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Mrs. Abbie Whiffen (née Ellis) grew up in Caplin Cove, Trinity Bay, a small community that is part of Hant’s Harbour. As a young woman she went to teach and live in Bonavista. She met and married Wilson Whiffen there and raised her own family. She continues to live there today.

She has very kindly allowed us to reproduce the following essay about growing up "up in Cove" that was inspired by her ten-year-old granddaughter’s question: "Grandma, how did you ever grow up without a computer?"!! Her answer is the very engaging and moving piece below. She wrote it so her grandchildren would understand how very different things were in Newfoundland before the 1960s. It can also be found on Abbie’s and Wilson’s son’s interesting web site which can be linked to here.

How Abbie Whiffen’s Family
Came to Caplin Cove.

"My great-grandfather Thomas Ellis and his brother John came to Newfoundland around 1820 from a small English town in southern England. Both were teenagers at the time and the reason they came is not clear....

At first Thomas and John settled in Scilly Cove, now Winterton, where Thomas married Charlotte Andrews. In 1826 the two brothers sailed along the coast until they came to a tiny inlet called Caplin Cove near Hant’s Harbour, Trinity Bay. Here they built their houses close together and close to the sea. At that time the land was quite wooded and foxes would come to the water’s edge. Thomas and Charlotte had thirteen children, five of them died while quite young. The women were always busy at home cleaning, cooking, baking, knitting and often making their families’ clothes -- all without the aid of running water and electricity. All this in addition to helping to make the hay and fish, growing vegetables, and seeing to the animals, not to mention bringing up their large families.

Thomas and John cleared land, fished and farmed and kept pigs, sheep, hens, cows and, of course, a horse which was needed for their work and was the equivalent of today’s pick-up.

My grandfather Samuel inherited the property, fished and farmed and was an excellent boat builder. My father Herbert grew up there and followed in his father’s footsteps, as did my brother Harold and cousin York for a while, but then things changed.

Now at Caplin Cove there are no signs of inshore fishing, farming, or animal-raising. Just last year we noticed a spot that’s frequented by a large moose. I suppose eventually it will return to the way it was 174 years ago when young Thomas and John jumped ashore from their boat and decided to make it their home..."

Abbie’s son Bruce has written a very detailed and interesting family history of the many branches of his mother’s family in the Hant’s Harbour area. To see this written history, follow this link.

Interestingly enough, the home that Mrs. Whiffen grew up in is still standing in Caplin Cove. When its present owners purchased it they decided not to bother restoring the hydroelectric and phone line. The house is heated by wood-stove (where a good deal of cooking and baking is also done), lit by kerosene lamps and candles, and water is collected in pails from a local well.

The Ellis family in 1943

I was born on October 7, 1926, at my parents’ home. Grandma Ellis, then 74, a midwife for many years and living next door, came in and delivered me before the nurse arrived.

She named me after a daughter-in-law of hers who had died several years before. I grew up in Caplin Cove which is part of Hant’s Harbour in Trinity Bay.

One of my earliest memories is going out in her front garden in early summer and looking at the lilac trees in full bloom, the honeysuckle and the lovely rose bushes imported from Canada (a foreign country at that time). She had many flowers: May Flower, Primroses which we used to call cowslips, Garden Musk, Scarlet Lighters, Tansy, Garden Fern, Boy’s Love, Bleeding Heart, Bridal Bouquet, Sweet Williams, English Daisies, Globe Flower, Lady Grass and Poppies to name just some of them, and a very large red pony where everyone gathered to have their picture taken. When people came to visit, and she had lots of friends, they were always assured of a large bunch of cut flowers. When someone died, flowers were picked and a wreath made for the coffin.

We owned quite a lot of land around our house on "our" side of the cove, while the Tucks and the Sopers owned the land on the other side. We also owned land near the sea shore where the work house, fish store, flakes, stage and stage head were located and where the caplin were sure to roll on the beach on the foggiest and coldest day in June. Then all the fishermen would come up from down harbour with their castnets, buckets, hand-carts, wheel-barrows, horses and box-carts, to get their share of the caplin school (we used to call it the caplin "skull"), to use as food, fertilizer and bait for catching cod fish. All the cove children would be there on the beach joining in with the activities and watching out for those three caplin wiggling close together on the sand made yellow from the spawn.

I didn’t go to school until I was seven and wasn’t allowed to go during the winter until I was in Grade V. I had pneumonia three times before I could remember much about it so I suppose that was the reason. I was put in Grade II on the first day. My father had taught me my ABCs and mother, who had been a teacher, taught me to read. Our new school books used to be found under the Christmas Tree. I well remember in Grade IV when I resumed school in the spring. The teacher gave me a lot of "sums" to do from the old Arithmetic Book. I couldn’t do them and she said I would have to repeat the grade. My parents had extra responsibilities that winter and besides I had always been more interested in reading than mathematics.

