The Hired Man

On June 17, 2019, Joe “Bomber” MacDonald celebrated his 89th birthday by rising at 3:00 am to prepare for a day on the water. After a quick bowl of porridge and a weather check, he was ready to go. This was just another ordinary day for Joe. He had spent every birthday for the past twenty-plus years since his “retirement” this way, working alongside his son, Mike, fishing lobsters out of Red Head Harbour. Being on the water is where he feels most at home, even after all these years. It is a love and a purpose that first took root under difficult circumstances over seventy-five years ago, when he was just a boy.

In the spring of 1944, WWII raged on in Europe. Casualties were mounting on both sides, as Allied forces prepared for the Invasion of Normandy. Back at home, families felt the absence of their husbands, sons and brothers, and prayed for their safe return home one day soon.

Although news of the war and worry for the local boys occupied much of the conversations and the thoughts of the community, there were still practical matters to attend to. Lobster fishing season was fast approaching, and Charlie MacDonald found himself without a hired man. Charlie’s three oldest sons, Ivan, Barney and Artie had all enlisted, and were fighting overseas. Most of the other eligible men in the community were also overseas, or had obligations here at home that prevented them from taking on another job. That left Charlie no choice but to commission his next oldest son, Joe, for the job.

At the tender age of 13, Joe had never fished with his father before; that was a job that was usually filled by one of the older boys. However, growing up in a large family with 12 children, Joe was no stranger to hard work. There were always chores to be done and a large garden to attend to, and all the children were expected to shoulder their share of the workload. This was no different. With the older boys away, Joe was expected to step up to fill the void. So, after receiving permission from his teacher to miss the last two months of school, Joe helped his father prepare for the season ahead.

The MacDonald family resided in Morell, a sleepy little village on the North Shore, where the two main occupations were farming and fishing. The wharf was located at St. Peter’s Harbour, which was approximately 6 km west of the village. Since Charlie didn’t own a vehicle, it was too far to travel each morning. Therefore, it became an annual ritual for Charlie and his helper to move to the shore for the duration of the season, with only an occasional visit home on a Sunday, to see the family and attend mass.

Like many other fishermen, Charlie owned a small fishing shanty at the harbour. This rough, little wooden shack would be their home away from home for the next two months. There were two wooden bunks along one wall, a small stove for heat and not much else, aside from the odd mouse. Conditions were sparse and crude, but Joe was used to simple living and cramped quarters, with so many brothers and sisters at home. His mother, Edith, would send loaves of homemade bread, jam and pickles with them, along with a few other food staples. There was a cookhouse at the harbour, where fisherman and factory workers could purchase a prepared lunch, but Charlie and Joe could not spare the money for this luxury. Therefore, it fell upon Charlie to prepare their simple meals. He wasn’t much of a cook, and Joe remembers eating a lot of bread and molasses during those days.

They would rise in the dark, and don their oilskin coats and warm wool socks, lovingly knitted by Edith. They would leave the wharf at daybreak, their 20 foot wooden boat skimming the waves as it left the harbour in its wake. As the morning wore on, seagulls circled above the the boat, their cries breaking the silence as Charlie and Joe landed their trawl lines by hand and baited their traps. It was a hard morning’s work for a young boy, but if the weather cooperated and things went smoothly, they would be back ashore by early afternoon.

After the working day was finished, there wasn’t much to keep a young, energetic boy occupied. Charlie, a serious, strict man, was not inclined to worry about keeping his boy entertained. Thankfully Joe’s older brother, Artie, had recently purchased a bicycle, which Joe inherited in his absence. This bike provided Joe with some much needed freedom and entertainment and he spent countless hours peddling and exploring. He even regularly cycled the 6 km to Morell, especially for Tuesday night movies at the Hall, even if it meant a long, scary ride back to the harbour after dark with no lights to guide the way. Perhaps the greatest thrill the bike provided was to peddle past the schoolyard in the late afternoon, and wave to his friends and younger siblings who were heading indoors for an afternoon of reading and arithmetic.

As the season came to a close, Joe helped his father land the the traps one final time and store the gear until next spring. As it would turn out, Joe would not have to fish with his father the following year. As men began to return home from Europe, Charlie would opt for a more experienced man in the boat. Eventually, all three older brothers would return home from the war as well, although the oldest, Ivan, had been seriously wounded in battle.

Joe received no monetary pay for his work, and he was not thanked for his time and efforts; he was expected to help his father earn the livelihood that kept them all clothed and put food on the table. The experience, however, triggered in Joe a love of the sea that would translate into a life’s work that would span the next 75 years. From his humble beginnings as a hired man, Joe would embark upon a life’s vocation that included a ten year stint in the navy and eventually owning his own fishing gear.