Past & Present

by Judy Penz Sheluk

  Looking for any ephemera from the T.S.S. Canberra, Greek Line, specifically the journey that would have left Southampton, England, around June 25, arriving in Quebec City on July 7, 1952. Other dates, early 1950s, would also be of interest. Menus from the ship, passenger lists, etc. Thanks in advance for any comments and shares.

  That posted, and finally starting to feel human again, I made myself some scrambled eggs and toast, along with a cup of cinnamon rooibos tea. I’d just finished it when the phone rang.

  Royce.

  I answered, determined to keep my voice upbeat. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I wanted to thank you again for dinner last night.”

  “You’re welcome. We’ll have to do it again some time.” I paused, not sure how to bring up the letter, or even if I should. I was still debating when Royce filled the awkward silence.

  “Something’s been bothering me. About your father’s accident. I may have an avenue for you to explore.”

  “I don’t think I have the intestinal fortitude to go down that rabbit hole again.”

  Silence on the other end. Then, “Why didn’t you sue? You lost your father to an occupational accident. If nothing else, a lawsuit would bring out all the facts, hidden and otherwise.”

  I’m of the opinion that our society has become far too litigious, especially over minor incidents, not that I would classify my father’s death as minor. “I’ll consider it.”

  “Whatever you decide. The other reason I called was to find out if you’d be interested in a purely social do-over, this time at my place, with me in charge of dinner. I’m not quite as accomplished as you are, but I have a couple of chicken recipes in my repertoire.”

  “I like chicken, especially if someone else is doing the cooking. When were you thinking?”

  “How about Saturday night?”

  “It’s a date.”

  I hung up and found myself humming a few bars of “To Make You Feel My Love.” I thought about the Barnstable family curse and laughed. More like “Bad Timing” by Blue Rodeo. Hell, almost anything by Blue Rodeo, especially if Jim Cuddy was the one singing it. That man had a voice made for sad songs.

  Maybe this time would be different. I started humming again.

  I was still humming when an email reply came in from Chantelle.

  Well done on the train information, Callie. Based on the response, we can make an educated assumption that Anneliese arrived in Toronto on July 8 or 9 at the latest. It’s not a huge piece of the puzzle, but I’d suggest that we include it in our report to Louisa, along with some photos of the trains and train stations. It will help to illustrate Anneliese’s journey, and show Louisa that P&P is thorough.

  It was a good idea. I made a note and then continued reading.

  I’ve checked with my contact at the Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21, and she has thoroughly checked their collection for the T.S.S. Canberra, Greek Line. I’ve included her comments in italics, along with my thoughts on each.

  “Unfortunately we only have two stories for persons who traveled on the Canberra. One is about a family who traveled in 1930 and the other is someone who traveled in 1951 but it’s not really a story, just a blurb.”

  Neither of these would be worth following up. It’s unfortunate that there are no stories from Anneliese’s journey, but not unexpected.

  “We do not have any souvenir passenger lists for the Canberra.”

  This is disappointing news. I notice that you’ve posted on our Facebook page for ephemera relating to the Canberra. Hopefully this generates the same sort of results as your train post. However, I also had another thought. Before she opened the Glass Dolphin, Arabella had purchased several ocean liner posters and assorted memorabilia from a collector in Niagara Falls. We know that she doesn’t have anything in the shop from the Canberra, but if she still has the collector’s contact information, and it’s still valid, he may have a lead, another collector, or resource to check. It’s possible she’s already gone down that road and come up empty, but I’ll leave it to you to check.

  I made another note, this time to call Arabella.

  “The immigration records for all post-1935 arrivals are protected under the Privacy Act of Canada and can only be accessed via Access to Information and Privacy, better known as ATIP, by the individuals who immigrated or if the person has been deceased for over twenty years.”

  We already have Anneliese’s immigration records. We also know that Anton Osgoode was on board as a buyer for Eaton’s. With the possible exception of Horst Frankow, I don’t believe anyone else’s immigration status would be relevant. It is, however, an interesting point to consider for future investigations.

  Should we decide to submit a written application for Horst, we would be required, at the bare minimum, to supply proof of death, date of birth, and year of entry. We know Horst died in prison, but we don’t have a death certificate, and we definitely don’t have his date of birth or year of entry into Canada. I don’t believe the payback of finding out exactly when and how he immigrated to Canada substantiates the investigative hours required.

  “I see that the Canberra left Southampton on June 28, 1952. The crossing took eight days on average.”

  I’ve updated the Facebook post to include the date the Canberra left Southampton. We know based on the stamp on Anneliese’s immigration paper that she arrived in Quebec City on July 7.

  “The UK departure manifest for this crossing may be available via www.ancestry.ca. I would recommend that you obtain a worldwide account with them to access and save the departure list or to go to your local public library as many libraries have accounts that are free for the public to use. You will search the UK, Outward Passenger Lists, 1890-1960 Database.”

  This is a great tip. Since I already have a worldwide account with Ancestry.ca, I’ll follow it up and let you know what comes of it.

