From: "The Vancouver Sun", Magazine Supplement, December 4, 1948
From: The Vancouver Sun, Magazine Supplement, April 16, 1949 Page 64
From: "The Province" Music Page
From: "The Province" Music Page, September 22, 1929, page 21
From: "The Province", April 30, 1930, Page 6
And so they began all over again . . . .
You see, they were Poles and they had lost everything because of the war--Paul, Jan, Josef, Jedwiga and so many more. Then they came to British Columbia.
We call them displaced persons, but the name is all wrong. These people couldn't be displaced. They belong anywhere among gay, adaptable people like themselves.
I was curious, especially about what happened to Polish laborers on our B.C. farms, and asked a Polish friend about the small community there.
One woman who asked a similar question several years ago became so interested that she is pursuing the subject with a book in mind. Books could and will be written about this enthusiastic people, for a nation that produced Joseph Conrad, Eve Curie, Paderewski, Chopin, Rubinstein and Nijinsky, is a treasure house for science and culture.
Invited to a Polish party, I walked in alone on a gathering where everyone chattered Polish at a speed of 80 miles a minute, but soon I was drawn into one of the most interesting evenings of my life.
I talked to one pretty, dark girl just out from Europe. She could speak little English and I couldn't converse in Polish or German, so our conversation went on in the maddest kind of French.
While I talked to some of the men and women who had learned quite passable English in just a few months, the talented daughters of the hostess played the piano and the guests danced folk and modern dances.
"The Krakowak," a lively dance in four-four time, done by any even number of persons, needs a big room to do it justice, and, of course, men and girls in their national costume, but it was entertaining, though done in a small way.
"The Oberek" was similar, a fast-time dance requiring plenty of room too. Indeed, the way the Poles dance, they need the great open spaces.
I would be drawn into a simple English or Viennese waltz which would send me spinning. Suddenly there would be a wild medley for old and young and I'd be ducking back to a chesterfield, exhausted.
The popular boogie-woogie dance was not forgotten, and the sight of our dignified Polish friend, who had a university degree demonstrating cheek-to-cheek dancing will never leave me.
I learned that many children of polish pioneers in Vancouver have done exceptionally well. Among them are prominent doctors, lawyers, architects, engineers, musicians and artists.
One family in particular has an enviable record. Of the four sons, one is a doctor of astronomy and has been appointed chief astronomer at the University of California. One, with a MA from UBC, is a geologist now making surveys in British Columbia. One is a musician who has a scholarship in Rome with a world-famous professor in violin. The fourth is a distinguished engineer.
The pioneers of this group still speak with admiration and affection of the late Brenton Brown, their consul, a great friend of the Polish people.
In the homes the women take special pride in hand-made furnishings and decorations. Their proficiency at needlework is widely known.
There was a store once on Howe Street, owned by Ben Stogoski, where Polish articles were sold, but it was closed on account of the war. It is difficult now to bring in the china, glassware and pottery, then obtainable. Polish people hope that some such venture will begin again soon.
The purpose of Zgoda, the Friendship Society, is to preserve and introduce Polish culture in Canada. It is now 23 years old and has an excellent record.
During the war, Polish women worked unceasingly for the Red Cross and other such organizations.
At present Zgoda send parcels to Poland and raise money for Community Chest and Red Cross. They also belong to the Polish Congress of Canada. The first subscription handed in to the Canadian War Services Fun was made by this society.
At the closing night of the Polish Relief Fund they held a gay and successful fashion show. They also gave a display in the Hudson's Bay store in March 1943, and have assisted the Vancouver Festival with Polish dances.
To aid further in the advancement of culture, Zgoda has a Polish school, held Saturday afternoons, and a library of Polish books in their hall on Victoria Drive.
Priezek, the artist, once started a class for young people, but such ventures are still uncertain because there are not many Poles in Vancouver and they are widely separated.
It is the duty of Zgoda to entertain celebrities or diplomats when they are in the city, also to investigate welfare of the people and to assist in establishing new-comers.
