(Excerpts from Interview with Dan Alex MacLeod, Stirling, by Ron Caplan, Cape Breton Magazine as printed in Number Forty One published Jan, 1996 - “Dan Alex: A working Life.” In Brackets, blue color and Italics are the questions Ron Caplan asked Dan Alex. This is about the Stirling mine when it operated in 1920's/30's.
(Before there was ever a mine at Stirling, was it you or your grandfather heard of it?)
Both of us. The first time we heard it, one stormy night, I happened to go out --see, we had no inside toilets then --I could hear this roaring going over here. So I told my grandfather, and he came out to listen to it. “Oh”. He said, “That's the forerunner of somebody getting killed or something.” So, I don't know how many years after that that the mines started, and you could hear the same noise.
The last time she started I heard it 3 different times. I was saying there were 3 people going to be killed there, and there were.
(Do you have any visions of it returning again?)
Oh, it is going to return. We’ve heard it since the mine stopped. But when, we don't know. Even over there, we heard a diamond drill. It must be electric or something. There was no exhaust. But you could hear, you know, the way they grind. And it's in April you hear those things. (Have you heard it recently). Oh, about 7 years ago.
(You feel it's foretelling that Stirling Mines will be producing again?) Oh, yeah.
(Was Stirling Mines the first time big money was seen around here—cash?) I'd say, yeah. Well, the farmers used to make a lot of money here --till the government interfered --you bet they were. My uncle, the first week of September, on Thursday --the week before, he gathered cream and butter, perhaps a couple of lambs --and he went Thursday, at dark, so that it would be cool, going all night. Into Sydney and Glace Bay. And then he got orders, and every Thursday from there on till the winter came, he went with this load. No problem, just at it, getting fairly good money for it.
Then somebody stepped in --they wanted a license. Then it came that you had to have your cream and your milk and your buttermilk and all this pasteurized. And you couldn't kill a lamb without killing it in a slaughterhouse. There were no slaughterhouses here. You wouldn't go to hauling lambs to Sydney for slaughtering. That put the kibosh on her.
(If you look at Cape Breton and all the farms that are closed….)
That's just government coming in and interfering. If they'd left them alone, there’d still be farms in Cape Breton.
(So you don't see the mines coming as a Godsend.)
No. The worst thing that ever came here. See, they were working on the farms. They were making, you know a good living -- they weren't living in style or anything, but they had enough to eat and they enjoyed their lives. They had lots of time to go visiting. When you cut wood, there’d be big frolics. In the evening they have a quilting party or something. Everybody enjoyed themselves.
Okay. Mine came in here, well, in 1928 it started, and worked till 1930. That was a funny thing. In 1930, election was on the 28th of July. I came up from the mine and voted at 3 o'clock, after shift. See, that was when Bennett got it. Eleven o'clock that night -- There wasn't a wheel turning. Just shut her down like that. Tariffs, you know. The conservatives always went in for heavy tariffs. They were getting there reagents from Belgiun and places like that and for 5 years, 3 months and 14 days, I think --if I remember right --when a hole came on your pants, you put a patch on it, and when that patch wore out, you put another one on it . And on the 14th of October, 1935, the liberals got back in. Next day, I went back to work, getting the mine ready to go again.
(It wasn't just that you lost your job --that mine stopped.) Oh, everybody lost their job. And see, they had neglected their farms, the farms had gone kaput. And they never got back to fixing up their farms any more.
There is an air vent there that Savard and I drilled, it came up at 70 degrees. The last we were getting, I think, it was $20 a foot. We paid for our own dynamite caps and fuel. The last round we put in, there was 19 feet came out of it. Overburden and everything. We got paid $20 a foot for it. He was on one shift and I was on the other --we were working two shifts.
(It was to put an air hole down?) No, we came up.
(You were working up there from below?) Yeah. They wouldn't allow you, I don't think, to do that today. See, what we did was, when we got our round in—we put two holes in this side and two holes in that side--Then we had to go down on a rope, after we lit the fuse. I don't think they'd allow you to do that today. After we went up so far, you put a hole in the wall so you could leave your machinery there. And you had ladders. But you had to take the ladders down and then go up on the rope to light your fuse. We took the ladders down –they’d be all smashed. Then we'd put them up again. But then when you blasted your round, you put two steel into those holes--you did that on both sides—And you put planks across them, and that's what you worked on. (And you were working your way up from …?) the 100- foot level.
We lived across the Lake here, that's where my old home is. And I used to blast at 12 o'clock. I used to go down to the Mine when the shift came off at 5 o'clock. I went down. I set up my machine --you only had so much air, you know. I set up my machines. And by the time the other fellows got to work at 7 o'clock and set up their machines, I had my round in. And then at 12 o'clock I blasted, when they came up to eat. And over across the Lake, my mother could tell the shots --There's a slip going across here somewhere. And she could tell the amount of shots I put in the round, she could hear them, you know, like “tick,” “tick,” “tick,” under the house.
See, this was only, like, a prospecting and getting the mine ready, if there was enough or body there to set up a mill. There was no mill here then. This was in ‘28 and ‘27. (This is the first major mining that they did here?) Yeah.
