A Cheat and a Liar, page 69
‘Yes, Mom. I’ve been working, so I will just clean up and change my clothes, and I will see you in about an hour.’
‘Oh, thank you, love, that’s lovely. See you when you get here.’ Ruth immediately felt a fraction better and no longer inclined to cry. Oh, now I must ring Sylvia. She rang and explained.
‘Oh, so suddenly. If I had thought he was so close to being put in hospital, I could have stayed a little bit longer perhaps. Have you got hold of Douglas?’
‘Yes, love. I just rang him, and luckily he had just arrived home. He is going to tidy himself and come around for supper.’
‘I can understand him wanting supper but can’t imagine him tidy,’ she replied.
‘Oh, now is not the time to criticise, love. He is going to be here in a few minutes.’
‘Sorry, Mum, but he is not my favourite brother.’
‘He has to be. He is your only brother.’
‘OK,’ she replied.
‘Well, hard as it is, Dad is in the best place. I will talk to James when he arrives home. I will ring you tomorrow.’
They hung up, and Ruth had only started getting supper under way when the door opened and in walked Douglas. ‘Hi, love,’ she said.
‘Hi, Mom,’ he replied and walked over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘So what happened? He looked OK on Christmas Day. He wasn’t his old self, but he seemed OK.’
‘He was, son, but somehow, this morning he woke up and said he felt terrible. I called the doctor, and he looked him over and said “hospital—today”.’
‘Jesus, that was sudden.’
‘Don’t blaspheme, love. They are going to do some tests, but even the doctor seemed quite worried, I thought. Are you working in town at present?’
‘Yeah, I am. Why?’
‘I wondered, love, if you could spare me five minutes just before two and five minutes just after three?’
‘Yep. Be ready, and I will pick you up just before two.’
‘Bless you, son. Your father and sister seem to only see bad in you, but every time I need you, you are there for me.’
‘Is the spare bed made up?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes, it is. Oh, will you stay the night? Oh, you really are God’s gift. Yes, the bed is ready anytime you want to stay.’
George was admitted and placed in a hospital bed. Nurses seemed to be at his bedside one after another, and then there seemed to be a break in the number of visits before a doctor was in the room. George heard the doctor giving instructions to a nurse. George heard ‘blood test’ and then ‘we will need,’ and then he missed what was said, and then there were more words spoken softly, and when he opened his eyes, nobody was there. George dozed and eventually slept. Then he heard a voice, not in his room but somewhere; it was like the voice he had heard several times over the years in his head. George, it said, George, you know where you are, George, don’t you? You are in a hospital bed, listening to what I have to say. You are not wet with sweat this time, George. You cannot simply change out of your pyjamas, like you have in the past, and put on a clean pair and return to bed. Well, this time, George, there is not even sweat left in your body. You are just going to listen to me and be informed. You, my friend, are almost at the end of the road—a track that is smooth and just over a day’s walk away, George. There is a thin black curtain, a veil so thin that you won’t have to push it aside. So, George, just walk straight through it. At that point, you have reached the valley of death, George—that’s right, the valley of death. That’s where you are heading, but listen to me a little longer, you might be excited by what I have to say. George squirmed, but his body could barely move.
Then the voice was back. No sweats tonight, George. No ability to get out of bed tonight. Just wait, George, I won’t keep you much longer. There is good to look forward to. Beyond the veil is the place of reunions. George, remember your dad who never came home one night? You will be able to ask him what he got up to that delayed his return, and your mother will be there, and then there will be Anna. Best you work out what to say to her; not sure she will be exactly excited to see you again, but you should manage to make up enough excuses, George—you have up till now. And, George, what a surprise Nettie will get when she sees you explaining to Anna. And just to leave you with something to look forward to, George: little Maud—she knows you are on your way, so there will be one person who wants you to sit next to you, but I think she is the only one. All the best, George. With that, the voice was gone. George knew but was powerless to do anything. Without uttering a word and without moving his lips, he prayed, but in seconds he was asleep.
The following day, Douglas took his mother to the hospital. They went in and saw George together. Douglas only stayed a few minutes and then left his parents together. ‘I will be back at three o’clock. I will come back in, so you know I have arrived.’
‘Thank you, love,’ she said.
