Dancing In a Jar

by Poynter Adele

February 17, 1935

  Dear Urla,

  Well you missed a real concert at the Giovannini’s at lunchtime today.

  I was at the wharf receiving a shipment of dynamite, so I missed the trial. Just as I arrived home for lunch there was Mr. G arriving with two policemen in crazy fur caps and the Magistrate, who apparently is an Oxford graduate. The upshot of the trial is that Mr. G was issued a $50 fine. The maximum fine is $400 including confiscation and payment of all duty and freight that would otherwise have been charged if the stove had been legally purchased.

  The two policemen sat in the front parlor while the Magistrate and I ate our lunch, cooked to perfection on the ill-gotten stove. I was waiting for Mr. G to offer us a little nip of his best French brandy after lunch but that might have been one push too far! Then they all left a little later on their way out the harbor to the next community. I am sure the whole town waved them off.

  We are all waiting for you to return so we can complete our bridge foursome. I am checking into vessels this week and will book your ticket as soon as the weather settles.

  By the way, don’t send any more gifts without adjusting the invoice. Mr. Louis told me the girls paid a hefty tariff in order to collect the fabric you sent them. They were thrilled to get it, so please don’t mention the money as I’m sure it will embarrass them.

  I’m reading the Anthony Adverse book you left and finding it a good read.

  Love,

  Don

  245 Hillside Avenue

  Nutley, New Jersey

  February 27, 1935

  Dear Don,

  What a treat to get your letter as I was on tenterhooks about the fate of Mr. G and the stove.

  I had a get together yesterday with Nancy Dewar and Betsy Simms and we had some good laughs over our time at Uppsala. Nancy is president of the Nutley chapter of the American Association of University Women. Both of them ended up teaching in Nutley, and both left their jobs when they married. They live only a few streets from each other and attend the same clubs and activities. They seem to go into the city a lot and gushed about the latest Rodgers and Hart musical Jumbo. For my part, I gushed about the goings-on in the smuggling rings of St. Lawrence and maybe laughed too hard at my own story. I still laugh at the image of everyone storing cigarettes in the snow banks.

  Sometimes I feel they all look at me wondering how I could find humor and happiness in such an impoverished environment. I’m not sure I could explain it even if I wanted to.

  In the meantime, I tune out a little at all the talk of who wore what to church, whose husband is spending too much time in the city, and who was left off this or that invitation list. Quite honestly, darling, I miss the extravagance and luxury of home but not its complications.

  In some ways, I think these women spend too much of their time sifting through the choices around what kind of wife they want to be. I’m so grateful I learned to be a wife in St. Lawrence where I somehow learned without complicating it. Sometimes having too many options can be a burden. I can’t wait to get back where I can learn how to be a mother as effortlessly.

  Speaking of extravagance, Daddy has a new line of lollipops at the drugstore, so I will be bringing home lots for Leonas and Blanche. For your birthday present, I will give you a hint: it is jazz and round.

  Counting the days.

  Love,

  Urla

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  March 5, 1935

  Dear Urla,

  I realize our letters are crossing in the mail, but I wanted to get a quick note off to you to let you know the coats arrived.

  Wow, I didn’t know Methodist women wore coats like this, let alone gave them away. To my untrained eye they look quite fashionable. You must have really appealed to their sense of noblesse oblige. Anyway, I dutifully brought them up to the convent. Sister Bernard answered the door and forgot herself for a moment and was all excited to receive the bundle. I think she will be delighted that the poorest women in town will now be wearing the most fashionable coats. She reminded me that families cannot buy clothes with their dole money. They were very thankful and I assured them you would soon visit with Barbara. I keep trying to get a sneak peek in behind the front door, but their life remains as mysterious as ever.

  I’m sending some coins for your father in this package so let me know whether they have been lifted en route. I have some twenty, thirty and fifty centime pieces from Saint Pierre which I thought he would be interested in. They still have Napoléon on one side, which gives you some indication of their age. I am also sending the variety you can get on any day here: yesterday my pocket had American, Canadian, Newfoundland, and British coins—all in circulation here. I’m sure he would find that of interest.

