December 15, 1919

December 15, 2019

"Character is forged in the fire of adversity..."

It was the typical type of dwelling that had existed on frontiers for hundreds of years. It featured no modern amenities: no electricity, no running water or central heating. The little house was constructed of roughhewn logs chinked with clay to keep out the cold winter drafts. One thing that is was equipped with, however, was a telephone. And this was fortunate. Sometime on December 15, 1919 or perhaps sometime on the day before, Robert Hainsworth would nervously put the call in to summon the local physician, Dr. Locke, to come attend to his wife, Rebecca, who was about to give birth to their first child.

The weather, at least what we know about it from online records, was typical for that time of year. The high that day was about -12 C and the low -18 C. No further information beyond that regarding the wind or snow depth is available. It isn’t hard to imagine, though, that it must have been a bit trying as Robert and Rebecca awaited the arrival of the doctor who would need to travel the ten miles from Lacombe out to the little farm. I expect that the doctor would have had the luxury of a car; however a journey of that length on roads that were barely better than trails would have taken some time. I’m sure that the doctor’s safe arrival would have been celebrated, however not as heartily as that of the new baby, James William.

Few details beyond this are available. Whether it was a long and difficult birth or quick and easy we don’t know. There would have been no incubator, no emergency equipment, no assistants, save that of a nervous father to be. But with the confident skill of a young country doctor, James William came into the world.

The fight to thrive, when developed at an early age, provides a pattern for the rest of one’s life. No doubt, babies have been born in more challenging situations for millennia, however, when compared to the nature of modern birth and delivery, James’ arrival would not have been routine. Raised by parents who had just endured the horror of World War One, he would not be pampered or over indulged.

James lived a long and fruitful life, passing just shortly after his 88th birthday. He accomplished much and endured even more, the details of which will need to be told another time. Those who knew him well would remember his fierce determination, his principled demeanor and his desire to give back more than he got. Perhaps, given his humble beginnings this is no surprise. He grew up in a place and time that did not reward waste or idleness.

From my earliest recollections as a child, December 15, my dad’s birthday, would more or less mark the beginning of the Christmas season. The family would gather round. Dad would be presented with a practical gift such as socks or mitts and always his favorite treat: a box of peppermint patties. Someone would make a remark about the circumstances of his birth but somehow I never got around to asking any questions about it. I wish I had.

Anyway, today we will enjoy a peppermint patty and take a moment or two to honour you on this, your hundredth birthday! Remembering you, Dad!