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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