Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe - Cape Breton Tales - The Black Beast of Margaree & The Roundabout

Episode Date: February 7, 2025

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Mr. Bond…” On this week’s episode we’re spending time in Dave’s childhood neighbourhood: Big Narrows, Cape Breton. Our first story is a hilarious tale of literary adventures, while the adventures in our second story are of the vehicular variety. And Jess shares the inspiration behind that story, inspiration from closer to home. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

With the Fizz loyalty program, you get rewarded just for having a mobile plan. You know, for texting and stuff. And if you're not getting rewards like extra data and dollars off with your mobile plan, you're not with Fizz. Switch today. Conditions apply. Details at fizz.ca. This year, why not let Audible expand your life by listening? Explore audiobooks, podcasts, and exclusive Audible originals that will inspire and motivate you. Just open the app and tap into your well-being with advice and insights from leading influencers,

experts and professionals. Whatever your focus or interest, there's a listen for it on Audible. You'll find titles on better health including personal fitness, nutrition, and relaxation, hear ways to improve your relationships both in your work and personal life, or how to embark on a new career strategy. If you want to overhaul your financial life or hear smart talk about investing for your future, Well, you'll find that too. Ultimately, it's all about starting good habits. Making a positive change is the best resolution you can make for yourself, and Audible can help. There's so much opportunity and more to imagine when you listen. Let Audible help you

reach the goals you set for yourself. Start listening today when you sign up for a free 30-day trial at audible.ca. From the Apostrophe Podcast Network. Hello, I'm Jess Milton and this is Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe. Welcome. Last week on the podcast, we were talking about Dave's neighborhood, the neighborhood of the Vinyl Cafe. This week, we're heading to Dave's childhood neighborhood, to the town of Big Narrows, Nova Scotia. We're gonna start with this story. This is Stuart McLean with the Black Beast of Marguerite. So to get to his record store, get to the Vinyl Cafe, Dave has to walk by his friend Dorothy's bookstore every

day. Or every day he walks to work, which is pretty much every day. It's Dave's habit to drop in on Dorothy most days. Sometimes he takes her a coffee from his pal Kenny Wong's place. But mostly he comes empty-handed, and mostly he doesn't stay more than a few minutes. But you can build a deep relationship on little moments when those moments add up over the years. So he was in there one morning and he and Dorothy were having one of those conversations

that good friends have, talking about nothing they hadn't talked about before, singing the old familiar song of friendship, when Dave abruptly changed the subject and said, How long's that been there? He was pointing over Dorothy's shoulder at a shelf behind the cash register. Dorothy didn't turn to look. She didn't have to. Dorothy knew what he was talking about. He was talking about the Jonathan Cape edition of the Ian Fleming novel Goldfinger

Number seven in the James Bond series Dorothy said I didn't know you were a fan of mr. Bond Dave said we go way back Dave first met James Bond in the town of Big Narrows, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia Town where he was born and raised. Didn't meet Bond in a bookstore or a movie theatre for that matter, where most people made his acquaintance. There was neither a bookstore nor a movie theatre in the Narrows when Dave grew up. He met him at the most splendid building in town,the town library. The library was built and paid for by the coal magnate

John A. Tress, who built it in memory of his sister. The Mary Tress Library is, to this day, the only brick building in the Narrows, sitting as leisurely as a bank near the end of Main Street. It is only a single room, but it is a splendid one. Inside it has a vaulted ceiling and a balcony with a wrought iron railing running all around it. Outside it has wooden columns and a stone stairway leading up from the sidewalk all the way to the front door. It is way out of scale with anything else in the Narrows, and it is the town's pride and joy. The librarian was an earnest bibliophile from Edinburgh, Scotland—a fussy and strict man

who believed in doing things by the book. Mr. Russell Montgomery ran the Big Narrows Library for 54 years with the intensity that J. Edgar Hoover brought to the FBI. He was a different sort, no doubt about it. Narrows had never seen the likes of him before—a square peg in a town of round holes. He wore argyle socks and oxblood brogues and carried little tins of fruit drops that he had shipped over from home. He could have been a disaster, but he was loved by all for his love of literature and his deep commitment to share his literary passion. share his literary passion. The town used to orbit the library in those days, and he was the sun king shining from his throne of books.

