by Jean Little
I was a little worried Mother would say we did not need a puppy, but she didn’t.
I have been kept busy the last few days because of doing schoolwork, helping with the work of the hotel and looking after my puppy, who is always howling that she is hungry. I could say whimpering, but it is such a loud noise that it won’t do.
Davy would be enchanted with her. One of his best friends was Mark’s dog Dulcey, before she was killed by the Slide.
I think my poem is done, although it is hard to stop.
Christmas is almost here. Mother loved my poem. She found me some paper that rolls up into a sort of scroll to write it out on. Scrap does not approve of my writing, though, so I will have to wait for her to go to sleep. Otherwise she leaps on the pen as though it’s her worst enemy.
I wish Bird had not gone back to live with her family. She would like the poem, I know. I’ll keep a copy and she can read it when she visits. Bird is the “friend without fail” in the poem, of course.
Sunday, December 24, 1905
It is Christmas Eve. I was going to take the poem over to Miss Radcliffe’s, but it turns out Mother has arranged for John to fetch her in the wagon tonight so she can spend Christmas with us at the hotel. I am going to try to wait to give it to her in the morning, although that will be hard. I admit I am very proud of it.
Monday, December 25, 1905
Christmas Day. Scrap got me up early, wanting to open her present. I got her a red collar and a bowl that says DOG on the side of it. I also got her a rubber ball to chase. Mark was in Lethbridge and went to a store and got her a rubbery little bone to chew on. She adores it even though her baby teeth are so tiny. She is a darling.
Olivia brought little Frank over for the day, and it is lovely to watch the two little ones romping with each other. Scrap bit Frank but Frank bit Scrap, and neither of them seemed to mind.
Miss Radcliffe loved her poem. She said I must work on it some more and then submit it to the paper. She thinks people in Frank will all be asking for copies. She also suggested that I make up a special verse about Frank, maybe mentioning the Slide and how we are rebuilding.
“Once a teacher, always a teacher,” Mother said. Then she told me I was lucky, and she is right.
A puppy by the name of Scrap,
That’s my Alberta.
Who just fits curled up on my lap,
That’s my Alberta.
My mother and my family,
As close as any four could be,
Singing round the Christmas tree,
That’s my Alberta.
Miss Radcliffe who will read this rhyme
Here in Alberta,
And share my joy this Christmastime,
She’s my Alberta.
I’m running out of words to write
But I am filled with deep delight
Knowing my world is growing bright,
Here in Alberta.
I know that it’s not as good as the other verses. But it’s like eating peanuts. You think of another rhyme and you are into it again.
I did not tell about the book Mark got me. It is called The Shuttle. It is by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It was written for adults and he got it for me! I think it is a love story.
I blushed when he gave it to me and he laughed. He does not seem to be going out with a girl now that Nancy has moved away and got married to somebody in Lethbridge. I liked her, but she was not good enough for Mark.
Bedtime, Christmas night
When I came to bed, I found Mother waiting in my room with a last present. It is so lovely. She had an artist who often comes to the hotel paint a picture of Davy. He started it before Davy grew ill, so it shows a happy little boy smiling his funny smile. It’s a miniature, but it looks so clear and beautiful.
I had not said how terribly I was missing Davy throughout the day, but of course Mother knew. The painting is on the table, out of Scrap’s reach, but where I can see it whenever I look that way.
Now I will shut my eyes, but I can’t resist writing down once more how much Miss Radcliffe loved her poem. Her face shone. She has already been after me to start polishing it. She said, “I told you writing would help you heal, Abby.” She did and she was right.
I thought this first Christmas without Davy was going to be miserable, but I was wrong. Writing about him brought him back to me somehow. He is still with me. And now I can just turn my head to smile at him.
Goodnight, Scrap. Good night, Davy. Good night, Alberta.
