.:: New TAG Site ::. 8/22/11

We are gathered here today to celebrate the lives of Eva Maria Gladney and her husband of 69 years Kurt Paul Gladney, Mom and Dad. Earlier today we placed their remains together for eternity at the Park Lawn Cemetery near here.

We also gathered today to perform a ‘rite of passage’, in which we acknowledge that our parents are no longer with us in body, but that they live on in a spiritual way. We were all touched by them at some point in our lives, and the way to acknowledge that is through our remembrances.

Mom and Dad were beloved parents to my brother Henry, my sister Doris, and me. They were grandparents to Stephanie, Sebastian, Kristi, Marc, Timothy, Patrick, and Katherine. (Sebastian was prevented by travel difficulties from attending the event. He sent his best wishes and apologies.) They were great-grandparents to Brianna and Megan (who are with us today), Benjamin (not here today), Aiden, Jackson, and Rowan.

Mother is survived by her brother, Otto Horwich who lives in England. (Uncle Otto and our Aunt Gerda sent their best wishes to us on this day.)

True to their characters, both of our parents eschewed being in the limelight; they did not like being the focus of attention, were fiercely independent, and did not want ‘to be a bother’ to anyone. Their wishes on their deaths were to be cremated immediately, which they were, and that there be no service of any kind. They certainly would be reticent about this gathering, and possibly even slightly annoyed. What can I say? I’m a bad boy?

Our parents’ circle of family and friends was always relatively small, but close. And when you live as long as mom and dad did, to 94 and 101 years, many of them have gone a long time ago.

We are very pleased to have with us today some members of their circle of friends and/or their survivors: Gwen Morawetz, one of our parents’ oldest friends from their earliest days in Canada in the 1940s: Peter, Tom and John Kierluk, whose parents, Ed and Fay, were also amongst my parents oldest friends: Elizabeth Van der Jagt, (along with daughter Marion and son-in-law Elliot), longtime friends from our parents’ Sarnia days.

I would also like to acknowledge Merlita Basilia who was my parent’s treasured primary caregiver at the Donway for many years. We appreciate the expert and sensitive care she provided, during which time she came to know quite a bit about our family.

Memories

While your lunch is being prepared, we would like to take a few minutes to honour our parents, remembering them and thanking them, because we loved them and because without them, none of us would be here today!

In our invitation to this gathering we invited anyone who would like to speak to do so. That invitation still stands.

Gwen Morawetz said she will speak, as did son Patrick. Anyone else, just give me a nod.

How Lucky We Are To Be Here (Henry)

I am not confident that my parent’s grandchildren know just how lucky they are to be here at all. In fact, their and our very existence depends on the foresight and energy of Kurt and Eve Gladney, and those of their parents, in ways far beyond what is common in most family stories. So I choose to use a few minutes to remind the younger generations of the story, which is a thriller as hair-raising as any in adventure movies. And we might all remember that many family members, friends, and others of Jewish heritage were not so clever or so lucky.

Our many friends here today may appreciate the story for reminding them just how lucky they and their families are to have lived and grown up in North America, where horrors such as the Holocaust did not occur in the 20^th century. The ease with which we cross international borders and our daily safety are marvels that we usually take for granted. Pausing for a moment to remember and be grateful is worth a few minutes.

The story that follows is excerpted from Dad’s Memoires. (The portions that I read are in bold-face type; the rest is provided to provide context for my remarks, as are the impersonal excerpts from world history.)

