by Shelley Wood
He was a young engineer, from near New York City, and she was a particularly attractive young woman. I remember they came in to my office one afternoon and we sat and talked for quite a spell. Before he left, he showed me five little pebbles he had collected from the box out at the nursery. His wife blushed a bit as he showed them, but he thought it was a great joke. I hadn’t heard anything more of them until recently when he wrote me a letter. First thing he told me was that his wife had just given birth to twins.
But that wasn’t all. He explained that he had taken five stones away with him. When he got home, however, he didn’t keep them all. Three young couples he knew wanted children, so he gave them each a stone, keeping two for himself.
“Boy, I’m glad I didn’t keep the whole five stones,” his letter closed.
Always, when a motion picture company from Hollywood comes up here to make a picture, the actors and actresses have fun with our pebbles. They package them up and send them to fellow actors and actresses back home, who aren’t anxious to have children. I’ve never heard whether any of these particular stones bore fruit or not.
When the children grow older and learn about this legend of the stones, they will never be at a loss for a wedding present to send to an acquaintance getting married. The only trouble is that at the rate the stones are being carried away now, there may not be any left by that time.
© 1939 King Features Syndicate, Inc. Used with permission.
August 20, 1938
I’m back at the nursery after a wonderful day in Toronto with Ivy. She is so elegant and sophisticated now. It’s hard to picture her as she was the summer we met—her face as flushed as a fire ant in that hot kitchen when we had the babies tucked in their crate by the stove, or peeling off her stockings when she got fed up with the heat in late August, before the Captain went to the hospital and Yvonne almost died. I loved the time we spent cocooned together at the nursery, but, her metamorphosis complete, Ivy has flown the length and breadth of the continent dazzling everyone she meets while I’ve stayed curled in my cozy shell. Today she was hell-bent on convincing me it was time to grow wings of my own.
“You could go anywhere! There are many, many households these days who can afford to have a nurse or a governess on staff, and they would leap at the chance to hire a nurse of the Dionne quintuplets.”
Ivy forgets that almost no one remembers I’ve worked at the nursery as long as I have. I’m not in any of the newsreels or newspaper photos. I don’t appear in any of the motion pictures; I’ve not once, to my knowledge, been mentioned in the papers.
“And I like it this way,” I reminded her.
That sent her down her next favorite theme, which is my marriageability and eventual motherhood. Honestly, Ivy is worse than Mother.
“But you must be meeting so many nice young men who come by to meet the girls and Dr. Dafoe?”
I grimaced and shook my head. She said she’d heard from Fred that George has become quite the charmer at the Dafoe nursery, and that made me blush terribly. Then out of the blue she asked whether I was keeping in touch with “the shy man who delivered the stones.”
Honestly, how on earth could she have known about Lewis? Had I mentioned him?
I used the opportunity to confess my plan of giving her a Quint-stone as a wedding gift, and she barely laughed at all.
“Oh, you should send one,” she said earnestly. As if she actually believed in their magical powers! My surprise must have been etched in my face because she laughed then and shrugged. “You never know, Em, it can’t hurt.”
August 22, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany
Dafoe Hospital and Nursery
Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
This is not the nicest thing you’ll ever hear me say about the Ontario government (nor the worst), but my guess is they will never release the girls into the care of the parents, and they will never build that big house. Bottom line: the province has come to rely on the money it sees from visitors to the famous five. Quebec takes a very dim view of this, of course, and I can’t help but agree they make a strong case that those girls should be leading a more normal life. But jealousy is also at play. Here’s a French family that gives birth to the most popular Canadians in the world and that had to happen in Ontario instead of Quebec? Plus this isn’t just a battle of French versus English, it’s also Catholic versus Protestant, rich versus poor, the lowly peasant versus the eminent doctor. It would all make for a great piece of theater if there weren’t five innocent girls at the heart of it.
