Every year, on the feast day of St. Stephen (December 26), Mass is celebrated as was promised by this ancestor in 1651. As for the barn that had been occupied by him and the oldest of his descendants to perpetuity (forever), it was used by Lessards until 1931 when the family sold it for $75.00.


Etienne de Lessard, son of Jacques and of Marie Herson, was orginally from Chambois in Normandy. In 1645, at about the age of 22, he left for New France, a distant colony of a few hundred harassed people. On 3 June 1646 we pick up his trail at Trois-Rivieres where he was acting as a godfather. For a period of several years Etienne was associated with Martin Grouvel, a river pilot of Quebec. It is probably this association that accounts for his presence in 1646-47 at Trois-Rivieres and at Tadoussac.


On 8 April 1652 at Quebec, Etienne de Lessard and Marguerite Sevestre were betrothed. She was the daughter of Charles, a notable of Quebec, and their union was “in the presence of the recognized witnesses Mr. de Lauson Gouverneur, Mr. de Lauson junior, Fils Senechal, and


My task for this book was to research the Lessard side of the family. I did not know where to begin so I wrote to the parish priest of St. Alexis des Monts, Quebec, looking for Grandpa’s birth and/or marriage certificate. After several letters back and forth, and after deciphering which Joseph Lessard he was, I finally obtained his baptismal certificate along with his parents’ marriage certificate. They were married in 1882. I was then notified that the parish registers only went back to 1872, ten years previous to his parents’ marriage. Having hit that much, I wrote to the Public Archives of Canada in Quebec. They were of no help to me. Then, on a hunch, I wrote to Ste. Anne de Beaupre asking if it was true that the land had been donated by a Lessard. My mother always said it was. To my utmost surprise, I received a friendly and encouraging letter in response from a Father Gérard Lebel who said, and I’ll translate, “There is only one Lessard ancestor as far as I’m concerned. You are related to this ancestor, Etienne de Lessart. But we will have to prove it.” He then asked me to send him all the information I could give him on my grandparents, etc. and so on up the ladder. It took from the 18th of February, 1983, till January 29, 1984, to fill in the rest. Later, Father Lebel wrote to me and said, “After two hours of perspiring over the papers I can give you a complete answer.” Lo and behold — he had all the ten generations completed from my parents up. You can imagine my joy at his discovery!


Fortunately, there is a fair amount written about this first ancestor, Etienne de Lessart. I will try to add a bit to what is written in the book, Our French-Canadian Ancestors, by Thomas J. Laforest.


We know that Etienne de Lessart, ancestor of the Lessard family, was born in 1623 in Normandy (see map). The only thing we know of his origin is the name of his parents, Jacques and Marie Herson, and the name of the village where he grew up, Chambois.


Although there is no record to prove it, it is believed that Etienne de Lessart came to New France around 1645. On the third of June, 1646, he was present at a baptism where he was the godfather. The following year, 1647, he was the messenger of very good news. It was he who announced “the help promised by France” was on its way. The event was announced in these words, “This same day (June 21), Mr. de Lessart returning from Tadoussac brought the first news from France which had been received from Captain Le Fèvre who had arrived at l’Ile Percée ... that five ships were preparing to come; that peace had been made in France.”


The land that Olivier LeTardif gave Etienne was one of the nicest pieces of land (see map D-4). Seduced by the life in New France, Etienne chose that piece of world for his children to be born on. The young girl he loved was born in Paris around 1634. She was 18 years old and already had behind her about 17 years of life in New France. Charles Sevestre and Marie Pichon arrived in New France with three children from Marie Pichon’s first marriage to Philippe Gauthier de Comporté and two daughters of their own. Charles Sevestre was a man estimated to be “well-off.” His descendants were perpetuated to the present day by his daughters.


One account mentions that 12, not 11, children were born of this union (Etienne and Marguerite) of which 8 later married.


On 8 April 1652 at Quebec, Etienne de Lessard and Marguerite Sevestre were betrothed. She was the daughter of Charles, a notable of Quebec, and their union was “in the presence of the recognized witnesses Mr. de Lauson Gouverneur, Mr. de Lauson junior, Fils Senechal, and Mr. Chartier.” The couple installed themselves at Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupre.


In reality, Etienne had already obtained a concession on the spot from Olivier Letardif, one of the members of the Beaupre Company; which concession was granted him on 10 February 1651. It comprised 10 arpents of river frontage, extending to a depth of a league and a half inland. In order to clear his land, named Saint Etienne, he had a few indentured workrers in his service; such as Michel Marquiseau, Urbain Jamiveau and Jean Chauvet dit Lagrere. By 1669 they had already cleared 35 arpents and, according to the census list of 1681, Lessard said that he owned 3 guns, 7 head of cattle, and 40 arpents of cleared land. On this land he grew — among other things — wheat, barley, peas and even some cabbage.


Etienne was a very active man. He carried on business relations with many merchants such as Charles Aubert, Sieur de la Chesnaie de Quebec and Daniel Baile, Sieur de la Saint-Meur de La Rochelle in France. Lessard owned a boat, a rather large one considering the times, about 30 by 13 feet. It had a cabin at either end, which made it seem elegant indeed and was configured to some extent after a similar craft which he used to ply between Quebec and his seigneury of Sainte Anne. Be this as it may, his principal occupation seems to have been cultivating the land.


Etienne was the first Seigneur of the Ile-aux-Coudres. In fact, this seigneury was conceded to him by Frontenac on 4 March 1677. Lessard sold it to the Seminary of Quebec in 1687 for 100 livres. On 27 April 1688 he became co-seigneur of Lanoraie, a domain situated between Trois-Rivieres and Montreal. He sold his part on 12 March 1698 to Jean Berudet before the Notary Charles Roget.


In 1658, Saint-Anne-de-Beaupre was called Petit Cap (The Little Cape), and the little settlement already counted about twenty families. The land-grant lists and records of the Seigneury of Beaupre, still preserved in the Quebec Seminary, make it possible for us to reconstitute the Petit Cap as it then was.


On March 8 of that year, in an official deed drawn up by the royal Notary Audouart, Etienne de Lessard “seeing the inclination and devotion that the settlers of Beaupre have long had to have a church or chapel in which they might assist at Divine Service and participate in the Sacraments of Our Holy Mother the Church, donates a lot of two arpents wide, by a league and half deep, to the Pastors who will be established there. The said donation being made on condition that in the present year of 1658 work be begun and continued without let-up for the building of a church or chapel by the inhabitants of the place, on the said lot, at the place which will be decided upon as most handy, in the opinion of the Vicar General.”


There was no delay. On the following March 13, Father Jean de Quen, S.J. could note in the Jesuit Diary, that “the acting Governor (Monsieur d’Ailleboust), went that day to the Beaupre shore to see if work was being carried out on the small forts that served for their protection. The Reverend Father Vignal blessed the site of the new church. My Lord the Governor laid the first stone thereof.”


It is still possible, today, to identify with some precision the site of this first church of 1658, situated on the river shore at the high-water line, according to a report made in 1686, addressed to Father de Maizerets and still extant in the Quebec Seminary’s archives.


Little is known of the building of the little church. On December 26, 1659, in the presence of Father LeMercier, Mr. Jean Picard, Warden of the Church of St. Anne of Petit Cap, apparently sent a financial report. The Church still owed him, for his work, thirty-four livres and ten sols. On March 18, 1660, Nicolas Verieul made a donation to the church of St. Anne of the Petit Cap “to help out in the building.” The Church is said to be “already begun.” The church of 1658 was set on an elevated spot near the shore. In the choice of this site, little account had been taken of the spring high tides, particularly those which occur every seven years. The note addressed by Father de Maizerets on July 7, 1686 clearly states: “The church of Saint Anne was for the first time placed at high tide level on the river shore, and then moved higher to the foot of the bluff, on account of the inconvenience of the waters that surrounded it at its first site.” The decision had to be made, then, to transport the chapel, or to build a new one, further away from the shoreline, and especially higher up than the high water mark. It was not possible to build elsewhere, on ground donated by Etienne de Lessard on March 8, 1658, for there was not enough room between the bluff and the river shore.


Urged by his own generosity, and also, perhaps, by the desire to keep the church on his grant of land, Etienne de Lessard made a verbal offer of an adjacent plot of land to the east of the original grant. Bishop Laval gladly accepted, for on that particular spot, the ground rose to about ten feet above sea level, and the hillside retreats landwards for about fifty feet. If the church was built parallel to the river, then there would be lots of space.


It was built in record time. First, Robert Pare and Jean Picard dragged the wood to the spot, using Etienne Lessard’s oxen which had been lent for four days. Then Jean Picard sawed out the chevrons and measured off the planks. Less than three weeks after, a pot of wine was given to a person named Bontemps, and identified as Francois Boivin, in exchange for the first wooden peg set in the building. (Wooden pegs were more often used than the hard-to-come-by iron nails.)


The edifice was to be forty feet long. Instead of making the walls by laying one beam on top of the other, then the most usual procedure, they were built in what is known as “colombage pierrote” (half-timbers). This method consisted of laying a field-stone foundation, on which a cedar frame was laid. Into this were mortised four-abreast upright beams, at regular distances of about nine inches apart. A mason named Pierre Cauchon, of Chateau-Richer, sold for this purpose twelve “pipes” (hogsheads) of lime. Jean Picard took five days to float it to the building site, using Etienne Lessard’s boats.


Two craftsmen who boarded in the homes of Lessard and of Pierre Giguere worked for a whole month with the master mason, Pierre Simard, nicknamed Lombrette, on the exterior of the church. Father Ragueneau, S.J. on one of his visits from Quebec to see how the work was coming along and to encourage the workers, brought with him the roofing nails. We can conclude, then, that the outside of the church was finished when Father Thomas Morel arrived from France, on August 22, 1661, to be almost at once named by Bishop Laval for the ministry along the Beaupre Shores.


On the death, in February, 1662, of Marie Pichon, widow of Charles Sevestre, Etienne inherited a “half of a cellar, half of a hayloft, some rooms serving as a bakery and a fourth of the courtyard, altogether consisting of a fourth part of the house and courtyard belonging to the late Master Charles Sevestre, formerly Lieutenant of this jurisdiction (Quebec), the said house situated in the lower town, Rue Notre-Dame. Many times he rented out his part of the house and finally on 6 April 1683 he sold it to Francois Hazeurt and Etienne Lander on “That remainder which may be useful, together with everything inside that is left after the fire of the 4th and 5th of last August.”


