Tidal Wave

Thoughts of tidal waves flowed through my childhood. Nan O'Brien wanted to keep me off the beach so she talked about a tidal wave carrying me away. I often paused and looked out to sea when I went to the beach. At night before I slept, I planned how I would run up the old road and up the mountains to escape a wave.  However my plan did not include how I would know about such a wave at night.

        Nan O'Brien

Last week was the eighty-fifth anniversary of the tidal wave, now called tsunami, on the Burin Peninsula in Newfoundland. A family friend was a survivor of this event. Her name was Gladys Barnes and she spoke of the event up to the end of her long life; the event having left a huge impression on her. When I noticed the anniversary this past week, I thought of Gladys.

She was on the Burin Peninsula that November day in 1929 and saw houses carried out to sea, one with a lamp lit in an upstairs room. How was Gladys saved from the wall of water which came ashore that day?

Mrs. Barnes and her husband, Chesley, lived across the street from my family in Mount Pearl. They were great friends over the years as the couples played cards and visited each other. After their husbands died, the bond between Gladys and my mother, Mary,  strengthened. The widows were great company for each other and often shared meals. Gladys worked as a cook at a hotel when she first went to St. John's as a young woman. Mom always said, "Mrs. Barnes could put a good taste on a beach rock."

                      Gladys Barnes

Gladys, in her nineties, continued to live at home and still cooked for herself. Her mind was good but her body was frail, especially her legs. She died in hospital shortly after a fall at home. Gladys was a good wife and mother to her two sons, a good friend and neighbour, and a loving grandmother. She was a good woman.

My grandmother had some knowledge of the events of the tidal wave of 1929 and she was nervous about the possibility of it happening in Maddox Cove. Nan transferred her fear to me as well in an effort to keep me off the beach. I hope, unlike Gladys, I never have to find out what a tsunami is really like.

 

The Alarm

It woke the neighbourhood. Somewhere nearby a car sent its repetitive horn blasts into the quiet of the night, alarming everyone for several streets around it. A rash of break-ins in the area recently meant more people installed alarm systems in their homes and cars. Periodically we awoke in the early morning hours when a wireless alarm sounded.

There was a time when an alarm was less high tech. I learned of such a system when my mother, mother-in-law and I visited L'Anse aux Meadows on the tip of the Great Northern Peninsula in Newfoundland. It was the summer tourist season; we visited the former Viking settlement, drove around the area, stopping where the road led to a small turn-about near the ocean. We were as far north as we could get on our beautiful island, in a place where it looked like a nor'easter could sweep away a little house and shed not twenty feet from the water. You could see the coast of Labrador in the distance.

  Mary Pretty and Sylvia Smith

    at L'Anse aux Meadows

As we walked around, a friendly, elderly gentleman came out of the house and approached us. He asked, " 'ow ar ya taday?" 

"We're fine. How are you?" I replied.

"Alright, Mrs. Can't complain too much, ya knows. Nobody wants ta hear it anyways," he  said.

"It must get really bad here in the winter, when that wind blows onshore. Have you ever had any damage?" I asked.

"Yees, moy dear. Me and da Mrs. 'ad ta leave a few toimes when da seas were warshin' o're da 'ouse. 'Ad ta use da boat one toime cos everyting were awarsh. Got da goat out o' da shed just afore 'e warshed away," he added.

"Oh my. I'm glad you got out and saved the goat too. I hope that doesn't happen very often," I said.

"Few toimes o're da years. 'Ad ta sove da goat, Mrs. Cuddna ford anudder one," he said.

"Do you use the goat for milk?" I asked.

"Yees, Mrs. Not only dat. She's a good 'larm too, moy dear. Lits us know when a polar bear is 'round. Kicks up some racket she do wen deres a bear comes ashore in da spring. Wen 'e gits dat toime o' year and da goat is going nuts, we knows wats 'bout. She'll woke us from a deep sleep, moy dear. Goats ar' great fer warnin' 'bout da bears, Mrs," he said.

I wonder if a goat in our shed would be a good alarm for thieves?

From Whipper to Junkyard

Professional wrestling is familiar to me. When we lived in Maddox Cove, Newfoundland in the mid to late 1950s, we owned a television and had one television station. However, some people without a television gathered at our house to watch the wrestling matches and everyone really enjoyed them. I remember a wrestler called "Whipper" Billy Watson and the bravado, the cheers from the people around the ring, the drama. Every night wrestling was on I saw a few bouts then slept through the noise of the cheers and groans from the group.

In the late 1980s, while on a work-related trip to Québec with fellow teachers, a friend and I sat next to a professional wrestler headed into St. John's for a tournament. My friend recognized him as the persona Junk Hard Dog or JYD, and he was willing to talk.

