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From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Thursday and every Thursday our drawing teacher comes into our classes at school. He has a beard. His name is Mr. Marc. He doesn’t really teach us anything, he just walks from desk to desk and tells us why he doesn’t like our pictures. But today he stopped and looked at what I painted and said that he liked mine. He said, “This is a very nice cow, but why did you paint her green?” So I didn’t tell him that it was a horse.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Valentine’s day. He was a Saint. A Saint is a man who gives away all his clothes and food, even his dessert. On his day, everyone sends everyone else valentines to show that everyone loves everyone. The valentines are pretty pictures of cupids and hearts and flowers. Some of them are trimmed in lovely lace. I got thirty-one valentines in school today and then when I got home I found two more from my Grandmother and Aunt Tillie. Grandfather didn’t give me any. Instead, he put his hand in his pocket and gave me a big silver dollar and he told me to buy a valentine or anything I wanted with it. I think I shall buy a chocolate heart. Maybe I can buy two, one for Grandfather.
I could not easily find an example of valentines and chocolate hearts from the early 20th century but found sites on the history of Valentine cards and on the history of candy. It’s amazing to think that Hilda probably enjoyed some of the same candy that I did as a child: Hershey’s milk chocolate bars and kisses, Necco wafers, and Chiclets all bring back fond (and sweet!) memories for me.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary (referring to a song mentioned in her February 11th entry):
I begged Alma to teach me the song about the bear. She said that she didn’t know any song about a bear but I said she did know it. Didn’t she remember, the one they sang at the church party and she sang it there and knew all the words. The little bear’s name was Gladly and he was cross-eyed. Then she laughed and said that the song wasn’t about a bear but about all troubles and sorrows that the devout people are willing to bear for our dear Lord. Then she wrote it out for me. The name of it is “Gladly A Cross I Bear.” So I said that if the song wasn’t about an animal, I wasn’t interested in it and she didn’t have to teach it to me. Alma said it was very naughty of me. Maybe so, but I didn’t learn the song.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This is Lincoln’s Birthday. He was one of our Presidents. I like him better than Washington, our first one. Washington had false teeth. Some day when I am older, my father is going to take me to Washington, D.C., the capitol city of the U.S., and then I will see Washington’s teeth in a museum. Lincoln didn’t have false teeth and Grandfather said that it was probably because he was killed before his own fell out.
Lincoln was a fine man. He believed that everyone was as good as everyone else and no one had the right to boss anyone else around. In those days people owned slaves. It was a very wicked thing to do. Sometimes husbands and wives were sold to different families and they never saw each other again. The children were sold too. Some families were very kind to their slaves but most of them were mean and some beat them and kept them in chains. So President Lincoln had to have a big war with the people who insisted on having slaves. It really divided up the United States and the half of the United States that didn’t believe in slaves won the war. Now, we are all living happily ever after. Maybe everyone isn’t happy but it is much better; I think.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
It was a very nice party but I like it better when we just visit Lizzie and sit with the nuns. Some of the children did sing and some danced with a basket of flowers that they threw about on the stage. Then a fat lady, in a white and gold dress, sang a song about a lily. And a fat boy in a sailor suit recited a poem about a boy who stood on a burning deck of a burning ship. But why would a boy stand there instead of running away? Well, when everyone got finished doing everything, the fat lady came to the front of the stage and said that now we would all sing together. I didn’t know the words of the song, but they were in English and it sounded as if it were about a cross-eyed bear called Gladly. I wish we could sing songs in English in my Sunday school.
Hilda was certainly not the first or last to mishear the hymn (called a mondegreen) — there are photos and videos of “Gladly the Cross-Eyed Bear” and even a mystery novel. The boy probably recited a poem entitled “Casabianca”.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I am not going to dancing school today because Alma is taking me to a party at her church. That is, the party isn’t in the church, it is in the room underneath it but there will be lots of children there and they are serving ice cream. The children will dance and sing too.
Note on a day with few words from Hilda: When I began reading her diary, I wondered whether an adult (Hilda or someone else) had edited the entries — she often seemed more clever and worldly than I could imagine or remember a child being. I have few memories from that age. A few readers wrote me similar comments.
