Bill BruntonHe used to chase People in His own Car, on a bycycle,ha. No License, remember I think they were the little plastic squares You had to put on the back under the seat or something. That’s Funny I haven’t thought of those for a while!
Bill RussellI remember those aluminum razor edged bands used to attach the plastic plates. Much like the clear plastic hand slicing packaging used today!
Dumps RyallI remember buying mine. Then wired it on to the chassis just under the saddle.
Linda Gallipeau-JohnstonFelt like a big person once I was allowed to go and get my own bic license waaaay back in the 50’s.
Patricia M Mason LeducBought license plates in the 60’s also for the bikes in Ottawa also. And dog tags. Our bike license plates were metal not plastic though. Mini version of car license plates. Really need to return to plating anything that rides on the roads now a days.
Dave StuartMaybe if they were still required there wouldn’t be so many bikes flying through stop signs and red lights in Ottawa. See it everyday in Westboro.
Kurt BigrasHe was a great guy and fair I had a good relationship with him nothing but fond memories
Judy RileyWe always got ours for free since Herb knew mom couldn’t afford them.
KILLALOE Along the rural concessions of Hagarty Township, you can still hear them called “hippies.” Even after more than 10 years, the newcomers who came here in the late 1960s to escape the cities and the Vietnam War and start new lives still find a gap between themselves and the lifelong residents. The community includes some 200 families who began taking over abandoned farms in this rugged area 150 kilometres west of Ottawa and gradually developed a working if not always harmonious relationship with the natives.
They’re the survivors the families who stayed on through the hard years. Neighboring farmer Jack MacDonald says there are fewer of “them” around than there once were. “It used to be that you couldn’t look up but there were three or four of them on the road.” And he still wonders why they came in the first place. “They thought they could make a go of the farms. But if good men couldn’t do it, how could they?” Phyllis Kirby-Hershoff, from Cleveland, who lives here with husband Lester, a canoe builder, admits that while there’s a nucleus of city people who came here several years ago, and new ones continue to move in, many return to sublime urban living.
“After a while, this no-hydro business gets you down.” That’s part of what Renfrew North MLA Sean Conway, who owns land in the area, calls the “intangible gap” that still exists between the new and old residents. “After all,” he says, “they’re coming at the world from pretty different points of reference.” Retired farmer Gordon Schleen confides, “There are lots of hippies around here,”when asked why his neighbours along the back concessions draw so much police interest around harvest time every year.
Farmer MacDonald claims the smell of marijuana is so powerful during the Killaloe Craft and Community Fair that “you can get drunk on it,” and adds: “I just wish they wouldn’t grow that marijuana. It’s illegal.” While Conway, 30, says the disfranchised city slickers are among his most astute constituents, he wonders about the lifestyle. “Some of what goes on along those back concessions is a little beyond the pale . . . benign neglect.
“Collections of cars which long ago gave up the ghost are a trademark of their homes. Large gardens and livestock feed the families, members of which live largely by their wits. Home decor is self-expressive among the “hippies.” One unpainted frame house has a large exterior mural covering one wall. In contrast, farms of native residents have manicured lawns wrapped around tidy houses. Morning Glory Farm is a collage of battered trucks and weather-worn buildings in these hills. At the end of a rutted track off, a township road, the faded farmhouse looks like it might belong to Ma and Pa Kettle.
Mere mention of the commune-style farm draws a knowing smile from Ontario Provincial Police Sergeant Ben Burchat, a lanky Polish-Canadian from nearby Wilno. He admits the police helicopter has dropped down for a close look at activities there. It seems everyone around here knows about Morning Glory Farm. A back-to-the-land stockbroker who now lives in the Killaloe community says its residents are transient, “mystical,” not typical of other hill dwellers who are more.
Every year, a police hunt for grass A policeman’s lot: Sergeant Ben Burchat ‘harvested’ this marijuana spotted by helicopter f KILLALOE The Hagarty Hills “hippies” are churned up about the helicopter buzzing local farms in the annual police hunt for marijuana plots among the jackpines. “If someone was peeking into your backyard, you’d get your back up too,” says woodsman Terry Walsh, 34. “They flew over my place. I just hung a moon at them.” Members of the counter-culture readily admit there’s grass growing in them thar hills. The terrain, climate and cover are ideal, they say. But they claim no large-scale trafficking originates here.
Rather, small amounts of the drug are grown for personal use and distribution among neighbors. “A small amount might be grown with the potatoes and tomatoes,” says Walsh. Some of the hill people many of the natives still call them “hippies” calmly dismiss the regular passes by the police chopper. “It’s a seasonal inconvenience,” says Shelley McCarthy, a former Toronto legal-aid worker who moved to a farmhouse in this rugged area four years ago. But others, like the onetime Toronto stockbroker who came to the hills eight years ago to start a new life of “fresh air, healthy food, and honest work,” feel the sweeps are an invasion of privacy. “The cops are inflating the whole thing to justify the chopper,” says the 36-year-old resident, who wants to remain anonymous for fear of police harassment.