George was not well. He had said he did not like it there and felt terrible when he was admitted. ‘You are in the best place to get well,’ Ruth told him then and every time she visited, hoping he could hear her. She said how she had rung Sylvia, and she sent her love, and after informing Douglas, he had come to their home very quickly and seemed happy to stay at least for a few nights. George had his eyes shut, but in the beginning, it seemed he was listening to what she said, as on some occasions, he nodded his head at the appropriate time. She would sit there holding his hand, occasionally saying something to him, and then at around three o’clock, Douglas would arrive and be back, sitting beside the bed. After ten or fifteen minutes, he would stand up and say, ‘Bye, Dad,’ and would pat George’s knee through the blankets as he went to leave. ‘Thank you, son,’ Ruth would say quietly as Douglas left. On this particular day, she stood up and said, ‘Can you wait just a minute? I might go home. Would you mind taking me now on your way?’
‘No, that’s fine, Mum,’ he replied and stopped and waited for her by the door.
Ruth stood up and kissed George on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, my love,’ she whispered as tears flowed down her cheeks. ‘I will get Douglas to bring me back here in the morning,’ she told him. ‘I will stay with you until lunchtime and then come back again in the afternoon. You sleep and get better, love.’ She kissed him again and then wiped her tears from his face. ‘I will ring Sylvia as soon as I get home and give her your love.’
Douglas came and put his arms around her. ‘I love you, Mom,’ he said, and they left. Ruth did not stop crying until well after she had arrived home.
She rang Sylvia soon after and told her she could report no improvement in George’s condition. ‘I will talk to James as soon as he comes home.’ Sylvia said. ‘I will pack everything we might need and will travel tomorrow just as soon as we can. James has always said we should be ready to travel if and when we are needed.’
The next day, as arranged, Sylvia, husband James, and baby Meri arrived in Bucoda. Ruth had prepared a beautiful evening meal. It had been discussed that as they were arriving late in the day, they would not go and see George until the following afternoon. Ruth soon became engrossed in her granddaughter and was enjoying being able to spend time with her. The day rolled on, and soon after lunch, they tidied themselves and got ready to visit the hospital.
When they arrived, George was asleep, with his head on two pillows to keep him fairly upright. Ruth gently leant over and kissed him on the cheek and, at the same time, shook his arm. ‘You’ve got visitors,’ she said in a quiet voice. He didn’t move or acknowledge they were there.
‘Let him rest,’ James suggested. ‘We will just stay here beside him for a few minutes and then tell him we are going home and will be back tomorrow.’
Eventually, they left, and on the way home, Sylvia said to her mother, ‘I am going to ask them what their plan is, and is the medication helping him, and when might we see some improvement.’
‘Oh, you might ask them, love,’ her mother replied, ‘but I don’t expect they can tell you. It is just God’s will.’
They returned to the hospital the next afternoon, and the visit went much the same as that of the previous day; no acknowledgement from George that they were there; no answers to their one or two questions . . . just sleep. Ruth was just content to be with him, but Sylvia was not satisfied. ‘I’m going to ask to speak to his doctor or a senior nurse who can give me some idea about Father’s condition.’
And she did. ‘Stay here with Mother, please, love,’ she said to James, who was holding the baby as she stood up and walked out into the hallway and along to where there were several offices. She saw a rather senior nurse sitting behind a desk and approached her. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, and the lady looked up from what she was doing.
‘Oh, may I help you?’
‘Yes,’ Sylvia replied. ‘I am Mr George Morris’s daughter. We don’t live in Bucoda but came yesterday to see my dad and are here again now. Can I please speak with someone who may be able to tell us how he is? or if we may in fact see him improving?’
‘Ah, yes. I am Senior Nurse Dempster. I may be able to help.’
‘Oh, thank you, Nurse Dempster. My mum doesn’t like asking, but we have come up from Olympia and need to know, ah, ah, is my father going to recover? Is he still going to be in hospital in a month’s time? When do you expect he will be improved enough for us to, ah, ah . . . take him home would be great, but even get a few words from him? I mean, do you speak to him? Does he speak to you? Is the medicine you are giving him allowing you to see some improvement?’
‘Oww, ah, so many questions. Ah, Mrs . . . ah, ah, yes, well . . . your father is what we term stable. While he is unresponsive, his body, with the aid of modern medicine, is attempting to remedy itself, and we all hope to get him back, if not to full health, to at least where he can again be good company to you, and he can enjoy your company also.’
