by Jean Little
Tuesday, August 20, 1918
I totally forgot to say before that Jo has been accepted by the University of Toronto Medical School. She is excited on top and scared to death underneath.
I am glad it isn’t like being a probationer nurse. They have to live in a residence and work in the hospital all hours, emptying bedpans and cleaning up vomit and other horrible things. Jo can go to her classes from home, which is lovely.
Wednesday, August 21, 1918
I know I should have written more yesterday but I just could not. I kept thinking about those men in the hospital and their families and how they got hurt and all the ones who will never come home. I couldn’t stop crying until Aunt sent Fanny and me out for a tandem ride and gave us some money to buy ice cream. When I came in, I still could not bear to write. I just wanted to get away. So I reread the parts about Beth in Little Women. Doing that, I could cry all I wanted without being asked why.
Myrtle, who hardly ever speaks to anyone but Aunt, asked if I had a pain. I told her no and turned my back to the door. She did not stick around.
I feel better today, myself again. I have already promised to go back to the hospital even though Father said it was maybe too much for children of twelve. I don’t know why a child of twelve should not face sadness and know the truth of things. We are human beings just like Father and Aunt. When we are there with those men, I don’t feel like a “child of twelve.” I don’t feel like a grown woman quite but I’m on my way.
Thursday, August 22, 1918
I’ve just been out AGAIN with my funny little brother to feed one of his horses. You did not know that your Uncle Theodore was a horse owner? Well, Jane, according to Theo, the milkman’s horse Fred is his friend and looks to him for nourishment. The breadman’s horse Betsy is his special chum and has bones sticking out — although she looks perfectly plump to me. There is also the iceman’s horse Gertie and the tinker’s horse Jasper. There’s another I know which I can’t remember.
Theo takes them all bread or apples or slices of carrot or even a lick of salt on his little hand and he has to have one of us with him ever since Grandmother told us she had heard, at her Women’s Missionary Society meeting, about a child being trodden onby a horse and having her toes crushed. Father said it was nonsense but Aunt cannot risk her darling’s little piggies. So somebody has to accompany Theo on his daily errands of mercy.
It is fun really, Jane. I admit to you, but to nobody else, that I like going along. The horses are such great, gentle creatures and they watch for Theo to appear.
Father says that someday a horse will mistake Theo’s yellow mop for a haystack and he will come home bald. Father got glared at by everyone but Grandmother and Hamlet. Hamlet did look doleful, but that is the way his face is made. Jowly and owlly.
I go out with Theo when he rides his velocipede too. Aunt is afraid he will get going too fast, ride into the street and get run over. But that tricycle of his, even though it is a Canuck Velocipede, does not go at any great rate when Theo is pedalling. I often put one foot on the bar between the back wheels, and my hands over his, and push off with my other foot. We positively fly and he loves it. Neither of us mentions this to his doting auntie.
Friday, August 23, 1918
We are going to sing to the soldiers again. I don’t think I will write about it this time. It hurts me too much. I will tell you if Red Beard does anything comical.
We have been getting Jo outfitted for university. She has told me privately that she plans to have her hair cut before classes begin. For once, she and Jemma will not be in agreement. Jemma can sit on her hair and she is immensely proud of it. I wonder if Jo will go through with this like Jo in Little Women. Our Josephine has such lovely hair although she does not think so.
Carrie Galt still wears hers down her back with a big flat bow at the nape of her neck. She looks jim-dandy. Jemma keeps quoting the Bible about long hair being a woman’s crowning glory. The strange part is that Jo’s hair is more glorious than Jemma’s. Nobody mentions this to either of them for fear they will make Jo mad or hurt Jemma’s feelings. Jo’s is the exact colour of a polished conker. But Jemma’s is just a deep brown with no red in it. Nice but ordinary.
“Rubbish!” Josephine Macgregor would say to that.
Aunt wears hers in a roll on the back of her neck or a bun on the very top when she is dressed up. It looks elegant when it is in that topknot.
