The next day they went below to have a look at the ship’s engines and talk to the engineers and the rest of the crew. Having watched one of the stokers as he shovelled coal into the fire, Ernie asked the man his name and then told him how much he admired his excellent physique. The man replied that it had nothing to do with his job as a stoker and then went on to explain that he had been a boxer before he went to sea. This gave Ernie an idea and he asked the fellow, whose name was Chuck, if he still had his boxing gloves. Chuck said he didn’t, but there were some on board.
“We ‘as this ‘ere room we can use to exercise in. ‘Course none of us needs exercising when we gets through shovelling coal at nights, but I likes to work out with the gloves on my days off, so the captain got some for me. There’re two pairs an’ sometimes one of the chaps’ spars with me.”
That evening, when they were getting ready for bed, Ernie suggested that they should stage a boxing match. “Chuck is about your size, Bert, and I remember you doing very well in the school matches.”
Bert reminded Ernie that he had only boxed one time, and that was when he was ten years old, but it didn’t dissuade Ernie. “You would only have to go five rounds. I would gladly have a go at it, but right now a blow to my head could cause irreparable damage. I daresay there are a lot of bored men on board who would pay a good price just to see a good show of fisticuffs.”
“It is entirely different than fisticuffs! Boxing is a form of art, and not some sort of barroom brawl,” Bert declared, angrily. Ernie apologized and then tried to ease Bert’s concerns by telling him that he would be in his corner at all times, and that after the fight they could divide the profits between them all. It was a tempting argument, and Bert knew that if they didn’t find a job soon after they arrived in Montreal, the money would come in handy.
Ernie insisted that if Bert didn’t want to box, he would understand, but he still kept talking about how advantageous it would be to have enough money so they could spend a few weeks sightseeing before they looked for work. He was so persuasive that finally Bert gave in, “I know I am an ass for agreeing, but what have I got to lose except a few teeth and my good looks! I shall do my best to put on a good show, but I warn you, if this chap Chuck was any good at all, I may only last a few rounds.”
Chuck, who could always use a little extra money, agreed to the fight and after spreading the word around the ship, the bout was held. The attendance was even better than Ernie had anticipated and, surprisingly, quite a few wives came with their husbands—something they would never have done in England. Chuck had once been a good boxer, but he had what fighter’s call a glass jaw and hadn’t won many matches. Bert, on the other hand, hadn’t a chance against a seasoned fighter, even one with a glass jaw, and he spent most of his time in the ring trying, unsuccessfully, to defend himself. As Ernie watched his brother suffer one blow after another, he began to feel guilty for organizing the match, and between rounds, he begged Bert to let him stop the fight, but Bert refused to quit.
Bert didn’t do badly in the first rounds and might even have scored a point for round two, but then Chuck, who hadn’t been in the ring for many years, began to feel at home and although he didn’t want to hurt Bert, he had been trained to win every fight he took part in, so poor Bert suffered the consequences. He was knocked down twice, but both times managed to get up off the mat before the count of ten.
The allotted five rounds seemed like twenty, and Bert was barely standing at the end of the last round. Both his eyes were still black and blue the day they disembarked. The captain had invited the brothers to share a bottle of his best rum in his quarters on the last night aboard ship, and while they were having a drink, he offered them both a job anytime they wanted it. Ernie said he would be happy to take the Sunday services on his return to England, but Bert just thanked him and said that he wouldn’t be going back.
The brothers didn’t go directly to Maisonneuve with the Strikers because they now had enough money to stay in a hotel in Montreal and do some sightseeing. They were pleasantly pleased with what they saw, and both wrote long letters home. They each wrote one letter to the family, and Ernie wrote to his fiancé, Ada. They had planned on getting married as soon as Ernie could return to England or whenever Ada was able to come to Canada, so although they were sad to be apart, they were sure it would only be a year or two before they could be together forever.
What Mark Twain had said was true. Wherever Bert looked he could see steeples and domes of churches looming over the buildings and monopolizing the landscape. He wrote his Gran telling her how majestic they appeared, and how beautiful the ones he visited were inside. He stated how impressed he was with many of the buildings, especially the bank of Montreal with its six huge Roman pillars at the front, and many smaller ones inside. The ornate domed ceiling was circled with lights, and the building had such a regal ambience, he felt honoured to deposit his money there.
Then, he felt obliged to explain how he and Ernie managed to arrive with enough money to make a deposit in the bank and couldn’t resist adding an ‘I told you so.’ He also described the hotel they were staying in and the unusual, but tasty, food they served. They had arranged to have their mail delivered at the post office, so he sent her the address and told her he would let her know if they moved.
In the second letter Bert wrote to his grandmother, he mentioned that they were having quite a time trying to communicate with the local people, because not many spoke English. “I can just imagine how difficult it was for the Indians who lived here when the French came. Like us, they must have had to use sign language in order to be understood.” Then he tried to describe the magnificent monument in memory of Paul Chomeday de Maisonneuve, the founder of Montreal, that was in the centre of the Place des’ Armes. The statue was very interesting, but what Bert liked the most was one of the four sculptured figures at its base.
