My dad’s memories of the train ride he took through Ontario in mid-December 1949.

After splitting up with the refugees in Montreal and seeing Harold vanish into the crowd at the railway station I boarded the train with another Dane. He spoke English well as he had picked it up when serving in the British army in Israel.

On the way through Ontario the train often stopped to pick up Indians. It was bitterly cold, maybe -20 to -30°C and they were not exactly dressed to keep warm and healthy; one older fellow appeared to have on only his shirt.

The most impressive sight was the pack of timber wolves that crossed the railway tracks as I stood at the back of the train and looked out at the wilderness. I will try to capture the incident as I saw it. There may have been forty wolves and many of the animals some 120 pounds in size with tremendous vigor in those animals. As at this time I did not have a camera, a watercolor painting would be a nice reminder, if I can pull off what I see in my mind’s eyes. So here goes…

• More of My Dad’s Stories.
• More of My Dad’s Paintings.