The story of Newfoundland's entry into the Canadian Federation in 1949 is steeped in intrigue, conspiracy theory, post-War geopolitics and emotion. Two referenda were held in 1948 on the future of Britain's oldest Dominion. Confederation with Canada was not originally included as a choice on the first ballot. A motion by J.R. Smallwood to have it added was defeated by the National Convention appointed by Britain to decide on the matter. The British government ultimately insisted that it be included, adding fuel to the conspiracy fires that a deal had already been cooked with the Canadian government. None of the three options received majority support on the first ballot, with Confederation coming second to a return to the previous system of Responsible Government. A second ballot was held the following month with only these two options included. Confederation won the day receiving 52% of the vote and Responsible Government 48%. The voting was decidedly split along rural/urban lines, with the outport communities favoring union with Canada and St. John's fervently maintaining its historic link to Britain. Newfoundland became Canada's 10th province on March 31, 1949. That day passed with little fanfare or ceremony in Newfoundland and is not celebrated in any way today. The Union Jack remained the provincial flag until the 1980s and the debate rages to this day as to whether the fix was in. Many continue to believe that Britain was eager to rid itself of the economically depressed Dominion after the War. A recent book by former CodCo founder Greg Malone titled "Don't Tell the Newfoundlanders" suggests that a deal was struck between Churchill and Roosevelt in their first meeting in Placentia Bay during WWII to trade Newfoundland to Canada, including its much coveted iron ore deposits in Labrador, in exchange for long term leases for US military bases on the Island after the War. It's still difficult to separate fact from fiction out of it all. It's all personally relevant to me, however. Had my hometown of Stephenville never become a major US Airforce base during the Cold War, neither of my parents would have made their way there and never would have met. Honestly, I can't imagine a world without me!
I offer this bit of amateur history to set the stage for the complicated relationship Newfoundlanders have with Canada Day. I don't ever recall celebrating it as a kid. Long before Confederation, July 1 was, and remains, Memorial Day in Newfoundland. It was on this day in 1916 that the 1st Battalion, Royal Newfoundland Regiment was slaughtered at Beaumont Hamel, France on the opening Day of the bloody and futile Battle of the Somme. Of the 800 soldiers to go over the top that morning, only 68 answered roll call the following day. The Regiment, which was the only one to be awarded "Royal" status during the War, substantially ceased to exist in 30 minutes of fighting. To this Day, Memorial Day is celebrated on the morning of July 1st in Newfoundland with Canada Day celebrations following in the evening. It is the only day other than Remembrance Day where the poppy is officially worn in Canada.
The Memorial at Beaumont Hamel is one of only two National Historic Sites located outside of Canada. The other, of course, is Vimy Ridge. It continues to be a place of pilgrimage for thousands of Newfoundlanders every year. Like at home, we started our day on July 1 with an early morning visit there. Having long dreamed of visiting, I'd prepared myself for a flood of emotions. In fact, I couldn't help but feel real joy when I started to hear the accents from home all around me. There were Newfoundlanders everywhere, laughing, teasing and telling jokes - which is how, in the Irish tradition, they've always faced death. They weren't being disrespectful at all. But there was a feeling that this place was part of their home and their identity. The hundreds of soldiers buried under the neatly manicured grass were their people, their family. It was lovely and sad all at the same time.
In the afternoon we visited Vimy. Canada may have become a country on July 1, 1867, but it became a nation on this small hill in April of 1917. Vimy was the first time that all four Canadian divisions fought together, under a Canadian commander. It was a singular victory in an otherwise disappointing action that spring. But it solidified the respect for our soldiers and commanders and ultimately won Canada the right to sign the Treaty of Versailles independently from the British in 1919. A nation was born. We had expected there to be more Canada Day festivities when we arrived, but the attention that afternoon was fully focused on Beaumont Hamel where a ceremony was being held to coincide with 11:00 am Newfoundland time. We had the place pretty much to ourselves and spent an hour or so lying on the grass in the sun in front of the spectacular Vimy monument. They still use sheep to cut the grass on the pock marked and fenced off fields due to the mass of unexploded shells still lying just beneath the surface. There was no parade or barbeque. Not even a cold beer. But this was a Canada Day we won't soon forget. Next year, like last, we hope to be camping on the shores of Great Slave Lake. I'll be sure to take a moment then to think back on this Canada Day, and the young people who sacrificed their lives for a cause they believed in.
