History of the Anton S. and John A. Popoff Family

by John A. Popoff

Anton Savelyevich Popoff (1870-1936) was an Independent Doukhobor activist, freethinker and outspoken advocate of education. After his release from exile in Russia for refusing to bear arms, he and his family settled in the Doukhobor village of Moiseyevo in the Sturgis district of Saskatchewan in 1899, and later the village of Khristianovka in the Buchanan district in 1902. In 1907, after a failed homesteading attempt, Anton moved to Yorkton to provide his children with an opportunity to become educated. In 1913, he helped establish the short-lived “Freedom Colony” of Doukhobors near Peoria, Oregon. In 1918, he then tried farming in Cowley, Alberta, but soon returned to Yorkton to do some farming and carpentry. His son John A. Popoff (1901-1993) in 1924 became the first Doukhobor teacher in Canada. He was a Russian interpreter for Peter Chistiakov Verigin and was Secretary-Treasurer of the Named Doukhobors of Canada in the 1930’s. An Independent Doukhobor intellect, Slavophile and strict vegetarian, he was actively involved in a number of social, community and political organizations in the Yorkton area. The following is a detailed and candid autobiographical account of the Popoff family history, reproduced from “Abbreviated History of the Canadian Doukhobors and the Role in it of the Anton Popoff Family” (Saskatchewan Archives Board, John A. Popoff Collection, A562)

My Parental History

The Doukhobors in Russia originated some time in the l7th century, in various parts of the country, but mostly in the central region. That happened to be adjacent to the area occupied by the Mordvins, a Finnic people, who early in history adopted the Russian religion and language. My paternal grandfather seems to have been of Mordvin stock, since he remembered some of his native language. He used to entertain our family by counting from one to ten in the dialect of his people. I remember grandfather Savely quite well, since he lived with us both in our village near Buchanan, and here in Yorkton. Grandmother Popoff (his spouse) had been a sickly woman and died soon after arrival in Canada. My recollection of her is very hazy, since I was extremely young when she passed away, in the village mentioned above.

Savely Popoff spoke of his first home in Russia as being in the Doukhobor settlement on the river region known as Molochnye Vody (“Milky Waters”). That is a small river flowing into the Sea of Azov, which is the northern part of the Black Sea. The description “Milky” probably was due to the color of the water in it which may have carried clay silt.

The Doukhobors had gathered there from all comers of the country, in response to an edict of the Tsar of that period, who was of a liberal turn of mind, and sympathetic to religious believers. He had thought that the Doukhobors would be happier if they lived together in one place, removed from the influence of other faiths, and he suggested that they all settle in the one location.

Anton Savelyevich Popoff (1870-1936).

In view of their opposition to military service, the Tsar granted the Doukhobors military exemption. He even paid part of their moving expenses, and exempted them from the payment of taxes for several years.

The Doukhobors occupied the Milky Waters settlement some 40 years, and had become complacent in their privileged situation. Meanwhile a different Tsar had assumed the throne of Russia, and the country round about had filled in with new settlers of different conviction, who found fault with the Doukhobors.

The new Tsar also was not particularly sympathetic to the Doukhobors and decided to move them to less favorable territory in the distant Transcaucasion region, right on the border with Turkey. He figured that in such dangerous territory they would be obliged to defend themselves with the type of weapons as used for military purposes, and thereby overcome their objection to military service.

The Doukhobors moved as directed, and established a number of villages among the Tatars and Turks. But they made friends with them and did not require the weapons which the Tsar expected them to use. They prospered as before, and lived contentedly until still a new Tsar rescinded their military exemption, and required their youth to serve in the military forces, which involved also the oath of allegiance to the reigning Tsar.

My grandfather, Savely Popoff, had two sons of military age, and the younger one, Anton (subsequently my father), was called into service. The order had come unexpectedly, and the Doukhobors had no choice but to comply. The requirement at that time was 3 years active service, with subsequent release from duty on the condition of recall at any time.

That was the time when the Doukhobor woman leader, Lushechka, had died and her position had been assumed by Peter V. Verigin. He subsequently had been exiled to North Russia, from where he issued advice to his followers to refuse conscription, and to burn whatever arms they had. The military conscripts who still were in the army now refused to serve. Those, like my father, who had just completed their first term of service, refused to accept their recall cards. Such people were arrested and tried for insubordination. Some were exiled to Siberia, others to distant Tatar settlements where they had to exist as best they could among an ostensibly hostile people. Communication with home was forbidden.

All prisoners were obliged to travel on foot. Some of them died before leaving jail from the harsh treatment there, others en route to their place of exile, still others from diseases contracted at their destinations. Most of them were young people. Two of my mother’s sisters lost their husbands. One died in jail, the other on the way to Siberia. The latter was Nikolai Chernoff, father of the Fred Chernoff who now is in the Kamsack Nursing Home.

Meanwhile the authorities were penalizing also the Doukhobor villagers who destroyed their weapons by fire. Some villagers were ordered to vacate their homes and find shelter elsewhere. Others had troops posted on them who were allowed to abuse the people as they saw fit. The Doukhobor settlers were in desperate straits, and helpless. They begged the authorities to let them leave the country.

That was when Leo Tolstoy intervened in their behalf. The government finally granted permission for the emigration. The Doukhobors proceeded to seek suitable means for overseas travel. The exiled recruits were released but not allowed to go home. They were taken directly to the port of embarkation. My father and his companion in exile, Misha J. Kazakoff, travelled to Batum where they located their families.

My father’s clan at that time comprised his own two parents, an older brother, Aldosha, with his family, and three sisters with their families, in addition to his own immediate family (wife and two small daughters). My mother’s parental family was very large, and no doubt went separately, although on the same boat.

Doukhobor village along Canadian Northern Railway, 1902. Western Development Museum 5-A-21.

Two ships were used to transport the Doukhobors to Canada, the Lake Huron and the Lake Superior. Both originally were freighters, now converted by the passengers themselves for their modest requirements. The ships were very slow and took a whole month to reach their destination, and it took 4 shiploads to carry the 7,500 immigrants. The first ship (ours), Lake Huron, reached Halifax, Nova Scotia late in 1898, and the others at intervals in early 1899. A few Doukhobors, who had been exiled in Siberia, came considerably later, about 1905.

From shipboard the Doukhobors travelled by train to Winnipeg, where they were quartered during the winter season, until suitable accommodation could be prepared for them at their future village sites. The preparations were done by the more hardy and capable men who were sent ahead of the main body of immigrants.

At that time Yorkton was the very end of the CPR line going west. The Savely Popoff clan divided at Yorkton, the older brother, Aldosha, establishing there permanently. Anton’s family went north of the present site of Canora to a village named Moiseyevka (“Moses Village”). That was where I was born in the fall of that year, during potato harvest.

When Peter Verigin arrived from Russia in 1902 he saw that the village Moiseyevka would be too far removed from the railway line which was being constructed westward to Saskatoon. He advised its residents to abandon that location and resettle closer to the railway line. My family then moved to the village Khristianovka (“Christian Village”), located a couple of miles south-west of the present town of Buchanan.

That village housed most of my mother’s parental family. I recall the location of some of their homes and other buildings, such as the grist mill and the bakery.

At that time Yorkton was the closest source of supply of all their requirements. The people were so poor, the men themselves had to haul the wagon to Yorkton for provisions – a distance of some 40 miles one way. The more capable men hired out for railway work, or other labor, to earn the funds for purchase of the necessities of life, and they all pooled their wages. In some villages the women pulled the plough to till the soil for gardens and field crops.

In the beginning some arrangement with the Canadian authorities had been entered into for the use of land in the western region of Canada, which, as yet, was governed from Ottawa. And at first the general attitude to the new settlers was friendly and tolerant. But a change of government installed different officials who were not so favorable to the Doukhobors, and proceeded to impose on them new regulations, one of them being the demand for an oath of allegiance in order to hold their grants of land. That was exactly like one of the requirements in Russia which the Doukhobors had refused to countenance there, and which led to their emigration to Canada. Here they found it equally objectionable and refused to comply. A few Doukhobors accepted the condition and took homesteads apart from the main body of fellow immigrants. One of those was my own father, for which he was strongly condemned by Peter Verigin and other conscientious members of the greater Doukhobor community.

My father’s separate homestead was not far from the village Khristianovka. Father built on it a log house and chicken coop, but found it impossible to remain. His own father, then a widower, needed medical attention, obtainable only in Winnipeg, and his children educational facilities. But those were forbidden to community Doukhobors. Doukhobor ideology rejected “worldly” culture and government sponsored schools. They contravened a truly Christian form of life. But father had disavowed such ideology, yet he could not remain on the homestead. He moved to Yorkton to settle near his older brother, Aldosha.

Yorkton, Saskatchewan, 1903-1904. Western Development Museum 5-A-100.

There he needed a source of income, so he started up a livery barn business and provided sleeping quarters for outsiders who came in to town for whatever reason. His children were sent to school and he himself sought whatever work was available.

The larger Doukhobor Community, operating on a cooperative and communal basis, purchased in Yorkton several parcels of land, built on some of them living quarters for their members, and a brick factory for their own use, and for commercial purposes. The leaders of the Community were apprised of the advantage here of official incorporation of their society, so they named it the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood. They established their headquarters in the small railway station of Veregin on the CNR railway and built there a grist mill and a second brick factory. However their main source of revenue was from the sale of grain which they successfully grew on their land and the seneca root which the women gathered.

In Yorkton at that time there was quite a large population of Doukhobors, including a third Popoff family, distantly related to my mother. She, incidentally, also was born Popoff, so that I inherited that name from both sides of my parental family.

The two Popoff brothers both educated their children, particularly the younger ones. The older daughters had to remain at home to help their mothers, whereas the younger ones continued school locally as far as possible. The younger daughter of each family later went to Business College in Brandon, Manitoba. My younger sister then obtained employment with the International Harvester Company. Uncle Aldosha started up a general store where he used the services of his business-trained younger daughter.

Despite the distrust and strong disapproval of “worldly culture”, the leadership of the Doukhobor Community recognized the need for knowledgeable people to manage the affairs of the Community, and such people had to be Doukhobors. So the Community leaders chose 5 promising young candidates to attend school in Yorkton, expecting them later to help in the work of the Community. They all were boys, mostly from the more prominent families of the Veregin area. They were quartered here in local Doukhobor residences, and attended school until they learned the language quite well. Later they returned home and generally engaged in business, oftentimes independently.

Some of those boys visited our home despite the fact that our family generally was not well considered due to its secession from the Doukhobor Community. But the girls were an attraction, and some of the boys courted the girls. Eventually my younger sister married one of the boys by the name of Michael F. Reibin, who at that time was a partner in a farm supply store in Veregin.

Another young fellow courted my older sister Lily, but for some reason father disapproved of him, perhaps because the young man still was a member in good standing of the Community. Anyhow, in his case father discouraged any possibility of marriage to his daughter. Many years later the same man asked me why, and I could not honestly answer. But that created an embarrassing situation in our family. Girls were supposed to marry according to priority of age – the older one first, and then the younger one. In our case, due to father’s intervention, the younger daughter married first, which seemed to disgrace the older one. She felt offended and obliged somehow to restore her reputation. She was desperate to marry, and no longer was too particular about the groom.

In those days Yorkton frequently was visited by wandering Russians of no particular religious persuasion or group affiliation. One such person showed up here who appeared to be a suitable match for Lily. She presented him to father as an eligible candidate for husband and insisted that he be accepted. The marriage was allowed, and Lily left for Winnipeg with her husband, who was employed in a railway repair shop.

But the marriage did not last. The couple were completely incompatible, and soon separated for good. Lily returned home pregnant. Here her condition now appeared even worse than before. After giving birth to her child she suffered mental breakdown, and had to be committed to a hospital in North Battleford. On the way there she contracted pneumonia and died. The child remained with his grandparents here.

Sister Jennie’s marriage apparently was better matched and more successful. She preserved it a much longer time and managed to raise a family of 2 sons and 2 daughters. After some time her husband’s business partnership in Veregin dissolved, and her family came to Yorkton to find something more suitable. He tried photography and insurance, but couldn’t make a success of either.

Doukhobor children at the “Freedom Colony”, Peoria, Oregon, 1915. (l-r) John Vereschagin, Jim Vanin, William Vereschagin and friend. 

When the Doukhobors first came to Canada they found conditions here considerably less favorable than they had anticipated. For one thing the climate was too severe, particularly in winter. Then the difficulty with the government over possession of land – the requirement of the oath of allegiance, which was so distasteful to the Doukhobors. The more concerned of them seriously considered leaving the country for some more hospitable location. But where could that be?

My father was one of those who sought a solution to that problem. He contacted other similar thinking people, and with them decided to seek a suitable place in the United States. That was about 1913. They organized a search party consisting of my father and his son-in-law, Michael F. Reibin, who went to various parts of Western United States, and eventually negotiated the purchase of land in Oregon. Several families were encouraged to settle there, including the family of the son-in-law, the family of one of father’s sisters (the Davidoffs) and a number of others. In other words, they established a Doukhobor colony (Freedom Colony) near Peoria, Oregon.

That colony existed for several years, until it was discovered that the purchase contract included an unusual clause to the effect that if any one of the several purchasers of that land failed to pay his share of the cost, all the others automatically forfeited their share as well. That utterly demoralized the colony, and members began to abandon it. In a while, almost all had left. The only one remaining was my deceased grandfather, Savely, who died before the collapse. But even his grave later could not be found, for it had not been marked.

Before leaving on the search expedition father had realized that, in view of the improved modes of transportation, there henceforth would be less use of the livery stable facilities, so he discontinued his own and proceeded to build store buildings on his property. That was about 1912. It was partly that involvement which later prevented him from joining the colony in Oregon. But other troubles also had befallen him, His oldest daughter’s marriage had failed, and she had returned home to her parental family pregnant and in a very disturbed state of mind. He tried his best to restore her to normalcy, but finally had to seek professional help outside of town, during which she died of pneumonia.

Father’s devotion to his convictions never abandoned him, and, when the colony in Oregon was on the verge of collapse, he decided to at least approach the Doukhobor Community which he earlier had abandoned. His son-in-law’s family already had returned from Oregon, and together they rented farm land near Cowley, Alberta, which was near a newly established colony of Community Doukhobors at Lundbreck, the station west of Cowley, on the CPR railway.

Both families, father’s and the son-in-law’s, operated that farm. That was in 1918. In the fall of that year word came from Oregon of the death of grandfather Savely, and a request for financial help for setting up a suitable marker at the grave. But father had no funds, and could not help, so the grave was left unmarked.

Meanwhile the property in Yorkton required father’s attention, so he discontinued the Alberta farm and returned there to complete the store building which he had commenced before the Alberta episode.

The store buildings needed all the space available on his business property (Betts Avenue), so he had to find living quarters elsewhere. He rented a farm adjacent to the west side of town and set up his family there. The son-in-law rented a farm near Theodore and operated it for a number of years.

In Alberta the family of my father’s sister, the Davidoffs, had returned from Oregon and started up farming near Pincher Station. They took over the farming equipment which father no longer needed there.

The failure of the Oregon colony did not deter father from other efforts to leave Canada for some better location. The overthrow of the Tsarist regime in Russia (1917) suggested to the Doukhobors the possibility of return to their former homeland. In 1923 a delegation was organized to go there and investigate such possibility. Father was appointed one of the delegates. He stayed in Russia that winter and returned only in the spring. The investigation showed the situation in Russia too unstable for a successful resettlement there of the Canadian Doukhobors, so the idea was shelved until some time in the future.

1916 Census of Northwest Provinces entry for the Popoff family at Yorkton, Saskatchewan.

Father discontinued his farming operation here and concentrated on the construction of a house in Yorkton. That was completed in 1924, but his family had begun to occupy the quarters even before the work was finished.

That year brought about a tragic and drastic development for the Doukhobors in Canada. Peter V. Verigin was killed in a railway explosion on the way to his headquarters in Grand Forks, B.C. The shock to the Doukhobors was overwhelming. All factions, regardless of their nature, were distressed by the tragedy, as Verigin was regarded the mainstay of all Doukhobor society, regardless of differences. The cause of the train explosion was never determined, but it was suspected to be the work of some agency which sought to eliminate Verigin himself. On the other hand, some people thought that perhaps Verigin’s difficulties may have so depressed him that he considered that as his only way out. In any case all Doukhobors now were in a quandary, since most of them felt lost without an effective leader.

Peter V. Verigin was supposed to have a son in Russia, and the Canadian Doukhobors now determined to have him come here and assume his father’s position. They proceeded to work to that end, and my own father became one of the principals in that activity, despite the fact that formerly he was known to be inimical to the policy of exclusive one-man leadership.

The second Verigin, also named Peter, had earned himself a bad reputation in Russia by misusing public funds for his own gambling proclivity. At that time he was in detention in Turkistan and would not be released until the losses he had incurred were restored. The Doukhobors in Canada opened a fund to cover those losses and to finance his fare here to his anxiously awaiting supplicants.

Peter P. Verigin arrived in Yorkton in 1927, together with an old friend of the Doukhobors who formerly had assisted Leo Tolstoy in arranging for the original migration of the Doukhobors to Canada. That was Pavel J. Birukoff, who then lived in Geneva, Switzerland. Birukoff was brought ostensibly for the purpose of inaugurating here an educational system which would meet the requirements of the present barely literate members of the Doukhobor society. However, Verigin devoted little effort to that venture and it never materialized. Birukoff was obliged to submit to numerous Verigin offenses which apparently brought about a paralytic stroke, following which he was returned home to end his days in Switzerland.

The economic depression of the 1930’s seriously affected father’s financial condition. He was unable to meet the tax payments on both the house he lived in and the store buildings which he owned, let alone his debt on the latter. To raise funds, he went into partnership with a local friend for the purchase and use of a hay bailer to do custom bailing. The bailer was bought and used a few times by the two men, but the friend realizing its poor earnings, withdrew from the partnership and left the entire responsibility for it to my father. That was in the dead of winter. Father had to handle the machine alone. He took sick and contracted a bad case of rheumatism. Another old friend recommended as a possible cure the sulfur baths at Banff, Alberta.

Father had enjoyed steam baths at home and readily followed the advice of his friend. But, unfortunately, he did not take into account his high blood pressure, with the result that his first visit to the sulfur baths killed him. His body was returned to Yorkton and he was buried (1936) in the same plot as his deceased daughter Lily [at Yorkton City Cemetery].

Mother lived on for another 21 years, and passed away in 1957. She too was buried in the same cemetery plot. She had been the last survivor of her parental family. All her brothers and sisters had predeceased her. She never saw where her parents were buried, nor any of her other family relatives. Such was one of the consequences of the strict Doukhobor injunctions to believers – the avoidance of any communication whatever even between close relatives, due to the differences of religious conviction.

My Life Experiences

The final installment of this historical account deals in the main with my own development and experiences. But the other younger members of our family also must be accounted for, so I include some mention of them as well.

As stated before, I was the only member of my parental family to have been born in Canada. That was in 1899 in the first year of our life in this country, and in the village Moiseyevka. I have no recollection whatever of that village, and know about it only from the account of my mother. She, too, spoke of it only in connection with my birth there, and not otherwise.

On the advice of Peter V. Verigin our family had moved from there to the village Khristianovka, which was located much closer to the Canadian National Railway, which then was being constructed westward towards Saskatoon (near the present site of Buchanan),

My first recollections are of life in that village. All our homes were arranged near each other, in street fashion, so that association with close relatives was no problem. An older female cousin, for some reason, took an interest in me, and looked after me more consistently than my own older sisters. The boys of my age enjoyed visiting the grist mill and the bakery which were nearby, but we never ventured outside the village environs.

When about 1905 the Canadian Government announced to our elders the requirement of individual applications for land together with an oath of allegiance to the British crown by each applicant, the Doukhobors realized that they were being maneuvered into a situation very similar to the one in Russia on account of which they were obliged to leave their homeland. They refused to comply, and were dispossessed of the land which they already had tilled, and the homes they had built.

Some seemingly less conscientious individuals did accept the requirement of the government, and applied for separate homesteads, but they were few in number and earned the strong disapproval of the great majority of their fellow sectarians. By resorting to such practice they in effect seceded from association with, and the authority of, the larger body of members which had negotiated their migration to Canada. The elders of that majority, then, regarded such people as defectors, and issued instructions for the termination of all relationship with them, even that between close relatives.

My father was one of those who applied and received his separate homestead. His quarter-section was not far from the village which he had left. I remember him building a log house on that land, and, during its construction, living in a tent. So far as I can recall, we occupied that house only one winter, and it was one which I never can forget.

It was then that father undertook to teach his daughters the Russian alphabet and the art of writing. He could not teach them more because he himself did not know it. I then was too small to participate, but still absorbed some of that instruction. Later on my desire to know more of the details of the language led to self-study, and the attainment in it of considerable competence. I seem to have some predilection for the study of languages, and learn them quite readily. As a result I know English perhaps better than some persons born to English-speaking families.

Doukhobor village along Canadian Northern Railway, Western Development Museum 3-A-17.

While living in that farmhouse I experienced an accidental injury which left its mark on me for life. Mother had been heating boiling water on the kitchen stove, and I somehow upset the pot on myself and terribly scalded my legs. My parents used some home-made remedy for application to the injury which took so long to heal, that I actually lost the ability to walk, and later had to learn it all over again. My legs stilt bear the scars of that injury.

That was about the year 1906 or 7, and when the village community nearby had to vacate the place, father must have realized that isolation on that farm would be most impractical. He had no separate means for breaking the land, or for harvesting whatever crop he might be able to raise on it. Moreover, he had in mind the welfare of his children who, in that location, would be unable to receive an adequate education. That to him was most important. He wanted his progeny to be knowledgeable people, capable of appreciating and using the information available to contemporary society.

One of his reasons for leaving the Community was his disagreement with the Doukhobor rejection of learning on the grounds of religious conviction. In his view, it seems, such learning did not contravene the purposes of “spiritual life”, but contributed to their attainment,” which actually was very desirable, and in concert with their ideals.

In any case, he then considered it expedient to abandon the homestead and move to Yorkton, where his older brother already was ensconced and enjoying what seemed to be a better mode of living. He started up a livery barn business for the accommodation of both the animals, and of the people who used them, for travel to Yorkton for whatever reason. The operation of that became the responsibility of his wife and older daughter, while he himself sought other employment outside. The younger children attended public school.

When the younger daughter, and her cousin of comparable age, completed their public schooling, they together went to Business College in Brandon, Manitoba. On graduation from there, they returned home and put to use here their newly acquired professional skills. My sister obtained employment with the International Harvester Company, while my uncle’s daughter became his accountant in the general store which he had commenced in the meantime.

The boys in each family (which of course included myself), after completion of the public school, graduated to the Yorkton Collegiate Institute, and there continued their education. That proceeded in regular course up to the time of our graduation.

In 1918 my father had operated a farm in Alberta, and after its harvest, had returned to Yorkton to finish the store buildings which he had commenced earlier. He also purchased his first automobile, a 1917 Ford. He could not operate it himself, and stored it in a stable until he could get someone to teach him. That at first was to be myself. But I too needed instruction, and for that purpose invited here a cousin of about my own age, who in Veregin had acquired such experience in the garage of an older brother. Those two were the sons of my mother’s sister, whose husband in Russia had died in prison of the punishment inflicted on him following the burning of firearms there in 1895. Their mother too had succumbed soon after arrival in Canada.

That same cousin later accompanied me to an electrical school in Chicago, after my graduation from the local Collegiate. I was hesitant about going alone and persuaded him to take the electrical course together with me. That was about 1921.

On graduation from the electrical school I obtained employment as draftsman in an electrical factory, and worked there until the fall of that year. Then my father sought my help on his farm, and I returned home to assist him with, the harvest work. The cousin, who had accompanied me, being then an orphan, preferred to remain in Chicago.

Yorkton, Saskatchewan as it appeared in the Teens and Twenties. City of Yorkton Archives.

At that time my father had rented still another farm located near the station Orcadia. While harvesting there we had used its vacant farm house for our meals and rest periods. Someone, who had been in it before us, had left a paperback book written by a well known American author, Upton Sinclair, who described the workings of the then current business world, and favored instead co-operative or socialist methods. His argument had profound influence on my subsequent thinking when some years later our town was visited by a man who advocated a more equitable economic order, as represented by the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation.

That year also my father was chosen delegate for a fact-finding mission to the Soviet Union to determine if the time then was appropriate for the return of the Doukhobors to their former homeland. He was advised there that it yet was too early for such return, and that it should not be considered for quite some time. On his return home in 1924 he so reported to his brethren at a Peter’s Day celebration which that year was held at Devil’s Lake, south-west of Canora. That was June 29th, the day when in Russia in 1895 the Doukhobors destroyed their firearms in protest against conscription and militarism.

In the winter of 1923 I had taken a Normal School course in Yorkton, obtained a temporary teaching certificate, and in 1924 started to teach in a rural school, in the Wisnia School District, a predominantly Doukhobor farming area south-west of Veregin, Saskatchewan.

The orphan son of my older, deceased sister Lily, named Russell, had been adopted by my parents, and grew up in our family. My younger sister and her family also then resided in Yorkton. She had taken over one of my father’s store buildings to operate in it a grocery business. Her older children, and nephew Russell, attended public school in Yorkton. The husband of the younger sister could find here no suitable employment, and left for California, where a number of other Doukhobors had gone still earlier and established there a Russian Colony based on individual ownership and operation. Other members of his own paternal family were there already. And some years later my sister took her family to California to rejoin her husband.

In 1924 in British Columbia Peter V. Verigin had died in a train explosion, and the Community Doukhobors had proceeded to arrange for his replacement. In time my own father got involved in that also.

So far as I know, I then was the first person of Doukhobor origin to engage in the practice of teaching public school. That was a most unusual occupation for one of the people who traditionally had opposed formal education for what they regarded as “worldly learning”, hence sinful and unworthy.

That year also the Canadian Doukhobors had introduced for the first time the custom of celebrating each year the most important date in their calendar – the 29th of June – when in 1895 their forebears had made their renowned protest against conscription and militarism by burning all their death-dealing weapons. When I was apprised of it, I closed my school in respect of that memorable occasion.

The rural schools in those days operated all summer to take advantage of the favorable weather and the open roads, which in winter oftentimes were impassable due to the stormy weather. The urban schools, on the other hand, closed in the summer months. The result was that my two nephews, the sons of my two sisters, were able to visit with me at my country school, and there spend a few days. Then, also, I frequently went home to Yorkton for the weekends.

As I now recall, teaching certificates were graded according to the applicants’ scholastic standing at the time of graduation from school, and the amount of Normal School training acquired by the applicant. The Normal School in Yorkton supplied only a preliminary course and issued a temporary Third Class teaching certificate. After some experience in practical teaching, that temporary certificate was raised automatically to Permanent Third Class, and the teachers affected were so notified by the Department of Education.

One-room school in rural Saskatchewan much like those which John A. Popoff taught at in the Twenties. LAC C-027459.

Two colleagues, teaching in neighboring school districts, received their enhanced certificates long before I did. I wondered why mine had been delayed. We had attended the same Normal School class, and had commenced teaching at the same time, so had equal teaching experience. Yet I was not provided my permanent certificate. The reason for the delay, it seemed to me, could not have been the inspector’s report, for that was satisfactory and encouraging. The only difference between myself and my colleagues appeared to be that of origin. The other two teachers were of Anglo-Saxon and of Danish extraction, and I of Russian Doukhobor. To me it appeared to be a case of ethnic prejudice. I complained to the Department of Education, for even prior to my graduation from the Yorkton Collegiate Institute, the principal of that school, on his own initiative, had given me a written recommendation to take up the teaching profession due to a shortage of teachers in the province at that time. The Department of Education then, eventually and rather belatedly, supplied me the desired Third Class Permanent teaching certificate. I was offended and deeply resented the undeserved indignity which the delay had indicated.

Towards the end of the second year of teaching I decided to improve my professional standing still more, and proceeded to the Normal School in Saskatoon for further study. There, on the basis of my higher academic standing, I obtained a Permanent First Class teaching certificate, and returned to my first school for the completion there of my third year of teaching.

While employed at that school I had become acquainted there with various farmer girls of marriageable age, and decided to take for wife the daughter of the school district chairman. His family was of Doukhobor belief, so there was no problem respecting the marriage procedure. The daughter and I obtained the willing consent and blessing (and modest dowry) of the girl’s parents, and she moved into the teacherage with me. We completed the year there and for the following season, accepted an offer to teach in a neighboring school district, the Spring Valley.

The next year (1927) we moved to that school district, and I proceeded to teach there. Meanwhile the wife had become pregnant, and in August gave birth to a baby daughter. We named her Lillian May after my deceased older sister Lily, and my favorite Collegiate teacher, Anne May, who had taught her classes Latin and literature.

The pupils in the Spring Valley School also were mostly of Doukhobor origin. One of the boy students later became quite prominent in the Doukhobor Freedomite movement in British Columbia, and one of my girl pupils later became the teacher in my former first school. I taught there only one year, and then moved on to the third school, north of Verigin, the Tolstoy School District, where I stayed three years.

The Tolstoy School had been so named in honor of the great Russian humanitarian author who had helped the Doukhobors emigrate to Canada. At the end of our first year there, during the interval when the school was closed for the Christmas holiday, the school building burned down, and when after Christmas we returned to resume teaching, there was nowhere to conduct the school. The trustees then rented an abandoned farm house for temporary use as school until a new building could be erected. That was accomplished in due course, and I continued teaching in the new building.

There I was paid the highest salary which I had ever received, $117.50 per month, which was for both the teaching and caretaker service. But by that time (1930) an economic depression had overtaken the entire country, and the chairman of the school district informed me that the district no longer could afford to pay the same salary, and if I wished to remain there, I would have to accept a reduction of pay.

I refused that, and quit teaching altogether. I returned to Yorkton to assist my father in the operation of his business affairs, and at the same time applied most of my salary savings to the redemption from tax sale of the home we occupied.

Then also I started up at home a radio repair business, which formerly was not possible because of the general lack of radio receivers which eventually would require service.

In addition I began to participate in community service activity by joining a number of local organizations of such nature; at first the Yorkton Citizens Association, then the Yorkton Film Council, and later still the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation.

In the case of the latter, I myself, with a few other similar idealists, had founded here its local branch following a promotional meeting addressed by George Williams, a veteran of the First World War, who then advocated an improved economic order which would render unnecessary military struggle for the solution of world problems. That closely approximated the principles referred to in the Upton Sinclair literature with which I had become acquainted previously, and so highly approved.

I was appointed Secretary-Treasurer of the local branch of the Cooperative Commonwealth Federation, and served in that capacity during its formative and most difficult period some 12 years, until after assuming political character, it won its first provincial election and took over the government of Saskatchewan.

In 1927 the successor to Peter V. Verigin, that is, his reputed son, also named Peter Verigin, arrived here to assume the leadership of the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood. On the way to America he had stopped at Geneva, Switzerland, to invite Tolstoy’s former collaborator, Pavel J. Birukoff, to come with him and establish among the Canadian Doukhobors an effective educational system for the instruction of both the youth and the adults. The man came, but found Verigin himself of small help in his declared purpose, which eventually failed to materialize, although mainly due to the inherent incapacity of the Doukhobors themselves to bring it to fruition. Birukoff was expected also to assist Verigin in his other endeavors, during which Verigin had become so abusive, that Birukoff suffered a paralytic stroke and had to be helped back to his home in Switzerland. On the way home, however, he stopped off in Yorkton; to bid farewell to his friends here, including my father, Anton S. Popoff.

A typical religious service at Brilliant, British Columbia. On platform is Peter Petrovich Verigin. Seated is Paul Ivanovich Biryukov, 1927. LAC C-005847.

A few years later, apparently for some reason of his own, Peter P. Verigin decided to reorganize the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood. He proposed a Constitution, setting out the aims and principles for a new Doukhobor society, and named it the Union of Spiritual Communities of Christ. He possibly envisaged it as including the other Doukhobor factions (perhaps even the Molokani of USA) under single leadership, no doubt his own. But the Independents, then known as the “Named Doukhobors”, failed to agree, although some of them readily catered to his drinking and gambling proclivities. The Freedomites also refrained from joining openly, always pretending to act on their own initiative, but secretly carrying out his instructions, yet at the same time refusing to implicate him. He undertook various lawsuits wherein he sought to gain his own ends, was accused of giving false evidence, and eventually imprisoned on that charge.

At the time of his incarceration I had been appointed Secretary-Treasurer of the Named Doukhobor faction, and soon was delegated to visit Verigin at the Prince Albert Penitentiary for whatever elucidation he might be able to offer regarding the general Doukhobor problem. I went, accompanied by a number of other members of our executive committee. At the prison I alone was permitted to speak to Verigin. He assured me that he understood quite well the purpose of our visit, and the aims of the organization which I then represented. He claimed that it was permeated with scoundrels and cheats, and was no proper place for me. In other words, he intimated that my integrity should be above such association. But I already had begun to suspect its solidarity and solvency, which inclined me to terminate my relations with it, and resign my office.

The authorities apparently had tired of dealing with Verigin’s eccentricities. They resolved to get rid of him by releasing him on a technicality, and whisking him off secretly to the coast with the intention of shipping him back to the USSR. But news of that action leaked out and reached Verigin’s legal advisers, who immediately took steps to stop such breach of legality by the authorities. Verigin was released forthwith, and soon returned to his old habits with the various Doukhobor elements.

However, his profligate mode of life (and possibly some consequence of his incarceration) had undermined his health to such degree that he had to seek medical help in a Saskatoon hospital. His condition, however, already was so far gone that he was beyond help, and he expired there in that hospital. That was in 1939.

The Doukhobors, particularly those of the new society, the Union of Spiritual Communities of Christ, again were thrown into turmoil. Who now would be their leader? Ordinarily, according to old Doukhobor custom, it ought to be Verigin’s natural son, who then was in the Soviet Union, and also in trouble with the authorities there. The Community then temporarily appointed Verigin’s young grandson, John J. Markov (Voykin), who had been given the surname “Verigin”. Later on word came that the natural son of Peter P. Verigin had died in prison, so the leadership officially was conferred on the Verigin grandson, now known as John J. Verigin. He refused to accept the title of leader, but was willing to act as “Honorary Head” of the organization, which office he holds to this day.

As for myself, I probably had the most colourful career of any member in our family, with the possible exception of my father. First of all, in High School, my predilection for foreign languages encouraged me during World War I to request the introduction of a course in German. That actually was tried, but it soon became clear that such additional study increased the work load beyond the capacity of its participants, and it had to be abandoned.

But that apparently had added to my prestige with the teaching faculty, since not long afterward the principal of the school, Mr. Finlay, even before my graduation, suggested to me that I seriously consider a teaching position, as the province at that time was experiencing a shortage of such help. And he handed me a written recommendation to that effect. At that time I did not follow his advice, but recalled it considerably later when I realized that the country as yet was not ready for my particular services in the field of electronics.

At about the same time a prominent citizen here suggested that I obtain employment with the Canadian Pacific Railway, as they needed people who had some knowledge of the Russian language. But I myself then felt that my Russian was far from adequate for such a position, and that I might not be able to fill it successfully. So I did not act on that suggestion either.

Then a prominent lawyer and member of the local Liberal Party, Bill Morrison, once accosted me on the street and suggested that I change my name to some other which in English would sound better, to facilitate obtaining suitable employment. I replied that my name in the Russian language was sufficiently dignified and respectable as to require no change. So I did not follow his advice either.

Then still later the same concerned individual unofficially offered me the position of Circuit Court Judge in this community, which also I had to turn down out of consideration for my Doukhobor principles.

During my political activities within the CCF organization, after it had assumed power in this province, I was appointed Returning Officer for the Yorkton Provincial Constituency, and in a number of subsequent provincial elections I directed its electoral procedure. I also helped effectively first the nomination, and then the successful election, of our first CCF federal member of parliament, George Hugh Castleden. He, in turn, later offered to help me obtain the position of Manager of the local Provincial Liquor Board Store. But that, unfortunately, also contradicted my Doukhobor conception of propriety, and I felt obliged to refuse it.

Laura Popoff, John Popoff, and Mrs. Tarasoff, Yorkton, 1980. Saskatchewan Archives Board R90-139.

In 1940, a delegation from the Rona School District, south of Verigin, visited me to request my help in conducting their school until they could locate a regular teacher. I did not care to resume teaching, and my certificate already had expired, but the Department of Education was quite willing that I conduct that school temporarily until a suitable replacement was engaged. Within that same period the Federal Government held its wartime National Registration of all residents in the country, and appointed me Registrar for that purpose in that area. Eventually a teacher for the school was found, and I returned to my own affairs in Yorkton.

That also was the period of my active participation in the Yorkton Film Council. I was a member of it for some 12 years, and half of that time served as its President. Shortly after joining it, the Film Council Executive decided to inaugurate its then famous International Documentary Film Festival, and to hold it biennially.

The international feature of the festival attracted participants from all over the world, including such exotic places as Israel, Czechoslovakia, India, China and the Soviet Union. Several of those countries sent official observers from their Canadian embassies. In 1958 and I960 I used my technical equipment to record on magnetic tape some of the highlights and adjudications of those festivals.

I conducted study classes in the process of motion picture projection and myself operated the projectors during the festivals.

Also, almost from its very beginning I had joined the Yorkton Credit Union when it first conducted its modest business in the office of the Yorkton Cooperative Association store at its original location on Front Street. And again, almost immediately I was appointed to its Supervisory Committee of which in a few years I became Chairman. I served on that Committee some 12 years, during which time the Credit Union grew rapidly, and eventually had to acquire larger quarters. It also had to operate closer to the centre of town, and moved several times, when finally it constructed its own large premises on the corner of Smith Street and Fourth Avenue.

Then, when the CCF provincial administration introduced its neo-socialist Medicare legislation, which at that time aroused a great deal of controversy, our local CCF membership started up a Yorkton Medicare Association: in support of that innovation. I was appointed Secretary-Treasurer of that Association and assisted in keeping it going until the Medicare legislation was accepted as a viable and necessary measure.

Such activity, together with my participation in the political arena, oftentimes subject to suspicion and innuendo, reacted adversely on my physical condition. I became ill, and needed help of some kind, but the local medical fraternity did not know what I required. I was sent to specialists in the Winnipeg Medical Centre, to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota, and even to Excelsior Springs in Missouri. But none of them could diagnose my trouble well enough to provide effective help. Finally I consulted an old medical practitioner in Winnipeg who successfully determined my problem, and prescribed medication which helped relieve my condition. But the effects still remain with me, and I still am obliged to resort to various tonics to keep myself going reasonably well.

Earlier, at home, the son of my older sister, Russell, on completion of his studies in the Yorkton Collegiate, went to the University in Saskatoon, but for lack of funds, did not continue there long. Instead he went east to Ontario to study the radio trade, and from there west to Vancouver, where he engaged in that occupation. In time he married there and moved again to settle in Calgary,

In California my younger sister’s husband succumbed to his own particular malady, leaving her alone with the responsibility of raising her family of four children. In time all of them married. She herself fell ill and also died. Her younger son, Philip, lost his life in an accident, leaving of the parental family the older son Fred, and two daughters, Graphie and Vera, who have their own families to occupy them.

In my own case, our only child, Lillian, completed her education in Yorkton, went on to the University at Saskatoon, obtained there a degree in Home Economics, and found employment in Alberta. During her entire youth and period of public school education we avoided all mention of our antecedent history, our religious or ethical convictions, or political goals, so as to avoid influencing in any degree her own development within the context of the environment in which she would have to make her living, and seek her happiness. That, no doubt, deprived her of certain familial guidance, whose consequences only now seem to emerge. But we hope that such results will not affect very seriously our close family relationship.

Our daughter has managed to select a worthy husband, and to raise a respectable family. The wife and I extend to all of them our heartfelt felicitation for whatever fortune each of them may achieve in their respective family careers.

I now am at the end of my abbreviated historical account. It is by no means complete. Many incidents have not been mentioned, which perhaps were no less significant than those discussed. To relate them all would require much more effort and time than I now can readily supply.

Presently I am the last surviving member of my parental family. After myself there will be no-one left to carry on the family name or tradition. Its history ends with me.

Arthur Postnikoff and John A. Popoff exchanging addresses at Peter’s Day celebrations, Verigin, June 1983. Saskatchewan Archives Board S-B7612.

Notes

For another short biography of John A. Popoff as well his abridged online translation of Pavel Biryukov’s “Life of Tolstoy”, see Koozma J. Tarasoff’s Spirit Wrestlers website.

Childhood Memories

by Alexey Ivanovich Popov

Alexey Ivanovich Popov was born February 8, 1876 in the province of Elizavetpol, Russia, in the village of Novo-Troitskoye. At the age of two, he and his family, together with a sizeable group of Doukhobors immigrated to the territory known as Kars near the Turkish border. There, they founded the village of Spasovka, where Alexey remained until manhood. Many years later, he recounted his Doukhobor childhood in his memoirs, written in 1953 but published posthumously. The following excerpt, reproduced by permission from Chapter One of “Autobiography of a Siberian Exile” (Trans. Eli A. Popoff. Kelowna: 2006), chronicles the first fourteen years of Alexey’s life and provides a wealth of insight into Doukhobor life, events and beliefs, especially with respect to the upbringing and education of Doukhobor children in the Caucasus, Russia the 1880’s.

I, Alexey Ivanovich Popov, was a son of religious parents. They were a poor, peasant family of Doukhobor faith. I was born on February 25, 1877 in the Doukhobor village of Troitskoye in the Russian Gubernia of Elizavetpol, which is situated on the southern side of the Caucasus Mountains in Southern Russia. My father was Ivan Semyonovich Popov and my mother was Anna Semyonovna Popov (Androsov). They were humble, poor peasants who made their living as tillers of the soil. They were staunch in their Doukhobor faith and devout believers in their spiritual Doukhobor leaders. As true followers of their faith my parents migrated to Canada in 1899 with the Doukhobor mass migration of that time. Here in Canada, all the days of their lives they belonged to the Doukhobor group known as the Sons of Freedom. Both of them spent considerable periods of time in Canadian prisons and endured various forms of beatings and other persecution, but they did not change their beliefs to the very end of their lives. They passed away at different times; both are buried at the same cemetery in British Columbia. In their family they had seven children – three sons and four daughters. I was their third child.

Alexei Ivanovich Popov as an adult, c. 1915.

Recollections of what my mother told me:

When my mother gave birth to me, she had a very hard time and remained ill and in bed for months after my birth. It was my father who looked after all the farm chores as well as most of the household duties. Mother told me that I was a very quiet child. Very seldom did anyone hear me cry. During her illness my mother did not have any milk in her breasts to feed me. She was also not able to get out of bed and prepare any baby food for me. As was a common practice at that time among the Doukhobors, all the mothers who were breastfeeding their children in the immediate neighbourhood took turns and came to our house to feed me. Each came at their allotted time to feed me. At the same time when they came to feed me, each of the mothers would do some of the housework and look after some of my mother’s needs. This went on up to the time that I reached two years of age.

After two years of age:

Some of the following that I write about, it seems to me that I remember it myself, but it is possible that some of it may have been told to me by my mother, when I was still a child of eight or nine years of age. I remember that I was a healthy child and remember how I walked with steady feet all over the yard, but the events that went on in the family household at that time I do not seem to recall.

The first thing I remember is that on the south, sunny side of our house, right against the wall, the ashes from our Russian bake oven were always placed in a pile. In the summer this pile got very dry. I loved to play on it and sometimes would even fall asleep, half covered in the ashes. Sometimes I would sleep here till I woke up, and sometimes someone would carry me inside the house while I was still asleep. When I was two and a half years old, I was strong enough to roam around the whole yard and even outside the yard. At one time after it was past the noon hour of twelve o’clock, my mother decided to pay a visit to the nearby shallow river where the village women placed their flax straw to soak in preparation for the next stage to be made into fiber for spinning and weaving. This was a yearly practice that was done in the fall of every year. I was allowed to go with my mother for this visit. Shortly after we had already passed the outskirts of the village, I had my first sight of a large prairie jackrabbit. He had been lying in the grass, till we came quite close to him. Suddenly he raised himself and turning towards the nearby mountain, he ran with a brisk jump towards this mountain. The mountain was a landmark in the area that was called “Troitskiy Shpeel” (shpeel means a peak or spire).

After a short while we arrived at the river. The spot chosen here was a curve in the river with a very slow flowing current. The bottom was covered with a coarse gravel with scattered round and flat rocks. The depth of the water was from 6 to 18 inches. Between the scattered rocks it was excellent to place the flax or hemp straw for soaking. These bundles of straw would then have the river rocks placed on top of them. This was done so that the current would not carry away the straw and so that the direct sun would not shine upon it. When we came to this spot my mother took off her shoes and waded into the water. She reached into the water and took out a handful of straw. She rubbed it between her hands for a while and then put it back. Apparently it was not yet ready to take out. At this same spot, a little further up river, we saw that there was another Doukhobor woman who had come to examine her material. She was also finished with her examination, so we started going back to our village together – this lady and my mother, and me following them. On our way home we did not see any other wild life. Arriving at the outskirts of our village I noticed that the sun was now setting over that same mountain, “Troitskiy Shpeel”, towards which the jackrabbit had scampered.

When we came home, mother went to milk the cows, but as for me, I felt so tired from the walk of about four miles that I immediately climbed up onto the space above the Russian bake oven where it was always warm. Feeling warm all over, I fell asleep almost at once. And it was here that I slept throughout the whole evening and night and right through the early morning. It was never the practice of my mother to wake a child to feed him the evening meal, or to move him once he was comfortably asleep. She always said – once a child is comfortably sleeping in the evening, let him be. Missing the meal won’t hurt him as much as disturbing his peaceful sleep.

In the morning I got up from my place of sleep before my other siblings got out of bed and at once told my mother that I was hungry. Mother immediately poured some milk into the earthenware dish, along with some small chunks of leftover wheat bread. I took out of the cupboard one of the hand-carved wooden spoons and heartily ate what my mother had set before me.

Being only two and a half years old, none of the household or yard chores had yet been allocated to me, and so my daily life went on as with all other children in the quiet peaceful life of our agrarian village. At this age I was already quite articulate in my speaking. Although I did not have too broad a vocabulary, this was being added to from day to day.

As usual, I was always interested in what my father did as his village work routine. It was about three weeks after the visit to the river with my mother that my father brought home on a hayrack wagon the flax and hemp straw that had been soaking in the river. He carefully placed it under a roof to dry. After a period of drying, mother would go to the shed and take small bundles of the straw and with wooden tools she would work days on end beating the straw till it would separate into fibrous strands. The straw would be thrown aside for use in making fuel bricks, and the semi-clean fiber would be taken into the house. During the long winter evenings, in a special corner of the house both mother and father would keep on tramping this semi-clean fiber with their bare feet. Every once in a while they would take this mass outside to shake out the straw from it. When this mass was reasonably clean, mother would then card it piece by piece with special hand carders. Now this fluffy mass was ready handful by handful to be spun into yarn on the home made spinning wheel. In the evening mother would spin while father would be tramping the semi-cleaned flax fiber in the corner. During the daytime mother would work with the wooden tools outside, doing the first stage of the straw separation. In the evenings my father would continue the cleaning process of tramping by foot in the corner of the house that what mother had prepared outside, while mother would be carding or spinning in another corner of the living room. This kind of work continued up until about the month of February. At this time all of the cleaning, carding and spinning should be completed. Now the spun yarn had to be made into linen and hemp cloth in a process that was very fascinating to me as a child. As I grew older the process became clearer to me, but it is still quite hard to explain step by step how the yarn eventually became a very durable linen, hemp or wool material used for sewing the clothes that were worn by all the Doukhobors. All this was done in the living rooms of almost every Doukhobor family in the village.

