days, had been contaminated by photographic chemicals, in a room that had very poor ventilation. Due to my near catastrophic conduct in the dark room, even with associate photographers trying to help me learn how to make prints, I was prohibited from entry on all but a few occasions. All those who I had worked with in those days, who had this daily access to the darkroom, have since passed away. Of course I have to wonder about this, because of what I came to understand about contamination sources, in the years that followed my newspaper tenure. It bothers me somewhat, because it was my job to keep the technicians in the dark room until all the prints were prepared, and last minute films were developed, usually to serve for advertising insertions and not breaking news. In the summer season these rooms were terribly hot, and so tiny that there was not air circulation except for the occasions when the door had to be opened. There couldn’t be a fan in the room because it would blow dust on the photographic paper, and thusly ruin the quality of potential front page images for that week’s edition. I can’t help thinking about this now, and wonder if I’m still around because they refused me entry to the dark room. But it did cross my mind many times after, whenever I was in a confined space, like a storage unit, looking through piles of old photographs and negatives, and catching a whiff of the chemicals I remember from the old dark room we used intensively back in my day as newspaper editor.

     We were all eager to do our jobs, and to use the word “driven” still isn’t powerful enough to explain why we often ignored what was most important about the environment of which we were exposed.

     This is my final post of 2021 obviously, for this newly created site, “The Birch Hollow Antique Press.” I thank everyone who has read along with me for these past months, dating back to the spring of the year, and want to wish one and all a Happy New Year, and safety from the fourth wave of this terrible pandemic. I will be offering something new for 2022, with a greater emphasis on nature, The Wild Woods, and the present tense, which is often badly neglected by us antiquarians obsessed by some other times in history. The present is just as important, and in my opinion, at its most vulnerable environmentally right now. I will probably write fewer and shorter pieces, (cheer with glee), and hope to still maintain my audience of good friends for the coming twelve months. Enjoy these last few hours of the old year. It just has to get better, right?

THE MISUNDERSTOOD AND MISREPRESENTED VALUES OF HISTORIC PAPER / DOCUMENTS

HUNTING, FINDING, RESCUING, CONSERVING AND BENEFITTING FROM HISTORICAL DOCUMENTS

     FROM AN HISTORIAN'S PERSPECTIVE, NOT HAVING ENOUGH INFORMATION IS ALWAYS A DRAG ON A RESEARCH PROJECT. A "HAIR PULLER!" I HAVEN'T BEEN INVOLVED IN A SINGLE HERITAGE PROJECT OR BIOGRAPHY, THAT I HAVEN'T, AT SOME NARROWING OF THE PIPELINE….THAT FEEDS INFORMATION, SCREAMED SILENTLY ABOUT THE SHORTFALL. COMPLAINING THAT WHAT COULD BE AN EXCEPTIONAL, HUGELY INSIGHTFUL RESEARCH MISSION, IS WHACKED DOWN IN ITS TRACKS, BECAUSE OF SOME UNFORTUNATE SHORTFALL OF INFORMATION……THAT MAY EXIST, OR WAS SOMEHOW DESTROYED OUT OF NEGLECT. AS I WORK ON ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES THESE DAYS, IT IS SUCH A DETRIMENT, TO GET SO CLOSE TO THE HEART OF THE STORY, BUT HAVE TO SLUFF IT OFF OR GENERALIZE, BECAUSE A HUGE WHACK OF THE SUBJECT'S LIFE IS UNDOCUMENTED. AS IS THE CASE, THE SUBJECTS OF THESE BIOGRAPHIES ARE DECEASED, ADMITTEDLY THE RESEARCHER COUNTS ON FAMILY AND FRIENDS FOR THE BULK OF THE RESEARCH MATERIAL. SOME TIMES THIS ISN'T THE CASE, AND SUZANNE AND I HAVE TO EMPLOY GREATER EFFORT AND EXPENSE OF TIME, TO SEEK OUT SHREDS OF BIOGRAPHICAL MATERIAL ALL OVER GOD'S HALF ACRE, WHICH IS NORMAL EXERCISE FOR HISTORICAL-TYPES, BUT ALSO IMPOSES A HIGH DEGREE OF DIFFICULTY THAT CAN SERIOUSLY DIMINISH THE FINAL STORY-LINE. THE MORE INFORMATION, THE MORE RESPONSIBLE THE END RESULT.

    I'VE NEVER RUN INTO A RESEARCH PROJECT, WHERE I COMPLAINED THERE WAS TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I MIGHT COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING UNDER-STAFFED TO SCAN THROUGH IT ALL, OR THAT I MIGHT BE UNDER THE GUN IN TERMS OF BUDGET OF TIME, BUT NEVER BECAUSE THERE'S A MOUNTAIN OF AVAILABLE RESEARCH MATERIAL. WELL, THANKS TO ARCHIVIST, PAPER SLEUTHS LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, IN OUR COUNTRY, HUGE AMOUNTS OF ARCHIVAL MATERIAL, FOR RESEARCHERS, HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM ALL OVER THE CONTINENT, (AND SOMETIMES BEYOND), THAT HAS INFILLED OUR COUNTRY'S CITIZEN HISTORY; WHICH AT TIMES, WAS ACQUIRED ONE DOCUMENT, ONE JOURNAL, ONE LETTER AT A TIME. IT'S ALL ABOUT TIEING UP LOOSE ENDS OF THE STORY, WHICH LEFT UNDONE, AND INCOMPLETE, DRIVES HISTORIANS NUTS. WHERE THERE HAS BEEN AN OBVIOUS VOID OF INFORMATION IN A STORY, OTHERS THOUGHT WAS A FINAL CAPPING, HUGH MACMILLAN, TIME AND AGAIN, PROVED THEM WRONG, BY FINDING A STASH OF HISTORIC PAPER NO ONE ELSE KNEW ABOUT……OR COULD HAVE IMAGINED; ULTIMATELY AND EFFECTIVELY ADDING THOSE IMPORTANT NEW CHAPTERS ON STORIES THAT PRESUMABLY, AND PREMATURELY HAD BEEN CONCLUDED.

    HIS WAS A JOB, UNDER THE MOST TRYING OF CIRCUMSTANCES, THAT HARDLY EVER EARNED HIM GREAT PUBLIC ACCOLADES; EXCEPT OF COURSE FROM HIS PEERS, WHO REVERED HIS SENSE OF MISSION, AND MANTRA, "SUCCESS AT ALL COST." THE ARCHIVIST PROFESSION SELDOM STRETCHES BEYOND THE COMPLETION OVATION, "SUCCESSFUL, BUT STILL WORK TO BE DONE!"  THE WORD "UNSUNG," COMES TO MIND, AS WOULD BE EXPECTED OF THE GRUNT-WORK BEHIND THE SHOW LIGHTS…..BEYOND THE MAIN STAGE WHERE THE FINDS ARE THANKFULLY CELEBRATED. THE FOUNDER OF THE EVENT? WELL, HE'S GOT NO TIME NOW TO BASK IN ACCOMPLISHMENT. THAT WAS THE GOOD FEELING YESTERDAY. TODAY THERE'S ANOTHER MOUNTAIN OF PAPERWORK TO BE SORTED AND CATALOGUED. TO SAY HUGH MACMILLAN WAS INTREPID AND STALWART ABOUT HIS WORK, WAS OF COURSE AN UNDERSTATEMENT.

