I was going to wear my ugly stupid jumper but I changed my mind and put on my best embroidered blouse and skirt. I wore my new boots — I think that’s why Tato thought I looked like a princess!
Stefan didn’t come and neither did his father. It seemed like we walked forever and by the time we got to the church my feet were aching. These boots may be pretty, but they are not as comfortable as my old shoes.
The church is a French Catholic one called St. Antoine. It is plainer than in our church, but it is very pretty just the same. It is so strange to hear the priest — Father Perepelytsia, a Ukrainian priest — say a Ukrainian Mass in a French church.
Isn’t it wonderful that the French community lets us use their church?
This church has benches like the one in Hamburg. Instead of standing at the back, we found a place to sit. I was thankful because my feet were sore.
The best thing about church is that there are girls there my age. I hope they go to my school.
Monday, May 11, 1914
sitting at my desk all through lunch
Maybe Stefan isn’t so bad. Here is what happened:
Mama packed a lunch for me: rye bread spread with chicken fat and sliced onion. She also packed me a jar of sour milk.
I put on my drawers and stockings and plain blouse and that stupid jumper, but when I went to put on my new boots my feet hurt too much from yesterday, so I decided to leave them off until I got to school. I didn’t want to get my new stockings dirty, so I took those off too and walked barefoot.
When I was halfway to school, I could hear someone running behind me. I was afraid that it was the man who yelled at us on the street, but it was only Stefan.
He ordered me to put my shoes and stockings on. When I told him about my blisters he said that didn’t matter. Then he grabbed my lunch and smelled it. “You really are a dirtybohunk,” he said. I felt like hitting him and almost walked away, but then he said, “Let’s trade lunches.”
He had that large canvas bag again. It looked empty, but he opened it and showed me a white bread sandwich with butter and brown sugar and a jar of tea. It looked very tasty but I didn’t know why he wanted to trade. He told me to just do it. He was angry and in a hurry so I traded.
I put my shoes and stockings on and then Stefan ran off to Sarsfield, leaving me alone to walk the last few steps to Notre Dame des Anges school.
My new school is made of bricks and is two storeys high and there is a fence all the way around it. I wonder why they have girls in one school and boys in another?
There were some girls playing a circle game in the yard when I got there and they laughed and pointed at me and said something English. I could feel my face go hot with shame. Why were they laughing at me? I had my shoes and stockings on and my clothing was just like theirs.
When I looked closer, I realized it was their hair. One girl had hers loose down her back. The only time my hair is loose is when I am about to jump into the bathtub. Another girl had her hair cut to chin length. Something I noticed is that most of these girls wear ribbons in their hair. I like this Canadian custom because for once it isn’t plain!
But why were they speaking English? This is so confusing: a French-sounding school with English-sounding students! Oy, this is not going to be easy, going to school in Canada.
I stood there watching until the bell rang, then lined up with the other girls, but as we were walking into the school, a teacher took my hand. She led me up the stairs and we passed classroom after classroom. I didn’t want to stare, but it is amazing how many separate classrooms there are. On the second floor alone, I counted four. I think each grade has its own room.
The teacher took me to a classroom at the end of the hallway. I was nervous until I stepped in. Every girl in the class wore braids. They all spoke my language! Even the teacher spoke Ukrainian!
She had her hair braided and wrapped like a wreath around her head. Her name is Panna Boyko but she says to call her Miss Boyko because “Miss” means “Panna.”
The wooden double desks and the black chalkboard are very similar to my old classroom, although there is a window on only one side, not three. In the whole class, only one girl is taller than me. Her name is Mary. Miss Boyko rearranged the room so that I am sharing a desk with Mary, and then she began to teach — in Ukrainian! I was so afraid that school was going to be hard and here it is, being taught in my own language. I wonder why Stefan didn’t tell me about this.
The grammar and arithmetic are easy. The teacher is using a book like the one that our teacher in Horoshova used for the younger children. The geography and history is interesting, though, because some of it is Canadian and some of it is about Ukrainians. There is a map of Eastern Europe and Russia on the wall and Miss Boyko has put a red dot showing the areas where people in our class have come from. She added a new dot for me. The map covers such a big area that some of the dots are almost on top of each other, while others are a little bit apart. It is also interesting to see how close Russia is to Horoshova.
At lunch, Mary noticed what I brought and said it was a good thing I didn’t bring a garlic sandwich like she did the first day. I told her about Stefan taking my onion sandwich and sour milk. She said he must be a true friend. Stefan a true friend? That is hard to believe, but it was a very nice thing that he did for me.
Later
Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a ribbon for my hair like the other girls wear?
I forgot to say that we only have Ukrainian class in the morning. It is not French that we are taught in the afternoon, but English. Miss Boyko teaches us that class too. The English alphabet is completely different than ours but at least some of the sounds are the same.
Even later, at the kitchen table
That man who yelled at us lives down the street. I was walking about ten steps behind him on the way home from school today and saw when he opened the door to his main-floor flat. I am glad that he didn’t see me. I must remember to walk on the other side of the road when I pass his house. I wouldn’t
Sorry, Diary. Baba needed help with supper.
Mama just got home and Tato will be home soon so I had to peel the potatoes and chop the onions and then take Mykola out to play. Stefan was outside. He says that the people who lived in our flat before us wouldn’t let him go on the roof but he has always wanted to go up there.
We went up together. I had to hold on to Mykola the whole time so that he wouldn’t fall off the edge, but it is very interesting. When I look north, I can see the mountain with a chapel and a cross on top. To the south, I can see the port with the ships coming in, and if I squint, I can see across the St. Lawrence River. There is a good view of the trains and trolley cars and people walking on the street below. At the back of our house is where all the stinky dirty outhouses are. Feh!
It is more fun looking out in the distance. It was a little bit chilly so we didn’t stay up too long. I told Mykola that he cannot go up here on his own.
Mama is calling. It’s suppertime, so I must go.
At night in bed