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LESSONS FROM MY GRANDMOTHER
by George E. Lloyd
Sweet are the uses of adversity;
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.
-William
Shakespeare, 1564-1616 (As You Like It: Act II, Sc. 1)
The Photograph
When I was a little boy and all through my teenage years, I had a
photograph of my grandmother sitting on my dresser in my bedroom. It was a
colour photograph taken somewhere in the countryside near her home in
Cobourg, Ontario sometime in the 1950s. In it, she was wearing a flowery,
blueprint, "grandmotherly" dress and she was staring directly into the
camera with an all-knowing enigmatic smile on her face. Her face was lit
up and her eyes sparkled, but her smile was amazing. The best way to
describe it is to say that it was a "Mona Lisa" type smile that enticed me
to guess what was on her mind. I loved that photograph and I gazed at it
every day for many years.
I was her oldest grandchild, so that she and I felt close to each other.
After she died, I became convinced that she was trying to tell me
something in that photograph. I was certain that she was giving a message
to me, and uniquely for me. No matter how often I looked at it or thought
about it, I was never able to decipher the message which I was convinced
was there. Later, after I finished high school, I went to university away
from home, my parents moved to a new town, and that photograph was packed
up and became long forgotten. My moving to university was in fact a
leaving of the nest for me, and I completely forgot about that photograph.
It was at least 27 years before I thought of it again.
Mary and Ed
My grandmother was born Mary Isabella Oliver on October 14, 1889 to a
large farm family on their farm near Chatham, Ontario. There were three
boys and three girls in the family and she was the fifth of the six
children. The second born was her brother, Ed. He was born Edmund H.
Oliver in 1882. It seems typical that all farm families are close to each
other, but out of all of them, the two who were the closes were Mary and
Ed, in spite of their age difference. Right from the moment of her birth,
something about Mary seemed special to Ed and for the rest of their lives
they felt particularly close to each other.
As an adult, Ed was an educated man. He graduated from high school with
the highest marks in the province. At the University of Toronto, he
majored in Classics with English and History thrown in for good measure.
Graduating at the head of his class, he went on to earn his Masters, later
earned his Ph.D. at Columbia, and eventually became the Moderator of the
United Church of Canada. Because of his fondness for his little sister, he
encouraged her to pursue her education too. Ed had gone out to western
Canada to become principal of St. Andrew's College at a new university,
the University of Saskatchewan in Saskatoon, and because of Ed's
influence, Mary decided to continue her education there. At the
university, one of her friends and colleagues was John Diefenbaker who
later became Prime Minister of Canada in 1957. In fact when she died, he
was the Prime Minister and my father received a very nice personal letter
of condolences from him. It was also here at university that she met her
future husband, my grandfather, Frank Percival Lloyd. (I was named after
his father.)
Her field of study was literature, because she always loved language, and
the power and beauty of words. She knew Latin and Greek, as well as
English and German literature. One of my memories of her was that when 1
was a young boy, she constantly corrected any mistake in grammar I made
when speaking. She simply would not allow me to use words in careless or
unclear ways and was insistent that I express my thoughts clearly even
when I was very young. (I hope I have been able to live up to her
expectations.)
It was unusual for a woman to be a university graduate in those days
before World War I, but she in fact was the very first person upon
whom the University of Saskatchewan conferred a degree. She was at the
head of the first graduating class at the university. It must have been a
very proud occasion for both of them at the graduation ceremonies, as she
walked across the stage to receive her degree from her dear older brother.
The War Years
World War I broke out in 1914 and since my grandfather was younger than my
grandmother (he was born in 1892), he waited until he finished his degree
before signing up. He and my grandmother married in 1916, and then my
grandfather was shipped over to Flanders Fields. Both his older and
younger brothers were already over there, and his older brother had
already been gassed in history's first gas attack at Ypres in 1915 and
although he survived the war, he died afterwards as a result of his
wounds.
Mary was now back at the family farm in southwestern Ontario when word was
sent to my grandfather that she was pregnant. A tiny boy was born two
months prematurely on January 17, 1917 back on the family farm near
Chatham. A premature birth is serious at any time but it was especially so
back then. There were no hospitals nearby and any medical care was
unavailable too. There were no such things as incubators in those days
either and with a very low birth weight it was very doubtful whether or
not this fragile baby could survive.
