Canadians look after the young no matter how foolish they might think them

The men folk were often away on exercise. There were no older women for the girls to talk to, no grannies for the children. The older women round about were German and there was the language barrier. An army welfare officer looked after them all and solved problems but it wasn’t the same as a mother. For that short time I became a mother to many.

I had taken Kathleen with me. She had just left school for good and she adored every minute of it, especially the outside recreational park where there was a swimming pool with great flumes, the first time I had ever seen them.

Kathleen went down these flumes so often in the perpetual sunlight that she was all bruised by the time she got home.

Before we left we had arranged that Mahri should come home for the wedding. When I got back I had two weeks to get ready.

I had arranged to have caterers in but there still seemed a great deal to do. By the day of the wedding I was fairly exhausted.

The day of the wedding, with the last detail seen to and still an hour to go, I lay for a short while in the dappled shade of the leafy orchard with the hard green apples still clinging to the trees.

A willow warbler was singing its sad, sweet song in the branches above. It was a lovely day. We had been lucky. And a lovely day it turned out to be. The sun shone for us. No one could have had a happier wedding.

Afterwards we were off on a fortnight honeymoon up north, exploring parts of Scotland that neither of us knew too well – the far north and Orkney. The first of many adventures we were to have together. Scottish voice After the occasion of Mahri’s wedding and the big freeze in Scotland were over, Grant had flown back to Canada. He flew to Vancouver this time, thinking that it might be easier to get work on the milder west coast in the winter months.

He got a job in Prince Rupert, north of Vancouver, logging for a time but that soon petered out. One evening, in the place that Grant was lodging, he met up with a young fellow much the same age as himself. “Hi,” he said by way of greeting, “how are you? “So where you from?” came the reply. Grant was surprised to hear a Scottish voice with a Glasgow accent. They introduced themselves and talked about Scotland for a while. The young man’s name was Roy. Eventually they got round to discussing life in Prince Rupert. Roy was also experiencing the same shortage of work. “What you gonna do?” Roy asked Grant. “I was thinking of hitch hiking to Woking in Alberta, where I was before,” he replied. “I’ve got a van there. I was aiming to fix it up and bring it back here to live in. It would save the expense of lodgings.”

“I’ll come with you if you like. I was thinkin’ of going up north anyway sooner or later. There’ll be work there once the big freeze ends,” said Roy.

“Sure thing,” said Grant happy to have a companion from Scotland.

They set off early one morning. It was a long and difficult journey at that time of year – a thousand miles or so to the other side of the Rockies where it would be very cold. Precarious Gradually they moved north east with a lift here and a lift there. Grant had a bit of money left. Roy had none at all. Grant bought the food but Roy contributed to their precarious existence by providing, more often than not, the night shelter.

Roy was born and brought up in Glasgow and was streetwise, knew all the angles. In one small place they landed in, he rang the Salvation Army.

They came to collect them and gave them shelter for the night. Sleeping out in the open might mean getting serious frostbite or, worse, death from hypothermia.

Canadians look after the young no matter how foolish they might think them for the thoughtless journeys they take.

At one place a Friendship Society was approached, a charity group run by the Indians. Roy would have asked the Mounties too had he been stuck for somewhere to sleep and had they been in the vicinity. Perhaps they would offer a police cell for the night.

Only once did they fail to get anywhere to stay and had to dig into the snow to keep themselves from frostbite.

“Not going to do that again,” said Roy in the morning stamping his feet to try and get life back into them. Eventually they reached Dawson Creek to find it was very cold there indeed.

“I think I’ll hitch it back to the west, even if I don’t get my van going,” Grant said.

Roy was determined to carry on up north. “Too early,” said Grant. Grant got a hitch to Woking and Roy went further on to Spirit River. They promised to meet up in a couple of days in the cafe at Spirit River.

Grant found when he got to Woking that it was impossible to work on his van in these temperatures. He spent a couple of nights in the trailer home of a friend he had made in his plumbing days, while Roy found his usual accommodation.

Two days later they met up as agreed. “I’m going back to Prince Rupert.” Grant was sticking to his plan.

“I’m going further north,” said Roy, “there’ll be work there soon. Come on, Grant, come with me.”

Grant was reluctant to do so because of the cold. “Oh come on, Grant. We’ll get a hitch sooner or later.” Grant was persuaded.

At Spirit River they stood at the junction for quite some time but eventually were lucky enough to get a lift in a truck to Hay River hundreds of miles away. It was late when they arrived in Hay River and it had been a long journey. Frozen over They stayed with the truck driver that night. Next day they had a look round but there didn’t seem to be much in the way of work to be had. They had a look at the southern end of the Great Slave Lake. It was still completely frozen over.

Someone told them that they should travel to the northern end of the Great Slave – to Yellowknife, about 100 miles away. There would be work there sooner or later and there was good night accommodation in a church.

They set off in the late afternoon and began hitching. A few trucks passed them and then a big truck, hauling a boat on a trailer pulled up.

The truck window rolled down. “Where are you guys heading for?” said a Canadian voice. “Up north,” said Roy. “Yellowknife.”

“Well I’m sure going in that direction for a bit. Like a lift?” he said. “Sure,” said Roy without hesitation. They jumped into the cab beside the stranger.

“I’m Ed,” he introduced himself. “Ed Lindberg.” “I’m Roy,” said the Glaswegian, “and this is my buddy Grant. We’re both from Scotland, looking for work.” “What sort of work?” “I’m a mechanic,” said Roy without hesitation. “I sure could use a mechanic. In fact, I could probably employ both of you. Like to come back to my place?” Where’s your place?” asked Roy. “Further north,” said Ed, “on the banks of the Liard River. The area’s called the Blackstone.

“Sure,” said Roy. “Why not?” More tomorrow.