In the aftermath of Japan’s bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, Mary’s family and all Japanese Canadians living within 320 kilometres of British Columbia’s west coast were forced to leave their homes. Their possessions and businesses were confiscated, and they were shipped to hastily constructed internment camps in the B.C. interior, to endure a brutal winter in crude living conditions. A year later their circumstances have improved, but Mary faces new challenges. Perhaps writing to her friend Sachi will help.
Dear Sachi
Friday, December 10, 1943
Dear Sachi,
Arigatō for your last newsy letter! I’m sorry I haven’t written you lately. I miss you so much, especially now when I’m experiencing a real conundrum! (I’m trying to impress Emma as well as Sister Agnes by expanding my vocabulary.) I wish you were here to talk it over. Do you remember how much it helped sharing our thoughts back in Vancouver? I hate that we’re so far apart and in different camps. It’s been over a year since I’ve seen you! But I hope that by writing this down as if you were really here, things will get better. I’ll write every few days and send this scribbler to you when my problem gets solved — if it ever does!
Speaking of letters, Tad has written again. He wants us all to come east and join him in Toronto. He says there’s more opportunity for us, and he even thinks most people in the city are getting used to Japanese Canadians. Mama doesn’t believe him! I wonder if what Tad really means is that the non-Japanese tolerate us, like they do here in New Denver. Sure, we go into the village stores to shop for things we can’t make or grow ourselves. We go to their churches, and some of us even work for them. But all the time we keep to ourselves, go to our own schools, have our own gatherings and live separate lives.
Sachi, I don’t have a single hakujin friend here like Maggie or Ellen, even though we live in the main part of the village now. I know you said that in Lemon Creek, except for a few high school teachers and government officials, everyone there is Japanese Canadian. So maybe what happened here last week would never have happened in your camp.
Last Friday as Nora and I were walking in the village, we noticed a big commotion in the field beside Bob’s Ice Cream Parlour. Two groups of boys had gathered, one made up of kids from The Orchard and the other of village kids. To my dismay, I spotted Harry in the middle, arguing with a village boy around his own age. Harry was shouting that he wasn’t a liar, while the other boy kept insisting that he was. Then he called Harry “a lying Jap!”
I was horrified hearing those words, but I was even more upset when Harry tried to hit the boy, who was a lot bigger! Who knows what would have happened next, but Bob came outside and shouted at everyone to leave before he called Corporal Sayers. He said the uproar was ruining business!
I grabbed Harry’s arm and marched him home. You can imagine how relieved I was that a big fight didn’t break out or that the RCMP weren’t involved. When I walked into our house still clutching Harry’s arm, Mama stopped sewing and wanted to know what happened.
Harry claimed it wasn’t his fault. That boy simply wouldn’t believe his description of Woodward’s escalators. The boy has never even been to Vancouver, but he insisted Harry was lying about the store having stairs that move! Mama asked why Harry was talking about Woodward’s in the first place. It turns out that the other boy was bragging about seeing all the big shops in Nelson. So of course, Harry just had to tell him about Woodward’s.
Mama sighed and told Harry he was grounded. And then she sai
d I have to pick up Harry from school every day until Christmas, to keep him out of trouble! So I can’t help Nora and the other high school kids plan our Christmas party. And then yesterday while I was getting Harry, his teacher asked if I would help her kids practise their Christmas play. Two nights a week! Because Miss Miyaki is Kay and Emma’s friend, I couldn’t really refuse. Aren’t you glad you don’t have a little brother!
But that still isn’t what’s really bothering me, Sachi. Before I went in to help Miss Miyaki, I noticed a little boy crying outside the Grades One and Two cabin. I’ve never seen any child look so unhappy. He looked inconsolable! When I went over to see what was wrong, he ran away. Harry told me the boy is Stephen Takada. What could possibly be making him so sad?
