Review of 'Rust and Bone' starring Marion Cotillard and Matthias Schoenarts . Directed by Jacques Audard.
Some people often complain about the violence in American films. But though some French flicks may not pile up as many dead bodies as your average American movie, the realism of some French films can really depress you . Take the recently released French movie 'Rust and Bone'. Here Marion Cotillard , a dolphin trainer meets a tough thug played by Matthew Schoenarts.
Then Cotillard gets attacked by a dolphin in the pool. Or at least that's what probably happens. And in an instant, Cotillard becomes a double amputee, a young woman who's lost both her legs. Meanwhile she meets Schoenart who pursues two careers, one as a security guard and management stoolie, the other as a sometimes mixed martial arts fighter.
He gets bloodied and then some. He also makes love to many women including Cotillard. Never before have I seen a double amputee have intercourse on the big screen. There has been at least one or two movies on handicapped wheelchair-bound people including 'Born On the Fourth of July' and "Coming Home'. Both films were about Vietnam vets.. But they were tame wish-fulfilled works compared to "Rust and Bone'.
Here's a film that shows poor or not so rich people struggling to survive. And its portrayal of the struggles of a handicapped Cotillard are unmatched by any other film I've ever seen on handicapped wheelchair bound people.
When the late Gore Vidal was once asked why he called one of his novels 'Hollywood' he replied, "Because that's all that America will be remembered for." Whether true or not, Hollywood is a dream factory whose stars look like gods and goddesses. They live in mansions, worlds away from the lives of us earth bound average people. Of course that's part of the reason why people love U.S. films.
'Rust and Bone' doesn't seem to exist in the same planet as your average American film. That's what appealed to me as it played on the screen. Its ending isn't a complete downer but it's not an upper either. As the French say, "Chacun a son gout," or "To each one's own taste." For a change of pace go watch "Rust and Bone'. It's an excellent film.
Saturday 29 December 2012
Friday 28 December 2012
In Love and Out of Canada
Leaving Home Again
Jane was astounded to see Tytherleigh. They made a date to meet that night. And in a few weeks they were enagaged to be married. In April 1962 they were married in an Anglican church in Fredericton.
"I could have married many other men," Jane told a friend of hers thirty years later. Then why did she marry John the friend asked. "Because he was there," Jane said as she gazed out of the living room of her small house on Vancouver's West side. "and I wanted to escape."
John had a job with a big engineering firm and was moving to Atlanta, Georgia. Once married, Jane could quit her dead-end job with the advertising firm. She could leave behind Atlantic Canada with its small town ways where everybody knew everyone else.She would move to a land where there was no snow and the sun shone endlessly. Jane maybe was not head over heels in love with John but she knew him and liked to make love to him. "He had a nice thin body back then," Jane recalled to her friend. "And he still seemed to love me."
Plus she could make love to this young man without fear of getting pregnant and having to get an abortion. Also being with John wiped out the memories of her ill-fated affair with Don McWilliam. Although she still felt guilty about her abortion she realized that she could never have brought up that child alone.
"She went to England to get another degree," the gossipers in Fredericton would have said. "But she came back with a child but no husband." And in the end she would have had to leave Fredericton anyway.
Now in her mid-twenties, Jane was launched into another country, the U.S. of A. Here was this great country just to the south, at one of its greatest moments in history..Its power was immense, its president young, handsome and intelligent, and married to a woman who looked like a movie star.
Don drove towards Maine in an old Ford car, a smile on his face. He and his wife were young and passionate about each other and hopeful about the future.As they drove towards the border between Maine and New Brunswick, Jane told her husband, "We're heading into a new world." She was right about that.
This is the end of Part One of 'The Life of Jane'. Part Two will start up agiain some time in the future.
Jane was astounded to see Tytherleigh. They made a date to meet that night. And in a few weeks they were enagaged to be married. In April 1962 they were married in an Anglican church in Fredericton.
"I could have married many other men," Jane told a friend of hers thirty years later. Then why did she marry John the friend asked. "Because he was there," Jane said as she gazed out of the living room of her small house on Vancouver's West side. "and I wanted to escape."
John had a job with a big engineering firm and was moving to Atlanta, Georgia. Once married, Jane could quit her dead-end job with the advertising firm. She could leave behind Atlantic Canada with its small town ways where everybody knew everyone else.She would move to a land where there was no snow and the sun shone endlessly. Jane maybe was not head over heels in love with John but she knew him and liked to make love to him. "He had a nice thin body back then," Jane recalled to her friend. "And he still seemed to love me."
Plus she could make love to this young man without fear of getting pregnant and having to get an abortion. Also being with John wiped out the memories of her ill-fated affair with Don McWilliam. Although she still felt guilty about her abortion she realized that she could never have brought up that child alone.
"She went to England to get another degree," the gossipers in Fredericton would have said. "But she came back with a child but no husband." And in the end she would have had to leave Fredericton anyway.
Now in her mid-twenties, Jane was launched into another country, the U.S. of A. Here was this great country just to the south, at one of its greatest moments in history..Its power was immense, its president young, handsome and intelligent, and married to a woman who looked like a movie star.
Don drove towards Maine in an old Ford car, a smile on his face. He and his wife were young and passionate about each other and hopeful about the future.As they drove towards the border between Maine and New Brunswick, Jane told her husband, "We're heading into a new world." She was right about that.
This is the end of Part One of 'The Life of Jane'. Part Two will start up agiain some time in the future.
Thursday 13 December 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Down but not out in Halifax-
Jane had applied for jobs teaching English literature at Dalhousie University and at another smaller college nearby. But she had no luck with either place.
"We hire from all over the Maritimes," one of the Dalhousie English faculty heads told her. "but we don't need any young teachers now." Then this tall aloof grey-haired man smiled at her from behind his big desk and siad, "But we'll keep your application form on file and we'll certainly keep you in mind." Then Jane left the room with its tall book-lined walls. She never heard from Dalhousie again.
Another local college didn't even contact her after she left a job application form with them. After another few weeks of frantic job seeking, Jane was planning to leave town and head up to Montreal.
But then her aunt who still lived in Halifax contacted Jane. She told Jane about an opening in a small advertising firm that got contracts from the Nova Scotian government. Jane scuttled down to the firm's office and wonder of wonders, she got the job. She was a working lady. But on her wages she couldn't save a penny. If this was my future, she thought, what had been the point of taking all my degrees?
"Good heavens," Jane told herself as she looked at her watch that sat at 12:50. "I've got to get back to work." The office she worked at was at least a ten minute walk away. Jane grabbed the bill and got up to leave. And then came a familiar voice.
"Hi scooter. What are you doing here for God's sake?" John Tytherleigh was standing right in front of her.
Jane had applied for jobs teaching English literature at Dalhousie University and at another smaller college nearby. But she had no luck with either place.
"We hire from all over the Maritimes," one of the Dalhousie English faculty heads told her. "but we don't need any young teachers now." Then this tall aloof grey-haired man smiled at her from behind his big desk and siad, "But we'll keep your application form on file and we'll certainly keep you in mind." Then Jane left the room with its tall book-lined walls. She never heard from Dalhousie again.
Another local college didn't even contact her after she left a job application form with them. After another few weeks of frantic job seeking, Jane was planning to leave town and head up to Montreal.
But then her aunt who still lived in Halifax contacted Jane. She told Jane about an opening in a small advertising firm that got contracts from the Nova Scotian government. Jane scuttled down to the firm's office and wonder of wonders, she got the job. She was a working lady. But on her wages she couldn't save a penny. If this was my future, she thought, what had been the point of taking all my degrees?
"Good heavens," Jane told herself as she looked at her watch that sat at 12:50. "I've got to get back to work." The office she worked at was at least a ten minute walk away. Jane grabbed the bill and got up to leave. And then came a familiar voice.
"Hi scooter. What are you doing here for God's sake?" John Tytherleigh was standing right in front of her.
Wednesday 5 December 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Chapter Nine
Jane was sitting in a restaurant not far from the Citadel, the fort that was a signature of Halifax's past . Somewhere a radio played. "Moon River/ Wider than a mile/I'm crossing you in style some day," the crooner sang.
Jane tuned out the song. She only had a few minutes left on this November day to eat and get back to work. She now toiled away at an advertising firm in downtown Halifax and she hated the job. Every day she sat at a desk in a room with three other young people. Here under the watchful eye of a middle aged man named John Morissey, the quartet churned out advertising copy for the provincial government
A red faced cigar smoking Morissey clad usually in plaid sport jackets and black pants, would scrap most of Jane's prose. "Make it simple," he would,tell her in a hoarse voice. "Don't use big words like this 'rambunctious' you wrote here. What does the word mean in simple English?'
"'Rambunctious' means 'noisy'" Jane replied quietly., as she stood in front of Morissey who sat behind his desk. and shook her head. She was
"Then use 'noisy' not three syllable words that only university graduates can understand. Got it?"
"Yes, Mr. Morissey I've got it."
"Remember Jane we're writing for the masses, not the highbrows."
Jane was helping write an advertisement on the quiet touristy parts of Nova Scotia and getting nowhere with her task.
Jane went back to her desk after standing in front of Morissey's desk that dwarfed all the other desks in the room. She sat down in her wooden chair and shook her head. All she was getting paid was forty dollars a week and going nowhere.
Once again she was living in a rooming house that squatted in a scruffy area of Halifax. Although it was a little better than the bed sitting room she'd lived in in London, it was nothing special that's for sure. What had been the point, she wondered, while munching on a cocktail fruit dessert in the restaurant, of getting all this education, if she ended up just being an ill-paid ad writer. And to make things worse, she wasn't even a good ad writer.There had to be a better way to pass the day and earn more money than doing what she was doing now.
Jane was sitting in a restaurant not far from the Citadel, the fort that was a signature of Halifax's past . Somewhere a radio played. "Moon River/ Wider than a mile/I'm crossing you in style some day," the crooner sang.
Jane tuned out the song. She only had a few minutes left on this November day to eat and get back to work. She now toiled away at an advertising firm in downtown Halifax and she hated the job. Every day she sat at a desk in a room with three other young people. Here under the watchful eye of a middle aged man named John Morissey, the quartet churned out advertising copy for the provincial government
A red faced cigar smoking Morissey clad usually in plaid sport jackets and black pants, would scrap most of Jane's prose. "Make it simple," he would,tell her in a hoarse voice. "Don't use big words like this 'rambunctious' you wrote here. What does the word mean in simple English?'
"'Rambunctious' means 'noisy'" Jane replied quietly., as she stood in front of Morissey who sat behind his desk. and shook her head. She was
"Then use 'noisy' not three syllable words that only university graduates can understand. Got it?"
"Yes, Mr. Morissey I've got it."
"Remember Jane we're writing for the masses, not the highbrows."
Jane was helping write an advertisement on the quiet touristy parts of Nova Scotia and getting nowhere with her task.
Jane went back to her desk after standing in front of Morissey's desk that dwarfed all the other desks in the room. She sat down in her wooden chair and shook her head. All she was getting paid was forty dollars a week and going nowhere.
Once again she was living in a rooming house that squatted in a scruffy area of Halifax. Although it was a little better than the bed sitting room she'd lived in in London, it was nothing special that's for sure. What had been the point, she wondered, while munching on a cocktail fruit dessert in the restaurant, of getting all this education, if she ended up just being an ill-paid ad writer. And to make things worse, she wasn't even a good ad writer.There had to be a better way to pass the day and earn more money than doing what she was doing now.
Tuesday 4 December 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Coming Home and then Leaving continued
Jane could see the passage of time right before her eyes. Her father's blonde hair was thinning and turning grey. So was her mother's. Her sister lived in Baltimore and worked for a big drug company. Her brother was on his way to getting a medical degree at the University of Toronto. "He's going to come back to here or maybe Nova Scotia," Jane's mother said. "Plenty of people need a doctor."
Jane's father faced new challenges. The new premier of New Brunswick Louis Robichaud was making sweeping changes to the health and education systems. "I'm all in favour of equality," Doctor Sinclair told Jane one afternoon after he came home from work. "But Robichaud's going too fast. He's trying to give the Acadians in New Brunswick all the chances we English speaking people already have."
But the doctor told Jane that it would take years to do this. "He's trying to do it in one fell swoop. And it's making my job a lot more difficult."
There were no jobs for Jane in Fredericton unless she wanted to be a substitute teacher in the local high school. Jane didn't want to do that sort of job. So after a few weeks Jane was bored to tears.She'd had enough of her home town but where could she go to? Then it came to her. First she'd go off to Halifax. It wasn't far away, that's for sure. And if things didn't work out there, there was always Montreal or even Toronto.
And so on one mild September day Jane Sinclair got back on a bus and headed down the road again to Halifax, Nova Scotia. "Fredericton's too small for me mum," she told her mother just before leaving. There's no jobs for me here. And besides, I've seen the big wide world. I can't live here anymore. I got to go."
Then gripping one big suitcase and a small brown handbag she got on a intercity bus and was gone. Once again she was headed into another world of adventure. As the bus headed away from Fredericton, Jane felt anxious about what might lie ahead. But she felt happy too.
She was leaving her home town which she sure couldn't live in anymore.
Jane could see the passage of time right before her eyes. Her father's blonde hair was thinning and turning grey. So was her mother's. Her sister lived in Baltimore and worked for a big drug company. Her brother was on his way to getting a medical degree at the University of Toronto. "He's going to come back to here or maybe Nova Scotia," Jane's mother said. "Plenty of people need a doctor."
Jane's father faced new challenges. The new premier of New Brunswick Louis Robichaud was making sweeping changes to the health and education systems. "I'm all in favour of equality," Doctor Sinclair told Jane one afternoon after he came home from work. "But Robichaud's going too fast. He's trying to give the Acadians in New Brunswick all the chances we English speaking people already have."
But the doctor told Jane that it would take years to do this. "He's trying to do it in one fell swoop. And it's making my job a lot more difficult."
There were no jobs for Jane in Fredericton unless she wanted to be a substitute teacher in the local high school. Jane didn't want to do that sort of job. So after a few weeks Jane was bored to tears.She'd had enough of her home town but where could she go to? Then it came to her. First she'd go off to Halifax. It wasn't far away, that's for sure. And if things didn't work out there, there was always Montreal or even Toronto.
And so on one mild September day Jane Sinclair got back on a bus and headed down the road again to Halifax, Nova Scotia. "Fredericton's too small for me mum," she told her mother just before leaving. There's no jobs for me here. And besides, I've seen the big wide world. I can't live here anymore. I got to go."
Then gripping one big suitcase and a small brown handbag she got on a intercity bus and was gone. Once again she was headed into another world of adventure. As the bus headed away from Fredericton, Jane felt anxious about what might lie ahead. But she felt happy too.
She was leaving her home town which she sure couldn't live in anymore.
Thursday 29 November 2012
Coming Home and Going Away- The Life of Jane
Chapter Eight - The Life of Jane
A still young Jane Sinclair got off the bus in downtown Fredericton in August 1961. The 24 year old graduate of King's College in London looked around her small home town and sighed. Yes it looked like the same old place, a small outpost of commerce in a land of forests, massive distances and extreme weather.
Jane had come back from England with a degree, somewhere between a Master of Arts and a Ph.D.
Her thesis ran to 175 pages and was titled 'Metaphysical conceits in John Donne's poetry'. "Metaphysical conceits," Jane would tell anyone who wanted to liasten, "bring together images and things that seem unlike."
The problem was no one it seemed wanted to listen. Everyone Jane met after her return to Fredericton were busy with their own lives. The women of her own age that Jane ran into in the streets, the hairdressers salons or the supermarket, were all married. Some of them pushed prams in which inside were their babies, often their second child. Others proudly showed off their growing offspring.
The young men Jane had known in high school were now working to support their growing families. Others had left, or as Maritimers used to say "were away", working in Toronto, Halifax, Calgary or even far off Vancouver.