Back in France, my grandfather and his younger brother fought their way up
Vimy Ridge with the rest of the Canadians, but within a month, his younger
brother was killed at the age of 21. Since his is an unknown grave, his
name is today engraved on the Vimy Memorial in France, as well as in the
Book of Remembrance in the Memorial Chamber on Parliament Hill in Ottawa.
Shortly after his brother's death, my grandfather was severely wounded at
Hill 70. He had received shrapnel wounds in the head. The shrapnel was
pressing against the optic nerve and he was blinded.
One can only imagine the fear and suffering that Mary had to endure while
back in Canada. With her baby son fighting for his life and the news of
her husband and brother-in-law's wounds, and her other brother-in-law's
death, these must surely have been times of great tear, doubt, and
anxiety. Her brother Ed was also in France serving as a Chaplain. (He was
an Honorary Lieutenant Colonel in the Canadian Chaplain Services, and had
been honoured with a Mentioned in Dispatches.) However, even though Mary
had the rest of her family around her, it must have been a very lonely
time.
My grandfather was invalided back to Canada, but was determined not to let
his wounds hold him down. Due to his war experiences, in which he saw much
suffering in the trenches, he decided to devote the rest of his life to
the relief of pain. He therefore enrolled in medical school at the
University of Toronto, hired a graduate student to read his lessons to
him, and memorized everything. The shrapnel in his head was inoperable but
eventually it moved and his sight returned. However, for the rest of his
life he suffered severe headaches. He graduated with his post graduate
degree in medicine, and set up a medical practice in Cobourg, which became
the family home for the next two generations.
He was a successful doctor in general medicine with special interest in
radiology and surgery, but joined the army again in 1939 to mobilize and
become the Commanding Officer of the 4th Field Artillery in World War II.
He was transferred back to Canada in 1942, promoted to Colonel to train
medical officers at Camp Borden, and was awarded the Order of the British
Empire for his service to his country. After the War, he returned to his
medical practice and founded the Medical Centre in Cobourg. He lived until
1964.
Between the Wars, Mary had three more children, all girls. As for the tiny
premature baby boy, it is my understanding that he survived, - because he
was my father. He too joined the army as a sergeant in his father's
regiment in World War II, was much beloved by his comrades, married his
childhood sweetheart (my mother who had also joined the army to go
overseas), and returned to Canada after the War to become a banker. He
passed away at the age of 71 on June 12, 1988.
The Meeting
Even though Mary had a family of her own, she and Ed still felt very close
to each other. Ed died in 1935, after his tenure as Moderator of the
United Church. Basically, what he did was to give so much of himself to
those who had so little during the Great Depression that he essentially
worked himself to death through exhaustion. Mary and one of her sisters
could see what was happening, so they travelled out west to try to
convince him to take better care of himself. But Ed would have none of
it. He was spiritually happy and said that it was more important to serve
God by helping those in great need, and his dedicated devotion was so
exhausting that he eventually died. Mary was devastated by the loss of
her dear older brother, but through her love of God she accepted the loss
and moved on in her life. However the pain of such a loss is always with
you because it never completely goes away.
About fourteen years later sometime around 1949, Mary had a severe heart
attack. In those days there was no such thing as open heart surgery and
there was little the doctors could do but make her as comfortable as
possible. She was not expected to survive for long. Perhaps when our time
comes, each of us recognizes it. I am certainly convinced that when my
father died suddenly, he knew his time had come. We do not know the answer
to that question because we have never been there, and those who have been
there are gone, so that they cannot tell us what it is like. Nevertheless,
Mary knew her end was near, but she was not troubled by this fact. On the
contrary, she had lived a long life, raised four children, saw the birth
of grandchildren, and was now joyful at the prospect of finally meeting
her Maker.
Late one night in the hospital, she went to sleep in the full and complete
knowledge that the call had now come for her, and that she would not wake
up. She was totally at peace. However, in the wee small hours of the
morning, she felt a warm hand touch her on the shoulder. She opened her
eyes and there standing before her with his hand on her shoulder was her
older brother Ed, who had died 14 years earlier. Mary was absolutely
astounded. She was completely at a loss for words. The two of them gazed
at each other for several minutes with not a word being said between them.
Finally, Ed spoke.