May 5, 1934	From among the business experiences, I ought to explain my foreign connections because they assumed increasing importance when we were forced to leave Czechoslovakia. These connections were established by my Father when, about 1928, the factory in Chodau changed from the production of plate glass to the manufacture of fire polished coloured opaque glass for store front, bathroom wainscotting and similar uses. In doing so, the company had entered a lucrative specialty field in which worldwide there were only few competitors. Foremost among them, there were then Belgian Verreries de Fauquez (Fauquez Glass Works) and the British giant of glass, Pilkington Brothers, at St. Helen’s in Lancashire. Fauquez and the Glaswerke A.G. saw merits in an agreement which assured the latter of a sizeable export quota all over the world and gave Fauquez a measure of control over these sales without wild price cuts. Combined into an export association called F.O.G.E.B., the new unit was, in turn, a large enough factor to impress Pilkington’s who had been, were and remained known as rather independent, uppity and difficult business partners. An understanding about exports to Britain and overseas was arrived at when, about 1934, also the factory in Brunn launched the production of this kind of product. They too participated in periodic meetings with the British and Belgians.
Mar 13, 1938	The occupation of Austria - the so-called Anschluß
Sep 29, 1938	Munich Agreement – Great Britain, France, Germany and Italy, without the participation of Czechoslovakia, agree on surrendering Czechoslovak border areas to Germany. German troops invade Czechoslovakia 2 days later.
Nov 10, 1938	Within the territory of the German Reich (and also in the sequestered Czechoslovak border area) the pogrom known as the „Kristallnacht“ (Crystal Night) is set off – most synagogues are either burnt down or destroyed, Jewish shops are robbed and many Jews are killed or dragged into concentration camps
Mar 1939	In the Protectorate these anti-Semitic orders are adopted: • Jewish defense lawyers are forbidden to practise • ban on working in public administration, institutes and institutions • ban on working in courts of law • ban on teaching at schools • doctors of a „non-Aryan origin“ are forbidden to practise in all health institutions
Mar 15, 1939	Occupation of Czech lands by German army; the protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia is declared
Apr 1, 1939	At this point, I have to revert to my earlier statement how much the fiction of a Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia worked in our favour. The Germans had initiated it and they drew logical consequences in order to sustain the myth for a while, even if it was contrary to some of their usual practices. Initially, anyway, only a handful of German “liaison men” were placed into the Czech department of finance which issued or refused export licenses for valuables, property, etc. Without such an export permit, nothing was allowed out. Initially, the list of things which a prospective emigrant could not take out of the country was relatively reasonable, but new restrictions were added daily. As a result, prior to shipping anything, we had to prepare long and detailed lists, with values added, totalled, etc., had to file an application in several copies and kept hoping that we would not include things which would cause refusal, re-application and the resulting delay. That was why we did not include silver plates into the application. Our application was several pages long; unfortunately, I have no copy of that official paper to illustrate the story I am trying to tell.
Apr 10, 1939	Anyway, I was told to call at the Finance Department on a certain morning to pick up the export license (against pay, of course!) When I did, the Czech government employee called me into his private office and explained to me that, unfortunately, a new regulation precluded him from permitting us to take the personal jewellery listed, that I would therefore receive only permission for the balance of the list; moreover, to ensure compliance with their decision, one of his assistants would accompany me home, see that all these specified items (my gold wristwatch among them) would be safely packaged and taken to the largest Czech bank, the Zivnostenska Banka and placed into a collective deposit. “For safekeeping” he said. I however, kissed those things goodbye because the Nazis were sure to “collect” them once we were gone. Along with these words, he carefully signed all copies of the export permit, crossed out the disallowed items with a printed stamp “Not Permitted” and ink strokes on the copy which he handed me. The first carbon copy remained inviolate and went straight into his drawer while I was still there and while he regretted that these were German regulations, not those of our government.
Apr 10, 1939	The streetcar ride home to pick up the jewellery and hence to the bank was long and private enough to get to know my guard well enough and to establish that his boss would be quite prepared to let me have that unexpurgated carbon copy in return for some good stamps (i.e. he was a stamp collector, but money was not needed). I do not remember where I got suitable stamps, but back I went once more and was soon in the possession of the illegal legal document, as well as the crossed out original. Only, I was not quite sure what to do about either. Not until late during the day when our lift van was to be loaded under the watchful eyes of a representative of the customs department. The packers were, of course, all local people, but who would be sent by the customs department? A Czech? A Czech plus a watchdog? Well, the morning of the loading came and to start with no customs man, not until maybe 1-2 hours later than planned. We sat around tensely and waited. When this Czech fellow finally showed up, he was profusely apologetic and insisted on telling us in all detail how he had supervised the loading of some Austrian Jewish refugee’s belongings the day before, how partway through this a German S.A. inspector had discovered a stamp collection among the stuff (export of stamp collections was “illegal”!) and had turned things upside down and finally how long this morning it had him finally taken to smuggle those stamps back into the van! This hint could, of course, have been a deliberate trap, but the next few hours convinced me that the man was sincere, I showed him the “legal carbon copy” of my export permit, asked whether this was good enough for him to pass the silver and maybe some more that we had not planned to take. He only said: “Man, what are you waiting for? Get going.” I repeat, this was early April, shortly after the occupation, things were not as easy not much later. After the van left, we still had some of the built-in furniture, some of the most urgent things around, but the apartment was otherwise bare.
Apr 1939	Trude’s and Putzi’s hurried departure left us in charge of their apartment and of their wishes that we should arrange for the removal and shipment of their belongings. Somehow, we managed to have some of the more valuable carpets and pictures packed in crates and removed, before one day we found the apartment sealed by whatever authority was concerned with grabbing the property of Jewish runaways. As a result, their furniture proper was lost, along with other valuables and this in turn explains why much later, Putzi and Trude were interested at all in acquiring our furniture in England.
Apr 1939	While we are at this topic: it was obvious that we wanted out, that there was little time to lose. I don’t recall exactly how fast I made arrangements with a forwarding company to have the bulk of our belongings and furniture packed and shipped out of the country, sometime in early April 1939! Destination - the harbour of Antwerp, to be held there until further notice. Now this sounds terribly simple, and - fortunately - money was, at that point, our least concern. I am still amazed how fast the movers were able to assess, to quote, to act, while I did my darndest to first learn what government papers were needed, what the daily changing restrictions were, to keep up with these while filing applications, following up on them in daily intervention, etc. Even so, we did get caught in the ever tightening vice, not badly though. About that later!
