The Disenchanted Soldier

by Vicky Adin

  This time when Daniel opened the paper, the verdict had been given. “Silly bugger,” he muttered. With a sigh he folded the paper and put it away. He would have to talk to Emma now.

  Looking out the window he could see her hanging out the washing, her stomach big with child, their sixth one, due in January. Lizzie, now thirteen, was helping, trying to ease her mother’s burden.

  She’s a good girl, our Lizzie. Maybe I should do something nice for Emma. Won’t soften the news, but at least it’s something I could do.

  “Emma,” he called, making up his mind. “How about we take the train into Palmerston North today? I think it’s time you had those new boots you were talking about.”

  “Why, Charlie! That would be wonderful. But I could get them from the general store.”

  “No,” he replied. “We’ll make a trip of it and have some time to ourselves.”

  “How thoughtful of you. Are you sure we can afford it?”

  “Of course we can. I have said so, haven’t I? Now get your hat and shawl, and let’s be going.” He checked his pocket watch. “There’s just enough time if you hurry.”

  “What about the chores? And the children?” asked Emma, taking her apron off as she came into the house.

  “Stop making excuses and come along or I’ll change my mind.”

  Standing on the stoop, Daniel shouted across the paddock. “Charlie. You come here now.”

  The boy came bounding across the long grass.

  “I wish he’d come that quick when I call him,” Emma commented.

  Daniel ignored her and addressed the children. “Your mother and I are going into Palmerston North for the day. Lizzie, you are old enough now to take responsibility, so look after Clara, watch Henry doesn’t get into trouble and see to some of your mother’s work. We’ll be home for our supper. Charlie! Don’t get up to mischief, and don’t do anything silly. Watch William and help Lizzie look after the younger ones, and remember to do your chores. I want the horse and house cow moved to the lower paddock, remember?”

  “Aw. Why can’t we come too?” whined Young Charlie.

  “Because I said so. Now get away with you.”

  The train arrived in Palmerston North shortly before noon. Daniel managed to avoid the subject uppermost in his mind during the journey – he considered the noise and proximity of other people unsuitable for that discussion.

  “Let’s go get ourselves a cup of tea and some sandwiches at those new tearooms before we go to the boot shop.”

  “That would be nice, Charlie. If that’s what you want to do.” Daniel could see Emma looking at him quizzically. I can’t fool her. She knows me too well. She’ll be wondering why?

  “Righto, then. Come along,” he said as he proffered his arm and led her down the street. He was determined to make Emma’s day a good one and using his best manners would help. He hoped there would be a quiet table where they could talk.

  Daniel could see he was in luck as soon as they entered the tearooms and he steered Emma to a quiet booth in the far corner. He rested his hat on the seat beside him and ordered high tea for two from the waitress. While they waited he tried making small talk about the place.

  “What’s wrong, Charlie?” asked Emma. “I know there’s something. You’ve been acting strangely all morning.”

  The arrival of the three-tiered stand of tiny sandwiches, delicate cakes and fresh scones momentarily prevented Daniel answering. Emma poured the tea and handed him a cup that looked so delicate he thought he would break it merely by picking it up. He watched Emma as she selected items from the stand and put them on a plate in front of him. His large, rough hands were not built to handle things so small.

  “This is not like you, Charlie,” persisted Emma. “You are looking very much out of place. Won’t you please tell me what is going on?”

  Daniel’s eyes followed Emma, who was enjoying the moment. She ate one sandwich and then another before taking a cake.

  With a deep sigh, Daniel resigned himself to his task. “You are right, my Emma. I do feel out of place, but I wanted to give you a nice day out.”

  “And I appreciate it. But why?”

  “Because I have some news and I don’t think you’ll be happy about it.”

  Emma lowered her cup to the saucer. “Eat first, then tell me.” Her expression said she was expecting bad news.

