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June 29, 2007
The long journey to Canada
Fifty years on, a Scottish immigrant recalls the ways he adapted.
WALTER GUMPRICH
Mine was certainly no struggle, unless you count my heated argument
with the Canadian immigration official on the New York to Montreal
train a struggle. It was real enough at the time. But perhaps I
should start at the beginning of this particular adventure.
It was 1957, and I had decided to see the New World for two years,
gain some experience in the North American livestock feed industry
and travel around with my earnings for six months afterwards. I
left my home in Glasgow, Scotland, survived the stormy February
Atlantic in the Cunard liner Saxonia and landed in Halifax on my
birthday – St. David's Day, no less. I was not the only one
in the Saxonia. The crossing was so stormy that we were advised
not to go on deck, in case we were blown overboard. My three Norwegian
cabin mates didn't even venture out of the cabin for four of the
five days' crossing, even though they all claimed to be fishermen.
I ventured forth because there were so few walking passengers that
I was at the captain's table every evening. All the passengers fit
quite easily into the first-class dining room. The captain was not
feeling too lively, either!
Since there was no extra charge for sailing on to New York, I decided
to do so, particularly since the train fare from New York to Winnipeg
was cheaper than the fare from Halifax to Winnipeg, because the
distance is shorter. In addition, I did not have to endure the cattle
train that immigrants were treated to en route from Halifax to Winnipeg.
It was as we were about to cross into Canada that I was confronted
by a burly official brandishing a rubber stamp, with which he proposed
to desecrate my British passport. I refused. Having just spent two
years of compulsory national service in the British army, I thought
landed immigrant status, which accepting this stamp would confer
on me, would oblige me to serve in Her Majesty's Canadian armed
forces for an unspecified period of time. Two years had been a great
learning experience, but quite enough. In his best English, with
quite a lot of French thrown in for good measure, the not-so-friendly
giant convinced me that there was no alternative but to accept his
"offer." My sailing experience had taught me that "might
is right" and discretion is the better part of valor. It is
surprising how much more readily landed immigrant status is accepted
nowadays!
My late father had a cousin in Winnipeg, one of whose sons met me
at the railway station. We had no trouble identifying each other,
due to the strong family resemblance. I didn't know of their existence
until five days before I left Glasgow, so the meeting was a real
piece of luck and made my introduction to Canadian life very much
easier than it would have been, had I not had them to initiate me.
My impression of Canadians, as taught in Scottish schools, was that
the country was inhabited by the Scots who survived the battle of
Culloden and fled to Canada as the Selkirk Settlers, the French
who survived General Wolf and the odd Indian who survived all those
cowboy and Indian movies. My first encounter on the train seemed
to bear some of this out.
Finding employment was my main objective, with March hardly being
the most opportune or hospitable time of year. I was looking for
work in the livestock feed industry, since I had majored in livestock
nutrition and dairy bacteriology at Glasgow University. I had little
trouble finding a really menial job making popsicles at Crescent
Creamery, where endurance was the name of the game. In my first
week, my take-home pay was as much as my board and room for one
entire month. It was big money for me, since I had no other expenses.
I walked two miles to work. The beauty of this job was having every
Wednesday and one weekend day off, since the creamery had to receive
milk every day. While this might have seemed a disadvantage to some,
it suited me fine, since I had a weekday free for interviews in
the grain and feed industry. After a few weeks, I volunteered to
make and tender a batch of ice cream to Dairy Queen, which was accepted
for Manitoba that year. This meant I had a much better job at Crescent.
When I was offered a job at Canada Packers ShurGain Feed division,
the decision to accept was more difficult than I had anticipated.
My initial reaction to Canada was one of acceptance. The weather
was never a problem, since I only had myself to look after and the
lack of humidity more than compensated for the cold. I did not own
a parka or a hat for the first three months and then did not wear
them very often. People were all very friendly and trusting. I knew
that I was hired quickly and would be fired equally quickly if I
did not "work out." Responsibilities and rewards were
easy to come by, with the attendant risks.
The opportunities led to 44 years in Saskatoon, designing and managing
livestock feed plants, their business, credit and sales staffs.
Designing and managing large cattle feedlots were also part of my
work and still are, on an international, part-time basis.
Managing a large piggery was another real challenge that I enjoyed.
After all, you can breed them, feed them and process them into meat,
but you don't have to eat them!
Walter Gumprich is an agrologist. He lives in Vancouver.
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