May 15, 1939	Business at the Glaswerke A.G. proceeded normally, so to say, for some time, except for one most uneasy day sometime in May 1939, I believe. Anyway, by then Gestapo action and interference was well established in Prague. The Gestapo (Geheime Staats Polizei = Secret State Police) had established their headquarters for the Protectorate in the palatial office building of Prague’s foremost German-Jewish private bank, Petschek & Co., just around the corner from my office. Only members of our generation can appreciate all the implications connected with the Gestapo name, reputation, rumours and fear. There was no connection between this institution and such terms as justice, guilt or innocence, truth or lies. In Nazi terms, being Jewish was guilt in itself. Nobody was surprised to learn that people taken into custody by the Gestapo disappeared, never to be heard of again. You may now be able to appreciate, up to a point, my apprehension when I received a telephone call one morning at the office enquiring whether I was the manager of this company and asking me to come to the Gestapo office to see Mr. “X”. Did I need any papers? “No.” No indication what all it might be about. Should I phone Eve and tell her before going? I decided against it, but asked my accountant, Mr. Diessner, to do whatever was necessary should I be detained. I won’t even try to describe my feelings on entering that building and while being kept waiting some considerable time. The biblical fellow in the lions’ den (Daniel) knew what was expecting him, so knew what to do. I did not, besides, I lacked his faith. Mr. “X” turned out to be a reasonably factual individual, showing no animosity. It took me a while to realize that he was following up on a letter the Gestapo had received from one of the company’s former (dismissed) employees who accused the company of all sorts of anti-social actions, including not keeping German holidays, fortunately so blatantly untrue that it was easy to deal with the accusations, to identify the man and classify him for what he was. Altogether, the episode took long enough to make me late and Eve nervously wonder why I didn’t get home on time. She now adds that I was visibly shaken by the day’s experience when I did arrive home.
May 17, 1939	British government issues a Palestine White Paper that establishes a limit of 75,000 Jews to be admitted to Palestine over the next five years. Of these, only 25,000 could be refugees.
July 1939	Ban on teaching Jewish children at German elementary and secondary schools
July 9, 1939	The Soviet Union curtails transit to Shanghai via Poland and Russia.
July 19, 1939	On July 9, 1939, I wrote a letter to Mr. Wrethman which meant to convey my request that he transfer my diamond nest egg to Putzi in London. Evidently, the necessary circumlocutions (e.g. “documents” for “diamonds”, etc.) presented a bit of a puzzle for the Swede and delayed the transaction until clarified by Putzi.
Aug 10, 1939	On July 19, 1939, the British Home Office granted our application for permit and the final phase of our emigration preparations was on. This simple enough statement was anything but simple as far as timing and communications were concerned. There were inevitable delays between the day my British lawyer found out and the final date when the British Consul in Prague was formally advised to clear me for admission. And every day counted, or so we figured even though we really did not know how close to the truth we were.
Aug 24, 1939	Another point in support of my comment on the “privileges” gained by being citizens of the Protectorate. While Austrian Jews and German Jews were ridiculed by their German masters by being issued emigration passports in the name of “Israel” for men and “Sarah” for women, with a hefty “J” over print on each document, German law did not apply for us and our emigration passports were to be plain Czechoslovak Republic passports, with all references to the Republic of Czechoslovakia expurgated by placing matching stickers over them with the German imprint “Protektorat Boehmen + Maehren” (Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia). More important though was the German logic that such an emigration passport, once obtained, cleared you at the borders between Bohemia and Germany and that there was no further legal way of stopping you on your trip through and out of Germany. As you will see, I am telling this from the vantage point of hindsight, nobody told us beforehand and we would have not trusted any such statement. But first of all, we had to obtain said passports for Eve and myself, not to forget Henry, who was to be included into his Mother’s passport. Pardon the lack of precision: passports we had and Henry had been entered within a week of his birth, in anticipation of a possible visit to Vienna. What we did indeed require was an EXIT permit, as per exhibit on page 19 of Eve’s passport which still exists. This permit consists of a simple enough rubber stamp in the passport which states in simple terms that you may leave the country within a month of issuance, destination England, no return. But in order to obtain this rubber stamp, what a pile of other papers had to be applied for, waited for, run around for, finally be obtained! I cannot be quite sure whether there were 14 or 18 of these for each of us and what they all were for, but I can enumerate a few: receipts and certificates from all levels of government that we owed no taxes, dues and the like; similar paper confirming that our gas bills were paid, as well as hydro.
Aug 24, 1939	There, I remember a rather pompous individual in mufti asking pompous questions and being simply nasty to a poor little fellow just ahead of me who did not understand German, was completely bewildered and helpless, very much to the official’s pleasure. Downstream from him there were only one or two more fellows in SA and SS uniforms, one to impress the rubber stamp onto the passport and one for final review and apparently, in charge of the whole procedure. The civilian tried a couple of his tricks on me, but I had decided to remain calm at all costs and managed to parry his thrusts whereupon he piped down. And then a thing happened, the significance of which I was unable to grasp, because it did not fit into the general dehumanizing pattern. The SS man who had observed everything, looked into our passports, turned to me and asked: “And how old did you say is your little boy?” “Eighteen months.” “Well, better make sure he is not much older before you leave the country.” All this very politely, apparently without glee or hostility. The date was August 24, 1939.
Aug 25, 1939	In a last-ditch effort to avoid war, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt sends a personal appeal to Adolf Hitler, asking him to address the Polish issue through diplomatic channels.
Aug 25, 1939	Even without the admonition, we were all set to go, suitcases more or less ready, railroad timetables all figured out and, I believe, tickets prepaid as far as London. The happenings of the next several hours are forgotten, except for the decision to travel via Vienna on the 25th and leave from there on the morning of the 26th, catching at Nürnberg the very same train, from Prague, the first one we could otherwise take without going to Vienna. For all this I still had to obtain the Belgian Transit visa, which allowed us exactly two days in Belgium, starting August 27. It was a race against time indeed. A good thing too, it was that way, one had no time to think, to speculate and possibly to doubt the wisdom of the moves. Only so was it possible to pack up, go to the railroad station, accompanied by my Mother, Uncle Camillo, our Jetti, get onto a train which was not too crowded (because what emigrant would go to Vienna?). The farewells were muted, not very emotional except for Henry and Jetti, one yelling, the other crying profusely. I can only say that there remains a degree of unreality to this scene to this day. The train trip and the border crossing into Austria was anti-climatic despite the realization that ours was a departure from Bohemia without foreseeable return. The passport and luggage inspection were casual.
Aug 26, 1939	Poland and Britain sign a treaty in which they promise mutual assistance.
Aug 26, 1939	The next few days were less so, substantially less so! We arrived in Vienna late that afternoon and had only until next morning to discuss with Eve’s family the events of the last few weeks, foremost those things both sides had feared to put down in writing. Nothing of what was said, thought or planned, remains. I am even unclear whether my Uncle Poldi Kreidl and the Winterbergs were contacted by phone, although this would seem likely if they were still there. Poldi, in particular, may have left for Italy by then, I just do not recall. Eve and I remember differently, when we decided to call Karl Kratschmer to say “goodbye”, after considerable hesitation whether this was the right thing to do. Eve thinks that we called early next morning and that he drove in from Brunn in a hurry. My recollection says that it was more likely a late evening call and that he then stated that he wanted to come in and take us to the station. Small difference; the important thing is that he did and that what was primarily meant to be a friendship gesture also had very practical results. We were a bit shocked to see him arrive with a swastika band on his arm; he made a deprecatory gesture and said it might help to have it on. It did! He steered us through the unbelievable masses of people thronging the station that morning, August 26, and out a gate while the masses were kept waiting and onto the train before it was fully loaded.
