(This is Part 2 of Christa Stegemann’s Journey Into the Unknown in May of 1953).
Leaving the huge expanse of ocean, our ship slowly sailed up the great Saint Lawrence River, coming to a stop in Quebec City. The sun left a glittering path behind us as its rays kissed the ship’s wake. We eagerly pointed to colourful buildings along the banks of the river, and some of us speculated where we would end up and find our new home.
Officials ushered us down a ramp and into a large hall where we once again waited in line. Many hours later our names were called and we once more faced Immigration officials who searched our papers and questioned us in great detail, making certain that my father had not been a part of the Nazi evil that had ruled Germany for years. When they were satisfied our political record was not tainted, we were allowed to proceed to the next phase of this intense vetting.
Someone who spoke German gathered a group of us and led us for several blocks until we came to the railway station and into one of the rail cars. Thinking that we would surely reach our destination within a few hours, we made ourselves as comfortable as possible in our assigned car.
Some of the people in our group knew the name of a city or town where relatives would pick them up. We had no idea what the name of our destination was, nor the name of who had sponsored us.
We soon learned to close windows as the coal-fed engine snaked around hills, spewing smoke and soot into the air.
As none of us spoke English, we were unable to communicate with any of the train’s personnel. We pointed at food that was offered, unable to pay for it. None of us had any money on us because we had been told it was illegal to carry German currency out of the country, therefore we had spent the small amount we had left, while in Bremen.
After three uncomfortable nights on wooden benches, the train pulled into Winnipeg, Man.
Some time during a six-hour wait, three men boarded the train and spoke to all of us in turn. These men were representatives of the various denominations who had found sponsors for those of us who had no relatives in Canada.
Now we knew that we would remain in the train for another two days and would be greeted by our sponsor in a small town called Cranbrook, located somewhere in the Rocky Mountains of British Columbia.
As we looked at the freshly planted fields on the vast Canadian prairies, we were overwhelmed by the sheer size of this beautiful country.
Once in a while we would pass a small settlement. Often we would see people working in the fields who would wave to us, as the train shattered their otherwise quiet environment. At times there would be happy looking children standing in groups near the tracks, also waving enthusiastically with welcoming smiles on their faces.
Then we found ourselves gasping at the grandeur of the rugged mountains through which our train was passing. At times the train would run along fast flowing rivers and at other times we would marvel at the emerald colour of massive lakes. Once in a while we’d glimpse a lonely fisherman in a canoe or small boat, casting a hopeful line in order to catch a fish. Such peaceful scenes would make us long to be a part of the people living along the shores of such a lake.
It seemed unthinkable to us that we would be traveling these great distances before seeing another picturesque small town.
One after another of the families who shared our train, left, as they were being met by their sponsors.
At last the conductor came and told us that we were to reach Cranbrook within the next hour. Our excitement and anticipation once more reached mammoth proportions. What would “our town” look like? Would there be rivers and lakes nearby? What kind of people were living there, in what to our eyes, seemed like isolation? There were huge, snow-capped peaks of the Selkirk range with green hills, looking like soft stepping-stones thrown before their gray assent.
The train whistle blew and we began the slow arrival into the Cranbrook train station. We looked with awe at the large sign over the door of the red building. This was to be our new home and everything that met our eyes looked beautiful in the late afternoon sun.
The air was warm under the azure sky as we disembarked the train. Two other families also descended the steps and were met and greeted with many hugs and tears by family members who had arrived in this beautiful land many months prior to now.
We looked around as people began to leave the station and the noise of the engine reminded us that the car which had been our home for five days was getting ready to continue its journey further west.
A kind-looking young woman approached us, asking our name, then greeted us warmly, introducing herself then ushering us into her waiting car. This was the second time in my life I had been inside a car, so that became an adventure in itself.
The woman took us to her home where she had prepared, what to us looked like a feast, and asked us to come and eat with her.
During the next few weeks she spent much time with us, helping us to adjust to our new environment. She took us grocery shopping and pointed out the many things we would be able to buy. My mother had never been in a store where you could pick up a cart and then proceed from row to row of wonderful food stuffs, filling the cart to capacity. The European way of shopping at that time was so different. One had to stand before a counter with the sales person standing behind it, measuring and weighing each item meticulously, placing it into a paper bag and handing it to the customer after having paid for the purchases.
This new way of shopping seemed marvelous to our unaccustomed eyes. Packages that had pictures of their contents were easily identified, but it was very difficult for my mother to shop without knowing the language. Our German/English dictionary became her constant companion.
Our sponsor, Mr. T., had found work for my father and lent us enough money to pay for groceries until my father received his first pay envelope.
One may assume we found these hardships too great. Nothing was further from the truth. My mother and father thanked God daily for His faithfulness and mercy in bringing us to this land of plenty.
Now began the serious task of learning to speak English and working hard at adjusting and becoming Canadians. After all, that had been the reason for coming to this wonderful land of freedom and endless opportunity.
(Christa Stegemann is a Saltair resident and frequent traveler/adventurer).