Back to the Future

May 7, 2006
In March of 1954, when I was a child of eleven (now you all know how old I really am), my family departed Great Britain for a new life in Canada. We sailed across the Atlantic to New York on the gargantuan liner Queen Elizabeth, and took the train north to Niagara, which was our port of entry to our new country. We changed to the Canadian National steam train to cross Canada to our destination, Vancouver.



You must be wondering how this preamble relates to our current journey. In Manitoba, near the Saskatchewan border on the CN main line, lies the little town of St. Lazare. It doesn’t have a station; it’s a whistle stop. In 1954,; the train stopped to allow the little British family of four to descend into the frozen white wilderness and the whole town came out to see us disembark. It was the highlight of their winter. One of my mother’s brothers had settled there with his family and ran the general store. We had planned a weeklong visit with them but this soon changed to three days when my mother discovered there was no plumbing and she couldn’t stand the cold. To me, it was an adventure – so alien to life as I knew it. The frozen ponds and ice-skating; the vast deep whiteness; the howl of the train whistle across the prairie; a day spent in the French-speaking school with my cousin; the horror of watching them slaughter a turkey to welcome us; the lack of modern conveniences; the remote location; the Metis; the bin with a seat, in the cellar that served as a toilet and could be seen by anyone who opened the door at the top of the stairs. The lack of civilization was difficult to be subjected to and our sensibilities were compromised. Twenty km down the road, another brother ran the general store in the tiny village of McAuley. These uncles left Great Britain in the 1920’s and 30’s as teenagers to brave the new world.

So back to now. Maggie looked humungous, when we drove her into McAuley and parked on the street alongside the railway lines. We could see curtains drawn aside and faces peering out wondering what would bring this monstrous motorhome into their tiny burg. As I got out, I remarked that the building right across the road looked like my Uncle’s store…….after strolling around the town, I realized that it was. I remembered the day we drove up and my rotund Aunt, smiling from ear to ear, wiping her hands in her pinafore as she came out to greet us. She was cooking ham….the memory’s clear because I don’t like ham. There is no longer a store but a Coca Cola sign painted on the front door still remains. Somebody lives upstairs but they didn’t come down to see why we were looking in the windows.

St. Lazare, though only about 20km down the road, is far more scenic. The land is rolling, the Assiniboine River runs through it and there are small ponds and marshes and trees. We drove across the railway tracks where I arrived in 1954 and parked in front of the boarded up hotel. A couple of old-timers up the street, were watching us keenly, so we walked up to them and asked them if they knew where my uncle’s store had been. “Sure do” one of them replied “that’s it right there”. It was built in the early 1950’s so must have been new when we arrived. I didn’t remember the gas pumps out front and I didn’t remember it being so tiny. What I do remember is the candy (what we Brits called ‘sweets’) on the counter. I easily found the Catholic Church; the old school behind it where I spent one day, still stands but looks uninhabited. My uncle’s house though must have been demolished because they’ve built some corrugated warehouses where I recall the house should have been. It was a nostalgic walk and I was surprised how much I remembered of it.

We ended our day in Brandon at the Walmart – free wifi, a good satellite signal and our fridge works perfectly.