The Lowe Down

Christmas in the Cut - Gerard Lowe

My grandmother had told my father that The Cut was designed by God himself. A sleepy little town built around a harbour that was shaped like a crescent moon. Families built their houses on the lee side of the harbour to ensure protection from the harsh elements often experienced on the north coast. Apparently God felt that because Jesus was a fisherman, harbours had to be built to offer protection to those who chose the way of our Savior. Nan considered the fishing profession to be the most sacred because no fisherman could cheat out a living. Only hard work and observance of the Sabbath could ensure that families would be fed and our place would be reserved in heaven.

Her son, who just happened to be my father Benjamin, passed similar wisdom on to me as I grew up in the warm embrace of The Cut. One of his favorites was that “no man or woman was better than any other and anyone who thought themselves better because of money or land or material possessions suffered from the deadly sin of pride”. It was this particular advice heaped on me from the earliest memories of my life that hastened my attachment to Timmy March. Though my father was a merchant and his a fisherman, we were the best of buddies. The financial divide between us was obvious.

My shoes were mail ordered from Sears and arrived on the Northern Ranger supply vessel during one of her monthly visits to deliver building supplies, food, fuel and all sorts wonderful parcels to The Cut. Timmy’s shoes were usually hand-me-downs from the poor box at the church. Whenever he was sporting “new” shoes because his toes were hanging out of his last pair, I would simply say “nice shoes Timmy” and that would be the last of it. I got into trouble with Sister Margaret at school because I punched Johnny White in the gut for telling Timmy that his shoes looked just like the pair that he wore last summer, just before his mom gave them to the poor box. Johnny and me both got the strap from the sister because “two wrongs don’t make a right”. Johnny got my point. He kept his distance from me and Timmy. The other boys held me in reverence after that because one of the good guys punched out a bully.

Timmy would often share a meal with our family because there was plenty. My mother was sure to give him lots because she often said he was “as thin as a shadow”. His favorite treat at my house were the Pot of Gold chocolates that were sold at our general store. He would take the one chocolate that he knew contained the cherry and place it on his tongue ever so gently. He would close his mouth and eyes and lay back in a trancelike state while the chocolate melted in his mouth. I would know when the cherry sauce melted through to his taste buds because a smile would come to his face and he would say “this must be what heaven feels like”.

Christmas in The Cut was a special time. We were one big family because the fifteen families totalled about 75 people and we all knew and cared for each other. We even cared for Shamus Poile though he drank too much and didn't really like to work. My dad said "judge not lest ye be judged". I was never sure what that meant but because of it I always said hello to Shamus and on one occasion I helped him out of a snow bank where he had fallen after having a few too many.

The biggest family in The Cut was the Morgans. There were twelve of them, ten under the age of twelve. The old people would praise Mrs. Morgan because being "with child" so often would ensure the survival of our wonderful town. I always thought she looked like she had been dragged through the eye of a needle.

Christmas Eve was really special because all the families gathered at our church, St. Patrick's, for Midnight Mass. Our parish priest, Father Murphy had made the boat trip from Peaceful Harbour to deliver the service. It was a two hour boat trip from Peaceful Harbour to The Cut. Father made the trip once a month to preach to the faithful. He also stopped in to Muddy Point and Main River to renew the faith of the townspeople there who thought that having the priest instead of a lay reader was like getting Elvis Presley instead of Jimmy Fogarty who would play his fiddle for the "time" at the Hall on Saturday nights. Because The Cut was at the end of Father Murphy's journey, we got to have him after he had already visited Muddy Point and Main River. The town was really excited because we were going to have a real Midnight Mass that would start at eleven and end near the strike of twelve.

The most exciting thing for me and Timmy was that we would get to go home after Mass and open one of our Christmas presents before heading to bed to await the arrival of Santa Claus. It was probably more exciting for me because I knew that there would be presents under my tree. Timmy would probably not be as lucky. Last year he got an apple, orange and a homemade sleigh that we suspected came from his father's shed because of the newly scraped wood shavings that filled the wood box. Timmy wasn't sure about the existence of Santa Claus. He was used to being disappointed when he raised his expectations. He had a happy family who made the most of a meager income. 

It was traditional for all the families of The Cut to gather in front of the church and sing Christmas carols before the start of Mass. I ran over to Timmy's house to meet him for the walk up the lane to the church which stood at the top of Knobby Hill. My grandfather would say that the church was a "beacon of morality". He said that it had been built in its current location so that fishermen could follow the "light of God" as they returned from the fishing grounds. The candles always burned brightly in the windows and were easily visible from the harbour.

Timmy wasn't his chipper self this evening. He smiled little and didn't have his usual energy. He had been the exact same way last year when we were jumping fences and cutting through back yards on our way to church. I had asked him what was up with him then and he just said "nuttin". I expected to get the same response this year when I asked about his despair but surprisingly he started to talk.

He said, "You remember that sleigh I got for Christmas last year?"

I said, "Yeah, it was really nice. Didn't you like it?"