(What equipped you to do work like that ? What made you think you could mine?)
Well, when I was born, I thought I could do anything. I tried everything. I never hit a thing that I couldn't do. No doubt in my mind. You make up your mind to do something, you can do it. (But you had no training as a Hard Rock miner?) No, no. Once I started drifting --making a tunnel through --I made bonus every time, every two weeks I made bonus. (When you say “I” -- did you do this alone? Oh no, you've got a helper. When you're drifting, you pay for your helper and two workers, and you pay for your dynamite, and you pay for your fuse, and you pay for your caps. I believe it was $7.50 you were getting a foot. And okay you're getting $7.50 a foot. But when you go over the footage you're supposed to make, you're getting a bonus. See, and if you make so much, you're paying your helper 50 cents and your workers 50 cents, bonus. But if you make still better, you're paying them a dollar a day bonus. Over and above their wages. So I generally paid them a dollar.
(But you were a good miner?)
Oh, I don't know if I was good, but I got along, anyway.
(There is no training for that on the farm.)
No. Well, I think a lot of it is gall. You know, lots of people, well,” I'm afraid to try it”, or something. I was never afraid to try anything to take that step where you make success.
(I’m not surprised to see you cutting wood, or trying to make a go of a lumber business. That was often part of farming in Cape Breton. But mining….)
Well, Mining came easy. Well, it's not me, but all the fellows around here, they were drilling, and doing the same thing as I was. See, you went in down there as a helper. I was 3 weeks helping. The fellow that was on the machine, he took a vacation, went to Quebec, and I got his machine. When he came back, they gave him another machine and I stayed. (That was the training you got.) I figured at the end of 3 weeks, I could drill a lot better than he could. My impression, you know. So I must have been all right when they left the machine with me; they must have been satisfied.
In 1925 I bought a new truck for $910, brand spanking new. I started hauling from Fourchu. I also had seats --and very few people had Cars then. There were very few cars even in Sydney at that time, very few. Even the trucks that were there, it would be carbon lights that were on them, and solid tires, chain drive. 1925. That was my first job in the mine, hauling up from Fourchu with a truck. Gas or anything they needed in the mine. It was coming into Fourchu by boat. Supplies, eatables, nails, or anything they needed there. There was no mill there then. They were just sinking the shaft, and putting drifts in.
(So you were servicing that operation.) To a certain extent. They had their own truck, too. If you weren't hauling from Fourchu you were doing something else. You were out after lumber to a mill, or moving stuff in the mine from here to there, stuff like that.
And then it stopped for awhile there, and I went to work in Sydney. It just stopped for a year, I think. And it started, but I was at a job in Sydney. I was working on the coal plant, working for the coal company. Shovelling coal. The boss went in, and a cousin of a mine, to see if I'd come back to work (at Stirling Mine). So, “how long can you guarantee me a job?” “Oh, we can't guarantee you a job.”. “Well, I'd be foolish quitting here and going there, and perhaps be out of a job the next day”
So anyway, we were dumping coal in the coal bank. I worked there all winter. Then out of 175 people, I was one of the 5 that were picked out to work all summer. And then that fall, we started dumping coal again. I and another fellow—oh , a great worker—we got a car of screened coal, 16 screen coal—that’s long lumps like this—they were jamming in the car. And it had snowed in the morning, soft snow, and we were trying to get this car out. Anyway, the boss used to walk on top of the car. I thought I and the boss were great friends. There was steam coming out of under our oilskins, we were working that hard. He got snarly, you know, I just fired the shovel as far s it could go and I went in. My time is still there—I never went looking for my time. That was at 3 o’clock, and 9 o’clock I was over in the old place (at Stirling) with the furniture. So at 4 o'clock in the morning, Murdock Dan woke me up, and they wanted me at the mine next morning, and I went to work. So I worked on the truck, their own truck --I'd sold my truck before that --I worked on their truck till sometime in February, till snow. Going to Sydney, or around the thing. When it snowed --I was in an awful snowstorm in February, but I got the truck home. Then I went out of it.
I was 18 months underground, between drilling and all that. I was mucking first, then I was on a machine after that period and then I wrote the manager --you know, he didn't talk to you about any business, you wrote him a letter, and he wrote you a letter. I wrote him a letter and I told him I wanted a job on the surface. And I got a letter from him, when I came up from underground. He wanted me to go driving a tractor. Oh God. I called in the office on the way home. I said” I never even saw a tractor, let alone drive it.” “That's All right”, he said. “There's a fellow coming from Halifax to teach you.” Well, I was on the tractor I don't know how long period I taught 2 or 3 fellows to drive it.
But anyway, he wanted me to go on the service truck then. They were building the mill then. And I'd be moving things here and there, and going to Fourchu.