On 26 March 1699, Marguerite and Etienne, “being victims of their old age, which is advanced and renders them infirm and subject to the natural indisposition which accompanies the aged, and which causes a loss of spirit and force, and after having taken good counsel, have regulated their own affairs and it is of more advantage to them now to give or to sell their heritage to their two children named Prisque and Joseph.” As for the children, “they will feed and care for their father and mother and treat them according to their station in life. Their rooms shall be clean and heated so as to stave off illness for the remainder of their days and at the end of their time, they shall be buried, and prayers shall be offered for the repose of their soul, according to the customs.” Etienne was 66 years old when this act was made.


The month of April 1703 was a time of bereavement for the Lessard family, because on the 21st, Etienne was buried "dead at the age of 80 years, on the day before about 3 in the afternoon, after having received all the Sacraments and after having given all the thoughts and sentiments of a good Christian and true Child of the Church." Etienne was probably a victim of the smallpox epidemic then sweeping the colony. His wife Marguerite survived him for 17 more years.


Eleven children were born from his union with Marguerite Sevestre, of whom 6 boys and 2 girls were later married. The descendants of Etienne de Lessard are dispersed throughout the Province, but they are particularly numerous in the region of Quebec City and the Beauce. Some adopted the name DeLessard and a few even LaToupie. Let us note in conclusion that Etienne was a respected man in spite of some problems with the law. He was a Captain of Militia (1684) and also Warden of Sainte-Anne.


[Ed.'s Note: The Etienne Lessard story is taken from Our French-Canadian Ancestors by Thomas J. Laforest First Edition The LISI Press Palm Harbor, Florida 1983 The footnote references have been omitted.]


The first chapel at Beaupré was built in 1658 and dedicated to Sainte Anne. We learn from a small booklet, Sainte Anne de Beaupré: Guide Book for Pilgrims and Visitors , that less than a week after the land was blessed and the corner stone laid, the first miraculous cure took place. In the following years, while there were many changes to the Church of Sainte Anne, miracles continued to occur. All are attributed to the intervention of "Good Sainte Anne." Statistics show that in recent years, 1,000,000 people visit the Shrine annually. Amazing as this seems, we were no less surprised to learn that in the period from the construction of the little Chapel until 1700, a total of 42,000 pilgrims and visitors called at Sainte Anne de Beaupré.


The single act of donating a small piece of land was the modest beginning of the Shrine. And so it is in life -- God uses the simple and seemingly insignificant to create a masterpiece, construct a basilica or fashion a saint.


We, the descendants of Etienne, are grateful for his example of generosity, compassion and foresight.


Edouard had married earlier. They had no children and his first wife died. Then he married Valérie Allard. There was quite a difference in their ages.


My grandparents, Edouard and Valérie, were both born in the parish of St. Alexis des Monts in the District of Trois Rivières, Conté de Maskinongé, Québec, Canada and lived there for some years. Having heard of the development of Western United States and wishing that their sons would take to farming, they decided to move by train to Red Lake Falls County, Minnesota. When they arrived, they took up land through the Homestead Act in 1886.


They settled in Lambert Township, built a small home and got a few cows, horses, a couple of hogs and chickens. They also planned out a piece of land by the house for a large garden.


This was a French family – not one could speak or write English. The older ones went working for people around Lambert and those of school age started school. It must have been very hard for both teachers and pupils; however, they managed very slowly at first. Some of the older children did not have time to learn English as they had to help out making some wages to get the farm going (buying lumber, horses, machinery and some grain the first year).


Later on the other children learned to read only English because, in the northern States especially, French was not taught in schools except perhaps in high schools or colleges. My grandmother, Valérie, had never learned to either read or write French or English as, when she was young, there were no schools around and they were too poor to go elsewhere, but she had learned her prayers by memory. She also learned cooking and was a real good cook.


There were lumber camps in Minnesota and the older boys worked there for many winters – some, like my father, even after they were married. My father had four horses all well shod to work through the winter hauling logs out of the bush.


One evening when father was home from camp, our family went to visit Grandma and Grandpa Lessard. We stayed for supper. The food was on the table; it was time to eat. There was other company that evening, a couple of men who could not speak French. Grandma wanted to tell these folks that after they had eaten, she and Grandpa were going to visit the Caribeau family, folks who had come from the same parish in Quebec as they had, and the men were invited to go along but she had difficulty putting her message across. She was able to gesture putting your hat and coat on and she could say "visit." Then she wanted to tell them that she was going to go along with them, too. So she said in her broken English, "all tee-gai-dere" (meaning altogether).


Although my grandparents – both Lessard and Bernier – weren't religious, there was always prayer in their homes. The family would gather to pray and if some of the children would get up before time, the parents would remind them "à genoux – à genoux." They believed in God and went to Church each Sunday. Very often they would walk the mile and a half to attend Mass.


Now here are all the children; my father was the oldest:


Alfred married Lucias Bernier in September 1905 in Lambert, Minnesota. Their children: Eva b. August 24, 1906 in Minnesota m. Charles Prince 1925 Lawrence b. July 7, 1915 in Minnesota m. Reine Lavoie in 1940 Lucille b. July 8, 1918 in Saskatchewan m. Rémi Arcand of Chilliwack, B.C. Emma b. May 17, 1920 in Saskatchewan m. Phillippe Gagne of Noranda, Quebec


Alzéma married Cléophasse Asselin. They lived close to Oklee, Minnesota. Their children are: Doria Omer Eugène They also raised her sister's baby girl, Gloria Landreville.


Parmélia married Louis Bernier – deceased. Their children are: Edmond Bernier resides in Oklee, Minnesota Emma Knotts lives in Yuma, Arizona Parmélia remarried Butcher (pronounced Boucher)


Charlie married Rose Asselin. They are both deceased. They had always resided on the old homestead in Lambert Township, Minnesota. Their family of fourteen children is as follows:


Raymond b. 1920 m. Maryann Nistler 1949 George Delores Walt Theresa Maurice Marie Harold Yvonne Ken Terry Vern Sharon Marcella (Not necessarily in that order.)


5. Joseph Déridé was born November 9, 1891, in St. Alexis des Monts, Quebec. He married Rachel Bernier on April 14, 1914 in Red Lake Falls, Minnesota.


Their children are: George b. March 8, 1915 in, Minnesota d. May 17, 1924, North Battleford, Saskatchewan Gene Alfred b. December 16, 1916, in Oklee, Minnesota m. Edithe Marie Blandine Alain October 26, 1945 Joseph Noé Napoléon b. April 26, 1918, Delmas, Saskatchewan d. Clara Edith b. November 24, 1919, Delmas, Saskatchewan m. Louis Alfred Alain April 12, 1937 Martin Alphonse b. August 25, 1921 m. Floris Tarvis July 17, 1942 Joseph b. February 12, 1923 m. Helen Tapper June 26, 1947 Marie Jeanne Thérèse b. November 16, 1924, Delmas, Saskatchewan m. Al MacFarlane October 11, 1947


Joseph Déridé Lessard was deceased on May 1, 1924, North Battleford, Saskatchewan. Rachel married Louis Strasser August 13, 1927, at Battleford, Saskatchewan. They had one child: Mae Strasser b. May 15, 1928 on home farm at Veillardville, Saskatchewan m. Bernard Daly October 9, 1948


6. Philias D. was born in 1896 in St. Alexis des Monts, Québec. At the age of two he moved with his family to Lambert County, Minnesota. Philias married Rose Boisvert in 1921. They are both deceased. Rose was buried in September 1985 in New Jersey, U.S.A. Phil died in 1978.


Their children are: Dora m. John Etcheverry Delores m. Hervé Nolin


Eleanor m. Phillip Hardy Anna Mae m. Bob Taylor Alida m. Joe Cadrain Jeannette m. Dan Chesire Denis m. Audrey


7. Marie Louise married Emile Landreville. She had been married a couple of years when her first baby, a little girl, was born. After arriving home with the baby, she suddenly felt very chilly. She asked her mother-in-law to please warm her up but they could not. Marie Louise passed away before the priest arrived to give her the last Sacraments.


Gloria Landreville was raised by Alzéma and Cléophasse Asselin.


8. Aldéa married Walter Sabourin. She died shortly after coming to Uncle Charlie's wedding. They had two sons.


9. Annie (Sister Valeria) - [Editor's Note: Here, Eva tells us that Annie was almost her twin because Eva was only six weeks older than her.] Annie had never seen a nun until Mrs. George Charette passed away in Minnesota. At that time, her three daughters that were in religious life as nuns in Duluth, Minnesota, had come to their mother's funeral in Oklee.


Aunt Annie contacted them and mentioned to them that she would like to enter their congregation. So, of course, they told her to come to Duluth and see the Superior and, sure enough, Aunt Annie entered the convent. She finished her studies and taught school a number of years until she required serious head surgery. She recovered but was not able to teach after that. She was given other tasks to do.


10. Frank was born in Oklee, Minnesota, in 1903. He married Ruth Iverson in 1927. Frank died in March 1977. Ruth resides in North Battleford.


Frank came to Saskatchewan in 1923 to visit his two older brothers, Fred and Joe, whom he worked for at harvest time. That winter Frank went back to Minnesota. The following spring he returned to work on the farms in the Prince-Fitzgerald district where his brothers were. We had nice neighbors where he would go and play ball with them. He got to know the girls also and pretty soon he told us he was going to marry Ruth Iverson.


So my girlfriend became my aunt. They raised a family of five: Maurice Joseph b. 1928 Residing at Joseph Lloyd b. 1930 Residing on the home farm


George Lionel b. 1933 Residing in Edmonton


Myrtle Marie b. 1935 m. Earl Lawrence and is residing in Kelowna, B.C.


11. Albert is the youngest of the family. He was living in Oregon, U.S.A., for a number of years. He married and had a couple of children. Then they parted. His children go to visit him in Red Lake Falls, Minnesota, where he resides in a home for the aged.


[Editor's Note: Of Edouard's children, three of them (Alfred, Parmélia and Joseph) married children of Siméon Bernier (Lucias, Louis and Rachel).]


Joseph's story has been put together with the assistance of many people: his children, Gene, Clara and Martin; his niece Eva (Lessard) Prince; Mae and Bernard Daly. As well, a large portion of "The Joe Lessard Story" which was printed in Footsteps In Time (a history book of the Meota area) has been used.