On our second day in Belgium we decided to relax and take a break from the War. For Deb, a relaxing day meant laundry, booking camps for the kids, a 10k run and an hour drive into Brugge, the outrageously beautiful capital city of Flanders. At least I got to sit in the sun for 20 minutes after the run and enjoy one of Belgium's amazing beers. We are staying on a farm in Flanders which was the site of fierce fighting in 1917. My Dad and brother stayed here at Varlet Farm on their battlefields pilgrimage years ago. The farm itself is like a museum. The owners have countless old German, British and French rifles, shells, helmets, rum jars and other equipment on display that they are still plowing up on their fields. I took note of a pair of rusty iron bars with small loops along the length and cork screw bottoms. One was pointy on the top and the other had a loop. The owner saw me staring at these and explained that they were posts used for supporting barbed wire in front of the trenches. One was German, the other British. They were both manufactured by the same Swedish company who lucratively supplied both armies. Two farmers were killed just down the road this March when their plow detonated an unexploded shell. It's still a regular occurrence after one hundred years and just goes to show just how much treasure was spent financing these wars, let alone the human toil.
They serve a magnificent breakfast here at Varlet farm and allow you to use anything that's left over for a picnic lunch. The surrounding farmlands consist of neat rows of leek, corn, Brussel sprouts and cabbage. On our morning runs, the smell of spring onions fills the air. Every kilometre or so you run past a Commonwealth or German cemetery, reminding you of the devastation heaped upon this lovely country and its people a hundred years ago.
In Brugge we took a horse and carriage tour through the old city which has been extremely well preserved. Mercifully it was relatively untouched by both wars. Due to the canals that run through it, it is one of several cities in Europe commonly referred to as Little Venice. We had a delightful dinner there and topped it off with two of Belgium's other great contributions to calorie consumption, waffles and chocolate.
On this, our last day in Belgium, we visited one of the massive common grave cemeteries for German soldiers of the Great War, did some chocolate shopping, visited the excellent Flanders Fields Museum in Ypres and attended the Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate which, with the exception of the Second World War, has been marked there every night since the end of the Great War. What a thrill it was to discover that representatives from the Royal Newfoundland Regiment and Constabulary were scheduled to lay wreathes at the monument tonight. There were Newfoundland flags and accents peppered amongst the massive crowds that gather here every night at 8:00 pm. After that, around sunset, we visited the grave of my Great Grandfather, Kerwin Coughlin, a soldier of the Great War who died near here in 1917. It was a very touching moment for the girls and I, and really brought home everything we'd seen and experienced in the last few days. We wrote messages to him on a small wooden cross with a poppy on it and placed Canadian, British and Newfoundland flags at the foot of his maple-leaf embossed head stone. As we stopped to glance back one last time before leaving, his grave looked special and loved among the hundreds of others surrounding it.
Tomorrow we head to Holland, the last stop before Canada on this year long voyage around the world. We will visit with our friends Frank and Mark who we met in Vietnam six months ago. Despite the fascinating places we have visited in the last year, the most memorable part has been the people we have met or reunited with along the way. Whether they were friends new or old, we have thoroughly enjoyed the memories made with all of them. By the time we see them tomorrow, we will have less than a week remaining until our flight back to Canada. I'm actually counting the days now. Not because I want our adventure to end! Quite the contrary. It's just that time, like a watched kettle, seems to move slower when you watch it. As much as I'm looking forward to getting home, I know it will be a tough adjustment to transition back to normal life. I'll start by eliminating my noon beer and see where it goes from there!

Cheers to Belgium and to all those who remain forever in Flanders Fields and the Green Fields of France.