EDR's happy years at Silberfeld and Ebenfeld

Happy Years at Silberfeld and Ebenfeld

In 1954 in Altona, Manitoba, Canada when she was 81 years old, Evangeline wrote the following about her children:

Heinrich, a Sunday-child, was born on July 22, 1901. I was sewing and my sturdy little boy (Heinrich) was dragging a bag around, pretending to be a mail carrier. He surprised me with a little book and said, “A letter from God for you, Mama!” It was in fact a New Testament from Father’s desk. How truly you spoke, my dear child, without realizing it!

Another time he came running into the house with red cheeks and cried: “Mama, God is sitting in the tree. He is pushing the leaves out.” 

“Where were you?” I asked once as he walked in. “I was out in the world,” he said. For him the big garden, which surrounded the house, was the world. But now? The world is big and my boy is 53-years-old, if he is still alive. For the last 16 years, I have had no news of him.

My dear boy was not yet two-years-old when he got a little sister. He was chivalrous and gave up his cradle for his little sister. He felt comfortable in the new child’s bed. When he was old enough to play outside, I sewed my little boy a nice jacket from a pair of pants. Quick as a wink he was around the corner, and soon he was going over to the neighbors to play with the boys. He played in the water with them and even learned to swim a little.

At eight years-of-age, he almost drowned in the pond. He thought he was able to swim across, but he became tired and sank. A Russian, fishing in the reeds, heard his cry of distress and pulled him out in the nick of time. I was just then confined with the birth of our fifth child. When our maid announced that “Andrushka” was drowning, his father jumped up and ran out just as the man had put the boy down at the edge of the pond. He was vomiting a lot of water. His grateful father emptied his wallet into the man’s hand for saving Heinrich’s life. He then put his boy to bed. How my girls and I thanked God for his rescue!

Soon the time came for him to start school. He learned easily and the teacher praised him. He was an obedient boy who made us happy. Once I asked him what he wanted to be. He answered right away, “I want to be the village mayor!” Later he attended the junior high school for boys in Schoenfeld, and from there he went to business college in Berdyansk. While still a teenager he was conscripted into the Self-Defense Corps, a local army raised for defending the Mennonite colonies from marauding bands led by the anarchist Nestor Makhno. Childhood and school time were over.

The time came when I needed glasses for sewing. My husband kept talking me out of it. He said I should not sit there looking like an old granny. So he would not buy me a pair. About that time, Heinrich made a holiday trip to Berdyansk with a fellow student. He was given 14 rubles by his father who wanted to see how he would spend the money. No one expected that he would buy a pair of reading glasses for me with the comment, “For you, not for Father,” because his father was often critical. He should have treated our big boy in a kindlier way. Only he who loves can expect love in return, even with his own son.

For the first six years of our married  life we occupied three rooms of a mansion at Silberfeld. It belonged to two sons of Jakob Janzen, who were still minors and were being raised by their uncles, Peter Neufeld and Wilhelm Janzen. The ceiling of the bog drawing room was decorated with artwork representing the four seasons in each corner was a winged cherub, one scattering flowers for spring, another one scattering fruit for summer, a third one carrying a sheaf of grain, and a fourth one scattering snowflakes. It looked so pretty to the children and it was, too.

The large garden had grown wild and the high hedges formed shady passageways right down to the little bridge in the tail reeds, where water flowed for much of the year. Down by the water was a tall tree with a stork’s nest in it. The stork family usually arrived on march 24th and that is what I expected would happen in the year 1903. However, in that year it arrived on the evening of March 20th. Heinrich and I saw it through the window. We saw only the father stork. He immediately began to fuss with the nest. He was so wet. Had he gotten wet looking for frogs? The next day, both storks were busy preparing the nest. How my little one rejoiced to see them! That night (Thursday) our daughter was born, also four days early.

