We had a splendid lunch, with Blanc de Blanc, and poor Nora got rather an earful of reminiscences.
I once told a University historian of that region about my experiences and he had urged me to write down what I remember because the culture that I had come to know has now vanished entirely. So here goes. http://i-web.net/shippagan/content.htm.

During the War years undergrads got the chance at some simple jobs usually given to graduate students, but who were now employed on more advanced projects. I was in Honours Biology and the Fisheries people had their eye on me. There was Prof. Huntsman who ran a Federal lab station in Nova Scotia that dealt with salmon and other fish; and there was Alf Needler who ran one on invertebrates, such as lobsters and shellfish. His substation dealing with oysters, in Ellerslie, P.E.I. was run by Jim Kerswill. These were all Toronto Zoology people and the borderline between academic Toronto and the Federal Fisheries was fluid (no pun intended).

In addition there was Prof. Fry (Frye?) who initiated making the lakes in Algonquin Park into natural ecological labs because their fauna and flora differed according to sunlight, water conditions etc. That was a Provincial project, and Fry was often seen striding across the grass to the Parliament Buildings from the stately old Zoology Building (where the Medical Building is today), with his academic gown fluttering in the wind. I think that they were the only times he wore it, no doubt to impress the Queens Park people.

When the saltwater group offered me a summer job on the Bay of Chaleur, N.B., with an initial short course of instruction in Ellerslie near Summerside, P.E.I, I jumped at it. This was the best possible job: salary plus transportation, room and board, which left enough to clear $500 for the summer, that was the sum needed for the year’s room and board at Burwash Hall, Vic. Only hard-rock mining up North could get you more. I held a scholarship for my fees and earned my spending money by doing lawns on Saturdays and, in my last year, by running the Burwash tuck shop, a kind of competitive privilege bursary reserved for First Class Hon. students because it took a lot of time every night. All I needed in '44 was a decent summer job.

Chaleur Bay is the inlet bounded by the North coast of New Brunswick and the South coast of Quebec. My beat was to be the N.B. coast from Bathurst to Miscou Island, and I was to stay at Shippegan.

Malpeque P.E.I. oysters were well-known, but the old fashioned mode of collection made them expensive, and there was no good means of distribution to the restaurants in faraway cities. Several other students were also stationed in my beat, and I was to do my own job in Shippegan and supervise the others. Off I went to P.E.I. where I learned to identify growing oyster larvae (that swim around before they grow too heavy, sink to the bottom, and attach themselves to rocks).

The whole project was based on a (then) recent Ph.D. in Zoology in Toronto, as follows.
The larvae grow according to the water temperature and salinity. The Ph. D. thesis had established size (weight) nomograms for the larvae, with growth curves at different water temperatures and saltiness, from which one could predict when the larvae would settle down. This meant that three daily water measurements and two plankton tows would let you predict, to the nearest tide, when the oyster "spat" would settle out. And therein lies the economic opportunity.

If you know the settling tide ahead of time, then you can catch the oysters in specially prepared gadgets on which they can settle, and thus gather a concentrated crop to rear in floating trays, instead of fishing for them years later with oyster rakes at random on the unseen rocky bottom. All that was required was to teach the technique to the local people and to hope for adequate transport to develop the oyster trade in the cities. That did not happen for a long time, and "Moewenpick" just blew me away with the realization that I had actually helped to do something pretty useful that long ago. Hence the Blanc de Blanc, and the hefty bill.

So I learned the Biology in Ellerslie, and also how to make the catching gadgets.
The thesis man had grown up on a farm and had a practical turn of mind. The gadgets consisted of egg crates coated thinly with concrete, and were tied into bundles in fox wire. These were weighted and sunk on the bottom, with floaters to mark their position, but this had to be done just before the predicted settling tide. Later, the crates could be broken up in the water with a modified threshing machine. The oysters, each stuck on its little patch of thin concrete, were then raised for another three years in large floating trays covered with tight wire mesh, until they were ready for sale. Today we know of saltwater fish farms in ocean inlets in many countries, but these oyster arrangements were a kind of forerunner.

The reason that the catchment gadgets have to be sunk just at the right time was to maximize the catch of oysters and to minimize that of non-edible clams whose growth curves differed only slightly, particularly "Venus mercenaria" whose larvae closely resembled those of oysters. The skill was to tell them apart in the daily microscopic examinations of the plankton catch, and to plot and follow the right growth curves, those of the oysters; from all that were plotted routinely. A mistake of the proper species or tide would deprive the locals of that year’s main catch. Furthermore, each little area, even along the Shippegan shore, had slightly different growth curves according to its water temperature and salinity. My wall was papered with them, and I constantly reviewed the (preserved) plankton samples to re-check the curves.

