The Disenchanted Soldier

by Vicky Adin

  “I feel real sorry for you having to spend the night with so much water going through the house and all. Must have been a huge worry for you with the little ones.”

  Emma was grateful that he kept up a non-stop banter as it saved her the need to speak and explain. She was too exhausted.

  “It’s going to take a while to clear away this amount of water before you can get back in and start the clean-up,” Mr Stansell continued. “I’ll help find a place for you all to sleep. Let’s get you back to Foxton and reunited with Charlie first. You can worry about it all later.”

  Emma couldn’t have agreed more.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Foxton

  1900–1904

  February 1900

  “Mary tells me there are boys in town wanting to sign up for this wretched war in South Africa,” Emma said one late-summer morning as she dished up breakfast. “The young Perrau boy left a few days ago.”

  “Silly young fool,” muttered Daniel, tucking hungrily into his porridge. “They have no idea what they are getting themselves into. Doesn’t matter where it is, war’s a messy business. I’m glad our boys are too young.”

  “A couple of the older boys at school are all excited about it,” Bill said, happy to chip in to an adult conversation. “They can’t wait to be old enough to sign up. They are hoping it lasts until they can. Teacher’s been telling us where it is and why they are fighting.”

  “That may be so, boy. But this war’s got nothing to do with us.” Finished with his breakfast, Daniel got to his feet, picked up his lunchbox and kissed Emma on the forehead. “I’m off now.” Turning to Charlie he added, “And you, young man, can get any ideas out of your head.”

  “Not me, Pa,” Charlie grinned. “But I think our Bill here might be keen.”

  Daniel ruffled Bill’s hair. “You’ll grow out of it, lad. Believe me, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  Bill blushed bright red at the attention.

  “You walking with me, Charlie?”

  “Yes, Pa. Coming.” He swallowed the last few mouthfuls of porridge, grabbed his lunch, cap and coat and followed Daniel out the door.

  “Come on, the rest of you,” chivvied Emma. “You’ll be late for school.”

  Charlie, now sixteen, was working as a flax mill hand and thought himself a man. He matched his father step for step as they walked into town. “Pa, why do you say the South African war has nothing to do with us?”

  “It’s all about power and greed, son. The British lords want control of the land because there are riches to be had. Trade routes, gold and diamonds, my boy. Diamonds buried underground. Those who have them have the money. The British don’t want the Old Dutch to have it. Pure and simple. I’ll have no truck with it.”

  “But we are British, aren’t we?” suggested Charlie, aware of his mixed heritage. “I’ve heard them say we should be willing to fight for our homeland.”

  “Let them fight their own wars. New Zealand is our country, lad – not England. I like this country. It treats people fair and square. Decent wages, and opportunities and freedoms like you would never know in England. Why do you think there are so many people from so many different countries coming here?”

  “Dunno. Never thought about it.”

  “Your grandfather – your mother’s father, that is – used to tell me he left Saxony because of the wars.” Daniel’s voice changed. Charlie could see him staring into the far distance, seeing something else, another time, another place. “It was the poor villagers who’d lived side by side for generations who were forced to fight one another for some cause or another. Many died, too many, and the rich got richer. It was the poor what suffered. No. I’ll not fight again except to defend my family, not in someone else’s battle.”

  “But even in Foxton there are people with more land and money than we have. Does that make us poor?” asked Charlie.

  “Yes. And no,” said his father. “We don’t have as much money as some, but we have riches beyond compare. Good food in our stomachs and a solid roof over our heads. We are together as a family; we are healthy. Not everyone has that. But that’s not the point. The point is, we have rights, lad. Rights. Choices. I can choose where to work and for how much. I can choose where to live. I have the freedom to say what I think without being thrown in gaol. I didn’t appreciate all that when I was young. But what’s important now is I can choose whether to fight or not – the wars here taught me that. Nope, no more wars for me – or mine. Not if I can help it.”

  23 January 1901

  The nation came to a standstill upon receiving the news that Queen Victoria had died.

  “Emma, you wouldn’t have believed it,” said Daniel, waving the paper as he rushed through the doorway. “People were wailing in the streets, men donned black armbands, flags lowered to half-mast. They were queuing up outside the Herald and Telegraph offices straining to see the notices as soon as they were pinned to the board. It was bedlam. I was lucky to get a copy.”

  Nobody knew what changes lay ahead but change there would be. Victoria had been on the throne for so long. The new king, Edward VII, had been a popular figure as Prince of Wales, and the government was quick to demonstrate its loyalty to him with messages speeding back and forth across the oceans of the world, but nobody knew what he’d be like once on the throne.

  “Let me see,” said Emma as Daniel spread the papers out on the table. They read all the articles and reports about ‘Victoria the Good’ and her life, for days on end. The papers glorified the Queen, the Empire, and supported the continuing war in South Africa. They offered their loyalty to the new king on behalf of the people. Within a matter of a few days calls were made for memorials to be erected, for official days of mourning and a recognised Memorial Day to be set. In the end, they chose May 24th, her birthday.

