by Jean Little
I wonder what a real spy would look like. I guess the Muellers must have relations in Germany still. What if you had relatives who were Nazis? I won’t say this to Mother or Dad because I would have to listen to a long lecture about not letting my imagination run away with me.
Will our War Guest girl hate the Nazis? She would have good reason.
Friday, July 5, 1940
Nothing happened yesterday. Well, Mother made me help plant things in the garden. Robbie helped but he got bored and ran off before we were done. Mother says there is still time for lettuces and radishes to grow. I hate radishes.
George is coming home again for the weekend. That means we will have a roast or maybe mock duck. Mother saves the best food so Georgie can feast. I bet they have great food on his farm — butter and cream and lots of helpings. But I don’t mind joining in his feast so I won’t say a word.
Saturday, July 6, 1940
I wish George would not tease me as though I were still a little kid. He pulls my hair or grabs me and tickles me sometimes. I HATE being tickled. He also likes snapping dishtowels at me and Eleanor and Lizby. They mostly laugh but it makes me mad. Yet all big brothers seem to do those things. Margaret always used to complain about her brother Ralph being mean and making fun of her.
Now she is living right by the Atlantic Ocean and they can see ships in Halifax harbour. She wrote that they are scared that submarines will come in under water and torpedo them. I asked Dad if it could happen and he started to say not to be so silly, and then he stopped and said he was not sure. It sounds crazy to me.
George is much nicer than Ralph.
Dad found George his job. Farmers need help, with so many men going overseas. I hope George does not think about signing up. He will be old enough in August. I never mention this subject because I know Mother would cry at the very thought. She says she has no favourite child, but Eleanor and I think she has a soft spot for Georgie-porgie.
We went swimming at the quarry today. It was glorious. I can float on my back better than Dad or George. Eleanor mostly sits on the edge and talks with other people her age. She wanted to get a two-piece bathing suit but Mother said she couldn’t. As usual, Eleanor gave in without making a fuss. I have a feeling I will make a fuss when I am her age.
I wish Guelph had an outdoor swimming pool like the one in Fergus. We just have that small one in the basement of the YMCA and girls only go when their parents pay for lessons.
Sunday, July 7, 1940
At church this morning, Dr. Gallegher prayed for peace, as usual. Mother says he’s helping to plan the War Guests coming to Guelph. I read the Hymnary while he preaches and I memorize my favourites. Some of them are great poems. Like “And did those feet in ancient times.” I love learning them so I can say them to myself when I can’t sleep.
Lots of the women sit and knit. Mother won’t and she won’t let Eleanor do it either. You can hear the needles clicking right through the scripture, although they do stop, usually, for the prayers.
I sat and dreamed about the War Child. I wish I knew what she will be like and where she is right now. I hate waiting.
Monday, July 8, 1940
Our War Girl is in Toronto! She has been there for about ten days. We still don’t know her name or how old she is. We go to get her on Wednesday! I cannot believe it. What if she is absolutely awful and I have to be nice to her in spite of it? She won’t be. But I’ll be glad when the waiting is over.
We are going to have to share a room. I will maybe like that sometimes, but I am not sure. I have had a room of my own since I was five. Also I am not a tidy person. What if she is extremely neat? Well, we will just have to work it out.
Tuesday, July 9, 1940
We are going to have TWO children for a while instead of only one. Mr. Bennett was knocked down by a car yesterday and his leg is broken. He is in the hospital. Mrs. Bennett asked if Mother would bring their War Child home with ours and keep him until Mr. Bennett gets back on his feet. Robbie told me. They won’t let him in to see his father and he is upset about it. I don’t blame him.
So we are going to get both children tomorrow. I keep wondering and wondering what they will be like and all Mother will say is, “Wait and see, Charlotte.” I am not a patient person. I wonder why some people are calm like Mother, and others are not a bit calm and are impatient like me. Will I be like Mother when I am a grown-up? It sounds so dull. No valleys or mountain peaks, just flat fields.
Wednesday, July 10, 1940
Sorry my writing is so scrawly. I am in the car on the way to get the WGs. I have you balanced on my knee but you do jiggle and slide.
Dad took the day off. He does not have a class to teach today, which is lucky, but he does see some of his students. He is driving nearly forty miles an hour, way over the speed limit, but Mother has not said a word to slow him down.
We left Guelph early in case we got a flat tire. It sometimes happens just when you have no time to spare. I have my diary with me because I thought we might have to sit and wait and I could tell about what is going on, instead of having to write it all down much later. I am catching on to how to keep a diary. Whenever the car stops for Mother to buy some berries from a roadside booth or for Dad to get gas, I write a couple of sentences.
We have to go to Hart House at the University of Toronto to pick up the children.
My stomach keeps whirling. It also heaves up and down as though I’m on the Tilt-a-whirl ride at the fun fair. But Mother said I could not come along if I was going to get carsick, so I am sucking the barley sugar she keeps in the glove compartment just for me.
Whenever we go to Toronto, we pass through Norval and I always wave to L.M. Montgomery’s house. She does not live there now, but maybe her spirit sees me. She is not dead though. Mother knows somebody who used to know her and who has kept in touch. I wanted to see her, but Mother says authors are not sights to be gawked at. They are human beings. I wonder if the WGs know her books.