As the year began, I happened to read two novels which were told in the voice of or from the point of view of 9-year olds – Miriam Toews’ Fight Night and Richard Powers Bewilderment. I recalled the books of author Marissa Moss, whose Amelia’s Notebook series begins when the “author” is in 5th grade. My grandmother’s memoirs paint a portrait of herself as a precocious, articulate, sometimes infuriating child. A few of her letters tell stories showing her children in a similar light. Then I recalled being a summer camp counselor for 9 or 10 year old girls when I was a teenager. All of these children — whether fictional or real — were smart, funny, articulate, curious, and at the same time naive and innocent.
Having read these books and stories, and remembered those actual girls, I realize I did Hilda a disservice in doubting the truth of her words. She was an intelligent, clever, and emotional child living in a house full of adults, most of whom did not encourage her to play, pretend, or tell stories. Her diary was the only safe place for her thoughts and feelings.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Early this morning Uncle Harold came up to see me, and tell me goodbye. He said that he was going to take a vacation to New York and there, he would see my father and he would tell him to come to see me. He said that when he came back, he would bring me a beautiful present. I would much rather not have the present and have him stay there or anywhere and never come back. While I was eating breakfast, I heard Alma and Gladys talking in the pantry. Alma said, “That poor man, a respected citizen, sitting in the box and seeing his own son brought in with a bunch of hoodlums.” I wanted to ask what man and how can he sit in a box? I think she meant Grandfather, and that must have something to do with Uncle Harold, so I was afraid to ask. Besides, Alma scolds and always tells me how impolite it is to ask questions about things you are not supposed to know, and if you do hear them, you are supposed to pretend that you didn’t hear them at all. I know I feel very sorry about this and I know everyone feels so embarrassed but whatever happened it caused Uncle Harold to leave so I think it was a good thing.
A good thing indeed.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Something awful happened today but no one will tell me what. Grandfather didn’t come home for lunch and Grandmother stayed in her room and Aunt Tillie came to the table just to correct my table manners, because it was Alma’s day off. Aunt Tillie wouldn’t eat, thought I didn’t know why. I was glad to go back to school in the afternoon. The house felt so dreary, just like a picture I once saw of a tired old horse dragging a buggy through a dark street on a rainy day. Aunt Tillie called for me at school at three o’clock and took me to the park and let me ride on a very sweet donkey and she even let me go around three times. When we came home Grandfather was still not there and Grandmother was still in her room and I brought Sherry up to mine. Sometimes I love Sherry more than anyone in the world. At six o’clock I heard Grandfather come in the door and then the dinner gong rang. It was a horrible dinner, even with lamb chops and potatoes which I really love but there was such a silence in the room. Uncle Harry was there too but everyone’s eyes were looking at their plates and no one even attempted to talk. After dinner I went right up to my room and I went right to bed but I couldn’t sleep. I wondered for a long while, what had happened but I couldn’t imagine and so I got up, and I looked around the room. I found Alma’s squirrel tippet and I took it to bed with me and it made me feel comfortable and warm and I closed my eyes.
According to Wikipedia, “a tippet is is often any scarf-like wrap, usually made of fur.” We met Sherry (aka Scheherazade) the kitten in January diary entries. Although I don’t have a photo of Hilda on a donkey, we can imagine her in this photo from the same era from OpenSFHistory:
OpenSFHistory / wnp27.0373
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Now I can write a little bit more about Monday night. Last night I got very sleepy but on Monday night I was not sleepy at all. In the middle of my supper upstairs with Alma, Aunt Tillie came in and said that the company had finished dinner and wanted to see me downstairs in the parlor. So Alma combed my hair and she braided a pretty ribbon full of rosebuds into it and she scrubbed my hands and nails with a scrubbing brush, and then I went downstairs. Suzanne looked just like a queen, only I had never seen a Queen dressed in black before. Her dress was velvet and full of little ermine tails and her hair was so soft and curly and a bit wild. The gentlemen looked as if they were made of patent leather, like my dancing school slippers, all in shiny black suits and they smelled so nice but not of scented flowers. I went from one gentleman to the other and they patted my head and asked whose little girl I was and if they should wait for me to grow up so they could marry me. I said, “Thank you very much, but don’t wait because I want to marry Victor.” Then I had to tell them all about Victor and one of them laughed and said that he would have to come to my dancing class one day. Then Alma took me back upstairs and let me have an extra portion of chocolate pudding. The pudding was good, I didn’t much like the company.
