HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1976-05-19, Page 2
Brussels Pas:
MUSSELS
W EDNESDAY, MAY 19, 1976
ONTARIO
Serving Brussels and the surrounding community.
Published each Wednesday afternoon at Brussels Ontario
- • by McLean Bros. Publishers, Limited.
Evelyn Kennedy < Editor Dave Robb - Advertising
Member Canadian Community Newspaper Association and
)
Ontario Weekly Newspaper Association
eCNA
Subscriptions (in advance) Canada $6.00 a year. Others
$8.00 a year, Single Copies 15 cents each.
To the editor
Guatemala letter
Sister Madeline (Graff) is a sister of Mrs. Leo Deitner
of Brussels.
A long way down
Guatemala City, C.A.
Feb.5/76
After the earthquake Sister Madeleine writes...
I am perfectly alright...the convent where I am
staying is well built and there was no damage except a
couple of flower pots were broken. We were indeed
blessed. The morning of Feb./4th. is one that most of
us here in Guatemala will never forget. I was awakened
around 3 by the whole room shaking. It was as if a
couple of strong people were shoving my bed back and
forth, in fact the whole room back and forth. The
vibration was so great that I tried to sit uP-Ibut just
couldn't....you could only lie there and wait.
It's hard to tell but I guess it lasted 30 to 60 seconds.
We then quickly got up, got sweaters and went into the
yard to be out of danger of falling walls, etc. A second,
but less severe quake followed and from the street we
could hear glass breaking and buildings falling. We
went into the street to see if we could be of any service.
Everyone right around us was fine but a couple of
blocks away 5 had been crushed to death. Six or seven
small quakes followed but these were very mild and
lasted only a couple of seconds and did no more
damage.
We spent the rest of the night in the street with our
neighbours wrapped in blankets. The hydro was cut
with the first shake, wires down everywhere. The
streets were covered with concrete blocks, bricks, etc.
When it got bright we got dressed and went about 6
blocks down the street to the 2nd convent the Sisters
haVe here..
You couldn't believe the damage..., whole walls
were torn away, roofs caved in, people everywhere in
the street with their familie4 and their few possessions.
We tried to comfort as best we could. One woman had
seen her father crushed to death. Our section was one
of the hardest hit because it's a poor section and so the
homes aren't well built. The other convent had no one
hurt but some damage.
They teach home eeonornicsthereanci, all the sewing
machines were turned over, cupboards toppled and
their medicine store room had about 3 feet of medicines
(3000 bottles) all mixed up on the floor. The priests who
work there were indeed fortunate to escape. Their
bedrooms were badly damaged and the whole front wall
taken off but they weren't even scratched.
We, helped remove records and furniture from the'
damaged rooms to another section and helped gather
up some of the medicine at the convent.There was no
.water or hydro all day so we had a quick cold bite. It
was very hard to buy bread because with no electricity
the Ovens were off. I waited with the Sisters for an hour
to get some. When we were returning we saw much
destrtiction. Cars flattened by falling walls. Many of the
old churches had great damage.
But through it all I heard no One complain ...only
grateful to God to be alive. All night the police and
ambulances and the army were around helping the
injured (of which there were many) and managing
traffic, No traffic lights. Very few stores opened
yesterday and all schools were closed. There is glass
everywhere.
Large plate glass windows shattered and large cracks
in many other buildings. But the people here ate a
strong people. By noon Colourful tents were appearing
everywhere on side streets and church yards and parks.'
Their &Mies were destroyed and if not they were going
to spend the next night outside because it still Wasn't
completely safe.
All day yesterday there were small .quakes that did no
damage but kept everyone tineasy. The men and boys
dirtied the trees and cut branches to form the frames
for their tents, others used the furniture they had
saved ; others used ears. They tied and sewed their
blankets together to cover them. It was very hot
yesterday so they needed the protection. Most spent
the day just sitting. It looked like a hopeless task. They
Spent the night outside,
We had planned to do so too t but rather suggested
(Continued' on No
Amen
by Karl Schuessler
Itchy feet
Maybe it's this warm weather. Or the wind
that blows through the row of tall pine trees
across the road and sets up murmuring
sounds. If I didn't know better, I could think I
was standing near a rushing waterfall.