  Over and out,

  Chantelle.

  I’d just finished reading the email when my phone rang. I looked at the call display. private caller. I sighed. It was probably someone trying to sell me duct-cleaning services.

  “Hello.”

  “Callie, it’s your grandfather.”

  I was surprised to hear Corbin Osgoode’s gravelly voice, and it wasn’t a good surprise. I skipped the pleasantries. “What can I do for you?”

  “I understand you’ve been visiting my mother at the nursing home.”

  “I have. Olivia is a lovely woman.”

  “I want you to stop.”

  “I was under the impression she enjoyed my visits.”

  “Then you were mistaken. Besides, I don’t want her living in the past. It isn’t healthy.”

  “Talking about the past is hardly the same as living in the past.”

  “I’m not willing to discuss it any further. I’ve already told the administrators at the Cedar County Retirement Residence that you are not to be admitted again. I’m calling you as a courtesy, so you aren’t faced with the embarrassment of going there and being turned away.”

  I wanted to scream or swear at him, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “Thanks for being so considerate.” I hung up before he could get the last word.

  Once my blood pressure had returned to normal, and my desire to punch the wall or throw things had cooled, I picked up my notebook and recorded the facts as I knew them.

  Anton Osgoode had met Anneliese Prei on the Canberra. The two of them had a shipboard romance.

  Anneliese was pregnant when she married Horst Frankow. Based on the timeline, the baby could have been either Anton’s or Horst’s, although Anton was the most likely candidate.

  Anneliese paid Olivia a visit, three-year-old Sophie in tow. According to Olivia, Sophie looked like Anton.

  Olivia confronted Anton, a decision she continues to regret, although she did not elaborate on the reason.

  Shortly after Anneliese and Sophie paid Olivia a visit, Anneliese was struck on the back of the head and died of her inj
uries.

  The murder weapon was never found. Horst was charged with the murder, and imprisoned for manslaughter at Kingston Penitentiary, where he was stabbed to death in the shower three weeks later.

  Those were the facts. Olivia glancing at the crystal vase as if it were the murder weapon could have been my imagination. In fact, I might even have come to that conclusion if I’d had more time to think it over.

  But not now. Not after Corbin Osgoode called to tell me I was being denied access to Olivia. He was hiding something, I was sure of it. Something Olivia knew and hadn’t yet told me.

  Just what he was hiding remained to be seen. I couldn’t wait to find out. And find out, I would. It was just a matter of time.

  19

  Corbin’s call had piqued my curiosity, and not just in regards to my great-grandmother. It was time to find a workplace injury lawyer to look into my father’s death. Maybe it was too late, and maybe there was no case, but Royce was right. A lawsuit might lead to more information, or at least, serve to satisfy me that I’d done everything I could.

  One of my quirks is a love of talk radio. It’s not that I don’t like music, but when it comes to working, nothing beats talk radio. I had my favorite shows on Newstalk 1010 Toronto and Talk 640 Toronto, and switched back and forth, depending on the host and topic. It’s fascinating to hear the same story spun a dozen different ways, the varying points of views from panelists and callers, especially when it came to politics.

  On the weekends, much of talk radio is paid programming, everything from investment advice and gardening to real estate and employment law. The employment lawyer was articulate, and he presented thought-provoking cases. What could he tell me about my father’s case?

  I looked up his contact information, but felt a bit silly. What would I say? I tapped my pen against the table, summoning up my courage. Then I thought about Corbin, picked up my phone, and dialed.

  I updated the receptionist with an abbreviated version of my request, mentioning the radio show. She agreed to put me through to one of the junior partners.

  “Kat Fowler. How can I help you?” The voice on the other end sounded young.

  “My father died thirteen months ago in an occupational accident. I wondered if there was any chance of suing his employer. Is it too late?”

  “You typically have two years to file a claim. Tell me about the accident.”

  “He was working on a high-rise condo thirty floors up. His safety harness was either defective or not fastened properly. He fell to his death.”

  “Did your father make a habit out of not wearing or buckling his safety harness?”

  “Southern Ontario Construction, his employer, says yes. Apparently there were other employees on the job site who were willing to corroborate the employer’s statement.”

  “It’s an interesting scenario, but I’m afraid you won’t like my answer.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Your father’s company would have been insured under the Workplace Safety and Insurance Board. Unfortunately, you cannot sue the employer because employers cannot be sued for negligence that causes bodily harm to their employees. They pay WSIB premiums to get that protection. However, it is extremely likely that the Ministry of Labor would have investigated the incident and would have laid charges against the company if it found that it was negligent. These would be charges under the Occupational Health and Safety Act.”

  “The Ministry of Labor ruled the death as an accident. They did not find negligence on the part of Southern Ontario Construction.”

  “In that case, your only avenue is to sue the manufacturer of the harness, if it can be established that the harness was somehow defective, and if the manufacturer was not covered under the WSIB. For example, if they are an American or foreign company. The value of such a suit can be substantial because not only can you sue on behalf of yourself for ‘loss of care, guidance, and companionship,’ but also for any loss of income you might sustain in future because of his death.”

