A few months later, I decided to make the rounds of a few antique stores here in downtown Ottawa. Popping in once a week to review a dealer’s inventory is standard procedure for almost all collectors. I included one store that I visit infrequently. I’m not sure why; just one of those things.
In any event, I climbed the stairs to the second level, said hello to the owner and proceeded to wander through the maze of rooms piled high with all manner of books, paintings, antiques and various collectibles. Some antique dealers prefer the “jumble” approach: Pile the stuff everywhere and anywhere within the shop and let customers have the fun and challenge of looking for a particular item. This dealer took that model to a whole new level.
I wandered here and there through his store and returned to where he was seated in a chair near the entrance. We chatted for a few moments about the state of the antique business in general. My left foot was touching a stack of paintings piled on the floor. Light streamed in through the dusty windows behind me.
Just then, an elderly man emerged from the entrance hallway and took a few steps into the shop area, where he paused for a moment in front of the two of us. He was breathing a little heavily from coming up the long flight of stairs that led to the shop. He wore a beige overcoat that seemed a few sizes too large for him. In his left hand, he was carrying a paper shopping bag; jutting out from the top of the bag were the antlers and the head of a very large woodcarving of a moose. My eyes immediately locked on to the bag. I blurted out: “Hey, is that a Vollrath or Patterson carving?”
“Why, yes, it is by Vollrath,” he replied, somewhat startled by my question. The old man crossed in front of me and sat down heavily in the armchair across from the dealer. He placed the bag in front of him on the floor. Slowly, he reached down and extracted the piece from the bag and held it briefly in the air in front of him. I knew immediately this was an impressive carving by Charles Vollrath and, of course, I was anxious to buy it.
The dealer reached over and took the carving and began to examine it. The old man explained that while bringing the piece down to the store, he had broken one of the antlers getting out of the car. Fortunately, he had the broken piece with him and I knew it would be a relatively easy repair.
Any doubt that this was a Vollrath carving was put to rest when we turned the piece over and there was a handwritten label tacked to the underside of the carving. In faint black letters were the words: “Made by Charles Vollrath, Chalk River, Ontario.” Vollrath had also carved his surname into the base of the piece. “Are you going to sell that?” I asked the old man.
“Are you interested in it?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, make me an offer.”
I paused at that point because I knew it would be a serious breach of etiquette to attempt a direct transaction with the man, thereby removing the dealer from the process. I changed tactics. I turned to the dealer.
“Are you going to buy it?”
“I might,” he replied.
“Well, if you do, I’m interested.”
They continued to chat while I stood by and then wandered off several paces away to give them time alone to make their transaction. I realized that this might take longer than I thought. I retraced my steps and stood in front of them. “I tell you what. Why don’t I leave you to it? I’m going to go for a walk.”
The dealer turned to me and, reaching for pen and paper, said, “Give me your number so I can call you.”
“Why don’t I just come back in an hour?” I suggested.
“That’s good,” the dealer said. “Come back then.”
I left the shop and continued my rounds of other antique stores and also made a trip to the bank to pick up some funds to complete the transaction, should I be fortunate enough to acquire the carving.
An hour later, I walked into the store. The dealer was still sitting by the front entrance. The old man was gone. There was no sign of the carving. We chatted for a few minutes and he confirmed—much to my relief—that the carving was now in his possession. I told him I knew the carver’s great-grandson and I wanted to buy the piece so I could sell it to him and fulfill the dream he had of acquiring one of his great-grandfather’s carvings. We quickly agreed on a modest price for the carving and he retrieved it from a room where he had it in safekeeping for me.
I drove home thinking about the fortunate set of circumstances that had occurred. Chad Vollrath contacting me; my decision to visit the shops on that day and choosing the one I don’t patronize on a regular basis; the old man walking in with the Vollrath carving and, finally, being able to acquire that wonderful piece so Chad could give it to his father.
After arriving home, I took a photograph of the carving and then sent an email message to Chad. He replied a few minutes later and I gave him an account of what had just transpired. He was excited. Then I sent him the photo of the carving and he was over the moon. A few moments later, we completed our transaction. This majestic carving was going back to the Vollrath family. It was one of those magical and serendipitous moments that occur in collecting. I’m sure Charles Vollrath would be pleased to know that his creation was returning to a member of his family some 85 years after he created it.
—by Shaun Markey, Ottawa, Ontario
Making History
Writing plaques calls for accurate research, the ability to identify and convey key details succinctly, and a passion for history
When I retired from teaching in 1993, it was easy to remove the teacher from the classroom but not so the teacher from the man. I still had the desire to disseminate knowledge, so I volunteered to join the Hamilton Historical Board and its plaquing subcommittee. Thus I began a personal quest, drafting 16 plaques that present local history in ways that improved understanding and corrected misinformation.
I had a special interest in plaque writing because it meant putting history directly into our neighbourhoods. The endeavour called for accurate research and précis-writing skills—presenting ideas or information briefly, without overlooking any essentials. At the heart of every plaque, I tried to create a memorable “WOW” factor, so that the reader was compelled to say, “Wow, I didn’t know that!”
