No Safe Harbour

by Julie Lawson

  Duncan and I went to a different ward to see Carl. He was playing cards with three of the soldier patients and won the game just as we arrived, so he was in good spirits. His broken leg is on the mend and he’s leaving the hospital at the end of the month.

  Brian left the hospital a week ago. He and his family are moving to Boston.

  And as we were leaving the hospital we met Helen! I introduced her to my brothers, and when she and Luke were shaking hands and chatting, Duncan whispered, “Charlotte the Matchmaker.”

  Gosh, I hope Helen didn’t hear him.

  Sunday, January 20

  St. Paul’s in the morning.

  Rev. LeMoine was there. He told us that the Methodists and Presbyterians of Richmond are raising funds to build a temporary church, and everyone from Richmond, no matter what their faith, will be able to attend while waiting for their own churches to be rebuilt.

  Luke wanted to see what’s happening in Richmond so, in the afternoon, we went to a spot just outside the devastated area. Luke’s astonished by the amount of work going on, and even more astonished by what’s already been done. Especially considering the harsh winter. Horses, wagons, workmen everywhere, great piles of wood and bricks and tarpaper, ruins cleared away, roads put in, houses that weren’t destroyed being repaired. Like the Chisholms’ house, where the repairs are almost finished. A roofer told us that in another week the family will be able to move back in. I’ll be glad to see Muriel again.

  Practised the piano for two hours before supper. I’m determined to take the conservatory exam.

  Monday, January 21

  Bad news. Luke has to go back to France. His ship sails in three weeks. He was given leave partly because of his leg, but he’s seen an army doctor who said he was fit to return. I wish he had fallen and broken his other leg.

  He might have been able to stay on compassionate leave, if Duncan and I didn’t have relatives to take care of us, but we do. I hate the army and its rules. I hate the war.

  To cheer us up, Luke sang some of the verses to “Mademoiselle from Armentières” that his brigade made up. Here’s my favourite. I’m spelling the words the way the soldiers do, even though it’s not proper French.

  Mademoiselle from Armentières, parley-voo?

  Mademoiselle from Armentières, parley-voo?

  She had three chins, her knees would knock,

  Her face would stop a cuckoo clock.

  Hinky-dinky, parley-voo.

  There’s another verse that says the officers get the wine and steak, but “all we get is a bellyache.”

  Almost forgot the good news. Grandpa says the Maine Military Hospital is closing down, so the building can go back to being the Halifax Ladies College. That’s where I might be going.

  Tuesday, January 22

  Bedtime

  Some days, just one little thing … like this morning in town, a greeting card with the words To a Dear Mother …

  February 1918

  Saturday, February 2

  Groundhog Day. Sunny from dawn till dusk, so the groundhog for sure saw his shadow. Six more weeks of this terrible winter.

  Haven’t written in my diary for almost two weeks, with Luke being here. The best news is that Muriel and her family have moved back to Richmond. Muriel and I were planning to go coasting on Monday but couldn’t because of the weather.

  All week it’s been stormy and cold. Some nights I haven’t been able to sleep, with the wind shrieking and branches scratching against the windows. Kirsty’s allowed to sleep with me now, but she’s as nervous as I am. Every loud thump or bang makes us jump.

  I’ve spent most of my time indoors, except for going to church and piano lessons. I read books from Grandpa’s library, play cards and checkers with Luke or Duncan, work on the hooked rug I started last week, and practise practise practise.

  I’m knitting again. Gran’s teaching me to do a cable stitch so I can knit myself a fancy tuque. And Luke better not tease me about it! He’s always wearing the scarf I knitted for him last Christmas, but before he puts it on it’s, “Gosh, Charlotte. It’s a foot longer than it was yesterday.” Well I know it’s stretching, but not that much.

  Grandpa’s teaching Duncan to play chess, and Luke’s learning to play the fiddle. I never knew Grandpa had a fiddle until he brought it over to the piano one afternoon, tuned it up, and started playing along with me.

  Yesterday the mercury dropped way below zero. Another day indoors except for Luke. He braved the cold to have tea at Helen’s!

