Prisoners in the Promised Land

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  Widow Sonechko laughed so hard that she wiped tears from her eyes. Then she told me that this wasn’t a shirt, but a blouse. Then she sorted through her basket and found a plain dark blue thing and pulled it over my head on top of my other clothing.

  Widow Sonechko told me that this ugly thing is called a jumper. It doesn’t wrap like my skirt, but goes over my head, so it can’t get caught in the wind.

  But it is so ugly! The blouse has no embroidery and the arms are tight and the collar feels like it will choke me. Also, the collar goes up so high that it hides the beautiful necklace that Irena made for me. I weep to think of wearing this jumper instead of my beautiful embroidered wraparound skirt.

  Why don’t Canadians wear embroidery? Why do they laugh at my clothing? What they wear is plain. At least she couldn’t find shoes and stockings that fit, so I got new ones.

  She found a black skirt for Mama, but no blouse. She told us to go down the street to the dry goods store. A woman who works there speaks Ukrainian and

  Friday, May 8, 1914

  very early in the morning, sitting on the edge of my new bed

  Sorry, Diary. Mama made me turn the lights out.

  I miss Irena and I miss Halyna and I miss my dear little house in Horoshova. At least the sun shines brightly through our window here.

  It is hard to keep track of Canadian money. They have pennies and dollars instead of kronen. They have other coins too, with names like “nickel” and “dime,” but I cannot keep them straight. Thankfully, each coin has a number on it that tells how many pennies it’s worth.

  We spent 5 dollars and 90 pennies at the dry goods store yesterday. That is more than half a week’s pay for Tato. It is lucky that Mykola and Baba don’t need Canadian clothing just yet.

  Here’s what happened:

  A lady named Lydia helped us. I never would have guessed that she was from the old country because she wears a long black skirt and a high-necked white blouse.

  She helped us pick out stockings and shoes and a blouse for Mama. Then she told us that Canadians wear drawers. They look like men’s trousers with the bottom part of the leg cut off. I don’t know why we have to buy these drawers, especially when money is so precious. But Mama says that we’re Canadian now and have to do things the Canadian way.

  These drawers will make it complicated in the outhouse!

  We had two bags of items to bring home, but what I really love are my new shoes. They are made of smooth black leather. They lace up the front and they go past my ankles, so I guess they’re really boots. They have a little heel and they make me look tall. I just love them!

  Later

  On our way home, we saw a most unusual sight. There were two ladies dressed in white and they were ladling out milk to children. When we got home, Mama asked Pemlych’s wife to explain. It seems that both Mykola and I can each get a pitcher of milk every day. Isn’t that wonderful? She said that there was a milk scandal in Montreal. The milk being sold was dirty and babies were dying. Since then, the city set up milk depots so that children could have clean milk. I am very happy about this because it means that we can save our money!

  Bedtime

  Baba has scrubbed the house fresh and she has put out our embroidery and pillows. She hung up the Icon, but Tato says that we should leave all that behind us now that we are in Canada.

  Mama was in the middle of rolling out pyrohy dough, and when he said this, she frowned. The two of them went into the bedroom, so I pressed my ear against the door to listen. Baba and Mykola were right beside me.

  We could hear them having the same old argument about religion. Tato said that religion should be left in the old country but Mama said, “If you don’t want to go to church, that is your decision, but God is welcome in our house.”

  Usually Mama lets Tato think that everything is his idea. The only thing I have ever heard them argue about is religion. Tato didn’t say anything for a long time. I could hear him pacing in the room. Then the door handle turned. We almost didn’t get out of the way before he opened it.

  He turned to Baba and said, “You can leave that Icon up.”

  Almost forgot! Mama has given me her hope chest! It is beautiful dark carved wood and it smells so nice. Dido made it for her when she was my age. She says that she wants me to start my embroidery so that I can have a traditional wedding even if I am in a new country. I will need cloth and embroidery thread. I am anxious to start.