The spun yarn was rolled into large balls. The place for preparing the yarn for its required width of usually about two feet was chosen along the longest wall of the living room. After a rotating walk around the set up pegs on a raised bench, the resulting unrolling of the large balls of yarn into a long pattern was ready to go into the set up loom for weaving. The loom itself was an intricate homemade wooden construction that a woman had to sit at. Working with her hands to put a cross thread through the two-foot wide yarn on the rollers, and using her feet to move the thing along was an art exclusive mostly to Doukhobor women. The work of weaving on the loom to make these two-foot wide and of various lengths materials or rugs went on into the months of March, April and even May. When it became warm enough in the spring to do this, then the women would take these rugs, which were still quite coarse, to the river again. There they are again soaked in the water and then spread out on the green grass to dry in the sun. As soon as they are dry, they are again soaked and again spread out in the sun. This process softens them, and also makes them become whiter. From this material the women then sew what the family requires. From the purer and softer white material they sew women’s clothes. Some of the coarser material is coloured, usually blue, and men’s pants are sewn from it, and also some women’s work clothing. The women do all their sewing by hand, and use their own, finer linen thread. A lot of clothing material was made from sheep’s wool. The process of preparing wool into yarn for spinning and weaving was a bit different and a lot of wool yarn was used for knitting.

All of this work with flax and hemp straw and sheep’s wool was done in the wintertime, and most of it was done by the Doukhobor women residing at this time in the Doukhobor villages of the Caucasus area in southern Russia. In the summer, during haying season, these same women worked side by side with the men. The men with hand scythes would be cutting the hay, while the women, with hand rakes made of wood, would be raking the hay into little piles, which they referred to as “miniature stacks”. At harvest time the women together with the men, using hand scythes would harvest the grain, tying the grain stalks into sheaves that they would later thresh together. Threshing of the grain was also done by hand by both men and women.

Besides helping the men in the fields, Doukhobor women also planted large vegetable gardens, which they looked after from spring till fall using hand tools. Every Doukhobor family had cows, which the women milked by hand. They also looked after the sheep and it was the women’s job to shear the wool from them every spring. Every family raised chickens, ducks and geese and the women looked after these as well. Of course it was the women’s duty to cook, to sew, to wash clothes, clean house and do all other family chores including the bringing up of children. Among all of these responsibilities the women still found time to go and pick the abundant wild flowers of the Caucasus area. They also picked herbs for their own medicinal use, as well as for sale.

One other very important responsibility of Doukhobor women was that they had to pass on the Doukhobor life-concept to the children by teaching them to know from memory Doukhobor psalms, wherein was contained the aspects of the Doukhobor faith. When a child was still quite young, the mother taught them the psalms only for reciting purposes. As the child grew older, the mother was required to see that the child would start learning the melody of each psalm. This was in order that the child could participate in mass prayer meetings, which were based on the reading and singing of psalms. The melody for Doukhobor psalms was very intricate and not easy to learn, even if you were growing up as a Doukhobor. For most outsiders the melody of Doukhobor psalms is very hard to understand and almost impossible to sing in the same soul stirring way.

When I was two years and eight months old my mother taught me one short psalm, which was specially composed for children. It was easy to read and I learned to read it quite fluently. It started with: “Lord, give us your blessing.” “Thou art my God and I am your slave. You will not desert me, and I will not ever leave you” and ended with “Honour and Praise to our God”. This psalm I learned to read from memory while we still lived in the house where I was born in the village of Troitskoye (Elizavetpol Gubernia).

In the spring of the year 1880 a sizable group of Doukhobors including our villagers and also from the neighbouring village of Spasovka of our Gubernia of Elizavetpol, decided to move to the Kars area of the Gubernia of Tiflis. The distance to cover was about two hundred and fifty plus Russian “Versti” (about 150 miles). My parents decided to make this move with the group. Being merely three years old at this time, I was not too aware of the hardships of this trip. I only remember the convoy of covered wagons following one another and slowly making their way along wagon trail roads, which were often muddy and soft. The wagons were heavily loaded and sometimes got bogged down in the mud so that the team hitched to the wagon would not be able to pull the wagon out. I remember cases where all the wagons would stop and they would hitch teams from other wagons at the head of those stuck. After pulling out the stuck wagon, the whole convoy would then proceed. On the third day of our journey our convoy had to cross a river. Its depth was from one to three and a half feet. Its width was about three hundred feet and it was quite fast flowing. My father was driving a four-horse team hitched to our wagon and it appears that he had moved a bit to one side of the regular track where it was safe to cross. There was a huge unseen rock in the water that stopped the wagon and the horses could not move it. Many men from the other wagons immediately came to the rescue. They waded into the water, and finding out what the problem was, they placed themselves at the wheels and at the back of the wagon and helped to get the wagon over the rock and safely to the other side.

A sample page from Alexey’s handwritten memoirs of 1953, painstakingly translated by his son Eli A. Popoff in 2006.

At the other side of the river, all of the convoy stopped for a meal, to rest and to feed the horses. Feed for the horses was not being hauled because the wagons were overly full with all the household and other belongings that were being transported to the new place of abode. So the horses were fed merely with the local grass that they grazed and any fresh hay that could be cut on the way. The early spring green grass was not very nutritious for the horses. They weakened day by day, and so the journey was longer than it should have been. What added to the hardships was that there was much rain during this trip –making the roads wet and soggy. The wagon wheels kept sinking up to four inches – making ruts as they proceeded. Because of all this the convoy used to make as little as fifteen versti, and at the most 30 versti of travel per day (a “versta” is approximately one kilometre. – Ten kilometres is approximately 6 miles). It was fortunate for the whole convoy that the climate of this Caucasus area was reasonable during the spring. While there were times of very heavy rainfall making puddles three or four inches deep on the roads, within the same hour the sun would come out and in a short time the water would all disappear. The rain did not bother the people or their belongings because all of the wagons were well covered with good frames covered with durable canvass. The food brought along for the trip was very simple. Basically everyone had sacks full of “sookhari” or twice baked bread chunks, made from whole wheat. They had a supply of potatoes, millet grain and salted chunks of sheep’s fat. The road from Elizavetpol to the Kars area was very hilly and rocky and there was a considerable amount of forest growth all around. The territory that was being crossed was all Crown Land and therefore it was permissible to let the horses graze at every stop that was made. We children always rode in the comfort of the covered wagons, where we also slept every night. All of the men usually walked behind or beside the wagons. They did not have to drive the horses most of the time as the Caucasus horses were better trained to keep to the trails, than the Canadian horses that we have had to use. It was only once in a while when a steep hill would appear ahead that the drivers would sit down on the driver’s seat to urge and steer the horses.

In the evenings when the convoy was camping for the night, the men would gather in groups and join in light hearted discussions and usually sang joyous hymns and songs. The women would be cooking the evening meal and tending to the children’s needs. In general this migration from one area to another had its hardships, but there were also joyful times. Throughout the whole trip there was not a single occasion of misfortune or trauma to any family in the whole convoy.

In the latter part of April, our convoy reached its destination. My parents chose to settle in the village named “Spasovka” in the District of Arganov about 40 “Versti” east of the City of Kars in what was referred to as “Karsskaya Oblast” or the region of Kars in the Gubernia (or province) of Tiflis. The village of Spasovka was situated in a unique location. From the west side there was a huge long mountain. On the north, east and south sides, the river “Karsina” made a huge bend. Along the south west side and along the mountain there flowed a smaller unnamed river, which always had warm water in it. On frosty days of the winter months there was always a vapor of steam above it. At the southeast end of our village location these two rivers joined together and they flowed out of our valley in a southeasterly direction between two tall mountains of rock, which formed a gorge at this point.

Both these rivers had an abundance of fish. However these fish were of a small common variety and could not be compared to the special fish that we came to know in far eastern parts of Russia, in Siberia, province of Yakutsk.

In this, our new village of Spasovka, my parents did not have to build their new home to live in. This was because there were two parties of Doukhobors that had already moved here from our province. With one of these parties, my grandfather Semyon Leontievich Popov came here before us. These parties that had come here before us, by mutual agreement, had already allocated exactly how the village would be built. They had measured out equal lots in a long line with homes to be built facing each other. One side of the line would have the houses with the rear facing eastward, and the other side would have their rear facing westward. In the centre was a wide street running from north to south. The total length of this street was about one and one quarter “versti” (about ¾ of a mile). After all the lots were marked out and numbered – each family drew lots for the one that would be theirs.

Part of these lots covered a territory that once had the remains of a small Turkish village. This territory still had the skeletons of five Turkish dwelling homes that were not totally deteriorated. These dwellings all had the same shape and style. The structure was all under one roof and quite low to the ground level. The roof was made from turf. Each had two doors on the long side of the structure. One door led into the structures most spacious division, which had four separate divisions and was used to house the farm animals and the poultry. The other door, at the other end, led into the division where the family was to live. One of these structures still remained on the lot that grandfather drew as his allocated lot. When my parents arrived at this newly pioneered village, my grandfather greeted us at the front of this building, and this is where we settled in to live.

The first essential chore that had to be done here was to go to the place and dig the special clay, from which bricks could be made. After drying and processing the bricks, these would then be laid in proper formation to make the brick oven for baking and cooking. I remember my father and grandfather at work making the bricks, while mother was busy washing up all the clothes from the trip and doing other cleaning. From these very first days I remember my older brother and sister and myself climbing the low roofed dwelling of ours and walking all over the long roof.

Because grandfather had come here earlier, he had done some essential work that every homeowner had to do here at this time. He had tilled some of our allotted soil and sowed some barley. He did complain that the Turkish people who lived here had apparently used the soil continually for many years and he feared that the crop would be very poor. We did not have any choice at this time, so in the latter days of the month of April, we, as all others – planted our gardens, each on the allotted lots, which were also very much worked over before us.

At this time I was just three years and two months old and so all of the responsibilities of this first pioneering year did not affect me. All the responsibilities rested on the shoulders of our parents. As for us, children, free of worldly responsibilities, as soon as summer warmth came around, we headed in groups to the shallow warm river that was really right in our back yard.

There for days at a time we sat in the warm waters of the river taking hourly outings to stretch out on the warm sand of the beach. Because there were no schools in this new area where we settled, the children that came to the river ranged from two to nine years. The parents felt safe to allow the children to come here, because the river was shallow and slow flowing. The shore was not deep set, but just about even with the land’s surface and the river bottom was firm and solid. This was why all the children of our village spent all the sunny days at this river shore. In the evenings the parents always insisted that all children spend a certain amount of time learning from memory the prayers of the Doukhobors, which were called psalms. When I was four years old I learned my second psalm, which read as follows:

Lord, Give Us Thy Blessing

Let us all tearfully reflect on all the daily workings of our lives. Verily speaks to us our Lord with entreaty: “You my male servants and maid servants, devout Christians, do not forget to be faithful to God, and He will not forget you in the end time to come. In our present day, the times are very trying. We are being judged and persecuted. There has been born an evil anti-Christ. He has sent forth his evil oppressors out into the whole world. There is no place to hide for my faithful followers, neither in the mountains, nor in the caves, nor in the distant barren places. My faithful followers have to live in exile and suffer persecution for keeping to the word of God and for manifesting the teachings of Jesus Christ. But you my faithful followers rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven.

Our God be praised.

Because my age group of children was not yet allocated any responsibilities, we continued to spend all our time at our favorite spot by the river. We would go there day after day. The only time we were not there was when we would see a dark cloud coming over the horizon and rumbling of thunder would be heard. At such times we would race to where the nearest covered wagons were parked and hide under their cover. For the first season, families continued to live in their covered wagons while the houses were being built. The last parties were all still living in their covered wagons. My parents were very fortunate to have the frames of the five Turkish huts that were on their allotted plot. We were sheltered in them during the first trying years. All the other families next to us were all hurrying to get their houses built. The construction of houses in this area was very simple. The walls were built from the slabs of unhewn gray rock that was freely available at the nearby foothills of the mountains. In between went layers of mixed clay mortar, which was also readily available at various spots of the valley. There was no visible forest anywhere nearby so wood was only used for window frames and doorjambs. For the roof some round poles were used sparsely, on which were laid split flat slabs of stone. On this base, plain soil was heaped, and this method was used for every roof of every building in the village. All the buildings had similar rock walls. Our village of Spasovka had 86 family residences. Each and every residence was similarly built and there was not a single wooden roofed building in the whole village.

With this form of construction, not counting the labor the cost of the buildings was very minimal. For a residence to house a family of ten with livestock from 25 to 30 head, the cost of constructing a residence would be from five to ten rubles. This expense goes specifically for the cost of glass and any ironware that was required for the buildings. It also covered anything that was needed for the large Russian oven assembled out of hand-made bricks. This oven served for all the kitchen cooking, bread baking, as well as supplying heat in the winter months. The construction of these buildings was the prime occupation of each and every family in these first years of settlement. All of the needed materials for this type of construction was readily available nearby. The forms of rock and stone slabs were all around you to the fullest of your hearts desire. There were mountains of clay for your mortar and brick baking. Water was abundant from the two rivers in the valley. The biggest detriment was the lack of forest nearby. The closest place for cutting any timber was 50 Versti away. Although there was one good thing about the timber, and that was, that for all our new settlers the state allowed a given amount for free. However to transport this timber was very difficult. In the first place there was still a shortage of horses in the first years and there was no supply of any kind of grain to feed the horses in this long and arduous journey. Even though throughout the Kavkaz Mountains there were always patches of good grass, this was not good enough to give strength for the horses to pull these heavy loads of timber for such long distances. Besides all this, horsepower was needed at home for hauling the rocks and for tilling the soil. The roads that were used to get to the timber belt were not kept up by anyone. Although the trails were somewhat packed down, the continuous summer rains would make them muddy and difficult for any kind of transportation. It was because of all of this that lumber was of the highest value in all of our villages.

There never was any talk of a sawmill to be constructed because the logs brought here were few and far between. For the absolutely essential boards the logs were cut by hand with long crosscut saws. Those families that did not have two grown men got together in pairs with other families. Since this was not an occupation that was practiced often, some of the boards that were cut were very uneven. These were the tasks that were performed by all the grown ups of the village throughout the spring, summer and fall. In the fall the gathering in of the crops took precedence over all. The first crops were very poor as these were sewn on lands that the Turkish people had been farming for many years and new land had not yet been prepared. Our children’s summer occupation that we loved best of all was our time spent by the river. Nevertheless there were times when we would go to the spots where the families were mixing the clay for mortar for the buildings. Here we would roll our own little balls of clay for our own kind of play. Sometimes we would dry them, but sometimes we would throw them at each other while they were still raw and wet. The object was to dodge them, as they hurt quite considerably. Sometimes one of the clay balls would hit a grown up person, at which time we would all be chased away. A chase from one place did not usually stop us. We would just go to another place further away where the same clay mixing was going on. Our group eventually earned the name of “mischief makers.”

When it was time for harvest all of our barefooted gang was broken up. Each went to their own family group in readiness to be taken to the fields together with the elders. Only those children stayed at home where there was an elder staying behind to allocate to them the home chores that had to be done.

Harvesting the grain at that time was very simple. The men cut down the standing grain with hand scythes, and the women raked it into small neat piles called “Kopitsi”. Then the men using special thin poles about 10 feet long, and sticking them under the pile from two sides, they would lift and carry this pile to a central place where a neat small stack would be made. This stack would be left that way till all the cutting down of the grain would be finished.

The children’s responsibility was to see that not a blade with a head of kernels in it would be left lying in the field. We would gather these individually and tie them into little sheaves with the spare straw stems. Every child would place his little sheaves separately into neat piles. These sheaves would then be taken home in the evening, where we would give them into caretaking of the parents and receive their praise according to how diligently they had worked and how many sheaves were made up. The parents kept these little sheaves separately and allowed them to be threshed separately. With the grain that resulted, the children were allowed to trade it with the local traveling merchants for goodies like apples, plums or grapes, either fresh or dried.

After the harvesting of the grain in the fields is completed, the families individually, if large families, and sometimes together with others, if small – prepare a special spot for threshing. A sizable smooth surfaced place is chosen. First it is wetted down with water and tall grass or straw is scattered loosely on it. A horse is then hitched to a special wooden roller with pegs in it, and with a rider horseback on the horse, drives back and forth on this patch until the straw is tramped in and the whole base is quite firm and solid. After this has dried, the excess straw is swept off and the reaped grain is then spread on this firm base which is called a “Katok” and the same wooden roller is hauled across, over and over until the kernels are all freed from the heads. When the men feel that all the kernels are free from the straw, they gather the straw with forks and take it away, piling it into stacks for feed. The grain is shoveled to the centre of the “Katok” and more unthreshed wheat or whatever grain is being threshed is spread around. Then the roller and the horse again commence their threshing process. After the men feel that there is about 50 or 60 “poodi” of grain (one “pood” is 40 pounds) in the centre of the “Katok”, the threshing process is halted. Now they take shovels and throw the grain into the air against the wind – thus separating the chaff from the kernels, as it is light and the wind blows it away. If there are any pieces of solid matter like dried mud chunks or small rocks – these are later removed by hand made screens.

All this harvesting work was carried out by the elders. In the meantime we children see how the elders are throwing the wheat and chaff into the wind, develop our own form of make believe. We gather in the street where there is loose dirt and make piles of it in the centre. Then cupping our hands we throw it into the air, just to see which way it blows. Because there are up to ten of us in a group, we create a regular dust storm in which you can hardly see our bodies. In the morning when we get together, all have different colored clothes. In the evening all our clothes are a dark gray. All around our eyes, nose and mouth there is a layer of black dust. We no longer look like children but like knights in black armor. In the event that we have a rainfall and the streets have puddles, we begin by racing through them, and then wrestling and before you know it we begin to go our separate and march home like fishermen coming home, wet and soggy.

It wasn’t always that we children got away with our naughty frolicking. Often either an elder man or an older woman would catch us doing something naughty and they would get after us with a willow switch, and without paying attention as to who belonged to which family, would give each one of us a good wallop on the back and chase us to our individual homes. Most of the time we were on the watch for any approaching elder, and when catching sight of one, we would immediately scatter and hide. There never was any thought of standing up to any older person of your own or any other village. If ever any child would answer harshly to any older person, he would be severely punished by his own parents at home. This meant that no child could do any mischief in any part of the village without immediately answering to any elder around. Even if he got away from the elder on the spot, he knew what he would get at home, when his mischief and disrespect of elders would be reported to his parents. This kind of upbringing allowed the Doukhobors to live in peace and harmony in their large extended families, and in their tightly knit villages. Every parent trusted their neighbouring parents to do the right thing when dealing with children’s pranks. Parents always trusted the elders’ assessment of an irresponsible occurrence, rather than the version given by a guilty teen-ager. There were no schools in our village and at most the literacy rate of the whole village was no more than 5 percent. Yet the whole village kept strictly to the above disciplinary guidelines without any exceptions.

With the oncoming colder weather, after all the fall work was done, our children’s group gallivanting came to an end. Because of general lack of warm winter clothing, most of us children now became confined to their homes. Staying at home, all we could do was think about all of the things we had done this past summer, and plan for the coming spring and summers escapades and the new things we might come up with.

During the fall and winter time of short days and long nights, because the children had no place to play and no responsibilities to fulfill and were having time on their hands, it became the duty of every parent and grandparent to teach them the prayers and psalms that contained the life-concept of the Doukhobors. These were passed on from generation to generation and were learned from memory. Families that had four or five children above four years of age, had them, every day, lined up in a row and made to recite from memory the psalms they already knew, and then separately, each one would be taught additional psalms. Up to a given age these psalms would be taught only for recitation. Later the melody of these psalms would be taught as well. In this particular winter I learned from memory my third psalm, whose contents was as follows:

“Lord, Give Us Thy Blessing”

“From the beginning of time and till now, the Lord God calleth to His faithful children: “Come to me my dear children, come to me my most dear ones. I have prepared for you the Kingdom of Heaven. Do not fear to forsake your father, your mother nor all of your race and lineage in the physical sense, but give reverence to me your heavenly Father in spirit. And the faithful children turn to Him in prayer – Oh Lord, our dear Lord it is so difficult for us to enter into your heavenly kingdom. All the pathways have gates of steel, and at the gates there stand fierce and unjust guards. And the Lord speaketh to them and sayeth: “Do not be fearful my children, do not be fearful my dear ones. I am the powerful wrestler that shall go forward before you. I shall break down all their gates of steel and I shall disperse their fierce guards. And then I shall lead you into my kingdom of heaven, where all shall reign with me as witnessed to by the God of Jacob.”

“Our God be praised”

During the winters male children under the age of 12 years had no responsibilities, so their day-to-day routine was always the same and the winters felt long. In regard to the girls it was a bit different. Beginning from the age of seven, the mothers began teaching them how to knit from the woolen yarn and even simple patching. Those families that had smaller babies, the girls were trained to take care of them. The girls were also taught to clean the floors as well as help their mothers with the washing of dishes. After the girls reach 12 years of age the mothers began to train them how to spin simple, thicker yarn for mitts and working stockings. All the spinning in our area of Kars province was done from sheep’s wool. Some sheep had been brought from our Elizavetpol province because there, most villagers had large herds of sheep. Some long horned cattle were also brought here from Elizavetpol, and these were used for milk from the very beginning of our new settlement.

When the frosts came in late fall, all work on construction was stopped. This was because in order to lay the stone walls it required mortar from the brown clay mixture. This mixture had to be handled with bare hands, and of course later this would get frozen and without a proper drying process this mortar would fall apart in the warm summer weather. Thus ,for the men folk there was less to do. All they had to do was look after cattle, horses and sheep, and in the homes they would patch the leather harness gear, repair worn boots or sew new ones. At times they would tan woolen sheepskins and sew them for wearing as short fur coats. Wood working shops did not exist here because wood was so hard to get. It was not even possible to haul logs from the forest in the wintertime. The roads were not passable. A blacksmith shop was very rare, as only a few essentials for household use or construction were ever made in the village blacksmith. There was nowhere in this area where men could go and do work for others, so in the year there were five months where the men, also, were tied to doing household and barnyard chores, the barn being part of the residence.

All the men’s main work of working the land, sowing, harvesting, and construction work could only be done in the spring and summer, so during the long winter evenings, the men – like the children spent a lot of time learning the Doukhobor psalms. This was done not only in their own homes. They also gathered in groups in neighbour’s homes. They not only read the psalms, but also in groups, sang them. On Sundays there were large gatherings for prayer meetings. At these prayer meetings everyone participated by each reading a psalm. The Doukhobors never had any special person for leading prayer services. Each and everyone participated with the reading and with the singing. That is why the children were taught from a very young age. It was always expected that each person would read a different psalm. And so if a group of one hundred gathered, the elders would be obliged to know just about that many psalms. The Doukhobors read their psalms, their prayers to God, not with the intent of absolving themselves from sin, but they read them for their own enlightenment as to how they should lead their lives. Each and every psalm had some explanation about the living spirit of the teachings of Jesus Christ. This is why the Doukhobors referred to their collection of psalms as the “Living Book”.

When a person has within his memory many Doukhobor psalms, no matter where he is, or what his circumstances are, he always has with him the instructional words contained in the psalms. No one can take them away from him, and having them always within the innermost sanctions of his being for his guidance, no one can sidetrack him, or change his deep seated and deeply rooted faith. This then, was one of the main reasons that the Doukhobors were not so concerned about grammar schools or other forms of academic learning. Their first concern was to instruct their children with the “Living Book”, their religious and moral, ethical, instructional psalms. In addition to all this the Doukhobors believed that their spiritual psalms were their own unique and bona fide life-concepts that no outsider had tampered with. Keeping firmly to the concepts contained in their psalms, the Doukhobors could safely withstand any foreign or alien influences. Their feelings were that any outside grammar teaching could still contain influences that were alien to Doukhobor thought and would infringe on or tend to obscure pure and untainted Doukhobor teachings.

During this first winter, with its short days and long nights was spent with even greater emphasis placed on spiritual aspects and the learning of psalms by both children and elders. I remember this first winter starting to turn towards spring because in February 25th of the year 1881 I became 4 years old. I really was not too aware of how good a crop we had this past year, or what other hardships my parents went through, because at my age this was not within my realm of comprehension. I do remember that the house (Saklya) that we lived in was warm and comfortable. The walls were about four feet thick. The rock walls were double layered. The rocks were laid in clay mortar in two columns, and in between the space was filled with common soil. The roof had round rafters – pine logs twelve to fourteen inches in diameter, on which were placed flat slabs of rock, a few inches in thickness. On these slabs straw was placed and then about twelve to fourteen inches of soil. There were only two windows and one door. The doorway entrance was a corridor with walls about 10 feet thick, and having a door at each end of the corridor. With only the two windows and a doored corridor entrance, the inside of the house was cozy and warm. I do not remember ever feeling cold or uncomfortable throughout the whole winter. It was only later in my life that I began experiencing a longing for the warm sunny days of summer.

Spring did come, and at the end of March the snow began to melt. It was wonderful. For just as soon as a bare spot of earth showed up, there immediately green tufts of grass started to show. By about April 10th the snow was all gone and a vaporous fog started to rise from the soil. Soon the soil warmed up and everywhere green grass appeared. Right after this, the earliest white flowers of the “maslyonka” plant, a variety of buttercups began to dot the green prairie land. These buttercups in their roots had a large kernel, the size of a peanut, which was edible. There we were in groups, armed with a special wooden rod sharpened at the end like a little shovel scampering all over the prairie meadow digging these peanuts to eat right there and to bring some home. This daily occupation of ours lasted till about the 5th of May. After this the white flowers would wither and fly away. Then there was no way you could spot the buttercup plant in the lush green grass, and besides that the peanut seed itself would get to be coarse and hard and not edible anymore. And so, for a time our children’s groups would be left without too much to do except wait for the warm sunny days to come, when we again could go to our favorite river beach to swim and bask in the warm sun. The last year’s pastime was to be repeated again this year, until such time as our parents would begin the harvest season and again get us to pick up all the loosely fallen grain.

This was the routine for all of us children, and this is what occupied my time when I was five and six years old. When I became seven years of age, that winter my parents taught me several more lengthy psalms. I remember that spring when the snow melted more rapidly and the streets were full of puddles and little creeks. Here was something new – to build little dikes and canals and float little hand made boats and make imaginary turning mills on the flowing rivulets. After this came the season of digging the buttercup roots and when that finished a new phase of my childhood development came about. My older brother Nikolay made a fish hook out of an old needle. He attached a length of string to the homemade hook and gave me my first instructions on how to catch the little fish that abounded in the same river that we loved to swim in. He showed me where to dig for the long, red earthworms, how to store them in an empty can with some earth in it, and how to attach them in short pieces for baiting the hook. He showed me how to lower the hook into the water and then patiently wait till a fish starts jerking on the line. This shallow river that we swam in seemed to have millions of these little fish. They were the size of Canadian perch and resembled them in appearance. And so, along with all other boys that were seven and eight years old this became another pastime with which we were occupied.

The little fish were very plentiful in the river, and if a boy struck a good spot he could catch from 50 to 75 of them in one day’s outing. The caught fish would be kept in a screened cage in the water. When these were brought home, the mothers would merely clean the innards and then fry them whole. When the fish was fried for some time they are smothered in a mixture of dough that is made quite thin, and then the whole mass is baked in the oven. This kind of fish in pastry, served as a very special delicacy for all of us children. It also substantially added to our dietary supplies, as in our first years in this new settlement food was not too plentiful. In our particular family this was even more so.

Alexey’s parents, Anna and Ivan Popov, c. 1915. Ivan was a very large man whereas Anna was diminutive. In this photo, Ivan is sitting while Anna is standing.

When our family was coming from our village in the province of Elizavetpol we had brought with us 4 cows. In the fall of 1882 three of these cows were stolen. On one night that fall a group of thieves came and from the far side of the barn they took apart a part of the stone wall and led the three cows away. Even with the help of the whole village, we were never able to track down the culprits or to find out where three of our best cows disappeared. From that time on, our dairy products were far more limited than in other families. Our daily food was bread made from whole-wheat flour with soup, which was made basically of potatoes and coarsely ground wheat. Borshch had potatoes and cabbage plus a large tablespoon of thick cream. Into both soup and borshch, for our family of six people, one small tablespoon of butter was added.

Therefore, the small perch that I caught with the homemade fishing tackle was a very welcome addition to our meager food supply. It was a change, it was very tasty and it cost nothing. Up to seven years of age, no outside family responsibilities were designated to me. I was still allowed to go and dig the buttercup peanuts. But when their season came to an end I was given a more serious responsibility. Most families had flocks of geese. This particular spring my mother was able to successfully hatch 48 goslings, in addition to the five older geese that we owned – making 53 in all. As soon as they grew up a bit and got trained to keep to their own flock, because of shortage of home feed, the flock had to be herded out to pasture in the meadow and also to the same river where we went swimming. The river was shallow and quiet flowing and posed no danger for the geese. In places along its banks there was a lot of lush green grass which both the older geese and the young goslings loved to feed on. Besides this, when they would plunge into the river there were all kinds of bugs that lived in the quiet eddies, and the geese young and old feasted on them. With this range free feeding, the young geese developed in leaps and bounds. My job was to keep them together, both on the range and in the water from 7 o’clock in the morning until 9 o’clock in the evening. After 9 o’clock I would herd the geese home where they had special housing under a solid roof with solid locking doors. It was not possible to leave the geese free overnight because there had been occasions when the large gray wolves which roamed the mountainside would sometimes come down into the village at night and kill some geese and drag them away for eating later.

In the daytimes there had not been any occasion that the wolves would come to the riverside. There were a few occasions when stray dogs would come there but they could be frightened away. On rare occasions there were serious hailstorms and some of the little goslings would be seriously hurt or even killed. Apart from these rare times of worry, we young children that looked after the geese felt free and happy. We often had time to swim in the river ourselves and lie on the shore. Sometimes we even did some fishing. The flocks of geese also enjoyed these free-range outings. At times when they would have a good feeding quickly, they would also stretch out on the sand and lie sleeping. Other times they would swim in the deeper water and then lazily stay in the shallow eddies snapping at the bugs that swam there. There were odd times when one flock of geese would get mixed up with another flock and coming home we would have different counts. To avoid disputes every family had their own markings on the feet of the geese. Some cut slits in the goose toe webs. Others cut one nail off, either, the left or right foot. All were different. And so checking the markings each family claimed their separated goslings. I do not remember that there were ever any serious disputes.

This work of pasturing geese continues from the first of June until the fifth of September when the harvest season commences. At this time the geese are not pastured at the river anymore, but they are brought out into the harvest fields where they methodically go through the harvested field and pick up every head of grain that fell aside from the main stacks. Some families who had the proper utensils brought out water for the geese into the fields and so the geese remain in the field from dawn to dark. Feeding on grain, the geese accumulated a considerable amount of fat. Thus, at home they are grain fed for no more than 2 weeks and then they are sold. The summer’s pasturing of the geese was not a troublesome one for the children. It was rather enjoyable, because the hours of work were not too exact. Morning or evening the timing could be one hour earlier or one hour later. There was however one hardship. Being bare legged all the time proved to have its disadvantages. Wetting your feet about every hour, and then being in the hot sand and sun eventually made all the skin rough, which later would have cracks appear and even open sores. The sores would bleed and be very painful. There was no medicine for this. The only thing that helped was to cover all your legs with black Caucasian oil. The oil seemed to protect the skin and going in and out of the water did not affect the skin as much.

Pasturing the geese at harvest time was more arduous. This was because the grain fields were sometimes one, two or three “Versti” from the home residence. During some hot days in the fall it would not be possible to herd the geese for such distances. This then required the young lad to get up before sunrise, and while the dew was still on the grass to get the geese into the fields and have them already fed before herding them to the river for water. In the evening it was the same problem. While the sun was still high it was too hot for the geese to trek from the river to the fields. They would get hot, open their mouths and lie down without going any farther. You could only start them from the river when the sun was already quite low. By the time they would get themselves fed it would already be getting dark. This created considerable hardships for a boy only seven years of age. Also the weather in the fall was not always calm. Sometimes it rained heavily. Other times a wind storm would come up and you would have to be fighting dust and wind against which even the geese did not want to go. There were times when the older people in the village felt that they had to come and help the young boys to bring the geese home on one or another turbulent evening. They would holler into the night and children would answer in the high-spirited children’s voices. The one saving grace for us children was that we never went in separate groups. Most of the time we had four or five groups of boys following each other, especially after dark. Each was looking after his own herd of geese. Being in a group gave us some comfort. At times, however, it used to get so dark that each of us seemed to be totally alone. All of us were quite well aware of the fact that the huge gray wolves were always not too far away from the grain fields. Thoughts of the wolves always brought a cold shudder down one’s spine.

In my eight and ninth year I did not get any additional responsibilities. There still were no schools in the village. So in the summers I herded geese and in the winters I added to my knowledge of psalms.

When I became 10 years of age I was given another responsibility. Now I had to begin herding sheep. Looking after sheep had its own season. This was from the middle of March till the tenth of June. At this time the sheep were having their lambs and the lambs had to be trained near to and around home, to stay with the herd.

After the 10th of June all the sheep in the village are brought together into one or two large herds. Specially trained Tartar herdsmen are hired, who take the sheep into the hills and graze them on especially rented crown land. They keep them here till about the fifteenth of October, and sometimes even till November 10th. They then bring the herds back to the village and every owner starts taking care of his own little group. They are pastured in and around the village till the time of the first big snowfall. Those owners who have over a hundred sheep pasture them individually. Those that have 20 to 45 usually group together and either hire a person as herdsman or take turns in herding.

All sheep have their own kind of markings. Their markings are on their ears with either one or two cuts or piercing. Herding sheep was one of my favorite responsibilities. There were many groups of boys. During dry weather and no wind, the sheep grazed quietly and the boys would organize some games. In this way, the days would go by quickly. The games could be different each time. One of the games played the oftenest was called “Na v shapki” or beat the cap. This was done by each one throwing his herding stick as far as he could. Whichever stick landed the closest, the owner would have to take off his cap and throw it in the same direction. All the boys were then permitted to run and beat this cap with their sticks a certain amount of times and then again throw their sticks. This could go on all day, and it did happen that some of the less lucky boys would have their caps beaten into shreds and come home bareheaded. To hide his shame this boy would keep his herd out till it was completely dark and then bring them home.

Sketch of merino sheep kept by the Doukhobors by Russian painter, Vasily Vereshchagin during his visit to Elizavetpol in 1863.

There was only one particular drawback in herding sheep, and that was the rainy weather. There were times when it would rain several days in a row. When it was this wet the sheep would not graze quietly but kept running around uncomfortably. For these rainy days we boys had a special garment, which was called a “Bashlik.” It was a kind of large vest that had no sleeves but did have a special parka that pulled over your head from the back. These vests were made from sheep’s wool, tightly knit and well pounded. These vests did not let the rainwater through to your body, but if it rained all day these would become so soaked and heavy that your shoulders felt like you were carrying unwieldy weights of steel that seemed to get heavier every step you took. Carrying this amount of weight from morning until evening was quite a trauma for an eight or nine year old. It was that much harder to carry this weight because the soil beneath your feet was all muddy and sticky. Some evenings it was real torture to drag one foot after another on the last stretch home and when you finally got to bed your legs would continue to feel the pain.

There was another hardship herding sheep in the spring and that was their giving birth to lambs right in the distant field where you had led them. If this were one or two lambs, you would be obliged to carry them home. If it there were more than two new born lambs, you would go to the nearest hilltop and holler at the top of your voice until someone in or near the village would hear and they would come to help.

The most frequent trauma in herding sheep in the summer was this matter of getting soaking wet, which was sometimes followed by a cold wind. There were times when one remained shuddering throughout the whole day. One other fear that always seemed to hover over you when you came closer to the mountains with your herd was the fact that you knew that the mountains abounded with large gray wolves. During my time there was never an occurrence of a pack of wolves attacking a herd of sheep. In the two years that I herded sheep there was only one occurrence of my actually seeing a large gray wolf lurking nearby. There were other older boys that let out loud shouts and the wolf disappeared into the mountains. As for myself I stood petrified and motionless for about half an hour. I was not able to move my feet. It seemed that my whole bloodstream was frozen.

There was one other occurrence that happened to me with one of my older and rather feeble sheep. This happened at the beginning of the month of December when the first snow covered most of our low-level pasture ground. About one quarter of a “versta” from our home there was a gorge through which flowed a larger river named “Karsina Reka”. This gorge stretched for about eight “versti” and three of these “versti” was in the territory of land that was allocated to our village. This gorge had banks of different elevations. Some places the height was about three times the height of prairie grain elevators, other places this elevation was lower. Most places the distance from one side to the other was about 160 feet. The river was not too wide, and it ran through the centre. At one side of the river there was the general road that ran through along the gorge, and at the other side the distance between the river and its mountainous bank varied. In places it came right to the river’s edge and in other places there were ledges of various heights, which contained luscious green grass. From the warmth of the river water there was no snow on these ledges. At places these ledges led to level pieces of land, and at other places they led directly into steep and very rocky mountainous territory. On some of these ledges even horses or cattle could graze. On others only the sheep, being more agile, could safely graze. And so in the first part of the winter, I took my sheep to these ledges. I directed my sheep to a lower ledge, which had very luscious grass on it, but the descent to it was quite steep. Going down, the sheep managed very well, but having smoothed the path going down, when I was ready to chase them back up they found it very slippery and difficult. I had to help practically every sheep to scamper up and onto more level territory. It came to the last one, a heavy older sheep that wasn’t very agile anymore. She just could not make it to the upper ledge, and with all the strength that I could muster I just couldn’t get her out of this lower ledge. It was getting dark and I had to make a quick decision. If I left her loose, she could conceivably scamper out of here later and wander into the mountains where the wolves would most certainly get her. Each of us boys had our slings for throwing stones and so I decided to use that string. I tied all four feet of the sheep as firmly as I could and left her there lying at the foot of the ledge. In the morning we would come with my father and rescue her.

I came home with the rest of the herd later than usual. When my parents asked why I was so late, I explained what happened with that one old sheep. Sheep at that time were valued from two and a half to four dollars each. To me that seemed not such a great deal. However, my parents were so upset with this possible loss that they hardly slept all night. They prayed and grieved and mother even went out into the night to carry out some kind of an ancient witchcraft ritual. She took an axe and plunged it into the ground in the middle of the road, and if everyone went around it without knocking it down, this would denote that the sheep would be safe.

In the very early morning, before dawn, my father and I went to the place where I had left the sheep. The spot was empty but there were signs of struggling. Looking further around and below, we found the dead sheep in a clump of brush. She had kept beating and turning until she fell and rolled among rocks. The whole carcass was so beat up; we could not even salvage the sheep’s skin. The loss of this sheep was a subject of grief to my parents for a long time to come. When spring came my parents did not fail to mention to me – you see that sheep would now have brought us two lambs. It was so hard for me to understand why it was that my parents were so overly concerned with this loss of one old sheep. Was it just grief for a material loss, or was it fear of loss of self-sufficiency, and possible want in the future? It was probably the latter, because we scarcely ever had anything in abundance. However in my childhood immaturity I thought that how could it be that my parents seemed to value the sheep more than they cared about me and my anguish. They continually mentioned that the sheep would have brought two lambs, and that she always fed them so well, and that her wool was of the finest quality. It was long and soft and it produced the finest of yarn. All these rebukes about my fault for this loss kept on for a whole year. For a nine-year-old child these parental rebukes about the loss of a mere older sheep gave me severe mental depression. I kept being sore at heart. At the same time it was a very indelible lesson to me to always be more careful in the future.

When I was in a more self-pitying mood I would think to myself – of course my action in getting the sheep to this luscious green ledge was not done for any kind of self-gratification. I had done this out of pity and love for the sheep. I well knew that they would be half hungry treading over grounds that were already eaten bare, but here I was directing them to a ledge of luscious green grass where not a single foot had trod, – a place you just didn’t want to leave from. And then I would reason again – true enough the thoughts came to me that if I did not take advantage of this ledge today – others would discover it tomorrow! And then of course our elders were always praising the boys that were more alert than others, and I did have the thoughts that when the elders found out that I had discovered and used this ledge for my herd before anyone else – they would say, aha, that Popov youngster finds ledges that even older herders failed to discover! And so really – this was the thought that made me venture to that steep but luscious ledge. Instead of receiving this kind of praise, it turned out that in the end I received an unforgettable lesson to be more careful rather than being more daring. Had I brought home the sheep that evening even half hungry, their suffering would have been minimal. No one would have been able to assess exactly how much was in their stomachs. My parents would have been at peace, and there would have been no rebukes to me in the future. With those thoughts of getting praise and commendations, I probably would have become unnecessarily proud and to think too much of myself. This event of the loss of a sheep brought out in me deeper thoughts of the wisdom of being careful in all matters. Not the least of this was that it is wise to be careful in material matters insofar as one’s welfare sometimes depended on saving every hair that was needed to keep the family self-sustainable.

Traumatic events be they as they were, time did not stand still. On the 25th of February 1887 I became ten years old. In this winter, after the loss of the sheep, I was more studious than before and learned a lot of new psalms. As usual there were no other particular responsibilities for young boys in these winter months. There were only the few times of warmer sunny weather when the parents would allow me to take the sheep for a drink at the river, the same river where we always swam. With the spring break we still went digging for the buttercup peanuts, but even before their season was over there was an additional responsibility given to boys our age with the beginning of the spring planting of grain.

The sowing of grain was done by hand. We did not know any other way, except using a special sack with two straps over the shoulder. The sack was open in the front and from here the sower would take the seed into his hand and scatter it fan wise. About 65 to 80 pounds of seed is placed into the sack. The opening of the sack appears under the left arm and with the right arm the sower takes fistful of seed. He scatters the seed from left to right measured by his steps. When he puts his left foot forward he fills his fist with seed. When he steps forward with his right foot he scatters the seed. This is done by the elders in the family. This job was done by my father. He scattered the seed onto the ploughed land. After this it was essential to pull harrows over the land so that the scattered seed would be covered by soil in order that the birds would not pick it up and in order for the seed to properly germinate and sprout. This part of harrowing was done quite uniquely and probably different from other places in the world. The harrows themselves were constructed right at home. The spikes that were driven into the frame of the harrow were made of dried, firm wood. Each separate frame was made for one horse to be hitched to it and drag it. Each horse would have a young boy driver. If the family did not have a boy, girls also could be seated horseback on the horse. One track of the harrow was not enough to properly cover the seed, and so it was most usual to have four horses hitched to four separate frames that would follow one after the other. Only the front horse had to have a driver. The other horses were just tied to the back end of the harrow. And so in my eleventh year I was entrusted with being the driver of the front horse. The other three followed my trail one after the other. This job was not one that required any amount of physical labour, but it did have its own peculiar difficulties. The driver of the lead horse had the responsibility of traversing the field in a straight line. Keeping this line straight was important, because on the return trip the boy had to make sure that he wasn’t going over the same trail twice, as well as he had to be sure that he was leaving no spaces uncovered.

It was always the same problem. The horses usually walked slowly and carefully. At this time of the spring the sun was usually quite warm, and so the gentle swaying of the horse, and the warm sun never failed to make the young driver start dozing. In this half asleep mood it was usually quite hard to keep your line straight. This brought about the fact that you either wandered over territory that was already covered, or also you left some uncovered spaces. What would happen was that when an elder came to check on the work, he would have a double job of getting the line straight and also having no spaces left uncovered. This slowed down the whole process of completing the harrowing of a given field that was already sowed.

In all our villages the land was divided into long narrow plots seeded on a three-year rotation basis. All the families usually worked their allotted plots at the same time. At times there were up to 50 families in the fields at the same time. When the elders would complete the sowing of a given field they would gather together in group discussions awaiting the completion of harrowing. When they felt that the young boys should by now have completed the harrowing, they would go out to the fields to check matters out. Quite often there would be poorly harrowed plots, and the elder who found such a state, would have to then take over the lead horse and correct the poor job. Sometimes, just about the whole field would have to be done over. Where the job had been ably looked after by the young driver – his elders would already start moving to another plot, and the one who had dozed on his horse and made a mess would then get serious lectures from his elders. Some very irresponsible youngsters were sometimes even punished. Thus it would happen, when horses are unhitched for noon feeding, those boys who had everything in order would be jolly and would get together and have fun amongst themselves. The unfortunate ones whose fields were poorly done would get lectures from their elders, and all of the other boys would be ribbing them about how sloppy their work turned out. Not only would the boys receive lectures from their immediate elders, other elders would also pipe in. This sometimes happened to me. Other elders would have their say – admonishing me: “How come Alyoshka, you worked so sloppily that your father had to spend so much time correcting all your errors? At this rate, if you keep up such irresponsibility – no one will ever want you for a husband, and you will never get married”

At our age this seemed to be such a dire prediction. To add to this, if one received the elders’ lectures several times throughout the spring season, you would never hear the end of this from all of your peers and friends for the whole summer. Of course the age we were, and the warm spring sun and the swaying horse were all part of the natural make-up of things. It was really not such a major sin to doze – but it was really hard to take all the consequences of this dozing. And so this simple responsibility of driving the lead horse in harrowing the fields proved to be its own kind of a painful chore.

Seeding operations are completed by about April 20th. Land is not worked again until June 10th. This gives the working animals a rest of about one month and twenty days. During this rest time I had to lead the horses out for grazing in the pasture. In the free pasture land, the horses had to be hobbled on their front feet. If a horse was exceedingly frisky he would have to be hobbled on a third back leg as well. When the horses would be all hobbled they would be allowed to graze on their own. This was the job that every boy of the village was occupied with. The pasture was common to all the villagers and so all of us boys would get together for games throughout the whole day – as the horses could not wander away too far while they were hobbled. Some of the boys who weren’t too enthusiastic to play –would catch up on their sleep that they lost in the spring. The games we played were simple. One was called “V Tsoorki” and another was called “V Doochki”. Rarely did we play ball, and sometimes the younger boys played riding horses near the river and then we would go swimming. Some of us would take this opportunity to catch fish. Pasturing horses during the rainy season was not as troublesome as with pasturing sheep. Horses did not really get upset with the rain. They either continued grazing – or would just stand quietly in one place. As for us children, we would also stay upright quietly or rest on some jutting stone outcrop, which were plentiful in our area. The only problem with horse pasturing during rainy weather was the form of hobble that was used. If the hobble was made of leather, the rain did not affect it, but if the hobble was made of rope – it would tighten when wet, and it was very difficult to get it undone when the horses would have to be herded home. Sometimes a boy would have to take his horses home all the long way from the pasture while they remained hobbled. This was a slow process and such a boy would come home a lot later.

Picture of Alexey as a young man with unidentified woman in exile in Siberia, c. 1903.

Some of the times the horses would not be herded home every night. At such times all of the horses would be brought together in a large herd where designated elders would watch over them all of the night. The elders of 15 to 30 men, who would divide into groups of four taking several shifts through each night. There were also times when the younger children would take designated horses to the village homes for work that was needed to be done in the gardens or other work within the village structure. When all of the village work would be finished, then all the horses would be divided into two or three large herds watched over by two men to each herd in the daytime and by one additional man coming in from the villages for night time watching. This general overall system continued up to June 10th.