  Emma attended the memorial service in the church but in reality life continued for most working people as it had. The queen’s death and the character of the new king were topics of conversation for many months, but slowly and surely, life returned to normal. Talk turned to practical events: new shipments of goods, stock sales, the rising price for flax fibre – topics that had direct impact on the lives of the people of the town.

  Some months later as spring turned to summer, Emma noticed that Lizzie had taken to walking along the riverbank at odd times. She held her counsel, expecting the girl would say something about her behaviour, but time passed, Christmas came and went and still nothing was said.

  “Charlie. Have you noticed where Lizzie goes when she walks down by the river?” Emma asked one evening as they prepared for bed. She hoped there was a young man involved now that Lizzie was coming up twenty next June.

  “No, but there’s a lot going on down at the boatyards. The price and demand for flax has been going up steadily, so there’s a need for more boats. Must be six in all working the river right now. There’s money to be made there, I can tell you.”

  Emma, pleased that the increased work at the flax mill meant the boys were bringing good wages into the house, tried to tie this piece of information to Lizzie. The girl had never shown any interest in the boats before. The closest she had ever got to them was when she went with Emma to drag her father off one whenever he got a notion into his head to go off somewhere again. “What’s that to do with Lizzie?”

  “There are young men down on those boats,” said Daniel with a wink, reading her mind. “Young men she hasn’t known all her life.”

  Emma smiled. “That is good news. It’s time she found herself a good husband. I will find out more. She is getting too old still to be at home with her mama, even though I would miss her very much – she is such a help with the younger ones.”

  The rest of 1902 passed without incident. No floods to speak of, but lots of work. Daniel’s sixtieth birthday was celebrated in April. He’d insisted on nothing fancy – the family and a few close friends at home. He didn’t want too many people to know, he said, or else someone would be s
uggesting he retired. He had no intention of doing that. Instead, he went on winning tenders for the council.

  News came in June that the South African war was over. The troops started making their way home, with ships and contingents arriving regularly over the following three months.

  The joy of knowing their men were coming home generated a lot of excitement. Celebrations were held in all the major cities. Balls and parties were organised in welcome, and dignitaries got in on the act by heading parades and making speeches. Newspaper editors wrote eloquently about ‘our brave soldiers’ and their loyalty. Patriotism was the key word.

  Daniel had no time for any of it. Load of hypocrites. During the war the papers were rubbishing the need for us to be there at all. Now it sounds like New Zealand won the war single-handed.

  More important, as far as Daniel was concerned anyway, were two unrelated events. In November, Richard Seddon was re-elected as prime minister, and the horseracing season had been successful.

  Lizzie confided in her mother about the young man in the boatbuilding yards who had caught her eye – one of the Howe boys. Daniel knew the father well, having shared many a pint with him.

  Emma was pleased since Edwin already owned two boats, the Nina and the Matara. He worked them up and down the river, shipping green flax, baled hemp, coal and provisions, so he could offer Lizzie a secure life.

  Both parents happily gave permission for Lizzie and Edwin, known to everyone as young Ted, to go courting.

  1903

  The year proved to be an exciting one for the women in the family. Fashions were changing, more goods were becoming available and transport was getting easier. Daniel wasn’t sure which event pleased Emma and Lizzie most – Lizzie turning twenty-one, or Lizzie and Ted Howe announcing a date for their wedding. Either way, the result was endless talk about dresses and parties. He did his best to keep out of it, agreeing to give the bride away but not agreeing to a new suit. “There’s nothing wrong with the one I have. I’ve hardly worn it.”

  “But it’s so out of date, Pa,” said Lizzie. “Please.”

  But Daniel would not budge.

  “Charlie, mein,” said Emma one evening when they found time to be alone.

  Daniel was immediately on edge. It had been a while since she had called him such, and it usually meant she wanted something. He made a ‘harrumph’ noise that he hoped sounded like a response.

  “The ladies tell me there is a photographer in Palmerston North. I don’t know how it works but he takes a picture with his black box. They are then coloured by hand so they turn out perfect images of what we are.”

  “What’s that to do with the likes of us? I thought that was for the papers and books and such.”

  “No. Not any more.” Emma came close, put her finger to his chin turning his head so she could look him in the eye. “I want us to have a photograph taken with Lizzie.”

  “Why?” Daniel turned away, sat on the bed and started to take his shoes off. He didn’t want to look at her. He knew she would get what she wanted if he did. There was a slight chance of holding his ground if he didn’t.

  Emma sat at her dressing table. “So when she moves away, I have an image of her on the mantelpiece to remind me of her every day.” Emma’s tone was casual but Daniel was on instant alert.

  “Why would she move away?”

  “She is to be married. She will go with her husband. He will go where there is work.” He was now worried.

  “But he’s working here. On the river. He has two boats. Why would he leave?” Daniel put his shoes under the bed, hung up his waistcoat and loosened his braces.

  “Lizzie tells me that man Jupp keeps offering to buy the boats. Edwin’s tempted, she says.” Emma removed all the pins from her hair. She started to brush her hair with long strokes. Her fair hair shone in the lamplight as she smoothed it out.

