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The Quiet Man at the Table
He was in no way threatening and he never spoke, still it was a bit of a surprise whenever she saw him. Margaret walked downstairs to prepare breakfast and wondered if she would be alone or would she find the old man already there, reading his newspaper. Sure enough, there he was, sitting at the dining table, just like every time before. He looked rather ordinary, had wispy white hair, was immaculately groomed in his old-fashioned high-collared shirt and tie, and as usual, paid no attention to his surroundings. Ignoring the man, she went ahead and made herself coffee and toast. By the time she sat down to eat, he was gone.
It was some years later that Margaret’s daughter Teresa visited her cousin Rita to collect the McGrath family bible. There were several old photos pressed between the pages. As Rita removed them and spread them out on the table, Teresa exclaimed “that’s him, that’s the ghost that appears in our dining room” as she pointed to a dapper gentleman. Rita knew who it was. The man in the picture was Ned McGrath, Teresa’s previously unknown great grandfather and Rita’s much-loved and well-remembered grandfather. Teresa had never seen a photo of Ned before that moment. Both of the women were struck by the realization that the news-reading visitor had to have been the ghost of their ancestor who had died more than three decades earlier.
Was there something that Ned had left unfinished when he passed? Is that why he appeared multiple times, more than three decades after his death, to several members of that one family? Why was he visiting that particular home?
Would trying to reconstruct his life provide some answers?
Who was this man?
Could he have been more ordinary? A wanted poster describing the man would bring in far too many suspects: average height and build, light brown hair, blue eyes, high forehead, no scars, large handlebar moustache, neither armed nor dangerous. Well, let me tell you this man was anything but ordinary.
His given names were quintessentially Irish: Edward Patrick, but he hated formality and was known to friends and colleagues as Ned and to the family as Daddy McGrath. Sometimes, on formal occasions, he was E.P. McGrath. His parents had been born in County Kilkenny, Ireland. Ned hardly left Ottawa. Still, his family remained steadfastly proud of their Irish heritage through succeeding generations.
When Ned McGrath strode onto the floor at any gathering he seemed to stand much taller than his average height. His impeccable grooming, ramrod straight posture and that fabulous 'stache drew every eye in the room - whether it was a social event or a political assembly. His demeanour commanded attention and respect whenever he was in attendance, notably when he chaired potentially divisive meetings.
As Alderman for Dalhousie Ward, Ned was well-known and highly regarded within his largely Irish Catholic community of Mount Sherwood. His home on Lebreton Street was at the western end, but had not even been part of the city when the family had moved there. The McGraths were among the pioneer families in this area. Michael’s father had taken the daring step to relocate in the 1860s, when it was not yet divided into streets. The family worked tirelessly with their neighbours to implement progress in the district. Ned's gregarious nature, willingness to help everyone, deep liberal sentiments and devotion to family and community were legendary.
None of his siblings were comfortable in public, but Ned had such drive and determination to make life better for all, that he drew approval for many of his ideas and proposals. At several city elections over 25 years, Ned received a winning tide of votes for his platform to represent them as their Alderman. The citizens of Dalhousie Ward knew that they would always get a fair shake from this man despite any differences in race, religion, class or background. Second only to his family, his constituents were his top priority. His particular mission was finding employment in Ottawa for all residents looking for work.
His own children and the entire extended McGrath family looked to Ned for advice, and for help with household repairs or construction and especially for his knack of ensuring that everyone had a good time. He was always creating opportunities for fun, often with some sort of sporting competition. Participant or observer, you knew it would be a good day when Ned had done the planning. Life was to be lived and he gave his best shot every time.
Tragedies marred his too-short life almost from the time of his birth. His indomitable Irish spirit carried him through many dark days. In the final years of his life though, the accumulation of those tragedies took a terrible toll on his health.
Early Days in Lowertown
On was a warm summer evening in late July of 1864 the buzz of conversation on every doorstep in the lowertown neighbourhood was a sign that the local telecommunication system on Nunnery St. was working to capacity. It seemed that the whole street was enjoying the spell of great weather, sitting outside chatting for a bit before retiring. Family news traveled fast around Nunnery St. and rumours travelled even faster. Letters from Ireland were shared with all the neighbours, often because few of the locals were able to read. Once someone had heard a story it didn’t take long to get around. The population of the area was almost completely Roman Catholic and either Irish or French.
