There were two Ben Clarks living up the Gaspereau–Long Ben and Short Ben.
This was a long time ago. Back then, the heads of matches used to be made of a poisonous substance.
Short Ben’s wife put match heads in his tea until he became sick and died. That’s how she murdered her husband.
I asked my dad if he knew how they caught her, or if they knew why she’d done it.
He said, “Well, she couldn’t have liked him very much.”
(Stickney, New Brunswick. There can’t have been more than 60 people living there then. Same as now. There was a man called “short george” campbell.)
My dad’s dad, known as “long george” campbell, was the tall, thin gardener. A kind man, who died of heart problems when I was three. He never spanked his kids, and when injuries happened he’d disappear into the woods. My dad never knew what plants my grandfather would return with, only that, slapped over a huge gash on the knee, the wound would heal beautifully-quickly and scar-free. My grandmother died almost exactly a year later. Her heart gave out for other reasons. Grief.