To Stand on My Own

by Barbara Haworth-Attard

  I asked Ann why her brother walked her everywhere. She said it was because some people hadn’t been very nice to her, and her mother worried about Ann being on her own. I felt really bad after that and wanted to say I was sorry for calling her names, but I didn’t know how. Mother says Ann has a nice shy way about her. And she loves her new haircut.

  She was telling us that their house has no indoor bathroom. They get water from a neighbour’s well and it takes a long time to boil water on the stove so she can have a wash, so it doesn’t happen as often as she’d like. I think Ann was embarrassed that her hair was dirty. Mother said it was hard times for a lot of people and we can only do the best we can. Ann looks quite pretty now.

  I heard Mother tell Dad she would have liked to put Ann into a bathtub and scrub her clean. I guess she didn’t because it’s Tuesday and we only have a bath on Saturdays so we’re clean for church. I hate bath night, especially when it’s not my turn to go first, because we have to share the bath water. I hate going in after Edmund! You would think as I’m sick I could go in the bath first and not get Edmund’s germs, but Mother says it’s only fair to have turn-about. James gets his own water because he’s older. Mother mostly washes me in my bed now, as Grandpa or Dad have to put me in the tub.

  Here’s a secret: It is very embarrassing to have Dad or Grandpa see me naked, so I usually tell Mother I’m too tired to have a full bath.

  Wednesday, September 8, 1937

  Dad set me up a bed in the dining room. He pushed back the table and chairs against one wall and said it didn’t matter as we don’t eat in there much anyway. The days are starting to get cool and it’s too cold for me to be on the porch anymore. This way I can still have Mother’s company through the day. The only problem is that I have to use a chamber pot to go to the bathroom, as Mother can’t carry me upstairs to the toilet. I had no idea how much I used a bathroom before I got sick! We borrowed a couch from Grandpa that he wasn’t using, and James, Edmund and Dad carried it to our house. It’s now my downstairs bed.

  Mother says that as it is my legs that are the problem and not my hands, I can help her clean some beans. (At least it wasn’t peas! I hate peas!) I have to stop writing now to help her.

  Wednesday, September 8, 1937, after supper

  It was nice sitting with Mother, listening to the radio programs and snapping the ends off the beans. I’ve been sitting up longer each day, though I get tired faster when I sit instead of lie.

  Grandpa has gone to see the dedication of the Vimy Memorial Bandstand in the park near the river — they finally set a new date after the other ceremony got cancelled because it was raining. He says he’s going for Dad, who can’t leave his job to go. Grandpa says Dad gave up his fingers for our country, and the least he can do is go to the dedication for him. Edmund will be going with the school. I wish I could go because I’m proud of Dad.

  After the dedication, Grandpa came by and gave me combined History and Geography homework, which I didn’t mind as it was about Amelia Earhart. He told me I had to find out the route and write down the places she was before she disappeared. He brought me some newspapers so I could see maps in it of Amelia’s flight.

  I wonder what made Amelia want to fly an airplane. It’s not something I ever thought of doing until I heard about her. I wonder if she did it on a dare. Maybe someone said, I dare you to fly across the Atlantic Ocean all by yourself, and she was one of those people who can’t pass up a dare so did it. Or maybe she saw the white clouds and blue sky and thought she’d rather be up there, touching them, than walking on her two feet on the earth. The worst dare I ever had was to knock on Mrs. McKenzie’s door and run away before she could answer it. It was a tough dare because Mrs. McKenzie is really an old witch and we’re all afraid she’ll put a spell on us. I almost fell through her porch floor when I went to run away after knocking on her door. Bessie gave me that dare.

  I really miss Bessie. I don’t know why she doesn’t come and see me, or even write me a note. We are best friends and shouldn’t best friends see each other? Maybe she’s scared to see me. Maybe she thinks I’m different now because I’m crippled. I’ll tell Edmund to tell Bessie at school tomorrow that I’m not any different and I’d welcome a visit.

