You're invited!

 

One Day's Notice

A warning for British children during WWII

Fourteen-year-old Hazel Wilson lived with her brother and two-year-old sister in Colchester, England. It was 1940. For the past year, children from larger cities and more vulnerable coastal towns had been evacuated to the countryside for their safety, often billeted with strangers. When the Daily Express published a front-page story about the government’s scheme called CORB (Children’s Overseas Reception Board), Hazel’s parents asked her and her brother if they were interested in going to Canada.

Hazel was thrilled to say yes. She viewed the evacuation as a wonderful holiday away from her parents (what 14-year-old wouldn’t appreciate that?) and didn’t consider the homesickness she might experience. They applied. When a letter arrived in early summer saying they’d been selected to go, they were instructed not to say a word to anyone and to be prepared to leave with only 24 hours’ notice. Hazel didn’t even tell her best friend.

She found the train ride to Liverpool terrifying because of all the strange kids, but still managed to avoid her brother whom she viewed as an immature drag. In Liverpool, they stayed for several days at a school. Nights were spent on straw pallets on the floor, trying to sleep among falling bombs and wailing air raid sirens.

Once Hazel and her brother boarded the ocean liner SS Oronsay, their journey improved greatly as they enjoyed many luxuries and foods that were in short supply at home. From Halifax, they traveled by train to Winnipeg. There, they were housed at Winnipeg’s School for the Deaf, whose students were in their own homes for the summer. They underwent thorough physical examinations at the Children’s Hospital while they waited to be matched with their host families. This experience proved miserable, as Hazel and a 14-year-old boy were the last to be taken. 

Winnipeg's former School for the Deaf, now the Mennonite College Federation campus.

When her assigned foster parents showed up—on foot—they were Bill and Freda Rook, both professional musicians. With no children of their own, they had volunteered to host a guest child as their contribution to the war efforts. They gave up some personal luxuries, such as seasonal concert tickets, to host Hazel. Their house on Woodhaven Boulevard would be her home until late 1944. Her brother was eight miles away.

Hazel found it extremely difficult to adjust. The Rooks led a busy social life and entertained often, while Hazel was used to more quiet solitude. She was nervous about doing something wrong and upsetting her foster parents or, worse yet, her parents back home who had enough on their plates. Life at Linwood Collegiate was another huge adjustment. The winter clothes she was given by the Red Cross (such as a herringbone tweed coat with a fox collar, circa 1930) caused no end of embarrassment, no less than it would for one of today’s teenagers being forced to wear something used by an adult ten years ago.

Despite the challenges, Hazel grew five inches and her brother eleven in the first year. They were astounded by the abundance and variety of food. Items considered rare treats back home became daily fare. Her musical foster parents enrolled her in piano lessons and their church choir, and she joined Girl Guides. Her circle of friends grew, but she continued to miss her parents and the little sister who was growing up without her.

In October 1944, although the war wasn’t over, 18-year-old Hazel and her brother returned home. Her mother’s first words were, “Thank goodness you don’t have a Yankee accent.”

Though it initially felt great to be home, Hazel confided to her diary that she found England dull and dreary. She moved to London to find work and was there for VE Day in May 1945. While she could celebrate the elation of the day, restlessness remained in her part-Canadian heart.

In 1947, she returned to Winnipeg to live with the Rooks, and by 1955 her entire family had settled in Canada.

The list of what CORB kids should pack.

 

Just People I Wrote To

On Nina Laville’s eleventh birthday, September 3, 1939, her country declared itself at war with Germany. At the end of her street in Middlesborough, England sat two huge gasholders. Her mother, well aware of their community’s vulnerability should bombs be dropped, wrote to her Uncle Mark in Canada. Mark, a farmer, had emigrated and settled in Steeldale, Saskatchewan—a town so small, Nina couldn’t find it on the map. Mark replied that he was happy to host Nina if her parents could find the means to send her.