As for our plane—at this point, no one will fly it. We are having trouble sorting out a problem with the upper gull wing. As it is currently designed, our pilots can’t exactly see where they’re headed, particularly on landing. So it’s back to the drawing board for us.
Yours sincerely,
Lewis Cartwright
11 Rue Saint Ida
Montreal, Quebec
September 17, 1938 (Toronto Star)
* * *
CALLANDER PROTESTS REMOVAL OF QUINTS
Fear Loss of Trade if Babies Moved to Trout Lake: “Unwise, Unfair”
CALLANDER, Ontario—Protesting the proposed removal of the Dionne quintuplets from the Dafoe hospital at Callander to a new home on another site, a deputation of businessmen and councillors from that vicinity awaited on Hon. Gordon Conant, attorney general, yesterday afternoon.
Spokesmen for the deputation contended that it would be unwise and unfair to remove the famous sisters from the proximity of their birthplace.
“The quintuplets have flourished, physically and financially, at Callander,” stated Kenneth Morrison, Callander businessman. “I estimate that upwards of $400,000 has been spent in and around the village because the Quints were there. All this will be a dead loss if the sisters are moved to a new home in Trout Lake, which we understand is contemplated.”
Mr. Morrison stated removal of the Quints would be a terrible blow to Callander and district and that Mr. Dionne and the people of that district felt such action was unnecessary.
Oliva Dionne, father of the Quints, has petitioned council seeking action of protest against removing his daughters from the vicinity of their birthplace.
Used with permission.
September 17, 1938
Nurse Corriveau took me aside today to tell me that she is keeping track of some of her run-ins with the Dionnes, and some of the personal threats and insinuations she says they’ve been making. She’s a tense and twitchy woman, Louise Corriveau, but a sharp one. She says she’s well aware of all the coming and going of staff we’ve suffered here, and she intends to keep notes of everything, in case she finds herself on the wrong side of the Dionnes, or Dr. Dafoe for that matter. She says I should be doing the same, keeping a record, that is. I mulled that for a while, then realized I’ve been doing just that. Not that I could ever show these words to a single soul.
September 20, 1938
AN UPSETTING COUPLE of moments in the nursery today. I’d managed, as usual, to worm out of accompanying the girls into the public playground. With Maman and Papa Dionne in there with them most days, plus Miss Callahan and Nurse Corriveau, it’s easy for me to beg off.
Dr. Dafoe has suggested I work on a series of seasonal portraits of the girls with the aim of approaching a calendar company. I’ve done some nice pieces for the summer months with the girls in their swimming costumes, playing in the sandbox, and so on. Now I’m playing around with some autumn colors. I was absorbed in what I was doing and didn’t even hear a creak or a footfall to hint that someone had entered the room. Indeed, I felt a presence, rather than heard it. My whole body stiffened and my hand jerked so that I daubed a thick swatch of blue paint onto Cécile’s chin instead of her dress. When I turned, sure enough, M. Dionne was standing right behind me, radiating a chill that made my skin rise with goose bumps. What struck me in that instant was that he’d been about to touch my work, he was that close. Had I not turned when I did, his hand
would have been on my things or, worse, on me. The last time a man had stood so close behind me it had been George, and that had flushed me with a warmth I felt all the way to my toes. This was more like ice water, sluicing down my spine.
I stood and walked quickly around my easel, so I was facing him. “M. Dionne,” I murmured. “I was just packing up.”
Of course I couldn’t do anything with my painting, it was still wet, but I could gather up my tubes of paint and palette. My hands were trembling, but I carried my things over to the sink and took as little time as I could to get tidied up. It felt like his eyes were still boring into my back, but when I finally turned to look he hadn’t moved and was still staring at the painting, his pointy chin tucked to his chest, his brow furrowed.
I didn’t want to leave my work like that, unfinished and vulnerable, the glob of blue no doubt already dry on Cécile’s chin. But I didn’t want to have to speak with him either. I hurried from the room, and when I peeked back through the door a few minutes later, M. Dionne was gone.
