Catherine Miller of Perth –Waited 60 Years– Updates!!

 

WAITED FOR GROOM 60 YEARS Miss Miller, Jilted On Her Wedding Day, Became Demented

 

In March 16 of 1902 in the little town of Perth, the death is announced of Miss Catharine Millar, known in the neighbourhood around as “Kitty” Miller. Sixty years ago she was a beautiful and accomplished girl in Scotland and was engaged to be married to a young man who had a large interest In a Scottish thread factory.

The day was fixed for the wedding and every preparation was made for the ceremony. The wedding day came and “Kitty,” dressed in her bridal attire and awaited the bridegroom. Instead, there came a message that he had married another.

The shock affected her mind, and for several years she was confined in an asylum. The doctors finally decided that she could be given into the custody of her relatives, as they thought a change of scene and surroundings would prove the best cure. The Miller family moved quickly from Scotland to Canada hoping it wold change Kitty’s spirits.

 

Nearly 50 years have passed since their settlement in Lanark County, yet never, a month has elapsed in which “Kitty” did not don her wedding garments to await the coming of her lover. The dress was antique, of amber-coloured silk, with a long front peaked waist, plaited and corded, with bell sleeves and skirt hanging oddly on account of the straight width.

 

The bonnet was also peculiar. It was made of white silk, trimmed with satin ribbon and a stiff lace matching the dress in colour. Miss Millar was 80 years old when she died, and for nearly 60 years had preserved this wedding dress, expecting the arrival of her promised husband. All her immediate relatives had died before her and she was living with friends at the time still with her robes made in Scotland long ago.

 

Catherine “Kitty” Miller

BIRTH

1822

 

Scotland

DEATH

4 Jan 1902 (aged 79–80)

 

Bathurst, Lanark County, Ontario, Canada

BURIAL

Scotch Line Cemetery

Scotch Line, Lanark County, Ontario, Canada

 

 

Perth Courier –
The death of Miss Catherine Miller, generally known as “Kitty Miller,” on Tuesday of last week, closed the last chapter of one of the “tragedies of life,” which call forth the sympathy of all. In her youth she was beautiful and accomplished. She was engaged to a young man who had a large interest in a thread factory. The day was set for the wedding and the young girl had made every preparation. While dressed in her wedding garments, waiting for the groom, word was brought that he had married another girl. The shock affected her mind, and it was found necessary to place her in an asylum. As time went by she became quiet and she left the asylum and went to live with her mother. Her mind was still affected, but she was very peaceable. The doctor suggested a complete change of surroundings for her, and she and her mother came to Canada. They found a home with John Grey, who then lived on the 4th line. Here the mother died, and some time after Miss Miller was taken to live with the late Mrs. George Grey. When Mrs. Grey died, her daughter, Mrs. Alexander Palmer, took charge of her. It was pitiful to see “Kitty” as every month she would don her wedding dress and wait for her expected lover. She never forgot the fact that she was a bride waiting for the groom. Her dress is very antique. It is an amber colored silk, with a long front, peaked waist, pleated and corded, with bell sleeves and skirt, hanging oddly on account of the straight width. The bonnet also is peculiar. It is made of white silk, trimmed with satin ribbon, and a stiff lace matching the dress in color. Miss Miller was eighty years old when she died, and for nearly sixty years has cherished this wedding dress, expecting her lover to appear and wed her. She was buried in the Scotch Line cemetery on Thursday last.

 

The Daily Whig, Kingston, Saturday, February 22, 1902, page 4

 

 

 

Scotch Line Cemetery

•  

 

 

 

Location: 513 Scotch Line, Lot 12, Concession 10, Upper Scotch Line, North Burgess

Details: In 1886, a half-acre of land on the Upper Scotch Line passed hands from Gilbert Wilson and his wife Marian, to a group of men wishing to have a community cemetery. The cemetery trustees were John Wilson, Robert Allan and Robert Hendry. They purchased the half-acre for $75. Although the land was not officially a cemetery until 1886, around ten people had been buried there previous to the purchase. In the same year as its purchase, the Scotch Line Cemetery had its first official burial. The man’s name was Mr. George Oliver, a local mill owner, who died at the age of 49 on June 26, 1886. A fence was put up around the cemetery in 1887 and the cost of $40, as well as the purchase price of the land, was paid for by a group of 24 men in the area.A piece of land 10 feet in size was added to the west side of the cemetery in 1920. Also added was a strip of land 40 feet wide fronting the Upper Scotch Line and 210 feet to the rear of the cemetery. The strip was purchased in 1941 from the Scotch Line School, which shared the same lot as the cemetery. In the same year, the land between the west side of the cemetery and Allan’s Side Road was purchased for $100 from Gilbert Wilson. The project of planting 200 pine seedlings was completed in May of 1942, with the trees being placed along the fence separating the cemetery from the school, as well as the fence by Allan’s Side Road. After its closure in 1968, the remaining school property was purchased for $1000 on July 12 th . This purchase would mark the final expansion of the cemetery. The Scotch Line School is still situated on the cemetery lot and is a beautiful addition to the land.

Contact: Allan Menzies, Registrar, 613- 264-2697 

The Alexander Palmers of Christie Lake Tay Valley Perth that looked after her.

