by Jean Little
The grown-ups are still discussing what to do about him. Terry’s father said he wishes Terry could be sent home. I could do with his help here, he said.
And he’ll want him more now they know about his brother.
Friday, January 3, 1941
Every time I write 1941, it surprises me.
We were tobogganing all afternoon. Terry forgot to be a grouch and had loads of fun. He ran over me with the toboggan once, but the snow was so deep I sank into it and was not hurt a bit. I think he was terrified he had killed me. When I stood up, covered with snow, he whooped with relief.
Tomorrow is the party. I hope it is really fun.
I especially hope it will make Terry feel better. Lately, he stays off by himself and hardly speaks to anyone. Sam gets him to come over to the Bennetts’ and they stay in his room with the door shut. Robbie listens but he says they don’t talk much. Sam lets Terry work with him on his model planes.
What will happen to him? Will he have a little fun at the party? I hope he doesn’t ruin it somehow.
Saturday, January 4, 1941
The Twelfth Night Party is right after supper. It is hard to think of going to a party when you are also thinking of Terry’s brother being a prisoner.
It feels like a tug-of-war. On one end of the rope is the Brownings being in danger, not knowing where George is, thinking of those Jewish children Barbara worries about, remembering the City of Benares sinking and Coventry Cathedral being bombed. The thought of so much danger and hurt pulls at me, dragging me over into sadness and worry. But on the other end of the rope are Britty and her kitten, good books to read, the poem Sam and I wrote, pulling Christmas crackers, and writing in you, dear Diary. These happy things drag me back to safety. Sometimes it feels as though I just catch my breath and then I am being hauled away again.
But tonight is the party! I’ll concentrate on that.
Bedtime
What a wonderful time we had! There was a big cake filled with good things we have not tasted in ages. Mrs. Bennett saved up and got people to donate dates and nuts and lots of butter and sugar. There was somebody dressed up as The Fool who went around playing little teasing tricks on people. He put an ice cube down my neck! We were told when we got there that nobody was to mention the War. It was a relief to hear no bad news all evening. We sang every verse of “Green Grow the Rushes-O” and I remembered all the words and never forgot where we were. I saw Terry sitting in the corner by the door, where he could get away if it got too bad, I guess, and he was singing! It was glorious sung by so many voices.
We all got small special presents. Jane’s was a tiny glass tea set almost too small for a doll to use. There are two cups, two saucers, a sugar bowl and a cream pitcher. They fit into a little cardboard box. Mine is a tiny deck of cards with pictures of birds on the backs. Mother says they are for playing Patience. Her mother had those tiny cards and she called the game Patience too, although nowadays we say Solitaire.
Jane says in England they still say “Patience.” Maybe I will add it to my word list.
The boys got whistles and little spinning tops that really spin.
Sunday, January 5, 1941
Somebody threw a rock through the Muellers’ store windows. It has happened before, but this time they have closed the shop, boarded up the windows and moved to Toronto, where they have relatives, I think. Mother went over the moment she heard, but they had already gone. She came back in tears and Eleanor had to get supper.
Terry hates the Germans enough to do something like that, but he is too happy to have done it this time. He is going home next week. His father and mine arranged it somehow. Even Terry’s pimples look happier. Sam is happier too. Terry was a big worry to him.
I asked Sam if he wished he was going home too and he said of course he did. Then he looked straight at me and said, “But only partly. I’m used to being here now. I’m learning to play hockey. Sometimes here feels more like home than there does.”
Then he turned and ran off as though he felt guilty for what he had said. He is caught in the tug-of-war even more than I am. Much more, I guess.
Jane told me that she is afraid she is forgetting her parents’ faces. I found the pictures her mother sent, but she says they do not look like themselves in black and white.
Later
I wonder if Robbie will be happy that Terry is going home. Sam will spend more time with him now. Terry treated Robbie the same way Barbara treated Jane and Pixie at first. Never mind. That’s all over.
Monday, January 6, 1941
School started today. It felt so strange with Mother setting out ahead of us. Oh well. It was fun to see everybody and we will begin going to CGIT again.
I hardly see Barbara over Christmas because her family does other things. I miss her. Sort of. More than sort of. But she was kept home today with a cold. Her mother fusses over her one and only child, just like Britty does with the kitten.
Tuesday, January 7, 1941
Nothing worth writing about. Terry is getting packed to go. School is full of homework. Barbara talks of nothing but her cousin Daniel who is in the Air Force. He could fly before the War started so now he is training pilots. They mostly come to Canada to be trained, she says. I like him but I get tired of her bragging about him as though winning the War is a sure thing with Daniel in charge.
We have heard not a word from George for ages. Now that he is probably at sea, it makes not hearing from him harder. But he did say he was cold so he must be in our hemisphere. Please, God, keep him safe.
I don’t talk to Barbara about him. I am afraid it might bring him bad luck. I know, Diary. That is dumb. But I am a bit dumb now and then.