We had a fairly long walk to school. And, oh, how I hated it when on a cold crisp morning in January or February Pop would say, "You can’t go to school today, the vapour is flying." I would have a little cry and then curl up with a book. But on one winter morning we all set out for school with the blue denim book bags on our backs. We met up with the other cove children and when we got to the top of Kelp Path Hill a sudden snow storm came on and we couldn’t see where we were going. Some of us started to cry and Millie, who was older, said we should turn back, which we did, much to the delight of some of the bigger boys. Lots of mornings after a snow storm we would have to break the path. On those mornings we were allowed to wear snow pants (which had undoubtedly come in a barrel) but slacks and snow pants weren’t commonly worn by girls and women then. We wore homespun knitted stockings and spats, and surprisingly enough when we got in the school porch and brushed off the snow, the stockings were dry. I was always grateful to two friends, Jean Adey and Faith Pelley, both long dead, who often invited me in for dinner on a rainy day because then I didn’t miss the afternoon session. If a winter storm came up while we were in school, our cousin, York, next door, would tackle in Jack, our old white horse, and come to the school for us. A knock would come on the classroom door and the teacher would say, "The Cove pupils may go, "and we would get a sleigh ride home in the blizzard complete with jingle bells.

Money was very scarce in those days and when the time came for me to sign on to write the C. H. E. exams I had to ask for $5.00, as that was the fee for Grade XI exams, no Grade XII then. Mother went upstairs and after a while came down with the $5.00 bill, probably the first one I had seen let alone own. While walking back to school I decided I had better get my Junior Matriculation and not waste all that money. I didn’t waste it as I managed to pass with honours.

My father was quite proud of the fact that he had only worked under a boss for six months of his life. That was when he went to Lynn, Mass. U. S. A. to work with his two older brothers in the construction business. He realized that the American way wasn’t for him and he returned to The Rock. He was 37 and Mom was 26 when they married. His father had died two years before and Pop thought that he would bring his bride to his mother’s house. But Grandma didn’t like that idea, instead she said that Pop could have the Calves’ Yard, which was a continuation of her back yard, in which to build his house. They had planned to marry in June, when school was out, but now Pop and his younger brother Dick, in addition to fishing and farming had to build a house. In the meantime Mom went to work as parlour maid at the home of the late Harry Mews’ family in St. John’s. They were married on Dec.15, 1920. Mother wore a brown suit, "Married in Brown, Live out of Town, "and she sure did.

However, not moving into Grandma’s house was much better for Mom. She had her own house. In addition to Grandma in the old homestead there was also Uncle Dick who soon afterwards married a Hant’s Harbour girl and went to the U.S.A. to join his two brothers and a sister who had already settled there. Also there were three of Grandma’s grandchildren whom she had taken when they were quite young. So all in all it worked out well for everyone.

Grandma’s eldest son Simeon had married and lived in St. John’s. His wife died in childbirth and Grandma went in and brought his three children Elsie, Jessie and infant York home with her and Grandpa. Elsie died of TB when she was 14 years old.

Her second oldest son Hezekiah married and went to the U S. They had two sons, Gordon and Harold. His wife, Aunt Abbie, became ill and they moved back with his mother and father. Baby Harold and Aunt Abbie died and Uncle Ki returned to the U.S. - leaving Gordon to be raised by his grandparents and uncles. Uncle Sim was devastated when his wife died. After his mother took the children he went to British Columbia and the Klondike and they lost touch with him for years. He later returned, old, penniless, and crippled with arthritis. While he was at the old homestead Pop would go out every night to help get him to bed. When Pop would come back, he would tell us some of Uncle Sim’s stories about "Charlie Good for Nothing," and "Johnny Good Fellow," - his buddies when they were prospecting for gold. Families looked after their own then without the help of social assistance. Uncle Sim spent his last days in his daughter Jessie’s home. When his two children stood by the coffin one said to the other, "But suppose it was Herb." Pop had been father, brother and uncle to them.

Grandma Ellis died of diabetes (no insulin then) in 1931. Gordon returned to the U.S. a couple of years later. York married and lived on in the old Homestead. Jessie later married and lived down harbour. We missed Gordon when he left home. He was fun to be around and would always make us laugh. He loved birding and supplied us with turrs and tickleasses also known as kittiwakes. He would paint the ceilings and do chores for Mom and he was always sure to play a trick on us on April Fool’s Day. He delighted in mimicking people and lots of Mondays he would come to the house and imitate some of the older ladies clapping their hands and giving their testimony in the Salvation Army the night before. He always kept in touch and visited several times and remembered us all at Christmas time. His first letter was one of thanks to Pop for helping to raise him.

Of sickness and death we had our share, some would say more than our share but there was never any bitterness. There were seven children - four of whom grew to adulthood. Our sister Barbara died in the late twenties from convulsions. She was fourteen months old. Our oldest sister, Dorothy, died of scarlet fever in Feb. 1933. She was eleven years old. Just nine days after Dorothy’s death Audrey was born. Millie, age nine, was in the next bedroom recovering from the scarlet fever and heard Audrey’s first cry. I remember Harold and I were sitting on the couch in the kitchen. He was seven and I was six. The nurse came in and went upstairs. Harold wanted a brother and I wanted another sister.

