From Dover in England to Fauquier in BC – Addendum

Note that the usual Klopp family post for Thursdays has been omitted and will resume next week with a new series on Anna Rosa Klopp.

Richard (Dick) Horace Andrew Hall

by Guest Contributor Paul Loseby

Click here to view the original post.

Thank you so much everyone, for all of your help. It is really appreciated. Actually since Peter put my message on the Guest page, I have been doing some more research and whilst I don’t think it was as bad for Dick, it was an absolutely horrendous time for many. These were the Home Children and it seems that 11% of Canadians are descendants of these children.

Photo Credit:

Photo Credit:

I came across an absolutely riveting video on YouTube yesterday and we watched it last night. This is the link:

It seems that children as young as 6 were taken from their parents; frequently without their parents’ knowledge or consent, and shipped over to work as domestics or farm workers in Canada. The authorities would only let them know by sending a card after they were in their new country.

Photo Credit:

Photo Credit:

Between 1869 and 1939, over 100,000 children were taken from their homes and sent to Canada. More than that were sent to Australia and the British government didn’t stop doing that until the 1970’s. The children were considered waifs, orphans and strays. Many had parents who could no longer afford to feed them or take care of them.

SS Sarnia 1892 - Photo Credit:

SS Sarnia 1892 – Photo Credit:

Usually when the children reached Canada, they had a train ride of several days and eventually most were sent to help farm families with all of the work – even those as young as 6. Some children were accepted into the family and treated well, but many were treated very badly and some were treated like slaves.

Home Children - Photo Credit:

Home Children – Photo Credit:

If you watch the 46 minute video, you at times have tears in your eyes – at the young lad whose home was a small wooden garden shed that he shared with the dog. He only got food if the dog left some. He was beaten daily as many were – often just because they were Home Children.

We think now that Dick Hall was one of the lucky ones. He stayed at William Hewlett’s farm in Stouffville for three years and then returned to the UK to spend Christmas with his parents. He then traveled back to Canada.

These children were given food and accommodation and a small amount of pay – but this money was not paid until they had finished their term on the farm or other place of work, when they were 18. So, it was just food, accommodation, hard work, possibly many beatings and they lost their childhood. You will see if you watch the film that when the children grew up, they had no emotions to show love to their own children.

Home Children Stamp - Photo Credit:

Home Children Stamp – Photo Credit:

I really am grateful to all of you for the help that you have been giving me – particularly Peter. I have discovered things that I would never have known but some of those things, (not to do with Peter as he obviously moved to a Country and town where most would love to be including me) have shown us a great deal of sadness too.

I only found this YouTube video yesterday and it is a part of British and Canadian history. If you get a chance, it really is a ‘Must Watch’. The link again is:

Kindest regards


Addition to Post ‘One Drink Too Many’ in German

Guest Contributor: Norbert Werner

Reifferscheid Family Tree – Chart IV – IV

Kommentar zum Post: One Drink Too Many

Eine wirklich sehr heitere Geschichte. Dazu möchte auch ich meinen Kommentar abgeben: Bekanntlich lebten wir in der DDR ja in einer “Mangelwirtschaft”, obwohl man das, streng genommen, auf den Alkohol nicht immer beziehen konnte.(Ist ein extra Thema!) Aber bezüglich Wein gab es oft nur übersüßen Weißwein aus Ungarn, der zu heftigem Kopfschmerz führte. Da wir in den Gärten unserer Großfamilie Obst im Überfluss hatten, begannen wir bald mit der eigenen Herstellung von Wein aus den verschiedensten Früchten: Apfel, Sauerkirsche, Hagebutten…


Die Äpfel wurden in unserem Waschhaus in Stücke geschnitten und dann mit einer handelsüblichen Küchenmaschine zu Brei verarbeitet. Zum Trennen von Saft und Fruchtfleisch haben wir die Wäscheschleuder benutzt (die damals noch nicht in der Waschmaschine integriert war). Dann kam alles in große 10- und 20-Liter-Ballons, mit Hefe und Zucker versetzt und mit einem Gärröhrchen verschlossen. So standen sie dann wochenlang in Küche, Schlafzimmer,… herum und mussten auch regelmäßig umgefüllt werden. Dazu namen wir einen Kunststoffschlauch (ähnlich der Benzinleitung beim “Trabant”!), saugten mit dem Mund an und ließen es dann im freien Fall laufen. Mein Sohn (damals im Kindergartenalter) machte das viel Spaß und er half seinem Onkel oft dabei. So wunderten wir uns zunächst, dass er auf der Heimfahrt mit dem “Trabant” fröhlich sang und erzählte, was sonst nicht seine Art war. Er hatte sehr lange an dem Schlauch gesogen und es war ein süßer Saft!!