      BEHIND THOSE MAJOR PAPER FINDS WERE REMARKABLE, NEVER-SAY-DIE HISTORICAL TYPES LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, WHO BECAME A LEGEND AS THE COUNTRY'S FIRST FREELANCE ARCHIVIST. WAS HE DESERVING OF THE LIMELIGHT FOR HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS? HONESTLY, I DON'T THINK HE NEEDED THIS KIND OF RECOGNITION, TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT THE HISTORY HE RELEASED FROM ATTICS, BASEMENTS, OLD SHEDS, BARNS AND OTHERWISE RUINS, TO BENEFIT THE ONGOING WORK OF CANADIAN HISTORIANS IN THOUSANDS OF DISCIPLINES. HE KNOWS THE GOOD HE'S DONE, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, I KNOW IT BOTHERS HIM PROFOUNDLY, TO REALIZE THAT OUT THERE, SOMEWHERE, A LARGE PILE OF IMPORTANT HERITAGE DOCUMENTATION, IS BEING RUINED BY NEGLECT; OR TOSSED OUT BY AN UNCARING FAMILY MEMBER…….NOT RECOGNIZING WHAT EVERY ONE SHOULD. BEFORE HISTORY IS WRITTEN INTO A MANUSCRIPT, IT HAS TO BE SUPPORTED BY INFORMATION……LIKE THE MATERIALS BEING THROWN OUT FROM ESTATES, OR DESTROYED BY SHEER NEGLECT OF ITS HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE. I AM PROUD TO SAY, I HAVE HUNG-OFF HUGH MACMILLAN'S EVERY WORD, FOR MANY YEARS NOW, AND I FEEL THAT THE BEST EDUCATION I RECEIVED IN CANADIAN HISTORY, DIDN'T COST ME A DIME OF TUITION……..JUST A WEE BIT OF HOSPITALITY, AND AN EAGERNESS, ON MY PART, TO LEARN FROM SOMEONE WHO HAD EVERY CREDENTIAL AS A PROFESSOR, BUT DIDN'T LIKE BEING CONFINED TO ONE PLACE…..WHEN THERE WAS SO MUCH TO BE GAINED BY TRAVEL AND EXPLORATION. IF AT TIMES, I BLUR THE LINES BETWEEN HISTORIAN, WRITER, COLLECTOR AND ANTIQUE DEALER, PLEASE EXCUSE MY ENTHUSIASM TO DABBLE IN EVERYTHING THAT AMAZES AND ENTERTAINS ME. IN PART, I GOT THIS AS SOURCE INSPIRATION, FROM GOOD FOLKS LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, WHO THANKFULLY INVITED ME INTO HIS WORLD, MANY YEARS AGO, TO SHARE THE TRUTHS OF WHAT MAKES HISTORIANS THE CENTER OF ATTRACTION. THE WORK OF ARCHIVISTS, THE HUNTER-GATHERERS OUT ON THE HUSTINGS, MAKE HISTORIANS LOOK GOOD. SO IF I OCCASIONALLY GET CREDIT FOR SOME HERITAGE PROJECT OR BIOGRAPHY, THE FIRST NAME I OFFER AS A FOUNDER OF MY SUCCESS, IS HUGH MACMILLAN. I WILL NEVER CHANGE THIS OPINION. HE HAS AND CONTINUES TO BE A MODEL IN MY PROFESSION. AS FAR AS COLLECTING GOES, I COULDN'T FIND A BETTER ROLE MODEL IF I LIVED ANOTHER FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS IN THIS OLD BODY. MOST OF US IN THE HISTORY AND ANTIQUE PROFESSION, HAVE FOND RECOLLECTIONS OF OUR RESPECTIVE MENTORS, OUR TUTORS AND INSTIGATORS……THOSE FOLKS WHO HELPED US MOVE FORWARD IN OCCUPATIONS AND PREOCCUPATIONS THAT PEAKED CURIOSITY IN OUR YOUTH. THAT'S OUR SPECIAL PROVENANCE. IT'S HOW WE GOT FROM THERE TO HERE, AND WE WON'T FORGET THE CONTRIBUTION THEY MADE……

NOR WESTER TALES POST ARCHIVIST YEARS

     "My job title of Ontario's official liaison officer was abolished in 1989, but my paper sleuthing didn't stop; in fact it just continued. As is obvious from all the foregoing chapters, treasure hunting for manuscripts, relics and ephemera is a vocation, avocation, occupation, preoccupation, and a game I will continue to enjoy as long as I live," wrote Hugh MacMillan, in his book, "Adventures of a Paper Sleuth," Penumbra Press, 2004 (hardcover). "From the moment I retired until today, I have continued this lifelong interest as a part-time dealer in antiquities."

     He writes, "Not simply a matter of having in my possession items of historical interest, the obsession also includes trying to solve historical mysteries, locating art treasures, and find the best destinations for certain valuable historic items. Shortly after my retirement party, when I related some of my misadventures to friends, and relatives gathered at the Arts and Letters Club, in Toronto, Muriel and I set to work on our own business called Nor'Wester Partners. With Muriel as editor, we have published four catalogues so far, listing items ranging in value from $25 to $85,000, and the chase continues in the 21st century. We chose the name Nor'Wester Partners because though we have branched out considerably, we originally intended to specialize in finding and selling reproduction trade silver, and publishing journals about the North West Company. We operated fur trade canoe brigades for pleasure, provided costumes for heritage movie footage, organized tours to historical pageants and fur trade canoe races, and personal slide shows and lectures on the history of the fur trade. We also conducted tours to Scotland, following our interest in Glengarry antecedents."

     "Through all these related activities, we built a network of history buffs and developed useful leads to manuscript collections. Similar to the original North West Company, our Nor'Wester Partners Company is a commercial venture. The original Nor' Westers explored much of Canada, as they conducted the fur trade; we explore the same territory while conducting our trade in papers and objects of historical value. Some museum archives and other public institutions, miss important collections because of poor rapport with intermediaries. I discovered early on that establishing good relations with dealers in antiquities benefits the public archives and all those who use them for research," writes Hugh MacMillan. "Every item that has appeared in our Nor'Wester Partners catalogues is a story in itself, from the very start up to yesterday's acquisition. Our first major coup was acquiring the Lambart Papers. Hyacinthe Lambart (1904-1988), a woman to be reckoned with, had a regal bearing and spoke her mind freely. In 1973, she took offense at something I said, didn't speak to me for ten years, then suddenly phoned to apologize and offered to sell me some manuscripts. These were letter books from the old Hamilton Brothers Mill, at Hawkesbury across the Ottawa River from where she lived in Cushing, Quebec. They had considerable historic value so I bought them for the Ontario Archives. In 1990, two years after Hyacinthe Lambart died, her executors got in touch with me to offer Miss Lambert's family, business and personal papers. They revealed much detail of this illustrious family, a real coup for our new antiquarian company. Hyacinthe's great-grandfather, the Earl of Cavan, had brought his son Octavius Lambert to Canada in 1874. Hyacinthe's father Frederick, son of Octavius, became a surveyor in Canada and built Vine Lynne at 7 Rideau Gate, across from the Governor General's residence in Ottawa, which is now used as a residence for visiting VIPs."

     "The letters in this collection define Hyacinthe Lambart as a fascinating Canadian. At McGill University, she studied under Hugh McLennan and Stephen Leacock. One of Canada's first female pilots, she corresponded with Amelia Earhart," notes historian, Hugh MacMillan. "In 1932, Hyacinthe Lambart, flew her Gipsy Moth aircraft to Quebec City, landing it on the Plains of Abraham. A striking photograph shows her wearing a stylish tweed suit, standing beside the plane en route to Holland to attend an international aviation conference. A photograph in the same collection shows her as the only female, still wearing her tweed suit, amidst a group of sober looking male aviators. During World War II she was secretary to the Association of Canadian Flying Clubs based in Montreal. Hyacinthe went on to historical research and writing. We eventually placed her family papers, some 2000 items spanning four generations, with the National Archives in Ottawa, where they can be read by interested researchers. Included in the collection were papers from her two brothers, Arthur and Edward Lambart. Arthur left the RCMP for special duties with the RAF and was killed early in WWII. Edward was with the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery, in Italy, when he was killed by a German sniper. An unusual item in the Lambart collection was a fine sleeping robe made of lynx paws. Her father had brought it back from the North where he took part in the Yukon / Alaska boundary survey. This item is now with the National Museum of Civilization in Gatineau."

Hugh Macmillan, Dave Brown and Charlie Wilson Were Our Heritage Mentors and Business Motivators

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

I HAVE ENJOYED THE COMPANY OF EXPERTS AND NEVER MISSED AN OPPORTUNITY TO BE TUTORED BY THE BEST IN THE FIELD

A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     I would receive a call from book collector, Dave Brown at least once every week. In the evening. Dave was eccentric but always habitual. Did I mention, punctual. Charlie Wilson, my American friend from Delaware, and an historical scholar without portfolio, used to similarly call each week to touch base with me on several matters of ongoing research, and he would regale me with historical anecdotes and actual experiences that used to hold me spellbound to the receiver. Hugh P. Macmillan used to phone me twice a month, and we could easily kill an hour talking about his latest heritage exploits, and adventures, and he was always supportive of projects I was working on, such as the biography of Dave Brown, for instance. These were three of numerous others, who helped infill what university history didn’t. When the three of these chaps made home visits to Birch Hollow, (never at the same time), Suzanne and I did everything but keep notes, when they would begin talking about their efforts to conserve and promote heritage in this province, this country, and of course, beyond. Dave Brown was a frequent traveller in the United States, looking for old books, and attending key estate sales, and Charlie Wilson knew, and had visited some of the same shops in his region. Hugh was all over the place, always looking for historic artifacts with provenance, old paper in the former of documents of historic value, art with a pedigree important to Canada, or his favorite Scotland, and was not adverse to negotiating with any possessor of important letters and journals, if they had something at all to do with Canada; knowing that they should be brought back to either the national or provincial archives. We learned a great deal by immersion, you might say, and although they have all now passed away, they are always in our thoughts, especially in our line of work; being of course antiques, old books and ephemera of significance. I got a degree in practicality and actuality, when it came to acquiring heritage materials; the how-to guide to negotiate on behalf of heritage conservation. And of course, a little profit as well. It wasn’t the mainstay of their work, but it did play into their work and recreations a wee bit, but always in sensible proportion.

     It was Hugh’s heritage / business side that interested Suzanne and I the most; particularly because at the time we got to know him, we no longer had a Main Street antique shop, and were doing most of our selling online through various channels, and participating in special events and antique sales in nearby communities. Basically, we were antique brokers, and we did pretty well as a business, without being tied down to an actual day to day business site. We worked out of Birch Hollow, “the house,” and it was both cost efficient and really, really convenient, even if we had to stay late at work. We were only a few feet and a doorway from the kitchen for dinner, and the bedroom when our weary bones needed to recline. I love to hear his stories of buying and selling historic items, and how he worked freelance for the provincial archives, chasing after elusive estate paper collections, to enhance what amazing relics already owned by the public domain. I think what inspired Suzanne and I both, about the work of Hugh MacMillan, was his absolute love for history and its preservation where at all possible. His enthusiasm was infectious and we modeled our own in-house business practice, after the profile of his own, that seemed so exciting and rewarding, and relatively easy to operate. At the time Suzanne was still working at Gravenhurst High School as a teacher / librarian, and she didn’t have a huge amount of time to dedicate to our family business. But we knew that one day we would be able to devote more attention to the building of a marketable collection, and enjoy a solid retirement business from the comfort of our own home.

