We’ve all written them – letters to Santa Claus. Whether we lived out in the country, in a village, a town, or even a city, we all sat down with a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote to jolly old St. Nick, asking for that special toy, dreaming that we’d find it under our tree on Christmas morning.
“The Perth Courier” began to publish some of these letters to Santa, and for many years, in the month of December, we could discover what the local children were hoping to receive, from the man in the red suit.
Here are some of the best letters, and maybe you’ll even see your own!
Sometimes we needed help from an older brother or sister
to make sure that our letters were written as clearly as possible!
Sent to the North Pole
We also had to make sure that we wrote the correct address for the ‘North Pole’ and walked it down the lane, and set it carefully in the mailbox!
1981 Letters to Santa
from “The Perth Courier”
…..and some of the letters were from rural kids.
These ones are from Glen Tay:
This young boy even admits
to being a little bit bad!
1983 Letters to Santa
….and from the kids
at Drummond Central:
…and some more letters to Santa
from Glen Tay:
…and little Debbie even included
a lovely sketch for Santa:
1984 letters to Santa
1983 letters to Santa
from the Perth Daycare Centre
Many of us recall the column called ‘The Private Eye’, and some of the interesting tidbits of news from around Perth that was published each week. In December of 1983, some of the wee tots at the Perth Daycare Centre wrote to Santa, and the Private Eye had a few favourites!
……………………..
Another letter to Santa found in a battered old shoe box, many years ago, written by a little girl, who only wanted one thing for Christmas…
Dear Santa: I live on the Third Line, not far from Christie Lake. We live in a red brick house, between Glen Tay and DeWitt’s Corners. I hope you can see it from the sky on Christmas Eve. It’s right across the road from George and Merle Korry’s farm, and between Perkins’ and Mitchell’s farms. I have been very good. I got a sticker this year from my Sunday School teacher, Betty Miller, for good attendance, and I try to be good at home, and sometimes I help my mother in the kitchen, and help Dad outside when he needs me. I would like a Beautiful Crissy doll please. She has long red hair and an orange dress. Please bring a Davey Crocket hat for my brother Roger, new skates for Judy and Jackie, and some books for my brother Tim. I will leave some carrots for your reindeer.
……………..
Always remember to leave a nice snack for Santa. It’s a long night, and he works very hard.
…….and guess what the little girl found under her tree Christmas morning?
…..the doll she asked for in her letter to Santa!
A reminder to all of us that Christmas Wishes really do come true!
………..
L to R: Jackie Stafford, Arlene Stafford, and Judy Stafford – 1963 at the Stafford house, 3rd Line of Bathurst Township, Lanark County
…and whether you’re young, or not-so-young, whether you write a letter to Santa, or just look up into the clear winter sky, and wish on a star,
Always believe in the magic of Christmas!
…
Arlene Stafford-Wilson
Honorary Life Member, Lanark County Genealogical Society
Lanark County Pioneer Families Humanitarian Award 2023
Member, Association of Professional Genealogists
Author of : “Lanark County Christmas”, “Lanark County Comfort”, “Lanark County Collection”, “Lanark County Calling”, “Lanark County Classics”, “Lanark County Connections”, “Lanark County Calendar”, “Lanark County Chronicle”, “Lanark County Kid”, & “Recipes & Recollections”
…and “Lanark County Kitchen: A Maple Legacy from Tree to Table”
The old-timers said that her name was Mary, a good Catholic girl, from Ferguson’s Falls, who lived just down the hill from the church; but there’s no one left around anymore who knew her. They say she died at home, alone in her bed, a photo of Jimmy clutched in her hands. She never married, although there was always an abundance of interested young lads eager to spend time with tall willowy Mary, a porcelain-pale beauty, with flowing red hair, and the face of an angel.
Mary’s fate, you see, was sealed, the night she heard that her Jimmy was gone forever, drowned in the cold autumn waters of the Mississippi River. Her handsome young log-driver, killed in a log jam. Jimmy was her one true love, and she never got over his death, and couldn’t accept the fact that they’d never be together again.
Gates of Glass
It wasn’t long after Jimmy’s funeral at St. Patrick’s Church, that Mary began to walk along the banks of the river, sometimes in broad daylight, but mostly at night. Some say she was hoping to meet up with him again, and that she believed in the old Irish legends of the ‘gates of glass’. It was one of the beliefs brought from the old country – when the river was still and smooth, that spirits could pass between the two worlds, from our world to the world beyond, and back again. It was believed that the water became a portal, and the Irish called it the gates of glass.
Ferguson’s Falls, autumn, along the river
Mary’s walks along the river went on for many years. They say she was quite a sight at times, in her long flowing dressing gown, often late in the evening, to avoid the questions and the prying eyes, searching for a quiet place where the water was still, hoping to open the gates of glass and reunite with her beloved.
