Research Assistant

In our academic writing work, I take the lead and Jenny is the sous-chef. I am always happy to redress the balance by being Jenny’s sous-chef, in this case while she is delving into the dusty corners of her family tree. 

It's much less pressure not being in the driving seat. In fact it is no pressure at all. Just some precision and an eye for detail is needed - finding files, carrying files, sorting through files, looking for names amongst pages of births, deaths and marriages, carrying the laptop bag, staring out the window at the view from The Rooms reference library, chatting to Eileen from Manchester via Montreal at the Topsail United Church and Linda from Newfoundland in the Newfoundland Family History Society. 

Nine hours sifting in one go, no sweat. My first paid job was filing one summer for 60p an hour. I still appreciate a good filing system 

The Hunt Continues

Today, more hunting for more treasure.

This time at the office of the Family History Society of Newfoundland and Labrador. We had to take a taxi to get to the address I got from the website. 

"There" turned out to be a small office on an industrial estate off the highway.

Thank goodness for the warm welcome of Linda Crocker! Three hours went by in a flash as Linda gave us boxes to look through, copied and emailed documents and files as we sat, and beavered away at her own computer on my behalf. She even gave us coffee.

For a small annual fee, one can access, in person or online, this small room-sized box worth of shelves neatly piled floor to ceiling with file upon file, as well as boxes and books. Two or three amateur historians volunteer a few times a week, turning their own family tree research into a haven for other like-minded slaves to the past. 

I found and joined the Society a month or so ago, and went through as much online as I had time to, but nothing beats being here in person, talking to a real live Linda. Who even brought us coffee! 

Well, today was much the same result as yesterday, very little actual information.

But also as before, there were a few nuggets of virtual gold.

For example, I think I have found my great-great-grandfather's grave. In Topsail, where the family lived for a few years between their centuries in Port de Grave and their future generations in BC. 

Two dates had kept coming up on my radar for Charles Butler - 1796 and 1888 - but I couldn't quite believe that a ship's captain, fisher and sealer working the hard scrabble life of coastal Newfoundland actually lived for 91 years, but it appears pretty incontrovertibly that he did. 

I don't know if I was happier to have found him or to have found out I arise from some such hearty, long-lived genes.    

After three hours, we were a bit squirelly, so we headed back to the Rooms, this time to visit the museum and art galleries, which were wonderful. Then a dinner of cod tongue and beer to fortify us for the road ahead tomorrow. 

The Rooms Museum, up there on the hill near the Catholic Basilica  

Hunting for Buried Treasure

This holiday of ours includes a hunting trip for bits of hidden treasure, only the treasure being sought is hidden in mountains of documentation. Literally centuries of paperwork.

I know where my ancestors came from in Newfoundland to about 1830, but before that I have only a series of names and scraps of information gleaned from sifting through boxes of family letters and materials (thanks Mom for saving everything you could), and from reading books and accounts online.

I had hit a barrier, so investigating further required being here in person.

Well, ta da.

On a cold but rarely beautiful day we spent 9 hours of it in the Rooms Museum's Reference and Archive Centre. Martin generously played research assistant, and we got stuck into looking through parish records and vital statistics to see if we could find anything.

Not much as it happened. But there were a few nuggets.

I knew my great-grandmother Emma Winsor Butler married her first husband John Gibbson, who died at age 32. What I didn't know is she had given birth to a son, John William Butler (named after her father), and also that her married name was Gibbeson. There was never a question about the two Bs but no one really knew for sure E. 

Young John William Butler Gibbeson died in 1884, aged 8 months, only a few months before his father John Gibbeson died in 1885. That must have been one reason her brothers were able to persuade her to emigrate to Canada's west coast just after they themselves did in 1888.

9 hours work for very little new information, but we were quite satisfied. It was a signature day, being able to at least try. And we were not in some dusty basement, but in an airy room with a magnificent view over St. John's. Really, who wouldn't want to hunt for something hidden when one could look out on such treasure? 

    

Jellybean Travel Game

St. John's is famous for its Jellybean Row, houses of bright colours all in a row. The assumption is that as sailors and fishers and sealer returning home from long days or months at sea, they would look for their homes as they entered the harbour, which would not have been easy on rainy foggy days. Having a house painted a bright colour would help them identify which house was theirs and cheer them on their return from what was no doubt an exhausting, difficult job.

We saw the same thing in Inuvik, with bright palettes cheering those long winter nights. And also in Punta Arena, in southernmost Chile, which conversely needed cheery colours during the long dark nights of summer. At the top and the bottom of the world, these cheerfully painted houses were heart-lifting, and we wondered why there was not more colour in other cities that experience a lot of grey gloomy weather. Like Vancouver in November for example.  

Now the people of St. John's return home by air, or car, but the tradition of eye-popping row houses lives on, and have become a part of the cultural fabric of this place. 

Even our excellent B&B follows the theme. BTW if you even want to stay in "that" room in a wonderful inn, ask for # 9 (the Admirals Cove) at Roses Heritage Inn. 

It all reminds me of a game my father made up to occupy bored young bodies on family road trips. It involves jellybeans of as many colour options as possible, as well as my father's sweaty hand if we took too long to guess the right colour and got the bean. You probably get the idea.

