Pearl (Gray) Bell

Pearl Gray was born in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, on November 22, 1925, and spent her childhood and adolescence there, as did I.

I first met Pearl in the summer of 1943 when I was but a young pup of 17. She was an “older woman”, being of the ripe old age of 17 1/2! My best friend, Cec, took me up to South Hill where she lived and introduced us, and after that encounter, I later found out she thought I was a “drip!”

However, I thought she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen and I persevered and “wore her down” so to speak, and to make a long story short, we ended up as an item.  On September 25, 1946, when I was 20 and she was 21, we were married at the United Church on High Street West in Moose Jaw. (Incidentally, we ended up renewing our vows 60 years later at the same church, in September of 2006.)

During the war, I had enlisted with the RCAF and trained as a Wireless Air Gunner, but was still in training when the war ended and thus was not sent overseas. After the war, I took a year-long training course and became a licensed wireless radio operator, trained in Morse code communication. 

I hired on with the Department of Transport and was promptly posted to Beatton River, B.C., as a wireless radio operator, a job I came to love. The Beatton River airport was part of the Northwest Staging Route, a vital part of aviation in the area at the time. Pearl and I had been married for but a few months when I spent a lonely Christmas in 1946 separated from her until I could prepare married living quarters, and then send for her.

In the spring of 1947, Pearl arrived at the Fort St. John airport in a Canadian Pacific Airlines DC-3. I picked her up and we were on our way to our new home, which was basically a shack, in the middle of ‘nowhere northern B.C.’ 

However, as it was my first foray into town from camp in more than a month, I needed a haircut. We left the airport in the work truck and headed to Fort St. John’s Main Street. I parked the truck outside the barber shop, which was separated from the street by a 10-foot-wide boardwalk. 

In those days, as ladies didn’t tend to frequent such establishments, Pearl said she’d stay in the vehicle and people-watch like we’d done many a time in “Tony” our ornery old 28 Buick, back in Moose Jaw.

I’d barely settled my butt in the barber’s chair when the door opened and my beautiful blonde bride entered and seated herself in a waiting area chair. Nobody complained.

She later explained to me that three drunks had been bodily expelled from the Pomeroy’s pub next door, with such great force that they had skated across the boardwalk and landed in the muddy street beyond. They regained their footing by grabbing hold of our truck and pulling themselves up, leering with mud-covered faces at Pearl, who hopped out the driver’s door and into the barber shop. 

Such was Pearl’s introduction to the wild and woolly north of British Columbia!

And that was just the beginning. After loading up with supplies for the camp, which anyone who came into town was obliged to do, and waiting until late so the night frost firmed up the surface, we headed north on the gravel Alcan Highway, joining with it at Milepost 49. We took a right turn off the highway at Milepost 73 onto our well-frosted dirt road, which we prayed would stay solid enough for us to make the 75-mile trek into Beatton River, our new home.

Anyone who has to make a long trip on a springtime dirt road prays for an uneventful journey, but it was not to be. Before I had left camp for town, the boss told me that he’d looked after the servicing of the vehicle, so “not to worry about a thing, Doug!” Turned out he’d forgotten the transmission. It had been kicking out of gear on me from time to time on the way in, and on the way home a few miles after crossing the Blueberry River bridge about 20 miles from the highway, it froze. I couldn’t move it.

As I was pondering what to do next, I happened to notice that a few patches of remaining snow had an odd pink tinge. With dread I checked the ground right outside my door and saw the glow. The transmission was on fire, and tiny flames were heading up the drive shaft, right for the gas tank. I panicked!

I shooed Pearl out of the truck and told her to get as far away as she could and stay in the headlights. I ran back and grabbed the blanket covering the groceries in the box and tried to smother the flames. 

The blanket worked. The fire was out. And it was pitch black and silent, very silent! We waited until the transmission was cold to the touch, and then got back into the truck. I hit the starter and it fired up immediately, adding to the heat of our toasty warm hug.

That’s when I discovered the meaning of what Pearl’s mother had meant when she said to me, “She has a way with her, Dewey.” Not once did she complain about any of the misadventures preceding her new way of life. In fact, while we were sitting in the truck waiting for rescue, the first thing she said was, “Now that everything is okay, I am too. As long as we’re together, everything will be fine.”

I then felt obliged to tell her about the bed we would be sleeping in. One of my fellow camp workers, skilled in fabricating, had fashioned an old metal double bunk into a double bed, but didn’t have enough metal left over to make legs. So what did greenhorn Dougie do?  Picked four skookum cutting blocks from the wood pile, evened them up as much as possible and then stuck them under the metal frame. Pearl’s response? - “I’ve always wanted a four-poster bed!”

Several hours later after having been rescued, the shack, our new home and my handiwork, loomed in our headlights. In we went, and once again in her way, Pearl checked out both ‘rooms’ and simply said, “It’s good to be home!”

At that moment, I realized the stunning magnificence of the woman I had married. They don't come any better nor any stronger nor any more beautiful. Over the next three years, through bearing our first child Linda in June of 1948, and raising her for her first two years in a bush camp without central heat and running water, she never uttered one word of complaint.

We lived there for three years in that two-room shack; then in 1950 we were transferred to Fort Nelson, where we moved into a brand-new house. What a difference!

The thing was, we were so used to the complete silence of the bush at night, all the noises of the modern appliances in our new home - the fridge, furnace, and clock to name but a few - kept us awake for nearly two weeks! 

In the years that followed, we moved from Fort Nelson (where Bernie was born in 1953) to Lethbridge, then to Watson Lake, then to Medicine Hat (where Bob was born in 1960) and finally in the fall of 1968 to Whitehorse, which became our final home.

During the entire time of our marriage, through three children, multiple relocations and several different career changes, Pearl was my inspiration, my muse and my reason for being. I could not have done anything I did without her by my side.

On June 23, 2010, at the age of 84, Pearl finally lost the battle with her fifth bout of cancer and passed away at Whitehorse General Hospital. I miss her dearly each and every day, and always will.