Once upon a time, a young man by the name of Claude
Duncan, met a young woman named Mabel Marney. Both
were attending Homer Institute, in Rocky Comfort, Missouri.
Claude was the eldest of seven children born to Robert
Perry Duncan and Lucinda Jane Scott Duncan. Mabel
was one of the seven of George and Minta Collins Marney.
Both families were close knit, and all of the children lived
in that area. Claude, age 22, and Mabel, age 20, were
married in 1910. A farm had been purchased near
Rocky, with a nice two storey home, and they set up
housekeeping there. In two years, a daughter named
Gwendolyn was born, the first grandchild in both families.
In 1916 a second daughter arrived, and was named
Valmorice. By all rights, they should have lived happily
ever after in their bit of Eden, alas, a villain came, in
the person of Floyd Wiley.

Floyd, a friend of Dads, had just returned from Western
Canada. He came to the house and undoubtedly
exaggerated the potential of prairie living. Dad fell for
his tales. It was not a very long time until Dad left to
see for himself. He first looked around Winnipeg, but
did not find a place he liked. Then he looked in
Saskatchewan, and on to Alberta. I have letters he
wrote to mother while he was on this search. In
Lethbridge he found what he wanted, closed the deal
and returned to Missouri. The news of this great move
was calamitous in the families. Mother took it especially
hard.

Preparations started at once. I think the farm was sold,
and a sale held to dispose of items they did not want to
move. Five freight cars were loaded with livestock,
equipment, including the Rumley tractor and threshing
machine, furniture, etc.. The etc. included a shot gun
and his wedding suit, which Mother donated to the Galt
Museum in later days. Dad went on a freight car. Days
or weeks later, Mother, Val and I left by passenger train.
The trip took several days and Dad met us at night in
Lethbridge. We stayed in a hotel overnight, and early
next morning set forth for the farm with a horse and buggy.
I have vivid memories of that day in August 1917. The
distance seemed endless - no tree in sight and few
houses just open space. The road was two ruts. The
sun seemed hotter than in the Ozarks. It was like a
different world. Then, as later, I lay the blame for all
misery on Floyd Wiley.

Dad bought the farm from the Leonard family who had
moved from Wisconsin. I believe the father was Frederick.
His son W.G. and his wife, Florence, also lived there.
They had two children, Julia, my age, and Miller, Val's age.
For many years they were our only friends. Mrs. Leonard
came close as she could to replacing Mother's three
sisters. Julia and I were friends until her death in 1993.

In 1917, when we moved, Dad did not know if he was going
to be drafted to go into the service for WW 1. In the end
he was deferred as the draft board decided he would do
more good for the country providing food. If the draft
board had known what the future held, he would have
had to go.

Things were bad enough in the summer, but then winter
arrived. Mother had been taught bedroom windows
should be left open for fresh air. She could not open
the storm windows, so she left the front door open.
One morning a neighbor came by, before Mother
had shovelled the snow drift out of the living room.
As I recall, it was Mame Laycock. She told Mother,
we did not need that much fresh air when the temperature
was forty degrees below zero. She probably saved our
lives. I remember the frost on the bedding in the mornings,
and going to bed with heated rocks.

When I was seven or eight I was designated to bring in
the cows. They were pastured in a square mile field,
that had two miles of coulee on the opposite side.
I went by horseback on old Boonie, also from Missouri.
One could see for miles, but the cows were always out
of sight in the coulee. If I went west, the cows were
south. If I went south, the cows were west. At that
time I could not understand, but now I know it was
Murphy's Law.

The first years were unbelievably difficult. For one thing
Dad did not know how to farm in Alberta. The weather
was not favorable. The winds were horrendous and
the top soil drifted. Hail storms destroyed entire fields
of grain. Sometimes snow came while the grain was in
stooks. Few things went the right way. In the fall Dad
did threshing for other farmers, thus utilizing the equipment
he had brought from Missouri. An aside - Dad was not given
to profanity, but he did get a lot of feeling into "Thunder",
and when exceedingly exasperated,'Thunder and lightning".

