CHAPTER XI

SOME ASPECTS OF PRAIRIE LIFE

It was unfortunate that there was no Anglican Sunday School in this place, where we had perforce to spend a week. There were very few Anglicans there at all, but a great many Presbyterians and Nonconformists, who united to form a Union church and Sunday School. There was a very nice Anglican church, but most of the congregation lived at farms some distance away, coming in for Sunday services, when the vicar also came in from one of his other districts. He came to see us on the Saturday night, and explained that on the morrow there would be a United Family Service in the Anglican church, to which he was inviting all the members of the Union church. He asked us to write out and fix up notices about it. He also asked if we would give an address after the service on the need for religious instruction for the children.

Sunday was a very hot day, and with sinking hearts we realised that the congregation would be arrayed in lovely summer clothes, and that it was up to us not to discredit the Old Country. But it is difficult to look one's best when caravanning, and even one of Paquin's frocks would lose its bloom in a cotton bag, and the smartest hat would look dashed after the three-gallon oil tin had collided with it. Personally, I felt that my bravest efforts would be futile since Winifred's remark as we arose that morning: "Let me look and see if you are as much a fright as you were yesterday." When your nose and one eye have been entirely remodelled by a mosquito bite you do not look your best, nor can you be quite unselfconscious in public, and, alas! _I_ should have to give that address, for Winifred had flatly refused.

Patience is required when attending prairie meetings. What with the immense distances, varying clocks, and unexpected obstacles on the trails it is difficult to get anywhere to time. In this case we waited an hour for the organist, whose car had stuck in a mud hole. Winifred rose to the occasion, and was just making her way to the organ when the belated car was heard and the big bronzed young farmer hurried in.

The elders of the Union church preceded the vicar and his churchwardens up the aisle. The service was a shortened form of evensong, interspersed with many hymns. The sermon was a clear but non-controversial exposition of the Apostles' Creed. It was remarkable to notice how the preacher held the attention of all present, from the child of five to the old lady with grey curls. One hoped that this united worship might pave the way for union on Christian essentials, so that Christian teaching might be agreed upon for the schools and a united stand made against materialism and the many so-called Christian sects.

After service I was called upon to address the congregation. I had to speak from before the altar rails, there being no other place from which to command the congregation, except the pulpit, which I did not wish to occupy. As there had been a fairly long service, and the church was very full and very hot, I thought that a ten minutes' address would be sufficient. So I spoke briefly on the importance of religious education, leading up from the wonderful way in which Canadians had helped in the War, to the need for their help in warfare against evil. Christian soldiers must be trained, and a young country needs a Christian foundation. It is extraordinarily easy to hold the attention of a prairie congregation, and I was told afterward that they wished I had gone on longer. It is indeed a preacher's paradise.

The vicar had to leave at once for his next service. He motored about eighty miles each Sunday and took four services. But the rest of us held a kind of social gathering outside the church, where we had opportunities of studying the prairie fashions. Most of these gorgeous garments are ordered by post from Timothy Eaton's store in Toronto. His enormous illustrated catalogue is sent yearly to every house, and is commonly called "The Prairie Bible." The children know it by heart, and amuse themselves on winter evenings by cutting out and colouring the fashion plates, with the embarrassing result that when they see a neighbour in her new spring costume they remark, "Oh, Mrs. So-and-So's new hat is on page 603, price so many dollars."

We had a washing-day on the Monday. When near a farm they allowed us to take our blouses, etc., and wash them with their apparatus, as the Chinks, who did our heavy washing, ruined the finer things.

On the Tuesday we went to Swanson by train (the trains only ran on certain days in the week). This had been one of the centres of the Railway Mission, and was worked with Birdview, but they had had no services for about a year, owing to the scarcity of clergy, and they felt the privation very much. The Railway Mission had now come to an end, and there were no clergy to supply these districts. We went to see the leading church people, with a view to taking Swanson on our return journey if it seemed possible to start a Sunday School there. We were told that there was no Sunday School of any kind thereabouts, and were advised to go to the day school and beat up recruits, which we did with great success. A farmer's wife promised to gather the people together for us when we came again, so that we could hold a demonstration school and a parents' meeting.