We heard about Victor in Hilda’s January 5th and 6th diary entries.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Last night Aunt Tillie put on her most beautiful evening gown. It is yellow satin and has a very low neck, so low that the bumps in her front show almost half naked and it has a long train that she picks up by holding a loop when she goes downstairs. She has yellow slipper and diamond pins in her hair and she smelled like all kinds of flowers mixed together. She told me that Suzanne and two gentlemen were coming to our house for dinner and that afterwards, they were all going to the theater together. I asked if I might come to the table but Aunt Tillie said that I couldn’t, as children don’t eat with grown-ups. I wanted to ask her why I have to eat with Tante Esther and Uncle Felix and all the other people I don’t like. I didn’t, as I remembered that Aunt Tillie doesn’t want me to say “I don’t like” about anyone, even if I definitely do not like them.
Unfortunately I don’t have a photo of Tillie in her beautiful gown. The New York Met has examples of gowns from 1910-1912, including one from 1910. An article on the history of Edwardian evening dress shows how the fashion changed over those few years. If Tillie was wearing the latest fashion, she would have worn one with an Empire waist like the example at the Met from 1911. The Met also includes a drawing from the time, showing the “bumps at the front.”
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today after school, Alma took me to call on her friend Lizzie. Lizzie’s real name is Elizabeth and she is a very nice lady. She keeps house for two priests, Father Dennis and Father Patrick. They live in a yellow, brick house next to their yellow brick church. The house isn’t pretty inside, just very bare but there is a very lovely garden right in the back of it and that is where we always sit when we go there. Lots of nuns come to see Lizzie. I just love nuns. They are much sweeter and quieter than the people who come to our house. When you sit with them, you just want to close your eyes and sleep. They look like the pictures of penguins in my animal book and they have soft voices. One of them is called sister Appolonia. She helped me pick daisies and taught me to make a daisy chain but the daisies died before I finished and that made me sad, as if I killed them. They looked so much prettier growing in the grass. Alma always goes into the kitchen to help Lizzie. She says that the housekeepers of priests must work very hard, much harder than in other places, but it’s a great honor to serve such good men. Lizzie doesn’t mind as she is serving God by helping those who represent Him on earth, even if she has to get up at four in the morning and make breakfast for the Fathers. They eat an awful lot, besides they have a lot of company, other priests from other cities come to visit. I said that I thought four in the morning was a funny time to be having company but Alma says it isn’t party company, it’s because they have to say their prayers very early. I never see the priests. They are too busy in the Church being holy.
I wonder whether Lizzie worked for priests at Sacred Heart Church, which, at Fell and Fillmore, was less than a mile from where Hilda lived.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today we are going to Tante Bertha’s for dinner at twelve o’clock. I love to go there because I love her. I don’t care if she isn’t a good housekeeper or a good cook, or if her tablecloths always have spots on them. Grandmother and Aunt Tillie are always saying that her place looks just like a pig pen but that isn’t true. I saw a pig pen once and it was much dirtier. Anyhow, I’d rather live in a dirty house where everyone is happy than in a clean one like Tante Esther’s where you have to sit straight up in your chair and speak only when you are spoken to and everyone is saying, “Children should be seen and not heard.” I told Grandmother that I would rather be happy than clean, and she yelled, “Why Hilda! Never let me hear you say that again.” So next time I won’t let her hear me.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Grandmother did wake up and when I was having breakfast, she came in all excited and forgot about how angry she was with me the day before. The new baby was named and she was now upset with the name. They called the baby Helen Violet. The middle name was because the baby has violet colored eyes but Grandmother says that Violet sounds like the name of an actress in “East Lynn.” Grandfather wanted to know what was wrong with actresses? I thought that Violet sounded like the name of a dancer at the Orpheum.
