William Durrschnabel, beloved husband of Magdalena Durrschnabel of Edmonton, passed away on Monday, August 18, 2025, at the age of 87 years.  

Born in 1938, Germany was beginning to worry Europe.  Reparation payments were no longer coming in.  Hitler was on the rise.  In a little town called Bietigheim, a brand new 1938 model child was born.  My Father.  William.   Smart as a whip and ready for life.  However, war was soon to begin.  A war he would have to live through to get on with any kind of normal life. 

Life during the war was tough.  Little food, constant fear from air raids, firewood and other supplies always is short supply.  My Father and his sisters often walking long distances, often through portions of the Black Forest.  A forest that was already dark enough during the daytime. Most of the time there were three of them and sometimes two.  The oldest of them, probably not more than ten.  At that time, you could not just cut a tree down for firewood and process it. You could only pick fallen branches.  The food was the same.  If you didn’t have it you foraged, you begged or pulled it off fruit trees that had already been picked thoroughly. 

My Father who was so hungry, out all day foraging, begging, trying to find food any way he could, would sometimes come only to see his mother giving it all away to someone else.  How my father must have felt when he saw all that he had worked for, be given away, when his own stomach ached so much.  A doctor once remarked to my father, after a series of examinations and seeing certain organs either not fully developed or not proportionately developed in size ask him, “were you malnourished as a child”?  You can imagine my father’s response.   Later after the war, as soon as his mother could find a place for him, she stuck him into the first trade opportunity she could find, but he only had to wait a couple more months to get into a trade as a mechanic where his uncle worked.

Instead, she forced him to go to the bakery and learn a trade there. While taking that trade, she would walk a very long distance every weekend to pick up his earnings and leave him nothing.  He was only 12 years old. 

It was during this time that he would borrow his boss’ BMW Motorcycle.  It was a marvelous piece of tech- 500cc’s and his boss’ pride and joy.  It had a three-speed shifter somewhere beside the tank.  My Dad would ride this beast back to his hometown every Sunday.  He would pick up his grandmother and off to church they would go.  His Grandmother, being a super tiny person, would somehow sit on tank in front of him.  This is how every Sunday was done.  It was on one of trips one day, on the way to his grandmother’s house, that he would round a bend on a wooden bridge.  Looking to the other end he suddenly saw a family of wild boars walk out onto the road.  In a moment of panic, he braked.  Not having an up-to-date version of antilock braking, he brought the whole thing down on top of him.  He did a lot of damage to that bike that day but surprisingly his boss fixed that motorcycle and then continued to lend him the bike for Sundays. 

Now for his grandmother, who was his best friend in all the world.   He spent so many hours with his grandmother.  During the war when sirens were wailing, the first place he went to was his grandma’s house.  Many times, he would be so disappointed.  Instead of going to the bunkers she would choose to wait for her demise.  If the Allies chose to drop a bomb on or near her house that would be fine.  Other times she would go, and he would stick to her like glue.  The good thing, as far as I can understand, was that the bombs while falling often did not fall on Bietigheim.  The allies were not interested in small fry.   They chose to go after the big cities to break the will of the Germans.  Very effective.  He often shared food with grandmother.  Food that had taken him hours to find.   Already a year into a trade and only 12 years old.  Talk about being forced to grow up fast.  One good thing about the baking thing is that my son Adam and I both know how to make great authentic German Pretzels.  We are good at it.  Especially my son Adam.  It was something special my father was Happy to pass on to his Grandson. 

So finally, he finishes his Trade.  He goes out to find and job.  So, what does he look for?  Anything, as long as it does not have to do with baking.  Later in Life he would still use those skills in bush camps and find some very good lifelong friends in the process.  Even after that my dad stayed as clear away from baking as he could.  Instead, he would choose to eat his wife’s baking.  It was his official duty. At 17, his mother got him booked for a voyage for Canada to live with her sister and brother-in-Law.   Essig was their last name.  They had a small spread just a little south-west of Hines Creek, which at the time was a bustling small town.  It had three car dealerships and three big agricultural businesses.  A huge stock yard for processing various farm animals and a good assortment of grocery and hardware stores to serve the community.  Essig’s farm was a beautiful place.  A yard ¼ way down the slope on the inside banks of the Hines Creek Valley with the Hines Creek only about 7 or 800M away as the bird flies.  Protected from wind by the banks, it was a great place to live.  An area I knew well myself.  Dad got along great with his aunt and uncle. 