  Before I sign off, I must tell you I’m coming to see the radio as a mixed blessing around here. Father Thorne’s housekeeper asked me the other night if I had ever had gingivitis! Naturally I was a little shocked, but I did tell her no. She then asked if I might ask you to bring some back to St. Lawrence with you. I finally got to the bottom of it when Father Thorne told me about the ad on the radio which says: thirty percent of Americans have gingivitis. This poor woman just wanted to have some too.

  Much love to all the folks at Hillside, but especially you.

  Don

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  March 10, 1935

  Dear Urla,

  Miss Fewer tells me I must really be missing you because I am sending so many letters. It’s good to know everything I do is being watched! I had to write today because the most beautiful ships are in the harbor. We missed them last year because of the ice, so I have to describe them for you.

  Most large boats leave from Grand Bank, but this year a few put in here. I woke up yesterday morning and there in the harbor was a large, spectacular schooner. The sun was up and bright and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent. In full sail with her blue hull—I wish I could paint.

  This banker has a thirty-man crew. She carries about twenty dories, all nestled like saucers on her deck. I was invited to have dinner with the captain. One of the mates kept us entertained with stories, and he swore they were true. He told me about drifting away from his banker when they were in the Atlantic. When they hit landfall in their open dory, they found themselves in West Africa. The stories continued in this fashion all evening.

  They seem to feel the French fleet heading to the Grand Banks is very strong this year. The French government guarantees the price of cod, so that’s always good for a big argument around the table.

  You won’t believe where I’m heading now. I saw a group of local boys yesterday with their skates, heading off to Little Pond. I stopped them and they agreed to come by and get me today. I have to put those Christmas skates to use. You would have laughed yesterday. As they headed out the hill they picked up one of the Kelly boys and I could hear Mrs. Kelly shouting, “If ye comes home drowned, I’ll kill ye.”

  Earlier this week, I was surveying in Little St. Lawrence and was invited into the Clarke house for lunch. Without any say in the matter, I had my first taste of seal. I wouldn’t call it my favorite dish. It had an oily fishy taste, much like the seabirds we have eaten around here. In other words, it tasted like second-hand herring. All the same, it was a lovely lunch and I felt quite satisfied and thrilled with the treat.

  No sooner did I get home this evening and pick up the Herald Tribune’s recent article about Capt. Kean, the famous sealing captain, and his one-millionth seal. I don’t know if you remember, but the captain of the Portia which carried us here is Capt. Kean’s son.

  In the meantime, every time I burp, I feel like there are a million seals in my belly! In this case only, I am glad you are far away.

  Much love,

  Don

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  March 22, 1935

  Dear Urla,

  After a few nasty incidents, which I won’t trouble you with, the strike is over. I suspect both Seibert
and the union were fed up with the other’s antics. I know I was. In the end, we settled on a five-cent raise and a new shift house at the mine. I’m not sure Aloysius Turpin and I will be exchanging Christmas cards next year.

  Your passage is booked for April 6th. I have arranged all your immigration papers for when you and Barbara arrive in St. John’s. This time around, you will stay on board in Halifax so you don’t need to clear customs in Canada. You’ll then be sailing for St. John’s where you will clear customs and be met by Mrs. Ethel Giovannini who will take you to the Newfoundland Hotel for a night of luxury before you sail the next day for St. Lawrence. Be sure both of you are bundled up for the weather. Don’t let signs of Spring in Nutley fool you. Yesterday we had four seasons in one day, and one of them included driving snow and biting wind.

  Our little house will be ready for both of you. Lionel Turpin helped me repaint and insisted on doing Barbara’s room himself. I hope she likes canary yellow!

  Last night I was walking home from Father Thorne’s, and all the lights were on in every house in town. My Barbara will think she is coming to live in a fairy kingdom.

