A Story

A true story, written long ago for a Grade 13 English Literature Assignment for Mr. Rorke.
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Thirteen-year-old Elizabeth sat silently in the little room of the big boat. She looked over at her younger sister, Belle, who had finally fallen asleep. Her face had lost some its greenish tinge now – she was actually starting to look a little more like her old self again.

Belle had been ill the whole nine days they had been on the ship, and Elizabeth was constantly by her side. She crawled up to the bed above her sisters’ so that she too could try to rest; however she couldn’t stop thinking about the events that had brought her here.

Her father, Samuel, had left Ireland more than two years before to find work in Canada shortly after her mother had died, leaving Elizabeth and Belle in the care of her aunt. Her mother, Leticia, had been well known to the children of the small town because of the wonderful stories she told. Elizabeth had loved hearing those tales; it was a good thing she had a good memory.

Her aunt, a busy woman with a family of her own, did not try to hide the fact that this ‘addition’ to her family was a burden. Elizabeth and Belle never felt like members of that household during the time they were left there by their father. She felt like a stranger in her own family.

Now, as she looked around the small four-bunk cabin, she felt even more withdrawn and isolated. Her mother had been gone for more than two years, but young Elizabeth still longed for her. Belfast was the only home she had ever known. And now, according to her aunt, she was off to a place ‘filled with Indians”.

The young woman who shared a cabin with the young sisters returned after being given yet another “tour” of the ship by yet another one of the young stewards. She was on her way back out though, this time to a movie playing on the main deck. If there were any problems, she said, they could send for her there. Although the young woman was on her way to Canada to be married, Elizabeth thought she took a little too much pleasure in flirting with the young sailors.

The actual trip by ship was very enjoyable for the girls. There had been some excitement on board on the seventh day at sea when some passengers had spotted land on the horizon. “That must be Greenland!” one of the passengers yelled. To Elizabeth, it didn’t look green, no matter how hard she looked.

It was on day 10 of the journey when their boat, “The Minnodosa”, docked in Montreal, Quebec. It was July 5th, 1928.

Elizabeth and Belle disembarked and were escorted to a waiting taxi by one of the shipmen. Belle held onto her hand so tightly Elizabeth felt the tingle of lost circulation. She looked around and was amazed by all the white people wandering around. Her aunt must have been wrong, she thought, for there were no ‘Indians’ as far as her eyes could see. The language, though, was peculiar. She couldn’t understand what people were saying to her. Surrounded by strangers in a strange land, Elizabeth felt lost and completely alone.

The shipman put the girls in a taxicab, gave directions in the strange language, then waved, turned on his heel and left. The taxi pulled away slowly until she couldn’t see the man who left them, the boat, the water or the port. The link that had, until now, bound her to Ireland, was now gone.

She remembered that when she first left Belfast, she had a feeling she would soon return. Now, as she watched the strange surroundings whiz by through the window, that feeling was lost.

The taxi finally came to a stop outside a large train station in the city. The driver took the children inside to a ticket booth, where a young woman with a comforting smile took over. They walked, hand-in-hand, down a large corridor which led to a small room. Inside was a large paper bag with TURNER scribbled across the front in black marker. The woman explained that the provisions were to be used while they were on the train. She spoke with an incredible accent…Elizabeth could barely understand what she was saying. She opened the bag and found canned goods, fruit and bread.

The girls were the first passengers to be put on the train. One of the first things Elizabeth noticed was the little pot-belly stove at the front of the car. They were seated near the stove which, as she learned later, was used to cook their food.

Elizabeth was uncomfortable watching the passengers file in, one by one, to find their seats – almost like they were invading their privacy. She put the paper bag under her seat and placed a protective arm around Belle.

A tall man took the seat directly across from the children. He was a young man, probably in his early 30s, with short black hair. He noticed the girls right away…probably because they were staring at him like frightened animals.

After 40 minutes of waiting, the four-day trip across Canada to Vancouver, BC began. Elizabeth stared out the window for a long time, watching as a foreign landscape went quickly by. She noticed that the young man, whose name was Thomas, was constantly looking at them, almost as if to check up on them.

On the second day of the trip, he reached out a big hand to feel Belle’s head. Elizabeth tried to pull her away from him, but she wasn’t quick enough. Soon, Thomas summoned the caretaker on the train, who also felt Belle’s head. The caretaker then called ahead to the next stop, Winnipeg, to request a doctor.

In Winnipeg, two big nurses from the Red Cross came aboard the train. The examined Belle and murmured something about ‘prickly heat’. After giving her some medicine, the nurses gave the young sisters chocolates and books to keep them busy for the rest of the trip. When the train was once again rolling, Elizabeth gave a quick look to Thomas and smiled. He became a trusted friend who helped them for the rest of the trip.

On July 9, 1928, after more than two weeks of travel, Elizabeth, my beautiful grandmother, and her little sister Belle finally reached Vancouver. The girls frantically looked for their father, who came rushing to them. Vancouver became their home for the greater part of their lives.

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I interviewed my gran in 1991 for this story. And although this is where the original high-school version ended, my gramma’s journey carried on. A beauty all her life, she eventually married a French-Catholic boy, Réné, whom she met on a beach. They married in December, a few days before he was sent away with the Forces. She gave birth to my uncle nine months later. My mom came a while after that.

Belle passed away in her early thirties – cancer, according to some, hospital error to others. My gram outlived her sister, father, husband, son, and all of her extended family. She was a brave woman who loved to sing, and had a beautiful voice. A true lady, and proudly Irish, she never missed a chance to request “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” at sing-alongs, and loved to tell stories of Ireland, of her travels, and of the lean years of the depression.

This great lady decided to take her final bow on Sunday, January 24, just five days shy of her 95th birthday. I was blessed to be with her.

My gran was a real character, and was remembered by everyone she met. She was the strongest woman we knew.

“In the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing.”

We miss her.