Wednesday, January 8, 1941
Dad is always watching out for naval reports in the paper or on radio broadcasts but they don’t say much. We know there are German U-boats sliding along, searching for ships to sink. They could even come into the harbour at Halifax without being spotted. Our ships often sail in convoys around the big troop ships, trying to sink the German boats before they can break through.
A man Dad talked to sailed on one of the troop ships though. He told Dad it is fearsomely cold and the men suffer terribly from the frigid weather and the rough seas. They all have frostbite, he said. And some of our ships have been sunk! One German ship, the Bismarck, has sunk several already.
It is not good news, Diary. Why did he tell us? Mother looked sick.
I do not think Dad should repeat such things. She will picture George freezing to death on some icy deck. I know she will. Or even worse, of course, in the ocean.
If I remember this at bedtime, I will cry myself to sleep.
Why doesn’t George write? I’ll bet Mother starts knitting him thicker mittens and heavier socks.
Jane is besotted by Britty’s kitten. If she had had more, Mother would have taken them to the Humane Society. But one is possible — especially when we consider how Jane would cry her heart out if she had to say goodbye. She keeps changing his name. At the moment he is Butterball.
Friday, January 10, 1941
Terry has gone. He looked strange when he left. He was happy to be going but I think he had become fond of us, to his own surprise. And, dear Diary, I actually miss him! I would not have believed this was possible. But he got a lot nicer once he knew he was going home.
I hope no submarines are waiting out there while his ship sails across the sea. After all we read and heard about the City of Benares, I would be afraid to go.
Sam has not come over since Terry went. I bet he has that tug-of-war feeling. Jane is sucking her thumb again.
Saturday, January 11, 1941
I love Saturdays. It is so nice to be home all day and have Mother home too, even if she does have to plan lessons now. Jane snuggles up beside her on the chesterfield (Jane calls it a sofa) and Mother keeps one arm around her while she writes with the other.
Am I jealous, dear Diary?
Yes!
But Pixie is comin
g over this afternoon, which will remove Jane to their pretend games. I appreciate Pixie more than I used to. She is growing, for one thing. She is not so skinny and waifish. And she sounds much more Canadian.
Some more of my second language
jolly: very
Father Christmas: Santa Claus
headmaster: principal
Patience: Solitaire
wellies: rubber boots
mackintosh or mack: raincoat
row: argument or quarrel
jersey or jumper: both mean a pullover sweater
Sunday, January 12, 1941
We’ve been invited to go on a sleigh ride this afternoon. All the WGs and their Canadian families. Even Pixie’s auntie has agreed to come. I hope it will be lots of fun. Sam and Jane have never been on a sleigh ride, although they know “Jingle Bells.” I can hear Jane singing it downstairs.
“Bells on cocktails ring,” she sings. I will have to straighten her out before the boys hear her.
We are all staying home from Sunday School.
Home again, bedtime
I fell off twice but so did Sam. Eleanor slipped once but caught herself. It was really fun. The sleigh bells had belonged to Mr. Wigmore’s grandfather and had a wonderfully joyful sound ringing out over the snowy fields. He told us they had rung that way for nearly one hundred years.
Monday, January 13, 1941
We got a letter from George today. The censor let it go without much inking out, which is nice.
He is at sea. He doesn’t say where, of course, or tell us the name of his ship. The sea is so big. I bet it isn’t a sea but an ocean. He misses us. He has Eleanor’s and my pictures up in his locker and he said his friends say we look “smashing.” That does not sound like George. Will he come home changed? His best friend’s name is Bertie and he’s British.
I have made a vow to write more often. George seemed so lonely. He sounded like a man one minute and a boy the next. Mother has the letter in her apron pocket and, whenever she sits down, she reads it again.
Tuesday, January 14, 1941
Sam will be thirteen tomorrow. I got him two Hardy Boys books.
I have started writing more to George, Diary. I think I will skip writing to you sometimes when I write to him. Mother says she will keep me supplied with stamps.
We give half our allowance for War Savings Stamps. We had a big family meeting about this long ago and we all decided it was right. Sometimes I wish we had not made this decision, but back then it seemed great to be noble and give our own money to help.
Wednesday, January 15, 1941
Happy Birthday, Sam Browning. May your 14th year be great!
He liked the books and the cake Mrs. B made. We all went over there for the birthday supper. Great food! Quite a heap of presents! It helps to have two families when your birthday comes. He got a couple of complicated model kits from his grandpa. Jane said she had told him what Sam wanted. I’ll bet he knew without telling.
Thursday, January 16, 1941
I wrote to George last night. You have to use flimsy airmail paper that is strange. Your paper is much nicer, Diary. But I have nothing to say today except that the kitten who used to be Butterball is afraid of mice! Britty watched him see one and then back up. Then he rushed forward and made a giant pounce to show her that he knew what he was supposed to do. He totally missed the mouse, which ran off snickering. He is called Only now, short for The One and Only. Only seems to fit him.
