Vol 39 • No 06
$4.99
November 2026
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A Fine Kettle of Fish Healing on the Humber River The Moving Monument of Sound Island
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life is better Published monthly in St. John’s by Downhome Publishing Inc. 43 James Lane, St. John’s, NL, A1E 3H3 Tel: 709-726-5113 • Fax: 709-726-2135 • Toll Free: 1-888-588-6353 E-mail: mail@downhomelife.com Website: www.downhomelife.com Editorial Editor-in-Chief Dillon Collins Assistant Editor Nicola Ryan Editor Lila Young
Warehouse Operations Warehouse Operator Josephine Collins Shipping/Receiving Clerk Jonathon Organ Shipping/Receiving Clerk Kim Tucker
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Emily Snelgrove, Alexandria Skinner, Colleen Giovannini, Morgan Powless, Adriana Hann, Keith Lamkin, Martina Rogers, Hayley Warren, Bridget Bartlett, Maggie Fenton, Nikeah Bennett, Jessica Newman, Jeanette Burt, Jamie Muise, Shannon Power, Lily Downey, Jasmine Watkins
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Subscriptions Customer Service Associate Jennifer Kane Operations Manager, Twillingate Nicole Mehaney Customer Service Associate Jacinta Squires Founding Editor Ron Young Chief Executive Officer/Publisher Grant Young General Manager/Assistant Publisher Tina Bromley
To subscribe, renew or change address use the contact information above. Subscriptions 1-Year term total inc. taxes, postage and handling: for residents in NL, NB, PE $49.44; NS $49.01; ON $48.58; QC, SK, MB, AB, BC, NU, NT, YT $45.14. US $54.99; International $59.99
Canada Post Canadian Publications Mail Sales Product Agreement #40062919 The advertiser agrees that the publisher shall not be liable for damages arising out of errors in advertisements beyond the amount paid for the space actually occupied by the portion of the advertisement in which the error occurred, whether such error is due to the negligence of the servants or otherwise, and there shall be no liability beyond the amount of such advertisement. The Letters to the Editor section is open to all letter writers providing the letters are in good taste, not libelous, and can be verified as true, correct and written by the person signing the letter. Pen names and anonymous letters will not be published. The publisher reserves the right to edit, revise, classify, or reject any advertisement or letter. © Downhome Publishing Inc. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without permission of the publisher. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada.
Printed in Canada
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a road not taken
Contents
NOVEMBER 2026
36 And the Winners Are… Your first look at the 2027 Calendar Contest Winners!
46 The Road I Almost Missed Discovering the Bay d’Espoir Highway Shaun Antle
68 Tho’ I Don’t Remember, I’ll Never Forget
36
A tribute to those who made the ultimate sacrifice Gary Collins
78 Downhome Recipes Easy Make-Ahead Meals
big winners! www.downhomelife.com
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Contents
NOVEMBER 2026
homefront 8 Between the Lines A note from the Editor
10 Letters From Our Readers Memorial Site at Mark Rock Trail, From B.C. to NL, Remembering Private Wilson Bishop, etc.
16 Then & There Catching readers up on major recent news, notes, events and acknowledgements across NL and beyond.
18 island hopping
18 Downhome Tours Wild Islands 20 Island Insights A Fine Kettle of Fish
24 Life’s Funny Doing it Dutch Lidy Vokey
25 Say What? A contest that puts words in someone else’s mouth
26 Lil Charmers On an Autumn Day 28 Pets of the Month Crisp & Cosy 30 Book Nook Downhome dives
20 something’s fishy
into the latest and greatest in Newfoundland literature
32 Fresh Tracks Wendy Rose reviews C’Mon Now We Goes by Thom Coombes
26 fall days
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Contents
NOVEMBER 2026
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74
fireside snacks
a family getaway
features 58 Breaking Glass Ceilings Honouring Southwest Arm’s Military Women Lester Green
64 From the Ashes How one family’s land on the Humber River became a place of memory. Pam Pardy
home and cabin 72 Stuff We Love All Decked Out
74 Plates and Passages Bonfire Tatties Bobbi Pike www.downhomelife.com
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Contents
NOVEMBER 2026
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Gander at war
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reminiscing 86 Flashbacks Classic photos of people and places.
