At the close of each year, we as a family had always enjoyed the New Year’s Eve “Watchnight Service” at the little Christian and Missionary Alliance Church in Medicine Hat, Alberta. There would be singing, testimonies, and a timely message from the Pastor. Just the “togetherness” with the friends and other saints was uplifting. But at the closing of 1951 it was different. Just two months prior to this, our beloved mother had lost her battle with cancer and had left our midst for her heavenly home. There would be no more suffering for her. But for those of us who were left behind, our hearts were bleeding. While many people in that New Year’s Eve service were telling of the blessings of God upon them during the past year, all we could think of was the bitterness and the pain. At the time of our mother’s death on October 29, Clara, our oldest sister, had been called home from Montreal where she had been studying French in preparation for going to French West Africa as a missionary. She had been gone from home for over a year. While there she had met her life partner. It was on that very night that she received her engagement ring, that the devastating news reached her: Mom had died. With a heavy heart she had to kiss her beloved good-bye and fly home to the grieving family. Our two youngest sisters, Pauline and Marianne, were only in their early teens. As for Dad, he was hopelessly devastated and in utter despair. My younger sister, Helen, and my brother, Alfred, along with myself, were called home from Prairie Bible Institute at Three Hills where we were studying in Bible School and High School. Following our mother’s funeral, Clara remained at home for about two months while Helen, Alfred and I went back to our classes. A couple of months later, for the Christmas holidays we returned home again. Although with heavy hearts, we celebrated Christmas as a family in the routine way. But it was one day early that year. On Christmas day Clara had to leave home to travel across Canada, to Montreal, to resume her courses. Since we knew that the family finances were in a very bad state of affairs, Alfred, Helen and I decided to forfeit the rest of that term at “Prairie”, to try to find work in Medicine Hat to relieve the situation. So it was that also on that Christmas day, Helen and Alfred dolefully travelled back to Three Hills in the old truck to collect our belongings. Because it was a holiday, most service stations were closed. This only made the trip even more arduous, but that is another story. The future looked very bleak for all of us. On December 31st the time for the annual “Watchnight Service” arrived. Just to be together with our friends of the church seemed a comforting thought. We went to the service, but never had our testimonies been so bitter. Nothing that the earlier part of the year might have held seemed relevant when we recalled the events of the past two months. At that particular time the only family conveyance we had was a pick-up truck. Alfred had built a cab on the back out of wood, but it had no insulation. Helen and I climbed into the back while Dad and Alfred sat in front, with seventeen-year-old Alf driving. Once the warmth of the service was over, we had to face the elements outside. Our breath was nearly taken away with the temperature at minus 35 degrees F., plus a wind chill feeling like minus 50. Our home was about a mile away, but Dad had an urgent letter he was eager to mail down at the main Post Office, another half-mile distant. So we headed that way first. We had gone only a few blocks when the truck’s engine began to cough and sputter, and then it quit entirely. When the truck failed Dad said he would go down on foot to the P.O and walk home. Alfred lifted the hood of the truck, but he realized there was no hope of getting it restarted. He looked at us girls and said, “I guess you might as well start walking too. Sorry!” Marianne and Pauline had been “baby sitting” earlier in the evening at a place not too far from the church. Before our church service was over they were finished at their little job. They came down to join us at the church. Since they had had to walk to the home where they were baby sitting, they were dressed for the weather. Helen and I had on our winter coats, toques and mittens, but expecting that we would be riding in the truck had not worn our boots. We had only loafers on our feet and nylon stockings on our legs. When it was obvious we would have to walk, we grabbed up the little car blanket and held it in front of our legs as a bit of a wind-break. Since it was a new starting place, we had to find another route home. We walked and walked, trying to find the shortest route. Even as we waded through the snowy paths, wisps of wind would catch our breath away. Our feet became numb and our legs felt