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When you comb through this issue of Inside Labrador from cover to cover, take a moment to look for throughlines that loosely connect what you read.
With some exceptions, and completely by accident may we say, an overarching narrative continues to bubble to the surface: resilience. It’s a term that can be used to sum up Labradorians as a whole, and one that embodies the unintentional, but rather fitting theme of this issue. From political trailblazers breaking glass ceilings and defying gender norms, to the power of community togetherness in times of hardship, or gripping testaments to the human spirit against element and circumstance, time and again the gumption and fortitude of the people that make up this rough, rugged and undeniably beautiful place are on full display. May you be awed, inspired and enlightened by what you read, and most importantly, take with you a stronger appreciation for Labrador and all she offers. We take as much satisfaction and pride in sharing those same stories of strong and determined Labradorians.
Everyone has a tale to tell. And we want to see your stories about Labrador. Maybe it’s a recollection of the way things used to be, a historical piece, or a story about somebody doing great things in your community. Maybe it’s a travel story about a trip somewhere in the Big Land. Whatever your story, in verse or in prose, our readers would love to see it and so would we.
If you’re better with a camera than a keyboard, you’re in luck, too - we’re also looking for photos of Labrador. From snapshots while berry picking to compositional studies of the landscape and everything in between, we love looking at your images.
Published submissions will receive $20 in Downhome certificates to spend in our stores and online at www.shopdownhome.com.
Send your photos and stories to editorial@downhomelife.com or upload them to our website at Downhomelife.com/submit.
Exiting the political arena, Yvonne Jones peels back the layers of a life of service in her fearless new memoir
BY DILLON COLLINS
After more than three decades in politics – both federally and provincially – beloved Labrador MP Yvonne Jones is hanging up her spurs and exiting the political arena. The move comes at a time of party uncertainty and sociopolitical change in Canada, where social media blitzes are the new canvassing, and would-be contenders are at the mercy of faceless keyboard warriors and armchair cynics. Yes, the winds of change are blowing, and for this career politician, change has been a long time coming.
“In my entire political career, I always stop before an election, and I assess where I’m at and ask do I want to run again? Do I want to do this job for another four years?” Yvonne shares from her home in Labrador. “In my own mind, I said, I don’t think I do. And that was the telltale when I started having doubts because normally I would have none. Because of that, I weighed it all out and I decided, you know, it’s nearly 30 years. It’s a good time to go. But it was hard to leave because there are so many big files in Labrador, just so much opportunity and potential and so many big projects that I’m moving across my desk every day. So it’s really hard to walk away after all those years of steering the ship in Labrador.”
Endings often necessitate reflection and for Yvonne, these twilight years of her political career allowed time to look back. An admitted open book, Yvonne set to work to pen her pullno-punches memoir, Just Around the Corner. From her earliest memories growing up in Mary’s Harbour, enduring child sexual abuse and family alcoholism, to navigating loss and hardship and much-publicized battles with cancer, to stand as the longest-serving female politician in Newfoundland and Labrador, Just Around the Corner strips its author bare, a brave and telling testament to drive and determination.
“So the purpose of my book is really to say it’s not about what you endure in life. It’s not about things that happen to you. It’s how you respond to it. It’s how you overcome it.”
“A lot of people have known me in the province, but they know me as a politician,” she begins. “But a lot of people don’t really know who I am. People are still surprised today when they find out where I come from, that I grew up in a small, remote, isolated community in the north of Labrador. So I think this book tells more about me and who I am as a person.”
“When I was growing up as a young girl, it was really hard to dream that I would be the member of Parliament for Labrador someday, or that I would sit in the Parliament of Canada in an executive role. And I want kids to grow up dreaming in Labrador that you can do this. This is a job for you and you can be that strong representative for Labrador. It doesn’t matter where you come from. And
As to the why, that’s of particular importance, she explains.
that’s the message I want to send to people all over the north of Canada,” she urges. “There are still a lot of young girls across the north who are walking in the shoes that I walked in 30 and 40 years ago in isolated communities, in families that are suffering through trauma, of families that are suffering through alcoholism. Many of those young girls probably
were like me, victims of child sexual abuse. How do you overcome those things to be the person you want to be? First of all, you have to see yourself there. You have to be able to dream it to do it. And so this is about allowing them to dream.
“So the purpose of my book is really to say it’s not about what you endure in life. It’s not about things that happen to you. It’s how you respond to it. It’s how you overcome it. It’s meant to give inspiration to young girls and women across the north of Canada that they can be whatever they want to be. And don’t let others determine your fate. It’s only you who can determine your own fate, but you have to be able to dream it first.”
From the House of Assembly to the House of Commons, the halls of power in Ottawa to bustling boardrooms and key conferences overseas, Yvonne has navigated political rapids and has endured changes in both the perception of politics and politicians as well as the means and methods by which information is consumed.
Indeed, the political world she entered is much removed from the one she leaves behind.
“It’s a very different time and age that we’re in,” she acknowledges. “Probably the largest change in politics in history has been technology and connectivity with people. And that has brought tremendous rewards in terms of doing your work, being able to research, get information, and have contact with people. But it’s also been the enemy in many ways. It has given people direct access to ridicule and disrespecting you as a human being, which has been very difficult.
Reflecting on her political greatest hits, there are many highlights. The creation of the Labradorian of Distinction Award in 2017, which she proudly continues to champion, is of particular importance, but it was the completion of the Trans-Labrador Highway that serves as the crown jewel in her lengthy resume.
“I’ve never had problems with people challenging the policy, and I’ve always been respectful of other people’s opinions about decisions that the government takes. And I always believe there are better ways. But what I’ve always found hard is the personal attacks. It’s been the really nasty, hateful comments about how you look, about your weight, about how you speak, those things. I’ve ignored them, but they do affect you. They affect your self-esteem. They affect your confidence. And really, they have nothing to do with the job that you’re elected to perform,” she admits. “As a woman, and as an Indigenous woman, I’ve gotten more than my fair share in my lifetime. However, I’ve adjusted, because I’ve always been that change agent. I’ve always been flexible. And over the years, I’ve just built a tolerance. Good, bad or indifferent.”
“Building the Trans-Labrador Highway was the greatest accomplishment of my career,” she says without hesitation, transporting back to 1996 when she campaigned as an independent. “It was in February. I was dressed in my skidoo clothes, skidoo boots, fur hat, knocking on doors, 25 below. And I told people, ‘I want to build a highway. We need to connect our communities. It’s time.’ And people wanted to believe in that, but they were skeptical. Many of them would say to me, ‘I’ll never live to see it,’ and those same people today are driving that highway. And I always remind them, ‘Remember what you said to me at your door in ‘96? You’d never drive this highway?’ Well, after hundreds of millions of dollars and 25
years of hard work, we’ve managed to build and pave 1200 kilometres of highway across Labrador, connecting communities. And to me, that’s the proudest thing I’ve ever done for the people of Labrador as their member. And I did it with the help of a lot of
other elected politicians, governments and advocates over the years. Nothing is accomplished alone in Labrador.”
As a direct message to her successor in Ottawa, Yvonne preaches the benefits of community, being a team player and taking a unified front on
issues concerning the Big Land. Moreover, a passion for the place she proudly calls home is an essential component of the job.
