Sunday, December 2, 2012
Christmas is Fast Approaching
With Christmas approaching, our thoughts turn to family, those who are here to celebrate with, and those who are no longer here. Christmas was a special time for both my mother and my father, probably more so for my father.
And for this reason, more than thirty years since his passing, we continue to have the same foods for our Xmas Eve family dinner that were his favourite. They include Rolladen (this is still a favourite of everyone), pickled red cabbage, cooked garlic sausage, potato salad and pickled herring. We have added other favourites of ours like brussell sprouts, mashed yams, ham and a salad.
Growing up we celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve but as everyone married and each compromised their family traditions, the celebration was changed to Christmas Day. But in the last 7 or 8 years we have created a new tradition which seems to work for our family. Christmas Eve is celebrated at my house with the whole family attending with the children opening up their gifts from grandparents on this side of the family and from their aunts, uncles and cousins. And this is when we have our traditional Christmas Eve dinner. On Christmas Day each family celebrate Christmas with their spouse's side of the family and I celebrate Christmas Day with one of my sons.
In January, 2000, I decided to write letters to my mother, each of my children and to whichever grandchildren were born at that time. I put them into a metal box with the intention of opening the letters in 2020. My mother also wrote letters to my children and her grandchildren as well as one to me. In 2010, I again wrote letters to everyone, adding the grandchildren that had been born since. Also included in my metal time box are the annual family newsletters I write which gives the highlights of the family's activities for the year as well as pictures.
Unfortunately, my mother didn't get to read her letter from me. I feel bad about that. At the last family function, I mentioned the letters and asked when the family would like to read their letters from Granny. They all decided on this Christmas Eve. I also asked if anyone wanted to add their own letters to the box to be opened up in 2020. I was glad to hear that several wanted to do this.
Christmas definitely is a time to spend with family loved ones and to remember those who are sadly no longer with us.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
A Second Anniversary - An In-Memory Get Together for Mom/Gran
This anniversary of Mom/Gran's passing was hosted by my nephew, Greg, at his home by a barbeque with tons of food, everything Gran would have enjoyed. We didn't have races or games this time but sat in a large semi-circle and talked and bonded since with everyone's busy lifestyle, getting together with grown nieces and nephews is sometimes difficult. Gran would've been delighted.
Because the reunion was on the 26th of August and Gran's birthday was on the 27th, we had a birthday cake, complete with candles, which my brother and I blew out in honour of Gran's birthday. Birthdays were a big thing for her, always eagerly looked forward to and celebrated in a big way. I usually had her birthday dinners at my place but occasionally we did something different. On her 80th birthday we rented a hall at the beach; on her 85th birthday, she rode my nephew's Harley-Davidson motorcycle; one birthday we went to Disneyland (with grandkids in tow); and on another occasion, a room was rented to accommodate more guests.
Christmas was also an eagerly anticipated occasion but her birthdays were, by far, what she enjoyed the most. And that is why we honour her memory at the time of her birthday. To Mom/Gran, you are in our thoughts.
Sadly, we have never done this for my father. When he passed, many years ago, I was a young single, working mother of five children with no time, resources or energy to organize something to remember him although no one would ever forget him. His birthday wasn't a good time either being the day after Christmas. His favourite time of the year was Christmas though and we often speak of him with loving thoughts during the year but always during that season.
He was a fantastic father, a great husband and a wonderful man. Even those grandchildren who were very young when he died, remember Grandpa and the things he did with them. He enjoyed children and always had something special for them when they came to visit. And he was always interested in them. My son who was only three when he died followed him everywhere. He adored his Grandpa. And so to my dear father, who has been such a huge loss in all of our lives, I say you are also thought of with love.
Monday, May 21, 2012
An Anniversary Approaches
The first anniversary of the day my mother died is approaching. Where has the time gone? We talk often of Mom/Gran and remember the way she did things, and remember when she was part of Christmas, birthdays and other celebrations.
It is strange how grief and sorrow can come suddenly when it is least expected - a sudden thought, a memory out of the blue, a remark made or a look at the calendar. I was writing a short story today and felt suddenly very tear-eyed. It was about a young man whose father was dying. I mentioned to a friend that I was crying while I was writing it - 'Imagine crying at your own story!'. I realized then it was probably because the anniversary was approaching and it's been almost a whole year since my mother left us. I thought then of my father too which renewed my tears although it has been many years since he has passed, I miss him no less. I think no matter what our ages, we never get over the loss of our parents.
And as I write this, the tears begin to fall again.
To my mom and dad, I will love you always.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Some Family History
Mom’s and Dad’s Courtship (Lilias and Max Behnish)
My mother, Lilias, began working as a busgirl at the old National Lunch on Pender Street, just around the corner from Granville Street. This was a White Lunch type of place owned by the Greek Stometis brothers. She applied there because at that time she didn’t have a steady job. Her friend, Gladys Whiskin was ‘head’ girl there.
My dad, Max, already worked part-time in the bake shop upstairs and part-time in the kitchen. The first thing she noticed about him was his dark brown eyes staring at her.
The cafeteria had a strict ‘no fraternization’ policy; but in spite of that, after several months they started dating. They had to be very careful that no one saw them. As it later turned out, several staff members did see them around town. But no one told on them.
They spent a lot of evenings window-shopping along Hastings and Granville Streets. In those days it was quite safe to wander around downtown Vancouver. They usually had a bite to eat while out and sometimes went to a movie.
My mother worked shifts and when she had to work until 1:00 a.m., my dad would meet her outside and take her home on the last street car. This meant that he had to walk back to his room; in spite of the fact that he had to go to work very early.
When they decided to get married, they had to keep it a secret. They had a very quiet ceremony at the Vancouver Heights Presbyterian Church on January 24, 1942. They had needed to postpone their wedding a couple of times until they had saved a bit more money.
The only people at the ceremony were my mother’s parents and Pat and Eileen Turrell (friends of my fathers). They ‘stood up’ for them. Gladys Whiskin, my mother’s very close friend was not invited to the wedding because of the need to keep it small.
My mother continued to work and didn’t wear her wedding ring. Then my father decided to tell his boss that he had been married. The cat was out of the bag! Margaret, the manager tackled my mother about being married but she played dumb. She apparently was not a very good liar and did not convince her manager.