October 5, 1938
THE ROYAL COUPLE is visiting Quintland! That’s what the papers are saying. Dr. Dafoe came out to the nursery today and called a special meeting, swaggering like a turkey, to inform us that the King and Queen have confirmed they will visit our tiny corner of Canada. What’s more, plans to build a new house are postponed until midsummer next year in order to focus attention on some much-needed repairs to the nursery now.
Visiting here! The King and Queen of England. I can’t imagine what Ivy will say.
October 14, 1938
GEORGE IS ABSOLUTELY insufferable. He came into the nursery today, peering around as if in search of inspiration when the girls were gleefully playing dress-up. Annette had unearthed the crown that Yvonne wore when they were doing their “Song of Sixpence” photos earlier in the year.
“I am Queen of Canada,” Annette was mustering in her most imperious French. “You”—she swept her arm majestically past her sisters—“are Kings of Canada. You must wait on me and bring me pies.”
The crown seems smaller on Annette than it was on Yvonne, but, I realize, it would be small on Yvonne now too.
“Bow before Her Majesty,” Yvonne squeaked at George, tugging at his wrist while Marie and Cécile tackled his shins and induced him to shuffle the length of the nursery, the girls “riding” his feet until he managed to shake them off and slip away. But later, when Nurse Corriveau was getting the girls washed up for supper and I was putting their royal finery back in the costume trunk, George popped his head into the room again, did a quick sweep, then turned to leave.
“Their Majesties are no longer at court,” I called after him.
He smiled then and took a step back into the room, although I had the sense he had somewhere else he wanted to be.
“All this fuss,” he said. “They’ll be heartbroken.”
“Why?” I asked, surprised.
George looked up at me sharply. “You don’t think the royal tour is actually going to come all the way to Quintland, do you?”
I hesitated, and he gave a little laugh, which wasn’t nice.
“Good God, Emma. The only reason the Royals are touring Canada now is to rally support for the coming war. Surely you know that?”
I hate it when George does this. I hate it.
“The girls are wards of the King,” I managed. “The King and Queen are, in theory, their official guardians, their legal mother and father. It is their duty to visit them, isn’t it?”
For a moment I thought George was going to laugh at me again—a terrible feeling. But his face softened a bit, the way it does when Marie or Cécile does something particularly sweet or funny, and he changed his tone.
“Emma, they already have a mother and father, much as we like to forget that. And think about it. Why now? With so much going on at home, why on earth would the King and Queen take the time to visit one of their most important Commonwealth allies?”
Before I could think of something to say, the girls rushed back in en route to the dining room in their pajamas. George stepped aside and smiled fondly at them as they barreled by. Miss Callahan was following close behind, and George raised a hand as she passed.
“Miss Callahan, a document from the Department of Education has arrived for you. Dr. Dafoe asked that you review it and let him know your thoughts before he discusses it with the other guardians.”
She paused, one eye on the little ones heading down the corridor, the other on George.
“Has he looked over it?” she asked.
George made a sound very close to a snort and shook his head.
“No, Miss Callahan. He’s given it back to me unopened. I can bring it to your desk, if you like, or you can stop by tomorrow. I gather he’s hoping you can provide him with a summary.”
She laughed softly, as did George. It’s been a standing joke between George and me, how very little Dr. Dafoe manages to accomplish in a day, between meeting important visitors, radio broadcasts, and speaking engagements. Clearly Miss Callahan is in on the joke too.
I wonder, why does Miss Callahan think the King and Queen are visiting Canada?
