It is presumed that due to the potato famine of the 1840’s, Bridget (Tahaney) Healy came to Canada with her four sons; Patrick, Martin, Owen & John. No information has been recorded about Bartholomew Healy(her Husband) so one might assume that he either died in Ireland or while aboard ship on the journey to Canada.Owen was seven years old at the time.

Healy Family History

Our Healy family history as we know it began in County Sligo, Ireland around the time of the “Potato Famine” in the late 1840’s.

Bartholomew & Bridget (Tahaney) Healy are the only ancestors that we have been able to trace back to Ireland.

The following information is from the tombstones of the Bartholomew Healy Family; (the first generation of our line of Healy’s to come to Canada).

Bartholomew Healy – No records or information were found

Bridget (Tahaney) Healy – Bridget Healy of Rama – St. Columbkille’s
Who died Nov. 21, 1871
Age 71 years

Patrick Healy – 1836 – ?
Patrick died in the North Bay area but at this point it is not known
where Patrick is buried.

Martin Healy – Martin Healy – St. Columbkille’s Cemetery, Uptergrove
Died Feb. 5, 1900
Age 65 years
Native of County Sligo, Ireland

Owen Healy – died in 1931 and is buried in St. Mary’s Cemetery, Winnipeg.
His tombstone was seriously damaged in the 1950 flood and some years later a new one was erected. It reads: Owen Healy, Died April 24, 1931; Age 90 Yrs. 1841 – 1931.
John Healy – John Healy – Buried beside his mother at St. Columbkille’s
Who Died Aug. 17, 1872
Aged 22 Years
Bartholomew & Bridget (Tahaney) Healy Family

The following information was made available from the notes of Tom Healy (great grandson of Owen, grandson of Henry Joseph (Joe) and son of Wilfred Healy). Before Owen’s son Henry- Joseph (Joe) died, Tom became the family historian and got these details from his grandfather.

When they first settled in Ontario, it was at a place called Fawn, on the Rama Rd. close to Atherley & Orillia. Since Bridget’s husband Bartholomew had died we speculate that the family first lived with her family (the Tahaney’s), seeing they were already settled not far from where Owen & Martin later had their own farms. The Healy boys were not old enough at this time to take up farming on their own. Pioneers coming to Canada at this time had to clear their own land in order to set up farming.

I. The first son was Patrick Healy:
Patrick Healy (1836 – 1919) married Elizabeth Jane Clarke. Together, they had 10 children: Mary, Sarah, William James, Bridget, Elisabeth, Loretta Dorothy, James, Arthur Bartholomew, Eugene Alexander (Sylvester), & Owen (Ownie). Patrick, Jane and the children apparently headed north, settling near North Bay, Ontario. However tragedy came to the family, when they were making a trip and Patrick suddenly died. It was in the middle of winter at the time and his unfortunate wife was caught in the wilderness, miles from anywhere. An ordinary person would have been overwhelmed by a predicament such as this one, but this courageous woman immediately prepared her many children for the journey to civilization. She travelled, probably by sleigh, with her children and the body of her dead husband to the priest’s house to receive assistance.

At this point, it is not known where Patrick & his wife are buried. It is known however, that Patrick’s youngest son Ownie married Susan Gallivan, and they lived in Toronto.
Tom’s father Wilf Healy remembers Ownie saying that Tim Healy (1855 – 1931), the famous Irish politician, was something like a first cousin to Patrick, Martin, Owen & John.


Martin Healy was born in 1835, County Sligo, Ireland. He came to Canada with his widowed mother Bridget and his three brothers, Patrick, Owen and John.
In Canada it is speculated that Martin’s family lived with his mother’s relations (the Tahaney’s), since they were already established in Rama Twsp.

Martin Healy married Ann Healey, a native of County Mayo, Ireland, on April 16, 1861, at St. Columbkille’s church, Uptergrove, Ontario. Martin and Ann Healy resided on a farm at Lot 27, concession 13, of Mara Township, which is on the Rama Road (the former Bert Adam’s farm, next to Charlie Smiths). Martin died on February 5, 1900 at the age of sixty-five. He is buried in St. Columbkille’s cemetery, Uptergrove.
Ann Healey was born in Ireland, County Mayo on May 15, 1842. She came to Canada with her parents Thomas Healey (1801-1891) and Hanora (1813-1877). The Thomas Healey family settled in Mara by 1861. In 1856 Thomas purchased the north half of Lot 24, concession 8, from the Canada Company. Ann died at the age of 81, on Wednesday morning, November 15, 1922 at the home of her daughter Ida (Mrs. John Foley). She is buried beside Martin in the Healy plot.
Fern Resort purchased the former Martin Healy farm and in March of 1999 had the barn torn down.
Martin and Ann had fourteen children. However, two children (twins – Eugenie and Edward) born in 1872, died at birth. The children are as follows:

1. Hanora “Nora” (June 22, 1862- Sept. 8, 1933) married Frank McGowan (1853-1930) on Nov. 20, 1885. They had nine children, with one set of twins; Martin, Anne, Teresa, Cecilia, Rosella, Jim, Clara & Irene (twins), Marion. They lived on a farm on the 9th concession of Mara Twsp., and in 1911 moved to 14 Coldwater Rd., Orillia. There Francis McGowan became engaged in building and teaming. In 1916, on the death of their oldest son in Colorado, they moved to Ordway, Colorado, and for some time took up ranching. In 1923 they moved to Detroit, but owing to failing health of Frank, they moved back to Orillia (about 1929). Frank McGowan died on Sept. 27, 1930, and Hanora on Sept. 8, 1933, in her 72nd year.

2. John Joseph (March 31, 1864 – June 14, 1941) married Catherine Mahoney (June 15 1871- March 26, 1958) in April 1898 at St. Columbkille’s church, Uptergrove. They had eight children; Leo, Lew, Dollard, Charles, Frank, Marcella, Mary, Dora.

3. Mary Ann (Dec. 27, 1865–May 6, 1912) married Richard Gaughan (1865-?) on January 7, 1889. They lived in Brechin, and Richard was a teacher at Foley Separate School. They had eight children, with the first two, Mary & Mary Ann (twins) dying young. Mary died at birth and Mary Ann died at the age of five or six from eating green apples. The other children were Ann, Stella, Carmel, Mary Sebina, Madeline (Madge), Joe.

4. Thomas James (Dec. 18, 1867-Aug. 26, 1920) He was unmarried and lived on the town line, between Rama and Mara Townships, lot 24, concession 1). Thomas’ death occurred in late August of 1920 from injuries sustained when he was kicked by one of his horses.

