We had arranged to work at Regina until the season was sufficiently advanced for us to take the road, but before leaving Toronto I heard that my caravan was not yet begun. This was exceedingly worrying, as it was now the middle of March, and I wished to start on the prairie by May 1, when the trails should be open. I had only six months' leave from my diocese, and was anxious to make the most of it, and now it seemed as if the whole plan would be spoilt by this delay over the caravan. I determined to stop at Winnipeg on my way to Regina in order to see about the matter, and to bring what influence I could to bear upon the coach-building firm. As a member of the Victoria League,[1]I had an introduction to a Daughter of the Empire at Winnipeg, and I wrote and asked her to use her influence in getting my order for the caravan put through without further delay. Then, arming myself with a letter from an official of the Royal Bank of Canada, stating that I was to be relied upon to carry out my business transactions, I had a "stop-over" for Winnipeg put on our tickets, and on arrival in that town went straight to the coach-builder's office. The Daughter of the Empire had telephoned to the firm, and this, with the official's letter, had the desired effect. The manager was most civil and obliging, and promised to do everything in his power to carry out the contract. To my surprise I found that the order for the caravan had never been received, the firm through which it had been given never having transmitted it. When I pressed for a promise that the van should be finished by May 1, adding that otherwise I should not pay for it, the manager, knowing that I came from the land of labour troubles, said, with a twinkle in his eye: "Yes, if there isn't a strike."
I spent some hours in attending to the details of the van, and then we went on to Regina by the night train, arriving there next morning. The clergy of the Railway Mission gave us hospitality at first, then Winifred Ticehurst went to work in St. Peter's parish, and lived at the vicarage, and I went to St. Mary's parish, and lived in lodgings.
Soon after I arrived in Regina Aylmer Bosanquet asked me to go out to her at Kenaston for a week-end. I was thankful that I was going to make my cross-country journeys by caravan when I found that it was no unusual thing for the trains in Western Canada to be three hours late in starting. This was so much a matter of course that a fellow-traveller—one of the Railway Mission clergy, who was going up to Kenaston to take service on the Sunday—telephoned to the station from the Mission-house before attempting to catch the train. These automatic telephones were a feature of every house in Regina, and were also installed in all parish halls and public buildings. The person using them could switch on to the desired number without calling up through the Exchange.
It was a five hours' journey to Kenaston, which is a typical prairie town—just a wide earth road, with wooden side-walks, and bordered on either side by wooden shacks. Even in Regina all but the main streets are of this unpaved earth, and when the snow is melting or after heavy rain this earth turns into thick and sticky mud (called "gumbo"), which cakes on your boots in lumps of incredible hardness, so that you often find yourself walking with one foot higher than the other. It is so hard that it can only be scraped off with a knife. Of course one has to clean one's own boots, unless one is near a "Shoe-shine Parlour" in somelarge town.
Kenaston is surrounded by illimitable prairie, across which one can see for twenty or thirty miles. When I first saw it the prairie was covered with snow, stained crimson in the West by the red glow of the setting sun. An unforgettable sight.
The town has a lumber-yard and several elevators, both of which are found in every town situated close to the "track"—i.e., the railway. The lumber (trees sawn into boards) is sent down from British Columbia and other parts for building shacks, etc., there being no timber trees on the prairie. The elevator is a high granary for storing the wheat till it is sent away by train.
Small as the place is there are three churches—Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Evangelical Lutheran. In many places there is a "Union" Church and Sunday school. This is a sort of co-operative Nonconformity, the ministers of the different denominations officiating alternately. Presbyterians have united in this matter with the other non-episcopal sects. The plan has been adopted to economise in men and money; but its weak point seems to be that, as the ministers have to please all denominations, the teaching is apt to become wishy-washy. A possible alternative occurred to me—namely, that all the religious bodies of a given area should combine to build a church, which could then be used for their own special services at different hours. But, of course, this plan would not economise in men.
Aylmer Bosanquet's shack had three rooms, all on the ground floor, with a veranda reached by steps. All the wooden houses have a basement beneath them, dug out of the earth and concreted. This helps to keep the houses dry and warm, and in the larger ones the furnace for the central heating is placed here. A stove going night and day is absolutely essential in the winter, as it is often forty or fifty degrees below zero. But the cold is not felt as severely as might be expected because of the dry, sunny atmosphere.
Life in a shack was a distinct contrast from life in New York. My hostesses slept together in a bed 2½ feet wide in order to accommodate their guest. In the dark of the wintry morning, about 7 a.m., I roused up sleepily to find Aylmer Bosanquet bringing me hot water, herself fully dressed and armed with logs, just going out to light the stove in the church, so that it might be warm when the people came at eight o'clock.
St. Colomba's was a typical prairie church, square built, without a chancel, the plainness of the walls only accentuating the richness of the altar furnishings. The walls were hung with framed Nelson pictures, which lent beauty and atmosphere to the church, and suggested meditation on holy things to all who entered. Most of the pictures were Aylmer Bosanquet's gifts, and the little wooden font, with its brass basin, was given by the Sunday School children. The splendid attendance at Holy Communion and Morning Prayer showed that the adornment of the church was the expression of a real love for religion. The hearty way in which the congregation joined in the services was very striking. Their mutual friendliness also was pleasant to see, and gave point to the usual greeting: "Pleased to meet you!" murmured in broken English even by the Chinese member of the congregation, a phrase which left me at a loss for a suitable reply until I hit upon the plan of always saying it first.