They had to be very careful not to talk to each other while they were on the job. Finally, Mr. Stometis asked my father outright if he had married that ‘little Anderson girl’. When my father ‘owned up’ and asked him how he knew it was my mother; he was told that Mr. Stometis had known about them for some time. He said that since they didn’t waste time on the job, it had been accepted. His exact words were, “I knew that you two were dating; and you’re not the kind of man to date one and suddenly marry another – it had to be her!”
So they ‘came out of the closet’ as it were – and she was able to wear her wedding ring. They were then officially married. The bosses gave them a wedding present – a pair of good blankets. Some other gifts were received from some of the other staff as well.
A few months later, the government decried that all German and Italian citizens had to be removed from the coast. Mr. Stometis tried to put in a good word for my dad but it didn’t work.
My dad decided to move to Calgary where he would try to get a job and then send for my mother.
My Father (Erich Max Behnisch) and his family
My father was born at Weisswesser, Prussia, Germany (once part of Silesia), on December 27, 1909. His parents were Max August Behnisch and Elizabeth (Liesbet) Beck.
My father was the third of four children. The first born, Flora, was burned to death at the age of four years when her dress caught fire while playing with matches with her Aunt Flora (same age). Mom has a coloured portrait of her painted on a button in her safe. Next was Walter, born May 31st – the year uncertain but my father always said that his brother was four years older than himself (approximately 1905). Liesbeth, my father’s sister, was born on May 9th. She was about 18 months younger than my father.
According to what my father told my mother, all the children (siblings) were born in different countries. My dad in Prussia, Germany; one in Austria and one in Switzerland. Apparently my father’s parents moved around a lot. My father had most of his schooling in Germany and became a glassblower like his father.
He attended a Trade or Vocational school during 1924/25 in Freital, Saxony, Germany. He had a report card dated May 31, 1925 and had very good marks. (This is believed to be his graduation date). There is also a Confirmation Certificate dated January 2, 1916 and another dated February 6, 1910 – perhaps a Christening date. These were dated in Weisswasser, perhaps where they lived.
Another document claims compensation dated November 19, 1929. My father had worked at The Aktien-Gellschaft fur Glasindustrien, the firm of Friedrick Siemens at Freital, a suburb of Dresden. He had worked there from April 2, 1924 as a glassblower. Compensation had been granted as a result of an injury. There are other documents – written in German.
When my father was in his teens he did a lot of mountain climbing and in fact, had a girlfriend who died from having her leg cut off by a train while they were on a mountain climbing expedition. He also played soccer. We know no other details about the accident or the girl but he did have a picture of her.
Hitler Youth Groups had started in Germany while my father was in his teens. They encouraged the youth to spy on their parents and report on them. My father wanted to get away from this; that began his plans for emigration. First, he took a trip to South America, possibly Chile. He apparently was visiting, my mother thought, his father’s brother, Bruno but according to Rolf Behnisch (his cousin), the relative in South America was actually a brother of my father’s grandmother, Mina Barthal and so would have been his great uncle instead of his uncle. I wish we had more knowledge of this early history of my father.
His next trip was to the U.S. where he had a cousin, Charlotte Barthel, who was an Aur Pair girl or a governess to a well-to-do family. We don’t know what area she lived in. At that time, the U.S. had a quota for immigrants and my father would have had to wait for quite a while so he decided to come to Canada. and then emigrate to the States from here. He traveled under the auspices of the Lutheran Society Immigration Church Board at Winnipeg. (He arrived at St. John, N.B.) He arrived in Canada on March 31, 1930 aboard the ship Montclare sailing from Hamburg on March 20, 1930.
Dad arrived around the same time as the Depression did. He worked at a farm for a family named Reuffler in New Bryden, near Stettler, Alberta to repay his fare. He lived with them and worked for them. The family had three sons and dad was treated as one of the family. While living in Alberta, he also played soccer. His friendship with the family continued for many years and the sons came to visit them when they lived in the Calgary area. The parents had died by this time.
After he had repaid his fare, he moved around a lot because of the scarcity of work, even having to ‘ride the rods’. Dad worked at a variety of jobs during this time including cooking in camps and restaurant work, farm work, baking and working as an orderly in an elderly men's unit. He finally arrived in Vancouver and applied for his citizenship but the war had begun and ‘enemy aliens’ were not granted citizenship. His certificate of Canadian Citizenship, number 43564, Series A, was granted in Vancouver on February 18, 1949.
My dad was only 5 foot 8 inches tall, very fair complexion, dark brown eyes and dark hair. Part of his left thumb was missing as a result of an accident while employed at a Box factory while working in Calgary during the war.
My father’s mother, Elizabeth Anna Beck had auburn hair and brown eyes. Her mother had 28 children, mostly twins and triplets. When my dad and his siblings spent summer holidays with his grandmother, they didn’t enjoy it because there was always so much work to do. The date of her death is unknown but it was before 1959 when Liesbet (her daughter) remarried.
Max Behnisch, my father’s father was a very authoritative man. He had a handlebar moustache. He was a glass technician. My Dad said that he had such good benefits for his employees and better than other plant owners gave. Other companies resented this so much that he was blacklisted and forced out of business. Date of his death is also unknown but some time before 1952 when his grand daughter Sigrid got married but a few years after 1946/47 when dad was able to re-establish contact with his family after World War II.
My father’s grandfather, August Behnisch and grandmother, Mina Bartel/Barthel had a daughter, Flora, about the same age as my dad’s older sister, Flora who died about 1901 (born 1897). This information is, we think, true. What I remember my father telling us (and from what my mother remembers him telling us) is that his grandfather had one son, either Bruno or Max and then 10 daughters and then the other son. Not clear whose child Aunt Flora was.
(August Behnisch was married in Radaberg, Saxony and died there in 1913. It is safe to assume that all his children were born there as well beginning post-May, 1881.)
It is possible that at the time of my father’s sister, Flora’s birth, or early childhood that his parents were also living in Radeberg. A picture of my father, Walter and Liesbeth with their mother was taken in Weisswasser, Prussia (once Lower Silesia). Liesbeth looks to be about two years old so she too could have been born in Weisswasser. (My father’s father was a glassblower at one time owning a glass factory).
My father is buried in the Maple Ridge Cemetery #3, Grave #22, Lot #9.
My Mother (Lilias Kirk Behnish) and her family
Her Memories of Spirit River
My mother’s father applied for a homestead at Spirit River, Alberta after his stint in the First World War. His discharge from the Army provided transportation to Spirit River dated 7/4/21.
