by Jean Little
Then Jane and I made lemonade to sell. We earned nearly three dollars. Dad bought three glasses and told us to keep the change. That helped. We are donating the money to the Humane Society. They rescue stray dogs and cats. This was Jane’s idea.
We are going to Muskoka first thing Monday morning and coming back next weekend. Robbie wanted to come too, but there won’t be room for him in the car. When Mother told him he would have to sit on Eleanor’s knee all the way, he stopped begging. He looked horrified. Eleanor looked a bit horrified too.
We were all sitting out on the Bennetts’ front verandah. Robbie’s father is home now, with his leg in a plaster cast. He uses crutches and keeps his weight off his bad leg.
“It’s about time you had a young man on your knee, Eleanor,” he said, teasing her.
“Never,” Eleanor said.
“The girl sits on the boy’s knee,” Jane said very seriously.
Even Eleanor laughed. When we get home from Muskoka, Sam will be moving in with the Bennetts. Nobody mentions this because of Jane. But she has had no nightmare for two nights.
I can hardly wait till it is time to go to the lake.
Sunday, July 21, 1940
This morning Jane dropped her collection in church. Mother had tied it into the corner of a handkerchief, but Jane undid it during the Long Prayer. It rolled under the pew and rang when it fell over. She went red as fire. A minute later Sam dropped his and then, doing my best to help, I dropped mine. I knew better but I couldn’t resist. Jane looked so miserable. Besides, it was fun.
I almost went into a fit of giggles until Dad gave me a look that stopped them cold. Eleanor laughed and laughed. She was sitting in the choir stall where she could look down at the congregation, all those fancy hats whispering to each other in bobbing bunches. She says Robbie started to put his hand into his pocket too, but his mother glared at him and he pulled his hand back out fast.
Monday, July 22, 1940
Inverness Lodge
Dad picked up the pictures right after breakfast. They were great. We mailed them off to England on the way out of town.
We were so crowded in the car you could hardly breathe. Jane was between Mother and Dad in the front but she spent most of the time on Mother’s lap. Sam was in the back with me and Eleanor. We had baskets of food and boxes of toys and books and big thermos jugs of water too. For the first time in my life, I was glad we had no dog.
We stopped by to say goodbye to Grandpa. He was on the porch with Winnie in his cage. Grandpa tried to get the bird to say “Bye-bye” but all Winnie would say was “Bi, toots.”
We sang car songs and played Eye Spy and Twenty Questions, but it still took years to get here. Mother twisted around and read to us. We are reading The Five Children and It. It is good. Even Eleanor likes it. Those children make such good wishes and then they go so incredibly wrong. We have all tried to figure out a perfect wish. So far, we have not found one that was exciting and foolproof both. I thought of wishing I was a boy for one year, but what if I got stuck and ended up turning into a man. I am sure I would hate it. Their clothes are so dull, for one thing.
Jane decided she would wish for a pet monkey, but Dad said you can’t housebreak them. Thoughts of Jane changing her monkey’s diapers got us laughing so hard we gave up wishing.
It is lovely here. We live in cabins but we all go in to the big dining room for meals. We swim every day, as much as we can. We always have to have an adult watching. Thank goodness Eleanor counts as an adult! She remembers how hard it is when nobody will lifeguard.
I am learning the flutter kick. You do it with the Australian crawl. You have to keep your knees stiff. And roll your head sideways to breathe. It is hard but it is really fast. Sam does it perfectly. He says he learned it at school in the bathing pool. I wish we had a pool at school.
We brought a croquet set and there is a big flat green space perfect for playing. Sam is good at it and so is Eleanor but I am not. I still like trying. Mother called me a good sport, which was nice.
After supper tonight, we went for a walk and met a skunk strolling along as though he owned the world. We started to run and then saw Sam and Jane were just standing smiling at him. I dragged Jane away and Sam caught on and ran too, but when we were out of spray range, they told us they had never seen a skunk before. They don’t have them in England. I could hardly believe it.
