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Letters From the Ranch

by Nancy Lee Tegart and Sharon Wass

175 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2239; ISBN 1-4120-1861-7; US$18.00, C$21.00, EUR15.00, £10.50

Letters From the Ranch tells the life story of Nancy Lee Tegart, an independent woman spanning 50 years of managing ranches and service with the women's division of the RCAF.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book Nancy Lee Tegart is an independent woman who has never in her 90+ years allowed society to dictate how she should live. Born in England, Nancy moved to Edgewater in Southwestern British Columbia in 1927. She was allowed to leave school in the Depression years to help on her uncle's ranch. No matter where life has led her since then, her heart has remained firmly in the Columbia Valley with the horses that she loves. Follow Nancy as she leads a gypsy life across British Columbia and Alberta and overseas to serve her country in WWII. Her faith in God and love of animals has sustained Nancy through good times and bad. Letters from the Ranch is a two-part book; the first part is a narrative of this remarkable woman's life co-written by Sharon Wass, the second half consists of Nancy's annual Christmas letters that she sent to friends and family over forty years.

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About the Author Nancy Tegart and Sharon Wass, both residents of the Columbia Valley met at a writer's conference several years ago. When Nancy mentioned an intention to compile a collection of Christmas letters, Sharon offered to give her a hand when she was ready. Ten years later, the phone call came, "Can you help me write a story about a horse?" 35 pages later, Sharon suggested the short story become a biography and a loving partnership was formed. The published author of poems, children's stories and cookbooks, this is Sharon's first work of this length.

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Excerpts

Radium Hot Springs- Excerpt from page 22

I remember another trip to Blakley's Hotel with "Dick," who was always a mischievous horse. "Dick" was hitched to the cutter and tied at the Blakley's Hotel while I was having lunch with Ed Orr. Ed was an elderly man with a limp who was the gatekeeper for the Kootenay National Park. He also used to cut hair for the local folk. Ed was going to cut my hair at the gate, which was about a hundred yards from the hotel. I wanted to take "Dick" with us, but Ed, a knowledgeable horseman, said, "Oh, he's all right." So I gave in, much to my ultimate sorrow.

Ed had apparently forgotten all about "Jock", a beautiful, black, part-thoroughbred horse that belonged to the RCMP. Constable Summerfield was in charge at Radium, where "Jock" was stabled beside his home (on the ground where Radium Lodge now stands). The RCMP, like everyone else, depended on horses for much of their transportation. Every day, it was the custom to let "Jock" loose to go down to the creek for water. In doing so, the trail went down beside the hotel. I was watching while perched on a high stool in Ed's office and saw "Jock" prance up to "Dick" to play. I was recently informed that eight-year old Herb Blakley tried to stop Jock, only to have Jock turn on him.

"Jock" started nibbling poor "Dick" who finally reared up, broke his halter rope and took off out of sight with the cutter swishing from side to side. I tore out of the office, hair half cut, with poor, lame Ed hobbling behind me. All I saw when I reached the corner opposite the hotel, was milk bottles all over the road. Looking anxiously for the horses, I saw them standing quietly, "Dick's" blanket half on, half off, under some trees up the bank. The cutter was on a stump, harness in shreds. I was in shock thinking I would never be allowed to drive again. Ed consoled me as he pulled the cutter off the stump, "Don't worry, we will fix things up."

RCAF-Women's Division- Excerpt from page 47-50

England took some getting used to. There was the weather for one thing. Duty on the runways in the fall in skirts was not exactly pleasant. Battle dress, with trousers, did not come in until later in our time in Britain. What a relief that was. One comic aspect was that our off duty slacks were pale in colour and the English WAAF's thought they were pyjamas. Then there was the driving. I remember my first day in English traffic as if it were yesterday. I was rolling merrily along in open country on a beautiful sunny day, in a three-ton, cab over engine Bedford, with no traffic in sight, when I saw another vehicle on the wrong side of the road. Then I realized, of course, that it was I on the wrong side! I didn't make that mistake again.

There was a minor incident while at Allerton. In my experience as a civilian I had always found it most efficient to take concerns directly to the person in charge. I made the mistake of taking my problem directly to the superior officer rather than go through the ranks of junior officers. This was not acceptable behaviour. As a result I found I was soon posted to Linton-on-Ouse, near York......Mostly I was on the ration lorry, but occasionally I would be detailed to an officer's run. Some days I had to drive a small standard van, which I disliked because the accelerator pedal was so small. Occasionally I had to drive staff cars in London, or in Torquay, Devon. Like all the drivers, I spent much of my on-duty time in the Transport Driver waiting room, waiting for calls to drive anywhere, anytime....

Linton was only a few miles out of York where I found a livery stable. I offered to clean the stables and exercise the horses. The army had commandeered most of the horses, but the owner still had a nice little mare called "Brenda". One day he finally gave me permission to go for a ride along the river. Coming home I spotted a log and thought she could jump it, something I had never done before in an English saddle. Well, "Brenda" dumped me! Fortunately, I was experienced enough not to let go of the reins, which in English riding are joined together, making it difficult to hang on. I made it back to the stables and was happily unsaddling thinking that no one would know, when the owner said, "So she dumped you, eh?" Well of course, the ground is always damp over there. My pants told the story!

Wanderings- Excerpt from page 54

After Christmas, I worked for Brewsters' at the Sunshine Ski Lodge a few miles west of Banff. Back then it was inaccessible except by snowmobile. I took a job as both waitress and housekeeper and since part of the job entailed free skiing, I hoped to learn to ski. Unfortunately, my weak knee kept me from skiing a lot, and one day on the bunny run I injured it again.

There were no condominiums back then, just a little log lodge. I became friends with Thelma, one of my colleagues, who came with me evenings to assist the big Chinese chef with his vegetable prep work. For some reason he had it in for the other girls. Fern Brewster, owner of the lodge, had to sit in the kitchen to prevent him from scaring the other girls with a large kitchen knife.

Hidden Valley- Excerpt from page 72

Many were the calving adventures I went through. One black Angus-Shorthorn was so belligerent that I couldn't get near her or her calf. Early spring calving meant calves were often born out in the snow even though I had an open barn for them. One spring this little black cow had her calf near the barn out in the snow. I had to climb up to the loft above the cow-calf scene, throw a rope round the calf's neck, and pull it to safety in the dry shelter. Needless to say, mother was not grateful. She was always a devoted mother to the point of being a nuisance. When she came back from the water hole she wanted back in with her calf. If the gate wasn't open she would go over the fence. I had to watch for the cows returning and rush down to open the gate to the corral. I didn't want to encourage her fence climbing. Her calves always made a top of around 500 lbs. weight in the fall. Fritz Maurer bought her and I often wondered how he coped with her.

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Catalogue Information

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