by Carol Matas
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Winnipeg, Manitoba, December, 1941
December 1941
January 1942
February 1942
March 1942
April 1942
May 1942
June 1942
July 1942
August 1942
September 1942
October 1942
November 1942
Epilogue
Historical Note
Images and Documents
Acknowledgments
Author’s Acknowledgments
Dedication
About the Author
Copyright
Also Available
Books in the Dear Canada Series
Winnipeg, Manitoba
December, 1941
December 1941
December 6, 1941
Is it wrong to be happy?
Daddy says that’s a “big question” and that I am always asking big questions. “Couldn’t you ask me why leaves turn yellow in the fall, or something easy?” he asked me at dinner tonight.
I had come home from ballet class full of happy feelings. Mrs. Roberts had actually praised my pirouettes. I couldn’t believe it! Praise from Mrs. Roberts, as you know, dear diary, is as rare as rain in Winnipeg in December. I waited for the streetcar, floating on air. But when I got home and flopped down on my bed, the first thing I saw was Sarah’s letter, lying there on my pillow where I’d left it when I hurried off to class. How could I have forgotten Sarah’s plight, even for a few hours, and allowed myself to be so happy? Her letter makes me feel like crying. But I know that soon I’ll feel happy again. Is there something wrong with me?
I am going to paste her letter in here so I don’t lose it and so she becomes part of us, dear diary. And since this is my first entry in a brand new diary, I think it’s a good way to start.
2 rue d’Andigne,
Paris, France
November 1
Chère Devorah,
I know that there is no use living in the past, but I can’t help but remember our wonderful last visit. We were children then, four years ago, but so happy and carefree. And when I think that perhaps we could have found a way to stay with you in Canada, I find myself crying. Remember when we swam at Winnipeg Beach? Remember Adam throwing us up in the air so we’d splash into the water? Remember playing baseball with Morris and his friends and me picked last, so I cried? To think that was my biggest worry then. Remember Rachel and Adam getting in trouble because they went to a party and stayed out too late? And remember us walking with the entire family at sunset along the beach, the white sand soft beneath our feet, the dunes rising like soft pillows around us, the sky orange and red and purple and the two of us holding hands? And the corned beef sandwiches we ate at Oscar’s — ten feet high!! And the hot dogs and chips from Kelekis. My mouth waters just thinking about it. Food is so scarce here. Do you still go to Kelekis now that you live in a different part of the city?
I’m very glad that your mother was so brave all those years ago and travelled from France to Canada to see the world. And I’m so glad that she and your papa met and that she stayed in Canada. Otherwise we would have no relatives there and no hope! I know that sounds selfish, but at least with you working to get us over there we can live in hope. Without hope what is there? Strange how different my papa and your mother are, especially when they are brother and sister. Papa is so reluctant to do anything out of the way. Rachel takes after your mother, though, not my papa. Me, I’m afraid I’m more like Papa.
I dwell on the past in this letter because I dread telling you what the present is like. To live under the rule of those who hate you, pass them in the street and know they despise you simply because you are Jewish, it is hard to bear, day in and day out. We live in fear, a vague all-encompassing fear that is hard to describe.
I told you about the thousands of Jews who were rounded up in August, many of them lawyers. And we are beginning to hear such strange rumours about what is happening to the Jews who are taken away. But I will not even repeat them. They are surely just that, rumours by people afraid of what might be in store for us.
Papa is still trying to get us visas to come to Canada and he says your parents are working hard on that front and that we must not give up hope. I will keep hoping. Why does Canada not want us, that’s what I don’t understand. Surely Canada needs more people like Papa. And I’m sure Maman could be useful as a teacher there, correct? And Rachel is clever and I’ll be a great pianist and since Maman spoke English to us when we were young, we don’t even have accents — well, barely — and therefore, we’d be excellent citizens. She always says she did it because she believed it was good for our brains to speak many languages, but how fortunate it may turn out to be.
