(In 2016, Sheldon Coombs provided me with a copy of an article written by Don Morris, an article that Sheldon believed had been previously published in a local newspaper, The Compass. The following is the transcription of that article – transcribed by Randell Mercer on Dec 19 2020.)
“Coombs Day” – the expression has long died out.
But to Newfoundlanders of past generations “Coombs Day” meant a violently stormy day in winter.
John Coombs and two of his children. Richard and Mary, as well as three other people belonging to Upper Island Cove, lost their lives in a savage snowstorm which struck many parts of Newfoundland on Monday February 3, 1868. In all, about 30 people in the Conception Bay area lost their lives in that killer storm. Some were caught in the blizzard as they travelled between Harbour Grace and Heart’s Content.
Presumably, the expression “Coombs Day” to denote a day of terribly stormy weather, came about because three members of the Coombs’ family fell victim to the great blizzard. The expression is still in use, at least up to the early 1920s.
Early on that February morning (Feb 3, 1868) the men of Upper Island Cove were astir, getting ready for a trip to the woods, nine miles distant, to cut firewood. Some of the men used dogs and catamarans; others had horses and sleds. Obtaining firewood was a routine chore for the men and, as they set out, there was no indication of trouble ahead.
The early part of the day was fine and clear, and not overly frosty. By midday most of the men had secured their loads of wood, and a start home was made. But by now a change had come over the scene. The wind had come up from the northeast, and with it came snow, and later the frost increased in intensity.
Mile after mile the men plodded on with their loads – John Coombs among them. The storm grew steadily worse. All knew it could be fatal to be caught in such a blinding blizzard with the temperatures well below zero.
Nearly all the men reached their homes – some by irregular ways, having lost the road. Others were caught on what was locally called the Black Marsh. Ponies were cut from their harnesses to give them a chance to get out; loads of wood were thrown off the catamarans and the dogs hauled their masters through the storm towards home. Those who did not have dog sleds and horses abandoned their wood and struggled through the white hell for the safety of their dwellings.
John Coombs had gone into the woods that morning somewhat later than his neighbors. He was caught in the blizzard and died. His horse was found alive in the shafts the day following. The man’s body was discovered near the sled of wood.
Coombs’ two youngsters had started out for Harbour Grace early in the morning. They never made it. Their bodies were found in the high snow drifts six days later.
A man from Upper island Cove who had been to Harbour Grace was caught in the storm on route home. He chanced upon a boy who had been overcome by the storm, and exhausted had lain down in the snow, ready to die. The man lifted him in his arms and struggled onward. Very soon afterwards he discovered that the boy was dead.
An Upper Island Cove woman who was caught out in the blizzard and hurrying home was helped by a man who had overtaken her. Soon afterwards the woman’s husband, trailing a sled, came upon the scene. He had come out looking for his wife. He placed her on the sled and headed homeward. Before he reached home, his wife had perished.
When the storm abated, search and rescue parties fanned out from various communities to comb the woods and the roads, and to probe the snow drifts for survivors – and bodies. They found some of both. It was estimated that 30 people in the Conception Bay area died in that snowstorm, the most savage in the memories of the oldest inhabitant in the region.
There was widespread destitution among the people of the bay and other areas. Some people were out on a mission of obtaining food or government relief. A Petty Harbour woman was found dead on the snow-chocked road about a mile from her house. She had been in St. John’s for government dole, and, reported one newspaper…,”she must have sank from exhaustion and weakness.” That same newspaper editorialized: “The storm was such that even the best fed and clothed, who were exposed to it, would have succumbed, and it is easy to understand how much weather would prostrate those who, perhaps, for weeks had gone without proper nourishment.”
Upper Island Cove was plunged into mourning. A clergyman, who was there at the time, later wrote: “Sorrowful was the scene when, two days after the storm, four coffins were carried on the shoulders of brave but sorrowing men to the little church, and then on to the cemetery a mile distant. Death and misery begat friends, and fisherfolk have tender hearts.” Funeral of the Coombs’ children was held the following week after their bodies were found.
And so it was that the six victims of the vicious storm were laid to rest at Upper Island Cove …. On that very first “Coombs Day”
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