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Away from My Island: The True Story of Eliza Gill
A true story of family, heroism, and ultimate sacrifice. Born on Silver Fox Island in 1914, Eliza Gill was working “in service” before she was eight years old. By the age of eleven, she was informed by her father she would be sailing on a fishing schooner to the Labrador, where she would cook for a crew of five. For this she received no pay, but she didn’t complain. Eliza liked the island way of life, but she wanted more for her family. She persuaded her husband, Jacob, to leave their island home before the Resettlement Program began. Jacob worked first as a logger and then as a butcher on Joey Smallwood's pig farm in Gander, Newfoundland, during World War II. The end of the war saw Smallwood's piggery shut down. At Eliza's insistence, the family moved to Toronto. There she met a Jewish neighbour who was a Polish survivor of the Holocaust. She told Eliza about the horrors of a war she could not even fathom. It would haunt Eliza for all of her days. When Jacob developed a sudden debilitating illness, the family was forced to move back to Newfoundland. There, Eliza endured a burdensome, subsistence way of life to raise a family on her own. This is the true account of one woman's fortitude and bravery, neither of which shone more brightly than the day of her tragic—and heroic—death. "Gary Collins. Newfoundland's son. Both builder and carrier of stories that help shape us. Bravo, Gary Collins, on another poignant story you walked inside of and are now giving to us." —Donna Morrissey, author of Rage the Night
223 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 20, 2023
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Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews
November 14, 2023
In October of 1947 Eliza Gill’s seventh child was born, just a month or so before I arrived on this planet. By the time my memories began taking on colour, Eliza and her family lived in Toronto.
That “memories taking on colour” bit might not make a grain of sense. When I reflect on all the days of my life (grand title for a soap opera here? 😊), colour appears in my memories when I am four years old, give or take. Not that it matters diddly-squat, but the first colour is red — a red tricycle, in fact.
Before that, my memories are monochrome.
Because of that, most of the events in Eliza’s life as experienced in Away From My Island [Flanker Press] appear to me in black and white, sort of like life in a flickering old-time movie.
Almost from the shuff-off, Eliza “longed” to be away from her island.
I was a callow-cubed bay-boy in 1960 when my parents broke up housekeeping on Random Island and shifted our family to a foreign province. Like Silver Fox Island, mine was a smaller island deep inside a bay of the larger island of Newfoundland.
For frig sake, enough preamble, eh b’ys?
“I hates Mondays. Washday!” says Eliza on page one.
One reason she hates Mondays is that she must lug water from the well.
Please don’t hate me, but Lizer, my duck, I feel your anguish.
On Washday Mondays during dry summers when the rain barrel stood empty, and while my father slaved in the same lumberwoods where Eliza’s husband Jacob worked for a spell, I scoated my guts out lugging water from a well located a mile and a half from Mammy’s washtub.
Okay, not truly a mile and a half … but it felt like it.
Although not unusual at the time, unbelievable things happened to Eliza.
Here’s one that could cause feminists (am I allowed to say feminists?) to claw up handfuls of rocks and start chucking. More than once, Eliza was required to be churched.
Hard to wrap your noggin around this requirement, but a woman was not allowed to attend church (Church of England, in this case) for a month after giving birth.
For frig sake!
Not only that, but — get this Pog-auger Days thinking — before returning a woman had to be churched, a ceremony of purification, a cleansing of her womb by s priest.
B’ys, repeat after me — For frig sake!
Before leaving the larger island of Newfoundland, Eliza left Silver Fox Island and moved to Gander, at a time when some local folks still called it Hattie’s Camp. There came a time that her husband Jacob worked for a Pigman from Gambo who was on the cusp of helping Confederation whelp.
Eventually, she moved Upalong, to Toronto (the Great?) where, not for the first nor last time, misfortune befell her — obliged to eat “smatchy” smoked salmon being the least of it.
You’ll see.
The last thing, which must be colourized because of the nature of my memory, is an example of Gary Collin’s gem-dandy imagery.
Eliza’s father is scraping the scales off salmon over the side of the wharf into the saltwater.
Look, b’ys. Look like Dick and Jane. Look. Look.
“Below, tomcods and conners swam and glanced between countless scales drifting down like diamonds.”
Gary ol’ man, never in all my bay-boy summers, did I ever picture conners swimming through diamonds falling like snowflakes.
Hat doffed.
Thank you for reading.
That “memories taking on colour” bit might not make a grain of sense. When I reflect on all the days of my life (grand title for a soap opera here? 😊), colour appears in my memories when I am four years old, give or take. Not that it matters diddly-squat, but the first colour is red — a red tricycle, in fact.
Before that, my memories are monochrome.
Because of that, most of the events in Eliza’s life as experienced in Away From My Island [Flanker Press] appear to me in black and white, sort of like life in a flickering old-time movie.
Almost from the shuff-off, Eliza “longed” to be away from her island.
I was a callow-cubed bay-boy in 1960 when my parents broke up housekeeping on Random Island and shifted our family to a foreign province. Like Silver Fox Island, mine was a smaller island deep inside a bay of the larger island of Newfoundland.
For frig sake, enough preamble, eh b’ys?
“I hates Mondays. Washday!” says Eliza on page one.
One reason she hates Mondays is that she must lug water from the well.
Please don’t hate me, but Lizer, my duck, I feel your anguish.
On Washday Mondays during dry summers when the rain barrel stood empty, and while my father slaved in the same lumberwoods where Eliza’s husband Jacob worked for a spell, I scoated my guts out lugging water from a well located a mile and a half from Mammy’s washtub.
Okay, not truly a mile and a half … but it felt like it.
Although not unusual at the time, unbelievable things happened to Eliza.