     Well, you know, from your own best laid plans, how life can get in the way. So we decided to join forces with our sons, Andrew and Robert, to open a much larger antique and collectable business, on the main street of Gravenhurst, and with a significant music component, we would occupy the former Muskoka Theatre building, opposite the Gravenhurst Opera House. The boys have been in this building for sixteen years, and we’ve been co-residents for about nine years now. We love it, and live it, six days a week, with inventory work on Sundays, but honestly, it’s not quite as efficient as it once was, when it was situated in the heart of Birch Hollow. We didn’t have to drive to work, for one thing, and retail was only occasional, at shows, and for pick ups from the house. Our biggest daily effort was to either hunt for more interesting antiques and such, or make the run to the post office to complete the day’s mailing to our many online purchasers. But regardless where we are situated, now or in the future, we did get a great deal of useful advice from our friend Hugh P. Macmillan. Charlie Wilson and Dave Brown were our mentors in history, and Dave specifically, in the acquisition of old books. We are under no allusion that we were self made in this business. We needed help, and they offered it with considerable generosity. I do miss their visits, and especially their phone calls. I could set my watch by them. 

ADVENTURES OF A PAPER SLEUTH - HUGH P. MACMILLAN

A MAN WORTH KNOWING - A FREE LANCE ARCHIVIST, HISTORIAN, ADVENTURER

     "MUCH OF MY LIFE HAS BEEN DRIVEN BY A FASCINATION WITH GLENGARRY COUNTY AND ITS HISTORY. THAT FASCINATION EXTENDS BACK TO THE 1930'S, AND 1940'S, WHEN MY FATHER, A PRESBYTERIAN PREACHER, MADE THE PILGRIMAGE BACK TO HIS ROOTS IN GLENGARRY EVERY SUMMER. STARTING IN MY TEENS, I TOOK NOTES FROM THE REMINISCENCES OF MY GRANDMOTHER, WHO DIED IN 1942. OVER TIME, THIS INTEREST EVOLVED INTO A UNIQUE CAREER IN HISTORICAL RESEARCH, WHICH CONTINUES TO THIS DAY."

     THE PASSAGE ABOVE WAS WRITTEN BY MY FRIEND HUGH MACMILLAN, A CANADIAN HISTORIAN WHO CHANGED MY LIFE. HE OPENED DOORS IN THINKING AND AMBITION, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW I HAD. THERE IS SOMETHING ENDEARING ABOUT THE CRUSTY, SOMETIMES CRANKY OLD CHAP, THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO FOLLOW HIM ALL OVER THE PLACE….BECAUSE YOU JUST KNOW, HE WILL BE EMBARKING ON SOME INCREDIBLE ADVENTURE, AS A PAPER SLEUTH, AND THAT WITH HUGH, THE ONLY TRUE DOWN TIME FROM RESEARCH, IS WHEN HE SLEEPS. I'M PRETTY SURE, FOR HIM, IT DOESN'T STOP THERE EITHER. I PONDERED ONCE TO SUZANNE, IF GOD KNEW HOW MANY QUESTIONS HUGH HAD ASKED IN HIS LIFETIME, THUS FAR. IT HAS TO BE QUADRUPLE THAT OF THE MOST LONG-SERVING FRONT-LINE REPORTER, WORKING FOR THE DAILY PRESS. MOST OF HUGH'S ENGAGING CONVERSATIONS, THAT I'VE BEEN PRIVILEGED TO BE A PART, POSSESS THE CLEAR AND CALCULATED INFUSION OF QUESTIONS MARKS……BECAUSE HE'S VERY INTERESTED IN YOUR STORY……ESPECIALLY FAMILY HISTORY. IT'S FACT, THAT I HAVE NEVER MET A MORE ENQUIRING, INQUISITIVE PERSON, ANYWHERE ELSE ON THIS PLANET. AND WELL, APPARENTLY THE QUEST FOR ANSWERS RUBBED OFF…..WHICH BELIEVE ME, I CONSIDER A VERY GREAT HONOR. AND WHEN SOMEONE GRIMMACES, A TAD ANNOYED, WHY I ASK SO DAMN MANY QUESTIONS…..I JUST SMILE TO MYSELF, AND SOFTLY WHISPER A LITTLE "THANK YOU HUGH," TO MY ASSOCIATE IN HISTORY.

     "AT 16 I LEFT HOME, LIED ABOUT MY AGE AND TRIED TO JOIN THE ROYAL CANADIAN AIR FORCE. MY FATHER MUST HAVE INTERVENED, AS THE AIR FORCE SENT ME BACK TO SCHOOL. I DID SUCCEED IN VOLUNTEERING FOR THE INFANTRY, BUT MY ARMY CAREER WAS EQUALLY UNDISTINGUISHED. I DIDN'T GET OVERSEAS, AND THE PINNACLE OF MY MILITARY CAREER MUST HAVE OCCURRED SOMETIME BEFORE I GOT MYSELF BUSTED FROM SERGEANT BACK TO PRIVATE. HAVING SIGNED UP IN THE HOPE OF FIGHTING THE JAPANESE IN 1945, THE ONLY ACTION I SAW WAS CHASING JAPANESE FIRE BALLOONS IN A JEEP WITH A BREN GUN DURING WEAPONS TRAINING IN THE MOUNTAINS OF BRITISH COLUMBIA," WRITES HUGH MACMILLAN OF HIS YOUTH. WHEN THE WAR ENDED, I ASKED FOR A DISCHARGE AND WENT BACK TO SCHOOL. I SIGNED UP FOR SOME COLLEGE COURSES IN ENGLISH AND ACCOUNTING. AFTER A YEAR'S STUDY, I HAD A PASSING GRADE IN ENGLISH AND A FAILURE IN ACCOUNTING. I LEFT SCHOOL FOR A JOB IN MONTREAL, AS OFFICE GOPHER WITH A DUTCH EXPORT FIRM. WHEN I DISCOVERED THAT THE MANAGER WAS SHAFTING THE OWNERS, I LED AN OFFICE REVOLT BY THE THREE EMPLOYEES, AND THE OFFENDING MANAGER FIRED ME FORTHWITH."

     HE NOTES, "THE SUMMER OF 1947 WAS SPENT WORKING ON MY UNCLE'S GLENGARRY FARM, CONTEMPLATING MY NEXT MOVE. TO STAY AND HELP RUN THE FAMILY FARM, WAS AN APPEALING OPTION, PARTLY BECAUSE OF MY NEW INTEREST IN FAMILY HISTORY. BUT I ALSO CRAVED ADVENTURE, SO I JOINED A TWO MONTH HARVEST EXCURSION IN SASKATCHEWAN, STOOKING GRAIN AND DRIVING A TEAM OF HORSES HAULING SHEAVES TO THE THRESHER. MOVING ON WEST, I SPENT TWO MONTHS ON A CATTLE RANCH IN ALBERTA, THEN OUT TO THE PACIFIC COAST. I WAS NOW TAKING A CORRESPONDENCE COURSE ON WRITING. IN VANCOUVER I THOUGHT OF GOING TO SEA AND WRITING AT THE SAME TIME, IN THE TRADITION OF JACK LONDON, JOSEPH CONRAD AND RICHARD HENRY DANA. MY TIMING WAS BAD. THERE WAS A SEAMAN'S STRIKE IN PROGRESS, SO I HAD TO SETTLE FOR A COASTAL TOWBOAT, ON WHICH I STARTED AS A DECKHAND. SO MUCH FOR WRITING THE NEXT 'MOBY DICK."

     "IN ONE RESPECT, MY TIMING WAS VERY GOOD. IN VANCOUVER I MET AND MARRIED MURIEL DIVER, WHO HAD COME FROM MONTREAL TO ATTEND THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA. IN 1952 WE WENT BACK TO THE GLENGARRY FARM. MY TRUE INTEREST LAY IN FAMILY AND LOCAL HISTORY, BUT THAT PURSUIT PAID NO BILLS. NOT HAVING A UNIVERSITY DEGREE, I WAS IN NO POSITION TO TEACH. I HELD A SUCCESSION OF JOBS NOTABLE MORE FOR THEIR VARIETY THAN THEIR FINANCIAL YIELD. CAR-TOP CARRIERS (JUST AS THE KOREAN CRISIS EMBARGOED SUPPLIES OF STEEL TO THE MANUFACTURER), LIFE INSURANCE (THE LAST REFUGE OF THE MAN WHO HAS NOT UTTERLY GIVEN UP THE HOPE OF AN INCOME) AND FARMING ITSELF (THE FIRST STEP ON THE ROAD TO RECOVERY FROM EXPECTING TO MAKE A LIVING), ALL WERE DOOMED TO FAILURE. MEANWHILE, MURIEL TAUGHT SCHOOL BETWEEN RAISING AND CARING FOR OUR FOUR CHILDREN. HER CONTRIBUTION TO THE FAMILY FINANCES ENABLED ME TO SPEND TIME ON HISTORICAL RESEARCH. EVENTUALLY MY INTEREST IN FAMILY HISTORY FOUND A FOCUS IN THE FIELD OF DOCUMENTS AND ARCHIVES. I HAD BEGUN NOTING COLLECTIONS OF PAPERS IN GLENGARRY THAT WERE IN PRIVATE HANDS, AND IN MANY CASES IN IMMINENT PERIL OF DESTRUCTION. I WAS ABLE TO TAKE SOME OF THESE PAPERS TO THE PUBLIC ARCHIVES OF CANADA IN NEARBY OTTAWA, KEEPING COPIES FOR MYSELF TO USE IN A COLUMN I WAS WRITING FOR THE GLENGARRY NEWS. THEN, THANKS TO THE SUPPORT OF DONALD FRASER MCOUAT, I HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO PIONEER IN A NEW JOB THAT I HELPED CREATE, LIAISON OFFICER FOR THE ARCHIVES OF ONTARIO. THIS I FOUND TO BE REMARKABLE BECAUSE I WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO BE PAID TO LOCATE AND ACQUIRE PAPERS!"

