Go West

It took me a while to notice, but Newfoundland faces the wrong way.

St John's harbour looks east, to Europe, to Britain, to the colonial powers, the fishermen and the settlers. No-one returns its gaze. Once the waterfront was craft-crammed, boats buzzing around like bluebottles, the dockside awash with whorehouses and gin palaces. Now the influx comes from the airport or the Trans-Canada Highway.

Out west, behind Newfoundland's back, Canada carries on regardless. Ottawa, Toronto, Montreal, Calgary and Vancouver all bustle along in big city life. Isn't it time for Newfoundland to recognize that having St John's as the provincial capital is logical only to historians and oil companies? As fascinating and picturesque a city as it is, it's in an absolutely hopeless location. We should pack everything up and move west.

To some degree this is happening already. Mount Pearl is expanding like an unsupervised child in a chocolate and peanut butter factory, but from what I've seen of it thus far, it could be bulldozed entirely with no great loss. With a new capital city on the Gulf of St Lawrence, St John's could return to its life as a harbour town - the jelly bean houses and Signal Hill bringing in the tourists, and the choppers and trawlers shipping out the petroleum workers. Its tedious western sprawl would be wiped happily off the face of the Earth.

A capital in western Newfoundland would connect the province to its country. Rather than a 12 hour drive from Port-aux-Basques to the Avalon, people could be off the ferry and into the city in no time. The other Atlantic provinces would suddenly be an island-hop away. There would be no need for the preposterous food miles required to shift groceries all the way across the island, no need for the trans-Canada highway to be potholed into oblivion by a steady stream of juggernauts. Why, the provincial government could even experiment with the extraordinary concept of public transport, offering a frequent bus service or (heaven forfend!) a resurrected train line. Or an all-terrain hovercraft system.

Memorial University could switch its campuses around, making Wilfred Grenfell College the main focus of attention and leaving St John's as the satellite centre. For marine biology, geology, geography and other earth and life sciences, the west coast is far more suited to study than the barren, boggy terrain of the Avalon. And on the subject of terrain, having the population focused on the west coast would make it financially viable to have some proper provincial agriculture, rather than having to eat turnip tops for 8 months a year or fly everything in from Mexico. Places like the Codroy valley could be centres of a far more self-sufficient farming industry than can be offered with things as they are.

Then there's the weather. The west coast gets warmer, drier summers and reliably snowy winters. The skiing around Marble Mountain could be a genuine centre of eastern North American snowsports if the powers-that-be weren't so orientally oriented. Unless you like cross-country skiing, the St John's region is a waste of time, but no-one from this side of the island appears prepared to invest properly in making the western mountains into a tourist attraction. With the grandeur of Gros Morne and the dramatic Northern Peninsula, a steady stream of visitors could surely be attracted.

OK, so there's Stephenville, but it could be hidden behind a giant fence, perhaps one disguised as inspiring land art that would further bring the tourist dollar into the area.

The more I think about it, the more sensible it seems. The only thing holding us back is the past. Sadly its grip on us is so strong that there's no way the move will ever happen.

The magic of CBC

We have a TV in our house, but I refused to sign up to a multichannel package from Rogers or Bell Aliant, so it is ornamental. That doesn't stop Hen watching hours and hours of televisual rubbish on dodgy websites, but at least I don't have to pay for her to do so. I'm happy to stick with the internet and the radio.

When we arrived in St John's, our bedroom clock radio was tuned in to K-Rock, but eventually we found CBC Radio 2, hidden at the right of the dial. Tom Allen was the breakfast show host, and he introduced us to songs that none of the Newfoundland radio stations would ever play, such as Furr by Blitzen Trapper and Sam Roberts' Bridge to Nowhere. He was also an amusing and avuncular presenter, almost a suitable replacement for Terry Wogan.

Then Mr Allen decided to stop getting up at stupid a.m., and handed over responsibility to Bob Mackowycz. The music being played remains good, and Mackowycz is pleasant enough, certainly compared to inexplicably self-satisfied twarts like Chris Moyles and Steve Penk. He does, however, tell the listener that 'my name is Bob Mackowycz' between every song. Perhaps this is a CBC rule (Allen told us who he was rather too often as well, and Molly Johnson says 'I'm Molly Johnson' at least three times in every sentence), but it's extremely annoying. My brain doesn't work especially well at 7.30am, but I can remember the name of the DJ speaking at me without him repeating it to me over and over again.

