ACROSS THE PRAIRIE IN A MOTOR CARAVAN

ACROSS THE PRAIRIE
IN A MOTOR CARAVAN

A 3,000 MILE TOUR BY TWO ENGLISHWOMEN
ON BEHALF OF RELIGIOUS EDUCATION

BY

F. H. EVA HASELL

IN COLLABORATION WITH J. F. S.

WITH 18 ILLUSTRATIONS AND A MAP

LONDON

SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE

NEW YORK AND TORONTO: THE MACMILLAN CO.

1922

TO

AYLMER BOSANQUET

WHOSE SELF-SACRIFICE, DEEP SPIRITUALITY,
AND FAR-SEEING VISION INSPIRED THIS VENTURE,
THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN

LETTER FROM
HIS GRACE THE ARCHBISHOP
OF CANTERBURY.

Lambeth Palace,

London, S.E.

Dear Miss Hasell,

I happen to have read the proof sheets of the little book which is to record the story of your work and Miss Ticehurst's in the prairie tracts of Canada, and I should like to tell you how glad I am that the account of these eventful journeyings should be accessible to the public. People realise too little what are the opportunities and responsibilities of pioneer days in those incomparable regions. The perseverance, the indomitable energy, and the buoyant hope which your pages record and inspire will have a place in the annals of that vast seed plot and cradle of a great nation that is to be.

I am,

Yours very truly,

RANDALL CANTUAR.

October 5th, 1922.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

ACROSS THE PRAIRIE IN A MOTOR CARAVAN

CHAPTER I

THE CALL OF THE PRAIRIE

The diocese of Qu'Appelle, in the province of Saskatchewan, Western Canada, is so named from the Indian story which tells of the maiden who lay dying, calling piteously for her lover. He, far off in his canoe on the Saskatchewan River, suddenly heard a voice, and answered: "Qu'Appelle." The voice came again, and then he knew it for that of his beloved, and made all speed to her side. But, alas! when he reached her she was dead.

Qu'Appelle is a suggestive title and indicative of the call which so many have heard from the prairie provinces, a twofold call, urging some to earthly and some to spiritual husbandry. Some account of the Western Canada of to-day may be useful here.

The exigencies of life on the prairie tend to make men think rather of building greater barns than of that day when their souls shall be required of them. When a man with little capital takes up a prairie "section" he is gambling with fortune, the welfare of his nearest and dearest being at stake. At the same time it is a worthy venture, a response to the age-old command to till the earth and subdue it; and it is often the only way whereby a man may become his own master, a landowner, and one who, in developing the treasures of the earth, adds materially to the well-being of his fellows. For the wheat from the prairies of Western Canada is the hardest and finest in the world.

The prospective settler buys a section (640 acres), a half or a quarter section, as the case may be, and, helped by a loan from the Government for the purchase of implements, ploughs and sows the virgin soil, building a shack for himself and his family. The first three years are touch and go. Drought in early summer or torrential storms in harvest will effectually ruin the crops, but when once a good crop is raised the profit is very satisfactory. The perils of drought and storm, however, always remain, though with increasing capital the risk is lessened. The life is one long wrestling-bout—man's brain and muscle pitted against the forces of nature; but when he is victorious the reward is great.

It is a virile country peopled with virile men (for only the strong can "make good" out there). But these men have already realised that man cannot live by bread alone. Close to nature, man feels the presence of God. The wide sweep of the prairie, enamelled with a thousand flowers or gilded with the ripened corn; the vast dome of the sky; the glorious sunsets and awful storms—all make men conscious of the power and might and majesty of the Supreme Being. So that beneath the feverish search for wealth there is a deep, if unrealised, thirst for the things of God.

But many of these sheep have been for years without a shepherd, and such knowledge of religion as they once possessed has been choked by the cares of this world; and their children—the men and women of the future on whom so much depends—are growing up in many places without any religious teaching at all. One result of this state of things is that there is no Christian public opinion on which to start this new country. It is even said that it is not unusual to hear men boast: "We cheat others before they cheat us."

Another terrible result is that, unrestrained by spiritual forces, the animal instincts have gained the upper hand and immorality is rife. In the Bulletin of Social Service in Saskatchewan for June 1, 1920, under the heading: "Some Measures Urgently Needed," No. 10 runs: "Higher standards in our laws regarding sex offences. Ours are the lowest in the Empire, due to the Senate's repeated rejection of amending measures."

A disintegrating factor in the religious and moral life of Western Canada is no doubt to be found in the mixture of races and the resultant intermarriages. Almost every race and sect is represented. There are about eighty different religions, including many eccentric and obscure sects such as "Daniel's Band," "Doukhobors," and "Holy Rollers." According to the census of 1916 the Christian churches in Saskatchewan are numerically strong in the following order: Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, Methodist, Anglican, Lutheran, Greek Church, Baptist. The proportion of Anglicans has probably increased since then.

In 1910 the Archbishop of Rupertsland appealed to the Archbishops of Canterbury and York to send out clergy to attend to the needs of the numerous British settlers who were pouring into the country. (Between 1900 and 1920 one million two hundred and fifty thousand persons have emigrated from Great Britain to Canada.) The Archbishops' Western Canada Fund was the answer to this appeal. The cause interested me extremely, and I became one of the collectors for the diocese of Carlisle. This diocese raised £3,000 and built St. Cuthbert's Hostel in Regina, and later raised another £1,000 towards the £50,000 needed for the endowment of the Western Canada missions.

Three missions were started by the Fund in Edmonton, Southern Alberta, and Saskatchewan respectively, but we are only concerned with the latter. In this province many small towns had sprung up owing to the great influx of immigrants (mostly British) and to the rapid railway construction, while the surrounding prairie was dotted with isolated farms and hamlets. It was with the special needs of these people that the Regina Railway Mission had to deal. Accordingly, several clergy and laymen went out from England, made the hostel at Regina their headquarters, and visited the surrounding country. They lived in one-roomed shacks, doing their own "chores," and often driving about eighty miles on a Sunday in order to take four services a day. They returned to the hostel once a quarter for spiritual refreshment, rest, and discussion of their work with the head of the Mission and with each other.

Meanwhile, a pioneer movement was on foot in the Old Country. At St. Christopher's College, Blackheath, a specialised training in the matter and method of religious education had been inaugurated for women prepared to undertake this branch of social service. I was asked to become Diocesan Sunday School Organiser for the diocese of Carlisle, and went to train at St. Christopher's in 1914. There I met Miss Aylmer Bosanquet and Miss Nona Clarke, and was naturally very interested to find that these new acquaintances were anxious to go out to Regina and do Sunday-school work in connection with the Railway Mission. A firm friendship resulted from this common interest.

Aylmer Bosanquet's plan was to go out with Nona Clarke and live on the prairie, working amongst the children and supplementing the work of the clergy in any other possible way. She proposed to finance the expedition entirely herself. At first the Secretary for the Archbishops' Western Canada Fund was very dubious about accepting her generous offer, having been out in Canada himself, and knowing that life in a prairie shack is exceedingly hard for gently nurtured women. But Aylmer Bosanquet was so urgent that at last she won the day, and she and Nona Clarke went out to Regina in 1915. They established themselves at Kenaston, where they lived in a three-roomed shack and did all their own work, even to the grooming of the buggy horses.

The women missioners went up to Regina once a quarter, when the clergy and laymen met to discuss their work. They brought valuable contributions to the matter in hand. They had found great ignorance amongst the children, some of whom did not even know the Lord's Prayer. At their first Christmas they found several children who had never heard of the birth of Christ. All that the holy season meant to them was contained in the nursery legend of Father Christmas.

This ignorance is largely due to there being no Scripture teaching in the public elementary schools, although there is a clause in the Saskatchewan Education Act which says that the last half-hour of every day may be given to Scripture teaching if the trustees are agreed. Unfortunately, they seldom do agree in this matter, as they usually belong to different religious bodies. Nor is there any religious teaching in the collegiate schools (which correspond with English high schools), even in Regina, the capital of the province. The following answer was given by a collegiate girl in a secular examination: "When William the Conqueror went to England he found no code of laws, and so he drew up the Ten Commandments."

After about four years of strenuous work, Aylmer Bosanquet fell ill, and was obliged to go into a nursing home at Toronto for a serious operation. In the quiet time of convalescence her thoughts were busy with the work so dear to her, and she began to consider the problem of the many children in the enormous diocese of Qu'Appelle, who had no Sunday school, and who could not be reached by rail or buggy from the existing centres. She felt that the future of the Anglican Church in Canada depended upon the religious training of these children, and an idea came to her whereby these isolated places might be reached. Her plan was that trained women should go out on to the prairie, two and two, in caravans during the season when the trails are passable. They would gather the children together and start Sunday schools, training teachers to carry them on. In the winter they would return to some central town, whence they would keep in touch with the quite isolated children by means of the Sunday School by post. They would also lecture locally and give demonstration lessons.

Many of these trained women would be needed if all the children on the prairie were to be reached. It would be necessary at first to recruit from England, but later it might be possible to develop a movement already started, but which had had to be temporarily abandoned for lack of a suitable head—namely, a training college for the Dominion of Canada on the lines of St. Christopher's, Blackheath.

Aylmer Bosanquet wrote to me describing her new plan. She was very anxious to see it in operation, for the diocese of Qu'Appelle alone covers 92,000 square miles (about twice the size of England), and two women, though with the best will in the world, could do comparatively little in that immense area.

