“Don’t be daft; that store is in Koksilah. We went there when we walked to the old Stone Butter Church in Cowichan, remember? We walked over that bridge and took shortcuts across fields.”
“I dunno. Well, The Canoe is the best store.”
“I never seem to be able to save my penny a week. I always get fined or spend it at the store by the dining hall on Saturday morning. Hey, don’t we get more when we get older? I heard the older boys get five cents a week. That’s not fair!”
“When you turn twelve, you’ll get five cents a week. I already get a nickel. Boys and girls both do. When we’re fifteen we get twenty-five cents a week.”
“When we’re fifteen we get to be a trainee, right?”
“Yes, and do you know what a trainee is?”
“What do you mean?”
“A trainee is someone who works all day every day and gets no pay!”
“We get a quarter, right?”
“Right, but it’s not very much money for all the work we do. That’s what’s not fair!” Marjorie informed the younger girl. “You know, I heard one cottage mother telling a visitor that we might do more work than other kids but that work is like play to us! I wanted to wring her neck and yell that she is full of it. What a lot of rot.”[10]
“It’s all rot and rubbish. I’ll tell you what’s not fair. I had five pennies saved up, but my cottage mum fined me three of them for sassing her. What an old bitch.”
“Yeah, they’re all old bitches.”
“Marjorie, hush! The gardener will hear you.”
“I don’t care; it’s true. Aren’t we supposed to speak the truth? I got fined twenty-five cents for not having my apron on when I was serving in the dining hall. I didn’t get any allowance for weeks. It took me ages to pay it off.” Marjorie looked at the girl beside her. “Didn’t you get fined for not saying your prayers?”
“Yes, and I was gated[11] as well. What happened when you swore at the teacher?”
“I was gated for one week, and then when I broke my probation I got strapped. I guess I deserved it. I shouldn’t have snuck out. I just can’t seem to be good enough.”
“Oh, the strap! That’s the worst, especially when they get your legs. They’re mean old bitches.”
“What about the boys — they have to drop their trousers, and they don’t wear any knickers!”
“Oh, how gross! Let’s talk about something else!”
Marjorie looked at her and laughed. “I remember the first time we went to Duncan and stopped at the store. I had a penny, and I wanted to buy some lucky tatties, my favourite candy back home, but the woman behind the counter looked at me as if I was crazy. She pretended that she didn’t understand me. Then she said, ‘You’re from that farm school, aren’t you?’ She had a snotty voice, as if she just wanted us out of there. I miss the candy that we used to have in England.” It had been a long while since Marjorie had thought about it, but she suddenly remembered swinging on her gate in Whitley Bay and calling for some money so she could buy some lucky tatties with the fizz pops and a surprise toy.[12]
After their lunch break the girls headed back to the garden. Marjorie stretched her back and looked around the group. One girl had been very quiet and hadn’t joined in with any of the chatter. She watched as the girl took handfuls of dirt and let it slip between her fingers. Silent tears ran down her face, leaving trails on her dusty cheeks. It was faint, but Marjorie was certain she was singing the new song they had learned in choir: “There’ll Always Be an England.”[13] A cloud of sadness surrounded her.
The afternoon wore on. The gardener walked over to inspect their work. He said they were nearly finished, then gave them another patch to plant. Now she wished she was working on the cottage Victory Garden. At least you could see the edges of the plot. The huge fields had rows and rows that went on forever. She would be happy to go back to her day school routine on Monday. It seemed to take ages before the gardener walked over again. The girls knew they couldn’t get away until they had his permission.
“Well, the rows could be straighter, girls, but I guess it will have to do. Off you go now. That’s enough for today.”
The girls didn’t need telling twice. They jumped up and dusted themselves off. They grabbed their gardening tools, feeling full of energy again, and chatted happily as they headed back to their cottage. They were ready for the showers.
“Look at your knees, Marjorie. They’re all brown.”