Mackowycz also winds me up by reading the time in mainland Canada and then saying 'half an hour later in Newfoundland', rather than the actual time, and by building up the 7.30 (NST) news to a ridiculous degree. He makes claims along the lines of 'listening to this news broadcast will set you up for the day' and 'here's what you need to understand the world, courtesy of the wonderful CBC news room'. The CBC radio news is decent, but life-changing? I hardly think so. Even with the inimitable Joe Cummings reading the headlines, breakfast radio is mostly just background noise.

++++++++++

One evening this week we got a special treat, going round to a friend's house where they have....wait for it....a television subscription! There were 257 channels and nothing on, of course, so we fell back on good ol' CBC.

As if to confirm that CBC is just an alphabetical slip away from the BBC, first up was Dragon's Den. I've not watched many episodes of the British version, but there are usually one or two vaguely worthwhile ideas in amongst the chocolate fireguards. Not on CBC. Every product proposed was either hopeless or unoriginal.

And talking of hopeless and unoriginal, the following show - Magic Man - starred Greg Frewin. At least in the UK, televised magic involving doves, leather trousers and dancing girls was blown out of the water by The Unpleasant World of Penn & Teller, David Blaine (before he disappeared completely up his own magical arse, possibly whilst holding his breath in a tank of formaldehyde on a golden plinth suspended from the Sydney Harbour Bridge) and Derren Brown. Not on CBC. On comes a charmless man wearing leather trousers and a shiny shirt, waving his arms about preposterously and turning young ladies into tigers. Frewin certainly knows how to 'do' magic, but it's like watching a 9 year old boy perform a card trick. You smile, say well done, and then look for something more substantial and impressive. Sadly, Frewin just keeps pestering you to watch him do the same trick again. "No!" he implores. "This time I'll be on a stage near the Niagara Falls! With yet another tiger!" He's obviously fooled the producers of CBC, but he doesn't fool me.

Then the CBC news came on, and I woke up. I also learned many things:

1. The Canadian parliament looks like a TV studio and is very strangely laid out, with all the politicians seated in pairs:

The chamber of the Parliament of Canada

2. Defence Minister Peter MacKay doesn't look like a normal politician, unless you regard Arnold Schwarzenegger beefcake as the mould. Luckily, he behaves according to stereotype, rapidly u-turning his views as soon as someone lower down the chain of command lets slip the truth behind a story.

3. The winter weather in Canada is cold! Brrrr! (that was the tagline) I thought Britain's obsession with weather was bad, but Canada being freezing in December? How can this constitute the second most important item on the national news?

4. The Canadian government is trying to figure out what to do with a massive surplus of H1N1 vaccine doses, having ordered more than 50 million doses, despite having a national population of only 33 million, all of whom were never likely to get vaccinated.

5. Everyone in St John's was going to die unless they boiled their water. Probably.

Conclusion: radio is better than television.











I'm Joe Cummings.

From Newfoundpool to Newfoundland

Upon arriving in Newfoundland, I found myself wondering if anyone else from Leicester lived here, or if I'd find any connections to home during my stay. I contemplated donning my City shirt at all times, just in case I passed a fellow Leicestrian and they didn't immediately spot me as a kindred spirit.

Then I learnt that I wasn't the only person with the shirt, as former Filbert Street favourite Ian Marshall (pictured below) was handing them out to kids who attended his summer soccer schools around Corner Brook and Deer Lake.

Ian Marshall, Leicester City FC, 1996-2000

(Photo (C) Sporting Heroes)

Hopefully there are now hordes of children cheering on City's march up the Championship table on their way to certain Premier League glory* next season.

That was exciting enough, but then I picked up the Globe and Mail one Monday last month to find an article called A weighty problem, in which Dr Sander L. Gilman discussed the modern western world's obsessions with size. Not especially remarkable, except for the fact that Mr Gilman cited the 18th century gaoler Daniel Lambert, a true legend of Leicester, as a wonderful example of a man who was happy and healthy, despite being heavily obese. Fat, good-natured, two hundred year-old Leicestrians showing North Americans not to worry about their weight. Who'd have thought it?