Perhaps most meaningful to me, however, was that I successfully encouraged our city’s cultural department to present plastic facsimiles of the community plaques we produced to the neighbourhood schools involved, giving the children there a sense of ownership of their own heritage.
One of the greatest challenges was correcting popular but sometimes inaccurate accounts of Canadian history often recorded in books, magazines and old plaques, or simply embedded in local lore. As one Roman orator once said, “Men are quick to believe that which they want to believe.”
The three-year commemoration of the War of 1812 bicentennial provided a golden opportunity and a large stage to review and rectify misinformation that had accumulated during the past 200 years. A defining moment in Canadian history, and a war like no other, the War of 1812 preserved our Canadian identity and rejected a republican form of government. It doesn’t get much more important than that.
During research, it soon became evident that there was a complete lack of clarity about the War of 1812. Most Canadians had no accurate perception of what the key was to the successful defence of Canada. And so our plaquing focus was aimed at two themes: the early British success, which gave Canadians confidence, and the essential control of transportation and communication on the Great Lakes, so vital to military success.
Our first opportunity to write a meaningful plaque came with the promotion of the “Brock Walk” program, tracing Maj.-Gen. Sir Isaac Brock’s route to his spectacular victory at Fort Detroit in August 1812. En route, he rallied regiments, militiamen and Natives to the cause. At the Head-of-the-Lake, the future site of the city of Hamilton, 250 militiamen (all United Empire Loyalists) joined him, including several leading personalities of the region.
Our plaque commemorating Brock’s route was unveiled by a Brock re-enac
tor at a 100-seat Loyalist dinner. Following the Brock Walk theme, the plaque is titled “Brock Stepped Here” and for a “wow” factor claims that the surrender of the Michigan territory was the largest territorial loss in U.S. history.
The second bicentennial plaque that I wrote was about the naval battle known as the Burlington Races, a daring military clash at the head of Lake Ontario for naval control of the lake that would determine the outcome of the war and the future of Canada. (Wow!) Incredibly, the information on an older provincial plaque was incorrect, based on pure fancy.
On September 28, 2013, an accurate version of the battle, titled “From Fancy to Fact” was unveiled with me wearing my 1812 naval uniform. The event took place beside a walking-trail observation deck at the Lakeview Banquet Centre, overlooking the Burlington shoreline. It was a beautiful day for an unveiling, but few official guests appeared. However, a wedding party and their 200 banquet guests joined us and became part of a joint celebration.
Hopefully, future generations of Canadians will have a better appreciation of the significance of the war on the water, and many other historical events.
—by Robert Williamson, Hamilton, Ontario
For Better or Verse
This “Limerick Man” turns a fine phrase, loves music and supports worthy causes
There’s a hymn from my choir days titled, “I Love to Tell the Story.” And I just so happen to have a story I’d love to tell. For Better or Verse was hatched when my close friend Anne Jarvis said, “You’ve got all these limericks; why don’t you create some more and write a book?” So I did. Nine months later, in 2017, I self-published the book.
Many of the limericks I already had on hand were written back in 1997, and were inspired by the 350-voice choir I sang in. We’d spend a half an hour or so before practice showing off our literary chops and many of my limericks came into being right there, usually as a tribute to my fellow singers, like this one:
“Will you ever forget our wee Pat
She was known as a swingin’ hep cat
Pat went out each night
Till dawn’s early light
Then sat with the milkman to chat.”
As was the case for just about everyone my age—I’m now in my 90s—my life was influenced by the Second World War. At age 15, I went to work in a pay office, as the men of age were off to war.
When my turn came, I served in the Army Depot Pay Office. After the war, thanks to the Army Rehab provisions, I was sponsored for three years’ worth of high school in six months, followed by a Bachelor of Commerce degree, which took three years. I then immediately proceeded to become an articled student in a chartered accountants’ firm. All this nonstop pressure subsequently brought on a nervous breakdown, but that’s another story.
I married in 1954 and my wife Kate and I moved from Toronto to Victoria, settling onto a waterfront property at Prospect Lake, where I wrote many more limericks, like this one about our dogs:
“When Pedro brought Belle to the door
We wondered what next was in store.
Poor Belle was a wreck,
Kate said: ‘What the heck,
We’ve plenty of love for one more.’ ”
Getting my book published was a learning experience, as the printing company was hung up on computers, and I was hung up out in dinosaur land. So, I learned about computers, at least what was needed for the book to see the light of day. In the initial stages, I was given more than 100 pictures to choose from for the cover. Snow-covered mountains just could not compete with the dog that won the job. Feedback from sales: “Love the cover!” Yeah, but what about the limericks, I wondered!
“If limericks bore you to death
Recall what the Bible has saith:
Don’t do adultery
Unless she is sultry
Then go to the priest and confessth.”
