Patricia Norlander and son Stanley

I met my "husband to be," Albin Carl Norlander outside the YMCA in Sheffield whilst he was on a visit to relatives of an army buddy. Trying for a maturity I didn't yet possess, I pretended I was older than my seventeen years. Much to his surprise I hadn't aged any when he returned two years later and I was still only nineteen.

After being posted to Scotland for assault landing training, he left with his Loyal Edmonton Regiment to join other allied forces for the invasion of Sicily and the long struggle up the boot of Italy, the Battle for Ortona proving to be one of the tougher fights.

During this time we exchange many airmail letters and he sent me the money to buy an engagement ring.

Early in April of 1945, without warning, he arrived at my parents' house quite late at night accompanied by a different army buddy he had asked to be his best man. After a frantic week of preparations, not knowing whether we would be granted permission to marry (at the last minute it was), we were married on April 14th, 1945 at the All Saints Parish Church in Aston, the next village to where I lived. The Bride and her attendants all wore borrowed finery courtesy of kind neighbours who were horrified to learn the only new outfit I owned was a very smart black pin-stripe suit.

Further service time after hostilities ended on May 8th, 1945, was spent in England until he returned to Canada in January 1946 before our first son was born. By August of 1946 I had received word to report to a hostel in London where War Brides were gathered from various points in the UK before all were transported to Southampton to board the Queen Mary for our voyage to Canada. Like many other War Brides, my family waved good-bye as the local bus to Sheffield went pass my former home transporting myself, and my baby son, accompanied by a kindly neighbour. At the ripe old age of twenty years I don't think I even realized the enormous step I was taking, it all seemed like a big adventure. There had been some correspondence with my in-laws so I do not remember being afraid of my reception; after all, my husband was going to be there to welcome us to our new home.

On the Queen Mary, I was lucky enough to be assigned to a walnut paneled cabin equipped with four bunks and rope cribs attached to the side of each bunk and its own private bathroom. Throughout the ensuing voyage, my baby and I were the only occupants; I never knew the reason I was lucky enough to receive such luxury! Prior to boarding the ship I had teamed up with another War Bride from my area that also had a baby the same age as mine. Since I had a cari-cot to help make my traveling easier and she did not, we placed a baby in each other end of the cot and toted it around between us. Unfortunately, although I remember she was destined to live in Manitoba we did not stay in touch.

I much regret that, as she was also kind enough to loan me money after I was left destitute on board ship, having left my handbag in the movie theater we had attended. It was later returned to the purser's office with the money contents stolen. I finally shed the tears that had not fallen since leaving home. I was able to return the $30.00 by money order shortly after my arrival in Edmonton.

My husband met me in Edmonton and after a couple of days we travelled by train to the hamlet of Hay Lakes. I still remember that the sight of the false store fronts, the wooden sidewalks, where there were any sidewalks at all and the hitching rails all bespoke a scene straight out of a western movie of that era. My first home was with my sister-in-law who generously shared her small rented house; she had the patience of a saint with this new female in her household, and had already been left a widow with two small children, her Air Force husband having died in Belgium.

The first fall of 1946 saw my husband gain employment on a thrashing crew, which travelled from farm to farm. The women folk all pitched in to keep those hard working guys fed, taking lunches out to the fields in between the huge meals served back at the farmhouse. I remember my weight increasing dramatically on all the rich food.

By Christmas of 1946 we were settled in a two room abode on a homestead owned by my in-laws, miles from anywhere, dirt roads which became impassable when it rained, no indoor plumbing or electricity, water was hauled from a well some distance away. The bottom half of the walls of the main room were covered with a multi patterned linoleum, the colours of which were blinding. A coat of paint soon fixed that! The second room of the place was roughly built of logs and so cold that my husband had to constantly feed a wood burning space heater so that our baby son would not succumb to the frigid temperatures.

Our transportation was by way of horse and democrat; you can imagine what a traditional English trifle dessert looked like when it reached its destination having been transported over rough roads. To add insult to injury, guests at the Smorgasbord scooped helpings of it onto the same plate that held turkey and all the trimmings. I guess it was believed to be jellied salad! However, the good hearted Scandinavian community I had joined, soon presented this penniless couple with gifts of quilts, dishes, etc. to enable us to start our married life. I learned to cook something other than a malt loaf without eggs, which in rationed Britain had been the extent to which my Mother was prepared to trust my culinary endeavors. Other housekeeping chores came quite naturally to me, as the oldest of seven siblings I had expected to help out from an early age.

I remember being awed by the beauty of heavily frosted trees and bushes, and out on walks would pull my little son on a wooden sleigh, stopping sometimes to take a stick and draw in the snowbanks beside the road the words "Kilroy Was Here" does anyone remember that cartoon? I knew that my husband passing this spot on his return from picking up mail in Hay Lakes would witness my artwork.

I was taught how to shoot tin cans off the top of a fence post, but failed miserably other attempts to make a farm wife out of me. On one noteable occasion my husband had spent all one morning scouring the bush for the two horses we owned. I was instructed to stand at the top of a small hill, just before the entrance to the sod barn. My chore was to wave a broom, which supposedly would cause the horses to head into the barn.

Alas! As soon as I heard the thudding hooves, before the horses were even in sight --- I threw the broom down and lit out for the house. One mad husband, who had to seek for those wayward beasts again, was like Queen Victoria, not amused.

By May of 1947, with the help of the wonderful White family, we moved to Edmonton, my husband quickly found employment and we never looked back. A daughter and two more sons were added to our family and finally in 1960 a set of twin girls. One of the baby girls died five months later, such sadness.

My husband and I both worked very hard for many years, neither one of us having had a higher education. In 1979, I purchased an acreage near Mt. Robson, BC and with lots of help from our children we slowly developed a lovely home to which my husband retired in 1986. I retired there two years later, having achieved the pension benefits I needed. Lots of travelling back and forth between Edmonton and BC during those years as the home received its finishing touches.

Our children have enriched our lives, all have done well in their chosen careers, albeit not without struggle and efforts of their own. In 1997 we sold the acreage and moved back to Alberta to be nearer to our children, seven grandchildren, and our one great granddaughter, all of them the light of our lives. A second great grandchild is expected in February.

In October 1999, my steadfast partner of 54 plus years died of a heart attack. I later learned of and became a member of the Edmonton Branch of the Alberta War Brides Association and thoroughly enjoy the company of my fellow War Brides at the meeting and lunches held each month.

To celebrate my eightieth birthday, which falls in August this year I have booked a trip to Halifax for the last week in July. My oldest son and his wife, along with my youngest daughter, who are accompanying me, look forward as I do to visiting Pier 21.

Canada has provided me with opportunities I doubt would have come my way in the UK and I have never regretted that momentous decision to marry my Canuck.