Dear Jessie and Bill,

I don’t know where you are or if I’ll ever see you again. The events of today have shocked and confused the world, but they’ve shocked and confused me even more. I’m still not sure if any of this is real, but you two are gone, so it must be. If I can never find you again, then I made a terrible, selfish mistake letting—no, forcing—our family to be separated. If you are safe, I hope you won’t read this until you’re eighteen or older. What happened today was terrible. That much is obvious even to young kids like you. For our family, though, it was doubly terrible, which you probably don’t know about. I don’t know how to explain it to you, or even if I should explain it. I hope to see you both someday soon, but I won’t tell you about it then. I’ll let you read this when the time is right . . . if the time is ever right again. (more…)

I’m not yet ready to express my own experiences during the Plague Years on paper, so I will do what I feel is the next best thing, and relate the experiences of others. What follows is my first real interview.Dave Henshaw looks tired. His appearance is that of someone overworked, a look that appears less and less in postwar Canada, as people rebuild their lives. His is a look that will stay with him until his death; it is a look of one who has seen or done things that cannot be forgotten. It is therefore a surprise that he is so forthcoming, with no coaxing from the author. I met him at his home in Cornwall, Ontario. He is in charge of repairing Cornwall’s roads. The havoc years of complete neglect wrought on the roads is surprising. The repair job is expected to take most of another decade. Here is his story, unedited. (more…)