• Holding a bee - Heritage of rural solidarity in Québec
• The origin of the bonhomme Sept Heures
• Myths and mischief of the countrysideThe legend of the braiding goblins
• The origin of Québec expressions
• The clamor of the working women September
Way back when is the Saint-Lazare historical society’s historical magazine published 3 times a year, in January, May and in September.
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Editor: Paul Lavigne
Corrector: Lyne Boutin
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In the magazine this month:
Holding a bee Heritage of rural solidarity in Québec
The origin of the bonhomme Sept Heures
Myths and mischief of the countryside: The legend of the braiding goblins
The origin of Québec expressions
The clamor of the working women
Saint-Lazare Historical Society’s board of directors
President: Donald Simpson
Vice-president: Anick Chevrier
Treasurer: Emma Mergl
Secretary: Paul Lavigne
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Administrator: Robert Rozon
Administrator: Manon Leroux
Administrator: Gisèle Gareau
Administrator: Lyne Arbec
« Holding a bee » Heritage of rural solidarity in Québec
By Paul Lavigne
Born in the era of seigneurial rule, the practice of the corvée familiarly called “faire un bee” has long shaped the social fabric of rural Québec. What began as an obligation imposed on settlers gradually transformed into a cherished tradition of voluntary cooperation, one that blended hard work, celebration, and enduring community ties.
From feudal duty to colonial obligation
The term corvée comes from the Latin corrogare, meaning “to summon together.”
In medieval France, it referred to free labor owed by serfs to their lord for the upkeep of his estate. This custom crossed the Atlantic with the French colonists. In New France, censitaires (tenant farmers) were required to contribute several days each year to collective works such as roads, bridges, and mills.
The best-known example is the construction of the Chemin du Roy in 1731, where residents were compelled to maintain the stretch of road bordering their land. Under British rule, the requirement grew even stricter: up to eight days of labor annually, with fines for those who refused.
As the seigneurial regime faded in the 19th century, the corvée lost its compulsory character. Out of its ashes emerged a spirit of voluntary neighborly aid, inspired by Anglo-American bees (community work gatherings). The Québec expression faire un bee was born.
A bee was far more than unpaid work: it was an act of reciprocity. Neighbors joined forces to raise a barn, harvest crops, chop firewood, or rebuild after misfortune, confident that their own call for help would one day be answered.
Work seasoned with festivity
What set the bee apart was its convivial atmosphere. Though tasks were often backbreaking, they were carried out to the sound of laughter, songs, and even fiddles. When the work was done, the hosts rewarded participants with a hearty meal, followed by an evening of dance and storytelling. In Acadian communities, such gatherings were aptly called frolics, emphasizing their joyful side.
For families living in relative isolation, these events were not only practical but also vital opportunities to socialize, exchange news, and strengthen bonds.
A rhythm for every season
The corvée adapted to the cycles of the year. Spring called for wood-cutting and fence repairs; summer for weeding, haymaking, or pest control; autumn for butchering and preserving. Domestic corvées included washing fabrics or the strenuous process of fulling cloth, which demanded several strong men. Communities also rallied in times of crisis after fires, storms, or during mourning demonstrating the depth of this tradition of solidarity.
A living heritage
Though modern life has transformed rural society, echoes of the bee endure. Community firewood bees, collective barn paintings, moving days among friends, and even big spring cleanups all bear the stamp of this age-old custom. The tools may be different, but the spirit is unchanged: generosity, reciprocity, and the joy of working side by side.
More than a memory
Faire un bee embodies the resilience of Québec’s rural culture. What began as feudal compulsion evolved into a voluntary, festive, and profoundly social practice that helped build not just farms and homes, but entire communities. It is a reminder that long before government programs or social safety nets, it was mutual aid that sustained families through hardship and that cooperation remains one of the strongest foundations of collective life.
Share your memories with us!
Do you have a family story, a memorable anecdote, or a cherished memory connected to Saint-Lazare? The historical journal would love to hear from you!
No need to be a writer: whether you are a natural storyteller or simply a witness to a precious moment, our team will be happy to revise and translate your texts.
Every contribution, big or small, enriches our collection of memories and brings the history of our community back to life.
Write to us at info@shsl.ca and become, in turn, a guardian of a fragment of our heritage.
The bonhomme Sept Heures (literally “Mr. Seven O’Clock”) is a sinister fictional figure rooted in Québécois and, more broadly, French-Canadian culture. For generations, he was invoked to frighten children into obedience, said to come for those who lingered outdoors after 7 p.m. or who stubbornly refused to go to bed.
