BRIGUS, MY BRIGUS

What is it about this town, which I so proudly call “home,” that tethers it to my soul with “hoops of steel?” Perhaps it is a common phenomenon felt by every wayfarer and finds a thoughtful expression in the old rhyme,
” Be it ever so humble; there’s no place like home.” That is true, I know, but the demand here goes deeper than that expression.

Perhaps it is the hills that girdle two-thirds of the town’s periphery. Even as a boy, I imagined they were very much like the ” fair green hills of Galilee, where Jesus loved so much to be.” Among the hills of home,” I have felt a presence that disturbs me with the joy of elevated thoughts.” There is a sense of peace one finds in the embrace of those everlasting hills. Add to that the sea’s enchantment as it squeezes its way into the remaining third of the horseshoe-shaped bay. That sea has flung its spray into the soul of many men, young and old, to compel them to become master mariners. The sound of the sea, forever, strikes a resounding chord in the depth of my soul.

And then, most certainly, there are the old-time customs, many forgotten in the present, but which have twined themselves into a person’s living memory, to help make him what he has become today.
The sound of the St. Patrick’s Chapel bell at noon and again at sunset echoing throughout the town, reminding the faithful to pray. The train’s whistle’s sound leaving the Brigus station sears a lonely memory in a fellow’s brain to return whenever he hears that sound, no matter how far from home he roams.
Then, there was a respectful observation of the town’s recognition of every resident’s value. There was a unique understanding in this town that ” No one is an island unto themselves.” Upon hearing the news of a neighbour’s death, it was the custom that homeowners would close their window-blinds to share in the community’s grief. Mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who are rejoicing was the maxim faithfully followed for years. There was a ritual in some congregations to have the church bell ‘toll out’ the deceased’s age. and subsequently have the town residents would send to inquire” For Whom The Bell Tolls.”
People past and present in Brigus whom I have known and love keep the ‘home fires’ burning on my soul’s altar, and for that, I am eternally grateful.
To have grown up in a family of seven ( 5 sisters and one brother) with a mom whose faith remains exemplary will forever make this place the most beautiful place on this earth. When I add to that, the other people who touched my life in boyhood, and those who remain to do so, I am, of all people, most richly blessed. I hold to the advice of William Shakespear:” Those friends thou hast and their adoption tried, grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel.” Hamlet (Act 1, Scene 3)