Some Day the Sun Will Shine and Have Not Will Be No More (6 page)

As I said, I enjoyed the classes immensely—they were lively and often
spontaneous. After we got used to one another and a few ground rules were
established, it was surprising how cohesive the classes became. Each morning
there was a short period of fifteen minutes where there would be general
discussion, usually about the hockey games of the day or weekend before. I
remember one occasion when we were discussing a certain local hockey game in
which I had played; it became obvious that I had incurred an injury above my
eye—it required stitches and I was wearing a patch. The kids were eager to know
what had happened. So an animated discussion ensued as to whether the opposing
team was to blame, if it was an accident, or whether in fact I was a little too
aggressive. In the midst of this serious debate, Wayne, eager to speak,
interjected and exclaimed that he knew exactly what had happened. The other
students questioned him, and with a sly grin he evaded a direct answer.

I stepped in and said: “Wayne, you owe it to the class to provide the answer.
You said you really knew what happened to my eye—so stand in your place and tell
the class.”

Wayne slowly got to his feet and, still with that impish grin, declared, “She
kisses too high.”

It was this same Wayne who, in a discussion of where the moon gets its light,
declared in dramatic fashion after first being reluctant to provide an answer:
“Ah, it's the man in the moon with a flashlight.”

Then there was Aubrey, a fifteen-year-old who for many reasons
(home issues and falling through the cracks in the formal school setting) was
a student in our grade six class. He was almost as tall as me, and having no
other way to get attention, the first day school opened he began bullying a lot
of the male students and making an overall disruptive scene. Of course, having
only one year of training (I doubt whether more of the kind I got would have
helped anyway), I quickly resorted to some basic common sense. First, I had to
see to it that I was in total control of the class. That meant, one day after
some serious disruption, taking Aubrey by the scruff of the neck and leading him
out of the classroom. He quickly saw that while he was almost as tall as me he
was not yet as strong, as I quickly rendered him physically helpless. However, I
realized that this was just a temporary measure and that I could not do this
every week and hope for a permanent fix.

I had been planning to try and get an empty classroom in the main part of the
school on Friday afternoons to do some physical exercise with the students. And
sure enough, I was able to get an hour that afternoon, and with the principal's
permission I was about to implement it. Additionally, I had secured a basketball
that we could throw around and do some basic dribbling. Of course, then students
would have to wear, when possible, sneakers or other appropriate footwear. I had
told the class to expect an exciting announcement. So I was before the class
announcing this addition to their school activity when it suddenly dawned on me
that here was my chance to reach Aubrey, and so in the course of my announcement
I said that I was going to need someone to help me on Friday afternoons, looking
after the basketballs, getting everyone over to the other classroom and lined
up, and that I had appointed Aubrey to do this work with me. The class was happy
with the announcement, of course, and when I further said that I was sure
everyone would get along and co-operate with Aubrey, there was some hesitation,
but then just about everyone agreed with the appointment. You could see among
some of them that they knew what I was up to, and they nodded with a flash of
understanding.

Not only was this afternoon activity a great boon to class cohesion,
but Aubrey became a new person. We were all surprised—from the
first Friday when Aubrey asked for permission to exit the class five minutes
early to get ready for the new activity, to his organizing the students, looking
after the balls and footwear—this was a new day for us all. Aubrey suddenly got
interested in his other school work, began passing his tests, and behaved in
class. I have often wondered whatever happened to Aubrey—at any rate, he passed
grade six and was a well-adjusted young man the last time I saw him.

It was incidents like this that left no room for choosing another profession.
In addition to the new stimulating environment of the university, I was blessed
beyond measure to have had the good fortune during these years to work in some
of the more remote parts of the province.

I already had experience working for the Department of Public Welfare. It
seemed natural for me to see if I could get another job with them. There was a
need for students in the summer months to relieve the permanent welfare officers
around the province. So I visited the department, picked up an application form,
completed it, and submitted it to the department. No answer. I went to the
department and was able to set up a meeting a few days hence with the Director
of Field Services, a Mr. Hollett. (As I write, I have been informed that he
passed away at the age of eighty-five.) He explained to me the role of temporary
welfare officers: they were to conduct the basics while the permanent officer
was on holidays, and mainly do the annual reviews of those people who were on
some kind of permanent assistance. In the larger centres there would not be a
problem since there would be other permanent officers in those offices to guide
the temporary people, but for those temporaries going to the more remote regions
it would be a little more difficult, so there would be a couple of days training
(reviewing The Welfare Act and Regulations), and off you went. Sometimes, if you
were lucky, you would get a few days with the permanent officer before they
left.