"Oh Bob Taylor is living in Toronto," Maureen Ross, one of Jane's high school classmates told her about someone who they both had gone to school with. "He's married like me with two kids, I think."And so it went, as Maureen reeled off name after name of young people of roughly their own age. It seemed nearly everyone they'd gone to school with, were married or had left town or had done both.
"And what about you Jane?" Maureen, a medium sized woman with brown hair asked as she held hands with one of her very young daughters. "Are you getting married soon?" Jane shook her head and said goodbye to Maureen who had just come out of a downtown meat store. "Shopping for the family," she'd told Jane as she said goodbye too. "We're all big eaters in the Ross family and this is the day when I fill up the fridge and the cupboards."
Jane felt shaky after a few meeetings with people of her own age. Even in Fredericton, she saw the turnover of generations and the passage of time.
A still young Jane Sinclair got off the bus in downtown Fredericton in August 1961. The 24 year old graduate of King's College in London looked around her small home town and sighed. Yes it looked like the same old place, a small outpost of commerce in a land of forests, massive distances and extreme weather.
Jane had come back from England with a degree, somewhere between a Master of Arts and a Ph.D.
Her thesis ran to 175 pages and was titled 'Metaphysical conceits in John Donne's poetry'. "Metaphysical conceits," Jane would tell anyone who wanted to liasten, "bring together images and things that seem unlike."
The problem was no one it seemed wanted to listen. Everyone Jane met after her return to Fredericton were busy with their own lives. The women of her own age that Jane ran into in the streets, the hairdressers salons or the supermarket, were all married. Some of them pushed prams in which inside were their babies, often their second child. Others proudly showed off their growing offspring.
The young men Jane had known in high school were now working to support their growing families. Others had left, or as Maritimers used to say "were away", working in Toronto, Halifax, Calgary or even far off Vancouver.
"Oh Bob Taylor is living in Toronto," Maureen Ross, one of Jane's high school classmates told her about someone who they both had gone to school with. "He's married like me with two kids, I think."And so it went, as Maureen reeled off name after name of young people of roughly their own age. It seemed nearly everyone they'd gone to school with, were married or had left town or had done both.
"And what about you Jane?" Maureen, a medium sized woman with brown hair asked as she held hands with one of her very young daughters. "Are you getting married soon?" Jane shook her head and said goodbye to Maureen who had just come out of a downtown meat store. "Shopping for the family," she'd told Jane as she said goodbye too. "We're all big eaters in the Ross family and this is the day when I fill up the fridge and the cupboards."
Jane felt shaky after a few meeetings with people of her own age. Even in Fredericton, she saw the turnover of generations and the passage of time.
Tuesday 20 November 2012
Life of Jane continued
In The Hospital Continued
As Teresa had warned Jane, the two policemen who came to see Jane were less sympathetic than Doctor Morrison had been.
"You've committed a crime miss," a big bearded detective in a grey suit said, as he looked down at her. "Attempted suicide is a crime in this country. I don't know about Canada where you come from, but here it's an offence."
Jane never did find out if this was true. She felt hopeless and totally depressed.
"Have you ever been pregnant?" she asked the two men as they sat down on wooden chairs and pulled them up near her bed.
"My wife's been pregnant three times," the other policeman, a short, thin man said. "She's never tried to kill herself."
"She's lucky," Jane said as she forced herself to smile. "She's got you."
"Tell her that on some days and she'd laugh at you."
"By the way," the big policeman asked. "Did you slash your own wrists? Quite a professional job that was. Wasn't somebody else was it?"
"You didn't hire someone did you?" the smaller man asked. "Some people pay for this. And then there's the person who phoned in to the ambulance? Who was that?"
"I cut my own wrists. And I don't know who phoned the ambulance. In any case I wanted to die. Still do, if I have to have this baby."
The small man grunted and jotted down some notes in a notebook that he'd pulled out of his jacket. Then both men got up, said goodbye and left the room.
A few hours later, Doctor Morrison came back to the room. It was dusk and somewhere out beyond the hospital, the sun shed a few of its last rays of the day into the room.
"Well, Miss Sinclair, we'll give you an abortion," the doctor said. "But don't do this again.
And a psychologist from this hospital is going to come and see you.You need treatment."
Jane felt so relieved. "Thank you doctor," she managed to say. "Thank you so much."
"Keep away from men for now, especially wandering Yanks who don't wear rubbers."
"I plan to doctor. I won't show up here again."
Morrison left and Jane felt a huge wave of joy sweep through her. But it was followed by sadness, for she was helping kill an unborn child..
"But my God," Jane said to herself, "I can continue with my life now." Then she turned on her side and promptly went to sleep. Her life was back to normal.
As Teresa had warned Jane, the two policemen who came to see Jane were less sympathetic than Doctor Morrison had been.
"You've committed a crime miss," a big bearded detective in a grey suit said, as he looked down at her. "Attempted suicide is a crime in this country. I don't know about Canada where you come from, but here it's an offence."
Jane never did find out if this was true. She felt hopeless and totally depressed.
"Have you ever been pregnant?" she asked the two men as they sat down on wooden chairs and pulled them up near her bed.
"My wife's been pregnant three times," the other policeman, a short, thin man said. "She's never tried to kill herself."
"She's lucky," Jane said as she forced herself to smile. "She's got you."
"Tell her that on some days and she'd laugh at you."
"By the way," the big policeman asked. "Did you slash your own wrists? Quite a professional job that was. Wasn't somebody else was it?"
"You didn't hire someone did you?" the smaller man asked. "Some people pay for this. And then there's the person who phoned in to the ambulance? Who was that?"
"I cut my own wrists. And I don't know who phoned the ambulance. In any case I wanted to die. Still do, if I have to have this baby."
The small man grunted and jotted down some notes in a notebook that he'd pulled out of his jacket. Then both men got up, said goodbye and left the room.
A few hours later, Doctor Morrison came back to the room. It was dusk and somewhere out beyond the hospital, the sun shed a few of its last rays of the day into the room.
"Well, Miss Sinclair, we'll give you an abortion," the doctor said. "But don't do this again.
And a psychologist from this hospital is going to come and see you.You need treatment."
Jane felt so relieved. "Thank you doctor," she managed to say. "Thank you so much."
"Keep away from men for now, especially wandering Yanks who don't wear rubbers."
"I plan to doctor. I won't show up here again."
Morrison left and Jane felt a huge wave of joy sweep through her. But it was followed by sadness, for she was helping kill an unborn child..
"But my God," Jane said to herself, "I can continue with my life now." Then she turned on her side and promptly went to sleep. Her life was back to normal.
Tuesday 13 November 2012
In the Hospital- The Life of Jane continued
In the Hospital
Teresa had prepared Jane well for her next few days in the hospital.Not only had she slashed Jane's wrists, but she'd told her what to say when the police and the doctors showed up. A tall white coated doctor named Morrison came to visit Jane on the first day of her stay in the hospital.
"What's your name?" he asked Jane as he picked up her chart and scanned it. "Oh right, Jane Sinclair," he said as he smiled down at her. He ran his left hand through his thick black hair and asked her "Do you do this often, Miss Sinclair?"
"Only when I'm at my wit's end,doctor."
"Which is when, if I may ask?"
"When I'm pregnant with a man's baby. The man is a louse who ran away. So yes I wanted to die."
"And the father? What's he doing now."
"Who knows, somewhere in America, I guess."
"He's an American is he? What part of America is he living in?
"I don't know and I couldn't care less."
"And will you try to kill yourself again, Miss Sinclair?"
"If I have to bear this child again, yes I will."
"So if we get rid of this unborn child , you'll get better. Is that it?'
"It is," Jane said and suddenly was overcome by a flood of tears. "Help me doctor," she cried. "I just can't have this child." Jane knew the other young woman in the room could hear her cries. But she didn't care. "Please help me." Jane had never felt sadder lying in her hospital bed with bandaged wrists and in this huge city so far from home.
Doctor Morrison shook his head and said in his northern English accent, "I'll try Miss Sinclair, I'll try."
Teresa had prepared Jane well for her next few days in the hospital.Not only had she slashed Jane's wrists, but she'd told her what to say when the police and the doctors showed up. A tall white coated doctor named Morrison came to visit Jane on the first day of her stay in the hospital.
"What's your name?" he asked Jane as he picked up her chart and scanned it. "Oh right, Jane Sinclair," he said as he smiled down at her. He ran his left hand through his thick black hair and asked her "Do you do this often, Miss Sinclair?"
"Only when I'm at my wit's end,doctor."
"Which is when, if I may ask?"
"When I'm pregnant with a man's baby. The man is a louse who ran away. So yes I wanted to die."
"And the father? What's he doing now."
"Who knows, somewhere in America, I guess."
"He's an American is he? What part of America is he living in?
"I don't know and I couldn't care less."
"And will you try to kill yourself again, Miss Sinclair?"
"If I have to bear this child again, yes I will."
"So if we get rid of this unborn child , you'll get better. Is that it?'
"It is," Jane said and suddenly was overcome by a flood of tears. "Help me doctor," she cried. "I just can't have this child." Jane knew the other young woman in the room could hear her cries. But she didn't care. "Please help me." Jane had never felt sadder lying in her hospital bed with bandaged wrists and in this huge city so far from home.
Doctor Morrison shook his head and said in his northern English accent, "I'll try Miss Sinclair, I'll try."
Saturday 10 November 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Abortion but not on demand continued
A day later at ten o'clock on a sunny morning, Teresa stood at Jane's door dressed in a dress with a checker board pattern on it. She was also wearing black high heels. For a moment, Jane could imagine they were both going out together on some outing. Then she flopped herself down on her bed. She was wearing jeans and an old faded pink blouse.
Teresa sat on the bed and pulled out a thin new razor blade. "It'll hurt a little love," she whispered. "So get ready." Then she expertly slashed Jane's right wrist and then her left wrist. Then she dropped the razor blade on she bed right beside Jane and scuttled out of the room. "I'm off to use the pay phone outside," were her parting words.
Jane started to scream. Pain dug into both her wrists. Blood gushed out onto the bed and soaked the gray bedspread. "Help me! Oh help me!" Jane cried out again and again. Ten minutes later, ambulance men burst through the doorway and into her room. They took her downstairs on a stretcher. The vehicle tore through a warren of London's curving streets to stop at a local hospital. By this time, Jane didn't know where she was.
She had passed out. When she woke up she was in a hospital bed. Now she had to prepare herself for a few interviews. I"d better do well, she thought. Otherwise I won't get an abortion.
A day later at ten o'clock on a sunny morning, Teresa stood at Jane's door dressed in a dress with a checker board pattern on it. She was also wearing black high heels. For a moment, Jane could imagine they were both going out together on some outing. Then she flopped herself down on her bed. She was wearing jeans and an old faded pink blouse.
Teresa sat on the bed and pulled out a thin new razor blade. "It'll hurt a little love," she whispered. "So get ready." Then she expertly slashed Jane's right wrist and then her left wrist. Then she dropped the razor blade on she bed right beside Jane and scuttled out of the room. "I'm off to use the pay phone outside," were her parting words.
Jane started to scream. Pain dug into both her wrists. Blood gushed out onto the bed and soaked the gray bedspread. "Help me! Oh help me!" Jane cried out again and again. Ten minutes later, ambulance men burst through the doorway and into her room. They took her downstairs on a stretcher. The vehicle tore through a warren of London's curving streets to stop at a local hospital. By this time, Jane didn't know where she was.
She had passed out. When she woke up she was in a hospital bed. Now she had to prepare herself for a few interviews. I"d better do well, she thought. Otherwise I won't get an abortion.
Wednesday 31 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Abortion But Not On Demand continued
Teresa was a short thin working class woman from London's East End. She had a long thin nose and thick black hair piled up on top of her head. "Grew up in Leytonstone," she told Jane as they sat in a cafe near Nancy's apartment. "I've lived by my wits 'cause my dad wasn't some big toff. He works down in the sewers that's all. And my mum cleans houses."
Teresa explained in her working class accent the plan. They'd go back to Jane's room and there Teresa would slash both of Jane's wrists with a razor blade. "A clean one," Teresa said, "because we don't want
any infections in the wounds do we?" Then Teresa would scuttle down the stairs and call the ambulance from a nearby pay phone. But she'd leave the razor blade on the bed . "And," she added, "before I go I'll
wipe the razor with a cloth so I won't be leaving my fingerprints on the blade."
"Now here's the story to remember," Teresa said, leaning over the table as she talked to Jane in a lowered voice. Nancy looked and smiled. "The ambulance men will take you to the hospital and there they may get rid of your baby, But they won't do that if you don't get your story straight."
Then she launched into what Jane had to tell the hospital staff and the police. "Because the police are going to show up," Teresa said as she shook her finger at Jane, and looked around at the near empty cafe. "Remember the police are everywhere and their word counts."
So Teresa advised Jane to cry as she told her story to the cops and the doctors. "You tell them you wanted to commit suicide. You've got a child inside you, and your so-called boyfriend, a damn yank, and the child's father, ran off back to his folks in America, leaving you all by your lonesome self."
"Tell them you've been feeling terrible and you want to die." Then she pointed at Nancy. "I told this Chinawoman what to do and it all worked out. Didn't it Nan?"
Nancy nodded and reached across the table to hold Jane's hand. She squeezed Jane's left hand and smiled. "It worked out fine," she said. "Good luck Jane. I'll be thinking of you tomorrow."
Teresa was a short thin working class woman from London's East End. She had a long thin nose and thick black hair piled up on top of her head. "Grew up in Leytonstone," she told Jane as they sat in a cafe near Nancy's apartment. "I've lived by my wits 'cause my dad wasn't some big toff. He works down in the sewers that's all. And my mum cleans houses."
Teresa explained in her working class accent the plan. They'd go back to Jane's room and there Teresa would slash both of Jane's wrists with a razor blade. "A clean one," Teresa said, "because we don't want
any infections in the wounds do we?" Then Teresa would scuttle down the stairs and call the ambulance from a nearby pay phone. But she'd leave the razor blade on the bed . "And," she added, "before I go I'll
wipe the razor with a cloth so I won't be leaving my fingerprints on the blade."
"Now here's the story to remember," Teresa said, leaning over the table as she talked to Jane in a lowered voice. Nancy looked and smiled. "The ambulance men will take you to the hospital and there they may get rid of your baby, But they won't do that if you don't get your story straight."
Then she launched into what Jane had to tell the hospital staff and the police. "Because the police are going to show up," Teresa said as she shook her finger at Jane, and looked around at the near empty cafe. "Remember the police are everywhere and their word counts."
So Teresa advised Jane to cry as she told her story to the cops and the doctors. "You tell them you wanted to commit suicide. You've got a child inside you, and your so-called boyfriend, a damn yank, and the child's father, ran off back to his folks in America, leaving you all by your lonesome self."
"Tell them you've been feeling terrible and you want to die." Then she pointed at Nancy. "I told this Chinawoman what to do and it all worked out. Didn't it Nan?"
Nancy nodded and reached across the table to hold Jane's hand. She squeezed Jane's left hand and smiled. "It worked out fine," she said. "Good luck Jane. I'll be thinking of you tomorrow."
Tuesday 30 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Abortion but not on demand
Nancy and Jane became friends. But on the male side, things didn't go as well. Sometimes Nancy brought her boyfriend, Simon Kung along. Simon was an economics student too, just like Don. Sometimes the two couples would 'double date' as they used to say decades ago. But Don didn't like Simon, or for that matter, Nancy either.
"Why are these people with us?" he said once. "I prefer to be alone with you." But Jane noted that Don seemed quite happy when the two of them were with a white couple.But now Don was gone and had left a baby behind,. Jane needed help and amazingly Nancy knew what had to be done.
After hearing Jane's tale of woe, she seated Jane in one of her living room's comfortable armchairs and sat opposite her in another big chair. "You have three choices Jane," she said. First off, Jane could go to a place for unwed mothers. Here, she could have her child and then give it up to an adoption agency. It would take at least five months or more.
