The Dusty Bookcase

18 September 2010

What About the Children?

Monday's post on Edith Lelean Groves was running long, so I never did get to the drawings that feature in her Everyday Children. Numbering thirty-five in total, they were one reason I'd bought the book in the first place.

Or maybe not.

I was more interested that they'd been selected by Arthur Lismer, and had been produced by the children who'd attended his Saturday class at the Art Gallery of Toronto.

(Those with a keen eye will spot The West Wind by Lismer's friend Tom Thompson.)

The pictures vary wildly and in terms of style and ability. Sadly, not one is credited.

Most have nothing to do with the poems they accompany. One of the few exceptions is this illustration, which appears to have been inspired by "My Upstairs Brother".

There are drawings of dogs, dolls, policemen and young toughs. Some are similar in terms of subject.

Art school survivors will see evidence of either a bad teacher ("Today, children, we will be drawing a girl struggling with a broken umbrella.") or classroom rivalry ("Watch as I put your picture to shame.").

Children, children, Mr Lismer likes both your drawings.

Related post: Hurray for the Crippled Children's Bus!

13 September 2010

Hurray for the Crippled Children's Bus!

Everyday Children

Edith Lelean Groves

Toronto: The Committee in Charge of the Edith L. Groves Memorial Fund for Underprivileged Children, 1932

Unearthed during a recent trip to Cambridge, the publisher, "the children of the Saturday classes, Art Gallery of Toronto" and the promise of a biographical sketch by eugenics advocate Helen MacMurchy, CBE, conspired to remove five dollars from my wallet.

Of Edith Lelean Groves, I knew nothing, but was soon set right by Dr MacMurchy, who provides a good amount of detail, beginning with an account of her subject's great-grandfather and his imprisonment during the Napoleonic Wars. I dare say Mrs Groves is a much more admirable figure. She devoted most of her 61 years to the education of children, particularly those we describe today as having "special needs". Nearly a century ago, Mrs Groves fought for their integration into Toronto's public school system. When she succeeded, she turned her attention to providing wheelchair ramps and transportation.

Transportation, Crippled Scholars. Alfred Pearson, 15 April 1926

City of Toronto Archives

Sadly, Mrs Graves wasn't nearly so remarkable as a poet. Everyday Children is everyday poetry. Typical of what was once foisted on young readers, the collection stresses the importance of good manners, study, respect for authority and healthy living:

Still, the reader who sticks with it will find "My Upstairs Brother", about a young girl's relationship with her bedridden older sibling: "His name is Welcome Jack and he's got a twisted back,/ His arms and legs don't seem to want to go." This is followed by "Mended", in which a girl's "queer little mis-shaped limb" is straightened through surgery. These poems and others dealing with "crippled" everyday children are no better, but they do provide interesting and uncommon glimpses of the time.

It's not at all surprising that Everyday Children is forgotten, but what of Mrs Groves? She has no entry in The Canadian Encyclopedia. There was once a school named in her honour, but no more – it's since been renamed Heydon Park Secondary School. Seems no one knows why.

Gray Coach Lines' Crippled Scholars' Service. Alfred Pearson, 20 December 1928.

City of Toronto Archives

Object: A well-bound hardcover printed on very thick paper. My copy lacks the dust jacket by Arthur Lismer – he of the Group of Seven – which the Introduction tells us depicts "little faces of 'Everyday Children' who smile... the result of his gifted pencil."

Access: Everyday Children can be found in seventeen of our universities. Public library users are stuck with a single reference copy housed somewhere in the stacks of the Toronto Public Library. It would seem that this collection of verse enjoyed only one printing. Used copies range from US$15 to US$25, the uppermost price fetching that elusive dust jacket.

11 September 2010

In Commemoration of Road Resurfacing

North Bay mayor Victor Fedell with Tony Clement, 7 September 2010

Minister of Industry Tony Clement was in North Bay this week, taking time from his busy schedule to unveil a commemorative plaque.

Something to honour the birthplace of Kenneth Thomson, 2nd Baron Thomson of Fleet? Perhaps a bit of ornamentation for the late Bobby Gimby's house? No, this plaque commemorates a programme, not a person.

The Infrastructure Canada website informs:

Between 2006 and 2009, the city of North Bay received over $8.2 million through the federal Gas Tax Fund, which has been used to widen lanes, install new traffic signals, replace sidewalks and provide safer parking on some of North Bay’s most widely used roads.

Intrigued? There's more:

Asphalt resurfacing of various streets - $2,273,876 in GTF funding to complete asphalt resurfacing of more than 15 city streets between 2006 and 2009.

Worthington Street Bridge - $150,000 in GTF funding toward the new concrete water crossing structure, drainage improvements, road realignment and road resurfacing.

But why go on, you'll want to visit the site yourself.

"The Government of Canada is proud to commemorate such important improvements to the City of North Bay’s roads and bridges," crowed the Honourable Minister. And so, the plaque was unveiled, and future generations will learn how it was that the right turn lane on Algonquin Avenue came into being.

The celebration of upkeep and upgrade comes as work begins on a more worthwhile plaque, this one to commemorate the life of A.J.M. Smith. Like last year's memorial to John Glassco, it will be installed in the chapel of Montreal's St James the Apostle Anglican Church.

No Gas Tax money for this project, I'm afraid - funding will rely entirely on family, friends and admirers of the poet. Anyone interested can write for more information through the email link on my profile page.

Minister Clement can be contacted at 1-866-375-TONY.

08 September 2010

A Long Lost Song of the Sea?

Sailors don’t care,
Sailors don’t care
Whether she’s dark
Or whether she’s fair!
As long as her lily-white bottom is bare
Sailors don’t care!

I caught myself singing this ditty while going through some paperwork last night.

Better at my desk than in church.

Ribald? You bet! But my real interest lies in the song's connection to American author Edwin Lanham's debut novel Sailors Don't Care (1929), first published in Paris by Contact Editions. The author and his publisher, Robert McAlmon, had contradictory stories as to the origins of the title – each credited the other – though it's probable that they drew from our own John Glassco. Then a teenager, the Montreal poet had learned the song aboard the Canadian Traveller, the ship that in 1928 carried him across the Atlantic to his Montparnassean adventures. Fourteen years later, Glassco wrote McAlmon, reminding him that the title "was taken from Captain Miller's (no relation to Henry) song in the second chapter of those abortive memoirs of mine ... both you and Ed read it, I know."

The lyrics to Captain Miller's song are found in John Glassco's papers at Library and Archives Canada... and, it seems, nowhere else.

Andrew Draskóy, of Shanties & Sea Songs, tells me that "'sailors don’t care' was a common saying around that time in its sense of sailors aren't picky." I note that the phrase also gave title to two American films, the first released the year before Lanham’s book was published. However, what I find particularly interesting is its appearance in the Victor Schertzinger/Johnny Mercer song "The Fleet's In", from the 1942 film of the same name. Its use is... well... fleeting. You'll hear the words just after the two minute mark:

She may be dark or fair,
But sailors don't care...

I wonder, was Johnny Mercer also familiar with Captain Miller's song?

Trivia: Really, isn't everything about this post trivial? That said, it's worth noting that Sailors Don't Care was published twice. The less ribald 1930 Jonathan Cape edition, pictured above, will set you back US$1000. The truly wealthy might consider the most desirable copy of the dirtier first edition. Inscribed by Lanham to McAlmon's partner in publishing William Carlos Williams, it goes for a mere US$2250.

Reliant upon his siblings, McAlmon died in near-poverty in 1956. At the time, Lanham was living a hand to mouth existence as a writer of mystery novels.