There is this thing, when you’re a historian, where you have to be careful not to project onto the past a feeling you have in the present. Recently, I read in a methodology textbook how a researcher can misunderstand circumstances in the past because the written records provide only fragmentary information. This is the case, when (in centuries past) for example, lots of mothers suffered over the high rates of infant mortality. These deaths might be recorded in a parish register, but few accounts can be found of the sadness they provoked. Historians are left to puzzle over what this means… Were mothers less emotional? Did they hide their grief? Was the society such that this kind of written record was thought unimportant? Etc.

As we are making our way through a pandemic, I think of the future historians who will have the advantage of perspective, but will, probably, not have been participants.

When I sit down to write, I don’t often concentrate on my feelings about the pandemic, the new government orders, the worries, hopes, deceptions or general ennuie. And then sometimes, that future historian pops into my head.

Take for example Nellie McClung. I thought it would be neat to know what she thought of the Winnipeg Strike of 1919, since she was around when it happened. Luckily enough, she left evidence of having grappled with the event… but there are other instances when you imagine that some event will have an impact on a person’s life and find nothing.

Today, the announcement was made that schools here in Manitoba are to remain closed until the end of the year. I do not count myself among the mothers who are overly concerned about their children’s getting Covid-19 or passing it on. The evidence of cases so far backs this up. The government’s decision to keep schools closed therefore feels unsubstantiated. And writing about feelings? That seems quite useless. It’s enough just to keep one’s head above water.