Today's a Two-fer: Family Vacations

When your family income is only just above the poverty line, family vacations aren't usually high on the priority list. However, when you have a Mom like mine, there will be memorable family vacations for which she scrimped and saved and did without to provide. One such was the summer I was 11.

My mom's maternal grandparents lived in Esquimalt, BC. They were getting on in years and none of us but Mom had ever met them. She really wanted to see them both again before age took its inevitable toll so she saved up all the tips she made while working in the restaurant of the Alsask Hotel to pay for a tent and gas. Then off we went to BC in our little red 1962 Comet. We found a campground about 17 miles from their home and staked out our vacation home then made our visit.

My great-grandmother Cubitt was a very strong-willed lady; Margaret Thatcher could have learned from her. Mabel Shaw was born in Nottingham, England and came to Canada with her father when she was 18. They sailed from Liverpool in the spring of 1911 then took the train to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan where they made their first stop. There she met and married my great-grandfather, WJ Cubitt. Their lives took them ever westward until they retired in Esquimalt. WJ was a slightly built man who was content to allow his Mamie to wear the pants, so to speak. He was born in the village of Dilham, Norfolk; he was the first of his family to emigrate across the pond, arriving in June, 1910. His brothers Jack and George followed in 1913, then his parents and two sisters in 1921. The three boys answered the call, enlisting in the Canadian Expeditionary Force and fighting the Hun in Europe during the Great War. All three returned in good health at the end of the war, picking up the threads of their lives again.

The Cubitts' house on Lampson Street was small and chock-full of treasures from "home". Great-grandma was a proper lady despite her working-class upbringing; she liked her china, crystal and silver flatware to be prominently displayed. My mother was very taken with the mother-of-pearl handled fruit knives and fish forks. (Who uses that?) Another thing Great-grandma liked displayed prominently were the results of her hobbies. She was a prolific needlepointer; there were pillows and tapestries everywhere, including a cushion that I can still see clearly if I close my eyes. The cover had a Union Jack in the background and a British bulldog in the foreground. It was incredibly detailed and flawlessly executed. Also quite conspicuous in their sitting room were the crocheted poodles! There were wine and liquor bottles disguised as crocheted poodles in every colour in every corner of the room. I went home with a white and pink one!

Great-grandpa Cubitt also had a collection of interesting memorabilia. We looked on in awe when he pulled out a cavalry sword he'd brought back from the war, then showed us the medals he'd been awarded for meritorious service. My favourite part though was when he reverently uncovered his mandolin, gently tuned it then treated us to a mini-concert of sentimental old melodies. His fingers were remarkably nimble for an 83 year old man. To this day my heart swells when I hear the sweet strains of the mandolin.

We were totally stunned when Great-grandma Cubitt died suddenly in October of that year. We had really thought she'd outlive Great-grandpa just out of sheer determination. He was bereft without her and followed her to the hereafter 10 months later. Somewhere I have a postcard he wrote to me the day before he passed that bears the postmark of the day following his death. And just last week my cousin offered me some pieces of Great-grandma's china. Are you KIDDING me? Bring it on!!


The following summer we took a family vacation that didn't include visiting relatives. My memories of that vacation are little vignettes, like a slide show or maybe a postcard collection. We left Alsask in the little red Comet, which really wasn't road-worthy but it was what we had, and headed southwest to the border crossing at Coutts, Alberta.

Our first stop was in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, a very accurately named town in my opinion. Our campsite was barely off the highway on an old riverbed. The soil was so silty it got into everything and I don't think that tent was ever the same again. We drove south through Yellowstone National Park where none of nature's wonders were in evidence that day. We wanted to detour to see Old Faithful, but Dad didn't want to take the time. (His philosophy is: decide where you're going and go there by the most direct route in the shortest possible time.)

The incongruity of the Great Salt Lake and the imposing grandeur of Bryce Canyon followed Yellowstone and then we were in the desert. We stopped for gas and a pit stop in Arizona then decided to get ice cream before continuing on. Mom discovered that she'd left her purse - with all our money - in the restroom at the service station. Just as she was about to lose her mind, a woman came up to her and asked her if she'd left her purse behind. Thank God for honest people! On we went to Las Vegas.

The time we spent there is a kaleidoscope of images: casinos, noise, heat, confusion. We stayed in a motel far off the Strip with a cracked and scummy pool; I scarcely remember anything more. Our travels took us to the southwest rim of the Grand Canyon. I was amazed to see people riding donkeys down a razor-thin trail clinging to the walls of rock, down into the base of the canyon. It was here that I first realized my fear of heights. Standing with my back to the railing of a lookout created such abject terror in me I could hardly breathe. Mom has pictures of us at that lookout, but I don't know that I could look at them. Then it was back to Vegas for another night before we hit the road again.

Our next stop was a campground in the Santa Ana mountains in California. It was very hot and dry; the fire risk was sky-high and there was an open-flame ban in the park. My only memory of that campground was of watching Mom shave her legs using a basin of water and Dad's old double-edged razor. The next day we drove into LA so that we could go to Disneyland. It was the summer that the Haunted Mansion opened and we took that ride twice, it was SO much fun. The parking lot held license plates from all over the world. I remember heat, sunshine and Tomorrowland. The following day we went to a beach so that we could swim in the ocean. Only problem with that was that it was a surfer's beach and the water was too rough to really swim in. Then it was time to go home.

The trip back was not memorable for anything except for the fact that the Comet was having problems fulfilling its role as family transportation. The starter went and the only way to get the engine started was to push the car until it reached a speed that it could be coerced into running. Mom, who didn't drive, push-started that car three mornings in a row; no one even thought to offer her a hand, except for a one-armed man who helped her push it up a little incline. Our last stop on the way home was in Great Falls, Montana. We visited with friends overnight and then were home the next night.

The Comet's days were numbered. There were just too many things that needed to be fixed. We really didn't need a car in Alsask because we could walk everywhere, so for months we didn't have a car. Not long before we prepared to move to New Brunswick, Dad brought home a Mercury Meteor. Finally there'd actually be room for three kids in the backseat! Hallelujah!! Our next road trip would be MUCH more comfortable...