The origin of the bonhomme Sept Heures
By Paul Lavigne
Instead of raising their voices, parents would mention this dark figure with a straight face, finding in him an effective — and terrifying — way to calm restless youngsters.
Although the legend has faded over time, the expression “bonhomme Sept Heures” remains familiar in Québec, unlike other
European figures such as the Bogeyman or Father Whipper (le Père Fouettard), who never truly took root in Canada.
Possible origins
The name has many variations: bonhomme sept-heures, petit bonhomme sept heures, bonhomme setteur, or even bonhomme 7 heures. As for its origins, three main theories circulate:
1. English influence: the term may derive from bone-setter, meaning a healer or bonesetter. These practitioners, whose work often caused cries of pain, frightened children. Parents threatened them with the bone-setter, which over time could have morphed into bonhomme Sept Heures.
2. French roots: some old dialects included expressions such as bonhomme la nuit (“man of the night”) or couche huit-heures (“bedtime eight o’clock”). Brought to New France by early settlers, these terms sometimes referred to the man who extinguished public lights around 7 p.m. In Breton, similar names appear, such as bonhomme basse heure.
the lamplighter who lit Montréal’s gas or oil streetlamps in the 19th century before 7 p.m. The popular tongue may have twisted this into Bonhomme Sept Heures. A variant connects him to the boom setter, a worker on floating log booms along rivers.
Portrait of the character
Legend paints the bonhomme Sept Heures as a menacing, half-human, halfdemonic being. He is an old man dressed in a hat, cloak, and carrying a cane and a sack sometimes filled with sand to blind children, sometimes to carry them away. At the stroke of seven, he appears, snatching careless youngsters who vanish without a trace.
In some tales, he is linked to North American hominoid creatures: one story tells of a disobedient child carried off by the north wind, never to return. Some adults even claim to have seen him in their youth a shadowy figure warning them to hurry home.
From myth to popular humor
3. A distorted profession: another theory links the character to the bomb setter,
Beyond fear, the bonhomme Sept Heu-
res has become an emblem of Québec folklore: both a parenting tool and a cultural symbol. He embodies this distinctly local way of blending discipline with fantastical storytelling.
For children, he remains the superhero of forced bedtime. Forget fairies or teddy bears this odd, shadowy man roams the night, ready to pounce the moment the clock strikes seven.
Picture it: you’re playing outside, carefree, and suddenly the hour comes. If you’re still out there, the bonhomme shows up with his battered hat, rusty cane, rainworn cloak and mysterious sack (filled
with sand? rocks? snacks?). Not very reassuring!
But for parents, he’s a secret weapon. Instead of scolding, they simply whisper: “Careful, the bonhomme Sept Heures is coming…” and instantly, children sprint home at lightning speed.
In the end, the bonhomme Sept Heures is at once the sheriff of bedtime, the guardian of the night, and Québec’s very own version of “time to go home.” A figure of both fear and fondness, he remains a fascinating piece of folklore that continues to echo through generations.
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Among the many beliefs rooted in Quebec folklore, the legend of goblins who braid horses’ manes holds a unique place in the collective memory of rural communities. Passed down through oral tradition, this story is part of a broader repertoire of tales designed to explain strange events in everyday farm life while enriching the popular imagination.
Across Quebec, numerous farmers reported finding their horses breathless in the morning, with their manes and tails braided into fine, tight plaits. These marks, impossible to attribute to any known human activity, were frequently seen as evidence of a nocturnal visit from mischievous goblins.
In Quebec’s folk tradition, goblins are invisible, playful beings inherited from European mythology and adapted to local agricultural life. According to legend, they
• Myths and mischief of the countrysideThe legend of the braiding goblins
By Robert Rozon
would slip into barns after nightfall, charm the horses with their gentle presence, and lead them on silent rides beneath the moon, returning them just before dawn.
To guard against these supernatural visits, farmers employed various protective measures: hanging a sickle above the barn door or scattering ashes or quicklime at the threshold, believing these substances would irritate the sensitive feet of these night-creatures. These acts, part superstition and part ritual, speak to a way of life deeply tied to the land, the seasons, and storytelling tradition.
Even today, this legend endures as an echo of the past. It reminds us that rural life was shaped not only by toil, but also by enchanting tales, mysteries shared by firelight, and the timeless power of imagination.
