No Inconsistency Here

Singing a New Tune has left a new comment on your post "The Story Continues.":

You're now waxing lyrical about the Petch House and its pioneer inhabitants, Cllr Buck. What happened to the "mouldering" shack littered with animal carcasses and faeces that you vociferously - and continuously - opposed preserving?

It's all rather confusing... and inconsistent

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Great-grand-daughter Cheyenne will have her ninth birthday party in my backyard with the pool tomorrow. They were here a couple of week-ends ago. The pace she went from wearing a life-jacket, sticking to the shallow end,to swimming in the deep end to jumping off the diving board, then trying to master a dive, to doing hand stands in the shallow end. was positively breath-taking.

 I had to put new steps in last year. I couldn't manage the ladder any more. The first rung was too high off the floor. Abigail, Cheyenne's five year old sister, spent her time on the steps; stretching her legs out  to pretend swim while staying safe. Every now and again, when she thought no-one was looking she put one foot down to see if she could risk letting the step handles go. The principle of floating  in a life jacket was obviously not clear to  her.

I believe these two will remember  if not me, certainly the pool in my backyard. My childhood memories stretch  at least six years further back than that

The Petch House was built in 1844. That was my great grandfather's generation.  James MacCafferty.   left Ireland as a young man and came to Scotland. He later married  my great grandmother,  Jane Fox,  had  also come from Ireland as a young woman. She was twenty four; already had a son and lost a husband. He was a coal miner. It's not known if he died from illness or accident. Both were equally likely. Tubercolosis was rampant.

James and Jane had ten children to-gether.  My grandmother, Annie, was the youngest.

The interest I have in the Petch House is not about the house. It's not about the  family. It's about all the people of that and later generations who faced unknown hardships when they came to Canada. After they survived the journey.

 Black Creek and Upper Canada Village present an excellent picture of the lives of early settlers. The shoemaker's shop has a collection of lasts. The largest of them would not fit the foot of a modern ten year old.

In 1967, the Royal Ontario Museum displayed a collection of clothing  and fashion from the previous hundred years. 1867 adult garments would barely fit  to-day's  pre-teen.

When they arrived, settlers received a package of tools with a parcel of land They were not   necessarily the strong and robust figures we might imagine. From the U.K.they were often refugees from industrial slums and coal-mining villages. Many were from the Highland Clearances in Scotland.

.No doubt similar atrocities committed by man against man brought others from similar places in Europe. Ireland's history is no exception.

An immigrant myself,I came with a husband and two small sons with no idea of what life in Canada might have in store. In Aurora, I received an opportunity I could never in my lifetime have envisaged in the place I left.

Do I respect the people who came here to a wilderness in 1844. I most certainly do.

Pioneer graveyards in  York County give an insight to life in early times. The graves of women,lost in childbirth with the infant following days later.It was not uncommon for a man to have more than one wife in his lifetime and not through infidelity. Graves of children, dying within days of each other,signify an epidemic of a disease that's no longer known to us.

In Kettleby, the grave of a young Irishman notes he was killed in Farmer so-and-so's thresher. A handsome stone marker notes his resting place.As a farm labourer. he would not have had the  resources to pay for it. Someone considered his life to have been of value.

I am full of respect for the courage and endurance of the people who came before us. They  created the foundations for the society we enjoy.They brought  values from their past lives and left behind others not conducive to a Just Society and they fought here for the new principles to prevail. Right here in York County.

The Petch House sat on cinder block supports. at the side of the road, lost and forlorn for more than eight years. With no sign of interest or practical  purpose. I did what I could to provoke a reaction.

No Friends of The Petch House emerged .

The idea for a use and a location  came from town staff prompted by the availability of resources which would be forfeited if not used.and an  artisan with  proven  skills, who could be depended upon to do the job and do it well, within a tight budget.

Five hundred additional square feet of  space,will be in a place where a variety of uses can be made by people of all ages, at  a fraction of  the cost of modern space and honour local heritage at the same time.

Had we requested  staff to put forward  a  use and a location  eight years ago. the building would not have mouldered  all that time. It would not be in an advanced state of decay. It would have cost  less  to re-locate in one piece than it does to take  apart and repair and re-build.

It will be an example of skill and ingenuity.

I want to express my appreciation for David Heard's generous offer of the Petch Family Bible. Whether the building and its use will lend itself to the display of artifacts is yet to be seen.

There's a slighting comment about the book. It's an ungenerous spirit that finds fault with a generous offer.

I also wish to express appreciation for the anonymous donor of $8,000  to save the Petch House. In good part, it helped to persuade.

The Whitwell Developments commitment, maintained for eight years and their contribution of $50,000 to use however we choose,needs to be recognised and hopefully will be prominently noted elsewhere, when the time comes.

When  the various layers of shingles came off the roof yesterday, the sheathing boards were  two feet wide pine boards. Many were damaged by years of exposure.

But think of that. The trees were two feet wide and more. They were felled with an axe and block and tackle. By a man and his Mrs. who may or may not have had  the slightest experience in doing so.

Do I enjoy telling a story worth telling?

Yes I do.

I am not in the least bit inconsistent.Or apologetic either.