An article I wrote about my father and his hardship delivering mail on the Cape Shore. Charles Samuel Collins, son of Samuel and Julia Collins of Bond's Path, Placentia, was born on March 25, 1884. He married Agnes Tobin, daughter of Peter and Catherine Tobin of Ship Cove. They met and fell in love while my mother was teaching school and he delivered the mail. Daddy managed to go to Cuslett every weekend because my mother had taken a teaching position there. They had 12 children, one of whom died at three months from digestive problems. My father had many trades throughout his life - cobbler, farmer and barber among them. My sisters Kathleen and Mae fondly remember how they would sit and watch him for hours as he would make them a pair of shoes from scratch. Kathleen also remembers that every Sunday afternoon he would cut the neighbourhood men's hair for 25 cents. Daddy wasn't a man of all toil and no play. My mother played the organ and was a beautiful singer, and so every evening, after the chores and homework were done and daily rosary said, he would gather the family around her at the organ, and she would sing and play. He was also a member of the Star of the Sea Association, and every Christmas he would cut the trees for the church, and they would all be the exact size. Despite the many trades and activities my father was involved in, most people would have known him as the mailman, delivering the post from Placentia to Patrick's Cove on the Cape Shore, a job he did for 29 years without fail. The delivery would take three days of unloading packages and letters and then reloading the outgoing mail for Placentia. Mr. Michael McGrath, formerly of Patrick's Cove, recalls how people in the community would "flock" around him for a chat when he arrived. He also remembers that Daddy built a little house for the horse, and in the winter evenings would go out and cover the horse to keep it warm. Daddy's job wasn't an easy one, considering the dreadful conditions of the time. In winter, he carried the mail by horse and sleigh, while in summer, he used a horse and buggy. Those winters, as the older generation will remember, were much more fierce and blustery than the scattered snow squalls we have become accustomed to today. Snow fell and accumulated more quickly, creating much difficulty for anyone who earned a living travelling the roads. My father was no exception to this. I often heard my mother say that Daddy could touch the tops of the trees as he drove along the road. Despite the poor weather conditions and lack of adequate roads, my father never missed a day delivering the mail. Coupled with this commitment was a compassion for the horse on which he rode daily. The job paid as little as $30 per month, a wage that fell short of the expenses to keep and feed the horse. My brother Charlie remembers my father's kindness toward his horse. He recall how Daddy would walk the very winding and steep terrain on his travels instead of riding it, to make it easier for the horse. Sometimes he would even take off his overcoat and put it under the horse's hooves to get over slippery or rough spots. His compassion extended beyond the horse, to those around him. My husband, the late Patrick O'Keefe, often recalled how, when he was just a young boy walking to school from Glennan's Cove to Point Verde, my father never passed him. He would always stop and offer him a ride, despite the fact that it was against the rules to do so. I was scarcely three years old at the time - little did Daddy think, I'm sure, that Patrick would end up marrying his youngest daughter. In addition to the harsh Newfoundland weather, fog, snow, gale force winds or otherwise, there were other elements which would test anyone's ability to deliver the mail on that route consistently. The ride was a dark and lonely one, especially on return from the Cape Shore late at night. In those days, ghost stories were rampant concerning how haunted the Cape Shore was. Many have heard stories of missing car headlights, strange sounds and bizarre occurrences blamed on the haunting of the area. My father participated in the storytelling by adding his own experience with the "ghost." His story happened on one dark night upon return from his daily delivery on the shore. In those days, the roads were so small that only one car or buggy could occupy them at a time. In order to let one car pass, another had to pull off to the side of the road. On this night, Daddy said he saw the light of an approaching car, the only sign of life in the area. He proceeded to pull off the road and await the car's passing. However, upon the approach of the car, the lights mysteriously disappeared. There was complete blackness, and no car ever passed the horse and buggy my father was driving. Over the years of delivering mail, society was changing. Cars were becoming more prevalent and efficient forms of transportation. Every so often, the mail went up on bids. One of those times, in the latter parts of those years, my father lost the bid by just a few dollars to Mr. Jimmy Verran of Placentia, who had recently purchased a new station wagon. So, despite the many years of dedication, my father was out of a job as mailman. Mr. Verran only did this job for a very short time, and upon his resignation, the government asked my father to return to his job. His pride, however, was hurt too badly, and he refused. Meanwhile, in 1942, the US Navy base had opened in Argentia; there were still many jobs available, and higher wages accompanied them. My father was among the many men who sought employment there. However, his many years of exposure to the elements while delivering the mail had taken a toll on his health. He failed the standard medical due to a very high blood pressure, Instead, he went cooking "up the line" for men who were building a bridge in Lethbridge. No more than a year later, Daddy became very ill, and was diagnosed with double pneumonia and pleurisy. He died at the young age of 55 on 20th February, 1949. All my siblings have their own sad memories of that sad day. I was just six years old, yet I can remember him being carried out of the house on a stretcher, and his last words to me, "Be good to your mother." As my mother always said, "Your father got his death on the Cape Shore road." Thank you to my siblings for their eagerness to supply me with most of my information - Charlie in Massachusetts, Mae in Missouri, Kathleen in Virginia, and Agnes, Eleanor and Leone in Placentia, Newfoundland. I would also like to thank Mr. Michael McGrath for his memories and time.   Submitted By: NULL