How happy we were for this gracious gift from heaven. She was lovely with silken blond hair and blue eyes, which turned a beautiful light brown color when she grew up. “Like a little lamb,” said her father as he stroked her tiny head. She was named Agneta after her dear grandmother. Oh, how long ago it was. I still love her and it pains me never to hear from my precious children, although I realize that none of them is young and helpless anymore. Even Sara, my youngest, is now 38-years-old.

My husband constructed a cradle out of especially beautiful ash. On one side of its polished surface you could see a thunderstorm, if you used your imagination and on the other side a bright, sunny field. I can still see him working with bleeding fingers at the planing bench. Ash is very hard wood. I was very proud of this cradle. Often, while breastfeeding the baby, I would sit on it sideways. Then there was room, too, for the next youngest, who still wanted to be near me. Gustav also made a pull-out bed, two tables, and for the girls two cradles for their dolls. They played with them exactly as they had observed me use our cradle.

I also got a wagon with a basket to drive the baby around, as well as a high chair that could be placed at the big table at mealtime. A small red wagon with four wheels, which the bigger children could pull, was also a welcome addition. It was low enough so that when it capsized, no harm would come to the little passenger.

Since our new house had been built at the edge of a little wood, the children had lots of room to play under the trees. A road ran through the wood and Gustav had set up a bench there on which we often sat. Between our wood and the pond was a big meadow where our children picked wild flowers. They also had fun jumping over a little ditch that stretched along the wood. When I joined them outside, I had to be ready to tell a story. I made some up, like the one about the black wonder-cat, “Mummelcat,” that lost candy every time she jumped over the ditch. How easily satisfied innocent children are! They wanted to hear the same story again and again.

On Sundays, Gustav had to drive off and we were left alone. Then it was especially lively in the house. At other times they had to be quiet. How well they could play with their building blocks, imagining an angel knocking on the door at night, taking a sick child to heaven or bringing one. Soon their brother joined them, playing the role of a teacher who led the Christmas program and distributed gifts to the pupils, his sisters. He was just like Mr. Isaak, their dear teacher.

As they grew older, each one had a scrap book in which they did a lot of drawing with colored pencils. I thought they were the most beautiful works of art. They even performed little dramas, to which their parents were invited. Once it was a “living picture” of Lorelei sitting on a cliff, combing her long hair with a golden comb. Neta was the author and her fellow actors certainly played their parts well and without quarreling. It was all done very harmoniously. If, as sometimes happened, things didn't go well, Neta would say, “All right, children, now we will behave and be nice to each other.”

Once her brother hit her and she cried. I held the sinner and said, "Hit him too!” But just in front of him she stopped. “I can't,” she said. “I love him too much.” “Well then,” I said, “give each other a kiss and go on playing.” This they did.

They often brought me a four-leaf clover and said something about “luck.” They did not know that I saw in their shining eyes my good fortune, my four-leaved, my five-leaved, six-leaved and up to eight-leaved clover. All my precious children. I gave all my time and strength to my family. In return, I richly received their love. Soon they became my helpers. They raided each other and helped me look after the youngest ones. As a 12-year-old, my oldest daughter laid out a pillow for me and invited me to take an afternoon nap. I was touched. All these years it had never occurred to anyone that I needed a nap. As a mother I always seemed indispensable.

On October 24 1904 (Monday), during the war between Russia and Japan, our second daughter arrived. We called her Frieda. We were actually thinking of peace. Russia lost the war, but in spite of that we lived quietly with our children.

As employees of the estate owners, we enjoyed many advantages. Everyone who worked for them benefitted. The presents at Christmas helped us a lot. The estate owners were really very generous. All who worked for them felt their generosity. Once we were given a leather sofa with armrests decorated with shiny golden lion’s heads. Another time we got matching armchairs, also a fine iron bedstead with wire mattress. Once I received a step-ladder. It had a tray on top on which one could place a pail while washing walls or picking cherries. Often the women also gave us clothes for our children. That was a big help for me, because I did not have to sew so much. The other families, too, were given gifts. No wonder that they all liked to stay. On Sundays there was always a worship service in the school. Mr. Neufeld of the teacher substituted for the minister (Gustav), whenever he was called to preach somewhere else. Sick people were always cared for and received help. A new mother, whether Russian or German, received prepared meals for a week, a layette with diapers and free medical help as needed.

