They made a half-hearted attempt to cut some wood. Cecil knew a bit about it, having been in the woods before, but some of the men were straight out of the fishing boats. The whole camp of forty men didn’t cut a full cord for the whole week. The Company wanted to start the haul-off, getting the wood out to the riverbanks for the drive, but they weren’t much good at that either. They’d stack the wood on the sleds wrong and it usually fell off before it got to the riverbank.
One night they were talking around the old oil drum stove. One of them said, “I s’pose you guys knows dey calls us scabs, what?”
Someone else piped up, “What’s a scab? Is that like when your cut is gettin’ better?”
A guy over in the corner said, “Geez boy, you’re some stunned. We’re the ones who didn’t join the IWA.”
The men were quiet for a bit, thinking, working through it, wondering what being a scab might mean. They didn’t think it meant anything good.
After three weeks up in the camp, they were raided by the real loggers, the union men. To the scabs they were like savages, not human beings at all. They were asleep when avenging strikers burst into the bunkhouse, screaming and yelling. They threw the scabs out of the bunks, refused them time to get their clothes, and pushed them out in the snow. It was cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. All Cecil had on were his long johns and socks. He ran through the snowdrifts as fast as he could go, his legs and his heart pumping together with the terror. He didn’t even feel the cold until afterward. There were a couple of strikers running behind him at first, but they gave up the chase after awhile.
At last, through the drifts of snow Cecil spied a trapper’s tilt. He crawled in, buried himself in the old garbage and dead leaves, and fell asleep. Next thing he heard voices outside. It was the A.N.D. Company man with the Company’s snowmobile picking up scabs here and there, and he had spied Cecil’s tracks. He helped him outside, but Cecil was so cold and scared he could only shake and jibber at him. The Company man gave him an old blanket to cover his shoulders and got him aboard the snowmobile.
Back at Badger, the scabs were hidden in a back room of the A.N.D. Company offices. Clothing and footwear were scrounged up for them and they were offered another chance to go back to the camps or take their wages and go home. All of them, traumatized by what had happened, took their wages and left town.
Cecil went back to Windsor to his father’s house. His clothes and his logans were gone and never seen again. Bitch-stepmother didn’t know and didn’t care where he’d gone. Emily wouldn’t talk to him because she was too scared of the older woman. Father came home for a few days, but Cecil was afraid to tell him what he had been up to. After all, father was IWA. He’d be mad if he knew that his son was a scab, taking loggers’ jobs.
It wasn’t long after that, perhaps a month, when he met the taxi driver, Vern Crawford, who was recruiting scabs just as the first guy did, only this time it was to go up on the Millertown Dam. Cecil agreed to go along again.
19
Jennie had been at the River picket line all night, standing around the fire barrel with other women waiting for the men. At the beginning of the strike, when he made his speech in the town hall, Landon Ladd had decreed that the strike was a family affair and women could do picket duty too. The women had stood alongside the men ever since.
The strikers had gone across the River last night, headed for Rod Anderson’s camp. The A.N.D. Company had been bringing in scabs to fill the camps to prove they could always get men to go to work. The strikers claimed that Rod’s camp was full.
There was a gathering around the fire barrel. Someone threw more wood in; flankers flew up and disappeared into the dark cold sky. There were a dozen women and several men worrying and waiting. Ralph was there too, standing beside Jennie. She asked him, “How come you’re not gone up there too, Ralph?”
He walked a short distance from the group around the barrel, nodding for her to follow.
“I was all set to go,” he said, “but Landon Ladd asked me if I would mind staying here. My brothers and cousins are gone, and I was raring to go too, but he said that if there were arrests he would rather I wasn’t among them.”
During the past month, Jennie had often noticed how Landon Ladd depended on Ralph to help organize the men and the picket lines. Now, fear gripped her heart as she immediately thought of Tom being in danger. “Are they going to be arrested, Ralph?”
“Jennie, keep what I am going to tell you quiet. There are spies everywhere, you know that. I received word awhile ago that the Mounties have gone up there too. And you know what that means. Someone’s told them where our boys were headed.”
