It was also funny because both Stefan and Tato gave me almost the exact same thing. Tato carved me a stork to set on the roof of my dollhouse (he said that even though Canada has no storks, I should have one for good luck), while Stefan carved me a small eagle, its wings outspread. You can’t put it on anything because it wobbles. Stefan told me it is meant to be held.
Sunday, April 9, 1916, Ukrainian Easter
Dear Diary, our whole family is together. This is the first Easter in three years that we have all been together. How I wish we were not prisoners.
Wednesday, May 17, 1916
Some prisoners have been released! A dozen or so left a week ago, and then another twenty yesterday. I hope we get to leave soon.
Monday, May 22, 1916
Dear Diary, I got a letter from Irena, but it is several months old. A man from the government came to her homestead. Irena’s parents were scared because they thought her father was going to be arrested. They were actually looking for Yurij Feschuk, though. He escaped from the internment camp in the winter and they thought he might have come back to Hairy Hill, but Irena says no one has seen him. I wonder where he is? It must be scary to have the government chasing you.
Saturday, May 27, 1916
There have now been more than one hundred prisoners released. I have found out what is happening. They are not going home, but are being sent to mines and factories to work. Why can’t they go home?
It bothers me so much that these men have been in prison so long for something that they didn’t do. Can’t the government see that the factories and mines need workers? Why don’t they just let us go free? Then we can take these jobs. We want to work, but we also want to be free.
Later
I think I saw my Pikogan lady, but when I walked towards her, she was gone.
Friday, June 9, 1916
Oy, Dear Diary! One of the guards told me that there has been a “riot” at the Kapuskasing Internment Camp. A riot means people yelling and screaming and throwing things. This riot involved 1,200 prisoners and 300 guards. I hope Stefan’s brother is safe. That is also where that awful Private Smythe is. I wonder if he was part of the problem?
Thursday, June 15, 1916
Dear Diary! Good news!!!
Tato’s boss is asking for Tato to come back to work. He also asked for Mr. Pemlych. As long as Tato reports in with the government when he is supposed to, and as long as he carries his papers, he should be fine. I also know that my job sewing buttonholes is waiting for me. Maybe I can go to school at night. Mrs. Haggarty is waiting for Mama. We will be leaving sometime soon. I can hardly wait!!!
Later
Will people be mean to us when we get back to Montreal?
Friday, June 16, 1916
Speaking about mean, Slava’s father is not going back to the factory. Today he was sent to a mine on the east coast of Canada. About twelve men were chosen for that. Slava cried and cried. I think it is terrible that they are separated. They are the only family each other has. I do as Tato says and think of her as my little sister. She will be living with us in Montreal.
Thursday, June 29, 1916
Dear Diary, I thought we would have left by now, but we are still waiting for the official papers. There are not very many people left at the internment camp. Most of the unmarried prisoners from the main camp are now transferred to other places. I think it is mean that they are not being freed.
Another mean thing — Mama was not given her wedding ring back, and she didn’t get her few dollars back either. Baba did get her broken ring back, but she cannot wear it, of course. I try not to think about it too much, though, because that will not change the situation. Thank goodness Tato got the money that he earned while he was a prisoner.
Wednesday, July 19, 1916
In two days, we leave!!!
Thursday, July 20, 1916
I saw my Pikogan ladies again, Dear Diary! Here is what happened.
The younger one was standing at the edge of our camp, motioning for me to follow her. I ran into the bunkhouse and got my gift. I also found my beaded necklace and slipped it over my head. I am proud of it and I wanted to show it to my dear Pikogan elder.
The lady took me a different way through the deep woods. After what seemed like an hour of walking I was tired and hungry, but we finally came upon a clearing. There were children playing and a young man was cleaning a rifle.
The lady went into one of the tents and I could hear her talking to the elder. Then she opened up the tent flap and motioned for me to come in. The elder looked frail and her eyes were weary. This broke my heart. Why was she sick? The younger lady motioned for me to show the elder my beadwork. I lifted the necklace over my head and handed it to her.
Her eyes lit up. She took the necklace in her grizzled hands and held it to her heart, then she held it close to her eyes, carefully examining the beadwork, then she gave it back.
Then I drew out my rushnyk.
Dear Diary, I know what you are thinking! The rushnyk took me so long to make! But I can always make another. I can never replace these friends.
The elder held out her hands and I passed it to her. She caressed the needlepoint as if the cloth were a child, and then she held it to her face and examined each stitch. She draped the rushnyk around her shoulders and smiled. I thought at that moment that she looked so noble. I think she is the spirit of the lake.
I began to stand up, but she held up her hand as if telling me to wait. Then the younger woman left the tent. She came back with a canvas bag. The elder opened the bag and pulled something out of it that looked like a fur. I unfolded it and gasped. It was a vest, much like a kamizelka from the old country. But instead of being decorated with colourful embroidery and beads, it was tooled with something I had never seen before. They are like long white beads.
It was so beautiful I was almost afraid to touch it. The younger woman took it from my lap and motioned for me to put it on. It fit perfectly.
