Idylwild,
Struan,
January, 1935
Gil,
We found our way safely to the Wandering Merediths in Struan, Ontario. It's surprisingly close to their old home on Crow Lake. Personally, I cannot tell how the two places are different, but that may be because of all the snow. There's miles of it.
The main difference is the people. This time Nan and Jerry have several near neighbours. The ones we see most of are the Challows, because they live next door and because their boy is firm friends with Mandy. There are several others, but the only one worth mentioning are the Pyes. No one can decide if they are related to Anne's Avonlea Pyes, but we all agree they are unquestionably Pye-ish.
I don't like Struan's winter at all. We expected – and got – drifts of snow. What we didn't anticipate was how damp the cold could be. It gets past all the layers and into your bones. When it's windy, all the sealskins and furs the children tramp around in are necessary. Even properly dressed, Rosemary and I found it hard going. We came back early from a woodland walk, and left Mandy and Jerry to commune with the cardinals. He's starting some landscape involving evergreens, she wanted to feed the birds.
Eventually the damp cold defeated even the artists, and they came in with chapped lips, blue hands, and numb noses. They were very glad of the tea Nan brewed. Us adults had Red Rose, and there was what the girls call 'Kid's Coffee' (read hot chocolate) for Mandy and Miri. Jerry and I played a round of crokinole, and I lost spectacularly, to the little girls' amusement. You're right; Playing gives you nothing but sore fingers.
Write soon, and keep us in Glen news. Is Cornelia still unwell? What does Jo make of the church? He and Nathan Arnold must get on like a house on fire – do they? Is there any getting them to talk of things not the ACS and Mission Outreach?
Love and blessings to all of you,
J.M.
New Manse,
Glen. St. Mary,
January, 1935
John,
I survived Christmas in your Glen without ousting. I begin to think this arrangement could work. I thought it would, but doubted how my extemporised sermons would hold up against your more academic endeavours. There's been some grumbling, but nothing unexpected. Norman Douglas is vocal in his glee; He says it's more fun trying to poke holes in my improvised meditations than your well-constructed ones. To compensate, Ellen keeps us in baking. Since Phil won't eat it, my grandchildren and Gil's get the brunt. I tried to hint gently to Ellen that Rosemary left us with a well-stocked pantry, but fear that added fuel to fire. Since when are they competitive?
I should warn you; I could get used to having my daughter on my doorstep. I don't suppose I could persuade you into my Kingsport work? Think how close that would make Faith to you. I don't mean that really. (Phil here interjects to assure you she does. Take that with a generous portion of salt; Her eyes are sparkling.) I'd miss my own Kingsport wee ones, and I strongly suspect I couldn't do what you do year round. It hasn't been two months and I'm already worried I'll run out of intelligent things to preach on.
But I'm enjoying getting to know Naomi's children better. Did Joanie really almost die of polio? You wouldn't know it, the way she whizzes around the Glen. I don't even notice her limp. (Irene Howard does and always condoles with me about it after church. I guess that's Howards for you.)
Bruce was marvellous when we arrived, showing us where everything was – spare keys, linen cupboard, firewood…It saved Phil and I much searching, I can tell you. Why are no two manses build the same, do you think? He still comes round on his way back to the Old West House, and we foist as much of the excess baking on him as he'll let us. It's less than I'd like, because many patients keep him in cake 're missed, of course, but there's no need to haste ye back yet. Enjoy the sabbatical. You've earned it. I'll see if I can't conjure a message or two for you to pass on to Una in the interim. Nathan and I are already plotting parcels to boost her ACS's outreach to China.
Be well, do good work, and keep in touch,
Jo
Idylwild,
Stuan,
March, 1935
Jo,
Since when are the West sisters competitive?! Where do I begin? It goes back aeons. All Wests are made that way.
Now, I want you to be extremely surprised. I've been asked to conduct the Easter service at the local church. So, now I'm holed up in the Struan library scavenging for books to help me write the sermon. It's slow going, and since change is as good as a rest, I'm taking ten minutes to write to you.
