At 87 years old, Peter J. Middlemore Sr. holds the warmth of Christmas past close, especially memories of his father, a man whose life story reads like a novel and whose spirit defined their family holidays in Windsor, Ontario.
A Life Forged in Adversity
His father entered the world on December 18, 1882, his birthday forever nestled near the Christmas celebrations. Tragedy struck early when his own father was lost at sea. As a young man of just 17 years, he lied about his age to enlist in the British Army, serving for over 14 years in Burma before charting a new course across the Atlantic.
He immigrated to Canada and continued his service, answering the call during the First World War. Described as a lean man of short stature with a strong independent mind, he weathered the Great Depression by traversing the country, hitching rides on freight trains from Montreal to Calgary before finally putting down roots in Windsor.
Building a Family and a Home in Windsor
In Windsor, he found steady work at the post office building on Ouellette Avenue. Fate then led him to Florence, a younger woman who had also immigrated from England and worked as a maid at the prestigious Walker Manor in Walkerville, now part of Willistead Park. Despite a significant age gap of over 20 years, they fell in love.
Uncertain about their future, Florence returned to England to contemplate a life with a man so much older. Love prevailed, however. She contacted him, declaring her wish to return to Canada and marry him. The couple built their life together and had two sons: Ralph and Peter. The family home was on Pierre Street, across from Lanspeary Park.
Florence was the outgoing heart of the family, but tragedy struck when she was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. She slowly succumbed to the disease when Peter was 14 and Ralph was just 11, leaving their father to raise two grieving boys alone.
Christmas Spirit Against the Odds
Suddenly a single parent, their father rose to the challenge in practical and heartfelt ways. He discovered a talent in the kitchen, becoming a remarkably good cook known for his apple pies, jam tarts, roasts, and hearty breakfasts. While he sometimes struggled to understand the emotional turmoil of his teenage sons, his dedication was unwavering.
Even as their mother became bedridden, he ensured the magic of Christmas endured. He would decorate the tree himself and strive to create a joyful holiday atmosphere. His gift-giving reflected a different era: each boy received one substantial present—a ring, a watch, or cuff links. As children, they didn't understand why their friends received piles of gifts while they got one, not realizing the greater value and thought behind their father's single, carefully chosen offering.
Music provided solace and joy. He loved playing the mouth organ and singing Irish songs at the seniors' club. In his later years, he even learned to play the piano and tried his hand at songwriting. One original melody, a poignant plea for reconciliation, remains etched in his son's memory decades later: "Let us be sweethearts again, just like we used to be; now anger fled, let love rain instead, that's all I ask of you..."
This Windsor man's story, bridging from 1882 to the present, is more than a personal history. It is a testament to the resilience of immigrants, the quiet strength of a grieving parent, and the enduring, if sometimes imperfect, love that forms the true foundation of holiday memories.
