CHAPTER XIII

FURTHER PRAIRIE SKETCHES

We had come to Coleville at the special invitation of Mr. H., the clergyman in charge of the district. It seemed strange to meet out here, he being the son of the late vicar of my parish at home. We had promised to spend a week in his district, and he had planned out a full programme for us. On the Monday we gave an address in Coleville school (during school hours), and then went on to Victory school. This school-house was a mile and a half from any other house, and many miles from a town. All around were wide stretches of unbroken prairie, with a few farms here and there. The prairie was covered with flowers of all colours--the wild, blue flax, flame-coloured mallows, many-hued vetches, and a lovely deep pink low growing wild rose with a very sweet perfume, and a small anousa of turquoise blue.

A Maple Leaf teacher was in charge of this little one-roomed school--a very pretty girl. She was delighted to see anyone out from England. After school was over the children brought round the teacher's horse, and then they all mounted and galloped away in a picturesque cavalcade. Most of them lived about four miles off.

We went on to Smilie in the evening, where I gave an address to parents and children. While I was buying gasolene next morning, a man came into the garage, and, seeing the name on the van, began a conversation with us. He _was_ glad that someone was going round to teach the children, he said. He had been taught the Bible when he was young, but nowadays people knew nothing about it. Why, only the other day he had asked a workman if he knew what building it was which had been raised without sound of axe or hammer, and he actually didn't know! It was _quite_ time the children were taught the Bible.

We had no housekeeping cares in this district, as Mr. H. had arranged for nearly all our meals to be provided. So generous, indeed, were the folk of this neighbourhood that all our gasolene was sold to us at half-price. On the Tuesday we went out to a prairie school where they were having holidays. But our visit had been announced, and the children drove in to have a Bible lesson, holiday time though it was. Moreover, after Winifred had given them an hour's lesson the class still refused to disperse.

Out here I saw the first flock of sheep which I had found on the prairie. We had dinner with the owner, an old Welsh farmer, and his wife. He remarked that he was very glad that we were going round to teach the children, and when I asked why, he replied that the young people now growing up hadn't been taught the Bible as he and his wife had been taught it at home in Wales, adding gloomily: "Half the motor cars you see in the town on a Saturday evening haven't been paid for. It's time somebody went round to teach them something."

He did not usually attend any meetings, it seemed, but we had evidently made a good impression, for, to everybody's surprise, he turned up in the evening at my address to parents. We had a special Welsh hymn in his honour. This meeting, as was often inevitable, was an hour late in beginning. Those who arrived first telephoned to the rest to know if they had started. It was rather like a Derby day, Mr. H., on the top of the caravan, announcing from time to time who was first in the field. While we were waiting, a good many young men were introduced with the usual formula, "Meet Mr. So-and-So, one of our bachelors," and etiquette obliged us to reply, "Pleased to meet you."

Next morning we went out to Travet Park school, miles away across the unbroken prairie. We should never have found our way had not Mr. H. accompanied us. It was pleasant to miss the telephone poles and see countless flowers instead. We never passed a farm all the way, and we could hardly see the trail. At Travet Park the teacher told us that she had started a Sunday School on Fridays after school hours, but very much wanted help with books. The children here listened with breathless attention to the lesson we gave them. It was most encouraging to find both teacher and children so keen. We had dinner at a farm, and afterwards I took the van to collect people for the parents' meeting--among others, a young mother with her tiny baby, and an old lady with a broad Cockney accent and a bonnet trimmed with black cherries, some of which were jolted off in the van and remained with us as trophies. It was a real cross-country run. We were actually _told_ to drive over the wheat. Then we came to a ditch which we crashed into and out again, and then over a large badger's hole. By the time we arrived at the school I felt that all ideas had been jerked out of my head. But the meeting began with a hymn, and then Winifred said a few words, and by that time I had collected my scattered wits.

Next day we had a puncture far out on the prairie--our first misadventure of the kind. I had no spare wheel, and this entailed a hot job in the broiling sun. At last we arrived at the farm where we were taking Mr. H. to baptize two children--a child of three and an infant in arms. The father was ploughing, but he left his horses and came in for the baptism.

We then went on to Kindersley, where Mr. W. was in charge. We had done 130 miles in Mr. H.'s parish. Mr. W. kindly gave us a special Celebration next morning, as Mr. H., who was still in deacon's orders, was never able to have one. He then returned to his district.

We spent a week at Kindersley. The Women's Auxiliary had arranged to give us dinner and supper every day in different people's houses throughout our visit, and others brought us milk and eggs for breakfast. We met many thoughtful and interesting people here, some of whom had been early settlers. While entertaining us, they told us stories of these early days. The settler and his wife used to trek fifty miles in an ox-wagon to the bit of land he had bought. There they lived in a tent until he could build a sod shack. The wife would perhaps have to go twenty miles to the nearest slough to wash her clothes, and sixty miles for stores, letters, etc. Probably there would not be another woman for miles around. In time a solid wooden shack replaced the sod building, and the farm slowly acquired all the latest modern appliances. Then motor-cars linked the isolated farms together, and with the coming of the railway little towns sprang up here and there. These tales of quiet heroism filled me with great admiration.

On the Saturday the president of the Women's Auxiliary invited us to meet all the members at a tea-party, and asked me to give a description of our aims and objects. They seemed interested, and thought it was a work which the W.A. might support. On the Sunday we had an early Celebration, and, after breakfast, started off for Avonhill, some sixteen miles away in Mr. H.'s district, which we had been unable to visit on the previous Sunday. We went along a road with sloughs on either side until we found a slough right across the trail. So I had to reverse on this narrow road for about a quarter of a mile, and then had to cut across the prairie; this made us an hour late in arriving. We held a service for parents and teachers and children, and left them some books. Although we were invited to dinner, there was no time to stop for any, and we got back to Kindersley just in time for the Sunday School at 2.30.

