Uncategorized

Tea for you, collectibles for me

 

Back in the 60s and 70s, Red Rose tea distributed these little cards in different sets (dinosaurs, butterflies, birds, animals, I forget them all).  At the decrepit old age of 4-6, I wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but tea was and is a hugely popular drink back home, and Aunt Ethel Cooper, god bless her, drank more than her fair share.  One of the highlights of visiting her and Uncle Will was that she collected these for me, and I had many a complete set all in their own little specially designed books.  I regret not keeping these, but like other knick knacks over the years, you never know their value, not necessarily monetary, but memorial.

Red Rose also issued these collectible figurines at a later point, and she collected those too for me.  Dad even made a little display shelf we had in the upstairs hallway back home.

tea figurines

While I can’t remember Aunt Ethel overly well, I do remember her as a kindly soul, with a meal to share and always a cookie or cake around to snack on when we visited.  Uncle Will was, lets just say colourful, but still a man well loved (And perhaps well hated by some) for all that.  I remember him well, and fondly.

Its funny how so many of my Newfoundland memories have some sort of food relation, but I think that’s one of the common features of our culture.  How many times have you heard “Come in for a cup of tea?” over the years.  Visiting neighbours was a regular occurrence  one that seems to have lessened over the years, gossiping over a cup of tea.  I guess in outport Newfoundland, in those days anyway, it was the prevalent form of entertainment.

Anyway, if you’re nearby, drop in for a cup of tea and a yarn, and we’ll recall old times and fond memories!

January 27, 2013 by Uncategorized 2

It Only Happened Once

One of the infuriating things about my buddy Eric was that he ALWAYS beat me trouting.  We have trouted in some pretty out of the way places back home, scrabbling over deadfalls, walking through the thick woods where there was no path, one day, maybe more, taking off our or at least my shirt(s) and wetting it in a bog hole to get cool.  And I loved it, its a peaceful experience just being out there with no noises but birds and insects.  Well except for getting the crap scared out of you when a snipe flew up in your face! Holy god they startled ya!

I remember one summer trip in particular, Eric and I got up about 6 and headed off in the country, making our way to Smith’s Long Pond.  I know he definetly beat me again that day, can’t say how by how many, but I think the most memorable part was Vince Smith looking at us when we walked out the path and said “Trouting? TODAY? I looked at the thermometer on my patio at about 3 o’clock and it was 34 degrees!”.  You can only imagine how hot we were after beating through the woods.  And we both had raccoon faces after from our glasses blocking the sun.

Once though and only once I beat him.  It was different than those trips because it was an ice fishing trip to Island pond.  I’ve never really had a lot of luck ice fishing, but it was always a great day to get out for a boil up if nothing else.  Island pond could also be reluctant to give up trout at the best of times, but because they were so good, we kept trying.  This one day, we were fishing down the end of the pond, and I can recall beating him vividly.  The tally was pretty easy to take though, I got one, he got none.

January 26, 2013 by Uncategorized 3

If it’s not Scottish it’s crap!

Today is Robbie Burns day.  To be honest I don’t think I had any inkling of him growing up (that’s my growing up, not his. I’m not THAT old), Newfoundland heritage is predominately Irish and English, and while I may have learned of him in school, it never stuck with me. Nowadays, his birthday is a day of Scottish celebration, and this being New Scotland, he’s pretty popular here.

One thing everyone associates with Scottish culture is haggis. I’ve had it once or twice, but to be honest was always with a few beverages, and I can’t really recall many thoughts. It does though remind me of a common thing I did enjoy growing up; white pudding and to a lesser extent blood pudding.

 

I’m sure wiki has the ingredients (apparently oatmeal, suet, etc), but to me white pudding has a texture similar to turkey dressing (stuffing) with lots of pepper.  you could get it in sausage size as seen here or in big slices. Both ways were usually fried till the outside was a little scorched and crispy, and the inner pudding was exploding out.  I liked to eat it scalding hot myself, but know people who preferred to eat it as a cold leftover.

Blood pudding or for the weak of stomach black pudding was a similar food, but additionally prepared with the blood of an animal.  Yes it sounds disgusting, but it was and is in some places a tasty food.

blood_pudding_1

It may not be Scottish (though I’m sure they have their variation), and its not haggis, but its not crap either! I’m sure others may remember other foods we ate back home that we rarely if ever think of now.  Leave comments with yours, love to read them and bring back memories.

January 24, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Tall are the tales Fishermen tell…

Just a short post today called to mind by how freaking cold it is!  Fisherman of all sorts are known to spin a yarn or two, and those back home are no exception.  

While it wasn’t poetic like “Smokeroom on the Kyle”  I remember a yarn from years back of a winter in Deer Harbour where there was so much snow the men had to dig tunnels from house to house, and how it was so cold, when they’d talk outside their breath would freeze and they’d have to pick it up and bring it inside to thaw out so they could hear what they had been saying!

Stay warm everyone!

