Nothing seemed to daunt her. She had every reason to be downhearted, based on her life as she related it to me at times. When she and dad came out from England in 1912 everyone around them, save themselves, were sea-sick. Mom and Dad cared for them.
On arrival in Canada they had nothing, other than to be greeted in Victoria, B.C. by dad's two brothers, Rob and Will, who were working at the Empress Hotel. Dad didn't have any promise of work, but on his first day while still in a suit he got a job right on the street of Victoria digging ditches. Mom made a lunch for him and they sat on the side of the road and ate together. Their story for a few years, was one of hardship. My mom, Irene Violet Stofer was a real trouper and knuckled down to doing all that was required.
It wasn't an easy route for them in Canada, but mom especially made it work. Work is the key word here. As I recall the house that dad built for all of us, I recall the work that mom also put into it. Nearly everything in the home was made by mom and dad with mom as the planner and designer so to speak. All of the rugs and mats on the floors were made by mom and she shared with all the painting and wall-papering. I remember very clearly that at the Times newspaper office where dad worked there were long cores of compressed paper almost like drain-pipe, very solid that came from the centre of the huge rolls of the blank white paper that would eventually become news papers. These solid cores were discarded. Dad brought them home. Mom and he worked together to construct a base at one end, then threaded an electric wire up the centre where they affixed a socket for a light bulb and added a shade that mom had made to fit over the top. We had several of these in our house as standing lamps.
Mom also designed and cut out floor mats from some sort of hard rubber matting that dad had obtained from his work place. These were cut in such a way as to follow the shape of the hall. If anything was needed, it was made. Mom designed and cut out the material to make on her sewing machine, dress suits for myself and brothers and dad.
Not only did mom design and make things for inside the house, but she also worked in the garden with layout of lawns and flower beds, with dad doing the 'bull-work'. She was an all-around person. Mom was a religious person and we attended the Christian Science Church on Pandora Avenue.
When I was overseas for 5 years during World War Two, mom wrote letters to me at least every week and many times more often than that. One thing about mom was that she wasn't going to allow me to miss anything. Her letters were very detailed. Because there were so many ships being sunk, mom numbered every letter she wrote to me and I could keep track of what I had missed and so she repeated items I might have missed. Everyone in the district was mentioned when an event affected their lives. And where possible there was a photo or two. She kept me up to date with the local newspapers and didn't allow me to miss a thing that was going on in the old home town. Mum and dad both anticipated my letters home to them and read them together.
Mom listened faithfully to a special "do good" type of program broadcast on KIRO from Seattle. She became so involved that she made me a member of the club, The Time Klock Klub, which resulted in a charity drive she instigated to supply London's bombed out children with a huge quantity of toys and candy, which I presented to the war-orphaned children in St. Andrews Hospital in London's East End.
I had gone to England to join the R.A.F. and now mom learned that it was possible to transfer to the RCAF where my salary would be twice as much. She did all of the letter writing to Members of Parliament re my status in the R.A.F. resulting in my transfer and being immediately sent home from Burma after my transfer to the RCAF in Bombay, India.
And then there was that wonderful day in August of 1945 when I walked off the boat ramp in Victoria, B.C. and there was my mom, arms open to greet me while dad stood back patiently waiting.
I often think of my mom and all of the things she did for me, especially on Mother's Day.
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