They had other trucks working. And drivers used to go to the show in Sydney and they wouldn't be back here till 10 o'clock at night. I was going by the office one day, and the Manager for the construction called me, he said, “Do you know your way around Sydney?” I said, “I should, I was there for quite awhile and I lived there for 3 years.” “Well, “he said, “tomorrow morning, I’ll have orders here for you. And if you can get back here that we can unload before 5 o’clock I’ll send for a new truck for you.” Okay, I wasn’t long in Sydney. I went to Sydney and dropped every order I had around. And I came back and loaded. I never waited for dinner. I was back half past two. He said, “What happened?” “Nothing,” “Did you get what I sent for?” “Yeah, there’s your slip.” Just walked over and sent a telegram for a new truck—the best truck that was ever made.
So I was on that. And a new manager had come in, for the mining part. So he warned me, “No passengers—you’re not allowed to take any passengers.” I used to go to Sydney—there were no snowplows then—and I used to get in every night. Oh, I had all the right equipment you could talk of. Long ropes—there were drums on those wheels. Tie them to a tree or something, and pull yourself through. Chain blocks and shovels and bars—we had everything. Kept her going all winter. See, sometimes there’d be a bunch of miners going home on weekend, and they’d want to get a drive back. And I always had lots of shovels. I’d take them back.
But anyway, I was coming through Loch Lomond one day, and I had two in the cab. And the manager met me. Next morning I was hauled into the office and put on the mat. If anything happened, (the riders) could sue the company. I never said a word. I just let him go. But the next day, he met me with two in the seat, one on each running board!
So when I went in—I went in to see Winger who was boss of the construction company. He was after me all the time to go to work with him. I said, “How about a job?” “Sure,” he said. “Well,” I said, “I’ll be with you tomorrow morning.” I was called over to the office. I said, “I quit last night when I landed your truck in here.” I said, “And I’ll tell you why. I come in here every night with my load.” “Oh, yes, good driver.” I said, “You know, those fellows you saw with me, they even took their team of horses down to pull me through snow. They shoveled the snowbanks.” I said, “When I’ve got to pass them, the job is yours.”
“Oh, wait, wait,” he said. “There’s no waiting to it,” I said. “I’m not going to be coming in here and put on the mat here every day—that’s it.” So I turned around. “Wait a minute,” he said, “We’ll give you passes. Get them to sign it, and you can take anybody you want.” And he gave me a yearly pass for my girlfriend! He never bothered me after that.
We were in Sydney one time in an awful storm. There were 6 other trucks and a tractor in there. And one of the bosses was with me. I said, “If we can get ahead of those 6 trucks before we get to Big Pond, we’ll make Stirling.” Well by God, we were getting along pretty good. We got by the tractor and we got by 5 trucks. There was one ahead of us. I said, “That’s it. We can’t get to Stirling.” By God when we got up on top of the mountain, he was putting water in it. This truck would go 40 miles an hour in second gear. And I always loaded it light when there was a storm. So I drove her in second gear and said, “We’ll make Stirling.” So, we went. I knew every bank the same as I know every chair in the kitchen, and I was back and forth, back and forth. When I’d be coming to a bank I’d put her in second gear and I’d hold the wheel still. And he’d be like this (covering his face), “Jesus, Jesus, you made a post! Slow down!” I wouldn’t slow down till I felt her easing up after going through the bank. And we were in here at 9 o’clock. Those trucks never got in. They had to unload in Loch Lomond and go back.
(You liked doing that.) Oh yes, it was a challenge. I’ve come into the mine lots of times, 3 and 4 o’clock in the morning. Going to the cookhouse, and lay down on a bench there. And when the cook got up, got my breakfast in the cookhouse and went and loaded the truck, and headed her back again. Perhaps get in that night at 12 o’clock, do the same thing. Till the road would get better, and then you’d be home early,
If I had my life to live over again, I’d be a truck driver, nothing else. You’re out in the air, you’re meeting different people. I think its the best job that’s going today.
(Then in the periods when the mine was closed, from the ‘30’s through the ‘40’s, you would hear the mine working.) Oh, yeah. That house over there—we were sitting one afternoon, and the door was open—you know, the table was right across from the door—you could hear her going as plain as when she was going. We heard it 3 different times, and I was saying there were 3 fellows going to be killed. And there were 3 fellows killed. I think that’s what we were hearing, when those fellows were getting killed…
Oh, I’ve seen a lot of things. I was working in the mine, and I had a bad cold. Our house wasn’t fit to be living in. Dishes were rattling, and doors opening. Dan Patterson used to come to the door and holler, “Whoa!” My mother was wanting me to quit, you know--“You’re going to get killed.” No, I’m not. You’re hearing all those things--I’m going to get killed, I’m going to get killed—there’s nothing.”
(What did it mean that Dan Patterson came to the door and yelled, “Whoa!”? Well he had a horse. Hold your pants on, you’ll hear. I had an awful bad cold, and this Johnny MacLeod had come down from Lochaber, he had come home to go to work in the mines. So I said, “Work my shift tonight.” We were digging a shaft—the first shaft. So, all right. I stayed home. I don’t know what time that night –an 8-by-8 that this blast had loosened had come down and hit him right on the back of the neck, killed him. And they just took the body into the compressor house and laid it on a bench there. Sent word to his mother to come down. And we thought it was terrible for her to come down and see the body in the machine shop there. So we took his body over to the house. And Dan Patterson took him over. And when he came to the door, he hollered, “Whoa,” stopping the mare, you know. That’s what we were hearing, one of the things we were hearing.
