The Disenchanted Soldier

by Vicky Adin

  The family got together most weekends for Sunday lunch to catch up with events now that Chas and Nell had their own household.

  “Doesn’t look like I’m gonna get it after all, boys,” said Daniel.

  “That would be a shame, Pa. Are you sure?” asked Chas.

  “They haven’t said no outright, but they can’t find anybody that says they were with me.” Daniel shrugged, dismissing the idea. “What’s happening down at the mill?”

  Soon the conversation was all about the price of fibre, the need for more farm workers and the numbers of boats working the river.

  “Honestly, Pa. It’s that busy these days down at the wharf you’d hardly credit it,” said Henry. “Sometimes there’s four steamers tied up at the wharf and more in the river waiting. Archie was telling me it’s a real battle for control between Anchor Steam and Levin & Co. They’ve both got five ships. And plans for more they reckon.”

  “Not sure Ted Howe did the wisest thing selling his boats to Jupp back in ’04,” said Chas. “I know he made some money out of it, but then Jupp sold the whole fleet to that Wellington fella what owns Levin & Company a year later and made even more money. Now look at them.”

  “Couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, though, when the Matara got burnt,” said Fred.

  “Who? Ted? I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him,” said Daniel. “He’s a tight-fisted bastard, that one.”

  “The Matara was his pride and joy. Did they ever catch the bugger who set it alight?”

  “No. Couldn’t pin it on anyone,” answered Chas. “It’s over two years ago now, so it looks like he got off scot-free.”

  The women chatted about young Nellie and the latest fashions and swapped recipes. High on their list was Nell being pregnant with her second child and how much they missed Lizzie and Elsie now they were living in Wellington.

  1912

  The family insisted Daniel celebrate his seventieth birthday whether he liked it or not. The house had been in chaos for days beforehand as the womenfolk cleaned the house, washed all the linen and prepared the food. There were meat pies and fruit pies to make, vegetables to prepare, as well as all sorts of cakes and slabs.

  “The sandwiches will have to be made fresh on the day,” said Emma, packing away the latest cake and wiping down the table.

  The delicious aroma pervading the house made Daniel’s mouth water at times, but he wasn’t going to let on that he might enjoy it. “Just make sure you have enough ale,” he said to Henry and William. “I don’t want anyone going thirsty in my house.”

  “All in hand, Pa. Don’t worry,” answered Henry. “Bill’s going to take the dray into town and bring back a keg.”

  On the day, the kitchen table was laden with food. As usual, once people started to arrive Daniel enjoyed himself more than he expected. The men talked about the changes going on in the town. Foxton was booming. The flax trade seemed unstoppable. Warehouses were going up, jetties being built and extended to meet the demands of the bigger ships, railways sidings added – one even ran right into the centre of the shed. Harry Proctor and Daniel spent some time talking about horse racing and the plans for the new stables at the racecourse. The women talked about the new shops opening up, the variety and quality of goods now available and the new hall.

  “Have you been able to persuade Charlie to go to the new movie shows, or anything at the dramatic society?” asked Mary Proctor, as she helped Emma clear away the supper plates.

  “Charlie? My Charlie? No. He wouldn’t be seen dead in one of those places. He likes listening to the brass band now and then when it’s playing in the streets, but no, give him his beer and his racing and he’s happy.”

  Yes, Daniel was a happy man.

  * * *

  This day, however, Daniel was feeling cross. His whole household was in an uproar again. It had been like it for months. He knew what was going on, and he left the women to it, but enough was enough. “For goodness’ sake, can’t a man get some peace in his own house?”

  “Gosh. What’s wrong with the old man today, Ma?” asked Clara as she rushed through the room followed by her younger sister, the dressmaker and a friend, for yet another fitting of her wedding gown.

  “Don’t you mind him none. He’s just feeling his age.”

  “Isn’t he excited for me?” Clara was devastated to think that everyone was not as happy as she was about her pending nuptials.