Chapter XIX of the P.and G. Klopp Story Part II

One Drink Too Many


Peter’s Home Town Wesel (Willi Brordi Church) – Photo Credit:

When I returned from my brother’s wedding, I resolved to be more goal-oriented, to study hard, to raise myself above mere mediocrity to an academic achievement I could truly be proud of. On the wall hung the work schedule, which I had imposed upon myself outlining a rigorous timetable: getting up at six, attending school from 8 a.m. to 1:30 p.m., taking some time off till three, doing homework and studying till five. After supper followed another two hours of intensive study. I had a lot of catching up to do. An hour before it was time for me to go to bed. usually around ten o’clock, I critically reviewed my day. And if according to the work schedule I had passed the test, I rewarded myself (and only then) with a small shot of vodka and let the pleasant warmth penetrate my body as a form of instant relaxation. The master allowed the slave to temporarily forget the self-imposed burden. At moments like these I would grab my guitar, play a few simple classical pieces composed by Carulli, or take out the harmonica and strike up a potpourri of folksongs, pop music or my favorite scouting melodies.

Bild 62

At times when I felt in a creative mood, I would open the metal box with a dozen or so water colors and try my untrained hands to paint a picture often with a futuristic theme inspired by my voracious reading of science fiction novels. One picture (see above) depicts a romantic scene showing a young couple sitting on a park bench under the light of the full moon. High above the horizon towers the head of a helmeted space woman of a distant century in the future, whose envious eyes are glaring down on the romantic couple below.

          Wilhelm, my classmate, came to school from a neighboring town. His father produced apple juice, with which he tried to compete with the popular Coca Cola product that was making economic inroads into the German beverage market. Wilhelm once demonstrated in our school how corrosive coke was by filling two glasses, one with his father’s apple juice and the other with coke. He then threw an iron nail into each glass. In the following week, when we entered the chemistry lab, we were astounded by what we saw. The nail in the glass filled with coke was completely encrusted with rust, whereas the one in the apple juice was still shiny and unaffected. However, we failed to see the connection to the possible ill effects that the popular drink might have on our sensitive stomach linings.

          It was about two weeks before Christmas, when Wilhelm came up to my apartment and brought me a 10-liter jug of apple juice. I placed it on the hot water radiator. Without the aid of a wine making kit with its expensive accessories we embarked on producing a cider by letting Mother Nature do the job. After only a few days I could report to my friends in school that bubbles were rising in the bottle, a certain indication that the process of fermentation had begun. Hans, Helmut, Wilhelm and I were already looking forward to our Christmas break party with the potent apple wine in the making. Soon the bacteria finding ample food in the juice and turning the sugar into alcohol multiplied a million times over generating CO2 at first weakly fizzing, then growing into a crescendo very much like the sound of rushing waters. Finally the bacteria had done their duty, and the homemade cider was ready for the party. School was out. In the New Year the final race would come to the finish line. The dreaded written and oral exams were looming on the horizon. So we four all felt the need to let go and put aside for a while our worries and graduation blues. I had put the jar outside into the wintry air on the balcony to chill the brew into a refreshing drink. We made ourselves as comfortable as possible in my tiny room. My three friends were sitting on the couch that converted into a bed and I sat on the only chair at my desk, whose prominent occupant was the giant jug with its delicious content. I poured the cider into coffee mugs. There were no glasses in the mini-kitchen. At first we had a serious talk about our plans for the future. The classroom genius Hans wanted to enroll at the Marburg University to study nuclear physics; Helmut, the lawyer’s son, was seeking a position in economics; Wilhelm planned to embrace a teaching career, and I had set my eyes on becoming an electronics engineer specializing in high frequency technology.

Aus Elektronik 62

Peter’s ‘Engineering Notes’ on Basic Electricity – 1962

 I poured us another cup of that deceptive cider that tasted like a refreshing fruit drink but carried a powerful punch. Hans tuned my guitar and starting picking a few melodies. Most Siemens workers in the building had gone home to their families. The apartment building was almost devoid of people. So there was nobody we would disturb with our singing. After another cup we had reached the point where singing had become the necessary ingredient for the continued success of the party. The vocal chords well lubricated by the smooth drinks were ready to metamorphose us into a cheerful bunch of young men.

