February 3

FEBRUARY 3

Smashwords edition

Copyright STEVE WHEELER 2013

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

Jode watched the long haired kids sitting ahead of him on the bus travelling up Elgin Street. When he was a younger man, it probably would have bothered him. They seemed to be intentionally rude and disrespectful to authority. Some of them were in bare feet. Some looked like they had just woken up,

But his grand daughter, Susan, wasn’t disrespectful to him. In fact, he wished that more adults were like her. Her friends looked like hippies but they had been pretty clean and respectful so far.

They all seemed to be in such a hurry in these frenzied sixties.

The psychedelic music, the great underground rumblings which shook the world, were of little importance to Jode. He noticed them, but they weren’t as important as they once might have been.

Life had crept up on him after the Great War and by the time World War Two swept the earth, he was in his late 30's with a wife, four kids and a mortgage.

He volunteered for military service but his government job was deemed too important to let him go.

Jode had the same feeling, then, as he had had in the first war. A desire to throw caution to the winds, to resign himself to whatever fate was in store, to give in to forces much bigger than himself. Youthful juices, high spiritedness. And in the background, held back in his subconscious, the knowledge of what really happened. The evidence of his own eyes and ears. And Laure, the heartbreak of Laure and their young love.

World War 11, caused a bit of a selfish feeling at first but there was the home front and family to look after and it was, really, a young man’s business - fighting wars.

The grandchildren and children hoped that he’d be driven to the pub, but he wouldn’t hear of it. It was his great secret pleasure to watch the deference (grudging silence, at least, from the wild ones) pass through family members when someone named the occasion.

November 11. Remembrance Day. People who died in wars commanded respect.

Susan and her friends had that part right. They didn’t want war and killing. Viet Nam was a bottomless pit.

The old man, Jode, would take a bus down Elgin Street to the pub where he and Mrs Melnyk would meet.

He was capable of it and determined to do it.

He sometimes feigned confusion and slowness to get rid of the ones who bothered him. On this occasion, he did it to be left alone with his daughter, Kate.

She simply made sure that he had bus fare and money for the pub. She knew he’d be brought home safely, in style and probably a little drunk.

He was grateful that she wasn’t a fusser and seemed to have an understanding beyond them all of what this meant to him. She couldn’t know all the details, no one could.

Just Laure and Jode.

He descended the bus steps carefully, chuckling to himself about his infirmity. He felt the same about things, some days, as he did when he was a fit teenager. The body aged though. The physical joy of a young man could never be duplicated.

This annual rendezvous reminded him sharply and painfully of those wars, the sadness of them. The acceptance, the resignation, really, which old age brought with it, made them bearable and sometimes, like today, enjoyable.

Today was one of those days when he and Laure would laugh at the world, their annual day of triumph. No one else knew their secret.

The old pub had been made over many times since it was converted from an old bank to a former Canadian soldier’s idea of an English pub.

He looked down at the medals hanging from his suit jacket beneath the overcoat. All shiny and accounted for.

He entered the pub, noting that it’s name had been changed again. The smoke hung in clouds around the tables of men at the front. No one but the barman noticed him enter.

He made his way to the back door beside the toilet.

He opened the door, stepped through and closed it carefully before he looked at the single table with two chairs which stood in the centre of the small room.

And there was Laure.

She stood and kissed him on both cheeks.

They held each other’s hands as they looked one another over.

The door opened.

A waiter entered with two glasses and a quart of beer which he placed on the table, nodded to them, hurried out the door.

They wait till he is out of sight.

The old pub looks good in the dim afternoon light. Not too many November 11's have been nice and sunny and warm. Most have been cold, miserable days.

The half light of the afternoon sunbeams slant in the window to the table.

This was the one day of the year, a few hours, when they got together or at least thought of it together. The Grand Joke they called it. It kept them going.

Thank God for this little rendezvous every year. There may not be many more in the future.

They solemnly clink glasses.

Laure offers Jode her cigarette pack, lights a long, filtered cigarette as he seats her in one chair. He pulls the other chair close to hers.

They hold hands and drink again.

He declines the cigarettes, squeezes her hand.

So, how are you, Laure, it’s been a long time

Two years since last time. I went to Florida last year, to my daughter’s. You know, Louise?

Oh" Jode thinks for a moment.

The year before last. I met her the year before last. I remember. The big family

Laure thinks about it.

Yes. Two years ago. Yes, you did meet her

They’ve been getting together for a drink for years now, on Remembrance Day, after finding one another by coincidence.

She had attended the Remembrance Day ceremonies in Confederation Square (Confusion Square to the locals) in Ottawa in the Sixties.

It was just after he lost Martha, his wife.

Let’s drink to Tommy Laure raised her glass.

Jode brought his up to hers.

Tommy. The only other one who knew

They drank and held hands again.