At this time the horses would all be brought back to each individual household for preparing the land that was left as summer fallow land, that is, the land that is left for resting for one year. The plowing of these fields had its own particular routine. To each plow there were hitched from six to eight pairs of horses. The front pair had a boy rider in the ages of from ten to thirteen. Every other pair also had a rider. It was the work of these riders to guide his own pair of horses, and also see that the pair ahead of you was pulling its share. Each boy thus had to look after four horses. This meant that in the morning he would have to put on the harness onto the horses, bring them and hitch them into their proper places and then keep them moving in their proper direction following the furrow that was made. At the proper noontime, the horses would have to be unhitched, unharnessed and allowed to graze in a special field of grass left nearby. They would also have to be taken down to the river for their drink of water. All this would have to be repeated in the evening. The land that was being plowed had been already grazed and well trampled by the village cattle. The plots where the horses had to be allowed to graze were nearby. None of the stock were allowed to graze here since the year before and therefore the grass was lush and plentiful for the working teams of horses.

As I became a ten-year-old boy, it was my job to look after 4 horses. Keep them harnessed when needed, unharnessed and fed at given times, and led to water as designated. Getting the horses to water was a chore in itself, as the fields for plowing were sometimes two to three “Versti” from the river. This entire fallow plowing time proved to be exceedingly hard and trying for me as a ten year old. This was especially hard during the night routine. At 8 o’clock in the evening you had to bring the horses to the place where they were to graze, hobble them and then lie down to get some much-needed sleep. The total of your clothing for the night would be one additional light, longer length semi-raincoat. At 12 o’clock midnight you had to get up and unhobble the horses and take them for their drink at the river. You had to bring them back, hobble them again, and then again lie down to sleep. At 5o’clock in the morning you had to get up, bring in the horses, unhobble them and lead them to the workplace. During the times when it remained dry, this job, although quite hard, was still bearable. However, when the rain kept coming all night it became a real nightmare. At times you would wake up and find yourself lying in a puddle of water – as in the night it was not always easy to spot a higher piece of ground for taking your nap. This torturous spring responsibility continued each year for a period of from 28 to 34 days.

The length of time depended on whether there was more or less fallow land, and also on whether there was more or less of a rainy spell. In some years the weather was cool, and not too much rain. In other years you had spells of intense heat and also many days of wet weather. Of course when it became obvious that conditions were too extreme and hard for the young boys – there was always the fact that there was one elder, the plowman for every group of three or four boys. It was his responsibility to see that the boys were reasonably looked after. This elder was always free to catch up on his sleep during the noon break, which lasted for three hours. But during the nighttime he also took four horses and went with the young boys when they took the horses for their grazing period. He always had the boys sleeping near him and would wake them when they had to take the horses for their drink at the river, and also when they had to take them in the morning to the field which was being plowed. In the nighttime he would help the boys get on their horses to ride to the river, and on the way there would often holler to the boys by name – in case one or another of them would begin to doze while riding and perhaps allow the horse to veer away from the others and head for home instead of the river.

During the time of fallow plowing all the boys remained under the rule and instructions of the one elder designated for their group. He was the one that told them how to look after all the harness gear, how to handle the horses, when to take the breaks and so on. This elder was given the authority to discipline any boy in his group. If need be, he had the right to even use the same whip, that was used on the horses, for punishing a disobedient or irresponsible boy. There was one time that I, when I was 12 years old received a snap of the whip for being too lippy. Our elder was a distant relative by the name of Jacob Voykin. He gave me a sharp snap, that made my pants wet. The wet was not from blood! This Jacob Voykin was the elder in our group, which was made up from several families. Because you needed 12 to 16 horses for each plow, and some families did not have that many horses, it was the custom to get several families together who then shared one plow. The plows were of heavy wood construction. The only steel on the plow was the share and the cutting disc that went ahead of it. There was only one share to the plow and it threw a furrow of about 14 inches. The soil was quite heavy and it required from 12 to 16 horses to pull it fast enough to throw a proper furrow. It was with this one plow that all the land had to be tilled to supply several families with a living. Sometimes the total of these families would be twenty or more souls. All the sustenance of these 20 souls would have to be derived from the produce of their allotted plot of land. Where there were this many souls to their allotted plot, most of the time they barely had enough produce to keep themselves and their stock for the ensuing year. Others, whose families had not grown since the past allotment was made, but who had the horsepower, were fortunate enough to have some produce for sale. Some of these more fortunate families were able to rent land from the nearby peasant Tartars and always had some produce for sale. Renting land was very favorable here as after three years of giving shares to the owner – the lessee could claim ownership of the land.

I spent four years of my life doing the routines that I explained, from the age of 10 to 14 years of age, to help the family till the land for their sustenance. Despite the fact that these years remain in my memory as very trying and hard times during this growing period up of my life, I do not remember getting sick at any time in spite of the many times of being wet, cold and tired. My physical health remained at a good level and I have no bad memories of this particular period of my life.

Afterword

   Cover of Alexey Ivanovich Popov’s “Autobiography of a Siberian Exile”.

Alexey Ivanovich Popov lived with his parents in Spasovka, Kars until the age of 21, when he received his call-up for conscript service in the Russian army. He refused to perform military training, as the taking of human life ran contrary to his Doukhobor faith and beliefs. For this, in 1898, he, together with other young Doukhobor conscripts, was exiled to Yakutsk Siberia for a term of 18 years. In 1905 a Manifesto of Amnesty was issued by Russian Emperor Nikolai II, thus granting the Doukhobor exiles in Siberia their freedom. Soon thereafter, Alexey and his new bride Katerina immigrated to Canada to join their Doukhobor brethren who had arrived some six years earlier. Alexey lived for a time in the Doukhobor Community, but soon became an Independent Doukhobor, taking out a homestead at Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan, where he lived and farmed until his death on August 14, 1955.

To order copies of Alexey’s fascinating life story, “Autobiography of a Siberian Exile” along with various other informative Doukhobor publications written by his son, Eli A. Popoff, contact: The Birches Publishing, Box 730, Grand Forks, British Columbia, V0H 1H0, Tel: (250) 442-5397, email: birchespublishing@shaw.ca.

Porto Rico

In 1929, nine year old Elizabeth P. Maloff belonged to a family of Independent Doukhobors living in Thrums, British Columbia.  They were sympathetic to the views of the Svobodniki (“Freedomite” or “Sons of Freedom”) Doukhobors who lived in a squatter camp on the edge of their settlement. When her family joined one of their mass protests against militarism and capitalism, they were swept up in a series of sensational events that would forever change their lives.  They marched to South Slocan, where a number of protestors were arrested for indecent exposure and sentenced to Oakalla prison. The rest marched on to Nelson, where they set up a makeshift camp on the city outskirts. When the protestors refused police orders to disperse, the leaders, including Elizabeth’s father, were arrested for obstruction of justice and sentenced to Oakalla prison. The remaining protestors, including Elizabeth, her mother and siblings, were held, without arrest, in Nelson provincial prison, then transported to Porto Rico, an isolated, abandoned, barely habitable logging camp, where they were forcibly confined, without trial, until the following year. Eighty years later, Elizabeth shared these events with her family for the first time. Her story, recorded by her daughter Vera, recounts the reasons for the protests, now blurred by the passage of time, and the little-known, largely forgotten internment at Porto Rico. Reproduced by permission of the author. Foreword and Afterword by Jonathan J. Kalmakoff.

It all started in 1929 in Thrums where I live. The old Svobodniki Doukhobors lived here behind George Popoff’s place in a community against the mountain. That summer, my six year old brother and I, then nine, sat on our front porch and watched as the Svobodniki walked along the road in Thrums with banners declaring “Land should not be bought or sold. Land belongs to God alone.” “People must not pay taxes for land. Taxes support war.” I could feel their energy and fervour. They were inspired and joyous to be speaking out about their beliefs. There was such a commotion all along the road. My parents sympathized and didn’t pay their taxes either, and so our land was taken away. Like the Svobodniki, my parents were also against an education that promoted militarism and capitalism.

Freedomite camp on the outskirts of Nelson, British Columbia to protest the arrest and jailing of 112 of their brethren for indecent exposure, September 1929.  Photo courtesy Koozma J. Tarasoff Collection.

To begin with I really wanted to go to school. The school was right here, almost in our front yard and everyone walked by on their way to school. All my playmates went and I dreamt of going to school, I was so enthusiastic, but my parents said that school taught about war. The students had to sing for the king and queen, and they said that is why we had all these wars. So mother explained, “Leeza, you can learn with your brother at home. I’ll teach you. We have some school books with lots of stories. ” I started to read and write, and I still remember that funny story, The Little Red Hen, about the chicken that did all the work and there was no help from anybody. Mother said that the chicken was like her. She was trying to wake us up so we would help her more. Mom was a good teacher. She was strict with us. Dad said that mom would make a very good nurse or a teacher, but he didn’t have those capabilities. But then we had so many visitors. People came to ask Dad for help writing letters and making signs. The old Svobodniki said that all books needed to be burnt because they were not from God but written by man. Dad loved books and had quite a collection, so he was always afraid, especially when Nastya Zarubina came around, that they would burn his books. When those Svobodniki came around, dad didn’t have the heart to send them away, but first he made sure he hid all the books. So it didn’t quite turn out; it was hard to learn with so much disturbance all the time. I had to understand these things.

You know, we had just started to live a little better. Dad worked in the Okanagan in the spring and made a little money. Mother would write letters to dad, a quick letter so that dad would feel better. She would say that she was managing and all the children were okay. I would run to the post office. Charlie Johnson owned the Thrums store and post office and he would already be carrying mail to the train station. He said, “You run quickly and get a stamp from the post office and then catch up to me. You are a fast runner.” His wife would sell me the stamp – three cents for a stamp, imagine all that trouble just for three cents, and then I would run after Mr. Johnson. Charlie Johnson was a returned soldier from World War I. His feet were damaged in the war so he limped quite badly. He said that he could have bought all the land in Thrums for taxes when people weren’t paying, but he didn’t because he understood what the rallies and protests were about. He supported them and gave people credit when they didn’t have any money for groceries. Each person paid him back, he said.

Everyone gathered to protest on the old road in South Slocan. There was a prophecy that a big war was coming and there was a saying, “You have to feed the dogs before you go hunting, so that they will follow you.” People believed that this meant they had to let the government know that Doukhobours would not participate in any war effort – they wouldn’t pay taxes that go toward war or teach their children about patriotism and fighting for one’s country. My family was there – my mom, dad, grandfather, grandmother, my brother Pete, and the twins, Luba and John, who were just a year old. I was nine years old. There were many other families too. Right away, though, the police came with trucks and busses and arrested many men and women, including dad and grandfather. We were left with mom and there were other kids with their moms. We didn’t know what to do. We were scared.

Then a strong group of Doukhobor supporters joined us. A friend of mine, Varyusha came. Her family had driven from Grand Forks and stayed in our house in Thrums on their way. It was like that then, friends would drop in, eat, stay overnight without question. Everyone was like family. When they arrived in South Slocan there was such jubilation. We had support and were energized. Mom was too, she was full of inspiration. She said we were doing the right thing, supporting all those taken away to prison. We started on a march, a pokhod [“campaign”] to Nelson to protest the jailing. On the way, we stayed overnight in a barn in Bonnington. I was so tired that I didn’t even notice where I slept. When I woke up I saw that I had been sleeping on rocks.

We got to Nelson the next day. I wanted to see my dad and grandfather, but the police herded us toward the zhuzhlitsa, a slag heap from the coal burning trains. Dad, grandfather and all those people arrested were sent to jail in Oakalla. We camped for three weeks next to that zhuzhlitsa. People brought food and the men set up tents for sleeping though many slept outside. For cooking, there was a big pot over a fire. The cook, Pavel Skripnik was a friend of Dad’s. He was from the Ukraine and educated as a priest, but he supported the Doukhobor cause. He was tall and thin, and so kind and caring. We would line up with our bowls and he would ladle some soup into them. Mother was respected and Paranya Voykin and Mr. Pereverzoff helped with the twins. Mr. Pereverzoff always carried Luba – she barely walked yet. I also felt responsible for my brothers and sister and was always keeping an eye out for them. There was no place to get clean and it was so dusty, but we children didn’t care about that; we ran around and played together. There were a lot of friends. People would come and go, but we stayed because dad and grandfather were in jail.

Then the police rounded us up and the women and all of us children were moved into the Salvation Army building. We were scared, remembering what happened to grandfather and dad. The people there gave us a little soup and we all slept together huddled on the floor. After about four days, police took us to Porto Rico, a logging camp up in the mountains close to Ymir. The men were there already. It’s funny I don’t remember how we got there. When you try to forget something, not all the memories come back right away.

The Maloff family at Porto Rico, October 1929.  (l-r) Elizabeth, John, Lusha, Luba and Peter. Photo courtesy Vera Malloff. 

When we first got to Porto Rico, I was wondering how we could live there. Porto Rico had been a large sawmill owned by the Doukhobors, but it was abandoned when the trees were all cut down. There was a big old barn, kitchen area and some bunk houses, but many of the buildings were starting to fall down and there were no doors or windows on them. That first night everyone slept together on the floor of what I think had been the eating area of that camp. The men had a lot of work to do so we could live there. Porto Rico was in a rainy, snowy area. It got very cold in the winter.

We were lucky. George Nazaroff prepared a room in the bunk house for his family – made it a little more weather proof, found fire wood, built bunk beds; but he gave the space to mom because he respected our dad a lot and since dad wasn’t there for us, he helped us out. There was a pot belly stove in our room – the police brought us some stoves. My brother Pete and I slept together on one bunk, just on the boards, and mom with the babies on another, so they would keep warmer, but we still woke up to frost on our blankets. The men did the cooking and everyone shared. Mom would go to the kitchen and bring back some soup for us. But there wasn’t much.

George Nazaroff organized a school. Though he wasn’t trained to teach, he became the teacher. And he was good. Every morning, he would sit everyone down and make sure everyone would be very quiet and listen. There were lots of children, but he controlled everyone and made sure we were peaceful. He was a peaceful guy himself and it didn’t matter how disturbed everyone was, he was calm. We didn’t have books, paper or pencils, so we learned our prayers and sang psalms and songs. Our homework was to memorize a prayer for the next day.

I remember Mr. Nazaroff and his family well. He was a heavier man and his wife was a small, thin woman. His daughter, Grace – Hrunya, was two years older than me, but her hair was still in braids like mine, with hair a little darker than my blond. Later we would talk about what happened and she reminded me how their dad helped us out and gave us their room. Sam – Syomka was the same age as me and boy, was he rambunctious and he liked to tease. We each had a different prayer or song to remember and he would often copy me and memorize what I was supposed to memorize, just for a trick. Mary, the youngest was a baby.

We came to Porto Rico at the end of September and at first it was fairly warm. We played tag and the older boys built a raft that they used to cross the creek, pushing it back and forth with long poles. Us girls stood on the bank and watched. It seemed like so much fun. Sometimes they invited us to stand on the raft and take a trip across the creek. I only got a chance to do that once. I had to help mom with the twins. We had a picture taken there. Mom got all of us organized and sitting down on a bench. The photographer, Mike Voykin was just learning how to use the camera, so we would be sitting there and he would say, “Just a minute, I have to fix something.” It was hard to keep the twins still, but finally he took the picture.

At first we were allowed visitors. Friends and relatives came all the way from Grand Forks. They brought us food and we greeted them with such joy. Then the police told us that we couldn’t have any more company. They had set up a blockade on the road to the camp with policemen stopping everybody. However, my Uncle Nick got through somehow. He asked everyone he knew in Ootishenia to give food, blankets, clothing or he said that “they will all perish.” So he filled his truck up with a huge load and came. Everyone was surprised he got through the police blockade. He teased us “Here you are you devils. Eat or you will perish like rats.” He was kind hearted, but liked to tease. He had to leave quickly though or he wouldn’t be able to get back out. I think that grandmother left with him, because after he left, she was gone too.

And then the snow came. There was so much snow it almost piled up to the roofs. The nights were so cold and long. Mom would go to the kitchen and bring us some food and we ate huddled together. Maybe people got together in the evenings, I don’t know, we stayed in our room. Luba and John were still young so we couldn’t leave them alone.

We got through that winter, and then people began to be allowed to leave. My mother’s brother, John Hoodicoff came to pick us up and we came home. There was still a lot of snow in Porto Rico when we left, but in Thrums it was early spring. It was already planting time. Mom said we had to plant a garden so that we would have food. Dad came home later in that spring.

I heard that they found three graves by the logging camp and some people know who died, but I was a child, nine years old and I don’t remember that. What happened to me is that I always tried to block that life out, but gradually it is coming back. The main thing is that I pulled through everything.

I often asked Dad why we had to have such a hard life, why he had to be so outspoken all the time and why he had go to jail. As a child, he told me that we could have had an easier life, but he spoke out against war so there wouldn’t be any cripples, no orphans, so that children would have their dads, that there must be a better way. But there was a price to pay.

………………….

This is my mother’s story. My mother, Elizabeth, is now in her nineties. The family did not know about her Porto Rico internment until recently when we found pictures of the men, women and children camped in Nelson and she began to tell us what happened when she was nine years old. In the eighty years that have passed, the reasons for the protests of the time have become blurred and the internment in the isolated, barely habitable logging camp, Porto Rico is something that few remember and many would rather forget.

Little is known about the internment of Doukhobor men, women and children in Porto Rico, so wishing to learn more I investigated the local newspapers of the time. The headline of a local newspaper, Rossland Miner of September 5, 1929 read “DOUKHOBORS JAILED WHEN TAKE TO NUDE [sic]” The reporter gave a description of arrests made August 30 of Doukhobors in South Slocan. The situation began with the police demanding the Doukhobors deliver four men who had previously “paraded nude” along the highway in South Slocan, but quickly became a struggle as the arrests were made of one hundred twenty eight Doukhobor men and women. The police officers were previously prepared.

Starting from Nelson in cars and busses of all descriptions commandeered for the purpose, the 60 special constables under the leadership of six provincial police officers drove quickly out to a point around a bend in the road about 100 yards from the South Slocan tennis courts where the fanatics were encamped. There they stopped while Inspector Cruikshank and other officers went on ahead to make the arrest of the four Doukhobors charged with indecent exposure. Sergeant Gammon explained (to the special police force) that they were required to stop any attempt made by the fanatics to prevent the arrest of their fellows and to arrest any of the Doukhobors who were stripped or started to strip. They were to arm themselves with switches and use them on any stripped members of the sect or those who showed fight….

Plying their switches viciously and dragging screaming Doukhoburs along the ground, the police officers went to work, to bring the crowd over to waiting busses, cars and trucks….

After about an hour all the Doukhobors were herded over to the trucks and nobody was left on the former camping site but some of the younger women most of whom did not disrobe, with the children.”

Subsequently the September 12, 1929 Rossland Miner headlines were:

“OKALLA [sic] JAIL TO BE FILLED WITH DOUKS. One Hundred and four were given six months for indecent exposure.” The protesters were tried five at a time with the judge saying, ‘I feel that it is time you people had a lesson.’ Speaking through an interpreter, he continued,’ Tell them they have had a fair trial….They will receive the full term imposed by the act for this offense, six months with hard labour.’….When one man protested that he was not satisfied with the trial, the magistrate commented ‘I feel it is a waste of time to explain matters to you.’ ”

It is known that some of the Svobodniki Doukhobor sect used nudity to attract attention to their message, declaring “If you will take everything from us, and do not let us live by our beliefs, then take our clothes also. We will stand before you naked in the world, but solid in our values.” Their message was often lost when the nudity was sensationalized and it became a way to incarcerate many, and to silence the protests. The effect of this nudity and subsequent imprisonment traumatized not only the children, men and women who survived Porto Rico , and the prisoners, who spent that winter in the infamous Oakalla jail doing time with hard labour, and but also suppressed the voices of a generation of Doukhobors like my mother or conversely helped create a radical movement of Svobodniki Doukhobors that over the next few years proceeded to get more extreme in their reactions to government repression.

Freedomite camp on the outskirts of Nelson, British Columbia, September 1929. Note the zhuzhlitsa (slag pile) in the background. Photo courtesy Vera Maloff.

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Afterword

Few published accounts exist of the events which led to the arrest and imprisonment of 120 Svobodniki (“Freedomite” or “Sons of Freedom”) Doukhobors at Oakalla Prison and the internment of 236 of their brethren at Porto Rico in 1929. The following is a brief summary of those events, compiled from newspaper and other archival sources.

In the late 1920’s, a number ofFreedomitefamilies, evicted from their homes in Brilliant, Glade, and elsewhere in the Kootenays by the Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood, established a squatter camp on the edge of Thrums, an Independent Doukhobor settlement. On August 29, 1929, 356 of them staged a march to protest the recent jailing of Paul Vatkin for what they considered to be false arrest on charges of arson and, at the same time, took the opportunity to speak out against public education that promoted militarism and capitalism. They were joined by a number of Independent Doukhobors sympathetic to their cause.

When the protesters reached South Slocan, they were confronted by six provincial police officers and 60 special constables, who arrived there from Nelson to make the arrest of four of their brethren charged with indecent exposure. In the disruption that followed, a number of the protesters publicly disrobed. The police arrested 112 protesters and transported them by truck to the provincial prison in Nelson. On September 7, 1929, 104 of the adults were convicted of indecent exposure and sentenced to six months imprisonment. On September 11, 1929, they boarded a special train which transported them to Essondale near New Westminster, from which they were taken by bus to Oakalla Prison to serve their sentences. Eight children arrested with their parents were, because of being under age, committed to the care of the Superintendent of Neglected Children and placed in institutional shelters in Vancouver.

In the meantime, the remaining 244 Freedomiteswho had not been arrested at South Slocan marched on to Nelson to protest the jailing of their brethren. When they arrived there on August 30, 1929, they were escorted by provincial police to the railway tracks on the southern outskirts of the city, where they established a makeshift tent camp near a slag heap (zhuzhlitsa) from the coal burning trains. They remained there for three weeks.

On September 21, 1929, provincial police arrived at the Zhuzhlitsa camp and ordered the Freedomitesto move. They refused to do so, claiming that they had no homes to go to. A physical clash occurred when eight of the Freedomite leaders, whom the police first took in hand, resisted arrest. After these men were subdued and arrested, they were taken to the provincial prison in Nelson; then on September 26, 1929, they were convicted of obstruction of justice and sentenced to hard labour at Oakalla Prison.  The remaining 200 Freedomite adults were confined, without arrest, in the provincial prison while 36 of their children were taken to the Salvation Army barracks; then on September 25, 1929, all 236 were transported by provincial police in busses and trucks to Porto Rico.

Porto Rico was a former Christian Community of Universal Brotherhood lumber camp situated some 15 miles south of Nelson. It had been abandoned in 1926 after it had been logged out and a forest fire destroyed the remaining timber stands. Following the mass arrests and confinements in Nelson, Doukhobor leader Peter Petrovich Verigin “offered” the camp to provincial authorities as a permanent habitat for the landless Freedomites. Provincial authorities seized the opportunity to forcibly confine the large group of radicals at the camp, without trial. Hence, it became an internment camp.

When the Freedomites arrived at the camp, they picked out living quarters from among the camp buildings, which consisted of a large sawmill, a big barn, kitchen area and several bunk houses. The majority of the buildings were windowless and doorless, and the men immediately set to work to repair their future homes to protect them against the ongoing winter, and to build basic furniture. The Freedomites eventually settled into life at the isolated, barely habitable camp.  The men did the cooking and cutting lumber for firewood, while the women cleaned and looked after the children. Everything was shared.  The provincial government supplied pot bellied stoves, along with some basic rations; however, there was a general shortage of food and supplies. These privations were alleviated, at least in part, by the supply of food, blankets and clothing by Independent and Community Doukhobors sympathetic to their plight. The provincial police maintained a blockade at the entrance to control access to and from the camp.

Despite the harsh conditions, hundreds of radical Doukhobors from Saskatchewan, Alberta and the United States voluntarily drifted into the camp, in a show of solidarity with the internees, so that by November 24, 1929, the number of Freedomites at Porto Rico had swelled to 537 persons. 

The following year, on June 27, 1930, the Freedomites forcibly confined at Porto Rico were released from the camp and permitted to make their way, under police escort, through Nelson, back to their former homes in Thrums, Brilliant, Glade and elsewhere. However, 117 of the Freedomites who voluntarily arrived at Porto Rico remained there until May 3, 1932, when they finally abandoned the camp to stage a protest march in Nelson.

Elizabeth P. Maloff’s autobiographical story, as recorded by her daughter Vera, recalls these events from the perspective of a nine-year old Doukhobor girl. Her father, Peter N. Maloff, was a prominent Independent Doukhobor (and later a historian and self-styled philosopher of the movement) who sympathized with the Freedomite stance on public education and taxes. Inspired by their energy and fervour, the Maloff family joined one of the Freedomite protests against militarism and capitalism in 1929. When they were met by police at South Slocan, Elizabeth’s grandfather was one of the protestors arrested for indecent exposure and sentenced to Oakalla prison. When the rest of the family marched to Nelson and encamped there, her father was one of the leaders arrested for obstruction of justice and sentenced to Oakalla prison. Elizabeth, her mother, grandmother, and three young siblings, along with 236 others, were first incarcerated, without arrest, in Nelson provincial prison, then interned, without trial, at Porto Rico. Her narrative is one of the few first-person accounts which exists about this obscure and little-known chapter of Doukhobor history, making it a valuable addition to our knowledge of the period.

The story of Porto Rico is also important from a broader Canadian perspective. If “internment” is defined as the confinement of people, commonly in large groups, without arrest or trial, for preventative or political reasons (as opposed to “imprisonment” which is confinement as punishment for a crime), then there can be little dispute that the Sons of Freedom Doukhobors at Porto Rico, British Columbia in 1929 were subjected to interment at the hands of the Canadian state. Canadian history is replete with examples of internment: during the First and Second World Wars, internment camps were established on Canadian soil for enemy prisons of war, as well as for civilian enemy aliens, including Austro-Hungarian immigrants in 1916-1918, Italian nationals in 1940-1945, Japanese nationals in 1942-1945, and even Canadian citizens and Jewish citizens of England considered to be ‘fascist’ or ‘disloyal’. What is remarkable, however, is that virtually every Canadian example of internment took place during wartime. The story of the Sons of Freedom Doukhobors at Porto Rico, in sharp contrast, is one of the only occurrences of civilian internment during peacetime in modern Canadian history.

For a comprehensive listing of Freedomite Doukhobors arrested and incarcerated as a result of the 1929 protest march, see: Index of Sons of Freedom Inmates at Oakalla Prison Farm, Burnaby by Steve Lapshinoff. For an inventory of Freedomites forcibly interned (along with those voluntarily encamped) at Porto Rico in 1929-1930, see: Index of Sons of Freedom Camped at Porto Rico by Steve Lapshinoff. For a list of Freedomite burials at Porto Rico see: Porto Rico Doukhobor Cemetery by Lawrna Myers and Nick Kootnikoff.

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View Porto Rico in a larger map

On January 18, 2013, Vera Maloff received a First Place award in the category of Adult Creative Non-Fiction for her story, Porto Rico at the 2012 Kootenay Literary Competition held at Nelson, British Columbia. The competition is hosted by the Kootenay Writers Society, a non-profit society dedicated to promoting, supporting and encouraging all writers in the Kootenay region of British Columbia. Vera’s work was published in the KLC anthology, Revolution.

A True Story About A Pioneer Doukhobor Babushka

by Eli A. Popoff

The following article by Doukhobor writer Eli A. Popoff tells a true story about his grandmother (Babushka) Semeneshcheva-Popova. This Doukhobor Babushka came to Canada along with a group of a hundred and fifty Siberian exiles in 1905 and was soon reunited with her extended families on the prairies. The forces of individual and communal farming were in full play as Babushka helped to bridge the difficult years of adaptation at the family level where this story is fully told. With ‘a smile and a sparkle in her eyes’, she showed her boundless stamina and dedication, and revealed her inner soul. Reproduced by permission, this article was previously published in “Spirit-Wrestlers’ Voices. Honouring Doukhobors on the Centenary of their migration to Canada in 1899” Koozma J. Tarasoff (ed). (Ottawa: Legas, 1998) and in “Transplanted Roots” by Albert J. Popoff (Kelowna: self-published, 2003).

A mere wisp of a woman. Barely over five feet tall. Slight of build, but wiry and tenacious as only a true peasant of the Russian steppes could be. This apparently ‘slight’ peasant woman embodied not only the strength and the fortitude of our glorified pioneers who settled and developed the ‘wild’ Canadian West, but time and again she manifested the deeper inherent traits of humankind which were eventually to make her a legend in her time.

This particular experience occurred in the years 1909-10; The Popov family, comprising father Aleksei Ivanovich, mother Ekaterina Timofeyevna (‘Katiusha’) and their four-year-old son Nikolai, were living in a small log cabin on their homestead near Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan. This was the smaller Doukhobor settlement, referred to as the Northern Prince Albert Colony, situated about 80 miles (130 km) west of Prince Albert. Out of the 7500 souls who had arrived in Canada on four shiploads from the port of Batum on the Black Sea, the larger part of the group had settled in the Yorkton-Thunder Hill area northeast of Regina.

As part of a predominantly younger group of Doukhobors who had been sentenced to an eighteen-year exile in the Yakutsk area of Siberia for refusing to do military service, Aleksei and Katiusha Popov did not arrive in Canada until 1905, the year they were granted early release by a Manifesto of Liberation issued by the reigning Tsar Nicholas II to celebrate the birth of a royal son. Thus, they emigrated directly from Siberia, sailing from the Latvian port of Libava (renamed Liepaja in 1917). After a brief stop in Liverpool, the British ship Southwark landed them at Quebec city on 9 September 1905.

Alexei J. and his wife Katiushka Popov, circa 1915, Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan.

Katiusha Popova often talked of this momentous voyage. She had been given away in marriage by her mother when she was barely fifteen years old; exile did not afford young women much of a selection. Her father, Timofey Ivanovich was a religious exile from Perm Province; his wife Anna (‘Annushka’) had followed him to Yakutsk from their home base in Sverdlovsk, only to have him taken away once more. Re-arrested in Yakutsk and charged with the more serious crime of sedition against the church and the state, he was sent to the most distant northern reaches of Siberia, where his family was not permitted to follow. Annushka was left with five small children to support, with no family or friends to help. Forced to give up her youngest son Sasha for adoption, she began living with a Doukhobor bachelor, whom she eventually married, and soon afterward gave her eldest daughter Katiusha in marriage to her new husband’s chum, one Aleksei Ivanovich Popov – thereby keeping her three middle sons in her new, ‘blended’ family.

All this had taken place in 1905. Here was Katiusha Popova, a teenaged bride already pregnant, coming across the ocean to the promised new land, in the hot, not too comfortable second-class cabins of the Southwark. She always said in recalling the trip that it was ‘most remarkable’ that at five months pregnant she did not suffer from sea-sickness. Her most poignant memories were always of looking back to the homeland she left behind, her happy early childhood with her parents and grandparents in Russia, including the difficult but unifying times with her brothers and mother in Siberia. Above all, she had left behind her father whom she had loved so dearly – back there, somewhere, in that newly-developing harsh expanse of Siberia.

The arrival of the Popovs and some one hundred and fifty other Siberian exiles in the Canadian Doukhobor settlements was a heart-warming occasion. Families were reunited after being apart for a decade or so. Most exiles had relatives who had arrived six years earlier, and even those that didn’t were welcomed and integrated into the communes that had sprung up in the new land.

Aleksei Ivanovich and Katiusha were warmly accepted by the Popovs already in Canada: Aleksei’s parents Vania and Onia, a younger brother Ivan and sister Nastia (both still unmarried), and an elder brother Nikola, who was the acknowledged head of the family, with his wife Mavrunia.

In a very short time, Katiusha came to love her mother-in-law, her Starushka (Russian term for an older woman, bus used among the Doukhobors as an endearing term for an older female family member) Onia. A devout soul, she was always puttering around at something, never raising her voice at anyone. She was often occupied in pacifying Nikola’s two children. Her counsel to her children, especially her two youngest, her level tone of voice, her remarkable memory, her practical approach to things and her insight into the very finest points of Doukhobor faith, always had a profound effect. Katiusha especially marveled at how the mother handled her temperamental daughter Nastia (who was the same age as Katiusha), along with maintaining harmony in the entire household.

Babushka Semeneshcheva with her husband Ivan Semenovich Popov. The latter who was 6 feet 4 inches tall is sitting, while his wife at 5 feet is standing. Photo taken c. 1920 when Babushka was about 70 years old.

The first year of life in the Blaine Lake Village of Pozirayevka proved a real haven for Katiusha. Her Starushka, ever thoughtful of her, taught her to cook according to all the accepted Doukhobor standards, but did it so imperceptibly that Katiusha never felt she was being ‘instructed’. Instead, Onia constantly praised her daughter-in-law’s knowledge, style and abilities that she had learnt from her own mother. Katiusha’s expertise in this and other household tasks (throughout her life she was an outstanding cook, gardener, and housekeeper) thus became enriched by the blending of two distinct cultural backgrounds – from tow totally different environmental spheres within Russia’s vast tow-continent empire.

In December of that year, her Starushka helped bring into the world her first-born, Nikolai, and then proceeded to teach Katiusha how to care for the baby. Katiusha felt her mother-in-law did everything so capably and naturally, never reacting to any mishap and never fearing for the future, even though Katiusha herself sometimes doubted that they would manage to survive the winter on the meager supplies available. Onia would always declare:

“We must have faith that God will provide that which is essential for our well-being. We must only, always, be careful that we are not wasteful and over-indulgent ourselves…”

While Onia had never learnt to read or write, she never missed reciting – evenings, mornings, and at mealtimes – the many Doukhobor prayers (called psalms) and hymns she had learnt by heart as a child. She would teach these, along with their melodies, to her grandchildren, making sure any neighbour child who happened to be around had an opportunity to hear them too. For Katiusha, her Starushka was an angelic presence sent into her life to establish an equilibrium after her unsettled and emotionally unstable childhood.

However, this ‘haven’ of Katiusha’s was not to last. In the year following the Popov family decided that the Prince Albert Doukhobor colony at Blaine Lake was not evolving in line with their inner concepts of the true Doukhobor faith. About half of the two hundred or so Blaine Lake families were contemplating the decision to accede to the government’s demand of an oath of allegiance to the Crown and abandon the communal form of living in favour of individual homesteads. The Popovs, along with the majority of their fellow-villagers, decided to move to the southern colony at Yorkton, where the vast majority were determined to continue their communal way of life and refuse to take the oath.

As far as Katiusha was concerned, her Starushka’s word was not to be questioned. Onia had put it simply and straightforwardly:

“We refused allegiance to the Tsar of Russia because allegiance required military service which we could not and would not perform. How can we now swear allegiance to the Tsar in England, when this will require us to perform military service here? We were promised that we would be allowed our religious freedom here in Canada, and that is why we came here. We ought to toil peacefully on the land, and live our won way…There is no way that we will go back on our principles because we have made our Trust with God, that we will follow these principles – no matter what sacrifices this would require. God will punish us if we do not keep our Trust…”

The organizing and carrying out of the trek by covered wagon from Blaine Lake to the Yorkton/Thunder Hill area took a good part of the summer. The domestic animals were led and herded. Their belongings were transported on the wagons, along with the women and children while most of the men-folk made the 320-kilometre trek on foot. At their destination, the trekkers were welcomed with open arms by none other than the leader himself, Peter Vasilevich Verigin, along with other Community Doukhobors, and were subsequently absorbed into the Doukhobor villages surrounding the prairie railway station named Verigin.

Katiusha took to the communal way of living right from the start, which she later remembered with fondness as being the true Christian way of life. No doubt this impression was at least partly due to the example of her Starushka – who, according to Doukhobor custom, would now be called Babushka (Grandmother) by all the children of the village. (Specifically, she would be referred to as Babushka Semeneshcheva (family nickname/alternate surname) to distinguish her from the many others in the village bearing the Popov name.) Babushka Semeneshcheva helped shield her daughter-in-law from the rough edges encountered in merging into an already-functioning communal system, reminding her neighbours that Katiusha was not only an orphan but was only seventeen years old and a breast-feeding mother.

However, things were turning out quite differently for her husband, Aleksei Ivanovich. A full-fledged working man of thirty years of age, in excellent health, he had mastered his knowledge of grain-growing and cattle- and sheep-raising back in the Caucasus; his evolutionary experience of close cooperation with fellow-Doukhobors for survival in Siberia had made him (and the others) very frugal, self-dependent and more democratically inclined than the majority of the Yorkton colony whose lives had been less harsh.

As time went by, Aleksei Ivanovich was finding it more and more difficult to fit in with the existing Yorkton communal structure – he became dissatisfied with the many instances of the waste of labour, the lack of individual initiative for innovation, not to mention the continual bowing down to local village elders whose consciousness had not evolved, as had his, through harsh experiences. Eventually, he decided he could no longer accept what he saw as an overly restrictive status quo, and despite his family’s pleadings, decided to take his wife and son back to Blaine Lake, where he felt he had a better chance of working with the more independently-minded Doukhobors.

Thus, in the autumn of 1908, Aleksei Ivanovich Popov drove back to his former colony with a small team of two horses. Katiusha and Nikolai came later, traveling by train as far as Rosthern (some fifty kilometres from Blaine Lake) where Aleksei met them with the wagon.

His expectations were not disappointed. The three of them were able to stay with his second cousins, Fyodor and Aliosha Popov, near their old village of Pozirayevka. These cousins lived side by side with two more distant relatives, Nikola and Fedya Tikhonov, who had been childhood chums. Before winter set in, they were able to plant a vegetable garden, put up enough hay for the horses and a cow they had managed to purchase (along with chickens, which were eventually moved into the barn when it got too cold for them outside to lay eggs), and build a small log cabin and a log barn on a neighbouring homestead.

In spite of the cold weather and heavy snow, the winter turned out to be not a difficult one to endure. Their new log cabin was snug and warm. They had enough flour, their garden yielded enough cabbage, potatoes, beets, onions and cabbage, the cow and chickens supplied them with milk and eggs. They had frequent visits with their neighbours, the Tikhonovs and the Popovs. Katiusha rejoiced that Nikolai was an exceptionally strong and healthy child, and that her husband could spend most of the time at home, except for his occasional expeditions to an area some thirty kilometers north to fetch logs (both for firewood and for expansion of their cabin). These trips usually entailed a two- or three-day journey, and he would often stay overnight with local Indians and Metis, who were friendly to the Doukhobors. Their dwellings, however, were far more flimsy and less cold-resistant than his log cabin at home.

The spring and summer proved more challenging. Aleksei found the land-breaking work extremely strenuous both on himself and his two horses, in spite of generous help from the neighbours. Not being able to afford a team of oxen (which many Doukhobor farmers were still using), he came up with the idea of training the cow to pull alongside the horses – a strange sight Katiusha would describe to her children and grandchildren for many years to come.

Their labour proved fruitful, for the harvest was very good that year. But all the extra work of stoking both her own and the neighbours’ sheaves (partly in repayment for all the help they had received from them) took its toll on Katiusha’s health: she discovered she had developed a serious hernia in her abdomen.

Adding to her anxiety was anticipation of a long winter alone with young Nikolai. To acquire some urgently needed income, Aleksei had accepted a job at a sawmill in Prince Albert, which had been unexpectedly postponed from the autumn to the winter. Conscious of their desperate need, Katiusha played down the seriousness of her physical difficulty and urged him to take the work, saying she would be all right.

But that winter of 1909-10 proved to be less than ‘all right’ for Katiusha, obliged to spend long and dreary (sometimes stormy, always cold) winter nights alone with a son who was not yet five years old. A month after her husband’s departure, she realized she was pregnant again. Their only daily contact amid the white wasteland was with their farm animals. Aleksei had arranged for one of the Tikhonovs to look in on them every ten days or so, and each time Katiusha spotted Fedya or the eldest boy Simeon coming across the field, she felt a sense of rejuvenation at the thought that here were people coming to her place to show that she was still included in their sphere of life.

The Alexei J. and Katiushka Popov family taken about 1915 in the old homestead near Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan. (l-r) Nick, Annie, Leonard, and Babushka with Alex J. and Katherine Popoff.

In spite of her loneliness and occasional despondency, she was still satisfied that she had managed to keep her household (including the horses, cow, and chickens) going normally through the winter. Spring was approaching however, which meant she would have to be planting the garden again, and do extra work in the fields as her husband would not be returning from the sawmill until late spring.

She was also feeling the baby growing inside her, which she estimated would be due for delivery in late summer. Despite all her care about her diet and lifting heavy objects, her hernia seemed to be worsening. With all the spring chores ahead of her, how many times she thought of her Starushka, Babushka Semeneshcheva, and the ‘haven’ she had felt when they had lived together. How she longed to have her with her again, right here in her little log cabin! She had to remind herself that even if she wrote her to come, it could be months before the message reached her, and how would Onia ever get to her in the midst of winter storms, when even getting to one’s neighbours was such a challenge!

Still, as spring was beginning to break, Katiusha wept into her pillow every night, praying that by some miracle her Starushka would come to her in her hour of need.

Then one evening, in the latter part of April, Katiusha was preparing to go to bed after finishing her outside chores and tucking Nikolai in for the night. She was startled to hear a light knock on the door, as if the caller did not have the strength to knock briskly. She was somewhat taken aback, since Fedya had come to see her only a few days ago, and the Tikhonovs came more rarely now that spring was breaking. Opening the door cautiously, Katiusha was utterly amazed by what she saw: there stood Babushka Semeneshcheva, with a small packsack on her back. Even though she looked a bit haggard, she still had that sparkle in her eyes and that never-waning smile on her face.

Nikolai jumped out of bed at once and came running to the door. Amidst tears, hugs, and kisses, Katiusha kept asking her Starushka: “How did you know I needed you so much? How did you guess I was all alone, and terribly needed your help?”

At last Babushka took her daughter-in-law by the shoulders, and looking devoutly and wistfully into her eyes, exclaimed: “But my dear Katiusha, I heard you calling for me, and so I came as soon as I could!”

How this wisp of a woman, barely five fee tall, traversed more than three hundred kilometers of wilderness over obscure trails she had covered only once before in her life, in early spring weather that, to say the least, was not conducive to spending nights on the road, is a matter of conjecture. She declined to talk about it at any length, saying only: “I knew I had to go through with this journey. So I kept going, and kept going, and here I am!”

Perhaps it is not too far-fetched to suppose that here was a soul that, in addition to being intuitive enough to ‘hear’ a call for help across great distances, also had the ability to make use of those mythical ‘seven-league boots’ of Russian fairy tales to transport herself to the place she was needed. Given the distances and the difficult circumstances involved, it would be safe to assume that a logical, rational person would not have dared to attempt what Babushka Semeneshcheva accomplished so matter-of-factly and so humbly.

But there is more to this true story than simply a proof that boundless stamina is available to the human soul when dedication requires it. Its real lesson is the realization of the need to recognize, in honouring the fortitude and perseverance of our pioneer grandparents, along with their many worthy accomplishments, the significant evolution of their ‘inner soul’ to a level where it was able to conquer any frontier, including geographical distance. A soul capable, in times of dire stress, regardless of distance or circumstance, to ‘hear’ and ‘do’, and then to say as Babushka Semeneshcheva did, “But my dear Katiusha, I heard you calling, and so I came…”

Copies of the writings of Eli A. Popoff are available for purchase along with various other informative Doukhobor materials from: The Birches Publishing, Box 730, Grand Forks, British Columbia, V0H 1H0, Tel: (250) 442-5397, email: birchespublishing@shaw.ca

My Life Story

by George P. Stushnoff

In his later years, George P. Stushnoff (1922-2001) wrote about the history and settlement of his family in the Langham district of Saskatchewan and of growing up there in the Twenties to the Forties.  In simple and straightforward style, he recalls the everyday scenes of Doukhobor life on the Canadian Prairies.  Written in 1990, his “Life Story” was published posthumously in 2003 in “The Stushnoff Family History: Kirilowka and Beylond” by Fred & Brian Stushnoff.  Reproduced by permission.

Alexei and Anna Stushnoff were the earliest settlers of my family name.  Born in Russia – he moved to the Republic of Georgia in the Caucasus Wet Mountain region, east of the Port of Batoum on the Black Sea, and some 50 miles west of Tibilisi (Tiflis) Georgia.  To escape from religious persecution, they came to Canada because the Canadian government by Order-in-Council granted them religious freedom and military exemption from war service, which was not available in Russia.  They traveled by refurbished cattle freighters from Batoum and arrived at the Port of Quebec on June 21, 1899, then went by train to Manitoba, Yorkton, and Saskatoon.  A much larger contingent went on to Rosthern to settle in the Blaine Lake area.  The Saskatoon group, including my parents, settled originally in the Doukhobor village of Kirilovka, 4 miles west of Langham.  Others of this group settled at Bogdanovka village at Ceepee and still others settled the Pokrovka village in the Henrietta school district.  My grandparents arrived in Canada with no personal possessions except their clothing.  Their two sons, Peter (my dad) and my Uncle John were 10 and 16 years of age respectively.  Peter married Helen (Hannah) Voykin.  John married Dora (Doonya) Woykin while living in the village of Kirilovka.

My grandfather Alexei had one married brother who arrived at the same time and settled in the same village.  His name was Dmitry and his wife was Maria. Dmitry and Maria had one son and four daughters.  Alexei’s twin sister Anyuta also arrived married from Russia.  Her husband was Savely Dimovsky. Alexei and Anna had a daughter who died back in Russia at 16 years of age.

Alexei Stushnoff family c. 1914. (Back L-R) John, Nick, Pete; (Middle L-R) Dora, Alexei, Anna, Helen; (Front L-R) John, Pete, Bill. Photo courtesy Fred Stushnoff.

Prior to 1906, the village produced goods more or less for self-sufficiency as lands were broken up gradually.  The first crops were used predominantly for feeding the increased livestock herds of cattle and horses.  My parents did not move into the Lutheran-Lynne school district until 1919.  At that time, cattle and grain were taken to Langham and shipped to Winnipeg.  Sometimes the returns did not cover rail shipping costs.  Saskatoon and Rosthern were the nearest trading centres and sources of supplies.  In the first two years, groceries were brought in by backpacking.  Even bags of flour were carried this way in emergencies.  Other times, several men would pull a load of wheat to Saskatoon and return with a load of flour.  Garden vegetables were hauled occasionally to Saskatoon by team and wagon and sold from door to door.  By late afternoon, any unsold vegetables were sold at minimum prices to restaurants so that groceries could be purchased before store closing and returning home during the night.  We depended on the horses to take us home while we slept in the wagon box.  The return trip took two nights and one day plus a day in digging and preparing the vegetables for sale.

Development took place by working communally in the village.  My dad Peter was only 10 years of age upon arrival in Canada.  As he grew up he began earning and saving his own money building railroads.  Upon getting married to Helen Voykin, he and his brother John struck out on their own by jointly renting out a 1/2 section of land, which was later purchased by Paul Edie (East 1/2 of S-31, T-38, R-8, W-3M).  On August 30, 1919, my dad made a purchase agreement on the home place (NE 1/4 of S-29, T-38, R-8, W-3M) from Tumble Company Ltd. as the original owners of title granted to them on August 19, 1919.  The home quarter, without any buildings, was valued at $5000.  Title was attained on December 30, 1925.  It had originally been designated as school land with a legal right-of-way for the Battlefords Trail.  The countryside had lots of bush and grass (parkland) with a few scattered settlers.  No graded roads existed.  The Saskatoon/Battleford Trail cut diagonally across the Northeast quarter.

Most of the prairie sod was broken a little at a time with a two-furrowed gang plow pulled by 4 horses.  After all the grassland was broken, additional acres were made by pulling trees out by their roots.  The trees were either chopped down or bulldozed and the land ploughed with a tractor and breaking plow.

