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Published: November 4th 2005
Trinity College.
It was here I met with Dr. R.K Harriman and the Archbishop of Canada. I was offered a position in Newfoundland.—
February 28th 1990 Pistolet Bay Trinity College was and is an Anglican seminary. While I had been away, my good friend and mentor Dr. R.K. Harriman had retired at age 70. "Bryan!" he said when he saw me. "How do you feel about moving to Newfoundland?"
"Well...."
He continued, "You have acquired the reputation of a priest who likes a little travel and adventure. The House of Bishops will meet next week and I have arranged an interview for you with the Archbishop of Canada. He knows your story and has some interesting places he would like to send you."
Miranda and I met with the Archbishop. He was a very impressive person. He must have been at least 6'4" tall and was lean, well groomed, with white hair and kind eyes. He spoke with a slow, deep voice. His overall demeanor was awe-inspiring. The Archbishop told us he had a couple of openings available for us, one in Ramea and another in Deer Lake. Finally, he hesitantly said, "There is a third opening, but I don't know if I should even raise it."
"Why" we both
Ferry to Newfoundland.
Miranda and I has a great experience on the ferry! questioned?
"Well, it is a challenging and rugged area that has never had a minister. The new priest would be stationed in a mobile home in an outport called
Cook's Harbour ...."
Earl from next door
Little did we know it at the time, but Pistolet Bay would become one of our favorite places in the world. The parish was made up of Cook's Harbour, Boat Harbour, Raleigh, L'anse aux Meadows, and Griquet. As we set out for our new home, both of us were looking forward to living on the Northern Peninsula. It was now November, and as we neared Sydney, Nova Scotia, it was clear that winter was setting in. We also got lost. When we asked directions, a truck driver warned us: "You're going to Newfoundland — worst weather in all of Canada."
When we arrived in Deer Lake we were told, "Going to the Northern Peninsula — worst weather anywhere in Newfoundland."
Finally, when we got to the Northern Peninsula we were told that Cook's Harbour had the worst weather in "these here parts".
Our mobile home was located on the top of a hill which Earl from next
door said, "has the worst weather in the whole harbor". (I think he was messing with us. LOL)
Home
Actually, the weather in November was quite pleasant...no snow! After a few days, Miranda and I had settled into our new home. We were indeed situated on the highest point of ground in the entire community, on a piece of land sitting just above the Strait of Belle Isle. Next to us was our new charge, St. Matthew's Anglican Church, a very old building (the new church was almost complete). The mobile home was an "extra long" with an enormous white porch. It was quite cozy, and we were happy to learn that it had a pretty good heating system for when winter truly arrived. The windows were covered with a special plastic. It bulged when the wind blew, but we were quite comfortable!
Our new home was at the crossroads of the tiny fishing village. Kitty-corner to us was a small building which housed the post office as well as the room used by the town clerk and the council for its meetings. Nearby was a small school for all grades, from kindergarten to twelve.
Entering our new parish.
The Road to Boat Harbour, Cook's Harbour and Wild Bight. We soon learned that most of Cook's Harbour residents were either fishermen or people who worked in the fish plant. For us "mainlanders" it was a fascinating lifestyle.
One night a couple months after we arrived, I was awakened out of a sound sleep by a timid voice calling my name. "Bryan ... Bryan ... are you awake?"
"I am now," I replied in a disgruntled tone.
"Can you feel the wind?" I became aware of a definite vibration and swaying movement in our bedroom. I lay quietly in the bed, 'feeling' the storm all around me.
"Do you think they fixed this place to the ground well enough?" Miranda asked plaintively. "There's no way we could blow out to sea is there?"
The thought had never occurred to me before. In the middle of the night in that creaking mobile house I pondered it and debated it over and over. In a state just one step from panic, I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling and considering Miranda's question carefully. And then I heard it, a soft, purring sound by my side. Miranda had fallen asleep.
