Tag Archives: Misfortune

Simpering Murdering Jim Allison of North Dumfries


from Memoirs of a great detective: incidents in the life of John Wilson Murray (1904)  compiled by Victor Speer

Over the hill from Galt, in the county of Waterloo, lies North Dumfries. The road that climbs the hill sweeps round in a big curve on the other side, as it enters the alley. Up a lane, leading from this valley road, stood a little white farmhouse, with a big unpainted barn nearby. It was screened from the main road by a clump of trees, although the house stood in open ground with its door fronting on an orchard, its kitchen window opening on a cornfield. The woodpile loomed up at the end of the house nearest the barn. Rain-barrels stood in a row against the house. Milking pans shone in the sunlight. A dog dozed in the lane. Chickens scratched and pecked, and lazily fluffed their feathers and settled in the dust. It was a hot morning — August 9th, 1897. Out of the house stepped a woman. She was a beauty. The freshness of girlhood had been supplanted by the charm of full womanhood. Her complexion was pale pink and white. Her big eyes were laughing and merry. A tot toddled after her, yawning drowsily, then turned back indoors. The woman shaded her eyes and looked toward the barn.

The shrill squeals of an angry pig rang out. A man’s gruff voice sounded, and then around the corner of the barn came Anthony Orr, the farmer, with a big sow in his wagon.

“Going, Tony?” called the woman.

“Yep!” shouted Tony Orr. “Back in a couple of hours.”

He drove away with his nine-year-old son, Norman. A moment later the hired boy, Jim Allison, appeared with two cows, and started them down the lane. They were to go to the Barrie farm near by. The woman watched her husband until the bend in the road hid him from view. She saw the Allison boy in the lane with the cows. She began to sing softly, so as not to disturb her two children — Maggie, aged ten, and a-year-old baby, still asleep upstairs. Half an hour passed.

Two days before, a buggy, with an easy-going horse, had come up the lane. A stout, jolly-faced man had alighted, and had hitched his horse and had sat chatting and laughing with the handsome woman. They seemed to know and understand one another well. The man had entered his buggy and gone away, as he had come, alone. He was nowhere in sight on this morning, although he was half expected. The woman had been sitting with dreamy eyes and gentle smile, her hands clasped and lying idly in her lap. She was a pretty picture in the sunlight. Tony Orr had reason to be proud of his wife. There had been gossip of her fondness for travel and for clever companions. There even had been a tale of an elopement and a penitent return to Tony’s arms and forgiveness. Neighbours had known of men callers at the white farmhouse. But Tony said all was well, and on the Orr farm that meant all was well. The woman sat still in the sunlight.

Two hours later Tony Orr returned. The farm boy, Jim Allison, was standing at the side gate of the house fence, laughing.

“What’s the matter?” asked Orr.

“Oh, nothing,” said Allison, laughing all the louder.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Orr.

“Oh, nothing,” laughed Allison.

“What’s up?” roared Orr.

“Your wife’s gone,” said Allison.

The baby was lying on the front steps. The little girl, Maggie, was sitting on the porch. Orr hurried to the kitchen. The breakfast dishes had not been touched. Orr ran out of the house, and saw Harry Blair, an agricultural implement dealer from Galt, just getting. out of his buggy. Harry Blair was stout and jolly faced.

“My wife’s gone!” shouted Orr.

“Gone! Gone where?” exclaimed the disappointed Blair.

Orr and Blair searched for her, and then got into Blair’s buggy and drove to Galt, thinking she might have gone with Weldon Sidney Trevelyan, a medical student who was spending the summer in Galt, and who had been calling on her. They found Trevelyan, and he knew nothing of the woman. Orr returned home, and organised a search for his wife. The authorities were notified.

“Many believed there had been an elopement,” says Murray. “Mrs. Orr was good-looking, a great favourite with men, but had a reputation. Her maiden name was Emma Borland. Her parents were well-to-do and lived at Bright. She was thirty-seven years old, and was born in Innerkip. She was first married to John Arnott, of Innerkip, who died when she was twenty-two, and three years later she married Anthony Orr, to whom she bore three children. To her children she was a loving, careful mother. To her husband she was said to be an indifferent wife. About two years previous to this she had run away with a hired man named Mulholland, but her husband caught her and her two children at Niagara Falls, and took them home again. Tony Orr was a nervous, excitable man, who had trouble with other men on account of their frequent calls on his wife. A week passed, with no trace of the wife’s whereabouts.