  Last night Duncan had a nightmare, the first since Luke’s been home. I couldn’t understand the words but he was crying out in a panic.

  I went to his room and we ended up playing checkers. Then Luke came in because he couldn’t sleep either. Duncan showed him the picture he’d drawn of Luke dressed up as a waitress in a French tavern. Luke said there was nothing better than going into a tavern in Armentières and having a real meal for a change. He pronounced Armentières the proper French way and said, “You can bet Mum’s listening.”

  Then we talked about our family, and the things they’d most like to hear us say. Luke recited the first verse of Dad’s favourite poem, “The Cremation of Sam McGee”: “There are strange things done in the midnight sun …”

  He sounded so like Dad.

  We agreed that Ruth would like us to say what a fine actress she was, a star in the making, the next Mary Pickford.

  And Edith? “She was pretty and talented as well as kind,” Luke said. “But you could never pay her a compliment. She’d only blush and say, ‘Oh, go on.’”

  “She was the best sister in the world and I loved her,” I said. I hope she was listening, because I never thought to tell her when I had the chance.

  We talked about how lucky Luke has been in France, so far — but didn’t say too much, in case we were tempting fate. Duncan reminded us of something Dad used to say. “If it was raining soup, we’d all have forks and knives, and Luke would be the one with the spoon.”

  Tuesday, February 5

  Gran took me to town to buy my Halifax Ladies College uniform.

  I wish classes were starting tomorrow, but I have to wait until March.

  Eva came over in the afternoon. She wishes she could go to H.L.C., but she’s going to Tower Road School.

  We had tea with Gran, and Luke joined us for a while, Eva blushing whenever Luke gave a nod in her direction. He’s such a charmer. He can even make Gran blush!

  After tea I took Eva to my room and showed her the tuque I’m knitting, not the one for me but a secret one for Luke, and told her how he’s been teasing me about the scarf. She suggested we make up a limerick for when he goes overseas. Well the first two lines were easy, but after that we were stumped. There was no end of giggles as we tried different rhymes, like fluke, duke, puke. After that we tried words that would rhyme if you had a Scottish accent, like book, brook, crook. It was good fun, and when we’d decided on a limerick we wrote it on a card to give to Luke.

  Here it is:

  There once was a fellow named Luke,

  Whose sister knitted a tuque.

  It was meant for his head

  But unravelled instead

  So away with a cold went poor Luke.

  Before I could stop her, Eva added another line: And by hook or by crook, that’ll teach him to tease his sister.

  What a scamp!

  Not only that, but as she was leaving she says, “Luke is so handsome!”

  “Go on, he’s just my brother.” I shrugged it off, trying to sound like Edith, but inside I was proud.

  Six more days until he leaves. “No tears,” he says, “It only makes it harder.” So for his sake, I put on a brave face and smile, and do my crying when I’m alone in my room. Like now.

  Thursday, February 7

  Not so cold today, so went coasting with Muriel and Eva.

  After that we walked to the South Commons to visit Muriel’s Uncle Jim and Auntie Belle. They’re renting one of the new a
partments, but only until the permanent houses are built. Then they’ll move into one of those. They got to pick out their own furniture, sent free all the way from Massachusetts.

  Uncle Jim says there’s a thousand people from Richmond in the apartments, and everyone’s mixed up, Anglicans living next door to Catholics and so on. Muriel says the Richmond schools won’t be opening for a long time. She says it’s too bad I don’t live there anymore, because of the long holiday, but I told her I can’t wait to go to school.

  She says, “You’ll hate Halifax Ladies College. The girls are uppity snobs.”

  Oh, Muriel, the same as ever.

  It was fun seeing her little cousins again. They were some excited to see Kirsty.

  One more thing. Luke took Helen on a sleigh ride that lasted the whole afternoon. I never planned to be a matchmaker, but I turned out to be a good one. Luke seems to be quite smitten.

  Four days until he leaves.