Detail Source

Name	Alexander Palmer
Gender	Male
Marital Status	Married
Age	45
Birth Year	abt 1846
Birth Place	Ontario
Residence Date	1891
Residence Place	Bathurst, Lanark South, Ontario, Canada
Relation to Head	Head
Religion	Free Church
Occupation	Farmer House Carpenter
Can Read	Y
Can Write	Y
French Canadian	No
Spouse	Isabella Palmer
Father’s Birth Place	England
Mother’s Birth Place	Scotland
Division Number	1
Neighbours	View others on page
Household Members (Name) Age Relationship Alexander Palmer 45 Head Isabella Palmer 44 Wife Grace Palmer 12 Daughter Harold Palmer 10 Son Winnerfred Palmer 8 Daughter Johnnie Palmer 4 Son
Enumeration District	84
Page number	18

 

CLIPPED FROMThe Lanark EraLanark, Ontario, Canada05 Feb 1902, Wed  •  Page 4

January 1902

January 1920

CLIPPED FROMThe Kingston Whig-StandardKingston, Ontario, Canada22 Feb 1902, Sat  •  Page 4

The Peculiar Case of Jeanetta Lena McHardy

The Odd Tale of Insane Johnny Long?

Embroidery of the Insane?

To Be Manic Depressive in a Rural Town — Kingston Insane Asylum

The Insane Spinster Ghost of Appleton Ontario

Suicide – The Failsafe

Bell Talk Day should not be only one day a year..This post was published in 2012 and was used on quite a few suicide help sites. This morning someone emailed me to ask if I still had a copy of it.  Please pass it on.

I have been up for hours and am exhausted before the clock strikes eight. I eye the sink full of dirty items while the dishwasher lies four inches to the left. The house is silent and soon I know the air will be filled with anger.

Walking outside I water the just planted begonias, knowing full well once I leave they will die; much like the limited peace that lies between the walls. I have come to think the house is cursed but then realize that things were like this before anyone moved into this home. Years of anger still scream through the roof and the house wants me back,  but I will never grant the four walls their wish.

The larger dog sits with me on the swing and cuddles next to me. He knows I will soon leave and his life will become empty again. My heart cries for him, but it is either his life or mine, and there is no other solution. The inhabitant of the manor is not in a good mood so I will embark on a journey somewhere else today. I pose him a few questions and nothing but silence follows my words and I immediately blame myself for his reaction.

 Yesterday morning I sank to the depths of hell and barely crawled out in time. There is no answer except possibly death that will find me relief from his distant presence. I am free, but yet I am not, and I slowly sink into a hollow world where nothing hurts me.

I wake up and feel the imaginary cloud of blackness cover me once again and it brings me back to a place I had been to a very long time ago.   My mind is  breathing in a pit full of black sticky tar and there no way to get out. Slowly I feel myself suffocating from my thoughts until I can no longer breathe, and then I give in to the darkness again and became no more.

In my dream I awake with tears in my eyes and remember the day that was going to be the last day of my life. I dressed slowly that morning as I glanced around at my surroundings and knew they would suddenly be alone. I had made up my mind, ran down the stairs and jumped on the bus to my destination. As I sat on the subway I closed my eyes as I went through the 6 minutes of darkness while the train went through the tube under the bay. It was almost like the dark before the storm and my fingers grasped the edge of the seat knowing there was no turning back.

I took the bus to the shore and watched the waves come in one by one. They were dark angry waves,  and I walked towards them inviting them to take me away to the sea. The edge of the waves tickled the tips of my shoes and beckoned me to walk further into the bay. I knew if I followed their dark directions I would be immersed in a riptide of  cold water with no chance to correct my mistake.

Instead I sat on a bench and wondered if I was going to suffer much when I carried out my mental ambition. I looked to the bridge and the fog still  hung like Christmas stockings on the edges of the gray metal. Maybe if the bridge was merciful that same fog would carry me down softly to the depths below and simply ease me down slowly into final peace.

I knew once I jumped it was going to be like hitting a concrete wall and if I was lucky it would take me less than five minutes to drown in the cold water where the bay met the sea. If I made a mistake and jumped feet first I might survive and live in pain for the rest of my life.  Did I want that? Was it not like what I was going through in real life, and if I commit suicide will the wrath of the Devil come and push me to the boundaries of Hell?

For weeks I had thought of the Golden Gate jumpers and mentally replayed them, fascinated that the end could be so near. As I walked along the narrow road to the bridge my fear suddenly disappeared.  I had walked its length once before and knew that in 4 seconds I would be flying towards what I considered final freedom of my mind.

Death might take seconds as my body would plunge deep into the salty water where no angels would be rescuing me just yet. It would not be a pretty death and suddenly a silly thought of fish dining on my mortal remains scared me. Years of not being afraid to attempt the almost terminal extension of life had now been thwarted by the fear of fish.

In the years that passed I knew the bridge would always be there to beckon those who had given up. The clouds of pills and mental pain would remain for years however until I realized life was not a mistake. Why?

For we have all come too far to fail. Pass it on!

Ontario Mental Health Help Line— there is always someone there for you.

Photos of the Golden Gate Bridge by Linda Seccaspina