5. Martin Joseph Jr. (May 10, 1869-Jan. 6, 1948) married Mary Bradley (1873-1936) on October 2, 1902. They had four children; Bradley, Tish, Mary, and Louis (died in his 23rd year from heart problems. He was a blue baby). Tish is the mother of JoAnne, Margaret, and Terry Griffin. Martin Jr. originally lived up the Monck Road in a small house near Rathburn. When Martin Sr. died, his wife Ann said the house on the Rama Rd. was too big for her so she traded homes with Martin Jr. Later, Bradley took over the family farm until he moved to Mississaga St. in Orillia. Tish and Mary were both teachers and lived Toronto. Tish’s husband Joseph Griffin died of cancer on Sept. 10th, 1944, at the age of 41. He was a hockey player who played for team Canada in the 1928/29 season, in which they won the gold medal. When Joe died, Mary Healy and her father Martin Healy Jr. both came to live with the Griffins.

6. Bridget Monica (Nov. 25, 1871-Aug. 11, 1947) married Charles Heavener (1865-1916) on October 30, 1894. Bridget’s husband Charlie was struck and killed by lightning while walking a horse through a field. They had ten children; Mary, Bill, Anne, Fidela, Madeline, Martin, Charles, Clara, Teresa, Margaret (Peg). Bridget (Beezie) was pregnant with Peg when Charles died. The Heavener farm was located in Rama, but after Charles’ death, Bridget and the children moved to Toronto.

7&8. Eugenie and Edward. Twins born on Sept. 18, 1872. Eugenie died on Sept. 22,
and Edward on Oct. 8, 1872.

9. Cecelia (Nov. 7, 1873-July 24, 1956) married Alexander McDonough (1865-?) on June 20, 1905. They had three children; Joseph (died young from tuberculosis), Charles, Frances. The McDonough’s lived in Detroit.

10. Clara (Dec. 8, 1875-June 7, 1908) married Edward Gettings (1867-1916) on Oct. 2, 1906. Clara died eleven months after they were married during childbirth. She was thirty-two. The twin babies also died. Edward Gettings remarried Rosella McCorkell.

11. Patrick Charles (Charlie) (Dec. 1, 1877-April 19, 1931) married Margaret McHenry (?) on (?) They had three children: Kathleen (unm), Patricia (m Arthur Tomlinson), John. Charlie was the father of Patricia Tomlinson. Patricia’s children were Beth, Peter, and Joe. Charlie owned the First Hotel at Atherley; originally being their summer home, and then an ice cream parlour. Kathleen was born on the second floor of what is now the Atherley hotel.

12. Catherine Ida (Nov. 27, 1879-Dec. 7, 1939) married John Foley (?) in 1922 and lived in Orillia. John had five children from a previous marriage; William, Gerard, Cyril, Marie, Frances. Ida did not have any children of her own, and died following a month’s illness resulting from a fractured hip. John Foley owned the brass foundry on the Atherley Rd.

13. Marcus J. (Mark) (Nov. 27, 1881-Jan. 3, 1950) He was unmarried and lived in Chicago, where he worked as a motorman for an elevated transit line. When he retired in 1949, he moved to Detroit to live with his niece, Anne Lacrosse (daughter of his sister Mary Anne).

14. Margaret Loretta (Oct. 8, 1883 – Jan. 16, 1971) married William Preston (1884-Feb. 26, 1964) on Feb. 4, 1911. Loretta and Bill lived on Lot. 3, conc. 2, Bass Lake, across from the variety store. They had six children: Gerard, Ida, Zita, Norena, John, Yvonne.

Most of the Healy descendants living in Ramara Township today are from the John Healy line.
The family tree is as follows;
Bartholomew Healy + Bridget Tahaney
Martin Healy + Ann Healey
John Healy + Catherine Mahoney

John J. Healy, the son of Martin and Ann Healy was born on March 31, 1864. He married Catherine Mahoney (June 15, 1871 – March 26, 1958) on April 26, 1898. Catherine was the daughter of Thomas and Anne (Clarke) Mahoney. John & Catherine lived on the corner of Monck Road and sideroad 25, where John farmed. They had nine children with Mark dying as an infant. The children went to S.S. #10 North Mara School, just around the corner on sideroad 25. John died on June 14, 1941, and is buried in the Uptergrove cemetery beside Catherine. Nieces and nephews referred to John and Catherine as Uncle Johnny and Aunt Kate.
The John Healy homestead was located on the corner of the Monck Rd. and
Sideroad 25. It was purchased as a log home with renovations being added later.


1. Martin Leo (March 8, 1899 – Feb. 8, 1968) married Elizabeth Josephine Gallivan (Feb. 19, 1895 – Jan. 9, 1933). They had five children. Eileen (1924-1983) married Carroll Bransfield – one child (John); Philomena married Edw. James “E.J.” Fountain, Leona married Charlie Naughton; John married Mary Heitzner .
Martin (1933) unmarried.
-Josephine died with the birth of Martin in 1933.
-Second marriage was to Francis Clough (Jan. 9, 1900– Feb. 18, 1974) on June 18,
1935. They had three children; Guy, Brian & Gemma
The Leo Healy farm is located at 86 Courtland St. Atherley.
Leo Healy was the assessor for Mara Twsp., in later years.

2. Thomas Lewellyn (Rev.) (Sept. 13, 1900 – Oct. 3, 1980), known as Father Lew Healy. He attended St. Augustine’s seminary in Toronto, and was ordained into the priesthood on May 25, 1929. He celebrated his first mass in his home parish, St. Columbkilles, Uptergrove.
3. John James Dollard (Apr. 25, 1902 – Nov. 12, 1977) married Catherine Luella O’Donnell (Apr. 21, 1904 – Feb. 23, 1985) on Sept 14, 1937. They had three children – Edmund married Alma Plato (deceased) Patricia and Maureen (twins- Feb. 18, 1941) Patricia married Urban Hannan ); Maureen married Ross Radway (marriage annulled), second marriage Guy Audet – no children. Dollard’s farm was on the Monck Road across from his parent’s farm. He played the violin.

4. Charles Joseph (Sept. 29, 1903 – Jan. 17, 1969) married Anne Maheu (Dec. 22, 1913- November 4, 2002) on Oct 6, 1942. They had eleven children, with three sets of twins: John, Bernard, Kathleen, Margaret, Therese and Terry (twins), Gerald, Paul and Rita (twins), Darcy and Dianne (twins). Charlie was Reeve of Mara Township and was Warden of Ontario County in 1967.
Their farm is located on concession 12, Lot 27, Mara Township, (now owned by
Son Bernard).
The farm was originally owned by the Cameron family, and was sold to the Healy’s in 1918. At that time there was an apple orchard as you drove up the long lane. The original house was red brick, but was changed to white stucco in 1959. The original barn was located where the old log stable was. The barn burned down shortly after it was purchased. This occurred in late August or early September as the harvest had been done and the barn was full of grain. The old log stable was brought from the fifty acres by the jog to replace the barn that burned. The present barn was then built in 1938. In 1958 Charles Healy purchased the farm on the hill (where son Gerald now lives) from Jonus Beers.
Anne Maheu was from the town of Midland, Ont., where she grew up with her parents Elzear and Lumina Maheu and her nine brothers and three sisters.
Charlie died on January 17, 1969. We still cherish the memory of his warm heart and the twinkle in his eyes singing all the old Irish songs in his beautiful tenor voice. He also played the harmonica.