  Daniel was silent as he watched her. Now thirty-seven years old, to him she was beautiful. The epitome of a healthy, mature woman. After all these years, he still wondered why he was so lucky. From his position he could see two images of her: one from the rear, her hair swept over her left shoulder, the other in the mirror as she brushed it through, stroke after sensuous stroke. Whatever she wants, she can have. Whatever happened would be fine with him, as long as he had his Emma.

  He coughed to clear the thickness that had developed in his throat. “Come to bed, Emma. We’ll talk more about this later.”

  * * *

  The day of the wedding was a blustery winter’s day. Daniel, Emma and Lizzie made their way to the photographic studio to get the photographs that Emma wished for. The photographer waited for everyone to be ready before placing the three of them as he wanted in front of the drop cloth.

  “Tut, tut. Both of you in such dark clothes,” he said, waving his hands in the air, fretting over the result. “Oh well, never mind.”

  He sat Daniel and Emma side by side, fussing around making sure hands were resting as he liked, shoulders back and heads facing the camera, before making a final adjustment to the lighting cloth.

  “Now, miss, would you stand behind, please? In the middle. Between your parents. Yes, that’s right.”

  Through the camera lens the photographer studied the trio. The mother looks work worn and weary, and far too austere. And much older than her years. Perhaps it’s the illusion of age, since the father is so much older.

  The more he looked at Emma the more he saw she had nice, even-toned skin, with few wrinkles and bright eyes. She seemed a pleasant woman.

  Emma smiled at him. For a short time, her face lit up until she let her features drop into their normal pose.

  Ducking his head under the black cloth behind the camera and with the flash stick in his hand, he lined up the image. Standing up again, he let off the flash and clicked the camera shutter. He was pleased with that shot. The flash had not startled them, and they were all looking at him.

  “Thank you. Now I’ll take one more of Mr and Mrs Adin by themselves. Miss, can you step out of the picture for a moment, please.” A bit more fussing, another check, another flash and click for the last photo.

  “Good. Good. Now, I’ll take some notes as to colours and we’ll be done.”

  In the order book resting on the table he wrote some comments, turning his head back and forth towards them as they prepared to take their leave.

  Emma shook hands with him. “Thank you. When will they be ready?”

  “In about a fortnight, ma’am.”

  Daniel extended his hand, too, handing the man an envelope in payment.

  “Thank you, sir. Good luck, miss. I hope the rest of the day goes well for you.”

  The ladies turned up the hoods on their capes and stepped outside.

  The rest of the day did go well, thought Emma later. Lizzie and Ted were married without fuss. Lizzie’s dress had been a simple sprigged muslin, with four rows of small ruffles down the front and a high collar where she wore her mother’s brooch.

  Daniel was a happy host, pouring handles of beer for the men and cider or sherry for the women. The ladies had excelled themselves with the supper, and the household was a merry one that night. From time to time, he stood back and watched Emma move around the room, offering refreshments, talking to this person and that, making sure no one stood alone. He was so proud of her and could see how popular his little wife had become.

  While Emma appeared quiet and unassuming, underneath there was a will of iron, as he well knew, much to his chagrin.

  1904

  At times like this Daniel wondered where all the years had gone. They seemed to have slipped by in the ordinariness of life – one day he was young and now he was old. The turn of the century had been lauded as a significant event, to be celebrated as something new, offering new beginnings, new hope – a new future.

  Four years on, here he was holding the future in his hands.

  Much had happened in that time but nothing as significant as this moment. He sat on the edge of
the chair, his large, square hands cupped in front of him, his arms resting on his knees, holding the tiny firstborn of his firstborn.

  Wrapped in white swaddling from head to toe, with only the miniature face showing, lay his grandchild, Elsie Elizabeth Howe. So little was she that she didn’t fill the space within his protective hold. Eyes closed, the little face twitched and frowned in her new surroundings, with involuntary reflexes. He sat there transfixed while the women folk rushed back and forth from room to room and Ted stood watching.

  “What you think of your new grandchild then, Charlie?” Ted was too bombastic for Daniel’s liking, especially since he knew how tight the man could be with money. Emma had told him many a tale after talking with Lizzie, worried as she was about her.

  Daniel kept his eyes on the baby. He wasn’t so fond of his son-in-law these days. “You’re a lucky man, Ted Howe, to have our Lizzie as your wife, and now a daughter. But I don’t think you appreciate them as much as you should.” He raised his head and eyeballed the other man. “Don’t you do anything to hurt either of them or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Ted became defensive and aggressive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, old man. Mind your own business. I treat Lizzie fine.”

  “Good. Keep it that way.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, it’s no threat.” Daniel changed his hold on Elsie, stood up and faced Ted. “But if I ever hear of you treating her bad, there will be trouble. Now take your baby and go and see your wife.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Auckland

  2010

  Libby uploaded the photos of the latest family event from her camera to the computer, opened the software program and started to edit them. Once she had collated them into a file, set the style and chosen the background music, she took the laptop out to the family room to show Ben. They watched the slideshow fall into place in front of them.

  Libby said, “Amazing what you can do these days with such a tiny camera and a couple of bits of cable. I don’t pretend to be an expert and some of these are a bit blurry, but some are not bad.”