  Thursday, September 9, 1937

  Edmund said that Bessie said she was best friends now with a girl, Marie, who just moved to Saskatoon. I don’t care one bit.

  Friday, September 10, 1937

  I was crying today because Bessie has a new best friend. Mother said the very same thing had happened to her, that her best friend dropped her like a hot potato when they started high school. She said not to worry about it as perhaps Bessie wasn’t a very good friend in the first place if she’d drop someone because they had been ill. That made me feel a bit better, but I still miss Bessie. I can’t believe she dropped me because I got sick. There’s no one to discuss dares or my cousin Jean or school with anymore. The only difference is that I wouldn’t talk about Ann in a mean way with Bessie.

  I really should tell Ann how sorry I am that I called her mean words, except I’m embarrassed to bring it up. Maybe Ann has forgotten. I bet Bessie tells everyone that I have germs now.

  Actually, I don’t think Ann has really forgotten. I wouldn’t, if someone called me a name like that.

  Why did I have to get sick? Why did everything have to change? One day everything was perfectly fine and the next day it was horrible.

  Saturday, September 11, 1937

  Mother and Dad and Grandpa are having a talk in the kitchen. I just know it’s about me, but I can’t hear what they are saying. That’s one of the worst things about not being able to walk — not being able to sneak around and be an eavesdropper.

  Saturday, September 11, 1937, late afternoon

  Ann came over this afternoon and gave me my very own tatting shuttle. She said it used to be her grandmother’s. I asked Ann if she was sure she wanted me to have it and she said she couldn’t think of anyone nicer to give it to. Ann saying that makes me feel good and bad all at once. Good because I feel like I have a friend and bad because I was mean to Ann. I tried to start to say I was sorry, but then I got scared that I might remind Ann how horrible I was to her and she’d not want to visit me anymore.

  So I started to learn tatting. After the first half hour I only had one big mess of knots. It was worse than a cat’s cradle. Ann carefully picked the knots out and said I was catching on to it. I think she was just being nice. I was too tired to try again right then, so I read more of Heidi to her. She really likes the story, same as me.

  Ann was wearing one of my old-Jean’s-old dresses that she had taken in herself by hand. She had embroidered flowers and leaves on the bodice. It completely changed the dress. Mother was very impressed and said that Ann had the makings of a fine seamstress.

  Ann told me about all the goings-on at school and while I really enjoyed hearing about that, it also makes me lonely, as I feel like there is an entire world going on out there that I am not a part of at all.

  She told me about her family too. They came to Canada two years ago because her father was afraid of what was coming for Poland. He feared a war from Germany and wanted his family safe. Ann’s oldest brother, who’s nineteen, is in the Polish army, so he couldn’t come to Canada with them. Ann says that she’s afraid that she’ll never see him again. Her seventeen-year-old brother, Michael, is not going to school, but working with Ann’s father on the bridge make-work project for unemployed men to earn money for their families.

  Ann got quiet for a bit, so I asked her what was wrong, and she said that the Relief people are quite rude at times and think her mother is just pretending to be ill. Ann said that her mother had to wait in a line two months ago to get food coupons, even though she could barely stand on her feet and Ann had to hold her up. I can’t believe anyone would be so awful.

  I told her Yanni must be in James’s grade in high school, but she said no, Yanni, who is very smart in Poland, is not too smart in Ca
nada and is in Grade Eight and he is very ashamed of that. Ann should be in Grade Eight, but she is in Grade Seven because she had to learn English.

  Then Ann asked me a question I couldn’t answer. She asked me if I will still be her friend when I come back to school. I was so astonished I couldn’t say a word. I wanted to say yes, but I didn’t get it out fast enough and Ann got embarrassed, and bent her head so I couldn’t see her face and said that she understood that I couldn’t be her friend at school, but perhaps we could be friends outside of school. I didn’t mean that at all! I just was so surprised she wanted to be MY friend. I didn’t even think it was up to me! But while I was trying to find the words, Yanni arrived to walk Ann home and Mother invited him onto the front porch for a glass of lemonade. Yanni accepted and he and Dad and James talked while Ann packed up, and they both left before I even got a chance to answer her! I wanted to tell her it’s not that I wouldn’t be her friend at school, but that I didn’t think I’d ever be coming back to school because of my legs! I feel so bad I didn’t get a chance to tell her that. I’ll write her a note tomorrow and tell her.

