barbara dickson

The knock on the door came just after midnight. It was 1947 in the quiet fishing village of Musgrave Harbour, Newfoundland. No one casually ventured out at that time of night.
The knock came again with more urgency, startling George and Olive from an affectionate embrace. They were snuggling in Olive’s parent’s sitting room, unchaperoned; something quite unorthodox given the day in which they lived. But the teenaged couple had been courting since they were twelve, and Olive’s parents were quite pleased with her choice of beau. The old cliché ‘like a son’ rang true for these native Newfoundlanders, and the town anticipated an engagement announcement soon.
George opened the door to find his eldest brother standing on the porch, visibly shivering.
“We’re going out,” Walt said simply and then turned and ran toward the back garden that had become the shortcut home.
George watched the darkness of the night envelop his brother. He closed the door, the air damp and chilled where the night had attempted to steal in.
“I gotta go,” he whispered to Olive, pulling her close.
Olive wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Don’t leave me,” she murmured.
George relaxed his embrace just enough to look down into her face. She was beautiful in the soft glow of the lantern. She was graceful and sweet and he was sure there was a little of heaven’s light around her gentle green eyes. He looked deeply into them now. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll get a good day of ‘unting in.”
Olive felt him pull away reluctantly and she watched him in the dim light as he put on his overcoat and cap. His rugged features were a mixture of heredity and the sea. His lean stature and black hair, so reminiscent of his father, joined with his most prominent facial feature, a squared off and dimpled chin, to give him an irresistible appeal. Olive’s heart melted. He was so young, and yet sometimes it was hard to believe he was only seventeen. His dark brown eyes were old, filled with a wisdom that only came from hard work and sacrifice. He had been just nine years old when he quit school to help shoulder the burden of providing for his family.
Olive knew there was no use trying to talk him out of going. Fishing and hunting were in his blood. He’d been on the sea since he was old enough to walk.
George pulled Olive to him again and gave her one last kiss. He lingered, holding her close. It was hard to let go. As he opened the door he glanced back at her, and then disappeared into the night.

“Knock it off, the three of ya!” Father yelled. “Get up and act like men.”
George and his older brother Walt picked themselves up and wiped sticky mud off their clothes and hands. George, angry and insulted over Walt’s latest round of name-calling, fought the urge to hurl him down into the muddy ditch again.
Father turned to George and placed a stern hand on his shoulders. “Son, should I be sending you ‘ome to the women, or are you ready to behave like a man?”
George felt the heat of embarrassment creep up the back of his neck. “I’m ready, Father.”
“Good, my son. Then, let’s go.”
The men crossed the dirt road to their covered fishing stage where salted cod spread out, drying. The wood scaffold, supported by sturdy rafters and stilts, jutted out into the rocky harbour like a long wide dock. At high tide, Frank and his sons moored alongside the stage and unloaded their daily catch of fish.
George watched his eldest brother, Frank check the fish. With the fishing season almost finished and the cooler weather already hinting at the long winter ahead, they’d soon be loading the cod for their annual trip to St. John’s. He was looking forward to St. John’s. Maybe he’d get a chance to buy a hair buckle for Olive.
As his thoughts moved to his sweetheart, George felt irritation seeping up under his coat collar. Even at twelve, he knew she was the only one for him and he’d much rather be taking Olive for a walk down her lane way, than paying Ol’ Uncle Josiah’s boat a visit.
Back out on the road, the small party of men resumed their walk, George giving Aunt Mariah’s cow a pat as she wandered, looking for a good clump of grass. The main road in the nestled community hugged the shore and it was only a couple of minutes before they reached Uncle Josiah’s stage.
They stamped the muddy mess of yesterday’s rainstorm off their boots as they headed toward the back end of the stage, just behind Uncle Josiah’s workshop where he was building a new punt.
Eerie sounds pierced the salty air. George, along with his dad and brothers hesitated. An anguished voice shouting for water echoed off the incoming tide. Heart wrenching wails and the sound of a man weeping sent the men bolting down the stage. They stopped dead. And witnessed Hell.