ind
87 This Month in History Expo ’67
88 Visions and Vignettes Adventures of two young scallywags in an imaginary outport in days gone by. Harold N. Walters
92 A Schoolgirl in Wartime Gander Eileen Elms 96 A Piece of Home The Moving Monument of Sound Island Dennis Flynn
102 The Man Behind the Mask H. Joseph Seward 6
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timeless collection
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136 a look back
108 Puzzles 120 Colouring Page 122 Classifieds 124 Mail Order
the back porch 128 The Labrador Current About the cover Our November issue is all about taking the road less travelled and stopping to soak it all in. Photojournalist Shaun Antle’s stunning trek along the Bay d’Espoir Highway graces this month’s cover. Check out his in-depth feature article detailing every twist and turn of the journey. Elsewhere: make-ahead meals and Bonfire Night bites, a family finds healing on the Humber River and our annual salute to veterans for Remembrance Day.
Cover Index Make Ahead Meals & Bonfire Bites • 74 2027 Calendar Contest Winners • 36 On the Road • 46 A Fine Kettle of Fish • 20 Healing on the Humber River • 64 Moving Monument of Sound Island • 96 www.downhomelife.com
Landmarks and Those Who Make Them Nathan Freake
130 What Odds Paul Warford’s road-trip triumph
132 Ties to Home Taking the Scenic Route to Salvaje Dianna Brown
136 The Burin Tidal Wave Karen Ducey
138 Guy Fawkes Night Judith Ann Keough
140 Pay Day Cyril Griffin November 2026
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between the lines
We’re on the home stretch towards a new year. Christmas is around the corner; the holiday season will soon be in full swing. But first, November, a month that means many things to many people. For some, it’s the embodiment of the fall season, of snug mornings and cosy nights. Of cabins, bonfires and get-togethers far removed from summer sunsets. For others, it’s a time of remembrance, of honouring those who served and continue to serve, something bigger than ourselves. This issue celebrates a month that perhaps best exemplifies beginnings and endings better than any other across the calendar year. In our featured articles, writer and photographer Shaun Antle embarks on a journey of discovery along the Bay d’Espoir Highway; Pam Pardy digs into a family history of tragedy, strength and renewal along the Humber River; Gary Collins salutes those who’ve made the ultimate sacrifice; while our resident historian Lester Green spotlights Southwest Arm’s servicewomen. Elsewhere, we serve up easy make-ahead meals and Bonfire Night Bites and showcase the stunning photography which will grace Downhome’s 2027 Calendar. Our very own Nicola Ryan traces the tangled history of the kettle, the quintal and an old English expression; Dennis Flynn takes us to Sound Island’s moving monument; and the incomparable Cyril Griffin offers humorous musings on payday. Enjoy, dear readers. Dillon Collins Editor-in-chief
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Submission Guidelines and Prize Rules
You could WIN $100! Every reader whose PHOTO, STORY, JOKE or POEM appears next to this yellow “from our readers” stamp in a current issue receives $10 and a chance at being drawn for the monthly prize: $100 for one photo submission and $100 for one written submission. Prizes are awarded in Downhome Dollars certificates, which can be spent like cash in our retail stores and online at shopDownhome.com.*
Submit Today! Send your photo, story, joke or poem to
Downhome, 43 James Lane, St. John’s, NL, A1E 3H3 or submit online at: www.downhomelife.com *Only 1 prize per submitter per month. To receive their prize, submitters must provide with their submission COMPLETE contact information: full name, mailing address, phone number and email address (if you have one). Mailed submissions will only be returned to those who include a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Downhome Inc. reserves the right to publish submissions in future print and/or electronic media campaigns. Downhome Inc. is not responsible for unsolicited material.
Hidden somewhere in this issue is Corky Sly Conner.
Can you find him? Look carefully at all the photographs and in the text of the stories. If you spot Corky, send us your name, address and phone number, along with a note telling us where he’s located. Your name will be entered in a draw and the winner will receive a coupon worth 25 Downhome Dollars redeemable at our store, or through our website.
