In the 1920s, Canada needed immigrants to help farm the land. Advertisements for farm workers were placed in Britain. Cree, who’d worked on a small farm on the outskirts of Belfast for six months, came across one of these and, having heard of the "rich life in Canada," decided to sign on. In his excitement, he didn’t take much notice of the fact that he was making a commitment to do farm labour for three years. Had he known how unpleasant his life would be as a farm hand, he might not have pursued the opportunity. The food was bad, the isolation was unbearable, and his employers cheated him on wages. Six months of farm work was enough for Cree, but not meeting his three-year commitment meant risking deportation. At this point he felt it was a risk worth taking.

Cree made his escape by riding the rails to Montreal – he knew he had two half-brothers in or near the city, although he had no address for them and no idea how to find them. Whipped by wind, rain and stinging smoke from the engine, he spent days riding on the roofs of boxcars. In spite of the economic hardship of the time, strangers offered him food and places to sleep. One family gave him a new pair of shoes, and a CN engineer actually slowed the train down so he could jump aboard.

Unable to find his brothers in Montreal, Cree decided to set off on foot for New York, where he had an aunt. Not far from Montreal, however, he met a kindly farmer and decided to stay with him for a while, working for room and board. The farmer let space to campers and one day, while chatting with one of them, happened to mention the story of his new Irish worker. On finding out the worker’s name was Cree, the camper commented that he knew a man named Sam Cree in Beloeil, Que., a small town near Montreal. The farmer got in touch with the man, found he was indeed John Cree’s half-brother, and invited him to visit. The next day, Sam arrived, to the surprise and delight of his young half-brother.

John went to live with Sam, who got him a job at C-I-L, the chemical company where he was employed. John was to work for C-I-L for 38 years, until retiring to Dartmouth, N.S., in 1968.

John Cree’s story of courage, tenacity and a desire to survive is one of many such stories told at the newly renovated Pier 21, which opened in 1999 as an interactive facility that recounts the stories of the 1.5 million immigrants, refugees, child evacuees, war brides, defectors and returning members of the armed forces who passed through Pier 21 from 1928 until 1971. Canada’s Ellis Island, it had accommodation for 400 people, reception areas, a hospital, dining room, kitchen and canteen, baggage and storage areas and even a jail. Ships arrived at Halifax daily (sometimes as many as five would arrive in a single day), at all hours, discharging hundreds of tired people escaping war, persecution or economic hardship.

In her office at Pier 21, Carrie-Ann Smith, director of research and information services, talks about Canada’s immigration history and the role Pier 21 played in it. "Immigration is a key element of Canada’s history," she explains. "It helped build and define our country."

In the 1920s, when Canada was desperate for farmers to work the land, it encouraged immigration by offering land deals and by advertising for farmers and farm hands in both Britain and the United States. British immigration was encouraged, she notes, because it appealed to Canadian policy makers who wanted to strengthen our ties to the British Empire. During the 1930s, however, with the Depression having taken hold, immigration dropped, with only a third of applicants gaining admittance.

The Department of National Defence took over Pier 21 as soon as the Second World War began. Immigration virtually ceased, but Pier 21 continued to be a busy place, seeing almost half a million Canadian service personnel set off for Europe and witnessing the arrival of numerous child evacuees from Britain as well as prisoners of war.

But Pier 21 was to see its busiest days after the war, explains Smith. First came the returning servicemen and women, then 48,000 war brides and their 22,000 children. The Department of National Defence oversaw these arrivals, remaining at Pier 21 until immigration staff took over in 1947. By then, the huge postwar wave of refugees had started to arrive from Europe – in all, 100,000 would come to Canada during the late 1940s and ’50s. They were followed by a wave of European immigrants seeking a fresh start in Canada.

"By the late 1960s, the majority of immigrants were choosing air travel over multiday Atlantic ship crossings, which would lead to the closing of Pier 21," says Smith. Canada’s last "immigration shed" was to welcome its final immigrant ship on March 28, 1971.

It was the end of an era.