Later I also had to review the samples of the other students in the area to make sure they were following oysters and not some other critter; and sometimes I received panic calls that had me hurry from one place to another. I got to know my beat pretty well. To get this going in Shippegan I had the services of a local man with a boat, who acted as Fisheries Warden (see Msgr. Robichaud's letter below). We went out together twice daily, and also surveyed the oyster beds. Fixing shore objects with binoculars for mapping made me nauseous as even gentle swells made the onshore markers rise and fall enormously. Until I got used to it, I threw up, to the huge amusement of the Warden. Later, I learned to run the boat myself, which became useful in many ways.

I traveled to PEI by train and ferry. Ellerslie was peaceful and dull, and smelled of the foxes that were being reared for their pelts in small cages all over the lot. They yipped a lot at night. That’s all I remember, besides being really busy learning how to read larval growth curves. It had been made clear to me that THIS WAS IT. Back to the mainland, and on by train (?) to Shippegan that I reached in the afternoon.
9/15/95© Vernon Brooks

The original story, above, continues below as a shorter version, written in 2007. Msgr. Donat Robichaud, retired priest and editor of a Shippagan historical magazine, translated my little tale into French. [He had grown up and served in Shippagan, and knew of the people I described.] The French version and his letter are appended at the end of the revised English version (below).

"Oysters and friends in Shippagan 1944/45" the revised English version

Where was I going to live in Shippagan? On arrival that June afternoon in ’44 I asked the (only) taxi to drive me around town and show me the hotels. Happily the driver knew English as I did not have any usable French. In short order I understood his obvious amusement at my request: the “town” was a small village with only one main street and only one hotel. That was the "English" hotel, where I saw the traveling salesmen (many from the Logie Co.), rocking back and forth on the front porch, not an enticing prospect. When I inquired about other hotels, he hesitantly said, yes, there was another, French one, but the Madame did not take in many guests. Fortunately I persuaded him to take me there anyway and she did take me in. I turned out to be the only guest (at this "Hotel de Gråce"), and thus began the first of what turned out to be two wonderful summer adventures.

Why was I in Shippagan? I was a Biology student at the University of Toronto and the Fisheries Research Board of Canada had hired me for the summer to help modernize the oyster fisheries on the Bay of Chaleur. My beat was to be the coast from Bathurst to Miscou Island, and I was to stay at Shippagan.

The reason for my presence was that Chaleur oysters were too expensive because they were collected laboriously from the unseen bottom with old fashioned “oyster rakes”. My job was to introduce a more modern way that I had been taught at the Fishery Research Board Station at Ellerslie P.E.I. It had not been hard to learn but it was going to be a hard sell and in the event succeeded only because I had made some special friendships in Shippagan.

The beginning was none too promising because at first nobody in town spoke to me. However, after a couple of weeks, the local Mountie, Arthur Bélanger, struck up a conversation with me. I explained what I was doing and who I was. Arthur was quiet, with a sense of humor and very competent. His English was as good as his French. We got on well and talked about many topics including the politics of Canada and how this Acadian village functioned.

Having got to know Arthur led to the changes that followed and would make Shippagan a lasting experience for me. The Madame began to take an interest in the mysterious things I was doing because she understood that my presence was meant to help everyone in town. Slowly, slowly, some people would begin to nod and smile, and greet me on the street. Buying something in the store became easier, the owner and his wife miraculously turned on some usable English. And then, one day, the Madame said, suspiciously casually, for me to come home at tea time because the curé, the priest, would be there, and would I not like to meet him? Tea time?

His name was Livain Chiasson. At the appointed time I met a youngish, personable man, wearing the usual full-length soutane, who spoke perfect English. We took tea and conversed for most of the afternoon, as it turned out on just about everything. He was well educated and had an open mind.

I explained to him that I had been sent to help raise the oyster fishermen’s income by teaching them a couple of new tricks. The first was that I could follow the growth of the microscopically small oyster babies from their birth as swimming “larvae” to the very tide when they had become heavy enough to stop swimming and settle down on the bottom. That knowledge, and the ability to distinguish oyster larvae from those of other clams, was needed for the second trick, namely to offer the “spat” an alternate, easy to get at, hard surface to settle on. I could show the fishermen how to make such a surface (from egg crates coated thinly with concrete and bundled with fox wire). These “catchment bundles” were weighted and sunk on the bottom, but only just before the predicted settling tide. The oysters, each stuck on its little patch of thin concrete, were then raised for another three years in floating trays until they were ready for sale. Today we know of fish farms in ocean inlets in many countries, but these oyster arrangements were a kind of forerunner.

