Larry Hnetka Goes HMmmm

A great-uncle has been working diligently on our paternal family tree for decades now.

I didn’t know very much of the history of my grandparents, let alone my great-grandparents who came to Canada before the turn of the 20th century.

My great-grandfather Harry Hnetka who was born in 1858 arrived alone — leaving his wife and two young boys back in Ukraine. He homesteaded land near the Woodlight area of Saskatchewan.

My great-grandfather donated the land upon which the first small Ruthenian church and graveyard was built. It took some time for my great-uncle to locate my grandfather’s neglected grave. When he did, all that remained was a portion of the original cross.

When I received the e-mail with the photo of the new grave marker he had quietly put on my great-grandfather’s grave, I was saddened. Yet in that sadness was great admiration for my great-uncle who has persevered to make sure our family history is not lost.

My great-grandmother came to Canada in the early 1900s with her boys several years after her husband had left. My great-uncle has written a short history of her journey — he calls it “This is how my Baba told it to me.”

He writes of a peasant woman gathering wood to make her own trunk to store the few possessions she could take to their new home. Of travelling on a train from Ukraine to Hamburg when she had never been outside her village let alone on a train with toilets. Of the sailing departure delays in Hamburg manufactured to bilk the peasants of practically all their money. Of the voyage in an overcrowded boat. Of rationed water and food provided by the crew. Of death and bodies flung overboard during the journey. Of reaching Canada and the arduous and probably humiliating physical exams, quarantine and immunizations. Of never receiving her home-made trunk of possessions — lost or stolen someplace along the voyage. Of yet another five day train ride to the last stop on the railway line at the time. Of my great-grandfather meeting her with a horse and cart and yet another five day journey to arrive at the homestead he had established.

My great-grandfather died in 1922. His grave is now marked clearly again.

Simple and humble words much like the man I am told he was. So much history behind one name and dates of birth and death. A history my great-uncle is determined to keep crisp and sharp as the words etched into his grandfather’s new grave marker.

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