  “Clara, be sensible, girl. You’re not the first one to get married, nor will you be the last. It’s been a busy year. First his birthday in April, then Nell had her baby in May, but young Avis hasn’t settled well. I’ve been back and forth a lot to help out. Now here you are getting ready for your big day. I haven’t been around to see to him as often. Your father is a bit out of sorts, that’s all.”

  “He does like my Bill, doesn’t he?”

  “You know your father. He doesn’t take to any newcomer to the family until they prove they can fit in. Bill Sapsford is as good as any. Don’t fret, girl. Now stand still or we’ll never get this hem sorted.”

  A few days later Emma was working at the kitchen sink shortly after lunch. Looking out of the window across the fields in the direction of Foxton, she saw plumes of smoke drifting high into the sky. “Charlie. Come, Charlie. Where are you? Come. Look at this.”

  “What’s all the fuss, woman?” Daniel rushed into the room, hurrying to see what she was getting so agitated about. “What’s going on?”

  “Looks like a large fire. It’s coming from the town, isn’t it?”

  Without a doubt. The moment he saw the billowing dark shapes he knew what it was. “I’ll go see.”

  Daniel had long ago given up riding since the boys had given him a bicycle. It had taken him a little while to master the confounded machine but he was happy enough with it these days. Cycling was much easier now that the roads had been improved. An’ far quicker and easier to catch and stable than the horse, he chuckled to himself. As he cycled closer to town he found people rushing from everywhere.

  “Don’t get too close!” someone shouted above the clamouring of the fire bell.

  “What happened?” Daniel had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “No one knows yet, but watch out, it’s getting closer.”

  Amid the noise of people shouting, whistles blowing, the crackling of burning wood and the thick smoke that drifted high into the sky, Daniel could see the fire was spreading down the west side of the street faster than the bucket brigade could keep up. People hurried to and fro, desperate to save as much as they could. Furniture and goods were stacked haphazardly in the middle of the street.

  Before long, the volunteers gave up their efforts to stop the fires. They stood silent, along with the many bystanders, to watch the buildings burn. There was nothing else to do. Through it all, three or four buildings survived, including Whytes Hotel, but sixteen others had been totally destroyed.

  The town was devastated. Even though fires were a fairly common problem, there had been nothing to match the scale of this one. The residents rallied to help clean up. Shopkeepers moved to temporary premises on the eastern side while they sorted out what to do. Rumour was rife as to what had started the fire and where the seat of it had been. Had it been careless use of a gas lamp, or an arson attempt? How could a fire that large start from nothing? But in the end, nothing conclusive was found. People started picking up the pieces of their lives.

  Less than two months later, something woke Daniel around midnight. To begin with he couldn’t work out what had disturbed him. He got up to get a drink of water, and standing at the kitchen sink – where Emma had been standing on that midwinter June day – Daniel saw a bright orange glow in the sky.

  “What is it, Charlie? Why are you up?” Emma came to the window, clutching a shawl around her shoulders.

  “Look. Another fire. That’s the third this year.”

  “It looks big. As big as the June one,” said Emma.

  In silence they stoo
d watching for a few moments. Knowing there was nothing they could do, they went back to bed.

  With the daylight, Daniel and Emma made their way into town. They were shocked to see that the best part of the eastern side of the street had been burnt out. Somehow a few buildings still stood, thanks to the fickle direction of the wind and one corrugated-iron building.

  “Poor Mrs Nye,” said Emma. “That’s the second time for her. Her stationery shop was burnt down last time.”

  “Same with Betty’s Bootmakers. See.” Daniel pointed in the direction of where their temporary premises had been. “Without a water system, the poor bucket brigade will never be able to control fires like this. At the council meeting yesterday I was listening to some bigwig from the Palmerston North brigade offer a fire prevention scheme. Let’s hope they do something about it.”

