Marjorie Her War Years

by Patricia Skidmore

  “Why do we have to wash the smelly socks all the time? We did laundry yesterday.”

  “Well, because I said so, that’s why. And you’ll do laundry tomorrow and the next day and maybe all week, if you complain any more. Now get off with you two or you won’t have it finished before dinner.” Mrs. Read looked over at the two girls washing the windows.

  “Scrub harder Betty. And Mollie for goodness sake wipe that nose, young lady. No! Not on your sleeve, you little heathen. You are more than I can take at times. Go inside and get some paper and do it properly.”

  Marjorie and Bunny pushed past Betty and Mollie, and ran down the basement stairs, dropping socks along the way and chanting, “Snotty nose, snot face.”

  “Don’t you think that’s gross, Marjorie? Why does she always have snot running down her face?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s awful. It’s always right down to her mouth.” Marjorie shuddered. Having a snot or bedwetting problem only added to the difficulties here. It was hard enough without extra things to worry about.

  She picked up a handful of socks. “God, these are crusty, too. I wonder if they have snot on them!” Marjorie laughed as Bunny threw her handful on the floor. “I’m only teasing you.”

  After they cleared away the supper things, the children sat around the fireplace darning their socks. The radio was on. The fireplace was casting a pleasant light and warmth. The night was stormy. The rain knocked at the windows before running down in sheets.

  Marjorie and another girl were looking through their copies of the March issue of the Fairbridge Gazette. The very first issue had come out in February, and it was creating a lot of interest.

  “Hey, is this going to be the new Fairbridge logo?” Marjorie asked. “That looks good with the leaves and the beaver.”

  “I believe so,” Mrs. Read replied. “Have you other girls seen the Fairbridge Gazette? It’s quite fun, really. You should make sure you get a chance to read it. Jimmy Lally, one of our older boys, is the editor.” The girls ran over to see what she meant.

  Prince of Wales Fairbridge Farm School annual cross-country race and new Fairbridge logo in top right corner.

  Marjorie passed her gazette over to the mum, who said, “I heard that Mr. Lort, the man who designed several of the school buildings, had a hand in drawing the new logo. I like the oak leaves and the beaver. I think it’s appropriate.” The mum handed back the gazette.

  Marjorie leafed through the paper, just reading the headlines. She found a note clipped to the third page. “Hey, it’s not fair! It says here that because I’m twelve I have to pay two cents for a Fairbridge Gazette. Well, I will just read my little sister’s ’cause she can get it for one cent. Wow, look, the adults have to pay a nickel. That’s a lot of money.”

  Marjorie showed the price to the girl beside her and then flipped to the next page.

  “Look, Marjorie, they talk about the boys’ last cross-country race on page four. Your brother Kenny came in first for the twelve-and-under boys. Isn’t that great? He made the news.”

  “Well, Kenny will be pleased to see that.” Marjorie thought about the race. Even though Kenny was just a little guy, he’d learned to be fast. It was a survival skill. He needed to outrun the bullies. He loved to run, and he was good at it. She wondered why they didn’t allow the girls to run in the races. They would probably beat some of the boys. That would be a hoot!

  Finally, Marjorie was given the opportunity to be the nurse’s helper. It was better than washing crusty old socks. When her shift was over, she imagined writing a letter to Joyce and telling her about what she was doing at Fairbridge. She would tell her that all the girls had to spend time working with the nurse in the hospital. Well, it wasn’t really a hospital; it was in one of the cottages, and it was a temporary hospital because they were building a real one. Being a nurse’s helper was better than laundry duty, but it was still a long day.