Send your replies to: Corky Contest 43 James Lane St. John’s, NL, A1E 3H3
mail@downhomelife.com www.downhomelife.com Deadline for replies is the 25th of each month.
Congratulations to Gordon Vallis of Harbour Breton, NL, who found Corky on page 68 of the September issue!
*No Phone Calls Please. One entry per person
www.downhomelife.com
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Memorial Site at Mark Rock Trail
The early settlers of the community of South Branch settled at the foot of what was known as the Fork Hills of the Long Range Mountains. They would walk up to the top of these mountains to pick partridgeberries and hunt caribou. They placed a couple of large rocks on top of each other at the crest of the hills. These rocks came to be known as the Mark Rock. People then began to hike to the Mark Rock, just for the pleasure of it. As the popularity of this trail grew as a public hiking trail, it became a memorial to the Canadian Servicemen/Women who gave their lives in Afghanistan. The first serviceman to have a memorial placed at the site was Sgt. Craig Gillam. Craig grew up in the community of South Branch at the base of the mountain and would often hike to the top as a young boy. Port aux Basques resident Colin Seymour happened to be hiking another local trail, the Starlight Trail, when he met another Serviceman originally from South Branch, Cpt. Tony Brake. Cpt. Brake happened to tell Colin about the Memorial Site for Sgt. Gillam at the top of the Mark Rock Trail. Colin, being an avid hiker, became interested in visiting the site. When Colin eventually hiked the trail, he was amazed by the display and the effort that must have gone into placing the memorial at the top of the mountain. At the time, the memorial was dedicated solely to Sgt. Gillam 10
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and had been placed there by his family in 2007. A group of family and friends had taken turns carrying the monument and bags of white rocks to the very top. Ribbons were also tied along the trail to honour each Canadian Serviceman/Woman. In 2018, Colin replaced each ribbon with a new one, while spending countless days rerouting the trail in places where it had been washed out. Realizing that not everyone could physically make the hike to the mountaintop, Colin decided to make a memorial site at the base of the mountain. Members of Sgt. Gillam’s family gathered rocks that resembled each other, and Craig’s niece Brianna Janes painted a total of 158 rocks. Each rock has the name of a Serviceman or Servicewoman on it, and they are arranged in the formation of 158, emphasizing the number of Canadian Servicemen/Women who gave their
lives in Afghanistan. This touching display is added to by the presence of a bench, made by Colin. It is now a place where one can sit, rest, and think about our fallen soldiers. A wind phone is also mounted above the rock display. So, for those who cannot reach the top of Mark Rock to view the original memorial, they can at least visit the site and pay tribute to our fallen soldiers. Thank you, Colin Seymour, for your devotion to this memorial site. The signage for the trial site is located approximately one kilometre west of the community of South Branch and 56 kilometres east of Port aux Basques. Zita Muise South Branch, NL
Fantastic. Thanks so much for sharing, Zita. Colin’s beautiful tribute deserves more attention, and we’re happy to showcase this.
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From B.C. to Newfoundland — and Straight to the Cod! After 15 years of dreaming about visiting Newfoundland, Doug and Ruby Kenzle of Houston, British Columbia, finally made it happen! Ruby has worked with Newfoundlanders for the past 21 years, and both Doug and Ruby have made many friends from The Rock. After hearing so many stories about the island, they’ve always wanted to experience it for themselves. This year, they packed their bags and headed east and discovered that no trip to Newfoundland is complete without becoming an honorary Newfoundlander! While visiting their Houston friend Amy Slaney, originally from St. Lawrence and home on vacation, Doug and Ruby embraced the Newfoundland experience wholeheartedly, especially the famous Screech-In. Doug may have been a little too enthusiastic when it came to kissing the cod, but the priceless expression on the face of Nicole Slaney, who was conducting his Screech-In, says it all! Doug and Ruby loved every minute of their Newfoundland adventure, from the incredible hospitality and breathtaking scenery to the delicious food and, of course, the province’s colourful character.
