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Glasilo Magazine Excerpt:
Mushy Bread and Apples
by Anne Urbancic: Canadian Slovenian
Historical Society
This article was published in the September / October 2005 issue
of
Glasilo
Magazine. Our magazine helps build community. We
value your support.
A mysterious fire broke out on a rusty old ship moored near
a scrap yard factory in La Spezia, Italy. Nothing could be done
to save her. The dark smoke billowing through the lazy summer
clouds of an Italian July day in 1982 announced the passing
of a magnificent mechanical creature, a powerful sailing vessel
that, even as she died, would be remembered by thousands of
recent Canadians for having brought them to a new life in Canada.
The ship was the Leonardo da Vinci, a modern, sleek liner whose
precious cargo of new energy, new attitudes, and new immigrants
began arriving at Pier 21 in Halifax in 1960. With each Atlantic
crossing, she carried more than 1300 passengers, more than 1300
fears, more than 1300 hopes. On September 12, 1966, when she
docked at Pier 21, the famous point of destination for so many
new Canadians, among those passengers was a thin young man,
arriving from an internment camp in Italy. His heart held no
fear; his eyes shone with the hope of a new beginning. He had
no money, only a suitcase, some bread and some apples. His travel
documents identified him as Valentin Batic.
Almost 40 years have passed since that day, when the first nips
of early Canadian fall welcomed the young Slovenian man. Recently,
on an evening announcing the first cool touch of another autumn
in Canada, Fr. Batic, celebrating 25 years of ordination and
service to the Canadian Slovenian community in the Toronto area,
recalled those first few months in Canada and retold the story
of his arrival to his adopted home.
The sea passage from Naples had been tiring, but not uncomfortable.
The ship arrived in Halifax early that September morning. The
young man took deep breaths of the clean, fresh smell of Canada,
because the crisp air reminded him of Europe. He had immediately
decided that Canada would not be some strange land for him,
but truly home, so he couldn’t wait to board the Toronto-bound
train to begin his new life. As soon as the Leonardo da Vinci
docked, he impatiently grabbed his suitcases and hurried to
the head of the document processing line. He bustled past the
long column of tired and bewildered fellow passengers, absolutely
certain that his first steps in Canada presaged a fantastic
future. He was an auto electrician by trade and although he
could not speak English, he had no doubt that he would soon
find employment; but the RCMP had other ideas. They quickly
stopped him and sent him to the back of the document processing
line to wait his assigned turn.
The line-up of exhausted travelers seemed endless. At long last,
when evening had already fallen, he boarded the train for Toronto.
It didn’t matter that the train was unbearably slow, it didn’t
matter that there were no other Slovenians on the train, it
didn’t even matter that the bread he had bought with the $20.00
government allowance (meant to see him through his first few
days) was mushy. He traveled all night, awake, excited, like
a child. The train stopped at Montreal. Hungry again, he spent
some money on a salad. But what a salad: what viscous coloured
gunk was this poured over it? Where were the vinegar and oil
he was accustomed to? His first Canadian meal: mushy bread,
apples and mystery salad. Never mind, this was a new country,
a new life, despite the unusual bread and odd salad dressing.
He eagerly looked forward to meeting the people waiting for
him when he arrived at Union Station.
It was almost midnight when he put his bags down in the cavernous
hall of the Toronto train station, looking hopefully around
him for friendly faces. Finally, he found the one person still
left in the meeting area. It was the night janitor slowly sweeping
the marble floor, no one else. Hesitant but undaunted, he approached
the custodian; realizing the difficulty the young man found
himself in, the older man promised that when his shift was finished
he would direct the younger man to a nearby hotel. The following
day, refreshed by a night’s sleep and undeterred by the fact
that his government allowance was quickly disappearing (the
hotel bill came to $11.00), the young man decided to go on foot
to the Immigration Bureau, some 3 or 4 km. away, carrying his
bags in order to save cab fare. Sure enough, once there, his
situation began to improve. There was a room for him in a household
whose members were Greek/Jewish/Serbs (He still remembers that
the meals there were so piquant and spicy that tears ran down
his cheeks each time he ate with them). At the immigration office
they also had a job for him, but not exactly in his line of
mechanical expertise, so he began to work in a glue factory
in the far west end of the city. Well-meaning clerks there tried
to match him with an employee the young man could communicate
with until he learned English, so they assigned him to a Polish
supervisor. But even if the work was back-breaking, and his
Polish language skills non-existent, he refused to become discouraged.
