In the last blog I promised to tell you about the Macleod Stampede, quoting from what my mother wrote as a reporter for the "Slipstream" the local Air Force news paper.
When my mother left the Canadian Air Force in 1945 she wrote about her life in the service. I gathered up as many of her poems as I could find and including what she had written, put together a folder for my children and grand children, which they have. It covered a great deal of her time in Macleod, some of which we enjoyed together.
Here is her story about the Calgary Stampede as printed in the 'Slipstream"
Around the small town of Macleod Alberta, it is mostly vast prairie land composed of large farms where wheat fields stretch for miles. Many farms raise herds of sheep, cattle and milk cows. Nearby is a Canadian Indian reservation, many Indians leave the reservations during harvest time and help farmers bring in the crops. It is a common sight to see Indian Tepe's standing on farmland. The Indians live in their tepe's during harvest and bring the whole family to help. This is much easier than having to return to the reservation each night. It also makes Macleod a more interesting little town. There are many hitching posts just outside the local hotel, post office and tackle/supply stores where you see Indian pony's and the horses of cowboys who ride into town. Every summer year Macleod holds a "stampede" it's the last stampede prior to the giant, world renowned "Calgary Stampede" over 106 miles away. Cowboys and Indians who have been competing all over Canada use the Macleod stampede to hone their bucking horse, roping, calf tying and bull riding experience before competing in Calgary.
Bright kerchiefs, gaudy hats, skirts of buckskin, lavishly beaded Indian costumes, somber cowboy garb (for contrast) and scarlet tunics of the Mounties. Air force blue and Army khaki give me a stampede for color and thrill! And for high spirits and the gala mood! Neither the looming rain-cloud, nor the roll of thunder could affect these. Let it rain (and it did for a couple of hours) who cares anyhow? Rain here usually means another chance at the wheel of farming fortune – and it never rains long.
Here were the Macleod folk and all their neighbors. Here were the visitors from east and west and overseas and overseas means all the great seas, not just the Atlantic. New-timers and old-timers mingled with Aussies and Newzies. Those who came here in '74 shook hands with those that didn't need to come here, but were here, the Bloods and the Peigans. Every store, every doorway and most of the street constituted the rendezvous for brief pow-wows. Macleod was "At Home to the World".
Without the rain there would not have been half the excitement. The rain came and the rain departed without drowning anybody and the Stampede went on. What thrills and spills! What nerve and courage! All the fine promises of the handbills and posters were faithfully fulfilled. Every escape seemed and probable was miraculous. Every event brought a new thrill and a new demonstration of cowboy technique. It was a wonderful show and a new type of entertainment for many of the audience.
Soon it was time to wander back to the bustling streets of Macleod – and here a new phase of stampede was in progress. The hunt for supper was on. Again, old friends met to talk of crops and to speculate as to what the world was coming to. Indians and Hutterites and all, the old colorful cosmopolitan mob were back again to mill around, to talk, to gaze and slake their soul's thirst for companionship of their kind. Other and less soulful thirsts were also pursuing the chase for cool and sometimes spirituous liquids.
For me as well as the farmers, it was soon time to go back to everyday chores, their tedium to be lightened hereafter by memories of the Macleod Stampede.
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I think what Mother wrote pretty well describes the Macleod Stampede and how it affected the town at that time. Wartime brought many people together from around the world, which in normal times would not. It was an exciting time, Fort Macleod had become an "International Cross Roads" that the local people had not asked for, and occasionally infringed on their normally quiet life. As exciting as it could be at times, especially for the younger people, it could occasionally be a sad time when a phone call told them their husband, sons or other relative would not be coming home from the war.
After two years in Fort Macleod I decided that it was time to return to Vancouver. I wanted to get into the service. My mother was being transferred to Vancouver so this would work out well. I was now seventeen and I should be able to volunteer for army service. The years I had spent in Macleod had shown me another good side of life. It was a great experience and I never regretted one day of it. Even today I find my thoughts returning to those years and the people who influenced me in a positive way.
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