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Overalls, Red Serge and Robes
Life and Adventure in the Great Canadian North
Harry Hampton Aimé
$38.00
CHAPTER 1: A FARM BOY’S DREAM - 1925 TO 1940
I knew very little about the RCMP but was swept away when reading about their glamorous and daring exploits. But one thing I did know. I wanted to join the RCMP. I also knew that I had to have my Grade 11 and be physically fit. The physically fit part was no problem — I was a Manitoba farm boy — but school was another matter entirely.
I always found school difficult, hated literature, spelling, and grammar. I left school after Grade 9 but I went back to Clandeboye School when I was 18 years old. This was not easy. My resulting departmental marks were not impressive but I did squeeze through (not a very good foundation to go into Devonshire Collegiate). I really worked hard to succeed but it was a struggle. One thing that helped a lot was the occasional tutoring by a teacher boarding at the home of Marjorie Perrin’s mom and dad (Marjorie will appear again later in my story).
OF FARM AND FAMILY
Dad and Mother had a very difficult time financially when they started farming at Clandeboye. The farm income barely met expenses. A young family added to the struggle. Maurice was a year younger than me, Catherine three years younger, and Robert (Bob) five years younger. We grew up together. The younger members were Beth (1929) and David (1932). Edward (Ted), the youngest, was twenty years younger than me. Bob was a bit of a comic and claimed he didn’t grow very tall because we didn’t feed him enough when he was young. We were all fairly tall except Bob, who took after Mother’s side of the family.
One of my earliest memories involves my mother helping Dad complete the shingling of the new barn. It was the spring of 1922 and Maurice and I were placed in the loft to play while they worked on the barn roof. I don’t remember playing but I do remember crying to come down. It was probably about this same time that I gathered some dry grass and sand. I had the brilliant idea of putting it in a matchbox to grow hair for my dad (he had become bald after contracting typhoid fever). My mother was quite amused. Another event I recall was when Mother and I (I was around five years old) drove through a bush backroad with a horse and cutter to Wakefield Church for an evening service. I was trying to ask Mother about the music but was having difficulty expressing myself. At first she didn’t know what in the world I was talking about but quickly caught on when she saw me imitating the movements of the organist. We didn’t have a lot of money but growing up on a farm was fun.
In the early years Mother often employed Mrs. Bridges to help. Mrs. Bridges was a Native Ojibway woman who lived by herself along Muckles Creek, about three miles away. She was a very interesting person and told us stories about her grandfather, Chief Peguis, who signed the treaty with Lord Selkirk for the Red River Settlement. Mrs. Bridges always walked to our place but sometimes, in the winter, I would drive her home. Besides doing the laundry and scrubbing she showed Mother how to make soap from animal fat and wood ashes. When I was about age ten, Maurice, Catherine, and I came in contact with poison ivy and each of us had an angry rash over our feet. The medical profession had no remedy but Mrs. Bridges said she could cure it. The next week she came with a brew made of roots (possibly water lilies). The blisters on our feet were scraped and washed with her brew, then she put poultices on the infected areas with leaves, which looked like wild rhubarb. Our feet soon healed. I was amazed that many of the Native herbal medicines were so effective. Mrs. Bridges was very knowledgeable about Native remedies. Her brother, Tom Prince, occasionally helped on the farm also. He often told us how the Indians (often referred to as “Natives” today) were cheated out of their land around the Peguis Reserve. Mother made preserves with rhubarb from the garden and wild raspberries (picked by my siblings and me). She also canned meat in glass sealers with beef fat. Waterglass was a solution Mother used to preserve eggs for the winter. Our garden vegetables were kept in a cellar under the house. It couldn’t be called a basement as entry was made through a trap door in the living-room floor. Dad cured homemade bacon and hams with hickory salt (quite the process) by rubbing the meat with salt, leaving it for five or six days, then washing it, and repeating the procedure two more times. We were dependent on our farm produce, but managed nicely. To preserve perishables and dairy products during the summer, Mother would place whatever she wanted kept cool in a bucket tied to a rope and lower it into the dug well near the house to take advantage of the cool temperature above the water. This method continued until Dad built a milk house.
