The Quintland Sisters(90)
Instead I prattled on about my portfolio, which is all done now. She’s kindly agreed to ask Fred to photograph each piece for me, so I can put the collection together as an album and send it to Mrs. Fangel, or anywhere else for that matter. That’s how it’s done, I gather. I’ve packaged up and posted the whole lot to Ivy and Fred this evening, so there should be enough time for Fred to take the photographs and have them processed before I arrive in Toronto. Then I need to decide what to do with them.
First things first, I need to write back to Lewis.
May 15, 1939
JUST ONE WEEK before the big trip to Toronto and everyone is excited and anxious by turns. Miss Callahan is as sprightly as ever, especially so, perhaps, since she learned that George has been given a berth on the train in order to accompany Dr. Dafoe.
Nurse Corriveau, on the other hand, is a nervous wreck. Twice now Dr. Dafoe has summoned us to a meeting in his office to explain in solemn tones the complicated precautions and arrangements being taken for the special train that will transport us all from Callander to Toronto. There are to be five cars in total. One will be a day coach for the police guards and reporters, the second a business car for the use of the guardians and the railroad officials. Next are two sleeping cars to accommodate the guards, reporters, Dr. Dafoe and George, Judge Valin and his assistant, and the Dionnes and their seven other children. Last but not least will be the nursery car, complete with a playroom, where the girls can frolic, attached to four separate bedrooms. For the first time ever, the girls will actually be separated to sleep, two per room, with the fifth sharing with one of the female staff while the other two staff share the fourth bedroom.
Nurse Corriveau is absolutely adamant that she wants to sleep in the nurses’ carriage with me or Miss Callahan, rather than have the responsibility of sleeping with one of the girls on her own. I’m the opposite. All these years we’ve never been permitted to sleep the night in the same room as the quintuplets—I’ve already said I’d be delighted to take this berth.
May 17, 1939 (UP/Spokane Daily Chronicle)
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éMILIE DIONNE SETTLES QUESTION OF CURTSY WITH A HEAD STAND
CALLANDER, Ontario—émilie, mischievous member of the Dionne quintuplets, had the entire nursery staff in a diplomatic dither today through her insistence that a royal curtsy must take the form of a head stand.
Her sisters—Yvonne, Annette, Cécile, and Marie—are letter perfect in the gestures of homage they will pay to King George and Queen Elizabeth at their audience on May 22. At the practice sessions they made graceful curtsies in the best court manner, but émilie stood on her head.
The trouble is, Nurses Corriveau and Callahan admitted ruefully today, that they made the mistake of laughing when émilie first performed the stunt. They fear that émilie, the marked individualist of the five girls, will perform her upside-down curtsy to get a royal laugh.
The quintuplets will be presented to Their Majesties in the music room of the Ontario legislature buildings with only the royal couple, two ladies-in-waiting, Papa and Maman Dionne, and the two nurses in attendance.
Used with permission.
May 22, 1939
After the excitement of the day, émilie is out like a light. I can’t hear her soft snores over the clank and bang of the wheels on the tracks, but I’ve twice leaned into her bunk to make sure her eyes are closed and her breathing even. I worried about switching on the light so I could scribble in my journal, but she’s sound asleep. It’s been such an astonishing day, I feel all thrumming and jangly—like the train itself. I can’t lie down without writing everything here before I forget. This journey is the start of something extraordinary for our girls, but also an ending. I can feel it in my bones. For the first time, the gates of Quintland swung open for them. They saw the world beyond the fence line and the world saw them. Whatever happens, things will be different from this point on.
I got my wish, which was to share this sleeping room with émilie. The other girls all made a big show of saying they didn’t think it should be Em getting the chance to share with Nurse Trimpany, it should be me, or me, or me. In the end, they were too excited and then too tired to put up much of a fuss about who was sleeping where. It was all so novel, despite all the efforts we’d made to tone things down. They’ve eaten their supper from the same dishes they use at the nursery and are sleeping under the same quilts with the same dolls and toys as they do each night. They are not the slightest bit fooled, however. They are merely exhausted.
In every other way, we tried to make the day seem normal. The girls woke this morning at the nursery the same way they always do these days, within seconds of each other. It’s as if their eyelids are joined by invisible threads, one set of eyes blinking another set awake. I myself had been up for hours, had barely slept the night, then had to busy myself with the regular routine of toilet and bath, clothes and breakfasts. Like any other day, we followed our schedule of indoor and outdoor, quiet and active play. There were more cars than ever before coming to and going from the nursery, and the visiting hours were busier than we’ve seen them even in the height of summer. Everyone knew that today was the day the girls would leave the nursery for the first time. Presumably the crowds turned out in such great numbers in the hopes of getting the chance of seeing them being driven to the station. The girls felt it, they must have, the charge in the air. They kept saying, “When will we go? When will we go?”