Murder in the Family

by Jeff Blackstock

  Carol was popular at school. A newspaper photograph taken around this time shows her standing between two bagpipers at a convention at the Royal York Hotel, where she’d been performing Highland dances. In the photo, she radiates a beautiful smile and, with her abundant wavy black hair and dark eyes, appears poised and confident.

  Though my mother was extremely bright, she was evidently an average student—and sometimes worse than average. A tenth-grade report card from North Toronto Collegiate shows she was failing in all subjects except physical education and home economics. Joan Clark told me Carol had started dating George by then and was “pretty gone” on him, and obviously her school work suffered. The only reason she didn’t fail was that she dropped out to get married—and to give birth to me.

  * * *

  —

  MY PARENTS NEVER talked about how they met. It would only have drawn attention to their short courtship and my mother’s pregnancy before they got married.

  Still, I can’t help speculating about how they started dating. It’s surprising that George, a grade thirteen student (equivalent to a college freshman in the United States), felt comfortable dating a tenth-grade girl. I wonder if Carol told him a little white lie about her age. It’s possible she was something of a wild child. Being advanced for her age, perhaps she felt bored with the boys in tenth grade. She was best friends with Joan Clark, so it’s possible she ran with an older crowd through her.

  Then there was the difference in social background. Typically, Upper Canada College boys mixed with girls from other Toronto private schools. From Carol’s viewpoint, a UCC boy may have seemed a desirable prospect—not to mention the excitement of dating a handsome, older, more experienced young man who drove his own car.

  Grandma Gray later said their dating aroused Grandpa’s suspicions. When Grandpa objected to George’s taking Carol out in his car, George retorted, “Why, do you think I’m a wolf?” It took Grandpa aback to hear such impertinence.

  The circumstances of my conception remain uncertain. According to Grandma, the two teenagers were left alone at George’s house when his mother retired early. Nature took its course.

  I’m sure Grandpa believed his daughter’s honour was at stake. He wasn’t going to let her be exposed to humiliation, and he made it very clear to the Blackstocks that he’d accept nothing less than marriage. According to Grandma, George’s mother was furious with him when she learned Carol was pregnant and told him to marry the girl. No doubt Granny Blackstock was also made painfully aware by the family lawyers of the potential consequences of Grandpa’s displeasure on learning his daughter was carrying George’s child.

  It was, as one of my father’s cousins told me years later, “a shotgun wedding.” George’s entire vision of his future must have changed overnight—just as it had when his father died so suddenly.

  I can’t say for sure if an abortion was ever proposed, though I’ve been told Carol didn’t want one. In 1950, abortion was not only illegal but dangerous, generally practised by backstreet operators using crude methods. For most people, it just wasn’t an option. My grandparents weren’t going to break the law and risk getting their daughter involved with the police.

  Not surprisingly, I’ve always been glad Mom made the choice to keep her baby. Still, there’s little doubt the marriage didn’t begin as a match made in heaven. George, on the verge of graduating from UCC, had just turned seventeen. Carol, eight weeks pregnant, was fifteen.

  And so George and Carol were wed. I imagine Grandma giving her daughter a lingering goodbye hug, tears welling in her eyes.

  Carol belonged to the Blackstocks now.

  3

  FAMILY YEARS

  CAROL AND GEORGE spent the summer of 1950 living in a makeshift flat above Granny Blackstock’s garage, away from the public eye. It must have been an isolated existence and a strange beginning to married life.

  George’s favourite cousin later told me most of the Blackstock clan considered the marriage a family scandal. Such things were supposed to happen on the other side of the tracks and were best kept out of sight.

  That cousin, whom I’ll call Sandra, felt sorry for Carol and George. Alone among his extended family, she paid them a visit, bringing with her a little wedding gift. Carol’s friend Joan Clark also visited. From what Joan told me, it wasn’t easy to contact Carol, and it was a trek to get there. Joan wasn’t made very welcome in the main house, but Carol was delighted to see her. When I was thirteen, Joan told me I was “a love baby.”

  The wedding had taken place over a month before the end of the UCC term, but somehow George finished up his school year. His abrupt departure from UCC was noted in the summer 1950 edition of the College Times, the school yearbook, under a photo of him with the other prefects of Wedd’s House.

  Unfortunately, the original writer of Wedd’s report found it necessary to leave the city immediately at the close of school. Since he could not be contacted, the report was hastily written by Ken H…. Many thanks, Ken, for helping us in this emergency.

  The Editors

  This can only have been a reference to George, who was on the College Times staff as an editorial board member from Wedd’s.

  At the end of the summer, Carol and George moved to Guelph, a small city about an hour’s drive west of Toronto, where Dad had enrolled at the Ontario Agricultural College (OAC). Initially, he told me, he had notions of becoming a farmer. I can’t imagine Dad, who would live in seven countries, almost always in big cities, speak four languages, drive expensive cars, and enjoy opera, helicopter skiing, and vintage wines, ever being happy as a farmer in rural Ontario. I think it’s more likely the family chose OAC for him; at that time, it was the most distant outpost of the University of Toronto, where the family had a long history.