Sunday, December 12
Hi, Sachi,
Papa brought home some of last week’s Vancouver newspapers from the drugstore yesterday. I know you wrote that you don’t see the papers very often, which may be just as well. They had a lot of stories about the second anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbor. That certainly stirred up more anti-Japanese feeling, judging from the letters. Isn’t it bad enough that our families were broken up and we had to leave our homes to move here? That poor Geechan died when he was sent away to work at a road camp? That you and I spent weeks without knowing where our fathers were before they were allowed to rejoin us? We barely survived last year’s terrible, terrible winter. And people still want us out of the province entirely. We’re not even Japanese, for heaven’s sake, we’re Canadians!
Most of the village shops have put up their Christmas decorations. It’s strange to be thinking of Christmas when we’re all still so far from our real homes. Harry’s mention of Woodward’s reminded me of our old life. December in the Slocan Valley sure isn’t like being in Vancouver! Ever since I arrived here, I feel as if I’m in the middle of a strange dream. I look around and can see how beautiful it is right beside Slocan Lake, surrounded by mountains. And yet we had no choice in coming here. Yes, we have running water and electricity at last, but we still have so many restrictions. Rationing is one thing, because everyone has to do it. But doesn’t it make you mad that only Japanese Canadians have to carry identity cards all the time? I guess you and I will have to get one when we turn sixteen. Remember how we used to bicycle with our gang all the way to Stanley Park and back? Now Papa needs a permit just to take the bus to Kaslo to see Aunt Eiko. And I overheard him say that the Security Commission may soon force Mike to go east, whether he wants to or not. Even if we do go back home when the war is over, what will it be like if so many people still hate us so much? It’s a real dilemma, isn’t it?
Tuesday, December 14
Sachi, I thought you might enjoy hearing about what Harry is up to now. His class is doing a play based on the Christmas Day chapter of Dickens’s Pickwick Papers. I haven’t read that book, have you? Miss Miyaki wants to “expand the children’s horizons” beyond A Christmas Carol. Harry’s been cast as Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, who is always bragging about his proficiency in various sports, only to demonstrate his complete ineptitude. Mrs. Yamasaki’s daughter Dori plays Arabella Allen, who ends up marrying Mr. Winkle! I wonder whether Harry and Dori might get married when they’re older.
In the play, Mr. Winkle pretends he’s an expert at ice skating. When Arabella asks him to demonstrate, Mr. Winkle demurs and says he has no skates. Because he wants a pair himself this Christmas, Harry delivers that line with particular panache. But skates are found, which Winkle reluctantly dons and promptly falls down. It’s amusing how Harry must become adept at being inept!
I didn’t see Stephen Takada when we left The Orchard today. After supper, I asked Papa if he knew the Takada family, since he knows so many people who visit the drugstore here. Mr. and Mrs. Takada used to live in Vancouver like us, but in Kitsilano. They were both born in Canada and Stephen is their only child. They live in one of The Orchard cabins, close to the lake. Papa was going to say something else, but Kay dropped in unexpectedly, so I’ll let you know what he tells me later.
Thursday, December 16
Dear Sachi,
I finally discovered why Stephen cries. It’s not a nice story. Now I’m really upset! I was helping Miss Miyaki again after school today and the kids were being really rambunctious. She finally decided to give everyone a short break and asked me to take half the children outside for a few minutes while she calmed the others down, inside.
When I got my group outside, I spotted poor Stephen behind one of the other cabins, surrounded by half a dozen boys. They were circling him, all the while making barking and howling sounds. Stephen stood stiffly in the middle, looking completely miserable as tears streamed down his face. Sachi, I was shocked, even more than when I heard that village boy call Harry a Jap! I told the kids under my charge to stay where they were while I ran over to help Stephen.
But as soon as they saw me, those naughty boys ran away faster than you can imagine and so did Stephen! I must have looked furious when I returned, because the kids from Harry’s class went quietly back inside without my saying a word. I scarcely remember what happened after that because all I could think about was that Stephen’s tormentors were kids just like him! And why were they barking at him like animals?