Wine Jug

Our home made cider would not have earned any prizes. But it was potent.

To the great delight of my friends, after we had gone through our favorite scouting and traveling songs, I offered to sing a spiritual to express my sentiments over our oppressive teachers in school: “When Israel was in Egypt’s land, let my people go. Oppressed so hard, they could not stand …”, which I sang with the deepest voice I could muster without floundering. Now Hans injected rhythm into the life of the party and played masterfully one of the Flamenco style pieces with the beats being pounded vigorously on the guitar body. “That was the rendition of our friend and maestro worthy of another drink”, I said. By now the content of the 10-liter jug had dropped to about the halfway mark. Suddenly Helmut got up and said he had to go to the bathroom. The way he staggered into the hallway made it clear that he had already had too much to drink. Someone said, “I hope he’ll find the toilet in time. He looks ‘blau’ (German slang for drunk) to me!” Now one must know that in Germany you locked the bathroom door with a key. Poor Helmut must have taken it out and dropped it on the floor. All of a sudden we heard him call, “Let me out! You locked me in!” We rushed into the hallway and tried to convince him that he was the one who locked himself in and that he would have to find the key. “It is not in the lock”, he complained.

          “Then it must be on the floor. Look for it”, we replied. Finally he located the key. What came next is incredible. Helmut’s level of intoxication was so far advanced that his eye-hand coordination was severely hampered. He was unable to insert the key into the keyhole. Imagine the hilarious scene, in which we three friends tried very hard to give him directions how to put the key into the hole. I was just about going to call the janitor for help, when Helmut managed to open the door. He looked pale and disgruntled, whether it was out of embarrassment or intoxication, we could not tell. Without saying good-bye he took his coat and left. Needless to say the bathroom incident had put a damper on the jolly time we were having. Nobody felt like having another drink. The party was over.

Friedrich Wilhelm Ferdinand Klopp (1879-1952) – Part VI

Ferdinand Withdraws from the Harsh Realities of Postwar Germany

Before the end of WWII, perhaps in 1944, Ferdinand purchased a larger house in Rhinow, Brandenburg, to secure it as a retirement home. The former hotel, which the now 65 year-old Ferdinand remodeled for private residential use, was located at Dorfstraße 58. Here the entire Ferdinand Klopp family experienced the end of war and a new beginning. The family at that time also included their daughters and sons-in-law, who had returned from the war and POW camps.

Rhinow Town Church - Photo Credit:

Rhinow Town Church – Photo Credit:

The invasion forces of the Red Army declared the building as a Soviet command post. Family documents and photos were permanently lost during the ‘liberation’. The Polish language skills of mother Rosalie, who had been speaking German for the past 50 years and is being described as kind-hearted, hospitable woman, kept her daughters out of harm’s way from the Soviet soldateska notorious for raping girls and women of all ages during and after the end of WWII.

When for property owners life became more and more unbearable in the GDR, embittered Ferdinand began to give away his furniture, farm animals and estates to the people in Rhinow. He transferred title of his house at Dorfstraße 58 to his daughter Margarete Rocke and her two children.

River Havel at Lake Wannsee - Photo Credit:

River Havel at Lake Wannsee – Photo Credit:

Given to cynicism, he withdrew from the harsh reality of life under the Communist regime and moved with his wife into a little cottage with a flower garden back into the village Strodehne near Rhinow. There he lived for another year, during which time he indulged in his angling passion at the River Havel. On July 17, 1952 his wife found him dead lying in her flower beds. At the age of 73 he had suffered a fatal heart attack.


  1.  Margarethe
  2. Charlotte
  3. Gertrud
  4. Victoria Luise
  5. Meta
  6. Rosel


From Dover in England to Fauquier in BC

Richard (Dick) Horace Andrew Hall

A Call for Help by Guest Contributor Paul Loseby

My name is Paul Loseby and I live with my wife here in the middle of England.  My wife Penny’s heritage takes her through Kent and her she came across something which really saddened her until she heard about Fauquier, BC.


Modern Folkestone in Kent – Photo Credit:

Penny’s grandmother married for a second time in 1946.  Her new husband was a Richard Hall who had a son by a previous marriage.  That son’s name was Richard (Dick) Horace Andrew Hall and he was born in 1914 in Folkestone in Kent. Throughout the early 1900’s, the Canadian government had been trying to get young men and women to migrate to work on farms or as domestic servants.  Many youngsters went willingly but a great many, under the excuse of being unruly children or where their parents were suspected of being unable to bring them up properly,  were just taken from their parents and put on a ship.  This was contrary to the apparent aims of the people running the scheme – the British Immigration and Colonization Association.  There were also many stores of the children being poorly treated and cared for in the new country.  An uncertain future indeed.


