Chapter 13 - Depressions and Decisions

Sept 21, 1933. It seems that Hugh and Helen Roberton in Scotland had become concerned enough about Arnold and Joan’s situation that they sent a telegram proposing to have Joan come to live with them. Here is Dad's reply:
“Thank-you for your cabled offer to relieve me of the responsibility of looking after Joan under difficulties. At the present time the wee lassie’s future is a bit uncertain as indeed are the futures of so many millions of other little ones whose parents, while sound in body are still deprived of the means of life by a vicious society. After all these years of struggling with the twin Frankensteins, ill-health and economic instability, I carry a particular hatred for the society that makes ill-health an individual catastrophe instead of a social misfortune, and I find difficulty in keeping this hatred from extending to all those who are tolerant of such a system.
At present, it is uncertain how long I will be able to remain here, since it is impossible for me to meet the obligations of the partnership, either in the matter of further financing or the contribution of labour. It is my hope that, when I do leave, I will be able to realize enough out of the disposal of my few personal effects to make some arrangements about Joan.”

January 27, 1934:

“As I write this it is late afternoon, and I am seated on the front veranda enjoying the first consistent sunshine of the year. The river below is placid. Beyond, the lower part of the mountain is scarved in an opalescent ground-mist, while to the east the Cheam Peaks, grand in their robes of white, extend into an azure sky that is ever so lightly traced with ‘Sands of Dee’ pattern of fine white clouds. Not even the “Queen’s View” could beat this panoramic eye-feast that spreads before us. Thousands of acres of farm-lands extending to the south west. A mountain that seems to come near enough to cast a stone at on clear days directly south. And to the east again farm lands extending to the peaks mentioned, some thirty-five miles away. And the river – always the river.

During the past two weeks I have been laid up intermittently, with persistently recurring fevers and an unusual swelling on the neck adding to my troubles. As Mrs. Pomeroy has been in California for some time, it has been largely a matter of turning Joan over to George, who is the ‘factotum’ around here. George is ‘easy’ and Joan knows it, so frequently the recalcitrant Joan has been led before me for parental guidance. On the whole, however, she is anything but a troublesome child, being content to amuse herself all day long with little supervision. Needless to say, we are great friends – so much so that we call each other by our first names. Nor do I frown when she occasionally calls me a stupid boy, but make allowance for the possibility of her being right. I had a fair vision of my being able to bring Joan up in a thoroughly un-orthodox way, devoid of the awe and majesty attributes required by parents hitherto, but the uncertainty of the future clouds my vision in this and other respects.

It is quite evident that it would be unwise for me to stay in this Province any longer than possible disposal arrangements would necessitate, as my physical condition was never so low....the two most sensible places for a man in my situation to go would be home or Russia – with a possible third if one had the guts. Nevertheless there is the mental urge onward, accompanied by a normal antipathy towards retrogression; onward to where and to what? Perhaps to a more devastating defeat that ever as (once again) an illegal entrant to a better clime. Well, except for the subsequent detention period and deportation proceedings, what of it? If one becomes a public charge in this fair country prior to the completion of his five years of domicile the same deportation procedure awaits him..

There is a bare possibility that I could find something to do in the high plateau regions of central or southern USA, where (once there) immigration surveillance would not be too aggressive. If so, the chance of my recuperation would be appreciably greater than it would be in Scotland of elsewhere. Therefore I am harbouring the thought of again looking for a hole in a hypothetical three-thousand-mile fence.”

Copying these passages where Dad’s spirit appears to hit an all time low, it occurs to me that he very likely also suffered from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) where lack of sunlight alters mood and causes mental depression. The West Coast was probably the last place he should have been living, especially since the damp winters would certainly have aggravated his asthma and lung condition. By April of 1934, his life in the Fraser Valley was about to change.