Sir,
Sometimes my memory goes back to the time we served in Scotland, the young men I lived with and certain things that happened. It may or may not be interesting, besides perhaps there’s no computer made big enough to hold every little thing.
It came to mind we had two O.B.E (Order of the British Empire) medals in our division, awarded for excellence in map reading which was very important to all platoon commanders in the Homeguard. They were Owen Dollimont of St Josephs Bay d'Espoir and John Dumaresque of Forteau Bay. They had two medals to give out but all excelled so they had to put the medals in a hat and draw, these two won the draw. I worked with both. Owen died at home some years ago. John joined the Airforce, and on his second trip out as rear gunner on a Lancaster bomber got shot and was listed as missing in action. John told me he had a child born to a girl back home whom he never saw,and did not even know the girl was pregnant till some months after he got over there. That child, boy or girl could be living today. He did not tell me this was confidential and this is the reason I speak about it now.
I read the interview with Mr Gabriel saying he was Indian. I too am a Micmac, and lived as one from birth to the time I went overseas. I started out with my father and uncle when I was eight years old, this was my school and I had to learn to survive off the land in those times. I knew of nothing else just hunting and trapping, fall, winter, spring and summer. I never got a chance to go to school which was very inconvenient. Out in the real world, talk about discrimination it followed me right over there. We used to try to hide our identity when we would go outside of Conne. Some of us with sort of fair features could manage to get away with it, but mention the name Jeddore anywhere in Newfoundland and it was recognized as Indian right away. Being recognized as Indian did not matter, it was the disadvantages and accusations that went with it that mattered most. I said it went with me overseas. I met a young girl and was going out (with her) for about a year. One time some other fellows from around the bay (who were) familiar with Conne and the Indians, happened to be in Edinburgh. We met and was talking for a while as friends, I thought, (but) after I got back to the house where I was staying the people said those fellows told us you were Indian is that true ? I did not know what to expect being used to the worst, it seemed it did not mean anything to them. I said I'm supposed to be related.. I heard after when they told their friends an Indian was at their place the friends asked do they wear any clothes? After meeting they said it was the nicest people they ever met. As I said, I lived the Indian life. As a matter of fact I would never have went over seas if bullets was not so scarce. Myself and an Indian friend just got out of the country from trapping, it was in the spring, May month, we were muskrat trapping. We came out, sold our furs and was going to go right back in again the next day but the merchant had no shot or bullets. We knew of another little store that might have some, and on walking to this store we passed a building. As we passed by the building some friends of mine from across the bay was coming out and they were talking and laughing, right happy. I asked them what was going on? They said we are going overseas they need us over there to cut timber, the pay is good also. You know I just turned to my old Indian trapper friend and said I have to go in and sign up too. He just stood there and nodded his head as if to say I'll be waiting when you come back. So ended our happy hunting trips. Many evenings over there I sat and pondered what I had given up, the happy times sitting by the steady watching the muskrats swimming around.
Travelling mile after mile on foot, over barren grounds and marshes, through heavy timber, by canoe up and down rapids, across lakes and ponds, the herds of caribou, the bear, beaver, fox, otter, ducks and geese my every day company. I missed the nights lying under the stars by an open fire, watching the flankers streaming skywards. I missed the comfort of the tent or wigwam with the rain beating on the covering of birch bark.There were times I thought how am I ever going to take this awful change, yet I knew I had to carry on, One day some fellows who had been over there for a year came up to visit. One fellow said I know how you feel, but after you pass six months it will be all right. How right he was. When the war was over I had a mind to stay on for a while, and would have if everyone in the camp didn't sign off to come home. I came back to a frustrating change… Bowaters was ravishing the land.
Instead of my happing hunting ground, I had to take the bucksaw again and go in the woods. I found my old Indian friend there with the sweat rolling off him. We never did seriously get back to the hunting life but some evenings after work we would walk off and sit on a nob and talk about the good times, knowing in our hearts it had passed .
