To Stand on My Own Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Saskatoon, Saskatchewan

  June 1937

  July 1937

  August 1937

  September 1937

  October 1937

  November 1937

  Epilogue

  Historical Note

  Images and Documents

  Credits

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Books in the Dear Canada Series

  Saskatoon, Saskatchewan

  June 1937

  Monday, June 28, 1937

  I will begin by saying that keeping a diary was Mother’s idea, not mine! The first day of summer holidays and Edmund and I were all set to go out and ride our bicycles to Bessie’s house when Mother stopped me and told me I was to spend half an hour every day writing in this diary. She said that I was almost twelve years old now, and becoming too much of a tomboy and that it was time I started acting like a young lady and young ladies did not spend all day running around the neighbourhood in their bare feet and shorts. Then she gave me this old school notebook to write in! That’s not a real diary! Though I did not, of course, say that out loud to Mother. But real diaries have leather covers and lined pages and a key to lock them up so you can write anything and no one else can see! I know because Bessie got one for her birthday last year, though she hasn’t written in it yet. And, I don’t think it’s fair that Edmund doesn’t have to write in a diary just because he’s a boy and a year younger than me. Boys get all the luck.

  I think my half-hour is up.

  Tuesday, June 29, 1937

  I bit the bullet, as Grandpa would say, and told Mother I needed a proper diary with a lock and key because Edmund and James (who should know better because he is nearly a grown-up) would read it. Mother said where did I think the money was going to come from to buy a fancy diary when there was barely enough to put food on the table? She told me just to hide it if I write something secret in it. I told her that was no good because my brothers know all my hiding places. Mother said if I talked back to her any more, I’d spend the entire day inside doing chores. So I’m writing in my NOTEBOOK diary while Edmund gets to play outside.

  I wonder where the saying “bite the bullet” came from. Did someone actually bite a bullet?

  Wednesday, June 30, 1937

  When I came downstairs for breakfast this morning, right beside my spoon was this beautiful lavender-covered diary! With a key! Mother said that Grandpa Baldwin got it for me, because when he heard I was keeping a diary, he said special words should have a special place to be kept. I guess Grandpa talks like that all the time because he used to be an English teacher at the high school. I could tell Mother wasn’t too happy that Grandpa gave me the diary, because she thinks he spoils me. She said I was to consider it an early birthday present — it’s just a little over two weeks until July 16! I cut out and glued in my first two days’ writing in my new diary because I didn’t want to take the time to copy them.

  So here is the beginning of my proper diary:

  I am Noreen Martha Robertson and I live at 15 Weldon Avenue, Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada, Northern Hemisphere, The World, The Universe. I am eleven, very soon to be twelve years old. I just graduated Grade Six at King George Public School.

  This afternoon James is going to take the train to Alberta to spend the summer working at Grandpa Robertson’s farm for his room and board and a small wage. Mother says it’s one less mouth to feed for the summer. Sometimes when she says things like that I feel bad that I eat so much, though I don’t eat nearly as much as James — Mother says he has a hollow leg.

  Here is a secret: I am not supposed to know this, but Dad had to take “reduced wages” to keep his job at Drewery’s. At least he has a job, when lots of men don’t because of the Depression. And Dad only jokes about us living in a working-class neighbourhood — he says it’s just the place for us because we’re the working class.

  Grandpa Baldwin wouldn’t worry about living in a working-class neighbourhood either. How could he when he lives just five houses away from us? (Mother says that’s a good thing because she can keep an eye on him and make sure he’s eating right.) I don’t remember Grandma much. Last week Grandpa and I took a long walk to her grave in Woodlawn Cemetery to “see how the dear old girl is doing” — that’s the way Grandpa said it. He’s very funny sometimes.

  While we were walking I asked Grandpa where “bite the bullet” came from. He said that old-time cowboys didn’t have any medicine for pain when they needed medical attention, like getting a bullet pulled out of them, so doctors had them bite on a bullet. The metal was soft and wouldn’t break the cowboys’ teeth. But there was one problem, Grandpa said. Occasionally when the cowboy bit down, the bullet would go off and kill either the doctor or the patient. Grandpa said that would certainly take a person’s mind off the pain.

