Newfoundland Soiree

In 1973, the Royal Canadian Legion held it's  annual convention in St. John's, this was  prior to the 50th Anniversary convention held in Winnipeg in 1975,  more delegates and their wives attended at St.John's then went to the Winnipeg convention. The reason probably being that most veterans wanted to see Newfoundland before they died and that they had made Newfoundland friends during the war. The aldermen of the city pulled Mayor Dorothy Wyatt into the Stadium in a dory and the party began.  No one had to leave their seats , the sons and daughters of legionnaires, (there were six branches in the city at that time),

delivered every seafood mentioned in the  rhyme ,along with plenty of Newfy beer to wash it down.

Not mentioned in the invite, is the seal flipper pie,

Many passed after one taste, I really don't know why!

After the sampling, they would look left and right,

Watching many put it down on the floor, was entertaining that night!

  

The following was our invitation to the Soiree

On June the sixth at seven o'clock

We're going to make the old town rock

Your visit gives us great delight

We hope that you have fun that night.

The Stadium is just the place

We really hope to see your face

My dear,when you eat our moose ball

You'll never want to leave at all.

And if you've never had the crabs,

Just think what you missed, my lads

There's caplin and so many things

Did you ever try our squid rings?

And then the few who don't eat fish

Will even get another dish

Just this once,we wil pamper you

We'll let you have some caribou.

Salt cod pudding or fish chowder

Makes you sing our songs much louder

Eat fish this year, we'll bake or boil

Next year, we may just strike some oil.

Screech is the stuff, which we call booze

One drink my son, you can't refuse

Our tourists all seem to buy it

Are you man enough to try it?

Sometimes our food gives you a pain

And some say we have too much rain

That's what you may have heard up there

You know the difference,now your're here

Our council wants you, to have fun

Visitors, Legionaires, each one

In your haste, don't ever pity

Those that live in St. John's city

Temptress

Written by Murray Boy, a sea captain I met in Chester in 2011, rigging up the sailboat "Mima" to deliver to England, via the Azores and Malta!

She's cold hard, steely and blue
You would wish to know her, I feel I do
I've seen her worst,I've seen her best
I've watched her take my friends, to death.

I've watched her steal them, heart and soul
I've watched her make their blood run cold
I've seen them floating, all wrinkled and white
I've often dreamed of them at night.

She is a friend ,but still a foe
I've felt her tides run, to and fro
I've felt her current, I've felt her force
I've felt her thrill,yet she gives me remorse.

She fills the rivers, she makes them flow
From the mountain's crest to the plains below
As she and the moon bring stars out at night
'Tis sure she will give me a challengeing fight.

She'll beat me and use me and leave me for dead
And then I'll awaken, as she comes to my bed
She's given me faith ,on the darkest of nights
She's given me lust for the morning light.

She's taken my family,taken my fears
And all she's left me , is a couple of tears
She nurtures me as she nurtures the land
She flows through the mountains and grinds them to sand.

She's strong and she's bold, she's a temptress to me
She should be my wife, but that's not meant to be
I've seen her north of sixty, frozen and cold
I've seen her on the equator,where she sparkles like gold.

I've seen her on the west coast, and on the east coast too
I've seen her as deep as any man could do
She's given me , a means for flight
And she's held me back,and made me fight.

She's filled my life with soaring triumph
She's a lover, she will always be
She'll have me one day
Her name is the Sea.

Salute to a Dory Man

From Earl P. Pilgrim's "Drifting into Doom"

I want no fuss with the pale faced cuss
The jerk or piano tuner,
Who spend their lives in dirty dives
In their struggle for more bologna.
But give me the windswept ocean's rise
Where the dog-fish swirl and the stearin cries
And the salt brine cakes to your blistered eyes
As you pull for the side of the schooner.

I don't want to fight in the bars at night
Where the gangs are loud and swearing.
I don't like the rattle of boxcar-trains
As they thunder on down through the mountain,
But give me the sounds of the breakers roar
Where they lift the trawls from the ocean floor
And the puffin squawks at the tide's deep bore
As we pull for the side of the schooner.