In the Sunday editon of The Telegram there was a good article on older men (and women) on Fogo Island keeping their traditions alive, epecially the tradition of boat building.

I am not related (that I know of) to the Combdens named in the article, but I still feel a kinship to them, remembering my days as a young child visiting pop and nan in Barr’d Islands and other relatives in Joe Batt’s Arm.

I think it is great the old are showing the young ‘ways’ of the past before it is too late. Each time I visit Fogo Island (and that’s not enough) I see less and less punts floating in the little harbours. I hope the program at the local school is a success.

Here is a poem I wrote many years ago; a boy with his grandfather and his punt:

In The Harbour

old man
boy
in the boat
“It’s me punt”
rowing
about in the harbour
oars cutting water
slow
fluid motion

gulls
screaming overhead
diving
to the water
“d’ere eatin’ fish guts”
trying
to count them
but
too many

water
cold and black
“how deep is the water `ere pop?”
“over our heads me son, over our heads”
sees reflection
rippling
over the side

waves
rocking them side to side
“do ya want to row?”
small hands
ready
for instructions
fears
to let go

boy
old man
in the punt
“take yer time, you’ll git it me son”
punt
drifting in the harbour
oars
splashing
with the sound of their laughter