Notes Towards Recovery

by Louise Ells

March 14, 1946

  My most beloved,

  It seems a cruel twist of fate that you came home and we were together for only three weeks. There is so much I want to tell you, and have been storing up, like a squirrel with his nuts for the long winter ahead, all through the time you’ve been away. I had imagined us on the settee together in the evenings, or sitting at the dinner table across from one another, or perhaps walking along the river’s edge, or even holding each other in our marital bed.

  I am so very sorry that you heard so little from me while you were away fighting. I am not sure if you understood me, last week, when I told you that we were instructed not to write. We were told by the ministry - here - I have found the exact wording: “letters from home often needlessly damage soldiers’ morale.” I hope now you can understand why it was I didn’t write to you.

  But this is no longer the belief. Doctor Robinson tells me that my letters, so long as they are full of cheerful news, can only do you well. So I shall write to you every day my Darling, and perhaps this way, share with you some of the things I have been storing up to tell you for so long.

  I shall start by describing to you in detail the wedding of your sister to George…

  March 15, 1946

  My dearest heart,

  I hope you are resting, my dear Harold. I wonder if you might have time to send me a small note to let me know that you are being well cared for, as I am beginning to doubt the wisdom of our parting again so soon after our reunion. Perhaps you would have been better off staying here, at home, where you truly belong. Maybe it is only a question of time, recovering from the nightmares which haunt you so.

  But I am to write of joyful things, not my petty worries. At lunch today, at your parents’ house, Susan and George announced that they are expecting a baby. Their third child! Your mother pretended to be aghast, but it was clear to all that she is pleased as punch. I suspect both she and your sister are hoping for a girl this time. When she told me I congratulated her, as I am truly happy for her good fortune. On the short walk home, however, I held my hand on my own stomach and dreamed of the day when you and I can make the same announcement. I imagine our family, of you and me at either head of the table with our children between us. Would you think me foolish if I admitted that I have already some names in mind to discuss with you? Of course if it’s a boy, it should be Harold…

  March 16, 1946

  Dear Harold, my Love,

  Because there are no secrets between us, I shall admit to you that in my deepest heart I had hoped our reunion night might have resulted in a child. Alas, it is not to be this time. When you come home, and I do pray that will be soon, we shall have many more chances to start a family.

  I have not told you about my job. It might surprise you that I enjoy it so much, as when you knew me before I showed no inclination towards numbers or keeping accounts…

  March 17, 1946

  My Dear Harold,

  I am sending this in good time to arrive for your Birthday. You see, I have not forgotten. You will think it extraordinarily extravagant of me, but I feel I have so many missed Birthdays of yours to make up for. I can make a tin of beans last me three meals, and shall continue to do so in order to send you the loveliest, softest things I can find for your to wrap yourself in, until you are back home and I can wrap you in my arms. My darling, do know that you are always wrapped in my love, and you remain at the top of my thoughts for every hour of every day.

  Next year we’ll throw the biggest Birthday party you can imagine…

  March 18, 1946

  My Dear Heart,

  I saw the first sign of spring today, and my heart filled with joy. What do you imagine it was? A crocus, bright purple, poking above the last of the snow. It felt to me like a sign from above that good things are coming our way.

  Longer letter to follow this afternoon.

  With all my love,

  Mildred

  March 19, 1946

  My Darling Harold,

  I do hope that your Birthday parcel arrived. A one-line note acknowledging its receipt would calm my fears that an unscrupulous hospital worker has opened it and taken it for himself.

  With all my love,

  Mildred

  March 20, 1946

  My Dear Heart,

  It is with great glad tidings that I write to you. Your brother and sister are travelling to Toronto and will come to visit you at the hospital. I only wish I could be there too, but am giving them much to take with them to remind you of home, your home, to which I am every so hopeful they may return you. I am preparing with that great hope in mind, that I may see you as soon as Sunday night. Oh my love, I miss you so.