Saturday, December 18
Dear Sachi,
I’ve been down in the dumps lately, so I’m writing you again. I’ve already told you about those boys tormenting Stephen, which made me both sad and angry. It’s even worse than I thought. Harry and I were in The Orchard this morning helping Mrs. Yamasaki and her daughters to bake cookies for the school pageant. Like you said, everyone’s been saving up sugar for weeks. I asked Bonnie, who’s in Grade One with Stephen, if she knew why those boys pick on him. She told me that Stephen doesn’t speak Japanese. They think it’s funny that someone who looks so Japanese can’t understand a word of it.
Then tonight Papa finally finished what he was going to tell me the other day. When he was at the bathhouse last week, some of the men were discussing inu. When I asked why were they talking about dogs, he explained that the word is actually a terrible insult — it means traitor! And then Papa said a few people call Stephen’s father that because he believes Japan is going to lose the war. So when those boys barked at Stephen like dogs, they were really insulting his father! Isn’t that mean? Even if Stephen doesn’t understand what they’re saying, he knows it’s something awful.
What’s wrong with thinking that Japan is going to lose the war, Sachi? Isn’t Japan our enemy? Of course I’m worried for anyone who still has family there, but I’m just as worried for Canadian soldiers — men like our old neighbour Danny Franklin — and their families.
Did I tell you Tad is still trying to enlist? I hate this war. I thought I’d left bullies like Billy Foster behind in Vancouver. It’s horrid that Japanese Canadian kids are being cruel to each other! Sachi, do you remember that part of our Girl Guide pledge, to be useful and to help others? Here’s my chance! I’ll help Stephen somehow.
Sunday, December 19
Dear Sachi,
I’m still down in the dumps, even after church. I miss Geechan and Tad. You must think about Oxford Street often, like I do. I wonder whether we had a good crop of fruit from our backyard trees this year. There was no one to harvest it, so maybe it all went to waste. Harry’s been busy making construction-paper garlands. Part of me hopes we’ll have a tree here this year, and part of me just wants to celebrate back in our old home.
As we get closer to Christmas Day, I still feel ambivalent about being here. Like you, I was glad to be able to attend high school this fall. But what will it mean when we graduate? Can I go on to university like Mama and Papa want me to, or will I have to take any old job to make ends meet? I can’t sew like Mama and Kay, and I’m certainly not as brainy as Emma. She should have been able to become a nurse like she always wanted, but instead we watched how all the Japanese Canadian student nurses in Vancouver were fired after Pearl Harbor. What kind of work wi
ll Papa and Mama have if we go east? I’m sorry to sound so negative, Sachi, but it’s difficult thinking about the future when we have so little control over our own lives.
At least Mike has taken matters into his own hands. He announced his New Year’s resolution today — he’s joining Tad in Toronto as soon as possible in January. He was tired of having the Security Commission dictate what jobs he can have and how much money he makes. He wants a real job with real prospects.
How does your family feel about moving east? Do they want to stay here until the war is over, and then try to go back home? Or do they want to go east to the great unknown? The thought of having to move again frightens me.
Monday, December 20
Dear Sachi,
I’m in a much better mood tonight. Somehow you and Maggie must have read my mind. When I went to the post office today, there were cheery letters from both of you! I hope your high school pageant is a success, although it will be over by the time you read this. And I’m so glad you did well on your exams. I know you’ve been especially worried about Math, so it must be a relief to discover you got good marks. I should hear what my results are soon. Sister Agnes is always telling me to work hard and I’ll be rewarded. I hope she’s right!
Tuesday, December 21
Dear Sachi,
I was so busy today! The full rehearsal for the elementary school’s Christmas program took place at Bosun Hall this afternoon. Everything went off without a hitch. I didn’t see Stephen after it was over, so I hope he’s been able to avoid those yancha boys. Here at home, Harry keeps practising falling down as Mr. Winkler. He’s driving me crazy!
