I have not been posting sections/chapters of the story of Ned in chronological order nor necessarily in the order in which I expect them to be organized in the final product. This section was very difficult to write - or more particularly to read aloud, just to myself. I would welcome suggestions for removing some of the duplications that are in the text. The family referred to the place as Long Island, although it is actually Nicholl's Island. Just how much do I have to explain of that? I am not satisfied with how I've handled that aspect here. Is it important? My audience is the family and they all know what is meant. It is based on the stories I've heard all my life as well as the extensive newspaper coverage of this event. My mother, Rita, was just a child of 8, and my grandmother was Aggie. This marked them for the rest of their lives. I have yet to mark the illustration of the geographical features which depicts the area in a time a few decades before the story occurs.
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The deluge continued as Ned sipped his tea and waited for the friend who would drive him, and his sister Mary Killeen, to the train station. Minnie had been away for two weeks visiting her sister in Montreal and Ned was missing his better half. Nanny and Daddy McGrath, as they were known to the family, were the king and queen of their summer camp at Nicholl's Island. It wasn’t far out of town, just below the Long Island locks a couple of miles from Manotick. Instead of spending the weekend at the camp with the rest of his family, he had decided to join his wife in Montreal. His sister Mary Killeen had asked to go along and of course her company was very welcome. They were taking the train on Friday afternoon. By dinnertime he would be reunited with Minnie at her sister’s home. The awful weather did nothing to dampen his spirits at seeing his beloved Minnie again.
The land around the McGrath family summer home, called Camp Fay, teemed with children all summer long. Most were the grandchildren of Ned and Minnie, or of other McGrath cousins and friends. The chatter, laughter and occasional cries and protests echoed across the flats. That was the grassy area in between the cottages. Friday July 22, 1927 had been exceptionally quiet, at least outdoors. It had been raining since early morning and to their mothers’ chagrin, the many children were confined to the indoors. The cottages were anything but spacious because almost all the fun happened outside. Mothers and children moved to the camp when school finished for the summer. Fathers stayed in the city for work, but motored to the enclave every weekend. It was always called “Long Island” even though it was on Nicholl’s Island. Although their chores didn’t magically go away for the holidays, some just seemed more fun because there was always someone to help out. After all, the sooner the work was done to their mothers’ satisfaction, the sooner they could resume swimming, boating, playing baseball or tennis, or whatever other amusements they enjoyed.
Laundry was done in large tin tubs and the clothes were sloshed around with a large plunger. This looked like a giant inverted funnel, attached to a broomstick. Holes were cut in the narrow end of the funnel portion so that air could escape as the plunger was moved up and down repeatedly in the soapy water with the dirty clothes. With kids taking turns it was one of their games. Gathering brush for the Saturday night campfires meant being away from Mama’s watchful eye for a little while, and maybe taking a little while to pick and eat the wild raspberries. If you found yourself with any spare change, you might sneak in a visit to the tuck shop. None of that happened this day. Reading or board games or getting into mischief were the only options.
Young Frances looked out the window at the rain and fretted. “Is Papa ever going to get here?” Alice glanced at her nine year old daughter, her only child. As she stood in front of the large wood stove and stirred the fragrant simmering stew, Alice replied “Of course. He’ll be here soon". Dipping a large wooden spoon into the cast iron pot, she brought it to her lips for a taste. “Just right” she mumbled to herself and smiled. It would be perfect to feed the large crowd on the cool weekend ahead. Frank would be arriving soon. Alice and Frances were spending the summer at the camp. Frank worked on their own cottage nearby, when he joined them every weekend. It was just a frame now, but with the help of his brothers he hoped to finish it this year. Allan would also be arriving with his friend Gordon Belot, recently engaged to Lena McGrath, their sister.
Ned and Minnie's cottage as seen from the river.
Friday’s heavy rains had dampened the enthusiasm, but just a little, as the McGrath boys made their way to their summer camp, only 13 miles from home. Unlike most weekends, the head of the family was not there. Ned and Minnie were in Montreal.
Frank, along with his wife Alice and daughter Frances, were staying at Ned and Minnie’s cottage named Camp Fay. Younger brother Allan, his fiancee Hilda Little, older sister Lena and her fiance Gordon Belot were at the camp too. The whole family was looking forward to celebrating two weddings that fall. Allan and Lena’s weddings were just months away. No doubt that would dominate the conversation over dinner, as it often did that summer. Although it was late July, this was Allan’s first weekend there that year. He preferred to spend his free time in the city with Hilda but had missed the great family weekends. The McGraths had been spending summers at Long Island since the children were very young.
Frank and Allan’s older sister Aggie Sunderland and her children Gilbert and Rita were just a stone’s throw away in their cottage when Frank’s group arrived. Aggie’s husband Harry was not due to arrive until Sunday afternoon. Rita waved to her cousin Frances, from the large porch of her parents’ cottage.
