The Badger Riot by J.A. Ricketts Page A

of those was between Ned Sullivan and Albert Hillier. Although their children, Tom and Jennie, had separated, Ned saw no harm in asking Albert to come along. Albert pushed his Pentecostal religious principles aside, swallowed down the liquor, and hoped that Suze, his stern wife, would never hear about it. As the priest’s rum slid down their throats and their tongues became looser, they laughed together and swapped stories. Albert, when he was away from Suze, was no different from any of the other men.

    Father Murphy soon learned first-hand about living conditions in the woods camps. He’d been called up on Sandy one night to administer last rites to a man on whom a tree had fallen, crushing his chest.
    The priest went with Abel Miller, the A.N.D. Company transportation man. The cable boat spun them across the deep, swiftly flowing Exploits and, once across the River, Father Murphy was bundled into an old Company truck and jounced along woods roads until they came to the camp.
    When the priest entered the camp, he was astonished. There were at least forty men sleeping side by side on a platform with just boughs for mattresses. The only heat came from an oil drum that had a chimney running up through the roof. Hung all around the stove were the men’s wet and dirty clothes, drying out for the next day.
    Someone had moved the dying man out to the forepeak and onto the foreman’s bunk. He was pretty far gone. They’d taken off his boots, but he was still lying in his wet clothes.
    â€œFather,” the man spoke softly, with an Irish lilt to his voice, “thanks for comin’. I’m from St. Mary’s Bay. I got a wife and nine children.” A fit of coughing overcame him and Father Murphy could hear the death rattle in his throat.
    He quickly laid out his tools for Extreme Unction – holy water, oil, a candle, a crucifix – and donned his vestments. But the man wasn’t finished. “Father, please write to the priest out there. Tell him to look out for my kids.”
    His eyes closed and his breathing slowed. Father Murphy anointed the man and said the prayers to send his soul onward. He wondered if he should bury the man in Badger cemetery. St. Mary’s was a long ways away.

    Tom left Badger. Someone told Jennie he’d gone by train up to Buchans where he’d gotten a job in the mines. Working in the mineswas dangerous work because of rock slides and cave-ins. It was good money, though, if a man could stay at it.
    For Jennie, the winter dragged along. She didn’t go to the Pentecostal church. A chance meeting with Suze was more than her weakened state could manage. Mam and Pap and her family trudged off faithfully to Mass every Sunday and Jennie stayed home and cooked dinner.
    She kept as busy as she could. It wasn’t hard to find something to do around the house with nine siblings to help look after. Mam was good to her, helping her gain back her strength by spooning Brick’s Tasteless into her before every meal. In the evenings they sat by the wood stove and darned socks. Mam had bought some homespun wool and, together, they’d knit wool stockings for Pap and Phonse for their logans.
    Jennie knew Mam must have spoken privately to Pap and told him not to torment her. Being of Irish descent, he liked to take a drop now and then. With the drink in him, he could be a bit lippy about the Protestants. But Pap never said a word to her about Tom or his family.
    Every evening at five-thirty Pap turned on the
Gerald S. Doyle News Bulletin
. No one was allowed to speak until he’d heard every bit of the news and weather. With all the girls and women in the house, this of course was impossible, so Mam had installed Pap in the little bedroom off the kitchen. With the door just ajar, he could lie on the bed, turn on his radio that operated on a huge battery, and listen to the news and weather in peace.
    One evening, when Jennie and her Mam were sitting