My dearest Marusia and Lubko,
As you requested, I am writing a "short" history
of my early life; if I wanted to write a full history, it
would become a very thick book.
My birth, childhood and adolescence took place
in my beloved and well-known village "Piddubci"
(now called "Piddubne"=oak) I do not remember my
father, Emilian Hnatejko, as he died when I was an
infant, I was the youngest of 12 children. My mother,
Maria Burachok, died when I was 15 years old.
I grew up as an orphan, having to make the right
choices in life, working hard at school to get good
grades. I finished elementary school under the tutelage
of the "Sisters Felician" in the town of Uhniw and I
graduated from middle school (high school) in the town
of Rava-Ruska.
A section of my village of Piddubci where my
home was, was called "Kutets"; near my home was
The "Lady of Perpetual Help" church, a school,
"Prosvita" = organization where cultural events took
place, a co-op, a dairy and bakery.
Since Tato was from the same village (his father,
Rev. Hrobelsky was the parish priest of our church)
We knew each other well. As students, together we
organized
at "Prosvita", where we taught other boys and girls.
I loved to sing in the church choir in which I
sang and praised God from the age of 13. I also sang
in the community choir. But, the first love of my life
was the stage. Therefore, I was always involved in
the Drama Club, appearing in many theatre productions
in the leading role with Tato. I remember some of our productions:
And many, many more which I do not remember.
In 1939 when Tato finished his Law studies at
the Catholic University in Lublin, we had sweet
dreams of getting married and having a happy family
life.
However, our plans ended. On Sept. I, 1939,
World War II broke out, and on the same night, the
Polish police arrested and interned 12,000 Ukrainians,
primarily our intelligentsia and amongst them, Tato.
I thought I would never see Tato again, because the Poles
deported all 12,000, and no one knew where they were taken.
It was only after Poland was taken over by the
Germans, that the deported Ukrainians returned from
the Polish concentration camp "Bereza Kartuska"
where Tato had spent 3 weeks. In the photo album
you can see a picture of how Tato looked. (He looks
70, but he is 26!
I forgot to mention that when Tato was arrested
and was being led, by the police, past my house, he
asked if he could say good-bye to me. While we said
our farewells, I removed my chain and cross from my
neck and put it around Tato' s neck; crying, I said:
"with this cross, return to me". Merciful God heard
my prayer.
Now starts our hard journey, which lasted a full
10 years (1939-1949) Upon Tato's return from the
concentration camp, we left our beloved village
(Piddubne) in 1939 and headed for Vorochta. We
asked our parents to leave with us, but grandfather
Rev. Bronyslaw Hrobelsky (Tato's father) said: "you,
young ones leave as soon as possible, because in 1 ½
hours the border will be closed and armed by soldiers".
Dziadzio knew this from the Soviet guards, who
were living in his residence.
Our river, Solokia, was on the border between the Poles
and Germans. Dzidzio's last words to us were: "you go,
but I will stay. Whatever happens to my flock (my
parishioners), will happen also to me". Rev. Bronyslaw
Hrobelsky (Tato's father) died Dec. 5, 1946 and Babcia,
Eugenia Rastavetska-Hrobelsky, died in 1947. (She was shot).
Their fate was unforeseen. During the war, their church was
changed into a store for wheat and potatoes. Upon our
arrival in Vorochta, we were married June 17, 1940. Although
it was a joyous occasion, our hearts were sad, because in our
mind we saw our beloved church in our hometown of Piddubne,
where we could have been married by Father Bronyslaw
Hrobelsky, but the barbed wires kept us out.
In Vorochta, Tato and I were teachers. Marusia was
born in Vorochta, in the midst of bombardment, fear, lack of
everything and the horrors of war. It was most difficult to bring
up a family. Marusia was constantly ill as an infant. Every
doctor said she would not live. What heartache for a mother!
She was a tiny baby; I was deathly ill! My left breast was
operated 5 times (an infection of the milk ducts), and who operates?
-Dr. Vorobets- in his private office, and Tato' s friend, Dr. Cherevko,
a dentist, assists at the operation. You could not get into any
hospital, as they were full with soldiers - this is wartime!
However, my sincere prayers to the Blessed Virgin Mary saved
both of us. Marusia was cured by a German army doctor, who
told me to bathe her in a solution of cooked oak bark, wrap her in
cloth soaked in "Rivanol", repeated over many days, and this
saved Marusia. For one week Marusia lay wrapped in
"Rivanol-soaked" cloths. Her stomach, legs and back were covered
with blisters the size of a dime; luckily, her face was clear. This
disease is called
and 98% of children die from it.
