|
Lady Mood
It was Thursday evening,
when we left the fishing grounds of St. Georges Bay. As we rounded Cape
Anguille and faced the strong South East winds; we soon realized that we
were in for a rough ride. The wind started to increase even more and so
did the size of the waves. At first, when the bow of the boat used to go
down to touch the top of the waves and throw water back over the wheelhouse
window; I started to get a little nervous because just a week ago a boat from
my home town got thrown upon a shoal point and was wrecked.As I stood in the wheelhouse watching the rolling waves ahead and listening to the static on the VHF, the skipper looked at me and said, "You see that shoal point over there? Well, that's where the LADY MOOD went aground." I tried to get a good look through the steamed window, but that was impossible, so I put my rubber suit on and stood out on the deck being careful to keep a firm grip on a piece of nylon rope which was tied to the mast. |
|
When I was sure that my grip was secure on the rope, I peered out around
the house of the boat. I could see the shoal point that extended way out
past the land and the evil sunkers that waited hungrily for unsuspecting
ships. The boat rose again on another wave and then fell which sent a salty
spray back over the side of the boat, then through the spray I saw the
stern of the LADY MOOD and the waves that were breaking on the rocks that
it was upon. The boat seemed strange now. The bow had been smashed off by
the waves and pushed upon the rocky shoreline, the mast was cracked, but
was supported by a single wire, and the cabin was missing.
The LADY MOOD that I remembered was a large powerful longliner that was well looked after and was known for her ability to stand rough seas. This ship that I was looking at now no lnoger had the unique shape it used to have, it looked a hundred years old and feeble compared to the power of the ocean that surrounded it. I could almost hear the groans of pain as the waves smashed into the wreck, trying to push it towards the high cliffs that rose like giant tombstones in the fog.
When the LADY MOOD finally disappeared in the spray and the fog, I realized that the sea has no heart. It chooses its victims at random and shows no remorse.
Anonymous
The LADY MOOD that I remembered was a large powerful longliner that was well looked after and was known for her ability to stand rough seas. This ship that I was looking at now no lnoger had the unique shape it used to have, it looked a hundred years old and feeble compared to the power of the ocean that surrounded it. I could almost hear the groans of pain as the waves smashed into the wreck, trying to push it towards the high cliffs that rose like giant tombstones in the fog.
When the LADY MOOD finally disappeared in the spray and the fog, I realized that the sea has no heart. It chooses its victims at random and shows no remorse.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Most Newfoundland communities have stories of local ghosts and we are no exception. There are stories of pirates treasure and bones on the islands around Margaree harbour. Early fishermen are reported to have heard beautiful fiddle music coming from the deserted islands.
One legend that refuses to die is the story of Joe Shovel, the man with no head who is said to haunt the Tickle. There are different versions of the story. The most popular one is that Joe, who lived either on Western Island or where the old lobster factory used to be (behind Billard Fisheries) was killed by his wife, who chopped off his head with a shovel - hence the name Joe Shovel. Some people claim he stays in the tickle looking for his head-a man with no head has been reported walking out to sea. Others claim that he carries his head under his arm. So, if you happen to be in the tickle area when its starting to get dark (that seems to be his favourite time to haunt) just glance over your shoulder. You never know.....
The following story is based on the above folk lore.
Joe Shovel
The darkness
surrounds you. You can only see a mere ten feet in all directions. The
sense of something slowly moving closer and closer to your location, is
pulling on every nerve in your body. The hair on the back of your neck
begins to tingle as it rises. The only choice that you can grip is to run.
Joe Shovel is closing ever so close and all you can do is run.
Stumbling through the blackness you trip and fall. The footprints which hurried behind you have ceased to a slow walk. Each breath you take seems to last a hour. Exhaling you notice the steam fogging up in front of your eyes, blurring your already blind vision. The smell of the wet marsh and mud burn your nose, almost asking you to gag on the pungent odour.
Blades of grass not far fron you are being pushed to the ground as the figure gets closer to you. Breathing as little as you can, you glance into the darkness. Your eyes are trying to focus on one of the many figures and shadows which play in your mind. Goosebumps form on every part of your body and brings even more fear. Finally, you make out the one true figure which is closing in on you. At that moment it looks like first an actual human, but as your eyes meet his something is wrong. The head of the figure lays in its hands. The mouth is twisted in a ghastly smile, nothing like you have ever seen before. It's nose is blood stained and flattened to the side, showing it has been smashed by something long ago. The eyes are white as clouds in the sky. They pierce the skin and look on past you. The eyes of the figure itself is enough to get a normal human to hope for a quick death.
You now know that the figure is Joe Shovel. Removing your gaze from the hellish eyes of the dead fisherman you look up to his neck. Blood drips from the collar of the ragged coveralls. Skin fragments remain stranded from where the head used to stand.
