nichepoetryandprose

In Fredericton, we seem particularly sensitive to the city’s past. Since I have only lived in this area about 40 years, I often don’t remember landmarks familiar to those who have lived here most of their lives. My husband who was born here often points out the location of landmarks that no longer exist.

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When I asked him about Blighty’s, memories surfaced right away. When he was 12 or 13, Blighty’s was a regular part of the week. After church on Sundays, Blighty’s was the first stop on the way home. He remembers it as a crowded spot, always busy. It was little more than a small shack, with eight or more people working inside, waiting on people or preparing food.

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Blighty’s used fresh-cut potatoes for their French fries. My husband remembers the smell of grease and the bright coloured light bulbs strung on wire. He also remembers that everything tasted delicious.

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Drive up, stand at wicket, get a number and wait until called. Everyone in the family ordered fish and chips (one or two big pieces) and a bottle of pop. The food was served on paper plates, sized for the meal, and a bottle of ketchup sat on the counter. There were a couple of picnic tables but they always ate in the car. At the end of the meal, there was a big barrel for the garbage.

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Blighty’s underwater in the flood of 1973 (Source: New Brunswick Archives)

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David Watts, a friend from my writing group Fictional Friends also remembers Blighty’s and he has captured the spot in one of his image-rich poems. David is a photographer and writer. He has contributed posts to CommuterLit here and keeps our Fictional Friends writing group moving in the direction of learning. David is also one of the organizers of Odd Sundays, a reading venue for writers in the Frederiction area.

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David says:

my love of words and how they work has been a life-long passion

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I hope you enjoy David’s memories of Blighty’s …

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Thank you David for taking us back to Blighty’s!

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All my best,

Jane