  Sunday, February 10

  Duncan and I were helping Luke pack up his kit, teasing him about Helen and so on, but when they started singing “Mademoiselle from Armentières” I thought of Mum, and the Explosion, and Luke going away, and I couldn’t bear it. I had to run into my room to keep from crying.

  I feel a bit better now. Gran came in a while ago. She took me in her arms and said it’s all right to cry, so cry I did, great heaving sobs, until I was spent.

  Now I’m going downstairs to help Gran fill a tin with the treats Mary baked yesterday. Luke will be able to eat them on the ship if he doesn’t get seasick.

  Later

  Luke has given me all the letters our family wrote to him, starting from the day he first went overseas. “Why leave them with me?” I asked, and he said, “You’re the keeper of the family stories.”

  I felt honoured, but desperate sad.

  At church this morning I prayed that his luck will run out and he’ll be wounded in France. Not a serious wound, but bad enough to put him in the hospital like before. Only this time, he’d have to stay there until the war is over.

  Now I’m praying that God will ignore that prayer, because even a little wound could become deadly. What was I thinking? Luke recovered from his injuries once, but he may not be so lucky a second time.

  Monday, February 11

  Everyone went to see Luke off, even Kirsty.

  We’d all taken little gifts, like gum, hard candies, a deck of playing cards, Duncan’s drawings, the limerick verse and so on. There was no time to be sad because we kept taking things out of our pockets and pretending to be surprised, as if we hadn’t put the gifts in ourselves. “Well, what have we here?” Grandpa would say, showing a pack of cigarettes. “Must be for Luke.” Then someone else would do the same, and so on.

  It was fun, because Luke then had to find a place to put everything! His kit bag was already bulging, so he ended up stuffing his pockets, and when they were full, he wrapped the rest of the gifts in his scarf. “Plenty of room in here,” he says, teasing me till the end.

  In the middle of all this, Helen arrived! So untie the scarf, add Helen’s little gifts, and tie up the scarf again. By then it was time for him to go.

  March 1918

  Sunday, March 3

  Three weeks since my last entry.

  I was in low spirits after Luke went away, lost and empty feeling. Didn’t want to write in my diary, or do much of anything. Duncan was low, too, and we spent long hours talking, or just being quiet together.

  Then we got over the blues, and wrote a long letter to Luke. We made it funny, as if it were written by Kirsty, and said things about Charlotte and Duncan and the rest of the household, but from a dog’s point of view. Everyone laughed when we read it out loud, and we’re going to write more letters that way. We take turns writing paragraphs.

  Last week we spent a day at Haggarty’s farm. It was some good to visit him and see how well he’s coming along with the one eye. He and Mrs. Haggarty told us what they could about our Richmond neighbours, and the people I knew from the milk run. We told them about Luke and our grandparents.

  I’m so thankful for Gran, the way she’s always ready to sit with me over a cup of tea and listen while I pour my heart out. I’m able to talk to her in a way I never could with Mum.

  Well it’s about time I got back to my regular habit of writing every day, especially now. Why? Because tomorrow’s my first day at Halifax Ladies College!

  I’m too excited to write any more.

  Monday, March 4

  5:30 a.m.

  A long wait till breakfast, but I’m already dressed and ready for school. Woke up a couple of times in the night, but the minute I started to feel anxious I heard Sophie’s little voice saying, “You’re Charlotte the Fearless. You can do anything.”

  4:45 p.m.

  I’m home! Just a few lines, and then I’ll start my homework.

  It felt good being back in a classroom. We even had a composition to write. The topic was winter. I wrote as my title “A Symphony of Winter,” and made winter a wonderland of “glistening icicles” and “feathery soft snow.” Not a bit like this cruel winter.

  Gran walked with me this morning, and the first thing I saw in the foyer was a plaque with my mother’s name. Lillian Wakefield. Student of the Year, 1895. The year she graduated.

  It made me proud, but nervous, the thought of following in Mum’s footsteps and not disappointing her or Gran.

  The Charlotte I used to be could never have imagined herself in a new school in a new area, not one familiar face, and her own face marked with a ragged blue scar. But I’m not the same Charlotte.

