“Can we have a campfire for our lunch?” Marjorie wanted to change the subject. She didn’t like the idea of the wild animals roaming close to them. She tried not to think about that huge bear in the manor-house cave. No one told her that Kodiak bears didn’t live in this area.
“Yes, we can have a campfire. We’ll have to put all our boys’ scout skills to the test, though. It’s extremely dry up here this time of year. We have to be very careful not to start a forest fire. We can make a smallish fire in the firepit. The pit is lined with rocks, so it should be safe, but we’ll have to carry buckets of water from Shorts Creek afterward to make sure the fire is completely out.”
Later, the children sat around the fire, eating their hot dogs, while Mr. Thomas told some of his fantastic naval battle stories. The children never tired of listening to him.[1]
“Can I have another sausage? We call them sausages, but you call them hot dogs, right?” said a boy. The hike had done wonders for everyone’s appetites.
“That’s right. The ones we call sausages are the links that we fry up for breakfast,” said Mrs. Howard.
“Look!” one of the boys pointed to the top of a nearby tree. “Look at the size of that bird. Is that a bald eagle? Oh, look, there are two of them.”
“Yes, it looks like they have a nest up there.”
“Why do they call them bald? Don’t they have feathers on their head?”
“Well, yes, they have feathers on their head. They have white feathers. At one time, a long time ago, the word bald meant white, not hairless. When they were naming the eagles, the Latin name meant white head and because bald meant white back then, they became known as the bald eagle. I know a poem about eagles by Lord Tennyson. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yes!”
“Sure.”
“Poetry is dumb,” whispered one of the older boys.
“I’d like to hear it.” Mrs. Howard frowned at the dissenter.
“Well, okay, it goes like this.” Mr. Thomas stood up.
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
“Well, I didn’t know you could recite poetry!” Mrs. Howard teased him.
“Oh, I am full of surprises.”
Marjorie looked back at the eagle. She understood being in a lonely land. Her family was out of reach. She knew what it was like to hold on tight so you won’t fall. But unlike her, this bird was free.
The children cleaned up their lunch things. Two of the boys ran to the creek to get water to douse the fire. When they were satisfied that the fire was completely out, they started back down the hillside toward the road. Mr. Thomas was in the lead. He stopped and made sure he had everyone’s attention.
“Okay, children, listen up will you? As we head down this trail, we will have to cross over a couple of creeks that have wooden planks for bridges. I want you to go one at a time. Last year three of the children were crossing over at the same time, the plank broke, and they went crashing into the creek.[2] Luckily, no one was hurt, but they all got soaked. So it is to be one at a time, okay?”
“Okay, sir!”
“Good enough. On we go then.” He turned and headed down the trail.
Marjorie caught up to him. “What is that tiny house over there?” She pointed off through the trees.
“That’s Scotty, the old trapper’s, cabin. He’s an old hermit who has lived up here for ages. Have you met him? It’s quite the experience. He’s a very nice man but extremely eccentric. His cabin is as old as he is, I suspect,” Mr. Thomas answered.
“Are you joking with me? How could he live there? It’s too small.” Marjorie found it hard to believe that anyone could live in such a little house.
Just then, the door opened and the old trapper climbed out. “Well, howdy. I thought I heard you all up here. It’s a grand day to be out exploring. I have just been smoking some jerky. Would you like to try some?” He reached into his cabin and grabbed a board with strips of dried meat lying on it. The children eagerly surrounded him and helped themselves. They munched and chewed on the tasty salty meat.
One of the boys asked, “Can I have another piece? That was delicious.”
“Yes, go ahead. I have lots. I got myself a deer last week. I got it mostly dried now.” He held out the wooden board so the boy could grab a piece.
“Is this deer meat?” someone asked.
“Yes. We call it venison. It’s the very best, don’t you agree, boys?”
“Yes, sir, it’s delicious.”
Marjorie turned and walked away. She was eating deer meat! She had been enjoying it up until that point, but now it just stuck in her throat. She gagged and spat it out. She tossed her piece into the bushes. She looked back to see if the old man had noticed, but he was busy talking to the boys. She wondered how anyone could eat the little deer.
After their visit, they carried on down the path. Mr. Thomas turned around and said, “I think I hear something. If we walk quietly we might see more deer or some mountain sheep.” They walked on, their eyes scanning to the right and left, looking for any signs of wildlife. They could hear an occasional crashing sound through the underbrush. Marjorie hoped it was deer and not a bear or a wolf. When they were almost down to the bottom field of the high farm and close to the road, Mr. Thomas put his hand up for them to stop.
“Shh. Stop for a minute,” he whispered. “Look, over there — five or six mountain sheep.”
“Oh, they hear us. There they go.” Mrs. Howard watched as the sheep bolted off into the woods.
As they got below the road, they could hear the waterfall. “It’s not as noisy as it was when we hiked up here last month,” one of the boys observed.
“Well, we did have a long dry spell over the past few weeks. The creek slows down a lot during the summer. It’s most spectacular when the spring run-off happens.” Mr. Thomas motioned the group to follow. “Walk carefully down this part of the path. We don’t want anyone to slip over the edge.”