The skunk sprayed one of the dogs belonging to the lodge later in the evening. Poor thing. It whimpered and kept pawing at its face. Mr. Sutton, who runs the lodge, gave it a bath in tomato juice, but it still smells pretty bad. And it keeps rubbing its face in the grass as though its eyes sting.
Wednesday, July 24, 1940
Today was absolutely horrible. Mr. Sutton came and told Dad that the skunk had gotten in under one of the cabins and he planned to shoot it. Would Dad come and help out? I was sure Dad would say no, but he went and so did Sam. I cried and so did Jane and Eleanor, but the men paid no attention. Sam looked pretty sick. They managed to kill it and then Jane asked if it might have babies somewhere, which started us crying again.
I asked Sam what it felt like and he said he hated it until he told himself the skunk was Hitler. But it didn’t help. He confessed to me later, in secret, that he threw up behind the cabin after it was over.
I woke up hating Dad. He has changed into somebody else today. He seems cold and heartless. I think that I cannot forgive him. But you can’t go on hating your father. Not if you really love him.
The holiday felt completely ruined and then George phoned to say he was coming to see us. He’s hitchhiking. Mother worries, but not enough to tell him to stay at the farm.
Thursday, July 25, 1940
Don’t feel like writing. Maybe I’ll give up keeping a diary. I just bet George doesn’t come.
Friday, July 26, 1940
It is dark in this cabin at night. I still feel dark inside once the sun sets. But I have to get over it. This is our holiday. Shooting that skunk was not Dad’s idea. Mother told me, when we were alone for a minute, that Dad hated it too. She said, “Charles told me that he felt sick, especially when Jane asked if the skunk might have had babies.” It turned out it could not because it was a male skunk. At least Mother made me feel better about Dad.
In some way, this seems connected up with the War, but I can’t think it through — except I wonder if lots of young soldiers feel like Sam when they have to shoot the enemy. Maybe that is crazy. Would dropping bombs be easier or harder?
George should be here any time now.
Did I ever tell you, Diary, that I am named Charlotte after Dad, who is Charles, and Eleanor is named for Mother, whose name is Ellen? I asked who George was named after and Mother finally admitted they named him after the king because he was a prince of a baby. She was smiling when she said it so she might have been joking.
Saturday, July 27, 1940
George did come, but not until I had been sent to bed. It is great having him with us. He’s another adult to watch us swim, for one thing. He does not seem as old as he is, although he is very brown from being out in the sun and he has gigantic muscles now. He keeps getting us to squeeze his arm or punch his middle. Sam is truly impressed.
We went canoeing today and I learned how to paddle in the bow. It was absolutely marvellous. We slid through the water without any noise. Well, only a little. My unhappiness slipped away like the water drops off my paddle. Dad taught me how to stroke to a song, “Swing low, sweet chariot.” It was magical.
Sam and George had their own canoe. Jane would not come because it was too tippy. Sam loved it though, just like me. I wonder if we will get good enough to go out on our own after George leaves. He has to get back to the farm tomorrow. I am going to miss him a lot. Today we played Kick the Can and I ran so fast I tripped and fell flat. George helped me up and did not laugh.
Monday, July 29, 1940
We saw falling stars tonight and fireflies. It was lovely. Everyone made wishes. I guess I sho
uld have wished the War would end, but I wished we could go out in the canoe again. And we are going to do it. So maybe wishes actually work. If there is a falling star to help! Sam told us that when they were at sea, on the way to Canada, they saw the Northern Lights. I’ve never seen them but Dad has. Jane said they were … Then she was stuck for a word. And Sam said, “Enchanting.” It sounded perfect.
Tuesday, July 30, 1940
We went out in the canoe twice. The second time was just as it was getting dark. We sang while we paddled and it was such fun. Dad said we could stay out later because it was such a beautiful night with the moon shining on the water. I guess it was what Sam called “a bomber’s moon” but here in Muskoka it was simply splendid. There were people at the other end of the lake singing “Alouette” around a campfire. When they got to the chorus, we sang back from our canoe. They stopped dead and then started up again and we sang back and forth all the way to the end without stopping. It is such a happy song, which is surprising when it is all about plucking out a bird’s feathers.
