Hopple Bridge

Races were held in Dickinson’s Landing.  There was a race track. This was later bought by  rather a renowned horseman in this part of the country, who many of us remembered in Jimmy Conners. Jimmy had a stable, a boarding stable at the racetrack, which was equal distance from Dickinson’s Landing and Wales, right here along the graveyard road across  Hoople’s Creek and a little bridge, and up to the beautiful sand track. One horse he had, Gilbert Gratton, wouldn’t race unless an  old nanny goat was with him, standing right at the side of the track, wouldn’t go in the horse wagon unless the nanny goat went in first, wouldn’t go into his stall unless the nanny goat was in there, and wouldn’t start a race unless she was standing near the  starting line. One time, a new handler of the nanny goat had the goat at the starting line, Gilbert Gratton was off to a good start, but on the second lap, he glanced over and the young lad, with the nanny goat, had left.  So Gilbert Gratton just quit. That was  the end of the race for him, half way through.

Most of the recreation of Dickinson’s Landing was in the summer time, swimming, boating – many people could simply walk to the edge of the lot and there was the boat in the little wharf, and start the motor and away they’d go.  The proximity of the river accounts for so many of the people in Dickinson’s Landing being riverboat  men. Frank Dishaw, now retired here in Ingleside, was a riverboat  captain; Walter Mills, for many years, was Captain of the Canada Starch Co. ship. Dickinson’s Landing has all sorts of anecdotes; like so many anecdotes, unless one really does know the  people involved, the humour is often lost.  One thing I’ve always heard was Dickinson’s Landing was a great place for nicknames. The McFees, Alec, who was called Arctic or North,  because, of course, he was so frosty, and his brother was called Friday, because he was long and lean. Many people only remembered the village because it was a long skinny village, with a long name,  on your way to Montreal, or on your way to Toronto. There wasn’t really very much there to make anyone stop, but it was home  to many people until the year of the flood, 1958  A.D.