Preparation for the afternoon Sunday School was somewhat hampered by the necessity for cooking lunch at the same time, and the peas got burnt while the sand-tray was being prepared. At this unpropitious moment Mr. G., the Mission clergyman, looked in to smoke a surreptitious pipe, removed from the disapproving gaze of his flock, who have no sympathy with this form of self-indulgence on the part of their spiritual pastors. Unfortunately, in peas versus tobacco, peas won, and with a discerning sniff Mr. G. remarked: "You seem to be having very strange food." Which was the more disconcerting as the shack owners had more than once been reproved for their carelessness of their own comfort.
This first experience of a prairie Sunday School was indicative of the problems to be faced. It was held perforce in the church, a necessity with which I was familiar in my little schools on the fells. There were only sixteen children at Kenaston, their ages ranging from two to seventeen, so that the grading of lessons and devotions was difficult. The intelligence and interest displayed by these children were very remarkable. They did credit to the excellent teaching they had received.
The women missioners had classes in three other places, and held preparation classes for young teachers, thus training up a supply of teachers from among the young girls of the neighbourhood. The influence of the missioners' lives on these young girls was very wonderful.
On the Sunday evening there was no service at Kenaston because Mr. G. had gone on to take one elsewhere, so we went round to visit the parents and children. It was noticeable how beloved the missioners were. With some of the old people they held an informal service, which was greatly appreciated.
Aylmer and Nona intended to go out on the prairie that summer, in a different direction from that which I should take, of course, as we wanted to cover as much ground as possible. Aylmer had ordered a Ford roadster, which is a two-seater Ford with a folding camp-equipment attached. This caravanning was a subject of enthralling interest to both of us.
Life in a shack is a very busy one, but one soon got used to the inevitable chores, and remembered to keep the pan of melting snow on the stove always filled, this being the only water available for washing up. The shortage of water is one of the great trials of prairie life. When I remembered Aylmer's house in England, with its well-trained servants, her car and chauffeur, and all the luxuries to which she had always been accustomed, it emphasised all the more strongly the self-sacrifice of her present life.
On the Monday morning I wanted to telephone to Regina, and as my hostess said they were always allowed to use a neighbour's telephone, I took advantage of this neighbourly kindness. Whilst waiting for the long distance call I remembered that mutual assistance is the custom of the West, and helped to make the beds and sweep the house. It was about mid-day before I had finished with the telephone, and so I was pressed to stay for dinner. No newcomer is a stranger in that hospitable country. They were Yorkshire people and seemed delighted to meet another North Country person.
It was a typical West Canadian meal. It began with boiled Indian corn served with white sauce, then meat and potatoes, and then delicious canned fruit served with iced layer cake, the whole accompanied by strong tea. It is difficult to do as Rome does until you know what Rome does do, and with agony the guest realised that she had nothing wherewith to eat the canned fruit before her, having been too engrossed in conversation to notice the removal of her knife, fork, and spoon. Like Chinese chop-sticks, these should have been retained throughout the meal. The scarcity of water necessitates these little economies.
Within the last twenty years Regina, the capital of Saskatchewan, has grown from a colony of wooden huts to a town of over 26,000 inhabitants. Government House and the Parliament Buildings are finely built of stone, but most of the houses are of wood, there being no quarries on the prairie. One not infrequently meets one of these wooden houses moving along the streets—a fascinating accomplishment. When you wish to live in another part of the town you simply have your house lifted on to wooden blocks and skids, and it is then moved bodily with a windlass turned by horses or machinery. One day I went house-hunting quite literally, chasing my elusive quarry from street to street with a camera.
We stayed in Regina for eight weeks, giving lectures andholding demonstration classes. We were invited to visit parents and teachers, which we were very glad to do, as by this means we became acquainted with most interesting people, and saw how life is lived in this part of the world.
There are four Anglican churches in Regina, St. Paul's having a splendid parish hall. But Anglicanism only comes fourth in numbers and wealth here, as it does in Western Canada as a whole. The Presbyterians are the most numerous, and have a fine church with a conspicuous tower. Methodism is also very strong. The Roman Catholics have built a beautiful cathedral on the highest part of the town, with two fine spires which form a landmark for miles around. Underneath the cathedral is a large parish hall with rooms for various purposes, and this economy of space allows room for two tennis-courts in the cathedral grounds.
A large piece of ground has been acquired for the site of the Anglican cathedral, but this has not yet been begun, because it was thought better, whilst funds were low, to build the theological college and the girls' school first. Aylmer Bosanquet gave £1,000 to start this school,[2]a project in which she took great interest. It is under the management of the Anglican sisters of St. John the Divine. It supplies a long-felt want, being the only Anglican Church boarding school in this part of the West. It has now taken over St. Chad's College, which was originally built for divinity students, but as their numbers were greatly depleted by the War, St. Cuthbert's Hostel is now large enough for their needs. Unfortunately, in many cases the children's schooling depends upon the crops. Only comparatively well-to-do parents are able to send their children regularly. Before they have made their way, or when the crops fail, they have to depend upon the public schools. To help such parents several bursaries have been given, but others are needed.
