Stories and Photos

Frieda with Family

My Sister Bertha

2003

My sister Bertha passed away in August 1935 at the age of twelve - supposedly of a "snake bite".

I was six years old at the time and looking forward to my first day of school - no anxious moments - because Bertha was going to walk to school with me and take care of me.

I doubt this was ever discussed, I probably just assumed this would be the way it would be because Bertha and I played "School" many many times (and I had no reason to think this way). She taught me to read, write, spell as well as the "phonies" - all that before my first day of school.

I can see myself sitting next to her at the dining room table - playing "School". I was reminiscing about this when I realized yet again the unanswered questions I had about her death.

So, last week I phoned my sister Millie in Hamilton - who was 14 at the time of Bertha's death and who was with Bertha when she got sick. (and the following is what she told me).

Millie and Bertha together (during the summer school holidays) would herd the cows on the road allowance during the day so they could eat the grass in the ditches. This was 1935 and a very dry year. While the cows grazed, Millie and Bertha occupied themselves doing "whatever". On this particular day, they sat on the edge of a pit - a little flat depression that had been scooped out for road maintenance.

This pit was dry and hard with cracks in it, but the edges (or sides) were higher and was a good place to sit. On the way home with the cows (in the afternoon) Bertha said her knee was sore and she had difficulty walking. When she got home she went to bed (I'm not sure what time this was - but probably late afternoon).

She slept in the same bed as Millie and when Millie went to bed - Bertha was asleep.

At this time of writing - try as I might - I cannot visualize her face. Maybe because when we played "School" we always sat side by side.

One thing I remember most vividly is standing alone in the kitchen at the age of six and sensing that something was terribly wrong. Dad came into the kitchen from the bedroom and (through the living room). I can still see him - his large frame filling the doorway - and saying to me "Bertha is gone".

Then he went outside. And I was left standing all alone in the kitchen, and to this day I can see myself going to the screen door and just staring out. Looking out and feeling oh - so, so - ALONE.

A Fort San Memory

Fort San in the 40s and 50s (and beyond) was a treatment centre for tuberculosis patients. It was located in the beautiful hills and valley of Fort Qu'Appelle - overlooking Echo Lake. The grounds were immaculately kept by maintenance staff with flowers and green lawns. On Sunday afternoons during the summer months a visiting band entertained us from the "Bandshell" located on the front lawn. It was in this setting that I was a patient in 1948 in Pavilion 27 or East I as it was referred to having been transferred there from Pavilion 26.

My brother Rudy also became a patient in 1948 - in the men's pavilion (28 or 29). At that stage of my treatment I was only allowed out of bed once per day in the AM for 15 minutes.

My brother had full exercise privileges and therefore was allowed to visit me for one hour - once a week which I looked forward to (I had no other visitors). I was a long way from home.

It was on one such occasion he sat at the foot of my bed during the visit. The following morning I received a visit from the "head nurse" informing me that my visiting privileges would be revoked for two full weeks - because of a complaint received the previous day - from a visitor who saw a man sitting on my bed.

I was speechless - I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My explanation stating the visitor was my brother fell on deaf ears and so the ruling stood. I'm not sure if I started sobbing before she left my room or after. My roommate joined with me and we both sobbed as to the unfairness.

All this while a maintenance man was in my room fixing the transom above the balcony door. When he was leaving with his ladder, he paused just momentarily by my bed and looked at me (I thought) sympathetically.

The following morning (early) when the nurse's aide came in with our wash basins, she brought in a huge bouquet of fresh flowers that had been tied to the doorknob (anonymously).

It took me only a few seconds to realize who the flowers were from. That kindness erased a lot of the hurt of the previous day and remains to this day a beautiful memory.