Prisoners in the Promised Land

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  Mr. Gregoraszczuk has no wife or children, but the men in the main camp identified him. The farmer said that Mr. Gregoraszczuk had a gun, but that is not true. Some men went out from Amos and hunted down the other three escapees. They are all now in solitary confinement, but one of them saw the farmer shoot Mr. Gregoraszczuk and he says it was in “cold blood,” which means the farmer killed him on purpose. Tomorrow there will be a funeral and another cross in the graveyard. The skies have burst open with angry rain. I think it is God crying for Mr. Gregoraszczuk.

  Wednesday, June 9, 1915, dusk

  Dear Diary, I must tell you that I know in my heart that Mr. Gregoraszczuk should never have tried to escape, but the government should never have put him in this prison. How would that farmer like it if Canada put him in jail just because he was French? I wish that these soldiers and farmers could walk in my shoes for just one day.

  What makes me even sadder is that Mr. Gregoraszczuk has no family here to pray at his grave. Does he have a mother and father back in the old country? Maybe he has a brother or sister somewhere else in Canada or Ukraine. How will they ever find out what happened to him? My heart could burst with sadness. I gathered some pebbles and placed them at his grave after everyone had left.

  I am worried about Lyalya. We are not allowed to visit her in the hospital in case we catch what she has. Private Palmer says that she is not doing well.

  Thursday, June 10, 1915

  in my bunk bed at night

  Mama thinks she may have figured out how to make that blackfly salve. She tried mixing different local herbs together until they smelled like the salve from Amos. Then she mixed the herbs in oleomargarine. Tato is going to try it out tomorrow. If her salve works, we will be able to share it with more of the prisoners.

  Friday, June 11, 1915

  early (rainy)

  Oy, I am in trouble and I don’t know why. I am to go to the Commandant’s office!

  Afternoon

  That bad Private Smythe has told the Commandant that I have stolen food from the officers’ mess. This is not true!

  Later

  Private Smythe told the Commandant that I have been stealing eggs to make pysanky. Mama came with me to see the Commandant and so did Mary. We brought the pysanky that haven’t been sold yet to show him that they are just shells, not food. The Commandant took our eggs and told us to go back to our bunkhouse. His eyebrows were creased with anger. I wonder what he is thinking? Why does Private Smythe hate me so?

  At bedtime

  Does the Commandant think I am a thief? I am frightened. I hope I don’t get sent to solitary confinement.

  In the wee hours of the morning

  I could not sleep all night. There is one good thing I forgot to tell you, Dear Diary. Mama’s salve did work. But I wonder if we would be allowed to use the oleomargarine for the salve? Maybe Mama will be accused of stealing food too. Then again, it is the oleomargarine for the prisoners that she is using, so maybe that would be fine.

  Saturday, June 12, 1915, afternoon

  My stomach is in knots. Private Smythe has a nasty grin on his face. Does that mean the Commandant believes those lies about me stealing food????

  Sunday, June 13, 1915, suppertime

  Still no word from the Commandant!

  Later

  Private Palmer says that Lyalya seems to be on the mend. She is not coughing but is very weak and thin. They are giving her meat soup to make her stronger.

  Monday, June 14, 1915

  Dear Diary, the Commandant has not come to the married prisoners’ camp ever since Private Smythe accused me of stealing food. Private Smythe has been here each day and he struts around like he thinks he’s important. I have a very bad feeling about this.

  Tuesday, June 15, 1915

  Still no word from the Commandant.

  Wednesday June 16, 1915, morning

  The Commandant has sent for me, Mama and Mary. More later.

  Afternoon

  Dear Diary, I just got back from the Commandant’s office.

  He sat behind his big desk and Private Smythe stood on the other side of the room. The lady from Amos was there too! She showed him the handkerchief that I made and the Commandant nodded. Then she showed him the two hollow pysanky that her husband had bought in exchange for the blackfly salve. This time when the Commandant nodded I saw that he had a little bit of a smile on his face. He thanked the lady and she left.

