by Gillian Chan
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Vancouver, British Columbia, 1922
November 1922
December 1922
January 1923
February 1923
March 1923
April 1923
May 1923
June–July 1923
March 1935
Epilogue
Historical Note
Images and Documents
Glossary
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Author’s Note
About the Author
Copyright
Also Available
Books in the Dear Canada Series
Vancouver, British Columbia,
1922
November 1922
Sunday, November 12, 1922
I am very tired tonight, but this has been my best Canadian birthday. I finish it with time to write in you — my beautiful new diary.
I have never had a diary before. I didn’t know what a diary was until Mr. Hughes explained it to me. I was very scared when he told me to stay behind at the end of school on Friday. I thought that he was angry. I thought he would shout at me, and make his moustache go all bristly like it does when he yells at Ivor Jones for pulling my pigtails. Bess had to push me to go up to his desk. She was going to stay, but Mr. Hughes waved her out of the classroom. It was all right because I knew she would wait for me. She makes me braver.
Mr. Hughes had a package in his hands which he gave to me. At first I did not understand, until he said it was a birthday present. This made my face get very red, especially when he said that I was the hardest working student he had ever had, that he couldn’t believe how my English had improved so much in three years. He doesn’t understand — no one does, except maybe Bess. I have to work hard. I am lucky to come to school, and I must learn all I can as fast as I can, so I can work too, and help my father earn the money we need to bring Ma and Little Brother to Canada.
I wanted to bring the present home and open it today, on my birthday, but Mr. Hughes made me open the package then, and there you were, Diary, so beautiful with your bright red cover. Mr. Hughes said that I was to use you to practise writing in. I thought that meant handwriting drills, and that maybe you were lovely to look at, but dull to use. But no, Mr. Hughes says I am to write in you my thoughts and feelings as well as what happens to me. This is a very strange thing to do, I think — who would be interested in what I, Chin Mei-ling, think, or what I do? When I told Bess all this on our walk home, she thought so too, but she also said that I was very lucky because Hughesy hadn’t given her a present on her birthday. Declan liked my diary too.
Oh, this is so hard. I don’t think I have done what Mr. Hughes wanted, Diary. I have only written about you, but I haven’t written anything about what I did today, and it was such a good day. I will do better tomorrow, I promise. I must stop now because my hand is very crampy.
Monday, November 13
It is very early, still dark. Baba left for the Baldwins’ almost an hour ago. It takes a long time to get to Shaughnessy Heights and Mrs. Baldwin wants him there early to tend the furnace and cook breakfast. I think she’s mean, but Baba says that I must not say that, as he is lucky to have a job with the Baldwins when so many people have no work at all. He says that we are both lucky that Mrs. Baldwin does not make him live at her house like the last houseboy did. It makes me scared to think about that. Even now, I see Baba so little. Sunday is the day I see him most — when he has the afternoon off. It is the best day of the week for me and yesterday was the most beautiful Sunday I have ever spent here.
I hope I am allowed to do this, write on one day the things I did on another day. You are a hard and confusing taskmaster, Diary!
Yesterday afternoon Baba and I walked by the sea and sat on the wall, looking at the grey waves. Baba loves the sea. I wonder whether he would have stayed on the land, or run away and become a fisherman if Uncle Wing-lok had not brought him to Canada? Baba looked very serious and he asked me how much I thought about Ma. This was a hard question, because I think about her a lot, but I did not want to make him sad for me, or to think that I was not happy to be here with him. Every day, was what I said, but I did not tell him that I thought of Ma many times each day. Baba smiled and said that he did too. He looked very hard at me, making sure our eyes saw each other. “I promise, Mei-ling,” he said, “that we will do everything we can to bring your mother and brother here.” He gripped my arm, so tight that it hurt. I knew that what Baba said was true. If we continue to work hard and save our money, we can pay their fares and their tax, just like Uncle Wing-lok did for us.
This was such a happy thought it made me smile.