On August 26, 1906 (Saturday), while we were still at Silberfeld, our third daughter Lydia arrived. She was a healthy nine-pound baby with a lot of dark hair. Her father himself received her, swaddled her, dried her little face and placed her in my arms. Soon we slept, while he watched over us. The next day, Miss Liese Neufeld bathed and admired the healthy baby. Although she seemed so strong when she was born, she developed into a delicate child. She was like a lovely flower, slender, delicate with soft wavy brown hair and blue eyes. I still see her as she stood in front of an especially large sunflower on the field and stared into it. I came closer and asked her what she was looking at. “I’m scared because it is so big and looks at me so quietly.” Beside us was a whole field of sunflowers, glorious to look at and even in the heart of grown-ups there is a feeling of wonder at the beauty of God’s creation. My human flower with the large blue eyes and the plate-sized golden flower beside her would have made a beautiful portrait.

Lydia had a lovely alto voice. A gypsy song with guitar accompaniment that she had written herself revealed her musical talent. How surprised she was when the music group in her school in Halbstadt presented her song with violin accompaniment. Although she was delicately built, she was ambitious, studied hard and achieved much. When she was still sitting in her high chair at the table, she said, “When I grow up, I want to be a Papa, and not a Mama.” “Why?” “I want to give orders, too,“ said the child. When she was a student, I once accompanied her to the dentist, who had to pull out a big molar. I sat in the waiting room, praying for my poor child, for at that time after the war no anesthetic was available. She endured everything without making a sound, even though there were long roots on the tooth, which she showed me. Equally bravely, she has coped with the difficulties of her life, of which I know only a little, for she left us early. After she had finished her training as a medical assistant, she worked for four years as an assistant to a surgeon in the Chortitza Hospital, taking correspondence courses at the same time. Then she entered medical school in Odessa. There she married and became a Mrs. Abramson.

In 1937, we awaited her visit with anticipation, but instead received a letter from Kirov, saying that she was on her way to Khabarovsk in the eastern part of Russia where her husband, an engineer, had a job and where she planned to continue her medical studies. I never saw her again. In the fall of 1940, a letter actually reached us, it contained the sad news of the death of her two boys Boris and Josef, who had died of diphtheria within a span of two weeks. She grieved for them as only a true mother can. A second letter arrived with the news that they had had another boy whom they named Eugene. Then the Second World War broke out and since then I have received no more news. May God protect my child. It always seems to me as if I am waiting for news of my children from far away.

Our fourth daughter was born on July 15, 1909. We were already living at Ebenfeld, where a spacious house at the edge of a little wood had been built for us. It was evening and our children were sleeping when she announced her arrival. I took a warm bath and took a bundle with what I would need with me into the farthest room, the gusset room. I knew the baby was in the right position. I knew that only my husband would be present and that was fine with me. She was born at midnight and he received her, swaddled her and put her at my side. She was a healthy beautiful girl and I was so happy and thankful. She received my name with all good wishes for a happy life, Evangeline, later shortened by herself to Lina.

She grew quickly and soon had caught up with her older sister. She was blond and blue-eyed, later blue-gray. She was always well-behaved. When she was still young she often spoke of becoming a nurse. In her school years, she was quiet about it and I left it that way. She became my helper, but after her 18th birthday, she came to me in the kitchen and reminded me of her intention to study. Lydia joined her and soon both daughters left to train as medical assistants in the Medical School in Halbstadt. I had to manage without them. This was when we were in Wernersdorf where we lived in the school building for five years. While at the Medical School, Lina had found in Woldemar Artes her life partner. With his help and support, she continued her studies, until she obtained her M.D. degree. That took courage, diligence and perseverance. In the midst of all this they did not forget their aging parents and in the hard years they often sent us food. May God reward her!