For example, when the 50 Polish soldiers came here last year direct from General Anders' army in Italy, they were entertained by this friendship society at Chilliwack. Only two of the soldiers could then speak English. Their chests were covered with decorations. Most of them had spent time in concentration camps when eastern Poland was annexed.
Three men settled on farms near Vancouver, where they were pledged to remain for two years. B.C. farmers have appreciated these hard-working soldiers.
At least one of the group has married, a Polish girl, daughter of the pioneers. Others, to quote a Polish girl, "have good notions." They have not found English hard to learn, but complain of the complicated grammar.
"I had thousands of acres in Poland," one former said to me, "now I have two and a half acres, but I have found something here that you Canadians don't appreciate at all. I mean freedom."
A good example of Polish industry in Canada in Eugene. He was loath to talk about himself but a friend of the family told me a lot about him and his wife, Jedwiga.
Eugene was a teacher in Poland. He played first violin in an orchestra at Tarnow. He also painted landscapes and portraits and had a good position in public relations.
His wife, too, was clever. She ran a mobile canteen in the army and was a great personality in the Women's Division of the Polish Army. Before they met, both had served terms in Siberia, but now they have almost forgotten all that in the little four-roomed house where rent, fuel, vegetables and light are free. Eugene is learning to farm.
"Tell her about your poultry Eugene," Jedwiga suggested, but she went right on, not waiting for Eugene to answer, because she knew he wouldn't. "Ya, it was hatching Eugene wanted to learn about, so at first the farmer pay him one hundred dollars a month. In two weeks after Ernest came here, the farmer took a holiday. After four months, he raised Eugene's pay ten dollars."
I wanted to know if Eugene missed the arts he left behind. It was then Eugene found his voice.
"Very much," he said, "but I am buying some paints. There are good scenes near Aldergrove--lots of color in the trees. I will have landscapes to show you one day, but first we must make the living, eh, Jedwiga!"
"But Eugene is doing so well," Jedwiga went on, "that the farmer next to us is sending for Eugene's brother."
The storekeeper told me about Jan, a tired-looking farmer of 45 or so.
In Siberia Jan's family of six had contracted typhoid. All were given up for dead and thrown in a pile. But Jan was seen to move and was taken to the hospital. After a while he heard that one of his daughters still lived.
The daughter was sent to South Africa, Jan to Canada, where he works on a potato farm, saving every penny he makes. Poles in Vancouver will celebrate the day when Jan can bring his daughter from South Africa to join him.
Centre of Polish life in Vancouver and also for Poles in the entire province is St. Casimir's Church, still uncompleted, but in use.
Archbishop W. M. Duke invited the Oblate Father to start a parish in Vancouver for the Polish people. In answer to the invitation came Father Francis Kosakiewiez (popularly called Father Frank) from Melville, Saskatchewan.
Six lots on the corner of Inverness and 27th, were chosen as the site for the new venture. Services were held in the basement of the rectory for three years, but now the dream of a fine church, which will do credit to the Polish community is near realization. It is built on Gothic lines, is a delight to the artistic eye. The script writing in the stained glass of the big window is Polonius Semper Fidelis (Poland always faithful), a motto particularly appealing to the Polish people who kept the light of Christianity burning all through the Dark Ages. Three beautiful marble altars, worth many thousands of dollars, were the gift of the Sacred Heart Convent.
When Father Frank came here a few years ago, he, like the Polish pioneers, started from nothing, with scarcely any funds. He had to borrow to build his church. The first great encouragement he received was the gift of $1000 from Mr. Frank Schelt, given in memory of his son, a pilot in the RCAF who was killed in an aeroplane crash near Nanaimo. Others came forward to help the energetic organizer, and now they can be proud of their achievement.
The self-imposed duties of this grey-haired priest are amazing in variety and extent. He conducts a kind of free agency for the Polish veterans, translates government letters, settles differences between employer and employee, finds places for rent, buys lots and houses for people, gets them positions, interprets in court. He buys clothing for people in Europe and sends out parcels constantly. When any Polish resident needs cement or nails, he goes to Father Frank, who usually gets what is needed.