So I got carried away, seems I can’t forget it…
John N Jeddore
Sometimes my memory goes back to the time we served in Scotland, the young men I lived with and certain things that happened. It may or may not be interesting, besides perhaps there’s no computer made big enough to hold every little thing.
It came to mind we had two O.B.E (Order of the British Empire) medals in our division, awarded for excellence in map reading which was very important to all platoon commanders in the Homeguard. They were Owen Dollimont of St Josephs Bay d'Espoir and John Dumaresque of Forteau Bay. They had two medals to give out but all excelled so they had to put the medals in a hat and draw, these two won the draw. I worked with both. Owen died at home some years ago. John joined the Airforce, and on his second trip out as rear gunner on a Lancaster bomber got shot and was listed as missing in action. John told me he had a child born to a girl back home whom he never saw,and did not even know the girl was pregnant till some months after he got over there. That child, boy or girl could be living today. He did not tell me this was confidential and this is the reason I speak about it now.
I read the interview with Mr Gabriel saying he was Indian. I too am a Micmac, and lived as one from birth to the time I went overseas. I started out with my father and uncle when I was eight years old, this was my school and I had to learn to survive off the land in those times. I knew of nothing else just hunting and trapping, fall, winter, spring and summer. I never got a chance to go to school which was very inconvenient. Out in the real world, talk about discrimination it followed me right over there. We used to try to hide our identity when we would go outside of Conne. Some of us with sort of fair features could manage to get away with it, but mention the name Jeddore anywhere in Newfoundland and it was recognized as Indian right away. Being recognized as Indian did not matter, it was the disadvantages and accusations that went with it that mattered most. I said it went with me overseas. I met a young girl and was going out (with her) for about a year. One time some other fellows from around the bay (who were) familiar with Conne and the Indians, happened to be in Edinburgh. We met and was talking for a while as friends, I thought, (but) after I got back to the house where I was staying the people said those fellows told us you were Indian is that true ? I did not know what to expect being used to the worst, it seemed it did not mean anything to them. I said I'm supposed to be related.. I heard after when they told their friends an Indian was at their place the friends asked do they wear any clothes? After meeting they said it was the nicest people they ever met. As I said, I lived the Indian life. As a matter of fact I would never have went over seas if bullets was not so scarce. Myself and an Indian friend just got out of the country from trapping, it was in the spring, May month, we were muskrat trapping. We came out, sold our furs and was going to go right back in again the next day but the merchant had no shot or bullets. We knew of another little store that might have some, and on walking to this store we passed a building. As we passed by the building some friends of mine from across the bay was coming out and they were talking and laughing, right happy. I asked them what was going on? They said we are going overseas they need us over there to cut timber, the pay is good also. You know I just turned to my old Indian trapper friend and said I have to go in and sign up too. He just stood there and nodded his head as if to say I'll be waiting when you come back. So ended our happy hunting trips. Many evenings over there I sat and pondered what I had given up, the happy times sitting by the steady watching the muskrats swimming around.
Travelling mile after mile on foot, over barren grounds and marshes, through heavy timber, by canoe up and down rapids, across lakes and ponds, the herds of caribou, the bear, beaver, fox, otter, ducks and geese my every day company. I missed the nights lying under the stars by an open fire, watching the flankers streaming skywards. I missed the comfort of the tent or wigwam with the rain beating on the covering of birch bark.There were times I thought how am I ever going to take this awful change, yet I knew I had to carry on, One day some fellows who had been over there for a year came up to visit. One fellow said I know how you feel, but after you pass six months it will be all right. How right he was. When the war was over I had a mind to stay on for a while, and would have if everyone in the camp didn't sign off to come home. I came back to a frustrating change… Bowaters was ravishing the land.
Instead of my happing hunting ground, I had to take the bucksaw again and go in the woods. I found my old Indian friend there with the sweat rolling off him. We never did seriously get back to the hunting life but some evenings after work we would walk off and sit on a nob and talk about the good times, knowing in our hearts it had passed .
So I got carried away, seems I can’t forget it…
John N Jeddore
May 21, 2001 letter from John Nick Jeddore (3361) Bay D'Espoir