By Margaret Norquay
In 1949, Margaret Norquay moved along with her new husband, a minister with the United Church of Canada, to Mayerthorpe, in northern Alberta, a village within the centre of what used to be in these days a pioneer hinterland. large Is the best way is a suite of news from their seven years there. advised with affection and mild humour, the tales conceal the demanding situations, heartaches, and delights of a tender group and a minister and his spouse in a really new marriage. issues comprise the adventure of orphan little ones despatched to paintings on Western farms, manoeuvring for a restroom downtown for farmers’ other halves short of a spot to alter their infants whereas their husbands did enterprise, facing the RCMP over liquor present in the church basement, and the generosity of spirit proven by means of the neighborhood to the Norquays. during the booklet, Margaret Norquay’s indomitable spirit and resolution are obvious and illustrate her passionate trust in making confident switch and having enjoyable whereas doing it.
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Tents! Who’d ever want to sleep in tents? ” “I took three or four boys camping a couple of years ago at Moonlight Bay, just outside Edmonton, and they all want to do it again and bring all their friends. But we need some place a bit nearer than Edmonton. So we’re planning to build a camp here. ” “Reverend, yuh need more than studding. I took a lot of timber out of my woodlot this winter and I’ve lots of log slabs left—more’n I need—and there’s more where they came from. You can have enough of ’em to cover the studding, and I’ll truck ’em to the campsite.
His pension was his sole means of support, and the monthly gathering of the congregation was one of the few joys of his life. We chugged down the road again, and soon saw his house nestled in deep snow against a tall stand of trees, with smoke pouring black out of the stovepipe chimney. When he opened the door, a mass of hot air rushed to greet us. He shook us warmly by the hand and said, “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas! ” When our eyes, blinded by the glare of the snow, became accustomed to the light inside, we saw to our astonishment that he had transformed the room into a kind of chapel.
First I tried to find the note on the piano closest to the one they were voicing—usually about middle C. I’d strike the key, ask the child to listen hard, and then try to match his sound with the piano. Once a child got middle C right, I’d say, “Bingo! You’ve got it,” and we’d all clap. Someone else would take a turn, and we’d go through the same procedure. Once middle C was right on the first try each week, I’d move up to D or down to B depending on what seemed easiest for the particular child.