CHAPTER IX

SANDSTORMS AND SUNDAY SCHOOLS

We had arranged to start on Friday, May 21, and the day dawned beautifully fine. I fetched the caravan round to the parish hall, where our things were stored, and we loaded up. This was no easy task, for unless you did it very carefully you could not get everything in. The packages reached from floor to roof now that we were fully equipped. Whilst we were busily engaged in this task we did not notice that the weather had changed, but presently a great wind arose, and then an ominous darkness blotted out the sun. We knew that that horror of horrors, a fierce dust storm, was raging. It was a veritable blackness that might be felt; and when we went to say good-bye to some Regina friends they begged us not to start. One of them travelled for a firm, and he assured us that no commercial traveller would venture out in such a storm. It was bound to get worse and worse, he said, and he did his best to dissuade us. But I had arranged to get to Buffalo Lake by Sunday, and I had already been obliged to alter the date once owing to the delay in getting the caravan, so I felt that I could not put them off any more. If one delays for difficulties one will never do anything. So we started.

The wind whipped and whistled around the caravan, and blew the earth in great clouds over us, and formed huge drifts on the trail, which made the car skid as on loose sand. It was distressing to remember that this earth was full of newly-sown wheat. It was hard enough to see the way when we started, though Winifred held the map and directed me; but after sunset it was impossible to go on, as the headlights could not penetrate the dense clouds of dust. However, we had gone a good distance, and therefore decided to camp. Meanwhile our late host, at the urgent instigation of his wife, was searching the trail for our mangled remains.

The next morning was fine, and we started early; but quite soon we struck sand, and after the storm of the day before it lay in drifts. I tried to rush through at full speed, but with a tremendous skid the car lurched sideways and stuck fast in a drift. We got out, and tried to jack it up in order to wind rope round a wheel, as I had been told that Parsons' chains are useless in sand. To crown our misery the wind now began to blow hard, and we were almost blinded by the flying sand, which stung our eyes cruelly. In the dust-storm of the previous day we were spared this torture by the wind-screen and side-doors being kept shut. But help was at hand. One after another six men in all stopped their cars and came to our assistance. It was easier for them to get through the sand-drifts than for us because their cars were so much lighter, although a good deal of the caravan was made of a kind of stout beaver-boarding to save weight, but this was counteracted by our camping equipment, etc.

Our helpers pulled us out with great difficulty, and we continued on our way through Moose Jaw. Towards evening we sighted Buffalo Lake church and steered for it, expecting that the vicarage would be near by. But before we reached it, in trying to negotiate a mud hole, we stuck fast once more. A farmer ploughing near came to our aid, and fastened his team to our rope. One of the trials of a mud hole was that when you got out to adjust the rope, etc., your boots became thickly coated with sticky mud, so that you could scarcely work your gear pedal. It was also exceedingly difficult to drive the car close at the heels of restive horses. They hated the noise of the engine, and were all ready to kick; and when the car reached firm ground it rushed forward almost on to the horses, and was only stopped by jamming on the brakes.

Thanks to this timely aid we reached our goal in good time to make camp. But the wind was still blowing strong, and as I was cooking on the Primus it suddenly burst into flames. Thinking the caravan in danger, Winifred hastily threw earth on it--which put an effectual end to my culinary efforts for that night. We made a fair meal on the food we had with us, and just as we had finished a buggy came along with the vicar and his family. They had been shopping in the neighbouring town. From the van he guessed our identity, and came up to ask how we had managed our cooking in this wind. We tactfully evaded this point, and assured him that we had made a good meal. But we were not sorry when he said that next day we must have meals at the vicarage.

The next day was Whit Sunday, and we were very glad to be where we could have an early Celebration. So widely scattered is the population that there was only one other worshipper besides ourselves. After breakfast the vicar was going to take duty at a place about five miles away, so I offered to drive him in the caravan as there was another dust storm blowing up and he had nothing but an open buggy. As he was the first vicar I had driven I determined not to disgrace myself by sticking on the trail, and so went full tilt all the way and successfully ploughed through the drifts. We skidded and swayed a good deal, but my passenger seemed thoroughly to enjoy it. When we arrived, however, we found that none of the congregation had cared to face the storm; we therefore did a little visiting and returned home.

There was a regular weekly Sunday School here in which two of the parents taught. It was brilliantly fine in the afternoon and the children and their parents were all able to come. Car after car drove up, until there was a long line of them. The children were most beautifully dressed, with dainty white frocks and pretty hats. The parents and the elder boys and girls were also extremely well turned out. Indeed, it is one of the most striking features of prairie life that, with all their heavy manual work, the people dress well when not engaged in actual toil--a fine example of personal self-respect.