The project of caravanning on the prairie in the interests of religious education appealed to me very strongly, and as Aylmer Bosanquet soon afterwards came home to England to recuperate, we were able to discuss the matter together. Her idea was to have a horse caravan which should be moved on from place to place by the farmers. But as I have lived all my life in an agricultural district, I knew the difficulties consequent on wanting the use of farm horses in seed-time and harvest—the very seasons when the trails are open—and I also knew that horses could never cover the necessary distances. In my own diocesan work, which took me to little out-of-the-way villages among the fells of Cumberland and Westmorland, I had found it necessary to use a car, and I therefore felt it would be best to have a motor caravan.

It would be worse than useless to take a motor-car on to the rough prairie trails unless one had had long driving experience and done a considerable amount of running repairs. To learn to drive one year and to go out the next would probably mean finding yourself in a tight corner. As I had been allowed to use our cars throughout the War, in connection with my Sunday school work and a V.A.D. hospital, I had fortunately gained a good deal of practical experience, especially as it was necessary to drive in all weathers, day and night, over the steep hills of the Lake District. When these hills were covered in ice your car would run backwards or skid and come down sideways, and these happenings were a useful preparation for the steep, sandy banks of the trail, where the wheels could not grip. Then, too, as our chauffeur was called up and mechanics were scarce, we had to do our own repairs.

The diocese having consented to my being absent for six months, I found a substitute to carry on my work, and began my preparations for the prairie tour.

CHAPTER II

PREPARATIONS AND DEPARTURE

The first idea was to buy one of the Red Cross motor ambulances then being sold off in London, but transport difficulties made it impossible to take one across. Meanwhile Aylmer Bosanquet, having returned to Canada, found that the Saskatchewan Bible Society had a Ford caravan in which a man could live and sleep, travelling about the province with Bibles. Also, Archdeacon Burgett, the Diocesan Missioner for Qu'Appelle, was having a Ford caravan built for two of his mission clergy. She sent me details of these vans, and I asked her to order me a similar one, the interior fittings to be decided upon when I came out in the spring.

The next thing to do was to find a fellow-worker for the tour; and this was by no means easy, for she must not only have been trained at St. Christopher's and be physically strong, but she must be prepared to pay her own expenses, there being as yet no fund to finance the venture. Fortunately, however, an experienced ex-student, Miss Winifred Ticehurst, offered to go. She had trained at St. Christopher's soon after its foundation, and had since had considerable experience in Sunday-school and parish work.

Then came the difficulty of getting passages and passports. These would never have been granted had we not been able to prove that we were going out to work. After the trials consequent on a visit to Cook's agent the following incident in the current Punch seemed peculiarly apposite. Scene: The office of a travel bureau. Clerk (helping nervous-looking lady to fill up form): "And the address of the nearest relation to whom the body may be sent if found dead?"

I intended to travel via New York, in order to visit some cousins. I had heard of the fame of the U.S.A. Sunday-schools, and wished to see some of them. I also hoped to meet Dr. Gardner, the Secretary of the Executive Committee of the Department of Religious Education for the American Episcopal Church. It was therefore necessary to get my passport visaed at the American Consulate, and on presenting the customary letter of recommendation from a clergyman I was much amused when the clerk eyed me suspiciously and remarked: "A letter from a clergyman is nothing to go by. They are so easily taken in."

The question of equipment had taken considerable thought, and the result seems worth setting down, in view of its possible service to others. The chief items were: a motorist's 1919 tent with bamboo poles, sleeping-bags, a double Primus stove and a Tommy cooker, a ferrostate flask and two thermos flasks, canvas buckets, clothes both for winter and summer (landworkers' suits for driving the caravan, which, unfortunately, the Canadians regarded as displaying an undue amount of "limb"!). Then, for use in the prairie schools, sets of Nelson's pictures and Sunday School Institute models (given me by the Girls' Diocesan Association for Carlisle diocese), and a case of books of graded lesson courses and a quantity of postcard pictures of "The Hope of the World" and "The New Epiphany." A tip from an experienced traveller proved most useful. This was to fasten the packing-cases with bands of tin nailed on, instead of with ropes, as the latter frequently break when the cases are swung aboard ship, scattering the contents on deck.

In February, 1920, we embarked at Liverpool for New York. Winifred Ticehurst was to meet me at the boat, and my feelings may be imagined as the time drew on, the friends seeing me off had to leave, and still no fellow-traveller appeared. At last, five minutes before they raised the gangway, she ran up, breathless. Her passport had not been dated in London, and they had sent her back from the boat to get it dated at the American Consulate in Liverpool. It was an ill-omened opening for her voyage, which proved one of great discomfort, as she was more or less ill for a week. She managed to write descriptive letters, all the same, and the following extract is a vivid portrait of our fellow-travellers (we went second-class to save expense).

"The young men and maidens . . . sit about on one another's laps, and the correct way to get ready for lunch is, when you hear the gong, to part yourself from your companion, pull a comb out of your pocket and do your hair—then you are ready."

I did not suffer from sea-sickness myself, and never missed a meal. Indeed, the waiters seemed greatly intrigued at my appetite, and I fancy, from the way they pressed the various courses, that they were betting on how much I could eat!

A day or two before we reached New York there was a horrid orgy on board. Knowing that they were entering a "dry" country, many of the passengers got drunk, shouting and raging all night long, so that one could not sleep. On the prairie I afterwards found other ill-effects of prohibition—the smuggling of spirits and excessive drug-taking, the latter chiefly amongst women. Before passing such laws it surely would have been advisable to have created a stronger public opinion to support them. Otherwise there is danger of finding two evils in the place of one.

On the other hand, future generations should benefit greatly by this measure, however imperfectly it now works. It seems improbable that the health and industrial prosperity of non-prohibition countries will equal those of "dry" countries.

The day before we entered New York we got into the end of a blizzard. There was a tremendously high sea, and we moved very little that day. We received a wireless message from a ship just out of a Canadian port which had struck a rock in the storm, but we were too far off to go to her assistance.

Our stay in New York proved to be an amazing and exhilarating experience. The palatial manner in which, in a private house, one is assigned one's own "compartments," would have satisfied Mr. Salteena; and the restaurants are a paradise for the discerning palate. A brief but thorough experience of American luxury in a great city was, from its very contrast, a fitting prelude to the rough life of the prairie. You get a more complete picture with strongly-drawn lights and shades.

CHAPTER III

RELIGIOUS EDUCATION IN THE U.S.A. AND CANADA

There is a very remarkable system of religious education in New York, Boston, Detroit, Cleveland, and many other cities. The entire educational work of the Church in the United States is under the direction of the Department of Religious Education of the National Council (called in the United States "The Presiding Bishop and Council"). The Department of Education has several divisions: Theological Seminaries, Church Boarding Schools (the same as Public Schools in England), Church Sunday Schools, Week-day Schools, work among students in State Universities, Pageantry, etc.

All Church School teachers are urged to go to Normal Schools. These are successfully operated in New York City, Boston, Detroit, and Cleveland. The teacher attends the Normal School once a month and receives instruction from an expert in Child Study, Psychology, and Methods, and also has an opportunity to discuss the outlines and illustrations for the four lessons which are to be taught the following month. The lesson material is from the Christian Nurture Series. This Series is a most up-to-date graded course for children from four to seventeen years of age.

Week-day schools are provided for children who are excused from the public schools (that is, the great schools supported entirely by State funds) for one hour or more each week for religious instruction under the Church of his parents' affiliation. These schools stand for the co-operation of the Church and State in the education of the child. The State does not technically release the child for religious instruction, but honours the request of the parent and excuses the child for extra educational work desired by the parent.

It is realised in America that religious education cannot be successful without the co-operation of the parents, therefore the Christian Nurture Series provides a "Monthly Letter to Parents" to be forwarded regularly by the teacher. These letters explain clearly what is required for the preparation of each Sunday's lesson during the week. Social gatherings are also arranged for the parents from time to time, at which an address is given bearing upon the importance of the religious training of the child, and calculated to enlist parental interest and co-operation.

An interesting example of the practical application of these principles was afforded by a visit to what we should call in England an "upper class" Sunday School. I had already met the superintendent, Miss Warren, and she had explained one most interesting feature of her system—namely, that each month she held a staff meeting of parents and teachers to discuss the lesson, the children, and the school. In each department of the school there was a superintendent; a grade leader who ensured a continual supply of teachers (absentees having to send in their names to her beforehand); a teacher and an assistant teacher for each class, the latter being there to learn her art; and a pupil teacher to hear the memory work. Some of the teachers received a salary, and all the children paid a small entrance fee. These fees, however, did not suffice for expenses, owing to the very good apparatus in use, but the deficit was made up by the church.

A conspicuous feature of the school was a large diagram which hung near the superintendent's table. It consisted of five rings: the small central circle represented "Parish and Home," the next ring "Community," the next "Diocese," the next "Nation," and the outer ring "The World." At the end of the session an appeal was made by the secretary each Sunday for one of the above "fields of service," which took the form of a stirring address on the need for supporting the work. The secretaries were always some of the elder pupils, and their appeals were remarkably well expressed for such young persons. After the address the secretaries of each class were asked to vote a sum of money for the cause, which they did after discussion with their class-mates. The school had a choir of girls led by a talented musician, and they all united to teach the children hymns.

