Months later, our family stood on the pier, waiting to board the Marylebone. I pointed to the water spouting from the ship’s side and said, “Look, Papa! The boat is peeing!”
After a transfer in England to the SS Montcalm, we finally arrived in Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada.
At customs, however, we were taken to a hospital on Partridge Island. I had scarlet fever. Our family was separated, as I was quarantined and my father stayed with me. Mother and baby Walter were allowed to see us through a window. We spoke no English, and now we couldn’t even speak to one another.
Canada was in the midst of the Great Depression, so we lived in poverty for our first few years, but we were free. Free of fear, free to worship God.
The Niagara Peninsula seemed a good place to live in this free country. My parents grew fruit and vegetables, and raised pigs. There was always plenty of work to keep us (now) six children busy. Evenings, neighbourhood kids gathered to play games of “Andy, Andy, Over!”
On hot days, while picking ten acres of tomatoes, Father would inspire us kids with, “If you work hard, we’ll head to the Niagara River for a swim in the evening.” He always kept his word, although this one time, on the way to the river, a part of the harness broke, stabbing our horse in the stomach. With kids screaming, the horse took off like the wind—but we all survived.
Our family farmed for a living, but Father was also a preacher in the local Mennonite church. Freedom to worship is one of Canada’s greatest gifts to refugees. In those days, children all sat in front rows during services. When they started getting restless, or misbehaving, Deitrich would stop his sermon and say, “Listen, children! Here’s a story for you,” and all would be calm once more.
Eventually, my grandparents and many others also found refuge in Canada after World War II. Canada had room for all. It was indeed the land of freedom and opportunity. No more starving. No more fear of attacks or imprisonment. My parents proudly raised their children and enjoyed their 24 grandchildren here. Today, this country still makes room for refugees—thank you, Canada.
—by Mary Derksen, Abbotsford, British Columbia
Salami and Popsicles
Savouring the tastes of home, both old and new
Iwas ten years old when my family and I arrived in Quebec from Oldenburg, Germany. It was August, 1953, and our nine-day crossing aboard the Beaverbrae had been somewhat stormy. Although my older brother Baldur fared well, as did our parents, Alfred and Johanna Boenke, my younger sister Marlen and I both got very seasick.
After a few days, the ship’s doctor came to check on us. He asked Marlen if there was any food that might make her feel better and she requested a traditional favourite—sauerkraut and beer—which the doctor somehow managed to find. After she consumed some of both, Marlen felt better and wasn’t seasick anymore. Unfortunately, it only made me worse.
Once off the ship, we had to go through customs and immigration. A dear friend of my parents had asked them to bring along a whole smoked salami from our hometown. At that time, it was not possible to readily purchase such cold cuts in Canada.
So, my mother had the big salami among her personal belongings, but as we looked around, we saw buckets and buckets full of all kinds of sausages and cheeses that had been confiscated from the new immigrants.
When the customs officer spotted the salami, he informed Mom that she would not be allowed to bring it into Canada. My mother said, “If I’m not allowed to take this all the way to our final destination in Edmonton, I will at least enjoy a bite,” and then took a big bite right out of the centre of the sausage. The shocked customs agent said, “Well, once it has been started (or bitten into), we cannot take it away from you.” The agent let Mom keep the salami.
We then boarded a train for a four-day trip to Edmonton. After our first night on the train, my father woke up to discover he had gone deaf in one ear. Upon closer inspection, we discovered his ear was completely clogged with soot, which had come in through the window during the night. We cleaned out his ear and he never had another hearing problem in all of his 91 years.
After a few days on the train, we had a layover in Winnipeg. It was very hot that summer, so my friend Rosemarie, whom I’d met on the ship, her dad and I went shopping for ice cream. None of us spoke any English. We stopped at a store and asked for eis, which is the German word for ice cream. The employee looked at us, puzzled, and proceeded to give us a huge block of ice, which would have easily fit into an icebox, if we had one. I don’t remember what we did with the ice, but we went to a café, where we were able to purchase purple popsicles—they were pictured on a poster on the wall. To this day, they are still my favourite popsicles.
We finally arrived safely in Edmonton, and have never regretted coming to Canada.
—by Gerlind Koesling, Edmonton, Alberta
A Fairy Tale of Ice and Magic
Transitioning from 36º above to 36º below
Sitting across the desk from an HR representative for a Canadian oil company, my husband, Charles, and I wondered if what we were hearing was true. The woman patiently explained how the temperature in Fort McMurray, Alberta, can reach –40°C in winter, that the town is surrounded by forest and cars have to be plugged in! Looking out the window at the sun reflecting off the metal burglar bars and security gates across the bustling Johannesburg street, it seemed unimaginable, but this was where we were heading.
Tired of living behind locked security gates and sleeping with a gun under our pillow, the final straw was when a nephew of ours had to fight for his life after being shot through his car door and dragged onto the pavement before the thieves sped away in his car.
On January 15, 2005, it was 36°C outside as we boarded the aircraft for our trip to Canada. When we arrived some 42 hours later, the pilot cheerfully announced the temperature as a balmy –36°C! Stepping outside into a white wilderness, exhausted and reeling from jet lag, we wondered what we had done.