Grandma and Uncle Gord were so lonely that they decided to come and live with us for that winter. When Dorothy caught the scarlet fever, we were all quarantined of course and Grandma and Uncle Gord too. A card was nailed on the clapboard near the front door and no one was allowed to enter except the doctor and the nurse. I often heard my father say that he would not have gotten through that winter without the help of Grandma and Uncle Gord. Pop had to prepare Dorothy’s body for burial and place her coffin outside for the funeral service which was held in the front yard. Our cousins next door would come and tap on the window pane and Pop would talk to them through the glass.

It wasn’t bad enough being quarantined once, we had to be quarantined twice. Millie recovered, the house was fumigated, the card removed, but the very next day Harold and I got sick, and another card had to be nailed on the clapboard. I remember Pop crying as he carried me upstairs but I wasn’t very sick. Harold lost his hearing and speech for a few days but completely recovered. It seems to me that we had to take Senna Tea every day but I guess that was a bit much for a laxative. Anyhow, I remember Pop coming with the cup of hot Senna Tea and I didn’t want to drink it. He started to cry and I grabbed the cup and drank it all quickly. I never thought to ask afterwards if he cried knowing I would drink it or if he was really at his wits’ end. After the Senna Tea we were given a drink made from Black Currants and to this day Black Currant jam tastes the same to me as Senna Tea.

Pop used to tell of how one Sunday night after he had made his sick rounds, he and Uncle Gord were having a smoke and reading The Family Herald when Gordon, next door, came to the window to inquire about us. Pop’s reply was, "They are all really good tonight, Gord and I were just taking it easy." Gordon said, "Herb, the minister, Rev. Butler, had a really touching prayer for all of you tonight." That was the same minister who later had a party for all the children of his congregation and we each received a gift. I can’t remember if we had to leave the house when it was fumigated but we must have because those fumes were very strong. Pop would tell how after Grandma went to bed that night he called out to her to see if she was all right. Grandma, not wanting to be any bother said, "I’m okay Herb, I’m asleep". So they had to get her up and air out the room again. Pop usually ended his stories by saying, "We had it very hard that winter but not as hard as Uncle Sam Soper had it in the 1890s when four of his children died in one week during an epidemic of diphtheria." They were advised never to tear down their house but to burn it instead, which they eventually did.

It seems we had "summer sickness" each year even though we boiled the water during the summer. As infants we had convulsions whenever our temperatures would shoot up but we outgrew it, except Barbara. Millie almost choked once with the whooping cough and Harold was subject to the croup but a concoction of kerosene oil, butter and molasses was credited with saving his life. Once when I had pneumonia the nurse gave up on me and Mom had my burial clothes ready. A neighbour who had grown up in Bay Roberts came and Pop would tell it with her soft R’s. "Herb, if ‘twas a child of mine, I would poultice her." So that was what they did and I still have the scar to prove it. One was too hot and it burnt me but they "sove me" and I was always told that only for Aunt Leah Tuck I would be dead.

Millie attended Summer School in the early 1940s and just after returning home she took sick with the measles, which of course we all caught but recovered without any ill effects. The worst part for me was that I missed a whole month of high school. Millie had eaten grapefruit while she was in St. John’s and that was what she asked for when she was sick. Arrangements were made to have some come out from St. John’s, hence our introduction to grapefruit.

I was eight years old when our youngest sister, Marina, was born on a late November evening. I was sitting by the kitchen stove reading the poem, "Two Little Orphans." I remember spelling out the word orphan to Pop to tell me what it was.

He was bustling around the kitchen, heating water and scratching his head as he was wont to do when he was worried. The nurse and a neighbour were upstairs. All was quiet, and then I heard a baby cry. When I was about to have my children, I recalled that evening and was very grateful to them for letting me stay in the house at that time and I said to myself, If Mom could do it like that why can’t I?

Marina died on January 31, 1946. She was eleven years old. Audrey and Marina were playing the organ about 4.30 when Marina said that she couldn’t see the notes. She died that same evening at 9.30 - cerebral hemorrhage. Grandma Tuck had died at our house just two weeks before. That was my first year away from home and when I came home in June I went in every room looking for Marina. I thought surely she had to be there and that it had all been a bad dream. She had written me a letter just before she died -- I received it after her death and still have it. The next Christmas we opened our gifts with tears streaming down our cheeks and our parents never bothered with a Christmas tree afterwards. There were six girls–three pairs, each pair less than two years apart. Millie lost Dorothy, Audrey lost Marina and I lost Barbara, but we three had each other. Harold always wanted a brother but didn’t get one. Mother was a stoic person who rarely talked about her troubles or the winter when we were quarantined, except to say, "I could never talk to anyone through the window pane."