One Fine Day (by Heather)

They had nothing to say to each other.

It was 11:55 at night, and they had just been through the most incredible day of their lives. They lay together in the lacklustre hotel room, wordless with the fullness of the day behind them and the future ahead of them.

This is the story of what my mother did, exactly 67 years ago. It was July 14, 1942, and it was her 21st birthday.

It was also her wedding day, and early in the morning my father showed up in his ’39 Ford Deluxe (one of two cars in the whole district) to pick her up. He had come from his farm five miles away, with his sister Ellen who was to be the bridesmaid. In addition to my mother, he also picked up mum’s mother and her brother Jack, who was to be the best man at the wedding, and three of her sisters – Claire, June and Shirley. It was a warm and sunny day, allowing them to drive the 60 plus miles of country roads to the nearest city of Edmonton in less than two hours. When they got to town, Mum went with Dad across the river to the south side, to buy him a suit. There wasn’t time to hem it properly before the wedding, so the trousers were precipitously anchored for the rest of the day. And somehow along the way, they lost track of the bridesmaid and best man, who as a result had to walk (Ellen in tottery new shoes) the long trek across the High Level Bridge back to the Metropolitan United Church.

However, all managed to be assembled at 11:00 am for the wedding ceremony, a simple event taking place in the vestry of the church. The groom’s mother and father had driven in with a close friend who owned the other car in the district. The Reverend Thompson (who was to become a regular conductor of family weddings) presided. Mum’s Kodak Brownie box camera, a gift two or three years earlier from Dad, recorded the radiant faces.

After the wedding, the question was: where to for lunch? My grandfather graciously invited everyone to lunch at The Lower Deck, where the group fueled up for the rest of the day amidst showering the bride and groom with rice and confetti.

At this point, Mum and Dad temporarily abandoned the remainder of the wedding party and went to do some shopping. First they went to Woodward's and bought the only kitchen woodstove available in the city in wartime, a top of the line model which was wonderful but far too expensive, thus having to be bought on credit. Then they went across the street to Eaton's Department Store and bought their kitchen table and chairs, their dining room table and chairs, their living room furniture, their bed and vanity and chest of drawers, as well as numerous essentials for the kitchen. They arranged for its pick up by their local truck driver in a week or two.

The new home now provided for, they rejoined the rest of the travelers and drove the two hours back to the family home at Moon Lake. Mum’s sister Erma had been spending the day putting together a turkey feast for the wedding party, and guests assembled from around the countryside to honour the newlyweds. A wonderful time was had by all, again lovingly recorded by Mum’s Kodak.

After the party, Mum and Dad headed off for their honeymoon. However, there was a group of her mother’s friends who needed a ride, so they travelled many miles out of their way to deliver them home. Their destination was in the mountains near Jasper. They didn’t make it there that first night, choosing instead to end the fullest day anyone ever had at a little hotel in Evansburg, not far from where they dropped off their last guest.

We’ll leave them here, their souls so filled to the brim that there was truly nothing to say.

(The following day – when they careened the 15 or so miles of steep and treacherous mountain roads from the highway to Miette Hotsprings, in a car with no brakes, only to find the resort closed for the duration of the war – was probably also an exciting day, but that’s a story for another time.)