After my week-end at Kenaston I settled down to work in Regina until the trails were ready. My vicar made arrangements for me to lodge with a charming family—a Mr. andMrs. W. and their two daughters. They had come out from England about twenty years before, and the girls were thorough Canadians and very delightful creatures. Mrs. W. made me feel like one of the family, and mothered me in countless ways. She taught me how to use the Canadian washing-machine, a thing not unlike a churn. You wash the clothes simply by turning a handle—so many times for white things and so many times for coloured. She also showed me how to iron my blouses, and, above all, helped me to buy the equipment for the caravan. Her advice here was invaluable, as she not only knew the best "stores" and what a thing ought to cost, but she also interpreted Canadian terminology, such as "coal oil" for paraffin, "wood alcohol" for methylated spirits, and "gasolene" for petrol.
Mr. W. was equally helpful, and I soon came to regard him as an encyclopedia of useful information, especially with regard to practical business matters. Having lived on the prairie, he also gave me many valuable tips about prairie life.
The girls were members of the choir, and one was a Sunday School teacher, and by meeting their friends and going about with them I gained an insight into the life of young Canada. Pretty faces, very smart clothes, instant friendliness, swiftness in uptake, a keen interest in work and play, and a worthy ambition are some of the characteristics of these young people. The "movies" and ice-cream play a large part in their lives. The girls usually marry very young and have a large circle of admirers from whom to choose. Winifred Ticehurst sketched them as follows in one of her letters: "Choir girls, mortar boards and tassels, most chic; surplices and cassocks, curls each side of mortar boards . . . white Eton collars like little boys."
One of the social activities which interested me very much was the Canadian Girls in Training, organised by the Council on Girls' Work. They gave a banquet while I was in Regina, and one of the W. girls asked me to go as her "mother," it being the custom for each of them to invite a parent or some older person. I was much struck by the excellent speeches made by the girls. They explained the object of the organisation, and gracefully thanked all those who had helped towards its success.
Another very interesting social gathering which I attended was a reception given by the Daughters of the Empire in the Parliament Buildings. I had received introductions to all the members of this association living in any of the towns where I was likely to go. The President thought that it would be interesting for us to meet the members who were coming in from all parts of Saskatchewan, and who might help us on the caravan tour. We were also introduced to Premier Martin, who was then Minister of Education for Saskatchewan. He gave a most interesting address on the rural schools, and after hearing about our project promised to give us introductions to the day school teachers in the places we hoped to visit.
Further official encouragement resulted from an introduction to the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Richard Lake. He welcomed me as a compatriot, as he had been educated at Heversham Grammar School, in Westmorland. We had an interesting talk on prairie trails and motoring, and the need for religious education in the day schools. He was strongly in favour of this, and expressed regret for the continual opposition to it.
The Daughters of the Empire sent the editor of a Regina newspaper to interview me. She questioned me on what I had done during the War, the reason for our coming out, and the places we intended to visit. The result was an embarrassingly flattering article in the local paper, which was copied by theSaskatchewan Star. A few weeks later the following notice appeared in another paper: "Bachelors, beware! Two women are going in a caravan on the prairie. This is Leap Year!"
In Regina I met some very nice girls who had come out under the Fellowship of the Maple Leaf.[3]They had come to teach in the prairie schools, and a good many were now in training at the Normal School. I gave a tea-party for them, and they told me a good deal about their work, andin return showed great interest in our caravan scheme. Those of them who were going out to the prairie that summer said that they hoped we would visit them. I was very glad of this opportunity of explaining our hopes and aims to these teachers, for I knew it had been suggested that they should help with religious education, either by starting Sunday Schools or by giving instruction after school hours during the week. I foresaw that our great difficulty would be to make our work permanent in districts where there were no clergy, and I realised the enormous value of the help of these trained women. They would already have some knowledge of teaching methods, and some acquaintance with the Bible and Church doctrine. It would be a simple matter to show them how to apply psychological methods to religious education, and, helped with lesson courses and pictures, they could easily carry on any Sunday Schools we might be able to start in their neighbourhood.
We did not talk shop all the time; the "green Englishwomen" were put through a severe catechism on Canadian as it is spoken. But the W. family having instructed me carefully, I came off better than might have been expected.
I saw a good deal of the deaconess in charge of the Maple Leafs. She found them comfortable lodgings, and befriended them in every possible way. She asked us to look up any of them whom we came across in the out-of-the-way prairie schools. Her only way of visiting was by train, and some of these schools were far from any "track." She was very kind to us and helped us in many ways.
Whilst I was in Regina I had to plan out the organisation of the caravan tour. I was given the names of a large number of places to visit and the routes we were to follow, but no names of the clergy in the different "districts" (parishes). I had no idea how far apart these places were, or how long it would take to get from place to place in the caravan. I therefore got a map and worked out the mileage between the places. On the earth trails outside Regina I had often seen motor-cars stuck in mud-holes, and I had noticed the deep ruts of these unmetalled roads, so I concluded that we could not make more than ten miles an hour at most in the caravan. On these two calculations I based the mileage we might hope to cover.
