Pages 413 through 513

Henry Peter Wall was born near Sioux Falls, South Dakota on June 23, 1884 and died December 7, 1959; he is buried at Duncan B. C.

Mother Anna Unruh was born on June 4, 1882 at Parker South Dakota and died on August 21, 1945 and was buried at the SDA Botany cemetery. Love, Saskatchewan on August 24, 1945.

Father seemed to have no good memories of his childhood. One would have thought that being the youngest and with three older sisters that he would have had lots of attention but he only could recall being mistreated by them. He said that they resented him being born after their father had died because it only added to their mother's burden. Memories can sometimes be selective so maybe he was being too hard on them, but that is the way he told it.

He left home at an early age, probably in his teens. This was not unusual at that time - many young men were on their own at 14 or 15 and he always said he had to bring himself up as he had no father. He was a restless and adventuresome person who liked to be on the move. He did a lot of traveling, most of it on horseback.

I remember Dad telling about a little incident when he was about 13 or 14 years of age. He went out to explore the nearest town, Jamestown. He felt like he was now grown up and could carry on like the local cowboys. He strode down the street, clanking his boots on the wooden sidewalk and stopped in front of the first saloon he saw.

Dad had only gone through the 4th grade in school and his reading needed at bit of improvement. He looked at the sign on the saloon door which he thought said "NO MANNERS allowed", so he strolled inside/ looked around and then started pounding on the bar and demanded a drink. The next thing he remembered was being thrown through the swinging front door and out onto the street. He tried to get up, he thought sure that his neck and shoulder were broken. An older man came by, helped him up and pointed out that the sign said "NO MINORS ALLOWED".

While in Carrington, North Dakota, he met a girl by the name of Mary Voth and the two fell madly in love with all the intensity of a first romance. She was a pretty girl and appears very young in the pictures that we have. My Dad said that they ran off and left for California together, probably without her father's consent. It is not known whether Mary kept in touch with her father or whether her kin ever knew what happened to her after she left Carrington.

Henry Wall Mary Voth

Page 415

Cornelius Wall, who was father's nephew though he was one year older, lived in the San Rafael, California area and it was to his place that they went, but just how they got there is uncertain -probably by train. Because of Mary's age they were unable to get married without her parent's consent and he always told me that they ended up just getting a marriage license and hanging it on the wall.

A baby son was born, but tragedy soon struck. Mary died when the baby was only a few weeks old. Dad always told me that she had "consumption". In those days that seemed to be a popular diagnosis that is often recorded as the cause of death. We do not know the baby's name but traditionally the first-born son would be called after the father so most probably it was Henry. His destiny was short lived in any case as he died when only a few months old. Dad said from "teething", but no doubt it could have been from any number of childhood illnesses.

Henry was devastated and even in his late years would become quite emotional when talking about that part of his life. It is with great regret that I did not listen to his stories about those early days when he was so many times eager to tell about them. It was apparent that Mary Voth was the love of his life and he probably never really got over the loss of both wife and child.

Although I have made a search of the records of births and deaths for that time and place, none have been found for Mary Voth or the child. We are not certain where they lived but think it was in the Napa or St. Helena area.

When the big earthquake of 1906 hit San Francisco Dad was milking cows on a large dairy in Stockton, he now had had enough of California and decided to go to Montana where his eldest brother, Peter C. Wall had been living for several years.

On his arrival he found that they had visitors - grandmother Eva Dirksen nee Unruh and daughter Anna (our mother) and Eva's two youngest boys, Toby age 12 and Willie age 10. Eva and Peter C. 's wife, Anna Pauline, were sisters. The Dirksens and Unruhs were old friends and neighbors in South Dakota before they moved up to Canada and so mother and father knew each other as children.

Anna was already 24 years old, long past the age when girls were expected to marry, her two older sisters had husbands and she thought she was not as pretty as they were. Along came Henry, the handsome and dashing young man she had heard so much about and he was very much alone. She gave him the sympathy and comfort that he needed. In an almost exact replay of his first elopement, Henry soon had Anna agreeing to get married and the two left, again without permission, and headed for Carrington, North Dakota near where his brother Frank was living. They were married by a County Judge on November 8, 1906 with no family members present.

Page 416

Interestingly there are some discrepancies on their marriage license, a copy of which I obtained from Foster County Records in Carrington. It stated that they were resident's of the County and of course they were not. Also mother's age was actually 24, and not 22 years.

Was this a matter of a careless entry by the clerk or reluctance on mother's part to admit how old she really was? Remember in that day a girl was considered an old maid if they were still single at the age of 20! And Henry was 22. We can only speculate!

Grandmother Eva Dirksen Unruh returned to Rosthern, Sask. with the remaining two young boys and no doubt had some explaining to do about the whereabouts of Anna.

As it turned out the newlyweds soon followed, having no means of support anyway and since Anna had her own dress shop in Rosthern, was anxious to return and take up where she had left off.

The Unruhs kept a large boarding house in Rosthern, so there was room enough to move in with her new husband. Inevitably, this led to some very troubled times for Dad and Mother.

Having run off with their daughter without permission, it was to be expected that the Unruhs did not welcome this new son-in-law, who looked like a drifting cowboy, with open arms.

He had no occupation and little schooling, whereas their son Cornelius was educated and well established, Cornelius studied law and real estate and had his own office just a few miles away in Hague.

Anna was a very talented seamstress, taking orders for dresses and hats, which she sold, in her shop. Her sisters/ Mary and Louise assisted her with sewing and sales from time to time.

In October of 1907, Anna gave birth to a baby daughter, Edna Evangeline, but this did not lessen tension in the household and the relationship with the family did not improve.

Page 417

Dad always told me that mother-in-law Eva, was a very domineering and bossy woman and tried to run the lives of all of the children, even though they were adults. He said that she forbade Anna to have intimate relations with him, though how that rule would be enforced, he did not say.

I think that Anna and all of the other girls were very much intimidated by their mother, for she seemed to have some kind of power over them. It is interesting to note that most of the daughters, though they later married, remained childless. At that time the Unruhs were of the Mennonite Brethren faith.

During a quarrel between Anna's father, Peter Unruh and Dad, things got very violent and Peter took an axe and threatened to kill him. Father admitted that he then hit his father-in-law as hard as he could, taking out some of his teeth and things being completely out of control, someone called the sheriff and placed him under arrest.

Being that Cornelius represented the law in the area as a Justice of the Peace, things were not looking very good for father at this point. He was taken to jail to await charges the next day. But all was not lost as the local sheriff who was also the jail keeper did not like the Unruh family and especially did not like Cornelius. ,

Page 418

In the morning the sheriff brought in a large breakfast, set it down and announced that he would be leaving for an hour or so as he had business to attend to uptown. Dad put his hand on the cell door and to his surprise found it unlocked. He cautiously stepped out of the jail cell and took a look outside where to his astonishment he found his own horse saddled and tied up to the front post! He lost no time in jumping on and made his escape. It is not known what became of that sheriff but it' s a pretty sure bet that he had to look for another job.

It's not known how Dad's horse and saddle arrived at the jailhouse that morning, but it's quite possible that our mother and a friend may have helped arrange the transportation. Knowing mother I am sure she would not have liked to have her new husband up for trial and sent to jail, she'd rather have him leave town quickly.

Henry headed for the Montana border and then continued drifting along all the way back down to California. He did not try to get in touch with Anna and seemed able to put his marriage and child out of his mind altogether. Just what emotional turmoil poor Anna was going through is lost in the Page s of time. She continued living with her parents and kept running her dress shop.

It seems that father ended up in Stockton again and found work at a dairy farm and although he visited Cornelius and other relatives in Napa from time to time, he remained in the Stockton area as far as we know.

Several years went by during which there was no communication between Henry and Anna. It seems that Dad pretty much kept to himself, at least I do not recall hearing otherwise. He was, however, a very social person who made friends easily, but we have had no stories handed down about this time of his life.

Meanwhile, back at Rosthern, changes were taking place. An evangelist preacher had come to town and converted the whole Unruh family to a new religion - Seventh Day Adventist. Many were being baptized, Anna among them, but the preacher on counseling her discovered that she had a daughter but no husband. When she was asked about the whereabouts of the father, she confessed that she had no idea where he was as they had parted company seven years ago, shortly after the birth of the baby.

She was suddenly filled with guilt and remorse and decided that it was time to at least try to seek reconciliation. So mother began writing letters to all the relatives that she thought might have some idea where Henry was or even if he was still alive. That is how it happened that one day a letter arrived at Napa, addressed to Henry Wall and in the care of Cornelius. Dad had always kept in touch with Cornelius and so he was able to send the letter on.

Page 419

When Dad received the letter he was at first angry as it brought back a lot of bitter memories and feelings that he had thought were behind him. He threw the letter away but kept the picture that was enclosed of his little girl/ Edna, now seven years old.

Of course the letter stirred up all kinds of emotions and he kept taking out the picture and looking at it and finally showed it to the man he was working for and asked his advice.

He was encouraged to go ahead and make a trip up to Canada and settle things one way or another and at least see the daughter even if reconciliation was not possible. His employer told him that if things did not work out in Canada, he would have his job waiting for him if he wanted it.

So off Henry went, with many apprehensions and mixed feelings, not at all sure he wanted to get back into the Unruh family, but curious enough to see Anna and especially to see his child. This time he went by train.

When he arrived at Rosthern he had a much better reception than previously. But when Anna wanted him to take up where they had left off and move back in to the boardinghouse with her parents, he adamantly refused and made it clear that the only way that he would consider getting back together would be if they would move away from her family and start over.

So she agreed to sell the dress shop and they decided to go to Macrorie where several friends and acquaintances were farming. This was a radical change in lifestyle for Anna because the Unruhs were fairly well to do and she was not used to "roughing it". There wasn't much of a town or anything else in Macrorie and people were barely scratching out a living. Land was hilly and the soil full of rocks.

Dad worked for another farmer for a while and then took up a homestead. The house that they had on this farm was partly built right into the hill. Building was often done this way at that time to provide insulation from heat and cold. It seems from memories related by older family members that the family also lived in the town of Macrorie part of the time so that the children could attend school.

Page 420

Education was important to Anna. Her brothers all had professional careers or were in business of some kind. She could probably see that farming was not an easy life and hoped for something better for the children. There was not much opportunity to start another dress shop in this community, as there wasn't money or much of a need for pretty clothes. She always managed to make a nice and comfortable home for Henry and the children wherever they lived and under all kinds of circumstances.

Despite many hardships several years went by in this location and it seems as though Henry was able to settle down to being a family man. Perhaps he had "sown all his wild oats" and was ready for a less adventuresome life.

Just as well, for the house was soon full of children, with the 7th one (me) born in 1926! One child before me had died at birth.

But soon the wanderlust struck again as several farmers went to explore the Peace River area in Alberta and returned with tales of better land and milder weather. He decided to move and put the farm up for sale but had no offers. Several years of drought had lowered the value of the land.

While attending a camp meeting Edna who by this time was a young lady, met a man by the name of Mr. Krutz and though he was much older than Edna, he was quite smitten by her. He had been looking for someone to manage his farm in Hendon over by Quill Lake and he convinced Dad to take on the job. Since they had been looking for a way to move, this seemed a good plan for both of them.

Everything was loaded into boxcars for the journey by train and there was much excitement. The Krutz farm met all their expectations, as there was a nice two-story house and a big red barn. Rolling hills covered with trees seemed like the Garden of Eden after the drought-scorched land they had left.

Some of the children were enrolled in the school. My sister Bernice remembers completing her 8th grade here. But another move was in the wind. Was this because things did not work out as my father managing the farm or maybe Mr. Krutz had marriage to Edna on his mind? Or was it just Dad's restless nature stirring again? Whatever the reason, they left Hendon after only one year and were on "the road once again.

Boxcars were rented and loaded up again, this no small job. All the horses, cows, chickens/ farm machinery and furniture had to be taken along for another train trip. This time to the White Fox area where father had heard of good land available. I can vividly remember riding with father in one of the boxcars. It wasn't very far from Hendon, a shorter distance than the previous trip, and they had lots of practice at moving by then!

Page 421

Homesteads were still being offered by the Government for just a filing fee of $10.00. All that was required was that you had to build some kind of a structure and reside on the property for 5 years, after which you would be given title to the 160 acre parcel or 1/4 section as it was called. Quite an incentive!

Dad went to Nipawin, which at that time was the town that was the furthest north. After that just Indian reservations. The railroad stopped at Nipawin. He needed to find a place for the family to live while he decided where to file a claim for land so on hearing about a family who wanted to move into the town of

Nipawin, he was able to rent their farm. It was about twelve miles from town however, and there was no school within traveling distance. This was the "White's Place".

When we arrived in Nipawin we stayed at mother's cousins, the Penners, until we were settled in our new place, which was a large two story house overlooking the White Fox River. This was a great improvement over life at Macrorie and soon my parents wrote to our old friends, the John Peters, urging them to come. They still were living near our old home there. It wasn't long before^ they did arrive and they also rented a farm nearby. Schools were too far away, so the only education for the children during this time was by correspondence course. We lived at White's Place for about three years.

Then Dad filed for another homestead, this one 6 1/2 miles north west of a tiny place called Love. This would be the final Saskatchewan home and the last place mother would live.

I remember going along with Dad to see the place that was to be our new home. It was covered with thick brush and trees, there was no road and he had a hard time getting through with the team of horses and had to stop many times and clear brush out of the way. It was almost impossible to turn the horses around. There was no land cleared, it was all poplar trees and tall spruce trees.

The thought of having our own place again made these obstacles seem as minor problems that could easily be overcome and it wasn't long before help arrived in the form of a "work bee" of other settlers. This was the custom in those days, as everyone had to depend on his neighbor. With no power tools, many hand were needed and if you could swing a hammer or wield an axe, you were soon put to work.

Trees were cut down, branches cut off and bark peeled off to make logs. A house was built and then a barn. Plaster was made to fill in the spaces between the logs with straw and fresh cow manure. This is what everyone used and it worked very well. Later a second story was added out of sawed lumber.

Page 422

Now the real work would begin. . Clearing the land to plant crops. Some people used oxen to pull the plow and other farm machinery, but we had horses - they were easier to handle, and my dad was a horseman from way back. The land being virgin soil was very productive, it needed no fertilizer.

The long days of sunshine made things grow almost before your eyes... Nature's way of making up for the winter that would start before fall had time to be enjoyed! My Dad planted wheat and oats. The first few years there would be little grain to sell, but the wheat was ground into flour and some coarsely ground for cereal and the oats fed the horses and cattle.

When I think about it now, I realize how hard Dad and Mother worked just to keep us all fed and sheltered. We were poor, but since no one told us, we didn't know, and we always considered that we were so much better off than most people that we knew.

The winter in northern Saskatchewan is not for wimps. It starts early and lasts sometimes until late April or even May. The settlers soon learned to put up lots of wood, and then a little more. Everyone burned wood. It was plentiful and the price was right, if you didn't count the blisters. We had an "air-tight" heater in the middle of the main room, as most people did, and a big old cook stove in the kitchen. Kids were expected to keep the wood box filled.

I've wondered many times how father "stuck it out" way up north after he had spent so many years in California. After all/ there was plenty of land to be had around the Stockton area in those days. It was all farmland, though not so much grain as it was orchards and dairy farms. It was beautiful then, sparsely populated, and a climate hard to beat. Could it be that he was unable to separate the place from the loss of his first love, Mary and the baby son that he had to bury there? He never spoke of it, but then I didn't ask.

Other settlers were moving in and so the need for a school became apparent. As was the custom, another building bee was held and soon a log one-room school was opened in 1933, just in time for me to start first grade. Dad was one of the trustees on the school board.

Father loved music and could play the fiddle, banjo and harmonica. I don't know how he happened to learn, I'm sure he had no music lessons, but he always had a violin and did not need much encouragement to strike up a tune. Woe to any of us kids that dare to touch his "bow", a very valued item and not easy to replace at the time! His people from way back were musically inclined so I suppose he just came by the talent naturally. He mostly played gospel music but probably would have preferred something a little livelier, but Anna was very religious and did not approve of such worldly music.

Page 423

Mother was brought up in the Mennonite Brethren faith and then after becoming an Adventist, was even more fervent in her strict beliefs. She followed the churches teachings to the letter and was perhaps too zealous, though well meaning. Father was by nature a fun loving fellow so I am sure it was often hard for him to live up to such high standards.

Nevertheless he remained a Seventh Day Adventist until he died. He had, after all, been brought up in that faith and so it seemed natural for him, though, often hard to live up to Anna's expectations.

One of mother's dreams was to have a proper church, meetings were being held in homes. There were quite a few Adventist families in the area - the Peters, Schultz and Funks, were some of the names. Being of a very determined nature she went to work raising money and getting building materials donated until at last her dream was realized and a little white church was built on two acres of donated land. It was here in the churchyard that mother was buried eight years later.

Life on the farm for my parents was mostly related to raising food. There was little cash around but we always ate well. Practically everything was provided by the garden, fields, chickens, turkeys, cows, sheep and goats. Summer and fall was a busy time for mother and she lined the cellar shelves with hundreds of jars of canned food. Wild blueberries, raspberries, saskatoons, chokecherries and strawberries were made into jams, jellies and syrups and some were canned for fruit. Potatoes and other root vegetables were stored in bins in the cellar as well as big crocks of sauerkraut. Along with all the butter, cream, milk and eggs we could use, there was no reason to go hungry.

Mother sewed most of our clothes on the trusty old Singer that she had brought with her from Rosthern. She also did a lot of sewing for neighbors and could take almost any old garment and remake it into something just like new.

