by Jean Little
What happens to the animals in zoos? They are trapped in cages and can’t escape. I had a hard time not talking about this.
George is home and he got so upset over the news that he began shouting about how terrible it all was. Finally Dad took him into his study. My dumb brother was as bad as the minister. Sam was not there to hear him, but Jane started to cry.
Tuesday, September 10, 1940
They are still bombing London. They call it the Blitz. It comes from the German word blitzkrieg. I don’t know what it means exactly and it is not in my dictionary.
George will soon be finished at the farm. Then he will go to university. I wish he did not have to leave again so soon.
Jane and I are practising our song for the concert. Pixie keeps coming into our room and joining in — always off tune.
I dreamt about the bombing, and animals running through fire. I woke up crying. Thank goodness Jane slept through this. I don’t know what I would have told her when she asked what was wrong.
Wednesday, September 11, 1940
I went to my first CGIT meeting tonight. I had to explain to Jane that CGIT means Canadian Girls in Training. They just have Girl Guides in England. I wore Eleanor’s old middy and felt proud that I looked right. I already knew the Purpose too. From now on, I promised to “Cherish Health, Seek Truth, Know God and Serve Others.” It was lots of fun. We played games and had a singsong, and the leaders, Miss Walton and Mrs. Jones, led us in a worship service. I met a girl there who seems like a friend already although she goes to Victory. Her name is Beth Fielding.
Thursday, September 12, 1940
Aunt Carrie came over with a couple of her friends. When they heard Pixie singing with us one of them declared she was “so cunning” and we must make it a trio instead of a duet. The other woman agreed. Nobody seemed to notice that the cunning child sings off-key. Nobody asked me what I thought.
We have to dress in red, white and blue and they said Pixie could hold up the Union Jack. I offered to hold up the Canadian flag.
“You don’t quite understand, Charleen,” one of them said.
I told her my name was Charlotte, not Charleen, and almost walked out. Pixie not only sings off-key but she forgets the words.
Then the same woman asked the other one if she didn’t think the two smaller girls made an adorable picture by themselves. The other one murmured something but then Aunt Carrie said firmly, “Charlotte and Jane carry the melody. If the two of them were not strong singers, nobody would hear Penelope.”
Aunt Carrie called me a strong singer! I almost fainted from the shock. Thank you, Aunt Carrie.
Friday, September 13, 1940
I got interrupted last night so did not finish what I was writing. After Aunt C’s friends left, Mother said, “Carrie’s right. You are the one who carries the tune. Without you, the other two would be lost. What’s more, you sound as though you mean every word. You sing with your whole heart and you make me cry, Charlotte Mary.”
Aunt Carrie nodded. “I don’t know why, but you make me see that little cottage beside the country lane and … well, your mother’s right. You sing as though you mean it, as though you’ve been there.”
I didn’t tell her but, when I sing that bit, I always picture the cottage where Martha and Dickon and their mother live in The Secret Garden. I have been there, in my mind.
Saturday, September 14, 1940
Too nervous to write. I wonder how many people will come. We had to practise “Bless ’Em All” too, in case they want an encore. I asked how we would know, and Mother said if they kept clapping. Sam promised Jane he would clap like crazy even if he was the only one.
Sunday, September 15, 1940
We did it! And they did want an encore. We sang at three o’clock, right after a pipe band played “Scotland the Brave.” They clapped so hard Sam did not have to keep them going. There were hordes of people. Well, at least fifty. Pixie waved her flag so wildly she hit poor Jane on the ear. But Mother said she was proud of all three of us.
It was nerve-wracking though. I do not want to be a famous singer or actress. I would soon have no fingernails left.
Bedtime
After the concert we went for a family walk and collected milkweed pods for The Cause. They are used, they say, to stuff lifejackets. I am not sure this is true. But we came home with five bags full. It is hard to believe a sailor might be in the ocean wearing a lifejacket filled with milkweed silk from here.
I have known people to collect stamps and butterflies and old coins, but only in wartime do you collect milkweed pods, scrap paper and flattened tin cans.
Monday, September 16, 1940
Nothing to report today, dear Diary, except that Miss McColl told me we sang superbly.
I am teaching the WG kids Canadian songs. They know “O Canada,” of course. I thought about teaching them “Land of Hope and Glory,” but I went over the words and it is not about Canada but about England. Sam already knows it. We know a lot of British songs, when you come to think about it. Last year we learned “Do You Ken John Peel?” and “Flow Gently, Sweet Afton” at school. I taught them “The Maple Leaf Forever” and “Land of the Silver Birch.”
Tuesday, September 17, 1940
George has registered at U of T but he came home again to get stuff for his room in residence. He has the blue and white streamers and a big pennant, and you should hear him singing “Toronto is our University!”
Sometimes he is so nice. He sat next to Jane after supper and drew whatever she asked for. A cow, a leaping deer, a flying dragon. He can draw anything! He always puts in funny bits, which she loves. Jane Browning is not the only one with a good brother.
