The Early years 1959-1964

I was born on Sunday, March 22, 1959, in Campbellton, New Brunswick.  At the time, we were living in Saint-Arthur, which is about 25 kms from Campbellton.

Saint-Arthur was established in 1873 by a group of Acadian settlers looking for a new place to call home. The community was named after Arthur Landry, one of the founding members. It was officially incorporated as a village in 1966.

My father was George, born in 1924, in Campbellton, New Brunswick. He grew up in a small village called Balmoral near Saint Arthur. My mother was Lola Faye, born in 1929, in Campbellton, N.B. She grew up in McKendrick, which was attached to Saint-Arthur.  

My father built our family home in a very remote area called the New Colony of Saint Arthur, and these properties had no electricity or running water. He was a lumberjack; my mother was well-known for her large garden. They were both hard-working.   

They had 8 children, and we all helped when harvest time came around. She would harvest the vegetables, keep what was needed for the family, and then sell the rest to the local grocery store. Prices were as follows: 5 lb bag of carrots for 10 cents, 75 lb bag of turnips for $1.00, 50 lbs of potatoes for 75 cents. I couldn't believe that 50 years later, she remembered the prices and was still making a garden. What a lady!

I was born during a snowstorm. I was called “The Snowstorm Baby” (Bébé de tempête) by the locals. My mother was in labour the previous week, and it took her nearly 24 hours to get to the hospital. We lived in a very secluded area, and she had to take a horse and sleigh to the local church.  

Then, they had a snow plough clear the road so she could get to the hospital. It turned out that she was not ready to deliver me, or I was not ready to come into this crazy world. She decided to stay with friends in Campbellton until her labour started again. Another snowstorm hit Campbellton, but she could get to the hospital this time without too much trouble. I’m unsure how long she was in labour, but it wasn’t an easy delivery. I was a breached birth. I came out feet first. Poor woman had already had to go through 7 other deliveries and then a breach birth. No wonder I was her last!

I had 7 siblings, all in Saint-Arthur, waiting to meet the newest addition to the family. My eldest sibling was my brother who was 12 years older than me. Then there was my sister's nearly 11,10, 8 & 6; my brothers 4 & nearly 3. My sister told me that she was praying for a girl. I think it was because my brother who was nearly 3, was a handful.                

I don’t remember very much of my childhood. I do have some early memories, but most of them were with my sister, her future husband and his parents, Mémère and Pépère. They were like grandparents to me. I don’t remember my grandparents much. My paternal grandparents died before I was born, and I don’t know why I didn’t spend very much time with my maternal grandparents. I know my father did not get along with them, so that could be why. I guess that is why Mémère and Pépère were like grandparents to me.  I remember spending a lot of time in the barn with the animals. I was like Pépère’s shadow. I wanted to watch him milk the cows and feed the pigs, and most of all, I enjoyed going in the loft where the hay was stored. Most of my memories with them were happy times. He would take me with him when they would go collect the hay. He would sit me on his lap, driving the tractor on the way to the land, and then, on the way back, he would make a small spot in the middle of the hay and place me there for the ride back. I always felt safe, even though it was probably dangerous. I never realized how much work it was to get this hay. They would have to cut it all with a scythe, which was extremely dangerous. One wrong move and they could lose a limb!

Then they needed to rake it all up into large piles, let it dry, and when it was dry, they would hook up a long trailer to the tractor, and that is when I was allowed to go with them. They would spend hours loading the hay onto the trailer only using a pitchfork. They would sometimes have to throw the hay 15 feet up onto the pile. This was hard work, but they needed the hay for their cattle and other animals. Whatever they had left over, they would sell to the local farmers.

I enjoyed going to get the cows to be milked. They were in a field down the road, and the dogs would come with us to herd them up. Watching them and following the herd back to the barn was fun.

I also remember having to help wash and put the milk separator back together. There were so many disks, and they all had to fit together. It was like a puzzle. Maybe that is why I am pretty good at puzzles now.                       

Pépère was always so kind to me. During the summer, he would take me for a walk to the local store and get me a banana Popsicle. That was such a treat! Mémère was a tiny lady but very stern. You knew not to mess with her. One time, I went and played with her sewing machine, and I got the needle stuck in my finger.

I just sat there wondering what I should do. Should I call her for help or try to take it out myself? I must have been only 5 years old at the time. I knew that if I called her, I would be in a lot of trouble, and I was right. I can’t remember if or how she pulled it out, but I remember sitting in the corner afterwards.

She would sometimes let me do things that I thought were fun at the time. One fun memory was working the butter jug. It was a great privilege, but now that I think about it, it helped her in some way; I could spend a lot of time just pumping the stick up and down.  I wasn’t strong, but I was very determined. I don’t think I ever got to the point of making butter.

Some of the not-so-good memories were when they would slaughter the animals.  I was always very curious, which sometimes got me in trouble. I remember going into the barn in the loft once, and they were slaughtering a large bull. They didn’t see me hiding in the hay loft; it was not the place for a small child to be and to witness that kind of pain. Maybe that is why I am so empathetic and do not want to see animals in pain. They deserve a nicer way to die. I guess in those days, it was the only way to do it? At least, we have come a long way since then.

I think the worst experience was when they would slaughter the pigs. To this day, I can still hear their squeals and the smell of their skin when they would pour boiling water on them to remove the hair. If that wasn’t enough, Mémère would get me to hold a pot under the pig while it bled.

Then, at supper, we would have du Boudin, which is blood pudding. The first time I saw it, I asked her what it was, and her reply was, “Remember the pot you held under the pig? Well, that’s it.”  I refused to eat, and she told me I would not have anything else until breakfast. I was fine with that!

A funny memory was in the evenings when we would listen to the prayers on the radio. They were all in French, and I only spoke English. In their living room, they had chairs against the walls, and behind the chairs, they had a crucifix on the wall. They seemed to have one every two feet.  I remember kneeling on the chair, facing the crucifix, and praying, or what I thought was praying. Since I didn’t understand the words, I would just say my version, which didn’t make sense. It sounded like gibberish. Mémère wasn’t too impressed, but Pépère would just wink at me and smile.                 

In the fall of 1964, when I was 5 years old, our house burnt, and I was the only one home with my mother. Everyone else was either at school or working. My sister was working as a live-in nanny in Campbellton. She had some pictures with her, which is the only reason we have some family pictures. The reason for the fire was that our gas washing machine caught on fire and caused the house to burn down. My only memory of that day was that I started running towards the house because our cat was inside. Luckily, the cat came running out, but I can’t figure out where the cat went after that? No one seems to know.       

I can’t imagine how my parents felt. They only had the clothing that they were wearing. Everything else was gone. No money in the bank, no insurance, nothing! All their money was tucked under the mattress, which burnt, too. I’m not sure where everyone went, but I believe we were taken in by different relatives. I know that I stayed with Mémère and Pépère. I believe I stayed with them until the following summer. My parents decided that moving to Montreal was a good idea. My father was working mainly cutting wood and didn’t have any education. He had siblings who lived in Montreal, and I guess he figured he could find work in the big city. I wish I would have asked my mother more about those times, but I didn’t want to bring up those hard times.

I remember being at Mémère and Pépère’s and finding a kitten in the barn. She was pure white, and I brought her into the house and said I wanted to keep her. Mémère said she would mail her to me once I was settled in Montreal.

I believed her because I remember going to the post office to pick up stuff. She never came in the mail! I drove my mother crazy for probably a few months until we returned to New Brunswick and brought her home to Montreal.

I named her Bébé. She lived for over 16 years.