At the time my father, a CP engineer, was holding a regular assignment and as a senior fireman on a passenger run between Calgary and Medicine Hat Alberta and one evening, just after supper, he invited my twin brother Harold and me to accompany him on his way to work at Alyth Roundhouse. This shop was within a comfortable walking distance of our home in east Calgary. I suppose that we were around twelve at the time the two of us jumped at the chance to see part of what our father did for a living. I recollect Harold and me taking turns carrying Dad's heavy club bag while papa enjoyed his pipe during our leisurely stroll south along fifteenth street toward the 36 stall Alyth locomotive roundhouse. This suitcase contained not only his two lunches (one for going and one for coming) but also rule books, special instructions, time tables, electric torch, goggles, overalls, cap and gloves as well as his extra pipe and a reserve tobacco supply plus extra matches.

Soon we arrived at the booking out office where dad signed the book after comparing his large railway watch with the standard clock. Then we were introduced to his engineer (I wish I could remember his name) who invited us two young kids to walk with he and dad eastward toward the water tank where a very large shiny clean 4-6-4 Hudson locomotive was waiting for it's engineer and fireman. We climbed up were told to sit on the two seats on the left side of the cab while the engine crew (Dad and his engineer) went about checking the engine's supplies of shaker bar, grease gun, oil, grease, spare light bulbs, extra water glasses, flagging kit and green and white signal flags. Then Dad went up on the tender to check the coal and water supply as well as to see that the high rail and tank hook were in place behind the coal hopper. Then, after checking the mechanical stoker by feeding some coal to the firebox Dad cleaned the fire by moving both of the front sections of the firebox grates just enough to drop some ashes into the ash-pan above the four wheel trailing truck. Next Harold and I climbed down onto the ground to watch Dad open the ash-pans to dump the hot ashes onto the ties between the rails. When he opened the hinged side door panels of the ash-pans we could see the large, bright, hot coal fire up through the grates. When everything was closed below and the engineer was finished inspecting and oiling the running gear, we climbed aboard.

With all four of us safely in the locomotive cab the cylinder cocks were opened and clouds of wet steam blew out to both sides when the throttle was opened and that huge monster started to move forward toward the lead track on which we would back up to the west end of the yard. When we arrived there at a red signal the engineer blew one long blast on the whistle and soon the small low dwarf signal changed from red to green indicating that the Hudson was OK to back westward about three miles to Calgary's CP passenger station where a Montreal bound train was waiting. Approaching 12th street crossing Harold was invited, by the engineer, to blow the steam whistle ( two long, one short and one long ) to warn people and automobiles of our approach. After passing a clear (green) signal we approached 8th street crossing where I was invited to squeeze the whistle lever (located beside the reversing wheel) to blast a warning for all at the next level crossing. Soon my brother and I were told to sit on the third seat while the engine was slowed down then stopped before it was coupled onto the express cars which were on the head end of the twelve or fourteen car passenger train. We stayed in the cab while Dad turned the stoker on to build up the fire then open the valve to the steam heat line to heat the coaches.

The conductor climbed into the Hudson's cab about this time to have the engineer and his fireman read the train orders aloud and all three watches were checked. He asked if Harold and I were going to ride that locomotive to Medicine Hat and was informed that we would soon be getting off to return home via street car for which Dad gave us one adult ticket, which was worth ten cents; it would pay for the ride to east Calgary for the two of us kids because the fare for us was only a nickel. While waiting for our trolley over on Eighth Avenue, just north of the station, we heard the locomotive bell ringing and saw through clouds of steam from the cylinder cocks "Dad"s? long train pull out of depot one right on time. Harold and I both agreed that we would rather have been up in that Hudson's cab instead of just riding one of the electric street cars on Calgary's Municipal Street Railway,

Wouldn't you?