I am going to put you away until we get home, Diary. I almost dropped you in the lake when we were down on the dock and it is hard to concentrate here. On writing, I mean.
August 1940
Friday, August 2, 1940
When we got home, we found mail from England waiting. At last! The people in Toronto sent the letters on. I think their parents must have written almost as soon as Jane and Sam left. They were laughing when they read the letters and crying after they finished. Well, Jane cried. Sam managed not to by sniffing and staring into space. The parcel we sent over to the Brownings had not arrived when they wrote, of course. Mail coming for the WGs seems both wonderful and hard. I can see that it will always remind Jane and Sam of home. They long for news but the letters will make them feel even lonelier.
Lizby welcomed us home by making johnnycake for dessert. Yummy.
Nobody said a word about Sam moving to the Bennetts’ tomorrow. I wonder if Jane has forgotten or if she is just pretending or if she maybe does not mind. I cannot tell. She is curled up in a ball in the other bed and she is sucking her thumb and listening to the music box for the umpteenth time. I guess she remembers but cannot talk about it. Poor old Janie!
I got another card from Barbara, by the way. She loved the parcel!
Saturday, August 3, 1940
Sam went over to the Bennetts’ this afternoon, but it was okay because we all went too. They have set up a ping-pong table on their back verandah and we took turns playing, even Jane.
She was half asleep in their hammock when it was time to come home. Dad carried her and put her into bed with her clothes still on. Mother came up after a while and sort of slid her out of her dress and into her nightgown. Luckily she was barefoot. Maybe everything will be fine.
Maybe Sam is the homesick one. I looked back and he was staying behind, staring after us. He looked so alone standing there all by himself. I thought boys were supposed to be tough, but I turned around and waved until he waved back.
“See you tomorrow,” I called, but softly so Jane would not hear.
When we came in, Dad said he will get out the tent and we kids can sleep out in it some night. Luckily it is a large tent with plenty of room for all of us.
Sunday, August 4, 1940
Church this morning. Sunday School this afternoon. Read my library book this afternoon too. It is an old book called Prudence of the Parsonage. It is a bit soppy. Prudence says she will not kiss a boy because she is saving her lips for her future husband. I had to laugh. George was home for the day and he wanted to know what was so funny. I read it to him and he said solemnly, “Charlotte, why are you laughing? That Prudence is a girl after my own heart.”
I went to the evening service with Mother. We sang “Day is Dying in the West” and “Abide with me.” I like the evening hymns. Too bad we don’t sing them in the morning.
Now we are in bed and today is finished. I feel extra tired. Jane is asleep already. And the sun has not quite done setting. Good night.
Monday, August 5, 1940
You will not believe this, Diary, but we woke up this morning covered with speckles. Even Eleanor had spots. The doctor took one look and told us we have German measles! We won’t call them that, whatever he says. We feel quite fine really and only mind having to stay home. That must have been what made me feel so tired last night. We felt better when we found out that Sam has them too. That kid up at Inverness who was always whining must have given them to us.
Mother offered to have Sam move back in with us but Robbie’s mother says he had the measles when he was a toddler, so he won’t catch them now. Why couldn’t the measles have come during school?
We played Monopoly all afternoon. Sam won but I might have if I hadn’t been helping Jane and Robbie.
Maybe I shouldn’t write in you, dear Diary, until the speckles fade away. They make a good excuse for taking a rest from keeping a journal. Yet I think I might miss telling you things. You aren’t as troublesome as I thought you would be. See you later, Diary.
Sunday, August 11, 1940
Our spots are practically all gone so Mother made us go to church. We were ordered not to mention them. But everybody knew because Robbie had spread the word around. Nobody sat too close to us.
