MISSIONS AND MUD HOLES
When we arrived at Rosetown the vicar and his wife were out, as they did
not know what time to expect us; but we found the vicarage door
unlocked, as is the hospitable local custom, so we went in and read the
letters from home which we knew were awaiting us there. Mr. and Mrs. M.
soon arrived, and gave us a very warm welcome. They insisted on our
sleeping in the house instead of in the van, and having our meals with
them. We said that in that case they must let us help with the chores.
Mrs. M. had a tiny baby and no domestic help. Here, as elsewhere, our
host and hostess were delighted to meet anyone fresh from England. Mr.
M. had worked on the Railway Mission, and was now in charge of this
district. A Canadian "parish" is often 2,000 or 3,000 square miles in
extent. Mr. M. had a rural deanery of 6,000 square miles, and as many of
his clergy were in deacon's orders, he had to perform all priestly
duties for them. He used a Ford car in the summer, and in the winter
took the tyres off a motor bicycle and fixed it up to run on the rail of
the track. The prairie being so flat, he could see the trains in time to
get out of the way.
When talking to men like this we realised that our summer adventures
were as nothing compared with what they experienced in the winter, with
the thermometer 50 degrees below zero and blinding blizzards in which it
was impossible to find one's way. This life of hardship and
self-sacrifice won the respect of their parishioners and developed their
own manhood. The farmers looked upon them as personal friends,
fellow-men, instead of the remote being a clergyman is sometimes assumed
to be. They are all-round men of affairs, too, as Winifred put it: "Out
here a parson has to know about seeds and weather and dollars, but he is
respected also for his office, and valued very much for what he brings
to the people."
For the most part the men out here are the pick of the junior clergy
from Oxford and Cambridge, men who have sacrificed much in leaving
England. The clergy depend upon voluntary contributions, there being no
endowments, of course. It is reckoned that in the diocese of Qu'Appelle
the average contribution for each man, woman, and child is 15s. per
head. They use the envelope system, so that if prevented from attending
church the money is set aside just the same. Besides this, the farmers
give generously in kind. But, as a clergyman's wife remarked to me,
butter and eggs, though very welcome, do not supply clothes for the
children. The drawback to the voluntary system is that the clergyman's
income is as uncertain as that of his parishioners; for when the harvest
fails there is no money for anyone. The Railway Mission clergy received
monetary support from the Fund, but this Mission was only a temporary
arrangement until the various districts became self-supporting. There
is, however, a diocesan fund to help the poorer parishes. Though the
parishioners do their best it is obvious that they can never provide
more than a scanty support for a clergyman who has a wife and family,
and hence the great difficulty in filling the Canadian theological
colleges.
The Rosetown Sunday School was in a flourishing condition, for the vicar
was very keen. The children were taught to sing by a lady who had been
accompanist to Clara Butt. On the Monday it had been arranged that I
should take a Bible-class of elder girls, but when Mr. M. took me down
to the house where it was to be held, we found that none of the girls
had come (owing to school examinations), so we went to the movies
instead!
There is a splendid picture palace in every little prairie town, and
some of the films shown are really good. The cinema provides the sole
recreation for the entire populace. On Saturday evenings there are long
lines of cars all down the street, when the farmers and their wives come
into town to shop and go to the pictures and meet each other.
I was asked to give a missionary address next day to the junior branch
of the Women's Auxiliary.[6] This particular branch proposed to call
itself "The Busy Bees," because the members intended to work so hard. I
talked to the children about the "Hope of the World" picture, which
seemed suitable to this country of many nationalities. Winifred remarked
that it was a splendid country from the missionary point of view as
"they _see_ black and white and brown." Where this junior branch had
been started the children were keen to join, just as every Canadian
churchwoman seemed to belong to the Women's Auxiliary. From many years'
experience as a secretary for S.P.G. one longed to see the Church of
England follow Canada's example by directing all her missionary effort
into one channel, and one wished that missionary fervour were as
universal.