Miss Warren took me to see Dr. Gardner, and, considering the excellence of the system at which the American religious educationist aims, it was encouraging to find him taking great interest in the proposed caravan tour. He even went so far as to ask for details of the plan, and to request that an account might be sent to him for publication. On the appearance of this article he appealed for volunteers and money in order to start a similar campaign on the plains of the U.S.A., where no religious instruction was at present provided for the children.

After ten days in New York, we went on to stay with friends in Toronto. Here we took the opportunity of inquiring into the methods of, and opportunities for, religious education in Canada. We were greatly helped in this by an introduction to the Rev. Dr. Hiltz, General Secretary of the General Board of Religious Education for the Church of England in the Dominion of Canada. The following is a summary of the information given by him or gleaned from other sources.

Under the British North America Act of 1867 the right to legislate on matters respecting education was reserved exclusively to the Provincial Legislatures subject to the maintenance of the rights and privileges of the denominational and separate schools as existing at the time of the union or admission of provinces to the union.

This gave to the Roman Catholics in the Province of Ontario the right to have separate schools, and to the Protestants in the Province of Quebec a similar right. In other provinces of the Dominion, with the exception of Saskatchewan and Alberta, however, separate public schools have no legal standing. The right to have separate schools in the Provinces of Alberta and Saskatchewan was conceded to these provinces when they were admitted to the Dominion.

So far as religious education in the public schools in Canada is concerned, the following brief summary will give some idea of the situation and at the same time strongly emphasise the need.

In Nova Scotia the matter is largely in the hands of the local authorities. So long as no one objects, religious instruction may be given in accordance with the wishes of the majority of the supporters of the school.

In New Brunswick schools may be opened with the reading of Scripture and the use of the Lord's Prayer, but as this regulation is permissive only, everything depends upon the individual teacher.

In Prince Edward Island the reading of the Bible at the opening of school is authorised.

In Quebec in the Protestant schools the first half-hour of each day is devoted to religious exercises and instruction in morals and Scripture.

In Ontario the public school must be opened with the reading of Scripture and the repeating of the Lord's Prayer, or the prayer authorised by the Department. Religious instruction may be given by the clergyman to the pupils of his denomination once a week after school hours.

In Manitoba ministers of the various religious communions have the right to go into the schools at 3.30 once a week and give the children religious instruction.

In Saskatchewan and Alberta the School Board may permit religious instruction to be given during the last half-hour of the day, and may direct that the school be opened with the recitation of the Lord's Prayer.

In British Columbia no provision is made for religious instruction, but the Lord's Prayer may be used in opening and closing the school.

In most large towns and many villages of the Dominion of Canada there are well-organised Sunday schools. Some of the dioceses have in the past had Diocesan Sunday School Organisers. The Diocese of Rupert's Land was a pioneer in this direction, and the Dioceses of Toronto and Huron have also had such officials. The City of Ottawa for several years had a resident Anglican Sunday School Organiser, an ex-student of St. Christopher's College.

The religious educational work of the Church in Canada is organised under the General Synod, the General Board of Religious Education being the officially appointed body for the promotion of this work. It began as a Sunday School Commission in 1908, but in 1918 was enlarged to a Board of Religious Education.

Its work falls into five departments, namely:

1. The Department of Parochial Education.

This department concerns itself with:

(a) Religious education through the agency of the home.

(b) Religious education through the agency of the Sunday School.

(c) Religious education through the agency of Adult Bible Classes and Young People's organisations.

2. The Department of Religious Education in Public and Private Schools.

This department concerns itself with religious education in public and high schools and in church boarding schools.

3. The Department of Teacher Training.

This department concerns itself with:

(a) The training of teachers and officers in the local Sunday School.

(b) Teacher training in church boarding schools.

(c) Training for leadership in provincial normal schools.

(d) The training of students in our theological colleges in religious pedagogy.

4. The Lantern Slide Department.

This department concerns itself with the promotion of educational work through the medium of the lantern in all branches of the Church's activities.

5. The Editorial Department.

This department concerns itself with the providing of suitable material for use in the promotion of religious education through the other departments, including the preparation and publication of the necessary lesson helps for teachers and pupils.

In connection with the work of the Parochial Department, an interesting attempt has been made to reach the people in the scattered districts through what is known as "The Sunday School by Post." This is practically the only way in which isolated families can be helped who are too far away to make attendance at Sunday school possible, and too few in numbers to support a school of their own. This Sunday School by Post sends out monthly and weekly graded lesson helps, each lesson having its own illustrations, questions, memory work, prayers, and Bible readings for each week. The parents are asked to see that the child has ample opportunity to do the written work, and this is returned to the Diocesan Secretary for the Sunday School by Post for examination and correction.

Sunday School by Post secretaries are now working in the Dioceses of Qu'Appelle, Saskatchewan, Calgary, Edmonton, and Athabasca, and, now that the General Board of Religious Education has a western field secretary at work, in the person of the Rev. W. Simpson, it is hoped that other dioceses may be led to establish work similar to this to reach the church people in the more distant settlements.

Without some such help as this the parents usually find it impossible to give their children religious instruction. They have little time for thought or study, and have frequently forgotten what they once knew. But their interest is very keen when roused, as the following incident proves. In one of the public schools, during the history hour, the teacher read part of the story of Joseph, but not having time to read the whole of it promised to finish it next day. One child, thrilled by the story and impatient for the end, went home and asked his parents if they could finish it for him. "Joseph!" they said, "Joseph! Surely we have heard that name somewhere." At last they remembered that it was a biblical name. A long search finally revealed the Bible, dusty from long neglect, and a further search discovered the story, which was read with intense interest by parents and child alike. When the latter went to school next day he proudly told his class-mates how the fascinating adventure ended.

In connection with the Parochial Department, much is also being done for the training of boys and girls of the "teen" age. With a view to meeting the needs of these young people, a Council on Boys' Work, a Council on Girls' Work, and a Council on Young People's Work have been formed, whose chief task it is to prepare and issue definite programmes of mid-week activities for organised groups of older boys and girls and young people. The plan which is largely followed is that known as the fourfold plan, the aim being to develop these adolescents physically, intellectually, socially, and spiritually. The programmes are of such a character that they can be worked out through any type of organisation desired, whether it is with an organised class in Sunday School, a Boy Scout or Girl Guide Troop, Trail Rangers, Tuxis Square, or Anglican Young People's Association.

The publication work of the Board is extensive, lesson courses and helps, both for teachers and pupils, being provided for all departments from the little beginners to the adult Bible classes. These constitute the official lesson schemes of the Church of England in Canada, and are used in the great majority of the schools.

A very effective piece of work is being done by the Teacher Training Department, which not only provides courses of training for teacher training classes in the local parish, but has also made provision for definite teacher training work to be carried on amongst the Anglican students in attendance at the Normal Schools in the provinces of Ontario and Quebec. In addition to this, definite courses of training are provided for the students in attendance at the Church of England Deaconess and Missionary Training School in Toronto, and in the various theological colleges of the Church of England. In five of these latter, the General Secretary of the Board of Religious Education lectures regularly.

Another important channel for the promotion of teacher training work is that provided through Summer Schools, which are held regularly at strategic centres from the Maritime Provinces to British Columbia. These schools are conducted under the auspices of the three Boards of the Church—namely, the Missionary Society, the Board of Religious Education, and the Council for Social Service.

Dr. Hiltz kindly showed interest in our caravan project, and said that if it proved possible of accomplishment he would like a report of the work at the end of the season. He remarked that there was great need for work of the kind.

CHAPTER IV

LIFE IN A LITTLE PRAIRIE TOWN

We had arranged to work at Regina until the season was sufficiently advanced for us to take the road, but before leaving Toronto I heard that my caravan was not yet begun. This was exceedingly worrying, as it was now the middle of March, and I wished to start on the prairie by May 1, when the trails should be open. I had only six months' leave from my diocese, and was anxious to make the most of it, and now it seemed as if the whole plan would be spoilt by this delay over the caravan. I determined to stop at Winnipeg on my way to Regina in order to see about the matter, and to bring what influence I could to bear upon the coach-building firm. As a member of the Victoria League,[1] I had an introduction to a Daughter of the Empire at Winnipeg, and I wrote and asked her to use her influence in getting my order for the caravan put through without further delay. Then, arming myself with a letter from an official of the Royal Bank of Canada, stating that I was to be relied upon to carry out my business transactions, I had a "stop-over" for Winnipeg put on our tickets, and on arrival in that town went straight to the coach-builder's office. The Daughter of the Empire had telephoned to the firm, and this, with the official's letter, had the desired effect. The manager was most civil and obliging, and promised to do everything in his power to carry out the contract. To my surprise I found that the order for the caravan had never been received, the firm through which it had been given never having transmitted it. When I pressed for a promise that the van should be finished by May 1, adding that otherwise I should not pay for it, the manager, knowing that I came from the land of labour troubles, said, with a twinkle in his eye: "Yes, if there isn't a strike."

I spent some hours in attending to the details of the van, and then we went on to Regina by the night train, arriving there next morning. The clergy of the Railway Mission gave us hospitality at first, then Winifred Ticehurst went to work in St. Peter's parish, and lived at the vicarage, and I went to St. Mary's parish, and lived in lodgings.

