Print, Photographic
Chestico Museum
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| Nom de l'objet : | Print, Photographic |
|---|---|
| Catégorie de l'objet : | Graphic Documents |
| Matériaux : | paper ink |
| Numéro d'accession : | CMP 06-3 |
| Date de début de production : | 2006-01-01 |
| Date de fin de production : | 2006-12-31 |
| Description : | A candid head shot of Elizabeth "Edith" (Knight) Chisholm. She is outdoors as there are trees in the background. This is a copy of an original photo (ca. 1930s). Edith 's photo is within an oval surrounded by a blue background. |
| Commentaires : | Elizabeth "Edith" (Knight) Chisholm (November 15, 1893 September 21, 1983) was a war bride. She met Greg Chisholm (December 21, 1895 - September 14,1935), son of Eliza (Walsh) and Dr. Duncan Chisholm, when he was serving overseas in WWI. Greg met Edith Knight in London, England that year when her cousin brought him home for a visit. Ediths cousin and Greg were stationed in the same unit as they both recovered from war wounds. Greg and Edith were married in England on February 12, 1918. In January of 1919, Edith arrived in Port Hood by herself to await Greg who came by hospital ship in April. They made a home for themselves in Port Hood and their four children were born here. Greg worked at Canada Customs in the Tremain Building with Sir D.C. MacDonald. In 1929 the office was closed. Greg was transferred to Halifax and the family made the move with him. Greg died in 1935 and the responsibility of supporting the family fell to Edith. She worked as a dressmaker and was kept very busy during the years of World War II. Edith shared th following memories of her trip from England to Port Hood: The crossing from England had been a stormy one. We had encountered bitter January gales which had lengthened the trip from the usual eight days to twelve, when the weary passengers disembarked at Saint John, New Brunswick. I was part of the group of so-called War Brides coming to Canada, following the end of World War One. My husband was hospitalized at the time and would follow on a hospital ship. He tried to prepare me for the difference I would find, from my native London, not only in the climate but also customs, clothing, speech, but I am afraid he succeeded in only confusing me. When I stepped off the Metagama into snow piled drifts and ice underfoot, I was wearing fine kit boots, without any other protection for the weather. I had never seen a pair of overshoes, let alone rubbers, as the English climate at the time was much more temperate than it is today and we didnt need them. I was greeted by the Customs Officer of the day who assessed my baggage with a practical eye and told me he thought 500 pounds would cover it - he meant the overweight but I thought he meant pounds sterling and told him I didnt have that much money in the world; I knew I was bringing in more than the Government had allowed - my husband had told me to being everything I could pack, for opportunities to shop were very limited. Following the Customs inspection I was directed to a carriage which was to take me to the hotel where I could stay until the train left. I had been hearing the jangle of bells but it wasnt until I was seated that I realized their function - we were in a sleigh, something else that was new to me, and the bells on the harness danced merrily as we glided along the streets. Once settled in my room I could hear unfamiliar crackling noises in the walls. This turned out to be the steam heat coming from the huge radiator in the corner. This was frightful enough but nothing compared to the terror I later felt when confronted with the glowing base burner in my father-in-laws house. Fireplaces were the usual means of heating a house in England, where central heating was still a long way off. The train - the English trains were so small, compared to the monster I boarded that night on my way to Port Hood, Cape Breton. When I went into the diner I was greeted with food in quantity and variety that I hadnt experienced since before 1914. I had long forgotten the taste of butter and of whipped cream. This was a long trip, overnight, with a change in Truro. The trip from Truro was no less long in those days than it is now, with the possible exception that the train had to be put on a ferry at Mulgrave to cross the Canso Strait to Point Tupper on the other side. The train had fat bellied stoves at each end of the car, but I remember the trip as a cold, weary journey through miles and miles of snow-covered evergreens and few signs of any settlements. I remember answering my husband when he told me how remote a country I was coming to that I could always take a train to the city if I missed the shops too much. Little did I know that the day would come when a trip to Mabou (ten miles) would be a treat to look forward to and savour for many days afterwards. There were no friends, familiar faces to meet me at the end of this journey. Although my husbands family and friends were most gracious and welcomed me into their homes, it was a long, lonely, strange two months for me until my husband joined me after his discharge from the Canadian Army. |
| Fonctions : | The donor made this copy for the museum from his original photo in 2006. |
| Longueur : | 25.9 cm |
| Largeur : | 21.5 cm |
| Établissement : |
Chestico Museum
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| Ville de l'établissement : | Chestico |
| Province de l'établissement : | Nova Scotia |