The War to End All Wars

This poignant post, written by my Auntie, brings a great lump to my throat. 

If you would like to send in photos or some written words about someone who has served for your country, or is serving now, please e-mail me at littleprairiebaby@gmail.com. You can also simply share these stories. Help keep truth alive. 

The War to End All Wars

Many years ago, I visited my great aunt (the little girl shown above standing in front of her mother) for what was to be the last time. She had cancer and died later that year. It was a week of sharing and getting to know each other, she a widow in her seventies and I, a young married mom in my twenties. Because I shared her name, she was very special to me. And I certainly felt special to her.
One of the many stories that Aunt Johan shared, took place in her childhood on the windswept prairie near Three Hills, Alberta. Two brothers, William and Alex had neighbouring homesteads. One day, Johan’s father, William, called to her in an urgent voice. “Johan, I can see John coming. He’s running. Something is wrong. Go now, and learn the matter.” With that, Johan, just a child herself, began to run up the road toward her cousin.
These 90 years later, I picture the scene. I know that road; we still own that land. Young John winded but continuing to run; Johan, a small girl, running with all her might to learn the reason for the urgency. When at last they met, John’s message was not one of trouble, or concern, but rather one of joy. John’s family had just returned from town where they learned the wonderful news, “The war is over!”
I can still see my aunt’s eyes filling with tears as she ended the story, “and that was the First World War – the war to end all wars.”
No one celebrating that day would have considered that two short decades later, the world would once again be at war. And then another, and another…
This morning as I pause to remember those who died for our freedom, I also want to remember that we are promised a time when “Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore” (Isaiah 2:4). Imagine it!

Lest We Forget

We need to remember what our forefather's sacrificed for our 
freedom. We need to be mindful of those that are serving 
today and their brother's in arms that have fallen to continue 
to make our nation what it is; a land of opportunity and 
choice.  We need to keep these stories alive to keep it fresh in
our mind what has been given to us. It's up to us to record 
these stories and to pass them along. Please join me this month, in a month of remembrance to write these things down. If you have a relative or friend who has served or is serving for our nations, whose story you'd like to share, please send it to me at littleprairiebaby@gmail.com. I'd love to feature someone's story for the next few weeks on my blog. It doesn't have to be long, it doesn't have to be perfect, even a photo with some simple words is great-it is simply to keep the truth alive. 

Grandpa Bill

It's stories that our generation is called to continue to tell as the days of our Grandparents' are being laid to rest. It's these legends that will stick in our minds; it's the faces, not the statistics. 


My Grandpa Bill signed up to serve in the second world war, at the signature of his mom's hand as he was only seventeen years old. Grandpa was a prairie kid from central Alberta that hadn't known the water. He headed to Calgary to train with HMCS TECUMSEH, leaving his younger brother Glen to run the farm; their dad had died a year earlier. The next year the farm was going to be left to a hired man when Uncle Glen would sign up. 


Grandpa Bill was a gunner in the Navy, on the triangle run in the North Atlantic on a corvette. The ship  was only 100 feet long and there were 100 plus men on it. I wish he was still here so I could hear more about everyday life on that great creature that lived on the water. 


I know Grandpa's very favourite meal on that ship was Red Lead & Bacon. Canned stewed tomatoes cooked up in bacon grease with little bits of bacon in it were a delicacy! Grandpa Bill also learned about rum in this time of his life. A big barrel of it sat on the ship. Grandpa had a bad cold, and never having had a drink before didn't know the appropriate amount of rum to take to finish that cold off, so filling his whole mug up, he woke up in the morning with the cold gone; but he could ring out the sheets he had slept on.

Grandpa Bill

Grandpa made special friends in that time of his life, too. Ted Forshner would go on to guide with my Grandpa for Uncle Glen for years to come and we'd so often hear of dear Jonny Bonhamm. Our family never realized that his actual name was Jean Louise Bonhamm, as a man from Quebec's name would be, not Jonny. Jonny's family didn't know Grandpa's real name either, he was always talked about as cornflake.It was Jonny that relieved his fears in their biggest storm out on the Atlantic. As Grandpa sweat bullets each time the ocean swelled against the ship, and it leaned so far it threatened to topple over, Jonny came to the rescue. Jonny was a wise old man to Grandpa Bill's young seventeen year old mind, and so when the twenty five year old talked to Grandpa, he listened. Jonny assured him the ship wouldn't sink; it would act just like the clowns filled with air that children knock over, and no matter how hard they hit, they will always pop up. It wasn't until they were both old men, sitting around my grandparent's kitchen table that Grandpa learned that Jonny, in spite of his calm demeanour  was just as afraid, and told Grandpa the first thing he could think of to alleviate some fear. 

