Babs Lemp had an unquenchable zest for life, a relentlessly positive outlook and a winning personality as big as all outdoors. One would think she had it all. That same Babs Lemp spent her entire life in a wheelchair, had severely arthritic hands and was almost completely blind. She was, in her own special way, the epitome of the saying “life is what you make it”.

Lucille Lemp, nicknamed Babs, was born in 1917. The Lemp household was a decidedly busy place. Father John Lemp was the village druggist, photographer, Bell Telephone representative and an active member in every club and organization in Tavistock at the time. Mother Lucy was equally involved in the women’s groups. Babs had one brother Len and two sisters, Jeanne and Pauline (Girlie). The Lemp family lived above the drug store at 16 Hope Street West.

In 1971, just a few years before she died, Babs wrote an article entitled “Home Bound”. It talks to her challenges and her opportunities and, most importantly, who helped along the way. Following is an excerpt from her story.

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Home Bound by Babs Lemp

When my younger sister started to school at the age of five, I cried brokenheartedly because I couldn’t go, too. I didn’t realize that being blind and in a wheelchair meant I would be travelling the road without the companionship and competition of other children.

I was soon lonely without my sister to play with. I tired of my dolls. Each day seemed longer than the one before.

A friend told Dad about a system of reading and writing for the blind called braille. He made immediate inquiry and discovered the government, in conjunction with the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, would send home teachers to those who were unable to attend the school at Brantford.

It was arranged that a blind teacher, Miss McQuaid, and her guide, Miss Fink, would come to our home for one day each week. She treated me like a Dresden doll. She had the patience of Job when teaching me to use my arthritic hands to write in braille. We began by learning the first 5 letters of the alphabet by placing pegs to form the letters on a beginner’s peg slate.

Each week I learned five more letters until I knew the whole alphabet. The next big step was to accustom my fingers to feel and recognize those letters when they appeared as much smaller dots on a sheet of paper. Progress was painfully slow. There were no bright pictures to capture my interest.

I thought the battle was won when I’d mastered the alphabet. It was far from true. Each letter when standing alone means a single word. Each letter plus dot five has another meaning and so it goes on and on.

Mom dared “I’ll bet I can guess the next word before you can.” Dad coaxed “I’ll give you a nickel if you can read the next sentence”. My parents never gave up, even though I would have been glad to wash my hands of the whole tedious business.

Just as reading braille was becoming a bit easier, Miss McQuaid married. There wasn’t another blind teacher in the district to take her place. For an entire year I was without a teacher. The old restlessness returned to plague me.

Fortunately I had parents who saw my need and tried to do something about it.

Dad wrote to the Department of Education: “Education is compulsory for the physically sound but I believe it is even more important for the handicapped to be taught to fill their hours with the search for information”.

A reply came back stating the Department would be willing to pay 50% for a local schoolteacher if the local school board would pay the remainder of the cost.

Thus it evolved. Miss Bess Murray (later Mrs. John Pfeiffer) was the first teacher and I was the first pupil of an auxiliary class in Ontario. She came for an hour after four, 3 times a week. She started me with Grade 5 lessons: reading, writing, spelling arithmetic, history and geography.

Dad and my brother made wooden relief maps of the county, province and dominion. All were marked to enable me to learn the shape, surface and boundaries of each. Arithmetic was done mentally.

After 2 years Miss Murray decided she had taken me as far as she could. Mr. Jake Seltzer was engaged in her place. Every teacher I’ve ever had has worked overtime to help me along my uncharted course. Nothing was too much trouble or would take too long to explain.

Because I have only one straight finger on my right hand, I was unable to do touch typing. Therefore my father made brass caps with braille letters on them to fit over the keys of an ordinary typewriter. Thus the problem of doing test papers was overcome.

Each year the Department of Education sent an inspector to check on my progress. When I was in Grade 7 Miss DelaPorte asked “How would you and your teacher like to come to Toronto during the Easter holidays and show the other teachers how you do your work?”

Mr. Seltzer helped me to prepare two 20-minute programs which included reading and writing braille, typing, two songs and a 10-minute talk on the British Isles with my relief map to point out the places discussed. We were greeted on the steps of the Parliament Buildings by the Deputy Minister of Education, presented with a bouquet of roses and sweet peas and had our picture taken for the papers.

Mr. Carl Seltzer was my high school teacher for 5 years. He learned braille to be able to teach me. High school lessons included German and other languages that could be written in braille.

The royal road to learning, homebound, has sometimes seemed long but the kindnesses of family, friends and teachers have made it well worth the effort. I hope I will always be learning.

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Perhaps surprising, given her arthritic hands, Babs learned to knit and won prizes for her knitted articles at the Canadian National Exhibition in Toronto. There was no special class for blind knitters. Babs competed against people who could see every stitch along the way. In her adult life Babs wrote several stories accepted by the New York Institute of the Blind. She sang at local concerts, played the harp, entered all sorts of contests and entertained regularly in her apartment. if you dropped in for an evening visit her first question was usually “Do I have the lights on?”

Babs was a source of enjoyment and inspiration to those who knew her. Always humble, Babs said “I can never thank God enough that I was born into a good home with a wonderful family to encourage and to help me along the way. I believe I am most fortunate to have so many good friends. Among my very special friends are the deaf-blind folk. They are ever cheerful and always so grateful for kindness received. I think a great many of us could well learn an invaluable lesson from them”.

Lucille "Babs" Lemp passed away in 1977.