My father, Thomas Mathieson Sutherland (Sr.), was born in Gallonfield, (Gollanfield?) Inverness shire, Scotland, in 1870. There is a story about the name "Mathieson" and, as I recall it, one of our forbears was such a bonnie lad that a well‑to‑do man named Mathieson wanted to adopt him and make him the heir.  However, those responsible did not wish to see the name "Sutherland supplanted by "Mathieson" and the offer was declined, but the name "Mathieson" was integrated in the lad's name.

     I do not remember Grandfather Sutherland, although I have a vague recollection of visiting Granny Sutherland who lived in a cottage on the shore of the North Sea, almost in the shadow of Fort George in the vicinity of the city of Inverness.  One day while the folks were wading, or  however they frolicked in those days in the water, they noticed me walking back towards Granny's home.  When they caught up to me I told them I was on the way to get a kettle of hot water to warm the sea.

     Dad, and his sister Bella, were the youngest in the family (there were over a dozen of them and I can recall seeing a photograph of the whole family, Dad and Aunt Bella being seated on the floor in front of the group ‑ all of the male members of the family sported full beards.

     Dad's eldest sister, Mary, was quite an influence in his life.   She married Malcolm Bruce who became the head Steward in Lamb's Hotel, a temperance house in Dundee. Uncle Malcolm sent Dad "The British Weekly" for many years.  I have the impression that Dad was with the Glasgow Police for a time, and he studied at the Glasgow Bible Training Institute, part of the student's' duties being to go out and conduct street corner meetings in the evenings.

     Mother, Margret Wilson Sloan, was born in 1872 in Howwood, Renfrewshire, where her father, William Sloan, among other things, was the local postman.  She had one brother, Will (Wull) who was married and lived in Paisley; three sisters, Flora (Mrs.  Archie Whitehead) a widow; Mary (Mrs. Robert Moore, and Annie who married later and moved to Eccles, near Manchester.  

     Mother and Dad were married in Goven early in 1898 and they lived in Howwood where  Dad worked in a local mill as a cloth finisher. 

     I, also Thomas Mathieson Sutherland, was born in June (23), 1899, and I remember we lived in one of the two gate houses on either side of the "policy" (driveway) leading to Castle Semple ‑ which sounds like the place Rudolf Hess was heading for when he landed in Scotland and was made prisoner‑of‑war.  Dad's sister Bella (Mrs. Andrew Eason) and family lived in the opposite gate house as her husband was a gamekeeper on the estate.  I have a recollection that "Uncle Andrew was home from the war" ‑ the South African War.  After a shooting party on the estate the dead hares were left in a pile near their house.  My cousin Andrew Eason was about my age and we were curious about what happened when we squeezed the carcasses.  I went  fishing by dangling a string from a small stone bridge over the White Cart, a small stream nearby.

     They used to tell of an evening when dad took me with him when he went to attend a meeting of the com‑mit‑ee of the "Co", the local Co‑Operative shop.  He left me at Aunt Flor's and they say I spent the whole evening greeting (crying) and pleading "Take me to my daddy".

      We later moved to Wardrop Terrace in the village where it was a pleasure to climb into bed with mother after dad had gone to work, but having to yield the favored spot in time to another and be content to lie "back‑to‑back" with her.  Then there were the Sunday morning walks with "Faither" along the country road past farms hearing the sounds of poultry, sheep, cattle and horses from the fields and byres, and church bells ringing in the distance as we made our way along the three mile walk to "kirk" in Kilbarchan.

     I had a scar from "scabby face" (impetigo?) and a cut scar from the tip of my right thumb to beyond the first joint, and these, with all my freckles, were erased in 1918 when I was severely burned.  I had scarlet fever and was in a nearby hospital ward with other youngsters, and the blinds were drawn.  As we recovered great patches of skin were sloughed off, the sole of one lad's foot peeling off in one piece.  When returning home we passed a building with a "black flag" and I was told it was a jail , and the black flag was flying because someone had been hung that day.

Father Sloan                                                 Mother Sloan

The Sloan Family

Will
Margaret (Maggie)     Father (William)    Mother (Ann)   Flora or Mary
Annie

Expanded map of the area showing Castle Semple Water, Castle Semple Loch, and the Collegiate Church.  Also shown is the town of Kilbarchan mentioned  in the text.

Left: Aunt Mary (Sloan) Moore.                Right: Father

     One day when Granny and Aunt Flora were in having tea with mother, Willie (Wullie)  Whitehead, another cousin about my age, and I were having fun jumping on a board over a little "burn" splashing water up , when through the bushes we saw Agrandfaither@ coming along the bank.  He called to us, but we took to our heels and headed for Wardrop Terrace and managed to get in and shut the door before he got there.  I was next the door knob and when he forced the door open I was pushed up the stairs and kept on going, but Wullie Whitehead was trapped behind the door.  I went in to the room where the folks were, and when they asked about the commotion "doon stairs" I said "Grandfaither was leathering Wullie Whitehead."

     William Mathieson was born in 1901, and I recall his first accident several years later when we were trying to see Christmas goods in the window of a shop. The window was too high for us to see well, so we stood back then ran and got a toe on a protruding stone which enabled us to get a momentary glimpse of what was displayed inside.  Unfortunately, Bill stumbled and fell smashing his forehead against the stone he should have put his toe on ‑ he had a cross shaped scar on his forehead for the rest of his life.  He and I sometimes stood on the "green" below the second floor window where we lived, and we would call until mother appeared and we would ask her to "throw doon a piece and jeely" and would wait until she tossed down a paper wrapped packet holding a jam or jelly sandwich.  From the upstairs window on the other side of the terrace we could look down on the street and see what was  moving, maybe a steam lorry, perhaps a "Punch and Judy" show, or the ice cream wafer man.

     Isabella Cameron was born in 1905.  Selecting a name for the first daughter was a problem.  Dad's mother was "Bella" and mother's "Annie", but Annabella was out of the question as that was the name of a notorious woman in the area.  Hallow E'en was a festive occasion, with groups of youngsters going from door putting on little performances, one being a story by two youngsters in costume, and it went something like this:

"Here come I, Gilloshawa. 
Gilloshawa is  my name. 
My sword and pistol by my side
 I hope to win some fame."

"Some fame, sir, some fame?
 That's not  within your power.
 I'll cut you down  to inches
 inside of half an hour!"

Then the two would go into their performance.  Other visitors might be blindfolded and led to the hearth where bowls were lined up containing various objects or ingredients, their fortunes being told according to the contents of the bowl they touched , and, of course, there was the usual ducking for apples.

Grace Moffat (left) with Mother (centre) and Father (right). TMS lower right about 5 years old.  Partial baby probably Isabella and William may have been on the torn  corner part.

Left: Mother, Father and TMS about 2 years old and Right: Grace Moffat and Mother

     Times were difficult, and mother's sister Mary and her husband, Robert Moore, with his brother Wilson and family, emigrated to Canada and settled in Elgin, Manitoba, a "local option" area.  Good news was received from Canada, and late in May, 1905, we sailed from Glasgow on the Allen liner "Mongolian".  As the lines were being cast off, the people on the ship joined with those on shore in singing "God be with you till we meet again."   I don't remember much about the voyage, but dad kept a diary, and in after years we youngsters enjoyed reading it, always getting a laugh when we read "Maggie had the colley wobbles this morning."