Taken a few years later, from the porch of Ned's cottage looking at Aggie's cottage. The grassy area is part of "the flats".
They had had little chance to play outside during the day because of the rain. Staying dry was better than getting soaked and catching cold, according to both of their mothers. They had all weekend to be together. Maybe Saturday would be sunny and dry.
Some of the McGrath family at Camp Fay. On the left is Eddie McGrath. Frances (l) and Rita are in the centre of the pyramid. This photo was taken about 3 years after the story. All of those in the pictures were at the camp on July 24, 1927.
Across the flats, Bea and Billie and their six children were in their own cottage. It was Bea’s fondest wish that the sun would come out in the morning so her rambunctious group could get away from each other for a while. Being able to run around outside would burn off all the extra energy that had them almost bouncing off the walls. The same scene was being replayed in all of the cottages nearby. The men spent the work week in Ottawa working at their various jobs, returning on Friday evenings. The women and children spent the whole summer at the camp. Everyone hoped for good weather tomorrow after a day of pouring rain with the kids underfoot all the time.
Alas, the rain was even heavier on Saturday and the children were stuck indoors again. Used to being outdoors with their cousins, they were growing bored. By Saturday night, with no chance of the regular bonfire, the mood of the notoriously boisterous group was subdued. It was another early night for the whole crowd, with the mothers especially praying for an end to the rain.
Sunday July 24 dawned a little on the cool side but it wasn’t raining so the outdoors was a playground once again. Everyone agreed that a large bonfire would be the perfect ending to the weekend. Bonfires were a Saturday night ritual but it had been too wet last night. The mostly dry day on Sunday just increased the anticipation. But they needed more wood for the fire and to fuel the stoves, used not only for cooking but for keeping the cottages warm and cosy on the recent damp and chilly nights.
They needed enough dry kindling to get the fire started and even the little kids pitched in with that chore. Adults were left to find and retrieve large logs that would burn well when chopped into shorter lengths and split into smaller pieces for the stoves. Walking along the road leading to the camp, there was always a lot of brush and small branches to be collected. Dragging a large bushy branch down the road to the point, where the pyre would be built, was not considered a job, but more of a game. Not too far up the road where the brush was plentiful, was a large patch of wild raspberry canes and part of the ritual in late July included a little side trip to pick yourself a tasty snack. As the day was cool, the young collectors were wearing long sleeves and long pants so they were protected from the prickly berry bushes.
Allan (l) and Frank on the bank above the back channel.
Frank, Allan and Gordon volunteered to check out the banks along the back channel in search of firewood. This channel starts at the north end of the island and separates it from the Prescott Highway on the mainland. At the other end of the island, the channel connects to the Rideau River above the locks. From the dock, they could see the Long Island Locks and the dam a few hundred yards away. There was no wood to be found on that side of the island. Between the channel and the river dammed above the locks, is a descent of about 15 feet. The resulting waterfall was called the Bywash by the locals.
View from above Nicholl's Island. The Long Island Locks are on the left and the dam is easily see. This was before the road was completed across the dam. In the upper right you see the split of the water and you can just discern the wooden bridge which crosses the Bywash.
Because of the recent rain, the river was unusually high above the dam beside the locks. Rather than risk an overflow which would have covered the road and blocked access to the cottages, the sluice gates on the Bywash were opened by removing a couple of the huge squared timbers. The waterfall looked quite splendid but it did cause the slight eddy below the falls to become a raging dangerous whirlpool. This was a regular occurrence but only the lockmaster paid a lot of attention. He did his job controlling the flow so well that nobody worried about flooding in the summer. Children knew, on pain of severe punishment, to stay clear of this place. The sure-footed among them would sometimes climb down from the bridge among the large rocks, but everyone had a healthy respect for the water.
The Bywash from the Long Island side. You don't see the stacked logs which have been removed to allow full flow of water as it would have been on July 24, 1927.
The three men set out about 11 o’clock in the flat-bottomed rowboat, to collect whatever logs they could find. Some would be used for the bonfire and the rest would be stored for use in the wood stoves. The channel is fairly narrow and not very deep. There were rocks along the shoreline which was overgrown with trees. The three men were spotted shortly afterwards hauling the boat back into the water after loading some logs. Later they were seen again, closer to the Bywash, piling wood into the rowboat which had been drawn up on the shore. The oars had been removed from the oar locks to make more room for the logs. This is the last time the men were seen alive.
About three p.m., several people noticed a rowboat overturned on the rocks near the eddy. One of them was Lena, but as it was not uncommon for a rowboat to break loose and float off, they thought nothing of it. They were not close enough to recognize the small craft and almost everyone owned a similar boat. At that point the men were very late for dinner but nobody was especially concerned.