We’ll soon be at Hart House. I can hardly stand the suspense.
Bedtime
They are here! Right this minute, we have two War Guest children in this very house. Their names are Jane and Sam Browning. They are a sister and brother. Jane will be nine in November and Sam turned twelve in January. He is half a year older than I am and half a head shorter!
A lady brought four kids out to meet us, but the tallest one, a boy called Terry, and the smallest, a girl called Trixie or something, weren’t ours. They had just come to say goodbye. They had all been on the same ship coming over, and spent time together ever since they left England. Terry was a teenager and not friendly looking. The other one was a really small girl who clutched at Jane and cried. Another lady came and took them away after a few minutes and things got easier.
When I first saw our two, they looked so different from what I had imagined. Sam was dressed in a suit with a jacket and short grey flannel pants. And Jane was wearing a dress with smocking at the neck. It was long and sort of babyish. She had a big bow on top of her head and it was coming loose.
They both looked hot and tired. They also looked sad when they had to say goodbye to those others. I think Jane was scared. She was holding tight to Sam’s hand as though she expected he would be torn away any minute.
Jane is sort of chubby and short, with round red cheeks and bright blue eyes. Her hair is light brown and cut in a Dutch bob.
They are so real. That does not say what I feel but, before we met, they were like children in a book. But now they are not like that at all. This will sound peculiar, but they are almost too real. The mystery has gone out of them. They are not exciting or strange like children in a story any longer.
And Jane is so much younger than I am! I am disappointed but I am trying hard not to let it show. It would be terrible for them to come so far and guess that the people who were taking them home were not pleased with them. I am very glad that we did not get Terry, the older boy. He never once smiled.
Sam asked D
ad why we drove on the wrong side of the road. I did not know that they did it backwards in England. The driver sits over on the passenger side. Dad said he had driven on the left side in England himself years ago.
“I was lucky not to run over anyone,” he said. “I think I came close.”
Sam actually grinned for a sec.
Later
After we got home, we were all so hot and tired that Mother sent us to the corner store for popsicles. The WG kids did not say a word until we came out. Then Sam said that they call them “ice lollies.” Robbie and I taught them to say popsicles instead so they won’t sound peculiar. They remind me of Little Lord Fauntleroy, which is strange since he was an American really.
To get back to my life! I am not sharing a room with Jane yet. This may change later but she burst into tears when Mother told her she would be sleeping in the twin bed in my room and Sam was just across the hall. “I want to stay with Sammy,” she blubbered.
Sam looked disgusted but he put his arm around her and asked if she could be in with him on the first night. He is a good brother. Mother said sure and we set up the folding cot in the room where he will be. Jane cheered up then.
Whenever she is not cheered up or gets nervous, she sucks her thumb. I used to do that. Mother reached over and pulled it out of her mouth just the way she used to do with me. She does it gently and she does not say a word, but you stop sucking it until you forget. I remember exactly how it felt. You want to yell that it is YOUR thumb and you should be left to suck it if you like. But you don’t dare. Mother says she saved me from having an overbite. That’s like buckteeth.
Sam whispered something to Mother and she went and got a rubber sheet. I guess he told her Jane might wet the bed. He looked embarrassed, poor thing.
I used to have to sleep on one of those things. It was stiff and it made noises whenever you turned over. Poor Jane. At least when I used to wet the bed, I was always in my own home and I was younger than nine.
Jane’s birthday is on Guy Fawkes’ Day. I knew that date was in history but I had to ask Dad what it meant while the WGs were upstairs. Guy Fawkes tried to blow up the British Houses of Parliament with kegs of gunpowder. He got caught and they executed him. British kids still celebrate the day by making a life-sized stuffed “guy” and burning it in a big bonfire. Dad says it is a little like Hallowe’en. When he said that, the WGs looked blank. I did not ask, but I really think they had never heard of Hallowe’en.
Making a Guy sounds a bit weird but maybe we should try it.
Jane calls Sam Sammy but he wants the rest of us to call him Sam. He is very skinny. He has big dark eyes and black hair. It comes right down to his eyebrows. His ears stick out like cup handles. He sounds uppity but I think it is just his accent.
Robbie came over the minute we got home. He took one look at Sammy and said, “Hello, Shrimp!” Jane got red and looked ready to smack Rob, but Sam just grinned and said, “Hello yourself, Infant.” I think they will get along fine.
When Sam smiled at Robbie, he looked so different. I guess he was nervous meeting us. Nobody could be nervous meeting Robbie though.
Jane is entirely different. She has freckles and a snub nose and she is very serious most of the time. The only time I saw her smile was when we stopped for ice cream cones in Georgetown. She loves ice cream!!
Nearly midnight
I can’t get to sleep so I am going to write a little more and see if that helps. The house is all in darkness and a bit spooky. It is so eerie knowing our two War Guests are just across the hall.