“Oh no . . .”
“Not a word, Jennie. Don’t frighten the other women. It might not be right, after all.”
As the grey winter dawn came in the sky, Jennie walked over to the bank of the River. Across the frozen surface she could see the black outline of the trees and the clearing at the landing on the other side. The outline of the three A.N.D. Company fuel storage tanks stood black against the white snow. Jennie expected that this was where Tom and the others would emerge from the forest.
Behind her, the sound of motors broke the morning stillness. Jennie turned and saw two yellow buses pull up. Ralph went over. Several Mounties got out and talked to him. They pointed toward the landing across the River and she saw Ralph shake his head. He turned and walked toward her. He peered across in the early morning gloom as if he expected to see someone emerging from the forest. The sky was getting lighter by the minute. Jennie touched his sleeve. “Ralph, what is going on?”
“The information was true. The Mounties are waiting to arrest the men, Jennie. They’re expecting them any minute.” Jennie turned away from him, seething inwardly. It can’t happen. I won’t let it happen. My Tom can’t go to jail. He can’t.
Then she saw them – at first as a thin black line straggling out through the trees; then they stepped onto the ice and the long line became more visible. Oh God. With no thought for the consequences, Jennie ran toward them. That one – the tallest one – had to be Tom. Behind her, someone yelled “Stop!” Not Ralph’s voice. It had to be one of the Mounties by the bus.
Up close, the strikers looked terrible: cold, exhausted, defeated. The Mounties that had been sent into the woods were a sorry sight too. She could see icicles clinging to one guy’s moustache. They were almost back to the Badger side of the bank. And there was Tom!
Jennie ran out on the ice and grabbed his arm. “Tom,” she said hurriedly, “the Mounties are waiting with buses to arrest all of you. Let’s be fast. We can race down the riverbank and around the point. Pass the word. Some of you can get away.”
He nodded and spoke to another striker behind him.
They were across; the Mounties by the buses rushed forward to round up the men. Jennie started to run down the bank of the Exploits toward Pope’s Point, waving for others to follow. A Mountie grabbed at Tom but he pushed him away and ran behind Jennie. A dozen or more scurried after them. They circled around Badger, past the trestle and Badger River, dodging through backyards. Some residents, the early risers, saw them. Some were startled. Others waved them onward.
Safely home, Tom and Jennie took off their snow-covered clothes and hung them up behind the stove. Jennie put on the kettle. She sliced off some homemade bread and put the butter and molasses on the table in front of him. Tom was starved.
“I’m dying to hear what happened up on Sandy,” she said as she sat down at the table beside him.
“Jennie, maid, we put the boots to them scabs, I can tell you.” Tom slurped his tea and slathered butter and molasses on two thick slices of the bread. He continued. “They were all asleep when we got there. Not a light anywhere. We beat on the door, yelling for them to open up. The guys started to throw rocks at the windows until they had them all broken out. Someone crawled in through and opened the door for us. It might have been the Drum boys.” Tom chewed his bread. “You had to be s
mall to get in through a window. It wouldn’t be me,” he laughed, all two hundred and eighty pounds of him.
“We piled in through the door. By this time, the scabs were all awake and scared out of their minds. We were screaming and cursing at them. They tried to grab their boots and trousers, but we weren’t having any of that. It was into the snow with them, bare feet, bare arse, we didn’t care. They were taking our jobs and we were fighting for our rights.” Tom, her once-gentle Tom, pounded the table as he said this.
“We never hit no one, mind you,” he went on. “After all, they’re Newfoundlanders like us. We weren’t out to hurt, just scare. And by God, did we ever! We were making so much noise that you’d think a bunch of devils was descending on them. B’y, did we ever give them scabs a fright!” He slapped his big hand down on the tabletop once more. Cups and spoons jumped. The cat, Bucksaw, leaped down from his lap and skittered away.