There are things that still happen in Big Narrows today that Mr. Montgomery began—things like Story Circle, for example. This is where the kindergarten kids assemble at the library on Monday mornings to hear stories. They did that when Dave was a boy, and they do it still today. Still at Christmas, Mr. Montgomery, who was retired and well into his eighties, comes and reads Clement Clark Moore's A Visit from St. Nicholas to Everyone and, at Easter, Beatrix Potter's Peter Rabbit. And most famously of all, every Halloween, his pièce de résistance, the fearsome saga of the Black Beast of Marguerite.

It's a legend of the mythical dog-like creature that haunts the hills around the Narrows. According to Mr. Montgomery, the beast was first spotted by an early settler who lost all his livestock in one horrible summer, all of them from violent throat injuries. The story of the black beast isn't written down. Mr. Montgomery heard it himself from the great-grandson of the original farmer. He tells it extemporaneously, his body swaying back and forth in the telling, every kindergarten kid listening swaying back and forth in time like frightened little metronomes. Under Mr. Montgomery's guidance, Dave wild away hours exploring the treasures of John Tress's library. Mr. Montgomery was his guide, his compass, and his

map. Ernest Thompson Seaton or Ernest Miller Hemingway, Dr. Livingston or Dr. Seuss—they were all the same to Mr. Montgomery. Wise in the ways of children, Mr. Montgomery would as happily bend Fenton as Thomas Hardy to his literary purpose. His purpose was to arm children with books—any books. The summer Dave was thirteen. Mr. Montgomery gave him Herman Wook's The Cane Mutiny. Dave read most of it in the little park beside the library under a stand of sweet-smelling balsam trees. When he finished, he returned it to the library

and said, I want another one like that one. Mr. Montgomery came from a family of trout fishermen. He had spent time on the banks of Scottish rivers. He knew what he had here. He had a boy on the line. What he had to do now was set the hook. And that is when he handed Dave Casino Royale, the first in the James Bond series. He had been saving the book at his desk for just such a moment. It was the coup de grâce. Dave galloped through that one and the other three Bonds in the library collection, and then he handed himself over to Mr. Montgomery. He read anything Mr. Montgomery told him to read—Dickens and Richler, Twain and Le Carre.

This was back in the days before television came to the Narrows, and back in those days there was no movie theater in Big Narrows either. If you wanted to go to the movies, you had to drive all the way to the Savoy Theatre in faraway Glace Bay—something so improbable, so unlikely that Dave never considered going to the movies a possibility until the summer of 1964, the summer Goldfinger was released starring Sean Connery. There was a province-wide contest promoting that movie. You might remember it. There were five simple skill-testing questions.

The winner in Cape Breton would receive a pair of tickets to the Savoy Theatre for the Saturday matinee of the week-long run. Every kid in the Narrows wanted to win those tickets. None of them could figure out the answers to the questions. Dave knew he could find them in the book, so he went to Mr. Montgomery. He begged him to get Goldfinger into the library. It was while they were waiting for it to arrive from the book room in Halifax that disaster struck. Dave returned Huckleberry Finn to Mr. Montgomery in grievous condition. That was Mr. Montgomery's description—grievous condition.

It's just honey, said Dave. The book was lying on the library desk. Mr. Montgomery had his hands uncomfortably over it, snapping his sticky fingers open and closed in distress. Mr. Montgomery wrinkled his nose, I'm putting you on warning. Be careful. Dave was desperate. If you set it outside for an afternoon, the ants will clean it. Mr. Montgomery pulled out his stamp pad and stamped Dave's library card with a black rat. Three rats and your card was suspended. Dave got his second rat a week later. He dropped To Kill a Mockingbird into the bathtub. When he returned it, it looked more like an accordion than a book.