  He swallowed the tiny sandwiches and cakes in one bite, wrapped his hand around the teacup ignoring the handle and drained it. “It’s about Fred,” he began, as she sat silent and passive, eyes lowered. “He’s been caught sheep stealing.”

  Emma’s eyes flashed, bright, wide. She stared at Daniel with shock. “What? Stupid boy!”

  “The papers say him and the two Lukaschewski brothers ...”

  “I knew they’d have something to do with it.” Emma was still vehemently opposed to her stepfamily.

  “Fred’s been charged with the stealing of over 300 sheep from the Wilson property at Mt Stewart.”

  “That’s near Bulls,” Emma said. “I remember. But I thought he was in Taranaki.” She paused, thinking. “Oh, never mind. Go on.”

  “He weren’t being too clever about it, either. The papers say the sheep were shipped by train to Kakaramea and offered for sale by a man giving the name of Fohrmann. Now, that is stupid. Rudolph Lukaschewski was also charged with horse stealing and his brother Frank with sheep stealing.”

  “I don’t care about them. Serves them right. What’s to happen to Fred?”

  Preparing himself for her reaction, he took a deep breath before looking her in the face. “Three years hard labour.”

  Emma sat silent as she digested this shocking piece of information. Daniel watched the expressions fleeting across her face, waiting for her to say something.

  “Is this my fault? Is this because I left him?” Her voice was plaintive and remorseful.

  “What are you talking about, woman?” Daniel exploded, but lowered his voice to a whisper when he remembered where they were. “Are you suggesting this wouldn’t have happened if you had not had Lizzie, Charlie and all the others, not been thrown out by your father, not been married to me? That’s all nonsense and you know it.”

  “No, not exactly. But I could have done more to help if I had not been so far away.”

  “It happened, and nothing you could have done would have changed anything. Could you have prevented your mother dying or your father remarrying? Or his death, for that matter? Could you?” demanded Daniel.

  “No,” she answered in a whisper.

  “It was those things that made the difference to Fred, not you.”

  “But ...”

  “No buts. You have that next one in your belly to think about. Fred is the master of his own destiny. Think of yourself for once.”

  “Yes, Charlie. All right.” Pausing, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “We aren’t legally wed, you know.”

  The waitress arrived at that moment to clear the table. Daniel sat stunned by this obvious statement while Emma chatted to the waitress. She was right. They had never got married, not properly. They had simply become a married couple by sharing everything: the hard work, the sorrows, the hardships, the fun, the laughter – the love.

  “Will that be all, sir?” asked the waitress, interrupting Daniel’s thoughts.

  “Yes. Thank you,” he said, reaching into his pocket to hand her some coins.

  “Let’s walk, Emma. It’s time to get you those boots.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Auckland

  2009

  Libby sent her silent, grateful thanks to all the earnest and diligent genealogists and historians who’d spent hours, weeks, months and even years transferring thousands of records from hard copy to digitalised copy. Online researching made her life so much easier. Whenever she had a spare few moments she did a web search and found pages from history books, articles from newspapers, ships’ records, birth, death and marriage records and so much more. No more squinting
at faded microfiche, no more travelling to distant records offices to find some small detail, or worse – nothing. Here it all was in front of her, and for a few dollars she could order hard copies of entire files.

  Surfing through timelines for the decades and the inevitable list of politicians, religious appointments and major events for the year, Libby was surprised how many sporting events were listed. It would seem that New Zealand had always been a sporting nation, always competitive and punching above its weight. Was that the start of the Kiwi personality emerging?

  Libby wondered whether Daniel or Emma got involved with any sport – other than horse racing. She doubted it, knowing the family in general, but the thought was an interesting one.

  She read about Leila Adair, the American balloonist who arrived in 1894, the first woman to fly in New Zealand. There had been throngs of people to watch her, so the paper said, when she took off from Palmerston North. Had Daniel been one of them? Libby had never heard of her but all the newspapers reported on the event.