About 1918 the horrible influenza epidemic hit. Dad had
it first, but kept going as much as he could. Then Mother
became ill and she, Val and 1, were admitted to Galt
Hospital . During the winter of 1919 we rented rooms
in Lethbridge, corner of 9th Street and 6th Avenue,
from the Chapman brothers. Dad hauled coal and froze
his toes, but fortunately did not lose them. I started
school in the second grade at Central School and Mrs.
MacLeod was my teacher. I have a picture of the class
and believe several are still around. In the spring the rest
of the family went back to the farm, but I was boarded in
town and left behind. I believe it was in 1922 that we
had no crop and no money. Somehow, Mother, Val and
I went to Missouri and spent the winter with Mother's parents.
I have no idea how this trip was financed. Dad stayed on
the farm and survived by eating wheat.

Dad hated weeds and would hand weed all those hundreds
of acres of grain. He worked such long hours, he was
known as "Midnight Duncan". As the years passed, Dad
learned a lot about farming from experience and from
close contact with the Government Experimental Farm.
In the end, I think he was one of the best, if not The
Best farmer, in that area. I recall that after WW II he
got top dollar for his weed free seed through the Marshall
Plan.

The Community School was built on a part of Dad's land,
in 1923. The opposite corner of the section from where
we lived. Val and I attended, going by horse and buggy,
and eight others were enrolled. In winter, Dad got up
at 4 A.M. to go to the school on horseback, to start a
fire to heat the building.

From the time we arrived in Alberta, we attended the
First Baptist Church in Lethbridge. It was quite a trip
with horse and buggy. I do not remember when we
got our first car. Many of our friends were members
of that church.

In the early years of threshing, wheat was stored in
granaries. In winter it was hauled by horse and wagons
to the elevator in Lethbridge. The men would leave
early in the morning and get back in time to load the
wagons for the next day. Overnight the wagons would
freeze to the ground. I can still hear the crunch of
the breaking loose in the mornings. After the advent
of combines and trucks, the wheat was hauled directly
from the field to the elevator. I think I started hauling
wheat about age 12, and my sisters all had their stint.
Today, April 3, 1995, I had a flat tire. My first thought
was Dad's instructions given 65 or 70 years ago. He
said, "Always kick the tires before you start. " One
day I started and a wheel came off. Someone had
stolen one of the dual wheels, and if I had kicked,
I surely would have seen it was missing. I am sure that
evoked a roaring 'Thunder".

Sometime in the 20's we got a telephone, party line,
of course. That was a great day for Val and me.
Now we had entertainment - listening in. The one
name I remember is Barney Gwatkins. He had a girl
friend, whose name I have forgotten. One of them
was on our line, and that was our "Soap" of the day.
The phone brought another sound to the stillness of
those clear, cold nights. The wires hummed or whistled
a duet with the howling coyotes.

In 1925 our sister Patricia arrived and sister Barbara in
'28. About this time Dad bought a house in town and
Mother spent less time doing all the cooking on the farm.

When we arrived in 1917 the Felger Farm was established
one mile away. They had many painted buildings. (Our
three room house was not painted.) It was quite a set-up,
especially for those early days. They had a tragedy,
perhaps 1920: A fire started west of the buildings, and I
suppose the west wind was blowing. The stable was
destroyed and over 30 head of horses were killed.
The beautiful main house was also destroyed. Mr. and
Mrs. Harry Boulton had recently moved from England,
lived and worked there. They were our good friends
all the years. Their sons are still in the area.

Sometime in the 20's the Hutterite Colony bought the Felger
farm. About 1960 they bought Dads farm. Dad surely
deserved a rest after all his years of labor, but he worked
for the Colony until he became ill. He had suffered with
arthritis for a long time but then he had cancer which had
metastasized before it was discovered. The next year he
had massive strokes. The final blow was tuberculosis,
so he spent almost two years in the sanitarium in Calgary.
He succumbed December 21, 1966. Mother had a very
lonely life after he was gone. She lived on in Lethbridge,
and finally Calgary until June 13, 1980.

The four sisters had a reunion in Phoenix in November 1990.
Julia Leonard came for dinner one day. It was a happy
occasion. The next mouth Barbara became ill with a
brain cancer. She chose not to have treatments and had
a very good year till her demise December 7, 1991.
Patricia had surgery in early 1991, followed by complications
and she passed away in Febniary 1992. Val and I are still
hanging in, albeit the worse forwear!!

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