Car Crash
It
A hot, sunny day
Miranda enjoysa day that's warm enough to wear shorts. was a cold, winter Sunday on the Northern Peninsula. I had to preside at a service in Griquet, so Miranda and I got up very early. The weather was clear, but the roads were very slippery. It took less time than we imagined to get to the community and our Roman Catholic friends were still using the Anglican church. Therefore, I drove past the church, up the hill, and headed to the warden's house. Unfortunately we never made it.
Three-quarters of the way up the hill, our Chevy Malibu slowed to a stop. Then to my horror, our car started to slide backwards down the hill, picking up speed. Crash! I hit a car belonging to one of the Roman Catholic parishioners. Our car slowed, but was now spinning. Crash! The Malibu hit a second vehicle and then slowly came to a stop, inches from the icy sea. I carefully checked my well-built GM car and noted that there was no damage. Then I looked over at the next car: also no damage. However, the first car I hit had a large dent and a broken tail light. When the service concluded, a Mrs. White approached her vehicle. I
introduced myself as the Anglican clergyman for the area, and she smiled, saying, "It is a pleasure to meet you."
I hung my head and said, "I wish that were true ...."
Although I had Mrs. White's car repaired and we became friends, I noticed that the Roman Catholic priest, Father Gary Marsh, always avoided me. One day I confronted him. He explained that he was merely embarrassed. Mrs. White had not wanted to park at the foot of the hill. He had insisted that it would be no problem, as it was unlikely anyone would be driving by at 8:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning — he had forgotten about the Anglican minister.
I countered with the cold hard facts: if Mrs.White had not been parked at the bottom of the hill that fateful day, Miranda and I would have slid into the freezing sea! He had saved us. He smiled and nodded — it was true.
We became good friends, and Miranda and I would often stay overnight at the Roman Catholic Rectory in St. Anthony when we needed to get away from it all and relax. The people of the parish had trouble
The Viking Motel
Our retreat from parish life, courtesy of the White family. figuring out where the two of us would disappear on our day off. Even the rector who covered for me could not figure it out. Eventually it was the people of Boat Harbour who discovered our secret. Then the owners of the Viking Motel — relatives of some of our Boat Harbour parishioners — offered up their establishment for our "retreat". Much to our surprise, they even supplied the two of us with a bottle of champagne.
Funerals
Since arriving in Cook's Harbour, I had presided over one funeral after the other. Our Anglican Church Women president Gladys, wanting to cheer me up, invited us to her home for a supper of
cod tongues. "I didn't even know cod had tongues," Miranda wondered aloud.
"Oh yes," Glady replied. "Although it's really the inside of the cod's lower jaw."
Glady was married to Clayton, a big, burly, "rough and ready" fisherman with a great sense of humor. As we finished our amazing feed of cod tongues (the appetizer) that evening — I, having eaten more than my fair share — Clayton pushed himself back from the table and made a few jokes at my expense.
The Decker's Store
This was the only shop in Cook's Harbour and sold a wide variety of items . . . including sympathy cards. He then told me with a straight face, "You know Reverend, you're in some trouble at the Decker Store."
"What have I done?" I asked, perplexed.
"Nothing," he replied, "but since you've come to town they've run plumb out of sympathy cards!"
Glady swatted him on the shoulder, while he continued with a twinkle in his eye, "Well Reverend, all I can say is it's lucky you weren't here ten years ago."
"Why, what happened ten years ago?"
Clayton answered, knowingly, "Nothing. But I reckon if you'd been here for ten years, there'd be nare person left alive in Cook's Harbour."
As we all laughed at the gallows humor, Glady swatted him again.
Clayton defended himself, saying, "Glady ... just do the math!"
The Club
One day, a neighbor dropped by the rectory with some strange news: "You're getting quite a bad name around the harbor." It seemed everyone in town thought I was a vehement non-drinker. Some believed I wanted to close down the club. This was quite a shock to me, as I was not and never have been a teetotaler and knew nothing about other people's
Cook's Harbour, Newfoundland.
The view from the back window of our new home. drinking habits.
