Skip to content

Remembering my brother Willy, taken too soon

The war was nearly over, especially in the southern province of Zeeland, in Holland where we lived. Hospital beds had been reserved for wounded soldiers until now.
050116_reflections_column660
The De Burger children in 1950 before coming to Canada. Pictured is Ronald (left), Willy (who passed away), Frank and Erna. Photo supplied

The war was nearly over, especially in the southern province of Zeeland, in Holland where we lived. Hospital beds had been reserved for wounded soldiers until now. However, a bed was found for my mother to give birth and on June 18, 1944, my brother, Willy, was born.

He was the third child and a second son for my parents. (I was the first-born, but I was a girl). Willy was left-handed like our Dad. The Brothers at his school rapped him sharply on the hand each time he tried to use it. Our mother went to the school and put a stop to that.

Willy was seven years old when we immigrated to Canada in 1951. He was much relieved that using his left hand was acceptable here. So was Mom.

Willy loved to go into the bush to hike, fish and just spend time there. He always told Mom where he was going and when he planned to be home. Joining the Boy Scouts was natural for Willy. He learned new skills: using a compass, tying knots, building a campfire and others as well. He loved every minute he spent with the Scouts.

Willy attended the 14th birthday party of his friend, Jack Walton, on the afternoon of Saturday, March 12, 1960. Jack relayed this information to me very recently. Jack was one of Willy’s pallbearers. It was welcome news to me, after all these years, to discover my brother’s activities earlier that day.

March 12 was a warm spring day so Dad took down the bikes in the garage. He repaired the spokes and oiled the chains, getting ready for spring time. In the evening, Alex and I were at my friend’s house waiting for her boyfriend to come and take us all to see a movie in Sudbury.

We noticed there was a great commotion on the road in front of her house. Alex and Lorraine went to see what was happening. As soon as Alex saw Willy, he identified him. Then he ran to get me, “Erna, it’s Willy, we have to go to tell your parents!”

My brother had been hit by a car? He was watching TV when we left 15 minutes earlier. Why was he on the road? So many questions, such deep fears.

By this time, someone had already told my Dad. When the ambulance arrived, Dad climbed in with Willy and they headed to Memorial Hospital in Sudbury. Surgery was performed immediately. Dad phoned home for someone to bring Mom to the hospital right away. A neighbour, Maria Bruyns, a nurse, drove her there. It was too late.

Willy died at 10:15 p.m., just two hours after he had been hit. The neighbour who had taken Mom to the hospital phoned our house and I answered. She asked for Alex (my boyfriend), but I insisted she tell me what I already knew — my little brother had died.

The driver of the car came to our house that night to say that he was sorry. I didn’t realise that’s who he was. Much later in court, he was assessed 60 per cent of the blame for the accident and Willy 40 per cent.


Our house was full of supportive neighbours by this time, and they understood Willy had passed away. When my parents arrived home, they were speechless in their grief. Dad took Mom upstairs to bed. She was eight months pregnant and he feared this enormous shock might affect her or the baby.

Sunday morning at Mass at St. Michael’s in Creighton Mine, Father Regan announced to the parishioners what had occurred in our family. Creightonites sprang into action. They assisted us in any way possible. Food arrived all day.

At Lougheed’s Funeral Home on Eyre Street, many people came to show support. Our classmates, teachers and even strangers consoled us and prayed with us on Sunday.

After Mass, someone told us Willy had been riding his bike when he was hit. This news shocked all of us and didn’t make sense. Willy, who had always so responsible, so cautious, was riding a bike with no lights, in the dark? There was no explanation for our family. Visitation continued on Monday.

Willy’s funeral took place in the packed St. Michael’s Church at 9 a.m. on March 14, 1960, with Father Regan officiating. The First Waters Boy Scouts formed an honour guard on the church steps. The pallbearers were classmates from St. Charles College brought to Creighton Mine by bus. Willy was buried in the Lasalle Catholic Cemetery. He was not quite 16 years old.

ADDENDUM:

As I was cleaning out a drawer this morning (Dec. 14, 2015), at the very bottom I found Willy’s Book of Remembrance. I had been wondering what had happened to it and here I had it all the time. I was shocked and tears sprang into my eyes.

It listed his pallbearers, people who came to support our family, classmates and teachers of all of us. Many Creightonites, people from Dogpatch, a number of priests and sisters, Scouts, Willy’s classmates, and many Dutch people. It was literally an outpouring of condolences and love.

We had been in Canada nine years at this time and we had no relatives in this country. But we learned the kind support of friends was a source of deep consolation.

Erna de Burger-Fex is a writer and retired teacher.


Comments

Verified reader

If you would like to apply to become a verified commenter, please fill out this form.