How was the monthly session meeting? Was Norman bombastic? Did Hugh McAllister oppose Ben Drew on principle? Who finally replaced Hal Taylor on the Secretariat? My Elders have a grand tradition of never agreeing, and you know better than anyone how immoveable a secretariat gets confronted with Tradition.
I want an opinion. I can't decide if Mandy genuinely doesn't notice that Mick Challow fancies her, or if she thinks ignoring him will make him stop. Rosemary says it's the former. Something about Merediths being absent-minded types. A habit, I'm reliably informed, she gets from me.
Either way, Mick Challow has my sympathy. He doesn't seem to mind if they go cloud-watching or spend an afternoon naming the farm kittens. Yesterday, Mandy forgot him so completely he settled for an amicable debate with me about the Eleventh Commandment. He thinks it's Thou Shallt Not Emote. I make it Thou Shallt Add Milk Last to Tea. The fact that he wasn't shocked is a point in his favour. Why do you suppose so many people are afraid to see the lighter side of faith? Ah! There's the sermon. Knew you would help.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
Ingleside,
Glen St Mary,
March, 1935
John,
Here I thought you were on holiday! Susan takes it as a personal affront that you would conduct an Easter service somewhere other than Knox. I didn't remind her of your Easter tenure at Crow Lake back in '25. I thought it would go over badly. Cornelia is indignant, Norman Douglas amused, and I remain confused at your insistence on mixing work and pleasure.
Ellen wants your sermon notes. Between you, me and this letter, I don't think Jo's extemporaneous style agrees with her. He uses the pulpit these days, but under duress. Mary kept complaining he didn't, and my guess is he didn't want you to come back to a schism. Poor Jo. He looks ridiculous preaching three feet off the ground! He belongs on firm ground, circumnavigating the chancel while extemporising exegesis. But you know the Glen. Try telling them that. As Jo says, everyone will adjust to him the day you come home and not a day sooner. Isn't that always the way?
Anne and Phil might as well be back at Patty's place the way they conspire and gossip. Well, except for the skin-and-bonesness of Phil. I can't reconcile myself to that at all. If you want my unsolicited opinion – and you're getting it because heretofore Phil has dodged it – I don't like it at all. Neither does Bruce. We sit in my study and plot what we can do about it. Then we plot what to tell Jo. I have that sinking feeling again. The one I get examining Susan, or battling polio. There's nothing to do. It's days like this, confronted with lists like that I wonder what I ever thought I could change by becoming a doctor
You are, as ever, under strictest orders to keep us current with all things Struan. I don't like your inference about Miri and Miss Janie at all. You might be right about Mandy and the Challow boy, but you must have this wrong. Anne always went in for romantic friendships. That's probably all it is. Anne and I always did say it was a shame Nan and Jerry never set up anywhere long enough for the girls to have bosom friends. That's probably all this thing is. Well, of course it is. She's a child still. Give it a year or two and I'm sure you'll be agonizing over her kissing some nice local boy - assuming the family is still in Struan. They may not be. Anyway, I wouldn't worry. Not for a long while yet.
Other inquiries: Is there still snow? Have the Pyes and the Vernons reconciled? Have you visited Harper's yet? As Davey Keith was wont to say in olden days, I want to know.
Love ever,
Gil
Idyllwild,
Struan,
Easter, 1935
Happy Easter!
I don't believe we've had one this memorable since Crow Lake days. Hard to believe that was ten years ago, isn't it?
Because I took the Easter service, Rosemary baked the Communion bread. She absolutely refused to let me bless Wonder Bread. Apparently there is nothing Godly and everything Satanic about a loaf that never goes off and tastes of blankness. Mandy was an excellent helper until she discovered the bread's ultimate fate.
'You can't bake God,' said an incensed Mandy, trying to wrest the loaf from her grandmother.
Confronted with fourteen years of indignant granddaughter, Rosemary did the only thing she could: She asked why not.
'Because,' said Mandy, 'if you could bake God' and oh, the withering italics, 'the heathens wouldn't need converting. You'd just bake them some bread and they would eat it and they'd be converted, and Aunt Una could come home from Singapore.'