They stood for a while and watched the waterfall. It was a long drop to the pool below.
When they got down to the bottom of the cliff, the children dashed out of the pathway.
“I wish I had their energy!” Mrs. Howard said to no one in particular.
“Yes, they are hard to wear out.”
As they walked past the octagonal barn, the ranch manager waved to them.
“Mr. Graham, hello. We’ve been on an adventure,” the children shouted out in greeting.
“So, you’ve been up at the high farm, have you?”
“Yes, and we saw sheep and deer and an eagle’s nest, too. And we visited the old trapper, and he gave us some venison jerky.”
“Well, you’ve had quite the day then!” Mr. Graham smiled at the boys.
“Is it time for milking, Mr. Graham?”
“Not quite. I think you have time for a swim first. You all look like you could use one.”
Turning to Mr. Thomas, Mr. Graham commented, “You’ve got a great bunch of kids this year. Mr. Dun-Waters would be happy to know that his wishes have been upheld.”
“Run along, boys, and get your swimsuits on.” Mr. Thomas did not have to say it twice. With a series of loud “yippees,” they were off.
Mrs. Howard walked along with the two girls on either side of her. “Well, girls, I hope we stoked the fires enough so our beans will be baked to perfection.”
“We really banked the coals, so it should still be going.”
“After your swim, I’ll want you to pick some salad greens, and just before dinner I’ll need you both to run up and get some mil
k from the barn. There should be some fresh milk by then. Take a jug each. I’ll get the cornbread started. That should make a good meal for us tonight. The cookies that you girls baked yesterday will be perfect for dessert. How does that sound?” Mrs. Howard put her arms around the shoulders of her two helpers. As Marjorie walked along, happiness and contentment filled her.
As they rounded the corner, Mrs. Howard noticed the line full of khaki shirts, all pinned up by their tails. She turned to the girls. “We’ll have to get our morning laundry in as well. My, my, look at all the little rips and tears. How do they do it? I guess boys will be boys. We’ll have to do some mending and patching, and I have a basket full of socks that need darning as well. That will be a good chore for tomorrow morning.”
Marjorie couldn’t help but compare Mrs. Howard to her cottage mums back at Fairbridge. Shortly after she’d arrived at the farm school, she tore her dress when she caught it on a piece of wire sticking out from the fence. Her mum had had a fit and slapped her, leaving her ear stinging for ages. She’d tried to tell the mum that it was an accident, but she didn’t listen. She’d slapped her again for talking back. It never did any good when she was in one of her moods. Marjorie was careful after that, and when she did have a rip in her clothes, she learned to hide it. You had to get good at hiding things if you wanted to stay out of trouble.
Here she could relax. She started to feel different. A little ray of hope had wormed its way in and changed her, leaving behind a stirring in her where she could dream of a future where she just might belong. Perhaps a future where she wouldn’t be so jumpy and afraid would not be too much to ask for. How could anyone relax around people who constantly yelled and struck out when you least expected it? The farm school didn’t feel safe most of the time.
It was going to be September soon. Her birthday was less than a month away now. Mrs. Howard had shown the girls how to make special ice cakes for the other children’s birthdays. She knew they would make some for her birthday as well. She was excited about turning fourteen, but that also meant that it would be getting close to when they had to go back to the Fairbridge Farm School. Mrs. Howard said they would probably go back in early October, depending on when the apple crop was in. Marjorie was not looking forward to it. It would be difficult going back to the way her cottage mum treated her after feeling so good about herself all summer. Now she knew that not all the mums at Fairbridge were like the mums she had to contend with, because Mrs. Howard was a cottage mum and she was nice. Maybe she could stay with Mrs. Howard when they returned. That would be grand!
The three of them walked up to the veranda just as the last of the boys were running down for their swim. Pat ran past them last, his arm still in a cast. He was not going to miss his swim, so he was very careful to stay on the edge and not get his cast wet. Mrs. Howard looked at the boys’ sleeping area. She could see nineteen neatly made little black iron cots. The tops of their grey blankets lay smoothed out and neatly tucked in. In a few of the cots, she could see a small portion of their striped flannelette pajamas peeking out from under their covers. These boys were very tidy, much tidier than her cottage boys back at the Fairbridge Farm School. Maybe it was because their sleeping quarters here were so exposed. Yet, she found herself thinking that it was probably because they were happy here. Everything went smoother when the children were happy. There was definitely a different feeling among the children. Maybe it was just being in a smaller group, and summertime was always easier as well. She knew it wasn’t possible, but it would be nice to spend a quiet winter up here with this group of children instead of going back to the farm school.
As Marjorie and Lavinia ran through the house to get their swimsuits, they could smell the delicious aroma of baked beans. “Mrs. Howard, the beans smell great. The stove stayed hot,” Marjorie yelled.
Mrs. Howard was still on the porch. “I’ll be right in, girls.” Mr. Thomas walked up to the porch.
“Well, it was quite a good day, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Howard said as he sat beside her.