When at last I obtained the names of the clergy on my proposed route, I found that there were large areas in which there were no Anglican clergymen at all. I then wrote to the clergy, and, lacking these, the leading laity when I could find their names. In some cases this was impossible until I neared their district. In these letters I made the following suggestions. We should like to come and stay a week in their locality, living and sleeping in the caravan and doing our own cooking (I wished to make it clear that we should not be burdensome), but we should be glad to receive invitations and hospitality at times in order to get to know the people. Where there was a Sunday School in existence, we proposed to superintend the school and teach, while the teachers watched. Where there was no Sunday School, we should like to have the children gathered together to form one. In this case we hoped that prospective teachers would come to be shown how to teach, that they might carry on the school when we had started it, helped by the books and pictures which we proposed to leave them. We also requested the trustees to allow us to give Scripture lessons in the day schools in the half-hour allotted for that purpose, and also expressed our great desire to meet the parents, that we might discuss with them the problems of religious education.
I received most kind replies to these letters. The writers offered us a hearty welcome, and said how pleased they would be to have people coming out to them, for, as a rule, they had little help in these matters, beyond an invitation to a summer school just when the harvest was in full swing.
I should add here what I had been most careful to explain—namely, that we were given diocesan authority for our work by Archdeacon Dobie, D.D., who was acting as Commissary for the Bishop owing to the latter's breakdown through overwork, and by Archdeacon Burgett, the Chairman of the Sunday School Diocesan Association, who was also Diocesan Missioner.
Whilst in Regina waiting for the caravan to be ready for the road I took steps to be ready for the van. I had never driven a Ford, but Aylmer Bosanquet's Ford roadster arrived whilst I was in Regina, and she allowed me to have lessons on it. It was quite easy to drive, and on the second day I took it out alone. I also went to a motor school and had a course of lessons on Ford running repairs and vulcanising tyres. The head man was exceedingly nice, and took infinite pains to help me in every way. I was the only woman in the shop, but there were a great many men learning motor-tractor work preparatory to working on the prairie farms. Most of them had been in the army. They took a most embarrassing interest in me and my future plans, putting me through the usual catechism, with the inevitable leading question: "Are you married?" They seemed to think it was not fit for two women to go out alone on the prairie, as in Western Canada women hardly ever drive outside the towns, and never do their own running repairs—and seldom even oil their engines, judging from the sound.
On May 1 I heard that the caravan was ready, but, unfortunately, the trails were not yet open. However, spring comes suddenly on the prairie. On May 2 there was a blizzard of snow, and on May 5 it was like an English midsummer day. Archdeacon Burgett advised us not to fetch our caravan until his clergy had arrived at Regina with theirs, as they could then tell us what the trails were like. They came in on the Saturday, May 8, having had a very rough time with snow-drifts and mud-holes. They had bent their back lamp and damaged a rear mudguard. I noticed that they had no shock absorbers, which accounted for a good deal of the damage. They gave us a book with directions and maps of the blazed trail between Winnipeg and Regina, and gave us a lurid description of the perils of the way, apparently wishing to dissuade us from what they considered a mad attempt. But as I had mapped out the caravan itinerary with but little margin, I did not wish to lose any time in getting off, so Winifred Ticehurst and I started for Winnipeg late on Sunday evening (after working pretty hard all day). We took a blanket or two and a little spirit lamp and saucepan as our sole camping equipment. The parish hall, in which our sleeping-bags, etc., were stored, was locked, and the caretaker had gone to church.
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We arrived at Winnipeg at 11.30 a.m. on Monday, and went straight to the coachbuilder's. The manager showed us the caravan, which was all ready for the road, except that they had not put non-skid tyres on the rear as ordered. I pointed this out, and the manager said that the mistake had been made by the Ford Company, but he would send the car down to have it put right in the morning. We had expected to start that afternoon, but were told that the car had not yet been passed by the Government officials, who were going to register it as a commercial vehicle to escape taxation. As it was a public holiday this could not be done until next day.
The caravan was much like a tradesman's van in appearance. It was painted black, with "Sunday School Mission, Anglican Church," lettered in red and gold on one side. The driving seat could be completely closed in when necessary, for, besides the wind-screen, there were half-glass doors on either side, which in hot weather could be taken off and put behind the mattresses. There were two doors at the back of the van, which opened outwards. As the side doors had their catches inside, when we wished to leave the caravan we got out at the back and padlocked these doors, thus making all secure. The back of the driving-seat was hinged and folded forward at night, so that the six-foot mattresses which were strapped backto the van sides during the day could come down over it. Beneath one mattress was a wooden locker, and under the other a wooden shelf with legs. There was also a shelf on one wall of the van. When I got back to Regina, before starting out on the prairie, I added further items, which the run from Winnipeg had shown to be desirable. An electric bulb was fitted to the roof of the van, and a reflecting glass put on the left side. I also got an inspection lamp for use at night in case anything went wrong with the engine. This could be attached to the electric current which supplied the bulb. We racked our brains to think of some means of keeping the things on the shelf, and finally nailed on wire netting, which we hooked to the roof. This proved very effective, but so great was the jar that the dancing pots and pans wore it out from time to time. We made a bag to hold our tidiest clothes, and blue cotton covers for the mattresses and a bag to keep our pillows clean. We also nailed linoleum on the floor of the van, because dust and draughts came through cracks in the wood-work, and this made the floor easy to keep clean.
