Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
About a week after returning from our 'holiday' at Camp Chief Hector Jack Tempest said he'd heard there was work at the Vancouver shipyards paying 'big bucks' (fifty-five cents an hour!).
'Sounds fantastic,' I said, 'too bad we can't afford to get out there!'
'I've even got it figured out how to get there!' he said, 'and it won't cost us a cent!'
'Yeah, tell me another!' I said.
'No, this is for real, you can check it out for yourself!' It seems that Jack had somehow found out that the livestock brokers who were sending sheep and pigs to Vancouver were allowed to send a 'caretaker' for the animals ostensibly to feed and water them en route. In due course the arrangements were made and Jack and I showed up at the stockyards with our duffel bags at the appointed hour and climbed aboard the caboose. Half an hour later a pair of uncommunicative trainmen arrived and asked us what the hell we were doing. They merely grunted when we showed them our authorization papers. Why did we get the impression that we weren't particularly welcome? In our ignorance we had made some ridiculous assumptions about the nature of the perquisites included with the journey. We were moderately surprised to find out that food was not provided; I don't remember if we had brought some sandwiches or fruit to eat just in case. I assume not.
There were long benches along one side of the caboose which had been painted with a high gloss paint, presumably for reasons of cleanliness. 'You can sleep on those benches if you get tired,' said one of the trainmen. '...if you get tired!' What a laugh! He must have known how long the trip would take!
There was a play of a few inches in the couplings between each of the freight cars which resulted in an accordion-like effect as the train alternated between the climbing and descending modes. The closure or extension of these gaps resulted in what were referred to as 'bumps'. When we first heard one of course we didn't know what it was. It started as a distant thump at the head of the train of cars and the series of thumps gradually came nearer and louder as each car moved away from the one ahead of it.
'Bump comin'!' said one of the trainmen. They were sitting at a table eating their dinner and each raised his coffee cup and held it in the air as the bump reached us and everything moveable slid twelve or fourteen inches from its previous location. In the manner of starving animals, trying not to drool, we watched them devour each mouthful of food. They ignored us completely! Late in the afternoon of the second day we reached Field, British Columbia, which was a division point for the railway.
'How long we gonna be here?' Jack asked one of the jovial trainmen.
'A while! Whatta you wanna know for?'
'Because we wanna know if we've got time to run into town and buy somethin' to eat!'
'Yeah, you should be okay! Don't take too long though, we won't wait for you!'
I was on my way out of the caboose before he finished the sentence. With that sympathetic comment ringing in our ears we ran all the way into town until we reached the first Chinese restaurant. Since all of the restaurants in town were Chinese the choice was academic. There was a short order counter along one side and a line of booths on the other. There was a diminutive Chinese with a soft white chef's hat and a long white apron standing in front of a large grill looking questioningly at us.
'You like lunch?' he said.
'No, we're in a bit of a hurry; what's the fastest thing you can serve?'
'Soup!' he replied. 'You like vejabble soup? Very nice!'
'No, something solid we can take with us!'
'Hamburga samich, then; very good, very fast!'
'Okay, good! Four of those, then, and wrap them separately!' The chef turned and took four made-up hamburger patties from the refrigerator and slapped them on the grill.
Less than ten minutes later he had finished cooking them and had a loaf of sliced white bread ready in which to insert them.
'You got no hamburger buns?' Jack said incredulously.
'Sorry, hamburga bun all gone! Bread okay?'
'Yeah, go ahead I guess, seeing as we're in a hurry!' The 'master chef' smiled and finished wrapping them up in a few minutes.
'One dollah!' he said with a smile as he shoved the pile of wrapped sandwiches across the counter.
'Great! Thanks, goodbye!' I said, throwing a dollar bill on the counter and handing two of the bundles to Jack as we headed out the door at high speed. We discovered that our haste was unnecessary as we waited for at least half an hour after we returned before the train began moving again. Had we known, we would have had time to add onions and mustard and ketchup to our burgers, completely ruining their original taste. As it is, I still remember the delicious taste of those we ate in their natural form.
'How do we go about feeding and watering the animals?' I asked one of the men who had returned to the caboose. He paused for several moments before answering the question and it occurred to me that he hadn't been required to answer the question before.
'Don't worry about it,' he said finally. I was 'in charge' of 74 sheep and 67 pigs. Why on earth anyone would be shipping pigs to Vancouver, let alone sheep, was baffling to me. I had seen my uncle filling the troughs with 'chop' to feed the pigs but I didn't have a clue about what was necessary to feed sheep.
'We could do whatever is needed if someone would show us how!' I insisted.
'I said "Don't worry about it!"' he said gruffly, and that was the end of the conversation. Jack and I speculated later about whether or not the stock cars had been pulled up next to water spouts or whether some feed had been thrown in to the animals but we were reluctant to raise the question again.
On the far side of the caboose the trainmen had the use of raised bunks with sideboards and mattresses and blankets. Jack and I simply laid on the painted wooden seats and covered ourselves as well as we could with our jackets. We soon discovered that without anything with which to brace ourselves every time a 'bump' arrived we slid forward or backward about a foot or so in synchrony with anything else that was unattached.
We didn't have another opportunity to make a 'food dash' throughout the trip so had to make do with the two hamburgers each we had acquired at Field. I don't remember that we suffered from hunger pangs. My mother used to say that I didn't live to eat, I merely ate to live! It seems like that was correct!
The cabooses weren't built for leisurely landscape viewing but I was able to find a pleasant alternative. There was a steel braking wheel attached to an upright post at the extreme back of the caboose and I spent much of my time during the day seated on the back platform, legs on either side of the post with my feet dangling over the back of the train. It was exhilarating and I doubt if any high-paying tourist of today ever had a better all-encompassing view of the magnificent scenery. Rushing through the mountain passes was especially exciting and enjoyable.
