The Little Things

I assume my parents were average people whose lives were affected by a terrible chain of events. They were both hard workers. My mother started her work career here in Souris at Usen's Fisheries but soon found a job at the "Snack Bar" and lots of people remember that little gem in downtown Souris. As I mentioned previously, many families moved to Souris from New Brunswick for work, and one dear gentleman who knew my mother well always asked about her when he'd see me. He name was Art Ferron and perhaps he even came from Caraquet, I don't know, but he always had that sweet accent and such a big smile. Once he found out who I was, he would ask about her at every opportunity and just shake his head when I would tell him that I really had no idea where she was or if she was alive. He just couldn't understand it, but who could?

My father had a reputation for hard work and integrity. Once, as a child, Momma sent him and one of his younger brothers to a store on the corner by the Souris West Bridge, as near as I can figure, but this would have been in the 30s. It was in the winter and she needed some things, but she had nine kids and it was nothing out of the ordinary to send the oldest on a chore. When they got home with the groceries, he found an extra dime in the change, and even though it had begun to snow heavily, he turned around and walked every step back to return the ten cents.

Mind you, that would have been a lot of money back then during the Depression, but still.

He also had a reputation for being very fussy about things, especially his appearance. In pictures, he was a snazzy dresser, fedora and all. But as the oldest of nine siblings, he was the leader and didn't like controversy. He also didn't like anyone messing around with his dishes. At mealtimes, Momma would set the table and as kids will do, some of his brothers would sneak his plate or bowl and lick it and put it back. Once he found out what they were doing behind his back, I suppose he "dealt" with it, and after that he would carry his knife and fork or spoon in his shirt pocket, and place his dishes upside down on the table as a warning.

It would have been that same sense of duty and responsibility that caused him to enlist in the army at the age of seventeen. It was already 1942, and since no one could predict when the War would end, many young men didn't want to miss the action. He was too young to enlist, but left for Quebec with some friends where they joined up. He was trained as a gunner and to operate a tank, so was sent overseas to join active duty in Europe. It was often said that tanks won the war, since they could get soldiers around in relative safety and they could cover ground where men couldn't get through. Unfortunately they were also a primary target for the enemy for the same reasons.

This is a piece of a letter that Jamie found in the walls of the old house as we were preparing to move into our new home.

But he got through the war with no injuries, except the kind you can't see. Just like every one else. One night Momma told us a couple of stories, and one was that he was basically a stranger when he came home. He had his duffle with his uniforms. His German Luger. His rifle and bayonet. His kit bag was covered with badges from all the countries he had been in. But he wasn't the same boy that had left Lower Rollo Bay 3 years earlier. After things calmed down and he found a job, he was still only 20, he had fallen asleep on the little couch in the kitchen by the woodstove, I think every house had one. He still had his boots on and Momma went over to gently take them off so he could rest. But he woke up in a rage and put her up against a wall until he realized it was his mother, not a Nazi. The rumor overseas had been that if a company of soldiers was found sleeping, the Germans would tie their boot laces together, to let them know that they could have killed them all in their sleep if they'd wanted to. What a terrible form of mental torture.

Whether this was ever true, or some folklore, I'll never know. But there's probably someone out there who could tell me.

In later years, Momma would often wonder out loud what my mother did with all the souvenirs he brought home from the war. It was almost 10 years after he was discharged that they met and got married, but over time all those things just disappeared. It seems she had no real connection to anything. And after he died, she gave her wedding rings away, and I remember Isabell telling me that my father had bought her a beautiful 3 ring set. I guess no one ever considered that some day I might like to have them.

And I have other vague memories. Every once in a great while throughout my life I would hear a sound that I just couldn't place, a sort of far away clunking. The first time I was ever on a ferry was heading for Cape Breton on my honeymoon. And I was absolutely thunderstruck at the sound of the car as it went over the ramps. That was it!! It matched that sound in my head that I would "hear" every once in a while, although I am sure you can't "hear" a memory. And the big hood on the boat as it opens like a trap door to let you in...........I'd seen it in my memories, but I didn't know til that day what it was. I'd been on a ferry before, I just didn't know it, but it makes sense, since my mother was from Northern New Brunswick and no doubt they went back once in a while to visit her people. I couldn't have been more than 3, but who really knows the strength of recall.

Another clear memory is of a little Nova, on the loose one early morning, all alone in the bathroom. I'm sure I had lots of toys, but what did I play with? Toilet paper squares and someone's toothbrush. And guess what I was doing? Dipping the brush in the toilet and using it to "paste" each square on to the window. And it worked great! What a beautiful collage I must have created! Some things you just can't make up.

I remember playing with a dish of clip-on earrings, all beautiful creamy white pearls, and glittering rhinestones, lots of them. And a heart shaped compact, that I was told to be careful with, since it had make up and a mirror in it. I was fascinated!

But I must admit that strangely, I have one crazy memory that really knows no beginning or end. And maybe I made it up. I'm good at that, but I don't think so............

Again, periodically over my life, for some reason I will get a strange stinging sensation in my nose, like I got a punch. And following it, almost immediately I hear a tinny banging sound and I think I know what it is. I think when I was very little I fell and hurt my nose. In an attempt to calm me down, there must have been one of those tin wind -up toys, a monkey, that marched across the floor and banged a set of cymbals in his hands. How's that for obscure? I have no reason to make it up, but when it happens it is so strong, and as hard as I try to grasp the memory and make it last, it becomes distant. The tingling in my nose is real, I don't know what triggers it, and I clearly hear the sound, probably for a couple of seconds, and it's gone. But I know it will happen again. And I think it's based on a toddler's fall.

By the date on the old photo, I am almost 1 1/2 years old, out behind the porch of the old house, playing with a cat. Both windows are lined with house plants in old cans, I guess Momma must have liked plants, as they are in a lot of the old photos.

About this time, Momma was also busy rearing another grandchild, and since that is someone else's story, I won't expand on it here. It was very unfair of my mother to leave me, Butch, and then an infant, my brother Darrell, with Momma to take care of when she returned to Labrador. That was four grandkids now for Momma to look after, and she was already having a hard time and was not getting any younger. And my father's sisters and brothers were not at all amused. Jeannette was young and fully capable of working here at home and looking after her children. But Goose Bay Air Force Base beckoned.

This is a rare picture of me and my older cousin who lived with us at the time.

When my mother returned to Labrador after by father died, she actually signed me and Butch over to Momma legally; we were adopted. She'd made it clear that if she couldn't leave us on PEI, she would leave us in Caraquet with her uncle Dustique, who already had 18 children and no one in the area spoke any English. She had no intention of keeping us. Momma couldn't bear the thought of Billie's two children being dropped on strangers, so she kept us, and made sure Jeannette would not be able to take us after that.

Fat chance.

When Darrell was born, her plan was to go immediately back to Labrador. She left so fast, she didn't have time to sign him over, but no worries, she didn't plan on coming back anyway.

But, two years later, with no warning, she did precisely that.