Keep Your Chin Up

We know neither the hands that made them, nor the hands that wore them.

These lovely mittens from World War II were donated to the museum but with very little information about their source.  We can only guess what motivation brought out the knitting needles to craft this particular piece off patriotism.  

The mittens are in mint condition – no signs of wear at all to the wool or to the carefully knit message. The red, white and blue colours are as clear as they were over 70 years ago.

Could they have been on display as part of a community Victory Bond fundraiser?

Perhaps they were a gentle encouragement to ladies of Kings County when they came to a Red Cross meeting to pick up more wool for knitting socks and scarves for soldiers?

Or maybe they were part of a school display to encourage children at that most difficult time when fathers or older brothers were far from home in service in Europe?

The story is lost but the mittens remain – a quiet reminder that war was a presence everyday for so many families during World War II, and the best thing to do was to Keep Your Chin Up.

In the Trenches

At first glance it looks so innocent.

Kings County Museum Archives

On a plain sheet of paper, printed in soft charcoal grey ink, is a map dotted and crossed with unusual red lines.

A closer look reveals that it is a “Message Map”.

Further scrutiny uncovers the notation “Trenches corrected to 16-10-17”.

Then, as your eye follows the network of roads that converge in the upper right corner, the name of a town – the most important detail of the map’s story – is revealed; this is a military map of Passchendaele from 1917.

The battles at Passchendaele are well-known as some of the worst fighting experienced by Canadian soldiers during World War I. They entered an impossible landscape torn to shreds by endless bombing and soaked by torrential rains that never seemed to let up. Men and animals were mired in the muck while an endless barrage rained down from German forces holding the town. Thousands were lost – some from enemy fire, some from falling into shell holes filled with water where they drowned in front of their helpless comrades who had no means of getting them back out of the mire.

The challenge of this place was accepted by thousands of Canadian soldiers who waded through the hellish landscape to push through those 'red lines' of German trenches and guns. The seriousness of their task is revealed not only on the front of our map, but also on the back.

The reverse side of the map contains the “message” portion of the message map. This side is a series of scenarios that a soldier carrying the map would choose from and fill in to describe the success (or failure) of their particular mission. 

The first options on the form are simple – a line to indicate you have reached your objective, another option that your company is together and consolidating. The further down the form, however, the worse the situation to report. If the soldier fills in line 8, his troops are “no longer in touch with” the others to his left or right. If filling in line 13, “Reinforcements wanted at…”, one can surmise that this particular action has not gone well for his troops. 

The deteriorating situation as you progress down the form is extremely stark. Worse is the realization that once this form is filled in, one of the company’s men would be given the task to carry the map and its message back through the same hard fought terrain to try to get word back to the others. This was a day before cell phones, texting, and instant communication. The message map was the communication option available.

And like Passchendaele itself, it was a hard option.

Photo Credit: Imperial War Museum CO_002246

For first-hand accounts of the battle of Passchendaele from Canadian soldiers, listen to CBC Radio’s “The Bugle and the Passing Bell”. This series re-broadcasts interviews with WWI soldiers from the time of 50^th Anniversary of the start of the Great War. 

I Don't Want to Get Well

A favorite activity of our historical society is our monthly meeting where we get together for presentations on local heritage (and enjoy some fantastic eats afterwards). At our October session we were delighted with a talk by local author, Shawna Quinn, on New Brunswick’s Nursing Sisters in World War I. 

Shawna’s book, Agnes Warner and the Nursing Sisters of the Great War, explores the incredible hardships these women faced, tending to the sick and wounded on the edges of Europe’s battlefields. The women worked tirelessly to provide medical care for the wounded but they also provided moral support – beacons of calm in a landscape gone mad with violence.

The talk brought to mind an unusual artifact on display in our World War I exhibit – a song sheet titled “I Don’t Want to Get Well”. The song, written by Harry Jentes, Harry Pease and Howard Johnson, is a comical depiction of an injured soldier in a field hospital who writes to his buddy saying:

"I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,

I'm in love with a beautiful nurse.
Though the doctor's treatments show results
I always get a bad relapse each time she feels my pulse
I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,
I'm glad they shot me on the fighting line, fine,
She holds my hand and begs me not to leave her
Then all at once I get so full of fever,
I don't want to get well, I don't want to get well,
For I'm having a wonderful time." 

The song is a chirpy little number, full of fun and good cheer, belying the serious situation most men found themselves in when injured at the front. In a time before antibiotics and modern surgical techniques, soldiers of World War I were dependent on the careful care of medical staff at the front, especially from the nursing sisters who managed the bulk of the care to keep wounds clean to ensure healing. Despite the song’s levity, “I Don’t Want To Get Well” still manages to point out the importance of nursing sisters. Just like the cheery lyrics of this war time tune, the nurses offered a measure of brightness in a world gone dark..... and the hope of better days to come.

