Fourth in a series of first-hand accounts from the children of Sons of Freedom Doukhobors that were forcibly removed from their families and confined at the New Denver School. Approximately 200 children were interned at the school between 1953 and 1959.
Eleven-year-old Nancy Kootnikoff was living with her Sons of Freedom parents at a Doukhobor Village in Brilliant when police began rounding up the group's children and confining them in the New Denver School.
The first time they came, Nancy's mother told her and her eight-year-old sister to hide in the hayloft.
"I still can picture it," Nancy told Castlegar News. "The cop came up there and he took the pitchfork and he was just stabbing the hay."
The pitchfork's tines missed the girls, but the police came back a week later.
"Mom said, 'Go to the hay loft.' But we wouldn't – we were terrified."
That day, the sisters became two of the approximately 200 children who were forcibly removed from their homes and placed at a residential school in New Denver between 1953 and 1959, mostly due to the group's refusal to send their children to school.
The girls were loaded into a vehicle and driven away. Their first stop was Shoreacres where three of their cousins were also apprehended.
When they reached the school in New Denver, the sisters were separated and their pleas to stay together fell on deaf ears. Nancy was placed with the older girls, her sister with the younger.
"My sister was crying and I asked if I could go and comfort her," recalls Nancy. "But no, they wouldn't allow it.
"I remember a lady saying, 'She just has to get used to it.'"
But her sister didn't get used to it.
"She would wake up and she was dreaming so she would be crying and there was no way you could get out of your bed and comfort her," said Nancy as she recalled the helplessness and heartache of knowing her little sister was frightened and homesick.
Nancy says the years that followed were a routine of school, chores and discipline.
She remembers being woken up extra early on school days to work in the kitchen.
"I will never forget [one matron], my job every morning was to cut her grapefruit. If I didn't do it right, I would be in trouble and then go out without breakfast."
She and a few other girls also had to set the table for the staff. Nancy said it had to be perfect and precise with nothing out of alignment or they would get into trouble.
Getting into trouble at the school resulted in a variety of punishments including loss of meals, loss of possessions, loss of parental visits and "the strap."
In February the Province of B.C. issued a formal apology to the school's former residents and acknowledged that the children were mistreated both physically and psychologically.
After school, Nancy had to do laundry and other chores like scrubbing floors.
"She [the matron] would be standing over you, telling you what you missed."
"It was very stressful there," said Nancy.
Gym and exercise time was another source of stress. Nancy says the male gym instructor was especially hard on the girls.
"Run in circles, run in circles, until you are ready to drop. It didn't matter if you were on your period or if you had cramps. If you didn't do the exercises, you would be punished."
At 80 years old, Nancy says, "I can't remember his name, but I can still see his face."
"My worst memories are the pitchfork, the day they took us and [the matron]."
She also recalls bullying from the other children.
Several other memories stand out in Nancy's mind illustrating the hardship of being separated from family.
During her time at the school, Nancy had to have her appendix removed. Even though she was taken to the hospital and underwent major surgery, her parents were not allowed to visit her. For the residents of the school, parental visits were only allowed every other week at a specific time and were done through a chain link fence.
She also was not allowed to attend an older sister's wedding.
Like many other New Denver School children, Nancy has a story of a failed escape attempt. At the age of 12, she joined a friend and snuck out of the property. They made it farther than most, thanks to a ride, and got as far as the old bus depot near the Dam Inn at South Slocan. But they were picked up there and taken back to the school to face their punishment.
After staying at the school for four years, 15-year-old Nancy was released. Her younger sister remained for an additional year and several months until the school finally closed in 1959 after the parents finally signed an agreement with the government saying they would send their children to public school.
Life after New Denver
When Nancy returned home, she no longer felt close to her parents and blamed them for the years she spent at the school.
So just a few months after being released from the school and still 15 years old, Nancy married a man four years her senior that she had only known for a short time.
"It seemed I was confined at home too," said Nancy. "That is why I went and got married – to be free."
But her life didn't turn out to have the freedom she desired.
Nancy had her first child at 18, and then another one every year for the next three years.
"I loved my kids, that was the best part of it, but my husband was very abusive," said Nancy.
She stayed with him for more than 20 years before leaving the abuse.
"Maybe because when I was in New Denver I didn't speak up for myself, because you would be in trouble. So I never spoke up to him."
Nancy says her time in New Denver definitely influenced her decision to marry so young.
"I think she was scared about having to ever go back to that place, so she was making sure it couldn't happen," added Nancy's daughter Nena who participated in the interview with Castlegar News.
Nena says there are numerous ways that growing up at the residential school affected her mother.
"It has affected my mom emotionally, big time, her whole life," said Nena. "She never really learned how to communicate or show her emotions because she has always been terrified to talk about things."
Nena says it wasn't until she was entering adulthood that she learned what her mother had gone through in New Denver.
"It affected us kids too, growing up," said Nena.
"She tries to be the best mom in the world, of course, but she has a hard time with her emotions. She doesn't like to talk about things. She shuts things off.
"When things happened to us as kids, we were too scared to go tell our parents because we knew they wouldn't open up or talk about anything."
Nena says it also affected her and her sibling's relationships with their grandparents.
"It is the same cycle of everyone shutting down."
Nena says she thinks her mom did the best that she knew how to do, but the school's after affects left a lot of scars.
"Not being able to see your parents, to hug your parents, to go to your sister's wedding, I can't even imagine what that instills in a child when your development is most vulnerable," said Nena.
"We are just finally coming together as a family these past few years."
There are a few other lingering affects of Nancy's childhood – a lack of education and a deep-seated fear of police.
"At first it was terrifying to see police," says Nancy.
"But even now, when I am driving – if they are following me, it is upsetting."
Nancy says her lack of education was highlighted recently when after turning 80, she had to go to a screening in order to keep her driver's license. When the clinician started asking her math questions that she was supposed to calculate in her head, Nancy had to ask for a pen and paper.
"I told them, I can't do this in my head, I went to school for three years and that's it."
She hadn't forgotten how to do the math, as the screening test was looking for – she never learned it to start with.
Nancy says her writing skills are also limited and she spent her life working in low-paying jobs without benefits in places like restaurants and cleaning services.
Apology reaction
Nancy and Nena were not satisfied with the compensation package that the Province of B.C. offered as part of their February 2024 apology.
The $10-million package included $5 million to create a legacy fund to “preserve and promote the community’s cultural heritage and to support educational initiatives;" $1.25 million for research and archival services; and $3.75 million for a health and wellness fund.
But it did not include any direct financial compensation to the survivors or their families.
Nancy says she was not consulted during the decision making process and was frustrated the government hasn't given survivors the choice of what to do with the money.
"I am not holding my breath as to what they are going to do, I'll probably be gone by then," said Nancy.
"This wasn't closure – it's worse."
She also dreaded the thought of having to fill out paperwork to access the wellness funds.
But now, seven months after the apology was issued, the government has changed course and is now distributing the money in the $3.75 million health and wellness fund to living survivors and the families of deceased survivors.
Nancy wasn't seeking to get rich, but was hoping for just enough money to pay her debts and not have to worry about how she is going to pay for daily necessities during her remaining years.
Castlegar News has heard from several survivors that the government payments are ranging from $10,000 to $18,000 per survivor.
Nena adds that she would just like her mom to see, "a little piece of mind before she passes on, to not worry and forget about the past. It's a burden they carry on their minds to this day.
"And it hasn't been resolved."