The caravan had a Ford chassis with electric starter and head lights. I had heard that for the rough prairie trails nothing could beat a Ford engine. Only a car with a high clearance is of any use on these earth roads, and whereas a heavy car would stick in a mud-hole the light Ford can get through. Then again, even little "towns" which are nothing more than hamlets stock Ford spare parts, both in garages and in the ordinary "hardware stores"—i.e., iron-mongers. I had had two extra petrol tanks put on the foot-board, each holding 8½ gallons, so that we could carry 25 gallons in all. The tool box, also, was on the foot-board, so the spare tyre had to be strapped inside the caravan above the driving seat. We had very strong shock absorbers to prevent the body smashing the back axle and springs when we went through very deep holes, and sub-radius rods to strengthen the steering-rod and front axle. I carried three spare tubes as I had not remountable rims, and a pyrene extinguisher fixed inside the car in case of fire through damage to the petrol tanks on the rough trails.
I fitted out the caravan in the light of what I had learnt about the prairie from the Regina Railway Mission clergy lecturing in England, and from books on the subject. From these sources I knew something about the condition of the roads and the storms one might expect. This was why I insisted on having a caravan rather than a Ford roadster, for though the lightness of the latter would enable it to get through a mud-hole where a caravan might stick, I guessed that a prairie thunderstorm with its terrific winds and torrential rains would sweep away the tent and hood of the roadster like straws, leaving the occupants homeless.
As we could not get away that day we were obliged to find lodgings for the night, and had not the least idea where to go. I would have asked hospitality from the Daughter of the Empire to whom I had an introduction, but we did not care to present ourselves to a stranger in our travel-stained condition, and we had brought no evening clothes with us. Winifred suggested that we should try to find a Y.W.C.A., which we did. The head received us very kindly, and gave us cheap and comfortable accommodation. Had we not been so tired we might have attended a concert in their concert-hall.
Next morning we went to a store which sold camping outfits and bought several things, in particular a cunning arrangement of aluminium cooking utensils which fitted neatly into a canvas bag. Canadians make a speciality of this kind of thing, as people often camp out when on a shooting or fishing expedition. I also had to get several extra tools for the car, as very few were provided with it. Whilst I did this Winifred went off to buy food.
When I went to fetch the caravan I found that a mechanic was just about to take it to the Ford Company to have the non-skid tyres put on, so I accompanied him. I noticed that it was not easy to drive in traffic, you could not see out of the back, and as yet it had no reflecting glass. The engine was very stiff as it had just come out of the assembly shop and had not been run, so it was difficult to steer and to regulate the speed. Also it swung a good deal as the body was very long, and the shock absorbers helped to make it swing. Though Main Street, Winnipeg, is much wider than Oxford Street, it also contains much more traffic, including trams, so it was not surprising that we nearly ran into a motor bicycle and other vehicles. Then the pyrene extinguisher fell out, and I had to rescue it from under the nose of a tram.
Seeing what Winnipeg traffic was like, and how stiff the engine was, and also not knowing the way out of the town, I thought of the suggestion made by the Regina motor school, where I had learnt Ford running repairs. This was that I should ask a mechanic of their Winnipeg branch to look over the engine and see if it were rightly adjusted, and then take us out of Winnipeg. Leaving the caravan at the Ford Company, I went to find this firm. The address given to me proved to be a barber's shop. This was rather disconcerting, but, on inquiring the way, I found that it belonged to the same firm, and they directed me to the motor shops. They sent a mechanic with me, but he seemed all the time to be in a great hurry, and kept looking at his watch. I left him looking at the engine while I went after something or other, and when I came back he was gone. I then saw that I should have to take the van out of Winnipeg myself, as they could not spare a mechanic from the Ford Company.
What must be must, so Winifred and I started off and drove into Main Street, with its surging stream of trams and cars. The rule of the road here is the opposite of the English rule, all cars having a left-hand drive, so I thought it best to cross over to the right side of the street. But just as I had turned across the tram-lines a policeman stopped me, saying that I must cross further up at the regular crossing-place. The engine, being stiff, stopped dead, and there we were, right in the way of the trams. However, by the help of the self-starter, I got it going again and tried to turn, but the steering-wheel was so stiff that I nearly ran into the pavement. We went on further up the street until we came to a red notice which marked the crossing-place, but as I had to drive slowly through the traffic, the engine kept stopping, so I turned into a side street, and with a good deal of difficulty found my way out of the town. With every mile the engine ran better, and after fifty miles it went quite easily.
The prairie trails are simply earth roads, it being impossible to get stone for them. The very best trail is much like the worst cart road in England. The trail is made by scooping out the earth on either side of a wide track, and throwing it into the middle, where the clods are baked as hard as bricks by the sun. These clods would knock the bottom out of any car which had not a high clearance—the more so as a used trail has ruts about two feet deep. Trail-making is usually done by a scoop drawn by two horses, but in some places a kind of motor-plough is used. In dry weather a simple track across the prairie made by carts and horses is much easier going, but these tracks are impossible when the snow is melting, or after the heavy thunderstorms of summer. Therefore all the main trails have to be raised in the middle to let off the water, which would otherwise stand till it formed sloughs. When once on the trail you have to keep there, as it is either bordered by a three-foot bank whence the earth was dug, or else it slopes straight into a slough. These sloughs are like great ponds, their bottoms are covered with deep mud, and if it once gets in, a car sinks deeper and deeper, and cannot be got out. The sloughs are very beautiful, reflecting the wonderful blue of the sky, or the marvellous colours of sunset. A prairie sunset is quite beyond description. I have never seen such colours in England.