“I hope their heart and soul is going to be in Labrador,” she says warmly. “I believe that whoever is the next member of parliament, as long as their first commitment is to the people of Labrador and are willing to work hard to deliver for them, then I don’t think they can fail. And that’s the person that I would support at the end of the day. That’s the most important thing. Their love and loyalty have to be here first.”
didn’t know and understand us as well as they should as their neighbours. And I still believe that. And I believe that the Strait of Belle Isle has been a larger separation between us than just a body of water. And I think it has held Newfoundlanders back from really getting to know us as their neighbours, understanding our culture, our way of life as Indigenous people.
“I hope that I can continue to encourage people to learn about who we are as Labradorians and the important role we play in the province, both culturally and economically, because few people
“For me, being a Labradorian is something you feel deep within your soul. It’s a sense of belonging. It’s a sense of place. It’s not about anything you do or you want to do. It’s a part of you.”
Yvonne takes a moment to ponder the age-old question she’s faced throughout her career: what does it mean to be a Labradorian?
“For me, being a Labradorian is something you feel deep within your soul. It’s a sense of belonging. It’s a sense of place. It’s not about anything you do or you want to do. It’s a part of you. It lives within the spirit of who you are. And that has always been a part of me. I’ve always been very proud of where I come from and the people I come from, strong and resilient people. And so that has been a sense of pride for me. I’m a very proud Newfoundlander and Labradorian, I really am.
“I believe deeply in this province, and I believe that we are very complementary to each other. I’ve always felt that Newfoundlanders
across our province also realize that Labrador – outside of oil and gas – is the economic engine of this province,” she says proudly. “We are the largest exporter of iron ore in Canada and the second largest exporter of nickel in Canada. We’re the largest exporters, next to Quebec, of hydro development in Canada. Labrador has really been the economic engine that drives this province and will continue to drive it.
“And many people don’t understand that and they don’t understand the viability and the opportunity that we bring to the province as a whole. Yet we we have to fight for so many things. And I know that Newfoundlanders feel the same way, but it’s never been balanced. And that I can say after 30 years, I still don’t feel that balance is there.”
As for what’s next? The jury is still out. Time – for the first time in decades – is a commodity Yvonne Jones has in spades. Though the land she loves and has devoted her life to will remain at the forefront of everything she does.
“I’m excited about what comes next. And I don’t know what that is,” she admits. “But what I do know about myself is that I am not an idle person. I’ve worked every day of my life and I’ve been on call 24/7 for 30 years. How do you get off that pipe and do nothing? You can’t do it. It’s impossible. I have no hobbies. I have very few talents outside of salmon fishing and snowmobiling. It’s going to be different, but I can tell you that my future will always be close to Labrador.
“I’m looking forward to spending more time on the land and on the water, which is what I’ve missed most. I always use my vacations, when other people went south, I went north. When people were lying on the beaches in February in Hawaii somewhere, I was snowmobiling 1600 kilometres in the north for seven to 10 days. That’s the vacation I took. In the summer, I would spend my time on the rivers with a fishing rod or boating or camping on islands and beaches, because that’s where I feel comfortable and that’s how I reenergize. And that’s where I drew the kind of power and confidence that I needed to continue to do my job. So I think I’m going to do a lot more of that in the future.”
Combating food insecurity in Labrador one farm at a time
BY HEIDI ATTER
The empty sand-filled dirt lots took months to clear, but slowly Shelley Cleary is building the farm she’s dreamed about.
In central Labrador, Shelley is one of many hoping to impact local food security by getting people back to the ground.
“There’s too much of a disconnect between food and the consumer, and that’s been growing over the last number of years,” she explains while sitting in the driver’s seat of her farm truck, her three dogs panting in the backseat.
“What better way to have people come back to and understand where their food comes from, than actually encourage them to come to the farm? My vision is to see the farm as a place where we will grow food, but also a place where it can educate the public.”
Shelley has been making her own preserves for years. She began exploring chickens, and honeybees and making soaps, but her backyard limited her.
Now, Shelley and her husband have signed the lease for a 50-acre farm to see what they can grow at the newly established Black Spruce Farm.
Shelley walks carefully on the snowcovered road running through the farm to the bee hives, while her three dogs run around her.
“It gives us lots of room,” she explains, adding that she hopes to start small fruit crops with a U-Pick and to build upon the wild blueberry field near the back of the property, as well as grow asparagus, horseradish, garlic varieties, and flowers.
Part of a Growing Movement
Food insecurity is a challenging issue to address, but Shelley is part of a growing movement that includes
nearby D4Ace Farm, Sweet Valley Meadows Farm, and Spruce Meadow Farms. Elsewhere, the Labrador Pye Centre opened a root cellar, and Aldercroft Farm is opening a local abattoir, each doing its part to combat looming food insecurity in the region.
“It’s always been an issue and the only way that we’re going to be able to start addressing it is actually becoming involved,” Shelley admits, explaining that people could start small gardens and trade with others, or visit local farmers’ markets for fresh vegetables to help eat healthier and support local businesses.
With grocery prices rising, stores are unfortunately limited and there are more bare shelves too.
“The time is now to start,” she urges. “You don’t have to do it all, but just
Shelley Cleary stands next to some beehives on Black Spruce Farm
start and work with your local communities and have that discussion.”
It’s a continuing discussion for Food First Newfoundland and Labrador and an encouraging sign for Dana Marshall.
“There’s so much happening, so many wheels turning, and things are looking brighter, I guess, for food security and even food sovereignty,” Dana says from her home in Charlottetown.
The regional food animator says one of the ways to fight food insecurity is to have locally grown food that can increase sustainability and still have peak nutritional value, as too often the food coming into Labrador is weeks old and has already lost much of its nutrients.
“Having these new initiatives is really going to take some of that back and put it in our own hands,” Dana explains. “People are going to have access to this wonderful, locally grown, fresh produce. We’re going to have more choices.”
Chicken Tractors
Shelley hopes in five years, her farm will be a place with an acre and a half of raspberries, 50 to 60 beehives, a large vegetable growing garden, a small farmers market in partnership with other farmers, and work with Aldercroft Farms to slaughter chickens to provincial standards to sell. She hopes that her dozens of chickens can help out around the farm as well.
Shelley and her husband are creating a chicken tractor, where the chickens are in a fenced area on wheels, eat and defecate, then it’s moved to the next part. Slowly, the
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The Clearys plan to build a ‘chicken tractor’, a portable enclosure that can be moved around the farm, helping to compact and fertilize the ground underneath it.
chickens compact and fertilize the ground in their ‘chicken tractor.’
“You’re able to walk in without breaking your back,” Shelley says. “And it’s got a tow bar on the front, like you would put on your kamutik.”
While planting a garden, building a farm, or starting a chicken tractor may seem like a small step, it can make a difference, Dana says.
“Labrador has come a long way,” she says. “The garden initiatives that’s happening is really bringing a sense of community back, like people are really pulling together to make these things happen and it’s really nice to see.”
Dana hopes people continue to get involved, learn from their elders and show their children what can be done locally instead of ordering from away.
“Hopefully it’s something that will continue to grow and carry on for
many generations to come,” she says. “We’ve done this one time. We can do it again.”
To AskBeginners: for Help
Shelley received a lot of support when starting out. She now hopes to pay it forward by speaking at youth workshops or welcoming adults to drop by her table to ask any questions about bees or chickens, aiming to help people understand they have nothing to fear.
