by Kit Pearson
I couldn’t stop. It was so much easier to talk about something imaginary than about my real life, which only makes me miss it more. The girls were so enthralled that we were late for games and got a detention. After games and after study I kept up the story.
Sheila, especially, follows me around and keeps asking me more questions. Mollie looks rather suspicious, but I can tell she wants to believe me.
27 September 1939
For a week the girls in my room hung on every word I said. It was as if I were a princess myself! I even had Sheila waiting on me — fetching my coat and cleaning my shoes.
Now, however, they despise me. Mollie asked Imogen if I was really related to royalty. Imogen took me for a walk and I had to confess I wasn’t. She got all uppity and told me I was letting the side down, that I should jolly well shape up and tell them the truth, or else she would.
So I went back to the dorm and muttered to the girls that I’d made it all up. “Are you sure?” Sheila asked. How stupid she is!
Mollie and Kay looked disgusted. Mollie said, “I didn’t think English girls were liars,” in a cold voice.
I’m writing this as usual in the bathroom. Now no one is speaking to me, although Sheila looks as if she wants to.
Dad would be so disappointed in me. But I seem to be a different person here. The real Verity has disappeared.
2 October 1939
We finally got letters from home. They don’t help one bit. Mummy and Dad said that they were sorry we had to stay in Canada, that they missed us terribly, but that, this way, at least two members of the family would be safe. They asked us to adhere to the principles with which we have been brought up, and to settle down courageously and sensibly in our new lives. We are to remember how kind the Canadians have been to take us in and to be grateful. They hoped the war would be over soon so we could come home. They both signed the letter, but it was in Mummy’s handwriting.
They aren’t in any danger yet, and they have an evacuee from London living with them, a girl named Monica. Monica is sleeping in my room! A complete stranger is living in our family when I am marooned over here! Maybe my parents will start regarding her as their daughter instead of me.
I received a separate note from Dad which confirmed this. He told me how plucky Monica is, how she never cries or complains, and how he hopes that I am being as brave. He says he understands how much I want to be home, but that I am to concentrate on enjoying Canada. When I read his words I felt chilled inside. I was always Dad’s pet. He called me his princess. Now he seems to prefer this Monica person.
At least Dad isn’t there most of the time, so he won’t spend much time with Monica. He’s too old to fight, thank goodness, but he’s doing secret war work in London and spends most of his time there.
When Jane showed me the letters she wouldn’t let me cry. She told me I must try to be brave. I am so, so tired of hearing those words.
12 October 1939
I haven’t written for a long time because there’s nothing to say. Life in prison continues on its dreary way. Mollie and the others now avoid me, and I’m glad.
You wouldn’t know there’s a war on, except everyone still talks about the sinking of the Athenia. One of the BSS mistresses, Miss Hutchings, was lost, and there’s going to be a memorial service for her on Sunday.
Sometimes I have bad dreams about Hitler. But surely we will beat him soon, and Jane and I can go home.
16 October 1939
This week most of the other English girls left BSS to go back to England! They finally found safe passage.
The only ones left are three Upper School girls and me. I cannot believe that my parents didn’t send us on the ship. It has a convoy, so it would be safe. But they’re making us stay for the duration, like cowards who are afraid to go home.
I hate my parents for doing this to me!
19 October 1939
Not only am I a liar, I have now become a bully. I can’t seem to stop being cruel to Sheila. Whenever I see her thin face with its pleading brown eyes I want to shake her.
I have to record truthfully what I did, in hopes that I will stop. Yesterday morning, while we were washing, I whispered to Sheila that she’d better use lots of soap because she smelled so bad. She gasped and said, “Do I really?” Then she scrubbed her underarms so hard her skin turned red.
I told her two more times that she smelled and this morning during devotions, when we have to kneel at our beds for ten minutes while Matron inspects our rooms, I held my nose. Sheila’s face turned crimson and she buried it in the counterpane.
I must stop this! Dad would be so ashamed. But I don’t care. He has abandoned me in Canada and now he has another girl to be his daughter.
23 October 1939
On Saturday the Browns drove us up north to see the coloured leaves. Their splendour relieved my misery a little. Jane was so loving that I resolved to bring some of my sister’s integrity back to school and to leave Sheila alone.
I only lasted one day. This morning I ragged Sheila about the costume she has chosen for the boarders’ masquerade party this Friday. She was going to dress as Cinderella and I told her she should be one of the ugly stepsisters instead. She ran away from me, probably to bawl.
Why can’t I stop this? At the Browns’ I am in disguise as a nice person. Why can’t I put on that disguise here?
Miss Lowe, the headmistress, called me into her office yesterday to ask me how I was doing. She has noticed that I’m not associating with the other girls. “I know this is a very difficult time for you,” she said. She told me that if I tried to make friends here I’d find being away from home more bearable.
She’s right, of course, just as Jane and my parents are right. But all the advice I hear, even from myself, just seems to roll off my back. It terrifies me what a nasty person I’ve become.
