Monday, May 3, 1915
Stefan and I finally got a chance to talk last night after supper. We went on a long walk together in the woods beyond the camp, and just from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a white form flit by. Maybe it was the ghost that Mykola had seen. I asked Stefan if he had seen it, but he said no. Maybe it was my imagination.
There are birch trees mixed with the fir trees and now that some of the snow is starting to melt, the ground is covered with hundreds of round golden birch leaves from last fall. I never thought about it before, but birch leaves look something like gold coins. Maybe this is what Halyna meant about Canada being paved with gold?
Stefan told me about his father. He had been worked very hard and he is not as strong as he used to be, and one day while they were out in the woods cutting down trees with only a few guards to watch over them, two of the men set down their tools and walked away. Mr. Pemlych wanted to go and he wanted Stefan to go with him, but Stefan said no, so Mr. Pemlych ran after the other two men. One of the guards ran after him and it didn’t take the guard long to catch him. The other two men have not been caught.
They have put Mr. Pemlych in a small dark room all by himself and he is being given nothing but water and a little bit of bread. This is what “solitary confinement” means.
What I don’t understand is, where did he think he could run to? There is nothing but wilderness for hundreds of miles. Stefan said that some people have escaped and not been caught.
I think Stefan is more angry with himself than anyone else. He thinks that if he had run with his father, the two of them would have had a better chance. I am glad that Stefan did not try to escape.
Later
Stefan also told me something else. I wondered how he could have been arrested as a man in Montreal when he is only fourteen years old. He told me that he refused to show the police his papers. He wanted to get arrested because he wanted to be with his father. Stefan can be very annoying, but every once in a while his kindness shows.
Wednesday, May 5, 1915
Dear Diary, I have now been in Canada for one full year.
I don’t know if we are better off for coming to Canada or whether we should have stayed in Horoshova.
Oy, Dear Diary, I just read that last paragraph I wrote and I am so wrong. If we had stayed in Horoshova, I could be dead now. The place I left does not exist anymore except in my dreams. The war in Europe is being fought right in my old front yard. I will hold the old Horoshova in my dreams and I will pray that the people we left behind have somehow found a way to live.
It is sad to be a prisoner at Spirit Lake Internment Camp, but I am thankful to be alive. And I know this may sound strange, but it is such a relief to be here instead of in Montreal. I can go outside here and breathe fresh air. In Montreal, I was supposed to be free but I did not feel safe.
I keep on reminding myself about all the good things in Canada. There are no lords, and in the future maybe we will own land and maybe we will be free to live like other Canadians. And if we didn’t come to Canada, I wouldn’t have met Maureen or Irena or Slava or Mary or Natalka.
I would never have met Stefan.
Sometimes I think of Stefan as my best friend. I would never tell him, though, because he would tease me.
This may sound strange, but if we hadn’t come to Canada, I never would have seen Spirit Lake. It is sad that this is a jail and also sad that it may be haunted, because it is one of the most beautiful places in the whole world.
If there wasn’t the war, I think we could have a good life in Canada.
Thursday, May 6, 1915
The soldiers give us some old newspapers to use for toilet paper and also to stuff our boots with if our feet are cold or the boots are too big. One of the newspapers they gave us today was dated April 30th and Stefan and I read it together. The Germans attacked the Allies with gas a few days earlier and the British were so upset about it that they attacked Germany even harder. I have noticed that when there are bad stories in the paper about Germans or Austrians, the soldiers here are meaner to us.
Stefan says that his oldest brother enlisted in the army and is fighting for Canada. Stefan’s brother changed his name from Ivan Pemlych to John Pember so they don’t know he’s Ukrainian. Stefan says lots of Ukrainians have done this.
His other brother, Petro, also tried to enlist, but he hadn’t thought to change his name and so he is interned in Kapuskasing.
I hope John Pember is not sent to fight near Horoshova.
Friday, May 7, 1915
Even though it is May, there was a skin of ice on the wash basin when I woke up this morning.
Mama has sewn me a warm wraparound skirt, and a coarse blouse and shawl from the cloth that nice Private Robert Palmer gave us, but she wants me to take the time to make some better clothing for myself. I am very good at sewing and I shall enjoy doing this.
My beautiful black boots no longer fit. Even if they did, I would not want to wear them here because the ground is too rough. I have packed them away and will give them to Slava when we get out of here. The soldiers have given us each a pair of boots. Mine are too big so I stuffed them with newspaper. I have been wearing my handmade shoes from the old country when I am in the bunkhouse. I don’t tie them quite as tightly and they fit fine. The floor is always cold, even through warm stockings and shoes.
Something else —
I think I must be a true Canadian because now I like my drawers. They keep my bottom warm!
Saturday, May 8, 1915
That bad Private Smythe brought us newspapers from May 3 and he seemed to be more angry than usual. There was a story that 5,000 Canadian soldiers have been killed in the war. Private Smythe seems to think this is all our fault. There have also been 40,000 German soldiers killed in a single battle. Why do people have to kill each other like this? Why can’t they just talk it out when they disagree?
Sunday, May 9, 1915
in my bunk bed at night
Private Smythe was one of the soldiers who came with us to church today and he was his usual mean self. What surprised me was that some of the nicer soldiers were mean to us too. It is as if something has changed. I wonder what happened?
It is cold, so after church we stayed indoors. I unwrapped my wee table and chairs and also the dolls that Tato had carved for Mykola and me. Mary’s older sister had made some rag dolls for the children and we put these all on one of the tables and played together. When Tato saw what we were doing, he had a grin on his face and went outside in the rain. A minute later, he came back, carrying something hidden under a cloth. It was a beautiful dollhouse! It is plainer than the one Maureen’s father had made for her, but Tato says that he will keep working on it. It has three storeys and four rooms on each level. The roof is flat like at our Montreal home. I put my doll on the roof so that she could see everything that happens!