  No, wait — she should start her letter properly:

  Dear Joyce,

  How are you? I am going to tell you about my day as the nurse’s helper, then you will know some of what we do at the farm school. First, I have to get over to the hospital at a quarter past six to light the fires to get the hospital warm. Sometimes I find a good bed of coals in the bottom of the stove, and then it’s easier to light and you have a good roaring fire in no time at all. Next we have to prepare breakfast for the patients, and we eat our breakfast there as well and not in the dining hall as we usually do. Before we give the patients their breakfast trays, we take everyone’s temperature, and then we take the trays around. After breakfast we change the beds and get the patients all clean and cozy. Next we tidy up the ward. When we’re finished tidying, we have to disinfect the laundry. Nurse explained to us that the germs stay on the bedding and pajamas, and it’s important to kill all the germs.

  Then, just before lunch, if we have time, we have to fill the cod liver oil bottles for all the cottages. We use a huge jug. I thought of dropping it, but they would just get another one, and I would get into trouble and have to do other chores that would be worse. It is horrible, gross stuff. Whoever invented it must be an awful person. Someone who hates kids maybe. They make us swallow a huge ladle full, and then we have to say thank you. Can you believe that? You can’t say thank you with a mouthful of cod liver oil, and that is how they make sure you swallow it. Most of us run outside right away and puke our guts out. Anyway, I put a funnel on the bottle, then I carefully pour the goopy stuff. The nurse told me if I spilled any, I would have to lick it up. She’s nice, so I think she was teasing me, I hope. I poured out several bottles, then I came to our cottage’s bottle — each bottle has a cottage name on it — and I was trying to think of ways to put in something else, like syrup or something that would look like cod liver oil so no one would know that I changed it. But I couldn’t think of anything else to use. That would be a hoot, though. Don’t you think so?

  At lunchtime, me and two other girls go over to the main dining hall to pick up the food for everyone in the hospital. They cook it there. We usually have our breakfast and lunch in the big dining hall and our dinners in our own cottage. We bring enough food back for us and for Nurse and the patients. After lunch it’s rest time for the patients, but there is no rest for us. We usually tidy up the ward some more and do some dusting and things like that. Rest time is supposed to be a quiet time, but with a hospital, you never know what to expect. Everything was real quiet and we were just mopping up the floors when the door flew open and one of the boys came running in, yelling, “Help me! Ow, ow, ow!” He was shaking his hand, and the blood was flying everywhere, all over our nice clean hospital. The nurse grabbed a cloth and ran to him. She told him to keep still, that he was getting blood everywhere and he was making it worse by shaking his hand like that, but he couldn’t listen because he was too busy jumping around and yelling. She held him tight, and then she wrapped his hand in the cloth. She finally got him to sit down. She tied the cloth around his hand, but the red came through the cloth, and he started to yell again. “Am I going to bleed to death?” he screamed. What a big baby. I wanted the nurse to give him a needle because he was one of the big boys who bullies Kenny. The nurse told him that he would be okay, but he needed to sit quietly and calm down. The nurse cleaned it up, and it was only a little scratch, really. It didn’t need stitches or anything. Boys can be such sissies when they see blood. She called for me to bring some bandages and disinfectant over to her, and she had him as good as new in no time. The rest time was nearly over, and the patients didn’t have a very restful time, but that is what happens in a hospital.

  After that I read some stories to the two little patients. My reading is pretty good now. They both wanted more stories, but I had to go help make dinner. We make the dinner in the hospital kitchen just as we do at our own cottage. All the cottages have kitchens. After dinner, we help clean up, and then we get the pati
ents cozy for the night. We go back to our own cottage around 6:30 p.m. It’s a long day, but it goes by fast when we’re busy. We usually do one kind of chore for one week. That way everyone gets a chance to do different things. Then we have an hour to play or do what we want until bedtime. It’s a wicked night out tonight, so we have all stayed in our cottage and are busy darning our socks.

  From your sister, Marjorie

  No, she thought — Love from your sister, Marjorie.

  And, oh, she needed to add something.

  P.S. The part I hate the worst are the bedpans.

