Tony, Martha Vanderheyden Family

JoAnne Potter nee Vanderheyden

I was born May 21, 1940 in Beek & Donk, Holland. After WWII devastated our country, my parents made the decision to immigrate to Canada in 1948.

There was much preparation for a family to make such a journey. There were two sets of klompens (wooden shoes) made for every member of the family. I remember watching the man make them. My father decided it would be a good idea to take smoked horse meat, not knowing if we would have enough money or food upon our arrival to Canada.

As the large crates were prepared and filled, my mother was required to go to The Hague for TB testing. She took my sister, Helen along with her because she was still a small baby. The TB testing came out fine as well as news that Mom was two months pregnant.

Besides my mother and Dad, there were six children who made the journey. I was the oldest, brothers, Ed, John, Leo, Harry, and my only sister, Helen. Our destination was Forest, Ontario where our sponsor, Harley and Nellie Hetherington, would employ my father on their dairy farm.

A lot of people, including us children, were seasick on the Kota Inten. With Mother being pregnant this was especially true. We had plenty to eat although the potatoes were yellow and tasted different;  the raspberry jam tasted oily. With the lack of space, there wasn't much room to run and play but there were games of all sorts everywhere.

It is my recollection that we sailed from Holland to England and then curved north close to Iceland, southerly to Greenland and then on to Halifax and landed in Quebec City, Quebec. Mines across the main route from Holland to Quebec made this longer route necessary, but seeing the large icebergs was memorable.

Among my memories is one of my brother, Harry, who was nearly three years old. He had a rag doll that he tucked under his arm for easy storage and transportation while sucking two of his fingers but one day he and his doll looked too far out of one of the many portholes. I recall two male passengers grabbing Harry's legs in the nick of time and pulling him back on the ship, without his doll, but safe nonetheless.

The women and children slept on one side of the berth and the men on the other. Dad always came and checked on us both morning and night. I would suspect many other fathers/husbands did the same.

According to passports we left Rotterdam, Holland on July 6 and arrived in Quebec July 17. I had always thought the journey was longer, understandable for a small child of eight. I also remember the confusion of retrieving and sorting suitcases, children, passports and documents as we disembarked from the ship and prepared to board the train headed for Sarnia, Ontario. After two days on the train, Harley Hetherington met us at the train station. He drove a late 1930's rambler car with a rear seat able to fit five children in the back, parents, the baby and himself in the front. Needless to say he and my Dad returned the next day for our belongings.

There wasn't a driveway joining our house to the Hetherington's, so when we reached the farm they walked across the pasture with us to an old clapboard house that had been used as a granary. When we opened the front door we saw the bouquet of wildflowers Nellie Hetherington had placed on the table. My mother sat on a chair and cried.

The house was barely livable, with mouse holes everywhere that required covering with tin can lids. Eventually it became home and I remember running the pastures, picking flowers, smelt fishing, and feeding kittens milk in the barn. Mother grew flowers around the house along with a beautiful lilac tree.

The Catholic Church in Forest was preparing to close its doors because there were only seven people attending services. Once our growing family and a few others arrived, it remained open for many years.

Between milkings at the dairy farm, my Dad pedalled a bike to the basket factory in town to earn extra money. He built a wagon with parts of an old car, which he hitched two horses to. He also bought a farm down the road, which became our own dairy farm. Sixty years later, my eldest brother Ed, still owns that along with the original Hetherington farm. Our old clapboard house was destroyed by fire, but my memories of it remain to this day.