Mr. Montgomery just shook his head sadly and reached for his stamp pad. It was the very next afternoon that Billy Mitchell found the swallow. He found it in the lane back of the laundromat beside the Maple Leaf Cafe. It had stunned itself flying into Art Gillespie's office window. Billy carried the bird around in a shoebox for a couple of hours, showing it to everyone. Then, egged on by Warren Saarauer, he took it to the library with a devious plan to set it loose from the upper balcony. Unfortunately, Dave was up there when they arrived, pouring over a well-thumbed copy of the National Geographic, the famous issue dedicated to the women of Africa. Billy handed Dave the shoebox. Check this out, he said. When Dave opened the box, the swallow flapped out with a squawk. It flew around and around

the domed ceiling like a magic trick, banging up against the glass roof, feathers flying. When Mr. Montgomery looked up, Dave was standing beside the railing holding the box. Billy Mitchell and Warren Saarauer had vanished. Dave said, It wasn't my idea. Mr. Montgomery suspended his card for a month. His card was still under suspension when Goldfinger arrived. Dave didn't have to go to the library to know the book was there. Mr. Montgomery put the book jacket in the display case by the front door, right

where Dave would be sure to see it on his way to school. It looked amazing. There was a picture of a skull in a pine box with coins in its empty eye sockets and a rose between its teeth. It was the same jacket that Dorothy had on her shelf behind the cash register in her bookstore. Dave went to the library right after school. Mr. Montgomery was sitting under an umbrella. The swallow had built a nest at the top of the dome roof. Dave ducked under the umbrella. He asked Mr. Montgomery to make an exception—just that book, just this once. Mr. Montgomery told him he couldn't sign it out until his suspension was over. Dave begged, Could I sit in the library? Could I read it in the library? Mr. Montgomery shrugged, But how would you get in the library? You have no library privileges.

Getting in was easy. He got in the next night through the coal chute. It was easy. He got in the next night through the coal chute. Saturday night, 830, everything shut up tight down the alley behind the library in and out five minutes. His plan was simple. He would plow through the book over the weekend and return it first thing Monday morning. Monday, of course, was reading circle. The kindergarten kids would be there.

He would take his dog Scout with him and use Scout as a distraction. Scout loved kids. Kids loved Scout. Whenever Scout saw kids, he would bound towards them with his tongue out, ready to lick. Getting a dog down a coal chute is harder than you'd think. On Monday at recess, Dave was in the alley behind the library hoisting Scout up, trying to shove his bottom through the chute door. Scout was hunching and scrabbling and doing his best not to go. Scout, said Dave, and he leaned into him, and off they went. A tumble of dog and boy that landed

with a thud on the coal room floor, dust everywhere, the two of them peering at each other in the gloom of the basement. If dogs could grin, surely that's what Scout did then. He grinned and he barked and he began bounding around the coal room with his tail wagging, a picture of dogish joy and excitement disappearing in and out of the clouds of black coal dust. "'Scout,' said Dave, trying to calm him down, but there was no calming Scout. He was barking with abandon. His tail was wagging, and then he saw the stairs, headed right for them. Upstairs the children in Reading Circle were one by one beginning to hear the commotion and beginning to turn toward the

basement door—not all of them, but at least half. That's when the door burst open and Scout exploded into the library, howling and barking a black cloud, a howling dust-choked energy. And in the midst of the whirlwind, two blazing green eyes, a set of long white teeth, and it was Colin McGregor who recognized who it was. It was Colin who stood up and pointed and screamed, It's the black beast of Marguerite. He's going to rip our throats open. Colin flung himself at the nearest shelf of books and started scrambling up. Others followed, kicking books off the shelves as they climbed, but only Colin made it to

the very top. As soon as Colin got there, the shelf began to rock slowly back and forth, and Colin stood there at the top like the soldier on the top of the war memorial and rode it all the way down. Mr. Montgomery and his umbrella were buried by the avalanche of flying books. When he finally surfaced, there was a moment of complete and utter silence. And then, to add to the indignation, the swallows spotted Mr. Montgomery's bare forehead and sensed its chance. In the commotion, no one spotted Dave standing at the top of the

stairs. When he saw the shelf coming down, Dave turned and ran down the stairs and through the coal room door. He hurled himself at the chute. He was still clutching Goldfinger. He dropped it halfway up the chute and watched it tumble into the coal bin. He wasn't going back for it, that's for sure. Not for the book and not for Scout. Scout was on his own. Of course, he never entered the contest. Having read the book, he knew all the answers, but he couldn't let on. If he entered the contest, he would have won it, and Mr. Montgomery would have figured out that was him in the library that morning. Billy Mitchell won the trip to Glace Bay. Billy, who found the swallow,