Their four older boys were finally asleep and Catherine glanced warily at two-week old Ned nestled in her left arm as she nursed him. She and Michael sat and talked over a cup of tea. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sleeping infant, taking careful note that he was breathing easily and had no fever. They had lost baby Thomas at the exact age that Ned was now, just last year. The latest rumour on the street was that the city was soon going to level their familiar neighbourhood to make way for some special projects. They had already moved from Baird Street which would soon be levelled. It didn’t sound like the changes were going to be much of an advantage for the McGraths and their neighbours. Being inhabitants of the poorest neighbourhood in Ottawa, they would be hard pressed to find another place to live. They talked about where they might move to and when they should go.
With a growing sense of urgency, Michael suggested they should move to Uppertown, just beyond the current western city limits, before they were forced to move somewhere they didn’t like. He knew a couple of men who had made the move with their own families and it seemed like a good place to be. The land was higher and farther from the river that tended to flood every Spring when the ice broke up. Their previous location had once been pretty much swampland so Spring brought plenty of challenges from the mud, even when the Rideau River didn’t overflow its banks.
Michael had been working long hours at as many different jobs as he could manage, leaving the responsibility for the boys and their tiny home entirely to Catherine. Having survived the Great Famine in Ireland and the difficult crossing of the Atlantic amidst illness, death and melancholy, they both knew what life could be like when everything you knew had to be left behind, Now they steeled themselves for having to leave familiar surroundings and uproot the lives of their children. Because of Michael's hard work and Catherine’s careful budgeting, they had saved a little money in preparation for a situation such as they now faced.
Map is of Ottawa circa 1855. Lowertown is the pink area and where the McGraths moved in Uppertown was just left of the blue area in the lower left corner.
Despite the mud on the unpaved roads, they had easy access to businesses and markets - the equivalent I suppose to today’s suburbs and their box stores and malls. By no means did that mean life was easy. But, they could buy meat and other provisions and access clean water sources. The area of Uppertown that Michael was considering would impose additional hardship on Catherine. They would be able to grow some vegetables in the summer perhaps, but finding everything they needed would be onerous. The nearest supply of provisions would be a long walk from home.
Uppertown - growing up with Canada
Canada was not yet a country and Ottawa had a population of about 7,000 when Ned was born. His father Michael was not a pioneer in the city but he would become one in the yet-undeveloped area later known as either Mount Sherwood or Ashburnham Hill. The central business area of the city, arguably the most modern part in every way, lay between Nunnery St and their new place, which wasn’t even a street yet. Making your way through the heart of Ottawa to the west, just past the city line, would be easy only for the first part of the move. The family had to prepare for hardship to come in Ashburnham Hill. They had known little else and were up to the challenge. But at least this home would be larger.
There really was no “town” within about one kilometre of their new location. Access was a challenge - even after they moved. Michael had found a property at what is now the corner of Booth and Willow Streets, a distance of 6 kilometres from Baird Street. The first few kilometres of their relocation were relatively easy with the family’s belongings piled into a borrowed horse-drawn cart. According to an account rendered by Ned many years later, the nearest street to their new home was Somerset - a good distance from their new front door. Michael had to carry all of their belongings on his back, from that street through what was essentially a cedar swamp. His sons did their best, but were too young to be of much help. Ned posed the biggest challenge as a baby who could not yet walk. By the time they moved in 1865, he was only a year old. Would Catherine have carried him or did they put him into the cart with the final load of their things?
Michael had chosen the neighbourhood well. This area would eventually be a new hive of activity and the hard work and cooperation among the neighbours brought some much needed initiatives. St Patrick’s Church, built for the Irish population in 1855, wasn’t far away and became a centrepiece in their lives. As the population of Ashburnham Hill increased, so did the clearing and building of streets and access became easier. In a few years it was a thriving Irish Catholic neighbourhood where everyone got along pretty well.
On July 1, 1867 Canada became a country. The centre of festivities was the land around the new parliament buildings, still under construction. Every neighbourhood wanted to join in the celebrations. Ashburnham Hill was the site of one of the largest bonfires around which all of the locals gathered. Imagine the excitement in the crowd. Lively children had to be watched as they sensed only excitement and not danger from the huge bonfire. Catherine would have had a hard time keeping a close eye on her curious 3 year old Ned, who despite not quite understanding why all the the noise and fun was going on, joined in heartily. His older brothers were asked to watch him too, but were more occupied with their own fun. Michael and Catherine looked after one year old Joseph Eugene as they enjoyed the party atmosphere. They had little time for fun with their home-made hockey line-up of six active boys.
The McGraths moved a few times within the community and stayed at 132 Lebreton Street until 1885 when Ned was 19 and had chosen his trade of carpenter. After a few temporary moves as their forever home was built, the McGraths settled at 146 Lebreton in 1893 and never left.
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