Trailing Off

Walking north of the city, there are all sorts of trails that wind up and around and over and past Signal Hill, itself the top of a trail. North Head, Ladies Lookout, Sugarloaf, Quidi Vidi Lake. We did a little of each and a lot of some, and were rewarded with bracing winds and fabulous views.

First stop was the Battery. If anyone were to ask you why someone planned a series of gun emplacements in this place, then their either have never been here or are idiots. At the top of the hill overlooking this narrow entrance to St. John's harbour, one can see anything approaching from the Atlantic Ocean for miles, as well las the whole of the harbour. 

Cabot's tower at the top pf Signal Hill, with the Battery slightly lower and to the right

Not that it could have been much fun for the young men manning and living in this place, exposed to everything Mother Nature could fling at it. Today, the biting wind pushed us around and we stayed clear of the sheer cliffs. I can't imagine what it must have been like with added rain, sleet, fog and/or snow. And the chance of landslides, of which there have been a few.

It saw lots of action though, from 17th century raids right through the second World War.

At the top of Signal Hill there is a unique reminder of British influence. Almost a folly. It is known as Cabot Tower, commemorating the 400th anniversary of the John Cabot's landing on Newfoundland in 1497 as well as Queen Victoria's 60th year on the throne, 1897.

The hill was originally known by the prosaic name of The Lookout, and was changed to Signal Hill after successful flagmasting that finished the seven years war in Britain's favour over the French, but became synonymous with another kind of signalling (more about that later)

Ladies' lookout was to Cuckold's Cove, a rare harbour for fishers that was not at the bottom of sheer cliffs as everywhere else around here is.

Looking towards Cuckold's Cove from Ladies' Lookout (wonder where those names came from!)

Oddly enough, the only thing open was a gist shop in Cabot Tower and a chocolate cafe with toilets along the way, favoured by a large contigent of senior travelers in a bus.

Opting over beer over a long line for chocolate (for the first time EVER) we followed the path to Quidi Vidi, Suitably fortified we followed a short bit of  Sugarloaf trail, which promised a hair-raising 9 km of cliff hugging excitement, but as there was no way of returning from the endpoint and it was already 3pm, we decided to save the rest of that trail for another time.

Cobwebs blown, we felt ready for a cuppa instead.

 

A Blustery Day in Quidi Vidi

Cold and blustery today but dry, and the sun even came out at about 1pm. Perfect for blowing the cobwebs away with a good tramp by the Atlantic.

After about 3 hours of hiking up and down (more about that another time) we entered the village of Quidi Vidi, clustered along a racing river that empties into a very small, long, sheltered cove.

It's a funny name, and fun to say. Quidi Vidi. Quidi Vidi.

What does it mean? There have been a string of suggestions but no one really knows. Even what language it originated from is unknown. It's been spelled differently and pronounced differently ever since it was settled centuries ago.  

It's a tiny place, and there was not a lot of activity today. I suppose it is the day after a long weekend (hangover day?). It's also very early in the season and most things are still closed. Or perhaps it's because they don't have the staff. Anyway, it was very, very quiet.

But oh so charming. Here was Mallard Cottage, the oldest cottage in the province, built in the early 19th century by the Mallard family, not a pair of ducks, but Irish immigrants. Family-owned until the 1980s, it is now supposedly a delightful restaurant, but not for us. It was closed.

And here by a few fishing shacks on stilts over the water hugging the shore was a sign for fresh lobster. Nope, no lobster today. Just a few empty traps and the only boat we saw in the entire cove - in dry dock.

The lovely little Christ Church, is now a family home. The sketchy looking pub was bolted shut. The lovely looking inn had a locked door and curtains in the window blowing inside an empty room.

No doubt this place is hopping in the summer sunshine, with live music, and ice cream and motorcycles. 

Now the only thing hopping were a few birds, mallards actually. Still not the Mallards who built Mallard house, but the flapping kind. And these ones had discovered bins of discarded mash from the local brewery and gobbling greedily.

Aha - thank you mallards for showing us the way! Yes, there was one place that was open, the Quidi Vidi Brewery. And right beside it was a food truck dispensing the requisite cod bites and fish and chips. Lovely view, only a few others in this big place. Watching the birds eat old beer mash. And listening to the wind as it scudded on the water. Now that's our kind of quiet.

Late is Early

A long day of flying - up at 2:30am, 4.5 hours first flight, 3 hours waiting, 3 hours second flight - and here we are.

St. John apostrophe S. Cool, drizzly and friendly from the get-go.

But despite watching a full day's the sun rise and fall from an airplane, 9pm in Newfoundland is still only 4:30 in the afternoon Vancouver time. So out for a good stomp into downtown, raingear on, waterproof trainers afoot, along empty streets and Victorian faded grandeur.

Our first meal had to be special - the place had to speak to us. No TV sports, no pool tables, no frozen entrees and Molsons. 

Found it. 

Adelaide Oyster House where we had a dozen eastern beauties on the half shell - 6 Barnstable from New Brunswick and 6 Puffin Rock from Newfoundland, with local on-tap options, Quidi Vidi's Squeezebox IPA and Port Rexton's Vacation, both good and surprisingly (or not) fairly high in alcohol content.

And just like that, the holiday is on!