Dick’s Father with Second Wife Edith – Wedding Picture 1946

We don’t know whether Dick went willingly or not but on the 18th October 1928 with the equivalent of a couple of Canadian dollars in his pocket and the clothes he stood up in, he boarded the SS Montcalm in Liverpool.  How could this be – a 14 year old child taken from his parents to start a new life alone? Dick was with a group of other minors under a scheme by the BICA whose headquarters were at 87, Osborne Street in Montreal.  These premises were also a hostel for the boys where they waited to be distributed throughout Canada.  They landed in Quebec on the 20th October.

SS Montcalm

Sadly not everyone fared well – some boys had committed suicide; not all were found homes and there had been a high failure rate.  This led to the BICA being temporarily closed in 1925 so that their affairs could be put in shape.


Today’s Main Street of Stouffville, Ontario

Dick it seems was one of the lucky ones who not only survived but thrived in his new country.  Shortly after arriving, Dick was sent to Stouffville in Ontario.  Here he began his work as a farmer’s hand.  He was obviously paid well as within three years, he had earned enough money to return to England to see his parents and spend the 1931 Christmas with them.  It was obviously his wish to return though as at the beginning of April 1932, he set sail, again on the SS Montcalm, for Halifax.


Home that the young boy Dick Hall left to go to Canada

Dick went straight back to Stouffville and then went to work on another farm owned by a William Hewlett.  The following year, still working on the farms, he moved up to Winnipeg in Manitoba.  There he worked for a Mr. Lindsay and was earning what would have been a lot of money in those days, $25 CA with his food and accommodation thrown in.

He then had the opportunity to move across to Lander, initially staying with relatives but within a few months, had moved up to the Bralorne mine where he worked for a couple of years.  When Canada entered the war, Dick tried to enlist but was rejected on medical grounds.  Not deterred and still wanting to help the war effort, Dick moved to the Vancouver Shipyards where he worked  during the war.

Vancouver Shipyards during WW2

Vancouver Shipyards during WWII – Photo Credit: North Vancouver Museum and Archives

In 1943, he met and married Alice Gledhill of Aldergrove.  He eventually left the shipyards and went to work for BC Electric for eight years before moving to Summerland.  In 1951, he was in partnership with his brother in law Morely Austin, running  a garage and grocery store in Needles.  He stayed running the garage until just before Needles was flooded.  In 1966, he moved to Trout Creek where he owned Trout Creek Shell but in September the following year, he died during heart surgery in Vancouver.


Needles across from Fauquier after Flood 1948

My wife and I met and married in 1968 and Penny’s granddad, Dick’s father used to tell us of how proud he was of his son and that he was living in Canada. He obviously never knew that  Dick had died the previous year. We wouldn’t normally have pursued the family history of someone who was not a direct blood relative but we did know Dick’s father well and have many memories and photographs of him in his later years. As soon as Penny realized what had happened to ‘Canadian’ Dick, she was heartbroken and in tears.  At that time, all we knew was that he had been put on a ship with just the clothes he stood up in and enough money for a drink on the way.  How could they do that to him?  We just didn’t know.  Since then we have tried to find out more about Dick, not just for ourselves but in the hope that we could find Dick’s children, Gordon, Lois or Carol and give them some insight into their grandfather who they would have never known.


Dick Hall’s house that had been moved  by barge to Fauquier

Canadian family history can be difficult with no records of births and marriages being readily available online so we have no idea whether ‘the children’ got married and had children of their own.  It would appear that after Dick’s passing, Mary his wife, married someone called Jackson as Dick is buried with her in the beautiful Peach Orchard Cemetery.

Now, looking on the internet at the absolutely beautiful place you live in, perhaps we should have moved too. If anyone does have any information or photographs of Dick and his family, we would really love to hear from them.  We can be contacted on our email
Paul Loseby

Note by Peter Klopp: An alternative way of sending information via Paul’s email would be the comment section of this post. Thank you, Paul, for writing this touching story on a former resident of Needles, BC. I am confident that the Arrow Lakes Historical Society will add your report to their archives.