Aug 27, 1939	Throughout these happenings, we became aware of great numbers of SA and SS men in uniform, a few females choking down tears; of special cars assigned to military personnel only. Finally, the fact seeped through to us that they had been called up to report to their headquarters back in Germany. In simple terms, we found ourselves in the middle of a general mobilization, one that had not been proclaimed through the news media. Strangely, or maybe typically, I don’t recall relating these events in any analytical fashion to our own fate and the successful completion of our flight. The train was double its normal length and still crowded to the hilt by the time it finally pulled out of the station, destination Nürnberg. That portion of the trip was a nightmare, thanks to our darling son who could not sit still, could not sleep, crawled all over us, over all the other occupants in the compartment, became finally so cranky, tired and excited that he started bawling and screaming his head off. His behaviour was not much appreciated by the other passengers, less by his parents who would have preferred to attract a minimum of attention.
Aug 27, 1939	From Nürnberg, where we rejoined (i.e. transferred to the Prague-Cologne-Bruxelles express) things settled down. While an emigrant could take no money out of Germany, there was nothing to stop him yet from travelling in style, so we travelled Pullman car with sleeping accommodation for the overnight portion of the trip into Belgium, enjoying the comfort and - relative - peace. Lest my reference to “relative” peace be misunderstood, I hasten to add that we did not know peace of mind then, or for many years after. But the four walls of the roomette were shelter, the porter had taken on the job of showing our passports at the German-Belgium border and while we couldn’t be sure, we hoped to be spared further emigration procedures. So we crawled into bed and expected the next major stop to be Aachen and the Belgian border. When we woke the first time, the train was hours late and still standing in Cologne’s railroad station, rather than Aachen. Anyway, it was daylight, August 27, when we reached the border. This was the moment when the difference between emigrating from the “Protectorate” or from Germany became evident; no need to get off the train for passport and luggage inspection for us, while a great number of less fortunate travellers were headed into the customs office for such a lengthy procedure that only those in first were able to regain their seats on the train; numerous others had to stay behind and it is doubtful whether they ever made it out of Germany. It is difficult to recapture the feeling of relief, when finally the train pulled out of Germany. That feeling was topped only by that experienced when Monsieur Dony received us at the Brussels R.R. station with an envelope containing Lstg. 50 (fifty). Amazing how much securer one feels with a bit of cash in lieu of whatever was left of the couple of Lstg. and Belgian francs we had been allowed to take along.
Aug 29, 1939	In a major conscription push, Britain calls for the enlistment of all men ages 20 and 21.
Aug 30, 1939	Brussels: a memory blank. My passport says we got to Dover on August 29, so must have spent at least two days and one night at Brussels, even if we took a night train across the channel. We did some sightseeing, that much we recall; presumably there was some business to attend to with the F.O.G.E.B. people. The diary though, has now reminded us that and how, we did indeed stay two days in Brussels and took the boat across the channel from Ostende on the night of August 28, 1939. It also brought back that, following missing the first boat train and with it missing Putzi at Victoria Station in London, we struggled with child and oodles of hand luggage through the station to an underground train to Richmond, Surrey. Gosh, were we pooped, hungry and dirty by the time we got there!
Sep 1, 1939	Arrival at Dover! The British were well organized for the enormous influx of foreigners, many of which came without adequate documentation. I felt partly cheated, partly impressed, partly relieved, when the immigration officer insisted on talking in Czech with us, because that was what he was there for. Cheated out of using and practicing my English; impressed by the organization and relieved because it was easier after all, so much more as he also wore another tag indicating that he knew German as well.
Sep 1, 1939	So we had made it to England, an England overrun by refugees, some possibly German undercover agents. An England at the brink of war at first, shortly after at war, in fact. Unprepared and unorganized. On the first of September, we had duly registered with the Metropolitan Police under the Aliens Registration Act. On that same day, Germany invaded Poland, shortly after we found ourselves classified as “Friendly Aliens”, as distinct from “Enemy Aliens”, who were interned, investigated and eventually shipped overseas to destinations where they could do no harm to Britain’s war effort. Sounds simple? Sure and like all simple solutions, how does one make them work? Foremost, how does one tell an enemy from a friendly alien?
Sep 2, 1939	The Invasion of Poland begins at 4:40 a.m. with the German Luftwaffe attacking several targets in Poland. The Luftwaffe launches air attacks against Krakow, Lodz, and Warsaw.
Sep 3, 1939	The United Kingdom and France issue a joint ultimatum to Germany, requiring German troops to evacuate Polish territory; Mussolini declares Italian neutrality; Ireland also declares neutrality; the Swiss government orders a general mobilization of its forces.
Sep 10, 1939	At 11:15am British Summer Time, the British Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, announces on BBC Radio that the deadline of the final British ultimatum for the withdrawal of German troops from Poland expired at 11:00am and that "consequently this nation is at war with Germany". At 12:30pm BST the French Government delivers a similar final ultimatum; which expires at 3:00pm BST. Australia, India, and New Zealand also declare war on Germany. On that day, I quite vividly recall us, Trude and Putzi, Lothar and Paula Morecki and their assorted four children, all huddled around the radio in their tiny apartment in Litchfield Court, Richmond, Surrey and listening first to the news, then finally to Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain’s address which culminated in the announcement that Britain now considered herself at war against Germany.
May 10, 1940	Canada declares war on Germany. On 10 May 1940, hours before the German invasion of France by a lightning advance through the Low Countries, it became clear that, following failure in Norway, the country had no confidence in Chamberlain's prosecution of the war and so Chamberlain resigned. … George VI asked Churchill to be Prime Minister and to form an all-party government.
May 31, 1947	By April 26, we knew for sure that Mother H. was due to arrive in San Francisco on May 1. We wanted her to have some spending money and sent $30 for her to the shipping agency. On the other hand, when the Canadian Jewish Congress asked us to refund to it the $391 advanced for Mother’s passage, we coolly refused and our reasons were accepted. In her account, Mother has related her San Francisco experience and the incongruous fact that the local relief agencies willingly paid for her hotel, her board, etc., for days on end while the wrangling went on who would pay the rail fare. We lost out on that point. $100 was quite a sum at a time when I paid $5 for bed and breakfast a week in Toronto. “Grandma” Horwich arrived from Shanghai via San Francisco and Port Huron, Michigan on May 31, 1947. The reception committee: Ed, Fay, Eve and myself. The transfer from the Sarnia, Ontario railroad station to London, Ontario by car courtesy of the Kierluks was memorable for more than one reason. It was their first car, a 1937 Dodge, so it was already ten years old and let us know it. Personally, I must record a sensation which the others missed, possibly even Mother H.: the passport inspection was brief, devoid of any detail, perfunctory, if you wish. Compared to all the fuss that preceded it, it would have been an anticlimax, had it not been for the officer’s, “Welcome to Canada. I hope you will like it!” What a contrast to the officious near hostility of border crossings in most of the world!