For all the hardship and the lonesome days away from his family and farm on the flatlands, this was the highlight of my grandfather's life. Those were his glory years, he spoke of them with fondness and with pride in his voice. Every year, on Remembrance Day a cousin from Ontario would phone Grandpa to thank him for serving for our nation, and for our people; now that Grandpa's gone, he phones my mom and my auntie's. We are all still very proud of our Grandpa who served.

Lest we forget. 


***Thanks to Steph for asking some questions. HMCS in Canada  stand for Her Majesty's Canadian Ship. TECUMSEH was named for a great man, a Shawnee chief, that during the war of 1812 served with Canadian & British forces.***

Well, Boys, Come on Over!

Yes, I'm postin' this one again, all cleaned up and ready for your lil' peepers to read. It's a foggy & snowy around these parts & I appreciate your fancy face stopping by.

Ralph's photo was found at Cowboy Country

There have been days fresh in my mind, where I've felt a bit like the fifth grader who missed the memo that today is Pajama Day at school-just a little awkward. Days when my husband and I have roast beef sandwiches packed in the cooler, nestled in the back of the old truck because we`re headed into town for the day.The truck complete with a bit of rust and grass still in the tow hooks from hauling deer in from the field, probably with a bit of blood in the box. The awkwardness reaches a paramount high when upon driving into town in the old clunker, a gasp escapes my three year old when she sees cars all lined up in a perfect row, because we're in a parking lot - I know it's time to get out more. 

I come from a long line of folks, who made it quite a palaver heading into town. In days gone by, my Grandpa Bill and his long time friend, Ralph Loosmore, would start going through the motions. Like beavers building a dam, Grandpa and Ralph would start getting ready to head into Cowtown days in advance. During Stampede week, the two friends would exchange stories while travelling across the prairies, in Ralph's old, horse bit up truck to attend the rodeo. Booming voices, cleaned up boots, and their best cowboy hats would only punctuate the impression these men would leave on the city. 

Every year, the two would lay the groundwork to head into the Rangemen's Dinner ( a supper put on by the rail road to celebrate all the old cattlemen ) in Calgary. Since the Big City, was just that, big, a room would be booked at The Shamrock. These characters were always in luck, they had a good friend who brought wild horse stock to the rodeo, allowing them to enjoy the action and hoopla from the infield. After a long day at the rodeo, Grandpa and Ralph would have been plumb worn out, and would devotedly head back to the Shamrock. 

The suspender sporting men had a room booked on the ground floor. Probably around 8:00 p.m. Grandpa knew it was time to head to bed, because the morning comes early when you wake up in time to ensure you haven't wasted half a day by 6:00 a.m. The large windows faced directly out on the street of this bustling city, so Grandpa wandered over and closed the blinds. Ralph came out of the bathroom, hollering, because he saw those blinds closed and that just wouldn't work! Whooping at Grandpa,"how would you know when it was daylight out?" Ralph marched over to the blinds, pulling them open. Grandpa tucked in, covers pulled up to his chin,and as he always said he "giggled like a school girl" at his roommate. City slickers, tourists, and all kinds of Stampede goers gawked through that open window at Ralph in his long red underwear tucked into cowboy boots, backed turned to the crowd  that was seeming to gather to have a look  at the real old cowboys in town. 

The next morning, it was decided they would walk to the rodeo, instead of hauling the truck to the grounds. These men, their voices boomed when they talked, and  those voices commanded people to listen. When it came time to cross the street at the cross walk, both men were stumped by all the buttons, flashing lights, and folks gathering. They did what any good old rancher would do, and took matters into their own hands. When Ralph bellered to the crowd around him to listen, he explained to everyone that flashing hand was just saying, "Well, boys, COME ON OVER!" Sure enough, Ralph advanced into the city traffic with a small herd of tourists following. 

We aren't sure how these cowboys survived their time travelling together in a citified setting. I do know that when my palms start sweating and I feel like I'm meandering around in my long underwear in the heart of Calgary, I recall these stories of days gone by, and take cue's from my Grandpa to just embrace and enjoy whatever circumstances I fall into. Besides, they will always make for a great story.

Grandpa Bill Out West