It was delightful to see this school, conducted by two of the mothers. We longed to give professional assistance but hesitated to offer it, as of course the idea of constructive criticism and demonstration lessons was quite foreign to them. But an opportunity for the latter presented itself when we gave round "Hope of the World" postcards and the children began to ask questions about them, whereupon the mothers appealed to me to give the explanation.

After the school there was a Family Service (characteristic of the prairie) at which all are present, from the father to the infant in arms. There were a great many baptisms, which made one think of Whitsuntide in the early Church. A delightful feature of the service was the freedom with which the children ran out to play when tired. I could see them from the window jumping in and out of the cars. But when they had worked off their superfluous energy they came back quietly to their places.

After the service we were introduced to all the people, and one young man remarked: "We thought your car was a motor ambulance and supposed there'd been a scrap."

The fervour of these people, and their evident appreciation of the services of the Church, made a strong impression on me. It was shown by their coming long distances--twenty miles in some cases--after working very hard for very long hours all the week.

In the evening I drove the vicar to another church for evensong. It was coated so thickly with dust from the storm of the morning that we had to clean it down before a service could be held.

Next morning the vicar showed us his stable, and we photographed his special pride, a handsome colt which he had broken himself. We had had a most delightful week-end, and were much cheered by our kind reception from the vicar and his wife, and felt quite weak with laughter at the former's amusing stories.

In the afternoon we started for Eyebrow, but did not get very far that day, as we stuck in the mud and had to wait to be pulled out. We arrived at Eyebrow next day, however, and went to see the layman in charge of the mission. It had not been possible as yet to arrange for us to visit any schools, so we decided to go on and spend some time here on our return journey. They entertained us most hospitably to supper, and allowed us to put our baggage in the church porch as it was raining in torrents. We next made a two days' journey on to Riverhurst, and on arrival went into a Chinaman's restaurant for supper. The food in these restaurants is both good and cheap. A three-course dinner costs only about one and eightpence in English money. As we were comfortably eating our supper we were surprised and rather alarmed to see a district policeman making straight for us. He put us through a searching catechism. Who were we and where did we come from? A brother officer had seen us and put him on our trail. We told him who we were and whose authority was behind us, and after a few more questions he seemed satisfied and left us to finish our supper in peace. We longed to know what crimes he had mentally charged us with.

We found that there was a Union Sunday school at Riverhurst which all the children attended, including the only Anglican children in the place, four in number. It seemed hopeless to try to start a Sunday School for these four, so we noted them for enrolment in the Sunday School by Post, and went on towards Elbow.

We started in a dust storm, the unpleasantness of which custom cannot stale. I took some photographs of it, however. Presently we thought that we must have taken the wrong trail to Elbow, and so tried to turn on what looked like firm grass, but the ground was soft underneath, and the heavily-weighted car stuck fast, sinking in up to the axles. It was far away from any sign of human habitation, and the recommendation of Dr. Smiles seemed the only solution. So I started to dig out a wheel. Suddenly a boy on a horse appeared as if by magic, and asked if we wanted help, saying that he would go back to his father's farm for horses, which sure enough he did, and handled them manfully. He fastened his team to our rope, and I got into the car and started the engine. Then followed the usual breathless moment when the car charged forward on to the horses' heels. The boy then directed us to take a certain trail, and after his recent display of prowess we naturally followed his advice. But we soon found ourselves going up a very steep and narrow track with a bank on one side and a sheer drop into a ravine on the other, and with literally not an inch to spare on either side. On the steepest part of this road the car stopped dead, and I had to keep my foot hard down on the foot brake to prevent it slipping backwards. There was nothing for it but to unload the heaviest things, and I could not get out to help, as the car would then have run back. Winifred opened the back doors so that I could see behind me, and I managed to get safely down to the bottom of the hill, though it was exceedingly difficult to back round the sharp corners. I then put on full speed and rushed the car up, and at the top we loaded her again, thinking that the worst was over. But as we went on we found the road was as narrow as ever, with a very bad surface, big stones cropping out here and there. I was driving, with one wheel low down in a rut and the other high up, when the car again stopped at a steep bit, and I had to jam on the brakes as before whilst Winifred unloaded. But when I tried to release the brakes I found that the hand brake had jammed, and I could not get out and hammer it free as the van would have run backwards when I shifted it. At this crisis two men came along and helped us, and between us we put the brake right and got the car to the top of the hill. This was the only bad hill we had found and the only stony road. We discovered afterwards that it was not the right trail for Elbow. The town is so named because the Saskatchewan River runs in a elbow-like curve through the ravine at the bottom of this hill, on the crest of which the town is built.