“You could see a change from a feeling of fear with them, then when they understand more about the bee and what they do and what their intention is, you can actually see some people totally relax,” Shelley explains. “They see it from a totally different viewpoint.”
Shelley wishes to pay it forward for all the help she has received over the years by speaking at workshops and encouraging others who wish to start a life in agriculture.
For those starting at square one, Shelley suggests finding people with a common interest to create a support system. The NL Federation of Agriculture, the NL Beekeeping Association, Fruit and Vegetable Growers NL, NL Young Farmers, the Lake Melville Agricultural Association, and the Labrador Agricultural Association are all key resources.
“It can feel very overwhelming. But to be honest with you, this is something I wanted to do my entire life,” Shelley says. “We can’t wait to get started. We’re very, very excited.”
A Field Guide to Labrador
Berries
BY NICOLA RYAN
As the first wild berries of the season ripen, the Big Land bursts into colour. For generations, berry picking has been more than just a seasonal pastime –it’s a cherished tradition. From hardy dogberries to tart, sun-kissed bakeapples, each berry carries a story, a connection, and an enduring bond between the land and those who harvest its gifts.
Redberry
Vaccinium vitis-idaea
Kimminak, also known as partridgeberry or lingonberry, holds deep cultural significance for the people of Labrador. This relative of the cranberry family – a low evergreen shrub with tiny rounded leaves that can be found growing in the dry, acidic soils of barrens and coastal headlands – is Labrador’s most important land crop. A vital part of the Big Land’s culinary heritage, vitamin-rich redberries are typically harvested in September after the first frost when they’re most flavourful, or in the spring after the snow melts. They feature in traditional Inuit dishes and are used in making jams, cakes, puddings, and wine. Beyond their role in the kitchen, redberries provide nourishment for wildlife such as partridges, black bears, martens, foxes, and voles.
Glen Pye photo
Crackerberry
Cornus canadensis
Also known as bunchberry, crackerjack or kakillânik, crackerberries thrive in cool, mossy areas along the edges of bogs and woods, growing in little clusters in the centre of a bouquet of leaves. While edible, the small red berries are almost tasteless, but since they are high in pectin they can be used to thicken jams and puddings. Locals have nicknamed them “crackerberries” because of the distinctive “crack” or “pop” sound they make when you crunch them between your teeth. The crackerberry plant showcases white flowers in summer, deep purple leaves in fall and bright red berries that persist through winter. Its beauty has inspired Labrador art and design, frequently adorning traditional handmade items such as parkas.
Dogberry Cornus sanguinea
Dogberries, also known as Dogwood or Mountain-Ash, are best known for their glossy orange-red berries which ripen in the fall. Throughout the winter, Cedar Waxwings and other birds rely on dogberries as a key food source, and folklore says the abundance of dogberries on trees can predict winter conditions – plentiful berries supposedly signal lots of snow – but this is just a myth. Valued for their medicinal properties for generations, traditionally dogberries were steeped into syrups or teas to treat coughs, sore throats, tuberculosis, and chest infections, while a decoction of the bark and berries was believed to help combat colds and flu. Dogberries are often harvested after the first frost to reduce their bitterness and are commonly used to make jellies and wine.
Tim Collins photo
Squashberry Viburnum edule
Found thriving near water, in forests and along the margins of wetlands from the Straits to Saglek Bay, the squashberry is a common plant of Labrador. Ripening from August to October, the clustered berries are often picked in late summer and early fall, with autumn frosts turning the berries a shiny red. Black bears rely on them as a nutritious meal before winter hibernation, and moose nibble on the leaves and stems during the summer. While tart and bitter on their own, squashberries can be boiled with sugar to create delicious jams and jellies. Traditionally, squashberry bark and juice were used to treat lung conditions and colds.
Blackberry Empetrum nigrum
Also known as crowberries, curlewberries, or paungak in Inuttitut, blackberries are sometimes referred to as the fruit of the North. Their delicately sweet flavour peaks after the first frost, making them a favourite for jams, cakes, puddings, summer drinks or Christmas wine. Their branches have been used for generations in smokehouses to infuse trout, salmon, and char with a unique flavour, and can also be steeped to make tea. Beyond their culinary uses, the berries provide nourishment to black bears, polar bears, gulls, ravens, and migratory birds; and have also been used traditionally to dye coastal grasses for weaving baskets, showcasing their versatility and cultural significance.
Bakeapples
Rubus chamaemorus
Locals know that the best bakeapples in the world are found in Labrador. Also known as appik or cloudberries, the soft, juicy, golden-yellow berries have a distinctive tart taste and can be found in bogs, peaty meadows, open barrens, and moss-covered forests. Birds and bears snack on the berries, while moose and caribou feed on the woody stems. Each plant bears only a single berry, making them a prized find during the August picking season, when locals walk to the farthest bogs, braving flies and sore backs to fill their buckets. Historically, bakeapples, which are rich in vitamin C, were a primary food staple for Labradorians, alongside redberries, wild meat and fish. They were gathered in baskets, eaten fresh or preserved in cold water to sustain families through the winter. Today they are featured in jams, sauces, desserts, wines, and liqueurs.
Annette Tatchell photo
Examining the history, heritage and continued evolution of ‘The Big Land’
BY AL SANDERS
Newfoundland and Labrador Tourism photo
LABRADOR, a vast and enchanting region in eastern Canada, boasts a tapestry of history, geography, and artistic richness that has evolved over millennia. Covering an expansive 294,330 square miles, Labrador is situated in the northeastern part of North America, bordered by the Labrador Sea to the east, the Hudson Bay to the west, and Quebec to the southwest. This immense region is known for its diverse and breathtaking landscapes, from rugged coastlines and pristine lakes to dense forests and vast tundra.
Historical Heritage
Labrador’s historical narrative is deeply rooted in its Indigenous past. For thousands of years, the Innu and Inuit peoples have called this region home. Archaeological evidence suggests that Labrador was inhabited as far back as 9,000 years ago, and the descendants of these early inhabitants maintain their rich cultural heritage to this day.
European exploration of Labrador began in the 16th century, with figures like John Cabot and Basque fishermen making early contacts. However, it wasn’t until the 18th century that permanent European settlements started to emerge, primarily focused on the flourishing fishing industry. Labrador became a significant centre for the fur trade and later for the extraction of natural resources such as minerals and timber.
The clash and fusion of Indigenous and European cultures have shaped Labrador’s history, resulting in a unique cultural amalgamation. As European settlers established communities, interactions and exchanges between the Indigenous peoples and newcomers influenced the social, economic, and cultural fabric of the region.
Indigenous Heritage and Culture
Labrador’s cultural tapestry is woven with the threads of its Indigenous heritage. The Innu and Inuit peoples have preserved their traditions, languages, and ways of life, contributing to the distinctive cultural mosaic of the region. The Innu, traditionally nomadic hunters and gatherers, have a profound spiritual connection to the land and its resources. Their stories, transmitted through oral traditions, reflect a deep understanding of the natural world and its significance.
Similarly, the Inuit, known for their resilience in the face of challenging Arctic conditions, have a rich artistic heritage that includes carvings, sculptures, and prints. These artistic expressions often depict stories of the land, wildlife, and ancestral connections, providing a visual narrative of their cultural identity.
