by Jean Little
It will be hard to concentrate on schoolwork this afternoon, Diary.
After supper
Another letter from George was waiting for me when I came home. I think he wrote it right after the last one. He says Bertie is heartbroken about his girl being so fickle. He asked if I could talk Eleanor into writing to him. Bertie thinks she is so beautiful and George thinks a letter from her might help him to put his old girl out of his mind.
I am pretty sure Eleanor won’t do it. She is too shy and too proper. But I guess I’ll try.
Bedtime
I tried talking to Eleanor about Bertie as soon as she came in. I gave her both of George’s letters to read. But she said she could not do it. She did not know him. What would she say? Just thinking about it made her panic.
What should I do about Bertie, dear Diary? George enclosed a picture of him. He is not very tall. He has a really nice smile. The picture is black and white, of course, but George says he has brown eyes.
What if he should be killed believing nobody cares about him? What if he gets so depressed he jumps overboard?
Midnight
Jane is sound asleep but I can’t stop worrying about Bertie. Is there something I could do? He would not want a letter from me. He would think I am too young to understand.
But I have sat here in bed making up letter after letter in my mind.
Tuesday, February 18, 1941
I spent almost the whole day writing a letter to Bertie in my mind. Then, as soon as I got home, I went upstairs and wrote it down. I can’t believe I did it. I kept a copy. I think I might need to keep track of what I said. Here is the letter.
Dear Bertie,
My brother George told me about you and sent me your picture. I maybe should not say this to someone I have never actually met, but I know, from looking at your picture, that you and I could be friends. I wonder if you would enjoy getting letters from a stranger in Canada. If you don’t want to hear from me, tell George and he will let me know.
Your would-be friend,
Eleanor Amy Twiss
P.S. This is a picture of me as I look now. The one George has was taken at least a year ago.
Then, dear Diary, I put in a picture of Eleanor with her new haircut and party dress. I knew I would get cold feet if I waited to think about it so I went right out and shoved it in the mailbox before I lost my nerve. Have I done a terrible thing?
Even though you can’t talk, Diary, I know you said “Yes.”
Wednesday, February 19, 1941
I cannot believe I did what I did. Should I write and try to explain? I can’t. Oh, Diary, how could I have been so crazy? This is going to get me into terrible trouble before it is all over.
Thursday, February 20, 1941
I almost told Barbara what I had done, but at the last minute I got cold feet and buttoned my lip, as Grandpa would say. I could not face hearing her telling me what she thought. I am sure she would be horrified.
And she just might spread the word around. I don’t think she would, but I did not tell, just in case.
Thursday, February 27, 1941
I could not write anything all week because every time I opened your pages, I saw the letter. Soon Bertie should have it. And life keeps moving along and I can’t desert you, not after nearly nine months.
Every so often I remember what Eleanor said when she gave you to me, and I wonder if I have changed at all. I think I would not have written to Bertie on my last birthday. I don’t know what that says about me though. Maybe then I was sensible but timid and now I am senseless but brave. That sounds dumb. But maybe a little bit true.
Will Bertie answer my letter? I don’t know what to hope. I wait to snatch up the mail before Eleanor comes in. Luckily she has started to stay at school over the noon hour for special help in French. She is not good at languages. But it is still too soon, really.
Both the morning and afternoon deliveries are here by the time I get home. If no letter is there, I just leave the envelopes on the hall table. So far, there is nothing but it is really too soon. Still, the mail is unpredictable nowadays.
I have homework waiting. I’ll be back.
Friday, February 28, 1941
No letter! None from George and none from You-know-who.
Well, I only mailed mine eleven days ago. I should not be expecting to hear back yet.
March 1941
Saturday, March 1, 1941
Spring should come soon. Thank goodness there is no mail on weekends so I can relax. We are going to the show tonight. They say I am finally old enough to go at night. About time!
Sunday, March 2, 1941
Sam has joined the Junior Choir! That Miss Little is so sweet that he could not say no to her any longer. She had already caught me. The Junior Choir doesn’t sing all the time but there is special Easter music. We have to sing one anthem in which the chorus starts, “Up from the grave He arose.” Sam sings it at anybody he catches lying down.
The mail deliveries start up again tomorrow. Woe is me!
Monday, March 3, 1941
No mail from Bertie.
Tuesday, March 4, 1941
Ditto about letters. Drat. Spring will come and summer and no mail. I am crazy.
Wednesday, March 5, 1941
Nothing from B.
I have a new piece of memory work. It is by Rupert Brooke and is about his maybe dying in the war. One bit goes “that there’s some corner in a foreign field that is forever England.” It almost makes me burst out crying because it made me think of Bertie talking. Only he wouldn’t die in a field but at sea. How can I even think such a thing?
Thursday, March 6, 1941
Can’t write today. Am reading to take my mind off it all.