The homestead was two quarter sections, located 8 miles from town. There were no roads to their place. My mother remembers in the spring driving over ploughed fields in the buggy.
They had an ice house with huge blocks of ice which had been cut out of the river in the winter and kept in a shed between layers of straw. They made their own ice cream in those days and had eight cows. Her mother milked all 8 cows sometimes once a day and sometimes twice as her father was away a lot working on other farms. In those days the harvesting, threshing, etc. was done on a communal basis with the machines being hired and the men from neighbouring farms helping out. Then they’d move on to another farm and another.
Her mother was usually the one who drove into Spirit River with the cream cans. They went to the railway station. Her mother always tried to arrive after the train had come in because the horse became nervous with the shunting and noises of the trains. One day the train was late and her mother happened to be out of the buggy when the train arrived. The horse bolted with my mother, as a small child, still on the seat in the buggy. Men grabbed the horse almost immediately but the shaft had been broken and they had to wait in town until the shaft was mended. My mother remembers that her mother was so mad at the horse that she whipped it all the way home. After that she used another horse for her trips.
My mother remembers a horse named Nell who was very gentle. One day while they were returning from town and it began to snow very heavily; they got lost in a slough. Her mother was worried but said to my mother that the only thing she could do was let Nell have her head. She did and Nell led them home.
They lived in a two-roomed, tar paper shack with a stove pipe going through the roof. My mother remembers that there was a fire on the roof several times when the pipe got too hot. Her mother, although she was terrified of heights, climbed a ladder to throw pails of water onto the chimney pipe. My mother stood at the foot of the ladder dipping the water out of a barrel and handing the pails up to her. Afterwards her mother would always have a crying fit. She could handle any emergency but always went to pieces afterwards.
For some years her father worked in Edmonton for the summer months. He’d plant his crop and then leave until harvest time. Later, when his stock (animals) were built up, he stayed at the homestead for the whole year.
There was a creek near them, down a big hill and my mother believes that is where their water came from. She remembers her parents each carrying two buckets with a big yoke across their shoulders. For the stock, a team of horses with barrels brought the water up.
Their nearest neighbours were two miles away – the Frank Goulet family. She vaguely remembers visiting them but their children were older. The Hanson family in Spirit River were friends of her parents. He was a carpenter like her father.
Sometimes they drove into Spirit River to attend a dance. Their horses would be put into a large stable and they’d stay overnight at the Hanson’s. There was a cleared space, on bare rock; on a slight slope in the middle of town. She remembers there was a hitching post and thinks there was probably a post office and stores there too.
Her mother, Elizabeth Carruthers Martin and her sister, Lilias Kirk Martin, were living at a boarding house in Winnipeg after they came to Canada in 1912. (Her mother brought with her one of the first Singer treadle sewing machines which is still in the family. My mother thinks her mother and aunt immigrated to Winnipeg because their Aunt Martha, sister to her grandmother, Lilias Martin (nee Kirk) had moved to Winnipeg with her family. Her Aunt Martha later moved to Vancouver and according to a family member had run or been connected with a Home of Midwifery in Winnipeg and that is likely why my mother’s mother returned to Winnipeg from Vancouver so that she could give birth to my mother on August 27, 1920.
My mother’s father stayed at the same boarding house and that was how they met. Although my mother’s father was registered as Alfred Harford Anderson at birth and apparently known by that name in earlier years, he enlisted and was discharged from the Army under the name of Fredrick. Her mother knew him as Fredrick (Fred).
According to my mother, his father was an alcoholic and died from a fall downstairs breaking his neck. Her father left home shortly after his parents were both dead. In later years he talked very little about his family other than to say he was the youngest of 9 children and had been disgusted with his brothers and sisters fight over his parent’s estate. He also spoke of many disappointments as a boy; waiting for his father outside of a pub after being promised an outing and never going. He took an apprenticeship as a cabinet maker in Edinburgh.
My mother’s father married in Scotland (the first time) and immigrated to Canada although the first marriage was unknown to my mother or her mother. He apparently had done some homesteading somewhere in the prairies and was later divorced.
For some time prior to her parents’ marriage on March 15, 1916, her father worked in Winnipeg. After he met her mother at the boarding house, he worked as a carpenter at the CNR yards in Winnipeg. On July 8, 1916, he enlisted in the Canadian Army and became a Sappor in the 239th Battalion, Railway Corps in the Expeditionary Force. He was discharged on September 22, 1919. He suffered a back injury during his war service.
Following his discharge he got a quarter section homestead at Spirit River spending summers working in Edmonton and winters on the farm proving up his claim. My mother was seven months old when they moved there and lived between there and Edmonton for seven years.
In 1927 they moved to Vancouver because life on the farm was hard. Her father worked periodically, mostly on jobs out of town with long periods of no work. In 1929 he worked for a time in Spences’ Bridge on the railroad bridge.
My mother’s father was a very taciturn, secretive man unable to show affection and rarely talking or revealing any of his feelings. My mother feels he was probably a very lonely man. He never had any male friends that she knew of. He was difficult to get close to and difficult to know.
I personally do not have any warm memories of either my grandmother or my grandfather on my mother's side and I never met my father's parents.
My mother’s mother was a housekeeper to her Uncle Bill before she came to Canada. She was 5 foot 7 ½” tall, black hair, sallow complexion, brown eyes. She apparently had a bad heart from birth but was a hard worker. In Winnipeg she and her sister, Lilias ran a hosiery knitting shop. My mother’s mother went back to Scotland while her father was in the war coming back when he was discharged in 1919. She died on January 2, 1952 and is buried at Maple Ridge Cemetery No. 3, Grave #1, Lot #6. Cause of death – heart disease and stroke.
My mothers Memories of Gabriola Island
My mother and her parents, Fred and Betty Anderson moved to Gabriola in July of 1932 because of the Depression. They thought they could live cheaper there than in Vancouver. Harry Howie, a friend of her parents, wanted her father to build a house for him. Also, her mother had known Jean Howie in Kilmarnoch, Scotland where they both grew up. Another friend was Hugh Alexander, also from Kilmarnoch and who had a summer home on Gabriola Island.
They had visited the island for short holidays a couple of times before moving there. At that time there was no ferry connection between Nanaimo and Gabriola – motor launches were used in those days.
