Sunday, March 16, 1902

         Tomorrow I will leave for Liverpool, where my group of domestic servants bound for Canada will be gathering.  Apparently we will be housed in a dormitory for a week before we sail.  There will be a chaperone for each group, and she will instruct us as to what to expect when we get to Canada.

         Today I went to Mass for the first time in a year, and found the Church no longer holds any attraction for me.  It must have been the way we were treated at the Home whilst waiting for our babies to be born.  I will still have to declare myself a Catholic, but in name only.

         Heather and Rory sat me down for a nice meal this evening, and after supper I sat with Mary in Heather’s big rocker and cuddled and sang to her until she fell asleep.   I would  happily have rocked and held her all night, and must have dozed, for later Heather very gently picked her up and put her in bed with Jimmy.

         My arms feel empty and cold.  I don’t think I will sleep at all this night.

Friday, February 21, 1902

         I remembered the advice Mrs. Andrews gave me when I had to tell my parents about Mr. Connor – “Tell then the truth,” she said, “ The truth is always best.”  I will write it down here so as to practise how the letter will look.

“Dear Mam and Pa,

I know you think I just disappeared, but that is not true.  This is what has happened to me.  While I was a servant at Abbott House I fell in love with a soldier.  We were married in the old highland fashion.  He went off to fight the Boers.  He died in South Africa.  I had a baby.  I named her Mary after you, Mam.  Now I am going to Canada, where I can make a better life for Mary and me.  Cousin Heather will look after her for me until I can send for her.

I know you will not approve of the way I was married, and would have turned me out if I had come to you, but do not fret over Mary.  She was baptized by a priest in the Church.  She is your grandchild, and Heather will be happy for you to see Mary, if that is what you want. 

I will write to you from Canada. 

Your loving daughter,

Jean

         I had a good cry after that.  Who knows how they will receive my letter, and what will happen to them all after I am going?  I have asked Heather to mail it the day after I have left.  Nothing must stand in the way of my plans!

Monday, January 28, 1902

     I am starting to get ready.  Last week I washed and ironed my maid’s uniform, and polished my boots, all set to be packed into my kist box.

         Saturday last we celebrated a quiet Robbie Burn’s Day.  A few of Heather and Rory’s friends came over for a dish of haggis and dram of whisky.  Rory addressed the haggis –“fair fa’you honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftain o’ the puddin’ race!  Aboon hem a’ye tak your place Painch, tripe or thaim, Weel are ye wordy o’ a Grace, As long’s my airm.”  At the end of the evening we all sang “Auld Long Syne.”  I wonder how long it will be until I ever sit down to a Robbie Burns dinner?  

friday, January 3, 1902

         Hogmany has come and gone, and we are nicely settled in Heather and Rory’s flat above the shop they own.  It is quite spacious, and nice and warm in the kitchen box bed Mary and I share.

         Mary and little Jimmy are already good friends, although they are too little to play, as such.  Heather told me in confidence she had a very difficult time with Jimmy, and the doctors have told her she cannot have another child – a blow for her, but she will be happy to have another baby to look after, even if we don’t know how long it will be for.

         During my time here I will make myself useful, either looking after the little ones or waiting on customers in the shop – I am so happy to be able to help out any way I can, for it makes me feel I am earning my keep.  It also frees Rory to go out and earn some extra money on the docks, helping with repairs to prepare for the coming fishing season. 

         Heather and I have many cozy talks in the evening, while I sew clothes for my daughter and she knits.   She is so warm-hearted!  On New Year’s Day I was feeling sad and sorry not be able to see my parents.  She put her arms around me and said, “Hush, hinny, dinna fret yerself.   It will all come rieght i’ time."  Heather has reverted right back to her highland brogue, now she’s back with her own people.         

Thursday, December 26, 1901

         Tonight is our last one at this house.  A cart belonging to Mr. Cameron’s brother is calling for us at sunrise and will transport us to Dundee, where we will board the omnibus bound for Thurso.  How will it be, I wonder, to be so close and yet so far from Wick?  I know part of me will want to run home and see my family, but I cannot bear the thought of being turned away as an outcast. 

         I have given the house a good cleaning and left Mrs. Adams a note.  Then I did a wicked thing!  I took some of her monogrammed stationary and wrote myself a glowing reference, in my best handwriting.  I signed her name with a flourish and sealed it into an envelope.  It went into the hidden compartment of my kist box.  I’ll put this journal into it as well. All locked up, it will keep until there is time and opportunity to open it again.  Yesterday I posted a note to my cousin Heather to tell them to look out for me.  I will load all our belongings into the pram, which nicely folds down and will travel on top of the omnibus. 