In case you want to know more about the “Limerick Man,” as I’ve been referred to, I’m a guy who paid the rent by being an accountant, but my real passion was music. After the war, my first stint education-wise was at the Toronto Conservatory of Music. At the risk of name-dropping, a certain Robert Goulet was also studying there at the time. I lasted one month before it became obvious that putting bread on the table was not likely to happen for me via that route. So I switched to commerce.
The chartered accounting firm I was first hired at was actively seeking students and, believe it or not, the first question they asked me was, “Do you play ball?” Back in those days, many firms were so large they could field an entire baseball team from their latest crop of students. As a left-handed first baseman, I had it made! I still have a photo of our winning team hanging on my wall to this day.
On the music side, I ended up with a Grade 10 certificate as a baritone soloist and a Grade 8 piece of paper for the piano. During my stay at one church, the organist and I produced an LP, with all the proceeds going to the church, of course. I’ve also played the trumpet in dance bands, trios and community organizations. One of my early memories is of a trip to Williams Lake—my first flight ever—and it looked like we had landed in a farmer’s field. Our house band from the Club Sirroco was scheduled to play for Princess Margaret. She didn’t show, and I can’t say that I blame her!
Forty years as a choir leader kept things busy on Sundays. In the big band I frequented, you’d catch me playing the trumpet and singing. We’d practice every two weeks on Thursday nights, and when the band went public, we realized we needed a name! We settled on Thirsty Knights, which seemed like a good choice.
One of the tidbits I’ve learned over the years is that music and poetry are a great fit, so I guess my love of limericks is only natural. I’ll sign off with this one, about some guy named George:
“There once was a fella named George
Who thought he could be Victor Borge
Though he worked like a dog
Really all he could log
Was a one-nighter down at The Gorge
(a hotel in Victoria).
—by George R. Roberts, Victoria, British Columbia
Fine Felted Friends
Discovering this simple yet versatile pastime
Growing up on beautiful Manitoulin Island, I was surrounded by the works of many artists in the area, including family members. My cousin did beautiful beadwork, while my grandmother created everything from quill boxes to canoes. It was also not uncommon for me to see paintings by Leland Bell and carvings by Gordon Waindubence, both First Nations artists, also located on Manitoulin.
Some of my first memories are of creating art. I was forever drawing animals that I loved—there would invariably be horses or some kind of big cat sprinting across the pages of my school workbooks and any scraps of paper I could get my hands on. I carried this passion with me and, as I grew, my methods and mediums evolved. Now, I love to create in pencil, paints and wool.
I began needle felting, which is basically sculpting wool with special, barbed needles, about three years ago. I wanted a little wool creation of my cat and, after failing to track down another artist to make one, I went about gathering supplies such as wool, felting needles and protective gear. The gear includes foam to felt on to protect surfaces and prevent needles from snapping, as well as silicone or leather finger guards to protect yourself from the barbed needles.
After trying needle felting for myself, I fell in love with the craft. Needle felting is such a versatile fibre art. It can be used to create so many things, including ornaments, portraits or sculptures. What makes it so enjoyable is that the materials are fairly easy to obtain and the methods are pretty straightforward. All you do is take a bit of wool and either “punch” it through a piece of fabric with the needle, or use the needle to knot and form a chunk of wool into shapes. It is a very repetitive motion but the possibilities are endless.
I still love drawing and painting; however, working with wool has opened up new creative opportunities for me. I’ve had the honour of making several pet portraits an
d sculptures of people’s current furry family members, as well as their beloved pets that have passed on. Often I am able to include a tiny tuft of the pet’s hair to make these mementoes even more personal.
I have also begun exploring my roots through my needle felted work. I’ve begun creating pieces in the “woodland style,” which is part of my Anishinaabe heritage on my dad’s side. It has allowed me to storytell in a different way, in addition to working with a whole other palette of colour combinations than I normally do when working on pet portraits or other animals. My first pieces are made solely of wool, but I have a few new exciting medium combinations that I have begun experimenting with and hope to be able to share in the near future.
Being able to work with my hands and create all of these different pieces has been such a gift. It has allowed me to work with others in my community and build not only professional relationships but friendships as well. Most of all, I enjoy how it has given my mother and I a special activity to bond over—I treasure my “art visits” with her. I look forward to creating many more pieces and cannot wait to see what direction my work will take next.
—by Adrienne Assinewai, Sudbury, Ontario
Musical Ambassadors
A Canadian teen marching band wows an international crowd
You might think taking 150 teenagers across the Atlantic to a foreign country would be an exercise in chaos, but when that group is the Burlington Teen Tour Band, we do it with flying colours—and, in our case, that colour is red.
As a Canadian youth marching band—also known as the Redcoats—we tour the world performing in parades, competitions and other prestigious events. Founded in 1947 in Burlington, Ontario, we were originally known as the Burlington Boys and Girls Band. As much as we have changed since then, we still share the pride the original members treasured in both wearing our uniforms and representing Canada.
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