“At first, before traces of blood were found, the elopement theory vied with the suicide theory. On the day before Mrs. Orr disappeared, Tony Orr’s father was buried. Mrs. Orr attended the funeral, and some of the Orr family treated her coldly. The Orrs were an old family of good standing. On the way home from the funeral Mrs. Orr remarked that ‘she was no use and guessed she’d get out of here.’ This remark was the basis for the suicide talk.

“I went to the Orr farm. The boy Allison and the medical student Trevelyan had been held in Galt, and Harry Blair, the agricultural implement agent, was under surveillance. I looked the house over, a one and a half story white brick house with a frame kitchen. It was situated in a tract of country that, owing to the swamps and marshes in which it abounds, is most desolate. About two hundred yards from the house was a swamp or marsh of about one hundred acres, and above the wet and rank grass and weeds and thick soil grew almost impenetrable shrubs and trees. In this swamp was an excavation eighteen inches wide and six feet long and eighteen inches deep. It was newly dug, and clearly was an unfinished grave. I visited it in the night, and carefully took from the upturned surface the print of a man’s foot, a precise clue to the digger of the grave. In order to get this, I turned back the overturned earth after digging under it so as not to break its surface and destroy the footprint I knew must be there. I took this to my hotel in Galt, unknown to anyone in the affair.

“I returned to the Orr house. A picket fence separated the patch of garden from the corn patch adjoining the house. One of the pickets of this fence was gone. The paling mark was not of long exposure. I saw this was on a line between the house and the swamp, with the corn patch lying between. One of the furrows in this corn patch was raised slightly. John Orr, Tony’s brother, poked it with his stick. Six inches beneath the surface lay Mrs. Orr, face down, buried amid the corn within thirty feet of her house. That put an end to elopement or suicide theories. When I saw the half-dug grave in the swamp I knew there had been murder. The grave in the corn patch was but temporary. The murderer intended to hide the body for ever in the swamp.

“Back to Galt I went. Trevelyan proved an absolute alibi. Harry Blair, agitated over the whole affair, was not at the farmhouse when the deed was done, and had nothing to do with it. Tony Orr was five miles away at a neighbour’s, with his son and the sow. Allison — I went to see this boy. I had his old shoe, and it fitted the footprint by the grave in the swamp. He looked almost a freak. He was about seventeen years old, big for his age, and tremendously stocky in his build. His bow legs were big and muscular. His hands and feet were enormous. His shoulders were broad, his neck was thick, his arms were long and powerful. His features reminded me of the features of a frog. The forehead was low and retreating, and the face was very full at the sides. The hair was brown, cut close, and thc eyes were a greenish brown — large, watery eyes, uneasy, shifting, catlike. The mouth was very large, and the lips were full and seemed to simper, giving the face a cat’s expression. He walked with a peculiar, rolling motion, as if he would have preferred to be on all fours. He wore heavy, clod shoes, blue jeans, a calico shirt, and a faded, slouch hat pulled well over his eyes.

“I sat down and faced this boy.

“‘What do you know of this murder?’ I said.

“‘Nothing,’ he answered, with a grin.

“‘Tell me where you were on that morning,’ said I.

“‘I left Orr’s, with two cows, about 7.20,’ he said. ‘I got to Barrie’s farm about eight o’clock, and I left there about 8.50 and got back to Orr’s about 9.40. When I got back Mrs. Orr was gone.’

“‘How did you know she was gone?’

“‘She was not anywhere around,’ said the boy.

“‘Where is your shot gun?’ I asked.

“‘Just before I left with the cows, Mrs. Orr asked me to show her the gun, and she asked me how it was used, and I explained it, and then put it back and went on with the cows,’ he lied glibly.

“His gun, which always was kept in the house, was found hidden in the hay-mow in the barn. It had been discharged. There were blood-stains on it.

“‘Allison,’ I said slowly, ‘you killed Mrs. Orr.’

“He started up, white as flour, shaking like a man with ague. I waited for his confession. He mumbled, hesitated, and — sat down and grinned. For four hours I worked with him. He grinned and lied.

“An idea previously had occurred to me. Allison’s father, Alex Allison, was city scavenger of Galt. The father had seen the boy alone. That night the father was followed. It was before the finding of the body was generally known. The father had gone to the swamp to finish, for his son, the half-dug grave. The boy had told him of it.

