NEW for May 2016..
We added more images to the Port Colborne gallery.
[Canada First and other poems by James A Ross. 1920. Page 50.]
The sap is runnin’ from the tree,
The crow is cawin’ loud
The sky is dancin’ bright and blue
And scatterin’ every cloud;
The bumble bees are buzzin’ round,
The air is like a dream;
We’ll soon be catchin’ catfish
From the old mill-stream.
The blackbird’s pourin’ forth his song,
The frog is croakin’ gay,
The robin flies from tree to tree
And pipes his merry lay;
The speckled hen is cacklin’ loud,
The sun sets pink and cream;
We’ll soon be catchin catfish
From the old mill-stream.
The grass is springin’ fresh and green,
The tree-buds shootin’ out,
The blue-bells and the daisies
Are poppin’ all about;
The brook is tumblin’ o’er the rocks,
Its spray a silvery gleam;
We’re pullin’ out the catfish
From the old mill-stream.
WHY are we doing this project? ..To Preserve History.
Much information is being lost, newspapers destroyed, historic buildings being torn down, bridges disappearing. The children of today need to know the history of the towns where they live. We the people are the ones who can carefully preserve this precious history for them. It is our responsibility as the older generation to leave stories, pictures and artifacts for them so that when they become older and wonder what went before, it will be available. That is what this website is about. Preserving the history of Welland for future generations.
An article from the The Welland Tribune and Telegraph, 11 July 1922, describes what we are trying to present with this website.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: We thank the The Welland Tribune and Telegraph for their contribution.
[IMAGE AT UPPER RIGHT]: ” Mr Merrit’s Ditch”
by Roberta M Styran | Robert Taylor”
Use the main Search box at the top of this page for your general research. When you need a narrower search, you may like to use the Search feature above to limit a search within a Family group.
By James A. Ross
Let all our voices ring with praise
To Him from whom all blessings flow.
Join in with harp, and may all strains
In one Thanksgiving chorus grow.
Give thanks for sunshine’s azure sky
Scarce e’er destroyed by storm king’s blast;
For memories dear, whose golden chain
Links present family to the past.
Give thanks for all the bounteous wealth
Of harvest gathered o’er the world:
For peace within our native land,
And Freedom’s ensign still unfurled.
Give thanks for wealth, for health, for life,
For ever blessing, great or small.
Praise Him in thought, in word, in deed;
The precious fountain of them all.
Taken from “Canada First and other poems by James A. Ross, 1920“
THEATRE CRITIC AND LOVELORN COLUMNIST
The Sisters and myself at the Convent of Less Said are most excited about the new adventure of our very own Sister Mary JudgeNot, Theatre Critic and newly appointed Lovelorn Columnist. She has been selected from numerous applicants at the convent to rewrite the newspaper commentary of the late Dorothy Dix, a forerunner of the modern advice columnist, for this most distinguished Welland County history website. In her own unique style, Sister will attempt a few fashionable words after each article to illuminate the advice of Miss Dix.
[May 4, 2015] We just added some pictures of Murals. Enjoy!
Written and photographed by S.
In the 1990s I took a stroll downtown Welland, with my camera. I photographed the lovely murals. Colourful scenes depicting historical moments.
The project was started in 1986, by the city of Welland, to beautify the city of Welland. They commissioned artists from across Canada to paint murals on the side of buildings.
The murals at one time were a great tourist attraction.
Welland’s murals hold many memories for the people of Welland.
Unfortunately, many of these murals are in disrepair and some have disappeared. There was no plan in place to maintain these murals resulting in their demise.
|It has been a wonderful year working on the special old articles we so enjoy gifting to our historically minded friends. We sincerely hope that this work will be available to the children of the future that will share our interest in the stories of the past. As Santa proclaims in this 1931 photo, “These Are My Jewels!”|
A Pair of Convict’s Trousers and a Live Turkey
[The following is the last article which Mr. Field wrote for publication]
[People’s Press, 27 December 1898]
During the entire period of my connection with The Chicago News it was the benevolent custom of the proprietors of that paper to give a turkey to all their married employees at Christmas time. When the Christmas season came one year, I found that turkeys had palled upon me, and I thought I would rather have a pair of pants. I therefore sent a polite little note to Editor-in-Chief Stone, saying that if it was all the same to him I would take a pair of pants instead of a turkey for a Christmas gift, as my soul felt no longing for a turkey, but sighed for pants.
Now, Editor Stone was a bit of a joker in his way, and, liking the modest tone of my petition, he obtained from the warden of the penitentiary at Joliet a pair of striped pants such as are worn by the convicts in that institution. On Christmas eve the package containing them was sent to me with the best Christmas wishes of the concern, just as the turkey had always been. Editor Stone and the entire writing and business force, whom he had taken into his confidence, thought they had played a splendid practical joke. I turned the laugh on them, however, by donning the pants the next morning and wearing them constantly every day for a week, expressing my gratitude for them, and telling everybody about the office that I never had a pair I liked so well and that thenceforward I would wear no other kind.
When the next Christmas came I again addressed a polite little note to editor Stone, stating that I did not care for the mere corpse of a turkey, but preferred to have one animated by a soul, or in other words a live one, in order that I might keep it in my yard for a pet. On Christmas eve I was sitting at my desk when suddenly I heard what the classics call “a strong noise” above my head, and down came a bouncing big turkey over the partition dividing the editorial rooms. The bird gave abundant evidence that he was strongly endowed with life, and there could be no question that my desires had been gratified, and that I was at last the proud possessor of a live turkey. I did not want him in my room just then, so with great presence of mind I leaped upon my desk and “shooed” the bird out of my room. He went flapping, jumping, gobbling all through the editorial and reportorial rooms, knocking down ink-bottles, scattering and destroying copy, overturning and breaking the shades on the drop lights, and doing many dollars’ worth of damage. At length, after a long and exciting chase, the entire editorial and reportorial force, with the single exception of myself, succeeded in capturing the bird. Thus I once more secured the laugh on my associates, and after that no further attention was paid to my petitions at Christmas time.
2 September 1850-4 November 1895