Stories
Ena McCulloch
Milestone in my Life
I recently reached a milestone in my life. I celebrated 40 years
living in Canada. I felt such an occasion called for a grand gesture and
so, to the delight of my husband and children I legally became one of
them. Wednesday, August 18th, 1994 saw me proudly become a Canadian
citizen.
My husband, although a third generation Canadian Scot, was born in
Hamilton as were my three children and granddaughter Marissa Joy. This
year, Harrison Ryland our American grandson left no doubt - "the time
had come!
This important event gave me pause for reflection: It was a bleak cold
day when I made my way by long distance bus to Prestwick Airport, 36
miles from my home in Glasgow. I was going to be 22 years old that same
week, and until then, a trip to Ireland with the Girl Guides was the
farthest from home I’d ever been. I was leaving behind my mother, seven
sisters and many friends to join David, my steady boyfriend who had
settled in Hamilton the previous year.
My mother came to the airport with me, I was the first of her brood to
leave the country.
To mark the occasion before I left four of my sisters and myself had a
group picture taken, it was our last outing together and it seemed
symbolic to capture the moment on film. My three elder sisters were
unable to join us: Nan, a nurse, Cathie, a policewoman and Betty a
member of the Royal Air Force.
We must have appeared a sad little group but the photographer had us
giggling in no time by repeatedly asking "the pretty one" to spare him a
smile. Needless to say he got five wide grins. I couldn’t believe I was
really going when the time came, it seemed too good to be true. I was so
sure that something would happen to destroy my dream.
I had given up a pleasant office job to become a bus conductress which
involved long shifts and exhausting work because the pay was three times
as much thereby enabling me to get to Canada sooner. I worked overtime,
days off and extra shifts for ten months. The day came when I had earned
the astronomical sum of 99 pounds, the price of a one way flight to
Toronto via Montreal, my passport to happiness.
I hated being a conductress, it had always been a man’s job until the
war when women were hired and rose to the occasion. When I finally
worked up the courage to break the news to my mother that starting the
following week I would be "on the buses" she was horrified - not for the
stamina (or lack of) of her 5 foot, 95 lb. daughter; heavens no, she was
demented at what the neighbours would think - her daughter "a clippie"
and worse yet, I’d have to wear trousers. Tension mounted daily but she
calmed down when the neighbours seemed to think it was comical rather
than common. I ended up being quite a celebrity, regaling one and all
with tales of my adventures conducting a Glasgow double decker bus.
The most miserable experience was my turn of a week on the "graveyard"
shift, this involved taking the first bus out at 4:30 a.m. I, of course
had to walk three miles to the garage in order to do so. Although the
buses were gone over by a team of night cleaners nothing could ever
erase the lingering remains of stale smoke and spirits from the previous
evening' s revelling.
One memorable morning I made the mistake of sitting on one of the
passenger seats while the driver was checking the schedule before
leaving. The next thing I knew he was shaking me while he himself shook
with laughter. We had reached our destination and I had slept through
the entire journey. I looked on the seat beside me and there lay a
mountain of coins, the first worker to board the bus felt sorry for me,
he made sure oncoming passengers paid their fare silently.
I was mortified, more than fifty people had boarded and disembarked
along a ten mile route, half of them must have tiptoed upstairs in an
effort not to wake me. My driver, who had observed the scene in his rear
view mirror said it was an extremely weird experience like driving a
hearse, was his description! Needless to say I was wide awake next
morning and took a lot of good natured ribbing. Had anyone reported me I
would have been fired instantly. I had many interesting experiences, the
least favourite being a week on "the wine special" (last bus on a
Saturday night) although I must admit it was highly entertaining there
is nothing to beat the Glasgow humour. It was with mixed emotions that I
turned in my uniform and ticket machine.