The origin of Québec expressions
By Robert Rozon
Here are the origin of some of Québec’s favorite expressions:
Attache ta tuque avec d’la broche
This expression evokes Québec’s harsh winters. The tuque (woolen cap) is essential for protection against the cold, and the broche (wire) reinforces the image of a wind so strong that you have to fasten it tightly. It therefore means: get ready, things are going to get rough.
Avoir la chienne
Derived from the word chienne (female dog), this expression means to be very afraid. It likely comes from a comparison with a frightened dog, tail between its legs.
Capoter ben raide
Capoter comes from capot, meaning a lid or a car hood. Faire capoter originally meant to capsize or overturn. Today, capoter means to lose control, whether from excitement or panic.
Dormir au gaz
This expression dates back to the time when gas stoves were common. Dormir au gaz (“sleeping on the gas”) means to be slow, inattentive, like someone who forgets to turn off the burner.
Se tirer une bûche
In the evenings of the past, logs were often used as makeshift seats. Se tirer une bûche (“pull up a log”) therefore means to grab a chair and sit down, usually in a friendly, cozy context.
Avoir de la broue dans le toupet
Broue is a colloquial word for beer foam. The image is of someone so busy that the foam is spilling into their hair! It means to be overwhelmed or swamped.
C’est tiguidou
Of uncertain origin, this word evokes smoothness and lightness. It’s used to say that everything’s fine, that it’s perfect.
Virer une brosse
This expression likely comes from the old word broce, meaning branch. Originally, partir sur la broce meant to go hunting. Today, virer une brosse means to party and drink heavily.
Avoir les yeux dans la graisse de bines
Les bines are baked beans with pork, a traditional Québécois dish. The image suggests sticky, gummy eyes so it means looking tired or sleepy.
Péter sa coche
Coche here means a notch or mechanism.
Péter sa coche is to lose control, like a machine that skips a gear.
Être dans le champ
An agricultural expression: being in the field instead of on the right path means to be completely wrong.
C’est de valeur
An old French phrase meaning “what a pity.” Still widely used in Québec. .
Lâcher son fou
It means to let loose, to have fun without restraint. The “fou” here represents the spontaneous or childlike side of oneself.
Se faire passer un sapin
This expression may come from receiving a low-quality Christmas tree. It means to get ripped off or cheated.
Avoir une crotte sur le cœur
The image is strong: a crotte (a little piece of excrement) symbolizes an unpleasant weight. It means having something weighing on your heart, being upset.
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The clamor of the working women
By Paul Lavigne
Here is one of my texts submitted to the Mysteries of Vaudreuil-Soulanges contest, held in the spring of 2025 and sponsored by La Magie des Mots and COMQUAT. Even though I did not win, I am deeply grateful to have had the chance to share a small piece of our beautiful local history.
Just a few steps from the heart of SaintLazare stands the old agricultural cooperative, now abandoned but still remembered by the elders as “the cannery.” Built on the eve of the Second World War, this grey building, weathered by time, still holds within its walls the echoes of bygone years.
Collection Lise Leduc
Once upon a time, some forty women — mostly the wives and sisters of local farmers — worked there between May and October. They processed the harvests — tomatoes, asparagus, and beans — into preserves destined for markets or pantries, helping families endure the harsh winters. For these women, the cannery was much more than a workplace; it was a refuge where, for a few hours, they could forget the anxieties of war. Their laughter and loud voices, raised to drown out the machines, resounded throughout the workshop. One could pick out Germaine’s nasal tone, Marie-Hélène’s guttural laugh, Louise’s lilting accent, and Yvonne’s sharp tongue. Some even claimed their outbursts of laughter carried all the way to the other end of the village.
After the war, when the scars of conflict were still painfully visible, the cooperative closed its doors, another victim of the economic hardships weighing down the local farmers. In 1947, the curtain fell on this chapter, and the cannery, with its unique atmosphere, became nothing more than a memory, a place frozen in time.
Today, it is hard to believe that despite the decades that have passed, this old building still resists the ravages of time. Though its walls have aged and its metal panels given way to rust, it remains a symbol. Just a few strokes of a paintbrush, a little love, and some care could restore a measure of its past glory.
And yet, at certain times of the year, on warm July and August evenings at dusk, some still swear that if you close your eyes, you can hear a whisper carried on the breeze… a voice, a burst of laughter, faint but clear, reminding us of the women who once gave this place its soul and its life.