A private evacuation to Canada was beyond the Lavilles’ resources. But when the British government announced its CORB scheme (Child Overseas Reception Board), which would send children to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa at no expense to the parents, Nina’s parents immediately registered her.

Nina had never been further than fifty miles from home, but by the following August, she was thrilled to be on her way, first on a train across England to Liverpool and then over the Atlantic aboard the SS Anselm. Traveling in a convoy of ships for safety, the awareness of enemy submarines hung over the CORB children like dark shadows.

When they safely reached Halifax, the children were sent by train to various host homes across Canada. Nina was traveling farther than anyone in her group until she was the lone English child aboard, a novelty in the prairies. She recalled her first sight of the endless prairies with bewilderment (“all that space just sitting there doing nothing”) and disappointment that she didn’t see "wild Indians and buffalo."

When Nina reached Regina, a CORB volunteer met her and drove her to her Uncle Mark’s farm. There, she immediately felt at home and fell in love with the land and the lifestyle that would be hers for the next five years. Had that not been the case, there’d have been little help for either Nina or her hosts, at least from CORB, since the next visit didn’t occur for an entire year.

Although her relatives had suffered several years of drought and crop failure, what struck Nina the most at first, was how well they ate. The nearly self-sufficient farm provided home-grown vegetables, butter, cream, eggs, and chicken once a week—to a girl who’d seen chicken only at Christmas.

Nina attended Gopher Hill School, which she described as a “funny little wooden shack” with everyone in the same room like one big happy family. For high school, she had to leave the farm and board with friends in Dinsmore.

Sadly, her parents back in England gradually faded in her memory into “just people I wrote to.” She was 16 when peace was declared, and she knew she’d soon need to return home. As an only child, she felt duty-bound to return. The adjustment was difficult for everyone. While her parents still viewed Nina as a child, she’d grown into an attractive, extroverted young woman who unwisely let everyone know how much better life had been in Canada and how she wished she was still there.

Although Nina stayed in touch with her Canadian friends, she never did return. But her war years in Canada would be remembered with fondness always.

Nina Laville was the inspiration for my fictional character, Nina Gabriel, whose story, "Even if We Cry," releases this December. The Kindle book will be available for pre-order on September 30.

One Fine Dad

I’d like to introduce a man named Harold Wright, an uncomplicated Manitoba farmer born in 1897. At age seventeen, Harold marched off to fight in the war to end all wars. He survived, started a family, and saw his eldest daughter join the Canadian Women’s Army Corps in the war after that. Harold’s greater contribution to World War II, however, was proposing that his family take in three British evacuee children through the CORB (Children’s Overseas Reception Board) program. He had his reasons. So convinced was Harold that this would be a great idea, he signed up his family as hosts without a thorough discussion with his wife. Knowing his wife’s good heart, he felt confident she’d be on board.

Harold was wrong.

Mrs. Wright, while willing to take in a teenage girl as a possible friend for her hurting daughter, was unequivocally opposed to hosting the two younger children who came as part of the package. She had her reasons.

Meanwhile, their teenage daughter was opposed to all three house guests. She had her reasons too.

By the time poor Harold discovered he’d acted too hastily, he had some impossible back-peddling to do. A family of three children had already arrived on his doorstep—siblings aged 14, ten, and seven, determined to stay together come hell or high water.

Hell and high water came when the three kids feared separation and ran away. Harold found himself bumping down dusty country roads in his old Ford truck on a dark, muggy July night while he searched for three English youngsters who knew nothing about life in the Canadian wilds.

One can imagine what went through Harold’s mind. He’d been so well-intentioned. His generous gesture was meant to bring joy and healing to his family while also helping another family, providing their kids with a safe and peaceful childhood. Now he’d failed miserably. What if the children couldn’t be found? He aimed his headlights into the ditches on both sides as he feared the worst. How on earth could he explain matters to CORB? Who would tell the children’s parents back in England?

