† Holy Resurrection Russian Orthodox Sobor, Vancouver

OBITUARY FOR ALEXANDRA PAVLOVNA TZVETKOFF

My mother’s family came from Poltava in the northern Ukraine. Her parents were a Ukrainian farmer Pavel Gulida and his Russian wife ‚ Paraskeva. Like many others at that time, they loaded all their belongings in a cart and set out across Siberia to open new lands and start a better life for themselves. The family settled around ‚ AA “Nikolsk-Ussuryisk in the Russian Far East. In the course of time they had nine children, of which Alexandra (Shura) was the second youngest. Around 1916, when my mother was three years old, the family moved to Manczhuria in Northern China where her father started work with the railroad that was built and operated by the Russians. Then, as a result of an accident, her father died and the family had to live on what they could grow off the land and what the oldest brother could earn. These were hard times for the family.
My Mother grew up like a little weed, running around barefoot, looking after chickens and goats and always singing and dancing. The family although poor, never lacked for friends, and whenever there was a gathering, Mother was always happy to perform. One of her recollections of the time was that when she was not called upon to help with the chores, she would climb the tallest tree around and sway with the wind singing to her heart.
She went to grade school and learned like all the other kids, but she really liked poetry and reading. Her memory was excellent and she could recite long tracts of poetry late into her life, and as for songs, she remembered lyrics for hundreds of them. As a teenager, Mother wound up in Harbin, a city in northern China where hundreds of thousands of Russian emigrants settled in the wake of the Russian revolution. There she met my father and ended up in Shanghai, a large city on the central coast of China known for its big international population. In 1933, I was born and occupied both my mother and grandmother to the fullest. My father worked as a master mechanic with the city and made a good living. My mother learned to sew and helped by sewing clothes. She would often sit at her treadle sewing machine, put me at her feet where she could keep an eye on me and sing, or converse with her friends.
I was quite a mischievous young fellow as I grew up. I recall once at Easter time, my friend in the next apartment, and our mother to go to church cleaned me up. We were dressed in spotless white clothes and shoes. We were then allowed to go outside on the strict condition that we would stay close by while our mothers got themselves ready. Well, there was a yard across the street with big mounds of coal. Soon one of us threw a lump of coal at the other and the fight was on. By the time we were finished, we looked like two little devils. The licking that we got taught me the meaning of, and that Mother could be quite forceful when she wanted to be.
My brother‚ Vassily was born in 1941 and our mother raised us as best she could. She taught us to read in Russian and introduced us to the library. She taught us to be proud of the history and literature of our Russian people. It was wartime and we did not need any extra prodding in this respect.
Mother also introduced us to sports by enrolling us in a sports club. She herself rode the bicycle a lot. She stuck a wicker basket at the back of her bicycle and would put my brother in it. Then she would ride off on her errands. I am sure that this is where my brother picked up his love for fast and wild rides.
In 1951, our family ended up in Canada. It was a difficult time for us because we were almost broke, we were in a new country and we did not speak the language very well. My father went to work on construction projects and Mother was making some money by sewing toys and clothes. We joined the Russian church congregation and Mother typically pitched in with the kitchen staff, helping to make pirozhki and pelmeni. She also joined the church choir and continued helping in this manner until her health started failing her.
Whatever Mother did, she always took pride in her family. In the end, when she was laying on her back, no longer able to walk or move, I visited her and the last question that she asked me was how were the kids. When I told her how well everyone was doing, she smiled and had a look of satisfaction on her face before she drifted off into her subconscious. I gently stroked her face and that was the last that I remembered her.

Mother was a great lady and our family owes her a great deal of recognition and gratitude.