Geoffrey, Profle of a Remittance Man in Edmonton.

Geoffrey had knocked about in Western Canada for a few years carrying his two brown suitcases that were fastened with leather belts. The 150 pounds Sterling he had arrived with had gone. His polo stick and croquet set had been left in a barn at Cooking Lake. When asked why, Geoffrey replied, “I just couldn’t manage to stook ten acres of wheat in a few days and left the farm rather hurriedly.”


His favorite cricket bat and wooden tennis racquet were always strapped to his scuffed suitcases. I never saw him use them, although the Garneau tennis courts and cricket fields were close by. My father though they were stage props to emphasizes that “the English upper classes still have the upper hand” in the sporting fields in the colonies.


Geoffrey came to our house in the midwinter of 1930. He was a well-educated Englishman, the second son of aristocratic parents. A remittance man, Geoffrey’s remittance cheques from home that ensured he would never return to England ad embarrass the family. Sometimes the money and single malt scotch whiskey would run out and he’s be forced to drink dad’s Canadian rye and find a job.


Geoffrey had a sense of class and panache. He was a good actor and joined the little theatre in Edmonton. Geoffrey had a great stage presence and had a marvelous speaking voice. When the leading man at a dress rehearsal developed laryngitis, Geoffrey filled in with skill and alacrity. He fit the part and his handsome profile, accent and stage presence fit Noel Coward’s drawing room comedy. He was a hit, a natural thespian.


After a rehearsal of the play, it was discovered that Geoffrey had no place to lodge. My mother, Elizabeth – the director, took Geoffrey under her wing and brought him home. He stayed off and on for four years. Sometimes he slept on the couch in the front room and occasionally on a single cot by the furnace room.


He still possessed his best suit of plus fours, socks and six detachable collars. His common cry was “where are those deuced collars, buttons and cuff links.”


Whiskey and debating filled Geoffrey’s time. To be president of the Anti-Prohibitionist League was right up his alley. He knew how to conduct a meeting and to charm the members of the Women’s Temperance League. He was great at costume parties, but always needed a drink of scotch to warm the cockles of his heart.


Geoffrey was always carefree and charming. He liked to wear an English rose in his lapel but never felt he was a thorn in the side of the empire. To avoid economic worry, he kept busy and was always on the look out for women with money.


Finally mother found him a job with the University of Alberta radio station, CKUA. The radio station was directly across from my mother’s office in the Department of Extension at the University. His mellifluous voice and English accent wowed the Edmontonians.


Geoffrey eventually found a permanent job as a radio announcer in Grande Prairie and maintained Grande Prairie was only “a $50.00 trip from anywhere.”


My mother had employed a live-in babysitter named May. Mother did not tall May about Geoffrey. During a winter snowstorm, he arrived about midnight from Grande Prairie. He had taken the streetcar from the CNR station to our house. He left his bags in the hall and stretched out on the sofa with his coat over him. His snores awakened May.


She crept down the stairs, unstrapped his cricket bat from his suitcase and crept up to the sleeping man. She raised the bat and clobbered the apparent intruder.


“My God, you’ve broken my nose,” Geoffrey shouted. We all heard the commotion ad ran downstairs. My father grabbed a towel and stanched the flow of blood before it stained the oriental carpet and new chesterfield.


A few days later, Geoffrey announced in muffled tones, “that his nose was getting better the bruising was subsiding.” With dad’s help he bought a one-way train ticket to Toronto.


A few months later, we received a letter thanking us for a warm four years. Geoffrey was working as a radio announcer for the CBC and had met a wealthy woman of the horsy set. He was looking forward to a life of polo, theatre, scotch whiskey and marital bliss.


The letter contained a cheque for fifty dollars and was signed “with love Geoffrey.”