Soon after I arrived in Regina Aylmer Bosanquet asked me to go out to her at Kenaston for a week-end. I was thankful that I was going to make my cross-country journeys by caravan when I found that it was no unusual thing for the trains in Western Canada to be three hours late in starting. This was so much a matter of course that a fellow-traveller—one of the Railway Mission clergy, who was going up to Kenaston to take service on the Sunday—telephoned to the station from the Mission-house before attempting to catch the train. These automatic telephones were a feature of every house in Regina, and were also installed in all parish halls and public buildings. The person using them could switch on to the desired number without calling up through the Exchange.

It was a five hours' journey to Kenaston, which is a typical prairie town—just a wide earth road, with wooden side-walks, and bordered on either side by wooden shacks. Even in Regina all but the main streets are of this unpaved earth, and when the snow is melting or after heavy rain this earth turns into thick and sticky mud (called "gumbo"), which cakes on your boots in lumps of incredible hardness, so that you often find yourself walking with one foot higher than the other. It is so hard that it can only be scraped off with a knife. Of course one has to clean one's own boots, unless one is near a "Shoe-shine Parlour" in some large town.

Kenaston is surrounded by illimitable prairie, across which one can see for twenty or thirty miles. When I first saw it the prairie was covered with snow, stained crimson in the West by the red glow of the setting sun. An unforgettable sight.

The town has a lumber-yard and several elevators, both of which are found in every town situated close to the "track"—i.e., the railway. The lumber (trees sawn into boards) is sent down from British Columbia and other parts for building shacks, etc., there being no timber trees on the prairie. The elevator is a high granary for storing the wheat till it is sent away by train.

Small as the place is there are three churches—Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Evangelical Lutheran. In many places there is a "Union" Church and Sunday school. This is a sort of co-operative Nonconformity, the ministers of the different denominations officiating alternately. Presbyterians have united in this matter with the other non-episcopal sects. The plan has been adopted to economise in men and money; but its weak point seems to be that, as the ministers have to please all denominations, the teaching is apt to become wishy-washy. A possible alternative occurred to me—namely, that all the religious bodies of a given area should combine to build a church, which could then be used for their own special services at different hours. But, of course, this plan would not economise in men.

Aylmer Bosanquet's shack had three rooms, all on the ground floor, with a veranda reached by steps. All the wooden houses have a basement beneath them, dug out of the earth and concreted. This helps to keep the houses dry and warm, and in the larger ones the furnace for the central heating is placed here. A stove going night and day is absolutely essential in the winter, as it is often forty or fifty degrees below zero. But the cold is not felt as severely as might be expected because of the dry, sunny atmosphere.

Life in a shack was a distinct contrast from life in New York. My hostesses slept together in a bed 2½ feet wide in order to accommodate their guest. In the dark of the wintry morning, about 7 a.m., I roused up sleepily to find Aylmer Bosanquet bringing me hot water, herself fully dressed and armed with logs, just going out to light the stove in the church, so that it might be warm when the people came at eight o'clock.

St. Colomba's was a typical prairie church, square built, without a chancel, the plainness of the walls only accentuating the richness of the altar furnishings. The walls were hung with framed Nelson pictures, which lent beauty and atmosphere to the church, and suggested meditation on holy things to all who entered. Most of the pictures were Aylmer Bosanquet's gifts, and the little wooden font, with its brass basin, was given by the Sunday School children. The splendid attendance at Holy Communion and Morning Prayer showed that the adornment of the church was the expression of a real love for religion. The hearty way in which the congregation joined in the services was very striking. Their mutual friendliness also was pleasant to see, and gave point to the usual greeting: "Pleased to meet you!" murmured in broken English even by the Chinese member of the congregation, a phrase which left me at a loss for a suitable reply until I hit upon the plan of always saying it first.

Preparation for the afternoon Sunday School was somewhat hampered by the necessity for cooking lunch at the same time, and the peas got burnt while the sand-tray was being prepared. At this unpropitious moment Mr. G., the Mission clergyman, looked in to smoke a surreptitious pipe, removed from the disapproving gaze of his flock, who have no sympathy with this form of self-indulgence on the part of their spiritual pastors. Unfortunately, in peas versus tobacco, peas won, and with a discerning sniff Mr. G. remarked: "You seem to be having very strange food." Which was the more disconcerting as the shack owners had more than once been reproved for their carelessness of their own comfort.

This first experience of a prairie Sunday School was indicative of the problems to be faced. It was held perforce in the church, a necessity with which I was familiar in my little schools on the fells. There were only sixteen children at Kenaston, their ages ranging from two to seventeen, so that the grading of lessons and devotions was difficult. The intelligence and interest displayed by these children were very remarkable. They did credit to the excellent teaching they had received.

The women missioners had classes in three other places, and held preparation classes for young teachers, thus training up a supply of teachers from among the young girls of the neighbourhood. The influence of the missioners' lives on these young girls was very wonderful.

On the Sunday evening there was no service at Kenaston because Mr. G. had gone on to take one elsewhere, so we went round to visit the parents and children. It was noticeable how beloved the missioners were. With some of the old people they held an informal service, which was greatly appreciated.

Aylmer and Nona intended to go out on the prairie that summer, in a different direction from that which I should take, of course, as we wanted to cover as much ground as possible. Aylmer had ordered a Ford roadster, which is a two-seater Ford with a folding camp-equipment attached. This caravanning was a subject of enthralling interest to both of us.

Life in a shack is a very busy one, but one soon got used to the inevitable chores, and remembered to keep the pan of melting snow on the stove always filled, this being the only water available for washing up. The shortage of water is one of the great trials of prairie life. When I remembered Aylmer's house in England, with its well-trained servants, her car and chauffeur, and all the luxuries to which she had always been accustomed, it emphasised all the more strongly the self-sacrifice of her present life.

On the Monday morning I wanted to telephone to Regina, and as my hostess said they were always allowed to use a neighbour's telephone, I took advantage of this neighbourly kindness. Whilst waiting for the long distance call I remembered that mutual assistance is the custom of the West, and helped to make the beds and sweep the house. It was about mid-day before I had finished with the telephone, and so I was pressed to stay for dinner. No newcomer is a stranger in that hospitable country. They were Yorkshire people and seemed delighted to meet another North Country person.

It was a typical West Canadian meal. It began with boiled Indian corn served with white sauce, then meat and potatoes, and then delicious canned fruit served with iced layer cake, the whole accompanied by strong tea. It is difficult to do as Rome does until you know what Rome does do, and with agony the guest realised that she had nothing wherewith to eat the canned fruit before her, having been too engrossed in conversation to notice the removal of her knife, fork, and spoon. Like Chinese chop-sticks, these should have been retained throughout the meal. The scarcity of water necessitates these little economies.

CHAPTER V

IN REGINA

Within the last twenty years Regina, the capital of Saskatchewan, has grown from a colony of wooden huts to a town of over 26,000 inhabitants. Government House and the Parliament Buildings are finely built of stone, but most of the houses are of wood, there being no quarries on the prairie. One not infrequently meets one of these wooden houses moving along the streets—a fascinating accomplishment. When you wish to live in another part of the town you simply have your house lifted on to wooden blocks and skids, and it is then moved bodily with a windlass turned by horses or machinery. One day I went house-hunting quite literally, chasing my elusive quarry from street to street with a camera.

We stayed in Regina for eight weeks, giving lectures and holding demonstration classes. We were invited to visit parents and teachers, which we were very glad to do, as by this means we became acquainted with most interesting people, and saw how life is lived in this part of the world.

There are four Anglican churches in Regina, St. Paul's having a splendid parish hall. But Anglicanism only comes fourth in numbers and wealth here, as it does in Western Canada as a whole. The Presbyterians are the most numerous, and have a fine church with a conspicuous tower. Methodism is also very strong. The Roman Catholics have built a beautiful cathedral on the highest part of the town, with two fine spires which form a landmark for miles around. Underneath the cathedral is a large parish hall with rooms for various purposes, and this economy of space allows room for two tennis-courts in the cathedral grounds.

A large piece of ground has been acquired for the site of the Anglican cathedral, but this has not yet been begun, because it was thought better, whilst funds were low, to build the theological college and the girls' school first. Aylmer Bosanquet gave £1,000 to start this school,[2] a project in which she took great interest. It is under the management of the Anglican sisters of St. John the Divine. It supplies a long-felt want, being the only Anglican Church boarding school in this part of the West. It has now taken over St. Chad's College, which was originally built for divinity students, but as their numbers were greatly depleted by the War, St. Cuthbert's Hostel is now large enough for their needs. Unfortunately, in many cases the children's schooling depends upon the crops. Only comparatively well-to-do parents are able to send their children regularly. Before they have made their way, or when the crops fail, they have to depend upon the public schools. To help such parents several bursaries have been given, but others are needed.

After my week-end at Kenaston I settled down to work in Regina until the trails were ready. My vicar made arrangements for me to lodge with a charming family—a Mr. and Mrs. W. and their two daughters. They had come out from England about twenty years before, and the girls were thorough Canadians and very delightful creatures. Mrs. W. made me feel like one of the family, and mothered me in countless ways. She taught me how to use the Canadian washing-machine, a thing not unlike a churn. You wash the clothes simply by turning a handle—so many times for white things and so many times for coloured. She also showed me how to iron my blouses, and, above all, helped me to buy the equipment for the caravan. Her advice here was invaluable, as she not only knew the best "stores" and what a thing ought to cost, but she also interpreted Canadian terminology, such as "coal oil" for paraffin, "wood alcohol" for methylated spirits, and "gasolene" for petrol.

