Winky #2 - The Balharries

Let me preface this entry by saying that none of the following comes from my own experience. I didn't know the Ottawa relatives until I was brought into their orbit on an airplane at age six. I don't remember the names of the relatives nor do I remember their children. I was a foreigner in that family. I never stopped feeling foreign in their midst. I did have a sense of belonging with my grandmother, whose love embraced me. My Uncle Ken filled me with awe and wonder. He took time to show me the natural world and he was young enough to be approachable.

Winky#2 Was a beautiful grey, Persian tabby cat that my grandma adopted to take my mind off the Winky we left in Holland. Since we were living in Ottawa at my grandparents house after our arrival, Winky #2 was moved in as a kitten. He immediately adored Grandma and ignored me. He became her cat. Though cute, he certainly couldn't replace my Dutch Winky. It was not difficult to leave him behind when my parents moved me to Montreal six months later. The KLM office was operational and my father found us an apartment that had an outside back staircase that I recall liking.

We were not supposed to have pets, but we were soon adopted by a stray, jet black tom we named Ebony. At first he slept in a nice house on the back balcony that my dad made. He came into the house to eat. Eventually, he came in to rest from his tom cat adventures. Ebony had a home and I was happy.

So let me set the stage for my Canadian life, with an introduction to my mother's family - the Balharries. Her grandparents came over from Scotland with three sons and a daughter. They started a modest bakery and shop in Ottawa and as their children grew old enough, they all helped in the business. My mom's father was James (Jimmy) and he was the delivery and counter man. He set out daily with horse and wagon to deliver bread, pies and baked goods to the many households on his route. He had a jovial demeanor and was well liked by his customers.

One customer in particular liked him a lot. She caught his eye, because she was an elegant dark haired beauty who was the daughter of a genteel English widow, poor but with "pretensions" (his words, not mine). Florence Gilchrist had a musical education and was quite well known throughout the Ottawa Valley as a Church soloist. She made a modest wage as a guest soloist, performing in different churches. She was blessed with a rich clear soprano voice and a very poised delivery.

The voice I remember, was no longer so rich and clear. She was much older by the time I entered her life, but she still carried a tune well and loved to sing and play the piano. She had a vast repertoire of really "old" oldies that I would learn to sing with her, like: "Bird in a Gilded Cage", "Dinner for One", "Rubber Dolly", "Always in the Way" and an assortment of popular hymns. To this day I can sing "Jerusalem", "Onward Christian Soldiers", "The Old Rugged Cross" and the"23rd Psalm". Alas, I can only remember snippets of her popular classics which Maya and her friend Tracy fondly called my snippet collection. They made frequent requests to hear my snippets when they were kids. So Grandma remains in the old songs.

My grandfather married my grandmother (even though her family was penniless) and they started a family. The first born was Watson, the wunderkind architect. Next came Florence, nurse and my mother, and "surprise" thirteen years later Ken was born. He had a twin, but his sister Claire didn't survive. He was and continues to be an award winning nature photographer.

Over the years, the family bakeshop had grown into a very large bakery business with many drivers and routes all over Ottawa. By the time I came into their lives, the Balharrie Bakery was a a household word in Ottawa, a huge success as were the Balharrie heirs. My grandfather's older brother Jack was elected Mayor of Ottawa, his sister Jessy married very well and my grandfather and his brother Dave ran the family business. The Balharrie men were Masons and community leaders. Being canny Scots, they were very thrifty and became wealthy. When his father died, Grandpa decided to sell his share in the family business and become a mortgage lender. This permitted him to be home most days to survey his domain and oversee my grandmother.

She, the happy church soloist had abandoned her career because her husband believed her place was in the home. Traveling around the countryside singing in Churches and meeting heaven knows who, was an unnecessary frivolity. So she retired from the sacred music scene, raised her family and modestly remained in the background except during the years my Great Uncle Jack became Mayor in the late thirties. His own wife was homely and painfully shy, so my grandmother was deputized as the official hostess for the Mayor. She loved people and had the style and poise that made her a natural hostess. Even my grandfather had to agree to let her assume the first lady role. So Grandma did get to spend a few years in the limelight, "putting on airs" as my grandpa described it. That was the last opportunity she got to put on airs because she was grounded for good after that. Her hostess skills were directed inward toward family only.