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John Martin, 1935, Saskatchewan. He was my great great grandfather. This was him with what was left of their crops. This photo was taken shortly before they packed up their stuff to move to the city. 

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Soup Kitchen in Regina, 1930s. My great-great-great grandfather James is pictured in the middle row. He would often go to soup kitchens to save any food at home for his children. He'd stop by after searching for jobs all day. 

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Men marching in the city, 1930s. They were a part of the The Single Men's Unemployed Association. My great great grandfather John used to be a part of the Association. They marched to express their want for a stable job. 

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“The market crashed some years back, and since then my family and I have been left with next to nothing. The farm my great grandfather kicked off has been bone-dry for weeks. The dust storm rolled in and carried off what little hope we had. The grasshoppers made quick work of the rest. Elizabeth, my wife, and I have nothing to feed our four children. That patch of land was our last shot. Without crops, there’s no money to be made, and without money, well..

Our eldest son had been talking about going into the city, hoping we might find work. We managed to find a roof to sleep under, but try as we might, neither he nor I can land a job. I’ve worn the soles off my shoes walking the streets, asking for any job at all, but there’s nothing. I’ve only seen men gathered in the streets, holding signs, and sleeping on benches. They all hope someone will listen. We didn’t want to leave the farm, but heaven knows we don’t want to go on relief. Elizabeth keeps saying family is worth more than money. I want to believe her, but love doesn’t put food on the table. She told me the other day our little girl, Claire, wrote a letter to Prime Minister Bennett, asking for a birthday present. It’s coming up soon, but I don’t have a cent to spare. Not for a gift, not for anything. We were once happy out on that farm, we didn’t know how good we had it. Now I can’t stand to see the children go to bed hungry. They laugh more now, play more too. Maybe that’s because there’s nothing left for them to do.”

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December 25, 1943

Ortona, Italy

Merry Christmas. John and I wish more than anything that we could be with you right now. We could be sharing the warmth of our home, the laughter from our kids, and that beautiful tree we’d always put up. Instead, I am writing to you from a town in Italy called Ortona. We’ve been fighting street by street, house by house. It’s horrible.

The fighting is close, we’re no more than a room apart. The boys call it “Little Stalingrad.” We’re holding on and pushing forward. We believe in what we’re doing here. I want our kids to grow up in a world where they don’t have to know what this kind of war is like.

The church in Ortona opened their doors to us for a Christmas dinner. For a moment I felt hope again. They fed us soup, pork, and mixed vegetables. With that I could almost hear our little Claire singing carols. I cherish that memory and carry it with me everyday.

Elizabeth, I received your last letter, it meant the world to me. I read it over and over again whenever I can. You and the kids are what keep me going through this. I dream about coming home to you.

With all my love,

James

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James Martin and other soldier, Ortona, Italy, 1943. James Martin was my great-great-great grandfather, John Martin's dad. They are engaged in house-to-house fighting. Enemy soldiers were no more than a room away.

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John Martin, 1943, Ortona, Italy. He's pictured in the back. He and his father were looking at the destruction of the town. Just moments prior they were fighting and now looking back at the aftermath.

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Major-General Christopher Vokes speaking to the Canadian soldiers in Italy. James and John Martin are in the crowd. They stand with their friends. Shortly after this photo was taken, they prepared for the battle. 

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May 18th, 1951

Somewhere in Korea

My dearest Elizabeth,

As I sit down to write this by the dim light of a lantern, I’m thinking about home more than ever. It’s been a while since I last saw your face, and not a day goes by without you, Claire, and Veronica in my thoughts. I received your last letter and it brought me to tears, Claire praying every night beside her bed and Veronica trying to copy her. I am so glad to tell you that Thomas and John are doing okay here too.

The lads and I heard some news about our mission here. We’ll be going in to replace the American troops soon. There’s talk about how some Canadians think we shouldn’t be involved but I still believe we’re doing right by helping the Koreans protect their homes. It’s the same belief you and I have always held. That we ought to stand up for those who can’t stand on their own.

Back home, I imagine the new washing machine has been a real help. The fellas here laugh when I brag about it, “My Elizabeth doesn’t have to scrub anymore!” I miss those little miracles of home, like the fridge humming or the sound of the radio in the evenings. Tell Claire and Veronica to be on their best behavior. We hope to be back soon.

-James, John, and Thomas.

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James Martin with friends and fellow soldiers, Japan, 1953. My great-great-great grandfather was in Japan with friends when they heard that the Korean war ended. They celebrated together before returning home to his wife and kids. John and Thomas had come home a year prior. 

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John Martin (left) and Thomas Martin (right), 1951, Korea. John, my great-great grandfather with his brother. They were waiting to be called back on the front lines. While waiting, they had a chat and a cup of coffee. 

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Thomas Martin, 1951, Korea. My great-great granduncle in a slit trench. He was reading a comic book. It was his favourite way to pass time. 

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