By 1938 I was the only one left at home with my parents. Edna was married and lived nearby on on Vancouver Island, Joe had drowned in a tragic accident, Bernice was married and living in the U.S. and Warren, was on his own. All of |these years and stories are told elsewhere.

Page 424

Mother's battle with cancer lasted three years. After she was gone the house seemed big and empty, no longer a home with the fragrance of fresh baked bread and the kettles simmering on the stove or the order and routine that had been such a part of our lives.

We managed to get through the harvest that fall with the help of neighbors and also another relentless winter, but it seemed longer and lonelier now. And then one day a letter came from Dad's brother Frank's wife, Anna in California. She was playing the role of matchmaker, saying that her sister Helen was widowed and would make a good mate for father. ,

Letters went back and forth. He wrote to Helen, who was living in Los Angeles at this time and asked her if she would be willing to come up to Saskatchewan and renew old acquaintances, as they had not seen each other since childhood. She must have been lonely too, for some time later in the summer she arrived, bag and baggage.

I was not too pleased with this arrangement. Still grieving the loss of mother, and like a typical teen-ager, thinking father was surely too old for love anyway. But they seemed to be comfortable together and he lost no time rushing her off to the Justice of the Peace to make it legal.

Neither of us had ever driven a car but I was not going to let a little detail like that stand in my way, so after the dealer showed me a few basics such as clutch, accelerator and brake, we took off on the 13 mile trip home. The fact that there were few cars on those country roads helped because admittedly my driving was a little erratic. But we felt so free, we had made a step into the modern world! My father never did learn to drive.

Things went along fairly well between the newlyweds, despite my often underhanded tricks to cool the romance, but when Winter' arrived, Helen could not quit shivering and was hardly able to leave the stove. No one had prepared her for the shock of 40 degrees below zero weather. After all she had hardly ever even seen snow in her life. Not to mention the primitive way we lived - no electricity or indoor plumbing or telephone.

Sometime before Christmas Helen decided that this was no life for her and Dad bought her a one-way ticket on the train back to California. The parting was amicable enough. He was tired of hearing her complaining anyway.

I was secretly glad she was gone. Dad was getting to be a pretty good cook and it seemed more relaxed with just the two of us. Now that we had the jeep we could get into town more often and since I had discovered movies, I made the 24-mile trip into Nipawin at least once a week, sometimes more often. There was an ice. Skating rink in town and I would pick up a girl I knew and spend the afternoon. That just about covered our social life as Dad and I had kind of given up church. I guess without the spiritual strength of Anna the old Henry was making a comeback.

Winter at last turned into spring and this time we had mechanical means to put the crops in. I used the jeep for everything -pulling the plow and seeder and harrows, it worked great. But a farmer I was not. Dad was getting restless and after harvest was over he admitted that he had had enough of farming and he wanted me to take over the farm and marry "Fat Alice". All he wanted out of it was a share of the crop and to leave Saskatchewan.

I knew I didn't want to farm either, just wasn't cut out for it, but we weren't quite ready to make a decision about our future. A neighbor, Mr. Kowalski offered to buy the land, he owned the quarter section right next to us. Sounded good, we were thinking it over but decided to wait until we had at least looked around a bit before we cut all our ties to familiar ground.

Warren and Naomi were both living on Vancouver Island, both married with families so after selling ail of our livestock we locked up the place and took off in the jeep, heading for B.C. Dad was happiest on the move. We stopped and visited relatives in Montana and other places, he was always eager to hit the road again.

Page 426

When we reached Vancouver Island we thought we had landed in Paradise. Everything so green and lush and such big trees the like we had never seen or even imagined! We knew then that there was no going back. Dad gave me Power of Attorney and I boarded the train to go and take Mr. Kowalski up on his offer. This was January, and if I had second thoughts about leaving Saskatchewan, they were soon dispelled when that frigid air hit me as I got off the train in Nipawin!

We got $4,000 for our land. The rest of our belongings, I just gave away. I was feeling quite magnanimous at the time, with such a sum of money and actually having something besides holes in my pockets.

When I got back to Duncan, B.C. Dad bought a small trailer that was parked on Warren's property for him to live in and I made arrangements to remodel a barn that was in a large field below his house and subsequently made it into a nice little home for myself.

But the road was calling and we were eager to make up for all the years of isolation we had had so we mapped out a plan to tour the coastline and took off in the jeep down U.S. Highway 1 heading for Los Angeles.

There we were, just me and my Dad, we had no radio, driving along for hours and days and he always wanted to tell me stories about his early life and how he had traveled this land on horseback and of all his adventures, but with the impatience of youth I had no time nor interest in any of it. It doesn't need to be said that I would greatly treasure those stories today!

Before we left Duncan, Dad had received several letters from Helen. She had heard we had sold the farm and was sorry that the marriage had not worked out and wanted to try again. One of our destinations on this trip was to go down and see her and help pack up her things and she would come up later on the train. Of course Dad, being by his own admission, a pushover where women were concerned/ paid for both the movers and another train ticket.

During this on again - off again relationship, Helen came and went many times. When she was back in his life she took good care of Dad and seemed very dedicated. But soon she would become dissatisfied and want to leave again. I think he spent most of the money from the farm on these comings and goings.

Helen would have liked him to move to California with him, where the weather was more to her liking, as she thought the Island was too wet and rainy, but he would not agree. Dad had bought a fairly nice house and had a job working for the city for several years.

Page 427

After fracturing his leg, he left this job and sold the house. It was at this period that Helen made her final exit from his life and asked for separation papers. Maybe she thought that everyone's patience was wearing thin. She left him with a cast on his broken leg, and I always wondered why she could not have stayed until he recuperated.

Later he worked as a caretaker for the ice rink in town and at that time he lived in a small trailer, which he parked behind the rink.

He liked to be independent and seemed to enjoy doing his own cooking and laundry, refusing help. He had lots of friends in town and could be seen walking uptown most days.

Dad lived a simple life, his needs were few - he would give away anything that he didn't absolutely need. He continued playing his music and would often entertain at the Senior Center playing the fiddle and the harmonica at the same time.

He had a massive stroke at the age of 74 and was unable to speak or communicate in any way and always seemed to be trying to tell us something. It was very difficult to see him like this. Whether this was just part of the deterioration of his mind due to the stroke or whether he really did have something he desperately wanted to say, we'll never know. But it was sad. He remained in this state for about a year, during which time he was in a nursing home. He died on December 7, 1959 and is buried at Duncan.

Helen Toews Wall, father's 3rd wife was born at Parker, South Dakota on May 14, 1889 and died on March 13, 1983 at Hanford, California.

Page 428

Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh had 7 children as follows:

1. Edna Evangeline Wall (1907-1977)

2. Naomi Ruth Wall (1915-1976)

3. Joseph Edward Wall (1917-1934)

4. Bernice Wall (1918-

5. Baby Wall (0000-0000) died in infancy

6. Warren Benjamin Wall (1921-1957)

7. Clifford Orvan Wall (1926-

1st child of 7 of Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh

Edna E. Wall (1907-1977) Married Fred Bente (1909-1959)

My sister Edna was born into an already troubled marriage. Dad recently widowed and having lost his first-born son when only a few months old, was a sad and broken man when he by coincidence renewed his acquaintance with mother whom he had known as a child. Anna was a visiting relative in Montana at the time. She was very sympathetic to father and soon the two ran off and got married without telling anyone. The marriage certificate shows that they had two strangers as witnesses.

It is not hard to imagine that this marriage got off to a rocky start. When the newlyweds had to move in with Anna's parents and some of her siblings, it was a sure recipe for disaster. To add to it, her mother, the matriarch of the home was a determined and demanding woman. Father had already made a bad impression by eloping with Anna and he could hardly expect to be welcomed into this tight knit family with anything more than a cold reserve. Henry had been on his own since his early teens and was not used to being told what to do, especially by a woman.

Edna was brought up then, in this large household of adults, but without a father. During these years she was repeatedly told that she must not be alone or play outside by herself because "her father, who was an evil man, would surely come and snatch her".

When she was about seven years old her mother, Anna, got religion and conscience dictated that she find her husband and the father of her child and start the marriage over. Henry was at first reluctant but on receiving a photo of his pretty little daughter whom he had only seen as a baby, he relented and traveled back up to Canada from California to reclaim his marital status.

Page 429

Once more reunited. Henry did not want to repeat past mistakes. He refused to live with Anna's parents as before and insisted on making a new start on their own and so they moved away to become farmers. It was hard for Edna to accept this person who was a stranger to her, as a father. She had been warned about him. The relationship between the two was strained and remained so, even when they were both in their declining years. There was a certain distrust - a wariness.

Despite some difficult times and many moves from one place to another, the marriage settled down. Education was very important to the Unruh family and Edna's mother saw to it that she was enrolled in school, attending the public school at Macrorie through the 7th grade. In 1923 - 24 our parents temporarily moved the family to Battleford where Edna would be able to attend the SDA Academy and the younger children would go to the church school.

Father rented a very large house near the school called "the Mansion". After the school year ended the family went back to the homestead in Macrorie. Edna continued to attend the Academy, living the final year with our Aunt Susie Neufeld and her family. She graduated along with her cousin Agnes Severson in June of 1927.

Following graduation she taught in a little country school in Finlater, Sask. for two years. But she had aspirations to be a nurse and so went out to British Columbia to attend the School of Nursing at Rest Haven "- an Adventist Sanitarium and teaching hospital.

Edna completed three years of nurse's training there but after graduation it was discovered that Rest Haven was not an accredited school and so to her bitter disappointment she did not receive the RN degree that she deserved and had worked so hard for.

Rest Haven was a lovely place ,' tucked out on a kind of peninsula near Sidney on Vancouver Island. One would have thought that she would have looked for work somewhere in that area but something drew her back to Saskatchewan and so she returned.

Page 430

For several years she worked as a nurse doing home care, but never did work in a hospital or clinic. I suppose this was because she did not have her RN degree so she would have had to work as a nurse's aide. I am sure this would have been very discouraging for her.

When she wasn't doing nursing care as a "live in" she stayed at home, dating several young men at various times. There was often rivalry between her and her sister Naomi over boyfriends, one good looking young German in particular by the name of Hans. He was an excellent dancer and could waltz to the strains of the Viennese music that was popular at the time. Years later both girls would still recall how he whirled them around the floor -when mother wasn't around of course!

Hans had a friend by the name of Fred Bente who had come over from Germany with him. He introduced Fred to the Walls and soon began to court Edna. By this time Hans decided to go back to Germany, there were rumors of war and Hitler was just coming into power. Hans wrote only once from Germany and said he was joining the Hitler movement - we heard no more after that.

As the romance developed between Edna and Fred it seems that their emotions got out of hand and the next thing Edna knew she was pregnant. She did not want to get married/ at least not to Fred, and so confessed her dilemma to her mother.

She got no sympathy there and was told that she must get married and the sooner the better. She was/ after all/ not a girl anymore, being about 28 years old. Fred was agreeable, he professed his love for her and even claimed to be converted to the faith in order to prove his good intentions.

As a result of all the pressure Edna was under, she suddenly discovered that she was not pregnant any longer.

Father sided with Edna and felt that she should not be forced into a marriage that she did not want. But the SDA preacher had already arrived and he was adamant that it would be a terrible sin should the couple not wed and of course my mother, always trying so hard to follow the churches teaching, agreed.

Page 431

"So the marriage took place, despite an unwilling bride. Fred took up a homestead near the Wall farm and the two settled down to farm life and the raising of 6 children. They seemed to be happy enough as the years went by, in spite of having little money or possessions.

The farm did not prosper, Fred was not handy at fixing things and it seemed as though the roof was always leaking and the door falling off its hinges. A farmer in those days had to be a jack-of-all-trades in order to keep things running. He often got some extra money working on the road or cutting wood. He was a good, hard worker, just not one to be able to make it on a quarter acre of land especially where the weather decided if you would harvest a crop or not. But they got by, no welfare in those days.

Edna delivered many of the babies in the district, but probably did not get paid for it. She was always ready to go at a moments notice to help anyone that needed medical attention. The area that they lived in was quite remote with the only hospital 24 miles away and most people did not have money for doctors or hospitals anyway.

Like her mother, she was deeply religious and studied her Bible diligently. She loved nothing better than to discuss the Scriptures with anyone that came along, and could quote chapter and verse unerringly. The family went to the little white SDA church that her mother was instrumental in having built, all except Fred. He did not object to her fervency but did not care to participate himself. He would hitch up the team of horses for them to drive the buggy or if it was winter, the sleigh.

The Bente home was of logs and did not see much improvement over the years. As most of these pioneer houses in the North Country, there was no electricity or running water. They depended on a large garden to supply most of their food, canning as much as they could for the winter. There were the cows for milk, butter and cream as well as cheese and lots of chickens and turkeys.

The children all went to the one room log schoolhouse that I myself attended, all that is except the youngest, Herbie, who came along later when Edna was 44.

One day out of the blue, Murray, the eldest son arrived on our doorstep. He had decided it was time to be out on his own. We weren't quite sure what to do with him as he had no experience, had hardly ever been off the farm. He was brave though, ready for anything, eager and enthusiastic. He stayed with us for several months and then decided that he wanted to join the Air Force.

Page 432

I thought this was a good plan and helped him to get accepted. In early 1952 we took him to the RCAF recruiting office in Victoria. As Murray was only 17, I signed the induction papers his guardian. He was so excited and happy and couldn't wait to tell his parents. However when Edna heard the news she was very upset and objected strenuously to his being in the Air Force. (I still don't know why).

Edna wrote an angry letter to me stating her disapproval and saying I did not have the authority to sign the papers and she was going to get him discharged. True to her word, she did. Later Murray rejoined and made the RCAF his career, staying in until his retirement.

In the winter of 1953 their house burned to the ground and they lost everything, nothing was saved. The family took shelter in the nearby SDA church. The neighbors held a building bee and soon a new frame house was ready. A minister from Moose Jaw came and built cupboards for them and it was quite a nice, large house.

We were living on Vancouver Island during this period and I had a good job as superintendent on a large construction project at Bamberton. The "migration" of the Bente family out to the Island was soon followed by the second son, Arnie and then Fred. All stayed with us at different times so they were not all living with us at once - we only had a small house ourselves.

After Fred had been with us for several months he decided to go back to Saskatchewan and sell the homestead and move the rest of the family out to Duncan, where we lived. They came on the train, bringing with them only what they needed. They rented a house and bought furniture and soon were settled and the children enrolled in school.

Edna never did take up her nursing career again, I guess too many years had gone by and she was busy with the family. Eventually they were able to buy a two-story house up on "hospital hill", a good location since it was within walking distance to the stores.

Edna loved to visit. She would usually manage to bring the conversation around to "God". By this time she had shed herself of the Adventist doctrine but was a firm and devout believer, though not connected with any particular church. She enjoyed arguing points of scripture with my Dad, never having quite gotten over the enmity between them. He was unshakable however, even though he was not a strict conformist, (in other words he slipped a little now and then) he remained an Adventist until the end.

Edna enjoyed life in town. She made lots of friends, always had the teapot on the ready whenever anyone dropped in and made welcome anyone that came to her door.

Page 433

After work on the construction job at Bamberton was finished Fred worked at the mill in Chemainus and also at Crofton when the pulp mill was being built.

They successfully raised a family of six that they could well be proud of. Their stories are written separately.

Fred died suddenly in 1959 and is buried in Duncan, B.C.

Edna later sold the house on the hill and moved into an apartment at Lake Cowichan near where Elaine, the youngest daughter lived. She livedthere for several years. One day she had gone to see her doctor for a routine physical and was assured that HBfc-'^ she was in good health and should have a long life, she stepped out of the office and was struck by a drunken driver.

Edna suffered a skull fracture and never fully recovered. Subsequently she had to be put into a nursing home. She died at Duncan, Vancouver Island, B.C. on June 20, 1977.

MY TEST Written by Edna Benty.

Leave a little glitter of love behind you

It God has filled your heart.

So many folks don't want to talk

about Him, and His art

Of changing lives from wrong to right

And in His precepts walk.

When trials come as come they must

There's only One to trust

What 'ere the cost, what 'ere the pain

His love will answer yet,

In His good time as He sees best

This love must be my test.

Page 434

One day, after I got him down to my river on a hike and wiener roast, he asked me out on a date to the show. When we got to the theatre and went to pay the lady at the ticket window, he almost died of embarrassment, he had left his wallet at home, for once he was at a loss for words. Suddenly he looked across the street and there stood his uncle and author of this book.

Arnie said to me, "don't move", and ran across the street to beg a few bucks from his uncle Cliff Wall. Uncle looked across the street at me and saw the predicament Arnold was in. Uncle Cliff asked Arnie, "What are you going to do if I don't" - Much to Arnie's relief Uncle dug into his pockets, smiling at Arnie -"Have Fun".

Arnold went to Spangle, Washington State for 2 years to finish school and continued to correspond with Ellen. After he graduated, he went to Saskatchewan for some time. (And I grew up).

On his return and at a too young age they were engaged and were married in 1957 at Duncan, B. C. In 1970, Ellen, Arnold and family moved to Golden, B. C. in the beautiful Rocky Mountains where Arnold was employed as an Executive Steam Engineer for a large lumber mill and worked there for over 26 years. ,

In 1974, Ellen became a Level II ski instructor and at her 50th birthday, she was a professional snowboard instructor for the ski and snowboard resorts in their area. They built a lovely log home on their 40 acres of prime property and are now retired.

Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker have 5 children as follows:

1st child of 5 of Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker Michael Benty (1958- Married Lynn Bosnell (0000-

1. Ryan Benty (1991-

2. McKenzie Benty (1996-

2nd child of 5 of Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker

Leonard Benty (1959- Married Brenda Lerche (1962-

1. Allan Benty (1982-

2. Daniel Benty (1984-

3. Kailin Benty (1995-

4. Jordon Benty (1996-

3rd child of 5 of Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker Ronald Benty (1962- Married Gwen Thurlon (1962-

1. Samuel Benty (1991-

2. Morgan Benty (1993-

3. Gregory Benty (1996-

4th child of 5 of Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker

Steven Benty (1964- Wife Christine ______(1966-

1. Andrew Benty (1986-

2. Ryan Benty (1987-

3. Laura Benty (1989-

5th child of 5 of Arnold Benty and Ellen Baker Julia Benty (1968- Married Jeff Wallace (1964-

1. David Wallace (1993-

In April of 1997 they were living in Calgary Alberta/ Canada.

Julia is working in the grocery industry while Jeff is in the

Page 441

MY PERSONAL PROFILE . Submitted by: Herb Benty in bis own words.

My interests and hobbies are History, Archeology, Golf and Swimming. My most revered memories are of the many visits to Aunt Bernice and Uncle Harold's Ranch, (riding horses bareback especially), and Alta Lake. In my teens, my favorite people was the Wall's in San Jose and especially Larry Wall who was so much fun!

The seeds of my hardships in life were sown early (losing my father), because I enjoyed fun so much, I became Hedonistic. A person with no self control and no self-discipline, which led to my many troubles. My Mom (Edna Benty) had instilled in me early the truth of the Bible and that is what I cling to today as I carve a place for myself in an unforgiving world.

The love from my relatives has been a source of support. My favorite book, therefore, is the Holy Bible and my only goal in life is to be remembered as a man who overcame wrong thinking and left this world as a good person.

My only advise to people is that if you are going to have children, they must have 2 parents.

P. S.

I was lucky enough to travel to Israel last year (1995) and it was a great Faith-Builder to me. I had Goose Bumps as I drove into Jerusalem. Shalom!

Signed: Herb Benty

February 25, 1996 Surrey, B. C. Canada.

Page 447

2nd child of 7 of Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh

Naomi Ruth Wall (1915-1976) Married Herbert Haggard (1915-

Naomi born March 6, 1915 -died August 20, 1976.

Herbert born July 29, 1915.

Naomi Wall and Herb Haggard had 3 children as follows:

1. Marlene Haggard (1937-

2. Phyllis Haggard (1939-

3. Ann Haggard (1944-1985)

Our records show that Naomi was born at Rosthern, Sask. but we know that my parents were not living there at the time and it is a pretty sure bet that Dad would never have gone back there so it may have been that mother returned to her parent's home to have the baby.

In any case, Naomi was the second child born to Anna & Henry and she arrived 8 years after Edna.

Her personality was quite different than the studious Edna as Naomi was more of a fun loving child. After all the circumstances surrounding her birth were so different than it had been in the tense Unruh household where Edna had spent her first 7 years.

I do not have many memories of Naomi in her early years since there was an 11-year age difference between us, she was already a young lady by the time I was allowed to wear long pants. I do remember her though, as being very glamorous and pretty and having kind of a dreamlike view of things.

I remember her fascination with the story of our family being descended from "Royal Blood" via the Von Wallenstein connection. She would say, half jokingly, that she did not want to do housework because she was from "Royalty" and should have servants.

She had lots of boy friends and was usually in love with someone. She loved music, learned to play the piano well though she did not have lessons that I know of.

Page 448

Her biggest love affair was with a handsome, blond boy who had recently arrived from Germany and therefore appeared to her as being sophisticated, with his old world charm and elegant manners. "He shared her love of music, especially the old Viennese tunes to which the two would waltz. The local farm boys appeared rough and unpolished compared to Hans.

However rumors of war and the excitement of possible revolution with the rise of Hitler were being reported to him by his family in Germany. And Hans made the decision to go back to his homeland, promising to write. Naomi waited, longing for a letter, but no love letters came. She heard that he had joined the Hitler Movement. Many years later, she would still talk about Hans. I guess she never did quite get over him.

In 1934 our brother Joe who was two years younger than Naomi, drowned while working on a government road-building project in B.C. Our whole family was grief stricken. Joe had wanted to go away to school but Dad felt that he was now old enough to help out on the farm and so could not agree to let him go. After the tragedy of his death, father did not have much to say in decision making, so when Mother decided to send Naomi to SDA boarding school at Lacombe, Alberta he did not object.

The problem was that Naomi did not want to go. For one thing she was now 19 years of age - a little old for high school. Also her education had been sporadic up to then, it was uncertain as to what grade she would be put in. She would certainly be older than most of the students. But mother was a most determined woman and so she sent for registration forms, including the "dress code" and preparations were made for Naomi to go to further her education.

I'll never forget how Naomi cried when Dad took her only good shoes and sawed the heels off in order to conform to the accepted height listed in the code. My parents meant well, I'm sure, but this did not make for a happy send off.

Cousin Esther Neufeld was also enrolled and so the two traveled together by train to Lacombe to leave behind the world of freedom for the strict and structured life in the academy. Naomi hated it from the first day - she did not have the nice clothes that the other girls had, and then there were those shoes! Students that needed to earn part of their tuition were put to work; Naomi was assigned to the kitchen doing the thing she most hated - washing dishes. A few months later she came home and that was the end of her schooling. Cousin Esther stayed on at Lacombe and enjoyed the experience.

Back on the farm Naomi resumed her life helping her mother with the work. At that time there was only brother Warren and myself at home as Bernice had gone to stay with Aunt Rose in Washington to attend school there.

Page 449

Naomi began dating Herb Haggard, a young man from Tisdale who worked at the bakery in Nipawin. He was brought up as a Pentecostal but did not have a leaning towards religion, in fact was inclined to drink, smoke and swear. He also drove a car - a big attraction that gave him a clear advantage with the ladies.

Our parents were less than thrilled with this relationship. But mother had met her match in Herb. His determination won and soon there was a wedding. Oddly enough she never tried to convert him and he says that he always got along well with her in spite of his wild ways.

Herb contacted rheumatic fever and had to quit his job at the bakery. He was very ill for several months so the newlyweds had to move in with us until he recovered. After he was well again, they took up a homestead near our place and started to farm. The house was built of logs; this was pioneer living - no glamorous life of ballroom dancing and fancy dresses here.

Soon a daughter Marlene was born and just two years later another baby girl. Phyllis was born at my parent's house and was delivered by Edna and my mother. I watched the whole thing from a hiding place at the top of the stairs. This was real live sex education!

The farm was not very successful; probably neither Herb nor Naomi was cut out for this lifestyle and so when the opportunity came to take a job in Port Alberni, B.C. they were eager to leave. Another little girl, Ann was born there, completing their family.

Except for a part time job as a salesperson for The Fuller Brush Company, Naomi stayed at home as homemaker, as most women did at that time. When she was working for Fuller Brush, she excelled and won many awards. She was an excellent cook and knew how to make ail of the ethnic dishes that our mother made, like Verenika Si Pluma Mose. She had a piano and enjoyed playing, having a natural talent for music.

Naomi was always ready for company and would come running out to greet us whenever we would go up to Port Alberni. The coffee pot would soon be on the stove and food ready. She made everyone welcome with her hospitality and knack for entertaining.

She never got over having romantic dreams. She loved to read stories like "Gone With The Wind" and would fantasize that she was a southern belle living in a mansion on a plantation. She used to say that she would get so caught up in a story that she would have a hard time to come back to reality.

One of her dreams for the future was "when Herb retires". How often she would talk of that day, planning on all they would do, places they would go, things they would see. But it was not to be.

Page 450

Naomi had a nervous breakdown sometime in 1956 and tried to take her own life several times. I don't think anyone ever really found out what the cause was and I'm not sure whether she ever saw a psychotherapist. At that time it was not the popular science that it is today. She would be better for a while and then would relapse into a deep depression. She spent some months in a sanitarium at Essondaie, eventually being released, but was under medication for years.

The girls all married and started their own families. But Naomi's health problems were not over as she developed complete kidney failure, leaving no option but to be put on dialysis. Herb became her nurse as well as continuing his job at the mill, having to learn all about electrolytes and blood pressure and diet so that he could give Naomi the care that she needed to stay alive. The dialysis was done at home and was quite a complicated procedure. This went on for years.

Herb stayed with the same company until his retirement, often working night shift. What perseverance! He may not have fulfilled her romantic dreams but he gave all he had, taking such excellent care of her, and never complaining. Naomi did not live quite long enough to see his retirement as her life ended only a few months before the 40 years of work at the mill came to an end. The last time I saw her she gave me a copy of a poem that she said expressed her feelings.

HOW WILL I BE REMEMBERED

What will they say about me, those whom I hold so dear what will they best remember when I'm no longer here.

Will they recall mistakes I've made Battles I never won? Moments of pain I've caused them Things I've left undone?

Will they censor my human failings and wish I'd been noble and strong? Will they scoff at the hopes I nurtured the dreams that somehow went wrong?

Or will they be moved by compassion Directed from heaven above to temper their judgment with kindness and soften their memories with love.

Page 451

'Herb did not remarry but found a compatible companion in a lady by the name of Ann Ziker and continues to live out his retirement years in Port Alberni. They have done a lot of traveling, some of it in a motor home, spending several winters in Arizona.

Page 452

MARLENE RUTH VANCAESEEL (nee HAGGARD)

Oldest Daughter of Herbert James Haggard

Submitted: September 1997, in her own words

I was 17 years old in 1954 and working at BC Telephone Company in Port Alberni BC, when I first met my husband Albert VanCaeseele. He was born at Langenburg, Saskatchewan in 1934 and after school he joined the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and trained in Vancouver BC and Regina Saskatchewan. His first posting was Port Alberni BC.

I was working night shift and so was he and in a small town like Port Alberni, the telephone operator took calls for the Police when they were not in their office. We dated and were married in 1957. The R.C.M.P. transferred us to Nanaimo for two years. During that time our first child Laura Ann was born in 1958. She was delivered in Duncan while I was visiting my sister Phyllis.

Laura married Gordon Mark Merrett (born 1960) on September eighth 1984 in Duncan. They have two children, JoLynne Dawn (born 1985) and Todd Mark (born 1987). They all live in Duncan.

Our second child Guy Albert was born at Nanaimo in 1959. He married Laurie Denise McGregor (born 1963) on September twentieth 1986 in Delta BC. They also have two children. Riley Tara, born in 1987 at New Westminister BC, and Brett Laura, born in 1990 at Duncan BC. They also live in Duncan. .

We were then transferred to Courtney in 1959 where our third child. Dawn Marie was born in the Comox Hospital. She had a common law relationship with Brad Jewitt of Port Moody BC from 1979-1982. They bad a son, Shane Ronald VanCaeseele, who was born in 1982 at New Westminister. He now lives with us in Duncan, where Dawn also lives.

It was Courtney where we built our first house, with the help of Dad and Uncle Calvin, who did the wiring, roofing etc. Albert's parents came from Saskatchewan and helped dry wall and paint. The very day we planted the last lawn, we got a call telling us we were transferred to the Burnaby Detachment. So off we went to the lower mainland,

Boy what a shock! We moved several times in the fourteen years he was with the Burnaby Detachment. We built a large house in Coquitlam BC, where we lived until we both retired in 1985-86. We had bought a seven acre farm with a new house in Duncan two years earlier. All our children live and work in Duncan and we have five grandchildren. The oldest, Shane, who is now fifteen, has lived with us since 1987.

Page 454

A Letter from Marlene Haggard VanCaeseele Faxed in, February 25, 1998

Dear Uncle Cliff,

I've been trying to think of a few funny stories about Phyllis and I when we were young and before life became too serious.

I've always loved animals and I guess it started when I was very young. I must have been about 3 years old and Dad had a little colt. I really liked this colt and I wanted to feed it. I'm not sure, but I think I had a bottle of milk and the colt was a little too big and I was a little too small so I coaxed the colt into the house and stood on the bed to feed the colt, when Dad came in he shoo'd the little thing out.

I remember going to Gramma and Grampa Wall's farm and playing with the lambs and baby goats and in the summer going to the barn with Grampa, carrying smudge pots because the mosquitoes were so bad. I also remember Gramma's beautiful, garden and the huge strawberries. I guess Phyllis and I must have been a real pain in the neck for you. We used to play with your black doll "Neegah" (is that how you would spell it?). One time you hid it in the woodpile. I don't know how we found it, but we did.

We moved into town and awhile later Dad got a job in the mill in Port Alberni. Mother, Phyllis, and I followed. Ann was born a year or so later. Relatives from both sides of the family followed. Some settled in Port Alberni and some in Duncan. Aunt Edna and Uncle Fred stayed in Saskatchewan.

Aunt Bernice and Uncle Harold lived in Portland, Oregon about this time (I think). They would come to visit us once in awhile and they would bring marvelous things, like cases of gum, and lifesavers, and margarine that came in clear plastic bags with a yellow tablet in it. We would squeeze the bag until the yellow tablet turned the margarine yellow. We thought they were rich people from another planet.

In the late 1940's, we had a fairly strong earthquake. It was during the daytime and I had the chicken pox so I was in bed when it started. I jumped up and went through the kitchen, just in time to watch Mother jump right over Ann and run out the back door. Dad went back in to get Ann who was still an infant. We were all standing in the backyard, the potato plants in the garden were waving back and forth. I did not see too much, as I was busy watching the ground at my feet. I thought, "If the ground opens up, I'll just jump to one side". We were all frightened but there was no real damage.

Page 456

Mother got a sewing machine from somewhere and she promised Phyllis she would make doll clothes for us. Phyllis thought this was a good deal, so she went around to all the neighbors and took orders and money in advance for custom made doll clothes. Of course Mother was not in on it, so the clothes were never made and we spent the money at Mrs. Bright's corner store.

There was a cow in a small field right next to the store. Everyday, on the way to the store, Phyllis would push Ann under the wire fence and say, "the cow is going to get you Ann". Poor Ann was deathly afraid of cows until the day she died.

Phyllis was the interesting one... I was the boring one. Ann was so much younger, almost like another family. Mother used to say, "Annie-doll was like Cinderella and we were the Ugly Stepsisters!" When Phyllis and I were thirteen and fifteen years old we went to visit Uncle Fred and Aunt Edna (the Bent's) in Saskatchewan.

Dad had a 1949 Austin and we had luggage strapped to the roof of the car, as we did not have much trunk space. The car was fairly crowded with 2 adults and 3 kids. We arrived at Aunt Edna's and got re-acquainted with cousins we really did not know. Phyllis and I were entertained by Murray, Arnie and Danny. They took us swimming at a beaver damn. I was quite a nice swimming hole. I remember trying to stay under water because the mosquitoes loved my city skin. .

Phyllis and I were pretty clutsy. Arnie took us for a ride on the tractor around the field and somehow Phyllis fell off and one of the back wheels ran over her leg. Her leg must have been in an indentation as it barely left a bruise. Arnie also took us for a bareback ride on a huge Clydesdale horse. We were doing just fine until I started to slip off. I was at the back. Phyllis in the middle, and Arnie in front. I had my arms around Phyllis's waist and as I slipped off, I pulled her off too and somehow landed on her, knocking the wind out of her.

Mom must have talked Aunt Edna and Herbie into coming home with us, as the next thing I knew, we were headed home with Aunt Edna and Herbie who was under a year old. Talk about crowded! Three adults in the front, and four kids in the back with Aunt Edna's trunk between the front and back seats which meant we could not put our feet down. Aunt Edna was worried about Herbie getting an ear ache so Herbie had a bonnet on and the 3 windows rolled up (Dad's was down) so Herbie didn't get a draft. Needless to say, Herbie was not happy and cried a lot. Phyllis could not stand the crying so she would give him a good pinch every once in a while which increased the volume.

In Glacier National Park there are some very tight switchbacks, my Dad loved to drive fast and we took all those corners on two wheels. We made it down that mountain in record time, and at the bottom was a pipe with really cold water running from it.

Page 457

The day was very hot and we stopped to let the car cool down and to get a nice cold drink. A car had followed us down the mountain; we must have looked like real hillbillies with a trunk strapped to the roof and all those people crawling out of that little car! The guy in the car behind us walked up to Dad shaking his head and said, "What have you got under that hood?" Aunt Edna stayed about 2-3 weeks.

The following summer Murray and then Arnie came to stay with us for a while on and off and sometimes with Uncle Cliff in Duncan. One time Arnie was visiting us and he kept saying he had this terrible fear of something, but he would never tell us what it was. Finally, we could not stand it any longer so we jumped him and put some Limburger cheese under his nose. He never did tell us what it was. I guess we were kind of mean but we've remained quite close. I hear from Dan and Arnie periodically to this day.

Shortly after this time. Mother became quite ill. Fun and games ceased. There were no more funny stories except Mom wasn't feeling too badly one time when Aunt Bernice, Mother, Phyllis, Ann and myself all jumped on the bed in the bedroom off the kitchen. I reached around the corner, grabbed the telephone and called my future husband. Van...who was in the R.C.M.P., at the police station. I very excited told him to come right away, he was at the house in about three minutes! When he was told the "emergency" was a mouse, without a word....he took the broom, killed the mouse, and walked out. (Nice to know our tax dollars were hard at work!)

Well Uncle Cliff, I'll stop now or I may as well write my own book. I hope this helps you, and hot too many people are mad at me.

Love, Marlene.

Page 458

3rd child of 7 of Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh

Joseph Edward Wall (1917-1934) born on March 24, 1917 near Macrorie, Saskatchewan, Canada.

Brother Joe spent most of his short life on the farm. He was full of energy, enthusiasm and probably a certain amount of stubbornness as he frequently locked horns with our parents.

Being the eldest son seems often to set the scene for discord, the son wanting to try his wings and the parents unwilling to let go.

