“Mrs. Johnson said the tuition is little or nothing, that I’d just need a place to stay and money for food,” JW said.
“Oh, that’s a deal breaker,” his mother said.
JW looked at his parents, then smiled with relief when they broke into laughter.
“We could never afford to feed you if you leave home,” Mary Donaldson said, still chuckling.
“I might have to take you with me, Ma. Da and Alfred can look after themselves.”
“You’re on your own, son,” Andrew said. “But I do have a cousin or two living in Truro, and I’m sure one of them would take you in. Earl’s got a small farm and is getting on in age. I’m sure you’d earn your keep by helping out,” his father said.
The reality of the situation was setting in, and JW realized he’d be away from everyone he loved, or who loved him, for nine months. All the work looking after Lightning and the cow and the chickens would fall to his parents. He’d never been away from home for longer than a night, and that was just a sleepover in the fort, or at Mickey’s when he’d been much younger. He’d been close enough to home that he could walk there in half an hour.
The sense of adventure pushed away the anxiety of being away from home. He hoped Alfred would stay, and it seemed likely that he would. He would be a help with some of the chores that JW usually did. JW’s mind continued to race as he considered what his parents had said about his decision. He knew they were both proud of him, but it was nice to hear it. He hoped he would get accepted into college for the fall, and he would do his best to continue to make them proud of him.
JW stood back and took in the finished boat – his boat. It was beautiful, but he knew the real test was a couple of months away when it would be launched. That would determine if it was seaworthy. The smile on Alfred’s face told JW that it was likely it would be.
JW had watched in awe as Alfred’s skilled hands chiselled Mary Elizabeth across the hull of the boat. The dark red colouring he used on the lettering was a present from Alfred’s nephew, Daniel. It stained the wood, and Alfred had added a shellac finish to ensure the salt water would not wash it away.
JW hadn’t forgotten that he had to cut wood for the mill as payment for the lumber the owner had provided for his boat, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind. He knew it would take a few weeks to cut and deliver the wood. Thankfully, Alfred had told him he would mark the trees he should cut. Alfred had provided almost everything JW needed for the boat, except for the hardware and pulleys. JW’s father made them to Alfred’s specifications. The only thing missing had been the sails. To JW’s surprise, Beth’s father had arrived at the barn last week; he had salvaged old sails from a shipbuilding project that could be cut and hemmed to fit the Mary Elizabeth.
JW had been planning to just have Beth, Alfred and his parents on the original launch but had quickly revised his list to include Smitty and Mickey, as well as Beth’s parents and sister. He’d added Sally and Patty to the list, and then remembered Donnie. The boat was going to be pretty much filled to capacity if everyone invited showed up.
JW hoped he would be in Teacher’s College come September, but that gave him the spring and summer to spend on the lake, sailing and fishing. JW knew being a teacher would give him the best of both worlds, steady work and additional free time in the summers.
As Alfred and JW walked toward the house, JW thought about the impact that Alfred had had on him, from Alfred’s first night, just trying to get out of the cold, to becoming part of the family.
JB McLachlan’s words also came to mind. JW couldn’t quote them precisely, but he had taken from them that not all of life’s lessons are taught in books and schools, and that the true heroes are the working men and women. JW decided he would be sure to tell his future students what JB had to say. But for now, he planned to continue to meet with Mickey, Patty and Donnie and any other young miners to try to come up with ways to make the coal mine a better, safer place to work.
In the distance, JW saw a piece of land overlooking the water and thought it would be a nice place to build a house. The skills he’d learned while building the boat would come in handy when the time came for him and Beth to build a home. But that was in the future.
Chapter 39
“How do you like teaching, so far?” Beth asked. She was excited for JW and very happy that he was back home. She had missed him so much the nine months he’d been away at Teacher’s College.
The past three-and-a-half months they had seen each other more than they had in the previous two years – they had been practically inseparable. The Mary Elizabeth had been put to good use exploring the inlets and coves up and down St. Andrew’s Channel. All summer long, Beth saw an excitement in JW as he captained his ship. She knew it was a boat, but when his hand rested on the tiller, she knew his mind had him in a sailing ship, off on an adventure in a faraway land. He still had a deep tan from the summer spent on the boat. Hers was beginning to fade, but she’d only spent days off on the boat. He and Alfred, Smitty and Mickey had done a fair bit of fishing. The winter months’ meals would consist of a lot of salted and smoked fish, both cod and mackerel.
JW took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering. “I’m really glad to be teaching, but seeing some of those little boys coming to school with cut and broken fingers is difficult. Some are so tired, they should be home in their beds, and others are only a few years younger than you and me. I’ve decided to take an active role and meet with the miners, young and old, mostly the young ones, to try to get them to learn about their rights and how to lobby for better working conditions.”
“I know,” said Beth. “I often see these little ones, who should be playing games, waiting on a chair to be patched up so they can go back to work.”
“I have boys in the class who’ve already repeated the grade twice. They’re smart enough to do the lessons, but the shiftwork means they miss as much school as they attend.” JW looked at Beth. “I spoke to Mrs. Johnson about setting up night school classes for the children, and she thought it was a great idea. She said we should open it up to adults as well.”
“Sounds like she plans to be part of it,” Beth said
JW nodded.
“Do you think adults would even consider doing that? Going to school, I mean?” Beth asked.
“Don’t know, but I do know there are some in the mines who never got a chance to go to school much past second or third grade, which means little or no chance of promotion, at least not one where you have to read and write.”
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if some did come to the night school classes?” Beth said. “Knowledge is power.”
“What?’ JW said.
