More TALES FROM THE PAST. Wilbur Dean
Maybe he took it with him all the time, ‘just in case he needed it.’
We’d often sneak in on Uncle Hughie’s garden to peek into his shed. Before the causeway was built, Uncle Hughie bought himself an automobile, and that’s where he kept it. A Model T, I do believe. A black Model T. I don’t ever remember seeing him drive that jalopy. In fact somebody once told me that he didn’t know how to put it in reverse, so he just drove it around his garden in circles occasionally and had to push it back into the shed when he was finished. However, that is something I cannot corroborate. And Aunt Nellie was not often seen in public. The only times I recall seeing Aunt Nellie was on washday Monday when she could be observed pinning clothes on the line.
Uncle Hughie and Aunt Nellie owned a piece of land on the shores of Beaver Pond, in by the ‘Tween Bridges’, a place where we scallywags would often congregate to ‘rob’ the chestnuts and wild gooseberries.
I know. It just hit you, didn’t it? Mr. Barnes and Aunt Annie! “What happened to UNCLE?”. To tell you the truth, I don’t know.
His name was Pearce, but we never called him Uncle Pearce. It was always Mr. Barnes. He was a peculiar old feller that all us children loved to come into contact with on our way to school. He was probably the tallest man in the harbour, or so it seemed to me. Like the friendly giant, you had to ‘look up. Look way up’ to make eye contact with Mr. Barnes. I think he liked us younguns, for sure. He liked to call us names. Unrecognizable names. And of course, we revelled in the moniker that we were given by him. Whenever we saw him coming we would ask the question: “What’s my name, Mr. Barnes?” Yesterday my name was Schoodeypoom, today it’s Gobbygump, and tomorrow, who knows? But I’ll be tugging on his sleeve and waiting for his response, that’s fer sure.
Aunt Annie was known for her apple trees, and I often rapped on her door to get a nickels’ worth of the sweet crabapples to munch on. My, oh my, if she had only known that it was I who robbed her tree last Friday night. Well, at last I got that off my chest. Please forgive me, Aunt Annie.
I never understood why Uncle Cecil and Aunt Lilly were among the respected group of elders. I realized later on in life that they really did qualify age wise, but they didn’t look their years, that’s fer sure. So distinguished looking, and always every hair in place. Might they have been good friends with Mildred, I wonder? Could the ‘Avon’ have had something to do with their youthful appearance? Or maybe it was Uncle Cecil’s occupation that saved him and Aunt Lilly from having to subject themselves to the harsh environment that others had to endure to put a bit of food on the table and clothes on the back. A carpenter was not subjected to environmental turmoil to the same extent as that of a fisherman, mailman, or logger.
I recall him telling me a story about his very first tool box. It was constructed by my grandfather John, and given to Uncle Cecil as a wedding present. Just several years before his demise, Uncle Cecil told me about the tool box, and said that he still had it ‘out in da shed.’ Were it not for it being a very cold wintery night I may have gotten a glimpse of it. “Come back sometime and I’ll show it to you.” But I never got the chance. Circumstances beyond my control. Anyhow, I just loved to go to the Army to hear Uncle Cecil beat the daylights outta the kettle drum, while Aunt Lilly smashed the tambourine. ”We have an anchor that keeps the soul. Steadfast and sure while the billows roll.”
After spending the first summer in Dean’s Cove under strict surveillance of my parents, my shackles were loosed, and I was given free rein to explore ‘The Lower Side’ and ‘The Topsail,’ a strange land that I had not before investigated, although I accompanied mother to this faraway place several times when we lived on ‘The West Side’ and she went there to visit old friends like Uncle John and Aunt Effie. At times like this, I was always on my best behaviour, sitting on the corner chair or on the woodbox, as mother and Aunt Effie exchanged their recent history with each other. I knew the cookies would come before we departed for home. I just had to be more patient when I was with mom, but I knew the ‘cup o tea’ would be shared before they said their goodbyes.