Marjorie pointed to the other girl’s knees. “So are yours.” The sides of their baggy brown shorts, covered in dust and dirt, wore the evidence of where the girls had wiped their hands. The seats bore the evidence of where they’d sat as they worked. Their blouses had splotches of dirt as well. “We all look a fright. We’re filthy. I’m going to enjoy a shower. Last one there is a rotten egg.” The group of girls giggled as they tried to run with their shovels and hoes toward their cottages.
There were several children in front of Pennant Cottage. One was struggling with the old hand mower. A couple of girls were stacking kindling. The days were warm, but some of the evenings were still cool enough, so they welcomed a fire. The girls who had finished their chores were playing jump rope.
Bunny came running up to Marjorie. She was wearing her new Brownie uniform. Kenny was in the Boy Scouts. Her cottage mum told her that she should join something, but she didn’t want to. It made her miss being in Whitley Bay and going to her Sunbeam meetings. They called them Brownies here, not Sunbeams.
“Hi, Marjorie. Do you like my new uniform?”
“You look smashing, Bunny!” Marjorie grinned at her sister. “How was your meeting?”
“Good. It was fun.” Bunny skipped up to her.
“You better get your uniform off before the old battleaxe sees you. If you get it mucky you’ll be in big trouble.”
“In a minute. The duty master said to come by and show him my new uniform. He said he had a sweet for me.” Bunny started to skip away, but Marjorie grabbed her roughly by the arm. She was shaking she was so mad.
“How many times do I have to warn you? Don’t trust him. Never ever go there by yourself. Promise me.” Marjorie wanted to say more, but the cottage mother stood in the doorway calling for the girls to get on with their chores. “Promise me,” she whispered urgently.
“Okay! You don’t have to pull my arm off. Your hands have muck on them. Let me go. He said he had some chocolate.” Bunny frowned.
“Bunny, you must never go alone. It’s not safe.” Marjorie pulled her sister close and whispered, “He tries to grab your private parts.” Treats were so scarce that sometimes the younger ones could forget the dangers.
“What? Really! I won’t ever. I promise, Marjorie. I promise.” Bunny’s face showed disgust and fear. Marjorie hoped her sister understood now.
The girls on dinner duty had already started preparing the evening meal. They could smell the boiled cabbage as they raced by the basement stairs to the shower room. During the heat of the day they longed to jump in the river, but it had cooled off and now a hot shower was more inviting.
“When I grow up, I’m going to have a job where I stay clean.” One of the girls groaned as she took off her dirty work clothes. “I hate having to scrub off this dirt all the time.”
“Well, it’s not just dirt, you know,” Marjorie said.
“What do you mean?” the other girl asked as she tossed her clothes into the laundry basket.
“It’s full of poop, too!” Marjorie made a face.
“It is not! Don’t tell me that!”
“What do you think they do with all the poop from the cows and the chickens and the pigs? They spread it over the fields, and we were digging in that stuff all day. We were playing in poop!” Marjorie was enjoying the girls’ reactions. One looked positively green.
Working in the garden at the Prince
of Wales Fairbridge Farm School.
Haying at the Prince of Wales Fairbridge Farm School.
“Yeah, and we eat food grown in poo!” said one of the other girls as she eyed Marjorie and grinned.
“Yuck! Stop it! I don’t want to hear any more! No wonder they’re trying to make us be farmers. Who else would choose to work with poop?” She jumped into the shower. The other girls followed. They quietly scrubbed and scrubbed, trying very hard to get the day’s dirt off them.
Farming
Farming makes the world go ’round,
Feeds the city, feeds the town.
And you can worry, work and strive,
Yet farming keeps the folks alive.
Raising corn and raising wheat,
So the folks have ’nough to eat.
’Cause farming isn’t any fun,
Keeps a fellow on the run.
Ploughing and sowing to be done,
And faith in the weather to be won.
Tending calves and milking cows,
Putting up and filling mows.
There’s more work than you’ll allow —
Doggone farming anyhow.[14]
Chapter 8
Off to Fintry: Now What Did I Do Wrong?
