by Byron White
“If I go in the cookhouse, when do you want me to start?”
“Well, I’d like to get you in there tomorrow if at all possible,” Stan stated.
“I see.” Hedley pondered this sudden request.
“Hedley, if you go in the cookhouse, you’ll be next to the cook and you will help him prepare for the men.”
“I’ll go in with him, if that’s what you want,” Hedley replied.
“Thanks, Hedley. I know it’s short notice and all.” A sense of relief echoed in Stan’s voice.
“I don’t mind. Work is work.”
“I’ll tell Clarence to expect you tomorrow morning,” Stan said, then added, “Drop over to the forepeak tonight and I’ll get you outfitted.”
“I’ll do that,” Hedley replied as he returned to his woodcutting.
Stan turned and headed back to camp.
That Hedley Janes is a fine man. He’s game to try anything, Stan thought to himself. It would not be the last time that Stan would be appreciative of Hedley’s versatility.
CHAPTER 11
THE NEXT YEAR, HEDLEY was working in the cookhouse as the cook with Wallace Cull as cookee. The cut had gotten under way in late spring after the wood was driven downriver to Gander Lake.
Stan and Allan had appointed Uncle Ben Mills and Uncle Walt Cooper to oversee building a series of dams and chutes along the ponds and streams that fed into the small brook. Stan and Allan had studied the area and calculated the water needed and the best location to put in controls for containing and releasing the water required to drive the pulpwood.
In early spring, they recalled the men needed for the drive. Most of these were men who had cut or hauled wood during the previous year. Men from all over: Comfort Cove-Newstead, Twillingate and Embree, from Grates Cove, Hillview, Georges Brook, and Random Island. Men from Notre Dame Bay like Albert Oake, Billy Ginn, Cecil Cooper, Mark Janes, and Charlie and Don White. Men from Trinity Bay and Conception Bay and other bays around the coast. Men like Ben Critch, Charlie Eddy, and Phil McCarthy, the Churchills, the Lamberts, and the Springers. Fine men all! Men who were not afraid to work. The type of men Stan wanted.
In addition to the regulars—the men who had proven their worth at Camp 13—there were new hires. Among these was Ken Hodder from Mann Point (Davidsville), Gander Bay. Ken had phoned up from the Glenwood office and Stan had hired him. Stan did not know Ken well, but Allan had worked with Ken and considered him a good worker.
Stan and Allan had worked in the Twin Lakes area back in the Dirty Thirties. Work was scarce and Stan had gone to Labrador to scout out future opportunities. Allan had stayed and helped drive the wood off Badger Lake and on down the Exploits River to the Grand Falls Mill. It was on this drive that Allan met Ken Hodder. The two buddied up and kept an eye out for each other’s safety.
The trip from home to the woods was an adventure in itself in those days. Since roads and automobiles were virtually non-existent, it had taken Ken two and a half days to get from Mann Point to Glenwood. He and a couple of other fellows had come up the lower Gander River by boat. Back then it was customary to use long poles to push the long, narrow boats upstream; it had taken them two and a half days to do so. At Glenwood they had jumped a train to Badger. Getting to Glenwood in the early 1950s was easier. Outboard motors had put in an appearance, and a fellow in Gander Bay had purchased and installed one on his riverboat. Ken had made the trip upriver in less than a day.
At Camp 13 the men had readied their equipment: their pike poles, their peeves, their ropes, and pulp hooks. Stan had brought in cases of dynamite to blow the wood where it jammed and plugged the streams. All had been ready, but before the drive could begin, a late-season cold snap set in—the ground stiffened and an easterly brought snow.
It had been an unseasonably warm winter, turning mild just after Christmas. The ground had thawed and most of the snow had melted. Thus the camps had been unable to get all their wood off. Now here they were, prepared to drive their wood, and a spring cold snap sets in! Jingoes, it was enough to mar your peace!
Stan would soldier on, though, and do what he could. He was not one to have men standing around, nor was he a man to be idle himself. He called the men together and set them to work cutting wood down by the river. They had 200 cords cut and piled before the drive began. Stan called Lester Shea, the walking boss, and asked him to send up a scaler to measure the wood so the men could be paid.
