Amidst the cacophony of war — the horses’ hooves pounding on the ground, the terrified animals braying; men barking orders, others screaming as they fell; the reports of gunfire, with bullets hitting metal, wood, flesh and bone — one sound had stopped: Sgt. Edward Holland’s Colt machine-gun had overheated, jammed and fallen silent.
Holland, a 22-year-old Ottawa lad, knew what the problem was and how to fix it; it would just take a few seconds. But he didn’t have a few seconds. The enemy was that close — closer, even, than his horse that pulled the mounted machine-gun.
He knew, too, that he couldn’t leave the gun behind; the Boers would simply turn it around, unjam it and start mowing down Canadian and British soldiers. The gun could fire 400 rounds per minute.
It was Nov. 7, 1900, in South Africa — the Boer War, and what would be known as the Battle of Leliefontein. The day before, a column of British troops had pushed Boer forces south, across the Komati River. But the British commander, Maj.-Gen. Horace Smith-Dorrien, knew the Boers would reinforce their numbers overnight, and so he planned to retreat 30 kilometres north to the British camp in Dublin, South Africa, first thing in the morning. A small contingent of Canadian soldiers from The Royal Canadian Dragoons, 2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles and “D” Battery Canadian Field Artillery would act as a rearguard, protecting the British soldiers as they pulled back. Holland was a Dragoon.
The battle lasted hours, as Holland’s gunfire fended off the Boers to allow the Brits to retreat. His bravery also prevented the capture of two 12-pound artillery guns.
But when his gun jammed, he had to act fast. With the Boers only a few dozen metres away, Holland lifted the 16-kilogram machine gun from its carriage — it was so hot that he burned his hands — and managed to awkwardly mount a nearby horse and race off with the gun tucked under one arm.
“The Boers followed me for 700 yards, shooting at me,” he recalled, a couple of months after the battle.
For his gallantry, Holland received the Victoria Cross, the highest British military decoration. Fewer than 100 Canadians have been awarded the honour, and Holland is its only Ottawa-born recipient.
“He knew that gun was hot,” says Holland’s great-great-grandson, Ryan Holland, a Smiths Falls resident. “But he knew that he had to do it.
“He was highly regarded as a person, too,” adds Ryan, “so I don’t think it was just a meat-head move; it was probably one of thought and compassion and responsibility.”
But Edward Holland’s experiences in the Second Boer War were simply one chapter in a life that frequently reads like a swashbuckling adventure tale.
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Edward Holland and his pet monkey.
Born in Ottawa on Feb. 2, 1878, scarcely a decade after Confederation, Edward James Gibson Holland was the son of Andrew Holland, who, with his brother, George, were part of an early pioneering family in Ottawa’s history, with fingers in some of its most interesting pies, including the world’s first movie theatre. Holland Avenue, in Ottawa’s west end, is named for the family.
The Hollands had been established in Bytown since arriving from Ireland in 1818. Andrew and his wife, Margaret, lived on Slater Street, between Lyon and Bay, when Edward was born, but soon after moved to Cooper Street, just west of Elgin.
Edward’s father and uncle had been newspaper reporters, and, by 1873, owned a 50 per cent share in the Ottawa Citizen, with George serving as editor-in-chief and Andrew its business manager. Two years later, Andrew left the paper when he was hired to record debates in the House of Commons. A year later, he and his brother were hired to do the same in the Senate. Andrew was also the official reporter for the Supreme Court of Canada.
Edward attended the Model School, now part of City Hall, and spent his summers at Andrew and George’s saw mill on Priest Creek, north of Buckingham, where he’d fish for speckled trout.
When he was about 10 years old, his father sold the Cooper Street house and bought the Hinton farm on Richmond Road, where he raised Jersey cattle, grew melons and other produce, and maintained a sugar bush. Edward continued to attend the Model school, walking the 10-kilometre round trip each day. His schoolmates called him Farmer Holland.
A couple of years later, he’d switched to Hintonburg Public School. The Holland Brothers, too, switched occupations, or at least added them, becoming the Canadian agents for both Edison Phonograph and Smith Premier Typewriter (later adding the British colonies, a not-inconsiderable swath of pink on the world map, to their sales turf).
Andrew’s plan was to have Edward and his cousin, William, service the machines, so the pair were sent first to the Edison factory in East Orange, New Jersey, for two months, then to the Smith Premier Typewriter Company, in Syracuse, New York, to learn how to assemble them. Edward was just 14.
That same year, Andrew had travelled to Australia, and in October he sent a cable summoning Edward and William, who boarded a steamer and crossed the Pacific Ocean. “We left November 2nd, 1892,” Edward wrote in his journal, “and this was to be the start of my nomadic life for the next few years.”
And what a trip it was.
In Honolulu, he attended a performance of Queen Liliuokalani’s band in her palace — just months before the monarchy was overthrown. In Samoa, he met Treasure Island and Kidnapped author Robert Louis Stevenson.