Have you thought about it? Jode asked her as he refilled their glasses.

She took a long drag on her cigarette, exhaled, slowly. She looked at him, then at the door, the walls, the old posters advertising a long forgotten boxing match.

I can’t stay here for the winter. Can’t stand the cold anymore

I know Jode said.

Every year, ten now, they met in this pub before they went to the ceremonies. There they would not be able to talk about the February 3 which they remember. The long ago one when they were still teenagers.

I’m going to go to Florida every November, after the eleventh, and stay till April. I couldn’t take another snow storm

No, and I wouldn’t want you to.

So I can’t leave Frederick and come live here with you

Jode knew they could do it on the pension he was collecting combined with Laure’s personal resources. His disdain for Florida and dislike of the United States magnified the problem.

I don’t love him, Jode, I love you, mon amour, always have, always will.

Jode wondered at things ending up like this. Laure was about to turn eighty and he was already there.

I haven’t seen your name in the paper lately Jode could see the girl within. Her eyes flashed, her mouth smiled.

No. I’ve stopped speaking. I do some interviews. I’ve had enough now. There are lots of strong women in the fight now

Yes, I guess there are

They’re gonna televise it now. Did you hear?

Laure watched his eyes. He always laughed with his eyes.

No...what?

The politicians, the House of Commons. They’re gonna televise Question Period

Laure shook her head, took a drag.

I don’t pay attention anymore. They always were liars. They were liars then and they’re liars now

They pause to drink another toast.

To Tommy, the only one who saw besides me Jode sipped the beer.

Laure smiled and moued coquettishly, fanned herself with a coaster, faked a high class, refined British accent.

Oh, I must have been...mad

Their eyes met and they laughed together.

CHAPTER TWO

Ottawa, 1916

Jode concentrates on the beads of sweat which appear on the upper lip of Reverend Rule BA, BOD. The man’s obviously hung over, in pain from the look of him.

It’s a shaky Sunday morning for the clergyman.

Jode can hear coughs, rustles, movement in the congregation behind him.

He adjusts his tweed jacket, watches the beads of sweat which burst as Reverend Rule expounds on his theme, ‘These are the Latter Days’. It’s written in the programme.

The beads are being expelled toward the congregation, but no one, not even Mrs Grey, the organ player, is within range.

The large church, on the corner of St Patrick Street and Sussex Drive, is filled in this time of war.

The beautiful vaulted ceilings and huge leaded windows full of stained glass declare the wealth and hope of the congregation.

The grief in mourning blends with the fervent prayers of those with someone still alive and far away.

The indignant anger, muted by the dryness of the Reverend’s croaking, narrows from evil in general to the Hun himself. His voice suddenly climbs several embarrassing registers and ends with a splutter of saliva.

Reverend Rule is leaning on his pulpit. He looks like he’s about to be sick.

An account, later in the bar, causes the Ottawa Journal to report that Reverend Rule ‘frothed at the mouth as he cursed the Hun and praised our brave boys’.

Jode feels the warm presence of Emma, his mother, on his right side.

Since he signed up, she touches him often, sneaks little looks at him when she thinks he doesn’t notice.

On his left side, his younger brother, Jamie, squirms in his seat, looks around, pulls up his socks. He has already been given a thunderous look by Bert, their father.

Behind his back, Bert’s known as The Giant.

One frown as Bert leans forward to observe Jamie’s restlessness is usually enough. But he leaned forward twice this morning and finally leaned across his daughters to squeeze Jamie’s knee.

Tears came to Jamie’s eyes, he inhaled sharply. The Giant’s pinch.

Jode knows that next time Jamie will be hauled outside for a good paddling and sent to sit by himself.

Appearances in church are important to the older generation. Their respectability depends upon their serious, disciplined behaviour for those few hours on Sundays when the whole world sees their piety and humility before their Maker.

Of course, on Monday mornings, and sometimes, Sunday nights, most of the people of the congregation go back to their usual treachery, pettiness and thick headed violence.

The appeal to the patriotism of young men and their families is everywhere.

The Lord has raised up warriors to defend us in the Latter Times Reverend Rule declares. He tells the congregation not to worry, the fate of God’s people is in good hands.

Jode feels the stares of the congregation upon him. He knows that many are staring at the boys about to go into training, like himself.

The Reverend gets to the part about blood and sacrifice and suffering, the part which makes people squirm every week. His voice rises with emotional fervour. He calls the young men in uniform, soldiers of Christ

Jode hears the comparison again. Each time it is repeated he hears Robbie’s’s words and sees Carey in his mind’s eye.

Everyone was going, not just him. It was a great adventure.

Jode feels Maw squeeze his right arm, the snuggling of Jamie. He looks straight ahead at the broad shoulders of Uncle Bill, his father’s older brother.