On the Tuesday I held a study circle in the church for adults (by request). It was on "Prayer and the Prayer Book." Among the members was a "Dunkard," a sect which combines the tenets of the Quaker and the Plymouth Brother. This woman had a most spiritual and beautiful face. She wore a sort of uniform with a dark bonnet much like a Salvation Army girl's. There were some Presbyterians in the class, too. We ended with a discussion on the respective value of forms of prayer and of extempore prayer, those not in communion with us showing great sympathy and breadth of mind.

Next day we went out on the prairie with the vicar, to visit the parents and children who lived far away. There had been some rain, which added to the glory of the flowers--masses of wild mustard and purple vetch and luxuriant gaillardias.

On Friday, July 9, we started for Alsask, fifty miles off. We arrived by supper-time, though we did not start till 4 p.m. We had a terrific thunderstorm on the way. It was a wonderful and terrible sight, great zig-zags of forked lightning against inky black clouds. We tried to keep pace with the storm, expecting a torrential rain at every moment, which would render the trails impassable. I set my teeth, and got every possible ounce of speed out of the caravan. We could actually feel the heat of the lightning. (They are called out here "electrical storms.") Just as we thankfully caught sight of the Alsask elevators, the storm increased. A terrific wind got up, and we saw a great grey cloud of dust swirling towards us, mingling with the black storm-clouds above. As we entered Alsask, the clouds burst and the rain came down in torrents. I tore down the main street looking for a garage, to get the van under cover as soon as possible. Fortunately, I soon found one. When the storm had partially subsided, we made our way to the vicarage, and from under cover watched the lightning and tried to take photos of it. Later on, when it had cleared a little, we brought the caravan up to the vicarage and slept in it.

The vicar and his wife were not long out from Southwark Diocese. He had been secretary for his diocese for the A.W.C.F., and, like me, had got keen in this way. The vicar's wife was a trained educationist, and ran a splendid Sunday School, but, like all who know the most about a subject, she was eager for fresh suggestions. Here, also, we received much hospitality, and so got to know the people, and when we were not at other folks' houses the children were with us. On the Sunday we held a demonstration Sunday School.

While we were here a Sunday-school picnic was arranged. There were about thirty to forty children, most of whom went with their parents, but we took some in the van and the vicar took some in his car. Shrieks of laughter arose from our passengers when the van skidded badly in the sand. Our destination was a big slough, which was almost a small lake. There was a crazy boat on it, in which the children rowed about, keeping it afloat by vigorous bailing. I unwillingly adventured in this craft in response to a pressing invitation, feeling certain that my weight would send it to the bottom. A further diversion was paddling, in which we also joined the children. It was very hot and quite shadeless: 104 degrees in the shade and 126 degrees in the sun is quite usual during the Canadian summer, hence the national welcome accorded to ice-cream. On this occasion the vicar brought a barrelful, which he doled out into cone biscuits all through the afternoon. Each child ate about six, but they paid for what they had. These ice-creams are most delicious and wholesome, being made of pure cream from the Co-operative Creameries. These are established in all large towns. They buy up the farmers' cream, making it into butter or ice-cream, the latter being sent all over the country in barrels. Co-operation is one of the great secrets of success out here. Even this picnic tea was co-operative. Everybody brought their own, and then shared it with others. Thus the speciality of some clever housewife was enjoyed by many; and Mrs. X.'s iced layer cake or Mrs. Y.'s salad was greatly in demand. Everybody wished to have his or her "picture" taken, and it was very difficult to get them all in, so we perched some on the top of the caravan.

On the Thursday we had another expedition. The vicar had just returned from camping with his scouts at Laverna Lake, some thirty miles off, and he happened to mention that he had left all his equipment there and did not know how to get it back, so I suggested that we should fetch it in the caravan. We got there in good time, though the trails were rough, and I had a delicious swim before lunch.

It is a beautiful lake, surrounded by low hills. All around the margin were lovely wild tiger-lilies. Mr. H., from Coleville, was in camp there with his scouts. It is an ideal place for a camp.

We got back to Alsask in time to give a Bible picture talk to the children around the caravan. Then we went on to a social evening, at which we were asked to speak. All present seemed to realise the great importance of work amongst the children.

On Friday morning the vicar kindly gave us an early Celebration as we were going on to Youngstown, eighty miles away, where there was no Anglican clergyman. It was a very hot day, and the trails were extremely rough. When running one felt a little air, but when one stopped for meals the heat was intense. The tyres got so hot that I had to keep them covered or they would have burst.

Alsask is on the borders of Saskatchewan and Alberta, and we were now in Alberta. We had written in advance to a Mr. and Mrs. S., some of the leading laity of Youngstown, and Mrs. S. had replied that it would be useless for us to attempt anything there this week because a Chautauqua would be going on. Therefore, as Youngstown was the most westerly point of the diocese which we were to visit, we thought it best to go on and make arrangements for our work when the Chautauqua should be over, meanwhile going on to Banff to see the Rockies. We did not arrive at Youngstown till 8 p.m., and had to wait for some time before we could see Mrs. S. as she was out. We then arranged meetings for the Saturday and Sunday of the following week, thus giving her time to let all the people know.