The Poetry of Manton E. “Dad” Freeman
We don’t know a lot about “Dad” Freeman or just exactly where his homestead was – somewhere near the old road from Hythe to Pouce Coupe but on the other side of Canyon Creek. According to an early teacher in the area, Charlie Ovans, Mr. Freeman was “a very old man” in 1933 or 1934 when he acted as the janitor in the long-gone High Ridge School.
Mr. Freeman was a bit of a poet and recently some of the poems he wrote while living near Pouce have been sent home by a great-grandson, Charles Hart. Here are three examples:
The Mosquito
By M.E. Freeman
Oh the cussed mosquito
With his persistent hum
When I lie down to rest
He is certain to come
And alight on my forehead
My face or my nose
And present me his bill
As I’m just in a doze.
I may say a few cuss words
But though however deft
I seem always to slap
At the place he just left
But he comes back again
To disturb my repose
Why he was created
Surely only God knows.
Now where they all come from
I am sure I can’t tell
But I think it must be
From the suburbs of h—.
INDEPENDENCE
by M. E. Freeman
My home is near Pouce Coupe,
Not many miles from town;
And I don’t care a whoopee
If they call me Jones or Brown.
I have bread & praties plenty,
And a good roof o’er my head.
My age is over twenty
Just how much I’ve never said.
I can work when I feel like it
There is no boss over me
And if I want to hike it
There are none to care a D.
The rich may have their autos
The devil a bit I care
I have my own two trotters
That can take me anywhere.
Let the roads be dry or muddy
I don’t have to put on chains
And I do not have to study
If the sun shines or it rains.
I can just get up and travel
At any time I like
And I only scratch the gravel
As I toddle down the pike.
Tho’ some may like the city
The country life for me
Where I do not ask for pity
Or live on charity.
There are some might call me crazy
I do not care a bit
But am I tired or lazy?
Use you own name for it.
They may send me to the ‘Sylum
Or put me in the pen
If I should chance to rile ’em
I do not care, by hen.
Should I like a glass of toddy
With nobody there to see,
Well — I care for nobody,
And nobody cares for me.
On the Banks of Canyon Creek
by Manton Eastbourne Freeman
It is just a log shack on the hillside
But it’s mine, and a place to call home
Where I’m not a burden to others
As I linger along all alone.
It is years since my dear one departed
I must finish my life’s journey alone
And tho’ I may go on broken hearted
No sorrows of mine can atone.
For the hardships that we suffered together
In the years that are long past and gone
Through stormy or sunshiny weather
As we struggled along for a home.
She sleeps on a hill in the sunshine
Resting free from all sorrow and care
Her soul is at home with her Saviour
I am praying that I’ll meet her there.
I am lonely tonight for my children
They are scattered afar from my home
They all have their joys and their sorrows
Will they think of me when I am gone?
On this earth I may never more meet them
Their laughter may ne’er cheer me more,
But I pray God someday I may greet them
Safe at home on the Evergreen shore.
And when with this life I have finished
And God calls me home to my rest
May their joys never more be diminished
He knoweth their need and will bless.