“What did you say? You’re talking too low.” Marjorie got closer so she could hear him.
“Never mind. I better get back to my seat.” Kenny scooted quickly to his seat just as the second movie reel started.
The Attwood girls were walking back to their cottage after the film.
“Geez, it’s cold out here! That was a good flick, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I liked it. Hey, did you hear that one of the boys ran away?” Marjorie was anxious to tell her news.
“I heard that. He didn’t get far, did he?”
“No. Where could he go anyway? I heard the dirty duty master tried to touch him, you know, there.”
“Oh, gross. Why can’t these jerks leave us alone?”
“It was freezing cold last night. He was lucky they noticed and went out looking for him. He might have frozen to death.”
Marjorie and a couple of the girls had talked about running away before, but once they got to the bottom field they had no idea which way to go, so they stopped talking about it.
“I heard that one of the little kids ratted on him.”
“Do you know which one?”
“No.”
“I’d hate to be him. He’ll get it good now.”
“Where was he going?”
“I heard he was going to try to get back to England.”
“What a dolt. There is no way out of here. It’s like when we left England we got a one-way ticket to nowhere and we’re stuck here forever.”[2]
“It won’t be forever and ever. When we get older they can’t tell us what to do, right?”
“They can until we’re twenty-one, and that’s a long time for me, and I’m older than you are.”
“Oh. I thought we got to leave when we’re sixteen.”
“Well, we leave the farm school, all right, but we don’t get to go on our own. We have to go to work in people’s houses in Victoria.”
“I think Victoria might be nicer than here. If it’s a city, there has to be shops and things and more people. I think I’ll like being in Victoria.”
“You probably won’t get much time off to go to the shops, and you won’t have any money left over to spend. We don’t get paid much.”
“I thought we had to be a farmer’s wife.” The youngest in the group spoke for the first time.
“That’s what they keep telling us, but I’m not going to be a farmer’s wife. I want to be a nurse or a waitress or work in a shop maybe. They can’t make us be farmers’ wives, can they?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not! Can you imagine never getting away from the smell of poo?”
“Oh, gross!” The girls were having a fit of laughter when the cottage door opened.
“Hurry up, girls. It’s getting late. Time for bed.” Their mum had heard them laughing outside, and it was simply too much noise.
Snuggled back in her sitting room, Mrs. Read felt happy for the first time in ages. Her sister’s visit was exactly what she needed. The cottage mothers had very few visitors and needed to rely on each other for company, which was sporadic as they had so little time off. Outside visitors were discouraged, but she really appreciated some adult company every once in a while, especially during the long winter evenings after the girls were in bed.
Mrs. Read was looking through a stack of old newspapers and magazines. She pulled out Vancouver’s Daily Province. “Listen to this: ‘Church Plan for Fairbridge School.’ I guess they should start the building soon.”
“They’re building a chapel?”
She turned to her sister. “Yes. Maybe then the fear of God can be instilled in these little heathens. It’s like turning stone into gold to turn these children into anything useful, especially Canadian farmers.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they never should have been sent out here in the first place. Canada does not need them. We have enough unemployment here as it is. I wish I could get a better job. I hate being stuck up here in the wilderness with this riff-raff. I would love to work in Victoria. I miss the city. I never get any breaks with this job. They expect me to be on call twenty-four hours a day.”
“C’mon, it’s a decent job. What other kind of job could you do, anyway?”
“Look at this.” Mrs. Read passed over the London Illustrated News. “It says, ‘The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire.’ I guess not if they keep sending their wretched unwanted children to all corners of the world.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Oh, it’s all about the 1936 coronation of King George VI. This school is named after his brother, the Prince of Wales, Edward VIII, who gave up the throne for a woman.”
“The British are a strange lot. Do you think there’ll be another war?”
“Another war? I doubt it. I don’t know. I hope not. I guess I should be thankful that I’ve got a job, but it gets lonely up here and there’s not much to do, even if I have little spare time to do it in. It’s so isolated. It takes hours to walk the five miles into Duncan. Who wants to walk there in the winter? Being here makes me feel like I’m stuck at the end of the road. It’s like I’ve bought myself a one-way ticket to nowhere.”
Chapter 5
I Ain’t Gonna Be a Farmer’s Wife
Everyone knows that eventually these children will please themselves as to whether they will stay on farms or as house help after they are discharged.… Is British Columbia to become a dumping ground and be dictated to by Imperial dictators? … Are there not thousands of our own idle and are there not thousands of children being born here every year to idleness?
— Daily Colonist (Victoria), March 9, 1935
“New Fairbridge Girls Declare They Won’t Be Farmer’s Wives.”
— Daily Province (Vancouver), September 21, 1938
The children grow enamoured of the open life at once and learn to be farmers by preference.
— “Little Empire Migrants,” London Spectator (U.K.), reprinted in the Evening Journal (Ottawa), February 23, 1939
“Okay, girls, up you get. The bell rang a while ago.” Mrs. Read walked down the row of cots, smacking a spoon on the metal bed frames. The girls began to stir. “C’mon, up and at ’em.” She stopped by a young girl’s cot. “Get up.”
