by Julie Lawson
For a short time I forgot my sadness. But when I got back, and Mrs. Kessler made me some cocoa … I heard Dad’s voice and the sadness came rushing back.
Later
Duncan’s alive and safe and well! I knew it, just like in my dream, and tomorrow he’ll be in Halifax. My hand’s shaking, I can hardly write for relief and excitement, but here’s what happened.
Earlier today a nurse in Truro telephoned the Information Bureau and told them that Duncan Blackburn was a patient there, and was asking about his sister, and did they know anything, and they said they did. So a lady came over — she’s only just left — and told me that Duncan will be here tomorrow, right here at the Kesslers’!
Saturday, December 22
11:00 p.m.
Oh, where to start?
The house is quiet, everyone’s asleep, but I’m too stirred up to go to bed because Duncan is here!
The minute I saw him I started to cry, and I’ve hardly stopped since. Before the Kesslers went upstairs, Mrs. Kessler gave me two dry handkerchiefs and said I could stay up as long as I liked.
Here’s what happened.
Duncan showed up this morning and oh, the hugs and tears, his surprise at seeing Kirsty, her delight in greeting him with slobbery wet kisses — well we were beside ourselves with emotion.
Mrs. Kessler and Mrs. O’Neill, the lady who brought him, did a fair bit of of weeping, too.
And when he finally catches his breath, the first thing Duncan says? “Charlotte! I’ve been in Truro!” As if he’s been off on an excursion.
Well I cried and laughed and cried some more because at first I’m thinking, Doesn’t he know what happened?
Well he knows, all right. I could tell by the fierce way he hugged me, the bewildered look in his eyes and the tremor in his voice when he said, “We’re the only ones left, aren’t we? You and me and Luke.”
It’s only because he was amazed at finding himself in Truro in the first place, that his earlier words came out sounding the way they did.
He said I could write his story in my diary, if I wanted to record it for Luke, but he wouldn’t write it himself. He said he’d tell me what happened to him and that would be the end of it. He would never speak of it again.
Luke, when you’re reading this, it was hard enough writing my own story, but you’ll want to know about Duncan. And so I agreed.
Duncan’s Story:
December 6–21, 1917
The morning of December 6, Duncan was looking out his bedroom window and saw the Imo and Mont-Blanc heading straight for each other in the Narrows. When the Mont-Blanc caught fire, he went to get Carl so the two of them could go to the harbour for a closer look.
He thinks he and Carl had just turned onto Campbell Street when the explosion happened. He remembers seeing a white flash. But the next thing he knew, it was three days later and he was in a hospital bed in Truro.
He doesn’t remember how he got there. A nurse told him he’d been found in a daze, stumbling down the railway tracks leading out of Richmond. Someone had carried him to the No. 10 train, and the train had taken him to Truro along with hundreds of other injured people. (No. 10 was coming in from Saint John and had already passed Truro when the explosion happened, but had managed to make its way to a spot between Africville and Richmond.)
Duncan was unconscious by the time he got to Truro, probably because of a blow on his head. A cut on his forehead took seven stitches to close, but he had no other serious cuts and no broken bones.
When the nurse first saw him, his skin was so black she thought he was from Africville. He couldn’t tell the nurses or doctors anything, being unconscious, but even after he woke up he couldn’t. Name, address, age? He didn’t know. Parents, brothers, sisters? He didn’t know.
He drew a lot of pictures. A dragon with a human head and flames coming out of its mouth. A girl and a boy and a dog flying above the flames. He told everyone that Dragon Man was coming and he had to be ready. The doctors and nurses said he was delirious.
Mrs. O’Neill was a volunteer at the hospital. When she was here, she told us that the hospital had sent a description of Duncan to Halifax the day after the explosion but had never heard back. It may well have gone astray or been lost. Most of Duncan’s clothes had been blown off by the blast, and the rest had been in tatters, so the only description was of his approximate age and size and the colour of his eyes and hair.