30 October 1939
I finally got a letter from Lucy. She adores Roedean. She told me how beautiful the school is, situated on its high cliff in Brighton. I know that, of course, from visiting Jane there.
Lucy seems to have made many new friends. She didn’t say anything at all about the war. She seems perfectly safe at Roedean — as I would be if I were there with her! She only asked how I was at the end of the letter, and she didn’t say she missed me. I haven’t heard at all from Mary. Have they abandoned me as well?
1 November 1939
I’ve been trying to let up on Sheila, but this evening I called her “Butterfingers” when she dropped her fork at supper. Of course she dropped it again.
5 November 1939
I will write as true an account as I can of the last two days.
Yesterday was so rainy we had to climb ropes in the gymnasium instead of playing lacrosse. As we were changing for study, Mollie and Kay started talking about their fathers and what they were going to do in the war. Mollie’s father is joining the Army and Kay’s is joining the Air Force. They were going on and on about how much they would miss them.
I felt such a pang for Dad that I almost doubled over. I glanced at Sheila, who hadn’t said a word.
“What’s your father going to do, Sheila?” I asked her. “I bet he’s too cowardly to fight, just as you would be.”
Sheila ran out of the room.
Mollie yelled, “You idiot! Sheila’s father is dead!”
Then Kay started shouting as well. They told me how awful I was, that they wished I had never come to BSS, and that they were sick and tired of my being such an English snob.
I rushed down the stairs and out the door. No one saw me. I couldn’t stop running. The rain was pelting down and I got soaked, but it felt cleansing, as if it were washing off my nastiness.
Finally I spotted a shed at the bottom of the lower playing field and I went into it. I huddled on the floor and my tears poured out faster than the rain.
How could I have said such a thing? What kind of monster have I turned into? I thought of poor Sheila without a father … at least I had one. The
n I thought of how disappointed Dad would be if he knew how I’ve behaved in Canada, and I cried even harder.
I didn’t have a hankie and my face was a mess. I got so cold I couldn’t stop shivering, but I didn’t know where to go. I wanted Jane, but I didn’t know the way to the university and I didn’t have any money to get there. I wanted Dad and Mummy. But all I had was myself.
Finally I stumbled across the field and back into the school; it was the only place to go. When I got in the door I could hear everyone else at supper. Matron was coming down the stairs. She was astonished to see me standing there, sopping wet and trembling. She asked where I’d been. I mumbled that I’d gone for a walk because I felt ill and didn’t want to eat.
Matron was very kind. She took me up to the infirmary and tucked me into bed with a hot water bottle. She stroked my hair the same way that Mummy used to when I was small, until I fell asleep.
The next thing I knew, it was morning. I stretched out in the sunlight and felt clean and good. Matron brought me breakfast, and when I told her I was better she let me go back to my room.
It was an in-Saturday, so I knew the others would be there. I stood outside the room and listened to the jazz coming from their gramophone. Then I walked in slowly, as terrified as if I were facing Hitler.
First I told Sheila how sorry I was for what I said, and for being so cruel to her all term. Mollie glared at that, so I guess Sheila never told her. Then I apologized to the others for being so unfriendly.
They all just stared at me. I think it’s going to take a while before they accept my apology. I tried to be as nice as possible to them all day, especially Sheila. After tea I invited her to go for a walk; to my relief, she accepted. Then I asked her about her father.
Her words tumbled out. He died last year of cancer. Sheila was his only daughter — she has two younger brothers. Her eyes filled with tears as she told me how he laughed at her jokes, how he called her Pixie.
Then I told her about Dad, how he called me Princess and how much I miss him. I even told her about Monica.
“He’s probably being so nice to her because he misses you so much,” said Sheila.
I decided to believe her.
Later
The others are asleep and I’m writing in the bathroom. After this I won’t write any more.
We had such a cosy evening. All the boarders gathered in the parlour and one of the mistresses played the piano while we sang. The three other English girls and I really belted out the words to “There’ll Always Be an England.” I enjoyed a Canadian song called “Alouette.” I was squished between Mollie and Sheila on the floor and they didn’t seem to mind.
I think it will take a long time before they trust me, especially Mollie, but I am going to try my very best to win them over.
1943
8 August 1943
I found this old journal when I was packing. I immediately sat down to read it, and now I will finish the story of my time in Canada. In a few days I’ll be going home! The seas are safer now. Mummy and Dad never thought I’d be in Canada for four whole years. They miss me so much that they will risk bringing me back.
Jane is staying because she got married! Her husband is a very nice boy called Peter Sutherland, a Canadian who is also studying medicine. Her wedding was very small: just myself, the Browns, and a few of Jane’s and Peter’s friends. It felt so odd that she was getting married without Mummy and Dad present. Now Jane and Peter are living happily in a tiny apartment near the university. I will miss my dear sister terribly, but she and Peter will visit England as soon as they can.
The war has been long and horrendous. Last spring Exeter was bombed, but our house and the cathedral are still standing.
Monica returned home to London in 1940 because it seemed safe. At the end of the year, however, she and her parents were killed in the Blitz. That is so tragic. I wish I had met Monica.