Out on the small brook, the men got busy driving the wood downstream. With their curved, hand-held pulp hooks they tossed the pulpwood off the banks. Uncle Walt raised the dam on the small pond and the rising water levels sluiced the wood on its way. Men hastened the wood along using their long pike poles. The river was a scene of excited activity.
Allan raced along the bank guiding the wood downstream. Others danced and copied over the tops of floating wood rafts. At times, the men made a quick retreat into the forest as the stream plugged and water levels rose, flooding the surrounding area. Runners were sent back and forth to the men controlling the dam, and the dam gate was raised or lowered on Stan’s command. When the river plugged, causing the pulpwood to pile high and block the river, dynamite was brought in. River waters were lowered a little and sticks of dynamite were inserted into the tangled mass. When the fuses were lit, the shout of “FIRE!” could be heard above the swirling waters. Soon explosions ripped the air and pieces of pulpwood were hurled into the heavens. The men scattered and ran for cover. The dam gate was raised again and the surge of water cleared an opening among the jammed wood. The men returned and set to work with their hooks and poles. Soon the rest of the wood was moving along. The scene was repeated again and again as the men released the wood held in booms back on the pond. They opened other dams farther back and sent the pulpwood flowing downstream.
The men followed the wood and drove it off the small brook and into Dead Wolf Brook, where it was driven into the Southwest Gander and on into Gander Lake. Large booms were installed across an inlet at the mouth of the Southwest Gander. The wood from the various camps was collected in these booms, towed down the lake to Glenwood, and guided in between two piers. Cable straps were placed in the waters, and when sufficient wood was floated in over these straps, a large crane hoisted the cable. Finally, the large bundles of wood were placed on the railway cars waiting on the siding. From there they were shipped to the Bowater’s Mill in Corner Brook. The finished products were then transported around the world.
After the drive was over, some of the men went home for a quick trip, while others remained at the camp and started cutting pulpwood. Before long the cut was in full swing, and eighty to ninety men were in camp. It was a busy time and Camp 13 became a beehive of activity.
Hedley and Wallace Cull were working in the cookhouse. They were up before 5: 00 a.m. and it was after 9: 00 p.m. before the last man left the cookhouse. They worked long hours! Five days a week, they made two fifty-pound sacks of flour into bread; on Saturday they mixed one fifty-pound bag of flour; and Sunday was a day of rest. No baking was done. Besides using flour for bread, Hedley and Wallace produced a steady stream of pastries: apple pies, raisin pies, folded pastries called “pig’s ears” and lots of tea buns.
For breakfast each morning the men were served baked beans. Some mornings Hedley would announce “baked beans and bologna!” On other mornings, for variety, it would be “bologna and baked beans!” On occasion there would be “sausages and baked beans.” During the cut, when the weather grew warm, it was difficult to keep fresh meat (including bologna and sausage) from spoiling. They would last awhile in the cool root cellar, but the shelf life for meats was limited. Sometimes salted bologna and sausages were utilized. Whatever the circumstances, there was always baked beans for breakfast.
The evening meals had a little more variety. On some evenings a hot Jiggs’ dinner would be served. This meal consisted of turnip, carrot, potatoes, and cabbage, along with a steaming pease pudding. The centrepiece of the plate, the pièce de
résistance, would be a lovely large chunk of salt beef. Some men poured pot liquor, the liquid in which the dinner was cooked, over the meal as a final touch. The men loved this meal and ate with gusto.
On evenings following the Jiggs’ dinner, Hedley and Wallace would offer up a fine meal of cold salt beef and large bowls of hot steaming soup. On other evenings the men would dine on salt fish and potatoes or fish and brewis. Both these meals would be covered with scrunchions: fatback pork, cut into cubes, and fried and rendered out and served as a garnish.
And there were prunes! With every meal, large bowls of watered prunes adorned the tables. There were prunes with breakfast, prunes with supper, and prunes for lunches at night. The cookhouse at Camp 13 was prune heaven. Occasionally, bowls of dried apricot stewed in water were mated with the prunes. But prunes were a constant. They were omnipresent.