where is the justice in that? And that's about all of it, said Dave. A good story, said Dorothy. A long time ago, said Dave. He was sitting on the stool that Dorothy has by her cash register. He opened the copy of Goldfinger that she had handed him. He began flipping through it. I always loved the part where Odd Job was sucked out the plain window. And then he smiled and he threw the book in the air and caught it. Thirteen novels, he said, and Fleming only lived long enough to see two of the films. He looked at his watch. He said, I have to go. The letter came a month later.

A white form letter in a white envelope postmarked Big Narrows, Cape Breton. Thank you for your kind donation of Goldfinger by Ian Fleming. The book is being catalogued and added to our stacks. It's now in circulation and available for members to borrow. It is through donations such as yours that our library remains a vital part of the community. There was a P.S. at the bottom written with a fountain pen and a spidery hand. David, it began.

To answer your question, the library is open Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. There is no longer a permanent librarian. It is run by a committee and staffed by volunteers. Aside from the hours, nothing much has changed since you were a boy. We haven't bought any new books for well over a decade. Though people do donate books from time to time, your check is most appreciated and will be added to a fund to make some general repairs, most critically to the roof. I checked and we do have all thirteen books in the Bond series, plus the short stories. Our copy of Goldfinger,

however, is damaged. It looks as though it has been set afire. Although you already knew that, didn't you? We'll replace our copy with the one you sent. We'll sell a damaged one in our autumn sale, and I would be delighted to buy it for you as you requested. I'll keep it at the house for when you are next in town. I saw your mother and told her about your kind donation. She said you always liked the library, and you spoke fondly of me. Thank you for that." It was signed Russell Montgomery. Dave read the letter twice, and then he folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope, and he put the envelope in the drawer below the cash register in his store. That night on his way home he stopped at the video store and rented a

movie. Have you seen it? he asked Morley when he got home. James Bond, she said. An early one, said Dave. Goldfinger, one of the ones with Sean Connery. I thought you'd seen them all, she said. Not this one, said Dave. That was The Black Beast of Marguerite. We recorded that story at the Rebecca Cohen Auditorium in Halifax, Nova Scotia in 2009.

We're gonna take a short break now, but we'll be back in a couple of minutes with another story, so stick around. ["The Black Beast of Marguerite"] This year, why not let Audible expand your life by listening? Explore audiobooks, podcasts, and exclusive Audible originals that will inspire and motivate you. Just open the app and tap into your well-being with advice and insights from leading influencers, experts, and professionals. Whatever your focus or interest, there's a listen for it on Audible.

You'll find titles on better health, including personal fitness, nutrition, and relaxation, hear ways to improve your relationships both in your work and personal life, or how to embark on a new career strategy. If you want to overhaul your financial life or hear smart talk about investing for your future, well, you'll find that too. Ultimately, it's all about starting good habits. Making a positive change is the best resolution

you can make for yourself, and Audible can help. There's so much opportunity and more to imagine when you listen. Let Audible help you reach the goals you set for yourself. Start listening today when you sign up for a free 30-day trial at audible.ca. With the Fizz loyalty program, you get rewarded just for having a mobile plan. You know, for texting and stuff. And if you're not getting rewards like extra data and dollars for having a mobile plan. You know, for texting and stuff. And if you're not getting rewards like extra data and dollars off with

your mobile plan, you're not with Fizz. Switch today. Conditions apply. Details at fizz.ca. Welcome back. Time for our second story now. This was one of the last concerts we ever recorded and boy, it was a memorable one. The venue was the CN Center in Prince George, British Columbia, a huge hockey arena. And I got to say, we felt a little like Taylor Swift rolling into the arena. We had to turn it from a rink into a theater. We built a stage, we hung curtains, all that kind of stuff. And I loved the challenge of turning a large, loud,

boisterous space into something comfy and cozy and intimate. I have some great pictures from that day, the before and after. So I'll throw them up on our Facebook page, which is Vinyl Cafe, and on our Instagram, which is Vinyl Cafe Stories. Anyway, here's the story we recorded that day in that giant arena. This is Stuart McLean with The Roundabout.

