The Meiglewas in the passenger and cargo trade until the early 1930s. In 1932, at the height of the Great Depression, the ship became an auxiliary jail when the penitentiary in St. John’s turned out to be too small to hold the thousands of unemployed people who rioted over inadequate government relief. For eight months, the Meiglesat in the capital’s harbour, known as “the prison afloat,” fully staffed with prison personnel. It later returned to more conventional seagoing duties. Finally, after surviving several wartime close calls, in the summer of 1947, the Meiglewas wrecked at Marines Cove, losing her cargo of livestock, hens, and pigs. Her crew, however, survived.
Back on the Burin Peninsula, the body of fifteen-year-old Gertrude Fudge of Port au Bras was finally found in July, 1930 entangled in wreckage in the harbour bottom. Gertrude had drowned with her mother, Jessie, and two sisters, Harriet and Hannah, when the waves hauled their house out to sea; the other bodies had been found shortly after the tidal wave. The people of Port au Bras held a church service to remember the victims of the tidal wave on the sixty-fifth anniversary of the disaster ten years ago.
Magistrate Hollett decided to make special arrangements for the widow Lydia Hillier of Point au Gaul as her family had lost their breadwinner and their situation was unique. These arrangements are explained in Appendix Five.
Tidal wave victims were not compensated for lost winter provisions or their salted fish. Most of the monies paid were for house repairs, lost boats and the like. Not all gear was eligible for compensation. Anecdotally, at least, there is some evidence that many survivors were unhappy with the financial assistance rendered. While that is a topic for another book, perhaps, interested readers are referred to Tidal Wave, by Garry Cranford.
This book does not pretend to introduce all the heroes of the fall and winter of 1929. Many are already forgotten to history, but I hope that over the coming years other researchers and writers will turn their attention to this remarkable event in Newfoundland’s history.
Photographs
APPENDIX ONE
Recovered from the somewhat unique and rather alarming earth shock of Monday the matter had become with most people, one to joke about, since the occurrence seemed to have passed off without any untoward incident; when suddenly the country was plunged from light levity into a realization that gaunt tragedy of unusual proportions had been enacted close at home. The very genuine expression of sympathy on every lip yesterday, when shortly after noon the first reports of the disastrous effects of the tidal wave on the Burin Peninsula came in, gave a very practical evidence of the way in which that tragedy and distress had touched every heart.
Recovered from the first alarm of the five o’clock earth shock we can picture the inhabitants of these houses gathered around the fire. Supper things had been cleared away. Mother is busy with her knitting or household mending. Children are studying their household lessons. Suddenly, without warning, there is a roar of waters. Louder than that of the ordinary waves on the shore, it breaks on their ears, and then, with a shuddering crash, a fifteen foot wall of water beats on their frail dwelling , pouring in through door and window and carrying back in its undertow, home and mother and children!
The catastrophes of seafaring life we can understand. As a seafaring people we have matched our lives and wits against an old ocean. In the pursuit of their calling as sailors and fishermen, our men dare the ocean’s moods; but that in well-found craft where the odds are evenly matched. But in this case women and children and aged people housed in dwellings that had sheltered generations, and proof against winter’s blasts and ocean’s sprays, were suddenly engulfed and defenceless life obliterated. Never, perhaps, has such a tragedy been enacted in Newfoundland. Certainly never before has an earthquake laid its seafaring finger across our peaceful community.