Saturday, August 24, 1918
Jo did get her hair cut. It comes to her shoulders now. It is still plenty long enough to twist up in a knob at the back of her neck. She can always put a rat in it if she wants it to look really long. A rat, Jane, is a wire coil you wind the hair around to make it appear longer.
She came home and faced the family, looking like somebody else. Nobody spoke for a few seconds. Nobody even squeaked. Then Theo went goggle-eyed and asked her where the rest of her hair was and she handed him a bag filled with it. They had gathered it up off the floor. Aunt gave one shriek, blinked back tears and told her she looked “really lovely.” But her heart was not in it.
Personally, Jane, I think it is stunning. I didn’t know the ends would curl up like that. And when she moves fast, it swings and gleams as it catches the light. I won’t say a word now, but when I am older, I will get mine cut the same way.
Grandmother said she had palpitations, of course. Jemma was so quiet and she kept looking at Jo and then, quickly, looking away, as though it hurt her to see her sister changed. They have always worn their hair in the same way before.
Then Father got up and gave her a big hug and Jo cried. Jemma hugged her too but she still looked queer.
Lights Out!
Sunday, August 25, 1918
We went back to the hospital and something astonishing happened. I did not tell even Fan but maybe I should. I stood by that same soldier, the one who has never said a word and does not seem to see. I began to think about how terribly alone he must feel and I could not help it. When we were singing loudly and nobody was looking, I just reached out and took hold of his hand. I simply stood there, holding it. It was lying palm down, Jane, and, just as I was letting go, he turned it over and held onto me. He is very weak and we both let go in the next second. I know I gasped but nobody noticed because they were singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”
“Is your name Tom, Dick or Harry?” I murmured, just to be saying something.
I did not expect him to answer and he did not then. But just as they were gathering us to sing a last song, I heard a very low, very husky voice whisper, “Michael.”
So, when we were going, I hung back and whispered, “Goodbye, Michael.”
He did not answer or turn his head or anything and I left with the group. But, Jane, my knees wobbled as though they were made of junket. I can hardly believe what happened and maybe I should tell someone. But how can I? I should never have taken his hand that way. Grandmother would be too shocked to speak. No, not she. She would lecture me for an hour! Aunt might be, too.
He was just like Theo somehow. I will go once more, I have decided, and then I will know what I should do.
Monday, August 26, 1918
I cannot think of anything but that poor soldier. I think I will have to tell Aunt. Yet I don’t know quite how to begin. How can I explain why I picked up his hand that way? Brazen — that’s the word they would use for my behaviour. They will be sure to think touching him was forward. If I was a “good girl” I would not have dreamed of doing such a bold thing. Oh, Jane, I feel so confused.
Aunt has started us sewing our clothes for school.
Wednesday, August 28, 1918
We are busy getting ready for school. I have grown a lot taller since last autumn and so has Fan. We would get Jo and Jemma’s hand-me-downs except we are bigger. Not just taller but with wider shoulders and longer arms. We take after the Macgregor side, Aunt says. I have to get new shirtwaists and we must make new underthings. Thank goodness Myrtle likes hemming! She’s good at it
, too. Her little stitches are all even and Aunt keeps making me study them. This is when I have caught Myrtle actually smiling.
Aunt bought us some wide lace to trim our petticoats with. It will make them longer. But it is beastly to sew on. Worth it though. It is so pretty, it makes me feel almost rich. And of course I have lots of hat ribbons, thanks to that horse! I have already used some just to tie up the back of my hair with a big bow. It looked splendid.
Our class will be the oldest students this year, going into Entrance. Maybe they will call it something different when you are my age, Jane. It means “high school entrance” and when it is done, we write Entrance exams. The Grade Eight students have always seemed so important. And now I’m about to become one.