  With all my love,

  Mildred

  Monday

  My Dearest, my most beloved Harold,

  I can barely see to write through my tears.

  I will ask the hospital staff to place this, my final letter to you, in your hands in your coffin.

  I am blessed indeed with the kindest sister-in-law. It can not have been easy for her, telling me the news she had to impart, but she wanted to save me for receiving a telegram from the hospital so came directly here last night.

  It seems so cruel, so unfair, that after surviving the war you have been taken from us all.

  Susan and I agree that it is not necessary to tell your parents the exact nature of your death. I can not bring myself to say the word out loud, and I have not stopped crying at the thought of how many demons you must have been battling to think that taking your life was the only way forward. My only consolation is that you have had my daily letters, so you have known, even in your darkest moments, that you were, you are, truly loved.

  With all my love, forever,

  Your Mildred

  ***

  January, 1954

  My Dear Darlene,

  I am sorry we argued, but I am sure you can understand my shock, not only at your condition, but at the extraordinary lies you’ve been telling Doctor Scott. I think your going to this home and spending some time away will be good for both of us. I’m sorry Aunt Celia couldn’t take you in, but you know how difficult it is with her husband Overseas. Doctor Scott says this home comes highly recommended to him from a source he trusts. May God love and bless you despite your transgressions.

  Love, Mother

  February, 1954

  My Dear Darlene,

  I am sorry you are still so angry that you are not able to write a letter home. Your younger sister in particular misses you very much. Please send a note, if not to your father and I, then to Marion.

  Love, Mother

  March, 1954

  My Dear Darlene,

  We are having a bitterly cold winter up here and no sign of relief. Two of the cattle froze yesterday. I am working on a Victory Garden quilt. The Reverend mentioned you in his prayers and asked us to do the same. I pray for your health every night. Your father sends his love. He has forgiven you for your lapse and wishes only that when you come home we all put this episode behind us.

  Love, Mother

  April, 1954

  My Dear Darlene,

  I am truly sorry that my lasting memory of you is that last morning when you refused to meet my eyes and continued to accuse the Reverend of unspeakable acts. I imagine you are showing. I do hope you are being given milk and are looking after yourself. I understand there are good teachers there and I hope you are keeping up with your homework so when you come home you will not be behind.

  I do love you, daughter.

  Love, Mother

  April, 1954

  Dear Darlene,

  Mother wouldn’t give me your address. She seems to think you have to write to me first, but I copied it from an envelope when she wasn’t watching. I miss you. I love you so much. When are you coming home?

  Love xoxoxoxo Marion

  May, 1954

  Dear Darlene

  Mrs. Cunningham has died. A blessing, really, she was not at all well for the past th
ree months and suffering greatly. I made salmon sandwiches for the funeral tea but used only one tin of fish and much mayonnaise to bulk it out. I spent the housekeeping money your father gave me on two tins, however, and am enclosing the other as I know it is a favourite food of yours. I miss you my dear, and hope you will forgive my anger of those last weeks you were here.

  I hope you are well and not suffering too much from ills and pains.

  Love, Mother

  June, 1954

  Dear Darlene,

  I am sure you are as glad as I am that winter is over and spring has finally arrived. Has a new home for your baby been arranged? If it is too painful for you to speak of this, I shall never mention it again.

  Love, Mother

  July, 1954

  My Dear Darlene,

  I am calculating that you’ll be delivered of your baby this week or next and I hope you will arrive home soon after. I am enclosing a new dress for you as I’m sure you need a summer weight outfit.

  Love, Mother

  July, 1954

  Dearest Darlene,

  Please don’t scold me for being a sneak, but Mother and Father started arguing the other night (something to do with the Reverend and how much tithe they pay the church) and went to their room (do they think I can’t hear them?) and Mother had left her letter to you on the kitchen table. Well, it was in the envelope, but unsealed, so I opened it and read it.

  A baby!

