A Cheat and a Liar, page 64
For the first time in his life, George wanted to be older than he was. Since his arrival in America, he had people believe he had been born in England in 1876. Even if England had been correct, only he knew he had been born four years earlier; but why worry about such trivialities now? Wait until the need arises to relieve yourself of a problem, George, if that problem arises, he would tell himself. No sense in digging yourself out of one hole only to find you have been digging a bigger one for yourself elsewhere, he would say in his mind. Ruth worried. She remembered all the sad stories; she had lost one sweetheart and dreaded the thought that anyone she knew might be called to fight again. She was surprised occasionally at George’s sometimes flippant attitude when she brought up the likelihood of George being asked to fight.
But none of that mattered to the Morris household at that time. Income was foremost in their minds. ‘If you, George, only have half a week of employment teaching woodwork at the school, then perhaps I could find half a week teaching the basics: reading, writing, and arithmetic, or be available whenever any teacher of those core subjects is unwell or unavailable for any other reason.’
‘As long as I don’t have to look after the children,’ George replied.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ she almost yelled at him in an annoyed-sounding voice. ‘Are you expecting to sit around doing nothing while I work and we pay for a lady to spend time caring for the children? Get a life, man. You helped make them; you can help look after them. Might I remind you, your arms are not just painted on; they come out of your shoulders to enable you to pick up your children; to steady them as they sit on your knee and, when necessary, to feed them with your hands, which are those digity things at the end of your arms.’
George laughed. ‘I have never seen you so angry,’ he replied.
‘And I have never heard of your incompetence when it comes to thinking outside the square about what is required to attend to your two offspring,’ she said. ‘Now while we are in the middle of this very important discussion, I am going to tell you that I am going to call the master at the school and inform him of my availability before anyone else does so. Maybe nothing will be available for a month or two; but maybe they are going to need someone next week, so I want to be the first person he calls whenever they are a teacher short. We need extra money. We have children, and we have a mortgage. Get learning, my love. If you are unsure now, I will write a list on which will be all meal requirements for the children, how to prepare, and what is required. If diapers worry you, worry not. As soon as little Douglas needs his changed, I will give you your first lesson. Who knows, if this war thing comes to nothing, I might become a full-time teacher again, and you can retire and be a full-time carer of our two children.’
George was not impressed, but it did make him realise that Ruth was really only trying to improve the household’s income so their commitments were met.
That night, he apologised and somewhat reluctantly accepted everything she had said. They talked for a while about things they could perhaps do to prevent their financial situation becoming any worse. Then Ruth had an idea. ‘George,’ she said, ‘why don’t you call on Gordon tomorrow and see if the bank might perhaps reduce our monthly commitments to them? When you think about it, you repaid a little of the mortgage on this house when you sold the cottage and paid that loan completely. Your repayments on this place, though, are the same as they were before you reduced what was owed.’
George thought for a moment. ‘I was just hoping to get this loan paid as soon as I could; but, yes, my working hours are less, so, yes, it is probably a good idea. I will talk to him this week.’
They talked about other things they could do before the two of them fell asleep.
It was Saturday, 31 August 1939. The previous evening, Ruth had cooked a beautiful meal for the family. It was their thirteenth wedding anniversary, and they had a special family dinner, just the four of them; Kathleen, now twelve, and Douglas, ten. They had talked to the children about how they had met as teachers and how lucky they were to have had two lovely children: one boy and one girl.
It had been a special day. Kathleen had made little outfits for two of her miniature dolls she had played with for many years. From scraps of material, she had made a bridal gown and veil for one doll and a black suit for the other. She had even painted a little brown moustache on the groom to match her father’s facial hair. Kathleen had also spent a little time in the kitchen helping her mother prepare a few of the food items that she particularly liked.
Douglas had followed his father’s interest in things wooden and had made a very good attempt at creating a nice tea tray with two little handles, and he had sanded and finally varnished it; an excellent effort for a ten-year-old who really had only sought his father’s help in securing the handles so they didn’t collapse under the weight of cups and plates.
It was a lovely evening, and they all sat and talked about going to church together the following day and what might happen in the days ahead at school.
They did go to church. George was preaching, and, as had become his custom, he finished the service with a prayer, thinking about someone or some group of people who he felt were suffering hardship anywhere in the world. Today, he asked his congregation to think and feel for all the dear peoples of Europe and other countries who may end up involved in the war; those who could be affected if war was to break out in their backyard or if their governments were committed to send men to fight. Adults in the congregation were very aware that Germany was ready to fight, but nobody knew that they were about to invade Poland later that day, 1 September.
It was a sombre congregation that filed past George and shook his hand at the front door of the church that Sunday. One man stopped and said to him, ‘Poignant points made, and a prayer for peace too, George. You said it well, and you said what we all hope for, but I feel we will all be wrong. The world will be at war very soon, I fear, but thank you for your prayers.’