After living through these worries, I became extremely ill
with Typhus (1942); again it's the same lack of hospital space. I had
to be in isolation; therefore, Dr Iwanec, put me in a room in our
residence, forbidding entry, as I had to be in isolation. (typhus is contagious)
Daily, Dr. Iwanec looked after me, like his own sister. I lay with a fever
for 3 weeks. I gave thanks for my life to Dr. Iwanec and the Blessed Virgin.
As I was coming back to health, Marusia's nanny, 14 year old Rania,
became very ill. Good Lord! How I worried and prayed so she would
survive this Typhus. My prayers were answered; Rania became well
and returned to her parents.
When I recovered from Typhus, we left Vorochta and lived in
Lemkivshchyna for 10 months. Since the bombings were constantly
worse in Ukraine, we left Lemkivshchyna and traveled by train through
Slovakia to Germany. During the journey, a Ukrainian engineer,
Mr Andrianovych, attached himself to our family. He had become
separated from his brother. A teacher, Mr Beniuk, also became part
of our family. So, now we are 6 people fleeing - myself, Tato, Marusia,
Slawko (Tato's brother) and the 2 men.
Whenever the train stopped for a longer time, the men would
start a fire, I would cook up a soup, and that would be our meal for the
day. When the train brought us to a temporary Refugee camp, the
engineer ( who was traveling with us) got a job outside the camp, and
it was with his help that we were able to escape from this camp. In this
camp there was a pretty girl, Irka, who knew we were going to escape;
at the appointed time, while she was flirting with the camp guard,
we made our escape.
The first to climb over the high fence was Slawko,
then me, then Tato helped Marusia over, then he himself climbed over the
fence. We ran to a nearby cemetery, hid behind tombstones and listened for
barking dogs and rifle shots. Everything was quiet! Obviously, Irka was
romancing well. The engineer was waiting for us at the bus station, since
we had informed him beforehand of the times of our escape; with him,
we went to his home. In this way, he showed his gratitude to us for letting
him stay with our family when we left Ukraine. From then on, we never stayed
in refugee camps again.
From here we traveled to Feldbach, Austria where Tato and Slawko
worked in a military hospital. Here we met more fleeing Ukrainians - the Ryzcyi
family, Mr. & Mrs. Stasiuk and Prof. Lypka, and others. When the bombing
was approaching Badgleichenberg (12 km. away) these families found
a farm wagon and ox; this was going to be our way of escaping the
approaching bombing. But, where to? We did not know. And the war rages on.
The city of Graz is 60 mi. away from us, but it is being bombed so heavily, that
even from 60 mi. away we could feel the ground vibrating and see a yellow-red
sky, and all around us it was so bright, ( from the fires and bombs)
we could see a needle on the ground.
Trying to flee in a farm wagon pulled by an ox was pitifully slow and difficult.
During the journey, everyone started to argue-who will feed the ox? Who
will go to a German farmer for hay? For food? No one wanted to! We felt it
would be best if we continued the journey on our own. We went to the
train stations and said farewell to the other families. At the station, Slawko,
found an abandoned wagon, so we inherited this wagon.
Now starts our journey through the Alps. Slawko puts the harness on him
(like a horse) and pulls the wagon with Marusia a "pyryna" and Tato in the
wagon, and me pushing from behind. Tato can't walk because his legs were
run over by a trailer from an army jeep; we had to find a hospital. Slawko
pulls all his might up the steep hills and I am pushing from behind. These are
The Alps and the hill is 8 miles high! We couldn't make it that day and had
to sleep the night in the forest. You, my child, (Marusia) cuddled up to me,
for it is pouring rain, and you ask: "Mummy - when will we be in our own house?"
Tears fell down my cheeks-and I could give no answer.
There is no end to our journey through the Alps - we travel and travel - no houses,
no stores, no food, and Marusia always cries: "Mama, I'm hungry; I'd like
some bread". From far, I see a farm house. I take Marusia by the hand and with
tears in my eyes, I wind my way through a pathway to this farm to ask for a
piece of bread and some milk for my child. And I think of the household we
left in Ukraine; Rev. Bronyslaw's residence had enough food for everyone - the
hired help, servants and anyone coming to the door. But I accept whatever fate
brings me. With God's help we overcome all these hardships.
