Exiles from the War

by Jean Little

  Then, halfway home, we realized she was not with us. When we turned to look for her she was half a block behind us, sitting on the sidewalk and playing with a Scottie puppy a woman had out for a walk.

  Sam told us very fast that they had had to leave their dog with their grandparents in Coventry. They gave Jane the puppy for her birthday a year ago, before they knew she would have to come to Canada. They said they would keep him for her until she comes back. Jane misses him a lot. He is a Scottie called Skipper. Sure enough, when Jane came running to catch up, she was rubbing away tears. Nobody said a word, but Mother held her hand the rest of the way.

  I have decided to make lists of all the words we use differently. I won’t do it all at once but will add more as I learn them. Some I already know, of course, from reading British books.

  I’ll get Jane to tell me any she notices. She has already told me a couple.

  British words/Canadian words

  frock: dress

  jumper: pullover sweater

  plaster: bandage (it is short for “sticking plaster”)

  ice lolly: popsicle

  vest: undershirt

  There, that’s a start.

  After supper

  An airplane flew over this morning when we were on our way home from the park, and Sam and Jane stopped dead and stared up at it.

  Then she said, “Is it one of ours?”

  “Of course,” Sam said. “No enemy planes would fly over Canada, Goosie.”

  The very idea of German planes ever flying over Guelph shocked me so that I could not think of anything to say. I’ve heard of people having water on the brain. I felt as though I had ice water on the knees for a few seconds. Everything about the War has always seemed so far away and unreal. But it has not been that way for Jane and Sam. And they have brought the horror of it with them. They have gas masks and, at school, they had air-raid drills, practice ones, so they would know what to do if the bombing started.

  When I noticed planes before, I was interested, never afraid. Now they are menacing even though I know we don’t have any bombers flying over.

  Strangest of all is how I shiver and, a few minutes later, I have forgotten the War is still going on. When I remember, it makes me feel heartless. I wonder if the Brownings forget. I think they must, but not as quickly as I do. I’ll bet Jane is forever wondering about her dog.

  Bedtime

  A few minutes ago, when Dad said we must turn off the radio and get to bed, Jane said, “But not the lights. In Canada, you leave on the lights. It was so lovely when we first saw. We could scarcely believe it.”

  We stared at her until Sam told us how amazed they were when they got to Canada and night came and there was no blackout. Where they live, if there isn’t a moon, you can’t see anything because there is no light showing from any windows, and no street lights either. If you absolutely have to go out, you carry a “torch.” That was what Jane said and I thought, at first, she meant a fiery torch like the ones they have in books, but she meant a flashlight. You put your hand half over the beam to keep it from showing and, if planes should come, you turn it off fast.

  “What if there’s a moon?” I asked.

  “My father calls a full moon a bomber’s moon,” Sam said in a low voice and Jane shuddered.

  “The moonlight might help them see where to drop their bombs,” Sam went on, as if I had not enough sense to figure that out for myself.

  I love looking at the full moon and it is always in love songs and poems. It is sad to think of people being afraid of its light.

  Jane asked me where my grandparents lived. Her father’s parents are dead and her mother’s are the ones who live in Coventry. They are the ones looking after Jane’s dog. That is where their mother was brought up. I explained that Mother’s mother died when I was six and her father died before I was even born. Grandma Twiss died last summer and now Grandpa lives with Aunt Carrie. Poor old Grandpa!

  “My grandpa is my best friend,” Jane told me very seriously. “He gave me Skip, you know. We visit in the holidays. He must be missing me a lot.” Then she said, “He promised to keep petting Skip for me. And he said he would write and tell me about how Skip is. But he hasn’t done it.”

  Her voice shook. I thought she would burst into tears.

  I said there has not been time for a letter to get to us yet. She said she would write to him tonight and she cheered up.

  Saturday, July 13, 1940

  After supper

  At breakfast, Sam asked Jane if she had noticed the French on the money and Jane pointed out that she has no money.

  “Saturday is our day for giving out allowances,” Dad said, quick as a wink. “I’ll make sure you get money with French on it.” He was partly joking, of course. All our money has French on it. Jane was so pleased. Sam looked a bit worried until Dad said he’d had the allowance ready to give them all along. And I said it really was allowance day.

  Their money has all different words too but you can’t put them side by side because it is too different. We have dimes and nickels and quarters and they have shillings and pence and pounds but nothing comes out the same. Sam thinks a shilling is about twenty cents but he didn’t seem sure. I like the words like “tuppence” and “ha’penny.” They sound like words in a book.

  Now Mother and the WGs are sorting through their belongings and I actually feel like writing in you, dear Diary, while I am by myself. One of the good things about a diary is that you can write down your innermost feelings, even the ones you are ashamed of, and nobody will know. I am supposed to like the WGs and I mostly do, Diary, but every so often I wish they had not come. The house feels crowded and you never have a chance to talk just to Mother without somebody else listening or butting in. She seems busy with them all the time too. They aren’t babies, but she treats them as if they are.

  Eleanor also pays far more attention to them than she does to her own sister. I guess she is trying to make them feel at home, but she goes overboard.

