Threads of a family story

By Barbara Heesh

CAN history repeat itself? Can people live parallel lives that cross the generations? Can some things in the journey of our life hold more significance than others? I think of this when I think of my wedding dress.

I grew up in the very remote community of Fairview, Alberta, Canada, population 1200, with one supermarket, one general store and one clothing shop.

The Simpson Sears or Eatons catalogues were means toward the end as far as shopping was concerned. It was always exciting when the new season one arrived in the mail. I would spend many hours turning pages, making a selection, filling out the order form, sending it off, and then waiting for a parcel to arrive. 

When the parcel was finally delivered, it would feel like Christmas. I would eagerly rip it open, lift it up, look at it and realise that it did not look nearly as good as it did in the catalogue.

Time went on. I went to the University of Edmonton, on a scholarship, to do a teaching course. Three of my brothers were also at the university at the time so money was tight and the budget did not allow for frivolous shopping.

After my three years of study was up, I returned to Fairview to take up a teaching position in one of the two schools in the town. At the same time, I heard that a new teacher had been appointed to the area. 

There had been a dire shortage of teachers for the remote regions of Northern Canada, so a recruitment drive was made for overseas teachers to fill the gap. Fred, from Crib Point, in Victoria, Australia, saw the advertisement in the Melbourne Sun. It caught his attention and he took up the challenge.

In 1968 Fred resigned from his position at Cowes Primary School. He sold his beloved and almost new red and white Cooper S Car, packed a small suitcase, bought a ticket on the Orsova, Sitmus Line, boarded at Sydney and sailed through to the Panama Canal.

He disembarked from the ship, left the wharf, hopped on a bus and made his way through Mexico, Western USA and Canada, eventually arriving in Fairview.

The very next day, this tall dark handsome young man, who spoke with an accent, put his teaching skills to use. He filled his blackboard with lessons on math, grammar, handwriting, a song, a puzzle, and a Mickey Mouse cartoon. Beside his desk was a guitar. Teaching at that time in Alberta was very book and exam oriented so his grade four class, parents and colleagues enjoyed this novel teaching style. 

Fred quickly embraced the lifestyle of the Canadian North. It was the first time he had seen snow. He learned how to drive on the right on icy roads, to ice skate, to use a skidoo, toboggan and snowshoes, and dabbled at playing ice hockey and curling. 

When a girl was needed to make up the team of four, I was chosen and that was the beginnings of our love story. My horoscope one week before I met Fred said I would meet someone from another hemisphere who would profoundly influence my life. This young Australian did just that.

Fred’s two-year teaching tenure was coming to an end. Immigration rules then (and even today) were not negotiable. This caused a dilemma for us. We wanted to be together, so a marriage and emigration for me was a possible solution.

It was a difficult decision, made a bit easier when my dad said “When I married your mom, she had to move a mile away, but it was still a big move for her. You will need do the same but if you really love someone and work on it you will be fine.”

Wedding preparations went into active mode. First on the list was the wedding dress. This was a priority for me because of the significance of the wedding dress in the lives of my grandmother and mother.

My grandmother, born in 1895, wore a black wedding dress.

The story behind the black is heartbreaking. My grandmother was engaged to her childhood sweetheart in Westholtz, Germany and they had planned their wedding but when the Great War of 1914 broke out the young men of the village formed a battalion to join in the fight. The details of their campaign were sketchy, but what was known is that none of the men survived or returned to the village.

My grandfather, from a farm family in Westphalia Germany was a victim of the same war. He wanted to escape the political turmoil, the uncertainty and the threat of being recruited to join the fighting forces.

He’d heard that a new colony of German speaking refugees was being established in Northern Canada. The promise of 160 acres of land to homestead, in a safe haven with like-minded people was a lure.

In 1912 he immigrated to the area, cleared the land, planted crops and built a log cabin, The work was hard and the climate was severe, but he persevered and became part of a viable community. In 1917 he built a larger log cabin and wanted a wife. 

He had heard of the devastation of village of Westholtz and an invitation was made to the ladies of the town to consider emigration to America or Canada.

Seventeen brave ladies packed their meagre possessions and a passport and travelled to the port of Hamburg, where they rendezvoused with the men from the new colony who would become their husbands. 

Seventeen ladies, all dressed in black, were married to these strangers on the wharf.

They then boarded their ship for immediate departure to Southhampton, London. When they arrived in London their journey was delayed by three weeks because of a coal strike. 

