by Jean Little
We went to the hospital again and the strangest thing happened. Michael was not there. I could not believe it. At last, I asked the nurse who was passing and she said, “Oh, it was a miracle. Just after you were here last time, he spoke to one of the nurses, Miss Reynolds. He remembered his name.”
She was turning away but I grabbed her sleeve. “What was it?” I asked her.
She gave me a funny look. So did the girls standing near. Tillie Osborne snickered. She’s vulgar. Nancy Spry muttered, “Watch it, Matilda.”
But then the nurse told me. “Michael Franks,” she said.
Then she, too, sent Tillie a glare that settled her hash. “He’s been moved to a recuperation ward where they can work with him toward his recovery. When he spoke, we couldn’t believe it. It was SUCH a shock!”
“Fiona, are you joining us?” Miss Banks said, so I had to go. I almost burst out crying but only a little bit of it was because I missed him. I am so happy he is getting well. And I told Fan finally. She was fascinated but said not to tell Aunt. So I won’t. I wonder if I helped him even the tiniest bit. At least, I know now that I did him no harm.
I wish Aunt would play Beethoven’s “Song of Joy.” But when we got home, Dulcie Trimmer had just left and Aunt was on her way up to her room for a rest. She looked tired out so I think I will start the supper as a surprise.
Monday, September 9, 1918
I have memory work to learn. It is by Alfred Lord Tennyson. I like it but it is sad. It begins,
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
I like the beginning bit best. The same with the second verse.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark …
It is about dying. I hope nobody close to me dies until we are very, very old. I guess it can’t be helped then. Maybe you don’t even mind. Fan has to learn a poem about dying too but it is shorter. It is by Robert Louis Stevenson and it starts out,
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
It is more cheerful than mine but not so poetic. Father has told me about him. He was sick a lot and went to live in the South Seas. I wonder if he really died gladly. It is hard to believe anyone could.
Every night, Theo prays,
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
I don’t think he hears what he is praying. I hope not.
Tuesday, September 10, 1918
Mr. Briggs made us write a pretend page in a diary this morning. He read mine out to the whole class.
“Teacher’s pet, as usual,” Annie Cray whispered. I smiled my sweetest smile at her. She had just been taken over by the green-eyed monster. I had an unfair advantage, after all. Most of them have had no practice in diary writing. I told about the horse stepping on my hat ribbon. Everybody laughed. Annie described the weather. She sits right in front of me so I read every boring word.
Poor old Annie.
Wednesday, September 11, 1918
Oh, Jane, I have my pen in my hand but I am too tired to write with it. Mathematics homework. Ugh!
Thursday, September 12, 1918
Jane, life seems so crowded with busyness. Soon I will sit down and catch up the bits I am missing. Mr. Briggs made us write a composition on Patriotism. It was hard. Father says it has nothing to do with bugles blowing and flags flying but is all about loving your land enough to face trench warfare to save it. I don’t like topics like “Duty” or “Patriotism” or “Courage.” I’d so much rather write a story or a poem.
We were supposed to sing to the soldiers again tomorrow but Miss Banks is so busy with her schoolwork that we had to put it off.
I’m too sleepy to keep writing tonight, Jane. Sleep well.
Friday, September 13, 1918
It is Friday the thirteenth. Everybody talked about it at breakfast. Grandmother, who had come down early, said there was truth in most old superstitions. She believed in being very careful not to do anything rash on Friday the thirteenth.
Then, when we came home, we found that Aunt had had a letter from a school friend of hers who lives in Quebec. The terrible thing is that her son came safely home from War, sent home for some reason I forget, and then got sick with what they call the Spanish Flu. (I don’t really understand why it is called the Spanish Flu.) His sister caught it from him. He died after only four days but his sister pulled through after being “at death’s door” for nearly two weeks. Their mother wrote that others seem to be stricken down with this disease and it is surprising because they were young and strong.
Grandmother says she must be exaggerating and Father said it was hard to believe. Aunt told them that they clearly did not know her friend, who was very down-to-earth and never exaggerated anything. Then she went upstairs and did not come back down for over an hour.
“Thank fortune we don’t have such diseases in this province,” Grandmother muttered.
“You don’t get Influenza from speaking French,” Jo snorted. Then she left the table too.
Quebec does seem a bit unreal to me and very far away. But I am sorry for that family.
Saturday, September 14, 1918
Aunt decided today would be a perfect time to turn all the mattresses and she made Fanny and me help. Before we knew it, we were doing an extra wash of bedding and beating the dust out of the small rugs and shaking up the pillows. It’s a wonder she didn’t send us out to some farm to get fresh feathers to stuff the pillows. I do not think adults should have the right to take children’s one weekly holiday away and use it up on humdrum chores. It was funny though to find out what was hidden under Jemma’s mattress. I will not write it in here since I didn’t actually read any of the letters tied up with a blue ribbon — but I might have if Aunt had not watched me like a hawk. Who on earth would write such treasured letters to our Jemima?
We played croquet after supper. This time, Jemma accused Jo of cheating. “As usual,” she said. But she was laughing when she said it. It was loads of fun.