  I am able to write much more in a proper diary. After all, who wants to write in a dumb old notebook? That’s just like being at school.

  Wednesday, June 30, 1937, after supper

  I was reading over my diary, and I just realized that Dad doesn’t tease Mother very much anymore. Mother doesn’t smile very much, either, even when Dad does his usual teasing about her name. He’s always saying “Olive” — meaning “I’ll have” — “another piece of bread.” Or corn, or whatever it is he’s asking for. James, Edmund and I think it is very funny, but Mother just purses her lips, so Dad will go over and tickle her until she smiles and says something like, “Oh, Randolph, that same old joke.” I think Mother looks quite beautiful when she smiles.

  July 1937

  Thursday, July 1, 1937

  We were like a parade going to see James off at the train station yesterday afternoon. To save gasoline, we walked, even though it was a long, long way. James and Dad took turns carrying James’s suitcase. Mother let me invite Bessie to come with us — after all, she’s my best friend so she’s almost family. I think Bessie has designs on James. She wore her Sunday dress, like it was a special occasion, but I wore my school skirt and a blouse, like it was a bit of an occasion. Even Grandpa came. James rolled his eyes and said he didn’t need all of us to see him get on a train, but I think he was pleased we were making such a fuss. Edmund kept begging Dad to let him go to Alberta with James, but Dad said he needed Edmund and me to take care of the vegetable garden at our house.

  At the train station, James said he was going to jump in a boxcar and “ride the rails” with the hobos, but Mother said he was getting a ticket and would ride inside the train like a regular person. We saw a very handsome RCMP officer in his red uniform waiting for the train. Bessie and I discussed it and decided he was going out west to arrest a bank robber — that’s more interesting than going to Grandpa Robertson’s. When the train pulled out we ran alongside, cheering James. Sometime I’d like to go off on a train and have everyone cheer me. It was a long, long walk home, too.

  Friday, July 2, 1937

  This morning when Edmund and I got up, Mother said we had had our holiday and now it was time to do chores. I wanted to tell her our holidays lasted until September, not just one week! But I didn’t. She got us out of bed at the break of dawn to hoe our garden and Grandpa’s garden. It took hours to weed because I don’t think anyone has done it at all this year. They were probably waiting for me and Edmund to finish school. My shoulders are bright red and very sore with sunburn. I’m actually glad to have to write in my diary this afternoon — Edmund is still working.

  Last night we had a picnic supper for Dominion Day. Aunt Ella, Uncle Tom and Cousin Jean came.

  When I was little,
Jean told me that all the money in her father’s bank was theirs and I believed her. She also told me the Bessborough Hotel was their house and I believed that, too, until James told me it was a hotel. It’s hard not to be jealous of Jean sometimes. She always has new clothes from Eaton’s and Uncle Tom drives a nice car and they don’t walk or take the streetcar like us. Dad has put our car on blocks to save buying gasoline. If we really need to go somewhere by car, Grandpa takes us.

  Aunt Ella made a fuss about not wanting to sit on the grass on a blanket with the rest of us, so Dad brought her out a chair. She thanked Dad very nicely, but to me it sounded like she was thanking a servant.

  Another secret: I once heard Dad say to Mother that Aunt Ella thought Mother had married beneath her because Dad is a factory worker. But Mother says she thanks God every day that he has a job when so many in the city do not, and have to take the City Relief to stay alive.

  Dad says he’s happy to have a job too.

  Edmund was telling Jean, AGAIN, how Dad’s fingers got shot off in the war, and how his own gun backfired and shot them off and how blood went everywhere. Mom wasn’t very happy about Edmund talking about blood at a meal. You could tell from the look she gave him.