It was almost two weeks before he could remember anything. Mrs. O’Neill was changing the dressing on his forehead when he told her his name was Duncan, and he had a twin sister called Charlotte. It was the first time his words had made any sense, but it was another day before he could give them all the information they needed.
So a nurse telephoned the Information Bureau and here he is.
I can hardly keep my eyes open …
Sunday, December 23
Duncan and I went to St. Paul’s this morning, with Mrs. Kessler. Reverend LeMoine gave a special service for the parishioners of St. Mark’s, because of our church being destroyed.
St. Paul’s is where the Kesslers go to church. The windows were broken in the blast, and debris was embedded in the walls. The church hall has been turned into a hospital and dressing station. There’s a big Red Cross banner outside.
Rev. LeMoine was happy to see Duncan. He asked what news we had of Luke, but I didn’t have anything to tell him.
There’s still no word about Father Young. Reverend LeMoine has never heard of him. I’m starting to think I was delirious and imagined Mum’s words.
The little ones here have taken a great liking to Duncan. He draws pictures of them flying in the treetops or fishing in the clouds. He’s given them names like Matthew the Mighty and Sophie the Courageous, and told them they can all be in our new book. He tells everyone that my name is Charlotte the Fearless. And together we’re the Intrepidous Twins.
Later
Duncan has just told me something he’d forgotten. The day of the explosion, when he was on his way to get Carl, he saw Ruth. She’d gone to the telephone company to start her job, but somehow they’d found out she wasn’t sixteen and sent her home.
Duncan told her that we’d known about her plans all along. He swore we’d kept it a secret, but she didn’t believe him, and put all the blame on me. She said she’d kill me when she got home.
Duncan asked if she wanted to go to the harbour with him and Carl, and watch the burning ship, but she didn’t. She went home instead.
I’m sad to think that Ruth’s last thoughts of me were full of anger and blame.
Monday, December 24
8:30 p.m.
This morning Sophie came to me in tears and said, “Tomorrow’s Christmas and I’m not
Luke is coming home! I’m giddy with excitement, and no wonder, because it’s the best Christmas present Duncan and I could have imagined, and to get the news on Christmas Eve, only ten minutes ago — well, my heart is overflowing!
I’d scarcely even started today’s entry when a man came to the door with an army telegram saying that Luke is on his way home. We don’t know when he left England, but at least it’s official. Oh tidings of comfort and joy!
Later
Now it’s 9:15 p.m. I’ve had some cocoa with Duncan, Matthew and Sarah, and managed to calm down — not much, but enough to finish my entry for today.
So back to this morning, and Sophie in tears. Poor little thing. “Tomorrow’s Christmas, and I’m not at home,” she said. “Santa won’t know where I am.”
She was so sweet and earnest, I burst into tears myself, on the inside. But on the outside, I put on a brave face and told her that Santa knows where she is because Santa knows everything.
Then came the questions. Are you sure? Does he know you’re here? Does he know Duncan’s here? Does he know Matthew’s here?
Yes, yes, yes — On it went for everyone in the house, including Mrs. Kessler, Mr. Kessler, Snowball, Crackers and Kirsty.
Then she asked
if the chimney was still on the roof.
I told her there were two chimneys, so Santa could take his pick, but she had to see for herself.
She was relieved when she looked up and saw the chimneys, straight and tall, not one brick out of place, but I began to worry. Because what if I’d spoken too soon and Santa didn’t come?
Mrs. Kessler reassured me. “Santa will indeed be paying us a visit,” she said, and gave me such a warm motherly hug I wanted to cry. But I didn’t, because the little ones see me as strong and fearless.
In the afternoon Mr. Kessler brought home an enormous tree. He had to stand on a chair to put the angel on top, and almost fell over.
The angel made me think of Muriel’s baby sister, so I told everyone the story. Mrs. Kessler looked at us and said, “There was an angel guarding each and every one of you that day.”