Well, I’ll try to write again next time Papa sends a letter to your parents, even though you must now dread receiving my letters, as they are so full of gloom. I know! For my next letter I’ll try to think of all the good things — perhaps that will help me to look on the bright side.
Keep me in your prayers. You will always be my dearest friend and cousin,
Sarah
Last week Mommy told me that a month ago the Germans blew up eight synagogues in Paris. That same day she showed something, a paper, to Daddy, but wouldn’t let me see it. I overheard her saying that she translated it from one of the French newspapers. I found the scrap of paper on a side table in the living room a few days ago. I’m going to paste it in here too. Because later when I tell my children they simply won’t believe me that such awful things could have been said, will they?
Death to the Jew! Death to meanness, to deceit, to Jewish wiles! Death to the Jewish cause! Death to Jewish usury! Death to all that is false, ugly, dirty, repulsive, Negroid, cross-bred, Jewish! Death! Death to the Jew! Yes. Repeat it. Death! D.E.A.T.H. TO THE JEW! For the Jew is not a man. He is a stinking beast. We defend ourselves against evil, against death — and therefore against the Jews.
You can see why I worry about being happy, dear diary. I mean, after reading this you’d think I’d never crack a smile again and yet, one happy afternoon and all my cousin’s suffering is forgotten. And all the hatred directed against her — and if I admit it, me, because I’m Jewish too. And it’s not only my cousin Sarah. What about my very own brothers? I have Adam in England to worry about, and Morris in Hong Kong. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I’m heartless!
Later
At dinner I asked Mommy and Daddy what they were doing to get Sarah and her family over here. They said that they have called the people at the Canadian Jewish Congress and that they were told that the Congress is working as hard as they can to get Jews over here. Sarah’s letter came tucked into a larger envelope with a letter from Uncle Nathaniel addressed to Mommy, and I think they are using Uncle Nathaniel’s information to help them convince the authorities about the plight of the Jews overseas. And of course Daddy has written the prime minister. Daddy explained to him all about our family in France and told him what good citizens they would be if they were allowed to immigrate, and pleaded with him to be generous — as we know Canadians are. So far though, it seems as though our government just doesn’t care. I can’t understand that. How can they not care? I feel like writing the prime minister myself and asking him why they don’t like Jews. Maybe I will!
Daddy has told Uncle Nathaniel to pretend he is Christian and to try to get a visa that way, but Uncle Nathaniel says things are not that desperate yet. I read them some of Sarah’s letter and asked what could be more desperate? Daddy said, “You must understand, Devvy, that your Uncle Nathaniel was a judge on the high court in Paris until he was fired because of being Jewish. He
only travelled in the most elite circles of society. He simply doesn’t believe that a gendarme would have the gall to arrest him. I hope he’s right.”
“But the Nazis don’t care about that, do they?” I asked.
Mommy answered, “All the Nazis and the gendarmes care about is whether Uncle Nathaniel is Jewish — not who he is, or what he has accomplished. They would probably enjoy bringing him down from his ‘high horse.’”
It all makes me feel so helpless. I wish I could wave a magic wand like the good witch in The Wizard of Oz and make things better. Or throw a bucket of water over Hitler and see him melt. Or drop a house on him!
December 7
Dear Diary,
I am hiding in my bedroom, away from Mommy and Daddy and the tears. When I went downstairs for breakfast I found Daddy and Mommy sitting at the table with Uncle Simon and Auntie Adele, poring over an extra edition of the paper. Here’s the headline: JAPANESE DECLARE WAR ON GREAT BRITAIN AND U.S. The Japanese have attacked the Americans in Hawaii at their base called Pearl Harbor. An editorial says that on balance the attack is probably a good thing because at least the Americans will now be in the war.
Here’s a direct quote from the front page: Our Canadian troops, including Manitoba men, at Hong Kong, will be in the front line of battle. I’m so worried I’m shaking and can barely write. Why did Morris and cousin Isaac have to sign up? Why?
