Goose Bay

I was 6 1/2, just finished Grade 1 in a school in Winnipeg, Manitoba. And we were moving – again.

This move was going to be by plane! We were going to Labrador – not that that meant much to me. Boxes were packed yet again. I said goodbye to the only friend I can remember – her family inherited our dog, a rambunctious Dalmatian puppy that lasted only a few weeks with us because my mother developed rashes all over her arms. We were heartbroken but took solace that we couldn’t have brought the puppy with us to our new location.

The family travelled to the Canadian Air Force base at Goose Bay, Labrador, on a DC3 (a Dakota was what I heard it called). I don’t remember whether it was a direct flight. I do remember that the plane was piloted by my father. I was invited to spend time in the cockpit standing behind the pilots. I felt so important that MY father was flying that plane.

The Goose Bay Labrador stint lasted two years. My memories of those two years are simply a montage of images. That montage, like most of the memories of my childhood, lacks coherence – no storyline tidily getting me from A to Z. I blame this lack of order on all the moves, the constant need to reorient. Ah well, it is what it is…

And, of course, we would still move every year!

Our first house was a little bungalow. I remember a long, narrow hallway to the bedrooms and one tiny bathroom for the household. All the rooms were small and we inherited the furniture from the previous tenants. My bed had been shared with a German Shepherd dog and remnants of his presence left me wheezing miserably. I do wonder today why our Dalmatian puppy couldn’t come to Goose Bay but our predecessors had a dog.

Behind this house was a barren, sandy stretch of scrub. Sections of huge concrete pipe were scattered willy-nilly.  Surrounding them, wild blueberries overran the ground. In the heat of summer, we played hide and seek in the pipes and gorged ourselves on blueberries.

We didn’t arrive with a pet but my father brought three hamsters to us after one of his trips. He was gone a lot. My sister, Donna, was ecstatic. We were all collected in the living room, giggling and hugging the little creatures. Donna got up with one in each hand and started to run around. To our absolute horror she stepped on the hamster that my brother had just released. Giggles melted into tears. My father, in some distress, “Donna, how could you?” as he removed the poor thing and quietly disposed of it. I can still hear its squeals and see my sister’s blotched, tear-streaked face. “Daddy, I didn’t mean to hurt it….” From high to low – the joy was gone. Donna cared for the remaining two as if they were breakable – watching them run endlessly on the wheel in their cage.

The summer months were very hot and dry. At least I think they were dry. We were overrun with mosquitos so maybe not so dry. Trucks went up and down the streets spraying insecticides. Kids ran behind immersed in the mist…at least until their parents caught them.

But the winter months, with heavy snow and bitter cold, were the dominant backdrop in my memories.

I walked home alone from Brownies with the Northern Lights shimmering in the sky and the snow crunching beneath my feet.  There was no need for streetlights.  Snowdrifts were taller than me.  Once I wandered down one of those snow drift corridors, sleepwalking barefoot and clad only in pajamas, to be rescued by my father some considerable distance from home.

There were sled dogs everywhere and frequent race events.  The teams, yipping and howling, would race out across the frozen bay.  We watched with glee, bundled up – red-cheeked, noses running. Those dogs were wild, wandered the streets. We were warned and warned – do not approach.

We moved again. This second house seemed so much bigger – two-stories with a basement. We even had a TV for the one-hour per day CBC news feed.

House fires were common although usually in Happy Valley not in the newer homes in Goose Bay. My father was determined that we would know how to deal with any such threat. Never one to just use words he set up drills. “Fire. Fire – up, out – just as planned.” I had nightmares for weeks after being ripped from my sleep to run down the stairs and out the door into the cold air.

Christmas in that house was so exciting. The news played all Christmas Eve, broadcasting where Santa was – Santa seemed so close since we believed we were almost at the North Pole. My father had banned us from the basement because of some kind of toxic fumes that might be bad for us (never wondered why he could spend so much time down there). Christmas morning explained it all as my sister and I were greeted by homemade cradles containing beautiful baby dolls.

Snow surrounded us. We played in it. We built houses. We dug tunnels. At least we did until a tunnel made by a classmate collapsed and he suffocated. We were vaguely confused and upset, not really understanding what dying meant. He was gone – his absence tangible. No-one talked about it.

Grandma Clarry came to visit – she picked blueberries with us. Grandpa Clarry had died on my second birthday. I only knew him from pictures, pictures that included me. I tried to recall those times but no glimmers. Just like my classmate he had died but since I had no memory of him, he just wasn’t there – not missing like my friend.

I did know that Goose Bay was a Canadian air force base. That meant that families came and went regularly. Friendships seemed short-lived.

We did sense my mother’s loneliness. She was often very quiet, her eyes very sad. Shortly after we moved into the second house my mother went back to Ontario to Grandma Clarry’s for several weeks. A woman from Happy Valley came in to clean and cook for us although my father did try. We all thought it was pretty funny when he boiled the potatoes (very tough potatoes) in their dirty skins and, unable to get the skins off, threw them out.

Mom did come back, somewhat more at peace. She started to discover the varied interests and talents that the military wives had. She made friends with a Quebec woman whose husband was a military doctor. She worked hard to learn French. She took on duties as the Sunday school teacher. She helped me complete two grades in school in one year – grades 2 and 3, and then 4.

She also sought out things for us to do to stay busy – amongst those military wives was a highland dance teacher (that was for me), a bagpipe player (my brother started the chanter – thankfully not for long), an accordion player (me again). Maybe Donna was too young – I don’t remember her doing anything other than playing outside and adoring her hamsters.

The American military base was close by and the PX had amazing stuff – food, clothes, toys. Visits there were a special treat.

In those winter months, my mother made donuts – the smell of them frying was heaven. I was allowed to drop batter into the sizzling oil. We dusted them with sugar and cinnamon.  Those donuts…. I do not think I have tasted any as good since.

Postscript

Life just seemed to happen – like floating through space – no roots, few friends but some special memories.

I look back at these memories of Goose Bay…this was the start of my fascination with dance, with music, learning the accordion, the piano and the oboe. My sister had pets galore and is now a vet.

But no roots, no lifelong friends…

My grandmother, who made it clear to her daughters that she would not babysit, took into her home first me, then my cousin, then my sister for us to complete our university studies.

My mother retained friendships she made over these years for her lifetime – at least a Christmas card but often visits and letters. I was blissfully unaware until she died in a car accident. A childhood friend as well as military friends attended her funeral – the woman who taught her French in Goose Bay wrote to me from a posting in Japan to express her loss – the woman who adopted our Dalmatian puppy tracked me down (the Christmas card had not arrived). 40 years of commitment to staying connected to counter the disconnected life of a military wife.

Lacking a stable upbringing I have never made those connections, much less retained them, even in an era where staying in touch has become so much easier.

I was brought to tears.

Perhaps things do come full circle.