星火英语15篇文章背完大学英语六级词汇：Unit4-Part1

A Canadian Family Story



My story begins in Newfoundland



where my brother and



I were born during



the Second World War.



The island of Newfoundland,



which was originally a British colony,



became the newest province



of Canada in 1949,



the same year that the People's



Republic of China was born.



Our mother was born



and raised in Newfoundland.



During the War (World War II),



she worked in St. John's,



the capital city, where she



met a young Canadian sailor



from Ontario. He was



a member of the crew



of a Royal Canadian Navy ship



that was part of one



of the convoys 1 that



escorted supply ships across



the Atlantic Ocean to Europe



during the war. They fell



in love and subsequently,



got married. The rest



is history, so to speak.



Our family moved to Ontario



in late 1945, just



after the war ended.



In 1999, acting 2 on impulse,



my brother and I decided 3



to take our mother to



Newfoundland for a visit.



It had been almost



fifty years since we had



last visited our mother's outport



(remote or very rural island village)



where she grew up.



It was also the 50th anniversary



of Newfoundland's becoming part of Canada.



In 1950, I was six



and my brother was five



when we last visited



our mother's childhood home.



At that time, Ireland's Eye



was a vibrant 4, quaint 5



fishing village hugging the



rocky shore of a small,



enclosed harbour. There was



no electricity. There were no roads,



no automobiles 6, and few signs



of automation of any type.



There were oil lamps and



wood stoves in the homes



and mere 7 sootpaths between



the aggregate 8 of small communities



on the hilly island,



also named Ireland's Eye.



We can still see and



hear the inboard motorboats,



putt putting (sound of engines)



into the harbour, hauling



their day's catch of fish.



The image of hardy 9 fishermen



with pitchforks hoisting 10 and



tossing the codfish up to



the stilted 11 platforms from



the bowels 12 of the boats



is still quite vivid.



The aroma 13 of salted,



drying codfish, lingers still.



What I remember best,



of almost half a century ago,



was going out with



my Uncle Fred in his boat



to fish. That particular day,



we were huddled 14 together



and lashed 15 to other boats,



just outside of the harbour.



I can still hear



the lively gossip between



my uncle and the other fishermen,



above the rippling 16 and splashing



of the waves against



the hulls 17 of the boats.



I remember the boats



heaving periodically, on the



huge gently rolling waves.



My Uncle Fred had only



one arm, but amazingly,



he could do everything



as if he had two hands.



He could even roll



a cigarette and light it.



These are my memories



of the quaint Newfoundland



glory days gone by.



It was a very hard life



in those out ports,



but a life romantically cherished



by most of those who lived it.



Our mother was not feeling up



to the trip at the time



we were ready to leave,



but insisted that my brother



and I go on this odyssey 18.



We would later provide



her with pictures, a written account,



and videotape of the trip.



Although we toured other parts



of Newfoundland, including an overnight



stay on the French Islands



of St. Pierre and Miquilon,



just off the south coast



of Newfoundland, our main objective



was to visit Ireland's Eye.



This necessitated 19 finding water transportation.



We managed to arrange



for a boat to take



us on the half hour



trip to the island.



As it turned out,



the married couple who



ferried us over to the island



was actually a couple of



our distant cousins, whom



we had never met.



We had intended to



have our cousins drop us off



on the island and pick



us up a few hours later.



However, either because we were



newly found cousins, or they were



typically hospitable 20 Newfoundlanders,



or they thought that



my brother and I would



get lost, they wanted



to stay with us.



Probably all three factors



influenced their decision.



They were absolutely fabulous 21.



They got caught up in



what my brother and I



were trying to do.



They were very knowledgeable 22 about



the island and the people



who had once lived there.



Clutching a narrative 23 of the island,



written by another of our cousins,



the forgotten history of that



special place became more coherent



to the four of us.



As we entered Ireland's



Eye's small harbour, which was guarded,



by a family of hawks 24



in a nest high on a rocky point,



a weird 25 sensation came over us.



There, in front of us,



was the place we visited



fifty years before, and about



which we had heard and read



so much throughout our adult lives.



We thought, what an



aesthetically 26 breathtaking sight!



The glittering sun, on that day,



gave everything a picturepostcard image.



This was indeed a slice of paradise.



The ruins of a few



remaining buildings that dotted



the hillsides and shoreline



and the once dominant 27



St. Georges Church on the hill



at the end of the harbour,



aroused in us an exciting sense



of history and of our heritage.



Looking out over the harbour



from the hill by the church



at the extinct community,



revived memories of fifty years before.