Mr. W. was equally helpful, and I soon came to regard him as an encyclopedia of useful information, especially with regard to practical business matters. Having lived on the prairie, he also gave me many valuable tips about prairie life.

The girls were members of the choir, and one was a Sunday School teacher, and by meeting their friends and going about with them I gained an insight into the life of young Canada. Pretty faces, very smart clothes, instant friendliness, swiftness in uptake, a keen interest in work and play, and a worthy ambition are some of the characteristics of these young people. The "movies" and ice-cream play a large part in their lives. The girls usually marry very young and have a large circle of admirers from whom to choose. Winifred Ticehurst sketched them as follows in one of her letters: "Choir girls, mortar boards and tassels, most chic; surplices and cassocks, curls each side of mortar boards . . . white Eton collars like little boys."

One of the social activities which interested me very much was the Canadian Girls in Training, organised by the Council on Girls' Work. They gave a banquet while I was in Regina, and one of the W. girls asked me to go as her "mother," it being the custom for each of them to invite a parent or some older person. I was much struck by the excellent speeches made by the girls. They explained the object of the organisation, and gracefully thanked all those who had helped towards its success.

Another very interesting social gathering which I attended was a reception given by the Daughters of the Empire in the Parliament Buildings. I had received introductions to all the members of this association living in any of the towns where I was likely to go. The President thought that it would be interesting for us to meet the members who were coming in from all parts of Saskatchewan, and who might help us on the caravan tour. We were also introduced to Premier Martin, who was then Minister of Education for Saskatchewan. He gave a most interesting address on the rural schools, and after hearing about our project promised to give us introductions to the day school teachers in the places we hoped to visit.

Further official encouragement resulted from an introduction to the Lieutenant-Governor, Sir Richard Lake. He welcomed me as a compatriot, as he had been educated at Heversham Grammar School, in Westmorland. We had an interesting talk on prairie trails and motoring, and the need for religious education in the day schools. He was strongly in favour of this, and expressed regret for the continual opposition to it.

The Daughters of the Empire sent the editor of a Regina newspaper to interview me. She questioned me on what I had done during the War, the reason for our coming out, and the places we intended to visit. The result was an embarrassingly flattering article in the local paper, which was copied by the Saskatchewan Star. A few weeks later the following notice appeared in another paper: "Bachelors, beware! Two women are going in a caravan on the prairie. This is Leap Year!"

In Regina I met some very nice girls who had come out under the Fellowship of the Maple Leaf.[3] They had come to teach in the prairie schools, and a good many were now in training at the Normal School. I gave a tea-party for them, and they told me a good deal about their work, and in return showed great interest in our caravan scheme. Those of them who were going out to the prairie that summer said that they hoped we would visit them. I was very glad of this opportunity of explaining our hopes and aims to these teachers, for I knew it had been suggested that they should help with religious education, either by starting Sunday Schools or by giving instruction after school hours during the week. I foresaw that our great difficulty would be to make our work permanent in districts where there were no clergy, and I realised the enormous value of the help of these trained women. They would already have some knowledge of teaching methods, and some acquaintance with the Bible and Church doctrine. It would be a simple matter to show them how to apply psychological methods to religious education, and, helped with lesson courses and pictures, they could easily carry on any Sunday Schools we might be able to start in their neighbourhood.

We did not talk shop all the time; the "green Englishwomen" were put through a severe catechism on Canadian as it is spoken. But the W. family having instructed me carefully, I came off better than might have been expected.

I saw a good deal of the deaconess in charge of the Maple Leafs. She found them comfortable lodgings, and befriended them in every possible way. She asked us to look up any of them whom we came across in the out-of-the-way prairie schools. Her only way of visiting was by train, and some of these schools were far from any "track." She was very kind to us and helped us in many ways.

Whilst I was in Regina I had to plan out the organisation of the caravan tour. I was given the names of a large number of places to visit and the routes we were to follow, but no names of the clergy in the different "districts" (parishes). I had no idea how far apart these places were, or how long it would take to get from place to place in the caravan. I therefore got a map and worked out the mileage between the places. On the earth trails outside Regina I had often seen motor-cars stuck in mud-holes, and I had noticed the deep ruts of these unmetalled roads, so I concluded that we could not make more than ten miles an hour at most in the caravan. On these two calculations I based the mileage we might hope to cover.

When at last I obtained the names of the clergy on my proposed route, I found that there were large areas in which there were no Anglican clergymen at all. I then wrote to the clergy, and, lacking these, the leading laity when I could find their names. In some cases this was impossible until I neared their district. In these letters I made the following suggestions. We should like to come and stay a week in their locality, living and sleeping in the caravan and doing our own cooking (I wished to make it clear that we should not be burdensome), but we should be glad to receive invitations and hospitality at times in order to get to know the people. Where there was a Sunday School in existence, we proposed to superintend the school and teach, while the teachers watched. Where there was no Sunday School, we should like to have the children gathered together to form one. In this case we hoped that prospective teachers would come to be shown how to teach, that they might carry on the school when we had started it, helped by the books and pictures which we proposed to leave them. We also requested the trustees to allow us to give Scripture lessons in the day schools in the half-hour allotted for that purpose, and also expressed our great desire to meet the parents, that we might discuss with them the problems of religious education.

I received most kind replies to these letters. The writers offered us a hearty welcome, and said how pleased they would be to have people coming out to them, for, as a rule, they had little help in these matters, beyond an invitation to a summer school just when the harvest was in full swing.

I should add here what I had been most careful to explain—namely, that we were given diocesan authority for our work by Archdeacon Dobie, D.D., who was acting as Commissary for the Bishop owing to the latter's breakdown through overwork, and by Archdeacon Burgett, the Chairman of the Sunday School Diocesan Association, who was also Diocesan Missioner.

CHAPTER VI

THE MOTOR CARAVAN

Whilst in Regina waiting for the caravan to be ready for the road I took steps to be ready for the van. I had never driven a Ford, but Aylmer Bosanquet's Ford roadster arrived whilst I was in Regina, and she allowed me to have lessons on it. It was quite easy to drive, and on the second day I took it out alone. I also went to a motor school and had a course of lessons on Ford running repairs and vulcanising tyres. The head man was exceedingly nice, and took infinite pains to help me in every way. I was the only woman in the shop, but there were a great many men learning motor-tractor work preparatory to working on the prairie farms. Most of them had been in the army. They took a most embarrassing interest in me and my future plans, putting me through the usual catechism, with the inevitable leading question: "Are you married?" They seemed to think it was not fit for two women to go out alone on the prairie, as in Western Canada women hardly ever drive outside the towns, and never do their own running repairs—and seldom even oil their engines, judging from the sound.

On May 1 I heard that the caravan was ready, but, unfortunately, the trails were not yet open. However, spring comes suddenly on the prairie. On May 2 there was a blizzard of snow, and on May 5 it was like an English midsummer day. Archdeacon Burgett advised us not to fetch our caravan until his clergy had arrived at Regina with theirs, as they could then tell us what the trails were like. They came in on the Saturday, May 8, having had a very rough time with snow-drifts and mud-holes. They had bent their back lamp and damaged a rear mudguard. I noticed that they had no shock absorbers, which accounted for a good deal of the damage. They gave us a book with directions and maps of the blazed trail between Winnipeg and Regina, and gave us a lurid description of the perils of the way, apparently wishing to dissuade us from what they considered a mad attempt. But as I had mapped out the caravan itinerary with but little margin, I did not wish to lose any time in getting off, so Winifred Ticehurst and I started for Winnipeg late on Sunday evening (after working pretty hard all day). We took a blanket or two and a little spirit lamp and saucepan as our sole camping equipment. The parish hall, in which our sleeping-bags, etc., were stored, was locked, and the caretaker had gone to church.

THE CARAVAN AND HER CREW

(W. M. T. LEFT, F. H. E. H. RIGHT)

THE INTERIOR OF THE VAN

To face p. 28

TIDYING UP (see page 54)

A SHACK ON THE MOVE (see page 22)

We arrived at Winnipeg at 11.30 a.m. on Monday, and went straight to the coachbuilder's. The manager showed us the caravan, which was all ready for the road, except that they had not put non-skid tyres on the rear as ordered. I pointed this out, and the manager said that the mistake had been made by the Ford Company, but he would send the car down to have it put right in the morning. We had expected to start that afternoon, but were told that the car had not yet been passed by the Government officials, who were going to register it as a commercial vehicle to escape taxation. As it was a public holiday this could not be done until next day.

The caravan was much like a tradesman's van in appearance. It was painted black, with "Sunday School Mission, Anglican Church," lettered in red and gold on one side. The driving seat could be completely closed in when necessary, for, besides the wind-screen, there were half-glass doors on either side, which in hot weather could be taken off and put behind the mattresses. There were two doors at the back of the van, which opened outwards. As the side doors had their catches inside, when we wished to leave the caravan we got out at the back and padlocked these doors, thus making all secure. The back of the driving-seat was hinged and folded forward at night, so that the six-foot mattresses which were strapped back to the van sides during the day could come down over it. Beneath one mattress was a wooden locker, and under the other a wooden shelf with legs. There was also a shelf on one wall of the van. When I got back to Regina, before starting out on the prairie, I added further items, which the run from Winnipeg had shown to be desirable. An electric bulb was fitted to the roof of the van, and a reflecting glass put on the left side. I also got an inspection lamp for use at night in case anything went wrong with the engine. This could be attached to the electric current which supplied the bulb. We racked our brains to think of some means of keeping the things on the shelf, and finally nailed on wire netting, which we hooked to the roof. This proved very effective, but so great was the jar that the dancing pots and pans wore it out from time to time. We made a bag to hold our tidiest clothes, and blue cotton covers for the mattresses and a bag to keep our pillows clean. We also nailed linoleum on the floor of the van, because dust and draughts came through cracks in the wood-work, and this made the floor easy to keep clean.

