Flemming Holm's Blog

Heather’s note: This is part 3 of a letter of reminiscences Flemming wrote to his 4 children in July 2009.

3. In July, 1996 , while I was living in retirement in Dartmouth and attending Port Wallis Church I had a call from Heather Cook. She had been a social worker and she and her husband Warren had had a “foster child” in the Philippines, and at the time had visited that country. She had been referred to me by our minister, Ivan Gregan.

On May 24 of that year the container ship Maersk Dubai, owned by the Danish Maersk Line but under contract to the Yang Ming Line of Taiwan, docked at Halifax. Canadian police went aboard and arrested the officers of the ship, all 13 of them and all Taiwanese. Some members of the crew, all Filipinos, had informed the Missions to Seamen in Texas that several Romanian stowaways had been discovered on the ship, and had been put overboard on the high seas in conditions under which they could not possibly survive. One of the Filipinos had taken the initiative in building a raft for them; but this happened far from land, and the stowaways were never heard from again. Four of the Filipinos volunteered to give up their jobs (and their futures with the Yang Ming line) in order to testify against the officers.

Charges were laid. But then the prospective witnesses hesitated, because they believed that their families were in danger of retaliation in the Philippines. Heather and Warren Cook had made friends with the men, and when they heard of the threats to their families, they felt they needed help. So they contacted Ivan, who sent them to me. I met with the guys.

The first question in my mind was whether they were telling the truth. Their story sounded plausible, and I moved to gather a support group. I called some friends, some of them members of our church, others that I had met through Halifax Presbytery, and we met with the guys at my place and agreed that the men needed our support.

The man who had built the raft phoned his wife regularly, at night, and would call me afterward, around midnight, and give me the latest news. One night he told me that a car had driven past his family’s home and had run over the family dog; then had backed up and run over the dog again – while the children looked on. A few minutes later his wife received a phone call, and a man told her that this was what would happen to her children if her husband testified against the officers.

I called the group together and told them the story. A retired minister who had worked at United Church Headquarters in Toronto, said that there was a person at HQ who was responsible for cooperation with churches in East Asia. The next morning I called that person, and within hours the family in question was in sanctuary, in a compound owned by the Filippino Council of Churches, and under guard. A second family joined them a few days later.

One member of our group was a Filippino man who had been a member of an anticorruption squad of a police force in the Philippines. He had had to leave the country in a hurry some years earlier, and was living in Halifax. He had belonged to a well known and respected international organization, and members of a local branch of that body had protected his family until he could bring them to Canada. He obtained the services of that organization, and they gave added protection to the four families. He and his wife also hosted the four men in the basement of their home for several weeks until other arrangements could be made.

Having been assured that the families were as safe as possible, the men agreed to testify against the officers. The Yang Ming Line brought the officers’ wives to Halifax, and paid for their rooms in a downtown hotel.

Lee Cohen, a local lawyer, served the men pro bono. He attempted to have the wives and children brought to Canada to testify to the threats, and our treasurer gave us a loan to cover the airline tickets, but the Department of Immigration would have none of it. A Supreme Court judge ruled that he had no authority to judge the case, as the alleged crimes had been committed on the high seas, not in Canadian waters. More hearings followed, in attempts to give the men landed immigrant status, and make it possible for them to sponsor their families. Applications for refugee status were denied, as our friends did not satisfy the definitions in the Geneva Conventions. The decisions were upheld on appeal. Finally, an application for compassionate and humanitarian status was successful, and the four families arrived, one by one, over a period of months. We met them, one by one, at the Airport, and experienced their joy.

What we had hoped would be done in a couple of months had taken three and a half years. The men had been working at whatever jobs they could get, as dishwashers in restaurants, packing fish in an unheated shed in midwinter, etc.

Meanwhile our group had registered under the Nova Societies Act, with 29 members. I was made secretary, and we met, often weekly and once three times in one week, at my place. We elected an executive, we spoke at press conferences and to church groups, we sent letters to the 90 United Church presbyteries, to all the Anglican dioceses in the country, and to all the Members of Parliament. About $100,000 was raised for the cause.

Thousands of letters were received by the Department of Immigration, from all over the country. Not a hearing was held without several of the members of the Society being present. We welcomed the men – and later their families – into our homes.

During the three and a half years, I served for one year as supply at St. John’s Church, North Beaverbank, and we held a special evening service there, with Rev. Jack Risk of the Anglican diocesan staff preaching and the Port Wallis Church choir leading the singing. One of the Filipino men sang “You’ll never walk alone”. I spoke in several churches in the Halifax area, and other members were similarly involved.

