In April of 1889, the Montreal Daily Star featured a number of advertisements and articles discussing the celebration of St George’s Day in the city, or more particularly, the lack thereof.  In what can only be described as a campaign for St George’s Day, the newspaper offered its readers the opportunity to commemorate their English identity, and to drum up readership.

St George’s Day had been celebrated in Montreal since 1808, and regularly since 1835, with the creation of the St George’s Society.  The society, however, seems to have been less able or willing to create lavish celebrations in the 1880s, generally only holding its annual church service at a local Anglican church. To fill in the void, the paper decided to provide roses for those who wanted them on St George’s Day:

‘Next Tuesday will be St George’s Day.  In view of the very quiet and undemonstrative way in which Englishmen celebrate the day it might be expected that every Englishman and every English woman, every English boy, and every English girl would wear England’s emblem. Unfortunately they cannot always get roses for the occasion. The supply is often limited, and many have to go without. Just to show how many Englishmen and their descendants there are who are proud of the right little, tight little island, the Star has secured thousands of beautiful roses to give away for button hole bouquets on St George’s Day to everybody who wants one.’ [Montreal Daily Star, 20 April 1889, p. 8]

All the English in Montreal were thus urged to proclaim their heritage by wearing a rose on the day, especially as ‘there will be no special celebration . . . St George’s Day.’ [Montreal Daily Star, 22 April 1889, p. 3]  But why choose a rose campaign to press for the expression of English identity, and not organise an event along the lines of those celebrated in years past: a parade, a concert, a banquet, a ball? Such things could likely have cost about the same as providing free out-of-season roses for all who ask. The Star was unclear about why it chose to use the rose. But they were explicit about what it meant to be English, and the importance that they attached to the symbol of the rose.

‘The Scot is proud of his native heather, and a sprig of Shamrock or a leaf of Irish ivy moves the hearts of the Green Isle, but both alike may think of the share they have had in helping on the march of events which we specially celebrate on St George’s Day. But, after all, we cannot forget that had it not been for the men of the Rose, the descendants of the bold followers of the conquerors of Britain and the makers of England, the Empire of which we are citizens would never have risen from its cradle and grown to the dimensions of to-day.’ [Montreal Daily Star, 23 April 1889, p. 2]

The wearing of the rose was framed as being a part of a national duty: ‘England expects every man, woman and child of English descent to wear a rose.’ [Montreal Daily Star, 22 April 1889, p. 3]. To wear the rose, the person acknowledged their pride in their heritage, their pride in being a part of Canada, and ultimately a part of the British Empire.  ‘England expects to-day every one of her sons to do his duty and that being done, religiously and politically, though the England of to-day is not bounded by the same limits as she was when her great national poet penned his burning words, they will apply to that extended England of to-day with as much force as to the more limited power of three centuries ago.’ [Montreal Daily Star, 23 April 1889, p. 2]

The paper did not report on the success (or failure) of the rose-wearing campaign in its following issues, so it is unclear as to whether or not Montreal’s English took up the offer of free roses.  But it is most likely that the city’s English population did wear roses in honour of their English heritage, on St George’s day.  A few years later Allan’s, a retailer in the city, offered for sale roses to be worn on the occasion.

Flashback to my childhood, it is the evening of the fifth of November and Mom, my brother and I are huddled on our back step, outside, in the cold November air. Mom takes out her lighter and sets fire to a sparkler for each of us, and she wishes us a happy Guy Fawkes day or perhaps she recites the first stanza to the famous poem: “Remember, Remember, the fifth of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot! I see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.” Then we rush back into the warm house, the ritual complete.

Celebrating Guy Fawkes was special. It was a ritual that we shared with our English mother. No one else we knew in Ottawa or Edmonton, where we lived, celebrated the event. Even now, twelve years since my mother’s death, we both still celebrate the day, usually with fire of some sort, sparklers usually. I sometimes have people over for dinner. It is a day that connects us with her, and connected her to her childhood.

Guy Fawkes was one of thirteen conspirators, who sought to assasinate James I and put a Catholic on the throne. To do so they stockpiled a load of explosives under the Houses of Parliament. They were caught before they could set off the explosion.

According to The English Year: A Month by Month Guide to the Nation’s Customs and Festivals, from May Day to Mischief Night by Steve Roud [Penguin, 2006], Guy Fawkes or Bonfire Night developed as a holiday of thanksgiving, marking the capture of those plotting to kill the King and Parliament marked by bonfires and bell-ringing and church services.  Over the centuries (the first celebration was 1605) the event transformed into a working class celebration with bonfires and fireworks.  There also developed a tradition of burning effigies of the Pope, Guy Fawkes or politicians. When Mom was a little girl the tradition included children going around the neighbourhood saying “a penny for the guy” to finance their bonfire. Mom, however was never allowed to do this because Nanny thought of it as common begging.

Of course, there is a strong anti-catholic sentiment involved in this holiday, particularly for those burning effigies of the Pope. But for Mom it was never about faith. Dad was a Catholic, so she could hardly wish him ill. It was more about the sense of community, memories and identity as English.

The image of the immigrant that predominates the literature is one of a person who moves from one place to another, and then that is it. However, many migrants were people who had moved a great deal before deciding to immigrate to another country, and who not necessarily stayed there after the migration was ‘finished.’ Here is a short biography of my great-grandfather, who was a man on the move.