  Next he asked Private Smythe to step forward. “You are being reassigned,” he said curtly.

  You should have seen the look of shock on Private Smythe’s face! Then the Commandant said, “Pack your bags. You will be leaving for Kapuskasing Internment Camp tomorrow morning.”

  As Private Smythe left, he flashed me an ugly scowl and whispered something under his breath, but I don’t care. I hope to never see him again! I just feel sorry for the prisoners in Kapuskasing!

  “Anna Soloniuk, step forward,” said the Commandant. With a trembling heart, I did. “Your needlework is handsomely done,” he said. “When you are able, please make me a handkerchief. I will pay you, of course.” I was so surprised that no words would come out of my mouth. I just nodded and curtsied. Then he said, “You are dismissed.”

  Mama and Mary and I almost ran all the way back to the married prisoners’ camp. We were so happy! Not only does the Commandant not think I am a thief, but he likes my needlework. Better yet, he got rid of Howard Smythe! This is a very good day!

  One more thing. When we got back to our camp, Mama got up the nerve to ask Private Palmer if he thought it would be allowed for her to make the blackfly salve with some of the oleomargarine the prisoners have been given. He was very interested in her recipe and said that not only was it fine, but could she make some for the soldiers as well? Private Palmer said that he would bring her more oleomargarine. Mama is happy and we are all relieved.

  I just remembered —

  Stefan’s brother Petro is a prisoner at Kapuskasing! I hope he finds a way to avoid Private Smythe!

  Friday, June 18, 1915

  in bed at night

  We had a special visitor at the camp today. Father Redkevych is a Ukrainian Catholic priest and he has been visiting all of the internment camps across the country. He inspected our bunkhouses and the men’s work area and he also said Mass and heard confession. He blessed our little church and cemetery and we all said a special prayer for Mr. Gregoraszczuk.

  Mama got the impression that Father Redkevych is troubled by our treatment, but she wonders whether if he complains, he might not be allowed to travel from camp to camp. At least he can keep an eye on things and say Mass for us. But I wish there was someone who could set us free.

  I have re-strung Irena’s necklace. It looks quite different now because I used all of the original white and yellow beads that Stefan helped me find, and also the beads that the wise Pikogan lady gave me (some yellow — there are no white — but also some blue and a few red). The red Venetian bead with the bird in flight looks so nice on this necklace. I am afraid to wear it in case I lose it, but I showed it to Stefan and he thought I did a good job.

  Sunday, June 20, 1915

  Dear Diary, we were given more old newspapers for the outhouse today. Before they were torn into strips, Mary read the stories aloud from the front page. The headline in one was that the Russians were victorious in Galicia, leaving thousands dead on the battlefield. I wonder how many of those dead are our people? I have trouble even being able to think of that many people all dead. The murder of Mr. Gregoraszczuk was bad enough, but “thousands” is a nightmare.

  There was another story about school children who were collecting “a mile of coppers” to send to the Red Cross to help injured soldiers. If I had a penny, I would send it to them. I hope they help injured soldiers on both sides.

  Thursday, June 24, 1915, la Saint-Jean

  La Saint-Jean is what the people in Amos call St. Jean Baptiste Day. The men got the afternoon off. I wonder if there is a parade
in Amos?

  Saturday, June 26, 1915

  Lyalya is still in the hospital. I thought she was getting better.

  Monday, June 28, 1915

  I got another letter from Maureen today! It seems that most of what she wrote was fine with the censors, so I can read all but two lines. Here it is:

  221-1 (front) Grand Trunk Street,

  Montreal, Canada

  Thursday, June 17, 1915

  Dear Anna,

  I am glad that you are not kept in a jail cell. It sounds like where you are is beautiful, but it is still prison. How awful that that mean Howard Smythe is a soldier up there. I was wondering where he went. School is almost over. I have done well this year but I have no friends. I miss you so much. Do you get a chance to play with your dolls? I hope so.

  I think the government should let all of you come home. Everywhere we see “Help Wanted” signs. The factory where your father worked can’t get enough workers and neither can your clothing factory. It seems so strange to put all of you in jail when you are needed down here.

