32 It Happened in Iona

on the railway within my memory, it would appear that the great tempests that had disrupted train travel in the teens, 20s and 30s had pretty well blown out by the 405.

The city-bound train was due at Fodhla station around 8.30 a.m., but it was frequently late. Tickets could be purchased on the train as well as at the station. For some time, at least well into the 40s, a one-way fare to Charlottetown was sixty cents or a dollar and ten cents return. Once the train got moving, a conductor, often quite pompous in his uniform and carriage, would make a solemn appearance and call for tickets from the newly ascended passengers. He would then proceed to punch these cards with his silver snippers, the noise and appearance of which only added to his pomposity. That formality attended to, all settled in as the train moused its way station by station, around the loop at Vernon, and on to the city. Crossing the Hillsboro Bridge was done in extremely slow motion with a full stop half way through to ensure that the centre swing span was firmly in place. Having eventually made it across, the train did a Y procedure and backed slowly into the old stone station at the foot of Weymouth Street. Once on the platform, passengers were besieged by numerous taximen keen for business and shouting competitively: “Taxi up, sir, taxi up, lady.” Some well- remembered taxi operators of these days include Jimmy Power whose cars were usually rough and untidy and who would try to squeeze as many as eight country folk in each vehicle if he could get away with it, which he often did. Another was Joe Shelfoon, a very gracious man with a car usually a shade larger than the rest. Then there was always ‘_'I‘axi Dan” MacDonald, diplomatic and immaculately dressed who seemed to forever drive a 1937 Dodge sedan. To reach the city shortly before noon was common. To arrive by 11 am. was considered a swift journey.

The returning evening train left the station around 3.15 p.m., with the Tignish and Souris trains poised to embark at about the same time. To ensure that nobody got aboard the wrong express, neat signs were posted at the end of each which read like ours: “This train for Murray Harbour.” For the homeward journey a variety of newly-purchased merchandise, from wallpaper to horse collars, was much in evidence in the seats, on the floor and in the racks above. Conversation on the evening run was noticeably more elevated as events of the day in town were shared, often with a boost from the good spirits. Scheduled arrival at Fodhla was around 6 p.m., but this feat was