Joseph Déridé Lessard was born November 9, 1891 in St. Alexis des Monts, Québec, to Edouard and Valérie Allard. In 1896 Edouard moved with his family from the French Catholic parish set in the province of Québec to Minnesota, U.S.A. Not only was the move to a new country but it was also to an area newly settled, Lambert County. Although there were Norwegians who had arrived from Norway, the majority of the population was French and many other families like Edouard's had moved there from Canada.


Lambert Township, still in existence today, was named for the many Lambert families who settled there. In fact, it was at the home of François Lambert on January 28, 1882, that a meeting was held to organize the township. The area was soon settled for when the 1910 Census was taken, there were ninety-three families with the total population of the Township at five hundred and thirty-three. 1.


Speaking only French, Joseph at six years of age and his brothers and sisters would likely have found the area both strange and interesting. There was a school for the children two and a half miles away. It was School District #76 and it was built on the N.W. boundary of Section 8.


This building is still in use at the time of this writing. Standing on the original Lambert townsite, it is used as a town hall and holds the town papers.


A year after the Lessard family arrived, the first Post Office was established. It was located in the Sylvin Gergevin Store.


One of the earliest stories of Joseph came from his niece, Eva, who recalled an incident which took place at the lumber camp where Joseph worked before he was married. "While pushing logs on the river he had misstepped a log and slipped in the river. You may imagine how scared he was because he could not swim and in that cold spring water, he was yelling so someone would hear him. All at once, he saw a man not far from shore who was trying to break a branch from a tree to help him. It so happened that he was a kind Indian. He presented the limb to Uncle Joe who grabbed it so quick and strong that the Indian dropped it. Uncle would have been done for but the Indian was quick and began again. This time he succeeded and brought Uncle to shore. He said to the Indian, 'Do you use snuff?' He said, 'Yes.' So Uncle Joe gave him his box and he said, 'If I ever see you again, I'll give you another box.'"


Joseph's oldest brother, Alfred, had married Lucias Bernier in 1905. Lucy's parents, Siméon Bernier and Célinère (Berry) who resided in the same township had also moved there from Canada. Living only a couple of miles from the Bernier family, Joseph would have found it a simple matter when he was home to call on Rachel, Lucy's youngest sister.


Rachel was a tall, raw-boned girl with blue-grey eyes. Born November 9, 1895 in Lambert, Minnesota, U.S.A., she was baptized the same day in the parish at Oklee, Minnesota.


Only a little is known about Rachel's childhood but we know she went to school in her district. Later she attended the convent at Duluth where she took music lessons. Although there was not a piano in the Bernier home in the earlier years, they had acquired one by this time.


When Rachel was young, the school teacher boarded at her home, which proved later to be most beneficial. This teacher taught the Bernier children to read and write in the French language. Years later Rachel related the following to her granddaughter, Marlyne: "I won an award when I was nine years old for my achievements in French." The award was a small glass lion which she treasured throughout her life. At the time of her death, it was willed to her daughter, Therese.


While Rachel was a young girl, she learned to sew. Unlike her oldest sister, Rachel had much patience. She took great care to follow the pattern and the finished product fit well. It also


1. Information taken from The Oklee Community Story and/or A History of Red Lake County .


looked good for Rachel took a personal pride in her work. If she wished to trim an article with another piece of material, the young seamstress made certain the material used was well matched. The finished garment was not to look as though it had been made at home. In fact, some time later, she and her niece, Rachel Toulouse, would view a dress in a store window and then they would copy the dress by drawing it on paper and proceed to make a pattern and sew it up. They then wore their new dress back to the dress shop where the store owner thought they had bought the dress at his shop. They had copied it so exactly that it was impossile to tell the difference! She had a great talent and a good eye for what could be made out of certain pieces of material.


Many years later, Rachel worked for a Father Proulx in Minnesota. He would drive her into Thief River Falls where she would buy yards of organdy and then return home to make dresses for her granddaughters. Father would laugh at her and say, "I'm paying her to cook for me and here she is sewing for her grandchildren." Then just as quickly he would turn to Rachel and say, "Go get the dresses and show them off." Rachel's talent and enjoyment for sewing did not diminish with the years.


Rachel learned to sew from her mother. Célinère sewed the clothes worn by all of her children. Though they were plain, they were well made. She would buy her material by the yard when she'd go to MacIntosh with the men.


At that time the farmers didn't have grist mills to grind their feed for the pigs and cattle. So periodically they would take a load of grain to the mill in MacIntosh. Then, while the men were taking care of their business, Célinère would purchase her groceries and yard goods.


Now, before each of her trips to MacIntosh, she would leave the command that the girls were not to use the scissors while she was gone. In the past, they had spoiled many clothes. So the order was given each time and all five of the girls were expected to obey - it was like a commandment.


Rachel had three other sisters besides Clara. She was the oldest of the family, then Lucy, Délia, Léah with Rachel the youngest of the girls. She was followed by her brothers: Albert, Fred, Louis and Alvida.


After the second oldest girl, Lucy, was married Rachel would go to visit her. In 1906, Lucy and Alfred's first child was born. They christened her Eva. Rachel, at eleven years, must have enjoyed her little niece.


Rachel wasn't the only relative to enjoy the little girl. One of Eva's uncles, Joseph Lessard, used to come by and one day he brought his niece a pair of scissors. They were in the shape of a bird. Eva liked her little scissors and often used them to trim the Sears & Roebuck catalogues.


The scissors caught the eye of another girl. Whenever Rachel would visit Eva, she would ask to see them. Perhaps it was because they reminded her of the young man who had given them.


Before long this same young man began to notice Rachel. Their niece, Eva, wrote this about their courtship: "It seems as if Aunt Rachel knew when Uncle Joe would be back from camp in the spring. He would then come home with Dad and Uncle Joe would wash his buggy up nice and curry his horse, Bell. Then, after a stop at the barber shop, Joe would come along to give Rachel a buggy ride. They were as happy as a pair of birds on a branch."


Years later, one of Rachel's daughters related the following: "The first time Joseph Lessard took out Rachel and her father had discovered that this young man had had his daughter out, he warned her that she was never to see that man again because he was an ivrogne - a drunkard. He said he didn't ever want to see him around his daughter. Sometime later she had a chance to see Joe and she told him this. He promised her he would never touch alcohol again if she would marry him. As a matter of fact, he never did with one exception - that was on their wedding day and, as I heard it, it was in fact Siméon Bernier, his father-in-law, who asked him to have a drink of wine to celebrate his wedding."


At twenty-three years of age, Joseph married Rachel, daughter of Siméon Bernier and Célinère Berry of St. Jospeh's Parish on April 14, 1914. They were married in Saint Joseph's Church at Red Lake Falls, in the State of Minnesota. Charles, Joseph's older brother, and a friend, Rosalma Gibeault, were their attendants.


When they were first married, Joe did temporary work for the railroad at Thief River Falls, a little town not too far from Oklee. At that time the young couple lived in an upstairs suite. Her sister, Lucy, and daughter, Eva, travelled by train a distance of twenty-three miles or so from Red Lake Falls to pay them a visit.


Joe did well on the railroad and became a roadwork master. However, this didn't last. We read in the Meota history book, Footsteps In Time , that "in the spring of 1917 his brother,


Alfred (better known as Fred), who had been farming at Oklee, decided to move to Saskatchewan. After selling his livestock and some machinery, Fred travelled across the border as far as the Peace River looking for land. On the way back, he stopped at North Battleford where he met George Graves, who took him out to see a farm he had on the north bank of the North Saskatchewan River. After buying the land and buildings, Fred returned to Minnesota prepared to move his family to Saskatchewan. It was at this time that Joe also decided to move to Saskatchewan. He quit his job and loaded a railroad car with household goods, horses and machinery."


"Together the two brothers left. It was about the middle of August and, while Joe and Fred travelled with the boxcars filled with their belongings, the women and children went by passenger train - Rachel with her two boys, George and Gene, and Lucy with Eva and Lawrence."


"The little boys had fun on the train and Gene's milk bottle fell on the floor in the Winnipeg station, broke and made a mess. They arrived in North Battleford in the evening safe and sound, where they stayed at the Clarendon Hotel overnight. They were awakened early the next morning by a knock at the door. It was Joe and Fred who had just arrived with their freight cars. They had left Oklee the evening before their families and had now caught up with them."


"After eating breakfast together, Mr. Graves took the ladies and four children out to the farm that was to be home for Fred, Lucy and their family. Mr. Graves drove an open car and went by the old trail along the river. They arrived in time for dinner. Mr. Graves had several farms and had hired help to operate them. The cooks at this farm were expecting the visitors. The hired help knew they would be moving to another farm right after."


"It was the next day before Joe and Fred arrived at the farm with the horses and the wagons loaded with the furniture. Fred had purchased the land with half of the crop share. When he and Joe arrived in North Battleford, they noticed the local farmers getting ready to cut their grain. It was harvest. Mr. Graves' hired men had started to put the binder together. So Fred and Joe lost no time and by nightfall of that first day, they were in the field."


"The house which Fred's family occupied had been moved to the farm from North Battleford as had an old restaurant complete with shelves."


Eva tells us that "For about two and a half years this old restaurant was home to Joe and Rachel. The restaurants in those days had several shelves so they could put things on. The big shelf was a handy thing and Joe and Rachel's home still had this shelf and it was always full. Their home also had a basement as did Fred's."


"Fred's house needed a lot of fixing to make it warm for winter. He was pleased that an elderly gentleman, though no relative of the family, had accompanied them to Saskatchewan."


"Back in Minnesota, Fred's family had included this Frenchman who, like Fred and Joe, had come from Quebec some years earlier. A carpenter by trade, he had built Fred's home in Lambert. As the upstairs was spacious and unoccupied, Fred offered this part of their new home to him. Later, when the carpenter heard that the two brothers were moving to Western Canada, he decided to accompany them."


"So he travelled to the new land by train with Lucy and Rachel. Upon his arrival, he began the necessary repairs to secure Fred's Saskatchewan home from the wind and cold. He was kept busy till the middle of December.”


“About this time, the weather became very cold and one morning the Lessard families found their thermometer had broken. The elderly gentleman remarked, ‘I don’t stay in a country where thermometers crack in the cold.’ So, before Christmas of that same year, he had returned to Eastern Canada.”


“The next year was not a good one for Joe and Rachel. Their third child, a son, Joseph Noé Napoléon was born April 26, 1918. From the time of his birth, he was very pale and was not a healthy baby. He contracted Influenza which swept the country at that time. Little Joe died in his mother’s arms. She said, ‘He was so sick, he couldn’t swallow his medicine. All I could do was cradle him in my arms.’”