IN 1993, A GROUP of Haligonians, prompted by a desire to keep alive the stories of their city’s immigration shed, formed the Pier 21 Society to establish a permanent memorial honouring the immigrant experience. The society’s past president, Ruth Goldbloom, says the group felt there was something sitting on the Halifax waterfront that was vitally important to the history of Canada but that would just disappear if nothing was done. "We wanted our great-great-grandchildren to know what it was like to arrive in a new country without anything," she explains. "We wanted them to understand the courage it took and to realize that these stories haven’t ended – people are still risking their lives to come here, travelling in dreadful conditions, knowing there’s only a slim hope that they’ll be able to make a life here. We are a country of immigrants, and we should all take pride in that."

It took six years, a spectacular fund-raising effort and $9 million to make the dream a reality. When the newly renovated Pier 21 opened on Canada Day, 1999, behind-the-scenes organizers thought they were being optimistic in projecting that 2,000 people would visit the interactive facility that inaugural day – in fact, 9,000 came.

The day began with an eerie quiet as people of all colours and backgrounds gathered at Pier 21. A piper in tartan kilt played while the visitors took their places for the opening ceremony. Former war brides arrived on board the HMCS Preserver. Members of the Royal Canadian Legion proudly bore flags. Mounties came in their scarlet tunics. Everyone seemed to have a connection to Pier 21. Some were immigrants who had been accepted into Canada here; others, the sons and daughters, nieces, nephews and grandchildren of immigrants.

Mark Kazimirski, a physician from Windsor, N.S., was among those attending the ceremony. He had arrived in Halifax in 1948 at the age of three with his mother, father and baby brother. Polish Jews, they were the only people left from their 86-member extended family – the rest had died in the Holocaust. Ann Kazimirski, Mark’s mother, who now lives in Montreal, still cries when she recalls the family’s arrival. "It meant we were safe and free," she says. "I remember hundreds of people getting off the ship and lying down to kiss the ground in Halifax. There was a big sign that said Welcome to Canada. It brought tears to our eyes."

Ann also recalls the stranger who was so kind to her at Pier 21. "She gave me a loaf of bread and a honey cake that she’d baked herself. She didn’t know me, but she hugged and kissed me. She was the kindest person I’d ever met."

The woman was Sadie Fineberg, who was the Florence Nightingale of Pier 21. For more than 30 years, Fineberg brought bread and cakes, sandwiches and compassion to people who had experienced untold horrors.

Life in Canada was by no means easy for the Kazimirskis. While Canada provided safety and freedom, it demanded a lot in return. A dentist in Poland, Henry Kazimirski, Mark’s father, wasn’t allowed to go into practice on his own in Canada until he qualified here. The family moved to Montreal, where Ann scrubbed floors for eight months until Henry secured work as a dentist in a hospital clinic. The Kazimirskis eventually moved to Ste. Agathe, Que., where they lived until Henry died in 1976.

At Pier 21 today, visitors can hear immigrants tell their own stories. A mock train takes people on a typical immigrant journey – landscape whizzes by windows, the floor vibrates, and in the sleeping compartments, video recollections recall the journeys people made to get to and across this country.

The facility also has an extensive data base on immigrants and all the ships that carried them to Halifax.

One of the most poignant displays is a small suitcase and pile of belongings: three books, a pair of blue jeans, a doll, some silverware, a candlestick, a silver plate, a framed photograph, a wooden jewellery box and some bedding. Visitors are invited to pack the suitcase. Even these few objects take up more space than the suitcase offers, and a choice must be made.

MAISIE LUGAR (née Goat) of Bedford, N.S., was 11 years old in July 1940 when she was among the first boatload of child evacuees from Britain. Maisie and her brothers, Stanley, 12, and Ronald, seven, each carried one small suitcase, a little knapsack and a gas mask for a trip that was to last five years. "Your parents were given a list of what you could take – two pairs of underwear, two pairs of socks, etc. – it was ridiculous really."

Three thousand children were evacuated from Britain to Canada during the Second World War. Maisie and her brothers were among the fortunate ones. Another ship of evacuees was torpedoed and destroyed.

