I was drawn to the Debating Society, a fledgling organization at the time. A number of debates were sponsored by the society and I willingly participated. One I clearly remember was a debate over the statement: “Labrador belongs to Quebec.” I was on the negative team with Bob (Robert) Crocker, and I remember Rex Murphy was on the affirmative team. It was memorable because of the topic (one sure way to get a Newfoundlander’s dander up) and also because Rex, in an effort no doubt to intimidate his opposition and perhaps try and impress the judges, entered the theatre in dramatic fashion after everyone was seated, burdened down by a pile of books which he placed next to his lectern on the stage. Notwithstanding the flourish, Bob and I won the debate.
After my first year at university, I spent a year teaching grade six at Lewisporte Central School. It was a funny arrangement. Central school meant from grade seven to eleven in those days. But apparently there was some problem with housing the grade sixes at the elementary schools in town, and so grade six (all eighty-five of them) ended up in a section/extension of the central school with its own entrance/ exit, thereby, I suppose, still keeping within the silly guidelines of maintaining the central school idea. I think my reasoning at this stage for taking a year from university was to see whether I liked teaching, since I was having some ideas about switching to law at that time.
This was a wonderful experience and solidified my original decision to go into teaching, although originally it was as much financial as it was a career choice. The provincial government at the time was offering a $600 grant for first-year Education students. The only incentive was that you had to commit to teach for two years in the province. In any case, this one year teaching was very rewarding, notwithstanding the crammed quarters and two large classes of forty and forty-two, respectively. There were two of us teachers—Jack Bussey and myself—and we had six courses: I taught three and Jack, of course, taught the other three, switching classes as appropriate.
Grade six is a great grade—the students no longer need personal help and are inquisitive without the teenage issues. We had a large number of very bright students, which in itself was a challenge, but it also presented the larger challenge of ensuring that the average student and those with difficulties were not ignored. The existing English course seemed inadequate, and so I received grudging permission to replace some of the program with materials that I had discovered from the United States. This would be a direct cost to the parents, so I wrote all the parents and received overwhelming support from them to get the new materials and bill them. This proved to be very successful and of significant benefit to students who were having some difficulty in reading and comprehension.
As I said, I enjoyed the classes immensely—they were lively and often spontaneous. After we got used to one another and a few ground rules were established, it was surprising how cohesive the classes became. Each morning there was a short period of fifteen minutes where there would be general discussion, usually about the hockey games of the day or weekend before. I remember one occasion when we were discussing a certain local hockey game in which I had played; it became obvious that I had incurred an injury above my eye—it required stitches and I was wearing a patch. The kids were eager to know what had happened. So an animated discussion ensued as to whether the opposing team was to blame, if it was an accident, or whether in fact I was a little too aggressive. In the midst of this serious debate, Wayne, eager to speak, interjected and exclaimed that he knew exactly what had happened. The other students questioned him, and with a sly grin he evaded a direct answer.
I stepped in and said: “Wayne, you owe it to the class to provide the answer. You said you really knew what happened to my eye—so stand in your place and tell the class.”
Wayne slowly got to his feet and, still with that impish grin, declared, “She kisses too high.”
It was this same Wayne who, in a discussion of where the moon gets its light, declared in dramatic fashion after first being reluctant to provide an answer: “Ah, it’s the man in the moon with a flashlight.”
Then there was Aubrey, a fifteen-year-old who for many reasons (home issues and falling through the cracks in the formal school setting) was a student in our grade six class. He was almost as tall as me, and having no other way to get attention, the first day school opened he began bullying a lot of the male students and making an overall disruptive scene. Of course, having only one year of training (I doubt whether more of the kind I got would have helped anyway), I quickly resorted to some basic common sense. First, I had to see to it that I was in total control of the class. That meant, one day after some serious disruption, taking Aubrey by the scruff of the neck and leading him out of the classroom. He quickly saw that while he was almost as tall as me he was not yet as strong, as I quickly rendered him physically helpless. However, I realized that this was just a temporary measure and that I could not do this every week and hope for a permanent fix.
I had been planning to try and get an empty classroom in the main part of the school on Friday afternoons to do some physical exercise with the students. And sure enough, I was able to get an hour that afternoon, and with the principal’s permission I was about to implement it. Additionally, I had secured a basketball that we could throw around and do some basic dribbling. Of course, then students would have to wear, when possible, sneakers or other appropriate footwear. I had told the class to expect an exciting announcement. So I was before the class announcing this addition to their school activity when it suddenly dawned on me that here was my chance to reach Aubrey, and so in the course of my announcement I said that I was going to need someone to help me on Friday afternoons, looking after the basketballs, getting everyone over to the other classroom and lined up, and that I had appointed Aubrey to do this work with me. The class was happy with the announcement, of course, and when I further said that I was sure everyone would get along and co-operate with Aubrey, there was some hesitation, but then just about everyone agreed with the appointment. You could see among some of them that they knew what I was up to, and they nodded with a flash of understanding.
