by Jean Little
Monday, December 26th, 1892
Christmas went by in a blur. We marched off to church and came back to Nettie’s special Christmas breakfast. After we’d all exchanged presents, Mr. Matt suggested we walk all the way out to Fort Amherst at the Narrows, to make room for Christmas supper. Ned said his scarf kept him very warm. By the time supper was over, I could hardly keep my eyes open.
Today, Mrs. and Miss Angel put on a very grand dinner for the candy makers and their families, and invited us all. As Mr. Verge is now a cleaner in the candy kitchen, Susie’s family was there. Ned seated himself beside Susie, but then he was too shy to speak, so I told Susie all about him. Gradually, Susie, in her sensible way, got Ned talking. I think they will be good friends.
As we finished eating, a knock came to the door and we heard a boy sing out, “Will ye have the wren?”
Mrs. Angel invited the wren boys in, carrying their branch decorated with ribbons (and no dead bird, I was relieved to see). They arranged themselves and chanted:
The wren, the wren, the king of all birds,
Was caught on St. Stephen’s Day in the firs.
Although he is little, his honour is great,
So rise up, kind madame, and give us a treat.
Up with the kettle, and down with the pan;
A penny or twopence, to bury the wren.
Your pocket full of money, and your cellar full of beer,
I wish you all a merry Christmas, and a happy new year.
Everyone applauded and the wren boys got pennies and cake, quite a haul for them. Old Mrs. Angel was delighted. We don’t see wren boys every year and, she said, they bring luck. I hope she’s right.
Noreen, along with thousands of others, has suffered the paralysis caused by polio. Even after she makes a partial recovery, she has had to learn to walk again, using crutches. At the same time, Canada, and the Prairies in particular, are still in the grip of the Great Depression, with farmland turning to dust and men riding the rails in hopes of finding work elsewhere. It takes a strong spirit to keep hoping for the best.
Snowflakes for Christmas
Thursday, December 2nd, 1937, evening
I am in bed in my bedroom in the sun porch, except it isn’t my bedroom anymore, because Jean is sharing it with me. As Mother says, just when you think things are settling down, something else comes along, and the something else this time is Cousin Jean and Aunt Ella and Uncle Tom moving in with us!
I just peeked over the top of my diary at Jean. She is curled up under the covers of her bed staring at the wall — just like she has done all day! James and Edmund and Mother and I helped Aunt Ella unpack, but Jean didn’t get up even once from her bed. I told Mother that I thought it very unfair that Jean was the one moving in, yet we did all the work. Mother said to just leave Jean alone for now. I still think it is unfair.
Here is how it happened that Jean is sharing my bedroom: After church last Sunday, Uncle Tom and Aunt Ella came to visit us. Their faces were very serious. Dad shooed Edmund and me into the sun porch — my bedroom — and told us to stay there, then he shut the door.
I made Edmund lie down with his ear next to the crack at the bottom of the door because I wanted to know what was going on. These stupid braces on my legs keep me from getting up and down easily, so Edmund was my only choice.
A secret: Mother does not allow me or the boys to say the word stupid, but as I only say it in my private diary, I don’t think that counts as a wrongdoing.
I just peeked at Jean again. Isn’t she ever going to move? I wonder how long we are going to have to leave her alone. It’s very annoying having a silent body in my bedroom. Thank goodness we each have our own beds. Most of Aunt Ella and Uncle Tom’s belongings got stored in our garage, but Grandpa and Dad set up Jean’s bed and dresser.
But back to my story.
What happened is that Uncle Tom lost his job at the bank but was too embarrassed to let anyone know, so for three months he pretended he was still working. He said he didn’t want to worry us, as we had enough on our plates with me being sick with polio.
Jean just sat up and yelled at me to stop looking at her. I told her I was not looking at her. I also wanted to say that I didn’t think people who are guests in someone else’s bedroom should yell at that someone else. But I didn’t. She’s curled up on her side again now. I just looked.