At first they lived in two cabins which faced each other in a field across the road from the Howie’s (also their property). With the help of my mother’s mother’s cousin, Elizabeth (Andrew) Latimer, they purchased a piece of property down the road known as Clam Bay.
Her dad began to build the Howie’s house but it was an on-again, off-again type of job because Harry, who had a mill, was cutting his own lumber. The deal was that her father would be paid partly in money and partly in lumber which he could use to build his own house. In the meantime, though a Mr. Coates who owned a property and a store at the wharf (by this time there was a ferry), her father got a job on DeCourcy Island building a house for the leader of a religious sect. He was known as Brother Twelve. Her father came home very seldom and was paid in brand new one dollar bills. Her mother was very suspicious and thought they were counterfeit.
When there was a long period with no word heard from him and there were a lot of strange stories about DeCourcey Island saying strangers were unwelcome, her mother decided to use my mother’s birthday as an excuse. She hired Harry Howie and his launch and they went over to the island. After landing on the beach from a rowboat, they were met by a tall, dark, bearded man with a rifle. He demanded to know who they were and when her mother explained about her father and that they had come over as a surprise for my mother’s birthday, they were briskly told to ‘stay there’ and he left to get Brother Twelve who brought her father with him. Her father had to convince the leader that he had nothing to do with the surprise visit.
They were eventually conducted around the encampment. Many people were working in the gardens but they were not allowed to talk to them. There were also certain areas they were not allowed to go. When they left, they were loaded down with fruits and vegetables and told not to come back.
With Brother Twelve was a red-haired woman, dressed in overalls who was known as the Goddess Isis. The dark haired man who met them with the rifle was known as Agat (Agate).
My mother, Lilias, began working as a busgirl at the old National Lunch on Pender Street, just around the corner from Granville Street. This was a White Lunch type of place owned by the Greek Stometis brothers. She applied there because at that time she didn’t have a steady job. Her friend, Gladys Whiskin was ‘head’ girl there.
My dad, Max, already worked part-time in the bake shop upstairs and part-time in the kitchen. The first thing she noticed about him was his dark brown eyes staring at her.
The cafeteria had a strict ‘no fraternization’ policy; but in spite of that, after several months they started dating. They had to be very careful that no one saw them. As it later turned out, several staff members did see them around town. But no one told on them.
They spent a lot of evenings window-shopping along Hastings and Granville Streets. In those days it was quite safe to wander around downtown Vancouver. They usually had a bite to eat while out and sometimes went to a movie.
My mother worked shifts and when she had to work until 1:00 a.m., my dad would meet her outside and take her home on the last street car. This meant that he had to walk back to his room; in spite of the fact that he had to go to work very early.
When they decided to get married, they had to keep it a secret. They had a very quiet ceremony at the Vancouver Heights Presbyterian Church on January 24, 1942. They had needed to postpone their wedding a couple of times until they had saved a bit more money.
The only people at the ceremony were my mother’s parents and Pat and Eileen Turrell (friends of my fathers). They ‘stood up’ for them. Gladys Whiskin, my mother’s very close friend was not invited to the wedding because of the need to keep it small.
My mother continued to work and didn’t wear her wedding ring. Then my father decided to tell his boss that he had been married. The cat was out of the bag! Margaret, the manager tackled my mother about being married but she played dumb. She apparently was not a very good liar and did not convince her manager.
They had to be very careful not to talk to each other while they were on the job. Finally, Mr. Stometis asked my father outright if he had married that ‘little Anderson girl’. When my father ‘owned up’ and asked him how he knew it was my mother; he was told that Mr. Stometis had known about them for some time. He said that since they didn’t waste time on the job, it had been accepted. His exact words were, “I knew that you two were dating; and you’re not the kind of man to date one and suddenly marry another – it had to be her!”
So they ‘came out of the closet’ as it were – and she was able to wear her wedding ring. They were then officially married. The bosses gave them a wedding present – a pair of good blankets. Some other gifts were received from some of the other staff as well.
A few months later, the government decried that all German and Italian citizens had to be removed from the coast. Mr. Stometis tried to put in a good word for my dad but it didn’t work.
My dad decided to move to Calgary where he would try to get a job and then send for my mother.
My Father (Erich Max Behnisch) and his family
My father was born at Weisswesser, Prussia, Germany (once part of Silesia), on December 27, 1909. His parents were Max August Behnisch and Elizabeth (Liesbet) Beck.
My father was the third of four children. The first born, Flora, was burned to death at the age of four years when her dress caught fire while playing with matches with her Aunt Flora (same age). Mom has a coloured portrait of her painted on a button in her safe. Next was Walter, born May 31st – the year uncertain but my father always said that his brother was four years older than himself (approximately 1905). Liesbeth, my father’s sister, was born on May 9th. She was about 18 months younger than my father.
According to what my father told my mother, all the children (siblings) were born in different countries. My dad in Prussia, Germany; one in Austria and one in Switzerland. Apparently my father’s parents moved around a lot. My father had most of his schooling in Germany and became a glassblower like his father.
He attended a Trade or Vocational school during 1924/25 in Freital, Saxony, Germany. He had a report card dated May 31, 1925 and had very good marks. (This is believed to be his graduation date). There is also a Confirmation Certificate dated January 2, 1916 and another dated February 6, 1910 – perhaps a Christening date. These were dated in Weisswasser, perhaps where they lived.
Another document claims compensation dated November 19, 1929. My father had worked at The Aktien-Gellschaft fur Glasindustrien, the firm of Friedrick Siemens at Freital, a suburb of Dresden. He had worked there from April 2, 1924 as a glassblower. Compensation had been granted as a result of an injury. There are other documents – written in German.
When my father was in his teens he did a lot of mountain climbing and in fact, had a girlfriend who died from having her leg cut off by a train while they were on a mountain climbing expedition. He also played soccer. We know no other details about the accident or the girl but he did have a picture of her.
Hitler Youth Groups had started in Germany while my father was in his teens. They encouraged the youth to spy on their parents and report on them. My father wanted to get away from this; that began his plans for emigration. First, he took a trip to South America, possibly Chile. He apparently was visiting, my mother thought, his father’s brother, Bruno but according to Rolf Behnisch (his cousin), the relative in South America was actually a brother of my father’s grandmother, Mina Barthal and so would have been his great uncle instead of his uncle. I wish we had more knowledge of this early history of my father.
