The Wellington Country Historical Society has held and annual essay competition, since its formation in 1928.
To date, the annual record number of entries – 109 – was achieved by the topic Schools in 1950. Other popular topics included Pioneers, Pioneer Incidents, and Pioneer Stories. In some cases an elderly relative vouched for the accuracy of the essay.
Other popular topics have included Churches, Schools, and Stone Buildings.
Topics for the 2007 and 2008 were My Grandfather and My Grandmother.
Each year the society received over 30 entries in the youth category and another 10 or 12 from adults. Both years, the Grade 7 class at King George Public School in Guelph sent in over two dozen carefully crafted essays.
All the essays to date have been donated to the Wellington County Museum and Archives, where they are held for the use of future researchers.
Finding a Grandma
by Royden McCoag
Grandmas were for other people. We didn’t have any. Dad’s mom died before his eleventh birthday, and Mom’s mother, well, we didn’t even talk about her. At least, we didn’t until the letter came, one day in May 1940. That letter changes things.
It read:
Dear Peggy:
Joe and I would like to come and visit you and Alf for a few days. Jack will drive us up from Walkerton on Sunday May 27. If you don’t want us, we will come home with Jack but we would really like to stay for a week or two.
I would like to get to know my grandchildren.
Your Mother
Eva Reinhardt.
“Well, she can go back with Jack,” said Mom as soon as she read the letter, “Now, Now,” admonished Dad. “She’s probably wanting to patch things up. We – you should give her a chance.”
“She will be a bad influence on the kids,” said Mom.
“ If she is, we will deal with that when it comes up, but we have to be civil. If they want to live under our roof for a couple of weeks we will accommodate then and share everything we have. It’s the Scottish way.”
“I guess I could fix up the corner room,” conceded Mom, making it sound like to do so would be work.
“The corner room is fine as it is. Just put in a few ash trays and it will be fine.”
As so, Eva and the man she called her husband came to visit. We kids, all three of us, thought we could understand Mom’s lack of enthusiasm for we knew she was raised in a foster home where she had to work hard. We knew Mom had three sister and two brothers, too, but the only one we had ever seen, Aunt Eleanor, lived a way off in Owen Sound. We knew Mom’s maiden name was Lawrence because Grandpa Jim had lived with us for a while before he got too sick for Mom to look after. We didn’t know how Eva Lawrence got to be Eva Reinhardt.
I was eight in 1940, my sister ten and my brother had just turned six. There were a lot of things we didn’t know. We never met Uncle Jack. Their visit sounded exciting to us.
Grandma Eva stood very little over five feet tall and weighed less than a hundred pounds. Skinny described her perfectly. She wore heavy stockings, rolled down to her ankles if the day turned hot, blue denim skirts (I think she had three) and an assortment of blue tops always covered with a gray cardigan sweater. I guess every article of her clothing was part of the required uniform in the furniture factory where she worked.
Mr. Reinhardt, as Mom insisted we call Joe, had big bones, white hair and a stoop. Everywhere he walked he used a crooked stick cane, He, too, worked in the furniture factory, or had until his age and his constant shaking forced him into retirement.
He like to be busy and dad put him at building new oat boxes for the horses and new pig troughs, He whistled as he worked and didn’t bother anybody.
We knew Mom had misgivings when Jack left without his passengers. Jack, by the way, was Mom’s oldest sibling and if it hadn’t been for his dimples and tightly curled hair he would have looked alto like Mom. She and Jack hadn’t seen each other for years and had very little in common. Neither seemed to regret the fact that Jack has to get back to work and stayed only long enough to drop off the old people. For an uncle, he didn’t seem much interested in us kids.
Eva and Mr. Reinhardt each had a suitcase and since we didn’t own one, because we never went anywhere over night, those cases made us curious. We wondered what they hid.
We soon learned Dad had been right; they needed ashtrays. Both our visitors smoked. My dad smoked too, but not the way they did. He lit up three times a day. The Reinhardt’s seemed to have cigarettes in their mouths all the time. Mom complained that no woman should puff like a chimney. Indeed, we knew no other woman who did. Every evening, after the radio show, Amos and Andy, Grandma Eva made up forty cigarettes, ten for Joe and thirty for herself, on a little rolling machine she had brought with her. The finished product looked almost like store bought cigarettes. We wanted Grandma to let us do the rolling but Mom nixed that. We decided we knew the perfect gift to get Dad for Christmas. He could use a rolling machine.
Grandma Eva used a lot of words we weren’t allowed to use. I don’t think she meant anything by it but mom threatened to send her home on the next bus is she ever heard us repeating them.
One evening, my sister burst into the corner room without thinking and caught Joe and Grandma drinking something called brandy from a bottle she had in her suitcase. Ada told mom, and Mom almost went hysterical. Grandma said they always took a lilt medicine before going to bed, for their digestion, but Mom said she wasn’t to do it in our house. After that, the corner room became strictly out of bounds for us kids.
On the fifth evening, Grandma Eva came out of the room with two pictures in cardboard frames. As soon as mom saw them she said we should go to bed, “No”, Dad said, “I think they are old enough to see them.” Grandma said, “I brought them to give them to you, Peggy.”
