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| Story ID: | 719 |
| Written by: | Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe (bio, link, contact, other stories) |
| Organization: | Retired RN/Freelance Writer and Photographer |
| Story type: | Family History |
| Location: | Northern Newfoundland and Labrador Canada |
| Year: | 1947 |
| Person: | My Mother |
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'A NEWFOUNDLAND RANGER AND A LABRADOR ROSE’ My mother is a Labradorian, born in the little community of English Point, Forteau Bay, Labrador. She was the youngest of a large family, and at the tender age of seven years she lost her mother to a fatal illness. For years after that while her father fished, and tried to survive, she spent time with older sisters, and then a sister-in-law or two who became her surrogate mothers. She still dislikes and avoids the color purple because she associates it with her mothers’ death, but she has a grand daughter Laura, who is named after her great-grandmother Trimm, and Mother loves the sound of that name when somebody calls to Laura. All those years later the loss is still felt profoundly by my mother, that loss of a mother-daughter relationship as a young, very young child. Her name was Ethel Trimm in those days. Mother was feisty, stubborn, but beautiful and charming, with a gorgeous mane of long dark wavy hair. Her keen wit and will to carry on in the face of adversity shaped and steeled her for life, and they are characteristics she passed on to her five children, thankfully so. In the midst of a bout of ill health she tries to maintain her routine, but many days she cannot do it, and it upsets her terribly. Mother had left the Labrador coast and gone to Ontario to work when she was very young. On a visit back in 1947, to see her family, she met my father. This was at the time of Commission of Government and the Newfoundland Ranger Force was the police force that enforced the laws, made sure families were taken care of, and generally were the mainstay of rural Newfoundland and Labrador. Very unexpectedly they met. My uncle had befriended the young Newfoundland policeman, and brought him home, and in so doing of course he met my mother. She was nineteen years old, with a captivating smile, he was a few years older and handsome and fit. She says he had the most brilliant blue eyes she had ever seen. After that initial meeting the young policeman used every excuse he could to visit her. The snow was very deep, and she would sit with her embroidery, by the fire and wait for the first glow of the lantern coming toward the house. And the lantern and Logan boots would walk past the window, a great idea for a painting. So, Mother never returned to Ontario. She couldn’t go without her heart and she had given that to the handsome Ranger, Stephen Richard Jarvis, and Stephen Richard Jarvis had given his heart to her. So in due time they married, and began what was to be a very interesting, sometimes difficult, but always challenging life together. I am the first child of this marriage. There were four more children to follow, and many transfers, and milestones along the way. So, in actual fact, I am a Labrador girl too. Born in Marys’ Harbor, and taken back to the Rangers post in Port Hope Simpson by the ‘Kyle’, a coastal steamer who serviced the Newfoundland and Labrador Coast. My father had just returned from overseas and World War Two where he served in the Royal Navy throughout the whole war. He joined the Newfoundland Rangers after he returned and served in various outlying places, fit for anything, and though quiet by nature, not likely to take guff from anyone. Mother describes his eyes as ‘wild’ during that time. In those days bad dreams, overreactions to situations, and all the things that we now associate with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder plagued him. Most of those young men had suffered so much, seen so many terrible things, but the only thing to do to deaden the pain was to turn to the good old rum, something we now know makes this disorder worse. The women were the steadying influence, the enforcers, the lovers, the nurturer that helped them survive the inner turmoil during the busy days and the dark, cold nights. For most of these men their wives were their anchors in the storm and they freely admit that. I know my father, Ranger #176 would wholeheartedly agree. Then confederation with Canada came in 1949, and changes were in the wind. Father was transferred to Twillingate, three children were in the family by the time we left Twillingate six years later. Father went to Ottawa, did the course in federal law enforcement, and the RCMP was now in our lives. Ranger #176 was in a different uniform, and had a different number after that. Mother was young, I recall a photo of her taken in Twillingate, in the garden in Robin’s Cove, and she looks like she would be the teenage babysitter. She withstood the challenges of raising a family, my meningitis illness, a transfer to Burgeo, stormbound in St.John’s and spending Christmas at the Newfoundland Hotel, then getting to Burgeo where, when Dad was on patrol, she handled the problems and crises that arose. The Asian Flu outbreak caused her to deliver my sister three months prematurely, almost too tiny to live, but live she did, and with gusto. She herself is a nurse in Labrador now. Then there came Port Saunders, Grand Falls, Clarenville, Bell Island, Labrador City, Goose Bay, and then back to St. John’s again, all Newfoundland postings, a concession made to the Newfoundland Rangers as members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police were not permitted otherwise to serve in their own province. Also it was felt that the Newfoundlander would understand our culture more so than somebody from Mainland Canada, because those members were having difficulties even with our dialect at that time. Mother became active in her church, supported us through all our teenage angst, organized weddings and graduations, welcomed grandchildren, and now a great-grandchild, and indeed lived a full life. The days of detachment living gave way to owning their own home, no cells to care for, no prisoners to feed, or office attached to the house. They traveled a little and enjoyed a lot. Then disaster struck in the form of major cardiac surgery for Father. Then her energies had to be directed toward getting him back on his feet. Father had the very best that could be had to help him get well. Mother was a strong woman, one of the strongest I have known. She suffered through transfers, teenagers, illnesses, and loss of members of her own family. But during every transfer and settling into a new home,she would be organized and have the establishment of the household done and the rules in place in a very short time. She says she was raised poor but was never hungry, dirty, and never jealous, and I believe her. Mother herself is ill now, and it is my Fathers’ turn to step up and help her. On one of my past visits to visit them, Mother stroked my arm and said “I was strong like you one time wasn’t I?” Yes, Mom, you were. I made a joke and she smiled but her eyes had a faraway look, as if remembering days of old. We can just support and say thanks, “Thanks Mom, for all you did, gave, made happen, supported and taught. It is small wonder that Fathers’ favorite song is “Labrador Rose ”because that is indeed what my mother was and is, a strong Labrador Rose, the sweetest of flowers. Together with her Ranger they tackled the world, and handled all the dramas and ups and downs together. Hopefully, in time, Mother will have a return to health. Meanwhile we say “Thank you,” and thank you to all of the other strong women who were part of a pair, a team, a policeman and his wife, people the communities relied on and looked to for direction. The women had strength and resourcefulness, supported their husbands in their work, and in so doing served their country, and expected little in return. May you all, including my mother, be remembered for your many contributions and may your days be filled with love, laughter and good health. And most of all, may you be really appreciated for all your devotion through the years, and remembered for years to come. You served our country, as did your Ranger and Mountie husbands, and we should never forget that! To do so would be a grave injustice. We will never let it happen!! Thank you for all you did, and all you gave. You are indeed the ‘Sweetest of Flowers’! |