Bill’s huge, but no one else in the family is as big as The Giant. Big and mean when he’s mad. Not mean as in cheap, mean as in ruthless.

Nobody crosses Bert Flynn. Not even his own brothers.

Jode knows that there are worse fathers, much worse.

Some kids didn’t have fathers at all. Some were glad to be rid of the cruel presences in their homes when their fathers went to war.

Jode wears his only jacket and tie to church. He had to wear an armband in public for the past few days so he wouldn’t be mistaken for a shirker.

He feels a range of emotions as the time approaches. They’ll be shipping out any time now.

Uncle Bill has his horde with him and Aunt Vi, the wife who bore all seven of his children, or was it eight? No matter, if it wasn’t eight now, it soon would be. Children popped out of Vi regularly.

Reverend Rule calls on the congregation to join him in singing Shall We Gather by the River?

Jode hears the shuffling of feet and popping of joints as they stand with Mrs.Grey’s first chords.

Hymn books open, a flurry of rustling paper and clearing of throats.

Jode mouths the words until his mother digs him in the ribs with her elbow. After that, he sings loudly.

Jamie sings loudly too. He knows The Giant is keeping an eye on him.

Barbara and her twin sister, Angela, between Jamie and Bert, join with shrill, off key voices.

Bert sings enthusiastically with a deep bass. No less is expected of him.

He organized the volunteers for church building when he was just Jode’s age. He was running two transport companies and their farm at the time.

The community saw what an excellent fixer and organizer he was, like his father before him.

Flynn’s farm on the western outskirts of Ottawa became the destination for many of the entrepreneurial class as Bert’s reputation grew,

He was known to be a hard, stubborn negotiator, but someone willing to make an investment in a man’s dreams for a percentage of the rewards. He was also as tough as he was big. As a young man he was a principal in legendary brawls with the French gangs from Quebec.

Jode sees Laure from the corner of his eye when he turns toward his mother.

She’s there today, a rare appearance with her mother, Marie, and stepfather, John.

Dark, beautiful Marie, John’s new wife, carried a little mystery with her. Whispers of Suffragette activity in London.

Fortunately, Marie speaks good English as well as French, as does her daughter, Laure.

As John’s wife, Marie is passionately against the War but discreet about it.

Laure’s beautiful as ever, glowing with life. She holds the same views as her mother.

Jode liked the little creases between her eyes which appeared when she was trying to pronounce an especially difficult English word.

Her red hair is combed and arranged down her back perfectly. She has high teenage breasts which can’t be completely hidden beneath her church frock.

Jode knows that she’s mouthing the words, not singing, going through the motions.

He feels himself harden and thinks of the words which The Giant spoke just the other day.

There are urges he said, lighting a cigar, looking at the calendar on the big, rolltop desk in his office, which can come upon a man. Sexual urges. These are to be controlled and ignored until you’re married. Do you hear me, Jode?

Yessir

When this war is over, you can settle down, get married, have all the sexual urges you want. It’s a union that’s satisfying in more ways than one. Are we clear?

Yessir

Laure looks so angelic, the picture of rosy cheeked charm, innocent, virginal. If they only knew.

Jode turns as he sits down to check that Jamie hasn’t placed his hymn book on his seat.

Jamie does it often, thinks it’s hilarious.

The Giant’s other brother, Carl, used to be seated with his brood, on the aisle in the row in front of Uncle Bill. Now there was just Megan, Carl’s widow and her three young kids.

Jackie and Johnny, Carl’s twin boys, had been killed in the war.

His wife, Megan, was a pleasant, busy woman before the boys were killed. When it happened, vitality seemed to drain from her overnight.

They got the news one day, Megan lost her spark, then Carl hung himself in the barn.

At times, it seemed like the strain upon her was too much for Megan to bear, but she got the strength to carry on from somewhere.

The younger three kids suffered from the deaths of their older brothers and their father, but not from the lack of care of their mother.

Jackie and Johnny were Jode’s favourite cousins, Uncle Carl, his favourite uncle.

All gone. Empty seats where they used to sit.

Jode visualizes Uncle Carl reaching across the back of the pew behind his wife to give Jackie or Johnny a short, silent slap. He knew that they fought over who had to sit nearest to their father on Sundays. Usually, the one on the losing end of a bet or a contest would have to sit next to their mother, within Carl’s reach. They knew that their brother was bound to antagonize them into doing something Carl didn’t approve of.

He’d reach around Megan to quiet the nearest one with a painful slap or pinch.

The twins just weren’t cut out to sit in church for that long, listening to things that held less and less interest for them. They were full of energy and teenage liveliness. They couldn’t sit still unless they were eating or sleeping.

War seemed so right for them, too. It was right up their alley; adventure and travel. Everyone said it would be over in a few months when they joined up.

Jode feels the sadness. People like Carl and Megan should never have