16 lives were saved, and in most cases noticeably enriched. And Canada was enriched.

Our Society disbanded in 2000, our work completed. But several of us have kept in touch with the families.

In July I was approached by a group in Halifax who were planning to film a documentary on the story, and wanted to interview me and others in preparation.

So you can see, this summer has been for me a time of being reminded and of remembering.

“There is a destiny that makes us brothers;
None goes his way alone.
All that we bring into the lives of others
Comes back into our own.”

Part 1: Camp Woodboia. Part 2: Interdenominational Institute for Rural Clergy

Heather’s note: This is part 2 of a letter of reminiscences that Flemming wrote to his children in July 2009.

2. In or about 1962 the Home Mission Board of the United Church invited Lester Settle and me to attend a seminar on the rural church, to be held in Saskatoon. There we were encouraged to organize a Rural Life Committee in each of the Conferences across the country, with a similar committee in each presbytery.

At one time most ministers had grown up in rural areas, or at least had had grandparents living on farms. But now our society was becoming more urban, and many ministers who had spent their youth in the cities were being sent to rural charges on ordination, with little preparation. Some had no experience of farming, fishing or lumbering, and were poorly equipped for rural ministry. Not that we expected or aspired to be experts in those trades, but at least we could learn to discuss life intelligently with people who were living and working among us, and encourage them to make use of government departments and seek advice as needed, and thus do their work more competently. The need for such development was evident from the fact that personal income was on average higher in the cities than in the country. The country areas had their own problems, different from those of the cities.

Lester and I knew something about farm life. My father had managed a farm for an institution, had farmed on his own and had been President of the Pictou County Federation of Agriculture and of the New Glasgow Coop. He had read widely while farming; he had been an intelligent farmer. He had been an elder in Trinity Church, New Glasgow, a member of Truro Presbytery and of Maritime Conference, and had had experience as a lay preacher in Denmark. I never wanted to farm, but at least I had been exposed to various elements of rural life, including lumbering and fishing for lobsters – and of rural churches. Lester had grown up under the ministry of Rev. J.D. Nelson MacDonald, the one United Church minister who had worked consistently with the Extension Department of St. FX University in establishing coops and credit unions in eastern Nova Scotia. We were both serving rural charges. I don’t know for sure why we were chosen, but have come to the conclusion that Nelson MacDonald must have been involved, and that he had come to know (or at least know of) my father.

Lester started a campaign to have Nelson elected president of Maritime Conference. Thus it was that when our Rural Life Committee presented our first annual report to Conference Nelson was on the platform, presiding. Our report featured the Coady Institute. Bill Jenkins, principal of the Agricultural College attended and invited us to use the facilities in Truro for an educational program for rural ministers. We accepted, of course. So far Lester (secretary of our committee) had taken the lead. Now I, as chair of the Committee, contacted the heads of four other major denominations in the Maritimes, asking them to provide us with people for a planning committee; Bill Jenkins and Walter Grant from the College joined us, and I was made chair of that committee. The result was the First Interdenominational Institute for Rural Clergy, with about 35 persons from five denominations attending, from Roman Catholic, Anglican, United, Presbyterian and Baptist churches. It was an exciting event, as many protestant ministers (myself included) had had little contact with RC priests, and few Catholic priests had known women ministers. We were pioneers – and that annual gathering in June of each year has continued to the present!

The focus the first year was on economic matters: farming, fishing, and lumbering. Presentations were made by people knowledgeable in each of these fields such as staff from the relevant government departments, and discussion resulted. We grew to know and like and respect each other. In subsequent years we did the impossible – we moved to matters of theology. And a few years later three of the major denominations combined their theological colleges to form the Atlantic School of Theology – the first such school in Canada. But we were there first !!

And now our local minister here in Mahone Bay attends each year. [It's now called the Atlantic Seminar in Theological Education.]

Part 1: Camp Woodboia, Sasketchewan. Part three: Sailors of the Maersk Dubai

Heather’s note: This is an excerpt from a letter Dad wrote his 4 kids on July 21, 2009. I’m posting it in three parts.

For me, this is a summer of remembering, of being remembered and reminded. Three adventures have been brought to my mind, three worthwhile causes to which I have contributed. Not that the original intention was mine in any of the three cases, but I responded, and gave leadership and continuity at least in the early stages. It has been gratifying to remember and be reminded. I want to share it with you.

1. A couple of months ago I saw an adv. in the [United Church] Observer, stating that Camp Woodboia, SK would be celebrating its 60th anniversary at the end of July.