Saturday, January 18, 1941
I wonder how long it will be before George realizes what a fabulous sister I am. It is not easy to write when I don’t know what he is doing. I just chatter away about the kitten and Pixie’s funny ways and what books I am reading.
Here’s a good example. Pixie’s front tooth came out and you will never guess what she did, Diary. She put it under Jane’s pillow instead of her own because she was sure her auntie did not know about the Tooth Fairy. It was a good thing that Jane told us, or the Tooth Fairy might not have come to our house either. I did not tell one time, and the Tooth Fairy never arrived. Mother blushed and said she could not imagine what that fairy had been up to. The next night, the money arrived with a small note in fairy-size writing. It said , So Sorry, T.F.
I think George will like hearing about this.
Wednesday, January 29, 1941
Lizby caught what Aunt Carrie calls The Grippe and Mother calls a Bad Cold. It was not pneumonia, but we were afraid it might turn into something really serious. So I was busy helping much more than usual. I didn’t have one minute to write in this diary until today. I actually think I have dishpan hands!
Eleanor might have helped more but she has a lot of homework since she is in Fifth Form.
February 1941
Sunday, February 2, 1941
Groundhog Day
I hope that groundhog does what he is supposed to and makes spring come quicker. I am already fed up with winter. I hate wearing so many more clothes and clumping along in galoshes.
Monday, February 3, 1941
Letter to George Day.
Tuesday, February 4, 1941
George got two of the letters I wrote before New Year’s and he sounded so pleased that I was glad I had written them. He likes all the stuff about the cat and Pixie and what we had for dinner and what book I am reading. He says it makes him feel as though he is here with us. He also said he has a friend who thinks Eleanor is beautiful. Eleanor was flattered, I suppose, but not really interested. Yesterday I saw a lipstick in her top drawer. I was not snooping. I was putting her handkerchiefs away. I can’t imagine Eleanor in lipstick.
Thank goodness Lizby is better. I actually did learn to iron without scorching things, but it makes me extremely nervous.
Mother is making fudge to send to George and his friends. I wonder if she will have any to spare for the hungry mouths at home. I will at least get to lick the spoon and scrape the last out of the pan.
Friday, February 7, 1941
Marnie Severn was away from school today because her brother was lost at sea. Somebody said that the telegram only said MISSING, but nobody at school knows for sure. I feel terrible, but I keep thinking not of Marnie but of George.
We mailed off another parcel to him yesterday with the candy, more socks and mittens, some film for his camera and some new snapshots of us. There was also some old Cheddar cheese, which he especially likes. It seems a strange thing to send to somebody at sea, but Mother says that she knows George better than I do and he has never not been hungry, especially for cheese.
Saturday, February 8, 1941
Dull, dull, dull.
Sunday, February 9, 1941
Wrote to George. I do not like February. It still seems years until spring dances in.
Monday, February 10, 1941
Maybe I should give up keeping a diary. I seem to have nothing to say. I do have a cold, which might explain it.
Wednesday, February 12, 1941
Wrote to George yesterday. Used up all my writing energy.
Today Jane is all excited. She has made Valentines for everyone she knows. They are really well done. I think Sam helped a bit. Weeks ago she made one for George and gave it to me to send so he would get it on time. It says, You are my hero! He should be thrilled.
Valentine’s Day
Friday, February 14, 1941
I watched Jane go off carrying a box filled with Valentines. She walked with me at first, but now she meets her new friend Melissa on the way. I know Ralph Jenson picked on her when school started and made fun of her accent, but she made him a card because nobody likes him. She is a very nice person. Right at this moment, she seems more like my sister than Eleanor does. I hope she gets as many cards as the rest out of the Valentine Box.
Later
I am waiting for Jane to come home. What if nobody gave her a Valentine? Of course they will, but I will be glad when the suspense is over. Oh, here she comes!
Later again
I need not ha
ve worried. She came home loaded with Valentines. Ralph gave her one. You are supposed to sign them with a question mark but he wrote his name. She showed me and said he was much nicer than she had thought.
Saturday, February 15, 1941
Jane and I spent all morning pasting all her Valentines into a scrapbook so she “will have them forever.” I never had so many. Never mind. I had my share, Diary.
Sunday, February 16, 1941
It was a usual Sunday. We went to church. We went to Sunday School. We wrote to George. We read. It was nice. Peaceful. The way Sunday is supposed to be.
Monday, February 17, 1941
Written at noon
I got a letter from George this morning before I left for school. I brought you with me with the letter tucked into your pages. When I read it at recess, it unsettled me. I don’t know how else to put it. His friend Bertie got a letter from some old lady in his home town, telling him that his girl was going out with other men while he was away. The woman said she thought it was her duty to tell him. How can people be so cruel? Mother would call that woman a meddlesome busybody but I think she must be a wicked old witch.