Mattie looked over the rail at the heaving dark-green sea. ‘I already feel sick,’ she said faintly.
‘You need something to eat—’
‘I don’t think I could.’
‘Come on, let’s go below, see what’s on offer in the canteen.’ He picked up their hand luggage. ‘This is just the start of our big adventure!’
By the time they stopped off at Cherbourg Mattie was feeling less queasy. She’d made a friend, too, which helped. Grace Dowling was a few years her senior, with two children, a boy of nine and a baby girl in arms. They were in the adjacent cabin to Mattie and Griff’s. Grace’s husband, Edwin, had gone ahead to Canada while his wife remained with her sister for the birth of the baby. She confided to Mattie that this was her second marriage. Her first husband had been an officer in the fire brigade. He was killed on duty when their son Tommy was a toddler.
‘Tommy knows that his dad was a hero. Things have been difficult. He was used to it being just the two of us. I had a good position as housekeeper in a big house at Newmarket where I was able to have Tommy with me. I met Edwin there. He was a jockey, rode some winners, but after he had a bad fall some years ago he was kept on as a stable lad. He isn’t used to children, but he does try,’ Grace said.
‘My family home is in Suffolk too!’ Mattie exclaimed. This was something they had in common.
Cherbourg proved disappointing – they didn’t disembark, but waited while some cargo was unloaded and replaced by other commodities intended for Quebec.
‘I wish it had been possible to visit Paris,’ Mattie said wistfully, as she and Grace sat on deck in canvas chairs, shrouded in mackintoshes and scarves. A keen wind whipped their hair into disarray. Grace’s tiny Lydia was cocooned in her shawl in her mother’s arms. Griff was at the rail with Tommy, pointing out things of interest.
‘I always dreamed of going to Paris too,’ Grace observed, ‘but that’s over two hundred miles from here. We’ll hear plenty of French spoken in Quebec! Griff’s good with young Tommy – are you looking forward to a family of your own?’
‘We’ve only been married a week, Grace!’ Mattie quickly changed the subject. ‘It’s quite a coincidence we’re both travelling on to Moose Jaw, isn’t it?’
‘I’ll be very glad of your company. We first heard of the place when the Prince of Wales visited there, on his Commonwealth tour a couple of years ago. Do you remember that picture in the newspapers of him dressed like a Red Indian chief? He even drove a train part of the way to Ontario – a CPR engine, like the one we’ll be travelling on shortly.’
‘We’ll be living out on the prairie, same as you. Edwin works on a large holding with horses. Our quarters are in the main house. I will be helping in the kitchen.’
‘Can you manage that – with the baby to look after?’ Mattie said, concerned.
‘Easier, while she’s small. I’ve always had to work, and the women out here are the same, it seems.’ She glanced down at Mattie’s smooth hands with their polished nails. ‘I can see that you were not in service!’
‘My parents ran the village inn, until just after the war. My mother had a woman in to do all the household chores in those days – my sister and I were not expected to do much in that respect. My first job was in the local post office, but for the past year I’ve lived with my cousin Sybil and her husband in Plymouth – Griff is his stepson. I was a drapery assistant in the family emporium. Griff was employed there too, in another department.’
‘Your new life will be very different, eh?’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ Mattie said firmly. ‘Apart from the broken nails!’
They arrived in Quebec, on the northern bank of the St Lawrence River. Here were the termini for the Great Northern and the Canadian Pacific railways.
The harbour was vast and with so many people milling around, progress was slow. There was a formidable queue at the immigration office: papers had to be thoroughly checked after luggage was located and collected. Mattie and Grace took turns at carrying the fretful baby while Griff kept an eye on young Tommy. It was a chilly arrival in the new country; they’d been warned that winters were longer here, and summers shorter, but they’d left England on a balmy spring day. It was quite a shock to the system.
At least Mattie and Griff knew where they’d be staying overnight. Grace had to make her own arrangements. ‘Come with us!’ Mattie told her. She could see that Grace was fighting back tears, determined to stay strong for her children.