Thursday, August 29, 1918
I took a break from Pride and Prejudice and got started reading The Rosary by Florence Barclay. I couldn’t stop. Aunt says it is a silly book but she loves it anyway. Me too. It is so romantic. Of course, I made the blind hero look just like my blind soldier at the hospital. I cried buckets. And I skipped and skimmed enough to finish it before Aunt told us to put out the light.
But the people in The Rosary are not real like Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. Having Mrs. B. for a mother would be a terrible trial. It would be better to be motherless like Fan and me, I think. She would embarrass us every time we had to go out with her.
September 1918
Sunday, September 1, 1918
The War news is still terrible. I can’t write about that.
I have a new pleated skirt that swings out almost straight when I whirl around. Fan has one too but, for once, Aunt let us choose different colours. Mine is a deep blue and Fan’s is chocolate brown.
I am going to wear mine next time we go to the hospital — if Aunt does not forbid me. I promise not to twirl.
Father just came in and told us that our troops have broken through the Hindenburg Line! That is really important. Father says that it was the German line of defence and they believed it could not be broken.
“The casualties must be staggering,” Aunt said in a low voice.
“But the end is coming, Rose,” Father said and he put his hand on her shoulder. It was strange. Until I saw her reach up to touch his hand, I did not realize that I have never seen him touch her before, not that I can remember anyway. I think touching Michael’s hand made me notice. I don’t know why but it seemed special.
She was right about the casualties. “Thousands,” the paper said.
Monday, September 2, 1918
Myrtle was sick today so we had to do the washing without her. It was my job to hang out the clothes. I got so entranced by the sunshine and the wind in the trees and the exciting feeling of school starting up soon, that I allowed myself to sit down on the grass for “a minute.” Then I sort of stretched out and gave my eyes a rest by letting the lids slip closed. Theo came running to wake me. He got me hanging up the towels seconds before Aunt came out with fire in her eye. She stared at me, took in what little was hanging on the line and Theo’s presence. He was blushing and staring at his boots. He can’t bear to make his darling Mama mad at him. She stood there steaming for a moment. Then she did an about-turn.
“Well done, Theo,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “Keep her at it.”
Then she marched back into the house like a sergeant major.
Well done indeed.
How do you think I’ll do as a writer, Jane? I was trying to make the scene come to life because otherwise this was an extremely dull day.
I thought the Hindenburg Line had been broken but it is still in the news. I can’t imagine it.
I also have trouble imagining school beginning tomorrow in spite of all our sewing. But starting a new year is always an adventure — or that is how it feels to me.
Tuesday, September 3, 1918
School! We are still Jesse Ketchum students even though we have been turned out of our own building by the army once again. We are so crowded. Now we are bigger, Mr. Briggs says we must maintain our separate identity. We are supposed to have a desk each but there isn’t enough room.
Mr. Briggs is the principal and the teacher of Grade Eight, both of them. Homework already.
I’ll write again tomorrow, Jane. Aunt is calling me to come and fold sheets. We do it when Myrtle is not here because, when she helps, she drops her corner if you jerk it the least bit. And we have a lot of sheets to fold.
Wednesday, September 4, 1918
I really do like Mr. Briggs. The others say he is too strict but he has a twinkle in his eye. He does not give even the boys the strap all the time like Mr. Short did last year. I hate it when they give anyone the strap. You can hear it strike their hand and you can hear them whimper after the first few licks. It is horrible. I am grateful that hardly anybody gives girls the strap. Some teachers do, I have heard, but none has ever done it to a girl in my class.
This is an old school but not as old as Jesse Ketchum. I like knowing that lots of other boys and girls have walked the halls before I was born, leaving hollowed out places on the steps. Fan says a new school would be better. It wouldn’t smell of old chalk dust. I think all schools, old or new, smell of Arithmetic. “What does that smell like?” she wanted to know. “Dry,” I told her and she laughed. I love making my sister laugh. She’s so given to just smiling that Mona Lisa smile.
Thursday, September 5, 1918
The War news sounds better but still very unsettled.
