What a year my grandparents’ first year of parenting must have been. The excitement of a girl, both Grandma and Grandpa losing a parent, Auntie Sheila getting so sick, Uncle Frank being in the hospital for the winter. It’s a lot. I think I wrote this before, but when my son was born I was determined that he was going to eat healthy, which meant no sugar for at least the first year of his life (first child – I gave up when the girl was born). Dad very defiantly sat at the Christmas dinner table in the dining room here in Grandma’s house and shoved Grandma’s pudding sauce into his pie hole. And when your first taste of sugar is Grandma’s sauce it’s setting the bar pretty darn high for dessert expectation. Perhaps that’s why he became a chef.

In 1929 Jack Copithorne and Dave Lawson combined their teams of horses and pulled Archie Ceris’s homestead house down to a spot between Nicoll’s and and Jack’s to be used for a school house. All the children in the district were living in this neighbourhood at that time. The fall after we were married, in 1932, the teacher Marg Ervin boarded with us and walked to this school. Marg was a city girl and found it very lonely at our place. She was extremely musical and we brought my mother’s piano out for her to play on. We enjoyed many musical evenings after that. Frank, Percy’s brother, got married to Georgie McDougal in 1934 and lived on the XC ranch. That year Gertrude Flumerfelt came to teach and boarded with us until our Sheila was born in 1935. While Gertrude was here, my mother’s health deteriorated and she spent considerable time with us too.

Sheila was a real pride and joy to everyone. The first baby girl to be born in the district for 15 years and everyone made a great fuss over her and she was a darling! Percy’s dad used to hold her on his knee and give her little bits of food at mealtime. She sure started eating ice cream at an early age. By now my mother’s health was so poor my Dad rented a house in Cochrane and moved her in near the doctor. He was fortunate to get Mrs. E.C. Johnson, her dear friend, to come and live with her and nurse her that year. She died when Sheila was only six months old. When I was in Cochrane so much, Sheila came in close contact with my sister’s daughter, Aileen, who was, unknown to us, just coming down with the whooping cough. Sheila caught the whooping cough and what a winter we had after that. Frank was in the hospital all winter and poor Georgie was alone with Richard who was only a tiny baby then. Sheila’s health was poor after that until she was two years old when we had to have her tonsils out.

Percy’s father died in April 1936, when Sheila was just a year old. It threw the whole responsibility of the ranch and family on Percy and Frank’s shoulders. Clarence was only 14 years old. He seemed so young to lose his father after having lost his mother when only two years old. Annie carried on as usual that summer, cooking etc for the haying crew, for which I was very thankful. But it was as short haying season and by then when I took on the job of feeding the men, the poultry, and dairy, I was expecting my second child. But I at least got a washing machine of my own and certainly needed it with all of the men’s clothes to wash as well as my own. Sometimes there were as many as fifteen shirts to iron each week. This washing machine was run by a gas engine – a very temperamental one. I often gave up trying to get it started then in temper would give it a swift kick and it would start. Annie decided to take a business course in Calgary and do secretarial work in there. She continued to keep the big house as her country residence and as we were in a very small house, Clarence slept over there but otherwise lived with us. Space had to be found in our tiny home for the girl who had been helping Annie, as she agreed to come and work for me. She must have missed the convenience of the big house, with its electrify and running water. Also, it was a long walk from here to the chicken house and turkey pens.

To raise poultry we set the hens, both chicken and turkey. My they were temperamental when hatching. And brave. They would fly right at you if they thought you would hurt their eggs. A few days before the eggs were to hatch I would place each egg in a dish of lukewarm water and if they bounced around I knew they had a strong chick inside. If an egg just floats lifelessly it is infertile and I’d throw it out. Sometimes a loud clap of thunder would coddle all the eggs. I’m sure the concussion caused when our super sonic planes break the sound barrier now must kill the life in many bird’s eggs. The warm water bath also helped to soften the shell for the chicks to break into our big harsh world. I waked miles along the hillsides to the creek looking for turkey eggs. The turkeys hid their nests and covered the eggs with leaves as soon as they were laid. They started laying in February and if the eggs ever got chilled they never would hatch.

Chapter Two- Percy and Early Married Life

Ruth married Edgar Davies in 1927 and I rented a room from them while I worked for Mrs. Allan. Then Percy Copithorne asked me to go with him to a dance in upping PoundHall one day and we continued to go steady for over two years.