His next trip was to the U.S. where he had a cousin, Charlotte Barthel, who was an Aur Pair girl or a governess to a well-to-do family. We don’t know what area she lived in. At that time, the U.S. had a quota for immigrants and my father would have had to wait for quite a while so he decided to come to Canada. and then emigrate to the States from here. He traveled under the auspices of the Lutheran Society Immigration Church Board at Winnipeg. (He arrived at St. John, N.B.) He arrived in Canada on March 31, 1930 aboard the ship Montclare sailing from Hamburg on March 20, 1930.
Dad arrived around the same time as the Depression did. He worked at a farm for a family named Reuffler in New Bryden, near Stettler, Alberta to repay his fare. He lived with them and worked for them. The family had three sons and dad was treated as one of the family. While living in Alberta, he also played soccer. His friendship with the family continued for many years and the sons came to visit them when they lived in the Calgary area. The parents had died by this time.
After he had repaid his fare, he moved around a lot because of the scarcity of work, even having to ‘ride the rods’. Dad worked at a variety of jobs during this time including cooking in camps and restaurant work, farm work, baking and working as an orderly in an elderly men's unit. He finally arrived in Vancouver and applied for his citizenship but the war had begun and ‘enemy aliens’ were not granted citizenship. His certificate of Canadian Citizenship, number 43564, Series A, was granted in Vancouver on February 18, 1949.
My dad was only 5 foot 8 inches tall, very fair complexion, dark brown eyes and dark hair. Part of his left thumb was missing as a result of an accident while employed at a Box factory while working in Calgary during the war.
My father’s mother, Elizabeth Anna Beck had auburn hair and brown eyes. Her mother had 28 children, mostly twins and triplets. When my dad and his siblings spent summer holidays with his grandmother, they didn’t enjoy it because there was always so much work to do. The date of her death is unknown but it was before 1959 when Liesbet (her daughter) remarried.
Max Behnisch, my father’s father was a very authoritative man. He had a handlebar moustache. He was a glass technician. My Dad said that he had such good benefits for his employees and better than other plant owners gave. Other companies resented this so much that he was blacklisted and forced out of business. Date of his death is also unknown but some time before 1952 when his grand daughter Sigrid got married but a few years after 1946/47 when dad was able to re-establish contact with his family after World War II.
My father’s grandfather, August Behnisch and grandmother, Mina Bartel/Barthel had a daughter, Flora, about the same age as my dad’s older sister, Flora who died about 1901 (born 1897). This information is, we think, true. What I remember my father telling us (and from what my mother remembers him telling us) is that his grandfather had one son, either Bruno or Max and then 10 daughters and then the other son. Not clear whose child Aunt Flora was.
(August Behnisch was married in Radaberg, Saxony and died there in 1913. It is safe to assume that all his children were born there as well beginning post-May, 1881.)
It is possible that at the time of my father’s sister, Flora’s birth, or early childhood that his parents were also living in Radeberg. A picture of my father, Walter and Liesbeth with their mother was taken in Weisswasser, Prussia (once Lower Silesia). Liesbeth looks to be about two years old so she too could have been born in Weisswasser. (My father’s father was a glassblower at one time owning a glass factory).
My father is buried in the Maple Ridge Cemetery #3, Grave #22, Lot #9.
My Mother (Lilias Kirk Behnish) and her family
Her Memories of Spirit River
My mother’s father applied for a homestead at Spirit River, Alberta after his stint in the First World War. His discharge from the Army provided transportation to Spirit River dated 7/4/21.
The homestead was two quarter sections, located 8 miles from town. There were no roads to their place. My mother remembers in the spring driving over ploughed fields in the buggy.
They had an ice house with huge blocks of ice which had been cut out of the river in the winter and kept in a shed between layers of straw. They made their own ice cream in those days and had eight cows. Her mother milked all 8 cows sometimes once a day and sometimes twice as her father was away a lot working on other farms. In those days the harvesting, threshing, etc. was done on a communal basis with the machines being hired and the men from neighbouring farms helping out. Then they’d move on to another farm and another.
Her mother was usually the one who drove into Spirit River with the cream cans. They went to the railway station. Her mother always tried to arrive after the train had come in because the horse became nervous with the shunting and noises of the trains. One day the train was late and her mother happened to be out of the buggy when the train arrived. The horse bolted with my mother, as a small child, still on the seat in the buggy. Men grabbed the horse almost immediately but the shaft had been broken and they had to wait in town until the shaft was mended. My mother remembers that her mother was so mad at the horse that she whipped it all the way home. After that she used another horse for her trips.
My mother remembers a horse named Nell who was very gentle. One day while they were returning from town and it began to snow very heavily; they got lost in a slough. Her mother was worried but said to my mother that the only thing she could do was let Nell have her head. She did and Nell led them home.
They lived in a two-roomed, tar paper shack with a stove pipe going through the roof. My mother remembers that there was a fire on the roof several times when the pipe got too hot. Her mother, although she was terrified of heights, climbed a ladder to throw pails of water onto the chimney pipe. My mother stood at the foot of the ladder dipping the water out of a barrel and handing the pails up to her. Afterwards her mother would always have a crying fit. She could handle any emergency but always went to pieces afterwards.
For some years her father worked in Edmonton for the summer months. He’d plant his crop and then leave until harvest time. Later, when his stock (animals) were built up, he stayed at the homestead for the whole year.
There was a creek near them, down a big hill and my mother believes that is where their water came from. She remembers her parents each carrying two buckets with a big yoke across their shoulders. For the stock, a team of horses with barrels brought the water up.
Their nearest neighbours were two miles away – the Frank Goulet family. She vaguely remembers visiting them but their children were older. The Hanson family in Spirit River were friends of her parents. He was a carpenter like her father.
Sometimes they drove into Spirit River to attend a dance. Their horses would be put into a large stable and they’d stay overnight at the Hanson’s. There was a cleared space, on bare rock; on a slight slope in the middle of town. She remembers there was a hitching post and thinks there was probably a post office and stores there too.
Her mother, Elizabeth Carruthers Martin and her sister, Lilias Kirk Martin, were living at a boarding house in Winnipeg after they came to Canada in 1912. (Her mother brought with her one of the first Singer treadle sewing machines which is still in the family. My mother thinks her mother and aunt immigrated to Winnipeg because their Aunt Martha, sister to her grandmother, Lilias Martin (nee Kirk) had moved to Winnipeg with her family. Her Aunt Martha later moved to Vancouver and according to a family member had run or been connected with a Home of Midwifery in Winnipeg and that is likely why my mother’s mother returned to Winnipeg from Vancouver so that she could give birth to my mother on August 27, 1920.