By five p.m. there was general anxiety as the men had been expected hours earlier. Without a word to anyone, a worried Aggie set out to walk along the back channel in search of the men. When she spotted the overturned boat, she recognized it immediately and gasped as she knew what that meant. When she regained her breath she was able to walk to the closest cottage where she was given a glass of water. When she had recovered enough, she recounted her discovery and was able to summon help. The lockmaster’s daughter heard the call and ran for her father. He immediately put in stop-logs to lessen the flow of water and calm the whirlpool. Within a short time the family had begun to gather near the Bywash and there was no doubt in any mind what the outcome would be. The women in the family were persuaded to return to their cottages but the men remained for the recovery operation.
Men from the family camps tried to fashion hooks to search the water for the bodies but were unsuccessful. Police were summoned from Ottawa to drag the channel with grappling hooks. Allan’s body was the first to be recovered around 7:30 p.m. Gordon Belot’s was found about 30 minutes later. After another 20 minutes, they recovered the body of Frank. All three were removed from the water and laid out on the shore. The land was quite steep and as the water began to rise again, the bodies had to be moved up the incline. It took quite an effort but they were all moved to the top of the bank. A doctor was called from Manotick a few miles away and he pronounced the men dead. McEvoy Brothers funeral home removed the bodies to the city.
Exactly who had the terrible task of notifying Ned and Minnie, is unclear. The Ottawa Citizen reported that their elder brother Eddie telephoned the news and the Ottawa Journal claimed that the sad duty fell to Ernest McGrath, a cousin. Ned and Minnie returned to Ottawa on a late train from Montreal and were met at the station by family members. They managed to contain their grief and a newspaper report stated that they seemed to be bearing up well. They were absolutely crushed at the loss of their two youngest sons.
There was also a conflict in reporting the swimming skills of all three men. The Ottawa Journal said that Allan was a strong swimmer but Frank was not. The Citizen, on the other hand, described their father pointing to a “handsome mirror on the wall of the living room” as a swimming prize that Frank had recently won. But no matter the level of their swimming skills, they would never have overcome the pull of the turbulent dangerous eddy. Once caught in the vortex there was no escape. Exactly why they were so close when they were well aware of the danger is not known. Speculation was rife and to this day there are likely still several family theories. No eye witnesses saw the tragedy unfold.
The grief was palpable in every household. No words could express its depth. Disbelief slowly changed to horror and then reality hit with terrible force. The whole party became silent as they packed up and returned to the city. Every cottage was dark that night. Alice McGrath, Frank’s widow, was completely overcome and under a doctor’s care. Her reaction was so severe that many feared for her health. Little Frances was consoled by Aggie’s family. The day of the funeral, Tuesday July 26, Alice collapsed again as the two hearses set out from the family home for the slow drive to St Patrick’s Church. The twin hearses drove side by side, followed on foot by Ned and his remaining son Eddie for the most difficult walk of their lives. The crowd that walked behind the grief stricken family was huge. They filled the church to beyond its normal capacity. Following the service, the procession drove to Notre Dame cemetery where Frank and Allan McGrath were laid to rest in the family plot, beside their grandparents.
The terrible day continued in the afternoon with the funeral of Gordon Belot. Imagine having just buried your two younger brothers and then having to go to the funeral of your fiance. Lena remained strong, possibly still in shock, and managed to get through the day with the support of her family. All of the McGraths attended Gordon’s funeral and burial. There’s no comprehending that much sorrow.
That evening the family, completely exhausted, were all together, back at home on Lebreton Street. They had each other for support and were relieved to finally be alone, when there was a knock on the door. Exhausted beyond words, it was only with great effort that someone went to see who it was. To their great astonishment it was the Prime Minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King. He had come to offer his condolences in person.
Ned had been a well known Liberal for his entire adult life. He was a past president of the Ottawa Reform Association and remained an active member of the group which promoted the Liberal platform and ideals at every opportunity. He had represented the group seven years earlier when he made an address on their behalf, to the Prime Minister, recently returned from a trip across the country. Ned must have made a very strong positive impression on the Prime Minister. Still he was very surprised when Mr King showed up at the family home. They were very impressed and very appreciative of this gesture.
Article from the Ottawa Citizen, July 27, 1927.
Ned and Minnie coped with their loss stoically for a few years, but the drowning of their sons took a heavy toll on the health of both. Minnie’s diabetes worsened with the stress and she eventually lost a leg to gangrene. She died of a sudden heart attack, at the cottage, one week short of four years later. Again Ned was not there at the time. The loss of his devoted wife claimed more of his strong spirit. He tried very hard to carry on and devoted himself to his family and his constituents, after being elected in 1931 as alderman in Dalhousie Ward. He had served in that position from 1907 to 1914 and felt that it might be his lifeline to serve again. Ned himself lived only 17 months after Minnie died. He fell ill on December 5, the very day that he was re-elected. Although he rallied briefly, he eventually passed away from pneumonia on December 29, 1932. His funeral was one of the largest ever seen in Ottawa up to that time.
