Tonellato Angelo, Rosa, Attilio, Ido

Our trip commenced on the afternoon on a pleasant spring day March 2nd,1954. We were transported from our home in Trevignano by a horse driven cart to the train station at Signoressa. On the farm cart there were five brothers, Attilio, Ido, Ernesto, Ignazio, Bellino, our mother, Rosa and our grandfather Beppi who would accompany us by train to Genoa. Many of the people of the town, came out to wave us goodbye and that gave us a feeling of embarrassment and anxiety, at the same time underscoring it was an important day in our lives and was going to be permanent and final.

I recall asking my grandfather when we would return Italy. His response was “When Italy becomes America” For him our departure was permanent.

At the train station we were met by our uncle, who would also accompany us to Genoa and by Tosello (a minor) who was going to meet his brother in Toronto. In fact, my mother was responsible for six children during the Atlantic crossing and the train trip from Halifax to Toronto.

We left Signoressa and arrived in Genoa the following morning. I remember that the overnight trip was very tiring with no place to sleep except on the wooden seat benches. In Genoa, my grandfather found a place for us to stay overnight and we all slept on a large mattress in a basement, the night before our boarding.

My grandfather who was our guardian and kept the money needed for the train trip went out to purchase some food. In his search for food someone approached him and asked him to change some money, but the stranger stole the money my grandfather had. My grandfather, who was a gentle and generous person wanted to help this person, instead became an easy victim of a scam. Fortunately, my uncle was able to share money he had and we were able to overcome a difficult situation.

The following day March 4, 1954 was a clear but windy day. We made our way to the docks where we were processed by the customs authorities and boarded the ship Saturnia. Immediately on boarding the ship we boys started exploring the ship and I came upon the ship railing facing the dock and came face to face with my grandfather and uncle waving goodbye. As I write, I vividly recall looking at my grandfather and seeing tears streaming down his cheeks and at that time thinking, why is he crying? He somehow knew that last look across the dock would be the last time we would see each other. That day was the last time I would see my grandfather or any of my grandparents. By the time I was able to return to Trevignano, all of my grandparents had died. My brothers and I, as children and young adults lost their counsel, support and the benefit of their wisdom during that critical period of our lives.

The ship sailed and by evening it stopped at Cannes and the following day reached Naples to pick up more passengers followed by our passage through the straits of Gibraltar and on to Lisbon. This was the first time we had sailed on a ship or boat and we began to experience in the Mediterranean the first signs of seasickness. At the same time, we were able to have most of our meals in the dining room and enjoy the freedom of roaming the ship as we wished, without any supervision as my mother suffered from seasickness immediately on boarding and was in bed most of the time. The Mediterranean was relatively calm and I remember climbing the deck railing at the very tip of the ship’s bow, leaning and stretching over the railing in an attempt to see where the bow met the sea while the ship plowed up and down into the waves.

Our two cabins with four bunk beds each were located just below the water line and very close to the engine room. The constant rumbling of the engine, the smell of vomit and pungent odor of the diesel motors from which one could not escape. To this day, for me the diesel smell will trigger the same feeling of sickness and nausea.

When we reached the Atlantic, the winds strengthen and the ship weaved and rolled. All of us were bedridden with seasickness. The ship stopped for a few hours at the port of Lisbon and during the night we commenced our trip across the North Atlantic.

The stormy seas generated a sense of fear and danger. I do recall asking my mother what would happen if the ship were to sink. She responded by saying that we would be saved by lifeboats that we saw on the ship. Her response gave me, at l2 years old, some assurance but looking back now the chances of survival by anyone forced into life boats in early March in the a stormy North Atlantic was very poor.

On about the fourth day from Lisbon, my state of health was such that the porter felt I needed medical attention, probably from dehydration and suggested that I be taken to the ship infirmary. I remember starting to climb the stairs to make our way to the ship infirmary with the porter and the next recollection I have is of a white coated woman looking at me and slapping my face. I was lying on a clean bed with clean white sheets. The woman pointed to a cup on the bedside table filled with a dark brown liquid urging me to drink it, I took a sip of the bitter tasting drink and quickly asked for water. This was my introduction to tea. I remained in the infirmary two or three days.

We arrived in Halifax on the evening of March 15, docking on Pier 21. We were all glad that our ordeal was over and excited to be walking on land again. However, my first experience on Canadian soil was not positive as soon as I set foot on the ground my legs wobbled, I rocked back and forth for a few moments and I grabbed the plank railing to steady myself.

We were shepherded into a large room full of luggage, trunks and people quietly searching and identifying their possessions and trying not to attract attention as we knew that we could still be rejected at the discretion of the customs officer. We identified our green trunk and had our passport stamped. Six boys with only an adult attracted the attention of an Italian speaking woman volunteer who asked if we needed any help. She was very helpful in guiding us through the process of getting the passport approved and helping our mother to supervise six excited and wandering boys.