My mother’s father stayed at the same boarding house and that was how they met. Although my mother’s father was registered as Alfred Harford Anderson at birth and apparently known by that name in earlier years, he enlisted and was discharged from the Army under the name of Fredrick. Her mother knew him as Fredrick (Fred).
According to my mother, his father was an alcoholic and died from a fall downstairs breaking his neck. Her father left home shortly after his parents were both dead. In later years he talked very little about his family other than to say he was the youngest of 9 children and had been disgusted with his brothers and sisters fight over his parent’s estate. He also spoke of many disappointments as a boy; waiting for his father outside of a pub after being promised an outing and never going. He took an apprenticeship as a cabinet maker in Edinburgh.
My mother’s father married in Scotland (the first time) and immigrated to Canada although the first marriage was unknown to my mother or her mother. He apparently had done some homesteading somewhere in the prairies and was later divorced.
For some time prior to her parents’ marriage on March 15, 1916, her father worked in Winnipeg. After he met her mother at the boarding house, he worked as a carpenter at the CNR yards in Winnipeg. On July 8, 1916, he enlisted in the Canadian Army and became a Sappor in the 239th Battalion, Railway Corps in the Expeditionary Force. He was discharged on September 22, 1919. He suffered a back injury during his war service.
Following his discharge he got a quarter section homestead at Spirit River spending summers working in Edmonton and winters on the farm proving up his claim. My mother was seven months old when they moved there and lived between there and Edmonton for seven years.
In 1927 they moved to Vancouver because life on the farm was hard. Her father worked periodically, mostly on jobs out of town with long periods of no work. In 1929 he worked for a time in Spences’ Bridge on the railroad bridge.
My mother’s father was a very taciturn, secretive man unable to show affection and rarely talking or revealing any of his feelings. My mother feels he was probably a very lonely man. He never had any male friends that she knew of. He was difficult to get close to and difficult to know.
I personally do not have any warm memories of either my grandmother or my grandfather on my mother's side and I never met my father's parents.
My mother’s mother was a housekeeper to her Uncle Bill before she came to Canada. She was 5 foot 7 ½” tall, black hair, sallow complexion, brown eyes. She apparently had a bad heart from birth but was a hard worker. In Winnipeg she and her sister, Lilias ran a hosiery knitting shop. My mother’s mother went back to Scotland while her father was in the war coming back when he was discharged in 1919. She died on January 2, 1952 and is buried at Maple Ridge Cemetery No. 3, Grave #1, Lot #6. Cause of death – heart disease and stroke.
My mothers Memories of Gabriola Island
My mother and her parents, Fred and Betty Anderson moved to Gabriola in July of 1932 because of the Depression. They thought they could live cheaper there than in Vancouver. Harry Howie, a friend of her parents, wanted her father to build a house for him. Also, her mother had known Jean Howie in Kilmarnoch, Scotland where they both grew up. Another friend was Hugh Alexander, also from Kilmarnoch and who had a summer home on Gabriola Island.
They had visited the island for short holidays a couple of times before moving there. At that time there was no ferry connection between Nanaimo and Gabriola – motor launches were used in those days.
At first they lived in two cabins which faced each other in a field across the road from the Howie’s (also their property). With the help of my mother’s mother’s cousin, Elizabeth (Andrew) Latimer, they purchased a piece of property down the road known as Clam Bay.
Her dad began to build the Howie’s house but it was an on-again, off-again type of job because Harry, who had a mill, was cutting his own lumber. The deal was that her father would be paid partly in money and partly in lumber which he could use to build his own house. In the meantime, though a Mr. Coates who owned a property and a store at the wharf (by this time there was a ferry), her father got a job on DeCourcy Island building a house for the leader of a religious sect. He was known as Brother Twelve. Her father came home very seldom and was paid in brand new one dollar bills. Her mother was very suspicious and thought they were counterfeit.
When there was a long period with no word heard from him and there were a lot of strange stories about DeCourcey Island saying strangers were unwelcome, her mother decided to use my mother’s birthday as an excuse. She hired Harry Howie and his launch and they went over to the island. After landing on the beach from a rowboat, they were met by a tall, dark, bearded man with a rifle. He demanded to know who they were and when her mother explained about her father and that they had come over as a surprise for my mother’s birthday, they were briskly told to ‘stay there’ and he left to get Brother Twelve who brought her father with him. Her father had to convince the leader that he had nothing to do with the surprise visit.
They were eventually conducted around the encampment. Many people were working in the gardens but they were not allowed to talk to them. There were also certain areas they were not allowed to go. When they left, they were loaded down with fruits and vegetables and told not to come back.
With Brother Twelve was a red-haired woman, dressed in overalls who was known as the Goddess Isis. The dark haired man who met them with the rifle was known as Agat (Agate).
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Remembering My Father
We lost my father many years ago. He was far too young to have passed - he hadn't had the opportunity to enjoy his retirement and had met only a few of his grandchildren. Many more were born later. But although he died before most were born, they all know about Grandpa and are aware of the wonderful man he was. Kind, gentle and thoughtful, family was the most important thing to him. I wrote the following which was published in The Province in a series about immigrants.
Why do people leave their countries and often their close and extended families for a new country? For such life-altering decisions to be made, I feel the reasons must be very important. My father came to Canada while still in his teens not knowing if he would ever see his family again - his reason was strong for leaving his homeland of Germany. Sponsored by a church group, he came by ship with other young people to get away from Hitler’s tyranny; his attempt to control the youth and in some cases to try to turn them against their parents.
He went to work on a farm in the Peace River District so that he could repay his passage. The family had several sons and my father was fortunate in that they treated him as one of their own. After the four year period, they asked my father to stay; but because the Depression was severe at that time, he realized things were already difficult for the family without having an extra person to worry about, so he set off on his own. He now, however had the advantage over when he arrived of being able to speak English.
Work was difficult to find during the Depression and food was sometimes scarce but my father was willing to work hard. At times he was employed as a cook in logging camps; as a baker; and as an orderly in a men’s senior unit; he worked as a labouror and did other small jobs and thought nothing of traveling long distances to look for work.