My father at the time was volunteering with the Canadian Red Cross.  He was a medic of sorts.  He also was a driving instructor.   You can imagine what I thought when I realized I was a second-generation driver instructor.  Father’s work was all with experienced licensed drivers.  He was busy teaching Canadian and American soldiers how to drive on German roadways.  Although the rules were essentially the same in Germany, the high level of self-compliance and dedication to the laws, made the German driving environment a very efficient high speed yet safe operation.  Proper education was a must no matter how old you were.  I was fortunate when it came to driving.  I did not get the benefit of professional training, but I did have my father’s.  The lessons he taught in driving, for the most part, is what has allowed me to accumulate so many kilometers without getting myself killed.

When I bought my first motorcycle, my dad, while scared for me, at the same time was also very excited. It was sitting in the middle of the dust filled field somewhere where my dad had left it and got on the tractor to do field work.  This is where I have my biggest regret.  Why did I not help my dad to get his own bike?  My Father, who worked on Alaska highway related projects, had a love for the mystique that highway offered.  I too had this infatuation.  He always wanted to ride this highway on a motorcycle.   He aways was so glued to our motorcycle stories and always talked about riding the Alaska Highway.  I so much regret not getting him into biking so he could follow this dream.

When my dad arrived in Canada he worked in sawmills those first few years.  Rubber boots in -40C.  I imagine that was inside buildings, but I don’t know for sure. Later, he would start working in camps and later still on the oil rigs of Alberta.  These jobs would take him everywhere in the province.  One particular spring, he found himself working for a potato farmer close to Medicine Hat.  One evening some of the guys decided to attend a dance that was being held in the community.   My Father was not a Dancer.  He hated it with a passion, but he went anyway.  He probably just planned to get a little polluted, like his fellow workmates.   But there was something there he never planned on. 

When he got there, he started looking around.  On one of the chairs on the edge of the room sat a young lady that mesmerized him instantly.  I’ll let you know now, my mom was beautiful.  In her younger days any guy would have given anything to dance with her. My father too, was not your average guy.  Girls clung to my father at every opportunity.  While the word hotty may not be the first word I can think of to describe him I would say he was definitely a very attractive lad.  Skinny as a rail of course but a face you could love instantly.  It took a long time to work up courage, but he finally did it.  He asked her to dance.  While all the other guys were busy drooling and trying to work up their own courage, they were dismayed to suddenly see my dad stumbling around on the floor with the most gorgeous girl in the room.  This started something big.  Although my mom was on her own then, there was still a lot of parental bureaucracy that he had to work through.   Parental hurdles would turn this situation into a long-term process.  They wrote letters back and forth learning about each other and their families.   For him it was a great catch.  This girl didn’t know English when she started school in grade one.  She only knew German.  Not the same dialect, but it was still similar enough they could communicate well.  Sort of.  She already knew how to run a household.  Dad had a huge hope in his chest and for the most part was ready to go. 

Dad wrote letters in English.  Problem was my Fathers English was a bit limited as he primarily learned reading comic books.  I still have at home stacks of comics that he learned from.  He was also super smart.  You had to be to learn this way.  The funny part is that as my father got older, he had a harder time understanding German.  My dad was so determined to read and write English well that he rarely spoke German at home.  When they were writing letters my mom and sisters would sit under the blankets on the bed with a flashlight deciphering his code (Bad English Writing).  One word at a time they would write the words above his till they had a real sentence.   It worked.  Then it finally came.  The green light to date.

So finally, they got married.  Started life in Fort St. John where my brother Brian and I were born.  My dad’s time with his aunt and uncle made him long for where he came from.  He wanted to farm, and it was a great place to raise two boys.  He bought a 720 John Deere tractor while still in Fort St. John.  It had the pop motor that gave Dad grief from day one till the day he sold it.  Later he would buy a farm that was close to where his uncle had farmed near Hines Creek.  We were used to flush toilets.  All we had in our new home was a pail.  That took a lot of getting used to.  He worked at the local Mill to help feed the farm.  Nothing like wearing stupid goggles on windy days on an old combine to keep the dust and chaff out of one’s eyes.  If anyone saw him in those days, they would go on to say they saw a Martian running farm equipment.  