To continue, Aunt Ella and Uncle Tom couldn’t keep up the payments on their house, so they rented it out, and now they needed a place to live. So they moved in with us and now our house is bursting at the seams. Edmund and James share a tiny bedroom, Mother and Dad have their room, and Aunt Ella and Uncle Tom are now in my old bedroom, which was Grandpa’s room. Grandpa is sleeping in the dining room, where I am supposed to sleep in the winter. Mother says that if we leave the door between the porch and living room open, some heat should come in here and Jean and I should be warm enough and that it will be only for a little while. Then she put a tower of quilts on each of our beds.
All I can say is that I’m glad it’s been a mild winter in Saskatoon so far this year. And that is the story of how stuck-up Jean is now sharing my bedroom.
Saturday, December 4, 1937, afternoon
Grandpa drove Uncle Tom to the train station this morning. Uncle Tom sold his car and Dad’s is still up on blocks in the backyard, as we can’t afford the gasoline to run it, so we only have Grandpa’s car for the entire family! Uncle Tom is taking the train all the way from Saskatoon to Toronto to find a new job. Grandpa says that the Depression hit Saskatchewan the hardest of all the Canadian provinces, and we all know that there isn’t any work to be found here.
The rest of the day was gloomy, inside and out. Inside, because Aunt Ella cried all day, and Jean is still in bed, and outside, because it is grey and cloudy and raining.
I helped Mother with the dishes — everyone’s dishes — after lunch, and while I dried I told her I thought a certain person — Jean — could be helping. Mother said to just give everyone a bit of time and to be extra nice to Jean. I’ll try, but it’s hard to be nice to someone who isn’t particularly nice to you.
Sunday, December 5, 1937, evening
Ann came over to visit me this afternoon. I was so happy to see her, after living with silent Jean for three whole days. The rain stopped briefly and Grandpa said we should all go for a walk to exercise my legs. He even made Jean get up and come with us, as he said it was better than her moping around the house. She obviously didn’t think so. She walked almost an entire block in front of us, complaining that we were too slow. Grandpa told her we were ambling, a relaxing kind of walk, but really we’re slow because of me and my stupid crutches and braces.
Anyway, we got to the end of our block and turned the corner, and at the first house on the street there was a young couple with a baby and two small boys in their front yard. All their belongings were spread over the lawn to sell! A dining table and four wooden chairs, a buffet and a crib and pots and pans. Grandpa told Ann and me to keep walking and catch up to Jean, but I looked back and saw him take some coins out of his pocket and put them in the man’s hand.
When Grandpa caught up to us, he said, “I know that young man. I taught him ten years ago and he was a good student — polite and smart. And now he’s out of a job and they’re selling their belongings to get rent money.” All of a sudden Jean started to cry, turned around and ran back toward our house.
“Unsettling times for everyone,” Grandpa said.
We turned around and headed home, too. All the way back, Grandpa muttered and mumbled, then finally said that something needed to be done about the failing economy, and done soon, by those “nimrods” in government. “Just when you think things are bad for you, it turns out there is always someone a little worse off,” he said.
(I like that word. I’m going to call James a nimrod next time he bothers me.)
We were all sad for a bit, and I asked Grandpa if he thought there would be a letter in the newspaper in the editoria
l section from An Old Fogey. He smiled and said we would have to check for the next couple of days. He still won’t tell us whether or not he is the Old Fogey who writes letters of opinion to the editor! But I have a hunch it’s him.
Here is a secret: Grandpa told me that Jean ran home so suddenly because she was afraid that her family might have to sell all their belongings, too.
Here is another secret: Just before supper I was drawing the curtains across the windows in the sun-porch and I saw James outside by the tree in the front yard. He was laughing with Marcy McCleary! I wonder if she is his girlfriend!