“‘Allison,’ I said to the boy, ‘your father says you dropped your knife at the grave in the swamp.’

“‘No I didn’t, for I left it when I went ——’

“He stopped. It was on the tip of his tongue trembling, quivering, almost out.

“‘That’s enough,’ I said.

“Some newspapers declaimed against my examination of this boy, and talked of a sweat-box system, and asserted the boy’s innocence. In due time their mistake was revealed.

“The evidence was overwhelming when it all was collected. There was no need to use the footprint by the grave. Allison was proved by neighbours and folk on the road to have the exclusive opportunity to do the deed. His blood-stained gun had been fired, and the empty cartridge found in it was one he had taken from a box in the house. John Orr and his family on the next farm had heard a gunshot after Tony left with the sow. Allison had called out Mrs. Orr from the house, shot at her, clubbed her to death, then buried her temporarily in the cornfield, and at night dug the grave in the swamp. He had importuned her, and she refused him, and the murder followed.

“The grand jury found a true bill on November 29th, and Allison’s trial followed at once. Chief Justice Meredith presided. H.P. O’Connor, K.C., prosecuted, and J.R. Blake and J.J.H. Weir defended. On Friday, December 3rd, 1897, this seventeen-year-old murderer was found guilty, and was sentenced to be hanged in Berlin gaolyard on Friday, February 4th, 1898. His father fell in an epileptic fit when he heard the verdict.

“Smiling serenely, Jim Allison went up to his death. He mounted the scaffold unaided at eight o’clock on a raw, snowy morning. He shook hands politely with the guards, the hangman, and the minister, waited quietly while the black cap and noose were adjusted, stepped on to the trap at 8, and dropped into eternity.

“Allison had learned to read and write a little in his six months in a cell, and he had scrawled laboriously the following on a piece of paper:

“‘I am sorry for my crime. I did it out of ill-will. I hope those whom I wronged will forgive me, and that no one will turn this up to my people. My sentence is just, and I hope God will have mercy on me.’

“He signed this, and read it to them when they came to take him out and hang him.”


From the first part of his book


In a tangled swamp on a farm near Galt, in the county of Waterloo, Province of Ontario, Canada, in August 1897, searchers were hunting for the body of a farmer’s wife. She had disappeared, and blood by the wood pile and near the house told of a crime and the hiding of the body. One of the party beating the swamp came upon a half-dug grave. He kept silence as to his discovery, and, when night fell, he secreted himself in the thick brush near the grave and waited, in the faint hope that the murderer would return and finish his task, perchance bringing the body with him.


It was bright moonlight overhead. In the thicket of the swamp all was gloom, save for a broken filtering of pale light where the underbrush and tall briar had been thinned out. It was a lonely, dismal place. An owl’s wailing and the swamp-frog’s croaking were the only sounds. The hours passed. Midnight came and went. Not even a lizard appeared by the grave. The watcher was about to creep closer and ease his limbs, when a rustle sounded in the brush, a noise like the wind swishing a bush. It ceased, then came again, then all was still. Suddenly, on the side of the grave farthest from the watcher, a figure crept swiftly out of the thicket and stood erect.


The moon shone full upon him. He was tall and broad- shouldered, with a pose like that in the old-fashioned prints of heroic figures of the ancient wars. He wore knee-boots, with a long, loose coat reaching to their tops, and buttoned to the chin. A slouch hat, pulled well down on the forehead, shaded his face. In his left hand he held a spade. He paused by the grave, thrust his spade into the earth, and left it upright like a headstone, then shoved back the hat, and knelt on all fours, with his face close to the ground, for all the world like a bloodhood sniffing for a scent. On hands and knees he crept around and around the grave. Finally, from a pocket of the long coat, he produced a tiny lamp, and turning its light full upon the ground, he resumed his circling of the grave, his face not five inches from the earth, his eyes searching every foot of ground.


For half an hour this creeping around the grave continued. Then the figure squatted by the mound of earth and sat motionless. Suddenly he arose, seized the spade, and swiftly tossed away the mound of earth dug from the grave. All was done so noiselessly, so deftly, that it seemed unreal, phantom-like, the antics of a ghost. As he neared the bottom of the pile of earth his care redoubled. At length, he began to dig around the remnant of the pile as if making a second grave, beside the first. He had left about four inches of the earth from the first grave lying undisturbed on the site of the second grave. It was thick, sticky soil, that held together firmly, being less watery than elsewhere in the swamp, yet being full of heaviness and moisture.