Percy and I were married in November 1931 in Know United Church in Calgary. Jean Russell was my bridesmaid and Frank Copithorne, Percy’s brother, was his best man. We went to the west coast for our honeymoon. And so a whole new chapter of my life was started.

Frank and Percy dug the basement of our cottage, then Mr. Frank Fletcher from Cochrane helped Percy build the cottage. We were fortunate to have natural gas in it right from the start. It was quite a change after my busy life in the store. The cottage seemed quiet and empty but I had wonderful neighbours who made up for that. First they schivereed us one evening. There must have been at least fifty people crowded into our small wooden house and they brought music and lunch and we danced until the small hours of the morning. Fortunately we hadn’t finished the floors or walls. There were heel marks halfway up the wall where they swung the ladies in the square dances. It was all great fun. Someone even kicked the middle leg off our new chesterfield but we put it back on and that chesterfield is still in constant use 44 years later. Then the community had a dance in the hall as they did in those days, honouring every bride and groom of the district. They presented us with a lovely silver carving set and cake server.

Percy was secretary for the hall for many, many years. Margie, his sister, got married later in the year to Jack C. Buckley of Springbank. I was immediately put on the sandwich making committee for the hall dances. We would order 12 or 14 sandwich loaves unsliced and slice them very thin. Two pounds of butter warmed to soft consistency to spread easy. Ham bought, then sliced very thin at the butcher shop and about four large tins of salmon mixed with a little home made salad dressing. The sandwiches were really good but the cakes everyone brought to the dances were just scrumptious. A favourite was one Nan Copithorne used to make – a big plain white cake with white icing covered with toasted almonds. Everyone seemed to be such good cooks, what a goal I had set to myself!

It wasn’t easy, but before long I had mastered a few good recipes too. It was so nice having Archie McLean taking full charge of the kitchen and making such delicious coffee in the two big copper boilers. He also cleaned the hall and all for only five dollars a night. Aunt Ada (Mrs. Jimmie Nicoll) always wore a million dollar smile and she had the art of meeting everyone at the dances and making them feel especially welcome. It was nice always having a floor manager – announcing each dance etc. They always had one moonlight waltz and when the evening was over they would dance to the song “Home Sweet Home” and everyone sang it. Usually the ladies wore long ball gowns even though it was the dirty 30s. Our hall was beautiful with dozens of Japanese lanterns and balloons hung from the ceiling. We had a pretty good local orchestra too, but Percy played the violin and that meant I had to sit out a lot of dances, likely I was clumsy and ugly too.

I find it really interesting to read about Grandma’s take on pigs here – this was not what I got from her at all as a kid. She used to tell me stories about how pigs are like something like one generation away from becoming feral, and how they would bulldoze through whatever fences were built to keep them in, become wild and super aggressive.

My Dad owned a farm north of Cochrane and sometimes when he would go up there to plough he would take me with him for a few days. We batched in the big house and I remember thinking he was a grand cook. He would fry potatoes mixed with bread and onions somehow and I just loved them. There were plenty of prairie chickens around and his fried chicken was delicious. I would sit on the plough with him and watch the willow roots turn up and to me they looked like people, some dancing, some family groups, some bent to the storm. Years and years later I was so thrilled to see someone else (an artist) had the same fantasy about roots – only used cypress roots and I only wish I’d bought one of his sculptures while they were still in my price range.

We had a piano which my mother played and later Ruth took lessons. Alice Andison and Dolly Mortimer used to come and play with me occasionally and all Alice ever wanted to do was play the piano. That wasn’t much fun to my way of thinking but I liked to play at Alice’s place, she had a really cute playhouse built for her in their yard.

There was a big high board fence around our barn. That corral would hold a couple hundred heads of horses I think and often it was full. I loved to sit on the fence and watch them halter-break colts around the snubbing-post in the centre.

Burnhams lived down near the racetrack, where the Burnham-Quigley brick yard once was, and I chummed with Annie and Vella Burnham. They had a lovely cool milk house with a sod roof covered with lush green grass and yellow dandelions. We used to go in there on a hot day and drink buttermilk or fresh milk. Mr. Burnham and my Dad hayed land opposite Midford. We loved going out in the hayfield with them.