That Friday at 8 pm I made my way to "the club". I entered the bar/lounge owned by Ev Pittman and ordered a Labatt Blue. I was quickly told that my money was no good at the club. This confused me. What they meant was that others would be buying all my drinks! I had no complaints about that, however it soon became apparent to me that there was a problem: the beer was coming too fast and there was no way I could keep up.
Discreetly, I asked Buddy next to me what I should do. To make a long story short, I accepted all the beer, discreetly handing them over to Buddy who secretly drank them. By midnight I had consumed four beers, while Buddy had clandestinely knocked back 12 bottles of Labatt Blue. A little after midnight I turned down my 17th beer and headed towards home. There was a Mountie parked in a vehicle outside the club, so I was pleased I had not taken my car.
The next day my neighbor came over again, saying he had heard that I had consumed 17 beers and drank poor "Buddy" under the
Cook's Harbour
Miranda makes her way down to the water behind the rectory. table. I started to explain, but he cut me short, saying, "Bryan bye, smartest thing you ever did..."
Youth Fellowship
Cook's Harbour was very small but there was a lot to see. The community was friendly in ways we had never experienced anywhere. If we had difficulty with our car or our heating system we need only ask one of our neighbors and it would be fixed in a matter of minutes. Isolated from the larger town of St. Anthony for so long, the people of Cook's Harbour had become adept at doing their own repairs, growing their own vegetables and hunting their own meat. We joked that the reason the town was called Cook's Harbour was because there were so many fantastic cooks and the food was amazing. Fresh cod straight from the ocean was an unimaginable delight, as was rabbit, moose and even seal. Newfoundlanders had been living a natural existence for centuries, passing their knowledge down to their children.
Janet Cull took the lead role in the Youth Fellowship. The young people were a great source of inspiration. We had an active, combined youth fellowship for Cook's Harbour and Boat Harbour, yet
Fun in the kitchen
Miranda and members of the Youth Fellowship make something to drink on a Cook's Harbour summer's day. we knew great care was needed. Parents are funny that way: if you have 100 children and lose one, they tend to focus on that one. The fact that you kept 99 safe makes no difference. They will always home in on the one that you lost. It is not fair, but has been true since the time of Jesus (see the parable of the lost sheep).
Miranda and I took numerous precautions, always having three adult supervisors (usually the two of us and an adult from the community). We allowed the young people to run the fellowship themselves — with two provisos. First, keep everyone safe, and second, no scandal. I can honestly say that during our years in Newfoundland, everyone had fun and no child ever met his or her demise. Activities ranged from "serving" at the worship services to "movie nights". Dances and sporting events were very popular. Earl led our first event, which was an ice fishing expedition. No one crashed a snowmobile or fell through the ice.
For me, the most exhaustive event was the overnight "wake-a-thon" in St. Anthony. Harold Decker supplied his school bus, much to his eventual chagrin: one wild
Young People
Some of the guys from Cook's Harbour. partier vomited in the back of the bus on the drive home the next morning.
We were given permission to use James Cook Memorial school to hold some of our events. One memorable day we were gathered in the gymnasium for a floor hockey match. Ephriam, who was leading the scoring, was unstoppable. Then it happened — the fire alarm went off. We hurriedly removed everyone from the building, but I felt sick, not wanting to be remembered as the minister who burned down the school. On the bright side, everyone was accounted for. It turned out to be a false alarm. One of our members, Marie, approached, telling me it was important to turn off the alarm to stop it from burning out. (It would cost thousands of dollars to replace!)
Problem: how do you turn off the fire alarm ... for that matter, where is the alarm switch located? Marie warned I should not touch anything, and that her father, the custodian of the school, was the only one allowed access to the alarm. That made sense, and I asked her to get her father for me. "Can't do that," she replied, "Dad's out of town
Students - Cook's Harbour, Newfoundland
Some of the young people who attended James Cook Memorial School. on the other side of the bay."
"Please try to reach him," I pleaded, and she agreed to try.