In fact, I have Morris’s last letter to me here somewhere — so I’ll paste that in. The thing is, diary, the boys based in Hong Kong were just sent there for show. That’s what Morris told me and what Mommy has kept telling me. “Don’t worry,” she’d say, “no one is going to attack them there.” So much for that!
Here’s Morris’s last letter:
The Winnipeg Grenadiers
November 20th, 1941
My dear Dev,
Well, we are finally off the boat. What a trip it was. We arrived here on the 16th. The sun was shining, even though the mountains were still surrounded by mist. We travelled on a ship called the Awatea. A lovely boat but they put triple the number of soldiers on it than it was meant to hold! We lost men on the trip who jumped ship, things were so bad — but it wasn’t that bad for me because I always had Isaac to tease and he me, so we kept in good spirits. We landed at Kowloon, the city on the mainland here. Victoria is on the island. Well, dear sister, just go look it up on a map. At any rate, what a city! The most extreme opulence and the worst poverty. We marched past beggars and we marched past Mandarins — yes, really, wearing purple robes. And the British, of course, in their white suits, being carried about in rickshaws.
We are stationed in the Shui Po Barracks. There are about 40 of us in the barracks and guess what? We have servants! Can you imagine me with a servant? I always remember you saying to me, I’m not your servant! Well, before I’m even really awake one of the 3 batmen assigned to us is shaving me in bed! Now, don’t laugh. I almost have enough hair on my face to shave. And my bed is made and my clothes laid out. Tell Moms that I will be spoiled rotten by the time I get home. But I must admit that these servants make me a little nervous — because they are Chinese — and when I’m being shaved I wonder if they just let the knife slip a little … you see, some are hoping for the Japanese to come and save them. Fifth columnists, we call them. Bizarre logic when you think that the Japanese and Chinese are enemies — but some Chinese would still prefer life under the Japanese than life under the British. Anyway, I hope you like the little trinket I’ve enclosed. I want to impress you by how much it cost but can’t resist telling you how little it cost — a nickel!
You never worry, Dev, but I know Moms does. So just tell her I’m fine and that Isaac is as annoying as ever. He immediately gave all the money he had on him to the children begging in the streets, and so now I need to support him. But what else is new? He’d give away his uniform if I weren’t here to stop him.
Lots of love to the family.
Have you heard anything from Adam lately?
Morris
Morris doesn’t fool me. If Isaac gave away his money I’m sure Morris was right behind him. They are both such softies. I can’t imagine them fighting, and with guns. It makes no sense. They hate sports and anything that takes physical effort. They love the chess club and the debating club — and politics, being Young Liberals. Who knew they would sign up? We were all so shocked. But it seems all the Jewish boys have signed up. They want to get rid of Hitler and fast — before he gets over here, maybe, and gets rid of us!
When they were sent over they had hardly been trained at all. If he has to fight, what will he do? I know I never used to worry, but this is different. Maybe I’ve just never had anything worth worrying over. Now I certainly do.
The trinket Morris sent me is a lovely, tiny little elephant made from wood. I’ve put it on my desk.
And oh yes, what he said about fifth columnists. Hah! I know all about that! The book I’m reading, N or M?, another Agatha Christie, is all about that. Fifth columnists might be all about in England, according to the book, but hopefully the secret police have discovered most of them. Still, I will keep my eyes and ears open right here. Spies can be anywhere!
December 8
Dear Diary,
There’s so much to tell these days that I hardly know where to begin. Got to school cold and miserable because I didn’t eat my breakfast — I couldn’t bear sitting at the table with Mommy, who looks as though she hasn’t slept since Saturday. And every day the news gets worse, not better.