He dug cautiously, sinking the spade about four inches in the soil, then driving it under, as would a man in cutting sod. When he thus had cut under the entire remnant of earth from the first grave he cleared a space on the ground beside it, and as one would turn a pancake on the griddle, he flipped the earth out and turned it on to the cleared space, so that the remnant of soil from the first grave was underneath. He then painstakingly lifted away the upper layer, and thus exposed to view the soil from the first grave, precisely as it had formed the surface or top of the earth before the digging of the grave began. He knelt over this earth as a mother over her child. He turned the light of the little lamp full upon it. Then he grunted, a subdued, deep, satisfied grunt. With the spade he carefully cut out a piece of the earth about a foot long and half as wide. He produced a measuring rule, and for half an hour worked over the piece of earth. Then he took the earth in his arms as tenderly as if it were a babe, picked up the spade, and vanished in the thicket.


Like a flash it dawned on the watcher that this mysterious figure had been searching for footprints. He had found no clear footprint around the grave. The marks there had been trampled by those of the watcher. But on the surface of the earth, where the grave had been dug, the footprints of the digger were certain to appear. So the figure in the long coat had reclaimed this surface undisturbed, and, judging from the one sound he made, the grunt of joy, he had found what he sought.


The watcher trailed after him, ignorant of who he was or whence he came. The grey dawn was creeping into the sky as he entered his hotel at Gait A sleepy porter was lolling on a table. Footsteps sounded in the hall, and past the office door on his way upstairs went the figure of the long coat. The coat was in his arms, borne carefully, for it concealed the precious piece of earth.


” Who is that ? ” asked the watcher.


“That!” said the porter, with a yawn. “That’s Old Never-let-go.”


” Who ? ” asked the watcher.


” Old Never-let-go,” answered the porter. ” Murray, John Murray, Old Never-let-go, the greatest genuine detective that this here or any other bloomin’ country can produce. He’s snoopin’ around now a gettin’ ready to fix a hangin’ for whoever killed Mrs. Orr.”


The figure of the long coat was in his room before the porter finished. He had laid the piece of earth on a table and turned the light full on it. A footprint showed, distinct in every detail of the shoe’s outline. He remeasured it carefully, noting the measurements on a slip of paper. When he finished he compared this slip with another slip. Then he went to a closet, and drew forth an old shoe, earth-stained and worn. He gently lowered this shoe into the imprint on the piece of earth. It matched. The clue held true.


After locking the piece of earth in an iron box, he went straight to the gaol or lockup, where a suspect was under guard. He entered the cell, and slammed the door. An hour later he returned to his room at the hotel, glanced, longingly at the bed, then at his watch, shook his head, and five minutes later was in a cold bath. When he appeared in the hotel office shortly after, the newspaper men and others including the watcher in the swamp, crowded around him.


” Any news ? ” they asked eagerly.


” The murderer’s locked up,” was the reply.


” Who is he ? ”


“Jim Allison, the chore boy. He’ll confess before he’s hanged.”


Allison was tried and convicted, and he confessed before he was hanged. At the trial there was no inkling of the all- night labours in the swamp or of the fatal footprint. The case was complete, without a revelation of the methods of the man who ran down the necessary evidence. If it had been necessary, the piece of earth with the tell-tale tread, a plaster cast of it to make it still plainer, would have been in evidence at the trial. It was not needed, and hence it did not appear. In a somewhat similar case a few years before, proof of footprints was needed, and it did appear.


” You’re sure Allison did it ? ” asked the newspaper men at the Gait hotel.


” Sure,” said Murray, and he went to breakfast.



Blanch Alexandrine “Adine” Seagram Bowlby’s tragic death

A Tragedy Marred Holiday Celebration


Mrs. G.H. Bowlby Lost Her Life in Fatal Motor Car Collison. Cars Collided at Victoria and Edward Streets. Other Occupants Escaped With Slight Injuries

An Inquest Into Death

The holiday festivities in the Twin Cities were marred by a fatal accident in which Mrs. G.H. Bowlby lost her life and a number of other citizens were badly shaken up and bruised.

