Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël, 1945.
My Dears, both Esther and Roy –
Last Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël,-sheer distance alone made it seem enchanting to write you
from Old Crow. This year events make me feel like shouting Happy Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël
from the top of our Crow Mountain !
To think that meanwhile we have experienced the great realisation of war's
From V.E. Day forward we flew our flags to shreds in these Arctic gales.
When the natives returned, in late June, from their ratting season on Crow
Flats, they said the first sight of the flags - from across the river told
the news, and that they were beautiful to behold. Since then life here, with
its key-note of happiness goes on as before. It seems almost as though some
implicit faith in ultimate good is the guiding star, for despite the war clouds,
these people lived happily, and so they do now, despite the peace clouds. I
find myself taking courage from them - from their simplicity. Actually they
have so little - there is the everlasting struggle in such a cold climate,
for the absolute necessities of life - but they always manage somehow.
So, to think season's greetings in the spirit of Old Crow, is my best way
of reaching you across the miles.
Once again, Hello Folks,
Doesn't seem a year ago, does it, since we sent you our first Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël letter?
- but time flies even here at Old Crow, and we must be sending you our heartiest
Good Wishes for the Xmas season. May it be a real happy one for you!
We have now been through a whole round of one year's activities here; we have
seen our boat load of supplies coming in and have got lots of kick out of some
of our new things - just as the natives do. We have seen our boats beached
in the Fall before the river freezes up. The natives going on their caribou-hunt,
coming home with plenty of fresh meat which is a very important feature
as we have no butcher here and depend almost entirely on caribou meat. Then
in the winter we have seen the men (and women) go out to their trap lines with
their dog-teams. Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël brought its round of festivities, its dances by
the natives - always very picturesque -and ‘potlatches'. Later oh, in the spring
they were off again out to the musk-rat trapping-grounds. This literally is
their harvest and everybody, except the very old and the sick leaves with high
hopes of a good catch. It is an interesting sight to watch them leave, too.
Out by dog-team; in a month or so back again in boats made of canvas. Then
the resulting rush and bustle of counting and packing the skins; the natives'
pleasure in getting new things and of course the inevitable ‘fresh oranges,
apples and eggs'. So – as I said, we have seen all this and although naturally,
we have our anxious moments even up here, yet there is no little thrill to
Once again, Cheerio and Good Luck, Claud