With that Jacobs swung on his heels and marched off towards the house, leaving Adrian gasping and, for once, speechless

The Queen would be so close, we might actually be able to go and see her. This altered the whole complexion of things.

She became a flesh-and-blood person that stood for home in large letters. I had never thought of her in quite the same way before.

When living at home in Scotland I had taken her for granted. Someone who was around from time to time. If she came to a local town to visit, as she did occasionally, I might or might not go to see her depending on what I was doing.

It was much the same as our attitude had been to places like Huntingtower Castle or Scone Palace, that were within easy reach. We always meant to go and visit them but never actually did because we knew we could go there any time.

But now the Queen was coming to Sandyhills – these acres of nowhere. I made an instant resolve to take the children to see her.

Nothing much was said by Jacobs about the Queen’s visit but there were hints thrown out that, in spite of the workload, the men might get a day off as it was a public holiday.

Optimist

Adrian was over the moon. Always an optimist, he had all his day planned out and going to see the Queen was no part of it.

He would get up at sunrise, take a quick cup of coffee, collect Gloria and set off along the gravel road for Edmonton – the big city. He got himself quite excited about it all.

On the Monday evening before the day of the royal visit, just as the men knocked off for the night after a hard day shovelling grain, Jacobs said: “We sure should be working on the far section across the railway tomorrow but do any of you guys want the day off to go and see the Queen?”

“I do,” said Ronald. “Margaret very much wants to go and take the children and I’d like to go with her.”

“And you Adrian?” asked Jacobs. “I sure would like the day off,” replied Adrian, “but I won’t bother going to see the Queen. I’ve better things to do.”

Thereafter he made a few derogatory remarks about royalty in general, the Queen in particular. Jacobs’ face froze.

“Right Adrian, that suits me fine. If you don’t want to see the Queen you won’t require a day off. First thing tomorrow morning, take the tractor and harrows to the furthermost end of the far section.”

He then proceeded to give him detailed instructions of what he wanted him to do.

Turning to Ronald he said: “You can have the day off,” and with that he swung on his heels and marched off towards the house leaving Adrian gasping and, for once, speechless.

What the innocent Adrian hadn’t realised was that Jacobs had a strong loyalist attitude to the British royal family. Generations back his forbears were British. Therefore, in a sense, he still felt British as well as being Canadian.

However, whether one was for the British monarchy or against it, there was general excitement about the royal visit to Sandyhills.

Celebration

Here was a real excuse for celebration in this place where, year after year, nothing much happened.

The Queen and Prince Philip weren’t to be long in Sandyhills. It was only a whistlestop. If we wanted to see them, we were told, we would have to go to the station.

Ronald was pleased to learn that the train carrying the royal couple wasn’t due in until the afternoon. He would be able to get a morning in bed.

He had been feeling tired of late and after a day shovelling grain the pain in his chest was bothering him.

Ronald always made light of this pain saying that it was brought on by the long hours of work Jacobs insisted on. I wasn’t altogether convinced by this explanation but as Ronald refused to do anything about it, I got into the habit of trying not to worry by living just one day at a time.

At a much later date we were to discover that the pain was due to a heart defect that Ronald had had from birth, something that had gone undetected in the pre-Canada medical.

On the morning of the royal visit Ronald slept. I did my usual chores in the cabin and then stepped out into the warm sunshine to saw enough logs and carry enough water to last us a day or two.

The saw was old and rather blunt and the trestle that held the wood had one leg shorter than the other which made it wobble a bit.

In spite of that I enjoyed sawing logs. I liked the steady rhythm of the saw when it was going easily through a piece of wood.

I liked the harsh rasping sound of it, seeing the sawdust fall like powder onto the ground, smelling the rich warm aroma of the bleeding wood.

Also, a chipmunk would often make himself into a self-appointed overseer of my work, popping out now and again from amongst the dead wood and watching me with lively curiosity.

But perhaps the greatest sense of satisfaction came from the sheer necessity of the job: you sawed up wood or did without cooked food and hot water.

Valuable

The chore I didn’t like was carrying water but here again it was stark necessity.

The water had to be carried for some considerable distance (no handy pump at the door like we had at Redwoods).

One valuable thing I learned from these days in the prairie was the importance of water. Ever since that time I have never taken it for granted.

In Scotland, as far back as I could remember, it had always come apparently endlessly out of a tap.

At home it gurgled and leaped in all the burns, rushing down the hillside and joining that everwidening river making for the sea.

Until now I had never given water much thought. It had always come as dependably as daylight.

Now I learned the art of conserving water. I had begun to realise that if we were to succeed – even more basically, survive, keep things from going badly wrong and perhaps putting the children in jeopardy – I had to learn to conserve energy and not become ill through overwork. (More tomorrow.)