The first set of buildings on our farm consisted of a house, granary, horse bam, cow barn, and a chicken coop.  These were made of logs, with clay-mudded walls and a sod-covered roof.  They were all set in a row and adjoining one another.  Later, a modest two-storey wood-frame house was built, with dimensions of 14′ x 20′.  A year or two later, a lean-to kitchen was added on the end.  It had a clay-mudded floor to begin with, and later, a wooden board floor was put in.  The farmyard also had a clay-mudded, log-walled, sod-roofed steam bath house (banya) which was put into operation every Saturday night.  Neighbours were always welcome.  Our Norwegian and English neighbours often paid us a visit.  It became my job to heat up the stones and supply the water.

Peter A. Stushnoff family c. 1927. (Back L-R) Bill, Pete; (Front L-R) Mary, Helen, Annie, George, Peter. Photo courtesy Fred Stushnoff.

No modern buildings were put up until I started farming in 1948.  In 1928, after a Model T Ford was purchased, we managed to build a little garage for it.  It was made out of axe-hewn and split poplars with a cedar shingled roof.  This was a big spending splurge just before the great Depression of the 30s when land was sold to pay the taxes.

Later, Uncle John and his family moved to the Canora, SK, area.  His son Alex remembers riding on the freight train in 1934 with their horses and cattle to the Canora district.  Later, most of Uncle John’s family moved to British Columbia.

There were no roads to speak of in these early times.  There was a Saskatoon/Battleford Trail that ran diagonally across the farm that dad bought in 1919.  As lands became cultivated and fenced, people were forced to develop trails along the surveyed road allowances.  So the Trail became a hit-and-miss affair and was eliminated by the mid-Twenties.  I was born in 1922 and have a recollection of one Ford Model T traveler who tried to follow the Trail.  I remember opening a gate to let him through our land.  We privately kept a trail across our farm to shorten the distance to Uncle John’s place.  We used to visit back and forth with our cousins quite frequently.  We were almost like brothers and sisters.  There doesn’t seem to be such closeness between cousins anymore.  As cars became common, municipalities started grading up the low spots so that the cars wouldn’t get stuck in the sloughs of water in spring and after heavy rains.  More popular roads became graded their full length.  Grading probably began in the mid-Twenties and accelerated in the Thirties.  Farm grid-roading and gravelling started in the Fifties and completed in the Sixties.  As Councillors of the R.M. of Park, Norman Westad and myself had the grid road built through this community, past the Lynne School and connecting the No. 14 highway with the No. 5 at Ceepee.  For my ancestors, modes of travel commenced with walking, then proceeded to the use of oxen, horses, buggies, wagons, bicycles, cars, trucks, trains, and finally, airplanes.

Our post office was 10 miles away at Langham and neighbours would take turns bringing out the mail, which probably averaged once a week.  Rural mail delivery came to our place, I believe, in the early Thirties, every Tuesday and Friday.  In winter it was delivered using horses and sleigh.  There was no mail for us before the establishment of the Langham post office.

Most illnesses were treated at home with home remedies.  We didn’t seem to have needed any doctors except when my younger sister was born.  Dr. Matheson from Asquith came out to the farm.  Mother had arranged for our cousins to pick up my sister and me and go out for the whole day picking strawberries along the roadsides.  When we came home, we saw our new baby sister and other evidence that a doctor had been there.  When I was in about grade six or seven, I sprained my ankle playing football at school.  My dad took me to a Mennonite self-taught chiropractor (naturalist).  He had my ankle set and bandaged.  I limped for a while and it gradually healed perfectly.

Lynne School was located 2 miles south of our farm and was of frame construction with stucco finished walls and tin roof shingles.  It had a full basement with a coal-fired furnace.  When I started school, there were about 40 students from Grades 1 to 8, plus my brother Bill and Clifford Lindgren taking Grade 9 by correspondence.  Later I also took my Grade 9 and 10 by correspondence and finished Grade 11 and 12 at the Langham High School in 1941.  I also earned enough money, being a janitor for Lynne School, to buy myself a brand new bicycle.  I was so proud of it!  I didn’t mind the extra early hours I had to get up on winter mornings so I could fire up the furnace and have the school warm enough for classes.  Of course, when it was -40, it never warmed up till the afternoon.  Kids spent the mornings huddling around the floor heat register.

Looking back on harvest, to me it was the best of times and the worst of times!  The crops were cut with horses and binder and I usually ended up having to do the stooking with my sister Annie.  The first day was an adventure, especially if the crop was good and the stocks were free of Russian thistle.  Day after day the job became more tedious!  My dad bought a George White threshing machine and a Lawson tractor.  Every fall, Dad would line up about eight or more farmer customers for whom we threshed.  While Dad and my brother Pete operated the threshing outfit, my brother Bill and I would haul sheaves, each with a team of horses and a hayrack.  This job was really a test of endurance.  There were eight teams on the crew, four to each side of the threshing machine.  You had to load up your rack while three unloaded.  Of course most people took pride in their work by bringing in a reasonably good load and on time so that the machine didn’t run half-empty.  There was always one or two workers who rounded off their load a little smaller and always had time for a rest in between.  Not me!  My foolish pride made me work till I ached all over!  Since the family owned the threshing outfit, I felt obligated to set a good example of work ethic rather than slacking off and embarrassing them.  However, the social contacts were a good experience plus the most wonderful food was served.  The servings of food were only equaled on festive occasions such as Christmas or weddings.

Winter evenings were a time for sitting around the wood heater and eating sunflower seeds and visiting relatives.  To help prepare the wood supply, trees were chopped down and hauled into the yard.  Many wood-sawing bees were held in the neighbourhood.  There were never-ending chores of feeding cattle and horses twice a day, and palling water from the well to water them.  And, there was the stinky job of cleaning out the manure from the barn and hauling it by stone-boat to spread out in the fields.

Young unmarried adults used to take turns hosting parties in their homes over the weekends.  This meant overnight stays, so you can imagine wall-to-wall people sleeping on the floor on all available homemade mattresses and blankets.  Some of these were brought along to keep warm in the sleigh, since the party goers came from as far as 10 miles away.  These were not exactly pajama parties; people slept in their clothes, if sleep were possible.  My 12 year old cousin, Johnny Malloff, who came along with his older brother Bill, kept annoying one of the older guys by repeatedly tickling his feet.

George & Laure (Petroff) Stushnoff wedding photo, 1946. Photo courtesy Fred Stushnoff.

In summer we used to gather at the ball diamond and play baseball with pickup teams.  The better players were selected for the ball team that competed at the various sports days.  We had some winners!  Our team even played at the Saskatoon Exhibition.  I am referring to the Doukhobor boys from Ceepee/Henrietta communities when I talk about our team.  We maintained close cultural ties.  For several years the ball diamond was located on my brother Bill’s farm.  It was also a place for picnics and Peter’s Day.  As I was growing up, I was really a part of two communities.  I played on the Lynne School softball team, which was one of the best in the district, and I was goaltender for their hockey team.  When I attended Langham High School I was also on the softball team that played against Borden, Radisson, and Maymont.  My schoolmates from Lynne School (Ivan Thue, Larry Aune, and Norman Westad) were also on the team.  In hockey we sometimes played against the adult Doukhobor team from west of Langham, with whom I also had close relationships.

Christmas was celebrated strictly as celebrating Jesus’ birthday through worship services.  There was no gift giving.  However, it wasn’t long before the commercialized Canadian custom had its negative impact.  So much to be said for assimilation!  Our most important cultural/religious event was the commemoration of Peter’s Day on June 29 of each year.  On June 29, 1895, our ancestors, while still in Russia, collected all of their personal weapons and made a huge bonfire out of them as a sincere declaration of refusal to bear arms or participate in military service.  It stemmed from the religious belief, “Thou shalt not kill,” or destroy the body’s temple in which God resides.  The soul, being the image of God, resides in every human body, without exception.  It was the Burning of the Arms that precipitated severe religious persecution and consequent migration to Canada.  The Doukhobor decision to migrate to Canada was made only after Canada passed an Order-in-Council.  Some boys were imprisoned while others served in labor camps. I, personally, was exempted from service because I happened to be employed in two high-priority essential industries: education and agriculture.  The government seemed to respect that more than the legal religious freedom that had been granted by law.

I started my off-farm career teaching school after a short 12-week stint at the Saskatoon Normal School.  I taught at Worthington School, southwest of Loon Lake; Morin Creek School, west of Meadow Lake; Henrietta School, west of Langham; and Smeaton public and high school.  I resigned in June 1947.

My dad operated the farm till the spring of 1948 when I took over by renting.  Dad gave me 4 horses and 2 cows plus the old horse machinery consisting of a gang plow, 4 sections of harrows, a disc, a seed drill, mower, and binder.  Since Dad decided to retire at 60, I quit teaching school and took up farming.  After the war, there was a shortage of new tractors so my first attempt at motorized farming was the purchase of a Wyllis-Overland Jeep in 1949.  It served the double purpose of tractor and automobile.  After a good crop in 1950, I managed to trade the Jeep as a down payment on a new International 3/4 ton truck and a W6 tractor.  We grew wheat and raised cattle, milked around six cows and sold cream.  Later, we raised 4000 broiler chickens per batch, turning 3 1/2 batches per year.

While farming, in 1952 I volunteered to canvass the district for interest in Rural Electrification.  It was a successful venture and electricity came through in 1953 to this particular region.  SaskPower put in the power after I proved that 75% of the farmers would sign up and pay their deposit of $750.

In 1955, I organized the Central Park 4-H Beef Club which later became a multiple project club including beef, grain, automotive, gun safety, and home economics.  In all, I was 4-H leader for 13 years, with 3 of those years as the district chairman.  I served as a trustee on the Lynne School Board until its integration into the Saskatoon West School Division at Langham.  I also served a 3-year term on the R.M. of Park municipal council.  My voluntary services also included the chairmanships of the Farmers Union Local and the Langham Doukhobor Society.

In 1968, at 45 years of age, I quit farming and took on a job with the Federal Dept. of Indian and Northern Affairs.  I leased the farmland to Mitch Ozeroff for 8 years, and then made an agreement for sale to my daughter Sandra and her husband Edward Walker in 1976.

In 1973, I transferred to the Dept. of Secretary of State to administer the program of Human Rights and Multiculturalism.  In these past years I lived in Prince Albert, Yorkton, Regina, and finally in Saskatoon, where I retired in 1988.  Laura and I now live in the Brandtwood Estates, a seniors condominium in Saskatoon.

George & Laura Stushnoff, 1999. Photo courtesy Fred Stushnoff.

As Russian speaking people of the Doukhobor (“spirit-wrestlers”) faith, our people have retained the traditional worship and funeral services to this very day.  Traditional clothing was always worn for worship services, but lately, it is only worn on occasion, such as a choir costume for special festivals.  Traditional foods of borshch, blini (crepes), perohi (vegetable and fruit tarts), ploe (rice and raisins), vereniki, and lapshevnik (a noodle and egg cake) are still very much in vogue.  We are just beginning to conduct our worship services in both Russian and English languages, eventually becoming English for the sake of all the intermarriages taking place.

Doukhobor to Doukhobor marriages are becoming a rarity.  With freedom and democracy breaking out in Eastern Europe, we feel that our pacifist beliefs are coming of age and should be shared with the rest of society.

George P. Stushnoff (1922-2001) exemplified the Doukhobor ideals of toil and peaceful life. Chairman of the Saskatoon Doukhobor Society and the Doukhobor Cultural Society of Saskatchewan for many years, George strove to preserve and share the Doukhobor way of life, and to promote inter-cultural harmony in his community. He once stated that “I find it spiritually fulfilling to participate in promoting local and international harmony among all people.” In 1995, he recieved the United Nations 50th Anniversary “Global Citizen” Certificate for contributing to the advancement of peace and global harmony.

Spanning the Years – The Vereschagin Family

by Ann J. Vereschagin

Throughout the early twentieth century, groups of Doukhobors left Canada for the United States seeking warmer climate, economic opportunity and personal freedom. One of the most prominent of these was the family of Alex W. (1878-1946) and Virginia (1879-1930) Vereschagin. After the family was released from exile in Yakutsk, Siberia, they came to Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan in 1905. In 1907, they resettled to Cucamonga and later Los Angeles, California where they worked as labourers on fruit farms. In 1909, they and several other Doukhobor families purchased land and established a short-lived colony near Shafter, California. Then in 1913, they joined a much larger “Freedom Colony” of Doukhobors near Peoria, Oregon. They returned to California in 1916, permanently settling in Orland, where they worked together for over 60 years as a cooperative family unit, becoming outstanding builders and innovators in the fruit growing and retail-wholesale industry. Their story is documented in a 1999 family autobiography, “Spanning the Years”, written by Alex and Virginia’s Molokan-born daughter-in-law Ann J. Vereschagin (1910-2005). The following excerpt from the book is reproduced here by permission.

Cucamonga, California

Father-in-law Alexei [Vereschagin] and family did not stay long in Blaine Lake. After two winters in Canada, father-in-law said that he had had enough ice and snow in Siberia. He decided to take his family to California. That spring (1907), the family moved to Cucamonga, a small town near Pasadena in Southern California. Why Cucamonga? Father-in-law Alexei had read about California while in Siberia. He read about it in a Russian newspaper printed in Los Angeles by a Russian immigrant named [Anton Petrovich] Scherbak. Scherbak lived in Cucamonga. The newspaper was named Tehia Akeyan (The Calm Ocean). I remember that my own father read the same newspaper. No doubt it was the only newspaper in America, at the time, that was written in Russian.

Alexei corresponded with Scherbak, inquiring about living conditions and the possibilities of finding work in California. He explained to Mr. Scherbak that he had a young family and that he wanted to live in a warm climate. Mr. Scherbak convinced Alexei that he should move to Cucamonga, and even offered a shack that was on his property for them to live in.

The American-Canadian border was pretty open at that time. Father-in-law Alexei and his family arrived at the border with the Peter Jericoff family. They were required to list all of their names in English. Imagine their frustration, knowing very few words in English. Mr. Jericoff probably knew the most. He translated mother-in-law’s name (Xenia) to Virginia, which is not a typical translation for a Russian name. The other names registered were: Alex (Alexei), William/Bill (Vasily), Martha (Malasha), and John (Ivan). Note: From now on, I will use the English names, and I will refer to father-in-law as Dad V.

(l-r) Alex W. (Dad) Vereschagin, William, John, Virginia (Mom) Vereschagin holding Jane, Alex and Martha, 1909.

The family lived in Cucamonga less than two years. Dad V. worked on a farm, digging irrigation ditches with a pick and shovel – 10 hours a day at $1.50 per day. The ditches were along an orange grove, with roots that were long and buried deep. Backbreaking work! William (8 years) and Martha (7 years) started school in Cucamonga. Jane (Nastia) was born there on her brother John’s birthday, August 1st in 1908. This date was recorded on Dad V.’s last page of his English-Russian dictionary. That dictionary shows a lot of wear, so I know that it was one of his favorite books.

Next they moved to Los Angeles where Dad V. was acquainted with some Molokan families. He wanted to live near others who spoke Russian. He knew some Molokans who were draymen. They made a deal with him to supply them with hay. Dad V. had a team of horses and a wagon. He would buy the hay from local farmers and load it onto boxcars which took it to Los Angeles. He then sold it to the Molokan draymen who used it for their horses. Bill and Alex would often help. They were too young to load the hay, but they stood by to hold the team of horses. Most any movement, such as a jackrabbit running by, would frighten and agitate the horses.

Shafter, California

By this time a few more Doukhobor families had emigrated to California (Rilcoffs, Chernoffs, Durtsoffs and Poznoffs, to name a few). A real estate agent took advantage of them. In the spring of 1909, he presumably sold the group some land in Shafter (Kern County). After building small livable shacks, buying a cow and some horses, another man came and told the group that the land had not been for sale; thus, it did not belong to them; it belonged to the Kern Land Company. Note: I do not know when they were informed of this, but I do know that the Vereschagins continued living in Shafter until 1913.

In September of 1910, William, Martha, and Alex started school in a one-room country school house about a mile from where they lived. Most of the time they walked to school. If the horse was not needed for work that day, they were sometimes allowed to hitch-up the horse to a two-wheeled cart and take it to school. William was ten years old and was considered old enough to be in charge. One day when they were coming home, a jack-rabbit jumped in front of the horse. The horse got scared and took off on its own with the children hanging on for dear life. William was pulling on the reins as hard as he could, trying to stop the horse. Martha was sitting in the back with her legs hanging out and screaming for William to stop the horse because she wanted to get off. Fortunately, the children got home safely.

Martha was old enough to help with the cooking and the chores, besides helping to watch over the two little ones, John and Jane. One time John asked his mother where he had been born. She told him that William, Martha, and Alex had been born in Siberia, and that he had been born in Canada. He thought a moment and then said, ‘If I was the only one born in Canada, it must have been very lonesome for me.”

Life in Shafter was not easy. William worked with his father during the summer months. One day when they were eating their lunch out in the field, William asked his dad if perhaps tomorrow they could have two eggs, instead of one, for lunch. Years later when my husband told me about their early life in Shafter, the part about the eggs always brought tears to his eyes.

Leo was born in Shafter on November 11, 1910. He was named for Leo Tolstoy. Peter was also born there on June 27,1913. He was named for Mom V.’s dad.

Peoria, Oregon

As soon as Peter was old enough to travel and Mom V. had her strength back, the family packed up and left for Peoria, Oregon. They were forced to vacate their land, so decided on Oregon because there was quite a colony [the Koloniya Svoboda or “Freedom Colony”] of Doukhobors already living there (Vanins, Jericoffs, Popoffs and Lapshinoffs, to name a few) and my in-laws wanted to again live among their own people (Doukhobors rather than Molokans). As a group, these families had purchased a section of land. Upon arrival, Dad V. leased 40 acres from them.

Times continued to be tough. The families were all poor but they cared for one another. They helped each other to build living quarters, barns, tool sheds, and whatever was necessary for protection from the cold and rain in Oregon. They shared their produce and livestock as one big family.

Shortly after their arrival in Peoria and just as they finished adding on and patching the three-room house on the farm, the Dobrinin family [a Molokan family] arrived from Los Angeles. Having no house to move into, Dad and Mom V. invited them to move in with them. Imagine two families living in a three-room house, with no running water and no sanitary provisions in the house. The eight children had to sleep on the floor. (I wonder if this is what is meant by “the good old days.”) The Dobrinins lived with them for one winter until they accumulated enough money to get a house of their own, close by. Members of the two families continued to be very close friends throughout their lives.

My husband told me that their father once bought them a bicycle at an auction for 75 cents. The bearing on the front wheel was “shot” and there was no tire on that front wheel. Older-brother Bill had the idea to tie a rope around the wheel. It worked! Away they would go, until eventually the rope wore off.

The children started school in Peoria. It was a typical rural school with one teacher teaching all eight grades; most of the students were Russian. The Vereschagin children had to walk about two miles to go to school. The roads were bad, especially in winter when they were flooded. Luckily, there were wooden fences along the road. When the roads were flooded, they would walk on the fences; however, they couldn’t help getting their feet wet. John, being the youngest, often got his pants wet, too.

(l-r) John Vereschagin, Jim Vanin, William Vereschagin and friend, Peoria, Oregon, 1915. 

Every morning during the winter, the family had a difficult time getting the fire started in the kitchen stove. The wood would be wet because it was stored outside, unprotected from the rain. The children had to take turns blowing on the flame to keep it going. Consequently, they often arrived at school late. The teacher would send notes home, complaining about their tardiness. The notes didn’t help because, as my husband said: “There was no way to make the wood understand the problem.”

Despite the poverty, John often went to the local grocery store during the school lunch hour and bought 5 cents worth of candy. The owner, Mr. Lamar, told Dad V. about it. Dad questioned John and asked him where he was getting the money. John told him that he didn’t need any money. He just told Mr. Lamar to write it down in the book. (In those days, when you bought groceries on credit, you merely wrote it down in a book.)

In addition to farming their 40 acres, the family had to go out to work for other farmers in and around the Willamette Valley. Dad V. bought an old horse-drawn baler and a couple of horses. He hired out to cut and bale hay. William often worked with his dad. The family also worked at picking hops around the Independence area.

On July 1, 1915, another blessed event! Walter, the last child, was born. Now there were eight children in the family. Unlike many families in those days, all eight children were blessed with good health.

During the winter of 1916, Dad and Mom V. decided to move back to California, where it was warmer and there were more opportunities to earn money. Dad got on a train to go to Shafter where his friends the Rilcoffs and Poznoffs were still living. On the train, he happened to meet a real estate agent named Harrigan. Dad told Mr. Harrigan, in limited English, that he was on his way to Kern County. He was looking for good land to farm, as he had six sons and a farm was the best place to raise a family. Mr. Harrigan told him that he should get off in Orland because there was a new irrigation project (completed in 1911) and prospects were good. Dad took his advice and got off the train in Orland.

In Orland he went to see George and Dan Sturm, who were in the real estate and insurance business. They showed Dad properties that were in the irrigation project. Dad liked what he saw, but still wanted to go to Shafter before making a decision. He told them that he would stop back in Orland on his return trip.

Orland, California

In a few days, Dad V. was back in Orland and made a deal to lease, with an option to buy, 27 acres (21 acres in the irrigation project). Six acres were already planted in alfalfa and about one acre had newly planted orange trees. Another six acre plot was along Stony Creek. It was very gravely, thus not suitable for fanning. There was a small old house and a barn on the place. The farm was three miles east of Orland on County Road 12. This turned out to be the final home for the entire family unit, and became known as “the home place.”

For their move from Oregon, they put all of their “worldly goods” in one freight train boxcar. In addition to miscellaneous household articles, they had a team of horses, one cow, a wagon and a hay baler – all in the boxcar. In order to take care of the animals, Dad V. and brother-in-law Bill were allowed to ride in the boxcar at no cost. The rest of the family came the next day on a passenger train, thus arriving in Orland after the arrival of all their possessions.

Orland was a small, but thriving town when the Vereschagins stepped off the trains in 1916. (Census of 1910 showed 836 town residents.) The dirt and gravel streets had many potholes and ruts. Horse-drawn carriages were still being used. There was a ditch that ran through town. A flour mill was situated along the ditch at Fourth and Colusa Streets (present site of the city library). Besides the train depot, Orland had the usual general merchandise stores, bakery, bank, barber shop, churches, saloons, livery stables, blacksmith and harness shops, etc. There was a theater, a hotel, a bathhouse, a Chinese restaurant, a large grain warehouse, a creamery, and a chicken hatchery. The Masonic Lodge was, and still is, Orland’s tallest building (three stories). There was also an Odd Fellows Hall and two bi-weekly newspapers. The Volunteer Fire Dept. had already been organized and the Glenn County Fair began that year. The Orland Opera House was on the corner of Fifth & Colusa Streets (demolished in 1920). There was an elementary and a high school. Note: Would you believe that in 1882, Orland College opened with about two dozen students? It changed to Orland Normal School in 1886, and closed in 1892.

When the Vereschagins arrived in Orland, they had about $26.00 in cash. This was hardly enough to start housekeeping and feed a family of ten. In order to earn money to help support the family, twelve-year old Alex got up enough courage to ask Mr. Lindstrom (he owned the neighboring farm where Erik Nielsen now lives) if he would give him a job irrigating his orange orchard. Mr. Lindstrom asked Alex is he could use a shovel and knew how to divert the water from one row to another. Alex told him he could handle the job. Not only was Alex hired, but Mom V. occasionally helped Mrs. Lindstrom with the housework. Martha got a job doing housework for another neighbor – the Root family.

As the alfalfa hay crop around Orland became ready to bale. Dad and Bill went to several farmers and contracted to bale their hay. That was the beginning of the Vereschagins’ first commercial enterprise in Orland and the start of many other business ventures that were to follow throughout many years to come.
It was not easy to bale hay in 1916. The process went something like this: A team of horses pulled the baler out to the hay field. The wheels on the baler were removed in order to keep the baler stationary while in action. The horses were then hitched to the drawbar so that they could go round and round, turning the plunger which went up and down, feeding the hay into the chamber where the bales were made.

Everyone and everything had to work in precision in order to produce even-sized bales. Leo, who was about six years old, had to sit on the drawbar and keep the horses moving, so that the plunger went at a steady pace. Riding on the turnstile was similar to being on a merry-go-round. Being so young, he would often fall asleep. His dad would waken him by shouting “hun-ee.” In Russian, this means “keep them moving.” Later, that word (hun-ee) became a joke among the farmers for whom they worked.

Mom V. and Bill would pitch the hay from a stack on the ground to Dad V. who stood on the baler and fed the hay into the plunger. Alex’s job was to tie the bales with three wires to each bale. Ordinarily, this was a two-man job: one man pokes the wire into the slot on one side of the bale, and the other man ties the wires on the other side. Alex would poke the three wires on one side of the bale, then jump over to the other side and tie the wires before the next bale was formed. John’s job was to pull the finished bale away from the baler, weigh it, and write down the weight. They were paid by the ton, and not by the number of bales, so each bale had to be weighed.

Fifteen-year old Martha had the job of cooking for the crew. Since they worked long hours, she would have to cook two or three meals a day. Once in a while, she came out to help move the bales or pitch hay into the plunger. Eight-year old Jane had the job of staying home and taking care of the house and the two young ones, Peter and Walter.

Hay baling season was always in the heat of the summer. It was a hot, dusty, and dirty job. Everyone was “dead tired” at night and there was no air-conditioning in those days to cool off the house at night. Were those really the “good old days?”

When there were no hay-baling contracts, the older children worked in the hop fields east of Orland (across the Sacramento River). They would camp on the bank of the river, close to the hop fields. They would go home once a week to pick up supplies and get clean clothes. There was one problem with camping along the river: John would occasionally walk in his sleep. How did they solve the problem? They tied one leg to the tent peg. Note: “Hops” grow on vines and are used for flavor in brewing beer.

In the fall, the children went to school. Sixteen-year old Bill was not required to go to school, so he stayed home and worked with his father. The rest of the children went to the Orland grammar school. At first, they rode in a horse-drawn, two-seater cart, just like so many of the other children who lived out in the country. They all graduated from grammar school, but only Jane, Leo, and Walter were able to go to high school. The older ones had to work. Note: Neither Jane nor Leo graduated from high school; perhaps Walter did, but I’m not sure.

Dad V. did value education; however, circumstances were such that the children had to work just to make ends meet. In the words of my husband: “Our father did have in mind for us to go to school as much as was possible so that we would be ready to face the world.” Dad V. had one summer of schooling while living in Russia. He taught himself to be fluent in the reading and writing of Russian. He was also self-taught in math and in the reading and writing of English.

Typical of all families, the children had their squabbles. I heard the following story from Jane, but John said that he couldn’t remember the incident. Anyway, according to Jane, the two children had a squabble. Jane ran into the house and slammed and locked the door in John’s face. The door happened to have a glass window. She was on the inside making faces at him. John couldn’t control himself so he punched her right on the face through the glass window. The window broke into pieces, but fortunately neither of them were badly cut. I never heard how they were punished, but I am sure that the parents were very unhappy with the unnecessary expense of replacing the window.

Dad and Mom Vereschagin, c. 1917.

The first autumn after their arrival in Orland, Dad V.’s oldest brother, Vasily, and his family (wife, Dunya, son Alex and his wife Masha, and their children William and Polly) came to visit from Blaine Lake, Canada. Alex and Masha stayed and bought a small farm. Undoubtedly, everyone was excited to have blood-relatives living close by. The next spring, Masha gave birth to another daughter, Elizabeth. The Doukhobor colony in Orland was increasing.

In 1917, the United States declared war against Germany…World War I. This war had been going on in Europe since the assassination of Archduke Francis Ferdinand of Austria in Sarajevo, Serbia, on June 28, 1914.

Alex and Masha decided to return to Canada for the duration of the war because they were concerned about Alex being drafted into the U.S. Army. (In Canada, the Doukhobors had a conscientious objectors status.) Also, Masha’s brother Nikita had lost most of his left hand in a threshing machine accident in Blaine Lake. Masha was eager to go back and help take care of him. There was also the possibility that the border between the U.S. and Canada might be closed, thus making it more difficult to later leave. The war ended on November 11, 1918, but Alex and his family never returned to California.

Shortly after the war, Dad V.’s sister Paranya and family (husband George W. Popoff, son Mike and daughter Hazel) came to visit from Blaine Lake. Paranya and George had recently lost a seven-year old daughter, Polly, due to a lightning accident. They thought that a change in environment would be good for them. Just like Alex and Masha, they also bought a small farm. Mike and brother-in-law Bill were the same age, as were Hazel and sister-in-law Martha. The cousins spent a lot of time together at work and at play. For some reason, they only stayed a year, returning to Blaine Lake in the spring of 1919.

That same year, the Vanin and Jericoff families came to Orland from Oregon. The Vanins rented a house on Walker Street. They planned to stay for only a short while and then go farther south in California. (They actually later returned to live in Canada.) The Jericoffs purchased a small farm a couple of miles north of Orland, across Stony Creek, in the Lake District. I do not know exactly how long they lived in Orland, but Mr. and Mrs. Jericoff are buried in the Orland Odd Fellows Cemetery.

Another Doukhobor family who followed the Vereschagins from Oregon to Orland were the Lapshinoffs. They also bought a small farm in the Lake District. They had a young teenage daughter named Irene. I often wondered if there was another motive for both the Vanins and the Lapshinoffs to come to Orland. The Vereschagins had sons, prospective mates for their daughters. In those days, parents had a lot to do with choosing their children’s mates. An ideal mate had to be of the same heritage: preferably a Doukhobor, or at least someone who spoke Russian.

In addition to farming the “home place,” baling hay, and picking hops, the older children found other seasonal work. As they got older, they packed apricots and peaches for the Anchorage Farm which was south of Orland. Alex learned how to nail boxes for shipping the fresh fruit. Martha packed the fruit into these boxes. Others in the family worked cutting peaches and apricots for drying. When the peach cannery opened for the season in Yuba City, the older siblings went to work there. Yuba City is about 80 miles southeast of Orland. The cannery provided housing for the workers who were unable to commute each day. They also worked in an asparagus factory in Rio Vista. One time, Alex broke his finger on the job, so he returned to Orland while Martha and Jane (nicknamed Jenny) remained at the cannery to work. During orange-picking season, Alex nailed boxes at the Orland Orange Growers Packing House. The nailers were paid so much per box. Alex figured out the most efficient way to assemble the boxes, with no wasted movements. He made more money being paid per box than if he had been paid the current hourly wage.

All of the money that the children earned for working went into one family account. Not one penny went to the individual who earned the money. As was the custom, Dad V. was the head of the household. He collected and dispersed the money as he saw fit. He bought the groceries, the clothes, and paid all the bills. There was no accounting as to what is “mine” or “yours”; it was all “ours.” No doubt they got an allowance when they got older, because they did have limited money to see a movie, buy a soda, etc.

Around 1918 or 1919, Mother V. had to make an emergency trip to British Columbia to see her sister who was very ill. Since Mom V. spoke very little English, she was apprehensive about traveling alone. She was also uneasy about crossing the Canadian border. It was decided that eight-year old Leo would go along as her interpreter. He could also help her to take care of Walter. Leo must have done a good job because they did return home without any major problems.

Sometime prior to this, Dad and Mom V. made a trip together to Brilliant, British Columbia to visit her ill mother. When they got there, they were informed by the leader of the commune that they could not visit her mother in the commune. She was too ill to leave her home, so Dad and Mom had to sneak into the house at night in order to see her. This caused them to have a lot of ill feeling and disappointment toward the Doukhobor leadership. The wound never healed during their lifetime.

There was a reason for the above incident. In 1912-13, when the Doukhobors, under the leadership of Peter Verigin, decided to move to British Columbia, some Doukhobors living on homesteads in Saskatchewan refused to give up their lands and freedom. As a consequence, they were ostracized from the sect by an edict proclaimed by Peter Verigin, who had been given the title of “Lordly.” He named these dissidents ‘Independents” and told them that they were no longer welcome in the brotherhood. Dad V. was not in sympathy with Mr. Verigin’s leadership or philosophy. He wrote letters and articles in the Russian newspaper, denouncing commune living. Dad said that he did not approve of communes in Russia and did not agree with commune living in Canada. He saw it as an exploitation of innocent people that would only end in disaster. He believed in personal freedom. So, when Mom and Dad arrived to visit her sick mother, Verigin said that they could not be given permission to see her in a commune house.

In 1921, brother-in-law Bill married Irene Lapshinoff. It was not a big wedding. They were married in the Willows Justice Court, with a family dinner following. A deal was made between the Lapshinoffs and Bill, that he could move right in with them. They were getting old and Irene was their only child. On September 24, 1922, a son was born to the newlyweds. They named him Harold (Gavril in Russian) after Dad V.’s grandfather. In time, Mr. and Mrs. Lapshinoff deeded the house and farm to Bill and Irene. The seniors lived with them for a few years, both passing away in the mid-1920’s.

Left of the gentleman with child: Alex A. Vereschagin, Mike G. Popoff, Jane and John Vereschagin, Hazel G. Popoff, William and Martha Vereschagin, 1922.

On or about 1923, the Vereschagins had their first crop of prunes to harvest. They had planted about 12 acres of prunes in 1918-19. With no previous experience in prune drying, Alex and Bill visited other prune farms in the area to learn what to do. They had to build a dipping shed and drying trays. In those days, the fruit was dried by the sun, not in a dehydrator. Space was needed to spread the fruit out for drying. They chose to build the shed at the lower end of the farm, close to the creek, where there were no trees to block out the sun.

The process for harvesting prunes went something like this: A roller went around the trees to break up the large clods of dirt, so that the fruit was less likely to be bruised when it fell. A large canvas was spread under the trees, and then the fruit was knocked off with a heavy wooden mallet. When needed, a long pole was used to get the “stubborn ones.” Since some fruit always missed the canvas, the younger members of the family followed and picked the fruit off the ground into buckets. The buckets were emptied into lug boxes and then taken to the dipping shed. There, the fresh fruit was dumped into a large tub of cold water, then put into a solution of hot lye water. This caused the skin to soften so that the fruit would dry faster in the sun. The lye would also repel bees and flies.

The prunes were then spread on the trays and laid out in the sun to dry. The drying time depended on the weather. Under ideal conditions, they would dry in about a week; however, if there was a threat of rain, the trays had to be stacked and covered with canvas, thus slowing down the drying time. When it was determined that the fruit was dry enough, it was then scraped from the trays and put into burlap sacks and kept in a storage barn until sold. Note: All the fresh fruit had to be dipped, spread on the trays, and set out to dry the same day as it was picked. There could be no leftovers. This made for very long days of hard work during prune harvest.

Rosenburg Brothers were the brokers for dried fruit at that time. I believe they were based in San Francisco. The prunes were shipped in boxcars to the Rosenburg plant. Shipping them in burlap sacks was often a mess. The syrup-like juice would run off the prunes onto the sacks, causing the sacks to stick together and even tear apart in handling. At the plant, the fruit would be packaged and then marketed throughout the United States and Canada. The price for dried prunes in 1923 was $ .01 per pound. In 1926, they got up to $ .07 per pound. (In 1996 the price averaged about $ .40 per pound.)

A tragedy befell the family in 1923. Brother Peter, age ten, was killed by a horse while he was feeding it. It happened during hay-baling season. At the end of a baling day, Peter and Leo had the job of feeding the team of horses. This one particular day, for some reason, one of the horses became frightened when Peter lifted up the pitchfork after feeding it some hay. It kicked him behind the ear on the left side of his head. Peter never regained consciousness and died a few hours later. Needless to say, everyone was shocked. The family remembered him as being a very sweet, cheerful boy. He loved to sing when he worked and played. My husband remembered that he sang very loudly when he milked the cows.

The next year there was a happy event. While working in San Francisco, Martha met Bill Boyko, a Russian from the Ukraine. After a short courtship, they were married in San Francisco on June 21, 1924. They lived in San Francisco for a short time; then they moved to Orland, buying a twenty-acre farm on Road MM, a mile or so southeast of Orland. They built a two-room house, then gradually added on rooms. Not only did Bill work on his own almond and olive orchard, but he also worked for other farmers in the area and for the Vereschagins. Whenever she could, Martha worked right along with her husband, picking olives and oranges, and working at the packing houses. A year later, on June 27, 1925, a son, George, was born.

Along with other farmers in Glenn County, for a short time the family experimented with cotton. They planted about ten acres. There was a cotton gin along the railroad tracks in Hamilton City. It turned out that growing cotton was not such a good idea for the area, so the cotton farms eventually disappeared.

About this time, there was no longer a need for work horses. The Vereschagins purchased their first tractor, a 3-wheel Samson. The hay baler was converted to engine power. The family even bought their first car, a 1918 Buick. Things were looking good. Bill and Alex convinced their dad that they should go to a mechanics school in San Francisco. They needed to learn more about motors and engines. They spent a couple of winter months in the city. In addition to going to school, they socialized with the local Molokans. Bill was married; however, Alex was single. Years later, he still liked to talk about his escapades during those two months.

During the summer of 1924, about five young families of Doukhobors from Canada stopped in Orland for rest and for information about relocating in California. They wanted to buy a piece of land large enough to start a small colony. They needed to be close enough to available jobs because they would all have to work until they got enough money to buy their own land. Orland didn’t have much to offer them, so they went farther south. They found work in the newly established vineyards around Manteca, Lodi, and Stockton.

They found a piece of undeveloped land not too far from Manteca and asked Dad V. for his advice as to the quality of the land and its possibilities for growing grapes. On his recommendation, they purchased one hundred sixty acres of good farming soil about three miles from the small rural town of Manteca. To prove to the new buyers that they were not making a mistake, Dad bought the first twenty acres. Each of the families bought their own twenty acres, and the Rebins even bought several twenty-acre pieces for their relatives still in Canada. That was the beginning of the Doukhobor colony in Manteca [i.e. the Russian Colony].

In 1924, when the Manteca colonists began developing their property, Dad, Alex, and John went to Manteca to develop their 20 acres; they leveled the land, prepared it for irrigation, and planted grape vines. Jane (16 years old) went to cook and do the other household chores. Alex (21 years old) designed and built a small house and a tank house. The house is standing and occupied to this day. Note: A water tank was placed over the domestic well and above the level of the farmhouse. Gravity would then force the water into the faucets in the house. Usually, a room was built under the water tank, hence the name “tank house.”

Since it was too far from Orland, the Vereschagins were not able to continue farming this Manteca farm. Instead, they rented it out to be farmed by others.

Uncle Gavril came to visit from Canada. Dad V. decided to take him to see the farm in Manteca, and visit other Doukhobors in the San Joaquin Valley. I’m not sure whether Dad had a driver’s license – probably not. He was not a mechanic; but he did know that a car needed gasoline and oil to run. While he and Gavril were on their trip, every time Dad gassed up he also put in a quart of oil. The engine was eventually so full of oil that it would not run. Alex took the train and brought the Buick home. I was told that the car was belching smoke like a freight train. Fortunately, the older boys were able to get it back in good running condition.

When Alex was building the house in Manteca, his good friend, Mike Shlahoff, got married. The wedding took place in San Francisco. While at the wedding, Alex met the bride’s younger sister, Jeanette Covolenko. Now it so happened that Jeanette came often to visit her sister who was living in Manteca. A romance developed. In 1927, Alex and Jeanette got married in her parents’ home in San Francisco. The newlyweds returned to Orland to live in the same house with Dad, Mom, John, Jane, Leo, and Walter.

The Covolenkos were not Doukhobors; they were Baptists. They and other Russian-Baptist immigrants (Dolgoffs, Commendants, Sclarenkos, and Bamuts) came to the United States through South America. They settled on Potrero Hill in San Francisco, where the Molokans had also settled. All were good friends with the Vereschagins.

In 1926, Bill and Irene had their second son, William. Unfortunately, when he was eighteen months old, he contacted meningitis and died. How sad!

Alex A. Vereschagin, 1927.

Whenever Jane was in Manteca, Walter Poznoff would come from Shafter to visit her. They were married in Orland on October 3, 1927. (Wonder if the two sets of parents had something to do with them getting together? After all, Dad V. and Walt’s father [Vasily Pozdnyakov] had remained very good friends since their days in Siberia.) Jane left her Orland home and family to live in Shafter with Walt’s parents and his one brother, Alexander.

That same year, Dad went to Blaine Lake, Saskatchewan, to visit his brother Vasya and sister Parania. While there he visited with his good friend Fred Sokorokoff. Fred had a daughter, Tina. Dad thought Tina would make a good wife for his son John. When Dad got back to Orland, he told John to write to Tina. Being a dutiful son, John did.

Since the price of prunes was down, the Vereschagins decided to ship two boxcars of prunes, with some raisins and dried peaches, to Saskatchewan. One boxcar was to go to Yorkton and the other to Blaine Lake (two communities with many Doukhobors). While the boxcars were on their way to Canada, Dad and John were also on their way, in order to be there to sell the fruit. The trip turned out to be a huge success. Dried prunes were a rare commodity in their stores. The family made $.02 more per pound for the prunes than they would have in California and could have sold even more.

Another purpose of the trip was for John to meet his “pen pal” – Tina Sokorokoff. Needless to say, a romance developed. In June of 1928, John went back to Blaine Lake on the train. He and Tina were married there in a traditional Doukhobor ceremony. Tina’s parents accompanied the newlyweds on their train trip back to Orland. They honeymooned together! Meanwhile, Mom V. prepared a bedroom for the couple. They were to live in the same house with the rest of the family: Dad and Mom V., Alex and Jeanette, Leo, and Walter.

Things continued to look good for the Vereschagins. They were able to save some money. Dad V. was looking into investing in more land. His good friend, George Sturm (a realtor), had just the place for him. Dad bought a small farm on Newville Road, west of town. The land was in the irrigation project; it had the potential to be a future home for himself or for one of his sons. He deeded the land in his wife Virginia’s name. Perhaps he thought that she should have something in her name, just in case.

The newly purchased land needed to be developed for farming. They planted almonds and oranges. There were no buildings on the property. With this additional acreage, the boys no longer had time to work in the canneries, although Alex did continue to nail boxes for the Orange Packing House for a few more years.

In 1928-29, the “stork” was a frequent visitor to the Vereschagin clan. The babies, all born healthy, were: daughter Elaine (1/31/28), born to Alex and Jeanette V.; daughter La Verne (9/3/28), born to Bill and Martha Boyko; daughter Louise (2/9/29), born to Bill and Irene V.; son Vernon (3/23/29), born to John and Tina V.; and son Robert (4/28/29), born to Walt and Jane Poznoff.

Alex and Jeanette’s marriage was having difficulties. For a short time, they went to live in the house that Alex had built in Manteca. Still, the problems continued, finally leading to a divorce in 1929. Jeanette went to live with her parents in San Francisco, taking baby Elaine with her. Along with the rest of the family, Grandmother V. had become greatly attached to Elaine. The parting was especially difficult and emotional for Grandmother and Elaine.

Meanwhile, the family dwelling was not only “bulging out the seams,” but was in need of a major remodeling job. The decision was made to build a new house. Mother V. had lived in crowded quarters and old houses all of her life. She deserved a new home. Since Alex had already had the experience of building the house in Manteca, they were confident that they could build this one, too. With Mom’s help, Alex drew up the plans for the house. Everything was custom made on the premises, even the cabinets and trimmings.

The new three-bedroom home had many conveniences: a sink with running water; a cooking stove with a warming closet on top and a water heater attachment that heated water; a large living room for entertaining company; and a basement for storing canned goods and winter vegetables. The nearby tank house had a nice extra bedroom. Leo and Walter were the first to share the room.

Mother V. had been suffering from kidney stones for many years. The local doctor had been trying to cure her problem with diet and medication. In 1930, her condition became unbearable. The doctor was able to get her into the University of California Hospital in San Francisco as an emergency patient, where she was operated on immediately. The operation was a success, but Mother died from pneumonia a few days later. She was forty years old. In the words of my husband: “May God bless her as she had a heart of gold!”

Mom Vereschagin’s funeral, 1930. (l-r) Dad Vereschagin, Alex holding Elaine, Bill Boyko behind Irene holding Louise, Martha, Walter, Bill, Leo, Jane, Walter Poznoff, Tina, John holding Vernon, Young boys, Harold behind George.

Unfortunately, I never got to meet Mother V., as she died before I met and married Alex. The family always spoke fondly other, so I felt as though I knew her. They said that she was a shy person, unpretentious, and never stood out in a crowd. She had to have been a courageous woman…living in Siberia and then crossing the ocean to unknown lands. She had eight children within fifteen years. It was exceptionally sad that she had not lived long enough to enjoy her new home.

It took a long time for the family to adjust after Mother V. passed away. Dad spent a lot of time reading Tolstoy’s classics and writing letters. Tina became the matron of the house. Not only did she have a baby (Vernon) to care for, but she was in charge of the cooking, baking, washing, and cleaning for all her in-laws living under the same roof. The men were not much help because they were busy farming. Sister Martha helped with the baking whenever she could. For Dad V., home-baked bread was a must. Note: With so many living under one roof, bread had to be baked every other day.

Not too long after Mom V.’s death, Tina’s parents, the Sokorokoffs, decided to move to Orland to be near their one and only daughter. Her only brother William also made the move. They sold their property in Blaine Lake. Dad V. and John located a small farm, suitable for a small orchard, for them to buy on County Road N. There was no house on the property. Alex built them a garage with a bedroom and a small kitchen attached. This would be their temporary home until the main house could be built.

At approximately the same time, a larger piece of property was being offered for sale not very far from the Sokorokoff place. John and Tina decided that it would make a nice location for their home, sometime in the distant future. The Vereschagins bought it and right away the men planted almond trees and alfalfa.

It was apparent that Tina needed help with her household chores. Now that Alex’s divorce was final. Dad V. felt that he should be looking for another wife. They even thought that perhaps Alex should go to Canada and look for a Doukhobor girl. Before that trip ever materialized, Dad went to a funeral in Sheridan. He saw several young Molokan girls, me being one of them. Upon his return home, he told Alex that perhaps he should go to Sheridan and see if he could find a mate. Alex did. We met. We married on May 31, 1931. 

Alex and Ann (Popoff) Vereschagin’s wedding day, 1931.

My Life Begins In Orland

When I woke up my first morning in Orland, Alex had already gone to work, baling hay. Tina was in the kitchen with Vernon. She told me that I could take my time and first get acquainted with the house. The work will come later. She showed me how the shower worked and where the outhouse was.

I spent most of the day organizing our bedroom. Before the wedding, Alex asked me what my favorite color was and how I wanted the bedroom to be painted. I chose mauve and a light green because of a picture I had once seen in a magazine. He painted the walls mauve, the ceiling a light cream, and the furniture was pale green. It was pretty – the nicest bedroom I had ever possessed! The room was not very large, but it was warm and cozy because it faced the west and there was a large shade tree outside the double window. I enjoyed spending time alone in the bedroom – reading, sewing, and thinking.

Gradually, under Tina’s supervision, I learned how to cook the foods that the family liked: borsch, lapsha, peroshki, vareniki, lapshevnik, and baked bread. I even learned how to fry bacon, because, for reasons previously mentioned, my family never ate bacon or ham.

It had been Leo and Walter’s responsibility to milk the cows, but it wasn’t long until Tina and I were milking them instead. There were usually two or three cows to milk. After milking, we used a separator (machine) to separate the cream from the milk. There was a crank that had to be turned by hand in order for the separator to work. Eventually, Alex got an electric motor to run the separator, which made the job easier. Tina and I were both pregnant at the time, so maybe that was the reason for the electric motor.

At first, Tina and I did the cooking, washing, and cleaning together, often getting in each other’s way. We decided to divide the chores into “inside” and “outside” jobs. One week I would work “outside” (milking, weeding the garden, washing clothes) while Tina would work “inside” (cooking and cleaning the house… except for our personal bedrooms). We would switch jobs every week. This division of work proved successful. We did it until John and Tina moved out and into their own home – about five years after my joining the family.

