Sheldon and I were cuddled up together in our hotel bed, desperately tired and unable to sleep. Our second floor room was right over the doors to the local beer parlour. People had been coming and going, laughing and shouting to one another all evening. “It should be quiet soon,” said Sheldon. “They close at midnight on week days, and this is Monday.” He gave me a hug. “Tomorrow is the 29th, Marjorie, your birthday, and we will be moving into our first home!” We were excited and thrilled. The street noise was fading – and we fell asleep almost mid-sentence. We were young—both 23—strong and healthy, but we had a right to be exhausted. The last two weeks could be called momentous, life changing, or just plain hectic!
It was May 1945. On Wednesday the 16th I had sat with my parents and Sheldon’s mother through the convocation service for Sheldon and the other graduates. Later with our friends, we celebrated far into the night. The next morning both families were heading back to Calgary, for on Saturday the 19th we were to be married. Tight planning you say – and so it was. We had tried for earlier, a year earlier in fact, but had yielded to our respective parents’ strong objections to our launching into marriage before Sheldon graduated. Our cooperation was based on their agreement to a wedding right after his graduation. Little did we or our parents know that we would end up having 11 days in which to graduate, get married, squeeze in a few days in Banff and a few in Lethbridge with his mother and her friends, and get to Saskatoon on May 26th to report for work with one of Imperial Oil’s seismic crews. Continue reading