When probing into one’s family lineage, there always seems to be a few mysterious gaps. These gaps may exist simply because some things are best not spoken, or just too painful to tell, or someone simply fell off the radar. Yet even within these difficult periods you can find those gems that develop under pressure or those special moments.
When there is a difficulty in handing down certain family particulars, it has the tendency of rubbing out memories and leaving gaps in remarkable family stories. The Lloyd side of our family has one such gap where certain stories are vague, and likely in respect of a wonderful mother and grandmother.
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| Donald & Muriel Lloyd |
The burden of this gap in storytelling rests mostly on one generation, and on one difficult event in the lives of Donald Theodore Lloyd and his wife Muriel Irene (Harvey) Lloyd. In the late forties Donald Lloyd left his wife Muriel, and their five young children alone in the village of Lakefield. They would later divorce. It wasn’t the first time that a husband and father was estranged from his family, but it would be the first time in the recent history of the God fearing and highly respected Harvey and Northey families.
This was a time when things like infidelity and divorce were frowned upon, and especially within an evangelical family living in a small community. Muriel and her children would carry the hurt and shame from the divorce for many years to come. However you would never know it from her. She had no criticism or negative thing to say. Her smiling face and determination to look forward was a tribute to her life.
I often attended church with my grandmother (Mum) and never really noticed that she refrained from taking communion. Until one day in my thirties I saw her not participating. Weeks later I met her at my parent’s house and asked her about it. She explained that former church leaders asked her not to take part because she was divorced, and even though it was forty some years later and in a different church, she still respected their request. She was not bitter with the church, its leaders or God.
I conveyed to Mum that her faithfulness honored God, but that the divorce wasn’t her fault. An endearing and memorable conversation followed and allowed Mum to lay aside that long-time burden. The next communion service I served the bread and wine to my grandmother, and had the privilege of watching a faithful woman freely remember the Lord. Even today it brings me to tears.
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| Muriel & her children |
After the divorce, Mum would go out to work to support her growing family. Great grandpa Bernal and Nana would offer their help and bring them all back to the Harvey homestead at Young’s Point. It’s from this point that many good memories have been secured and told.
In the years that followed Mum would sell the farm to her son Doug and move to live with us (Eleanor’s family). I had the opportunity to grow up for many years with my grandmother in our home. While she continued to work, she was also our sitter, our way to the local fair and events at the Memorial Centre, our link to family, and our introduction to the best peach pie and ice cream. She reminded us about chores, and showed us how to care for our horses. Everyone dearly loved her, and she was my greatest fan.
Mum was so large in our lives that we never noticed the absence of a grandfather. Our family was full with connections to aunts, uncles, and cousins, and to the Harvey’s and the Northey’s. Sure there was an occasional comment about Donald Lloyd, but only when it was offered and for a brief moment. Life just carried on and occasionally we bumped into that mysterious gap.
I first met my grandfather Donald Lloyd around the age of seven. My sister and I were staying with Mum at the Harvey homestead while our parents went away for the weekend. I was in the grass circle of the driveway in front of the drive shed playing with the water pump, when a car roared up the lane throwing dust everywhere. I watched as a stranger wearing a fedora lifted himself out of the car. With self-assurance he walked toward me with his hand stretched out ready to shake mine. Hesitantly I held mine out to reach his.
With a firm grip on my hand he said, ‘you must be Eleanor’s boy, cause you look like her.’ I can’t remember what I said, only that I was confused to see someone I didn’t know standing confidently on Mum’s property, and that no one was rushing from the house to greet him.
Donald had worked for a few years on the farm for my great grandpa Bernal. My mother told me that he was good with the horses, but farming wasn’t his thing. He would eventually leave farming for the car business.
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David Lloyd
The lane at the Harvey Farm |
Donald asked me if my Uncle David was in the house, and if I could get him. I remember a ‘that-a-boy’ when I ran into the house to find David. I trailed him out the summer kitchen through the screen door, and stood on the porch watching them greet each other. The conversation turned away from me as they moved to the centre of the lane.
Shortly I would hear through the screen door, ‘Stephen it’s best you come in for now.’ When I was inside the summer kitchen I turned around to see the stranger and David leaning against the dusty car, and I asked Mum, ‘Who’s that?’
With a calm and clear voice she said, ‘your grandfather.’ Then with a gentle arm around me, she steered me inside to the dining room for some candy from the glass bowl on the china hutch.
My first encounter with Donald Lloyd was now a clear memory, and I don’t recall giving it much more thought. There was too much for a young boy to do on the farm, and I only had the weekend.
Around the age of nine, our family moved to the ‘Village’ (Lakefield) where my mother lived as a child. The move seemed to encourage her to point out the places of her childhood. She would show us the house where they lived, the Lakefield Dairy property where my grandfather had his car lot, and the Post Office where he got himself into some kind of trouble. She would also tell of some difficult things that led to the separation. They were all tidbits of a former and dissimilar life.
One day while driving, my mother would point out Donald Lloyd as we passed him talking to acquaintances on the sidewalk in the Village. We would not linger, as it didn’t seem right.
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| Brown Derby |
However a few years later we would meet Donald in downtown Toronto. It was the Christmas break and we were in the city to see the Ice Capades. We joined him after the show at the Brown Derby at the corner of Yonge and Dundas. It reminded me of a place where gangsters hung out.
It was a short visit that felt awkward. He was engaging and warm toward us. I watched my mom, as she showed interest in his stories and then how she related her stories to him. It was a friendly time in a strange place. I only wish I was old enough to understand the importance of the moment. He seemed to be a nice person.
At the end of my first year in high school we would attend the funeral of Donald Lloyd in Toronto. We would sit quietly with my aunts and uncles as Donald’s wife and young daughter mourned the death of a loved one. It was surreal to say the least. We were a family that also lost a father and a grandfather, but yet it wasn’t the same. So anonymously and forgivingly we watched another family grieve their loss.
I, and possibly other family members never knew Donald had another daughter. Furthermore she never knew she had brothers and sisters, and for her it would stay that way.
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| Lloyd Kids plus 2 other girls |
My mom’s stepsister was greatly overcome with sadness, as anyone in similar circumstances might be. I on the other hand was shocked to see the resemblance between her and my mom. Furthermore it was odd to see how close she was to me in age, and possibly only by a few years. My thoughts went back to that first meeting at the farm, and how Donald must of thought how I also reminded him of his youngest daughter.
Our family slipped away mindful of Donald’s grieving family, never to announce their identity. Inwardly I wanted to say, ‘hey he was my grandfather,’ but that wouldn’t have helped.
Some things were more easily talked about after Donald passed away, and more so after Mum passed on. Some of the mysterious gaps would be filled with good memories. In later years when I asked Mum about my grandfather, she would say, ‘he was a handsome man.’ Only good words would be passed on.
If Donald’s daughter Noreen has opportunity to read this blog, we would like her to know that her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews extend a hand of love and friendship to her. We welcome any contact, and trust that she has prospered in health and peace, and in family.
By Stephen Best,
Grandson of Donald Lloyd & Muriel Harvey-Lloyd
