Le Petit Nord / or, Annals of a Labrador Harbour

by Anne Grenfell; Katie Spalding

Many miles over the hills from St. Antoine lies one of the wildest and most beautiful harbours on this coast. Nestling within magnificently high rocks, the picturesque colouring of which is reflected in the quiet water beneath, lies the little village of Crémaillière. It is only a small settlement of tiny cottages beside the edge of the sea, but it has the unenviable reputation of being the worst village on the coast. In winter only three families live there, but in the summer-time a number of men come for the fishing, and they with their wives and children exist in almost indescribable hovels. Some of these huts are just rough board affairs, about six feet by ten, and resemble cow sheds more than houses. If there is a window at all, it is merely a small square of glass (not made to open) high up on one side of the wall. In some there is not even the pretence of a window, but in cases of severe sickness a hole is knocked through for ventilation on hearing of the near approach of the Mission doctor. The walls have only one thickness of board with no lining and the roofs are thatched with sods. There is no flooring whatever. Not one person in Crémaillière can either read or write.

Yesterday there was a funeral held in one of the little villages, and the mingling of pathos and humour made one realize more vividly than ever how "all the world's akin." A young mother had died who could have been saved if her folk had realized the danger in time and sent for the doctor. She was lying in a rude board coffin in the bare kitchen. As space was at a premium the casket had been placed on the top of the long box which serves as a residence for the family rooster and chickens. They kept popping their heads, with their round, quick eyes out through the slats, and emitting startled crows and clucks at the visitors. The young woman was dressed in all her outdoor clothing; a cherished lace curtain sought to hide the rough, unplaned boards of the coffin—for it had been hewn from the forest the day before. The depth of her husband's grief was evidenced by the fact that he had spent his last and only two dollars in the purchase, at the Nameless Cove general store, of the highly flowered hat which surmounted his wife's young careworn but peaceful face as she lay at rest.

I saw for the first time an old custom preserved on the coast. Before the coffin was closed all the family passed by the head of the deceased and kissed the face of their loved one for the last time, while all the visitors followed and laid their hands reverently on the forehead. Only when the master of ceremonies, who is always specially appointed, had cried out in a sonorous voice, "Any more?" and met with no response, was the ceremony of closing the lid permitted.

Surely the children are the one and only hope of this country. Through them we may trust to raise the moral standard of the generations to come, but it is going to be a very slow process to make any headway against the ignorance and absence of desire for better things which prevails so largely here.

I must tell you of the latest addition to our family. On the first boat in the spring there arrived a family, brought by neighbours, to say what the Mission could do for them. I think I have never seen a more forlorn sight than this group presented when they stepped from the steamer. There was the father (the mother is dead), an elderly half-witted cripple capable neither of caring for himself nor for his children, four boys of varying sizes, and a girl of fourteen in the last stages of tuberculosis. The family were nearly frozen, half-starved, and completely dazed at the hopelessness of their situation. The girl was admitted to the hospital, where she has since died, and the youngest boy, Israel, we took into the Home. Alas, we had only room for the one. Israel was at first much overawed by the standard of cleanliness required in this institution, and protested vigorously when we tried to put him into the bathtub. He explained to us that he never washed more than his face and hands at home, not even his neck and ears, the limitation of territory being strictly defined and scrupulously observed.

June 20

Unlike last year this summer promises to be hot, at least for this country. I have felt one great lack this year. You have to pass the long months of what would be lovely spring in England without a sign of a living blade of flower, though a few little songbirds did their best bravely to make it up to us. Already we are being driven almost crazy with the mosquitoes and black flies, songsters of no mean calibre, especially at night. In desperation our little ones yesterday succeeded in killing an unusually large specimen, and after burying it with great solemnity were heard singing around the grave in no uncheerful tones, "Nearer, my God, to Thee."

I hate to think that these next few weeks will be the last I shall spend in this country and with these children. The North seems to weave over one a kind of spell and fascination all its own. I look back sometimes and smile that I should ever have felt the year long or dreary; it has passed so quickly that I can scarcely believe it already time to be thinking of you and England again. I may emulate the example of Mrs. Lot, but with the certainty that a similar fate to hers does not await me.

I have just unpacked a barrel of clothing sent from home to the Orphanage, and find to my disgust that it is almost entirely composed of muslin blouses and old ladies' bonnets! What am I to do with them? The blouses I can use as mosquito veiling, but these bonnets are not the kind our babies wear. I shall present one to Topsy, who will look adorable in it.

You hint it is hard to get up interest in Labrador because we are neither heathen nor black. I can imagine your sewing circle of dear old ladies (perhaps they sent the bonnets) discussing the relative merits of working to send aeroplanes to the Arabs, bicycles to the Bedouins, comforters to the Chinese, jumpers to the Japanese, handkerchiefs to the Hottentots, hair nets to the Hindoos, mouth organs to the Mohammedans, pinafores to the Parsees, pyjamas to the Papuans, prayer-books to the Pigmies, sandwiches to the South Sea Islanders, or zithers to the Zulus. Just wait till I can talk to your dear old ladies!