“The value of the marijuana has been grossly overrated.” Some of the more established residents agree. Gilbert Coulas, a lumber planing-mill operator who has lived in the hills for 50 years, can see how a low-flying helicopter detracts from the usual serenity. Residents complain the chopper’s buzz invades their privacy but admit nearly all smoke dope “You couldn’t have a party in your yard without them knowing everything that was going on. So far, says Ontario Provincial Police Sergeant Ben Burchat, the chopper has pinpointed nine marijuana plots in Hagarty and surrounding townships, two of which had already been harvested.
Street value of the grass picked and destroyed by police has been estimated at more than $200,000. No charges have been laid. The hill people scoff at the police estimate and claim much of the pot pulled in by police was punch’.css wild weed. The former stockbroker says much of the marijuana growing in the hills is perennial and was used by early settlers to make hemp. He says the police chopper makes his horses and cows skittish, and the machine’s roar scares his two young children. He’s just as angry at the legislation which outlaws marijuana as he is at the police method of enforcing it.
“Almost everybody smokes dope around here it’s part of the lifestyle. We don’t tell the cops not to drink scotch.” If the problem is so acute, residents wonder, why don’t police mount surveillance at the marijuana plots they unearth and nab the culprits? Burchat says such surveillance would be too costly. The former stockbroker suggests the helicopter hunts may be in retribution for criticism the OPP received for enforcement procedures during the Killaloe Craft and Community Fair, an annual celebration staged and attended by members of the counter-culture. Organizers complained of roadblocks, vehicle searches, and over-zealous application of liquor laws. Burchat strongly denies the suggestion of retribution, and other residents point out the helicopter tours have occurred in previous years. In one way, Burchat says, he can sympathize with people who claim the helicopter infringes on their rights.
Linda Nilson-Rogers Such a well loved man! He sent me a lovely bouquet when my son Jonathan was born, I was his first customer to have a baby! Got my Dad’s newspaper there all the time! Jennifer Rose Davis What a lovely man. I knew him well. Isabel Fox He was my Godfather. His son Bob played a huge part in the Canadian Armed Forces. Bob and Bordie Campbell (Golden Hawks) were prominent members in the Forces. They made Almonte proud.
Rose Mary Sarsfield Everyone loved Stan! Mary Sterling Jarick I met his son, General Morton when I worked for DND in North Bay. He was head of Fighter Group back then. I remember Stan and Madge? very well. Pete Brunelle I knew Stan , Art and Reg great guys. Back in the 70 ‘ s use to spend my allowance ona Pop bag of chip and a ton of hockey cards at Stan ‘s he let me stand and read articles out of the hockey news. On hell of a great guy he did not care that I was just a kid we use to talk all the time Stan was one of a kind for sure. Bob Smithson We need another Stan
– from the wonderful scrapbooks of Lucy Connelly Poaps
Blast from the past-From the scrapbook of Joan Stoddart
The Almonte Cricket Club. Winners of the 1925 Ottawa Valley Cricket League Championship. 1925 Almonte
The games were typically played on the fairgrounds where spectators could watch in the grandstands. The ACC (Almonte Cricket Club) was one of the teams active in the Ottawa Valley Cricket Council. Teams would play every Saturday. Christ Church Cathedral in Ottawa had a team and they were remembered by Stan Morton as a pretty good team. “All around the players were a great group of guys and a lot of fun was had.” Walter Morton, Stan’s father, was an “average player, but the Captain of the team the year they won the cup.”
Lawrence Woodhead, Lorrie as he was known, was an excellent player, “a cracker of a bowler”. The bowlers were the most important members of the team and consequently they would practice hard. The rest would just bat and throw the ball around in practice.
The season opened in June and would run through August. Playoffs would begin in September. Stan remembers one memorable May when a group of club members had taken a day off to help get the pitch ready for play. They had come out with thier lawn mowers ready to work only to be interrupted by four inches of snow.
Players in the early days would travel by train to away games. With the advent of the automobile, the team would take a few cars to a match. “Alf Jackman and Claude Thompson had cars” so the team often piled into the two vehicles. It was quite a feat to haul the team up Bay Hill and they would make sure to get a good run at it.
In the mid 1930’s the team disbanded as interest waned. In its place the lawn bowling club was formed, a group that still plays to this day. The cricket house was moved to Robert Street to be used as the lawn bowlers club house and it still stands today.
These memories were told by Stan Morton, born in Almonte in 1905. The son of Walter Morton, Rosamond Mill worker. Stan is a legend in this town and served as Almonte’s ambassador for many years. His store on main street was always a hub of activity. It was the place for news, toys, candy, you name it, he had it. “Almonte is a great town, none better.”
Stan was born on Farm Street, lived on Farm Street and still owns his house on Farm Street “a true Farm Streeter”. Farm Street was ideally located two minutes from the Rosamond Woolen Mill, where he and his father worked for many years. Community Memories