THE INTERVIEWER: So first I’ll just get you to say your name and spell it for me.
MABEL GREY: My married name right now?
Sure. Yeah.
Okay. I’m Mrs. Mabel Grey, married to Russell Grey.
Can you spell it?
I got married before I married him, because my first husband died. His name was Alfred Yellowknee, and I had 5 kids from him. In all I had fifteen; ten with Russell. And I lost 2 of them, 2 boys, but they were grown up. One was thirty and the other one was fifty when they died. I’m eight-four. I still have thirteen kids that are healthy.
How do you spell your name now?
M-a-b-e-l G-r-e-y. I never had a middle name.
What was your maiden name?
My maiden name was Mabel Nooski and I was raised in the Residential School at Grouard from the age of 3 to eighteen. We had no holidays; nothing.
I was stuck in there because my foster father – I really thought he was my dad but he wasn’t – didn’t want me to go with my foster mother, and the other way round. My mother didn’t want me to go with my foster father so I was stuck in the Mission with no holidays, no nothing, all these fifteen years.
What was your home community?
I was born in Lake Laboucan. My birth certificate says Lac Laboucan because Father Pitour (sp?) had baptized me. It was Lac Laboucan then but it’s Little Buffalo now, the town of Little Buffalo.
What was the name of the school you attended again?
Pardon?
What was the name of the school?
St. Bernard’s Mission, Grouard, Alberta.
So you said you were there from 3 ‘til eighteen.
Eighteen.
What years were those?
Well, I was born in 1921 and I was put in the Residential School when I was 3 years old in 1924. And I got out in 1939.
Do you remember your first day of school, first being there?
I remember being on horseback with my dad. I always called him “dad” although he was my foster dad. I remember when I was 3 years old and we were on horseback and I guess he was going to put me in the Joussard Residential School, but my mother and dad, my real parents wanted me to go to the Grouard.
How I came to be in the foster home was because my dad took me away from my mom when I was still in the moss bag. I must have been a few months old. Like I was saying, I was on horseback with my dad and we could see a team of horses come up. There were Nuns on it. I remember that. I was only 3 years old.
So when we met with them my dad talked to the Nuns. I don’t know what they were saying. He handed me over to the Nuns. Lucky for me those were the Nuns visiting from Grouard because this was in late August, ready for when the kids started going back in September. They took me. They were visiting Joussard Mission. So I started crying because I didn’t want to go with them. I didn’t know what they were. They were in all white and black. I was kind of afraid of them. I remember this.
So we went over to the Joussard Residence and they were ready to go back to Grouard. I don’t know how they came, by team or whatever. I don’t remember going back to Grouard. But when we got to Grouard it was dark already and it was time for the children to go to bed. So I started crying again because I was lonesome. I cried and cried. Finally Sister Mary Marc, I remember her, she come and take me and put me in bed with her.
— Speaker overcome with emotion
Finally I fell asleep. All of sudden she jumped up because I pee’d on her. I remember that, too. She woke me up and went and put me back in my bed. I guess I cried myself to sleep again. From then on I don’t remember. But I remember that day.
The next thing I remember is I went to school. Her name was Sister Helen. She was really nice. She hugged me when I cried. This is what I needed.
— Speaker overcome with emotion
From then on I don’t really remember.
I remember when I was about 9. I was sliding. There was a little hill from the residence going to the school and we used to slide with whatever we found. They wouldn’t give us things to slide with.
You think that was when you were about 9?
Yeah.
You don’t remember what a typical day would have been like, the kinds of things you did when you woke up, you know, just the regular sort of day?
From then on I think I remember. When we got up the Sister would walk around in our dormitory because there were 4 rows of beds. She would ring the bell and we had to jump out of bed, get on our knees and say our morning prayers. We would dress up, wash up, and then go to our Dining Room and say some more prayers before going to Mass. Then we went to Mass. After Mass we went back to the Refectory to have our meal and then we prayed again.
After our meal we prayed again, thanking the Lord for feeding us. Then we went down to our Play Room to wait for our classroom, which was 9 o’clock. When we went to the school we prayed again some more. It was always pray, pray, pray. Finally I asked the Sister why, “Why are we praying so much?” And she said, “To chase the devil out of you.” We didn’t even know what the devil was.