The first one she set up showed a little girl, maybe a little older than my sister, in a white dress. On the frame, faded gold letters identified the studio as being in Mount Forest, Ontario. On the back, pen scribbles identified the girl as Eva Nola, and added, “On her wedding day, August 7, 1903”.
“Is that you Grandma?” blurted Ada. “Yes, “said Grandma, as Mom started to cry.
“Your name was Nolan?” Ada couldn’t help asking because somewhere in the distant past Mom had told her Grandma had been born Eva Mackenzie.
“No, no, I was Eva Mackenzie,” Grandma said. “A railway accident killed my daddy before I could even walk. Then, Momma married John Nolan of Mount Forest. The Nolans would have liked me to use the Nolan name but Momma would have none of that. It should say Eva Mackenzie.”
“How old were you?” Again Ada asked what we all wanted to know.
“Thirteen,” replied Grandma. “John Nolan sold me to a thirty-nine year old man named Jim Lawrence.”
We just sat with our mouths open trying to imaging anyone selling a little girl to be a bride. In our world it didn’t make sense.
“Sold?” we all asked together. “Yes, he got a hundred dollars for me.”
Grandma set up the other picture. It showed a family of eight, six kids and two adults. The frame said it came from Detroit Michigan. We recognized Grandma Eva’s pinched faced and the walrus mustache of Grandpa Jim.
“This, “she said, “shows what happened in the next thirteen years. These are my children, Jack and Mildred and Nancy and your mother and Eleanor and Jimmy.”
Size wise, Mom looked to be right in the middle between a big Jack and a baby Jimmy.
Mom continued to cry and grandma wiped her own nose and eyes with her cardigan sleeve.
“It was taken just before I took the rent money and bought train tickets back to Mount Forest.”
“You all came back to Mount Forest?” This time I beat my sister to the question. “No, “said Grandma, “I brought all my kids, but I sure didn’t bring Jim Lawrence. I wanted away from him.”
“Why?”
Grandma started to say something but a look from Mom made her stop. She just said, “The usual; reasons.” None of us knew what that meant, but Grandma wanted to say no more so we let it go.
“I couldn’t find work with six kids hanging on to my skirts and I didn’t want to go back home. We were nearly starving so I took my family to The shelter in Owen Sound, all except Jack, the oldest. He stayed with me because he was big enough to help. I worked in hotels, cleaning and making beds and sometimes waiting on tables. That’s’ where I met Joe. Joe and I eventually got married.”
“You couldn’t get married,” cut in Mom, savagely. “You were already married to Daddy, Jim Lawrence.”
“Peggy, I did marry Joe Reinhardt. You see, when I was a Nolan, everyone considered me to be a Roman Catholic. Joe is a Roman Catholic, too. We went to the Mount Forest priest and he said that I never really had be married to Jim Lawrence, an Orangeman no less. I couldn’t be at thirteen, not to an older man I didn’t even know. The priest had my first marriage annulled.”
Mom kind of snorted but, remembering her pledge to be hospitable, said nothing. We kids had no idea what annulment meant.
“Jim Lawrence never even came looking for me for over a year and by them he could do nothing but go back to his job in Detroit.”
“He took me with him,” reminded my mother.
“Yes he did. He kidnapped you out of a good home, too. Then the authorities found him working in the United States without a work permit and deported him. He couldn’t find work in Ontario. He plunked you right back on my doorstep.”
“And you took me back to The Shelter, even though I was twelve years old.”
“Well, Peggy, I hated to, but neither Joe nor I made much money and I had already taken Mildred out. We couldn’t afford to keep more than two. Besides you got adopted by a decent family in no time.”
“They didn’t adopt me. They just took me to look after their kids. They made me a slave and then, six years later, when I reached eighteen, I ran away and you still wouldn’t take me in.”
“I found you a job and a place to live. I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry, I’ve waited twelve years to tell you that Peggy, but I am oh so sorry about Nancy and Eleanor and Jimmy too. I don’t know where any of them are.”
Suddenly Grandma and Mom were hugging each other and blubbering all over the place. “I know where Eleanor is. Alf and I will take you to visit her,” Mom offered.
Dad sat the two pictures up on our fireplace mantle.
Looking back, it seems that evening and those two pictures turned things around.
The Reinhardt’s stayed for three weeks and when they left even mom wanted them to stay.
After that, we had a Grandma.
Finally Home
by Calvin Katerberg
An inspiring story was written in my grandmother’s wrinkled hands, her warm smile, and sparkling eyes, It is an incredible story of difficulties, pain and suffering, but also immense joy, victory and peace. She was a truly remarkable woman, who left behind precious memories in the hearts of those who knew her as well as an example for all to follow.
The van Donkersgoed family experienced joy on November 15, 1934 when a baby girl entered their lives. With love and tenderness, her parents, Gijsbert and Gerritje, named her Trijntje
She soon grew into a beautiful young girl … a girl who would eventually become my grandmother.
