A Rare Find: Ethel Ayres Bullymore. Donna Mann

played on the floor together, obviously not influenced by adult fears. They were completely absorbed in their game of jacks. Some little girls ran and played around their mum’s knees. How blessed they were to travel together.

      Sleeping and talking seemed to fill Ethel’s days. Several families in the surrounding sections had left children for educational, health or financial reasons, but even hearing that didn’t ease Ethel’s anguish. Memories of relationships in England saddened her, and she often changed the subject.

      Ethel walked on the steerage deck and the air blew fresh against her skin. The sunset boasted wide strips of grey across the okra sky, presenting a kaleidoscope of colour. The sky looked like a grand canopy. Thinking about her colleagues at the hospital and the various patients she’d grown fond of during her employment gave her a burst of encouragement. She hadn’t had many friends, just her family and fellow nurses. Perhaps it will be the same in Canada—but she hoped for friends. She breathed deeply and pulled her scarf around her neck as she turned back toward her sleeping quarters.

      Ethel lay on the bunk bed that night feeling a new comfort within the ship’s walls as its continuous movement rocked her. She thought about the prospect of nursing in Edmonton and remembered when that idea had intimidated her. On the crossing she’d been able to comfort several people, assist with a birth and share some of her home remedies. This had renewed her confidence about nursing in difficult situations. She’d met people who impressed her, disgusted her and blessed her, but she was glad to help all of them.

      The weather for the first part of the trip had offered fair skies, but not so for the latter.

      “The winds have picked up out of the south. We’re fighting them at seventy miles an hour,” a loud voice echoed through her quarters in the early morning.

      The vessel rolled and pitched. Word travelled fast that the ship was taking on water over the forward deck, and water was crashing against the portholes. People passed news around that men had secured the decks with ropes and chains to reduce stress and keep control as they worked to maintain their course.

      “Remember the man talking about ships having to catch waves at an angle during ocean storms? That’s got to take a bit of know-how,” Ethel said to the woman beside her at breakfast.

      “I know. I heard them too. One even talked about the risk of capsizing if the captain heads straight into the waves. Said he was afraid of breaking up the ship. We’ll know it if he chooses to take the waves broadside.”