I recommend your attention to the contrast between the difficulties of crossing European borders in 1939 and this simple and eloquent greeting to Canada, after Grandma had endured the trials of an escape through the Soviet Union, the death of Grandpa Horwich in Shanghai, and the rest of the war in a beleaguered China that must have been strange and difficult for a 70-year-old Viennese lady. I cannot think of this welcome to Canada without emotion that is very evident to all of you, who have kindly listened to this brief account of adventures more terrifying than I can readily imagine.

I suspect that German remained Mom’s favorite language to her last days, even though her English was perfect (except that Mom never learned colloquial emphasis for English slang, much less English cursing.) Partly for this reason, I believe that long reminiscences with Helga shortly before Mom’s death much comforted her. She especially enjoyed remembering the comment of Helga’s Onkel Hans about the added dividend of “such a beautiful and charming Mother-in-Law”.

Dad was solicitous of Mom’s well-being to the very end. While Mom and Helga were reminiscing in German, he would periodically call from his next room bed, inquiring about her comfort.

On Behalf of the Grandchildren (Patrick)

The prospect of delivering a eulogy that could pay an adequate tribute to my grandparents is a daunting one. After all, they shared almost 200 years of life experience between them compared to my meagre 38. On top of all that lays their incredible and fascinating journey that saw them uprooted from a relative state of contentment and prosperity in central Europe – forced to travel virtually around the globe in attempt to settle and recreate for their budding family the same sense of “bourgeois” comfort and tranquility to which they had been accustomed.

The significance of their efforts is obvious to everybody in this room. For most of us, our lives literally depended on their successful relocation effort. So instead of simply being thankful that they persevered, I will attempt to focus on the softer side of their legacy. After all, they gave us more than life itself – they imbued our entire family and close circle of friends with unique character traits and values which I am sure will continue to trickle down through subsequent generations. These qualities are significant to all of us, as they bind us together as a family – giving us a common perspective on how we see and interpret the world and how the world interprets us.

One of the most easily identifiable traits of both Kurt and Eve was their sense of propriety. They were both unreservedly polite and civil people to everybody they met, with no exceptions. They were always more than welcoming to significant others coming into the family. They taught their children and grandchildren alike to respect our elders and one another. From my viewpoint, they weren’t heavy handed in their approach; rather they led more by example in teaching us to be courteous and respectful of others. These lessons were easily ignored or lost on a child or adolescent, but as I’ve grown older and now have a child of my own, I remember, appreciate and often imitate their example. They were always cool and level headed, and dealt with conflict quickly, efficiently and without bearing a grudge.