"I don't have that kind of time," Jane said. "I've got to get my thesis finished and soon."
Then Jane could fly out of England or travel by train and boat to a European country, Nancy said. It could be Switzerland or somewhere else. Jane could get an abortion in some country on the continent. "But it'll cost you over three hundred pounds, Jane. Do you have that kind of money?"
Jane quickly did a few math sums in her mind and then shook her head. No, she couldn't do that.She didn't have that kind of cash.
"Okay, so here's the way you get an abortion in jolly old England. You declare yourself mentally ill and then a doctor in a hospital will do the abortion for you for free."
"But how can I do that? I'm not mentally ill."
"It's simple. You slash your wrists and tell the anbulance drivers when they show up that you want to commit suicide. You just tell them you"re pregnant and the baby has no father and you want to die."
"And then? My God, I could die on the way to the hospital."
Jane's mind wandered away from the apartment. Suddenly she wanted to float away from her body and this world with all its problems. But that's what she might be doing if she followed Nancy's advice. Then she became suspicious. "Nancy, how do you know all this?"
Nancy smiled . Then she pulled up the sleeves of her chic lacy white blouse and showed Jane her two wrists. "See Jane," she said. "See the marks."
And Jane could see two light scars that loooped around both wrists.
"That's why I'm always wearing watches and bracelets Jane - to hide my scars. But you can't see much of them now anyway." Then Nancy smiled again showing her gleaming white teeth. "So you see Jane, I'm still here. A nice innocent young Chinese girl who's come straight from the Orient. If my father only
knew."
"But who was the father? Was it Simon?"
"No no Jane," and Nancy smiled again and put a finger to her lips. "That's my secret. But first we'll get you to meet Teresa. She helped me in the past. We need her again."
Nancy and Jane became friends. But on the male side, things didn't go as well. Sometimes Nancy brought her boyfriend, Simon Kung along. Simon was an economics student too, just like Don. Sometimes the two couples would 'double date' as they used to say decades ago. But Don didn't like Simon, or for that matter, Nancy either.
"Why are these people with us?" he said once. "I prefer to be alone with you." But Jane noted that Don seemed quite happy when the two of them were with a white couple.But now Don was gone and had left a baby behind,. Jane needed help and amazingly Nancy knew what had to be done.
After hearing Jane's tale of woe, she seated Jane in one of her living room's comfortable armchairs and sat opposite her in another big chair. "You have three choices Jane," she said. First off, Jane could go to a place for unwed mothers. Here, she could have her child and then give it up to an adoption agency. It would take at least five months or more.
"I don't have that kind of time," Jane said. "I've got to get my thesis finished and soon."
Then Jane could fly out of England or travel by train and boat to a European country, Nancy said. It could be Switzerland or somewhere else. Jane could get an abortion in some country on the continent. "But it'll cost you over three hundred pounds, Jane. Do you have that kind of money?"
Jane quickly did a few math sums in her mind and then shook her head. No, she couldn't do that.She didn't have that kind of cash.
"Okay, so here's the way you get an abortion in jolly old England. You declare yourself mentally ill and then a doctor in a hospital will do the abortion for you for free."
"But how can I do that? I'm not mentally ill."
"It's simple. You slash your wrists and tell the anbulance drivers when they show up that you want to commit suicide. You just tell them you"re pregnant and the baby has no father and you want to die."
"And then? My God, I could die on the way to the hospital."
Jane's mind wandered away from the apartment. Suddenly she wanted to float away from her body and this world with all its problems. But that's what she might be doing if she followed Nancy's advice. Then she became suspicious. "Nancy, how do you know all this?"
Nancy smiled . Then she pulled up the sleeves of her chic lacy white blouse and showed Jane her two wrists. "See Jane," she said. "See the marks."
And Jane could see two light scars that loooped around both wrists.
"That's why I'm always wearing watches and bracelets Jane - to hide my scars. But you can't see much of them now anyway." Then Nancy smiled again showing her gleaming white teeth. "So you see Jane, I'm still here. A nice innocent young Chinese girl who's come straight from the Orient. If my father only
knew."
"But who was the father? Was it Simon?"
"No no Jane," and Nancy smiled again and put a finger to her lips. "That's my secret. But first we'll get you to meet Teresa. She helped me in the past. We need her again."
Saturday 27 October 2012
Abortion but not on demand - The Life of Jane continued
Abortion but not on demand
Jane did track down Don's home but Don wasn't there. She phoned his house or his parents's house in Winetka Illinois. She used a classmate"s phone for she had none in her room. A woman, Don's mother answered and told her, "Oh, Don's off in Colorado somewhere. He's taking a trip with his fiance and her family."
"His fiance," Nancy nearly shrieked. Oh no!"
Then she nearly fell forward on the shiny wooden floor in the apartment she'd come to to make the phone call. The place was being rented by Nancy Chu, a rich Chinese classmate of Jane's who came from Hong Kong . Jane was staggered by the fact that Don was engaged, a fact he'd never told her.
"What's the matter Jane?" Nancy asked. "You look like you've just swallowed a frog."
Then Jane told Nancy the real reason why she had used the phone, a fact she not hadn't mentioned to Nancy before. "I'm pregnant and Don's engaged to another woman. What am I going to do? Oh what a mess I've made of my life."
Nancy Chu had taken to Jane right from the start. They'd met in an empty classroom while waiting for a lecture. Nancy was a bright yellow bundle of energy who was always smiling. "I'm playing the old-fashioned Chinese lady," she told Jane on the day they'd met in the classroom. "You know like the Asians you see in movies like 'Sayonara', the cool calm collected women who never complain.That's my role."
"But the Orientals in that film are Japanese aren't they, not Chinese?"
"So? Jane most white people don't know the difference between us two races and don't want to."
Nancy's father was a rich businessman who thought his eldest daughter was crazy to study English literature in London. "He wants me to take over his business ," she said. "He knows that the English people don't like us Chinese so we need money to face their prejudice. Hong Kong's a colony of Great Britain you know. The English see us as totally inferior to them."
" They see us Canadians the same way," Jane replied.
"But you Canadians are part English aren't you? Anyway you're white. My face sure doesn't look like yours Jane."
Nancy was her father's favourite child and Nancy had sweet talked her father into paying all her fees and expenses in England. "My mother didn't like this but she didn't have a chance.So here I am."
"What will you do when you get your degree/" Jane asked this fashionably dressed woman.
"Probably go back and then I'll have to work in my father's business. But right now I'm studying the poetery of W.H. Auden and Dylan Thomas and I'm enjoying that.." Then Nancy smiled and brushed her short black hair with her hands."After this class let's go out and have a drink somewhere." And the two of them did.
Jane did track down Don's home but Don wasn't there. She phoned his house or his parents's house in Winetka Illinois. She used a classmate"s phone for she had none in her room. A woman, Don's mother answered and told her, "Oh, Don's off in Colorado somewhere. He's taking a trip with his fiance and her family."
"His fiance," Nancy nearly shrieked. Oh no!"
Then she nearly fell forward on the shiny wooden floor in the apartment she'd come to to make the phone call. The place was being rented by Nancy Chu, a rich Chinese classmate of Jane's who came from Hong Kong . Jane was staggered by the fact that Don was engaged, a fact he'd never told her.
"What's the matter Jane?" Nancy asked. "You look like you've just swallowed a frog."
Then Jane told Nancy the real reason why she had used the phone, a fact she not hadn't mentioned to Nancy before. "I'm pregnant and Don's engaged to another woman. What am I going to do? Oh what a mess I've made of my life."
Nancy Chu had taken to Jane right from the start. They'd met in an empty classroom while waiting for a lecture. Nancy was a bright yellow bundle of energy who was always smiling. "I'm playing the old-fashioned Chinese lady," she told Jane on the day they'd met in the classroom. "You know like the Asians you see in movies like 'Sayonara', the cool calm collected women who never complain.That's my role."
"But the Orientals in that film are Japanese aren't they, not Chinese?"
"So? Jane most white people don't know the difference between us two races and don't want to."
Nancy's father was a rich businessman who thought his eldest daughter was crazy to study English literature in London. "He wants me to take over his business ," she said. "He knows that the English people don't like us Chinese so we need money to face their prejudice. Hong Kong's a colony of Great Britain you know. The English see us as totally inferior to them."
" They see us Canadians the same way," Jane replied.
"But you Canadians are part English aren't you? Anyway you're white. My face sure doesn't look like yours Jane."
Nancy was her father's favourite child and Nancy had sweet talked her father into paying all her fees and expenses in England. "My mother didn't like this but she didn't have a chance.So here I am."
"What will you do when you get your degree/" Jane asked this fashionably dressed woman.
"Probably go back and then I'll have to work in my father's business. But right now I'm studying the poetery of W.H. Auden and Dylan Thomas and I'm enjoying that.." Then Nancy smiled and brushed her short black hair with her hands."After this class let's go out and have a drink somewhere." And the two of them did.
Wednesday 24 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
A Turn For theWorst
When asked by his neighbours in Fredericton how his daughter Jane was doing over in London, England, Doctor Sinclair would reply, "She's doing fine." And she was. In fact for a time it seemed nothing could go wrong for Jane in London.She passed her written exams. She passed her oral exams. Then she started in on her thesis on John Donne.
She even went to a musty museum outside of London. There she saw under glass of course, some of Donne's original poems written in the 17th century. She at one time also touched some of his original manuscripts that were part of his sermons. Now she started to write her thesis. She thought, the thesis would stretch out over 150 pages or more.
Then came the new year of 1961. In a blink of an eye, everything started to go wrong. Don vanished just before New Year's Eve. "Oh he's gone home," one of his roommates, Bill Arthur told Jane when she went around to his student digs in the apartment he shared with two other Americans. "He's finished his thesis and passed with flying colours."
Arthur leaned his big florid face on the side of the front door and asked her, "Do you want to come in?"
"No, I want to know where he is. I haven't seen him or heard a word from him for two or three weeks. Do you know where he is?"
"He's back in the states now. Flew back two weeks ago,I think."
Do you have his home address?'
"Sure," Arthur said. "Come on in and I'll give it to you." Jane then edged past Bill's tall thin frame to sit in the small living room of this second storey apartment where she'd sat many times before. But she couldn't bear to sit in the bedroom that Don had lived in. As soon as she had Don's address,which she'd lost a few months ago, she fled the building and walked briskly, nearly running back to her cold room.
She lay down on her lumpy bed and gazed at the flaky white ceiling. She got up and wrote a letter to Don at the address that Bill Arthur had given her . She waited for two weeks after sending the letter but no reply came. Then came more bad news. She went to a doctor after she realized her period had stopped. "I think you're pregnant, miss," the doctor, a middle aged greying man told her. Jane hadn't worn a ring when she went to see the doctor. So he assumed she wasn't married . "Oh my God," Jane muttered as she made her way home from the doctor's office . "What do I do now?"
She'd have to contact Don one way or another.There was no other way and she'd have to speak to him . So she'd have to speak to him on the phone. That meant going to someone who had a phone. She didn't want to go to Don's former apartment where there was a phone. But she did know someone else who owned a phone. She's contact that person and phone Don from this person's place . Let's hope he'd be back at his parents' house she thought. At this point it was the only hope she had.
When asked by his neighbours in Fredericton how his daughter Jane was doing over in London, England, Doctor Sinclair would reply, "She's doing fine." And she was. In fact for a time it seemed nothing could go wrong for Jane in London.She passed her written exams. She passed her oral exams. Then she started in on her thesis on John Donne.
She even went to a musty museum outside of London. There she saw under glass of course, some of Donne's original poems written in the 17th century. She at one time also touched some of his original manuscripts that were part of his sermons. Now she started to write her thesis. She thought, the thesis would stretch out over 150 pages or more.
Then came the new year of 1961. In a blink of an eye, everything started to go wrong. Don vanished just before New Year's Eve. "Oh he's gone home," one of his roommates, Bill Arthur told Jane when she went around to his student digs in the apartment he shared with two other Americans. "He's finished his thesis and passed with flying colours."
Arthur leaned his big florid face on the side of the front door and asked her, "Do you want to come in?"
"No, I want to know where he is. I haven't seen him or heard a word from him for two or three weeks. Do you know where he is?"
"He's back in the states now. Flew back two weeks ago,I think."
Do you have his home address?'
"Sure," Arthur said. "Come on in and I'll give it to you." Jane then edged past Bill's tall thin frame to sit in the small living room of this second storey apartment where she'd sat many times before. But she couldn't bear to sit in the bedroom that Don had lived in. As soon as she had Don's address,which she'd lost a few months ago, she fled the building and walked briskly, nearly running back to her cold room.
She lay down on her lumpy bed and gazed at the flaky white ceiling. She got up and wrote a letter to Don at the address that Bill Arthur had given her . She waited for two weeks after sending the letter but no reply came. Then came more bad news. She went to a doctor after she realized her period had stopped. "I think you're pregnant, miss," the doctor, a middle aged greying man told her. Jane hadn't worn a ring when she went to see the doctor. So he assumed she wasn't married . "Oh my God," Jane muttered as she made her way home from the doctor's office . "What do I do now?"
She'd have to contact Don one way or another.There was no other way and she'd have to speak to him . So she'd have to speak to him on the phone. That meant going to someone who had a phone. She didn't want to go to Don's former apartment where there was a phone. But she did know someone else who owned a phone. She's contact that person and phone Don from this person's place . Let's hope he'd be back at his parents' house she thought. At this point it was the only hope she had.
Monday 22 October 2012
Life in London continued
Being in graduate school wasn't all fun and play for Jane. It also meant long hard hours of study. Sometimes she couldn't see Don for days on end.She had to study for four really tough exams. They were going to be on English literature. Another exam would test Jane's knowledge of 19th century French literature. She would also have to pass three foreign language exams. Jane chose Latin, French and Bengali. She hadn't spoken Bengali in many years. So she had to spend many hours in the university's library getting re-acquainted with this language she'd spoken as a child.
Once all these exams were out of the way, she'd have to write a thesis on John Donne, the 17th century poet.
So Jane buckled down to work really hard.
She got together often with Professor Bowen, who nearly always turned up for their conference wearing his black academic gown. Jane had to take many English and French literature courses. Plus there were also seminars on poetry and novels.
"I'm really working hard," Jane wrote to her mother. "I've met many young people here, including a new boyfriend. But we're nearly always studying."
For the next two years Jane slogged away. She tried to ignore the arrogance of some British professors. "You're basically a colonial," one professor told her, "who's come to the mother country to learn about the best of our British culture." Jane let that insult remain unanswered. This professor, she knew, or any of the professors wouldn't like to be answered back. Then she met young men and older ones who wondered out loud if Jane or any women could get an advanced degree or be worthy of earning one. "It's a tough slog getting a degree," she told Don once, "especially if you're a woman.
Then she had to get used to the lack of central heating in her room in the wintertime. Often she shivered at nighttime. And her use of the heater in her room pushed her heating bills way up. Still, as she told her classmates in wintertime, "I don't miss the snow back home."
Once all these exams were out of the way, she'd have to write a thesis on John Donne, the 17th century poet.
So Jane buckled down to work really hard.
She got together often with Professor Bowen, who nearly always turned up for their conference wearing his black academic gown. Jane had to take many English and French literature courses. Plus there were also seminars on poetry and novels.
"I'm really working hard," Jane wrote to her mother. "I've met many young people here, including a new boyfriend. But we're nearly always studying."
For the next two years Jane slogged away. She tried to ignore the arrogance of some British professors. "You're basically a colonial," one professor told her, "who's come to the mother country to learn about the best of our British culture." Jane let that insult remain unanswered. This professor, she knew, or any of the professors wouldn't like to be answered back. Then she met young men and older ones who wondered out loud if Jane or any women could get an advanced degree or be worthy of earning one. "It's a tough slog getting a degree," she told Don once, "especially if you're a woman.