  I was sitting beside Edmund at the picnic when Mother raised her eyebrows and nodded toward Jean. I pretended I didn’t know what she meant because I didn’t want to sit beside Jean. She pinches. You’d think someone who is two years older than me would know better.

  Aunt Ella and Mother discussed Mrs. Simpson. Again. Ever since the king — the first one — abdicated his throne last December to marry Wallis Simpson, Mother and Aunt Ella talk constantly about the scandal because Wallis Simpson is divorced from two husbands. Grandpa says we are just as well off without a man who would put that woman ahead of his country and responsibilities. He says Edward is weak and lacking in character. Mother said what woman would want three husbands anyway, when one is enough. Aunt Ella sniffed and said the woman is as thin as a rake! Aunt Ella and Jean are not thin as rakes. In fact, they’re fat. This is a secret diary so I can write that. I’m writing extra because I don’t want to go back outside and hoe the garden.

  Aunt Ella and Mother fight sometimes like Edmund and I do! Mother says Aunt Ella has gotten too big for her britches. I think she means Aunt Ella puts on airs, not that she can’t fit into her underwear, though she might mean that, too. I suppose they fought like that when they were growing up, too. Aunt Ella is always saying that Jean could be my big sister because we look alike. Let me say right now, WE DO NOT LOOK LIKE SISTERS.

  I guess it’s obvious that I don’t care much for Aunt Ella, but I do like Uncle Tom, not only for keeping candy in his pockets, but for always pretending to be surprised when he pulls it out! Too bad he hasn’t any hair on the top of his head, just the sides. (I’m glad Dad has hair all over his head. Brown hair.)

  Saturday, July 3, 1937

  After breakfast, Mother and I changed the sheets on the beds and then Mother said it was too hot to keep cleaning. We were melting by the time we were done. We haven’t had any rain since mid-June and it is 100 degrees outside. She told me I could go to Bessie’s house to play, but only to Bessie’s as she did not want me “mixing with people” or going to the city swimming pool.

  Mother worries that we could pick up a sickness there. Every summer she is so afraid we’ll get polio that she makes us play close to home, away from crowds. She also makes us bend our heads every morning to touch our chins to our chest, as one of the signs of polio is a stiff neck. Dad says that Mother worries too much, and she says someone around here has to.

  Edmund came with me to Bessie’s and we rode our bicycles down to the river.

  We are strictly forbidden to go on the bridges. Dad says he’ll have our hides if we ever go on the traffic or railroad bridges over the South Saskatchewan River. Mother says we have to be very careful near the water. We hoped to see the paddle-wheeler, Miss Pyroil, carry people up and down the river. You have to pay to ride. I’ve never been on it, but we like to wave at the people as they go by.

  We didn’t see the boat so we looked for minnows, but didn’t find any. Some older boys were swimming there, but the water was all brown and dirty. So we decided to build a raft and take it downriver as an adventure. There was an old shack nearby and we took the door off to use as the floor of our raft. We carried it down to the river and came back and were pulling some pieces of wood from the side of the shack when a man with a bushy beard and wild hair came running down the riverbank, yelling at us to leave his house alone. We ran very fast to Grandpa’s house and arrived out of breath.

  Grandpa was on his front porch and gave us glasses of lemonade. We told him about the man and he said many people were living “rough” because they didn’t have any money for proper houses. I can’t imagine not having a house to live in, though once I stayed overnight in a tent at Bessie’s. I asked Grandpa where the man went to go to the bathroom and to brush his teeth. Grandpa laughed and said only I would wonder about that. He said that the man probably had a latrine near his shack and most likely had bigger worries than clean teeth.

  While we were having our lemonade, a huge gust of wind came up and pushed a large brown cloud of dust right up the street, so thick it blocked out the sun. Grandpa said it was topsoil from the prairie, and he ran inside and shut all the windows. Between the drought and the grasshoppers eating every living thing, Grandpa says it’s no wonder there aren’t any crops. Mother is forever complaining about the house being dusty and it is. I know because I’m the one who has to dust it.