One day, as he worked in the shipping area of the factory, a
familiar voice called out his name in Slovenian, a voice he
remembered from the Italian camp. How surprised he was as he
looked up and met the friendly eyes of Mrs. Marija Cusin, who
had visited the camp. She immediately invited him to her home
to meet her husband and family.
He began to learn English, and had to change jobs in order to
be closer to his school. The days grew shorter, the nights colder.
He didn’t have the proper clothing; even the long sleeved shirt
he had bought at an Italian outdoor market just prior to his
departure turned out to have short sleeves when he took it out
of the package. He felt alone. His homesickness was especially
pronounced when he thought about the mountains of his childhood.
He had little money for entertainment, so he passed his free
time by walking through the streets of the city. He came to
know Toronto very well thanks to his walks. He was especially
fascinated by the endless supplies of fresh fruit on tantalizing
display at every greengrocer he passed. Even in the winter,
there were bananas, pineapples, cherries and grapes. Life would
have been almost too perfect if there had also been figs, but
in the mid - 60’s, Torontonians had not yet developed a taste
for them.
As the beautiful autumn deepened, he looked forward to the snow,
remembering that on the ship there had been a movie about Canada.
The film had described it as a land of snow, and of vast open
spaces, and of more snow, of deep green forests, of even more
snow. But the gorgeous fall of 1966 belied those images until,
finally, one day it did snow. White. Cold. Just as the film
had shown. He went alone to City Hall, enchanted by the skating
rink and the twirling skaters, fascinated by the crisp slash
/ chink of skate blades catching the frosty glints of the winter
sun. He couldn’t believe his ears when he heard the Oberkrainer
music of Avsenik’s Ensemble coming over the loudspeakers, clear
and so familiar above all the city hustle and bustle.
Christmas drew near. He had made a few friends and someone invited
him to Christmas services. He leaped at the invitation, eager
to join the choir in their Christmas hymns. But as he clambered
up the choir loft steps, the choir director pointed out that
only members of the choir could join in. Then he discovered
the Parish of Our Lady Help of Christians on Manning Avenue.
The choir welcomed him, the church welcomed him and the parishioners
welcomed him. And much as he had predicted, hoped and prayed
for when he landed in Canada on that crisp, beautiful early
fall day some three months before, Tine Batic had come home.
Congratulations, Fr. Batic, as you celebrate the Silver Anniversary
of your ordination to the priesthood. We wish you much health
and much joy as you continue to minister to the Slovenian community
in the Toronto area.
Perhaps your family arrived in Canada on the Leonardo da Vinci
or on another ship, or by plane. Let us know the story of your
arrival. The CSHS gives all Canadian Slovenians an opportunity
to cherish their stories forever. We invite you send us your
family documents, or pictures or artifacts or your stories.
Originals or copies are acceptable and will be placed in a special
box identified by your family or organization name.
You can help carry on the important work of the CSHS by becoming
a member or by donating documents and artifacts of your own
or your family’s immigration history to the Archive.
You do not have to be famous to be important to us and to Slovenian
- Canadian history.
You may contact the CSHS at: Canadian Slovenian Historical Society
c/o Dom Lipa, 52 Neilson Dr., Etobicoke ON. M9C 1V7 or by email:
cshs@look.ca,
or through our website: www.slovenianhistorical.ca.
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