     Elgin was on a Canadian Northern branch line about a hundred and sixty miles southwest of Winnipeg, served by daily passenger trains to and from Winnipeg, and, of course, freight trains.  We lived in a small house next the "Hornerite" (holy roller) church.  There was a little heater in the room where dad and mother slept, and one morning mother got up, put some kindling in the heater and threw in some coal oil.  The ashes must have been hot for flames immediately  flashed out and mothers flannelette nightie blazed up.  Dad was right there and managed to smother the flames and mother wasn't injured.

     Shortly after our arrival in Elgin, a letter was received from Dundee telling us that Polly, one of the Bruce daughters was quite ill.  She wakened from a nap one day and said to Aunt Mary, "I just had a wonderful dream.  Jesus came to me and said "Not yet, daughter, but in a fortnight, and your mother will be with you in a month."  They were both buried inside that period.

     There was an eclipse of the moon about that time, and it had been explained to me in such a way that when the eclipse was in progress I thought I could see pieces of the moon being cut off and falling to the ground in the shape of orange sections.

     In Elgin, steady jobs were few, particularly for newcomers, and Dad had to turn his hand at anything he could find to do.  He began to do a lot of painting of houses (white with green trim) and barns (red) in Elgin and neighboring communities.  On a shed at one of the farm homes he painted (exactly as he might have written it in longhand) "Laugh and the world laughs with you.  Weep, and you weep alone."

     He also took an active part in church affairs, and at home we had scripture reading and prayers, morning and evening.  There were two texts (silver letters on a dark background) which hung on the walls of the homes we occupied, one being John 3:16, and the other

"God is the head of this house.
The unseen guest at every meal.
The silent listener to every conversation.
In all thy ways acknowledge Him and
He will direct thy path."

     The strongest expressions we heard Dad use were  "dash it", which with his accent sounded like "daysh it," or "confound it".  All weekend chores had to be completed on Saturday, wood brought in, water pails filled, boots polished (Dad even polished the insteps of his boots), and, of course, it was the weekly bath night with a tub of water in the middle of the floor in which each in turn took his or her place, perhaps the younger ones doubling up.   Sunday was a day for worship ‑ no whistling unless it was a hymn tune, no reading of secular material unless it was in a Sunday school paper and no playing of games.

     One winter, it must have been about 1907 or 08, because of storms and heavy snowfalls, we didn't get a train in Elgin for three weeks.  The village was running short of fuel and food when word was received that a train was on it's way.  All the men in the place turned out with shovels to attack the snowdrifts in an endeavor to expedite the movement of the snowplow and relief train, but when the train arrived they learned that the last fuel car had been set off two or three stations away.

     When dad couldn't get work, particularly in the winter, we just had to make do as best we could.  He used to tell of sitting one night wracking his brains to devise ways to make ends meet as there wasn't a cent in the house, when he heard a knock at the door, and when he opened it there was no one there, but a bag of groceries was lying on the doorstep.

       Next we lived in the McBurney house, and one evening Dad took me with him for a walk, and he went to the baker's shop where pails of candy were leaning against a counter. While Dad and the baker were talking, I looked over the contents of the pails and took a few samples.  When we got home, I shared the candies with Bill and Bella.  Dad saw and asked where I had got the candy.  I told him, and he promptly marched me back to the baker's shop and made me tell the baker what I had done.  It had such an impression on me that I did not do it again.

     There was a low stable in the back yard, and it had a curved roof and a pile of straw lay at one end.  We sometimes climbed up on the roof and jumped down on the straw.  One day I wasn't satisfied just to drop down on the straw but went to the far end and ran the length of the roof and then jumped ‑ to my sorrow, for I landed on the ground beyond the pile of straw and sprained my ankles.  A few days later I was able to hobble on my left foot, using a stick in both hands to take the weight off my right foot as I hopped with the left.  It was quite a while before I could bear any weight on the right, and then if I made a quick move pain shot through it and I could only limp.  In fact, even yet I get a twinge of pain if weight is suddenly put on that foot.

     One Saturday morning, several youngsters of the neighborhood accompanied Bill and me on a walk to "Uncle Wilson's" farm some miles away.   As we wandered a bit before getting there, Uncle Wilson held me up to see the elevators in Elgin so that we would go in the right direction.  When we got home shortly before supper, we found that there had been quite a bit of  consternation when our absence was noticed, and we were given a stern lecture not to go off like than again without letting someone know what we had in mind.

     We moved to the "Craig shack" and remained there until we left Elgin.  It had a stable and in the course of time Dad acquired a horse, a cow, and some hens.  I was in the stable one day and noticed that a hen had been sitting in her nest for quite a while, so I stayed around, and when she dropped her egg I saw that it had a film of moisture on it which quickly dried.

      We had a garden and grew potatoes, onions, radishes, lettuce, etc., and of course potato bugs.  I began to have chores to do ‑ take the cow to pasture each morning and bring her back at night to be milked.  The pasture was along a ravine which ran with water in the spring.  Part of it had apparently been a buffalo wallow, and there was a large stone which we thought the buffalo had used for rubbing as it was  very smooth.  When we had spare milk, I delivered it to customers, 5  cents  a quart, and when there was an accumulation of sour cream, butter was made in a "dash" churn.  Dad and Mother were fond of "soor dook", their name for buttermilk.  We didn't have a well and water had to be brought from a neighbor's well.  Firewood also had to be chopped and brought in.

     Sometimes when mother was out visiting Aunt Mary, I made pancakes if I could find sour milk, and the others liked them so much that they would even bite a cake of soap to get one.

     The first automobile I can remember seemed to be just like a buggy except that it had an engine under the seat, and a perpendicular seat in front on which a horizontal steering wheel was mounted.

      In Elgin the Baptists held their meetings in the "Orange" Hall, and we attended Sunday school in the Methodist church.  The Methodist and Presbyterian churches were practically back to back, and in summer when windows were open everything was audible outside ‑ giving rise to the story that there had been an occasion while one congregation was singing "Will there be any stars, any stars in my crown" the other was melodiously singing "No not one, no not one,"

     The C.N.R. excursion train to Ninette and Pelican Lake was a yearly event, and the Sunday Schools in the villages along the line would make it the occasion for their annual picnic.  We went to Ninette one year where we played along the beach and got wet.  I wandered a bit and saw a man inviting people to get into his launch and enjoy an outing on the lake.  I was much taken aback when the man came around collecting fares which I knew nothing about and I didn't have a cent.  He put his hands in my armpits and made a motion as though he was going to throw me overboard, and the other passengers seemed to be enjoying his joke.

        Horses were the means of locomotion in those days, and, like kids in later years who prided themselves on being able to name each automobile they saw, we were able to name the breeds of horses we saw ‑ Clydes, Percherons and Belgians being some of the heavy work horses.  There were of course lighter horses and ponies for drawing carts, buggies, democrats, etc.  The owner of a Shetland pony was a proud boy.

