Maternal grandparents

The story of my maternal grandparents, Mary Cate Reilly and Harold Gilbert Torrance, is one of secrets and lies. I don't mean to sound blaming or judgmental by writing that. They doubtless had very good reasons for hiding where they came from, not discussing it with their grandchildren. I have a few secrets and lies in my life as well. And, to be fair, there is one grandchild who may have known more about them than their two younger, being ten years older, but sadly she died before I--the only person in my family really interested in family history--could ask her. In fact, except for a cousin, all of my mother's side of the family, including my mother, died before I became interested in genealogy. 

My maternal grandparents died when I was young--my grandfather when I was 2.5, my grandmother when I was 16 and my mother a few months after my grandmother. Complicating matters, when my grandmother was alive she and my father had a falling out so I didn't see very much of her. I remember her as a very Victorian, regal lady, heavily corseted with Marcelled silver hair and usually wearing pearls. Think of the old Queen Mary and you have an idea of how she appeared to me. But unlike the dour Queen Mary, Grandma had a lovely smile and an Irish lilt in her voice. She lived in the lower level of a duplex on Pie IX Blvd in Montreal. She lived alone for a few years after my grandfather died until my mother's younger sister and family moved in with her. There was a front parlor with a piano and scratchy sofas and chairs; the lace curtains were always drawn so the light was diffused. I remember having to sit very still on the sofa, my short legs dangling, and listen to my cousin play the piano. I played the piano too but not nearly as well. A large fern stood on a pedestal in front of the window. The parlor opened onto a formal dining room with heavy oak furniture. I remember a bowl of hard candies that were in the china cabinet. (I have always had a sweet tooth.) There was a small kitchen and a long hallway with windows on one side that looked out onto an alley and three bedrooms on the other side. My grandparents' bedroom was at the end of this hallway. My grandparents had two chiming clocks--a grandfather clock and a grandmother that would chime slightly off unison throughout the night. And the bathroom--which was in its own little curved hallway--had a toilet with a chain and a huge claw foot tub. I did stay over at my grandmother's house a few nights and I remember feeling that the place was haunted. This was after my grandfather's death and, as he was a Spiritualist, perhaps some of that rubbed off on me. I still believe there ARE ghosts!

The only memory I have of my grandfather is of his being bedridden, probably the last Christmas before he died. I went to see him at the end of dinner and sat beside his bed very quietly. He pointed to the bottom drawer of a large chest. I opened it and took out an old teddy bear and sat there, holding it. I don't remember his saying anything to me nor I to him; unsurprising as I WAS only 2.5. Several years ago, after telling my cousin that story, she left the room and returned with that bear. She gave it to me and I treasure it although it is as hard as anything (stuffed with straw) and threadbare.

My grandmother was very active in the Catholic Women's League (CWL) in Montreal and served as President for several years. She helped immigrant women in the 1950s, after the Iron Curtain fell, settle in, find lodging and supplies. Several years ago I wrote to the CWL and asked if they had any information about my grandmother's presidency. The then-secretary kindly wrote back to me, including a stack of photocopied pages of minutes from meetings, photos of Grandma at various functions and a few memories from very elderly ladies about how gracious, kind and humble Grandma had been.

One funny story: in Grandma's day and in cold Montreal, women who could afford them wore fur stoles (sometimes complete with mink heads). Grandma had a nice fur stole which she would carry to meetings in a paper shopping bag. Once there, she would put it on for the meeting. When she left to take the bus back home, she would put it back into her bag. The lady reminiscing didn't supply a reason why so I am left to wonder whether Grandma was worried about someone stealing it from her or whether she didn't want to appear ostentatious on the bus. I look forward to asking her about it one day when I meet her on the other side.

Given the few memories I had and the fact that Grandma burned all personal correspondence, when I embarked on putting together a four-generation family tree, my mother's side of the family presented a huge challenge. My cousin didn't know where either grandparents had been born. Well, we both knew that she had been Irish because we always made a fuss on St. Patrick's Day. My cousin did, however, have an old clipping of my grandparent's wedding announcement from 1910 which noted that my grandmother's father's name was John O'Reilly of Ireland and that my grandfather came from Renfrew, Scotland. Reilly/O'Reilly is a name that is as common in Ireland as John Smith is in England. So I began with Harold Gilbert Torrance, reasoning that there couldn't be that many Harold Gilbert Torrances born in 1882 (knew his age when he died) in Renfrew, Scotland. Back then, twenty years ago, the only real way to do genealogy was to go to a Family History Centre, located in a Mormon church building in your local city/town, and ask for help. This I did and was introduced to the International Genealogical Index, a program that the Church (I myself am a Mormon) had loaded on its computers in the Centres. I won't go into the details of how it worked because nowadays you can easily get the same information on FamilySearch or several other genealogy websites. But back in 1994 it was a frustrating and tedious process.

I searched and searched for births of a Harold Torrance in Renfrew Scotland. No luck. I searched for anywhere in Scotland. No luck. I looked at five years on either side of his stated birth year. No luck. In desperation I decided I would look at births in England. And there he was, born in Lower Darwen, Lancashire! Once I had that, I wrote away for his birth certificate. I can remember the day it arrived, I was so excited! Finally, I not only had the names of his parents--Robert Torrance and Jeanne DuRussel but where they were born and what my great grandfather's occupation had been. Jeanne was actually from Switzerland and as more and more genealogical records have become available, I discovered that Jeanne and Robert met when he was a gardener and she was a nursery governess for a family in Liverpool. That shortly after their marriage they moved to the area around Lower Darwen where Robert continued to be a gardener. At some point they moved to Hoddlesden and hit on hard times. Jeanne died at aged 37, having had 8 children in 15 years of marriage. Several died in infancy  All of the surviving children worked in the local cotton mill from the ago of 10 on. 

