Pea Soup for the Newfoundland Soul

By Grandpa Pike

You won’t know what’s in Newfoundland pea soup until the host starts dishing it out. It may have bits of turnip, potato, carrot, ham bones, chunks of salt beef, or dumplings—along with split yellow peas. If unexpected guests arrive, simply add a bit more water. Grandpa Pike’s Pea Soup for the Newfoundland Soul is like that. “I guarantee you will find a good portion of ham,” says the author—his tongue planted firmly in his cheek.

These are short pieces—easy reads, suitable for reading while waiting for your flight, or after the kids are in bed and you finally have the bathroom to yourself, or while in a two-mile-long lineup for the Port aux Basques ferry during a three-day windstorm. Get comfortable, lean back, and then go hitchhiking with Grandpa in the 1960s, when he got a ride from a lady preacher, a trucker, and a guy in a red Corvette on his way to Mexico.

Read about his encounter with “the man from Glad,” his worst job interview, his failed attempt at a leveraged buyout of the Bank of Nova Scotia, and about the youngsters sitting at the kitchen table, looking out at the stormy night while waiting for that very last boat to come in through the Narrows—their dad’s.

You’ll laugh or cry, but you won’t be bored as Grandpa Pike rollicks his way through his wins and losses on topics as diverse as pets, religion, annoying people, the good old days, hockey, graduation, airport bars, lawyers, doctors, and the three scariest words to an old-fashioned man—scarier even than “hold my purse.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flanker Press
• Release date: Mar 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781771177924

Grandpa Pike

Laurie Blackwood Pike, a.k.a. Grandpa Pike, was born in Stanhope, Newfoundland and Labrador. He is retired from his position as business development manager with a national chain of hardware and building supply stores. In 2017, he received the Estwing Gold Hammer Award—the industry’s recognition for his contributions. In 1986, he bought a rural general store, developed a logo, and branded the business “Grandpa Pike’s.” His unique store was profiled in the hardware industry’s Hardware Merchandising magazine. In recent years, Grandpa Pike has used his nickname for charity work. In 2007, he partnered with the Children’s Wish Foundation of Canada, Newfoundland & Labrador Chapter, to release a music CD. In 2009, he partnered with them again to produce a gospel Christmas CD. He is married to Kathleen Pike and has one daughter, Laurie Shannon. Pea Soup for the Newfoundland Soul is his fourth book. His other books, Grandpa Pike’s Outhouse Reader, Grandpa Pike’s Number Two, and A Man of My Word (the biography of former premier Beaton Tulk), are all critically acclaimed bestsellers.

Book preview

By Grandpa Pike

Pea Soup for the Newfoundland Soul

A Man of My Word

Grandpa Pike’s Outhouse Reader

Grandpa Pike’s Number Two

Flanker Press Limited

St. John’s

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Pea soup for the Newfoundland soul / Grandpa Pike.

Names: Grandpa Pike, 1944- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200176412 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200176420 | ISBN 9781771177917

(softcover) | ISBN 9781771177924 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781771177931 (Kindle) | ISBN 9781771177948 (PDF)

Subjects: LCSH: Grandpa Pike, 1944-—Anecdotes. | LCSH: Newfoundland and Labrador—Biography—

Anecdotes.

Classification: LCC FC2161.8 .G74 2020 | DDC 971.8/04092—dc23

——————————————————————————————————————

© 2020 by L. Blackwood Pike

all rights reserved.

No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.

Printed in Canada

Cover design by Graham Blair

Flanker Press Ltd.

PO Box 2522, Station C

St. John’s, NL

Canada

Telephone: [phone] Fax: [phone] Toll-free: 1-866-739-4420

www.flankerpress.com

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada. Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation for our publishing activities.

Contents

Introduction

DEDICATION

Chapter 1 — The Good Old Days

November the Eleventh

Men’s Service Clubs

Red Ribbons and a Blue Christmas

What were the ’60s Like

Jackson’s of Yarmouth and Donnie Dart

To My Niece, Mackenzie, on Graduation Day

The Tramp

The Virgin

The Eighth Boat

UFOs

The Greatest Sport of All—Hockey

Chapter 2 — People I Won’t Forget

Brian

René

Gerry

How I Met the Madonna

Gilbért

Two Freds

Too Short (For Shellie)

Mary and the Bank of Nova Scotia

Perry

James D

Hitchhiking in the ’60s

Cindy—Tough but Not Hard

Chapter 3 — Animals: The Quick and the Dead

Are Pets Family, Prisoners, or Lovable Slaves?