Thousands were killed at Pearl Harbor, thousands! The sailors were all just sitting on their ships and the Japanese bombed them and destroyed the ships and killed so many. The president is going to declare war, everyone says. And then when I got home for lunch, the paper read, CANADIAN UNITS AT HONG KONG IN WAR SECTOR. I know what that means without asking Mommy. It means Morris and Isaac and countless other Winnipegers. This morning when I got to school that’s all anyone wanted to talk about, because it seems everyone in class has a brother or cousin or friend in the Grenadiers. Everyone was upset except, of course, Elizabeth. She has a cousin in the RCAF, but she’s the oldest child in her family and her father is too old to go, so she’s not too worried. But also, she refuses to be sad. She says it’s our duty to be happy, or Hitler wins! So she won’t hear of any worries or problems and just wants to have a good time. Whenever I worry or get sad Elizabeth sings, “Smile, though your heart is aching.” I couldn’t believe it when she first sang it because it’s been my favourite song for ages. I have to admit that it does cheer me up.
What a difference between Elizabeth and Marcie. Marcie is the original Gloomy Gus.
But where was I? Oh yes, school. Mrs. Davis spent the first part of the morning explaining to us where the Grenadiers were — she showed us a map and then had each of us who have relatives there give a little speech about them. That was nice. I think we all felt better afterward, as if just thinking about them and talking about them could help in some way. I worry most about how frightened Morris must be, although I didn’t say that in class. But he’s a big baby, even though he’s 6 feet tall and towers over chubby Isaac. And he’s afraid of thunder and wasps and he hates mosquitoes — there must be a gazillion mosquitoes there, by the way.
Anyway, I suppose I was looking pretty glum at recess, so Elizabeth gave me a scathing look and then pulled my mouth into a smile. She organized a skipping competition and I must admit it did take my mind off everything. Especially since I won!
When I got home from school the final edition of the paper was sitting on the kitchen table, the headline: U.S. AND BRITAIN DECLARE WAR ON JAPS AS FIGHTING SPREADS. And of course the prime minister has declared that Canada is at war with Japan, so that’s it; after two years, we’re finally all in it together.
December 9
It’s late and I’m tired so this will be short. I went to ballet as I always do on Tuesday and then over to Marcie’s for dinner. I took the streetcar to her house and then Mommy picked
me up from there. I was almost relieved to be with Marcie after Elizabeth’s non-stop cheerfulness. It was also nice to be back in the familiar north end. I guess the few months we’ve been in the south end just haven’t been enough for me to feel as if I really belong. As soon as I got off the streetcar, it was like putting on an old pair of pyjamas.
Marcie, as usual, was full of gloom. But even that was so predictable it was comforting.
“We may as well enjoy ourselves now,” she said (which was pretty funny since she never does), “because when Hitler gets here we’ll be the first to be rounded up and then …” At this point she made a motion with her hand of her throat being slit.
“Don’t be a goose,” I scolded her. “Hitler will never get to Canada.”
“Then why,” she said, “does the paper says the Pacific coast is ‘on alert’ and there might be blackouts? Oh, they’re coming here. It’s just a matter of time.” I tried to get her off the morbid subject by asking about her brother. I tried not to blush when I mentioned Mark’s name. I know she suspects I’m in love with him, but she’s too good a friend to tease me about it.
She actually smiled for a change. They had heard from him. “He’s not sure where he’ll be sent next,” she said. “He’s still in England for the moment. They need doctors there right now because of all the flyers coming back injured.” She stopped then and caught herself. “Sorry.”
I sighed. “If Adam ever crashed his plane and needed a doctor I only hope it would be Mark,” I said.
“Mark used to joke that the way they rushed him through medical school, it’s a miracle he hasn’t killed anyone yet. But he’s able to go on leave to London and see the best theatre.”
“I’d like to go with him,” I said.
“You wouldn’t like to be bombed every night,” she said, shaking her head.
I corrected her and told her that the Blitz is pretty much over now. So she shot back that that was because Hitler was probably figuring out how to bomb us right here in Canada!
