By Chuck Morden– McCreary, Man.
My amazing mother was born in Germany, came to Canada at the age of 12, learned to read and write English without going to school, married, raised a family of nine (thankfully she had that many children because I was the last) and did it all without grace.
During WWII she would have been about 50 years old. She had to go to Winnipeg and planned to catch the Greyhound bus at the highway two miles away. We would get there by horse and buckboard at about two in the afternoon. I went along with my dad for the ride.
At the highway we waited and waited but no bus. We must have come too late.
When we were about ready to turn around and return home, along came a man on a motorcycle who stopped and asked if he could help. He said he could probably catch the bus in Elm Creek and would mother like a ride that far. No one would do this today, but that was a different time. A war was on and everybody felt a bit patriotic and more trusting and probably with some justification.
Anyway, mother accepted the ride and we didn’t worry too much since she was only going to go as far as Elm Creek, about four miles.
About a week later when mother returned from Winnipeg the whole story came out. They didn’t catch the bus in Elm Creek or at any other of the small towns on the highway. She had ridden all the way to Winnipeg on the back of that motorcycle.
We were amazed. Mother never thought too much about it. For her, it was just another day on the farm. She, being a thrifty sort, probably relished the saving of a bus fare.