Just at the time when we had planned to start from Rosetown a tremendous
thunderstorm came on, making the trails quite impassable for several
days. The water cart which brought the town's drinking water from five
miles away could not get in for three days, so we had very short
rations. On the Thursday I determined to leave for Kerrobert, in spite
of Mr. M. saying that no one ought to go out on such trails. I knew that
if we did not start at once we should not get to Kerrobert by Sunday.
The trails were indeed dreadful, about the worst we had ever seen. The
half-dried mud was like putty. We had the Parsons' chains on, but even
so we skidded from side to side and had to go on low gear all the time.
About a mile out of the town we came face to face with a large wagon and
four horses, which refused to make way for us. The road was steeply
graded, so that if you got off it you would slide down into the mud and
water of the ditch. I pointed out that it was as awkward for us as it
was for them, indeed worse, as they had horses. They replied that if we
stuck they would pull us out, and making a dash for it I managed to get
on the gradient and up again. But what was my horror to find, a little
farther on, another great wagon left standing in the middle of the road.
It appeared that they had taken the horses from this to help on the
other wagon. There was nothing for it but to drive round it, and this
time my luck failed and we stuck fast in the mud. One of my Parsons'
chains had come off in the last place, we found.
I put on another chain with great difficulty, as the jack kept
continually sinking in the thick mud. When I had finished I looked round
for Winifred, and could not see her anywhere. I got the car out and
waited. Still no Winifred. Feeling very anxious, I went off to a
neighbouring farm and asked to be allowed to telephone. I then rang up
Mrs. M. at Rosetown, but she had seen nothing of her. At last I saw her
coming along the road. She had been to look for the lost chain, found it
was broken and had got it mended in the town.
We then went on with great difficulty till we came to a most awkward
place. It was a bridge over a creek, very narrow, and just as muddy as
the rest of the trail, with a very rotten paling on either side. I knew
that if the caravan skidded it would smash this paling and fall four or
five feet into the little stream below. As there was no reason why we
should both run the risk I asked Winifred to get out, and then managed
to crawl over safely. Presently we came to a very bad bit, nothing but
large holes of mud and water, but we ploughed through. Then came a
tremendously steep hill up which I tried to rush, but I stuck half-way.
Even with the chains on the wheels could not grip in the sticky mud, and
unloading failed to help us. I then sought assistance from a farm at the
top of the hill, and the farmer, a Frenchman, brought a horse and pulled
us up. The trail got worse farther on, and we camped at the next farm we
came to. We were in a dreadful condition of dirt and hunger, our feet
twice their normal size with clotted mud, the caravan full of lumps of
mud, our hands and clothes all over mud. I did not feel much like
cooking, so when I went to the farm house for water I asked if we might
boil some eggs there. Whereupon the farmer's wife insisted on giving us
the eggs as well as boiling them for us, and she also gave us boiling
water for our coffee. We thankfully ate our supper and went to bed.
After sticking in several mud holes next day, we finally stuck fast in a
very deep one, but a farmer ploughing near pulled us out. He told us
that the trails got worse between here and Kerrobert, no cars had been
through for several days, and he advised us to stop the night at his
farm and go on by train next day. So we drove the van into his yard and
received a kind welcome from his wife. I wanted to let the vicar of
Kerrobert know that we were coming. They said that there was a telephone
at the next farm a mile or so away, so I walked over there. On my return
I found it exceedingly difficult to find my way in that featureless
district, and I should probably have got lost had I not heard Winifred's
hail.
We tried to make some return for the kind hospitality we received here
by helping with the chores, but zeal without knowledge is a dangerous
thing, and one of us, washing up the separator, dissected it so
thoroughly that the farmer's wife gazed in consternation at the result.