It began without a whole lot of warning. There was a letter and a phone call, maybe two. And the next thing anyone knew, a couple of fellows from the ministry were standing in front of the big, narrow town council, laying it all out. It was a matter of efficiency. It was a matter of efficiency. It was a matter of tax saving. It was a matter of being able to do more with less.

Angus MacLeod heard that, leaned forward, and thumped the council table with both fists. Amalgamation? Bellowed Angus? Well that shut everyone up. Council room was suddenly, if you will excuse the pun, motionless. But if you were going to call a spade a spade, Angus had done it. Amalgamation. Big narrows, little narrows, upper contrition, and big fish cove would be merged into the regional municipality of, well, there'd be a plebiscite. They could choose the name themselves.

Angus summed that up after the meeting. That's like the hangman offering the convicted a selection of rope. The plebiscite was a non-starter. Sure they could choose anything, but the only anything anyone from any of the four towns had put up with were the names they already had. What is in a name when it's yours? A lot, apparently. So in the end there was no plebiscite. The name came down from above, just like everything else. The greater municipality of Glencoe. For crying out loud, snorted Angus,

what does Glencoe have to do with anything? In a way, the four neighboring towns had brought it upon themselves. All those years spent trying to outdo each other, and I'm not talking about in the hockey arenas or on the curling rinks. Take Boundary Road for example. The border between Big and Little Narrows runs right down the center of

Boundary Road which means to follow the letter of the law each town had responsibility for one side of the road. Now you might think that sensible heads would prevail and the two towns would come together to work out ways of sharing those responsibilities. There were, after all, plenty to go around, grading, oiling, snow removal, to mention a few, but you'd be wrong. grading, oiling, snow removal to mention a few. But you'd be wrong.

Instead of a route to reconciliation, Boundary Road became just another path to prove that the one town was better than the other. This reached its zenith in the summer of 1964, when, without a nod to their neighbours, the Little Narrows town council secretly paid a Halifax contractor to pave their half a boundary road. Suddenly driving east into Little Narrows meant you drove in smooth, modern luxury. While driving west into Big Narrows, you bounced through teeth-gritting clouds of dust. Little Narrows had to levy a special tax to pay for the extravagance, but not a soul in town complained.

For two years, the folks in Little Narrows danced on the undisputed sunny side of the street. The incident of the asphalt, as it came to be known, was not taken lightly and was, no doubt, the cause of the Great Snow War of 1968, which it is worth mentioning like the War of 1812 lasted well beyond the year it was named for. The Snow War was launched the autumn night the Big Narrows Council, still stinging from the humiliation of the paving, voted to buy a snowblower. to buy a snowblower. Laughter

Exactly. Laughter The first shot was fired in January. When the snowblower finally arrived and in a twitchy moment of ill-considered excitement, the driver, well, the entire council was there that night so it's unfair to single out whoever was driving in any case it doesn't matter the fact is someone everyone whoever was at the controls decided that it would be funny to blow the snow from their side of boundary road onto the side belonging to Little Narrows.

Had the guy who was driving the Little Narrows plow that night turned the other cheek and not plowed the blown snow plus the snow that rightfully belonged to Little Narrows right back again, nothing might have happened, but once indignation raises itself righteous head, things tend to escalate. And that is how snow clearance in big and little narrows became such a costly line item on each year's budget and how it changed from a civic service to a competitive sport. Even today, half a century later, both towns own more equipment than either needs, and both scramble to be the first to get their half a boundary road cleared.

For the most part, this works out in everyone's favor. The thing is, all four towns grew up fiercely independent and remain resolve at least all. But when the fish plant closed a few years back and people started moving to the city, the tax base could no longer support the way things used to be. In some ways they knew this was coming. Little Narrows kids already went to the elementary school in Big Fish Cove. All the kids go to the regional high school out by the dump. There were the obligatory editorials in the paper, but most folks tried to ignore the impending amalgamation, figured it was just another one of those government schemes that would never come to being.