One surviving letter of the department's acceptance of me for one of these
temporary jobs is still in my possession.

“
BUT, M R. PECKFORD
, I am sorry that
there are no openings in the larger centres,” announced Mr. Hollett.

“You mean there isn't a job available?” I hesitantly replied.

“No, I'm sorry. You're a little late applying and all the openings in the major
centres are taken.”

“Well, perhaps I could go to one of the other places,” I muttered.

A surprised expression crossed Mr. Hollett's face. “You mean, you would go to a
smaller place, perhaps an isolated place?”

“Yes,” I said, not really fully comprehending the implications.

“Well, you're a little young and you have no experience managing an office by
yourself in an isolated area. We usually persuade some older students who have
had a year in a larger centre to go to one of the smaller remote offices,” Mr.
Hollett explained. “But we are having trouble this year, so perhaps something
might become available. I will let you know if we have an opening in one of the
smaller offices, and if you're still interested we'll see what we can do.”

I left the office a little dejected but with a glimmer of hope that I would get
a call telling me of a vacancy. Meanwhile, I began thinking about my answer. Did
I really want to take a job that saw me in some isolated place for the whole
summer? I needed the money so I could go back to university in the fall, and
there was this tinge of adventure about the idea. So I let my proposal
stand.

Luck was with me. A call came from Mr. Hollett to come and see him.

“We have an opening at La Scie,” he said. “It is on the northeast coast—no
doubt you have heard of it. It is isolated but not real small; there is a fish
plant and a road to a couple of communities, although they are not linked to the
main road system. The welfare officer will be there when you arrive and you'll
have a few days with him before you're left on your own. Most of the communities
in that welfare district you will have to visit by boat.”

It was March and final exams were around the corner. Now that I had secured a
job I could concentrate on some of the study I had failed to do for most of the
year. I got through the next few weeks thinking about the summer and trying to
concentrate on final exams.
It wasn't easy and my exams were all
packed together in a couple of days. This was still the time when the final exam
was worth 100% of the final mark—so if you blew it in those three hours, that
was that.

I struggled through—studying in some cases through the night— and then went
straight to the exam room. I was afraid someone was going to speak to me along
the way or just outside the door to the exam room, because I felt so mentally
full that if I responded, everything I had stuffed in my head the night before
would suddenly spill out and leave me empty of any knowledge to answer the
questions on the exam.

With exams out of the way, I contacted Mr. Hollett and began a two-day
orientation, learning about the legislation and various programs and how to
complete the various forms.

“There's a coastal boat leaving next week,” Mr. Hollett informed me, “and we
would like you to be on it to La Scie. We have secured a boarding house for you
and the welfare officer will be there for a week or so to help you
adjust.”

Just like that, I was off the next week on the
Northern Ranger
to La
Scie.

“I am a part of all that I have met.”

— Tennyson

IT WAS LATE APRIL
and almost miraculously the ice along
the east and northeast coast had stayed several miles offshore, making possible
a very early start to the coastal boat season to northern Newfoundland and
Labrador. And so, unlike the harrowing experiences of my mother and her five
children crossing Placentia Bay in a snowstorm in 1951, I had a relatively easy
time as the boat made its way along the east coast of the island, stopping first
at Twillingate and then on to La Scie.

La Scie was the easternmost point of land on the Baie Verte Peninsula, nestled
under Cape John with a U-shaped harbour, and every inch a fishing community.
This was the proud home of trap fishing crews and a large fish plant. The news
here was all to do with fishing, the wind, the ice in the spring, and the price
of fish. Sammy Thoms’s general store was where the old fellers hung out, and if
you wanted to get a real quick lesson of trap fishing on the northeast coast of
Newfoundland, this was the place to visit. Not that it all came easy when you
entered the place; it was a bustle, and after a hardy welcome from Sammy, who
was otherwise too busy to talk to you, you settled on a box or barrel and waited
for the conversation to slowly evolve. However, change was in the air—a
contractor (friendly to Premier Smallwood’s party) was busy digging and blasting
as they were installing a water and sewer system in the community (completely
financed by the provincial government), and the first highway to the town was
under construction by another company friendly to Smallwood. There was already a
crude
road system from La Scie to a number of nearby communities,
including the mining town of Tilt Cove. These communities all formed a part of
the welfare district I was to administer—the rest of the district would be
communities on the north side of Green Bay, southwest of La Scie and accessible
only by boat.