A few days after we were married, I discovered that my husband had another love. His love for “the shop” was something that I had to live with for the rest of our lives together. With that love came the perpetual smell of oil, grease, and carbon, not to mention the problem of getting the oil stains out of his work clothes. I had to keep reminding him to take his soiled clothes and shoes off before coming into the house. He finally started to wear coveralls, except in the summer, when it was too hot.

Alex loved mechanics and building things. He would buy scrap iron, used building materials, and old motors and engines. From these, he was always inventing and constructing things to make farming easier and better. It was many years before he could afford to buy anything new. Note from Virginia: One of my memories growing up was that no trip to San Francisco or Sacramento was complete without a stop at one of Dad’s favorite “junk yards.” He knew them all. “Junk yards” are never in the better neighborhoods. There was never any place for us to shop, so we would have to sit in the car and wait for him.

The “home place”, Orland, California, 1929.

Alex and a group of neighbors got together and constructed a telephone line from Orland, along Road 12, to Road P. This was common practice, known as a “farmer’s line,” which the farmers had to maintain. Telephones were mounted to the wall. Instead of dialing a number, you had to turn a crank to get the operator. (Sometimes several “cranks” before she answered.) You would tell her the number and she would connect you to the party you were calling. Each house on the line had its own special telephone ring. George (Boyko) remembers that their number was 6F13. The F stood for “farmers line,” the 6 was which farmer’s line, and the 1 and 3 denoted the rings – 1 long and 3 short. The “home place” number was 2F12 – 1 long and 2 short rings on farmer’s line 2. Everyone on the line heard all of the rings. You had to listen carefully for your own ring. Note: Listening in on other’s telephone conversations was common. News traveled fast!

It was wonderful when Pacific Telephone Company came to Northern California and replaced all rural telephone lines with new poles, new lines, and equipment. The wall phone was replaced with a desk phone and we were unable to hear our neighbor’s conversations anymore.

John was the entrepreneur of the family. When I came in 1931, he was in the chicken business. I remember him out in the chicken pen, feeding them. I don’t remember whether he sold any eggs or not, nor how much longer he kept the chickens. John also purchased some Trans American stock prior to the stock market crash in 1929. That was his first experience with buying stock. In later years, he became quite knowledgeable and successful investing in the stock market.

This is perhaps a good place to tell about my impressions of Dad V. What stands out in my memory is that you seldom saw him without a Russian newspaper in his back pocket, because he liked to read every spare moment that he had. In addition to the newspapers, he read books by Russian authors. He frequently read and quoted from the Bible. Dad also liked to write. He would practice writing his name over and over again, in both Russian and English. He wrote many letters to relatives and friends. He wrote articles for the Russian newspapers in San Francisco and Los Angeles, as well as the Doukhobor newspaper in Canada. Most of the articles were about the Doukhobors and the Molokans, and their respective philosophies. He wrote about his views on Doukhobor life in the Canadian communes. He was not in sympathy with the leaders of the British Columbia Doukhobor sect, and wrote many articles and letters expressing his views.

Alex W. “Dad” Vereschagin (1878-1946), c. 1931. British Columbia Archives, Koozma J. Tarasoff Collection, C-01894.

My father-in-law was a very convincing speaker and conversationalist. He could stand in front of a large group and talk for hours without notes. People liked to hear him speak, so invited him to many special occasions and celebrations where he would always have something to say. Russian politics was a favorite topic of his, as well as religion.

In addition to speeches, singing was also part of any Russian gathering, and Dad loved to sing. He encouraged us to sing with him. He enjoyed getting us together in the evenings, or whenever we had company, to sing his favorite Russian songs. I hate to brag, but we did have a good chorale when we were all together. Dad had a very nice voice, as did William V. Alex, Tina, Irene, Martha, and Bill Boyko. Note from Virginia: Mom had a terrific singing voice, too!

I remember evenings when the family would gather for socializing on the front lawn. The mosquitoes would be so bad that we had to light a fire in an old pail to keep them from attacking us. The pail was perforated for air. Some dry straw was put in the bottom, then it was filled with dry manure. Once the fire and smoke died down, we all went inside.

Our social life outside of the family was limited during the early years of our marriage. We made a few friends by joining the local Grange (an organization for farmers). We occasionally went to dances in town. We seldom went to the movies. Traveling to Chico, twenty miles away, was a real treat! Tina and I only went there when the men went on business and we were able to tag along and do a little shopping. Most of our shopping was done in Orland. The doctor and the dentist were in Orland, so why go to Chico?

We would also get together with friends at each other’s houses and play cards and other games. The children would go along with their parents (no baby-sitters) and have fun playing their own games until they got tired and had to be taken home. This might sound boring, but in those days, when we were young and did not have much money, it was the only thing to do. Note: Entertaining at home was not very satisfactory, because there were so many other family members living with us.

We had a radio. Amos and Andy, Gracie Allen and George Burns, plus the news and weather reports were our favorite programs. We also had a phonograph with a few records; these were mostly the “big band” music popular at that time. One thing that we didn’t have was television. That didn’t come for twenty more years, in the 1950’s.

I shall never forget our first trip (vacation) after we got married. In between the next irrigation and mowing hay, we took a few days off and went to Mt. Shasta. It was supposed to have been our honeymoon; however, Martha, her children (George and Laverne), Leo, and Walter went with us. We camped at what used to be the Southern Pacific Shasta Springs Park. That was the spot where all trains going north or south would stop to get water for the steam locomotives. Passengers would get off the trains while they took on the water. There was a little store, cafe, and gift shop where the passengers could browse and enjoy the fresh mountain air. A short distance up the hill from the tracks there was a lovely Victorian type hotel called Mt. Shasta Springs Retreat. When the diesel engines replaced the steam engines, the hotel was sold to a religious organization and the trains no longer stopped at Shasta Springs.

The first summer, right after I was married, I learned how to hull almonds. The trees were young, so there were not too many nuts. Tina and I hulled them by hand. Somebody built a bin (hopper) under a tree into which the almonds were dumped. The hopper had holes on the bottom. The almonds would drop through the holes and onto a counter. We sat at the counter, with a gunny sack on each side of us. One sack was for the hulled (outside hulls removed) almonds and the other was for the unwanted hulls.

We picked prunes in the orchard adjoining the “home place” which belonged to a Mr. Fox. At the time, we rented the property. The next year or so, we bought the farm from Mr. Fox with the intention of building a house on it. Dad V. thought that Alex and I should live there, because it was next door and close to the shop where Alex spent most of his time. Note: In 1939, we did build our home there, right across the driveway from the “home place.”

In the early 30’s, we did not have an electric stove. During the winter, we used a wood-burning stove. During the summer, we used a kerosene stove, which I was not fond of because of the smell. The cook stove heated the water for washing and for bathing. Our first refrigerator was an “ice box.” Big chunks of ice were put in it to keep the food from spoiling. Our Maytag washing machine was inside a shed near the house. There was no plumbing nor hot water out there. We had to carry the hot water from the house and the cold water came from a faucet outside the shed.

Alex and Ann Vereschagin shortly after their wedding, 1931.

In September of 1931, three months after we were married, Alex got away from work long enough for us to go and get our wedding picture taken. I was two months pregnant, and did not want a picture taken, but the family thought we should. At the same time, we went to visit my folks in Sheridan.

With the coming of fall, it was time to pick olives and then oranges. Tina and I were exempt, because we were both pregnant; however, we did more cooking because we had extra mouths to feed. Bill and Martha Boyko picked olives for us, so we had to prepare more food for them at lunch and dinnertime. We also baby-sat with Laverne, who was about three years old. I remember that she cried a lot when her mother left her with us. George was older and had started school in September.

Note: As I sit in front of my typewriter today (9/1/93), I am thinking of the past and the things that occurred during my lifetime. I believe that my generation has experienced more progress than any other generation in history… from “the horse and buggy days” to “walking in space.” I have also witnessed big changes in our personal lives. To remember everything is impossible. I am finding it difficult to write the events exactly as they happened and in the right chronological order. If I write an incorrect date, or an event is not exact, please forgive me. I do not want to “step on anyone’s toes.” I merely want to write a brief history of events that molded our family’s life. Please be patient and read on.

More About the 1930’s

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Democrat) was elected the 32nd President. He was the only president to be elected for four terms (1933-1945).

1932 was the dawn of a new era for the Vereschagin family in Orland. It was the beginning of farming expansion and business ventures outside of farming. Growth continued for approximately thirty more years and it required three generations to accomplish the dream.

Alex and John were firm believers in real estate for a long term investment. They had confidence in their abilities. They loved the challenge to try new projects and were not afraid to take chances. Alex learned how to weld so that he could make tanks and steel buildings. When constructing service stations, they both did the plumbing and electrical wiring. They were talented men!

John’s primary talent was husbandry. He knew about plants and trees. He liked to irrigate and supervise the hired help. He played an important role in getting the best price for the farm products as well as purchasing products. John and Alex worked well together. Each one respected the other’s endeavors; they trusted one another at all times. There were differences of opinion on many projects, but they always worked them out to the satisfaction of both. John spent most of his time out in the orchards and fields, while Alex spent most of his time in the shop.

In 1932, Leo was just twenty-two years old. He wasn’t married, so his thoughts were more on his social life than on work; still, he more or less agreed to whatever his two older brothers decided to do in the way of business. When they went into the oil business, Leo became the expert on the operation and maintenance of the gasoline transport trucks. He was good at keeping the Fageol and Kenworth trucks on the road for many miles and many years. This was important because it was the oil business that put us “on our feet.” From the oil business, we were able to invest further in the agricultural business, which happens to be our most productive business today.

The youngest brother, Walter, was sixteen years old; thus a bit young in making decisions. His work at the time was to mainly help his older brothers do what they told him to do. As he got older, he was given more responsibilities.

The spring of 1932 made a big change in my life. I became a proud Mama! Our healthy, happy daughter, Virginia Lee, was born on the morning of April 30th. She was named for her grandmother, Alex’s mother. Doctor S. Iglick, sister-in-law Martha Boyko, and my mother were in attendance at the birth.

Two weeks later, on May 19th, Tina had her second son, John. Dr. Iglick and Martha were also in attendance at that birth. (Note from Virginia: I was told that John and I were a bargain. Dr. Iglick delivered both of us for $50.00.) Now we had two babies in the same house. We had to make a plan as to who got the baby bathtub first. The feeding was easy, as they were both breast fed — usually in our bedrooms. Then there was the diaper washing. Fortunately, our men bought us a new Maytag electric washing machine that even had a self-propelled wringer on it. We felt very lucky indeed. Pampers and clothes dryers had not yet been invented, so the diapers had to be hung on the line to dry. We had a big clothes line, and it seemed that there were diapers fluttering in the breeze all of the time,

In one way, it was nice that we had two babies in the house because they always had someone to play with. They became very good playmates. We each also had a live-in baby-sitter. Whenever John and Tina wanted to go somewhere, Alex and I stayed home with the children. They stayed home when we wanted to take a few hours off. Alex and I didn’t go to many movies, but we did like to go to the dances at the Grange or Memorial Halls.

The men were busy building a large barn to house the hammer-mill for grinding alfalfa hay. The alfalfa that had been planted on John’s place was coming into production and the sale of baled hay was beginning to be very competitive in the Orland area. Alex and John decided to start something new and different. There was a demand for alfalfa meal as a feed for poultry. Mr. Macy, who owned and operated the Macy Feed and Lumber store, suggested to them that they should start making alfalfa meal. He was buying the meal elsewhere for the local poultry producers. At the same time, the local farmers were shipping baled alfalfa hay out of the county.

It was a major undertaking to build that big, high barn on the new property that was to become John and Tina’s home place. They not only had to work long hours, but their construction tools were often inadequate. It also took some dare-devils to volunteer to climb to the top. Miraculously, no one got hurt and the barn was built on time. Brother-in-law Bill had an old Victor grinding mill which he sold to the family, with the agreement that his hay would be included in the process of making alfalfa meal. The old Victor grinder was propelled by tractor-power that used stove oil: a new, refined product for use in tractors. After fixing a few mechanical “bugs” and changes here and there, the men were in business processing alfalfa meal for the local animal and poultry producers. Note: This business only lasted about three years because other opportunities came up that took their time and resources.

To run the new alfalfa meal business, we were buying diesel and stove oil from Mr. Edwards, distributor in Orland for the Shell Oil Company. He suggested that we should set up a tank (500 gallons or more) and take advantage of a break in price for fuel. I think the price of diesel at the time was about $ .06 a gallon delivered. If we were to pick up the fuel at the bulk plant in Chico, the price was $ .02. Stove oil was $ .12 delivered, and would be $ .06 at the plant. That was quite a savings. We took Mr. Edwards’ advice. We bought a used truck with a flatbed and put a two-compartment 500-600 gallon tank on it. Needless to say, the truck and tank were bought from some salvage “junk yard” in Oakland. The tank didn’t have a meter, so we had to pump the fuel out of the tank by hand.

Since we were now buying diesel and stove oil from the bulk plant for the alfalfa meal business, the next logical step was that we started selling fuel to other farmers in the area. This business started in 1932-33. The family bought a couple of used Southern Pacific gasoline railroad cars, one for diesel oil and the other for stove oil. The railroad tankers were set up at the “home place” for storing bulk fuel. We purchased a small tanker truck to be used for delivering fuel to the farmers and heating oil for homes. Since our truck didn’t have a meter, the fuel had to be gravity loaded into certified, five-gallon buckets. These filled buckets were carried by hand, probably two at a time and up a ladder, and then poured into the customer’s tank. For a break in price, rather than having the fuel delivered, some farmers would bring their own steel drums to the “plant.” Note: Although this continued to be called the ‘”home place,” once the gasoline storage tanks were installed, it also became known as the ‘”plant.”

I became the bookkeeper for our fuel business. I also helped the farmers when they came to pick up their own fuel. I had to pay bills and send out invoices every thirty days. I learned how to take inventory at the end of each month and how to balance the books. I had a used hand-crank adding machine and an old cash register that did nothing but open the cash drawer -when you turned the handle. (Three years later we bought a bookkeeping machine that posted sales and credits.)

This new bookkeeping job was in addition to my other household chores. Tina and I continued to share all our “outside” and “inside” jobs. We continued to hand-hull the almonds, can the tomatoes for borscht, make sauerkraut from the extra cabbage, etc. Perhaps the only thing that changed was that our two babies were growing older and were able to entertain themselves for longer periods of time.

By now, Alex and John were getting more and more involved in expanding the bulk plant. Alex built more gasoline storage tanks. John was looking into supplying large farmers and existing service stations with fuel. Walter was beginning to take his turn in driving the small tanker truck, delivering fuel to the local small farmers, homes, and businesses. By 1933, we were supplying diesel and stove oil in Orland, Willows, Capay, Hamilton City, and Coming. We eventually got meters and hoses for the large storage tanks and for the small delivery truck; it was no longer necessary to do the back-breaking task of carrying buckets up a ladder. We were growing and expanding!

In 1934 we bought our first used Fageol truck. It had to be fitted with a large tank (3,000 gallon capacity) and, in order to make the long trips worthwhile, it was necessary to add a large trailer, also with a 3,000 gallon tank. To save money, Alex built the tanks in his shop. To make the tanks round, he used an old outmoded, but functional, roller. He used an old welder purchased from a “junk yard” in Oakland. Alex, with some help from his brother Bill, worked long hours to design, cut, roll, and weld those tanks. Then the tanks had to be mounted on the truck and trailer; a metered pump had to be added; it had to be fitted with hoses; etc. etc. etc. I don’t remember how long it took to get the transport ready to deliver fuel, but I do remember that we didn’t see much of Alex during that time.

We had been buying gasoline and diesel fuel from the Shell Oil plant in Chico. Now we were equipped and ready to purchase a larger quantity for a better price directly from a refinery (Wilshire) in Bakersfield – 400 miles way. Alex was the only one with a truck driver’s license, so he made the Fageol’s first trip. (Besides, he wanted to make sure that everything worked properly.) Since the speed limit for tankers was 25 miles per hour, it took 32 hours to make the round trip. Once John got his trucker’s license, he and Alex took turns driving. The trips were frequent, because, besides stove and diesel oils, we were also now delivering gasoline to farmers in the area. Eventually, when the truck needed repairs and updating; Leo became the ‘^truck expert” of the family. In due time, he passed his truck operator’s license and started to take his turn at the wheel.

On one of my husband’s trips to Bakersfield to pick up fuel, he was asphyxiated. He was always in a hurry, hardly ever stopping to sleep. This time he stopped in one of the small towns between Stockton and Fresno to get a cup of coffee and rest for a short while. He left the engine in the Fageol running while he dozed off. Soon he felt like he was dreaming, yet awake. He was barely able to open the door before losing consciousness and falling on the pavement. The proprietor of the coffee shop saw him fall and went to see what had happened. At first, he thought Alex was drunk, but soon realized that he had passed out from the fumes that he smelled in the cabin of the truck. He called for an ambulance. Alex was very lucky! Of course, we were notified. John, Dad, and I drove down to see him, Alex was able to return home with us. John drove the transport truck back to Orland. From then on, Alex took the time to pull over and take a nap. He had learned his lesson the hard way!

Meanwhile, Mr. Stevenson, the local Shell Oil representative, suggested that we should also consider purchasing our lubricating oils directly from a refinery. He suggested that we contact Barkow Petroleum Company in San Francisco. They had an oil blending and packaging facility in Bakersfield, in the same area as Wilshire and other small refineries. We did contact them and became the first independent oil distributors north of San Francisco.

Note: The Barkow Petroleum Company was also a family partnership. It began with a father and his two young sons. When the father died, the older son took over the running of the office, and the younger (Milton) became the traveling salesman, Milton and his wife Jewel, who traveled a lot with her husband, became very close friends of ours.

The Vereschagins’ Fageol petroleum transport truck and trailor with Mohawk sign painted on side.

We also decided to do business with Mohawk Petroleum Company, instead of continuing with Wilshire. Why? Mohawk was a small refinery, struggling to get started, and anxious for a distributor in northern California. We were looking for a supplier that would give us a good deal, and Mohawk’s offer was the best. Our association with the Mohawk and Barkow Petroleum companies continued for a long time.

Now we had to have an official name for the business. The brothers liked using “Vereschagin” in the name, and also thought that they would like to included the initial “A” in honor of their father. They wondered if “Vereschagin” might be too long and too foreign sounding; thus, too hard to remember. Mr. Marston, one of the owners of Mohawk Petroleum, said that he liked using the name “Vereschagin.” It was “one of a kind.” Once you heard it, you wouldn’t forget it. He suggested that the name could either be “A. Vereschagin and Sons” or “A. Vereschagin Oil Company.” A decision was made; the contract was signed to read: “A. Vereschagin Oil Company.” Note: After Dad Vereschagin’s death, we dropped the initial “A” and our business name became “Vereschagin Oil Company.” This name continued until 1964, when the third generation took over the management of the business. The partnership holdings were first split into five, and then merged into three, separate enterprises: Vereschagin Company, Vereschagin Oil Company, and Plaza Farms. Vereschagin Company remained a partnership, and the other two became operating corporations.

The Fageol truck had to have the name of our company and a logo painted on it for identification. Since we were selling Mohawk gasoline, its logo was to be the head of a Mohawk Indian. This “Mohawk” logo had to also be added to our small delivery truck. Although I had painted the name on the small delivery truck, these paintings had to look more professional, so we hired an Orland painter (Mr. Sevisind) to do the painting and the lettering. He did a superb job and we had the flashiest trucks in town.

Since the truck and trailer transport hauled about 6,000 gallons with each load, Alex now began working day and night to make even larger storage tanks to accommodate the loads of gasoline, diesel, and stove oil. He coaxed his friend Mike Sklarenko, who was a welder in San Francisco, to come up on weekends to help him weld the tanks. Alex and John took turns driving the transport truck to Bakersfield and back. Exhausting schedule!

Note: After we made our first sizable profit from the petroleum business, we were able to repay some debts. We paid off the Federal Land Bank on the mortgage that we had on the “home place.” I believe the debt was about three thousand dollars. We were able to pay brother Bill’s mortgage of $2,500 and sister Martha’s debt of $2,500. This was more or less to even up the family inheritance. Later, other distributions were made to Bill, Martha, and Jane, particularly when they were building their homes.

Around this time, Tina’s brother Bill Sokorokoff and brother-in-law Bill Vereschagin became partners in a business. They opened an appliance and radio store in downtown Orland on Fourth Street. The partnership lasted for several years. After selling the store, Bill S. went into real estate and Bill V. continued with his other ventures.

After the fall harvest in 1934, the two younger boys, Leo and Walter, went on an unannounced adventure together. They withdrew the $500.00 which they had inherited from their mother’s estate, bought a used Ford convertible car, and took off. They didn’t tell anybody where they were going. I remember Bill V. disguising himself one evening and driving around Orland looking for them. It wasn’t until a few days later when someone thought to call Jane that they found out they were in Shafter. Well, when their money ran out, they came back home, chagrined and apologetic. They had had their fling and were ready to go back to work. Incidentally, Walter met his future wife in Shafter.

Also in 1934, John and Tina hired a contractor from Chico to build a house on the farm bought for them by the family. They hired a contractor because they were busy and it would take too long to build on their own. There was an urgency for them to complete their house. Walter was engaged to the girl he met in Shafter, Elizabeth Karyakin. John and Tina would have to vacate their bedroom for the newlyweds. When they moved, Vernon was about five years old and Johnny was about two and a half. I remember that Johnny did not want to move because he didn’t want to leave his big family, his playmate Virginia, and his bedroom. He cried and pulled away from his mom and dad when they were ready to leave.

The first exciting thing that happened in 1935 was that brother-in-law Walter and Elizabeth got married. They were married in the bride’s home in a traditional Russian ceremony. When the newlyweds arrived in Orland, John and Tina’s former bedroom was ready for them. Elizabeth and I were now the “ladies” of the house. We shared the household chores, much like I had with Tina. Walter started driving the local delivery truck, delivering fuel to the farmers. Elizabeth would often go along with him.

We had to find a better way to hull the almonds. Up until now, we were able to keep up by hulling by hand, because the almond orchard was young and the production was light. Now we no longer could keep up, so the men decided to buy a used Miller huller. The decision was made to install the huller in the barn at John’s place. That meant that the alfalfa grinding machine had to be dismantled or moved somewhere else. I think that brother Bill took it to his farm where he continued grinding alfalfa meal. If I remember right, it had been his project in the first place.

We only used the Miller huller for one season; then we bought a brand-new Fadie Huller from the Fadie brothers in Capay. They manufactured almond hullers in conjunction with their own almond orchard business. (In fact, years later, we also bought our second huller from them, after they had moved their business to Gridley.) In time for the 1935 fall harvest, we had a mechanical huller. With the increased production, we had to hire men to knock the almonds off the trees and had to hire women to sort the almonds as they came through the huller on a belt. We also made an arrangement with the Boykos to hull their almonds. Sister Martha worked on the huller, her husband Bill worked knocking almonds for us, and in return we hulled their nuts.

The summer of 1935 was very hot! I was pregnant, and the 110 degree heat, day in and day out, made me nauseous and dizzy. I remember passing out while waiting on a gasoline customer. Early in the morning on August 4, 1935, our second child, a son, was born. Since my husband already had two daughters (Elaine and Virginia), he was ecstatic that it was a boy. We named him Alex, after his father and his grandfather. By Russian tradition, his middle name was also Alex, because that was his father’s name. Remember – Alex, son of Alex?

When three-and-a-half-year-old Virginia woke up, her Dedushka (Dad V.) told her that she had a “‘brother.” Then her dad took her into the bedroom where the baby and Mommy were resting and he also told her that she had a “brother.” I’m not sure whether Virginia knew what a brother was, but she did start calling him “Brother.” From then on, until he became an adult, he was called ‘Brother” by all members of the family.

Alex Jr. and Virginia Vereschagin, 1936.

Shortly after Alex’ birth, I developed a serious problem: I was unable to breast feed and had to pump my breast every hour or so to relieve the pain. The doctor didn’t know what to do for me. He was afraid that I might have cancer so he sent me to Doctor Enloe in Chico. Dr. Enloe was a surgeon; he prescribed immediate surgery. He convinced us that we had no other choice than to have the breast removed. Back in 1935, they didn’t have the sophisticated x-rays, biopsies, and laboratory tests that they have today. Later, we found out that surgery had not been necessary. I did not have cancer; I simply had an infection of the breast (mastitis). Unfortunately, it was too late; the breast had already been removed. When I found out the truth, I was devastated and wished that we had gotten a second opinion. Note: My entire life was affected by this surgical mistake.

Little Alex Jr. was doing just fine. The change over from breast milk to formula did not bother him at all; however, I was depressed with my disfigurement. Fortunately, I had a husband who supported me with kind words and understanding. He made me feel that my figure did not change his love for me. I always respected and loved him for that.

Another blessed event took place on October 16, 1935. A son, James, was born to Bill and Irene V. They now had three living children (Harold, Louise, and James). I went to spend a few days with Irene, helping out wherever I could. Since Alex was just two and a half months old, we had two “little ones” to keep us busy.

Everyone continued working long hours, in both farming and the oil business. Dad V. sometimes helped to wait on customers when they came to get fuel. He would also entertain the children. Usually, he spent most of his time either reading or writing or visiting with the Sokorokoffs and the Wolins (another Russian family who had settled in Orland). They had a lot in common, so they enjoyed each other’s company.

In June of 1936, Dad decided that he wanted to go to Blaine Lake to visit his relatives. He also thought it was time that Leo got married. If he took Leo along as his chauffeur, then perhaps he could meet a Doukhobor girl to marry. Although Dad didn’t come right out and tell Leo his thoughts, Leo got the picture. I remember him telling his dad that he was willing to drive him to Blaine Lake, but he was not going to Canada to find a wife. Contrary to his resolve, when Leo arrived there, he met Irene Kabatoff. Dad later told us that when he saw Irene wearing Leo’s hat, he knew that Leo was “smitten.” They were married that July at the Blaine Lake Doukhobor Prayer Home in a traditional ceremony.

As soon as we heard that Leo had gotten married, Alex and I knew that we had to vacate our bedroom for the newlyweds. It was understood by our generation, without question, that the first son to get married was the first to move out. John and Tina had already moved; now it was our turn.

The question was, where to go? We had the property next door which had been designated for Alex, but we could not yet afford to build a house. So, in the interim, we decided to move into the small room in the tank house. The room was about 12×12, into which we had to crowd our bedroom set plus Virginia’s bed and Alex’s crib. I don’t think the room had a closet for our clothes. There were no bathroom facilities nor running water, so we still had to use the main house for bathing and dressing. Somehow we managed to keep our sanity for the two and a half years we stayed there.

In 1937, Alex developed a very painful case of sciatica in his leg and hip. It got so bad that he was unable to work or sleep. The doctors told him that rest was the only cure. In July we decided that perhaps the hot waters would help relieve the pain. Someone told us about Hobo Hot Springs, east of Bakersfield on the Kern River. We packed some camping gear, put the two children in the car, and took off. Alex was unable to drive so he stretched out on the back seat and I had both of the children in front with me. When we arrived at Hobo Hot Springs, we found that there was nothing there except a small hot spring, no bigger than a sauna, and one other camper. No stores and no ranger. I had to set up camp by myself which was not easy because I had never known how to pitch a tent nor start a campfire. We were right at the edge of the Kern River (not very wide at that elevation) and I worried all the time that the children (ages 5 and 2) would be swept away by the swift current. I practically tied them down at night. We stayed about two weeks. Alex took many hot baths in the spring and tried to rest. The children enjoyed the rocks and the little sand that was there. I practiced learning how to make a fire to cook our meals. Wish we had photographs to remember those two weeks, but in those days we did not take many pictures.

Alex didn’t see any improvement in his leg or hip, so we went home. The rest of the summer he continued to suffer with the sciatica. He would go to Stony Creek behind our place, taking Virginia along to bury his entire body in the hot sand, thinking that might help. He eventually got over the problem and went back to work in the shop.

Soon after Alex went back to work, we hired a man to help around the plant and to cleanup around the shop. His name was George. (I can’t remember his last name.) He was an elderly man, who came to us needing a home. The men fixed him up with a bedroom in the storage barn that was close to the house. He ate his meals with the family. After working for us for about a year, he had an accident and hurt his back. Now he was unable to work and had no place to go, so we let him stay and took care of him. Eventually, he left us. I’m not sure where he went; it may have been to a veteran’s home.

Leo, Ann and Alex Vereschagin. The old machine shop in the background, 1938.

After George left, we remodeled his bedroom in the storage bam into an office. Up until then, I had been working at a desk in the house. This new office was much better because there was more room for a desk; there were shelves for books and files, and a counter for conducting business transactions. The men installed a telephone and an electric heater. Not only was I happy with the new office, but Dad V. was happy, too. He now had his desk in the house back. Here he would sit for hours, writing his letters and articles to the Russian newspapers.

Note: When we outgrew this office and moved into another, the room became a storage room, but it continued to be called “George’s Room.” My son, Alex, who now lives at the “home place,” has a sign over the door that says: George’s Room.

Fred Sokorokoff, Tina’s father, decided to build a new house. The two-room garage was getting crowded. Son Bill needed a bedroom of his own, and Mr. Sokorokoff’s mother was also now living with them. She was close to one hundred years old and was ailing. In fact, she didn’t get to live in the new house very long because she passed away in 1939.

Mr. Sokorokoff asked Alex to design and build the house. It was, and is, a nice house with all the modem facilities of the day. It had a large glassed-in porch on two sides. Mr. Sokorokoff insisted on the best materials available at the time. He was extremely meticulous with his house, garden, and small farm. You couldn’t find even a feather on his lawn. He mowed the grass around the orchard that surrounded his home so that it, too, looked like lawn. He had a green Chevrolet touring car. He kept it in perfect condition. After his death, his son Bill sold it to a local collector of vintage cars.

To get back to the house, Alex agreed to design and build it. He had plenty to do for our own business, but he wanted to help Mr. Sokorokoff; which in return helped John and Tina. Alex also felt that the extra money he made would help the family company. You see, he did not put that money into his own bank account. It all went into the family pot, as usual.

By this time, each family was getting a small allowance for their personal use. I don’t remember the amount, but I am sure that it was not very much. All the big purchases and expenses were paid by the company with no accounting as to recipients. Likewise, all money earned went into the company account and were dispensed with no questions asked.

In 1938, the oil business continued to expand. Our one Fageol truck needed constant repair; thus was inadequate to keep up with the demand. Another transport truck was needed. We still could not afford a new truck and trailer, so Alex, John, and Leo decided to buy another used Fageol truck. Besides, a war was “brewing,” and new equipment was almost impossible to find. Fortunately, they were able to put new tanks and metered pump valves on the used transport truck.

When the second Fageol was ready for the road, we again hired the same local painter to paint the name, logo, and capacity, as required by law. We hired Leo’s friend, Ed Berkland, to alternate with Leo in driving the trucks to Bakersfield and back. We also had a relief driver by the name of Paul Blaine, to help with the driving when needed.

In the spring of 1937, Alex and I started to prepare the lot designated for our future home across the driveway from the “home place.” We first planted ash trees along the driveway and an umbrella tree on the west side for shade. We also planted a cedar deodara tree in what was to be the front of the house. To irrigate the trees during the summer, I had to tote water, two buckets at a time, from a faucet at the “home place.” The trees flourished and provided wonderful shade for many years. In fact, many of the original trees are still growing and providing shade to this day. Note: In Orland, shade trees were very important because in those days there were no air conditioners. A few homes had window swamp coolers, which were very ugly. The air coming out of a cooler was so strong that a person could not sit directly in front of it. Everything in front of the cooler, particularly papers, had to be secured for fear of blowing away.

On July 11, 1938, there was another blessed event in the family. A son, Donald, was born to Leo and Irene. Donald was Dad V. ‘s twelfth grandchild.

In 1938, Alex ordered a carload of lumber from Oregon and we actually started to build our very own home. It was a slow process because, to save money, Alex wanted to do most of the work himself. Building the house dragged on for almost a year. We had to work on our house whenever we could find spare time. Most of the time we worked way into the night under lights. I remember nailing the sub-floor myself because Alex was either driving the truck or working on a tank. We didn’t hire a carpenter until it was time to stand up the walls and the roof. Then we got Mr. Belch from Chico to help us. (He was the same carpenter who had built John and Tina’s house). We also hired more help when it came to making cabinets and window trimmings, and installing appliances.

After all the carpenter work was finished, I filled in the nail holes on all the cabinets, doors, and window trims, preparing them for painting. There were millions of nails and they were very hard to see. I would go back over and over to make sure that I had all the holes filled in with putty. Then it was up to me to paint. For best results, first time painting requires three coats of paint. The house had three bedrooms, a living-dining room, kitchen, bath, screened porch, and a service porch. It must have taken me months to complete the painting; and I was still having to do my share of the family chores plus the bookkeeping for the family business.

My sister Mary surprised us by going to Reno and marrying James Timothy (“Tima”) Loskutoff on May 21, 1938. His parents were unhappy that they did not have a traditional Molokan wedding. They insisted upon at least a church blessing and a small family reception. Sister Hazel was Mary’s bridesmaid. For some reason, we were unable to attend the festivities.

In the fall of 1938, while all the work on the house was going on, Virginia was ready to start first grade. (At that time, there was no Kindergarten in Orland.) Since she had spent her entire life surrounded by family, speaking Russian, I took her to school that first day, anticipating tears. She surprised me. She went right in, was introduced to her teacher (Miss Miller), who in turn propelled her to a few other little girls. Miss Miller said that she would call me if there was a problem I went home and waited for a phone call. Nothing happened. At two o’clock, when I went back to pick her up, she chatted all the way home about the friends that she had met and how nice her teacher was. Once she got home, she changed into her play clothes, and began playing school. After a few days of my driving her to school and back home, she started to go by herself on the school bus. Her cousin Johnny also started school in the same classroom. Perhaps their being together helped in the adjustment.

Alex was three years old, and he missed his sister. She was his only playmate at home; although she sometimes bored him by always wanting him to play house, with her as ‘”Mommy” and him always having to be the “baby.” Now Alex started to become more and more attached to Dad V., his Dedushka. They became very good friends, always speaking in Russian. (All of the children spoke Russian before they learned English.) Dedushka would take little Alex to “help” him work in the garden. They would go for rides together, either to oversee the orchard west of town, or to visit brother-in-law Bill and their son Jim. Jim was the same age as Alex, so they would have fun playing together.

Ann, Virginia, Elaine, Alex and Alex Jr., 1939.

Thinking of Virginia and Alex as small children, I just remembered the following incident:

One day, when Alex was about two and Virginia about five, Dedushka took them along for a ride. He put them in the back seat and took off. Fortunately, he never drove very fast out of the driveway. After crossing the canal and going down the road a bit, he turned around to check on the children, and didn’t see Alex. In Russian, he asked Virginia, “Where’s Brother?” She replied, “He fell out a long time ago.” Dad V. panicked, backed-up, and found Brother standing and crying on the side of the road. Alex and I took him to the doctor. After a thorough examination, the doctor said that all he had was a bruised shoulder and collar bone. At the time it was a scary incident. Now, humor has been added when retelling the story.

The fuel capacity of our old local delivery truck was inadequate. Whenever switching from stove oil to gasoline and vice versa, the truck driver had to clean out the tank. This was inefficient and costly. Furthermore, the truck was beginning to have frequent break downs. The men decided to order a new truck and chassis without a tank, pump, or meter. Alex was to build the tank himself.

There were wars going on in Europe: Mussolini invaded Ethiopia in 1935; the Germans occupied the Rhineland in 1936; and Hitler marched into Austria in 1938. This turmoil in Europe also affected the United States. New cars and trucks were not readily available to the common folk; however, we put in an order for a new Diamond T truck. All orders were on a priority list, and it could take months, if not years, to get our new truck. We were fortunate. In June of 1937, a brand new red Diamond T truck arrived. Alex immediately went to work building the tank and outfitting it for delivering fuels. He rolled the steel, cut to shape, and welded the edges. I think the tank had three compartments for fuel. He installed the pump, valves, and meter. The finished product looked very much like a factory job. Alex was proud of his accomplishments, and everyone else was, too.

I remember Alex working late into the night on that truck. He would be banging on the steel, and the arc from the welder would light up the night sky, keeping everyone awake. Dad V. would open the window and yell: “Alex, please stop your noise and go to bed!” Alex kept going because he wanted to finish it before the Glenn County Fair, early in September. He made it! Walter and Elizabeth got to ride in the truck in the fair parade. After completing the Diamond T delivery truck, Alex changed the first Fageol truck to a semi. Now, instead of using it for the long trips to Bakersfield, the truck was used mainly to deliver fuel to big farmers and rice growers.

By 1939, we pretty well were phased out of the “livestock” business. Brother Bill V. had already taken over the hay grinding business. We women, who had been milking the cows and separating the milk, were having babies; therefore we had little time nor energy left for milking cows. Besides, we didn’t have a pasture nor the hay to feed the cows. So, we started to buy bottled milk. Thank goodness!

In February of 1939, we finally moved into our new home. It was such a relief to move out of the cramped condition in the tank-house. Although our house took a long time to complete, we were very happy with the outcome because we knew we had the best materials and good carpenters, finishers, and painters. One of our experts was my cousin, John Popoff. He installed all the hardwood floors and linoleum in the house. He was a professional, and we were fortunate to get him.

Alex and Ann Vereschagin’s new home on Road 12, 1938.

Most of our social life continued to revolve around the family. On Sundays we would meet at each other’s homes for spiritual needs, as well as a day of rest. In Russian you would say that we met to have a sobranya (a gathering). A traditional Russian meal was always part of the celebration. The adults would sit at one table, and the children got to sit together at another table. The children especially enjoyed these Sunday meetings, because they had an opportunity to play with their cousins. Occasionally, they were asked to participate in the singing of the Russian hymns. Note from Virginia: I fondly remember our Sunday get-togethers. I remember catching frogs at Fred Sokorokoff’s; lying on our backs in the front yard of the “home place,” watching for shooting stars; and the two oldest cousins, Harold and George, telling us scary ghost stories.

During this time, San Francisco was busy building Yerba Buena Island for the World’s Fair. It was a huge undertaking because the island had to be made bigger to accommodate all of the exhibits, administration buildings, parking facilities, etc. The “Expo” opened in 1939. In September of that year, John, Tina, Alex, and I took a whole day off from work and went to the fair. It was an exciting experience. We left home early and returned in the wee hours of the next morning. Later, Alex and I went one more time, this time taking our children.

In 1939, we sponsored a Russian immigrant, Mr. Byrak, to come live with us. Dad V. had corresponded with him while he, Mr. Byrak, lived in Russia and then immigrated to China. The sons felt that Dad needed to have a companion; besides, sponsoring him was a humanitarian thing to do. The Tolstoy Foundation in New York was instrumental in helping to get Mr. B. here. On our part, it took several trips to San Francisco and reams of paperwork to complete the process. He finally arrived and settled down in the tank-house bedroom. Unfortunately, he was not well when he arrived, and soon was diagnosed as having cancer of the throat. He did not live more than a few months before passing away. We took good care of him as long as he was with us. He died in the bed we provided for him. He is buried at the Odd Fellows Cemetery.

In June of 1940, Dad V. got the idea that it was time for him to pay another visit to Canada, and he wanted to take some of his family with him. He not only wanted the companionship, but he also wanted his own choir of singers. (Remember – Russians sing a lot when they get together, both for religious reasons and for entertainment. At large gatherings, there are always lots of speeches and singing, especially between courses at mealtime. Guests are often called upon to sing their own special songs.)

Obviously everyone in the family could not go on the trip to Canada. Since the trip was conceived and organized by Dad V., he was the one who decided on his traveling companions. Those that went were: Walter and Jane Poznoff with their son, Robert; Martha Boyko with her daughter, Laverne; Irene with her son. Jimmy; Dad V., Alex, and I. Walt drove his car, and Alex drove our new four-door Chrysler sedan.

Alex and I left our two children (Virginia was eight and Alex was almost five) with my parents in Sheridan. It gave them a chance to get to better know their Dedushka and Babushka Popoff. Note from Virginia: Mom and Dad left enough dimes for us to walk each day to the nearby store for an ice cream treat. We could see the railroad tracks from the kitchen window, so got to count how many boxcars there were on the freight trains. We got to go swimming in Bear Creek with our Sohrakoff cousins. One time, Uncle John surprised us with a visit. He came on the transport truck. Best of all, I got to paint my fingernails – something my dad never let me do. I even painted Brother’s nails. Such fun!

Since this was my first long trip, I remember a lot of the details. I was going farther than I had ever traveled, and was meeting many new relatives. I remember that we ate five and six times a day in different houses. We had to bathe and change clothes often, because of the humidity. And how can anyone forget the mosquitoes? They were the biggest and fiercest I had ever seen!

I mentioned the choir. Walt Poznoff had a beautiful bass voice. Jane, Martha, and Irene sang alto. Dad V. was a strong baritone. Alex was also a baritone, and carried a tune pretty well. I was a soprano and started the songs. (Russian singing is all a cappella. The “starter” sings the first line to set the pitch and then the other singers join in. This happens with each new verse of a song.) That was our choir. We sang our songs over and over everywhere we went. In Blaine Lake, the people who heard us sing titled one of our songs as “The Vereschagin Song.”

These are but a few details from our trip: We spent our first night with the Dobrinins in Peoria, Oregon. Next we went to Medicine Lake, Washington, to visit Mr. and Mrs. Simchuk. Then we went to Shore Acres and Creston B.C. to visit some of Dad’s nieces. Everyone insisted on entertaining us, so it was exhausting. We were on a tight schedule, because we wanted to be in Blaine Lake for St. Peter’s Day (June 29th). It was cherry picking time in Creston. We all ate far too many cherries and suffered the consequences the next day. Another niece that we visited lived on a large wheat farm in Pincher Creek, Alberta, about fifty miles east of the Continental Divide. From there, it was a very long day’s journey to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. We stayed in our first hotel, the King George (I think). The bathrooms were down the hall, so we didn’t have too much luxury. The next day was much easier, as we only had to go sixty miles to get to our next destination, Blaine Lake. There, we first stopped to visit with Dad’s sister Parania and husband George Popoff. They invited all of their children and other close relatives for an evening of eating, talking, and singing. We were assigned to spend the night in the homes of various relatives. We had to get some rest, as the next day was St. Peter’s Day.

What is St. Peter’s Day? The Doukhobors celebrate it every year on June 29th. This is the day, in Russia, in the year 1895, that the Doukhobors gathered all their firearms and burned them, protesting the conscription edict that all young men of military age must serve in the Russian army. It is the day to remember all of those who suffered and died for the cause. It was also Peter V. Verigin’s birthday, hence the name. It is a very important day for the Doukhobors. All work stops and everyone goes to the sobranya.

For many years on Peter’s Day in Blaine Lake, the church was not large enough to accommodate all the people, so they rented a large tent, set it up on a vacant lot, and held the services there. After the church service, everybody stayed for a family style picnic. There was never any shortage of food. Every lady tried to outdo the other. A special treat was the first watermelon of the season. They got their watermelons from Texas and/or Mexico. The shipment usually conveniently arrived around St. Peter’s Day.

The Vereschagin family, 1938. [top l-r] Irene, Tina, Harold, Irene, William, Martha, George, Ann, Walter, Jane, Elizabeth. [middle l-r] Leo, holding Donald, John, William, James, Dad, Alex, Alex Jr., Walter. [bottom l-r] Vernon, John, Louise, Laverne, Virginia, Robert.

After lunch, the older generation would all go back into the tent to listen to various choir groups perform and if there were guests from out of town, they would be asked to speak. Needless to say, we sang, and Dad V. spoke. Around five o’clock, everyone went home for chores and a rest, before returning for the evening sobranya. I remember sitting on the platform in front of the congregation, barely able to keep my eyes open. I had to stay awake, because we were expected to sing throughout the service. (To help me stay awake, I watched the huge mosquitoes on the ceiling.)

We spent the next week in Blaine Lake. To keep our social calendar running on schedule, Dad appointed his nephew (another Alexei Vasilyevich Vereschagin) to be our secretary. Alexei had to keep us posted as to where we were to go next. Without him, it could have been a disaster. He, and his wife Masha, went everywhere with us. It was hard to leave a house right after eating, but Alexei would keep us moving, so that we would be on time to the next house – and more food.

Next we had to go 200 miles farther east to Kamsack, Saskatchewan, to visit Dad’s friend, Gregory F. Vanin and family. Mr. Vanin was one of the young men savagely beaten by the Russian military in 1896. He had also been banished to Siberia. The Vanins had lived in Orland for a short while before World War I; thus, the Vanin children (Anna, Jim, and Margaret) had become good friends with William, Martha, Alex, and Jane.

It rained the entire day we traveled from Blaine Lake to Kamsack. When we got to the country road leading to the Vanin’s, it was very muddy and slippery. The mud had built up on our tires, so there was no traction. The wheels started to spin, and before we knew it, our car turned completely around and we were facing Walt’s car. Luckily, Walt was far enough behind us that we did not hit one another. It was so frightening that we actually started laughing. What an experience! That evening, I remember listening to Dad and Mr. Vanin talk about their lives in Siberia and the Doukhobor politics in Canada.

While traveling, we did not keep up with the international news. Because of the war in Europe, we had been warned that it was possible that the border between the U. S. and Canada might be closed. We didn’t take it seriously. We felt that the warning was merely to prepare us for a possible delay in crossing when we returned to the U.S. We thought that we had all the necessary papers, so we’d have no problems. We just went on our merry way; however, when we arrived back at the border, we ran into a lot of problems. The border had been closed shortly after we had entered Canada. Now, we learned that Irene and Martha did not have the proper papers and that they could not cross back into the U.S. They had to get the proper affidavits from Orland, etc., etc. We had no choice but to leave them at the border and go home to work on their release.

As soon as we got home, the paper work began. Fifteen-year old George Boyko, Martha’s son, wrote a letter to Eleanor Roosevelt, the President’s wife, asking for help in getting his mother home. Other affidavits and legal papers were wired to the border. Although Martha and Irene were comfortable in a hotel, they were anxious to get home. (Their children, Laverne and Jimmy, did not stay with them, but returned home with us.) Within a couple of weeks, they were released and returned to Orland by bus.

Uncle Ivan Remembered

by Charlie Chernoff

The following is an excerpt from the recently printed family history book compiled and edited by Charlie Chernoff.  The book, entitled “Chernoff Family History – Evstafy Branch”, is a collection of memoirs, family stories and genealogical information about his Chernoff Doukhobor ancestors.  Mr. Chernoff writes about his recollection and perception of memorable incidents, relationships and personalities while growing up in the Village of Veregin, Saskatchewan in the Thirties and Forties.  Here, Mr. Chernoff recalls “Uncle Ivan”, a larger-than-life individual whose personality, accomplishments, appearance and actions left a lasting impression on one young Doukhobor boy. 

Uncle Ivan was not a bloodline uncle, in fact he was not a bloodline relative at all. His wife Dunya was a distant relative to my mother but distance mattered little in Doukhobor family relationships. It seems that distant relatives were as warmly received as close relatives. And so it was then that I was introduced to Dunya as Kuzka (diminutive of Kuzma, my Russian name) and she was introduced to me as “auntie”. Her husband Ivan then became “uncle” Ivan and from that first meeting on I was expected to address him as uncle and if referring to him in family conversation refer to him as uncle Ivan.

Author’s mother in Veregin, Saskatchewan, 1918.