“I will in a minute, ma’am.” The girl pulled the covers tightly around herself.
The mum could see it in the child’s eyes. She hated bedwetters with a passion. She was sure this girl wet her bed just to spite her, wretched child. Well, she’d give her a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget. The mum grabbed her covers and pulled them back. “Whatever is wrong with you, Miss Pissy Pants? Get up and get those wet things off. Look at the puddle under your bed! You dirty girl.”
The girl jumped up and began to pull off her wet nightclothes. She stood there shivering, trying to hide her nakedness. Terrified, she remained glued to the spot, not knowing what to do next.
“Put your pissy knickers on your head and march around this room to show the other girls what a horrible child you are, and then get downstairs for a shower.”
“But, ma’am, please …” As tears flowed, she choked back a sob. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Get your knickers on your head, you smelly thing. You are a disgusting girl. Do you not have any control? Do you think the other girls like to sleep in the same room after you have soiled it? Take your sheets and get them scrubbed in the downstairs basin. Then get the mop and pail and mop up the entire dorm. Go!”
The girl put her knickers on her head and marched around the room. The rest of the girls chanted as she ran by, “Piss pot, piss pot, pissy bed, pissy knickers on your head.”[1]
Mrs. Read demanded the teasing. The little girl grabbed her bedding and her soggy pajamas and fled the room; her loud sobs grew fainter as she reached the basement.
When she got downstai
rs, she ripped the knickers off her head and started the shower. When she was dressed, she filled the basin and put in her pajamas and then her sheets. She would have to bring her mattress down to the furnace room or else it would still be wet at bedtime. She headed upstairs with the mop and bucket. It was quiet in the cottage; everyone had gone to the dining hall for breakfast. She felt so alone, but she was glad that no one was there to see the irrepressible tears that flowed freely down her cheeks.
Marjorie grabbed the plates and the cutlery. It was Bunny’s turn to set their table for breakfast. The girls ran along the path to the dining hall, and while Bunny set things in place, Marjorie walked over to the kitchen to get their food. Marjorie had to squeeze past one of the big boys in the doorway. He was carrying his cottage mother’s plate; she could tell because it was china. He bent down toward the plate and gave a quick spit. Marjorie stifled a gasp. He looked up and winked at her. He was brave to do that so openly.
After breakfast, the girls headed back to their cottage to wash up. One of the girls tapped a spoon on her tin plate while she sang a little tune:
We are Fairbridge folk, all as good as e’er,
English, Welsh, and Scottish, we have come from everywhere;
Boys to be farmers and girls for farmers’ wives,
We follow Fairbridge, the founder.[2]
“Why do you sing that stupid song? I ain’t gonna be a farmer’s wife, are you?” Marjorie scowled at her.
“No! Of course not. I ain’t gonna be anyone’s wife.” The girl made a face. “I’m never getting married.”
“Well, why do you keep singing that song then?” Marjorie asked.
“I don’t know. It just gets stuck in my head, and I don’t even think about what I’m saying.”
“Why don’t you ever want to get married?”
The girl’s face clouded over and she whispered, “Because I don’t like being touched. Never mind.” She ran ahead but not before the others saw her tears.
Marjorie ran down to the basement. The girl who wet her bed was still down there. “You missed your breakfast.”
“I know. I don’t care. I’m not hungry.”
“I brought you a piece of toast. Here, do you want it?” The little girl grabbed the toast and ate it quickly.
“I could help you hang out the sheets. It’s easier with two people.” Marjorie was used to helping. It was a leftover habit from when she used to help her real mum. Here, the kids were not encouraged to help each other with things like this. Marjorie knew that it just made the loneliness worse, though.
“Okay, but now the whole entire school will know that I wet the bed again last night because the only time the sheets get hand-washed at our cottage is when someone pees the bed.” She choked back a lonesome sob.
“Well, we could say that you spilled something on them. No, we have to think of something else. No one is allowed to have anything to drink in bed.” Marjorie tried to think of something, but nothing came to mind, so she said, “We better hurry or we’ll be late for school.”
As they hung up the sheets, the little girl said, “I hate being teased by you girls, but when the kids in all the other cottages start on me, I could just scream. It’s not like I do it on purpose or anything.”
Marjorie could see her sister coming out of the cottage. “Hey, Bunny, come here and help us. We’ll get them up faster, then we can all run to the school together.” The day had turned dark and stormy. It would probably rain before long.
“You’ll definitely have to bring these in and hang them in the furnace room so they’ll dry before tonight. I’ll help you at lunchtime. You know, I didn’t mean it when I called you those names. The mum said we had to call you that. She told us we had to do it for your own good. She doesn’t understand anything, does she?”
Just then, Mrs. Read poked her head out the back door of the cottage. “Good for you. Your laundry is done. Have you washed the dorm floor?”
“Yes, mum. I did it while everyone was at breakfast. Can I go to school?”
“Yes, off you go now.” The cottage mum closed the door with a resounding bang.
