Port aux Basques in September - poem

 

I have visited Newfoundland only once, crossing from Nova Scotia to Port aux Basques in June 2005 on the elegant but now-scrapped MV Caribou. Such beauty!

 

The 18^th century archaism of “New-Found Land” is deliberate.

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Port aux Basques in September

 

“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”

 

- a weather guy south of the 49th

 

To our weather guy there is nothing north of Maine

He has never seen Port aux Basques

With summer snow still bright along the hills

Above pot-holey Canada 1 (mind the moose)

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

He has never heard of Cape Ray or the Newfie Bullet

Or seen the little fishing boats tacking in at dawn

Or the astrolabe that says to the voyager

“Now here at last is your dear New-Found Land”

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

He will never mourn the wreckage and loss

Because for him there is nothing north of Maine

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

Town of Channel-Port aux Basques | Canada's Ferry Gateway to Newfoundland

A Re-Post for Canada Day - God Bless Canada

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Come Laughing Home at Twilight

Beaumont-Hamel, 1916

And, O! Wasn’t he just the Jack the Lad,
A’swellin’ down the Water Street as if –
As if he owned the very paving stones!
He was my beautiful boy, and, sure,
The girls they thought so too: his eyes, his walk;
A man of Newfoundland, my small big man,
Just seventeen, but strong and bold and sure.

Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?

Don’t tell me he was England’s finest, no –
He was my finest, him and his Da,
His Da, who breathed in sorrow, and was lost,
They say, lost in the fog, among the ice.
But no, he too was killed on the first of July
Only it took him months to cast away,
And drift away, far away, into the mist.

Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?

I need no Kings nor no Kaisers, no,
Nor no statues with fine words writ on’em,
Nor no flags nor no Last Post today:
I only want to see my men come home,
Come laughing home at twilight, boots all mucky,
An’ me fussin’ at ‘em for being’ late,
Come laughing home at twilight.

Marijuana in Newfoundland - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Marijuana in Newfoundland

It’s not marijuana in Newfoundland
In our fair Island we call it Product, b’ys
Son, have you been smokin’ Product again?
This is some ****in’ great Producttttttttt, ohhhhh, mannnnnnn

Mr. Speaker, why is there a shortage
Of Product in the province, Mr. Speaker,
Not worried about the stocks of cod if we
Can get stocks of Product, Mr. Speaker

And if the shipment from the mainland stalls
They’ll beam us some Product from Muskrat Falls



(Newfoundland is the most beautiful island in God's Creation, and the people
are a stew of languages and cultures who sometimes squabble, as happens in
happy families, but who are an inspiration to the world in their generosity,
class, character, and creativity.)

(Too bad about the recreational marijuana, though.)

Come Laughing Home at Twilight - Beaumont Hamel, 1916

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Come Laughing Home at Twilight

Beaumont-Hamel, 1916

And, O! Wasn’t he just the Jack the Lad,
A’swellin’ down the Water Street as if –
As if he owned the very paving stones!
He was my beautiful boy, and, sure,
The girls they thought so too: his eyes, his walk;
A man of Newfoundland, my small big man,
Just seventeen, but strong and bold and sure.

Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?

Don’t tell me he was England’s finest, no –
He was my finest, him and his Da,
His Da, who breathed in sorrow, and was lost,
They say, lost in the fog, among the ice.
But no, he too was killed on the first of July
Only it took him months to cast away,
And drift away, far away, in the mist.

Where is he now? Can you tell me? Can you?

I need no Kings nor no Kaisers, no,
Nor no statues with fine words writ on’em,
Nor no flags nor no Last Post today:
I only want to see my men come home,
Come laughing home at twilight, boots all mucky,
An’ me fussin’ at ‘em for being’ late,
Come laughing home at twilight.

Room at the Inn

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Room at the Inn

If Jesus had been born in Newfoundland, the folks there would have found room for the Holy Family.

Many Americans fly over Newfoundland on their way to and from Europe, but too few visit that beautiful island. Fourteen years ago, when all flights to and from the USA were forbidden, a great many people of all nations found themselves taking an unexpected time-out there.

This piece of 9/11 history comes from Newfoundland via a friend of a friend there. Heather McKinnon, the operations manager of the Delta Hotel and Conference Center in St. John’s, relates this remembrance of 9.11.2001 and the days following:


I will never forget this day for the rest of my days. It was a Tuesday, on Sept 11, 2001. We became aware at the Delta that we would start accepting the passengers whose flights were landing in quick succession at YYT [St. John’s]. The first group of guests who arrived were flight crews from two United Airlines flights who had just lost many of their colleagues. They were shell shocked. Then the passengers started arriving - hundreds more than we could handle comfortably. And they kept coming. They slept on the floor in the ballrooms and meeting rooms, on couches in the lobby, anywhere they could find a space. This went on until the following Sunday. And my team here at the Delta displayed a level of humanity I won't soon forget. They swung into action. Worked an 8 hour shift and then volunteered to stay behind as unpaid volunteers for another 8-10 hours - served food, read stories to the children, organized games, took passengers to their homes for showers, did pharmacy runs. It went on and on. Corporate partners like Margot Bruce-O'Connell at ExxonMobil reached out to help us manage the masses. George Street United Church ministers conducted an ecumenical service in our lobby and everyone gathered together. Air Canada and United Airlines stranded flight crew showed up in their uniforms as a sign of respect to the fallen air crew of the US flight crew. It was heart breaking.