An Innu hunter, ca. 1910 NL Heritage
An 1818 engraving of Inuit
Artistic Expressions
The artistic scene in Labrador is a testament to the region’s cultural diversity and natural beauty. Traditional Inuit and Innu art, with its roots in ancient practices, continues to thrive, offering a window into the spiritual and cultural dimensions of these Indigenous communities. Carvings from soapstone, bone, and antler, as well as intricate beadwork and textile art, exemplify the craftsmanship and artistic prowess of the Inuit and Innu peoples. Labrador has also become a muse for contemporary artists working in various mediums. Painters find inspiration in the dramatic landscapes, capturing the play of light on rugged coastlines and the subtle hues of the tundra. Photographers immortalize the unique juxtaposition of traditional Inuit and Innu communities against the backdrop of modern life. Writers delve into the region’s history and cultural nuances, creating literature that reflects the multifaceted identity of Labrador.
Geographical Marvels
Labrador’s geographical features are as diverse as its cultural landscape. The Torngat Mountains, an awe-inspiring range in the northern part of Labrador, boast jagged peaks, deep fjords, and pristine wilderness. This region is a testament to the raw power of nature and serves as the centrepiece of Torngat Mountains National Park, established in 2005 to preserve this unique ecosystem. The coastal areas of Labrador are a visual feast, with picturesque fishing villages nestled between rocky shores and the vast sea. The colourful houses of these communities stand out against the natural palette of the landscape, creating a harmonious blend of human habitation and untamed wilderness. Labrador’s climate is characterized by extremes, with harsh winters and short, cool summers. The Northern Lights, a celestial phenomenon, grace the night sky with vibrant colours, adding a mystical allure to the region. The climatic variability has not only shaped the physical features of Labrador but also influenced the lifestyle and resilience of its people.
“Basking Seal” by Billy Gauthier
Battle Harbour
Robert Carter photo
Economic Evolution
The economic landscape of Labrador has undergone significant transformations over the years. While fishing and fur trading were historically dominant industries, the region has experienced a shift towards mining and hydroelectric power generation in recent decades. The Churchill Falls Hydroelectric Project, one of the largest in the world, harnesses the power of the Churchill River to generate electricity for both Labrador and neighbouring regions. This project stands as a testament to Labrador’s adaptability and its ability to leverage natural resources for economic development.
Churchill Falls Eldred Allen photo
Churchill Falls transmission lines Nalcor Energy photo
Contemporary Challenges and Opportunities
Despite its rich history and natural abundance, Labrador faces contemporary challenges. Issues such as climate change, resource exploitation, and the preservation of Indigenous rights pose complex dilemmas for the region. Striking a balance between economic development and environmental conservation is a delicate task that requires careful consideration of the region’s unique ecology and cultural heritage. However, Labrador also holds immense opportunities for sustainable development and cultural preservation. Community led initiatives, collaborative resource management, and the recognition of Indigenous rights can contribute to a future where Labrador continues to thrive while maintaining its ecological and cultural integrity.
In conclusion, Labrador stands as a vast and captivating region that encapsulates the essence of Canada’s eastern frontier. Its history, rooted in Indigenous traditions and shaped by European influences, has cultivated a cultural richness that is celebrated through artistic expressions. The geography, from the majestic Torngat Mountains to the picturesque coastal villages, paints a canvas of natural beauty and diversity. Labrador’s economic evolution reflects its resilience and adaptability, while contemporary challenges highlight the need for thoughtful and sustainable development.
As Labrador continues to evolve, it remains a place of both historical significance and contemporary vitality. The preservation of its cultural heritage, coupled with responsible stewardship of its natural resources, will play a pivotal role in shaping the future of this extraordinary region.
Labrador, with its untamed landscapes and diverse communities, invites exploration and contemplation, offering a glimpse into the intricate tapestry of Canada’s north.
Grief, resilience and the loss of a community wharf
BY ERIN SNOW
On January 21, 2025, a massive winter storm washed the Spotted Island community wharf out to sea. Spotted Islanders near and far are devastated and concerned. The community’s once strong, solid, vibrant foundation was completely swept away, leaving debris, gear and possible contamination around the shore and in the ocean.
Spotted Island, located on the south coast of Labrador, has a history dating back to time immemorial. The area was inhabited by Indigenous people long before European contact and is part of the traditional territory of NunatuKavut. The Spotted Island community wharf was a huge part of NunatuKavut’s cultural heritage and a significant part of maritime history. Back in the late 70s, after the resettlement of Spotted Island, community members were permitted to return to their homes at the beginning of the inland fishery. Local fishermen like Jack Holwell and my dad, Wayne Elson, were among the many inhabitants who helped build the community wharf, which was originally designed and placed there by the Department of Fisheries and Oceans. Today, three commercial fish harvesters remain to call Spotted Island home. The loss of the Spotted Island community wharf has them wondering if they must start over.
Shawn Holwell photo
Samual Morris, a local fish harvester, is very concerned about what this means for his crew. His family was part of the inland fishery and fished out of Spotted Island in the late 70s, evolving into the commercial fishery along with his son Sheldon and son-in-law. Despite losses, Sam is hopeful and will not let the aftermath of this storm stand in the way of providing for his family. “Spotted Island Community Wharf was a lifeboat of Spotted,” Sam shares.
After news of the destruction of the community wharf, I had a chance to speak with Jeannette (Holwell) Turnbull and one of her two sons, Ryan Turnbull. In 2024, Jeannette lost her beloved husband and commercial fish harvester, Doug Turnbull. Jeannette and Doug were married in Spotted Island and Doug’s parents were one of the few families to remain on Spotted Island year-round. Doug was a seasoned fisherman known to navigate his way through rough seas.
Both Jeannette and Ryan are saddened by the loss of the wharf and eager to help with the cleanup and rebuild. They discussed struggles they’ve faced with the present-day fishery and possible plans for the future, offering a perspective of the unfortunate barriers that are still in place in some parts of the commercial fish harvesting certification for some locals.
The fishery is “all he’s ever known,” Ryan explains, reflecting on how much it meant to him to fish with his dad side by side for many years. “He had a good teacher,” he says of his father. Ryan’s connection to his culture, and family heritage is strong, and his determination to adapt and succeed in the business is honourable.
Fishing in Spotted Island over the years
Reflecting on memories of fishing with his dad and cousins, Ryan intends to honour that family legacy while mastering new fish harvester classification levels.
My Dad and many of his family were born in Spotted Island and the surrounding areas. He recalls being relocated to Happy Valley-Goose Bay as part of the Provincial government’s centralized resettlement phase. It was a time when many Labrador families were uprooted and relocated along the Labrador Coast.
In the 1970s, Dad and others returned from college and joined the inland fishery in Spotted Island, and around 1979 plans were underway to build a community wharf. He remembers looking at the wharf’s
blueprints alongside his father Hubert Elson, and Uncle Jack Holwell. It served the fishermen and community well over the years.
Upon hearing the news that the community wharf was washed away, I immediately reached out to my Dad. Although the wharf is lost, he’s confident in the community and their efforts to rebuild.