Sunday, September 15, 1918
The minister prayed for our army again. He asked God to strike down our enemies and lead our gallant troops to victory. I think it is fine but Father always gets restless as though something about it bothers him. I was going to ask him about this but he seems a bit like a stranger when we come home from church and he shuts himself up in his study.
I thought about going after him but I asked Aunt instead. She says he reads the names of those who have fallen and he thinks of all the other fathers in England and even in Germany reading the same sort of lists.
“We humans made this War, not God,” she told me. “David thinks it is up to us to work it out and we should not be expecting God to strike down our enemies when most of them are young men just like ours.”
“Is Father a pacifist?” I asked her.
“He would have enlisted if he had been physically fit,” she said. “They would not take a man his age with a limp and five children. But he certainly believes there are better ways to settle problems than going to war and killing people.”
Then she blew her nose and went off into her bedroom.
It is all hard to understand, Jane, and I do wish the War would get done with, the way Father keeps saying it will. Then I could stop worrying over it, couldn’t I? Maybe. I think there must be things to do after a war to set things straight.
Watching Theo
do a follow-the-dots puzzle in the paper, with the tip of his tongue sticking out, comforted me. He looked so solemn.
Monday, September 16, 1918
The porridge was burnt this morning just like the porridge in Jane Eyre. But Aunt threw it all out and made us boiled eggs and toast with jam.
I think I will start reading a new book. I finished Pride and Prejudice. Aunt asked me if I wanted another one by Jane Austen but I told her not yet and started The Harvester over again. I like the heroine’s name being Ruth.
Tuesday, September 17, 1918
This was too tedious a day to bother recording. We are having our first tests at the end of the week and I need to study. I hate it. I also have to work on the nightgown I am sewing for my Household Sciences class. I loathe sewing. I am forever pricking my finger and Myrtle is not there to do the hemming for me. Miss Dalrimple won’t let us take it home and do it on our treadle sewing machine. We have to learn to make different stitches by hand and how to darn and hem. As if most of us have not been taught those dreary skills at home!
Aunt suggested that I should tell Miss Dalrimple that I wear pyjamas, but I am afraid that if I did, she would say I had to sew a pair of those. It would be two garments, even worse than the nightgown.
Thursday, September 19, 1918
The music teacher came today and taught us “Do you ken John Peel?” It was fun to sing! But it is not very Canadian. I’ve never seen anyone ride out hunting foxes that way. Then we sang, “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton,” which is at least romantic, followed by “The Skye Boat Song.” The music teacher is British, Jane.
At breakfast Father told us that he had read, in The Toronto Daily Star, that they had cases of Influenza in the military hospitals, but they were under quarantine and the authorities saw no need for concern.
“I hope they know what they are talking about,” he said.
Both he and Aunt shot glances at my little brother, who has the sniffles again. It is as though that child is the only person in this house of any real importance. I am fond of Theo myself but they are besotted with him!
I coughed. Nobody noticed.
Friday, September 20, 1918
Jo and Carrie are attending classes but it is not easy. The girls in the class meet outside the lecture room and walk in together. Carrie has a cousin her mother’s age who was one of the very first women doctors to qualify. When she and her friends marched in, the male students would stamp their feet and chant,
She doesn’t know that her degree
Should be M-R-S and not M-D.
I do not want to be a doctor. I think, if I have a career, I want to write books. But such mean taunts are almost enough to make you sign up for Meds just so you could stick out your tongue at those stupid boys or hold your head high at least while you stalked past.
Jo says it is important that the girls act very grown-up and prove that they have brains and are not going just to try to catch a male medical student as a husband, the way Grandmother said the other night at supper. Even Father, who usually pretends not to hear her, turned and glared at her. “That comment is unworthy of you, Mother,” he said in a voice like ice.
Grandmother blushed. It was a dull, patchy blush but still, I truly believe she was ashamed of herself. Good for Father!
They have one professor who turns his back when the girls come into the lecture hall and who does not speak to them. He never looks at them properly either. Everybody knows he does not believe women should be doctors. I cannot understand it. Half the people in the world are female. He thinks it is a waste to train them when they will just end up getting married and never practising. Grandmother says he has a point.
Jo claims she will not marry a man who will not let her practise her profession. Grandmother gave one of her snorts but she did not go on to say more, not with Father’s eye fixed on her.
Monday, September 23, 1918
The weekend was full to bursting with visitors. Aunt Jessica and Uncle Walter came with their obnoxious children. We couldn’t go to sing. I was almost glad. I feel as though the heart has gone out of it. Visitors would be fine if they didn’t make so much work. So many dishes to wash! So many dishes to dry! And guess who had to put them all away! I wonder if Theo gets out of everything because he is so small or partly because he is a boy.
Well, at least some women have the vote now. Maybe, by the time I am as old as Aunt, all women will.
Thursday, September 26, 1918
Jane, have you given me up for lost? It is just that there is a lot more homework to do in Grade Eight. Mathematics is my bugbear.