The country—the world—waited. Two days later, on 3 September, Britain and France declared war on Germany. George knew what that meant; England and all the British Empire countries would be at war with Germany and France also. America was not at war, but everyone knew it might only be a matter of time. At supper that evening, George explained to the children a little about what war was about, and before they ate, they bowed their heads and prayed for a peaceful outcome especially for all the children in Europe who might be affected if their country was at war.
Privately, ever so privately, George has his own thoughts. He thought about men and women; but mainly men he had met and knew in different places around the world, around the time of the First World War; and their sons and daughters, who would be now in their twenties and thirties and all now caught up in this current world conflict. He could not discuss it with anyone; he could not utter a word. That voice in his head again came to haunt him that night in his bed.
How are your brothers and sister coping, George? How many of their families will be torn from their homes to go and fight a war they have in no way been responsible for? Are you listening to your mind talking to you, George? Don’t you feel pain in your heart, George? Keep listening to me. What about you, George? You are not even a citizen of this dear country that has sheltered you, George, for twenty years. You have lived, been paid, been fed, taken what you could, and wed, not one but two of the typically lovely young ladies who have each made themselves a wonderful wife.
George wanted to sit up in his bed and scream and tell his head to let him rest; but, no, he had to lie perfectly still on his side of the bed so the lady beside him did not stir. Then the voice was back; that monotone taunt in his head said, And make yourself remind yourself what sort of man registers for National Service for America knowing he isn’t American; he will not be called to serve his country; his country thinks you are dead already, George, and you should be; but no call-up for you; you won’t have to pay the ultimate sacrifice, George; your cosy little bit of hypocrisy will see you safe and sound again; yes, again, George; and finally remember that this little voice in your head, George, called your conscience, will return again and enjoy seeing you squirm and sweat, which is the least you deserve. Then the voice was gone. George was sweating heavily; but it was November; almost mid-winter! He gently pushed back the sheet and blankets on his side of the bed and quietly stepped out onto the floor and then ever so quietly, he crept to the bathroom. He removed all he was wearing and took a towel from the rail and wiped the sweat from all over his body. From the cupboard near the bathroom, he took a clean set of pyjamas, and once he had dressed, he crept back into bed. As he got in, he could feel the top and bottom sheets, cold and damp from where he had previously been lying. He tolerated where he lay but had no choice, and eventually he slept.
The next morning, he and Ruth both awoke about the same time. Before she asked questions like, ‘Why did you change your nightwear and leave those that you removed in the bathroom, George?’ he explained that throughout his life, he occasionally ‘just awoke’ and found himself in a lather of sweat for no apparent reason. ‘Were you dreaming, George? Was it a nightmare?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘it just happens—I remember nothing until I just wake up, sweating profusely.’
Ruth said nothing for a minute or so and then suggested, ‘The first time you or I need to see a doctor, we must inform him and see what he suggests. It does not seem natural. He might be able to suggest a cure.’
‘Don’t worry, my love. Don’t trouble the doctor. It doesn’t cause me any pain, and the only discomfort is my nightwear soaked in perspiration.’
‘I will mention it, George. It could be a precursor to something more serious,’ she replied, and with that, Ruth swung her legs out of bed onto the floor.
They were gloomy days. Newspapers were full of what was happening in Europe. People asked, ‘How long would it be before America committed to the war effort?’ Everyone hoped a peaceful settlement by some rare chance could be put in place before things escalated and President Roosevelt was forced to take America into the war.
The daily reports told the world a lot about what was happening. Then in June 1940, France appeared defeated, but, almost immediately, Italy entered war, fighting alongside Germany and the French effort. A year later, Germany invaded Russia, and that action brought Russia as an ally of Britain into the war in June 1941.
Then at 8.00 a.m., on Sunday, 7 December 1941, Japan carried out a surprise attack on the American naval base at Pearl Harbour Hawaii. It was a devastating result with a huge loss of life, naval ships, and equipment. Now the United States of America was at war.
Americans had held their breath and hoped for two years and three months that their country would avoid another conflict, but it was not to be—it was now truly World War II.
Thousands of young American men and women joined the war effort; if not fighting overseas, then as part of the huge workforce created to supply the forces, whatever was required at that time. In the next four years, the American economy totally became mobilised. It was reported that seventeen million new jobs were created, and industrial productivity increased 96 per cent.
However, the loss of more than four hundred thousand military personnel was the price they paid.
Chapter 30
It was May 1932 in Whanganui. There was excitement in the home of James and Ruby. Conveniently, James’s sister, Annie, was still living with them and was still teaching in the town, but school holidays had just started, and the household eagerly awaited notice from Ruby that baby number two had booked its arrival into the world.
