Putting St. Lunaire-Griquet on the map

What's in a name - Roger Earle sat in St. Lunaire-Griquet's Granchain Exhibit deciphering an ancient map.

The twin harbours of the neighbouring communities have welcomed many keels over the centuries and been witness to more European history than most on the Northern Peninsula.

While the French fishermen began visiting the area during the late 1500s, the bay wasn't mapped until 1784 when France's Liberge de Granchain sailed into St. Lunaire Bay, now Garden Cove, and got himself in trouble. Mr. Earle was recently in the community museum comparing the Granchain map to his mental picture of the harbour.

"I'd say they anchored up here," he said, tracing his finger across the map. "But it's shoal water and you know how it blows in here."

The frigate, Nymphe, was soon blown north and was in danger of being smashed upon the rocks of Dog Head. The Liberge de Granchain had a rope tied to a rock at the south side of the bay's entrance and had his men pull the boat to safety over the next 24 hours.

"The upside was that due to wind conditions he was stuck in the bay for some time," said Marcel Manuel, a former interpreter at the exhibit. "So he had time to thoroughly map the bay."

The Liberge de Granchain named the main harbour and islands after friends and family, although those names later changed. St. Lunaire is the name of a monk who founded a monastery in St. Malo, France.

The Granchain Exhibit is a replica of one in the Normandy area of France. The community's history gradually passed from French fishermen to English settlers over the following century.

While the old ties are being preserved under glass in the exhibit, threads still remain within the community's living memory.

English settlers turned 'St. Lunaire' into 'St. Leonards', but lost their linguistic battle to practicality.

"They changed it back to St. Lunaire perhaps 60-years-ago because the mail used to get fooled up with a St. Leonards down in White Bay," said resident Guy Bussey. "They even slapped a French name on me, called me 'Gee' for a laugh. But my people were happy with the change because it meant they wouldn't be getting their mail a year late."

But history isn't all names, maps and delayed mail - it's also births and deaths and the freedom of youth.

Griquet's Minnie Quinton Hillier has had her share of all three.

"My favourite memories are of being a young woman," remembered the 91-year-old Griquet resident. "A crowd of us girls would sneak down to the dance and just go back and forth on the road telling stories and singing songs."

Her mother, known throughout the area as Aunt Anne Pilgrim, feared the consequences of those nighttime walks and dances - hence the need for Mrs. Hillier's secrecy. Aunt Anne Pilgrim delivered more than 1,500 babies in the area and continued working up into her 80s.

But there is wisdom in youth - Mrs. Hillier met William Quinton walking home from church one night. Between milking Flossy the goat, picking berries and the many other duties of a young woman, Mrs. Hillier found time to court her man.

"And he was a wonderful man - I fell in love with him you see."

Marriage followed and the young couple boarded a boat for Port Hope Simpson where Mr. Quinton spent three years working in the lumber woods and Mrs. Hillier gave birth to the community's first child. She named her Hope.

The seasons ruled their world.

Once back in Griquet it was seals in the spring, cod traps and cod flakes throughout the summer, berries and hay in the fall and lumber woods in the winter.

"I tell you, my dear, I'd be frightened to death when they'd walk out on the ice after the seals," remembered Mrs. Hillier. "One day I looked out and saw my young feller, nine years old, walking off the ice hauling a seal. I tell you I gave him a piece of my mind, but I didn't punish him, poor soul, he was too tired already."

While the ice gave seals to Griquet, it took William Quinton.

"If he'd listened to me he wouldn't be where he is now - I knew there was a storm coming."

Mrs. Hillier's wonderful man went off the end of Northwest Arm on dogteam.

Her five children were fortunate their mother's veins carried the strength of Aunt Anne Pilgrim. There were mouths to be fed and time for mourning was an expensive luxury.

They moved into the Grenfell Orphanage in St. Anthony where Mrs. Hillier got up at 6 a.m. each morning to sew clothes.

"It was good there, but you got tired of not having your own house."

She eventually re-married to Mr. Quinton's first cousin, Llewellyn Hillier, and moved into Griquet's big house on the hill. Life returned to normal.

There was a huge table to accommodate the 13 children Mrs. Hillier had born and a 14th she adopted.

"They never went hungry, thank God."

The daughters grew to help with chores and as her children took flight Mrs. Hillier took to setting her feet up by the stove and reading, when time allowed.

"I had a pretty good life, a lot of worry."

Now, Mrs. Hillier's past life is as foreign to the new generation as French to English. The big house on the hill burned in 1990 and she lives with her son, Jim Hillier.

But while much is lost, much abides.

This summer will bring hordes of Hilliers - some of her over 40 grandchildren and countless great-grandchildren will hone in on her from across North America. Nearly as numerous as tourists to the Granchain exhibit.

Mrs. Hillier will be waiting.

(Do you have an idea how your community was named? The Pen wants to hear about the origin of placenames on the Northern Peninsula and in Southern Labrador. Write and tell us about it. E-mail info@northernpen.ca or fax your submission to 709-454-3718).