Soon there was something new to worry about. During the summer of 1918, a different kind of war story was sneaking into newspapers. There wasn’t much written about it, so it was easy to miss.
Since the spring, more and more of the soldiers in the hospitals of Europe weren’t suffering from battle wounds. They were ill with some kind of sickness. It was like the flu — with a runny nose, cough, aches, and a fever — but it was much worse. Men were coughing up blood, and they seemed to be choking on the fluids that filled their lungs. The disease struck soldiers in England, France, and Germany. Civilians, too. Soon people were sick all over Europe.
Although it was a serious problem, very little about the disease was reported in the newspapers. There was enough bad news from the war already. But Spain wasn’t fighting in the Great War. During the month of May, eight million people were sick in Spain. The newspapers there printed plenty of stories about the sickness. As a result, the disease became known as Spanish Influenza … or Spanish Flu for short.
Near the end of the summer of 1918, soldiers returning home from the war brought the Spanish Flu back to North America. By now the disease was much more deadly than it had been in the beginning. In late August three sailors were sick with the Spanish Flu at a navy barracks in Boston. Within a few weeks thousands of people in Boston were sick. Most people got better, but lots of them were dying. Soon the same thing was happening in other American cities. Returning soldiers also brought the disease to Canada. It spread everywhere: big cities and small towns, rural farm communities and remote islands. It didn’t matter. Anywhere there was air to breathe that air could carry germs.
The Spanish Flu hit Montreal during the last days of September. Some of the stories about the disease were so bad they didn’t seem real.
“One of the boys at school has a cousin in Boston,” Alice told David on their way home one day. “He says it turns your skin blue. He says some people turn so dark you can’t tell if they’re white people or Negroes.”
David had heard the same thing, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it.
Alice’s voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes big and round. “He says that blood comes out of your nose and mouth. Sometimes even your eyes and your ears.”
David shook his head. That couldn’t be true. “He’s lying. He’s just trying to scare you.” But David had heard those stories, too. What if they were true? “Even if it’s true in Boston,” he told Alice, “the newspapers say the cases here are mild.”
But they quickly got worse. About a hundred people died in Montreal during the first week in October. Soon the newspapers were filled with stories about the Spanish Flu, or la grippe, as they called it in French. Death tolls were reported almost like sports statistics. People were getting spooked. Something had to be done.
Dr. Boucher was in charge of the Department of Health in Montreal. He decided that the city had to close all its public buildings. Theatres, dance halls, concert halls, and sports events were all cancelled. Schools were closed, too.
“You can catch it from anyone, so I want you to stay inside as much as possible,” David’s mother told him and Alice. “But fresh air is important, too, so keep the windows open. And if you want to go out, stay on the third-floor landing. I don’t want you going down to the street for any reason. And if the iceman comes, or anyone else, don’t let them in unless they’re wearing a mask over their nose and mouth! And both of you have to wear your masks, too, as long as other people are in the house.”
People had been told to wear a mask at all times when they went out. Police could arrest anyone who didn’t. People could buy their masks in drugstores for anywhere from five cents to a quarter. For the people who couldn’t afford them — or were too afraid to go out! — newspapers printed instructions on how to make masks at home.
“What about you?” David asked his mother. Offices and factories hadn’t been closed. “You still have to go to work.”
“Don’t worry about me. All the windows are being kept open on the streetcars to keep the air fresh, and the police are watching every night to make sure they get cleaned out properly.”
To ensure streetcars didn’t get too crowded, most stores had to be closed by four o’clock. That meant shoppers would all be home before other businesses closed for the day. Only drugstores, grocery stores, and restaurants were allowed to stay open late.
“But what about when you’re at the factory?” David pressed his mother.
“All the women in the sewing room will be wearing masks. Some of the windows will be propped open, too. And if anyone so much as coughs or sneezes, there’s a good chance they’ll be sent home.”
The weather had been unusually cold and damp for several weeks. Lots of people already had colds. It didn’t mean they had the flu, let alone the deadly Spanish Flu, but the symptoms were so similar it was better to be safe than sorry.
The days alone in the flat were long and boring, but David and Alice mostly stayed inside. Dr. Boucher and the newspapers kept saying it was important to breathe fresh air, so they went out to the landing a few times each day. When their mother came home, she called out to them so that David and Alice could go into his room. As soon as she got inside, their mother changed out of the clothes she’d been wearing and put on a simple dress she kept near the door. Then she put her mask and her outdoor clothes in a pot and boiled them to kill any germs. She also put the mail from outside and the newspaper she brought home into the oven for a few minutes. Finally, she mixed up a mouthwash the newspapers said people should gargle: one quart of boiled water, two teaspoons of salt, half a teaspoon of permanganate of potash. Permanganate of potash was poison if you used too much, but it was safe if you were careful. She poured some into a glass for each of them — sharing cups, plates, forks, or spoons was something to avoid! — and they each rinsed out their mouths. Then their mother cooked dinner.
After eating, Alice helped wash the dishes. That was her job, but these days David usually helped, too. At least it was something to do! There was no extra sewing anymore because it was too risky to bring in clothes from other people’s houses. If they weren’t using a handkerchief when they coughed or sneezed, there could be germs all over their clothes.
