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."
[Illustration: DIGGING OUT THE WHEEL]
[Illustration: THE TENT, AND MY ASSISTANTS AT LOREBURN]
_To face p. 48_
[Illustration: 1. & 2. HOUSEHOLD TASKS (see page 54)]
[Illustration: 3. MR. M. AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE ON THE RAILWAY TRACK
(see page 63)]
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.