Joe attended a camp meeting one summer and came back full of religious fervor. He had also decided that he would be a colporteur and travel around the country selling Bibles and other Adventist literature.

A young man could make pretty fair money too, meanwhile spreading the gospel at the same time.

One would have thought our parents would be pleased/ but they absolutely forbade it. Dad said that he was now old enough to do a man's work and he needed the help. Joe was understandably very disappointed. After all, farm life did not hold much appeal for most young people. A lot of hard work and little to show for it.

He had the idea that he could earn enough money to go to the SDA School at Lacombe, Alberta where he could attend high school. His education had been sporadic up to then, and at the camp meeting they had convinced him how important a good education was. He admired the way the leaders were dressed and how eloquently they spoke. Joe had an outgoing personality and could easily imagine himself up there on the podium delivering stimulating sermons & saving souls.

So he had to forget that idea, at least for now. Then a couple of months later, it was in the fall, mother organized a blueberry-picking trip, with our family and the Peters, who were neighbors. We would camp out for a couple days or more so this would sound like a lot of fun and a welcome diversion from farm chores.

Page 459

Joe had been paying some attention to one of the Peters'' girls, who was about his age. Mother would not allow Joe to go along, being fearful that the two would find more interest in each other than in the blueberries. To further prevent any chance of a clandestine meeting, they made the girl go along.

When we got back, Joe was gone. On looking around it appeared he had taken his clothes - he didn't have many. We knew he had no money except maybe 50 cents.

A month went by and no one had seen him or heard anything. Then one day a telegram came saying that Joe had been identified as one of five young men that had drowned in the Columbia River up near Revelstoke, B.C.

Our parents and all of us were of course, just devastated. Dad and mother blaming each other. It was decided that Dad would go by train to Revelstoke, some people gave him money to help out with expenses. In the end the conductor on the train on hearing what had happened let him ride free.

He arrived just as a Memorial service was being held. No bodies had been recovered so there was little he could do. He learned that Joe had ridden the freight train out to B.C. and was working on Government construction for 20 cents an hour. They were building the "Big Bend" Highway. He had only worked for 6 days. It seems that Joe and five others were crossing the river in a cable car and the cable broke - it was only meant to hold two people at a time. This was on a Sunday and was not connected to their work.

Families picnicking along the river had watched the whole accident, had seen the boys struggling to swim against the strong current but were unable to do anything to help them. The only one that survived was the one who could not swim and so the current had washed him to the opposite bank where he clung to a rock until he was rescued by boat.

Father gathered up Joe's few belongings and returned home. Mother prayed night and day that Joe's body could be found. The river had been searched and dragged but the water was swift and deep. She did not sleep. Another three weeks went by and then another telegram came. Her prayers had been answered, a young couple standing on a bridge ten miles downstream from where the accident happened, saw a body caught in some bushes on the river's edge -it was Joe.

He was positively identified by a ring on his hand that he had made out of a penny. It was returned to us and I kept it for many years. Joe was the only one of the five that was ever found. We did not go the burial service, money being scarce. A check for $1.20, Joe's paycheck was sent but my father never did cash it.

Page 460

My memories of this tragic time are still vivid today but since I was so much younger than Joe, I don't have many other recollections of my brother. I wish that I did because he saved my life when I was six years old - saved me from drowning!

It was spring and the ice was beginning to break up in the river below our house. You could hear the loud popping and groaning as the ice gave way. Joe went down to have a look and I followed him. The next thing I knew I was floundering in the freezing water. I don't remember being scared at all, just kind of peaceful like.

Joe did not know that I had tagged along so was shocked to see my little muskrat hat floating by. He was a strong swimmer and dived in and was able to rescue me just in time. How ironic that only two years later he was not able to save himself from drowning.

Page 461

4th child of 7 of Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh �ƈ�Bernice Wall (1918- Married Harold Lamberton (1918-

Bernice was born on Sept. 29, 1918 at Macrorie, Saskatchewan she married Harold Lamberton on Oct. 14, 1943 at Redlands, Calif. Harold was born Aug. 9, 1918 at Langford, South Dakota

Bernice Wall and Harold Lamberton have 6 children as follows:

1. Lynda Lamberton (1945-

2. Ronald Lamberton (1946-

3. Henry Lamberton (1848-

4. Daniel Lamberton (1949-

5. Bunny Jo Lamberton (1951-

6. Katie Lamberton (1953-

I was born on September 29, 1918 in a small house on a farm near the town of Macrorie, Saskatchewan, Canada.

My parents knew each other as children. They met again in Missoula, Montana, where my father's sister, Margaret Quast and brother Peter C. lived. My mother's mother (Eva Dirksen Unruh) had gone to visit her sister who was my Dad's brother's wife (Anna P. Dirksen Wall).

My dad had just come from St. Helena, California, where he had been married, but his marriage to Mary Voth ended when she died after childbirth.

Dad went to his brother and sister *s place in Missoula and met mother, Annie Unruh. They eloped. My mother wanted to be with her family who weren't Adventists. So dad's family thought he was marrying a "wild heathen".

When mom's mom got a huge goiter and a mental disorder and became convinced that her daughters were the ten virgins, my dad resisted. His temper got him in trouble with the Unruhs and he was threatened and got into a fight. Dad was held in jail overnight and, tired of the repression, he escaped and rode his horse to the San Joaquin Valley in California, where he lived for seven years. He worked for a man in a dairy, we know, but we know very little of that time.

Anyway, he lived in Stockton, and during that time a minister went up to Rosthern, Saskatchewan and converted mother's family to Adventism. When my mother wanted to be baptized the minister wouldn't do so unless she was back with her husband. She sent a picture of Edna, and when dad saw the picture he decided to go back on the stipulation that they would move. So they went to Macrorie. Naomi and Joe, and I were born there.

Page 463

When I was born, my older sister, Edna was 11 years old. Naomi, the 2nd child was almost 4 years of age and Joseph Edward was about 1 1/2 years. They tell me that I was named by my mother's younger brother, Toby Unruh who had a former girl friend by the name of Ilah Bernice.

At the time of my birth, my mother was 36 years of age and my dad was 34. My Uncle Toby Unruh married soon after I arrived. He and his wife Margaret never had any children of their own. Almost 3 years later my brother. Warren was added to our family, and then 8 years later, Clifford completed our family at my mother's age of 44 1/2 years. My mother said, "That's it".

My mother was always very busy, apart from keeping us well fed, clothed and maintaining a very clean household, she was a talented seamstress. She dedicated her talent to make us the most attractive and comfortable clothes possible.

When we were old enough mother would ask us girls to pick out dresses we liked from the pictures in a catalogue. She would then make her own pattern and make the dress to look just like the picture we picked. We girls really appreciated her talent, even though we lived on a small homestead house, we knew we were the best-dressed children in school.

I've always been aware of how clothes looked. With my own children I did mending - buttons and rips. I have always been grateful to mother for taking pride in how we were dressed. Her Singer sewing machine was the most important item in our house.

Our big Monarch brand cast iron cook stove had an oven door strong enough for us to sit on. Our water was carried from a spring near our house. Usually my father brought water in barrels on a "stone boat" pulled by a team of horses. Water was heated on our stove for all uses. Many wonderful meals were prepared on this stove.

Mom baked all our bread, delicious buns, cinnamon rolls, and a bun called Zwiebach or "double bake" with a small cap on it. You could lift the top off and put butter or jam or syrup in there. We always had potatoes; we grew in our garden because we could keep them year round. They were kept in the cellar. In Macrorie, the cellar was behind the house. In other houses the cellar door was in the kitchen.

There was a cellar with shelves for fruit jars, potatoes, carrots or beets that would keep quite a while. We never could get fresh vegetables in the winter; you could get canned goods and flour, sugar and shortening. We seldom bought canned goods. We had our own chickens and eggs. And milk of course for drinking, for cream, butter, cottage cheese.

Page 464

We would can Saskatoon berries and jam from wild raspberries and strawberries. Occasionally, we'd go to town to get bananas for five cents apiece. Christmas time Mandarin Oranges, dates in cans in packages shipped from Egypt. Dad always said dates were grown where the trees had their "feet in water and their head in hell".

We had cocoa and honey, and carrots and cabbage. Our salads were usually grated carrots and cabbage. We also bought raisins, dried prunes, very important for fruit soup, "plumamoos" Though we usually tried to grow tomatoes, they wouldn't ripen in our short season so we picked them green and wrapped them in paper. They'd ripen around Thanksgiving but they were only light orange.

One time when we went to town with my father, he'd taken a load of hay to sell; we were sitting in the back of the wagon going home. Dad let me buy a large red tomato as my treat. We were probably half-way home on the eight-mile trip, it was past where the church was, past Bodrug's and I looked back up the road to see the red tomato had slipped through the cracks in the floor and was way back up the road.

I can still see that picture of the tomato receding - it looked so big. I was afraid to tell my father because I didn't want to make him feel he had to turn around to go get it or that I didn't appreciate his gift.

As I write, I even more feel grateful for my parents. My father worked very hard to make money for our food, clothing, education and a place to live. Lots of other families had more machinery, more acres, but dad did fine with horses.

Dad was an interesting speaker, and sometimes gave talks at church. He loved magazines and reading. If he'd had the materials available, I think he would have been a reader, as I am now. Mother was also very interested in reading - she would have been good in politics. When there were projects she thought should be done, like building a church or getting money for a church organ, she immediately got in her buggy and went around and collected money for it.

Both of them were dreamers; unlike my two uncles who lived nearby and were dedicated to their farms, mom and dad's real interests were in more civic and intellectual pursuits. They loved to read church magazines, the Bible, and any other books available.

Dad's main recreation was music. He always went straight for his musical instruments. There was a violin and guitar hanging on the living room wall ready for use. He made a wire holder for the "mouth organ" that fit over his shoulders so he could play both the harmonica and guitar at the same time.

Page 465

I can't imagine a house without an organ or piano or guitar. They are necessary for any house. I still have a mental picture of how he looked when he was playing. His face would, how would you say this? reflect the songs he was playing. At a difficult part he'd furrow his brow and his mouth would move from one side to another, unlike old fiddlers who tapped their feet, he expressed more in his face and his head. He played current popular songs, war songs, songs about home, Salvation Army songs, because they were peppy, and hymns.

He also would re-tune his guitar and play Hawaiian style, steel guitar with the bar. He played the Spanish Fandango also. I don't know where he learned to do this. He must have learned when he was wandering. He played "The Shelf Behind the Door," ("the shelf behind the door/don't use it anymore, but quickly clean the corners out from ceiling to the floor/for Jesus wants his temple clean/he cannot bless you more/until you clean those corners out/that shelf behind the door. Some smoking/and some chewing tobacco/some love of fancy dress, la la la")

We always had an organ. I remember, when I was six years old in the first grade and we still lived in Macrorie the new organ came in a big wooden crate, what excitement! I remember my mother letting Naomi, Joe and me take turns playing the new organ, and then playing house in the big wooden crate that the organ was shipped in. We must have had a good crop that year.

When I started to learn to play "Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater," I could tell the first cord in it was the same cord that started "Lift up the Trumpet", so it was easy to pick out other tunes. My first cording was in four flats. Almost all the black keys. My father taught me to accompany his songs. I can still feel the violin bow tapping me on the head when I was supposed to change cords. From then on, I had to accompany him when company would come.

Mother could play too. She didn't often take the time for this, but we were eager to hear her when she played. Music was my father's relaxation, recreation and sometimes his escape into remembrances of the past. I wish I could talk to him now about these things.

My father had taken up his own homestead in the Macrorie area, and in order to keep it, he had to build a home and live on it. I remember living on our homestead about seven or eight miles from my birthplace. We played on the flat sloped-backward roof.

We lived in 3 different places in the Macrorie area, while we were in school because the schools were too far from the homestead. On my first day at Mt. Marie School, I didn't know how to read everything in the reader, so the next day I refused to go back to school.

Page 466

Mother let me stay home that day, and Joe brought the reading book home that evening so that I could practice until I could read the lesson perfectly. From then on I practiced reading in the evening for the next day's lesson at school.

After an SDA school was built nearer to our homestead, we were able to live on the homestead and often we walked to school. It was about 4 miles. I remember the beauty of the prairie in the different seasons. The crocuses in the spring ~ furry buds peeping through the bare patches where the snow had melted off, later, the wild pink roses/ and the lush prairie grasses. In winter, when the snowdrifts were not too high, we walked, and I remember seeing the pink sunset on the hills on our way home.

We had a chicken house with nests along the wall; it was between the house and the barn. The barn was where there are now big cottonwood trees. We always had several pet rabbits - we wouldn't eat them any more than we'd eat a cat. We were very spare with any kind of meat - we really did like chicken when we could get it. We ate everything - gizzards, heart. In the cold part of the winter the chickens would stop laying.

We had pet crows; we managed to tame them. They made very amicable pets. One in particular came into the house where my grandmother was knitting and tangled her yarn. We were gone and I remember we came home and she laughed about how she'd have rung the crow's neck if she could have caught him. It's one of the few times I remember her laughing.

She also laughed once when, after evening prayer/ the rest of us came up from our knees and we were moving around but brother Joe was fast asleep kneeling there a long time. Grandma laughed and said he was very devout and prayed a long time.

I can't believe our house was so small as' it turned out to be after we went back this summer to look at it. It must have shrunk. Grandmother lived there until she died at our house. Aunt Rose came from Walla Walla and stayed at our house to take care of her. She used dried lavender flowers and a glass drinking straw for grandmother.

Cliff was born before we left there. Edna, I don't remember living there. But there were four children, mom and dad and grandmother. I remember going to grandmother's funeral, her coffin was in the house for a little while. Aunt Rose knew how to take care of people after they died and fix them up. Grandma mostly spoke German I suppose, but she understood us. I understood a little bit of German.

Page 467

As a child, Edna was my guiding star. She went to Battleford Academy. Edna was 11 years older than I was. After she graduated she taught school for two years in the town of Finlater. Her dream was to become a nurse. So I took that dream as my own too. At eight, I put together a white uniform and made a cap. I cut out a red cross and pinned it to the front of my cap. My uncle Toby and aunt Margaret had come to Macrorie for my grandmother's funeral. Uncle Toby took a picture of me in my Red Cross nurse's uniform and cap.

We had a water barrel where we splashed around on hot days. The road to church and school wound around a place we called "suicide bend." My sisters and other friends and I took turns playing for church. We got packages from mail order catalogues Baton's or Simpson's - fleece lined underwear next to our bare skin. We'd dance around the room. Every Friday we'd dust the big bookcase and the organ. We cleaned the organ keys with a damp cloth. Our dining room table was in that room too. Naomi slept in my room with me. Warren somewhere - I don't remember.

While we lived in the Macrorie area, I attended 4 schools:

Macrorie Town (first grade); Mt. Marie and Big Valley (2nd grade);

Macrorie SDA school (grades 3- half of 6th grade). Then we moved to Hendon where I finished the 6th grade, skipped the 7th grade and went directly into the 8th grade. I finished only half of the 8th grade before we moved north to the Nipawin area.

The towns of Hendon and Wadena were mostly Scandinavian communities. Two Adventist men in the town were married to women who were not church members. Our family would often go to their houses on weekends to eat dinner and visit. The kids would play games to-gether on Saturday night. Our family would walk into their house for the party and there would be a strong aroma of coffee brewing in heavy pots.

My mother enjoyed the company of these women and one time she invited one of them to stay with us for a few days. But alas, since we were Adventist it was unheard of to have coffee in the house. About the second day the woman was in pain from withdrawal symptoms. I can remember her sitting in a chair, rubbing her legs and moaning that she had to have coffee. My mother quickly got the horses ready and drove her, in the buggy, to the nearest neighbor. I came along. I vividly remember the neighbor lady pushed the heavy coffee pot on to the stove to re-heat the coffee. Our guest said, "No no, make fresh!"

One of the Swedish men taught us to say, "I love you" in Swedish. I can remember quite a few things when I start thinking about those days. My sisters started dating them and that worried my mother. The Swedish husbands spent the weekends drinking — usually teetering.

Page 468

There were three families of Swedburgs and Naomi started dating one of the sons. She hid her rouge until she was out of sight of our home I discovered I liked a little color too, so I hid some of hers in the loose wallpaper. I couldn't stand any kind of dissension and I always worried she would get in trouble with dad.

Once the Swedes had a big outdoor smorgasbord and I got acquainted with Lutefisk. My folks usually ate vegetarian but visiting, we ate pretty much "what was set before us, asking no questions." We went to a neighbor's once and found later we'd eaten rabbit. We went with some other neighbors once and found their delicious roast was pork. I guess that was with Warren's relatives on Vancouver Island.

Once we went to a Finish man's house and he was brewing his own beer. We tasted some out of the large vat. We didn't feel a restriction against tasting, though our folks never had any of their own.

Except when we left the church school and went to Hendon, switching schools wasn't that troubling. But the church school had a lovely kind of teacher, Alice Bowers. We felt she'd come from some special academic place. I went there for 3rd, 4th and part of 6th grade. So when we left there I remember putting my head down on my desk in Hendon and crying because I was so lonesome.

At the start of the next school year an inspector came and tested us; he said I should be in the 8th grade. Our teacher was Mr. Spencer, a part Indian man who was kindly. I went right into the eighth grade, maybe because they had no seventh graders. When we moved from there it was a long time before I went to school again.

We were too far from a school (6-8 miles) from White Fox at the place where we stayed for nearly 3 years while dad was getting the "Love" homestead house ready. I don't know how dad found White Fox - maybe through Penner's my mother's first cousin in Nipawin. When we went there we stayed at their house a couple of weeks before we went to the farm outside of White Fox.