As we soon discovered, you needed to bundle up in multiple layers just to stay warm, use a remote starter to get the car going in the morning without freezing to death and always remember to plug the car in at night. Why did we choose to live here again?
Well, there really is a lovely boreal forest encircling Fort McMurray, but that’s only part of the beauty of this place. One morning, we awoke to the view of a child’s bicycle lying undisturbed on the side of the road…and it was still there the next day! In our former home, it would have been taken in a flash.
When our first Christmas arrived, we were amazed to see ornaments and lights outside and trees gleaming brightly behind uncovered windows. Back in South Africa, we would have put the tree in the corner farthest from the window or door, so as not to advertise the presents beneath it.
It seemed we had fallen into a fairy-tale land, but it didn’t take long to realize our previous “normal” had not been normal at all. We decided to explore all the wonders of our new country at every opportunity.
Have you ever visited the Great White North, where the inukshuk stands in the blowing snow, polar bear cubs slide down snowbanks and the northern lights dance overhead? You should! As you slowly crawl over the winter ice road on your trip north, you’ll do so at five kilometres an hour, so as not to cause an under-surface wave to well up, break the ice and send you into the frozen depths.
You’ll also come across sand dunes in a desert-like area of fine sand left behind by the receding glaciers. Then you can head to the mountains to find treasures behind those snow-capped peaks: grand glaciers, tumbling waterfalls and emerald lakes, whose fine silt sediment hides the remains of creatures from bygone eras.
Over the mountains and down to the west, you’ll pass smooth, black-slate cliffs, alive with clear, trickling water that seemingly oozes from the very pores of the hard stone. Winding mountain passes give way to sparkling beaches, covered in bird life, where the waters resound with the calls of giant whales.
I no longer question why I am here. As I wait for the rumb
ling crack of the frozen river’s surface to explode, throwing chunks of ice up the banks, heralding the arrival of spring, I cannot wait to start off on another adventure in this land where ice gives way to magic.
—by Patricia Wilsenach, Fort McMurray, Alberta
Reflections on Canada
Arriving with his family in 1989, an emigrant from India expresses his heartfelt love of Canada
Cold weather and hockey may be internationally recognized symbols of Canada, but beyond its climate and recreational activities, this great nation has a lot to offer newcomers.
I chose to immigrate to Canada because of the wonderful and helpful Canadians I had met along my life’s journey. When I first arrived from India in 1989 with my family, everyone was extremely nice and kind, and tolerant of my language difficulties, helping me to speak and read English very quickly.
Canada is successful as a nation because it has always been a country founded and built by people who came here by choice, who immigrated for a chance at a new life, and who have worked hard, generation after generation, to build a tolerant society. Unlike many other places, here in Canada everyone is free to dress as they wish, speak English or the language of their birth or ancestry, worship and live in peace.
Canada is a nation where the culture of peace has the deepest roots. People here can freely express their ideas, participate in politics and depend on a fair judicial system to protect their rights. The country’s multicultural policies also help everyone to find their place in society.
Ours is one of the greatest countries in the world, with free health care, accessible schooling for kids with physical handicaps or intellectual disabilities, and many helpful nonprofit organizations such as The Friendship Circle, which helps people develop a social life without having to resort to cyberspace. And, yes, we love the game of hockey and our four distinct seasons. Add into the mix the natural tendency of Canadians towards peace and love—and you can see that we have it all here, in abundance.
I find it fascinating to live in a multicultural environment such as the Greater Toronto Area because, as a journalist, I have the opportunity to meet people with very different backgrounds and learn about their cultures. I believe that Canada as a whole draws strength from its multicultural spirit.
The people of Canada have worked hard to build a country that opens its doors to include all, regardless of race, religion or community, and, as such, is a country that respects and gives equality to all.
While violence is prevalent in many parts of the world, and takes many forms, Canada has built a culture of peace by adopting and developing values, ways of thinking and attitudes that are in keeping with equality, tolerance, sharing, generosity and respect.
Canada is my home now and I have a lot of fondness and love for such a fantastic country. It has given me hundreds of special moments and the opportunity to forge incredible friendships and continually make new acquaintances.
I would say that Canadians get along with everyone, unless someone tries to step on us or our friends, in which case, look out, because we will stand up for one another. Overall, though, Canadians are easy-going, blessed with a vast amount of land and lots of clean water for drinking, swimming and fishing. Our forests are rich with timber and scenic beauty, and our farms are fruitful with good harvests. We do indeed have to face the cold and snow in winter, but that is bearable for most and enjoyable for many.
I’m proud to say I am a Canadian, proud also that my children will be able to say the same. There is no other country in the world with the freedom and choices our Canada has to offer.
—by Surjit Singh Flora, Brampton, Ontario
Loving Peace River
Heading west meant new experiences and a different way of life
It was Easter weekend 1960. I felt a little apprehensive as my journey from Toronto to Fort St. John, British Columbia, was coming to an end. I was on my own now and on my way to a strange town, having accepted a position as an X-ray technologist at Providence Hospital in Fort St. John. Bridging the gap between working in a large Toronto hospital and new employment in a very small hospital would be challenging.