  I didn’t know you could have a baby before you got married, but Tessa has set me straight and now I feel like such a dolt. I don’t know how you can give up your baby. Maybe you won’t, but I bet you won’t come home either. Tessa says you can write to me care of her address - see below - and then Mother and Father won’t know that we’re corresponding. Please write to me. I miss you so.

  Love, Marion xoxoxox

  p. s. I don’t care that the Reverend has excommunicated you. He asked me to help him check for sores on his body (signs of God’s displeasure at his congregation’s actions, he said) after church last week and the bits of his body I had to check, all covered with white pus, smelled vile.

  August, 1954

  Dear Darlene,

  I had the Doctor contact the home as I am no longer allowed to, your having turned eighteen. He has given me the news of the stillbirth. I hope you believe me when I tell you how truly sorry I am. Many people might think it is all for the best. I understand that it has affected your mind, and that you are staying on at the home to recover your stability. Know that I love you and wish for you only happiness and peace in your life. I do hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me and send me a note acknowledging some feelings you have for me. As a token of my love for you, I am sending you your grandmother’s locket which you always loved so much.

  Love, Mother

  September, 1954

  Dearest Darlene,

  Every day I ask Tess if she has heard from you and every day she has to tell me no. The Reverend has asked me to be his Special Helper for the next Tent Revival Meeting. I suppose I have to say yes, even though I don’t want to. I can’t talk to Mother about this - I need my big sister here. Please write to me.

  Love, Marion xoxoxoxox

  October, 1954

  Dear Darlene,

  Every time I read about the influenza outbreak in Toronto I think of you and worry. Doctor Scott has left the town and I am at a loss of how to contact you other than at this address. I do hope you will reconsider and come home.

  Love, your Mother

  October, 1954

  Darlene, my Child of Christ,

  You must understand that I cannot forgive you for having broken our pact of silence because God Himself cannot forgive you. But I am concerned that you have forsaken your family. I do implore you to contact your mother, though I have told her that I fear you may have turned to sin in Toronto. With continued prayers,

  Reverend Thomas

  November, 1954

  Dearest Darlene,

  The Reverend told me God will smite you down if I tell anyone of the sins I have performed with him. I do not understand why he speaks of my sins as he was the one who held me down behind the tent and did those things. He says I dressed provocatively and made him do things for which he is ashamed, but the next day when I wore my most modest dress, he did the same. Do not worry, I will tell no one.

  Love, Marion xoxoxoxox

  December, 1954

  Dear Darlene,

  I do not expect you can ever forgive me or your father. We now know that what you said was true. Your sister Marion has faced the same horrors at the hands of that evil man. I pray she will recover.

  I beg of you to forgive us both. We know you spoke the truth.

  We have left the church.

  With humble apologies,

  and much love,

  your Mother

  January, 1955

  Dearest Darlene,

  You can come home now. It is safe. That man has left. He made a mistake when he tried to threaten Tessa. She told her father, and had proof of what he had done to her.

  I have asked her father to find you, and he has promised to do all he can. It is difficult, he says, because it was that horrible man who recommended to Doctor Scott the home you be sent to, and Doctor Scott is no longer living here. But I beg you, if you are reading this letter and have any feelings left for your family, come home.

  Love, Marion xoxoxoxox

  March 15, 1975

  To Whom This May Concern

  In the month of January 1954, my sister, Darlene Roberts, was sent to a home for unwed mothers in southern Ontario. I have no more details than that. I wonder, please, if you could check your records and see if she spent any time at City Psychiatric? I am aware that this is not - and never was - a home for unwed mothers, but as you are no doubt aware there was some confusion at that time in our history. It is a matter of urgency that I trace her movements in an effort to find her, as our mother is dying and her last wish is to see Darlene. Any help you could give me in this matter would be very much appreciated.