“However, in Delmas this was the only reported death attributed to the ’flu. Before Mass each Sunday, the priest would lead the faithful in prayer asking God’s protection against the epidemic.” Eva concludes, “Everybody prayed and no one died except that little baby.”


“In July, the crops froze and were salvaged for feed. More bad luck occurred when Joe broke his collar bone when the horse he was riding stepped in a badger hole and fell.”


“1919 was called the ‘dustpan harvest year’ as the grain was so short that, to save the heads, a contraption was attached to the binder resembling a dustpan. Hay and straw were in short supply; winter came early and it was followed by a late spring. Cows went dry and chickens stopped laying on account of poor feed and the ranchers in the north lost cattle from starvation.”


“That spring Joe and his family moved to their own place some four miles from Fred’s. Joe had bought his own land, a quarter section S.E. 21-46-18 from the C.P.R. Then he put some buildings on it. Although they were makeshift at first, they served the purpose. They cooked outside and slept in a granary. In July they had picked half a tub of Saskatoons and set them in the shade of the tent while they had dinner. Rachel went out to get some berries for dessert and found a sow having her fill so there were not many left for canning.”


“The next few years were good crop years and they were able to make improvements. Three more children were added to the family: Clara, Martin and Joe. George and Gene had started school, which was the Fitzgerald School two and a half miles away.”


“Joe had bought another quarter section of land east of Fred’s and had broken up about half of it. There was a granary on it that was used as a shack. It had a stove and bed in it.”


“Joe had gone there with four horses and a load of wheat to get ready to start seeding. George went with him to help. They slept overnight in the shack. In the morning Joe started a fire in the stove, and then went out to feed and harness the horses. When he came back the fire had gone out, or he thought it had. George was still in bed when Joe poured some kerosene in the stove to start it again, and an explosion resulted; in seconds the place was on fire. Joe grabbed what he thought was his son wrapped in the bedding and got outside only to find that little George was not in it. He entered the shack through the smoke and flames twice before he was able to find the boy; by that time they had both suffered severe burns. Joe was able to push the wagon load of seed away from the shack and then turned the horses out so they would not be lost in the fire. He then wrapped the boy in some half-burned blankets and, together, they walked over a mile to his brother Fred’s.”


“Dr. Hamelin was called but, in his excitement, Fred forgot to tell the doctor where the patients were so the doctor went to Joe’s first. This arrival by the doctor alerted Rachel. Know- ing only that there had been an accident, she quickly completed the morning chores, roused her youngest who was still asleep and, together with the other children, made for the Iverson farm. There, Rachel phoned Fred's, after which Mr. Iverson drove them over. By this time, Fred had returned with the municipal nurse. The doctor had examined Joe and, realizing the severity of his burns, gave him medicine to ease the pain. Then he called the ambulance. The priest arrived and administered the last sacraments before Joe and his son were taken to the Notre Dame Hospital in North Battleford, where Joe died the next morning, May 1, 1924.


“George lived for about two weeks before he, too, passed away. Had he lived, he would have been blind and without the use of his hand.”


Rachel's loss was shared not only by Fred, Lucy and children but also by other family: Joe's brothers, Philias and Frank, who were then living in the Prince-Fitzgerald district. Frank had worked in the area the summer before but returned to Minnesota for the winter. When spring came, he was back in Saskatchewan where he spent the rest of the year working for his brother's widow.


Again, we read in the Meota history book that “Joe had taken out life insurance so Rachel was able to have a house built in Delmas and the family moved there. In October Rachel gave birth to the child she was carrying throughout her tragedy and grief. A girl, Therese, was born.”


The doctor who was caring for Rachel was concerned for her as she had not been able to express her grief outwardly. Then one day her daughter quizzed her about “Dad” and the tears came at last for Rachel. It was some time later, perhaps two years, when Rachel met a young man, Louis Strasser. A newcomer to the area, Louis was German and had a fine singing voice. On August 13, 1927, Rachel and Louis were married in the church of St. Vital in Battleford, Saskatchewan. Rev. Father P. Nicolet officiated with Mr. and Mrs. Albert Déry as their witnesses.


The following spring Louis and Rachel, along with her five children, moved to the White Poplar Settlement which was later named Veillardville. Shortly after their arrival, a daughter, Mae, was born to Louis and Rachel in the old log house which was now their new home.


Times were hard and possessions few but Rachel's ingenuity came through again. Using flour sacks, which she bleached, she made curtains for their little house. Then, using bright embroidery thread – reds, yellows, greens, blues – she embroidered flowers on the curtains which were admired by those neighbours who saw them.


There was much work to be done as only one acre was broken on the quarter section which they had purchased from Charles Moody. Their oldest son, Gene, recalls, “There was a lot of bush when we first came. We could cross the yard by jumping from stump to stump. If you wanted to go to Veillardville you cut through the neigh- bour's yard and then followed a narrow wagon trail to the store. Most places you went were only foot paths." The Strassers remained there for a time. In 1929 they took out a homestead N.E. 15-45-4 W2nd which was north of the C.N.R. tracks. Later they moved to this north farm.


The family faced many difficulties in these early years. Rachel and Louis separated so, once again, Rachel found herself the sole provider, only now her family had increased to six. The Thirties had begun and times were hard. However, the children were older now and so were capable of helping to share responsibilities and daily chores. So, armed with determination, initiative and faith, Rachel and her children met the challenges of those years. They broke some of the land and raised chickens, pigs and cattle. A large garden supplemented their income when they sold the produce to residents of Hudson Bay Junction. They also sold dairy products which included homemade cheese.


Cheese making was not a common thing in Veillardville. However, Rachel Strasser mastered this art and was quite an expert at it, too. She made the regular cheese you can buy in a store. To make the product more like the store kind she would use a bit of food coloring and, to speed up the process rennet was used and then the whey was squeezed out with the assistance of a piano stool screw. The cheese was then formed into small round balls weighing approximately one pound. The balls were waxed and stored on long shelves in the basement where they had to age -- some for as long as two years.


Her cheese was a favorite and sold for 25¢ a pound. Many old-time residents still remember Mrs. Strasser aboard her Democrat pulled by Nigger, the horse.


In the spring of 1938, Rachel and her family moved to Tillsonburg, Ontario. Therese and Mae continued their schooling while the rest of the family were employed at various jobs. Gene and Martin eventually returned to the Veillardville district where each farmed for many years. Three of the children - Martin, Joseph and Therese - served in the armed forces during World War II.


Over the years, Rachel worked at various jobs and in many places. Some of these were: housemother at the Nurses Residence of St. Paul's Hospital and the Sanitorium in Saskatoon, clerk at her brother Albert's store, and cook at the Union Hospital in Hudson Bay. She also worked as a housekeeper for several elderly people and for a few priests.


In later years she was reunited with Louis and they lived together until the time of his death in


1970. Shortly after, Rachel took up residence in St. Joseph's Villa, Dundas, Ontario. Here she remained except for brief visits to various members of her family. In 1983 she suffered a stroke. She died in early 1985. Mae and Bernard share with us: “Grandma Strasser (Rachel) began her new life on January 16, as a quiet end came to about six weeks in a deep coma, the result of a second stroke soon after her 89th birthday. In accordance with local custom for the little rural cemetery at Kirkfield, Ontario, she was buried after the winter's frost had left the soil she loved, on a bright, breezy May afternoon, with children, grandchildren and great grandchildren present for the occasion.”


Gene Alfred Lessard was born December 17, 1916 in Lambert, Minnesota, U.S.A. Gene tells us:


“I was three years old when we moved to Meota, Saskatchewan. All my life I've been a Canadian. I got my call to the Army thru the Canadian Government but when I applied for my old age pension, they told me I was an American.”


“I went to the Fitzgerald school for three years. The spring that Dad and my brother were burnt, I went to school alone with a horse and buggy. We lived about two and a half miles from school. I was only six years old so Ma hooked up the horse in the morning and a cousin, Lawrence Lessard, who was older, hooked up the horse at night so I could drive home.”


“I remember an incident from my first year of school -- before Dad died. At school, the big kids would go to the barn at noon and make the horses kick. We were going home from church one Sunday when we saw that Dad was going to give the horse the line. George and I said, ‘Don't do that; he's going to kick.’”


“Puzzled, Dad repeated, ‘He's going to kick?’ Just then Dick, our horse, did kick -- his legs flying over the dash of the buggy. That's all that was said; we never heard another word until the next Monday. After dinner, there was an awful pow wow coming out of the school. Dad had snuck into the school barn and up into the loft with a line. When the bigger boys arrived and started to make the horses kick, Dad came down and warmed their backsides. The boys never again mistreated the horses and there was never a complaint sent to the teacher either.”


“The next spring a neighbor, about a half mile from home, was burning a strawpile and Dad said to us, Never start a fire, see what it can do.’ Only a short time later, we were to learn just how terrible fire can be. One Sunday afternoon, Dad decided he should move to the other quarter to do some seeding and told the family, ‘We'll go this afternoon to be ready for morning.’ George wanted to go with him so he drove one team pulling the wagon, while Dad was ahead with the four horses and the drill.”


“The next morning Dad got up, started the fire and went to feed the horses. They were staying in a granary 10 x 12 feet. When Dad came back, the fire was out. He grabbed the can which was supposed to be coal oil, but a trapper had stayed there in the winter and he had used gas, I guess. So when Dad threw this on the fire, puff! It exploded! And it kind of blew him out. Then he went back in to get George. He went to the bunk and grabbed everything but he still didn't have George. In the smoke George had gone under the bunk which was an oat bin. Dad had to go back in again and, this time, he found George."


"The wagon load of wheat, which was about sixty bushels (in those days), was by the shack, so with George pushing and Dad pulling, they moved that load of wheat away from the burning granary. Then, they walked two miles to Uncle Fred's place. Uncle Fred was in the barn doing chores when he saw these two people coming. He did not recognize them at first as they were wrapped in blankets. Dad and George both died from their severe burns."


"Later we moved into Delmas. One time Ma had gone -- I don't remember where -- and there was a girl looking after us. The ceiling of our house was made of beaver board; there was no lumber under it. I don't remember what I was doing but I had taken a broom and having hit too hard, I punctured a hole right through the beaver board. Of course, this was the first thing Ma saw when she got home."


