Here she was, waving to us all, a staunch, brave figure, smiling her familiar smile and looking a little more fragile than I had remembered

Conserving energy was of paramount importance. I worked out every conceivable way of saving water and thus reducing the strenuous task of carrying it so far. The water in the galvanised tub the children had been bathed in the night before was used for washing clothes next morning, paying careful attention to which were washed first.

Also, dishes were carefully wiped before being put into the water, thus it became possible to use the same water for dishes more than once.

On that royal morning, by the time the chores were all done it was lunchtime. Ronald was still asleep. I left him a little longer. The boys, however, were anxious to get away.

Mandy and Susan were already gone and they felt sure they would be missing something.

“When are we going, when are we going?” they kept asking me until I got annoyed with them.

I gave them their lunch and then taking the galvanised boiler out on to the wooden veranda, scrubbed each protesting boy in turn.

Refreshed

“What shirts would you like to wear?” I asked them knowing what the answer would be.

“The ones with the fishes on,” they shouted in unison. Ronald’s sister had sent these and they were rich and bright.

Back home I might have thought them a bit much but in this land of blue skies and glaring sun they looked good.

I dared the boys to get dirty again in the time it took me to change Mahri-Louise into her best pink and white dress.

By the time we were ready, Ronald was ready too. He had risen of his own accord, dressed in his best clothes, had something to eat and looked much refreshed for his long sleep.

We made our way through the cottonwoods to the old Chevrolet with its dusty green exterior and stone pitted windows. Ronald carried Mahri-Louise. I followed behind and thought how nice the boys looked skipping excitedly through the dappled shade of the trees.

Soon we were swinging along the gravel tracks, dust spinning out behind us, the car stirring up a haze that accompanied us wherever we went.

“Poor Adrian,” Ronald said as we drove past a huge area of cultivated land across the railroad still to be worked.

“I’ll bet he wishes he’d praised the Queen.” I said as I looked through the dusty air and saw a tiny tractor-speck moving in the distance.

It was moving along at some speed. Even from where I sat it looked angry.

When we got to Sandyhills the streets were deserted, although there were plenty of signs of people having been there not long before.

Stalls set up on the streets displaying sweets and popcorn had no one serving behind them. Braziers on the sidewalks were still smoking but in need of refuelling.

The smell of newly-baked pancakes seeped through the car window. A stray balloon or two drifted in the light breeze swirling away from us. There were flags everywhere but no people.

It was as though some Pied Piper had come through the town and led everyone away.

Knowing where the people would be, we parked the car and hurried down to the station.

Fortunate

We arrived just as the train pulled in and jostled our way through the flag-waving Canadians, hoping to get a good view.

We were fortunate to manage to wriggle our way to the track side due to Ronald’s initiative, my determination to see the Queen and the goodwill of the Canadian people who would go out of their way to accommodate children.

It is hard to describe the emotion I felt when I first saw her standing with her consort on the open-air platform at the back of the caboose.

Here she was, waving to us all, a staunch, brave figure, smiling her familiar smile and looking a little more fragile than I had remembered. Prince Philip, standing protectively beside her, was waving also.

I stood, one toe touching the steel track that ran unbroken for thousands of miles eastward and waved and waved.

Ronald handed me Mahri-Louise in order to pick Ronnie up, placing him on his shoulder so he could get a better view.

“There’s the Queen, Ronnie. Now you know what a queen looks like. Michael won’t be able to call you silly again for not knowing.”

Ronnie didn’t seem to be impressed. He wanted a flag and a balloon.

By this time the tears were spilling uncontrollably down my cheeks into Mahri’s shawl. I hoped no one would notice.

I was taken by surprise by the strength of my own emotion. This wouldn’t have happened at home but here, in this alien place, she seemed part of all that I was part of, all that I remembered from the beginning. She epitomised home.

For one fleeting second I wished that Ronald and I and our family could get on that train with her and travel east over the long lonely terrain to the sea and beyond, back to our native shores.

Cheering

The train didn’t stop long. Slowly with a loud clanging from the bell it moved off cautiously.

The people were milling round it, waving and cheering, almost preventing it from moving away.

“For goodness sake,” Prince Philip shouted to one of the guards, “watch no one gets run over!”

But no one took any notice. They kept running after the train as it gathered speed.

The cowboys, on restless horses, took off their stetsons and whooped, replaced them, took them off and whooped again, galloping after the train until we no longer saw them or the diminishing figure of the Queen.

In Eastern Alberta in the 1950s, if everyone went to town on a Saturday evening, everyone went to the lakes on a Sunday in the summer months. We also went from time to time.

The nearest one to us of any size was Bright Lake, a large expanse of sunlit water in an otherwise featureless plain.

This was also a real family time out, mothers and daughters with picnic baskets, collapsible chairs and tables, colourful tablecloths – fathers and sons with fishing rods and axes for chopping firewood.

(More on Monday.)