proclaimed on its front page. The fortitude of the rank and file despite appalling conditions and losses awed reporters. “These, mark you, are earth’s common men, the unnoticed men in the street,” wrote the Daily News correspondent. “Where do they learn it?”
A wave of sympathy for Canadians who found themselves helpless cannon fodder began to build. Somehow, the untoward death of a thirty-four-year-old man on the streets of Toronto didn’t seem quite so outrageous …
Nevertheless, for the Masseys, Bert’s untimely death was a dreadful blot on the family name. Even if Bert Massey did not live on Jarvis Street like his cousin Vincent, or enjoy the perks of wealth, his close relatives were determined to protect his name and reputation.
Two papers had already quoted Carrie Davies’s assertion that her employer had “tried to ruin me.” Had Bert Massey assaulted the girl while his wife was away? In theory, this was a shocking suggestion; in practice, within Bert’s circle for as long as anyone could remember, girls at the bottom of the social ladder had often been regarded as “easy prey” by male employers. Bert wouldn’t have been the first man in Toronto to embark on such a dalliance, which might be justified either by blaming the servant for the seduction, or by dismissing it asa “harmless flirtation.” His friends probably spent more time discussing Bert’s foolishness in getting caught or his bad luck in hiring the wrong maid. If they spent any time on Carrie’s role, it would have been to speculate on how an eighteen-year-old girl had got her hands on Bert’s pistol and knew how to fire it. What really alarmed them was the idea that a “harmless” backstairs seduction led to Bert’s death. Moreover, it looked as though the girl had planned the death: this wasn’t a crime committed in the heat of a struggle. But Bert’s relatives didn’t appreciate the salacious gossip that was starting to spread. The first step towards suppressing the story was burying the corpse. Step two was promoting the Massey version of the facts.
Rhoda Massey, newly widowed and facing an uncertain future, remained out of sight. She did not appear at any of the court hearings in the days to come, and she made no public statements. Most likely, she and her son remained in the guest room at 165 Admiral Road, rather than return to unhappy memories and the lack of domestic help at Walmer Road. Arthur Massey’s two children, eighteen-year-old Arnold and eleven-year-old Dorothy, could keep their fourteen-year-old cousin company. Meanwhile, Arthur and his wife, Mary Ethel, were more than up to the task of promoting the Massey side of the story.
Arthur Massey was a more successful professional than his brother. Trained as a bookkeeper, with his friend Walter Chandler he had set up a hospital and physician supplies business called Chandler and Massey. It was a family affair: his sister Jennie was married to Walter Chandler’s brother, and the two men had persuaded John Haydn Horsey—Arthur’s stepfather, who now managed a Dominion Bank branch office—to be vice-president. Now forty, Bert’s brother was the picture of bourgeois respectability (although he maintained his youthful taste for rather flashy bow ties.) When a reporter from the Toronto Daily Star appeared at his Admiral Road door before the funeral, Arthur spent several minutes with him on the doorstep.
Sporting a black armband, and speaking in a pained but stoic tone, Arthur explained, “We have only a feeling of sympathy for the unfortunate girl. We feel sure that the crime was committed in a fit of temporary insanity.” He mentioned that there had been an episode the previous summer when Carrie had behaved strangely—”she was probably deranged.” Perhaps, he suggested, she had worked herself into a frenzy because she had not heard from her young man in France. “There can certainly be no suspicions against Mr. Massey, and there is absolutely no truth
A wave of sympathy for Canadians who found themselves helpless cannon fodder began to build. Somehow, the untoward death of a thirty-four-year-old man on the streets of Toronto didn’t seem quite so outrageous …
Nevertheless, for the Masseys, Bert’s untimely death was a dreadful blot on the family name. Even if Bert Massey did not live on Jarvis Street like his cousin Vincent, or enjoy the perks of wealth, his close relatives were determined to protect his name and reputation.
Two papers had already quoted Carrie Davies’s assertion that her employer had “tried to ruin me.” Had Bert Massey assaulted the girl while his wife was away? In theory, this was a shocking suggestion; in practice, within Bert’s circle for as long as anyone could remember, girls at the bottom of the social ladder had often been regarded as “easy prey” by male employers. Bert wouldn’t have been the first man in Toronto to embark on such a dalliance, which might be justified either by blaming the servant for the seduction, or by dismissing it asa “harmless flirtation.” His friends probably spent more time discussing Bert’s foolishness in getting caught or his bad luck in hiring the wrong maid. If they spent any time on Carrie’s role, it would have been to speculate on how an eighteen-year-old girl had got her hands on Bert’s pistol and knew how to fire it. What really alarmed them was the idea that a “harmless” backstairs seduction led to Bert’s death. Moreover, it looked as though the girl had planned the death: this wasn’t a crime committed in the heat of a struggle. But Bert’s relatives didn’t appreciate the salacious gossip that was starting to spread. The first step towards suppressing the story was burying the corpse. Step two was promoting the Massey version of the facts.
Rhoda Massey, newly widowed and facing an uncertain future, remained out of sight. She did not appear at any of the court hearings in the days to come, and she made no public statements. Most likely, she and her son remained in the guest room at 165 Admiral Road, rather than return to unhappy memories and the lack of domestic help at Walmer Road. Arthur Massey’s two children, eighteen-year-old Arnold and eleven-year-old Dorothy, could keep their fourteen-year-old cousin company. Meanwhile, Arthur and his wife, Mary Ethel, were more than up to the task of promoting the Massey side of the story.
Arthur Massey was a more successful professional than his brother. Trained as a bookkeeper, with his friend Walter Chandler he had set up a hospital and physician supplies business called Chandler and Massey. It was a family affair: his sister Jennie was married to Walter Chandler’s brother, and the two men had persuaded John Haydn Horsey—Arthur’s stepfather, who now managed a Dominion Bank branch office—to be vice-president. Now forty, Bert’s brother was the picture of bourgeois respectability (although he maintained his youthful taste for rather flashy bow ties.) When a reporter from the Toronto Daily Star appeared at his Admiral Road door before the funeral, Arthur spent several minutes with him on the doorstep.
Sporting a black armband, and speaking in a pained but stoic tone, Arthur explained, “We have only a feeling of sympathy for the unfortunate girl. We feel sure that the crime was committed in a fit of temporary insanity.” He mentioned that there had been an episode the previous summer when Carrie had behaved strangely—”she was probably deranged.” Perhaps, he suggested, she had worked herself into a frenzy because she had not heard from her young man in France. “There can certainly be no suspicions against Mr. Massey, and there is absolutely no truth
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