5. Francis Patrick (Nov. 15, 1905 – Dec. 20, 1977) married Mariette Gagnon (March 14, 1914 – May 20, 2006) in 1950. They had one child, Marie. Frank played the accordion. Frank Healy being the youngest son, remained on the original John J. Healy farm until selling it in 1965 because of poor health. They moved to Coldwater Rd., and then West St. in Orillia.

6. Anna Marcella (Mar. 12, 1907- Mar. 9, 1993) unmarried and lived in Toronto, on
St. Clair Ave. She worked for the Imperial Life Insurance Company. Marcella
Went to teachers’ college, but didn’t choose this as a career. Marcella played the

7. Mary Mildred (April 29, 1909 – June 29, 2001) married John Hannan (Nov.10,1904-
Apr.19,1996) on Sept. 20, 1938. They lived on a farm located on the south half of
Lot 16, conc. 11, Mara Twsp. Jack & Mary sold the farm in the fall of 1973 and
Moved to Atherley. After Jack’s death, Mary moved to an apartment in Orillia,
and then to a retirement home. They had one child, Paul.
Mary Hannan played the piano.

8. Dorothea (Dora) (Dec 30,1910- Feb. 20, 1973) married Leonard Kelly (Mar. 16,
1903 – April 5, 1988) on Sept 22, 1936. They lived on the 7th con. of Mara Twsp.,
where they operated a farm, and in 1948 moved to the farm on the 9th conc.
Leonard & Dora had four children. Francis, Marie, Charles and Corinne.

Dora was a teacher. She also played the piano, as well as
the organ at St. Columbkille’s church, Uptergrove. In 1972, Dora and Leonard
sold the farm and moved to Orillia. Dora died in 1973 of cancer, and Leonard
died in 1988.

9. Mark (May 9, 1916 – May 11, 1916) Died as an infant.

Martin and Ann Healy, as well as members of the John Healy and Mahoney families are buried at the St. Columbkille’s cemetery, at Uptergrove, with exception of Fr. Lew who is buried at St. Augustine’s seminary in Toronto.

John & Catherine Healy
Story told by Philomena (Healy) Fountain – April 2000

I’ve been asked to jot down a few memories of grandpa & grandma Healy and the family. The are not in the proper order, but only as they come to me.

I cannot remember Grandpa Healy without seeing his yellow collie, Buster who was always at his heals and would wait outside the door while grandpa ate his meals. I sometimes walked with grandpa and Buster up to the jog to bring the cattle home from the Cameron place (later to become Charlie and Anne’s place). Grandpa would open a big gate and the cows would file out; Buster did all the work.

I remember when my father would drive Grandpa over to the town-line to check the cattle and grandpa would pick rosemary because he liked the fragrance.

Grandpa had a big three-seat sleigh, which held nine people. There were no snow ploughs at this time and people used the horses. He also bought a buffalo robe, which covered the people in the middle and back seats. The “lads,” Dollard, Charlie and Frank always rode in the front seat and took turns driving the team. I was so scared of the big horses that I wanted the back seat, beside grandpa. Eileen and I had to take turns to go to church. One Sunday it was my turn to stay home and I missed some excitement. They used to go up over Clithroe’s hill to the eleventh, then up to Pat Clarke’s farm, and cut across his property to some driving sheds that were behind the church (for the horses, while people were in mass). All was normal until Dora stood up and started yelling, “look at the flags!, look at the flags!” She meant the diapers on Clarke’s clothesline, which meant that Helen had her new baby. Charlie turned quickly and in so doing, startled the horses and the sleigh overturned. They all rolled out, including grandma. The next Sunday it was my turn and it was very icy. Coming home, Grandma made them stop at the top of the hill and she walked down while we waited at the bottom.

Mary used to wear her old hat during the ride and when we got near the church she would put on her good red velvet hat with the rhinestone pin, and looked quite spiffy. In the summer, she and Dora had special dresses for the hot Sundays. They were down to their ankles. Dora’s was pale green and Mary’s was pale pink. They had hats of the exact same shade – big leghorn hats, they were called.

When we came up from the city in the spring, Grandpa always had a few new colts and we just loved them. We would scare them so they would race around the outer yard in a big circle with their tails flying, and then return to their mothers. I loved the pale creamy coloured one, but he would change colour by the time I came back.

I remember coming up from Toronto with my father and Eileen to visit Grandpa in Soldiers’ Memorial Hospital, Orillia. He had just had his appendix removed. He was 70 or 72, I can’t be sure, and he was in a big room over the main entrance on Colborne Street. The family thought it was a marvel that he came through the surgery at his age. Later on he had a stroke. I only saw him once after that and he was in a wheel-chair. Charlie would sleep on the kitchen couch at night, so he could check on his father.

Mrs. McElroy once told me a story and said it was true because she was there. One Sunday at mass the priest said something which offended a man who shall be nameless. He walked out of the church, went home and returned with a shotgun. He came up the center isle shouting that he was going to shoot the priest. She said that Grandpa got out of the front seat and walked down, facing that shotgun and talking to him saying, “you don’t really want to shoot the priest, let’s go outside and talk about it.” “Give me the gun.” This man had worked for grandpa at times, so he listened to him and the situation was solved.

I remember grandma baking bread – 13 loaves at a time, and buns galore. She churned butter, and worked at it in a large wooden bowl, with a paddle to work in the salt and press out the water. In the winter when it was pale, she added a bit of food colour.

I remember grandma at the sewing machine. She told me that she had been a seamstress and worked in town (Orillia) before she married. I remember Marcella brought up a coat from Toronto when she finished with it. Grandma took it apart and cut it down to make a spring coat for Eileen. Then she dyed it. I remember when Marcella came home for her summer holidays, she would have cut out two dresses in the city, then sew them at grandma’s machine.

Dollard had a car, which they called “the star.” Eileen and I called it the blind car. The side windows were not glass, they were flaps with domes. If the weather was good, you rolled up the flaps and domed them in place, and if it rained, you let them down. They had a little window of some material similar to mica, and it was cloudy and you couldn’t see much through it anyway. Of course the windshield was glass. Dollard would drive pretty fast over gravel roads and everything would rattle, especially these flaps. We always wanted to ride with him.

I remember my father telling about grandpa wanting his first car, so he arranged for my father (Leo) to buy him one in Toronto and drove it up for him.