In summer 1949 I was on a student field at Mankota, SK. It was the last stop on a railway line running west from Assiniboia. There were two other student fields on the same line. South of us were ranch country, and Montana. West were the Cypress Hills – more ranch country. Some 20 miles north was another East-West line, with larger towns, and ordained ministers. And farther north was the main line joining Regina, Moose Jaw, Swift Current and eventually Calgary.

There had been a church camp at Coderre, to the north, but the water level had fallen and the site was no longer suitable. The other two students on our line had been in touch with Victor Wilkinson, minister at Lafleche (I believe he was supervising one of them) and had come up with a plan for holding a camp at Wood Mountain. Wood Mountain was a historic site, where some battle or other had been fought in the 1800s. About 4-5 miles south of the little town there was a river; the spot was isolated, but people gathered there for rodeos and sports days. And the provincial government had recently built a swimming pool. I was co-opted, and we held a weeklong camp, with some 35 youngsters.

The next summer I was not involved, as I was ordained in June and didn’t arrive in SK (Readlyn – same presbytery) until July 1. Moreover, my friend Don Collins, who was minister at Rockglen, had organized a small camp at Big Beaver, and had asked me to help him. But Don and I did drop in at Woodboia one day.

The following winter, 1951, Assiniboia Presbytery decided to concentrate its camping activity at Wood Mountain, and I was made chair of the Camp Committee. We held two successive sessions, of a week each; the first was for teenagers, and we had about 35 participants, and the second for younger kids, 10-13, and there were about 107 of them. Each camp started on a weekend, and on the Sunday between the two sessions, cars and trucks arrived, bringing the children and taking the teenagers home – except for those teens who had been asked to stay the second week and help out. Staff consisted mainly of student ministers assisted by young women who were teaching school in the rural and small town schools of the area, thus providing opportunities for a bit of romancing and keeping everybody happy. Vic Wilkinson was business manager, and I directed the two camps. On the second Sunday afternoon, the day of the changeover, we held a church service on the bleachers, and it was attended by over 200 people. One of the students was a musician (Grade 10 piano, I believe) and trained a choir; we sang in four-part harmony and a capella.

The weather cooperated in 1951; we were totally under canvas, the cooking and eating were done outdoors, and there were only a few light showers. But we worried: what would happen if we got a three-day rain, perhaps with hail? The roads, western gumbo with no gravel, would be impassible. We decided that we needed a building, a dining hall with a kitchen. We rented three acres. But who would erect the building and how would we pay for it? A retired farmer, an immigrant from Sweden, was available; he had put up his own house and barn many years previously. August Dahlman and I spent half our time for about a month (May and June, 1952) living in a tent on the property, and other volunteers came in by the day as we needed them. We put up a building 26′x 72′, with a 12′ kitchen and pantry at one end, and the rest intended for dining and crafts. I figured and ordered the materials. I borrowed an old army truck and hauled rock to put in the concrete foundation. The cost was about $1700, and we asked each pastoral charge to raise at least $100. We received various gifts, including two superannuated stoves for the kitchen. Some equipment, tables, benches, tents, dishes etc. were brought in from Coderre. And we were in business.

We planned a format similar to the previous year: first the teenagers for a week, then the children, with the changeover and church service on Sunday afternoon. But it rained every day but one that first week, with hail filling the trenches. We moved the girls into the building, and put the boys in the largest tent. Only one truck came in that Sunday (one boy was sick), others could not get through. A couple of leaders borrowed horses from a nearby rancher and rode to town for supplies. Most of the campers went home on Tuesday, the rest on Thursday. The children’s camp was postponed for a week. We were 114, so enthusiasm was still high.

For some reason I have no clear memory of 1953.

In 1954 we first had a one week “leadership work camp” for teens, which I directed, then a ten day camp for boys, followed by a ten day camp for girls. I left for Nova Scotia during the second camp.

Before I departed I prepared a “time capsule” and left it at the church in Assiniboia, so there would be a record of the early days of Woodboia Camp. During the past three weeks I have been in touch with the minister in Lafleche, and have sent her further materials for their sixtieth anniversary celebration July 29-30. In 1991, after I retired, I spent six weeks travelling across the country, visiting friends and family; three days of that time were spent in the Assiniboia area, and I met a number of people who had helped at Woodboia, several of them as cooks. I also visited Vic Wilkinson in Ontario. (While still in Sask. I had stood with him at his wedding.) Somebody found a song I had written and forgotten about. The camp is still functioning, and the building is still in use!!

And the song is being sung again!!

Part 2: Interdenominational Institute for Rural Clergy Part three: Sailors of the Maersk Dubai