  P.P.S. They are going to build a new hospital. There will be more wards, and each ward will have a buzzer to call the nurse. And it will be on one floor so we will not have to keep going up and down the stairs with trays of stuff. The hospital will have isolation rooms for the really sick patients, just like at Middlemore.

  P.P.P.S. I still miss you, Joyce, and I am glad I have a picture of you. Can you send me another one? This one is getting worn out.

  P.P.P.P.S. They keep telling us that we have to be farmers’ wives when we grow up, but not me, no way. They can’t make me. That’s our secret, okay? I hope they can’t make me. What are you going to be when you get out?

  Marjorie thought that would make a grand letter. She was better at writing letters in her head than writing letters on paper. She just couldn’t seem to get started, and she didn’t like the idea of her cottage mum reading her letters. She imagined Joyce getting her letter, opening it, and reading it. It helped her to feel closer to her big sister.

  Chapter 6

  A Partial Eclipse[1]

  A double service is rendered to religion, humanity and civilisation, in carrying off the children of distress to the open lands beyond the sea, to live in the open, to work with nature, to wrestle with forest, field and stream, to forget the fetid city slums, to think and strive and pray in the open, to grow strong and self-reliant, to be the guardians of the outpost of civilisation, religion and new endeavour … every child a pioneer of the Empire.

  — Father N. Waugh, These, My Little Ones, 1911

  The children are “brought out into the sunshine, away from the darkness of the slum.”

  — Sir Arthur Lawley, The Times (London), May 9, 1927

  “Marjorie, you forgot the cups.” Mrs. Read stood at the back door, her lips pinched in disapproval as she passed Marjorie the cups. “If you weren’t in such a hurry, you wouldn’t forget things.”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” Marjorie grabbed the cups, dropping one in her rush. The tin cup bounced off the stair and landed in the dirt.

  “Slow down.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Dust off that cup.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Marjorie ran to the dining hall. She wanted to get her table set first. They were having a competition to see which cottage did the best with their chores. Each cottage was given points, and at the end of the week they added up all the points. Right now, their cottage was in third place, but Marjorie thought with a bit of effort they could catch up because they were really close.

  The head girl carried the flat pan full of porridge to the table. Marjorie could see the steam rising from the glistening pile of brown sugar in the centre of the dish. She wished she could be one of her cottage mum’s favourites because then she would get some of the sugar, too. She and Bunny watched as the mum scooped out the porridge. The mum’s favourite girls always got all the sugar. She served them first, taking their portions from the sugary centre.

  Marjorie was used to it. She didn’t know what sugary porridge tasted like anyway. She had learned to accept these things, to bury her feelings; otherwise, she would always be in trouble. But it hurt. The unfairness would grab at her and shake her. She had to let it go. At the end of the table, the mum’s favourite was having fun teasing the rest, savouring every bite of her sugary porridge. When the pet saw the girls at Marjorie’s end of the table watching, she stuck out her tongue. Melted sugar dripped off her chin. Marjorie took a drink of her milk. The cottage mum wasn’t looking, so she let a stream of milk fly through her front teeth. It got the spoiled pet right on the head. She stuck her tongue out at the girl and went back to eating her bland, lumpy porridge.

  “Eat up, girls. Quickly now. We don’t want to be late.” Mrs. Read stood up, putting an end to the table fight. She knew having favourites caused problems, but she needed to ensure she had some allies in her cottage. A full-blown mutiny could be disastrous for her.

  “Marjorie, bring the dishes with you. Who’s on dishwashing duty today?” Two of the girls raised their hands. “Good. Help Marjorie carry the dishes back to the cottage. Let’s go. Quick! Quick!”

  “Be careful! Don’t look up at it without the smoky glass in front of your eyes.” Mrs. Read was doing her best to keep the children from looking directly at the eclipse, but as usual, they were not listening to her. The children had never seen anything like it before.

  “What’s it called again?”

