Location: 657 Niagara Boulevard, Fort Erie, Ontario, Canada
Real Name: Bertie's Hall
Year built 1832.
Update: The museums dolls and houses were sold at auction. Bought by someone in New Jersey.
End of an era at Bertie Hall
The museum is open to the public, which showcases different styles of doll's houses from the 1800s to the 1980s. It was originally Bernie's Hall and during the times slaves where being brought over from the United States, it was used a part of the underground railroad. Some people died during the fleeing, some suicides in the tunnel as well.
When I went to the museum as a teenager my dad took me, along with my younger siblings. I went to help over come my fear of dolls which ranged from barbie dolls to baby dolls. When I entered the home I felt like I was in an Victorian home the high ceilings and the long staircase at the entrance. I went into the main living room and my family went upstairs. I stood in the middle of the room and spanned my view of the surroundings, the art, old piano and some pamphlets of the building. As I was about to walk closer to the piano I saw hands energy come up through the floor and grab my ankles. They grabbed hard I could not move, I did not scream out because I assumed no one would believe me. I just waited and in my head said 'LET GO!'. Finally they let go, I walked away from that spot and towards the piano and read a pamphlet about the building. It said it was part of the underground railroad and that under where I stood was the tunnel. A women died in there suicide by hanging.
I assumed then at the hands were reaching out to me, if I knew now what I did back then I would of tried to help the person. Then I was just curious and confused about alot of the stuff. There was no internet only a library and paper forms of information.
After the living room I went upstairs and walked across the crickety old floor, my family where looking carefully and studied the detail on the houses, furniture and carvings and stories behind each doll's house. I pulled myself to look at the dolls and keep my sights on them. Some where tiny houses, some where big. The dolls in some where so old, faded colour and hair falling out.
In one particular doll's house, well detailed than the others and older, I felt drawn to it. My empath picked up on so much emotion. It must of looked like a fantasy home to someones dreams or a real house miniature. It held alot of emotion from the creator and user. Mass amounts of energy and emotion vibrating off the wood itself. I love fine detail and how an artist's soul can be reborn again and again when artifacts and art windle through time. The doll's hair looked like it was human hair, it was falling out and shaggy looking. The cloths although dust free where dulling with time and seemed to be thinning. The female doll the one I could not keep my eyes off seemed to look into my eyes and stare with some emotion and soul behind them. She was about 7inches tall her face well detailed, dark and faded with time. I stared for so long it seemed she wanted to talk to me. After what I thought was a smile emerging I looked away fast and walked out of the room into the hallway.
I breathed a little bit, felt a bit tipsy then went to look at other room full of doll's houses. The other didn't seem to speak to me the same way as that one did. After what felt like 15 minutes of walking around absorbing each detailed piece to mind I decided to go back into the room.
No one was in it anymore, I was alone in it the rest of my family moved on into the other room And the other onlookers who came in left to downstairs. I walked slowly towards the glass case that covered the doll's house and peered in carefully. The doll had moved it seemed. It was facing sideways left from the front with its head tilted semi forward and now the body was almost facing forward and the head forward. It still stared at me a slight smile and a minute later after asking it to make a noise using my inside my head voice it DID! I'm not sure if it was just the old house or not but I heard a noise inside the house squeak like old wood planks. I stared hard then looked to see if anyone was in the room with me. The I looked back and the doll's arm moved a bit upward as if it was about to reach for me. I felt creeped out at that point and walked away and met up with my family as we all went downstairs together, finished up there and left.
Later on when I was in grade 11 I found out more about the Museum and its history. The bridge between Canada and the US is only a 5min drive away the museum is parallel to the Niagara River which separates the two countries. Countless amounts of African Americans fled, some died of disease, stress and even suffocation. Some parts of the tunnel was drafty at times and parts would cave in a bit then need to be cleaned out. To add onto the drama that city and its land is also part of the War of 1812, the ground was littered in blood and death.
Visuals and a more in depth article is found here. Fort Erie’s hidden history From Niagara This Week.com
New article out this week. NPC to conduct heritage study of Bertie Hall
Real Name: Bertie's Hall
Year built 1832.
