My good friend and sailing colleague, Don Bamford, with whom I have interrupted this Wexford quest to co-author two books, has also been a helpful inspiration as I complete this current project. Other friends, including Ron Lee, Jay Poulter, Robin Wilson, and Mike Scott, have responded to a number of oddball enquiries for help on short notice, back in the days when I was active with the local side-scanning group and still pulling my basic research files together. A sailing acquaintance, Mike Earle, has taken time to complete a sophisticated mathematical analysis of the flotation capacities of ice-encrusted metal.
A neighbour, Captain Laird Fulford, offered a few wise comments that he has probably long forgotten; retired mariner Doug Graham offered insights into the numerous area Mac/McDonald clans; and acquaintance Phil Gemeinhardt, a collector of shipwreck memorabilia and member of the Bayfield Historical Society, shared important information about Wexford artifacts and his own search for materials washed up along the shoreline after the Great Storm.
The editing and publishing process requires diligent attention to detail. Once again it is necessary to acknowledge the guidance of publisher Barry Penhale from the wonderful publishing house, Natural Heritage Books, a member of the Dundurn Group, and his partner, Jane Gibson, whose penchant for detail in the editing process is remarkable. They are both masters of their art. My copy editor, Allison Hirst, has also offered her amazing talent for ensuring coherence and consistency throughout the text. Her powers of observation and co-relation are astounding. Her work has certainly strengthened the text. Captain Robinson, marine historian Ron Beaupre, and Mel Wilson, a retired engineer and toolmaker from the British Mercantile Service, were also kind enough to read the manuscript at its final stages; Bud and Ron for technical aspects related to marine terminology and Mel for accuracy of the language of the sea and lexicon.
The Wexford under repair in Collingwood Harbour, recorded as being there in the “late season, 1903.” Note the old-style fisherman-type anchors slung over the bow and four lifeboat stations, two of which were removed in this refitting. This photograph is from the Huron Institute Collection and is the second earliest photo of the newly arrived ship at the time of her refitting at the Collingwood Shipyards. The image shows important details about her early structure before changes made in 1904.
Courtesy of Collingwood Museum, X974-731-1.
As the final editing process began, I decided that we should have one more look, in the United Kingdom, for any additional records that might shed new light on the Wexford’s appearance or shipping history. I had already exhausted the possibility of finding new photographic records in Sunderland, where she was built, but hired a researcher, Merilyn HywelJones, through my good friend Jocelyn Wingfield, both of whom helped me with research for the book Four Years on the Great Lakes: The Journal of Lieutenant David Wingfield, RN. (Merilyn dug up Wingfield’s actual naval service record for me and my co-author, Don Bamford.) While it was apparent that the collection at the National Maritime Museum did not hold any records related to our Wexford, it was still possible that the London Guildhall Library might hold a surprise or two. She found references noting that the Wexford was registered at Liverpool, rather than London, from 1890-1900, and that the period during which the Wexford was sold to a French company (in 1900), she was registered as the Elise in Dunquerque (Dunkirk). There were no photographs or pictorial records from this era. A further search by Jeremy Smith, assistant librarian at the London Metropolitan Archives, also revealed no new information. A last ditch effort has been undertaken at Liverpool. I am awaiting information from the Merseyside Maritime Museum at Liverpool to see if their archives contain any additional relevant information.
There are others whose names I have surely missed. There was such a flurry of helpful activity after the announcement of the wreck of the Wexford being found. One enthusiastic Canadian diver, for example, sent me exceptional underwater photos to be used in any way I saw fit, but his name, for whatever reason, does not appear in my records anywhere. In the mass of material I have collected, I have been able to document sources, including page numbers, where available, for most citations. In a few cases, news clippings have been given to me without the name of the source newspaper, or without a page number. In these cases, I have used the information, but indicated in a note that the data is unsourced. If I have inadvertently left out a necessary credit, please contact me or the publisher to have the omission rectified in the event that there are future reprints of this book.
Finally, I wish to acknowledge the support of the Corporation of the County of Huron Heritage Fund, the Corporation of the Town of Goderich, and the Huron County Historical Society for their generous financial support, which has made the inclusion of the colour plates section of this book possible.
For all of this support, I am truly grateful.
My late uncle, Captain Albert Roy Munday (1919–2008) was a dedicated seaman. He knew the waters of the Great Lakes well, having plied their full extent over many years. He also knew the temperament of the oceans, salty channels, and the adjacent seas — gleaned from the war years, when he served in the Royal Canadian Navy, from 1939 through the mid-1940s.
A British citizen, he had come to Canada with his parents, Bertram Roy Munday and Daisy May Whitehouse, when he was an infant. My grandparents had decided to emigrate in order to embark on a new life in this country after the ravages of the Great War. Throughout his childhood, he lived within sight of Lake Huron. A natural attraction to the Goderich waterfront, with its busy mix of sailing ships, tugs, and lakers, steered his life toward a full career on the water.
“Sol” or “Solomon,” as he was called by his associates and close friends, worked the old fishing schooners and the later tugs with colourful mariners like Reddy MacDonald of the famous MacDonald lifesaving clan. He served on the J.T. Wing, the last lumber schooner to carry timber to Goderich Harbour in the 1930s. He was a leading seaman and anti-aircraft gunner in the Royal Canadian Navy during the Second World War, serving on five ships, with the most time spent on the Ottawa, which he helped to commission in 1943 and to decommission in 1945.
Captain Albert Roy Munday as a young man. Roy is relaxing on deck, leaning against the gaffrigged boom on lumber schooner the J.T. Wing, circa 1940.
Courtesy of Mary Munday.
Sol joined the crew of a laker after the war, and worked his way through the ranks to become captain, acquiring his master’s ticket in 1973, in time for that season’s opening. He concluded his 49th year on the water at lay-up 1983, and worked relief assignments for the next few years. Throughout his nearly 20 years of retirement, he was an avid shipmodel builder, crafting detailed and cherished replicas of lakers, naval vessels, tugs, and schooners. His work can be found in halls, private homes, and museums across Canada and the United States. One of his creations is even on display in England. His final model, his rendition of the Wexford, was completed in his 83rd year, in a time of failing eyesight and deteriorating health. It was a gift for me, as he knew my passion for the sea and my love for marine history.
I had the chance to gam with him, in his later years, about some of the perils he had encountered on the seas. The following are three of his personal memories. I have paraphrased the words he shared about situations relevant to introducing the story of the Wexford.
Roy’s Worst Storm
The closest call I ever had was on Superior — late one season on the old steamer Goderich. The forecast called for northwest gales and snow. It would be a fearsome trip, so we anchored up behind Pie Island.1