In 1969

 In 1969
     by Douglas the Blind

In 1969 Marty travelled with me to British Columbia by CN rail at Christmas time. She had never been to British Columbia before and I was excited to show her the mountains. Marty had just turned 19 a month before and, being as young, intelligent and pretty as she was, I had the most agreeable companion I could have wanted. The  intention was to visit my parents who lived in Abbotsford where they had moved the year before. Our excitement was exquisite and that excitement can even now always be revisited in the letters that I have kept from those days. The ones I wrote are gone but the ones Martha wrote to me I still possess. 
     As I am sure you know, the ride to BC begins in Manitoba with farmland now all covered in snow, flat as the proverbial pancake. By the time the locomotive enters Saskatchewan no sign of trees exists at all but only the flattest of countrysides where, as they say about such a geography, you can watch your dog run away for a whole week. 
     Alberta arrives as expected with the only new feature in the landscape being the donkeys pumping oil. All throughout Alberta’s flatland these pumpers rise and fall, rise and fall, arriving forever in the distance ahead and disappearing in the distance behind. Eventually, however, the donkeys disappear and instead the antelope zip about among hills that increasingly rise higher until they no longer may legitimately be named hills but just low mountains; and then, sudden as a tidal wave, they plunge upward and become Mount Robsons and other such impressive promontories.
     Of course, Marty had seen hills before but when we saw our first mountains she grew keenly interested. That wonder only increased as we passed Banff and then eventually came to the area around Revelstoke and Golden where the mountains and valleys rise to such great heights and fall to even greater depths.
     Eventually we made Hope and then Abbotsford and the home of my parents. The following day was Christmas Eve. I don’t recall everything that happened that evening but I do know that it was a joyful time. None of us children, none of the five of us children, knew the penury under which my parents labored. They graciously hosted us as if they were not pinched for money. But that is a story for another time. 
     Christmas morning came and the opening of presents. I had purchased Marty a special gift that, on looking back, I see typifies me and my personality and more than hints at the irregularity of the decisions I tended to make in those days. During the course of the distribution of the presents my turn came to give mine to Martha. I handed the package to her. She pulled out the gift and held it up for everyone to see. It was a sheer and very short nightie and bottoms set, lime green in colour with pink piping throughout. Even I felt a great sense of embarrassment at this moment, at the effect it had on everyone else. My father and mother were speechless. My brother and sister were quiet. Martha said not a word. I looked about and said something like, “She said she didn’t have anything to wear for the nighttime so I thought I would buy her something.” The embarrassment is long gone but I still sense its feelings when I remember it. 
     But most important, I had purchased a ring for Martha back in Winnipeg and the previous evening we’d had dinner at a restaurant, The Villa, on the outskirts of Vancouver. And, when I proposed, she said, “yes.” That evening left me deeply humbled and joyful. So, the giving of the nightie I thought was appropriate considering our great news, news that we were now a couple.
       That is the story of both my first trip to visit British Columbia with my love and the moment that I and Martha became engaged. Ent sohw jink et met uns en deij doejw ant en deij tieet.