Talk. We used to hear talk. I maintain that if a body is above the ground more than three days, that you hear a lot more about it. See, they had and inquest—I think it was maybe 5 days.
(Do you mean you hear a lot more about it before it happens?) Yeah, that’s right.
(How did you feel, realizing that could have been you?) It didn't bother me. I guess I didn't have brains enough to bother me. I always figure, when you're born your life is slated. You're supposed to be sitting there right now. The day you're going to die is there, too. I really believe that.
(Getting back to the mine....) I think she'll be going again around '90.
(The Stirling Mine up this way (to the West). Yeah. We’ve heard her working. Others have heard it too, in the same direction.
(And you expect it in the 90’s) Well, that’s only my guess. Might be longer than that, might be closer than that. Dear knows, (but it’s coming.) Oh, it’s coming, I’ve got no doubt in my mind. And this hill here, it’ll be a city.
When I as 11 years old I was skating on the ice, and this was all full of lights, small lights down below and bigger ones up above. Oh, I took off for home. I didn’t know what it was. The next year again, I went into Sydney with my uncle in the horse and wagon. And when we got to Dutch Brook or some place in there, you could see Sydney, you know. I was saying, “That’s what I saw.” So it’ll be here. I don’t know, it might be 200 years time, but it’ll be here. There’s no doubt in my mind…
(After the mine closed,) I had been working up in Guysborough, I was driving a tractor and constructing from Monastery to Guysborough…I figured it out—I made 91/2 cents and hour. That’s all I made. I quit. I figured that’s it, I’ll never work for a foreman any more, never. Best thing that ever happened.
We were hearing rumors of war, and we figured we’d get a (saw) mill. We got a mill and started in the woods. Then we moved to Loch Terra Nova. We worked there—we were there 10 years gone…Then in 1949 I bought this place.
(Your home here at Stirling.) And my wife was telling me, “Oh, you’re crazy. The mine isn’t going.” I said, “The mine is going, I know it’s going.” So I got this place for a song. I knew the guy who bought it, from the old people that were here. He had bought it through this money from the war. I figured he was going to sell it. That's how we got this place. I had the mill all set up here, and the first time they wanted lumber for the mine, I had it for them.
(At this time there was no mine or talk of a mine, 1949.) No. But they started in '50. (You felt they were going to start?) Oh yeah, I was sure. I moved the mill and everything down here to be ready for them. John G. came down when I was building the house and the mill. "Did you buy any shares?" She was after starting. "Did you buy any shares?" "No," I said, "I didn't buy any shares. I've got shares enough right here," I had the mill down here just in time to supply them with the lumber they needed.
(Why do you think you're able to foretell that sort of thing?) Oh, I don't know. (Was that in your family before you?) The MacDermids and Morrisons, they were full of it… You don't see anything where there's electricity- -at least I don't. And I don't hear of anybody else seeing things. (Too busy watching television?) Well, no. I think there's something in the air that forbids that.... I don't know what it is. When I was growing up, I wouldn't walk in the middle of the road in the night if you'd give me a thousand dollars. You know, you'd meet funerals on the road. Knock you down and, well, pretty near kill you. You'd feel compressed, you know? Like everything was pressing on you. You don't hear that now any more since the power came in...
(What we call Stirling--it wasn't the name of the mine?) Nothing to do with the mine. (That name has been here since when?) Since the first settlers settled here, nothing to do with the mine. (You were telling me that the highway department changed the name.) They spelled it "Ster? ling," We had a post office right here-- "Sterling"--that's sterling silver. But "Stirling," that's Stirling, Scotland-- that's what this place originally got its name from. We didn't go looking for it early enough, I guess, to find out who called it Stirling, or how did it happen. (The highway department tried to put up signs?) They put up "e" instead of "i." I think a- bout 30 of them. I went up to see the guy. He got kind of saucy to me. "I'll get the' dictionary," he said, "and I'll prove to you." I said, "You get the map of Scotland and see what it's spelled like." They changed all the signs but one that's at the end of Grand River bridge. We lost our post office, but we weren't going to lose our name.
Oh, I had a good life, I was never sick. I had an operation about 6, 7 years ago. That's the first time I was in a hospital. That's the first time I got a needle--I wasn't vaccinated when I went to school--I don't know why. And that's the first time I ever wore pyjamas. The first night I went in there, before the operation, at 9 o'clock, I was sound asleep. And I felt something working at my hand, and I woke up, and there was a nurse there. She had two pills--I said, "What's that for?" "Sleeping pills." I said, "Are you crazy? Waking me up to give me sleeping pills!" "Well, doctor's orders." "Well," I said, "you put them in the wastebasket." I said, "I'm not going to take them." Neither did I.