Or maybe it's the highway that runs right
past my door--a highway that goes on and on.
It tempts me to get on it and take me where
ever it leads.
Or maybe it's the gypsy spirit that rises up
in me each spring and wants to make a nomad
out of me. Whatever it is, I have an itchy heel.
Or better, an itchy foot.
I know that the one hour long program Pm
doing on Gypsies isn't helping things either.
Just the sound of their music, their dancing
feet and campfire stories set my gypsy heart
beating.
Their nomad life stirs up every man,
weighed down with house, home, car,
furniture and twenty year mortgage. Not even
a one week's summer camping trip--cooking
outside, fishing and moving on—can put to
rest for long the lure of the carefree life. For in
the night of time. every man is a Gypsy,
I hope the Gypsies never go away, Many of
them have, you know, My neighbour can point
out the spot where they used to camp. Right
down there, in the clearing on the Thames.
River bank, next to their farm lot.
And if they came to the house and wanted
some water, her father would send them to the
well near the road--away from the house. No
sense in having these Gypsies linger on the
back porch step where they could get a lay of
the land. Detect the chicken coop and
orchards and the, family garden.
Her father used to warn the children, Stay
away from the Gypsies. They steal children.,
And with words like that, the kids stayed close
to house and barn for at feast one day. Pilled
with terror and wonder, they watched the
Gypsies from a far--frOni their darkened
bedroom windows while the Gypsies danced
and sang around the dying embers of their
cainpfire,
But the Gypsies don't conic around any
Mote. That happened over fifty years ago.
They don't camp anymore along the river
flats.
The towns and colic. its keep them on the
inove.Years ago we Were all squatters and
sitters and campers—hacking our way an the
forests and wilderness. There was room
enough far everyone, But. now every piece of
land is taken. It's accounted for.. We know
.15
who's who. And where's what. And who's
supposed to be with what property. There's no
land left for Gypsy camps.
More •than •likely they're stuffed aad stifled
into some ghetto of a big city. But they—and
that spirit of theirs--live on in the 25,000 of
them in Canada.
I hope the Gypsies never go away. I
them, I need them to Unburden me. To re
me thitt there's someone left in this world
is satisfied with owning only one sui
clothes, onepair of shoes and one hat,
there's someone who is so free of this vvo
goods, that he can pack up and move on
minutes notice. •
I need the Gypsy to tell me all about sin
and dancing and laughing. And not just in
good times, either. They can sing and dan
the face of death. They taunted and de
death with laughter and song on the very
they were loaded up in trucks and led
Hitler's gas chambers.
I need the Gypsies to tell me they can live
without fences. Goad fences don't necessarily
mean good neighbours. Fences don't
necessarily define property. Why, they insist,
must a rabbit belong to a certain man because
it's running on his property? A rabbit is a
rabbit is a rabbit and it belongs to the
bagger—no matter which side of the fence the
rabbit's on.
I need the Gypsy to turn upside down lay
values. To remind rile that respectibility and a .
pile-up Of wealth are not the only signs of the
good life. When I look at the Gypsy in his
tattered clothei, his barefoot children with
Oty faces, I think I see slum and rot. Yet lie
can smile and pity me and say, "only a rich
ipatierr,n+ and the gypsy live off the fat of the
ClaIssneIecalmth. efIGowypIs'ynttososhbouwsyinElLilillintilgiddfoler
myself the fat of this land. that I don't have
time to live. I'm so busy porking up
redering the fat of this land, that I can't
savour it. I can't taste it.
I need the Gypsy.Yet I ha, more can run
loosend
burdened.
andur d ene d. carefree than he can stay tied down a
awtay. need the Gypsy. t hope he never goes
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