  People were devastated by their losses and needed to blame someone. Emergency meetings were called. Vocal assemblies were held at the still-standing town hall. Insurance assessors arrived. At short notice, the council drafted a by-law to ensure that all new buildings in a designated area could only be constructed of brick or reinforced concrete. Strict guidelines as to the thickness of the walls and the space between them, the height and angle of the roofline and anything else the council considered would prevent any further fires spreading, were set down.

  Daniel came home from one meeting despondent. “You know, Emma, I wonder about people sometimes. The council put up a scheme for an artesian water supply, but because it’s going to cost the ratepayers in town more money, they turned it down. It’ll be years yet before it’s built. Just as well our house is far enough away.”

  Emma considered this news. “This town is unlucky. If it’s not the floods, it’s the fires. I suppose the one is worse than the other. But for me, I hope I don’t have to live through another flood either. Not if I can help it.”

  1913

  One day Emma came back from town with her basket full of shopping. She heaved it up onto the table, took out the envelope tucked down the side, turned it over to look at it and set it on the table. The letter, which she had collected from the post office, had an English postmark and was addressed to Mr D S (Charles) Adin, which was strange. He preferred to be known as Charles these days, but why someone over there would know that she didn’t understand. They didn’t often receive letters from England. Over all the years she had only known of one person to write to them – Daniel’s sister Elizabeth – and no more than once a year at best. This letter was not from her.

  Earlier Daniel had said he would be working on the fences that day. She called out to him from the kitchen door, hoping he would hear.

  “Charlie. I have a letter for you.”

  He appeared from the side of the house where he’d been stacking wood.

  “All right, you don’t have to shout.”

  “Oh! You startled me. I didn’t know you were there. You said you were going to work on the fence.”

  “Well, a man can change his mind, can’t he? You’d be grumbling if there wasn’t any wood for the fire.”

  “I would yes. But you shouldn’t be doing it. The boys can do it.”

  “I’m not in my grave yet. I’ll do it if I want to.”

  “Goodness. Let me make you a cup of tea. You sound out of sorts. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. I don’t know. Didn’t feel too good, that’s all. Don’t take no notice of me.”

  Daniel washed his hands under the outside pump and put on his shirt. Coming inside, he sank into the chair at the table and accepted the cup of tea Emma gave him. She’d noticed there were many times these days when he was not his usual cheerful self and she worried.

  “So what’s all this about a letter?” Daniel asked.

  “Here. See for yourself.” She handed him the envelope, and he ripped it open and unfolded the single page inside. “Well, I’ll be ...” He read it through before handing it to Emma. “Fancy that.”

  Emma scanned the letter and then read it again, trying to comprehend the contents. The letter was from the lawyers handling the estate of Daniel’s sister. She had died, single and with no other family, on 30th September 1912.

  “Charlie, oh, my dear. I am sorry.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all right. It’s been a lifetime since I saw Elizabeth. I barely remember much about her. If it hadn’t been for her occasional letters, I wouldn’t know anything at all.”

  Most of her estate was left to acquaintances, companions and a male friend, but she had left her younger brother thirty pounds.

  Chapter Twenty

  Foxton

  1914–1917

  War was declared between England and Germany on 5th August 1914. New Zealand immediately pledged its support. For months, the rumblings of war echoed through the telegraph wires and around the world to be reported in the papers up and down the country.

  Daniel wept as he read the news. Thousands had crowded the steps of parliament to hear the declaration, it said. People had cheered the rousing speeches given by the governor of New Zealand and William Massey, the prime minister, and sung the national anthem. But there were others, like Daniel, old men and women listening to the declaration who stood, silent, tears tracing their cheeks, so the paper reported.

  The irony of his situation was not lost on him. Twelve months earlier, almost to the day, he had sent his last formal application letter, as requested, to the Honourable James Allen, Minister for Defence, seeking his New Zealand War Medal.

  After more than three and a half years and many letters back and forth, his application had been granted. The medal, engraved with his name, Daniel Sampson Adin, No. 10 Company, 3rd Waikato Regiment, had arrived at the end of April.