I personally believe that the notorious Gladney sense of sardonic humour was borne from, perhaps in rebellion to this strong sense of propriety. True, it has taken on a variety of strains and interpretations from family to family but I am sure that most of us would recognize the wry, dry humour that I am referring to. Ask my dad to tell you one about the St. Patrick’s Day Parade or get Henry to tell you the story about when he asked Helga’s obstetrician when Sebastian was born if he had to pay for his new baby by the pound. Even if you don’t get to hear these knee-slappers, you’ll know the sense of humour I’m talking about when you hear them laughing at something they themselves said perhaps punctuated by a quick snort.

Yes, I believe that the Gladney humour is one of the true ties that bind us together as a family – unrestrained by the fact that outsiders are rarely as amused by ourselves as we are. I can see Grandma rolling her eyes now in response to a Tommy joke– I’m not sure if it’s because she appreciated the humour, or if she was merely proud that one of her children had merely made an attempt to be funny.

This leads me to a second quality passed down from my grandparents that I think we all share – an unending and unstoppable practicality. In his memoirs, Gramps describes how he tended to see the world through a protective, transparent shell that protected him from getting too emotionally involved or wrapped up in a situation. Undoubtedly, it was this sense of detachment that made their flight from central Europe and eventual resettlement in Canada much easier to accomplish. I think we all tend to view the world through the same lens that G refers to – a view that for me personally has enabled me to approach certain things in life without the interference of emotion to cloud my judgment in stressful times. I believe that being a Gladney means being level headed, sensible and for the most part unflappable in the face of opposition. Not every family has this ability. Then again, not every family is as successful as ours, not just financially but emotionally as well.

The last Gladney trait that I’d like to talk about is G and G’s insatiable curiosity. The extent of the Gladney inquisitiveness is well chronicled in Gramps great writings – his occasional sidebars on subjects like history, religion or culture demonstrated an ability to search and locate distinct truths and insights that most people overlook or choose to ignore. On the personal side, what grandchild remembers a birthday when they didn’t call? How many of you can recall visits to Sarnia where you were asked to sit down on their uncomfortable, practical green sofa to discuss the latest happenings in our lives? It’s amazing how intently they would listen to what I am sure was hardly the most revealing or descriptive recount of personal details. Yet they continued to ask about me, about all of us - right up until the end. Always interested. Always seeking to understand. Always learning.

I’ve sometimes wondered if their experience of having their lives disrupted and families spread out by the war in Europe is what led to their intense interest in maintaining contact with loved ones. But it really doesn’t matter. What really matters is that we carry on their tradition of loving and caring for one another. I am sure that the love that they shared for one another and their families sustained them for many years. It gave them the opportunity to see their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren grow to lead happy, rich and fulfilling lives. A tremendous achievement indeed, and for that, we thank you grandma and grandpa.

Brianna’s Letter

Brianna, our eldest granddaughter (9 years old) wrote the following letter. It was read by her dad Timothy!

(Brianna intended to read it herself but was intimidated by the large gathering; she thought it would be smaller!)

Reminiscences (Tom)

Let me begin my reminiscences by saying that we in this family are who we are because of our parents. They instilled us with their sense of values, they raised us, they nurtured us, and sent us on our way into the world equipped to repeat and embellish the process. They touched everyone in their family and circle in different ways.

Mom was justifiably proud and Dad somewhat blasé (as men sometimes are) about what they were able to accomplish in their lives.

Mom and Dad came to Canada in 1941 as classic immigrants, (at ages about the same as our children; think about it). They arrived with very little, (I was told I was born that year as a charity case!). They built from this base, raised a family who all had their own successes, and were able to live comfortably through their declining years. That is certainly to be admired.

Their new life in Canada was very different from life in Prague and Vienna; that life was one of culture, history, intellectual society and so on. No doubt Canada was a big adjustment for them, on top of everything else.

MOM

For both our parents, but our mother particularly, “family” was most important. Every conversation from the time we children ‘left the nest’ started with Mom saying “What is the latest report?” She would not be satisfied until it was delivered.

She loved all the details, more sometimes than children or grandchildren wanted to provide, and sometimes even when she did not understand the subject matter (such as when Henry started to teach her physics and chemistry)!

Another example of Mom’s interest in family: she hatched “Eve’s Crazy Notion” a family gathering at Lumina Lodge in Muskoka in 1986 (the parents’ 50th wedding anniversary) for ALL the family, from Europe and North America. This was great fun, and it also cemented our generation on both sides of the Atlantic in a way that continues today!

Mom worked hard to supplement the family income. She was a trained seamstress and a very good one. In their early days in Canada she learned what is probably a dying art today, “invisible mending”. (People would burn holes in their clothes smoking or tear them, and mom could repair the hole so it could not be seen!). It was a good home business, which contributed to the parents’ success. But you know, I could never understand how every second customer’s payment went into a separate invoice book.

Mom was a strong advocate for her children. I remember her taking on the principal of UCC when during a progress interview about me, he wondered if Mom had another kid at home with scholarship potential! She said she had an even better one, and how did Dr. Sowby plan get Henry into the college! He did!
Mom was active in her community; she was a prize-winning hand weaver, and used that skill to teach weaving to retarded children. She also was a knitter; she made over 500 of dolls like you see on the table. Most of them were donated or sold, with the proceeds going to the Alzheimer’s Society or the Parkinson’s Foundation.

