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

The]ourn", Home 187soon suspected that we were being paraded not only to their friends but also totheir acquaintances, for the circle grew and grew. However, it was good to feel thewarmth of welcome that we received from Gordon Mactavish, Mr Christie andLady Tupper. The cocktails were a menace to me and how Gwen steered methrough one particular dinner-party, after four cocktails each, I do not nowremember, for faces were revolving about me in a fog, disappearing and reappearingand whether they were the same faces or new ones I could not decide.They gave an enormous party for us, with Gwen's sketches on show and she sold$172 worth.On the second day a reporter came to our hotel with Gordon and questionedus, and then he took us to the Free Press photographer. We went like sheep to theslaughter and were photographed under a purple light. I enjoyed watchingGwen's reluctance and began to enter into the spirit of the thing and decided toencourage her. "We may as well enjoy all this nonsense and admiration." I said,"N ever again shall we be baby lions. " The best interview was with Sheriff Inkster,a fine upright old-timer aged 83, who loved talking about the Rat River. At onepoint he threatened to kiss Gwen. It was the only time I ever saw fear in her eyes.Those days in Winnipeg were the end of our adventure. The rest of thejourney was anticlimax and when we got home no one, except Mr Cunliffe, wasreally interested in the Rat River. Our friends and families were far more interestedin the fact that we had spent nine days and nights without changing ourclothes. "Well," they would say, "some people take their pleasures sadly," andthey would give a sympathetic sigh over our folly and that would be their finalcomment on our Arctic journey.The net result in outward and visible signs was threefold: 267 kinds of pressedwild flowers were sent to Kew Herbarium; $600 worth of Gwen's sketches weresold. We both, in our respective home areas, had many invitations from Women'sInstitutes to come and talk to them about our travels.But what of the inward and spiritual grace? For myself, I keep certain picturesindelibly imprinted on my memory. Those pelicans above Fort Smith, rangingto and fro over the troubled waters. The crackling of the Northern Lights. Thekindness and hospitality that we received from strangers. Columbia Glacier. Thehummingbird. The strange clarity of near and far objects and the golden colourof lake and river when lit by Arctic sunlight. Paramount among all these is thememory of those days when we paddled alone down the Porcupine, havingachieved absolute freedom in a world of absolute beauty.