Father Chiasson¹ understood the practical implication of this bit of science for his flock. We parted as friends and allies, and from then on everything changed, and I mean everything. For one thing I was greeted now by everyone in town who suddenly all turned out to speak at least some English and engaged me in small talk. But more importantly for my job I began to break through the previous rejection of anything I had to say to the oyster fishermen. Now they wanted to know what was I doing, how could they use it, would I come and show them. It was a stunning change.

Later I learned that Father Chiasson had received uneasy complaints about that mad English in the French hotel who went fishing with a toy net and brought it home empty every day but then examined what was not there! (I measured the growth of the microscopic oyster larvae in twice-daily water samples.) And what was he doing with the water that he collected three times a day at the dock? (I measured water temperatures and saltiness that govern the growth of oyster spat.) And, worst of all, where did he get the nerve to talk to them about changing their way of collecting oysters when he had only mad contraptions that required a lot of work.

When I was invited to talk about it at the Parish Hall, boy, did I prepare simple pictures and a clear diagram of the profits to be reaped in the future! Not only was there good attendance, but it was followed by many invitations to come and talk in their homes about it all over again, always with cider and cakes or other goodies. Suddenly I was a very busy guy with a full schedule, day and night. The Madame went around beaming. (I think she was a Gallant, there were mostly two family names in town: Gallant and Robichaud). Well, just about everyone in town understood what this was all about, and they were keen to try it out. Would I test the water in their oyster leases and tell them when to set out the catchment bundles? (The settling tides varied even locally because of varied water conditions.) In the end, we got most everybody on board and the modern oyster fishery was on its way in Shippagan and the whole Chaleur coast.

But other, happy changes were happening too. One afternoon Arthur invited me to come and visit the Doctor with him after supper, who had said that he would like to meet me. Of course I accepted, and he took me along. The Doctor, Dominique Gauthier, lived in a nice house with a Bay view from the porch, and he was waiting for us, together with Father Chiasson. It turned out that the three of them spent many an evening on the porch, talking together until sundown (which was spectacular to watch), and I had been invited to join their little club! That was wonderful. Here was conversation with three interesting people about all manner of topics. We talked about science, religion, the social order, history, men and women, education, you name it. Those three did not necessarily agree: there was banter and argument but never heat or serious division. For instance, while Dominique could see evolution, Chiasson could not, but they quietly agreed to disagree. These three long-time friends were keen to hear what I thought, and they gave me the opportunity to gain some insight into the old Acadian ways, long before they were swept away in the flow of time. ²

I particularly remember a conversation with Father Chiasson about how he felt about his pastoral charge because nothing happened in Shippagan without his blessing or permission. I asked him whether he did not feel overwhelmed by such absolute power, to which he replied that this was his duty given by God. So the discussion ended there.

He tried to elevate the standard of local education and to open a window into the wider world for the children. He assisted in the School, and he got French films to show in the Parish Hall, free of charge, but the kids walked out because they quite literally could not understand what the actors were saying! Remember, there was no TV in those days. His long view prevailed in how he handled baptism of the babies born in the summer, some out of wedlock or not the husband’s offspring (by looks or village wisdom). Why, did I ask, did he perform that first sacrament for these children born in sin by the mothers? Well, he replied, for several reasons. The first was that by so doing he integrated them into the community and kept the families intact, the second was that they would all be brought up as good Catholics, and the third was that it had been a long winter, hadn’t it? [vb: in retrospect it is interesting that neither Dominique nor Chiasson ever mentioned their avocations: Acadian folksongs for D. and the Cooperative movement for C.]

Arthur, the Mountie was the only police presence in the district. He approached his law-keeping in a very low-key manner: he never raised his voice and he never, ever carried his revolver on his belt or his rifle in the trunk: both were kept locked up in his office. If someone got drunk and in a fight, he would miraculously appear to intervene only when they were at each other with broken beer bottles; and while talking quietly to the worst offender, he would take him along to sleep it off in his, Arthur’s, house. And give him breakfast in the morning. Of course, no charge was laid. Never did I hear of the jail cell being used. And never did I hear an open challenge to his authority, from any one.