"I liked it fine" he replied, "but it wasn't what I asked for. Do you remember us both looking in the Sears catalogue last year and admiring the Red Rocket Racer?"

I did remember how his face lit up when he talked about it. He looked at that catalogue everyday and nearly wore out the page. The Red Rocket Rider was a shiny toboggan with racing stripes on the seats and was able to hold four kids. It also had a fiberglass coating that allowed it to reach rocket speed.

"I never told you this," he said, "but I asked Santa to bring it to me for Christmas. The sleigh I got did not look at all like the one in the catalogue.
Santa must not have heard my prayers and brought me the wrong sleigh or my dad made it because even Santa knows we’re too poor to get the real presents”

His disappointment was written all over his face. He must have wanted that sleigh really bad because he was not one to complain.

"You know what I asked for this year Sam?” he continued. “I prayed for Santa to bring me the G.I. Joe Trooper with the Company E soldiers. Fat chance I’ll get that”.

Timmy had never told me about his desire to have the G.I. Joe. I had also never told anyone of my ambition to have G.I. Joe fighting battles in my house on Christmas Day.  My dad must have noticed me salivating over page number twenty-five in the Sears catalogue. It didn’t seem all that important to me if I was going to get what I wanted and Timmy would not.

As we stood shoulder to shoulder in the church with our glowing candles clutched in our hands illuminating the stained glass windows and sacred statues, Timmy’s eyes were downcast and a his face held a look of resignation. He was preparing himself for another disappointment. I prayed that this would be a special Christmas for Timmy. His dad had not had a great year in the fishery and with four other siblings, the family resources would be thinly disbursed. I was too preoccupied with Timmy's despair to enjoy the service. Timmy and I didn't even take the time to make faces at the girls who were prancing around in their Christmas dresses acting like the cat who ate the canary.

Before I knew it we were hoofing it home. Timmy left with his family and I ended up walking the freshly snow covered road with my father. He was not one for being good with his feeling. He was known more for being the strong silent type. He was more likely to offer his services than his affection.  He must have noticed my despair and surprised me by asking if there was something bothering me. By the mere fact that he would break his normal stoic veneer, I knew my misery must have been evident. With little to be achieved by holding back I poured out my feelings right there next to Old Man Porters fence while his cow Gertrude chewed the cud and listened attentively to the human traffic.

My father listened attentively and I was surprised when he placed his hand on my shoulder and offered a pat or two in lieu of a hug. He knew poverty as a child. His father had lost his life in a fishing accident when he was ten and he was raised by a strong willed mother who grew vegetables and fattened a pig for slaughter. Each was used to provide nourishment for her family. She also made clothing that she sold at church garden parties. He could empathize with Timmy better than me.

In my haste to expunge my feeling for my friend I told my father about Timmy's Christmas wish and stated that I would gladly give up my own wishes to have Timmy's fulfilled. I knew that there would be many material things under my tree that would still make my Christmas a happy one, but the happiness of my friend would be my most precious gift.

Sometimes messages pass between fathers and sons that are unspoken. In that moment my father and I locked eyes and we knew what each other was thinking.  He smiled and said, "I am sure that Santa will be able to make young Timmy March very happy on Christmas morning". The veil of fog that had covered me that evening suddenly lifted with the realization that best friend would not have to face disappointment this Christmas morning.

We continued to walk the path and at one point even jumped a fence and ran through a barnyard holding hands and laughing like the old folks stepping 'er down as Jimmy Fogarty played “Mussels in the Corner” in the church hall. As we reached our front door my father turned to me and said something that will always remain with me as the moment when he started to see me as a man. I knew it was hard for him to express himself as he did at that moment and that's what meant the most to me.  He said, "Only really special people can put the needs of others before their own".  You couldn't smack the smile off my face with a shovel.

After unwrapping my one present before bed and consuming some of the chocolates enclosed, I imagined Timmy eating his present of an apple or orange and going to bed unaware of the great things to come in the morning.

As I lay in bed late in the night reflecting on the day’s events, I could hear my father and mother whispering in the hall and the sound of paper rattling as if something was being wrapped and taped. The last thing I remember as my eyes glazed over was the squeak of the front door as someone exited the house and scrunch of the fresh fallen snow as they walked past my bedroom window.

I dreamed well that night. Santa Claus was about to descend on The Cut and I knew that my best friend was going to have the Christmas he yearned for. I had learned that by our everyday acts we can be Santa Claus and giving is much greater than receiving.

The next morning I hurried to open my presents that included new shoes, a winter coat and slick new toboggan. I thanked my parents with great fanfare and was very happy that Santa had come to The Cut. As I was getting dressed to run to Timmy's house, I looked through our kitchen window and there he was jumping our front yard fence, his face glowing with the satisfaction of Christmas wishes granted, G.I. Joe in one hand and his merry band of troops in the other.

Gerard Lowe is a Teacher living in Corner Brook. He can be reached by e-mail at toutons@hotmail.com