If they pass into the care of Fairbridge whilst they are still malleable, then their lives can be preserved for them.… Instead of being children of the dead-end in this country, they will become self-supporting settlers in the Dominions.
— Fairbridge Farm School, Annual Report, 1936
It was the first Friday in June and Marjorie’s last day on laundry duty. “We better get dressed quickly, Bunny. I’m on laundry today, and it’s my turn to get the fires started to heat the water. Do you want to come with me?”
Marjorie peeled off her pajamas and quickly got dressed. She hoped Bunny wanted to come with her because she hated travelling across to the laundry building on her own. It was worse in the winter when it was dark in the mornings. The shadows held unknown dangers that could be better kept at bay when there were two of them.
Bunny jumped out of bed. She enjoyed going with Marjorie to the laundry building. She felt safest when she was with her big sister. The two sisters quickly folded their pajamas and tucked them under their covers. They pulled up their grey blankets, smoothed the tops, and then neatly tucked them in. “There. All done. Let’s go.”
The sisters ran to the laundry building. Bunny scrunched up some paper, and Marjorie grabbed a handful of kindling. The flames were soon licking at the dry cedar, and it began to crackle and pop. They worked quickly so they wouldn’t be late for breakfast. The girls ran for the door. It opened just as they got to it, and in walked the laundry matron, Mrs. Baker.
Fairbridge Farm School girls working in the laundry building.
“Good morning, girls.”
“Good morning, ma’am. The fire’s going really good; we’ll have plenty of hot water soon,” Marjorie told her as the two girls bolted out of the door. Mrs. Baker yelled after them to slow down, but they were gone. They made a beeline for the dining hall.
Marjorie headed back to the laundry building after breakfast. Bunny carried on to the day school. “See you at lunchtime, Bunny.” Bunny turned and waved and then ran off. Marjorie was the first one to arrive back at the laundry. She put another log on the fire. As she shut the stove door, the matron walked in with five other girls.
“Well, girls, we had better get to work. We’ve got a lot to do today.”
Marjorie and her co-workers started with sorting the laundry from the different cottages. They looked for the cottage initials on each item and put them all in separate piles. Marjorie knew not to look for anything under “I” because when the cottages were given letters, they left that letter out. Soon they had twenty-one huge piles of laundry, one for each cottage: 1935 cottages: A-Edith Attwood, B-Silver Jubilee, C-Queen Mary, D-Lady Houston; 1936 cottages: E-Liverpool, F-Saint George’s, G-Richards, H-Lord Riddell; 1937 cottages: J-Strathcona, K-Lumley, L-Douglas, M-Pennant; 1938 cottages: N-Hill, O-Molyneux, P-Dulverton, Q-MacMillan; 1939 cottages: R-Laybourne and S-Davidson; plus one more for the principal’s house and one for the bunkhouse workers.
As soon as the girls washed one load, they put it in the huge extractor to get out as much water as they could. When the weather was okay, they hung everything out the back of the laundry building until things were dry enough to iron. Some days the wet clothing hung all over the laundry room, with the wood stove cranked up until the top glowed red, ensuring everything would dry. The room became hot and steamy, the windows clouded over, and little puddles of water formed on the windowsills.
“Ma’am,” one of the girls said, “someone told us that we wash about two hundred and eighty bits of laundry here every week. Is that true?”
“Oh, dear me, no! It’s more like two thousand and eight hundred pieces. Last April we kept track for a whole week, and that is the total we came up with. It’s a lot of laundry.”
Another girl piped in, “Well, I’m glad they all wash their own socks and underthings. Can you imagine if we had to do those, too? That would give us about ten thousand things to wash.”
