A Fickle Wind. Elizabeth Bourne

his family to their native land after the war. That lasted only a few years; they were again forced to leave, as he refused to join the Party or cater to his Russian “masters.” He swore that the only reason they were allowed to leave was that Doreen had a British passport. So she was English by birth, Czech by ethnicity, and living in Canada by choice. We had a lot in common and became very good friends. We still are to this day.

      Philip’s younger brother, Chum, needed a new secretary. I set up an interview for Doreen, and she was successful in securing the position. Her husband, Michael, was a travel agent, and he and Craig got along well together. We sometimes did things as a foursome, but more often it was just Doreen and me.

      She and I could talk for hours about all the things women find interesting, sharing our deepest passions and wildest dreams. Doreen was tall and slender, but amazingly, we could even share clothes and shoes. She has been known to literally give me the shirt off her back—well, actually, that was figuratively—as it was the shoes off her feet. I admired a pair of navy leather sandals she was wearing one evening, and as I got out of the car she handed them to me through the window. She had to walk barefoot from the garage back to the apartment, but it had been more important to make me happy!

      Winters came and went, but I never acclimated to the cold. Spring and fall are the loveliest months in Toronto, but they are short. The summers are often too hot and humid. Doreen and I used to talk about California, particularly San Francisco. We had seen pictures, and it looked beautiful. If only … Wouldn’t it be nice if … We were both hesitant and yet had the feeling that we could actually make it there.

      However, we had our doubts about Craig and Michael. We really wanted them to start to carry the major financial load. Doreen very pragmatically pointed out that, in California, our men wouldn’t be able to compete well with the highly educated workforce, and she and I would never be able to quit work.

      Interestingly, we had some German neighbors with whom Craig and I were friends, and they were always reading California newspapers with an eye toward making a move. Doreen and I would pore over the papers they gave me and be appalled at the price of houses. In those days, a nice home could be purchased in the Toronto area for $17,000. They wanted $60,000 in a suburb of San Francisco. Were they crazy?