A Rowan Tree In My Garden Day 71

When I told my mother of our plans, it came as a huge and unwanted shock for her

T his move for me was unthinkable. I was happy here in spite of everything. I didn’t want to leave this hillside home high above the Carse.

“But it may never happen” I said, “Perhaps no other cow will get the disease. We might be lucky. We’ve pulled through difficult times before.”

“Not this time,” said Ronnie. “I feel it in my bones. We just can’t afford any more disasters and the bankers are having another squeeze.

“I don’t want to land in the hands of my father telling me what to do.

“Besides, he has been generous enough. I don’t want to ask for any more help. I want to fend for myself, go while there is still time, while we still have some money to go with. The roup should bring in enough.

“Now that Mum’s gone, there is nothing to stop us and there are still advertisements and posters aplenty encouraging people to go to Canada, a land of opportunity, they tell us. Besides, you know I was never all that keen on being a farmer. Perhaps I could try something else.”

I knew that everything Ronnie was saying was true. His mother had died a month after the birth of our first born.

Much to the family’s surprise, she had left a will leaving the farm in the Carse ultimately to Ronnie, although his father had been given the life rent of it and there would be no access to it until the father gave up farming or died.

Surprise

“I am never going to retire,” he had stated more than once. “At least see what your father says before making any decisions,” I said.

Most Sundays we took the family to Ronnie’s father for afternoon tea. He loved to see the children. He had a housekeeper, nowadays, so could cope. On the following Sunday we paid our usual visit and Ronnie broached the subject.

“I think we have got Brucellosis in the cows: one dead calf already. It’s the last straw. We are thinking of emigrating to Canada.”

Rather to my surprise, my father-in-law said very little. It was almost as if he knew it was about to happen, as if he expected it. He looked gloomily into the brightly burning fire in the light and airy farm house sitting room and said: “It’s up to you.”

I knew then that it was inevitable, that we were going. It was dark by the time we journeyed back to The Shanry.

We now had a second-hand silver Austin Princess, having traded in the pick-up for something more suitable for a family and it was going cheap. As this grey ghost sped up the Swirl on this dark night of driving rain, I remembered my first journey rattling up this hill in the Allard with such high hopes and happiness.

Tears flooded my eyes and cruised down my cheeks. I was powerless to stop them although I made no sound. I must not let Ronnie or the children know I was crying. Life, from now on, would be difficult enough. I must do my best to help Ronnie in his new resolve and not worry the children.

I was glad when we came to the Shanry gates and I could get out and open them. The shock of the biting wind and the horizontal rain drove away my tears. After wallowing through the mire to drag open two more gates I had almost recovered my composure.

Next morning I phoned my mother. She and father were now living in Newport, having bought a big house nearer to the golf course: a move that pleased them both.

Huge shock

The children loved excursions over to Fife to see their grandparents. It was all a bit of an adventure for them. My parents were always a great support to us, helping in lots of ways and coming to babysit when we wanted an evening out.

When I told my mother of our plans, the morning after we had been to visit Ronnie’s father, it came as a huge and unwanted shock for her.

Everything had been going right for them lately. They had the house they wanted, their health was reasonably good and Jean had got her MA degree the summer before. We had three little boys they adored and although they knew life at the Shanry wasn’t easy for us, one day they felt sure we would be shifting to the bigger farm in the Carse.

“Have you spoken to Ronnie’s father about this?” she asked. “Yes, yesterday,” I replied. “What did he say?” “Surprisingly little, apart from repeating that he has no intention of retiring. I think he thinks Ronnie has to get it out of his system, if nothing else and perhaps now is the time.

“The children and I are going with him, of course. It will be an adventure and you know how I like adventures. I really wanted to go to Canada when I was younger and before the children came.” At this point Mother became very supportive. “I’m sure you’ll both do very well out there and it is the land of opportunity,” she said.

The next day we got out the map of Canada. “We’ll go west, I think,” said Ronnie, “How about Alberta, vast tracks of land, I believe, rich in oil and close to the Rocky Mountains. An up and coming province I should think?”

We paid a visit to the Canada Emigration Office in Glasgow. Yes, certainly they could accommodate us. It would have to be farming, though, as that was what Ronnie knew most about.

The Canadian National Railway, whose auspices we would be under, could offer us a job and a furnished house as we had a family.

“Which province would you prefer?” An eyebrow was slightly raised when Ronnie said Alberta.

Prairie land

The man hesitated but quickly recovered and said: “Yes, yes, not quite so long settled and I don’t have too much information about farms in that area in my brochure but I’ll show you pictures of farms in Saskatchewan, the province immediately east of it.”

He proceeded to do just that. We mulled over vast tracts of prairie land with pictures of lonely farm houses fashioned from wood.

They looked reasonable, some of them, quite attractive in fact.

“I can’t tell you beforehand where you’ll be exactly,” explained the man. “You’ll need to travel to Edmonton and someone will meet you at the station there and give you further instructions. When do you want to go, next Spring perhaps?”

“We rather hoped we could go in November. That’s when we finish up on the farm.”

“Impossible,” he said “we never send anyone out at the beginning of winter. That is the most difficult time to get a job. There are no ships available for us then.” “How soon can we go?” “There’s a ship leaving from Liverpool making for Halifax early in February. I could book you and your family on that.”

And so it was settled, providing our medical checks were OK. We would have to wait and see. (More tomorrow.)

By Margaret Gillies Brown