ON THE PAPER TRAIL ACROSS CANADA

     "Moving to Toronto, in 1963, was not easy, since our family had long established roots in Glengarry (dating back to 1802), and my lack of success in making a living from the farm of my ancestors was particularly poignant. But in a way, my father's peripatetic career as a minister had helped ease the separation. After all, only one of his children had been born in Glengarry, and it wasn't me. Besides, I was now in the happy position of being able to convert my hobby to a paying job. i came to terms with the fact that I was not a farmer," writes Hugh MacMillan. "My agenda for this new and untried line of work began without guidelines or direction from the Archives of Civil Service procedures as there had never been such a position before. I decided, and McOuat agreed, that I would set my own guidelines, following the precepts of any skilled salesman. I kept in close contact with my Eastern Ontario history buffs and gradually built a network across the province. I continued to gather family history information in the form of documents, both originals and copies, and combined it with the recording of oral history. Along my career path I unearthed many stories that relate to my Glengarry relatives. While every family's history is unique, every family has a history. Each is worth knowing, for the knowledge it gives depth to the lives of every member of the family and their understanding of why they are where they are in life. I have been in the privileged position for much of my life, of seeing how my family history intersects with the history of Ontario, the history of northern and western Canada, and even the West Indies! I have related disjointed bits on occasions and through the years, no doubt, boring some while delighting others. The rest of this chapter places these anecdotes together for the first time, hopefully putting me into my own historical context. Like many Scottish families, mine has spelled its name with joyous inconsistency as MacMillan or McMillan as while and fashion took it."

     "In the employee lunchroom of Canada's National Archives there is a figured mug for sale. The face on the cup is that of Sir Arthur Doughty, the second Dominion Archivist and a legend among Canadian archivists. Sir Arthur made his name by the aggressive and ingenious methods he used to acquire historically important papers for Canada, whose collections were then in a state of infancy. Hugh P. Macmillan, the first field officer in the history of the Archives of Ontario, has created a method of archival acquisition which is broadly based on what he calls 'reverse genealogy.' It is a recipe for saving history, and stands in the best tradition of Sir Arthur and this of his table, so to speak," wrote David G. Anderson, a friend, from Williamstown, Glengarry County, in 2004. "If we 'reverse engineer,' the material that Hugh P. serves forth in this, his present book, we can savor the recipe as well. First, take a generous large hearted interest in other people, and their stories. Pay no heed to race, religion or gender, but do use them to enhance the flavor of the results - this from a man whose personal library has a long shelf labelled 'social justice.' Listen carefully in history. Knead relentlessly on said connection until it starts to leaven."

     He writes of his friend, "The seeking (and finding) of good subjects involves a preparation time: become richly read in history and biography; contrive to sketch out a family tree and walk, write or telephone your way down the disparate branches thereof. At all times follow the trail of the family story and find who got the papers, portraits or artifacts. Never give up. once on to the scent, take van (or Caravan) and show up on doorstep. Engage subject in purposeful conversation, even through the crack in the door if the situation calls for it. Brush aside protestations that 'the attic is a mess,' or that they 'need time to go through the boxes.' Give receipts, tax credits, or in extremes, money, and get the material in its rough state back home to the professional archivists, the sedentary guard, if you will (to use a fine old term from the War of 1812). Before leaving, break bread with the new friend, and continue to be such a natural good companion that the proffered spare bed of the host is impossible to refuse. Never forget a name of a genealogy. Return when next in neighborhood and bring forth more and more connections to add to the intricate living web of characters, friends, papers and history. Through it all, keep a wife of abiding good sense (Muriel) and a family of international extent. There are no secret ingredients in the MacMillan method, but a few have mastered it or served it up as well as our friend Hugh P."

     This was published in the text of "Adventures of a Paper Sleuth - Hugh MacMillan," published in 2004 by Penumbra Press, of Canada. Hugh sent me a signed copy, and it is one of my favorite reads, especially when I'm about to head out on my own "paper hunt," here in Muskoka. While I have no affiliation with the federal or provincial archives, I do use any historical documents, journals, diaries, and other published histories, as reference for our numerous research projects we are hired to work on, and compose into text, each year……including for publishing on this blog site. It was Hugh MacMillan and his old buddy and book-hound Dave Brown, who gave me so many incredibly important tutorials, while staying here, about not only document hunting and gathering, but pouring over the paper mountains, until weak-eyed and exhausted, to piece together the family tree. Suzanne, the host of these social / historical get-togethers, here at Birch Hollow, owes her present progress on our own family history, to the advice given by this historian's historian. You don't talk hockey when MacMillan drops by. He's not too interested in golf either, or curling, which you may find odd for a Great Scot……but when it comes to discussing historical matters of this country, let me tell you…..it's like being in a voyageur's canoe, whipping over the rapids, spray in your face, singing and laughing in the imminent reality of rocks and undertow, fast water and sunken logs. We might just be sitting by the hearth here at Birch Hollow, but when Hugh's spinning one of his stories, by golly, it's like you're right there in the midst of all the trial and tribulation of nation-building. You can't use the word "passionate" to describe his mission to know it all…..about our heritage. That would be to minimize his focus and interest. It's far more durable and dynamic than just passion for what he has done most of his working life.

     When my book collector colleague, and Outdoor Education teacher friend, Dave Brown would show up, usually just after Hugh had left, (once with historian Ed Phelps), he would have to find a way of outperforming his contemporary, by taking Suzanne and I on an even grander historical odyssey……at hearthside, to the brink of my heart actually stopping…..like the birch bark canoe getting stuck on a dead-head at the brink of a great cataract, only in Dave's description, to get freed, and paddled safely to the shore without flying over the cliffside in a spray of white-water. These were the precious moments we had with two of this province's amazing historians……although they probably never referred to themselves in this way. Both men loved heritage discussions, and with a bottle of wine, some good food, and a some reason to reach back into their bag of anecdotes and untold adventures…..well sir, we never wanted those evening tutorials to end. The miles these chaps had canoed. The miles they had walked. The rare books and documents they had held in their hands. The treasures they had uncovered. The realities of history, their relentless sleuthing, gave us, as new historical fact, oh so many discoveries. Hugh MacMillan in particular, with his discovery of important, previously unknown and unacknowledged historical record, changed the previously accepted chronicle…….and brought about a new awareness about the relevance of critical thinking, and the pursuit of accurate records……no matter where, or under what pile of debris, they might be found.

     I was a book and paper hunter-gatherer, and historian before I met Hugh MacMillan and David Brown. I became a much more proficient, better educated paper sleuth, having benefitted from their informal mentorship. I became more efficient and enterprising as an historian, and I learned how to follow-up leads, and carry-on with investigation, even after the assumption there was nothing left to uncover. Let's just say, I found out what they meant, about never taking "no" for an answer.

     Tomorrow I would once again like to re-visit this fascinating biography, and explain a little bit more about what a paper sleuth, and free lance archivist does out there on the hustings. So please visit me again tomorrow for part two of this fascinating story. You will probably be able to find a copy of this book, by visiting the Advanced Book Exchange online, and entering the author and book title. We are active buyers on the ABE link, and have been well served by the member booksellers, specializing in out of print and antiquarian books.

     "For more than 25 years, Hugh has roamed the highways, attics and basements of Ontario, seeking out the often forgotten, usually unappreciated treasures of our documentary heritage. Combining the skills of a great detective with patience and tenacity, he has been infectious, enlisting the help of many in the cause, and triumphing over bureaucracy and indifference. His achievements have been real and numerous. His exploits, though are the stuff of legend." The passage above was written, about Hugh, by Ian R. Wilson, Librarian and Archivist of Canada, circa 2004.

The Ever Present Realities of Work

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

THREE VOYEURS EXHAUSTED BY THE REALITIES OF WORK, THE CONSEQUENCES OF NO UPWARD MOBILITY, AND THE WOES OF BEING BROKE ON THE CUSP OF A NEW YEAR

A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     I dare to hope that you might have heard of the names, Brant Scott and John Black. They were my mates and work colleagues in my own heyday of newspaper editing. Both John and Brant passed away some years ago now, but they will never be forgotten by the third of the trio; of work weary newspaper staffers, who on the brink of a New Year, (green by the way) were only too eager to take a long and thoughtful ride around the district they represented so well, in both written copy and photographs for the mother ship, Muskoka Publications.