Sometime after leaving the farm, my brother Brian would find himself head over heels in love with a young lady from the area.  They got together and had little Bear.  Not the kind that would rip up furniture and smash a granary apart!?- - Wait.  Maybe she would.  She was small enough to infiltrate and destroy a Granary- -!?? No, it could not have been that bad. What I remember was that a little girl probably did get into all sorts of mischief.  Her dad took her everywhere.  Moose hunting, trapping, thousands of day outings, you name it.  Little Bear did everything with him.  My Mother and Father would also spend a big part of their lives with her.  They preferred Barrie to Bear.  She spent so many hours at their home.  Well Barrie’s third home too.  Like her dad and her mom, my parents took little bear everywhere.  Barrie gave us the biggest blessing, Octavia. My father’s first great granddaughter that I hope to one day take out fossil hunting.  She is feisty just like little Bear was and maybe more.  Born to Barrie and Cory she is most definitely a handful - cute as a button.  Although my parents couldn’t see her often, they loved spending time with her.  Had they been closer I am sure they would have made a huge impression on her.  But as my father got older this became less possible.  Less able to drive and explore he just was able to get out as much.

A few years passed and it was my turn.  I married a Gal from Philippines.  She was working here as a Nanny and was on her way to becoming a citizen.  She wasn’t afraid of anything and was really driven.  Her Name: Emily.  So along came Alex.  Then Sammy.  Then my youngest, Adam.  My dad’s first grandson.

Soon after, my parents would move into Fairview.  They were there for quite a while interacting with relatives and friends.  Then came Dad’s retirement.  Dust at Canfor had become an issue.  So, pops pulled the plug.  They weren’t rich so they would have to be frugal.  My Mom started a cleaning business that ran for close to 15 or more years.  Father was her main Employee.  Bear much of the time filled the “ride along on the vacuum” position.  Even Michelle My Cousin joined the operation later on and added her Flair.  Here’s another bunch of kiddos that played a huge role in my father’s life.  Shawna First, and motorcycle nut like myself, Kyla who looks just like her Mah and Michelle again who looks like her dad.  Funny how that works out.  After a few years of this, issues with health, and crazy taxes made them decide that moving might be a good option.  So off they went to Grande Prairie for a while.  It was while they were there that my twins were born. When my wife and I decided to str a business in Edmonton, Mother and Father decided they would go back to Fairview to be around my brother Brian.

After Fairview, my parents moved to Berwyn. My girls would come to know Berwyn, just like Fairview, very well.  There were summers full of swimming, exploring, jumping around with Barrie and a lot of other things. 

At some point father decided that mom, being stuck up in the Peace Country for most of her life now, needed to be with her family more.  Plus, Medicine Hat was warm.  The dry air made his breathing easier, and he already knew the city.  I feel fortunate that my parents spent so much time with my children and Barrie.   They affected a lot of people to a great extent.  Barrie’s mother said to me just lately as she wished me Condolences.  She said quite simply and as accurately as I can remember “Willy helped shape many people over the years”.  I sat back and thought, this was definitely the case.  My Father was no angel but he had the heart of an angel.   Between his and my mother’s influence my father grew to want to take care of people.  He would stick up for people.  Call people out when they needed to be. He pushed people when they needed that little extra bit of confidence.  He was a great example and made the best pretzels.  Respected all people for who they were and hated war.

The relationships he built with friends and family he maintained. In the building where he resided in, even the people that he rubbed up against on respected him and felt the pain when they found out he was sick. 

Despite my youngest not having as much time with my father, when my dad moved to Edmonton their relationship blossomed. My son and my father quickly became close in a way that was unique to them.  When he found out that his grandfather would not be around all that much longer, he had the same kind of emotional feelings his sisters had. 

My father Died on August 18th, 2025, around 02:35 in the morning at the Misericordia Hospital that is about ten minutes walking distance from my home here in Edmonton.  He died 6 days before my mom’s birthday.  He was 87 years old.  My mother and father spent about 63 years together.  They accomplished a lot.  When I got the news that night, I covered my face with my blanket and cried my eyes out.  My dog Monte came up from the base of the bed, curled up behind my neck and laid his head on my Temple.  He stayed there for hours till I got up to tend to things. 

When dad left Germany, he had a trade, but he only had about a grade six level education in the school. Despite this, he created a beautiful life and a beautiful family.

I miss my father so much.  There were times when two weeks went by, and I was so busy I never saw him.  Only a few days have gone by since he left, and I miss him terribly.  At the same time the pain I’m feeling is based on my missing him.  I know he has gone on to better things.  I know though, that one day I will see him again.

He leaves behind his wife, Magdalena (Maggie). His children, Roy (myself) and Emily, and Brian (pre-deceased). His grandchildren, Barrie, Alexandra, Samantha, Adam, and little Deny. Also, his first great granddaughter, Octavia. Sister Gertrude, brother Heinz, and Irmgard (pre-deceased). His nephews, Wolfgang, Michael. Nieces, Shawna, Kyla, Michelle, and Linda and his parents (pre-deceased). I have probably forgotten someone.  I apologize for that right now.

A private graveside service will take place at the Hillside Cemetery.