Dairy cattle kept us viable all through the years I was at home. Dad eventually kept about 10 to 14 milk cows. Mother occasionally made butter, but for many years cream was shipped to Winnipeg in five-gallon milk cans. Dad would skim off the heavy froth of the cream before sealing the shipping can. This was used to top our porridge in the morning. What a treat, until the milk business started! Dad built a milk house over the barn water well and moved the cream separator out of the kitchen. He was then able to bottle cream and milk and sell direct to consumers in Selkirk. The well water, which was 43°F (6.1°C), kept the milk and cream below 50°F (10°C). We all had to pitch in and help, caring for the cows, feeding the cattle and horses, milking twice a day, and cleaning the barn. This was the main farm business. Dad looked after the milk business and left the farming to us boys and the hired help.
RECREATION
At the back of our farm flowed an irrigation ditch, which connected with the original Wavy Creek. About halfway there was a series of rapids, an ideal place for little people to frolic and swim. The rapids were about a quarter-of-a-mile long with a drop of about six feet. When I was approximately age ten, us kids, brother Maurice, sister Catherine, and our younger brother Bob (who was called Robbie in those days) would walk through an old bush trail, around a gravel pit, and onto the rapids, a distance of over a mile. We went swimming in the rapids, occasionally by ourselves but most of the time with Mother and a lunch.
There were times during the heat of the summer when our two cousins camped nearby. The rapids were a good depth for wading, with the water flowing over the gravel and stones. We would build dams with the stones to raise the water level. When we were older, Dad would occasionally drive us there in the car around the back road. When the ditch was eventually dredged, which opened up the rapids, it was no longer a good spot.
OTHER FAMILY FUN
It would have to be during the summer of 1923 when Uncle Harry, who lived a short distance away on his own farm, invited Maurice and me for supper. While he did chores, he put us to bed in the spare room. Later in the evening Mother came along and took us back home. I remember walking in the dark — less than a quarter mile, through the willows — carrying our clothes. Another time I recall vividly is when Uncle Harry gave me a bit of his chewing tobacco. I swallowed it and was really sick. Consequently, I never could stand the taste of tobacco.
Uncle Harry moved to Herschel, Saskatchewan, in the spring of 1924, returning in December to arrange the sale of his share of the farm machinery he and Dad owned. While waiting for the sale to take place, Uncle Harry made a crystal radio in a cigar box. The radio was tuned in with a little wire needle called a cat whisker, which had to touch different areas of the crystal until a radio signal Life and Adventure in the Great Canadian North 7 was received. This was the only type of radio available at the time (and rather primitive). I can remember Dad buying our first storebought radio, on the day of the announcement of the death of King George V in 1937.
Our Christmases in those early days consisted mostly of gifts from our grandpa and aunts in England. I can recall waking up one Christmas morning and finding an empty stocking. What a letdown. I was really disappointed. Mother suggested we look downstairs. By this time, we were all awake. We found a Christmas tree all lit up with candles and presents underneath. At the time Bob was probably three years old. He grabbed a doll from a little folding crib. There was some difficulty retrieving it for Catherine. There were gifts for everybody. Another Christmas morning, a year or two later, I remember Maurice and I getting up about four o’clock in the morning to find, and play with, the new Meccano set (what a thrill!). Everybody else got up much later.
SCHOOL DAYS
I started school after Easter in 1925, and Maurice started the following term so we were in the same grade throughout most of my school years. Clandeboye School had two classrooms, grades one to five in the junior room and grades six to ten in the senior room. In the junior room, there hung from the ceiling a globe about 18 inches in diameter, with an outer ring. It was on an axis so it could be turned or revolved. We were taught that the earth was round because there were people, including local ones, who still believed the world was flat.
