Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
Dec. 1930
John,
I was going to write you a thank you for your gift of The Little Engine that Could to one Elle Blake. As intended, Sam's girls love it. So much that they won't stop chanting I think I can, I think I can at every opportunity. So, my feelings are mixed. As Phil says, having found the one bright spot, 'At least it doesn't rhyme!'
Still, we could about do with a respite. Fancy sending some more books? Ones without a chorus?
I jest, of course. What is childhood without these bizarre and inexplicable passions?
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch – but for heaven's sake, no more trains!
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St. Mary,
Jan, 1931
Jo,
Forgive the lack of foresight. All of mine are mad for Tintin, so it never dawned on me the little blue train that thought it could would be so mesmeric. Rosemary says I might have guessed, given Bruce (before he grew tall and lean and medical of mind) was fascinated by trains. He used to build the most elaborate railways around my study, and many were the times and painful my unslippered foot took a sharp piece to the arch!
In my defence, my grandchildren spent the holiday begging for a dog 'Just like Snowy.'
Forget that many of them have dogs. They want a West Highland Terrier. Do not comply. Faith said not only was God Tuesday more than enough, he would be thoroughly betrayed by the acquisition of a second dog. Mara said Pilgrim (that's the cat) would be even less forgiving, and Di that Susan would have an apoplexy on the spot if she came into her kitchen and found not one but two dogs feasting on her roast ham. Can you imagine?
Poor Betty commiserates, because her children are equally possessed. She blames Ingleside for ever adopting Dulce. It set a precedent, apparently. Miranda agrees, only she blames the publishing industry (indirectly) and Joe (directly) for bringing Tintin to her home.
In all seriousness, thank you for your gift of Ash Wednesday. I'm still wrangling it. It's less straightforward than the 1927 Magi. It's been ages since I got this stuck into a text. I anticipate wrestling with it for many years. It's the most curious blend of verse, ritual and here and there, concrete scripture.
It's almost sinister, don't you think? But when I read it, I see echoes of of my children's hauntings. I hear their confessions to me since the war. Because I do not hope to turn again indeed.
The ending strikes me most – the injunction Teach us to sit still/among the rocks. Isn't that just what my children have done? Jerry among the wilds of Canada, relearning the beauty of our world, Carl in Singapore, beginning again with Li and Una at his side; Faith finding the beauty of God's creation in her patients. I'm not so bold as to say that that is the crux of the thing; Poetry is Anne's suit, not mine. But that was the line that stamped itself across my brain on first, second and third perusal. Doubtless, further reading – and there will be further reading – shall yield others. I'll tell you of them as I find them.
The first Prayer Meeting of the year calls. May it be better than the one so lately flown.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
P.S. Have you read it? How do you get on with those three leopards? They elude all here completely.
New Manse,
Glen St Mary,
Jan, 1931
Dante! The leopards were Dante. Didn't I tell you there would be readings and re-readings? Apt, because there's more of Hell than of Heaven in the poem, title notwithstanding. That was true of Dante too.
Enough of that; I believe I owe you an apology on behalf of my children for the corruption of your grandchildren by mine. I knew Christopher and Helen were inveterate Investigateers, but didn't appreciate how deeply it ran, much less that Helen had skipping-rope rhymes inspired by poisons!
The first I heard was from Faith after Helen got called to the headmaster's office with your Sam's Evie. When she said a nursery rhyme was responsible, I imagined something like Dr. Fell from my Latin Grammar days. At a push I might have suspected Jem's old staple – did you ever hear him recite Amo, amas, I love a lass? Don't ask him to!
Imagine my surprise when Faith said the rhyme in question went Bitter almonds, run and hide/That's the smell of cyanide! And there was more where that came from. I couldn't imagine where the girls' heard it, much less why they were jumping rope to it.
Faith knew. Apparently, Jem's old company had a stockpile of jingles to keep them alive during the war. He recited some recently over a corpse – something involving cyanide. Helen was enchanted. Evie must have got it from her.
It's the inevitable fallout of everyone talking murders and mayhem around the children from their cradle. Though they might have seen to it that Evie and Emma were left well out of it!
It would have made an excellent story for our local newspaper, which is thriving these days. Sadly, it wasn't local news, so it's circulating the old fashioned way, via the Glen Grapevine. I daresay it's faster than our paper –certainly faster than an old fashioned letter.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
Feb, 1931
John,
Phil's favourite is Smell the scent of new mown hay, 'phosgene gas is on the way. I can't decide if I should be grimly amused, or horrified that this was how our sons survived the war.