This was one of the wonderful traditions of the Doukhobor way of life; distant relatives were auntie and uncle to children. Since nearly every family in a village was related in some way or another to every other family in the same and nearby villages, children had dozens and dozens of aunts and uncles. I remember my children visiting a distant, distant relative who by tradition was aunt Mary and by tradition she received our children as warmly as if they were her own grandchildren. Whenever we visited her home she would greet the children with the warmest glee imaginable then scurry off to some hiding place to bring out some candy treats. What a wonderful tradition! The children in the community were looked after by all adults (since, it seemed, they were in some distant way related) which led to warmness, harmony and safety.

Now uncle Ivan was no ordinary individual. As a young Doukhobor he was home schooled to read and write formal Russian besides speaking “Doukhobor” Russian. I better explain that there was a peculiar tradition invoked when one conversed locally because one spoke Doukhobor Russian which had its own idioms, its own inflections and its own cadence. It was not heavy with the hard “G” and harsh “R”. Many words carried the soft “H” and softer “R” that is common in the Ukrainian spoken tongue. Doukhobor Russian was accompanied by obvious gesticulations and body language which often conveyed an important message while words spoken were few. A good example is the phrase “von mahnul i pashol“.  This meant that the individual waved his arm downwards from the elbow to the palm and left, meaning he disagreed and was not going to indulge in further conversation and went his way. 

Uncle Ivan was a voracious reader, so his Russian vocabulary was much richer than the regular Doukhobor. He also wrote fluent formal Russian. It is peculiar again, that although Doukhobors conversed in Doukhobor Russian they wrote in proper and fluent Russian even though their vocabulary might be limited. I remember how impressed many of the community people were because Uncle Ivan was one of the few persons they ever met who had read and studied the New Testament. My mother had a book of the New Testament in Russian but she read only parts of it and did not study it but simply enjoyed the metaphors.

Uncle Ivan enjoyed addressing sobranias, which were meetings or prayer assemblies. Since he had an extended vocabulary he was able to wow the crowd. He was not shy so he got a lot of practice at public speaking and since his speeches were non-controversial nor demeaning the crowd enjoyed his deliveries. Dad says that one day uncle Ivan was particularly wound up and reached for many uncommon, extraordinary Russian words and phrases to make his point. The crowd was entranced and gave him a standing ovation. Later Dad was talking to Victor, a Russian gentleman with a formal Russian education who had chosen to live near the Doukhobors. Victor remarked that uncle Ivan had delivered a rousing speech but that many of the bigger, flowery words were definitely the wrong words to use. No matter the crowd loved it.

Uncle Ivan was also an accomplished artisan. When the combined communal prayer home and Peter V. Verigin residence was being constructed in Veregin he was the individual who designed and fabricated the ornamental sheet metal scroll work that adorns the upper part of the balconies. A masterful job.

The Dom at Veregin, Saskatchewan, 1935.

Uncle Ivan was a mainstay in the CCUB (the early communal organization of the Canadian Doukhobors) during its formative years. He served this organization in several capacities but over time his confidence in the continued ability of the communal enterprise to survive as a productive, vibrant, commercially successful co-operative waned so when the Communal Doukhobors and Peter V. Verigin moved to BC uncle Ivan chose to become an Independent Doukhobor and stay behind as a farmer near Veregin.

Uncle Ivan had many great qualities but he had one weakness. He enjoyed too much the “bottled devil” and visited him too often. But even when he had too much of the wrong kind of spirit in him he remained calm and demure and loving. He would always refer to his wife as his Kosha, meaning “kitten”.

To this day I vividly remember one afternoon, in late fall after the harvest was in, when uncle Ivan came ambling towards our store, a bit awkwardly, from the direction of the beer parlor. He had enjoyed an afternoon of visiting the bottled devil and had taken leave not because his thirst was quenched but because he had run out of money. He turned into our store and since it was late and everyone else had left he begged my father to fill the grocery order that his Kosha had sent with him. To fill it now but to delay payment until some time when he came into some money. Since my Dad had suffered the self same affliction years earlier he recognized that a fellow squanderer needed to be assisted without argument. As Dad began to pack the few essentials into a bag he asked me to lock the store and pull the shades.

Author as a child in Veregin, 1937.

Having done this my chores at the store were completed for the day so I retreated to our living quarters that adjoined the store. I went to my room upstairs to work on my homework. It was a couple of hours later that I came downstairs to see if Mom had supper ready. She informed me that supper was indeed ready for the table and I was to see what was delaying Dad in the store. I opened the door from the living quarters into the store only to find both my Dad and uncle Ivan bawling their eyes out. My dad had spent those couple of hours convincing uncle Ivan that his drinking was only lowering his stature amongst the community residents, distancing his sons from him and that it was a totally selfish behavior and unfair to his Kosha.  I cleared my throat and spoke up announcing supper. This gave both of them the opportunity to dry their eyes and exchange hugs and then I let uncle Ivan out the store door with his groceries.

Uncle Ivan never drank again.

In fact one day Uncle Ivan whilst in one of his expansive moods declared “Ehhh! Nikolai if I had an enemy and he were antagonizing me I would be moved to place a curse on his soul and the nature of the curse would be that he become an alcoholic”. Dad agreed this would work, then added that if he had an enemy and was being antagonized he would wish the proprietorship of a small general store upon him.

At another time I asked Dad how long it took uncle Ivan to complete work on the forty ornamental sheet metal panels. Dad replied that he had no idea but that it must have been a long time since all the ornamental perforations were cut out with a hammer and cold chisel. After some cogitation I continued with the comment that it must have been awful boring. Dad replied that he did not think so because uncle Ivan kept his companion nearby.

When I inquired as to what he meant about his companion. Dad painted this scenario – uncle Ivan would carry his tools to the shade of some trees bordering the property then drag the sheet metal under a tree settle down comfortably and commence to chisel out the perforations. Periodically he would check the landscape to make sure that no women were about then reach for his companion and take a good long pull from the jar of homebrew. Apparently this kept him going all day long with nary a complaint.

Another day after uncle Ivan had visited with us at the store and left I remarked to Dad what a decent and friendly and wise individual he was. Dad said that uncle Ivan took great pride in being known as a caring, loving individual of unquestioned integrity. Then he commenced to tell me that there were widespread rumors amongst the Independent Doukhobors that some community fund raised monies had been siphoned off never to surface again. It seems that because of uncle Ivan’s undisputed integrity and power of persuasion he was often sent alone to collect money for some project or other. There were no receipts issued nor any lists made of the exact sum given by each individual so it would have been easy to “skim” the pot. Uncle Ivan had heard stories of collected funds being skimmed more then once so, as a counterclaim, he had proudly announced to Dad that he never stole a cent. Well, he took some for a jar of homebrew now and then but that he regarded to be an “operating expense”.

Railway station and elevators at Veregin, Saskatchewan, 1935.

I learned one of life’s grandest lessons from uncle Ivan. One cold day he was warming himself near the store stove when a young, recently married man came in for groceries. Spotting Ivan the “Elder Doukhobor” sitting near the stove he sauntered over and confided that he had a family problem and maybe Ivan would hear him out and give him some advice. Uncle Ivan was not in a habit of turning anybody down so he replied that he had time to hear him out to see if he could help. The young man told a story of a running conflict with his new in-laws, that they were meddling in his and his new wife’s affairs. He said that he did not want to distance himself from them nor offend his new wife but that he needed more breathing room. Uncle Ivan waited until the young man had calmed down some then he commenced to ask questions. I was listening in without appearing to be listening in. Uncle Ivan’s question’s seemed to have little to no thread to them. They were sort of a shotgun approach to the specific problem. The young man would answer every question with considerable elucidation. After quite a number of these, pointless to my mind, questions the young man suddenly cried out, “That is it! That is what I must do!”, and he began pumping uncle Ivan’s hand and thanking him for the great advice he had given him. Of course, uncle Ivan had not given any advice at all, he had only asked questions to help define the problem. Once the problem was well defined, the young man immediately saw how it ought to be solved. Uncle Ivan’s contribution had nothing to do with offering a solution but had everything to do with defining the problem. I guess it is a technique that was often used by the elders of the Doukhobor community.

Many years later after I had worked in industry for a number of years and had been appointed supervisor of a software programming group I would often be sought out by an employee who wanted advice on how to handle a personal problem. I would recall the serious interest uncle Ivan would show in a fellow’s problem so I would try to emulate the same serious interest and then begin to define the problem by asking the employee questions. Once the problem was well defined every employee I counseled suddenly said thank you for the advice that will certainly work. No specific advice was ever given!

The Chernoff family home near Veregin, Saskatchewan as it appears today.

Aunt Dunya, Ivan’s Kosha, was also a community activist. Dunya was a practicing mid-wife who participated in the delivery of many babies for Doukhobor families who asked for her services. The Doukhobor tradition was to have mid-wives trained in the art and science of delivering newborns because they were not comfortable with outside interference even doctors. Now this was not academic training but apprenticeship type training where ladies who showed interest in providing the service worked as assistants with experienced mid-wives. Through observation and discussion and hands on practice the helpers moved on to become trusted mid-wives. We have already alluded to community specialists such as artisans but in addition there were architects, carpenters, harness makers, dental technicians, bone setters and so on. But none was as important as a mid-wife. After all, mid-wives dealt with situations which could easily escalate into life and death situations. It was an awesome responsibility for a lady to take on a mid-wife role because she knew that the “expecting” family realized that they were entrusting the mother-to-be and the child-to-be into her hands. Any miscalculation or lapse of concentration could result in the death of mother or child or both. It took an individual of uncommon resolve and self confidence with nerves of steel yet displaying outward tenderness to successfully fulfill the mid-wife role. Dunya helped deliver babies into the 1940’s. My cousin Timofey was delivered by Dunya in the early ’40’s in the family bedroom with nothing more then helpers, hot water from the kitchen, plenty of clean towels and a boundless supply of tenderness and comfort.

Uncle Ivan and his beloved Kosha are gone now. I can only regret that I did not take the time to interview him about the early days of the CCUB. Why didn’t I plumb the depths of his philosophy of life or his understanding of the Doukhobor way of life? I am certain he would have had wise contributions to make on these and other subjects because he thought deep, he thought clearly and he thought often. Also I can imagine what interesting experiences I could have recorded that Dunya had encountered in her role as a community benefactor.

As my Dad would say. I would like to kick my own behind if only I could reach.

Memories of the Holoboff Family

by Russell A. Holoboff

Russell A. Holoboff (1918-1991) was born in Veregin, Saskatchewan to Independent Doukhobor parents.  In 1922, at the age of four, he accompanied his family to Los Angeles, California seeking a better life and warmer climate.  Life stateside, however, proved to be disappointing, and in 1929, at the age of eleven, he returned with his family to the Veregin district where they resumed farming.  Russell’s boyhood during the Depression was filled with hard work and responsibilities beyond his years, but there was also laughter, adventure, and the love of family and friends.  Russell would later write that, “there was no money for anything…one just did the best with what he had…but in spite of all this, there was still joy and laughter.”  His memoirs of his boyhood, reproduced here by permission, are an evocative picture of a way of life that will bring back memories of anyone who grew up there, and make the Prairies come alive for those who didn’t.   

Foreward

Russell Holoboff, my uncle, was the fourth son of my grandfather, Alexei A. and Mary J. Holoboff, a pair I have always known as simply “Baba and Dyeda”. Ever since finding a copy of my uncle’s memoir among my late mother’s things, it has been a lamp that has helped to illuminate the darkness of my knowledge about my Russian background. I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to Jonathan Kalmakoff for allowing me to contribute my Uncle Russell’s memoir to the Doukhobor Genealogy Website which he so generously shares with us all. His research has been profoundly helpful in my understanding of my Russian Doukhobor ancestors, a lineage of which I am very proud. I would also like to thank my cousin Laurie Holoboff Verstegen, Russell’s daughter, for her kind permission to publish her father’s invaluable memoir. To my dear departed Uncle Russ: “Я люблю вас.”

Lisa Holoboff, Los Angeles, California, 2006

As I sit back in my easy chair, my mind drifts back to where I first experienced life in a very small village in the northern part of Canada, the province of Saskatchewan…

It was late at night when the Holoboff family disembarked from a train on the C.N.R. rail line. The train is one of those old locomotives, with live steam and a long, mournful whistle only the old people can remember.

We are arriving from California (circa 1929). We are met by my brother Alex, his wife Polly, and their daughter, Nora. Nora is only a couple of years younger than me. I knew her when they lived in Los Angeles, and since she was born, of course. This little village that we have come to is my birthplace. It is called Veregin. It is also the birthplace of all the Holoboff children except one – my brother, Fred, who is now long deceased.

The season is early fall and the night is dark. There are no electric lights, only the flickering of a few gas lights. All this is so new to me. I am not aware of all that is taking place – that I am going to make a new life for myself here. I asked Nora what street she lived on, and she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Central.” Central was not a street at all, just a spot of recognition. Central was the building where the telephone operator worked. I thought every place was like Los Angeles – what a rude awakening I am about to receive. My cousin, John (Holoboff), had brainwashed me into believing that I would have a horse of my own and all the good things that go with it. I still believed in things like Hoot Gibson, Ken Maynard, and the like. Well, it didn’t take too long until I did get a horse: eight of them in harnesses all hitched to a bunch of harrows, and a hundred acres of land to work!

Alex and Mary Holoboff with children Mary, Frederick (front), and Russell (back), c.1935, Veregin, Saskatchewan.

I was enrolled in the school in the town. Sorry to say, but right off the bat, I didn’t fare too well. The Canadian standards of teaching were higher than the United States, so I was immediately set back a grade and was laughed at. This broke my desire to learn. If I had started at the beginning of the semester, I would have been more prepared. But here it was, almost at the end of the year, with everyone busy with harvesting, and no time to see how I was doing. Can I blame them? Not really. I don’t think any of them had any time for anything but work. The harvest was very important in this part of the country because of the weather – snow could fall at any time. The ground was frozen and the nights were very cold with heavy frost.

I enjoyed a couple of weekends at the threshing machine with its steam engine puffing away. The fun was to blow the whistle. Before I go too far into my story, I must try to clarify a few things that I have already left out. The reason we are in this part of the country is that it is the very first beginnings of the Holoboff family (after leaving Russia). Starting from the immigration of my father into Canada, his first ventures began in the rural parts of the village of Verigin. And at one time (circa 1922) he left it behind for the golden shores of California, which lasted only a couple of years. So now we’re back to where it all started. This village of Verigin is located in the middle of the province. The capital is Regina. It’s the home of the Mounties – yes, the real ones. On numerous occasions, I had the chance to be in the company of them.

The easiest way I can describe the climate is that it’s eleven months of winter and all the rest of the year it’s summer. Ruthless and mean winters. They made many a strong man drop to his knees and beg and caused many families desperation, despair and hunger.

We spent that first winter after returning from Los Angeles in town with my brother Alex and his family. Alex was a businessman, the owner of the Holoboff & Co. General Store. He sold everything from groceries to farm equipment. At the time, he was very successful. When I think of his store and supermarkets of today it makes my head swim. It’s a story in itself to describe that store. Everything was shelved behind the counter. Everything that you bought was clerked to you, weighed, packaged, and wrapped. If you bought coal oil and had no cork for the spout they would plug it with a big gumdrop. It never lasted very long because one of us kids would steal it and eat it. And you know what? We never tasted the coal oil.

Speaking of the store…one time in the spring when the snow had almost melted, the gophers were starting to come out of their winter sleep. The county was paying two cents for every gopher that was destroyed. To prove it, you had to strip him of his tail as proof. We would hang the carcasses on the barbed wire fence in hopes it would ward off more gophers. It didn’t. It just made the crows breed more. They were a deterrent for the farmer. The county also paid five cents for a pair of crow’s legs. So this is what my friend and I did: We caught a gunnysack full of gophers and took them to Alex’s store, stripped them of their tails, and collected the bounty. But we left the dead gophers tucked away in the back of the store. In a few days they started to smell something awful. It almost drove Alex insane until he found the source of the smell. Don’t you think we didn’t hear about it. Poor Alex. He was one hell of a nice fellow. We got along just swell throughout all the years of our relationship.

Everything was an adventure to me. There wasn’t very much I didn’t tackle, which included a few shiners that I wore for a few days. This one big kid would get me and another kid into the livery barn and make us fight for no reason at all. He would tell this one kid one thing and me another and then it wouldn’t take much for a fight to start. I was well known among the young and old, but I was liked by all and respected by many, including some of the young maidens. It was fun living in town. I had little supervision, but I knew better than to do something bad. What made me so popular was that I spoke good English compared to the rest of the kids. The reason for this is that they were taught to speak their native tongue, Russian, and their parents were illiterate in English. Like their parents, the other kids could only read and write in Russian.

Russell Holoboff, c.1935, Veregin, Saskatchewan.

I guess I was also different because I had known life in the big city of Los Angeles. But I sure wasn’t in any way smarter. I was just a city kid. Anyway, my town life near Verigin was coming to an end and I would be moving to my new home out in the country. The place is a farm that belonged to my mother (Mary nee Petroff). It was three miles from town and it was a very pretty farm. The reason it was my mother’s is that it was part of a legacy from her first husband (Nikolai Shcuratoff). Yes, both Mother and Dad were married before. I will explain all that later.

But mother’s inheriting the farm was the big inducement for Dad to give up Los Angeles and the job he had at the Goodyear Tire & Rubber plant. He had a pretty good job there, too. Our whole family was a part of the Goodyear plant – pioneers, so to speak. Dad opened the plant and I closed it years later. You see, this all came about because of a man named John Holoboff, my first cousin on Dad’s side. After Dad came to the United States and settled down, the correspondence started with the folks back in Saskatchewan, with Dad telling them how nice and warm it was in California. To hear this at a time when the temperatures in Saskatchewan were in the forties or less, California sounded like heaven. This news brought John Holoboff to California and Dad got him a job at Goodyear. It was hard and dirty work, but that’s where they started a new man there. John couldn’t take it and he started to miss the come-and-go, as-you-please lifestyle of the farm, with no lunch box to tote around. So he started to brainwash Dad, and he did a good job of it. Mother didn’t approve of this but lost the battle. Until her dying day she didn’t like John.

The move back to Saskatchewan broke up some of us kids in the family. Sam, Honey, and Mike stayed behind in Los Angeles. They wanted no part of Canada. They were old enough to know the difference. Afterward, Mother’s life was not at all that easy without the conveniences of a large family to help her. She worked during the walnut harvest. I think she liked living in California and having the family all together. She gave a lot and received little. She never once said these are my children and these are my husband’s children. We were all her children. Now I will name all of the family.

There was Grandfather (Joseph Petroff) on Mother’s side, a very adventurous man. There was (half-brother) Alex Holoboff who also moved to California but didn’t like city life and not being his own boss. With some persuasion from his wife, Polly, they returned to Canada before we did. Sam, Honey, Mike and Alice were Dad’s kids from his first marriage. Peggy and Molly (Shcuratoff) were from Mother’s first marriage. Me, Fred and Mary, were from Mother and Dad’s marriage. Fred was born in Los Angeles (1925) and Mary was born in Canada (1930) after we returned. So, that makes quite a table-full.

I don’t remember when we first moved to Los Angeles. I was very young, but I remember growing up there. I went to Miramonte School. It was right across the street from us. I remember two teachers: Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Holt. She used to snitch in the kids’ lunch bags. And who can forget Mr. Walker, our principal? No comment. I remember this one fellow who lived on our street who had an airplane. He crashed it on our street, showing off. Boy did Grandfather give him a tongue lashing – “sookin sin,” etc. – for trying to fly. But I wish Grandfather could see the progress that has been made in aviation since then. Lindbergh flew over Los Angeles after his world flight. That was a big day in Los Angeles. The Blimp was also something to see.

There was this family across the street named Lewis. They had a son my age and the sun set and rose on him. They liked me well enough that they took me every place they went. Especially to the beach for an overnight stay. Mrs. Lewis was very nice to me. After many long years I had the honor to be her pallbearer. What a coincidence. The son, Buckey, never respected his parents after all they had done for him.

I remember hiking to the Los Angeles River in the summer to swim in it and just bum around. Also the Christmas the Shriners held for us. The Red Car Line to Balboa; the fare was three cents to Los Angeles and parts unknown. The young kids dancing to the Charleston. Rudy Valentino, Hoot Gibson, Ken Maynard, the Our Gang comedies, and ten cent movies. It was the beginning of a new era.

A pensive Alex Holoboff.

Driving to Long Beach by car was an all-day trip. It was sure to consist of a flat tire or two. If that happened, us kids would play in the orange groves. The people my parents associated with were friends of theirs from Canada, and all they had cars. At this time Dad didn’t have a car. One time he was talked into buying one but he didn’t keep it; he got tired of buying someone else’s gas, as he never drove the car. I remember it well. It was an Overland Touring. Sam sure looked good behind the wheel. The city limits of Los Angeles were small then. Huntington Park and Southgate were in the orange groves and there was hardly any streets in them. The Lyric Theatre in Huntington Park was the one of the last big movie houses to open and it was very popular. There was no public transportation to reach it, so we had to hoof it on Saturday matinees. Anyway, my life was very happy then, except that we weren’t a rich family and I always envied other kids. But as I see it know, they just lived a different life.

Before I go any further, I would like to tell you a little about Grandfather (Petroff). He was born somewhere in Russia and spent most of his life living among the Turks and Cossacks. He told us many a hair-lifting tale of true adventure. He was really not a bother to anyone, but few wanted to admit they were related to him. He spoke no English, but swore a blue streak at the kids who passed by our house on their way home. He had some small parts as an extra in movies during the early days of Hollywood. Had one studied him more sincerely they could have learned a lot about the ways of life. He was always very daring. Anyway, I had some good and bad times with him. He smoked pipes that were so strong the smoke would not disappear. When he passed away I became heir to them by knowing where they were hidden. One puff from one of them would make your head swim all day.

Yes, I had many good times in California. Maybe that’s why I came back to live here. Perhaps I lived in a boy’s dream. Eventually it was time to say goodbye to sunny California and 1418 70th Street. If one goes by there they will see the house still standing and not much changed since we left. At the time we lived there it was a very nice part of town – not rich or poor, but it was centrally located in Los Angeles and close to the car line and to Dad’s work. Now the area is nothing compared to the old days.

We boarded a steamer for Canada. A steamer was the most reasonable fare to Canada, but it only lasted until we reached Seattle because everyone got sea sick. From there, we took a train for the rest of the journey north to our destination. Or maybe I should “our destiny” because that’s what it really amounted to. Why Saskatchewan, Canada? It all stems back to Dad’s and Mother’s beginning their new lives in a new part of the world, away from the steppes of peasantry in old Russia. Saskatchewan is where the immigrants settled after they landed in Halifax, Canada.

I don’t know too much about Mother’s immigration to Canada; she was not on the same boat as Dad, and she came from another part of Russia. I do know that her first husband (Nikolai Shcuratoff), Peggy’s and Molly’s dad, was a Yakut (exiled Doukhobor) from northern Russia. He spent quite some time in Siberia in the salt mines.

Dad was from the southern part of Russia. And an orphan. He was taken under someone’s wing and landed with a sect of Russian people called Doukhobors, a very religious group. They later formed a community called the Christian Community of (Universal Brotherhood) Doukhobors. They worked and lived in a community and shared the results of their toil. Eventually they owned thousands of acres of land, had their own flour mill, and large brick buildings for homes. They had a leader named Peter Verigin, and so named the town after him. Their leader was well respected by all, even Queen Victoria. He was the forerunner that made all this possible for some of these people. There is more to this – community living and so on – but I can’t possibly tell it all. And it doesn’t really mean that much to the Holoboff family because Dad didn’t belong to the sect or live with them for long. He preferred to freelance and go it on his own (as an Independent Doukhobor). And that’s what he did but it was not as easy as you might think. I will tell of some of his hardships.

It was said that Dad was so young when he married (first wife Vasilisa Perepelkin) that he fell asleep in the bride’s arms on this wedding night. The young had very little to say as to who they were going to marry; it was all matched and planned by their elders. So his first wife was the mother of Alexei, Helen, Samuel, Mike and Alice Holoboff. While on the subject of names let me further enlighten you. Mother’s maiden name was Petroff and her first two daughters, Peggy and Molly, had the last name Shcuratoff. Peggy and Molly never used their real last name, but always went by the name Holoboff.

Dad had a brother named Vasya. He was older than Dad and he had three sons, Pete, John and Nick, and a daughter, Lesunia, of McCloud, Alberta. Pete died at an early age from cancer. I liked him the best of the brothers. Uncle Vasya’s life was short-lived. He was gored to death by a bull. Dad’s dad (Alexei Holubov) died after being chewed up by a badger. Gangrene set in and resulted in his death. I did not know him and neither did Dad.

I think this covers all the history that I know about the family. One other thing…the name “Doukhobor” means “spirit wrestler”. They did not believe in bearing arms and that was one of the reasons for their migration to Canada. Russia would not tolerate them. Their religion was very strong; that is why they had the name of Christian Community (of Universal Brotherhood) of Doukhobors. In Brilliant, British Columbia, they had a large cannery of great renown. They grew and made strawberry jam that was know the world over. It is no longer in existence.

Alex Holoboff with son Fred, feeding the chickens, c.1932, Veregin, Saskatchewan.

Okay, let’s get back to the farm, our destination. It was Fall 1929 when I got my first glimpse of the farm. I really don’t know how I felt at that time, it just seems hazy to me. I think there was nothing eventful about it, maybe because nothing there was like I expected. There was no livestock yet; Dad was out, busy buying livestock. Uncle Vasya gave us an old gray horse who was more than ready for the glue factory. But we used him to haul water for our use. Yep, you heard right: hauled water.

Farm or no farm, I still had to go to school. I was enrolled in a country school two and a half miles from home and the only way to get there was by Shank’s Pony (this is an old euphemism: “Shank’s Mare” – to travel upon one’s own “shanks” – to get there on foot). It was not the kind of school I expected: a lonely one room building on the corner of someone’s farm. Grades 1 through 8 were all together in the same room. Inside was a world globe suspended from the ceiling and a big pot-bellied stove for heat. It was the pits. Lunch was not much to be desired: homemade bread and honey packed in a honey can and a whiskey bottle full of cold tea. It was like something you see in an old movie and couldn’t believe it. Tobacco Road, I called it. Sometimes a kid had something better in his lunch that you envied. The fall of the year was nice, like Indian Summer, but then the snow fell and winter came.

I’m going to try and explain how things were, as I see it now. I was too young then to know what it was all about. Everything was new and strange and there was no one to explain anything to me. I had to find out for myself and I still don’t know why it was so. There are many spots in my young childhood that I can’t explain. But I will do my best.

Winter was in full force: freezing temperatures, cold blizzards, winds up to sixty miles per hour. Child’s play was limited mostly to the house or barn – snow balls and sledding was out of the question. The only thing in my favor was that school had its summer holiday break during the winter, to spare us kids from freezing to death. Somewhere close to Christmas, we had our school Christmas party. A homemade stage was set up for our plays; you had to be careful not to stand too far at the edge, as the other end would raise up. We used sheets for curtains and a borrowed gas lamp for light. We didn’t have a Christmas tree because in spite of the cold north country, fir trees didn’t grow there, as it was all bald prairie (and it would have been ridiculous to go further north for one). So we did without a tree. But we did have a Santa. Everyone for miles was invited to the party because there was always a big dance held after. That was really the big event. We kids exchanged gifts. The boys desperately tried to impress their best girl with a small bottle of Orange Blossom perfume, a shining brooch, or a box of chocolates costing a total sum of twenty-five cents. I wasn’t in that class, but I did impress in my own way.

After the kids did our bit we were taken home by our parents so that the grown-ups could have their party. Well, I got to stay because my parents weren’t there to take me home. I acted big for my age and I liked to dance. The older girls didn’t mind dancing with me. The older boys were too busy getting drunk on white lightning – and on many occasions I was encouraged. There was nothing backward about me and I caught on easy. Somehow I acted older than I was (and I was always full of the devil) and I fit in with the older crowd. Even Dad would comment to some of the older boys who insisted that I partake in their activities. Like going to Vecheruskie parties (evening parties for young Doukhobor men and women) with dancing, singing and parlor games like spin-the-bottle. Most of them were fun. Despite the cold we would hitch up a team of horses to a sleigh and go from one farmhouse to the other picking up friends until we reached the designated house for the party. Sometimes they would last into the wee hours of the morning.

Somehow winter passed quickly and I really didn’t know what to expect. I really didn’t know anything about seasons. Some things I had to learn for myself. My friend (horse) Levon, didn’t make it through the winter. I can still see his remains, which by spring was pretty much a skeleton.

As yet I have still not gotten the steed that I was so ready to have at my disposal. I will never forget the rotten joke that was played on me. Dad and I were going to Alex’s in-laws (the Kabatoffs). They lived about seven miles away from us. We spent the night there. Anyway, when they were putting me to bed they told me that there would be a big white stallion all saddled and ready for me in the morning. I was more than sure that this would be true. Even when I woke up in the early hours of the morning, they encouraged me to hurry and eat my breakfast as the steed was waiting for me at the door. Well, if you ever saw a broken hearted child, I was one. How could they have played such a bad trick on me and get some fun out of it? Even my own Dad! I have lived with this all my life, and will to my dying day. I had finished my breakfast, rushed to the door, and opened it to find no such promise there. I was stunned beyond belief. There were much more such surprises in store for me in the years to come.

Spring was a beautiful time of year. The fields were full of little lakes from the winter snow. The streams of running water and the budding out of the pussy willows…everything seemed to smell fresh and clean. The most memorable thing about this part of the world at this time of year was the full moon of springtime. Just to hear the babbling streams and the croaking of the frogs – our farm had all of this! Being a kid, I didn’t want to come inside. Also at this time of year was the dropping (birthing) of new animals. I especially liked the horses, but as yet we didn’t have any. At any rate, spring was a blessing as I didn’t have to plow through the snow going to school. I could take a shortcut through the farm to lessen the distance. I could enjoy the wild little creatures that came to life with the warm weather – especially the red-breasted robin. When you saw the robin you knew that winter was well past. I also remember the big slough that I had to pass on the way to school; it was full of blackbirds. But the birds that stood out the most were the red winged (blackbird) – truly beautiful. And the chatter they would make if you disturbed them! There were a lot of things to amuse a child and cause him to be late for school. And I was late many times. As I see it now, school was no big thing to me then and I fared well below average. I was by no means a bum, more like too smart for my britches. I need guidance then more than anything. I will try to explain this more in detail as I go on.

Now it is late spring or early summer. I am witnessing death in the family for the first time. Grandfather (Petroff) passed on and we are very sorry for the loss. He passed away in the night, and in the early morning, Dad and our handyman acted as morticians. They gave him a bath and a shave, and got him all dressed up for his last rites. The neighbors pitched in and made a casket, a pine box. It looked very professional. The funeral was held in Russian style – lots of prayer and singing and feeding to no end. There must have been a hundred people at the funeral. Even the big dignitary, Peter (Chistiakov) Verigin, was there as he and Grandfather had been buddies in Russia. This was a big hour for Grandfather and the community as Mr. Verigin was a big wheel. Everyone was amazed that Grandfather knew him as well as he did. Funerals and weddings were big things and they brought many people together for the occasion. Grandfather’s funeral was a big step in my life, as I was only a young boy. It was a strange feeling. But with loss we also have our gains – births.

Very much to my surprise I suddenly became a brother to a sister, Mary (1930). I was not the least bit aware of this and even to this day I don’t know how it happened. We were all happy with her arrival and she was a very pretty girl. When she was a little girl she had a very bad accident. Mother was washing clothes one day and while she was transferring some boiling water from one pot to another, Mary dashed underneath the pot causing Mother to stumble and spill the water on Mary’s back. It was more than a first degree burn as her clothes stuck to her skin. There was no doctor handy so the folks did the best with what they had. The doctor was of very little help; the medication he prescribed was of little help. The skin would not heal. As a last resort, Dad used some of his own medication and healed the wound. It consisted of charred bulrushes. So it wasn’t just the Indians that made their own medicine – the old Russians did, too.

It’s the first year that we planted a crop. It should have been the last. From there on it was nothing short of disaster farming. The crops consisted of wheat, oats and some barley. Year after year, the same routine with the crops. The farmer fallowed half the acreage and sowed the rest. There wasn’t any help from the agriculture department to advise the farmer whether his soil was suitable for this or that particular crop. In many cases it was not. After years of disaster farming, the government stepped in to help. Necessity and politics.

The crop that we first planted was doing fine. It was all headed out and not too far from harvest time when one afternoon – wham! – it started to thunder and rain. The sky got really dark and it was suddenly very cold for that time of year. All of a sudden it started to hail and the hailstones were as large as chicken eggs. I am not exaggerating one bit. In about five minutes the crops were flattened to the ground and animals were killed. But just as fast as the storm appeared, the sun came out and the ground was covered with inches of hail. The crops, our main source of a livelihood, did not survive. This and the stock market crash was the beginning of total depression and near-survival for the farmer. This was only the beginning, there were other years to follow just as bad. The next year rust set in to the crops, which was also another total loss. The grain buyers would not accept this crop at any price. It wasn’t even suitable as cattle feed.

The price of grain on the stock market dropped to ten cents a bushel for No. 1 Northern Wheat, a drop from over two dollars a bushel. In many cases the grain buyers refused to buy at all. Cattle prices also dropped so low that the farmer owed money for shipping his cattle to market. Butter and eggs were five cents per dozen or pound, but even at this price there wasn’t a market for anything the farmer had to sell. We had to go as far as twenty miles for wood in the winter, in the worst cold, never more than thirty or forty degrees below zero. This wood would be cut to stove length and taken to town to sell at a dollar-fifty a cord. Many times we made just enough to by coal, oil, sugar and salt, a very sad situation, to say the least. There was no such thing as welfare, one just did the best with what he had. There were some people who had money stashed away and lived quite well. This was the time that my brother Alex lost all he had because he had allowed too much credit to the farmers who were not able to pay their debts. In spite of all this, there was still joy and laughter.

I really didn’t know what it was all about and went along with the times, always wishing. But I recall lots of enjoyment in my time, the type that no one will ever witness in his entire life. Like when Dad got me a pony and we became inseparable, just short of taking him to bed with me. I remember the little hunting trips I used to go on in the fall in a little meadow which had once been someone’s home site. I spent hours loitering there, and would admire Dad’s first farm nearby. It had a big red barn, the most outstanding of all the buildings in the area. But this farm held something more important to me. It was my birthplace: Northeast Quarter, Section 28, Township 30, West of the Second Meridian, in the Province of Saskatchewan, Canada. This took place on the 16th of May, 1918. What a button-popper I was to my Dad.

Frederick, Mary and Russell Holoboff, c. 1944, New Westminster, British Columbia.

This is about the only time there was any deep affection ever shown to me. This lasted only a few years, to my knowledge. If it ever existed beyond this, it was well hidden inside of Dad. But I will say that a lot of it showed up later in my life, with some guilt written on Dad’s face. For all of this there was a reason, I’m sure. It’s hard to give something when you never received it yourself. But I never felt bitter about it. I just carried on, not knowing the difference. It’s only now that I sometimes analyze these things.

Anyway, the farm. It still holds lots of memories for me, like the big red barn and the beautiful horses that Dad had, especially one we called Nell, a very pretty mare. She was very tame and gentle until one day I snuck up behind her and hit her with a switch. It startled her and she retaliated with her hind leg, grazing me at the temple of my head. I went flying over, ass-over-tea kettle, blood all over my face. Everyone panicked as they thought I was dead. But I survived with nothing less than a scar which I still bear.

I remember a horse we called Twilby. She was really my brother Mike’s pony, but we all enjoyed her. I remember the big pond by the house; in the fall it would be full of migrating foul – a hunter’s delight. Wildlife was plentiful in those years. Killing, to us, was a bit on the religious forbidden side. I doubt if Dad owned a gun.

The first marriage in our family took place at this farm. It was the wedding of my brother Alexis and a local farm gal named Polly Kabatoff. I have heard that cousin John talked Alex into getting married, and I wouldn’t doubt it because Alex was young and timid. But the wedding was a blast. I remember drinking a lot of bubbling water – I think they called it lemonot. After the wedding, Alex brought his new bride home to a little house that we built for the young lovers. I liked to visit with them. The house had no kitchen, so we ate at the big house; it had a large kitchen and a long table. There were eleven of us sitting at that table, country-style.

Another incident was in the spring. Mother had some newborn chicks she was keeping behind the stove. Well, I got wind of this – just a little boy – and played with them. Before Mother knew what had happened, I had them all strangled with loving care. They were so soft and cuddly. But my rear end was red and sore afterward.

Playing in the huge loft of the big red barn was a lot of fun. If I went back to that part of the country, I would make sure to visit the old barn as I hear it still stands.

Alex’s and Polly’s first child was born at this farm. Her name is Nora, my niece, and she now resides in Grand Forks, British Columbia, with her husband, Pete Semenoff.

Another memory was my pony, King. I could write a book about our adventures. I remember being buried in snow drifts that rose over our heads, in freezing temperatures, going to and from school. I remember having visions of being a cowboy, and for all purposes I was but didn’t know it. Because anything on the farm pertained to being a cowboy. But in my vision I was wearing a tall Stetson, with boots and a gun. I wore out the pages of the Eaton’s Wish Book. About the closest I ever got to any kind of cowboy regalia was a western bit for my pony’s bridle. Times were too tough for any luxuries. The harness was more important for the work horse, and they were fixed and re-fixed. But I never gave up hope, as I liked all accessories pertaining to horses. I did manage to get together a set of fancy harnesses for my favorite team. I even had brass bells that I put on the harnesses in the winter. I just liked horses and I still do. I had the opportunity to breed them and raise them from birth. I doubt if there is any other animal so rewarding as a colt of your own.

Besides my little pony King, we had eight horses, all bred from one mare. Her name was Lady; she was a Belgium breed. Her first colt was a little sorrel filly. Her face was blazed and her tail and main were flaxen. She was very pretty and gentle. Lady’s colt eventually also produced quite a few colts. In all we managed to breed seven generations, which made the last purebred. In spite of hard times, our horses brought top dollar at auction. When they were sold, there were a lot of tears on my part.

About my pony, King…it was early winter when Dad and I set out to buy the little critter. The owner told us that he was with the rest of the horses at the straw pile. Finally we saw a little black spot and it was him. After some time spent trying to catch him, we put him in the sleigh box and started home. I was so happy I almost choked him with joy and love. He was only a year old then and it would still be some time before I could ride him. About the only thing I didn’t do was take him to bed with me, but I did sleep in the barn with him.

One adventure with my pony is clear in my mind. When he was old enough for me to ride him, I trained him to run a blue streak. It was always a full gallop. I must say that he was darned fast and on several occasions I raced him against big horses. Not too many would out-speed him.

In the Fall there was an annual fair held at a bigger town nearby called Kamsack, about fifteen miles from our home. People came from far away, despite poor times. Farmers took their wares to exhibit and the youngsters went for the excitement of the merry-go-round and the Ferris Wheel, the sideshows, cotton candy, and yelling barkers selling the all-cure medicine. All of this was very exciting because very little else went on during the year. Despite hard times, with the harvest done, everyone managed to scrape together a few nickels.

My main purpose for going to the fair was that horses raced there, with a special division for ponies that carried a purse of $2.50 for First Place. Need I say more? Yep, I was determined to go to the fair and win. Before I go on about this adventure, let me tell you a little about this fair. One will never again see a fair like fairs back then. Tents pitched all over the grounds, with all sorts of enticements: Lena the Tattooed Lady, sword swallowers, Harem girls, the old shill game of guessing where the pea is, Kewpie doll winnings for your best gal, barkers shouting, a caravan of Real Gypsies…ah, come, let me tell your future.

After telling the folks what I had in mind, they agreed to my adventure and the next day I was off to the races. I had no money, nor any idea how all this was to be executed, but more than halfway there I was stopped by some young farmer and his wife. They were very nice people and they didn’t know my folks, so they talked me into staying the night with them and then in the early morning I could pursue my journey to the fair. After they took me in for the night, it seemed that they immediately took a liking to me. The man helped me stable my pony and took me into the house to clean up for dinner. His wife was very young and kind to me. Their house was big, fairly modern for the times, and made of brick. Well, I was plenty hungry and I ate to my heart’s content. They just kept passing food to me, including dessert. After dinner, the lady showed me to my own room which was nicely furnished and had a very comfortable bed. Looking at it now, it seems that this young farmer and his wife wanted me as their own son. Maybe they had some difficulty having children of their own and took a liking to me. I was happy with it all and it fit in with my journey. I stopped at their place on my way home from the fair as they had insisted. But I did not spend the night with them again. I guess I was getting tired and homesick so I made it home that day.

Now, my day at the fair: When I got there I registered for the pony race and was told what time I was to be ready. It was to take place after the big horses raced. There were many Indians who entered in the big race. They were notorious horsemen. When the pony race was called, we brought our steeds to the race track and arrived at the starting point. It just so happened that the stewards forgot to close the gate where we had entered, and at the sound of the gun, my pony headed straight back for the little pasture I had come through, and there was no way I could get him back to the track. So they had to rerun the race due to negligence on the stewards part. Race we did, and I came in first in my class with a total purse of two dollars and fifty cents – which took a whole year to collect.

Time passes. I am growing up and changing. I quit school – I made a thorough mess of it. One year I missed fifteen days in one month. Yes, I was lectured on this quite severely, but it was a rather hopeless case to make up for all this. Today it’s much to my sorrow, but at that time I knew no better, so the choice I was given was to take a man’s place in the world and go to work. I accepted this role. I was used to work. As a matter of fact, that’s all I knew.

My first real job was at harvest time. Our neighbor had a threshing rig and he hired me as his assistant to operate the tractor and threshing machine. I felt really good about this as no other kid had this type of opportunity, to learn mechanics. What the job really meant was that I was to be grease monkey. But I learned to drive a car and a tractor. In order to learn this and a lot of other things I had to get up at four in the morning with heavy frost on the ground and on the machines. I dipped my hands into cold grease and oil to get the rig ready for when the men got there to thresh. Believe me, this was not fit for man nor beast. I had a lot of other chores that were back-breaking, like pulling the separator belt to the tractor. It was about a hundred feet long and weighed a ton. After I got the rig running I would go have breakfast, or what was left of it. But the prestige was something else at my age. I even had my own tobacco to smoke. Of course I hid it from my parents, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. I was about twenty-five before I smoked in front of Mom and Dad. In our belief smoking was very much taboo.

Taboo or not, I was growing up pretty fast – too fast for my own good. There are other things I started trying, like white lightning – homemade grain alcohol, over a hundred percent proof. We young ones thought this was great and a part of growing up, and the older ones thought we were funny and encouraged us. What drinking really was, was an escape from our depressing times. It could be a serious situation because whereas some could control themselves, some went on to the bye-and-bye as a result. Because it was easy to make, bootleggers sprang up all over the place.

Russell, Alex, Mary, Fred, and Mary Holoboff, c. 1944, New Westminster, British Columbia.

Anyway, back to my job. Harvest lasted about six weeks and I was anxious to receive my pay. I had no idea what the pay would be. One night, when I was asleep, my boss came to our house to treat Mom and Dad with a drink and pay my wages. He woke me up to tell me that he wanted to square up with me for my services and asked me what I thought would be a fair price. As a young boy I was not allowed to say, so I left it to his discretion. He handed me eleven dollars. I nearly died. I had worked really hard for him, and many times I had to cover up for him because he was a playboy and hit the bottle often. Dad should have spoke up for me, and why he didn’t I don’t know. Well, it was better than nothing and it wasn’t likely I could find any other job that would have paid as well. The experience had been worth it and I worked for him the next year, but after that, not much more.

My next problem was what to spend the money on – you’d have thought I was a millionaire. It was the first time I had my own money to spend on myself and I did so wisely. The first thing was to get out Eaton’s Wish Book. What a decision I had to make! Would it be a saddle, a bridle, or that navy blue striped suit for seven dollars? It took some time to make up my mind and the suit won out. You see, although I was young and small, I had already had lots of briefings about the birds and the bees and the penalties that went with them. But I was entering manhood and girls and dancing were entering my mind a lot. After all, during the winter, dancing was our only fun and entertainment. I liked to dance and did a very nice job of it – not many girls refused to dance with me. So I needed to dress up and try to make a good impression.

By the time I paid for the suit and a few things to go with it, I was broke but happy. The day the suit arrived, I got all spruced up and felt like Clarke Gable (movie stars being our ideals and inspiration). I looked pretty sharp for the first dance of the season.

The dances were held mostly in town or in schoolhouses. The orchestras were very simple – an accordion, a violin, and a guitar, more or less. The music was mostly Western style and also lots of polkas. We would dance until the wee hours of the morning, and in many cases, we’d have to walk home in a blizzard. Sometimes there were house parties and sometimes we would dance to just a Jew’s harp or a kazoo. We played parlor games like spin-the-bottle, anything to get a kiss from your favorite girl.

There was this family, close neighbors of ours, who had three girls and one boy. The girls were musically inclined without any training and they made wonderful music on their accordions. They were God-gifted with an ear for music but it took an awful lot of persuasion to get them to play. Who could blame them? Playing the music left them out of the fun. But they were always available for hire. With the few pennies they earned they could buy lipstick. For eye shadow, girls used charcoal. But these girls were very beautiful. Most girls were natural wholesome beauties without makeup, but they liked to live in the world of Hollywood.

In spite of the cold winter, the months went by fast. There were lots of weddings and different kinds of celebrations that kept us happy. On the subject of weddings…I don’t think one ever lived until he or she participated in our kind. Food, liquor and dancing for days with as many as a hundred people in attendance.

There was one wedding I will never forget. It was a Ukrainian family, one of our close neighbors. They were fairly wealthy and this was the marriage of their only son. They went all out for this wedding and it lasted three days and nights. People would sleep wherever they fell. The orchestra was authentic. There were Russian troubadours with cimbalas and balalaikas. In no way could you refrain from dancing when they played. This wedding was also my first experience getting bombed. I don’t remember, to this day, taking a shortcut home in waist deep snow. How foolish – I could have easily passed out and froze to death. But I don’t regret the experience I had at a real Ukraine-style wedding. Only in the Ukraine could you experience a ceremony like that.

I would like you to understand one thing. The people in this era still had morals and scruples. It was different and far better than today’s standards – the body and soul were not abused. But more specifically, this was some fifty years ago, before the modern age. The telephone and the radio were marvels. The first thing anywhere near to a radio that I had was a crystal set. There wasn’t too much to it – it had a piece of crystal metal, a coil, and a set of earphones. Reception was best at night. With a small piece of steel spring you would start scratching the piece of crystal until you were able to pick up a strong station in the wavelength. If you were lucky you would get a good station with good sound and a good program. If there were others in the room they would almost tear your head off to get the earphones.

That was the beginning of radio. After that came the modern tube type radio. Most of them were the cabinet type – no one knew what portable was. As I remember, a person’s wealth could be judged by the beauty of the cabinet: solid hardwood, highly polished and lovely. People that enjoyed radio the most were the ones who lived in towns with electricity. For us rural folk, reception wasn’t good. We had to run our radio off batteries and the reception wasn’t good, plus you never knew when the radio was going to die. Just like everything new on the market, not everyone could afford a good radio; we certainly could not. But we were fortunate to have a nice neighbor about a half mile away who was generous to share his radio and we took advantage of his generosity. My sister Peggy and I couldn’t wait to get the evening chores and dinner over with, then off we would go, tracking through the snow drifts to the neighbor’s place to hear our favorite programs. We listened to Fred Allen, Fibber McGee and Molly, Burns and Allen, Jack Benny, and the Lone Ranger, a very popular series. We heard a lot of good western music; a few programs came in quite good like the one from Del Rio, Texas. Also, Kate Smith and her theme song “When the Moon Comes Over the Mountains”. The thing that was nice about radio instead of modern television was that you had to picture the characters. Movies were out of the question. There was only one movie house in a small town about ten miles away. In all the years I lived in Saskatchewan I went to only one show: “The Silver Bullet”.

