New Manse,
Glen. St. Mary,
Jan. 1927
Jo,
I presume you heard about the great flood that went through Malaya, if not from Una than presumably from the Presbytery at Kuala Lampur. I didn't realise there was such a thing until the Flood Relief Fund appeared in this quarter's letter from the General Assembly.
I was aware of the flood, because Una's up to her elbows negotiating the fallout. She doesn't say, but I think she's secretly a bit relieved Di and Alastair left for England, because all the children at Horley Hall, Ipoh, got sent to Oldham House on Barker Road, where she teaches. As far as I can tell, they're still there, safe from the torrential rain.
They came from Ipoh by boat, if you can believe it. The railways were completely inaccessible, and the causeway swamped at the Malay end. No trouble believing that – we saw Di's photograph of the Singapore side! There's always flooding this time of year, but neither ACS can remember anything like this.
Una sounds at her wits' end, honestly. She and Carl currently host twenty-odd children, because Oldham wasn't kitted out to accommodate an emergency influx of flood evacuees. They're short beds, bedding, clothes and everything else you can think of.
The children aren't bothered. They adore Puck and see the evacuation as an adventure. All children adore Puck. They find his peanut-throwing hysterical and have taken to mimicking him, especially in class. Una's sorry for them, but I think she wishes she had somewhere she could go for half an hour's peace that wasn't the staff room.
The classroom's a lost cause. It overflows with more languages than ever. The Anglo-Chinese School's teaching policy is strict English, but Una finds herself picking up bits of Malay and Tamil just to manage the flood refugees.
Desks, obviously, are out of the question. There aren't enough to go round, so all Una's pupils take their lessons Turk-style on the floor. They balance writing materials on their knees, and their handwriting suffers for it. Compositions are hopelessly illegible, but Una feels this is the least of the existing problems.
They take their meals at Trinity House the same way, which is complicated by Akela, who thinks he's entitled to any food scraps he can see. The children think that's a game, too. They pet and spoil Akela, and he reciprocates by barking gleefully when they come trooping home in the afternoons. Nenni the cat is deeply wounded by the intrusion into her home. She hides in the kitchen, and sulks there magnificently. She won't budge until they leave, and pauses only to wash her ears assiduously.
All this (and Nathan Arnold's connections to Horley Hall) led to Nathan Arnold and I spearheading an appeal for clothes, since Una says they're down to one uniform per child after some clever clothing redistribution by the house masters. It's hardly ideal. We're also organizing collections for writing implements and similar, both for the Oldham and Horley Hall children.
We couldn't have done it without your daughter, who keeps a box in the classroom, so students can contribute. She's had everything from cuddly toys to exercise journals and old jumpers.
She's also instituted a composition course so our students can write to Una's ACS pupils. Una will send her students' answers, as will the other ACS teachers. It's been remarkable for making students take an interest in their history and geography.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
March, 1927
John,
I'm back from an emergency Presbytery meeting in Culross. They want to expand my parochial triangle to include New Waterford and Kilrenny. I don't think they can do this. In all probability, it's a General Assembly affair. But the locals are for it.
If it goes through, I'll have to swallow my scruples and buy that automobile after all. My parishioners may not have the means to buy one, but my parishioners aren't expected to dot equally between five seaside kirks. I don't like to do it, but I fear I'm getting too old to rush everywhere on a bicycle. So my children keep saying. Ellie and Ruthie spent the holiday lecturing me about how liable I was to break my neck, rushing between Fish Supper at Martyrs' and the Advent Appeal Carol Sing in Waterford. I fobbed them off, but cycling on a sprained ankle forced me to acknowledge my limits.
Inarguably, Kilrenny and New Waterford deserve ministry. Kilrenny's been in interregnum for years. If I inherit them, I can't do less by them than my other catchments. I know my own and my own know me, et&. I say it lightly, but that's the core of my ministry. It was my ordination text. I know all my flock, their names and their grievances, even the littlest ones. Helen's love of cherry cake, Mrs. Conway's fear of heights, Grace Carmichael's reluctance to leave her daughter alone, and that daughter's terror of drinking poison. Automobile or no, I do not see how I can continue this policy practically across a catchment area of five villages. What good is a shepherd who doesn't know his sheep?