I was so overwhelmed that I felt like bursting into tears. I kept on saying thank you thank you thank you as I was getting up and leaving the tent. The younger lady led me back to the internment camp. When we were just outside the camp, she tipped her head and then she disappeared.
Each time I touch this soft leather vest, I think of my dear friends. And when I hold it to my face, there is a scent of smoke and wild berries. I will never see my Pikogan friends again, but they will always be with me.
Friday, July 21, 1916, early morning
(hot and humid)
We are finally leaving Spirit Lake Internment Camp! I can see the blackflies and the mosquitoes outside the train window, but the ones that were inside have all either been swooshed out or swatted. Even though the windows are open, no more flies are getting in because we are moving too fast.
I am sitting beside Stefan. Mama and Tato are in front of us. Baba is sitting with another of the older women and they are having a good conversation. I am not exactly sure where Mykola is right now. He had been sitting with Slava, but he dashed off down the aisle.
I almost forgot — Stefan says those long beads on my vest are made of porcupine quills. Can you imagine?
Later
We are still in a train going south to Montreal. Stefan is leaning against the window and is sound asleep. I think half of the people on the train are either asleep or trying to sleep. I must end here, Dear Diary, as your pages have run out. Please know that I am safe, and happy, and with my family. And also with Stefan.
Epilogue
Once the Soloniuks were back in Montreal, money was still very tight, so Anya and Stefan’s family shared a flat for six months. Slava moved in with them. During this time, Anya and Stefan’s friendship deepened, although Stefan would get moody at times — brooding about his internment memories. Anya did her best to cheer him, and she mostly succeeded. When the families could finally afford to rent their own flats, it was a bittersweet time for Anya, for she realized just how precious Stefan had become to her. But t
hey still saw each other daily. Slava continued to live with Anya’s family — in everything but name, she was the younger Soloniuk daughter.
Anya and Mary were enthusiastically received back at the garment factory. Anya was worried that they would be treated with hostility, but the supervisor could get so few Canadian-born workers that he even raised their pay. When Anya suggested he hire Slava, he didn’t hesitate.
Anya was now back at the buttonhole machine — a job she was good at but hated. One day she got up her nerve and asked the supervisor for a different job. At first reluctant, he eventually said, “I am going to take a chance with you,” and promoted Anya to “trainer.” Instead of making buttonholes, she showed new girls how to make them. And then she trained girls how to put in zippers. This job was much kinder on Anya’s hands and it paid better too.
As the years progressed, Anya received more promotions, but even with more responsibility and less grinding routine, she did not enjoy the work. She yearned to go back to school, but could not afford to quit working.
In 1919 Anya made a big decision. She would continue to work, but she enrolled in night school, intending to get her high school diploma. Her favourite class was English literature, but she surprised herself by getting top marks in French and Latin. While she loved this opportunity to learn, it did mean that she had less time to see Stefan.
Stefan had less time to see her during these early years too. His first job after being released from the internment camp was in the factory with his father and Anya’s father. He hated the job and quit after a week. At first he started selling newspapers again, then umbrellas and hand fans and other items. After a year or two he was so successful he was able to hire others to sell for him while he concentrated on sourcing the next popular item.
Baba lived to a healthy old age, although her leg continued to bother her. When the Soloniuks got their own flat, they made sure to get one on the ground floor so that Baba didn’t have to climb the stairs. To supplement the family’s income, Baba took in laundry. She also did all of the cooking and cleaning for the family. The one problem with Baba staying at home and looking after the housekeeping was that she never learned to speak English or French. The only places she ever went were church or the Ukrainian hall or the market. To her dying day, she only knew scattered words and phrases in English and French.
Mama was welcomed back, as promised, at Mrs. Haggarty’s. She received a small raise, and every once in a while Mrs. Haggarty would drive Mama home in her automobile! The first time this happened, Mama clutched the door handle with white-knuckled fear, but after a while, she began to enjoy it. She especially enjoyed the astonished looks on the faces of the people on the street as they passed by.
Anya’s father would often come home from the factory exhausted and wet with sweat, but with a smile on his face. Once, his supervisor called him into the office and suggested that he change his name. “If you were George Sloan instead of Yurij Soloniuk, I could make you a manager,” the man said. “But I’m not George Sloan,” replied Anya’s father. He related this story over dinner one evening as if it were funny, but no one else saw the joke. “That’s not fair,” said Anya, anger flashing in her eyes. “Life is not fair,” said her father, gently squeezing her hand. “It will work out in the end.”
It didn’t. Howard Smythe was made manager. A year or so later the factory workers went on strike and Mr. Soloniuk was elected union steward. Howard Smythe handled the whole situation so poorly that the factory almost had a riot on their hands, and he was fired. Anya’s father resolved the strike with tact and patience, ensuring that the workers got a modest raise, but most importantly, job security. He also was able to convince management that this security was the factory’s security too. The supervisor was so impressed that he offered Mr. Soloniuk Howard Smythe’s job. Anya’s father took it, reasoning that it was better to have a union man in management than anyone else. So in the end it did work out — and he didn’t have to change his name.