Then she had to get used to the lack of central heating in her room in the wintertime. Often she shivered at nighttime. And her use of the heater in her room pushed her heating bills way up. Still, as she told her classmates in wintertime, "I don't miss the snow back home."
Thursday 18 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Life in London Continued
Jane and Don McWilliam were now lovers and Jane had now broken off with John Tytherleigh. She'd last seen John just before she'd set off for England. They both agreed they shouldn't marry. "Have a great time Scooter," John said, using his nickname for her. "I'm sure you'll shake up those Brits." Then he waved goodbye and walked quickly away down a Fredericton. She hadn't seen him since.
Now with Don, Jane set out to explore London and parts of England. Things from her brief childhood stay in Britain brought back the past. She found again fish and chip shops and munched the food they offered which was still wrapped in newspaper. She took Don back to Barnet with her. They strolled along the town's main street and she pointed out the apartment she'd stayed in close to 13 years ago. They wandered into the back of the apartment to look at the grass covered yard she'd played in. Like many other revisitors to their childhood past, Jane noticed how everything in the backyard, including the trees and plants had shrunk in size.
"They haven't shrunk Jane," Don said when she mentioned how things seemed so much smaller. "You've
just grown, that's all." She looked in the street for rag and bones men who used to trundle along in horse carts looking for junk to buy and sell. But they were gone, replaced by cars that whizzed along city streets and motorways.
Together Don and Jane visited the usual tourist sites. They went to the Houses of Parliament and even saw Winston Churchill sitting in the House of Commons. They climbed up the stairs at the Tower of London and gazed at the masterpieces in the National Gallery.
But sometimes Don's statements disturbed her. He was so happy to see Conservative Prime Minister Harold Macmillan wromp to victory over the Labour Party in the 1959 general election." Thank God that Britain's tired of socialism," he said in his American Midwestern accent . "That's fantastic."
Jane's mother often leaned to the left politically and had once told Jane that the British Labour Party had done some good things. Don flatly disagreed. Studying Milton Friedman and having him as a teacher, Don said, "showed me that a country can only prosper under free enterprise."
Don's America-first patriotism seemed to override all other peoples and nations in the world. This bothered Jane too.
"The U.S. is the hope of the world,"he said one Sunday morning as he scanned the pages of the Observer newspaper, while stretching out on Jane's bed. "Why don't these Englishmen know that? They keep putting us down. Without the United States, Britain would have lost the Second World War. And we saved the Brits and the French in World War One too.We're also the main reason why the communists haven't invaded Western Europe and swallowed up England also."
Jane tried to ignore these statements, for she enjoyed Don's energy, optimism and being with a good looking man. And though she still feared getting pregnant, she enjoyed their lovemaking too. She realized that she was in love and she enjoyed the happiness it brought her. She got used to the smallness of her room and the crowded sometimes scruffy streets she often walked along. Life seemed to her to be very good.
Jane and Don McWilliam were now lovers and Jane had now broken off with John Tytherleigh. She'd last seen John just before she'd set off for England. They both agreed they shouldn't marry. "Have a great time Scooter," John said, using his nickname for her. "I'm sure you'll shake up those Brits." Then he waved goodbye and walked quickly away down a Fredericton. She hadn't seen him since.
Now with Don, Jane set out to explore London and parts of England. Things from her brief childhood stay in Britain brought back the past. She found again fish and chip shops and munched the food they offered which was still wrapped in newspaper. She took Don back to Barnet with her. They strolled along the town's main street and she pointed out the apartment she'd stayed in close to 13 years ago. They wandered into the back of the apartment to look at the grass covered yard she'd played in. Like many other revisitors to their childhood past, Jane noticed how everything in the backyard, including the trees and plants had shrunk in size.
"They haven't shrunk Jane," Don said when she mentioned how things seemed so much smaller. "You've
just grown, that's all." She looked in the street for rag and bones men who used to trundle along in horse carts looking for junk to buy and sell. But they were gone, replaced by cars that whizzed along city streets and motorways.
Together Don and Jane visited the usual tourist sites. They went to the Houses of Parliament and even saw Winston Churchill sitting in the House of Commons. They climbed up the stairs at the Tower of London and gazed at the masterpieces in the National Gallery.
But sometimes Don's statements disturbed her. He was so happy to see Conservative Prime Minister Harold Macmillan wromp to victory over the Labour Party in the 1959 general election." Thank God that Britain's tired of socialism," he said in his American Midwestern accent . "That's fantastic."
Jane's mother often leaned to the left politically and had once told Jane that the British Labour Party had done some good things. Don flatly disagreed. Studying Milton Friedman and having him as a teacher, Don said, "showed me that a country can only prosper under free enterprise."
Don's America-first patriotism seemed to override all other peoples and nations in the world. This bothered Jane too.
"The U.S. is the hope of the world,"he said one Sunday morning as he scanned the pages of the Observer newspaper, while stretching out on Jane's bed. "Why don't these Englishmen know that? They keep putting us down. Without the United States, Britain would have lost the Second World War. And we saved the Brits and the French in World War One too.We're also the main reason why the communists haven't invaded Western Europe and swallowed up England also."
Jane tried to ignore these statements, for she enjoyed Don's energy, optimism and being with a good looking man. And though she still feared getting pregnant, she enjoyed their lovemaking too. She realized that she was in love and she enjoyed the happiness it brought her. She got used to the smallness of her room and the crowded sometimes scruffy streets she often walked along. Life seemed to her to be very good.
Wednesday 17 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Life in London - Continued
Don McWilliam was an American student that Jane met at a North American get together in London. He had dark hair and a clean shaven face. When he got up to go to the washroom, he towered over her. "I guess I'm about six foot three or four, " he told Jane after he sat down beside her again and she'd mentioned his height. "My father's as tall as I am, and my older brother's even taller. Anyway, what are you studying here Jane?"
Jane was soon pouring out her story about her life in London. She complained about her small room and how disappointed she was with parts of London.
"It's so big but some parts of it are so dirty. Plus things here are really expensive compared to back home," Jane said. "I'm not impressed with this place the way I thought I'd be. I've lived here before . But then I was only a child and I was with my family. And we were here for only about a year or less."
"Oh it's big alright," Don said about London. Then he filled Jane in on his background. Don came from a family of four, his brother, his parents and himself. He'd grown up in the prosperous suburb of Winnetka, in the Chicago area. "It's comfortable there that's for sure with lots of open spaces that I don't find here."
"But there's some very interesting places here. It just takes time to get used to."
Don was sharing an apartment with two other Americans. He was studying at the London School of Economics for a Ph.D or doctorate in Economics."I'm a great fan of Milton Friedman," Don continued. "I took a few of his classes at the University of Chicago. He's a great defender pf our American free enterprise system." Friedman, Don said , opened his eyes to the importance of economics. "If I hadn't taken any of his courses I wouldn't be here getting a Ph.D. I'd probably have been a college drop-out."
As he spoke, Don would smile at Jane revealing his small even teeth. He was 23 years old and had been living in London for the past three years. "I know parts of sthis city," he said brushing a few crumbs of a roll he was eating off of his dark sports jacket and blue jeans. His dark thick eyebrows above his brown eyes would often raise themselves when he smiled.
Jane liked him. She realized how lonely she'd been since soming to London. Soon, they were a couple. Not long after that, they became lovers.
Don McWilliam was an American student that Jane met at a North American get together in London. He had dark hair and a clean shaven face. When he got up to go to the washroom, he towered over her. "I guess I'm about six foot three or four, " he told Jane after he sat down beside her again and she'd mentioned his height. "My father's as tall as I am, and my older brother's even taller. Anyway, what are you studying here Jane?"
Jane was soon pouring out her story about her life in London. She complained about her small room and how disappointed she was with parts of London.
"It's so big but some parts of it are so dirty. Plus things here are really expensive compared to back home," Jane said. "I'm not impressed with this place the way I thought I'd be. I've lived here before . But then I was only a child and I was with my family. And we were here for only about a year or less."
"Oh it's big alright," Don said about London. Then he filled Jane in on his background. Don came from a family of four, his brother, his parents and himself. He'd grown up in the prosperous suburb of Winnetka, in the Chicago area. "It's comfortable there that's for sure with lots of open spaces that I don't find here."
"But there's some very interesting places here. It just takes time to get used to."
Don was sharing an apartment with two other Americans. He was studying at the London School of Economics for a Ph.D or doctorate in Economics."I'm a great fan of Milton Friedman," Don continued. "I took a few of his classes at the University of Chicago. He's a great defender pf our American free enterprise system." Friedman, Don said , opened his eyes to the importance of economics. "If I hadn't taken any of his courses I wouldn't be here getting a Ph.D. I'd probably have been a college drop-out."
As he spoke, Don would smile at Jane revealing his small even teeth. He was 23 years old and had been living in London for the past three years. "I know parts of sthis city," he said brushing a few crumbs of a roll he was eating off of his dark sports jacket and blue jeans. His dark thick eyebrows above his brown eyes would often raise themselves when he smiled.
Jane liked him. She realized how lonely she'd been since soming to London. Soon, they were a couple. Not long after that, they became lovers.
Monday 15 October 2012
Chapter Seven contined
Chapter Seven - Life in London continued
At the time Jane won the Beaverbrook scholarship, Jane thought that the prize was a big sum of money. But when she deducted food, rent, travel expenses, using the laundromat down the street and other expenses, she realized she'd have to be careful with her money. To take just one example, food cost a lot more in London than it did in Montreal or Fredericton.
When the session with Doctor Bowen ended, Jane rushed down the stairs in this building that was one of several University of London buildings scattered throughout the neighbourhood. Outside in the street, the sun shone down on the crowds of passers-by. Jane walked back to her cold room and gazed at its bare walls. Kind of depressing, she thought.
She went outside again and went round to two or three travel offices to cadge some posters off their walls. She went into the august National Gallery and bought some small copies of paintings. Then she put these pictures and posters up on her room's walls. But the room didn't look any bigger. It just seemed a little brighter. And every time someone used the toilet down the hall, or took a bath, the noise passesd through the room's thin walls. When people or visitors to her neighbors's rooms scampered up the two flights of stairs, the walls of Jane's room shook. Meanwhile Jane could hear noise from the room of her next door neighbour, who she found out was secretary in a local government office.
Jane decided to do most of her work outside the rooming house at one of the university's libraries.
"Dear mum," Jane wrote to her mother back in Fredericton a few weeks later, "I've had some trouble at first adjusting to this huge humungus city. But now things atre working out and I'm doing just fine."
One of the reasons that lifted up Jane's spirits, was a big young man from Chicago named Tom McWilliam. Jane met him and a few other Americans in a pub not far from Charing Cross.Donald was sitting in the pub, drinking a beer and smiling at something another man of his age was saying to him.
Jane had come to this pub called 'The Arms and Anchor' because she saw a notice pinned to one of the billboards in the building where she took some of her classes. "Are you a student from North America?" the notice said. "Then come to a get-together at the Arms and Anchor pub." The notice gave the pub's address and time and date of the meeting. Jane wondered whether any Canadians would be there. She knew many Americans would show up.
She and another young woman from Brampton, Ontario named Felicia Pratt seemed to be the only Canadians in a crowd of about 30. But soon she was talking to Don McWilliam and enjoying it.
At the time Jane won the Beaverbrook scholarship, Jane thought that the prize was a big sum of money. But when she deducted food, rent, travel expenses, using the laundromat down the street and other expenses, she realized she'd have to be careful with her money. To take just one example, food cost a lot more in London than it did in Montreal or Fredericton.
When the session with Doctor Bowen ended, Jane rushed down the stairs in this building that was one of several University of London buildings scattered throughout the neighbourhood. Outside in the street, the sun shone down on the crowds of passers-by. Jane walked back to her cold room and gazed at its bare walls. Kind of depressing, she thought.
She went outside again and went round to two or three travel offices to cadge some posters off their walls. She went into the august National Gallery and bought some small copies of paintings. Then she put these pictures and posters up on her room's walls. But the room didn't look any bigger. It just seemed a little brighter. And every time someone used the toilet down the hall, or took a bath, the noise passesd through the room's thin walls. When people or visitors to her neighbors's rooms scampered up the two flights of stairs, the walls of Jane's room shook. Meanwhile Jane could hear noise from the room of her next door neighbour, who she found out was secretary in a local government office.
Jane decided to do most of her work outside the rooming house at one of the university's libraries.
"Dear mum," Jane wrote to her mother back in Fredericton a few weeks later, "I've had some trouble at first adjusting to this huge humungus city. But now things atre working out and I'm doing just fine."
One of the reasons that lifted up Jane's spirits, was a big young man from Chicago named Tom McWilliam. Jane met him and a few other Americans in a pub not far from Charing Cross.Donald was sitting in the pub, drinking a beer and smiling at something another man of his age was saying to him.
Jane had come to this pub called 'The Arms and Anchor' because she saw a notice pinned to one of the billboards in the building where she took some of her classes. "Are you a student from North America?" the notice said. "Then come to a get-together at the Arms and Anchor pub." The notice gave the pub's address and time and date of the meeting. Jane wondered whether any Canadians would be there. She knew many Americans would show up.
She and another young woman from Brampton, Ontario named Felicia Pratt seemed to be the only Canadians in a crowd of about 30. But soon she was talking to Don McWilliam and enjoying it.
Sunday 14 October 2012
Chapter Seven of the Life of Jane
Chapter Seven - Life in London
Professor Bowen or 'Doctor Bowen' as he liked to be called, sat in his study talking to Jane. He was a medium sized man with thinning red hair combed back from his forehead, and a small clipped red military-type moustache. "I was a soldier in the last war," he told Jane right after meeting her. "I fought against Rommel in North Africa and was part of the invasion of Sicily. "
Jane had heard vaguely about the last world war but she couldn't have told you what the battles were about and where they took place. So she stayed silent when he told her about his military history. She judged he was middle-aged and just stared at him, as he pushed back his thick, black-framed glasses when they slipped down his long nose.
"I'm your thesis advisor Miss Sinclair," he told her as he swivelled around in his wooden armchair that sat in front of a dark flat table. "Now here's what you must do."
Then he laid out her schedules for classes she had to attend, readings she had to do, and other things to be done. Clad in a dark blue suit with a dark tie, from time to time he would re-arrange his black academic gown. As he went on talking briskly, Jane would jot down many of the things he said, in a small blue notebook. Bowen's accent was clear and concise and reminded Jane of Queen Elizabeth's way of speaking. It was definitely middle class.
Sometimes Jane wanted him to stop talking and give her a rest. But he didn't. He ploughed on with his comments. "Now you're going to do your thesis on John Donne, aren't you? So here's what you have to do first." And he was off again talking nonstop.
Jane looked out of the study's window beyond the hordes of books that lined the study's walls. She could see in the distance, Waterloo Bridge, or was it Charing Cross Bridge? Here it was in late September 1959 and she still hadn't seen much of London's tourist attractions. She'd flown to London from Boston and ended up for a few days at a local Y.W.C.A.
Then she found a room in an old rooming house not far from one of the University of London's campuses for she was enrolled in some of the University of London's postgraduate English courses. Yet she quickly realized that London was an expensive city and she couldn't afford to stay long at the 'Y'.
"It's small miss," the landlady Mrs. Forest told Jane about the room as they both climbed up the rooming house"s two flights of stairs. "But it's adequate. Three pounds a week and I'll supply you for free with a gas heater. You'll need it come wintertime."
Mrs. Forest was a small, chunky woman with dyed brown hair, and a squint in her right eye. "You share the bathroom with three other people . But there's a stove and a sink in the room." Mrs. Forest put a key in the room's lock and opened the door. She was right. The room had a stove, a sink and even a dresser and a bed. But elsewise it was bare and dark. A small window above the sink supplied Jane with a tiny view of part of the city of London.