I was positive the taxi driver had deposited me at the wrong location as I gazed at the building. It was an ancient, three-storey house situated on the main street. I was soon to discover this old building housed the friendliest people I would ever meet.
The Sisters of Providence owned and operated the hospital, giving of themselves in every possible instance, all for the safety and well-being of patients and staff. They had a very limited income, relying time and again on the townspeople’s generosity. Financial donations from Fort St. John organizations and its citizens provided for necessary, if not elaborate, medical equipment.
After being warmly welcomed and fed by the Sisters, I was given a tour of the hospital. The main floor housed the office, dining room, emergency room (basically a hallway), X-ray room, lab and about ten patient beds. The second floor accommodated maternity patients and operating rooms.
The X-ray room was where I would be working. The X-ray table resembled a steel hammock. Little did I realize that this room held many surprises for me in the days to come. Normally, examinations, including X-rays of the stomach and colon, are performed by a radiologist. In those days, however, the nearest radiologist was in Edmonton. I, therefore, was elected to do these on my own; my greatest accomplishment was to dislodge patients from that hammock and get them quickly to a bathroom down the hall after the procedure.
Another result of the hospital being quite small was that there was no space for a morgue. This caused me to have a couple of unnerving experiences. On two separate occasions, I arrived at work to find what I presumed to be a bag of soiled laundry on the X-ray table. Upon closer inspection, however, I realized it contained something other than soiled sheets.
In spite of these rare occurrences, the hospital was a lively and spirited workplace. We all needed strong backs to help transport patients up about 20 steps to the floor above. These stairs proved to be an eventful climb for maternity patients on their way to the labour room.
Everything was about to change, however, as a new hospital was being constructed. The Sisters of Providence were buzzing with excitement at the prospect of a new, larger space. Many gracious and capable townspeople joined in moving equipment and records into the new hospital. Fortunately for me, the antiquated X-ray table stayed behind. The Sisters were sad to leave their old building, but were nevertheless joyful at the prospect of a new era in health care.
During this time, two co-workers and I had promised to transport an elderly patient, Gus, home from the hospital to his cabin in Hudson’s Hope, British Columbia. His eyes twinkled as he warned us about driving the Hope road—especially with women drivers at the wheel. When we reached the top of Bear Flats, single-lane traffic on a narrow, winding road was the order of the day. Gus kept telling me to watch the road and not the scenery, but it was so spectacular! The fall colours of red, yellow and orange, combined with the sight of the mighty Peace River winding its way below the cliffs, created a stunning, postcard-like picture. I’m sure Gus was trembling as he called out in a shaky voice, “We’ll all be killed!” But we made it safely to Gus’s cabin. He served us tea in dainty china cups, a strong contrast to his bachelor way of life.
In the 1960s, Hudson’s Hope was a quiet little town and many bachelors lived a simple life in small log cabins. Their doors were always open to old and young alike; the younger children were enthralled with numerous events of bygone days. These residents had endured difficult times over the years, having existed without modern conveniences and basic health care. Travel was a major challenge, with the gravel roads deemed impassable on many occasions. But all of this was about to change, as plans were under way to dam the Peace River.
After leaving Gus that day, we decided to continue on to Gold Bar—a sprawling jewel of a homestead at the foot of the Rockies. At one point, the narrow gravel road disappeared and we were forced to
cross a fast-moving creek, no easy task for three city girls. Finally, we arrived at Gold Bar, where moose, deer and stone sheep roamed the hills bordering this unique log home.
We were warmly greeted by Elizabeth Beattie, the feisty but gracious matriarch of Gold Bar. She’d raised eight children in this home, which also housed many trappers and prospectors at different times of the year. Vegetables and flowers were abundant; apple and plum trees provided fruit for family and trappers alike. The home itself had its own water system, a first for the area. A huge wood cookstove heated the roomy kitchen and a long wooden table was laden with hearty meals all year long. But a drastic change was coming and you could see it in Elizabeth’s eyes.
By around 1961, BC Hydro had begun construction on the W.A.C. Bennett Dam and extraordinary changes were about to transform this pristine valley into an underwater oasis. Some would call it progress, but many would disagree. How could the uniqueness of Gold Bar be measured in dollars? How many miles would majestic mountain sheep and moose have to travel in order to escape the rising waters? A very great number of them would perish in underwater graves.
The Beattie family discussed the pros and cons of saving their huge log home, but it would be an insurmountable task and so, as planned, the buildings were burned before the flooding. Elizabeth could not bring herself to return to her home for months prior to the flooding, knowing in her heart the pain she would endure. The engineer for BC Hydro called on her afterwards and even he had tears in his eyes.
Although the dam took more than five years to complete, the changes came too suddenly for many others who made their living on the river. These people would be forced to completely change their way of life and, sadly, some simply could not adapt.
I married into the Beattie family, and Jim and I spent our honeymoon at Gold Bar before the devastation. We continued our life in Hudson’s Hope and are so proud to call the beautiful Peace River our home.
Our Canada Our Country Our Stories Page 23