The flowers on the prairie are lovely, forming a changing kaleidoscope of colour throughout the summer months. They border the trails and the sloughs, and grow in riotous profusion on unbroken ground. When we first took the trail I specially noticed a lovely little pale mauve anemone.
There are also many beautiful birds on the prairie, the most striking being the red-winged blackbird—a very big blackbird with glinting red feathers on the top of his wings. There was also a robin about twice the size of his English cousin, and a yellow-breasted bird which sang a very sweet little song, but never seemed to finish it. There were prairie chickens of a greyish brown, wild duck and large snipe, and a sort of water-hen.
The jack-rabbit was a very ubiquitous person, always jumping across the trail. He is really a hare, greyish-brown in summer and white in winter. Another local inhabitant who made his presence felt was the gopher, which looks like a cross between a squirrel and a weasel. They make their holes in the wheel-ruts of the trails, as we found by bumping violently over their excavations. Badgers adopt the same inconvenient habit, as we discovered to our cost when shot suddenly to the roof of the caravan. Fortunately, they are not so common as gophers. The latter do a great deal of damage to the wheat, so that the farmers are obliged to poison them and the children are given so much per tail; consequently I had little compunction in running over one occasionally when it sat up in the middle of the trail just in front of the wheel. At first I wondered why these beasties chose the trail for their burrows when they had all the enormous prairie at their disposal, until it was explained to me that the hard ground formed a better front door to their holes, as in soft ground the soil would fall in.
We were interested in watching the farming operations en route. They were disking and ploughing and sowing, generally driving six horses abreast. The machines were immensely wide, too large to pass through our widest gates, and it was a heavy alluvial soil, thus needing much horse-power. We also saw a large number of motor tractors in use.
All the main trails are bordered with telephone poles, and a red blaze on these poles indicates the way—i.e., an R or an L tells you when to turn to the right or left. At least, it is supposed to tell you, but as both letters are usually on the sameside of the pole, it is up to you to guess whether you turn to the right to go to Winnipeg or to Regina. The matter is further complicated by the letters being made of paper on some trails, in which case they are generally half torn off.
The trails, like the towns, are laid out in squares. In a town the avenues run east and west and the streets north and south. On the trail, when you are running north and south you find a trail running east and west every two miles; and when you are running east and west you find a trail going north and south every mile. But this arrangement is complicated as you draw near to the Arctic Circle, because as the trails are laid out in squares, these squares grow narrower in this direction and so an extra trail, called a correction line, is added at intervals. Also now and again an old Indian trail upsets one's calculations. You never talk of right and left on the prairie, but always of the points of the compass, and these points form the first lesson which a child learns. Yet the actual compass is of no use on these rough roads, as it gets out of order. One learns to steer by the sun and stars.
It is useless to ask for directions, you will merely be told "Go five miles north, and three miles east and one mile south and four miles west, and then look for the elevator at So-and-So. Ye can't miss it." But you can miss it, very easily. Again, you are often told that a place is "quite close" and find it to be at least five miles away.
There are no landmarks on these trails, except the elevators in the towns near the track. The sections are marked by a small heap of stones at their corners. There is scarcely a fence on the prairie, there being no stock to speak of and no wood at hand for posts. There are also no sign-posts or danger signals, and for lack of the latter we had a narrow escape of finishing our tour before it had well begun. Soon after we left Winnipeg, running through the main street of a little town, we suddenly saw a great C.P.R. train cross the road in front of us with no warning whatever. Had we been a minute or two sooner we must have been killed. It is no unusual thing for the track to cross the trail, but in this instance the houses prevented us from seeing the approach of the train.
Meeting another car was an awkward matter as it meant climbing out of the ruts and running with one wheel in the gutter. Sometimes, in trying to avoid a mud hole or something, we ran at such an angle that I only kept my seat by clinging to the steering-wheel, and how Winifred kept hers is a mystery. Straw and sand are sometimes thrown into these mud holes, in a vain endeavour to fill them up. When stuck fast in one it was little consolation to be told that it was probably an old buffalo wallow.
This is how Winifred described the trail in one of her letters: "The road was long, the ruts were deep, the sloughs were lined with mud. The road was narrow, and on each side those watery sloughs did gleam with tempting sunset gleams of cherry, pink and gold, a warm, warm glow. They said 'Oh, guide your car into our gleams and spend the night with us.'"
