Canadian Bounty
Standing in the mist of the ocean, looking back towards a life that would soon be more than the proverbial million miles away, the woman held an orange: a gift upon boarding. Smelling the spicy peel of the long forbidden fruit, she dug her fingernail along its edge, not to peel it, but to mingle the scent with the salty air. She closed her eyes, and let the ship lull her into a familiar reverie of romance and adventure.
The woman was upon the decks of the famous RMS Queen Mary: a luxury cruise liner that had been sailing the North Atlantic Ocean since 1936. Built by John Brown and Co. she was designed to be the first of Cunard line for two-week express service. Christened on September 26, 1934 the traditionally liner was one of the fastest and most luxurious sailing the ocean at the time. There were grand ballrooms, salons, and even an indoor swimming pool among its berth. Now, there were no more dancers, no more musicians, no more whiskey and cigars in the staterooms.
In August of 1939, the wood panelling had been removed. The deck chairs stored. The silverware and linens packed away for safekeeping. The art-deco muted as the grand chandeliers were lowered. The last injury was to replace the passenger list with thousands of troops. The RMS Queen Mary would have at times seen over 15,000 soldiers, replacing her original 2139 guest capacity. The boasting of speed as a liner was not lost, as she found herself clipping across the Atlantic without convoy or escort. Her speed and grey camouflage earned her the nickname of “The Grey Ghost”. She was a soldier at war.
A silence had finally fallen on September 2, 1945. Almost a year later, the RMS Queen Mary held the other casualties of war, over two thousand of England’s daughters. With nickel bands on their fingers, and many swollen bellies and crying mouths, the liner left Liverpool August 4th, 1946 to land in Halifax seven days later. This was one of the last scheduled war efforts for the ship: to deliver England’s bounty to their awaiting soldier-grooms on Canadian soil.
The cabin doors muffled the common echoes of the voyage: tears for what was left behind; nerves emptying stomachs; wind blowing the whispers of Canadian dreams. Walking through the halls, the woman tried her best not to read the scrawls left by thousands of forlorn hands. She concentrated instead on the orange in her hand given to her upon arrival onboard. After over six years of rationing: one egg a week, an ounce and a half of butter, fruit was an unheard of luxury. She could still feel the scars on her fingers from weeks of picking rosehip buds that were to be boiled into syrup for babies. She couldn’t bring herself to do more than smell the gift. Then came the Canadian bounty.
What a land of plenty this Canada must be! It overwhelmed the senses one at a time. First were the sounds of giddy children, women gasping in awe. A glimpse around the corner gave way to an impressionist buffet of colours and textures. The salty air was whipped from lungs and replaced with heavenly aromas, tantalizing and rich. The plates were burdened by hoarding hands that couldn’t help but grab in case the offerings were reneged. Hungry mouths swallowed without letting the tastes register the long forgotten pleasures of such a sinful pleasure: food.
The hall was alive with the humming of mouths, in a frenzy of forgotten pleasure. Then it hit. Hard. One pause was all it took to cause the emaciated systems to react. The rolling waves, the frayed nerves, the morning sickness and gluttony sent many of the women scurrying to the rails, greenly cabin-bound for the rest of the journey.
By the time she made her way into the dining hall, tables upon tables of food lined the walls. Her plate was modest, afraid to spill anything piled too high. Her pace was slowed by the sheer emotion of the moment, savouring the joy of reuniting with a long lost friend. For the remainder of the voyage, she sat among the staggered seats, emptied by way of the rocking sea. For seven nights, she held close a single pungent pleasure. Out on the deck, by the light of the Northern stars, she peeled an orange and dreamed of her Canadian Blue Boy.
~ A note from Yuk-Sem: This text was written in summary of an interview that I had with my Grand-mother, Margaret Milburn Lacey Brunelle. She shared many stories with me about her time in England during World War II and how she married her Canadian beau. The beginning of her married life was often punctuated by stories about food, due largely to the rationing in England at the time. She described to me her voyage on the Queen Mary: “Oh my Lord! The food was all from Canada; it was supposedly rationed, but it was a laugh! All this food, with all these war-brides and children. There were so many seasick…I never got seasick so I had a grand time!”