The caravan had a Ford chassis with electric starter and head lights. I had heard that for the rough prairie trails nothing could beat a Ford engine. Only a car with a high clearance is of any use on these earth roads, and whereas a heavy car would stick in a mud-hole the light Ford can get through. Then again, even little "towns" which are nothing more than hamlets stock Ford spare parts, both in garages and in the ordinary "hardware stores"—i.e., iron-mongers. I had had two extra petrol tanks put on the foot-board, each holding 8½ gallons, so that we could carry 25 gallons in all. The tool box, also, was on the foot-board, so the spare tyre had to be strapped inside the caravan above the driving seat. We had very strong shock absorbers to prevent the body smashing the back axle and springs when we went through very deep holes, and sub-radius rods to strengthen the steering-rod and front axle. I carried three spare tubes as I had not remountable rims, and a pyrene extinguisher fixed inside the car in case of fire through damage to the petrol tanks on the rough trails.

I fitted out the caravan in the light of what I had learnt about the prairie from the Regina Railway Mission clergy lecturing in England, and from books on the subject. From these sources I knew something about the condition of the roads and the storms one might expect. This was why I insisted on having a caravan rather than a Ford roadster, for though the lightness of the latter would enable it to get through a mud-hole where a caravan might stick, I guessed that a prairie thunderstorm with its terrific winds and torrential rains would sweep away the tent and hood of the roadster like straws, leaving the occupants homeless.

As we could not get away that day we were obliged to find lodgings for the night, and had not the least idea where to go. I would have asked hospitality from the Daughter of the Empire to whom I had an introduction, but we did not care to present ourselves to a stranger in our travel-stained condition, and we had brought no evening clothes with us. Winifred suggested that we should try to find a Y.W.C.A., which we did. The head received us very kindly, and gave us cheap and comfortable accommodation. Had we not been so tired we might have attended a concert in their concert-hall.

Next morning we went to a store which sold camping outfits and bought several things, in particular a cunning arrangement of aluminium cooking utensils which fitted neatly into a canvas bag. Canadians make a speciality of this kind of thing, as people often camp out when on a shooting or fishing expedition. I also had to get several extra tools for the car, as very few were provided with it. Whilst I did this Winifred went off to buy food.

When I went to fetch the caravan I found that a mechanic was just about to take it to the Ford Company to have the non-skid tyres put on, so I accompanied him. I noticed that it was not easy to drive in traffic, you could not see out of the back, and as yet it had no reflecting glass. The engine was very stiff as it had just come out of the assembly shop and had not been run, so it was difficult to steer and to regulate the speed. Also it swung a good deal as the body was very long, and the shock absorbers helped to make it swing. Though Main Street, Winnipeg, is much wider than Oxford Street, it also contains much more traffic, including trams, so it was not surprising that we nearly ran into a motor bicycle and other vehicles. Then the pyrene extinguisher fell out, and I had to rescue it from under the nose of a tram.

Seeing what Winnipeg traffic was like, and how stiff the engine was, and also not knowing the way out of the town, I thought of the suggestion made by the Regina motor school, where I had learnt Ford running repairs. This was that I should ask a mechanic of their Winnipeg branch to look over the engine and see if it were rightly adjusted, and then take us out of Winnipeg. Leaving the caravan at the Ford Company, I went to find this firm. The address given to me proved to be a barber's shop. This was rather disconcerting, but, on inquiring the way, I found that it belonged to the same firm, and they directed me to the motor shops. They sent a mechanic with me, but he seemed all the time to be in a great hurry, and kept looking at his watch. I left him looking at the engine while I went after something or other, and when I came back he was gone. I then saw that I should have to take the van out of Winnipeg myself, as they could not spare a mechanic from the Ford Company.

What must be must, so Winifred and I started off and drove into Main Street, with its surging stream of trams and cars. The rule of the road here is the opposite of the English rule, all cars having a left-hand drive, so I thought it best to cross over to the right side of the street. But just as I had turned across the tram-lines a policeman stopped me, saying that I must cross further up at the regular crossing-place. The engine, being stiff, stopped dead, and there we were, right in the way of the trams. However, by the help of the self-starter, I got it going again and tried to turn, but the steering-wheel was so stiff that I nearly ran into the pavement. We went on further up the street until we came to a red notice which marked the crossing-place, but as I had to drive slowly through the traffic, the engine kept stopping, so I turned into a side street, and with a good deal of difficulty found my way out of the town. With every mile the engine ran better, and after fifty miles it went quite easily.

CHAPTER VII

THE PRAIRIE TRAILS

The prairie trails are simply earth roads, it being impossible to get stone for them. The very best trail is much like the worst cart road in England. The trail is made by scooping out the earth on either side of a wide track, and throwing it into the middle, where the clods are baked as hard as bricks by the sun. These clods would knock the bottom out of any car which had not a high clearance—the more so as a used trail has ruts about two feet deep. Trail-making is usually done by a scoop drawn by two horses, but in some places a kind of motor-plough is used. In dry weather a simple track across the prairie made by carts and horses is much easier going, but these tracks are impossible when the snow is melting, or after the heavy thunderstorms of summer. Therefore all the main trails have to be raised in the middle to let off the water, which would otherwise stand till it formed sloughs. When once on the trail you have to keep there, as it is either bordered by a three-foot bank whence the earth was dug, or else it slopes straight into a slough. These sloughs are like great ponds, their bottoms are covered with deep mud, and if it once gets in, a car sinks deeper and deeper, and cannot be got out. The sloughs are very beautiful, reflecting the wonderful blue of the sky, or the marvellous colours of sunset. A prairie sunset is quite beyond description. I have never seen such colours in England.

The flowers on the prairie are lovely, forming a changing kaleidoscope of colour throughout the summer months. They border the trails and the sloughs, and grow in riotous profusion on unbroken ground. When we first took the trail I specially noticed a lovely little pale mauve anemone.

There are also many beautiful birds on the prairie, the most striking being the red-winged blackbird—a very big blackbird with glinting red feathers on the top of his wings. There was also a robin about twice the size of his English cousin, and a yellow-breasted bird which sang a very sweet little song, but never seemed to finish it. There were prairie chickens of a greyish brown, wild duck and large snipe, and a sort of water-hen.

The jack-rabbit was a very ubiquitous person, always jumping across the trail. He is really a hare, greyish-brown in summer and white in winter. Another local inhabitant who made his presence felt was the gopher, which looks like a cross between a squirrel and a weasel. They make their holes in the wheel-ruts of the trails, as we found by bumping violently over their excavations. Badgers adopt the same inconvenient habit, as we discovered to our cost when shot suddenly to the roof of the caravan. Fortunately, they are not so common as gophers. The latter do a great deal of damage to the wheat, so that the farmers are obliged to poison them and the children are given so much per tail; consequently I had little compunction in running over one occasionally when it sat up in the middle of the trail just in front of the wheel. At first I wondered why these beasties chose the trail for their burrows when they had all the enormous prairie at their disposal, until it was explained to me that the hard ground formed a better front door to their holes, as in soft ground the soil would fall in.

We were interested in watching the farming operations en route. They were disking and ploughing and sowing, generally driving six horses abreast. The machines were immensely wide, too large to pass through our widest gates, and it was a heavy alluvial soil, thus needing much horse-power. We also saw a large number of motor tractors in use.

All the main trails are bordered with telephone poles, and a red blaze on these poles indicates the way—i.e., an R or an L tells you when to turn to the right or left. At least, it is supposed to tell you, but as both letters are usually on the same side of the pole, it is up to you to guess whether you turn to the right to go to Winnipeg or to Regina. The matter is further complicated by the letters being made of paper on some trails, in which case they are generally half torn off.

The trails, like the towns, are laid out in squares. In a town the avenues run east and west and the streets north and south. On the trail, when you are running north and south you find a trail running east and west every two miles; and when you are running east and west you find a trail going north and south every mile. But this arrangement is complicated as you draw near to the Arctic Circle, because as the trails are laid out in squares, these squares grow narrower in this direction and so an extra trail, called a correction line, is added at intervals. Also now and again an old Indian trail upsets one's calculations. You never talk of right and left on the prairie, but always of the points of the compass, and these points form the first lesson which a child learns. Yet the actual compass is of no use on these rough roads, as it gets out of order. One learns to steer by the sun and stars.

It is useless to ask for directions, you will merely be told "Go five miles north, and three miles east and one mile south and four miles west, and then look for the elevator at So-and-So. Ye can't miss it." But you can miss it, very easily. Again, you are often told that a place is "quite close" and find it to be at least five miles away.

