by Sarah Ellis
A Prairie as
Wide as the Sea
The Immigrant Diary of
Ivy Weatherall
BY SARAH ELLIS
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Diary Entries
Epilogue
Historical Note
Images and Documents
Acknowledgements
Dedication
About the Author
Copyright
Books in the Dear Canada Series
London, England, 1926
May 1, 1926
107 Halley Road, Forest Gate, London, England
My name is Ivy Doris Weatherall. I am eleven years old. This is the first diary I have ever had. Auntie Lou gave it to me because she said that I was starting the greatest adventure of my life and I should record it. The greatest adventure is that we are emigrating to Canada. Auntie Lou also gave me a fountain pen. I am going to use my best penmanship and I am going to write every day. She also gave me a book called Lost in the Backwoods, which is a Canadian story. Auntie Lou is the kindest relative. I wish she were coming to Canada too.
We leave tomorrow. All our things are packed into trunks and hampers. We are camping in our house. Tonight all the relatives are coming to say goodbye. I can’t wait until tomorrow. I wish I could snap my fingers and make it be now. I wish I were a conjurer. I would pull tomorrow out of a hat.
Mother just came and said I should go down to the pub and fetch Dad. He’s saying goodbye to his mates. I told her I was busy recording the greatest adventure of my life and why couldn’t William go. She said I was being cheeky and I had five minutes and then she wanted to see the back of me going out the door.
So now I am just going to write some facts. We are Mother, Dad, William (14), me, and the twins, Harry and Gladys (6). We are emigrating to Milorie, Saskatchewan, where our Uncle Alf has a ranch. A ranch is like a farm with horses and cows, but much grander.
Secret promise: When I grow up I’m not going to forget what it was like being a child, like almost all grown-ups seem to.
One sad thing about emigrating is that we have to leave Chivers behind. Cats aren’t allowed to emigrate. I gave him to Ethel next door.
May 2
On board the Ausonia, 4 o’clock
We’re off. A man standing near me pointed out the Scilly Isles and said it was the last we would see of the old country. I watched them until they disappeared.
Goodbye, England. Goodbye, Auntie Lou. Good-bye, Chivers.
I’m sitting on the deck of our ship. There is a sheltered place around the end of one of the lifeboats. It is a fine day. Dad says that is a good omen.
More happened today than happens in a month of ordinary life. Early this morning Mother and I and the twins took the train to Southampton. Dad and William went in a lorry – Dad says that Canadians call it a truck – with our things. I wanted to go in the lorry too. But Mother said no. Why do boys get to do more things? But we did get Cadbury chocolate for the train.
At the dock there were so many people. People crowded on the pier, people coming out of carriages. Thousands of bags and trunks. And everybody was shouting questions. “Is that our ship?” “Where’s Frank?” “What are we stopping for?” “Who’s got the luggage?” It was like the Tower of Babel. I kept hold of a twin with either hand.
We had to walk by a medical inspector, a doctor in a gold braided uniform. He looked very grand and stern. He peered at the twins and he looked into Dad’s eyes. I suddenly got frightened. What if he looked at me and thought I was sickly? Sometimes I get wheezy in the winter. What if the whole family were turned back? In a flash I saw us all standing on the dock crying as the ship pulled away. So I tried to walk with good posture and look sturdy. He hardly glanced at me.
Mother says I’m like one of the sillies in the story, rushing to meet trouble halfway. But I can’t help it. Tragic stories just pop into my head.
When the ship pulled away all the people waved and shouted. We didn’t have any family on the dock but we waved anyway. Mother got weepy.
Our cabin is very cunning with everything so neat and small. Soon we will all go to the dining room. Dad just came to find me. He was singing “Life on the Ocean Wave.”
