Peter Wall
Peter Wall
When I was about eight or nine years old, my family emigrated from the Ukraine during the war, and we travelled all over Europe. We ended up in Austria because we were trying to escape the Ruskies, who had killed my father.
One of my uncles had immigrated to Manitoba in 1926, long before the war, and he sponsored us to join him in 1948. Another uncle came to B.C. After arriving in Manitoba, we spoke to him on the phone, and he told us to come to Vancouver, because here there was opportunity.
I was quite aggressive, even when I was very small. I said to my family, “We’ve got to go to B.C.! I mean, because there’s nothing here in Manitoba; there’s ticks, there’s heat, there’s snow, there’s ice.” I hated that place, especially the ticks. Have you ever had ticks? You go in the bush and these ticks, they just go right into your skin and you have to cut them out.
So we came here and we picked strawberries and raspberries and hops, and we made some money. And I still hold the record for the most strawberries picked in one day by an 11-year-old: 243 pounds.
Anyway, that was the best advice I got: move to B.C.
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