Similarly, Uncle Jim Holwell, a respected elder, past fisherman, retired DFO officer and present-day Vice President of NunatuKavut, recalls many memories and trials and tribulations he and others encountered over the years. He knew it was only a matter of time that the community wharf would falter. Uncle Jim, aging gracefully despite health hard-
Shawn Holwell photo
ships in the family, plans to support and offer advice for rebuilding efforts. He too has much faith in the younger generations and their abilities.
The Spotted Island community wharf was of great cultural significance. Thousands of dollars in fishing gear, heirlooms and many
about the recent natural disaster, many locals and fishermen reached out to various levels of government but were told, as in the past, that they do not fit into their immediate support programs.
Locals know their responsibilities and have stepped up to mitigate safety
Spotted Islanders have always had great respect for their land, ancestors and traditional ways and know the devastation the loss of the wharf has caused the people and the environment.
priceless memories are gone but not forgotten. Spotted Islanders have always had great respect for their land, ancestors and traditional ways and know the devastation the loss of the wharf has caused the people and the environment. With great concern
hazards. With no emergency response assistance from governments of the day, the community is left to fend for itself. However, residents are optimistic and are planning initiatives for the future, with or without any government intervention.
Shawn Holwell, one of the last people born on Spotted Island, returned to the community within days of the loss of the wharf to assess and see the extent of the damages.
Shawn and John Holwell were some of the first community members to respond and travel to the area for any initial clean up and assessment.
In the aftermath, Shawn held a community meeting and formed an executive for future initiatives as well as a committee to begin clean-up, fundraising and rebuilding efforts.
Shawn notes that it’s not surprising that the wharf is gone due to a lack of government support for ongoing upkeep. Over the years locals applied and inquired about programs and grants but were time and again denied. The community did what it could and planned for renovations this summer, but the old wharf sadly
did not make it through this harsh coastal winter.
The community wharf is now gone but will never be forgotten.
Many have already shared pictures, stories, books and memories of the days gone by. The wharf was a place of community economic prosperity in its day, the main focal point of the harbour and a place where members would gather and children would play and fish.
Rest assured that there’s more to come from Spotted Islanders and the movement to rebuild, but the first step is to mitigate any risks to the sea, animals and oceans.
Any readers interested in being part of the Spotted Island community wharf cleanup, or rebuild initiative can reach out to Shawn Holwell or Erin Snow through the Spotted Island Inc. Facebook group.
Downhome History
BERNIE HOWGATE
In this flashback through our Downhome archives, our August 1994 issue published the third of 14 episodes from author and adventurer Bernie Howgate from his eight-month, 4,000kilometre solo trip up the Labrador coastline. The first part of the journey was on foot dragging a sled in the dead of winter. The second part was by kayak during the summer. This is the third excerpt from his journey through Labrador:
Feb, 12, 1992: The barrens are an intimidating place at the best of times. Being the highest point on the trail to Goose Bay, this 30 km stretch of bald hills between Red Bay and Mary’s Harbour offers spectacular views of the surrounding countryside, but little protection from its elements.
To the northwest, the smooth curved coastal hills look like white pin cushions and to the east, the occasional window of colour opens to views of steaming Atlantic boiling under the frigid cold. On the trail, lone twisted trees hide behind boulders and a few stunted ones cling to life in its shallow ridges.
Here, the wind always blows and surface snow is constantly moving.
That morning I woke at 6 a.m.. My thermometer read -28 degrees celsius, but felt much colder. This time before sunrise was always the worst. The first task was to melt snow. Lighting a stove under candlelight is a lesson in itself. But doing it with only nylon gloves for protection is a painful one, and picking up camp wearing heavy mitts was a lesson in slow motion. Every item had its place. A good start was essential for peace of mind. To search for something while on the trail would at the very least be frustrating and at worst lead to frostbite.
Items not essential during the day were packed away in two large duffel bags. Extra clothes, sleeping bag and toiletries in one, tent, thermal mats, stove and extra boots in the other. Both were secured under canvas with a cord in the sled while a third bag
containing food, provisions, a spare stove, a thermos flask and gun was secured on top with bunjis for easy access. I was pulling over 120 pounds, but on the windswept icy surface of the barrens, it was no problem to pull.
That morning the sky looked sickly. Low clouds hid the sun. The forecast called for strong northeast winds and a windchill warning was in effect.
By 8 a.m. I was on the skidoo trail but by 9 a.m. I was lost. Stopping to readjust cords on the sled, I had taken off my heavy mitts only to watch helplessly as one blew away. First I had to unhook myself from the sled harness, then put on my snow shoes and by the time I had retrieved it, I had lost sight of the next marker.
These ski-doo markers were my lifeline and came in all shapes and sizes. Pyramids of wood marked the high land, painted boulders the low. Wood nailed to trees, old gas tanks strung from branches, and anything
A map showing the route Bernie took in February 1992 , originally published in August 1994’s Downhome
reflective the rest.
I had with me a compass and 1:50,000 topographical maps of the area, but they were only as good as the person reading them. At this elevation, one hill looks very much like the next and with few trees, all pond definition was lost to a white carpet. At first, I thought this would make good practice, but after 10 minutes of futile compass readings, my fingers felt like lead weights on strings. I sat down for five minutes beating them across my shoulder and putting them under my armpits, but most of all I took this time to clear my head.
Fear is your worst company when you travel alone. Small mistakes, if not checked, lead to fatal ones. You can’t make allowances for acts of God, but you can for human ones.
I climbed a ridge, took out my binoculars and immediately spotted a mound of stones. I was back on track. By noon I had travelled eight kilometres. I was approaching Chateau Pond, the last obstacle before my descent of ‘the barrens’ and back into the relative shelter of a wooded area. Here I found ski-doo trails going in all directions. I had been told his oneand-one-half kilometre long pond was notorious for ‘wipe-outs’ and many a local had been lost for hours crossing it.
I spent some time searching the opposite shoreline for a diamond
marker, but couldn’t see it. My map showed a creek to the northeast where I knew the trail left the pond, so I set my compass and headed out on its bearing.
I’d not gone far when I heard a roaring noise. I looked up but saw no plane. In front, the shoreline was still clear. I took out my compass, checked my direction, then returned it to my pocket. All this time the noise got louder. Visibility was still excellent, but then a tall tale burst of wind changed everything. To the north, a curtain of white hid all outlines.
The wind had no obstacles crossing the pond. There was nothing I could do but brace myself. A cloud of snow was heading in my direction and within seconds my vision was shut down.
Everything turned a foggy white. Snow-like dust was everywhere, it got in my eyes, up my nose and down my throat. The only thing I knew for certain was that my feet were on the ground. I dug deep into my pocket for my compass. I only had my mitts off for seconds, but my fingers immediately froze. My eyes were watering and soon my left eye froze shut.
For the next 20 minutes, I crawled along on automatic pilot. I don’t know if it was naivety or the compass reading that made me feel secure, but moments after the wind died and I saw the diamond ski-doo marker, I was crying uncontrollably.
BY LESTER GREEN
A Forteau Logger Joins the RAF
In the summer of 1941, a logger from the coastal fishing community of Forteau, Labrador, enlisted with the Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit and sailed overseas to support the British war effort by cutting logs in the Scottish Highlands. The logs were used primarily for pit props to strengthen the ceilings of the coal mines, while the coal was required to supply energy for the war effort. After completing two years of service, John Dumaresque requested permission to be released from his Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit obligation. He travelled to Edinburgh, joined the Royal Air Force and was soon flying over the skies of Europe.