Then she put us to work. Holly and ivy here, boughs of cedar there, candles on the mantle, candles on the tree, ornaments hanging from every branch, now let’s set up the Nativity Scene, how about some carols, oh, look at Snowball playing with the tinsel, and so on. We were kept so busy there was almost no time for sadness.
After supper we sat by the fire and sang some more carols and listened to Mr. Kessler recite “A Visit from Saint Nicholas.” Then he gave us each a stocking to hang by the fireplace. Sophie put out the milk and cookies for Santa and the little ones went to bed.
Now it’s time for me to do the same, but how will I ever get to sleep?
Very late
Oh, the Christmas memories. And Luke coming home. I woke up with my head spinning and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got out of bed and tiptoed downstairs. Now I’m writing at the kitchen table. I’m tempted to peek inside the living room to see if Santa has come, but I won’t.
Luke, when you’re reading this, remember how the whole family used to read A Christmas Carol and take on different roles? And how Ruth always had to be Scrooge? She really was good! I wish I’d told her.
And remember how Dad would recite the Christmas story every Christmas Eve? Oh, his voice. The part with the shepherds abiding in the fields, “And Lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them and the glory of the Lord shone round about them …” It still makes me shiver with wonder.
Remember the Christmas parties? Our little house bulging with friends and neighbours and everyone with an instrument and a voice, dancing, singing — and the time Duncan’s loose tooth comes out and he’s showing it off and drops it in the punch bowl!
And the time …
Oh, now I’m too sleepy to go on. I hope my cot doesn’t creak when I go back to bed because I don’t want Sophie and Sarah to wake up, thinking I’m Santa.
Tomorrow will be hard. I know that Mum and Dad and Ruth and Edith are in heaven. But how I wish they were here.
Tuesday, December 25
7:00 Christmas night. I’m already half asleep.
Sophie woke everyone this morning. “Santa came! Just like Charlotte said! Come and see!”
There was a stack of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree. More than I’ve ever seen. The stockings were bulging with nuts and candies and oranges.
Mr. Kessler played Santa and handed out the presents. After we opened them we had breakfast. Then we went to church.
We had a turkey dinner, but I wasn’t hungry. I felt bad that I hadn’t given Mr. and Mrs. Kessler a present. They’ve been so kind.
Everyone did their best to be merry, for the little ones, but it was a sad Christmas.
I’m glad it’s over.
Wednesday, December 26
Went to Citadel Hill with Duncan, Matthew and Sarah. Mr. Kessler let us take his toboggan.
We had a few good runs, until the toboggan sped out of control and plowed into a snowbank. Lucky it was only a snowbank, because on the way down we almost hit three ladies, a couple of soldiers, two boys on a sled and several dogs, including Kirsty. If Duncan hadn’t steered us into the snowbank we might’ve shot right over to the Commons and crashed into one of the new apartments they’re building for the people who lost their homes.
As we were getting up and shaking off the snow, I heard a familiar laugh. I turned around and sure enough, it was Eva!
Well we laughed and hugged and cried, and laughed some more, and walked arm in arm about the Commons, talking talking talking.
At first we skirted around the Explosion, wanting to know, but not wanting to know, about each other’s families. But I could feel the question hanging between us, and finally told her about my family. Oh, the tears.
Eva’s family was lucky. Her dad and Werner were downstairs in the store, nailing a sheet of beaverboard over the window that had been broken by hooligans the night before. It turned out that the broken window was a good thing, because the force of the explosion knocked Werner, Mr. Heine and the board backwards, with no cut faces because they’d already removed the glass.
Eva and her mum had seen the burning ship from an upstairs window, and were running downstairs to tell the others when the explosion happened. They were thrown down the staircase and found themselves on the floor with canned goods and so on all around them. Eva landed on a broken bottle of syrup and got a bad gash on her leg, and her mum got a fractured wrist. They all got out before the building caught on fire.
Three days after the explosion, Eva’s dad was arrested for being a German, but they let him go.