My grandfather joined the East Lancs Regiment during the Boer War and went to South Africa. Somehow after his demobilization, he went to Canada with the British Reserves. He had attended military school and apparently had quite an aptitude for mathematics. He obtained a position with the Grand Trunk Railway in Quebec City where he met my grandmother. They married in 1910 and moved first to Joliette, then to Toronto and finally to Montreal where they remained.

Why Grandpa always maintained that he was born in Scotland is a mystery. I have discovered that my great grandfather came from Renfrew but as far as I can tell my grandfather never lived there. Unless he went there before he sailed to Canada with the Reserves. But he was born and spent his first 17 years in Lancashire so, really, it's a question that I will ask HIM because it made it very difficult to trace his family. Which may have been his reasoning. The little I know about Grandpa is that he was a very quiet, almost morose man. As I mentioned, he was a Spiritualist and would often shut himself away in his room to commune with the spirits. My great uncle, a no-nonsense Norwegian, apparently got slightly ticked off with Grandpa one day when Grandpa was complaining about his heart pains (he died of a heart condition.) Uncle Tom, usually so sweet and gentle, finally said, "Harold, if the pain is so great can't your spirit friends help you?" 

Grandpa had high expectations of both his daughters going to university (perhaps because his only education was obtained in the Army). My mother was too stubborn to pay much heed--she wanted financial freedom and a good time and, after attending Hochelaga College, took a secretarial position, but he bored down upon my aunt so that she took up a place at McGill University. Aunt Eileen was very clever but nervous and I believe only attended for one year; her father put too much pressure on her. She, too, ended up taking a secretarial position with the same company that my mother worked at. But I think he was also a kind man.  He was always willing to help Grandma with her church work. He, like my paternal grandfather, was a skilled carpenter and made several pieces of furniture. 

Just two years ago, I discovered the biggest secret of all in my knowledge of my grandfather's life. I had been unable to find my great grandfather's death in England. But never had I thought that he had actually come to Canada and spent the last years of his life (he died in 1928 at the age of 90) in Galt, Waterloo, Ontario. He is buried there. And his son, my great uncle, lived in Ontario with his children and grandchildren. We never knew about this side of the family. We never met them until, last year, I met my 2nd cousin, whose name is Valorie. It was a happy surprise but once again led me to wonder--why did we never know about Grandfather's family? Did the brothers not correspond? Was it something that was not mentioned because they were Protestant (and staunch Protestants) and my grandmother was a Catholic? I don't think I will ever know because certainly Valorie and her brother Ian never knew about us.

I did have a photograph of my great grandmother but, to my great sorrow, it seems to have disappeared. I really ought to go through all of those boxes I have in the garage, maybe it is in there. A few photographs of my grandparents are below. My grandfather was interested in photography and gave my mother her first camera when she was in her 20s. I have loads of photos but my mother was rather slapdash about labeling them. 

I have had very little luck tracing my grandmother's history. A 2nd cousin that I connected with shortly before he died provided me with his mother's birth certificate (my Grandma's sister.) That was a tremendous help. Grandma was born in a small farming area called Drumrush, Cavan. Cavan is a border province. In fact, when Ireland was divided, there was some discussion as to whether Cavan would be part of the Republic of Northern Ireland or Eire. It stayed with Eire but there are many monuments on both sides of the border to The Troubles and the deaths that resulted. When Grandma was born, however, in 1885, Ireland was all one country. A few years after Grandma was born, the family moved from Drumrush into the town of Belturbet, a few miles away. From the censuses I discovered that the family--10 children and parents--lived in a very small row house. Great Grandfather was a day laborer and two of the sons worked at the local Post Office. Grandma is not with the family in the 1901 census but I have learned that, as the oldest daughter, she probably would have gone to work in service when she was very young. It's possible she was in Cavan Town as there is a Cate Reilly there, right age. But it is a very common name and I really can't say for sure. She came to Canada in 1906 according to the 1911 census report and, family lore has it, worked for an aunt at a boarding house in Quebec City where she met my grandfather.

Grandma would never talk about Ireland. She told my cousin that she was glad to be in Canada and the past was meant to be left in the past. She was close to one of her sisters--Nellie. When my mother was only a few months old (Mom was born in 1912) Grandma sailed over to Ireland to visit. According to my cousin, Grandma was eager to show her firstborn to her mother. She brought Nellie back with her on her return and my great aunt lived with my grandparents until she met and married my great uncle, whom my grandfather had met at work. The sisters were very close even though they were night and day--Grandma fair haired and happy, Nellie dark haired and gloomy. Good thing that Grandpa married the happy sister and happy Uncle Tom married the gloomy one. Would have been sad to have two gloomy parents. Were the sisters two sides of the Irish personality? There was also a brother who moved to Montreal--I believe it was Patrick--but according to my 2nd cousin, he was quite a drinker so the two sisters had little to do with him. He didn't fit in with their gentility; they had shed all of the grittiness that I now understand their lives would have been like. They would, however, help his wife and children out from time to time and I have a vague memory of meeting cousins in a tenement building when I was about 8 or 9.

Grandma lived a contented life and on her 82nd birthday told my cousin that she had had a wonderful life and felt it was complete. Ironic because less than a year later she died after a routine operation. The doctors tried to keep her alive but Grandma insisted they remove all the tubes so that she could die in peace. Which she did.

 I sincerely wish she hadn't destroyed all her personal papers and letters but that's been my lot with my entire family, none of whom have left any personal writings.

Grandma and Grandpa as young marrieds

Grandma, Grandpa, my mother Jo (the child) and my aunt Eileen (the baby)

Grandma and her sister, my Auntie Nellie, outside of the house on Pie IX, Montreal