     A threshing outfit in a nearby field had to be visited.  A team of horses pulled the stationary steam engine and a four horse team pulled the separator into their respective positions in the  field to be threshed, wind direction being a controlling factor.  A long, wide belt conveyed power  from the engine to the separator, and when the straw being threshed reached the lowest point in its journey through the separator, it was deposited on an incline and dropped on the ground beyond the separator.  When a pile reached the height of the separator it was moved away by a "buckboard", two long heavy planks boarded together with a metal loop and singletree at each end to which a horse was hitched.  The two horses were some distance apart, but one man handled them and moved the pile of straw alternately in each direction from the separator to make room for more straw.  We kids liked to catch hold of the buckboard and be dragged along on it's moves, but occasionally the buckboard wouldn't strike the pile at the right angle and would go right through it leaving us buried in the middle.  That was all right so long as the man driving the rack to get straw to fuel the engine didn't come along to get a load.  A  fireman had a steady job feeding straw into the firebox with a straw fork which had a long metal shank and a wooden hand grip. Another essential part of the threshing outfit was the water tank to supply water to the engine, and it was usually equipped with a bucket sized dipper and a long handle, or a pump with a hose to enable them to get water from the nearest slough, or other source.  At the end of the day, the engine and separator were moved away from the piles of straw which were set on fire.

     In later years, traction (self‑propelled) engines were used, and a "blower" became part of the separator (a fan directing straw and chaff into an adjustable metal spout) allowing the straw to be blown into a high stack.  The threshing outfit had to be located in each field in such  a way that the engine was up wind from the separator, and at the close of the day the usual precautions had to be taken, as in the evening many straw fires were reflected in the clouds.

     Malcolm Alexander was born in 1906 and Annie Love in 1908.  Love was Granny Sloan's maiden name.  In a small town youngsters had to devise their own amusements.  When spring came, there was an unspoken contest to see who would be the first to come to school in bare feet, stockings and boots being cached under the wooden sidewalk.  Of course, in summer all kids were in bare feet and by fall the soles of their feet had become so calloused they could walk over gravel or thistles without discomfort ‑ foot washing was a nightly necessity.

      The blacksmith shop was a magnet for it was interesting to stand in the doorway seeing sparks flying as the blacksmith fashioned white‑hot metal into horse shoes, or other articles, his hammer ringing as he tapped the anvil.  One might be given an opportunity to operate the bellows or whatever device was being used to stimulate the fire in the forge.  There was the unexpected thrill when the blacksmith handed one a piece of metal to hold for him ‑ but it was promptly dropped as it was too hot to be held by any but a calloused hand.  One wondered how he knew how much hoof to pare away before clamping a red hot shoe against a hoof to burn a seat for it before dipping it into water to cool it before nailing it in place.

A horse drawn steam engine of the period.  The belt to the separator is attached to the flywheel

The separator is being driven by the belt. The wagon brings the grain to be threshed to the separator and the straw is thrown out the other end. The grain is collected in the truck at left.

A self propelled steam engine of later vintage (1916)

A newer type threshing machine with a blower for disposing of the straw.
The tall pipe is the straw chute. A screw feeder sends grain to the truck at right.

     The railway station, and it's sidetrack along which the elevators stood, was always an  attraction. Those were the days when lead seals were used and discarded seals were always lying around, waiting for someone to pick them up and lay them on a rail for a passing engine to flatten them.  There were usually cars standing on the sidetrack, and we enjoyed climbing up the ladders and running along the top.  The discarded screenings at the elevators were usually left in an open bin and were sometimes picked up to be taken home and used as chicken feed.  There was often water lying in the ditch and we made rafts using ties which weren't in service.  Sometimes we youngsters would go skinny‑dipping ‑ lads with eight or nine year old wisdom telling us "Pee down your legs and you won't get rheumatism."

     In winter when snowfall became general, buggies gave way to cutters, wagons to bob sleighs, and sleigh bells jingled merrily, and we would take our hand sleighs and loop the rope through the runners of cutters or bob sleighs we had spotted leaving town, and went with them until we met another rig coming into town.  Sometimes the drivers would whip up the horses to give us a fast ride, or to evade us, but it was all done in good fun, although sometimes it might be a weary walk back to town.

     About 1908, Bill was the victim of a serious accident. A traction engine was on one of the flat cars set off at the loading platform, and a number of us were having a heyday examining it, when someone called "Here comes the Cannonball", our name for the evening passenger train from Winnipeg and we all headed for the station to be on the platform when the train arrived, that being one of the highlights of the day. Some of the lads crossed over in front of the train but I waited until it had passed, then crossed over the track and saw Bill lying in the ditch.  People on the street had seen what happened and they were on the scene almost as soon as me, and he was picked up and taken to the doctor's office.  The livery man dispatched a fast team to get dad who was painting a barn in the Fairfax district.  The doctor said the injury was so serious that Bill wouldn't live the night, but as he was still alive the following day they operated and removed fragments of the skull from his brain, the injury being just below his crown.  The C.N. sent a nurse from Winnipeg and Bill was unconscious for two weeks and he was accommodated in the home of the Randolph Sparrows for about two months.  Some portion of his brain was permanently damaged, and he did not get beyond Grade 3 in school.  In later life he seemed to get most enjoyment when playing with children of the age he was when he was injured.  Several weeks after he came home, he was standing on a chair and fell off, sustaining a severe cut on his forehead.

     We had a washing machine with a toothed bar operating back and forth across the top of the lid agitating the dolly washing the clothes.  I wasn't in the house when it happened, but the kids managed to get the flywheel under the tub, which gave momentum to the toothed bar, in motion and they then vied with each other to see how close they could hold a finger to the point where the toothed bar engaged the dolly.   Malcolm Alexander got into the competition, but didn't get his finger away in time and it was caught and squeezed.  Fortunately only flesh was involved.

     Dad had carried on his religious work throughout the years, and in addition to painting he had done some preaching.  On one occasion he went to Otturburne, a village south of Winnipeg to speak to a Baptist congregation, but concluded the place wasn't for him because it was an R.C. community and the people spoke French rather than English.

     Mother was a homey person, industrious and frugal (of necessity) and on one occasion she and Aunt Mary made soap using lye and other ingredients.  In Dad's absences, I became very close to her.  She baked bread for the family preparing the dough with potato water and yeast, leaving the dough in a large pan, warmly wrapped, to "rise" overnight.  The following day she would knead the dough and put it in pans to be baked.  The "heel" of a freshly baked loaf was coveted.  She baked scones which I now know as baking powder biscuits, and they were broken open when hot and eaten while the  butter was melting after being fortified with a dash of pepper.  Currant and custard pies were also favorites, and another delicacy was canned rhubarb, a piece of ginger root being inserted into the seals as they were being closed.

    Nineteen ten was an eventful year.  Dad had spent the previous winter preaching at Marquis, Keeler and Brownlee, northwest of Moose Jaw (probably for the Presbyterians).  King Edward VII died, and Halley's comet could be seen each evening as it travelled across the western sky.  The earth was to pass through the tail of the comet one night and I stayed up to see what happened.  I might as well have gone to sleep.

      Dad and I attended a memorial service for King Edward in the "English" church.  It was the first time I had been in such an edifice, and during the course of the service I braced my feet against something, and stretched, when the kneeling bench tipped over with a terrifying crash right in the middle of the solemn service.

     Dad was invited to take charge of a Baptist congregation in Glen Ewen, Sask., and we moved there that fall, and we were there when King George V was crowned in 1911.  Before leaving Elgin, dad took me with him when he went to pick up "Madge", a balky horse he owned.  On the way home I drove  and dad held Madge's lead rope.  She suddenly stopped and Dad's hands automatically closed on the rope which burned through his hands before I could bring the buggy to a quick stop.