"I remember a fellow by the name of Edgar Laflambre who lived in Delmas. He had a Shetland pony and, as long as we lived in Delmas, I always hoped I could have a Shetland pony but I never did get one."


"In 1928 our family moved to Veillardville where we farmed the S.E. quarter of 4-45-4 W of the 2nd. When we came to this country, the road to school from our farm (which is the same farm we live on today) was just a foot wide -- only a walking trail. We often saw moose on our way to school, just off the trail. It was nothing to count ten, fifteen, sometimes even twenty moose in the morning in this half mile. There were deer, coyotes and timber wolves. You could hear the wolves at night, but we never saw them."


"When we wanted to go to Veillardville, we'd cross the bridge up the hill, at Murdoch's, then cut across to Murdoch's corner. There would be a wagon or sleigh trail depending on the season. If you wanted to go to town, which was Hudson Bay, you'd go through Quinn's, through more bush and you'd end up where the T.V. tower is today. The highway, if you could call it that, was a corduroy road. In summer you travelled either


on foot or you rode horseback. We walked to school and, often, we walked the six miles to town. In the spring you couldn't walk the high-way because there was water all over it so you'd take the railroad track and walk the rails. It was always dry and nice."


"Before we left Delmas, Ma had married Louis Strasser. He was more of a carpenter and he worked some on the White Poplar School after we moved to Veillardville. Later he went to Flin Flon."


"Each fall I left school for several weeks to help with harvest. Then I quit in grade seven. By this time, we were living on the same quarter we're on today."


"Times were hard after we moved to Veillardville. Ma worked hard and was willing to try anything that might help her family. One time she wrote away to Quaker Oats in Toronto. There had been an address on the label of the Quaker Oats bag. A fellow with the name McQuarrie was listed so she wrote him. That Christmas they sent a big box three feet high by three feet wide by three feet deep -- all kinds of toys and clothes -- good stuff! Everything was so nice! They did this for about four years. Some years later, when our family was down East, Ma went to see them. She thanked them personally for their kindness to us during those difficult years."


"During the Depression, Ma and us kids were getting a total of $7.00 a month relief. I remember when Joe Morin moved here from the Rosetown area. He said they had been getting $67.00 relief out there and they cut him down to $6.00. But there was cordwood to be cut and some bush work to be done here and, though it didn't pay much, you could work and make a few dollars. The C.N.R. converted the roundhouse from coal to wood heat for about three years to accommodate the homesteaders. By the time I was seventeen, we were living on the north farm. After I did my morning chores, I'd hitch up my team, go to the bush and cut a cord and a half of wood with my Swede saw, then load it on my sleigh. The next day I'd take it to the roundhouse where I'd get close to $3.00 in scrip. This was yellow paper money and you could only spend it in Hudson Bay. You could use scrip to buy anything you needed in town, that is, except liquor. You needed cash when you went to the liquor store so we would take the scrip worth 25¢ and buy a chocolate bar which cost 5¢ The storekeeper had to give us 20¢ change. After a while you had the 80¢ cash that was needed to buy a bottle of wine."


"During those years, things did not improve so we decided to go down East. I drove the '27 Chev that we'd bought from Ralph Murdoch for $75.00. The tires were all up. When we left here, there was three feet of snow. There was a guy who had been working in the bush at Otasquin. He had six horses so he loaded the Chev on the sleigh and pulled it with his four-horse team. Then he loaded the two-wheel trailer, which we'd built, on another sleigh pulled by his two-horse team. Ma, Therese and Mae took the train from here to Wynyard while Martin, Joe and I jumped the freight. We stayed in Wynyard for three or four days -- long enough for me to learn to drive. Then we left for Regina and, by the time we got there, we'd had eleven flats. Joe was getting to be an expert at changing tires."


"On our way East, we went to Minnesota where I helped Uncle Charlie Lessard with the seeding -- three horses on a drill. Martin did other work. Then we were back on the road. We went by way of Chicago. At that time there was a square in the middle of the street for the pedestrians. When someone hollered, 'You're going the wrong way,' I made a U-turn right there in the middle of the square and I passed very close to a few Negro toes with the trailer behind. Several black fists were raised. Later, I took a driver's test in Tillsonburg, as you needed a license to drive in Ontario."


"It was dark when we landed in Tillsonburg so we pitched our tent on an old farm. Martin and I got a job priming tobacco. The bottom leaves (the sand leaves) ripen first. They already had a crew of five other guys who had been picking for two or three days so they were limbered up. But Martin and I were really soft. After my first day's work, I woke up about three in the morning. I was so stiff from being bent over; I told Martin, 'You know, I'll never walk again.' However, each day after that the picking became easier. Ma, Therese and Joe got on tying tobacco. About four o'clock, when our crew finished in the tobacco fields, we had to hang the tobacco in kilns which were about twenty feet high. The tobacco leaves were tied onto four foot slats. These were then hung on 2 x 6 stringers set at various levels. A fellow was needed to straddle the 2 x 6 stringers while another worker on the ground handed the tobacco up which was then passed to the fellow above you and so on. The pay was good -- $2.50 a day -- if I remember


"Martin and I built a little house in Tillsonburg; actually it was more like a garage. We didn't have to pay rent anymore. Martin and (I think) Joe got on at the tobacco factory. I also got on but I only worked a few days because I hated the factory and being inside. It was the beginning of March; so with five dollars in my pocket, I took off for Kirkland Lake in northern Ontario."


"After a while, my money was all gone. I had nothing to eat -- just water. On the fifth day I knew I had to find something so, the first house that I came to, I asked if I could split wood, or could do anything, just so I could get something to eat. The woman who came to the door started to cry. I remember thinking, 'Gee, what did I do?' Then she told me, 'Around Kirkland Lake there are seven mine shafts and there is only one working. My husband has been out of work for two years.' They had five or six kids, too. Then she said she was sorry but she just couldn't give me anything. After that, I figured I'd had enough for one day. The next day was better; I split wood and got lunch. This was the spring of '39, before the war broke out. Finally, one Sunday after bumming around Kirkland Lake, I was walking, still looking for work when a car passed me. Then it slowed down; I started running. When I got in, I saw axes and shovels in the back seat. I thought, 'I'm sure going to ask this fellow for a job.' Then he asked me where I was from. I told him, 'Hudson Bay.'"


"He replied, 'You're just the guy we're looking for!' 'Oh my gosh,' I thought, 'what did I do this time?'"


"He was a foreman for the Hill Clark Francis Lumber Company of Kirkland Lake. In the winter they cut the logs and put them on the river bank. Then, in the spring, the logs were floated down a little river called Blanche River. There was also a dam. At that time, the Company was having problems with one of the guys who had done the logging; he had threatened to blow up the dam so the foreman was looking for someone who was not from the area. I was given the job of night watchman -- to patrol the dam to see that no one came around. I also had to keep an eye on the water level. If it got too high, I had to take a plank out to let some of the water out -- this way it wouldn't go over the edge. I worked there till the end of July. Then I worked at the mill. One day I got caught between a load of lumber and the pile. My leg was broken. It healed quickly and, before long, I was looking for work again."


"This time, I jumped the freight. Another fellow was riding with me and we were going thru the mountains in northern Ontario when all at once we saw a tunnel up ahead. 'Holy smokes, we'll be wiped off the top,' we thought. We both laid flat on the walkway -- on the top of the freight. When the train had passed thru the tunnel, we sat up. That's when I saw the other fellow. I asked him if he was Jim and he said, 'Yes, but who are you?' We were both so black from the coal dust off the steam engine that only the whites of our eyes were showing."


"I got off at Portage La Prairie and worked for a Scotsman by the name of Bob Staube. It was cutting time and my job was stooking. Bob's dad was eighty years old and stood about six foot eight in height. He smoked a corncob pipe but just used the stub. Now I was stooking with this old guy; I was never a good stooker. We'd each take a row. He would sit on the last sheaf and wait for me. I worked like a nigger while he stooked with such ease that he never seemed to do anything. He would tell me, 'It's alright, you're stooking as much as I am.' After stooking, we threshed, then I ploughed. War broke out and I was still there."


"Then I jumped the freight and went to Melfort where I got a job threshing for Oscar Nelson at Thaxstead which was seven miles north of Melfort. Oscar had a D-2 Cat on the threshing machine. I worked there for seven days, then I went back to Melfort where I jumped the freight to go to Tisdale."


Jumping the freight or riding the rods was a common means of travel for the unemployed during these years of the Thirties and early Forties. Gene explains how it was done:


"When the freight was stopped we'd walk to the outskirts of the town. Then we'd catch the ladder, which hung on the side of the train, when it was just beginning to move. The year we left Veillardville for the East, it was nothing to count two or three hundred men sitting like crows on the top of a freight train."


"Of course, we did not pay for our ride but the police were understanding; that is, except for a cop in one place in Ontario. He was named Red and he was rough and mean; he would kick the men. Finally, someone shot him."


"When we got hungry, we'd get off the freight and maybe rob a garden or, if you had a bit of money, buy something to eat. Twenty-five cents would buy a loaf of bread, a pound of butter and a dozen eggs. Outside of every town, there was a little camp where guys slept and ate -- under the sky. There were places where others who had been there before you had used straw or hay and had bedded down. Everyone was the same -- nobody was any better."


"While I was in Tisdale, I remembered that when we went to school, we had heard about the C.N.R. and traffic bridge at Nipawin -- one bridge which was used for both. I thought I'd like to see this. Again, I jumped the freight. After spending a couple of days there, I went back to Tisdale. Then I took out a nickel -- heads, I'd go back to Veillardville; tails, I'd go East. It was heads."


In the years that followed Gene's move back to Saskatchewan, he took up farming and, with time, he began to consider settling down. A home would be nice! Before he'd gone East, he had visited at the Alain home several times -- being somewhat interested in Bertha. However, Gene learned upon his return that Bertha had gone to Flin Flon as had her older sister, Edithe. So he decided to date another girl, Joyce May. Then one day after Edithe returned, he invited her and Verna Cockwill to his farm. He told the girls that he had a lot of strawberries growing on his place. Both girls enjoyed berry picking so, enthusiastically, they accepted his invitation. They were somewhat disappointed when they discovered that what he really wanted was their help in bagging several bushels of oats. However, the girls were good sports and lent a hand. Before long, Gene's Model A was frequently seen parked outside the Alain home. Henri and Alma's second youngest daughter had a beau.


Edithe had come with her family from Delmas some years earlier. She was born in Battleford on December 21, 1917 -- "a Christmas baby" she tells us.