“You remember. Mrs. Johnson told us that in grade eight, that the more you knew—”
“I remember. That’s what I’ll use to try and encourage them to come to class. My main focus is the children, but I hope both come. Thanks, Beth,” JW said, and kissed her.
—
JW looked at the children seated before him. His conversation with Beth last week about how knowledge is power stuck with him, and he thought the more power he could bring to the boys and girls, the better. He remembered the times spent in class with Beth. How they were often first and second in the running for prizes for English or French. His mind drifted back to grade eight when he and Beth were both awarded prizes for English – a set of books, the classics. He looked at the children before him and at those same books, which were lying on his desk. The Count of Monte Cristo, which brought to mind the darkened tunnels, and Moby Dick, which made him think of the majesty of the ocean and the creatures therein. His eyes lingered on Robinson Crusoe, and he wondered if the content might be too much for some of the children, as parts of it troubled him. He looked at the novel Little Women, which both Beth and Mrs. Johnson said would be well received by the young ladies in the classroom. He hoped he could convince the children to
read simply for the pleasure it could bring them. He knew reading would instill a sense of adventure in them, dreams and aspirations for a better life.
JW sensed that most of the class were distracted by something in the corner to his left where he’d set up a small table with rocks and coal, both of which had fossils encased within them. He realized that they were staring at the blackboard, not the table. He guessed someone might have drawn a picture or written something on the board.
When he turned to look, he discovered the blackboard was as clean as the previous class had left it. The children were staring at the foot-and-a-half piece of leather that resembled a beaver’s tail and hung from a nail beside the blackboard. He knew the strap was widely used for various infractions, real or imagined. He remembered getting the strap a few times over the years. Some were for being late back from recess and some were because the teacher couldn’t figure out who had thrown the piece of chalk or eraser, so all the boys in the vicinity got it. JW wondered whether, sometimes, it was wielded just because the teacher was in a bad mood.
The walls were thin between the classrooms, and he felt himself cringe whenever he heard the loud crack of the strap, like a whip being snapped in the air, followed by the muffled cries of the child who’d received it. Once he’d counted ten cracks in succession and wondered what terrible crime had been committed.
JW rose from his chair, pulled the strap from the nail and threw it on his desk. Using his thumb and forefinger, he wiggled the nail back and forth, pulling it from the wall. He opened the top drawer of his desk, pushed the strap to the back of it and threw the nail in the waste bin. He would have liked to have thrown the strap in the bin as well but knew it wasn’t his place to do so. He hoped it would stay hidden – and unused – at least for a while.
He thought of grade eight again, the year he’d spent in Mrs. Johnson’s class. Never once throughout the year did she ever use or threaten to use the strap. JW hoped he would never have to use it, because the lesson he’d learned that year from her was that fear was not a good motivator.
JW was happy to see the children’s eyes were now drawn to the fossils, and he began his lesson, telling them when and where he’d found them, pointing out that some of the students in the class had seen them first-hand underground.
—
Standing on the hilltop overlooking the mine, JW felt Beth’s hand slip into his. He had missed her so much during the time spent at Teacher’s College. They watched as the shift changed, men and boys squinting as their eyes tried to adjust to the sunlight after a night spent underground.
“Are you getting used to the children calling you Mr. Donaldson?” Beth asked.
“Not really, Nurse Jessome. Maybe in a few months,” JW said. “Let’s hope I can keep some of them out of the mines and that those I can’t don’t end up with you, needing to be patched up.”
Beth looked into JW’s eyes and gave a sad smile. They both knew that change came slowly and that for the foreseeable future, boys would continue to enter the mines, and many would be seen by her, and others, to be patched up.
They walked back toward the Donaldsons’ farm. It was time to pick out a piece of land, time to build a house, time to see what the future would bring.
The End
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks to Cape Breton University Press and to Mike Hunter, Editor-in-Chief. Thank you to Marianne Ward for her wonderful editorial suggestions.
I would also like to thank the following people for their assistance: The underground guides at the Miner's Museum, and Michael G. MacDonald, who is always available to read a first draft. Thank you to all who read Trapper Boy and offered words of encouragement. Thanks again to all the boys, girls and men who toiled underground and the women who awaited their return.
Most of all, thank you to Joanne for her continued love and support, and for reading everything I write.
H.R.M.
Hugh R. MacDonald is a writer of fiction, and a singer/songwriter, whose work has been in a number of anthologies, and online. Hugh has been a member of the Writers Union of Canada and the Writers Federation of Nova Scotia (WFNS) for many years. His YA novel, Trapper Boy was published by Cape Breton University Press – Us & Them is the sequel.
Hugh’s song, “Trapper Boy,” which he wrote prior to the novel of the same name, has been added to the repertoire of the world famous Men of the Deeps Coal Miners’ Chorus, and was included on their 50th anniversary compilation CD, Coal to Gold (2016). Hugh’s original song “A Cape Breton Lament” was included on the CD Cape Breton Songs of Steel, Coal and Protest, produced by Dr. Richard MacKinnon (Cape Breton University).
Trapper Boy was selected by Dr. Patrick Howard of Cape Breton University’s Education Department as a novel around which to develop a Teacher Resource. The resource is currently available at no charge for teachers using Trapper Boy.
Hugh is a member of the Writers in the Schools (WITS) program through WFNS. Hugh enjoys going into schools to meet with young people and sharing his passion for writing. His presentation includes readings from his work, using his songs and his videos to share thoughts on his writing process, and encouraging young people to try their own hand at writing. WITS grade level P-12. Trapper Boy was included in The Canadian Children’s Book Centre’s Best Books for Kids and Teens Spring Edition 2013.
Hugh is a graduate of Cape Breton University, and works in the human service field.
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