     Dad went on ahead to Glen Ewen, and to get there it was necessary for mother and the family to drive fourteen miles to Hartney to catch the C.P.R. train.  Mother also hand baggage and five youngsters to look after, and shortly before the train was due to arrive at Hartney, she couldn't find her handbag which contained our tickets, etc.,  Everybody assisted in a frantic search for it, but it couldn't be found.  The station agent got in touch with Glen Ewen, and was assured that the conductor would carry us to Glen Ewen without tickets, and Glen Ewen would get the fares.  A couple of weeks after we got to Glen Ewen word was received that mother's handbag, with it's contents intact, had been found in the "wee hoose" at Hartney where she had laid it in a dark corner, such facilities having little illumination.

     At Glen Ewen in 1911, John Moffat was born (Grace Moffat had been mother's dear friend in Scotland).  I well remember the morning.  Facilities in the house were limited, and the first thing in the morning was to use the facilities in the washstand in our parent's room.  That morning I went to go in there when the door was slammed in my face so sharply that I was thrown against the opposite wall.

     Houses in those days were heated by a stove or range with a high "warming oven", and auxiliary heaters might be in other rooms.   A "reservoir" adjacent to the oven was kept well replenished, the water being warmed by it's proximity to the fire.  The stoves were usually fired by wood in summer and "Galt" coal in winter, and the stovepipes conveyed the smoke to the chimney adding a measure of heat to the rooms through which they passed..

     In rural homes basements as such were unknown, but there was usually a cellar, a shallow pit entered through a trap door in the kitchen floor.  I remember a home near Elgin where they had a "cooler" in the cellar ‑ they pulled up a section of the floor and it had several shelves attached to it, counter weights having made it easier to pull up or lower.

     One day, at Glen Ewen, the trap door had been left open and Annie disappeared into it, but as the door slammed shut a small piece of Bella's skirt was caught and held her in mid air, howling.  As it was impossible to get a grip on the small piece of cloth, and as she wouldn't have much farther to fall if the door was opened, it was decided that was what had to be done.  Annie was badly scared but was otherwise uninjured.

     But that wasn't the only mishap that occurred at Glen Ewen ‑ Malcolm wasn't going to school and often accompanied the drayman on his deliveries.  On one occasion the team decided they wouldn't wait for the driver to return and they took off at full gallop around the village, then  decided to head for the livery barn where the dray jammed in the doorway.  Malcolm (by that time we were calling him "Mack" because Dad's pronunciation of "Malcolm" sounded like ("Mah‑cum"), got a bit of a scare from the wildest ride of his young life.

     When I started school in the fifth grade that year, I found we hadn't been taught "Grammar" in Manitoba, and I had a bit of catching up to do.  They also had the "old red" Canadian history book, and just then  "The Prairie Provinces" became a text book.

      During the holidays in 1911, I visited a farm in the Souris Valley where they were haying.  They drove the hayrack right into the loft, and pitched hay to me which I spread around.  By the second day I was pretty homesick, but had discovered the relief a cold wash gave after a sweaty morning's work.  They had an automobile with headlights lit by gas developed in a generator fastened to the running board.  When I got home I rushed to mother, threw my arms around her and she gave me a bear hug.

       As was the case in most prairie towns, a dependable water supply was a constant problem, and that summer they were drilling for water, the outfit consisting of a steam boiler which developed steam carried along a bare metal pipe for a number of feet before it reached the steam drill.  One day Bill and I went to see how they worked.  In walking toward the drill, Bill sort of lost his balance and grabbed the unprotected steam pipe getting his hand badly burned,

     Dad had a Sunday morning service in Glen Ewen.  He had a clear strong voice and led in the singing.  Sometimes now when I hear some of the old songs which were in the "Moody and Sankey" hymn book, I seem to hear his voice joining in.  After lunch on Sunday, he drove some thirty miles to Newport, North Dakota, where he conducted an evening service, staying there overnight and returning to Glen Ewen on Monday.  In winter after the long drive, he would come into the house tugging the icicles off his moustache, and it was our duty to extinguish the charcoal "brick" which was the source of heat in the "foot warmer."

     One spring day on the way home from school, I passed a small pond and near it's edge I saw a snake with a frog in it's mouth ‑ so I made it a dual execution (according to schoolboy lore a snake's tail wouldn't stop twitching until after sundown).  Kingbirds used to nest around the same pond and if anyone approached the nest they set up an agitated racket, in fact if one got too close to the nest they would "divebomb" and strike one on the head.

     While in Glen Ewen I attended my first political meeting.  That was the year of the "Reciprocity Election" ‑ free trade with the U.S. ‑ which was defeated.  I am inclined to believe that if it had gone through, Western Canada, through self‑interest, might have become an integral part of the U.S.A.  such a proposal having come to the front this year (1980) from several Saskatchewan politicians who have financial interests in the U.S.

Pictures of barn showing access by wagons to the loft.

    In 1911 we moved to Newport, and while there dad was ordained as a Baptist minister, and he acquired an "Oliver" typewriter, and a set of books "The New International Encyclopedia" which I have ‑ can you imagine an encyclopedia that doesn't make mention of aeroplanes  We kept in touch with Canadian affairs by subscribing to the Manitoba Free Press, one of the news stories of that year (1912) telling of the breaking of the ice bridge below Niagara Falls when several lives were lost. 

     At Newport it was obvious there had been a great improvement in farming operations ‑ big steam traction engines were replacing horses in many areas, particularly in plowing.  I recall seeing a big J. I. Case tractor pulling a gang‑plow turning over twelve furrows at a time.  They didn't have to worry about leaving a headland ‑ it was virgin prairie and there were no fences.

     In 1912 we moved to Elk Point, South Dakota.  One of the prized possessions brought from Scotland was a large oval mirror and stand made of reddish wood with a felt lined compartment for jewelry.  (also brought from Scotland were two pairs of brass candle sticks which Granny Sloan had given to mother, and on arrival in Elgin mother gave Aunt Mary a choice and she took the big pair ‑ I now have the small pair.)  On the way from Newport, by rail from Kenmare, N.D., to Minneapolis, Minn., by Soo line, and then via Aberdeen, S.D., to Elk Point on the Milwaukee line, it was my duty to take care of the mirror and I kept it in my charge until a bed was assembled and bedclothes were spread out.  I laid it face down on the bed.  Someone sat on the edge of the bed and the mirror slipped and landed on the floor cracking it all the way across the middle.

       In the bustle of arranging furniture, etc., in a new home, Annie disappeared.  We searched the neighborhood without success, and mother and dad were frantic about her being about in a strange place, when she showed up ‑ she had been asleep in a small closet under a stairway in the house, an out of the way place we hadn't noticed.

Case steam traction engine with plough.

Case steam traction engine on a threshing machine.

      At Elk Point we learned that corncobs were useful in a region where Eaton's catalogues were  unknown.  I got a job in a nearby grocery store as an errand boy ‑ have you ever been sent to locate a left handed monkey wrench which had been loaned to another store?  In school spelling bees were a Friday afternoon event, and it was quite a thrill to spell a word which the preceding scholar had missed, and moving up the line ahead of those who missed it, and this procedure was followed until the head of the line was reached, or the period ended, the person at the head of the line when the period ended taking his place at the bottom of the line the next time it was assembled.