     Brant Scott was an exceptional writer in the style of Toronto Sun columnist Paul Rimstead, and I had first begun reading his own columns, when he was a high school stringer, penning a weekly piece known back in the early 1970’s as a “Wee Biscuit.” It was a column that was supposed to be about school happenings, but Brant never colored inside the lines, and frankly, that’s what I loved about the guy. Most of the time, until he got me into trouble with the publisher. Which was always worth enduring because his opinions were usually bang-on and I had little choice but to back him through what ever conflict needed resolution, as far as his opinions went. He was a brilliant wordsmith, and he taught me a lot about writing, even though I had the editorial chair at that point. I asked him to tutor me, and he was a fine teacher, and abundantly patient. He gave our publication depth and solid coverage when it came to the big stories of the week. John Black was clearly the best news photographer and print technician in the region, and the kind of work he did as a news hound was exceptional every week, and he made us look good on a very low budget. He could fix just about anything, and he always had my back, so to speak, whenever I ran into conflict with management at the newspaper. I wouldn’t have had a prayer of keeping my editorial job without the assistance these two highly qualified mates offered above and beyond the meagre wages they received. We all wanted better for the paper, and for ourselves, but we lived pay cheque to pay cheque and there wasn’t much room for anything else, other than the occasional pint at the local pub, to come down from the high of another edition being, as we used to say, in the business, “put to bed.” And yes, thanks Val, Chris, Ida, and Norman for doing the rough work on the flats so that we could go home before midnight on Tuesday nights.

     My point is, that there was a time when all three of us news staffers were completely disillusioned by the work and the pay, and all the ridiculous stress we faced every week toeing the line with advertisers and assorted others with a vested interest in our company, and looking ahead to what didn’t appear on the horizon, even with wishful thinking. We took off in John’s car on a sunny and very green day between Christmas and New Years, and just drove around the region, stopping occasionally for food and beverage; and to refill John’s Volkswagen I believe it was back then. We felt as if we were jamming a week’s vacation and all its liberalities into an afternoon junket around the lakes; and damn it, that’s just what we did. We laughed and shared war stories of our under known misadventures in news gathering, and studied the magnificent and exposed December landscape in this most beautiful region of Ontario. You see, we weren’t on the way to report and photograph on a fatal car accident, or a hazardous waste disaster, or to cover a political publicity event, or even a fiftieth wedding anniversary as we were often force to attend, and it was real nice to just cruise and approve of what we witnessed; as three amigos can do, when freed from the entrapments of a profession that has its limits in small town publishing. We were invigorated and feeling alive beyond what we could have experienced, I think, any other way at that time. It was all very poetic and exciting but we didn’t over analyze why it was so nice to escape the pressures of the day, to just explore for the very sake of discovery. No story had to be written, no observations written down, for posterity, and no photographs really needed to be taken. But John did anyway, and they were great.

     In the heart of Milford Bay country, passing through some amazingly tranquil farm acreage, and along winding and hilly roads, we came upon a most engaging Canadian scene. We came over a rise of land, and looking down into the valley of a pasture, toward a farmstead and barn, we noticed a game of pond hockey in progress. There was a nicely cleaned off pad of ice, circular instead of rectangular, with a game of shinny in progress, and figure skaters off to the side, in the most stunningly bright sunlight, playing off the green hills and shadowed valley, and how picturesque the farm buildings appeared to the eager voyeurs, who had stepped out of the parked car and moved closer to the edge of the hillside giving us a panorama of all the land under the sky at that particular geographic location. We stood there for a long time watching out over the proceedings, that were so reflective of Canadian values, and stereotypical national recreation in such a nostalgic, pastoral location, that we came upon by accident. We must have been standing there for ten or fifteen minutes, when John finally started to snap some photographs, mostly, I think to record our moment in this actuality which had become history by time we climbed back into the car, to head further into the hinterland that sun-filled afternoon.

     At the time, all three of us were unhitched. Yup, not a girlfriend, or even hope of a partner any time soon, because frankly, at that point in our careers, there simply wasn’t time to invest in a relationship. It would come to us eventually, aa would respective families; and we would become so much more serious and adult about our expectations and responsibilities. Brant continued writing and working on Parliament Hill in Ottawa, John became a Fire Chief in Ontario, and I became a part time writer, historian and antique dealer. We did advance ourselves respectively and improved our economies. Maybe the catalyst was that day way back when, and the privilege of a green Christmas and New Year, a tank of fuel, and wide open spaces afforded the voyeurs by this most bountiful region of the province. I miss these lads, always,

HOW DID ANTIQUE DEALERS SURVIVE ECONOMIC DOWNTURNS - WAY BACK THEN; AND WHAT ABOUT TODAY?

CAN IT BE SAID THAT ANTIQUE BUSINESSES ARE RECESSION-PROOF?

     If you're not an antique dealer, you probably won't give a hoot about today's blog; unless of course, you're an antique hunter and frequent antique shopper, and wouldn't mind having an inside glimpse into the inner workings of the profession. Well, I can't give away too many secrets, but facing facts, we all have deep concerns about the state of the economy, no matter what era that happened to represent. I have included a rare insight in today's blog, from British antique dealer, Reginald Way, from his 1957 biography, about the conditions his profession had to deal with, during the onset, and continuation of the Great Depression. A large, large number of contemporary antique dealers could benefit from this snipit of biography, that could serve as a wake-up-call about running large deficits, in a business where all the buying is discretionary; and in our case, quite seasonal. Our profession is persnickety at the best of times, its success at the whim of a fickle audience of collectors and home decorators, so having an unanticipated economic downturn, is definitely the kind of trial by fire we, as rule, try to avoid by a country auction mile. It has a lot to do with our appreciation of history, generally, and all its trials and tribulations, which by immersion, we have learned from, without the aid of a textbook. We appreciate the ups and downs of our industry, because it happens regularly, when one vogue collectable is replaced by another, and we are stuck with the leftovers. One year it's Depression Glass, then Pressed Glass, then Jadite, back to historic, primitive glass, and then off to something else we have to hustle up quickly to satisfy the wants of our customers. It is an always changing marketplace, and many an antique dealer has blown the shop budget, by purchasing too much of one type of antique, and not enough of another; and that's a big loss of income, and a lot of unwanted articles to either pack away or sell off at a loss. Point is, I think veteran dealers are pretty savvy, when it comes to recognizing economic problems in general retail. I'm not sure if the present volatility in the resources market, is going to cause us grievous harm, (except our joy, at the gas pumps, which feels pretty good right now), but it's better, methinks, to be careful out there, than get caught without solid cash reserves. Suzanne and I did this in the late 1980's and right through to the mid 1990's, and I'll tell you, it was a period of prolonged fear I never want to revisit. Our business survived and always paid its bills, but not much more for six long years, of being in the middle of a powerful recession, where many citizens lost their jobs, their homes, and in some cases, their families. Yes, I did know how lucky we were, and it's why I issue this warning, to pay attention to the financial news, to stay on top of the latest trends, good or adverse, that might, down the road, affect the quality of your business.

     Antique and collectable dealers are pretty shrewd when it comes to clear recognition, of the first tell-tale buzz that an economic calamity, might soon be blowing into the territory. Quite a large percentage of dealers, use online sales as an outrigger, to balance what may or may not be happening in their shops, or mall booths. In the early part of this new century, we were active daily on ebay, where we sold thousands of antique and collectable items, from paintings to rare books, historic documents, and heritage glass. We found that it wasn't necessary to have a storefront, when we could operate such an efficient business from home base. There are dealers who have mall booths, and sometimes outlets in a number of other mall sites, and then do ebay or Kijiji to sell items best suited to an expanded marketplace. You can often see antique dealers, tucked into their shops, during business hours, with their computer screen tuned into these online sites; for purposes of buying and selling. A business within a business. It makes financial sense, and if you happen to be in a seasonal economy, these online sites are perfect for the business slowdown during the winter. Social media? It's huge. We are just establishing our business facebook page this month, and my blog will soon be part and parcel, along with better profiles of what has just arrived in the shop; we will be calling it "Birch Hollow Antiques," named after our first business, which we initiated shortly after Suzanne and I were married. We've made changes in our business profile, in carefully scheduled stages, and now it's time to venture into social media. Suzanne and son Robert will be managing the site, and it should be up and running later this month. We also intend to make a return to ebay in the near future, because we have a large volume of heritage paper to offer for sale, that doesn't really sell efficiently in a retail setting. Point is, that from the old days, of sitting in an antique shop, waiting for the big wave of buyers, to fund that night's dinner, now we have the tools to go international by the stroke of a key; and meet customers we haven't met previously. Keep in mind, we're baby boomers, and are slow to react sometimes, to new realities set to help us. We're a suspicious lot, but once we find something we like, we refuse to settle for less ever after.

