I want to tell you a little bit about my father -- a man so interested in everyone else’s story and yet so quiet about his own. He had quite a story to tell and in the last few years he was more willing and open to share. His story was about rejection, independence, bravery, strength, courage, love, trust, hard work, faith and joy.
Dad was born in Predonin, Czechoslovakia on April 10, 1928. Dad did not know his father, although he did meet him when he was older. My babi went to Prague to earn a living and Dad was left with his grandparents. It was a very free childhood -- Dad recalled playing around the Labe (Elbe RIver) with his buddies, no supervision, picking fruit off of farmer’s trees and getting into mischief. One day when he was 12 his uncle came to him to tell him that his grandparents no longer wanted him and with his mother’s address written on a piece of paper he was put on the train and sent to Prague to live with his mother. Whenever dad recalled this story he always said -- it was so lucky that she was home that day. Dad was encouraged to train as a butcher because it was a guarantee that he would never be hungry. Food was such an huge part of dad’s life -- preparing it, sharing it -- but I suppose when you’ve been hungry, really hungry, it does become important. Dad’s memory amazed me -- his memory for details. During one of our visits to Emergency, dad was reminiscing…. growing up in Prague during WW2 left an indelible mark on him. And to the end was fascinated with books, movies -- anything to do with WW2. He recalled being stuck at work for three days after the German officer Heidrich was killed not far from where dad was training. It was impossible and too dangerous to head home. I asked if Dad was scared -- and he said no and I can’t really imagine dad being afraid of anything. He was always so logical, practical and dealt with challenges head-on.
Dad was doing his mandatory military service in 1949. He was not a fan of Communism and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with the communist party. He was stationed approx. 20 kms from the German border and one night, while on guard duty, he put into action a plan that he had been preparing for quite some time. After 5 months of military life he ran -- alone -- with his rifle -- through no man’s land -- across a river-- into Germany. He was confronted by US military, threw his rifle onto the ground and raised his hands into the air. He was free!! Dad gratefully recalled how good the Americans were to him and others in similar circumstances. The refugee camps were full of displaced people, food was scarce, but dad was determined -- looking for work and food, sleeping on park benches for a month when there was no money for return train fares from Frankfurt to the camp. I recall stories that he told about seeking out ripe fruit from farmers/ trees at night and making strange concoctions using corn flakes, peanut butter and other food that the Americans provided, but were totally foreign to him. Dad made many solid friendships with some of the other men in the camp. Zdenek Kynkal and many others. These men were family to each other and it’s remarkable how the bonds lasted so many decades. Recently he told me about 2 Slovak brothers that were at the camp -- Baptists and they used to hold Bible studies. At this time dad was a nominal Christian at best, but the seed was planted and in order for this seed to be nurtured and grow, Dad had to come to Canada.
This was after the war and Europe was flooded with refugees. Dad wasn’t too keen on going to Australia because his thinking was -- once I’m there, I’ll never be back -- it’s too far. Canada opened its doors to men who were willing to work on farms, in forestry or in mining. So with his suitcase, dad set sail for an unpleasant crossing of the Atlantic. Seeing that winter was upon them and everyone knew how cold it was in Canada, dad chose to work in the mines and was sent to the gold mines in Noranda, Quebec. Well arriving in northern Quebec in November and experiencing such extreme cold that he had never experienced before dad left for Toronto in the spring. With his suitcase dad arrived in Toronto at Union station. No plan, no one to help him, he set off on foot and ended up on Queen st. Amazingly he noticed a sign which read “Novy Domov” (New Homeland), the Czech newspaper. He he was told where to find lodgings, where to find work… and this is how his connection with the Czech community in Toronto began. When he asked about places to meet girls he was told to go to the Czechoslovak Baptist Church -- where he eventually met my mom. A seed had been planted in dad’s heart still back in Germany, and the seed was watered and dad did accept Christ as his personal saviour before he and mom were married. We heard a lot about the wedding from mom and dad. It took place in a small farming town in Manitoba on July 4, 1957 on a Wednesday afternoon -- the shops were closed on Wednesdays and the whole town was invited. A cow and pigs were slaughtered and all the women baked and baked and baked. I think that it was quite the wedding!
Dad loved his adopted country and was so grateful for everything that was available to him here. But he was still a Czech at heart and Paul and I grew up going to Czech school on Saturdays, the Czech church and we spoke Czech at home. In 1975 Paul and I travelled to Czechoslovakia with mom and her mom. What an experience for two pre-teens! Dad had instilled in us a knowledge of the culture and the history and I think that’s when I fell in love with this country. Dad was traditional and even though he adopted a Canadian way of life, it was always very Czech in our household. I am so grateful to him for this because being Czech is a part of who I am.
Dad was always very keen to see young people succeed and not just his own children. In his own way he was a mentor, a champion and an encourager. Both Paul and I have been blessed and have wonderful lives because of dad’s direction. Dad loved being with friends and entertaining. He had a heart to serve and to help whenever able to do so. We have fond memories of friends gathered around the table for holidays and most Sundays. During influxes of emigration our house was open to those who needed -- food and advice were wholeheartedly provided. Food can seem like a reoccurring topic with my dad and I think that this may have gone back to some hunger issues during the war. Dad was an excellent butcher and an excellent cook. He was generous with his talents. Paul and I remember helping him fry up schnitzels and sides for church dinners, anniversaries.. and I do believe that love of cooking rubbed off on us both. I have memories of visiting friends and not arriving with chocolates, but klobasa and salam. I am so grateful for our childhood experiences that were so rich and full!
Dad worked in Canada with various meating packing establishments and retired from the Federal Government as a meat inspector. He was always ready to lend a hand and his caring, thoughtfulness and genuine love of people endeared many to him and he grew a large and extended community of friends. For dad it truly was about faith and family. Dad had been actively involved in the Czechoslovak Baptist church for many decades and in later years he and mom adopted a new home church, City Centre Baptist and he loved his church family there. Dad was grandfather to Kyle and Fionna (Paul's children), Jeanri and Francois (Deb's children) and great-grandfather to Areli. He hadn't had the chance to meet Jeanri's husband, Wayne or his two other grandchildren Jurgens and Madeleine, but one day we will all have a wonderful reunion in Heaven.