The girls worked quietly and steadily, and before they knew it, it was time to get ready for lunch. After lunch, the six girls headed back to the laundry. A trainee girl was heading out with her arm full of the neatly folded bunkhouse laundry. She grimaced as she said she wondered what kind of cake the bunkhouse men would have for her, and she tried to get someone to go with her. The others said they couldn’t as they all had odd jobs to do for the next half hour before school started. At twenty minutes past one, they stoked the fire and went over to the day school for their afternoon class in home economics.
As Marjorie worked on her sewing project, she thought about what her cottage mum had told her this morning. She would be one of the two girls they were sending up to the Fairbridge Fintry Training Farm in the Okanagan Valley next week. The other girl’s name was Lavinia; she didn’t know her very well as she was in a different cottage. Was it good that they picked her to go? Or had she done something wrong? Was this a punishment? She was scared but a little bit excited, too. She would get away from the old battleaxe of a cottage mum. She was going to love that. She hoped Bunny would be okay while she was gone. She would miss her. She knew very little about Fintry, except that it was in the interior of British Columbia. That’s what they told her, anyway. She didn’t really know what that meant, but her day teacher showed her on the map of Canada. Then she asked him where England was. He laughed and said, “It’s not on this map.” Then the rest of the classroom laughed. Red-faced, she wondered what happened to England, and it frustrated her that the class laughed at her for asking. It made it hard to ask questions about things if they were just going to laugh at her.
To get to Fintry, the group would have to take the farm truck to Nanaimo and get on the ferry boat back to Vancouver. In Vancouver, they would catch the train to Vernon. The Fintry Farm truck would pick them up in Vernon and drive them the twenty-four miles south to Fintry. It was on the west side of the beautiful Okanagan Lake. At least that was what they told her. Then they told her to watch out for the Ogopogo, the huge lake monster that was supposed to live in this lake. Were they teasing her? Why did all the good things get mixed up with the bad?
Last week was a good week as it was her turn to work with the nurse. Marjorie liked the quiet, calm atmosphere in the hospital, except when someone ran in with an emergency. Last Friday was altogether different. It was a day with no emergencies and a visiting guest. The dentist drove in from Duncan in his old car. He had a strange machine with him. The nurse said it was an ancient foot-powered dental drill.[1] Marjorie watched as the dentist operated the drill by pumping a foot treadle on the side. It was fun to watch him pump the pedal and drill his patient’s teeth all at once.
After w
atching for a few moments, the nurse said, “You do have a knack with this old thing, don’t you, doctor?” The nurse seemed delighted to watch him, but she suggested, “Doctor, why don’t I pedal for you? It might make it easier. I’ve got some filling mixture ready.”
“Thank you, that would make it a lot easier. This old contraption is a bit awkward, but I suppose that we have to make do with what we’ve got, don’t we?” The dentist chuckled as he moved aside to let the nurse get at the foot pedal.
The nurse pedaled until the doctor needed some more filling mixture prepared, then he went back to doing the pedaling and drilling himself. Marjorie could tell that he had a lot of practice because he was so good at it.
As he drilled, he told them, “I have to visit a lot of remote areas, and many of these places don’t have electricity, so this machine serves me well. I find that I can get it in and out of my car easily enough. A standard dentist’s drill would be impossible to lug around with me.” He looked down at his patient. “Just a bit more drilling, sonny, and we’ll be done.”
The boy tried to be brave, but he jumped whenever the drill started up. His hands gripped the side of the chair, and Marjorie could see a tear trickle down the side of his face. She was glad it wasn’t her turn to be in the chair.
After the midday meal, two cottage mums sat having an afternoon cup of tea. The children would be gone all afternoon with their day school sessions, and then they would begin their afternoon chores after that. They could relax for a bit.
“What do you think of the Fairbridge Farm School?” Miss Bishop asked.
“Well, it’s a job. But it’s going to take some time to get used to it all.” Mrs. Gage, the new mum of a boys’ cottage, was surprised at what was expected of her. There were few breaks, and she wondered how she would cope with being at work twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
Miss Bishop picked up her tea and sipped at it. She passed the biscuits over.
Marjorie Her War Years Page 12
