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WAR BRIDE RECALLS
TRIP TO CANADA
by Joan Reichardt
It was 55 years ago this past May 28th [2001] that I was on a
train somewhere between Winnipeg and my destination, Saskatoon,
where I would arrive just before midnight. I was going to join
the young man I had been married to for 11 months and hadn't
seen for 10.
I had been notified of my imminent departure at the beginning
of May and then my final "orders" on the 12th. I was to take
the train from Richmond Station and proceed to Waterloo where I
was to contact the Canadian Railway Transportation Officer (RTO)
for further instructions. I had been ready and anxious to go for
months, I had my trunk duly marked with my name and a few meagre
new bits of clothing carefully packed inside. I had my
travelling outfit all ready -- brown-and-white herringbone tweed
suit with matching brown blouse and hat. All very "utility"
except for the hat -- no coupons required. It was very stylish,
very expensive, and totally unsuitable.
Going up to Waterloo was no big deal -- it took about 20 minutes
and I had done it daily when working in London. So having said
goodbye to everyone -- all very stiff upper lip -- I was on my
way. Arriving at Waterloo I found no RTO, Canadian or otherwise,
and so stood, all forlorn, with my trunk and other luggage,
waiting to be called for. Eventually I spotted the British RTO
and he took charge of my belongings while I waited. I had by now
been joined by another girl so was not quite so alone. The
Canadian RTO appeared along with others and we were put on a bus
to wait. As soon as all had been accounted for we trundled off
to the hostel that was to be our home for the night, it was
close to the Dorchester Hotel and some of us speculated (very
briefly) if that was our destination. The hostel was very basic
with long dormitory-style rooms with at least 20 double-decker
bunks down each side and only two washrooms. We had by now
decided that our group included no women with children and we
wondered why.
Our evening meal I do not remember, but I recall that we watched
"How Green Was My Valley" so there must have been a cinema of
sorts. Getting into my bunk that night was an adventure as I was
not used to getting undressed and ready for bed in the company
of hundreds -- or so it seemed to me, but I managed and must have slept.
The next morning we were up early and given baked beans on toast
for breakfast. Then onto a bus, into Hyde Park where we sat for
ages. I now know that they had to prepare for the next batch of
brides but no one told us anything. At last we arrived at
Victoria Station and knew we were sailing from Southampton.
A girl in my carriage on the train got us all excited as she
knew the QUEEN MARY had docked the day before and thought we
might be sailing in style. Not so. We kept going further and
further along the docks, with her saying "only little ships dock
here" until we were off the train and boarding the LADY RODNEY,
one of the smallest (if not the smallest) ship that was used for
the transatlantic crossing.
We soon found out why there were no children allowed; the ship
was not equipped to handle medical emergencies and was slow.
There were only 254 brides aboard and the ship was far from a
luxury liner. However, off we went, a few tears as the ship drew
away but most of us were happy and excited at being at last on
our way. As we were boarded alphabetically, by the time they got
to the R's we were on a higher deck with portholes we could see
out of, three triple-decker bunks in a cabin but only six
occupants, a washbasin and the toilets down the hall. The LADY
RODNEY had been used as a hospital ship and all the doors had
been removed from the toilet cubicles so when using one of them
we could observe all the other occupants in the mirrors above
the washbasins on the other wall.
Our first meal was memorable -- white bread, butter, fruit --
utter bliss. The QUEEN MARY had pulled out by this time and was
to go to New York and back before we got to Halifax as the
RODNEY took nine days to make the crossing. I have always said
we went so slowly that the seagulls were passing us. It was not
rough crossing but the RODNEY was not the most stable of ships
and I, along with many others, did not feel too good, certainly
not able to do justice to the wonderful food some were able to
enjoy.
There were service personal running the show and everything went
very smoothly; we even had a ship's concert and a special song,
sung to the tune of "MacNamara's Band." I still have the
programme and the song. As we got closer to our destination we
were told we would be veering south to avoid icebergs. That created a little excitement.
In my cabin there was a girl named Betty RRID, going (I think)
to Calgary. She was a member of the DAGENHAM GIRLS PIPE BAND
and so as we steamed into Halifax on May 24th we did so with
great panache with Betty playing the pipes. There were flags
and bands on the dock, which we thought were for us but were in
fact because it was Victoria Day.
So it was off the ship and on the train, with as I recall
little red tape, just Landed Immigrant cards (which I didn't
like as I did not consider myself an immigrant). We also were
able to get some Canadian currency and were warned not to be
careless with it as there are always people ready to take
advantage. This warning fell on many deaf ears as we were no
sooner out of Halifax and stopped somewhere when vendors
appeared selling little tubs of "ice cream" which turned out to
be filled with sand.
The landscape we passed through on that long journey was so
different and wild compared to the little patchwork fields of
England and, of course, we all crowded to the windows to see who
was being met by what whenever the train stopped. A couple of us
in my carriage discovered that our food was not as good as that
in the adjacent carriage and brought this to the attention of
our escorts. It turned out the chap in charge of catering for
our end of the train assumed we wouldn't know the difference so
was feeding us on the cheap and pocketing the surplus. That was
the end of him. I often wonder what happened to my fellow
complainer as I am still a "righter of wrongs" and have been
all my years in Canada.
On the Sunday we arrived in Montreal and those of us going west
were taken on a bus tour of the city. What I remember best is
how loud and garish the clothing worn by the women seemed, in
contrast to our sombre utility garb, and the extraordinary
looking baby carriages, so unlike our English prams. We all
agreed we'd have none of those.
Then back on the train and on to Winnipeg where we were again
sorted according to whether we were travelling by CNR or CPR. We
did lose one girl in Winnipeg -- she nipped out to shop and
didn't make it back in time so we left without her. I remember
being shocked by the intense heat and the wind (which I was to
come to loath during my years on the prairies) when we got off briefly at some little whistle-stop in Manitoba and also
astonished at the flat and featureless landscape we were passing
through.
By the time we arrived in Saskatoon it was dark. Having seen
some of the strangely garbed (to our English eyes who had only
known our men in uniform) characters who had met our fellow
travellers as we crossed this endless expanse of land, we were
all joking about whether or not we would recognise our husbands
and as I had had the longest wait since we had last met I was
delegated to be the first off the train. I remember seeing this
young man (not hard to spot or recognise since he was 6-foot-6
and had red hair) and running madly across the station and into
his arms.
I was told, many years later, by a woman I met in Saskatoon,
that I had nearly knocked her over. I do not remember that at
all. My lovely expensive hat was knocked off my head and I never
wore it again -- a brown felt cartwheel not really suitable wear
for the prairies. I don't remember what we did with luggage, I
took my little carry-on and we got into a cab. As my husband put
his arm around me he got his elbow in my eye, which watered
profusely, so the desk clerk at the Bessborough probably thought
I was in tears.
We went up to our room and, anxious to see my new home, I tried
to look out the window, only to encounter my first window
screen -- a heavy-duty one at that, which just about knocked me
cold. The most remarkable part of the story is that despite the
crazy way to start a life together, many of us had good, solid,
loving marriages and found it was all worthwhile.
Sent in by Margaret Murray
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