I don’t know why their English accents were such a shock to me. I knew they were English the whole time. They keep reminding me of children in British books who have nannies and wear frocks and have tea instead of supper. I almost asked Jane if they had a nanny and then decided not to.
They come from Wembley, which is part of London, I think. Their father has a dairy business with milk wagons pulled by horses. I wonder if they look like our milk wagons.
Sam loves those horses. They aren’t riding horses, but he learned to ride them before he could walk. That is what Jane says anyway. Jane doesn’t ride them at all because her mother thinks girls have to be ladylike. When she began to talk about her “mum,” I thought she would burst out crying. Then Sam said, “Don’t forget what Daddy told us.” She bit her lip and nodded. When Dad asked what it was, Sam said, “Always remember that we British are the bravest of the brave.”
“True enough,” Dad said — as though we Canadians were a bunch of cowards. I wanted to say something but did not.
When Jane says my name, it sounds like “Shawlot.”
After supper, Aunt Carrie came over with a box of Tinkertoys for Sam. They are nice and he is pleased, I guess, but I think he is a bit too old for them. And what about Jane and me? Why couldn’t she give them to all of us?
I just yawned so I will stop writing now.
Thursday, July 11, 1940
Jane did not wet the bed but she screamed with nightmares. I had just fallen asleep when she started. I could hear her clearly, as though she had slept in my room after all. She dreamed they were being bombed or a torpedo hit their ship and she was drowning and she couldn’t find Sam. I could hear him calling to her, “I’m right here, Janie. Do hush! I’m right here in the same room.” It frightened me so much I had to turn on my light. I fell asleep with it on but Mother came in and turned it out before morning.
They do like reading. They love The Secret Garden almost as much as I do. Jane told me that Mary Lennox going to live in England is like them coming here. I wish we really lived in a house like Misselthwaite Manor with a hundred rooms and a secret garden and a robin and a boy like Dickon. I told Jane and she said she does not know anyone who lives in such a place. I thought lots of English people had mansions like that. I know they have castles there. Palaces too. (I don’t know the difference.) But Jane says their house is smaller than ours.
It has a name though. Hedges. It seems a queer thing to call a house.
Lizby says lots of British houses have names. We should name our house. But I can’t think what would fit. It certainly is not like Misselthwaite Manor and we don’t have a hedge.
Friday, July 12, 1940
At breakfast, Dad thumped Sam on the back, rumpled up Jane’s hair so her ribbon came undone and kissed me. Then he said, “Don’t worry, you three. It’ll get easier soon.”
I wonder how he knew we were all feeling queer.
Mother asked them what they drank at breakfast at home. Tea! They were surprised when we were surprised. They have cooked food too. Eggs and cooked tomatoes!
This is Orangeman’s Day. Tom Reilly, a boy from down the street who is a friend of George’s, is in a band and will be marching in the parade. He is a trumpeter. George used to play the trumpet too, but of course he’s away and too busy now. I should not be thankful but I am. Trumpet practice is hard to listen to close up. We could hear Tom practising their march on his trumpet.
Later
Mother took us all shopping. The WGs needed some summer clothes. Not dress-up ones — clothes to play in. I had to get a new bathing suit. I wore the seat of mine out sliding on the rocks when we were at the quarry.
We went to The Nuttery with our empty glass jar and the WGs stared as the clerk ground up the peanuts into our container. The oil goes to the top when we get it home but you just stir it in. I love peanut butter. We spread some on bread when we got home but Jane would not even taste it. Sam did, but screwed up his face as though he had been poisoned. He did not spit it out but I could tell that he longed to. I cannot imagine anyone not liking peanut butter. Mother gave them some toast and honey to make up for it.
After the peanut butter, we went to the shoe store and they got to stick their feet into the X-ray machine and see their bones looking all green and ghostly. We kept pushing each other out of the way until the clerk told Mother we would have to leave if we did not “settle down.” Mother murmured about Jane and Sam just
having come over from England and the clerk changed totally. He smiled and smiled at them and said how nice it was to have them in the store, but I still did not like him. If Mother had not been there, I am sure he would have made us leave.
The British have different words for things. Some of them are strange. Plimsolls are running shoes. Frocks are dresses, of course. I knew that but I would not call mine frocks. Frocks sound fancier than dresses. People say “party frocks.” Jumpers are pullovers. Sam scraped his knee and asked for “a plaster.” He meant a bandage. They call them “sticking plasters.”
Mother says we are lucky to be learning new ways to say old things — like a second language. Jane looked worried. I think she worries a lot. Mother saw that Jane was anxious, I guess, because she explained that we would not have to study our “second language,” we would just pick it up as we went along. Jane sighed with relief and said she thought Mother meant she would have to learn French. Somebody had told them all Canadians speak French. I laughed but Mother explained that most English-speaking Canadians study French in high school.
“I wish I could speak French,” she went on, “but I can’t. I only remember a few words and phrases. They should start children learning French when they are much younger. It is so much easier for small children to pick up a language.”
Jane asked how young and Mother laughed and said she need not worry because it wouldn’t happen until she was too old. Jane was relieved and so was I.
When the shopping was done, we went to the park and played on the swings. Jane did not want to come home even for lunch.