So after school we would go to our Play Room and go do some knitting or sewing. We had to sew our own clothes by hand if we tore them because they were threadbare hand-me-downs. They tore easily.
All these years that I was in the Residential they deprived us of our food. We never had dessert; only on Sundays. In the morning they gave us bread, just plain bread, no butter, no nothing on it. And porridge. That was every day.
They made us into thieves because they deprived us of everything. As soon as their backs were turned we would run to the pantry and steal whatever we could, like dried prunes and raisins or things like that we wanted to eat. I remember this one time when we went for dinner —
There were fish like this (indicating) Jack fish, with the scales and everything on. I don’t even think they were gutted, or anything.
They wanted you to eat them like that?
Yeah. But at least they peeled it. And whatever was put on our plate we had to eat it, even though we didn’t like it. We were forced to eat it. And after dinner we would go in a row and we were given some cod liver oil. I don’t know why. Every time we went I would take my handkerchief with me and go behind a girl and spit it out. I was caught about twice. I had to take twice that much if I was caught.
If somebody did wrong and we didn’t tell on them, we hid it from the Nuns, we were all strapped. We had to put our hands out and they would hit us 5 times on this side (indicating). You’re going to tell? And if we didn’t talk, the other one.
It wasn’t a strap. It was a big ruler.
When we grew bigger we had these bras that were sewn straight and the Nuns would pull them as tight as possible in the back because she said that you’re tempting the boys showing off your breasts. One girl had her breasts crushed on one side, so she was taken to the hospital and the doctor —
Well, she told him why and there were great big boxes brought with bras, beautiful ones, and we all grabbed for them. We had to put them back, but at least we didn’t have those flat bras any more.
We weren’t even supposed to look at the boys. Of course the boys were on their side. They were fenced up and we were also fenced up. They said, “Don’t look at the boys or you’ll have big stomachs, you’ll have babies.” I don’t know why. They said something about pregnant, you know. We didn’t know what that was. We were even afraid to look at our own brothers.
I don’t know about the Nuns. Not all of them were like that, just a few. I guess the 2 Nuns that were keeping us were the meanest ones of them all. Some were real nice.
This one time —
We didn’t have running water and there were some cats running around with their little kittens. This Sister, her name was Sister Jemima (sp?), she put them in a gunny sack, put a rock in the bottom, put all the kittens in there and just threw them in a barrel of water. Some of us cried because it was mean. She told us, you know, when you die, if you tell lies and you steal – I guess someone was caught stealing – you’re going to go down here (indicating).
And when we started sewing if we threw a little piece of thread away this long (indicating), she said that all those little pieces of thread you’re throwing away the devil is making a chain for you. When you die he’s going to pull you into hell. (Laughter)
I don’t know about the Nuns. Nowadays I think of that and I tell my kids. They don’t really believe it that the Nuns were that mean.
We couldn’t even show our arms. That would be tempting the boys. Sometimes beautiful dresses would be sent in, you know, when the kids were ready to go on their summer holidays. We had to sew them different so our arms wouldn’t show because that was tempting the boys also.
And we were not told anything about sex. They said it was dirty. So when it was time for me – I’m jumping ahead – when it was time for me to get married when I got out, I don’t know how I felt when I first went to bed because it was dirty and everything. I just kept pushing away, pushing away. Finally I found out that it wasn’t unnatural.
When I had my first baby I didn’t even know where it was going to be born from because we were not taught anything. I thought my belly button was supposed to split somehow and a little baby would come out. (Laughter) We were not made ready for the years ahead.
First of all, when I was smaller I had 2 bigger brothers, but they finally left because they were of age. Oh yes, I forgot. They kept the boys and the girls who were orphans until they were in their twenties and then they married them off, even though they didn’t see each other, they got to know each other and were left to go together.
How come you didn’t have any holidays? You said that some people went home for holidays. How come you didn’t go for holidays?
Because, like I said in the beginning, my foster dad didn’t want me to go, take my mom, because they had parted, and the other way around. She didn’t want to do it so I was stuck there.
All the time.