The sculpture was of an Iroquois man and Bert was mesmerized with it. He had heard about the different tribes who lived in Canada, but he had imagined they all looked wild and fierce, not handsome and noble like the one on the statue. He wrote his Gran saying he hoped to meet some of them before long, and he wondered if the ones she had met in New York, many years ago, looked as proud as the one on the monument. He recalled his Aunt Dolly telling him that she had met an Indian Chief when she was a little girl and went to London to see the first World’s Fair with her grandfather. The chief had given her an eagle feather, and she had not only met the chief, but an Indian princess too. I hope I shall be as fortunate, he thought.
Ernie also enjoyed exploring the city, but after two weeks, he became anxious to find a job and begin earning wages, so they decided to take a tram to Maisonneuve and look up Leonard and Blanch Striker. The Strikers had an extra bedroom and insisted the brothers stay with them. Leonard had been right, and they were both offered jobs training local workers. Ernie had experience deep-sea diving, so he was hired to train men in that field, while Bert was hired to teach welding and machining. While both jobs paid well, they proved to be difficult because of the language barrier.
Ernie’s job was also very tiring. Most days he, and two or more of his students, had to wear diving suits. There were so many parts to the cumbersome suits that had to be secured every time they made a dive that it took a long time to be outfitted. First, they had to put on special diver’s underwear and then the diving tenders would help them into their suits and lace up their leg flaps. Next, they put on their eighty-four pound belts. Once they were in their suits, they had to sit down while the tenders put on their heavy metal boots and huge helmets. Ernie always wore what was referred to as a horse collar around his neck before he put the helmet on to prevent chafing, but some divers didn’t use one.
Once the helmet was in place, and all the tubes in order, the tenders would begin tightening up the bolts to seal the helmet to the suit. The face plate would be open during this procedure so the diver could breathe. When everything was in order, the face plate would be closed and the air turned on, then the diver would give the signal to ‘button her up,’ and he would be ready to dive. It was very awkward to walk once the suit was on and the divers had to be helped, but once they were in the water, the buoyancy made the suits much lighter and easier to manage. Needless to say, it was a stressful job, but Ernie didn’t complain because the wages were better than he could find anywhere else.
After teaching for a year, Bert grew bored with the job, so he decided to apply for a job as a tram operator. The pay wouldn’t be as good, but it would give him the opportunity to see more of the city and meet more local citizens. Because he liked to think he was more of a socialist than a capitalist, he was anxious to compare the lives of the Canadian working class to the average English commoner. Every spare moment he had, he took rides on all the lines of the Montreal Tramway, and after a month, he decided he preferred the Hochelaga and Lachine line. The little town of Lachine was a bustling community of about five thousand people. It was also the home of Dawes Brewery, one of the largest in the country, and Dominion Bridge with subsidiaries Canadian Machinery and Manufacturing.
Bert kept riding on the tram until he had memorized all the stops and then he went to the Montreal Tram Company’s office to apply for a job. When the manager heard Bert call off all the names of the stops in order and the arrival times, he was very impressed, but when he realized that was the only French the Englishman knew, he started to laugh and called a few of his colleagues over. He asked Bert to repeat what he had said, then in French, he asked him what his name was and where he was from. When Bert couldn’t answer, everyone thought it hilarious. Bert was embarrassed and his hopes began to dwindle, but he just grinned and waited.
Finally, the manager, who could speak English fairly well, inquired how he thought he would be able to communicate with the passengers when he couldn’t speak their language. Bert said he intended to make friends with them, and with any luck, should learn enough to get by. The manager was intrigued when he heard that the young Englishman was giving up such a well paying and prestigious job just to work on a tram. Besides, he liked his appearance and his attitude, so curious to see how Bert would make out, he took a chance and hired him.
Bert was told he would have to ride along with one of the operators for two weeks without pay. The man he would be riding with had a large family and having found a job in the new shipyard where he could make a much higher wage, he was happy to be leaving, and Bert didn’t feel guilty about taking his job.
After talking it over with his boss at Vickers, Bert was told he could still teach three evenings a week, so he could earn enough to get by. Ernie didn’t criticize his brother’s decision, but he thought he was making a big mistake. The brothers had been boarding at the Strikers, and although Blanch Striker was an amiable landlady, her meals weren’t nearly as agreeable, so when they learned that the Strikers were expecting a baby, they had a good excuse to find lodging elsewhere.
They found a boarding house in town run by a friendly, middle-aged widow. She only spoke a little English and none of the other boarders spoke any, but the room was clean and had two beds. Once they partook of a meal, they knew they had chosen the right place; not only did the woman make hearty meals that were tasty, but she also made delicious cakes and pies, and she always put a big piece of both in the lunches she packed for them.