“Yes, it was. I think I’ll just sit here for a bit and enjoy the sun.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. I think I’ll get the latest Fairbridge Gazette and read it. I haven’t had a chance yet.” Mrs. Howard disappeared into the house and returned a moment later with two tall glasses of iced tea and the August issue of the Fairbridge Gazette.
“Thanks for the iced tea. Anything interesting in this issue?” Mr. Thomas sipped his tea.
“Well, yes. The editorial by Frank Todd is quite good. He’s talking about the new arrivals to the school, including the group of Fairbridge children who stopped over on their way to the Molong Fairbridge School in New South Wales, Australia. The Molong group has headed out now. Oh, maybe this war will be over soon after all. The waters must be under British control if they’re allowing the transportation of children.
“Listen to this: ‘These events show very clearly the confidence of the British Authorities in the safe passage of our merchant marine and passenger ships through the waters which are, according to German sources, absolutely controlled by them. As usual, this German propaganda is proved false. This time it is by the action of the directors of the Fairbridge Society and the British officials, allowing children to travel the sea in time of war. This would never have been done if there had been the slightest doubt as to their safety.’ Isn’t that wonderful?
“Oh, this is cute; he mentions one of the little girls arriving in the last party. She apparently told the reporters to watch what they say. ‘Don’t talk,’ she said. ‘Someone might overhear.’
“Oh, listen to what else he says: ‘It is by such willing obedience to authority that Great Britain has been able to achieve the results she has in the short period she has been in the war. With the help of such spirit, we in the Dominions and at home will win the war.’[3]
“That makes me feel good. I feel so confident that we will win the war. We must! Oh, look, the next article says that work on the hospital has finally begun. The society wouldn’t start that if they weren’t confident about having the funds to finish it. I just have a feeling that things will get back to normal soon. This war can’t last.”
“That is excellent news. I’ll read it later. The girls are heading up. I suppose we should get a few chores done before dinner. I’ll give the boys a shout. I swear they would live in the lake if we let them. Morning, noon, and night they are down there. It is so healthy for them.” Mr. Thomas stood up and gave a sharp whistle. It wasn’t long before the boys headed up the path.
The girls ran up from the beach, refreshed after their swim. They changed and set out for the kitchen garden with a basket to pick greens for a salad. It had been a grand day. The Okanagan sun shone down on them. Marjorie could feel its warmth on her back. They could hear bees droning as they worked to gather pollen in the masses of flowers growing around the manor house. The ever-present hummingbirds were darting here and there, busy collecting nectar from the fragrant honeysuckle vine that covered a good portion of the veranda. They could hear the boys as they ran up the pathway, laughing and singing as they headed up for their late-afternoon chores. Marjorie felt happy, happier than she’d felt in a very long time. She wanted to savour this moment. She wanted to hold on to this feeling forever.
Apple picking at the Fintry Fairbridge Training Farm, Okanagan Valley, British Columbia. In the late 1930s and early 1940s, the Fintry Farm averaged between twenty-two thousand and twenty-five thousand forty-pound boxes of apples every year.
Chapter 11
For Now and Evermore
“Rule, Britannia! rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves.”[1]
— “Rule Britannia,” James Thomson
Marjorie tossed in her cot that night. Her world stood still. She tried to understand why the news had affected her so. They were all strangers to her. Perhaps it was because of the secure feeling tha
t had surrounded her throughout the summer. She was sure that nothing bad could happen here. Nothing bad could even reach them here. They were far away from the Fairbridge Farm School, and they were really, really far away from the war. Marjorie remembered that England did not even show up on the big map of Canada hanging in their classroom at Fairbridge. She thought that England must be quite far away from Canada. She remembered that it took many days to get to Canada, almost a fortnight — several days on the ocean and several days on the train to go across the huge country. The war seemed unreal to her simply because it was so far away. How could it touch them here? It was happening in another world. Fintry was like a little Eden, and she felt she had finally gained control over the bad things that had plagued her ever since they had taken her from her mother.
Whenever she heard of the war and the bombing, she prayed that Joyce was safe and her other family, too. She hoped Joyce was being brave. It would be awful to be afraid and alone. But these children would have been afraid and alone. Oh, it was too awful to think about. What would it be like? What would she have done? How would she feel if it happened to her? What if it had happened to Bunny’s boat? What if Joyce was on that boat? Oh, God, how was she going to find out? She tried to force herself to think about something else. She was making herself sick with worry.
Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Howard had been upset all day. Marjorie could tell that Mrs. Howard had been crying. She could just tell, even though she did not cry in front of the girls. Marjorie and Lavinia went about their chores as quietly as they could. When they went down for their afternoon swim, Marjorie asked Lavinia, “Something is wrong. I can feel it; can you?”
“Yes. I don’t have a clue what it is, though. I brought the mail in this morning and there was a telegram from Fairbridge. I just handed it over without reading it. It was shortly after that when Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Howard went into the office, and she came out with her face all blotchy as if she had been crying. She hasn’t been herself all day.” Lavinia gave a shrug. “I don’t know what it could be.”
Marjorie Her War Years Page 15
