Marie Lake: Explosion – Chapter 3 of 11

Written by Harold McNeill on August 25th, 2010. Posted in Family 1940 1965

Stove at Marie Lake

Photo (Web).  A wood cookstove that nearly ended our mothers life.

Link to Next Post:  Link to Easy Come, Easy Go
Link to Last Post: Link to Growing Up in the Wilderness
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July, 1947

It was one of those quiet, lazy July mornings at Marie Lake. The dead calm waters reflected the morning sun and the leaves on the poplar trees, usually twisting and fluttering in the slightest breeze, hung as if frozen in time. The only noise to be heard was the quiet chatter of a few birds and of the laughter of Louise and me as we Mom before firedredged out wet sand to complete our giant sand castle – to be a surprise for mom and dad.

Suddenly, the serenity of the morning was bluntly ended by a loud, deep ‘whooomp’ coming from the direction of the house. A split second later the silence was further pierced by a blood curdling scream that echoed through the trees and down to the water. Louise and I sat there, momentarily frozen.

With the screams rising in intensity, we jumped up and run towards the house. As we topped the small sand bank we saw mom running with flames and smoke rising from her body. We were stricken with fear at a site we couldn’t fully comprehend.

After a short distance, she fell and rolled in the sand, grass and pine needles covering the yard. We stopped dead in our tracks not knowing what to do. At that moment dad came running from the mink pens. He frantically tried to smother the flames with his jacket but it wasn’t large enough to cover her whole body. Each time he moved the jacket, flames would spring to life.  An eternity passed before the flames were finally extinguished. The nauseating smell of burnt cloth, plastic and flesh permeated the air.

Dad hollered: “Harold, Louise, get a sheet off the bed.”

Suddenly, fearing the house might be on fire, he hollered “stop”, but it was too late as we were already inside. Fortunately there was no fire and only acrid smoke filled house. We frantically pulled a sheet from the bed and ran back to dad and mom.

When we returned mom had stopped screaming. She was lying on the ground moaning and crying, pleading for dad to help. Most of her outer clothes had been burned off and her arms and legs were a mass of burned flesh mixed with sand, grass, leaves and needles. On her legs small red lines weaved in and out of the burned flesh.

Dad sent us to sit by the house while he tried to comfort mom and wrap her in the sheet. Mr. Johnson had gone to town and Mr. Goodrich was on his trap line so we sat alone on the back porch hugging each other and crying. We were certain our mother was going to die.

Suddenly dad called:  “Harold, take your sister, get the boat ready, we have to get your mother to the hospital.”

We ran down to the dock and I jumped in the boat.  I started the engine and waited while dad carried mom to the boat.  He stepped in and held her while Louise untied the mooring rope, jumped in and pushed off.  Mom was now quietly moaning and it was evident she was in tremendous pain.

Twenty minutes later at a neighbouring farm house, others came to help. Louise and I stayed behind while a neighbour drove and dad sat in the back holding mom and comforting her as best he could.

It was a torturous, twenty-five mile drive around the lake on dirt roads that were narrow, rough and winding. One three mile section of swamp near English Bay was covered in corduroy where every bump and jolt caused mom to moan in agony.

Around mid-afternoon they arrived at the John Neil Hospital where she was attended to my Dr. Savage and the nursing staff. It was far from certain as to whether they could save her life.

Mom was always very emotional when she later talked of the accident:

“I was burned very badly on my legs and arms, but by some miracle, my face was spared. Dr. Savage and the nurses were puzzled by the long strings of red plastic burned into the flesh on my legs. It turned out to be part of the plastic apron that had burned and melted into my flesh. Only the heavy red trim remained visible.

A big challenge that faced Dr. Savage and the nurses was cleaning the burns. Not only was the plastic stuck to the burnt skin, when I ran out of the house and started rolling, all the sand, grass and needles stuck to the plastic and burned flesh. All this now needed to be cleaned before the burns could begin to heal. Keeping the wounds open increased the danger of infection. 

They kept me heavily sedated for the first week or so and I don’t remember much of that time. Later I went through some pretty tough times but it was a small price to pay – I was alive and I was going to see my family again.”

For the first week Louise and I stayed at Marie Lake while dad stayed at the hospital with mom. As soon as she was taken off the critical list dad returned and took us over to stay with Aunt Liz and Uncle Warren. He said that he would be back in a few days to take us to the hospital to see mom. He then returned to Marie Lake to catch up on his work.

Cook StoveMom told us how the accident had happened:

“I had been working getting the garden ready for spring planting while the two of you played on the beach. About 10:00 am I went in to make coffee. To speed things up starting the fire I poured some kerosene on the kindling. I guess there must have been some hot coals left from the breakfast fire, so when I lit the match the whole thing exploded. I still don’t know why my face and eyes were not burned.

It was also lucky the house didn’t burn down as your dad told me the explosion had blown the lids off the stove and singed the curtains. If they had caught fire the rest of the house would surely have burned. You know something else? Every since that day I have never, ever tired to light a fire with kerosene.” 

For the rest of her life mom bore heavy scars on her legs and arms and had to be careful when in the sun.

There was a touching side story about her healing process. One evening as mom was going crazy with the itch on her legs, our dog, Shep, came up beside her, sat down and started to lick her leg. She said the dogs tongue was just rough enough to stop the itch. He was very gentle and mom figured if a dog would lick his wounds to help them heal, it was unlikely to hurt her legs. Mom was even convinced it helped the healing process – that and her favourite treatment for every burn, bite, bruise, cut, scrape or other injury that any of us ever suffered – Gentian Violet! The poor dog had a purple tongue for weeks.