The hall in the school basement was used for community functions for a number of years until the community built its own hall. Walter Sutherland, the storekeeper, was the school janitor for many years. He would get the kids to carry cordwood (eight-foot lengths) from a pile in the schoolyard and throw them into the basement through a window opening. We would be paid in candy, usually an all-day sucker. Each morning Walter would bring a pail of drinking water to fill the urn, which had a tap. A tin mug was chained to the urn for general use. It was just the way things were. There was no running water and the toilets were outside. There wasn’t the modern convenience of first aid kits either. Any minor injuries usually ended up at the Leask home nearby where Mrs. Dick Leask voluntarily carried out the first aid.
My first few years at school were not the most pleasant. There were several aggressive boys and I wasn’t very good at defending myself. The worst years were with a teacher who had “teacher’s pets.” I resented this. If you were not one of this teacher’s pets, you were often not treated fairly. One geography lesson in particular stands out in my memory. I recall saying in a class discussion, “Oak trees are hardwood and fir trees are softwood (Dad had told me they were).” This teacher insisted that oak was a softwood and that fir was a hardwood. Eventually, I got strapped but I refused to cry. I vowed, then and there, that if I were ever in a position of authority, I would never treat people unfairly. And this vow I carried out all through my adult years.
Grade five was my most memorable year with the new teacher, Miss Finnie. It was her first school. She was a good teacher, musically inclined with a beautiful singing voice. Miss Finnie was a very nice person who taught our class to sing and brought a gramophone to play records. Her father had come from South Africa and was working with the Winnipeg police.
From grades six to nine my favourite subjects were geography and history. This included British and Canadian history which I enjoyed. I did fairly well in these subjects. Even today, I can recall many of the dates and places concerning historical events. I did manage mathematics and bookkeeping together with the sciences. But English literature, spelling, and grammar were a real problem. By grade nine school was becoming a struggle. Maurice and I were often tired by the time we arrived at school because we tried to do too much. This was simply because we found real work much more interesting (not because we were made to work at home). We all walked the mile-and-a-half to school except, occasionally, we would have the horse and cutter in winter. It was not until later that bicycles were in common use. Not surprisingly, I left school after grade nine.
THE LOCAL GATHERINGS
I have fond memories of Sutherland’s General Store, which was the social centre of the village. It stocked everything from groceries to clothing and hardware. A stock of bananas hung from the ceiling, and there was a cheese cutter and a round block of cheddar cheese on the counter with a hinged knife to cut wedges. There were piles of dry goods, such as overalls, smocks, and rubber boots. The high German grey felt socks to be worn with moccasin rubbers were popular, as were the work boots and the many other items too numerous to describe. At night the gasoline lamps were lit. The glow from their white mantles filled the room, and they hissed as they hung from the ceiling. In the early days when I was quite young I can remember going to the store with Mother. She would bring butter and eggs to barter for rolled oats, corn syrup, tea, matches, and maybe a few other staples. The last item was always a plug of T & B tobacco for Dad. Money was still very scarce in those early days. At least it was for us.
Most summer mornings old Jacob McNabb would drive to the store with his ancient horse and buggy. The horse knew exactly which hitching post to come up to for the old gentleman, and there was no need for the horse to be tied. It was usual on any evening (or even at noon) for the locals to sit on the row of upturned nail kegs, which were across on the opposite side from the counter. Here, they would spin tales of fact or fiction and of the general goings-on in the community. There were the regulars but Dad never seemed to have the time to participate. If I was sent to the store, or went there after school (occasionally), I would stop and listen to some of their fascinating yarns.
I learned that the unbelievable price of grain made it hardly worth threshing. Dan O’Donnell, the Lake of the Woods elevator man, would defend his grading of the local grain being purchased. He would also add his Irish jokes about Pat and Mike. Then there was the local municipal council, with their office in the hamlet, who got a large share of the criticism. And discussion about who would “get on the gravel haul for the roads this winter.” Premier John Bracken of Manitoba was another subject “…he has just been in power too long.” Prime Minister R.B. Bennett “…had the country in a terrible state.” The Honourable T.A. Crerar, who had been minister of railways in the Liberal government, was defeated in his own riding over the Home Bank scandal. He came back to manage his local farm. I never saw T.A. at a nail keg session but his bachelor brother, Ed, was a regular. And was able to put in his ten cents worth in spite of his slight speech impediment.
