Uprooted - A Canadian War Story. Lynne Banks Reid

looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well you know, they aren’t red, and they’re not Indians. We Anglos call them that, because we made a mistake when we first got here, thinking we’d arrived in India! But if you ever meet one, you don’t want to say, ‘Gee, are you an Indian?’”

      “So what should we call them?” Cameron asked.

      “By their tribe, maybe. Around Saskatchewan, it’s Cree. And other tribes. But mostly Cree.”

      “Where are they? Can we see them?”

      “They’re all on reserves now.”

      Later, when I got Cameron alone, I said, “Wouldn’t it be fun if we really had to ride across the prairie and we met some Crees!”

      “What if they were Apaches? Or Navajos? There are hundreds of different tribes. There must be a generic name for them if we can’t call them Indians.”

      Cameron and his lovely long words! Generic. I got it. Something for all of them, instead of Indians. But for the moment I forgot about them, whatever they were called.

      “Look at it,” he said. “It’s all wheat. How could we ride through that? It’s weird.”

      If ‘weird’ means strange, unknown, utterly different, then he was right about where we were going. Or, as Hank taught us to say, “He sure slobbered a bibful.”

      

      

      We reached Saskatoon at six o’clock in the morning. Mummy woke us early, when there was hardly any light coming through the window of my berth – just enough to see the endless wheat fields rushing by. She took us along to the cramped, smelly washroom at the end of the carriage and produced some clothes she’d been saving for us to make a good impression when we arrived. My frock was very creased but at least it was clean. Cameron wore his school blazer, even though it had been getting hotter every day.

      “Shall I wear a tie?” he asked.

      “I don’t know … We should have asked Hank,” said Mummy.

      She was putting make-up on. She hadn’t worn much on the journey, just lipstick and some powder, but now she put on eye shadow and mascara, and earrings. I thought she looked beautiful, and actress-y.

      She wore a very pretty dress I hadn’t seen before, and stockings, and shoes with a bit of a heel. She wrapped her lovely blonde hair in a sort of turban. She looked like at home when she was going out for lunch. We bundled all the rest of our things into our suitcases as the train rocked the last few miles to our destination.

      We stood near the exit door. Mummy smoked. She said, “I remember feeling just like this before I went on stage on a first night to play a big part.”

      I’d once acted a big part in a school play – a queen. I suddenly remembered standing in the wings in my red dress with my hair down my back, with such a sudden terror of forgetting my lines that I nearly ran away. Yes. It was like that now.

      Only Cameron seemed completely calm. “I wonder if they’ll come to meet us in a horse and buggy,” he said.

      Just as the whistle blew for Saskatoon, Hank turned up. He must have got up early to say goodbye.

      “You’ve been quite wonderful,” said Mummy. “A lifesaver.”

      He shook hands with her, but she suddenly kissed his cheek. She had to stand on tiptoe.

      “You’re welcome,” said Hank.

      We’d never heard that phrase before. Mummy stared at him.

      “What a very nice thing to say,” she said.

      “Here’s my address in Calgary,” he said, giving Mummy a card. “Let me know if you need anything. Be good kids for your mom, now.” He shook Cameron’s hand and gave me a hug. “Go git them gophers!” he said. “Oh! I forgot to tell you – you want some pocket money, the government pays a bounty for every tail!”

      The train pulled into the station. Right opposite where we stood, hung the sign that read ‘SASKATOON’.

      “Is that an Indian name?” my clever cousin asked.

      “Yep,” said Hank. “It’s the name of a berry. And ‘Canada’ is an Indian word too. It means ‘Big village’.”

      Mummy and I were hanging out of the doorway, looking up and down the platform. There were lots of people waiting. But suddenly Mummy said, “There they are. Look. Those three down there, the white-haired man and the man and woman. Bet you.”

      The train hissed to a stop and people started forward to get on or to greet people. ‘Our three’ were staring anxiously at the doorways. Mummy stepped out, waved, and called quite loudly, “Uncle Arthur!”

      The older man turned quickly. Then, with the help of a walking stick, he came hurrying towards us, his face alight.

      I didn’t know him at all, only that he was Mummy’s uncle, that he lived alone, that he was a retired bookkeeper. That he’d taken the trouble to find us some people to live with. But when I saw his face for the first time, warm with welcome as he strode towards us, I knew at once that I would love him.

      He clasped Mummy in his arms, his stick falling to the ground. Cameron jumped down and scooped it up. We stood beside them, waiting. I happened to look up and saw Hank in the train doorway. He lifted our suitcases down and Cameron took them one by one. He looked at Mummy with a funny, soft look, and gave us a tiny wave. Then he disappeared, and we were smothered in a mass hug from Uncle Arthur, who smelled of pipe tobacco and welcome.

      There was a lot of bustle all around us, but I felt someone close behind me. I turned, and faced a stranger with dark hair and glasses and a beaming smile.

      “I know who you are! You’re Lindy!” he exclaimed. “I’m Gordon! I’m your new Poppa, the guy you’re coming to live with! Gee, this is great! Can I give you a li’l hug?”

      I let him. He smelled strange. It was a smell I knew, but it was out of place here. Then he turned and a woman with hair too white for her face came forward rather shyly.

      “This is Luti, my wife. Mrs Laine – Momma! – meet our little girl! And this—” he almost pulled Cameron forward with a hand on his shoulder, “this must be Cameron!” He wrung Cameron’s hand, pumping it up and down. “Gee whizz, you’re such a big boy, I didn’t expect – I thought you’d be about this size!” He put his hand about a foot from the ground.

      Luti said softly, “Don’t be silly, Gordon.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to Saskatoon, Lindy.”

      Mummy had turned towards us, still holding Uncle Arthur’s hand. There were introductions and more handshakes.

      Mummy said, “We must go and see to our big luggage.”

      “Oh, don’t worry about that!” Gordon said heartily. “They’ll have it off the train by now. Our railways are wonderful! Don’t you folks just love Canada? C’mon kids, let’s go find your bags!”

      I noticed Cameron had peeled off his heavy school blazer. It was sweaty hot at seven in the morning.

      Uncle Arthur called a taxi for him and Mummy and some of the luggage. Cameron and I drove to our new home in the Laines’ car. Cameron, who knew all about cars, hissed to me in the back seat that it was a Hillman Minx. He sounded surprised. Later he explained, “I thought they’d be rich.” Hillman Minxes weren’t, it seemed, what rich folks bought, at least not in England.

      Gordon chatted the whole way.

      “It’s