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Cossall & Honest John

CHRISTMAS IN ENGLAND IN THE 1800's Christmas in our home always started 3 to 5 weeks before. First, there would be the pig to kill and that was a great time. A momentous affair having the pig killed. When the day arrived the pig killer came on the scene with all his appliances and if it happened to be a school holiday, then all the small boys with a sprinkling of little girls of the neighbourhood would gather to have fun, they would laugh and talk all the time the butcher was working on the pig (the pig pen was a clean one, built of bricks, was warm and was as good and better than lots of houses out here in Canada. The boy who was going to have the bladder, was looked up to as the hero, for when it was dried and blown up; then they would play football with it, "And its my bladder" he would say. When the killing was done and the pig cut up; and the sides put on the stone slabs to be salted and called flitches of bacon, afterwards to be hung up on the walls. How we as children used to enjoy such scenes. Well there was a custom in our neighbourhood when a pig was killed to send a fry as it was called to friends and relatives (kind of Potluck) The liver and kidneys were cut up and a little of each was put upon a plate; sometimes with a little sausage meat, covered with what is called the curtain. And then the REAL Christmas began. The women would make pork pies, mince pies, the pans were taken down from the top shelves, scoured and cleaned. The meat was cut and chopped and made ready. The children were all ready to give a hand and to be a nuisance in the way of the cook. How we used to enjoy watching the pastry being made, and the mince meat, with its fruits and spices all sizes of pork pies but all around from 2 inches high to 6 inches, and 2" to 4" across. Nothing like a good English Pork Pie for supper at Christmas. The mincemeat pies made in patty pans, scores of them made to be ready for the Christmas holiday. Then the plum puddings older they got the better, they were made for Christmas and some put away for Easter. We all used to stir the ingredients while it was being made, we really enjoyed it and always got a taste for helping. And then we had to wait in anticipation for 3 to 4 weeks to eat all the good things in store. Christmas Eve, we were always ready for bed, stockings hung, and tried to get to sleep as soon as we could. Downstairs and an older sister would decorate a piece of holly with all kinds of toys, we never had a big tree like in Canada. We never knew of a big Christmas tree anywhere, just a bunch of holly. Then we had a piece of mistletoe near the door for kissing under. First dawn of day saw us up and looking to see what we had in our stockings, then a tramping downstairs for breakfast. In my home Christmas day was kept same as Sunday. After breakfast and general rejoicing we attended Church services. My parents had been brought up in the High Church of the Church of England. We never missed Christmas day service for years. By the time we got home the meal of the day was ready, table filled with all the good things that had been prepared, the table not only filled on its surface but all around it for we used to have quite a lot of company at Christmas time. Uncles, Aunts and cousins galore. It was always the day after Christmas day that we kept as a holiday. I never saw more than two cutters in our neighbourhood, one was owned by Dr. Forbes, a Scotchman, the other by Mrs. Barber a French Canadian.

The house in which I was born in 1873 stands along, with a nice garden in front, and is at the west end of the Alms Houses, its roof was of red tiles. Cossall itself is beautifully situated. A very pretty little English Village overlooking a valley, its long winding land, detached houses, and scattered farm houses all over. In the country villages you see a few 3 storied high houses, the front of the top story is full of small window panes on lights, the reason --up there the people had their stockings frames, but when machinery came into force, the stockmers loom shuttle had to go. I'm sorry now that I didn't examine them more carefully. I don't know what became of my Grandfather's furniture. I only know of one piece it was a very old piece and antique. It was called drawers, but more in the form of a grand piano. It was a little over 2 ft high and about 3 ft broad and 8 or 9 ft perhaps more long. Stood on 4 legs. My father was a good workman, fearless where danger was, both moral and physical. If he had emigrated, he certainly would have made his way in a new country. When he was buried his