Photo (Cold Lake History on Web): Cutting, hauling and storing ice was a yearly ritual at a time when refrigerators consisted of an insulated box filled with ice.

Link to Next Post:  A Winter Dash to the Hospital
Link to Last Post: Martineau River Logging Camp (Start of Part II)
Link to Family Stories Index

Winter, 1945

My stomach was churning and my head splitting. I did not say anything to Uncle Tonnie but I could feel my stomach pushing into my throat. Suddenly, Uncle Tonnie stopped the truck. I fumbled with the door handle and as soon as it opened, I jumped out. When the cold winter air hit me I bent over and threw up on the pure white snow that lined the side of the road.

I heaved again and again and again, not even able to catch my breath. I thought I was going to choke to death. On the other side of the truck, Uncle Tonnie was bent over emptying the contents of his stomach.

Finally, after what seemed forever, my heaves began to subside and I was able to breath. I looked down and the new plaid shirt and wool breaches Santa had given me for Christmas were wet. When I saw small chunks of food stuck to the heavy, wool fabric, I stared to cry. Through my tears I told Uncle Tonnie: “I want to go home to mom.” Tonnie walked me over to the house.

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Photo (Cold Lake Hospital Files).  Dr. Savage was the difference between life and death as my sister lay critically ill.

Link to Next Post:  Wolves in the Wilderness
Link to Last Post: Hauling Logs and Ice
Link to Family Stories Index

Martineau River – Deep Winter, 1945

In early February, things took a dangerous turn. Mom clearly remembered the day:

“Louise became very ill.  She was running a high fever and after a few hours was going into convulsions. She was so little and helpless. Dave and I knew we had to get her to the hospital in Cold Lake as quickly as possible. About 5:00 am, Dave talked it over with Tonnie and both were worried the roads from the Camp to the north side of Cold Lake would be blocked with drifting snow as no one had driven to town recently. They felt, however, the ice road across the lake would be OK as it was regularly ploughed. She continued:

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Photo: The calm expanse spreading before us belied the trecherous waters that lay beyond.

Saturday, June 7, 1997

Over the roar of the surging water, I hollered to Lynn, “Drop your paddle, grab a tree root and hold on hard or we’re going over.”

In the bow, Lynn turned. She had been holding her paddle against a tree stump to keep us clear but we were broadside in the creek and rocking badly. Her face was ashen – we were in immanent danger of being thrown into the raging water.

The same direction was given to Sean who was gripping the centre yoke so tight his knuckles had turned white, “Sean, slide over, grab that root and help your mom.”

My voice must have conveyed the urgency, for as frightened he was, he did exactly as told, something he was not always prone to do. Trapped in the stern, just a few feet from the root, my paddle was less than useless. If we didn’t manage to break free and swamped, well…

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Photo (by Mom): Mr. Goodrich (L), Louise, Dad (C) and I prepare for lunch while Dad and Mr. Goodrich were doing some work along the lake. It would be our last summer in that idyllic setting.

Link to Next Post: Old School House (The start of Part IV)
Link to Last Post: Winter Trip to Cold Lake
Link to Family Stories Index

Early Spring, 1949

On the final day, as we were about to leave in the boat, a small seaplane circled lazily overhead. Then, to our surprise, it landed in front of our home and taxied in. While I had seen a few seaplanes around Cold Lake, none had ever landed at Marie Lake and I had never been close to one. 

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Dear Friends,

Due to irreconcilable differences, McNeill Life Stories and the Joomla platform upon which it was built, will be going their separate ways with the separation agreement becoming effective around the middle of July, 2013.

Since its humble beginnings in 2010, McNeill Life Stories has grown to host a collection of nearly 200 short stories, editorials, travelogues and miscellaneous posts which have attracted over 300,000 visitors.

While there was a concerted effort to work out the differences between the two parties, it became evident the two had grown apart when Joomla announced it was moving forward with Version 2.5 without providing any linkage back to Version 1.5, the platform upon which the blog was built. Many thousands of similarly affected partners were simply left in the lurch. For Joomla, it seems the ‘five year itch’ kicked in earlier than expected.

In consultation with Sean McNeill of McNeill Solutions, a decision was made to move forward with a new Word Press platform, one that Sean has been successfully using over the past few years. The staff at Media One, who created the original site, have been most helpful in facilitating the change.

While several challenges have yet to be overcome, it appears the task will be accomplished without the loss of any information currently contained on the site.

Blog post links, such as those which appear on Google and in other directories, must be manually transformed to reflect the new site parameters. This is a labour intensive task in which each link must be manually transformed to the new site parameters.

After going live, McNeill Solutions, will be tasked adding a number of new user interface options which will assist in navigating the site in order to make it more user friendly.

