Most
of the Hamiltonians living in the city in 1913 were very familiar with the sandstrip
which separated Hamilton Bay from Lake Ontario,
Popularly known just as The Beach, the
area was a summer resort with cottages, summer homes, hotels, recreational
facilities and lovely beach swimming areas on both the lake and harbor sides.
But what was The Beach like during the
dead of winter ? To answer that question, the Spectator sent one of its
reporters to find out and describe his findings for readers of the Great Family
Journal.
On March
6, 1913, that assignment was completed and the article began as follows
:
“The majority know it as a long vista of
warm sand, lined with pretty cottages bathed in sunlight or bowered in the
shade of lines of foliage tress that arch the long drive in many spots; where a
breeze of cool lake air can always be had after a breathless day of heat in the
city; a place where young men in blazers and tanned shoes, and the maidens on
delicious boating costumes, stroll up the wide promenade to meet the boats in
the evenings, or recline in hammocks in the Chinese lantern-lighted verandahs
of the cottages and hotels.”
However, the winter conditions that the
young man from the Spec encountered in early March, 1913 were completely
different :
“Storm-riven bleakness and gaunt
solitude are its characteristics now. Along the lakeshore lie hillocks of
gravel-encrusted ice, thirty or forty feet in height, formed by the spray of
the waves dashing up and freezing. At some points along the road where the wind
gets a free sweep across the sand is swept of every vestige of snow, and on the
bleak expanse, a few gnarled and distorted trees stand out in dreary silhouette
against the winter sky, the very personification of steadfast endurance.”
The snow drifts were so deep along the
road (Beach Boulevard) and in front of the cottages, that sleighs generally
took to the ice on the bay side because the road was virtually impassable :
“The little city of cottages along the
drives so bright in summer is now a city of the dead. Not a soul is to be seen.
The windows of the houses are boarded up, and their appearance somehow suggests
the bleak look of an eyeless face.
“Curling, billowing snowdrifts nestle in
the deep piazzas, where you saw the pretty girls lounging by the hammocks last
summer. An ill-omened crow rises from the road in front, and takes its
lumbering flight off towards Huckleberry Point, squaking derisively. As your
horse flounders on through the drifts, you experience a feeling of mild
amusement at the cold comfort conveyed by a sign on the front of the Arlington:
‘Ice Cream,’ and you can chuckle, if your teeth don’t chatter too much, as
another sign becomes visible, standing pertly up out of the snowdrifts on the
beach side: ‘No Bathing Here.’ ”