They came as visitors, but left feeling like honorary Newfoundlanders, and they both agree that they’ll be back! Amy Slaney, St. Lawrence, NL We love to see it! Thanks for sharing, Amy. We’re incredibly glad Doug and Ruby had an awesome trip to Newfoundland. Any readers who want to share their trips to the province are welcome to email editorial@ downhomelife.com.
Dear readers, Would you like to comment on something you’ve read in Downhome? Do you have a question for the editors or for other readers? Submit your letter to the editor at DownhomeLife.com or write to us at 43 James Lane, St. John’s, NL, A1E 3H3. 12
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Remembering Private Wilson Bishop Wilson Bishop was the son of John and Annie Bishop (deceased) of McCallum Harbour, in Hermitage Bay. He was a small boy, just 5 feet 4 inches tall and weighing 115 lbs. He had light hair, blue eyes and a scar on his chin and left cheek. Wilson presented himself at the Church Lads Brigade Armoury in St. John’s on May 27, 1915, and joined the Newfoundland Regiment on May 31. He was a recruit of the 5th Draft. On June 20, 1915, Private Bishop left St. John’s aboard the troop ship Calgarian, on a direct voyage to the UK. He was one of 242 of F Company. While crossing the Atlantic, Wilson became sick with a case of pneumonia and received medical attention after reaching Liverpool. Private Bishop, now in good health, reported to duty at Stobs Camp at Hawick, Scotland, for further training. The F Company was to become a part of the newly formed 2nd Battalion of the Newfoundland Regiment and was training at the Regimental Depot at Ayr, Scotland. On March 28, 1916, Private Bishop left England to join the 1st Battalion. Two days later, he reached Rouen, France and did further training at the B.E.F. Base Depot there. On April 15, Private Bishop reported to duty with the 1st Battalion. Preparations were being made for the Battle of the Somme. Private Bishop was now a part of C Company. On July 1, 1916, on the first day of the Battle of the Somme, called the Battle of Beaumont-Hamel, Private Bishop was reported as missing in action, but was later officially declared killed in action. The Newfoundland www.downhomelife.com
Headstone of Pte. Wilson Bishop
Regiment faced a constant bombardment of heavy machine guns and artillery fire, nearly wiping out the entire Regiment. Private Bishop’s remains were identified and interred in Ancre British Cemetery, with a reference as Special Memorial 36. In late June of 1917, his father, now living in Grand Falls, received a cheque from the Deputy Paymaster in the amount of $53.81, “the balance of the estate of your late son, No. 1597, W. Bishop.” Private Bishop had allotted 60 cents of his daily pay to his father at McCallum (later of Grand Falls, 15 - 4th Avenue). John Bishop received his son’s war medals in October 1921. Private Bishop was entitled to the British War Medal and the Victory Medal. He’s also commemorated on the war memorial in Grand Falls-Windsor and in the Newfoundland Book of Remembrance in Ottawa. Doug Wells Harbour Breton
Thanks for this, Doug. We honour the brave servicemen and women, particularly during our November issue, but throughout the year and are always proud to do so. Their sacrifices, then and now, will never be forgotten. November 2026
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A Fine Kettle of Fish Tracing the tangled history of the kettle, the quintal, and an old English expression.
By Nicola Ryan
We recently received a letter from a reader who wrote to respectfully request that we correct our use of the expression “a fine kettle of fish.”