There are no landmarks on these trails, except the elevators in the towns near the track. The sections are marked by a small heap of stones at their corners. There is scarcely a fence on the prairie, there being no stock to speak of and no wood at hand for posts. There are also no sign-posts or danger signals, and for lack of the latter we had a narrow escape of finishing our tour before it had well begun. Soon after we left Winnipeg, running through the main street of a little town, we suddenly saw a great C.P.R. train cross the road in front of us with no warning whatever. Had we been a minute or two sooner we must have been killed. It is no unusual thing for the track to cross the trail, but in this instance the houses prevented us from seeing the approach of the train.

Meeting another car was an awkward matter as it meant climbing out of the ruts and running with one wheel in the gutter. Sometimes, in trying to avoid a mud hole or something, we ran at such an angle that I only kept my seat by clinging to the steering-wheel, and how Winifred kept hers is a mystery. Straw and sand are sometimes thrown into these mud holes, in a vain endeavour to fill them up. When stuck fast in one it was little consolation to be told that it was probably an old buffalo wallow.

This is how Winifred described the trail in one of her letters: "The road was long, the ruts were deep, the sloughs were lined with mud. The road was narrow, and on each side those watery sloughs did gleam with tempting sunset gleams of cherry, pink and gold, a warm, warm glow. They said 'Oh, guide your car into our gleams and spend the night with us.'"

CHAPTER VIII

FROM WINNIPEG TO REGINA

The first night we camped near a farm-house so as to be able to get water. We did this whenever it was possible. Going to bed in a caravan proved to be an acquired art. First we had to put all the camping equipment, etc., either in front of the driving seat or outside the van covered over with a waterproof sheet (there was always a very heavy dew at night); then we let down the mattresses and arranged the bedding. Next came the difficulty of undressing, there being barely 12 inches between the mattresses when they were let down. We could not make a dressing-room of the prairie because we generally camped near a farm, and anyhow the clarity of the atmosphere and the flat ground made one visible from a long distance. This first night we sat on our mattresses and wriggled out of our clothes, there being no room in the van to stand upright. Afterwards we adopted the plan of going to bed one by one. We put up the tent for a second room whenever we stayed long enough in a place to make it worth while. We had been obliged to do this trip without our sleeping-bags, and so were very cold at night, as the temperature then falls very low even in the summer. You really need a sleeping-bag as well as blankets on the prairie. Our excellent health throughout the tour was probably largely due to our precautions in this matter. My sleeping-bag had already done much service, having been lent me by a cousin who had used it on the French and Italian fronts, and my mosquito net was a loan from a padre who had served at Salonica. This preserved me from much discomfort and blood-poisoning, as later in the summer the mosquitoes were very ferocious, especially to us newcomers.

We started on our tour with a due regard for appearances, both of us armed with travelling looking-glasses. But these soon got smashed in our bumpy progress, and henceforth we contented ourselves with tidying our hair from our shadows cast on the ground or our reflections in the wind-screen, or, Hyacinth-like, gazed fondly into the sloughs.

I turned out first in the morning, as I was going to cook the breakfast, and found it decidedly cold. When I went to the farm for milk and eggs the nice woman would not let me pay for them. We found great generosity wherever we went. We had brought sufficient water from Winnipeg in the ferrostate flask for tea, but this was too precious to use for washing up, so we had our first experience of getting water out of a prairie well. This shortage of water and the expense of boring very deep wells is one of the farmers' great trials. In certain places you have to go down forty feet for water. If there is no gasolene engine or windmill it has to be drawn up with a bucket and rope. This is by no means easy, the problem being to prevent the bucket from floating empty on the surface of the water. To avoid this you have to swing the bucket so that it falls in sideways and fills itself, but if you are not very careful when drawing it up it will sway violently and spill half the contents. On this first occasion, having proudly drawn up my water, I essayed to take it away in our canvas bucket, but not knowing the habits of the latter it turned over just as I had got it filled. Afterwards I circumvented it by weighting it with a stone or propping it up.

When at last we were all ready to start, the engine unfortunately wasn't. I thought that the sparking plugs had probably got damp with the heavy dew, or had got oily, so I took them out and cleaned them and also cleaned the carburetter. In the meantime Winifred went off to the neighbouring town to fetch help from a garage, but they were all too busy with motor tractors to come. Presently two farm men came and talked to me and helped to undo screws, but did not seem to know much about a car. The small boy from the farm saved the situation by his cheerful chatter. He kept telling me that the radiator was like a letter-box.

At last I got the car to start, and then it went very well. The trail was very sandy, bordered with coarse grass and prickly scrub, and there were hills at intervals. The car skidded badly in the sand, and once swung round broadside on up a bank, and nearly turned over. We had to cut down some of the thorny bushes in order to get it out without damaging the headlights. We had not gone much further before the car stuck in the sand again, going up a hill. Some men came by in a car and advised me to tighten the gear pedal, which I did. New cars need continual adjustment at first, of course. When we had done about fifty miles I thought that the engine smelt hot and found that the fan was not working, so I screwed up the belt and it was all right for a time. We passed through several towns that day, and stopped for the night near a slough, outside Alexandra. For the first time we were hushed to sleep by the "Canadian Band," as the frog chorus is called.

The next day was Ascension Day, and we hoped to reach some town in time for a service, but difficulties beset us from the first. I had to get some gasolene out of the side tanks, and this meant siphoning it, an exceedingly unpleasant performance, no less than sucking it through a tube to start the flow. Then the electric starter went wrong, and the engine was terribly hard to crank, as the starting-handle had not been used. At last we were off, but the trail was heavy with sand, and the engine got very hot and presently stuck fast at a hill. I found that the fan had gone wrong again, and took it down, and while trying to put it right found that a nut had not been properly adjusted. A man came along in a car and at once went to my aid. Then two more men came by and also stopped to help, and when we had adjusted the fan they all three pushed the van off and we went up the hill.

But our troubles were not over yet. An immense hole, about five feet deep, yawned across our path as we topped the hill, and there was nothing for it but to plunge through it and down the hill beyond. The caravan swayed so violently that I expected every moment that we should be upset, but it always righted itself just in time, though everything on the shelves was hurled to the floor—a continual occurrence until we put up the netting. The sand was so thick here that we got on to a grass track beside the trail, hoping for better going, but this soon ended, and we had to bump back on to the trail again. In so doing we stuck fast in the ditch. By racing the engine I got her out, but we soon stuck fast again, this time up to our axles in sand. After we had tried in vain for an hour to get the car out, we gave it up and sat down by the roadside to read the service for the day in our prayer-books. It was easy to enter into the spirit of the festival out there on the wide prairie, with its immense distances and glorious blue sky. We were about thirty miles from any house.

After a time we started to dig out the wheels with our hands, but just then two of the men who had helped us before came back along the trail. "How many more times shall we have to help you two girls out of a hole?" they cried, and with much good nature proceeded to assist us, until at last, with reversing and pushing and putting our blankets under the wheels, we got out. We had to go half a mile back and along another trail, but at last reached Verdun. We only did twenty-seven miles that day.

We didn't stick fast anywhere next day, but the trails were very bad, and we were shaken to pieces. My arms became very stiff with the vibration from the steering-wheel, and sometimes it was nearly knocked out of my hands when a front wheel struck big clods. One had to hang on like grim death. After a time, however, I quite got into the way of driving in ruts. We stopped for the night at Wapallo, and were just going to have supper when the vicar came along and saw our van, whereupon he promptly took us home with him. His wife was most kind to us, and at once supplied our greatest (and most obvious) need by inviting us to wash. A real wash is a great treat on the prairie, where water is so scarce. After supper we went to evensong in the pretty little prairie church, near which we afterwards camped. We had done ninety-two miles that day.

Next day, when we stopped at Medicine Hat for gasolene, a man came out of a store close by, and, seeing the van, introduced himself as the superintendent of the Anglican Sunday School there. He was most anxious that we should stop over Sunday, but we thought it best to get to Regina as soon as possible. As we neared the town we had a narrow escape from a slough. Going into Regina there was a very bad turn, in negotiating which the car swung round and one of the front wheels went into a muddy ditch. By putting on the brake with great force, I managed to stop her from plunging farther in. I think I was getting a little tired. We had done 120 miles that day. Winifred went off to find help, but a big motor lorry came along as I sat waiting with the car, and stopped at once, seeing I was in difficulties. The driver called out that he would pull me out if I had a rope. I always carried one, and with its aid he soon towed me out backwards. When I thanked him he said: "You're Scotch, aren't you? I was in a hospital in Scotland during the War, and the nurses were so good to me that I'm glad to help any girls from the Old Country."

Everyone seemed both pleased and surprised to see us back, though unfeignedly astonished that one so "green" should have been able to bring the car through alone. It is 412 miles from Winnipeg to Regina—farther than from London to Glasgow. Far from being exhausted by our adventures, we felt braced up by the glorious sunshine and invigorating air of the prairie, and we did full justice to the feast of welcome prepared. Folks were interested in the caravan, and various remarks were made about it. Even to our fond eyes it could not be called exactly beautiful, but it was rather cruel of Canon X. to observe: "Ah! a Black Maria, I see."

