Resources

Letters

Letter from Gladys Ricketts to Fritz Arthur Ricketts

181 Bleecker Street
Toronto

May 14th, 1935

Dear Fritz

Your letter dated Feb. 25th duly arrived. My first impression was to ignore it, then after much thought, I decided to state my side of the case. I have not bothered you in the past with my thoughts and feelings, but this time I am going to give you them as well as I can do on paper. While I was with you, you very deliberately kept me at a distance, with no chance to speak to you, when I might have been able to explain things, and by an explanation have been better understood.

It was somewhat of a shock to me to receive even this kind of letter from you – for it is over five years since you wrote to your only sister. What I have ever done that you should treat me with such indifference I do not know. In the past I grieved a good deal at your attitude but had become, more or less, used to it – and then to have your silence so rudely broken.. I must first refer to the letter I wrote to Pa. He wrote and asked me to tell him a few things (to quote his own words) ‘in confidence’, and the letter I was to write was for his eyes and ears alone. How he failed to keep my confidence you already know. It is not always pleasant to either hear or read the truth about oneself, and that ‘picture’ I gave of you to Pa is the one you gave me of yourself.

After the parting of seven years, and a chance to cheer a human soul, you treated me, your sister, as though I had committed a crime. You gave me absolutely no chance to explain my actions. Now, you add insult to injury, and accuse me of something I know to be quite injust and unfair. You talk of mother’s ‘mental collapse’. That happened years ago. She has been unbalanced for may years, and as I was the chief one to suffer, I should know. She did her best to spoil my life, and had a final try when she sent for me to return to England.

You were away from home most of the time after you were old enough to understand some of life’s meanings and complications. First, at school, later at business. Ewart and Donald both knew of my drudgery at home. How Ma sent for me from each worthwhile position – then when she got me home made my life a misery by her petty tyranny and her so called religion. Even before you were married, how many times did she make your wife shed a tear and how long could you remain under the same roof together?

I was taken from school just at the age when I was making progress. Did you ever stop to think I was not fourteen when I left school? If I had time, space and inclination I could tell you many instances of mother’s ugly ‘peculiar’ behaviour. Dou you know I was once in my school days, tortured into asking if she were really my mother? Can you imagine what I went through before asking such a question? Do I not carry to this day some of the scars she inflicted upon me?

Now, I am going to tell you what my pride held back because of your attitude to me, and that which you condemn me of two years and four months after it happened.

Your wife kindly met me at Reading station on Nov. 13th 1932 a gesture I much appreciated, as I was far from well, and was dreading the very irksome journey from there to Crookham. In due time I arrived at ‘Beulah’ , and even before I crossed her doorstep mother had reprimanded me. Such a greeting! Such a meeting!

You may remember I arrived in between regular meal times – so was handed a small tin tray on which was spread a piece of newspaper – a thick cup (no saucer) of the restaurant type, contained water, and on a plate of similar pattern as the cup, was a piece of very dry bread, and on that a small piece of cheese. I wasn’t looking for Royal hospitality, but I would not have served my serub lady that way. In the grate there were a few black smoky coals, and some peat which wasn’t burning, it was very damp and quite foggy, and the whole atmosphere was quite repelling, more especially after the warmth and comfort we have here. Tea was brought in, bread and jam, and coloured water, and sawdust cake. I had brought mother a supply of butter, eggs, bacon etc. etc. from Taunton, and in this way had provided the meals for at least a week. We had no light until it was quite dark (had there been firelight this would have been quite pleasant) then one small candle was lit, it spluttered in the draughty air – at 7pm we proceeded to bed. The few smoky coals were carried into the bedroom and placed in the grate there – the walls of this room were literally running with water. You may wonder what all this has to do with your accusation, but I am telling you because it is the prelude to a night of nightmares and horrors. My bed was resting on two chairs, and was so narrow that I had great difficulty in balancing myself there at all. My back and the bedding were wet from the moisture on the wall – you may not recall it, but I had a very heavy cold at the time. All night long my past misdeeds were recounted to me – they hadn’t lost any of their details in the recount either. Every once in a while Ma would lean over and pick at me with her bony fingers – she was like a witch with a kind of hood on her head (she had several hot water bottles and such, and lay in a feather bed. She always has known how to make herself comfortable) and when an odd light would come into the room from a passing vehicle it certainly was a weird scene. I really thought I too would go crazy, and hope I never again will experience anything like it. I don’t think it had ever struck you what I had been through before coming to Crookham, you certainly were not even interested enough to make any enquiries. Were you afraid I would ask you for help? Have I ever done so? If I had liked I could have caused a good deal of trouble by repeating what mother said of you and your family in her letters to me. Believe it or not, many things written and said were much worse than I said and wrote about you.