"I remember starting school in the convent because there wasn't any room in the big school -- this was where the little Indians were and we had to put on little moccasins in the morning. Every noon I cried because one of the older girls would hold the gate so I couldn't leave. I wanted to go home with the other kids. We seldom took our lunch as it was only a short half mile to our farm on the outskirts of Delmas."


"Sometimes Mom and Dad would be away and Rolland was supposed to babysit. He would give us a pan of sugar with a bit of water in it and then tell us, 'Make yourselves some fudge. If you hear any noise and you're scared, lock yourselves in the cupboard and we'll let you out when we get home.' That was Rolland!''


"We played a lot in Delmas. One game we liked was called 'Jouer aux Couteau'. It was played with a small knife. It was a spring game; as soon as the ground thawed, we'd choose a place where the grass was thick and we'd start to play -- girls as well as the boys. Each player in turn held the tip of the knife blade on different parts of his body such as the shoulder, the nose, the forehead, the palm of the hand, the finger and so on -- then he'd give the knife a slap which would send it flipping through the air to land, if all went well, with its blade in the ground. As long as his knife stuck in the ground, he could continue with the next part of the body. There were ten or twelve places from which he flipped the knife. On one of Dad's trips to North Battleford he bought a little jack knife for each of us. That year we practised a lot."


"When I was ten we moved to Veillardville. You'd never believe what this country was like back in 1928 -- there was so much bush! Still, we thought this was the nicest place. We could use rafts and we could skate. You could pick all the berries you wanted -- strawberries, raspberries, gooseberries, chokecherries and pincherries. We'd go thru Quinn's, take a milk pail and fill it with strawberries. The country was also a haven for blueberries. Everybody would take off two or three days and go camping at Greenbush. It was only seven miles but it seemed further, probably because we travelled with a team of horses and wagon then."


"We sang a lot at home. Mom could be making beds and Dad would start singing a French song and Mom would join in and sing the harmony. They knew a lot of songs. It took Mom a long time to learn a song, maybe this was partly because Dad would make up his own words. But once Mom knew a song, she never forgot it. Dad learned all the new songs. Many times I learned a hymn on the way to church. One time we were having a retreat and the visiting priest asked if we'd sing a particular hymn. We didn't know it so Dad went to Veillard's where Mrs. Veillard played it. That night, on our way to church, Dad said, 'We're singing this hymn tonight.' I remember telling him that I didn't know it. He said, 'Well, you can learn it while we walk to church.' Sure, I learned it but, when we got to church, the only ones who sang it were Dad and I. Dad said, 'Well, they were all supposed to sing it.'''


"We always went to church on Sundays. During Lent, we said the rosary each evening. The family would gather around the kitchen table and, kneeling, they would recite the prayers while Mom or one of the older children would lead. I remember when we were in Delmas. We always had supper early, then we'd say the rosary. The older boys, Smokey and Louis, were always in a hurry to get to the village. They'd stop at Aunt Melvina's and Uncle Frank's to pick up their cousins. Now this aunt's family were later with their evening meal so Smokey and Louis usually ended up saying the rosary all over again because it was also the custom of Aunty's family and she was not about to allow her boys to leave before prayers."


"This practice of saying the rosary in Lent was also common in the Lessard home. I came to know Gene better after we moved to Veillardville. For several years I worked out. I went to Flin Flon three different times -- the first time I went to work for my sister, Yvonne, when her son Bruce was born. Later I worked for Bertha, when Norbert was born and, again, when Roger was born. And I did housework for a lot of other people in Flin Flon, too."


"When I returned home I cooked for Dad at his sawmill. In 1943 his mill was seven miles southwest of Veillardville. That year, a bear had been around the bush camp. On one visit, it had pulled some slabs off the icehouse. This one night I went to bed and, for some unknown reason, I kept watching the window. Finally, I thought, 'I'll never go to sleep this way.' I had just turned to face the wall, when bang! The bear hit the window! Pieces of glass flew into the kitchen; some were even found in the dining area. I jumped out of bed, blankets all wrapped around me, yelling my head off. Dad slept at the other end of the cookhouse in the same building. He never even heard me holler. But someone woke him. That night we had a shirt-tail party -- Dad was in his underwear and so was old Szmul -- both of them were standing in the kitchen, look- ing out the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the bear but he had gone."


"The next night, Dad said he'd sleep in the kitchen and he told me to sleep in his bunk. I told Dad, 'And if the bear comes back, you won't hear him.'"


"Dad's reply was, 'Maybe we should put a string on my big toe and you can pull it if the bear comes back.' Anyway, I got into Dad's bunk. The following night the men saw the bear coming to camp so several of us ran outside to see it. Ham Wilcox shot the bear. Dad was never afraid of bears. He used to leave our home when it was pitch dark and he'd walk alone, the seven miles through the bush back to his camp."


"That winter Gene worked at Dad's camp and I got to see a little more of him. We went to dances a lot and we went to shows. Then one evening we decided we'd be married in October so we went to see the priest. In those days you stretched your money as far as you could. The priest told us that if we had the banns announced in church, we would not need to buy a licence. He asked me if I had ever worked out and I told him I had worked in Flin Flon. A short time later the banns were announced in Flin Flon on a Sunday. Mom was in church with Bertha. Mom nudged her, whispering, 'Is that my Edithe?' When Bertha nodded, Mom replied, 'Well, I've got to go home!'"


"Gene and I were married October 25, 1945 in the Catholic Rectory at Hudson Bay, Saskatchewan. Gene wore a black pinstripe suit while I wore a pale blue suit with navy hat, gloves, shoes and purse to match. Father G. Van Vynckt officiated while Joe Lessard, Gene's brother, and Yvonne, my brother's wife, were our witnesses. Mrs. Veillard and others sang at our wedding. After a nice supper at my home, we had a dance at Veillardville Hall with Albert Bernier, Omer Cartier and Art Nice playing their fiddles."


"In those days, if you had a dance, your friends didn't shivaree you. On our way home from the dance we stopped at my home to pick up a few of my things before going to our little house, and the entire group from the dance fol- lowed us ... Joe Lessard, the Davidson girls, Frank Quinns', Yvonne and Rolland, Louis and Clara, Albert Bernier, among others -- there were about forty people in Gene's little two- room shack which measured 14 by 18 feet."


"This little house was our first home. It cost Gene ten dollars when he bought it from the Government some years earlier. It had once belonged to Chester Cockwill."


"One of the first things I did after we were married was to knit Gene a pair of mitts. That fall he had been hauling grain to town, making two trips a day with his team, and his hands were freezing."


"In the winter I cooked for Dad at his sawmill, and Gene worked with his team at the camp, too. Dad had given us a cow and she calved in the spring. On our return from camp we discovered water all over. We came back with the wagon, the cow tied behind and the calf in the wagon box."


"Wayne was born in the summer of 1946 on August 23. We put his little crib at the foot of our bed. Gene had put the bedstead together with the post maul. It was tight and, after that, I was never able to pull our bed out. We lived in our little house for five years. When we were expect- ing Carol, we began to build."


"Fred Bradley was the carpenter. He started with the basement, putting in the forms, right to the shingles, gyproced the whole inside. His bill was $320.00 to do all that. I chased him for two months after, for his bill; I wanted to pay him. Fred thought he was charging us too much but we didn't think this. Before we put the gyproc on, Stewart Hawke who had a lumberyard called me in and asked what we were putting inside. I told him, 'Gyproc, but there's no money for it.'"


"Old Stewart Hawke told me, 'I tell you what I'll do -- I'll give you all the gyproc, the tape, the nails, crack filler and we'll deliver it. You pay me after the harvest.' But that fall, we didn't har- vest! The bill was $240.00. In order to borrow the money, I had to give the banker clear title to my quarter section and that wasn't enough; he said he also needed the title to my eighty acres as well."


"We moved into our new house in October 1950. That winter Martin, Floris and girls moved into our little shack. When the men went to camp, Floris and I each had our own cow to milk. Each of us had a dog on the farm, too, and on Fridays, if Gene was the first of our men to come home, our dog would go to meet him, but if Martin was coming first, then his dog would go. Sometimes the dogs would go as far as two miles to meet their owners, but they always knew which of our men was coming first. The men would leave on Mondays to return to camp."


"For eight years Gene went to the bush each winter. In those years we didn't have a wellhouse and, usually, there'd be several inches of snow during the night. So, each morning, I would have to find the well, then water the cows. I'd leave Wayne in the shack while I milked the cow. One evening when Gene was at camp, Floss Cockwill and Verna came to see me. They stayed till mid- night, had lunch, then left. I got ready to nurse


Wayne and I looked up. There was Floss looking through the glass on our door. I asked her what she wanted. She said, 'Oh! I just wondered what you did when you were all alone. I couldn't stay alone like this.'"


"Another time when Gene was at the bush, I had hitched the dog to the sleigh and, with Wayne, I went to Smokey's. Smokey told me that there was a good show on in town and asked if I'd like to go. 'Sure,' I said, 'but I've got the dog.' Smokey suggested I send him home, which is what I did. When we got to the theatre, we discovered that all the men from camp were there, too. Their roads were open. That night Gene had a ride back to camp, but it was differ- ent for me; our road was not open. Smokey dropped me off at the highway and I walked the half mile home, carrying Wayne. He was about five months old and a dead weight in my arms. I was glad to put him down when I got home. Then I went back out -- I still had my cow to milk."


The first winters that the Lessards and the Alains spent in Veillardville were very cold. There was never any wind; there was so much bush. The snow was so hard that they could walk on top of it all the way to school. They didn't dare leave water in the basin overnight because they'd have a block of ice in the morning. The temperature would get as low as -60° F. It was that cold the morning the Cross Hotel burnt. Gene was sleeping in town at the time because he'd been hauling ice for Mrs. Tessier, the store- keeper. He tells us:


"I went to get my team which was stabled at Turcotte's barn and I found it was very bright out. Later I learned that the sky was lit up because of the fire."


"Besides hauling ice, I also worked at the Planer hauling lumber with the tractor to the piles. I had a brand new '52 Chev truck and I left it at the school corner because the road wasn't open to the farm. It was -30°, -40° and -45° F., but that truck always started in the morning -- it was never plugged in. In later years I drove the school bus for Donald Morin four months out of each winter. This lasted about four winters."