         Tomorrow I will lock up the house and put the key in the neighbour’s mailbox with a note.  Thank goodness the weather has stayed mild and the little snow we have had melted some time ago, so I am hopeful the roads will stay dry and clear all the way to Thurso.  Then it can snow to its heart’s content, for we will be there for some time. 

Sunday, December 15, 1901

        The day after we came back from filing my immigration papers Mary and I both awoke coughing and feverish.  Mine was over in about a week, but my poor wee baby was sick for weeks, it seemed.  I tried every stillroom recipe I had learned at Abbott House.  It seemed the only thing she could keep down was warm milk sweetened with honey.  Finally, towards the end of last week, she started to mend.  Now her cough is almost gone and she is no longer warm to the touch.  And she is smiling again!

         I will go through the house and give it a good cleaning before we leave to go to my cousin’s.  If they will have me I will stay there until I sail in mid-February.  This house will not see me again, but I do not want Mrs. Adams to think ill of me.   And so I will leave her house shining clean and everything in order.  Perhaps I will also leave a note explaining the circumstances of my departure – but I will not tell her where I am going. 

         I also have to find a way to transport us to Thurso.  Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Cameron at the market know of someone going that way, and what they would charge to transport us.

         Now that’s it’s really happening I find myself getting excited on one hand, sad and dispirited on the other.  Life can be very hard!

Wednesday, November 27, 1901

         All my papers are filled out, and my medical certificate is complete.  Tomorrow I will walk over and file my application.  Now that it is a certainty I really have mixed feelings.  On one hand I know I will never find paying employment, for an unmarried mother is as good as a leper in Scotland.  Leaving the country and starting a new life is the only escape for me, if I don’t want to become a penniless outcast, dependent on the charity of others.  That is no way to spend a life!  On the other hand I know that if I can eventually become self-sufficient and make a good living for my daughter and myself this plan of indentureship is the only way out.  She will be well taken care of and I can work at making a good life for us in a new country.  No, there is no other hand – this is the only option!  My heart will be sad to leave her, and I know I will cry a lot of tears before we are reunited, but I must believe that happiness lies down the road for both of us.

Friday, November 15, 1901

         We had just come home from the market yesterday afternoon when the dark sky sent down some wintry snow flurries.  Neither of us has any cold weather coats, although I still have my old shawl to wrap Mary in when we go for our walks.  I rummaged in the cellar where there was a trunk full of discards and found some winter things to wear.  Luckily it never gets too cold in this part of Scotland, and I still have the good stout boots from when I was in service to the Markams.

         The next morning I bundled us up and set Mary down to play in the snow while I swept the walks.  By mid-morning the snow had already melted.  Luckily I have finished settling the root vegetables in the cellar, although I have not yet prepared the vegetable beds for planting in the spring.  That can wait until the ground dries up a bit.

         I saw a poster of our new king, Edwad VII on the notice board at the market yesterday.  He looks like an arrogant and overfed old man.  The kind of king we in Scotland would do well to rid ourselves of.

Wednesday, October 30, 1901

         We spent most of last week harvesting apples – that is, I harvested while Mary played in the grass around the little orchard.  She was enchanted with the birds that came to feast on the fruit on the ground and gabbled her baby talk to them, all the while laughing her fat little laugh that can’t help but make me smile.

         So now madam has some apple creations for when she comes home – applesauce, gingered apples and apple cider, jars and jars all lined up in her pantry.  This evening Mary and I enjoyed a huge bowl of apple custard, washed down with a pot of tea – what a luxury not having to use second-hand tea leaves!  Tomorrow we will store all the leftover apples in straw.  Then they will go in the cellar to stay cool.  Apples keep very well, just like root vegetables.  I’ll tackle the carrots next.  I just hope the rabbits haven’t helped themselves to too many!

         Next week I will fill out all the immigration forms and take them down to the steamship agent’s office.  How I wish I could talk things over with my parents!

Sunday, October 13, 1901

     Madam has finally left, after locking up most of the house, except for a few rooms.  She is leaving me here as a caretaker,  to collect her mail and look after the garden and make the house look lived in, in case of intruders.  Finally I can relax a bit and not worry so much over the baby making noise, and I can hang her washing outside instead of drying her nappies on my back.  She did leave me a credit with the milkman, as well as the butcher, and enough provisions to make bread.  There are plenty of ripe vegetables in the garden and apples on the trees, although I am expected to preserve as much as I can, so her pantry is stocked when she returns.  With any luck, by the time that happens I will be long gone.        

          In the meantime, it’s heaven to be alone with my daughter.  She is already learning to walk.  I mean to enjoy being alone with her as long as I can, for if my plans work out she will be a young girl before we are reunited in our new Canadian home