John was the son of Philip and Elizabeth (Flynn) Dumaresque, born on October 31, 1918, in the fishing community of Forteau on the Southern Shore of Labrador. His father was listed as a cod fisherman in the 1935 census, with a family income of $93.00. The census notes that Philip was listed as the head of the household with John and Lloyd as their sons. Lloyd was three years younger than John.
John became a member of the Lily of the North Lodge, Loyal Orangemen’s Lodge #125, Forteau, in 1939 and remained in good standing. He completed grade 10 and became a schoolteacher at Capstan Island in Southern Labrador and Blue Cove on the Northern Peninsula. For three years, he was a scaler in the forestry industry employed by the Labrador Development Company, Port Hope Simpson.
Like many other loggers in Newfoundland and Labrador, John heard of the war overseas but did not enlist with the earlier recruitments in 1939 and 1940.
In the spring of 1941, His Majesty’s Government of Great Britain made a third request to Newfoundland for 400 loggers to replace men returning home or enlisting with armed British Forces. Public notices appeared in the local newspapers informing the people that men were wanted for the Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit. The notice listed the various conditions men must abide by during
John Dumaresque
A 1941 notice in the Fisherman’s Advocate calls for volunteers for the Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit
service overseas. By May 23, 1941, 500 loggers had responded to the public notice appeal.
John was among the enlisted men with the Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit. Family mementos show that he enlisted on June 19, 1941, likely at Bonne Bay at the age of 22 years, where he was assigned the service number 3422.
He travelled by train with other loggers to Port aux Basques, crossing the Cabot Strait, and continued by train to Halifax. Upon arrival, the men were given a pay advance deducted from their later pay to purchase proper clothing in local stores.
One hundred seventy-seven loggers boarded the converted whaler, Svend
Foyn, and joined Convoy HX.140. The convoy of 110 ships departed Halifax on July 22, 1941.
The waters crossing the Atlantic were dangerous, with U-boats lurking below the surface. The convoy arrived in Liverpool on August 7, 1941, 22 days after sailing from Halifax. The men walked down the gangway and boarded a train to Carrbridge in the Scottish Highlands.
In a letter written by John on December 16, 1941, we learn that he was working at Kinloch Laggan, Camp No 6, Scotland.
John writes these chilling words: “… Moreover, friend, I received your parcel which you sent me. Thanking you ever so much for it. Will express my thanks on my return, please God...”
John Dumaresque’s letter of dismissal from the NOFU, allowing him to join the Royal Air Force
John Dumaresque and crew members of Lancaster LL802
In the summer of 1943, John decided not to re-enlist with the Forestry Unit. According to condition number one of the contract published in the public notice in 1941, he was required to give one year of service and, if he could be spared, permission from the Newfoundland Overseas Forestry Unit for release.
John travelled to Edinburgh, Scotland, in September 1943, where he enlisted with the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve and was assigned service number 1827113. He was recruited for training as an air gunner and completed basic training over the next several months.
On August 8, 1944, John was assigned to the Royal Air Force Squadron 622 at Mildenhall, Suffolk, United Kingdom. He was one of seven aircrew members of the LL802 Lancaster bomber. Military records show that on September 20, 1944, two Lancaster planes took off from the air base at Mildenhall from the 622 Royal Air Force squadron for a bombing mission involving more than 600 planes flying to the occupied French city of Calais.
Due to poor weather conditions on this dreadful cloudy day, Lancaster LM167 and Lancaster LL802 collided mid-air above the Earls Colne area,
causing both aircraft to plummet to the ground. Lancaster LM167 was carrying eight crewmembers when it crashed in farmland around Holmwood Farms, located between Americas Road and Tey Road, killing all crewmembers.
Lancaster LL802 was carrying seven crewmembers. The bomber required three air gunners, one located at the front, one in the middle and one in the tail section, when it crashed on the farmland near Flories Farm in the Great Tey parish area. Among those killed in this tragedy was air gunner Sergeant John Anley Dumaresque. He had spent only 39 days at the base before losing his life in a crash that claimed the lives of 14 other air crewmembers.
The Daily News contained a list of casualties on September 29, 1944. Among the listed was the following casualty: Dumaresque, John NFLD 1827113 R.A.F. Killed as a result of air operations September 20, 1944. Next of Kin, father, Mr. Philip Dumaresque, Forteau, Labrador. (Transferred from Nfld. Overseas Forestry Unit to Royal Air Force).
His parents, Philip and Elizabeth, were likely notified by the telegraph operator in Forteau at that time. The exact wording in the message is unknown, but we can assume that they, like many other parents, would have received some form of notification that their son was killed in action and
would not be returning home.
Communication with Gordon Brown, chairman of the Earls Colne Heritage Museum, allowed more collaborative insight into the logger and air gunner John Dumaresque.
On September 20, 2024, 80 years after the crash of the Royal Air Force Lancaster Bombers LM167 and LL802 of the 622 Squadron R.A.F., the Earls Colne Heritage Museum organized a service to unveil a memorial featuring a brick base and bronze plaque containing all the names of the fallen aircrew.
Among the noted names, you will find Sgt J.A. Dumaresque. If you have time, sit on the bench, press a button, and learn more about this Labrador logger who became an air gunner with the Royal Air Force and was killed in action on board Lancaster LL802.
The recently opened community centre in Forteau has been named the John A. Dumaresque Memorial Community Centre in his honour.
John is buried at Cambridge City Cemetery in Cambridge, England.
The community centre in Forteau pays tribute to John’s sacrifice
BY DENNIS FLYNN
Ward Mercer (age 63 as of this writing in March 2023) of Coley’s Point, Newfoundland and Labrador and his wife Trudi nurse strong cups of fragrant coffee beside the cosy woodstove where we peruse a neatly-arranged album of photographs.
“My father travelled on the Kyle from here to Labrador many times for work and he loved that ship and always spoke very highly of her,” he says with a smile, explaining that in 1996 he and his father rowed out in a small boat and had “the better part of a day aboard her.”
“It was wonderful to hear all his stories as we actually walked around and looked at all the places he had told me about so many times. Of course, he also had great tales about the crew who served on the Kyle and friends he travelled with on those voyages, so it is a day I really treasure.”
Ward points to a beautiful painting of his parents by well-known Labrador artist Sheilagh Harvey depicting the stylish couple circa the 1950s aboard the Kyle. This prompts me to ask if Ward himself had ever travelled to Labrador on the vessel.
“Only once when I was three months old, but I hope you will forgive me as I don’t remember much about it,” he replies with a grin. “My mother took me down in a wicker basket about the Kyle in the spring of the year and brought me back in the very same basket in the fall. I’ve been to Snug Harbour, Labrador many times since, but always in much larger travel arrangements.”
Ward and Trudi Mercer with a painting of Ward’s parents painted by Labrador artist Sheilagh Harvey
Aware of the lack of cameras along parts of remote rural Labrador in those days I casually say, “It’s too bad you don’t have a photo of yourself with the basket as it would have been a wonderful souvenir.”
Trudi gets a playful look on her face. “Oh we can do much better than that. Go get the basket and show him, Ward,” she gestures.