The men did not eat their midday meal at the cookhouse. When they were cutting they carried their lunch with them. As the men came in to supper, they dropped their lunch bags off at the cookhouse. As soon as supper was over, Hedley and Wallace turned their attention to packing food for the men to take with them the next day. They packed all the lunch bags—even cut and buttered the bread for each man. Often canned food such as tins of wieners, sardines, and kippers was utilized. This, along with the bread and tea buns, constituted the packed lunch. It was a lot of work, but Wallace and Hedley had the lunch bags filled and stashed in the corner before retiring. There were over ninety men to pack for at this time of year, and sometimes the bunkhouse men would give Hedley and Wallace a hand. Around 8: 30 p.m. the men came back to the cookhouse for a mug-up and a snack. When the men went to work in the morning, they picked their prepared lunch bags from those in the corner and headed off.
The cookhouse itself was a long, peak-roofed building partitioned lengthways down the centre. The men entered through a side door across the road from the forepeak. This doorway led directly into the dining area. Long rows of tables, covered in oilcloths and set with tough earthenware mugs and plates, ran the length of the building, and long rows of benches for seating accompanied the tables.
The utensils lay close by along with salt and pepper containers, large enamel sugar basins, tins of Carnation milk, and butter containers, permanent fixtures on the table. At mealtime, large enamel jugs of steaming tea, huge platters of fresh bread, freshly baked pie, and great bowls of prunes adorned the length of the tabletops around the meal’s cooked items. Hedley and Wallace buzzed back and forth catering to the men’s needs.
The kitchen area lay beyond a framed opening in the partition dividing the dining area from the rest of the building. The section behind the partition, parallel to the dining area, was divided into three main compartments. At the far end, leading away from the camp, was a storage room containing the flour, sugar, tea, canned milk, dried fruit, and tinned goods. At the opposite end, toward the barn, lay the sleeping quarters for the cook and his assistants. The hours were long and they slept where they worked. The kitchen— the heart of the cookhouse—lay in the middle section. This food factory was crucial to the overall camp operations: the constant stream of food kept the men fed and provided them with the energy they needed to work so hard. It was important to keep the men fed and reasonably happy. At the same time it was important to keep food costs at a reasonable level so as not to adversely affect the contractor’s bottom line. Hedley knew his role and handled the balancing act as best he could. Stan was pleased and satisfied with Hedley’s work.
All the baking and cooking took place on three huge iron wood-burning stoves. There was finally a use for Hedley’s old power saw, too. The bunkhouse man, Uncle Ben Mills or Cecil Cooper depending on the season, used the saw to cut up wood for all the stoves at Camp 13. It was on these kitchen stoves that all the water was warmed, the tea made, the vegetables cooked and the meat fried. It was in these ovens that a hundred pounds of flour was turned into bread each day. It was here that the pies and other dainties were baked. And on the stovetop the prunes simmered!
Since the wood stoves were in continuous use, there was constant heat. Men seldom complained about being cold in the cookhouse; the kitchen itself was a tropical zone. The door leading from the kitchen to the back of the building was often left ajar. The pulpwood cutting extended from spring into the summer, and at these times, the heat from the three iron stoves was almost unbearable. Water would pour from Hedley and Wallace as they worked. Their clothing and aprons would become drenched with sweat. They constantly washed and doused themselves in water from the old wooden rain barrel outside on the bridge. Their only shower was the rain that nature supplied!
CHAPTER 12
DON AND CHARLIE, STAN’ S two younger brothers, worked at Camp 13 during the first two years of its operation. They were hard workers and liked by the men. Charlie’s friend Albert Brown, a saw filer at camp, was his constant companion. After two years, Charlie moved on to operate Camp 12 and Don and Albert went with him. Charlie liked to joke around—if there was merrymaking on the go, Charlie was not far away. Wallace Cull was often a target of his pranks.
One evening, Albert Brown and Charlie were walking to the cookhouse. As they approached they heard laughter coming from inside. They paused to peer in through the cookhouse window. Two men were sitting at a table drinking mugs of tea. Wallace Cull was the focus of their attention. Hedley was standing nearby.
