New Arrival
This young lady’s first impression of Canada was a case of expect the unexpected!
I left Berlin in midApril 1955 to immigrate to Canada. The morning I boarded my flight to London, England, there were spring flowers, green grass and sunny skies. I was dressed in an expensive grey suit, white blouse, a hat and gloves, and high-heeled grey suede sandals. I carried a bouquet of sweetheart roses. I forget who had the insane idea to send me off with flowers. My grandmother said a blessing; my parents said very little; and my 14-year-old brother said good riddance.
From London, I flew to Shannon, Ireland, the departure point for many flights on the European side of the Atlantic. My seatmate was a German girl around my age. She carried a baby in her arms and was headed to Flin Flon, Man. She wasn’t too certain of where Flin Flon was exactly, nor was she certain of the reception she’d receive when she arrived. She knew only that she was going to drop that baby into his father’s arms. She had an immigration visa and was determined to marry the baby’s father and remain in Canada.
The plane was bound for Gander, N.L., but as we dozed, a message came on informing us we’d be landing in Sydney instead. Of course, this Sydney was in Nova Scotia, but for a few confused moments I was afraid I’d end up on the wrong continent!
The plane descended over a most astonishing landscape, a vast empty land covered in snow—in April! The airport seemed no bigger than a shack, at least to me, but the locals were friendly. One young man even bought me a coffee. We were soon allowed to re-board and were on our way to Montreal.
It was morning when we arrived and the re-routing had caused passengers to miss their connecting flights, so we were given vouchers for breakfast. My seatmate and I stayed together and headed for the restaurant. First arrived half a grapefruit. We’d never seen the strange fruit before and, not sure how to eat it, tried to peel it! It was a bit of a messy affair. The eggs and bacon were good, but what came with it didn’t seem to be either bread or cake, but it was edible—and the coffee just kept coming.
After breakfast, my seatmate decided to try and phone her baby’s father to let him know she was coming. She handed me the baby and took off. When my flight to Toronto was called, she hadn't returned. Somewhere along the way I'd lost the bouquet of flowers, and was now holding a baby who didn't belong to me. I managed to find the proper counter to check in for my flight and tried to explain my predicament. Eventually, I managed to board my flight without the baby—i just hope he and his mother lived happily ever after.
After being processed by immigration in Toronto, I was informed I was going to Delhi. Sleep-deprived and on a caffeine and nicotine high, I protested that I was not going to India! After all, I had signed papers to work as household help in Canada. Someone patiently explained I was headed to Delhi, Ont., and that everything would be okay. My new employers had sent a man to pick me up. Although I had no way of knowing if he was trustworthy, when he grabbed my suitcases and headed out, I had no choice but to follow and climb into his truck.
Soon the city gave way to a desolatelooking countryside. I arrived at a farm outside of Delhi in the heart of Ontario’s tobacco country. My blouse and gloves were no longer as white, I needed a shower and my hair was a mess. My mother would have been mortified to see me like this in public. But it didn’t matter—i’d made it to Canada!
Sadly, Karin passed away last fall, but her son Ralph was pleased to have her story published posthumously.