HANNS’ BLOG

THE END OF THE WORLD?

Hanns F Skoutajan

Approaching Canada Day I heard a CBC announcer inviting former immigrants to give him their first impression of this land. I did not rise to the challenge but thought about it. Now I use this blog to register my thoughts.

So what were the impressions on a ten year old new arrival after my parents and I tromped down the gangplank at Halifax’ Pier 21 in the spring of 1939?

We were of course met by stern faced immigration officials who checked over our credential but also by smiling hatted ladies who thrust religious tracts into our already overburdened hands. Obviously Canada was a religious land which meant either Catholic of Protestant. Jews were less welcome and others unknown and aboriginal spirituality disparaged or even forbidden.  

Beyond that first encounter with our land of settlement the impressions were questionable if not negative. Having left Britain in springtime splendour with green grass and leafy trees, there was little sign of that season on this new shore. From the coach windows of our train while still free from soot we saw only ice clogged lakes and rivers. “Dismal” is the word that comes to mind. 

A day later our train crossed the mighty St.Lawrence which floated huge slabs of ice at remarkable speed downstream toward the ocean. Montreal, then Canada’s largest city, brought some reassurance. The streets were busy. There were even streetcars which for me having come from Prague, was a sign of civilization. There were large buildings such as the mighty Sun Life Building on Dominion Square, the dark reddish stone facade of Windsor Station and of course Notre Dame Cathedral. It seemed very reassuringly European.

All that changed as we left La Belle Province and headed west across northern Ontario. It seemed that our train was endlessly rounding the same lakes and mighty rocks with scrubby trees, an unimaginable wilderness lay beyond. One of our fellow passengers, a lady prone to hysterical exaggerations moaned repeatedly that we were coming to the end of the world. Some of us tended to believe her. 

Winnipeg was large and spread out. I was impressed by the mighty Union Station and the legislative building, but much of the rest was still in the grip of Old Man Winter.

All this changed as we approached the prairies. The railway embankment resembled a narrow isthmus that led across endless seas left by melting snow. Occasionally we glimpsed sod huts with rakish stove pipes that surprisingly emitted smoke as a sign of human habitation. There were of course those strange grain elevators that marked the presence of some hamlet by the transcontinental rail line. 

We saw little of Saskatoon except its attractive train station made of stone. The platform was crowded by people many of them questioning our sanity in coming to this land still in the grip of the depression. How were we to make a living here, the question came to mind.

Our journey was not yet complete. We had not yet reached the end of the world but obviously it was coming closer. The train came to a halt just outside the hamlet of St. Walburg now renowned for its chuckwagon racers. Several wooden planks led across a water filled ditch to a field where a number of railway cabooses were set up to serve as our temporary residences while shacks beyond the end of the world were being readied for our arrival. 

That was the first week for this young immigrant, my friends and parents. We often wondered whether those religious tracts we were given at the beginning of our journey were to give us hope when often there was little else to lift our spirits. 

I am happy to report that first impressions while impressionable are not the final word. The Canada that we encountered in the spring of 1939 has changed in many ways, indeed, in many cases is almost unrecognizable. There are still those seasons of ice and snow. There are huge stretches of what seem to be an empty land dotted by thousands of lakes and rivers and not much else. 

But there are other seasons when our country takes on a different hue. Those lakes and rivers become home to urban seasonal refugees. Our cities and towns have grown. We have come to love Ottawa where we have lived for the past decade and a half. It is a beautiful mixture of urban splendour and nature, the merging of three rivers with the Gatineau Hills as a backdrop. It is a place for many people where two languages are spoken and many others heard. 

First impressions can be both positive and negative. Arriving can be a thrilling event or rather depressing occasion as it was in our case. Many people from all over the world have followed us in the post war years. All of us immigrant/settlers have worked to make this a better place that we are now pleased to call “our home and native land.” 

Spirit Quest July 2015