The permanent welfare officer was with me for a week or so and we took one
quick visit by boat to Snook’s Arm and Round Harbour to give me a taste of what
was in store. Well, of course, the actual experience of being on your own is
always quite a shock, notwithstanding the advice given to you and the things you
read. New, unique, and strange experiences await and test your youth and
inexperience.

The office was a one-room (plus a small waiting room), standalone building with
a desk, a couple of chairs, a small oil heater, a typewriter, and a filing
cabinet. My being new and young, it was natural that my first week or so was to
field a large influx of potential clients who wished to test my mettle. This was
truly a baptism by fire, and though I began to get my footing, there were a
number of incidents which, during my stay there, reflect what today would be
complex social and emotional problems.

The first to arise concerned a family in Harbour Round, a nearby community
accessible by road. One of the children of a family there had a serious and, as
yet, undetected disease. The local nurse and doctor who visited from Baie Verte
recommended that the child go to St. John’s for further diagnosis and
assessment. The family could not afford to pay for such a trip and I was brought
into the situation by the father visiting my office to ask for help. After
examining the man’s circumstance, it was obvious that the department would have
to pay for this matter. In the subsequent days I contacted the nurse, and
arrangements were made for the child to be seen by a specialist at a hospital in
St. John’s. The appointment date was set for a few weeks hence, and I began the
transportation and accommodation planning.

I remember reading a play in high school that told of the chief character
having scrupulously planned a crime scene, but one variable was still in play
and thwarted the master plan, to which he exclaimed, “I did not foresee
it.”

Such was the case with me when the father appeared at my office
very early one morning, distraught and frightened.

“Mr. Peckford, sir, you never told me,” the father stuttered.

“Told you what?” I queried.

“That you or the nurse will not be taking my daughter to St. John’s to the
hospital. I don’t understand,” the nervous father replied.

“Oh, sorry, I just assumed you would know that the family would have to take
her. You see, you and your wife are available. You’re not working, and while
your wife is working at home, if she goes, you can look after the other
children.”

The man broke down. “We can’t go. We have never been anywhere . . .”

I will never forget the look of fright on that man’s face. He was truly afraid
and became almost incomprehensible.

An hour or more passed, and although the father had come early, it was now
after nine o’clock and other people were in the little waiting room, no doubt
able to hear scraps of the conversation coming from the office.

“Listen,” I whispered, “there are others outside there now. I don’t want them
to hear our talk. Tell you what I will do. I will come to Harbour Round tomorrow
and visit with you and your wife. We’ll have a good chat about this. Don’t
worry, we will solve this.”

Slowly, the father gathered his composure as I continued to reassure him that
everything would work out. I hurriedly escorted him from the office and past the
growing number of people in the waiting room and those waiting outside the
building.

The next morning I rented a car from a local merchant and travelled the ten
miles to Harbour Round, which, like La Scie, was at first a French fishing
station since it formed part of what was known as the French Shore. There were
then a couple hundred people living there. I found the house, parked the car
nearby, and walked up to the front door. Although it was around 11: 00 a.m. the
community was quiet—no doubt aware of my arrival.

It was a one-storey clapboard house of moderate size for the time. I knocked on
the porch door and was greeted by the mother. She
was of medium
height, with reddish hair, and a round reddish face. I introduced myself and was
led into the kitchen where the father was sitting at the chrome kitchen table. I
sat next to him, and the mother across from me.

“Now, a nice cup of tea would be all right,” I said, as I looked at a steaming
teapot on the wood stove.

A nervous smile emerged on the mother’s face as she got up to fetch the
tea.

“And how are you this morning?” I inquired of the father.

“Not good, sir, I hardly slept last night.”

“And I, too,” exclaimed the missus.

“Let’s get right down to it, then,” I replied.

I went on to explain that it just would not be possible for the nurse or myself
to accompany the child to St. John’s, that we were needed here to help other
people who had problems just as big as this one, and that there would be people
to assist them along the way. I indicated that the route was to take the coastal
boat from La Scie to Lewisporte; he could stay in a hotel there and then take
the train to St. John’s. I also made it clear that their child desperately
needed to be examined by a specialist and that not to do so could endanger the
child’s long-term health.

The mother spoke up. “We have never even travelled on the coastal boat; we have
never seen a train or been in a hospital. We are scared.”

The father added, “What is it like to ride a train? Are there elevators in the
hospital?”