From that premise, with other bits and pieces of information both from my Grand-ma and from history books, I pieced together this brief glimpse into her life.
The woman was upon the decks of the famous RMS Queen Mary: a luxury cruise liner that had been sailing the North Atlantic Ocean since 1936. Built by John Brown and Co. she was designed to be the first of Cunard line for two-week express service. Christened on September 26, 1934 the traditionally liner was one of the fastest and most luxurious sailing the ocean at the time. There were grand ballrooms, salons, and even an indoor swimming pool among its berth. Now, there were no more dancers, no more musicians, no more whiskey and cigars in the staterooms.
In August of 1939, the wood panelling had been removed. The deck chairs stored. The silverware and linens packed away for safekeeping. The art-deco muted as the grand chandeliers were lowered. The last injury was to replace the passenger list with thousands of troops. The RMS Queen Mary would have at times seen over 15,000 soldiers, replacing her original 2139 guest capacity. The boasting of speed as a liner was not lost, as she found herself clipping across the Atlantic without convoy or escort. Her speed and grey camouflage earned her the nickname of “The Grey Ghost”. She was a soldier at war.
A silence had finally fallen on September 2, 1945. Almost a year later, the RMS Queen Mary held the other casualties of war, over two thousand of England’s daughters. With nickel bands on their fingers, and many swollen bellies and crying mouths, the liner left Liverpool August 4th, 1946 to land in Halifax seven days later. This was one of the last scheduled war efforts for the ship: to deliver England’s bounty to their awaiting soldier-grooms on Canadian soil.
The cabin doors muffled the common echoes of the voyage: tears for what was left behind; nerves emptying stomachs; wind blowing the whispers of Canadian dreams. Walking through the halls, the woman tried her best not to read the scrawls left by thousands of forlorn hands. She concentrated instead on the orange in her hand given to her upon arrival onboard. After over six years of rationing: one egg a week, an ounce and a half of butter, fruit was an unheard of luxury. She could still feel the scars on her fingers from weeks of picking rosehip buds that were to be boiled into syrup for babies. She couldn’t bring herself to do more than smell the gift. Then came the Canadian bounty.
What a land of plenty this Canada must be! It overwhelmed the senses one at a time. First were the sounds of giddy children, women gasping in awe. A glimpse around the corner gave way to an impressionist buffet of colours and textures. The salty air was whipped from lungs and replaced with heavenly aromas, tantalizing and rich. The plates were burdened by hoarding hands that couldn’t help but grab in case the offerings were reneged. Hungry mouths swallowed without letting the tastes register the long forgotten pleasures of such a sinful pleasure: food.
The hall was alive with the humming of mouths, in a frenzy of forgotten pleasure. Then it hit. Hard. One pause was all it took to cause the emaciated systems to react. The rolling waves, the frayed nerves, the morning sickness and gluttony sent many of the women scurrying to the rails, greenly cabin-bound for the rest of the journey.
By the time she made her way into the dining hall, tables upon tables of food lined the walls. Her plate was modest, afraid to spill anything piled too high. Her pace was slowed by the sheer emotion of the moment, savouring the joy of reuniting with a long lost friend. For the remainder of the voyage, she sat among the staggered seats, emptied by way of the rocking sea. For seven nights, she held close a single pungent pleasure. Out on the deck, by the light of the Northern stars, she peeled an orange and dreamed of her Canadian Blue Boy.
~ A note from Yuk-Sem: This text was written in summary of an interview that I had with my Grand-mother, Margaret Milburn Lacey Brunelle. She shared many stories with me about her time in England during World War II and how she married her Canadian beau. The beginning of her married life was often punctuated by stories about food, due largely to the rationing in England at the time. She described to me her voyage on the Queen Mary: “Oh my Lord! The food was all from Canada; it was supposedly rationed, but it was a laugh! All this food, with all these war-brides and children. There were so many seasick…I never got seasick so I had a grand time!”
From that premise, with other bits and pieces of information both from my Grand-ma and from history books, I pieced together this brief glimpse into her life.
posted by Yuk-Sem | 11:19 p.m.
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