“We hauled down the stovepipe. Their clothes was hangin’ to dry all around it and we took the clothes and rammed it down in the oil drum. That douted the coals but the clothes smouldered and burned enough that they wouldn’t get to them and put them on. Then we beat up the forepeak. Ripped up whatever the foreman had on his table. In the cookhouse, we dumped out the flour and beans, poured the molasses all over the floor, made as much mess as we could. By the Lord dyin’, we left some mess for the A.N.D. Company to clean up. As for the scabs they were out in the snow with the flaps of their long johns hanging down. Some of the men chased them for miles. Serves ’em right. Lousy goddamn scabs.”
He stood to his full height, stretched, and yawned. “C’mon, Jennie girl, let’s get in bed.”
Tom and Jennie cuddled down together; they still did a good bit of cuddling, even after eleven years of marriage. They were toasty warm and almost asleep when a rap came on the door. Tom got out and hauled on his trousers. Jennie was wearing her long flannel nightdress.
Two Mounties stood at the door. “Tom Hillier? You’re under arrest for being part of the group that destroyed Anderson’s camp.”
Jennie pushed her way in front of Tom. “No. You’re wrong. Tom and me have been home all night.”
Tom took her arm. “Jennie, leave it alone. I have to be with the men. I won’t lie to them about it.” He put on his logans and reached for his coat and cap. “Don’t worry, I’ll be okay.” He gave her a kiss and a hug. When his lips were near her ear he said, “Get Ralph. You women have to fill the gaps on the picket lines while we men are in jail. Tell him to pass it along to Landon Ladd.” Then he went out the door with the Mounties, leaving his wife to deal with it as best she could.
The fiasco up on Sandy landed the men in the Grand Falls jail. Ralph, who had spent all night out by the River waiting for the rampaging strikers to return, was now at home with his Ma. He was just finishing breakfast when Jennie came to the door.
His mother opened it. “Good morning, Jennie. Is something the matter?” She often expected to go out on sick calls if the doctor wasn’t in town.
“Good morning Missus Annie, morning Ralph. No, everyone’s well, thank you.”
Jennie was standing in the morning light, rosy-cheeked and sparkly-eyed from the frosty air. The sunlight through the window shone coppery on her hair. Ralph’s hidden heart turned over in his chest at the sight of her.
She turned to him. “Ralph, Tom is gone off to jail with the rest of them. He said to tell you the time has come for the women to come forward and fill in for them on the picket lines. He said you need to get Landon Ladd to speak to them.”
Missus Annie loved for people to drop in, even if it was only eight in the morning. She got a cup and saucer for Jennie and hauled out a chair. “Sit down my child, and have a drop of tea with us.”
“That’s a good idea, Missus Annie. Thanks. I’m nearly frozen. Some frosty this morning.”
My God, Ralph thought, I never thought the day would come when my Beothuk Wonder Woman would be in my home having tea.
He cleared his throat to find his voice. “Landon Ladd will be here later on, Jennie. If you can get the women together, we’ll have a meeting over on the picket line by the River. We’re going to need everyone you can gather up. There will be a lot of gaps in the lines with the men gone.”
Ma made Jennie a slice of toast to go with the tea and inquired after Jennie’s father and her sisters and Phonse.
“The family is all well, Missus Annie. Thanks for the tea and toast. It hit the spot. I must get going now and round up the girls.”
Ralph grabbed his coat and cap. “Wait, I’ll come along with you.” He wouldn’t look at Ma’s eyes. Ma was pretty sharp. She’d know how he felt about this white woman if she got a look at his eyes.
They tramped all over Badger that morning. The two of them visited every logger’s house in town. And everywhere the women said they were ready for whatever the police and the A.N.D. Company threw at them.
But Ralph’s greatest secret accomplishment was being next to Jennie all day, laughing and talking in their old easy way. The Badger loggers were fighting for their livelihood and he was mooning after a married woman. But he could no more help it than he could help breathing.
When Landon Ladd came to meet with the women, he told them that their men were lodged in the Grand Falls Armoury because the Grand Falls jail couldn’t hold a hundred strikers. He recommended that some of the ladies might make themselves available to carry food, paid for by the union, to the prisoners.