Wednesday, September 18, 1940
Totally boring day. Jane fell off her bike but she did not hurt herself. She had to swerve fast because she did not see a car turning. The man in the car swore at her though, and made her cry. Some people are horrible.
Thursday, September 19, 1940
Dad is teaching me to play cribbage. He will not play it on Sundays. His mother called playing cards “the Devil’s notebook.” Mother says it is because people use playing cards to gamble.
Had johnnycake for supper. I am glad maple syrup is not scarce.
Friday, September 20, 1940
Jane has been vanishing into the toolshed and today we found out why. She had a cat hidden away out there, a most peculiar stray. Mother noticed food disappearing first. Jane wept buckets until Mother said we could keep the cat if she settles down. Jane wanted her to sleep in our room but Mother said no, so Britty sleeps in the basement.
We thought Jane was calling her “Pretty,” but it turns out Britty is short for Britannia. Britty Kitty. When Sam laughed, Jane was outraged. But she forgave him when Britty rubbed against his ankles and purred.
The school nurse tested our eyes last week and sent home a note to say she thinks Jane needs glasses. Mother took her to the eye doctor and the nurse was right. Glasses are on order for Jane Browning. I thought she would be upset, but she is not. Her mother wears glasses and so does her cousin Hilary. Jane can hardly wait until they are ready.
Saturday, September 21, 1940
We went to Monkey Bridge and had a picnic. Yum. We made dampers out of tea biscuit which you cook over the fire. Then, when they get brown and puffy, you pull them off the stick and fill the hole with butter and jam. They are not easy to get right but they are delicious. Sam and Robbie came. It was a bit strange but fun. Usually George is the one who builds the fire, but we managed.
Sunday, September 22, 1940
I am too tired to write. Besides, I want to read instead. Sorry, Diary.
Monday, September 23, 1940
Another totally boring day. I messed up my Math test and got 13 out of 100. They are going to get me a tutor, they say. I DO NOT WANT A TUTOR. I guess I will have to study and not just copy Barbara’s homework.
Barbara is so pleased with herself when she gets every answer right. She has never faile
d or even done poorly on any test. I think this is bad for her character. It makes her smug.
I must remember to get a Current Event out of the paper tomorrow. I keep forgetting. I would ask Dad to help but he’d make me take a dozen.
Wednesday, September 25, 1940
I can hardly bear to write this. It is by far the worst thing yet. Today we heard that a ship called the City of Benares, which was bringing more British children to Canada, was sunk and a lot of the people were drowned. It happened a week ago, but was only in the news today. More than eighty children died! It sounded like Jane’s nightmare about being lost on the ship, only it was not a dream. It was real. Every time I remember, I feel sick. I wish I could not see it in my mind.
George came in looking white and furious and so sad. He started in on the ship sinking. When Jane burst into tears, he went out the door with a bang and he has not come home. Where is he? Mother and Dad look sick with worry.
After midnight, September 26, I guess
He came in at last. I heard the front door shut. George never can shut a door quietly. And then I heard voices so I crept halfway down to listen. I think George has enlisted. I am not positive. I didn’t dare stay on the stairs once I heard Mother start to cry. But now I definitely cannot sleep, so I thought I would prop up the flashlight and tell you, dear Diary.
This is history happening. George does not seem grown-up enough though to go off to war and help make history.
Jane will wake up if I don’t turn off the flashlight. I feel as though I won’t sleep but I probably will.
Still Thursday, September 26, 1940
George enlisted in the Navy. He said he was not the only man there who had not intended to enlist until he was through school, but had to go after reading about the children who died when the City of Benares sank. He said he also could not stop thinking about the Blitz.
Mother keeps crying. It is strange. She will cry reading a sad book, but she hardly ever cries about real things that are happening. She just gets busy trying to help. But George signing up to go into danger is different. He’s still barely eighteen.
When Mother was in tears at breakfast, Jane went over and hugged her. It gave me a queer feeling. She is my mother, not Jane’s. I almost went and shoved her away, but then Mother looked over at me. I could tell she knew how I was feeling. She wiped her eyes, hugged Jane back and then blew me a kiss. How can she always know?
George will be in uniform soon and marching in parades maybe and training and then going to sea. That sounds totally unreal. I feel proud of him and afraid for him. I can’t believe though that anything really bad could happen to Georgie-porgie. Mother calls him the Artful Dodger because he can always duck out of trouble. But the sea is filled with German warships and submarines.
I wish he had flat feet.
Friday, September 27, 1940
Mother has given up knitting for soldiers overseas and is busy preparing things for George. He will have the best socks of any sailor.
Barbara’s cousin Daniel, the one in the Air Force, has written to her. He sounds more like a tourist than a bomber pilot. He tells about going to see Buckingham Palace and Kew Gardens. He has been to see Charles Dickens’ house. I can’t imagine George doing that. But George will be at sea. Barbara says Dan is like a big brother to her. He is nice, but a real big brother matters more.
Saturday, September 28, 1940
They found some survivors in a lifeboat from the City of Benares. BUT SO MANY DIED.