This is what it was like in this remote part of the country. Not all of the people were so backward, mostly the older folks who had not been in this country too long. Children only know what is taught to them. The younger generation of parents were different. Most of them had some education and passed it down to their children. I can’t say the same for my parents. If you started to play some sport you were told it was a waste of time. If you had some idea, to prove something, all you heard is “it won’t work.” Like when Grandfather used to say, “Look at that damned fool trying to fly.” I wish he could see what it’s like now. Progress didn’t seem very important to my parents and their generation, only their one knowledge: work, work, and more work.

Doctors and dentists in those times was almost nil. We had a country doctor but we couldn’t afford him, and he was tired of getting paid in calves, pigs, and such. I can remember having a toothache once in the middle of winter. The closest dentist was fifteen miles away. We had a farmer nearby who was a kind of self-made dentist and he only charged what you could afford. He was five miles away and I rode horseback in a blizzard to get to him and have my tooth pulled. The pain was so bad, I didn’t care.

As I said before, all we ever heard from our elders was “no”, “what for?”, “it’s not important”, “tomorrow”, “maybe” – teachings that always seemed negative. It was fear, their fear. It was the depression and hard times, another era not like today. There was no such thing as credit cards. To buy anything you had to have the full amount, even if you ordered from the Wish Book. So we had to make do with whatever we had. Only during the harvest season, after the crops were sold, did we have any money. I know hardship well.

Back to family events. My sister Alice married her beloved, Charles Schram. He came from a very large German family. He had six brothers and three sisters, and like everyone else, they were poor as church mice. But the family had a lot of love for each other and it really showed. Their mother was a frail, little woman. I fit in to their family well, and with the other boys, most of them were in my age bracket. I spent a lot of time there during winters. We went to a lot of house parties and raided the smokehouse and smoked like steam engines. The Schram boys had a bunk house all to themselves so we got away with a lot of things. I can still see Mr. Schram waking up the boys. It was like a ritual, the same thing every morning: “Charlie! George! William! Robert! Albert! Steve!” But the boys would merely grumble some cuss word and go further down into their blankets. It took an Act of Congress to get them up.

Russell in later life, c. 1980.

Charlie Schram was a prince of a man. He was about five feet, ten inches tall and nearly two hundred pounds. A very solid, very handsome man. I liked him very much and still do to this day. When Alice told the folks she was going to marry Charlie, the folks weren’t pleased because they knew nothing about his family, and because he was not the same nationality. At that time, in this region, intermarriage wasn’t heard of very often. But eventually they got the folks’ blessing and were married. It had to be true love because Charlie had nothing to offer Alice except love. Alice and Charlie lived with the Schrams after their wedding which was not all that great. Alice had little knowledge of their way of life and it took some time to get used to. Eventually they were able to move out on their own and it was better. They rented a farm in God’s Forsaken Acres, about as far north in the province as a white man wanted to go. Their nearest neighbor was the Indian agent on the reservation. It was a struggle for them. They raised three wonderful children. My sister Molly was midwife at the birth of their oldest child, Richard. Then came Shirley and Douglas. The story of when Molly was a midwife at Richard’s birth is somewhat funny. Alice was very near to her delivery and Molly was visiting them at the time. One night while they were playing cards, Alice felt tired and wanted to go to bed. In her preparation to go to bed she decided to use a portable john in the house (there was no such thing as an inside bathroom and the night was frightfully cold). As she sat down she started to give birth and Molly was the closest thing to any help. It was quite an experience for them all.

Peggy was married next. One day in the barn, while she was milking the cows, she asked me what I thought about her getting married to this fellow named Mike Gizowski. Hell, what did I know about marriage? I told her it was for her to decide. She was afraid she would be left an old maid. She married Mike and they raised a great family of three girls and one boy: Barbara, Mona, Linda, and Fred – a great bunch of kids. Mike was a Polish immigrant from Warsaw who was raised with strict Polish military training. He was old-school and he had an excellent trade as a shoe and harness maker. His work was something to see. His life came to a close at an early age – he died from arthritis. To my deep regret, Peggy’s life ended tragically. She was killed in a car accident on her way home from visiting the folks. But she left a nice family. I have nice memories of Peggy. Her housekeeping was not the best, but her warm heart and hospitality, along with her good cooking, was out of this world.

Not too much later after Peggy‘s marriage, my sister Molly had her wedding bells ring. She married a local boy of the same background and faith. He was a farm boy named Paul J. Rieben; his family lived near us. Molly and Paul had two boys, Paul, Jr. and Donald, and two girls, Debbie and Julie. Their marriage was good and lasted right up to Paul’s death.

So, between droughts, cold, no crops, and working for ten cents a day, the family grew with no sign of a light at the end of the tunnel and it gradually got to Dad. All this time, his heart was still in California and so he began to seriously consider going back there. I acted as his legal aid, getting birth certificates, passports, and other legal documents together. Eventually we got an appointment with the U.S. Immigration Department for a final interview. After all of our efforts, Dad failed to qualify for entry into the states. I still think he needed someone other than me to help him with this – after all, I was just a kid. It was a disappointment to everyone after all the trouble we’d gone through. But Dad was no quitter. He had another plan. Before I tell you about it, I want to back up a bit in my story.

I have been talking about all of the family, but I have said very little about Mother (Mary nee Petroff). Good old mother, how dear a mother she was and how little rewards she received. I remember how hard she toiled from sunup to sundown, then many a night up with one of us kids. I can remember Mother and me in the hot sun, out in the field, making hay, then she would have to come home to milk cows and make dinner, or stand over a hot tub scrubbing clothes. There was no end to her work but I never heard her complain, not until after the birth of Mary. With all the hardship and things getting worse, it put an awful strain on her nerves which eventually resulted in her having a complete nervous breakdown. The fact that she was going through the change of life then only made matters worse for her. There were times she was completely out of her mind from the suffering she went through. What she really needed was total rest away from all the worry. But that was like wishing for the moon. As a result Mother suffered for the rest of her life.

Back to Dad’s plan: British Columbia, here we come! Dad was determined to get the hell out of Saskatchewan. No matter what happened, it couldn’t be any worse. We had some friends and relatives in Grand Forks, BC. and that was to be our destination. I don’t recall the exact month this took place, but it was in the early spring. All I know is that it was damned cold.

The date was set and all the arrangements were made for the auction sale. Lots of comments were heard, like “Are you crazy?” But Dad was determined to leave so there was very little feedback on the sojourner’s part. Mother gave him static. I was all for it. My brother, Fred, and my sister, Mary, were too little to have a say. The girls were married and on their own and would stay behind. Peggy and Molly had a farm that was willed to them by their real father, so they decided to stay. They were sad to see their mother go, but the trek was destined.

As I said, Dad got a lot of remarks from lots of neighbors and friends. But in the end he actually started a whole movement west. The day of the auction was a very sad day, especially when I had to lead out the horses for the auctioneer. I sure hated to part with them. I told all the new owners to treat them as I did, with loving care. Each one brought a fair price and it was time for the last farewells.

It was a cold, blustery morning when the neighbor came for us. We packed everything on the sleigh and off we went to the railroad station. The train was to leave at 9:00 a.m. The station was full of friends and relatives, there to wish us well. Also, quite a lot of my school friends and sweet ones. The whole thing was quite an affair as nothing like this had happened here before. No one could believe that there was any place else than here.

Still, I was sad to leave all my dear friends and the place itself, so vital a part of my life, and all the things I had learned growing up there. The experiences I had living on the farm – even during bad times – I don’t regret at all.

A faint sound, a train whistle, is heard in the distance. The train is on time and we will be boarding it soon. All the farewells have been said. The train blows the high ball whistle and the conductor yells “Alllllll-aboard!”  With the clack of the wheels and in a short time of travel, my birthplace is now a memory.

Afterword

Russell Alexander Holoboff, the writer of this memoir, married and moved to Downey, Los Angeles, California, where he and his wife Bess raised three daughters. Russell passed away on 4 March 1991 in Downey, CA, leaving ten grandchildren. One of his favorite places was the Fraser River in British Columbia where his family scattered his ashes as he had requested.

Peter G. Makaroff, QC, Canada’s First Doukhobor Lawyer

by William H. McConnell

Peter G. Makaroff (1895-1970) came to Canada as a young boy with the Doukhobor migration in 1899. At that time, he could speak no English, but in less than twenty years, he became the first Doukhobor ever to graduate from a post-secondary educational institution. He went on to become one of Canada’s outstanding lawyers as well as a noted peacemaker and humanitarian. Throughout his life, he cherished his ties with his Russian culture, Doukhobor heritage and pacifist roots. He was a model to many Doukhobors as an educated, courageous and intelligent professional who was willing to help the underdog locally, nationally and internationally. The following article by William H. McConnell, reproduced by permission from Saskatchewan History (44, 1992, No. 3), traces the life and career of this Doukhobor role model who was always at his best working uphill against apparently impossible odds.

Peter G. Makaroff, whose family came to Canada with the first wave of Doukhobor immigration in 1899, was a pioneer in more ways than one. Brought to Canada from Transcaucasia at age five, with six brothers and sisters, after graduation in law from the University of Saskatchewan in 1918, he became the world’s first Doukhobor lawyer. He was the first member of his religion to serve on the University’s Board of Governors and to preside over the Saskatchewan Labour Relations Board. In addition to his distinguished record of public service, he was also the founding member of one of Saskatoon’s principal law firms.

Peter’s father, Gregory, found communal life in the Doukhobor colony, which was ruled so strictly by Peter V. Verigin, to be oppressive and left to become an independent farmer. The migration of such dissidents gained momentum with more than a thousand “Independents” residing in the Prince Albert district shortly after 1908. While they still adhered to the main tenets of their faith, and continued to be fervent pacifists, the Independents rejected the authoritarian governmental structure of their leaders and abandoned the communal way of life. In 1916 the Society of Independent Doukhobors was organized with Peter soon becoming secretary of the new group. “Without adopting any of the pretensions of the leaders,” a leading work declares of the younger Makaroff, “he became the intellectual guide to those Doukhobors who had chosen the path of opposition to Peter Verigin but were not prepared to abandon entirely their loyalties to the sect.”

Doukhobor children brought to Pennsylvania by the Quakers in 1902 for education. Peter Markaroff appears in the front centre (with cap). Swarthmore College Collection.

 
As an independent farmer in the Blaine Lake district of Saskatchewan, Gregory Makaroff sent his children to the German-English Academy (later Rosthern Junior College) at Rosthern, which was located about twenty-five miles distant from the farm. Peter’s early inspiration came from one of his teachers, Professor Michael Sherbinin, a Russian nobleman from St. Petersburg, fluent in several languages, from another teacher, Ella Martin, a Presbyterian, from George McCraney, Liberal MP for Rosthern, and from Sir Wilfrid Laurier, who was both prime minister and a distinguished lawyer. The Quakers (a community of whom resided near Borden) provided financial assistance for the education of young Doukhobors, and Peter was sent to Philadelphia to continue his schooling among them, later enrolling in the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Saskatchewan. By that time Peter Verigin had taken half of the original Doukhobor community in Saskatchewan to the Kootenay area of British Columbia where he had bought 15,000 acres of land.

But who were the Doukhobors of whom the Makaroffs were members? There was no formal ministry nor sacraments within the Doukhobor religion, which broke away from the Russian Orthodox Church in the early eighteenth century. Adherents held that God dwelt within all his children, and that formal communion, preaching or prayers were unnecessary. One writer has described their religion as follows:

The Doukhobors were a priestless religious group, whose faith centred on the belief that every man carried within him the Divine Spark of the Holy Spirit. The Doukhobors were pacifists who believed that each person was a temple of the Holy Spirit. The destruction of human life was therefore regarded as a grievous sin. Their belief in the presence of the Holy Spirit led to their reliance on expressions of the Spirit (prophecies, worshipful praise and song) rather than on the written word. By the 1800s, a heritage of psalms and prayers, called the Living Book, was passed on orally from generation to generation.

With women and men separated by a central aisle in their unadorned meeting houses, believers would make simple professions of faith, much as the Quakers did elsewhere, along with reciting psalms and singing hymns. When Peter Makaroffs family and others destroyed their firearms in 1895, refused to be conscripted into the Army and resolved never to go to war, they experienced ostracism and persecution. The pacifistic character of the religion, emphasizing non-violence and universal brotherhood, brought them into collision with the Russian Orthodox Church and the Tsarist bureaucracy. The demands of the faith presented a hard test to many Doukhobors and not all of them remained steadfast, with some relapsing into the Russian mainstream.

The elder Verigin, a man of impressive charm and presence, known to his flock as “Peter the Lordly,” succeeded his mentor, Lukeria V. Kalmykova, as leader of the Doukhobors on her death in 1886. The military conscription policy, which was so contrary to their principles, having been introduced more than a decade earlier in Russia proper, was unexpectedly extended to the Caucasus region in 1887. In the same year, Verigin was exiled to Shenkursk, Siberia, where he met with other refugees and was deeply influenced by Leo Tolstoy’s philosophical anarchism, which was infused with a vein of non-doctrinal Christian pacifism very similar to that of the Doukhobors. Verigin increasingly promoted Tolstoyan tenets among his followers, advocating “non-resistance to evil,” and enjoining them not to swear oaths, eat meat, drink, smoke, or submit to military conscription.

After further persecution, the Tsarist government finally gave the Doukhobors permission to emigrate to Canada, in which they were assisted by royalties from their benefactor, Leo Tolstoy, derived from the sale of his novel, Resurrection, published in 1898. The Russian authorities admonished them that they, alone, would be responsible for their travelling expenses, that those (including Peter Verigin) who had been exiled to Siberia, or who had been called up for military service should finish their terms before leaving, and warned them that if they returned they would be banished to Siberia. The Canadian government, which was then implementing the “Sifton immigration policy” to populate the West, was grateful to receive as immigrants such hardworking agricultural settlers and as a concession to their religious scruples passed an Order-in-Council and a consequential statutory provision exempting them from future military service.

Some 7,500 Doukhobors then congregated at the Georgian port of Batum, departing for Canada in four shiploads over a seven-month period, the first immigrants embarking on the S.S. Lake Huron in late December, 1898. The fare to Winnipeg was twenty-two dollars for each passenger. After the arduous transits to Halifax and Saint John, New Brunswick, the new arrivals went overland to colonies in the Yorkton area of Assiniboia and the Duck Lake area of Saskatchewan, to a reservation of homestead land having an aggregate total of 773,400 acres. Their leader, Peter V. Verigin, arrived in Canada only on 16 December 1902, after completing nearly sixteen years of Siberian exile.

Because of the young Makaroff’s command of Russian, he was frequently in demand as a translator in Saskatchewan courts, which served a polyglot community arriving in the province before the First World War. Once, when Judge J.A. McClean of the Battleford District Court refused to allow a Doukhobor to take an oath, allegedly because the sect was not Christian and did not believe in the Bible, Makaroff, who was present, jumped to his feet and, proclaiming himself to be a Doukhobor, asserted that his co-religionists were indeed Christians, and that although it was against their principles to swear oaths, the witness could make an affirmation if allowed to do so. McClean sternly admonished Makaroff to sit down, asking him to speak to him after the court adjourned. Afterwards the judge spoke very softly and kindly to the young man, admitting that he personally knew few Doukhobors and encouraging Peter to become a lawyer to promote better understanding. Makaroff did study law at the University of Saskatchewan, graduating in 1918. He helped to defray expenses by waiting on tables in the residences, and participated extensively in athletics. He also got to know well another law student and future prime minister, John Diefenbaker, who graduated one year later. The two remained friendly although their political philosophies diverged sharply as time wore on. Another acquaintance, Helen Marshall, a non-Doukhobor who graduated in arts and science in the same year that Makaroff graduated in law, two years later became his wife.

Peter Makaroff in University of Saskatchewan football uniform, 1916. Saskatchewan Archives Board, S-B6510.

Prior to his death, Judge McClean had given instructions that his extensive law library be sold to his young acquaintance, as a result of which Makaroff acquired a valuable reference library for five hundred dollars. He began his professional practice in the Canada Building in Saskatoon in July, 1918, and was soon taking cases to the Court of Appeal and the Supreme Court of Canada. A year later he was joined by Arthur L. Bates, the firm practicing under the style of Makaroff and Bates until the Second World War period.

Because of the Doukhobors’ preference for a simple life close to nature and their aversion to “worldly” education and the learned professions, Makaroff’s admission to the Bar was unprecedented in his religious community and he was sometimes described as the first certified professional in the sect’s two hundred and fifty year history. Far from this estranging him from his fellow believers, he was admired by most Doukhobors for his educational qualifications and marked legal abilities, and they often turned to him for advice, especially during recurrent crises. Although his legal practice was a cosmopolitan one, he always sought to help his own community whenever he could and was only the first of many Doukhobors to attend the University of Saskatchewan.

In one of his earlier cases, Prescesky v. Can. Nor. Ry., decided in 1923, Makaroff’s talent for cross-examination was apparent. His client, a young farmer, had been run down by the defendant’s locomotive at a level railway crossing, with counsel for the railway arguing that the train had given the required signal for such crossings – two long and two short blasts of the whistle with continuous ringing of the bell for each crossing – before the accident took place. Makaroff’s client was non-suited at the first trial, but the Supreme Court of Canada ordered a new trial at which the sole point in contention was whether the requisite warning had been given. Railway counsel from Winnipeg sought to reinforce his already-strong evidence by calling the section foreman’s wife, who claimed that she could survey from her back porch railway track for a distance of four miles, including the site of the accident. Makaroff did not believe that she had actually seen the accident, and proceeded to cross-examine on that assumption. His strategy was risky, however, and could backfire, since if he were mistaken she might take the opportunity to further confirm her evidence. Makaroff decided to test her on the critical question:

Q. You say you actually stood there and heard the whistle blow four times, from the time it passed your cottage until it stopped at the accident?

A. Yes, I did.

Q. Once for each crossing?

A. Sure, that’s just what I said.

Q. You mean you heard four blasts?

A. That is right.

Q. One blast for each of the four crossings?

A. Yes, that’s exactly what I said. That’s just what I heard.

The young counsel for the plaintiff then saw the jury smile and whisper to each other. His successful client later moved from Saskatoon to Vancouver, where he entered commercial life and acquired a substantial fortune.

In the early days of Makaroff’s legal career, public opinion in the province was often intolerant of immigrants of Central and East European origin, and in this respect the Law Society was no different from other organizations. On 30 June 1930, for example, Luseland barrister Frank E. Jaenicke wrote Makaroff referring to a recent entry in the Law Society Gazette stating, “efforts should be made to limit those entering the legal profession to persons of British extraction.” Mr. Jaenicke added that most of the names of those reprimanded or struck off the rolls for non-ethical conduct were of non-British origin, and he suspected that “most of the Benchers were Tories.” Makaroff replied that “at the Bar Convention here the same matter was brought up by [former Dean of Law Arthur] Moxon, seconded by [Stewart] McKercher, but before the motion was put, Mr. [H. E.] Sampson, who was the only Bencher present, got up on his feet, and tendered a very lame apology for the action of the Benchers. He gave the assurance that everything possible would be done… to correct the unfavourable impression.” A weakened motion was then passed by the Bar convention urging rectification of the matter as soon as possible.” Later in the same letter Makaroff added “… I do not give a penny for the attitude of the members of the profession towards me, but I do object to that spirit or sentiment being shared by the judiciary, which undoubtedly will be, unless something happens in the immediate future to check the tendency” In a further letter he mentioned the need for more “broad-minded and tolerant” Benchers, suggesting that more influence might be exerted by lawyers of like mind to elect such Benchers at the next Law Society election.

The Canadian authorities became increasingly critical of a small breakaway sect, the Sons of Freedom, which had formed soon after the Doukhobors arrived in Canada and the activities of which were not representative of a substantial majority of the members of the religion:

However exotic the more violent actions of the Sons of Freedom, the zealot wing of the Doukhobors, may appear to us, it is sobering to reflect that none of these extreme types of behaviour—nudism, arson, dynamiting—was part of the Doukhobor pattern of life before the sect reached Canada. Fire-raisers and nude paraders have never represented more than a small majority of an otherwise peaceful (indeed pacifist) community, anxious only to live according to its own beliefs.

In practice, however, nice logical distinctions between the mainstream Doukhobor movement and the Sons of Freedom were not always made. The peaceful majority were often confused by the public with their more zealous coreligionists, and suffered persecution along with the minority.

With the election of Conservative leader, Dr. J.T.M. Anderson, to the premiership in 1929, increasing strife developed between the Saskatchewan government and the local Doukhobor community. Between 1929 and 1931, twenty-five Saskatchewan schools were burned in Doukhobor areas around Kamsack and Canora, resulting in some arrests and imprisonments. Coincident with the arson and civil disobedience, plummeting world wheat prices adversely affected the communal economy, creating a mood of demoralization among Doukhobors which tended to increase the unrest.

In October 1924, the life of the elder Verigin had come to an untimely end when he and eight others were blown up in a railway carriage near Grand Forks, British Columbia. The mystery of his death has never been solved. Difficult adjustments were necessary after the arrival of Verigin’s son, Peter P. Verigin, from the USSR in 1927. The new leader was described by Makaroff as something of an enigma:

“…No one was sure whether he was a saint or devil or just a plain madman. He was very brilliant. He had a tremendous memory, but at the same time I think he was really a psychopath. From the day he arrived from Russia he became involved in one litigation after another. He was in and out of jail for assaults, for creating disturbances, for what not. He was quite an alcoholic and when under the influence of liquor he was absolutely beyond control. His headquarters were at Verigin near Yorkton. He became so rowdy when staying in one hotel after another that he would be chucked out of there and not allowed to come back, so he goes to work and builds his own hotel. He wasn’t there on more than one occasion before he was prohibited from going back into his own hotel.”

Dr. Anderson and Conservative Prime Minister, R.B. Bennett, were persuaded that Peter P. Verigin was the source of much of the trouble affecting the Doukhobors and decided to take action. In 1932 Verigin had been sentenced to eighteen months in the Prince Albert penitentiary for perjury and tampering with a witness in a disputed land sale agreement the previous year. They decided to spirit him out of Canada with the least publicity possible.

Neither Bennett nor Anderson had much sympathy for immigrants of non-British origin, particularly those who might be tinged with “radical sympathies” or were deemed to have engaged in political agitation against the state. Enacted by Borden’s Union Government during the Red Scare of 1919, section 98 of the Criminal Code visited with up to twenty years’ imprisonment members of vaguely-defined “unlawful associations,” one of whose purposes was to bring about political change by unlawful means. Pursuant to Bennett’s policy “of having ‘no truck nor trade’ with the Soviet Union, and placing an ‘iron heel’ on Socialism and Communism,” the notorious trial of the Toronto Communists (several of whom had Slavic names) was held in November 1931, with the above provision being described by McGill law professor, Frank R. Scott, as “unequalled in the history of Canada and probably any British country for centuries past,” for its permanent restriction of civil liberties. One of the first acts of the succeeding Mackenzie King administration, in fact, was to repeal the egregious section 98.

Among other illiberal acts, Prime Minister Bennett had also amended the Criminal Code to raise the penalty for parading while nude to three years’ imprisonment, a measure obviously aimed at the Doukhobors, and amended the Dominion Franchise Act in 1934 so as to deprive Doukhobors in British Columbia of the right to vote in federal elections. For his part, in 1929-1930, Premier Anderson advised the federal government that further Russian and Mennonite immigration into the province was not wanted, adding that he “doubted if these 5,000 people really were starving outside the gates of Moscow,” as claimed. His government also abolished the use of the French language in grade one of the public schools. It was in this era that the Ku Klux Klan was active in Saskatchewan, with the premier extolling the value of “British” immigration and institutions, a point which the Klan made in a less refined manner.

Thus, Bennett and Anderson being in accord in the final days of January, 1933, two plainclothes agents from Ottawa arrived in Prince Albert, showed the warden a document pardoning Verigin, and whisked the latter swiftly and silently away to Halifax. Anderson and Bennett obviously wished to speed the Doukhobor leader out of the country before his followers and legal counsel could intervene on his behalf.

This ploy almost succeeded. By chance, however, the Prince Albert correspondent of the Saskatoon Star-Phoenix learned of the impending deportation and telephoned her city editor, who in turn telephoned a startled Makaroff; when the latter spoke to Verigin’s subordinates they were insistent that no effort or expense be spared to save their leader from deportation.

Neither Prime Minister Bennett nor the immigration authorities would accede to Makaroff’s request to hold Verigin in Winnipeg so that he could interview his client. With time elapsing quickly, the situation was becoming desperate. Makaroff then embarked on a bold chase. He took the train to Winnipeg and then travelled by air to Minneapolis, Chicago, New York and Boston. Finding that there were no flights between Boston and Halifax, he chartered a small private plane which took off at three o’clock in the morning of the day that Verigin was to be deported, flying over the Bay of Fundy without instruments. The pilot flew at a high altitude in order to avoid the treacherous downdrafts in the area and, fortunately, the flight proceeded without incident.

Russian postcard sent to John G. Bondoreff by S. Reibin and Peter Makaroff written in flight, 2 February 1933. “In view of the fact that Petyushka will be sent off the morning of 4 February and in order to see him before deportation, [we]…are flying at 130 miles per hour…” Saskatchewan Archives Board, S-A292.

Makaroff arrived in Halifax on Saturday morning shortly before the S.S. Montcalm was scheduled to depart with Verigin for Russia. He met with a frigid reception when he was brought to Verigin’s cell. Since Verigin had previously threatened to end his life, Makaroff approached the interview with some uneasiness. The Doukhobor chieftain did not appear surprised at seeing his former counsel with two other Doukhobors, but as Peter Makaroff described the encounter later to John G. Bondoreff, one of the leader’s aides: “The minute he saw the three of us as he entered the room, he immediately swung around and ran back to his cell. The officer in charge came back and said that he would not see the other two at all but wanted to speak to me.”

Because of Verigin’s death threat, Makaroff was surprised by his relatively cordial behavior towards him. He attributed Verigin’s “frequently offensive and insulting attitude” towards those around him to his hopelessness at remaining in the country, noting particularly his incivility towards Lionel Ryan, one of Makaroff’s Halifax agents.

At first Verigin advised Makaroff that he wanted no help at all, cursing all those responsible for the belated legal intervention. There was, moreover, little time to confer. It was already eleven o’clock and the Court House, where habeas corpus proceedings (ie. proceedings to determine whether a prisoner has been imprisoned lawfully) were to be instituted, was to close in two hours. In these difficult circumstances, Makaroff was able to have the hearing deferred until late February. There was at least a reprieve!

When his counsel asked Verigin whether, in lieu of deportation, he would prefer to go back to Prince Albert to finish the remainder of his jail sentence, he was met with “a long line of profanity to the effect that he had no fear of Canadian jails whatsoever. I interpreted that as instructions to do all I could to save him and told him I would do that. He pretended not to care, but his appearance contradicted his pretence.” Following this exchange, Makaroff related that Verigin “gave me every cooperation… to present his case before the Court,” adding, however, “… it would be impossible to describe in any detail his many insane tantrums… during our month’s stay there”

After these rather equivocal instructions to counsel, Makaroff applied for habeas corpus on his client’s behalf. Much of the argument before Mr. Justice Mellish centred around the instrument dated 20 January 1933, and signed by the Governor-General, Lord Bessborough, which read in part: “He is to be deported to Russia when released from custody… .” The relevant section of the Immigration Act, however, provided that an inmate could be deported only after his sentence or term of imprisonment “has expired,” and Mellish held that Verigin’s sentence had not “expired” within the meaning of that section. Roughly half of Verigin’s sentence had still to run and “he has the right if he chooses to take the limit of time allowed him before deportation…. If the prisoner is pardoned conditionally he has the right to refuse the pardon if he is unwilling to accept the conditions. If the prisoner has been pardoned (and I do not think he could be discharged from prison except in exercise of the power of pardon) he cannot in my opinion be deported.” Since Verigin had been unlawfully detained, Mellish ordered that his petition be granted and that he be released from custody.

Had the case been heard a few weeks later it is probable that the results would have been different. Verigin was a very fortunate man. One month after Mellish’s decision, the Supreme Court of Canada decided, contrary to the Nova Scotia judgment, that the prerogative of mercy could be exercised by the Crown to release a prisoner without his consent prior to the termination of his sentence. After such a pardon, moreover, his sentence could be considered to have “expired,” enabling the government to deport him under the statutory provision applying in Verigin’s case. Since the Supreme Court decision would bind all lower courts throughout Canada, had it been in effect during the Halifax proceedings, Mellish would have been constrained to decide the case against Verigin. Four months later, in Winnipeg, the federal authorities again attempted to deport Verigin, but they were frustrated this time because the local court found that, whatever statutory provisions might apply, there had not been a “fair hearing.” The government certainly seemed determined to get rid of the Doukhobor leader.

Because Makaroff was not a member of the Nova Scotia Bar, he had to engage two Halifax agents, J.J. Power, K.C., and Lionel Ryan, to present his client’s case in the local forum. He had dictated some of the affidavits over the telephone to them while en route to Halifax, and had planned much of the legal strategy. By agreement, Power was to have received a fee of five hundred dollars, but when the case was won he increased the amount, having Verigin arrested for debt under the archaic law of capias (used in England in Dickens’ time to send indigents to debtors’ prison) so that he would not abscond without settling accounts. Verigin perceived things differently. “God, through the instrumentality of Judge Mellish, released me from jail, only to be re-arrested and lodged back in jail by my own lawyer, Peter Makaroff. Send me $10,000 immediately in order to extricate me from the toils of the law again.” On learning that his ruse was detected, Verigin began railing once more. Makaroff then left town, catching up with Verigin in Winnipeg where the latter apologized to him.

Reflecting wryly about the case some years later, Makaroff recalled that he had received his appointment as King’s Counsel in 1932 from the Anderson government in part for his efforts at quelling some of the more rambunctious antics of the Sons of Freedom Doukhobors. His victory in Halifax spoke well of the solicitude of the Canadian justice system for a member of an unpoular minority. Nevertheless, he sometimes wondered what Anderson and Bennett really thought about his return of Verigin to the province in 1933. He was able to see the comic as well as the more serious aspects of the transcontinental chase involving one of the world’s most colorful religious personalities. Because of the high drama of the incident, it attracted much interest in the international press.

Another series of trials of roughly the same vintage, in which Makaroff served as defence counsel, occurred after the Regina riot of 1 July 1935. The riot was the culminating episode of the On-to-Ottawa trek by a trainload of unemployed young men proceeding to the national capital to seek the help of the Conservative prime minister. When R.B. Bennett ordered the trek halted at Regina, the RCMP attempted to clear the trekkers out of Market Square, resulting in an ugly confrontation and a clash between the police and the militants with one death, much loss of property and many injuries.

In the climate of antagonism towards “political agitators” in mid-Depression times, public sympathy was clearly on the side of “law and order.” When the trekkers were put individually on trial, Makaroff was called in as defence counsel, later enlisting Emmett M. Hall, Q.C., of Saskatoon (a future Supreme Court of Canada judge) to assist with the defence. Makaroff’s assessment of the accuseds’ prospects was bleak: “The whole atmosphere was charged with hostility against the prisoners and there was slight hope of freeing any of them. Nevertheless, we fought every case all the way as they came up.” Hall later said that he and Makaroff “were pretty well isolated as far as the Regina Bar was concerned.”

Chaos during the Regina Riot, 1935. City of Regina Photograph Collection.

The legal combination of Democratic Socialist and Red Tory did all they could, however, for their beleaguered and unpopular clients. Makaroff was threatened with contempt-of-court on several occasions by the presiding judge, Mr. Justice J.F.L. Embury, when he compared the climactic assembly of trekkers in Market Square to discuss their survival with a meeting of bank directors. “Who do you think would be on trial today,” he typically asked the juries, “if the police violently and without any warning broke into a bank boardroom and clobbered the heads of the directors as they did the trekkers on trial before you?” This invocation of the spectre of class warfare and the solicitude of the police and courts for the property-owning elite, of course, was more likely to appeal to a Marxist seminar than to a right-wing judge and jurors apprehensive for their lives and property. Most of the trekkers received sentences in Prince Albert provincial jail, and many of them frankly welcomed the prospect of regular meals and accommodation, however meagre, over looking for non-existent jobs on the outside.

Coming from a Doukhobor background with its communal ethic of mutual help and sharing, especially in times of economic adversity, it is understandable that Makaroff would be attracted to the more radical wing of the Progressive party in the 1920s and to the Farmer-Labour, CCF and NDP parties in later decades. He did not agree with every policy of these left-leaning movements, however, and as a pacifist supported CCF leader, J.S. Woodsworth, in his opposition to Canada’s participation in war in 1939, a position that the mainstream CCF rejected. In one ofWoodsworth’s letters to Makaroff coinciding with the onset of the Second World War, the CCF leader enclosed a copy of the United College perodical, Vox, with an article by him containing a sentiment they would both share: “For me the teachings of Jesus are absolutely irreconcilable with the advocacy of war.” Peter disdained alike fascism and Communism, but manifested on the international plane a Tolstoyan stance of non-resistance to evil.

Peter’s first foray into politics was as a Farmer-Labour candidate in the Shellbrook constituency in the Saskatchewan provincial election of 1934. When such a staunch Conservative as North Battleford lawyer Ariel F. Sallows wrote to congratulate him on his nomination, adding that if he were beaten he hoped it would be by a Tory, Makaroff replied, “if my defeat is dependent on the realization of your hope, then I am as good as elected.” He was prescient in this case, since although he lost to a Liberal, he secured many more votes than his Conservative opponent. In this mid-Depression election he unavailingly trained his guns on the bankers and financial magnates who were impoverishing ordinary people by imposing extortionate interest rates and foreclosing mort­gages, declaring that there was no difference between the two older parties which always supported the economic establishment.

Makaroff’s only successful campaign for public office resulted in his single term on Saskatoon City Council in 1939-1940. Here, as always, he stressed the need for helping the less privileged sector of society. In a multilingual community having many immigrant families of Central and East European origin, he told Council that something should be done to amend the Old Age Pensions Act, which debarred those not speaking English or French from receiving pensions – thirteen such persons were on local relief rolls, he added. There was also an animated exchange between him and other aldermen when Council voted to abolish the Clothing Relief Bureau which supplied used clothing to those in need. One applicant, Makaroff said, was refused suitable clothing by the Bureau in which to bury his wife. He could wrap a scarf around her neck, he was told by the Bureau official, and in an enclosed coffin it was not necessary to have anything below that. “If that conversation took place it’s awful.” Alderman Caswell expostulated. “I don’t think it took place.” City Commissioner Andrew Leslie replied. “Well the woman was buried today,” said Makaroff, “and I can get an affidavit from the man any day I want it.”

Of overriding concern to Doukhobors, Mennonites, and pacifists generally was Prime Minister Mackenzie King’s national plebiscite on 27 April 1942 in which he sought to be released from his pre-war pledge not to impose conscription on Canadians for compulsory overseas service. While Makaroff did not play a prominent part in the plebiscite debate, he used whatever influence he had on the “no” side. The plebiscite resulted in a lopsided 71.2 per cent majority in Quebec against releasing King from his undertaking, but in an over all Canadian majority of 63.7 per cent in favour of doing so. In Saskatoon, for example, where the pro-conscription vote was considerably higher than the national average, the “yes” majority amounted to 88.9 per cent of those voting. Accordingly, the ever-wary prime minister did nothing for two further years, and when his government finally did impose conscription for overseas service in 1944, it precipitated a national crisis. It is of some interest that in the Saskatoon region, where Makaroff s activities were centred, former University President Walter C. Murray was campaign chairman on the “yes” side, and Dean Fred Cronkite of the law school was a zone chairman.

An important wartime activity of Makaroff was advising Doukhobors on the intricacies of the National War Services Regulations, 1940 and similar laws and regulations. Since the Doukhobors had come to Canada originally under the Order-in-Council of 6 December 1898, exempting them from military service, they appeared prima facie not to be subject to the above Regulations. However, the matter was not entirely free from doubt. While section 18(1) of the Regulations exempted those professing “conscientious objections” for religious reasons, the onus fell on whomever claimed the benefit of the clause to provide their eligibility. Because Doukhobors were not expressly exempted from service in the Regulations, Makaroff had doubts about whether or not it applied, and told those asking, “… to be perfectly sure my advice is to comply with this provision of the act.” The Deputy Minister of National War Services, T.C. Davis, who conferred often with Makaroff, emphasized that to be eligible for exemption as a Doukhobor an applicant should be either a person referred to in the Order-in-Council of 1898, or the descendant of such a person; because of the Doukhobors’ objection to swearing oaths, however, an unsworn declaration in their case would be acceptable. A Doukhobor dentist from Canora was concerned about how his claim for exemption would be perceived: “If I register with the Doukhobors, as I know I should, will it not affect my professional position?” An engineer wondered about whether he was technically a British subject. Makaroff had many queries to answer.

A poignant sidelight is offered in a post-war letter that Makaroff addressed to conscientious objectors in the Rosthern federal by-election of 1948, when he ran as a CCF candidate:

“No doubt you still have a very clear memory of your unhappy days in the conscientious objector camp at Waskesiu during the last War. If so you will remember my son Robert who spent the winter and part of the summer there with you. Robert has since finished his medical course and is now a doctor at University Hospital in Edmonton, where he graduated about eighteen months ago.”

The letter emphasized the need for preventing another global war in the era of atomic weapons. Both Makaroff’s son, Robert, and daughter, Barbara, later developed flourishing medical practices.

In the wartime election of 26 March 1940, Makaroff was a CCF candidate in the federal riding of Rosthern, where there was a large Mennonite population, but he lost to Liberal Walter Tucker. Among speakers supporting him were University of Saskatchewan English professor and party activist, Carlyle King, and M.J. Coldwell, who in 1942 was to become leader of the CCF. Although Woodsworth was re-elected in Winnipeg North Centre in 1940, those who shared the pacifist sentiments of their ailing leader were rapidly losing ground and on 20 July 1940, Makaroff sent a letter to the provincial CCF convention in Regina resigning as the First Vice-President of the provincial party because he disagreed with the party’s endorsement of the war: “… By conviction I am a lifelong pacifist.” he said, “From childhood I have been steeped in the faith that it was against the will and example of the Prince of Peace for man to engage in the wholesale slaughter of his fellow man, including helpless innocent children, at the command of a superior officer.”

Doukhobor Conscientious Objectors’ camp at Montreal Lake, Saskatchewan, 1941. Saskatchewan Archives Board, S-B5475.

Although the rank-and-file of the party strongly endorsed the war effort, there was considerable understanding for Woodsworth’s and Makaroff’s pacifist position, and reconciliation when he again ran unsuccessfully in Rosthern in the 1948 by-election. He attributed his loss in the 1948 contest to Prince Albert merchant and farmer, W.A. Boucher, to “insufficient time and effort on my part;” other factors were poor organization and distribution of literature with the result that “at least six meetings were complete flops or had to be cancelled altogether.” He also charged that Liberals such as Jimmy Gardiner or Walter Tucker (who was vacating the Rosthern seat to become provincial Liberal leader) were intimidating voters by threatening to cut off family allowances and crop failure bonuses if Makaroff won. Overall, Makaroff’s record in the electoral arena was not good, but he often had to fight against the tide in difficult constituencies and he never seemed reluctant to undertake an uphill battle.

Makaroff was heartened in 1944 by the election of Tommy Douglas of the CCF as Premier of Saskatchewan and by the new government’s promotion of an array of social services including hospital insurance. Peter was an active proponent of publicly-funded medicine which he advocated in an article in the local newspaper: “It is obvious that individual or group insurance is not the answer for Saskatchewan to this urgent and perplexing problem, since nearly one-half of our people are penniless on attaining the age of sixty-five and the average family’s income is probably lower today than it was in 1936 when it was $577.” Makaroff strongly approved of Saskatchewan’s pioneering efforts in this area, including Canada’s first medicare plan as implemented by the governments of T.C. Douglas and Woodrow Lloyd in 1961-1962.

Peter’s appointment to the University’s Board of Governors after the War was strenuously opposed by the Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire, a resolution of which sharply criticized him as being “widely known throughout Saskatchewan for extreme pacifist views and for opposition to Canada’s active participation in the war.” The same resolution criticized his son Robert for seeking military exemption. Another of Makaroff’s appointments was as chairman of the Saskatch­ewan Labour Relations Board in which capacity he presided with ability over the Board for more than a decade, having served as counsel at first instance for employees claiming to have been wrongfully dismissed in the celebrated John East case, which established that the provincially-appointed Board was not usurping the functions of a superior court and was validly constituted.

In 1948 when the Judicial Committee in London was still Canada’s highest court, Makaroff represented Saskatchewan in an appeal in England challenging the CPR’s exemption from taxation within provincial boundaries. The provincial argument was, in part, that the constitutional incapacity to tax detracted from the postulated equality of the provinces, but Their Lordships decided against the province, finding that there was no paradigm of exact provincial equality in the Canadian Constitution. Was it purely fortuitous that the Canadian Parliament abolished overseas appeals in the following year?

Peter Makaroff addresses crowd at the dedication of Petrofka Ferry as a Saskatchewan Historic Site, 1959. Photo courtesy Koozma J. Tarasoff.

Throughout the 1950s Makaroff continued his extensive law practice as the Sons of Freedom Doukhobors, particularly in British Columbia, carried on their protests against various government measures. At the climax of one series of demonstrations in 1962, Independent Liberal Senator Donald Cameron suggested that the B.C. Sons of Freedom be placed on a reservation on one of the Queen Charlotte Islands and provided with vocational and agricultural training “to rescue them from their maladjustment.” In replying to Senator Cameron, Makaroff objected to his description of the Sons of Freedom as Doukhobors—”they have nothing to do with the Doukhobor faith,” but showed otherwise keen interest in his proposal. “Your thought that with suitable help and encouragement they might be established somewhere as a self-supporting community to live decently and in peace on some island,” he wrote the legislator, “or say, in the Peace River Region, accords with my views and deserves, I feel, a most serious consideration by the authorities concerned.” Since the Senator’s appointment was from Alberta, there could have been some irony in Makaroff’s suggestion that the Sons of Freedom be settled in the Peace River district.

When Roger Carter was one of the younger partners in Makaroff’s firm he recalls an occasion during which the latter was arguing a difficult case before Mr. Justice C.S. Davis in Prince Albert, and was ordered by the judge to desist
from broaching a certain matter which Makaroff considered to be crucial. When he persisted, nevertheless, he was fined $500 for contempt-of-court by Davis, whereupon he reached for his wallet in his back pocket, asking the judge whether he wanted the amount “in cash or in kind” The incident occurred during Diefenbaker’s term of office as prime minister, and when his fellow law student of thirty-five years ago called at the prime minister’s railway carriage, Diefenbaker noticeably warmed to Peter when he learned of what had happened earlier in the day. Diefenbaker and Davis were old foes, once having had a roundhouse fight in the Prince Albert court house.

In the early 1960s the style of Peter’s firm was Makaroff, Carter, Surtees and Sherstobitoff, but his partners, while maintaining their highest regard for him, gradually left for other pursuits. Carter went on to a professorship at the law school in Saskatoon, taking graduate work at Michigan and serving as Dean of Law from 1968 to 1974. Carter was also a founder of the University’s Native Law Centre in 1973, receiving an honorary doctorate from Queen’s in recognition of this accomplishment. Another colleague, Leslie A. Surtees, left to become a magistrate in Swift Current. Nicholas Sherstobitoff remained with the firm longer, and after an extensive practice in labour and administrative law was appointed to the Saskatchewan Court of Appeal in the early 1980s, becoming the highest ranking Doukhobor on any Canadian court. Like Makaroff, he had also presided earlier over the Saskatchewan Labour Relations Board.

Until his death in 1971, true to his Doukhobor principles, Makaroff sought to promote international peace and goodwill through his membership in organizations like the World Federalists. He strongly supported Bill Sherstobitoff (the father of the above judge) when he sent a telegram on 19 May 1963, on behalf of the Doukhobor Society of Saskatoon, urging the Canadian government and parliamentarians not to acquire nuclear weapons. The Pearson government had changed its position in this issue, and later in the year did accept Bomarc missiles at RCAF bases at North Bay, Ontario, and La Macaza, Quebec. To the end of his life Makaroff continued to be esteemed for his steadfast adherence to principle, sometimes at considerable personal cost, and had the respect of many persons of goodwill who did not share those principles.

Peter Makaroff (far right) attending the International Meeting for Peace at the Manitoba-North Dakota border, 1966. Photo courtesy Koozma J. Tarasoff.

A person of strong idealism and great intellectual vigour, Peter Makaroff was a natural leader of the Independent Doukhobor movement. He achieved great distinction in his chosen profession. While he was strongly committed to traditional Doukhobor values of non-violence and brotherhood, he was not so much inclined, perhaps, to engage in Doukhobor religious services on a regular basis. For him the Doukhobor tradition was more something to be lived on a day-to-day basis, and its ideals of pacifism and sharing were also to be pursued m the political forum. He was admired by many of his fellow Doukhobors because of his valued professional counsel and activities, with one of his main services to his community being the rescue of Peter P. Verigin from deportation in 1933. He also reached out into the broader community and made friends in diverse sectors. The first Doukhobor graduate of the provincial university, he blazed a trail that many younger members of his religion followed later. It was very fitting that after his death in 1971 his ashes were strewn in the Petrovka area on the North Saskatchewan River where the Makaroffs had made their first Canadian home some seven decades earlier.

This article originally appeared in the pages of Saskatchewan History, an award-winning magazine dedicated to encouraging both readers and writers to explore the province’s history. Published by the Saskatchewan Archives since 1948, it is the pre-eminent source of information and narration about Saskatchewan’s unique heritage.  For more information, visit Saskatchewan History online at: http://www.saskarchives.com/web/history.html.

A History of the Perverseff Family

by Roger Phillips

Roger Phillips (1926-) was born in Tangleflags, Saskatchewan to Francis "Frank" Henry James Phillips, an English "remittance man", and Agatha J. Perverseff, a university-educated Doukhobor schoolteacher. At the age of nine, he moved with his mother to her parents home west of Blaine Lake. There, Roger enjoyed a typical Independent Doukhobor farmboy upbringing for the times, complete with hard work and responsibility. Nearly eighty years later, his Doukhobor heritage and upbringing has given Roger much to treasure and remember. His memoirs, reproduced here by permission from his book, “A History of the Phillips & Perverseff Families” provides an overview of his Perverseff family roots from their earliest origins through to their settlement on the Molochnaya, exile to the Caucasus and emigration to Canada – the ‘Promised Land’, as well as the family’s early pioneer years, and his own boyhood during the Depression.

Having introduced (my mother) Agatha into this narrative, the time is ripe to trace what is known of her early family history—one very different from (my father) Frank’s and sometimes quite turbulent. The Perverseffs (maternal line) belonged to a unique social entity. They were Doukhobors, a strongly pacifist social grouping driven by persecution in Mother Russia to migrate to Canada. I spent some time with my Perverseff grandparents as a little boy and young man and learned just enough Russian to grasp snatches of stories my Grandmother told. I refer to my grandparents now as John and Lucille, but in Russian they were Vanya and Lusha; to me they were Dyeda and Babushka. They and my Mother were my bridges to the past.