He returns holding an immaculately kept wicker basket lined in Easter yellow complete with a pearlwhite blanket and pillow. “I’m not sure how my late mother kept it so clean and please don’t ask me to sit in it because I am pretty sure I don’t fit anymore,” he jokes.
After the laughter subsides, I grab a few images of the treasured keepsake. “Maybe you can help me with a good deed that has been needing doing for a long time?” Ward asks.
He produces a well-worn book with “Holy Bible” stamped in gold letters along the ribbed spine. Venerable, but familiar enough in appearance and accoutrements, I recognize it as a mass-printed Bible found in churches, religious schools, and wellto-do homes in earlier times.
“There’s a triangular piece of land where the roads from Coley’s Point, Otterbury, and Port de Grave meet,” Ward begins. “A number of churches stood there and when the last one, the old Bareneed United Church, was torn down this bible somehow got tossed out, perhaps by accident.”
He explains that this particular bible has a very special dedication. The book was found in the trash and, with an affinity for old books, Ward held on to the bible, explaining that he “gratefully accepted custody to keep it safe.
“It has been with me a long time and I always hoped it would find a way home to the direct descendants of the man in whose memory it was dedicated,” he shares. “Josiah Lacey was killed in an accident in Boston. I don’t want the bible to sit on a shelf or in a box in a museum where nobody will ever see it or use it. I’d really like
Ward and the wicker basket his mother carried him in on trips to Labrador onboard the Kyle
for someone related to the man to get it. It should have a place of pride and respect in their home. I’ve contacted the Bareneed group on Facebook and John Newell has been very helpful, but maybe if you pass it along as well it might be of assistance? As far as we know Lacey’s remaining relatives moved to the mainland years ago and probably are not even aware the bible still exists.”
With that, I go to the “Family Register” page and read the inscription in tidy dark ink that has withstood the test of time:
Bareneed: January 16, 1918 Presented to the Methodist Church. By William and Eliza Lacey. In memory of their beloved son Josiah Lacey, born January 18, 1885. Was converted 1910. Was killed by electricity endeavouring to save his fellow workers lives at Boston, Mass. June 25, 1914.
Mr. Newell’s fine research cited the Bay Roberts Guardian Newspaper (Friday, July 03, 1914): “Mr. Josiah LACEY, son of William Lacey, at the Dock, met with a fatal accident at Boston recently. His body will be brought home. He is survived by a wife, father and mother, four brothers and two sisters.”
John also came across a document
from the City of Boston, Building Department Report, outlining the fatal accident on the Number 4 freight elevator in the building located at 279-291 Commercial Street on June 25, 1914, that killed four employees (including Lacey) and injured four others when a broken wire on the elevator caused a short circuit that charged the machine in the Quincy Market Cold Storage Company.
A follow-up post from John reads: “Did some more research on Josiah Lacey. His headstone references a wife Sarah Jane. They had a son born after he died. He was Josiah (Joe) Lacey Jr. born, 06 SEP 1914, Coley’s Point, possibly died 1980 in Scarborough, Ontario. Looks like he was raised by his maternal Grandparents Adam and Elizabeth Gray in Coley’s Point. In 1935 he was living in Coley’s Point with his wife Ellen and newborn son Roy.”
As I take my leave I promise to investigate further. I visit the hillside grave of Josiah Lacey in the old Bareneed United Church Cemetery, where his headstone rises above shrouding snow. Two hands share an eternal embrace while a hopeful caption flanks the image: “We shall meet again.”
A fitting end to the story, at least for now.
Anyone with information on the Josiah Lacey Bible is encouraged to contact editorial@downhomelife.com
BY JOHN RUSSELL
If you visit Mary’s Harbour, on the southeastern coast of Labrador, you are likely to meet Alfred Spearing.
At 91-years young, he still walks five kilometres around the harbour and back, sometimes twice a day, and stops here and there to engage with anyone who is not too busy to listen to his story.
During a recent visit to Mary’s Harbour, I sat down with Alfie to ask him questions about growing up and making it as a fisherman in Battle Harbour. He gladly told me about the challenging but enjoyable life that he lived in the region. As I listened to him tell his story, I could not help but notice the excitement in his voice and the pleasure that permeated his whole being.
Alfie Spearing’s Ancestry: A Hardy Stock
Like many along the southeast coast of Labrador, Alfie’s ancestors were English, most likely from southwest England. They migrated to Labrador in the 19th century to pursue a livelihood in the cod fishery, bringing with them a robustness and work ethic that would serve them well in their new environment.
Naturally, Alfie was proud to tell me that this was the hardy stock that gave rise to his generation.
Left: Alfie stoking the old wood stove at his home in Mary’s Harbour, 1977
Born in Battle Harbour
Alfie was born by a midwife at his family home in Battle Harbour on August 12, 1932. His mother, Fannie Spearing (nee Ash) took care of the family at home while his father, Levi Spearing fished for cod, salmon and herring for most of his working life, except for a five-year stint working in the woods for the Labrador Development Company in Port Hope Simpson.
To an outsider, Battle Harbour may appear as a bleak and barren land. But to Alfie, this tiny island was a familiar place that gripped him like a magnet at a very early age. As a child, he enjoyed the freedom to explore and become one with his natural surroundings.
themselves and their dogs. The skins were used to make boots as well as traces for their dog teams and lash lines for their komatiks. Several types of fish provided the main source of food during the summer months, while the fall was a time for gathering berries and hunting waterfowl.
Play for Alfie meant mimicking adults as they went about their seasonal activities. By modelling the working members of his community, Alfie was apprenticing to live a successful life in coastal Labrador, reaping its abundance of natural resources. As he grew to embrace the lifestyle, it moulded him into a strong and determined individual, characteristics that would be instrumental in later years as he challenged the elements to make a living from the sea.
Alfie worked for two summers as an assistant to a cook at a merchant establishment run by Baine, Johnston & Co. in Battle Harbour. Apart from that, he spent his entire life as a fisherman.
Living off the Land
Unloading seals at Battle Harbour in the 1970s
Living off the land was also common when Alfie was a young man.
In the spring and fall, seals were hunted and netted as food for
In the winter, they sought inland game such as rabbit, partridge and porcupine. Through the late fall, winter and early spring, this wild meat augmented the food staples purchased in bulk from Baine, Johnston & Co. When the fishermen sold their catch to the merchant at the
Isolated during the winter months, Alfie and other residents of Battle Harbour relied on dog teams
end of the fishing season, and the summer bills were paid, the credit remaining was used to make this essential purchase.
Initially, Alfie lived year-round in Battle Harbour, totally isolated during spring break-up and autumn freezeup. In the late 1960s, however, under the provincial government’s resettlement program, he relocated with his family to Mary’s Harbour, a growing community nine miles inland from Battle Harbour.
War Comes Close to Home
Alfie saw his first plane in 1942 when he was 10 years old. That was the year the Americans started to build a LORAN A Station at White Point, just over two miles from Battle Harbour. The station was to be used by the United States Air Force as part of their long-range navigational system during World War II.
The planes Alfie saw were most likely Canadian military planes employed as submarine patrol bombers. However,
Tallying salmon for the collector boat on Baine Johnston & Co. premises at Battle Harbour during the 1970s
due to the urgency of the construction of LORAN A, these planes were sometimes used to transport personnel and equipment from Goose Bay to White Point.