     But tragedy struck in September, 1913 ‑ at the birth of her seventh child there were complications, the baby was lost and mother was confined to her bed.  Every day when I came home from school I would go into her bedroom, squat down on the floor and tell her what had occurred.   One evening after I had been in bed some time, I heard the telephone bell ring, and a little later I heard someone come in.  After a while dad left the house, and I went downstairs where I saw the doctor, and he sorrowfully shook his head.  Mother's face was twitching and I leaned over and kissed her, (she had succumbed, to an embolism (?) perhaps).  She was buried in Elk Point cemetery.

     Dad was left with six children ‑ fortunately help came from Mr. and Mrs. Joel Webber, members of the church who had a farm a few miles out in the country.  They took Malcolm, Annie and Moffat.  By this time Annie had become known as "Dollie".  One day Dad had been reading a story about dolls to her and when he finished, she said to him "I'm your dollie, aren't I, daddy?"   Bill and Bella went to the Oddfellows Orphanage at Dell Rapids (Dad had been a member of the Elk Point lodge), and I went to Sioux Falls to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Earl Pitcher (Mrs. Pitcher and Mrs. Webber being sisters), Dad having arranged for me to attend Sioux College which was under the auspices of the Baptists   I had just commenced my freshman year in Elk Point High School, and carried on in that year at Sioux Falls.   For pocket money I got a job delivering papers on a route for the "Sioux Falls Herald".  Just as I started the route they  commenced carrier collections, and they gave us 10% for collecting outstanding subscriptions.  The first week I collected over $100 and the lad who had the route before me tried to get me to share it with him,  I told him he had been paid for his deliveries and he hadn't assisted me in making collections, so I refused to share what I had received.

     When Sioux Falls College year ended in the summer of 1914, I went to Sioux City, Iowa, to join Dad, and I got a job in the packing room of a wholesale grocery warehouse at $6.00 a week.  After paying my board and room where Dad lived, daily streetcar fares and lunches (soup, meat, vegetables, pie and coffee $0.15) I had $0.95 for spending money and Sunday collection.

     Some months earlier, Malcolm went to live with Judge and Mrs. J. L. Kennedy in Sioux City, there being a family connection with the Webbers, and the Kennedy's wanted a companion for their only son, Lloyd, who was Malcolm's age.

     When school resumed that fall, I moved over to the Kennedy home (Mrs. Kennedy had died in the meantime) where I looked after two riding horses and a pony, and I attended Sioux City High School, taking Grade X. 

     The Kennedys had been building a house in "The Heights" a new development, and when it was completed that fall, we moved into it and the Judge hired a housekeeper.  Saturday afternoons, the two boys and I attended the Orpheum Theatre, a vaudeville house.  On one occasion, we were sitting in a box seat, and one of the entertainers was a very good violinist, and he would invite members of the audience to say something, and he would imitate it on the violin.  I don't recall how it happened, but I had a siren whistle in my pocket, and at at opportune moment I blew it.  That brought the house down, even the violinist laughed.

Sioux High School, Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

Sioux Falls College and some of the students.

Top students (TMS under the ‘O’).

     After New Year's Day, 1915, the Judge and the two boys, with a colored chauffeur who looked after the boys, went to California, and I was left to shovel snow, coal, ashes, and to look after and exercise the two riding horses and the pony, and I attended Sioux City Business College.  After being away for some weeks, the travelers returned, and the Judge saddled his horse and went for a ride.  When I got home the Judge told me of his ride, and complained that I hadn't been looking after the harness as the saddles and bridles I hadn't been using had a green coating.  (The stable was below the garage and was built into the side of a hill.  In the winter time, the door being closed, the atmosphere in the stable was moist due to the presence of the animals.)  I hadn't had any instruction in the care of the harness, and I didn't like the criticism, so on a Monday I took off for Winnipeg.  The war had been on for six months or so.

     I kept out of sight when the train stopped at Sheldon, Iowa, (Dad was there then) and it was evening when it got to Minneapolis.  I thought I might stay in the station until the Winnipeg train left in the morning, but at midnight I was turned out.  I wandered along Hennepin Avenue for a while, then decided to go into an upstairs hotel where the rates seemed reasonable.  The clerk showed me to a room, then asked if I wanted some beer.  When I declined, he asked if I wanted a woman and I refused.  A little later I heard him telling a woman in the hall about me.

     The next morning I boarded the train for Winnipeg, and on arrival at the border that afternoon I was interrogated by the Immigration officer and admitted I had only $5.00 in my possession.  He seemed hesitant about admitting me but a farmer seated nearby heard the conversation, and he said he would give me a job on his farm which satisfied the Immigration officer and he allowed me to proceed.  After the train left Emerson the farmer said, "OK kid, go where you want to."

     After arriving in Winnipeg, I visited the recruiting offices of the Winnipeg Rifles, the  Grenadiers, and the Cameron Highlanders which were on Main Street near the C.N. station.  While making these visits I met up with several fellows who had the same purpose in mind.  When we found these regiments were not recruiting that day, we went to Portage & Sherbrook where the Artillery had their office, with the same result, so we went on to Minto Armories where the 44th Battalion was recruiting .  I didn't pass the medical when my eyes were tested.

     One of the fellows I had met told me not to worry but to come with him  and he would get me a job on a farm.  The next day we took a train to Myrtle, Man., and I got a job at $12 a month, to be increased to $20 when the summer work started, but in the meantime there were the usual farm chores to be done.

     The farmer stipulated that I must get in touch with my father, and I did.  Years later I learned that Judge Kennedy had got in touch with dad several days after I left, and started to give him heck because he hadn't notified the Judge I was with him.  Dad, of course, told the Judge that he hadn't the faintest notion where I might be.  When summer work started I was given charge of a four‑horse outfit and harrowing, ploughing, and drove a binder when harvest was on.

Carman Detachment 222^nd O.S. Battalion (on a postcard to Father). TMS 4^th row   2^nd from right.

 Left. Father and I (about age 16).  Centre: With two friends. Right: Private  Sutherland.

    When threshing commenced, I drove a grain wagon.  As the threshing outfit was moved a couple of times a day, it was necessary to "throw" the belt which was then rolled up and stowed on the separator.  On one occasion, I took the notion that I would "throw" the belt, so I went over to it, reached over and took hold of it when it was jerked out of my hand and I went several feet before I could recover my balance.  I tried again with a like result.  The engine was slowing down and I was near it's front wheels and I determined that this time I was going to succeed and I took a firm grip of the belt and was yanked off my feet and my arm shot up between the belt and the flywheel and I was thrown against the big wheel and my arm came free.  I took several steps and the engine man asked me how I was and I said "OK" and fell over in a faint.  I was very lucky to have escaped injury when my arm was caught between the belt and the flywheel, as many persons had lost arms or been seriously injured in similar occurrences.  When I got up they showed me what I should have done ‑ instead of catching hold of the belt, I should have put my arm over it and bent it into a perpendicular position as it slipped by my fore arm, and then pulled it toward me and it would run off the flywheel.

      In the fall of 1915, I went to work for another farmer and when the first farmer was paying me off he asserted that I had failed to skim the froth off a pail of milk before giving it to the calf, and it had bloated up and died several days after.

