None of my great-aunts ever came back home. It was as if they had gone to a place from which Newfoundland seemed so other-wordly they had stopped believing it was real. Home, when they left it, had ceased to exist. (50)
Inspired by a family reunion in July, I have been reading a lot of Newfoundland fiction for the last month or so. I scoured my not well organized bookshelves and found quite a few books I had not read yet. I may have more Newfoundland books stashed away, but for now I’m finishing up my current Newfoundland binge with "Baltimore’s Mansion: a Memoir."
Wayne Johnston is another of the talented crop of writers, including Michael Crummey, Lisa Moore, and Michael Winter, who came out of Newfoundland in the 1990s. Of the novels, I’ve read by him, my favorite is "The Colony of Unrequited Dreams" (1998). "Baltimore’s Mansion" is a memoir focused primarily on his father, Arthur, and grandfather, Charlie, who lived in Ferryland, an outport town in the Avalon Peninsula about 50 miles south of St. John’s. Ferryland had been an important fishing harbor since the 16th C. Lord Baltimore was given a charter to found a colony there, called the Colony of Avalon, and colonists began arriving in 1621. They built a mansion for Lord Baltimore, who arrived with his family with the intention of staying in 1628, but conditions were so wretched that he left in 1629 and settled in Maryland instead. Ferryland and the Avalon Peninsula was founded as Catholic, and many Irish immigrants who came to Newfoundland, like the Johnston family, settled in the Avalon.
"Baltimore’s Mansion" is Johnston’s attempt to come to grips with his identity as a Newfoundlander and, more particularly, with his roots in the Avalon Peninsula. In one sense, his identity is pretty firm: like so many, he is a Newfoundlander who has chosen to live much of his adult life on the mainland (Canada, US), yet unlike his great-aunts, who seem to have forgotten their Newfoundland pasts (see introductory quotation), he is using "Baltimore’s Mansion," and so many of his other books as well, to affirm his familial, provincial, country, and mythic identity.
For Johnston, everything is conflicted. Avalon references the island in Mallory’s "Mort d’Arthur," where Arthur goes to be healed of his wounds, a kind of heaven. Thus, Newfoundland and Ferryland are a kind of heaven. Conversely, the colony’s founder, Lord Baltimore, fled Avalon because of its wretched weather and living conditions, a hell rather than heaven. Within this conflicted space of myth and history, Johnston takes up his family’s story.
He focuses not only on his father and grandfather, but on the vote for Confederation in 1949. A little bit of history. Before 1949, Newfoundland had been a quasi-independent country within the British Commonwealth. During the Depression when Newfoundland ran into severe economic difficulties, Britain took over running the country. After WWII, when Britain was having its own economic difficulties, it relinquished control of Newfoundland, which then had to decide in a referendum whether to be an independent nation or a province of Canada (Confederation). Confederation won by a slim margin, but on the Avalon Peninsula the vote was 2:1 for independence. When Johnston was growing up in the 1960s and 70s, his father and the rest of his family were still angry over that vote. They felt betrayed and that Newfoundland the country had been betrayed.
Johnston’s father and grandfather are dyed-in-the-wool Newfoundland nationalists, and they look at the world through the lens of nationalist symbols: examples, the iceberg in the shape of the Virgin Mary that floated by Ferryland in 1905, the train that crossed the island between St. John’s to Port aux Basque, the fish (cod, capelin), the weather. Johnston takes up these symbols to understand how they operate, but he also includes an important symbol for the family: the forge that Johnston’s grandfather and great grandfather operated. They were the blacksmiths who provided the community with horseshoes, nails, etc. Johnston describes the forge and its heat as the heart of the family and the community, because everyone needs what the forge produced. When the grandfather dies before Confederation is complete, he dies a Newfoundlander and not a Canadian, but at his death the forge goes out. There is no one in the family who will take up the trade, and the community no longer needs horseshoes or nails produced by a local blacksmith. Just talking about it, the symbolism seems a little heavy handed, but Johnston develops it with nuance and an eye for detail and history. Johnston’s father, although an ardent nationalist, is a much more liminal figure and has a much more difficult time negotiating his identity. He does not become a fisherman or a blacksmith like his father. Instead, he leaves the island for college in Nova Scotia in 1949. He doesn’t have the money to return home for his father’s funeral and wake, and he becomes a Canadian while in Nova Scotia. When he returns to Newfoundland, now a trained scientist, he works for the Canadian Fishery, monitoring the quality of the fish stocks around Newfoundland. He works with fish, but he is not a fisherman; he lives and works in Newfoundland, but he works for the nation that ruined his dream of an independent Newfoundland. The grandfather exits the scene early, but Johnston’s father spends his life watching Newfoundland become what he hoped it would never become. He lives a very unsettled life, which has its consequences physically and emotionally.
Wayne Johnston eloquently describes the deaths of his father and grandfather, particularly his grandfather. These chapters are the emotional highlights of the book. I have a sense that Johnston can handle all of the emotional, political, ideological, and psychological traumas of his family around and after Confederation, because his identity is settled, because Confederation is a long time done deal, so he can step outside of the myth and history that ruled his father and grandfather’s generation and make other choices.