(Editor’s note Dan Alex was 80 years old when this interview was conducted Jan,1986. He died Feb 19, 2000 at age 95. JS)
To read the whole story "Dan Alex MacLeod: A working Life" click here capebretonsmagazine.com/modules/publisher/item.php?itemid=2012
(Before there was ever a mine at Stirling, was it you or your grandfather heard of it?)
Both of us. The first time we heard it, one stormy night, I happened to go out --see, we had no inside toilets then --I could hear this roaring going over here. So I told my grandfather, and he came out to listen to it. “Oh”. He said, “That's the forerunner of somebody getting killed or something.” So, I don't know how many years after that that the mines started, and you could hear the same noise.
The last time she started I heard it 3 different times. I was saying there were 3 people going to be killed there, and there were.
(Do you have any visions of it returning again?)
Oh, it is going to return. We’ve heard it since the mine stopped. But when, we don't know. Even over there, we heard a diamond drill. It must be electric or something. There was no exhaust. But you could hear, you know, the way they grind. And it's in April you hear those things. (Have you heard it recently). Oh, about 7 years ago.
(You feel it's foretelling that Stirling Mines will be producing again?) Oh, yeah.
(Was Stirling Mines the first time big money was seen around here—cash?) I'd say, yeah. Well, the farmers used to make a lot of money here --till the government interfered --you bet they were. My uncle, the first week of September, on Thursday --the week before, he gathered cream and butter, perhaps a couple of lambs --and he went Thursday, at dark, so that it would be cool, going all night. Into Sydney and Glace Bay. And then he got orders, and every Thursday from there on till the winter came, he went with this load. No problem, just at it, getting fairly good money for it.
Then somebody stepped in --they wanted a license. Then it came that you had to have your cream and your milk and your buttermilk and all this pasteurized. And you couldn't kill a lamb without killing it in a slaughterhouse. There were no slaughterhouses here. You wouldn't go to hauling lambs to Sydney for slaughtering. That put the kibosh on her.
(If you look at Cape Breton and all the farms that are closed….)
That's just government coming in and interfering. If they'd left them alone, there’d still be farms in Cape Breton.
(So you don't see the mines coming as a Godsend.)
No. The worst thing that ever came here. See, they were working on the farms. They were making, you know a good living -- they weren't living in style or anything, but they had enough to eat and they enjoyed their lives. They had lots of time to go visiting. When you cut wood, there’d be big frolics. In the evening they have a quilting party or something. Everybody enjoyed themselves.
Okay. Mine came in here, well, in 1928 it started, and worked till 1930. That was a funny thing. In 1930, election was on the 28th of July. I came up from the mine and voted at 3 o'clock, after shift. See, that was when Bennett got it. Eleven o'clock that night -- There wasn't a wheel turning. Just shut her down like that. Tariffs, you know. The conservatives always went in for heavy tariffs. They were getting there reagents from Belgiun and places like that and for 5 years, 3 months and 14 days, I think --if I remember right --when a hole came on your pants, you put a patch on it, and when that patch wore out, you put another one on it . And on the 14th of October, 1935, the liberals got back in. Next day, I went back to work, getting the mine ready to go again.
(It wasn't just that you lost your job --that mine stopped.) Oh, everybody lost their job. And see, they had neglected their farms, the farms had gone kaput. And they never got back to fixing up their farms any more.
There is an air vent there that Savard and I drilled, it came up at 70 degrees. The last we were getting, I think, it was $20 a foot. We paid for our own dynamite caps and fuel. The last round we put in, there was 19 feet came out of it. Overburden and everything. We got paid $20 a foot for it. He was on one shift and I was on the other --we were working two shifts.
(It was to put an air hole down?) No, we came up.
(You were working up there from below?) Yeah. They wouldn't allow you, I don't think, to do that today. See, what we did was, when we got our round in—we put two holes in this side and two holes in that side--Then we had to go down on a rope, after we lit the fuse. I don't think they'd allow you to do that today. After we went up so far, you put a hole in the wall so you could leave your machinery there. And you had ladders. But you had to take the ladders down and then go up on the rope to light your fuse. We took the ladders down –they’d be all smashed. Then we'd put them up again. But then when you blasted your round, you put two steel into those holes--you did that on both sides—And you put planks across them, and that's what you worked on. (And you were working your way up from …?) the 100- foot level.
We lived across the Lake here, that's where my old home is. And I used to blast at 12 o'clock. I used to go down to the Mine when the shift came off at 5 o'clock. I went down. I set up my machine --you only had so much air, you know. I set up my machines. And by the time the other fellows got to work at 7 o'clock and set up their machines, I had my round in. And then at 12 o'clock I blasted, when they came up to eat. And over across the Lake, my mother could tell the shots --There's a slip going across here somewhere. And she could tell the amount of shots I put in the round, she could hear them, you know, like “tick,” “tick,” “tick,” under the house.
See, this was only, like, a prospecting and getting the mine ready, if there was enough or body there to set up a mill. There was no mill here then. This was in ‘28 and ‘27. (This is the first major mining that they did here?) Yeah.
(What equipped you to do work like that ? What made you think you could mine?)