Update: The museums dolls and houses were sold at auction. Bought by someone in New Jersey.
End of an era at Bertie Hall
The museum is open to the public, which showcases different styles of doll's houses from the 1800s to the 1980s. It was originally Bernie's Hall and during the times slaves where being brought over from the United States, it was used a part of the underground railroad. Some people died during the fleeing, some suicides in the tunnel as well.
When I went to the museum as a teenager my dad took me, along with my younger siblings. I went to help over come my fear of dolls which ranged from barbie dolls to baby dolls. When I entered the home I felt like I was in an Victorian home the high ceilings and the long staircase at the entrance. I went into the main living room and my family went upstairs. I stood in the middle of the room and spanned my view of the surroundings, the art, old piano and some pamphlets of the building. As I was about to walk closer to the piano I saw hands energy come up through the floor and grab my ankles. They grabbed hard I could not move, I did not scream out because I assumed no one would believe me. I just waited and in my head said 'LET GO!'. Finally they let go, I walked away from that spot and towards the piano and read a pamphlet about the building. It said it was part of the underground railroad and that under where I stood was the tunnel. A women died in there suicide by hanging.
I assumed then at the hands were reaching out to me, if I knew now what I did back then I would of tried to help the person. Then I was just curious and confused about alot of the stuff. There was no internet only a library and paper forms of information.
After the living room I went upstairs and walked across the crickety old floor, my family where looking carefully and studied the detail on the houses, furniture and carvings and stories behind each doll's house. I pulled myself to look at the dolls and keep my sights on them. Some where tiny houses, some where big. The dolls in some where so old, faded colour and hair falling out.
In one particular doll's house, well detailed than the others and older, I felt drawn to it. My empath picked up on so much emotion. It must of looked like a fantasy home to someones dreams or a real house miniature. It held alot of emotion from the creator and user. Mass amounts of energy and emotion vibrating off the wood itself. I love fine detail and how an artist's soul can be reborn again and again when artifacts and art windle through time. The doll's hair looked like it was human hair, it was falling out and shaggy looking. The cloths although dust free where dulling with time and seemed to be thinning. The female doll the one I could not keep my eyes off seemed to look into my eyes and stare with some emotion and soul behind them. She was about 7inches tall her face well detailed, dark and faded with time. I stared for so long it seemed she wanted to talk to me. After what I thought was a smile emerging I looked away fast and walked out of the room into the hallway.
I breathed a little bit, felt a bit tipsy then went to look at other room full of doll's houses. The other didn't seem to speak to me the same way as that one did. After what felt like 15 minutes of walking around absorbing each detailed piece to mind I decided to go back into the room.
No one was in it anymore, I was alone in it the rest of my family moved on into the other room And the other onlookers who came in left to downstairs. I walked slowly towards the glass case that covered the doll's house and peered in carefully. The doll had moved it seemed. It was facing sideways left from the front with its head tilted semi forward and now the body was almost facing forward and the head forward. It still stared at me a slight smile and a minute later after asking it to make a noise using my inside my head voice it DID! I'm not sure if it was just the old house or not but I heard a noise inside the house squeak like old wood planks. I stared hard then looked to see if anyone was in the room with me. The I looked back and the doll's arm moved a bit upward as if it was about to reach for me. I felt creeped out at that point and walked away and met up with my family as we all went downstairs together, finished up there and left.
Later on when I was in grade 11 I found out more about the Museum and its history. The bridge between Canada and the US is only a 5min drive away the museum is parallel to the Niagara River which separates the two countries. Countless amounts of African Americans fled, some died of disease, stress and even suffocation. Some parts of the tunnel was drafty at times and parts would cave in a bit then need to be cleaned out. To add onto the drama that city and its land is also part of the War of 1812, the ground was littered in blood and death.
Visuals and a more in depth article is found here. Fort Erie’s hidden history From Niagara This Week.com
New article out this week. NPC to conduct heritage study of Bertie Hall