When reading this poem, one should bear in mind that it refers to the 1940s. I was born in 1932 and came to Ontario in October of 1951 after finishing high school. I started kindergarten in September of 1939, about the time that WWII started. Newfoundland was a still a British colony then. Twillingate was quite different then as well – no paved roads or street lights, no electricity or running water. Now it’s connected by a causeway to New World Island and is not as isolated. How things have changed in 72 years. It’s now known as part of Iceberg Alley, and the bergs which the fishermen used to hate are now a big tourist attraction.


Twillingate, My Hometown
I grew up in Twillingate,
An island off the coast of Newfoundland.
In summer it was only accessible by water,
In winter over frozen ice pans.

In winter before street lights,
When the ground was white with snow
And the harbour frozen over,
In the moonlight, it was a sight to behold.

Then came springtime and the brooks ran,
And we said goodbye to snow.
It was such a lovely feeling,
To feel the sun’s warm glow.

In the summer, in the evening,
With the ocean calm as glass
It was such a great feeling to watch fishing boats
Return with their catch.

Then for fertilizer came the capelin
All the way from Wild Cove.
In the fall we did the harvest,
Digging potatoes with a prong.
We carried them to the cellar,
Burlap bags bulging,
Weighing about a hundred pounds.
Then we gathered the root vegetables
That were still left in the ground.

From the causeway, down to Blow Me Down,
And all the way to Sleepy Cove.
There was once a producing mine there,
Now it is home to Seabreeze Park.

Up the hill to Long Point Lighthouse,
So majestic standing there,
Sending out its rays of hope and light,
Guiding sailors to their home ports,
All along the Notre Dame Bay coast.

God bless Twillingate,
My old home town.
The rock and the soil,
The sound of the sea,
It gave me the foundation
For the man I turned out to be.

Gordon Stockley
Bath, ON