This week-end marks the 60th anniversary of the Hungarian revolution against the Soviet Union.
In 1956, the radio was filled with terms like “Freedom Fighters”.
I was living in Taber, in southern Alberta, as refugees arrived with what was to a 12 year old like me, strange language and clothing of a different cut.
It was a cold day, and as a group of men headed downtown to look for work, my mother, who had been darning thick work socks for my dad, took some of those socks out to the men, and put them on the hands of those who had no gloves.
Late that afternoon as they came back, she gave them a pot of stew as they passed by.
In Calgary, that year, as Christmas approached, the radio was looking for people to provide Christmas dinner for some new arrivals. One family, they said, had three little girls.
My wife to be, Marg, lived in a family with three girls and they took this family in. Marg’s mom told her daughters to each go get their favorite doll, and give it to one of these girls for Christmas.
Sixty years ago. We lived in simpler times. Even when it came to helping refugees, nothing was complicated.
Let me know what you think.