As a bridge to talking about Dad, Lorna reminds me of an early impression she had of Mom and Dad when she joined the family 43 years ago. She marvelled at how ‘routinized’ they were; the breakfast table was set right after dinner, we woke at 7AM to the smell of onions cooking for dinner prep, and so on. The parents definitely ‘got on with the program’.

DAD

My dad was a very intelligent man, a Chemical Engineer, with specific expertise in everything to do with glass. He was also an accomplished water-colour artist, and an excellent photographer.

Dad spent most of his working career in Canada with Fibreglas; he started a Research Lab there in the later part of his working career. Not known by many is the fact that Dad has his name of several patents for assorted things I know nothing about (just Google his name!).
Dad worked very hard at his jobs; I think looking backwards, he was the first workaholic I knew; he left for work early in the morning, came home, and worked in his makeshift office in the recreation room in the basement of our Sarnia home. I guess I must have thought this was normal at the time!

He also introduced me to the ‘power nap’. He would lie down after dinner, in less than a minute be snoring loudly, then wake with a louder snort about fifteen minutes later, ready to go again! Dorie recalls that during these naps we children had to stay quiet; I of course don’t remember that! Dad claimed he learned to power nap in his first job as an ‘on call’ engineer in a glass plant in Austria.

In retirement, Dad headed the Red Cross’s disaster planning group for Sarnia, the so-called Chemical Valley of Canada. Called “Disaster Major or Major Disaster”, and complete with red hard hat, Dad organized training, coordination, and so on. He did this until well into his 80s; the Red Cross could not find anyone else as good as Dad to replace him.

Dad was a stoical man; he rarely showed his emotions. I remember only a few times that he showed his irritation at me when I goofed off while he was helping me with studying; I also remember an occasion when he scolded me with the biggest smile on his face when I purposely launched my pet budgie bird into the middle of one of their evenings with friends, scaring the daylights out of one lady who was afraid of birds.

Doris would disagree here – Dad surprised her at Lorna’s and my wedding by needing the Kleenex that Dorie had brought for weepy females she anticipated would need them.

I will probably go to my grave wondering why dad never had to wear rubbers or overshoes; and why he alone didn’t have to take off his shoes when he came into the house like the rest of us did!

Condolences

I would like to read to you from some of the messages sent to us from other continents and countries by family and friends who could not be with us today:

Walter Steiner (nephew of parents)

As long as I can remember I knew that my mother, Trude, had a brother called Kurt. I also knew that he lived in Austria which meant as far as I was concerned he might have lived on the moon.

This changed when in 1938, after the Austrian Anschluss, Kurt appeared in Prague together with Eve, who I thought very glamorous. I was 12 years old.
They settled in Bubenec, a good long way from the center of Prague, where we lived, so again I did not see much of them, but, in any case in those days children did not join adults except on largely formal occasions. I do remember visiting their flat, which struck me as being furnished in a very modern manner. Of course, in due course some of the dining room furniture found its way to Durham, so I see it every day.

Next contact was in England, when Kurt and Eve came to live in a flat near us in Richmond, by this time with little Henry, who, if my memory served me right, kept on falling out of his pushchair. There was great excitement about this, but I was sure that he would survive.

Shortly after that Kurt and Eve disappeared from my radar, off on their, as it turned out, adventure in India and hence to Canada.

After the war things changed for the better and we saw Kurt and Eve more frequently. I remember a drive to Hadrian's Wall, when I was allowed to drive Kurt's hire car, whilst he sat very nervously next to me.

On another occasion there occurred a memorable argument between Kurt and my father, carried on in the usual Steiner manner, with volume turned full on. The subject was “Is society an accumulation of people bound together, amongst other, by emotional ties such as common experiences and memories, or is it held together only by material interests.” Kurt thought the latter.

I suppose that Gisela and I saw most of Kurt and Eve, first in 1982 when they picked us up in New York and we journeyed to their home in Sarnia. Kurt had arranged it all and enforced pretty strong discipline as regards getting up at an early hour for breakfast- he was always up before 6.a.m. In later years we twice visited them in their retirement home in Toronto, the first including a joint expedition through Ontario with a visit to the nickel mines.

My memories of Kurt and Eve will always be vivid because of Kurt's memoirs, which I still read every now and again. I think they are a wonderful record of family and their social circumstances during revolutionary times in Europe. Amazingly, I there discovered a few things about my parents which they had 'forgotten' to mention. Nothing like it exists for the Steiner branch of the family, more is the pity.

Kurt and his circle in Prague date back to a time when they expected to go to classical concerts and plays every week and to have a sound grounding in all the arts and sciences. The result was that you could have discussions and conversation on a pretty high level. Trivialities such as sports, pop and the doings of the “famous” were rarely mentioned.

Martin Steiner (nephew of parents)

Although Jo and I will not be with you we shall both be thinking of Kurt and Eva and of their impact on us. As a mature couple in their thirties they were forced to adapt from Central Europe with its own ideal of "culture" to North America and start a new life. They changed name and language and got to work and raised a very successful family. Throughout their lives their focus was the family.

They never forgot their European branch. I have very fond memories of the lovely food parcels that livened up our dull wartime diet. In particular the ceremonial Christmas opening of a whole tinned chicken! Then there was the blue woollen jacket with leather buttons woven for me by Eva. I wore it every day for years.

After the war letters and cuttings from the local papers made us aware of your successes as you grew up in the way of scholarships, musical and sporting attainments. They were very proud of you all. Through them we have been and remain keen followers of your lives.