  Now, no more than three months later, he was praying that none of his sons would have to go to war. That none of them would experience the horrors he had, or that they would ever have to question their conscience – as he had.

  The country he had once called home, and left, was at war. Again. And the country he had fought for and now called home was embroiled in the whole sorry mess.

  When will they learn that killing off the innocent sons of a nation will never bring accord? The families of those who died would grieve forever. The families of those who lived would carry guilt or condemnation, sometimes both, for the rest of their lives. And what about Emma’s people?

  “I hoped it would not come to this, Emma.”

  “So did I. But our boys won’t go. You know that. We’ve talked about it often enough over the years. It’s not in them.”

  “No. That’s one good thing, I suppose. But there’ll be lots who will. Life won’t be easy for those who don’t.”

  At day’s end, when William, Henry and Fred came home from work they found Chas, Nell and their three little ones already there. Nellie, now four, and Avis, two, played on the floor with the buttons and spoons Emma had given them. The newest arrival, Charles Edward Adin, now nine months old, sat on his grandmother’s knee playing with the beads of her necklace.

  After the round of greetings Daniel said, “Go wash up and sit down. Then we can talk.”

  “Amy, dear, make a fresh pot of tea,” said Emma. “And cut up that loaf of bread and put it on the table. There’s meat and cheese in the safe and some tomatoes over there. Are the potatoes cooked yet? Oh, and put out some of that pickle I made last week. Are Clara and Bill coming over, does anyone know?”

  “I saw Bill at the butcher’s shop as I passed,” said Henry. “He was just closing up but he never said.”

  Daniel sat at the end of the long table, looking at his family with pride. With everyone comfortable chatting with each other and tucking into the food, he turned to William. “How’s the contracting going?”

  “Pretty good. I’ve got a lot on. Might have to get me another pair of horses.”

  “Good to hear. That means you’ll be too busy for this damned war.”

  “They won’t want me anyway. My elbow’s knackered from
that accident back in ’07 when I broke my arm. Still can’t straighten the damn thing properly,” William said, demonstrating. “I can limp a bit, too, if I have to.” He grinned, pulling up his trouser leg to show them. “The scars are still on my leg.”

  “Won’t come to that,” said Fred between mouthfuls. His youthful heartiness was a fillip to the disquiet of the others. “It’s the volunteers who are going.”

  “At the moment,” said Daniel. “I remember conscription from my day. If they need you, they’ll call for you, and they’ll force you if you don’t go.”

  “Times have changed, Pa,” said Chas. “It won’t be like that again. There’ll be lots who won’t want to go. After all, what have the Germans done to us?”

  Reaching for some more bread, Henry agreed. “Not everyone thinks of England as the Mother Country. Pass the butter, please? What do we want to go fighting people over there for? Somewhere in Prussia, or ...”

  “Where my people come from,” Emma interrupted. “You could end up fighting a cousin you don’t know about, if you went.”

  “Not me, Ma,” said Fred. “Not me; you’re Prussian, that makes me Prussian. They can’t make me go.”

  “Nor me,” said Henry. “Don’t worry.”

  Nevertheless, overwhelmed by the nation’s enthusiasm, thousands of young men did sign up. Soon troopships were seen leaving for destinations many had never heard of. Confidence was high and the oft-quoted mantra, ‘it’ll be over by Christmas’ sustained those left behind.

  Daniel continued to follow the news in the papers. He was worried. The editors and writers clearly supported the war, and the continued entreaty for young men to join their comrades in arms was insidious.

  * * *

  There had been many important dates in Daniel’s life. Some of them he remembered – vividly. Some he didn’t remember at all. But the 23rd November 1914 would be a date etched in his memory for the rest of his life. His beloved firstborn, Lizzie, was dead.

  “How can that be?” he asked, his grief erupting into anger as he thumped his fist on the table. The chair toppled over as he stood and paced the kitchen, sweeping the dishes from the table onto the floor.