New Manse,
Glen St. Mary,
May, 1926
Jo,
I gather congratulations are in order. In the event Anne hasn't written ahead, your daughter is under strictest instructions (emphasis Anne's) not to be married in a hurry, as the school board is loath to let her go. Notwithstanding lessons on the Mandata and Bede of Jarrow, the board knows when it's on to a good thing. It's on to a good thing with Naomi, not least because the children adore her. The fact that they're better rounded than they ever were under Miss Resse's tutelage is an added benefit.
She and Fred told us their news the other evening. We were at Ingleside, as were Di and Alastair. Gil had Miss Abby on his lap, and Susan was meditating on chickweed, and how best to evict it from the lawn. Anne was mid-rhapsody on the smell of new grass and how the smell reminded her of the interiors of European cathedrals. Then the young people came up the walk, pink-cheeked from the wind, and the women guessed at once. But the happy couple were so obviously happy that no one let on they suspected.
Apparently Naomi and Fred went out to the Harbour Light to catch the sunset, which is how they got onto the subject. That's unremarkable by Glen standards. The Harbour Light is where all the sweethearting couples walk in the gloaming. But only your daughter, Jo, could possibly shift conversationally from discussion Good Friday Riding Westward with a beau to the receipt of marriage proposals. I don't understand at all, though Anne did. I suspect Nan would, too. Susan didn't follow the segue at all, but she knew what had happened, because she recognized the former Mrs. Arnold's ruby engagement ring. Apt, Fred said, for the old verse, her price is far above rubies. I can't tell you what Susan made of that, because she didn't hear it. She ran into the kitchen and – from the sound of it – clattered about until she found and emerged with a buttercup cake. She intended for the Ladies Aide, but as Susan wasted no time in cutting it into thick, creamy, celebratory slices, they will now miss it on Thursday next.
The night turned cold shortly afterwards, May evenings being fickle things. Us 'old' folk retreated to Ingleside's hearth, but the youthful types dawdled. Anne says young lovers never notice the cold, and perhaps she's right.
Though I say it myself, our sunrise service came off with flying colours. Everyone convened at the Harbour Light, and I said the Easter Rite as the sun rose over the water. Ned Burr organized a band for the occasion and they did splendidly. They led the hymns, with extra accompaniment from the gulls and cormorants. Afterwards, Cornelia and Susan distributed bacon rolls from Cornelia's green verandah. The adults ate them while the children rolled eggs. Definitely a scheme worth repeating.
I wrote to Una about it, and she sent back a report of Trinity House's latest acquisition. They now have a dog in the mix. It's middling sized, mottled red and black, and has a crooked tail and battered ears. Una cannot imagine where Carl found it. They named it Akela to go with Nenni. At this rate, I won't be at all surprised if and when the inevitable letter arrives about the foundling Mowgli she and Carl plucked off the doorstep. I daresay Nenni will be relieved if they don't. She's aptly named; She walks by herself. She spars with Puck routinely, bats the canine interloper on the nose, and boxes Carl's ankles when the spirit moves her. (The spirit often moves Nenni.)
Apparently, when she met the dog, Nenni gave it a long hard stare through narrowed eyes. Then she leaped onto its head, and hit it so hard on the nose that it squealed like a stuck pig. A furious Nenni promptly leaped off her enemy's back and stood there bristling like something out of the comics, arch-backed and spitting. Then she stalked off with more dignity than is lawful. Carl said that when he found her lapping coconut milk from a saucer later, he couldn't believe it was the same animal. Una comforts herself with the knowledge they will never be burgled, though she accepts they will probably never sleep through another night, either.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
May, 1926,
Gil,
Tell Anne she needn't worry; Naomi wants to be sure she has the savings for a wedding before setting a date. Phil says this is what comes of a manse upbringing. It is not; I refer her to Jem and Faith, who subsisted happily off of her grant money and his residual allowance until Jem secured work with the Kingsport Station House. It's funny. Sam got my ideals and Phil's maths, and Ruthie the Gordon taste for elegance. Andrew – I cannot write of. Forgive the omission. But Jake and Naomi somehow got a practicality that skipped over Phil and I. It's admirable, even if I have no idea where it comes from.
