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Ocean Falls Museum
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Poetry
THE EXODUS OF THE
RAIN PEOPLE
At the head of
Cousins Inlet,
Fisher's, and
Queen Charlotte Sound,
Where the rain
falls fairly often,
And wild game and
fish abound,
'Neath the shelter
of "Old Baldy"
Where the Link
Lake water stalls
At the Dam, down
by the salt-chuck
Lies the town of
Ocean Falls.
We're a town of
friendly people
Always glad to
welcome you,
And we care about
each other
As few other
people do.
On the eighteenth
day of April,
Nineteen hundred
and seventy-two,
At a meeting
called by C. Z.
We were told our
town was through.
Nothing would be
left but rabble.
Everything would
be torn down,
Nothing left to
show there ever
Was a happy,
friendly town.
There'd be total
demolition,
Making sure the
town had died,
And between then
and next April
We'd be scattered
far and wide.
Filled with shock
and apprehension
When we heard this
news from "Crown"
Anxious, fearful
of the knowledge
We would have to
leave our town.
In the graveyard
in the Valley
Lie a few who'll
never move,
With the river
running past them
And Caro Marion
high above.
Will we never
climb these long stairs?
Never see our town
again?
Never see these
streets and houses
Sheathed in
falling, misting rain?
We'll remember how
we loved it
On a glorious
sunny day.
We'll remember how
we loved it
When the rain fell
on the bay.
We'll remember it
with longing
When we think of
it again.
Yes, we love it in
the sunshine
And we love it in
the rain!
Now it's well into
the autumn
And we walk the
streets alone;
And our hearts are
filled with sadness
For so many
friends have gone.
There's a hundred
million memories
As each boat and
plane departs,
And the parting of
our people
Bends our spirits,
breaks our hearts.
Will some other
towns resent us?
Will they think
our coming robs
Their established
population
Of their very
precious jobs?
Will they move a
"wee bit over"?
Be a kind and
thoughtful host
To a lot of
displaced persons
From a little town
up-coast?
Sure they will,
for many of them
Came from this
small town of ours,
Helped contribute
to its beauty,
Cut the brush and
planted flowers.
When they left,
they hoped that maybe
Some day they
would "come again",
For they left a
bit of their hearts
With the "people
of the rain".
Will you welcome
us and help us
Find a place to
call our own?
For unless we find
a haven
We can never more
"go home".
Author
Agnes Fisher
1972
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