Jim was anxious to try out the incline railway, a newfangled man-made contraption that scaled the side of the mountain. Two sets of tracks ran side by side up the face of the mountain and a horizontal platform was attached to each set of tracks. At one time there’d been a toll road up John Street, but later James Jolley built what came to be known as the “Jolley Cut” and donated the road to the city with the stipulation that there be no tolls. However, horses had great difficulty climbing the steep mountain and the first incline railway was built on James Street in 1892.
Mary and Jim arrived just in time to watch a platform descend and empty its cargo, at least twenty people and several bicycles. Jim knew that the James Street incline was unique because the cars were powered by steam engines instead of balancing each other by cables. Technology that used horsepower fascinated him.
“Mary, we’ve got to try this.”
“There’s a charge,” she replied, squinting in the sunlight as she read the sign on the hut. “It’s two cents a trip, school children a penny. Look over there,” she pointed. “There’s steps. We could walk up, save our money, and get some exercise.”
“It’s not the same, besides I’ve had all the exercise I need today and we still have to walk back,” he thumbed in the direction they’d come.
Mary’s eyes followed the incline as it slowly edged its way to the top. “It’s looks so steep. How do you know it’s safe?”
“You’re afraid to go.”
“No, I’m not. We just don’t need to be spending money unnecessarily.”
“Tell you what we’re going to do, my pet.” He took her by the hand, swinging it in time with his stride as he headed down the street. “We’ll wait for my first pay,” he turned back. “We’ll be back, very soon.”
Within a week they found a little frame bungalow on West Avenue, wedged between two larger ones. By today’s standards the house lacked “curb appeal,” but Mary fell in love with it. She knew how to “make do or do without.” All it needed was some white lace curtains, window boxes, and a couple of red geraniums.
In 1904, Mary’s house at 100 West Avenue North was considered to be the east end of the city. It was a modest bungalow (aluminium-sided today) conveniently located close to the Barton streetcar line and the City Hospital.
The Pettit Collection.
Shortly after moving to Hamilton, Mary ran into George and Dan Mundy, cousins of the Jacques family where she’d been a domestic servant for those eight long years. While she was most interested in hearing about young Daniel since he’d been the nicest to her when she lived on the farm, she discovered that Daniel’s sister Annie and her husband Elias Zinkan had moved to Drumbo, about eight miles from the Jacques homestead. While Mary was still afraid of reprisal for having run away from the farm, she was lonely and decided to write her. Annie wrote back, which told her that the past had been forgotten, and the girls began to correspond.
Jim found work at the American Can Company, close to home. He walked down Barton Street, three blocks to Emerald, and down to Shaw. When the weather was frigid, he jumped on the streetcar. Passengers were kept toasty warm by sitting close to the stove that was being stoked by the conductor.
“The pay isn’t great but it’ll do for now.”
“I can find something too you know,” Mary replied.
“No wife of mine is going out to work. That’s my job!” Jim wasn’t alone in his thinking. “A woman’s real place, it was almost universally agreed, was ‘in the home.’ A working husband who permitted his wife to work was open to criticism for ‘not wearing the pants in his family.’”[2]
After Jim got his first pay, Mary bought a couple of yards of white cotton voile to make curtains and some red gingham for her kitchen table. Someday she hoped to have an electric sewing machine, but her eight dollar second-hand treadle would do a nice job. And it wasn’t long before the lady next door befriended her. Mrs. Tolten, a widow with time on her hands, was looking for a friend. It was nice to have someone to talk to or invite over for afternoon tea, but the elderly lady was no substitute for Ethel.
On Friday night Jim came home from work in good spirits. “Unless it’s raining Sunday morning, my pet, you and I have a date,” he paused, “with the incline.” He got up from the table and headed to the porch to light up a Player’s while Mary tidied up the kitchen.
Two days later the sun was streaming in their bedroom window. Jim woke up early, like a young child on Christmas morning. He was anxious to try out the incline. Mary, on the other hand, was dreading it. They grabbed a streetcar at the James and Gore turn-back that ran south on James Street to the base of the escarpment. Streetcars had been running on Sunday for ten years since it was no longer considered a violation of the Lord’s Day Act.
“Look at that,” Jim said. “It must have known we were coming.” The strange metal thing was descending almost filled to capacity with passengers plus a horse and wagon loaded with produce. They stood patiently in a small queue at the foot of the mountain. Jim was impressed with how it handled such a steep grade with a heavy load, but he’d heard of people being afraid to take the incline and wasn’t surprised at his wife’s reluctance.
As people got off, they walked past a small hut where an attendant collected the fare. It saved having a second one at the top. Once it was empty, Jim and Mary along with about a dozen others passed by the same hut and paid their fare. Mary was thankful there were no large wagons waiting to get on the adjoining platform attached to the narrow covered passenger car. She felt that it would be less of a risk without all that additional weight.
The incline railway (circa 1910) enabled Hamiltonians to travel from the city to the mountain. The incline became obsolete by 1931 largely because of the popularity of the automobile.
Hamilton Public Library, Local History and Archives.
People filed into the enclosure but didn’t bother sitting down, since the trip to the top didn’t take long. Everyone around her seemed so complacent and acted as if it was no different than taking a streetcar or train. Mary started to relax as it began to climb. She saw things from a different perspective for the first time in her life. The panoramic view was breathtaking and she soon forgot about her fear.
“There’s the hospital,” Jim pointed straight down, “the one you thought looked so big. What’d you think now?” She smiled.
“Can you see the tall building?” he asked as Mary squinted in the sun. “The one with the clock and further down the bay?” She followed his finger. “They’ll soon be ice fishing, curling, and skating on it. Ever gone skating?” She shook her head. As a child she remembered watching kids strap blades to their shoes and skate on Mr. Allenby’s pond but she didn’t own any.
“I can’t believe how tiny everything looks, even the horses and wagons. The people look like little ants running around,” she said. “What are those bare spots, there and there?”
“Those are parks, Hamilton has lots of them. There’s Lansdowne Park at the bottom of Wentworth Street, Sherman’s Inlet, and Huckleberry Point.”
“Lots of railway tracks too.”
“Yeah. The TH&B will take you as far as Toronto or Buffalo.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. “And those tracks go to the beach strip. See those tracks way over there?” She nodded. “They’re for the radials. They’ll take you to Beamsville, Dundas, Brantford,” pointing in different directions as he