He said, and I quote exactly, "Mary, what is the matter? Can you not lift
just one more stone?" He then smiled at her knowingly, turned, and walked
out of the room. She never saw him again. But she did find a way to lift
one more stone because she surprised the doctors by recovering from her
heart attack, and lived in reasonably good health after such an experience
for another 12 years. I am so very grateful for that, because it was
during these years that I grew to know her. She eventually died in Cobourg
on April 19, 1961.
Woodlawn
As a boy, I grew up several hours by car away from my grandparents, but my
parents and I visited the family home often. The first 10 Christmases of
my life were spent there and we visited at least every three or four
months. They lived in a large home in Cobourg called, "Woodlawn." It was a
large wooded lot with many trees and flower beds. The house was built in
1835 and it was huge. Each room inside was like a big sweeping gallery.
The front of the house had an open porch running the length of it,
supported by six tall Greek-type columns. As you entered the house from
the large oak front door, off to the right was a large dining room with a
fireplace in it, and off to the left was a drawing room, also with a
fireplace, with a small music room behind it. Down the hallway was the
entrance to the kitchen off to the right and another entrance to the music
room to the left. Across the hall from the kitchen beside this entrance to
the music room, was a winding staircase that led upstairs. At the bottom
of the stairs was a large grandfather clock.
Upstairs there were four spacious bedrooms, two of which had a sink and
running water, and a bathroom at the back end of the upstairs hallway. One
of the bedrooms, which was my father's room when he was a boy and the room
I usually used when we visited, required you to go down to yet another
hallway to enter it. At the front end of the upstairs hallway was a door
that led to the outside open balcony which was directly above the front
porch. There was also an attic above this floor but this was the only
place I never explored because there was never a ladder available upstairs
when I visited.
Downstairs, at the far end of the hallway next to the entrance to the
kitchen, was the entrance to the back porch, which was enclosed but was
very long and deep, and at least the size of two large rooms. At the far
end of the porch was the entrance to the woodshed, coal bin, and the
stairway to the cellar. At the other end of the porch on the outside, was
a very small storage room connected to the pantry on the inside which in
turn connected to the kitchen.
Inside the house again, besides entering the huge dining room from the
front hallway, there was also another entrance from the kitchen which was
behind it, but out of sight. There was also another hallway running from
behind the dining room by this entrance to the kitchen, down to what was
once called the annex. At the end of this hallway were two small guest
bedrooms one of which had a small balcony), with a bathroom off to the
left and another hallway which led from the right into the very spacious
family room with yet another fireplace. So there were three fireplaces in
the house, each with its own separate chimney.
There was a door in the family room that led directly outside to the front
porch. There was a direct connection at the far corner of the family room
to the two guest bedrooms and the bathroom from the rear. In the bathroom,
was a small door that led into a storage room and a laundry room which in
turn led into the pantry, which in turn led back to the kitchen from the
rear. So every room to the left of the main hallway was connected, and
every room to the right of the main hallway was interconnected but this
was not obvious upon first inspection.
As a young boy, I delighted in exploring every nook and cranny of the
house, the garage behind it, and the very spacious grounds which were
completely encircled on three sides by a very long wooden fence. The fence
was virtually hidden by all the bushes that grew along it. The front and
back of the property were almost obscured by a dense thicket of bushes and
trees. In fact there were trees everywhere, which is why the place was
called, "Woodlawn."
Outside behind the back porch was a large two room garage, which at some
point in the past had been a stable or coach house. Each section could
park two cars, so in effect this was a four-car garage. The two very large
rooms of the garage were not connected so that you had to go outside to go
from one to the other. There was a modest workshop beside the garage with
a tool shed beside that, and a small stairway leading to a huge attic
above the whole thing. Ivy and grapes grew in vines up one wall on the
outside. I often snacked on these grapes.
The front driveway was a circular driveway that led around the very large
lawn to the front door and also branched off to run beside the right of
the house to the back, where it circled around to the front of the garage.
The lawns were spacious and wooded. There was a huge front lawn, another
large lawn to the left of the house, another spacious one that completely
circled the garage to the left, right, and behind. There were trees
everywhere (oaks, elms, maples, and many others), and flower beds
everywhere. It seemed that each of the trees had several birdhouses in
them and there were bird feeders everywhere too, for my grandmother loved
birds. A wide variety of different birds made their homes at Woodlawn and
I spent many hours looking at them with my grandmother.
