Never forget, eh? Err…no, indeed! Lunenberg, Nova Scotia. Never will we forget, and should we forget, well, ummm, may we…ahhh…remember again!!

(Glances surreptitiously left and right to see if anyone else seems to know what the fuck Stageleft is talking about…)

*googles madly for Lunenberg, NS and still doesn’t get it*

Damn hippies….

Is this part of the story?

Well… the bunker hopes that everyone had a good evening, that we did there is no doubt, one small correction, we thought we were gonna see Tanya Tagaq, it turns out we were misinformed and actually saw Susan Aglukark. It worked out, our daughter has been a really big fan ever since she was a wee’en.

But that doesn’t tell you anything about Lunenburg does it? Gather ’round now and I’ll tell a tale of early terrorist plots foiled - and of the death and destruction from those not.

It was a warm summer day in Chester N.S., farmers were out in the fields, women tended to the homes, and children played in the streets (such as the streets were in those times). The Governor of Chester happened to look out of his window and, to his surprise and horror, saw boatloads of American terrorists, pirates, privateers sailing into the bay.

By a stroke of fate that none could have foreseen Chester was undefended that day, the local militia being out on patrol… with only a few men, and the local women and children the Governor was in a tight spot - quick thinking however saved the day.

The local women turned grey cloaks inside out to show their red lining, and, with brooms in hand, marched around the barracks and surrounding area looking, from a distance, very much like a well armed and discipled militia - so much like a well armed and disciplined militia that the American terrorists, pirates, privateers, having no stomach for a real fight, thought better of attacking and sailed away to launch a cowardly sneak attack on Lunenburg, which was sacked on July 1st 1782.

Many a brave soul died defending both property and the innocent women, children, and elderly, folks of Lunenberg that day.

So next year, on July 1st, while you are at the parade, or BBQ’ing at the cottage, or watching fireworks, remember the good folks of Lunenburg Nova Scotia, and the heinous act perpetrated upon them that day.

Lunenberg NS: Never Forget!!

Heh. Good story, SL. Got a link?

On the flip side, we have Stan Rogers and “Barrett’s Privateers”:

O the year was 1778
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
When a letter of marque came from the king
To the scummiest vessel I’ve ever seen

God damn them all
I was told we’d cruise the seas for American gold
We’d fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I’m a broken man on a Halifax pier,
The last of Barrett’s Privateers

Now, Alcide Barrett cried the town
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
For twenty brave men, all fishermen, who
Would make for him the Antelope’s crew
God damn them all . . . .

The Antelope sloop was a sickening site
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
She’d a list to the port and her sails in rags
And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags
God damn them all . . . .

On the King’s birthday we put to sea
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
Ninety-one days to Montego Bay
Pumping like madmen all the way
God damn them all . . . .

On the ninety-sixth day we sailed again
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
When a great big Yankee hove in sight
With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight
God damn them all . . . .

The Yankee lay low down with gold
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
She was broad and fat and loose in stays
But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days
God damn them all . . . .

Then at length she stood two cables away
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
Our cracked four-pounders made awful din
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in
God damn them all . . . .

The Antelope shook and pitched on her side
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs
And the main truck carried off both me legs
God damn them all . . . .

Now here I lay in my twenty-third year
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
It’s been six years since we sailed away
And I just made Halifax yesterday
God damn them all . . . .

Not really B. It’s a story put together from a few different sources, I do wish we’d had the benefit of that bonfire and mead though.

Mead is one of the best drinks you can have……..if you want a hangover the next day.

I am proud to stand shoulder to shoulder with America….I’d hate to be on their bad side.

Of course you are Jeff, shoulder to shoulder, leaning (heavily to the right of course) on them.

Great song, eh? Stan was performing once at Fiddler’s Green in Toronto, and got a handwritten note from audience. It read:

“Would you please play “Barrett’s Privateers” once more, if you can stand it?”

And it was signed by Margaret Atwood.

Ah, yes, the bad old days of Americans invading, destroying and plundering. I’m glad that doesn’t happen anymore.

For those who enjoyed SL’s tale, I’d recommend the novel “His Majesty’s Yankees” by Thomas Raddall. Set in Nova Scotia during the American Revolution, it tells the story of why we didn’t join those other 13 colonies in breaking away from the British Empire. It was published in 1942, so the style is a bit dated for today’s tastes, but a rousing yarn nevertheless.

It’s a funny auld song. Stan wrote it after hanging out with the Friends of Fiddler’s Green because he wanted to do something with a great accapella chorus. The thing is, it’s a great melody, but it’s NOT a very tune to harmonize to…it’s all in thirds and fifths, which makes the harmonies kinda mechanical.

Ian Robb used to do a great parody called “Garnett’s Home Made Beer” (after Stan’s brother Garnett). Can’t remember much of it, but one for the verses went…

“Stan got smashed on a glass of the dregs,
And his breath set fire to both me legs…”