I remember the winter we stayed at the farm. After evening chores, Dollard played the fiddle, Frank played the accordion and Charlie played the mouth organ (upstairs to entertain us). There were no radios at that time. We didn’t mind that they played the same tunes every night. I remember Charlie singing “Red River Valley.” The ladies would be doing dishes and discussing things we weren’t supposed to hear.

The Christmas that we were at the farm (1933), they set up the tree in the dining room. There was a big doll under the tree for Leona and she said, “Oh my, what’s your name?” She was three.

Eileen and I went to school at Scotch Hills and Dora was the teacher. We moved up Thanksgiving weekend and returned to Toronto on May 24th weekend. During the winter the family had a big card party one night. Grandpa was handing out glasses of liquor to the men and I thought it was a darned shame that he didn’t pass it to the women too.
Dora was dating Bill Doherty at that time (he was a brother of Madonna O’Connell & Mrs. Joe Lee). I was sitting on Bill’s knee and Dora said I was much too big to be sitting on anyone’s knee. Bill whispered to me, “tell her she’s jealous,” so I did.
Mary made her famous cream puffs for the event. We were allowed to stay up for a little while and then were hustled off to bed – with a cream puff!

Food was always such a big factor in the family. If things were going well, you celebrated with food, and if they weren’t you consoled with food. That reminds me of the garden party. Father Lew gave us a quarter to spend, but I would save mine and to heck with the church. You could count on Marcella for the ice cream cone, anyway.

I remember sometimes going to Uncle Martin’s farm on the Rama Road. Tish and Mary and their mother would stuff us with treats, and Brad would tease us. When we returned to St. Bridget’s school (in Toronto) the next year, Tish was teaching in the room across the hall from us. She would send one of her students to the Danforth to buy her a coconut. He would punch a hole so she could drain the milk, and then he would split it for her. It was my first taste of fresh coconut and I think of Tish every time I see them in the supermarket.

In those days they had no refrigerators. There was a beef ring, and on Friday evenings they went to Baye’s to get their cut of beef. Father Lew had a new car, so we went in it to get the beef. It was a hot humid night and while we were driving home, our John upchucked in the new car. It was the only time I ever saw Father Lew lose his cool.

I remember the old washing machine before they got electricity at the farm. It had a long handle which you swung back and forth, so many thumps per load; so one time I thought I should help out. I had no idea it was so heavy when loaded with water and clothes, and I could only swing it half way.

I remember grandma on a summer evening, gathering her turkeys to lock them up for the night. She had a big straw hat and a broom. If she was delayed a few minutes the turkeys would fly up in the trees to roost, and she would be swinging away with her broom to get them down and locked away from the fox.

One day I was walking with grandma on the lawn and she told me that grandpa hauled forty-six loads of fill to make that terrace in the front yard.

I remember living in the house across the road from my grandparents, which later became Dollard and Luella’s home. The back kitchen had two windows. Eileen claimed the east one so she could spy on the relatives, and I got the one, facing the barn. One day Dollard came to the door with a little puppy for Eileen’s birthday and I said “where’s mine?”
Dora came over to fit a green sweater she was knitting for me, and my mother found me spilling her box of face powder all over the bed. I got a scolding and was marched downstairs. Dora held up the sweater and said “do you like it?” I said “no.” My mother was mortified. I don’t believe she ever finished it. I don’t remember ever wearing it.

Sister Annunciata would come to the farm for her summer vacation. (She was grandma Healy’s sister). One day I noticed that she wasn’t eating meat, so I asked her why. She said, when she was young, she had a pet goose named Charley. One night when she came to supper, Charley was on the table with gravy. She said she wouldn’t eat meat after that because you never knew who it might have been.

I remember Dora playing the piano and singing. She was trying to organize a Christmas concert at the school, so she thought Eileen and I could sing a number together. She took us to the piano and tried to get us singing. She soon gave up and told the family, “there’s just no use, they are both tone deaf.”

I remember attending the barn raising at Charlie & Anne Healy’s farm. Charlie Cloutier was in charge. Later in the afternoon it rained and he got wet; then he put on his raincoat, after he was soaked.
They had built tables or more like big shelves out in the yard. The women loaded them with food and the men just stood at them and helped themselves.

I remember grandpa, picking apples in the fall. He carried big pails full inside and put them in barrels. I remember Eileen and I would carry in wood after school and put it in the summer kitchen. I was always glad when someone called, “that’s enough.” We were city kids!

I remember grandpa, writing letters at a small table in the downstairs bedroom. This was serious business and we had to be quiet. Even the adults were quiet.

I remember everyone in the house, kneeling to say the rosary before bed. When we finished, grandma would stay on her knees and continue to pray.
I remember the night that grandma opened a big cardboard box and displayed her new fur coat. I thought that must be what she was praying for.

I remember walking to school behind Dora, who always broke a track for us through the snowdrifts. We were so short we would get stuck.

I remember in the summer, some of the family would take us to a cottage that Cox’s had down at the lake, (or was it a Mahoney girl – not sure). The ladies wore bathing suits with a skirt down to their knees.

I remember grandpa’s wake and funeral. The first for me. The church was packed.
I remember grandma being waked in the living room and my father kneeling beside her casket, weeping. I took him outside.

My abiding memory is of the respect they all had for their parents, and the sense of caring for all of us.

Philomena (Healy) Fountain – April 2000


Owen Healy 1842 – 1931 married Margaret McNulty 1856 – 1914

1. John Francis 1876 – 1922 married Jean Marie Coles 1897 –1965

2. Catherine Gertrude –1877 –1967 married ? Hall

3. Thomas Bartholomew (Bert) 1879 – 1928 married Minnie Kemp & upon her death Bert married Elizabeth Stephenson 1897 1949

4. Ellen (Nell) 1881 – 1962 married Lewis McLeod
2nd marriage for Ellen Healy to John McDonagh

5. Henry Joseph Healy 1883 – 1970 married Mary Ellen Lee 1889 – 1973

6. Patrick 1887 – 1963 married Beth Betty

7. William James Healy “Bill” 1891 – married Phyllis Costigan

Owen Healy, the third son of Martin & Ann Healy, lived with his brother Martin & wife Ann for some time, before marrying Margaret McNulty on February 3, 1874 ( Fr. K. A. Campbell presiding). All of their seven children; John Francis, Catherine Gertrude, Bartholomew (Bert), Ellen (Nell), Henry Joseph (Joe), Patrick, & William were born at the family’s 150-acre farm located on the town line (Rama side) between the townships of Mara & Rama (now the Fraser MacDonald farm). In the years before World War 1, most of the Owen Healy children headed west.

