Author: roseburkeauthor

First Impressions

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My mother’s story was still on my mind as we landed in St. John’s, NL. We had planted our vegetable garden before we left, the daffodils and tulips had been fading fast and there were dandelions everywhere. The leaves in the trees were not yet full size but they were  lush and green.  Not so when we left the airport. It was cold. And in the coming days we heard a common refrain. I can’t remember when we have had such a cold, late spring.

Is that what it was like when my mother arrived in New Brunswick in May of 1946? She had left the colour of her familiar Dutch spring and, in the optimism of a March  burst of false hope that spring was close, my father had written that the weather is nice all the time.  But, in reality, the Maritime spring that year was late and cold.  Continue reading →

Holding Pattern

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My husband and I are just back from a week in Newfoundland. No writing, but my mother’s story kept asserting itself.

We left very early so I was dozing on the flight to Halifax when I felt the plane turning. when I saw land features re-appear, the pilot confirmed we were circling. “We can’t land in Halifax because of fog. We are waiting to see if it clears.”

I took out a December 2016 Reader’s Digest and, scanning the index, I decided on a memoir, The Chosen Path by Allison Pick. The author recalled hearing a conversation. “My Auntie Sheila was speaking to my mother about a couple they both knew, the husband Jewish, the wife gentile. . . .  So their daughter isn’t Jewish. Because Judaism always comes from the mother.”

It caught my interest—my grandfather, my mother’s father, was Jewish and my grandmother was not. For Allison Pick it was a lightbulb moment that  made her aware of the family secret and lead her on a journey to reclaim her heritage. It wasn’t the same for me—I can’t remember a time when I did not know my mother’s father was Jewish. I also knew that my mother was not Jewish because her mother was not. Family is family; I had no idea of the implications.  Was it a family secret? I didn’t think so, but now I am looking closer.  Continue reading →

How my story begins

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“In 1919 when my mother Selma Kater as born in Amsterdam, it was common to have professional horoscopes done for newborn boys, but Selma was a girl. Regardless, I do not believe the stars could have predicted what lay ahead.”

In Europe there was a movement toward spiritualism after WWI, but it was not evident in the Kater household. However, there did come a time when Selma consulted a fortune teller.  In a later post, I will elaborate on the family dynamics.  For now it is suffice to mention that Selma was the middle child.  Her brother Albert had been born the previous year, and two years later her sister Hetty.

Victoria Day Weekend

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On the Victoria Day weekend of 1946 my mother, Selma (Kater) Smith arrived at Pier 21 in Halifax, a Dutch war bride ready to embrace a new life in a new land. She travelled by train to Saint John, NB and  by bus to St. Stephen to join my father, Sidney Smith.

They had married at the Doorn courthouse, in Holland, on December 13, 1945 – five days before my father’s regiment was disbanded and he left for the UK on his way back to Canada.

On the Victoria Day weekend, seventy-one years ago, they began their married life together in Upper Mills, near St. Stephen, NB.

They never talked about the war years and they never talked about their lives before the war.  Several paths to information are now making it possible for me to see Mom as Selma, a unique woman with a fascinating story.