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Published: March 23rd 2019
This morning my mental elastic was pulled taut as our first speaker tried valiantly to associate Jane Austen with Canada, even beyond the obvious employment for a time of her brothers in Halifax. This is why I decided not to do a PhD in literature – obscurantism. The second presentation was much more gruesome and macabrely funny: a medical doctor revealed that men in the navy died most often of disease (mucky water, yellow fever, literally rotten living conditions) and that anyone injured was lucky if he didn’t suffer an almost certainly fatal amputation.
With several hours free, Deirdre and I took the opportunity to walk in the
Public Gardens across the street from the hotel. These Victorian formal gardens are justifiably a proud fixture for Haligonians. Trees shaded many of the pathways around and across the lawns, while mauve, flowering rhododendrons lushly attracted our attention. Intricately curved flowerbeds in red and white delighted my eyes. In the centre, a Victorian gazebo, encircled by benches, indicated that entertainment was often an attraction of the Park. Water features attracted birds, especially ducks; in a pen, a very fat goose plodded through the (delicious?) green grass.
Across another street were the Victoria
Gardens, essentially a wide median between roads. The peacefulness of the trees and lawns made up for its narrowness and the proximity of traffic. Both parks served as restful space for many people seeking a relaxing lunch hour.
Our objective was to have lunch on the waterfront. That little feeling that creeps into one’s mind drove us to consult the map, confirming that we were walking away from our destination. Turned around, we passed the huge main hospital for Halifax. Perhaps coincidentally, across South Park Street was a large cemetery; unfortunately, we did not see the entrance and could not explore beyond peering through the wrought iron fence. This neighbourhood was filled with Victorian houses - some from better days and some recently renovated. Interspersed were uninspired early twentieth century boxes.
At last near the waterfront, we skirted a big characterless Westin Hotel and joined the long boardwalk along the harbour. At first we saw no restaurants but finally walked by some whose patios were either full or overly-exposed to the noon sun. Perseverance brought us to the
Stubborn Goat, which had a huge deck with sea views. The tables seemed to be all full, but we spotted people
Provincial Legislative Library
The essence of an historic libraryleaving a shady retreat under a tree. When she took our order, the server informed us that the restaurant was no more than a “glorified food truck”, and indeed when we looked more carefully, all the food came from a cargo container turned into a kitchen. I had a lobster roll and local red ale.
Yesterday we had missed out on a tour at
Provincial House, so we decided to do it on our own. After a rather cursory security check, a cheerful young man full of personality announced himself as our tour guide. He took us first to the legislative assembly, one that has been functioning since before confederation and is in the oldest legislature building in Canada. Some modifications have been gently made to allow for more members, to accommodate facilities for women, and to add technology, but the overall impression remains historic. We briefly entered the small and well-stocked legislative library, interrupting an ongoing meeting and a staffer’s research. Two nearby large reception rooms and the main hallway connecting all the rooms were maintained in their authentic historic design. We were left on our own to peruse an informative display about
Joseph Howe, a journalist who through his
The Round Church
St George's Parish Anglican Church 1827 own pugnacity put freedom of the press into the Canadian constitutional rights. He eventually became premier of the province, a recognition of his progressive thinking against colonial-era traditions.
Another curiosity for us was the
Round Church, properly named St George’s Anglican Church. Nothing is terribly far in central Halifax, and this seemed within walking distance. Although it was farther than we thought, including crossing a major road network, the walk was full of interest. As usual we found ourselves toiling along one of the sides of Citadel hill. At least the sun was shining brightly. Soon we were happy to find ourselves on
Brunswick Street, where a lot of the historic housing has been formally designated. Some was poorly maintained and rented to marginalized individuals and families. Quite near the Church we noticed a large complex of utilitarian grey homes, which we later learned were of the type hastily erected after the 1917 explosion.
The Round Church was situated on a wide lawn, and, although mainly in the traditional rectangular shape, the long side walls were considerably rounded. Unfortunately, the doors were locked and we couldn’t see inside. A sign on the notice board announced evensong daily at the
Little Dutch Church down
Little Dutch Church 1755
Central to establishing community in the 18 century the road. That cheered us up because we were in time to hear the singing. Only, it was locked as tight as the larger church – no sign of immanent worship or singing. Some good interpretative boards explained that the name was a mispronunciation of “Deutsch”. In the mid-eighteenth century, the church was established by German Protestants who were more or less hounded from their European homes and who were employed as labourers in Nova Scotia. The cemetery was a cool, green oasis of absolute silence, being enjoyed by a (courting?) couple. Almost all the upright head stones had sunk inches deep into the turf, a small demonstration of how over time nature can hide whole cities. The etched names and dates had worn away, giving only the faintest record of the departed ones.
We repeated the long walk back to the hotel, albeit with a little more speed because we wanted to arrive at the Halifax Library in good time for a lecture by
John Mullan, who had already spoken at our conference. His topic was “
What Matters in Jane Austen”, the title of one of his books. For this public lecture he addressed “What do blushes mean?”, “Why is the weather important?”,
“How should a man propose?”, and “Is it really dangerous to go to the sea side?“. His accurate yet humorous style was perfect for the large audience of both Janeites and the curious public.
Our group dinner followed at an upscale Italian restaurant: calamari, rack of lamb with horseradish in a rich sauce (delicious!), flourless chocolate cake, and excellent Merlot wine
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Isabel Gibson
non-member comment
What, no rain?
It's June, after all - but maybe they get their rain in a different month(s) than in Alberta. Interesting to see the Deutsch/Dutch mistake there as well as here in Arizona, where the Lost Dutchman's Mine is named for a guy known as the Deutsch-man. You can sure see how it happened. I love the diverse streetscape as well as the Victorians.