  I’d already done my fair share of research on that safety harness, looking for cases similar to my dad’s, and I was surprised the harness had not been made offshore.

  “Made in Ontario,” I said, knowing as I said it that all hope of a lawsuit had been lost.

  “I’m sorry,” Kat Fowler said. “In my opinion, it’s not a case you can bring forward to the courts, let alone win. You’re free to get a second opinion, of course.”

  I thanked her for her time and hung up. There would be no seeking a second opinion, no relentless pursuit of a truth I’d never uncover, no more reading and rereading my father’s last letter to me, analyzing every word until I thought I’d go mad.

  It was time to move on.

  I changed into my running gear and hit the trails.

  I returned from a ninety-minute run, popped some leftover lasagna in the toaster oven, and grabbed a quick shower before checking my mobile for messages.

  There was one text from Arabella, no details, just, Call me when you get in. Good timing. I could ask about her ocean liner memorabilia collector. I phoned her back.

  “The Glass Dolphin, Arabella Carpenter speaking.”

  “Hey Arabella, it’s Callie and great minds think alike. I was planning to call you today. What’s up?”

  “I’ve got a lead on some ephemera that might help with your investigation.”

  “That’s great. What did you find?”

  “Nothing specific, but I did contact the man who sold me the railway and ocean liner posters. He didn’t have anything related to the T.S.S. Canberra, but he’s friendly with other folks interested in ephemera. He made a few calls, and there’s a guy in Toronto who had a relative come over on the Canberra in the early 1950s. According to my guy, the collection isn’t huge, but it could be of interest, especially if the timeline matches up.”

  Even if it didn’t, it was one more thing we could share with Louisa to demonstrate our efforts. “It sounds promising.”

  “Yes and no. The man in question has no interest in selling anything in his collection. He distrusts antiques dealers, something about being ripped off a few years back. He won’t deal with me on any level. He is, however, willing to talk to you.”

  “I’d be more than happy to call him.”

  “I’ll give you his number, but fair warning. He wants to meet you in person and see your office before making any decisions. I don’t know if he’s super cautious or a complete nutbar.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but if he has something from the Canberra, we’ve got to see it. I’ll make sure Chantelle is here when he comes, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “It does. His name is Geoffrey Burrell, that’s g-e-o-f-f not j-e-f-f.” Arabella rattled off his phone number and email address and wished me luck.

  I called Chantelle to see when she was available, and promised to call her back as soon as I’d connected with Geoffrey Burrell.

  I was in luck. Geoffrey answered within two rings. I introduced myself as a partner in Past & Present Investigations.

  “I’ve been expecting your call.” Geoffrey’s voice had the reedy timbre of an elderly man. “I understand that you’re interested in the T.S.S. Canberra.”

  “Yes. Anything you have might be of significance, but we’re specifically interested in the journey from Southampton in June 1952. The ship arrived in Quebec City on July 7.”

  “Forgive my curiosity, but why that particular journey?”

  “Our client is trying to find out more about her great-grandmother, who was a passenger on that ship. I’m afraid I can’t give you the client’s name or the name of the grandmother. There is a confidentiality agreement in place.”

  “I respect that. Had you told me who the client was, I would have ended this call with a firm, but polite, ‘Not interested.’”

  “Then you’ll help us?”

  There was a prolonged silence. I waited. Something told me Geoffrey was not a man to be rushed. I was right.

&nb
sp; “Okay, I’ll come to your office to show you what I have. If there is anything that could help your client, you can take photocopies to share with them, on one condition. You must promise not to post the images on the internet. Not your website, and certainly not on your Facebook page. I don’t want my collection out there in cyberspace.”

  “You have my word.”

  “In that case, I can come over tomorrow morning, if you’re available.”

  I checked my notes. “How’s ten a.m.? My partner, Chantelle Marchand, will be here as well.”

  “Ten a.m. is perfect. By the way, I particularly enjoyed Misty’s blog today. It was as if she was reaching out, asking me to help. I’m a sucker for a love story.” He hung up before I could respond, which was just as well. Once again, I had absolutely no idea what Misty had posted.

  20

  There was a second entry on the Misty’s Messages page. The card shown was the Two of Cups: a woman in a long white gown on a flowing blue robe, a man wearing a yellow and black tunic and calf-high boots. Both wore a crown of flowers and held a gold cup. The man was reaching out toward the woman, not quite touching. Above them was a winged lion’s head. The lion was perched on top of a staff, two snakes coiled around it. I read Misty’s message.

  The Two of Cups (Element: Water)

  Most readers will view the Two of Cups as a lovers’ card, and there is certainly an element of love, attraction, and sexuality, but I prefer to interpret this card from the minor arcana under the overarching theme of partnership. Notice the caduceus (the insignia used by the medical profession) and the head of a winged lion, the wings acting like a protective canopy over the man and woman. This symbolizes peace, harmony, and balance.