He and William brought with them 10 phonographs, 100 typewriters and a sample of the National Cash Register. In Sydney, a city of about half a million people, they set up a number of phonographs and charged people 6p to listen to a record, usually featuring the “silver-voiced Irish tenor,” George J. Gaskin.
“Our take in money each day amounted to quite a sum,” Edward wrote. “On some days, we would take in as much as forty pounds. Willie and I ran this part of the show while father entertained the heads of government departments trying to introduce the Smith Premier.”
Numerous sales followed. One country priest, unable to muster the 110 pounds to buy a phonograph, traded some cash and a property containing opals. According to Edward, they shipped thousands of dollars worth of the gemstones back to Canada, in rolls of newspapers and glued to cotton batten. One opal, weighing 20 carats, was sold for $500, the equivalent today of almost $14,000, to Tiffany’s in New York.
With business established in Australia, Andrew and William headed to South Africa, while Edward booked passage back to Canada, but not before acquiring 100 white cockatoos, five galahs, or red-breasted cockatoos, a laughing jackass, or kookaburra, and two monkeys.
The kookaburra died before they reached Hawaii, and 15 of the cockatoos escaped or died. In Honolulu, he sold 20 of the cockatoos for $10 each. His uncle, Hibbard Hudson, met him at Vancouver. “He was astounded to see the cargo I had,” Edward wrote. “We took them all to his office and got them settled. That night, whether due to excitement or not, he took a paralytic stroke and died two days after.” After that, he sold all but five of the cockatoos to a bird dealer for between three and five dollars apiece.
Meanwhile, one of the monkeys got loose in Moose Jaw. It was caught later that night and sent on to Ottawa, arriving a couple of days later.
“On looking into my profits, I found that, after paying all expenses, I had two hundred and ten dollars to the good, five cockatoos and two monkeys. Two of the birds I kept and had one of them for about five years. The monkeys I sold to a circus as they were so mischievous.”
He returned to Hintonburg School, then went on to Ottawa Collegiate Institute — later renamed Lisgar Collegiate Institute — from which he was expelled after he refused to apologize for hitting a teacher who’d rapped his knuckles with a ruler. “Father wanted me to continue in another school … and go to college, but I had had enough of grammar, Latin and higher mathematics, and quit.” He was, however, convinced to return.
He got a job at Thomas Birkett’s hardware store on Rideau Street, at William. In the summer, he cycled competitively and hunted. In the winter, he boxed, winning the Ottawa lightweight championship in 1898. He also joined the militia, serving with the 43rd Regiment and the 5th Princess Louise Dragoon Guards.
That same year, his father started him up in business at Sparks and Lyon streets, but while hunting near Algonquin Park the following autumn, Edward heard news of war breaking out in South Africa. By the time he returned to Ottawa, it was too late to join the first contingent. He signed up for the next one, which shipped out in January 1900.
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The First World War attestation papers of Edward Holland.
“Father was very much amazed at my leaving the business, but the love of adventure was too much, and he and Harry (one of Edward’s three brothers) ran the store until I came back.”
He came back slightly more than a year later, in January 1901, and was offered — and declined — an 18-month position in the touring Buffalo Bill’s Wild West and Congress of Rough Riders of the World show. Instead, he arranged to accompany trooper Lorne Mulloy, blinded after being shot in both eyes in the Boer War, on a speaking tour of Eastern Canada. It was around this time, too, that he met Dora Knapp, a friend of his cousin’s. “I at once took a liking to her,” he wrote, “and later on she accepted me for better or for worse.”
Marriage and children — Muriel, William and Frederick — followed, as did numerous occupations, including acetylene lamp manufacturer, candy floss vendor and, after moving to and building a house in Haileybury, Ont., purveyor of mining supplies and machinery. He also staked a few claims himself. He took over the maritime operations of the Canadian Mausoleum Company (“I found it hard to convince people to purchase their graves before they died, so I gave it up and went over to PEI and tried the fox farming promotion.”).
He returned to active duty with the outbreak of the First World War, when, as a major, he commanded the Borden Battery of six motorcycle-mounted machine guns. He left Canada in March 1915 and saw action in France in August. He returned to Canada a little over a year later.
Back in Northern Ontario in 1920, where he held positions in hardware, outfitting and prospecting. In 1931, he took the job of postmaster in Cobalt, a position he held until his death in June 1948.
In a profile of Edward, written before his death, a local newspaper noted that “He is a clever entertainer and his Habitant recitations are always welcomed on any program.”
Edward’s ashes, per his wishes, were scattered on a small island in Lake Temagami — officially known only as Island 17, although he called it Shabumene — to which he had received the Crown Land Patent.
In the 1980s, a plaque was erected in his honour at Lisgar Collegiate. The Ottawa armoury on Walkley Road is also named after him.
This story was brought to you by the letter H, for Holland, and is part of a series of stories about Ottawa, one for each letter of the alphabet. Stay tuned — next in the series: I is for in-betweening.
bdeachman@postmedia.com