     The pay at the second farm was $10 a month during the winter, including board and room, and I was to do chores, feed the animals, clean the barns, etc., and the first job I was given to do was to attack an accummulation of several years' manure, load it on to a spreader and empty it on a nearby field ‑ that took several weeks.  In February two brothers with whom I was friendly, and I were in Roland, Man., when we learned they were recruiting for a southern Manitoba battalion, so we enlisted and were posted to the Carman detachment.  When I told the farmer we had enlisted, he agreed to let me go, but as he had to pay my replacement $12 a month, he deducted from the money coming to me enough to ensure that his costs for the winter help did not exceed $10 a month.

     We went into training at Carman, there being detachments at numerous southern Manitoba towns, and when Camp Hughes opened that summer, a special train called at the various points where detachments were in training and took us to Camp Hughes where the 222nd Battalion was assembled for the first time.  Dad came up to Camp Hughes to see about getting me out of the army as I was under age.  I was paraded before Lt. Col. Lightfoot who said he would give me a discharge if I wanted it, and I told him I had enlisted in the army and wanted to stay, so Dad decided to stay in Winnipeg where he became the pastor of the West Kildonan Baptist Church.

     Our battalion was the last to leave Camp Hughes in the fall of 1916.  There had been over 40,000 of us in training there that year, all under canvas.  In the late fall, the tents were cold, so many of them became heated by "coal oil" heaters, the occupants of a tent contributing to pay for the heater and oil.  After a cold night it wasn't unusual to see grimy, even black faces in the morning indicating that the wick of the heater had been turned up too high resulting in poor  combustion causing soot.  When snow came, we were moved into the empty theatres.

     We went overseas on the S.S. "Olympic" in November, and went into camp at Shoreham, Sussex, and within a few weeks may of the men went to France where they reinforced the 1st C.M.R.s and the 44th Battalion.  On Dec. 31st, those left in the 222nd marched to Seaford where we were amalgamated with the remnants of the 196th (University) Battalion, to form the 19th Reserve.  In that Reserve there were quite a few under 19. For service in France, we were moved to Witley to join the 128th, Moose Jaw Battalion, in the organization of the "Fighting Fifth" Division but as casualties were severe in France in the spring of 1917, the division was broken up to supply reinforcements, and some of us found ourselves in the Saskatchewan Regimental Reserve, where we became acquainted with many men who had served in the 46th Battalion and were awaiting return to that unit after discharge from hospital in England.  The authorities decided to gather all the under age troops into a Young Soldiers Battalion, and we were sent to Bexhill, near Hastings, for training as there was a special school there.  At Bexhill we were again under canvas, and after Reveille we were assembled, clad in greatcoats only, and marched to Cooden Beach nearby to bathe in the English Channel in the nude.  Some local residents complained, and I understand the area commandant, Brig.‑Gen. Critchel had an item in the local paper commending the complainants on the quality of their field glasses enabling  them to discern anything which might be a cause for complaint.

     We returned to Bramshot that fall and were used on many occasions to demonstrate to fresh arrivals from Canada how a smart unit performed their drills. On one occasion we marched past King George V at one hundred and sixty to the minute, our bugles were silent but the drummers really went to town.

        Speaking of bugles, they were rarely silent for long between "Reveille" and "Lights Out"  occasionally we heard "Long Reveille " but it was usually the "Rouse', "Get out of bed, get out of bed" or the American "I can't get 'em up, I can't get 'em up" and the buglers seemed to have calls for everything.  Each call was preceded by a few notes identifying the unit making the call.  After reveille they followed in quick succession, "Sick" parade, cookhouse "Come and get it", "Come to the cookhouse door" or "Pick ':em up, pick 'em up, hot potatoes", the half hour dress, the quarter dress, the fall in, the "Come along," all having to do with parades, the mail call "There's a letter from Lou", the officers mess call "The officers wives get pudding and pies but we poor beggars get skelly."  The Orderly Room call for those who had to answer for some transgression. "Retreat" at the end of the afternoon was a formal call when everyone had to cease what he was doing and stand at "Attention" while the flag was being lowered.  Then there was the "defaulters" call when those who had been "confined to barracks" had to report to the guardroom every half hour for roll call.

       At Camp Hughes we had no trouble knowing when reveille would soon be sounded as the next lines to ours was occupied by the 107th Batt. "Glen Campbell's Scouts" many of them were Indian or of Indian extraction, and their pipe band was out every morning tuning up their bagpipes or tightening up their drums  preparing to march through their lines with pipes and drums playing as soon as reveille was sounded.

    If we happened to be near the cavalry or artillery units, the trumpet calls were a contrast  to the bugle calls.  There was no mistaking "All who are able, come down to the stable, and feed your horses and gallop away" .

On board ship. TMS middle row, right end.

Another view of the ship.

    One day while we were at Bramshott, the Y.S.B. sent a detachment by train to Aldershot where thousands of troops had been assembled to witness the awards of  valor, to those who had earned them, by His Majesty King George V and Queen Mary.  After some hours we  boarded a train at Aldershot, and had to change trains at Wigan(?) to catch one going in the opposite direction.  We boarded that train getting into the last coach.   When it stopped we found we were back in Aldershot ‑ the last coach on the train we boarded was a "slip" coach which had been detached from the train while in motion, switched on to the Aldershot line in charge of a "Guard". It was rather late when we got back to Bramshott.

     While in England, I took the opportunity to visit Aunt Annie in Eccles (I arrived at her home before the telegram, had been delivered, telling her I was coming), and then went on to Howwood to visit Aunt Flora and her family, finding her son Archie home on leave.  I also visited the Easons (I understand they later went to the antipodes).  Then on to Dundee where I arrived late in the evening and booked in at the Lamb's Hotel.  The following morning I made enquiry for Uncle Malcolm, finding him on duty at the hotel.  Nothing would do but that I should book out of the hotel and go to his home.  His eldest daughter Bella, a Territorial nurse, was home on leave, and Katie was still at home.  I also met two of Dad's brothers and members of their families, one being the General Foreman at the North British Railways Goods station, and the other had a shop in Lochee, a suburb of Dundee.

     Most of us in the Y.S.B. were returned to our respective depots or reserves towards the end of summer in 1918, and were sent to France.  The group from the Saskatchewan Regimental Reserve were sent to France to reinforce the 46th Battalion, but after arrival at a staging station there was a parade and we were informed volunteers were required for the 16th Batt. and volunteers were asked to step forward.  We hadn't had any contact with the 16th, and as we wished to stay together, none of our group stepped forward,  with the result that as many as were wanted were counted off and detailed to go to that unit.  As soon as that parade was dismissed, we got together and decided as that was the way things went, if another parade was called and volunteers were required, we would have to step forward if we wanted to stay together.  An hour or so later, another parade was assembled and volunteers were asked for the 78th Battalion, and our group stepped forward as one and we eventually joined the 78th near Arras.  On our way up from the staging area we travelled in box cars marked "8 Cheveau  40 Hommes".  Further progress was made on foot and it seemed that we recognized and exchanged greetings with someone in every unit we passed, having served with them in England.

     The first night we were bivouacked in an abandoned sugar factory and we slept on stone floors, exchanging our rations which we had brought with us.  The next night we spent in what had been the cellar of a house, and when I wakened in the morning I found I was looking up at the sky through the chimney of a cellar fireplace.  We were a short distance in front and to the right of an artillery battery.   We could see the flash as the No.1 gun was fired, and as the No. 2 flashed, we heard the sound of the discharge of the No.1 gun, and so all four guns followed each other in that sequence.

