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Towards better days (1919 - 1928)
By Henri Bourgoin
In those days there were as yet no public or community halls
in which to hold dances or activities of any kind. All dances
and entertainment were held in private homes. It was the
custom then, at New Year's Eve, here and there in the countryside
for some people to get out with horses and sleighs to gather
folks and bring them to a home before hand appointed, to
dance and make merry.
Main street of Bonnyville, 1925
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One year, Gerard Mercier was
courting one of the girls at Pierre Seguin's farm house.
On New Year's Eve, he came there with his Ford Model A and
he hitched it onto Pierre's sleigh that was surmounted by
a double sized box called Tank and meant to be pulled by
four horses. In those days there were no antifreeze for
radiators. There were no snow tires; you had to put chains
over your tires. There were no snow plows like the ones
we have nowadays to keep the roads open. That year, on New
Year's Eve, luckily enough, there was not much snow yet
on the ground. Nevertheless, Gerard had taken the precaution
of putting two sets of chains on each hind wheel, for he
knew full well, as an expert driver, that his car would
need much traction to pull such a heavy load. Anyway, by
8:00 p.m., this outfit was on the way on the country roads
in search of people to fill the night with fun. The writer
was an invited guest and an avid witness of this healthy
exercise. Now, when the rounds had been completed and the
last of the revellers had been taken on, there were still
two miles to the appointed place. The vehicles with a total
of 28 passengers on board, stood on a slight incline on
a light cover of snow. Now, all wondered how the car could
start such a load moving. Well, Gerard Mercier, skillful
driver that he was, throttled the motor and gradually brought
the clutch to grip. At that, the wheels spun under the car.
There was fire under the tires as the chains grated and
flung gravel up in the air. But soon there was a feeling
of motion and our merrymakers were on their way.
The sailing, as it were, was good with the happy passengers
standing in the box and singing while holding on to the
sides. But after a mile's travel, they could spy in the
road ahead a curve and next to it, a goodly patch of bare
ground all in the moonlight. They became somewhat concerned
as to what might happen there, for the driver could not
reduce speed before crossing the bare stretch of ground.
As for the writer, he was aware that on the opposite side
of the sleighbox, there stood a lady upon whom Mother Nature
had lavished beauty in no uncertain delineation. The next
moment, upon entering in the road at a rather good speed,
the runners of the sleigh on the opposite side of the writer
left the gound and it seemed apparent that the whole load
was tipping over. At that point, the beautiful lady lost
her grip on the side of the box. She seemed to take to the
air and landed squarely and heavily upon the writer, pinning
him solidly on the bottom of the box. For him, for some
moments, there was no moonlight. However, the sleigh did
not tip over. With the momentum of speed it righted itself.
Soon the happy passengers reached their destination and
fell into open arms and New Year's kisses. Then the night
rolled on, and if one must speak the truth, it was spiked
with a bit of moonshine, since, in those days, there was
no government vendor in Bonnyville. In order to make room
in the house, the tables had been removed outside and the
people sat in a circle around the place and some took place
in the stair case.
Now Aldege Marcoux started circling around the gathering,
singing a forceful complaint about the terrible toothache
that his "tusk" was causing him, while Pierre
Seguin accompanied him on his round, introducing him in
cute and fanciful gestures to each guest in turn. Lucien
Seguin enlivened the evening and attracted the admiration
of the onlookers with expert stepdancing to a lively tune
on the violin. Aldege joined in the stepdancing. He was
a stoutly built man but he was agile as a fairy. His nephews,
Ernest and Anselme took turns at fiddling the fiddle. Pierre
sang a song addressed to his wife entitled "Ma Lizette."
The old gramophone played while Casimir Chatel ate peanuts.
The old instrument seemed to have played the same record
all night, a waltzing song entitled "Might Lak' a Rose".
By morning the needle had worn through the grooves of the
record.
Occasionally the revellers were called upon to choose their
partners for a dance. It could be a waltz, a polka, or a
square dance. The latter was a lively dance that required
a good caller. Joe Sequin sang a song of the lumberjacks
going through Ottawa in spring time on their way home after
the winter spent in the lumber camps. The words of the refrain
were these; "Let the roughmen all go by, All gone by,
Bang! Bang! At the break of day, the tables were brought
in and set, and breakfast was served. Following this, the
revellers were returned home by Tank and Model A to do their
chores, to catch a few winks of sleep and reflect on the
joyous moments of that happy night.
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