Newfie Lore (Newfoundland Ghost Stories and Pirate Tales) <BGSOUND SRC="http://www.canadianculture.com/newfiejune/edwin.mid">


Newfoundland is full of ghost stories and pirate tales. 'Tis said, for example, that Peter Easton, the Pirate, sailed to small inlets around the coast and hid the treasures that he had reaped on the high seas.

Now, I have to admit that the average Newfie gets a great bit 'o fun from yankin' the chain of some of you Mainlanders, but I swear to you that's not what I'm about here. Newfoundland joined Confederation to provide a little culture to what would have been a Canada of rather straight-laced rabble.

I grew up hearing the wonderful tales of buried treasure and of ghosts who would lead you to them (whether you wanted to go or not!)

My Mother, God rest her soul, was quite superstitious and her Mother before her sounds like she may have been a practicing witch, for cryin' out loud. In fact, I'm bloody lucky they didn't burn her at the stake because then I wouldn't be able to tell you these tales at all! It's a good thing we lived in Newfoundland and not Salem, that's all I can say!

My Grandmother, Selina, loved to read tea leaves and tell your fortune from the shapes in the clouds. She, supposedly, could divine water and would have strange dreams that would "come true." Nowadays, we'd have her on anti-psychotic medications, but back in the good old days she was revered. If "Aunt Lene" told you to beware of spooks, ghost, goblins, or Mainlanders, you darn well listened and heeded her insight into the underworld.

One night, Selina went off to sleep and dreamed that she was walking up through the fields that spread out at the back of the old homestead for probably close to a half a mile. This was their "garden" where they planted the potatoes, cabbage, turnips and carrots that would be stored in the underground root cellar for the winter months. Now, she was trudging through the planted rows in this dream, when she heard the fence, off to her right, creak. She turned towards the sound and there, climbing the fence to come towards her, was a little man with the face of a monkey. He spoke to her and said that he was going to show her where there was a treasure buried. He led the way farther up the garden until they came to a grassy spot near a fence post. Here, he dug his hand down through the sod and the soil underneath looked white and floury. The little man dug down almost to his little elbow and pulled out a large brass key. He told her to note the location of the key and that he would come back to her the next day and show where the chest, that the key fit, was located.

The next day, on waking, Selina she rushed up through the gardens and got to the place where the little man had instructed her to dig for the key. Everything was as it had been in her dream. She tore back some sod by the fence post and there was the white, floury "soil." She sifted her fingers through the stuff and sure enough she felt something hard and pulled up a big brass key! She was astounded! She never really thought she would find this. It was actually quite unnerving. Selina rushed back home and couldn't wait to show the key to her husband (my Grandfather), to see what he made of it. He insisted that it not be kept in the house, as he was afraid that it was evil. He took it out and hid it away in the barn.

That night Selina had a hard time falling asleep. Part of her couldn't wait for the next installment of the dream. Another part of her was scared silly by the whole thing and she was starting to really be afraid that my Grandfather was right and some dark, evil forces may be at work.

Finally, she could keep her eyelids open no more and she drifted off.

Nothing happened! She saw neither hide nor hair of the little monkey-faced man. In fact she didn't remember dreaming that night all.

Several nights passed and Selina figured she wasn't going to get to see the finale of the dream. Of course, that was too good to be true. A week later, she drifted off to sleep one night and the little man appeared to her again. He was not quite so benign looking this time and he didn't speak. He motioned for her to follow him and took her on a journey to a different spot in the garden. He pointed to an indentation in the ground near a big bush and motioned that this was the place where she was to dig to find the treasure.

The next day was terribly stormy and a gale of wind off the North Atlantic blew fierce for nigh on three days. When the storm finally abated, the garden was too wet and soggy for man or beast to tread upon. Selina waited patiently until things firmed up a bit and then out she set, shovel in hand. She was determined that if there was treasure to be found she was going to get it. It was the 1920's and times were hard. A bit of silver coin would go far to help out the family, after all. She got to the place in the garden where the little man had met up with her but he was nowhere to be seen. Selina picked her way across the uneven earth for more than an hour until she came to the place she thought was the one the little man had pointed out. She poised her shovel and, just as she was going to make her first cut into the sod, the fence behind her creaked loudly and she heard a strange sound. Selina straightened up quickly but, paralyzed with fear, she did not turn around. Again she heard a strange noise and… fainted dead away.

A while later she came to with no idea how long she had been out. There was no sign of anyone about, but she couldn't carry through with her mission. Selina was now determined that there was evil attached to this treasure and she wanted no part of it. She raced back to the house and vowed that she didn't care how much loot was there, she would never go back to hunt for it. Nor would she pass on the knowledge on to anyone else with enough accuracy so that they could try to find it for themselves.

For years that old brass key hung on a nail on the wall of the old barn. My Uncle John inherited the homestead and never removed the key, but loved to retell the story. The barn is long since torn down. Grandmother Selina, my own mother, and Uncle John are long gone too, but the stories of "Aunt Lene's" adventures with fairies and ghosts and dreams prevail on The Rock.

Maybe I'll tell you where the key is now. Perhaps a little later, if we can afford a few swigs of Screech together after 'Squar'n up time.'

© Newfie June

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