On the Monday following, while I was in the midst of preparations for our start that week, Nona Clarke rang me up to say that Aylmer Bosanquet was very ill, and could I come at once to help to bring her into Regina. I had about ten minutes in which to catch the train. Helped by kind Mrs. W., I bundled a few things into a suit-case and ran. But I had to stop at a drug-store to get some sort of stimulant for Aylmer, as Nona had said that she seemed on the verge of a collapse. It is in a case like this that prohibition is so inconvenient. I could get neither brandy nor sal-volatile without a doctor's certificate—and yet I had often seen people who did not look ill produce a certificate and get the stimulant they asked for. "Is there nothing you can give me?" I asked in desperation, and the shopman handed me some kind of ammonia, saying that was the only thing he could let me have. The bottle bore no directions, and when I asked how one should take it, and whether the dose would be about the same as sal-volatile, he replied indifferently: "Oh, yes, I think so."

I just caught the train, which then steamed out of the station and waited an hour at North Regina.

I found Aylmer very ill indeed, hardly able to speak, and without any of those little comforts which mean so much in sickness. The shack was all in disorder, too, as they were packing up to go on the prairie in the Ford roadster. Although she was so weak and ill she was full of interest in our work, and made me describe the journey from Winnipeg, but I soon saw that conversation was too much for her. Nona telephoned to a doctor in Regina, asking him to come out next day to see if the patient were fit to travel, in which case he was to accompany her back by the next train.

All that night a dust storm raged, succeeded next morning by torrential rain. I went out to get milk and bread for breakfast, buying the latter from the Christian Chinaman, who inquired anxiously for Aylmer, and said, when I wished to pay for my purchase, "Eef it ees for de missionarees you need not pay." Then there was the problem of how to get the invalid to the station, as the shack was by this time surrounded with a sea of black mud which no car could traverse. But Nona found a man with a dray who promised to come if needed. The doctor's train was so late that there was only a quarter of an hour between his arrival and the departure of the return train. But he made a hasty examination, and said that though she was very weak it would be better to take her into Regina. It is so difficult to get nurses or medical attendance out on the prairie.[4]

I dressed her with difficulty, and she lay on the bed while we all combined to lift it bodily on to the dray. But the rain and wind were still so strong that Nona had to kneel beside the bed holding on fast to the rugs, while I held an umbrella over Aylmer's head. It was pathetic to see the people waving good-bye from their houses as she passed, for though they did not guess how ill she was, they knew that she was leaving them, perhaps for ever. Arrived at Regina, we took her to the Grey Nuns' hospital.

I had now only three days in which to complete our preparations if we were to start on the date fixed, which it was necessary to do if we were to fulfil our engagements. I went to see Aylmer as often as I could, and of course drove the caravan up to the hospital for her to see from her window. It grieved me very much (apart from my anxiety about her illness) to think that she could now take no part in this adventure, the idea of which was all her own. Indeed, this was to prove her only glimpse of our van, in the details of which she would have revelled, for before we returned from the prairie she had been ordered to British Columbia and then on to California. I never saw her again.

CHAPTER IX

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."

DIGGING OUT THE WHEEL

THE TENT, AND MY ASSISTANTS AT LOREBURN

To face p. 48

1. & 2. HOUSEHOLD TASKS (see page 54)

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.

CHAPTER X

ADVENTURES AND MISADVENTURES

It rained hard all next day, so I spent the time in making some things for the caravan; in particular, a wire cage for the electric bulb, which was always being knocked against and broken. One could never start directly the rain ceased, the trails were too bad, and when we did take the road on the following day we found a sea of mud. On the second day we arrived at Outlook, and camped above the ferry. There was no resident clergyman here, but a local lady did what she could for the spiritual needs of the children, holding a very successful Sunday School in the church, where she had arranged a beautiful "Children's Corner." A few suitable pictures and simple printed prayers were pinned on the wall within easy reach of kneeling children. They are encouraged to make this spot their special oratory. This particular "Corner" was arranged near the font, which seemed a specially suitable place for it. Unfortunately, we were unable to meet this lady, as she was ill, but we went to see the lay reader who took the services on Sunday.

After we had camped that night a young girl came to talk to us. She explained that she was very unhappy and unsettled with regard to religion. She had gone to the "Pentecostals," poor child, because she was deaf, and could hear their loud declamations; but she had received no sort of help from them. Her parents belonged to the Church of England, but since they had been in Canada the younger children had not been baptized. Presently the girl's mother joined us, and we made friends at once and had "a good crack" when we each found that the other came from Cumberland. She told me that she had been brought up a Baptist, but had joined the Church of England. I urged her to prepare her children for baptism herself, and have them baptized at the earliest opportunity. This she promised to do.

Next day we had to cross the Saskatchewan River, no easy task from all accounts. We had been regaled with hair-raising stories of how a man drove his car too fast down the pier to the ferry boat, which had not been linked up, and the car plunged into the river and was never seen again. The same fate overtook a man who fell out of his boat when mending the ferry cable. I was not quite at my best for this particular undertaking, as I had one eye badly swollen from a mosquito bite through forgetting to put on my net when sitting down to write a letter. There were three ways of getting down the river bank to the ferry pier. One road zig-zagged so sharply that the long caravan could not turn at the bend, and the paling just there was so frail that had we run into it we must have broken through and gone down a bank. The other road was strewn with huge stones, so I eschewed roads altogether, and went down the rough grass bank, swaying and bumping and almost overturning, but it seemed the least perilous passage. I took the car down while Winifred was on in front, looking for a better road, as there was no reason why we should both be upset. A narrow road led on to the pier, which was a long wooden structure built over the sand and mud of the river's edge. The ferry, a wooden barge worked by a cable, was moored to the end of it, and I drove on to it cautiously. The men working the ferry were three Englishmen, who had served with the Canadian contingent, and they hailed the van delightedly as a long-lost friend, at first thinking it was an old motor ambulance from France. We took photos of them, whereupon they begged that we would not exhibit them as "specimens of the white heathen we met out there." "I felt indeed that we must look missionaries of the fiercest type," was Winifred's comment on this incident.

There was only one trail to Bounty, our next destination, so when we came suddenly on a dreadful hole right across the path, with a bank on either side of the road, there was nothing for it but to go on. I tried to rush across, and suddenly felt an awful concussion. I was flung up against the roof of the van and saw stars for the moment, but somehow or other we got across. Then I went round to see what damage was done to our baggage, etc., and found that a three-gallon tin of coal oil had been flung up and had come down upside down. There it was, standing on its cork. I next examined the engine, which seemed very odd. The gear pedal had gone wrong and everything was crooked. Then I saw that the bonnet was not fitting. I lifted it up and found that the whole engine was two or three inches out of the straight. I saw that I could not put things right myself, and so determined to try to reach the town. Meanwhile, in this as in other mishaps, Winifred helped me enormously by sitting calmly on the bank reading a novel. She never fussed or made worrying exclamations, or hindered me by offering useless suggestions or unwanted assistance. She never complained, either, under the most trying circumstances, or made the slightest sound in those wild moments when we were nearly thrown out of the van by the roughness of the road.

We were five miles from Bounty, but I found that I could get along on low gear. A few miles farther on we came to another bad place, where the conduit had fallen in, but we managed to crawl through somehow. I was thankful to find a big garage at Bounty, with an efficient mechanic. He and I examined the car and found that the frame was sprung three inches on either side. He said that the body would have to be slung up and the engine taken out and a new frame put in, and that this would take a week to do. So we unloaded the van by the church, and took out the mattresses also for use in the tent, and then left the poor invalid at the garage.

There are garages in every prairie town, even in what we should call little villages, for in Saskatchewan there is a car for every two people. These garages are well fitted up, and have all the latest inventions. Outside all of them there is a petrol pump and a "Free Air" cable for the convenience of passers-by. The latter has a gasolene engine which pumps up the air, so that you can fill your tyres in a second. No one thinks of using a hand-pump unless he has a burst right out on the prairie.

We lived in the tent this week, with most of our baggage stored in the church porch. As usual, the children helped us to arrange our things. I had quite a holiday, with the caravan off my hands, but Winifred's duties went on as usual. We had apportioned the work as follows: she was to keep the interior of the van clean and do all the washing-up, whilst I drove, cleaned the engine, did repairs, etc., and cooked. Winifred's job was no sinecure. She hardly ever had much water for washing-up, so she used to clean the horrid greasy dishes and things with paper and then rinse them; and though I sometimes nearly threw her out of the van, she in turn sometimes kept me out of it when she was having a thorough clean up—a necessary evil after a muddy day or a dust-storm.

I wanted to telephone to Mr. W. at Regina, as he was holding my insurance policy for the car, so I asked permission to do so from a resident who had already greatly befriended us. When 'phoning I found it very difficult to hear what Mr. W. said; it seemed as if all the receivers were open. I was further distracted by hearing the owner of the telephone remark to Winifred, as she gazed at my back, "Eh! isn't she fat?" as who should say, "No wonder the frame was sprung!"

Next morning I walked to Conquest (six miles away) to interview the secretary of the Municipal Council, as the inhabitants of Bounty thought that the hole should have been attended to, and advised me to claim damages. I failed to get any compensation, but Bounty benefited from our misfortune, as the hole was immediately filled up. Calling at the Conquest post-office for letters, the old postman remarked to me, "I have heard all about your accident. You girls, you drive too fast." It seemed that the entire district knew all the details, even to the cost of the repairs. I now remembered having heard that a favourite winter amusement on the prairie was to take down your receiver and listen to the conversations along the line. Report said that a certain courtship had in this way provided entertainment for the whole neighbourhood.

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 £8 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.

CHAPTER XII