There was a two-story log house and a barn for our animals. Joe and I especially were concerned about not going to school. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind, "I don't want to tell my grandchildren that I only went to the eighth grade." That would have been too disgraceful.

Page 469

During this time I worked at home, helped my mother do housework and cook. In the summer I herded cows (there were no fences). My brother Joe and I learned to swim in the white Fox river. Joe and I had many wonderful times swimming and fishing for minnows. We had a screen that we would catch little minnows, and then run up to the house and fry them in a caste iron frying pan. Joe attempted to eat 144 fried minnows. After that we never cared to have minnows to eat.

Edna went to British Columbia to take nurse's training at Rest Haven Sanitarium and Hospital. After three years of intensive training she graduated, but since the school was not accredited, she was not able to get her nurse's license. However later, she helped deliver babies and make house calls to neighbors who needed a nurse's help.

When we did move to the homestead near Love, we went to the new Botany school. Two other students and I took the 8th grade by correspondence and had our desks in the school. I remember thinking how interesting it was to start again. I started to learn arithmetic very well from those lessons. My other two classmates and I worked in a kind of competition.

The teacher there was a tall, large woman named Agnes Hilton. She was a very kind competent teacher. The next year she became Mrs. Laird when she married a local widower and farmer. After she married, her sister Mary came to teach and she was a disaster — she had no patience.

At the second homestead in Love, we had another two-story house -log bottom and lumber top built from the timber on our homestead. Our dad built it. When we moved out there they were busy clearing land for a wheat crop, to grind flour and to have our cereals and to sell. We planted oats for cows and horses and to cut for hay.

There aren't many people who have the memories and range of experiences with life up north; living with no electricity and no car. The old preachers were often hung up on works before grace. One visiting minister came over and ripped the film out of Cliff's camera because he'd taken pictures on Sabbath. I remember one young minister who had a nice shiny car; Warren was lovingly touching it and the minister said, "don't touch the car". He didn't have the talent of being friendly I guess. One Elder Long, who baptized me, was real understanding.

During that time in Love, Joe ran away and drowned in the Columbia River. Edna got married to Fred, Naomi got married to Herb. Joe and I had been planning to go away to the Adventist school in Lacombe, Alberta.

Page 470

I had writ-ten to my uncle Toby Unruh who was the President of Pennsylvania conference at the time, to see if there were any people who would send two children away to school. Toby had a man tell him that he'd give $350.00 dollars for the girl who wrote the letter for her and her brother. When Joe died I was too upset "to go and I convinced Naomi to go, though she didn't stay past March.

I went to live with Aunt Mary Severson who lived near Macrorie SDA School and took the 9th grade there. I also took 10th grade Algebra, French and Geometry there. The next school year I went to live with Aunt Rose and completed my Junior and Senior years at Walla Walla Academy.

I had to go home between those years to get my student Visa and I had to wait until after December to go back. It was a monstrous effort to get the Visa - I had to go to Regina on the bus and stay with people I didn't know.

Dad's experience on farms was mostly working with horses. I think he was kind of stuck, up there in Saskatchewan - he'd been in California - but not many people did that kind of moving with families. I wasn't actually home that much after that but while we were there, I remember/ they discovered this was a good place for raising alfalfa seed. This was a profitable crop, but we didn't have much land so we didn't get more prosperous as did some of our neighbors. A Mr. Kawalski did pretty well. Anyway, that was the crop of the area. After I left. Dad and Cliff got more and times were better so they were able to get a Jeep. Cliff used the Jeep partly as a tractor.

I remember my first trip to Walla Walla. I rode down to Walla Walla with Mr. and Mrs. Otto Gudarian. They had a daughter Lois who was music major, mostly voice art. Lois and I rode on the back seat of their touring car all the way.

It was my first view of the mountains; they were real big mountains!! We saw the foothills start in Alberta and gradually they got higher and higher. We stayed in Kingsgate, British Columbia in some cute little log cabins.

Right after sundown we took off and drove a long way at night. But then, across the line in USA, I was on my first concrete road, and it was the first time I saw more that one car's light on the road. One didn't fade out before another car came. We drove all the way to College Place - to Whitman road where Aunt Rose and Uncle Arno Getzlaff lived.

I had my own room in the front of the house. That was a big thing. It was real change into so-called modern conveniences. We'd never had a car or indoor plumbing at home.

Page 471

I never returned to live in Saskatchewan after that. I attended Walla Walla College for 2 years of pre-nursing. There I met my special lifetime partner, Harold W. Lamberton from Brewster, "Washington. We corresponded during the 3 years I was taking nursing at Boulder, Colorado Sanitarium and Hospital.

I then went to Porter Hospital and on to Denver General -Colorado State University Psychiatric Hospital in Denver. The fall after graduation, Harold and I were married in Redlands, California in the "Little Chapel of the Palms". This was during Harold's sophomore year in the Loma Linda University School of Medicine. Most of his classmates came. It was a very special exciting time. I worked in a doctor's office in Whittier, California and at the Loma Linda Hospital as well.

We rented a house in Los Angeles while Harold was in medical school. An orthodox Jewish man lived next door to us. On more than one Sabbath, he asked if Harold would light a fire for him. Once because he needed hot water for his sick friend. Our house was not far from Hallenbeck Park. Harold and I would walk by the park and watch groups of old Jewish men sitting on park benches. It seemed they all talked at once.

To the west of our house was a large Sears store and to the east was the White Memorial Hospital. On the east side of the hospital, was Brooklyn Avenue, the Jewish shopping center. One day I was in a Jewish grocery buying kosher meat. We didn't eat meat often but if we did we always bought kosher. I happened to be pregnant with my first child. A rabbi came up to me and said "Lady, You are going to have a boy." I said "Should I just prepare for a boy then," and he said, "Yes it's going to be a boy." When the baby came, to our great joy, it was our daughter, Lynda.

Our first house in Brewster was in town behind the drug store. It was convenient to live in town. We then moved out to a farm. We remodeled the old house on the farm for someone to live and take care of the farm. Then when spring came and everything was green and beautiful out there, we decided to move in and take care of the farm. There was a big hill behind our house in Brewster. On almost every nice day in Brewster, I dreamed of walking up the hill with my kids. I imagined everyone would have pallets and paper. We would paint, write about the pictures and scenes of animals and plants on the hill or what we could see down the valley, but surprise! There was always so much work to do.

Sometimes we would walk up the pasture and climb the first rise of the hill were there was a lone ponderosa pine. I kept an old army ammunition box there under some rocks. In it, there was a New Testament and some inspirational short stories, things I wanted to read to the children. I also kept gum in the box and so we called the place "Gum Mountain." We would look down on the barn and our animals and trees.

Page 472

One of our experiences, while living in Brewster was climbing Mt. Rainier. Before we got to go to the summit, I said to Harold, "Isn't this a matter of life and death and are you taking pictures?" He later admitted that he had never been so tired in his life but he kept his spirits for my sake. As we climbed, I kept saying to myself, "Bernice, if you can make it to the top, there isn't anything in your life that you wouldn't be able to do."

We dropped down at the summit and ate a can of peaches that our guide told us to bring. The three Canadian men with us were too tired to eat their peaches. By the time we got back to Paradise Lodge, we ordered room service and Harold fed me with a spoon, the little that I would eat. I have always been proud of the fact that I have climbed Mt. Rainier and have used it as my one claim to fame.

Throughout our time of practice in Brewster, mostly my work was our home and family. Making lunches and driving the children to school. I made many trips to Upper Columbia Academy, the high school my kids attended. On one of my trips, I went to the school church service and the preacher stopped me and said, "Who makes more trips then Mrs. Lamberton."

Our first child Lynda Kay born April 24, 1945 in White Memorial Hospital in Los Angeles.

Ronald Warren born July 31, 1946 in Portland Sanitarium and Hospital during Harold's internship there.

Henry Harold born February 2, 1948 in the 183rd General Hospital near Anchorage, Alaska.

Daniel Alan born May 26, 1949 at Portland Sanitarium and Hospital.

Bernice Joan born August 23, 1951 at Walla Wall General Hospital.

Katie Marie born January 9, 1953 at Brewster Hospital after we moved there to start practice in his hometown.

Harold had a very busy practice in Brewster, our home and telephone was accessible to all. My work - our home, 6 children and later 3 nephews. Warren and Mary's children, Lloyd, Reg and Roy. We were privileged to have a wonderful farm. The children learned to work on the farm, change sprinklers, put up hay etc., and work part time in the medical office.

Our hospital in Brewster started a Nurses Aide Teaching program there, and I was privileged to work on a 1970 White House Conference on Children and Youth. This program was started by President Dwight D. Eisenhower. During Richard Nixon's Presidency I and Harold went to Washington D.C. for the main conference. This was very exciting and educational.

Page 473

I worked with the Washington State Medical Auxiliary for several years, and made trips to conventions etc., but mostly my work was our home and family.

Harold and I were very fortunate to have traveled many foreign lands around the world. Harold's brother, dark Lamberton is an Orthodontist in Cheng Mai, Thailand where he has practiced for over 34 years. We have been over there several times to visit. On one occasion Harold filled for another Doctor in Malaysia for 6 weeks, a very interesting medical experience. Another brother of Harold's, Lynn Lamberton serves in Zimbabwe, Africa.

With our friends, Francis and Margaret Crane, we have visited Japan, China (walked on the Great Wall), New Zealand, Australia, and several other countries in the Far East, including Sri Lanka. Other trips have taken us to many countries in Europe, Africa including Zimbabwe, Johannesburg and Capetown.

Now were have retired after 40 years of medical practice in Brewster. We sold our "Sunny L Ranch" and live at Walla Walla, Washington.

My siblings as I knew them:

Edna, was an early favorite of mother's (Unruh) family - later mostly on her own, since she was seven years older that the next child.

Naomi, pretty much her own person.

Joe, my mother's son and heart child.

Me, close to my mother, my father's musical child.

Warren, his own person.

Clifford, mother's special son, later my father's companion.

Page 474

THE HAROLD LAMBERTON STORY In his own words, December 6, 1996

I was born in the bedroom of our farmhouse in the North Eastern Corner of South Dakota, in the evening of 9 August 1918. My 7 older siblings got to stay at a neighbor's house and play with their kids all day until after supper while my mother was in labor.

Before my mother and father were through, they had a total of 15 of us. One boy named George died the same day he was born. I have been told he was buried in a shoebox in the woods near our log house on the slopes of Mount Spokane in Washington. The remaining 14 lived to adult life. There were 8 boys and 6 girls. I was the 8th in order.

Many people have said "Oh your poor Mother! How hard she must have worked!" She did work hard and canned as much as 2,000 quarts of fruit and vegetables each summer.

I remember as a boy when I would be sent out to the hillside dirt cellar, with rocked up walls to get potatoes, sauerkraut, cider or jars of jelly or fruit to carry back to the house for meal time. I remember hanging the kerosene lantern on a spike nail driven into the ridgepole while I selected what ever I was sent to get.

It was such a wonderful feeling of security and comfort to see and smell all the stored up food for the months of winter. We had very little cash but with a cellar full of food and a barn full of hay, there was little reason to worry.

My mother and father worked hard but they were very good at delegating work to each and every child. I believe I got 10X as much shakings and paddling from my older sisters and brothers than I did from my folks.

I started school at age 5 years, but after 3 days of sitting in the seat by my sister and crying the whole day, I was given a reprieve and permitted to drop out and return at age 6. It was a 1 room County school, 1 teacher and most of the kids were my brothers and sisters.

Page 475

In the 4th grade, the town school was able to buy a truck with a wooden box built on it for a bus. I graduated from high school in 1937 in a class of 9 seniors. There were 6 boys and 3 girls. Most of the girls got married as freshmen or sophomores. In fact one of the 3 girls in our graduating class was already married and pregnant before graduation. Perhaps it was pregnant and then married before graduation.

Once I got passed the first grade I sort of got "the hang of it" and sort of liked school. So I stuck it out for another 18 years and graduated as a Doctor. I received my M. D. degree at age 27 and went promptly into the U.S. Army and became an Orthopedic

Surgeon.

The most important event was, when a senior in college, I took German and the smartest and prettiest girl in college was Bernice Wall. After she finished pre-nursing and I finished pre-med we were separated for 3 years. She was getting her R.N. degree from a Boulder Colorado school of nursing and I got my M. D. from Loma Linda University School of Medicine.

Bernice finished her nursing degree first and she came west to California where we were married in "The Chapel of the Palms in Redlands, California on October 14, 1943.

We had a few months of anxiety because Bernice wasn't pregnant even after a whole year of marriage. She rapidly removed all cause for worry by having 6 children in the next 9 years.

We lived in an intern cottage on the edge of Mt. Taber Park in Portland, Oregon while I took a rotating internship and surgical continuing education. I was then returned to active military duty. Bernice watched the 2 oldest kids (Lynda and Ronald) while I made a trip to Japan as Ships Surgeon on a troop carrier.

The Army then transferred me to the Orthopedic Section of the 183rd General Hospital in Anchorage, Alaska and we found a small home to rent in the Matanuska Valley about 30 miles from Anchorage. In the winter of 1948, I retired from army active duty and we joined a doctor in country practice in Brewster, Washington State.

Our clinic grew to have 12 doctors in partnerships and as our clinic grew in size, our family also grew. Bernice and I had 6 children, 3 boys and 3 girls. Bernice also worked part time as an R.N. in the clinic. She taught nursing to nurses, aided at the Hospital and gave Anesthetics for surgery patients during these years. Warren and Mary Wall with their smallest boy, Glen, were lost in a small plane in the deep woods of the Cascade Mountains. The plane and bodies were not found for 19 years. Sometime after this, Bernice spread her wings over their 3 boys (Lloyd, Reg and Roy) to increase our family to 9. We had 9 teen-age children in our home all at the same time.

Page 476

1st child of 6 of Bernice Wall and Harold Lamberton

Lynda Lamberton (1945- Married Mike Osborne (1946-

Lynda Lamberton and Mike Osborne have 2 children as follows:

1. Michael Osborne (1971-

2. Joseph Osborne (1975-

Lynda Kay (Lamberton) Osborne (In her own words) March, 1998

I am the first born of Bernice Wall and Harold Lamberton. I was born in the White Memorial Hospital in Los Angeles, California, where my Dad was finishing his last year of medical school.

My Mother put her nursing career on hold to be a full time homemaker and nurturer of me and the children to follow. We moved several times while my Dad was in the Army, but we settled down to stay in my Dad's hometown of Brewster, Washington.

My Dad was a strong, energetic farm boy, my Mother a tenderhearted beauty from the prairies of Saskatchewan. Together they made a home for 6 children, and later for my 3 cousins, Lloyd, Reg and Roy, sons of Warren and Mary Wall.

Dad was convinced that there was only one way to build character, and that was to "grow up on a farm." He and Mother purchased several hundred acres along the North Star Road. When it came time to register a brand for our cattle, we kids got in on the brainstorming, and the "Sunny L" brand was created. From then on we lived on "The Sunny L Ranch." The ranch became the setting for stories, which are told and retold. Stories of "hardships" such as hand-changing 40 ft. sprinkler pipes on 100 acres of alfalfa. Stories of danger, such as narrowly missing rattlesnake bites. Stories of adventure and discovery.

Mother's values centered on teaching her children empathy. She opened our home to many people of different backgrounds and interests. Instead of lecturing us on the dangers of associating with people of "questionable" lifestyles, she encouraged us to understand and try to help them.

Page 478

I graduated from Walla Walla College with a major in English and a minor in Biology in 1967. In 1968 I married Michael J. Osborne, the youngest child and only son of Frederick and Dorothy (Griffin) Osborne. The Osborne's had moved to Yakima, Washington, from Ashville, North Carolina, when Mike was a little boy.

Mike finished his Bachelors of Divinity degree at Andrews University. He is now a teacher for the Selah School District. I completed requirements for a BNS degree from Washington State University in 1992, and have specialized in Psychiatric nursing at Yakima Valley Memorial Hospital.

We have two sons. Michael Frederick Osborne was born in Seattle, Washington on January 31 1971. Joseph Warren Osborne was born in Brewster, Washington on February 5, 1975. Michael is a medical student at Loma Linda University, and Joseph is majoring in English at Western Washington University in Bellingham.

They have grown up in the Yakima River Canyon, and they have their own stories to tell. They have grown up with a large extended family of grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins. A family whose legacy is based on spiritual values, and on loyalty to its members. A family which embraces learning, and creativity, and friendship.

I want to thank my Uncle Cliff for his years of dedication to making this book, which will help us, understand and value our family, our heritage.

Page 479

Page 480

MY LIFE, by RONALD W. LAMBERTON Submitted November 1997, in his own words.

I started out as a child:

Hey/ not just an ordinary child! By the age of 4 years I was building my own airplane. And by the age of 4, I already had an IQ. About that time, since I had an IQ, my parents thought I was weird.

The only cure, they thought, was for me to get away. So I went on a trip with my mom to Saskatchewan and got to visit grandpa and ride on an old H fashioned haymaker called a reaper.

Every time a bundle was created, my grandfather stepped on a peddle and nearly scared me to death, since I was on his lap. . . .

During that trip I remember being scared when I was making finger paints. The door was open and a rooster flew into the house and onto the paintings. I remember being scared to death even at the mature age of 4. I must have cried for a long time because the next day, my cousin Arnie or Murray took me for a ride on their shoulders to the chicken coop. They carried a long stick and when we got to the mean rooster, they would tap him with the stick and say, "don't do that to (me) him". As the rooster leaped away, we both would laugh. He repeated this several times until he convinced me the rooster had been punished enough.