One yarn my brother Bob liked to tell years afterwards was about the time Berry McCrae asked John McNabb for a job. Berry wasn’t known for his ambition and John McNabb was looking for a crew to help bale hay. When it came to wages, John asked Berry what he thought he was worth. Berry emphatically claimed that he couldn’t work on that basis.
COMMUNITY PICNICS
Other opportunities for social gatherings were picnic and sports days. The Clandeboye United Church would have their picnic in the Clandeboye school grounds. They would erect a tent with a temporary canteen selling ice cream and soft drinks. This I remember most vividly!
Sports included foot races, sack races, and shoe races. Maurice and I usually managed to collect some of the prize money. As frustrating as it was, we would have to weed or cultivate the potato or turnip fields before going to the picnics. The picnics were quite the incentive for Maurice, Bob, and me. We would rush through this chore in the morning so we could go to the picnic in the afternoon. The whole community participated in these summer picnics, including Dad, Mother, the hired man (if we had one at the time), and us kids. There would be races for the kids and baseball for the men. The women served a picnic supper in the school basement.
The Wakefield Picnic was held along the highway just north of Wakefield Church on property that still had natural grass and bluffs of young poplar trees. This was the regular day for men’s baseball games. In addition, there were races for the kids, including a sack race. Supper was prepared and served by the women in the open air under a shady canopy of poplar branches. There was also great excitement when the Saturday evening excursion trains came flashing by — with all the noise from the steam locomotive — and the smoke and whistle calling us. Delighted passengers were on their way from Winnipeg to Winnipeg Beach.
WORKING ON THE FARM
Spring usually came in April with the farm coulee filled with water and the chorus of the croaking frogs. In May, when the ground was dry enough, Dad would be out harrowing the fields in preparation for seeding. I remember the flocks of screaming Franklin gulls that followed him most of the day, squabbling over the worms turned up by the harrows. The four-horse seeder drill came next to plant the barley, oats, or wheat. Seed dropped from the seeder box down a tube where two discs in each row opened a shallow furrow, and the trailing dragging chains covered the seed. I can still hear the squealing of the discs, all 24 of them, as they rubbed together dominating the still spring air. Even before I started school I occasionally rode with Dad, seated on the seeder box. Seeding was the hope for a crop to feed the livestock. Then there were the fields (of about an acre each) where potatoes and turnips for the cows were planted.
The land reserved for summerfallow had to be ploughed, with Dad driving a five-horse tandem hitch on his John Deere plough. This land was then cultivated during the summer to kill all the weeds in preparation for a clean weed-free crop the next year.
By July it was haying time. I can remember that the common way of making hay was to cut it with a hay mower, rake it into small piles with a curved, toothed rake, and then build small coils with a pitch fork to dry it. The next step was to drive along the rows of coils, fork the hay onto a hay rack, and then take the load to a place where you were building a stack. This required pitching the hay off the wagon rack onto the stack. One man did the pitching and a second built the stack. It was hard labour. When I was about 12 years old, Dad bought a wooden hay sweep from Eatons and I drove the horses, gathering up the hay and bringing it to the stack. Next year, it was a wooden Foord stacker to lift the hay up onto the stack (my brother Maurice drove the horses). This system was used up to the time I left the farm. Fall was harvest time (usually August). Dad would cut the grain using four horses and an eight-foot binder that cut the standing grain and bound it into sheaves. Sometimes the stems on the ripe grain would be infected with red rust, creating clouds of dust. And sometimes, dry weather curtailed the crop.
