Merry Christmas to Lost Valley families - world wide !

The Lost Valley Blog has been published since 2007 and emails confirm these articles are read and reread by ex-Saint John families worldwide, including a dozen who live as far away as Australia and New Zealand. I am very grateful to all who share stories, photos and genealogy with me. In some cases I pursue research to confirm family lore, but equally true I am holding back the material for a larger project, as it very clear that Blog publishing has it's limitations. Nothing I have received from enthusiastic contributors will be wasted.

I have read many good books this year but alas, nothing fresh derived from Saint John in 2010. I have most Saint John history books published in my lifetime and a few offer a little help with Lost Valley research, but the problem is that most are heavy on photographs and light on human events and biography. The single best online research source continues to be the New Brunswick Provincial Archives in Fredericton. Many Lost Valley readers agree with me on this. Bravo N.B.P.A. !! Our biggest loss is that the Irving Empire cannot free up a little cash to put the backfiles of the EVENING TIMES GLOBE and the TELEGRAPH JOURNAL online for free use by all Canadians. Now that would be a Christmas present to write home about. For a long time the Telegraph Journal was a pay-site. It is now free to read online, but we've all left town. Expatriates want to be able to read the old editions, like we can for so many other cities.

To illustrate my Christmas card to Lost Valley readers, I offer this clipping from Saint John, published in December 1938. All through the bleak Depression of the 1930s the Mahaney Quadruplets gave Saint John something to boast about. Their father was a Newfie and their mother a Blue Nose, but the Mahaney children were born in Saint John, and the children of my mother's generation watched them grow up in annual Christmas reports. In 1939 Canada's King and Queen drove slowly through the Valley in an open limousine, giving everyone an equal chance to see them. The Mahaney Quads, Saint John royalty, got to meet the Monarchs in person, as did the Dionne Quintuplets when the King and Queen visited Toronto.

The MAHANEY QUADS (shown here on skis in December 1938) were a staple news item in Saint John every Christmas during the bleak 1930s. Born on December 25, 1923 they were also a national sensation until the DIONNE QUINTUPLETS were born May 28, 1934. In the 1940s-50s advances in fertility and obstetric technique resulted in a rash of Quads surviving in North America and the Mahaney's drifted into obscurity. The surviving Quad, Lyda Christine, now lives in Alberta.

A SPECIAL MERRY CHRISTMAS

Three readers were especially helpful to the LOST VALLEY BLOG in 2010. Jim who lives in the good 'ole U.S.A., Orin in Quebec, and Paul in Saint John's North End... to each of you and your families, my sincere best wishes for a happy and healthy 2011. We will soon continue our conversations and share in the process of discovery.

A Family Christmas in Saint John's North End - the Osborne's, 1952

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Frank Osborne is the the son of Francis William Osborne, a veteran of WW2 and Edna Curtis, his wartime sweetheart. A boy of eight when this story unfolded, Frank is now living in retirement in British Columbia but he will be a Saint Johner until his last breath. His memories of the North End are precious to him... life on Main Street, Rockland Road and Pugsley Avenue. He began Grade 1 at DUFFERIN and continued his schooling at PRINCESS ELIZABETH. Several years ago he selected a chunk of rock at the base of Fort Howe and preserves it in his garden in B.C.

Frank Osborne does the photo-booth. He is about eight years old in this pose.

My parents had a rule. Breakfast must be eaten before any Christmas presents were opened. It was a hard rule to endure. At the table my older sister and younger brother were excitedly discussing what they might get. I kept my head down and methodically chewed my oatmeal. Even sugar could not jazz up oatmeal enough to make me like it.

My father seemed to be nursing his coffee but finally he stood up. "If everyone is finished I think we should all go into the living room and see what Santa has left for us! "

As we rushed into the room our mother admonished; "Look in your socks, before any gifts are opened!" Oh yes, the socks held goodies too. We didn't have a mantle so we had tied our Christmas socks to the wooden hat rack.

Mine was very heavy, so it had to have lots! I reached into my sock. Something very hard was in there. It was irregular in shape and resisted my pulling. Then suddenly it popped out. It was a big black lump of very black coal. Coal! No candy. No orange. Just coal. I looked at my family to see if they saw what I saw. Nobody was paying me the slightest attention. I couldn't believe it - just coal!

My father, only mildly curious, asked "What's wrong with you Frank?"

"I got... I just got coal." All eyes turned to me. My father sympathized, "Well Frank, I guess Santa believes that you were not totally good all year." My sister chose to recollect some minor incident which served to compound my distress.

My mother noticed my blackened hands. "Your hands are filthy, Frank. Go wash them." When I got back they were opening their presents. My little brother's face was all lit up. He had a shiny new fire engine, a new swirl top and a new wooden sled. He was already spinning the top. My sister had two new dolls (one with golden curls and eyes that closed when it was laid down), a new hat, scarf and coat. Also colouring books. My mother was admiring a new dress with matching shoes. My father got a new shirt and tie, as well as a pearl handled straight razor with shaving mug.

I looked under the tree. There was one lonely, skinny little present remaining. It had to be mine! My sister picked it up. "And this one's for Frank. It's from Grammy." I opened it slowly. I knew what it was because she always knitted me Argyle socks. And...it was...socks. Santa might not like me, and my family might not like me enough to give me a Christmas gift...but Grammy loved me!

My father got up off the sofa. "Well that's it. You children pick up all this wrapping paper. Take your gifts to your rooms and put them neatly away. I have to go out to shovel and your mother has a fine turkey to prepare." He noticed my little brother struggling to carry all his gifts. "Frank, help your little brother." I reached for my brother's new sled. "Gee...I wish I could get a gift as swell as this." It was a peach of a sled.

Father then went out to shovel snow and my mother busied herself in the kitchen. His return was punctuated by a great stomping of boots. "Frank," he called. "Yes?" "Not a very big Christmas for you, I guess?" I hung my head and mumbled, "It was O.K.". "Well, maybe next year you'll get more." He shucked out of his coat.

"Frank, I want you to look under that tree to see if any gifts got overlooked." I was dubious, but I did look. "Nope," I answered. "Well make sure you look behind those drapes back of the tree." I swept aside the drapes and there it was! Leaning against the window frame was a gift as tall as me. "I found one, I found a gift!" My father was insistent, "Frank, bring it out here. Let's find out who it's for."

I stood in the middle of the floor clutching at hope itself. "Well, can't you read?" The tag read, TO FRANK FROM HIS FAMILY. I started to tremble but my mother was encouraging. "It's for you Frank. Open it up." I ripped away the wrapping. Revealed for all to see was a long cardboard box illustrated with a cowboy on horseback.

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I slowly opened the box. It was... I couldn't believe it. A RED RYDER B.B. gun ! A REAL RED RYDER GUN !!! A real metal barrel and real wooden stock, with RED RYDER burned into the stock. Tears started to stream down my face. I tried to look at my family but couldn't rightly see them. All I could say was, "Gee! Gee! It's really mine?"

My father said, "It's all yours, kid." My mother added with emphasis, "It will be all yours if he shoots his eye out !"

For the rest of that happy day I kept repeating to myself, "Gee, this is the best Christmas ever!" And it was.

A CHRISTMAS STORY was filmed Toronto in 1983. In the movie, a little boy hungers to receive a RED RYDER BB gun from Santa. It is a film which enlivens the precious memories of Frank Osborne as he relives the morning of December 25, 1952 when his family played a Christmas prank on him.