The Benefits Of An
Uncommon Name
The question arises from time to
time. Are we all related? In North
America, the short and definitive
answer is --- yes.
Research indicates that, with only a
few exceptions, we are descendants
of Jean Goyetche, a Basque
fisherman born in 1763 in the
Bayonne region of France who
arrived sometime before 1793 and
settled in Cape Auget, NS. We are all
cousins -- maybe 2nd, 3rd, 4th or 5th
-- but cousins nonetheless.
The few exceptions are those who
came here more recently from South
America, France or Nouvelle
Caledonie (New Caledonia) in the
South Pacific. It is likely they are
related as well. If we were able to
trace Jean Goyetche’s family prior to
Nova Scotia, we might find he was
related to Dominique who went to
New Caledonia, those that went to
South America and, of course, those
who remained in France.
One of a number of colourful characters in the
family was Guillaume C. (Billy) Goyetche, born in
1882, who served as the police constable in St.
Peters, Nova Scotia. The following is from a
newspaper article published on August 13, 1980.
In earlier times every small community had its
local characters and one of the fondest in St.
Peters memories was the last village
constable, Billy
Goyetche.
Billy's main
occupation was
the hauling of
freight in his
horse-drawn
freight wagon
from the
railway station
to the local
merchants,
moving
household
goods from one house to another, and so on.
He was also the driver of the village hearse,
which he referred to as the Thingamajig. This
old hearse, which is still in the possession of
Alex and Ruth Morrison, had several secret
compartments known to Billy as the 'for'ard
hatch' and the 'after hatch'. Originally
designed to carry necessary gear, Billy was in
the habit of using them as hidden storage
compartments for his wine.
As village constable, Billy had a paddy wagon
which was actually a small dump cart. And as
a drinking man, he sometimes tended to
become more exuberant in the exercise of his
duties after a glass or two. On one occasion,
while carting Bill Kelly to the local lock-up,
Billy was less than gentle with his prisoner. He
more or less tossed Kelly into the paddy
wagon so that Kelly's head was hanging over
one side and bumping against the wheel. But
each time Kelly would try to sit up, Billy
pushed him back down. So that by the time
Kelly arrived at the lock-up, there was a patch
of hair worn right off his head.
One of Billy's jobs as constable was to keep
people lined up and orderly while waiting for
the distribution of the local mail. Some say his
job was made more difficult because the
sorting and handing out of the mail took such
a long time, supposedly because the staff felt
obliged to read each and every letter before
handing it on.
Billy was well liked by the local youngsters but
Halloween is Halloween. Billy was assigned to
guard the fence
near the Cosy
Corner when he
had the urge to
quench his
thirst. When he
returned from
his visit to the
for'ard hatch
what was
blocking his way
but the very
fence he was
supposed to be
guarding.
In exasperation at one year's collection of
pranksters. Billy fired several rounds into the
air from his .38 revolver. Rumor had it that he
was just using blanks but according to one of
the pranksters several bullets were later
found in the shingles of the showhouse.
Near the end of his reign, as the horse was
beginning to give way to the automobile, a
large car was seen speeding toward the
canter of the village. Billy, dressed in his
working clothes, spotted the car and was
waiting in the middle of the village when it
arrived.
Billy waved the car down and proceeded to
lecture the driver on the necessity of driving
at a safe and reasonable speed through St.
Peters.
"And who are you?" the well-dressed woman
behind the wheel asked saucily. Billy reached
up to the strap of his overalls, turned it
outward so that the driver could see his
badge, and warned: "Beware of the man in
the overhauls."
The Last Village Constable
2019 by Darryl Goyetche. All rights reserved