Occasionally we would pull off the main track and sit motionless for what seemed like hours until a swiftly moving troop train would pass, usually heading east for troop embarkation. We spent two more nights sleeping on the slippery shelves, sliding back and forth like weaver's shuttles, silently praying that the train would have another lay-by so that we could have a few minutes of undisturbed sleep.
The train men were constantly coming and going fom the caboose and we eventually concluded that they were on a regular schedule of checking the moving equipment. There were any number of potential problems that had to be watched for, including the dreaded 'hot boxes' where the axles would heat up and sometimes even set the remaining grease on fire. 'Square' wheels were another hazard for which they were watching.
There was a steel ladder just beside the back door of the caboose leading up to its roof and the trainmen would use it to climb up to the top of the caboose, lamp in hand. If we had ever wondered how they earned their substantial union pay this was the answer. There was a boardwalk about twelve inches wide along the top of every car and anyone with mild acrophobia would not be comfortable walking along them (you will recall the problems Creamy Carruthers experienced when the freight car was not even moving.)
These cars were definitely moving and lurching and swaying as they did so. There was a gap of about a foot and a half between the walkways on each car that had to be stepped over and would probably engender paralysis in a neophyte. Add to this a mixture of wind gusts, rain or snow and you have a picture of the delightful voyage undertaken a couple of times in the dark of each night. No wonder they were grouchy!
Obviously the trainmen had to have a good idea of their location at all times so they would not make the mistake of doing an inspection trip while passing through a section that contained tunnels, the tops of which could sweep them from the train. I don't think 'walkie talkies' had come into use at that time and I don't remember having seen them equipped with one; all signals between them and the steam engineers were made by lamp signal.
I can't remember whether we spent two or three more nights sliding back and forth on the glossy painted boards in the caboose but I remember that we eventually emerged from the mountains and ran down the Fraser Valley toward our final destination. It turned out that our final destination happened to be Port Coquitlam where we were told unceremomiously that we had reached the end of the trail. I realized that I had never seen my pigs and sheep throughout the journey and contemplated the end of their trip. No doubt it was considerably more bleak than our own.
As we walked slowly down the railway tracks looking for someone who could give us directions there was a light drizzle of rain falling. That was the last rain I would see for two months; it started to rain again the day I left two months later. Serendipity?
The cone of blankness descended once again and I have absolutely no recollection of how we made it into downtown Vancouver or whether we stayed overnight or took a boat directly to Victoria where Jack had a cousin living. It may all come back to me if I don't try to remember it!
While we were visiting Victoria I assume we stayed with Jack's cousin. I don't remember! His cousin (female) had a boyfriend who was attending the 'tony' Shawinigan Boys' School and there was a Girls' School of a similar ilk not far from it. That I do remember! The boyfriend spent a lot of time playing the piano and singing, both very capably. He took us out to the family cottage near Shawinigan Lake which was only slightly less warm than a household bathtub full of water. Jack and I rowed out to a nearby island with the cottage rowboat and rounded up a few clams. On the return I had a brilliant rush of shit to my brain.
'Look, if you're going to row back anyway, how about letting me drag along behind!'
'Sure, if that's what you wanna do,' he said. I went around to the bow of the boat and untied the painter then went to the stern and tied it to a shackle. When Jack pulled away I waded out to knee depth and then let myself down and floated along holding on to the painter. I remember this as being as close to utter tranquility as I have ever experienced. The warm, crystal-clear water bubbled quietly past me as I listened to the rhythmic tempo of the stroking oars. I closed my eyes and rotated slowly in the water as we made our way across the lake. If I felt short of breath and was face down I merely rolled my head to one side and drew a deep breath.
It became so tranquil that I could no longer hear the strokes of the oars and floated quietly in the water as though motionless. I lifted my head and looked forward to where the boat was supposed to be. It wasn't! I was floating----I was motionless--- with an untied painter in my hands! Jack was rowing peacefully away toward the distant dock! Bugger!
I had known Jack well for four or five years so I could assume that he knew I was a capable swimmer, but it was still a weird kind of practical joke--assuming it was supposed to be a practical joke. I had tied a bowline on a bight so it would seem unlikely for it to have come untied unaided. Had it done so surely Jack would have stopped the boat and alerted me. So much for friendship! When I questioned Jack about it he still thought of it as a great practical joke!
The boyfriend drove me to the CPR dock the next afternoon so I could take the ferry back to Vancouver. I don't remember whether all of the private berths had been sold; either I was too cheap to rent one (more likely), or I was just too stupid (also likely), but when it was time for 'lights out' I was still planning to spend the night sleeping on some long padded benches. By the time I found out that there were dividers on all the long padded benches to prevent vagrants like me from sleeping on them, all of the private berths had been taken.
After the Japanese submarines had sunk several ships in Western Canadian coastal waters the authorities finally caught on and forced a 'blackout' on all vessels over a certain minimum tonnage. Needless to say, this included the Princess vessels of the Canadian Pacific line. As the lights aboard were doused I finally decided on the luxurious imported rug covering the floor of the main salon and lay down to spend a frigid night en route to Vancouver.
As soon as we arrived at the dockside in Vancouver I went directly to the nearest telephone and put through a call to the Jones residence. My high school buddy Kenny Jones had moved to Vancouver with his parents soon after he finished high school.
'Kenneth will be at work until nearly midnight.' Mrs. Jones said, 'but you should come up right away and get some rest.' She gave me careful instructions about how to get to their home and I went off to get some much-needed rest.
— The End —