  Sometimes I feel invisible, Diary. Dad is up at the college so much that I have hardly any time alone with him either. He has extra work with all his projects at the experimental farm, because so many students have enlisted. He is a soil scientist. I don’t know exactly what he does but I’ve heard Mother telling him he must get more help. He does seem to be home a bit more since the WGs came though. I wonder if it is because Sam is a boy and Dad thinks he needs a man to take his father’s place or something. I know Dad misses George.

  Jane has not moved in with me yet, but I think she will soon. Sam spends time riding George’s old bike around the neighbourhood, although he has to concentrate on not riding on the right side of the road. That is funny. I just realized that in his mind, on the road, right is wrong.

  I took Jane and Sam to the library this morning and got them library cards. When Miss Walters told them they could get out two blue-card books or one blue-card and one white-card, they could not understand why. White cards are the fiction ones. I get three because I have borrowed George and Eleanor’s cards. I don’t like the blue-card ones. They are full of facts — history and science and stuff. Jane did not want blue cards either, but Sam said some were good and he found one about airplanes and one about dogs. Jane and I got four Oz books. I am reading my way through them all in order.

  When they had to sign their names in the book, Jane dipped the pen nib in the ink perfectly but didn’t let the extra ink drip before she tried to write with it. She stared at the blot she’d made and went red as fire. She nearly cried but Miss Walters turned the pages back and showed her that lots of other children had done the same thing. I think maybe I did, but I kept quiet about it.

  We all joined the Summer Reading Club. There’s going to be a prize for the child who reads the most books. You could win it easily if you just read all the skinny ones, but I like thick ones better. I wish the prize was a book.

  Just before supper, Dad put on the hose and we got into our bathing suits and ran through
the water. Robbie came over and then John from farther up the street and the twins Elsie and Norma — they are younger than Jane, but they are a bit prissy. They screech and flap their hands whenever the spray gets close to them. Their mother calls them home when she hears them squealing.

  I am doing my best to enjoy having Sam and Jane here even though I do wish Jane was older. I think they are homesick, but they don’t say so. Maybe they forget, when things are happening. Maybe they are doing their best to enjoy being here even though it is not easy for them either. Maybe they are hiding innermost feelings too.

  I do wish people would stop forever asking them how their family is and how they are liking Canada. It happens wherever we go. Jane and Sam are always polite, but it is tough because it just reminds them of their families and then they get lonelier.

  Today the kids told us they were surprised not to see Mounties riding around everywhere. They thought Mounties were the regular policemen in Canada. Jane said she was looking forward to maybe even speaking to one. I felt we had let them down, but it was funny too. I’ve hardly ever seen one myself. I think they work more out west and in the North West Territories. But I am not sure.

  Sunday, July 14, 1940

  I had to stand up in Sunday School this afternoon and introduce Jane and Sam. It should have been a snap but it wasn’t. My face went red as a beet. So did Sam’s. Jane beamed at everyone.

  After supper

  Aunt Carrie came for tea and told us about a soldier bringing a bird to the canteen where she was passing out sandwiches. He had bought it because he was lonely, but now he is shipping out and the Army says he cannot keep it. They told him to wring its neck or let it go free, but he couldn’t.

  “What did he do with it?” Jane asked, looking very anxious.

  Aunt Carrie stared out the window and muttered, “He gave it to me. I was going to bring it to you, but Father took a fancy to it so we are keeping it. Its name is Winnie.”

  We could not believe our ears.

  After supper, we went over to see Winnie. He is named after Winston Churchill. He is very cute. He looked at Mother and said, “Hubba, hubba.” That was the first time I heard Jane really laugh.

  Monday, July 15, 1940

  Dad took Sam to the barbershop today because his hair is growing right down into his eyes. We expected him to come home with short hair, maybe even a brush cut like the soldiers. But it was only trimmed about half an inch. When the barber asked him how short he wanted it, Sam said they mustn’t make it too short or his mother would not know him. Dad promised to take a picture for him to send to England. Mother has trimmed Jane’s bangs and Dad went out to get a new film so he can take pictures of both of them and of us and our house so they could mail them home.

  “We should get two sets in case of torpedoes,” Sam said.

  There was a funny silence and then Dad said he would be sure to take two sets and send them on separate days to be certain they would reach England safely.

  Then, all of a sudden, Jane started telling us about lifeboat drills. She talked faster and faster and finally Mother pulled her onto her lap and said, “Easy does it, Janie. It’s over now.” And when Jane started sucking her thumb, Mother did not pull it out of her mouth.

  Then Dad came back and began to snap away with his Brownie camera and Jane stopped looking queer. He used up two whole films and went right down to the drugstore to get the developing started. The pictures should be ready next week.

  Mother produced a surprise for Sam and Jane. She had found a jar of something called Marmite to spread on their bread instead of peanut butter. They smiled and smiled. They made me try it. Diary, I think it tastes disgusting. Well, maybe not quite that bad, but definitely strange. It has a horrid smell. I said I did not see why the kids thought it was good.

