Our Toils Obscure and A’ That

Canadian Pacific Railway

Canadian Pacific track, 1881, Fraser Valley 



Cascade Mountains

The green Armstrong plaid  had once been a fearsome sight along Scotland’s  border, being  the tartan worn by rustlers and ruffians.  Reluctantly adopting a more settled life, later generations of Armstrong men went down into the coal mine dungeons near Edinburgh to eke out a precarious living for their families.  The course of my family history began when my grandfather Armstrong  glimpsed brighter days in Canada’s West.  His sense of adventure may have been inspired by his cousin’s letters back to the old country from the Canadian frontier, filled with yarns spun from scouting a passage for the Canadian Pacific Railway through the forbidding barrier of the Rockies.

[I’m re-posting this today in honor of the birthday of Scotland’s national poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796).  The title is a line from one of his poems, “A Man’s a Man for A’That”]

Tam Armstrong secured passage for his family on a ship out of Glasgow, bound across the wine dark sea for Nova Scotia.  Along with various Stuarts, McEwens, and Smiths, they traversed the Atlantic, the convoy dodging U-boats during the First World War.  Upon arrival in Halifax, they took a train across the verdant  farmlands of eastern Canada to Toronto.  From there, the CPR tracks reached to the north shore of Lake Superior, left that great inland sea behind, and struck out through the tractless pines and muskeg of Ontario’s wilderness.  Finally, the train took the Armstrongs over the prairie, golden with wheat waving in the summer winds, to a coal-mining town on the eastern slope of the Rockies.

My mother often reminisced to me about her home town of Nordegg, an outpost of human activity encircled by the dark silence of the forests.     Over the years, I heard a hundred stories, and remain firmly convinced that a few at least were true.  Cougars sometimes strayed into Nordegg’s streets, and family legend held that one cat chased Uncle Andrew into his house.  The Stoney Indians often showed up in town, and later disappeared back into the wilderness after having beguiled the white man in the Indian barter.

Yet, this mining town’s frontier brashness often yielded to Old Country courtesies.  Nordegg was no rough-and-tumble mining camp, my mother insisted.  A golf course, albeit with sand “greens,” followed the Saskatchewan River, grey with silt from melting glaciers at its headwaters.  My mother’s Uncle Jock soloed on trumpet, when he was not anchoring the Nordegg brass ensemble.  Proudly, my mother recalled the Literary Club, where miners discussed novels and plays, naturally with a Scottish burr.  As her anecdotes sparkled, I imagined that the cultural life provided a welcome tonic for the deadening drudgery of mining coal.

But not all her memories spoke of the promise of spring.  One October day, the mine’s whistle had screamed.  Terrified wives and mothers ran to discover what they really did not want to know.  Twenty-nine families mourned.  Nordegg wore black.   Uncle Jock, a pit boss whose warnings on hazardous conditions went unheeded, was among those who did not come up from underground.  The newspaper articles about the disaster mentioned that Jock himself had lost a brother to a prior mine cave-in.

Beneath an autumn sky the color of lead, the funeral procession descended the hill along main street, black flatbed trucks each bearing six flower-draped coffins to the special cemetery plot.  The entire town turned out, many trudging behind the trucks, while others mutely watched from the sidewalk, men and women with bared heads bowed, their faces ashen.

Sometime after the empty trucks returned to the mine, and the sidewalk witnesses retreated to the privacy of their homes, to the privacy of their sorrow and despair, the mine workers’ union built a monument at the cemetery.  The simple stone sentinel bore the names of those lost.  Thirty years later, on a family vacation, I had watched my mother weep at the grave site.  “Jimmy McLaughlin, he was only eighteen,” was all she said.

The Nordegg mine, no longer profitable, closed after the Second War.  The town soon followed, and cougars met no people in Nordegg streets.  My grandparents, hoping to start anew, moved to nearby Edmonton.  Neither my grandfather nor his descendants ever went into a coal mine again.


6 thoughts on “Our Toils Obscure and A’ That

  1. Sha'Tara

    Fascinating documentary/historical anecdote. I’ve lived most of my life between Peace River, Alberta, and the Fraser Valley, B.C. (where I now reside) but I’ve never seen Nordegg, as it is located between the two main highways I’ve used time and again crossing the Rockies: the Tete Jaune, Jasper route to Edmonton, or the #1 through Banff to Calgary. I’m heading up to Fort McMurray in April to do some volunteer rebuilding from the wild fires and floods, so maybe on the way back I’ll make a little detour and look in on Nordegg. My road partner is a Mennonite history buff and retired teacher, he’ll probably go along with an overnight in Nordegg. Thanks for a most interesting read.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Tom Schultz Post author

      Glad you enjoyed. I’ve never been to Peace River, but have driven through or taken the train through the Fraser Valley. Great memories! I guess you could get to Nordegg either via Red Deer/ Rocky Mountain House or via the David Thompson hiway from the Icefields Parkway. The latter is certainly a spectacular route in the summer. In the winter? Snow issues?


      1. Sha'Tara

        Yes, Nordegg in Winter? Probably not! But since I’ll be coming back from mosquito country in June, most of the snow drifts should be melted by then!!! Just kidding, although I’ve seen some impressing drifts driving through the pass in May. Thanks again for the story – wonderful reading. I’ll take more, anytime!!!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Tom Schultz Post author

        I remember being at Lake Louise in mid-May and seeing 6 inches of snow on the ground with the lake frozen over. Also, seeing snow flurries at the Columbia Icefields in mid-June. Had fun both times!


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