We wished to visit Birdview, but no train ran there that day. Our friend Mrs. T., however, said that her son should drive us in a car. A terrible sandstorm blew up, and we were almost blinded in the open car. We realised once more the advantage of a caravan. Great drifts of sand lay on the trail, and the car skidded from side to side, but we got there. Mrs. T. had arranged by telephone that we were to stay the night with a storekeeper and his wife. There were not many church people in Birdview, so I wanted to go out to a little mission church in the centre of outlying farms which used to be worked by the Railway Mission. The only way to get there was by car, and the storekeeper thought that no hired car would face the storm. But, happily, the wind dropped and the sand subsided, and we found a car to take us. So the storekeeper's wife and I started off.

We were now in one of the "dried out" areas. There are certain belts of land in Saskatchewan which, when first taken up, nearly twenty years ago, proved very fertile. But over-cultivation, though advised by the Board of Agriculture in order to conserve the moisture, had rendered the soil so fine that most of it had blown away. It had been of no great depth to start with, and the sand below it had come to the surface, and now blew in great drifts. As the wheat came up, the flying clouds of sand cut it down, and even buried the scrub. Little vegetation was visible, and what wheat there was the grasshoppers devoured. They were enormous things, 3 inches long. They flew into the car with a great "plop," and even jumped down my clothes. The farmers hereabouts were ruined, and nobody would take their farms. They had not sufficient capital to start again. Yet with all this they kept up their courage and hoped for better days.

When we reached the little church we stuck fast in a big drift, but I took the wheel while the man pushed, and at last we got out. We went on to the leading farmer's, where they welcomed us warmly. They had had no services there for a very long time. I explained that we should like to visit the place on our way back if they would collect the people to meet us. The farmer's wife expressed great delight at the idea. They had been so long without a clergyman, and had so much appreciated services when they had them. She found it very difficult, she said, to keep Sunday when there was nothing to remind her of the day. They felt their spiritual privation, especially now that their material troubles were so great.

I noticed here, as in many other places, an almost conscience-stricken look on the parents' faces when I mentioned the necessity of religious instruction for the children. It was not that they did not wish their children to be taught religious truths, but that they themselves were so cruelly overworked that they had no time for the care and forethought which the preparation of a lesson entails. When you work all the week from 5 a.m. to 10 or 11 p.m. you are exceedingly tired on Sunday; and yet there is still some necessary work to be done if you live on a farm. But give these parents some idea of how and what to teach, with a suitable book to follow and pictures to illustrate the subjects, and they will do their very best, often making most excellent teachers. It is in places like this that the Sunday School by Post helps so greatly, especially in winter, when the children cannot attend a Sunday school at a distance.

We returned to Birdview that night (sticking again in the sand-drift on the way). Our kind host and hostess refused to let us pay for our entertainment. We were continually receiving most generous hospitality all the time we were on the prairie. We were never allowed to pay for our milk and eggs at a farm, and we were invited to many meals, which greatly helped our resources. We hardly liked to accept so much, knowing as we did how badly off the farmers sometimes were. But we knew how hurt they would have been had we refused. Their generosity was a great lesson in almsgiving. They always treat all missionaries in this way.

We took the train to Conquest, and then had to walk to Bounty, a very tiring six miles on the rough trail with the wind against us. Unfortunately no car overtook us, for it is the invariable custom to give pedestrians a lift. We went at once to the place where we had left our tent, but no tent was to be seen. We inquired about it at a neighbouring house, and a nice old man told us that the storm of the previous night had smashed the pole and ripped up the canvas, whereupon he had rescued it, otherwise it would now have been miles and miles away across the prairie. We felt thankful that we had had a house over our heads when this happened.