  Saturday, September 11, 1937, at night

  I forgot to say that when Yanni left, he took Mother’s hand and bowed over it and thanked her for the lemonade. Then he took my hand and bowed over it, too, and said he was pleased to make my acquaintance. After he left, Edmund kept taking my hand and saying he was pleased to make my acquaintance until Mother told him to stop. Mother said Yanni was very charming.

  I mustn’t forget to write Ann a note!

  Sunday, September 12, 1937

  Mother went back to church today. Grandpa came for lunch and stayed the afternoon. Edmund showed Grandpa how Yanni had bowed over my hand. Grandpa said that old-world manners were worth twice as much as ours. Then Grandpa and Dad talked about the terrible way the City Relief officers treated foreigners. Dad said unfortunately there were bad apples everywhere and it only took one or two foreigners to lie and try to cheat the Relief to give all foreigners a bad name. Not, Dad said, that the Relief people are any better. Grandpa said they are too self-important and Dad said that the Relief people almost make people beg for a bit of food and clothing.

  They then talked about the Relief Camp that opened up a few years ago on the Exhibition Grounds for unemployed single men. Dad said they were like prisoner-of-war camps and that a lot of the men were ex-servicemen from the war and didn’t deserve to be treated that way. There was even a riot over it here in Saskatoon, and a bigger one in Regina, Dad said, and there were lots of bloody heads on both sides afterwards, and two dead police officers.

  Grandpa said the only cure for the Depression was a good rainy season, but even that would take a long time to make things better because there would be no one to sell the wheat to, as everyone, even the Americans, are hit by the Depression and don’t have money to buy wheat.

  I hope we’re not getting poorer. Mother is always trying to stretch a penny. I hope we never have to go on Relief.

  Here is a secret I’m not supposed to know: Grandpa said he might have to put his car up on blocks like we have, as he doesn’t have money to run it. I heard him tell Mother when I was on the porch.

  Then they talked about a man named Hitler from Germany and Grandpa said war was coming, not for a year or two maybe, but the seeds were there just waiting to take root, and he had hoped the last war (the one Dad fought in) would have ended all wars for good. Dad said he hoped it didn’t come to a war, and he looked over at James. That made me think that if we had a war, James might have to go! I bet my next History lesson with Grandpa is all about the Depression and Hitler!

  Something funny. There is a man writing into the Saskatoon Star newspaper against the Relief Board and the camps and he signs himself JUST AN OLD FOGEY. In one letter he wrote: What this city needs is a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Those on Relief. Mother and Aunt Ella are convinced it is Grandpa, though he says it’s not.

  Monday, September 13, 1937, at night

  I had such a nice surprise today! Three girls from school, Katie, Jill and Carol, came to visit me late this afternoon. At first they seemed uncomfortable and kept staring at my legs, but after we started talking about school and Mother made us tea, they seemed to forget I had splints on and we had a good talk about everyone we knew. I wanted to know about Bessie, but my pride kept me from asking about her. If she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore, I don’t want to be hers. I really miss not being at school. I wonder if people would laugh at me if I went to school with my splints on. I bet they would.