Owen was an austere, but good man. His appearance commanded immediate respect, for he was a man about six feet tall with broad shoulders. He also wore a beard. He was remembered by family members as being a quite good-looking man, even in his seventies. Owen was clearly the lord of his house, commanding hard work from his children around the farm; a typical situation as a means of survival for all new pioneers in Canada. By the time Owen was in his seventies he felt that his sons could take over the farm work, completely.

Owen was very strict with his children and was also very keen on the news. He liked to have himself and his family well informed on the events of the world.

Owen’s wife, Margaret (McNulty) was a warm and loving mother. She brought love and affection to the family. The story of her death is indeed sad. She developed a goiter and became very ill. Owen summoned his daughter Gertrude to come back from out west and look after her mother while she was ill. In the end, the doctor was sent for but before he could get to the farm, she had died.

Owen’s son Joe was running the farm (about 1915) with his wife Mary Ellen, who was a city girl. After living on the farm for about a year, Joe’s wife wanted to move back to the city so the farm was sold and Owen moved to Toronto to live with his eldest son Frank for about a year. At this time his daughter Nell came to Toronto and persuaded Owen to go out west to Saskatoon and live with her. So out west they went, by train. After living with Nell for a while in Saskatoon, Owen went to live with his other daughter, Gert who lived in Winnipeg (about 1920). Nell had to move to Cleveland because her husband, Mr. McDonagh worked with the Railway Company and he was transferred to that city. Owen lived with Gert (who was married to a man named Hall) for the rest of his life.

Owen gave 50 acres of the farm to his eldest son Frank, and the rest to Tom’s grandfather Joe, before he moved to Winnipeg.

Owen was a simple, uneducated man, who in his later years was quite deaf.

Owen Healy died in 1931 and is buried in St. Mary’s Cemetery, Winnipeg. His tombstone was seriously damaged in the 1950 flood and some years later a new one was erected. It reads: Owen Healy, Died April 24, 1931 ; Age 90 Yrs. 1841 – 1931.

This generation of Healy’s who emigrated from Ireland remained almost entirely Irishmen until their deaths. Even Owen who spent only the first seven years of his life in Ireland had some practices, which seem strange to us today. For instance, when Tom Healy’s grandmother Mary Ellen (Lee) Healy first came to live at the Healy farm in 1914, the first thing her father in law did was to make his son & newly wed wife kneel before him to receive his fatherly blessing. Also when Tom’s grandmother introduced Owen to Fr. Cline, the pastor at Holy Name Church in Toronto, she was very surprised when he got down on his knees before the priest to receive his blessing. However, as time went on Irish families were said to have sought to change their lot. Men & women kept up with the latest American styles, bought Model T Fords like everyone else, listened to the radio, read the newspaper and occasionally went to the movies. In spite of the changing times, Irish music and church activities were still an important part of their lives. By the time the third generation had been born in Canada, they thought of themselves as Canadian and not Irish.

The Martin Healy farm was left to his son, Martin Jr.
Relatives have said that they looked forward to spending their summers at the Martin Healy Jr. farm. Tom’s father Wilf Healy, remembers the frequent visits of the priests and the friendly atmosphere of the farmhouse. The priests and everyone who came to visit would gather around playing a card game called euchre. Eventually everyone would get around to singing the Old Irish songs, accompanied on the piano by a family member. There certainly was plenty of love in the Martin Healy home. Every night, just before going to bed the rosary was said by everyone.

The tombstone of Martin Healy Sr. reads: Martin Healy
Died Feb. 5, 1900
Aged 65 Years
Native of County Sligo, Ireland

The following inscription is on his tombstone:
Rest father, rest in
Quiet sleep, while friends
In sorrow o’er thee weep
And here their heartfelt
Offerings bring, and near
Thy grave, thy requiem sings.

Frank Healy Story

I am the youngest offspring of Henry Joseph “Joe” and Mary Ellen Healy whom, I’m sure the family tree will show, were first cousins, respectively, with Martin and Mary Healy. And great friends. It was my Uncle Martin and Aunt Mary who introduced my parents to each other sometime around 1915.

Mary Ellen was a fun-loving city girl blessed with an over- powering personality. She was strong-willed, to say the least, and quite charismatic. Add to this a pretty face and slender body and one could see why she was always the belle of the ball.

Martin and his gracious, warm and outgoing wife loved to invite Mary Ellen to spend annual vacations on the farm, a get-a-way from her secretarial job on Toronto’s hot and sticky Bay Street. And it gave Mary and Martin cause to invite their neighbours to parties, to welcome her with typical Healy farm-country hospitality.

All the local bachelors waited with great expectation and hope for each visit by Mary and Martin’s city cousin glamour-girl. But none looked forward with more enthusiasm than cousin Joe Healy, who had a prosperous farm on the town line, less than a mile north of Martin’s. Actually, it was on the north side of the town line, which was the boundary line of the Rama Indian Reserve. It was never explained to us why my father’s farm was on a Reserve. I can only surmise that when my father’s father “Owen”, or maybe his grandfather, pioneered the land no such Indian Reserve existed and the Healy property was overlooked somehow when the Reserve land was sanctioned off.

To make a long story short, handsome young Joseph Healy wooed and eventuality won the heart of Mary Ellen. Joe’s new bride gave up her city way of life and moved in with him on the farm. But it wasn’t for long. The wedding lasted well into their eighties. But not so their life in the country. It came to a quick demise when, as everyone had predicted, Mary Ellen suffered farm life for less than a year when she told Joe it was either she or the farm.

Joe up and sold the farm, lock stock and barrel and purchased a house in the east end of Toronto, 5 Chester Ave., just off the Danforth where they lived for the rest of their lives.

My father’s remarkable success as a farmer turned businessman is a story in itself and someday should be told. With hardly any formal education whatsoever he knocked on doors looking for work until he was hired as a salesman by The London Life Insurance Company in Toronto’s East End.

In those days the company had no such thing as a training course. Joe simply was given the bare essentials, handed what they called a rate book and told to go sell life insurance. And in those days life insurance had a long way to go. There were more skeptics than believers.

With the help of a second-hand bicycle, he laboured long hours, six days a week to become one of the company’s most respected and admired salesman until he retired 35 years later. But he always claimed that, if the truth was really known, his heart remained on the farm.

World War I was nearly over when their first offspring arrived. But tragedy and sorrow was to follow when Betty succumbed to one of the common children’s diseases of the day, and died before she had reached the age of five.

The second-born also was a girl whom they named Margaret. Full of beans and looked upon as a bit of a tomboy in her early years, she developed into a charming young lady who graduated from Loretto Abbey High School in Toronto before working at a number of secretarial jobs, then meeting and marrying Gerry Lee, a well known and successful stock broker.

A fine, happy marriage, it produced two daughters, Mary Catherine and Rosemary. But a great loss occurred when Gerry died suddenly of natural causes while he and Margaret were vacationing in the south.