Hobo’s Last Ride

Grandpa’s Animal Troubles

Dogs

Of Hunting and Killing

Groundhogs, Squirrels, Skunks, and Snakes

Stupid Starlings

Rescue the Perishing

Micro

Harley

Chapter 4 — Quirks and Quare Habits

You Never Listen to a Word I Say

There’s Someone for Everyone

Some Different Shades of Grey

Hugs

We Must Keep in Touch

Annoying People

Single Mother’s Day

The Death of Good Manners

Chapter 5 — Ranting and Roaring

Three Scary Words

Noisy Little Brats Grow Up

To Smokers

That’s How I Feel

Garbage and Valuables—Then and Now

Laws, Rules, and Regulations

Men and Their Sons

Lawyers

Our Population Conundrum

You Can’t Take It with You?

Doctors—The Good and the Incompetent

Why?

Chapter 6 — Religion

A Prayer

The First Gospel Song

Jesus Loves Me? (Toronto, 1964)

God’s Playful Mood

The Crossmaker

You Won’t Believe Why I’m Late, Rachel

God or No God—At Christmas

Chapter 7 — Road Warriors

We Couldn’t Catch a Break

Job One is Customer Service

Airport Bars

Pet Peeves of Travel

Them A--holes from Montreal

The Evolution of Timmie’s

Job Interviews—Don’t You Hate Them?

Vacuum Cleaner Salesman

Whaddaya Do with an Empty Paint Can?

Chapter 8 — Random Passages

Coffee

A Town Called Nowhere

Idiots or What?

There Was a Place

Little-Known Facts About Cars

Old Folks at Home

Of Verandas and Fireplaces

Well Diggers

Introducing Skipper Willie Bray

Property Rights (by Skipper Willie Bray)

About the Author

Introduction

_____________________________

When I was a young man, I got my first real apartment. My bedding was a sleeping bag atop an old used mattress on the floor in that bed-sitting room—with no bed. The kitchen—the other side of this tiny room—consisted of a discarded chrome table with two wobbly chairs, a hot plate, and a few kitchen utensils that I’d picked up at the Sally Ann.

Until I developed the culinary skills to make Kraft Dinner, I lived almost entirely on canned pea soup. It was great! I needed only a spoon, a saucepan, and a can opener to make it. They had two sizes of cans then—a fifteen- and a thirty-ounce. If I was really hungry, I opted for the larger size—if not, I chose the smaller.

Life’s like that. It’s up to you to complicate it or keep it simple. If you search for recipes for Newfoundland pea soup on the Internet, you’ll see that everyone makes it differently. In addition to split yellow peas, some add ham bones or salt beef, turnip, carrots, potatoes—or all of the above—and doughboys. Some call them dough balls or dumplings. To the purists they are likely doughbuoys, as they float, partially submerged, like a fishing buoy.

Pea soup—like Jiggs’ dinner, and fish and brewis—is Newfoundland soul food. My stories, like Newfoundland pea soup recipes, are varied. Some could cause you to laugh hysterically (he said humbly). Others may make you cry. If I’m really in top form, you could both laugh and cry during the same piece.

May your soul find this book as filling and satisfying as Newfoundland pea soup. Should unexpected company arrive, add a bit of water and share—the soup, I mean, not the book. Keep this book dry and in a safe place.

Dedication

_____________________________

Some authors dedicate their books to a famous person, to a close friend, or to their significant other. I like to break with tradition. Therefore, I will dedicate this book to all the girls I liked when I was single: all the girls I asked out but who were not that desperate—or at least were wise enough— to turn me down.

So, to: Abby, Adele, Aggie, Agnes, Alexis, Alice, Alicia, Allison, Angela, Angie, Ann, Annette, Annie, Ann-Marie, April, Arlene, Ashley, Audrey, and Barbara, Beatrice, Belinda, Belle, Bernice, Betsy, Betty, Beverly, Blair, Bobbie, Brenda, Brianna, Briar, Brigitte, Britney, and Camilla, Candace, Candy, Carmen, Carol, Caroline, Carolyn, Carrie, Cassandra, Catherine, Cathy, Cecilia, Celine, Charity, Charlene, Charlotte, Chelsea, Christine, Cindy, Clarissa, Claudette, Claudine, Cleo, Colleen, Collette, Connie, Coral, Corinne, Courtney, Cristina, Cynthia, and Daisy, Dallas, Danielle, Darlene, Dawn, Debbie, Deborah, Delia, Delilah, Della, Delores, Denise, Diana, Diane, Dixie, Dominique, Donna, Dora, Doris, Dorothy, Dylan, and Edie, Edith, Eileen, Elaine, Eleanor, Elizabeth, Ella, Elisa, Eloise, Emily, Emma, Erika, Estelle, Ester, Etta, Eunice, Eva, Evangeline, Eva, Eve, and Faith, Fallon, Felicity, Fiona, Flora, Florence, Frances, Francine, Freda, and Genevieve, Genny, Georgina, Geraldine, Gina, Giselle, Gladys, Gloria, Grace, Greta, and Gwen.