There was no time to marvel at the magnificent parliament building, which formed a perfect square, 300 feet in length, with towers at each end, or to give more than a cursory glance at the statues of Wolfe, Montcalm and other historical figures. Griff hailed one of the many cruising taxis and they climbed thankfully inside. It was already evening, and they were hungry and weary. Little Lydia had cried herself to sleep.
They left the grand buildings behind and drove along meaner streets where every building appeared to be a lodging place. The taxi drew up outside a three-storey house.
‘Ma Smith’s,’ the driver announced. ‘You’ll be all right here. She’s from the old country. She don’t have to advertise; the word gets around.’
‘She’s not expecting us.’ Grace said faintly.
‘Don’t fret, Ma’ll fit you in,’ he said confidently. ‘You go up the steps and pull the bell while the young gent and I foller with the baggage.’
Mattie had pictured Ma Smith as comfortably plump and kindly. The woman who opened the door was tall and angular, with dark hair scraped back from a prominent forehead and piercing deep-set brown eyes. She was dressed in old-fashioned clothes: an ankle-length skirt in rather rusty black alpaca, and a jacket which buttoned up to her jutting chin. ‘Here you are, then,’ she greeted them. A searching look, a quick count, then her stern features were illuminated by a smile. ‘More of you than I expected. Come in. We can stretch the supper, no doubt.’ She took the baby and held her in the crook of one arm. ‘Follow me. Up two flights, I’m afraid.’
The first bedroom was under the eaves. There was a double bed with brass rails, and a sagging mattress. However, the sheets were clean, if much darned, and there was a brightly patterned patchwork quilt. There was a plain pine washstand with soap dish, jug and basin patterned with blue cornflowers. The matching chamber pot was hidden in the cupboard below the marble top.
Mattie was looking forward more to bed than to supper. She blushed at her thoughts. She and Griff had slept in narrow bunks in their cabin – no honeymooning there.
Ma Smith indicated the next door along. ‘The only one spare; it’s small, but there are two single beds – can you and the boy manage in there, Mrs Dowling? I see you’ve got a rush basket for the baby. I’ll have to make the beds up after supper – is that all right?’
‘I need to feed the baby,’ Grace said faintly. She sat down abruptly on the one chair in Mattie and Griff’s room. She unwound the shawl and Lydia’s pink, cross baby face was revealed. Her tiny hands flailed at her mother’s bodice, with the tell-tale damp patches.
Mattie and Griff exchanged quick, embarrassed glances.
Griff said: ‘You must share with Mattie, Grace. Tommy and I will take the other room.’
Ma took it in her stride, with just a slight raising of her eyebrows. ‘Wear something warm in bed,’ she advised. ‘Gets mighty chilly at nights. It’s a draughty old house. Well, I’ll send me niece up with the hot water for you to wash, while I dish up the dinner. When you hear the gong, it’s on the table. Some of the lodgers got no manners – they’ll pinch bits off your plate, if you don’t hurry. No need to dress up!’
Mattie tactfully made her ablutions while Grace nursed the baby. This is certainly not the place to dress up, she thought, so I’ll borrow a pair of Griff’s flannel pyjamas tonight. No seductive silk nightdress – one night of love is all we’ve managed since we were wed!
They sat at a long table in the dining-room. The thick glutinous stew had more carrots and
onions than meat. Ma ladled it out from a blackened cauldron in the kitchen, on to tin plates. It was accompanied by mugs of strong, sweet tea. Bread was sawn in uneven lumps; salt was scraped with a knife from a big block. The best part of the meal was rice pudding, cooked in a great earthenware dish, dusted with nutmeg and served with cream taken from the top of the milk. There were fifteen people round the table, and Ma was right, Mattie had to avert her gaze from a youth opposite when he picked up his plate to lick it clean. As she did so, her half-eaten crust disappeared by sleight of hand.
The conversation was mostly incomprehensible to the new arrivals. They’d expected some of their fellow diners to speak French, but there was a Scandinavian element, too.
‘Norwegian?’ she whispered to Griff, who was also eavesdropping.
‘Danish – Swedish?’ he countered, with a grin.
Then they heard a precise Scottish voice, ‘Make room for mother and child!’ as Grace hesitated at the door, with her replete baby in her arms. She was escorted to a chair at the end of the table by a stocky, black-haired man in a kilt.