Do you know that when I was a schoolgirl I felt so badly at the way mother treated me that I asked her if she really was my mother? Do you know that one evening when I was eighteen years of age, returning from choir practice from which Alfred Smith came home with me and we were chatting at the gate when Mother rushed out at me, dragged me into the house by my hair, which I wore in a plait down my back, dragged me upstairs and kept me locked in my room for a week, bread and water being my rations. Do you think any normal mother would have acted in this way?

I could give you many instances of her very peculiar and very cruel behaviour, but its not much use remembering these things I am not proud of them and the remembrance only upsets me. Some day she will have to give an account for them herself, she has had many chances to make her peace with me, but she has refused.

Now to turn to Pa. While I was in a position to send him money from time to time, and did so, I was a wonderful daughter. But it was the money to spend on whiskey he wanted, not his daughter. Because I held my own counsel about him, you misjudge me – all the years he was acting so disgracefully in Stonehouse, and I tried to shield and help him – gave up my own career and interests to try to make a home for him. Oh what’s the use even trying to explain. Even his own sister was forced to turn him out. What I should have done was to have come to Canada as soon as Ewart no longer needed me, then I would have a business of my own today.

I have done my upmost to lift burdens, and to live an honourable life, and those who really know me will verify this statement. Whatever I have done to help others I tried to do quietly, no standing up in prayer meetings to pray for others to hear how good I am. There has been too much of that done in our family.

Of Bert there is very little to say. I realise he never should have married me for he is not fit for responsibility. I did not know this when we were married. I do not think we shall ever live together again. I have all I can do to support myself, and I shall never have enough money to send for him – or to come to England again. I still owe the money borrowed to return to Canada.

Of the letters I was guilty of writing when I was first married (over eight years ago), the only excuse I can offer is my pride would not let me say I had made a mistake. I didn’t want any of you to think I was asking for help – not me.

At the start of your letter you remark you had postponed writing to me, because what you had to say was not in time with the spirit of Christmas or the New Year. This remark made me wonder if you have the spirit of ‘love and peace, and goodwill towards men’ just at Christmas and not for fifty-two weeks of the year. Your words would imply that this is so, a pretty poor policy I would say, and accounts largely for your attitude to me Nov 15th, 1932. You know Fritz, you are the only brother left of the trio I adored – don’t you ever think of the old days, when we four used to roam the countryside together? I am going back over thirty years now – but what times we did have. We did the maddest pranks, the craziest tricks, but we got a kick out of life, and out of being ‘just us four’.

I was very proud of you in your C.H. clothes, then when you started on the ‘Great Adventure’ of earning your own livelihood. I adored your looks, your voice, your humour, and the verses you used to write. You always inclined to be a ‘high spotter’, but your sister always remained very much on the level, but still holding her own, in spite of fearful odds.

Did it ever occur to you that I am entirely on my own in this vast dominion of Canada? I live on the borders of a lake the size of which is indescribable, if England were dropped into the centre of Lake Ontario it would scarcely make a splash. Was it any wonder I was overwhelmed by the pettiness I contacted when I returned to England.

Has it ever occurred to you that I have earned my own living for thirty years – and never asked for your help once? But you were afraid I might ask you when I was over there.

Do you realise for one moment what I have been through physically since I returned to Toronto? I have not has do much as a five pound note from my husband in five years. But I am not the whining kind, so won’t begin now.

As far as my knowledge of Spiritualism goes I have much to learn. Please do not run away with the idea that I attend cheap séances where the credulous are made even more so. I have only been privileged to sit in one circle. I had to travel many miles out of Toronto to attend, but I am sure that I spoke to Ewart, and with Grandma Fell and Aunt Mary , as I am sure I am writing to you. Ewart is constantly with me, and has given me many proofs of his presence.

There is much I would like to ask you, but this letter has taken me days to write. I hope you will read it as I mean it. I am enclosing a couple of letters I received from Pa. I have nothing with which to answer such letters.

Before I close I do wish to comment on your remarks about your filial duty.

Did you ever realise what I gave up in my youth for that very thing? (ie filial duty) I am suffering today from that very thing. It is the son’s place to see to these things, and I saw no lack of comfort in your home, or your board, or prospects. In fact you seemd ‘very well fitted’ as we Canadians say.

And so endeth this epistle

From
Gladys

In reading this over I find I repeated myself once
I’m sorry I have not time to rewrite this

Gladys Ricketts
Fritz Arthur Ricketts