To enjoy the tune yourself, have a listen to this 1918 recording of the song!

Good things come in Small Packages

With the outbreak of war in August 1914, many men - eager for adventure - enlisted for service and soon found themselves in uniform at the front lines in Europe. As the war's early months passed, it became obvious that the conflict would not end quickly. Those who expected a bit of adventure and a swift return home were faced with the reality of a long and brutal war stretching ahead of them.  

As Christmas approached, many longed to send messages of love and support to those at the front. Stepping forward to make those wishes a reality was Princess Mary, the 17-year-old daughter of King George V.
In October 1914, she approached the British government with a proposal to create "Her Royal Highness the Princess Mary's Sailors' and Soldiers' Fund".  Its purpose - to solicit donations from the public, with the goal of ensuring that "every Sailor afloat and every Soldier at the front" received a Christmas present from "home" on December 25, 1914. 

A committee was formed to implement the princess's plan; it was decided that the gift would be an embossed brass box containing a number of small items and would be delivered to every individual wearing "the King's uniform" at the front lines on Christmas Day 1914. 

Princess Mary appealed to citizens and the response was overwhelming - almost £170 000 raised in the initial appeal, prompting the Committee to widen eligibility to all British and Imperial military personnel - an estimated two million service men and women, including an unknown soldier from Kings County who brought his gift box home at the war's end.

The brass box has a cover design with Princess Mary's silhouette and monogram in the center, with the names of the various "Allied Powers" embossed around its edges - the British Empire ("Imperium Britannicum"), Japan, Russia, Montenegro, Serbia ("Servia"), France and Belgium.  The words "Christmas 1914" are embossed below the Princess's silhouette. 

Interestingly, two basic sets of gifts were available inside the treasure box. "Smokers" received one ounce of tobacco, a packet of cigarettes wrapped in yellow, monogrammed paper, and a lighter. "Non-smokers" received a packet of acid tablets, a khaki writing case, and a lead "bullet" pencil. Nurses received chocolates (arguably the best choice of all).  Each of the boxes contained a picture of Princess Mary and a Christmas card.  The date 1914 and the words "With Best Wishes for a Happy Christmas and a Victorious New Year from the Princess Mary and Friends at Home" were printed beneath Princess's monogram.

A total of 2.5 million gift boxes were distributed.  Many recipients used the empty tins to carry small personal items throughout the war. The volume distributed ensured that the "Princess Mary Christmas box" became the most common keepsake among soldiers.

A wonderful counterpoint to this regal gift is found in a letter from our museum archives, dated September 30, 1916. Private Percy Berry writes home to his cousin Sadie Campbell of Sussex. His letter details his anguish at the miserable state of home made goodies from Kings County when they finally arrive overseas. Cakes and treats lovingly prepared by hands at home often arrived smashed, spoiled - or didn't arrive at all. It turns out, not every gift to the front came carefully wrapped in a brass package!

A huge thank you to Patrick Crossman for recording the following letter! 

Picture Perfect

As we prepared for our exhibit on Kings County in World War I, we received a number of new artifact donations from community members. One such item was a WWI photo album held by the McLeod family of Penobsquis. The album is small in size – but big in detailed information.

This small album features a leather cover with a military crest for the 115^th Battalion; inside, the album contains photos of Arthur Norman McLeod and other soldiers from the Sussex and Penobsquis area. Most importantly, the album contains handwritten details about the soldiers depicted.

One of the biggest challenges we face with archival photographs is the lack of detail on who is in the picture. Some pictures donated to the museum collection contain names and notations but many more are mysteries to the original owners – and to us. That is why the McLeod album made such a welcome addition – the McLeod’s were great photographers and even better note takers!

The pages of the album show dozens of individual soldiers as well as groups of soldiers posed together and under almost every one, written with white pencil on the black pages, is the name of the soldiers, or the group they served with. Some photos are taken in Sussex and area before deployment, while others were taken overseas. We see soldiers of New Brunswick’s 104^th Battalion, the 115^th Battalion, as well as members of the Forestry Battalion at work with steam engines and horses. Each is a time capsule of information on this important period of history and its impact in our local communities.

The album itself, after 100 years, is too frail to be handled by visitors so we engaged in a bit of technology magic and took images of every page (and the cover) and printed the results as a photobook that was placed within the display. To our delight, a number of visitors discovered relatives within the pages, connecting them in a tangible way to the exhibit and the story it tells.

A key story within the album is of one of the McLeod family's own. Pte. Arthur Norman McLeod was born in Penobsquis October 19, 1884, the son of Byron and Frances (Lockhart) McLeod. He enlisted on October 28, 1915 and served first with the 104th Battalion before transferring to the 26th Battalion. The album contains professional photos of McLeod in uniform, posing with his regimental colours, as well as casual shots of him with family and friends. What is not recorded in the album is that Arthur fought at Vimy Ridge and was killed in action at Passchendaele, November 6, 1917.

