A child's perspective on The Hunger March, Edmonton, 1932 by Ann Krahulec

A little girl is confused by the violence of the 1932 Hunger March at Market Square.
Date: 19-20 December 1932

It was the depth of the Great Depression - December 20, 1932. I, an eleven-year-old city girl spent the night in the Ukrainian Labor Temple on 96 Street with a few hundred farmers who had gathered in Edmonton for the Hunger March. How did this come to be?


My story must go back a day. My father was unemployed; we were on Relief that allowed $15.00 per month for rent. Pa had found a 3-room apartment on 97 th Street for our family of six on the understanding that when a renter who was able to pay the full $20.00 was found, we would accept eviction. That day came Monday, December 19.


Friends came to help us move, but when we arrived at the new place, it was unfit as the previous tenant had removed the kitchen stove, and what was worse, the natural gas had not been properly shut off. It was now becoming dark. A kindly neighbor phoned the gas company and took us in for the night.


Pa was aware of the gathering at the Labor Temple and knew that the farmers had brought food to be cooked in its kitchen, so the next morning we all walked back to 96 th Street to join the farmers for the cheerful and abundant breakfast. After that, my older sister and brother and I left for school. Ma was to take my younger brother Peter, who was sick, to the doctor in the McLeod Building near the Market Square. All seemed peaceful.


When I returned from Queen's Avenue School around 4:30, the scene was vastly different. Pa was waiting for me by the old church building that was next to the Labor Temple. I followed him in and saw my mother sitting in a pew beside a big heater. Her face told me something was terribly wrong. My first thought was for Peter. Then I saw him sleeping closer to the heater. But the man beside him! His head was covered with a big, bloodied rag! There was blood on his coat! I jerked around. The other men weren't laughing and happily talking. Their voices were subdued, faces were serious and stressed. A few others wore makeshift bandages.


I cried out, "What happened? What happened to everybody?"


Ma's voice was trembling as she said, "I saw it all. I saw everything." Other people began asking her questions.


To my horror, this was her story: "After we left the doctor's office, I started to come back here. When we came near the Market Square, there were big crowds, and on the edge there were lots of Mounties on horses; some were afoot. They all seemed to have clubs. A man was talking to the crowd in a loud voice. I think he was standing on a wagon box. I tried to get closer to hear what he was saying. He told the men that their request for permission to parade to the Legislature was denied so they couldn't go four-abreast down the street with their banners. Then the speaker pointed and told the people to start going out in that direction. Some men would be there to lead the way. As soon as the people on that side started to move, the Mounties on horses rode into the crowd, and more Mounted police came from around the Post Office corner, charging right into the crowd swinging their clubs. I grabbed Peter and tried to back away, but it was too late. You were just pushed along by the crowd. Everyone was trying to get away. Everybody was shouting. A Mountie on a horse was leaning toward me with his club raised. I was never so scared. I screamed at him, and tried to protect little Peter. Maybe he hadn't seen the kid before. Anyway, he smashed someone else instead of me. Why did those Mounties ride in? Everything was so quiet before that. Why did it happen?" Ma began to cry.


The man with the bloody bandage said that he didn't know why either. He had not expected anything like that to happen.


Shortly after that, someone came from the Labor Temple to say that food was ready. Peter was awake and didn't want anything, but Ma said he had to eat because the doctor told her he was very anemic. I wasn't sure what that meant, but when my mother returned with two large plates heaped with meat and gravy, potatoes, carrots, and slices of bread with butter even, I thought being anemic must be something good if you had to eat! We didn't always have meat and butter. Ma pulled an empty plate from under mine and measured a small amount on to it for Peter. He didn't eat more than a taste, so I ate his share too.


Our day had been long. I soon curled up on the pew by the heater. The church was in semi-darkness. A small bulb at the end of a long light cord dangling from the ceiling was the only light in our corner. I was soon dozing off.


But the day was not yet over. A loud banging brought me to my feet. The door flung open and there they were - more policemen! Everyone stood up. I jumped up on to the pew to see what was happening. A Mountie called out something about looking for some men, and he read out names. Everyone was quiet. Some policemen walked to the front of the church and there was more talking but I couldn't understand what they were saying. The policemen sounded angry and finally left. I heard a man say that nearly two-dozen people had already been arrested and that the Mounties were looking for more.


We all felt disturbed and anxious. I didn't know why I was frightened, but I was. I curled up on the pew again, and even though the fire in the heater was burning and I was wearing my coat and toque I felt cold and shivery.


The hum of the low voices was soothing. For a while the conversations had meaning for me. Someone spoke of the "silly" questions the RCMP asked - wanting to know if he was hungry with all this food around in the kitchen, and why did they call this a "Hunger March". The men talked about people losing farms and moving to the city. Once there, they wouldn't be able to get relief right away. I wondered why. Questions waved through my mind, but soon sheer exhaustion scattered my thoughts. Just as I was drifting into sleep, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I looked up. A man was bending over me. With the light behind him, his fluffy reddish blond hair looked just like a halo.


