Lögberg-Heimskringla - 01.12.2019, Page 11

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Lögberg-Heimskringla • 1. desember 2019 • 11
this was south and home again.
I had seen to my gun (my
brother’s) which was rather
a heavy charge all through
the journey, wanting as much
attention as a baby with croup;
and then I wandered about the
front of the house and played
with a month-old tame fox cub,
not so very tame either; a pretty
little beast he was and really
“blue.”
The parlour of the house
was smart here, and had a
stove in it (I wished it had
been lighted that afternoon):
our bedroom was a queer little
room in the old part of the
house with a six foot turf wall
and four bunk-beds in it. I may
mention here that a legend
sprang up about this bedroom,
to wit that C.J.F. [Faulkner]
was found in it when we were
just come, having his boots and
breeches pulled off by a female
Icelander, after their ancient
custom, he being resigned,
owing to want of knowledge of
the tongue: take said legend for
what it may be worth.
After a little talk with
the Doctor about the new
Icelandic-Norwegian company
to which he belongs, dinner is
brought in to which we sit down
without waiting for Evans,
who is gone out shooting, and
who almost never is in time for
victuals: in this case I thought
it rather bad manners, but the
host didn’t seem to care a bit
and we had a very pleasant
dinner of the best Icelandic
fashion: at the end of which
came in Evans empty handed
to claim his share. Then we
had tea, then whist, and grog,
and so to bed merry enough.
December, circa 1960,
cold of course but
magical if a young
sprout is roused from bed in
Cranberry Portage, Northern
Manitoba, by Dad and told to
join a late night reconnaissance
at the radar site. Even Prince
would not attend, too chilly and
too comfortable snuggled up
in his spot right by the landing
where the heating vent spewed
the wood furnace air – a warmth
you could touch, almost put in
your pocket.
“No sounds, come as you
are, we will go to the base; I
have been called, let’s go, have
to be quiet,” said Dad, a sound
of apprehension in his voice.
This was serious. He had grown
up in Riverton so I assumed he
knew his stuff. No time to waste,
no precious seconds lost putting
on my trusty cowboy outfit; it
was a “by the skin of your teeth
mission” and pyjamas would
be good enough. Mom had a
special snack prepared that Dad
scooped up, and the Pontiac was
warming slowly, so maybe a few
liquorice cigars in my pocket
before we go, but nothing more.
This was a bare bones
outing, surviving by your wits.
Wait a second – better bring
along that new Treasure Island
comic classic Dennis had
borrowed from the neighbour
brat and I had snuck from
his room. The hours could be
deadly slow while Dad and I
were on standby, so it wouldn’t
hurt to have the comic with me.
It was just good tradecraft.
Carefully, I headed outside,
looking around the yard for
anything suspicious. I noticed
smoke coming from a cabin
across at Lakeside Lodge
– weren’t they closed up? I
made a mental note – I would
investigate this later, if Prince
ever got up. Dad had his
briefcase in hand. I watched
for any hesitation or signs of
panic; there was none, this was
a good omen. Many a mission
was lost simply from fear of the
unknown; preparation was key.
“In we go, elskan, careful
the door. It has been stuck in
this cold. I am late already,” said
Dad, but I wasn’t about to slam
the car door – the less noise the
better.
Boom! Roar! The frozen
Pontiac leapt into life, the tires
went bumping along the hard,
snow-covered road to uptown.
There was not a creature stirring.
Downtown Cranberry Portage
on a winter’s night was very
quiet but this could lull you into
danger. Past Streamer’s store
and Dad began to slow down.
What had he seen? Oh, I get it, a
mangy husky in our path. Agents
had to have nerves of steel on an
operation like this. To ease my
mind I rattled off all the stores
on Main Street: Sweryda’s Café,
Miss McIntosh’s Pharmacy,
Cupples Grocery store, the
infamous hotel, and Petryk’s all
inclusive shop.
“You will have to get in the
back and cover yourself with a
blanket; we are gong through
security. I know the fellow on,
but I don’t want him to see
you.” I didn’t need any more
direction. I flew over the seat
and unfortunately fell onto the
hard floorboard area, losing my
liquorice cigar in the process.
With a quick shaking I lay on
the backseat and covered myself
with Mom’s Icelandic wool
blanket. Hey, this wasn’t too bad
– almost warm.
“Hi there, Red, you are
called in tonight? Bloody cold
for that. All well?” barked the
security officer, whom I could
not see – but I knew the voice
and it sent a chill down my spine.
Previously, I had watched him
during the day when he waved
Dad through. You could just
feel the evil in him as he stood
erect in his Air Force uniform
and opened the barrier, lifting
the gate so our vehicle could
pass. He gave me a wink as we
drove by but I was not fooled;
I knew his sidearm was at the
ready and he wouldn’t hesitate
to use it. I merely nodded as
we drove on; discretion is the
better part of valour. Probably
bloody machine guns in his
small command post. He was
always scooting in there – didn’t
that raise a lot of suspicion? Dad
never brought it up.
“Let’s get you inside, it
is damn cold – það er kalt –
bring your blanket and we will
warm up in my room. I’ll give
Mom a call. You okay?” said
Dad. I trailed the blanket in and
squared up on the comfortable
bed in his spartan command
headquarters. Strange sounds
came from the radar base; it
was a place that never sleeps I
thought. Next thing you knew,
bombers would be overhead
or the sound of tanks coming
through. The winter made it
easier for them to travel. We
were vulnerable here; I hoped
Dad realized this. The Treasure
Island comic was really neat;
imagine your own island on the
ocean, the waves coming in and
hula girls by the shore. I would
take Prince there, nobody else,
we would go swimming every
day.
“Wake up. We have to
go now. You were snoring –
vertu flótur – don’t forget your
blanket.”
Geez, I must have …
well, I didn’t even hear any
commotion. Is it safe outside?
No shots, bombs, explosions.
“Come on, I’ll carry you.
Hard to get up, is it.”
That was way too much
suspense and I slept soundly on
the ride home. Heavy excitement
for a little guy, but uninjured.
No sniper shots and the security
guard would always be on my
watch list. That was it, late night
adventures in Cranberry – and a
lad’s imagination gone wild!
PYJAMAS AND NIGHT TRAVELS
Ian Johnson
The Pas, MB
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