The Orpheum is the most beautiful theater. When my father comes to see me, he takes me there on Sunday afternoons. On the ceiling above the stage there is a picture of heaven. One of the prettiest angels is sitting on a cloud. She has black hair and a red dress. On another cloud is an angel with golden hair and a blue dress. There are clouds all around them and on the edge of the clouds are flowers and lights. In front of every seat in the theater or the back of every seat, however I can explain it. Well, there is a hole where you put in dimes. My father always lets me put a dime in and then a box of candy pops out. Chocolates!
Courtesy of Museum of Performance and Design, Performing Arts Library, http://www.oac.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/c81j97pm/?order=1 (1915?)
Interior of Orpheum Theatre at https://digitalsf.org/islandora/object/islandora%3A119061, courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.
Hilda describes a predecessor to the current Orpheum Theatre in San Francisco. The one she went to was on O’Farrell Street. I was not able to find an image of the vending machines at the back of each seat - that must have been a wonderful treat for a child. I remember attending a performance in 1980 at a theater in London where you could put a pound into the seat back in front of you and borrow a pair of opera glasses to watch the show.
“East Lynne” was a silent film based on an 1861 novel by Mrs Henry (Ellen) Wood – there were several versions, one as early as 1902, British and American versions in 1913 and 1916, another in 1931, and one as recent as 1982. You can watch the 1916 version on YouTube.
Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
When Alma came upstairs to hear my prayers last night, we got just as far as the God bless Grandmother and Grandfather place when I stopped and I said that I only wanted God to bless Grandfather. Alma said, “Why, Hilda!” When grown-up people are angry at me they always say “Why, Hilda!” Then I started to cry, and I said I wished Grandmother would die, like she always says she wishes to and I could live alone with Grandfather and he would buy me a dog. Alma said that I was very wicked and she couldn’t let me say a prayer that didn’t have good blessings for Grandmother and that Grandmother certainly needed good blessings far more than Grandfather. That did make sense and so I had to put her in the prayer so God would bless her. Then I told Alma if she thought it would help, she too had to put Grandmother into her own prayers, and if she didn’t, I thought I might be angry. So Alma went down on her knees and said, “Holy Father and Mother of God, bestow your blessings on Hilda’s good Grandmother and forgive her naughty grandchild. Amen.” So I suppose that Grandmother is blessed and might wake up tomorrow morning.
Link to Family Tree to understand family relationships.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
This morning, while I was writing a letter to my father, Grandmother came in and wanted to see my diary. I didn’t answer her, so she told me to bring it out right away, as she wanted to see what I had written. I told her that I couldn’t, it was only for me to read when I was eighty years old and my grandchildren maybe, but no one should read it now. Then Grandmother began to scream and cry. She said that I had written nasty things about her and Grandfather and that is what they got in return for taking in a poor orphan and she would write a letter to my father to come and get me if I didn’t let her see the diary, or else she would put me in an orphan asylum and I would have to wear one of those ugly dresses and not have any hair ribbons. She said that she didn’t know that she was nursing a viper in her bosom and why did God punish her so. I wanted to show her the book, just to show her that I hadn’t written anything bad but I couldn’t. I don’t know why, it just seemed important not to. Then Grandfather came in and she told him all about it and he said that he didn’t believe that I wrote anything bad about anyone and to leave me alone with my book. Then, Grandmother began to yell all over again. She said that she hoped one day someone would be as mean to me as I was to her and she hoped that when she was dead that everyone would remember what a very good woman she had been and that she had been a good wife and mother and he didn’t take her to the theater like other husbands and she had to put up with this and hadn’t she always taken care of his house and seen to it that he had clean underwear and clean clothes and on and on she went. Then I took out my little pink book and gave it to Grandfather. He said, “No child, this is your own book and you may write anything you please in it. I know you didn’t say anything bad about your Grandmother or me..” Then Grandmother said that it seemed in this house only the child counted and she hoped that she wouldn’t awaken the next morning as no one seemed to care about her.