  The Etchegary men and I will go to Saint Pierre next weekend as we need dynamite and some other supplies for the mine. We are running low on a few other staples (I am really desperate for good tobacco) and we can’t have your homecoming without champagne, that’s for sure. Father Thorne kindly let me borrow the full priest regalia, just in case I need to go to the bow to bless any Coast Guard coming near. For heaven sakes, don’t mention to my parents or yours that I occasionally double as a Catholic priest. Otherwise don’t expect much more news as I will be working day and night to make up for lost time. The Furness Line will send ticket details directly to you. Can I hint that a new pipe would really enhance the Saint Pierre tobacco?

  Yours ever,

  Don

  P.S. You were sorely missed at the St. Patrick’s Day dance on Saturday night. Maybe it’s because it’s the only relief from Lent around here, but it was a walloping good time. I ended up with the crowd at the Quirke’s house having fried egg and onion sandwiches just as the sun was coming up. My legs could barely carry me home and I won’t be dancing again for a while. Well, until you come home.

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  April 11, 1935

  Dear Mother and Dad,

  I know you will be anxious, so I’m dashing you a quick line to say Barbara and I have safely arrived in St. Lawrence. Everyone was so kind right from when we boarded in Brooklyn to when I stepped into Don’s arms a few hours ago. Perhaps it was my pale color or the distraction of this beautiful baby but we made it without a hitch. I am definitely developing better sea legs, just as long as no one cooks cabbage.

  Don is smitten with his little girl. Of course he has hardly held her since we arrived. We went to Mrs. G’s for lunch, and then over to visit “Uncle” Louis, Florence, and Kathleen. Barbara has been passed around and danced about in two kitchens already. Newfoundlanders adore children, although you would think they would have their fill with all the youngsters already at their feet.

  Of course I caught up on the big news very quickly. The town is all aflutter over the disappearance of Father Thorne’s cow. Apparently a priest simply can’t live without his cream!

  We are settled into our own house now and Barbara is napping in her bright yellow nursery. We will have a wonderful celebration for Don’s birthday tomorrow, although I suspect it will be hard to top today.

  We are all very happy to finally be together. I hope that helps soften the sadness of leaving you both.

  Love,

  Urla and Barbara

  Clifton, New Jersey

  April 6, 1935

  Dear Urla,

  Seeing you off this morning has left me in a dreadful state, so I resolved to write you as soon as I returned home.

  I sometimes wonder if you realize how happy and content Barbara is around us all in Nutley. She would grow up with doting grandparents and all kinds of opportunity, not to mention proper nutrition. I know you and Don are enjoying your little adventure in the North, but perhaps now you have to think of the next generation. From what you have described, she will be limited in so many aspects of her life and I ask you to reflect on whether this is fair.

  I know you will think I’m meddling. Mother and Daddy would never say a word of course, but I don’t want to continue with the family tradition of never saying how you feel. I tried to talk to you about this but found it too difficult to get past your sense of resolve.

  So, dear Sis, I will leave it there. I know you saw plenty of evidence that the Depression is a thing of the past and there are job opportunities for Don all over the state.

  I leave that with you and send you my love,

  Dorothy

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  April 14, 1935

  Dear Mom, Pop, Howard, E and King,

  Thank you all for the birthday cards and back issues of the Nutley Sun. Poor Miss Fewer at the post office always looks relieved when I show up as she can finally clear out her mail room. Last week I had to get a young fellow to help me carry the load home.

  The best birthday present was of course the arrival of Urla and Barbara, safe and sound. Already I cannot imagine our life without this little pink bundle. Urla is resting now and one of the Giovannini girls has taken Barbara in her pram for a stroll around the harbor. It should be quite the mess when she returns as the roads are full of mud and melting snow.