The first night we camped near a farm-house so as to be able to get water. We did this whenever it was possible. Going to bed in a caravan proved to be an acquired art. First we had to put all the camping equipment, etc., either in front of the driving seat or outside the van covered over with a waterproof sheet (there was always a very heavy dew at night); then we let down the mattresses and arranged the bedding. Next came the difficulty of undressing, there being barely 12 inches between the mattresses when they were let down. We could not make a dressing-room of the prairie because we generally camped near a farm, and anyhow the clarity of the atmosphere and the flat ground made one visible from a long distance. This first night we sat on our mattresses and wriggled out of our clothes, there being no room in the van to stand upright. Afterwards we adopted the plan of going to bed one by one. We put upthe tent for a second room whenever we stayed long enough in a place to make it worth while. We had been obliged to do this trip without our sleeping-bags, and so were very cold at night, as the temperature then falls very low even in the summer. You really need a sleeping-bag as well as blankets on the prairie. Our excellent health throughout the tour was probably largely due to our precautions in this matter. My sleeping-bag had already done much service, having been lent me by a cousin who had used it on the French and Italian fronts, and my mosquito net was a loan from a padre who had served at Salonica. This preserved me from much discomfort and blood-poisoning, as later in the summer the mosquitoes were very ferocious, especially to us newcomers.
We started on our tour with a due regard for appearances, both of us armed with travelling looking-glasses. But these soon got smashed in our bumpy progress, and henceforth we contented ourselves with tidying our hair from our shadows cast on the ground or our reflections in the wind-screen, or, Hyacinth-like, gazed fondly into the sloughs.
I turned out first in the morning, as I was going to cook the breakfast, and found it decidedly cold. When I went to the farm for milk and eggs the nice woman would not let me pay for them. We found great generosity wherever we went. We had brought sufficient water from Winnipeg in the ferrostate flask for tea, but this was too precious to use for washing up, so we had our first experience of getting water out of a prairie well. This shortage of water and the expense of boring very deep wells is one of the farmers' great trials. In certain places you have to go down forty feet for water. If there is no gasolene engine or windmill it has to be drawn up with a bucket and rope. This is by no means easy, the problem being to prevent the bucket from floating empty on the surface of the water. To avoid this you have to swing the bucket so that it falls in sideways and fills itself, but if you are not very careful when drawing it up it will sway violently and spill half the contents. On this first occasion, having proudly drawn up my water, I essayed to take it away in our canvas bucket, but not knowing the habits of the latter it turned over just as I had got it filled. Afterwards I circumvented it by weighting it with a stone or propping it up.
When at last we were all ready to start, the engine unfortunately wasn't. I thought that the sparking plugs had probably got damp with the heavy dew, or had got oily, so I took them out and cleaned them and also cleaned the carburetter. In the meantime Winifred went off to the neighbouring town to fetch help from a garage, but they were all too busy with motor tractors to come. Presently two farm men came and talked to me and helped to undo screws, but did not seem to know much about a car. The small boy from the farm saved the situation by his cheerful chatter. He kept telling me that the radiator was like a letter-box.
At last I got the car to start, and then it went very well. The trail was very sandy, bordered with coarse grass and prickly scrub, and there were hills at intervals. The car skidded badly in the sand, and once swung round broadside on up a bank, and nearly turned over. We had to cut down some of the thorny bushes in order to get it out without damaging the headlights. We had not gone much further before the car stuck in the sand again, going up a hill. Some men came by in a car and advised me to tighten the gear pedal, which I did. New cars need continual adjustment at first, of course. When we had done about fifty miles I thought that the engine smelt hot and found that the fan was not working, so I screwed up the belt and it was all right for a time. We passed through several towns that day, and stopped for the night near a slough, outside Alexandra. For the first time we were hushed to sleep by the "Canadian Band," as the frog chorus is called.
The next day was Ascension Day, and we hoped to reach some town in time for a service, but difficulties beset us from the first. I had to get some gasolene out of the side tanks, and this meant siphoning it, an exceedingly unpleasant performance, no less than sucking it through a tube to start the flow. Then the electric starter went wrong, and the engine was terribly hard to crank, as the starting-handle had not been used. At last we were off, but the trail was heavy with sand, and the engine got very hot and presently stuck fast at a hill. I found that the fan had gone wrong again, and took it down, and while trying to put it right found that a nut had not been properly adjusted. A man came along in a car and at once went to my aid. Then two more men came by and also stopped to help, and when we had adjusted the fan they all three pushed the van off and we went up the hill.
But our troubles were not over yet. An immense hole, about five feet deep, yawned across our path as we topped the hill, and there was nothing for it but to plunge through it and down the hill beyond. The caravan swayed so violently that I expected every moment that we should be upset, but it always righted itself just in time, though everything on the shelves was hurled to the floor—a continual occurrence until we put up the netting. The sand was so thick here that we got on to a grass track beside the trail, hoping for better going, but this soon ended, and we had to bump back on to the trail again. In so doing we stuck fast in the ditch. By racing the engine I got her out, but we soon stuck fast again, this time up to our axles in sand. After we had tried in vain for an hour to get the car out, we gave it up and sat down by the roadside to read the service for the day in our prayer-books. It was easy to enter into the spirit of the festival out there on the wide prairie, with its immense distances and glorious blue sky. We were about thirty miles from any house.
After a time we started to dig out the wheels with our hands, but just then two of the men who had helped us before came back along the trail. "How many more times shall we have to help you two girls out of a hole?" they cried, and with much good nature proceeded to assist us, until at last, with reversing and pushing and putting our blankets under the wheels, we got out. We had to go half a mile back and along another trail, but at last reached Verdun. We only did twenty-seven miles that day.