On October 16, 1912 (Sunday), our fifth daughter, Margarete, arrived. She was a little sweetheart, a joy to us all. I still see her clearly as she begins to take her first steps. We were sitting in a circle and I sang, clapping my hands, “Look, look, look, the little girl is walking!” Everyone joined in. She leaned back a little and walked until she reached her mother.

She had a sunny disposition, my Greti. Most of the time she had to wear what was too small for the other girls. Once when she got a red dress with brand-new sleeves, she skipped about happily and cried, “A new dress!” over and over again.

She composed humorous verses and gave us much joy and did well in school, following the good example of her sisters. The summer after completing high school, she told me of two of her classmates who wanted to go to Siberia to work as teachers. She lovingly put her arm around me and said that she too could not stay with us much longer, but wanted to achieve something. I suggested that she learn dress-making, but she did not want that. Finally she went to her brother Heinrich, who was living in Chortitza, and there she attended the Technical School. That seemed very promising at the time. Hever, later she had to work as a secretary in Zaporozhye.

While bathing in the Dnieper River, she was caught in an undercurrent and would have drowned if her classmate Abram Friesen had not pulled her out. When she came up for the third time, he grasped her and dragged her to shore. Wet clothes and the fact that he was not a good swimmer had made it difficult, but he succeeded. She brought him home to meet us and introduced him as the one who had saved her life. They went back together and continued their studies.

They married and moved to Kazakhstan. The last news we had was in 1941, when they were living in Samarkand. We lost her so young. I know of a beautiful dream that she had. She was walking with a group of children. A man, wearing a blue mantle and sandals, met them. A brightness streamed from him. The children crowded close around him while he held his hands over them in blessing. She put her arms around him and invited him into the house. He came in and she recognized him. It was Jesus. As with the Emmaus disciples, he then disappeared. That was a beautiful dream.

Margarete means “the pearl”

A pearl so bright and pure

May you not only be called that

But may you be His pearl.

Gustav was born on August 11, 1915, while we were still living in Ebenfeld. This time it was a boy. O how I loved all my children! Daily, I committed them into God’s gracious hands and asked for strength to care for my family and to maintain a harmonious home.

The First World War was still going on, but I was hardly aware of it. I was busty. Our boy grew splendidly. However, it turned out that he stuttered. We tried to do something about it, but it remained. He grew tall and handsome, but had to cope with this handicap throughout life. My prayers accompanied him constantly through his difficult childhood and until this day 39 years later. Since 1941, I have had no news of him.

He learned easily in school and excelled in written work. He was devout from the depth of his heart, and then still a schoolboy, he surprised us with a beautiful little poem. It was about a waving grain field that he had observed when he had gone along with his sisters. They said that they saw him kneel down in worship along the path. O Jesus, you have said, “No one will snatch them out of my hand.”

After he had completed veterinary school in Prischib, he got a job as a veterinary technician on the government collective farm, Akermen. There he married Antonia Pachomova and there Valentine was born. When she suffered from rickets, he brought her to us in Paulsheim, where she was cured by her grandfather by means of homeopathic medicine. Just when he wanted to take his daughter back, the forced evacuation to Kazakhstan in 1941 prevented it. God has provided for her until today and she is grown-up now.

On December 31, 1916, a little nestling arrived in Ebenfeld. We named her Sara after her paternal grandmother, and soon affectionately “Sarli”. O my Sarli! As a child born in times of war, you only knew peace and well-being in the midst of your family and even that changed so often. Yet you were a healthy and very sensible girl. Yes, I often thought to myself how the difficulties of life caused you to grow up so fast. You played the guitar beautifully but it struck me how often I heard the sad song, “The grave is deep and still.” Your close friend Agatha died so young. Then there was the heavy work on the collective farm. You earned 500 kg of wheat that you gave to us. In return, we gave you my dresser. You became Mrs. Giesbrecht and the mother of Ella and Waldemart. How I loved my children and your little ones. Where have you been living since 1941? Perhaps before I die I will hear something about you, my loved ones far away!