is . 2 The Good Samaritan Christmas is always a time of special journeys for many Canadi- ans. Many of us in this vast country must live away from our families, and I was no exception as a 20-year-old with a small baby, little cash, and a longing to be home one Christmas about 15 years ago. My only option was to try fora stand-by flight, and how well I remember showing up at the Van- couver Airport with baby in one arm, suitcase in the other, in the wee hours of a frosty December morning just two days before Christmas. I began the long wait for stand- by filled with the hope that I would see my family 105 the holi- days. The day dragged on in a haze of airport announcements and end- less trips to the ladies room to feed, change and comfort my little one. The flights were called and each time I waited expectantly for a vacancy only to be disappointed with the same thing; the flight was fully booked. All around me were busy travelers and the excitement of the holiday season. Finally it was 11:30 p.m., the last flight to Toronto had just been called and the attendant had already told me that the situation looked hopeless. I was overwhelmed with sadness and discouragement and was try- ing to keep my spirits up for the bus ride home to my empty apart- ment. Just as I was tumming to leave, the attendant came over and told me someone was giving up their seat for me and could I please check in and board the plane quickly. There must be some mistake I stammered. No there wasn’t. This passenger had overhead my story while I was talking to the attendant, was determined to do this, and would leave the seat vacant if I didn’t accept. Quickly we went through the paperwork, the final boarding was being called, there was no time to spare. At the doorway of the departure lounge I turned around and my eyes fell immediately on a small dark-skinned man of East Indian descent wearing a brown suit and _ holding a brief case. His was a kind and smiling face. At that moment, time stood still, the airport noise died away and it was him and I staring into each others eyes with a deep unde- rstanding of what life was really all about. It was at that moment that I knew there was a God looking over us all. It was a wonderful Christmas. Gwen MacKay Sidney My wife and I decided to take our 16-year-old daughter to visit the 1970 Worlds Fair in Tokyo. After several orientation ses- sions, we went to the Edmonton Intemational airport in mid-March for our 9 a.m. departure. All our hand luggage including the women’s purses were weighed as we checked in for seat assign- ment. The reason for weighing all the hand luggage was so that the maximum amount of fuel could be loaded for the trip to Tokyo. We did not have to stop at Anchorage Alaska for fuel as was earlier suggested. I, at the window seat was sur- prised with the amount of runway that was needed for this fuel laden DC 8 to become airborne. We did clear the fence at the perimeter of the airport. Probably much more than appeared from my window seat. After nine hours in flight we landed at Tokyo airport at the noon hours. The entire load of luggage was passed through Customs after the officials examined three suit cases. Our daughter’s suitcase was one of the three examined. Quite a thrill! We quickly understood some of the Japanese way of life. The hotel A boxcar odyssey In 1924 we were living in Chilliwack on a small dairy farm when Dad, always longing for greener pastures, decided to cure his latest bout of itchy feet with a move to the Burns Lake area — at that time opening up for land settlement. It was mid-October by the time arrangements were complete and two boxcars had been loaded with all our worldly possessions — including seven horses, ten head of cattle, the pigs and the chickens. For my brother Frank and I (14 and 12 at the time), it was a true-life Tom Sawyer adventure. Our home for the journey was one of the boxcars (the one without the livestock). Our beds were mattresses thrown on top of piles of furniture and packing cases, so that our noses poked up about a foot from the boxcar roof. We had only a small space near the door in which to move, so we were never long in piling out of our cramped quarters whenever the train stopped — even though a “stop” meant “‘chores” (packing water for the livestock, milking the cows and otherwise tending the animals). Our first night was spend on a side track in the railroad yard of Kamloops, our second on a siding at Blue River — but the Blue River boasted a small lake next to which we camped. That was the Ritz! The following moming we wakened to the call of a loon on the lake: I had never head one before and thought it the most lonely and soul-searching cry I’d ever heard. We made a short run to Red Pass Junction, but were again left side-tracked. Apparently ours was no “‘through freight;” we were depending on “way freights” and at best their schedules were erratic. That night we camped near the headwaters of the Fraser River. In fact, we spend the night in a “hobo jungle,” with three or four fellows waiting there to catch a train to the coast, in search of warmer climate for winter. In talking to them Dad soon found they were of a different political persuasion — members of the O.B.U. (One Big Union). I suppose they were actually communists (none too popular in those days). It was the first time I realized that there were people who were not too happy with our economic system. (Today I would like to find someone who is!) But Dad’s concerns were more immediate: the stock had been in the cars too long. After some bickering, the railroad sent a “loci” to take us to Lucerne, a divisional point east, where we could unload. After further delay we made our way west again, reaching Prince George early one morning. Only a small town in those days, for me the highlights of Prince George consisted of the loaves of hot bakery bread Dad brought back to our boxcar home ... and the fact that we were now only 150 miles from our destination of Palling, about 14 miles west of Burns Lake. Arriving there in mid-afternoon, we could see from the boxcar door little else but an empty station and a small store. We soon learned that was Palling. We unloaded the livestock without benefit of a loading shoot, assembled a wagon to carry our immediate necessities, and started off for “home,” one-and-a-half miles away. It was now growing dark. The road into our “settlement” was little more than a wide, disused trail though the woods. I trudged along ahead of the wagon with a coal oil lantern, on the lookout for windfalls that would have to be cut out to let the wagon pass. I felt like Diogenes, who travelled the streets of Athens with a lantern, looking for an honest man — we were merely looking for a way to make an honest living in a new country. I have travelled many miles since then, but never again in a boxcar. Jack Long Sidney TheReview =-@m., PS Luggage \ weighed fo avoid stop for fuel was located in a Japanese area with little Western influence. In general, the Japanese homes are small and sleeping gear was picked up at the beginning of each day, and put outside to air, which provided room for the day’s activi- ties. After the tours that were pro- grammed by the Travel Agent, which included two days at the World’s Fair, we stayed for a week in Tokyo while two-thirds of the tour group went on to Hong Kong and Taiwan. We visited Tokyo as a tourist on our Own. We had found that many of the youth in Japan were studying Eng- lish in school. We were approached many times while resting by these students to try out their English oral language. Also if we appeared to be look- ing for direction, while being a tourist in Tokyo, we were quickly offered assistance by a Japanese who spoke acceptable English. Wednesday, March 11,1992 — A23 We enjoyed very much visiting the department stores and the uni- que Japanese restaurants. We tried many Japanese meals and found them to be tasty and satisfying. We did avoid the raw fish type meals. It rained all day Saturday before our scheduled Sunday departure. Sunday moming appeared bright and sunny. The cherry trees had burst into bloom that morning. It was a breath taking display. This was also a day for the Japanese to promenade among the cherry blossoms. Most of the dis- trict stores closed to take in the display of color. Everywhere there were people parading through the cherry blossoms. Reluctantly we had to leave this display of color Sunday afternoon to board the plan for home. We will always remember this once in a lifetime journey. 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