"Each year our little creek, that runs east, would flood. It seems like it always rained the first of July and, along with the spring run-off, the little creek that is only five feet wide would overflow its banks and swell to a hundred. Uncle Albert passed away in 1954. It rained and rained the day of his funeral. The bridge was washed out, so that when my cousin, Lawrence, and his wife went to return home, they had to go around by Weekes and Somme. Even then, there was one bridge from which all the top planks were gone; they had to cross on the stringers."


"This country can be very wet at other times, too. One fall we were cutting oats. George Quinn had a WD-9 on a 10 foot power take-off binder. He couldn't pull it. So we cut a barrel and opened it up (3 x 6 ft.) and with that tied to the hitch, and part of the binder on the barrel, we had Ralph Murdoch on his D-2 Cat hooked on the front. We made ruts a foot and a half deep. There were only 10 acres like that -- which I stooked -- but we didn't dare get on this piece till after freeze-up. I knew that if we had ever fallen in those ruts with a sleigh, we'd never get out. We made sure we went crossways. That was one of the wettest falls!"


"Another fall I pushed Smokey's combine. He had a 10 foot Massey and I had a DC-4 Case with a push pole on it. Then with chains on we went around, maybe an hour, cutting what wheat we could. It was dinner time, so we stopped. I took a pail and went up in the hopper to take some of the wheat out. It looked just like brown sawdust that had heated. I gave some to the pigs; pp-ff -- they shook their heads and spit it out! Then I gave some to the chickens and they backed away from the stuff. It was sour and not worth anything. Old Menard used to say, 'You know wheat with eleven corners is not very good.'"


"Any new country takes about four generations before the land is opened and developed. It was no different in the Veillardville area; farming was a constant struggle in the early years. If you got a few dollars, you had to put it back into the land and grub some more. Not long after you broke it, you found you had wild oats. When I got this quarter, there was $800.00 against it -- oil, gas, taxes and relief. I didn't have $800.00 but, with time, I paid it off and finally got clear title to the quarter."


Gene and Edithe experienced other difficulties. Edithe explains one incident when they had two children; Wayne, who had just turned six and Carol, who was fifteen months:


"It was 1952, in the middle of the canning season. Darlene was here and I was washing clothes, getting her ready to go back to Flin Flon. At noon, I got the shivers so I told Darlene I was going to lie down and finish the wash later but, if I couldn't, she would have to. I went to see Dr. Silver who diagnosed a strep throat and gave me penicillin medication. I came back home for a week, but nothing helped. I returned to see Silver. He wanted to put me in the hospital, but there was no room. So he asked me if there was some place I could stay in Hudson Bay. I went to Gene's mother's house. It was very cold because there was no one there at the time. Later that day, Silver discharged a patient so I was admitted to hospital. Again, I was given penicillin. My ankles had started swelling and, by the next day, I had a hard time getting up to go to the bathroom. Silver had realized by this time that it was rheumatic fever. He said, 'We've given you enough penicillin to cure three patients of pneumonia.' But he figured that once the virus got in your system, it was very difficult to stop. I was in hospital for seven weeks and there was no Medicare then. For many weeks, after I was home, I couldn't lift. It was harvest -- the worst time for Gene -- Mom came and cooked for him."


"That fall Wayne started school. He always walked the half mile but he would have liked a ride. One morning Gene saw him just standing by the gate so Gene hollered, 'What are you doing? You're supposed to be going to school.' Wayne told his dad he was waiting for a ride. Both Wayne and Carol went to White Poplar for their elementary schooling, then on to Hudson Bay for their grades nine thru twelve. It was different for Lee and Blair, our younger two. Our school was closed so each of them took grades one thru twelve in Hudson Bay."


"I remember one time our kids were having a dispute over 'toast'. Apparently one of the boys got mad and threw a table knife. The other boy ducked and the knife hit the chrome and shattered the glass on the dial panel of my stove. When Gene and I got home, we saw the broken glass. Now, the kids had been getting ready to enter a parade which was to be held in town the next day. Carol had made an outfit for Blair; he was going to be an Old Lady and Lee, the Old Man. They had planned to take a two-wheeled cart and pony. They never got to go to the parade." Edithe laughed as she concluded her story.


Like others, Gene has served on various boards both in Veillardville and Hudson Bay: Credit Union, Co-Op, Wheat Pool and Church, among others. Edithe has belonged to the C.W.L., she sang in the Church Choir for years, and worked for the Community Club. She and Gene have made dozens of spudnuts for the 4-H Club when their children belonged.


Today they take life a bit easier. Gene tells us they have spent the past four winters in Phaar, Texas, U.S.A.:


"The first spring we went south to see the place and to visit Bertha and Paul. There was a place up for sale, which we put a bid on, then bought it. It was a fully furnished trailer -- even with dishes. We motor out, leaving home the beginning of January and usually return around the end of April. Phaar is wet and damp in January; it's their winter. There are only forty-five trailers in the entire court so we know everyone. There are a lot of activities ... shuffleboard, cards, dances, and coffee is served each morning at the Seniors' Hall which belongs to the trailer court. While we enjoy Phaar for three to four months of each year, we are happy to return to our farm in Saskatchewan. For us, this is home."


Gene and Edithe concluded with the following facts about their family:


Wayne , born August 23, 1946, married Lynn LeBlue in December 1966. They have two girls: Shonna, born July 22, 1968, and Melanie (adopted) August 1, 1979. Wayne and Lynn live in Lloydminster where Wayne is employed.


Carol , born May 25, 1951, married Mike Todor December 1978. They have a girl, Rebecca, born June 13, 1979. Carol runs a fitness centre while Mike manages a photo shop and is a photographer. They live in Drumheller, Alberta.


Lee , born November 5, 1955, married Pamella Herrod, September 20, 1986. Pam has a little girl, Renee, born March 31, 1983. Lee and Pam live in Hudson Bay where Pam works at Simpson Timber Co. while Lee farms the home place at Veillardville.


Blair was born March 2, 1958. He is presently working in Saskatoon as Production Manager of Dew-Little Industries Inc. which manufactures and sells a new type of siding. It has the insulation bonded to the siding. Blair resides in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.


I was born on August 25, 1921. When we lived in Delmas, we went to a French school.


In the spring of 1928, we moved to the Hudson Bay area. We settled at Veillardville. It was bush country; I don't think there was twenty acres farmed in the entire settlement at that time.


I attended White Poplar School with Nellie Barteluk as my first teacher. Then we had several French teachers, some of whom were Mr. Roy, Mildred Beaudoin, Phillippe Le Scelleur, Arthur Villeneuve, among others. We walked to school and, though there was a lot of snow in the winter, walking wasn't too difficult for there were never any snowdrifts.


Later, we moved to the farm north of the C.N.R. tracks. Times were not easy and I remember going in to town, which was Hudson Bay, to peddle vegetables down the streets. We'd have radishes tied up in little bunches and onions, too. We sold whatever vegetables were in season.


One winter I hauled hay into town from the farm with the horse and sleigh. We'd get something like $10.00 a ton but we had to weigh it - otherwise the folks wouldn't believe we had a ton. It cost us two bits to have it weighed so, in the end, we would only get $9.75 for the hay.


One time I hauled a load of potatoes into town for Paul Bittalla, a bachelor neighbor. I'd been hauling hay and so I had the sleigh fixed so it wouldn't upset. We used to put runners on the outside so the hayrack wouldn't tip. It was March or early April, the beginning of spring breakup. Paul wanted to come over and help me take the hayrack off but I planned on putting hay in the bottom, then covering the potatoes with blankets. I figured the potatoes would be fine this way. However, Paul disagreed and insisted on coming over to help me put the wagon box on. So this is what we did. We loaded seventy-five to eighty bags of potatoes in the wagon with one or two tiers of potatoes above the box. Now this made a high and rather narrow load. When I got to Blanchard's, the other side of Jaszans', the load upset. Now instead of coming with me, Paul had decided to walk down the railroad tracks. I had to get a neighbor to help me take all those bags of potatoes out of the box so I could get the wagon box upright again. Paul Le Charity, who was living on the Turcotte farm, helped me. When I arrived in town, Paul Bittalla was already on his way out wondering what had happened to me. He was also concerned that the potatoes were frozen. However, I didn't think so as the sun was shining and it was a rather nice day. But when we rolled the potatoes down the chute at the Chinaman's, they made a strange noise. The Chinaman said, "Tink potatoes frozee." That load of potatoes would purchase staples for Paul for the coming year. Everyone needed a means to purchase tea, coffee, sugar and flour.


Although there was very little money, we were never hungry. There was always wild game and lots of wild berries. Everyone picked wild berries and lots of them because that was the only fruit that we had in the winter time. So, after you picked the berries, the women canned them to preserve them for the winter.


This particular time, Ma had a large dishpan which she made the bread in and it was full of strawberries. I came in late that night, about 11:30, and saw this great mound of strawberries which was white because she'd covered them with sugar. I thought that I might as well have myself a feed of berries. Now I had to do all this by moonlight as there were no electric lights back then. I got myself a big soup dish, filled it with the strawberries, then went to the cream jug and poured cream over my berries. I had myself a real good feed. After I was finished, I noticed the big, black hole in the middle of the pan where I had taken my berries out and I thought, "This doesn't look right." So, picking up a bag which I thought was sugar, I filled the hole up.


The next day Ma was cooking up the strawberries when she took a taste. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, "there's salt in them!" Now she wasn't sure just what to do. There were enough berries for fifteen to seventeen quarts so she put them in jars, sealed them and put them down in the basement. She reasoned that in the winter when times would be better, there would be money for sugar which she could then add to the berries and boil again. We never wasted those strawberries. Although I was about fifteen years old at the time, Ma never knew what had really happened to the strawberries until I was thirty-eight years old.


In 1937 our family moved to Ontario. There was Ma, Gene, Joe, Therese, Mae and I. We left in April and tried to get to Ontario by fall but it took us a while because we went to Minnesota and visited with relatives for several weeks.


It was at that time that I dipped sheep. I received 1¢ for each sheep that I caught and put in the tank. The other fellow worried about getting them out. We used a round snowfence and we kept winding it to keep the sheep close to us.


We arrived in Tillsonburg in late July or early August. We wanted to get in on the tobacco picking which started about that time. We worked in the tobacco fields the rest of that summer and fall.


Louis, my brother-in-law, and I were doing cement and carpentry work for a man by the name of Fishback. Then, as the work began to peter out, Louis left for Malartic where he got work in the mines. Clara and the two little girls, Marlyne and Maxine, stayed with us until Louis was settled. Then I drove them to Malartic where I stayed till December while I worked in the mines, too. I did surface work and some repair jobs.