Later
Dinner was lovely. Ice cream for sweet. Even more delicious than the ices at home. We sat at a table with a family from Bristol. They are going to Manitoba. The father is a milkman. He and Dad talked about the general strike and how England is hopeless for the working man and all the usual dull adult things. They were talking as though we were poor. It made me angry. We’re not. Poor is like the little match girl, ragged and freezing. Just because we’re not toffs riding around in motor cars doesn’t mean we’re poor. When the rent collector came on Fridays we could nearly always pay.
I like having a diary. You can say things you’re not allowed to say out loud.
The Bristol family has a boy my age. His name is Lloyd and he has ginger hair and freckles. He can wiggle his ears. He made the twins laugh so much that Gladys fell off her chair.
May 3
I love sleeping in our cabin. I was too excited to go to sleep right away so I just lay there and listened to everybody breathing. I had a dream about riding a horse, except it was riding across the ocean.
After breakfast Lloyd and William and I went exploring. Lloyd is very jolly. We came to a sign that said “Third Class Passengers Not Allowed Beyond This Point” and William was all for turning back. (William is inclined to be too well behaved.) But Lloyd put on a funny foreign accent and said, “I don’t read the English, do you?” So of course we said no. We carried on and found the first-class dining room. It is like Buckingham Palace, with silver, and chandeliers with diamonds. We peeked in the windows but then one of the officers found us and made us go back to third class. He was nice, though. I suppose we would be in trouble if Mother found out but she didn’t.
I have started reading Lost in the Backwoods. It is about pioneer families in Canada. There are three children, Catharine, her brother Hector and her cousin Louis. Catharine is twelve.
Tomorrow is lifeboat drill.
May 4
At lifeboat drill you don’t get to go in the lifeboats. Gladys was so disappointed she cried. The alarm sounded and we put on our life jackets and went to our muster station. (I thought it was mustard station but when I asked William what mustard had to do with it he told me it was muster. William never taunts me if I get something wrong.) There was a little talk by one of the officers. But that was it.
Gladys cheered up when she found it was the infant’s tea today. There are so many treats on this ship. She and Harry brought back a little printed programme. They had Jack Horner tarts, Mermaid cake, Mother Hubbard mixed biscuits and Father Neptune ice cream.
I am sitting next to Dad on a deck chair. He just said wasn’t this the life of Riley and all we had to do was eat, sleep and be agreeable. Who was Riley? Lloyd said that one of the ship’s crew told him that there is weather coming up.
Catharine, Hector and Louis just got lost in the forest. They are being very brave and resourceful. When I’m in Canada I’m going to be resourceful. There wasn’t that much chance to be resourceful on Halley Road. Lloyd and I are going to sneak into first class again after dinner.
May 7
When I said I was going to write in this diary every day I didn’t know about seasickness. Seasickness is the worst thing in the world. It is worse than measles, mumps and chicken pox. Tuesday night a storm started and the ship started pitching up and down. At first it was exciting and Harry kept wanting to go to the muster station. But then I started to feel very green. Then I lost my dinner. Then Dad go
t sick. Then Gladys. Then Mother. Then William. We just kept passing round the basin. Only Harry wasn’t sick. The worst thing is that it just goes on and on. The ship goes up and there is a horrible little pause and then it goes down and a bit sideways. You think you would be happy to die. Harry kept poking his head in the door and saying cheerfully, “Still puking?” Mother said he was unfeeling and vulgar.
I was sick for a day and then I had soda crackers and then I slept for a day. Now I’m dandy.
There is a kind chaplain on board. He came and took Harry to meals and minded him whilst we were all in bed. Now Harry is being Mr. Big-Boots, bragging about what a fine sailor he is. I think he is quite sad that we are well again. The weather is still blowy and wet. Everything is grey. You can’t tell where the grey seas end and the grey sky begins.
May 8
There was a concert in the second-class saloon and all the third-class passengers were invited. There was a pianist, a singing duet and a recitation of a funny poem about two blacksmiths and a rich merchant. Dad liked it especially because of being a blacksmith himself. After the concert he kept saying bits of the poem like, “He slept but was roused by the anvil’s ring. And all day long it was ding, ding, ding,” and, “If his daughter attempted to sing, The anvil accompanied, ding, ding, ding.” Then Mother said she would ding ding him if he didn’t leave off.
