One Jerk Too Many
Foster’s Hotel
Wanganui, N.Z.
J.R. Foster, Proprietor
November 13, 1912
Sallie dearest:
I wrote only two days ago and you will doubtless get these two together but I just must have a little talk with you. This week has been awful so far and if it keeps up I shall be a wreck. First on Monday we got up at five, crossed the lake in a little boat, and it was so rough we were over an hour late – it took four hours and I never in my life was so sick, as well as almost freezing to death although I had on more clothes than I ever wear at home in winter. The coach met us there at Tokaano and we drove fifty miles, till seven that evening over mountain roads that beat Clarion county roads all to smash. Once we went into a rut clear over the hub & why the coach didn’t upset I shall never know. We all piled out. It took half and hour to dig us out and we had five horses too. We had a half hour for dinner at the most awful place I ever saw then took the train and got to Taumaruni at midnight. Up at five next morning to go down the Wanganui River in a sort of houseboat. It was awfully pretty but no more so than our river at home. In fact, not half as wide but full of rapids, etc. It was still dreadfully cold. I invested in a heavy, woolen, long sleaved corset cover & have simply lived in it. Had that, my blue serge dress, suit skirt and coat, big coat, rubber cape, and steamer rug and was cold even then. For the evening we got to Pipiriki where we spent the night. There were seventy five cadets from a military school in Canada there. They spotted me as an American at once and all came up and talked. Some could play the piano and the rag time and slang we had certainly did my heart good. They talked as though they meant what they said, while the people here seem afraid to express and opinion above a whisper, and even then it is never original but always the same thing over and over again. A lot of them wanted to buy Maori curios, etc. for their sisters and mothers, so I helped them and it quite seemed like the old days when I used to be at Culver1. Next morning, up again at five. Everyone put their luggage on a cart that took it down to the boat, just at the foot of the hill. We were there when it arrived and the driver backed up to unload this huge pile of “boxes” “blouse baskets” etc. when he gave the horses one jerk too many. The cart went over the pier, pulled the horse in too, and everything went sailing down the river. It took them quite a while of course to fish all of it out and by that time everything was soaked. Of course I had with me every silk dress and waist I possess, and most of the things are ruined because the colors all ran. My red diary seemed to have enough dye to spare for the whole suit case. My hand bag was inside in the very middle & inside it was a pair of chamois gloves which now are a beautiful shade of old rose from the lining of the pocket book. All the cadets went down on the boat with us. Five or six were Americans, so it made it real nice. We got to Wanganui at one, had lunch and spent the afternoon at the fair, which was just like ours. They had splendid horse races and jumping, but all the time I was thinking how it would be at home, in cottage for lunch etc. Everyone was so nice to us though, and the mayor gave us tickets to everything. The Canadian cadets were there drilling too, and were very good. They are just over here touring N[ew] Z[ealand] and Australia. That night some of them wanted me to go to the circus with them, but I didn’t think father would like me [to] leave him, so stayed in the hotel and started this, but didn’t finish so brought it here. We left Wanganui at 6:30 in the morning. All the trains here leave at the most awful hours and got here to Rapier last night. This is the best hotel we have struck since we left Rotorua, and this is about the order of the Loomis House. Honestly I don’t see how people can live in this day and generation the way they do in this country. All that coaching we did was not for pleasure, but is the only means of transportation over most of the country, and even when you do strike a train, our P.S.&C. is a flyer compared with these. I haven’t squeaked yet, but really think father is getting a little tired of this country, and am now in hopes that he won’t string it out much longer. His rib is getting better and doesn’t hurt him so much now. During some of the coaching we drove right through the snow on the tops of the mountains. That doesn’t seem so queer to you, because you are having winter, but with the summer here it did seem funny. It is much warmer here fortunately. My poor steamer rug is scarcely dry yet from the swim in the river the other day.
Yesterday was my birthday, and father never remembered. I am just going to wait and see when it dawns on him, but you may imagine it was rather gloomy for me. You can’t know till you have experienced it, what is not to have a soul that you can really talk things over with and tell things to, someone who will laugh with you over the little things that happen or that you see all the time. I just take them all in, jamb them down in my heart for as long a time as I can, and then suddenly they burst open the lid, and come out not as they went in, but as a mean, horrid temper. I guess it isn’t newly developed, for I think I always had it, but I have lost all control now and slam doors and fire things around the room till I am so ashamed I resolve never to be so weak again and don’t – till the next time, when I am just as bad or worse. But you know it really is a little tiresome to discuss the length of the wool on a sheep’s back, or whether or not I’ll have nice pudding, which by the way I have been living on. It seems to be their main stay in life, and I feel as though I never wanted to see the stuff again, but have to or go hungry. This is a nice way to talk in a Christmas letter, for I “daresay” you’ll get this about then. Oh! Angel do think of me then and miss me a little, won’t you? For I love you and want you so much. Here’s heaps of love for you all and the very best wishes for the merriest time.
November 15, 1912 Alice
1 Culver Camp, Culver, Indiana, USA: still in business in 2008. The Admiral was a benefactor of the camp, and Alice’s sons all attended Culver. http://www.culver.org