My parents have warned me how changed life is in England now, with the blackout and rationing and the ravaged cities. For my last year of school I’m to board at Roedean as planned, but it has been evacuated to Keswick! Lucy says they’re having a super time there. Once I’ve finished school, I intend to join the Wrens and do my bit to help win the war.
It was very painful to read over this journal. What a snotty little brat I was! Jane was right — I was indeed spoilt.
I don’t think I am now. Perhaps being stranded ended up being good for me. After I was so cruel to Sheila, I had to take myself in hand and turn over a new leaf.
I think I’ve succeeded. Mollie and Kay and Sheila and I are now fast friends and I will miss them very much. I even spent July with Mollie in Edmonton — I got along well with her family, especially with Sandy, her handsome older brother! Sandy is hoping to join up and has promised to come and see me in England.
As the war got worse, many children were sent from England to safety in Canada. They were called “war guests.” I suppose that’s what I was too — one of the first! A few years ago there were about eighty English girls at BSS. I really enjoyed introducing Canadian customs to them.
In many ways I am a Canadian now. I’ve learnt to ski and canoe and skate, and my favourite food is still maple syrup! I’ve seen many parts of this beautiful country, and its vastness no longer scares me — in fact, England will probably seem small and cramped compared to it.
I am really English, of course, and I long to be home. But one day I will return to this country that took me in when I was stranded and afraid.
Amy doesn’t understand why her bank manager father has been sent away to build roads. Or why her mother is so sad. Most of all, she doesn’t understand why her older sister Kay is so angry. Yes, it’s wartime, but Japan and Germany are far away. So why are the Japanese Canadians being rounded up and sent to live in camps in the B.C. interior? Amy can’t help thinking of the trip as an adventure, but that isn’t how it strikes Kay.
SHELLEY TANAKA’s family was interned in British Columbia’s interior during World War II, along with thousands of other Canadians of Japanese ancestry.
Ghost Town
The Diaries of Amy and Kay Yoshida
Vancouver, British Columbia
May 1942
May 2, 1942
My family is shrinking.
First Dad left. A lot of men had to go away. Mr. Oda and Mr. Sato and all the others. They have to build a new highway across B.C. The government needs workers to move rocks and clear bushes. I don’t know if Dad will be very good at that.
Then after Dad left, Marie got married to Shig, and after that they moved all the way to the other side of the country, to Ontario. I thought maybe I would be the flower girl and get a puffy dress, but it wasn’t a wedding like that. Marie wore a regular suit and she just carried tulips from our garden. She got a new hat though.
I didn’t even go to the wedding. It was just down at city hall, not even in a church. Kay went and she came home and slammed the door. I don’t know why. Now she can be the oldest and have her own room and not share with me anymore.
So now there are just three of us. And Lucky, of course, but Mother says cats are not real family members.
I think Mother misses Dad. But it’s not his fault. All the men had to go. The government made them. Except ones like Uncle Bing, who is too old.
It’s because there’s a war on. The whites don’t like Japanese people anymore. Kay says they never did, but I don’t think that’s right. The kids in my class used to like me. They came over in the summer and we played baseball in the empty lot across the street and Mother would come out and peel oranges for everyone. She’s the best orange peeler. She even takes off the stringy white stuff.
Now those kids don’t like me as much. They do this thing with their eyes, pulling the corners up and down to make them slanted. Chinese people are supposed to have eyes that slant up, and Japanese people are supposed to have eyes that slant down. The kids say “Chinese!” Pull eyes up. “Japanese!” Pull eyes down. “They had a baby
!” Pull one eye up and one eye down. Then they laugh their heads off.
It’s not mean exactly, but it’s not nice either.
It’s because the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor before Christmas, so they are getting closer. Everyone says the next stop after Hawaii is Vancouver. Billy Sinclair says in B.C. we should be more scared of the Japs than of Hitler because Japan is closer than Germany. He says the Japs have bombs that can fly all the way across the Pacific and land here.
It’s a good thing Kay isn’t reading this. She says don’t say “Japs” because it’s insulting. But it’s just a short form, isn’t it?
I can hear Mother crying sometimes at night. She has to lie down a lot and sometimes she is sick in the bathroom. I think maybe she is heartsick from missing Dad.
Mother says I have to help out more now, but there is not much extra to do. Dad was busy but mostly with his clubs. Tennis club and judo club and kendo club and chrysanthemum club. Lots of clubs.
The main thing I have to do is weed the beets and pole beans and look after his chrysanthemums. Mrs. Parks says Dad loves his flowers more than his three daughters. He grows them so big and perfect that they win prizes. His flowers, I mean.
I am in charge of earwigs. Here’s what you do. You go out after dark. Take a flashlight and tiptoe over to the chrysanthemum bed. Turn on the light and flip up a leaf and if you see an earwig, you flick it off fast and then stomp on it!
Dad squishes them in his fingers. Ugh. He can do potato bugs like that too.
Not me. I flick them off with a stick and step on them. Sometimes they get away but at least they aren’t eating the chrysanthemums anymore.