During the early part of the War, my father worked as a cook in a restaurant. It was here that he met my mother. She was employed as a waitress and said every time she looked up she saw big brown eyes smiling at her. Those smiling eyes could not be ignored forever and they eventually married.
Like the Japanese during World War II, my father was considered an alien in those early years of the 1940’s and he was relocated to Calgary, to be away from the coast. My mother joined him there returning sometime after the War to the Vancouver area. (During this time my mother lost her Canadian citizenship in spite of having been born in Canada). My father, upon his return to British Columbia worked as a baker until he could save enough money to buy land in the Fraser Valley. Life as a farmer had always appealed to him.
As a result, when I was a young child, my brothers and I were surrounded by goats, cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and two sheep. The two sheep were pets but it never took long for every other animal on the ‘farm’ to become a ‘pet’ also. That was my soft-hearted father’s downfall as a farmer. My mother finally decided that farming was not for him and he again became an Orderly at a men’s unit and later at Essondale. She then became the farmer in the family.
Being a newcomer to Canada during a time when the economy was so poor was difficult for a new immigrant but my father was blessed with vast inner strengths - or more likely he developed these strengths by being young in a new country. His strengths and values are what make him stand out as a special person in my memories and I believe he was a great addition to his chosen country of Canada.
He was a great parent, a loving husband, a good friend, a kind neighbour and a thoughtful co-worker. His cheerfulness and optimism were never failing as was his sense of humour. The rules he lived by were ‘giving up is never an option' and 'you can do anything you set your mind to do.’
These early strengths helped him later in life as well when he was struck by a car and thrown fifty feet. He was told he would never walk again; but “I can’t” were not words that were part of my father’s vocabulary and as such with determination and perseverance he eventually walked first with crutches and then with a cane. He never complained. He always looked at his cup as being half full. He never felt sorry for himself. While still in a wheelchair he started a coffee wagon business. While one of my brothers did the driving, he prepared all the food and my mother worked as a Corrections Officer at a minimum security facility. He believed that you can always ask for more but you have to be grateful for what you have.
Unfortunately, ten years later my wonderful father was struck with cancer and died a short time later. Although his bank account was not large, he died a far richer man than many because he lived his values, no doubt learned as a young, hardworking immigrant. He taught his family the power of love and that wishing for something won’t make it happen – you have to work for it; the value of working hard; and the value of optimism and perseverance.
He taught each of his children that every day of our lives is a fresh page and the choice is ours how we want to live it. We can make it a good story or a bad story.
My father, and the strengths he developed as a very young immigrant those many years ago, left his family with a legacy that none of us will ever forget. Every time my brothers and I talk about my father, it is always with much love and a whole lot of admiration for the man he was. It is a shame that his grandchildren weren't able to grow up knowing this wonderful man.
Why do people leave their countries and often their close and extended families for a new country? For such life-altering decisions to be made, I feel the reasons must be very important. My father came to Canada while still in his teens not knowing if he would ever see his family again - his reason was strong for leaving his homeland of Germany. Sponsored by a church group, he came by ship with other young people to get away from Hitler’s tyranny; his attempt to control the youth and in some cases to try to turn them against their parents.
He went to work on a farm in the Peace River District so that he could repay his passage. The family had several sons and my father was fortunate in that they treated him as one of their own. After the four year period, they asked my father to stay; but because the Depression was severe at that time, he realized things were already difficult for the family without having an extra person to worry about, so he set off on his own. He now, however had the advantage over when he arrived of being able to speak English.
Work was difficult to find during the Depression and food was sometimes scarce but my father was willing to work hard. At times he was employed as a cook in logging camps; as a baker; and as an orderly in a men’s senior unit; he worked as a labouror and did other small jobs and thought nothing of traveling long distances to look for work.
During the early part of the War, my father worked as a cook in a restaurant. It was here that he met my mother. She was employed as a waitress and said every time she looked up she saw big brown eyes smiling at her. Those smiling eyes could not be ignored forever and they eventually married.
Like the Japanese during World War II, my father was considered an alien in those early years of the 1940’s and he was relocated to Calgary, to be away from the coast. My mother joined him there returning sometime after the War to the Vancouver area. (During this time my mother lost her Canadian citizenship in spite of having been born in Canada). My father, upon his return to British Columbia worked as a baker until he could save enough money to buy land in the Fraser Valley. Life as a farmer had always appealed to him.
As a result, when I was a young child, my brothers and I were surrounded by goats, cows, pigs, chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits and two sheep. The two sheep were pets but it never took long for every other animal on the ‘farm’ to become a ‘pet’ also. That was my soft-hearted father’s downfall as a farmer. My mother finally decided that farming was not for him and he again became an Orderly at a men’s unit and later at Essondale. She then became the farmer in the family.
Being a newcomer to Canada during a time when the economy was so poor was difficult for a new immigrant but my father was blessed with vast inner strengths - or more likely he developed these strengths by being young in a new country. His strengths and values are what make him stand out as a special person in my memories and I believe he was a great addition to his chosen country of Canada.
He was a great parent, a loving husband, a good friend, a kind neighbour and a thoughtful co-worker. His cheerfulness and optimism were never failing as was his sense of humour. The rules he lived by were ‘giving up is never an option' and 'you can do anything you set your mind to do.’
These early strengths helped him later in life as well when he was struck by a car and thrown fifty feet. He was told he would never walk again; but “I can’t” were not words that were part of my father’s vocabulary and as such with determination and perseverance he eventually walked first with crutches and then with a cane. He never complained. He always looked at his cup as being half full. He never felt sorry for himself. While still in a wheelchair he started a coffee wagon business. While one of my brothers did the driving, he prepared all the food and my mother worked as a Corrections Officer at a minimum security facility. He believed that you can always ask for more but you have to be grateful for what you have.
Unfortunately, ten years later my wonderful father was struck with cancer and died a short time later. Although his bank account was not large, he died a far richer man than many because he lived his values, no doubt learned as a young, hardworking immigrant. He taught his family the power of love and that wishing for something won’t make it happen – you have to work for it; the value of working hard; and the value of optimism and perseverance.
He taught each of his children that every day of our lives is a fresh page and the choice is ours how we want to live it. We can make it a good story or a bad story.
My father, and the strengths he developed as a very young immigrant those many years ago, left his family with a legacy that none of us will ever forget. Every time my brothers and I talk about my father, it is always with much love and a whole lot of admiration for the man he was. It is a shame that his grandchildren weren't able to grow up knowing this wonderful man.