Now that was all behind me and the most exciting day of my life had
arrived. My mother and I were strangely silent on the journey to the
airport, each deep in our own thoughts. How was 1 going to say goodbye
to my mother, when would I see any of my family again? We were not a
demonstrative family given to hugging and kissing, my mother’s way of
hiding her real emotion was to put the fear of death in me with advice
and dire warnings of white slavery etc., etc. Meanwhile I was trying to
deal with real things like the size of the plane. I’d never seen one up
close. I had always suffered from travel sickness - and that was on
ground level! How would I deal with the humility of being sick, and me
with my new suit on, all of a sudden I was terrified of the whole
venture. Mother finally wished me God speed but couldn’t resist warning
me not to speak to anyone on the plane "you never know" were her last
words, given with a knowing look. I surrendered my ration book - food
was still in short supply after World War II. I felt a sad emptiness as
I turned for one last wave with one hand, clutching my passport in the
other.
The journey took twelve hours on an old prop driven plane. I was very
nervous and squeamish and was glad of the friendly stewardess who seemed
to sense my fear. After the initial take off I relaxed a bit. Suddenly,
I realized I was hardly in the air for five minutes till I was
disobeying my mother’s orders by speaking to the complete stranger
beside me. She was a respectable grannie going out to see her new
grandchild - surely grannies didn't deal in white slavery, I hoped my
mother would understand.
When we disembarked at Montreal I was mesmerized. I had never seen so
many people under one roof, it was almost too much to absorb. I felt I’d
stepped into the set of a Hollywood movie. Appropriately enough it was
the Easter weekend, all the beautiful pastel coloured outfits parading
by made my sensible grey suit and black felt hat seem downright dowdy.
Our plane was behind schedule and, as a result, the connecting flight to
Toronto had left. Normally, I would have panicked but what was normal
now? I was in a wonderful new world. I sat down on my case and soaked up
the atmosphere. I devoured every scene, arrivals, departures, the
farewells, strange accents booming over the loud speakers - this was the
stuff that movies were made of only this time I was a part of it all.
I especially savoured the scene of a family fondly bidding their
daughter farewell. Blatantly eavesdropping I learned that the daughter
was off to college. Her young man joined them and presented her with a
corsage, something I wasn't familiar with - how romantic. As they moved
away the corsage was carelessly dropped. Waiting until they were out of
sight I hastily retrieved it. I will never forget that corsage, complete
with it’s pearl tipped pin, it travelled to Hamilton with me. In
retrospect the scene I had witnessed was probably much more meaningful
at the time than I realized, seeing all the happiness and brightness was
such a contrast to the drabness of the life I just left.
Fortunately two other ladies from my flight were also bound for
Hamilton, they realized my plight and took me under their wing. I found
myself in a taxi heading for Montreal railway station. I worried all the
way there - how much would the taxi cost, could I pay my share? 1 had
made no allowance for such a setback. My worldly goods consisted of a
twenty dollar bill which was to last me till I found a job. David had
rented a room for me so at least I had a roof over my head for a month
anyway. I needn’t' t have worried the ladies had taken charge and booked
three sleepers to Hamilton where we duly arrived on a sunny Saturday
morning, March 28th, 1953. The CNR station on James Street North was, I
thought, one of the most awesome buildings I had ever seen. The sun was
pouring in through its skylight windows, the majestic concourse and
waiting areas were bathed in sunlight. I was so excited and overwhelmed
that I didn’t realize my two guardian angels had slipped away. I did
make it my business to trace them and part of my first pay cheque went
to reimburse them. I was tempted to wear the corsage for my reunion with
David but somehow I felt rather shy about it - perhaps I was hoping to
receive one of my own? David and his brother Reg met me at the station.
I could hardly believe how sunny and mild it was. I was so impressed to
see David driving a big car, I learned later it was practically held
together with an elastic band and was the communal property of the six
other Scots who shared their boarding house.
Everything in Hamilton delighted me, the shop windows with colourful
clothes, the bright coloured cars - so many of them! My first address
was 700 Cannon Street East. My room was sparse but clean, my landlady
was Ukranian so we had quite a problem with accents. I found it very
lonely living there. Monday morning found me out job hunting and by the
afternoon I was gainfully employed in the offices of the B. Greening
Wire Company on Queen Street North. I couldn't wait to start my new
exciting life in Canada, and now forty years later I can only appreciate
the wealth of happiness I have experienced in my adopted land. The only
white slavery I every encountered was down the basement with a box of
Tide.
by Ena McCulloch (Canada) nee Ena Mc Cartney from Glasgow