But the connections go even further back than the turn of the 19th century. In fact, they go as far back as complex life on Earth does. There may be an ocean between Leicestershire and Newfoundland now, but that wasn't the case in the Precambrian, at least not if the fossils from that period are to be believed. The weirdos first spotted in and around Charnwood Forest, such as Charnia and Charniodiscus, pop up in various spots across the Avalon Peninsula, indicating strongly that the two regions were once geographically close. If it wasn't for the Atlantic, I'd probably be able to walk from St John's to my parental home, winding my way between shrubs** of Bradgatia linfordensis, which look like this:

Bradgatia linfordensis, Mistaken Point, Newfoundland
(Described originally from Leicestershire, where it looks like this)

At the Cape Race Visitors Centre in Portugal Cove South, I found the shop selling ceramic brooches of Bradgatia, and simply had to buy one. It meant nothing much to anyone else, but I've been to Bradgate Park and Newtown Linford countless times and managed only to purchase ice creams. Buying model Leicestrian fossils in Newfoundland seemed too strange an opportunity to decline. I wonder if Sir David Attenborough has one?

Newfoundpool is a suburb of Leicester, a couple of miles from where I grew up, in case you were wondering.


*note that 'glory' is a catch-all term that incorporates 'abject failure and relegation'

**Wikipedia describes Bradgatia as looking like a squashed cabbage, but what do they know?

*denotes abnormal temperature trend

Like all Britons, I watch the weather. Meteorologically, the UK is fairly variable, and everyone over the age of 25 spends at least 73% of any given day talking about it, especially when a foot of rain falls in 24 hours. I don't recall, however, coming across the term 'abnormal temperature trend' before I moved to St John's.

"Generally, temperatures rise through the day and fall through the night... However, the sudden arrival of warm air at night or cold air during the day can trigger different temperature trends."

Yes, generally the sun warms us up during daylight hours, and cooler conditions take over once it disappears over the horizon. If not, things all go rather Carrollian:

The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright--
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.

In Britain, the weather is generally a two-way battle between Atlantic and continental systems. Newfoundland has the pleasure of witnessing a triumvirate fight it out - the Atlantic, the North American continent, and the Arctic. If the Labrador Current switched off, the weather here would probably be comfortingly familiar. Instead it's like the UK with the thermostat turned down and the anemometer cranked up. Not that one can crank up an anemometer, of course, but you get my drift.

"Of all the major Canadian cities, St. John's is the foggiest (124 days, next to Halifax's 122), snowiest (359 cm, next to Quebec City's 343), wettest (1514 mm, next to Halifax's 1491), windiest (24.3 km/h average speed, next to Regina's 20.7), and cloudiest (1497 hours of sunshine, next to Charlottetown's 1818 hours). It also has more days with freezing rain and wet weather than any other city." (Environment Canada)

It's November, and winter is upon us. We probably won't see warmth again till April, if we're lucky, and Newfoundlanders tell me that the mildness of last winter pretty much guarantees that 2009-10 will be a bad one.


Environment Canada's Senior Meteorologist analysed 30 years of data to find out the country's weather winners. His discoveries can be found at this page. Perhaps most satisfactorily for those of us perched out here on The Rock, he had a look at the toughest city to live in, weather-wise. The categories were these. The winners were these. I would celebrate, but I'm too busy getting SAD and tying on my Yik-Triks.

Still, at least I no longer have to cope with 17 hours of darkness a day.

Billy Bragg at the Holy Heart Theatre

I was 31 years when I moved to St John's, and I'm 32 now, but I won't be for long. People ask me when will I grow up to understand what the local music scene is like in Newfoundland? So far I've not made much of an effort. Neil Young is at least Canadian, but the Idlers didn't move me and the folk festival wasn't my bag. And now I go to see a man from Barking.

He, being Billy Bragg, had at least made an effort to try and understand local culture. The circuitous nature of airline travel to St John's means that those artists who grace the city with their presence often have a bit of time to explore it. Bragg revealed he'd been most affected by two things. Dog testicles. Not just any dog testicles, though. These canine balls belonged to the cast silicon-bronze statues of Newfoundland and Labrador dogs, which can be seen in various spots around town. "They're the size of apples," he laughed. "You should start a tradition for New Year and get someone to daub them in fluorescent paint."

These are the dogs under discussion, although I can't provide detailed anatomical photographs at present:


With his bafflement at mummers' costumes and the recognition that Newfoundlanders don't fully regard themselves as Canadian, Bragg endeared himself to the crowd. With his tales of Woody Guthrie writing tumescent ballads about Ingrid Bergman, and his indignant political fire still burning brightly ('democratic capitalism' and 'military intelligence' are oxymorons, like 'American football'), he showed why he has remained such a popular performer. Although I agree with much of his philosophy, he has the charisma and conviction to pull you along in his slipstream even if you don't.