We didn't stick fast anywhere next day, but the trails were very bad, and we were shaken to pieces. My armsbecame very stiff with the vibration from the steering-wheel, and sometimes it was nearly knocked out of my hands when a front wheel struck big clods. One had to hang on like grim death. After a time, however, I quite got into the way of driving in ruts. We stopped for the night at Wapallo, and were just going to have supper when the vicar came along and saw our van, whereupon he promptly took us home with him. His wife was most kind to us, and at once supplied our greatest (and most obvious) need by inviting us to wash. A real wash is a great treat on the prairie, where water is so scarce. After supper we went to evensong in the pretty little prairie church, near which we afterwards camped. We had done ninety-two miles that day.
Next day, when we stopped at Medicine Hat for gasolene, a man came out of a store close by, and, seeing the van, introduced himself as the superintendent of the Anglican Sunday School there. He was most anxious that we should stop over Sunday, but we thought it best to get to Regina as soon as possible. As we neared the town we had a narrow escape from a slough. Going into Regina there was a very bad turn, in negotiating which the car swung round and one of the front wheels went into a muddy ditch. By putting on the brake with great force, I managed to stop her from plunging farther in. I think I was getting a little tired. We had done 120 miles that day. Winifred went off to find help, but a big motor lorry came along as I sat waiting with the car, and stopped at once, seeing I was in difficulties. The driver called out that he would pull me out if I had a rope. I always carried one, and with its aid he soon towed me out backwards. When I thanked him he said: "You're Scotch, aren't you? I was in a hospital in Scotland during the War, and the nurses were so good to me that I'm glad to help any girls from the Old Country."
Everyone seemed both pleased and surprised to see us back, though unfeignedly astonished that one so "green" should have been able to bring the car through alone. It is 412 miles from Winnipeg to Regina—farther than from London to Glasgow. Far from being exhausted by our adventures, we felt braced up by the glorious sunshine andinvigorating air of the prairie, and we did full justice to the feast of welcome prepared. Folks were interested in the caravan, and various remarks were made about it. Even to our fond eyes it could not be called exactly beautiful, but it was rather cruel of Canon X. to observe: "Ah! a Black Maria, I see."
On the Monday following, while I was in the midst of preparations for our start that week, Nona Clarke rang me up to say that Aylmer Bosanquet was very ill, and could I come at once to help to bring her into Regina. I had about ten minutes in which to catch the train. Helped by kind Mrs. W., I bundled a few things into a suit-case and ran. But I had to stop at a drug-store to get some sort of stimulant for Aylmer, as Nona had said that she seemed on the verge of a collapse. It is in a case like this that prohibition is so inconvenient. I could get neither brandy nor sal-volatile without a doctor's certificate—and yet I had often seen people who did notlookill produce a certificate and get the stimulant they asked for. "Is there nothing you can give me?" I asked in desperation, and the shopman handed me some kind of ammonia, saying that was the only thing he could let me have. The bottle bore no directions, and when I asked how one should take it, and whether the dose would be about the same as sal-volatile, he replied indifferently: "Oh, yes, I think so."
I just caught the train, which then steamed out of the station and waited an hour at North Regina.
I found Aylmer very ill indeed, hardly able to speak, and without any of those little comforts which mean so much in sickness. The shack was all in disorder, too, as they were packing up to go on the prairie in the Ford roadster. Although she was so weak and ill she was full of interest in our work, and made me describe the journey from Winnipeg, but I soon saw that conversation was too much for her. Nona telephoned to a doctor in Regina, asking him to come out next day to see if the patient were fit to travel, in which case he was to accompany her back by the next train.
All that night a dust storm raged, succeeded next morning by torrential rain. I went out to get milk and bread for breakfast, buying the latter from the Christian Chinaman, who inquired anxiously for Aylmer, and said, when I wished to pay for my purchase, "Eef it ees for de missionarees you need not pay." Then there was the problem of how to get the invalid to the station, as the shack was by this time surrounded with a sea of black mud which no car could traverse. But Nona found a man with a dray who promised to come if needed. The doctor's train was so late that there was only a quarter of an hour between his arrival and the departure of the return train. But he made a hasty examination, and said that though she was very weak it would be better to take her into Regina. It is so difficult to get nurses or medical attendance out on the prairie.[4]
I dressed her with difficulty, and she lay on the bed while we all combined to lift it bodily on to the dray. But the rain and wind were still so strong that Nona had to kneel beside the bed holding on fast to the rugs, while I held an umbrella over Aylmer's head. It was pathetic to see the people waving good-bye from their houses as she passed, for though they did not guess how ill she was, they knew that she was leaving them, perhaps for ever. Arrived at Regina, we took her to the Grey Nuns' hospital.
I had now only three days in which to complete our preparations if we were to start on the date fixed, which it was necessary to do if we were to fulfil our engagements. I went to see Aylmer as often as I could, and of course drove the caravan up to the hospital for her to see from her window. It grieved me very much (apart from my anxiety about her illness) to think that she could now take no part in this adventure, the idea of which was all her own. Indeed, this was to prove her only glimpse of our van, in the details of which she would have revelled, for before we returned from the prairie she had been ordered to British Columbia and then on to California. I never saw her again.