On the Saturday the farmer drove us into Rosetown when he went in for
his weekly shopping. He promised to look after the caravan for us while
we were away. We got to Kerrobert in good time that night, and were able
to carry out all our Sunday engagements. But we missed the caravan very
much, as we could not take all our apparatus without it, and we had to
put up at an hotel as the vicarage was very small. These little hotels
are expensive and not at all comfortable. We hoped great things when we
caught sight of a bath, and promised ourselves a real treat, but on
inspection it proved to be full of dust, with no water laid on.
There had been a Sunday School at Kerrobert, but the teachers had left
the district. The vicar was too busy to take it, and his wife had her
hands full with two small children. But for several Sundays in
succession the children had come as usual, waiting and hoping against
hope that the school would be held. Two little boys of six and seven
years old had driven three miles in a buggy by themselves. The joy of
these children made our struggles to get to them well worth while. There
were about twenty of them in all. It grieved me that, though the Union
Sunday school had plenty of teachers, no one could be found to teach the
Church of England children.
We visited some very fine day schools and gave Bible lessons there, and
also gave an address to parents in the church. The vicar arranged a
children's service for the next day, so Winifred stayed to give the
address while I went to fetch the caravan. Mr. M. drove me out to the
farm, but I did not get started with the van till about 3.30 p.m. The
trails had dried up a good deal, but the ruts were perfectly awful, as
they always are after these heavy rains.
I had great difficulty in finding the way without Winifred to hold the
map and direct me. Presently I came to a little town and stopped at the
garage to refill my gasolene tank, but the petrol pump was empty. I had
plenty in the side tanks but it took so long to siphon it out, so I
determined to run on with what I had left. But beyond the town was a
steep hill, and as I could get no run at it, and my gasolene being so
low, I stuck half-way up. Again I missed Winifred badly. I could not get
out to unload because the brakes were not strong enough to hold the
loaded van, so I had to back to the bottom of the hill, unload, drive
the van up, and then load again. This wasted a lot of time, though I got
some help from a passer-by. Then I came to a "wash-out"--_i.e._, a
conduit that has fallen in. This one was a large hole right across the
trail about five feet deep. As there was a large slough on either side I
had to go back four or five miles to find another trail. I could not
turn between the sloughs and so had to reverse for some way.
The great difficulty now was to know where to go. I had been following
main trails, but now I had to take any side trail in the desired
direction which seemed passable. I went mostly by the sun, as I knew my
way lay north and west. When it was growing dusk I was going down a
steep hill, when I noticed a bit of wood lying across the trail. I
thought it was merely a broken piece of wagon rack. At the same time I
experienced the most curious sensation, a strong warning not to go any
farther, the like of which I have never felt before or since. I stopped
the van, and getting out walked along the trail a few paces and found a
great wash-out right across the road. It was much worse than the former
one, with quite as deep a drop and a much wider chasm. Had I gone on I
could not have escaped it, and must have been badly hurt if not killed.
I heard afterwards that there had recently been two bad accidents here.
One man had broken three ribs and had had to be nursed at a neighbouring
farm, there being no hospital near.
To the side of the wash-out there was an equally bad hole, but it had
not such a sudden drop. It was evident that cars had been through this,
so I tried it. Remembering the sprung frame, I went rather too slowly
and stopped dead just on the opposite incline, at an acute angle. My
gasolene being so low contributed to this misfortune, so I filled up my
tank by siphoning from the side tank and tried to crank the car, as the
electric starter had gone wrong that morning. At this angle it is almost
impossible to crank any car, and this handle was stiff, so I blistered
my hands in vain. As it was late I made up my mind to go to bed and
tackle it in the morning. I was hungry, however, and had had no food
since I started, so seeing a farm about half a mile off I went to get
milk and water. The farmer's wife said she was sick of this hole, so
many accidents happened there. She promised that her husband should come
and help me in the morning, and said that she would telephone to the
Secretary of the Municipal Council to see if they could not get the road
mended.
I had my supper and was just going to bed, when I saw the headlights of
an approaching car. I hurried out to stop them before they reached the
wash-out. It was an enormous caravan on its way to Kerrobert sports.