Some fragments of Blake's poetry rang through Jane's head. Hadn't he written about "England's green and pleasant land " or something like that? She sure hadn't seen much that was green and pleasant in London so far. But she had no choice. "I'll take the room, Mrs. Forest," she said. Then she thought to herself,
But it needs some fixing up too, and I'm going to do that a soon as posssible.
Professor Bowen or 'Doctor Bowen' as he liked to be called, sat in his study talking to Jane. He was a medium sized man with thinning red hair combed back from his forehead, and a small clipped red military-type moustache. "I was a soldier in the last war," he told Jane right after meeting her. "I fought against Rommel in North Africa and was part of the invasion of Sicily. "
Jane had heard vaguely about the last world war but she couldn't have told you what the battles were about and where they took place. So she stayed silent when he told her about his military history. She judged he was middle-aged and just stared at him, as he pushed back his thick, black-framed glasses when they slipped down his long nose.
"I'm your thesis advisor Miss Sinclair," he told her as he swivelled around in his wooden armchair that sat in front of a dark flat table. "Now here's what you must do."
Then he laid out her schedules for classes she had to attend, readings she had to do, and other things to be done. Clad in a dark blue suit with a dark tie, from time to time he would re-arrange his black academic gown. As he went on talking briskly, Jane would jot down many of the things he said, in a small blue notebook. Bowen's accent was clear and concise and reminded Jane of Queen Elizabeth's way of speaking. It was definitely middle class.
Sometimes Jane wanted him to stop talking and give her a rest. But he didn't. He ploughed on with his comments. "Now you're going to do your thesis on John Donne, aren't you? So here's what you have to do first." And he was off again talking nonstop.
Jane looked out of the study's window beyond the hordes of books that lined the study's walls. She could see in the distance, Waterloo Bridge, or was it Charing Cross Bridge? Here it was in late September 1959 and she still hadn't seen much of London's tourist attractions. She'd flown to London from Boston and ended up for a few days at a local Y.W.C.A.
Then she found a room in an old rooming house not far from one of the University of London's campuses for she was enrolled in some of the University of London's postgraduate English courses. Yet she quickly realized that London was an expensive city and she couldn't afford to stay long at the 'Y'.
"It's small miss," the landlady Mrs. Forest told Jane about the room as they both climbed up the rooming house"s two flights of stairs. "But it's adequate. Three pounds a week and I'll supply you for free with a gas heater. You'll need it come wintertime."
Mrs. Forest was a small, chunky woman with dyed brown hair, and a squint in her right eye. "You share the bathroom with three other people . But there's a stove and a sink in the room." Mrs. Forest put a key in the room's lock and opened the door. She was right. The room had a stove, a sink and even a dresser and a bed. But elsewise it was bare and dark. A small window above the sink supplied Jane with a tiny view of part of the city of London.
Some fragments of Blake's poetry rang through Jane's head. Hadn't he written about "England's green and pleasant land " or something like that? She sure hadn't seen much that was green and pleasant in London so far. But she had no choice. "I'll take the room, Mrs. Forest," she said. Then she thought to herself,
But it needs some fixing up too, and I'm going to do that a soon as posssible.
Thursday 11 October 2012
The Life of Jane- Chapter Six continued
Scholarship Time - Chapter Six continued
In early March 1959, three months before Jane's Graduation Day,she was in Fredericton, sitting in a big room on a big wooden chair.
She wore a red cashmere sweater, a white Peter Pan blouse with short sleeves, a grey woolen skirt, and brown oxford shoes. Of course she was also wearing a brasier, panties and a slip. But the men in the room of course, didn't know anything about Jane's underclothes.
Three men all dressed in dark suits, dark ties and white shirts sat across from her on the other side of a dark oak table.
"Now tell us Miss Sinclair why do you think you deserve the Beaverbrook Scholarship?" a tall grey-haired man with a grey moustache asked her. He sat in the middle of the trio. That opening question launched a two hour question and answer session between Jane and the three men. She must have impressed them, as did her graduating marks, which with the exception of one B were all straight A's.
After Graduation Day Jane came back to Fredericton, making plans to take a journey while working again at the golf club. While she took orders, swept and vacuumed the floors and cleaned and polished knives, forks and spoons, she thought constantly about the Beaverbrook scholarship. Would she win it or not? At night time after watching some t.v. program or going out with her brother Tom, who was now studying to be a doctor at Dalhousie university, she would listen to the radio before dozing off to sleep
But before she fell asleep or after waking up in the morning, one of the first things on her mind was the question:Did I win or not? She would phone home in the middle of the weekday, nearly every day when she was at the golf club and ask her mother "Is there anything in the mail about the scholarship?"
For a month and a half, that is until mid-August, her mother would usually reply, "Jane nothing like that came to-day." And then on a sunny hot day in August, Mrs. Sinclair told Jane over the phone,"There's something here for you dear."
Jane quickly asked the supervisor in the golf club if she could just go home for an hour. "Fine with me," the man replied and watched in surprise as Jane tore out of the club, got on her motorcycle and roared off home. Once there she ran up the stairs of the Sinclair house and slammed the front door shut.
"It's on the kitchen table," her mother said as she sat in the livning room. "I haven't opened it."
On the kitchen table was a cream-coloured envelope with a Beaverbrook scholarship on the envelope's left hand corner. Jane trembled as she tore open the envelope . "We are happy to inform you," the typed letter began, "that you have won..."
Jane read no further. She screamed with joy, ran over to the livng room and hugged her mother.
"I did it mum, I did it!" she shouted. "I've won the scholarship. I'm going to London. To London. Oh that's wonderful."
Jane kissed her mother and ran away from the house into the sweltering day that had nary a cloud in the sky. Then she sat in a nearby park and cried with joy. Hours later, as dusk settled over Fredericton, Jane still couldn't believe her good luck. She was going to London on a Beaverbrook Scholarship. Amazing, she thought, just amazing.
In early March 1959, three months before Jane's Graduation Day,she was in Fredericton, sitting in a big room on a big wooden chair.
She wore a red cashmere sweater, a white Peter Pan blouse with short sleeves, a grey woolen skirt, and brown oxford shoes. Of course she was also wearing a brasier, panties and a slip. But the men in the room of course, didn't know anything about Jane's underclothes.
Three men all dressed in dark suits, dark ties and white shirts sat across from her on the other side of a dark oak table.
"Now tell us Miss Sinclair why do you think you deserve the Beaverbrook Scholarship?" a tall grey-haired man with a grey moustache asked her. He sat in the middle of the trio. That opening question launched a two hour question and answer session between Jane and the three men. She must have impressed them, as did her graduating marks, which with the exception of one B were all straight A's.
After Graduation Day Jane came back to Fredericton, making plans to take a journey while working again at the golf club. While she took orders, swept and vacuumed the floors and cleaned and polished knives, forks and spoons, she thought constantly about the Beaverbrook scholarship. Would she win it or not? At night time after watching some t.v. program or going out with her brother Tom, who was now studying to be a doctor at Dalhousie university, she would listen to the radio before dozing off to sleep
But before she fell asleep or after waking up in the morning, one of the first things on her mind was the question:Did I win or not? She would phone home in the middle of the weekday, nearly every day when she was at the golf club and ask her mother "Is there anything in the mail about the scholarship?"
For a month and a half, that is until mid-August, her mother would usually reply, "Jane nothing like that came to-day." And then on a sunny hot day in August, Mrs. Sinclair told Jane over the phone,"There's something here for you dear."
Jane quickly asked the supervisor in the golf club if she could just go home for an hour. "Fine with me," the man replied and watched in surprise as Jane tore out of the club, got on her motorcycle and roared off home. Once there she ran up the stairs of the Sinclair house and slammed the front door shut.
"It's on the kitchen table," her mother said as she sat in the livning room. "I haven't opened it."
On the kitchen table was a cream-coloured envelope with a Beaverbrook scholarship on the envelope's left hand corner. Jane trembled as she tore open the envelope . "We are happy to inform you," the typed letter began, "that you have won..."
Jane read no further. She screamed with joy, ran over to the livng room and hugged her mother.
"I did it mum, I did it!" she shouted. "I've won the scholarship. I'm going to London. To London. Oh that's wonderful."
Jane kissed her mother and ran away from the house into the sweltering day that had nary a cloud in the sky. Then she sat in a nearby park and cried with joy. Hours later, as dusk settled over Fredericton, Jane still couldn't believe her good luck. She was going to London on a Beaverbrook Scholarship. Amazing, she thought, just amazing.
Wednesday 10 October 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Six
Chapter Six - To London
One early morning in December 1958 Jane walked down the hall of the first floor of the arts building, on her way to a class. It was here in this scruffy building that she took many of her classes. She scanned the bulletin board near the entrance, and there pinned to it, was a notice that caught her eye. "Are you a student from New Brunswick and are you going to graduate from the faculty of arts?" it asked. "You may be eligible for the Beaverbook Scholarship for graduate students."
Jane was interested.Here, was a way to leave Canada and get another degree. The poster left a phone number and an address that she wrote down. She found out later that the scholarship was awarded every year to an oustanding student from New Brunswick.
The winner could go to a university ouside Canada and stay in a country and get an advanced degree. All fees were paid and so were most other expenses. "Holy Hanna," Jane told her father when she phoned home on one of her rare long distance calls a few weeks after seeing the notice. "This would be great for me if I won. Going to London, England to study would be fantastic."
Jane wanted to go to England, a place that she had only stayed in for a few months, more than ten years ago. Also she was eager to continue her studies in English.
Lord Beaverbrook, New Brunswick-born multimilliionaire, born Max Aitken, had made a fortune in Canada, and then England. He was an intimate of Winston Churchill, and had served in Churchill's wartime cabinet. But though like Jane, he admired the English, he didn't forget his native New Brunswick. He set up his scholarship as a way of paying back his place of birth.
In June of 1959, Jane Sinclair, sat in a big crowd of graduates in an open air stadium,wearing a mortar board and a black academic gown. She walked under a warm spring sun,up to a stage where she received her arts degree from some notable. Her father and mother had travelled up to Montreal for the occasion, as had her sister Beatrice.
"Well Jane, you're out in the big world now,"her father said after the ceremonies were over. "What're you going to do now?" Doctor Sinclair was stilll slaving away at his administrative job.
"I think I'm going to keep going to school," Jane said as she and her family stood in the middle of a crowd of young graduates and their middle aged parents and relatives. "I'd like to go to London." She winked to Beatrice as she said this. Her sister was studying genetics in New York City.
Jane was hoping that she could win a Beaverbrook scholarship and go to London to study for a graduate degree. Who knows, she thought, maybe dreams do come true. Jane had graduated with a first class honours English degree. Now she had a Bachelor of Arts. But Jane was aiming even higher.
One early morning in December 1958 Jane walked down the hall of the first floor of the arts building, on her way to a class. It was here in this scruffy building that she took many of her classes. She scanned the bulletin board near the entrance, and there pinned to it, was a notice that caught her eye. "Are you a student from New Brunswick and are you going to graduate from the faculty of arts?" it asked. "You may be eligible for the Beaverbook Scholarship for graduate students."
Jane was interested.Here, was a way to leave Canada and get another degree. The poster left a phone number and an address that she wrote down. She found out later that the scholarship was awarded every year to an oustanding student from New Brunswick.
The winner could go to a university ouside Canada and stay in a country and get an advanced degree. All fees were paid and so were most other expenses. "Holy Hanna," Jane told her father when she phoned home on one of her rare long distance calls a few weeks after seeing the notice. "This would be great for me if I won. Going to London, England to study would be fantastic."
Jane wanted to go to England, a place that she had only stayed in for a few months, more than ten years ago. Also she was eager to continue her studies in English.
Lord Beaverbrook, New Brunswick-born multimilliionaire, born Max Aitken, had made a fortune in Canada, and then England. He was an intimate of Winston Churchill, and had served in Churchill's wartime cabinet. But though like Jane, he admired the English, he didn't forget his native New Brunswick. He set up his scholarship as a way of paying back his place of birth.
In June of 1959, Jane Sinclair, sat in a big crowd of graduates in an open air stadium,wearing a mortar board and a black academic gown. She walked under a warm spring sun,up to a stage where she received her arts degree from some notable. Her father and mother had travelled up to Montreal for the occasion, as had her sister Beatrice.
"Well Jane, you're out in the big world now,"her father said after the ceremonies were over. "What're you going to do now?" Doctor Sinclair was stilll slaving away at his administrative job.
"I think I'm going to keep going to school," Jane said as she and her family stood in the middle of a crowd of young graduates and their middle aged parents and relatives. "I'd like to go to London." She winked to Beatrice as she said this. Her sister was studying genetics in New York City.
Jane was hoping that she could win a Beaverbrook scholarship and go to London to study for a graduate degree. Who knows, she thought, maybe dreams do come true. Jane had graduated with a first class honours English degree. Now she had a Bachelor of Arts. But Jane was aiming even higher.
Tuesday 2 October 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Chapter Five - Jane and John continued
For the four years Jane studied at McGill, she went out with quite a few men. But she remained in a secret engagement with one man, namely John Tytherleigh.
Every summer, except one, she went back to Fredericton, and every time she bonded with John again. He was now a civil engineer, working for a small firm in Halifax.
Jane worked summers as a waitress and cleaning lady at the golf club where her father came to relax.But she had a distant aunt on her father's side who lived in Halifax. Jane would stay for two weeks at a time in this woman's house. Maud Roberts was a tall no-nonsense high school teacher with red hair. She'd married once but now was a widow. "Her husband Ralph enlisted in the second world war," Jane's mother told her."He died during the fighting in France. After that Maud stayed single and never had a child."
Maud didn't mind bonding with Jane. Perhaps Jane took the place of a son or daughter she never had. The two women became friends. But after meeting John who came to her house, Maud told Jane,"No hanky-panky in my house Jane. I've promised your parents that I''ll look after you while you're here and I plan to."
By then John and Jane had already made love in John's cramped untidy bachelor apartment. But Jane was always worried about getting pregnant. "We can't keep doing this," she told John after a bout of passionate love making." I'm scared. Let's put it off again until we're married. I enjoy this a lot but I'm not ready to have a baby yet."
"Jane, I'm a man," John said, as he lay beside her in his narrow bed. "I need sex. If I don't get it I get all frustrated. Besides I'm wearing a rubber."
"Rubbers sometimes break. I still feel worried when we make love."
The year after that Jane didn't go back to Fredericton, possibly to keep John at bay. She went to work in a hotel in the Laurentians, a popular vacation spot north of Montreal. She spoke French with many of the staff who were French-Canadians. Most of the other staff spoke English as their first language.
One day a letter came to her at the hotel. "Dear Jane," the letter writer Maud Roberts wrote to her in her neat school teacher's script. "I saw John Tytherleigh in downtown Halifax yesterday afternoon. He was with a young, attractive girl. Just thought I'd let you know."
"Hope you are doing well. Love / Maud" .
This letter which Jane read in her bedroom that she shared with another worker, didn't hurt her too much. She knew John had eyes for other women. But she also thought that once they'd marry, he'd stay faithful to her. And how could she complain about John's dating other women. Didn't she do the same?
"We'll be together one day.Or maybe we won't," she muttered to herself causing her roommate Harriet, who'd come silently into the room in the last minute, to look at her.
Just talking to myself," she said to Harriet with a smile. Then she thumbed through the daily 'Montreal Star' which lay on the floor beside her bed. In the paper there was a story on two of America's famous singing stars, the Everly Brothers.
She hummed and sang to herself their big hit of the year or two before . "Bye,bye love/ Bye bye happiness." Harriet joined in "Hello emptiness/ I think I'm a gonna cry."
But neither Jane nor Harriet cried or felt like crying. Harriet leaned back on her bed and smiled. She was young , and clever she thought. Life was sweet.
For the four years Jane studied at McGill, she went out with quite a few men. But she remained in a secret engagement with one man, namely John Tytherleigh.