  It’s nice being home with just Mother sometimes. Today I worked on my tatting (it’s looking better, though in places it is still a mess) and Mother hemmed some new curtains — well, new to us, they’re from Aunt Ella’s house — for the kitchen window. We listened to Mother’s radio programs while we worked. I like the story The Guiding Light, though Mother says it is a bit racy for me. We listened anyway. Then Mother told me about growing up with Aunt Ella and how she always knew Aunt Ella was the beautiful one in the family, which surprised me very much because I think Mother is much more beautiful than Aunt Ella. She said she and Aunt Ella shared a bedroom and in fact, shared a bed, and Aunt Ella always took all the blankets for herself and gave Mother only one to keep warm. She said that when Aunt Ella was given a chore by Grandpa, she always passed it on to Mother to do. I asked Mother if she had ever played Truth or Dare and she said yes, and she’d once dared Aunt Ella to jump from a hayloft into a pile of straw or tell the truth about whether Aunt Ella had kissed a boy, and Aunt Ella took the dare, but she missed the pile of straw and hit the barn floor and broke her arm. She said Grandma and Grandpa were very mad at them. Mother said she always felt bad about Ella breaking her arm, but there was a small smile on her face when she leaned over her sewing machine.

  I like hearing about Mother being a young girl, though I can’t imagine Mother and Aunt Ella jumping from a hayloft. Mother said that even though Aunt Ella was bossy, at other times she was quite generous, like giving us Jean’s clothes and the curtains. I’m not too sure what exactly is generous about giving people your old things.

  Here is a secret: I didn’t write Ann a note. I was too tired.

  Friday, September 17, 1937

  Nothing has happened all week. I don’t even feel like writing in my diary. Grandpa has been schooling me, but I haven’t been able to do much, as mostly I’ve been tired this week. Twice a week he wraps me in hot blankets and massages my legs. That always feels nice.

  I want to sleep now.

  Saturday, September 18, 1937

  I overheard Grandpa tell Dad and Mother that I was failing. I thought he meant school, but then after they talked a bit I realized he meant my health. He said inactivity was weakening me and I wasn’t eating well and I was tired all the time. Mother said she tries to keep me occupied, but it is a big job, and she also has to can the vegetables and fruits if we’re going to eat this winter. Grandpa said it wasn’t a criticism of her, but of the entire polio treatment. Then Mother said she didn’t want to hear any more about Sister Kenny!

  I wonder if I’m getting sicker and dying. I heard that some polio patients did that. I wonder if I’ll have to go back to the hospital. I don’t want to go back to the hospital! I hated it there.

  Another secret: Aunt Ella came over today to talk to Mother about Grandpa. They’re worried he is running out of his savings and that he is getting too old to take care of himself properly. I never thought of Grandpa as old. I wonder if he’s dying. One more thing to worry about.

  Sunday, September 19, 1937

  While Mother and Edmund were at church, Dad and I sat outside — getting the air, he called it, though Mother had me so bundled up in a coat, hat, scarf and mitts, it was amazing I could breathe any air at all!

  A big fat crow came and sat on the peak of Mrs. McKenzie’s house and made quite a noise the entire time we sat. I think that crow belongs to Mrs. McKenzie for her witchcraft.

  D
ad asked me how I was getting on and I started to cry and asked him if I was dying. He said heavens no, and whatever had given me that idea, and I told him about overhearing Mother and Grandpa. Dad told me to ignore them — that Mother and Grandpa have always liked a lively debate.

  And then I asked Dad if Grandpa was dying. Dad said not that he could see. And I told him about the secret and how Mother and Aunt Ella think Grandpa is poor. Dad said there was obviously nothing wrong with my ears!

  So I figured if I asked him about all that, I might as well ask him about my other great fear: Are we poor? And will we have to go on Relief? He looked at the house, and the kitchen garden, then asked if I felt poor. I thought about how there is always food on our table, but then thought about wearing Jean’s clothes, but I looked back to our house and no, I don’t feel poor. (We only rent it, but it’s still ours!) So I told him I didn’t feel poor. Good, Dad said, because we’re in a pretty good position compared to some folks, and luckily he has a job and I’m not to worry about that as he will always take care of me.

  I immediately thought about Ann. She’s wearing twice-over hand-me-downs and I know there were boys and girls in my class last year who didn’t even have those to wear. One girl shared her shoes with her sister, so they only came to school every other day. But I bet Ann’s father also said he would always take care of her!