Working in western Canada also offered Catherine the prospect of new sights, new people and new adventures. She looked forward to seeing a part of the country not visited very frequently by easterners. She sent out some job applications, and while awaiting replies, received the good news from Inspector Garvin that “as she had taught successfully for two years as principal of a 9-roomed school in Penetanguishene, Ont,” he was recommending that “her certificate (II Class) be endorsed for Urban and Rural Schools of 4 or more rooms.”3 She decided to use the holidays to upgrade her academic qualifications and enrolled in summer school at Toronto. Her friend Mary O’Connor, who had also resigned from the staff of the Penetanguishene school when she had realized she too would be displaced by the St. Joseph Sisters, joined her there. One day she announced suddenly, “Chief, I’m going with you, and if possible, I’m going to teach in the same school with you.”4 Catherine was delighted. The only one who did not feel any joy about her plan to move was her father. He pleaded with her not to go so far away, but she said she still needed as high a salary as she could possibly earn, as she had to look after him.
Preparations were made to leave in late August 1918, and the two women travelled west together. They went by boat to Fort William, and in Winnipeg they arranged at a school employment bureau for a school at Kerrobert, Saskatchewan, for Mary O’Connor’s sister, Helen. She, too, had decided to join them in the western adventure, and arrived shortly to take up her duties at the Saskatchewan school. Catherine had also found positions for Mary and herself in Stettler, Alberta, a small town in the ranching country about 120 miles northeast of Calgary. But they thought they might prefer southern Alberta, so Catherine went to investigate the possibilities south of Lethbridge while Mary proceeded to Stettler to inspect the territory. As the Lethbridge lead proved false, Catherine caught the train to Stettler. There Mary and the school inspector, Mr. Thibodeau, greeted her at the station with the welcome news that everything was now arranged. Two vacancies were available in two rural one-room public schools, about five miles apart. Catherine would teach in one of them and board at the Claey ranch; Mary would teach in the second school, board at a ranch near her school, and join Catherine on the weekends.
They were soon introduced to western ranch life, as they were hospitably received by new friends who took them around the beautiful countryside and also arranged for them to go to church. They heard that although some Catholics were settled in the area, there was no Catholic parish church in the district. Their friends introduced them to a French Catholic family who lived in the area on the Genore Ranch and had built their own tiny private chapel in their house. When a priest was available, which might be about once a month, Mass was celebrated there for their family. They were told that they were welcome to attend. Catherine solved her transportation problem by breaking in a young horse which belonged to her landlady, Mrs. Charles Claey. She could now ride to visit her friends and also go to nearby Erskine, five miles away, for the mail. Classes at their schools commenced in September 1918.
The First World War ended in November, and brought the first contingents of soldiers home to families and friends. A delirium of joy swept through the nation, as Canadians anticipated happy reunions. But an epidemic of influenza had started in Europe in early 1918, and soon spread rapidly. It was brought into Canada by soldiers who had small resistance to the disease, for they had been weakened by constant fatigue, poor food, and years of living in the cold, damp trenches of the Western Front. The two women had only been teaching in Alberta for about six weeks when the dreaded Spanish flu struck their district with sudden and widespread virulence. It was a particularly dangerous strain of the disease, as it struck down young and healthy parents as well as their vulnerable babies and the elderly.
The Alberta government acted swiftly; by mid-November the schools were ordered to close indefinitely, and the teachers were requested to volunteer their services as nurses for the desperately ill families. Living in isolated farmhouses, often miles apart from their neighbours and far from the town, the poor homesteaders had no means of getting medical aid. In many cases, the whole family was struck down with the disease which could kill within a few days of contagion. In the Stettler area, the young couple whose private chapel Mary and Catherine had occasionally attended both died after only four days’ illness. The two women themselves felt they had to answer the call for volunteers, and prepared to undertake home nursing duties. They had taken a St. John Ambulance course in Penetanguishene, but neither of them had ever worked under such life-threatening conditions.
They were immediately assigned to their first case out in the country by the local doctor who, with the help of his wife, was struggling to organize help for his patients. In a farm home a father, mother, their baby and a baby cousin (who had been taken from his home when his sick parents became unable to care for him), were all dangerously ill. There were no drugs and many patients were dying from secondary pneumonia infections. The only curative measures the doctor could suggest were rest, nourishing fluids like chicken soup, and the traditional home-made mustard or onion plasters (the latter were to be used on the babies) to relieve chest congestion. There was no suitable food in the house, so Catherine went out to their hen-house, killed two of the chickens and prepared chicken soup for them all. Throughout the night Catherine nursed and fed the parents while Mary cared for the little ones. By morning Mary had also caught the flu, and Catherine now had five patients. When the doctor came by, it was obvious she needed help. He arranged to get all of them driven into Erskine, where he had commandeered the local Protestant church and turned it into a makeshift hospital. The beds were all occupied. After much difficulty, Catherine managed to scrounge another bed for her friend. For the next week she herself used a bench or a mat on the floor when she could take a break from nursing her five patients. Miraculously, Catherine escaped infection although she was ready to collapse from fatigue when finally more nursing help arrived. Catherine and Mary were then able to return to Claey’s ranch.
She soon took on another flu case: a farmer whose wife had recently died, and whose housekeeper had left him and his two children alone and sick. Mary O’Connor came too, although she was still too weak to do anything strenuous. It was fortunate that Catherine was a farmer’s daughter, for in addition to her nursing duties, she had to look after their valuable farm animals.
We slaved inside the house and out. The cattle had to be watered. We ran the pumping apparatus … We got the patients on their feet again. The boy and girl raced to the telephone to listen to the neighbours’ conversation. Then we knew they were O.K. We knew too, that materialism was the god of the home. The man had set his heart on securing a good wife — Miss O’C. We left as soon as we could possibly get away.5
By Christmas they were back home in Catherine’s quarters where they discussed the harrowing experiences of the last seven weeks. The most disturbing aspect of their nursing experiences, they agreed, was the absence of any recognition by their patients that they might also need some spiritual help when they were all facing possible death. Nor was there ever any expression of gratitude to God for their survival for, “There was no sign of faith in God, or resort to prayer in the homes where we nursed; rather the atmosphere everywhere breathed materialism.”6
They liked the people in the district, and Catherine knew