The figure now sees you laying in the grass. You stay frozen in place as it balances its own head on a mangled body. IN his other hand appears a shovel from nowhere. He raises it into the sky and you can see the shine of blood on the end as the moon flicks over the stell. The figure swings with every ounce of power at you and the shovel pierces your skin with agonizing pain. The scream that you wish to bellow is drowned out by the scrunching of bone against steel. You feel your eyes roll back into your hear and the world turns black around you. The ghost of Joe Shovel takes another head and now heads off in the darkness in search of another hopeless victim.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Stumbling through the blackness you trip and fall. The footprints which hurried behind you have ceased to a slow walk. Each breath you take seems to last a hour. Exhaling you notice the steam fogging up in front of your eyes, blurring your already blind vision. The smell of the wet marsh and mud burn your nose, almost asking you to gag on the pungent odour.
Blades of grass not far fron you are being pushed to the ground as the figure gets closer to you. Breathing as little as you can, you glance into the darkness. Your eyes are trying to focus on one of the many figures and shadows which play in your mind. Goosebumps form on every part of your body and brings even more fear. Finally, you make out the one true figure which is closing in on you. At that moment it looks like first an actual human, but as your eyes meet his something is wrong. The head of the figure lays in its hands. The mouth is twisted in a ghastly smile, nothing like you have ever seen before. It's nose is blood stained and flattened to the side, showing it has been smashed by something long ago. The eyes are white as clouds in the sky. They pierce the skin and look on past you. The eyes of the figure itself is enough to get a normal human to hope for a quick death.
You now know that the figure is Joe Shovel. Removing your gaze from the hellish eyes of the dead fisherman you look up to his neck. Blood drips from the collar of the ragged coveralls. Skin fragments remain stranded from where the head used to stand.
The figure now sees you laying in the grass. You stay frozen in place as it balances its own head on a mangled body. IN his other hand appears a shovel from nowhere. He raises it into the sky and you can see the shine of blood on the end as the moon flicks over the stell. The figure swings with every ounce of power at you and the shovel pierces your skin with agonizing pain. The scream that you wish to bellow is drowned out by the scrunching of bone against steel. You feel your eyes roll back into your hear and the world turns black around you. The ghost of Joe Shovel takes another head and now heads off in the darkness in search of another hopeless victim.
Written by Shaun Stone
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
The Ocean
The sun shines and hits the water,
a sparkle, a shimmer, a sight to be seen.
I want to travel, go a bit farther,
to a place wher no one else has ever been.
I love to dance, I love to sing,
I love the feeling the ocean brings.
A warm little feeling deep within me,
a feeling I get, when the ocean I do see.
It seems so calm, not dangerous at all,
but it swallows ships, and brings death to all.
It's dangerous, vicious, and evil at times.
I want it, I need it, the ocean is mine.
Calm, beautiful, dangerous and vicious.
It swallows ships and people along with the fishes.
Big, deep and blue,
the waves, the fish, it's all true.
I love the ocean, I want to see it all.
Above, below, and deep within. The plants, the fish, it all.
It's really too big for one to see,
especially for a yound girl like me.
So I'll keep dreaming, keep it all to myself.
And see it in my head, just me, no one else.
I love the ocean so big and blue,
I want to see it all, don't you?
Written by Keshia Doyle
The sun shines and hits the water,
a sparkle, a shimmer, a sight to be seen.
I want to travel, go a bit farther,
to a place wher no one else has ever been.
I love to dance, I love to sing,
I love the feeling the ocean brings.
A warm little feeling deep within me,
a feeling I get, when the ocean I do see.
It seems so calm, not dangerous at all,
but it swallows ships, and brings death to all.
It's dangerous, vicious, and evil at times.
I want it, I need it, the ocean is mine.
Calm, beautiful, dangerous and vicious.
It swallows ships and people along with the fishes.
Big, deep and blue,
the waves, the fish, it's all true.
I love the ocean, I want to see it all.
Above, below, and deep within. The plants, the fish, it all.
It's really too big for one to see,
especially for a yound girl like me.
So I'll keep dreaming, keep it all to myself.
And see it in my head, just me, no one else.
I love the ocean so big and blue,
I want to see it all, don't you?
Written by Keshia Doyle
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Margaree
|
Margaree is a community by the sea
In this community, there is lots to do and lots to see. In Margaree you can ride your bike or take a hike on the Ocean View Trail. Swimming in Sandy Bottom can be lots of fun. Trouting and berry picking can also be done. |
Catching fish on the wharf
can be done by girls and boys. They can always hear the seagulls make a lot of noise. You can go to the store for a little munch, or You can go to the restaurant for a real good luch. In Margaree there's lots to do and lots to see. |
Written by Kirk Billard when he was in grade 3
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
| Over on the Point Sometimes I sit and think a lot, of things we used to do When we were young and carefree and out to break the rules. We didn’t have much money then, and not a lot to do at night. But one place we all loved to go was “over on the point” It didn’t matter how cold the night or how much rain or snow, We just had to get out of the house and “up the road” we’d go. We’d meet all our buddies and then we wouldn’t stop We’d sell out souls for fifty cents to go to Jack Hodder’s shop. If we had a dollar we could buy a pack of smokes, Vienna sausages, a bag of chips, and some left for a coke. Then we’d all head into their house, some sitting on the floor! And if we got too noisy, they’d kick us out the door. So many years have come and gone and that house is no more. We’ve all gone down the road of life. Some are rich and some are poor. Some are happy, some are healthy and some have achy joints. But remember all the fun we had “over on the point” Adapted from "Up at Harry Toms" by Joan Keeping Wilson |
|