Monday, December 6, 1937, afternoon
I am resting and writing in my diary. Mother thinks I should close my eyes to rest, but Grandpa told her that as long as I am quiet, writing in my diary is a rest, too. It’s funny, how Grandpa will scold Mother, like she is still a child. Funny to me, I mean, but not to Mother. She also doesn’t think it funny that Aunt Ella keeps telling her how to run the house! Her house, Mother says.
This morning Jean refused to go to school even though James said he’d walk with her and show her around the high school. She used to go to a private girl’s school, but Uncle Tom can’t afford it now. She said everyone would laugh at her because they’d know she was poor if she’s going to a regular school. When Jean said that, Mother’s nose got out of joint a bit because it sounded like James, Edmund and I should be ashamed to be going to a regular school, but Grandpa smoothed things over and said he would give Jean lessons at home, the same as he does with me.
Here’s a secret: I’d give anything to go to school and see my friends. I think Jean is being a nimrod.
Evening
I fell asleep before I could write anything more. Grandpa said my body is still recovering from polio and that’s why I am so tired all the time. Well, I wish it would hurry up and go away so I can be better. Sometimes my legs ache so bad it makes me cry.
Here is our daily routine now: After breakfast Jean helps Mother and Aunt Ella to tidy the house while Grandpa massages my legs. Then Jean and I go to school at the dining-room table.
After lunch Jean and I have to go for a half-hour walk — just the two of us. Grandpa says it will be good for us to spend some time together. “You’re cousins,” he said. “Family is important.” Jean and I made a face at each other when he said that.
I remember when I used to tell Mother that I wished I had a sister instead of James and Edmund. Mother said to be thankful for my brothers. I think she said that because she and Aunt Ella fought a lot when they were young and they still fight now. Mother says Aunt Ella is bossy.
On our walk today, the tip of my crutch got stuck in mud and I stumbled. Jean caught me before I fell. I felt I should thank her somehow, so I told her that I saw James with Marcy McCleary. She was very interested and wanted to know if Marcy was a peppy girl. I asked her what a peppy girl is. She said a peppy girl is full of fun and is happy and likes to go out places. She said men don’t like quiet girls. She also said that you can take a medicine called Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound to make you peppy, though she has never needed to take it herself. She said that perhaps I should take it. I wonder if I should ask Mother to buy me some.
We walked past the young couple’s house, the one that had all their furniture outside, but the yard was empty. I just realized that if they had to sell their belongings for rent money, they probably don’t have any money for Christmas presents for their children! That is very sad.
Mother just came and said she’d help me have a bath. I didn’t want Jean to think I was a baby who couldn’t bathe herself, so I told Mother that I thought I could have a bath on my own. She wasn’t happy about it, but said I could.
Before bed
I’m back. I nearly fell headfirst into the bathwater, but managed to grab the side of the tub and save myself. I didn’t tell Mother that happened. She would never let me bathe alone again in my entire life if she knew. As it was, she stood outside the door the whole time, asking every few minutes if I was all right.
I forgot to say that on our way home from our walk, Jean and I saw James walking with Marcy McCleary! She must be his girlfriend.
Tuesday, December 7, 1937, afternoon rest time
Mother, Aunt Ella, Jean and I went on a shopping trip after lunch, which I was happy about because it is snowing and cold and I didn’t really feel like going for a walk. Aunt Ella drove Grandpa’s car to the Safeway grocery store. Mother wanted to drive, but Aunt Ella pointed out that she, Aunt Ella, was older and therefore the more experienced driver. That put Mother in a huff. But then Grandpa told Aunt Ella to please bring his car back in one piece. Mother forgot her huff really fast and all the way to the store Mother and Aunt Ella grumbled about how Grandpa doesn’t realize they are grown women with families and that they don’t need to be told what to do!
We bought raisins and currants for Christmas baking. Jean and I were in an aisle, looking for baking soda, when a woman came up to me and looked at my legs in their braces and said, “Oh you poor dear,” and gave me a nickel! I was embarrassed, but Jean pointed out that I was five cents richer.