Yeah. I didn’t know that my real mother was alive all this time. My father had died in the meantime. When I came of age, eighteen, my foster dad came for me because my foster mother didn’t think that much of me, I guess. She didn’t come for me because she had remarried already.
Did you know your foster father when he came? Had you seen him at all?
Yeah. He was the mailman from Whitefish Lake to Grouard, so every now and then he would come and see me. So when it was time for me to go out he came for me. It’s funny, when I reached Atikamik (ph.) I seen all these little log buildings because there were no modern houses. The only modern ones were the Hudson’s Bay, and there was another store, Morden’s, and the Hudson’s Bay residence and the Anglican Mission that was up there in Whitefish. There were kids that were put in there. They were the only modern buildings.
These little log buildings when I got there, some didn’t have windows. They had just white cloths. Some had windows but not all of them. And there were weeds growing out of the roofs because they had sod. I thought what smart people. They are having gardens up there! So this one time when my dad went for the mail as usual, I climbed up on the roof trying to look for a carrot or something to eat. He had forgotten his Kupenhagen (ph.) and he caught me out there. He said, “What are you doing up there?” I said, “Looking for a carrot or a turnip.” He said, “The garden is down there.” It was down the hill!
When I was in the Residential School they taught us how to sew by hand, sewing machine, knit and embroider. That was to the good. At least they taught us that but nothing else when I went to school all those years to the eighth grade. There were no higher classes.
I went to Peace River for half a year but couldn’t stay. It was too hard, like those Nuns up there were teaching the ninth grade. I just took the ninth grade for 6 months and went back to Grouard, but I didn’t go to school. I worked.
I was there when the buildings burned. It was the hospital that burned, a two-storey classroom, the laundry, the meat house and the boys’ building. There were 7 in all that burned. It was on a Sunday because we were in church, waiting for the Priest and the Nuns to come. But nobody came. All of a sudden one of the girls saw the sparks. It was windy. And my sister was in the hospital then. One of the Priests carried her out. There were only 2 patients in the hospital; 2 girls. But she died. She died of TB in McLennan Hospital.
We’re just going to have to change the tape shortly.
Is there anything else that you want to add?
Not really.
I used to know him. He was younger than me. He was one of those boys who wasn’t afraid of the Nuns. He would come over to our side and we would dress him like a little girl, put an apron on him so they wouldn’t know. He was one of those reckless. That’s how I met him.
I don’t remember anything else. Maybe later.
Can I ask about your healing process. Is there anything specific you have done that has helped you?
Oh yes. We were not allowed to talk Cree at all, our own language. And the Priests were being taught our language which we thought was funny, because we were deprived of our own language and they were being taught our language, I guess to go and convert the people around. There were new girls that used to come and right away I would go to them, trying to learn a few words, eh. But if we were caught, we got the strap again. It was always the strap.
There was one girl there that didn’t give up. Her name was Mary Marie. She talked Cree in front of the Nuns on purpose, just to fight back. For doing that she would get to kneel down on the floor, lift up her dress, and they would strap her right in front of all of us. It was funny, though. She didn’t cry at all. She just said to them, to the Nun that was strapping her, “you hurt me but I’m not going to tell you.” We all had to laugh because of the way she said it. “I’m hurting but I’m not going to tell.” She already told it.
So what have you done to heal from your experiences. Is there anything specific that has helped you?
There were a lot of meetings lately, for the last 4 years. But we never went to them. It was in Calgary and Edmonton. We never went. I vowed if I ever had children that all of them would talk Cree. At home we all talk Cree to each other, no English.
This one time my dad told me to go and take his underwear down, like in Cree, and I didn’t understand what it was. There was a frying pan hanging on a hook and I used to make these little tee-pee things but with leaves around and sit in there. It was hanging there. So I went and take this frying pan and gave it to him. He just pretty near died laughing at me. I was supposed to take his long johns down from the clothesline. But I guess he was just testing me to see if I understood.
So all your children spoke Cree?
All of them. Not just one of them; all of them. Even some of my grandchildren talk Cree. And with all my fifteen kids, and even my grandchildren are having children, I have 203 grandchildren, great grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren.
Well, thank you very much.
— End of Interview.