C Ihe Ladies c cu. V'VVAN - History and Classics, Department of

14 THE LADIES, THE GWICH'IN, AND THE RATeach, returning afterwards with reluctance to our tourist sleepers on the train.There were ~8 bunks in a coach and every window was shut and the stuffy heat wasinfernal; only a small slit beside each bunk let in enough air to keep us alive. Wedressed lying down and breakfasted in the dining car for $1.50 between us.Mter two days we reached Winnipeg where we had arranged to stop at a hotel,partly owned by a Cornish cousin. We had introductions to this cousin's twofriends in Winnipeg, men who proved very helpful during our ~4-hours stay.One of them, Gordon Mactavish, actually came to meet our train and at oncespotted what he took to be two English women but when he saw us both makingfor the exit as if we knew our way about he thought we could not be strangers so herefrained from making himself known. This we only discovered after supperwhen we had made contact with him and were sitting in our hotel lounge talkingabout my cousin, our Rat River journey, Arctic exploration and many otherthings. He was already like an old friend."1 reckon," he said, "that two women who can walk out of a strange station withthat determined look on their faces will be able to make the Rat River all right,though it's a tough journey. "This attitude we were to meet continually. Because we acted not like lost sheepbut like independent women, we met with admiration that was often embarrassingto me and always distasteful to Gwen.With our new friend we talked long into that night about the Arctic and itshistory, which was his favourite subject, and he was only prevented by pressingbusiness from joining our expedition. The next day was kaleidoscopic, from themoment when he came for us at 9 until we boarded the train at about midnight.We visited Gordon Mactavish's flat, saw his Arctic books, tasted pemmican andborrowed a rifle and a book on wild flowers. We visited two banks, the Hudson'sBay Company's office and stores, the museum and a bookshop, acquiring informationall the time; we never wasted a moment. We called on the other friend towhom we had been given an introduction, Mr Christie; we found him in hisoffice and the two men, with a charming Lady Tupper who was vital and wellread,took us out to lunch at Fort Garry. Mr Christie was a grand elderly manwith rugged features; how wonderful it would have been, I thought, hadRembrandt been alive to paint him.The parliament house and parks, a drive beside the Assiniboine River and theRed River, the sight of exciting birds, flickers, orioles, grackles, then tea in thedelightful century-old Fort Garry Club; all these things are telescoped in