Tough Beginnings After the War
With the help of some good people and a lot of hard work, a loving family finds their home in Canada
By the end of World War II, most of Europe was left in shambles. The war was over, but the pain and sorrow was still fresh in peoples’ minds. Many people needed to pick up the broken pieces and start anew.
For my family, “anew” meant leaving our home in the Netherlands for a better future in Canada.
My parents, Eelke and Martje van der Veen, accepted the challenge of moving because they heard there was plenty of land in Canada. They thought by working on a farm for a few years and saving money, they’d be able to purchase their own farm one day. Turns out, it wasn’t that easy.
My parents left their homeland on an immigrant ship with their four youngsters in 1947. My oldest brother, Jerry, was nine, I was eight and the youngest two, Melvin and Albert, were seven and four—plus, my mother was pregnant.
The crossing was horrendous. My dad got sick and wasn’t able to stand until we reached Quebec 12 days later. To add to the misery, the voyage was extra long because the ship had to deviate o course due to an iceberg.
When we arrived, we had no place to go and we were classified as “displaced persons” of the Second World War. We didn’t know what to do. We couldn’t speak the language and we were frightened and lost. The authorities eventually put us on a dirty, sooty train to London, Ont.
There, we were met by a farmer waiting at the train station. He had a large cattle truck and a bad attitude, plus he spoke a “funny” language called English, which we didn’t understand.
The farmer motioned for Mom to get in the passenger seat with the two little ones and for Dad, Jerry and me to climb in the back. We were at his mercy so we did as we were told. Dad first made sure Mom was safely in the front seat before he hoisted us up. It was a very cold September night and we had no blankets, but Dad crawled under the tarp and took us with him. He turned the trip into an adventure by telling us stories and cuddling us close. It’s funny how from such a horrible experience, what I remember feeling most was Dad’s love and not the cold.
We arrived at the farmer’s house in the wee hours of the morning with a feast of foreign foods set before us. We had no idea what most of it was, but we really didn’t care. We were just glad that the journey was over— or at least we thought it was.
The next morning, the farmer made us all get back into his truck and drove us down a rutted road, into a field where the weeds reached our knees. He stopped the truck in front of a dilapidated shack and yelled, “Get out.” Mom couldn’t move; she was frozen in horror. Was this it? The land of promise? The farm of plenty? Dad too was astonished and thought this was just a stop the farmer had to make before taking us to our new home.
Unfortunately, that was not the case.
The farmer started hauling our stu out of the back of the truck. We knew he meant for us to stay here but we thought, how could we? The clapboards swung in the September winds,
and only one window was visible in the whole structure—it was a complete nightmare! But we had no other options and we knew it was part of our destiny.
In the shanty, there was only one room, about the size of a closet, where the farmer had plunked down a lumpy, stained old mattress. There was no space for anything else so Mom, Dad, Melvin and Albert slept there for the night. For Jerry and me, Dad laid out old coats in the attic for us to sleep on. We were scared of being left by ourselves but, again, Dad in his wonderful wisdom kept the fear at a minimum by making it seem like we were in a fun mystery story, and not in something out of a horror movie. It was still an awful experience when we felt little creatures crawling over us in the middle of the night.
Mom wept all night and Dad bemoaned the fact that he had ever decided to come to this horrible country. If only they had the fare to return to Holland!
But alas, we didn’t.
Life was hard for my folks.
The demanding farmer had hired Dad for only $30 a month and would curse him for not knowing the language but would refuse to help him understand.
One time, Mom needed groceries because what the farmer brought for us only lasted a few days and were mostly foreign ingredients to her. He agreed to take her to town, but told her that when he was done with his own errands, she’d better be ready to go or he’d leave her there. Mom didn’t understand a word he said, and when the time came, the farmer left her in tears and alone. The other men in the store took pity on her, loaded up her groceries and one of them oered to take her home.
From that point on, my parents knew our situation needed to change and started searching the newspapers for a new job for Dad somewhere else. They found a dairy farmer who was looking for a herdsman; they applied and Dad got the job.
That early morning we escaped with the help of a local man who could speak German, which sounded similar to Dutch, and Dad’s new boss. We had no idea if we were making the right decision leaving, but nothing could have been worse than the brutality we were already living under. Thankfully, when we arrived at the new place, Chapel’s Dairy Farm—a modern building, there was a sweet little bungalow and a very friendly farmer waiting for us.
We found that life was taking on a whole new meaning for us all. Dad was able to use his expertise with cattle and Mom was employed there as well, helping to clean the milking machines in the spotless parlour. We all learned how to speak English, although it was more challenging for Mom and Dad than it was for the kids. We went to school, and as the years progressed, Dad rented a farm and eventually bought one.
Mom and Dad grew to love Canada. They eagerly became Canadian citizens, felt privileged to vote in elections, and became familiar with Canadian cuisine, while broadening their palettes to include even American foods from restaurants such as Kentucky Fried Chicken. They made trips back to the old country, but their hearts were now solidly embedded in Canadian soil. Yes, Canada was a good choice; no, a great choice!