Grace managed a brief wave at her friends.
‘Tommy,’ she called to her son. ‘If you’ve done eating, you can take Lydia.’
Tommy had been surreptitiously flicking pellets of bread across the table to another boy, of about his age. He sighed, but rose obediently to do his mother’s bidding.
Chairs scraped the uncarpeted floor; the other guests were returning to their rooms. Mattie, Griff and Tommy were waiting for Grace to finish her meal.
Ma Smith joined them for ten minutes, with her own mug of stewed tea. There was a clatter in the kitchen – her niece Jeannie was starting on the washing-up.
‘Going on to Moose Jaw, are you?’ she asked, fishing out a tea leaf with her thumb.
‘We are,’ Griff agreed. ‘Have you been there?’
‘No. Wild in parts, they say . . . you’ll be out of town, I reckon?’
‘My Aunt Anna and her husband farm there. We’ll be with them for a while.’
‘Ah – it can be a lonely life on the prairie. A hard life, too. When my husband and I came here ten years ago, we thought we’d do just that. We took on this place to get a bit of cash behind us, like, but he died in the influenza epidemic in 1918, so we stayed on, Jeannie and me. She’s getting married later this year.’ Ma sighed. ‘I get homesick for the old country now and then, but – I made my bed, and this is my life now . . . Reminds me, I got those single beds to make up. If you’ll excuse me . . .’
Later, while Grace tucked Tommy into his bed, Griff and Mattie had a few minutes privacy to say goodnight in the other room.
‘You’re swamped in my pyjamas,’ he whispered ruefully. Rather than undo the buttons, in case Grace returned quickly, he groped under the flannel jacket. ‘You’re wearing a winter vest!’ he exclaimed.
Mattie giggled. ‘Well, Ma said the temperature drops at nights . . .’
‘She didn’t put it quite like that. Well, that vest has definitely cooled my ardour!’
She clasped him to her. ‘We’ll make up for it in a day or two!’
‘An early start tomorrow, Mattie. We’ve still quite a way to travel,’ he reminded her.
ELEVEN
There were not so many around the table at breakfast as there had been last night at supper. At seven o’clock some had already departed to work, or in hopes of obtaining a job of any sort. There were always long queues at the employment offices.
The Scotsman joined their family party, enquiring if they were refreshed after a good night’s sleep. He introduced himself as Mungo McBride, the fiancé of Ma Smith’s niece Jeannie. ‘We met in Edinburgh, shortly before Jeannie left for Canada to be with her aunt. We kept in touch over the past four years. You could say we became engaged by letter! Like you, I am travelling on to Moose Jaw today. I have a teaching post, and lodgings arranged. I want to be established before Jeannie joins me and we are married.’
‘We will be glad of your company,’ Griff told him. He would not dream of saying so, of course, but he felt rather weighed down with the unexpected extra responsibility of Grace and her family. He had spent a restless night missing Mattie. Also, Tommy suffered from enlarged adenoids and snuffled and snored while he was asleep.
Ma Smith banged the side of each plate with the ladle in order to dislodge the helpings of thick grey porridge. She indicated a large sticky-rimmed jar. ‘Syrup. Salt for Mungo.’
This was not the golden syrup Mattie sometimes had at home, in preference to demerara sugar, but maple syrup. She was not too sure that she liked the taste. At the Plough, and recently at Sybil’s, she’d enjoyed porridge made with milk. Here, it was steeped overnight in water, then cooked first thing. Only added milk made it palatable.
Jeannie brought them their mugs of tea. ‘Would you care for fried bacon and eggs? You need to travel on a full stomach, if you are not booked on the restaurant car. Ma will pack you food for the journey, if you wish it, but you can buy hot drinks at stopping points along the way. You’ll need to carry a rug or two, in case the temperature drops very low while you are travelling overnight. But you save a lot going third-class.’
‘Thank you for your good advice,’ Mattie said gratefully. She looked at Griff. ‘We’ll all be glad of the extra breakfast, I’m sure, eh? And the food for the journey.’
He nodded. He read into Grace’s hesitation that she was worrying whether she could afford further expense. ‘For four, please,’ Griff said. ‘On my account.’
