Chapter
Six
Those two winters at Rama school, probably the winters of 1913 and ’14, were not the first visits to that building. I have already mentioned (footnote 1) our near neighbours, the Turberfields. Mrs Turberfield’s father and brother, Mr Goodman and son, came from England to visit her; the father went back to England but Sidney, for a while, was teaching at Rama school. He may have been the first teacher. He was boarding at the Fitchett farm, some three miles northwest of the town. I was there on one of my frequent visits; Mother, no doubt, felt I needed company of my own age, so let me go whenever invited. At Fitchett’s there were four girls; Myrtle the oldest, Alberta who seemed to be nearest to me in temperament and liking, then Mabel, a year my senior, and Marie who was two years younger. I had a lot of fun with this family; the parents were very good and kind to me. Mr Fitchett was the Sunday School superintendent. On that particular visit, we were gatered around the kitchen stove one evening, and Mr Goodman (Sid) must have encouraged me to recite poetry. I did not need much urging! Being English, he evidently appreciated a child who had been taught in the British way, i.e. early to read fluently. The next morning, I walked to school with the other girls and the one brother, Ralph. Mr Goodman called on me to read, declaring to the rest “Now you will hear how a little English girl reads”. It was very flattering, but was actually an unkind thing to do, as naturally it would make the rest of them dislike me, as “Teacher’s Pets” are usually disliked. However, though they teased me a lot about my English accent, most of them have been lifelong friends. Of all those girls, only one, Margaret Richardson of Yorkton, is still alive at date of this writing to thebest of my knowledge. The Fitchetts and Mitts were all from Ontario, others from Manitoba; yet the [28] first three teachers were right from England – Mr Goodman, Miss Bailey and Miss Bugslag (who later married Edward Kitching). Mr Goodman went away, and trained as a dentist, and set up a practice in Regina.
We often had Box Socials, Christmas concerts, and other concerts and debates in this same school-house. The only time we saw an evergreen tree was at the Christmas concert put on by teacher and pupils, as none grew near us. Some miles north they grew wild, and some hardy soul would drive fifteen or twenty miles to fetch one for the great occasion of the year. It would be decorated with real candles, no electricity then. And the school was lighted by the coal-oil barn lanterns the men had brought along. After Santa Claus had been with jingling sleigh-bells and unmistakeable English accent (everyone could tell it was old “Dad Stevens” by his voice), each child was given an orange and a bag of peanuts, the highlight of the evening! And we all went off home in the cold moonlight night. The poor horses had been waiting for about three hours outside. There being only room for eight of them in the school-barn, the rest were tied to trees and were fully ready for a fast trip home, trying to warm themselves from the exertion. We also had to get out, and run behind them many a time to keep from freezing. One man, Ben Grieves, had his nose frozen so many times that it gradually became a thin line down his face.
The Box Socials were quite an event, when the women and girls packed enough lunch for two in a decorated box, their name on a slip of paper inside, which was auctioned off to the highest bidder (footnote 2). There was great rivalry among the bachelors to obtain the boxes of the most popular girls, with bribing of young brothers or sisters for information which would lead to identification. There were two girls in particular whose boxes went for a very high price, as they were the real “belles” of the district. Strange as it may seem, those two girls were never married, even to this day! I remember taking a box only twice – the first time, a boy I knew well bought it, and we shared it with his young sister. The second time, my sister and I became so [29] nervous as the bidding was in progress that we sought out our uncle and asked him to take us home. He was driving us that night, and I think was rather vexed to leave before having his cup of coffee. He could not understand us – well, neither could we understand ourselves. The boys who bought our boxes would be puzzled too, but at least they would have a double share of food.
Naturally, there were many country dances at the various school houses in the area, but we did not attend these. I remember Mrs Tuberfield told Mother that people had given them a surprise party. They had danced all night. Mother asked, “How could you have room to dance?” since everyone had small houses and their room was particularly small. Mrs Turberfield replied, “Oh, the men soon made room. They moved all the furniture outside. They even took down the cookstove and heater, and put those out too. We kept warm dancing!” Mother thought that was terrible especially as the parents of small children took them along, laid them down on the floor of the bedroom or in the “cloakroom” of the school-house; and there they would be ‘till the “wee small hours” or even till daybreak when they would be picked up, and taken home in time for the men to do the morning chores. My parents were not used to that kind of going on so we did not take part in these affairs, and no doubt were thought peculiar and even snobbish. But when there was a debate or a good concert, that was a different matter. We had some splendid singers. Harry Stevens had a wonderful, deep bass voice; we loved to hear him sing “Asleep in the Deep”, “Safe in his Father’s Home”, and many other good, old songs. Alfred Hunter was a first-class organist; there was an organ in Rama School, also in the Pioneer Sunday School, where Nell Dean always played the hymns for Sunday School and Sunday services; and my brother Eustace played whenever needed. My special ‘forte’ was reciting, sometimes to a musical accompaniment; and I did my share in singing, too, either in a quartette (sic), duet, or in solo. But our happiest evenings were spent at home or at Eastleigh. Amongst us, we had all the parts, as previously mentioned, and all could play the organ except Cyril and me. We learned later on.
[30] There were some enjoyable surprise parties. One night we drove to Rev Neil Morrison’s shack over on the alkali flats. It must have been in the very early days, because later on he moved to better land, nearer to us. A young widow was there at the time, keeping house for him. She had lost her husband very suddenly so was left alone, and helpless, on a bush-farm away up near Hazel Dell. Mr Morrison had been sent for, as usual, to conduct a simple service at the graveside there on the homestead. And there was this young woman, bereft and alone, the funeral over, the few neighbours gone off to their own little shacks. This grand old man just packed her up, and brought her down to his place, and cared for her until arrangements could be made to return her to her own people in Ontario; I have no doubt that he paid her train fare back there. It was the sort of thing he did constantly. No one, but God, will ever know how much good he did in that wide area from Buchanan on the east, to Kuroki on the west; south to Chain-of-Lakes, and north to Lintlaw and Hazel Dell, a vast “parish”. His story has been written elsewhere by this same writer, and the manuscript is in the Invermay Library.
I started writing verses and stories when quite young, and about 1910 my Aunt sent to Eaton’s for a toy typewriter for me. Toy it may have been, but it really typed! I became quite proficient on it. Not only did I write letters to my grandparents, aunts and uncles, but I would also type out programmes and ‘important’ papers for my mother or aunt, as well as stories and poems. So I was the first person around there to have a typewriter; have not thought of it for many years, until starting to write these early experiences. Where it went to in the end, I do not know, but I was away from home when the parents moved out of the old house, and many treasures disappeared at that time. My young nephew (footnote 4) probably found and confiscated some of them.
Transcriber’s footnotes:
1. At the start of Chapter 3
2. This custom may have come from America – the classic example is in the musical “Oklahoma” (Rogers and Hammerstein)
4. This might be Ronnie Moores, Leonard’s son, or possibly Eustace, Nora’s eldest son. Not Walter, who was in England.