The young people kept reminding me that if the alarm burned out it would cost "us" thousands of dollars. One young fellow came up to me and told me he knew where the alarm switch was located.
"Where?" I asked.
"The principal's office."
I rushed to the principal's office with the young people in tow. To my horror, the office was locked. I asked no one in particular where I could find the key. Mr Hedderson, the custodian who was in charge of the school during the summer holidays, had it.
"Time to beat down the door," was the chorus.
Another youth reminded me it was likely to be only $100 to fix the door, but thousands to install a new alarm. The harsh ringing in my ears continued unrelentingly.
With all my strength, pumped by adrenaline, I struck the door. It shattered — splintered would be a better word. The young people were awestruck, calling me "Rambo". We entered the office, but search as we may we could find no alarm switch!
A visit from Keith
Bryan's godson, son of his good friends Paul and Ann Yaxley, visits us. This is Miranda's office where she worked as the Town Clerk of Cook's Harbour. Then it was suggested that the alarm switch was actually in the basement.
My posse and I walked to the basement door, only to find that it was also locked.
"Stand back," yelled one overly dramatic boy. "Reverend 'Rambo' Porter is going to beat down another door!"
Several doors later and with the eventual help of Mr. Hedderson, we saved the 'blessed' fire alarm. The superintendent looked around at the shambles I had made of his school in shock and disbelief.
Reverse
My 11 year old godson, Keith, had arrived, but his luggage had not. His mother was more upset than he was. Excited to be visiting us on his own, he soon asked for a tour of Cook's Harbour. The sun shone brightly as we walked toward my Chevy Malibu. When I put my car in reverse, the gear shift, or more accurately, the column shifter came off in my hand. Keith and I laughed in surprise.
Our dilemma was a simple one. We were stuck in reverse. I dare not turn off the ignition because the car would only start again in 'Park' or 'Drive'. I decided it was necessary
Vinland the Good
Keith is interested in the history of L'anse Aux Meadows, the Viking site near Cook's Harbour. to get to the home of Buddy, who was handy with cars. However, he lived at the far end of the harbor. There was no choice but to drive in reverse! Keith waved and laughed as we drove backward through the community. Very quickly the car was repaired.
Later that day, our neighbor Earl came to me saying, "Once again you have the whole harbor confused. We know you wanted to show your godson around the place, but why were you driving backward?"
Haircut
There had been a terrible ice storm. Thinking I was being quite clever, I decided not to drive to get a haircut at Sharon Decker's house. I would go on foot instead. Not long after leaving our place, walking at the side of the road, I was caught by the wind. I did not fall, but slowly, inch by inch, the wind began to blow me down the icy incline to the cold, angry sea. If I blew out to sea, things would not end well.
As panic overcame me, I had a bright idea. I fell flat on my face (on purpose). It worked: I was no longer moving down
Cook's Harbour, Newfoundland
No place for fish like Cook's Hr the icy slope to the sea! My problem — what to do next? Every time I started to get up, the wind blew me further down the slanting ice. After what seemed like half an hour, my friend Barry drove up, rolled down his window and shouted, "What're you doing, Reverend? Praying?"
He rescued me from my predicament by blocking the wind and driving me to Sharon's house. Along the way he warned me about the dangers of all the different types of weather in Cook's Harbour.
There is no fish under the ice
We were sitting around watching the hockey game. I was given another Labatt Blue. At the end of second period everyone started sharing stories of the situations "the reverend from the mainland" had gotten himself into. "You're lucky to be alive, Bryan bye," joked one person.
Worried they had hurt my feelings, they told me the following story to cheer me up.
Buddy decided to go ice fishing. As he took his ice auger to drill a hole in the ice, he heard a voice from above saying, "There is no fish under the ice!" Buddy dropped his ice auger
Outside the fish plant
The machinery outside the fish plant. and looked around, but he was all alone. Then he continued drilling his hole in the ice with his ice auger. Again he heard the voice from above saying, "There is no fish under the ice!" Buddy looked up and asked, "Is that you Lord...?" He asked three times if he was hearing the Lord's voice. Finally, the voice answered, "No...it is the manager of the arena!''
