cliffs? Many are the ships berthed here—from New York, Australia, Liverpool. And of course Glasgow—home, sweet home—will we ever see it again?
Wherever you are, Robbie, I know you are thinking of me, as I think of you. What hopeless thoughts they are! Knowing I may not . . . probably won’t . . . ever see you again, still I long to pour out my heart to you. Knowing you probably will never see this journal, I’m writing it anyway. It helps me just to “talk” to you in this way. Though I sent a letter to James, it isn’t the same. He can write me in care of the Society in Toronto, for we shall be there for a while as our assignments are being made, and you could too, if only you knew it. But you don’t even know about this contract I’ve signed, and the change my life has made. No doubt you think of me back in Binkiebrae, perhaps on my hilltop, while here I am, in Canada. What a miracle .
So ignorant of where the other one is—it’s so sad, Robbie—but there, I promised myself that this shall be a pleasant journal (or long, long letter), with no need to tell of any dark and desperate days. Or talk about dreary things. I trust I may be able to keep that vow .
Perhaps you stayed here in St. John’s and went to work; there is plenty of activity going on. Perhaps you are just a stone’s throw from me even as I sit here in this hostel. As we girls walk about the streets, do a little shopping, and a lot of looking, I find myself watching for you everywhere I go. Many places, you could have found employment. There are pulp and paper mills here, several factories, and fish, fish, fish, everywhere. Cod and whale oil are manufactured; codfish is dried—there are great cod-fishing grounds here. You can believe me when I say, and perhaps you already know, that certain parts of the town don’t smell good! You could have worked in the fish at home, Robbie, but I remember you dinna . . . I mean did not, want to .
And oh yes, sad as it makes me, skins of the hair seal are sold here in great numbers, to be made into leather and fur abroad. All this and more I have learned as I’ve walked around town, asked questions, listened, and read the local paper .
So happy are we to have our feet on dry ground again that some of the girls have expressed the secret wish just to stay here. It is so fresh and new and bustling, surely there would be work here for us. Some are weary of traveling and dread the trek across the continent. What a huge land it is! We are barely on the edge of it .
But we cannot stay here, much as we might like to do so. We are pledged to the Society, and we must keep our word. After all, they paid our way over here and have a lot of money invested in us .
If we didn’t want to work, we could marry! Yes, already the lack of marriageable women is obvious. Some men have come here—from far away, perhaps the Territories—because they hear ships are bringing single women. Why can’t they understand that we came not on a bride ship but as workers, domestics? I, for one, am fiercely determined to make my own way. Me—marry? Oh, my Robbie, how could anyone else appeal to me? Am I not, in my heart, pledged to you? But I hasten on .
Anne, in particular, draws the stares of hungry-hearted men like moths to a lamp. Lucian MacDermott isn’t the only one to press after her. But her experience in Binkiebrae has made her fearful of any and all attention; she flees from it, has no patience with it .
Let me tell you about some good that came out of the voyage, Robbie. I studied and read almost continually, there not being much else to do. One of the women, a governess back home, said she’d help with my studies. Oh, how Ibenefited—see, I know how to use and to spell that word. Binkiebrae school gave me, as you, a good education insofar as it went, but I want to know more. I shall keep on reading, writing, and spelling, for I find I love it. Perhaps I shall settle where there is a lending library; how I would
Wherever you are, Robbie, I know you are thinking of me, as I think of you. What hopeless thoughts they are! Knowing I may not . . . probably won’t . . . ever see you again, still I long to pour out my heart to you. Knowing you probably will never see this journal, I’m writing it anyway. It helps me just to “talk” to you in this way. Though I sent a letter to James, it isn’t the same. He can write me in care of the Society in Toronto, for we shall be there for a while as our assignments are being made, and you could too, if only you knew it. But you don’t even know about this contract I’ve signed, and the change my life has made. No doubt you think of me back in Binkiebrae, perhaps on my hilltop, while here I am, in Canada. What a miracle .
So ignorant of where the other one is—it’s so sad, Robbie—but there, I promised myself that this shall be a pleasant journal (or long, long letter), with no need to tell of any dark and desperate days. Or talk about dreary things. I trust I may be able to keep that vow .
Perhaps you stayed here in St. John’s and went to work; there is plenty of activity going on. Perhaps you are just a stone’s throw from me even as I sit here in this hostel. As we girls walk about the streets, do a little shopping, and a lot of looking, I find myself watching for you everywhere I go. Many places, you could have found employment. There are pulp and paper mills here, several factories, and fish, fish, fish, everywhere. Cod and whale oil are manufactured; codfish is dried—there are great cod-fishing grounds here. You can believe me when I say, and perhaps you already know, that certain parts of the town don’t smell good! You could have worked in the fish at home, Robbie, but I remember you dinna . . . I mean did not, want to .
And oh yes, sad as it makes me, skins of the hair seal are sold here in great numbers, to be made into leather and fur abroad. All this and more I have learned as I’ve walked around town, asked questions, listened, and read the local paper .
So happy are we to have our feet on dry ground again that some of the girls have expressed the secret wish just to stay here. It is so fresh and new and bustling, surely there would be work here for us. Some are weary of traveling and dread the trek across the continent. What a huge land it is! We are barely on the edge of it .
But we cannot stay here, much as we might like to do so. We are pledged to the Society, and we must keep our word. After all, they paid our way over here and have a lot of money invested in us .
If we didn’t want to work, we could marry! Yes, already the lack of marriageable women is obvious. Some men have come here—from far away, perhaps the Territories—because they hear ships are bringing single women. Why can’t they understand that we came not on a bride ship but as workers, domestics? I, for one, am fiercely determined to make my own way. Me—marry? Oh, my Robbie, how could anyone else appeal to me? Am I not, in my heart, pledged to you? But I hasten on .
Anne, in particular, draws the stares of hungry-hearted men like moths to a lamp. Lucian MacDermott isn’t the only one to press after her. But her experience in Binkiebrae has made her fearful of any and all attention; she flees from it, has no patience with it .
Let me tell you about some good that came out of the voyage, Robbie. I studied and read almost continually, there not being much else to do. One of the women, a governess back home, said she’d help with my studies. Oh, how Ibenefited—see, I know how to use and to spell that word. Binkiebrae school gave me, as you, a good education insofar as it went, but I want to know more. I shall keep on reading, writing, and spelling, for I find I love it. Perhaps I shall settle where there is a lending library; how I would
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