     There shouldn't be a single retailer, anywhere in Canada, (including antique dealers), who isn't genuinely concerned about the present state of the sliding-down economy. Despite what the Federal Government might suggest to the contrary, the slump in oil prices, if it continues, will quickly spread its economic impact well beyond Alberta, and there's considerable evidence this is happening quite rapidly. Just not as visible as seeing shops boarded up, and noticing long lines for those seeking unemployment insurance. I don't believe there has been a run on a bank, as of yet, or anything that would suggest we're in danger of an old fashioned Depression. As for the present mess we find ourselves in, this is what happens when a country depends so heavily on its natural resources as the main source of revenue. What did our mothers tell us, way back when, about putting all our eggs in one basket; meaning, if you have a mishap, and drop the basket, you're screwed. Elementary stuff. Like "Target" should have considered, before opening so many of its stores all at once; and of course, failing to fully understand the peculiarities of the Canadian marketplace. About eighteen thousand people will be laid off, the result of this failed business plan, and the closures will impact a lot of other contract relationships across the country. So, should all retailers beware of an impending country-wide downturn? Why wouldn't they wish to be alert to these type of changes, which are occurring almost hourly? Target's demise isn't by itself, linked to the decline of oil prices, but it may have influenced long-term strategy. If their financial advisors, suspected that there was going to be a recession, coming down the pike, in the next two years, it would have played into their concerns about profitability, which had already been shifted to 2021 at the earliest. A recession, mild or not, might have added years onto this projection. It's pretty early to be calling this present situation a recession, or even recession-like, but unfortunately, business and industry owners can't wait until the federal government finally uses the word publicly, to describe looming economic realities. We need to react now, to prepare for the potential storm on the horizon. If it doesn't come, well, then we will have safeguarded our business economies, by not going too deeply into debt.

     Antique dealers are pretty careful folks, and I would never describe them, in general terms, as being gamblers, or risk takers, in terms of inventory acquisition. I do believe, that a majority of antique dealers, who have their own shops, are well off financially, and own a large percentage of their inventory at any one time. They may have lines of credit, to cover over the counter purchases, and shop or mall incidentals, but overall, they like to pay cash for their purchases to avoid paying interest, which affects their selling prices. Pickers I have known, will offer deals to their antique shop clients, allowing them to sell off what they have selected, over a period of months, before they collect what is owed. I have known dealers who got into trouble this way, but it was always their fault, buying the type and period of antiques they did. Hard to blame the picker. They just offer a wholesale emporium on wheels, and the dealer calls the shots, about what comes off the truck. I used to have a parallel deal with a picker I got to know from North Bay, that always worked pretty well. I never made a lot of money doing this, but I would take advantage of this during the seasons, when there was a shortage of auctions, and I didn't feel like driving five hours to get to one in Southern Ontario. Pickers do the hunting and gathering work for the dealers, and usually have reasonable prices to offer shop-keeps, which I'm assuming is still a successful practice being conducted today. Suzanne and I are pickers and dealers, so we prefer, for the sake of budget control, to hustle up our own deals out on the hustings.

     A pretty significant number of antique dealers today, are part-timers, (attic dealers) and also have day jobs and professions, they are still actively pursuing at the same time. This is why they prefer being vendors in antique malls, and associated collectives, where they pay a rental and commission fee, but don't have to actually take a turn, running the larger enterprise. There are many "attic" and hobby dealers, who began their business ventures early on, as Suzanne and I did, to build a solid foundation, for an eventual full-time business at retirement from day jobs. By time they retire, most of their inventory is paid-for, and the businesses are well financed. In the so called olden days, there were far more dealers who made antiques their profession, earlier in life, without supporting employment elsewhere. I knew many so called "mom and pop" antique shops, and of course, they were far more vulnerable to economic downturns. Today, I don't see this the same, and know for fact, most pickers and dealers are financially, much less exposed, such that a recession wouldn't seriously hurt their personal economies. It might force some to close up their shops, or abandon antique malls, because of successive periods of lost revenue; but it would be quite rare, to have these businesses seized for their assets by creditors. As we buy what we know, and understand, (most of the time), we understand as well, that whatever goes up, comes down, and the cycle repeats. Instead of any panic, such as having clearance sales, or blow-out pricing, antique dealers just pack up their inventories, and move it back to storage, to be brought out at a later date when the economy improves. It always does. Antique dealers are a patient lot, and for veteran dealers, they have likely survived five or more downturns, and know exactly how to change-over their inventories, to suit the incoming storm. But much success hinges on "paid" inventory, and this is how a majority of us operate, to mitigate risk of losing our businesses, which tend to become life-long realities. Unfortunately, a great many retailers depend on lines of credit, and the precarious graces of deficit financing, in order to operate their enterprises; which of course, makes it risky business when inclement weather, in the form of economic recession, rises ominously above the horizon.

     As I promised earlier, this week, I want to share a few stories, as related by former British antique dealer, Reginald Way, from his biography, circa 1957, about dealing with the side-effects of first, the Great Depression, and second, the aftermath of the Second World War, as it affected his well established and respected business. He was a survivor in the antique trade, and he offers some pointers, on the sacrifices that had to be made, in order to preserve his business.

     "In the summer of 1930 we went away with some Bath (England) friends, to Pridmouth in Cornwall, for a month's holiday. I left John in charge of the business, and I was surprised how little he was selling in my absence, and at his report, that very few dealers were calling; this was most unusual. Soon after my return I managed to buy two or three remarkably fine pieces of antique furniture, and I told Messrs. Mallett about these. They startled me by saying that business was so quiet they were not purchasing anything at the moment. I'd heard, of course, of the great slump in Wall Street and I decided to go to London and find out from my friends in the trade, how things really were. I shall never forget the long faces and real fears of many of the men I talked to. The American slump, they said, had completely crippled the antique business in America and, as prices during the past five years had been ruled entirely by America, the English market was in a state of chaos. English dealers who'd allowed American dealers credit couldn't obtain payment. Several London firms didn't know where to turn for money and nobody knew the real value of an article. One friend of mine, gave me some very serious advice. He said, 'The antique trade won't recover from this for many years; get hold of as much cash as you can possibly raise, and cut down your overheads to the barest minimum.'

     "So that was that," wrote the British antique dealer, Reginald Way. "And as I sat in the 6:30 p.m. express from Paddington (station), I felt very unhappy. I realized my fairy dream was broken. I must get rid of my lovely home and gardens; Arch and the van must go; the quicker I set about these economies, the better it would be in the long run. Gladys was of course distressed, but we talked over the matter for many hours and decided that we'd live over the Gay Street shop in the same way as we'd done in Bristol. The shop was not big enough to take much stock, but we had the offer at a very reasonable price, of a larger one at Number eight Quiet Street, which was in a good position just off the bottom of Milsom Street. This shop had been opened during the 1914-18 war for people to give antiques, and other articles for sale, for the benefit of the Red Cross, and was known as the Gift Shop. After the war, a woman took it over and ran it as an antique business, but she wanted to retire, and I was able to take over the remaining years of her lease. It was not until April 1931 that I was able to sell Titan Barrow, so we didn't occupy Gay Street until then. Meanwhile the antique business went from bad to worse, and I had to cut my losses on all my stock. But when I heard what was happening to many other antique dealers, I knew that I was far better off than most of them. My wife's help and understanding at the time, is something I shall never forget. It is at such times that one learns to count one's blessings."

     Reginald Way wrote that, "In August 1931 my brother John came of age, with the right to take up his partnership in the business he wished. I told him that if he preferred it, he could carry on as he had been doing, living with us and working on a salary. In this way he needn't touch his capital until times were better. However, he wanted to become a partner at once, so this was arranged. One bright spot, shone out for me in that year: I was elected vice-president of the British Antique Dealers' Association. This was a great honor and the highest position a country dealer can attain in the Association. Owing to the enormous amount of work done by the BADA, only a London dealer could be president, as his presence is often required at a moment's notice at the headquarters in London. The year 1932 found us plodding along in the business in the face of prevailing trade difficulties. We fixed a luggage rail to the top of the Dodge saloon, so that we could carry home a large quantity of what we bought. Although we worked very hard, we were not quite clearing our expenses so that we were experiencing a small loss every week. I think it was this which made my brother decide to go into business on his own. No doubt he reasoned that with lower overheads, he could probably work at a profit. So he told me he wanted to dissolve our partnership and open his own business in Bristol. The partnership could be dissolved by either partner giving three months' notice to the other. I was worried about his decision and I begged him to take a little shop to start with, so as to conserve his capital and feel his way carefully. I was wasting my time, because a few weeks later, he told me that he'd rented premises at 71 Park Street. This was a fine shop on the corner of Charlotte Street, and when I lived in Bristol, it was occupied by Arthur Goldsmith, owner of the fashionable boot and shoe shop. I knew John couldn't have a low rent there, but he never told me how much he was paying.

     "Poor John didn't last very long in Bristol. I think he missed my knowledge and experience. One of the first things he did was to buy a collection of china and pottery cottages, and when I examined them for him, I had to break it to him that half were fakes. In the end he decided to give up antiques and, having sold his stock by auction, he went to help a friend who owned a hotel in Exeter. Later he became the landlord of the White Hart Hotel at Liskeard. There he married a Devon girl and had a son, also called John." The antique dealer adds, "Poor John, circumstances had forced him into the antique trade, which he'd never really cared for. I wish he could have had a longer life in the job he'd finally chosen, and in which, he was making a success. Our companionship was a close one, and I always felt for him that deep affection of an elder brother."