Ernest Alfred Paulin was born on 22 July, 1864 in Henley-on-Thames, England. He was the third son, and fourth child of Frederick and Mary (Cutler) Paulin’s thirteen children. Frederick, at the time of Ernest’s birth, was a brewer at the Union Brewery, and owner of the Union Pub.

Paulin Family c1882, Birmingham

Ernest’s early childhood was a relatively stable one. He lived in the same community as his father’s family, and his maternal grandmother lived with him. His father’s business appears to have been successful. His paternal grandfather, George, was fast becoming a prominent member of Henley’s political and business community, retiring from his hairdressing business in the early 1860s, and serving on Henley’s council as treasurer then alderman.

It was in 1873 that the lives of Ernest and his siblings changed. From this point on, it could be said that the Paulin family was a family on the move. His father sold his brewery and pub in Henley-on-Thames and purchased the Anchor Brewery in Peckham. The Anchor’s previous owner was insolvent, so perhaps he got a bargain when he purchased it. But as it turns out, it was no bargain at all: by July 1874, Frederick had declared bankruptcy, owing his own father over £1500.

The family went on the move again, this time to the West Midlands. From the birth certificates of his younger siblings, Ernest and family lived in Tipton (1875), Gospel End (1879) and Acock’s Green (1879). The family then moved to Solihull in 1881. Frederick worked as a brewer until 1879, when he was listed as a merchant’s clerk and in 1881 as a clerk and an accountant.

Things remained unsettled for the family. While all outward appearances indicated a large and prosperous family, photographed at gentile leisure, and listed in the census as employing a household servant, the family was in a financial crunch. Another move was planned. The family began to leave Birmingham in March 1883. Frederick and George, Ernest’s older brothers, were the first to depart, moving to Winnipeg, Manitoba. At this time the city was considered one of the more important cities in Canada, and was heavily advertised in Birmingham papers as ‘the destination.’ The brothers spent a winter there before deciding to move further west, to Victoria, British Columbia.

Meanwhile, Ernest had met Emma Jane Jennings, the daughter of a Yardley pub owner, Thomas Jennings and his wife Emma (Newberry). They married the 9^th of March 1886. A few days later, Ernest, Emma, his brother Herbert, and her sister Amy, were on their way to Victoria.

Ernest A Paulin c1890, Victoria, BC

To finance the rest of the family’s immigration to Victoria, Frederick Sr went to his father George in Henley-on-Thames, and arranged some assistance. According to a codicil to George’s will, dated June 1888, George purchased some stocks held by Frederick’s wife Mary, which she inherited in 1874. It stated that the value of these stocks, £840, would go to finance the family’s move. Should the value of the stocks not be at that level on George’s death, the difference was to be deducted from the Frederick’s inheritance. Hence the rest of the family, save the eldest daughter Louise, moved to Victoria that year. Frederick purchased the historic Tod House soon after.

Ernest, on his marriage license and his passenger papers, listed his occupation as an accountant, but while in Victoria he held several jobs. He was a reporter for the Standard newspaper, an accountant, and finally a bookkeeper for Matthew Richard and Tye, a job he held for several years.

On the personal front, Ernest’s family was growing. In October 1886, he and Emma welcomed their first child, Dorothy. She was joined by Harold in 1888, Irene in 1889, Gladys in 1891 and Grace in 1893. Dorothy died in 1887, and Gladys in 1892. Emma was not happy living in Victoria. Family narratives indicate that she did not get along with her in-laws, or more subtly, she did not like living so close to them. That she seems to have spent most of her time pregnant or tending small children might have contributed to her ennui. The loss of two of her daughters would not have been easy to bear. Family stories, once again, say that Emma left Victoria at least twice, with the children, necessitating Ernest to go after her. One of these trips can be confirmed. Emma and her three surviving children went back to England in 1896. Ernest followed.

Ernest Paulin family c1903, Birmingham

The family settled again in Birmingham, at Aston. There Emma and Ernest had three more children: Norman in 1897, Hilda in 1899 and Eric in 1900. Eric passed away the year of his birth. Ernest made his living in Birmingham first as an accountant, then as a commercial traveler; he also sold typewriters. In 1907 the family moved to Ilford, where Ernest continued to work as a typewriter salesman—a profession he still pursued after he moved the family to Leigh-on-Sea in 1911.

The family did not stay in Leigh-on-Sea for very long, however, returning to Ilford at the end of 1911. And this is where things get interesting. Family stories speak of Ernest having rescued a drowning man, and that this either exacerbated or brought on tuberculosis. No one is quite clear as to when or where this act of heroism took place, but most mark it as the beginning of the end.

Ernest went alone to Victoria in 1912. After ten weeks in British Columbia he was admitted to hospital, where he died on 21 November. He was buried at Oak Bay Cemetery in Victoria. His obituaries speak of the life he lead in Victoria in the 1890s, and the hope that his visit to the province would improve his health, but little of his life in England, or his family still living there.

Emma moved her family back to Birmingham, this time to Perry Barr. There she ran a drapery shop on Birchfield Road to support herself and her children. Canada and the Canadian relatives became a dim memory, and the moving had ended for Ernest’s family.