I knew from a young age that Maritimers were tellers of tall tales by sitting around the kitchen table in my grandparents’ Lunenburg waterfront home listening to my mother and her siblings tell detailed, interesting stories. I understood some of these were yarns as a result of my father’s occasional debunking remarks. I also caught on to my father’s disapproval. While I now appreciate these tales were for entertainment purposes, my reaction has been and is to call “Bullshit”. I am my father’s daughter, honest to a fault.
My mother loved to capture an audience. I remember one story, which remained consistent for many years, of her having danced with Philip Mountbatten at a military New Year’s Eve party in Halifax toward the end of World War II. You see she had been an admiral’s secretary during the war. Being a young pretty blonde and since her sea captain father knew the admiral, she was often invited to Royal Canadian Navy social events. Even though he was royalty (Greek and Danish) at the time, this was before he was Prince Philip or married to Princess Elizabeth. Over the years, the narrative grew, as tall tales do, to include a midnight kiss. That’s when I started to doubt the reality of the event.
Another story of my mother’s involved two paintings that hung in our house, that now hang in mine. One is a seascape watercolour created by painter Jack Humphrey of Saint John, New Brunswick. The story is that my father commissioned Jack to paint it for my mother as a gift on their first anniversary. This I know is true because my father told me. The second painting is signed “Tela” and is of Lunenburg harbour. My mother told me she was Jack’s wife. I always believed that. She would admire the Humphrey painting, and then point to the Tela painting and say, “And that one was painted by his wife.” After my mother’s passing I researched and learned that the painting was actually by Tela Purcell, wife of artist Joseph Purcell.
I understand that tall tales are part of many people’s family history, that they are considered by many to be folklore, but I just cannot fathom why one would fabricate nonsense. To get attention? To be admired? Personality type? In my mother’s case, I believe all of those to be true. She was the social butterfly, the belle of the ball, and would do just about anything to get attention. Unfortunately this behaviour was passed along to my brother. He was wasn’t as skillful in his storytelling as most of his tales were downright unbelievable. Over the years, this made it difficult for me to bond with him because I just didn’t know who he was. It robbed me (and others) of developing a close relationship with him.
To me, it’s sad that anyone would feel the need to make up stories, that they think their own life isn’t interesting enough, that they’re not good enough. My parents and brother have all passed now. I would have much rather heard the true stories.
Hindsight: My Journey 