He’s such a handsome man, Jennie thought as she watched him. It isn’t sexual attraction. No way. Tom is the only man I’ll ever want to go to bed with. It is just that, when he speaks, people – men, women, and children – just stop and listen. He has that way about him.
“Ladies of the IWA loggers strike,” said Landon Ladd. “We spoke about this a couple of months ago. We said the time would come when you would be needed. And now you are needed more than ever before. I will never forget you, brave staunch women that you are. I know you will stand in good stead for your men. Don’t worry; we’ll have them back to you before long.”
Mr. Ladd went among the women, shaking hands, patting a shoulder here, a shoulder there, his head bent, listening to them intently. He had the common touch, people said. That man could go places, Jennie thought. She sneaked out her hand and touched his overcoat. It was a light fawn colour, so smooth and soft. Cashmere, like the rich lady’s in St. John’s.. And his dark hair is perfect, with a lock falling on his brow, just so. They say that Joey Smallwood is afraid of him; of his charisma and his ability to hold a crowd spellbound when he gives a speech. I know one thing: the women would vote Landon Ladd in for Premier in a minute!
He told the women to guard the Buchans Highway. Word had filtered through, he said, that the Company was taking advantage and had a busload of scabs coming in to go to the camps in the Millertown Division.
The women assured him. “No one will get past us. No cops. No buses. No scabs. No one.” Landon Ladd said he knew how good they were, how dedicated to the cause.
A week went by. It was hard for the women, without their husbands. Jennie had a commanding presence; people liked her and listened to her. Her husband, Big Tom Hillier, had, according to reports, led the assault on the woods camp full of scabs. The women expected her to lead them. And she did. Ralph was a great support, by her side all the time. If it was anyone else but Ralph, Jennie, with her own husband down in jail, would have worried that people might have talked about her being with another man. But, she reassured herself, it was only Ralph, who had been her good friend forever.
She asked Pastor Genge if he’d get his parishioners to bring down some Thermoses of tea and a few sandwiches. They did, God love them. Even Suze helped; for Tom’s sake, Jennie supposed. For that they were thankful, seeing as they couldn’t get a chance to go home and cook something for themselves. But you could see the women who brought the food were nervous and disapproving, especially the older women. Jennie could almost hear their t
houghts: Women shouldn’t be out on picket lines with men. It don’t look right.
Father Murphy would come down to the River picket line sometimes. He’d stay for awhile, talking to everyone. Jennie heard him telling Ralph and the boys that he was originally from Northern Ireland, and had come to Newfoundland twenty years ago. He told them about the unrest over there. Jennie thought: We thought we had troubles; sure, ours were nothing compared to what the Irish had to put up with from the English. And, speaking of trouble, we have to watch out for that sneaky Vern Crawford. You never know what he’s about. With just women on some of the picket lines, if he thought that he could sneak a scab through, he would. Jennie would’ve liked to give him a clout over the head. And to think, if she’d listened to Mam and Pap, she would’ve been married to him. Christ! That didn’t even bear thinking about.
After a week, the unionized strikers were released. Jennie and the other women were glad to see them home. But four of them didn’t come back. There were low rumblings that they had been sent to the Salmonier prison farm. No one was sure why. They were advised to keep quiet.
As the days went by, Badger became a tense, ugly place. Loggers patrolled the roads or stood on street corners. Police patrolled too. The people of the town were now beginning to see police in Newfoundland Constabulary uniforms along with those of the RCMP. A rumour went around that some of them were really mill workers dressed in police clothes, and not real officers at all. They were grim and silent, and, maybe, nervous. The strikers were grim too, but definitely not silent.
The women continued to back up their men for the rest of February. The weather was rough. There was a lot of snow and the cold was bone deep. The strikers were boiling with frustration and anger, disgusted with the way the provincial government and the Company were treating this whole affair. Jennie had a feeling in the pit of her stomach. There’s going to be a showdown.
The Badger Riot Page 15