I remember my first year of school. We had 8 grades in a one-room farmhouse with outdoor plumbing. The social thing at age 6 would be to try to get a date to go to the outhouse. Fortunately, it had two holes. It was about a block away from the school. I remember my first girl friend Charlene, and me each taking a hole apiece and talking about life and the meaning of life from our 6 year old perspective. My cousin Barrel seldom proved a good outhouse "date" as he usually had already gone in his pants. One time I asked him to go but he was laughing as he flashed his wet pants from behind a door saying, "I've already gone".

Brewster was the whole world and my dad was The King. Everyone knew Dr. Lamberton I was told, and everyone liked him. This I would later find out was true. I wasn't sure how cool it was to be a Seventh Day Adventist as we walked to school past the public school which seemed so much bigger and had football players and best of all, cheer leaders.

Page 481

My mom wasn't at all organized so unless we wanted to be late to "school, we had to walk. The shortest route was on the railroad tracks, about 2 or 3 miles. Mom was delighted not to have to interrupt her phone conversations with her friends so somehow, with her usual charm, she persuaded us it was cool to walk past the drunk transients and the passed out child molesters that often followed us on our way to school. She was so persuasive in the benefits of walking to school, that she had other moms in the neighborhood driving their children to our house for a daily gauntlet run.

Some days even children are wise and we chose to ride horses to school rather than be chased and harassed by the "bums" as they were called at the time, or "tourists" as my mom and their friends referred to them.

About the age of 12 years, I was in the 6th grade and not doing well. My teacher had just about persuaded my mom and dad that I was retarded. I happily agreed and went along with their plan of taking the 6th grade twice. I took just one half of my 6th grade year when everyone else took the whole year. This was a great plan because it enabled me to work on my model airplanes in class and at home instead of doing homework like the rest of the kids.

It was great to be retarded! Then, unfortunately a man named Mr. Johnson came to town with the idea of giving all the kids an IQ test or something like that. After the test, he had a long conversation with my parents and from then on, I was shown no mercy in my school work. All I heard was that I should be making straight "A"s. Of course I thought that that's was what they told all retarded kids to make them feel better about themselves so I continued to play my retarded role.

Anyway, about that time I had a teacher named Mr. Weller who played the guitar and who taught me to study. I began enjoying school more and getting better grades. About that time I heard about a man called Chet Atkins. It changed my goals. I loved the way he played the guitar and I thought if I practiced enough I could be as good as him. I began practicing the guitar 2 - 3 to sometimes 8 hours a day. More than once I stayed up all night practicing.

I eventually took lessons in Europe. At the age of 16, I sent a demo tape to a record company. They wrote back in less than a month something like this. "On Wednesday the 4th of September, the staff of our company listened to your tape and they were very pleased with what they heard". They eventually offered me a 5 album contract. I had been sending tapes to several other companies including the producers of "The Mammas & The Pappas" and other great names of the time.

Page 482

I was in Medical school at the time and thought that I should graduate first before launching my musical career. I ended up playing in a couple of nightclubs for $25.00 a night and I thought I had arrived at the big time. After getting tired of this I saw an ad in the TV guide about a search for the "singing cowboy" I immediately set to work practicing the art of spinning a rope with one hand while playing the guitar with the other.

This was made easy by the fact that I was commuting to Los Angeles at the speed of 10 MPH for two hours each day and had plenty of time to practice plucking out melodies with one hand while driving with the other. I eventually wound up with a few seconds on the "John Davidson" show spinning a rope. I also made an album called "Get Together", a very 70's collection produced by Randy Cirley, a guitar player for Neil Diamond. I also played for a number of high schools and colleges in the western states and some parts of the South.

I think the highlight of my career was playing for a small group of retarded kids in San Jose, California who kept asking me to sing about McDonald. I thought at first they wanted "Old McDonald had a Farm" but found out they wanted "McDonald is my kind of place, it's a hap, hap, happy place". Loved that gig!

Back to my retardedness. I did poorly in school. I always wanted to be a doctor. I knew one had to get mostly "As" to get into medical school. My freshman year in college I had amassed a 2.35 average. The third quarter, after I had vowed to study every minute of every day, I found that I was getting very good on the guitar, but had an "F" in English, an "F" in History, an "F" in Biology, a "C" in math and a "B" in scuba diving.

I went to talk "to a psychologist, a man I respected named Dr. Barns. In one hour he changed my life. It's not so much what he said but the respect I had for him that drove his points home. "Have a schedule. Take a 10-15 minute break every hour and have a definite time and place to eat. Control the things you can, go to bed and get up at the same time every day". After following his advice, I was soon at the top of several of my classes and was interviewed in a local paper as "The most promising student". I went to Stanford University for some summer classes and I was the highest in my Organic Chemistry class. Eventually I was able to get into Medical school.

The next four years of school were very enjoyable. I didn't have to study as hard as I did in college. Maybe it just didn't seem like I had to because the subject matter was so interesting. Every class had something in it that filled me with awe. I remember wondering how anyone could believe in Evolution after studying the many wonders of the human body. Many times after a lecture, we were introduced to new marvels of human physiology and anatomy. I sometimes felt like our entire class sat transfixed at the wonders of Nature and the touch of the Creator.

Page 483

Since I was still taking a 10 or 15 minute break every hour practicing the guitar I got to be pretty good and a record company gave me $5,000 to make a guitar album. I was also still playing for college and high schools. I played as far east as Tennessee and as far west as Hawaii. I had a few seconds on the John Davidson show.

I preferred the musician to the doctor and adopted that lifestyle. It was the early 70's. And about that time I became what I guess could best be described as "A Jerk". I had my own office and continued to play the guitar and was having a great time. But some of the people around me were not having as good a time as I was.

The next 15 years brought 3 wives and several hangovers, both figurative and literal. My life took a turn for the better after I became acquainted with Bill W. (AA). Today, I am alive and well, thanks to a Higher Power, who has stayed with me throughout all those "Jerk Years" and continues to be with me today. So today, I stand, not perfect but with some self-respect and with hope as Paul, said, "forgetting those things which lie behind and looking forward unto those things which lie before, I press toward the mark". I like that. I think I'll keep doing that.

History of the Henry Harold Lamberton Family

Submitted: August 22, 1997 (In his own words)

Henry: born February 2, 1948 at Fort Richardson military hospital, just outside of Anchorage AK. Lived with parents, Harold and Bernice and older Sibs Ron and Lynda in Palmer until approx. 10 months old when family moved to Washington State, living for a short time in the home of Dr. Harold Stout in Pateros before moving to Brewster. I went to grades 10-12 at Upper Columbia Academy, Spangle, WA and it was there I met my future wife, Elaine Spechko (born Sept. 30, 1948 in Walla Walla, WA to Phillip D. Spechko and Helen L. Quails Spechko). After graduation from High School in 1966, I attended Walla Walla College and graduated in 1971 with a major in Religion, and minors in Chemistry and Biology and secondary teacher certification. While at Walla Walla I married Elaine, a nursing major, on Sept. 30, 1969.

After graduation from college I was a religion teacher and assistant dean of boys at Upper Columbia Academy for one year and then attended the SDA Theological Seminary at Andrews University in MI, graduating in 1974 with a Master of Divinity Degree. Our oldest daughter Lynda "Jill" was born in Berrien Springs, MI on March 14, 1973. Following graduation from the seminary I worked as a church pastor for 7 years in the Upper Columbia Conference of SDA—Pastoring in Spokane (1 year); Othello WA, (3 years); and Coeur d'Alene ID (3 years). Our second (and last) child. Tammy Louise, was born in Spokane, WA on July 31, 1975.

In 1981 I accepted an invitation to join the faculty of the School of Theology at Walla Walla College and taught there until 1987.During this time Elaine was director of the student health center. In 1987 we moved to Loma Linda University to join the faculty of the School of Theology. I primarily taught courses in "Whole Patient Care" (i.e. attending to the psycho-social spiritual needs of patients) to medical students and students in the other Health Science Programs of the university. A primary motivation for moving to Loma Linda was so that Elaine and I could be near some graduate schools and do further study. From 1988-1992 I was a full time student at the Graduate School of Psychology at Fuller in 1992 with a Doctor of Psychology (Psy.D) degree and am hoping to finish the requirements for licensure as a clinical psychologist soon. Elaine will finish her M.S. in nursing this year.

For the past four years I have been an Associate Dean (in charge of student affairs) in the School of Medicine at LLU. I also work one day a week in the LLU Psychiatric Medical Group as an outpatient therapist and I usually teach one class a quarter for the Religion department.

Page 485

Elaine works at the San Bernardino and Riverside Counties' Inland Regional Center as a nurse case manager and does home visits to families of infants at high risk for development disorder's. Jill (age 24) graduated from college in 1996 with majors in English, Spanish and Religion and secondary certification. (Both she and Tammy spent a year of college studying language in Spain).

Jill is now working on a Masters degree in English literature at Western WA University in Bellingham, WA. and is scheduled to finish this coming year. She is unsure whether she will go on for an advanced degree when she is done (she wants to eventually teach in college) or teach high school for a while.

Tammy has finished 3 years at Walla Walla College and is transferring (to be with her boyfriend) to La Sierra University in Riverside, CA this fall for her fourth and, hopefully last year. She is majoring in Spanish and plans to complete secondary education requirements after she graduates. We will be glad to have her closer to home.

In July of 1997, we traveled to Saskatchewan, Canada with my parents and some Sibs to locate the area where my mother was born and grew up. I want to include directions to her parents homestead for "posterity".

Directions to Henry Peter Wall Homestead, Macrorie, Sask. Z took these directions from the motor home odometer during our trip. From ffacrorle, drive south 6.3 miles (on a dirt road, makes two "speed" turns) and the turn right (West). Go 6 tenths of a mile to the top of a rise and the SDA church (with a basement where my mother went to school) will be on your left.

From the church proceed an additional 1.4 miles (Just past the church, on the right, is the former Mike Budrug place, a 2 story abandoned house where my mother remembers going to parties as a child), to the bottom of a draw and turn left on a road that angles to the southwest and curves among small dips and rises.

Follow this road for 2.05 miles and then turn right on to a two track road that goes up a hill, through a gate and across a field. Proceed west for 6 tenth of a mile until this two track road drops down a short incline. The homestead will be right in front of you. Past the homestead and down the hill is a spring with some water tanks where the homestead's water source was located.

Page 486

Bunny Jo (Lamberton) Baker

Submitted April 3, 1998. (in her own words)

Family History and Current Functioning of Bernice Joan Lamberton Baker. AKA: Bunny Jo, Big Bunn Bunn (to distinguish roe from Lloyd and Carmen Wall's Little Bunn Bunn-Bunny Jo Wall.)

Daughter of: Harold (AKA: Hal) and Bernice (AKA: Burnus) Wall Lamberton. Wife of: Michael Louis Baker (BD 03-14-1953) Mother of: Andrew Michael Baker (BD 10-11-1977) and Warren Louis Baker (BD 05-08-1979)

It all started out at Walla Walla General Hospital on August 23, 1951 (two days before Herbie Benty was born!) My parents immediately decided to call me "Bunny Jo" or as my dad spells it, "Bunnie Joe."

When I reached kindergarten, my teacher presented me with a confusing line of letters and said, "Copy your name." BERNICE JOAN LAMBERTON was NOT my name. I insisted that it was "BUNNY." It was that day I discovered that I was a "Junior." After years of advanced study and education I learned that PLAYBOY was not published until two years after my birth. My parents had unwittingly given Hugh Heffner the foundation for his empire of "Bunnies."

Page 488

In spite of this rough start/ I went on to obtain a college degree in just five years and three summers of study. What is really important, though, is that my brother, Danny, helped me make an informed choice about my eventual degree. After three years of college, I sat down with Danny; looked through the Walla Walla College Bulletin, and found the fastest major I could earn. It turned out to be Home Economics. It is to my parent's credit that they never complained about the hefty loss of retirement money my educational meandering cost them. I am paying for it now however. Both of my sons are attending the University of Washington. Neither has decided on a major.

Through careful planning I arranged to ensnare my husband, Mike Baker of Auburn, Washington. Once again my brother, Danny, came to the rescue. He helped me find a college near Auburn so I would "happen" to be in the area of this handsome Baker kid. It worked.

I knew Mike was the man for me. He liked me even after spending two summers working on the Sunny "L" Ranch—my home. He learned that I was half-Canadian, 3/4 German, all-American and disliked sports. He also learned that I had 52 first cousins, eight brothers and sisters.

After being fully informed of the pressures of joining our family,

Mike asked to marry me, and actually followed through on his request as noted by Mom's cousin, George Dickinson, who performed our wedding ceremony on July 27, 1975.

Mike and I have since had two sons, Andrew and Warren. Mike has taught physical education for 23 years. I have worked as little as possible. However, Mike hasn't bought the idea that we, descendants of Henry Peter Wall, are much too intelligent to waste our talents on monetary activities. So after a long fight for my right to sit at home, I found myself earning a living as a middle-school counselor. By the way, I am very good at it. I have my "Wall" background to thank.

Being the daughter of Bernice Wall and a member of such gregarious clan of Russian-German-Canadian-Dakotan...I have learned about joy and pain. I remember the joy that my cousin, Raymond Wall, brought to fellow students and me when he attended Upper Columbia Academy. My classmates still honor him at our class reunions. I treasure his memory as I work with my students.

Page 489

What has helped me the most through painful times is the sense of humor that the Wall-gene must have passed along. Lloyd Wall kept our mealtimes out-of-control with one-liners. Mother taught us to laugh at our troubles in the worst of times. She found little humor in our mealtime revelry however. "We learned our bad manners from your dad (Henry Peter Wall)," we would scream with delight. Mother's face would turn red. That just spurred the boys with more irreverent observations. Mother finally put a mirror behind the kitchen table. That didn't work either. The ribbing only escalated.

Mom's worst mealtime mistake, however, was a dish she announced she had eaten as a child. Whoever thought boiled prunes, raisins and cream was good obviously came from a disturbed lineage. These kinds of menus must be one reason our family of origin was kicked out of every country they inhabited. Native Germans would blanch at the carefree and irreverent manner the Walls brought across the ocean.

This story is for Uncle Cliff Wall: Cliff and Aunt Dot visited Mike and I at our home in Auburn on the occasion of Larry's wedding to Kathleen. I must have made one of those German/Russian soups that once frightened us kids. Cliff ate the Borscht with great apparent delight while Aunt Dot, showing better judgment, denied hunger. Uncle Cliff's eyes suddenly had the sparkle of devilish delight I have seen in Mom's eyes many times. "Dot," he urged, holding a spoonful of soup next to her pursed lips. "Come on..Try this...Just one bite...You've never tasted THIS soup." Uncle Cliff! I realized then that you were really my mother's brother.

How to test your genetic make up or "Are you really a WALL" by Bunny Baker

"Just try this..."

"You'll love it..."

"You've never tasted MY food" a. The above phrases must be repeated over and over again. b. You must look really excited. (If the person won't listen go to 'c.' c. You must look really sad or hurt. d. Repeat a-d. e. Repeat a-e.

f. Smile with sincere relief when the victim finally complies. A true practitioner of this artful coercion will have many rewarding experiences. I am pleased to report that I have used this parenting technigue with my own sons. This must be good parenting. Look how cool we Walls have turned out. Enthusiastic, fun-loving, restless, intelligent, creative, sometimes neurotic and self-doubting——but really cool. Thank you Dad for finding that pretty Canadian co-ed, Ilah Bernice Wall, to be our mom.

Page 490

THE KATIE (LAMBERTON) CRANE STORY

(In her own words received 10/10/96)

"I was born to Ilah Bernice Wall Lamberton and Harold Warren Lamberton on January 9, 1952. Dr. Harold B. Stout delivered me on his 40th birthday, and this was always made a big deal.

My father went to medical school under the encouragement and financial support of Dr. Stout and then became his partner in Brewster. My mother told me as a. child that she had her tubes tied, but the Doctor tied them so tight, it cut them in half and when they grew together, I slipped through.

She always said she was thrilled to have me and she rocked and nursed me longer than the other children, (knowing my mother, that must have been at least 3 minutes instead of 1). She said she knew I would be her last baby.

This always made me fell "special" - to be born on Dr. Stout^s birthday and to have slipped thru the tubes - especially at such a young age. I never knew how special I really was until some time in my twenties. My cousin Lowell Lamberton, filled me in with the whole story. Not only had I slipped thru the tubes, but also escaped being aborted.

Page 491

My mother had German Measles during my nutero state - my father didn't want to chance abnormalities and my mother's automatic contrary nature saved me. So now ever since, I have no idea of how seriously I should be taken, but someday, I always tell myself, I'm going to be somebody great to remove all doubt."

My family lived in a small white house with a white picket fence around the yard on the back streets of Brewster, across from Muma Trucking's shed. Later our friends, the Wysongs, lived here and I used to play there, but I was just barely born when my family moved to the house by the hospital on the hill above the railroad tracks.

My memories from this house go thru most of my 4th year of age, because I know that I was not yet 5 years old when we moved to the "Sunny L". My mother was nurturing and pretty, my father smiling and handsome - to my knowledge everything seemed so. I actually don't remember my father at all, except the proof of pictures that he did live with us there. These photos feel natural and very alive so that I've never thought of myself as deprived. Also only out - of - the - ordinary events have stayed in memory from this age.