Ruby Gray of Sussex, N.B., arrived as a war bride on June 18, 1945. Although she knew nothing about the land to which she was coming, she was neither homesick nor fearful. "No, no, I was in love," she laughs. "Who thinks about the future that much when they’re in love – you just know that you want to spend it together."

To Gray, Canada seemed like the land of plenty after years of rationing. "There was so much food. I gained 10 pounds the first month I was here. There had been a bit of rationing here, but very little compared with in Britain. There’d been very few eggs at home, so I had eggs every morning for my breakfast, and fruit."

On visiting Pier 21, one cannot help but be impressed with the fortitude of many immigrant families, who often endured considerable hardship here before finding success. In 1953, Poul Sander employed 10 men at a garage he owned in a suburb of Copenhagen. He and his wife, Edith, and their 13-year-old son, Finn, were living comfortably, but fed by "the streets are paved with gold" stories by Poul’s brother, Erik, who had moved to Canada in 1952, the family decided to move here also. Finn, who is now the administrative officer of the biology department at Halifax’s Dalhousie University, says his uncle’s glowing letters turned out to be full of empty promises. "The bubble burst the moment we arrived and my uncle asked to borrow $50 from my dad," says Finn. "We ended up in a small rooming house overlooking a miserable, dirty back alley on the wrong side of the tracks in Montreal."

Times were so tough that Finn spent three summers working as a farm hand, contributing his $10 weekly pay to the family pool.

One woman who knows both sides of the immigrant story is Marianne Ferguson (née Echt). She arrived at age 13 from Danzig (now Gdansk, Poland) in 1939 with her mother, father, grandmother and two sisters, escaping Hitler’s persecution of Jews. Originally, Marianne and her family had planned to live in Montreal, but they were so impressed by the kindness of people at Pier 21 and in Halifax in general that they bought a farm in Milford Station, N.S., not far from the city. "Everyone was welcoming," says Ferguson. "The United Church minister’s wife even asked my mother to join the church’s ladies auxiliary."

In turn, Marianne and her mother volunteered their services as translators at Pier 21 and helped to provide comfort to new arrivals. "A lot of people were very depressed, apprehensive and worried when they arrived. Many came from concentration camps, and someone just had to call their name and they would think that somebody wanted to put them in some kind of a jail."

Now a volunteer in the Pier 21 offices, Ferguson says the place makes her feel proud to have been an immigrant. "When you first arrive, people sometimes look a little down on you. Now, with all this fuss about Pier 21, if you were an immigrant, they look up to you."

Pier 21 has always relied on volunteers to aid immigrants and make them feel welcome. Sister Salvatrice Liota of the Sisters of Service, who worked there from 1955 to 1969, interpreting and helping new arrivals get through the immigration process, also attended the Canada Day opening. She typically used to work 10 to 12 hours a day at Pier 21, but sometimes as many as 22, sleeping between ship arrivals on boxes in a storage room. "On the day Pier 21 reopened, I went to the old baggage room and was overcome with emotion," she says. "In my mind, I could see all the baggage, the seagulls flying around. In the winter we froze because the doors would be open to bring the baggage in and the wind would blast off the ocean."

Sister Liota particularly recalls the Hungarian refugees of the 1950s. "The Hungarians came wearing army castoffs – even the women wore cast-off army jackets and coats. Very few had a suitcase. So all the church organizations had a big meeting and decided which was going to give what. The Salvation Army gave them food, for example, and we gave each child a new toy. Others gave toilet articles and clothes."

However, not all of Sister Liota’s memories are sad. She chuckles at the recollection of teaching Hungarian refugees to play bingo and of dances her order hosted in the nearby mother house. The sisters would unplug the record player at midnight, she laughs, and the Hungarians would plug it back in.

FOR MORE THAN 40 years, Pier 21 welcomed newcomers to Canada, people from a multitude of countries and all walks of life. Today, the facility tells their story, the story of immigration, which is an act of faith and bravery. It stands as a thank you to the many immigrants who helped build this country.

Photographs courtesy of Pier 21, National Archives of Canada and Halifax Port Authority