Father Frank hopes Polish folk dances will be revived to a greater extent here and that they will have Polish radio programs so that people will hear and appreciate the carols which tell the story of Poland. His church choir under the direction of Mrs. M. Priezek, makes a specialty of these chants, assisted by their excellent organist, Mr. T. Repel.
Father Frank showed me a big hall under the church where services were formerly held, and where their branch of the CYO, the Catholic Youth Organization, now meet. This group of 35 young members put on plays, tableaux and pantomimes.
Their branch of the CYO was started by W. Cason, who is now studying medicine in Ottawa. This group, whose present president is Miss Mona Standall, was most prominent at the Folk Festival at UBC.
In sport also the CYO shine, capturing the city bowling trophy for two years, in 1945 and 1946.
The older people are eager for their children to benefit by the enlarged opportunities in Canada. The pioneers have general life experience, but they fully realize the importance of higher education.
Yes, the pioneers have great expectations for their children, and after having been introduced to the Polish ventures in Vancouver, I share that faith.
There has been a prevailing opinion among small boys, and some big ones, too, that classical dancing is an effeminate form of art. Girls may be persuaded easily to go to a dancing school, but ask almost any mother of a small son and she will tell you how much she has to coax and scold and bribe him to attend the class.
Ellen Terry lauds the appearance of men in prominent roles in the ballet thus: "The presence of men here has an effect beyond the pleasure afforded by the virile agility of their steps." And again, "I think that a mixed ballet has the effect of concentrating attention on the art of the dance rather than the seductiveness of the dancers."
The old ballet with only women to attract belonged to the Renaissance. But the Russian ballet which claims our attention and which was directed by Serge Diaghilev, who died very recently, is the transformed art of a new era, and it is to the presence of men in the ballet that we owe much of this change.
The Renaissance ballet was pretty, rather insipid, often classically perfect. We might compare it to a convent school. Then comes the Russian ballet, the co-ed college of the dance, let us say, maligned a bit, but how much broader, how much more interesting!
* * * *
The genius of Nijinsky has been discussed so often that it is unnecessary to say with Ellen Terry that he is, or was "The best of them all." He has left the stage and has been reported to be dead. He is still comparatively young and we hope that this report is untrue. "He bounds on the stage, rises high in the air, descends slowly and with such an art that when he touches the ground he can use it again for a still higher flight."
The dancer who has had the privilege of studying with the original members of the Diaghilev ballet must have about the same sensations as, say, a journalist spending the weekend with Galsworthy or Shaw, or a pianist lunching every day with Paderewski.
Greatness like genius is contagious. The other day I asked Miss Nelle Thacker, who is a graduate of the Cornish school, if she knew Mikail Mordkin. Mordkin has been called Pavlova's "superb consort" by Crawford Flitch, author of Modern Dancing and Dancing and Mediterranean Moods. Once or twice a year Mordkin has visited the west and has taken an interest in the Cornish dancers.
Miss Thacker's account of him is interesting: "I had lessons from him in 1927. He nearly killed us--two hours at a time--one hour of that at the bar--the most strenuous exercise imaginable--there is nobody like him--a human dynamo--seems to be burning with an artistic fire that will give him no peace. As a boy he herded goats on the mountainside. He has known everything--poverty, success, despair, ecstasy. The American Red Cross helped him to escape from Russia. He has had typhoid very badly and has since struggled bitterly to regain his strength.
* * * *
"The performance of Mordkin," Fitch tells us, "together with that of Nijinsky, has brought about a reversal of the somewhat contemptuous judgment upon male dancing, for undoubtedly the Anglo-Saxon public shared to some extent the prejudice of Southey, who said that every male dancer ought to be hamstrung."
Mordkin, unlike Nijinsky, has a strong and noble-looking frame. Flitch remarks that Mordkin's dancing is distinguished by reserve but that must have been in 1912 before Mordkin became imbued with the modern idea. Possibly Mordkin, who must be in his late forties, has reached the apex of his career.
But Bolm--"What one remembers best about him," declares Nelle Thacker, who studied with Bolm in 1924, "is his kindness. He is not only a master of technique. He is a born teacher. He has brown hair and hazel eyes. He was the first Russian male dancer to appear in England, making a splendid entrance in "Tamar."
