When the White Russian front collapsed and England recognized the Communist regime, the Russian embassy in England, the embassy where my husband Boris worked, had to close.

He started to look for jobs away from England, in the "colonies" as they said in those days. Together we looked at the map. There was only one place we liked, because it had snow and was in a latitude similar to that of Russia—Canada.

Arrangements were eventually made for our departure to Canada. We went by "boat-train" as it was called in those days. The train pulled up close to the ship so that the passengers and goods could be easily transferred to the ship. They took me to the boat-train on a stretcher!

Now, why was I on a stretcher? Because, by the grace of God, I was pregnant.

I had decided on some last minute shopping at a beautiful shop called Selfridge’s. I was happily shopping with the little money I possessed, when lo and behold, I fell down a staircase.

The doctor put me to bed and said I had to lie flat on my back and be quiet lest I lose the baby. For about six weeks or more I lay in bed.

That is why I was carried on a stretcher to the train and carried from the train to the C.P.R. boat called the Minnedosa. In fact, I was on a stretcher all the way from England to Canada.

All things considered, it was a pleasant voyage, with doctor and nurse in attendance. There was good food and care.

The Russian Restaurant

Near the beginning of the Depression, a Russian colony gathered. It is characteristic of the Russians not to go on welfare but to help one another. So the question was, "How could we help one another?" They usually turned to me for advice and what-have-you.

I suggested that they figure out who had special talents. So, we made a list. One Russian, who was a Ph.D., had just lost his job at the University of Toronto because he had no tenure. He was a superb cook.

My friend Nicholas was a master in many fields, especially art. The women were extraordinary seamstresses, and there were four chaps who played the balalaika very well.

At that time, I had gotten religion. I was giving away all my stuff. So I went to the Junior League and laid out the whole picture. I told them the Russians were willing to help themselves but they had to have a house.

"Oh," said the president, "Sure, you can have the house." So we got a house on Hayden Street. The Russians "went to town," and it was something absolutely fantastic.

Nicholas plastered the walls and made beautiful murals. I went to the Simpson Co. and they gave me something like sixty green and red tablecloths. For the kitchen utensils, I went to the Mortimer Clarks, who were great friends of mine. "Oh," they said, "You can have our utensils. They are all packed because we used to entertain a lot." We also got carpets.

Everything was readied, polished and cleaned. Then I dressed myself up in a Russian costume.

Inside of one week the Toronto Globe and Mail and everybody else had written up, "The Baroness Has Opened a Restaurant."

We were the most popular thing, but, of course, in those days, Toronto had nothing. We had pizazz and wow! The balalaikas played. Quite a few young girls became waitresses and twelve people didn’t go on welfare.

From the proceeds of the restaurant, we rented the house next door. One man, who was an artist, made a beautiful sign, "Russian and Parisian Haute Couture."

A third house was also opened by Nicholas and a man who did batik.

So practically everybody was employed, and that’s how the Russian Colony looked after each other.

The Boarding House

In New York, eventually I landed a job as a laundress on 14th Street. The boss was a nice Jewish man. I started out doing sheets on a hot iron, and later was "promoted" to pillowcases. My pay was seven "bucks" a week.

I asked the girls I worked with where they roomed. They said, "Charles Street." It was downtown. "Do you think I can get a room there?" "Oh yes," they said, "you can get a piece of a bed because one girl left."

So I rented a "piece of a bed"—literally. Three in a bed, six in a room, with only enough space between the beds for a wash stand holding an old-fashioned basin and pitcher.

There were two chairs, an old dresser, and nails on the wall on which to hang our clothes. Laundresses don’t have a big wardrobe.

This was a strange period in my life. Every time we finished work, we walked into a strange, terrible loneliness. There is no greater loneliness than being in a crowd of people you don’t know. The laundry girls and I lived in a profound, collective poverty.

The Bridge

After a while I began to get weak. I thought to myself, "Why starve when I could be a waitress and eat decently?" (Waitresses, in my mind, had access to food.) I became obsessed with this thought. I had to leave Ma Murphy’s because it catered only to laundresses.

I had difficulty finding a job as a waitress, and my money evaporated quickly.

One night during this period, I found myself on the Brooklyn Bridge, and I experienced a powerful temptation to end my life, the one and only time this has ever happened.

The water below was so smooth and inviting. Through the crisscrossed cables which held up the bridge, I could feel the mood of the water—its preternatural power calling me.

I walked closer to the parapet, looked over the rails and underneath. Yes, I could squeeze through the wires. Oh, the water seemed so cool and refreshing. "What’s the use? Seven dollars. Twelve dollars. Fifteen dollars. What’s the difference?

"You have a son. You can’t bring him up the way you should. Your husband is very sick; he might not live. It is all so uncertain.

"But I am cool. This is a strange land. It has no use for you. Come. I will rock you to sleep. What’s the use? You have lost everything."

The call of the water was very powerful. I found space between the wires where I could slip through. I looked down and prepared to jump.

Do you know what I saw? I saw Christ mirrored in the water!

In a panic, I stopped, turned, and ran. I ran down the bridge so fast that a policeman yelled, "Hey, lady, slow down! You’re shoving people around!"

I was running away from the vision, which probably was no vision at all. But, at that moment, it was very real to me. It saved my life.

I finally did get a job as a waitress, in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge, as a matter of fact!

— From In One Ear and Out the Other, pp. 51-54; The Little Mandate: How It Came to Be, p. 18 (both unpublished manuscripts); Fragments of My Life, pp. 66, 72-75, 76-77; and They Called Her the Baroness, pp. 81-82. The last two are available from MH Publications. to be continued