Recitations and Other Foolishness from Newfoundland and Labrador
Harry Ingram
Flanker Press Limited
St. John’s
Title: Don’t be talkin’ : recitations and other foolishness from Newfoundland and Labrador /
Harry Ingram.
Other titles: Do not be talking | Recitations and other foolishness from Newfoundland and Labrador
Names: Ingram, Harry, author.
Description: Humour.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 2021017031X | Canadiana (ebook) 20210173513 | ISBN
9781774570289 (softcover) | ISBN 9781774570319 (PDF) | ISBN 9781774570296 (EPUB)
Subjects: LCSH: Canadian wit and humor—Newfoundland and Labrador. | LCSH: Newfound-
land and Labrador—Humor. | CSH: Canadian wit and humor (English)—Newfoundland and Labrador.
Classification: LCC PN6178.C3 I54 2021 | DDC C818/.602—dc23
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© 2021 by Harry Ingram
all rights reserved. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.
Printed in Canada
Flanker Press Ltd.
PO Box 2522, Station C
St. John’s, NL
Canada
Telephone: (709) 739-4477 Fax: (709) 739-4420 Toll-free: 1-866-739-4420
www.flankerpress.com
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The publisher acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) and the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture, Industry and Innovation for our publishing activities. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $157 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 157 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.
Hello, everyone! I’m Harry Ingram, and welcome to my first book, Don’t Be Talkin’.
All my life my family has been my most important constant. During my younger years I always had a close bond with my parents and siblings, and this has only grown stronger with time. Then as I married and began a family of my own, I realized that family will always be number one. I tried my best to capture this sentiment between the covers of this lighthearted book. I hope this collection of stories and recitations fills you with warm feelings of relaxation, enjoyment, and laughter.
Recitations have always been a core part of my life growing up in Arnold’s Cove. I would listen to them on the radio and on a couple of old records we had around the house. Then there was my Uncle Mose, who would write and perform them as well. It wasn’t long before I was reciting works from John Joe English, Leo O’Brien, and Baxter Wareham. It was then I knew I was on to something.
It wasn’t until my dad passed away nearly ten years ago that I wrote my first short piece, titled “Hands of Time.” I kind of liked what I had written and wondered if there was more in me. Who knew that a few short years later I’d be here sharing my words with all of you? Who knew that I would become an author?
What I hope to accomplish with this book is put smiles on faces. I hope it warms your heart and makes your day a little brighter. If you get as much enjoyment from reading this as I have had writing it, I believe I will have reached my goal.
Read, take it in, enjoy!
Harry
Don’t Be Talkin’
Everyone knows one,
And that there’s no doubt,
Someone all negative,
Yes, down in the mouth.
I know one quite well,
He’s my Great-Uncle John,
But it’s not of his wit,
Or his charm I’m so fond.
But crooked as sin,
That’s a way to describe ’im,
Opinions he got,
And don’t care if you like ’em.
Yes, he’s that friggin’ crooked,
I’ll tell you right now,
If he died tomorrow,
He’d be screwed in the ground.
I visited one day,
He was watching TV,
Leafs and Habs,
Yes, he loves his hockey.
How’s the game, Uncle John?
I asked with a smile,
Then I stopped and waited,
To hear his reply.
Hockey! Don’t be talkin’!
They should learn how to skate,
That ref should be shot,
And I’m sure that me Leafs,
Won’t make the playoffs.
And I can’t see the puck,
Unless I’m wearing my glasses,
The TV’s too small,
Where’s my bread and molasses?
He talked for five minutes,
About hockey and stuff,
’Til Aunt Suze from the kitchen,
Brought out his mug-up.
I s’pose you’re all right now,
With your tea and your lunch,
I said to my uncle,
And he started to grunt.
Grub! Don’t be talkin’.
My son, grub around here,
Is not fit to eat,
Sure, a boiler of soup,
Might have nar bit of meat.
And pea soup is worse,
’Cause most times it’s salty,
The broth’s almost clear,
And the doughballs are soggy.
And Aunt Suze bakes her cakes,
Like the one in the song,
The Trinity cake,
It will paralyze your jaw.
Yes, it’s hard to get grub,
That’s fit around here,
Sure, Health Sciences would be better,
Or maybe St. Clare’s.
Just then the radio,
Gave tomorrow’s forecast,
It should be half cold,
And a touch overcast.
Nice day tomorrow, Uncle John,
You agree?
He stood up and looked out,
The window to see.
Weather! My son, don’t be talkin’.
Sure, one day it’s raining,
And the next day snow,
And with frost in the ground,
Me taties won’t grow.
And the crowd on the radio,
Sure, they’re always wrong,
Sure, they couldn’t forecast,
Placentia Bay fog.
Yes, the weather is miserable,
It’s never no good,
Sure, I can hardly get out,
To cleave up me wood.
And I can’t check me slips,
’Cause ’tis wet and ’tis cold,
I can’t even hunt moose,
They says I’m too old.
So I’ll stay in the house,
’Til the weather comes fine,
I s’pose I’ll get out,
Again ’fore I dies.
Sure you will, Uncle John,
You’re still pretty spry,
How ya feelin’ these days?
You look the best kind.
How am I feelin’? Don’t be talkin’!
The gout is some bad,
And I got corns on me feet,
And I can’t say the last time,
I had a good sleep.
And the piles is right bad,
Not to mention arthritis,
I’m sure I got TB,
Or chronic bronchitis.
Me hearing’s not well,
No more is me sight,
And me pants are all shrinking,
I think I might need to diet.
He continued on,
With more aches and more pains,
The ailments would send,
Normal men to their graves.
Well, ’tis coming on dark,
I said, Uncle John,
But I’ll be along again,
Before very long.