It's vexing, because a more practical sort could probably fix our church heating. It's still faulty, despite the notable change in seasons. Even more vexingly, the secretariat are more worried about the upcoming fete than church restorations! No, they cannot tell me when they will order the necessary parts for repairs, but can I say if I will volunteer for Soak The Minister again? Apparently it is a great favourite. I wasn't aware so many people joyed in pouring water on me. But if it will raise funds for the ACS (and our radiator restoration!) I'll do anything.
Must rush – I'm due at Ted Larkin's to clear the eaves. I want it done before Sam and family arrive for their half-term holiday.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.
Jo
Ingleside,
Glen St. Mary,
May, 1926
Jo,
Can you believe it's been almost ten years since Walter died? I can't. I hadn't done the maths until Di expressed an intention to go visit Una in Singapore for the occasion. Alistair's idea, apparently. He's always felt he never gave my girl a proper honeymoon. She disagrees, but as someone who took my bride to our House of Dreams and no further for a honeymoon, I'm sympathetic.
Di and Una always had Walter in common, and I suppose Di thought they'd both feel the blow extra this year. (I suppose Una thought I didn't know. I didn't until Anne said. Don't let on.) I know Anne's dreading it – perhaps we'll visit you for a diversion of our own. Or perhaps not. Di's threatening to leave the children with us for the duration. I adore Miss Abby, and Hector's a sweet lad, but they can be unholy terrors sometimes.
Una says they will see Singapore at completely the wrong time of year. Prophecies of rain abound. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, she insisted on hosting Di and Alistair. Apparently, nothing else will save them from being washed away by excessive rain and floodwater.
She then describes Nenni the cat bringing a snake in and laying it at her feet. The Una I remember would have fainted. This iteration of her looked at it, assessed it for being poisonous, and seeing it wasn't, deposited it out the back door before Carl adopted it. He was sorry to have missed it. Una is unrepentant.
I'll have you know I expect a full report on the fete, especially the resolution to the issue of soaking the minister. Who's idea was that, and can outsiders come and participate? I fancy my chances. So does Hector. I bet Sam's Evie does, too.
Love ever,
Gil
New Manse,
Glen St Mary,
June, 1926
Jo,
I don't know which letter Gil was referencing; The latest snake was venomous. It's not the same as being poisonous. It was also quite dead, and Nenni quite pleased with herself. Una was in the process of flinging it out the kitchen door when Carl intervened. It's now on his desk while he makes a diagram of it. It was a Banded Krait, which none of us had ever heard of, much less seen, but an excursion by Bruce to the library produced the relevant Britannica with exotic illustrations and alarming descriptions.
Mind you, Di and Alastair left for Singapore the other week, and Gil's frantically adapting to being a doctor and grandfather to young children simultaneously. It would addle better brains than his.
Our boast is that Bruce finally heard from Redmond's financial people about a scholarship. They've awarded him one that covers his first two years' attendance on the provision he board in hall. As caveats go, it could be worse. Look for him at what Gil affectionately calls St Rules and Anne 'Good old Regs.' The letterhead calls it St Regulus Hall quite placidly. Neither Anne nor Gil can give an intelligible report of what the hall is like as a place, but the attendant brochure made it look cheerful.
You asked about Carl's friend Li. Una's keen to meet her; Li's family are less keen on Li meeting Una, or for that matter, Carl. Since they can't go to Chinatown formally, and Li can't go to Evelyn Road, Carl sticks to assignations in the Botanical Gardens. Una refuses to join them because of her dislike of snakes and playing gooseberry. The last time she went, it was to oversee an ACS field trip. As your daughter put it, herding a reluctant crocodile of children anywhere is only marginally harder than herding cats. It's enough to demoralize saints. Naomi still marvels at how Una ever got her class to Kedah and back. So does Una. There won't be a repeat Botanic Gardens expedition –not as led by her– for at least another ten years.