As a child, Alfie remembers a frightening event. One of these planes exploded in an enormous burst of flame and a huge cloud of smoke. The explosion happened when the plane was taxiing in the water near Battle Harbour. Apparently, anti-submarine depth charges carried on the wings accidentally detonated. Three died and six survived after being rescued by locals.
Alfie knew about the war from war bulletins that were received on the family’s battery-operated transistor radio. But he could not have imagined that war would come this close to home.
First Trip on a Plane
Alfie was never outside of Labrador –or on a plane. On occasion, however, he would travel to nearby communities by dog team or trap skiff, depending on the season. He must have felt somewhat apprehensive when the nurse at the cottage hospital in Mary’s Harbour advised him that he must go to St. Anthony, 64 miles away, for medical treatment.
His only means of getting to Grenfell’s largest hospital was on a Grenfell Mission plane, a 10-seater single otter DeHavilland, that would whip him across the Strait of Belle Isle in 45 minutes at 132 miles per hour,
lighting speed compared to Alfie’s usual mode of travel.
As the plane landed and taxied to the dock, he must have felt somewhat overwhelmed by all the different “sights and sounds.” I can only surmise the relief that he must have felt when the time came for his discharge and return flight back to familiar territory and his own culture.
Alfie Spearing: A Custodian of Knowledge
Alfie’s uplifting outlook on the land and the people was both refreshing and inspirational. It is easy to see why seniors like him are called the “custodians of knowledge.”
With a strong and proud connection to the past, they can bridge the generation gap and contribute to a legacy that gives the young a respectful inheritance that they can reference with pride.
Memories of the North West River United Church and Choir
BY BILL ROMPKEY
Submitted by Carolyn Rompkey
The following was written by Bill Rompkey at the request of Isobel Watts and submitted by Carolyn Rompkey. We came to North West River, Labrador in 1963. Bill was the principal of the Yale school, and I taught grades 5 and 6. Bill passed away in 2017.
Ajoy that we will never forget is our time associated with the United Church in North West River, and especially the choir which I directed. What a joy to find a group singing in four-part harmony. It made Wednesday and Sunday evenings unforgettable. We would practice on Wednesday evenings and that was always a fun time because everybody was relaxed and laughing at the mistakes we made. We tried to do a different anthem every Sunday evening.
We discovered that although technically a United Church, it indeed was a village church. The choir, in addition to those of the United Church, had Unitarians, Presbyterians, Moravians, and Anglicans. We had never encountered such ecumenism and it was refreshing.
I bought a big Philips reel-to-reel tape recorder at the BX in Goose Bay, and I would lug that to the church on Wednesday evenings and
record. The quality was not that great because the microphone was very elementary, but something special was captured. In addition to anthems, we always practiced special music for Christmas and Easter, and that was recorded too.
The organ in those days was an old pump organ played by Maud Chaulk and also by Eileen Baikie. We decided we needed something better. So we put together a reel of what we thought was a good selection of what we had done, wrote a cover note telling something about the Choir and sent it off to RCA Victor in Montreal. Lo and behold, an LP appeared which we thought was not bad at all. Others did too, for we sold enough LPs, together with other contributions, to buy a new Lowry electronic organ in Montreal.
The new organ was installed and gave us joy for some years. Whenever things would go wrong we could not call Montreal, but luckily, Joe Smith, the CBC technical wizard in Goose Bay would come down and fix it.
In those days, there was no bridge across Goose River or North West River. There is a wonderful picture of Rev. Walter “Paddy” Sellers, the United Church minister in the Valley,
and Ev MacLean smiling triumphantly in a rowboat with a big wooden crate bringing the new organ across the river.
The LP, which later became a CD, sold well beyond North West River. VOWR, the radio station at Wesley United Church in St. John’s, played it often. Dr. Don Cook, the head of Memorial University’s School of Music called us “one of the best rural choirs in the province,” which we cherished.
Often after the Sunday evening service, the choir would visit shut-ins and sing for them. That was always a joy. I remember Juddy Blake in particular; he was bedridden by this time, and I know he enjoyed the singing just as he did on his trapline when Dr. Burry would broadcast over his short-wave. But Juddy gave us more inspiration than we did him. His body was weak but his spirit was strong, and we always came away with memories of the spirit of that man.
After this, Carolyn and I would go to Jack and Annie Watts’, where we were treated to a cup of tea and goodies and Jack’s yarns. Those days are long gone, but the memories linger, and will always be there for us as a special part of our lives.
BY NATHAN FREAKE
When spring has sprung in Labrador, you feel it. After long winters with biting winds, blizzards, and constant cold, the first day you open your front door and feel the damp air of spring, you breathe a sigh of relief. It’s perhaps my favourite time of year, and each time it rolls around I am reminded of how much I have missed it.
Before you get the wrong picture, thespring I am talking about is not your typical storybook spring. The flowers do not yet budand the trees have not bloomed. There are layers of deep snow that first need to thaw and, rest assured, this will take a while. Reflecting on our old cabin logbook, my parents often recount the time that we’d parked our snowmobiles on the 24th of May. And, as the logbook says, even then there was still enough snow to boot around on a snowmobile. But, fair warning: getting stuck is much easier than it was a couple of months ago –one wrong jolt of your ski and you’ll find yourself sinking. Your snow pants will be much more
waterlogged than they were, too.
You could do away with the gear that keeps you warm, and enjoy the beauty that Labrador offers, as you were meant to do. The sun rises earlier, sets later, and never ceases to shine. Truly, spring in Labrador is a time you do not want to miss. It’s the time I tell everyone to visit. The joys of winter linger, while the hardship stays behind.
You could rip across a lake on a snowmobile, throttle fully pressed, the sun beating down, in a hoodie and a helmet. There were many times when I’djump on a snowmobile in a t-shirt, or have a boil-up in the woods with a pair of shorts on. Speaking from experience: be careful not to sink a boot down into the deep powder like this. Ice-fishing becomes a lot more enjoyable; no need to cover up. Outings become more frequent. There are more faces to see out and about (and more smiles on them, too). Each year, after a long week spent down at their favourite stomping grounds around their cabins over Easter Break, many children would return to school with raccoon-faced tans.
“Spring tans” some would call them. Again, a warning: be careful when choosing the style of sunglasses you wear this time of year. Most Labradorians get their tans in one of two ways: trips “down South,” (meaning vacationing to Florida, Jamaica, or what have you), or simply under the sun of the Labrador spring. The joke often goes:
“You get your tan down South?”
“Yes, down South East Arm!”
when the water in the streets subsides and the sweet winds of spring slip away, you are left with a land shaped by the freeze and thaw, year after year. You are left with a place filled with people who have endured a long winter, and who’ve gladly reaped the benefits of a warm and drawn-out spring. These moments in those short weeks are fleeting. Each day, the snow shrinks, water drips from rooftops, and blades of grass begin to show. Each day brings with it a welcome change. It makes you stop and wonder what it would be like to pause those moments a little longer.
Of course, it’s an age-old metaphor to compare the passing of seasons to our seasons in life, so I’m not going to waste time picking it apart. I know, it’s cliché. Overused. But there’s something about spring that reminds us that change is good. It reminds us that a new day is coming, where a warm, damp wind will suddenly strike you, and let you breathe that sigh of relief. And aren’t we lucky? We get them every year.