Every summer, except one, she went back to Fredericton, and every time she bonded with John again. He was now a civil engineer, working for a small firm in Halifax.
Jane worked summers as a waitress and cleaning lady at the golf club where her father came to relax.But she had a distant aunt on her father's side who lived in Halifax. Jane would stay for two weeks at a time in this woman's house. Maud Roberts was a tall no-nonsense high school teacher with red hair. She'd married once but now was a widow. "Her husband Ralph enlisted in the second world war," Jane's mother told her."He died during the fighting in France. After that Maud stayed single and never had a child."
Maud didn't mind bonding with Jane. Perhaps Jane took the place of a son or daughter she never had. The two women became friends. But after meeting John who came to her house, Maud told Jane,"No hanky-panky in my house Jane. I've promised your parents that I''ll look after you while you're here and I plan to."
By then John and Jane had already made love in John's cramped untidy bachelor apartment. But Jane was always worried about getting pregnant. "We can't keep doing this," she told John after a bout of passionate love making." I'm scared. Let's put it off again until we're married. I enjoy this a lot but I'm not ready to have a baby yet."
"Jane, I'm a man," John said, as he lay beside her in his narrow bed. "I need sex. If I don't get it I get all frustrated. Besides I'm wearing a rubber."
"Rubbers sometimes break. I still feel worried when we make love."
The year after that Jane didn't go back to Fredericton, possibly to keep John at bay. She went to work in a hotel in the Laurentians, a popular vacation spot north of Montreal. She spoke French with many of the staff who were French-Canadians. Most of the other staff spoke English as their first language.
One day a letter came to her at the hotel. "Dear Jane," the letter writer Maud Roberts wrote to her in her neat school teacher's script. "I saw John Tytherleigh in downtown Halifax yesterday afternoon. He was with a young, attractive girl. Just thought I'd let you know."
"Hope you are doing well. Love / Maud" .
This letter which Jane read in her bedroom that she shared with another worker, didn't hurt her too much. She knew John had eyes for other women. But she also thought that once they'd marry, he'd stay faithful to her. And how could she complain about John's dating other women. Didn't she do the same?
"We'll be together one day.Or maybe we won't," she muttered to herself causing her roommate Harriet, who'd come silently into the room in the last minute, to look at her.
Just talking to myself," she said to Harriet with a smile. Then she thumbed through the daily 'Montreal Star' which lay on the floor beside her bed. In the paper there was a story on two of America's famous singing stars, the Everly Brothers.
She hummed and sang to herself their big hit of the year or two before . "Bye,bye love/ Bye bye happiness." Harriet joined in "Hello emptiness/ I think I'm a gonna cry."
But neither Jane nor Harriet cried or felt like crying. Harriet leaned back on her bed and smiled. She was young , and clever she thought. Life was sweet.
Monday 1 October 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Five continued
Jane Meets Jeanne
Jane didn"t go out with Ron Shapiro after he told her he couldn't take her to his house and meet his parents. Still, the talk she had with him about Jews and Christians set her thinking. Jane started to notice how Jews and Christians didn't mix much at McGill. The crowd that gathered in the smoking room outside the main library was made up mostly of Jews and Christians. And neither group spoke much to each other.
"They call the smoking room 'The Gaza Strip"" Ron told her once. "And that's because it's named after the Gaza Strip on the border of Egypt and Israel where Jews and Arabs fight each other." Little by little Jane learned about the class-ridden, ethnically split city of Montreal.
In the streets of the city she heard French, English, Italian and other languages. She met people who came from the Caribbean, Greece, Italy and other parts of Europe. She went to school with Jews, Christians, and even some Moslems.
But these groups didn't seem to hang out with each other. "America's a melting pot," Ron Shapiro once told her. "You had a Jew on the U.S. Supreme Court back in the 1920's. Many of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's aides were Jews. It's not like that in Canada. So we Jews keep to ourselves. So do others."
But Jane soon realized that things in New Brunswick weren't too different than the set-up in Montreal.
Her father told her how the French speaking Acadians in northern New Brunswick didn't exactly hang out with the English speaking people who lived mainly in southern New Brunswick. Then there were the Indians stuck in some of the poorest parts of the province in what were called 'reserves', or 'reservations'.
"Some of the natives are livng in places that are as poor as some of the villages I've seen in India," her father once told her. "Those poor people have it real tough."
Then there was the Acadian woman Jeanne Mercier who Jane met at a dance at one of Jane's McGill
classmate's house. "Oh you come from Fredericton," this woman who called herself Jean, said to Jane. " I'm glad to meet you . I'll tell you one thing," she continued in a French-accented English. "At least here in this city I can speak French. You've got to be careful if you do that back home."
"What do you mean by that?" Jane asked.
Jean then told Jane about how she lived in a part of Bathurst . But she and her brother had to cross through an adjoining area to get to school. Often English speaking rowdies who lived in the neighbouring area would attack the two Acadians when they crossed into the English -speaking area. "They'd throw stones at us, punch us and yell at us 'Speak English you dumb assholes'"
Jean said. "I'm telling you I'm glad to live in Montreal, although even here, some people don't like it when I speak French .
Jane has heard talk about French-English clashes in New Brunswick. But she'd never seen one up
close. Slowly she realized that all places in Canada had their own conflicts and problems."No place is perfect," her mother used to say. Jane smiled to herself while going to class one spring afternoon.and remembered her mother's saying. "Well, she sure got that one right," Jane said out loud.
Jane didn"t go out with Ron Shapiro after he told her he couldn't take her to his house and meet his parents. Still, the talk she had with him about Jews and Christians set her thinking. Jane started to notice how Jews and Christians didn't mix much at McGill. The crowd that gathered in the smoking room outside the main library was made up mostly of Jews and Christians. And neither group spoke much to each other.
"They call the smoking room 'The Gaza Strip"" Ron told her once. "And that's because it's named after the Gaza Strip on the border of Egypt and Israel where Jews and Arabs fight each other." Little by little Jane learned about the class-ridden, ethnically split city of Montreal.
In the streets of the city she heard French, English, Italian and other languages. She met people who came from the Caribbean, Greece, Italy and other parts of Europe. She went to school with Jews, Christians, and even some Moslems.
But these groups didn't seem to hang out with each other. "America's a melting pot," Ron Shapiro once told her. "You had a Jew on the U.S. Supreme Court back in the 1920's. Many of Franklin Delano Roosevelt's aides were Jews. It's not like that in Canada. So we Jews keep to ourselves. So do others."
But Jane soon realized that things in New Brunswick weren't too different than the set-up in Montreal.
Her father told her how the French speaking Acadians in northern New Brunswick didn't exactly hang out with the English speaking people who lived mainly in southern New Brunswick. Then there were the Indians stuck in some of the poorest parts of the province in what were called 'reserves', or 'reservations'.
"Some of the natives are livng in places that are as poor as some of the villages I've seen in India," her father once told her. "Those poor people have it real tough."
Then there was the Acadian woman Jeanne Mercier who Jane met at a dance at one of Jane's McGill
classmate's house. "Oh you come from Fredericton," this woman who called herself Jean, said to Jane. " I'm glad to meet you . I'll tell you one thing," she continued in a French-accented English. "At least here in this city I can speak French. You've got to be careful if you do that back home."
"What do you mean by that?" Jane asked.
Jean then told Jane about how she lived in a part of Bathurst . But she and her brother had to cross through an adjoining area to get to school. Often English speaking rowdies who lived in the neighbouring area would attack the two Acadians when they crossed into the English -speaking area. "They'd throw stones at us, punch us and yell at us 'Speak English you dumb assholes'"
Jean said. "I'm telling you I'm glad to live in Montreal, although even here, some people don't like it when I speak French .
Jane has heard talk about French-English clashes in New Brunswick. But she'd never seen one up
close. Slowly she realized that all places in Canada had their own conflicts and problems."No place is perfect," her mother used to say. Jane smiled to herself while going to class one spring afternoon.and remembered her mother's saying. "Well, she sure got that one right," Jane said out loud.
Sunday 30 September 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Jane Meets Two Ethnics - continued
Jane stopped caring about Samuel. But the next year she met another man from another ethnic group. Ron Shapiro was sitting in the cafeteria of the Student Union Building one winter afternoon. The Student Union Building or 'The Sub' as students called it, was a scruffy three story Gothic style structure where some students hung out .
On this afternnon just after midday, the cafeteria was crowded with people. Jane was holding a cup of coffee in her free hand. She sat down at a table where a short stocky man was also seated.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
"Be my guest," the young man replied.
Ron Shapiro was wearing a dark suit and tie that matched his dark hair and brown eyes. He was studying to be a lawyer, he told Jane.
"Yecch, literature," he said when Jane told him what she was studying. "There's no money in that. My parents don't have much and my dad was a poet. Now he's a cutter in a dress factory. Literature can't buy you much, that's for sure."
Jane went out with Ron a few times. But he never invited her to his home.
One night they went to a poetry reading that featured the well known Montreal poet Irving Layton. Jane liked Layton's poetry but didn't care for his oversized ego. Ron didn't like Layton's poetry or Layton.
On their way back to the residence where Jane lived, they discussed poetry while Jane held onto Ron's arm. It was springtime and the dark hid patches of ice that made walking tricky. "I'm not crazy about poetry," Ron said. "I guess it's due to having to listen my dad recite his stuff when I was a kid and watching him sweating while he wrote it."
"Where were you living then?" Jane asked.
"Same place as we do now. Right near here on Clark Street."
"That's right near here," Jane said. "Can I come and see your parents one day?"
"Oh I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Why not? Is there something wrong with me/"
Ron stopped walking and unhooked his arm from Jane's firm grasp. "Jane I - uh well here goes. You're a WASP Jane, a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, a goy. My parents would have a fit if I brought you home."
"But we're not going to get married,are we?"
"They'd think we are. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw us together. My dad might throw me out of the house." Then Ron told Jane how Jews and French Canadians had clashed in the l930's and 1940's. "The French would come down the Main, Sainte Lawrence Boulevard and hammer Jews, who soon were hammering them right back," Ron continued. "Those events are engraved on my parents' souls.
Then of course what happened to the Jews in Europe in the second world war.'
"But so what?I'm not responsible for those things.'
"Jane for my parents any Christian is responsible for them. I'm sorry that's just the way things are.'
"Well in that case," Jane said coldly ."I think I'll spare you any more pain Mr. Shapiro. It was nice knowing you. But now goodbye and good luck." She stalked away into the cold night air and barely nodded at him when she saw him on campus again. So ended another brief romance.
Jane stopped caring about Samuel. But the next year she met another man from another ethnic group. Ron Shapiro was sitting in the cafeteria of the Student Union Building one winter afternoon. The Student Union Building or 'The Sub' as students called it, was a scruffy three story Gothic style structure where some students hung out .
On this afternnon just after midday, the cafeteria was crowded with people. Jane was holding a cup of coffee in her free hand. She sat down at a table where a short stocky man was also seated.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
"Be my guest," the young man replied.
Ron Shapiro was wearing a dark suit and tie that matched his dark hair and brown eyes. He was studying to be a lawyer, he told Jane.
"Yecch, literature," he said when Jane told him what she was studying. "There's no money in that. My parents don't have much and my dad was a poet. Now he's a cutter in a dress factory. Literature can't buy you much, that's for sure."
Jane went out with Ron a few times. But he never invited her to his home.
One night they went to a poetry reading that featured the well known Montreal poet Irving Layton. Jane liked Layton's poetry but didn't care for his oversized ego. Ron didn't like Layton's poetry or Layton.
On their way back to the residence where Jane lived, they discussed poetry while Jane held onto Ron's arm. It was springtime and the dark hid patches of ice that made walking tricky. "I'm not crazy about poetry," Ron said. "I guess it's due to having to listen my dad recite his stuff when I was a kid and watching him sweating while he wrote it."
"Where were you living then?" Jane asked.
"Same place as we do now. Right near here on Clark Street."
"That's right near here," Jane said. "Can I come and see your parents one day?"
"Oh I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Why not? Is there something wrong with me/"
Ron stopped walking and unhooked his arm from Jane's firm grasp. "Jane I - uh well here goes. You're a WASP Jane, a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant, a goy. My parents would have a fit if I brought you home."
"But we're not going to get married,are we?"
"They'd think we are. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw us together. My dad might throw me out of the house." Then Ron told Jane how Jews and French Canadians had clashed in the l930's and 1940's. "The French would come down the Main, Sainte Lawrence Boulevard and hammer Jews, who soon were hammering them right back," Ron continued. "Those events are engraved on my parents' souls.
Then of course what happened to the Jews in Europe in the second world war.'
"But so what?I'm not responsible for those things.'
"Jane for my parents any Christian is responsible for them. I'm sorry that's just the way things are.'
"Well in that case," Jane said coldly ."I think I'll spare you any more pain Mr. Shapiro. It was nice knowing you. But now goodbye and good luck." She stalked away into the cold night air and barely nodded at him when she saw him on campus again. So ended another brief romance.
Friday 28 September 2012
The Life of Jane continued
The Life of Jane continued - Jane Meets Two Ethnics
Jane had a conscience. She was also interested in the larger world, probably because she spent her childhood in India. So she joined the United Nations Club at McGill University and there she met students from European-ruled colonies in Asia, Africa and the Caribbean. One man she met at this club, shook up her view of the British Empire.
"I've got no love for the British Empire," a brown-skinned man named Samuel Greenwich told her one night at the UN club."I come from Trinidad and I want to see us get our independence, just like Ghana in Africa has just done. "We need our freedom, not British rule anymore."
These statements angered Jane.
"I lived in India as a child," she said. "And the British did a lot of good there."
"Oh come on," Samuel shot back. "They made a pile of money out of India and then when Gandhi and Nehru stirred up the masses, the Brits couldn't hang on to India anymore. So what did they do? They pulled out and left a hell of a mess behind them. Now India and poor Pakistan have to clean up the mess that the British left behind them. What good was that?
"Nonsense," Jane retorted. "My father helped set up a health care system across India. The British established the first hospitals there. And where do you think Gandhi, Nehru and all their leaders were educated? In schools that the British set up, no less."
And so the argument went on until Jane stood up and said, "It's getting late and I'm going back to the residence. I've got a class at eight thirty tomorrow morning."
Jane was a little surprised when Samuel followed her out into the cold winter night, where a light snow was starting to fall. He walked her back to her residence she lived in and then said good night. She went out with him a few times, raising eyebrows of onlookers as they held hands and kissed in restaurants and on campus.
But Sam , as she now called him, wanted to make love to her and Jane refused. "I don't sleep with men," she told him one clear brisk afternoon after they'd seen a rerun at the local theatre of the movie 'Picnic' starring William Holden and Kim Novak. "I'll only sleep with someone I'm going to marry and I'm not ready for that yet." Joan had told nobody about her promise tp John Tytherleigh.
Sam, who was few centimetres taller than Jane smiled down at her as they made their way back to the women's residence. "Jane," he said in his Caribbean accent. "you'd be surprised at the number of girls I've slept with at McGill. There's only one problem though"
"Which is? They got pregnant maybe?
"No, they won't talk to me in except as workers. the daytime. they just want me as a nightime lover.
"I wouldn't do that because I'm not going to sleep with you," Jane said.
By now the couple had reached the women's residence where one or two other couples kissed and embraced in the cold winter afternoon air. No man was allowed in the residence except for male workers.
"You can't come in here," Jane said sharply.
"I know that," Sam said as he whirled around in the snowy sidewlak, like a brown top spinning on a white carpet. "See you again girl."
But he never asked her out again.
Jane had a conscience. She was also interested in the larger world, probably because she spent her childhood in India. So she joined the United Nations Club at McGill University and there she met students from European-ruled colonies in Asia, Africa and the Caribbean. One man she met at this club, shook up her view of the British Empire.