Friday, March 7, 1941
The newspaper tells about the battle in the North Atlantic. Ships are being sunk every day almost. Some are theirs but some are ours. We do not even know the name of the ship George and Bertie are on. I have bad dreams about huge grey ocean waves with icebergs in them crashing into tiny ships and pounding them down. I also had one where there were people lying face down in the ocean and nobody could turn them over. I tried to scream and move but I could not move or make a sound. When I woke up, I could not stop shaking and I was afraid to go back to sleep.
I don’t ask, but I do wonder if the others have nightmares too. I hear Jane whimper sometimes and I call her name until she either wakes up or stops.
But there are lots of happy times. Janie got 100 out of 100 on her Arithmetic test last week. She showed it to us, repeating, “Never before! Never before!” Dad asked her what had made the difference and she said, with a grin, “It was my new teacher.”
Usually Dad doesn’t reward us for getting good marks, but he gave Janie a whole dollar. One hundred cents for one hundred marks. “Don’t let this become a habit, miss, or you’ll have me in the poorhouse,” he said.
“Charlotte told me you don’t have a poorhouse here,” she said.
I did tell her that after she read a book that had a little girl dying in a poorhouse. Dad just laughed and went back to reading the paper. Later, in private, he told me about the House of Industry, which is on the way to Fergus and is a Canadian poorhouse. He said it was not like the one in Jane’s book and he thought I should not tell her about it, in case it worried her.
Dear Diary, if only you could tell me what to do about Bertie. Why did George ask for a letter? I know, Diary. He never meant me to write the way I did. Eleanor was supposed to do it. Whatever possessed me?
Saturday, March 8, 1941
I have been so busy worrying about Bertie that I never wrote that today is Mother’s birthday. I got her some Ivory soap, which is a boring present but what she said she wanted. It floats, dear Diary. Did you know that? It is also 99 and 44/100 percent pure! She says she is forever losing the soap in the bathwater. Really!
Sunday, March 9, 1941
At breakfast Mother said she loved her soap, all four cakes. I love her so
much. I hope she is telling the truth. I thought I should write her a poem to go with it, but I just could not come up with anything.
The rest of Sunday was as Sunday always is. We had a “day of rest.” But inside, I was not resting. Tomorrow there will be mail again. What do I hope for?
That kitten helps. He chased a roll of toilet paper all over the upstairs and it was such a mess that we had to laugh. Laughing felt nice.
Monday, March 10, 1941
Bertie wrote back! Airmail. I got the letter at lunchtime and nobody saw me snatch it up. There was one from George too. I carried it in to the table and then went into the bathroom to read the one addressed to Miss Eleanor A. Twiss. I have never felt so nervous and guilty as I did opening it. Here is what he said, Diary.
Dear Eleanor,
Thank you so much for writing to me. I would really like to get letters from you. I need a friend right now. You are stunning! As we say in the Navy, hubba-hubba! It isn’t just the pretty dress or the hairdo either. You have a wonderful smile. It is even sweeter than the candy your mother sent us. Tell her it lasted about three minutes and we LOVED it.
I just put on some warm socks George loaned me, since I have nobody to knit them for me. It is colder than Santa Claus’s cellar on this ship. I shudder at the thought of going back up on deck, where the wind cuts through you as though you had nothing on. Lots of us have frostbite. Chilblains too. But the warmth in your kind words really helped. Please write back to me. I will be watching for your letter, Miss Eleanor Amy Twiss.
Sincerely,
Bertie Jenson
One part was blacked out. I wonder what it said.
Now what do I do, dear Diary? He sounds so nice. I will have to write again. But what can I say? He trusts me!
No, he trusts Eleanor.
I am going to bed even though it is not yet nine o’clock.
Tuesday, March 11, 1941
Yesterday, after I finished talking to you, Diary, I wrote half a million letters and threw every one of them out. I feel terrible about Bertie but I feel terrible about lying to him. I wonder if I could possibly confess to Eleanor and persuade her to do it after all. But when I imagine doing this, I feel sick at my stomach.
Nearly midnight
I finally wrote it all out in a sort of confession and left it on Eleanor’s pillow. She has gone to the movies with Susie and Carol.
Diary, I will tell you what happens tomorrow — if she does not kill me.
Wednesday, March 12, 1941
Eleanor is mad as fire. All morning she would not speak to me. All afternoon she was furious. Then she started to cry and I cried too, which helped, I think.
She made me bring her Bertie’s letter. I think she might write to him. She said she had to think it over.
If diaries can pray, pray for me, dear Diary.
Thursday, March 13, 1941
Tonight, at supper, Dad quizzed me a little about what is going on in the world. Then he got out the atlas and he made me find places like Yugoslavia and Singapore and Egypt and he told me some of what is going on. Russia too. This war really is a world war. He said I should know more about it. And that when I had to get a Current Event to take to school, I would choose with intelligence. I did not promise, but I will try.