Antiques As A First and Second Career

 

Photos by Suzanne Currie

I’VE ALWAYS HAD ANTIQUES AS A FIRST AND SECOND CAREER AND OF THIS I ALWAYS HAD MY SAFETY NET

A PREAMBLE TO TODAY’S POST

BY TED CURRIE

     So what might a long serving antique dealer expect as a Christmas gift. Something historic, intriguing, unusual, and stranger than the Christmas before. I bet, that in this whole wide world, no one would open a rather heavy present, and expect to find a ball and chain inside. In fact, it took sons Andrew and Robert at full strength, with a reinforced box, to bring this former penitentiary-used ball and chain upstairs and to my tree side chair. If you think this is weird, last year I was given a hand made tin identification tag from the former Confederate Army run “Andersonville,” a horror by any accounting, such that the commandant was eventually tried for his crimes of inhumanity and hung following the Civil War. Why would either of these be appropriate gifts at this religiously significant time of year, and in the spirit of good will; when obviously there was a lot of bad will, and negative karma attached to each. It’s sort of the point, in reality, because we are not only antique hustlers, and sellers, but we are first and foremost historians and stewards of our interesting bits and bobs of world heritage. We actually used these materials as display pieces, and would never think of selling items of this provenance, and, yes inhumanity, for those folks who visit our shop and show and interest about what these items represent, as awful as that is in fact, we are only too pleased to show and explain the hardships attached to each piece. And there are more. We have quite a few bayonets from both the First and Second World Wars, and we have materials from the American Civil War, that allow us to curate small information sessions, that don’t glamorize war, but do offer the hard realities that were experienced by soldier participants. I’ve worked and acted as an administrator of museum and exhibition artifacts, including sports related collectables, and I never tired of letting folks, under our dutiful watch, hold a former National Hockey League player’s hockey stick, skates, mask as in the case of Roger Crozier of the Detroit Red Wings, or hold onto a trophy presented to Irvin “Ace” Bailey back in the days of the fledgling Toronto Maple Leafs. We’ve always had an interest in carrying the history thing to a contemporary actuality, by letting these materials be touched, and enjoyed, and that has included many pieces of original Victorian clothing, hats, and shoes. We have had our share of criticism because we won’t sell certain pieces that we could obviously flip for a fairly high profit. We just wouldn’t feel right about it however, and this is something all of us Curries have agreed to, ever since we began buying and selling all types of heritage items, big and small, negative provenance and positive. 

     We never brag about having these things, but we do share enthusiasm about being able to represent these heritage items in the critical light they deserve. And the ball and chain, which could have been from a Civil War era prison, is one of those terrible realities of past imprisonment, that can be used in a most positive way, to show just how bad it was back then, and even in some situations today, where imprisonment is just as cruel and inhumane. Putting the cold iron bracket around my own bare ankle is enough of a shock to remind me that there are aspects of history I fear might repeat on a free world; and I think that most who look upon the rusted iron ball and chain would feel a shiver up the spine, that this was a daily use article of painful imprisonment. As both an antique dealer and an active historian, I have access to these materials regularly, but there are a select number of artifacts that add to our capabilities of representing heritage in all its raw realities; much of it interesting and enriching, while other items are stark reminders to anyone who thinks history was much better than the present, that it’s just not true. I love being an antique dealer but I am not ignorant of all that it entails to be an historian to interpret all that comes down the proverbial pike, and into our possession as either collectors, dealers or curators of our frequent in-shop exhibitions.

SURVIVING IN THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS THROUGH TWO WORLD WARS AND THE GREAT DEPRESSION - A BIOGRAPHY WE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT

THE PASSION FOR ANTIQUES MAKES US DO WHATEVER IT TAKES, TO MAINTAIN OUR COMMITMENT TO HISTORY AND ITS FINER POINTS

     During the past thirty-five odd years, (some more so than others), I've thoroughly enjoyed the antique business, mostly because of what it didn't possess, in the way of work-day stresses. Running an antique business has always been challenging and historically charged; but truthfully, always more satisfying, because of its free-wheeling liberalities. Unlike what I experienced working in other capacities and professions. I loved my newspaper jag, if I'd ever been able to work at it, without management constantly kicking at the backs of my shoes, reminding, as if I had a shallow memory, who the boss was! I loved any opportunity to sneak into some of the old time, mom and pop antique shops, in the Toronto area, and I considered it part of the quest, to connect with veteran dealers; who by the way, weren't adverse to sharing their own intimate biographies about the profession. I am glad I had the opportunity to visit, and chat with these folks, because it re-enforced some of my own values, about the business I was planning to pursue. These fine folks offered a great deal of sage advice, about the pitfalls of the industry, and how they, (most were co-owned shops), had successfully navigated economic downturns in the past. My questioning was probably quite annoying to them, but possibly they saw the next generation of antique dealer, and gave me the benefit of the doubt. I would have very much enjoyed the opportunity to meet with Reginald Way, the British antique dealer, who I have been profiling for the past week. Suffice that I have his biography, "Antique Dealer," published in 1957, to consult, when I start wondering what it would have been like, to be in this profession much earlier in history. This is what I have in store for you today.    

     I've raised the point many times, with associate antique dealers, about the potential dire consequences of a future recession, the likes of the one we experienced in the late 1980's, through until the mid 1990's. Some of them hadn't become full fledged dealers at that point, and really don't appreciate my stories, about watching regional businesses suffering huge losses, and closing altogether. My warnings, I suppose, sound more like tall folk tales than economic histories. A lot of folks lost their homes, when the real estate market collapsed, and to make matters more consequential, they lost the jobs, that had provided re-payment capabilities, for their large mortgages. If they don't appreciate the real estate inspired collapse, of the nineteen nineties, there seems little point dredging up horror stories for businesses, from the period of the First World War, the Great Depression, and the Second World War. While I get stuck on the historical precedents, these periods now offer us modernists, facing our own contemporary risks and downfalls, it always amazes me, how those in the history-conserving business, can have so little regard for these catastrophic events, that always have the potential of returning with a renewed vengence. I keep harping on these issues, because Suzanne and I believe there is a greater purpose of writing a biography, than the self-indulgent, horn blowing to be expected from such intimate reflections. We opened Birch Hollow Antiques, from our Ontario Street home, in Bracebridge, only a few years before the onset of that era's recession. By time it hit with the tell-tale slump of the real estate market, we had just recently partnered, to open a main street antique shop, on upper Manitoba Street, less than a hundred yards from picturesque tree-lined Memorial Park. It seemed like the perfect partnership, but there are no perfect partnerships except on a drawing board, or in one's most hopeful imagination.

     I won't bore you with details, but the poop, and I mean a really big poop, soon hit the proverbial fan. Suzanne and I found ourselves without a business partner, which had nothing to do with antiques, and everything to do with the fact I had changed jobs in the local newspaper war, and our work-mates had a stake in the paper I had just quit. Thus, it wasn't long before the partnership died, and we had to hustle to find a replacement investor. In a short period of time, we had at least ten major adjustments to make, including the fact our car used to stall at sixty miles per hour, our new house was worth thirty thousand less than when we purchased it the year before, and by the summer of 1990, my jobs in radio, print, and museum management had ended, in part because of recessionary stresses, and my unwillingness to settle for less. We were fortunate Suzanne had a secure teaching job by this point, and at the very least, we had a business location on a prime stretch of the main street, and I understood the antique business pretty well. There were a lot of bleak years, and winters that were wretched in the economic sense. But thanks to new partners, and many consignors, who liked the fact, we only took twenty percent commission, and trusted the way we handled their heirloom pieces, we inched over the economic canyons, on the most slender fibres of bridging; and let me tell you, this was a sad enterprise by itself, because many of our consignors, themselves, had one proverbial foot on a banana peel, economically speaking. I sold off some of the last material pieces for customers who had just lost their homes to bank foreclosure; and for those having just lost their jobs with no prospects on the horizon. We all profited a little bit back then, because the consignment pieces were better, at that time, than anything else we had for sale. Funny thing about this, is that we undoubtedly would have closed our shop in Bracebridge, if it wasn't for the happenstance of selling on consignment; which happened innocently enough one day, when a fellow came in with some outstanding pieces, that we couldn't afford to buy outright. He asked if we would agree to sell them on consignment. I agreed and for the next two years, we sold lots of his vintage wooden boxes, trunks and blanket boxes, that he restored beautifully. It was our kick-start, that let us know, we didn't have to lay out big whacks of cash in order to maintain an inventory. These consignors, who offered us the chance to sell some amazing antiques and collectables, saved our business, but I probably never told them this before now.