While Rosemary pondered what to say to that, Mandy warmed to her theme. 'Also,' she said, 'It's cannibalism. Eating! God! It's – It's – ' She flailed for approximately thirty seconds and then said – Susan will gloat – 'It's practically Catholic.'
While Rosemary bit her cheek and thought the most solemnest thoughts possible, Mandy commenced a lengthy exegesis about Christ, and how He already had to die on the Cross and harrow Hell. He didn't deserve to be subjected to the fiery innards of the Aga on top of that.
'I think, darling,' said Rosemary, still not smiling for fear of Italics, 'Harrowing Hell is dangerously Catholic.'
'That,' said Mandy, canting her Shirley nose heavenwards, 'isn't the point, Granny.'
What tickles me is that the episode couldn't have happened if Rosemary had bought the bread from Harper's. But she refused, and I quote, 'To transubstantiate, consubstantiate or otherwise symbolically invoke God and the Trinity through the dubious substance of Wonder Bread.'
Mandy's protests notwithstanding, Rosemary went ahead with the Baking of God, which gesture was taken in good faith by the rest of the community, no one else seeming to share Mandy's concern for the well-being of their Maker.
Interestingly, Mandy was positively placid about the paschal lamb. I dared to question this and she shrugged and said, 'That isn't God, that's because of the Passover.'
After the ordeal that was Christ being Baked in the Oven the First Time, I really didn't feel up to arguing this piece of theology, so graciously conceded her point. The last thing Nan needs is a vegetarian to cater to.
It was a grand note to end the visit on. Rosemary and I will laugh over it all the way to Singapore. Naturally, we won't be able to explain the joke. The wonderful thing about your friendship these long years is that you're a rare soul who appreciates that a minister can, in fact, have a sense of humour. A fine understanding of humanity we'd show if we didn't know how to laugh. Ask Jo, see if he doesn't agree.
Love and blessings,
J.M.
P.S. It might be of interest to Shirley that weather being what it is, we're going by sea-plane from Crow Lake to Montreal. It's the only way to leave – the snow is still here!
Ingleside,
Glen St Mary,
April, 1935
John,
Stick a warning on your letter next time it will lead to Susan crowing! It's only fair. I have to live with her, and you don't. Everyone else found it killingly funny. Especially when Iain, hearing it, said he thought we did eat God at Easter. Poor Jo tried to explain that Presbyterian communion was only symbolic, but he was carrying water to sea.
Then Susan asked what consubstantiation was.
None of us Presbyterians felt up to the challenge. Enter Mara.
'What it is,' said our practising Catholic connection, 'is the Episcopals trying to have their cake and eat it.'
I don't think Susan understood, but I thought she hit the nail on the head. Ask Rosemary for me if the Episcopalians have any doctrines that are definitely one thing or another, won't you?
Our Easter was much less dramatic. Jo gave a rather good sermon on living the resurrection, which was fascinating, but as Cornelia observed to Anne afterwards, nothing to do with the readings. Jo's sermons never have anything to do with the readings. I'd expect nothing less from a mission-first minister. Norman Douglas loves trying to prove their unsoundness. He hasn't succeeded yet, but he tries gamely.
We had everyone back to Ingleside, Bruce and the Arnolds inclusive. It was a spectacular undertaking by Anne and Susan. Di tried to help but the kitchen isn't forgiving of people with infant paralysis. Too much unsupported standing. That rankled; She peeled mounds of potatoes and muttered darkly about being useful. Abby very sweetly said there were lots of useful things one could do sitting, like knit for the unwanted babies. God love our Abby – she's swallowing ever more of Jo's Gospel of Action by the day.
Dulce was in ecstasies over the Easter dinner. She wandered between guests begging scraps as if we starved her. And the guests gave them to her! All right, I did too. Those liquid brown eyes are irresistible. She got a most thorough second luncheon off of us soft touches.
Safe travels on the eve of your departure. Send updates from Singapore. Detailed ones!
Love ever,
Gil
P.S. Also next time you write on the theme of 'planes, for goodness' sake include specifics! The interested party now want to know what kind of an aeroplane, at what mileage, flying in from where and hundreds of other things I can't answer.