  I am going to apply to the clothing factory as soon as school is out, seeing as I will soon be fourteen. How I would love to be able to go back to school in the fall, but how many girls go to grade nine?

  Write to me soon, please.

  Your true friend, Maureen

  It is good to hear from Maureen and I am glad that she told me about her own news for a change. How strange that there aren’t enough workers anymore. Just a few months ago there were huge lineups at the soup kitchens. I guess all the workers are either in the army or in prison like us.

  July–August 1915

  Wednesday, July 7, 1915

  Oy, Dear Diary, my heart is breaking as I write this. Lyalya has died! I thought she was getting better. There will be another cross in the graveyard.

  Thursday, July 8, 1915

  The men in the married camp were given a couple of hours off work this morning so they could attend Lyalya’s funeral. Her coffin is so tiny, Dear Diary. What kind of a life has she had? Natalka is taking this really hard, as you can imagine, and so are Mr. and Mrs. Tkachuk. Her father made a marker for her grave out of tin. He used a nail to etch out her name and birth date and death date. Dear Lyalya will never be forgotten.

  Monday, July 12, 1915

  It is very hot. I do not have the heart to write. I am still so upset about Lyalya’s death. Slava is also very sad. She and Lyalya were not good friends, but they were close in age and I think it shocks Slava to see that someone her age can die. She has already lost her mother, and her father is acting so strange, and now this. Oy.

  Wednesday, July 14, 1915

  Dear Diary, we got some more newspapers for the outhouse. They were from about a week ago and the headline was about the Russians fighting in Poland. That is still very close to Galicia and my heart sank when I saw that, but then as we read on, it said that the war has moved on from Galicia. I know it is bad that there is still a war, but I am relieved that it is not being fought in my old front yard right now.

  Tuesday, July 20, 1915

  The old newspapers that we got today had headlines about Canadian war heroes. I wonder how Stefan’s brother is doing? Has the army figured out he’s not Canadian yet? I also wonder about Mary’s brother. I bet they are both heroes.

  Saturday, July 31, 1915

  We have settled into a dreary routine here so there is not much to write about. The food is not good and the men are worked hard. It is not so hot here as it is in Montreal and there is hardly any rain.

  I spend my days with Mary, playing with the younger children and teaching them lessons. In the late afternoon, I am still mending for other people. This is the curse of being good with my hands. Each of the bunkhouses was issued another bolt of cloth and so some new items can be made also. I have had some time to work on my hope chest and I am almost finished the rushnyk. I made a new shirt for Tato and he loves it. Right now, when I am not working on the rushnyk, I have been making a shirt for Stefan.

  Sunday, August 1, 1915, afternoon

  I forgot to mention yesterday how good Mykola is in arithmetic. Mary says that he is the best of all the children. The men were playing cards in our bunkhouse today and Tato let Mykola sit on his lap while he played. Mykola caught on so quickly that the men ended up letting him play his own hand. What a funny sight, to see a seven-year-old sitting there frowning like an old man, playing cards!

  Tuesday, August 3, 1915

  I got another letter from Maureen. Part of it says that she got a job at the clothing factory and that the supervisor said to tell me that he would like me to work for him again as soon as I am free.

  So if this war ever ends and we are allowed to go back to Montreal, I shall have a job!

  Sunday, August 8, 1915

  More old newspapers arrived today and since it was Sunday, the men could read them too. One headline said that “the Allies will eventually wear the Germans down to defeat.” I hope that is true! Another said that the Austrians are running out of food and water. That is so scary to think of. I want the war to end, and I pray that no more people are hurt on either side. I can’t be happy when either side does well because then I am afraid of how the others are suffering.

  Tuesday, August 10, 1915

  The Pikogan lady (the younger one) just came to the camp. The guard let me greet her and she handed me a cloth bundle and then she left. The bundle was filled with fresh wild berries. They are tiny and blue and they are delicious! I took them into our bunkhouse to show Mama. She said that maybe Baba could make fruit pyrohy with them for supper tonight. Won’t that be a treat?