We were now homeless, tent and caravan both _hors de combat_. Many kind people would have taken us in, but in a prairie shack, or even in most of the smaller houses, there is seldom any accommodation for visitors, especially women visitors. So I went round to beg an old broom-handle, and with this I spliced the tent-pole. Then Winifred and I set to work on the canvas, and managed to restore it to the semblance of a tent cover. Early next morning another storm came on. We got up hurriedly and took refuge in the church, for the tent showed signs of collapsing on top of us.

That day we had been invited out to the B.'s farm. One of the Bounty farmers drove us out there behind a spanking pair of horses which had taken first prize at a show. A heavy thunderstorm came on and we were asked to spend the night, an invitation which was gratefully accepted in our shelterless circumstances. Mr. B. was a most interesting man. In England he had been a coachman, and had come out about seventeen years before with L8 in his pocket. He worked his way West, and took up a half-section. When he had got a home together a girl from the Old Country came out and married him. Now he had a splendid farm; the house and farm-buildings were lit by electric-light. A feature of this farm, as of all others, was the enormous barn. This is always much larger than the house. The hay and grain are stored at the top and the stables are below. On most large farms they keep at least twenty horses, besides up-to-date and ingenious machinery.

This farmer felt very strongly on the subject of emigration. As he truly said, in the Old Country he would probably have remained a coachman all his life, and would have had nothing to leave his children. But it was useless to come out to the prairie, he added, unless you were prepared to work hard. He himself worked from 5 a.m. to 10 p.m. throughout the summer months. During the War he had been obliged to work his farm single-handed. Both he and all the other prairie farmers had given large gifts of wheat to England, and all the young farmers had enlisted in a body directly war was declared, often travelling miles to the nearest recruiting station.[5] In many cases their farms went to rack and ruin whilst they were away, as there was no one else to work them. Large numbers of them never returned.

The conversation at meal-time was most entertaining. Mr. B. used to inquire if things were still the same in the Old Country, and if folks still touched their hats and said "Sir"--this with a twinkle in his eye as he looked at us. Of course, there are no class distinctions out West; the very word is unknown. We agreed with our host that the fairest measurement of mankind is to judge each one on his own merits. It is quite certain that no one should come out here unless he can become what is called "a good mixer." The following extract from one of Winifred's letters is descriptive of the country: "The people . . . must have pretty big minds to manage their own State, which is larger than the British Isles. There is, and must always be, a stretching out in this country, and it's a wide outlook for children . . . no appearances to keep up, a natural existence, hard work, but suitable, and prospects for children. . . . Canada is a leisurely place; no bustle. It is too large, I think."

When we got back to Bounty we found that the caravan was ready, and we joyfully fetched it from the garage and repacked it. Once again I felt glad that ours was a van rather than a roadster. Though more difficult to get along the trails it was a much more stable home. The wind is perhaps the greatest trial of prairie life. It sweeps with unbroken force over these wide spaces. Sometimes we had to go all day without hot food or drink, as of course it was not safe to use a Primus stove in the caravan or tent. At times even a trench would not keep off the wind, but it usually dropped at night.

We regretfully bade farewell to the kind people of Bounty, feeling that the town was well named, and went on to Rosetown. On the way we passed through another dried-out area; our car and several others stuck in a great sand-drift near a farmhouse, which was actually being submerged in sand. We went to the house to ask for the help of a team of horses. A young farmer and his sister lived there. The girl told us they were "going to beat it," as nothing would grow, and the sand was up to the lower windows of the house. She had just washed some clothes and hung them up inside the house, and yet they were covered with sand. I was much struck with her extraordinary cheerfulness in these trying circumstances. This fine quality is characteristic of all Westerners.

The farmer pulled us out with his team, and we had no further trouble that day.

[Footnote 5: Canada raised an army of 450,000, and it is estimated that 60 per cent. were members of the Church of England. The Canadian casualties were 152,000.]