We went on beyond Elbow to Loreburn, and camped near the vicarage for the night. The vicar and his wife had only just arrived in the parish, with a little baby of a month old. She looked hardly fit to cope with all there was to do, but they insisted that we should come in to meals with them. I was the more grateful for this as I had had a difference of opinion with the spirit lamp, which blew up in my face and nearly blinded me.

This was the first occasion on which we used the tent, and its erection was something of a puzzle, as we had no sketch of the finished article, and had never seen it in action. But by the time I had it all laid out, and was wondering how I should put it up without help (Winifred having gone to the vicarage), some boys appeared, and said that they knew all about tents, and helped me splendidly. There was no difficulty about finding the children at our stopping places, for the caravan drew them like a magnet. We reversed Froebel's injunction--"Come let us live with our children"--for the children invariably came and lived with us. On occasions their company was so persistent as to be rather embarrassing. One never knew at what moment the tent would be invaded by eager visitors. They were most delightful children, extraordinarily intelligent and full of practical wisdom. It was truly a case of "development by self-activity." They freely offered assistance and advice when they saw we were in need of either. It was a five-year-old girl who noticed one evening that I had laid the potatoes outside the caravan, and thoughtfully warned me: "I shouldn't leave those potatoes out all night if I were you; the gophers will eat them."

_To face p. 48_

On that first night at Loreburn we had torrents of rain, and next morning the trails were deep in mud. But I had promised to drive the vicar into Elbow, as he had no buggy as yet. We skidded violently from side to side of the road all the way, and had more than one narrow escape from a slough--I had horrid visions of a congregation waiting indefinitely for a vicar hopelessly submerged. I put on the Parsons' chains before making the return journey. This is a job one willingly defers till it is unavoidable.

Despite the weather there were many people at church, so I was glad that I had made the effort. These prairie services really were an inspiration. In the afternoon I superintended the Sunday school, which consisted as usual of children from six to sixteen. Winifred and I divided the children into two classes, and the vicar and a teacher listened to our teaching. The greatest difficulty, here as elsewhere, was the grading of hymns and prayers. The best way seemed to be to open with devotions suitable to the infants and then to let them go off to another part of the church for their lesson while we had other prayers and hymns for the elder ones, closing the school in a similar manner; but if this made the session too long, we began with devotions suited to the younger children and closed with those more suited to the elder.

After school there was the usual family service, at which I specially noticed how well the organist played. We were afterwards invited to supper with him and his wife, and were interested to find that they used to live at Leeds and had sung at Morecambe Musical Festival. Canadian meals are delicious, and we had a sumptuous supper--bacon and eggs, layer cake and stewed fruit, and strong tea, very acceptable after our sketchy caravan meals. After supper we had some good music, and the organist told us some of his experiences as a prairie choir-master. His choir showed talent, so he felt that they were capable of chanting the psalms, and trained them to do so. He kept this as a pleasant surprise for the congregation, and felt very proud of his pupils when they duly acquitted themselves well. But the real surprise was his. Next day most of the congregation waited upon him in a body and stated that they would not attend church in future if such High Church practices were followed.

We had obtained permission from the trustees of the public school at Loreburn to give religious instruction in school hours, as it was more convenient for us. I took the upper division, children of twelve to eighteen, and Winifred took the lower form, children of six to twelve, it being a two-roomed school. (In these prairie schools the scholars stay from six to eighteen.) The teachers were very nice. They showed interest in our work and listened to our lessons. As I could give them only one lesson, I wanted it to be one of permanent value, sufficiently connected with their everyday experience to recur frequently to their minds, so I spoke on the Union Jack, which floats over almost all of these little schools. I began with the splendid work of Canada in the War, and referred to the men of the widespread British Empire all united under one flag, thus leading on to the unity of Christian soldiers and telling the stories of the three saints whose crosses unite in the British flag. (A further bond of empire now is the photograph of the Prince of Wales, which is found everywhere in this neighbourhood since his visit to Regina.)

After the lesson we gave each child a prayer card and a picture of the "Hope of the World" or "The New Epiphany." It was very distressing to find that only two or three of the thirty children present knew the Lord's Prayer. Apropos of this a clergyman's wife told me how she had asked a child, "Do you know _Our Father_?" and the child answered, "No, but I know our grandfather."

The children seemed to hang on our words, listening with intense eagerness to the lessons. "They listen to lessons here in this country that they would never dream of attending to in the Old Country," Winifred wrote home. "One has no fear here of possibilities of naughtiness either. They are good without being disciplined, not restless like the children at home."

The intense hunger for knowledge holds these sturdy, open-air little people in a trance of breathless interest. It was their desire rather than our skill which exercised the spell, as we knew well.