Mrs. Read was having her morning coffee with Miss Scott, one of the new mums. They had managed to get one of last week’s newspapers from the principal’s office. “Hey, here’s an article: ‘$20,000 for Fairbridge. Anonymous Friend Gives Fund to Provide Chapel at Duncan. Pupils Will Have Tea with Viceregal Party and Go to Victoria to See King and Queen.’ It says that the boys and girls are wild with excitement because they are getting a chapel.[3] They are just wild!”
“Oh, so Fairbridge is getting a chapel, and Sunday service won’t have to be held in the dining hall anymore?” asked Miss Scott.
“That’s right. It goes on to say that the children will get to meet the King and Queen. Listen: ‘The King and Queen mean more to the boys and girls at Fairbridge Farm School than to most little citizens … because they are away from their homes in England, away from their families, and sometimes a little lonely for the friendliness and familiarity of their motherland. A sight of the King and Queen in Victoria will be a great event in their lives. In the minds of the children at Fairbridge School … the King and Queen are coming to the end of the Empire to see them.’ What nonsense! Maybe they will take them back to their motherland so the little darlings won’t be lonely.”
She didn’t get a response from Miss Scott, so she continued. “I doubt that the children will even get a glance at the King and Queen. They aren’t that important.” Mrs. Read smirked.
“Do you ever feel stuck here?” Miss Scott wondered if it was a good idea to share her feelings. She really needed this job, even if she hated the isolation, but she knew that she should be careful with what she said.
“Oh, Lord, do I! Especially during the winter months. Just wait until you have spent a whole winter here! Sometimes in the middle of winter, I feel like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. On our wages, we’ll never save up enough to leave,”[4] Mrs. Read groaned.
The lunch bell rang out, summoning the children. Marjorie could see a boy pulling on the bell rope outside the dining hall. She wondered why she never had a chance to ring it. She had only ever seen the boys ringing it. As she got closer, she realized it was Kenny. She ran over to him. “Hey, Kenny, how come you get to ring the bell?”
“I dunno. It’s my turn, I guess.” Kenny grimaced as he moved away from the bell rope.
“What’s the matter? What happened to your legs?” As Kenny moved, she could see dark red welts across the backs of both his legs.
“Miss Broad-ass, my cottage mum, thrashed me.”
“Who?”
“We have another new cottage mum, and she is horrid. Worse than Miss Bishop. Her name is Miss Brown, but we call her Broad-ass because she’s so big. She is a wicked, horrible old bag. I hate everyone here. They’re mean,” Kenny complained.
“What did you do? Did you do something really bad?” Marjorie wanted to give him a hug, but there were too many other kids going into the dining hall. She knew Kenny would be embarrassed.
“No, I didn’t do anything, but the older boys said I did, and she believed them and not me. It always happens to us. The younger kids are always getting it. If we tell on the jerks, then they get us, too, and the cottage mum turns around and smacks us again.” His sister was one of the few people who he could tell how he felt. It was too bad that they had so little time to talk.[5]
“Why don’t you tell someone?” Marjorie looked at Kenny. She wanted to help him so bad, but she knew there was nothing she could do.
“I did, and I was called a baby and whiny and told to grow up and not to bother people with such nonsense.” Kenny sucked back his tears. “Then I had to cut a huge pile of kindling because I was a tattler. I missed my supper that night because I had to keep working, and I didn’t even do anything in the first place. You know, when you do something an
d you deserve some punishment, then you don’t mind so much because you kinda asked for it, but when it wasn’t me that did anything in the first place, it just makes me hate it here more. They all bug me! I wish I had my mum. She never whacked us or …” Kenny’s voice trailed off. He looked around to make sure the coast was clear. In a low voice he continued, “It’s one of the little boys. Marjorie, I think, well, someone is doing bad things to him, you know. He cries at night after they bring him back, and he has bad nightmares, and he screams, ‘no, no, no’ …” Kenny looked past his sister. He saw his cottage mum. “We better get inside, or we’ll get into more trouble.” Kenny scooted through the door and headed over to his table.
Kids cried at night. Kids had nightmares. What could she do about it? Marjorie felt a growing frustration because she could never have a good talk with her brother. One of the adults always interrupted. She wondered why Kenny rarely spoke above a whisper. Was he afraid someone would hear him? She had to fill in the blanks of what he was saying, and she didn’t like how it sounded. She certainly couldn’t protect him, but at least she could look out for Bunny, even if she got into trouble for it.
Marjorie and the other girls reported to the cottage mum after school to find out what their chores would be for the rest of the day. Some weeks they knew what their chores would be for the entire week, like when they were on laundry duty or helping the nurse or cooking, but some weeks their chores changed every day depending on what needed to be done.
“Well, girls, we’ll get the cottage laundry done first. Here’s a pile of socks, Marjorie and Bunny; you two can start with those, and Mollie and Betty, you two can do the kitchen windows. They really need a good cleaning.” Mrs. Read handed over a soapy bucket and some rags.
“What are you two waiting for?” The mum turned to Marjorie and Bunny, wondering why they were still standing there.
Marjorie Her War Years Page 8
