He never really knew how hard it was to be so quiet.
Grandfather Daw, Charles E as my parents called him, was an avid fisherman. He and my grandmother, Ruth Daw, spent many weeks each summer at our family cottage on Dalhousie Lake. Early each morning, or just past dusk in the evening, Charles E would head out in the little aluminum fishing boat, eager to catch a trout. Grandfather would occasionally invite one of the five grand-daughters to join him on the fishing excursion. There was always excitement at the thoughts of catching a fish for breakfast…but there was one problem. Grandfather never knew how hard it was to stay quiet. His rule, and one that could never be broken, was that if we went fishing with him, we needed to be silent. No talking, ever.
“Sid down, you’re rocking the boat,” he would warn anyone who uttered a word.
Upon return, Charles E would lay the fish on a plank of wood. With all of the grand-daughters peering over his shoulder, Grandfather would begin to clean the fish. His knife was razor sharp and he was quick to remove the fins and bones. Scales flew through the air. Flies always seemed to hover over the fish as he cut. The smell would make us feel ill so he would be left to complete the cleaning, just Charles E and the flies.
He would wrap the white fish in wax paper, ready for the hot frying pan. A little flour, a bit of salt and lots of butter. Nothing tasted better than pan fried fish caught by Charles E.
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