  Sunday, July 4, 1937

  Mother decided we would not go to church today because it was too hot and germs like heat. I was glad because upstairs church is boring. I don’t mind Sunday School in the basement, but they don’t have it in the summer. So instead Mother made us read verses from the Bible, except Dad kept glancing at the Saturday newspaper. Then he interrupted our Bible verses to tell us that Amelia Earhart’s plane is missing in the ocean. She was flying near New Guinea and that’s her last known whereabouts.

  I wonder where New Guinea is. I was looking at the maps in Grandpa’s atlas and at James’s globe of the world, trying to imagine what other places look like. I want to know where Amelia Earhart’s airplane went down.

  In school last year we learned about Nellie Carson being the first woman in Saskatchewan to get her pilot’s licence. Mother says she doesn’t approve of women flying planes. I wonder what it would be like to fly above the clouds and if they look as fluffy up there as they do from down here. I wonder how our house would look from up there.

  As usual, I was not allowed to play with Bessie because it’s Sunday, and I have to wear a skirt all day. Edmund and I played Fish for the afternoon. At first Mother didn’t want us playing cards, but Dad said he doubted we would become gamblers and to let us be.

  Dad showed me a picture of Amelia Earhart in the paper. She has SHORT hair. I want SHORT hair, but Mother won’t let me!

  Monday, July 5, 1937

  Today it is 114 degrees outside. Bessie and I went for a walk after I had weeded the garden. It was too hot to ride our bicycles. The tree leaves are all dusty and wilted and you can smell the tar from the road. It’s sticky, too. Bessie’s mother has also told her not to go to the swimming pool or anywhere there are a lot of people. We can’t even go downtown to see a movie! (I love movies. I particularly like Shirley Temple — it must be wonderful to act in movies and pretend to be different people.) In fact, we’re not allowed to do anything at all! Bessie’s mother worries like Mother does that we will get polio (Bessie’s mother always calls it infantile paralysis). So we walked to the river, and on the way we saw Ann Lute, that poor girl from our class. She lives in an old beat-up house that doesn’t even have an indoor toilet or taps! She has crusty stuff all around her eyes and she smells sour. Bessie said that Ann has germs. So we picked up some clods of dirt and threw them at Ann to make her go away. Ann started crying, and I didn’t want to thr
ow any more mud at her. Bessie threw one more handful, but I didn’t. Ann was crying as she ran home. Bessie said that was all right because Ann was an immigrant. I asked her what an immigrant was and she said it was someone who came to Canada from another country. I didn’t tell Bessie that Grandpa had come here from England, because I thought she wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore if she knew there was an immigrant in my family.

  A secret: I feel really bad I threw mud at Ann and made her cry.

  P.S. New Guinea is just off the north coast of Australia.

  Tuesday, July 6, 1937

  Edmund, Bessie and I have planned a big secret for tomorrow.

  Wednesday, July 7, 1937

  The whole day was a secret. Though I nearly gave it all away! I’m writing this underneath my sheet in bed. Even though it is nearly ten o’clock at night, it is still light outside. Our big secret: Edmund, Bessie and I put our bathing suits on under our clothes this afternoon and we went swimming at the city pool. It was the hottest day yet! Felt like 150 degrees outside. We didn’t have the five cents admission, so we told them we were very poor and they let us in for free. Everyone in the city must have been swimming there today. You could barely move, there were so many people in the water. I guess they were too hot to worry about germs. Edmund was told not to cannonball off the side as he could hurt someone.

  We let our suits and hair dry, then went back home. It was a lot of fun and the water was very refreshing. At supper Mother asked what we had done all day and we said we’d just been playing.

  I tried to keep my face looking like I was innocent. That was hard. And then I nearly gave it all away because I left my bathing suit on my dresser! Mother came in after I was in bed and asked why it was out. I told her I was trying it on but it was too big. (It’s a hand-me-down from Jean.) Mother said I should be thankful Jean has such nice clothes and gives them to me when she outgrows them. I told her I’d be much more thankful if they fit better.