I was waiting though, waiting for Baba to mention my birthday, but he didn’t. I could not remind him. He just stood up and said that we had to hurry home. I felt a bit sad and disappointed. When I was little Ma would boil me an egg on my birthday and colour its shell red for good luck. I knew Baba had no time for such things that pleased small children, but I wanted him to say something. I was being foolish, but I still felt a little sad, so I thought about how you, Diary, were my Canadian red egg. That helped.
My sadness turned out to be truly silliness. When we reached Pender Street, Baba would not let me go to our room. He insisted that we go to our restaurant. This was very strange, as he does not work there until six on his afternoon off. I said nothing, and when we got there I could still say nothing, but this was because I was so surprised. Wong Bak had cooked a special meal for me with all my favourite dishes, including donggoo jinggai — I love the way the mushrooms’ flavour goes into the chicken. Not only that, but my friends were there too: Tsung Sook, old Mr. Chee and Yook Jieh. I wish Bess could have been there too, but I know she would not be allowed to come to Chinatown.
So you see, Diary, why yesterday was so special!
Tuesday, November 14
I do not like Ivor Jones. Is that a wicked thing to say? He is just a mean boy. I have never harmed him, but he tries to make me sad. He pulls my hair, dips the ends of my pigtails into the inkwell and sometimes pokes me with his pencil. Somehow he found out that Mr. Hughes gave me a birthday present of you, Diary. I do not know how. Bess swears she didn’t tell him, and she would not lie to me. Now he keeps coming up behind me and yelling “Teacher’s Pet” in my ear. He is very sneaky about this — he does not let Mr. Hughes or any other teacher see him.
In class I do not like to answer questions, but when Mr. Hughes calls on me I must answer him. When I do, Ivor makes noises, quietly so I can hear, but not Mr. Hughes. He sounds like he is slurping rice. I did not understand this, but Bess explained. Ivor is making that noise to show that he thinks I am sucking up (those are Bess’s words, not mine) to Mr. Hughes. Why is he like this? Why is he so spiteful?
When school finished today, Ivor and four other boys were outside the door in the schoolyard. Declan was with them. Bess looked at me as if to say that’s how Ivor knew about you, Diary — you can’t always trust little brothers. She made a face at Declan, but he would not look at her. The boys walked behind us, shouting things like, “Chinky, chinky Chinaman sitting on a fence, trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents.” They were very loud. People passing by saw and heard them but no one stopped them. I looked at the ground and walked as fast as I could. My cheeks were very hot and my heart was beating very fast. Bess’s face had gone white and her lips were all tight. She stuck her nose in the air and told me to do the same, but I couldn’t.
When Ivor ran forward and pushed me, Bess turned round, yelling back at him to go away.
He smiled that mean smile of his and asked her in a singsong voice if she was going to make him. Bess
is very brave, but the other boys were coming up behind him. She stamped her foot at them. “Don’t you threaten me, Ivor Jones. I’ve got a bigger brother than that worm, Declan. A big brother who will make mincemeat out of you!” Declan still wouldn’t look at her when she said that.
Ivor just laughed and said that Bess’s big brother wasn’t here now, and pretended he was scared, shaking and covering his face with his hands.
Bess grabbed my hand and we ran. We didn’t stop running until we reached the edge of Chinatown, and then we only stopped when we bumped into someone: a tall white lady with blond hair and a black suit. I waited for her to shout at us, but she didn’t. She was looking over our heads to where Ivor and his friends were standing. In a very loud voice, she asked us whether the boys had been bothering us. She kept staring hard at them. I knew Bess was going to say that they had, so I kicked her ankle. It didn’t hurt her, of course — I would never want to be as mean as Ivor, and besides, cloth shoes can’t hurt much. Bess glared at me, but said nothing. The boys ran away.
I got very brave and apologized to the lady for running into her. To stop Bess saying what really happened, I told the lady we were just playing a chase game. I don’t think she believed me. Bess said she had better go find Declan before he got into more mischief with Ivor. The lady looked as if she were going to ask questions, so I said goodbye quickly and hurried off without looking back. I have not seen her before — I wondered what she was doing in Chinatown. I liked her face; it was very kind.