Here are the stories (events) from hospital hill:

A. Auntie Ann and the cap guns. B. The railroad trestle.

C. The incubated chick and Terror at the Trestle.

D. Movie starring.

E. Goodbye Uncle Warren.

Jennifer Crane Katie Lamberton Crane Bernice Wall Lamberton

Page 492

GROWING UP ADVENTIST

By, Dan and Henry Lamberton Submitted, by Dan Lamberton, November 1997

"In my parent's kitchen'is a long rough table. It is made of pine and around the table are the same simple benches we sat on as children. This is a farm kitchen, my brothers and sisters and I worked the farm because our parents thought it was good for us. When we lived there, we had plenty of places where we talked and felt at home—in the barn/ on horseback in the hills, in the cool basement bedrooms. Now when we visit we use these places differently. We share the bedrooms with our spouses and children, the barn is no longer full of hay, grandchildren are usually tearing through the living room. When we go into the hills we seen to go quietly, on a pilgrimage to memory. But around the long table we still sit for hours talking. When I write this record of growing up Adventist, I find that I am sitting there, asking my imagination and memory what my siblings and parents would say to these things I an writing.

In eight years my mother gave birth to six children, and when I was in the second grade, three of my cousins were orphaned and began to live with us. That put nine children within an eight year span—six boys in a span of four years. Our ages are close enough so that we can now compare memory with memory and see how differently we view our histories. I would like to get us around the kitchen table and record an eleven-way conversation. This issue of our Adventism would set us off. Now/ none of us sees Adventism as the other does, and we would, I am sure, attribute that to our individual views of the church early on. It would be nice to have everyone's voice in this. I do get to share this writing with one of my siblings—my older brother Henry.

Henry and I shared a bed when we were small, and bunkbeds later. We both teach at Adventist colleges and we talk often on the phone. Although we share this article, I have a kind of advantage since Henry's part is based on a talk he gave at a Walla Walla College Chapel, and my part is to say my piece and put his comments in.

At home we weren't especially strict Adventist. Our friends from the Adventist school enjoyed visiting our home because of this. Although we took our Adventism seriously, we differed from some in the church. We ate our cattle, sheep, chickens, and turkeys. I remember the slaughter and dressing of these animals. We joked about carob and soy products. Once, when I nearly burned down our house, my father didn't give me the spanking everyone thought I had coming. Instead he took me into the bedroom where we shook hands on my promise never to smoke in my life. This was before the Surgeon General's report and not smoking seemed peculiarly Adventist to me. When we milked cows in the barn, we listened to rock and roll on a portable radio. But if we caught each other singing Elvis or Jerry Lee Lewis on Saturday, we'd just say "Sabbath" and the singer stopped. We played basketball and HORSE during the week, but on Sabbath changed the game to MOSES.

Page 493

In recent conversations, my parents have told me their views of our Adventist upbringing. My mother, after reading a draft of this piece, called me to say that spirituality and a love fox-Christ were the main things she hoped we'd learn. My father felt the tensions our Adventism caused with the community; but he is grateful to the church for the gifts it has given us.

My father saw us mostly at meals. He'd come home from his work at the hospital and tell us stories of his day or his past. When the phone rang during dinner we'd hear him talking to his patients. On Sabbaths he and my mother would stay at the table with us—no one wanted to start on such a pile of dishes—and we'd talk. One brother mumbled when he prayed at the table. Dad once made him say grace over and over until his words could be understood. Although this brother saw public prayer as perfunctory, his private prayers went on for hours into the night and we felt uncomfortable roughhousing or joking with him still kneeling beside his bed. My father told us to go easy. He told us stories of his own obsessions and guilt—of his own long praying in the night. My prayers were usually quite long too, but they were that way because I had memorized a big list of abstractions and relatives to pray for.

I can't think about growing up Adventist with out considering how we got to be in the church. We were born to it and, I am quite certain, I would now be the Mennonite or Lutheran my ancestors once were if I had been born to one of these religions. I have never had much interest in changing churches or in persuading others to join mine. My grandparents, however, became Adventists.

From what I remember of my father's mother, she worked hard and held firm opinions. She flew around her house, baked bread daily, canned as many as 200 quarts of peaches in a day, and commandeered her children. She whacked any child who hinted at, wondered aloud about, or betrayed any knowledge of sex. She also said "daresn't". As in "you daresn't keep that True West magazine. It's full of fiction, take it back to the drug store". So I took it back.

My father says he felt toward the church as he felt toward his mother. She had fourteen children. He remembers her pregnant, toothless, and guick to tears. She and my grandfather never seemed to make any money. Business decisions ended in real losses. My father was self-conscious about the family's poverty and it's v/ell-scrubbed but still obvious unsightliness. The family's most notable progress was increased population. My grandma got her false teeth and first bra when she was in her fifties. Yet, my father says, his mother was generous. She always saw that her children were fed and clothed somehow. Nearly all of the fourteen children finished college, she saw to that too.

Page 494

My father has made the analogy between his mother and the church several times. The analogy emphasizes ambivalence. Without the church, he is sure, he would never have left the orchards or the logging camps. No one else from his social realm did. An Adventist preacher encouraged the Lamberton children to go on to Walla Wall College. Dad remembers the comfort of the first college chapel he heard. He felt the safety of the like-minded congregation. But at home he knew that his family held back from the community.

My dad's father said a Catholic woman told him that Saturday was the true Sabbath. He couldn't shake that idea. He bought Daniel and the Revelation from a colporteur and found that the book made sense. My grandparents moved from South Dakota to Washington State, in part, to make the transition to Sabbath keeping easier. On a homestead above Spokane, my grandparents found they had Adventist neighbors. Accepting this church required only minor adjustments. They quit eating the pigs. They had moved to Brewster, Washington to work in the orchards and because they heard that another Adventist family lived there. There was no church school in Brewster and the children went to public grade school. Then, as now, the town thrived on apples and athletics. A family with eight muscular boys did the community some disservice by keeping its sons off the teams. I see pictures of my father lined up for track. He has a uniform and a correct stance. But he never ran for his school. My grandmother cried and cried when my father mentioned the coach's interest in him. Sabbath observance separated them from the rest of the students. Curiously enough, my father could box without parental interference. He stayed out of high-school for a year and represented his lumber crew in the ring. Sabbath didn't pose the same problem in the camps that they posed in the high-school.

When my father talks with us now about the church, he often wonders if, because of our Adventism, we felt as estranged from the community as he did. One story he tells with some sadness seems to confirm his fear. He remembers taking us past the public school he attended, up into the orchards to the little classroom of SDA students who met, at first in my aunt's home. He says we sometimes hid on the car floor when we drove past the public school.

My brother Henry writes about this problem of community. Quote

I grew up In my father's hometown, a small village in the north-central part of Washington State. My parents were already Seventh Day Adventists when I was born. That makes me what one of my friends calls a "lifer". My father believed that there was virtue in hardship and, we often thought, went out of his way to manufacture it. He mad sure, for instance that we walked to school. For my father, walking to school was an ingredient of good education. It enjoyed a rank alongside the three R's. Since the school we walked to was an Adventist school, we also got the fourth R of religion.

Page 495

wq could walk to school by two routes. One was on the Great Northern railroad tracks that passed just a couple of hundred feet below our house. The other route followed the road that went by the public school, both of these routes were very dangerous.

The railroad was dangerous because it required walking by a hobo camp. Every fall, at pear and apple harvest time, the men we called "bums" would ride the freight cars into town. The main camp where they slept and cooked their meals was a concrete foundation slab next to the railroad along which we walked to school. At harvest's peak this camp overflowed into the sagebrush, the orchards and the lumber piles that lined the railway.

My uncles called these transient fruit pickers "winos". They wore dirty clothes, and many of them spent their evenings at the local taverns. When our grandmother looked after us, she hinted at the appetites these "bums" had for small children. So we were sure that they would attack little boys and girls if they got half a notion or if they weren't treated with respect. Walking on the tracks so close to where they sat staring at us was an adventuresome thing to do. We quickened our steps and mostly kept our eyes straight ahead glancing to the side only in order to get a running start if one of them raced out to grab us.

We were little children, first through sixth graders, and we remained fearful of these men, but after weeks without incident we eventually get the courage to wave and talk. A few times after hearing in school about the necessity to witness for our faith, we even handed some of them sack lunches with "Junior Guides" or "Signs of the Times" inside.

The second dangerous route we could choose was not on the railroad track but on the road that went down a long hill at the west edge of town and then turned a sharp right in front of the public school. In the fall the giants from the high school football team would walk down part of this road on their way to practice�ƈ�

The public school was a group of red brick buildings. The school had a big gymnasium with a hardwood floor, cute cheerleaders and Friday night dances. The students seemed like they knew how to have a good time.

Our Adventist school was a little white building that doubled as our church. It sat near the Columbia River and our Uncle Ray's rye fields. The school had been hauled to its existing site on a house-moving truck. As the school grew, it added wings of grey pumice-stone blocks or white plaster. The windows were the texture of a sliding-glass shower door and, because of church, were stained-glass yellow except for the ones that were broken out and replaced with clear glass. Our school was farther down the road from our house, past the public school.

Page 496

Z always felt unsafe on the public school road. I was embarrassed to carry my lunch bucket and walk past the students who could see that I didn't go to their school, but rather was just passing through on my way to the "Advent" school.

If we went from school to our grandma's house or to our father's office, we had to go on this second way. But I would usually leave the road before I got to the public school and walk a circuitous route through one of the orchards. My heart pounded for fear the orchardist could catch me walking among his trees and ask me what I was up to. Since circling through the orchard wasn't a shortcut to anyplace, I didn't know what I would tell him.

I much preferred the danger of traveling past the hobo camp to the fear of walking, isolated and alone, among the crowd of laughing young people who emerged out of the public school. There was something honorable in the thought of being struck by, or forced to drink from, a bottle while passing out "Signs of the Times". I could think of nothing redeeming in the Imagined ridicule of my public school peers. Walking by their school reminded me that I was different.

Even though I later became friends with a number of these students I so much feared,I was different. Not primarily because of I went to school In an older building, but because I was a member of a religious minority that kept Itself apart from the community. We were sectarian.

Not everyone who grows up in a community where they are a part of a religious minority feels the same way as I did as a child. But the attitude is common enough to have been given the name "sectarian paranoia" by sociologists. It implies a frequent reaction to living in a society from which one differs. End of quote

(Mow back to Dan) .

Especially) in a' small town, families who remain apart are seen as a loss. I an forty, but when I was home a few weeks ago, the local school superintendent looked at me and said, "It's a shame you kids didn't go to school here. You' re the kind of role models the community needs and with the shoulders you and your brothers have, I bet we could have gone to State in football those years".

Our father insisted we join Little League, although we were embarrassed to. And by then the church school was large enough so that I didn't need to look anywhere else for friends. The Adventist school allowed and encouraged us to avoid the frightening public school children. This was a generic fear that we overcame in specific cases. I did join Little League and I made friends there. Townspeople sent their children to our Vacation Bible School and I discovered that I wasn't so different

Page 497

from non-SDA kids. I began walking to the public school library to get at their larger book selection. My brothers and sisters and I took music lessons at the high-school and I sometimes played in the band for home basketball games on Saturday night. My first real crush was for a trumpet-playing wonder-girl who sat next to me at those games.

I believe that this community fear came to us, in part, because we were members of a family that had kept itself separate from the town for a generation prior to our births. We inherited some of the shame of the family—its feelings of impoverishment and exclusivity. This, in spite of my father's rebirth in the town as a loved and respected community physician—in spite of the adult work of my uncles and aunts who also had gone away to Adventist schools, or had worked hard on their land, and established themselves.

Of my mother's family we knew little. Mom didn't talk about them much. She came from Canada, her uncle was T. E. Unruh, conference president, and all her mother's family were strong in the church. My grandmother established a church in Saskatchewan. But among my grandparent's six children, only my mother remained an Adventist.

My mother's oldest sister broke from Adventism one Sabbath morning. Radio had come to northern Saskatchewan and on the air my Aunt Edna heard a minister explain grace and salvation in a way she had not known before. She decided that the Sabbath School Quarterly missed the whole point of Romans. Its avoidance of grace was too much. My cousin remembers the Sabbath morning when they drove to the church in a truck. Her mother honked the horn until the little congregation came outside, and then all six children stood up in the back of the truck and yelled, "We're going to the circus". They did not count themselves SDA's again.

My favorite story of this family happens after this break from the church. Two of my cousins who were working away from home for the summer stole a new Studebaker at an SDA church parking lot. They toured the small northern towns for several days, avoiding dragnets and radio bulletins, leaving service station attendants holding dripping gasoline—tank hoses, registering at the little inns as the Hardy boys, taking clothes and meals and driving away. My cousins also avoided severe punishment from the provincial law because members of the same SDA church where their escapade began would not aid the province in pressing charges. Instead the church members promised the authorities that they would look after the youngsters.

I heard from my mother's family, wonderful stories of freedom and love. My maternal grandfather remained a SDA member. But when my mother last saw him he was leaning against the door in the Old Sailor's home in Victoria, B.C. He gestured toward her with his beer bottle; "Bernice," he said, "never give up the message".

Page 498

Something did seem free about: this side of the family. My cousin and his wife would throw me a swimmer's mask and tell me to watch underwater while they kissed. They knew irreverence and reverence. They argued loud and long with us about how our Adventism was a heavy anchor of law, thrown overboard before we'd reached the harbor of Christ's free salvation. I have never seen such spiritual conviction and enthusiasm as theirs. Our arguments about the Bible were heated, text ran up against text. The arguments were intense—resulting sometimes in tears—but they burned on the tinder of family love and were broken by laughter and assurances. Henry ties his adult interest in Paul and the issues of grace to these childhood discussions.

But it is the religious outlook of my. father's family that most formed our lives. I feel it still—serious, practical/ and driven by the maverick devotion of people who take a thing very seriously although they don't study it much. They were strict people. Grandfather carried strong patriarchal ideas before the family became SDAs. He kept his daughters at short leash—they dressed strangely—and his sons were insecure. My father says that Adventism was actually a liberalizing influence on them— that prior to his conversion, my grandfather possessed fierce and unpredictable convictions. Adventism brought the relief of order and a code.

In my parents histories I find more uniqueness and interest than in my own. Listeners often think that my siblings and I had curious upbringings, but I think this is because so few people of our generation grew up on farms or in small towns. I don't see how we differed much from our neighbors. They were mostly strict, moral Christians. Our nearest neighbor subscribed to farm journals but not to the local newspaper because it was secular. Everyone belonged to some church. I think the Adventists were known mostly for having busy doctors, exclusive families, and a little higher standard of living than most of our community enjoyed.

It seems to me we were nearly prototypical Adventist. We lived, after all, in the country. We had a good-sized farm and knew what it meant to need a day of rest. After a week of haying and irrigating we really felt the benefit of inactivity—of letting ourselves and our land call one day holy. We knew the doctrines. When they finally built a good TV reflector on the mountain above town and reception got clear, we had more bases for predicting the end of time. News from the outside was never very good. We saw the end coming when hunters from Seattle prowled our hills in .search of pheasants. These sportsmen foreshadowed the tenacity of the Beast that would stalk believers hiding in the wilderness during the time-of-trouble. The election of the Catholic Kennedy and the proposed state amendment to not allow liquor sales on Sunday shored up the Bible as we read it.

Page 499

We understood the seventh day and the advent. We all graduated from SDA grade-schools, academies, and colleges. Our dad was a doctor, our mom a nurse. We grew into the usual career tracks-medicine, education and the ministry. Pretty normal. In fact it bores me to write this to an Adventist audience and Garrison Keiilor has stolen whatever thunder my small town romanticizing can muster. I'm tempted to write lies just to make something happen to me. Instead, I put my own spin on the themes that circulate throughout our church community. I will focus on the most obvious to me—the effect of the SDA church upon my childhood imagination.

As far back as I remember church, I remember its expressed concern over the uses of imagination. In children's Sabbath School we had an exercise of stacking books according to their moral worth—comic books on the bottom, and on up through a stack of secular publishers, to church publications, to Ellen White, to the Holy Bible's place on top. This exercise taught me several things--! saw books as powerful objects; I learned about hierarchy and about publishers; and I still feel uncomfortable to find something on top of my Bible. In the barber shop I could never read the Donald Duck comics at leisure. Each time I sensed a body passing outside the shop window, I feared it was someone from our church who might think ill of me or report me. I quickly slid the comic book under the smock the barber had tied around my neck. I'm sure he wondered what this jumpy kid was doing.

My brother Henry witnessed someone who was standing in the drugstore, enjoying the Sunday color section. "You won't go to heaven if you read those," he said. Of course we loved the comics ourselves. When I need to regain sanity after a committee meeting, I still turn to my collection of old Crazy Cat comics, or New Yorker cartoon collections, or to Calvin and Hobbes. And when I was a child, guilt couldn't keep comics, or Treasure Island, or Robin Hood, or the Brothers Grimm out of my hands.

Our parents bought some of these books for us and we learned in this way, as in others, the inevitable differences between the standards of our home and the standards of our school. Our father did, however, make us read and report on four articles from the front Page before we could read the newspaper comics. Our parents read Aesop, fairy tales and Jack London to us; books the school library would not have stocked. I think this dissonance resulted in our distrusting our family more than we,distrusted our school. School outlined a pretty clear standard. We could guide our behavior by it. Our parents were less codified. Moreover, they were not in print and therefore lacked the authority of the "Junior Guide" or of On Becoming a Man.

This dissonance between home and school, between the imagination and textual authority/sounded in me as I entered adolescence. No one mentioned sex in our grade school. My parents talked to us about it some; once, to the boys around the kitchen table, my dad gave a lecture on masturbation that was intended to help us relax

Page 500

and be neither excessive nor guilt ridden. Our home and my father's office supplied us with anatomy books and clinical advice books about sex. By the time I was out of junior high, I had read among others, Albert Ellis, some Betty Friedan, and I had looked through all kinds of manuals, surgery texts, and books on patient counseling. But the book I believed was Harold Shryock's On Becoming a Man. It meshed with my grandma, with what I read in Messages to Young People, with what wasn't said in school and with what I imagined about my own adolescence.

