St John's, Referendums and Ghosts

St John's just before dawn

Our first port of call was the capital of Newfoundland, St John's where we were blessed with an exuberant and passionate guide who got us under the skin of a truly unique community. St Johns is a natural harbour, a port of refuge for sixteenth century French and Portuguese fishermen. 

It must be said, they lacked the chutzpa and acquisitive instincts of  our Sir Humphrey Gilbert who, in August 1583, planted his flag and claimed it for the English crown. A simpler time. 

No good deed goes  unrewarded. On his way home to England, Sir Humphrey was shipwrecked off the Azores. For the full and detailed story of how he claimed Newfoundland, read this eyewitness account here. You can scroll down the tedious maritime details until you get to him in St Johns. His self confidence is breathtaking. 

St John's had its ups and downs during the C18th when Britain and France fought for control of Canada and much of the world. British victory saw peace for a time and Newfoundland happily slumbered until 1948—when it experienced two referendums. The first referendum offered Newfoundlanders the choice of remaining under British control, joining the new Canadian Confederation, or embarking upon a close, economic union with America. One can imagine the rubbing of hands behind closed doors in the White House. 

For that first referendum, Newfoundland voted narrowly in favour of sticking with Britain, perhaps to the embarrassment of the British Labour government, which was financially strapped and had no great enthusiasm for retaining what they saw as an economic burden. Interestingly, the option of a closer union with America was not offered on the second and decisive ballot. 

For the second referendum,  all the stops were pulled out and the struggle between the two sides was vicious, intense, and reminiscent of Brexit. The Catholic Church was in favour of ‘remaining’ with Britain. Those favouring confederation with Canada were forced to play ‘dirty,’ mobilising the Orange Lodge and calling upon all good protestants to vote for union with the mainland. Like Brexit and the last Presidential election, there were rumours of widespread voter fraud and the dead coming alive again to vote. The Confederates won by the narrowest of margins. There are some not reconciled to this day. 

Speaking of those arising from the dead, St John's is chockful of ghosts; two currently reside in or around the Anglican cathedral, another in a nearby Masonic lodge, and a third in the Duke of Duckworth – which also sells some excellent beer. 

The Duke of Duckworth

An accurate reflection perhaps of the effect of its beer

On to more salubrious topics. The Anglican Cathedral, St John the Baptist, dominates a hill upon which a Methodist Chapel, a Scottish Kirk and a Catholic Cathedral—also called St John the Baptist—sit in close proximity. 

The Methodist Chapel with some stunning stained glass windows inside.

The Catholic Cathedral of St John The Baptist

The Anglican Cathedral of St John the Baptist

All church photos credit. BM Keyton

The original wooden church dates back to 1699 making it the oldest Anglican parish  in Canada. The building of the stone church began in 1843 but was largely destroyed by fire in 1847. Perhaps God is a Catholic and objected to two Cathedrals in close proximity bearing the same name.

During the post fire  rebuilding,  a young stone mason fell to his death. His spirit though lingered, glimpses of him seen every now and again by his fellow workmen.  In this group photograph shot in 1850 ––years before photoshop or AI skullduggery––you can glimpse him too. Look closely to the left of those in their Sunday best celebrating the opening of the nave: a man in work clothes—transparent—the stonework clearly visible behind him.

More ghosts haunt the adjacent Anglican graveyard  dating from 1699. It's estimated some 20,000 bodies have been buried there, one on top of the other.  Heavy rains and ground movement quite often means that  bones are unearthed and found on the adjacent pavement. 

Most of the corpses lie in unmarked graves.  One such corpse  was  that of an unknown seaman discovered dead in an alleyway. A grave was dug, his casket lowered into it, the hole near-filled—when a loud knocking was heard. The casket was hurriedly retrieved, the body re-examined, and once again pronounced dead. The body was returned to the grave when once again the same thing happened. After the third such reoccurrence the man was buried this time for good. Though the knocking continued. 

On McMurdo’s Lane stands the Duke of Duckworth where I sampled a pint of Quidi Vidi (Look it up. Well worth a drink or three) but failed to see its famous ghost nicknamed ‘the Duke.’ Several have seen him in the window, waving at passers-by, others have sensed or glimpsed him in the pub itself. Maybe if I had stayed longer….or drank more Quidi Vidi, but there was a ship to catch. 

Ship seen here peeping coyly behind buildings.

 Still, time for a little more sight-seeing

There are various reasons given for the brightly colours houses. The proximity of the Gulf Stream and the colder Labrador current give rise to dense fogs,* and the winters are dismal. Colour cheers the soul and aids visibility in mist. The flat roofs too have a story behind them. Another great fire, in 1892, destroyed much of St Johns and to this day is remembered as 'the great fire.' Rebuilding was hurried and flat roofs were easier and relatively cheap. 

 * Because of the many dense fogs, moose are a problem, cars crashing  into them on misty roads. During such fogs many roads are closed to protect both motorist and moose.

And finally, it was time to leave hopefully with better luck than Sir Humphrey Gilbert.

·   

Next stop—in search of Vikings.