Other than on occasions like this, I was not prone to barging in on the elders in this part of the universe like I was several years earlier on ‘The West Side’ or in ‘Dean’s Cove’ but I do have a few memories of them tucked away in da back o me head.
Take Uncle Jasper for example. I have no memories at all of his wife, Aunt Suz, but I can see him now, as he made his daily trek to Sandy’s or Ben’s to fill his gallon can with kerosene fer the old oil lamp. Although there was no stopper on the bib of his receptacle, he made sure not to spill any fuel by pushing a potato over it. The rumor was that he only bought enough for one night at a time, thus ensuring there would be no loss of volume due to evaporation. ‘Waste not, want not’ was Uncle Jaspers motto. When I see Eric again I must ask him if that’s the way it actually was or not.
Uncle Zeke was another elder that I had great respect for, even though I got no goodies from his better half, Aunt Minnie. Never had I dared to intrude on them. As I said before, this was a strange land to me, and the old fogies were to be looked upon with some measure of skepticism, me now being at the age when old people look at you with that evil look in their eyes, wondering what ‘that young imp’ is up to now!
I remember Uncle Zeke mostly because of his auctioneering prowess. Whenever there was a ‘time’ at the Orange Hall, be it a christmas concert or a soup supper, Uncle Zeke would auction off the various goods that were supplied by whichever group sponsored the event. Apple pies, partrigde berry jam, bottled beet, coldpacked rabbit and home knitted mitts and socks are examples of what might be on the auction block. Uncle Zeke would start the bidding in the unorthodox fashion: “What’llyagivemeferdis?” as fast as he could, trying to imitate the skills of Sotheby’s or Christies auctioneers. He had a knack of enticing a higher bid with his famous phrase “Jellygoeswiditb’ys. Jellygoeswidit.”
Eventually, ‘The Lower Side’ became a daily pilgrimage as I joined the throng of youngsters who went to Sandy’s to watch television, or when I dared to trespass on Ben’s wharf to watch the Deer Harbour and Sou’Wes’ Arm fishermen unload their catch of salmon. Now Sandy and Ben deserved the ‘uncle’ status, that’s fer sure, but for some reason they were never referred to as Uncle Sandy or Uncle Ben, even though their wives were most always called Aunt Ethel and Aunt Maggie. Come to think of it, there may be a logical explanation. The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that when we referenced Sandy and Ben we weren’t actually referring to the men, but to their business. They both were businessmen of the highest order. Each of them had a general store that helped supply the harbour with the necessities of life; flour, sugar, yeast, salt, hardtack, fat pork , knitting needles, buttons, rubber boots, cape-anns, cod jiggers, pipe tobacco etc. And a drop of acto for the old make-and-break. A bit of kerosene fer da lamp, a battery fer da old Marconi radio, and a variety of canned fruit fer dessert on Sunday. Sine qua non of the community. You remember the ‘BIG 6’ out in Sin John’s, and the slogan they used in their ads on CJON. “Once a number, now an institution.” So it was with Sandy and Ben. “Once a name, now an institution.” At least that’s the way I’ve interpreted it.
Sandy was, as I explained in an earlier poem, the inventor of pay tv. He had one of a very few television sets in the harbour,
and the pay per view system was invoked.
On the other hand, besides being in the retail business, Ben made his mark in the community by being an agent for salmon buyers and by buying herring and cobbing them in barrels that he manufactured down in his ‘fish factory.’
I should explain , before some of you start to complain, that there were more merchants in the harbour than those two. It’s just that the others were either too young to be included in the ‘Aunt and Uncle’ category, or they were on a much smaller scale and so retained the salutation reserved for the elite members of our society. For example, Willie George and Lillie did a booming retail business but they were entrepreneurs of a younger generation. Another story in the making. On the other hand, Uncle Willis and Aunt Minnie also had a retail outlet up on Martin’s Hill. It was on a much smaller scale and so was not to be construed as being a really important institution. I think there were two militating reasons for Uncle Willis becoming a proprietor.