Shall we have then only male dancers in the ballet? Shall our daughters, having returned to Victorianism and femininity, shrink from the career of a ballet dancer as being too violent, too distinctly masculine for their delicate sensibilities? Whatever happens, the majority of us realize that in dancing, as in life, it is the two together, man and woman, who can accomplish the highest.
The ballet owes itself to the aristocracy of Russia, and for the new spirit that has crept into it in recent years. The East is, in the main, responsible.
A Russian woman, the Empress Anna, was instrumental in starting the art of the ballet. She commanded an Italian dance with a chorus to be played for her benefit once a week. The idea became popular. Children were recruited and trained from the homes of the poor and their expenses were paid out of the public exchequer.
In 1802 Didelot raised the ballet to new heights when he staged Racine's tragedy, "Phedre."
The repertory of the Diaghelev ballet is wide. Covent Garden has popularized "Le Pavillon d'Armide," "Le Carnaval," "Prince Igor," "Les Sylphides," "Cleopatra," "La Spectre de la Rose," "Scheherazade," and "The Firebird," or "L'Oiseau de feu."
Regarding "The Firebird" not a great deal of news has reached us in Canada lately, but the return of this lovely ballet has aroused great interest abroad. The other day we were shown by Nelle Thacker, premier danseuse of the state of Washington, who is now residing in Victoria, a number of original portraits of the actors and actresses who are taking part in this ballet. We noticed with delight that the glorious Karsavina has the leading feminine role while Bolm is the "Firebird."
* * * *
In 1910 the dance in two tableaux was composed by M. Fokine and the music was arranged by Igor Fedorovitch Stravinsky. The ballet has a delightful, fabled plot. On studying the score which may be obtained by writing J. and W. Chester Ltd., 11 Gt. Marlborough St., London, W.I., one is struck by the strangeness of the rhythm. The dance of the subjects of Kastchei with its insistent bass accompaniment is apt to linger long in he memory. It is a devil dance with something of the divine.
After a spirited introduction the first tableau occurs in the enchanted garden of Kastchei who represents the spirit of evil in the ballet. The Firebird appears and is snared. In vain does he plead for mercy; his captor is obdurate. The three enchanted princesses who play with the golden apples in the garden give to the tableau a beauty and a tenderness. There is an exciting passage where the Firebird appears to them.
The act which closes the day and also the first tableau is a perfect gem of music, harmonious, restful, with a promise that evil will be conquered. In the next tableau the terrible monsters perform in the garden of the wicked Kastchei. The princesses arrive to plead for the fate of the Firebird. Kastchei refuses and summons his ghoulish subjects to dance for him. There are some very interesting petrified cavaliers. Kastchei is overcome at length and dies. Then the palace disappears, the petrified cavaliers are roused, the Firebird is released, the three princesses are disenchanted. Beauty and Joy are triumphant.
* * * *
The man who composed "The Firebird" was born near Petrograd in 1882. His father and mother had planned to make a lawyer of him but destiny took a hand in the boy's affairs when he happened to meet the famous Rimsky-Korsakov. Then Igor Fedorovitch Stravinsky decided that the law was not for him. He wanted to study music, and study he did under Korsakov's able tuition for several years.
It happened at this time that Maeterlinck wrote his "Life of The Bee." Inspired by it the young composer, Igor, created "Scherzo Fantastique." He was invited to write a ballet for a celebrated organization and immediately he produced "The Firebird." Stravinsky has now completed several volumes of excellent music. He travels a great deal but lives for the most part in Clarens.
Fokine, the choreographic director of "The Firebird" has been the assistant ballet-master at the Petrograd opera. The man who has done the most for the modern ballet in Russia, Serge de Diaghilev, has gathered around him not only Fokine, but no less celebrities than Nijinsky who has often been named as the greatest male dancer in History, and the beautiful Mme. Karsavina.
When Pavlova retired from the ballet in Petrograd everyone believed that her successor would be under great difficulties to live up to Pavlova's reputation, but the genius of Karsavina, then only a young girl, brought smiles of commendation from her would-be critics. When she played the role of a girl after her return from the ball in "Spectre of the Rose," Karsavina made a name for herself that has endured for years.