Other people obviously weren’t being as cautious as the Saiferts. Or maybe it was just impossible to keep the Spanish Flu away from everyone. So many things were closed that the city was like a ghost town, yet more and more people kept getting sick. More than two hundred and fifty people died in Montreal during the second week of October. Almost two thousand more people got sick. And those were just the cases the newspapers knew about. There were probably more. The next ten days were even worse. Nearly a thousand new cases were reported and more than a hundred people died every single day.
The numbers were horrifying, but the speed of the disease was also frightening. Most people who caught the Spanish Flu got better after a week or two in bed. Not everyone, though. Some people lingered for weeks before dying, but others were dead within a few days. Sometimes it only took a couple of hours. A person could be perfectly healthy before breakfast, feel feverish at lunch, and be dead before dinner.
At its worst the disease really was just as terrible as Alice had heard. People’s lungs filled up with bloody fluid, making it almost impossible for them to breathe. Without enough oxygen in their bodies, people’s skin really did turn blue. There was blood when they coughed, and sometimes it did run out of people’s noses instead of snot. Almost no one got better if their case got that bad.
One of the strange things about the Spanish Flu was the people it killed. Usually, the only people who died from the flu were very young or very old. With the Spanish Flu the people who had been healthiest before they got sick were the ones who died. Men and women in their twenties and thirties seemed to be at risk most.
David read in the newspaper about Hamby Shore. He was a hockey player with the Ottawa Senators. Or rather he had been. Shore caught the Spanish Flu from his wife. She got better, but he died. He was only thirty-two years old. Younger people were dying, too. On the same day as Hamby Shore’s funeral in Ottawa, Bob Marshall died in Montreal. His father, Jack Marshall, had starred for years with the Montreal Wanderers. Bob Marshall was only twelve.
It was impossible to care for everyone who got sick. Hospitals filled up quickly, so emergency hospitals were set up in schools, orphanages, and armouries. They filled up, too. One big problem was there weren’t nearly enough doctors and nurses for everyone. So many medical people had been needed for the war and were still in Europe. Many of the doctors and nurses who were at home to treat the Spanish Flu caught the disease themselves from their patients. Nuns and priests helped out. So did Jewish and Protestant organizations. But there still weren’t enough caregivers to go around.
Early on Dr. Boucher had told the newspapers: “The best thing to do when a person is sick is to stay at home and call a doctor.” But just a few days later the newspapers were telling people to use their telephones as little as possible. So many operators had become sick it was impossible for the phone company to handle all the calls.
That meant that even though the Spanish Flu was a deadly disease, many people were forced to care for their own sick relatives by themselves at home. Newspapers offered advice on what to do:
People should be kept in well-lit rooms. Other family members should not enter except when absolutely necessary.
Opening and closing doors set up currents of air that carry germs. It is better to leave the door of the sick room open. Hang a sheet moistened with bleach in the opening.
The person attending the patient should wear an apron with sleeves. The apron should be removed when leaving so as not to carry away germs. Wash your face and hands after touching a patient.
All the linen and other things belonging to the patient should either be burnt or boiled for at least fifteen minutes.
There were no vaccines to prevent the Spanish Flu. There was no sure way to cure it, either. The only thing to do was to try not to catch it. Newspapers offered advice on that, too:
Avoid persons suffering from colds, sore
throats, and coughs.
Cough in a handkerchief or behind your
hand.
Avoid cold rooms.
Sleep and work in fresh, clean air.
Eat plain, nourishing food.
Avoid alcohol.
Change handkerchiefs frequently.
By the beginning of November, things finally seemed to be settling down. “We have fewer deaths,” Dr. Boucher told the newspapers, “and I hope the death rate will keep on decreasing. Still, I advise the public to continue to take the same precautions. It is absolutely necessary to observe these precautions in order to prevent a revival of the epidemic.”
November 2 was a Saturday. David and Alice spent the whole day with their mother. Wearing their masks to be careful, they all went out for a short time to shop for food. Later, their mother showed Alice how to work the sewing machine.
“Sit here beside me and pump the treadle,” their mother told Alice. “You have to keep it moving smoothly. Heel and toe. Heel and toe. Almost like you’re pedalling a bicycle.”
Once Alice got the hang of it, their mother placed a piece of cloth under the presser. She hadn’t set up the needle and thread yet. First she wanted Alice to get used to moving the cloth with her hands while she pumped the treadle.
“Just push it under gently,” their mother said.
“You don’t have to pull it out the other end. Once you get a rhythm going, the machine practically moves the cloth for you.”
When Alice was ready, their mother put the spool in place. It had to be wound carefully through a lot of different parts, and finally through the eye of the needle. It looked complicated, but their mother could set up a sewing machine almost in her sleep.
At first Alice was doing quite well, but later she seemed to lose her rhythm. The cloth was sticking and she was getting the thread all tangled.
“My fingers are getting sore,” she complained.
“Well, then, maybe that’s enough for your first time,” their mother said.
David and his mother hadn’t thought it was strange that Alice’s hands had gotten tired, but later that night when they were all in bed Alice began to scream. She was having a nightmare. Their mother ran to her and placed a hand on Alice’s forehead.
“Oh, my God! She’s burning up with fever!”