MEMORIES OF BRANCH
Marina (Power) Gambin
Recollections of my childhood in my mind are wont to stay
May I share some early memories of my Branch, St. Mary's Bay?
As a child I still remember looking through my bedroom pane
So thankful for my home up in the winding Rocky Lane.
Life was so uncomplicated then one just lived from day to day
Oh, take me back to the Rocky Lane in Branch, St. Mary's Bay.
I often woke at daybreak on an early summer morn
Not by habit, clock or rooster, but called by the fog horn.
I still can hear the putt putt of the skiffs going out the bay
Up around the "Hayers" Rock on to Golden Bay
And hear them coming back again with the same familiar putt
As they watched their chance to cross the bar and go into the gut.
Oh I have memories of the gut, oh yes, its left its share
The smell of creosote, twine and cod and the tang of salt sea air.
In my mind I see the Landwash and hear the seagulls shout
As we played around the Boiler when the evening tide went out.
The June sun was often absent but there was something better
The gulls would echo through the fog "Come on, it's caplin weather!"
Those little coloured fish for which we had been waiting
To throw themselves ashore each year in their funny way of mating.
Knee deep in sand and caplin spawn, breathing the fragrant air
It was not so much the catching, it was fun just being there.
And Branch river, constant river, like the blood in the Branch race
It will never cease to flow through the heartland of the place.
And the Flats, are they the same? around which Branch River flows
Where we lay when weak from swimming where women spread their
laundered clothes.
That same river, when in winter, in its slippery, solid state
Turned us all to young Hans Brinkers when we buckled on our skates.
All the landmarks on the river, named by men we do not know
Otter Rub and Salmon Hole, Seven Spruce Trees and Darby Bow.
Oh, you breed who came before us, you were such a rarity
Using your wit and imagination when leaving names to posterity.
Then there were the hills and pathways where we youngster love to rove
Like goats upon a mountainside we explored the Wester' Cove.
Up and down the Cock o' Wee Path, round every rock and point and bend
Not a worry in the world, thinking life would never end.
And the gully rushing downwards, babbling out its joyous song
Singing "Live your happy childhood for too soon it shall be gone".
I hear again the swishing of the scythes to and fro
As they mowed Neil Power's meadow in the West Cove long ago.
And a most fulfilling climax to a sunny August day
Was a ride along a bumpy road upon a load of hay.
As the hands of time move faster little things mean so much more
I still can taste the candy in Mrs. Bridget Lucy's store.
It would make your senses tingle from your head down to your socks
To taste the apples from the barrel and the biscuits from the box.
We couldn't play
much baseball but we had sports sufficient; and no TV at all
But a movie shown once a week by John Dohey in the hall.
And for our education high standards was the mode
I can't forget and I'll never regret school days on the Lower Road.
When it came to worship God our folks they left no gap
In rain or snow, you had to go, to the church upon the Nap.
We did not have much money but we were rich in every sense.
Our wealth was measured in Happiness, and not in dollars and cents.
Oh, I remember all my friends so full of youth and mirth
But we have gone our separate ways, a few have slipped this earth.
We all have crossed the Bridge of Youth, our Life's Golden River
We have changed our way of life, but Branch goes on forever.
Childhood years may fade away, but it helps to remember
"God gives us memories so we may have June roses in December".
