星火英语15篇文章背完大学英语六级词汇：Unit4-Part1

（单词翻译）

A Canadian Family Story

My story begins in Newfoundland

where my brother and

I were born during

the Second World War.

The island of Newfoundland,

which was originally a British colony,

became the newest province

of Canada in 1949,

the same year that the People's

Republic of China was born.

Our mother was born

and raised in Newfoundland.

During the War (World War II),

she worked in St. John's,

the capital city, where she

met a young Canadian sailor

from Ontario. He was

a member of the crew

of a Royal Canadian Navy ship

that was part of one

of the convoys¹ that

escorted supply ships across

the Atlantic Ocean to Europe

during the war. They fell

in love and subsequently,

got married. The rest

is history, so to speak.

Our family moved to Ontario

in late 1945, just

after the war ended.

In 1999, acting² on impulse,

my brother and I decided³

to take our mother to

Newfoundland for a visit.

It had been almost

fifty years since we had

last visited our mother's outport

(remote or very rural island village)

where she grew up.

It was also the 50th anniversary

of Newfoundland's becoming part of Canada.

In 1950, I was six

and my brother was five

when we last visited

our mother's childhood home.

At that time, Ireland's Eye

was a vibrant⁴, quaint⁵

fishing village hugging the

rocky shore of a small,

enclosed harbour. There was

no electricity. There were no roads,

no automobiles⁶, and few signs

of automation of any type.

There were oil lamps and

wood stoves in the homes

and mere⁷ sootpaths between

the aggregate⁸ of small communities

on the hilly island,

also named Ireland's Eye.

We can still see and

hear the inboard motorboats,

putt putting (sound of engines)

into the harbour, hauling

their day's catch of fish.

The image of hardy⁹ fishermen

with pitchforks hoisting¹⁰ and

tossing the codfish up to

the stilted¹¹ platforms from

the bowels¹² of the boats

is still quite vivid.

The aroma¹³ of salted,

drying codfish, lingers still.

What I remember best,

of almost half a century ago,

was going out with

my Uncle Fred in his boat

to fish. That particular day,

we were huddled¹⁴ together

and lashed¹⁵ to other boats,

just outside of the harbour.

I can still hear

the lively gossip between

my uncle and the other fishermen,

above the rippling¹⁶ and splashing

of the waves against

the hulls¹⁷ of the boats.

I remember the boats

heaving periodically, on the

huge gently rolling waves.

My Uncle Fred had only

one arm, but amazingly,

he could do everything

as if he had two hands.

He could even roll

a cigarette and light it.

These are my memories

of the quaint Newfoundland

glory days gone by.

It was a very hard life

in those out ports,

but a life romantically cherished

by most of those who lived it.

Our mother was not feeling up

to the trip at the time

we were ready to leave,

but insisted that my brother

and I go on this odyssey¹⁸.

We would later provide

her with pictures, a written account,

and videotape of the trip.

Although we toured other parts

of Newfoundland, including an overnight

stay on the French Islands

of St. Pierre and Miquilon,

just off the south coast

of Newfoundland, our main objective

was to visit Ireland's Eye.

This necessitated¹⁹ finding water transportation.

We managed to arrange

for a boat to take

us on the half hour

trip to the island.

As it turned out,

the married couple who

ferried us over to the island

was actually a couple of

our distant cousins, whom

we had never met.

We had intended to

have our cousins drop us off

on the island and pick

us up a few hours later.

However, either because we were

newly found cousins, or they were

typically hospitable²⁰ Newfoundlanders,

or they thought that

my brother and I would

get lost, they wanted

to stay with us.

Probably all three factors

influenced their decision.

They were absolutely fabulous²¹.

They got caught up in

what my brother and I

were trying to do.

They were very knowledgeable²² about

the island and the people

who had once lived there.

Clutching a narrative²³ of the island,

written by another of our cousins,

the forgotten history of that

special place became more coherent

to the four of us.

As we entered Ireland's

Eye's small harbour, which was guarded,

by a family of hawks²⁴

in a nest high on a rocky point,

a weird²⁵ sensation came over us.

There, in front of us,

was the place we visited

fifty years before, and about

which we had heard and read

so much throughout our adult lives.

We thought, what an

aesthetically²⁶ breathtaking sight!

The glittering sun, on that day,

gave everything a picturepostcard image.

This was indeed a slice of paradise.

The ruins of a few

remaining buildings that dotted

the hillsides and shoreline

and the once dominant²⁷

St. Georges Church on the hill

at the end of the harbour,

aroused in us an exciting sense

of history and of our heritage.

Looking out over the harbour

from the hill by the church

at the extinct community,

revived memories of fifty years before.