The strange thing is that, after a few minutes I forget, and there I am laughing at Dagwood or at something Jane says. I feel so guilty I can’t keep laughing. But if I start thinking about how it must have been for those children when they were plunged into the sea, I can’t sleep. Even at school, it haunts me.
Yet it also seems unreal an hour later. Mother says we could not bear living if we had to realize all people’s suffering all the time. We would crumble under the weight of it and be no use to anyone. I know she is right, but I also know she has trouble sleeping herself sometimes. She goes downstairs and makes herself a cup of tea. In the morning, I see the cup upside down on the drainboard and know.
Monday, September 30, 1940
George has his Navy uniform. He looks too splendid to be George, except for the ears. He has gone to the base now for his training. I would have joined the Air Force, but George says he has always wanted to see the world and you wouldn’t see much from the sky. I remembered then that bombers kill people and innocent animals. I think George couldn’t do that. There won’t be dogs or babies at sea, just submarines.
Jane and I go around singing “All the Nice Girls Love a Sailor.” Mother taught it to us.
When George left, he refused to allow us all to come to the station to see him off. We had to say goodbye at home. He was sure we would embarrass him by making a scene. He lined us up to be kissed and told us we could cry when he actually went to sea. We were laughing by the time he and Dad left.
Sometimes laughing feels like crying.
October 1940
Tuesday, October 1, 1940
Every night, after I turn out the light, I sing Jane a lullaby. Then I start the music box. She gets upset if I try to escape without singing. She’s a good little kid. I am sure glad she was sent to us and not Pixie. P is not so bad but Jane feels like my sister now.
Wednesday, October 2, 1940
A letter came today from Mrs. Browning to Mother and Mrs. Bennett. She said she had felt badly about sending the children away but now she knows she did the right thing. There was an air raid and a bomb fell on their house. It went right through Sam’s bedroom ceiling. The rest of the house is okay but his room was in a built-on bit at the back. Nobody was hurt but the bomb destroyed everything of Sam’s. She said that Sam would have been killed for sure if he had been in his bed. I thank God and you that my children are safe even though I do miss them so, she wrote.
I felt really queer when Mother stopped reading. She passed the letter to Sam and he read it over and over. He looked pale. I have never noticed anyone actually going white like that, but Sam did.
Then Jane said, “Your planes …! Oh, Sam, your planes!”
And Sam ran out of the house and did not come back for ages. Jane explained that, in his bedroom, Sam had a whole fleet of model planes he had made. They hung from the ceiling on threads. Each one was different. He was extremely proud of them. I suppose he must have thought of them right away. Poor Sam. Now I know why he is always checking the paper for news of the RAF pilots.
But what a lucky escape too. That is what Dad said. And Sam can make new models.
Later
I told Jane we should get Sam a model to start on a new collection. She stared at me as though I had said we ought to adopt a giraffe.
“They weren’t just any models,” she said. Then she explained that he made his first one when he was just seven. Their grandfather helped but Sam actually did it. He spent ages on each one. No two are the same. “You don’t understand, Charlotte,” she finished up. “They don’t do things like that here in Canada.”
Some do. But nobody in our family ever did. Those planes must have taken hours and hours of Sam’s life. Days. New ones will be nice, but never the same.
There is nothing that I have done that couldn’t be easily replaced. I don’t think I could ever stick at something that way. I am terrible at sewing. I can draw trees but not people or animals. And I’ve told you about my knitting.
Sam and I are planning to go out collecting old newspapers soon. Robbie might come too. That way we could fill two wagons. I am not sure what good they will be, but the authorities want them. Old metal too. All sorts of junk.
They even want bones! Those can be made into glue for airplanes. Aunt Carrie is actually collecting bones. Trust her.
Friday, October 4, 1940
The fall leaves are beautiful and Jane loves crunching through them. We raked up huge piles and jumped into them last night. Then I taught Jane
how to make them into a leaf house. She liked it a lot but had to get Pixie into the game as though it was her idea, not mine.
Do you know about leaf houses, Diary? You rake out square green rooms and hallways and you make piles of leaves for beds and things. Sometimes I get a real blanket and pillow because they make better beds than just leaves. Mother showed me how to make leaf houses when I was about Pixie’s age. She said her mother had shown her.
We’re going to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs tomorrow. I hope Jane likes it and is not too scared by the witch.
Barbara’s family is all upset about the French passing laws against Jews. I don’t understand why they would do this. People like the Steiners are perfectly fine people. I’ll have to ask Dad.
Saturday, October 5, 1940
We went to Snow White. Both Brownings and Robbie and Pixie and me without any adult! It made Sam and me seem like parents. That is what I felt anyway. I did not mention this to Sam.
I was glad when Mother said we could go, because the mail from England had made the kids homesick. When she said we could all go to the movie show, everyone cheered up. It was wonderful except that Jane was scared to death by the witch. I don’t blame her. She was terrifying. Lots of children cried when Snow White bit the apple. One little girl screamed at her, “Don’t eat it!” But Snow White went right ahead and bit into it. Jane put her head face down on my lap and I had to keep patting her back and saying “It’s only a story.” I sounded like my mother!