Margaret eventually married a long-time family friend by the name of Fred Peart. They are both well and living happily together in Toronto. Margaret has five grand children while Fred can boast of 15 grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren from his first marriage.

Wilfred, the third offspring, was born in 1917. Wilf passed away in 1989 at the age of 71 but not before making his mark as a successful corporate partner in a Toronto law firm. Prior to being called to the bar he had been wounded in France shortly after D-Day while serving as a lieutenant with the Governor- General’s Footguards.

Brother Wilf is survived by his widow, Eleanor, living in the Halifax area, Sarah, living in London England, John in Austria, Martha in Dartmouth, Leonard in Calgary, Tom in Montreal, Tim in Ottawa and Paul also on the East Coast. Wilf also is survived by 13 grandchildren.

The last to arrive on the scene was yours truly, Frank, born June 21st, 1920. Like Wilf, I attended St. Michael’s College High School in Toronto. I was a high school dropout though but managed to get into the news-writing business at the tender age of 17.

I joined the Navy in 1942, was commissioned as a naval reporter and saw action in the North Atlantic, The English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. I ended up marrying Leading Wren Mickie Hanson of Brandon in England before we returned to Canada at the end of the war. Our first born, Francie, a successful writer and editor, is working in Kingston and Westport, Ontario. Michael is living in Toronto, Christopher in Ottawa, Joseph in Calgary, Mary Margaret in Osgoode (near Ottawa) and Frankie at home with the old folks in Ottawa. They are responsible for our 12 grand children.

But now for the memories:

Year after year, from the early ages of grade school, the bug hit when the first spring thaw arrived in the city. By the time the summer holidays had actually arrived, I was beyond constraint as we jammed into the family car and headed for Atherley and our summer home with those wonderful Martin Healy’s. We kids who were lucky enough to be able to get away from the hot city streets and experience the adventure and freedom of country life on a real farm were the envy of all our school mates.

The Martin Healy farm was our Utopia. It had horses to ride, to feed, to harness and to drive. It had cows to milk and to be herded to and from pasture, pigs to feed, fields to help harvest, a nearby lake to swim and fish in and a rolling apple orchard with many trees to climb. Our daily routine (if you could call it that) was pitch in and help with the chores half the day, under the supervision of daughter Tish who, as a Toronto school teacher, also spent her summers hack home on the farm. God help any of us who tried to avoid carrying out her orders. But it was all worth it when she rewarded us with a climb aboard the old Chevy for a swimming session at Fawn Bay down the way on the Rama Road.

But some of my fondest memories of those wonderful years were the warmth of Uncle Martin and Aunt Mary and the whole family. The oldest son, Brad, whom I used to call “Best-friend-Brad”, spent most of his time in the city when we were visiting and Louis, handicapped by a serious congenital heart defect, loved us all very dearly and nearly worried himself to death over some of our crazy, dare-devil antics day in an day out. Little Mary was my dear friend and sidekick. (She was just a few years older.) And Bob Heslin–a nephew of Aunt Mary–and I spent a lot of time together. And there were so many other fun-loving cousins too numerous to mention.

One of my greatest joys was winning Uncle Martin’s confidence and his approval as we tried to carry out “men’s chores” around the farm, in the fields, in the stables and so forth. He was a man of few words but he had a delightful sense of humour.

One hot August afternoon, cousin Bob and I (aged 12 or thereabouts) had finished our morning chores and had snuck off to the delightful solitude of a corner in the apple orchard, a good distance from the farmhouse. Here we would stretch out on the grass using a huge boulder as a resting backdrop. And this is where I trace the beginning of my later addiction to tobacco. This day one of us produced a nickel package of British Consuls and the other a small box of wooden matches. Feeling grown up and naughty, we lit up and puffed away to our hearts content. The world was our oyster … until we heard footsteps approaching from the other side of the boulder. Quickly smothering the cigarettes in the ground and fanning the air with our hands, we stood up and tried to look nonchalant and innocent as Uncle Martin approached, seemingly from nowhere.

We were sure he had seen the smoke and had caught us red-handed but all he did was give us a glad “hello boys” with a bit of chitchat before continuing on to another part of the orchard. We felt great relief and thanked our lucky stars, then forgot about the close call until dinner that night when Uncle Martin brought the conversation around to the evils of smoking and drinking among young people. Alarm bells rang in my head as he looked directly at Bob and me and said: “Well, one thing I know for sure, is that you’d never catch these two lads puffing on a cigarette.” A mischievous look came over his face as he added: “No siree, not those two boys,” and changed the subject to something else. His sense of humour prevailed and we loved him all the more for it.

We spent a great deal of time with him in the barn, in the stable and the other outhouses and enjoyed long walks with him in what we called “the woods” on one edge of the farm property. We learned about wildlife and the seasons and so many things pertaining to life on the farm. One night I will always remember is the time he drove Bob and me to a garden party at Uptergrove in a horse and buggy.With the top down, we returned along the Rama Road at night as he mesmerized us with stories of the galaxy. To this day I can’t look into the bright skies at night without seeing good old Uncle Martin, the rein in one hand as the other pointed out to two excited little boys the glory and the mystery of such things as the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.

We had the best of two worlds, what with horse-drawn buggies, hay wagons and a variety of barnyard machinery because we also enjoyed the only motorcar the Martin family ever owned. It was a magnificent 1928 Chevrolet touring sedan, a five-seater with a top that folded back like a convertible. It had no windows, of course, but counted on self-attached leather-like side curtains to keep out the cold in winter. In the summertime they weren’t needed of course. We all loved that old car which sometimes sounded like a locomotive. Uncle Martin wasn’t much of a driver and did so only when absolutely necessary. He counted on Brad or Tish, but they weren’t always available.

I guess that’s why he let me talk him into trying out for my first driver’s license which I could legally apply and test for when I reached the age of 16. So on June 22nd, 1936, the day after my 16th birthday, off we went to Orillia, about 10 miles away, to give it a try. It’s a day I’ll never forget. A very unprofessional-type examiner took one look at this skinny, city kid who wanted a license to drive his uncle’s car.

After he stopped laughing, I was put through the ropes. He made me drive all over town at various speeds, park in difficult situations and at one point even had me drive up Orillia’s main street which rose from bottom to top at about a 45 degree angle. When we reached the top, as dozens of locals looked on in amusement, he said: “Now let’s see you drive it backwards to the bottom … in a straight line.”

It was agony, for by this time I was exhausted and the temperature was in the eighties. With no such luxury as today’s power steering or power brakes I never though I’d make it. Just turning or holding steady the huge old wooden sterring wheel and trying to control brakes that even in the best of times hardly worked was next to impossible. I wanted to throw in the towel right there but with the thought of Uncle Martin and the gang back at the farm cheering me on, I gritted my teeth, mumbled a “Hail Mary” and got the job done. The examiner gave me what he said was a reluctant license. Evidently I hadn’t made quite enough mistakes to be failed. The by-standers clapped.