friend the Rev. F. Hart, Rector of Kimberley said over his remains, here lies "Honest John". At all times of the night he would be aroused by somebody throwing pebbles at the window to waken him and in and instant he would be out of bed, his clothes on, and away he would go to superintend a big fall of rock in the mine. (The first thing the manager would say --"go and fetch Jack Syson" he would be away from home in the mine for 48 hours at a stretch, his meals would have to be sent and mother would sit up wretched until midnight and the early hours of the morning waiting for him. (He would be then about 45 yrs old) Sometimes he would be wet because water poured down on the men while at work. Some of the work was so dangerous, only a very few would do it and father was always one of them. Such as working in a shaft over 1000 ft deep, building the iron curbing to stop the flow of water, standing on a single plank in such a abyss of blackness, single miss step and death. He told me that one night his partner, Ike Wheelacre came drunk, they were lowered as far as their work and all they had to stand on was a single plank, which reached from side to side in the awful darkness. Ike walked the plank i.e. from one side to the other. At one time for years he was in partnership with another man, who was not so scrupulous as Father was, and so he always came out at the little end of the horn, They had 40 or 50 boys and men, 30 or more ponies working for them hauling the coal in the mine. Father has stayed in the mine from 6:30 am until 11 p.m. day after day, At least mother never knew when to expect him, it was only when he gave a cough to get the dust off his chest that she knew he was alive and near the gate. When other women and men were in bed, he told me of a narrow escape from death, late one Saturday night. (Unfortunately 2 pages are missing in his journal and we don't know what happened) Father was a first class skater, also the same as a cricketer, he used to captain the Cossall Club and the Awsworth Cricket Clubs and used to coach the Digby Cricket Club, he was a good bowler and a good batter. At the entrance of Cossall Church yard there is a tall monument to the 3 heroes, two of them fell gloriously wounded at Waterloo, the other returned, Dick Waplington, Tom Wheatley (came home) and Jack Shaw. This monument was erected through a benefit match (cricket) played at Beeston, Notts., between the Sysons of Cossall and the Doctors of Beeston. If forget who won. Father was a Sidesman and Churchwarden, a chorister at Cossall Church for years and a chorister at Kimberley for 40 years. While he was a Churchwarden, a peal of bells were hung, and there is a brass tablet on the church wall, near the west entrance to that effect and Father's name is on it. (Is this the one you saw Andy?) He was a good shot, he was a crack shot in the Cossall Company South Notts Hussars, or the South Notts Yeomanry. They went to drill on horseback for a fortnight or a month, he told me he quit, as he didn't care playing at soldiers. When they used to go up for their annual shooting, there were prizes given (silver cups). There was one cup the sergeant had set his heart on. Now father and all the young men of Cossall, there were not many of them so that they were all good friends and remained I am pleased to say right through life. Now this Sergeant, John Fritchley, told Father he would very much like the cup. Father rather than let John be disappointed dropped out and John got the cup and I believe it used to be in the Fritchley's home. Lord Belper was the Colonel at this time and he used to give a dinner (annual) at one dinner Father was incapacitated, had an arm in a sling, so he wasn't making head way eating. At the same time he was sitting near the Colonel, he noticed him and was very solicitous that he got sufficient, helped him to all kinds of meat, he said the Lord was a very genial sort of man, and chatted with all of them, no show at all. At this time also they had an officer in the regiment who was called "Hell fire Jake". He came from Bramcote Hall. I forget his proper name, he was a reckless daredevil, up to all devilment jumping over Parkwalls on horseback, anything that came in his way. Newton's Brig. There is a bridge over the canal at Cossall called Newton's Brig, in the Summer evening after the work was done, quite a number of men would congregate and spend the evening telling yard, big Aleck Syson would seem to be the leader of these big yarns, such as growing beans for railway sleepers, potatoes that were so big that they shoved the side of the canal out, and hanging manure up in the air etc.