The accident was caused by a collision between two automobiles at about one thirty o’clock on Saturday afternoon at the corner of Victoria and Edward Streets. Mrs. Bowlby with the four-year-daughter of Captain Tom Seagram of Waterloo, who was driving a Peerless car, was in the back seat of the machine which was going easterly on Victoria Street. At the same time a Ford Roadster, driven by Mr. Harvey Kennedy, who was accompanied by Mr. L. Wellheuser and Mr. Harry Lang, the latter sitting on the door, was going up Edward towards Victoria. A crash came. While Capt. Seagram swerved his car sideways it received the full impact of the other car. The machines were turned turtle and the occupants thrown out and underneath the cars. They, except Mrs. Bowlby, were able to extricate themselves from them machines and willing hands were soon offered. It was found that Mrs. Bowlby was pinned underneath the car was severely injured. Her brother, Capt. Seagram, extricated her from the wreckage. She was unconscious. Medical assistance and the ambulance were summoned. Dr. Kalbfleisch was on the scene soon. The ambulance arrived; she was removed to the hospital, where Dr. Kalbfleisch arrived a few minutes later. An examination of her injuries revealed a fracture of the skull, a broken collar bone and several broken ribs, which also caused internal injuries. An operation was deemed necessary. This was performed by Drs. Kalbfleisch, Gillespie and Hagmeier but unfortunately the efforts to save her life could not be brought to a successful conclusion and her death followed. This was about half an hour later.

A post-mortem examination was held later in the day and through it the opinions of the medical men on the character and extent of the injuries received by Mrs. Bowlby were ascertained.

Injuries Sustained by Others

Captain Seagram’s injuries were: sever abrasions on the face and a severe shaking up. The little daughter aside from the nervous shock and scratches, escaped unscathed. The occupants in the other car all escaped with slight injuries. Mr. Kennedy, however, received bruises in the side of his body. But none of them were incapacitated. Both machines were badly damaged. The Peerless car, however, after it was put on its wheels was taken to a garage under its own power.

Had Been Out Berry Picking

It should be added that the occupants in the Ford roadster had been out berry picking and were homeward bound with their berries.

Inquest Deemed Necessary

Coroner Dr. Kalbfleisch deemed an inquest necessary and immediately had a jury empanelled. Later in the afternoon they viewed the body of the deceased and also inspected the scene of the accident. They then adjourned until 1:30 Wednesday afternoon.

In connection with the cause of the accident the facts, it is expected, will be brought out at the inquest. Incidentally side from the cause, it is noteworthy that the corner of Edward and Victoria Streets does not afford a clear view to people traversing the streets. On three corners buildings are near the street line and hide the view from one street to the other.

Mrs. Bowlby’s Death a Severe Loss

The death of Mrs. Bowlby under the tragic circumstances caused intense sorrow among the citizens of Kitchener and waterloo. The loss sustained by the family is also keenly felt by the people of the community and b hundreds of friends that Mrs. Bowlby had elsewhere. Possessing a pleasing personality and endowed with noble qualities of kindness, charity, and an interest in the welfare of others, she had a warm place in the hearts and thoughts of all who knew her. Mrs. Bowlby gave valuable service on not a few organizations of public benefit and patriotic purposes among them being the Daughters of the Empire.

When the late Major B.H. Bowlby went to England in 1915 where he was engaged in surgical work in military hospitals, she accompanied him. Since his death which was caused by falling over a cliff in September 1917 she engaged in Red Cross work until she returned home about a year ago, to be with her father, who was in poor health.

Mrs. Bowlby was a daughter of Mr. Joseph Seagram, ex-MP, of Waterloo. Surviving her are her father and four brothers, who are Mr. E.F. Seagram, Captain Tom Seagram, Mr. Joseph Seagram, Jr., Orillia, and Mr. Norman Seagram, Toronto.

Seven Eye Witnesses Empanelled

Quite a number of witnesses are being empanelled to testify at the inquest, among them being seven eye witnesses. The jury consists of the following gentlemen: J.E. Bilger, foreman, B.H. Ziegler, J. Welker, L.S. Orlowski, Geo. C. Doerr, S.H. Hessenauer, Charles P. Knapp, George Steinmetz, J.A. Fuhrmann, V.R. Berlet.

Funeral Tomorrow

The funeral of the late Mrs. Adine Bowlby will be held tomorrow afternoon. There will be a service at the residence, 11 West Weber Street, at 4 o’clock and afterwards at St. John’s Anglican Church. After the church service the remains will be taken to Montreal.

