EDITOR’S NOTE: Expositor Now and Then columnist Petra Wall has a very personal perspective on the current global refugee crisis, having come to Canada as a young refugee from East Germany with her mother in the 1950s. The Expositor requested that Ms. Wall write her story for the paper. What follows is her story.
Coming to Canada
I remember there were tears in her eyes as Oschi, my grandmother, bent down to hug me. “Why are you crying, we are just going for a holiday?” I asked her. I got a bear hug in response. My mother had explained to us that we were taking a little trip to the sea. Just Tom, my little brother, my mother Eve and I were going. Oschi hugged my mother extra hard and she began to cry too. We said goodbye one more time and then it was off to the train station.
My father, Otto Maroldt, had left a broken Germany two years earlier to begin a new life in Canada. He had been through close to seven years of war, repairing bridges as a soldier and walking back to Germany from France after the war. His livelihood had disappeared. The Berlin bakery and the apartment building next to it, inherited from his father, had been massively bombed. The blockade of 1949 followed and he couldn’t get the flour he needed to bake his bread. It was time to leave this country and try his luck in Canada. He worked as a lumberjack in northern Quebec until he had earned enough for his family to join him in Canada.
I didn’t know that day in August, that day we said goodbye to Oschi, that we might never see her again. We were leaving Berlin, leaving Germany, our country of birth for another land with a different culture and a new language. It was 1952 and Berlin was a devastated island in East Germany. This eastern part of the country was under Russian control.
My brother and I didn’t learn what happened next until we were both older. Our train had to stop at various points in East Germany for inspections until we reached West Germany. Each time the train ground to a halt, my mother had to get off with her suitcase and go through a check-point. She told the Russian guards that we were travelling to a holiday destination and would return but they didn’t believe her. There were many others trying to get out of Berlin and East Germany at that time. The wall that would stop the exodus would not be built for another nine years.
Each stop meant new guards had to be bribed with something in the suitcase, so my mother could get back on the train. At the last stop, she was detained longer than usual and much to her horror, the train started to pull away. Her two children aged three and seven were on that train, alone, waiting for her to return. She threw her last precious object at the guards, smashed the suitcase together, jammed it under her arm and ran as fast as she could to get back on that train. She had been an excellent sprinter at school and that talent paid off. She managed to grab the rail and pull herself onto the train, saving her children from an unknown fate.
The three of us made it through West Germany and to the coast of France where we boarded the big Greek ship, ‘Columbia.’ I remember being in a tiny stateroom the size of a small bathroom with two sets of bunkbeds. We had to share that space with a stranger, an older lady who was travelling alone. I was seasick a lot, but when the three of us were feeling better we could enjoy some good meals in the dining room. The crossing was rather rough so the dining room was often empty.
It took about 10 days to make it to Canada. I think we landed at Pier 21, in Halifax. After being processed, we came to Quebec where my aunt and uncle were living. We stayed with them for a few days before heading to Toronto where my dad picked us up. We were so glad to see him after two years. He brought us home to a one-bedroom apartment with a single bed. My mother and Tom slept on the bed and my dad and I had blankets on the floor. Neighbours, mostly immigrants like us, were kind and gave us stuff, like an iron, extra food, directions, and much more.
Both parents had to work. There was no government support and none was expected. It was always their intent to give back for the opportunity that they had been given to come to Canada. My dad had just been hired by General Electric to train as a machinist and my mom soon found work as a draftsman trainee for Design Services. She had spent a couple of weeks lining up and watching people in front of her so she could repeat what they were doing to get work. She didn’t get the welding job, nor a few others, but she did get a job with Design Services to create plans for sub-surface infrastructure in Toronto. Later she became the first female mortgage broker in Toronto.
My early days in school were a bit challenging. I remember being the only girl in Grade 1 that looked like a boy. My mother had cut my hair quite short before we left Germany. She expected cold weather in Toronto and dressed me accordingly, despite the warm September sun. In Germany I had reached Grade 3 but now I was back in Grade 1 so I could learn a new language. I recall being grateful for the infinite patience of the teacher. She would ask kids to act out words, like ‘run’ or ‘sit.’ I quickly learned the language and then I was able to help the students that helped me because I already knew how to read.
There were two early incidents that helped shape my idea of who I was. I remember a big teenage boy running after me, throwing stones and yelling, ‘Nazi, go home.’ I didn’t know what a Nazi was but I asked my mum and I didn’t really understand her explanation. A few days later she saw him chasing me again. This time, she ran after him and she must have startled him because, as previously noted, she was a great sprinter.
The next day my mother came to school with me and took me over to the high school. We walked into one of the classes and I saw the boy quickly take off his glasses. That movement caught my eye and I recognized him as the boy who chased me. The teacher asked them all to stand. I just walked up to him and stood beside him looking up at him. No words were necessary. Then I left again with my mother. I don’t know what, if anything, happened to him, but he never chased me again. That incident, however, made me reluctant to admit my German ancestry for many years to come and it had made it more difficult for me to meet new people.
Another time I got lost in Toronto. It was shortly after I arrived there. A new girlfriend had asked me to come to her house after school. My mother knew I wouldn’t be home at the regular time. My new friend had promised to take me back home but when I got there, plans had changed. My friend had to leave with her mother and I had to find my own way home. I walked and walked but nothing looked familiar.
Finally, I summoned up enough courage and walked into a corner store. I told the person at the counter that I was lost. He kindly called the police and two officers arrived to pick me up. They put me in the back of the cruiser. My mother had taught me our address and I blurted it out. They drove me home. Mother was amazed to see me arrive accompanied by two policemen. She hadn’t expected me home for some time yet and then she didn’t anticipate I would return in a cruiser. Nevertheless, that incident did much to reassure me that I could manage on my own, even at seven, in a big city.
Later we moved to the outskirts of Toronto, to Rouge Hill where we lived on an acre and a half of beautiful treed land, in a small one-bedroom cottage that was later remodelled and added onto for our family of four. It was a good life after that. I still didn’t want to admit I was German, but I liked school and the new friends I made. I was a Canadian now.
It seems that this story will repeat itself many times over in the next year as many new immigrants arrive to our Canadian shores. I feel most of these refugees are looking for a peaceful life, one that offers both security and opportunities and that they are not seeking to harm us. It is also my belief, those that have been radicalized will use other, quicker means to reach our cities. And while we must remain cautious, our fears should not prevent us from helping those in need, just as others helped us when we first arrived to this beautiful country of Canada.
Petra Wall
Square Bay