Mykola was the least hurt by the internment camp experience. He learned his schoolwork quickly and graduated from high school with top marks in mathematics and science — and a full scholarship to the University of Toronto. After four years Mykola obtained a degree in Engineering, making him the first person in his family to get a university degree.
Anya wouldn’t admit even to herself that she was jealous of her brother. She was determined to revel in his achievement and she planned the perfect graduation present. Two weeks before his graduation, she asked him to accompany her on an errand, and then she steered him through the doors of a fine men’s shop. “My brother needs a suit,” she said to the salesman. Mykola nudged her in the ribs and whispered, “I can’t afford a suit here, Anya.” She whispered back, “This is my gift.” And then she watched, swallowing back tears of pride, as her little brother was measured up for a fine black suit that even the prime minister would be proud to wear. It cost her four months’ wages, but it was worth it. Mykola was hired after his very first job interview — with the Canadian National Railway as an intermediate mechanical engineer.
Mary did not stay at the garment factory like Anya. After being there only a month, she was offered a teaching position at Notre Dame des Anges school. In addition to teaching full-time, she volunteered at night, teaching English to new immigrants. One of her students was a serious young man with a brown curly beard and wire-rimmed glasses. Roman Krawchuk picked up English quickly and Mary was impressed by the fact that he put so much effort into his assignments. After the last class of the year, Roman stayed seated until all of the other students had left and then he got up and approached her desk. “Miss Mary,” he said, in his careful English, “would you allow me to buy you a cup of tea?” She smiled and nodded. They later married and headed west to begin a new life.
Like Mary, Slava stayed at the factory only a short time. But unlike Mary, she had become moody and silent. Less than a year after leaving the internment camp, she simply quit working. She stayed at home and helped Baba with her laundry business, but one day she went out to do errands and never came back. The Soloniuks had no idea where she had gone, but they suspected that she was in search of her father.
Anya did get her high school diploma, but she never achieved her dream of going to university. She kept up with her art, though, and her father built her an easel and set it up in front of the biggest window in their flat. One of his union colleagues spotted a poignant sketch that Anya had done. In this sketch, a youthful Slava sat at an industrial sewing machine, her head cradled in her arms and her body limp with exhaustion. The man purchased the sketch from Anya for five dollars and asked if he could use it in one of the union’s publicity campaigns. Anya readily agreed. That sketch ended up on posters in a national campaign to fight child exploitation. Anya hoped that Slava might see the poster somewhere and get word back to her, but if Slava ever saw it and recognized herself, she never made contact.
Anya and Stefan were both determined to achieve the things they had set out to do, but even when they were the most busy, their love for each other continued to grow. After one particularly big sale went through in 1921, Stefan went to a fine jewellery store and purchased a white gold ring with a turquoise stone set in the centre. On bended knee, he proposed to Anya. She got down on her knees and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said, “I shall be your wife, and your friend and companion forever and a day.” They were married in 1923.
Anya continued working at the factory until she was pregnant with their first child. Halyna was born in 1924. In 1925, Irena was born, and then in 1929, they were all delighted with the birth of Bohdan — who insisted on being called Robert as soon as he went to school.
Anya and Stefan would often tell their children stories of their internment, but Halyna, Irena and Robert would look at each other with bewildered amusement. It didn’t seem possible that Canada had imprisoned their parents. They had assumed it was just a story. When the children were in their teens, Anya and Stefan took th
em on a car trip up to Spirit Lake. The buildings were still there, but it was now a government experimental farm. The cemetery was overgrown, but Anya and Stefan led their children to it and, despite the weeds and mud, they all got down on their knees to pray for Lyalya, Ivan Gregoraszczuk, and all the other internees buried there. Anya and Stefan also tried to locate their Pikogan friends, but could not find them.
Anya continued to exchange letters with Irena in Alberta. She had married Max, a neighbouring farmer, in 1924. In the early 1930s the Depression devastated many farms in the area, including Irena and Max’s. It took many years for them to recoup their losses.
One letter from Bohdan Onyshevsky found its way to Anya a few years after the end of World War I:
Dear Anya,
You are now the closest thing I have to a relative. Little did I realize when we were young that I would ever think upon you so fondly. I am glad that you are in Canada and safe. I only wish I had the foresight to send my poor Halyna there before the war began. But how could I have guessed how devastating the war would be? My dear wife and son both died in the war. I loved Halyna with my heart and soul and I despair that I was never given the chance to kiss my dear sweet child, Ivanko. Halyna and Ivanko are buried with your grandfather and brother. I put pebbles on their graves every week. I have also learned to play your brother’s tsymbaly. I don’t know if I will ever get married again. The hole in my heart is too huge. Pray for Horoshova and our homeland, dear Anya. It is a grim time for us.
— B.
Historical Note
World War I Breaks Out in August 1914
When World War I started, Anna’s village of Horoshova was stuck between two battling countries. While Austria-Hungary saw the crownlands of Galicia (which included Horoshova) and Bukovyna as their property, Russia considered these lands as “little Russia.” Soon after the war began, Russia invaded these provinces.
Prisoners in the Promised Land Page 13
