In December 1932, Dad provides another vivid image of his setting in the Fraser Valley. I’m sure it is Mount Baker he’s describing below when he mentions the “unreal-in-effect” mountain peaks to the south and east.
“For several days now we have had a very cold spell, with a strong east wind that almost defies one to keep a house warm. The river below is frozen quite a distance from the banks and in the center the ice floes move sluggishly to the sea. On clear days we see from the porch that the mountains on Vancouver Island, some fifty miles off to the west, are already snow clad, while the nearer mountains to the south and east have for some time thrust their white, unreal-in-effect, peaks into the ever-changing background.”
As the Depression and his own poor health dragged on, Dad was becoming increasingly more active in the rising Canadian socialist movement.
“I am interested in Hugh’s (my father’s older brother) political aspirations, being myself as active as my health permits in the Socialist Party of Canada. I can see a great demand for men of honesty and intelligence in this movement which is fast gaining hold of even an Imperialistic colony like Canada. Already I have spoken before the local branch and I go as a delegate to a Provincial meeting in a week’s time.”
In a newspaper clipping dated June 1933, it appears that he had become the Vice-President of the Mission BC branch of the Socialist Party of Canada. By August of 1933, the Maple Ridge Gazette identified him as the President of the CCF (Co-operative Commonwealth Federation) Council for the Dewdney riding and I remember him saying that he chaired one of Tommy Douglas’s very early meetings.
However, as a single father, caring for a two year old was proving to be more and more difficult.
“As things stand now it would appear that the most sensible thing for us to do would be to replace this property on the market, even at a considerable loss, as my original share in the place (despite the protests of Mrs. Pomeroy) will gradually continue to dwindle in the face of the upkeep of a sick man and a growing child. If I was able to realize anything on the forced sale of this place, probably it would be advisable to get someone to look after Joan while I went to a sanatorium for a while.
"I want to thank you for the letters you have found time to send me and the good feeling that lies behind them. Especially I do appreciate your last letter in which you state that you would like Joan and myself to be there is Scotland under your care. If anything should happen to me, I would like to think of Joan being brought up in Scotland, that is if I had time to think while the ‘anything’ was happening. As for myself, even in Scotland, the best revolutionary country I know of, I am afraid I would be too much of a rebel. If, however, my fate is not already entered in the debit column of the book of destiny, it may yet be my lot to revisit the scenes of my childhood.”
Monday, December 27, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Chapter 11 - Hatzic, the Depression and indoor plumbing
Autumn is fast changing the color scheme of our fair valley, burnishing with gold and copper hues that scene which so recently predominated green. Quiet reigns supreme on this hill-side as I write in the open air, save for the occasional utterances in discord of a pair of bright blue birds, which we take to be a species of woodpecker. The river below is still and glassy, bearing on its surface an inverted mountain. Far off a cock crows; a dog barks at a scarcely heard car on the road; both sounds accentuate the silence, and only by them are we reminded that far below us, the pursuits of man continue – and so life goes on.”
I visit the Mission/Hatzic area every year and would love to find the actual location of Dad’s old farm, even though it is no doubt a housing development. Although tracing old property records just by owner name doesn’t seem to be a possibility, my friend Geraldine, who lives in the area, thinks it was probably located on the Hatzic Bench.
Added note: In the spring of 2011, local historian and writer Daphne Sleigh was able to pinpoint the location of Dad’s farm down to a small section of the Dewdney Trunk Road between the Westminster Abbey and Cemetery Road. Her research suggested the farm was 7.87 acres, part of District Lot 9-3, Township 17, Map 6621E. We visited the spot (in the 34800 block of the Dewdney Trunk Road) and compared the present skyline to those in the old photographs and I am very grateful to Daphne for all her efforts in this regard.
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| The farm house |
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| Joan and Dad |
Continuing to quote from the 1932 letter, Dad describes life in Hatzic and Canada during the Great Depression:
Continuing to quote from the 1932 letter, Dad describes life in Hatzic and Canada during the Great Depression:
“The farm we bought is situated on a hill-top in the picturesque Fraser Valley, and has a panoramic view of the winding river and thousands of acres of fertile farm lands receding to an impressive background of mountains. Excepting for the climatic conditions, it is as good a place to recuperate in as one could find in a long-search of the countryside.
Mr. Pomeroy and myself put in considerable work during the winter, and aided by Chinese labourers, we improved the place both from the point of living and from the point of fruit-farming. Unaided by outside agencies, we installed a bathroom, complete in all details, hot and cold water system, and drainage disposal system. We have done little better than break even on this season’s crop because of adverse weather conditions, and it is too bad that the withdrawal of labor will prevent the working of this place on a profitable basis in the near future. However, we have an overabundance of garden produce and tree fruits preserved for winter use, and that is a big factor towards economic living.
This country is in very bad shape from coast to coast, the wonder being that the community inertia is not penetrated by hardship and suffering. As in Britain, the embers of revolution continue to smoulder, their slow smoke always evident but quite ineffective in shattering public apathy. The bourgeoisie majority, analogous to the lumbering trained elephant, still retains a humble passivity before the diminutive trainer in the form of the crafty minority. When will the sleepers awake? At whose inspired guidance shall the cycle of revolt gain it momentum? Two or three generations hence, perhaps, when ritual and blind faith and empty prides and animosities have fallen into discard in the face of advancing education and social adjustments, shall our descendants see the dawning of civilization. In the meantime, a little judicious blood-letting might not be far amiss, the quicker to scavenge the world.