"It's alright. I'm just covering you up with my coat. You'll be warmer that way. Go back to sleep." He was one of the men who had been talking nearby.


In the morning, the coat was gone. I wanted to thank the man, but the church was almost empty, as many farmers had already left. I had so many questions to ask and now that nice man was gone.


How could I have known then that answers would come ten years later?


For now, this was my night with the Hunger Marchers.


Life is full of surprises. In 1942, while visiting my husband's parents at their farm, they brought out a box of family pictures to acquaint me with members I had not yet met. I couldn't believe it! There, in his wedding picture was my man with the halo! I couldn't speak; I just kept pointing at the picture.


"That's Uncle Anton," my husband Ernest offered. "He'll be coming over to meet you this afternoon."


"Was he at the Hunger March?" I wondered aloud.


"Oh, yes," Joe, my father-in-law, assured me. "Many of us were there. Why do you ask?"


"I'll tell you this afternoon when I know for sure."


Later that day, while shaking hands with Uncle Anton, I asked, "Did you put your coat over a little girl in that old church by the Labor Temple in Edmonton during the Hunger March?"


His hand tightened over mine. "But how did you know?"


Before I could answer, he dropped my hand, pointed his finger, "You?"


We were in each other's arms.


The questions began to fly. Both Anton and Joe wanted to know how I got to that church. After explaining my presence, I recounted some of the things I heard them talking about that night, and wondered what the RCMP meant when he asked if they were hungry.


Anton laughed. "That was a silly question the RCMP asked when he wanted to know if I was hungry on the farm. He should have been able to see that food wasn't the problem for us. We had cattle, hogs and chickens, and lots of vegetables in the cellar. We weren't hungry then; it was our future that concerned us."


"I suppose it was partly our problem in the choice of the name for that gathering," his brother Joe added. "Those people connected with our government had to be made aware that when our loans, mortgages and taxes were unpaid and they foreclosed, we would be forced to go to the city to get a roof over our heads. We wouldn't find work as there was a huge number of the unemployed there already, and we wouldn't have lived in the city long enough to be classed as residents to get on their Relief rolls. You could bet our families would be hungry then."


Anton nodded in agreement. "Yes, you're right, Joe. We had to get some help so that we could stay on the farms. There had to be a moratorium on those financial commitments until our produce could be sold for more than it cost to get it to market."



"At times," Joe continued, "we not only didn't get paid for producing, the selling price didn't even pay the shipping charges. Take eggs, for instance. They sold as low as 3 cents a dozen, and a 30-dozen crate cost more than that to ship the sixty miles to Edmonton. Our neighbor had a losing experience with cattle. He bought feeder stock-young steers-from the Edmonton stockyard, with money borrowed from the bank. He fed them for a year, finished them off with good grain to where they were beautifully rounded-prime beef. When sold, they didn't bring enough to pay the CNR shipping charges. Just think of it, after all that work, he would have been money ahead to have shot them in their tracks. Those who could do something about that impossible marketing situation needed to know how serious it was, and that it wasn't just an unfortunate few who were in trouble, the farming industry as a whole was in danger. That's why we joined the Hunger March. Hopefully, our numbers there would have shown the seriousness of the situation. I don't know, but we couldn't just sit idly by and hope for things to improve-it was too late for that. The Edmonton Journal headlines called our gathering a riot. My understanding of the word 'riot' would indicate a violent disturbance or public disorder by a crowd. We had a crowd all right, but there certainly was no disorder or disturbance until the Mounties charged in, clubs swinging. A speaker told the marchers that permission to demonstrate by parading down Jasper Avenue and on to the Parliament Buildings had been denied. He then said, 'Let's walk orderly on the sidewalk, two-by-two.' The crowd yelled, 'Yes, let's go.'


Joe paused and reached for his pipe, "As soon as people began leaving the Market Square and turning toward Jasper Avenue, the Mounties charged in, clubbing everyone in reach. Before that, there was no disorder or violence, no reason that we could see for such an attack. After their charge, there was a lot of yelling and name-calling, but you just didn't fight police even if you felt like it. They were armed; we were not. We were only thinking of getting the hell out of the way as quickly as possible. Many of our people were hurt, but I didn't hear of any police being roughed up, so you can see who was 'violent'.


With tightened lips and a shake of the head, Joe recalled, "The whole thing had to have been pre-arranged. Those police weren't called in because of our gathering - they were already there by the Post Office and the Market Square.


"I understand that they were required to read the 'Riot Act' before charging in like that. They possibly did, but I didn't hear it. Obviously someone, the RCMP, the city officials or our government people had one intention only, and that was to scatter us to the four winds before we ever started toward the Parliament Buildings."


Yes, after ten years I had some answers. The Hungry Thirties weren't experienced just in the cities. Farmers' hopes and dreams were imperiled, too.