According to our correspondent, the proper expression is “a fine quintal of fish” – a reference to the traditional measure of codfish. It’s a reasonable request, but on closer inspection, the two expressions aren’t interchangeable. “A fine kettle of fish” and “a fine quintal of fish” are two different expressions with two different histories. A quintal was indeed an important measure in the Newfoundland fishery, while a fine kettle of fish is an old English idiom describing a messy, muddled or awkward situation – the sort of mess that makes you wonder how the blazes you got yourself into it. That said, our reader has stumbled onto an interesting bit of Newfoundland linguistic history. There’s long been a theory that the Newfoundland pronunciation of quintal may have played a role in the development of kettle of fish. It’s an intriguing possibility that sent me skipping off to the Dictionary of Newfoundland English. So, before we throw the kettle overboard, let’s look at where these two expressions actually came from. 20
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A fish kettle
Not Your Nan’s Kettle I think it’s very important to point out right from the beginning that when we’re saying “kettle” here, it does not mean a teakettle. Do not go putting stewed-up fish in a teakettle. Do not commit such an unforgivable crime against nan’s cup of tea. Don’t do it, no matter what the idioms say. In this context, fish kettles are the saucepans specifically used for poaching fish, which began appearing in England in the 17th century. These specialty pans were long, up to 32”, to accommodate large fish, narrow, and usually oval. They have handles on each end, a lid, and often a rack or tray inside that also had handles so the fish could be lifted out whole. They were made from copper and sometimes lined with tin. The ‘kettle’ word most likely comes from the Latin noun catillus: a deep pan for cooking. In this case, kettle is for cooking fish, and a quintal is for weighing it.
A Boatload of Fish What’s a quintal? A quintal is a measure of either fresh or dried and cured fish. The earliest English fishermen in NL in the 16th and 17th centuries used quintals to measure their catches. The word likely derives from the Medieval Latin quintale, which originated in the Latin centum, meaning hundred. Technically equal to a hundredweight, a quintal is customarily conwww.downhomelife.com
sidered to be 112 lbs (about 50kg) of dried, salted codfish. Why such an odd number? Well, fishers and merchants wanted to allow for further moisture loss and spoilage, so by the time it got to the buyers it’d be 100 pounds of good fish. About 120 fair-sized fish make up a quintal, as roughly 238 to 250 lbs of fresh fish are needed to produce one quintal of dried fish. Any Grand Banks fisherman worth his salt could see a boat approaching and judge roughly how many quintals she had aboard by how far down she rode in the water.
Weighing salt fish for market c. 1900
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Say What? Some word historians suggest that “kettle of fish” might actually be a corruption or mishearing of “quintal of fish”. In the 17th century, Newfoundland’s economy was dominated by a large seasonal cod fishery, operated mainly by fishers from the English West Country, particularly the counties of Dorset and Devonshire, which were major centres of trade. Fishermen from the Channel Islands of Guernsey and Jersey also took part on a regular basis, and traces of their accents and linguistic patterns still echo today. Think of the hardworking men with their brogues blazing. Quintal could have been pronounced cantal or kental or kintall. Sure, in the way all those accents muddled together, it’s lucky we’ve got English in a recognizable form at all. No one knows for sure when “a fine kettle of fish” became a common saying, or exactly how it got its meaning. Etymologists note that the idiom was already recorded in Britain by the 1730s, meaning a messy, muddled or mixed-up situation usually caused by one’s own actions. It seems to come from 18th-century Scotland, where rich gentlemen living near the River Tweed would invite their neighbours and friends to a fancy picnic. Tents were set up along the riverbanks, fires built, and live salmon were tossed into large kettles of boiling water to cook. They called these 22
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gatherings “giving a kettle of fish.” One theory is that the gatherings could be pretty noisy and chaotic, so someone may have started using the phrase as a joke to describe a messy situation. Either way, somewhere along the way, “a fine kettle of fish” went from being an actual pot of salmon to meaning a confusing or problematic situation.
So, while the quintal was an important part of Newfoundland’s fishing history, the two expressions have separate histories. “A fine kettle of fish” was already an established English idiom before it appeared in Newfoundland speech. Still, it’s easy to see why the two became tangled together. Newfoundland was built around fish, and our language, like our fishery, was shaped by people coming from different shores, bringing their own words and pronunciations with them. With apologies to our correspondent, a fine quintal of fish is a real thing and a fine kettle of fish is definitely another. And if you’ve managed to land yourself in such a thing, well, that’s a whole other article. 1-888-588-6353
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You could be published in Downhome Magazine! Tell us about a funny interaction you’ve had, a heartwarming moment, what’s happening in your community, Newfoundland and Labrador history or anything you would like to share with us and other Downhome readers.