  So much is happening and there is so much to write about. I am glad that Tato gave me a diary with lots of pages!

  Saturday, May 9, 1914

  Stefan is the meanest, ugliest boy I have ever met. I’m going to get back at him if it is the last thing I do. Here is what happened:

  Tato only works half a day on Saturday, so this morning after he left for the factory, Mama took Baba with her to the open market and I was supposed to stay with Mykola. There is no place to play inside our house, so I took Mykola outside to play tag on the steps. It was nice to see him giggling and having a good time, and I love being outside with just my brother and no mother or grandmother to tell me what to do, but then Stefan arrived. He was carrying a large empty cloth bag, but I don’t know why.

  — pimply Stefan

  — mean Stefan

  — know-it-all Stefan

  He made fun of me for wearing my embroidered skirt and even laughed at the lovely beads that Irena made for me. He said I looked like a “dirtybohunk.” I asked him what that means and he said that’s what Canadians call Ukrainians because they don’t wash.

  He knows we wash!! I said, “Maybe in your village it was dirty, but not in mine.”

  He said, “Even after you wash, you stink like garlic.”

  It seems that Canadians don’t like garlic. I told him if I was a dirtybohunk then he was too, but he said that he is now a Canadian because he speaks French and English. He still eats garlic though and he makes me angry.

  I yelled at him and he went away.

  At night

  I am snuggled in my end of the bed and I have just enough light to write with because the light from the street lamp is shining through my window. Stefan came to our door after lunch. He was carrying a ball and two wooden sticks. He apologized for being mean and asked if I wanted to play street hockey. Mama said Mykola had to take a nap but I could go if I wanted to.

  I should have said no, but I wanted to find out what street hockey was. There isn’t anyplace on our street to play. I am amazed at all the wagons loaded with barrels and bolts and metal things that go through our street. I think it’s because there are a lot of factories on our street and the ships are close by too.

  Anyway, Stefan took me about two blocks away from our house to this tall building that had a big dirt yard to play in. He told me that this is where he goes to school. It is called Sarsfield School.

  We played this street hockey for a little bit. You shoot the ball back and forth with the stick. Stefan says that we weren’t playing real street hockey, just a warm-up, but I liked it until he started shooting the ball at me so hard that I couldn’t catch it with my stick. He said that I play hockey like a dirtybohunk girl.

  Then a group of boys came along and said something to Stefan in English. He took my stick and left me standing there all by myself! It was a mean thing to do, especially because I don’t know the area very well.

  Why have I not met any girls? I wonder if I’ll be going to Sarsfield School. I shall ask Tato.

  Sunday, May 10, 1914

  after everyone else is asleep

  I can’t sleep because tomorrow is the first day of school. I don’t go to Sarsfield School. Tato says I will be going to Notre Dame des Anges school. That’s French. Tato says it means Our Lady of Angels. Isn’t that a lovely name? I wish Mama could walk me to school tomorrow, but it is her first day at work. She’s nervous about taking the trolley but Tato said that he would go with her the first time. Thank goodness my school is only two streets away. We found it after we went to churc
h. I wonder if the classes will be in French or English there?

  Speaking of church, we almost had another big fight in our house because Mama wanted us all to go to church. Tato said that there are no Ukrainian churches nearby and Mama should take the hint.

  Pemlych’s wife knocked on the door just as the argument was getting started. She told Mama that she was going to church and would we like to go with her? You should have seen the look on Tato’s face! We were all going to leave with him sitting there at the table. At the last minute he said to me, “Anya, you look like a princess. I think I’ll come too so that everyone knows you’re my daughter.”

  I was going to wear my ugly stupid jumper but I changed my mind and put on my best embroidered blouse and skirt. I wore my new boots — I think that’s why Tato thought I looked like a princess!

  Stefan didn’t come and neither did his father. It seemed like we walked forever and by the time we got to the church my feet were aching. These boots may be pretty, but they are not as comfortable as my old shoes.

