Next he asked Private Smythe to step forward. “You are being reassigned,” he said curtly.
You should have seen the look of shock on Private Smythe’s face! Then the Commandant said, “Pack your bags. You will be leaving for Kapuskasing Internment Camp tomorrow morning.”
As Private Smythe left, he flashed me an ugly scowl and whispered something under his breath, but I don’t care. I hope to never see him again! I just feel sorry for the prisoners in Kapuskasing!
“Anna Soloniuk, step forward,” said the Commandant. With a trembling heart, I did. “Your needlework is handsomely done,” he said. “When you are able, please make me a handkerchief. I will pay you, of course.” I was so surprised that no words would come out of my mouth. I just nodded and curtsied. Then he said, “You are dismissed.”
Mama and Mary and I almost ran all the way back to the married prisoners’ camp. We were so happy! Not only does the Commandant not think I am a thief, but he likes my needlework. Better yet, he got rid of Howard Smythe! This is a very good day!
One more thing. When we got back to our camp, Mama got up the nerve to ask Private Palmer if he thought it would be allowed for her to make the blackfly salve with some of the oleomargarine the prisoners have been given. He was very interested in her recipe and said that not only was it fine, but could she make some for the soldiers as well? Private Palmer said that he would bring her more oleomargarine. Mama is happy and we are all relieved.
I just remembered —
Stefan’s brother Petro is a prisoner at Kapuskasing! I hope he finds a way to avoid Private Smythe!
Friday, June 18, 1915
in bed at night
We had a special visitor at the camp today. Father Redkevych is a Ukrainian Catholic priest and he has been visiting all of the internment camps across the country. He inspected our bunkhouses and the men’s work area and he also said Mass and heard confession. He blessed our little church and cemetery and we all said a special prayer for Mr. Gregoraszczuk.
Mama got the impression that Father Redkevych is troubled by our treatment, but she wonders whether if he complains, he might not be allowed to travel from camp to camp. At least he can keep an eye on things and say Mass for us. But I wish there was someone who could set us free.
I have re-strung Irena’s necklace. It looks quite different now because I used all of the original white and yellow beads that Stefan helped me find, and also the beads that the wise Pikogan lady gave me (some yellow — there are no white — but also some blue and a few red). The red Venetian bead with the bird in flight looks so nice on this necklace. I am afraid to wear it in case I lose it, but I showed it to Stefan and he thought I did a good job.
Sunday, June 20, 1915
Dear Diary, we were given more old newspapers for the outhouse today. Before they were torn into strips, Mary read the stories aloud from the front page. The headline in one was that the Russians were victorious in Galicia, leaving thousands dead on the battlefield. I wonder how many of those dead are our people? I have trouble even being able to think of that many people all dead. The murder of Mr. Gregoraszczuk was bad enough, but “thousands” is a nightmare.
There was another story about school children who were collecting “a mile of coppers” to send to the Red Cross to help injured soldiers. If I had a penny, I would send it to them. I hope they help injured soldiers on both sides.
Thursday, June 24, 1915, la Saint-Jean
La Saint-Jean is what the people in Amos call St. Jean Baptiste Day. The men got the afternoon off. I wonder if there is a parade in Amos?
Saturday, June 26, 1915
Lyalya is still in the hospital. I thought she was getting better.
Monday, June 28, 1915
I got another letter from Maureen today! It seems that most of what she wrote was fine with the censors, so I can read all but two lines. Here it is:
221-1 (front) Grand Trunk Street,
Montreal, Canada
Thursday, June 17, 1915
Dear Anna,
I am glad that you are not kept in a jail cell. It sounds like where you are is beautiful, but it is still prison. How awful that that mean Howard Smythe is a soldier up there. I was wondering where he went. School is almost over. I have done well this year but I have no friends. I miss you so much. Do you get a chance to play with your dolls? I hope so.
I think the government should let all of you come home. Everywhere we see “Help Wanted” signs. The factory where your father worked can’t get enough workers and neither can your clothing factory.
I am going to apply to the clothing factory as soon as school is out, seeing as I will soon be fourteen. How I would love to be able to go back to school in the fall, but how many girls go to grade nine?
Write to me soon, please.
Your true friend, Maureen
It is good to hear from Maureen and I am glad that she told me about her own news for a change. How strange that there aren’t enough workers anymore. Just a few months ago there were huge lineups at the soup kitchens. I guess all the workers are either in the army or in prison like us.
July–August 1915
Wednesday, July 7, 1915
Oy, Dear Diary, my heart is breaking as I write this. Lyalya has died! I thought she was getting better. There will be another cross in the graveyard.
Thursday, July 8, 1915
The men in the married camp were given a couple of hours off work this morning so they could attend Lyalya’s funeral. Her coffin is so tiny, Dear Diary. What kind of a life has she had? Natalka is taking this really hard, as you can imagine, and so are Mr. and Mrs. Tkachuk. Her father made a marker for her grave out of tin. He used a nail to etch out her name and birth date and death date. Dear Lyalya will never be forgotten.
Monday, July 12, 1915
It is very hot. I do not have the heart to write. I am still so upset about Lyalya’s death. Slava is also very sad. She and Lyalya were not good friends, but they were close in age and I think it shocks Slava to see that someone her age can die. She has already lost her mother, and her father is acting so strange, and now this. Oy.
Wednesday, July 14, 1915
Dear Diary, we got some more newspapers for the outhouse. They were from about a week ago and the headline was about the Russians fighting in Poland. That is still very close to Galicia and my heart sank when I saw that, but then as we read on, it said that the war has moved on from Galicia. I know it is bad that there is still a war, but I am relieved that it is not being fought in my old front yard right now.
Tuesday, July 20, 1915