He finally found the runaways—alive but filthy, hungry, thirsty, smelling like skunks, and covered in mosquito bites and poison ivy. Harold was fit to be tied while anger and relief jockeyed for position at his emotional steering wheel. He had about three seconds to decide how to handle this unprecedented, vexing situation. Whatever happened in the next few minutes—and over the course of the next several years—would demonstrate the sort of man Harold Wright was.

Without giving away more details, I’m glad to report that, over time and with multiple opportunities, Harold proved himself worthy of the title “father.” Though he didn’t always get things right, he’d learned to walk by faith in a God who taught him to lead with love, mercy, and wisdom. A man you’d love to know.

Unfortunately, you can’t meet him in person. Harold Wright is a fictional character in my upcoming novel, “Even If We Cry.” Though he plays a small role in the tale, it’s a surprisingly significant one. I can’t wait to share this story with you. It’ll be out in early December.

Meanwhile, I want to say “thank you” to all you fathers who do your best every day to make life better for your families, your communities, and your country even when your confidence sags and circumstances seem impossible. Trust your Heavenly Father to lead and guide you in patience, wisdom, and grace. He will not steer you wrong.

Happy Father’s Day.

British evacuees during WWII. Photo: https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/education/resources/evacuation-canada/

 

Even If

Are you the type of person who chooses a theme word or phrase for the year? Something you can use to anchor yourself, to aim for, to help find meaning in life’s ups and downs? I’ve tried this a few times but by spring, I’ve usually forgotten it. This year, when I wasn’t particularly looking for one, a phrase chose me. It grabbed at my heartstrings when a certain song came on CHVN radio one day.

For this to make sense to you, I need to back up a bit.

I’m currently writing a two-book fiction series called the “Even If” series (although each book would stand alone).

Book One, Even If We Cry, will release this November from Mountain Brook Ink. It’s about the British children who evacuated to Canada during World War II and some of the things they, their parents in England, and their host families here went through. I’m currently working on edits.

Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14805503

Book Two, Even If I Perish, releases in the fall of 2025. I’m about one-third through the first draft and up to my eyeballs in research. It’s based on the true story of a little-known heroine, Mary Cornish. Mary was one of the few survivors of the ship, The City of Benares, sunk by a German torpedo while carrying 90 children on one of these evacuation voyages. Mary survived eight days as the only female in a lifeboat meant for 24 people but packed with 46. Six of those people were young boys whom Mary was determined to keep alive at any cost.

My publishing contract includes the possibility of two more books in the series. You can see why the words, “even if,” have been jumping out every time I hear or see them.

Like you, I’ve known my share of faith-shaking hard times. Maybe I’m simply forgetful, but it truly seems as though 90 percent of those faith shakers have occurred in the last five years. You too? Some family stuff, some career stuff, some world-at-large stuff.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when, driving down the street one day, the words of this song from Rend Collective caught my attention:

“I’ll find a way to praise You from the bottom of my broken heart
’Cause I think I’d rather strike a match than curse the dark…”

Can you relate? The singer goes on to say he’d rather take a chance on hope than fall apart. Is falling apart the only alternative? Surrendering to the dark? He decides no. That’s when the resounding chorus breaks in, with the repeating phrase which so perfectly applies to drifters in a lifeboat on a cold and raging sea in the middle of the night … and which nailed it for me:
“Even if my daylight never dawns
Even if my breakthrough never comes
Even if I’ll fight to bring You praise
Even if my dreams fall to the ground
Even if I’m lost, I know I’m found
… my heart will somehow say, ‘Hallelujah’ anyway.”

Faith does frequently feel like a big gamble, doesn’t it? Some people wonder why, if it’s really true, do we believers need to constantly convince and remind each other and ourselves, even if current evidence isn’t supporting our beliefs.

It’s a valid question. The only answer I can offer is the Bible’s definition of faith: the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. (See Hebrews 11.)

Many thanks to songwriters Chris Llewellyn, Matt Maher, and Gareth Gilkeson for giving us this wonderfully personal song, and giving me my phrase for the year. You can hear the whole song HERE.