lost her husband to one war and then watched Phil—and all of us—lose Mr. Holmes at the end of the next. The women were queens reigning over the household, but men headed the family; there was no disputing that. Many people believed that households headed by women were not meant to last.
The store did not recover from the Depression and business did not improve after the war began. Because of his age and his blind eye, Mr. Holmes had not been able to join up. He was sensitive about his German-sounding name, and took extra measures to proclaim his loyalty to the citizens of Wilna Creek. Not that anyone doubted his patriotism; he frequently donated a portion of the store’s meagre earnings to war causes. In the main display window at the front of the store, he went so far as to put up a large government poster that portrayed a huge white elephant. A tiny man and woman at the bottom of the poster peered up at a For Sale sign tacked to the elephant’s side. The elephant had a placid but jolly expression on its face and the caption read: IF YOU DON’T NEED IT, DON’T BUY IT. People on the sidewalk frequently stopped to look up at the elephant, and from inside the store I saw them nod their heads as they moved on and did not stop to shop.
To display such advice was not sound business practice, and I overheard Grand Dan say to our mother one morning, “He’sshot himself in the foot, Philomena. The man has shot himself in the foot.”
Grand Dan telephoned Mott and asked him to drive her to town. She walked along the sidewalk to my father’s store, stood for a meaningful five minutes outside the window, and stared in around the edge of the giant elephant, to prove her point. She did not enter the store, but neither did Mr. Holmes remove the poster. Citizens of Canada had been urged to be mindful of extravagance, to buy bonds, to save waste paper, not to gossip, to still our tongues. Mr. Holmes wanted to prove that he was as loyal as the men who marched up the street in uniform with bands playing behind them.
He brought home printed instructions to save waste bones, because bones could be made into glue for aircraft. To please him, we promptly began to drop chicken bones and ribs and thighs into a pail with a lid. The pail had to be kept outside the door because of the stench, and animals came round at night. Phil fainted one day when the lid was left off. Despite my anatomical interest, we stopped saving bones because we had been given no advice about where to send them once we’d amassed a collection. Ally and I buried them at the edge of the refuse pit, and shouted as we dug, “Pit and all do stinketh!”
One afternoon, while our parents were at the store, Aunt and Uncle Fred arrived unexpectedly. They planned to stay overnight and had left the boys at home, with the eldest in charge. When Uncle Fred came into the house, he produced a bottle of dark rum, which he called “Nelson’s Blood,” from his Gladstone bag.
“Come here, Girl,” he said. “And bring some glasses to the table.” Ally and I brought glasses, but every one of them waschipped. He picked one up, ran his finger around the rim and set it down. He picked up another and did the same.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “We’re going shopping. Get in the car, Girl.”
Ally and I both climbed in, happy to have a drive to town. He took us to the grocery store, where he walked up and down the pickle aisle and put eight jars of mustard into the cart. Each jar was shaped like a drinking glass; each was decorated with diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs, and had thin red and black lines painted around the rims. Uncle Fred paid for the mustard, drove us home and asked for a mixing bowl. He pried off the lids, emptied the eight jars of mustard into the bowl, took the glasses to the sink, rinsed them out and shelved all but one in the kitchen cupboard. “There,” he said, pleased with his own ingenuity. “Now you have a set of glasses and a full bowl
The store did not recover from the Depression and business did not improve after the war began. Because of his age and his blind eye, Mr. Holmes had not been able to join up. He was sensitive about his German-sounding name, and took extra measures to proclaim his loyalty to the citizens of Wilna Creek. Not that anyone doubted his patriotism; he frequently donated a portion of the store’s meagre earnings to war causes. In the main display window at the front of the store, he went so far as to put up a large government poster that portrayed a huge white elephant. A tiny man and woman at the bottom of the poster peered up at a For Sale sign tacked to the elephant’s side. The elephant had a placid but jolly expression on its face and the caption read: IF YOU DON’T NEED IT, DON’T BUY IT. People on the sidewalk frequently stopped to look up at the elephant, and from inside the store I saw them nod their heads as they moved on and did not stop to shop.
To display such advice was not sound business practice, and I overheard Grand Dan say to our mother one morning, “He’sshot himself in the foot, Philomena. The man has shot himself in the foot.”
Grand Dan telephoned Mott and asked him to drive her to town. She walked along the sidewalk to my father’s store, stood for a meaningful five minutes outside the window, and stared in around the edge of the giant elephant, to prove her point. She did not enter the store, but neither did Mr. Holmes remove the poster. Citizens of Canada had been urged to be mindful of extravagance, to buy bonds, to save waste paper, not to gossip, to still our tongues. Mr. Holmes wanted to prove that he was as loyal as the men who marched up the street in uniform with bands playing behind them.
He brought home printed instructions to save waste bones, because bones could be made into glue for aircraft. To please him, we promptly began to drop chicken bones and ribs and thighs into a pail with a lid. The pail had to be kept outside the door because of the stench, and animals came round at night. Phil fainted one day when the lid was left off. Despite my anatomical interest, we stopped saving bones because we had been given no advice about where to send them once we’d amassed a collection. Ally and I buried them at the edge of the refuse pit, and shouted as we dug, “Pit and all do stinketh!”
One afternoon, while our parents were at the store, Aunt and Uncle Fred arrived unexpectedly. They planned to stay overnight and had left the boys at home, with the eldest in charge. When Uncle Fred came into the house, he produced a bottle of dark rum, which he called “Nelson’s Blood,” from his Gladstone bag.
“Come here, Girl,” he said. “And bring some glasses to the table.” Ally and I brought glasses, but every one of them waschipped. He picked one up, ran his finger around the rim and set it down. He picked up another and did the same.
“Well, that’s it,” he said. “We’re going shopping. Get in the car, Girl.”
Ally and I both climbed in, happy to have a drive to town. He took us to the grocery store, where he walked up and down the pickle aisle and put eight jars of mustard into the cart. Each jar was shaped like a drinking glass; each was decorated with diamonds, hearts, spades and clubs, and had thin red and black lines painted around the rims. Uncle Fred paid for the mustard, drove us home and asked for a mixing bowl. He pried off the lids, emptied the eight jars of mustard into the bowl, took the glasses to the sink, rinsed them out and shelved all but one in the kitchen cupboard. “There,” he said, pleased with his own ingenuity. “Now you have a set of glasses and a full bowl
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