  Yours sincerely,

  Marion Roberts

  ***

  To:

  From:

  Subject: City Psychiatric Basement

  Sent: 5/05/09 15:53

  Level: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

  If this is made public there will be demand for financial reparation made to victims’ families. Rough estimate: 72 lockers containing letters. 394 individual pieces of luggage containing personal items. 6,829 boxes containing letters, parcels.

  To:

  From:

  Subject: City Psychiatric Basement

  Sent: 5/05/09 15:54

  Level: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

  Parcels?

  To:

  From:

  Subject: City Psychiatric Basement

  Sent: 5/05/09 15:57

  Level: HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

  Parcels. Care packages. Knitted gloves, Bibles, tinned foodstuffs, photographs, toiletry items, gift-wrapped boxes. We haven’t started an inventory as we’re awaiting further directions. Clearly there is historical value to many of the documents and possibly financial worth to such things as postage stamps. But it has been suggested that disposing of it all will be the more prudent course of action.

  Secrets of City Psychiatric

  By H. S. Edwards

  Opinion

  May 6 2009

  Few people would miss the irony that old ‘Toronto Insane Asylum’ (later the ‘Hospital for Psychiatric Maladies and Nervous Disorders’) was slated for demolition during this city’s Mental Health Week celebrations. And while there is much to celebrate about present-day treatment for people suffering from mental health issues, we have a long way to go. In a leaked memo from one of our city councillors, it was clear that there was an unfortunate mess that needed to be disposed of. A haunted basement. Haunted, not by ghosts of those people mistreated by the psychiatric system in the past, but by the ghosts of equally mistreated
families of those victims.

  In the basement, bricked-over decades ago, the demolition team found lockers, luggage, and boxes of letters and parcels addressed to patients. They had never been opened, never been delivered, never been read, or worn, or enjoyed.

  It makes me angry. It should make us all angry. I have read only forty-one of them, but each one broke my heart. Families, spouses, children were denied all contact with the ‘inmates’ as they were known until the late 1950s. These letters and parcels were their only means of contact, and that contact was never made. They contained news of weddings, births, deaths. Hope. Love. Gifts. Stamps with writing paper, and angst-filled pleas for a reply. And what did our elected city councillor want to do when this discovery was made? Trace the owners or their descendants and return the items along with an apology? No. He voted to burn the evidence and pretend this had never happened, that this discovery had never been made, demonstrating, implicitly, that these people and their families never mattered a damn. (continues, page 2)

  Whale Song

  Spring came late to this part of northeastern Ontario. Bea stood at the winter parking spot, the top end of the lane that led down the hill to her childhood home, and looked through the jack, red and white pine forest to the lake, still frozen save for a small patch of black about two miles out, and closer, to the house, with its welcoming lights and the smell of woodsmoke. She couldn’t see, but imagined the scene: her father at the kitchen table, the papers in front of him covered with mathematical equations worked out in his black pen, and her mother at the stove. The afternoon air, cold enough to freeze the hairs in her nose as she breathed in, was heavy with spruce sap, but not yet any scent of an awakening undergrowth. Still, she knelt and searched the snow, dirty with pine needles, for any hint of the first of the trailing arbutus. But it was still several feet deep and there wasn’t even the tiniest sign of green poking up from the forest floor. She stood, slung her backpack over her shoulder and started down the lane. She took a deep breath. Home.

  When she slid open the thick glass door her father looked up, smiled and got to his feet, and her mother reached for the cord of the stainless steel kettle. The same kettle that has always lived just there, to cover a stain on the laminate countertop; a wedding gift, repaired several times over, but never replaced. As a teenager Bea had dreamed of a house full of modern, bright, new things - now she kicked off her boots on to the knurled coir mat and ran her hand over the table where she’d eaten and drawn and done her homework and played Scrabble for the first eighteen years of her life. “Mum. Dad.” She noticed the time it took for her mother to walk the short distance across the kitchen, her hand on her hip, and she noticed too her father’s stooped back.