     The bottom line, is that we survived being caught in the eye of a massive, and brutal economic storm, because we knew how to limit our purchases, and become, temporarily, a consignment shop, at a time, when a lot of folks needed to raise money fast in order to pay hydro bills and taxes; and of course, to buy food. We used to have daily discussions, when our group of consignors would gather at my sales desk, for our coffee club socials, and overview the prevailing crisis, as if these bull sessions made them feel better, about, say, the fact they had just received notice their gas was being cut off, or the town was coming after them for unpaid taxes. Or that the repair on their car, was going to cost way more than they could afford, even if I sold everything they had consigned. We compared our situations, and a few laughs took the edge away. I can remember one friend of ours, bringing us hot soup from home, as a gesture of shared compassion, and the same fellow brought our boys almost-new winter coats, his own sons had worn as kids. To manage store, home, family and transportation, we didn't have a lot of money left over to eat well, or dress beyond the consideration of what was warm and durable. Fashion went out the window for that half decade of nickel and diming, to keep our business open, keep up the payments on our house, and provide for Andrew and Robert without too many sacrifices. What's so important about all this?  Well, there's a lot to be learned from the biographies of others, who, like British Antique Dealer, Reginald Way, navigated the economic perils of two world wars, and the Great Depression. His reflections are important to antique dealers today, because it's quite true, that with some precisely measured and executed manipulations, our enterprises can survive almost anything, even our own demise. It is a unique and curious business, because of what it represents of antiquity, and its substantial values. Here now, as promised in yesterday's blog, are a few observations, from Mr. Way's biography, about the dark days and economic turmoil from the onset of the Second World War in the year 1939. You can archive back, in these blogs, to read his accounts of running the antique business through the First World War, and the Depression. Here now in the words of Mr. Way.

     "With the outbreak of war in 1939, the antique business took another knock-out blow, but things turned out better for me than I'd dared to hope. Almost the day after war was declared, the Admiralty moved their headquarters to Bath and several of the large hotels were requisitioned. This meant that there was a lot of inventory work to be done, and I was at once employed by the Bath auctioneers, Messrs Fortt, Hatt & Billings, to help with this work, which lasted for several years. Life was very hectic for my family. Gladys's brother, Cecil Walker, was a hosier in Weston-super Mare, and owned a branch shop in Bath. His manager there was called up (for military service), so Gladys was asked if she would take his place, as she'd had experience in this type of business at Weston-super Mare, during the 1914-18 war, when Cecil was on active service.

     "My daughter Peggy, who was about seventeen, at the time, decided that for her war work, she would get a job in a local day nursery, where the services of the right type of girl were badly needed, and our assistant, Jane Hutchins, joined the ATS. In this way the overheads of Gay Street were drastically cut. When my inventory work with the auctioneers ended, I was left alone in my business and life became horribly monotonous. However, that ended with the arrival of 'knocker,' Albert Swift, who immediately began his operations in and about the city. I was amazed at the large quantity of antiques he discovered, and, although I was not selling anything, the prices were so low that I couldn't resist buying them from him. Early in 1940 during the phoney war, business began to improve; for people, having got over their first fright, began to be interested once more in antiques, realizing that now was the time to obtain bargains. That only lasted until the fall of France, when business again came to a standstill."

     Mr. Way recalls that, "In July, I joined the Home Guard and was in it until the following November when my health broke down. This was due to the wound in my left hand from the 1914-1918 war (shrapnel wound). It had given me neuritis in the left shoulder and, I suppose, because of having to sleep in a wet cellar, while I was in the Home Guard, the neuritis became worse and finally spread to my right shoulder as well. On my doctor's orders I had, much to my regret, to resign. Early that September, I'd received a letter from a friend of mine, in Fowey, saying that Dr. Rashleigh was going to sell most of the contents of Menabilly, (estate) so I went down to the sale. Very few dealers were present at the auction, and I was able to buy the little walnut domed-top bookcase which I'd first seen, when I visited the house years ago, in the 1920's. Subsequently I sold the bookcase to a client in Bath, and I'm glad to say that it's still in her possession today, although it narrowly escaped destruction in the air raids when part of her house was destroyed.      "When the late Queen Mary came to stay with the Duke and Duchess, of Beaufort at Badminton, for the duration of the war, Her Majesty made frequent visits to Bath. At Christmas time she arranged a party for the village children at Badminton, and there was a large Christmas tree. Her Majesty visited Messrs Woolworth's, to buy gifts to put on the tree. The manager, whom I knew quite well, told me that he was in his office, when his secretary rushed in and said in high excitement, 'Queen Mary has just come in!' He thought she was giving him an important piece of war news about the famous liner and exclaimed, 'Good Lord, I thought she was in New York Harbour!' (he was referring, at that moment to the ship, not the actual Queen, who was soon after standing in the shop). As soon as he understood what his secretary meant, he rushed downstairs to show Her Majesty over the store. I was honored by a Royal visit on the 6th of February, 1941. I knew nothing about it until, during the afternoon, the manager of the Bath Chronicle and Herald newspaper, rang me up, asking if I knew the time at which Queen Mary, and the Duke of Kent, would be viewing my shop. Almost before I'd replaced the receiver, a large Daimler saloon drew up outside and Queen Mary, and the Duke of Kent got out. As I opened the door, Her Majesty said, 'I've brought my son to see you Mr. Way.' They both bought several things. Those purchased by Queen Mary were mostly small pieces of old china. His Royal Highness bought some old cut-glass Georgian decanters, some Oriental bowls and a perfect rectangular, pierced edge Chippendale mahogany tray.

     "He explained to me that he had a special room in which he collected a store of articles, which he kept to give as wedding presents, and that everything he'd bought that afternoon, except the tray, which he proposed to use himself, would go into that store-room. It's sad to think that the tray was to be used by him for so short a time. Before they left, the Duke wrote in his beautiful clear hand-writing, on the back of one of my business cards, the instructions for the delivery of his purchases. The card is still in my possession. With the arrival of the Admiralty in Bath and, in addition, a large number of evacuees from London, and other places, the city became congested. Room also had to be found for the Irish labourers who were working to enlarge the underground Bath stone quarries. All this new population necessitated the services of billeting officers, who went around inspecting all premises. In our own place we had, beside Gladys, our daughter Peggy and myself, a young employee of the Admiralty, Mary Croft, living with us. The three rooms at the top of the house had been converted into a flat, and at first this was occupied by an airman and his wife. After he was posted to another part of England, we had a very charming couple up there, a young scientist, who was working with the Admiralty, and his wife. This scientist was doing a very hush-hush job and at times he was most absent-minded. On Saturday afternoons, if he was free from work, he and his wife used to play golf. One Saturday his wife, who was waiting in the sitting room, while he changed into his golfing clothes, though he was taking a very long time over it; so she went into the bedroom to see what was happening. There she found to her surprise, that, instead of getting into his golfing kit, he'd undressed, put on his pyjamas, and gone to bed. One incident stands out in my mind, from those days of war; a light touch but one that's vivid to me.

     "When I left Bristol to live in Bath, I still kept my Bristol tailor, Mr. Hutchings. A week before Bristol was heavily bombed, I'd received a postcard from him, saying that a suit I'd ordered was ready for fitting. In that bombing attack much of Park Street, where Mr. Hutchings had his premises, was destroyed. Questioning a friend, from there, about the damage, I asked him how the centre part of Park Street had fared. 'All down,' he told me. Later I said to Gladys, 'So my new suit that Hutchings was making must have gone.' But a fortnight later, I got a postcard from him saying, 'You haven't called for your try-on, advice of which I sent you several weeks ago.' I went over to Bristol at once, and found Hutchings's shop still standing, looking for all the world like a small slice of wedding cake, left standing on a dish with all the rest of the cake gone.

     "When I congratulated him on his good luck he said, 'Who says No. 13's unlucky? Exactly six houses have been destroyed on each side of me, and I'm the thirteenth.' Poor Bristol, with its loss of Mary-le-Port Street, and its Elizabethan period houses. So much beauty that has been destroyed forever. Now the ruined walls have been demolished and upon the foundations have risen new, modern buildings. As an old Bristol client mourned to me, 'Bristol has lots its soul.' I wonder."

     Mr. Way concludes, "In 1941, the antique business began to get better for me; large numbers of Admiralty civil service staff were billeted in accommodation, so atrociously furnished, that they were glad to buy simple pieces of antique furniture, to make their rooms less ghastly. As Gladys was still at her brother's business, I found I needed some help in the shop. It was not difficult to get a suitable assistant, because a number of young wives had come down with their husbands, who were employed by the Admiralty, and my new assistant soon became efficient. One day I left her in sole charge, with instructions to write down everything of importance, that occurred during the day. In the evening I found on my desk the following note, 'There have been three air-raid warnings and a dog fight over the city, with much machine-gun fire.' No word of any business transactions. In spite of her mixture of war and business, she became quite capable of managing customers and, late in June, Gladys and I took a week's holiday and went to Fowey. It seemed rather a grim place in war time, after the happy days we'd known there. There was no bathing with the harbour, locked behind a boom; no boating, and most of the cliffs were fortified, and in the hands of the army. Pridmouth was controlled by the RAF, and all lanes leading to the camp, were barricaded with large notices saying, 'Keep out!" "In 1942, at the end of April, Bath suffered three bad raids which, for a time, dislocated all business in the city. These raids were very vicious. The first two were aimed at the business and commercial centre of Bath, and if all the bombs that were dropped had exploded, the devastations would have been terrific, but in the centre and busiest part of the city, there were between thirty and forty unexploded bombs. The third raid, which took place on a Sunday, was directed at the Georgian and residential parts of the city; and as Gay Street was in this part, we were most fortunate not to be hit. When the Germans found that there was absolutely no defence, either in the air or on the ground, during those raids, they swooped down and machine-gunned through the windows of the houses, in some of the wider streets. The greatest loss to Bath was the historic Assembly Rooms, which had recently been restored at vast expense. Fortunately, the old glass chandeliers, had been removed to a place of safety; but they are practically all that remains of this beautiful suite of Georgian rooms."