January 24, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Never enough stores

Random Island had about 2000 people when I was growing up, and of course a major metropolis like this needs somewhere to shop.  So lets see, how many stores were there?  I’ll probably miss a few but and misspell more, and only trying to list those on the go in the mid 70’s…

  • Boyd Smith’s – Petley
  • Ivany’s Cash Store – Lower Lance Cove
  • Fred Burt’s – Brittania
  • Art Vardy’s (I think?) – Hickman’s Harbour
  • Lislie Blundons – Hickman’s Harbour
  • Charlie Martin’s – Hickman’s Harbour
  • Willis Pelley’s – Lady Cove
  • Mrs. Burt’s – Lady Cove
  • Fred Reid’s – Weybridge
  • Hefford’s – Snook’s Harbour
  • Ron Reid – Snook’s Harbour
  • Bax Baker – Snook’s Harbour
  • Vick Smith – Snook’s Harbour and….
  • Apsey Brook Buying Club – Apsey Brook

The last one, people called ours, but it wasn’t, it was a co-op, owned by 3 or 4 families, and over the years run by May Smith, Cecilia Smith, Alice Smith and Mom.  I can’t say I recall it being many places, it’s last location was the old shop building across the road from our house, and we ran it, but I do recall being in that same building somewhere else, I think down on Alice’s garden, but it’s foggy.

A lot of these weren’t stores like now, they had no “hours”, you just went to the door of the owner/operator and asked to go out.  Some had more things than others.  There was a freezer in the one in Apsey Brook, with some staples like pork chops and fry beef (who remembers fry beef?) and Braddock’s sausages.  Treats like Screwball Ice Cream, Buried Treasure, Long Treats, and of course Hostess Chips in the foil bag. We sold salt beef by the piece, and sliced frying ham and wrapped it in waxed paper.  Potatoes were in 50 pound bags and sold bv the each or the pound.  And of course, we had Carnation mill and tea.  Remember Red Rose tea with the little cards in them?  Brown paper was on the big roll with the straight edge to cut it off.  Our cash register was a drawer with old bowls nailed to the bottom.

image

One of my favorite memories was of Uncle Larry Leawood coming to buy cat food.  He always called it pullit cat food, cause he had been reading the french side of the label. God I loved that man, so full of hidden surprises.

Some of the stores had much more, Boyd Smith and Fred Burt both sold furniture as well as groceries, and you really could manage to get by without leaving the island if need be.  I don’t know how any of these stores really made a go of it, there were so many for so few, but they lasted for years and years.

What did I miss? Leave a comment and let me know stories of stores back home.

January 22, 2013 by Uncategorized 8

Randall’s Garden

Snook’s Harbour

Down at the bottom of the hill, just below where you see the beach start is, or was, Randall’s garden.  Watching NFL football playoffs today reminds me of many a championship played there, in baseball, soccer, football, frisbee football, and even cross country pool/croquet.

Yes we had our own rules, large rocks were bases, arbitrary spots on the garden were end zones, throwing the ball at a runner and hitting him was an out, two more rocks could have been a soccer net.

Everyone played, of all ages, we needed to to just get enough to play.  Some rude comments and names were called, Sulfy Nelewah (yes I know, thats not how it was spelt backwards, but its how we sounded it out), Pick-Ass, and more I’m sure I’ve forgotten.

I remember getting off the school bus in the evening in Snook’s Harbour and playing whatever our game of the day was till dad came home from work and catching a ride home with him, often to hop on the bike after supper and ride back up to play till dark.  I can remember Aunt Vick calling Scott and Derek and Rod home for supper, yes we could hear her up at bottom (up at bottom?!, thats a post for another day).

How many red, white and blue balls did Craig hit in the brook when he “cross-bat”, how many times did Randy hit Mac’s roof? and even more, how many times did we throw rocks behind the ball when it went into the harbour to try and push it ashore?

If we got thirsty or hungry we could go to Ron’s store, or Bax’s store, or Hefford’s store, or Aunt Vick’s store.  I mean how many stores can a town of 80 support?  I will always remember Aunt Glad Hefford selling gum by the stick, and recording the tax on everything in a scribler.  Aunt Vick had this ancient cash register, was fun just to look at it.

Many an hour was spent on that garden, it was our field of dreams.

January 20, 2013 by Uncategorized 0

Nickels on the train track

The Bonavista Branch line stopped running in 1986 from what I can see, though had been reduced in service prior to that.  Most of the young people now can’t remember the joys (some sarcasm may be included here) of stopping for the train at the bar hill, in Shoal Harbour, up by Newfoundland Hardwoods, down at the crossing, up by Best’s store…..Yes, there were a lot of crossings back in those days!

As a kid, I didn’t mind the waits as much, especially the one up by Newfoundland Hardwoods. You’d be sitting in the car, with the tracks just to the side of you, watching the train go by.  After a while it felt like you were the one moving and the train was standing still.  I can imagine it got frustrating as a driver though. At least Clarenville wasn’t a high traffic town, though as a service centre it did get more than its size would indicate.

When I was a kid at school at Balbo Elementary in Shoal Harbour, the tracks ran right behind the building.  This was in the early 70’s and since I finished going to that school, and moved to Random Island school in 73-74, I can’t say I recall lots, but one recollection does stand out.  The train ran daily then, and if I remember correctly,  sometime between morning recess and lunch time.  I remember kids used to (I’m sure I was guilty too) take nickels down at recess time and put them on the tracks.  At lunch time they’d go back and pick them up, after having been flattened by the train.