It was hard to think about Egypt when Bertie is taking up all my mind.
Later
Eleanor told me, after supper, that she had written to Bertie. She did not tell him what I had done. She just picked up where I left off. I asked to see the letter and she would not show it to me.
“If I am going to keep it up,” she said, “I can’t be thinking about what you would think.”
I was slightly mad but mostly enormously relieved. I think she plans to go on writing. I hope so. She could not help liking the things he said about her being stunning.
Friday, March 14, 1941
Busy writing to George. The news is frightening and it feels better when I have written. It is as though I know God will save his ship at least until my letter gets there. My fingers are so tired from being crossed all the time, hoping to bring my brother luck.
Later
Sam got a letter from Terry. He has been in several bombing raids, but their house has not been hit. He is happy to be home. They can write to Alan and send packages, but they don’t know if he gets the food. His mother says she is glad to have Terry home and she does not know what she would do without him.
After supper
Barbara’s cousin Daniel has not written to them and she is worried. If something terrible had happened, they would tell the family right away, wouldn’t they?
I am going to finish writing to George now, Diary.
Nearly midnight
I forgot to write that there has been intense bombing of Glasgow, Scotland. I clipped out a bit about it for Current Events. It felt wicked to turn something so terrible into a clipping for school, but Sam brought the same one.
Saturday, March 15, 1941
Today is the Ides of March. It is the date that Julius Caesar was assassinated. Miss McColl told us yesterday. When I told Dad, he said that was true, but that the calendar they used then is not the same as the one we use now. When I asked for more details so I could tell her on Monday, he said he was late and I should look it up. That is irritating!
Barbara said she would call if they heard anything about Daniel. She has not called. He is her cousin, of course, not her brother. But the family would soon hear if the news was bad. She does love him a lot.
It is so hard being afraid of something but not being able to do anything but wait. I hate waiting for anything.
Monday, March 17, 1941
The top of the morning to you, dear Diary. It is St. Patrick’s Day and I am wearing my green pullover. I wanted to wear green kneesocks but Mother said not yet. It is maddening. Other girls are changed out of long lisle stockings by now. Not Barbara though. I can count on her mother being fussier than mine.
I made up my mind when I started this diary that I would not write about the weather, but it is hard not to mention that it is beginning to get warmer and you can smell spring coming.
Mother heard a crow this morning. Sam told her that he had seen two of them.
“One for sorrow, two for joy,” Mother said.
Sam got this big grin on his face. “My Grandpa says that,” he told her. “Three for a girl, four for a boy.”
“Five for silver, six for gold,” Mother carried on.
Then they finished together. “Seven for a secret that cannot be told.”
I wish I knew that secret.
Still no word about Daniel.
Wednesday, March 19, 1941
The Steiners got a letter. Daniel was in France on some sort of mission. He said he enjoyed the milkweed. I think that means he was in the ocean and needed his lifejacket. But he can’t tell us details, of course. The censor would just black them out.
Barbara is so relieved and happy. Daniel is nice. He took us out for hot chocolate before he went overseas.
Did I tell you that Lizby did finally decide to enlist but got turned down because of her health. She is too small or something. Mother hugged her and said she thanked God that the armed forces had no sense and let her keep her treasure. “I could not manage this household without you,” she said. It is true!
Lizby looked much happier. She has met somebody at her church. He comes around and has a cup of tea with her after we finish the supper dishes. Then they go for walks. He’s very shy.
We are all going to a skating carnival next week. It will be at the arena. Jane has never been to such a thing. I bet she loves it.
Friday, March 21, 1941
This is officially the first day of spring. It does not feel like it, although the buds are coming out on the trees. We all went out to the sugar bush the other day to see how they make maple syrup. They don’t have sugar maples in England. Mother is sending the Brownings some syrup.
Their grandparents have moved back to C
oventry. They are sharing a house with friends or something. Skip stayed in Wembley. Jane had been worried about him being left alone all day because her mother was out driving army officers around, and then she heard back that her mother had stopped driving for the time being and was working at home. Sam said he wondered what kind of work she could be doing but nobody had an answer.
Jane is always so quiet after they get mail from England. Sam is too. I think it brings their parents close and reminds them of the bombs falling. The news is full of disasters. I can’t bear to think about it.
If only George had not joined the Navy! All of the armed service men face dangers, I know, but I can’t even write down why the ocean seems the worst place to be.
Monday, March 24, 1941
The skating was wonderful. There was this one girl called Barbara Ann Scott who is almost the same age as I am. She was the best skater on the ice! She won something, but being able to skate like that is better than winning. She looked so lovely. She made it look so easy, as though she flew and floated and spun around and around without even having to try.