There were good years when the heads of grain were nice and plump. The sheaves still had to be picked up from the windrows and stooked so the grain would dry. Threshing came later when a neighbour’s threshing outfit was available. This required loading sheaves onto a wagon rack and driving it to the threshing machine. Before I was old enough to help we would follow the stook wagon to see how many mice we could catch. The threshed grain had to be stored in granaries for winter feed, and sometimes there was enough that some could be sold.
In those days farmers and their families did not work on Sundays, except for necessary chores. On summer Sundays Maurice and I occasionally went out riding in the afternoon. I recall meeting up with our friend Graham McDonald. We rode out into the open bog (now known as the Oak Hammock Marsh) and got lost among the tall reeds and willow clumps.
DECISION TIME
In 1937 to 1938 my sister Catherine studied her Grade 11 in Selkirk and boarded at the Montgomerys (he was the Anglican Rector). I first met Marjorie Perrin when my sister brought her out to the farm from Selkirk. When Catherine came home for weekends, she would often bring Marjorie with her. Marj eventually became my brother Maurice’s girlfriend, so I was just a friend. But I must admit I have been guilty of chasing her with a live frog. And she could run in those days!
As teenagers we had a lot of really enjoyable experiences and activities. It was usual to have young people at our place for Sunday dinner and a baseball game. We also attended the local dances on weekends; that is, Marjorie, Maurice, Catherine, Robert, and I. Our family became good friends with the Perrins. Dad sold them milk and cream for a number of years, and Marj’s younger brother, when he was big enough, came and helped on the farm. Sid Perrin, Marj’s father, worked for Indian Affairs in Selkirk. Catherine was accepted for training as a nurse at the Children’s Hospital in Winnipeg, in September 1938. This was unexpected, as she had been asked to wait for the next class the following year because of her young age. This left Mother rushing around getting the required number of uniforms made.
Meanwhile, although I enjoyed being on the farm, I began to think about my own future. I was thinking more and more about joining the RCMP. I knew full well that I had to upgrade my education. So, when I was 18, I went back to Clandeboye School and then went on to Devonshire College in 1937. Dad rented a room for me in Selkirk and I did my own cooking.
I thought Principal Wright was more interested in his top ten students than he was in my struggles. I suppose he couldn’t be blamed. To his credit he did take on a special class of a few students who had difficulty with spelling, including me. And that did improve my spelling significantly. I was also getting extra help from the teacher at the Perrin’s home. However, I had to have an appendix operation in the latter part of the year, which set me back a bit. After that, I travelled back and forth by train between Clandeboye and Selkirk. I still failed two subjects, English literature and geometry. I attended the graduation — missed the banquet — but escorted Marjorie Perrin to the dance. She couldn’t decide which dress to wear so she must have had two. Incidentally she still has that problem, only more dresses. A few days later, Marjorie and I walked up to the hospital from her place to see Ted, Mother’s new baby.
During the summer of 1939, Marjorie went to work in the office of the Anglican Indian school at Elkhorn. My mother had taught her how to make bread, which (Marjorie claims) helped her to get the job even though the school had machines. So, in addition to her office work and many other duties, she was in charge of bread baking. And that was the last I saw of her until years later. When fall came around Mr. Wright advised Dad that I should take the whole grade over again. This I was not prepared to do, but I did arrange (later) to take my two failed subjects with a teacher in Cloverdale. I rode on horseback over the six miles each day, until winter when I took the cutter. The principal was a good teacher (a redhead) but she resigned at Christmas and the replacement was not quite the same (I wonder why). Literature and memory work were difficult no matter who the teacher was or how hard I tried. Dad bought a second-hand Sawyer Massey tractor in the spring of 1938. This was a switch for Dad, who always claimed that he could farm more economically with horses. I operated the tractor and did most of the field work. In the fall of 1940, our threshing partner, Stan Schofield, became ill. I operated the threshing outfit doing all the threshing and another small job for a neighbour. I felt very important.
We were helping with the threshing at the Schofield farm when I received the letter from the RCMP. I was directed to report to their Winnipeg Division Headquarters. So — off I went — onto a life of discovery and adventure and, incidentally, two lifelong careers.