The name of the man training Bert was Frank. Frank only knew how to say two phrases in English; “You betcha” and “Not for damn sure,” which he was convinced rendered him as bilingual. Using those two phrases, along with hand and facial gestures, Frank managed to explain everything about running a tram to Bert, including how one elderly lady, always insisted on sitting on the same seat. If the seat was already occupied, when she arrived, she would become angry and beat the intruder with her purse. Then there was the passenger who always brought his dog with him, hiding it under his overcoat. Knowing the poor old fellow couldn’t bear to leave his pet alone, Frank allowed him to get away with it. Whenever Frank thought Bert understood him, he would smile, and in a loud voice reply, “You bethcha!” This method of communication went on for the entire two weeks.
Frank introduced Bert to all his passengers adding that he was English. Thereafter Bert was always greeted with a cheery, “Bon Jour, English.” Bert, thinking he would have trouble with the lady who insisted on the same seat, solved the problem by having his landlady make a sign that said, “peinture fraîche” (wet paint) in big letters, then he put it on the seat until the old lady came aboard. He had Frank explain it to her, and she, like most of the Quebecers Bert had met, had a good sense of humour, and thought it was a great joke.
The boarding house had a large front porch and every Saturday evening one of the boarders played his concertina and sang there. Bert and Ernie loved to sit and listen to him and before long they had memorized most of the lyrics. Although they didn’t know the meaning of the words, they sang along. Some of the neighbours heard them and began coming and joining in. One night Bert brought out his violin and it wasn’t long before he could play the songs. When winter came, and it was too cold to sit outside, the landlady invited everyone into her living room, and it helped the brothers from becoming too homesick.
Most of the songs were quite lively and repetitive which made them easier to memorize. Ernie’s favourite was Frere Jacques and Bert’s was Vive L’Amour. Other songs they liked were A la Claire Fontaine, Les Raftsmen and Vive Canadienne. Bert and Ernie also sang some English songs and after a few times, the others were singing along with them too.
Bert loved to sing and when he was working on the tram, he often sang quietly between stops. He was singing Vive L’Amour one day, when two young girls overheard him and joined in on the chorus: “Vive la compagnie – vive la, vive la, vive l’amour, vive la, vive la, vive la vie, vive l’amour, vive la vie! Vive la compagnie.”
The applause from the rest of the passengers encouraged Bert and he began singing louder and oftener. Before long, his tram was known as the ‘Tramway Chantant’ and most of his passengers sang along with him. It was a happy car, and folks tried their best to arrange their schedule so they could travel to work, school, or to shop with Bert. Unfortunately, one of the other conductors resented his popularity, and hired a man to ride with him and then complain about the noise.
One night, when Bert finished his shift, the foreman called him into the office and said he was sorry, but he would have to let him go if he didn’t stop singing. “We’ve had a complaint. Someone said you were so busy singing that you neglected your duties. We can not have that, you understand?” Bert promised not to sing anymore and the next day, he did his best to explain to his passengers what had happened. He didn’t know if they understood or not, but he could tell they weren’t very happy about it.
Two days later, he was called into his boss’s office again. This time the boss didn’t bother to say hello before he accused Bert, saying, “I don’t know what you think you are doing. Until you come to work here, we have no damn trouble. You get these people to tell me how to run my tramway? You go too far, English.”
“But I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”
“Hah! You think I’m an imbécile? I know it is you!”
“Now look here, boss, like I said, I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about. What people? And what did they say? I enjoy my job and I think I am doing very well. When you told me to stop singing I did, now if there is anything else the matter, I wish you would tell me, and I shall do whatever I can to correct it.” Before his boss could reply, Bert remembered something, and he added, “Oh, I did make a complaint about the rear door sticking at times, maybe that’s it, but I can easily fix that. It shan’t take more than a few minutes.”
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“There’s about forty of them outside waiting for me when I come to work. All shouting “Laissez l’Anglais chanter, laisser le chanter.” I let two of them in to explain, and they tell me that people come from all over just to ride with you and hear you sing. They say that guy who complained, he was hired by another tram operator. I didn’t believe them. I thought you put them up to it, but now I think those guys, they tell the truth.”
Bert was allowed to keep his job and was surprised when a few days later, his boss, Andre Lebrun, came on his tram and brought along his eighteen-year-old daughter, Yvette. They were both very taken with the way Bert managed to communicate with his passengers without speaking their language. When Yvette spotted the old man with the dog, Bert put his finger up to his lips and winked at her. She smiled knowingly and didn’t tell her father.
Bert often sang songs in English and his passengers soon picked up the words and sang along. There was usually one person riding the tram that managed to do a fair job of translating, so when he sang the song, “What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor,” everyone would holler out the words “Shave his belly with a rusty razor” or “Put on his back a mustard plaster.”
It was great fun and another song they all loved to sing was “Waltz me around again, Willy.” They would sway side to side as they sang, “Oh Waltz me around again Willie, around, around, around,” with such enthusiasm Bert was afraid they would tip the tram over.