  It is Sunday afternoon and I’m enjoying a rare afternoon off. We are having an early Spring, so we have started construction of the new mill, something that will totally change the nature of our operation. Government inspectors graced us with their presence last week. I’m not sure if they’ve ever seen a mine, let alone a mine like this one. I was hoping for some help with the water problem, but they were mostly concerned with shafts and ventilation. With them was a young geologist, hired by the new Commission Government. He’s a real firecracker, and a graduate of Princeton. He will be a great help with the grading set-up at the mill, but even better, he has taught me to play chess, and now Urla is keen to learn.

  Sorry to hear business is slow, Pop. I keep getting mixed signals about whether the Depression is behind us or not. Siebert says demand for steel is growing and Urla says Broadway has recovered to full houses. Here fish prices are still very low, and I see demand for coal is too. Gold prices are not rebounding either. Perhaps Roosevelt’s New Deal will start yielding dividends soon. Certainly, Pop, we could use your lamps here.

  You would have laughed at what Urla brought back to St. Lawrence. I got plenty of pipe tobacco, so I shouldn’t complain, but there is a lot of wool and sewing supplies to go with it. Then I thought she had lost her mind altogether when I saw so many silk stockings: odd ones, discolored ones, holey ones. It turns out she has great plans for hooked rugs. The women here dye the stockings using lichen, mosses, and berries. Then they cut them into little strips, hook them through burlap, and turn out some mighty fine results. Urla is planning to hook the old Crammond house in Edinburgh as a gift for her parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. Mums the word.

  The days are getting longer now and it’s a good feeling. It’s been a long winter and the strike made it even longer. Siebert has been quiet, but I suspect he will spring to life soon and announce new orders.

  As requested, I paid the property tax on Wayne Place and Oak Beach for you folks.

  Again thank you for the birthday wishes. I’m able to walk the barrens here in fine fashion which is not too bad for an old feller.

  Love to all,

  Donald

  St. Lawrence, Newfoundland

  April 30, 1935

  Dear Dorothy,

  I wasn’t quite sure what to do with your letter, but I now think it was very fine of you to write me your thoughts and concerns. I would hate it if you didn’t feel comfortable enough to be frank with me. I’m only sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to me while I wa
s there. The truth is I loved many parts of being home, especially being near you all, but also the comfort and availability of life’s little indulgences.

  Maybe I was so focused on my new baby that I didn’t register much outside of that. Darling sister, please know that we have capacity for all kinds of happiness, coming from all kinds of experiences. I can only imagine that from your distance my life here doesn’t look like much. But my life feels happy enough as I am living it. For now, that is the only thing I can commit to.

  You will be pleased to know my cultural life has taken a big swing upwards. On Don’s last trip to Saint Pierre, he bought a new radio! He has really missed having a dependable one, although it gave him a great excuse to visit Mr. Louis or the local priest in the evenings, the source of the only other radios in town.

  Because we are on the south coast of this country, we receive excellent radio reception, apparently stronger than St. John’s. We get WOR Gabriel Heatter just like we were sitting in New Jersey. Lowell Thomas and Boake Carter are keeping us up-to-date on the news. Yesterday evening we enjoyed Harry James and wished we could be dancing somewhere. We also get Canadian radio stations, with CJCB from Sydney, Nova Scotia, especially strong. It’s not popular with everyone: Florence Etchegary told me her little brother Gus gets up early to turn on Wilf Carter, filling their little house with cowboy songs before he leaves for school. They’re thinking of hiding the radio in the mornings!

  Barbara gets outdoors most days except when the weather is particularly foul. Right now that is one day out of three. But if it’s any way possible, somebody comes to the door after school and offers to take her for a walk. Maybe these young girls are happy to get away from chores at their own homes, but they seem to love “carting,” as they say, Barbara all over town. They bring her back just before dark or if she’s hungry. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  One day Don was walking home from the mine and came upon Mary Kelly pushing a pram. She walked along with him, talking up a storm. He was surprised when she came as far as our house, and even more surprised when he discovered that his own child was in the pram. I laughed so hard I had to take a seat to recover. Mary told me she told him it was Barbara, but he said he hardly understood a word she said from the beginning of the walk to the end.