At this time, I realized that the kind of work I had been doing, cementing and carpentry, was not what I wanted. So I decided to learn a trade. I went to work in the machine shops for 25¢ an hour - the same wages I received at cement and carpentry work - only now I was learning a trade. I worked in Woodstock, Ingersol and later in Hamilton for Otis Fenson. With each job, I gained further experience.


On July 17, 1942, I married Floris Tarvis in Hamilton, Ontario. Floris was born in 1920 at Wiarton, Ontario, to Violet (Roe) Tarvis and Murray Tarvis.


The following February (1943) I joined up and served in the Navy till the fall of '45. I took my basic training at HMC Star in Hamilton and further training in the Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia. I chose the Navy for, by now, I had a couple of years experience in machine shops and I could continue to use my machinist trade in the Navy. For the most part I was stationed in Newfoundland for when we were on patrol from Halifax to Newfoundland, we were often dropped off at the latter.


In 1945 I got my discharge from the Navy in Hamilton. The job opportunities were scarce what with thousands of service men returning to the labour market. Also, communications between the governments were poor at that time. Brantford was only twenty miles away from Hamilton where I was. Each morning when I went to look for work in Hamilton, I was told the same thing: there is no work. But the first time I went to Brantford, I was hired and went to work the same day. At the end of my eight hours I was asked, "How many more men can you bring with you tomorrow morning?" Brantford needed men for its large industrial plants, Massey Harris and


Cockshutt, and by this time, farm machinery supplies needed to be built up. But the unemployment offices in Hamilton, where large numbers of unemployed gathered, knew nothing of the job opportunities only twenty miles away. I remained in Brantford, working as a machinist at Massey Harris for the next five years.


In 1950 we moved to Saskatchewan. By this time I felt that I had had enough of machine work and that kind of life. Floris and I thought that a change in lifestyle would be good. We had been out West in 1944; we'd looked the place over and talked about it. Finally, I decided to quit my job with Massey Harris which was quite a decision for, by now, I had five years seniority with the company.


I left my work as a machinist for a homestead S.E.¼ Section 15-45-4 W2 in northern Saskatchewan. We found it a great change. Floris and our two young girls had known only city life. Luanne was born March 13, 1943 in Hamilton, Ontario and Susan was born October 8, 1944 in Owen Sound, Ontario. Together, as a family, we weathered the changes as we began farming in the early Fifties. At first it was more like homesteading - breaking the land and so on. Then I had to work at building up the farm.


I continued to farm until 1973 but three or four years prior, I had started to work at the MacMillan Bloedel plant as a machinist - something I had never intended to do but got talked into it. It did have some benefits, one of which was that of building up my Canada Pension Plan.


Now, I would like to tell you more about my family. The girls, Luanne and Susan, took their elementary schooling at White Poplar. Following completion of grade eight, each attended the Academy at Prince Albert for a brief time; after which they attended Zenon Park High School while boarding at the Sacred Heart Convent there. It was at Zenon Park that Luanne finished grade twelve. About this time, the Hudson Bay School Unit provided a bus service for students residing in the rural areas. Consequently, Susan returned home for her last year and graduated from Hudson Bay High School.


Following high school, Luanne worked at the Credit Union in Tisdale. She met and married Don Fettis in 1962. They have two children, Terry and David.


After graduation, Susan worked as a Nurses' Aide in a sanitorium north of The Pas, Manitoba. Later she went to British Columbia where she met and married Frank Seleski. Their children are Mark and Leah.


My wife, Floris, was born with a defective heart. Then in 1945-1946, she became ill with an infection in the valves of her heart. She was hospitalized for an entire year. By this time penicillin was available and had been widely used in the Second World War to treat infections. So the doctor used this drug to kill the heart infection Floris had. Once she was well enough to leave her bed, he would discontinue the penicillin. Three weeks later the infection would flare up and Floris would be back in bed. They would again administer penicillin until she was on her feet once more. Each time the drug was discontinued, the infection would flare up again. At the same time, I was battling with the hospital bills. Using my weekly earnings along with what we had saved, I kept the bills paid up. This lasted for the first six to eight months at which time I could no longer keep up with them. Floris was in the hospital at Hamilton so I decided to pay the doctor a visit to explain the situation. Now he was, in fact, expecting me. He proceeded to outline his plan for Floris which I wished he'd have done months earlier. He said he would put Floris on the City Plan and I wouldn't have to pay anything. "However, there is more to it," he said. "We wish to use your wife as a guinea pig and, while I will remain as her main doctor, other doctors will be brought in to learn and to study her case." I talked it over with Floris and she thought it might be a good idea, which it was. After studying her case, the doctors realized that they had been prematurely stopping the drug treatment. Having discovered this, it was a relatively simple matter to continue the penicillin until the infection was completely gone. Once Floris was better, she remained well. Naturally, it did not repair her bad heart and, in fact, there had been further damage from the lengthy infection.


This year of hospitalization had been a most critical time in Floris' life. After her discharge from the hospital, she was never sick again but, as long as she lived, Floris was aware of the condition of her heart and knew that she needed to look after herself. Floris died on March 28, 1973.


I left the farm in 1974 and moved to Hudson Bay when I remarried. Alice Michie became my wife in 1973. In 1975 I sold the farm to Peter Borowetz. Today we are taking life easier in our retirement years. I enjoy dropping in on the elderly for a visit. Many are neighbours or friends from Veillardville.


Recently I helped with the building of our new church, St. Dominic, in Hudson Bay. I served on the finance committee. The old building was too small and no longer met the needs of the people. The church contracted the services of Leson Construction. Still, much remained to be done so Smokey Alain and I contributed what we could to assist with the finishing. Lee Lessard also offered his help on occasion. Ray Leyshen was hired to do the painting. The church was blessed on June 8, 1984.


Alice is busy in her retirement years. She enjoys oil painting - especially landscapes - and handwork. She is often crocheting or knitting baby clothes either for my grandchildren or for hers. Alice had four children from her previous marriage to Wilbert C. Michie. "Wib", as he was known, died in 1970.


Alice is a charter member of the O.O.R.P. and was active in the Anglican Church as well as in other community organizations.


Together, Alice and I enjoy travelling to visit family and friends or simply to see the many parts of our country. We both enjoy fishing. We purchased a motorhome in 1979 and use it a good deal. When we are not travelling, we are home to family and friends on Prince Street in Hudson Bay.


This is a brief biography of Joe Lessard and his families from approximately four to sixty-three years old, as told by himself in September 1986.


As I understand I was born in Meota, Saskatchewan, and at 15 months was hospitalized in North Battleford with pneumonia and, according to Mom, I wasn't expected to come home alive. During this period Dad and George, 9 years old, our oldest brother, had gone to our other farm for spring seeding and on the morning of April 30, 1924, the building they were living in accidentally caught fire and both were severely burnt. They were taken to the hospital in North Battleford where Dad died the next day, May 1, 1924, and George died on May 17, 1924. Later this same year, Therese was born on November 24, 1924.


A short time later we moved to Delmas, Saskatchewan, where Mom met and married Louis Strasser on August 13, 1927 and then in 1928 the family moved to Veillardville, Saskatchewan, where Mae was born on May 15, 1928. After a few years the relationship became strained and eventually they separated on February 20, 1934.


After thirty odd years of separation, they reunited around 1965/66 and lived in Headlake, Ontario, until Louis died at 70 years of age on September 27, 1970. Shortly after this, Mom came down to Brampton with us and then to St. Joseph's Villa in Dundas, Ontario, where she lived for fourteen years, passing away in her 89th year, on January 16, 1985. She had been born November 9, 1895. Joseph, her first husband, was born November 9, 1891 and died at 33 years old. Mom and Dad (Joseph) were married April 14, 1914.


Born February 12, 1923 in Meota, Saskatchewan.


Baptized February 18, 1923 by Rev. Pere A. Wafelle of St. Jean Baptist de La Salle Catholic Church in the parish of Delmas, Saskatchewan.


Godparents were Joseph Beaupri and Eva Lessard.


When I was four years old we moved from Delmas to Veillardville, Saskatchewan, where we lived for approximately ten years, leaving for Ontario and settling in Tillsonburg, in the fall of 1938, then on to Hamilton in about 1941 and going into the Army in late 1942. I then trans-ferred to the Navy in late 1944 and was discharged in late spring 1946 from Toronto, Ontario, naval base. Perhaps, before going on, I should reflect a little on the past.


Needless to say, at four, Delmas was rather limited in memorable experiences, but a few things that come to mind are: the two-storey white house which had a cistern, a danger area; Martin mixing up some sugar and dry cocoa and having me eat some and almost choking; and Gene breaking his leg and the resultant warnings of what can happen if you climb chairs.


For some reason the trip from Delmas to Hudson Bay is a complete blank, but I'm sure there would be some interesting happenings along the way.


Veillardville/Hudson Bay Junction, to me, that was our home and still think of it as such. Although, needless to say, Brampton was and still is very important to us, what with four of the five children born and still living there and having spent most of my working years there. Paul, our oldest, and his family have been in Winnipeg since 1983. But many thoughts come to mind, during the ten-year period around Veillardville where all my schooling took place.


We left for Ontario, I think, in April. If we had stayed until the end of June I might have passed out of Grade 5. I can still hear one of the better and later teachers (the one from Vonda, Saskatchewan) telling the whole one-room school, No. 4269, all ten or eleven grades, in a moment of exasperation, saying, "Your whole vocabulary consists of 'gee,' 'gosh' and 'darn'."


The area softball teams were The Merry Makers and The Outlaws. What still puzzles me is where did the time and daylight hours come from. They played sometimes three nights a week - Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings - no artificial lights in those days. After, some of them went to pick up the mail from the 11:00 p.m. train and some of the players and friends lived as far as two or three miles away and everybody walked.


Chores, for me, involved bringing in the wood, helping with the chores in a limited way and, one winter while Martin and I were cutting 8-foot pulp on the quarter, southeast of Mor-rison's quarter, I almost got killed. While Martin was limbing and cutting to length, I was skidding the 8-foot long pieces of pulp to a loading point and, at 10 or 11 years of age not being too experi-enced, I hooked the chain too far from the end and while being skidded and not being a very large piece, the front end hit a low stump and the back end came up and over and just clipped my heel. Had I been just a little further back I would have been not only shorter but likely 6 feet under.