MARGIE AND ME

Margie & Me 1952

My earliest memory is that of living in Robins’ Cove, Twillingate, Newfoundland. Try as I might I cannot go back any further than the one special day, the one special happening, that to me, signaled my beginning and shaped my life forever after. If I could remember anything before that day I would have to say that I had a ‘ before’ and ‘after life’, but nothing seems to ever come to mind before a day in late December 1951. I was three years, one month and a week and a half old. That was my beginning of life as a big sister, and it is a role that has structured my life, and filled it with great love, and at times great distress. But it is a role I love and cherish to this day, and will until I am no more. That I will live on in the hearts and minds of my brother and three sisters is certainly guaranteed, as they would live on in mine, because we are a molded bonded group, and it started on that cold December day in 1951. The vivid memory is a treasure to me and always will be.

It was Christmas season of course. The pretty red velvet dress I was wearing was itchy, but no more itchy than the measles that had my body turned the same red as the dress. I was standing back to the wall, near the wood stove, when the door opened and my babysitter said Mom and Dad were home now, and ‘come see what they have for you’, and I, with coaxing by Mother, approached my parents and the little bundle on Mothers lap. Dad was glowing and picked me up to see my new baby sister. Yes, I had been told Mother was gone to get me a baby sister, but this was the first time I would see her. Her name was Margaret Ann, and she was beautiful. I felt protective, scared, unsure, happy- but never jealous. The saying to me around that time was "Got your nose cut now hey?" which I never understood until Mother explained it over and over. My nose was fine, thanks, and yes, I loved my baby sister.

Mother banned red from my wardrobe for years because I looked so uncomfortable with the red skin and itchy red dress that day, which of course gave me a great love of wearing all the red I could in years to come. And red is my favorite color to this very day,just to make up for all the time without it. Yes, I loved my baby sister, loved to sit and have someone put her in my arms, and as she grew we were together always. It was expected that I would care for her, protect her, keep her safe, and over the years of childhood we shared a bedroom, clothes, talks, books, food, fears,friends, music, and everything else that life brings. We were a team. Our fathers’ job required frequent transfers and by the time we left Twillingate I was the big older sister to little Margie and a brother, David. In Burgeo another sister joined the family, her name was Beryl, and she had a rough beginning. She caused me to worry, but she grew and I wore the wheels off strollers and baby carriages as I walked and pushed and cared for my siblings. And there we were, David with his eyes full of mischief, Margie with her quiet manner, Beryl with her happy-go-lucky outlook, and me the protector overall. I could fight with them but heaven forbid anyone else hurt them.

Being a nuclear family on the move made me that much more overbearing and pushy I am sure. Many times September would come and we would be the only other students in the new school that we knew, having had to move in the summer. David roamed, Margie made quiet friends like herself, and Beryl climbed anything she could find, and I would fuss about having to ‘mind’ the children if I wanted to escape for any reason. My friends often had their siblings to care for as well, and when in later years I saw Television shows of the Little Rascals, I can compare us to that group, all little rascals to be sure.

Eleven years after Beryls’ birth we were given another little sister, Kathleen, born on Bell Island. I had gone to nursing school by then but wondered and worried about them all, being the older sister for so long could not just be shoved aside. The thought of something going wrong and I could not be there was scary, how important was it for me to be with them? I must have been full of self-importance to be sure because they did quite well as I moved away and life went on.

Margie was my beginning as an older sister. We grew up together, only having the occasional disagreement, sharing a room, and as we matured and graduated from high school and began life we still kept a bond. In no way were we ‘Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm’ types so we had our rough rides at times, always managed to survive and work through the problems somehow. She went into Nurses training the year I graduated, and everyone in turn graduated from their various choices of schools, and went on to their professional lives. Margie married as did I, she had a little boy and a little girl, as did I. She worked full time, I worked part time, then full time, I was in Nova Scotia, she was in Newfoundland. But that did not keep us apart. We knew where the other one was, any crisis would be phone time for sure, and before I knew it I was fifty years old, and a stark realization hit me, Margie will soon be catching up to me. And I could not for the life of me figure out where all that time went, or what my life would have been like without her, or without any of my siblings for that matter. I decided it was time to come back to Newfoundland. Because you see by then I had learned that I was missing a big part of my life, I was too far away from my beginning on that Twillingate day in 1951. So I came back and I am glad I did.

Margie is still quiet and smart, with a quick wit and a decisive personality. We have educated our children, worked very hard, shed the tears, told the stories, had the falling out, reunited, supported each other, shared our experiences, and one of the greatest joys of our lives is our children, now young adults. We love our nieces and nephews as we love each other. We do the best we can for our parents as they face ill health and the aging process, and we share thoughts with each other as we did during our growing up years.

And one of the greatest joys of all is when Margie walks into my house in Shoal Harbor, Newfoundland, puts the kettle on to boil for herself, and sits in the sun nook in the big chair as she waits to make her own tea. She is comfortable with me, as I am with her. And when I walked toward her one day not too long ago, I realized that in so doing I was repeating ‘my beginning’ on that Twillingate day so long ago. It was a watershed moment as that blissful feeling of seeing Margie for the first time flowed through my heart.

Yes, indeed, Me and Margie, Margie and me. Sisters by chance, friends by choice, the plaque in the craft store was right after all. The craft store in Twillingate that is located now in the house where I began when Margie came home in 1951!

Bonnie Jarvis-Lowe,RN.Rtd..

Margie and Me 1972