Wednesday, November 15
For the first time ever, I did not want to go to school today, all because of Ivor. Last night I kept waking up and seeing that nasty smile that he has. This morning my feet were very slow as I walked down Keefer Street to school. I was nearly late, but this was good because I arrived just as the morning bell rang and the classes lined up to go in. Ivor was at the back of our line, but I did not have to stand near him because Bess waved me to the front to join her, and made Ada Howe move up to let me in, even though Ada grumbled.
In fact, all day Ivor left me alone; not once did he pull my hair or make silly noises. Maybe he is scared of Bess’s brother. I have only seen Liam when he came to fetch Bess once when their mother was taken ill. Liam is huge. I would be scared of him.
Mr. Hughes gave us a dictation today. I found it much easier, perhaps because I have been practising writing in you, Diary! I could keep up and I think I spelled all the words right. Some people complained and wriggled on their benches, but Mr. Hughes said we should get used to dictations, especially if we wanted to take the high-school entrance examinations. Bess whispered that she didn’t see any point to that, because she was not going to go to high school, no matter what Hughesy thought. I was shocked. That was not respectful. I would love to go to high school, but I know it will never happen. I will leave and find a job like Baba, maybe in one of the big stores downtown — wouldn’t that be fine? I will wear a silk cheong-sam and sell beautiful Chinese silks and porcelain. In the evenings I will still work in our restaurant with Wong Bak, just like Baba and Tsung Sook do when their day work finishes. We will work very hard, and the money the restaurant earns will make all our dreams come true: Wong Bak will be able to retire and rest; Tsung Sook will have the money to go back to China and find a bride; Baba and me will bring Ma and Little Brother here and we will be a family at last. When we are all happy like this, I will not have time to be sad about high school.
Someone is knocking on the door, so I will stop. It sounds like Mr. Chee.
Later
It was Mr. Chee. He had spent the day at Mr. Lee’s store, drinking tea and playing mah joong in the back room. He was happy because he had won a little. He was also happy because he heard that letters had arrived from China and one was for us. I went to get it immediately and Mr. Chee insisted on coming with me. He walks slowly, but I do not mind because when he is with me the men on the street do not call out to me. I am lucky to have Mr. Chee looking out for me when Baba is working.
Mr. Chee does not get letters any more, so I could understand why he was excited about ours. Even so, I did not accept his offer to read it to me, although I so wanted to know how Ma is. It is too bad that I did not learn to read Chinese before I came here, and that Chinese school takes place when I must help Wong Bak get ready for the dinner hours. I will keep the letter safe in you, Diary, until Baba finishes work. Then he will read it to me.
Thursday, November 16
I feel very sad today. My troubles with Ivor Jones are very little ones. Ma and Little Brother face far worse. Ma had got the village teacher to write for her. It was not good news. Baba’s mother is not well. She has a griping pain in her side that never leaves her. It makes her weak and tired, so that Ma and Grandfather must do all the work on our land. Little Brother stays with Grandmother. The crop has not been plentiful.
Ma does not say it, but I would guess that they have very little food. When he read this, Baba’s face got very still, like it was carved from wood. I felt like crying, but held my tears back. They would have served no purpose. Ma asked if we could send some extra money to buy medicine. When I looked at Baba, he nodded. Then he sighed and I knew why. He was thinking how the extra money would mean that we could save less for the head tax and fare.
Baba has never told me exactly how much we have saved, but I know his dream is for both Ma and Little Brother to come together. When I think how much money we need, I feel very small. A thousand dollars and their fare on the boat — how many hours will we have to work for that? It seems so unfair that even a little boy must pay this. Baba says that we can do it, but only if we make the restaurant a success. I will work very hard. I shall swear by writing it down here, Diary, and I won’t even think about high school. I will try and find other jobs too. I wonder if Mrs. Lee would pay me to help her in the mornings before I leave for school? And those men who spend their time smoking opium — Mr. Chee calls them opium ghosts — perhaps I could run errands for them. But Baba must never know if I do that. He says I am never to go near them.
