The blast of Princess Mary’s whistle announcing
her imminent arrival at Ganges Harbour was seen before
it was heard. Sitting on the front verandah of our home
high above the harbour, I watched the steam as it rose
from the front of the funnel. Then I heard it: one long,
one short, another long, another short. The sound of
the Canadian Pacific Coastal Steamship fleet. Why was
it I always saw it before he heard it? I knew it had
to do with the speed of sound, but it was always a mystery
to see a sound. Sometimes I would see all four plumes
before I heard any sound. That was when the wind was
blowing straight and strong down the harbour. Not like
today - a still summer day - the plumes of steam rising,
the first one still visible behind as the Princess Mary
moved slowly toward the dock. But its time to go!
Once on my bike, I didn’t stop until I reached
the Feed Shed, on the wharf. The Princess Mary was still
some distance out. Good! I might be allowed to pull
in one of the ropes that were thrown out first. These
were pulled in, then came the heavy hawsers that secured
the ship. I had never been allowed to try. Some grownup
always came and ordered me away. But there’s my
friend, Ted; perhaps this time we would be allowed to
try.
The usual crowd was appearing now the ship was about
to dock. Mr. Page, the manager of the Feed Shed, was
there to monitor the unloading. “First His Majesty’s
Mail, then the Express, then the freight, that’s
the way to unload a ship!” Mr. Page was very keen
on ORDER and kept a very tidy warehouse - stacks of
wheat, shorts, ground barley, crushed barley, and so
on, all the sacks, neatly stacked and counted. Often
I had been detailed to count one particular stack. It
was very important to know just what was on hand. Mr.
Page kept a list above his desk; it was just like a
big scoreboard, with little ticks and crosses showing
the receipt or dispatch of all the different kinds of
feed in stock.
Jim Ackerman had just arrived with the Creamery truck
to leave the empty cream cans and pick up the full ones
that would soon be unloaded, some from Galiano, some
from Mayne, and some from Pender. The truck was almost
new, with a custom- made flat deck. Early that morning
Jim had driven all the way down to Ruckle’s farm
at Beaver Point; he had picked up the cream cans there
and then worked his way through the Valley, picking
up the cans from all the farms along the road. Jim was
old and grown up, but he was still quite a nice person.
The Mary was just about to touch the wharf. The deckhands
were poised to throw out the ropes. The bow line would
be thrown out first, then the spring , then the stern
line. I ran quickly across the wharf, gave Ted a nod
and we both raced for the stern line. A good throw.
We soon had a firm hold and began to haul in the rope;
the large hawser was now appearing, and soon we would
have to pull with all our strength. Heave, heave, it
was coming up. Then we saw a shadow behind us, but we
kept on pulling, then we heard a voice we both recognized,
not ordering us away, but, “Good work, fellows,
haul it right up on the wharf and I’ll help you
get it around the cleat.” Jim let us do the job:
he was a good friend!
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