When we finally arrive in Bruch-Fusch, Austria, Tato and Slawko are hired by
Mr. Radkolb to pick fruit in his orchard in return for one room and one meal a
day in his restaurant. One day Marusia was bitten so severely by some bugs
that her stomach swelled up and I had to take her to the doctor. This was in
Bruch-Fusch, Austria. At the doctor's office a young man tells me that his
father cannot see us because, since he is not a Nazi, he is allowed to open his
doctor's office only 3 days a week. With tears in my eyes I beg the doctor to just
look at my daughter. In a moment, a tall, bearded man asks me into his office.
Dr. Passler checked Marusia, gave me medicine and would not accept any
money. While conversing with me, he asked: "do you need any help?" I thanked
him and told him that for now we had enough to live on. Without my knowledge,
he had somehow put 80 German marks into my purse, which I discovered at home.
On another occasion, Dr. Passler sent 300 marks in the mail - this was a great deal
of money for us! When I thanked him, he said: "that was not from me".
You should know, my children, that in each country there are people who
are good, kind, merciful, full of love, glad to help others - as a German,
Dr. Passler helped us - but there are also people who are unfeeling, egocentric
and unsympathetic. Another example of kindness shown to us-an Austrian lady,
Mrs. Schmitberger, took us into her home, because we had nowhere to live. One
day when it was pouring rain, she allowed me to hang Lubko's diapers inside
her house. Even amongst the enemy (in war) there are good and kind hearts!
In Bruch-Fusch, Austria, Tato worked in "Karitas" = an organization that helped
poor retarded children, and also for a "Ukrainian charity" organization. Slawko left
for Graz to study medicine. In Bruch-Fusch there were many Ukrainians
(all refugees) so we organized a church choir; the 18 mothers taught the children
songs, verses and prepared Mother's Day and St. Nicholas concerts.
Continuing on our journey through war-torn Europe, we go on to
Salzburg, Austria. Here, in 1947, I had a difficult operation on gallstones. When I
was on the operating table I prayed I would not leave Marusia an orphan; I was in
the hospital for 6 weeks. Lubko was born Jan. 12, 1948 in Zelamze Austria. He
was always ill, but God helped us through these difficult times.
The first to leave for Canada was Slawko, on a one-year work contract.
Once, he wrote in a letter: "I work in an 'office', but I don't have a pen and paper, I
have a big mop and a floor." After his one-year contract was up, Slawko, with the
help of my family and the organization IRO, brought our family to Canada.
We were planning to leave Salzburg for Canada, but they found a spot on my
lungs and we were refused departure. However, when I was better, we left Salzburg
in mid-December, 1948 by ship, bound for Halifax. On the ship, Lubko was very ill.
On our arrival in Halifax on Jan. I, 1949 we go straight to the hospital with Lubko
(who is 1 yr. old). I'm worried that upon our arrival in Sudbury, we will have
Lubko's funeral. However, with many prayers and good medical care, Lubko became
better.
We lived through all these difficult times, overcame the horrors of
World War II, and arrived in our new homeland, Canada, on Jan. I, 1949, settling
in Sudbury. We lived with Uncle Walter Hnatejko (my brother) and Kay, who
"sponsored" our family, looking after us with food and clothing etc. until Tato
found a job.
At first, Tato swept streets! Can you imagine, having a law degree from
Lublin University? He was unable to get a job at INCO because he was
underweight. Father Dziurman, our parish priest, suggested Tato put rocks into
his pockets. And sure enough on the next interview, his weight was adequate
and Tato was hired at INCO as a laborer. It was very difficult for Tato, physically and
psychologically. Being undernourished after the war, not knowing the English
language, working at the smelter (having a university degree) and having to
provide for his family (who came to Canada with nothing) was a great weight
on Tato's shoulders.
In those days there was no "Manpower" or social assistance programs for
immigrants. Nobody helped us - we were called D.P's = displaced persons, and we
had to look after ourselves.
Tato worked very hard to support the family; Mama always calculated every
cent and tried to save $2.00 every week to put into the bank, so that the children
eventually could go to university. For this, you needed many thousands of dollars; so,
our life, upon arrival in Canada, was not very easy.
In order to help Tato financially to make ends meet, I worked hard at home.
Besides all the housework, I embroidered and sold many Ukrainian pillows and
dolls, made pysanky and sewed many Ukrainian costumes. When the UNO an
SUM choirs stood on stage, approximately 120 people, most of the 120 costumes
were made by me.
Marusia and Lubko - you were both very good children, always obedient
to and respecting your parents. You were both very good students who received
Masters degrees from university, and as a result, have good jobs.
Eventually, both Tato and I were secure financially and with God's help,
we saw you both married and lived to enjoy our wonderful grandchildren!
Your loving,