Not only was this afternoon activity a great boon to class cohesion, but Aubrey became a new person. We were all surprised—from the first Friday when Aubrey asked for permission to exit the class five minutes early to get ready for the new activity, to his organizing the students, looking after the balls and footwear—this was a new day for us all. Aubrey suddenly got interested in his other school work, began passing his tests, and behaved in class. I have often wondered whatever happened to Aubrey—at any rate, he passed grade six and was a well-adjusted young man the last time I saw him.
It was incidents like this that left no room for choosing another profession. In addition to the new stimulating environment of the university, I was blessed beyond measure to have had the good fortune during these years to work in some of the more remote parts of the province.
I already had experience working for the Department of Public Welfare. It seemed natural for me to see if I could get another job with them. There was a need for students in the summer months to relieve the permanent welfare officers around the province. So I visited the department, picked up an application form, completed it, and submitted it to the department. No answer. I went to the department and was able to set up a meeting a few days hence with the Director of Field Services, a Mr. Hollett. (As I write, I have been informed that he passed away at the age of eighty-five.) He explained to me the role of temporary welfare officers: they were to conduct the basics while the permanent officer was on holidays, and mainly do the annual reviews of those people who were on some kind of permanent assistance. In the larger centres there would not be a problem since there would be other permanent officers in those offices to guide the temporary people, but for those temporaries going to the more remote regions it would be a little more difficult, so there would be a couple of days training (reviewing The Welfare Act and Regulations), and off you went. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you would get a few d
ays with the permanent officer before they left.
One surviving letter of the department’s acceptance of me for one of these temporary jobs is still in my possession.
Department of Public Welfare
St. John’s, Nfld
April 16, 1964
Mr. Brian Peckford
Lewisporte, Nfld
Dear Mr. Peckford:
I am pleased to advise you that your application for temporary employment with this Department has been approved.
Your salary, during your period of employment with us, will be at the rate of $200.00 per month. In addition, the Department will accept responsibility for your board and lodging up to the amount of $60.00 per month providing you are not posted to an area where it will be possible to reside in your own home. Any charge in excess of $60.00 per month, however, will be your own responsibility.
This Department gives no undertaking to employ you for any specific period of time. However, if there is no reason to feel dissatisfied with your performance it is anticipated your service will be required until late August next.
Will you please arrange to report to the undersigned at the Confederation Building on Monday, May 4, 1964, at 9: 00 a.m.
Yours truly,
C. S. Knight
Director of Field Services
“BUT, M R. PECKFORD, I am sorry that there are no openings in the larger centres,” announced Mr. Hollett.
“You mean there isn’t a job available?” I hesitantly replied.
“No, I’m sorry. You’re a little late applying and all the openings in the major centres are taken.”
“Well, perhaps I could go to one of the other places,” I muttered.
A surprised expression crossed Mr. Hollett’s face. “You mean, you would go to a smaller place, perhaps an isolated place?”
“Yes,” I said, not really fully comprehending the implications.
“Well, you’re a little young and you have no experience managing an office by yourself in an isolated area. We usually persuade some older students who have had a year in a larger centre to go to one of the smaller remote offices,” Mr. Hollett explained. “But we are having trouble this year, so perhaps something might become available. I will let you know if we have an opening in one of the smaller offices, and if you’re still interested we’ll see what we can do.”
I left the office a little dejected but with a glimmer of hope that I would get a call telling me of a vacancy. Meanwhile, I began thinking about my answer. Did I really want to take a job that saw me in some isolated place for the whole summer? I needed the money so I could go back to university in the fall, and there was this tinge of adventure about the idea. So I let my proposal stand.
Luck was with me. A call came from Mr. Hollett to come and see him.
“We have an opening at La Scie,” he said. “It is on the northeast coast—no doubt you have heard of it. It is isolated but not real small; there is a fish plant and a road to a couple of communities, although they are not linked to the main road system. The welfare officer will be there when you arrive and you’ll have a few days with him before you’re left on your own. Most of the communities in that welfare district you will have to visit by boat.”
It was March and final exams were around the corner. Now that I had secured a job I could concentrate on some of the study I had failed to do for most of the year. I got through the next few weeks thinking about the summer and trying to concentrate on final exams. It wasn’t easy and my exams were all packed together in a couple of days. This was still the time when the final exam was worth 100% of the final mark—so if you blew it in those three hours, that was that.
