The old newspapers that we got today had headlines about Canadian war heroes. I wonder how Stefan’s brother is doing? Has the army figured out he’s not Canadian yet? I also wonder about Mary’s brother. I bet they are both heroes.
Saturday, July 31, 1915
We have settled into a dreary routine here so there is not much to write about. The food is not good and the men are worked hard. It is not so hot here as it is in Montreal and there is hardly any rain.
I spend my days with Mary, playing with the younger children and teaching them lessons. In the late afternoon, I am still mending for other people. This is the curse of being good with my hands. Each of the bunkhouses was issued another bolt of cloth and so some new items can be made also. I have had some time to work on my hope chest and I am almost finished the rushnyk. I made a new shirt for Tato and he loves it. Right now, when I am not working on the rushnyk, I have been making a shirt for Stefan.
Sunday, August 1, 1915, afternoon
I forgot to mention yesterday how good Mykola is in arithmetic. Mary says that he is the best of all the children. The men were playing cards in our bunkhouse today and Tato let Mykola sit on his lap while he played. Mykola caught on so quickly that the men ended up letting him play his own hand. What a funny sight, to see a seven-year-old sitting there frowning like an old man, playing cards!
Tuesday, August 3, 1915
I got another letter from Maureen. Part of it says that she got a job at the clothing factory and that the supervisor said to tell me that he would like me to work for him again as soon as I am free.
So if this war ever ends and we are allowed to go back to Montreal, I shall have a job!
Sunday, August 8, 1915
More old newspapers arrived today and since it was Sunday, the men could read them too. One headline said that “the Allies will eventually wear the Germans down to defeat.” I hope that is true! Another said that the Austrians are running out of food and water. That is so scary to think of. I want the war to end, and I pray that no more people are hurt on either side. I can’t be happy when either side does well because then I am afraid of how the others are suffering.
Tuesday, August 10, 1915
The Pikogan lady (the younger one) just came to the camp. The guard let me greet her and she handed me a cloth bundle and then she left. The bundle was filled with fresh wild berries. They are tiny and blue and they are delicious! I took them into our bunkhouse to show Mama. She said that maybe Baba could make fruit pyrohy with them for supper tonight. Won’t that be a treat?
Something to think about:
My Pikogan friend gave us these delicious berries, but I have given her nothing in return. Baba says that she will think of something.
Sunday, August 15, 1915
It is dry as stone for days on end, and then of course, it pours on Sunday when the men have a day off.
I don’t know how Baba manages with the scanty supplies, but she made up a big batch of khrustyky. They’re just bits of dough rolled flat and then deep-fried crisp and sprinkled with sugar. She made extra for me to take to my friends in the woods.
It cleared up by mid-afternoon so I asked Stefan if he would go with me. When we got to the camp, it wasn’t just the two ladies, but some men and children too. It looked like they were packing things up. I wonder where they are going?
I was glad that Baba had made so many khrustyky because there were so many more people than what I had expected. I walked over to where the elder stood and I bowed my head and held one of the bundles out towards her. She reached out a grizzled hand and took a khrustyk and threw it on the ground, saying something that sounded like a prayer. Then she popped another into her mouth and smacked her lips in pleasure.
Other people in the camp were watching, and they gathered around and tried the khrustyky too. Everyone liked them!
When we turned to leave, the lady who had brought the berries walked along with us and pointed out various wild nuts, berries and roots. Dear Diary, you won’t believe all the food she helped us to collect.
Later
Dear Diary, have you ever noticed that people who don’t have very much are always willing to share?
Sunday, August 22, 1915
(or maybe Monday morning)
I woke up and cannot get back to sleep. I keep on having the same dream. My Pikogan elder is in the dream and she is standing over a fire, pouring water on it. The dream is so vivid that I can smell the smoke.
Wednesday, August 25, 1915
Dear Diary, so much has happened in the last few days that I don’t know where to start. I woke up in the early hours of Monday with a jolt. It was not a dream. Smoke was curling into our bunkhouse through tiny cracks in the walls and roof. I scrambled out of bed and shook Tato awake. He shouted for everyone to wake up and we opened up our door and more smoke poured in. I wanted to close the door so that the fire couldn’t get to us, but Tato made us all go outside. I didn’t even have time to put my boots on. Mykola didn’t whimper. He did what Tato said.
Once we all got outside I realized that Slava was still in the bunkhouse so I ran in to find her. It was dark and the smoke was heavy and I smashed my toe into something, but I heard Slava screaming. I followed the sound and then wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her with me as I stumbled back out. It was our cookhouse that was burning and the flames were licking so high that I feared the whole married prisoners’ village would burn down.
The people from the other bunkhouses were up and Tato shouted orders to people to get pails and basins. Someone dragged out a bathtub and set it under the water pump. Mary and I took turns pumping water into it. Then people scooped water from it and threw it on the fire. But the flames licked higher. Two women threw a water-soaked blanket onto a burning wall — that helped for a little bit.
The fire was finally getting under control by the time the first soldier came, but he did carry a box that contained glass balls filled with something to put out fires. He threw them one by one into the building and the flames got a bit smaller.
We worked until dawn. When the sun shone through the smoke I realized that it wasn’t only the cookhouse that had burned down, but one of the bunkhouses had nearly been lost too.
Even though there was much damage, I am grateful that we were able to put the fire out before it reached the woods.
Friday, August 27, 1915
General Otter came to inspect our camp today. He said that if we hadn’t got the fire out as quickly as we had, Amos could have been destroyed because the fires up here travel fast. He gave us all extra rations as a reward.
Dear Diary, I am thankful that the fire did not spread to Amos, but it makes me wonder if the people in Amos know how close they came to disaster? If we hadn’t acted so quickly, there would have been a big tragedy. I also wonder about that Amos farmer who shot and killed Mr. Gregoraszczuk. Does he realize that people just like Ivan Gregoraszczuk just saved his town? Private Palmer told me that the farmer who killed Mr. Gregoraszczuk was put in jail. I wonder if he is treated better than we are?