Memories of Verdun Quebec by Robert Hawkins

Verdun is a working class bedroom community to the southwest of Montreal separated in part from the big island by a series of aqueducts and canals.

My grandparents Jeanne and Arthur Taylor lived on River Street not far from our church, Bethanie Presbyterian, in 1918 which later became a United church. Bethanie in those days was the remnants of the French Protestant movement in Quebec.

My great grandfather Charles H. Taylor is considered one of Canada's great assets and at the outbreak of WWI he converted his manufacturing plants in Montreal and Toronto into munitions manufacturing for the war effort.

The certificate to the right was issued to my grandmother and the back is
authorized by Charles H. Taylor, I can only assume that she worked in his shop during the war. I will leave it to others to determine what exactly the certificate is for.

After WWI Jeanne and Arthur moved to Three Hills Alberta where my mother Frances was born. Art had hoped to raise horses for the army but as progress would have it the military was mechanizing. They sold the farm in 1922 and moved back to Verdun where they lived the next 40 years on Egan Avenue just south of Bannantyne.
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My mom and dad (Ernie) married in 1942, dad's first wife had died shortly after giving birth to a girl, Rosalyn, in 1941. They lived on the west side of Osbourn between Verdun Ave and Wellington Street when I was born (engagement photo on Egan Ave).

My fathers sister Gladys and her husband George lived across the street with their 3 children Duncan, Joyce and Judy. Next door to them were the McNaughts who became close friends of ours and we kids called them aunt and uncle, that was a common thing to do back in the day.

Dads brother Pat with wife Vi and son Norman lived on Moffat Avenue just above Verdun Ave. My grandmothers sister Connie and her husband Tom with their 3 children Grant, Buster and Joyce were on 4th Avenue.

Verdun was family, we all attended Bethanie at 3099 Wellington St. until its closure. Sadly a piece of Quebec history is about to be destroyed.

My fondest memory of Bethanie has to be Christmas eve 1952, the night Santa ceased to exist in my world.
I had just turned 8 at the end of November and as we drove to church mom turned and leaned on the front seat, looked me in the eye and swore me to silence, "Your Father is playing Santa and we don't want you to spoil it for the other kids".... what about me.... oh well I thought, kids had been telling me that for a year.... but I still didn't want the dream to end.

All went well at church that night, I kept my parents secret but the most amazing thing about that night was the drive home. A light snow was falling and there was a fresh coating of glistening white snow on the streets and sidewalks along Wellington Street. The store lights gleamed and highlighted the roads, it was so beautiful.

Dad drove slowly with the window down the cold winter air hitting us, as we passed pedestrians on the street dad, with his Santa suit still on, would wave and shout "Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas. A car rolled up beside us at a stoplight the faces of children pressed against the car window, they giggled and waved to Santa, that is when I realized, the dream lives on in each of us we just have to keep believing.

Rosalyn and I on Osbourn Christmas 1946.

Standing Frances, Jeanne
Sitting me, Great grandma Piche and Rosalyn in the living room on Egan










Great grandma Constance Sinsennes-Piche passed away in 1957 at the flat on Egan Avenue.

I still have her walking cane which is very unique and appears to be hand made.

My uncle Herbert shown below with his new record player was a foster child in my grandparents home.

Herbie, although 10 years older than I was more than a foster child he was like a brother. We had scarlet fever together and

convalesced together until they took him away in the ambulance, I was terrified but his reassuring smile gave me hope.

Herbie returned about a week later, much to my relief. It wasn't until he turned 18 that my grandparents offered him a choice, he could become a Taylor or remain as he was, he chose to be a Taylor and I was blessed with and uncle. Of course he always felt he was too young to be called uncle so it is only when I want to annoy him that I say "Hey, Uncle Herbie".

Herbie and his wife Pat now living in Eastbourne England were married in Verdun and had their reception in the flat on Egan.

My grandparents fostered several children and passed that benevolence on to my parents who ran an emergency home for the Red Feather for some 30 years. They too adopted a teen who would become my kid sister. Lynda was 2 when she came to live with us and she and I shared a room for several years.

The foster and adoption tradition was carried on by my sister Rosalyn and her husband Dave as well as my wife Pat and I.



My grandmother and I on the steps of the manse, Woodland United Church.



There was a small store at the corner of Osbourn and Verdun Avenue that we would walk to and buy penny candy it also sold Christmas trees in the season.

I remember walking up to buy a tree with my dad and Rosalyn. Dad went through the trees with the keen eye of an expert, selected his favorite and lugged it home sliding it through the snow. We were on the third floor, he grunted and moaned as he pulled the tree up the first flight, Rosalyn and I ran up to our flat, we didn't want to be stuck behind dad.

Once again he grunted and moaned, this time worse than the last, I stood at the top of the stairs watching, snow and pine needles were everywhere. Finally he made it to the living room, no it is not the tree above, I was about 5 by now.

Mom said "Ernie that tree is too tall", dad quite agitated grumbled "No it's not". He put the stand on and tried to raise it up... nope too tall so he lowered it and insisted it was the stand. He cut the base just above the stand, put the stand back on and raised the tree..... nope, the top was bent over about 45 degrees.... he stood back looked at the tree (today I know exactly what he was thinking) he didn't swear, he simply wiped the sweat off his brow, got a chair and cut the top off.

We didn't have an angel on top that year.

Other memorable times in Verdun would be taking your wagon down to the A&P on Wellington and standing outside waiting for someone who needed help with their bags. We usually got  between .10 cents and .25 cents depending on how far we had to go.

Then there was The Nautitorium (mom at the right) where we would spend the day
swimming or having a hot dog on the roof.... great times.


Thanks for the memories Verdun