Branch Come Home Year

August 9-19, 2007

Story of the Little Green House

 

By: Jay McGrath

 

For a long time I have wanted to write something nice for the come home year website.  I have read some of the other tales and yarns, and have thoroughly enjoyed them.  My problem lies in motivation.  I work good with deadlines, usually getting newspaper articles in the night before they are due.  In this case that was part of the problem, no one ever gave me and deadline now should they have. 

The only other time I write something is when I am deeply inspired.  This evening was such an example of this. 

 

For the first time since nanny passed away last summer, I visited her grave up on the ‘nap’, a beautifully ironic name if there ever was one.   I don’t feel as though I should have waited this long, but with a harsh winter and trips from St. John’s being limited, a trip to the graveyard was ‘back burnered’ too often. 

That’s not to say I didn’t think of Nan, as I frequently reminisce about her lessons and sayings, I even framed a picture of me, her, and cousin Denise from uncle Brian’s wedding.  It’s a great picture that someone took of us on her couch at the house when she was telling us not to drink too much that night.  Nanny has by no means been forgotten.

 

But I had to visit her grave, as I had plenty of news to share with her and had put it off for too long.  Admittedly I felt several tears run down my cheeks on the cold evening with nothing but the sounds of the ocean in the background.  Yet it was so comforting.

After leaving the graveyard I headed into Nan’s and Pop’s house and as I walked through the porch, the feelings of comfort continued, it was a nostalgic comfort.

 

I can’t explain it, but there is just something so comforting about walking out of the porch and feeling the often overbearing heat from the woodstove.  I wouldn’t and couldn’t trade it for the world.

 

My memories raced back to my time spent in the little green house on the lower road.  Growing up, I had two homes: one was where I lived, got off the bus at, slept, etc. but the other was Nan’s and Pop’s. 

 

It was in that house I really formed an identity.  When I was a baby at 5pm the doors were barred up and pop set up my little bath by the wood stove and give me a wash.  I learned to walk there, learned the days of the week, how to play cards, how to make bologna stew, wash dishes, paint, and developed values and traits that have carried me to where I am now. 

 

I am so grateful to have had such a great relationship with my grandparents.  Some people never have the opportunity to get to know their Nan and Pop, while others never take advantage of the opportunity; I am saddened for those people.  I was blessed to have been able to grow and learn under John and Eleanor McGrath. 

 

I couldn’t tell you how many Sunday mornings would start out with a call from ‘in the road’, and it was two simple questions first: “Do ye have dinner cooked out there today?”  and it didn’t matter if the answer was yes or no, the next question was “Is Jay coming in to his dinner?” 

And more often than not I betrayed Mom and Dad’s Jiggs Dinner for Nan and Pop’s.  And to this day I will tell you that although I enjoy Moms home made bread, it doesn’t touch Nan’s, nobody’s does.

 

One of the best things about my time spent there was no matter what the circumstance I was still just me.  I could have won some award or had my hands in whatever and they were always so proud of me and there was no doubt that the first phone call Nan got after my good news, she would tell them about “Nanny’s boy”.  However, at about 7:30pm Nan would say “Now Jay b’y what about a cup of tea?”  Didn’t matter if I had spent the day before in meetings somewhere across the island, it was expected that I got them tea and toast in the evening.  And I did, for as long as I could and then when I came home for visits I got tea and toast for them every evening.  It was humbling in the greatest way possible.

 

I always had a laugh there too.  Whether it was Pop telling one of his stories, or Nanny reciting the little bit of French she remembered, that I swear had Latin tangled up in it, a laugh was had.  I remember one time I had been out at wood with Pop and come in to wash up, to find Nan peeling vegetables.  I offered my assistance and began peeling potatoes.  Now anyone who has ever been witness to me peeling vegetables can account for the fact that I am probably one of the most awkward people in the world at it. After a while, Nan stopped what she was doing, watched me for a bit, laughed her quite laugh and said “We might have em peeled before Easter.”

 

Nan was so witty.  She always had an answer, Dad can testify to that.  She never let him off with any tormenting remark.  Where Nan was the comedian, Pop was the story teller.  His attention to detail in his stories of years ago is remarkable.  He’d tell of working in Argentia, or his days working with Mr Dolph Nash or how he was always the first to the gut in the mornings for work.  And even though I never got to see him dance, I have been told by many people that he was one of the best dancers in Newfoundland, especially impressive when considering that Pop was never a small man.  Mr Edward English recently told me of how he loved playing the mouth organ for Pop.  He said that with some people you had to watch what they were doing and keep pace with them, but not with Pop, he just knew.  He said Pop could dance on egg shells.

 

And Pop is such an intelligent man too. He knows about worldly situations and could call all the reporters on TV by name.  I have often wondered if he had been given the educational opportunities that this generation has been given, where he would have ended up. After having to leave school with what he would refer to as “a bad grade 3”, he is an avid reader and always has an opinion on things.  He wanted to call Danny Williams last year when Ed Bryne got the heave ho from cabinet, Pop seriously felt as though I should be given Bryne’s portfolio.  One of the greatest pieces of advice he gave me was when I was talking about going to university and having a couple of part time jobs while completing my studies.  He told me not to worry about hard work as “that’s belong to it”

 

But that’s just it.  Nan and Pop inadvertently and expertly preached confidence.  They always told me to never think that I was better than the next person and never think that I was inferior to someone else. 

Pop would never want to hear gossip about other people.  Sometimes me and Nan would be talking about the goings on in Branch and Nan would use her vintage “Someone said it here today” line, and Pop would tell us not to be worrying about the next person’s business.  That’s how they were.  And I love them for it.

 

Again I feel blessed to have gotten to know my grandparents and I am sure that someday Mom and Dad will make a tremendous Nan and Pop.  I foresee a time when Mom is the one bursting in pride over her granddaughter or grandson’s accomplishments, and teaching them so many little things.  I just hope and pray that opportunity comes along some day.  They deserve it. 

 

To get back to my original intentions on writing this piece, it hasn’t been until recently that I have realized how important my background as a Branch native has been.  I am first a Branch man, then Newfoundlander, then Canadian.  But this evening as I headed out of the little green house on the lower road I finally understood, being from Branch has little to do with the physical surroundings and everything to do with your heritage.  For me there is no finer definition of what it meant to be a Branch native, what it meant to be a rural Newfoundlander than Nan and Pop.  They are in my book two people who exemplify everything that is Branch. 

 

In closing I want to share with you words from a song by Ray Johnson that I have modified to fit here:

And I must truly say in my own special way, I owe it to Eleanor and John.

 

 

 

Sharing Time With Nanny

L-R Denise Corcoran, Mrs. Eleanor McGrath, Jay McGrath

Submitted By: Jay McGrath