The scripture was about Jesus healing a sick little girl. Jane whispered to me, “Do you think she might have had German measles?” I did not think so. I don’t remember the Bible mentioning Germans or any other country we have now. Yet Germany must have been there. Maybe they never went that far. You wouldn’t if you had to walk.
I wish we could play Monopoly but Mother says it is not a Sunday game. All that money makes it evil, I suppose.
I taught Jane to make hollyhock dolls for a while and then we went to our room and played Fish. Jane loves it, which I would think was strange except I loved it myself when I was her age. It would be deadly dull now, except that she gets so excited and her face positively glows when she wins.
Monday, August 12, 1940
Our spots are completely gone and we never really felt sick. Even if they are German, they are the best kind of measles to have. You feel MUCH worse with Red Measles.
We are going to the motion pictures this afternoon. I hope Jane and Sam won’t be upset by the newsreels. Last time they showed Hitler himself. He looked like a crazy puppet, waving his arms and screeching. Some of the big kids began to yell, “Heil, Hitler!” and laughed, but the usher told them to stop. They didn’t until the cartoons started.
The newsreel showed some of the sailboats that made it over and back at Dunkirk. On the way home, Sam said they brought more than 300,000 of our soldiers across the Channel, with hundreds of small ships helping the Navy. I asked how small and he said there were all sizes but some only had room for two or three men. Those went back over and over. I knew this but I did not say so.
I am really writing a lot in this diary. I am surprised by this, since I was sure I would not. And it isn’t just to get that prize Eleanor promised me either.
I guess I have discovered that my life is like a story and I want to catch it before it gets away. I used to believe I could remember everything that mattered about myself, even the small details, but I know now that this is not true. Already I have forgotten whole days and weeks. It is almost as though I didn’t live the first three years, for instance. My earliest memory is of falling downstairs when I was four. I cut my head open on the newel post and there was blood everywhere. I can still see the scene and I still have the scar. But I don’t remember what happened next. It is a total blank. So you are important, dear Diary, for you will not let my life get lost.
Bedtime
Tonight Jane was writing a letter home. I wonder what she writes about us. If she kept a diary, what would it say?
My idea of an excerpt from Jane Browning’s diary
We are safe in Canada and living with the Twiss family. Charlotte is the nicest girl I have ever met. She took us to a mo
vie show. She keeps me from being too homesick. This is an absolutely wonderful family.
I am doing my best to be nice to her, even though I wish she was older. I think she and Sam are still homesick, but they don’t say so. Maybe they forget about home a little when things are happening.
Tuesday, August 13, 1940
When Jane and Sam first came, Sam told us he does not sing. But today Jane told me, in secret, that he is in the choir at home. He just does not want to be a choirboy in Canada. We’ll see. We don’t have a children’s choir every Sunday at our church but we always do around Christmas and Easter. Miss Little leads us and she can get kids to come even when they do not really want to. I like it. Maybe she’ll talk Sam around.
Wednesday, August 14, 1940
Today Mother and the WGs and I were downtown and ran into the little girl we met when we picked up Sam and Jane at Hart House. They call her Pixie although her name is really Penelope Buckingham. She was across the street and I would not have known her, but she saw Sam and Jane and let out a scream of joy. She started bouncing up and down in a five-year-old jubilation. (That is what Mother called it.)
Jane knew her at once and began dancing up and down too. A big woman, who looked tired and very grumpy, had hold of Pixie’s hand and she gave it a jerk that made her stagger. All the dance went out of her. It was horrible. The woman glanced over at us and her face looked hard as cement. She began to drag Pixie away but Sam ran after them and caught her arm. Then he talked fast. We could hear him explaining that they knew Pixie because they had come to Canada on the same ship and been together in Toronto. The woman, who is Pixie’s aunt, stopped scowling but she said they could not stop to talk right now. Her twins were at home alone and who knew what trouble they would be getting into. (We only heard half of this but Sam filled us in later.) He stuck to his guns though, and only let the woman go when he had found out where Pixie is living. It is easy to remember because it is on London Road.