Years later, when I was nearly through with college, I discovered that many of my acquaintances still held the guilt and self loathing that their own sexuality brought upon them as they grew and read about the need to curb themselves—thereby avoiding blindness, loss of life force, or demotion from a future in the noble professions such as medicine, down into the trades. All because of misspent sexuality.

One of the great ironies of an Adventist childhood turns on the issue of the imagination. While we were educated to avoid fiction and the dreamy life, we had before us material that made fictions thrive and the imagination flourish. Consider the church's prophecies of the second Advent, and the accompanying visions that a child, with the help of a teacher, minister or evangelist, could create from it. One of my clearest memories of the church has me sitting on the floor at the back of the congregation while the minister tells stories of brave people who died rather .horrible deaths for their faith. Naked men sang "we will not give up the cross" while they froze to death on the ice, women gave up "their babies before giving in to blasphemy. Martyrs sang as flames burned them. Faithful Adventist, I often heard, could look forward to such glory.

Our church was in our school building, and, during one of these sermons/ I managed to open a bookcase door and slip out a National Geographic. In the magazine I found pictures of a medieval battle—swords and spears and headless bodies. That fate, I knew, might be my earthly reward for my belief.

Our schooling encouraged an imaginative passivity; we saw ourselves as victims. The world was a futile place. What ruined it would ruin us in it. Although I might be saved in the Advent, all hell would break loose first. The stories were frightening too, because we felt we recognized the enemy. Our neighbors, their churches, our politicians, and other countries were suspect. Evangelism would bring some people into our boat of earthly victims and perhaps heavenly victors, but few would find the way. The road was narrow and I heard many times the metaphor of persons who fell from a great height as they tried to ascend the path to heaven.

Page 501

Still, I can say for sure that my own imagination was enlivened by these stories of the end and I could not see giving up without a fight. I suppose it was at my instigation that my sisters and I played martyrs with their dolls. What more noble play than to fight and not to yield? The chubby dolls rode like Luther against the Catholics, were betrayed by cowering men, and finally, while tied to a Juneberry bush, met the smokey fate of John Huss. Our imaginations were tied to reality as we saw it. This was preparation for the inevitable.

Time was always the issue—the concern over the imagination I always tied to an egual concern over production and work. "Work for the night is coming," said the hymn. "Work like you're killing snakes," said my dad. Don't dawdle or day dream. What a mystery Moses, Jesus and Paul were in the wilderness. What did they do there? When Jesus prayed all night, he must have been praying about something. All thoughts should be linear, directed toward a goal. When David meditated on the law "day and night," I assumed he was actually working from legal problems to legal solutions, or else realizing how guilty he was in light of the law and vowing to be a better person. Mercy! Don't let the mind go idle. Prayers are made in full sentences. I picked up from my childhood the idea that imagination, reverie, and meditation, were the characteristics of fragile people—those who hadn't a clue about real producers. A fallow mind is the Devil's playground. Above all, control yourself. "Go to the ant thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise." .

As any life-long SDA knows, the church does not think itself as an engine for imaginative life. The idea of building fictions implies wasted time and laziness, prurience and self-absorption. Movies, novels, sports and television led to selfishness and diminished life production. I must admit that I am not really sorry for the church's emphasis. In his essay "The Tree," John Fowles argues that sympathetic, artistic families rarely produce artistic sons and daughters. This may be, Fowles says, "because the urge to create, which must always be partly the need to escape everyday reality, is better fostered-despite modern educational theory—not by a sympathetic and creative childhood environment, but the very opposite, by pruning and confining natural instinct."

I am not at all certain of how the imagination and spirituality mesh. I do know that my respect for spirituality has grown as my awareness of complexity has developed. And my imagination is most challenged by the building of metaphorical bridges between disparities in a world only God could unravel. As a child I was compelled to religion and I saw my own mysteries and miracles. So, I recall, did my brothers and sisters and school friends. I went forward at all alter calls and prayed my way through trouble. I think well of the evangelist who sang "Just as I am" over and over until everyone, even the children, surrendered. Nowadays, though, I find I resist the organized calls for my

Page 502

devotion and soul. They often appear to me as kitsch and seem falsely motivated. I also feel far more fragile and in need than I recall feeling as a child. I take courage in my parents, my mother sitting on the hill above her home, reading her Bible, my father working and working, unable to do much recreation because he believes that his life must make some difference.

I am sitting with friends at a table in a Seattle restaurant. These friends and I are quite attached to one another, partly because we are so unalike. One of us is Islamic and a restaurant owner, the friend next to me is a bright and eccentric barmaid, another is an older woman, recently divorced, who is starting her second year of graduate school at Columbia and is full of New York and freedom. We ask ourselves what we have left from our childhood religions. No one claims to be orthodox, but we all insist that our spirituality is still important and somehow intact. The more mysterious God becomes, the bigger the resulting question mark He leaves. This presence of God is inescapable. But where, we wonder, does spirituality come from? Is it the gift of our churches, or our families, of God? We don't answer the question well. I conclude to my friends and to myself that my own spirituality remains because I notice weather and because I remember passages of scripture and literature that remind me of how important a larger view is. These texts have stayed with me since my childhood. Weather keeps me aware of larger forces. I was more secular when I lived in Los Angeles.

I would thank every fiction-frightened teacher I ever had, if they had taught me more about the natural world—if they had substituted for their aversion, a solid factual education. Here on my desk I have a copy of On Becoming a Man. I found it on its old shelf in my parents home. In an illustration, a young man is in a library reading about birds. Good for him. Every student dreams from the basis of the student's known world. It's hard to create good fiction without data and with no respect for the world as it is clearly seen through the eyes of the scientists, historians, geographers and social theorists who write for children in school.

I am more ambivalent about the emendors of the old standard school readers with covers that said "Seventh-day Adventist Edition." If my memory holds, these texts substituted Adventist-flavored fables for children's versions of stories from Homer, Shakespere and others. Our peculiar school readers gave me the impression then that we were apart, and that our morality was actually quite different from the rest of the population's. As a child, though, I would have placed, with no hesitation, these bowdlerized readers—cleansed of the fantastic and replaced with the moralistic—near the top of my Sabbath school class book pile.

Page 503

But the Bible, the top book in my stack, gave good gifts. The Bible's stories and language stuck. I often tell my students in introductory literature classes that they have an advantage. If they have learned and heard the Bible, especially if they listened to the King James and memorized from it, they have a wonderful internal source, not just of inspiration, but also of rhythm, sound, and story quality. Not all students from the SDA schools have this advantage. Years ago, the denomination's schools changed the Bible class curriculum away from an emphasis on memorization and key texts. That change was done as a reaction against lock-step, repetitious learning, but we gave up a treasure at the same time. Many of my students have no sense of the common language, conviction or culture shared by people who have studied and learned portions of the Bible.

One source of denominational pride that I had as a child was taken from a book about Adventist called The Seventh Day and written, I believe, by a hired pen. This book claimed that Adventists knew their Bibles every which way, don't argue Bible with them. I think now that if that claim was exaggerated, it was not by much. And I don't think that a similar characterization would ever occur to any publicist who might observe the students I teach now.

Our education made us familiar with the Bible. We knew its language and used it. When I needed inspiration I could quote to myself from John, from the Psalms, from Paul and from the last Revelation. I remember kneeling by my bed, concerned about my procrastination in school. "Help me Lord'" I'd pray, to study to show myself approved. I got over my childhood fear of the dark by quoting texts about light, and by remembering Christ's comforting, "Let not your heart be troubled" from John 14:1.

We also used the texts joyously and in play. "why stand ye there gazing?" my friend asked people who were looking at something. With Ellen White we took larger liberties. After a speech by a strict or pushy adult we'd mumble "C on D and F". shorthand for Counsels on Diets and Foods. Once I cut myself handling barbed wire. "Self abuse" I groaned, and my brother and I cackled and kept on laughing, long after a joke would normally have faded away.

To conclude, I suppose my life, my church, my language, all show the conflict between the strong moral code of my conservative small-town church and the desire for a free, less censored life.

I value that conflict.

Dan Lamberton.

Page 504

5th child of 7 of Henry Peter Wall and Anna Unruh

'Warren Benjamin Wall (1921-1957) Married Mary Thompson (1923-1957) Warren was born on February 18, 1921 at Macrorie, Saskatchewan.

Warren and Mary had 4 children as follows:

1. LLoyd Wall (1945-

2. Roy Wall (1947- twin

3. Reg Wall (1947- twin

4. Glenn Wall (1949-1957) died in aircraft accident.

I, Cliff Wall, always admired my brother Warren. To me he was like some mythical knight. Things always seemed to turn onl right for him. He was the lucky one, with his easy charm and self assured ways he moved through life as though he expected things to go his way.

He even had our mother under his spell - she did not seem to set the high standards for him that were required of me. He shrugged off religion, not taking anything very seriously/ while I was tortured with visions of the world ending any minute - before I even had a chance to grow up.

He had a "silver tongue", could make anyone believe anything, while I had a stutter that haunts me to this day. His persuasiveness resulted in his always having a string of girl friends and as I recall he played it fast and loose. I would often be drafted to stand guard on the way home from school while he romanced some girl in the bushes.

I did not realize it then, but it was only natural for me to feel somewhat in awe of him since he was six years older than me. But his daring and bravado were quite beyond my, then, cautious nature.

Like the time he took our Dad's much prized "Bennett Buggy" and traded it for an old Model T Ford, without permission of course!

Our father was livid and ranted and stormed but the deed was done and Warren with his usual nonchalance seemed to pay little attention. He was too busy driving around.

Page 505

Warren was an excellent marksman and I recall "the time when he had recently returned after being in the Army and he had gone to visit our sister Naomi on the homestead. He shot five elk just outside their door, one after the other. Herb said he thought the war had started up in the back yard when he heard all the shooting.

In 1949 Warren, myself and another friend by the name of Ben Ruff started a small company by the name of General Home Repairs. Our main asset was a second hand van (it had been an ambulance) that we bought for $100.00. We pooled our resources to pay for it and also pooled our limited knowledge of plumbing, electrical wiring and construction.

This little endeavor only lasted for the winter as none of us trusted the other and so we spent most of our time going in a group of three to buy supplies in Victoria or to look over

possible jobs.

I got a job with a construction company and Warren went into the second hand business with Ben. They rented a big old building in Chinatown and opened The Star Trading Co. They would go to auction sales and buy what ever they could get a good deal on and then resell it in the store. Warren was well suited to this kind of a business/ except he did not have the patience to wait for customers so after about two years he heard about an old store that was up for sale at a little place called Glenora, a little ways from Duncan so he sold out to Ben and bought the store. He remodeled it, adding an upstairs for a family residence. It was kind of a general store with mostly groceries and a few other items.

Oddly enough Warren had become quite serious minded now that he had a big family and he worried constantly about getting old and being able to retire. He was very careful with his money, usually driving an old car or truck. He didn't have any savings as he had never been able to earn more than what they needed to live on. He

Page 507

kept telling roe that we should be planning for our old age.

By this time I had worked on construction jobs for a number of years as a carpenter and also some electrical work. I ended up with a local contractor by the name of A.V. Richardson. He was building houses in the area and I soon realized how simple it was to put one of these homes together. I had the idea to go into business for myself.

When Warren heard about my idea, he wanted to get in on it too so we agreed to form a corporation, C and w Wall Construction Ltd. Warren did not know a lot about building but I had quite a bit of experience by then and was pleased with the idea that we would be partners. We bought a lot and built our first house with a cash investment of only $50.00. With the help of my nephew, Danny Benty and our wives, the house was completed and sold within a month and we were on our way with a $1,000.00 profit.

We built many houses in the area, including a large subdivision, known today as the "Wall Subdivision" in Duncan. The main thoroughfare, "Beverly Street" was named after my daughter. About this time we both decided to take up flying. Cassidy Flying Instruction was nearby and we both took lessons. Warren with his usual bravado soloing in just 6 hours. Since the business was quite successful we decided to buy an airplane - this would be a company plane with equal ownership.

Our first plane was a 1947 Stinson Stwg which we found too big and cumbersome so traded it in on a Piper Super Cub, and found that too small to take the family along so we then settled on a Piper Tri-Pacer, a four seater. We both enjoyed flying, the plane was shared equally, taking turns on holidays and also could be used for business trips. Life was good! I guess I had finally grown up and out of big brother's shadow, we made a great team and it looked like we had found our niche, doing something we both enjoyed.

Page 508

It was Memorial Day week end and my turn to use the plane. I had a trip planned but at the last minute I found that the wife had other things in mind - making the lawn I had promised around our new house. So Warren decided to take Mary and the youngest son, Glenn and fly down to Brewster, Washington to visit our sister, Bernice, and the Lamberton family.

This was a long flight for a novice pilot - he had only 40 hours of flight time. They reached Brewster without incident, landing at the little airstrip there. On the return flight, he attempted to fly over Stevens Pass, but was turned back by severe bad weather. They then flew to Ellensberg and stayed overnight at a hotel. The next morning, which was Sunday May 19, 1957 he filed a flight plan to Seattle.

The weather over the Cascade mountains was still very stormy, however Warren refueled the aircraft and told the attendant that he would try to get over Snogualmie Pass. He said "I think I can make it", a statement that leads to the death of aany private pilots.

We received a phone call on Sunday afternoon from the air conL-i.o-i-tower in Seattle saying that the plane was overdue by an hour. I was not concerned and told them that I thought he may have put down in a field somewhere or maybe changed his mind and would be calling. We were surprised that the officials there did not share our complacency, for within the next hour several aircraft of the Civil Air Patrol from Boeing Field, Seattle, started an air search.

As night fell and no phone call came we became alarmed and began calling relatives to see if anyone bad heard from them. No one had. Some came to our house and we sat up most of the night, drinking coffee and trying to reassure each other that there was nothing to worry about. Warren was an expert at getting out of tough scrapes and surely any minute the phone would ring or he would come strolling in and think it was all a huge joke.

The next morning a friend, Rajindi Mayo flew me to Seattle in his twin engine Cessna. When bad weather prevented us going any further, I took a commercial flight in a DC-3 to Ellensburg and was met by Harold and Bernice. Harold rented a 4 wheel drive and we drove to the mountain air strip at Lester where a center for Search and Rescue was already set up.

Here the main command center was in place, other aircraft, helicopters, mountain climbers and parachute jumpers were organized. A lot of relatives and friends from Vancouver Island arrived. Bernice and Harold joined the ground parties.

Page 509

No one could believe it! Looking back now I i—————————-————————————————————

long^VV^ce^ Airplane that crashed m the truth iwIWarren, Mary 8i Glen

Warren was gone. I guess it's just that he had always been the lucky one. He had a certain invulnerability about him - everyone said it.

And what about the three little boys left behind who were now orphans?

We all speculated about what could have happened. Some of the theories we came up with were pretty bizarre. I even had a call from a psychic who was sure he had the answer as to where the plane went down. I went to meet him at Bellingham and spent several days with him. He had a little black ball on the end of a string and he would hold the string swinging the ball over a map and it was supposed to stop over the exact location.

He had me bring some articles of their clothing that had been recently worn. We drove from one place to another as the ball seemed to gather momentum. I know it sounds insane, but I was ready to try anything. Of course it came to nothing. I will say this for the guy, he would take no money and he felt very bad that he was not able to help.

'Actually I think I was a little bit'insane at that point. I was like a wild man, racing from one construction site to another, trying to hold things together. The business suffered, as did my home life. Everything was in a kind of limbo. It took both of our signatures to sign any legal papers. I couldn't even give out the paychecks for our employees. All transactions were frozen. We had taken out company life insurance on both of us but Warren had insisted on canceling it to save money.

Page 510

I had nightmares - the same dream over hundreds of times. Warren had become lost in the woods and suddenly found his way home and was very angry with me for not being able to find him. I would wake up shaken, it seemed so real.

The search went on for about ten days and was then suspended, until fall. We all came home, I put up a cash reward of $1,000.00 for anyone who could find the plane. Posters and flyers were sent and put up all over the state of Washington, but no aircraft, only false reports.

I continued the search for the next two summers, mostly following "leads" that proved fruitless and flying repeatedly over the area where we thought it might be. I found out later that the initial search had cost the government and the people of the State of Washington over one million dollars. It was one of the largest and most intense searches they had ever had.

Almost twenty years later I got a phone call - a fisherman had taken a detour from his usual path home from his fishing spot and stumbled across a plane and on reporting it to the authorities, they had established that it was ours. Warren and Mary's remains were still inside, 8 year old Glenn was not. No trace was found of him, then or later that I am aware of.

On recreating their probable flight, it would appear that Warren dodged the stormy clouds and mountain tops further than anyone expected. The accident site revealed that on crossing the last mountain ridge, probably in very low visibility, the left wing hit a pine tree, tearing it off and plunging the aircraft and occupants to the ground. The accident occurred just above Bandera air strip, in sight of interstate 90, that goes direct into Seattle where they intended to land.

The remains were brought out for identification, the remaining sons, Lloyd, Reg, Roy and myself were shown the bones and personal effects brought down from the mountain. There was our company brief case, my camera. Warren's wallet containing some credit cards and a bit of loose change.

There were wild rumors circulated by Mary's family that Warren was carrying a large sum of money. I knew he wasn't of course. While our Company was doing well, we were just barely getting established and any profit that was made went right back in for building material, subtrades, payroll and so on. But they had some strange ideas and I soon got tired of it all.

I wish not to write about all of the ramifications that affected our family by this tragedy, the false accusations, and narassments we received from Mary's relatives.

Burial of the remains that were found were placed in the same plot as our father, in the cemetery at Duncan, B.C.

Page 511