  Did I shy away brooding or hide my face in a book? No, I walked up to the girls in my class and asked them questions about the school, teachers, lessons and so on. I told them that if they wanted to know what happened to me in the Explosion, they could come right out and ask instead of whispering and pitying behind my back. I said I didn’t mind if they stared at my scar. (A few girls were doing just that, when they thought I wasn’t looking.) Because why should I be ashamed or embarrassed? It’s a sign of survival.

  Saturday, March 9

  Went to the Kesslers’ today. Took Kirsty for a walk with Sophie. Came back and watched Duncan and Lewis run the electric train. After that we went to the Home for Children to see Matthew and Kevin. They’re going to Tower Road School in a couple of weeks, same as Duncan. I felt left out with all the talk of Tower Road. That’s where Eva’s going, too. Came back through town so Duncan could buy a new harmonica.

  Wednesday, March 13

  Sometimes I go for a whole day, even two days, without remembering, but all at once it hits me. Like today. I was walking home from school and heard a man whistling, “Pack Up Your Troubles,” just like Dad.

  I cried all the way home.

  Friday, March 15

  Today I heard a happy sound. Duncan playing his harmonica.

  Sunday, March 17

  Went to Richmond with Duncan for the first service in the “tarpaper” church. It’s the one Rev. LeMoine told us was being built. Right now it’s for people of all faiths: Methodists, Presbyterians, Catholics and Anglicans.

  It was hard at first, being there. A gathering of survivors, in a Richmond that’s no longer Richmond, where a scarred or bandaged face is common and where the absent faces fill your mind and heart at every turn.

  It wasn’t a service of mourning, though. It was more a celebration of being together and looking to the future.

  And the weather felt like spring, a new beginning.

  Later

  A weight has been lifted, a weight I never realized I was carrying until now. I’ve changed my mind about going to Halifax Ladies College. I liked the school, and the girls didn’t seem uppity, but somehow, it didn’t feel right. I’ve decided to go to Tower Road School instead.

  Gran said it’s a wise decision as I’m bound to feel more comfortable there, with children I know. She assured me she wasn’t disappointed (I was afraid she might be) and I
shouldn’t feel pressured about H.LC. just because it was Mum’s school. Besides, I can always go back when I’m older.

  I’m happy and excited about going to Tower Road, especially since Eva and Duncan will be there. What was I thinking, going to a school without Duncan? No wonder it didn’t feel right. The “Intrepidous Twins” have to stay together.

  Thursday, March 21

  The calendar says it’s the first day of spring, but whoever decided that never knew Halifax. It’s gone back to being cold and windy and the ground is still covered with snow.

  But never mind the weather. Miss Chatwin’s holding a spring concert at the end of April, for her conservatory pupils, and I’m playing a piano solo! I haven’t decided what to play.

  Sunday, March 24

  7:00 p.m.

  This is my last entry.

  I’ve been thinking about my diary and the story it tells, not from the words but from the state of the pages. At the very beginning, a few blotches of mud from the trenches in France. Then nine weeks or so of crisp, buff-coloured pages marching along in an orderly way, one day at a time. For a month after that, the pages are streaked with tears and horribly marked with blood and soot. Little by little they begin to clear up, and in the last few entries, the pages are clean. But the cover is scarred, like me.

  One day, when I reread the first part of my diary, I’ll see my family again and hear their voices. Mum, Dad, Edith and Ruth. I’ll also see a younger Charlotte Blackburn.

  I don’t want to go back to the self I was then, wondering about questions that have no answers, worrying about things that don’t matter. Like it says in the “Pack Up Your Troubles” song, “What’s the use of worrying?”

  The other day, Gran asked what I want to be when I grow up, before I become a wife and mother. I told her I didn’t know because I don’t think that far ahead anymore. I just want be a good person and make the most out of every single day.

  Oh! I’ve just decided! I’m going to play the Chopin waltz for the recital, the one that Edith used to play. Everyone in our family loved it. I’m sure they’ll all be listening.