  Then there were the endless shipwrecks taking their toll with huge loss of life, as well as precious cargo. These days people kill themselves on the roads instead. Driving too fast, taking risks, killing people one or two at a time.

  Looking up from her computer she saw her daughter, Danielle, arrive. She closed it down and went to the door to welcome her. They gathered the photos and papers strewn around the kitchen table into piles to make room for the fresh coffee and delicious Morning Glory muffins, still warm from the local bakery. The appetising aroma filled the room.

  “You know, Aunty Ruby and the others would have a fit if they could see us now,” said Libby. “Tea and homemade scones was the order of the day, with milk and cream – to support the farmers. Not black coffee – and certainly not bought cake.”

  “Times have changed, Mum. I haven’t the time these days.”

  “And I don’t have the inclination. Here’s to good coffee and bought cake!” Libby lifted her coffee mug in the air.

  “And to another Adin tradition.” Danni mirrored her. “What’ve you been doing, Mum?” she asked, nodding at the papers on the table.

  “Looking for new leads. I’ve found all sorts of snippets, some of which are hard to link together, but a lot of it isn’t relevant.”

  “How do you find all this stuff?”

  “I look it up on the Internet or at the library, if your father doesn’t already know the answer. One of my favourites is the Papers Past website. It’s amazing. I’ve found out so much, even though there are gaps. With so many historical records being put on the web these days, it’s great. Fascinating. I can spend hours surfing and reading the history of a place.”

  “Oh, Mum! You should hear yourself. You sound like an old schoolmarm.”

  “Enough of the ‘old’, thank you! And it’s your father who’s the teacher in the family. Anyway, you asked.” Libby was put out by the slight. “But if you don’t want to know, that’s fine.”

  Danni crossed the room and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Love you, Mum. Now, tell me, what little snippets of gossip have you found by reading old newspapers?”

  Mollified and sitting comfortably again, Libby carried on with her story. “Well, let me see. There’s a whole heap of them. Like the time your great-grandfather, Young Charlie, fell in the river. It’s quite a long article with all the details about him being rescued.”

  Libby passed a copy of the cutting across the table detailing how Emma’s screams had brought everyone running.

  “I can imagine her panic but why on earth didn’t she rescue him?” asked Danni. “I’d have jumped in and got him myself. I wouldn’t have hung around waiting for someone else to do it.”

  “In a buttoned-to-the-neck blouse, long skirt, petticoats and boots? I doubt it! And Emma wouldn’t have been able to swim anyway, so she would likely have made matters worse, or drowned herself.”

  “Oh, yes. Good point. Hadn’t thought of that. So, what else?”

  “Daniel, always known as Chas Adin in the newspapers, fell off his horse and broke his left forearm. Dr Dermer was called to attend. Your father reckoned he was probably drunk, knowing the stories about his drinking.”

  “They reported things like that in the newspaper back then?”

  Libby smiled at her daughter’s reaction. “Oh, yes. And more. Daniel donated five shillings to the defence of Parnell.”

  “The what?”

  “I wondered about that too. The Parnell I knew about was the militant Irish leader, and even then I had to look him up. He was accused of being involved with the murder of two important English people and had to clear his name. A defence fund was set up, and people from all walks of life, including working-class people, from all around the world, bankrolled his defence.”

  “And Daniel donated to it?”

  “Yes. Now your father tells me this was a sign that our Daniel, along with most of the country at that time, was developing a social conscience. He wasn’t the military man he’d once been.”

  “What does Dad mean by that?” Danni frowned, trying to assimilate what her mother was saying.

  “Well, as I understand it, there was what was called the long depression. Many people lost their jobs, new immigrants stopped arriving and lots emigrated from here to Australia. Times were not good. The people turned to the government for support, and set up family farms to survive.”

  “Is that what Daniel did?”

  “No, he went to work for the Foxton Council.”

  “Doing what?” Danni’s interest was piqued.