The Stormy Voyage of ‘The Purple G’

Composed by Lionel Hicks October 1910

T’was October and the second of the month
The “Purple G” set sail.
The port we lefted was Indian Islands
With single reefed mainsail.

But when we reached Bonavista Bay
The wind was getting light.
We sailed across the bay that day,
And reached the ‘Flowers’ by night.

We shipped our course from the ‘Flowers’ then
To steer for Baccalieu.
Thinking by twelve o’clock that night
The Tickle we’d pass through.

But early the next morning,
Just at the break of day
We were six miles from Baccalieu
In the mouth of Trinity Bay.

T’was early Tuesday morning,
The wind it did veer in;
I casted my eyes around the bay
And eight more craft was seen.

We passed through Baccalieu Tickle,
The wind it was about East.
But as the day did still advance,
The wind it did increase.

T’was then we had to lower our sails
And tie a double reef.
The sky, it then was thick with snow
While the day it seem so brief.

There were two schooners on our lee,
With all their canvas down.
The three of us ran side by side,
Bound then for St. John’s town.

The three of us ran side by side,
The largest one in front.
There heavy seas rolled over her
And smashed her small deck punt.

The other one was smaller,
And gave us plenty room.
But heavy seas rolled over her,
And broke off her main boom.

We then were shipping heavy seas
Our schooner doing well.
A sea took the skipper in the back
And washed him from the wheel.

But when that sea was over
And we were running still
We went back aft and took a rope
And lashed him to the wheel.

There now was only two men lefted
To do the work you know.
The skipper then tied to the wheel
And two small boys in the cabin below.

I lefted myself to God that day,
While running in the storm.
And if our schooner would be lost
He’d shield us from all harm.

(Some verses missing here)

That if our schooner would be lost
We pray the crew be saved.
And guide us safely to a port,
There from a watery grave.

First land sighted was Sugar Loaf,
And then we made the Narrows.
We knew the storm was worsing now
But hope there’d be no sorrows.

Three schooners made the Narrows then
And thought to get in town.
But the wind it blew out a storm
So our anchors we put down.

The wind was blowing out a storm,
Salt water was in a drift.
And when we turned Northern Head
We anchored near the Cliff.

We then hoisted out our deck punt,
To board the tug “John Green”
But if we’d ventured so to do,
We’d never more been seen.

Then we talked it over
To row to a landing crane.
But a venture similar to the first
We’d never again been seen.

We tied a line fast to our craft
To slack a little adrift
Thinking we’d land a man ashore
Upon the rugged cliff.

The saddening part of the plite
We were not landed yet.
And when the skipper was trying to land
Our boat it did upset.

My little Frank about ten years old
Was landed on the cliff.
His limbs were getting chilled with cold
And getting very stiff.

We thought that he was dying
So I tried to climb the hill.
But when I reached it half-way up
My heart began to fail.

Now when I got up on the cliff
The hills were white with snow.
T’was then I met two women there,
Who told me where to go.

They were two nurses from the hospital
Who came to assist me there.
They took us in the sheltered place
And treated us with every care.

Meanwhile our skipper boarded again,
And almost did get drown,
While the “John Green” took her in tow,
But landed her safe in town.

We losted three anchors and the chain
Our line and punt likewise.
It was a terrible day while fifty dollars for the tug
Was the price we had to pay.

But a word of thanks to the woman now
That’s living on Signal Hill.
She is in charge of the hospital there
And I hope she’s living still.

She treated us, my boy and me.
Indeed t’was good and grand.
There’s not another better nurse today
Living in this Newfoundland.

These verses are so true you know,
As I can surely promise you.
My name is Lionel Hicks you see,
And I was one of the crew.

By: Lionel Hicks October 1910