  “It’s called a partial eclipse of the sun. We are very lucky that we have a cloudless sky this morning; otherwise we would not be able to see it so clearly. You watch. Now let’s see, it’s a quarter to eight, and in fifteen minutes it should be at its height. More than half of the sun should be obscured.”

  “What does obscured mean?”

  “Covered over. The moon will be standing in front of the sun, blocking out its light.”

  “Oh, I see, I think.”

  “Eclipses don’t happen very often where we can actually see them. Hey, I told you not to look at it without the smoky glass in front of your eyes. You’ll hurt your eyes.”

  The principal thought that viewing the partial eclipse would be a good educational lesson for the children. They put their chores and morning classes on hold so they could all watch it. Their cottage mum wished they would listen to her, though, so she didn’t have to keep such a watchful eye on them. She wanted to see the eclipse herself.

  “Marjorie, you’ll burn your eyeballs right out of your head. You’ll have nothing but smoking holes left.” Marjorie quickly picked up her piece of viewing glass.

  “Wow, it’s getting darker. Look! The moon is blotting out the sun. This is neat.”

  The children stood quietly for a few moments, mesmerized by the scene in the sky. As the moon moved away and it began to get lighter, the kids started to lose interest.

  “All right, girls. Pass me back the pieces of glass and get ready for your morning classes. We can catch up with the chores later.”

  Marjorie scrambled into her desk. Sometimes she felt just like an eclipse. Hidden. Covered up. Not herself anymore. How could her mother recognize her if she couldn’t recognize herself?

  The teacher they all called Legs — behind his back, of course — sat at his desk reading the newspaper. He told them to pull out their books without even looking up from his paper.

  Finally, he put his paper down. “Who watched the eclipse this morning?” They all held up their hands.

  “Well, then, who can tell me what an eclipse is?” All the hands quickly went down.

  “C’mon, class, someone must have an idea. What did you see?”

  “The sun got blotted out, sir.”

  “It got darker, sir?”

  “Yes, that’s correct. Now …”

  The lesson plan had suddenly changed for the morning. Legs decided that he would spend a little more time on solar eclipses.

  “Um, now, can anyone tell me why you can’t look at it directly with your eyes? Marjorie, why do you suppose you can’t?”

  “Well, sir.” Marjorie’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Because, sir, if you do your eyes will burn out and you will have smoking holes in your head and you will be blind. Our cottage mum said so. Is that true?”

  Marjorie had been sneaking a little peak when the cottage mum c
aught her. It had hurt her eyes, and she kept seeing spots in front of her face. She was waiting for the smoke to start.

  “Well, Marjorie, you can do a lot of damage to your eyes, but I don’t think they will start to smoke.” Legs gave a little chuckle and went on with the lesson.

  At lunchtime, the girls of Attwood Cottage were sitting at their table in the big dining hall. Their plates were full, but they had to wait until everyone was sitting down. When they were, the headmaster said grace.

  “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. For Christ’s sake. Amen.”

  For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of cutlery against the metal plates. Many slices of the one hundred pounds of bread that the baker produced daily were consumed.[2] As the stomachs filled up, the sounds changed to children whispering with their neighbours. They had finished their main meal, and the girls waiting tables had gone to the kitchen to get their dessert.

  Marjorie, left, with two Fairbridge girls. Pennant Cottage is on their left, and Attwood Cottage is on their right.

  The interior of the dining hall.

  Marjorie looked around. She and a group of girls had had the chore of cleaning the dining hall yesterday. They had polished the tables and waxed the floor. It was a huge floor, but polishing it went quickly when there were many girls to do it. The sunlight was streaming through the large windows, making the linoleum shine.

  “Oh, yuck!” Marjorie said as a bowl of tapioca pudding topped with prunes was put in front of her. They had to eat whatever they were given regardless of whether they liked it or not or even whether they were hungry or not. “Look at the size of the tapioca. It looks like frog eggs!”

  “Is that what frog eggs look like?”