By Mimi Huckins ’21
Features Editor
Just as COVID-19 has changed how we attend college in 2021, the Spanish influenza changed the lives of Mount Holyoke students in 1918. The stories shared by those students may offer some wisdom and perspective to today’s Mount Holyoke community since they suffered from similar struggles and, at times, extreme sickness. The epidemic of 1918 was documented in the Mount Holyoke News, where students freely shared their experiences and opinions about the situation.
IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER.
How many of the things that we grumble about really matter? We bother about the weather, about the rush of work, and just at present about the quarantine. But the quarantine, beside being a necessity, may also be a blessing to us. Here we are in one of the most beautiful spots in the Connecticut Valley, surrounded by girls whom we know and love, and girls whom we would like to know.
We have all come to college with the purpose of making this year, which so many of our own age are giving to the war, mean even more to us than earnest preparation for our coming tasks. Conservation, in the big and little things of life, have become more habitual to us. We feel the need of positive as well as negative service—work more directly and openly of immediate help. And yet some of us rebel at quarantine—chafe at the restraint which keeps us here! Have you ever stopped to think what it would mean to you if you couldn’t be here; or if our college had been turned into a Government training s[c]hool? And how does South Hadley compare with the big, dusty, treeless camps in which so many thousands of soldiers are quarantined now?
We want to give our best this year—our best thoughts to our studies, our best selves to our friends. Let’s begin by giving out “best” spirit—cheerfulness. Just think before you mumble out a complaint, perhaps one that will put an unhappy idea into someone else’s head. There are so many truly unpleasant things in the world that we need not add to the list. And just as truly,
“The world is so full of a number of things
I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.”
The others don’t really matter.
CONCERNING THE PLAGUE
Thus saith the august authorities of the state of Massachusetts: “There shall be a quarantine at Mount Holyoke College for lo these many days, and no one shall betake herself to Holyoke or to Springfield or to any of the centers of the dread disease. And upon a trolley car shall no one ride, but each one shall walk as though her life depended upon it, and in the warmth of the sun shall she remain all the day.”
And they said unto the Faculty, “Serve thou the food unto the sick; and about catching the influenza you should worry. For of what use is the older generation if it will not die for the younger?”
And they spoke again, and said: “Behold, go not into any store, neither mail your laundry at the village post office, but line the streets without the stores, and say unto the minions within, ‘Come out unto us and serve us.’ Do this faithfully, for it will make for health.”
And when the College heard this news there was great rejoicing. And Monday was set aside as a holiday wherein everyone should climb the mountain sides like the young ram. But if it rained this would not be so. Then said the students, “We will do no lessons for Monday. And if the heavens open and floods descend upon the earth who cares, we will all be in the same boat.”
INFLUENZA IN THE MAIL
My Dear Father:—
Please do not be alarmed at this strange writing; my roommate is writing for me. It’s not that I’m really very ill, but I can’t seem to lift my head from the pillow, and I’m just burning up with fever—my bones ache and ache!
Tell M. to be thankful she isn’t here—. Not that you could do anything—but just to pat me on the head and say good doggy!
Don’t be alarmed—I’m not Very sick—but I thought you ought to know. I’m going to the infirmary tomorrow! Good-bye, dear. Don’t worry!
Lots of germy love,
HARRIET (per M. C.)
DEAREST DAD:—
I was so surprised to get your special deliver letters I’m not serious any more—and I never was— terribly. I’ve still got a fever—but it’s not nearly so high (it went ‘way up to almost 103° the first day). There are so many sufferers, it became necessary to move some of them in here—I suppose they think they can suffer with more abandon when en lump, so to speak. I leaned out of the window and watched Mr. B bring the wrecks in. Most of them wore their stockings all wrinkly, and their hair in wisps. He lugged all their bed clothes in baskets—red, gret, and pink woofies with tassels trailing. He never laughed once—only grinned like a cheshire cat all the time.
I tried to drink a bottle of grape juice yesterday, but it didn’t like me inside and wouldn’t stay.
Well, the nurses have come —out of Somewhere into Here, I guess; and they are always hopping in at interesting moments. One just came and took my temperature, smiled ghoulishly, and told me to stick my neck in! I stuck. She has a sort of Queen Victorian way about her.
Would fruit keep if you sent it all that way?
Very lovingly,
HARRIET
DEAR FATHERKIN:—
I am all better now; sat up today. Why the dickens can’t we have something to eat? How do they expect us to get strong if we don’t eat? I haven’t had enough to satisfy a canary in two days. I got one of the girls to get me some fruit uptown—but she couldn’t go in—Miss Woolley quarantined the stores.
Besides, they are making us have Mountain Day on Monday. One mean trick, I call it—a college holiday, and a quarter of the college too sick to see a mountain!
I think I am a martyr; the noise in this house is something awful. Between the patients and the nurses and the piano there is enough racket to wake the dead. I get so tired of hearing that somebody has a backache and somebody else a sore head or what not. I don’t believe they are one bit sicker than I am—just putting it on to get attention! Attention! I could do with less. I get my temperature taken every few minutes, and they do it out of spite. I know, because they know I haven’t had a temperature for two days. You don’t need any doctor to tell you that I am well. I may not have any temperature, but wow, what a temper!
Your ferociously,
HARRIET
DEAR FUZZY:—
I am discharged, but not to go to work yet. I haven’t got any pep at all. I hate to move. I hate to do everything but ear. Downstairs we have a table to ourselves and use paper napkins and hygienic soup and rot like that. I am yearning for a regular feed—oysters, bluefish, chicken a la Maryland, olives, salad, ice cream, and petti-fours. Yum, yum! I am afraid I’m not Herbert Hoover’s little brother after all.
I gamboled in the sunshine this afternoon. Some gambol! It consisted in drooping my weary frame in a chair on the lawn of Brigham. College would be quite passable, if it weren’t for classes interrupting. My ambitions lie along other lines.
Very lovingly, HARRY.
P.S.—Do send me some grapes.
Post Card.
DEAR DAD:—
Boo hoo, going to classes. It is fierce. Please don’t forget my allowance; I have used it all up eating.
Yours till quiz time,
HAT.