Well, when I was born, I thought I could do anything. I tried everything. I never hit a thing that I couldn't do. No doubt in my mind. You make up your mind to do something, you can do it. (But you had no training as a Hard Rock miner?) No, no. Once I started drifting --making a tunnel through --I made bonus every time, every two weeks I made bonus. (When you say “I” -- did you do this alone? Oh no, you've got a helper. When you're drifting, you pay for your helper and two workers, and you pay for your dynamite, and you pay for your fuse, and you pay for your caps. I believe it was $7.50 you were getting a foot. And okay you're getting $7.50 a foot. But when you go over the footage you're supposed to make, you're getting a bonus. See, and if you make so much, you're paying your helper 50 cents and your workers 50 cents, bonus. But if you make still better, you're paying them a dollar a day bonus. Over and above their wages. So I generally paid them a dollar.
(But you were a good miner?)
Oh, I don't know if I was good, but I got along, anyway.
(There is no training for that on the farm.)
No. Well, I think a lot of it is gall. You know, lots of people, well,” I'm afraid to try it”, or something. I was never afraid to try anything to take that step where you make success.
(I’m not surprised to see you cutting wood, or trying to make a go of a lumber business. That was often part of farming in Cape Breton. But mining….)
Well, Mining came easy. Well, it's not me, but all the fellows around here, they were drilling, and doing the same thing as I was. See, you went in down there as a helper. I was 3 weeks helping. The fellow that was on the machine, he took a vacation, went to Quebec, and I got his machine. When he came back, they gave him another machine and I stayed. (That was the training you got.) I figured at the end of 3 weeks, I could drill a lot better than he could. My impression, you know. So I must have been all right when they left the machine with me; they must have been satisfied.
In 1925 I bought a new truck for $910, brand spanking new. I started hauling from Fourchu. I also had seats --and very few people had Cars then. There were very few cars even in Sydney at that time, very few. Even the trucks that were there, it would be carbon lights that were on them, and solid tires, chain drive. 1925. That was my first job in the mine, hauling up from Fourchu with a truck. Gas or anything they needed in the mine. It was coming into Fourchu by boat. Supplies, eatables, nails, or anything they needed there. There was no mill there then. They were just sinking the shaft, and putting drifts in.
(So you were servicing that operation.) To a certain extent. They had their own truck, too. If you weren't hauling from Fourchu you were doing something else. You were out after lumber to a mill, or moving stuff in the mine from here to there, stuff like that.
And then it stopped for awhile there, and I went to work in Sydney. It just stopped for a year, I think. And it started, but I was at a job in Sydney. I was working on the coal plant, working for the coal company. Shovelling coal. The boss went in, and a cousin of a mine, to see if I'd come back to work (at Stirling Mine). So, “how long can you guarantee me a job?” “Oh, we can't guarantee you a job.”. “Well, I'd be foolish quitting here and going there, and perhaps be out of a job the next day”
So anyway, we were dumping coal in the coal bank. I worked there all winter. Then out of 175 people, I was one of the 5 that were picked out to work all summer. And then that fall, we started dumping coal again. I and another fellow—oh , a great worker—we got a car of screened coal, 16 screen coal—that’s long lumps like this—they were jamming in the car. And it had snowed in the morning, soft snow, and we were trying to get this car out. Anyway, the boss used to walk on top of the car. I thought I and the boss were great friends. There was steam coming out of under our oilskins, we were working that hard. He got snarly, you know, I just fired the shovel as far s it could go and I went in. My time is still there—I never went looking for my time. That was at 3 o’clock, and 9 o’clock I was over in the old place (at Stirling) with the furniture. So at 4 o'clock in the morning, Murdock Dan woke me up, and they wanted me at the mine next morning, and I went to work. So I worked on the truck, their own truck --I'd sold my truck before that --I worked on their truck till sometime in February, till snow. Going to Sydney, or around the thing. When it snowed --I was in an awful snowstorm in February, but I got the truck home. Then I went out of it.
I was 18 months underground, between drilling and all that. I was mucking first, then I was on a machine after that period and then I wrote the manager --you know, he didn't talk to you about any business, you wrote him a letter, and he wrote you a letter. I wrote him a letter and I told him I wanted a job on the surface. And I got a letter from him, when I came up from underground. He wanted me to go driving a tractor. Oh God. I called in the office on the way home. I said” I never even saw a tractor, let alone drive it.” “That's All right”, he said. “There's a fellow coming from Halifax to teach you.” Well, I was on the tractor I don't know how long period I taught 2 or 3 fellows to drive it.
But anyway, he wanted me to go on the service truck then. They were building the mill then. And I'd be moving things here and there, and going to Fourchu.
They had other trucks working. And drivers used to go to the show in Sydney and they wouldn't be back here till 10 o'clock at night. I was going by the office one day, and the Manager for the construction called me, he said, “Do you know your way around Sydney?” I said, “I should, I was there for quite awhile and I lived there for 3 years.” “Well, “he said, “tomorrow morning, I’ll have orders here for you. And if you can get back here that we can unload before 5 o’clock I’ll send for a new truck for you.” Okay, I wasn’t long in Sydney. I went to Sydney and dropped every order I had around. And I came back and loaded. I never waited for dinner. I was back half past two. He said, “What happened?” “Nothing,” “Did you get what I sent for?” “Yeah, there’s your slip.” Just walked over and sent a telegram for a new truck—the best truck that was ever made.