I looked confused.
''Bryan bye, that is a Newfie joke.'' Everyone laughed.
I sat there wondering whether that was a "Newfie joke" or a "Reverend joke" in disguise.
Jim Marsden
A new principal was to arrive in Cook's Harbour in a few days. I felt I should explain that his new school had not been the victim of vandalism. I made an appointment to see him, wondering all the while how much the damage would cost. I suspected that the youth fellowship was going to be banned from using the school for events. My nerves were on edge as I knocked on the brand new door to the principal's office.
Jim greeted me with a smile, "The Rev. Rambo Porter, I presume."
The principal and
Net mending
A fisherman mends his nets. I became friends. I would not be sent a bill for the damage, and the youth fellowship was still allowed to use the school free of charge, with one restriction: we could only use it when Mr Hedderson was in town.
Scary Story
We were given permission to use the school for a youth fellowship-sponsored Halloween party. I was conscripted to tell a scary story ... one of my specialties. The principal suggested that the scary story be restricted to the older youth and I agreed. At 8:00 p.m. we assembled in a front classroom. Miranda's job was to make sure no younger children were allowed access. One little girl named Angel was particularly disappointed, but Miranda remained firm, sitting with Angel while her older siblings filed into the class room.
Everyone was deathly quiet as they listened to the saga of how a Satanic force took over a small fishing village that bore a striking resemblance to their own. You could have heard a pin drop as I detailed how, one by one, the people of the harbor fell victim to demonic possession.
The hero, the Rev. Jeremiah Jones (who bore a striking resemblance
Scarecrow
Most families had a small garden. to me), had assembled the few citizens not taken over by the darkness. As the Rev. Jeremiah Jones explained that this school classroom was where they would make their stand, a scratching noise was heard at the door. The principal of the school in the story had been transformed into a zombie and now was here to "harvest" the few remaining students of the harbor.
Jim Marsden, who had been listening at the back of the classroom, made a scratching sound at the door and, in zombie-like fashion, walked toward the window. In the story, the zombie principal looked at the Rev. Jeremiah Jones, then proceeded to close the venetian blinds, to ensure no one would witness the horror about to take place.
Jim proceeded to slowly close the venetian blinds ....
It was at this point that the teens of Cook's Harbour and Boat Harbour jumped to their feet, ran out the door past Angel and Miranda to the main party room (the gymnasium). Angel turned to Miranda and declared that she now agreed she was far too young for the scary story. I looked over at Jim. He had actually been such a good zombie
Landscaping
Uncle Frank shows off his lawn in Cook's Harbour. that he scared me.
"Don't worry," he said. "The story of the zombie principal was a hit." Of course Jim was right: the young people eventually came back to hear how the story ended. I made it a happy ending in which the Rev. Jeremiah Jones prevailed and the Harbour people, including the principal, were restored. The "Darkness" was forever banished.
Best Video: Cook's Harbour Song Best Photos: Pistolet Bay from the air. Cook's Harbour (left) and Raleigh (right) are located at the entrance Boat Harbour Photo Boat Harbour Photo Cook's Harbour Photo Cook's Harbour Photo Cook's Harbour Photo
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Janet
non-member comment
Hi Bryan and Mianda!
Hi Bryan and Mianda! My maiden name was Janet Cull, my brother is Michael and little sister is Angel Cull. I moved to Goose Bay, Labrador when I was 16 and did my last year of high school here. That was a few moons ago and since than I have went through many changes and experiences. I am now married and have two boys. Nicko is 10 and Ethan will be 7 this summer. Some of my friends that you should know still lives quite close to me. Trina Green, Seymore Green's daughter who is now Trina Coles lives not far, and Nadine Laing who is now Nadine Heath lives just up the road a little. We are all grown now with families of our own. It was really nice seeing all the old pictures of home and remembering all the times we all used to have. Write back! Janet Patey