"I've got no love for the British Empire," a brown-skinned man named Samuel Greenwich told her one night at the UN club."I come from Trinidad and I want to see us get our independence, just like Ghana in Africa has just done. "We need our freedom, not British rule anymore."
These statements angered Jane.
"I lived in India as a child," she said. "And the British did a lot of good there."
"Oh come on," Samuel shot back. "They made a pile of money out of India and then when Gandhi and Nehru stirred up the masses, the Brits couldn't hang on to India anymore. So what did they do? They pulled out and left a hell of a mess behind them. Now India and poor Pakistan have to clean up the mess that the British left behind them. What good was that?
"Nonsense," Jane retorted. "My father helped set up a health care system across India. The British established the first hospitals there. And where do you think Gandhi, Nehru and all their leaders were educated? In schools that the British set up, no less."
And so the argument went on until Jane stood up and said, "It's getting late and I'm going back to the residence. I've got a class at eight thirty tomorrow morning."
Jane was a little surprised when Samuel followed her out into the cold winter night, where a light snow was starting to fall. He walked her back to her residence she lived in and then said good night. She went out with him a few times, raising eyebrows of onlookers as they held hands and kissed in restaurants and on campus.
But Sam , as she now called him, wanted to make love to her and Jane refused. "I don't sleep with men," she told him one clear brisk afternoon after they'd seen a rerun at the local theatre of the movie 'Picnic' starring William Holden and Kim Novak. "I'll only sleep with someone I'm going to marry and I'm not ready for that yet." Joan had told nobody about her promise tp John Tytherleigh.
Sam, who was few centimetres taller than Jane smiled down at her as they made their way back to the women's residence. "Jane," he said in his Caribbean accent. "you'd be surprised at the number of girls I've slept with at McGill. There's only one problem though"
"Which is? They got pregnant maybe?
"No, they won't talk to me in except as workers. the daytime. they just want me as a nightime lover.
"I wouldn't do that because I'm not going to sleep with you," Jane said.
By now the couple had reached the women's residence where one or two other couples kissed and embraced in the cold winter afternoon air. No man was allowed in the residence except for male workers.
"You can't come in here," Jane said sharply.
"I know that," Sam said as he whirled around in the snowy sidewlak, like a brown top spinning on a white carpet. "See you again girl."
But he never asked her out again.
Wednesday 26 September 2012
The Life of Jane continued
Chapter Five continued
Jane loved to read and she did plenty of that at McGill. In first year arts she took latin, french, history and introductory english courses. She passed with high marks. She noticed when she came back to McGill the next fall, some people weren't there. They had probably failed three or more courses. If you did that, your university career was over at McGill.
Jane ploughed on and chose to honour in English courses. She studied English literature and American literature too. Here, Hemingway, Faulkner, Melville and Hawthorne took up a lot of space and time. In English literature, she studied authors like Jane Austen, D.H. Lawrence and Arnold Bennett. She toiled over term papers on books by Fielding, Defoe and Sterne. She read and analyzed poems by John Donne, Ezra Pound , T.S. Eliot and W.H. Auden. Canadian novelists and poets didn't seem to show up on Jane's courses. Nor did women writers either.
But then came time for fun. There was a winter carnival,dances and lots of movie dates that kept Jane busy on weekends. She met boys in classes and on the campus. And though she was secretly engaged to John Tytherleigh, she went out with quite a few men.
"My aim is to enjoy myself, get my degree, and then get married and have children," Jane told some of her friends one night as the sat in her room in the residence."Who knows what lies ahead after that." Most of her friends agreed with her. Career plans didn't seem to concern Jane's female classmates. As the 1980's women's generation used to say, "Back in the 1950's women didn't go to university to be doctors or lawyers. They went to university to meet and marry a doctor or a lawyer."
Jane loved to read and she did plenty of that at McGill. In first year arts she took latin, french, history and introductory english courses. She passed with high marks. She noticed when she came back to McGill the next fall, some people weren't there. They had probably failed three or more courses. If you did that, your university career was over at McGill.
Jane ploughed on and chose to honour in English courses. She studied English literature and American literature too. Here, Hemingway, Faulkner, Melville and Hawthorne took up a lot of space and time. In English literature, she studied authors like Jane Austen, D.H. Lawrence and Arnold Bennett. She toiled over term papers on books by Fielding, Defoe and Sterne. She read and analyzed poems by John Donne, Ezra Pound , T.S. Eliot and W.H. Auden. Canadian novelists and poets didn't seem to show up on Jane's courses. Nor did women writers either.
But then came time for fun. There was a winter carnival,dances and lots of movie dates that kept Jane busy on weekends. She met boys in classes and on the campus. And though she was secretly engaged to John Tytherleigh, she went out with quite a few men.
"My aim is to enjoy myself, get my degree, and then get married and have children," Jane told some of her friends one night as the sat in her room in the residence."Who knows what lies ahead after that." Most of her friends agreed with her. Career plans didn't seem to concern Jane's female classmates. As the 1980's women's generation used to say, "Back in the 1950's women didn't go to university to be doctors or lawyers. They went to university to meet and marry a doctor or a lawyer."
Friday 21 September 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Five
Chapter Five - Jane Goes To McGill
In the fall of 1955, a young blonde 18 year-old woman walked along Sherbrooke Street taking in the sights and sounds of downtown Montreal. The day was sunny and warm and cars roared along, moving far faster than they did in Fredericton.
Jane Sinclair was now a McGill University student registered in the first year arts programmme. She'd won a scholarshp into McGill. But she also needed money from her parents as well as some of her small savings from summertime jobs to come to Montreal and enroll at McGill. The sights and sounds of Montreal at first overwhelmed her. Now she realized in this city of one-and-a-half million people, how small Fredericton was.
By now, she'd visited Boston, New York City, and Philadelphis. But then she'd been with her parents. Now she was on her own. She stayed in the women's residence, a four storey brick building, right across the street from the McGill campus in downtown Montreal.
"Where do you come from?" another young woman asked Jane, as she sat beside her in the women's dining room on the residence's first floor. Dozens of other female students were also eating a dinner served up by a white smocked staff who stood behind a counter.
After Jane told this slight, brown-haired woman where she came from, the woman told Jane, "Oh I'm from Albany, New York. I'm studying arts and I'm in first year." After these introductions, she and Jane hung out together. They would stroll along Sherbrooke Street, gaping at the great mansions that had at one time lined the street. Now many of them were being converted into rooming houses. Two or three blocks away, lay Saint Catherine Street, which was full of well-dressed crowds and neon lights that flashed above store windows.
"Wow, the people here sure move fast," Jane said at the roaring cars and hordes of moving people. "The cars really speed and the way people dress up here. It's amazing."
Nothing changed in Montreal in the four years she lived there, at least as far as the size of the crowds and the speed of the city was concerned. The city kept growing and Jane's interests grew too. "It was a nice time of my life," she recalled many years later. "I was a small-town girl coming to the big city with lots to learn."
In the fall of 1955, a young blonde 18 year-old woman walked along Sherbrooke Street taking in the sights and sounds of downtown Montreal. The day was sunny and warm and cars roared along, moving far faster than they did in Fredericton.
Jane Sinclair was now a McGill University student registered in the first year arts programmme. She'd won a scholarshp into McGill. But she also needed money from her parents as well as some of her small savings from summertime jobs to come to Montreal and enroll at McGill. The sights and sounds of Montreal at first overwhelmed her. Now she realized in this city of one-and-a-half million people, how small Fredericton was.
By now, she'd visited Boston, New York City, and Philadelphis. But then she'd been with her parents. Now she was on her own. She stayed in the women's residence, a four storey brick building, right across the street from the McGill campus in downtown Montreal.
"Where do you come from?" another young woman asked Jane, as she sat beside her in the women's dining room on the residence's first floor. Dozens of other female students were also eating a dinner served up by a white smocked staff who stood behind a counter.
After Jane told this slight, brown-haired woman where she came from, the woman told Jane, "Oh I'm from Albany, New York. I'm studying arts and I'm in first year." After these introductions, she and Jane hung out together. They would stroll along Sherbrooke Street, gaping at the great mansions that had at one time lined the street. Now many of them were being converted into rooming houses. Two or three blocks away, lay Saint Catherine Street, which was full of well-dressed crowds and neon lights that flashed above store windows.
"Wow, the people here sure move fast," Jane said at the roaring cars and hordes of moving people. "The cars really speed and the way people dress up here. It's amazing."
Nothing changed in Montreal in the four years she lived there, at least as far as the size of the crowds and the speed of the city was concerned. The city kept growing and Jane's interests grew too. "It was a nice time of my life," she recalled many years later. "I was a small-town girl coming to the big city with lots to learn."
Thursday 20 September 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Four continued
Chapter Four continued
But it wasn't all work and no play for Jane. Despite her studying and reading, she had time for fun too.
By her late teens, Jane was what boys back then used to call 'A blonde bombshell'. Her long blonde hair, slim compact frame, and height of 5.5 feet or 1.65 metres, turned many boys on. And her grey coloured eyes, short pointed nose,and winning smile encouraged many boys to overcome their adolescent shyness, and ask Jane out for a date.
At her graduation dance in 1955, Jane didn't have any trouble finding a date. By now she was going around with John Tytherleigh, a tall dark-haired man in his early 20's. He was studying to be an engineer at the University of New Brunswick.
"I don't know about that Tytherleigh boy," Jane's mother said. "His parents aren't much. And I wonder whether his father the plumber really loves his wife."
But Jane didn't listen. For now she was in love with John, with his faint moustache, thick brown hair and his fun-loving devilish ways. And she loved dancing with him. In the early morning dawn after the graduation dance was over, the two of them sat in John's father's secondhand Ford and made a vow to marry, only not yet.
Jane kept all of this from her parents. For now she was off to university and this was her first move away from her family.
But it wasn't all work and no play for Jane. Despite her studying and reading, she had time for fun too.
By her late teens, Jane was what boys back then used to call 'A blonde bombshell'. Her long blonde hair, slim compact frame, and height of 5.5 feet or 1.65 metres, turned many boys on. And her grey coloured eyes, short pointed nose,and winning smile encouraged many boys to overcome their adolescent shyness, and ask Jane out for a date.
At her graduation dance in 1955, Jane didn't have any trouble finding a date. By now she was going around with John Tytherleigh, a tall dark-haired man in his early 20's. He was studying to be an engineer at the University of New Brunswick.
"I don't know about that Tytherleigh boy," Jane's mother said. "His parents aren't much. And I wonder whether his father the plumber really loves his wife."
But Jane didn't listen. For now she was in love with John, with his faint moustache, thick brown hair and his fun-loving devilish ways. And she loved dancing with him. In the early morning dawn after the graduation dance was over, the two of them sat in John's father's secondhand Ford and made a vow to marry, only not yet.
Jane kept all of this from her parents. For now she was off to university and this was her first move away from her family.
Wednesday 19 September 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Four Continued
Though Mr. Sinclair,the doctor, was nearly always busy, sometimes the Sinclair family did come together. For four weeks a year, in summertime the three Sinclair children went off to summer camp. This was in July. Then in August for four weeks, the family went away together. The doctor would drive his wife and three children in his Buick car to a small town on the south shore of Nova Scotia.
There they stayed in a small house not far from the ocean. "It was wonderful," Jane recalled years later. "We spent days in the sun, running, swimming, trying to catch fish and just have fun."
Whole sections of the doctor's family also flocked to this vacation spot too. At the age of 10 Jane realized that she belonged to a huge family. She met aunts, uncles, cousins and even second cousins. Here, too, her two sets of grandparents showed up - but only once apiece. Airline trips or boat journeys to Canada from Britain were, at this stage, beyond the budgets of most Britishers.
Then at the end of August, the Sinclairs packed up their things and went back to New Brunswick, driving across the causeway. "A lovely way to pass the time," Diana sighed in the late summer of 1953 as the Buick with the doctor at the wheel, chugged its way home. "I wish we could spend more time here."
Her husband smiled while staring at the road ahead of him. He sighed too but at the thought of the work he had to get back to.
By now, in l953, Jane was becoming a young woman. Her hips had widened, she had already begun two years before having monthly periods, her breasts sprouted from her chest, and she could see hair growing above her upper lip.
But Jane was not a typical teenager. She didn't scream or gasp when she heard Johnny Ray or later Elvis Presley on the radio, as many of her female schoolmates did. Instead she hit the books and studied hard, just as her sister Beatrice did. Jane was studying hard to win a scholarship to Dalhousie University in Halifax or McGill University in Montreal.
Her sister Beatrice was already at Dalhousie studying to be a pharmacist or druggist as it was called back then. "We don't have too many women druggists," the male admissions officer huffed at Dalhousie. "Well you'll soon have another one," Beatrice shot back. "I'm going to be one."
Jane preferred literature to science. She read Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's work 'Evangeline' and lamented the fate of the Acadians when she read how the British drove the French-speaking Acadians out of Nova Scotia. By this time also, she read about what later became known as 'The Holocaust' . From the age of 16 or so, Jane felt a great sympathy with Jews, and always defended Jews when anyone put them down. She also would bristle whenever anyone criticized Israel.
"Israel is a democracy," Jane would say to critics of Israel. "Name me another democratic country in the Middle East. Besides the Jews deserve a homeland after the way they've been treated. And now they've got one, which is good."
Tuesday 18 September 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Four
Chapter Four - Jane's Adolescence
A few years later, Jane went off to a new high school called Claremont. Her past tormentors didn't go to this school. They vanished from Jane's life. Now the Sinclair family were still adjusting to the Canadian climate, which was another battle.
Every late November the snows came and didn't vanish until April. In the winter with the snow on the ground, the mercury would sometimes plunge to fifteen below zero Farenheit. Then came the spring rains that washed away the snow. The rains were followed by moist heat and often torrential thunderstorms. The heat of India soon receeded in Jane's mind to a distant memory.
Both Jane and Beatrice went to Claremont High School. They studied hard and were outstanding students. Their brother who now called himself, Tom, did well in school too. He liked to play hockey and listen on the radio to 'Hockey Night in Canada'. Later in the 1950's the Sinclairs got a television and Tom was glued to it on Saturday nights watching hockey.
"What's your favourite team?' Jane once asked him, Jane knew nothing about hockey at all
"Why the Boston Bruins of course," he shot back."They'll win the Stanley Cup one day." At this point, in Tom's life that didn't happen. While the Sinclair children adjusted easily to their new life in Canada, Mrs. Sinclair wasn't happy in her new home.
The family lived in a sizeable two story home on the ouskirts of Fredericton. Mrs Sinclair hired a cleaning lady, a French speaking woman to help her with her chores. But she still pined for the Indian mansion with its 67 servants.
"This is the provincial capitol, " Mrs Sinclair told Jane on one hot humid June day. "It doesn't seem like a capital city to me. But it sure is provincial. I do miss India. Fredericton is so small." Mrs. Sinclair may also have missed seeing her husband. For Doctor Sinclair now headed up the rehabilitative services in New Brunswick. He often worked more than ten hours a day. And neither his wife nor his children saw him too much.
A few years later, Jane went off to a new high school called Claremont. Her past tormentors didn't go to this school. They vanished from Jane's life. Now the Sinclair family were still adjusting to the Canadian climate, which was another battle.
Every late November the snows came and didn't vanish until April. In the winter with the snow on the ground, the mercury would sometimes plunge to fifteen below zero Farenheit. Then came the spring rains that washed away the snow. The rains were followed by moist heat and often torrential thunderstorms. The heat of India soon receeded in Jane's mind to a distant memory.
Both Jane and Beatrice went to Claremont High School. They studied hard and were outstanding students. Their brother who now called himself, Tom, did well in school too. He liked to play hockey and listen on the radio to 'Hockey Night in Canada'. Later in the 1950's the Sinclairs got a television and Tom was glued to it on Saturday nights watching hockey.