Evening
I am hopping mad! I came into the bedroom after supper and found Jean reading my diary!!! I yelled at her and told her it was private. I don’t know how she found it. It was wrapped in my nightgown and hidden under my blankets! Aunt Ella made Jean apologize to me. And Jean told Mother that I called her a nimrod in my diary. I told Mother it was my PRIVATE diary, but Mother still made ME apologize! So Jean said she was sorry, and I said I was sorry, but after Mother and Aunt Ella left, Jean said she wasn’t the least bit sorry and that it was a boring diary, and I am a boring person. I told her I wasn’t sorry either and that I wished she had never come to live with us.
I feel sort of mean now for saying that, but Jean said that she couldn’t wait to get out of my stupid (she said stupid) freezing sun porch.
Wednesday, December 8, 1937, morning
I was so mad yesterday that I forgot to say that I had a letter from Thelma. She is still in the polio ward at the hospital in Regina. She thinks she will be transferred to a Home for Orphaned Children after Christmas. She says that Edna says hello. She also said that she visits Eugene every day for me. She enclosed a letter from him to me that she wrote for him, as he can’t breathe very well and is still in the iron lung. In his letter Eugene said that he was doing better, but has to stay in hospital for a few more months. He is sad because his mother cannot come and visit him at Christmas, because she doesn’t have money for train fare from Saskatoon to Regina, or to pay for a room overnight. I am so sorry that they all have to stay in hospital over Christmas. I think I’ll mail my nickel to Eugene.
Evening
I had planned not to speak to Jean even once today, but then Grandpa had to go out for half an hour during our school time, so he gave us yesterday’s newspaper and told us to read the headlines and he would question us on them when he got back. But when he left, Jean turned to the column Personal Problems, by Mrs. Elizabeth Thompson. Jean started to giggle and I couldn’t help asking what was funny. She told me that a young man had written in with the problem that he couldn’t get girls to like him. Mrs. Thompson told him that he was obviously colourless and boring and he needed to make himself more exciting to attract girls. I told Jean that maybe he should take the peppy medicine. We both thought that was funny and were laughing when Grandpa got back. I am still mad at her, though.
My diary is nearly full. I hinted to Grandpa that I would like a new one for Christmas, but I probably shouldn’t have been so selfish, because there isn’t any spare money for a diary. I’ll write smaller in it so I don’t use the pages up as quickly.
Mother and Aunt Ella are in the kitchen, fighting over how many raisins should go into the fruitcake. Dad just said, “Does it really matter?” They both yelled at the same time, “Of course it matters!” And then they were mad at Dad and not each other. Aunt Ella is upset because she has not heard anything fro
m Uncle Tom.
One funny last thing. At supper tonight, I asked James if he had seen Marcy McCleary lately. He turned beet red. Jean snickered. Mother looked at Dad and raised her eyebrows significantly. Usually that means she wants Dad to give one of us a talking to.
And one last, last funny thing. There is a letter in today’s newspaper from An Old Fogey. It says, In response to your headline Relief Without Work Bad Policy. Not every man is an idler, as you claim. In fact, most men would gladly work if work was available.
We are all pretty sure Grandpa is the Old Fogey.
Thursday, December 9, 1937, morning
I had a wonderful idea last night just before I fell asleep. More later. I have to catch Edmund before he goes to school. I need him to tell Ann to come over to our house this afternoon.
Evening
Ann came over after school and I told her my wonderful idea! I want to earn some money to buy a train ticket for Eugene’s mother to visit him at Christmas. Ann said it was a fabulous idea and she, too, hated to think of little Eugene alone at Christmas, but then we were stumped as to how to make any money.
So while we tatted Christmas ornaments in the living room (the sun porch is too cold to sit in today) we discussed how to make money. We thought maybe a bake sale, except I am not a very good baker and the ingredients are expensive. Jean was in the living room with us, reading and, I thought, ignoring us. But she obviously was listening because she ended up saving the day!