  Something to think about:

  My Pikogan friend gave us these delicious berries, but I have given her nothing in return. Baba says that she will think of something.

  Sunday, August 15, 1915

  It is dry as stone for days on end, and then of course, it pours on Sunday when the men have a day off.

  I don’t know how Baba manages with the scanty supplies, but she made up a big batch of khrustyky. They’re just bits of dough rolled flat and then deep-fried crisp and sprinkled with sugar. She made extra for me to take to my friends in the woods.

  It cleared up by mid-afternoon so I asked Stefan if he would go with me. When we got to the camp, it wasn’t just the two ladies, but some men and children too. It looked like they were packing things up. I wonder where they are going?

  I was glad that Baba had made so many khrustyky because there were so many more people than what I had expected. I walked over to where the elder stood and I bowed my head and held one of the bundles out towards her. She reached out a grizzled hand and took a khrustyk and threw it on the ground, saying something that sounded like a prayer. Then she popped another into her mouth and smacked her lips in pleasure.

  Other people in the camp were watching, and they gathered around and tried the khrustyky too. Everyone liked them!

  When we turned to leave, the lady who had brought the berries walked along with us and pointed out various wild nuts, berries and roots. Dear Diary, you won’t believe all the food she helped us to collect.

  Later

  Dear Diary, have you ever noticed that people who don’t have very much are always willing to share?

  Sunday, August 22, 1915

  (or maybe Monday morning)

  I woke up and cannot get back to sleep. I keep on having the same dream. My Pikogan elder is in the dream and she is standing over a fire, pouring water on it. The dream is so vivid that I can smell the smoke.

  Wednesday, August 25, 1915

  Dear Diary, so much has happened in the last few days that I don’t know where to start. I woke up in the early hours of Monday with a jolt. It was not a dream. Smoke was curling into our bunkhouse through tiny cracks in the walls and roof. I scrambled out of bed and shook Tato awake. He shouted for everyone to wake up and we opened up our door and more smoke poured in. I wanted to close the door so that the fire couldn’t get to us, but Tato made
us all go outside. I didn’t even have time to put my boots on. Mykola didn’t whimper. He did what Tato said.

  Once we all got outside I realized that Slava was still in the bunkhouse so I ran in to find her. It was dark and the smoke was heavy and I smashed my toe into something, but I heard Slava screaming. I followed the sound and then wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her with me as I stumbled back out. It was our cookhouse that was burning and the flames were licking so high that I feared the whole married prisoners’ village would burn down.

  The people from the other bunkhouses were up and Tato shouted orders to people to get pails and basins. Someone dragged out a bathtub and set it under the water pump. Mary and I took turns pumping water into it. Then people scooped water from it and threw it on the fire. But the flames licked higher. Two women threw a water-soaked blanket onto a burning wall — that helped for a little bit.

  The fire was finally getting under control by the time the first soldier came, but he did carry a box that contained glass balls filled with something to put out fires. He threw them one by one into the building and the flames got a bit smaller.

  We worked until dawn. When the sun shone through the smoke I realized that it wasn’t only the cookhouse that had burned down, but one of the bunkhouses had nearly been lost too.

  Even though there was much damage, I am grateful that we were able to put the fire out before it reached the woods.

  Friday, August 27, 1915

  General Otter came to inspect our camp today. He said that if we hadn’t got the fire out as quickly as we had, Amos could have been destroyed because the fires up here travel fast. He gave us all extra rations as a reward.

  Dear Diary, I am thankful that the fire did not spread to Amos, but it makes me wonder if the people in Amos know how close they came to disaster? If we hadn’t acted so quickly, there would have been a big tragedy. I also wonder about that Amos farmer who shot and killed Mr. Gregoraszczuk. Does he realize that people just like Ivan Gregoraszczuk just saved his town? Private Palmer told me that the farmer who killed Mr. Gregoraszczuk was put in jail. I wonder if he is treated better than we are?