Hilda’s description of her grandfather Jacob sounds a lot like how Helene’s wrote about of her father (Jacob’s brother) Adolph – kind, sensible, smart, with an innate love for and understanding of children. Hilda and Helene also were both very alike — intelligent, sensitive, and very emotional. Hilda’s grandmother was at least as emotional and had never gotten over her grief at losing her daughter soon after Hilda was born.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Aunt Tillie hadn’t seen the baby yet, so she went over today and she took me with her. The baby hasn’t started to grow. She has no hair and no name, but I suppose she will get both soon. I took her another bag of graham crackers but this time I said I’d eat them. I explained to Aunt Tillie that if you ate the food you brought to a baby that it would be nourished. No one said anything, so I ate nearly half the bag and left the rest.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
I saw the baby. She was lying in a little basket by Aunt Hazel’s bed. A lot of ladies were there and they all kept on saying how beautiful the baby is. She isn’t. She doesn’t look like much at all, but I love Aunt Hazel, so I just didn’t say anything. I brought the baby a big bag of graham crackers for a present. Aunt Hazel was very sleepy and as she yawned, she said, “Thank you, dear. I’ll eat them later, and you know, that will help nourish the baby too.” I don’t see how, and I wanted to ask, but it seemed so silly.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today, everyone is very excited because my Uncle Alfred’s wife had a baby. It’s a girl. I don’t like babies very much. I like puppies and kittens much more. Puppies and kittens are soft and cuddly, and you can play with them. Babies are just stupid. They lie in their cribs and do nothing. When they are around, everyone coos at them, and no one pays any attention to you. Grandmother says that if I am very good I can go see the new baby tomorrow; but it isn’t worth being good for.
I could not find Alfred on the family tree, so he may not have been a blood relative. I have only a few photos of Hilda and in almost every one of them she is pictured with a dog and/or a cat — her love of animals continued throughout her life. I don’t know if she ever became fond of babies.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Tante Bertha invited us all to have dinner at her house next Sunday, and Grandmother said that she would be pleased, and thanked her. But after she left, Grandmother said how she wished she could get out of it, as she would rather take a dose of castor oil than go. She said that Aunt Bertha’s house is filthy, uncared for, and smells.
From 8-year old Hilda’s diary:
Today, I will write about yesterday, because I didn’t want to leave the room as long as Tante Bertha was here. I wish my Grandmother was just like her, but she isn’t. Grandmother is a very good woman. She is always telling everyone so, and if I have any doubts Alma says that everyone who knows my Grandmother knows that she is a very good woman. I have never heard Tante Bertha say that she is anything, but she laughs and smiles and seems like someone who couldn’t be bad. I think it is better to laugh and smile than to be good.
Tante Bertha lives in a tiny house and when we have visited there, her whole family were gathered in the kitchen, and they were teasing each other and having fun. No one seems to be serious and I never heard Tante Bertha scold. Of course I just visit once in a while. Well, all the girls have jobs and bring their money home except Edda. Edda is married to a nice man who has a pharmacy full of beautiful colored bottles and jars. Edda is the nicest one of the girls and I guess that is why she is married. Her husband’s name is Ignatz. There are two brothers too. One is named Henry; he ran away from home and joined the Navy. He came home with the prettiest pictures painted on his chest and on his arms too and they will never wash off. He showed them to me. There is a lovely green and orange mermaid, and a green and orange parrot, and a red rose, and a fan that has “Forget Me Not” written on it. Tante Bertha also has a husband. He is a nice man but he has very bad headaches. Grandfather says he seems to have them all of a sudden when he is winning at Poker, and then he stops playing. I think it is too bad he has them, and Tante Bertha treats him just like a little baby. She cooks special things for him, and keeps the house very quiet when he is not well. He told me that once when he went on a trip to Europe, that while he was there, he had a terrible headache, and so he went to a doctor. The doctor’s name was Dr. Knipe. I remember that because it rhymes with tripe, and I hate tripe. This doctor told him to go wading in cold water every morning before he had breakfast. So Uncle went wading every morning and the headaches went away. Then, when he came back to his home here, the headaches came back. In Europe he had a brook very near his house, but here, there was no brook, so he got up in the morning and threw buckets of water on the bathroom floor and went wading. He said that it should have worked just as well as it did in Austria, only the people who lived in the flat below were very angry, as the water leaked through to their rooms. That is why they have this tiny house that they are all crowded into now, because the landlord had to fix the leaks, and Uncle was very angry about it. He said that he came to America because it was a free country where a man should be able to do whatever he pleases in his own bathroom.