Here’s one that could cause feminists (am I allowed to say feminists?) to claw up handfuls of rocks and start chucking. More than once, Eliza was required to be churched.
Hard to wrap your noggin around this requirement, but a woman was not allowed to attend church (Church of England, in this case) for a month after giving birth.
For frig sake!
Not only that, but — get this Pog-auger Days thinking — before returning a woman had to be churched, a ceremony of purification, a cleansing of her womb by s priest.
B’ys, repeat after me — For frig sake!
Before leaving the larger island of Newfoundland, Eliza left Silver Fox Island and moved to Gander, at a time when some local folks still called it Hattie’s Camp. There came a time that her husband Jacob worked for a Pigman from Gambo who was on the cusp of helping Confederation whelp.
Eventually, she moved Upalong, to Toronto (the Great?) where, not for the first nor last time, misfortune befell her — obliged to eat “smatchy” smoked salmon being the least of it.
You’ll see.
The last thing, which must be colourized because of the nature of my memory, is an example of Gary Collin’s gem-dandy imagery.
Eliza’s father is scraping the scales off salmon over the side of the wharf into the saltwater.
Look, b’ys. Look like Dick and Jane. Look. Look.
“Below, tomcods and conners swam and glanced between countless scales drifting down like diamonds.”
Gary ol’ man, never in all my bay-boy summers, did I ever picture conners swimming through diamonds falling like snowflakes.
Hat doffed.
Thank you for reading.
November 2, 2023
Eliza Gill was a force of a woman. Circumstances were rarely if ever in her favour and she lived a life of labour and toil, all underscored by love. The tough crowd of that time worked hard for little but did what they must to survive. Eliza wasn’t to escape the harshness but bore it stoically and with grace. Burdens were plentiful at a very young age, working in service and then on boats before she married and raised her children with her true love. Even that came with extra responsibilities caring for an ailing husband and teenaged pregnancies that she faced with love and courage at a time when those things accompanied great shame. Despite being ostracized by the church and by the community, Eliza held her head high and struggled onward supporting her family until she was faced with the ultimate challenge. Eliza, a true heroine and guardian, made a final choice with an open heart for the ones she loved.
Gary Collins paints a hardened yet brilliant picture of Eliza’s life as it intertwined, in the latter days, with his own as her son-in-law. Their tragic parting at the end was tough for many reasons I can’t begin to get into, however, you will not be disappointed by this wonderful work of art. Eliza Gill would be more than happy and proud of her story as told by Gary. I hope Eliza’s journey along with the care she bestowed continues to bring healing and comfort. Most of all, thanks for your courage in letting us in. Well done, Gary.
Gary Collins paints a hardened yet brilliant picture of Eliza’s life as it intertwined, in the latter days, with his own as her son-in-law. Their tragic parting at the end was tough for many reasons I can’t begin to get into, however, you will not be disappointed by this wonderful work of art. Eliza Gill would be more than happy and proud of her story as told by Gary. I hope Eliza’s journey along with the care she bestowed continues to bring healing and comfort. Most of all, thanks for your courage in letting us in. Well done, Gary.
March 25, 2024
Away From My Island is the life and often, haunting story of Eliza Gill and her family. The author has done a masterful job of capturing the actions as well as the depth of this woman's life. It was not an easy life but one in which, like the rest of us, she acknowledges the rambling search for something better. The search however, did not result in finding a greener pasture elsewhwere. It is the story of love and caring but deeply embedded is also the story of loss and tragedy.
The story reminds of the way of life many of us experienced one way or another in decades past. It also points out the broad, unchecked and often unfathomable power (not always positive) of institutions like the church, over our lives.
This deeply personal story had to have been difficult to write, yet in the end, it seems, cathartic for the author. The incredible loss, illustrates the power of the human spirit to continue to move forward. At times the reading caused me to smile but more so, it caused me to shed a tear on more than one occasion.
I am grateful for the writing of this wonderful book Gary and I hope you realize that through the depth of pain of you, Rose and family, you have given us readers at least a brief understanding of both a past era and the mix of strength and frailty that is the human experience.
The story reminds of the way of life many of us experienced one way or another in decades past. It also points out the broad, unchecked and often unfathomable power (not always positive) of institutions like the church, over our lives.
This deeply personal story had to have been difficult to write, yet in the end, it seems, cathartic for the author. The incredible loss, illustrates the power of the human spirit to continue to move forward. At times the reading caused me to smile but more so, it caused me to shed a tear on more than one occasion.
I am grateful for the writing of this wonderful book Gary and I hope you realize that through the depth of pain of you, Rose and family, you have given us readers at least a brief understanding of both a past era and the mix of strength and frailty that is the human experience.
May 8, 2025
What a wonderful story about overcoming whatever life throws at you
These stories about “ old Newfoundland “ are very important to me as a reader
It was harder times and only the tough survived
All those harsh winters and times on the Atlantic Ocean
The story its self is spotless and I certainly enjoyed every page
Would recommend to anyone from Newfoundland or who love these styles of stories
Read while at work on Tanker Damia Desgagnes ⚓️
These stories about “ old Newfoundland “ are very important to me as a reader
It was harder times and only the tough survived
All those harsh winters and times on the Atlantic Ocean
The story its self is spotless and I certainly enjoyed every page
Would recommend to anyone from Newfoundland or who love these styles of stories
Read while at work on Tanker Damia Desgagnes ⚓️
December 18, 2023
4 .5 stars God’s thanks, Gary Collins , for this wonderfully told story! I will never forget it. Kudos to you! Your best yet.
May 5, 2024
Awesome book well worth the read
Displaying 1 - 6 of 6 reviews