Nobody’s Patient

Hokey had appendicitis; went up to London for operating; left me high and dry as a beach-log cast beyond flood-tide. I was nobody’s patient and was again a ‘Down’ confined to bed.

When Bunker’s mumpy face and fallen arches shuffled round my room I feigned sleep.

Ada’s violence shattered all sham. Bang, bang, bang, things crashed till Matron came to look into it.

“Got a headache?” she asked me, not appearing to watch Ada.

“Awful. When will Hokey be back, Matron?”

“Soon now.” She smoothed my pillow, held my wrist a minute. The mop handle g-r-r—ed down the wall, smacked the floor. “Gently, Ada, gently,” Matron said.

But Ada could not be gentle, her make-up was row. A spider ran across my bureau. “A-ow!” she screamed and flung her dust-pan clattering after it. When she saw a harmless insect she yelled as if it were a lion. Doctor met a red-faced Ada rushing down the corridor! I begged, “Couldn’t I please have any other nurse? Even an ‘Odd Jobs’ rather than Ada?”

I was handed over to Nurse Bandly, spontaneous likeable Bandly, who knew how to both laugh and cry, tall Bandly swooping down to gather you into her arms, her starched bonnet strings sawing you head from body. You did not see Bandly’s tears, only heard their wetness in her voice when she was sorry. Bandly could not be my nurse for long, because a new man patient came and Bandly settled the men in better than any other nurse.

I fell then to the ministrations of that holy nurse, Maggie. That is, her energetic body rattled around my room occasionally, stirring the dust, but her heart was all for the Cranleigh boy at the end of the corridor. She grudged every moment she had to spend away from him. He was a bad case.

If I wanted to claim Maggie’s attention I said, “D——n!”

Maggie reared like a scorched caterpillar, bolted back to her sick boy, told him about the d——n. He told ‘Beautiful Cabbage’, his mother; she passed it on to Kate. Kate spread all over the San that I blasphemed and was to be avoided. It came back to me and I said, “D——n, darn, d——n!!! Let them all go to the devil and sit on their hats! I don’t care!”

When next Maggie came into my room, I sang,

“I am not very long for this world,

My white wings will soon be unfurled,

Old Peter will say, hoorip and hooray!

For Mammy is coming today, today,

For Mammy is coming today!”

That finished me with Maggie.

Klee Wyck

Emily Carr wrote these twenty-one sketches after visiting and living with Native people, painting their totem poles and villages, many of them in wild and remote areas. She tells her stories with beauty, pathos and a vivid awareness of the comedy of people and situations.

The Book of Small

Emily Carr wrote these thirty-six sketches that relate anecdotes about her life as a young girl in the frontier town of Victoria. She notes: “There were a great many things that I only half understood, such as saloons and the Royal Family and the Chain Gang.”

The House of All Sorts

Emilly Carr wrote these forty-one stories of those hard-working days as landlord and the parade of tenants — young couples, widows, sad bachelors and rent evaders. In an additional twenty-five stories, she describes the mutual bonds of affection between her and her dogs.

Growing Pains

Completed just before Emily Carr died in 1945, Growing Pains tells the story of her life, beginning with her girlhood in pioneer Victoria and going on to her training as an artist in San Francisco, England and France. She writes about the frustration she felt at the rejection of her art by Canadians, of the years of despair when she stopped painting and of the unexpected vindication and triumph she felt when the Group of Seven accepted her as one of them.

Heart of a Peacock

A collection of 51 short stories by the legendary writer and painter Emily Carr, arranged in themes such as her experiences with Native people, her adventures with various beloved creatures and her love of nature. Together, they underline Carr’s place as a writer with the sharp yet tender eye of an artist, with a deep feeling for the tragedies of life and with a rich sense of the comic.

Pause

While studying art in London, Emily Carr seriously undermined her health and was sent to a sanatorium for a complete rest cure. Bridling at the hospital’s rules, which prohibited excitement of any kind, the always rebellious Carr proceeded to make friends, raise birds, and cause trouble. In words and enchanting sketches, in Pause: A Sketchbook, Carr presents a funny, poignant account of her 18-month convalescence,

Hundreds and Thousands

Hundreds and Thousands consists of her journals from 1927 to 1941. She began keeping a journal in 1927, when, after years of her work being derided and ignored, came unexpected vindication and triumph when the Group of Seven accepted her as one of them and encouraged her to overcome the years of despair when she stopped painting.

Opposite Contraries

Collected from Emily Carr’s private and public writings and edited by Susan Crean, these previously unpublished pieces reveal the outspoken artist at her most forthright. Expurgated sections from Carr’s journals detail her anguished meditations on her spiritual mission, musings about Native culture and the white community’s reaction to it, and thoughts about her family. Her groundbreaking 1913 "Lecture on Totems”, her first recorded writing on Native art and people, is also included, as are some of her most fascinating letters to friends and colleagues.

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