He started out playing football in university, completed a degree, then went into wrestling. This man took the name Junkyard Dog because it was the nickname others gave him when he worked in a wrecking yard. 

JYD was a big man, solid and strong, well spoken and intelligent. He spoke of his family and the businesses he was investing in so as to have an income when his wrestling career was over.

We asked about the authenticity of wrestling and whether the wrestlers actually were hurt in the ring. JYD talked about the injuries he received but did not say anything about the authenticity of the sport. The injuries said enough.

Later I learned of this man, Sylvester Ritter's place in wrestling history. He was the first black man to reach the top of his promotion and won many awards and accolades. Sadly he died tragically in a single car accident in 1998.

The man I met was a gentleman, friendly and interesting. I was sad to learn of his death, a man who gave a real face to a wrestling persona. 

Mice on a Plane

It is more than forty years now since airport security checks started because of the proliferation of hijackings. However in the early 1970s in St. John's, Newfoundland, after checking your luggage, all you had to do was show your boarding pass at the gate to access the plane. This was the era when Rick, later to become my husband, was flying between Deer Lake and St. John's, to and from university.

At that time the one way ticket cost $29.50. While that price looks so good to us today, it was costly for a student at that time. Rick took the bus more often than he flew. However, on one of his flights home at the end of a semester, he brought a stowaway with him, a mouse named Sigmund.

Rick knew someone who worked in a lab at university and acquired a pet mouse which he kept in a fish bowl. At the end of the semester, Sigmund had to go home as well. Rick put mouse and bowl into a bag and took it easily on the flight. All was well with Sigmund tucked under the seat in front of him.

However it was a rough landing that trip. The bag tipped over and Rick caught Sigmund just as he exited his hiding place. Can you imagine the screams if he had not been so lucky? I can see the headline now...

St. John's Airport to Institute Security Checks to Prevent Mice on Planes.

Circus at the Wake

There was a small gathering for family at the funeral home. We spoke in hushed tones and shared stories about Mom, her sense of humour, her sayings, family stories. She had lived a good life, and though almost eighty-two, my brother, Frank, and I would have been happy to have her with us longer. 

My husband, Rick and his parents were on their way from Grand Falls-Windsor while Claire, Ben and I waited with Frank, Michele and Samantha. I expected to hear from Rick at any time saying they had arrived in St. John's. 

Suddenly what sounded like circus music started to play in the wake room. It played for a time then stopped. After a few minutes, it started up again. I listened for the direction of the sound, commenting, "Why are they playing circus music in a funeral home?" No one responded.

The music stopped and started again. I was getting annoyed at this point and asked "Why would a funeral home play circus music in their PA system?" This went on for a few more minutes. 

Finally Randy, a relative of my sister-in-law, Michele, said, "Marie, answer your phone."

Happy birthday, Samantha

Someone special, my niece, Samantha Pretty, is twenty years old today. It is a joy to know and love you, sweetie. 

                 Sylvie and Samantha

Thought I'd post some family pictures of our last time together. We're past due for another visit. Maybe next year?

    Samantha and Ben, Michele holding Sylvie

Happy Birthday!

        Samantha, Georgie, Michele, Claire

                Michele, Frank, Samantha

   Claire, Sylvie, Rick, Marie Samantha, Frank,

                 Michele and Georgie

The Real Soap Opera

He worked hard his whole life on his farm in Maddox Cove and as a fisherman out of Petty Harbour, Newfoundland. My grandfather O'Brien worked long days, from 4 a.m. during the fishing season. When he retired from fishing, Granda continued his work around the farm, growing vegetables , tending chickens, horses, plowing, mowing, He always had a nap in the afternoon but his main luxury was the soap opera Another World. Granda and Nan both watched it every week day.

They were fascinated with the daily life of Mac, Rachel and the clan. Granda watched with some skepticism as the people went about their daily lives but he was not really sure what to think about them.

He always asked, "That's not real, is it?"

Everyone reassured him that it was not real but Granda kept asking. If you entered the room while he watched the program, he gave you a synopsis of the latest happenings when the commercials played. He really went to 'another world.'

Nan was different. She said, "That's not real." It sounded like Nan often had to remind herself aloud not to believe what she saw.

She often commented, "That's shockin'," shaking her head at the situations on the program. However she continued to watch. 

              Granda and Nan O'Brien

Today the fictional situations which fascinated Nan and Granda are played out on reality television in more graphic detail and with coarser language. One can imagine the comments and questions from the two if they could watch today. My grandparents would be shocked and glued to the television.