THE MUDDLE FAMILIES

THE LINEAGE & HISTORY OF THE MUDDLE FAMILIES OF THE WORLD

INCLUDING VARIANTS MUDDEL, MUDDELL, MUDLE & MODDLE

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List of Stories

October Inferno

There was no dawn to the beginning day. It seemed hard to believe that it was already the beginning of October; the last week had been hotter than in midsummer. Ernest rose, exhausted from a night in which sleep came in fitful starts. Worry, like the clouds of drifting smoke, which even now prevented the sun’s appearing, hung in the background of his awaking thoughts. Rising, reluctantly from his bed, he proceeded down to the kitchen, calling his oldest son, Rowland, just ten years old, as he went. He remembered that Rowland had promised to help a neighbouring farmer take in his crop of potatoes this day and he needed a good start. In this land of struggling pioneers, these potatoes would provide the basic supply of food on the table throughout the long winter ahead.

Ernest went about the daily chores, light the fire in the cook stove, set the porridge on to cook, make the tea for Maud, call Ethel and see to little Douglas in his crib, take up Maud’s tea. Since their marriage, eleven years ago, he had tried to soften the harsh culture shock of her leaving London, with all its customs and conventions, to join him in this primitive new life in the North by taking her this daily reminder of his love. Neither of them had slept well, for the last few days had been filled, not with the joy their young family usually brought, but with the uneasy concern that filled the minds of all the folk of this little town of Thornloe where he had been the Methodist pastor for the last year. On every side the fires set by the farmers clearing land for new fields seemed to creep around like circling wolves threatening the little town.

Ethel, their little girl of eight years came down first to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep and smoke from her eyes, then Rowland and finally Maud with Douglas in her arms. After breakfast, Rowland, dressed only in a light shirt and short trousers because of the heat, was off to the neighbour’s farm and Ernest strolled around the yard, looking with pride at the little church nearby and looking out anxiously to the surrounding fields to try to see if, in the smoky haze, there was any threat to the town from the encroaching fires. For the best part of this past week, he and the other men of the town had fought off the fires that seemed at times to come near their homes, each day wondering if they would be able to preserve them or if they would have to leave them to the flames. The smoky air stung his eyes, and blotted out the struggling sun.

In the kitchen, Maud busied herself baking the bread for the week, while Ethel, a helpful young ‘mother’ to her brothers, played with Douglas and ran errands for her. While the looming sense of disaster almost crowded out all other concerns, Ernest tried to give some thought to a sermon for Sunday, every few moments glancing out at the smoky haze in the distance.

After a cold lunch, Ernest went out to the edge of town to see if he could help those who were now fighting the fire about a mile away. Maud tried to gather up some things, her purse, pictures of their wedding, keepsakes from home, winter clothes, hoping to be able to save something should the fire threaten the house. Her mind wandered to Rowland, hoping he would be safe in the field at work. As the afternoon wore on, the smoke became an ever-greater problem, making breathing difficult, and stinging their eyes, so that each member of the family had to carry a wet cloth to wipe away the tears from the irritation. Thinking the sun had set, chickens went to roost, and the cow, tethered in the field behind the house, began to bawl to come in to the shed. To avoid his being afraid, Ethel sought to entertain her brother, Douglas, by playing with the new puppy, Rusty, in the yard in front of the house.

Heat, smoke, and fear hung over the little family almost as heavily as the great clouds which now began to fill the air. The tension rose with the fear and it became difficult to think of anything but the impending doom, which threatened the town and all within it.

All at once it seemed Ernest was at the door, fear and anxiety written on his face. “We have to go, it may be too late to save ourselves, the fire has gone out of all control.” The car, a new Ford Model T, stood in the drive, engine running where he had left it after his return from trying to fight the fires now hurtling toward town. The air seemed so hot it was as if it too was on fire. Ernest ran to untether the poor cow, leaving her to find her own route to safety, the horse, which was also loose in the field having already run to save its self. Maud grabbed Douglas in her arms, called to Ethel and ran, forgetting the precious things set aside, in a frantic effort to escape the approaching fire and to save her children.

As they piled into the car, Maud cried out, “What is happening with old Mr. Burford, the Icelandic man down the road? What will he do, being blind?”