  “He was a drainage contractor, I suppose. Had been all his life, apart from short stints in the flax mills. He used to submit tenders to clear, clean and maintain the council drains and dig new ones. His name appears in the paper a lot. Every time they met, the minutes of the meetings and the successful tenders were published in the paper. Including what they were worth.”

  “Really? How interesting. I never knew they reported such detail. Funny how things change. How much would the contracts have been worth?”

  “Anything from one shilling a chain to one and sixpence a chain. I don’t know how much that would be in today’s money but enough to support a large family, by all accounts.”

  “Yuck, what a horrible job. What’s a chain?”

  “An imperial measurement for twenty-two yards.” Libby waited for the confused expression and wasn’t disappointed.

  “Huh?”

  “About twenty metres in your language. Yes, he must have been awfully dirty when he got home. I can’t see you doing the washing from that job. Wouldn’t quite suit the high heels and corporate image, would it, my love?”

  “You’re right there. It’s bad enough now with the kids. I’m forever doing the washing.”

  “No, you are forever filling the washing machine. Back in those days you would’ve had to have made your own soap, boil the water, stir the clothes or sheets around by hand with a large wooden stick, haul it out and rinse it with what they called ‘blue’, push it through the hand mangle and somehow heave it up onto a long clothesline held aloft with a pole. Oh, and very likely chop the wood to light the fire under the copper before you could start.”

  “Hmm. Yes, well. Thank heavens for women’s lib and modern appliances. More coffee?” Danni got up to make a fresh brew. “So what did the government do to help?”

  Libby handed her mug over. “People were desperate for some sort of community of care, I suppose. Not that they would have called it that then, but something to give working-class people a better standard of living. The first Liberal government was elected in 1891, and they set up the welfare state, with the old-age pension and suchlike. The unions also started around that time. People began to understand they could join together to get better wages and conditions. But what really changed was the economy. Based on wool and local trade, it shifted to the export of frozen meats to Britain and a bit later, dairy products. It changed the whole economy for New Zealand. And, m
ore importantly from our point of view, the Libs gave women the right to vote in 1893. The first country in the world to do so.”

  “And so they should have,” Danni asserted. “I can’t imagine women being treated so badly back then. Still, I suppose women are being oppressed in all sorts of places in the world even today.”

  “True. We owe a debt of thanks to the women who fought, and died, to get us those rights. Emma would have been one of the first to vote.”

  “That’s good, but enough of that. I’m not into all that political stuff. What else did you find in those newspapers?”

  “Christmas Day wasn’t considered a holiday until 1873, and it was 1894 before New Year’s Day, Easter and some other days were made legal holidays for women and children. I’m not sure about the men.”

  “How on earth did people survive without holidays?” Danni choked on her coffee. “I count the days until we can have a day off. I’ve never given it a thought that people might not have been entitled to any. I don’t think I would have liked to live in those days. It sounds like hard work to me.”

  Flicking through some papers, Libby handed Danni a few copies. “So, try living with this. Report after report on the flooding. The land was flat and swampy, and the area around the river at Whirokino was well known for flooding. No wonder Daniel was busy digging drains. It might have good for the flax mills, but nearly every year the water caused havoc.”

  “How awful.”

  “That’s for certain. More than once they were rescued by boat. Listen. ‘20th April 1895. Mr Adin and family were canoed across the river to an old house near the flaxmill.’ Two years later, the paper reported that the flood had gone through the house. Emma was rescued, but how terrifying for her, alone with the young children.”

  “Poor Emma. What a horrible and frightening thing to happen. How do you know this?”

  “By this personal ad.”

  Libby handed over the copy of the news clipping to Danni to read.

  “ ‘22nd April 1897. I beg to tender my thanks to Messrs F Eure and J R Stansell for taking Mrs Adin and family from my house on Easter Monday in their boat. Chas Adin.’ I find it amazing the papers printed all that detail about one family. What about everyone else?”