Family Origins

Scholarly sources state that the Russian surname Pereverzev (transcribed as Perverseff or Pereverseff in Canada) originates from the Russian verb pereverziti meaning “to muddle” or “to distort”. One may suppose that an early ancestor acquired this term as a nickname, which in turn was passed on to his forebears. The exact reason for such a nickname is unknown. It might be complimentary or insulting, or even ironic depending on circumstance and the individual concerned.

I recall that Russia’s Perm region, some 700 miles east of Moscow, was often alluded to by the family, for there my Pereverzev forebears purportedly dwelled and toiled until the 1700’s. Lusha had heard folk tales but the intercession of tumultuous events had insinuated themselves between her memory and that long-ago time so the connection was at best tenuous. Nevertheless, that is the first historical hint we have.

Were one to fall back on an imagination sprinkled with elusive wisps of hearsay to pierce the mists of centuries, he might conjure up images of his village-dwelling ancestors herding sheep and cattle on the steppes of Perm gubernia (province) or meeting in sobranya (a primarily religious gathering) to foster a burgeoning pacifist faith which by the 1700s was already balking against an increasingly stifling church orthodoxy and corrupt priesthood.

The Molochnaya and Caucasian Exile

If, indeed, Perm was an ancestral home, my antecedents had left it long before the migration made to the Molochnye Vody (Milky Waters) region of Tavria Province on the Crimean frontier just north of the Sea of Azov. Doukhobor researcher Jon Kalmakoff’s accessing of Russian archives reveals that the Pereverzev family in the later 1700s lived in Ekaterinoslav province, migrating about 1801 to land along or near the Molochnaya River in the Melitopol district of Tavria province, Russia (present day Zaporozhye province, Ukraine) where they lived in Rodionovka village, farming adjoining land for some forty years. There were eight other Doukhobor villages scattered along the river and adjoining lake known as Molochnaya.

In 1845, a Pereverzev family and other Doukhobors were exiled to the forbidding Zakavkaz (Transcaucasian) region. Wild Asiatic tribes occupied this mountainous, inhospitable region and Tsar Nikolai I, hitherto unable to rehabilitate what he considered to be an incorrigible sect, opined that these mountain tribes would soon teach the Doukhobors a lesson or, better still, remove altogether this thorn from his side.

Kalmakoff, a Regina-based researcher, accessed long-forgotten Russian archives and found that the family patriarch, Vasily Mikhailovich Pereverzev, together with his wife Maria, was listed among the Doukhobors exiled to the Caucasus. His parents and siblings did not accompany him.

Seduced, one might posit, by a growing prosperity that looked askance at being driven into unpleasant exile, his parents and siblings demurred to Orthodoxy and pronounced allegiance to the Tsar. The parents were Mikhailo (b. 1802), and Maria (b. 1802); his siblings, Ilya Mikhailovich (b.1827), Pelegea Mikhailovna (b. 1828), Semyon Mikhailovich (b. 1830), Fedosia Mikhailovna (b. 1832), Irena Mikhailovna (b. 1834), Evdokia Mikhailovna (b. 1837), Evdokim Mikhailovich (b. 1839), Ivan Mikhailovich (b. 1841) and Anna Mikhailovna (b. 1843).

Ivan Vasilyevich Pereverzev (left) and unidentified Doukhobor relatives in Gorelovka village, Kars province, Russia, c. 1890.

So it was that as the middle of the Nineteenth Century approached, my maternal Great-Great-Great-Grandfather Vasily Mikhailovich Pereverzev had grown up and chosen to go into exile with his wife Maria and their two sons rather than bow to Orthodox Church and Tsarist pressure.

Their sons were Ivan Vasilyevich, to whom our branch of the Perverseffs traces our lineage, and Fyodor Vasilyevich, who founded the Fred, Andrew, and Alexander Perverseff lines. Their father, Vasily, was the only one of his line of Pereverzevs to accompany those Doukhobors who stood firm by their faith and were banished from their Molochnaya settlements between 1841 and 1845.

In the Caucasus, the Pereverzevs settled in Novo-Goreloye village in Elizavetpol province (in present-day Azerbaijan), one of four Doukhobor villages established in that province of Transcaucasian Russia.

Harsh Living Conditions

Ivan Vasilyevich, my Great-Great-Grandfather and son of the patriarch Vasily, married in the mid-1850s and his wife Aksinya bore him a son Vasily in 1859. In 1880 this son Vasily married Elizaveta Lapshinov and they had a son, my Grandfather Ivan Vasilyevich in 1883 and two daughters.

The Pereverzevs along with their fellow Doukhobors in Elizavetpol province found life harsh. Fleeting summers squeezed between frost-bitten springs and falls and deep winter snows contrasted sharply with the pleasing milder climate their elders had known in the Molochnaya region. Subsistence was based mainly on cattle and sheep raising, market gardening, and what little wheat could be grown. There was something else. An undercurrent of fear shadowed the Elizavetpol villages, with good reason.

Asiatic hill country tribesmen would occasionally swoop down on horseback on the Doukhobor villages, plundering livestock and poultry and, reputedly, even carrying off children. The hillsmen’s depredations were tempered somewhat by the retributive countering of armed Doukhobors riding out to punish the raiders. Circumstances soon offered many Elizavetpol Doukhobor families an opportunity to leave.

Aksinya Pereverzeva in Gorelovka village, Kars province, Russia, c. 1894. Her loyalty to Verigin’s Large Party resulted in a Pereverzev family schism in 1886.

During the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-1878, Doukhobor men were enlisted as teamsters for the Russian Army – a compromise from being actual combatants and a lucrative arrangement made by the then-Doukhobor leader Lukeria Kalmykova. The Doukhobor teamsters served faithfully and their efforts helped Russia emerge victorious from the conflict. As a reward, the Doukhobors in Elizavetpol and other areas were invited to settle in the more temperate and fertile province of Kars, newly-conquered from the Ottoman Empire. Many Doukhobors accepted, including the Pereverzevs.

The Pereverzevs’ migration to Kars in 1880 took them through Tiflis (later Tbilisi, Georgia), a city Grandmother Lusha sometimes mentioned when talking about life in Kars. Once in Kars, the Pereverzevs settled in the village of Gorelovka, named after their former home in Elizavetpol. It was one of six Doukhobor villages established in the province. There, they would live and prosper for the next nineteen years.

A Pereverzev family schism occurred in 1886 when the Doukhobor leader Lukeria (Lushechka) Vasilyevna Kalmykova died. Many Doukhobors decided to follow Petr Vasilyevich Verigin, who had been a protégé of hers, and formed what became known as the “Large Party”. Other Doukhobors maintained that Lushechka had not anointed Peter and instead sided with her officials who claimed Verigin usurped the leadership. Individuals of this persuasion established themselves as the “Small Party”. My Great-Great-Grandmother, Aksinya, was by all accounts a loyal Large Party adherent while her husband Ivan Vasilyevich sided with the Small Party. Sadly, the ill feelings this rift created forced the elderly couple to vacate the family home.

In his later years, Ivan Vasilyevich Pereverzev was a village starshina – a dignitary we would today call a mayor. His son Vasily Ivanovich became a trader as well as farmer, herdsman, and carpenter and, years later, related that on his trading expeditions he found Christian Armenian shopkeepers the most hospitable of the merchants he encountered in the Caucasus. Only after sharing a meal and an hour or two of pleasant conversation would they get down to mundane business.

Restrictions meant to better reflect their pacifism were imposed on the Large Party Doukhobors in the early 1890s, and the following obeyed Leader-in-Exile Petr Vasilyevich Verigin’s decree to forego smoking, drinking, sex, and eating meat. Late in 1894, Verigin wrote from banishment in Siberia that such denial would purify the body and bring into one fold all the animal kingdom in the Doukhobor pact of non-violence.

The Burning of Arms

A supreme test came in 1895 when Verigin ordered his followers to protest war and killing of any sort by burning their arms. This they did in dramatic fashion on the night of June 28-29. A bonfire near the villages of the Kars Doukhobors punctuated the darkness as guns and other killing instruments were put to the torch. As well, Doukhobors serving in the army laid down their rifles, refusing to kill for the state. Then it was that these folk felt the full fury of an enraged officialdom. The whippings and other means of persecution were brutal. Indeed, the “Burning of Arms”, as Doukhobor history records the event, became buried deep in the psyche of these people, a watershed act pointing them towards Canada and a new destiny.

Vasily Ivanovich (sitting) and his son Vanya (standing) Pereverzev pictured in typical Russian dress – a military style peaked cap, a coat tight at the waist and high boots. Gorelovka village, Kars province, Russia, c. 1894.

The Doukhobors wanted so little and yet so much. Above all they wished to peacefully pursue their faith, to be free to lead simple, non-violent, productive lives in a communal environment with “Toil and Peaceful Life” and “Thou Shalt Not Kill” their watchwords. Noble sentiments, indeed, but the Burning of Arms and Doukhobor soldiers rejecting the army were highly provocative acts inviting harsh reprisals by Tsarist officials. The persecution that followed seemed to leave no choice for many but to get out or perish.

Exodus to Canada

Their plight attracted worldwide attention. Journalists, writers and benefactors in several countries took up their cause. Not the least of these was the already famous Russian novelist and humanitarian Lev Tolstoy who, himself, embraced many Doukhobor ideals, becoming their staunchest ally. His financial contribution and towering talent as a writer did much to facilitate their move to Canada, an exodus that began December 21, 1898, when the first shipload left Russia. Their turn to depart set for some months later, the Pereverzevs and other villagers in Gorelovka, Kars Province, began selling off their possessions and preparing for their own departure. Overseeing preparations for our branch of the Pereverzevs was Vasily Ivanovich, now 40, who had helped shepherd the family through the harrowing times in Transcaucasia and the terrors following the Burning of Arms. He and his wife Elizaveta now had in their care a 16-year-old son, Ivan Vasilyevich, his wife Lusha, and two younger daughters, Dunya and Hanya. Ivan’s birth, on May 1, 1883, followed by two years that of Lusha (nee Negreeva). Under mutual arrangements and approving eyes Ivan and Lusha were married in 1898.

Cousin Mae Postnikoff tells Grandmother’s side of the story. Mae stayed with the Perverseff grandfolks in Blaine Lake while attending high school in the 1950s. Grandmother told her the marriage was arranged by the Pereverzev and Negreev families and confided that back in Russia she loved not Grandfather but another man her family wouldn’t condone her marrying. This “beloved” also migrated to Canada eventually moving on to British Columbia and Grandmother never saw him again. Love takes nurturing and while Lusha may not have loved Ivan at first, she did in time.

Vasily Ivanovich’s immediate and extended family was among that part of the Kars Doukhobor population scheduled to set sail for Canada May 12, 1899. At sea they lived on sukhari (dried bread) and water, reaching Canada June 6. After a lengthy quarantine they proceeded west by rail, reaching the Northwest Territories settlement of Duck Lake in early July. Detraining there, they temporarily occupied immigration sheds, regrouped, acquired settlement supplies, and underwent further documentation.

A cavalcade of Doukhobor immigrants on the move from debarkation at Duck Lake, Northwest Territories, to settle a prairie site in the summer of 1899.

Canadian unfamiliarity with the spelling and pronunciation of Russian family names resulted in their sometimes being anglicized. In our case, Pereverzev became Perverseff although family members eventually adopted Pereverseff. Today, more than a hundred years later, the Russian pronunciation of names has often given way to anglicized versions.

With August approaching and half the summer gone, Vasily and the other new arrivals to Canada were understandably restless. Having heard of the harshness of western prairie winters, they were anxious to reach their new lands, build shelters in time to get through the inevitable snows and cold, and get on with their new life. To this end they formed into groups based mainly on extended family relationships. One group of some 20 families including the Perverseffs set off with wagons and on foot for a site nearly 40 miles west of Duck Lake. With a few horse-and-oxen-drawn wagons heaped with necessities they were part of the procession that marched to Carlton Ferry, crossed the North Saskatchewan River and entered the “Prince Albert Colony”. To the newcomers this was indeed a Promised Land where they and their faith might flourish. Little did they realize then that inevitable acculturation would modify and eventually replace traditional thinking and ways with Canadian thinking and ways. Once across the river, the different groups set off to the designated areas each was to settle.

The Promised Land

Let us retrace this migration and subsequent settlement as seen through the eyes of Grandfather Vanya and his son Jack, with manuscript-typist and cousin Mae Postnikoff joining in. In a memoir, Grandfather related that the Gorelovka villagers began their journey on a fresh April morning. They spent Easter Week in the Russian Black Sea port of Batum awaiting the May 12 departure of the S.S. Lake Huron, the Canadian ship taking them to Canada. Of the 2,300 Kars Doukhobors who made the voyage by sea and ocean, 23 did not survive the rough waters and meager diet. Reaching Quebec City at the beginning of June, the new arrivals were immediately subjected to a thirty-day quarantine on Grosse Isle in the St. Lawrence River to obviate any communicable disease spread. Ten days aboard Canadian Pacific Railway “colonial” rail cars with wooden benches to sit and sleep on brought the migrants by later-July via the still largely tent city of Saskatoon to Duck Lake, the seat of a Metis uprising 14 years earlier. There, immigration sheds housed them before they departed for their settlement sites.

With a few oxen and horses and wagons and a few cows in tow the group that included Grandfather’s family wended its way westward to a point approximately a mile and a half northeast of where the town of Krydor now stands. In a ravine near a small lake they stopped. Squatters now, the migrants dug holes in the ravine walls into which they thrust poles and used sod to complete rude huts. These first “homes”, not unlike the domiciles characteristic of some of their Asiatic neighbors in Russia, provided rough shelter. Grandfather wrote that “we lived about three years” in this “wild and desolate place…isolated in a strange and unfamiliar land”.

Vanya, Lusha and their son Jack photographed in Canada c. 1903. 

A creek ran through the ravine meandering across rolling prairie situated in the SE 26-44-8-W3. Men who could be spared were away railroad building or working on construction or for established farmers earning money for settlement needs. It fell to the womenfolk to break ground for gardens, manage the livestock and keep the village going. Many years later, the late Bill Lapshinoff, a relative whose farm was nearby, showed a friend and me where village women had dug a channel to provide water flow to turn a grist mill wheel. The channel lay in a copse of brush and poplar preserved from the effects of wind and water erosion. There is no one left to tell us now, but the new settlers presumably called this first village Gorelovka after their former home village in Russia.

Grandfather further wrote that things changed when the Doukhobor leader Peter “Lordly” Verigin arrived in Canada from Siberian exile late in 1902. He soon convinced his Doukhobor brethren to start living communally. New villages built would hold and work land in common sharing resources equally. Grandfather noted that “we began communal life which we had not been living before”. Grandfather’s revelation indicates that it was at this time that our forebears abandoned their original dugout settlement in 1902 to build the village of Bolshaya (Large) Gorelovka a mile or so north and a bit west. The word “Large” was needed to distinguish it from the nearby village of Malaya (Small) Gorelovka established at the same time. Both derived from the original dugout settlement. Goreloye, a diminutive form of the village name, was what my grandfolks called Bolshaya Gorelovka. The word Bolshaya was not used unless one needed to distinguish the village from Malaya Gorelovka.

Bolshaya Gorelovka or Goreloye was well situated. High bordering hills tree-covered in places offered shelter from the prevailing northwest wind. A ravine with a free flowing natural spring intersected the northwest corner of the village which ran in an approximate north-south direction for about three quarters of a mile. A large slough lay near the south end and sod from its environs provided roofing. The Fort Carlton-Fort Pitt trail ran east and west just north of the village.

The spring flowed year round providing water for household and livestock use. It ran northeasterly as a creek forming a muskeg that bordered a row of gardens including the Perverseff’s. An open area, where a Russian ball game called hilki was played by youngsters in summer and on hard-packed snow in winter, divided the village into two parts. Toward the north end on the east side stood a large community barn just to the north of which a shallow well had been dug where the creek flowed. A large wooden watering trough lay beside this depression. Here, old country innovation came into play. A stout pole sunk into the ground had attached to it a smaller pole with an arm that could swivel. A pail filled at the well and hung over the arm by its handle would be swung to the watering trough and there emptied. This beat having to physically carry the pail back and forth.

Vasily, in a traditional Russian coat, with his son Vanya and daughters Dunya and Hanya photographed in Canada c. 1903. 

An indoor, closed-in brick oven was built into the wall of each village house. Oven tops covered with blankets or coats made good resting places and in winter, ideal retreats from invading cold. Soon banyas (bath houses) that had been an Old Country fixture began to appear, one of the first built by William John Perverseff, as Vasily Ivanovich Pereverzev came to be known in Canada.

The land description on which Bolshaya Gorelovka or Goreloye village stood was the SW 35-44-8-W3, North-West Territories (Saskatchewan came into being three years later). While hilly benchland rimmed the west and north, the country east and south was flat or gently rolling prairie carpeted with fescue, spear and wheat grass knee high in places, and pocked with numerous sloughs and potholes. There were poplar groves and to the north, spruce was available. The soil was mainly good black loam. To the Perverseffs and their fellow settlers, this land truly held promise.

Cousin Mae picks up the narrative: "Grandfather Vanya was an admirer of education and he was the prime mover in establishing the first Canadian public school in their midst. He did attend school in Petrofka in winter months… around 1907. The teacher was Herman Fast who was… responsible for the English spelling of our surname… It was in this school that our grandfather… learned the rudiments of the English language… [and] to read the English newspapers and get the gist of the meaning."

Grandpa really did not have a good command of the English language, but he insisted on corresponding with the Department of Education through Uncle Jack after Uncle Jack started attending school in 1911. Before that, all business was transacted through a Ukrainian intellectual immigrant with old country higher education. His name was Joseph Megas…an organizer and field representative of the Department of Education….It was he who misnamed our school to Havrilowka, which later was corrected to "Haralowka"S, but still a far cry from Gorelovka or Goreloye.

By the fall of 1902, Bolshaya Gorelovka or Goreloye had taken shape, with the new pioneers sharing the tasks of village building and taming the wild land. Although many of the men-folk were away earning money, the work of building still got done with women pitching in to fill the manpower shortage. A belief that women were hitched to ploughs to till the fields is not true. Men using oxen ploughed the fields. However women, in pairs twenty strong, did pull a small one-furrow plough to break up garden ground.

Perverseff women and children grouped in front of the Gorelovka village family home in 1904. Vasily’s wife Elizaveta (Lisunya) stands at left, Lusha holds Agatha while Jack stands beside her, with sister-in-law Hanya at right.

Unlike other blocks of Doukhobor land elsewhere, the Prince Albert Colony allotment was in alternate sections. Canadian authorities were aware that the Kars Doukhobors were more individualistic than their brethren from other areas. These so-called “Independents” had been reluctant to go along with Verigin’s 1893 edict asking all Doukhobors not only to live communally but also to share all resource ownership in what amounted to Christian Communism. Alternate sections of land amidst other nationalities imbued with the spirit of individual enterprise fostered independent farmstead development instead of living in a central communal village – a notion the Doukhobors from Kars found attractive. But for the first dozen or so years communal living did prevail.

Village buildings were simple yet sturdy. Logs trimmed to form four-sided timbers made up the main framework. Clay, grass and other ingredients were mixed with water and treaded into a paste that was plastered on both the outside and inside of the timbered walls. Poles laid lengthwise on inverted v-shaped frames supported the roofing sod cut from the marshy margins of nearby sloughs. Grey/white calcimine covered the walls inside and helped waterproof them outside.

William’s home (starting from the street and working back) had a living room that also served as a bedroom, a kitchen, a verandah, a main bedroom, then a storage room, and a brick oven. Sod cut from the environs of a nearby slough covered the roof. Out back was the inevitable outhouse. Before long, William built a bath house patterned after those popular in Russia, and eventually a small blacksmith shop was erected. Since self sufficiency was an ingrained Doukhobor trait, the Perverseffs – like their neighbors – cultivated a large garden.

The Perverseffs and fellow immigrants soon added to their initial inventory of eight horses, five cows, four oxen, four wagons and three ploughs. Horses pulled the wagons; oxen, the ploughs.

Pioneering was at first extremely labour intensive. Grain was sown by hand broadcasting; mature crops were cut with scythes and sickles; grain was threshed by men and women wielding flails. William, good with his hands and mechanically inclined, made shovels and other needed tools and implements in his blacksmith shop. When Elizabeth (as Elizaveta came to be called) wanted a spinning wheel or Lucille (as Lusha was called in Canada) needed a garden hoe, William made them. Because money was needed to buy livestock and farm machinery, William’s son John joined other young men and walked to St. Lazare, Manitoba to work on the Grand Trunk Railway (see How the Doukhobors Build Railways). A picture taken in 1907 shows him with 18 other Doukhobor men in a work party.

When time permitted, Lucille and the other women earned money, too, gathering seneca root, considered to have medicinal benefits, and selling their fine needlework or trading it for things they needed.

John and Lucille began their Canadian family in 1901 when John Ivan “Jack” was born. Agatha (my mother) followed in 1904; Nicholas “Nick” in 1907, Nita in 1911, and Mary “Marion” in 1919. John and Lucille’s first-born daughter was lost in childbirth during the sea voyage to Canada. What became known as Haralowka School opened in 1911 three quarters of a mile southeast of the village and all five children went there, with Marion also attending a new, larger brick school erected a half mile north which opened in 1930.

This image of a Haralowka home was found among the Perverseff collection or pictures and may have been the family home. It is typical of those at the time–squared log construction, a plaster covering painted with calcimine and with a sod roof. A buggy or what was often called a “democrat” is parked beside the home.

Both Bolshaya and Malaya Gorelovka were reminiscent of old country mirs (communal villages in Russia), but they were short-lived, the villagers having abandoned them by 1920 to become individual landowners. However, the name continued in the form of Haralowka school district.

Independence

William and John were among the first villagers to file for their own land, the first in 1909 being 320 acres of scrip land that had been assigned to a Boer War veteran named Thomas J. Stamp. Its legal description was NW & NE 22-45-8-W3. Located some six miles to the northwest of the village, it was used primarily for grazing. In 1912, the SW 25-44-8-W3 was acquired and buildings were erected that served as a temporary base of operations. Other land subsequently added to the family holdings included the NW 25-44-8-W3, SE 31-44-8-W3 and NE 25-44-8-W3. An old land registry map shows the Perverseff home place on the NW 30-44-8-W3. Because Haralowka district Doukhobor settlers became sole land owners, they were referred to in Russian as farmli (individual farmers) and were no favorites of the Doukhobor leader, Peter Verigin. Lucille’s parents, on the other hand, joined more communally-minded Doukhobors migrating to British Columbia.

In 1909 William journeyed to Russia to bring back his newly-widowed mother Aksinya. According to Jon Kalmakoff’s research, they returned to Canada aboard the SS Kaiserin Auguste Victoria, sailing from Hamburg, Germany on November 4, 1909, arriving at New York, USA on November 13, 1909. Aksinya lived in the village for three years before passing away and was laid to rest in the tiny burial ground near the top of a hill just west of the village. “Bill” Lapshinoff, the owner of the village land in the 1990s, regretted that this original cemetery had eventually been ploughed over instead of being retained historically.

The Perverseffs on their homestead. Jack and Agatha at back, Nick beside seated Vanya, Lusha and Nita. Blaine Lake district, SK, c. 1914.

For their home place William and John chose a site at the northeast corner of the quarter with the erecting of farm buildings starting immediately. The main farmyard sloped on all sides near the southeast corner to a low point at which the base of the main garden started and where spring runoff advantageously settled. A fence divided the house, great grandfolk’s cottage, summer kitchen, a small grassed field, orchard and garden from the farm utility buildings. Open to the east, this spacious area of perhaps ten acres was bounded on the south, west, and north by a three row-spruce tree shelterbelt. A caragana-lined sidewalk led from the farmyard gate to the house.

The home Vanya and Lusha moved into in 1914 was modest, probably no more than 30 by 40 feet. The front porch, entered from the south, had two inner doors, one opening into the kitchen beyond which was the one bedroom; the other, into the large living room. A bookcase and writing desk constituted John’s study and there was a large table where meals were served. A couch in one corner doubled as my bed when I stayed as a child with my grandparents. A radio was turned on mainly for the news, although I recall listening Wednesday evenings to Herb Paul, the yodeling cowboy, his program originating from Winnipeg.

The impressive barn on the Perverseff family homestead near Blaine Lake, SK, c. 1921.

A cottage built just a few steps east of the main house was a comfortable haven for William and Elizabeth. They ate their meals with the rest of the family in the main house and during the warmer months of the year, in the summer kitchen.

While the house was modest, the barn started in 1921 was anything but. The largest in the district, it was a red-painted, hip-roof type boasting cement and plank flooring, plank stalls, a harness tack room with harness repair equipment, water cistern, large hayloft area, and an ample chop bin. The north side was extended to include a cow-barn/milking area, a box stall for small calves, and a cream separating room. The barn was completed in 1922 and if ever there was a status symbol in the Haralowka district, this was it.

Down a bit from the west entrance to the barn was a windmill-powered well beside which stood a big corrugated metal watering trough. The garden and orchard extended south and west. Just north of the garden and behind the well was a Russian style bath-house and just north of it was the blacksmith shop, complete with forge and foot-pedal-driven wood lathe, a marvel that William designed and built. A few yards further north was the root cellar, while a granary and chicken coop with fenced-in yard stood south of the barn.

Implement and storage sheds were northeast of the summer kitchen. A three-car brick garage built in 1927 housed sleeping quarters for hired men and a McLaughlin-Buick car. A tree-lined lane ran a hundred yards or so north to an east-west road. The natural lawn lying west of the house and extending north and south served as an outdoor recreational area. Slough willow and poplar sheltered the south side of the garden and orchard. John, with an eye for symmetry and order, could be justifiably proud of the impressive yard.

A Good Life

Hard work and good planning combined with good wheat prices during World War I brought prosperity. The meager assets with which the Perverseffs started out had multiplied many-fold. John emerged the master planner; William, the implementer. By 1930, with the Great Depression still around the corner, they presided over a successful farming operation, with a complete line of farm machinery. They had a section of land under cultivation; three hired men during the busiest times and a hired girl when Lucille needed extra help. Cree Indian men from the nearby Muskeg Reserve signed on during fall threshing to haul sheaves and field pitch.

On the farm at any one time would be up to ten milking cows, at least eight draft horses, and a fast team of matched sorrels kept for buggy and cutter use. Selling cream and eggs provided extra income that helped tide the family over during the cash-strapped Depression years of the 1930s.

Grandfather Vanya was inordinately proud of the family’s white stallion, Safron, seen here pulling a buggy, c. 1908.

In the rhythm of farm life, seeding and harvesting took precedence over all else. Social activities followed the then-current rural pattern: visiting with relatives and friends, attending marriages and funerals, and going regularly to sobranya, first in a rural dom, a hall built for gatherings a half mile east of the farmstead; later in the town of Blaine Lake, ten miles east. Cream and eggs were delivered to Tallman, a hamlet three miles southeast, where mail was picked up and cream cans retrieved.

The main event of the year was Peter’s Day, held every June 29. It was essentially a commemoration of the trials and tribulations the Doukhobors had endured in Russia. There were prayers and the air swelled harmoniously with the a cappella singing of psalms and resonated with voices raised in discourse on the Doukhobor faith. A huge tent holding more than a hundred people was set up on grounds just southeast of Blaine Lake and a carnival atmosphere prevailed especially for the younger children who would absent themselves from the tent to play. A noon meal, served picnic style, consisted of such fare as pie-like cheese and fruit peroshki, crepe-like bliny, boiled eggs, fresh bread and fruit, especially arbus (watermelon), a universal Doukhobor favorite, if available. Life was good!

The Perverseffs did not smoke, drink alcohol, or eat meat but a diet rich in garden-grown vegetables and their own dairy products made for healthy eating. Vegetable borsch (a heavy soup), bread and cheese were staples, eaten pretty well daily.

About 1935, William and John acquired land near Blaine Lake for John’s son Nick to farm. I was present when John negotiated with the owner, Senator Byron Horner. A handshake sealed the deal – unlike today no lawyers were needed then to oversee an agreement between men whose word was their bond.

Perverseff family portrait, 1919. At back Agatha and Jack; in front, Vanya, Nita, Lusha (holding Marion) and Nick.

In 1935 William’s wife Elizabeth died. Casting further gloom was the Great Depression, the so-called Dirty Thirties, now firmly entrenched. The bottom had dropped out of wheat prices. Grasshopper and army worm infestations plagued the farmland. Only “empties” going by, a wry allusion to rainless dark clouds, conspired with wicked winds to rearrange quarter sections and penetrate homes, layering windowsills and floors with fine dust. Planted fields baked dry had to be ploughed over. Talk about good times and bad – these were really bad!

Tangleflags

Back in Tangleflags, Saskatchewan – where I lived with my parents in the late 1920’s and early 1930s – folks didn’t find the Depression quite so severe. There was more moisture – less than everyone would have liked – but enough to produce some grain, and livestock pastured better. I didn’t think anything was really out of the ordinary before we left the area in October of 1935. My friend Vernon Dubay would come over to play. I poled my raft on the lake. I walked to school or rode double on horseback with Dad or Mother or sometimes a visiting aunt. Grace Harbin, a spinster, taught at Tangleflags School, and I once penciled a rather good likeness of her attractive niece, Betty, who sat in front of me.

Born on Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1926, I won a prize in the fall as “baby of the year” in a weekly newspaper contest and still wonder how such a chubby, round-faced little cherub could have been selected. Francis “Frank” Henry James Philips, an English immigrant farmer, and Agatha (nee Perverseff) had married in Lashburn at friends Bob and Dorie Sanderson’s place on December 26, 1924 and I was their first child.

I’ve speculated about why Agatha married Frank. Having attended university (Education) she was at that time considered well educated (especially for a Doukhobor). Frank wasn’t. She had mastered two languages. He knew only one. She had a quick mind. His was more plodding and his prospects didn’t really reach beyond farming. So! Was it pity for the underdog? Did she feel sorry for him because of his physical handicap (he was missing one arm)? Did his cheerfully and successfully forging ahead in the face of odds win her heart. Did his fine baritone singing voice move her? Why is something I really cannot answer.

This most glamorous image of Agatha is thought to have been taken just after she graduated from what was then called “Normal School” in April of 1924. She was immediately hired to teach for the remainder of the school year in rural Tangleflags, SK.

As the schoolteacher at Tangleflags, Agatha gained quick entree into the community. Her pupils brought her in touch with their parents and community functions with eligible bachelors usually in attendance. Just shy of eight months from the time she met Frank, they married and his little bungalow was their first home. In January, 1925 she started teaching at North Gully, close to 15 miles southwest from our place shortcutting across country. She rode Satin, a fine saddle pony, to a farmstead near North Gully School where she boarded during the week.

On one occasion, as she would later recall, Satin, likely feeling bored, decided to jump Cook’s gate [a quarter mile from our place and the beginning of the cross country shortcut]. “Bob Oswell was rounding up his horses nearby and saw me fall. He galloped over to render assistance but I was back on Satin before he reached me.” Falling off horses happened frequently in those days and it’s a wonder more people weren’t badly hurt. Satin’s faithful companion and Mother’s was Bob, a dog of mixed heritage but good character. Whenever she tethered Satin, Bob always stayed close by until they were off again.

Frank concentrated on building a proper house, and proper it truly was, the first in Tangleflags to have hardwood floors, occasioning some neighbor women to consider Mother “spoiled”. Agatha quit teaching in December and she and Frank moved into the new home the beginning of January, 1926, with me arriving a month and a half later. Agatha’s sisters Nita and Marion Perverseff came to visit in the ensuing years, and Mother chummed with a Miss Thom and Phoebe Mudge from Paradise Hill. By 1930, we had a piano in the house and a tennis court outside.

One was practically born in the saddle in those days and I was quite at home riding horseback by the time I was six. The only problem was getting on; but a fence or corral pole or anything a couple of feet high answered well enough. By the time I could ride, Frank had sold Satin and acquired Phyllis, a mare in foal who soon gave us Star, a black colt named for the white patch on his forehead. In the warm months I’d ride Phyllis to herd our cattle on Crown grassland a half mile northeast of our place. Influenced no doubt by tales of the Old West, I trained Phyllis to dig in her front feet and “stop on a dime”. If we were moving quickly and I yelled whoa, I’d have to brace myself or go for a tumble. Once, I did. I chased a gopher taking a zigzag course over the prairie. When it disappeared down a hole, I excitedly yelled whoa, and forgetting to brace myself, flew over Phyllis’ head as she stopped abruptly. I was seven at the time; my young bones were pliant, and thankfully the prairie wasn’t too hard; my feelings were the most damaged.

Frank, Agatha and “Old Bob” standing in front of the new farmhouse the couple moved into in January of 1926 at Tangleflags, SK.

Once summoned, other childhood memories flood back, jostling for attention.

Bob Oswell, whose folks farmed up in the hills southwest of us, was my idea of a cowboy. Bob always wore a beat-up old ten-gallon hat and had trained a white pony named Smokey to rear up on its hind legs when he mounted it. Watching Smokey rear up and then gallop away, Bob firmly in the saddle with a rifle in a scabbard strapped to it, convinced me to become a cowboy. But once in a long while an airplane would fly over and I’d change my mind. I figured piloting a plane was even better than being a cowboy. I even went so far as to build what vaguely resembled a plane with boards and logs in back of the old bungalow. Then I’d walk up a nearby hill to watch it get smaller, the way planes did in the sky.

Once, Frank let me plough a furrow right across a field by myself. Actually, the horses were so conditioned to this work that they needed no guidance. Still, I held the reins and kicked the foot rod that raised the ploughshares up and that released them when we’d turned around. I was pretty proud of myself and thought maybe I’d be a farmer.

I changed my mind when I fell off a straw stack. Frank was loading straw onto a hayrack and I, not paying proper attention, missed my footing and tumbled off the stack crashing down on my back. That hurt! Farming was proving to be dangerous.

Another incident altered my thinking about being a cowboy. On one occasion Aunt Marion Perverseff rode Phyllis to fetch me from school and for some reason Phyllis didn’t take kindly to riding double that day. She bucked and I fell off, much, I imagine, to the amusement of the other children.

I was fortunate to have a sister, if only for a short while. Her given names were Lorna Ruth and Agatha always remembered her as “my golden-haired girl”. Though she was more than two years younger than me, we were pretty good companions. She was my chum and we played together, happily most of the time but not without the odd sibling tiff.

Frank, Agatha, Roger and newly-born Lorna pose for a family portrait in 1928 at Tangleflags, SK.

Lorna fell dreadfully ill in the dead of winter. The last day or two before the end of January, 1933, a doctor snow-planed out from Lloydminster and took her back with him. Her death from peritonitis February 2 broke Mother’s heart and fanned the spark of a hitherto embryonic paranoia that gradually grew more troublesome and consumed her last years. I stayed with Cook’s, our closest neighbors, while Frank and Agatha were at Lorna’s hospital bedside and when they got home and told me Lorna was now with God and that I wouldn’t see her again, a terrible weight settled on me. I’ve since experienced many deaths amongst family and friends, but none that hurt more.

I wasn’t crazy about school, but I liked recess. One of our main amusements was a maypole-like swing with several chains having rungs to cling to that dangled from a rotating disk at the top of the steel pole. One person who was “it” would take his or her chain in a circle around all the other chains to which children clung. Then the youngsters would race around the pole with whoever was “it” flying high in the air. It was great fun and my turn could never come soon enough. But one day when it did, disaster struck. I was flung out and around so furiously that my hands slipped off the chain rung and my now uncharted flight path brought me into contact with a nearby woodpile. Somehow a nail gashed my skull which bled so profusely that some of the kids figured I was “sure a goner”. I survived, bloody and somewhat bowed.

In the 1930s for a few years a troop of Boy Scouts summer camped across the lake in front of Cook’s. The boys were from Lloydminster and possibly Lashburn and Marshall. Island Lake was likely chosen for this outing because it was so buoyant that drowning was practically impossible. In the evenings, if the wind was right, we could hear the boys singing around a campfire and see flames leaping into the air. I thought being a Boy Scout was alright and maybe I’d try it when I got old enough.

On the farm we grew or raised part of what we ate. We had a large garden which mostly gave us potatoes. Occasionally we’d slaughter a pig or a beef. I usually wasn’t around when that happened but the year before we left the farm, I was. I knew we were going to kill a pig and wanted no part of it. When a man Dad hired to help arrived, I headed down to the lake. Suddenly there was an awful squeal and I knew the pig was dying.

Agatha with Lorna and Roger in front of the Tangleflags house in 1932.

Grassland was needed for grazing when I was little, and there was more of it then than now. More grass meant more prairie fires and there was a bad one when I was about five. It burned to within a couple hundred yards of our place and I remember men with faces and hands smeared black from fighting it dropping in for coffee and sandwiches or heading for the dipper in the water pail. The lake probably saved us, both in cutting off the direct line of the blaze and being so handy a source for water to wet gunny sacking used to beat the flames. I was too young to comprehend what a close call we had. Instead, I childishly found the rush of activity exciting.

One tends to remember certain people. As a councilman for Britania Rural Municipality No. 502 our neighbor Joe Cook was out and about a lot in the district. He’d come riding by in his buggy, whip in one hand, reins in the other. His big walrus moustache made him quite imposing, even a bit fearsome. I rather fancied his good-looking daughter Joan, maybe because she always beat me when we raced on horseback. But she was older and paid me no mind.

British accents attested to the strong English influence in the community where the men smoked pipes and played cricket. There were garden parties, and you watched how you held your little finger when you sipped your tea. Since the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the sons, I, like Dad, smoked a pipe when I grew up. Eventually, though, I gave up pipe smoking as a bad habit.

I always paid heed when Bob Oswell’s dad passed in his wagon going to Bob’s place. He was built stocky, “strong as a bull”, my father said, and it seemed to me that he always scowled. And his Tyne-sider’s accent was so strong and his voice so raspy that I never understood a word he said. He was a good enough neighbor but his gruff manner told me to steer clear of him.

Nip and Tuck were a pair of greys that Dad treasured. They were big horses, Clydesdales probably, and powerful. I would watch them strain and see their muscles ripple as they pulled a wagonload of wheat up the steep hill a half mile south of our place. It was a treat to accompany Frank to Hillmond for these trips usually promised hard candy in Arthur Rutherford’s general store. I remember coyote skins hanging on a store wall – each had brought someone a $25.00 bounty. Coyotes chased bad little boys, I’d been told, but they didn’t seem so scary now.

On one Hillmond trip Bob spooked a deer with a good rack of antlers. He chased it across the road right in front of us and got a futile but good workout. This was near the Allen’s and I’d always watch hard when we passed their place. They were reputedly a “rough bunch” but I never saw anything untoward. One of the Allen girls later became a policewoman in Edmonton so I guess they weren’t so bad.

Frank, Agatha, Roger and cousin Joan Perverseff photographed in Saskatoon in 1935.

We used to have dances in Tangleflags School. I don’t recall that much about them. I’d sit on Mother’s knee. I remember once that she wore a black dress. There was other entertainment -singing, mostly. Frank was a regular in this department and always got a lot of applause when he sang old favorites like Climb Upon My Knee Sonny Boy and My Wild Irish Rose. Mother didn’t like it when some woman would go up and congratulate him.

That was one thing about Agatha. She was possessive. If Frank even looked at another woman, it upset her and she’d let him know about it. When I look back now, it seems she carried her distrust of other women to extremes. I’m convinced she’d only have been happy if Frank were actually rude to them. She was strong willed to the point of being dictatorial sometimes no doubt thinking her education (allowedly good for a woman of her time) had prepared – nay entitled – her to tell others what to do. In our realm she decided the course of events, exerting her will in everything except farm finance. Frank made it clear when they married that he would “wear the pants in the family” when it came to money matters, and he did.

Living on a farm we may have lacked some city life niceties but there were still refinements. Agatha had a piano to play and was middling good on our tennis court even sometimes beating Jack Hickman who was no slouch. The one thing Mother seemed to enjoy most in life was talking philosophy. Having Alfred Abraham, a student minister stay with us one summer, gave her unlimited opportunities. The poor young cleric must have grown weary of fending off her intellectual parries.

That was something else about Agatha – her intelligence. She had a fine memory and a mind able to manipulate and exploit what she had learned. She may not have been a genius, but I think she came closer to that than most of us. One has to wonder if there isn’t a grain of truth in the old straw that genius stands next to madness; if not Mother’s quick mind had become a nursery where paranoia took root and grew.

Lorna’s death broke Mother, who became convinced that the Tangleflags farm was cursed. There was nothing for it but to move to Haralowka where her folks would help us make a new start. This running away from a situation of growing torment became a pattern as Agatha’s paranoia worsened. A new setting initially worked wonders but in time her nerves would start bothering her and the cycle would repeat itself. Frank resisted the idea of selling out and moving but Agatha’s will prevailed. The farm auction went well enough but we had to rent our land which didn’t sell. It was now the beginning of October, 1935, and with our house empty, we slept the night at Dubay’s. The next day our Model T Ford car carried us into a new life chapter.

A young Roger launches a flying model airplane he built.

Leaving the West Saskatchewan farm he had built up out of the wilderness and the people he had come to know so well was a wrenching experience for Father. Even though the Perverseffs welcomed us with open arms and open hearts and even though they would have helped us make a fresh start with land and equipment, Frank was sorely troubled. Nurturing a growing independence and self-reliance, he’d become a successful pioneer farmer in Tangleflags—made it on his own; was what the English so prided, a self-made man. And now the thought of accepting charity (for that’s how he saw it) was too much.

Then there was Mother’s affliction. Temporarily at bay in the first weeks in Haralowka, the paranoia that tormented her would return. Frank may not have known then the precise medical term for what she had but he knew the toll it took—how miserable it made life for Agatha and those around her.

There was more. Word came from England that his Mother was dying and his Father was seriously ill. Everything, it seemed, was conspiring against him. Separation resulted with Frank going to England and Mother’s restless spirit soon taking her to California.

Haralowka

Now nine years old, I entered what I call my Russian phase, experiencing Doukhobor/Russian culture in Haralowka as an unuk (grandson in Russian). Meanwhile, Mother sampled work life in California, first as a day nurse to a Mrs. Strictland, next as governess to a Hollywood movie director’s daughter, then as personal assistant to Madam Boday, a Los Angeles dowager. In turn she became a confidant to Julia Edmunds, a leader in the Oxford Group movement, then a teacher at Harding Military Academy where a fellow teacher was nominally a prince of the long since deposed Bourbon family. Prince Bruce de Bourbon de Conde was then simply a commissioned U.S. Army officer. Like Agatha, Captain Conde had an adventurous spirit and after World War II service in Europe, ended up as an administrator in the Arab Emirates where intrigue brought him to an untimely end.

A nine-year-old learns quickly and I was soon able to speak Russian with Grandmother at an elementary level – things like, “I’m hungry”, “I wish to have water”, “shall I fetch the eggs”, “where are we going?”, “When do you want me to get the cows”, “give me”, “here”, “I want to sleep”, and (I remember ruefully now) “please give me money”. I later became friends with a second cousin named Sam “Sammy” Perverseff. His family lived a quarter mile east of us and in the winter time I would ride to school with him on his horse-drawn stone-boat. Sammy introduced me to a lot more Russian, mostly words and phrases embracing life’s seamier side. A few years older than me, taller, and good-looking, Sammy was something of a Don Juan.

My Aunt Marion was still at home when we arrived in Haralowka, but her days there were numbered, for an Edward Postnikoff was courting her and they soon married. Edward was a likely young man but poor as a church mouse. Courting wasn’t all that easy then. He had to peddle the twenty-some miles from Petrofka on a bicycle to see Marion. But he had the right stuff and with a little help from Grandfather, became a successful farmer in the district.

Roger playing baseball at Jarvis Collegiate in Toronto in 1941.

Great Grandfather William and Great Grandmother Elizabeth had lived contentedly together in their little cottage. Since Elizabeth passed away soon after we arrived, I barely got to know her. Agatha, who looked after her the last while, said she was a very wise and practical woman. To the extent that the goodness of parents can have a bearing on the way their children turn out, William and Elizabeth were truly good people and John, their son and my Grandfather, bore excellent witness to that.

William suffered through his loss and carried on. Friends came initially to commiserate and later to visit. Grandfather Samirodin with his bristling, Russian Cossack-like moustache was one who came regularly. Well into his eighties, he would walk the three miles across snow-laden fields to our place and he and William would greet each another with kisses on each cheek and traditional words praising God. His advanced age walking prowess bore testimony to the health benefits of a lifetime diet of borshch and other Doukhobor staples and the rigors of good, hard work in the outdoors.

In 1937 I stayed a short while with my Uncle Jack (Dr. J.I. Perverseff), Aunt Anne, and their daughters Joan and Dorothy at their Avenue V South home. For the brief time I was in Saskatoon I attended Pleasant Hill School. It was a short walk from Uncle Jack’s and one day as I passed the Hamms (Uncle Jack’s neighbors) their German Shepherd grabbed my lunch and trotted off with it. Mrs. Hamm saw this and brought me a couple of sandwiches in a big basin. The Hamms may have been poor folk with rough edges, but I’ll always remember Mrs. Hamm as a good-hearted woman.

The Principal at Pleasant Hill School was Sam Trerice. It happened that the Trerices were friends of Mother’s and had spent a summer holiday with us in Tangleflags. Fortunate that was for me, because I soon got into a school fight that Sam, himself, broke up. The other poor fellow was grabbed by the ear and hauled off for rough justice while I went scot free. The lesson I learned from this experience was that in life it wasn’t so much what you knew (or did) but who you knew that counted.

We didn’t have television back in the “Thirties”. About the only time one listened to the radio was to hear the news. I was too young to be interested. We did have fun, though. In winter kids would get together to play street hockey or “shinnie”; in summer, cowboys and Indians. This latter activity was eminently fair and politically correct. Some days more Indians got killed; other days, more cowboys.

Roger and his Haralowka buddy Sammy Perverseff, a second cousin.

I was soon back with my Grandparents and attending Haralowka School. Muriel Borisinkoff, Sammy’s cousin, taught there and it wasn’t long before I discovered how good she was with the strap. Big Paul Greva and I were having a dustup about midway between the school and the barn when Bill Samirodin, a school trustee, drove up to fetch his daughter. Paul and I ceased hostilities and stood like innocents watching as Bill drove by. But it was too late. He had seen us fighting and amusingly commented to Muriel about her unruly pupils. That really stung a hard taskmaster who prided herself on her discipline. Summoned to the school, Paul was strategically in tears and I tried to feign innocence as we entered the side door. The situation was bleak. With tears streaming down Paul’s cheeks, Muriel took out the wrath she would have devoted to him on me – along with my share. In time the strap was outlawed in Saskatchewan schools, but I can attest to having intimately known its application before that happened.

If kindness was a Perverseff trait, then I was blessed. William and Lucille treated me like a favorite son. They fed me well and clothed me warmly. On Saturdays I would get the huge sum of 25 cents to spend in Blaine Lake where folks from the country gathered to buy groceries, attend to other matters, or just visit. I would go to town with John and Lucille or with Sammy and his folks. Later, a Tallman elevator man put a bare bicycle together for me – bare because it lacked handlebar grips, fenders and a chain guard, but it was transportation. Grandfather paid seven dollars for it and I surely got his money’s worth.

Life wasn’t all fun. I had to fetch the cows, help milk, turn the cream separator, and churn the butter. I’d also gather the eggs, carry wood to the house, help clean the barn and do other sundry chores. Sometimes when I was out in the yard around sundown, I would hear Grandmother whistle in an odd way. It was to keep the vadema (bad spirits) away, she said. I don’t know if it worked but I never saw the need for it myself.