"What's your favourite team?' Jane once asked him, Jane knew nothing about hockey at all
"Why the Boston Bruins of course," he shot back."They'll win the Stanley Cup one day." At this point, in Tom's life that didn't happen. While the Sinclair children adjusted easily to their new life in Canada, Mrs. Sinclair wasn't happy in her new home.
The family lived in a sizeable two story home on the ouskirts of Fredericton. Mrs Sinclair hired a cleaning lady, a French speaking woman to help her with her chores. But she still pined for the Indian mansion with its 67 servants.
"This is the provincial capitol, " Mrs Sinclair told Jane on one hot humid June day. "It doesn't seem like a capital city to me. But it sure is provincial. I do miss India. Fredericton is so small." Mrs. Sinclair may also have missed seeing her husband. For Doctor Sinclair now headed up the rehabilitative services in New Brunswick. He often worked more than ten hours a day. And neither his wife nor his children saw him too much.
Saturday 15 September 2012
The Life of Jane - Chapter Three
School Days - Chapter Three
Four girls surrounded Jane one recess during her second week of going to King Edward primary school "Where'd you come from?" a rough looking freckle-faced girl, who was one of Jane's classmates asked her. "You sure speak differently Think you're better than us, do you?"
Then she smiled at another girl who stood right in front of Jane and who Jane didn't recognize. "Come here and let's see you cry," the dark-haired girl said as she beckoned to Jane. She grabbed Jane and then pushed her backwards, while another of Jane's four tormentors kneeled behind Jane.
Jane toppled over onto the concrete playground. When she tried to get up, the two other girls sat on her and started to slap her face.
"You stuck-up bitch," the freckle-faced girl said. "You think you're great don't you/ We'll teach you, miss snob."
But Beatrice was in the playground too and saw what was happening. She ran over to Jane lying on the playground, and pulled one of the girls off Jane. "Get off my sister,' she screamed. "Get off her now." The dark-haired girl tried to kick Beatrice who kicked her back, right in her shins.Another girl jumped on Beatrice's back and started pounding her.
But in the midst of this fight the school bell rang. "Careful people,' one of the four girls said. "Recess, it's over. Let's get out of here. If Mr. Wiley, the principal catches us, we'll be up a creek."
The four girls fled back to the school building. But one shouted back as she ran, "We're not finished with you two. We'll be back."Then they were gone.
"Mum, you should see what happened to-day at school," Jane blurted out as soon as she got home. "These girls attacked me." Diana looked at Jane's bruised face and anger swept over her. Soon she was on the phone to the school principal, Mr. Wiley.
"Stop this nonsense," she told him in a loud voice. "I send my daughters to school to to learn, not to get beaten up by a bunch of thugs. If you don't do something soon, my husband the doctor will."
After this phone call, the four girls didn't touch Jane or Beatrice anymore. They were warned by Principal Wiley that they'd be thrown out of school if they started any more trouble.Still, when she sat in the classroom with any of the four, they hissed at her or made faces at her when they passed her in the hall.
Beatrice who was two years older than Jane gave her younger sibling some advice. "Jane," she said one Saturday afternoon while a blizzard roared outside, and the two girls nestled in the living room. "We've got to start talking like Canadians. Else we'll never fit in here.'
So the two girls started to talk like Canadians, or like English-speaking New Brunswickers. Their old upper class English accents vanished . It was a step forward in Jane and Beatrice becoming true Canadians.
Friday 14 September 2012
Life of Jane continued- 3rd installment
Passage from India - continued
Doctor Sinclair's prediction was spot-on. Post war England was no place to come back to. The family shivered and near froze in the winter of 1948. Large parts of inner-city London lay in ruins as did many other places in England and Scotland. They were casualties of the German bombing in world war two. Food was rationed and the weather was grey and cold.
The Sinclairs trekked to Barnet a small but growing suburb to the north of London proper. "I don't like this place ," Diane Sinclair said as she looked around the cramped four-bedroom apartment in Barnet. "Oh my dears, what a change from India." Jean the nanny had gone by now to live with her sister in Birmingham.
But the family didn't stay long in Barnet. One grey foggy day, Dr. Sinclair came home looking happy. "We're off to Canada," he said as he ran his hand through Jane's short blonde hair. "We're going to Fredericton in New Brunswick.
"Where's that?" Beatrice asked.
"A long boat ride away," the doctor replied. "And if you think it's cold here, wait till you get to Canada."
"Oh that's great," said Charles. "I've always wanted to skate,Daddy."
"Well you'll get your wish there," the doctor said. "Anyway I've got lots of relations in New Brunswick. They moved there in the 1880's. And I'll see them all I think."
The doctor had found a job in the provincial bureaucracy.
So the Sinclairs were off again and once again on a boat. They hauled their few suitcases onto another big ocean liner that had docked at the port of Southhampton, where they'd got off some months before. On a July day in l948 they headed out to sea again, but this time they sailed west across the Atlantic Ocean. There were a few rough days on the ocean. But six days after leaving Southhampton the ship docked at Halifax. A day after that, the Sinclairs were in Fredericton, New Brunswick's capital city
Here they would stay, some of them anyway, at least for awhile.There were problems there, but nothing that couldn't be overcome.
Doctor Sinclair's prediction was spot-on. Post war England was no place to come back to. The family shivered and near froze in the winter of 1948. Large parts of inner-city London lay in ruins as did many other places in England and Scotland. They were casualties of the German bombing in world war two. Food was rationed and the weather was grey and cold.
The Sinclairs trekked to Barnet a small but growing suburb to the north of London proper. "I don't like this place ," Diane Sinclair said as she looked around the cramped four-bedroom apartment in Barnet. "Oh my dears, what a change from India." Jean the nanny had gone by now to live with her sister in Birmingham.
But the family didn't stay long in Barnet. One grey foggy day, Dr. Sinclair came home looking happy. "We're off to Canada," he said as he ran his hand through Jane's short blonde hair. "We're going to Fredericton in New Brunswick.
"Where's that?" Beatrice asked.
"A long boat ride away," the doctor replied. "And if you think it's cold here, wait till you get to Canada."
"Oh that's great," said Charles. "I've always wanted to skate,Daddy."
"Well you'll get your wish there," the doctor said. "Anyway I've got lots of relations in New Brunswick. They moved there in the 1880's. And I'll see them all I think."
The doctor had found a job in the provincial bureaucracy.
So the Sinclairs were off again and once again on a boat. They hauled their few suitcases onto another big ocean liner that had docked at the port of Southhampton, where they'd got off some months before. On a July day in l948 they headed out to sea again, but this time they sailed west across the Atlantic Ocean. There were a few rough days on the ocean. But six days after leaving Southhampton the ship docked at Halifax. A day after that, the Sinclairs were in Fredericton, New Brunswick's capital city
Here they would stay, some of them anyway, at least for awhile.There were problems there, but nothing that couldn't be overcome.
Wednesday 12 September 2012
Life of Jane continued
From India to Canada
Jane was reading a book in her bedroom when her father suddenly appeared at the bedroom door. "We're leaving," Mr. Sinclair said in his gruff northern English accent. "Get dressed. We've got to leave here now."
"Oh Daddy,I - "
"Quick Jane. get dressed. I said now."
Ouside in the courtyard, the six Britishers, the Sinclair family and Jean, the children's nanny,waited in the courtyard for Rama the long time driver. It was a blazing hot afternoon and finally Rama turned up. This short, dark-faced man had driven their Vauxhall car for years. Now he piled their bags of luggage into the back seat of the car and into the trunk.
The six Britishers squeezed into the front seat and back seat, as fear ran through their bodies. As Rama drove them to the railroad station, they could see on the sides of the road, and sometimes on it, crowds of Indians. They brandished sticks and screamed at the passing car. "Quit India," some of them shouted at these white refugees. "Get out of here."
"They don't know what they're saying," Rama said." Sahib, they've been paid to say these things."
"We've got to leave,' Doctor Sinclair said, as he sat beside his wife who was squeezed with him into the front seats. He wiped his hands through his thinning blonde hair. "We have to get out of here and get to the railway station."
"It's all over for us here,' said Mrs. Sinclair.who sat perched between her husband and Rama. "That lousy Mountbatten. He's doing this far too fast. What a louse that man is. He set the date for Indian independence for August this year, and he's going through with it, come hell or high water."
After ten minutes of life in a sweaty hot car, Rama drove them up to the railway station. He dumped all their bags onto the road, and just drove off, as soon as the six passengers got out. "Well there goes one good car," Mrs. Sinclair said. "God, we've lost so much including that car."
"No use looking back Diane," the doctor said. "Now where the hell is that bloody train?'
A few hours later the train pulled up. It was packed to the rafters with Britishers fleeing India as this huge subcontinent in 1947 slid into independence and temporary chaos. The Sinclairs spent the next three days on the train as it hurtled across India to a port on the country's west side. Then they were on a ship that travelled through the Suez canal and towards England.
On the ship Jane bunked in a small cabin, along with Beatrice, her mother, Jean, and at least half a dozen women of all ages The doctor and Jane's brother bunked in a similarly crowded room full of men. The girls in the room, some in their teens, gossipped, or ran around the ship when they could escape their mothers or nannies. Often they were hungry or sometimes, just plain tired .
After days of travelling, the ship, a huge ocean liner, slipped into the port of Southhampton.
"England," her father said as the Sinclair family and hundreds of others made their way down the gangplank. "Bloody England. I don't think this is the best time to come back here."He was right .
To be continued.
Jane was reading a book in her bedroom when her father suddenly appeared at the bedroom door. "We're leaving," Mr. Sinclair said in his gruff northern English accent. "Get dressed. We've got to leave here now."
"Oh Daddy,I - "
"Quick Jane. get dressed. I said now."
Ouside in the courtyard, the six Britishers, the Sinclair family and Jean, the children's nanny,waited in the courtyard for Rama the long time driver. It was a blazing hot afternoon and finally Rama turned up. This short, dark-faced man had driven their Vauxhall car for years. Now he piled their bags of luggage into the back seat of the car and into the trunk.
The six Britishers squeezed into the front seat and back seat, as fear ran through their bodies. As Rama drove them to the railroad station, they could see on the sides of the road, and sometimes on it, crowds of Indians. They brandished sticks and screamed at the passing car. "Quit India," some of them shouted at these white refugees. "Get out of here."
"They don't know what they're saying," Rama said." Sahib, they've been paid to say these things."
"We've got to leave,' Doctor Sinclair said, as he sat beside his wife who was squeezed with him into the front seats. He wiped his hands through his thinning blonde hair. "We have to get out of here and get to the railway station."
"It's all over for us here,' said Mrs. Sinclair.who sat perched between her husband and Rama. "That lousy Mountbatten. He's doing this far too fast. What a louse that man is. He set the date for Indian independence for August this year, and he's going through with it, come hell or high water."
After ten minutes of life in a sweaty hot car, Rama drove them up to the railway station. He dumped all their bags onto the road, and just drove off, as soon as the six passengers got out. "Well there goes one good car," Mrs. Sinclair said. "God, we've lost so much including that car."
"No use looking back Diane," the doctor said. "Now where the hell is that bloody train?'
A few hours later the train pulled up. It was packed to the rafters with Britishers fleeing India as this huge subcontinent in 1947 slid into independence and temporary chaos. The Sinclairs spent the next three days on the train as it hurtled across India to a port on the country's west side. Then they were on a ship that travelled through the Suez canal and towards England.
On the ship Jane bunked in a small cabin, along with Beatrice, her mother, Jean, and at least half a dozen women of all ages The doctor and Jane's brother bunked in a similarly crowded room full of men. The girls in the room, some in their teens, gossipped, or ran around the ship when they could escape their mothers or nannies. Often they were hungry or sometimes, just plain tired .
After days of travelling, the ship, a huge ocean liner, slipped into the port of Southhampton.
"England," her father said as the Sinclair family and hundreds of others made their way down the gangplank. "Bloody England. I don't think this is the best time to come back here."He was right .
To be continued.
Monday 10 September 2012
The Life of Jane - introduction and chapter one
This is a story of a person based on a real person. Some of the events are real and did happen. Others never happened. The names of the people in this story have been changed .
Chapter One - Passage From India
In the fall of 1945, Jane Sinclair was a happy young 8 year-old. She lived in a mansion in eastern India, with her father, her mother, one brother, one sister and 67 servants. Wherever she went in the mansion, there was always some thin, dark-skinned man or woman, sweeping the stairs, tidying up the big kitchen, or cooking meals in it, or bowing to her and her siblings as they walked through the 23 room house.
"Walk, don't run everywhere," Jane's 10 year-old sister Beatrice told her."Remember what mum said. 'We're British and we must be dignified.'"
"Beatrice's brown eyes flashed with energy as she said this. Then she was off to her tutor Sabha, a short, light brown skinned man, who taught her arithmetic, English and botany. "Beatrice is so clever," Jane's younger brother, six year-old Charles said. "Or so mother says." Charles and Jane went to a school on the outskirts of Jannipur, a small Indian town in what to-day is West Bengal. Here, despite the often sweltering heat, they wore school uniforms. They studied arithmetic, spelling and English grammar. They also studied English history. They learned nothing about Indian history, though Jane had learned to speak Bengali from talking to her servants.
At school, their teacher was an English woman called Miss Trueheart, a tall, dark haired and always neatly dressed lady. The blonde Jane envied Miss Trueheart.
Still, she loved her brown-haired mother, Mrs. Diana Sinclair, whose maiden name Brown , she the mother said later, "was so ordinary." At age 20, the Scottish-born Diana
Brown met and married a tall blonde medical student from Liverpool, named Robert Sinclair. He was just completing his medical studies at Manchester University.
Then he and his bride were off to India to where he ran the medical services in what later became the state of West Bengal. Many years later human rights activists were astounded to hear a 50 year-old Jane say, "The British Empire was a wonderful thing."
All her life, after the age of 10, Jane looked back on her days in India as marvellous. "Awesome," the young people would say to-day. "I loved it there,' she recalls. "The British did wonderful things in India. When they left, things just fell apart."
'The Life of Jane' continues in the next section.
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Chapter One - Passage From India
In the fall of 1945, Jane Sinclair was a happy young 8 year-old. She lived in a mansion in eastern India, with her father, her mother, one brother, one sister and 67 servants. Wherever she went in the mansion, there was always some thin, dark-skinned man or woman, sweeping the stairs, tidying up the big kitchen, or cooking meals in it, or bowing to her and her siblings as they walked through the 23 room house.
"Walk, don't run everywhere," Jane's 10 year-old sister Beatrice told her."Remember what mum said. 'We're British and we must be dignified.'"
"Beatrice's brown eyes flashed with energy as she said this. Then she was off to her tutor Sabha, a short, light brown skinned man, who taught her arithmetic, English and botany. "Beatrice is so clever," Jane's younger brother, six year-old Charles said. "Or so mother says." Charles and Jane went to a school on the outskirts of Jannipur, a small Indian town in what to-day is West Bengal. Here, despite the often sweltering heat, they wore school uniforms. They studied arithmetic, spelling and English grammar. They also studied English history. They learned nothing about Indian history, though Jane had learned to speak Bengali from talking to her servants.
At school, their teacher was an English woman called Miss Trueheart, a tall, dark haired and always neatly dressed lady. The blonde Jane envied Miss Trueheart.
Still, she loved her brown-haired mother, Mrs. Diana Sinclair, whose maiden name Brown , she the mother said later, "was so ordinary." At age 20, the Scottish-born Diana
Brown met and married a tall blonde medical student from Liverpool, named Robert Sinclair. He was just completing his medical studies at Manchester University.
Then he and his bride were off to India to where he ran the medical services in what later became the state of West Bengal. Many years later human rights activists were astounded to hear a 50 year-old Jane say, "The British Empire was a wonderful thing."
All her life, after the age of 10, Jane looked back on her days in India as marvellous. "Awesome," the young people would say to-day. "I loved it there,' she recalls. "The British did wonderful things in India. When they left, things just fell apart."
'The Life of Jane' continues in the next section.
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