  The church is a French Catholic one called St. Antoine. It is plainer than in our church, but it is very pretty just the same. It is so strange to hear the priest — Father Perepelytsia, a Ukrainian priest — say a Ukrainian Mass in a French church.

  Isn’t it wonderful that the French community lets us use their church?

  This church has benches like the one in Hamburg. Instead of standing at the back, we found a place to sit. I was thankful because my feet were sore.

  The best thing about church is that there are girls there my age. I hope they go to my school.

  Monday, May 11, 1914

  sitting at my desk all through lunch

  Maybe Stefan isn’t so bad. Here is what happened:

  Mama packed a lunch for me: rye bread spread with chicken fat and sliced onion. She also packed me a jar of sour milk.

  I put on my drawers and stockings and plain blouse and that stupid jumper, but when I went to put on my new boots my feet hurt too much from yesterday, so I decided to leave them off until I got to school. I didn’t want to get my new stockings dirty, so I took those off too and walked barefoot.

  When I was halfway to school, I could hear someone running behind me. I was afraid that it was the man who yelled at us on the street, but it was only Stefan.

  He ordered me to put my shoes and stockings on. When I told him about my blisters he said that didn’t matter. Then he grabbed my lunch and smelled it. “You really are a dirtybohunk,” he said. I felt like hitting him and almost walked away, but then he said, “Let’s trade lunches.”

  He had that large canvas bag again. It looked empty, but he opened it and showed me a white bread sandwich with butter and brown sugar and a jar of tea. It looked very tasty but I didn’t know why he wanted to trade. He told me to just do it. He was angry and in a hurry so I traded.

  I put my shoes and stockings on and then Stefan ran off to Sarsfield, leaving me alone to walk the last few steps to Notre Dame des Anges school.

  My new school is made of bricks and is two storeys high and there is a fence all the way around it. I wonder why they have girls in one school and boys in another?

  There were some girls playing a circle game in the yard when I got there and they laughed and pointed at me and said something English. I could feel my face go hot with shame. Why were they laughing at me? I had my shoes and stockings on and my clothing was just like theirs.

  When I looked closer, I realized it was their hair. One girl had hers loose down her back. The only time my hair is loose is when I am about to jump into the bathtub. Another girl had her hair cut to chin length. Something I noticed is that most of these girls wear ribbons in their hair. I like this Canadian custom because for once it isn’t plain!

  But why were they speaking English? This is so confusing: a French-sounding school with English-sounding students! Oy, this is not going to be easy, going to school in Canada.

  I stood there watching until the bell rang, then lined up with the other girls, but as we were walking into the school, a teacher took my hand. She led me up the stairs and we passed classroom after classroom. I didn’t want to stare, but it is amazing how many separate classrooms there are. On the second floor alone, I counted four. I think each grade has its own room.

  The teacher took me to a classroom at the end of the hallway. I was nervous until I stepped in. Every girl in the class wore braids. They all spoke my language! Even the teacher spoke Ukrainian!

  She had her hair braided and wrapped like a wreath around her head. Her name is Panna Boyko but she says to call her Miss Boyko because “Miss” means “Panna.”

  The wooden double desks and the black chalkboard are very similar to my old classroom, although there is a window on only one side, not three. In the whole class, only one girl is taller than me. Her name is Mary. Miss Boyko rearranged the room so that I am sharing a desk with Mary, and then she began to teach — in Ukrainian! I was so afraid that school was going to be hard and here it is, being taught in my own language. I wonder why Stefan didn’t tell me about this.

  The grammar and arithmetic are easy. The teacher is using a book like the one that our teacher in Horoshova used for the younger children. The geography and history is interesting, though, because some of it is Canadian and some of it is about Ukrainians. There is a map of Eastern Europe and Russia on the wall and Miss Boyko has put a red dot showing the areas where people in our class have come from. She added a new dot for me. The map covers such a big area that some of the dots are almost on top of each other, while others are a little bit apart. It is also interesting to see how close Russia is to Horoshova.