We had to ask all the ballroom sleeping bag guests to pack up their belongings on the Saturday before they left so a wedding could go ahead. Once the dinner was over, the bride threw open the doors to the ballroom and invited the passengers to the dance. For the first dance, they all joined hands in a massive circle around the wedding couple as they took their first dance. These passengers arrived as strangers. On Sunday, they left as grateful friends. On this day, every year since, I still receive messages from some of the guests from that week. They say the same thing. They will never forget. I have kept every one of those messages. What a week that was.

Amen.

An excellent book related to the thousands of travelers grateful to have been given sanctuary by the generous citizens of Newfoundland is Jim DeFede’s The Day the World Came to Town, New York: Harper Collins, 2002.

-30-

Room at the Inn

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Room at the Inn

If Jesus had been born in Newfoundland, the folks there would have found room for the Holy Family.

Many Americans fly over Newfoundland on their way to and from Europe, but too few visit that beautiful island. Fourteen years ago, when all flights to and from the USA were forbidden, a great many people of all nations found themselves taking an unexpected time-out there.

This piece of 9/11 history comes from Newfoundland via a friend of a friend there. Heather McKinnon, the operations manager of the Delta Hotel and Conference Center in St. John’s, relates this remembrance of 9.11.2001 and the days following:


I will never forget this day for the rest of my days. It was a Tuesday, on Sept 11, 2001. We became aware at the Delta that we would start accepting the passengers whose flights were landing in quick succession at YYT [St. John’s]. The first group of guests who arrived were flight crews from two United Airlines flights who had just lost many of their colleagues. They were shell shocked. Then the passengers started arriving - hundreds more than we could handle comfortably. And they kept coming. They slept on the floor in the ballrooms and meeting rooms, on couches in the lobby, anywhere they could find a space. This went on until the following Sunday. And my team here at the Delta displayed a level of humanity I won't soon forget. They swung into action. Worked an 8 hour shift and then volunteered to stay behind as unpaid volunteers for another 8-10 hours - served food, read stories to the children, organized games, took passengers to their homes for showers, did pharmacy runs. It went on and on. Corporate partners like Margot Bruce-O'Connell at ExxonMobil reached out to help us manage the masses. George Street United Church ministers conducted an ecumenical service in our lobby and everyone gathered together. Air Canada and United Airlines stranded flight crew showed up in their uniforms as a sign of respect to the fallen air crew of the US flight crew. It was heart breaking.

We had to ask all the ballroom sleeping bag guests to pack up their belongings on the Saturday before they left so a wedding could go ahead. Once the dinner was over, the bride threw open the doors to the ballroom and invited the passengers to the dance. For the first dance, they all joined hands in a massive circle around the wedding couple as they took their first dance. These passengers arrived as strangers. On Sunday, they left as grateful friends. On this day, every year since, I still receive messages from some of the guests from that week. They say the same thing. They will never forget. I have kept every one of those messages. What a week that was.

Amen.

An excellent book related to the thousands of travelers grateful to have been given sanctuary by the generous citizens of Newfoundland is Jim DeFede’s The Day the World Came to Town, New York: Harper Collins, 2002.

-30-

NIGHT OF TERROR ABOARD DOOMED AIRCRAFT!!!!!!

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

NIGHT OF TERROR ABOARD
DOOMED AIRCRAFT!!!!!!!!!!!
(Or something like that)

No, this is not a story about Air Canada flight attendants. If it were, “sneering disdain” and “snarling ill manners” would be added to the title.

Last week a Famous Name Brand airplane en route from Chicago to London made one of those famous unscheduled stops in Gander, Newfoundland because of an undisclosed malfunction. The desperate selfies / mefies / tweeties of the surviving passengers lead the free world to conclude that this was a Jade Helm kidnapping of Americans by unmarked invisible NATO / UN ninjas armed with deadly pictures of Miley Jenner twerking.

The Jade Helm operatives and their unmarked, green-powered nuclear tanks had been lurking in ambush in a series of abandoned Tim Horton’s restaurants across the frozen lunar landscape that is Newfoundland, home only to reindeer and venomous snow snakes. Eh.