And then the elections landed on them like an anvil. Like an anvil, said Angus, more like a ton of bricks. They had to choose the new amalgamated council. A woman from Big Fish Cove was elected mayor. The meetings of that new amalgamated council were uncomfortable. Sorting everything out was like brokering peace in the Middle East. Should they have one Christmas parade or four? Two fishing derbies or none? And then, one day in September, just like those fellas from the ministry, the diggers and front-end loaders showed up out of nowhere and built a roundabout

out by the highway. No one had asked for it and no one much liked the idea but everyone was pretty keen to try it out. Problem was, no one knew the rules. No one had told any of them that you weren't supposed to pass anyone in a roundabout. You have to understand, there are people in those towns who don't get out all that often. Earl the Cloak, for instance, has never been to the city. And now, almost overnight, if Earl wanted to get from the Narrows to Big Fish Pond, a trip that had never asked any more of Earl in one left-hand turn, meant he'd have to execute the new roundabout, enter at 6 o'clock, and get off at 9.

It opened on a Saturday morning at 9 a.m. The minister was there to cut a ribbon and as soon as that was done Everything pretty much fell apart Just about everyone with a car had shown up And once they got into the roundabout they all headed for the same place the inside lane Because it felt safer there. Plus it gave them a chance to make a few laps, try the thing out, get their money's worth. So almost immediately the whole thing was filled up. You had your people on the inside happy to be there, and the people on the outside trying to work their way in.

Which means pretty much this roundabout was working backwards to the way a roundabout is supposed to work. It was like watching water being sucked down in rain. Which was fine until you added the third variable. The people who had been inside long enough who wanted to get out. And they have never done this before. And the only way they could think of getting out was to build up momentum. And when they did that, everyone else had to. So now you have a roundabout full of terrified people all driving faster and faster and faster and suddenly one of them sees a space and he makes

his move. And now everyone has to make a move. And everyone is going so fast that no one can tell the head of the fish from the tail. And to make matters worse, every sign on every exit is pointing to the same place, the greater municipality of Glencoe. Some people didn't get out of there for hours. At four o'clock, some desperate soul began to wave a white t-shirt out their passenger side window. And everyone slowed down and eventually stopped. And they cleared it all out slowly, like a parking lot after a baseball game. Even then, over half the folks headed off in the wrong direction.

And that was Saturday. Sunday. Oh, Sunday was a whole other thing. On Sunday morning, all the folks who had been there Saturday gathered up on the ridge, all of them with binoc what would happen when the church crowd hit the roundabout. The first to arrive was Robin Townsend, 92 years old. He appeared on the quiet Sunday morning at 20 to 10, coming down Boundary Road, heading towards church at 20 km an hour, which is fast for Robin.

When he came to the roundabout entrance, he stopped dead. Even though there wasn't a car in sight, it took him five minutes to ease in. He then made five complete rotations before he exited the way he had entered and headed home. Faced with nearly empty pews three Sundays in a row, the Church of the Redeemer established a roundabout prayer group. The new mayor petitioned the ministry if we could just put the old town's names up," she said. The man from the ministry explained they couldn't do that. Those towns don't exist anymore, he said. Though there was one thing they could do.

They could add the name of their main street to their respective exit. Unfortunately, all four towns' main streets had the same name. Main Street. Angus MacLeod had a bright idea. We changed the name of Main Street to Big Narrows, said Angus. The ministry didn't fall for that.

It has to have an appellation, said the man from the ministry. It has to be a street or an avenue or a lane it's an arrow said Angus the name of the street is big the new mayor called Arnie. She had an idea. They would take the amalgamated budget, divide it the way they used to, and let the old councils run things in their own towns, and they wouldn't tell the province. She would continue to front the whole operation to the ministry." Sort of like the Governor General, she said. There wouldn't be as much money as there used to be, but if they agreed on certain

economies of scale, the money they saved would be more than enough. "'What economies of scale?' said Angus MacLeod, leaning over his coffee mug in the Maple Leaf Cafe staring at Arnie. Snow removal, brought them together. Maybe a month passed, maybe two, a number of weeks in any case, and one afternoon, the four old mayors got together and hatched a plan. On a moonless night a week or so later, they all met at Arnie's store. Combine their ages, you had over 300 years. They met out back and climbed into Arnie's truck, a ladder and a box in the back. Five