That in and of itself was kind of cool, but it didn’t end there!  Just up the road from the school, there was a little store in someone’s basement.  I may be wrong, but I think it was owned by a Pardy family.  The owners were elderly, and we kids would take those flattened nickels up to the store and spend them as quarters.  Nowadays doesn’t sound like much, but back then you could get a pack of chips, a bar, and a pop all for a quarter and have a few pennies left for candy.

I wonder though, did the owners really not know? Seems kind of hard to believe now that they’d not have caught on.  I’m thinking they just liked the kids.

January 17, 2013 by Uncategorized 2

Blasty Boughs and Boil Ups

A cup of tea always tastes better in the woods.  I’ve heard that statement said so many times over the years and I guess I have to agree, because from my perspective anyway, it can’t taste worse!

One of the best things about a winter day on the pond trouting, or out on atvs and ski-doos though, had to be a boil up.  We’d clear out a spot on the shore of a pond, or by the side of a path, and gather up some dry brush, birch bark to start it, and of course blasty boughs and tops.  A blasty bough is something you know when you see it, but kind of hard to describe.  The best ones were the top of a fir, dried to a bone gray with needles clinging to it, ready to give off a tremendous heat, and easy to burn even when covered with snow once it was shook off.

We’d likely have an old graves apple juice can with the top cut out of it, wire strung in it, filled with snow and hung over the roaring fire to make a cup of tea.  The needles and twigs dropping in the water probably added flavour.  And of course, kipper snacks and sardines to eat, put on a forked stick over the fire, or eaten out of the can.

If we were lucky enough to catch a trout, it might be on a stick over the fire too, eaten with our fingers, burning the tips and jabbing them in a snow bank.  Tea was poured into an enamel or tin cup, (or for me anyway coffee, yes I’m different), drank scalding hot.

Ah yes, memories of times with dad come fresh to mind, times with Eric and Rod too, trouting on Smith’s Long Pond.  Good days.

January 16, 2013 by Uncategorized 4

Horse and Slide

I took my niece to a sleigh ride birthday party at Hatfield Farm yesterday, and that and seeing all the old horse gear and the sawmill on the property reminded me of years gone by when Dad would use his horse to pull out the wood for the stove and logs for the mill.

Back then and earlier most people had a horse in the family, and while it was a pet to some degree, it was mainly a work animal.  And I guess, depending on the owners, how much a pet and how much work varied. I know while ours did a lot of work, I think its obvious by her name, “Pet” how dad felt about her.

In the fall of the year, we’d usually make our way in on “the level” and cut wood from some stand. While we liked birch for wood, in our part of the province at least, firewood was usually softwood, generally fir and spruce.  We’d cut (dad more than me, I can’t say I was much use being a scrawny dude with not a lot of interest, but I did go and help) our wood and lay some cross pieces to keep the majority off the ground, and stack the rest in lengths on top.

Come winter snowfall, and I can’t really remember many winters without snowfall back then, we’d hitch up the slide (If anyone has a picture of the old double slides, please send to me, so I can add?) and put some horns in it and get Pet to tow it and us in.  We’d load it up with the wood or logs, and she’d pull it out.

I remember Pet was larger than a lot of the horses in our area, and strong as, well, a horse.  And she’d pull a huge load with us on top of it.

She did have her quirks though, being a true Smith at heart, and would not, could not pass a certain water hole without taking a drink, and no amount of persuasion (of which Dad’s version may or may not have involved swear words made up on the spot) would move her till she was done.

Once the wood was out, it would be re-stacked near the road or the house, left to dry some more and sawed into junks on the old sawhorse, sometimes even with an old bucksaw (pic again?) and then stored in the woodhouse.

January 13, 2013 by Uncategorized 1

The Old Wood Stove

The huge storm back home in Newfoundland got me thinking about how nice it is to be hunkered down with a nice wood fire when a raging blizzard blows around outside.

There was always just something different about the heat, hearing the wood crackling and popping.  When I was younger, most everyone had an old wood range similar to this one in their kitchen, with a wood box nearby.  I can still remember the names things had, damper, lifter, poker.

We’d open up the firebox either with the damper on the top, or from the door in front to feed in wood and slabs.  The oven would be stogged with bread baking nearly every day, and water on the side in the tank staying warm for washing, or whatever else.

The kettle was always on, and always full, and ready for a cup of tea, and underneath the oven, our ski-doo boots would be warming or drying after we’d come in from sliding on the old coaster, or making forts and tunnels in the drifts.  Up top our mitts and socks and vamps would likely be drying in the warmer.

One of the dampers often had multiple rings, and we’d have one open with the old wire handheld toaster over the top, toasting some of the fresh homemade bread and coating it with butter and molasses.

Seems like others remember too, I saw this range when I was looking at appliances this past fall.  Nice to be able to keep the old alive with the new, though a bit out of my price range.

January 11, 2013 by Uncategorized 7

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