RICHARD MACKLEY SYSON 1873-1958
Richard was born April 23, 1873 in Cossall, Nottingham, England. He was the eldest son of John (1843-1920) & Eliza (Ball). He had two sisters Sarah Ann & Martha and three brothers, Jesse, William & Edward. All he can remember of his mother was rubbing her painful legs. She passed away when he was nearly 5 years old. He was very fond of his step mother, Mary Ann Booth and wrote her regularly when he came to Canada. Richard was always musical and at the early age of seven was a Church of England Cathedral boy soprano and later organist on the pipe organ. His brother Jesse and he worked with a Church Lad's Brigade, Southwell Regiment at Kimberley, Notts. (have picture of group) When he was a young lad he fell in the canal and nearly drowned. An explosion many years before had hurled bricks into the canal. Richard managed to stand on his tiptoes on a brick and a servant girl, happened along, pulled him out. He had many narrow escapes from death during his 85 yrs of life. Such as coal mine, saw mill, farm accidents. His earliest memories were of shining everyone's shoes Saturday night in preparation for church the next day. The family attended church 2 times on Sunday and sometimes 3. He has written accounts of the early Christmas Days in England and mining experiences. His father John, became a self-trained geoglogist and his advice was always sought in connection of the sinking of new mines. 50 years he spent as a miner. At John's funeral they referred to him as "HONEST JOHN". Richard was a traveller at heart. He didn't care to spend his life as a coal miner and soon grew restless of such a life. He was a fantastic reader and speller. He was certainly well versed in any subject. He attended Nottingham School of Art and learned to paint boldly in oils. He then spent some time at a Bible School in Glasgow, Scotland in 1900. May 14, 1895, he and a friend, sailed to South Africa and spent three years near Johannesburg. He has written accounts of his experiences during those days. After returning to England he married Miss Florence Hall of Gedling, Notts on Jan 11. 1902. They had one son Thurston Hall Standish Syson born Dec. 11, 1902 at Awsworth, England. In 1903, the Barr Colonists came to Canada. These were green English men and knew nothing about farming. They were "trained" one weekend to milk cows and learn all about farming in the wild and wooly west. A wonderful picture of free homesteads was painted for them. Richard, wife and 5 month old son decided to come to Canada. The idea of owning their own land appealed to them. However, it was a tearful parting with their families. (Richard has a written account of the sad parting) He never got back to England to visit them again. But he wrote his family very faithfully. We don't know the name of the vessel they came across the Atlantic on but the conditions in 1903 were not the best. Many got sick on the ship. In Montreal it seemed like a foreign country. Everyone speaking in French made it rather confusing. By that time, he and Florence wished they could go back to their home land in England. He had a terrible time with the officials over the bicycle he had brought along. They traveled to Calgary, Alberta by train. The journey was long and tiring and they couldn't give the baby the attention he needed. From Calgary to Ponoka they traveled by train & oxen team. The road was a desolate trail and the oxen were straining and pulling for all they were worth. The land wasn't suitable for homesteading, so Richard worked at a saw mill and Florence taught some children in the neighbour hood. She died in childbirth leaving two year old Thurston. Friends took care of him until Richard (Dick) remarried. In 1906, Richard came to the Stettler district where he lived the rest of his life. Dec. 10, 1907 he married Caroline Hartt of Jacksontown, New Brunswick (she came from a line of Baptist ministers) She was a school teacher before Alberta became a province in 1905. While teaching in the area, Richard met her and she was willing to marry him and raise his little son, Thurston. Richard was one of the members of the early board of trustees of the Pilot Knob School and was active in the Baptist church work in Stettler and outlying districts in pioneer days and throughout his long life. At one time he was on a survey party and helped survey homesteads east of Stettler. "Syson" lake and school were named after Richard. He worked hard on his homestead driving oxen but found it difficult because he was "city bred". During the winters he would work in coal mines while Caroline fed and watered the cattle, and the rest of the year she taught in nearby schools. Their homestead house burned to the ground one night, they escaped with only a trunk and a few clothes for little Thur. Richard lost his valuable oil paints from England as well as the family photo albums. The English relatives must have given him more pictures as we have a nice collection. Caroline traveled back to New Brunswick to have her first child. Caroline had an aunt who was the first registered lady doctor in New Brunswick. She had faith that Dr. Secord would be of great help in the delivery, as Caroline was 40 yrs old. Florence Pearl was born Dec. 27, 1913 in the Hartt farm house near Jacksontown, N.B. When Florence was three months old they traveled back by train to the homestead north of Stettler. They had a little son Gerald who sadly died at 9 months of age in 1915. Caroline passed away with cancer, June, 1945. Following her death, Richard resumed his hobby of painting with oils. So after he was 72 yrs old he painted several hundred colorful pictures, which he generously gave to his many friends. Richard lived with Florence, Don and family until 7 months before his passing to his Heavenly Home, Feb. 22, 1958 Thurston took his high school in Stettler and also Acadia College in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. He spent his holidays with his grandparents in New Brunswick. He married Dorothy Kirkwood, a local school teacher, in 1926 they had one son, Kenneth born April 14, 1928. Thur enjoyed hunting, trapping and fishing and did a little farming. During World War 2, Thur was a lieutenant in the Calgary Tank Reserve. He was in the Honor Guard for her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth, when she came to the Calgary Stampede. He coached ball teams and was instrumental in arousing interest in the Stettler Rifle and Pistol Club in Stettler. In 1967 Thur and Dorothy sold their land and retired to their home in Stettler. Thur passed away October, 1974. Dorothy, as of 2000, is still alive and well in a nursing home. She loves to mention she is 97 yrs young. She hopes to be still around for the Syson Reunion planned for July, 2001.