When we moved out of Cochrane (sold our home to Bob Armstead) I at last got a pony of my own. But what a horse! You just couldn’t make him move off a slow walk. We bought him from Mrs. Ripley who lived up Big Hill Creek. I had to ride him to school but always felt I’d be just as well off walking. Finally my Dad got me a lovely little Welsh pony called “Polly” and I began to enjoy the ride to and back from school in Cochrane. It was a lovely path I followed down a ravine where once there was a stone quarry. Then along the Big Hill Creek. I still think it is one of the most beautiful spots in the country. Jean Russell spent all school holidays with me at our place or sometimes at her home in Didsbury. When at our place we rode over every foot of that Big Hill creek country. We would pack a frying pan, a tin of beans, and some bread and sausages and would build a campfire and cook our lunch up at the Big Hill Springs. How natural and beautiful it was then, with the petrified rock ridge at the head of it. That rock wall is gone now, the rock was taken to Calgary due to the distinctive red rock.

When we first moved to the farm we bought a heard of milk cows from Sid Chester who then moved into Cochrane to live. There is no way I could ever work up a love for even the nicest milk cow, but I did have to help with the milking now and then. We also had a small flock of sheep and I loved the lambs, but the whole flock was such a nuisance, always getting into a field where they weren’t supposed to be. I am sorry to say that any affection I had for them was worn pretty thin. Bob Hogarth used to come and help my Dad shear them and we always enjoyed his visit. To me, the pigs had more character and personality than either the cows or sheep. One old sow must have been a great grandmother many, many times over and she was very wise. The darling little ones almost talked to you – yes I learned to talk Pig Latin at an early age. That old granny sow could smell a storm coming days before it came. She would fill her huge jaws with hay or straw and build up her nest. Incidentally, their nest was kept spotlessly clean, they always just used one area for a toilet. Recently when I was in Africa quietly stalking some wild rhinoceros, our guide said “They are quite near, over there is their community toilet”. Some folks thought he was joking, but anyone who knows anything about the pig family knew he was in earnest.

Pigs have such huge families there is nearly always one little runt in the bunch. Once I made a pet of a runt just to give it extra feed. The clock in its tummy kept better time than any old CPR dollar watch. It would come over the hill, down to the house squeaking every foot of the way until it reached the kitchen door and got fed promptly at the same time daily. One day when we were away and didn’t get home until long past his feeding time he was gone, and gone for days. About a week later a neighbour, “Mrs Adams”, about three miles distant, met my dad in Cochrane and said “You know, an funny thing happened the other day. We were sitting in the kitchen with the door open and a tiny little pig with a can stuck on hits head came running in as if he owned the place.”

Here’s another remarkable story about a pig too. My Dad must have liked pigs quite well too and once when we were shipping cream to the creamer he had an excellent crop of rye. He got the bright idea of buying buttermilk from the creamer, mixing it with rye chop, etc and feeding what looked like marvellous gruel to the pits. They died. He was so upset he just couldn’t believe all that good food had killed them. So he got a team and dragged a huge big dead pig out behind the barn, sharpened a butcher knife and went to the swollen carcass to preform an autopsy. He put his foot on it and there followed such an explosion as has never been seen before nor since. My Dad claimed it lifted him off his feet, hit him square in the face! My mother heard him calling and went out to see him coming towards the house. He would walk a few feet then, stop and vomit, then swear like you couldn’t imagine, then walk a few feet more. Mom didn’t know what was the matter with him but she knew he stunk awful and was heading for the house. She wouldn’t let him in but threw some clean clothes out for him and made him bath and change outside and bury his dirty clothes. He never experimented feeding pigs fancy feed again.

My mother was a lovely, frail little lady. One day when she went out to gather the eggs she accidentally put both feet in a binder-twine off a sheaf where we had fed the livestock and neglected to cut the twine. She fell down hitting her nose on the edge of the egg pail; it left a slight scar for the rest of her life, but she often laughed about it. Once someone gave me a beautiful little bantam rooster. He had a marvellous arched silky tail, brightly coloured. I called him “Andy” because he reminded me of Andy Chapman, our postmaster. I had two beautiful snow-white pigeons too; they would light on my hand for feed. Our neighbours, Camden gave them to me.