    As it was getting along into the afternoon, I looked around to find something to eat, and I started a fire in a small firebox adjacent to the house, but as I stooped down, a blast of fire came out and engulfed me, burning my face and hand and ruining my uniform.  I was taken to the First Aid station where my hands were bandaged and a dressing was put over my face, holes having been cut for my eyes and mouth.  I was dispatched to a Casualty Clearing Station to be taken to hospital.  While in the C.C.S. they gave some lunch, and another casualty was asked to feed me.  He had some difficulty in finding my mouth through the hole in the dressing, and just as he found it, he had to go places in a hurry ‑ he was suffering from dysentery, and I didn't keep track of how often he left me before I decided I didn't want any more.  Late that evening, I was taken to a hospital near St. Pol, but it was about 2 a.m. before I finally reached the ward I was assigned to.  Then as the beds came in sight, I passed out, and they must have undressed me and put me to bed.  I was there about a week or so, finding it embarrassing to have to get someone to do personal things for me.  The dressing was taken off my face, and if my face turned sideways the pillow slip or sheet stuck to me, so I mostly lay on my back with my hands above my head.

     In due course I was evacuated to England, but the Channel crossing was very rough and I had to walk with my elbows extended to combat the rocking of the ship, then on the train as it went to Birkenhead and a hospital at Thornton Hough, Lord Leverhume's estate.   As I couldn't do anything for myself, I stayed in bed reading, turning pages with my tongue, and being fed by a nurse .   In course of time my burns healed, but the first day my hands were without dressings as I started to shuffle a pack of cards blood blisters were raised on the palms of my hands.  Being in "hospital blues", blue trousers and  jacket, white shirt and red tie, we were allowed to travel on the ferries between Birkenhead and Liverpool, and on the Liverpool "trams" without charge.

     In the course of time, I went to convalescent camp at "Bearwood", someone else's estate, and one morning we were routed out of bed to go on parade at 6 a.m. on a cold wet day.  We were informed that at 11 a.m., that day, November 11th, 1918, an armistice was coming into effect to end the war.  A few days later, those of us at Bearwood, and from other convalescent camps found ourselves at Kimnel Park, near Rhyl in north Wales awaiting transportation home.  As most of us had quite a bit of service, and were awaiting back pay and the leave usually given on discharge from hospital, we weren't happy about it, and after a demonstration at Headquarters, we were sent to our respective Reserves, in my case the 11th, after being paid.  I made my last visit to Eccles, Howwood and Dundee, and returned to Canada on the S.S. "Baltic" in February and was finally discharged at McGregor Barracks in Winnipeg, Mar. 21, 1919.

Scene from camp showing Bell tents in background. TMS 2^nd from left.

A number of post card scenes from Witley Camp in England

A few fellows from camp. TMS 2^nd from left. This is the front of another post card.

This is another post card stamped ‘Y.M.C.A. Institute, Maryhill Barracks Glasgow’.

     Dad was then living in Thelmo Mansions on Burnell St., and had Bill, Bella and Malcolm with him, as well as a housekeeper and her two children.  Shortly after my return and while wearing   uniform, I went to Elk Point where Dollie and Moffat were living with the Webbers, and brought them to Winnipeg.  Shortly afterwards we were asked to leave the Thelmo as there were too many of us in the suite, so the Sutherlands moved to 742 St. Mathews Ave.  During the summer the youngsters went out to Elgin to visit Aunt Mary, and while there the whole family was quarantined because of measles .

      One day Dad decided to make bread the  way mother had done it. Several weeks later I was in the basement checking the furnace and I saw a chunk of coal on top of some trunks.  I took it down and found it apparently was a loaf of bread burned black as tar.  I showed it to Dad and he admitted that he had forgotten that the bread was baking and it had been badly burned.  We scraped away the charring and found the bread quite palatable, but Dad didn't try to bake bread again.

     Some time after their trip to California, Judge Kennedy and the two boys went on a trip to  Yellowstone or Glacier National Park during which they did a lot of horseback riding.  Malcolm's  horse was named "Buck" and it seemed that Malcolm was urging or reproving him so often that the people on the tour party began to call him "Buck", and that name stayed with him.  Some time later at Sioux City, Buck fell or was thrown off a horse and his foot stuck in the stirrup and he was dragged along the ground, and one of the horse's hooves struck him in the face.

     After being discharged from the army, I took a course at Success Business College, and in the fall I got a job in the office of the Winnipeg City Electrician,

     In 1921, Dad married Jessie Gardner (five years my senior), and in 1922 Frank Mathieson arrived on the scene.  We then moved to 553 Maryland, where we had more room.  After Isabel finished school, she enrolled for training in Victoria General Hospital.  When Buck finished, he got casual work in Eatons.

     In 1922, having become dissatisfied with the situation in the City Electrician's office, I resigned and took up employment with the Dept. of Investigation of the C.P.R.

     When Dollie finished school, there seemed to be some discussion about what she should do, and I got the impression Dad and Jessie seemed to be satisfied if she could find work as a domestic.  I didn't like that, so Buck, Dollie and I moved out and went into a small suite in the Wardlaw Apts., on Osborne St.  I arranged for Dollie to take a course at the Success College, and enrolled Buck in a night school course in railroad telegraphy, but I learned afterward he missed as many classes as he attended.  I also provided pocket money for Isabel as nurses in training were not recompensed.

     In 1927 there was a Royal Tour across Canada by the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, and their staffs, and Prime  Minister Stanley Baldwin and his wife with their staffs.  The tour was routed over the C.P.R.. and our Chief, Brig. Gen. E. de B. Panet was appointed the official representative of the Federal Government, and of the C.P.R. on the tour, and I was selected to handle the secretarial duties.   With Gen. Panet. I boarded the R.M.S. "Empress of Australia" at Father Point in the Gulf Or St. Lawrence, disembarking at Quebec City.  From Quebec, we travelled to Montreal up river on the Canada Steamship Lines S.S. St. Lawrence with the other members of the C.P.R. party. Asst. to the Chief S. H. Spry and three Investigators joined us for the rest of the tour.  We were tipped off that one of the American press correspondents had made a bet that he would get an "exclusive" interview with H.R.H. on the trip.  The opportunity seemed to be opening up as the Princes stood admiring the evening skyline as we neared Montreal, but the members of our party closed him off, apologizing as we stepped on his toes.   The tour proceeded across Canada, the Baldwin party being disengaged at Banff for their return, while we continued on to Victoria and wound up at Quebec City.

     As I wasn't flush with money when I left Winnipeg, I hoped that Buck's wages  might pay for the groceries while I was away.  On my return I was told that there had been a water leak in the bathroom, and water had leaked through the floor and the storekeeper downstairs had complained of damage, and the leak had occurred when Buck leaned against the basin in the bathroom,  A day or so after I returned I answered a knock at the door, and when I answered found it was the woman from the store downstairs, who asked when her bill was going to be paid.  I called Dollie and learned that they had to charge for food they needed while I was away, and I assured the woman that she would be paid without loss of time.  There was also some  comment about the water damage, and I told her it had occurred because of the poor condition of the plumbing and the floor, matters I thought she should take up with the landlord.  Many months afterward I was told the damage had occurred when Buck stood on the bathroom basin while he replaced a bulb in the ceiling light.