There was joy on the farm and no one got a bigger kick out of the whole thing than Uncle Martin and Aunt Mary.

The Martin Healy Home

Picture a two-story, white, clapboard house set several hundred yards from the Rama Road out of Atherley. You’d have to squint through dozens of knobby-looking apple trees of all shapes and sizes to see the outline of the house with its rambling verandah. The barn and outbuildings were fenced off, again hundreds of yards to the left or farther down the road. This exposed a huge, green span of rich lawn bordered by magnificent Maples and Oaks. Get the picture? This is what we in the city looked forward to all winter long.

And an entire book couldn’t do justice to the inside or the happiness it produced. It had four large bedrooms upstairs with double beds, single beds and cots all over the place. Another downstairs bedroom was the domain of Mary and Martin. It was so out-of-bounds to us kids that I don’t remember ever seeing the inside. We were free to roam anywhere else though and we sure did.

As you entered through the front door a very, very formal parlour stared at you from the right. Straight-ahead was the front stairway. On the immediate left, in stark contrast to the formal living room, was as warm and welcoming a dining room as one would ever find.

It had a grand old table, (–with an old-fashioned chandelier), which could sit up to 10 people at one sitting. The chairs were circa 1900 or older and an old gramophone stood in the corner. One of the first hand-cranked wooden telephones hung majestically from one wall beside the main window which looked out over the long span of lawn to the fence and gate housing the barnyard and buildings.

At the far end of the dining room, to the right as you entered from the front, stood a charming old pot-belly-stove with large shinny black pipes mushrooming off to three or four vents in the ceiling spreading the warmth (supposedly) to the upstairs rooms. Over to the left of the stove and against the side wall sat what I can only describe as a black-leather farmer’s couch. It was the sole domain of Uncle Martin who grabbed his twenty-to-thirty minutes nap-time immediately after his noon lunch, without fail. This was the one time of the day we children had to maintain total silence or risk the wrath of God. The fact that these siestas frequently stretched to more than the supposedly twenty- to-thirty minutes sometimes severely tested our self-discipline. Tish was the self-appointed policeman and made sure there wasn’t a sound out of us during these silence periods.

Then came the old country kitchen with another huge wooden table in the center and a four-burner wood stove against the far wall. A little to the right and almost behind the stove was the door to a rambling old wooden shack which housed, floor to ceiling, what seemed like a never-ending supply of chopped wood for cooking needs and winter-time fuel. A single passageway wound through to the end of the shack. A door on the immediate right opened into an out-house or what was some times called the privy.

Many years before the introduction of the septic tank, the privy was the only output for the disposal of human waste. This particular out-house was what we called a three-holer. When you opened the door you were faced with what looked like a solid- looking bench with the top about four feet from the wooden floor. You had the choice of sitting on top of this structure with your posterior settled into any of three holes spaced about two feet apart. Nature then took over.

But back to the kitchen. A familiar sight was a counter with wash basins and jugs, which today are highly valued as much sought- after antiques. A water-well with an old wooden-handle pump was just a few yards away from a side door. one of the chores we kids were responsible for was filling pails with well water and seeing that a supply was always sitting on the floor from morning to night.

Another common country-kitchen sight was a cream-separator standing also near the side door. After the cows were milked and while the women did the dinner dishes we kids helped bring in a few pails of milk, still warm from the cows. This was poured into a large white round metal container on top of the separator. We took turns rotating a heavy, slow turning handle on the side. When the rotation became easier and faster and the motor began to hum, a tap was turned to allow the milk to proceed through the machine. As the heavier cream separated from the milk they each poured out individual spouts into waiting pails on swivel trays attached to the separator. Seems to me it took only about half an hour. And if you wanted, you could make buttermilk out of the skim milk. I loved to but most of the gang didn’t like the stuff and would almost gag at the sight of Uncle Martin and I enjoying a glass-full.

The kitchen was the heart and soul of the Healy families. The heart throb. I can still smell that wonderful aroma–which seemed to be ever present–of Aunt Mary’s rich apple pies and blueberry pies and butter tarts and cookies and tea-biscuits, not to mention the smell of freshly-baked, home made bread that was so tantalizing and always there to be devoured by hungry kids.

The family and all the guests, young and old, spent many a cherished evening telling and acting out stories, playing dice games and card games like “Hearts” and “Crazy Eights” and “Rummy” and “Twenty One”. And many a Saturday night Uncle Martin and my father Joe and other brave souls would sit around that kitchen table and play “Euchre”. The games frequently became war games as the players shouted and pounded the table and accused each other of cheating. It was great fun and we spectators enjoyed it as much as participants.

Today young people often ask me what people did at home in the olden days when they had no such thing as television and very little even of radio except for world news. And unless you lived very close to a good-sized town or city even movies were out of reach. So we had to manufacture our own entertainment. Sunday morning mass, annual garden parties in Atherley and Uptergrove as well as family picnics served as a meeting place for cousins and neighborhood friends.

The Healy clan was made up of very devoted, practicing Roman Catholics who would rather die than miss mass on a Sunday morning. As evidence of this I recall so well several summers where, for some reason or other, the visiting priest, who normally said mass in a quaint little ivy-covered church in nearby Uptergrove, had to celebrate mass in a very non-Catholic local spot called Longford. It so happened that there was no church whatsoever in Longford so guess where mass was said??? Through unusual arrangements with the enemy–the Loyal Orange Lodge–the Catholics rented the Longford Orange Hall. It was, of course, decorated with all the usual orange slogans, some of them outrageously anti-papal. And as the little Catholic Healy congregation, bowed their heads in prayer they could forget they were surrounded by such rude and objectionable messages. They could forget, that is, until the altar boy rang the bells at the Consecration. As they raised their heads when the priest elevated the Host for adoration, staring them in the face from the back wall behind the altar was the in-famous King Billy astride his white horse.
These were the country Healy’s of the 1920 and 1930s. A time to be remembered!
There is quite an interesting story surrounding the death of John. He was only 22 years old and had just been married to Maria Coleman for about two weeks when he was murdered at Tivnon’s Hotel in Atherley. The account of the murder is as follows.

From the Orillia Packet & Times Newspaper: – April 18, 1872

Murder? Man Shot At Atherley

We stop the press to announce the murder of a man well known in Orillia, named Healy who was shot through the head in Tivnon’s Hotel, Atherley last Wednesday night. As is usual in times of more than ordinary excitement, it is almost impossible to get to the truth. There are numberless versions of the affair, but we prefer not giving any of them until an investigation shall have disclosed the true one. It is certain however, that the unfortunate man Healy was shot through the head with a revolver by a sub-contractor on the T.S. & M.J. R.R. named Gunn.