A Letter from
Christopher Forbes
From a letter written in 1923, by Mr. Christopher Forbes, of Perth, Ontario:
“The Phelan family live in this district. The name is pronounced ‘Whalen’, locally. James’ brother, Thomas, whom I knew intimately, died a few years ago. Regarding the James Phalen tragedy, John Smith of Lanark Village, an old timer and singer of the ‘come all ye’ type, wrote the words which I now enclose. He sings the Jim Whalen song with much pathos, and with that peculiar dropping off of the last word from a singing tone to a speaking voice. This style of finishing a song is used by sailors and shanty-men.
I was fortunate in meeting an old shanty foreman, Peter McIlquham, well known on the Mississippi River for over half a century, who told me he was present at Jim Whelan’s death.
It happened 45 years ago (1878), at King’s Chute, on the Mississippi River. Whalen was a river-man under ‘Old Quebec’, a French-Canadian, whose real name was Edward Leblanc. McIlquham was also a foreman on the river at this time. Both rafts of longs had come out of Crotch Lake by the river-men. McIlquham came to assist Old Quebec putting over King’s Chute. A dangerous and difficult jam formed in the Chute. ‘Old Quebec’, McIlquham, and Phalen were close together when the jam shifted, and precipitated Phalen into the water.”
May 26, 1876, p. 3, “The Perth Courier”
Gravestone of Jimmy Phelan, and his parents, James Phelan, and Margaret O’Brien Phelan, St. Patrick’s Cemetery, Ferguson’s Falls
The sign as you enter the village
St. Patrick’s Church and cemetery, Ferguson’s Falls, Ontario
The Ballad
of Jimmy Whelan
September 20, 1962, p. 8, “The Perth Courier”
Lost
Jimmy Whelan
Like the tale itself, there are two different authors given credit for writing the song – Tim Doyle, of Drummond Township, and John Smith, of Lanark. There was also more than one ballad composed, and the latter, “Lost Jimmy Whelan”, was written about his beautiful young lover, as she wanders beside the Mississippi River, at night, searching for Jimmy.
Lost Jimmy Whelan
All alone as I strayed by the banks of the river, Watching the moonbeams as evening drew nigh, All alone as I rambled, I spied a fair damsel Weeping and wailing with many a sigh.
Weeping for one who is now lying lowly, Mourning for one who no mortal can save. As the foaming dark water flow gently about him, Onward they speed over young Jimmy’s grave.
She cries, “Oh, my darling, please come to me quickly, And give me fond kisses that oft-times you gave. You promised to meet me this evening, my darling, So now, lovely Jimmy, arise from your grave.”
Slowly he rose from the dark, stormy waters, A vision of beauty more fair than the sun, Saying “I have returned from the regions of glory To be in your dear loving arms once again.”
“Oh, Jimmy, why can’t you tarry here with me, Not leave me alone, so distracted in pain.” “Since death is the dagger that’s cut us asunder, Wide is the gulf, love, between you and I.”
“One fond embrace, love, and then I must leave you; One loving farewell, and then we must part.” Cold were the arms that encircled about her; Cold was the body she pressed to her heart.
Slowly he rose from the banks of the river, Up to the heavens he then seemed to go Leaving this fair maiden, weeping and mourning, Alone on the banks of the river below.“
Although she’s been gone for many decades, some say they still see Mary, late at night, strolling along the Mississippi River, in Ferguson’s Falls, searching for Jimmy.
Along the Mississippi River, the Stumble Inn, Ferguson Falls – a spot where Mary’s been sighted numerous times over the years
She’s often seen in a long white gown, her fiery red hair cascading down her back, and sometimes she appears to be almost gliding ever-so-lightly along the shores. Is she still searching for that smooth calm water, that portal between the worlds of the living and the dead, to reunite with her Jimmy through the gates of glass?
Will this beautiful apparition in her flowing white gown forever be known as the Ghost of Ferguson’s Falls?
Arlene Stafford-Wilson
Honorary Life Member Lanark County Genealogical Society
Member Association of Professional Genealogists
Author of 11 books:
“Lanark County Kitchen”, “Lanark County Christmas”, “Lanark County Comfort”, “Lanark County Collection”, “Lanark County Calling”, “Lanark County Classics”, “Lanark County Connections”, “Lanark County Calendar”, “Lanark County Chronicle”, “Lanark County Kid”, & “Recipes & Recollections”
Read more about the life and death of Jimmy Whelan, and the stories of the beautiful young lady who walks along the river at night searching for her long lost lover.
arlene stafford wilson 