Multifarious Musings: For The Love Of Trains

It's mid winter and, as usual, I'm feeling a bit restless. This usually leads to thoughts of trains and rail travel. One of my great passions ( and I have many) is trains. I guess that I come by this honestly. My father was a conductor/ brakeman on the Ontario Northland Railway. Many of my earliest memories involve train trips.

At one point, my family lived in a little town called Island Falls. The town was built on the Abitibi River about forty miles north of Cochrane, Ont. It was a company town built by the Abitibi Power and Paper Co. to support a hydro dam built on the river. My mother was the school teacher, teaching grades 1 through 8 in a one room school attached to the community hall. There were no roads to the town. Everything was shipped in by rail. Eaton's and Sears Christmas Catalogues really were "Wish Books" in those days. Doctor and dentist appointments involved a trip to Cochrane, the nearest town of any size. Usually a hotel stay was involved as well before we caught the train back home the next day. High adventure for a child growing up in a bush town that its residents referred to as "The Camp".

     Later, we moved to a larger community, the relatively larger town of New Liskeard, Ont. This town was served by both the railway and a highway system and, although our lives were no longer dominated by the railway, it still played an important part in the history of my family. Throughout my childhood, most of my vacations started with a trip to Toronto on the train. From there, it would be another train trip to Stratford for the Shakespeare Festival, or a road trip to my aunt's cottage near Bobcageon or just some time in Toronto at the Canadian National Exhibition. There were also train trips aboard the Super Continental to Winnipeg to visit with extended family out there. During my teen years, I used the train to visit my older sister who was attending college in Toronto. When I left home and was living in Toronto myself, the railway was my connection home for Christmas and Thanksgiving celebrations. It also got me home to attend the weddings of friends and family members.

     I have a powerful memory of the time my father took me railroading with him. I guess that I was about seven or eight at the time. The night before, he wasn't sure whether he would be called out on a freight or a passenger train. He had explained to me that if it was a passenger train,  I could go. I  remember him shaking me awake at about 4:00 in the morning. Three simple words, "You can come." Soon we were driving through the darkness of an early morning in March. We were on our way to Englehart, the division point on the O.N.R. where we were to catch our train.

     The train was the Rouyn Local and my Dad was working as the baggage man on that trip. I remember riding in the baggage car with him. There was an old wooden desk in the car where he could sort out bills of lading for the various packages of express freight being carried. These, along with mail for the stations en route were sorted and put into cubby holes in a rack above the desk. This was long before the time when courier companies like U.P.S. and Purolator would come to dominate the express package business.

     I remember at every stop the station agents knew him and there was always a chat and a few jokes as the luggage and parcels were being loaded and unloaded. It felt like I was travelling with the King of the Railway and I was his kid! Everyone treated us with kindness and respect.

     When we got to Rouyn, the engine was uncoupled from the train and put into an engine house where it would be serviced for the return trip. We walked to the engine house and talked to the engineer. He and Dad arranged for me to ride in the engine on the trip back.

     The railway maintained a bunkhouse in Rouyn at that time and, after a lunch of toast and eggs in the kitchen, we stretched out on the bunks upstairs for a nap. Before getting on the train for the return trip, we poked about in downtown Rouyn. I remember Dad buying me a Matchbox car at a little department store there. Toys received outside of Christmas and birthdays were a rarity in those days. I guess that's why I remember it so clearly. ( It was a metallic green Ferrari.)

     On the trip back, I got to ride in the engine. By that time, it was getting dark again. I remember the powerful headlight lighting up the way ahead as the train wound its way through the snowy forests. At a couple of crossings, I got to blow the whistle. The engineer was surprised that I knew the crossing whistle, two longs , a short and a long. Dad had trained me well.

     At one of the stations, Dad collected me and I rode the last leg of the trip with him in the baggage car. When we got to Englehart, Dad had a coffee at the station cafe with the rest of the road crew. I had a chocolate milk and watched as the yard crew took our train away. The engineer bought a chocolate bar and slipped it into my coat pocket before we left. I remember finding it, badly melted, later. I guess I fell asleep on it while riding home in our `63 Pontiac.

     Of all the memories that I have of my Dad, that day on the Rouyn Local is the most powerful. Despite the fact that I lost him at a very young age, on that particular day, he made me feel like the most special kid on the planet.

     In later years, a friend asked me if I thought of my Dad very often. In total honesty I replied, "Every time I hear a train."


                                            ...more later

The tradition contiues. My son Greg  and I make a point of doing at least one train trip a year, usually during our summer holidays.