Friday, November 17
All last night I kept thinking about Ma and wishing I was there to help her. These thoughts made me determined, so I did something that will help, even if I am a long way away. Bess’s bravery is rubbing off on me. I went to the Lees’ store and asked them if they had work for me. Mr. Lee did not seem sure and I thought he was going to send me on my way, but then I spoke directly to Mrs. Lee, asking if I could help with the children in the mornings before school. She thought about it for what seemed like hours. Her eyes narrowed and I was sure she would say no. Then I had a wonderful idea. Mr. Lee always has to walk Lily to school because Mrs. Lee is so busy with the other children, and so tired because a new one is due very soon. He always looks very grumpy. I told Mrs. Lee that Lily could walk to and from school with me. She agreed at once. I am to come at seven in the morning and help dress the children and watch over them. It should not be too hard — they are all under six, apart from Lily. It will be big sister practice for when my brother comes. Mrs. Lee asked me how much I wanted to be paid for this. I did not know what to say, so I said the first number I thought of: 10¢. Mrs. Lee’s eyes got narrow again and she wanted to know if this was for an hour. I quickly said that it was for each day. She accepted very quickly. Do you think I asked too little, Diary? I don’t care if I did. It’s still fifty cents a week that I would not have had before. I start on Monday.
It is late and my hand is tired, but I am going to write a little more today, Diary, because something funny happened at school.
Ivor Jones met his match.
Ivor only let me alone for two days. This morning he was back to his usual nasty self. I was in the schoolyard with Bess at recess, walking arm in arm and talking about the girl Liam is courting. Bess doesn’t like her. We heard a rapping on the window above our head. It was Ivor, looking out from our classroom. He was being kept inside for being cheeky. But Mr. Hughes must have left the room, otherwise Ivor would still h
ave been doing his lines. Instead he was pressing his face against the windowpane, so his nose was all flat. He was pulling his eyes into slits. Now he knew we were looking, he opened the window and started chanting “Chinky slant eyes” at me.
Bess told me to ignore him, which I did, although his words did hurt. I bet Ivor wouldn’t like it if I called him “Round eyes.” Bess pulled me so I had my back to the window. Coming toward us was Sergeant-Major Bundy. I had forgotten that it was his day to be at our school for Physical Drill. I don’t think Ivor saw him — he was too busy trying to make Bess and me turn around. He must have made a truly bad face, because the Sergeant-Major stopped and stared at the window. His face got very red and his eyes were glaring. He shouted, “Are you making faces at me, you little horror?”
Ivor went white and ducked below the windowsill.
Sergeant-Major Bundy looked at Bess and me. He said that we must tell him who the boy at the window was. Bess answered straight away with a huge smile, and told him Ivor’s name and the room number of our class. Sergeant-Major Bundy ran off, his feet making the ground shake, and then making a great clattering noise in the school until he appeared in the window. He had hold of Ivor by the shoulder, and with his other hand he was hitting him with that funny leather stick he always carries. Ivor was howling, but Sergeant-Major Bundy didn’t care. He kept repeating over and over that Ivor should show respect and not make faces.
I was very glad not to be Ivor then. Sergeant-Major Bundy always scares me. Bess told me that even some of the teachers are scared of him. I can see why. Bess was laughing, and I know, Diary, that I said what happened to Ivor was funny … but now that I have written it down, I can’t laugh any more.
I have had you one whole week, Diary. It is nice to have a friend like you.
Saturday, November 18
Sometimes I envy Bess. On Saturdays, her mother lets her sleep late, but for me it is big chores day. At least we have a window; some rooms don’t. It is hard to push our mattresses through the window to hang in the fresh air after I shake them out. I clean and dust the room. It is so small that this does not take long. I am glad that we eat most of our meals at the restaurant, and do not have cooking mess in our room like some of the bachelors do. I get cross because the men do not always keep things clean. Bugs and mice come into our room too, no matter what I do! Then I think how it must be for those men, all alone, such a long way from home. Some of them are like us, saving to pay the tax and bring their family here, but others, like Mr. Chee, are old now — their families gone, or they are too old to work. My crossness goes a little and I feel sorry for them. At least my Baba and I have each other. But I still do not like bugs!