The ball entered at the left temple and passed out at the crown of the head. Only a week or ten days ago the murdered man was married to a daughter of Mr. Coleman, Bass Lake. Gunn has not yet been arrested.

April 25, 1872

The above particulars were received after the paper was on the press, last week and consequently appeared in only half the edition. An inquest was held at Tivnon’s Hotel on Thursday by Coroner Foley, at which the following particulars were adduced:

The deceased had been in the house only a few minutes when a quarrel arose between Gunn and one Moran. Healy interposed to make peace, but his interference was resented by Gunn, who struck him in the face. Healy returned the blow, whereupon Gunn drew a pistol and after striking him once with it placed the weapon against his left temple and fired. The murderer walked about the room for a few minutes and then went up stairs and brought down a loaded revolver, which he showed to some of the inmates of the house, to prove by its being loaded and clean that it was not he who had shot the man. He shortly after returned to his room upstairs, changed his clothes and started off, the spectators apparently being so completely paralyzed as to offer no resistance.

The jury returned a verdict of willful murder against Gunn and strongly censured the government for their laxity in having no magistrates appointed to the Township of Mara, in consequence of which no immediate action was taken for the murderer’s arrest.

A description of Gunn has been advertised in the “Globe” and hand bills offering a reward of $400, – $300 from the Township Councils of Mara and Rama and $100 from the brothers of the murdered man, have been issued.

Gunn is a stone mason by trade and resides at St. Mary’s when at home, where he has a wife and family. The following is the description given of him: Rather stoutly built, height about six feet, pocked marked, heavy beard and mustache of sandy colour, aged about 35 years, grey eyes, speaks with a slight Scottish accent.

From The Orillia Expositor – April 4, 1872

Cold Blooded Murder

On Wednesday evening, the 17th, a most cold-blooded and extraordinary murder was perpetrated at Atherley in the Township of Mara, county of Ontario, and about four miles from Orillia. The particulars as given in the evidence at the inquest held by Coroner Foley are substantially as follows:

On the day named, Gunn had completed a contract on the Northern Extension Railway and the men were celebrating the event at Tivnon’s Tavern in the manner usual to such occasions. About nine o’clock in the evening, a quarrel occurred between Gunn and one of his labourers named Morin. Gunn had his antagonist and was beating him when John Healy, returning home from Orillia, entered the bar-room and immediately interfered, pushing Gunn off from Morin. A struggle ensued between them in which it is said Gunn had the advantage, being the larger and more powerful of the two and Healy also being encumbered with three coats buttoned to the chin. Suddenly however, Gunn drew a revolver and holding Healy at arm’s length – it is asserted by some who witnessed the deed – first struck the unfortunate man on the temple with it, then took deliberate aim and shot him through the temple with it, instantly killing him. Letting his victim fall, the murderer walked across the room several times, apparently deliberating upon what course to pursue, then went upstairs – coolly stepping over Healy’s body – washed his hands, arranged some of his affairs, took an old fashioned revolver, which on returning below stairs he gave it to Mrs. Tivnon, intimating that he could not have shot the man as his revolver was useless. It was sworn however, that the weapon used was of modern pattern. Gunn was allowed to depart. Those present being apparently panic stricken by a report that he had threatened to shoot Morin before leaving Atherley. He was accompanied for some distance by one of his labourers named Kilroy, to whom he gave his time book. No further clue to the course taken by the murderer has been obtained. His deliberate actions subsequent to the murder do not seem to indicate that he was intoxicated when he committed the deed.

The Coroner’s Jury rendered a verdict of “Willful Murder” against Gunn. They also censured the government for having no magistrate in the township.

A reward of four hundred dollars is offered for the apprehension of Gunn. He is about six feet, pock-marked, heavy beard and mustache of sandy colour, aged about 35 years, grey eyes and speaks with a slight Scottish accent. Had on when left Atherley a dark coat, light coloured pants and vest, with dark fur cap or black rowdy hat.


Thomas Healey, the father of Ann Healey (married to Martin Healy) was born in County Mayo, Ireland in 1801. He married Hanora (?) (1813-1877). He was one of the pioneers of Mara Township. Thomas and his wife Hanora had eight children (Patrick James, Charles, Ann, Edward, Bridget, Mary Jane, and Marcus). Their daughter Ann (1842-1922) was born in Mayo County, Ireland, and came to Canada as a child with her parents. The Thomas Healy family settled in Mara by 1861. In 1856, Thomas purchased the north half of lot 24, concession 8 from the Canada Company. In 1876, Edward and Marcus purchased lot 26, concession 8 from Thomas Burgin and wife. Thomas Healy lived in the Uptergrove area and died at the age of ninety. His funeral was at St. Columbkille’s church.

1. Patrick (1835-1915)

2. James (1836-1864)

3. Charles (1841-?)

4. Ann (1842-1922) married Martin Healy (1835-1900) on April 17, 1861 at St. Columbkille’s church, Uptergrove.

5. Edward (1844-1919) unmarried.

6. Bridget Monica (1847-1930) unmarried.

7. Mary Jane (1850-1903) married John Egan (1851-1909) on Jan. 31, 1878.

7. Marcus (1852-1925) married Catherine O’Connell (1853-?) on Oct. 12, 1885.


Thomas Mahoney was born in Waterford, Ireland in 1834 and emigrated to Canada with his parents when he was twelve years old, crossing the ocean in a sailing vessel which they occupied for six weeks and three days in the passage.
Thomas (1834-1919) married Ann Clarke (1849-1927) on Jan 6, 1869, and lived on the 11th concession of Mara Township (in the old Dolan place). They had twelve children:

1. Mary Ann (1869-1943) married Arch’d McDonald (1864-1938) on Sept. 26, 1893.

2. Catherine (1871-1958) married John J. Healy (1864-1941) in April 1898.

3. Bridget (Beezy) (1873-1941) unmarried

4. Patrick James (1875-1942) married Helen “Nellie” Holland (1878-1960) in 1921.

5. Thomas J. (1877-1901) unmarried.

6. Margaret J. (1879-1954) married Patrick B. Duffy (1869-1957) on June 21, 1921. Lived where Jim and Helen Smith now live on the Monck Road.

7. Dorathea “Dora” (1881-?) married Patrick Fogarty (?-?) on June 11, 1913.

8. Agnes (1885-1949) unmarried.

9. James Bartholomew “Bert” (1885-1958) married Mary Elizabeth Brennan (1885- 1974). Parents of Father Bernard and Father Joe Mahoney. Father Joe Mahoney is now retired and lives in St. Catharines, helping out at the Cathedral. Father Bernard taught at St. Augustine’s seminary for 20 years from 1950 to 1970, teaching liturgy, church history, moral theology and the meaning of a priest’s vocation.

10. Clara (Loretta – Laura) (1889-


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