Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.08.1981, Qupperneq 8

8-WINNIPEG, HÁTÍÐARBLAÐ 1981
Icelanders - Ukrainians
By Einar Arnason
Number 404 snaked its way along
the winding railway tracks in North
Western Ontario, the box cars
swayed individually reflecting
unevenness of the road bed. This
was the fast through freight that
made its daily journey from coast to
coast. The locomotive, a coal con-
suming steam engine, belched out
cinder laden black smoke that lay
over the train enshrouding it with a
layer of gritty dust, frequently let-
ting out clouds of steam as the whis-
tle sounded warnings of this fast ap-
proaching steel monster. It was
"The Nineteen Hundred and Thirty
Fourth Year of Our Lord”, a low
mark in the economic depression
that plagued our country and the
world during the Thirties.
On board were four “Knights of
the Road" hitching a free ride
without permission, heading East
towards Sioux Lookout, a common
practice during that era, reluctantly
accepted by the railways as
thousands of unemployed moved
back and froth across the country,
seeking evasive employment oppor-
tunities no matter how menial or
back breaking. Mostly they surviv-
ed on handouts by kind citizens and
municipal soup kitchens, operated
by cities that relieved hunger but
limited their hospitality to several
days, when the individual would
have to hop the next freight out of
town.
We clung to the flat car that
bounced up and down, tilting first
one way then the other as we went
around the curves that had the outer
rail raised to a higher level so as to
overcome the centrifugal forces that
pulled on the railway cars, which
were changing direction of momen-
tum as we snaked our way through
the rocky terrain.
Our personal comfort was at a
minimum as the fine gritty dust of
the belching coal consuming steam
engine lodged under our eyelids
and the cold of an early May Sunday
penetrated our thinly clad bodies
and our stomachs kept sending
signals which reminded us that our
last meal had been consumed a good
many hours ago.
My newly found companion, Oli,
was from Sprague, Manitoba. He
had been on the road for a month
without luck while his family
hopefully waited to hear that he had
landed a job. He was heading for a
railway gang which had recently
been sent out towards Sioux
Lookout. The foreman was an ac-
quaintance and he felt optimistic
about obtaining a job. I had teamed
up with Oli for several reasons: he
was Norwegian, a family man
seriously looking for work, he knew
the fine art of hitching rides on
freight trains and was intelligent. I
met him at Reddit, Ont., during the
middle of the night as I was prowl-
ing around the railway yard looking
over the lay of the land. He' was flat
broke, I had five dollars. We
savoured the coffee and doughnuts
A rare evening respite for Ex-
tra Gang Workers as they banter
and good-naturedly pit their per-
sonal strengths.
served at the railway restaurant.
The other two were packing
homebrew for sale to the railway
gangs. Aside from being civil Oli
and I kept our distance, we had
other interests, bootlegging by
recently released offenders was not
one of them.
The beauty of Northern Ontario
escaped us in our rather miserable
physical circumstances. The green
forests, the varied shapes of the
Precambrian Shield with many land
locked lakes in their original state,
held no interest for us. What we
wanted was a slowing down of the
freight, with heaps of gravel along
the Right of Way and men leaning
on shovels dispassionately observ-
ing the freight train roll by, as they
obtained a brief respite from the ar-
duous toil that was their lot.
After many hours our hoped for
slow down came as the steam
locomotive ceased to belch forth
rythmic puffs from the smoke stack
and the long line of box cars that
trailed in its wake began to coast at a
decelerating rate. We were reward-
ed by the sight of a railway gang
spaced out along the Right of Way.
The question was, whether this was
the gang I wanted to reach or if it
was Oli's. We descended to the last
rung on the railway car ladder and
deciding that we could make it, let
go with our feet going as fast as they
could until our bodily momentum
had dissipated and come to a halt.
Back we went a few yards to pick up
our personal belongings that we had
cast off prior to leaving No. 404
Canadian National Railways fast
freight on its eastward journey.
Our host transportation disap-
peared quickly as it negotiated the
next curve and finally was hidden
by the rocky terrain of the Precam-
brian Shield. We continued our
eastward journey on foot carefully
Box cars on the left house the
Railway Extra Gang in front of a
lake that was greatly ap-
preciated.
searching for a face that we knew.-I
was lucky I found my University pal
Mike, knee deep in wet clay, shovel-
ling the muck out of the ditch in a
rock cut through which the railway
Right of Way passed. Mike had his
mind made up, aspiring to become a
mining engineer. He had not reach-
ed that exalted position but his
philosophy was that you may as
well look like one. There he stood
with his knee high leather boots and
breeches covered with clay,
manipulating a shovel that would
eventually be replaced by a mining
engineer's transit, when his future
task would be to determine the ore
body, locate the shafts and
underground tunnels tabulating the
mine survey data. He was not happy
and advised me to proceed to the
bunk cars on a siding two miles fur-
ther on.
Oli and I headed for the diner, a
converted box car. The cook gave us
a meal for 25 cents each which he
pocketed that further depleted my
financial resources. The C.N.R.
was the loser as they would hardly
be reimbursed by the cook who had
no particular feeling of obligation
towards the bureaucratic con-
glomerate that our Federal Govern-
ment had acquired, as numerous
’-ailways had bankrupted
themselves and become apart of our
National Railway.
Oli was unlucky, this was not the
gang he had hoped to find. The last I
saw of him was his lonely figure
walking slowly east along the
railway tracks to wait for the next
freight train. His acquaintance was
a memorable 12 hour experience.
He deserved a better fate.
I was entering a new world of the
Railway Extra Gang made up of
casual labour to carry out railway
track repairs during the summer
months. The personnel were mainly
recent arrivals from the Ukraine.
They were hard working, never
complaining no matter how
strenuous their task or trying the
weather, that could be cold sleet or
burning hot with the sun beating
down raising temperatures to 90
degrees Fahrenheit or more in the
shade. For many the English
language was difficult or next to im-
possible and as the gang was almost
completely Ukrainian their
language dominated. Mike, like
Continued on page 12
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