If, after all posts have been transferred, you notice a link that is not working, points to the wrong article or is otherwise in error, please leave a note in the comments section of the story or send an email to harold@mcneillifestories.com.

When the site goes live, a new series of detective stories, The MacLeish Chronicles, will make its debut. In the first story, A Matter of Principle, Detective Sergeant MacLeish and his partner Detective Bard, tackle a series of burglaries in which they match wits with an engaging young professional from the south-eastern United States.

We look forward to your continued engagement after the site transitions to its new home.

Harold and Lynn McNeill

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Photo (Cousin Helen Pylypow)  Uncle Denny Dewan with a load of logs.  During the early years many family members gained extra money by logging in the winter. My Dad did that for much of his life.  This story tells about the first experience Louise and I had in hauling logs on our own.

Link to Next Post:  Winter Trip to Cold Lake
Link to Last Post:  On Thin Ice
Link to Family Stories Index

Late Fall, 1948

Dad was behind in his work due to injuries suffered in car accident that summer. As winter was upon us, Louise and I asked if we would be allowed to cut and haul some fire wood, a job dad had usually completed by this time. The snow had arrived early that year and by mid-November, after Louise had turned five, there was nearly two feet on the ground in some places.

When we approached Dad said ‘OK’ but Mom, of course, was not all that thrilled with the idea. She had previously watched us haul manure for her garden and lumber for our playhouse, so I suppose she figured we could do it even if she did not like the idea of us heading off into the bush with the team of horses for a full day. 

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Photo (From the photo files of a High School buddy,  Guy Venne).  This logging truck when through the ice just off the waterfront from the town of Cold Lake.  It was totally submerged in about 50 feet of water.  The photo here shows the final stage of the truck being lifted back onto the ice. The following story is about my Uncle, Warren Harwood, and his step-son, Emerson Dewan, facing a life or death situation when travelling across the thin ice of Marie Lake to visit our home.

Link to Next Post: Hauling Logs
Link to Last Post: Crash on Highway 28
Link to Family Stories Index

Fall, 1948

“For God’s sake Warren, you’ve gotta jump, the car’s going under!” Emerson hollered as he began to pull the door open.  “What to hell made him think he drive on thin ice.” he thought.

Driving at 30 mph, Warren could hardly see as water sprayed across the windshield. Emerson, standing on the running board, was soaked to the skin, freezing and afraid for his life. A few seconds later the engine flooded and as the car sputtered to a halt, the ice cracked and water began to spurt up through the cracks.

Outside, Emerson could see they were going under but couldn’t jump until he helped Warren out. As he pulled, Warren pushed and when part way out, a shard of ice jammed against the door. There was no way Warren’s short, stocky body could squeeze through.  Emerson pulled with all his might as the car slowly began to sink.

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Family Photos via Mom’s Photo Keepsakes (July, 1948).  I always remembered this photo and by good fortune on January 2, 2016, it magically appeared in a photo album my sister Dianne McNeill had preserved.  It now stands as the lead photo in this story of this accident that nearly killed our father, Dave McNeill and injured several others.  The photo was taken in the Cold Lake Hospital just before Dad was transferred to Edmonton for emergency surgery.

Photo (by Mom): Auntie Marcia, Louise and I stand beside geese shot by Mr. Goodrich our trapper neighbour. Dad love eating fresh cooked goose, but would have a tough time savouring these birds.

Link to Next Post: Link to On Thin Ice
Link to Last Post: Link to My Best Friend
Link to Family Stories Index

July, 1948

In mid-July, our family made a regular visit to Cold Lake to buy groceries and other supplies. Heading into town was a big event as it meant visiting family and a chance to play with other kids, not something we had a chance to do very often. There would also be a lively party at someone’s home and while the men didn’t drink much while working in the bush, they made up for lost time when they hit town.

It took men many decades for men to learn that when it came to getting home safely after over consuming at a party, horse drawn wagons or sleighs gave a much better bet of arriving in one piece.  Cars, in a hands of a drunk driver, were much more deadly.

Photo (mom’s files): Harold with guitar, u/k male and female, mom with frying pan, Louise in front of mom, not sure if the man is Uncle Emerson (Dewan) but also looks like Uncle Denny (Helen Pylypow’s dad), and dad with the violin.  All standing in from of our home on the West side of Marie Lake.

At 10:30 one evening, after drinking for several hours at the Grand Centre Hotel,  eight men pilled into old Chevy Coupe and headed to Cold Lake to catch the last call. Uncle Warren, man furthest to the left in the lead photo, was a front seat, right side passenger and as the car hurtled down the long hill leading into Cold Lake hollered: “Lee, for Christ sakes slow down, there’s a turn at the bottom of the hill.”  This bit of information came from Uncle Warren some time later as he had not been drinking as much as the others and had been watching the road closely as Lee (Hobbs?) always tended to drive far to fast particularly when drinking. 

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