Three Ways to Share Visit: downhomelife.com/submit Email: editorial@downhomelife.com Mail: 43 James Lane, St. John’s, NL, A1E 3H3 (Attention Editorial Department)
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features
By Gary Collins
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The days shorten and cool. Night comes
before supper. Politicians have been wearing red poppies for days. Old war films are on TV almost every night. Someone digs up yet another forgotten piece of footage, and the black and white images flicker across our modern coloured screens. We are reminded of the fallen who fought and died to preserve our lifestyle.
I was not involved in any war, but I remember the stories. I was told my Uncle, Pearce Roberts, sailed the world on a mighty battleship during WWII. During the same war, another uncle, Marshall Collins, shipped on a Mine Sweeper in the English Channel, where his ship was brought down by a German bomber. He survived several hours in the water wearing a lifebelt he thought would never work, before being rescued in the wee hours of Christmas Day, 1944. My cousin Martin Collins flew as a gunner in a Lancaster Bomber. He made 39 consecutive bombing runs over Nazi Germany. I knew him well. He seldom talked about his ordeal. Martin brought home a beautiful bride, Eva, who spoke ‘Proper English’. My best friend, Fred Wilkins’s mother Cathy, was a war bride from Scotland. Then there was Uncle Garfield Way who survived both World Wars. I remember his determined jaw clenching a well-chewed pipe stem. A small man with an amazingly positive attitude and a great storyteller, he told no stories of war, but talked at length about marching past Stonehenge. All of them had memories of war, most of which haunted them long before PTSD was a term. Thank God I do not have their memories, though I do have memories of Armistice Day. My mind reaches back through the long years of November 11th at school. I remember the class being ordered to stand to attention for a full two minutes. It seemed like forever. There were few explanations about the men and women who had died giving us freedom. Rarely were we told about so many of our own who had died on www.downhomelife.com
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that muddy field in France or the putrid trenches of Gallipoli. There was only the endured silence of impatient kids with heads bowed, eyelids fluttering. Someone in the back whispered a giggle. Then it was over till next year. Never in our long wartime history had so many men been so well
minority sending a majority of our youth to fight battles which the government cannot win across boardroom tables still goes on. And though we say it cannot happen in this ‘day and age’, it still does. Nothing has changed, only our ability to destroy more, faster and from further away.
Canadian soldiers marching past Stonehenge in England during World War I
equipped to destroy one another as they did in 1914 after the July declaration of war by Emperor Franz Josef. The Great Plains of Europe became a battlefield of enormous proportions. Men who spoke different languages all fought the same deadly game. Young men and women were rallied forth and paraded with pageantry and the promise that this was the war to end all wars. Instead, WWI was only the harbinger of more and deadlier conflicts to come. On the 11th day of the 11th month at precisely the 11th hour of 1918, the Armistice was signed by the new powers and the 1st World War was officially ended. More than 8 million servicemen and women had died. There was no declaration of civilians who had perished. This senseless game of an elected 70
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Modern-day ideals and reasoning don’t seem to stem from ancient fights and merely tourniquet the flow of our young who still heed the call. Would I fight to hold on to our way of life? To the death, willingly, to ensure my grandchildren can continue to live life as I have under our flag with the red leaf of autumn. And so on each November 11th, even before the 11th hour of that day, I will celebrate because, thank God, I have nothing to remember of the historyturning day so long ago. I have not seen battles fought on our shores. I am mindful only of the sacrifice of the men and women who fought and died to keep it so. It’s a powerful feeling for me. If you can relax at your window on a cool November day, watch yellowing leaves cling to swaying trees, look out over the blue bay from that same win1-888-588-6353
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dow as I can, then you and I are both blessed. If I try to visualize that same quiet bay crowded with warships and longbarrelled guns pointed at our town, the picture is never complete, as if it could never be. It quickly fades. The only sound of gunfire I’ve ever heard from the ocean is the popping of shotguns from turr hunters. The only warships I’ve seen are friendly ones, if there’s such a thing. The piercing wail of an ambulance of police machines in the middle of the night is enough to awaken and disturb me with the notknowing. I can only imagine the banshee cry of an even louder siren which portends my family, and I must vacate our home and scurry for shelter like a hunted animal. Few of us have such a memory. I remember a full life of sure peace, total freedom unequalled on this planet. A life lived in simple luxury here by the sea which, for the most part, has been a buffer from world war. I have never known oppression from anyone. My friends and I grew and played on the landwash where the only fear was falling overboard. The concept of not being free to play as we wanted was foreign to us. Our only curfew was the call from the kitchen door, our mother’s voice announcing supper was ready. We lived then and live now, a life of complete freedom, and this I will ever remember on November 11th. For me, all of these memories are precious, irreplaceable and cherished all the more as I age. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if D-Day had not materialized. If Britain www.downhomelife.com