But I will have time and energy soon, I promise. Not tonight though. I still have to draw a map of Canada with all nine provinces and put in the capital cities. I was moaning to Aunt about it.
“Thank the good Lord that you aren’t a Yankee with forty-eight states to draw,” she said.
Trust Aunt.
Friday, September 27, 1918
Got the darn map finished and knocked the ink bottle over so a great stream flowed right across everything east of Ontario. But I think I can trace the uninky provinces now the paper has dried.
Saturday, September 28, 1918
Jane, why did I want to keep this diary? If it weren’t for you, I would lose it accidentally on purpose. I am reading a book I cannot bear to leave. It is called T. Tembarom. It is like Little Lord Fauntleroy for grown-ups. I can’t tear myself away one moment longer.
Sunday, September 29, 1918
We went to the hospital today. Oh, Jane, I thought writing to you about it might help but I can’t do it. I keep crying. Fan has gone to get Aunt. Maybe I will tell you later.
Later
I think I can tell you about it now, Jane, but quickly, because I have to help with supper. We were at the hospital and I had to go to the bathroom so I asked where it was and set out. I opened the wrong door. It was a ward for men who are shell-shocked or something. They were so pitiful. Oh, I cannot tell you the details. One man was lying there with no legs. Another one was yelling gibberish and then burst into tears like a baby.
Father says I am not to go back. The older ones will go but not Fan and me. Fan told me, privately, that she was glad. I hope Jo is not too ashamed of us.
Michael Frank was not in that room. I was glad of that.
Aunt says she is relieved to have us stop because there just might be somebody with Influenza brought there. Miss Banks said she had been assured it was safe, but she is inclined to agree that we should put off our visiting for a few weeks.
Monday, September 30, 1918
Fall has come. The maples are touched with scarlet and the leaves on our silver birches are growing yellow. One of Jemma’s friends said there could not be a God with all the suffering in the world and Jemma told us she just said, “Nobody can look at the maples and not believe in God.”
“Good for you, daughter,” Father said.
Jemma went pink. He doesn’t smile that way often. He laughs at her jokes but this time, his smile said he was proud of her. Usually it is Jo who makes him look that way.
October 1918
Tuesday, October 1, 1918
I have a headache. Sorry, Jane. It is NOT a Flu symptom, I promise. But I can’t write with the letters swimming in front of my eyes the way they are doing. I am afraid to tell Father because he would take me to the doctor and get me spectacles.
“Megrims,” Grandmother snorted when Aunt told me to go and lie down. She has no use for people who give in to such minor ailments. It is a good thing I don’t know how to strike someone dead or I might have done it.
Wednesday, October 2, 1918
People are becoming anxious about this Influenza even though the Public Health doctor says we should just keep fit and not catch colds. Otherwise, we’re not to worry. As if worry could make us sick.
Thursday, October 3, 1918
A little girl died of the Spanish Flu in Toronto General Hospital four days ago. Jo came home and told Aunt. If she is the child Jo
thinks she was, we have all seen her. She was in one of the primary classes at Jesse Ketchum and once in a while she came to our Sunday School. I think her name was Jenny or Janie Robertson but I am not certain.
They are considering placing our school under quarantine. I think that means shutting it down. Yet when you are under quarantine for scarlet fever, you are shut up in your house, not shut out of it, so I don’t understand exactly what it means. We’ll find out tomorrow.
Friday, October 4, 1918
The paper says that the Flu has definitely arrived in Ontario. There are lots of people in Renfrew who have it. And a man of thirty-two has died.
Fanny and I did not even get to go to school. Aunt announced at breakfast that we are staying home, quarantine or no quarantine.
“I will not risk the lives of my children,” she announced.
Nobody but me seemed to notice she had called us her children. But she should because we are hers. We all feel that way, even the Almost Twins who knew Mother the longest.
Just imagine, Jane. No school!
“No school does not mean you are to start in on any high jinks,” Aunt said then in her sternest voice.
Fanny put on a serious expression but I could not stop grinning. If I could have turned a cartwheel, I would have. I said so and Theo bounced up from the chair where he was sitting and turned two for me.
Poor Hamlet looked deeply disturbed while his boy was upside down, but wagged his tail like mad when Theo turned right side up again.
“That hound is a honey,” I said.
Then Theo told me, solemnly, that Great Danes are not hounds. I opened my mouth to ask him what sort of dog they are but did not. I am sure he has no idea and he had just made me a present of two elegant cartwheels. I am working on being a thoughtful big sister.
Aunt says we still must study and, with Father being an English teacher, I know we will have to, whether we want to or not. I do not admit it to anyone, not even Fan, but I like learning most things. I don’t even mind writing examinations in the subjects I enjoy: English Composition, English Grammar, English Literature and History. But studying them at home will be much more pleasant. I get fidgets sitting next to Fanny in our double desk. If I wiggle too much, she keeps the teacher from noticing by coughing or laughing or doing something small to distract him. Here at home, I can lie on my stomach on our bed while I read or even climb a tree, as long as I take a schoolbook with me.