October 20, 1938
Miss Emma Trimpany
Dafoe Hospital and Nursery
Callander, ON
Dear Emma,
I must say I don’t like the sound of your encounter with M. Dionne one bit. I can’t help but dislike the man, based on everything you’ve told me, but at the same time I do feel some compassion for the position the Dionnes are in. Mme. Dionne has always struck me as broken in some way, and who wouldn’t be? Living across the road from her own daughters—it’s hard to imagine what that would be like. M. Dionne is harder to read. Does he love his girls, do you think? Truly love them?
The papers here are full to bursting with details of the Quints’ upcoming tonsil operation. You’d think they were getting extra toes sewn onto their feet for all the interest the press is taking. Why do they even need these things out? Don’t tonsils serve some kind of natural purpose? What are tonsils exactly?
The company bigwigs at Canadian Car and Foundry are haggling with the British government, which wants our firm to build them some planes: we are all on pins and needles, myself included. If this contract comes through, I won’t have to worry about waking up from this dream, doing work I love. As much as I miss home, this is where I belong, doing this.
That said, I have a few days’ leave over Christmas that I plan to spend in Callander and will be helping my father with the plowing and transfers to Quintland while I’m home. My brother and his wife will be in town with my little niece, Sheryl, who is about the same age as your Edith. Maybe we’ll have the chance to visit? Some things, however, are easier to say in writing, so I’ll just come right out and ask: I can’t help but notice that you’ve mentioned George Sinclair in every letter. What should I take from this, Emma? Are you spoken for? Or are you merely friendly? I appreciate, in the year you’ve had, friends at the nursery are few and far between. And yet . . .
Yours curiously,
Lewis
11 Rue Saint Ida
Montreal, Quebec
P.S. Rock doves, unlike film stars and millionaires, are believed to pair for life.
October 27, 1938 (Toronto Star)
* * *
EDITORIAL: IN A CLASS BY THEMSELVES
Canada has her Niagara Falls, but she shares them with the United States; and Africa has Victoria Falls. Canada has the picturesque streets and conveyances of Old Quebec; New Orleans, too, has quite a strong French flavour. We have our Niagara Peninsula’s peach trees; California has its orange groves. We are proud of the St. Lawrence; our cousins think highly of the Mississippi and Egypt is still watered by the Nile.
These attractions in Canada, though duplicated or approximated elsewhere, deserve all the praise they receive. But what is unique in this country, what we have that others have not, are the quintuplets. No wonder that, while there is no official word, it is
practically certain that the King and Queen next summer will visit Callander. The possibility of the five little sisters themselves being taken somewhere to see Their Majesties is remote. Up to now, Yvonne, Émilie, Annette, Marie, and Cécile have never been further than across the road from the house where they were born.
True, the day will come when the Dionne quintuplets will have to move about. If they are to be educated in a way befitting the responsibilities of world-fame, they will have to see the world. The problem of how to secure the privacy required in such travels will be baffling but it has not yet arisen. Someday these babies, as they grow into girlhood and young womanhood, will have to meet other friends of their own age, besides their brothers and sisters. They will meet young men. Yes, there will come a day when one of the quintuplets will be engaged. Imagine the furore then! And picture, if you can, the wedding day of the first of the Quints, unless, indeed, they wait for all to be even and hold one great quintuplet wedding!
Meanwhile, Their Majesties will have the pleasure of seeing their five little wards, happy, childish, well trained, polite and considerate, playing their games, singing their songs, doing their dances, and saying their prayers. What occurred in the Dionne household in the early morning of May 28, 1934, under the incredulous eyes of Dr. Dafoe, made human history, which has become of cumulative interest to the whole world. When King George and Queen Elizabeth return to England, the first question their daughters are likely to ask is, “Tell us all about the Quints!” That is one part of the trip the absent princesses will be most sorry to miss.
Used with permission.
October 28, 1938
All of the staff are going into North Bay to see the girls in Five of a Kind in the cinema there tonight. I’ve spent the past forty-five minutes trying to decide what to wear and another thirty minutes worrying about my hair. I’ve decided to wear a wide-brim hat and will leave it on until the theater lights go down.