And so we are assured that the combined talent of Stravinsky, Fokine, Bolm and Karsavina has brought about the renewal of a ballet that will live forever in musical history.
It is not unlike other hills, our hill. Throughout the countryside you can find roads as white, fields as fresh and green, trees as feathery. And yet yesterday morning happened to set it apart.
About 8 o'clock every morning before the children begin to roller-skate down the incline to school, we hear such conversations as the following:
"Will you keep that umpity-ump wagon of yours out of the middle of the road!"
The deep booming voice belongs to the stout and sturdy milkman.
The baker is angry now. "You leave that bulldog at home. He won't leave my mare be."
"He's got as good a nature as you, old man."
We feel that the baker is envious of the milkman's new and shining black car. I have heard Jerry mutter as he handed me my bread, "There he goes -- sixty miles an hour -- He'll hit a pole and then ----"
Yesterday, while waiting for our loaves I heard a loud shout. I ran to the window to look out. The baker's pretty brown mare had slipped on the road stones which were still wet from the dew. She lay to one side of the road on the edge of a sudden slope with the wagon on top of her.
My little son, who was watching with me, burst into tears. "Oh!" he cried, with a child's faith in a grown-up's ability to meet emergencies, "Hurry up and do something!"
The baker ran down the hill waving his arms. He signaled to me to telephone for help. Then he rushed back to the mare.
After I had put the message through, I went again to the window to see what progress he had made. But his pulling and tugging had been to no purpose. Once in a while the mare turned her graceful head enquirintly in a painful and pathetic way.
There was tension in the air. The baker, my little boy and I wept openly. Every minute seemed like an hour. If somebody would come ----
Then a black car drove around the corner. My boy shouted, "It's the milkman." He added anxiously, "but Gee, Mum, I bet he won't help. He'll think of all the fights he had with Jerry."
To my surprise the milkman applied the brakes to his car. He appeared to have remembered nothing but that the mare was in danger. The former enemies tugged together wholeheartedly at the heavy wagon. With every pull my strength reached out lifting in spirit with them.
Later a relief man appeared. He brought ropes which they attached to the stumps of trees. Other men of the neighborhood gathered and the wagon was at last pulled off the mare. She wobbled to her feet and was led limping down the road. She rubbed her nose affectionately against her master's sleeve. We saw the milkman not to the baker. The bulldog raced down the hill barking and snapping at the heels of the mare. We wondered if the baker would kick the dog. But at the corner the baker stopped and patted the bulldog on the back.
"Gee, Mom, I'm glad," breathed my son. "But say, do hurry up with that toast -- I don't wanna be late, do I? Where's that clean shirt?"
In a few minutes the street was empty and still. One would never have thought that a complete drama of hatred and suffering, of rescue and reconciliation had been enacted on our hill only a short time before.
Yes, let's get them off the side-lines by all means, for they are the men who protected us from the harshest of realities not only in 1914 but also in 1939.
We mean the disabled veterans. With this in mind, a gentleman and a great idealist, Ron Freudiger and his friends have been plugging away for years to make a big thing of rehabilitation. At first it was a dream, but now the gates are opening and great things are happening.
Who is Ron Freudiger? He's a slight, grey-haired man with bright, brown eyes that look into the heart of things and who knows pretty well the problems of the returned man because he has been president of the Lion's Gate Branch No. 79 of the Canadian Legion for a number of years.
Through his vision and constant appeals, this Canadian Legion Branch and the War Amputations of Canada, Vancouver Branch, now have an objective of $100,000 for a benevolent and building fund incorporating a vocational institute for disabled veterans and to help rehabilitate civilians disabled by industrial accidents.
Since they know that many disabled veterans will be able to work for only two hours a day, the Legion sees the need of a vocational institute for them. You may ask "What about the training at Shaughnessy? Isn't it adequate?" The answer is "Yes" - for long term patients, but the Institute would be invaluable for men who are in for a short time only, and who then must face the necessity of making a living.
