Billy admired his mother. She brought stability and strength into the home. His father, Thomas Jackson, provided for the family. The demands of his line of work made it necessary for him to be away for long periods of time. This placed the burden of family care and protection squarely on Irene’s shoulders. She was more than suited to the task. Born in Lac La Biche, Alberta, of Metis parentage, Irene demonstrated strength of character and determination to do what she thought was right no matter who opposed her. 

      Irene’s mother had a white father who was a Scottish sea-captain. When Irene married and came to live on the reserve, she became registered as a Treaty Indian. Irene was a warm, talkative woman who showed her affection by hugging her children and sitting down to talk with them. She probably did not approve of Thomas’s tendency to enjoy drinking with his friends from time to time. But she was not the kind of wife who bossed her husband. Both she and Thomas worked hard to keep their children clothed and fed. Irene was ready to do what­ever it took to care for her children. In season, she would take the whole family of kids out berry-picking. Bill remembers she always gave him a piece of chewing gum to discourage him from eating too many berries. Usually, it didn’t work. The gum got stuck on the rim of his cap until Billy had his fill of whatever berries they were picking that day. 

        “Mom was a great shot with a .22 rifle,” Bill adds. “She could hunt rabbits as good as anybody on the reserve.”

        So the family developed. It was neither rich, nor poor. From time to time, a little more food would have been welcome, but the Jacksons, particularly Billy, felt very average in comparison to the neighboring families on the reserve. Irene made many of the clothes for the family. When money was needed for storebought items, Thomas went to work on nearby farms, or did some extra logging. The money he got purchased the necessary coal oil, flour, tea and various other items from one of the four stores the town of Spedden had in those days. 

        There were other activities which helped to stretch the fam­ily budget, for example, duck hunting. Bill recalls one day when he, his sisters Adeline and Annie, and both parents were out duck hunting. Bill was fourteen at the time and Adeline was two years older. 

        “We had forgotten something, so Dad asked Adeline and me to go back for it,” Bill recounts. “I drove the team of horses pulling the wagon. With Adeline sitting beside me, we set off along the trail. Then I thought a shortcut would save time. So I pulled off the trail and headed over the meadow towards a body of wa­ter which lay across our path. We entered that body of water at full speed. Trouble was, the water level had risen a couple of feet higher than I thought It was.” 

        Forever after, Adeline and Bill remember the event differ­ently. Bill admits that the water came up to the wagon box and would have soaked their legs If they hadn’t stuck them up on the side of the box. He also insists that the horses were still running, not swimming, though he won’t argue that they might have been on tiptoe. As far as Bill is concerned, however, they were into and through the water in moments and there was no real danger. 

        “Bill nearly drowned me that day!” That’s Adeline’s memory of the ride. “Everything was floating and the wagon could easily have overturned. When we got safely to the other side, I told him there was no way we were going back by the same route. He had to take the trail—or I would be walking.”

        As adults, both Bill and Adeline have often chuckled about the whole thing. But, if Bill tries to say that there really was no danger, Adeline puts him right. 

        Besides duck hunting, there were other sources of help for Native communities. Periodically, the Canadian government, in the person of the Indian agent, visited the reserve where the Jacksons lived. Part of his job was to provide necessary items to make sure the people could get sufficient food and the means to live. Following the official government policy of trying to make farmers out of seminomadic fishermen and hunters, the Indian agent distributed binder twine, shotgun shells, and some other items. But, when it was all added up, the reserve could still hardly be called a center of materialism. However, sometimes there was a bit left over for special treats, like the time Thomas bought a radio.

        “It was the first radio on the reserve,” Bill shares. “A store-owner from Spedden called Isaac Stern sold it to Dad and kindly came to our house to help set up the antenna. We called it an aerial back then.”

        After getting Thomas to cut and strip two tall poles, Mr. Stern arranged them in such a way that the aerial was set to greatest advantage. By this time a small crowd had gathered to see what was going on at the Jackson’s. Six year-old Billy and his sister, Rena, were in the house when Mr. Stern declared the test conditions were completed. Dad switched on the set.

        “Nobody had thought about the volume control,” Bill grins as he recounts how this loud voice from the little box gave him a huge fright. “It was in English, too, a language I didn’t under­stand one word of at the time. My sister and I rushed out of the house because we were afraid of that voice. As I recall, we went down near the lake and picked gooseberries for a while, until we had enough courage to go back to the house.”

        The radio was received much more kindly by the other reserve members who often dropped by simply to listen. Later, too, the radio may have helped to enlarge Thomas’ world. He was stirred in his soul to become involved in the political aspirations of his Aboriginal people. A year or so after the end of World War II, he became one of the founders of the Indian Association of Alberta, an organization formed to speak with one voice on behalf of the indigenous people of the province. 

        The new Jackson radio figured in an amusing episode which still raises a chuckle. Overcoming his aversion to the noisy box, six year-old Billy heard his dad use the English words, “My battery.” He learned how to say these two words, the only English words he knew. One day, while playing with cousin Louie, he proudly announced in Cree, “I can speak English!” 

        “Let’s hear you then,” challenged Louie. 

        “My battery,” young Billy intoned with great deliberation. 

        Louie was Impressed. So much so, that he went home and told their grandfather, “Billy can speak English.” Grandfather requested a firsthand demonstration. He was less impressed but very amused when Billy duly complied with the brief vocabulary list, “My battery.” 

        Another memory of Billy Jackson’s preschool days in Whitefish Lake Reserve involves the celebration of Christmas. This was a holiday celebrated by all. 

        When Billy was a boy, there were both Roman Catholic and United Church services on the reserve during the Christmas season. He remembers some Christmas programs held in the United Church. The whole community, no matter what church label they wore, gathered to watch and listen while reserve children and adults presented a Nativity play and program. The proceedings were mostly in Cree and it was always a joyous event. There was even a Santa Claus, jovial and generous with his gifts of toys and candies for the children. 

        On Christmas Day itself, families feasted together. Usually, people made the rounds, going to the homes of the elders where they enjoyed a special Christmas meal. No gifts were exchanged, but the joy and celebration of the Savior’s birth was expressed in the happy fellowship of the people.