Her story began in Putten, a small town in the Netherlands. There she shared the pleasures of many Dutch girls of her time, however, born into a farming family, she also became familiar with the prospect of hard work. Growing older, she began to “pull her weight” around the farm as her mother bore eight more children, making their family a total of fourteen.
A few years swiftly passed and World War II smashed its fist upon their town. Miraculously, during those six long years, not one member of my grandma’s family was harmed. When the war ended in 1945, her family resumed a life of peace and prosperity. But the rich land in Holland was quickly disappearing, making it difficult for her family to continue farming. In 1949, her father made the important decision of moving to Canada.
Gathering their belongings, the Donkersgoed family boarded the Leerdam, a freight ship used for bringing immigrants to North America. Trijntje and her family found comfort impossible, as they became seasick in the cramped quarters during the stormy fourteen day voyage. To keep them warm from the frigid air, her parents bought long leather coats, for which they were grateful. After what seemed like an eternity, her family reached the port in New York, they then boarded a train bound for Lethbridge Alberta, and days later, the tired and exhausted family reached their destination.
Since he was unable to take European money over to Canada, Trijntje’s father secured a job in Alberta, hoeing surge beet fields for roughly $40 an acre. Being the fourth oldest child, my grandma worked with her parents and older siblings in the expansive fields. Hours handling a hoe left her hands calloused and hard. Living space was primitive and bitterly cold during the Canadian winter. Although she found the back-breaking job tiresome and repetitious, Tressa (as her English friends called her) adapted quickly, and soon enjoyed the wide open country. After saving money cultivating fields for two years, her father relocated his family to Brandon Manitoba in 1951.
While in Manitoba, Tressa found a job with her oldest sister, Jenny. Working in a mental institution for her was unpleasant and even frightening. Nevertheless, she continued to work hard, earning money for her family. After two short years, her father moved to their family once more, knowing that Manitoba was not the place where they were to settle permanently. Moving to Moorefield Ontario in 1953, was an exciting time for my grandma. There, her father bought sufficient land to run a dairy farm. Old enough to live independently, she was able to board at John Drudge’s house in Elmira with her younger sister, Sharon. She and Sharon worked at Skippy’s Shoe Factory during the week and returned home to their family on the weekends.Young and beautiful at eighteen, my grandma attracted the attention of my grandpa, Henk Katerburg, who also was an immigrant from Holland. On September 27,1958, after two years of courting, they were happily wedded. She soon moved into the city of Guelph where, on August 23, 1959, they welcomed their first child, this was to be the first of eight children, the fifth of whom was my father, Henry Katerberg. Remaining in the Guelph area, my grandparents settled in a house along the Elora Road (County Road 7). This was to be the place where my grandmother would stay to raise her children.
Her life was to take a shift. My grandmother has always attended church, but she felt in her heart something vital was missing in her life. On April 22, 1969, she was touched by the Holy Spirit and accepted Jesus Christ as her Saviour. She continued in her walk of faith by being baptized the following month. Filled with joy and thanksgiving, my grandparents, with the help of other believers, founded the Elora Road Christian Fellowship.
Just like a brilliant flower beginning to blossom, my grandmother’s life was changed. Although shy and timid, she felt led to serve God in so many areas of her life. She brightened everyone’s day as God’s love shone through her encouraging smile and sparkling eyes. Whether it was cleaning the church, playing the organ, or hoeing her lush garden, her hardworking hands reflected the joy of Christ in her servant’s heart .
So well do I remember my grandma’s willingness to serve. At a young age, I would often help my grandpa take nails out of wood so the planks could be reused. I vividly recall Grandma at my side pulling out nails faster than I could move my hands. With a keens sense of humor, she took pleasure in making people laugh. One of her favourite hobbies was making puzzles of scenic pictures, She would sit quietly by a table and, and ever so patiently, put the three thousand pieces together. My grandma was also an incredibly fast knitter. She once made me a wool sweater, which I still have and continue to treasure. Grandma also had many flowers. Her favourite kind was African Violets, She loved watering them and watching them grow into healthy, colourful plants. Unfortunately, my grandma’s health did not thrive like the flowers she cared for so lovingly. At the age of 67, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, an incurable disease. Doctors warned she would rapidly deteriorate. Although her last two years were short, I can remember them as the sweetest and most precious of our moments together. My grandma did not blame God, but said she had given herself to Him and that He would do His will. She continued to pour out love on her husband and family as she grew weaker and became confined to her bed.
My grandmother did not spend the last few weeks of her life in panic or isolation, but rather talked to others about the love her Saviour had shown her. The circumstances she went through in her life prepared her for the pain suffering she was enduring.
Reflecting back, I see the peaceful look Grandma had on her face. Any mistakes in her life were made right, as she strove to finish the race with no regrets. On June 19, 2004, at the age of 69, Tressa Katerberg passed away to be with Jesus.
As the years have continued to go by, I cherish the memories we made and the conversations we had.
I wish everyone could have known her, because they would have been blessed and touched by her example.
For now, I try to follow the large steps she left behind, encouraging people with a smile and serving where I can with the hands God has given me. Accepting grandma’s death was difficult, yet I am assured knowing she is finally home – a journey begun in Putten, Holland was ended with her arrival in Heaven.