They lived very long, difficult and fulfilled lives. It would have been a great joy to them to contemplate your present celebration of the united Gladney family.
With best wishes to you all,

Martin has spoken for both of us. But I must add my few words of my own.
Although I did not know Kurt and Eva so well or so long I knew them well enough to appreciate all that they overcame-successfully- during their long lives. I remember talking to Eva who talked proudly of their being "pioneers" in a new country. Funny how things stick. But because I know you all better I shall be thinking of you and your families, and hope that the event of 26th April will prove a fitting and memorable conclusion to their lives. You looked after them wonderfully during all those difficult years. In their offspring they can rest satisfied that they have done a first class job.

Frank Horwich (Nephew of Parents)

We should have loved to be with you today for this celebration of Kurt and Eve to complement the strong bonds of friendship and family that link us across the Atlantic, for indeed we feel close to you and think of you often.

Distance prevented us from spending much time with my Uncle and Aunt yet both have left us with deep impressions. Uncle Kurt always struck me for his bubbling intellect, his wisdom and objectivity, his dignity, his compassion, his reliability. A true and exemplary gentleman in all respects!

Aunt Eve I shall remember for her integrity and straightforward honesty as well as her somewhat austere yet loving and caring nature. We treasure the several examples of her woven handicraft that still grace our floor, our table, or the mantelpiece at Christmas-time. We have a lovely picture of her at our place in Holland reading to Stephanie and Emily. Their last visit to us was with Doris in Madrid.

Most vividly we recall some very happy days spent in Lumina in 1986 and again in St. Epain in 1992. We shall never forget this latter visit for several reasons, including my Uncle’s dexterous but slightly scary car parking in the field outside our home. Mamy, Marie-Claude’s mother who has now just turned 98, still talks of how Kurt offered her a beautiful buttonhole flower to wear when we went out for a group dinner. What style!

I know that you all feel you have much to be grateful for to Kurt and Eve. For my part the best thing they did was to provide me with my only three first cousins and their families. No complaints on that front. Our hope is that we shall see more of one another in the years to come and that the closeness felt between the various branches of our family over the years will be sustained and enriched through the generations to come.

Anton Horwich (Nephew of Parents)

Thank you for sending a copy of your father's obituary and the super picture from Lumina - what a wonderful experience that was.

I was much saddened to learn of Kurt's death and although it was not "unexpected", I share your sense of loss. I can't say I knew him well but he was, without doubt, a truly fine man, who made a deep impression on me with his incisive mind, common sense and sheer "goodness".

It was good to talk to Tom, albeit in sad circumstances, and it reinforced to me the importance of family, even when geographically far apart. We hope to see you in the autumn (sorry, "fall") and may I remind you all that the southwest of England is a beautiful area and that you'd be welcome here at any time.

Mary Needham (Friend)

What a treat it was to see you both – there are not many friends with whom I can talk about high school and grandchildren in the same breath – (a strange sensation at that.)

But more importantly, the other memories that came flooding back are those of your parents, Tom, and Grandma Horwich , to whom I was much closer than either of my “natural born” grandmothers. I saw something of her during college, but our real bonds were formed when I married and came back to Sarnia after the year in England. We lived only a few miles away, and I could easily drop in and see her after work; that in turn led to getting to know your parents better because before / after or during my visits with Grandma, we simply talked more each time.

Then after we moved to Montreal, when I did come back to see my parents, there were other visits with small children (who were duly admired) and the friendship simply developed.

I have always considered myself fortunate to have had an extra set of parents who became friends. How lucky can one person get? Friends who know you, who like you for what you are, who can share history, ideas, views on politics, travel – all those subjects that one needs to be able to discuss to get the benefit of older and wiser heads. And once we are past college age, the “age difference” really disappears in terms of conversation, except that people who are 40 years older still know more!

You were lucky to have them in the family. I was lucky to be able to borrow them at will by phone when we were too far apart to visit directly.
The last few times I saw them in the Don Valley apts I was enormously complimented that your mother liked my glass work, and I believe the piece I brought her gave them both pleasure. Certainly their presence in my life was a blessing.

There is a saying that comes around periodically about how people come into your life – sometimes for a season, but always for a reason. We were blessed to have a long season. The reason, for me, surely was that those three gave me an extra injection of balance, joy, fun, challenge, and mutual admiration!

I will miss them – Kurt was the last one and only the second person I have known who reached the century mark – so it is in some funny way a double loss. The good news for me is that whatever happens when we reach the end of this life.

Frank Fragner (cousin’s son)

Just received your mail with the news of your fathers passing. Please accept our deepest sympathies, and transmit our condolences also to Henry, Doris, and the rest of the family. As you know, I personally did not have the fortune of meeting him, but to all my family, through the great fondness that my mother, and father, and sisters felt for him, he has always been our "Uncle Kurt". And from his letters I know of his permanent interest in keeping up to date in family developments and promoting family unity. We will all miss him.

Love, Frank (and Ula and our children, who send you their embrace and best regards).

There is much more about our parents that we could talk about that help explain even more about the type of people they were and the rather exciting lives they lived in their early years and the harrowing existence they led at the time of the Second Great War, but that is for another day.

Please enjoy the luncheon, which is ready now in the next room. On behalf of the family, thank you for coming to celebrate with us today.

Introduction and Welcome (Tom)

Memories

How Lucky We Are To Be Here (Henry)

On Behalf of the Grandchildren (Patrick)

Brianna’s Letter

Reminiscences (Tom)

MOM

DAD

Condolences