Mattie squeezed his hand to let him know she was pleased at his quick response.
‘That will be added to the bill then,’ Jeannie said.
Griff winked at Mattie when they observed that Mungo’s plate had an extra egg and a whole slice of fried bread. ‘Will I get the same privilege when you serve our breakfast?’ he whispered in her ear.
Mattie gave him a look of mock reproof. ‘You’ll be doing the cooking, I reckon.’
Mungo overheard this exchange. ‘I must admit that I have never been involved in matters domestic. I am the youngest by several years of six, the only son; I was spoiled by my sisters, none of whom married, after my mother passed away. They had been educated at home by my father, who was a minister of the Church of Scotland. They determined that I should go away to school and then on to university, I am very indebted to them for that. Jeannie and I met when she joined the evening class where I taught geography. I learned that she intended to emigrate to Canada. I was bored with academia; the idea grew in my mind that I would do the same. So here I am.’
‘Yes, here you are, but not for long,’ Jeannie commented, as she collected crockery.
She looks like a younger edition of her aunt, Mattie thought, as she tucked in. She and Mungo don’t seem, well, very romantic, but then, they must be nearer forty than thirty.
Tommy dipped his bread in egg yolk. He spoke with his mouth full, despite his mother’s frown. ‘Why aren’t you wearing your kilt today’?’ he asked Mungo.
‘It was a special occasion yesterday, laddie. Today and travel is more suited to sober attire, eh?’ Mungo’s voice was high in pitch, his tone precise. It contrasted with Jeannie’s Glaswegian accent.
‘What special occasion?’ Tommy asked.
‘Tommy, It’s rude to ask personal questions!’ his mother reminded him.
‘Indeed, he is just curious, and why not? I was asked to play my bagpipes at a luncheon party for some of the Scottish contingent in Quebec.’
‘Bagpipes! Are you bringing them to Moose Jaw?’ Tommy wanted to know.
‘My pipes and I are never parted. But don’t expect me to pipe you on to the train!’
‘My mother plays the piano—’
‘Tommy!’ Grace was embarrassed. She patted Lydia’s back, her head bent.
‘Then we may play in harmony one day, perhaps,’ Mungo said gallantly.
When she reflected on the journey in years to come, Mattie would remember the biting c
old, the bleakness of some of the countryside, then the contrasting beauty of the landscape, as the rail car sped along the tracks. The great lakes were silvery in unexpected sunlight; snow still capped the hills and the tall pine trees, and blanketed rooftops of the townships. When they halted, in remote areas, to take on coal or water, it seemed to Mattie that they were in no man’s land. However, they became aware that mail was being sorted continually while they were on the move, and that this was collected and delivered at rural and city stations en route. Passengers had the opportunity to stretch their legs at the city stations, to purchase food from cheerful vendors.
Late on the first evening, when they sat huddled in the rugs while Grace nursed her baby discreetly, they were surprised and delighted when they arrived at a country station to a warm welcome from the station master and his wife, with an urn of tea at the ready, ham sandwiches and buttered fruit scones. This repast was served in the waiting room, by a good fire. Griff, Tommy and Mungo later strolled along the platform, while Grace and Mattie made the baby comfortable in the rush basket.
When it was time to reboard the train they discovered another cheering development. The stove in the corner of their carriage had been lit, and a basket of wood chips provided. This heat was a godsend during the long night’s travelling ahead.
A new day dawned. The men ruefully rasped their stubbly chins, the women shared a billy-can of hot water, heated on top of the stove, and had a perfunctory wash. There was a yawning line of people waiting outside the WC in the corridor. Only little Lydia had a change of clothes. Tommy was bored; he was reprimanded by Grace for trying to open the carriage window. ‘D’you want us all to freeze?’ she demanded.
Mattie had a crick in her neck. Not surprising, she thought, when she’d rested her head on Griff’s shoulder all night. She’d been the first of their party to wake, and had observed Grace similarly supported by Mungo. Quite innocent, of course, she told herself, but just as well that Jeannie is not with us, or Grace’s husband . . .
The Meadow Girls Page 9
