The Serial: Far From the Rowan Tree Day 6

I agreed to a visit from the ship’s doctor. They couldn’t put me off the ship in the middle of the Atlantic

Everyone was directed straight into the sleeping cars. The arrangements here were quite different to those at home.

Bunks ran on either side, up and down the length of the long cars. There were lower and upper bunks, each with an opaque colourless curtain to draw across; the only privacy.

They were quite roomy but we had been allocated only two between the five of us. This was an unforeseen problem.

We had been told that children travelled free on the trains but it hadn’t been mentioned that this didn’t include sleeping accommodation. We had paid the full amount for our journey to Edmonton.

That night Richard slept with Ronald. Michael and wee Ronnie cuddled in beside me. It was a crush. However, the children were too tired to notice and slept well.

Scenery

The worst thing, as far as I was concerned, was the heat. It was stifling. There seemed to be no air at all.

So many people had warned us how cold it would be in Canada at this time of year and all that had bothered me so far was the heat.

Churchill’s words came into my head. “I have worried about many things in my life – most of which have never happened!”

To make matters worse for me, that first night on the train, I was developing a cold. All next day my nose streamed and I couldn’t stop sneezing – but it didn’t spoil my enjoyment of the scenery.

With daylight we moved from our sleeping quarters into the daytime cars, with their broad central corridors and comfortable seats.

I was fascinated by the clear brilliance of the landscape we trundled past; the incredibly blue sky and the sun dazzling a snow-covered vastness.

Every so often a French-type village would appear, each with its own slender church spire and cluster of colourful houses.

Now and then we saw a sledge skimming along, pulled by horses.

Pictures in my mind from Out of the Westland came into focus – flying down the St Lawrence on an ice yacht, riding through the snow on a sleigh, skiing in the mountains – log fires in log cabins.

On the train that day, the Grant family whom we had met on the ship had seats next to ours.

They weren’t saying much until Mrs Grant, happening to look out the window, spotted a horsedrawn sledge.

Her voice must have been audible to most of the people in the car.

“Good heavens,” she cried out, “just look! We’re back in the middle ages and see that never ending snow! How bleak and barren can you get?” I realised that we saw things out of totally different eyes.

Ronald didn’t say very much at all. He spent much of the time reading a Canadian newspaper he had got at Halifax.

Both of us, however, remarked on the relaxed atmosphere of this Canadian train that trundled across the land at no great speed.

Played happily

The children seemed to sense it also and were better behaved because of it. They played happily with other children, running up and down the broad corridors and no one checked them.

With departing day, my voice, affected by the virus, was vanishing also. By the time we reached Montreal it had gone altogether and I could only whisper.

At Montreal we had to change trains and say goodbye to many of our shipboard companions. We felt sad knowing it was unlikely that we should ever see them again.

The station was much bigger than the one in Halifax and again very warm. People went about without coats.

Ronald led me and the boys to a seat. “If you can manage to look after the boys for a wee while,” he said, “I’ll see if I can do anything about the sleeping arrangements for the rest of the journey.” “Yes I’ll manage,” I said, “but don’t be too long.” No sooner had he disappeared into the crowd than the boys, who up till then had been perfectly placid, suddenly woke up and darted off – even Ronnie – all running in different directions.

It was as though they realised, all at once, that they were no longer cooped up and must take advantage of the fact.

I was feeling very tired and had no voice. I felt helpless. Could they get out of the building and on to the track?

I didn’t think so but I couldn’t be sure. Would they get completely lost in the crowd or get on to the street?

In the desperation of the moment I felt tears run uncontrollably down my cheeks. Suddenly the enormity of my situation overtook me.

Not only had I no voice but being almost six months pregnant I found difficulty in speedy movement.

Ronald had to get the doctor for me on board ship because I was so very sick.

I had begged him not to, to begin with, because I knew the rules were that all woman emigrants had to notify a pregnancy and those who were more than five months were not allowed to sail.

I hadn’t mentioned mine but at last I agreed to a visit from the ship’s doctor. They couldn’t put me off the ship in the middle of the Atlantic.

Horrified

I couldn’t hide my condition from the doctor when he came to the cabin to see me. He was horrified when he found out.

“Did your sponsors not tell you? Didn’t you read, that passengers are not allowed on this ship over five months pregnant? We have no facilities for premature births.”

I had been frightened then, frightened by the suggestion that I could lose the baby.

But with the doctor’s help and that of nurses and stewards who had done all they could to make things easier for us, I had come through it all right.

My doctor back home had tried to persuade me to wait behind until after the baby was born.

“I think what you are doing is ridiculous,” he had said.

“A fourth baby in such quick succession and you don’t even know where you are going. You had a problem with your kidneys last time.

“From the sound of what you tell me,” he had continued, “you might land in the middle of a wilderness or in some mountain fastness with no hygiene and Red Indian women at the birth.”

(More tomorrow.)