  I was born on December 10, 1950, at the Wellesley Hospital in downtown Toronto. By then, Carol had turned sixteen. George was still seventeen.

  At OAC, George became enthralled with economics and political science. He once told his mother he wished he could spend his whole life immersed in books and ideas. He was by nature an intellectual person and a thinker.

  My earliest memories begin in Guelph: our small rented house at the edge of town; Mom yelling at a neighbour who had thrown me off her property; waking in the morning to the first snowfall of winter covering the farmer’s field across the road; Dad curled up with a book in his study under a circle of lamplight, looking up in resignation when I timidly told him I’d wet the bed.

  Our living expenses were covered by the Blackstock family trust. Granny’s brother, Uncle Brooke Bell, a big-time Bay Street lawyer, was designated to keep a stern, watchful eye on us. On January 20, 1953, Uncle Brooke wrote my parents a letter on his law firm’s letterhead.

  Dear George and Carol:

  I have been considering your various problems and have come to the following conclusions.

  As Carol feels she cannot be left alone for long periods as happened last year, I do not believe George can continue his work with the Downham nurseries [where he had taken a summer job] unless that firm would allow him to cover territory which can be easily reached in day trips from Guelph. This means that George should immediately review the situation with Downham and if no arrangements can be made with that firm, a new [summer] job should be found as soon as possible.

  The trust had never been intended to provide for this type of situation, and there’s no doubt Uncle Brooke expected George to contribute to our family income. To judge from the letter, the young couple entertained grandiose expectations about their budget.

  With regard to living quarters…I do not believe I can approve of buying property in Guelph unless you intend to live there permanently. To buy property there for your use for a year or so would be unwise and I am sure the Trust Company would not approve.

  The trust was already being squeezed by the special arr
angements made—at Uncle Brooke’s intervention—to provide for Granny, George, and his sister, Katherine. Uncle Brooke was there to lay down the law: there would be no reckless spending.

  Apparently, relations with Carol and George’s respective in-laws were not good.

  I am very concerned about the continual friction between you and your parents. My advice to you both last year was to stay away from your respective “in-laws.” You told me that you are happy together while in Guelph and from my observation you are unhappy when you come to Toronto. Therefore, I think it is in your best interest to stay in Guelph as much as possible. If Carol feels she must visit with her parents, let her do so without George. Your trips to Toronto are expensive and invariably result in unpleasantness of one kind or another. Judging by events in the Christmas holidays, Carol’s parents are in a state of tension and I can easily see that George’s mother is too.

  Uncle Brooke didn’t come right out and say the Blackstocks and the Grays disliked each other, but I think that’s pretty much how it was. George was offended by what he considered the Grays’ lower social status, and he didn’t bother to hide it from them: “Don’t talk down to us like your dad does,” my grandfather told me in later years.

  Grandma and Grandpa’s visits to see Carol were few (I don’t remember even one). And although Carol was beautiful, well-spoken, and charming, I doubt George would have felt comfortable taking her to the Badminton and Racquet Club. As the son of the principal founder, he’d expect club members to raise their eyebrows and gossip.

  There would be dire consequences, Uncle Brooke predicted darkly, if the young couple didn’t heed his advice.

  It is my belief that unless we avoid upsetting George’s mother, her nerves will give way and the result will be that she will have to go to a Sanatorium.

  He drove his point home by putting it in language George would understand.

  This would be exceedingly expensive and would probably use up all the income of the estate, leaving nothing for George and his sister.

  Uncle Brooke wanted them to avoid Toronto altogether.

  Make friends there in Guelph and forget about Toronto for the time being. There will be lots of time for parties after George’s education is complete and when he is earning regularly.

  Isolated in Guelph and shunned by George’s family, my parents must have been living a pretty tame existence and missing the parties back home in Toronto. I expect it was galling for George when he saw his fellow students out dating, partying, and doing what young adults do. Meanwhile, Carol was looking after me and keeping house. She was a high-school dropout—maybe not someone with whom George’s new college friends would feel comfortable, given the age gap between high-school and university students.

  Uncle Brooke ended on a high note, offering some invaluable advice about George’s car.

  In the meantime, if the tires on your car are worn out, I think you should buy four new ones.

  Sincerely,

  Brooke Bell

  So how did they feel at that moment?

  It must have been a lonely life, especially for Carol. She was stuck at home, far away from her parents, friends, and familiar surroundings, living with a husband she’d barely known before marrying him. Meanwhile, he was away attending classes all day and studying and writing papers every night. She had to cope with motherhood mostly on her own, caring for a baby while doing the cleaning, cooking, shopping, ironing. And she did all this as a teenager.

  George too had his hands full, but he had classmates and friends, and the intellectual and social stimulation of the college environment. He once told me he directed a play at college and won a drama prize. I don’t know how much Carol shared those experiences with him. In the summers, he had the escape of his job, driving around the countryside selling nursery stock to farmers.