Pixie had a fit today. I thought she was dying. She went stiff and her eyes rolled up and her legs jerked. But she came out of it.
Aunt cried and held her in her arms. I cried too but it was seeing Aunt’s tears that started mine. After all, Pixie is practically an antique. Aunt has had her since she was younger than Hamlet.
Friday, September 6, 1918
Another part of the Hindenburg Line has been “breached” — some key section, Father says. But thousands of lives were lost. It is supposed to be tremendously important, but I think of all the mothers and sisters hearing the news.
That is enough of that. I can’t keep dwelling on it or I will get the page all wet and the ink will run. I make enough inkblots without that.
Saturday, September 7, 1918
I don’t know what came over Aunt but we had to help with housecleaning all day. Beat rugs, washed curtains, polished furniture and the banisters, even washed the windows with vinegar and brown paper. Like Jack’s crown in the nursery rhyme book. I am getting mixed up. Too bad Myrtle does not come on weekends. I am too worn out to write sensibly. Poor Jane.
Later
I finally saw the mysterious Dulcie Trimmer and it was spooky! As a break from the “eternal round of housework,” Aunt sent me to the bakery to get Theo a gingerbread boy because he is sick and feeling sorry for himself. There are tea tables at the front and there sat Grandmother with somebody I’d never seen before. When she saw me, she called me over and introduced me to Miss Trimmer.
“This is my granddaughter Fiona,” she said. “You remember I told you about David’s two sets of twins?”
Miss Trimmer nodded and smiled. She kept on smiling and smiling in the oddest way. You could not help noticing because she has such large teeth and they are so white. They would make a great advertisement for Pepsodent toothpaste. I could not think what made her smile seem strange for a couple of minutes and then I figured it out. It never changed. It didn’t get broader or turn up at one corner more than the other. It was fixed — like the smile on a doll. But her eyes moved up and down, taking in every inch of me in the rudest way, as though I was a specimen of some kind. She made me feel I had grease spots on my shirtwaist or a smudge on my nose.
“I knew your father very well indeed before he went off to that foolish war,” she said with a strange little chuckle to end off her words. “David and I were SUCH dear friends, weren’t we, Mrs. Macgregor?”
When she said “such” she cooed it, pulling it out long like taffy. Jane, she actually simpered at
Grandmother, and Grandmother simpered right back and gave a little nod to clinch it, whatever it was.
“That’s nice,” I said and ran. I was out on the sidewalk before I remembered I had forgotten to buy Theo’s gingerbread.
Luckily there is another bakery not far up the street so I ran to Guthries and got him one of theirs. He didn’t notice but Aunt did. She asked why I went to the shop that was further away.
“Grandmother and Dulcie Trimmer were having tea in the first one,” I told her.
“Oh,” she said, as though she understood perfectly. Then she added, “Miss Trimmer to you, young lady.”
“Miss Trimmer,” I said meekly, hoping I could get her to talk. “Aunt, was that Dulcie Trimmer really a great friend of Father’s in the olden days?”
“I told you to call her Miss Trimmer,” Aunt snapped. Then she grinned at me and muttered, “That creature gives me the pip. Your grandmother has invited her here for tea tomorrow. Ruth told me once that your grandmother thought she was a great catch and hoped David would propose to her.”
I sat down and tried to pry more out of her. But she gave me a little push and laughed and said, “Enough of that, Fiona Rose. You run along and entertain your little brother. He’s beside himself because I’m keeping him in the house until his sore throat is completely better.”
So I had no chance to find out anything more about the mystery woman, Jane. You should have seen the look that went back and forth between Grandmother and D. Trimmer when she told her I was “one of David’s two sets of twins.” She gives me the pip, too.
I have just had a revelation! I am almost positive Dulcie T.’s coming to tea is what got Aunt started on her housecleaning frenzy. Aha! The Macgregor family must put its best foot — or feet — forward.
Sunday, September 8, 1918