kilometres out to the highway and then three to the roundabout. When they got there they parked on the shoulder and set the ladder up against the first sign. Pass me the screwdriver said Donnie Morrison, the ex-mayor of Little Narrows as he started up the ladder. The signs they were holding had been painted by an artist in Big Fish Cove, and they looked every bit as real as the official ones they were about to take down. Each mayor had a turn on the ladder attaching their own town sign. When they finished, they stood around

while Donnie had a smoke. They're gonna come and they'll take them down, said Hugh McKinnon, ex-mayor of Upper Contracion. They looked too good, said Arnie, admiring what they had done. It'll take a while before anyone spots them, and by then they'll look even better all weathered up. Now we can tell whoever shows up that

someone else approved it and they'll have to investigate that and you know what they'll find better things to do. While they stood there a solitary car came down Boundary Road, entered the roundabout, and started circling. Why, I think that's Earl the Cloak, said Donald. What's he doing out here this time of the night, said Hugh. I do believe he's practicing said Arnie. And they stood there on the side of the road and they watched him quietly for a moment. For the time it took Donnie to finish his smoke. And then Arnie said, should we show him the way or should we let him figure it out himself?

Now that is a very good question," said Hugh. I do believe we should go back to the shop and have a beverage and consider that for a while." And he turned and he crunched along the shoulder toward the truck. And Donnie shrugged and bent down and picked up the ladder, and the other two followed him. The longer I live, said Arnie, the less things seem to change. You're talking like an old man, said Hugh. I am an old man, said Arnie.

Good thing then, said Donnie, that they're building the new regional hospital. Hope they get it done in time for you. And they got into Arnie's pickup and they headed back to town, their red tail lights disappearing down Boundary Road as the lights on the back of Earl's Chev continued to describe a slow, never-ending circle out where they left him, neither coming nor going, neither arriving nor departing, like time itself, like waves on rock beach, around and around and around he went. That was the story we call the roundabout. We recorded that story at the CN Centre in Prince George, British Columbia, back in the

spring of 2015. That story was inspired by something that happened in a small town near where I live. I live in Chelsea, Quebec, and there's a town just north of us called Wakefield. Actually, it was Wakefield that drew me to the area. The first time I ever went to that area was, surprise, surprise, on tour with the Vinyl Cafe. We came to record a show at the Black Sheep Inn, and I fell in love with the Gatineau Hills, and with Gatineau Park, with the river, with the strong sense of community. And so when Josh, my fiance at the time, got a job in Ottawa a few years

later, I knew we'd move to Wakefield and Chelsea and not Ottawa. And we did. We moved here in 2008. Stuart spent a lot of time here over the years. He loved Chelsea, but he really, really, really loved Wakefield. At some point over the years, he started to see the little village of Wakefield, Quebec, as a bit of a stand-in for Big Narrows, Cape Breton, Dave's hometown. The Gatineau River moves through Wakefield the same way it does in the fictional town of Big Narrows. Wakefield's built on the shores of a river the same way Big Narrows is and just like Wakefield, the town embraces it. So many cities and towns turn their back to the water, not the narrows and not Wakefield either.

So the topography is right, but it's more than that. It's the spirit of the village, the personality and the community. Both places have a strong sense of community and authenticity. And both places are very, how can I put this, very themselves. They know who they are and they fight to keep it that way. For all those reasons, I paid close attention to things happening in Wakefield over the years because Wakefield was a really good source of story ideas for us. And so you can imagine my delight when Quebec's Ministry of Transport decided to install a roundabout in Wakefield. Oh boy, I thought this is going to be good. And it was. Everybody had an opinion about it. but the strongest voices were the ones pointing out

the absurdity of the situation. Wakefield isn't officially a town. It's a neighborhood, the same way Etobicoke is now part of Toronto. It's part of the larger municipality of Lepèche. And so the Ministry of Transport in Quebec cannot have an official sign pointing to a place that does not officially exist. And so Stewart's story was born. Many of the details from that story came from the excellent reporting by my pals at our local newspaper, the low down to hull and back news. The highway