We are honoured to hold within our collection the memoriam card from Pte. McLeod’s service in Apohaqui, as well as a note from King George V expressing condolences to the family.  And we are especially honoured to hold the small leather photo album containing Pte. McLeod's image and those of other area soldiers. This treasure, cared for by a family for 100 years, is a fitting tribute to Arthur Norman McLeod and the sacrifice he made.

Picture perfect.

This stick was made for walkin'

Without my walking stick, I'd go insane

Can't look my best, I'd feel undressed without my cane

- My Walking Stick by Irving Berlin

Unlike Irving Berlin, today’s modern man would likely never fear for his sanity if he went out without his walking stick. But if this dandy was the walking stick in question, well maybe he would feel a bit bereft.

Today’s hidden history object is one of MANY canes in our collection. Irving Berlin was not kidding about their popularity; the quantity that have made their way to the museum suggest that every fancy man in Kings County carried one when he went out sporting (plus had two or three in the umbrella stand at home waiting in reserve).

The sticks in our collection vary widely; some were purely functional, others ‘commemorative’ gifts to mark a significant anniversary or milestone, while others like this whale bone model fall into the, “well…. that’s interesting?!” category.

This walking stick was brought to Saint John in the 1880s by a sea captain by the name of Jones. The stick is made of stacked whale vertebrae – 97 pieces in total- that are mounted over an iron rod. The iron sticks out at the bottom to provide a sharp tip for the cane. The head of the cane is made of ivory and joins the main body of the cane by a series of exotic hardwood bands.  This is one of two walking sticks owned by Captain Jones – the other is from the West Indies and has a large carved snake that curls down the shaft of the stick.

A seasoned rabologist (that’s the scientific name for a collector of walking sticks; and, yes, there is such an affliction) will tell you that walking sticks are the civilized evolution of sword carrying in the post-knight era. In fact, some walking sticks are known as ‘sword sticks’ because they hide a tiny sword or blade within the stick. We would argue, however, that the walking stick has a less elevated history, that they are simply the evolution of the stick (i.e. caveman club, Irish shillelagh, etc.).

The walking stick makes a handy support when walking (obviously), a great parter-of-bushes, tester-of-puddles and, in desperate situations, something to hurl willy-nilly if you are confronted by a wild animal. They are also a fine accessory for an evening on the town – especially if you've decided to wear your high hat, white spats and tails.

Take away my high hats

Take away my favorite tie

Take away my white spats

I'll still get by

But my walking stick

You simply must let that be

I mean you can't take that away from me

[Refrain:]

Without my walking stick, I'd go insane

Can't look my best, I'd feel undressed without my cane

Must have my walking stick 'cause it may rain

And when it pours, can't be outdoors without my cane

If I ever left my house without my walking stick

It would just be something I could never explain

The thing that makes me click on Lovers' Lane

Would go for naught if I were caught without my cane

If you are loving the lyrics, have a listen to a 1938 recording of the Irving Berlin classic by Louis Armstrong and the Mills Brothers here!

Long to Reign Over Us

An historic milestone is coming soon so we pulled out this interesting little artifact to help us celebrate!

This is the official program from Kings County’s Coronation Celebration for Queen Elizabeth II from June 2, 1953. On Wednesday, September 9^th, this little artifact will take on special significance as Queen Elizabeth II will break the record for the longest reigning British monarch. For 63 years she has graciously held her post and seems content to do so for some years to come.

At the time of her official coronation ceremony in 1953, Kings County celebrated in style. The town was draped in bunting and Union Jack flags, a parade was held through the streets, a contingent of 750 school kids marched to the Court House to take part in the celebrations and fireworks blazed in the night sky, followed by “street dancing at the Court House, with music by Earl Henderson’s Orchestra.”

A heady affair indeed!

The Queen’s coronation was a celebration for more than the usual royal reasons; she was a young woman in her twenties, the wife of a dashing WWII naval officer (their Royal Wedding was a glamorous affair just five years earlier – a welcome celebration after the hardships of war), a mother of two small children, and an extremely attractive woman of style – and substance. There was also an air of sympathy for Elizabeth who, many felt, had lost her father, King George VI, much too early from the strain of a reign that was thrust upon him when his brother abdicated the throne.

Hampton was in a celebrating mood those many years ago and it is again as this majestic milestone approaches. On Wednesday at 2pm, the Town of Hampton and the Kings County Museum will host a celebration in honour of the Queen in the Town Square and on the former Court House lawn. All are welcome to attend the historic occasion, whether you are a staunch royal supporter, or are just appreciative of someone who has held the same job for 63 years and performs their role so well.

God Save the Queen.