One time he looked pretty mischievous and asked me if I would like to come along on a raid he was going to make on a "moon shiner", a man he knew made his own liquor. Well, everybody did that, but this person ran his still as a pretty open business. So that night we set out in the car, and after driving along narrow tracks in the woods, doused the lights until we reached the house. We knocked on the door in a civil manner and were invited in smiling. There was the entire family (three generations), sitting around the table with the dishes not yet cleared, with some cooking for tomorrow still going on the stove, and the family laundry in the big tub. We were invited to sit down, some cider and cake was served, and we chatted as if it was the most natural occasion. After the niceties had been observed, Arthur wandered around the room, admiring this and that, and poking his stick to point at some painting he seemed to admire, or to stir the laundry to help it along. As we made our goodbyes, he made some small remark complimenting the woman about how she managed to get the laundry so nice and clean with only cold water in the tub. She blushed and everyone laughed and we drove off. I was quite confused by it all, where was the "raid"? Arthur explained that he had suspected that the bottles were under the laundry, and that he had been able to feel them with his stick. Then I realized that the whole point had simply been a demonstration to warn them that he was on to them, with the implication that the next time he would nick them for it. I also suspect that he had allowed the planned "raid" for that night to get about, everything was so well prepared! And so it went about most things. He was a true keeper of the peace.

One of the really pleasant changes that happened was that, suddenly, I was invited to the weddings! All weddings took place in the summer, and they were the major social occasions. The ceremonies were of course in the village Church, but the celebrations were held outside. The bride’s father and brothers would build a wooden platform for dancing next to the house, with boards for benches around the perimeter. Tables were set up for a meal that was always plentiful and diverse. Since everyone was poor you were expected to put some money under your plate, not a bad way to go about it. After the meal, during which there was much animated talk, speeches, and jokes, the dancing began. There was usually a fiddler, and maybe a harmonica, I can't recall what else. The dance was the quadrille, even I managed to learn it. And it went on well into the night, with more and more beer being consumed. Around midnight or so a fight might break out, and when the opponents had got to the point of cracking beer bottles and facing off, Arthur would make his miraculous, quiet appearance, perhaps from his car parked down the road, and the fight would dissolve, Arthur would take the miscreant to his home, singing more likely than not, and after a while the party usually came to an end. Everyone left satisfied, and in the re-telling later always agreed that it had been a fine and proper celebration.

Well, all good things have to come to an end, when fall came I had to return to the University in Toronto. I packed up my preserved plankton samples and the larval growth charts made from them, wrote my report, and sent the lot to the Ellerslie Fisheries Station. What had started out as a precarious beginning for a stranger in town ended as parting from friends.

I was hired back for the following summer, which turned out to be a great joy. On my return, everyone was keen to tell me how the winter had gone, and to show me how well they had got on with rearing the oysters the way they had been shown. Questions were asked about what new things were going to be happening this year and they wanted to know how had I been? I was truly among friends, here I did not even speak their language: they all spoke to me in mine. Once more there were evenings spent in pleasant conversation with Dominique, Arthur, and Chiasson; how could you ask for more?  That was Shippagan in the forties! what a marvelous memory!

Vernon Brooks 2008, London, Ontario

Footnotes
¹ Father Moses Coady and St Francis Xavier University in Antigonish, Nova Scotia, became leaders in the field of co-operative development, and it was to them that the first Acadian co-operators turned for training and inspiration. Father Coady, the director of the University's Extension Department, visited Maritime villages to establish fishermen's co-operatives, and in New Brunswick in 1930 he accepted the guidance of Father Livain Chiasson, a priest from Shippagan. In 1937, Father Chiasson became co-ordinator of the University's extramural program in New Brunswick. The first Acadian organizers were trained and went on to create study clubs in the various parishes. There were already 200 of these in 1936, when the first Acadian credit union was founded.
www.canadianheritage.gc.ca/progs/lo-ol/perspectives/english/interests/EP03g.htm
1930-1960: The winds of Antigonish. [http://www.chaire-ccgb.uqam.ca/fr/recherche/108%20ang..pdf]
In promoting co-operation through its Adult Education Service, St. Francis Xavier University could rely on excellent co-operation in New Brunswick in the person of Father Livain Chiasson. Father Chiasson, who was a parish priest in Shippagan in the heart of the Acadian Peninsula, accepted the position of Executive Director of Adult Education for the province in 1937. He held this position until 1951. The demands of the position were such that he took on an assistant Father Saindon, for part of the territory.

² Only recently did I discover in Can Med Assoc J. 1978 Jan 7;118(1):88-9 that the Dominique whom I had known in his thirties had been an ardent collector of Acadian folklore and songs for which he was awarded the Order of Canada in 1973, nearly forty years later! see text below, and photo at bottom of page.