‘How did you time it so well, Ruby?’ she asked. ‘I get to look after my favourite—well, my only nephew for a week or more, while you swan off to get him a sibling. What’s it going to be, do you think, a boy or a girl?’
Ruby thought for a few seconds. ‘I suppose to even things up, a little girl would be nice, but to give young Ewen a brother to grow up with is nice also.’
‘Henry reckons we should bet on it, you know, five shillings in each—winner takes all.’
‘Oh, be quiet, Annie,’ Ruby replied. ‘Grandma’s ghost is still in these walls, and she will come to haunt you if you suggest such thing. Anyway, Henry bets enough now; he doesn’t need something else to gamble on.’
‘S’pose not,’ Annie replied, ‘and the tin ‘bum’ himself would probably win. No, we won’t bet on it; but I am sure Mother is looking down on us, saying, “It has to be a girl. It has to be a girl.”’ They both laughed.
Ruby then thought it the perfect time to write inside an old exercise book young Ewen’s daily routine, so Annie had something to follow while Ruby was away doing her maternity ‘thing.’
Annie was excited by what she was about to embark on. ‘If I could find a nice man to marry, I wouldn’t mind having a baby or two for myself,’ she told her sister-in-law.
‘You will, you will,’ Ruby replied. ‘You will make a wonderful mother. You are so smart, your kids will probably be able to talk within a month of their birth; count to a hundred by the time they are one.’ They both laughed.
A short while later, Ruby had filled the first page of her book with instructions: what the child should eat, what he should wear, what time he should go to bed, when he should be put to bed during the day for a sleep, and so on. ‘Gosh, I am glad it is school holidays. James would not have wanted to take time off work, and if he had, the poor child may have died of starvation, had a stomach ache for a week, or run out of clean clothes, and been running around half naked by day three.’ They both laughed again. ‘No, I am being a bit harsh. James would have managed, but you will be so much better.’
‘Oh, I hope so. I will die if the poor child gets sick,’ said Annie, and they laughed again, and a few previously forgotten details were explained before Annie left the house to meet a friend.
It was Monday night, and everyone was in bed. Ruby and James had talked about the arrangements she had made with Annie and how she had written down and given her a list with food, clothes, bedtime hours, and sleep during the day for the care of young Ewen. ‘The only thing I haven’t given her is money. Can you please give her some in the morning before you go to work, just in case she needs something, that I have forgotten?’ James said he would, and then asked how she was feeling. ‘Not really great,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think our baby is far away. If I feel the same or worse in the morning, I think it might be best to drop me off at the home on the way to work.’
‘Oh, hell,’ he replied, ‘if you are feeling like that, we might not make it through the night.’
About two hours later, Ruby found herself awake, knowing that what she was feeling had nothing to do with what she had eaten that evening. She woke James and said, ‘I’m sorry, love, but I am not going to make it through to morning. I will get dressed. Can you please go and tell Annie that we are about to leave?’
James’s feet hit the floor about three seconds later, and he was out of the bedroom, trying to walk quietly down the hallway to his sister’s bedroom. He turned on the light. ‘Annie,’ he whispered, ‘I’m just taking Ruby to the home.’
His sister sat up, squinting in the light of the room. ‘In your pyjamas?’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘As soon as I am dressed, we are off. Keep an eye on the little fella, and I will talk to you in the morning.’
James rushed back to the bedroom. Ruby was almost dressed. Her suitcase had been packed and ready for almost a week. The lid was still open, and she asked James to close it for her.
They were in the car and soon at the nursing home. Little Ewen had been born at the same place nearly three years before, and Ruby remembered the routine. They walked from where James parked the car, and he helped her up the steps. They rang the night bell, and the door opened and they walked inside. After a few minutes, the nurse suggested that James go home. They would attend to Ruby and would ring immediately if there was anything to report. James left, and Ruby was taken to her room.
James got back into bed once he was home. It was cold outside. He hadn’t noticed when he left home earlier, but there was frost on the ground. He tried to sleep; then at about 6.30 a.m., he heard young Ewen. Annie had obviously taken him from his cot, and he was in bed with her. James stuck his head around the door of her bedroom, and said, ‘No action yet, obviously. I am going to the bathroom, and once I am dressed, I will give them a ring. Can you look after the young fella’s breakfast and get him dressed?’ Annie agreed, and James left and headed for the bathroom.
By the time James left home at about 7.45 a.m., there was still no news, so he kissed his son, thanked his sister, and drove away. Then he thought, I will call at the home and see if they can give me a progress report before I go to work.
On arrival, he rang the bell at the door, and a nurse duly arrived. James introduced himself and was shown inside. ‘You can quickly see your wife, but we would like your visit to be nice and short,’ she said. James was shown into Ruby’s room.
‘Oh, hello, love,’ she said on seeing him. ‘I’m sorry I got you up so early; we are still waiting.’