In my book Hector and Louis and Catharine found some partridge eggs and Catharine is boiling them for dinner. They are very clever about making a fire without matches. I’m trying to read slowly because we didn’t bring many books with us. Lloyd has a couple of Magnet magazines he will lend me.
May 9
The captain of this ship is a fine gentleman. Today Dad and William were having a game of deck quoits and the captain walked by. He looks lovely, so polished and clean with a perfect black beard. He asked if he could join the game and then William won! Can girls be sea captains? If they can I would be one, just like ours. Friendly and not proud. (But I wouldn’t like to have a beard.)
This evening William entertained the twins by reading them names from the map of Canada. “Moose Jaw” and “Medicine Hat” made them laugh so much they got the hiccups. Mother says it is all very well to laugh at Canadian place names, but remember, we come from a country that has places like “Wigglesworth.”
May 10
Two more days until Canada. This morning I was at the stern looking over the rail and I had a funny idea. What if there is no Canada? What if there is no Moose Jaw or Medicine Hat or Piapot? What if we sailed and sailed and sailed and never reached Canada? What if Canada is a trick? All the map makers and globe makers and newspaper writers are in on the trick, and Uncle Alf too. Then we would end up in China. But what if China is a trick too? Looking at the wake makes your mind go peculiar like this.
The twins are starting to get a bit stroppy. I have to mind them this afternoon whilst Mother and Dad go out to play whist. Lloyd has to mind his little brother too, so we can get together for a game of ring toss.
Later
William made friends with one of the officers and he took him down to show him the ship’s engine. Lucky. Mother is teaching me to knit. I try but my stitches just get tighter and tighter until I can’t move them off the needles. I had to rip it all out and start over. Probably resourceful Catharine would knit with two twigs and a bit of grass or something. The writer of that book, Mrs. Traill, doesn’t say when anything goes wrong.
It is very foggy.
May 11
This morning the fog cleared and there was Canada! Land ahoy! Canada isn’t a trick after all. We are in the Gulf of the St. Lawrence River. It is very wide. Far away on both sides are mountains, woods, villages, puffs of smoke. I’ve seen some fishing boats but I haven’t seen any Canadians yet. I told Gladys that it was Canada and she asked where Uncle Alf is. She doesn’t understand how big Canada is.
I’m trying and trying to imagine the ranch. Is it like Wanstead Flats except with cows and horses?
Now it is time for our last meal on board. I hope they serve those scrumptious little crackers. Mother says I have to pack away this diary until we are on the train. She doesn’t want me to lose it and likely I will because I’m such a scatterbrain. That’s what Mother says. It’s not fair. I’m not a scatterbrain. I just think about a lot of things at the same time.
Goodbye, Ausonia. Goodbye, port and starboard. Goodbye, bow and stern. Goodbye, lifeboats. Goodbye, Lloyd. Goodbye, our home on the waves. Goodbye, lovely sea captain. Goodbye, captain’s beard. Goodbye, dear diary. But just for a day.
May 12
Welcome back, diary. Quebec City was like Southampton. Crowds and piles of luggage and muddle. We took a taxi to the train station. The taxi driver was Scottish so we haven’t met any real Canadians yet. Canadian trains are different. They have huge engines and corridors that go right down the middle. Ours is called a Colonist Car. It is divided into sections and because we are six we get a whole section. In the day the luggage is stored overhead in a sort of pull-down bin. At night the seats change to a bed and the luggage goes underneath and the overhead bin becomes another bed, with a little curtain over it. At the end of the car there is water and a stove for cooking.
I love sleeping on the train. It is like being rocked to sleep. NOT like the seasickness rocking of the ship.