So I was on that. And a new manager had come in, for the mining part. So he warned me, “No passengers—you’re not allowed to take any passengers.” I used to go to Sydney—there were no snowplows then—and I used to get in every night. Oh, I had all the right equipment you could talk of. Long ropes—there were drums on those wheels. Tie them to a tree or something, and pull yourself through. Chain blocks and shovels and bars—we had everything. Kept her going all winter. See, sometimes there’d be a bunch of miners going home on weekend, and they’d want to get a drive back. And I always had lots of shovels. I’d take them back.
But anyway, I was coming through Loch Lomond one day, and I had two in the cab. And the manager met me. Next morning I was hauled into the office and put on the mat. If anything happened, (the riders) could sue the company. I never said a word. I just let him go. But the next day, he met me with two in the seat, one on each running board!
So when I went in—I went in to see Winger who was boss of the construction company. He was after me all the time to go to work with him. I said, “How about a job?” “Sure,” he said. “Well,” I said, “I’ll be with you tomorrow morning.” I was called over to the office. I said, “I quit last night when I landed your truck in here.” I said, “And I’ll tell you why. I come in here every night with my load.” “Oh, yes, good driver.” I said, “You know, those fellows you saw with me, they even took their team of horses down to pull me through snow. They shoveled the snowbanks.” I said, “When I’ve got to pass them, the job is yours.”
“Oh, wait, wait,” he said. “There’s no waiting to it,” I said. “I’m not going to be coming in here and put on the mat here every day—that’s it.” So I turned around. “Wait a minute,” he said, “We’ll give you passes. Get them to sign it, and you can take anybody you want.” And he gave me a yearly pass for my girlfriend! He never bothered me after that.
We were in Sydney one time in an awful storm. There were 6 other trucks and a tractor in there. And one of the bosses was with me. I said, “If we can get ahead of those 6 trucks before we get to Big Pond, we’ll make Stirling.” Well by God, we were getting along pretty good. We got by the tractor and we got by 5 trucks. There was one ahead of us. I said, “That’s it. We can’t get to Stirling.” By God when we got up on top of the mountain, he was putting water in it. This truck would go 40 miles an hour in second gear. And I always loaded it light when there was a storm. So I drove her in second gear and said, “We’ll make Stirling.” So, we went. I knew every bank the same as I know every chair in the kitchen, and I was back and forth, back and forth. When I’d be coming to a bank I’d put her in second gear and I’d hold the wheel still. And he’d be like this (covering his face), “Jesus, Jesus, you made a post! Slow down!” I wouldn’t slow down till I felt her easing up after going through the bank. And we were in here at 9 o’clock. Those trucks never got in. They had to unload in Loch Lomond and go back.
(You liked doing that.) Oh yes, it was a challenge. I’ve come into the mine lots of times, 3 and 4 o’clock in the morning. Going to the cookhouse, and lay down on a bench there. And when the cook got up, got my breakfast in the cookhouse and went and loaded the truck, and headed her back again. Perhaps get in that night at 12 o’clock, do the same thing. Till the road would get better, and then you’d be home early,
If I had my life to live over again, I’d be a truck driver, nothing else. You’re out in the air, you’re meeting different people. I think its the best job that’s going today.
(Then in the periods when the mine was closed, from the ‘30’s through the ‘40’s, you would hear the mine working.) Oh, yeah. That house over there—we were sitting one afternoon, and the door was open—you know, the table was right across from the door—you could hear her going as plain as when she was going. We heard it 3 different times, and I was saying there were 3 fellows going to be killed. And there were 3 fellows killed. I think that’s what we were hearing, when those fellows were getting killed…
Oh, I’ve seen a lot of things. I was working in the mine, and I had a bad cold. Our house wasn’t fit to be living in. Dishes were rattling, and doors opening. Dan Patterson used to come to the door and holler, “Whoa!” My mother was wanting me to quit, you know--“You’re going to get killed.” No, I’m not. You’re hearing all those things--I’m going to get killed, I’m going to get killed—there’s nothing.”
(What did it mean that Dan Patterson came to the door and yelled, “Whoa!”? Well he had a horse. Hold your pants on, you’ll hear. I had an awful bad cold, and this Johnny MacLeod had come down from Lochaber, he had come home to go to work in the mines. So I said, “Work my shift tonight.” We were digging a shaft—the first shaft. So, all right. I stayed home. I don’t know what time that night –an 8-by-8 that this blast had loosened had come down and hit him right on the back of the neck, killed him. And they just took the body into the compressor house and laid it on a bench there. Sent word to his mother to come down. And we thought it was terrible for her to come down and see the body in the machine shop there. So we took his body over to the house. And Dan Patterson took him over. And when he came to the door, he hollered, “Whoa,” stopping the mare, you know. That’s what we were hearing, one of the things we were hearing.
