A Rare Find: Ethel Ayres Bullymore. Donna Mann

of him to make this trip over to Liverpool with her. But then, that was who he was: fun-loving and kindhearted. How she appreciated him.

      As the train slowly moved into the station, steam filled the window view. Ethel began to organize her things. “The station porter will help us to get off and pick up the luggage,” Horace said gently to Ethel. “We’ll ask where the closest respectable boarding house is and get ourselves a hot meal. Would you like that?”

      “I would indeed,” Ethel replied. “I feel a little like leftover laundry, crumpled and wrinkled.”

      “You look just fine to me, sis,” Horace said and winked at her.

      They made their way off the train and walked into the station, looking for someone who could give them directions. Indeed, a good meal and a place to sleep were welcome. Ethel knew tomorrow would be filled with a greater challenge. Would she be ready for it?

      Ethel’s buttoned boots, newly repaired and perfectly polished, poked out from under the hemline of her lightweight tweed skirt. Her hair was parted enough to the side to allow a few curls to fall around her face under her hat; a delicately ingrained ivory comb firmly held the rest in place. She laid a wool wrap over the sleeve of her favourite high-buttoned cotton blouse, ready for the brisk harbour wind. Pa had told her that even in July she needed to prepare for the dampness in the air.

      After she and Horace had followed the directions from the boarding house to the dock, Ethel raised her hand to shade her eyes from the July sunrays that filtered through the grey clouds and danced across the open water. As they walked along the stone pavement, she noticed the hectic pace of the dock.

      “Are you surprised how busy these docks are?” Horace asked.

      “Not really,” Ethel responded. “I’ve read of the enormous basins and miles of railroads. Liverpool docks are active and noisy.”

      “This would be an exciting place to be any other day, Etty, but today, it’s a lot different for you, eh?” Horace said.

      “You’re right about that,” Ethel said realizing they were like a gate slowly closing to separate her from loved ones on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.

      Massive crates waiting on the dock to be loaded sheltered them from the wind as they walked toward the huge passageway, while the dockworkers yelled orders. The grand ocean liner SS Lake Manitoba gently pushed the water against the wet dockside, leaving ripples in its black reflection. Securely anchored in the murky water and tied to the dock through large steel rings, it stood ready. Several tugboats hung back, prepared to pull it out into the mouth of the River Mersey for its ten-day passage.

      The smell of fumes mixed with fish, wet wood and rope made Ethel resist swallowing the phlegm in her throat. It left a foul taste in her mouth. She looked up at this enormous ship, knowing that in minutes she’d go on-board and change her life forever. Although physically prepared to join the other passengers on the ship, throbs of isolation and helplessness suddenly gripped her like a vise.

      She didn’t think she had any tears left, but when she turned to Horace, who was usually full of fun and tricks, she saw tears in his eyes. “You have a good heart, brother of mine. I’ll always be grateful to you for bringing me here and seeing me safely onto the ship.” After hugging him, she stepped onto the gangplank and walked towards the upper deck.

      5. Watching Life Change

      “You’d better make your way down to your quarters, ma’am.”

      Ethel turned to face a cloud of mint-scented tobacco. A man with a wool peak cap set on a ridge of fuzzy short hair looked kindly at her. “It can get pushy down there. Some people get pretty nasty about protecting their space. Just claim yours and stay quiet. Hang on to it and you’ll be fine.”

      He was right. Steerage, or third class as it was now called, would be a challenge, but it would have to wait. Ethel couldn’t bring herself to move. The wind played along the deck and wrapped around her skirt. At times, familiar strains of “Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah” filtered from the large crowd singing from the dock and brought her a sense of well-being, even in the midst of grief. The ship jolted, and although she couldn’t feel any actual movement, the shudder told her the vessel had been set in motion.

      A feeling of panic pulsed throughout her body. Looking into what seemed to be bottomless water, she thought of her life. In her frantic moments of facing the possibility of never seeing Elsie again, she identified with its dark, cold, unknown depth. Like a magnet drawn to steel, she dropped her gaze down into the dark water that reflected her worst fears. The time between now and seeing Elsie again would be the most difficult to live, and perhaps the most complicated to explain.

      The majestic steamship soon began to slice through the water, unhurriedly at first and then changing to a smooth flowing motion as it followed the little tugboats. The floating sensation slowly carried Ethel away from the waving white handkerchiefs, balloons and signs. She clung tightly with one hand to the wooden rail that separated her from the deep and formidable waters of the harbour; the other hand clutched her waist, as if needing to feel the warmth of her body.

      Moaning sounds from the ship’s foghorn joined with the chatter of voices interrupted her thoughts, and the moist channel air reached deep into her lungs. She turned her face toward the fog that looked like a protective quilt stretched across a clothesline, sealing off this part of her life. Tears burned, continually flooding her eyes and obscuring her sight as she strained to capture the fading view of the dock. She angrily wiped them away so they wouldn’t blur her vision—she wanted to catch every movement on the shore. Just knowing Horace was standing there in that massive crowd watching gave her a sense of peace, filling her with love. And even though she could no longer see their faces, the memory of Elsie sitting in her grandmother’s arm at their cottage door, waving a white handkerchief in unbroken rhythm, pretending to be standing on the dock, remained indelible in her mind.

      In spite of the wind, passengers on the great deck shoved and pushed against her for a space to see the fast-fading Liverpool port diminish in size.

      “Nothing more to see now, folks. Might as well go down,” one of the deckhands said.

      “I might never see this again,” Ethel said. “I guess I’m trying to savour some memories.”

      “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” he said, pointing to the shoreline. “Those tall towers and buildings over there, they’re gonna fade from sight; the windows of those warehouses will dull until you can’t even see them; and all those layers of shaded roofs are just gonna look like miniature boxes. I’ve seen this change many times. Even those marshlands that border the River Mersey will turn grey when it widens out to join the open sea. Believe me, nothing special to see. Might as well go in. Gonna get cold when we get out a bit. Better git yourself on down.” The man nattered as if he’d said it a thousand times.

      Gulls called as they dipped up and down from the waves, adding their squawking to Ethel’s silent cry. The imposing steamer, now on its own power, glided through the shimmering waters and continued to move away from her homeland.

      Ethel pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders, shielding herself from the damp air. Thankful the porters had already taken her trunks below, she lifted two small satchels and made her way towards the big double doors, along with the remaining passengers. Having stayed up on the deck a little too long, she pushed and shoved her way down the stairs, determined to secure accommodations. It was not unheard of for a woman to travel alone, but Ethel, even with her confidence, was uncomfortable.

      Proud that she’d been careful with her funds, she’d put aside six pounds to cover her passage, the five-dollar landing fee after she landed in Quebec and sufficient fare for her trip west. She knew her fare had a British Bonus Allowance applied to the total amount, but she couldn’t benefit from it until she was settled as an immigrant. However, waves of positive memories filled her as she remembered the refund she’d been able to add to her savings when she changed her accommodation down from second class. Although she would have rather had it used for its initial purpose, she added the reimbursement from the cancellation of