Our Family Picnic to Celebrate Gran's Birthday
I have been somewhat remiss in posting to this site. We had our family birthday celebration at a park in our area - a barbeque complete with banner (pictures will be added to the site.) It included my brother and his family and my family. Fortunately it was a lovely day.
I arrived first to be sure to get the area (unfortunately some distance from where I had to park my car). We had two barbeques, two large picnic tables, blankets, chairs and a friend made us a family banner that will be very useful for future events. I did a photo album which included as many pictures as I could find of mom and my dad from their young years and throughout their lives. Many of these pictures have not been seen by most of the family because I gathered them together from my mother's things. The album was a success. A geneological friend of my mother's had also made up a family tree (which I had laminated) going back to the 1700's. That was a success also.
Because we are a family growing large, a park is an ideal place to have a family get together. Beginning with my father arriving from Germany in the early 1930's and my mother (an only child with her only relatives in Scotland, with the exception of her parents), we now number 55, including grandchildren and spouses. Unfortunately, one brother and his family were unable to make it. But there is always another year.
I had games for the grandchildren, with prizes but they seemed to prefer to play in the mounds of earth left, supposedly, by moles. It was hard to have races with the differences in ages but we did anyway. It seemed to be enjoyed by everyone.
I arrived first to be sure to get the area (unfortunately some distance from where I had to park my car). We had two barbeques, two large picnic tables, blankets, chairs and a friend made us a family banner that will be very useful for future events. I did a photo album which included as many pictures as I could find of mom and my dad from their young years and throughout their lives. Many of these pictures have not been seen by most of the family because I gathered them together from my mother's things. The album was a success. A geneological friend of my mother's had also made up a family tree (which I had laminated) going back to the 1700's. That was a success also.
Because we are a family growing large, a park is an ideal place to have a family get together. Beginning with my father arriving from Germany in the early 1930's and my mother (an only child with her only relatives in Scotland, with the exception of her parents), we now number 55, including grandchildren and spouses. Unfortunately, one brother and his family were unable to make it. But there is always another year.
I had games for the grandchildren, with prizes but they seemed to prefer to play in the mounds of earth left, supposedly, by moles. It was hard to have races with the differences in ages but we did anyway. It seemed to be enjoyed by everyone.
Monday, August 15, 2011
What To Do In Memory of a Loved One
Doing something to remember and honor a loved one means that person is not forgotten. As someone once said, 'When a person's name is spoken, their memory is alive.' But for a loved one we can do better than that.
The following are some of the things we can do in memory of a loved one:
- Donations can be made to the favorite charity of the loved one. (My mother had many charities that she donated to so this would be an easy choice).
- A tree can be planted in your own garden in memory of your loved one or donated to their favorite park or visiting spot. (In the case of my father I would plant a Laburnum tree or a snowball bush.)
- A bench can be placed in their honor along a path they enjoyed walking, at the beach or at a park.
- A special garden can be planted in their memory which includes their favorite plants.
- Volunteer at your loved one's favorite charity, i.e.: canvass for the heart and stroke fund, for cancer, for the environment or in support of animals.
- Send up balloons in their memory on a special day, i.e.: their birthday, Valentines Day, an anniversary or on the date of their passing.
- Get a tattoo in their memory (this is not my favorite suggestion).
- Make a pair of their boots into planters, take something special of theirs and use them as bookends or put something important to them in a place of honor.
- Write a story about their life for family and friends. This is a good way of remembering because we forget all too soon those little things that were so important. It also includes others in honoring your loved one.
- Make a life memory scrapbook asking others to donate ideas, etc. to it. Make copies for other family members.
- Make a memorial, i.e.: a garden plaque displaying their name, a garden arbor with their name on it and their favorite flower growing on it or a planter box.
- Create an online memorial website of memories. This is a good opportunity for everyone to get involved. You may also get a new understanding of your loved one when you hear other people's perspective of their relationship.
Some of the above I will do but as a family we are currently planning a huge family picnic at a local park in honor of my mother's birthday. Her birthday was always the highlight of her year. She anticipated and looked forward to each one and even until her last birthday she could hardly wait to open her birthday presents and blow the candles out on her cake. And looking around at her rapidly growing family, she would smile as we sang happy birthday to her. We plan to make it an annual celebration in her memory.
For those of our loved ones we remember and honor, they will live forever. A quote by Thomas Campbell states: 'To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.'
The following are some of the things we can do in memory of a loved one:
- Donations can be made to the favorite charity of the loved one. (My mother had many charities that she donated to so this would be an easy choice).
- A tree can be planted in your own garden in memory of your loved one or donated to their favorite park or visiting spot. (In the case of my father I would plant a Laburnum tree or a snowball bush.)
- A bench can be placed in their honor along a path they enjoyed walking, at the beach or at a park.
- A special garden can be planted in their memory which includes their favorite plants.
- Volunteer at your loved one's favorite charity, i.e.: canvass for the heart and stroke fund, for cancer, for the environment or in support of animals.
- Send up balloons in their memory on a special day, i.e.: their birthday, Valentines Day, an anniversary or on the date of their passing.
- Get a tattoo in their memory (this is not my favorite suggestion).
- Make a pair of their boots into planters, take something special of theirs and use them as bookends or put something important to them in a place of honor.
- Write a story about their life for family and friends. This is a good way of remembering because we forget all too soon those little things that were so important. It also includes others in honoring your loved one.
- Make a life memory scrapbook asking others to donate ideas, etc. to it. Make copies for other family members.
- Make a memorial, i.e.: a garden plaque displaying their name, a garden arbor with their name on it and their favorite flower growing on it or a planter box.
- Create an online memorial website of memories. This is a good opportunity for everyone to get involved. You may also get a new understanding of your loved one when you hear other people's perspective of their relationship.
Some of the above I will do but as a family we are currently planning a huge family picnic at a local park in honor of my mother's birthday. Her birthday was always the highlight of her year. She anticipated and looked forward to each one and even until her last birthday she could hardly wait to open her birthday presents and blow the candles out on her cake. And looking around at her rapidly growing family, she would smile as we sang happy birthday to her. We plan to make it an annual celebration in her memory.
For those of our loved ones we remember and honor, they will live forever. A quote by Thomas Campbell states: 'To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.'
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