Autumn is fast changing the color scheme of our fair valley, burnishing with gold and copper hues that scene which so recently predominated green. Quiet reigns supreme on this hill-side as I write in the open air, save for the occasional utterances in discord of a pair of bright blue birds, which we take to be a species of woodpecker. The river below is still and glassy, bearing on its surface an inverted mountain. Far off a cock crows; a dog barks at a scarcely heard car on the road; both sounds accentuate the silence, and only by them are we reminded that far below us, the pursuits of man continue – and so life goes on.”
I visit the Mission/Hatzic area every year and would love to find the actual location of Dad’s old farm, even though it is no doubt a housing development. Although tracing old property records just by owner name doesn’t seem to be a possibility, my friend Geraldine, who lives in the area, thinks it was probably located on the Hatzic Bench.
Added note: In the spring of 2011, local historian and writer Daphne Sleigh was able to pinpoint the location of Dad’s farm down to a small section of the Dewdney Trunk Road between the Westminster Abbey and Cemetery Road. Her research suggested the farm was 7.87 acres, part of District Lot 9-3, Township 17, Map 6621E. We visited the spot (in the 34800 block of the Dewdney Trunk Road) and compared the present skyline to those in the old photographs and I am very grateful to Daphne for all her efforts in this regard.
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| View from Dewdney Trunk Road 2011 |
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| View from below Dewdney Trunk Road 2011 |
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| Dewdney Trunk Road 2011 |
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Chapter 10 - Hatzic, BC
At some point between 1930 and 1932, Dad’s father, Hugh Roberton (conductor of the Glasgow Orpheus Choir), was invited to be an adjudicator at a music festival in Vancouver, BC. Since it was a perfect opportunity, Arnold headed to Canada for a reunion and they are pictured here together. However, when Dad tried to go back to Petaluma, he discovered his ship jumping days had caught up with him. Hearing his broad Scottish accent, US border guards immediately asked for his documents and in short, his life in the United States came to an abrupt end. Denied entry, he had to dispose of the trucking business though a lawyer and Gert and Joan moved to Canada.
The next letter to his father I have is dated Sept 27, 1932 from Hatzic, BC, located in the Fraser Valley just east of Vancouver. It seems that quite a few things had changed. He writes:
“Gert and I have become irrevocably alienated, and I have deemed it advisable for the benefit of all concerned what we travel our separate ways. At the time of our parting I asked the Pomeroys (friends from Petaluma) to come up here on a camping trip, to stay with me until I could get located, which they did. Later, when it became evident that no openings awaited me, and since it was a matter of indifference to the Pomeroys where they lived, we decided to go into partnership on a small but beautifully situated farm which I was able to purchase at a very close figure. This was a good investment, as well as making a fine home for us all, including and especially Joan.
It was not until some time after the purchase of this place that I found out, upon visiting a specialist in Vancouver that I had been suffering from pulmonary tuberculosis, and that I must needs abandon all thought of physical labour for some time to come – or take the consequences. Probably, but for Joan, I should have preferred the consequences.
The loyalty of Mrs. Pomeroy, however, has relieved the situation, inasmuch as she has devoted herself to the task of bringing up Joan and standing by my in my troubles. When and if I get well again, it is my hope that I will be able to repay, in part at least, the devotion thus shown.”
From the time he was a small child in Scotland, Dad suffered with asthma. I remember him describing how his asthmatic attacks caused both the doctor and his family to think he might possibly die during the night. And, although I was never aware he was told in 1932 that he had tuberculosis, he certainly was plagued with serious breathing problems all his life.
The next letter to his father I have is dated Sept 27, 1932 from Hatzic, BC, located in the Fraser Valley just east of Vancouver. It seems that quite a few things had changed. He writes:
“Gert and I have become irrevocably alienated, and I have deemed it advisable for the benefit of all concerned what we travel our separate ways. At the time of our parting I asked the Pomeroys (friends from Petaluma) to come up here on a camping trip, to stay with me until I could get located, which they did. Later, when it became evident that no openings awaited me, and since it was a matter of indifference to the Pomeroys where they lived, we decided to go into partnership on a small but beautifully situated farm which I was able to purchase at a very close figure. This was a good investment, as well as making a fine home for us all, including and especially Joan.
It was not until some time after the purchase of this place that I found out, upon visiting a specialist in Vancouver that I had been suffering from pulmonary tuberculosis, and that I must needs abandon all thought of physical labour for some time to come – or take the consequences. Probably, but for Joan, I should have preferred the consequences.
The loyalty of Mrs. Pomeroy, however, has relieved the situation, inasmuch as she has devoted herself to the task of bringing up Joan and standing by my in my troubles. When and if I get well again, it is my hope that I will be able to repay, in part at least, the devotion thus shown.”
From the time he was a small child in Scotland, Dad suffered with asthma. I remember him describing how his asthmatic attacks caused both the doctor and his family to think he might possibly die during the night. And, although I was never aware he was told in 1932 that he had tuberculosis, he certainly was plagued with serious breathing problems all his life.
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