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OLD-TIMERS STILL IN BUSINESS IN PAISLEY

Here are two citizens of Paisley who have been in business
in the village for more than half-a-century.

Isaac "Ike" SHOEMAKER

Isaac Shoemaker came to the, village in 1894, and ever since has carried on a jewelry and watch making establishment. He served for several terms as a councillor, and from 1906 to 1911 as reeve, and in the latter year was chosen as Warden of Bruce, the first local man to be so honored. He,is a keen lawn bowler, and has been among the top skips in the district for years. Always civic-minded, Ike has been a strong supporter of every progressive step taken by the municipality and its organizations. He will be delighted to meet many of his old friends who are returning for the Re-union.

Donald "Dan" McKENZIE

Dan McKenzie was born in Branchton, Ont., and came to Paisley in 1869. Began his printing apprenticeship in Advocate of fine in 1878. After being employed at the trade in Galt and Toronto, and in business in Waterloo and Port Elgin, came to Paisley in 1892, and purchased The Advocates from the late Ainsley Megraw. He served as a member of the School Board for ten years, secretary of the Library Board, Board of Trade, Liberal Association, Caledonian Society, and many other organizations. Was organizer and president of the Horticultural Society for many years. Still going strong, and enthusiastic over renewing old friendships at the Re-union.

THE CARRIER BOY’S ADDRESS!

Written by John A. Murdoch,
and published in The Advocate in 1874;

Ye builders who work by plumb-rule and square,
And make your constructions substantial and fair;
The cities of earth must acknowledge your fame
And the ruins of ages but add to your name.

Devoted and watchful the merchant must be,
He trades on the earth and he trades on the sea,
He brintgs to his custom the fruit of all lands
And the wealth of the World is dealt by his hands.

Disciples of Vulcan - Your red iron bar
Is useful in peace and essential in war.
So long may each blacksmith keep nodding his nose,
And long may the anvil resound with his blows.

Prize taking McArthur - two Steels and two Reeds;
Buchanan who shoes a horse, physics and bleeds,
Road-making McGregor, in Council employ,
Descended direct from the robber, Rob Roy.

Brave, sons of St. Crispin! Your leather and wax
Is everywhere; present in somebody’s tracks:
Bluff Daddy Farr, who was first of the lot,
McKechnie, and Chambers, and old Willie Scott;
With Breakwater Robertson, McCormick & Co.
And last but not least, there is Barrie and Joe.

Messrs. Pinch & McDonald, and Shannon, whose rule
Is to barter in tinware and sheepskins and wool;
Do all kinds of work for all sorts of people,
Will make a lead coffin or shingle a Steeple.

Our Druggists, who labor with mortar and pills
To conquer and cure all humanity’s ills,
Are bachelors both, and the ladies appear
When seeking for husbands to hope for them here.

The jolly Hotels, where the husbands retire
In the evenings to smoke, by the bottle and fire,
To talk of election and drive away care,
And wander home late at the risk of their hair.

D. Fisher and Stark, mighty millers are they,
With dust in their whiskers and garments of gray;
May the mill stones in number continue increasing-
The sound of the grinding be fast and unceasing.

Laidlaw & Brothers have harvesters ready,
And face. the whole world with confidence steady;
May fire in the furnace be fierce in its glare-
The bell of the Foundry ring long in the air.

Fisher, and Mackey & Young must have made
A  pretty good thing of the sawed lumber trade.
Besides what they give to the builder and buyer,
The piles of their timber get constantly higher.

For Jewellers, and Bakers, and Butchers, our time
Is something ‘too short to give each one a rhyme,
But hoping next season again to appear”
We wish all our friends a most Happy New Year.

THE FLOOD

The old man river is rising,
He’s on the rampage once more,
The ice is rending with ominous cracks
Well knowing its power of yore.
The time ahead is an anxious time
Will it overflow or not?
Will it spit and crash and grapple
As dragons of old have founght?
Will the dams stand firm on their bulwarks?
Or the flood of waters be poured
Round the homes that stand in its pathway,
Like an unconquered rebel horde?
Then comes old Sol in his heaven;
In his 'soft quiet way he has won;
And lo! the snow and the ice blocks
Just disappear in the sun.
But it is not always thus
Sometimes rain comes instead,
The Waters rise and swirl around,
There are stormy times ahead.
Then pack up your precious belongings
Get ready to leave in haste
You know it’s the only thing to do
To prevent more trouble and waste.
While the water creeps up and up,
Bringing its dirt and its slime
In and around your home it seeps
Leaving all covered with grime.
In the basement fruit may be floating
A pig, upstairs, may reside,
A wash, while soaking, may float a mile,
Hens to the bed, may be tied.
Whatever the state of your holdings
All the same it is “home, sweet home”
But We’d like our beautiful rivers
Not so far from their banks to roam.

C.R.L.F

Queen Street North -1929 Flood

OUR CHURCHES

On the crest of a hill stood a church
Builded in plain Gothic style,
Each Sabbath day they Wended their way
Up the hill, with a ‘prayer and a smile.
At the bend of the Saugeen fair
Stood a house of God, through the years,
Proclaiming salvation by divine revelation
Life for death and faith for our fears.
Nestled the green trees among,
Where calm and beauty prevail
In this quiet nook, the World they forsook,
To worship the God of the dale.
While right in the centre of life
Inviting all men to its doors,
With insistent call, to come one and all
While the gladsome music outpours.

C.R.L.F.

THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE

The old swimming hole! Which do you mean:
The one back of the Fall Fair grounds?
Or the one that was under the Saugeen bridge,
Or the one that was out of bounds?
Or maybe you mean the one
At the back of Stark’s flour mills?
Or the one way down by Rae’s bush
At the foot of the highest hill?
The yarns that were swapped were a caution,
You can many still recall
As you toast your toes at the fireplace
And wander down memory’s hall.
So here’s to the good old swim hole!
May each decade of boys
Regale themselves, as we did
And capture all of its joys!

C.R.L.F.