  At lunch, Mary noticed what I brought and said it was a good thing I didn’t bring a garlic sandwich like she did the first day. I told her about Stefan taking my onion sandwich and sour milk. She said he must be a true friend. Stefan a true friend? That is hard to believe, but it was a very nice thing that he did for me.

  Later

  Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a ribbon for my hair like the other girls wear?

  I forgot to say that we only have Ukrainian class in the morning. It is not French that we are taught in the afternoon, but English. Miss Boyko teaches us that class too. The English alphabet is completely different than ours but at least some of the sounds are the same.

  Even later, at the kitchen table

  That man who yelled at us lives down the street. I was walking about ten steps behind him on the way home from school today and saw when he opened the door to his main-floor flat. I am glad that he didn’t see me. I must remember to walk on the other side of the road when I pass his house. I wouldn’t

  Sorry, Diary. Baba needed help with supper.

  Mama just got home and Tato will be home soon so I had to peel the potatoes and chop the onions and then take Mykola out to play. Stefan was outside. He says that the people who lived in our flat before us wouldn’t let him go on the roof but he has always wanted to go up there.

  We went up together. I had to hold on to Mykola the whole time so that he wouldn’t fall off the edge, but it is very interesting. When I look north, I can see the mountain with a chapel and a cross on top. To the south, I can see the port with the ships coming in, and if I squint, I can see across the St. Lawrence River. There is a good view of the trains and trolley cars and people walking on the street below. At the back of our house is where all the stinky dirty outhouses are. Feh!

  It is more fun looking out in the distance. It was a little bit chilly so we didn’t stay up too long. I told Mykola that he cannot go up here on his own.

  Mama is calling. It’s suppertime, so I must go.

  At night in bed

  Things to think about:

  — Stefan isn’t so bad. Did my sandwich give him trouble at school?

  — We should hang the laundry on the roof. I must remember to tell Mama in the morning.

  — Why don’t our neighbours take better care of their outhouses?

  I haven’t ha
d any time yet to work on my hope chest. Mama says there will be plenty of time once we get settled.

  Tuesday, May 12, 1914, after school

  Mary lives on Centre Street, which is just two blocks away and right by the school. She says that several girls from our class live close to her.

  She loaned me a set of flash cards that she made when she was learning the English alphabet. She has only been in Canada for eight months, but when she speaks English she sounds like our teacher. I tried out the flash cards on Mykola and he thinks it is a wonderful game. He remembers the letters as well as I do. I think he is very smart for a five-year-old.

  Later

  At school we learned that in English, men are called “Mr.” and married women are called “Mrs.” before their names.

  I like that!

  Wednesday, May 13, 1914, bedtime

  I have solved a mystery. I know why Stefan has that big cloth bag. He sells newspapers before school and on Saturdays also. The way I know this is because it was raining today and so he didn’t manage to sell all of his papers. When I passed him on the way to school, he gave me one so I could cover my head.

  I avoided the puddles, but a horse and wagon splashed me with mud. The man shook his fist at me and yelled. Stefan’s newspaper kept most of the mud away from my jumper and blouse, but my beautiful stockings and boots were covered. Miss Boyko made me take them off and she stuffed my boots with newspapers so they would not shrink as they dried. She gave me a pair of scratchy woollen socks to wear in class. It was so embarrassing! I had to put my dirty stockings and boots back on when it was time to go home and they were squishy and cold.

  When I got home, Baba made me have a hot bath even though it is only Wednesday. She said that my boots are not ruined. They just have to dry with newspaper in them and then she will show me how to brush off the dirt and shine them.

  Something else — Mama isn’t Mrs. Haggarty’s housekeeper after all. She works in the kitchen.

  Thursday, May 14, 1914, after school

  I don’t ever want to go back to school.