Chapter 19 of the P. and G. Story – Part I


Alone at the Siemens Apartment Building


“Study hard, for the well is deep, and our brains are shallow.”

Richard Baxter

In search for a place to spend the next six months Mother had found a mini-apartment in a huge building complex that had been specifically built for single workers in the local Siemens factory. Small it was indeed. The room I called my own covered hardly an area of fifteen sq. m. I shared the hallway, which contained a few basic kitchen facilities, with an older man next door, who fortunately moved out before Christmas with no one moving in to replace him. On the right side of the hallway was the common bathroom with a shower instead of a bathtub. In spite of the limited space I was extremely happy to have my own four walls with a large window and even a tiny balcony facing the rising sun.

Wesel at the Rhine

Wesel at the River Rhine with the New Bridge

It was from here that I wrote my first letter to Biene’s twin brother Walter at the end of August. As promised I included schematics of electronic circuits that I thought might be of interest to him. Of course, I had not forgotten Biene, whose image began to fade in my mind, but whose idealistic afterglow I cherished all the more. “And do not forget to greet your parents and Biene from me,” I ended this letter and all subsequent ones. Walter promptly replied and inserted an advanced RC transistor diagram that was far too complex for me to understand or to be useful for my simple projects. But the desired connection had been made, and before long Biene and I were corresponding with each other. There were two important aspects to the letters, which were traveling back and forth between Velbert and Wesel. One, they opened a window and brought bright sunshine and fresh air into the often gloomy, stuffy interior of my soul; two, due to the physical distance we could write about our thoughts and feelings, wrapped up in a flowery language, carefully worded and lovingly presented. We opened our hearts to each other and discovered that we both had a romantic vein that was rich and seemed to be inexhaustible. In short, the seeds of our developing relationship had fallen on fertile ground. For me in particular, the correspondence proved to be a journey into the wonderful world of self-discovery. I enjoyed creating written tableaus depicting dream-like, often melancholic scenes with fact and fiction imaginatively intertwined. They engendered in a perpetual cycle an ever increasing sense of self-awareness. Reminiscing about a stopover at a railroad station I once wrote her.

Wanne-Eickel 22:10

          Over the railroad station sways the moon. Its pale light flickers through dense patches of fog, and the moist shimmering rails vanish behind the impenetrable wall of uncertainty. I am pacing the empty platform up and down, three minutes forth, and three minutes back. Slowly, hesitatingly the heavy hand of the clock advances from one-minute mark to the next. Lost in thoughts I look up to the moon. The cold, damp forces of nature’s power attempt to snuff out its golden light. But it is not you, good moon, who are eluding me, you, the embodiment of all my happiness. No, around me lurk the cold forces; they seize me with their moist fingers. Oh happiness, you would always dwell among people, if darkness were not all around us that hides you and saddens my heart. Two lights emerge from out of the fog. They have a goal; they glide over solid tracks. I can put my trust in them. In vain the dense fog is clutching to hold the iron vehicle; it cannot delay its course. I step onboard. 22:20

Old City Hall of Rendsburg - Photo Credit:

Old City Hall of Rendsburg – Photo Credit:

Shortly after I had written the letter to Biene with its sentimental railroad story, I traveled by train to Rendsburg in Northern Germany to attend my eldest brother’s wedding. Karl’s bride was Ingrid Lehmann, born in Königsberg (now Kaliningrad), East Prussia, whose father was a retired sea captain. Karl was making sure that everything was prim and proper for the festivities. He checked out my clothes and appearance very carefully and was quite pleased with the new suit I was wearing. Even though I had shaved in the morning, Karl spotted the beginning of new growth darkening the area around my chin and requested for the sake of the important event another shave. Putting my usual stubbornness aside, I complied with his request.

Wedding Ceremony at City Hall

Wedding Ceremony at City Hall

With almost all close relatives present it was a memorable wedding. At the banquet Captain Lehmann and Uncle Günther solemnly delivered words of wisdom, reflections on their lost home provinces in the East, fine speeches, which were recorded on tape and can still be heard today on audio CD. It was here in Rendsburg that for the first time I was seriously contemplating about what it would be like to tie the knot and form a life-long partnership in marriage. I also began to see that hard work at school and university must come first to realize such dreams. I thought that as an electronics engineer I might have a fairly good income to support a wife and family.

Karl and Ingrid Klopp (Lehmann) at the Wedding Banquet

Karl and Ingrid Klopp ( née Lehmann) at the Wedding Banquet