(Looks like I’m running out of space here after the G’s, so I’ll try to include all the others in future books.)

I do hope each and every one of you found a good partner. You’ll never know what you missed, though. It would have taken a good man to beat me—although it wouldn’t have taken him long.

Chapter 1

THE GOOD OLD DAYS

We remember some events and places more clearly than others because something extraordinary occurred or because of the exceptional people with whom we shared those experiences. Here are a few of mine.

November the Eleventh

____________________________

He was looked up to by all, not only because he was very tall but because he was the best—the most successful farmer in our area. He seemed to know intuitively what crops would be most in demand in a particular year and whether the weather would be suitable.

He was the first to offer a hand to anyone down on their luck—the first to raise his hand to help another farmer who was sick or overwhelmed with work. Surprisingly, he had only one hand to offer.

That lean old one-armed farmer stood up in front of our grades one to six classes to give a Remembrance Day speech. He took his Vogue papers and Player’s makin’s out of his shirt pocket with his thumb and forefinger, used the others to retrieve a folded piece of paper, and then deftly re-deposited his smoking materials. After unfolding the paper, he read:

"When I was fifteen, I left the farm to go fight the Germans. They was bad. I got shot up pretty good, but I killed a few. They sent me home in 1917. I went back at farming and got strong. I got better. By 1939 I felt pretty good, so I went back to fight the Germans. That’s when I lost my left arm. They sent me home again, and I went back at farming.

Things are good now. I’m slower at milking. I can drive okay—steer with my knees when I shift—but it’s hard to turn at the end of the field and lift the plow. So . . . if you want to win the plowing matches, don’t go fight the Germans. He smiled, and we all laughed.

That was his whole speech. He folded it up again and tucked it back in his pocket. It was now recess. We all went outside as he got back into his truck to drive home. My friend was going on about how brave the old man was and how he wanted to be a soldier.

I didn’t hear much. I was too busy watching that man behind the wheel. He rolled a good one with his one hand, tamped both ends, and then lit the match with his thumbnail. He saluted and drove away.

I joined the army cadets in grade nine, and each year we marched in the Remembrance Day parade. Since then I’ve listened to half a hundred politicians and veterans give their speeches on November 11. Nobody, though, since that old farmer has ever shown more simply or convincingly what war can do to you—and what it can’t do.

Men’s Service Clubs

_____________________________

There are a number of service clubs that a fellow could join, like the Rotary, Masons, Knights of Columbus, and Lions Club, to name a few. I never joined one, as their meetings were held through the week, and being a commercial traveller, I was only home on weekends.

For a short time I was off the road, having bought a building supply yard. I thought it might be nice to join one. I had a friend who was in the Masons, and I knew most of the members of the local club. I asked him what my chances were of getting in. He told me that every member of the local club votes and that one vote against me would keep me out.

However, that’s not exactly how he explained it. What he said was, You might get in or you might get blackballed. Not knowing whether this might be painful or just embarrassing, I didn’t attend a meeting or seek membership. Most clubs have some secret language, or sign, or initiation procedure, and I found out later that it would have been painless, but I had already joined another club.

Eric, the president of the local Lions Club, was a regular customer at our store. He also managed a retirement home that was a major account for our business. Eric and others encouraged me to join. I joined, attended a few meetings, and I must say that it was a good experience. They were a great bunch of guys and did a lot of valuable community work in our area.

At the time my store was open seven days a week, and it didn’t leave much time for me to participate in any community work. I felt it was unfair to be a member and not fully participate, so I dropped out.

My wife, however, drove me crazy trying to find out the secret signs or handshakes we had. If we had any, I wouldn’t have been able to tell her, of course. After I left the Lions, I told her that it probably would be no harm to sing her our secret song.

To the tune of the William Tell Overture (Lone Ranger theme song), I had written out a couple verses of nonsense. I don’t remember all the words now, but my last line was, I’m a Lion, I’m a Lion, I’m a lyin’ son of a b----. I sang it to her. I thought she believed me, but I felt guilty and had to tell her the difference in a few days. She got me back, though.

Wrong time to tell me that, my son! I sang it to Eric when he was in the store the other day. He just looked at me funny and then walked out. I think we’ve lost his business.

That was news we didn’t need—and she knew that. Then she told me that she was only pulling my leg. Fortunately for me, she too was a lyin’, a lyin’, a lyin’ son of a b----!

Red Ribbons and a Blue Christmas

_____________________________

He had wrapped and unwrapped M’s Christmas present a dozen times since September. Would she like it? Would she accept it? Would he even get the nerve to give it to her? He had received some money for his birthday in September, and next day at school he spent it all at the nearby store. Twenty-five