like wooden posts. At last we came to the top of the hill. From there we had to break a path through a familiar field past where an outside skating rink was located. Alfred had joined us by this time. He and the two younger girls decided to go on ahead, taking the usual route home. By this time we were about the level of Sixth Street, though that street did not reach as far as that area. Helen had reached the end of her tolerance and began to cry. She said, “I can’t go any farther. I’m so tired I want to lie down here and go to sleep!” I knew that was a bad sign. What could we do? Locking arms with her and rearranging the little blanket in front of our legs, I said, “Come on. Let’s walk together. Come. Left, right, left, right. That’s it, we’ll make it. It is not so far now. A couple of more blocks and we’ll be up to Ninth Street.” But I knew that our location then was at least two blocks east of Division Avenue and at only about Seventh Street. Our home was on Ninth and a full block the other side of Division. I was planning in my mind, that if there were any houses with lights burning when we reached Ninth Street, I would ring the door bell and ask the people to let us step in to warm up a bit. But, alas! No sign of life anywhere. We plodded on. I kept encouraging Helen. I would have carried her if I could have. But it was not possible. We were not that much different in size. At last we reached our place, 41 Ninth Street SW., Pauline, Marianne and Alfred had already arrived. The light beckoned us, heat already warming the kitchen. As we stumbled through the door, I helped Helen off with her coat and shed my own. Helen, sobbing deeply now, headed straight for the oven door where the heat seemed so welcoming. I took her arm and got her into a chair. ”Don’t go so close to the direct heat,” I said. “Our legs are frozen. It’s damaging to the tissues if you try to thaw out so quickly” We put our feet into pans of warm water. By the time the thawing began we were both groaning and crying with the intense pain. Just then the door flew open, letting in a stinging blast of frigid air. Dad burst in. Typically, flinging his coat and mitts in a corner and kicking off his rubber boots, he blew on his hands to warm them. “Baby, it’s cold. Whew! What a night! Let’s get the kettle on here and make some tea,” he said, brushing by everyone to get to the stove. “Where’s that nice chocolate cake you made in the afternoon, Evie? Let’s have some of that. That’ll get everybody cheered up.” Only then did he notice Helen and me sitting there with their feet in the basins of water. “What’s the matter, kids? Froze up?” Alf, still fretting about the stalled car, said, “had to leave the truck right there by the tracks.” “Don’t worry! That horsie, she ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight! You can bet your boots on that.” “Come on, get some hot tea into you,” he said, slamming his mug on to the table, and reaching for the tea pot. After a few more refills of warm water in our basins, our feet and legs were thawing gradually, but oh, so painfully! The feet and the front of the legs, all the way up to the knees, were frostbitten. After dad had warmed himself with tea and cake, he began to show more concern with the suffering of his big girls. Then suddenly, jumping up, he went to his coat in the corner and thrust his hand into the pocket. “D’ya know what?” he said as he pulled out a pair of glasses, “I found this pair of glasses in the field right on the path.” Helen, instinctively putting her hand to her face, realized she did not have her glasses on. Forgetting her misery for the moment, she said, “I didn’t even know I had lost my glasses. Let me see them.” She tried them on and sure enough, they were hers. “What way did you come?” she asked. “I cut across the field by that skating rink,” Dad said. “Full of snow there, but someone had made a bit of a path. They were right there in front of me.” “You did?” Helen and I exclaimed in unison. ” That’s the way we came. Those were our tracks you saw! Wow! And imagine you found those glasses.” “No kidding? Why, that’s a miracle! And on night like this! Praise the Lord!” Chatter began amongst all of us. Joy began to take the place of the melancholy. All our spirits were lifted. We were able to take courage and face the future, knowing God was with us and was taking care of us. Bless the Lord! A little new hope had dawned with the dawning of the New Year, 1952. God would see us through. © Evelyn Splane Note from Helen: Thanks, Evelyn, for bringing this happening back into my memory. I had forgotten it...Thank the Lord, He HAS been with us, taking each of us on the path He has chosen for us, guiding us through our sorrows and giving us "Peace that passeth understanding." [ Return to Index of Articles ] [ HOME PAGE ]