extension, the idea of changing the street name to be the name of the town, just like upper contrition, it's all stuff that happened here or was talked about here. It's been eight years since Highway 5 extended past Chelsea and all the way up the line to Wakefield. There are not one but two roundabouts there now, one after another, like two-thirds of a snowman. I'm used to them now. But to be honest, I have to give myself a little pep talk every a little pep talk every single time I enter them. And when I do, I think of old Earl DeCloote practicing. And I think, I should do the same thing one night.

This year, why not let Audible expand your life by listening? Explore audiobooks, podcasts, and exclusive Audible originals that will inspire and motivate you. Just open the app and tap into your well-being with advice and insights from leading influencers, experts, and professionals. Whatever your focus or interest, there's a listen for it on Audible. You'll find titles on better health including personal fitness, nutrition, and relaxation, Here Ways to Improve Your Relationships, both in your work and personal life, or How to Embark on a New Career Strategy.

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You know, for texting and stuff. And if you're not getting rewards like extra data and dollars off with your mobile plan, you're not with Fizz. Switch today. Conditions apply. Details at Fizz.ca. All right, that's it for today, but we'll be back here next week with another Dave and Morley story. And next week is Valentine's Day, so we'll be playing a love story. It's one that many of you have requested. It's funny, the things you do and the things you miss. Art and I used to have a little ritual if one of us was frosted about something and we couldn't sleep. I can't even remember how it began. I think it was something left over from his childhood. In any case, when

someone was peeved up or things were rough, the other one would fix a snack. And it was always the same snack. A Cadbury fruit and nuts chocolate bar. Two glasses of milk and a candle. We always ate it in bed. We usually kept a chocolate bar handy in case of an emergency. But once or twice when we didn't have one on hand, Art went out and got one late and

brought it home and we'd have our little picnic. About three months after he died, I was cleaning behind the bed and I found a bar hidden on his side of the headboard. We have a pier bed with a dresser and mirrors on either side and cubby holes, and I found it tucked at the back of one of his cubby holes. It really tied my buns in a knot. I wanted to have a picnic right then and there, but I didn't have my partner. I must have cried over that stupid chocolate bar for three months. And then one night, I finally decided I either had to eat it before the worms got

to it or I had to throw it out. So I decided to have a picnic on my own. I went downstairs and I got the tray out and a candle and a glass of milk and I fixed everything just right and I came upstairs and I got into bed and I opened up the chocolate bar and there was no chocolate in it. Art had eaten the chocolate bar and folded up cleanly and I opened up the chocolate bar and there was no chocolate in it. Art had eaten the chocolate bar and folded up Kleenex to make it look like it was still there. And he'd wrapped it all up and inside there was a note. Sorry love, but I was hungry.

It was truly delicious. Love you, T.H. Art. That's next week on the podcast. I hope you'll join us. Backstage at the Vinyl Cafe is part of the Apostrophe Podcast Network. The recording engineer is Greg, no relation to old Earl, Declute. Theme music is by Danny Michelle and the show is produced by Louise Curtis, Greg

Declute, and me, Jess Milton. Let's meet again next week. Until then, so long for now. This year, why not let Audible expand your life by listening? Explore audiobooks, podcasts, and exclusive Audible originals that will inspire and motivate you. Just open the app and tap into your well-being with advice and insights from leading influencers, experts, and professionals. Whatever your focus or interest, there's a listen for it on Audible.

You'll find titles on better health including personal fitness, nutrition, and relaxation. Here ways to improve your relationships both in your work and personal life, or how to embark on a new career strategy. If you want to overhaul your financial life or hear smart talk about investing for your future, well you'll find that too. Ultimately it's all about starting good habits. Making a positive change is the best resolution you can make for yourself, and Audible can

help. There's so much opportunity and more to imagine when you listen. Let Audible help you reach the goals you set for yourself. Start listening today when you sign up for a free 30-day trial at audible.ca. With the Fizz loyalty program, you get rewarded just for having a mobile plan. dot CA.