This unplanned honeymoon in London was, I believe, the only holiday my grandparents ever had. Details of how and where are sketchy. My Uncle Ben said it was an unwritten rule that these turbulent times were not talked about. All I know is that they wore their black dresses.

Grandma adapted to the hardships of pioneer life: she raised eight children, including my mother. In 1945, my mother was 17 and she was getting married in October. Her best friend Genevieve was getting married in September.

They meticulously planned their weddings. Mom ordered the wedding dress on page 30 in the Eatons catalogue. Genevieve ordered the one on page 31. 

When the parcels arrived in the post they went together to collect their treasures. Genevieve opened hers with many oohs and ahs. Mom opened hers and her face dropped. It was the exact same dress as Genevieve’s. A note inside said, “Item WD 30 is out of stock. We are sending WD31 as a substitute.” Mom does not remember if it was an apology.

Both dresses were made from the same scraps of satin, tulle and lace. Fabric was still scarce because of the war, but the dresses were beautiful. They did get married three weeks apart in their own new dresses from page 31 in the catalogue.  

They were each other’s bridesmaids, lived one mile apart, and both raised families of ten. Mom was known for baking the best cinnamon rolls and the best fried chicken. Genevieve made the best Angel Food cake and the best chicken soup. They both celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary together. Wearing very different dresses.

It was now 1970 and it was my turn to get my wedding dress. Under no circumstances would I buy a wedding dress from the catalogue. My mom, dad and two sisters took me on the 100-mile journey to Grande Prairie to do hands-on shopping. What a luxury to actually be able look at, touch, feel and try on something so beautiful before buying. 

I went into the first of the four shops and saw a dress, hanging next to an unclad mannequin. Maybe it was going to be put on display. “It is one of our new arrivals,” the shop assistant said.

I fell in love instantly. I tried it on. It fit perfectly. My dad said, “It is perfect”. My mom said, “It is lovely”. My sisters said, “You can’t buy the first dress you look at”. I did go to all four other shops but could not find anything near as beautiful as the first dress. I was over the moon with excitement.

Two weeks before my wedding date the new Eatons catalogue came out. There on the front cover, no not on page 30, was my wedding dress for all the world to see. 

I did get married in my hometown of Fairview with four extra Australians and almost every member of the town attending at some stage of the proceedings. 

We did have a honeymoon in Banff and Jasper but took Fred’s parents along for the trip. They had come all the way from Australia for the wedding so deserved to see some of the sights. We did get a few looks when confetti flew out every time one of the car doors was opened.

We were due to leave for Australia the next week but, like Grandma and Grandpa, our trip was delayed by two and a half months because of a fire aboard the Oriana. History was repeating itself, except that our delay was a delight for our family. We stayed in our family home as a newly married couple, had a wonderful time and I didn’t wear black.

On September 17th, we left Vancouver. It was the first time I saw the sea. We arrived in Sydney on October 2nd and were met on the wharf by one of Fred’s sisters and plenty of cousins, then travelled by train to Melbourne. I loved the journey and all the beautiful gum trees, and I am sure I saw a kangaroo around every corner.

I was lucky to have a loving Heesh family for support. We lived with them in their Newport Victoria home during the week while we worked as teacher librarians in Brooklyn and Brooklyn West. On weekends we would catch a ferry to the family’s holiday home in Crib Point.

In 1972 we moved to Wonthaggi because a teaching a position became available in a town that was near the sea and provided accommodation for $5.10 a week. We loved the town and the community and could see a wonderful future for us and our two daughters.

Five years after our arrival to Australia, a wooden crate arrived from my dad. It was filled with some of my belongings, wedding presents and my wedding dress. It was something from home.

Years later I disassembled the wedding dress and remade it as a First Communion dress that was worn by both my daughters. It was the exact replica of my ill-fated purchase. 

Several years after that I embarked on a teaching career that involved many of the primary schools and kindergartens in the Bass Coast Area. My now miniature wedding dress became a favourite costume for my many productions of The Owl and the Pussycat.

Still today I have my wedding dress tucked away in a dress-up box. It has been worn numerous times by the playful, adventurous and adorable youngsters who still come to visit.

Tomorrow I will wonder if my granddaughter will choose to marry. Will she purchase a wedding dress online? Will it maybe be in black? Time will tell.

Fred died on August 3rd, 2025, and I still live in Wonthaggi.