Thank heavens I saw her today. They’ve been living with her mum’s cousin in the South End, but tomorrow they’re going to Montreal to stay with her dad’s sister. They’re planning to come back to Halifax in the summer.
We promised we’d write to each other. “Long letters,” Eva said, “with a new limerick every week.” That made us cry some more, remembering.
Late afternoon
Just before supper, Eva and her mum came calling. They gave me their address in Montreal, and I gave them Mrs. Kessler’s.
I may not be here by the time Eva writes, but Mrs. K. said she’d be sure to get the letter to me. Where will I be? Such a big question. I’m not worried though, because what can I do? Everything about my life is in someone else’s hands. Besides, I don’t really care where I am, as long as I’m with Duncan. And Kirsty.
Thursday, December 27
Today Mr. Kessler handed out spades and shovels and we played Treasure Hunt. There wasn’t any gold to find, only coal, but it was fun.
“Must be a ton of coal out there,” Mr. K. told us. Because last fall, whenever the neighbours’ dogs or cats came around to bully Snowball, he’d throw chunks of coal to scare them off. Along the fence, back of the shed, over by the clothesline pole — he had a story for every cat or dog he hit (but mostly missed).
We made snow angels before the yard got too dug up, and threw snowballs, and discovered over two dozen chunks of coal.
After that we came inside and had fish chowder for supper.
Later
I love reading stories to Sophie and Lewis before bedtime. The others listen, too, and I pretend I’m their big sister. But tonight I made a mistake.
I was reciting “A Visit from Saint Nicholas.” I almost know the whole poem by heart: “’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care …”
Sometimes I say the lines wrong on purpose to make the little ones laugh. But tonight I said, “’Twas the fright before Christmas.” Everyone went quiet, and Sophie whispered, “That was the Explosion.”
No one talks about it, but it’s with us all the time.
Friday, December 28
7:00 p.m.
I’m in the living room writing, Duncan’s drawing, Mr. Kessler’s reading the newspaper and Snowball is purring in his lap. Mrs. K. is knitting. Click, click … a sound I haven’t heard in a long time.
Kirsty’s sleeping with her head on my feet. I’m starting to feel pins and needles, but I don’t want to disturb her. She’s such a good do
g.
If a stranger looked into the room, he might think we were a family.
This afternoon Duncan and I went to the Bellevue Hospital to see Haggarty. He’s decided to go for the buccaneer look, and asked if we knew where he might get a parrot.
Duncan said, “Yes, but you’re not getting Crackers!”
It was good to see him laugh.
Sometimes I catch him staring at nothing, and his eyes are so full of sadness I wonder if he’s sorry he got back his memory. Because what better way to escape the horror than by not being able to remember? He never talks about the days he spent in that place of not knowing.
I wonder what it’s like to be unconscious. Is it like being asleep but without the dreams? Is it like being dead? Maybe he was at the Gates of Heaven, and saw Mum and Dad, and he wanted to join them, but he couldn’t get in because it wasn’t his time.
After we got back from the Bellevue I helped Mrs. K. polish her silver. Duncan and Matthew took turns running the electric train and making
Saturday, December 29
Last night when I turned the page … I couldn’t speak, not even to Duncan. It hurt so much I wanted to tear the page out.
I’m glad I didn’t. Their words are a comfort now. Mum and Dad, Edith and Ruth. My guardian angels.
Sunday, December 30
Stormy, and the wind brutal cold, but what we discovered made up for the weather. Here’s what happened.
Duncan and I bundled up in our warmest clothes and went into the devastated area. It’s still crowded with people clearing up the ruins, and we had to get a permit before they’d let us pass.
All that’s left of our house is the foundation. The rest is a heap of rubble and ashes. “She’s not posh but she’s paid for,” Dad used to say. He was right proud of our house.
One of the volunteers digging through our basement looked at our permit and said we shouldn’t have come, it was too gruesome for children.