I realized I had a lot of explaining to do, so I began by describing the
coastal boat trip, where they would stay in Lewisporte, the hotel there, the
train ride, and the arrangements in St. John’s. I said we would make extra
arrangements so that there would be someone to meet them on every step of the
journey, and explained all the other details to try to increase their
confidence. But the questions kept coming from the very frightened couple, so
much so that I decided further conversations were needed. I met with the father
and mother a few more times, involved other people, and finally, about a week
later, the father agreed.

The day for the father and daughter to leave on the coastal boat
finally arrived, and with the help of the mother a fond farewell ensued. We
watched as the boat pulled away from the government wharf and then as it
navigated between the headlands that helped form the harbour. I was relieved;
the mother, however, was in tears, comforted by family and friends.

I went to the office early one morning three or four weeks later, and who
should be waiting for me but the father. As I unlocked the door to the office,
he rushed in, all smiles, as he hurriedly began describing his unbelievable
experiences, from the screeching wheels of the trains, to his absolute certainty
that as the train came to a curve it would jump the tracks, to the big hospital
with its elevator that he learned to use, to the wonderful doctors and nurses
that attended to him, and most particularly to his daughter.

“She is going to be all right,” he exclaimed. “The doctors said she had a rare
disease but it could be treated.”

“And you and your wife will be all right now too,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, “we will be all right now. We want to thank you . . . for
making us see.”

That was a very pleasant experience. There were others not so pleasant. For
example, one time I went to one of the isolated communities on my regular visit.
My main function was to fill in for the permanent welfare office, and that was
supposed to mean travelling to the various communities and updating information
for those who were permanent clients of the department, such as widows,
widowers, disabled, and elderly people. Of course, things are never as they
seem. There were things that just happened. At this community a number of men
came seeking temporary assistance. I was new and the test was on. I had
discovered some days before that many men in the community had been working on a
government project near the community. And the money was pretty good. When I
arrived at the wharf there were several men already waiting to see me. Jack
Budgell, the owner and operator of the boat I had hired, was a little
nervous.

As we were tying up he said to me, “You know, these fellows seem a little
nervous.”

“Nervous about what?” I questioned.

“I don’t know, me son, but they are acting strange to me.” Jack was not new to
the area and so when he gave an opinion about the area you’d better
listen.

Anyway, I asked Jack to tell the men that I would see them individually in my
little room in the stern of the boat. This is where I slept—it had a couple of
bunks, a small wooden table a foot or so off the floor, and a tiny wood stove.
There was really only room for two persons. And so the procession commenced as
the men, one by one, came down, sought assistance, were refused, and, mumbling
their dissatisfaction, left the boat and wharf.

“Do you mean to tell me you turned them all down?” Jack exclaimed.

“Yes,” I said. “They were the fellows who were working on the government
project for the last few months and do not qualify for assistance. I’d say that
was why they seemed to act strange to you. They really knew that this was wrong,
what they were going to do.”

Of course, the word got around the harbour that this new, young relieving
officer had turned down all the men. It wasn’t long before there appeared on the
wharf one very angry woman. Dashing up to the edge of the wharf she shouted out,
“Jack, Jack, where are you?”

Jack appeared from the wheelhouse. “Yes, my dear, this is Jack!”

“Jack, where is that young relieving officer? I got to see him right
away.”

Jack moved swiftly to the stern of the boat, opened the doors to the stern
section, and began whispering. “We’ve got a pretty mad woman who wants to see
you right now. Man is she mad.”

I climbed up the few stairs to Jack. “What—an angry woman?”

And before Jack could speak, there she was. “Are you the relieving officer?”
she growled, looking at me.

“Yes, ma’am. I am.”

As she pointed her finger and came toward me, she shouted, “I have to talk to
you right now!”

“All right, come on down and we can have a private conversation.”

She stumbled down the few stairs, fuming under her breath, and
finally settled across from me on one of the bunks. In retrospect, I became a
little too official, taking out my daily worksheet on which I recorded time and
date and name of all who came to see me.

“Your name, please?”

“My name, my name!” she shouted. “Listen, I’m the wife of George who came to
see you a couple of hours ago. You turned him down! You wouldn’t give him a food
order.”

I lowered my head to write the date on the worksheet, my eye no longer on my
client. In an instant she swooped, grabbed a large piece of firewood from the
bucket by the stove, and leaning across the small expanse between us, clobbered
me over the head!

I fell back on the other bunk, surprised and more than a little dazed. Seconds
later, when I came to my senses, she was up over the stairs on the deck of the
boat, cursing as she made her way to the wharf.

Jack thought he heard a commotion and came out of the wheelhouse in time to see
the woman scampering up to the wharf deck and then on to shore.