Did you know that Bruce County, Bruce Township, Port Elgin and Kincardine are all named for the same person? That would be James Bruce, 8th Earl of Elgin and 12th Earl of Kincardine, who was Governor General of Canada when the county and township were organized in 1849 and 1850 respectively. Although, some say that Kincardine refers directly to the county of Kincardine in Scotland. The town was originally known as Penetangore, after the local river, but was renamed when the post office was opened.
Speaking of names, the Teeswater River has had several. Early settlers called it Mud River, after a sticky incident involving the crew of surveyor A.P. Brough. Historian Norman Robertson tells it this way, in “History of the County of Bruce”, published by the Bruce County Historical Society.
Peter Smith, of Saugeen, was flagman in Brough's surveying party. During the survey, when he reached the river he somehow fell into it, and was thoroughly bemired in its oozy bed. As he floundered out upon firm ground Brough came up and said. “What name shall we give this river?” Smith, looking down on his mud-covered garments, said. “You had better call it Mud River.”
So in his 1848 report Brough calls it the Au-shuskisibbi, or Muddy River. And so for local residents its name was Mud.
There’s a variation. Surveyor James Warren named it Yokasippi on his 1896 county map. According to Robertson, it’s a corruption of the Ojibway “Ah-ta-yahko-sibbi,”meaning “The Drowned Lands River.” (The village of Cargill was first known as Yokassippi, then Mickle, before becoming Cargill, after Henry Cargill.) With time the local name of Mud River gave way to Teeswater River, named by later surveyors after the River Tees in England.
Sometimes a place gets its name from the local geography. Take for example the main road from Owen Sound to Tobermory, which was pretty rough in the beginning. There was one steep hill, called Toe Nail Hill because, the residents claimed, it was so steep that horses had to dig in their toenails in order to climb it. (The hill is gone now.)
Conversely, a low spot on the road caused trouble for the mailman on the Owen Sound to Tobermory route.
One spring he set out to deliver the first mail by horse and buggy. His mother, Mrs. Munn, went along for the ride. Coming to a low place in the road which was deeply flooded by the spring thaw, the mailman stood up in the buggy while the horses swam for several yards. He glanced down to find the water up around his mother’s neck and snatched her to her feet just in time to avert a drowning. This place was known for many years as Mrs. Munn’s Bathtub.
As for Lucknow, its name comes from a city in India which was successfully besieged by the British during the Indian Rebellion of 1857. In the summer of 1858 the founder of the village, James Somerville, erected Kinloss township's first mill and laid out a townplot, naming it after the British victory. A number of streets bear the names of generals in the Indian Army.
Regarding the origin of “Hepworth,” the founder, William Plews, planned to lay out a town plot on his property. But what to call his town? He consulted Rev. Green, a local Methodist minister, who said, “Why not name your town Epworth, after the birthplace of John Wesley?” Mr. Plews, being English, said the name as if the first letter were an H. The mispronounced name lived on as “Hepworth.”
How about Huron? The term “huron” was born in the early 1600s when French traders at Quebec City first saw the Wendat people, come to trade their beaver pelts. When the Frenchmen saw the Wendat’s spiky hair they exclaimed, “Quelle hure!” and likened the hair to the bristles on the head of a wild boar (hure). The nickname “huron” stuck. Thus the Huron (Wendat) people, Lake Huron and Huron Township all owe their names to a hair style.
By the way, be careful using Google Maps to navigate Bruce County. One of the curious features of Google Maps is a tendency to show places which don’t exist, like “Little Egypt.” Sure, the sign on Highway 9 (east of Kincardine between Kinloss and Riversdale) says “Egypt Side Road,” but there is nothing there but farms at the edge of the Greenock Swamp.
True, Norman Robertson spoke of an area of farms called “Egypt,” where the road was supervised by an overbearing pathmaster named John Bell. A pathmaster checked up on farmers to see that they spent the allotted number of days per year maintaining the road in front of their property. The work of grading and spreading gravel was done by hand.
The zealous Mr. Bell, something of a slave-driver, gained the nicknames “Pharaoh” and “King of Egypt,” and his stretch of road thus became “Egypt.” But Robertson doesn’t speak of a “Little” Egypt or of an actual village. So if you were planning a drive to scenic Little Egypt, don’t bother. It isn’t there. ◊
Robin Hilborn is a local author and member of the Bruce County Historical Society