They were very grateful, and said they would tow me out in the morning,
before they went on, if 4 a.m. was not too early. It was very difficult
going to bed at this angle, but I managed to sleep. The prairie air is
so wonderful that you can sleep anywhere and anyhow. Next morning the
other van crawled round me and tried to pull me out, but my rope broke,
and I told them not to stop for me. The farmer came later on, and
between us we managed to get the engine going by priming the sparking
plug, and then I got out of the hole all right.
The farmer directed me along the main trails. But, unknown to him, there
had been a cloud-burst in this district during the recent thunderstorm,
and this had washed away conduits and formed great sloughs within the
space of three hours. Consequently I spent the day retracing my path and
trying to find passable trails.
On one occasion I stuck fast in a very bad mud-hole, and so went to a
farm for help. The farmer sent his man with two horses, and he pulled me
out. While he was unhitching the horses, he became embarrassingly
confidential. Beginning with the usual query "Are you married?" and the
inevitable "Why not?" he intimated that now was the opportunity. I
gathered he was "baching it" as many do, which meant that he had to do
all his own domestic chores as well as his farmwork. I could imagine
what his shack looked like, having seen some when asking the way with
their unwashed crockery and general disorder, and I guessed that he was
wanting a housekeeper and thought that I looked strong and useful. The
man would take no money for his service, and when I refused to let him
come and sit beside me in the caravan he called me ungrateful. It was an
awkward situation, and I saw that the only thing to do was to get away
at once. But as the caravan was not quite out of the mud the engine had
stopped as soon as the horses ceased pulling. Fortunately they now
became so restive that they took all the man's attention, so I cranked
the car like lightning, jumped in and got away.
Farther on I stuck again in alkaline mud, which sucks you down, but a
farmer lent me boards and I managed to run along them. Presently I
reached a farm with a telephone, and sent a message to Winifred lest she
should be anxious. The farmer's wife kindly offered me food, which I
gladly accepted, as I had had none since early morning. On other
occasions, when we could not stop to cook, Winifred fed me with biscuits
and chocolate, as on these rough trails I had to keep both hands on the
wheel. When I tried to start the car again it would not crank. But there
was a small hill near the farm, so I pushed the car to the brow of it by
turning the wheels by the spokes. Then came the exciting moment when the
van began to run down the hill and I had to jump in with all speed.
At a place called Dodsland I was advised to cut across the prairie, as
the main trail was impassable. I had an exciting time bumping over the
hillocks, and felt sure that everything in the van was being smashed to
pieces. Finally, by asking the way at isolated farms, I got in sight of
Kerrobert, and then found yet another slough half across my path, in
which two side wheels stuck fast as I tried to get by. My efforts to dig
the car out proved futile, so I went to a near-by farm for help. I found
numbers of horses, but no men. Everyone had gone to Kerrobert sports. I
was sorely tempted to take some horses and pull the car out myself. Then
a car came along from Kerrobert, and most kindly turned round and hauled
me out. I got into the town about 9.30 p.m. and went straight to the
vicarage, where I found Winifred.
[Illustration: PRAIRIE SCHOLARS]
[Illustration: A YOUNG HERDSMAN (see page 91)]
[Illustration: A PRAIRIE SCHOOL]
[Illustration: A MAPLE LEAF TEACHER AND HER PUPILS
_To face p. 71_]
The next day I took the van to the garage to have the electric starter
repaired, but as it was a new pattern the spare parts were not in stock,
and they could not promise them before Saturday. This was awkward, as we
were due at Coleville on the Friday (the next day). We could not work
the Coleville district without the caravan, so many of the schools being
far from the track. We went up on Friday by train, and back on Saturday
for the car, which was not ready till Sunday afternoon, however. But we
arrived at Coleville during evensong, in time for Winifred to play and
for me to give the address.
[Footnote 6: See Appendix III.]