The Stone Fences
I have digressed slightly in this story because I believe that a
description of this house and the property helps describe the many happy
hours of my childhood spent there. I slept in every room at one time or
another and never tired of exploring every inch of the property. As a
child, I used to sit and watch all the many birds that made their homes
here.
There was many a time when I visited my grandparents, that my grandmother
would take me out alone for a drive into the country to go birdwatching.
She taught me how to seek out all the different birds and how to recognize
them and their calls. Only my grandmother and I were on these trips. Also
on these trips, there was many a time that she would pull the car off to
the side of the road and point out a stone fence to me, because for the
rest of her life she loved stone fences, due to her meeting her brother Ed
in the hospital and what he said to her. She would just stop the car, turn
off the engine, and sit quietly. "Look, George," she'd say to me, "Isn't
that stone fence lovely?"
Of course I'd agree. This event occurred so often that in my innocent
young mind, I thought that the whole world was infested with stone fences,
which of course it isn't. Because I was so young, I knew nothing of what
my grandmother was thinking during these moments, since it would have been
pointless for her to explain her thoughts to me. I would have never
understood.
But to her, stone fences were not barriers in the usual sense of what a
fence is. Rather, they represent markers on the road of life. They are
cool resting places. Each stone that has been lifted to make the fence is
very heavy, but it is not a boulder. It is a stone, which although quite
heavy, could nevertheless be lifted. Every stone was lifted not by any
machine, but by human hands and through human sweat. It took great
determination, resolve, and inner strength as well as physical strength to
lift each stone and place it where it now lay as part of the fence. For
each stone that was lifted, there was that much more land cleared to grow
food to feed us. These fences were places where we could sit and rest. In
time, shrubbery tends to grow around such a fence and it is here that many
birds come for shelter. Everything ties together, and to my grandmother, a
stone fence represented the triumph of the human spirit over adversity.
But I was told none of this of course. These were just quiet thoughtful
moments of profound peace and beauty in my childhood.
The Lesson
After my grandmother died in 1961, I long since forgot about those moments
as I continued with my schooling. After I moved away to university, my
parents also moved and all of these memories receded into the distant past
in my mind. My father died in 1988 and three years later in 1991, I was
talking to my mother when the subject of my grandmother came up. My
mother asked me if I knew about the story of my grandmother, her brother
Ed, and the stone fences. I did not, and it was only now, 30 years after
my grandmother had died, that I was told this story.
The relationship between my mother and my grandmother was a
mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship, but the were always very
close. They had known each other since my mother and father were eight
years old. Many is the time, during my visits to my grandparents, that I
would see my mother and grandmother privately talking over in the corner
of either the family room or the drawing room. They had numerous
never-ending conversations and it was during one of these that my mother
was told this story. My grandmother told very few people this story. I
don’t think she ever told my grandfather or her children, including my
father, but such was her relationship with my mother that this story was
related to her. And I was eventually told it 30 years after my
grandmother’s death.
As I was hearing this story, all of those long forgotten memories of my
grandmother came flooding back to me. Suddenly, I thought of that long
ago photograph of her that was on my dresser when I was a boy. I have
searched high and low for that photograph. I cannot find it, but it
really does not matter, because I gazed at it for so long for so many
years, that every detail of it is firmly etched in my memory, even though
I had not thought of it for at least 27 years. And like a bolt out of the
blue, it became clear to me. Yes, there was a message in it for me and
all these years later, I finally got the message. For in the photograph,
my grandmother is standing beside a stone fence.
The message is that no matter now unfair life may appear to be (and it is
unfair), no matter how bleak things may appear to be, no matter how black
it might seem, no matter how hopeless some things can become, no matter
how heavy is the burden we may unfairly be required to carry, it is always
possible to lift just one more stone. That is what we must do: just lift
one more stone. We may have to lift another one too, and another, and
another. No matter, just lift one more stone. But we are also required to
be joyful in doing this. It is not a burden, but a requirement of life.
Somehow, I don't think I've yet heard the last word from my grandmother.
In 1950, after her heart attack, she arranged for a memorial plaque to be
hung in memory of her brother Ed in Chalmers United Church in Chatham,
Ontario which was the church the family had always attended. On the plaque
is an inscription that applied to Ed, but I feel it also applies to my
grandmother:
"Great in Mind, Joyful in Spirit, in All Things Faithful"
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