Naomi says that you're still sending Flood Relief parcels to the ACS. So are we. Faith's been vital ensuring the school – Una's and the one swamped in Malaya – get appropriate medical supplies.
I cannot imagine what it must be to be displaced from home like that. The unrelenting uncertainty must be awful. All I could think of, this Christmas gone, with my children and grandchildren around me, was what a luxury it was to be warm and clothed and dry – and among our people. Gil and I talked not long ago of what it was to draw one's children close and hold them there. This holiday I wanted nothing more than to reach over the water and gather those children to us and help them to our table, though thinking on it, as gestures go, it's a fairly empty one. Few things are so potent as to be home, and I'm sure there's no amount of food or clothing, or even shelter that could compensate them that loss.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St. Mary,
March, 1927
Jo,
I know what you mean. These days, Nathan and I talk more of mission than marriages– as do the couple concerned. So, it surprised exactly no one when Susan seized control of the final wedding preparations.
It came out in our last discussion that Nathan has actually been to Oldham ACS on Barker Road. No wonder he has such a good grasp of the situation. The children sound like they're thriving, though, and Una's letter dated to late February, predicts she can send them home at the end of the school year.
I hope so, as I appreciate what you say about home. Sometimes – very occasionally, and only between you, me and this letter – I wish Jerry's Mandy and Miri had what Anne Blythe calls an Ancestral Home. They have laughed with loons, chased after the geese, skated haltingly on lakes, and presently Nan's homeschooling them on the banks of the St Lawrence River. But they have never had that one place that takes you back. Just as often, I think this is better, because they have many places instead, and as many traditions, too. And because they are learning to lay not up…treasures upon earth. Nan writes of contented, imaginative girls with God's gifts at their fingertips. I cannot possibly want more for them. I should not. And when I hold them next to the Horley Hall children, taking their lessons on the floor of Una's classroom, and their meals on the floor of her house, my little grandaughters strike me as rich beyond measure – warm, and clothed, and with their family around them.
But when I look at little Abby McNeilly, leaning her red head against the Ingleside French windows, watching for her mother to take her home to Charlottetown, I think it matters after all.
I would put much of this towards Sunday's sermon; It sits well with Psalm 23. But I find the rest of the lectionary goes harder with it. Never mind they are hard readings for Lent – they are all of them dense. I suspect the key is in the psalm; surely goodness and mercy will follow me, if I am ever to make them accessible. What do you think?
Love and blessings,
J.M
P.S. You cannot just lob copies of Broadview into the post for me! Are you trying to scandalize my parishioners, or what? A Methodist publication, Jo. What are you thinking?!
P.P.S. I did appreciate the circled advertisement on the Flood Relief Fund. I'll say this for the Methodists; Their Mission Outreach is second to none.
Ingleside,
Glen St. Mary,
March, 1927
Jo,
Ingleside's enjoying a spectacular reunion. Di and Alastair are home. If you think this is earlier than expected, it is.
Apparently they had a lovely time in Singapore, but after a long passage to England, where it was wet and wintery, Di and Alastair got homesick for the children. So, they abandoned the plan to see Scotland, and headed home in time for Abby's birthday.
They planned to surprise us, but didn't bank on their daughter keeping vigil in our parlour window. She verily flew at them, like a diminutive Titian whirlwind. There was shrieking and squealing in the register of bats.
Out came the Inglesideans running. We were sure there was a murder transpiring in the front hall. Instead, we collided with the contented parents, and Hector and Abby swooping and screaming like seagulls.
'We missed you, Mummy,' said Miss Abby as she snuggled fiercely against Di's chest.
'We missed you more,' said my daughter, and you could see she meant it.
Susan brought out a tea tray that groaned unlawfully. Anne feared she'd drop it. There were cakes, scones, savouries and just everything Susan felt was good, right and English, because, as she said, 'I don't doubt Una Meredith is a sweet housekeeper, but you cannot tell me, Di dear that those heathens over there keep a civilized tea table. And you know, Una did once clean house on Sunday.'
The poor Meredith girls will never live that one down. Don't tell Una. Faith would see the funny side, but she won't.
Di laughed and said Singapore was almost more British than the British. She got out pictures to prove it, and we passed an agreeable evening chatting, long after the children fell asleep in parental laps.
Love and blessings,
Gil