     Shortly after the Wardlaw incident, we moved to the Highworth Apts., a little further south on Osborne St.  By this time Isabel had finished her training at the Victoria and she moved in with us.  Moffat also came in, and after some negotiation he was started in school as an dependent of mine.  About this time Buck got a job as a  cache‑keeper on the Hudson's Bay line.   When summer holidays came along, Moffat returned to Dad.  In the fall of 1927, with Isabel and Dollie, I moved to the Asa Court at Langside & Broadway.

    For some years, I had been involved with snowshoe clubs and the Manitoba Snowshoe Union, and I had become acquainted with Margaret Hughes who had similar interests.  We had often met at meetings and outings.  One day I asked her if she would take me to a Scottish show which was running at the Walker Theatre.  She said she would, and that was our first date.  I got tickets, met her, and we had a very pleasant evening.  The Royal Tour then intervened and we did not have another date for quite some time.  We met again at a New Year' s dance, and I had so many dances with her that the chap she came with asked me if I was going to take her home.  We had various dates in January and by Valentine's Day she had accepted my proposal and we were married on February 28th, 1928.   We were one of a group of eight couples who had been associated more or less with snowshoe affairs for years, and with the assistance of one of the couples we arranged that the others would be invited to a surprise Party at the home where we were being married. 

    When we were in a bedroom having a libation, one of the fellows said "Tom, you don't seem very surprised to see us." "No," I replied, "Margaret and I are going to be married tonight." There was a loud guffaw, and he said, "Well, I'll call your bluff.  Show us the marriage certificate."  His jaw dropped with surprise when I produced it.

     We had arranged for Dad to come into town and conduct the ceremony, which he did.  We were in a private home, and the owners had a Boston terrier known as "Petey".  When the soloist was singing "I love you truly," Petey joined in with his harmony.  A little later Margaret and I managed to slip away unnoticed, and we went to a nearby drugstore where I called a taxi to take us to the Royal Alexandra Hotel where I had arranged for a room with the proviso that our names would not be given to the telephone operator.  We were later told that when our absence was noted, the fellows made frantic calls all over trying to locate us, without success.

     Margaret had been sharing a suite with two of her sisters, Birdie and Hazel. and our marriage, of course, upset that arrangement.  Dollie and Isabel found other accommodation.  Margaret sold a car she had, and we began looking for a house and when our lease at Asa Court expired, we moved to 537 Stiles St., which we had arranged to purchase.  As we had ample room there, Dollie moved in with us.

     That fall I was informed that I wag going to be appointed as an Acting Investigator at the beginning of the year, with a sizeable increase in salary, so we thought we were quite established when the promotion materialized.

Pictures of TMS

A couple of shots of Margaret Hughes

     My first assignment was to be on duty at the Royal Alexandra Hotel for the New Year's Ball, which gave rise to the rumor that Margaret and I weren't hitting it off as I had been at the Royal Alexandra Ball without Margaret.   One day when I came home for lunch, Dollie was there  and she wanted to see my handcuffs, and she learned their use by putting them on her wrists.  I went through the motions of looking for the key, and said I couldn't find it and would have to go to the office for it.   Dollie was very much put out, and I left the house and crossed the street as though I was going to the streetcar stop, but a few minutes later I returned and relieved her distress by saying I had found the key in another pocket. 

     Early in 1930 we thought things were coming up rosy ‑ Margaret was going to reveal her secret about the end of September, then in July I was told that I was being transferred to Lethbridge in August.  By explaining our predicament and that Margaret was reluctant to change doctors, I got the transfer postponed until November.  Thomas Hughes arrived  on September 27th, 1930 and my sister Mary Lou at Carnduff in July, 1931.

     Buck had returned to Winnipeg in the spring, and I was fortunate in getting him appointed Constable in the summer establishment at  Fort  William.  While here, he got board and room at the home of Ruth's parents.  He was laid off at the end of the summer and enlisted in the R.C.M.P.

     The big market crash occurred that fall, and when we tried to rent the house we couldn't get enough to meet the monthly payments.  We moved to Lethbridge in the middle of November ‑ did you ever travel for twenty four hours in a stateroom on a train with a train‑sick woman and a six weeks old baby?   You quickly get acquainted with fundamentals.  I had been successful in getting a suite there, but when the gas stove we took from Winnipeg was lit, the flame rose about two feet from the burner and an adjustment had to be made to cut down the flame ‑ a contrast between manufactured and natural gas. It was the first time Margaret had lived in a town where she was a total stranger, and she had a hard time of it, being cooped up in a suite with an infant while I was away. I was out of town a lot as my territory extended from Shaunavon to Cardston, Medicine Hat to Crowsnest, and Coutts to Calgary.  We located one of her girlhood friends and visited her on occasion.  One night as we returned home she said "Oh the elastic on my pants has broken" so in the darkness she stepped out of them and I put them in my pocket.

     One day, having completed my work at Manyberries, I got a ride to Bow Island with a school inspector, and then on the train to Medicine Hat to fill in the time the train left that point for Lethbridge.  While in Medicine Hat I heard of the riot that day in Estevan where the miners were on strike, and that Buck, a member of the R.C.M.P., had been pulled off his horse and was injured.  Through the courtesy of the telegraph operators at Medicine Hat and Estevan  I got a report on his condition before leaving Medicine Hat.

     The Calgary Stampede imposed a lot of special duty on members of the Department, particularly on the occasion of the Ball in the Hotel Palliser, and the Investigators at Medicine Hat and Lethbridge were called in to assist.  On reporting at the office to ascertain what my duties might be, I saw the duties drawn up by the Inspector assigned the Medicine Hat to one floor, and I to one four floors away, and the sentence "Acting Sergeant (so‑and‑so) will be in charge of all members of the Department."  The Medicine Hat Investigator was then in the Inspector's office talking to him, and when he came out I went in and found that the Inspector had gone out another door, and was gone for the day.  I later got him on the telephone and asked if there had been a slip‑up in putting the Acting Sergeant in charge of all personnel of the Department on duty at the Palliser that night and was informed that there had not been a mistake, that was the way it was to be.  I answered that it was the way it would be, but if circumstances arose which I thought an Investigator should handle, I would do that.  Before going off duty the next morning, affairs at the hotel having been without incident (I saw one elderly man going down a corridor wrapped in a hotel blanket to cover his  nakedness).  I put my complaint in writing and left it for the Inspector before leaving for Lethbridge my tour of special duty having been completed.

     Some weeks later, I was in Coleman when I heard that there had been some thefts from a way car which was being worked that day between Aldersyde and Lethbridge.  I got back to Lethbridge about midnight, and caught the northbound way freight which left about 6 a.m., and made enquiry at the various points where the car had been worked getting particulars of the missing goods.  We arrived at Aldersyde late in the evening, and stayed there awaiting the arrival of southbound trains for Lethbridge and Macleod.  The Lethbridge train set off two way cars for the Aldersyde subdivision, which I had just covered, and the cars were spotted at the south end of the yard, so before boarding the train I had been travelling on to go to Calgary, I thought I had better take a look at the two cars set off.  The west side was OK, but as I started back up the east side, I found a door open and heard some sounds out in a field.  It was a moonlight night, so I crept through the fence without making a sound, and moved so that the moonlight was behind as I appr