Before long, mom was functioning at full speed. It was hard to believe that just a couple of months earlier the situation had looked so bleak. Our lives were back on track for many great new adventures at Marie Lake. In the not to distance future we would face another family crisis only this time it would be dad’s life hanging in the balance.

Harold McNeill
Parksville, BC

Link to Next Post:  Link to Easy Come, Easy Go
Link to Last Post: Link to Growing Up in the Wilderness
Link to Family Stories Index

Car stuck in mud

Photo: This photo, taken from the web, of an old car stuck in the mud is very typical of the situation we faced when driving to Cold Lake around English Bay.  There was one spot, just beyond the current beach area, where the road neared the lake. It seemed it was always one large mud hole.  There was a very good family photo of digging the car out on one trip but the photo is no longer in the files. 




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  • Mike Fedorowich

    September 1, 2023 |

    I have gone through the above noted text and have found it quite informative.
    I am a former member with several law enforcement agencies from across Canada.
    I worked in the First Nations service under the authority of the RCMP with the over sight of the OPP. My law enforcement service was conducted under the authority of the Nishnawbe – Aski Police Service in North West Ontario the Louis Bull Police Sevice in Hobbema AB, the Kitasoo Xaixais Police Service in Northern in side passage on Swindle Island, the Lac Suel Police Service North West Ontario and the Vancouver Transit Authority Sky Train Police Service. I’m presently dealing with an RCMP member for falsifying a report against me for a road rage event. Court case is finished and the charge was dropped but I have an on going complaint with the member and have forwarded to the WATCH DOGS IN OTTAWA FOR the RCMP review and consideration. I believe the said officer is in violation of his oath of office and should be held accountable for falsifying his RTCC all the while dragging me through the court system here in Nanaimo. RCMP continue to stonewall the appeal but Ottawa and the crowns office are still looking into the matter. if your able and find the time or the interest in this very brief introduction, I would very much like to speak with you and would be grateful to hear any wisdom that may come across from your end. I served with First Nations Police Services for ten years in isolation and six years with Transit Police out of New West Minster. I do value and appreciate any time you could spare to chat for a bit on this particular subject matter. Respectfully with out anger but an open mind, Mike Fedorowich Nanaimo BC 250 667 0060

  • Harold McNeill

    February 28, 2022 |

    Hi Robert, I do remember some of those folks from my early years in Cold Lake (Hazel was my aunt and our family spent many fond times with Uncle Melvin, Aunt Hazel and Family. I knew Lawrence and Adrian. Having read a half dozen accounts it is clear their were many false narratives and, perhaps, a few truths along the way. I tried my best to provide an even account from what I read. Cheers, Harold. (email:

  • Robert Martineau

    February 25, 2022 |

    Its been a long time since any post here, but its worth a shot. My Grandfather was Hazel Wheelers brother Lawrence, and son to Maggie and Adrien. Maggie Martineau (nee Delaney) is my great grandmother. The books and articles to date are based on the white mans viewpoint and the real story as passed down by the Elders in my family is much more nefarious. Some of the white men were providing food for the Indians in exchange for sexual favors performed by the Squaws. Maggie was the product of one of those encounters. Although I am extremely proud of my family and family name, I am ashamed about this part of it.

  • Julue

    January 28, 2022 |

    Good morning Harold!
    Gosh darn it, you are such a good writer. I hope you have been writing a book about your life. It could be turned into a movie.
    Thanks for this edition to your blog.
    I pray that Canadians will keep their cool this weekend and next week in Ottawa. How do you see our PM handling it? He has to do something and quick!
    Xo Julie

  • Herb Craig

    December 14, 2021 |

    As always awesome job Harold. It seems whatever you do in life the end result is always the same professional, accurate, inclusive and entertaining. You have always been a class act and a great fellow policeman to work with. We had some awesome times together my friend. I will always hold you close as a true friend. Keep up the good work. Hope to see you this summer.
    Warm regards
    Herb Craig

  • Harold McNeill

    November 26, 2021 |

    Hi Dorthy, So glad you found those stories and, yes, they hold many fond memories. Thanks to social media and the blog, I’ve been able to get in touch with many friends from back in the day. Cheers, Harold

  • Harold McNeill

    November 26, 2021 |

    Well, well. Pleased to see your name pop up. I’m in regular contact via FB with many ‘kids’ from back in our HS days (Guy, Dawna, Shirley and others). Also, a lot of Cold Lake friends through FB. Cheers, Harold

  • Harold McNeill

    November 26, 2021 |

    Oh, that is many years back and glad you found the story. I don’t have any recall of others in my class other than the Murphy sisters on whose farm my Dad and Mom worked.

  • Harold McNeill

    November 26, 2021 |

    Pleased to hear from you Howie and trust all is going well. As with you, I have a couple of sad stories of times in my police career when I crossed paths with Ross Barrington Elworthy. Just haven’t had the time to write those stories.

  • Howie Siegel

    November 25, 2021 |

    My only fight at Pagliacci’s was a late Sunday night in 1980 (?) He ripped the towel machine off the bathroom wall which brought me running. He came after me, I grabbed a chair and cracked him on the head which split his skull and dropped him. I worried about the police finding him on the floor. I had just arrived from Lasqueti Island and wasn’t convinced the police were my friends. I dragged him out to Broad and Fort and left him on the sidewalk, called the cops. They picked him up and he never saw freedom again (as far as I know). I found out it was Ross Elworthy.