A HARROWING EXPERIENCE written by Richard M. Syson One of the most terrifying times that I ever experienced in my life was while I was night shift boss in the big coal mine in England. By 9 p.m. all workmen had descended to the bottom of the shaft and had assembled in the office to receive orders. When they had dispersed to different parts of the mine, I took up my safety lamp and pick and went to where there was a big fall of rock. Which was exceedingly dangerous, for only the night before one of the men had been killed by a fall of the roof. When I arrived on the scene the men were setting up steel props and bars. For the roof was cracking and grumbling and bits of roof was falling. Everything had to be done quickly or else the roof would cave in so it was high tension work, and nerve splitting. First one would shout 'Hey look out there" and down would come a big lump of a wagon load of small stuff, enough to have buried those underneath. I said of one of the men "Well, what do you think of it? It looks like an all nights job, Jack. " We had better hurry up and get some props and bars set, it looks as if all the road is going to be blocked." he answered. Just then some of the steel bars began to twist and bend, we all make a quick move and got out as some tons of rock fell. The work was not only dangerous but very discouraging, the management wanted the road cleared and it could only be done at night. At midnight, we had our lunch and little could we see that we had done for our labour. "Well fellows, we've sure got to get moving or else we'll all get buried" we shouted and yelled to one another. All the while we were shoveling the rock into wagons and setting up props and bars as we proceeded. It was awfully slow work and the road wasn't cleared and time was drawing near when we should of quit. At 5: 30 a.m., I said," Well fellows gather up your tools and put them away safely and then we'll go." I then did a foolish thing. Instead of going with the men, I thought I would go and have a look at the other side of the fall. The fall had partly filled the road up but had left a big clearing space on top, so I climbed over the heap to the other side. Instead of being satisfied with what I had seen, I thought I would examine the road further on. In the mean time, all the men had gone and when they reached the office and delivered their safety lamps they did not mention to the man in charge that I was behind, expecting that I would show up any minute. After satisfying myself that the road was clear this side of the fall, I thought I would return and get as quickly as possible to the pit bottom. As I did so my light flickered out, and there I was one mile or more from the office. Having no matched because of gas in the mine, I was in a fix and knew it. I was glad when I could feel the rails that wagons ran on, for there were little bits dropping from the roof all the time which was the forerunners of big falls. I was feeling very uncomfortable, not knowing whether or not there was rock ready to fall on me. I followed the rails with my feet. The roof began to crack and pieces fell, so I edged up to the side and felt for a prop. I then stood by it and waited. Seconds were like minutes and minutes like hours and I dared not shift my position. All the time I was wondering when someone would be coming to see where I was, wishing all the time they would hurry up!!! The darkness and silence were really horrible, more than my nerves could stand, so I began to shout. I felt sure I should be killed if I didn't get away, for more of the roof began falling in bigger lumps then in heaps to the right and left of me. I could hear it thundering down and horrors if it got nearer to me. I could feel the post that I was standing by shiver and I thought it was falling over, but it stopped by another post in falling. The bar I was standing under, one end farthest from me caught on the floor and so remained at a slant. The rock fell but the bar and the post shielded me. I received some sharp cuts and bruises. Will they ever come? I had no idea of the time. I lapsed into unconsciousness. It was 5: 30 a.m. when the men left and it was 12 noon before it was found out I was missing. One of the day deputies happened to go into the lamp cleaners office and saw an empty hook and inquired where the lamp was and then found that the lamp had not been returned. They got to working to find me. They heard me moaning. It took the men 6 hours to dig me out. ! Thank God I was given another chance! (Richard immigrated to Canada in 1903 and mined and homesteaded there. He died in 1958 of old age.)

"Ronda M. Dick" carolejmdick@yahoo.com

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