For me there was a defining moment which brought to reality that our life had completely changed and was never to be the same. We were hungry and my mother asked me to go to the snack bar and purchase bread and a bottle of jam. She gave some money and I approached the attendant and asked for “pane” which is the Italian word for bread. Her blank look told me that she did not understand me, so I repeated my request and again was met by the same look. However, she took me by the hand and somehow made me point to the items I wanted to buy. I returned to my mother with a loaf of bread and a jar of marmalade which was to be the main sustenance for the next two days. When we opened the bread wrapping and saw the bread which to us was soft to the touch and plastic looking we looked at each other in disbelief but we were so hungry that we quickly devoured the loaf with the wish that we would not have to eat this so call bread again.

Once the approval process was completed we boarded the train and started our trip to Toronto (some 40 hours later). The train was not comfortable with only wood benches which became our bed and we quickly fell asleep in spite of the noise of other passengers or the constant click clack of the train. I recall waking at night feeling hungry and cold, looking outside at the passing landscape covered in a deep blanket of snow and seeing, from time to time, in the distance a lonely light as the only evidence of life. When we stopped in a town at a crossing, I saw several horse-drawn sleighs covered in snow waiting for the train to pass. The drivers were dressed in, what seemed to me, animal furs and wore warm felt hats, their laps covered by blankets. The horses were covered in steam and their nostrils breathing out smoke and I thought; “Where is this train taking us?”

The next vivid memory I have is waking up with the train stopped and looking across a very wide river partly covered with ice and on the other side of the river there was, what I thought, a castle on top of a hill. I had the presence of mind to make a mental note to remember the castle as an important building to be identified at a later date. The train station where we had stopped turned out to be Levi, Quebec and the castle, Hotel Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City. Very early in my education, I saw photos of Quebec City with the Chateau, and to this day a photo or mention of Quebec City brings to my mind a boy in a frozen train with the face glued to the window pane looking across a wide and frozen river.

The train made its way to Montreal and eventually arrived at Toronto Union Station. Once we got off the train, we were on our own to find the train that would take us to Merriton. One curious item that I recall is seeing men holding in their hands or tucked under their arms black steel buckets, which later we found out were lunch pails. Of course, we had not seen anything similar before in our lives.

The train from Toronto to Merriton took about 2 hours and I remember looking at every stop for the Merriton station as we expected our father to be waiting for us. However, we were surprised after the train pulled out of the St. Catharine’s train station by our father and our great uncle who had boarded the train there to surprise us. It was a great surprise and all our anxieties and fears quickly vanished as we got off the train to be driven by automobile to our new home located about 2 km away.

To me the small bungalow that our father had built seemed luxurious with vinyl floors and running water in the kitchen with fridge and heating stove. In reality, it was very small place composed of 3 small rooms plus the kitchen where 7 people would have to live.

The toilet was outside beside the barn. The outside of the house was covered with black paper as our father did not have enough money to complete the outside with stucco or brick.

The excitement of seeing our father and our new home was quickly overshadowed by the reality of our new home. Often, we were told that Canada was the land of opportunity and once we stepped on the ground the problems and worries would be over. Of course, that was not the case. There was culture shock, the language barrier, and there was homesickness. I did not know how profoundly I would be affected by the new environment.

The inability to speak English was the first barrier that manifested. My father had enrolled us at a Catholic elementary school and on the first day, the four oldest brothers were all enrolled in grade one. We were quickly handed a primary reading book with familiar phrases like “Jack and Jill play altogether”, usually assisted by another student who would read the phrases and ask us to repeat them. Unable to speak English was a large obstacle and led to our lack of participation in class and to engage in play at recess. Very soon the self-image that developed was one of an outsider who spoke a strange language, wore strange clothing and with it emerged a deep desire to conform socially but also a desire to show them that one was as good as they were by studying hard, getting good grades and the praise of the teachers.

The most harmful social experience was being subjected to taunts and name calling which made one feel inferior. We were also subjected to physical threats by older boys so took a different route home. Episodes like these were common during the war and post war years where ignorance and intolerance were barriers to developing friendship and a smooth integration of immigrants and in particular children who were at a very vulnerable age.

The first couple of years, for me, loneliness and loss of my friends were the most difficult obstacles to overcome. Often, I would dream of being back in Trevignano with my friends playing soccer or being in school where everyone knew and understood me. The Italian radio program, Italian newspaper and the Catholic church were the links to a familiar world and a language where everything seem to be better. I would listen faithfully in the evening to any Italian speaking program on the radio and read every page of the newspaper always searching for news from the Treviso area. At that time the only link to the extended family in Trevignano was the infrequent letters from our grandparents informing us of deaths or illness of family members.

The loneliness was so deep that I developed stomach and other ailments. My parents decided to take me to an Italian speaking doctor, who quickly diagnosed my ailment. When he asked me if I would like to go back to Italy, I broke down and cried uncontrollably. He said; “That’s his illness”.