Talk. We used to hear talk. I maintain that if a body is above the ground more than three days, that you hear a lot more about it. See, they had and inquest—I think it was maybe 5 days.
(Do you mean you hear a lot more about it before it happens?) Yeah, that’s right.
(How did you feel, realizing that could have been you?) It didn't bother me. I guess I didn't have brains enough to bother me. I always figure, when you're born your life is slated. You're supposed to be sitting there right now. The day you're going to die is there, too. I really believe that.
(Getting back to the mine....) I think she'll be going again around '90.
(The Stirling Mine up this way (to the West). Yeah. We’ve heard her working. Others have heard it too, in the same direction.
(And you expect it in the 90’s) Well, that’s only my guess. Might be longer than that, might be closer than that. Dear knows, (but it’s coming.) Oh, it’s coming, I’ve got no doubt in my mind. And this hill here, it’ll be a city.
When I as 11 years old I was skating on the ice, and this was all full of lights, small lights down below and bigger ones up above. Oh, I took off for home. I didn’t know what it was. The next year again, I went into Sydney with my uncle in the horse and wagon. And when we got to Dutch Brook or some place in there, you could see Sydney, you know. I was saying, “That’s what I saw.” So it’ll be here. I don’t know, it might be 200 years time, but it’ll be here. There’s no doubt in my mind…
(After the mine closed,) I had been working up in Guysborough, I was driving a tractor and constructing from Monastery to Guysborough…I figured it out—I made 91/2 cents and hour. That’s all I made. I quit. I figured that’s it, I’ll never work for a foreman any more, never. Best thing that ever happened.
We were hearing rumors of war, and we figured we’d get a (saw) mill. We got a mill and started in the woods. Then we moved to Loch Terra Nova. We worked there—we were there 10 years gone…Then in 1949 I bought this place.
(Your home here at Stirling.) And my wife was telling me, “Oh, you’re crazy. The mine isn’t going.” I said, “The mine is going, I know it’s going.” So I got this place for a song. I knew the guy who bought it, from the old people that were here. He had bought it through this money from the war. I figured he was going to sell it. That's how we got this place. I had the mill all set up here, and the first time they wanted lumber for the mine, I had it for them.
(At this time there was no mine or talk of a mine, 1949.) No. But they started in '50. (You felt they were going to start?) Oh yeah, I was sure. I moved the mill and everything down here to be ready for them. John G. came down when I was building the house and the mill. "Did you buy any shares?" She was after starting. "Did you buy any shares?" "No," I said, "I didn't buy any shares. I've got shares enough right here," I had the mill down here just in time to supply them with the lumber they needed.
(Why do you think you're able to foretell that sort of thing?) Oh, I don't know. (Was that in your family before you?) The MacDermids and Morrisons, they were full of it… You don't see anything where there's electricity- -at least I don't. And I don't hear of anybody else seeing things. (Too busy watching television?) Well, no. I think there's something in the air that forbids that.... I don't know what it is. When I was growing up, I wouldn't walk in the middle of the road in the night if you'd give me a thousand dollars. You know, you'd meet funerals on the road. Knock you down and, well, pretty near kill you. You'd feel compressed, you know? Like everything was pressing on you. You don't hear that now any more since the power came in...
(What we call Stirling--it wasn't the name of the mine?) Nothing to do with the mine. (That name has been here since when?) Since the first settlers settled here, nothing to do with the mine. (You were telling me that the highway department changed the name.) They spelled it "Ster? ling," We had a post office right here-- "Sterling"--that's sterling silver. But "Stirling," that's Stirling, Scotland-- that's what this place originally got its name from. We didn't go looking for it early enough, I guess, to find out who called it Stirling, or how did it happen. (The highway department tried to put up signs?) They put up "e" instead of "i." I think a- bout 30 of them. I went up to see the guy. He got kind of saucy to me. "I'll get the' dictionary," he said, "and I'll prove to you." I said, "You get the map of Scotland and see what it's spelled like." They changed all the signs but one that's at the end of Grand River bridge. We lost our post office, but we weren't going to lose our name.
Oh, I had a good life, I was never sick. I had an operation about 6, 7 years ago. That's the first time I was in a hospital. That's the first time I got a needle--I wasn't vaccinated when I went to school--I don't know why. And that's the first time I ever wore pyjamas. The first night I went in there, before the operation, at 9 o'clock, I was sound asleep. And I felt something working at my hand, and I woke up, and there was a nurse there. She had two pills--I said, "What's that for?" "Sleeping pills." I said, "Are you crazy? Waking me up to give me sleeping pills!" "Well, doctor's orders." "Well," I said, "you put them in the wastebasket." I said, "I'm not going to take them." Neither did I.
(Editor’s note Dan Alex was 80 years old when this interview was conducted Jan,1986. He died Feb 19, 2000 at age 95. JS)
To read the whole story "Dan Alex MacLeod: A working Life" click here capebretonsmagazine.com/modules/publisher/item.php?itemid=2012