Thanks for comin’, he said,
To see Aunt Suze and me,
I’m not too bad, I s’pose,
For a hundred and three.
I guess at his age,
It’s his right to complain,
And I really can’t wait,
To go see him again.
My Great-Uncle John,
Is a very fine fella,
And if anyone asks,
I’ll say, Let me tell ya . . .
Great-Uncle John? Don’t be talkin’!
Good Night Little One
I’ll tell you a story,
A true one this time,
Of a pretty little girl,
With the prettiest smile.
She’s the joy of my life,
And her sister is too,
But you have to be careful,
They’ll turn on you.
Time for bed now,
Everyone up the stairs,
Get your teeth brushed,
And also your hair.
Slip on the jammies,
And into the bed,
Close them big eyes,
And lay down your head.
Oh, a beautiful sight,
I couldn’t be more pleased,
As she looked up and smiled,
Daddy, can you lie down with me?
Without hesitation,
I smiled right back,
I lay down beside her,
It was time for my nap.
Not two seconds later,
She asked me so sweet,
Please, Daddy, a story,
I can’t get to sleep.
So I took from the shelf,
I think, Good Night Moon,
But before I was finished,
She says, Can I watch cartoons?
So, I lay down the book,
And turned on the TV,
Not the smartest thing to do,
When you want them to sleep.
Five minutes, that’s all,
You can’t watch any more,
But Daddy, she says,
I didn’t see this one before.
So, half an hour later,
I turned off that thing,
Tried to settle her down,
And she asked me to sing.
And after a few lines of “Sarah,”
And “You Are My Sunshine,”
The eyes that were closing weren’t hers,
They were mine.
Then out of nowhere,
I got to go pee!
So it was off to the bathroom,
That little girl and me.
Now all finished up,
And jammies back on,
I figured for sure now,
This won’t take long.
So back into bed,
All safe and sound,
I looked over in shock,
At what I had found.
Her two little eyes,
Were finally closed,
I carefully got up,
Gave her a kiss on the nose.
Well, I heard a small voice,
As I entered the hall,
If she is the child,
Why was I starting to bawl?
Where are you going?
She quietly said,
I’m thirsty, I want a juice box,
No, milk instead!
So down to the kitchen,
I opened the fridge door,
To my horror I realized,
No milk. Oh, dear Lord!
I almost panicked,
At the thought of what’s next,
I know, the wife is out,
I’ll send her a text.
I headed back up,
To tell the bad news,
Thought of my wife,
Wished she were in my shoes.
But at the top of the stairs,
Not a sound did I hear,
She was sound to the world,
With her old teddy bear.
I smiled once more,
As I let out a sigh,
Covered her up,
And wished her good night.
To watch your child sleep,
Is a beautiful thing,
But next time it’s Mom’s turn,
’Cause I need a drink.
A Son-in-Law’s Lament
I was just leaving work,
On that cold winter’s day,
When a call came in,
And me wife she did say.
I slipped and fell,
On a hard patch of ice,
There’s a bruise on my leg,
And it’s not very nice.
It might be broken,
The wife said to me,
Now I’m no doctor,
But I had to agree.
So we went to emerg,
Now she’s sporting a cast,
Me mind it was racing,
’Cause that won’t heal fast.
My wife is so wonderful,
And looks after so much,
But what can she do,
With that cast and a crutch?
The thought crossed my mind,
I fair started to bawl,
Yes, here enters the story . . .
The mother-in-law.
I could move in,
She said with a smile,
Not for too long,
Just for a short while.
I rolled my eyes,
‘Cause I knew by her voice,
The inevitable was coming,
And I had no choice.
Day one wasn’t bad,
It was all pretty new,
The kids were excited,
And she even made stew.
But oh, what a taste,
I wouldn’t feed to the cat,
Yes, the wife cooks much better,
Now that is a fact.
Heading out with the b’ys,
On day number four,
To get a clean shirt,
Well, I opened the drawer.
The red one or white one,
Which one do you think?
Well she done the laundry,
So both options are pink.
And to turn on the TV,
Well, something was wrong,
I searched everywhere,
But the remote, it was gone.
Now where did she put it,
I know she’s to blame,
I searched everywhere,
Trying to hold in my rage.
What day is it now?
Not even a week?
My nerves are shot,
I’m up to my peak.
Yes, I’m ready to snap,
Yes, my senses I’ll lose,
If she doesn’t leave soon,
I might start on the booze.
So I’m sitting at the pub,
Just having a few,
Since day fourteen,
It’s a thing that I do.
When I heard a guy talking,
About his mother-in-law,
Saying how perfect she was,
Without any flaws.
He kept on going,
He was talking quite loud,
She’s an angel, he said,
No one like her around.
You’re lucky, I said,
She’s not much like mine,
‘Cause yours is an angel,
But mine’s still alive.
The next night with the wife,
I was lying in bed,
When all of a sudden,
A thought entered my head.
The trip to the farm,
That’s tomorrow, oh no,
The wife said, I can’t walk,
But Mom can go.
Of course she can,
I nodded and grinned,
Smiling on the outside,
But inside I just cringed.
The kids will be thrilled,
They want her to go,
I was dreading the trip,
With that crooked old crow.
Well, we got to the farm,
And the parking was great,
Parked three miles away,
To ensure we were late.
And my feet full of muck,
From this rainy wet weather,
Yes, I know it’s winter,
But it’s Newfoundland, remember.
We saw the small horses,
And saw the emu,
We saw the baby goats,
And the mother goat too.
We saw the donkey,
Who looked a bit cross,
He was bucking and kicking,
His back legs he tossed.
Now the mother-in-law,
Wasn’t frightened at all,
She said he might be hungry,
The poor little doll.
She walked over close,