Naomi would know about infantine crocodiles, because she recently took her class in this fashion to the Charlottetown Museum to celebrate the end of the current history course. There was a rather good exhibition on loan from Toronto about the trappers and traders. Strange to think that now counts as history.
Afterwards, Naomi said she was grateful to have Anne and Rosemary along as additional chaperones. I'm less sure she appreciated Anne's suggestion they end the day with sweets at The Corner House. Rosemary said the children were so revved up on sugar that they spent the return journey playing trappers and traders the way we used to play Romans and Greeks. What the outbound Charlottetown travellers made of it I don't pretend to know.
We got a good laugh out of your account of the fete. Christopher got that cricketer's arm from his mother; She could knock over anything effortlessly at that age. A grand thing for ninepins and soaking the minister, less so for Penelope Alexandrina's best chinaware. Cecilia and I used to say Faith only had to look sideways at something breakable and it would shatter. And Helen still delights in the sand-filled lizard Teddy won her at the duck pond. Your radiator restoration may be underfunded, but my granddaughter believes the money for the prizes well-spent. While I think of it – did Kitty really elbow constable Benwick in the nose? I can't imagine what he did to warrant it; He sounds so mild-mannered!
Our own fete is Sunday next, and Cornelia is making a sandwich cake for the cake stall. She's mostly stopped, but rose to the occasion when she heard Susan was entering her Triple Layer Queen Anne Cake. Mary says there was no stopping her.
There will be no soaking of anyone; The secretariat would be mortified at the thought. The only way I'm likely to be washed thoroughly is if the heavens open. I hope they don't, as our church hall badly needs a new roof!
Love and blessings,
John
Ingleside,
Glen St Mary,
June, 1926
Jo,
The fete was a triumph. Susan's calceolarias took first prize in the botany stall. Unfortunately, her Triple Layer Queen Anne Cake came third to Cornelia's Sandwich Cake (first) and Di's French Fancies. That was Saturday. It's Thursday and we still haven't heard the end of it. I doubt we ever will. To be bested by Mrs. Marshall Elliott is bad enough. But to be out-placed by Di, who Susan taught to bake, is unforgivable. Doubly unforgivable since Di's entry wasn't a cake at all but what Susan calls 'New-Fangled French Balderdash.'
Efforts to say Cornelia's cake was a sympathy placement, because of her arthritis availed nothing. Susan stalked off in a huff. Anne says that served me right, because anyone who knows anything knows Susan feels it a point of pride that she's the foremost baker in the community. Anything less is a let-down of Ingleside. The judges – Susan believes they were rigged – favouring Cornelia's cake for any reason disproves that. Jo, I give up. Really, I do. All I know is that Cornelia's was a very good cake. I said that to Anne too, and she burst out laughing and told me solemnly that was just like a man.
Then she threw a book at my head. No explanation. She does this sometimes when she thinks I will like the missile in question, but on this occasion I couldn't tell if I was being pummeled for vexing Susan or encouraged to read it. The answer is both, obviously. I am the worst kind of Dunce. I got five pages into the affairs of Tilling before I realized why Anne thought I'd find them apt.
Half an hour later, my brain having caught up with hers, I risked interrupting Anne's letter writing – something to Nan judging from length – to ask which of our two was Mapp, and which Lucia. Naomi overheard me, and there followed a lengthy discussion. Susan caught the tail end of it, but as she didn't grasp the joke, so was none the wiser as to why we were laughing like three giddy loons. Rosemary and John arrived, and she understood all right, if he didn't. She caught him up quickly, and set us off laughing again.
Au reservoir,
Gil