Upon landing the passengers were brutally yanked out of the aircraft by knuckle-dragging OGPU agents and then flogged into icy barracks to be starved and humiliated. Such brutal maltreatment has not been inflicted on suffering people since the last of Uncle Joe Stalin’s merry gulags was shut down in the 1960s.

If any of this can be proven, the American Transportation Security Agency will have something to say about it because humiliating airline passengers is their job. As for depriving airline passengers of food, that’s Air Canada’s job.

The only comfort that can be offered to the friends and relatives of the prisoners of Jade Helm is that there is no evidence that they were forced to drink Screech rum.

The passengers were housed – possibly chained - overnight in (gasp!) barracks built by the United States Air Force. The beds were said to be uncomfortable (eeeeek!), and the inmates were given only two blankets each (oh, the humanity!).

Beyond the barbed wire the prisoners could see demented I’s d’ B’ys beating spotted owls to death with cricket bats. In Newfoundland, you see, this is their idea of a night out at Hooter’s. (Oh, I am so not going to be asked back to Newfoundland…)

As the prison barracks began to sink beneath the dark, barren wastes of bleak, icy, frozen, Godforsaken Newfoundland, the brave young men gave their blankies to women and children, and everyone held hands and sang “Nearer, my God to Thee” as Kommandant Klink accompanied them on the violin. Or maybe it was something about Gilligan’s Island – “…the Minnow would be lost…the Minnow would be lost…”

One news report said that the air crew were billeted in a hotel in Newfoundland and Labrador. This would require a demonstration of bi-location since Newfoundland is an island and Labrador is part of the Canadian mainland. The Canadian federal government, which at times can be as unclear about reality as the U.S. federal government, forced a marriage of hyphenation so that Newfoundland (which is an island about the size of Ireland) and Labrador (which is not) are on the map as one province. This is no more logical than declaring Texas and Florida to be one state.

The passengers were jealous that The Captain and Gilligan and all the rest of the flight crew got to sleep in a hotel instead of a genuine United States Air Force barracks. Yeah, and the captain and the co-pilot get to sit up front in the airplane all the time – what’s up with that, hah?

The logical passenger wants to the pilot to be well-rested, well-fed, and content with life. Passengers should be able to sit in on a job interview with the flight deck crew before every flight: “Did you get plenty of sleep last night? So how’s your personal life? Meet anyone nice lately? What are your plans for the future? Have you ever flown for Lufthansa? Were you ever a flight attendant for Air Canada?”

Two realities obtain: the first one is that whiny people whine on the whiny MeFaceSpaceBook thingies about everything. If you were to give them a new Mercedes-Benz they’d belly-ache about the paint job.

The second reality is that Newfoundland is one of the most beautiful islands on the planet. The people of Newfoundland are unquestionably the nicest group of folks anywhere, generous and hospitable, and still fond of us Yanks. Any Tim Horton’s has the best road coffee along the Trans-Can, not everyone in Newfoundland ends every sentence with “eh,” they’ve got icebergs and whales and mountains and camping and boat tours and cruise ships and universities and shopping malls and hunting and those really stupid mooses and the railway trail for walking and Gros Morne National Park and fresh fish, fish, fish and puffins (please don’t eat the puffins) and the site of Lord Baltimore’s first colony and history and culture and music and art and a ‘way-cool provincial flag.

Newfoundland does not have any snakes, mosquitoes, or stinging insects, thus proving it is not Texas.

If on a map you draw a line from Houston to London you’ll find that Newfoundland is on the way but most folks don’t think of visiting there, and that is a shame. You can look up Newfoundland at www.newfoundlandandlabrador.com.

Stuck for a day or two in Newfoundland? We should all be so lucky.

-30-

Come Laughing Home at Twilight

Mack Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Come Laughing Home at Twilight

 Beaumont-Hamel, 1916

And, O!  Wasn’t he just the Jack the lad,
A’swellin’ down the Water Street as if –
As if he owned the very paving stones!
He was my beautiful boy, and, sure,
The girls they thought so too: his eyes, his walk;
A man of Newfoundland, my small big man,
Just seventeen, but strong and bold and sure.

Where is he now?  Can you tell me?  Can you?

Don’t tell me he was England’s finest, no –
He was my finest, him and his Da,
His Da, who breathed in sorrow, and was lost,
They say, lost in the fog, among the ice.
But no, he too was killed on the first of July
Only it took him months to cast away,
And drift away, far away, in the mist.

Where is he now?  Can you tell me?  Can you?

I need no kings nor no kaisers, no,

Nor no statues with fine words writ on’em,
Nor no flags nor no Last Post today:
I only want to see my men come home,
Come laughing home at twilight, boots all mucky,
An’ me fussin’ at ‘em for being’ late,
Come laughing home at twilight...