Ernest turned the car toward the home, remembering, too, the plight of the old man whose only attempt to leave his house was to visit the outhouse by means of running his hand along the clothesline outside the back door. In moments they were at the door, the wife standing, weeping, wringing her hands in hopelessness. Ernest went in and tried to get the old man to come out to the car, but it was of no use, habit was too strong, he could only trust himself to his one familiar path. Without further attempt to convince him Ernest picked up the man bodily and carried him to the car followed by his weeping wife. In moments the, now crowded vehicle, was on the road out of town to the East, up the hill to Ross’ farm. When they reached it, others had already gathered, for the fire had bypassed the hill, surrounded as it was by ploughed fields. The farm home was already filling with frightened survivors milling about, watching the devastation below. With relief and thanks, Maud found Rowland among the others who had escaped from the fields. Then, in the midst of their relief, came a new concern. Someone noticed that, even though the fire had bypassed the farm, the air was alive with sparks and embers which now threatened the stacks of hay and straw in the barnyard. If they caught the house and barn would surely go too. Everyone joined in a small army rushing about, stamping put the sparks that fell before they could do harm. Ethel, who was wearing a white ‘pinny’ or pinafore had been learning to knit and had a ball of wool and her needles in the pocket. As she raced around trying to stamp out embers, she presented a comical sight trailing a growing line of wool behind her as the wool came unravelled from her pocket. As always, children seem able to make a kind of game even in the midst of disaster.

No one slept that night, they stood, as in a trance, calling to one another as the homes, the church, the store below, went, one after another, consumed in an instant by the roaring flames. No one slept, no one ate, their only thought the terror that spread before them. Throughout the evening, throughout the night, all stood and watched the raging inferno take their homes, their crops, their livelihood.

During the night the snow came, the fires died in the welcome damp and in the morning they looked out on the scene of charred ruins, now covered by the gentle, white mantle. One by one, they began to summon the courage to return to what had been their homes, hoping to find anything that might have escaped the horror. As Maud returned to the ashes of her home, she looked in surprise to see the family Bible, recently brought with love from her home in England, lying amid the ashes, apparently untouched. As she stooped to pick it up it crumbled to ash at her touch. Nothing was left, the few things she had gathered together to save, lay in ashes where they had been left when, in panic, she had run to save her children. Now a cry went up from the children; they had discovered a little pile of bones which they recognized to be from poor little Rusty, the family pet who, in the last moments of panic had hid beneath some old window frames used last spring as protection for newly planted seeds.

Before them lay a long winter, without the food last week stored for the winter, without shelter, without warm clothes. Only the light summer clothes on their backs, which they had been wearing the day before in the heat, stood between them and the new fallen snow and approaching cold.

Miraculously, the cow and horse were found some distance away in a burnt out field, so at least there was milk for now, although, with crops gone, the question of feeding them loomed large in Ernest’s mind. Somehow, with God’s help, they would survive, and so they did. Help came from those who had escaped, for the burning was very haphazard. Help came, eventually, from the world outside when the story began to be told. The city of Toronto sent some 180 old streetcars North and, for many, including Ernest, Maud and their family these provided some shelter throughout the winter. An experience never to be forgotten was soon to pass into memory with the sad remembrance of things lost, but with glad thanksgiving to God for lives saved.

Over the winter the family lived in one of the old (1904) streetcars shipped up to the stricken area for this purpose. Their new ‘home’ was drafty and cramped. While the children slept on a makeshift bed on what had been the open entry platform of the car, now boarded up to protect them from the elements, Ernest and Maud shared a small hospital cot, meant for a single person. At least they could be close! Cooking was done on a small cook stove and the window frames were so loose that when it rained or snowed one could hear the continual hissing as the drops hit the surface of the stove, but they endured. Ernest spent much of his time helping with the distribution to those in need of food and clothing being sent into the area from good-hearted people and the provincial government. When spring came, a new church was built, all working on the construction. Even Maud helped mix the cement! The church built a fine new parsonage and eventually life returned to normal. However, nothing could replace the loss of family mementos, pictures, and treasures brought from a distant home in England, nor would time ever completely dissolve from memory the terror of the October Inferno.

This account of the involvement of Ernest and Maud Moddle, and their family, in the 1922 fire, known as the Haileybury fire, was written by the late Harold Moddle and is based on memories related by his elder sister Ethel Dickin (nee Moddle) who lived through the event. It is reproduced with the kind permission of Harold Moddle and remains his copyright.

The fire took place on October 4, 1922, and is regarded as one of the ten worst natural calamities in the history of Canada. It involved the destruction of homes and businesses over an area 50 miles wide by almost the same from north to south, a dozen townships and a dozen towns and villages. Forty-three people lost their lives; one family, the Heslips, lost four members, another, the Bonds, lost ten. At the time it was estimated that perhaps fifty people were lost, some never discovered. Property loss was estimated at over six million dollars. Since much of the industry depended on the lumber from the forests, many businesses closed down forever, their contribution to the economy lost. Farming resumed and eventually the land was restored to what is today a prosperous and lovely part of this province and Dominion.

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