May 13
Today Dad got out his Canada West booklet and read us bits. This is the booklet that tells us everything we need to know. It has a lovely coloured cover with a picture of a farmer holding an armful of grain in one hand and a fat baby in the other. The baby is holding a carrot as big as his head. First of all Dad read us the stories of people who got rich in Canada. One man arrived with 27¢ and now he has 200 acres of wheat and 20 cows. Another man made $5000 (that’s more than £1000!) in one year fattening pigs. Then Dad told us what amusements there are in Canada, like hockey, football and tobogganing. I just can’t wait for winter for snow.
The booklet said that “distance and isolation have disappeared” because of the radio. (That’s Canadian for wireless.) I hope Uncle Alf has one. Then Dad read about how a man who has health, industry and good habits will be a sure success and how that sounded just like him. Mother snorted. He told us that luggage is called baggage, that a three-strand barbed wire fence costs $150 a mile and that there is absolutely no malaria in Canada.
Then William got larky and took over and read the tiny print on the inside of the cover that tells you who isn’t allowed into Canada. They are vagrants, idiots and anarchists. (They forgot to say cats.) Harry said what’s an anarchist. Mother said they blow things up and Harry said he wanted to be an anarchist. Dad said that was fine as long as nobody told the minister of immigration. The best words were “persons of constitutional psychopathic inferiority.” This could be a useful insult. The twins practised saying it, over and over again, until Mother made them stop. Then they mouthed the words without saying them.
May 14
I just saw a bear! He was black and about the size of a fat man. He ran around behind a rock before I could tell the twins. I’ve also seen two kinds of birds with long necks. And a beaver lodge. The nice conductor told us about the beaver lodge. Otherwise I might have thought it was just a pile of sticks.
The conductor talks Canadian. He sounds like Ethel’s uncle that came over from America.
This is not a pretty place. At least not in spring. There are big lumps of dead grass. It looks like the top of porridge when it is boiling. And patches of dirty snow. I can’t imagine walking across it. Or living on it, like Catharine.
Catharine and the boys have been joined by their dog Wolfe. He found them. Maybe he will lead them home but I don’t think so because the book isn’t even half over.
May 15
Dear Diary,
We’re STILL in Ontario. Ontario must be as wide as a whole big country. The sound of the train makes words go round and round in your head.
Lake, tree, tree, tree, rock, rock, tree.
Rock, rock, rock, tree, tree, rock, lake.
We just passed a lake that was as smooth as a mirror. If you hung upside down … Hey! If I went into the baggage car and hung upside down by my heels from the racks that lake would look exactly the same upside down as rightside up. I wish I COULD hang upside down in the baggage car. Or get a horse and ride beside the train. There I am, galloping along beside the train, waving to myself inside the train. Kuh-kuh-thunk, Kuh-kuh-thunk. Except the ground looks sort of boggy for galloping. The conductor said that the boggy stuff is called “muskeg.” Canadian word. I wonder if they have muskeg in Saskatchewan.
May 16
It is very early and everything is different. Dad woke me up early and said, “Shhhh, keep your eyes closed.” Then he put on my shoes. It feels very peculiar to have someone put on your shoes when your eyes are closed. Then he led me down the railway carriage. I heard somebody snoring and I got the giggles but I kept them inside. Then Dad opened the door and we went out onto the platform between the carriages. I could feel my feet shifting back and forth on the moving plates. Then Dad said, “Open your eyes.” And I did, and, golly, everything was changed. The sun wasn’t quite up but there was light and there were no rocks or trees or lakes, just huge fields. You can make your eye go as far as possible and nothing stops it. And flat. Flat as a table. I let the giggles out.
We didn’t say anything for a while and it was like when we used to go for walks on Wanstead Flats after tea. Not talking. Just the two of us. It was the first time it had been just the two of us since England. Then Dad said, “Isn’t it amazing? You can see clear through to half past tomorrow.” We looked and looked. Then Dad started to hum. Sometimes he doesn’t know that he’s humming. But I knew the song. It was “What shall we do with a drunken sailor?”