It might also be that he writes and sings songs like no-one else. Sexuality and The Milkman of Human Kindness will never lose their magic, but it was good to hear him charged up in newer material, such as No Power Without Accountability (IMF, WTO, / I hear these words just every place I go / Who are these people? Who elected them? / And how do I replace them with some of my friends?"). But mostly he was amused by the dog sculptor's handiwork.

To finish it all off perfectly, he got us to sing the chorus to his best-loved composition, and dedicated the extra verse to its creator, the late, great Kirsty MacColl. I therefore resisted the temptation to substitute Newfoundland for New England. His show was, literally, the dog's bollocks.

I should also mention the support act, The Mountains and The Trees, who was/were good too. Pleasantly harmonic melodies, and Jillian Freeman's voice provided a light counterpoint to the darker tones of main man John Janes. Some of the lyrics need working on, but it's early days, and they're based in St John's, so perhaps I can use them as a springboard to other musical delights downtown.

Remembrance Day 2009, St John's

11am, 11.11.09. A gloriously sunny morning in St John's. At the National War Memorial, a province that was independently British in both world wars, marks the passing of its dead.

The National War Memorial, St John's

On June 30th 1916, at Beaumont Hamel, around 800 members of the Newfoundland Regiment prepared to go over the top. The next morning, their assault on German lines began. The meticulous planning of the Allied command proved to be of no use whatsoever. No friendly fire assisted the Newfoundlanders' advance, the holes in their own barbed wire served only to focus the enemy gunfire, slicing down most of the regiment before they'd even cleared their own lines. For those who made it as far as no-man's land, cover was non-existent. Even worse, the German lines had been barely punctured by the Allied bombardment beforehand. The handful of men who reached the impenetrable wire were as easy to pick off as rabbits in a cage.

In under half an hour, more than 80% of the regiment was taken out. At the regimental roll call that night, just 68 men answered. Exact numbers are hard to come by, but more than 300 men were killed and another 360 wounded at Beaumont Hamel. A little over a hundred members of the Newfoundland Regiment came through unscathed. Given that Newfoundland had a population of less than 250,000 in 1914, this means that, in a blink of an eye, over a thousandth of the dominion's inhabitants were annihilated. From a modern British perspective, this would be equivalent to wiping out in excess of 70,000 citizens, or every person in Shrewsbury. Not that the British Army got off lightly, of course. The opening day of the Battle of the Somme saw 19,240 members killed.

The Royal Newfoundland Regiment, National War Memorial

Last Post

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If poetry could tell it backwards, true, begin
that moment shrapnel scythed you to the stinking mud . . .
but you get up, amazed, watch bled bad blood
run upwards from the slime into its wounds;
see lines and lines of British boys rewind
back to their trenches, kiss the photographs from home —
mothers, sweethearts, sisters, younger brothers
not entering the story now
to die and die and die.
Dulce — No — Decorum — No — Pro patria mori.
You walk away.
You walk away; drop your gun (fixed bayonet)
like all your mates do too —
Harry, Tommy, Wilfred, Edward, Bert —
and light a cigarette.
There’s coffee in the square,
warm French bread
and all those thousands dead
are shaking dried mud from their hair
and queuing up for home. Freshly alive,
a lad plays Tipperary to the crowd, released
from History; the glistening, healthy horses fit for heroes, kings.
You lean against a wall,
your several million lives still possible
and crammed with love, work, children, talent, English beer, good food.
You see the poet tuck away his pocket-book and smile.
If poetry could truly tell it backwards,
then it would.

Carol Ann Duffy

Useful references:
Newfoundland and the Great War
Veterans Affairs Canada - Beaumount Hamel

The non-bonny Tyler

For the residents of Stewart Avenue and the Government House area of Military Road, one of the most familiar city sounds is the plaintive howling of Tyler the dog. His owners like to leave him chained up to the back of their house for as many hours of each day as they possibly can. From Tyler's almost incessant barking and whining, I would deduce that the poor chap isn't best pleased by this. Still, dogs aren't social animals and people who buy one don't need to worry about having the time or the space to keep one properly. Just lock the pesky blighter outside alone in all weather and give short shrift to anyone who suggests otherwise!