Wallace held centre stage and was acting out some event. As Albert and Charlie listened, they understood what was taking place. Wallace was poking fun at Alb’s father, Uncle Sam Brown. Wallace was from Comfort Cove, as were the Browns. When he was a young man, Uncle Sam had had an unfortunate accident that had cost him three of his fingers on one hand. All he had left was his index finger and thumb. Uncle Sam was a fine, decent, hard-working man, but his hand sometimes became the subject of droll humour.
Wallace was re-enacting the story of how Uncle Sam held his teacup while drinking, right down to the cup falling on the floor and Uncle Sam picking it up. Wallace relished his enactment and embellished every detail.
Still watching from outside, Charlie turned to Alb with a gleam in his eye.
“Alb, let’s go in and make Wallace do that again in front of you!”
“Yes, I bet he won’t think it so funny with me there!” Alb agreed.
The two opened the cookhouse door and walked in. Wallace glanced their way and hastened to clean off a table.
“What are you doing, Wall?” Charlie began.
“Oh, just cleanin’ up a bit.”
“Wall, we were watching you through the window,” Alb stated.
“What?” Wallace asked as he hurriedly brushed a few crumbs off the table.
“Yes, you were makin’ fun of Father.”
Wallace’s face turned beet red.
“Yeah, Wall. We didn’t get a good view. We’d like to see you do that again,” Charlie added with a grin.
“No, I was only foolin’ around, dat’s all,” Wallace replied.
“Yes. You’re going to do it again for us.” Alb went to the corner and grabbed up a broom.
Wallace tried to escape through the kitchen door but Charlie barred his retreat. They forced Wallace to retell the story. Wallace did not enjoy the retelling, but there was a gleam in Charlie’s eye. Hedley, too, was grinning broadly. He was enjoying this, but not too much. He and Wallace had to work together, after all.
“Wall,” Albert said when Wallace had finished, “are you going to make fun of Father anymore?”
“Naw, b’y, that was just one time there,” Wallace insisted.
“Alb,” Charlie said, “let’s make sure that Wall don’t forget.” With that they grabbed Wallace and carried him, body and bones, outside and dunked him head first in the barrel of rainwater. As Wallace came up spitting, Charlie and Albert beat a speedy retreat.
This was not the end of Wallace’s troubles. One of his duties was to call men to breakfast in the early morning hours using a piece of growler from a
tractor that had been hung outside the cookhouse door. Wallace would go out and take a big iron bolt and strike it against the iron. This was the signal to let the men know that breakfast was ready.
A couple of mornings after the cookhouse incident, Wallace stepped out into the early morning and swung the huge bolt. No sound reverberated this morning; instead, Wallace succeeded in smashing a lantern to pieces. Someone had removed the iron growler and hung a lantern in its place. The joke was on Wallace and he became the subject of considerable good-natured kidding.
A week later, Wallace rose to light the fire, another part of his job. He was a neat man and always well-prepared, so before retiring each night, he made a neat pile of splits to start the fire in the morning. He would always place the pile of splits in the same location and each morning he would rise and retrieve them without needing to light the lantern. On this occasion he followed the same routine. One minute Wallace was reaching down to pick up his bundle, the next minute he was dancing around like a mad man. Great howls and colourful language filled the air. Someone had slipped in during the night and set up a mouse trap atop Wallace’s supply of splits.
Stan heard tell of these events and they caused him some amusement. He was not above having a bit of fun himself. Everyone worked hard and he figured that a bit of merrymaking helped to lighten the mood. But now, perhaps, things were getting out of hand. Wallace was becoming upset, and Stan didn’t want Wallace to quit in the middle of the pulpwood cut. Wallace was a good man in the cookhouse and he would be hard to replace on short notice. Stan decided it was time to act. He called in Albert and Charlie, his two chief suspects, and laid down the law. For a time the pranks subsided.
OUT IN THE WOODS that second year, the cut was well under way. Progress was slow but steady; the small size of the black spruce did not allow for high yield. Men getting two cords a day were doing well, and those who cut three cords under such conditions were the exception.
