Somewhere in Prince Albert there is a house--or later replacement of it--where something happened in 1937 without which I would never have come into existence. (OK, no need to cheer..) It was the marriage of my mother and father, Alfred and Donelda (ne Sutherland) Chamberlain.

In October of 2022, in a hall a few miles north of PA, Alfred and Donelda’s great grand daughter Alexandra Hordal married Thomas Foran.

Somehow I managed to miss both those weddings. The first one because I wasn’t born until more than a year after it took place. And the second because, though Esther and I were invited, we couldn’t, due to circumstance,  make it to the ceremony, settling for the reception. But when we drove north of the city we couldn’t determine which road leading off the highway was the right one. We tried two or three, we even discovered there was another hall with the same name as the one at our destination. Soon we were--as seems often the case in my experience--hopelessly lost. Eventually we got my brother Jim on the phone,  he drove to a spot where we could find him and he led us to the hall.

By this time the supper was over, of course, and we were hungry, but the cooks quickly got us a very fine meal, that and a little wine and a warm welcome soon  soothed our muddled minds.

Now the difference between those two weddings is monumental; my mind finds  it hard to conceive of the contrast. My mother and dad lived on farms near Snowden, more than 100 km east of Prince Albert. They likely travelled by train to the city. The marriage took place in the home of the minister who married them. There was no wedding party, no one there but themselves, the minister, possibly his wife. They had eloped. Likely they ate in a restaurant and spent the night in a hotel. I’m looking at a small black and white snapshot taken just outside the clergyman’s house. It is the only wedding photo.

My mother has a long, fairly nice dress on. Dad has no suit coat on. I don’t know if he had taken it off because he was too hot or if he simply had no suit coat. These were hard times. His family, like most of our neighbours, had recently moved to the northern grain belt because they had been financially ruined by the drought in the southern part of the province. They took homesteads,  which had to be cleared of bush and broke for cultivation before they could plant many acres. 

They would have been amazed at the wedding of Alex and Thomas. At how elaborate the preparations were. The decorations were beautiful, the food was extremely good and  plentiful, the music danceable. A camera took the image of every guest and it was immediately and automatically transferred to the guest book. The whole affair was  impressive but not  extravagant, everyone was made to feel comfortable and welcome. But Alfred and Donelda  would have found it stunningly lavish. 

There were three bridesmaids, three best men and two flower girls. There were 15 direct descendants of Alfred and Donelda there with a total of  about 90 people present.  The 1937 newlyweds, if they could have been somehow brought from the great beyond to the wedding, would have--after a few moments of disbelief--thoroughly enjoyed themselves. The wedding party and all the guests I came across were friendly, respectful and cheerful. My dad, a lover of conversation, would soon have been sharing tales with everyone. My mother would have been beaming with pride.

It was a memorable occasion . I’ve never lived in PA but many of my relatives have--still do--and I’ve spent a huge amount of time there over the years.  And as I drive those streets I always wonder just where the house is or was at the time of that long ago wedding that made the recent one possible. I wish I knew.

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