I struggled through—studying in some cases through the night— and then went straight to the exam room. I was afraid someone was going to speak to me along the way or just outside the door to the exam room, because I felt so mentally full that if I responded, everything I had stuffed in my head the night before would suddenly spill out and leave me empty of any knowledge to answer the questions on the exam.
With exams out of the way, I contacted Mr. Hollett and began a two-day orientation, learning about the legislation and various programs and how to complete the various forms.
“There’s a coastal boat leaving next week,” Mr. Hollett informed me, “and we would like you to be on it to La Scie. We have secured a boarding house for you and the welfare officer will be there for a week or so to help you adjust.”
Just like that, I was off the next week on the Northern Ranger to La Scie.
CHAPTER 3: A PRACTICAL EDUCATION
“I am a part of all that I have met.”
— Tennyson
IT WAS LATE APRIL and almost miraculously the ice along the east and northeast coast had stayed several miles offshore, making possible a very early start to the coastal boat season to northern Newfoundland and Labrador. And so, unlike the harrowing experiences of my mother and her five children crossing Placentia Bay in a snowstorm in 1951, I had a relatively easy time as the boat made its way along the east coast of the island, stopping first at Twillingate and then on to La Scie.
La Scie was the easternmost point of land on the Baie Verte Peninsula, nestled under Cape John with a U-shaped harbour, and every inch a fishing community. This was the proud home of trap fishing crews and a large fish plant. The news here was all to do with fishing, the wind, the ice in the spring, and the price of fish. Sammy Thoms’s general store was where the old fellers hung out, and if you wanted to get a real quick lesson of trap fishing on the northeast coast of Newfoundland, this was the place to visit. Not that it all came easy when you entered the place; it was a bustle, and after a hardy welcome from Sammy, who was otherwise too busy to talk to you, you settled on a box or barrel and waited for the conversation to slowly evolve. However, change was in the air—a contractor (friendly to Premier Smallwood’s party) was busy digging and blasting as they were installing a water and sewer system in the community (completely financed by the provincial government), and the first highway to the town was under construction by another company friendly to Smallwood. There was already a crude road system from La Scie to a number of nearby communities, including the mining town of Tilt Cove. These communities all formed a part of the welfare district I was to administer—the rest of the district would be communities on the north side of Green Bay, southwest of La Scie and accessible only by boat.
The permanent welfare officer was with me for a week or so and we took one quick visit by boat to Snook’s Arm and Round Harbour to give me a taste of what was in store. Well, of course, the actual experience of being on your own is always quite a shock, notwithstanding the advice given to you and the things you read. New, unique, and strange experiences await and test your youth and inexperience.
The office was a one-room (plus a small waiting room), standalone building with a desk, a couple of chairs, a small oil heater, a typewriter, and a filing cabinet. My being new and young, it was natural that my first week or so was to field a large influx of potential clients who wished to test my mettle. This was truly a baptism by fire, and though I began to get my footing, there were a number of incidents which, during my stay there, reflect what today would be complex social and emotional problems.
The first to arise concerned a family in Harbour Round, a nearby community accessible by road. One of the children of a family there had a serious and, as yet, undetected disease. The local nurse and doctor who visited from Baie Verte recommended that the child go to St. John’s for further diagnosis and assessment. The family could not afford to pay for such a trip and I was brought into the situation by the father visiting my office to ask for help. After examining the man’s circumstance, it was obvious that the department would have to pay for this matter. In the subsequent days I contacted the nurse, and arrangements were made for the child to be seen by a specialist at a hospital in St. John’s. The appointment date was set for a few weeks hence, and I began the transportation and accommodation planning.
; I remember reading a play in high school that told of the chief character having scrupulously planned a crime scene, but one variable was still in play and thwarted the master plan, to which he exclaimed, “I did not foresee it.”
Such was the case with me when the father appeared at my office very early one morning, distraught and frightened.
“Mr. Peckford, sir, you never told me,” the father stuttered.
“Told you what?” I queried.
“That you or the nurse will not be taking my daughter to St. John’s to the hospital. I don’t understand,” the nervous father replied.
“Oh, sorry, I just assumed you would know that the family would have to take her. You see, you and your wife are available. You’re not working, and while your wife is working at home, if she goes, you can look after the other children.”
The man broke down. “We can’t go. We have never been anywhere . . .”
I will never forget the look of fright on that man’s face. He was truly afraid and became almost incomprehensible.
An hour or more passed, and although the father had come early, it was now after nine o’clock and other people were in the little waiting room, no doubt able to hear scraps of the conversation coming from the office.
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