Kitchener News Record – 21 Jul 1919 pg 1

Dr. Mayor George Herbert Bowlby’s Tragic Death


George Herbert Bowlby

George Herbert Bowlby


George Herbert Bowlby

Well-Known Kitchener physician Meets With Sudden and Tragic End of Seaford, England – Was Assistant Director of Medical Service

“Dr. Herbert Bowlby is dead,” was the shocking information which was circulated throughout the city with great rapidity on Sunday morning, after the message had been received by relatives in the city about 10:30 o’clock announcing that Capt. G. Herbert Bowlby, M.D., had been found dead at the foot of a cliff near Seaford. Within a few minutes of receiving the news in the city a number of the civic flags were lowered to half-mast out of respect to the memory of the deceased.

The message was sent from Ottawa by the Officers in charge of Records, and was addressed to Mrs. Adin S. Bowlby, 11 Weber St., W., wife of the deceased officer, who is also in England. Mr. Reinhold Lang, who is occupying the Bowlby residence, telephoned to Capt. T.W. Seagram, Paymaster of the 118th Battalion; informing him that a message was received announcing the death of Dr. Bowlby. The relatives of Dr. Bowlby were immediately notified and the news came as a severe and unexpected shock to all. The message was as follows: – “Deeply regret to inform you that Deputy Assistant Director of Medical Service, Seaford, reports November 11th, 1916, Captain George Herbert Bowlby, A.D. M.S. Embarkation, Shoreham-in-Sea, was found dead at foot of cliff near Seaford. Further particulars will be sent when available.”

Late in the afternoon a brief cablegram was received by relatives from Mrs. Bowlby with this information “Herbert dead.” It is expected that further information as to the tragic death of the late Dr. Bowlby will be received direct from England today.

The Late Dr. Bowlby

The late Capt. G. Herbert Bowlby, M.D., L.R.C.P., A.D.S.M., was born in this city in July fifty-one years ago, and has lived here the greater portion of his life. He was a son of the late Dr. D.S. Bowlby and is a direct descendant of the United Empire Loyalists who came to Canada at the time of the revolutionary war in the United States. His ancestors originated in Nottingham, England. Richard Bowlby, of whom the doctor is a direct descendant, came to America with the celebrated William Penn, the founder of the state of Pennsylvania. Dr. Bowlby was educated at the Public and High Schools in this city, and also took a course at St. Jerome’s College. He was a graduate of Toronto University, where he received his degree in medicine. He had since become a member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London and also was a Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians.

During his school days he was prominently identified with the athletic activities of the student and was goal keeper for the famous High School football team of 1877 to 1882. He was also identified with various cricket clubs in this city and in Toronto.

Dr. Bowlby was medical officer of the grey’s Home and at the last encampment attended the lectures on army hospital work and field ambulance work, and after passing the necessary examinations took the rank of Captain, which was recognized by the military authorities when he offered his service with the Army Medical Corps with the Canadian Expeditionary Forces. He left this city in July of 1915 to assume his duties and since arriving in England has been on duty in the large military Hospitals at Shorncliffe and more recently at Bath. He was recently appointed Assistant Director of Medical Service.

Since he has been on hospital duty in England, Dr. Bowlby has written many interesting letters to his aged mother, Mrs. D.S. Bowlby, 57 Margaret Avenue, in which he gave vivid descriptions of the scenic beauties surrounding the tow institutions at Shorncliffe and Bath. It is supposed that while taking a walk to view the scenery around the Hospital at Bath that he met with an accident which resulted in his death as reported by the military authorities.

Kitchener,BowlbyG.H.Dr.-residence-busyberlin1897During his residence in the city Dr. Bowlby took an active interest in municipal affairs and served several years in the Council and was Mayor of the town in 1901. He always took a keen interest in the welfare of the K-W Hospital and at the time of his death was a member of the Medical Advisory Committee. He was also a former Medical Health Officer. Since the commencement of the war he was active in the various patriotic enterprises of the city.

The late Dr. Bowlby is survived by his wife, who is a daughter of Jos. E. Seagram, ex-M.P., his aged mother, two sisters, Mrs. E.P. Clement, and Mrs. J.P. Fennell, and one brother D. Shannon Bowlby, all of Kitchener. It is not definitely known whether the remains will be brought to this city for burial.

Berlin Daily Telegraph 13 Nov 1916 pg 1, 5