The thought of writing to the immigration people was difficult. Whining already, they would probably say

Ronald continued: “What kind of hours are these and all for a pittance. Plus he’s hinted that my hours will be longer when the Spring sowing starts.

“He says that I’m getting it easy now. And he’s a bully, although I don’t take too much notice of that. I can handle it but what I can’t stand is that young son of his who looks in, from time to time, when he’s off school and tells me what to do in the same hectoring manner as his father.” “How old is he?” “Oh about 16 – little whipper snapper in his German hat – going to be just like his old man.” Ronald was tired, worried and angry, his usual humour which made the world a brighter place had vanished.

I knew his pride was severely dented by Muller’s son whom I never actually saw. My lot was easy compared with his.

I knew how difficult it must be for him to take these kinds of orders. Doubly so after being his own boss for so long and from a schoolboy!

Difficult position

Something had to be done, but what? We were in a difficult position – far from anywhere – no contact with the outside world – not even able to get to a phone.

The thought of writing to the immigration people was difficult. Whining already, they would probably say, although surely their standards were higher than this.

We had been promised a furnished house and no one could call this shack furnished. Besides, there was nowhere I knew of to post letters.

I would have to give them to Maud Muller. She would see the CNR address and guess it might mean trouble. Would she post it? Would it make things harder for Ronald?

Very unexpectedly, towards the end of the fourth week, Muller briskly announced to Ronald: “Tomorrow is Saturday. You can have a half day off.”

When Ronald came in at lunch time he told me the good news and added: “I’ll go to Red Deer tomorrow.”

“How?” I asked. “Walking.”

“You can’t possibly,” I exclaimed. “Not at this time of year. It’s 20 miles or more. It will be dark before you get there and you know how dramatically the temperature drops once the sun goes down.

“And what’s more, you don’t have proper clothes for sub-zero temperatures.”

“I know,” replied Ronald calmly. “That’s one reason I need to go. I’ll have to work outside soon, on the land. I haven’t the proper clothing and Muller offers nothing.

“I must do something. You told me that Maud Muller said most stores stay open late on a Saturday in Red Deer and that’s when the people from the ‘sticks’ do their shopping.”

“Yes, she did say that when she told me about most people having cars.”

“Muller is keeping me prisoner here. I expected hard work when I came to Canada, but this goes over the score.

Dangers

“Walking to Red Deer is a risk I’ve got to take,” Ronald said. “I know the dangers and I mean to keep walking till I get there but what I’m counting on is a passing motorist giving me a lift once I get to the main drag.

“I’m told they don’t pass someone walking. They know how dangerous it can be in winter.”

Ronald’s mind was made up. I knew I could not alter it.

“I’ll leave as soon as I get off work tomorrow. Have some sandwiches ready for me and lay out my warmest, most wind-proof clothes.”

Ronald finished work next day at twelve o’clock and by twelve thirty the children and I walked with him to the top of the winding path.

He gave us all a hug and promised the boys he would bring them back something from Red Deer if they were good and looked after me.

We stood for a while in the bright sunshine to give him a last wave as he disappeared through a clump of tall pine trees and then scuttled back to the warmth of the of the wood stove.

I then spent the most apprehensive afternoon of my life.

Ronald must have looked a very odd sight that cold afternoon in the middle of the huge Canadian landscape.

He lacked the proper clothing for winter in Alberta but had dressed up as best he could in what he had – long johns beneath the trousers of a tweed suit and as many of my hand-knitted jumpers as would go on under his long camel coat.

The tweed trilby that suited his handsome features was useless for this climate as it did not protect his ears. It was now clamped down with my warmest woollen scarf tied round his chin.

I had awful visions of something I had once read. A man had gone walking in sub-zero temperatures with nothing to protect his ears. They had got so cold that he had covered them with his hands.

His fingers swelled to enormous proportions, went blue and numb and had to be amputated because of frostbite.

Menacing

To complete the outfit Ronald wore gloves and wellington boots pulled on above two pairs of woollen socks.

Although it was now almost March we were going through a cold snap.

It was colder than when we first arrived. Later, after much questioning, I got an accurate picture from Ronald of all that happened after he left us.

At one point along the trail he was too hot so he took off his camel coat and removed one of the jumpers which cracked with static electricity in the dry frozen air.

He walked on for miles along the white track, happy to be free at last. Fortunately there had been no fresh falls of snow and the track was easy to follow because of the tyre marks of Muller’s Dodge.

Coyotes loped across his path incredibly close to him and once, in the distance, he saw a moose, its dark body and huge horns well defined against the snow-covered land.

At one point on the road he saw something more menacing – the unmistakable footprints of a bear crossing the track from one clump of trees to another. So there were bears around. Muller hadn’t said!

(More tomorrow.)