  “It tastes like home to you, doesn’t it, Jane?” Mother said, smiling at my expression.

  What would taste like home to me if I were sent to England? Corn on the cob? We had it last night for supper and the WGs had never had it before. Can you believe that, dear Diary? They had never once eaten a cob of corn. They call it maize and feed it to animals. They liked it though, once they got over being surprised.

  Maybe johnnycake with maple syrup is a taste of home for me. They don’t have maple syrup in England. They have treacle and something called “golden syrup.” Treacle is a strange word. It sounds as though it trickles but Jane says not.

  Tuesday, July 16, 1940

  Jane’s bedtime

  Today Jane moved her things into my room. Now she is in the other twin bed. I came to bed early to keep her company on this first night away from Sam. She looks small and as if she is trying not to cry. I don’t know what to do. She is staring at me while I write this. I am sure she feels terribly homesick, but I can’t think how to help!

  Later

  I was inspired all at once. I got up and got my music box. It is very nice to listen to while you are going to sleep. It plays “Lullaby and Good Night” over and over until it winds down.

  It is working! Jane is smiling, though she still looks a bit misty. I’ll turn out the light and we can both listen. The hall light is shining through the open door. That’ll help.

  Wednesday, July 17, 1940

  In the middle of the night Jane had a bad dream and wanted Sam, but after he came, she had a drink of milk and asked me to turn on the music again and she stayed. She is brave. Well, I knew that, of course. As their father said, the bravest of the brave! But she must long for her mother to come to her instead of mine. I have seen her mother’s picture. She is shorter than Mother and much fatter, with glasses and curly hair. I bet she gives good hugs, sort of warm and squishy.

  I would like Mother’s better, even if you can feel her bones. I can remember sitting on her lap though and she did not feel too boney then. Far nicer than Aunt Carrie, who is fat.

  Just a month ago today it was my birthday and Mother told us about the War Guests coming, and now it seems as though they have been here forever.

  Mother and Dad are talking about all of us going away for a week’s holiday in Muskoka. I have been to Muskoka before. It was great. I was telling Jane and she said, “Is it like the seashore or the Lake District?” I guess the right answer is the place with lakes. There is no sea in Ontario. But maybe Lake Ontario and Lake Huron look like oceans. You can’t see across to the other side. But the waves are not so big and they are not salty.

  Dad and Sam keep discussing the fighter planes and the likelihood of bombing. I guess Dad is trying to be truthful about what is happening, but I hate hearing about it. They train some of the pilots here in Canada. I hope George does not get caught up in it and decide he has to join up. I think it might kill Mother.

  I wonder if she thinks about this. She must. But she does not speak a word about it.

  Thursday night, July 18, 1940

  We are going to a lodge on Three Mile Lake. Dad chose it because we sleep in a cabin there but eat in the main lodge and Mother will not have to cook. Lizby is going to Aunt Carrie’s.

  I go around singing, “Blue lake and rocky shore, I will return once more.” Jane sings along. She says they sang it at her cousin’s Girl Guide camp. She says her cousin knows all our songs. Sam won’t sing a note.

  “Father hardly ever sings either,” Jane told me. Then she looked away and muttered, “Except for just before we left. He kept singing ‘Rule Britannia’ and ‘Bless ’Em All.’”

  I did not know what to say so I kept quiet. My father sings a lot, especially in the shower or when we are all going somewhere in the car. He likes making fun of songs that are supposed to be serious, like “Annie Laurie.”

  Friday night, July 19, 1940

  I got a postcard from Barbara with a picture of the lodge at her camp on it. It is big and made of logs. It says, Dear Charlotte, I am having fun. Hope you are too. Love, Barbara Steiner.

  As if I wouldn’t know who “Barbara” was!

  I was going to write back to her,
and Mother suggested I send her a parcel instead. She said getting mail at camp is important. She was already packing up a box to send to the Brownings, so she helped me. Jane watched and made comments. I sent Barbara a new movie magazine, two packages of Lifesavers, some toffee and a little horoscope book so she can tell fortunes. Mother had meant to give it to me on my birthday, but forgot. The box for the Brownings was much heavier. It had a tinned ham in it and cheese and homemade candy and some maple sugar to show it is from Canada. Both the WGs were pleased.

  Soon we will have the pictures Dad took and we’ll send those too.

  I think Barbara will be pleased and very surprised!

  We had fresh berries for supper and Sam asked for clotted cream. It sounds horrible to me, but Jane licked her lips at the very thought. Mother said she could whip some cream, but it would not be the same.

  It was so hot that Dad turned on the hose for us after supper again. Eleanor started by saying she was too old, but Jane coaxed her until she gave in. You should have heard her screech, dear Diary. You would never think she is almost an adult.

  Some more British expressions

  torch: flashlight

  treacle: syrup

  maize: corn

  Marmite: no word for it

  clotted cream: certainly not like whipped cream (another British food that sounds awful although Mother says I would love it)

  Saturday night, July 20, 1940

  Today the bunch of us got playing that we were putting on a circus. Then the boys ran away and we could not go on with it. They were horrible. Jane was even mad at Saint Samuel.