Doris Farrugia left Malta in her late 20s with her husband, Charles, and two very young daughters. She moved across the world, away from her family and friends, in order for her husband to achieve his dreams and complete his studies in Montreal, Canada in 1969.

Herself a teacher, Doris eventually opened her own kindergarten Highfield Playschool, which she ran for 21 years until she retired.

I had mixed feelings about moving to Canada in the beginning. On one hand three years earlier, Charles and I had a great time when he was studying in London with an extended honeymoon of nine months. Therefore, the prospect of living abroad again was attractive. At the same time, we now had two young babies and I was realistic enough to guess that the next three years would not be a holiday. Also, the climatic conditions in Montreal were very different from London.

Our parents were not happy to lose their only grandchildren to a land so far away. Fortunately, a friend of ours, who had also been to Canada with his family, was very encouraging and gave us some good advice, like getting a largish apartment since we would be spending a lot of time indoors.

We had several problems before settling in Montreal. The first was the unexpected withdrawal of Charles’ scholarship award, which he got reinstated with his typical perseverance when he sets his mind to achieve something. Then, it was the actual flights Malta-Manchester-London-Toronto-Montreal.

We thought our troubles were over when we reached Montreal airport, in fact this turned out to be the most bewildering part of our journey. It took Charles more than an hour to trace our lost luggage, my feet were swollen and hurt badly, the babies were tired and reacted disconcertedly to our increased sense of panic. It did not help that our friends, the Goldners, who had planned to meet us, were absent. Worse still, we were unable to get a taxi to their house because the city’s police and firemen were on strike and looters ruled the streets. At this point, I was in tears and longed for our cosy and safe home in Malta. When Charles finally returned with the luggage, a total stranger turned up to help us get a taxi to the Goldner’s house.

Sometimes I wonder whether we were reckless to accept the stranger’s assistance: what if he had been in cahoots with the taxi to kidnap us, or get rid of us and keep the kids? Fifty years later, I get the creeps to think of such an eventuality. But luckily nothing of the sorts happened.

Finding accommodation proved to be harder than expected. The day after our arrival to Montreal, we went to view potential accommodation. The first apartment we saw was quite spacious and attractive until a train passed by and rattled the whole place. Soon another train passed by, and another and another. The second place was spacious too but had a huge fire stove in the middle of the living room, an obviously fire hazard to the children. The third was practically below ground, we walked in and walked out. The next day, when Charles went to University, I went around the neighbourhood seeking empty apartments for rent. 500 meters from the Goldners house, we found the ideal place: two bedrooms, a huge living room and a dining room with windows on all three sides. Because it was an older block without a lift, the rent proved reasonable even if slightly higher than we had budgeted for. 

We arrived in Montreal before the snow season, so there was still some time to visit the nearby park where non-working mothers congregated to chat while the children played. There, I made friends with a number of other ladies, especially Ann Healy with whom we exchanged house visits almost weekly when the snow rendered the park unvisitable. In summer, we regularly went with her and her daughter to swim in the icy waters of the Hudson River. The outing, the exercise and the grilled marshmallows after the swim, made it all worth it.

The girls were too young to know a life different from the one we had in Canada. Because of their young age both girls could only speak English and had forgotten Maltese completely. I remember being embarrassed that they couldn’t speak Maltese anymore especially when family came to visit.

The snow was mostly welcome. We always had to dress warmly, especially because of the difference in temperature from what we were used to in Malta. However, the buses were heated, so we never had any real problems with the cold. We coped well with the snow, which we all had fun building snowmen, having snow-fights and going down snowbanks at speed on the toboggan. We knew we would never have the sensation back home in Malta. Charles coped extremely well except on one occasion towards the end of our stay.

We finished our stay in Montreal the same way it started: in chaos. On our last Saturday but one, Charles and I went downtown to a multi-level shopping mall without the girls to buy presents for our families in Malta. About five in the evening, we hear the saleslady tell her companion that she hoped they would not have to sleep at the store. I asked her why they would have to do such a thing. The lady replied: “Where have you been my dear? Don’t you know that outside we are having the snowstorm of the century with the snow-removal crews going on strike? Nothing moves on the roads.” We immediately picked our bags and went out to the street where chaos reigned. We found a bus that normally took us to the top of our street but because of the accumulating snow it crawled for half-an-hour to cover only half the distance. Finally, the driver announced that he was unable to proceed further.

There was a good chance we wouldn’t make it home. We were still far from our destination; people were getting off the bus and we were about to follow suit when we decided to wait for the walkers to tread on the snow sufficiently to create a passable path. Eventually we walked to the top of our street and as we tried to walk through, the snow reached up to our chests. Charles’s stump was not strong enough to lever his prosthesis leg forward. If he pressed too hard the artificial limb would dethatch itself and he would certainly collapse unable to rise up again on one leg. It was a dangerous situation until I decided to walk ahead of him, tread the snow for him to follow in my path. We made it home: wet, trembling from the cold and scary experience.

The experience as a whole was well worth all the mishaps. We travelled extensively in Quebec and Ontario Provinces. We made many friends and appreciated the openness and hospitality of the Canadians.  Charles completed successfully his studies. The girls expanded greatly their mastery of English, with a Canadian accent. And I? In spite of the occasional hiccups and hardships, I recall our stay in Montreal with great fondness.