I know lots about the case you referenced, because I buried the corpse. He wasn't local – the Inspector & Co had a terrible time identifying him. They found nothing but aliases.
Jem asked me to bury the body when it was released. There was no family to claim him, so we could only give him an unmarked grave. I had it inscribed Servant of God. It seemed fitting. Jem stumped up money that I refused, then accepted when he proved intractable. It turned up on the collection plate after the funeral and I pretended not to notice. I'm sure there's a suitable cause for it.
We buried our unknown body under the horse chestnut in the graveyard. Jem and Faith were there, as were Teddy and the Carlisles. That didn't surprise me. Mara's appearance did. She rarely defects from Sacred Heart. But she never got to say goodbye to her brother – the one that died in the war. That sort of crystalized things for me. It drizzled steadily the whole time I read the rite. Afterwards, Phil made everyone come back for tea, because that's what you do after a funeral, even for strangers. If you think that sounds like Hetta Gordon, so do I. But I never wrote that and you never read it.
Honestly, John, I hadn't much appetite. I had a prison visitation next on the roster, and it was a pretty dire combination. Unnamed dead or impending death sentence I can take in stride. Both together gets in your bones and chills them. I stuck around because I wanted to remember there was still good in the world. I drank the Ceylon Una sent us and felt better for the tea as much as the meditation, I guess. Murder and mayhem abound, but also these people doing the best they can. I gave a stranger his In memoriam – or do I mean memento mori, oh Scholar – and that must be enough. Is that Pelagianism? Ah, well. It comforted me when I needed it.
I knew I was right to send you the Eliot. Best of luck in your further analysis; Already your understanding surpasses mine.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
New Manse,
Glen St Mary,
April, 1931
Bruce came home for Easter quieter than usual, so of course half the Glen attributes it to the usual Eastertide separation from his second pair of eyes. Rosemary certainly does, and said so the other night over the usual hundred strokes of her hair. Probably, some of it is missing Miss Caldicote. Whenever I see Bruce and Miss Caldicote together, I remember Bruce never had a sibling his age. He has siblings, but between university and the war, he never got much time with them. Una made a pet of him, but even then, she was more auxiliary mother than sister.
I take it from your account of Sam and family's adaptation to Kingsport that your holiday was less existential. Emma's attempt at hot crossed buns had us in stitches – never let on. Better label the salt clearly for next time! And keep it far away from the sugar!
Unrelated: Can you shed any light on Autumn Crocus? What is it, where is it, who is it? All we know from Jem, Faith and Shirley is that Mara is good in it. All she says on the subject is that she still cannot speak German – none of the cast can. Gil's determined to catch it, so look for him on your doorstep imminently.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Martyrs' Manse,
Kingsport,
April, 1931
John,
Sam spotted Bruce and Miss Caldicote the other day en route from the library to a local café and 'bickering amicably.' Sam's (rather good) phrase, not mine. So, they are unequivocally reunited now.
Autumn Crocus is tremendously popular. Neither the reviews, nor Larkrise, nor Shirley are exaggerating. As I keep telling Mara, no one here had any German to start with, so can't tell what they're missing. Gilbert should certainly catch it. So should you. Make a weekend of it. We can swap churches and that way you can get some of the travel fare back from the secretariat. As long as you really do preach at Martyrs, no harm done.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
Maple Ridge,
New Brunswick,
May, 1931
John,
We're having a lovely holiday out here. It's very different to the all-hours, on-call nature of Fox Corner. For one thing, Susan didn't so much invade Nan's kitchen as help herself to it. She's deep in the throes of righting it, and Nan hasn't batted an eye. Poor Susan was horrified to find crockery and paintbrushes comingling, turpentine and beeswax blending. She's convinced the aroma is unhealthy and will do the little girls some injury. It won't, but you try telling Susan that.
The girls in question, this doctor happily reports, are rudely healthy. Positively normal, once you get past the fact that Mandy's half wood-nymph and spends most of her time up trees, charming the inhabitants. Shades of Carl there, I fancy, and of Anne. She has a name for everything – the trees as well as the creatures – and condescended to confide these in Anne yesterday. Miri is much more present, for lack of a better word. She does the chattering of two girls, and Jerry too. He and I lost an amicable hour to a chess match, where I emerged with dignity but no pieces to speak of.
Oh, and you want to see Mandy dance. Turns out, you can call her out of the trees with bagpipes, and then she's a little whirlwind. She's got a smile and a word for everyone. Miri loves it too, but it's in Mandy's blood. Not sure whose inheritance that is.
Love ever,
Gil