For those men, wonderful projects in woodwork, basketry, leatherwork, weaving and rug-making are planned. Most of the veterans as yet have no outlet for the sale of their work, but the vocational institute will attend to such matters. Everything produced will be marketed.
Another plan of the Legion that should have hearty support is their dream of a private swimming pool for the amputees, where there will be much-desired privacy. In the new institute will be bowling alleys, ping-pong tables, badminton courts and other game rooms where not only entertainment but a feeling of belonging to society is regained.
The Legion realizes how desirable it is that some of the higher arts should be cultivated by these men who have seen for years the harshness and suffering of life, and so music and art will be developed to a much greater extent than in the past. In short, talent of any sort among the veterans will be fostered. Medical opinions concur that the finest ideas for disabled veterans have come out of the Legion.
There are many public-spirited men in Vancouver who are behind the Legion in their drive. These include Dr. G.H. Worthington, Don Brown, MLA John Sutherland, the Ratepayers' Association, Elmore Meredith, Rowe Holland, Jack Henderson (past president Provincial Legion) and Bert Emery.
Ivan Ackery of the Orpheum has set a lead for the theatres to follow. For the big legion show of last December, Mr. Ackery provided free his theatre, the orchestra, advertising pictures, and has helped the acting group in many ways, using their show for three nights instead of one, as first agreed.
The Legion is trying to interest service clubs in a big charity show to advance the drive. To help the vocational institute with everything necessary for its maintenance, the Legion has asked one big service club to provide tools and the needful furniture for the building. The site of the structure planned will be at Fourth and Trafalgar, where the Legion owns property, a lot 125 feet, ample for the institute.
Sponsorship of local talent to assist the drive began with a show in April, 1948, at the Canadian Legion Hall. A stage had to be built for the purpose, and curtains made and set up.
The young people in the troupe collaborated and decided to take on the job of doing shows for the Legion as long as they desired. Daphne (Danny) Marshall, an accomplished violinist, radio singer and versatile actress who had toured Europe during the war, first produced shows for the Legion. She chose as director Bill Petch, actor and dancer from the Theatre Under the Stars, who went on tour recently to Texas with the Durante show.
These two young people, now co-owners of their show, selected some of the finest talent in Vancouver. Among these are:
Nora Grennan, a soprano from Theatre Under the Stars, who sings on the radio.
Louise Glennie, who has left for New York with a scholarship at a notable school of interpretive dancing. Louise is to be remembered for the glamorous dances in Persian style.
Also piquant Kay Farmer of the Theatre Under the Stars, who went to Texas with the Durante show and was in the Panto-Pacific Ballet that played with the Vancouver Symphony.
These and many others, some of whom had never been on the stage before, worked in the daytime at business and professional occupations. They rehearsed at night. Whipping out animated dance patterns under the energetic coaching of Bill Petch didn't make it easy for them to get up in the morning to be on the job, but most of the original troupe persisted. They gave their specialized talents freely to the Legion before funds were raised to pay them. Because they worked for love of it, they put a dash and spirit into their performance that couldn't be beaten.
It was unbelievable that a show could be produced at such low cost. People said it couldn't be done. But it was. Maybe because Danny sat up night after night writing the orchestral score, checking little details, while Bill struggled with his amateurs. Maybe because girls like Audrey Stebner and Kay Clarke juggled costumes out of bits and pieces; a shawl here, a bright headpiece ... Eleanor Graver, artist-dancer, painting high-buttoned boots on old white stockings ... Jerry Batten, ballet-dancer, and his wife Phyllis, endlessly stringing beads for the gypsy number.
There were horrible moments when Danny's violin string broke at the crucial moment and the zipper of the mauve evening dress went bingo in the middle of the act. But when the whole cast sang "There's No Business Like Show Business" believe me they meant it.
Weather prevented travel to outlying districts, but the troupe has taken excerpts from the large show to entertain the Kinsmen and local Legion branches.
On April 30 the Legion drive closes with a big night at Seaforth Armories, but the troupe hopes to carry on towards the big objective, the building that will take more veterans off the sidelines and into the middle of the big show of life.