  At the time of Uncle Brooke’s letter, Carol was pregnant again. My brother, Doug, was born on April 15, 1953, in Toronto. There was some criticism on the Blackstock side about Carol having another baby so soon, with George still in university. But perhaps, like other young couples, they were just trying to create a family.

  * * *

  —

  GRADUATING WITH A bachelor of arts degree, George quickly landed a job with the Canadian government as a personnel selection officer at the Public Service Commission. We moved from Guelph to Ottawa, where his world opened up even more. And at last he was earning his own income.

  In the mid-1950s, we moved into a modest two-bedroom house in the Ottawa suburb of Manor Park. I remember racing across the green front lawns of Kilbarry Crescent on summer mornings to play with the other kids; Mom giving me a talking-to because I didn’t come straight home as instructed; Mom gasping when I presented her with a wriggling frog I’d found in the garden and, when I insisted on keeping it, her telling me I’d have to feed it, then showing me the dead frog a few days later; Mom helping me struggle into my snowsuit, which took forever to unzip at school; Mom apologizing to Mrs. Ferguson next door when Doug dug up her flower bed. Between the two of us, Doug and I were a handful.

  One day, probably in spring 1955, Mom left Dad a note tucked inside an envelope addressed “George.”

  Darling.

  I have decided to go to Toronto for a couple of days. I will be back Thursday afternoon.

  Things have just got to a point where a couple of days change would make a whole lot of difference to me. I haven’t been feeling well and the kids have been getting me down. This morning was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Waking up to water all over the house and cake mix spread about and that’s not all. Doug screams and fights all day and Jeff whines and cries. This 2 days will be a godsend. I know you are angry about this morning and with me in general. I’m sorry and I’ll try to do better. I am not going off in a huff so please don’t think that. Sorry about tomorrow night but try to understand. I hope this makes sense cause I [am] upset right now. Good luck on the play, dear.

  Your loving wife

  Carol

  By going to Toronto, where no doubt she stayed with her parents, Mom would miss a play, perhaps a play that Dad was acting in or directing. But she seemed to feel so defeated that she was forced to retreat, acknowledging that he was angry with her “in general.” She didn’t say why, but seemed to think it was her fault. The note held great significance for Dad: he wrote on the envelope “Important—note from Carol” and kept it until the day he died.

  I often overheard my parents arguing, a pattern that would continue for the rest of their marriage, but I’m not aware how they resolved that particular episode. I only know Mom came back from Toronto, and life went on.

  On February 15, 1956, my sister, Julie, was born in Ottawa. I remember marvelling at her tiny fingers and feeling happy the day our parents brought her home from the hospital.

  Carol wrote to her mother that George was thrilled she’d had a girl: “George is really quite batty about her and would hold her in his lap all night if I let him.” Julie was nursing well and hardly ever cried. And yet three years later, in Buenos Aires, Carol’s doctors would write in medical reports that she’d had “a nervous breakdown” after her third pregnancy, following a long and painful labour. According to her Argentine medical records, the breakdown entailed “tiredness, lack of interest in her surroundings and her family and came at a time when she was subjected to several other emotional stresses in the family.”

  I attended Manor Park Public School and didn’t do very well academically at first. Because my birthday comes at the end of the year, I was a few months to a year younger than many of the other kids in my class. I received only average marks on my report cards, but Mom told me that was fine as long as I did my best.

  Dad wasn’t around at home much, and when he was, it wasn’t always a happy experience. One day, he came back from work and asked where my tricycle was
; he couldn’t find it. He told me to go look for it, and if I couldn’t find it I’d get a spanking. I searched all over the neighbourhood, asking people if they’d seen my tricycle. No luck. Mom asked him to give me one more day to find it. Still no trike. Dad took me upstairs to the bedroom I shared with Doug, pulled my pants down, and spanked me. I cried. Afterwards, Mom came up and put talcum powder on my bum. Since I didn’t mean to lose my tricycle, I didn’t understand why I got spanked, but it taught me a lesson: to fear my father. Because of that spanking, I never hit my own kids.

  Sometimes, Dad had a “wrassle” with Doug and me on the bed in our room—we liked that kind of horseplay—or played a game with us, pretending he and I were sick and needed to “send for Doctor Dougie.” He was great at magic tricks too, making coins disappear from his hand, then finding them in Doug’s ear or my pocket. Doug and I enjoyed those times.

  At work, George was making a good impression. One of his older colleagues at the Public Service Commission later told me George’s superiors were astonished by the amount of responsibility he handled at twenty-three. In a letter of recommendation, they expressed their admiration for his intelligence and problem-solving skills.

  He was promoted to a more senior job within the Public Service Commission, requiring him to travel across the country to recruit professionals for the government. In a letter he wrote to Carol on one of his trips, he revealed something of how he was feeling.

  Calgary

  Wednesday [March 6, 1957]

  My Darling Carol;

  How I am missing you. I always do when I’m away you know. How are you, and how are our babies?

  So far we have been to Winnipeg, Regina, Vancouver and Calgary…. The weather in Vancouver was lovely – so mild I walked around with no overcoat.