had succumbed to the 40 nights of German bombings. If the fabric of our democracy had been overwhelmed by the Nazis. Or if the great convoys which left the safety of St. John’s harbour hadn’t continued to supply Europe’s war effort despite atrocious losses at sea. Images of war are daily events now. Reality TV each evening at suppertime, with images of bombed buildings, mothers crying, and children dying, and people searching tormented streets for solace. It’s about September 11th in New York City, the closest time the reality of war has come to the Western Hemisphere. It’s about countries fighting and never winning. I am now a member of the Canadian Rangers. With each training session, the possibility of war on home turf and the need to be prepared is ever poignant. We must be ever ready to defend our country. I take my job seriously. If you are one of the so-called Baby Boomers who did not witness the war years, be grateful. Recall, if you can and respect those who did. If you are young and your concept of war comes complacent, consider for a moment the other young lives, the other streets; unsafe, deadly and unfeeling. Be grateful that our lives are as they always were: safe, constant, privileged and free, because others had fought for us, determined that as we were, so we will continue to be. And if, like me, you can’t remember, then hopefully you will not forget. I still bow my head for two minutes on November 11th. November 2026
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the back porch from our readers
A Poem by Alexander Strang Published in The Newfoundlander, March 1949 Submitted by Karen Ducey
On the 18th November, as you must remember We thought that the old world was coming to its end Oh, the earth began to tremble, like a leaf growing nimble For our lives we had to scramble, so here’s what happened then. Ah, that day began with sunshine, from early in the morning The wind was light and pleasant, and the sky was bright and clear You could hear the people talking, as along the road they’re walking Not thinking that disaster was drawing near. Everything was right until it was late that fatal evening The time I well remember between four and five o’clock Then we began to wonder what’s that rumbling noise like thunder That seemed on top and under; and which caused the earth to rock How the waters they receded, far out and unpreceded By any other tide or wave we ever had before And people in a panic, some almost going frantic Went running to get safely from that awful noise and roar Then the wave it rushed with power, going forty miles an hour Carrying everything before it as it rushed along the shore. There were boats and punts and dories, also flakes and stages, stores too. And dwellings swept to glory that will never be seen more 136
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It eclipsed the highest fountain and drove people to the mountain The women and the children, also aged men and boys All were in high confusion at the waters great intrusion Saying let us go still farther, we don’t know how far twill rise Not a breeze disturbed the ocean, the clouds had little motion The moon looked dull and saddened, as it rose above the hill Some thought that it had shifted, and out her course had drifted While many too, imagined that it was standing still. No doubt its beams reflected, scenes sad and unexpected Where men and little children were battling in the wave Where mothers, sons and daughters, were smothered in the waters, And sixteen precious loved ones were buried in the wave. May the God of light and splendor accept their souls so tender Those loved ones who have perished, God rest them one and all, We sympathize with their relations, of both denominations, For these loved ones they have cherished at Point du Bras and Point au Gaul. Now a verse in appreciation, of the people of each nation, Whose quick response in charity from home and abroad; Their deeds should be recorded, and no doubt they’ll be rewarded When they stand before their Maker, in the Judgement hall of God. Our homes were reconstructed, and we were reinstated. We got back every longer, every log and every shore. And clothing without number, also nails and felt and lumber, Oh, we got back all our losses, and some a little more. Here’s another verse and closer, for myself the great composer I didn’t get full assets, I am a few dollars due. For land about an acre that was torn up by the quaker, But I leave this to my Maker, and I think now this will do. www.downhomelife.com
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