‘How soon before we can see if that is happening or he is fighting a losing battle?’
‘, Ms, ah, Oh ah, how long indeed is a piece of string. We do not know. It is really just wait and see, and, ah, ah, just wait and see.’
‘But we live in another town. It is too far to travel once per day from there to here. My husband has work. I have a baby.’
‘Mrs, ah, ah . . . I cannot tell you. Your father may be out of hospital within a month, but I cannot tell you with any certainty. Equally, and if I speak harshly, I have seen patients similar to him and of a similar age who have passed on within a week also. My advice to you is to take the safe path—see him as often as you can. It is always better to look back and say, “I saw my father at least once every day or every week leading up to his passing,” rather than looking back and thinking, “I should have visited him more.”’
Sylvia thanked the nurse and went back to her mother’s side. She then stood up again and went and kissed George on the cheeks. ‘Father,’ she said in a fairly loud voice, ‘if you are awake tomorrow afternoon when I come to see you and you can hear me and perhaps respond, I think they will let you go home.’ There was no response, but it was optimistic talk. Her mother heard her, and she hoped that maybe her father did also. ‘We will come back here tomorrow before we go home. I hope you are a little better. Bye, Dad.’ Of course, there was no reply, but the one-sided conversation had at least brightened the conscious ones up.
They did return the following afternoon, and they did sit with him, but it was doubtful he even knew they were there.
Sylvia, James, and little Meri all returned to Olympia after the visit and kept in touch with Ruth daily.
Ruth on no occasion could report on any improvement, and then that phone call came late that night. Immediately, Ruth rang Douglas and asked him to take her to the hospital. Seven minutes after they arrived, George Douglas Morris departed this world at thirteen minutes past midnight, on 23 January 1954.
As they made that slow, unhappy drive back home shortly after, Ruth related to her son all that the nurse had said to Sylvia and how nobody seemed to know. He stopped her. ‘Mom, I know exactly what you are going to say. Each evening, while my sister was staying in town and you were both visiting him in the afternoons, I went to see my father each night to sit by his bed. I was here earlier tonight, and I spoke to a doctor who came to attend to him, and I asked a few questions. He said there was something I should know. He said, “Your father right now knows two things: he knows you are here, and he knows there will be no need for you to come tomorrow. There is a better place for him—just waiting.”
‘I went home and cried, Mom, and waited for your phone call.’
George Douglas Morris was buried in Sticklin-Greenwood Memorial Park, Centralia, Lewis, Washington, USA, three days later. His wife, Ruth, who died some fifteen years later, on 22 November 1969, is buried beside him. She was Meri’s grandmother.
Coincidently, in New Zealand, George’s son James died in Whanganui, New Zealand, on 22 November 1977.
Another coincidence: George left New Zealand on the steam ship Marama on 22 November 1913.
Postscript
The years went by, and families had, until recently in New Zealand, recorded by government record, births, deaths, and marriages diligently and accurately; only when family members moved away were they, in rare instances, forced to guess where and from whom they descended. Then DNA testing became available, and around the world, broken families were given this wonderful new identification methodology.
I was given a test kit by my wife as part of a birthday present back in 2017. When the results were returned, there were no surprises. I didn’t expect any, as my paternal family had immigrated to New Zealand in the early 1840s, landing at what is now New Plymouth.
Members of the family had compiled a wonderful simple-to-follow chart, where families were allocated different letters of the alphabet so they could easily follow their particular lineage by the code beside their name. During the Second World War, those who could travel made their way to New Plymouth to celebrate a 100-year reunion (1943), and later a 150-year reunion in 1994, and except for a missing grandfather, everyone seemed accounted for.
Then on 12 June 2020, an email was received by me, and it read,
Hi Bruce,
You did one of the DNA tests through Ancestry.com—as did I. We are matched through our DNA as close cousins. It was a huge surprise to me to learn that we share a grandfather, George Maurice Spurdle.
One of your cousins . . . has confirmed to me that George made a train trip to purchase timber for a house he was hired to build. He got off the train in Marton, New Zealand, and was never seen or heard from after that.
Our grandfather went somewhere in Canada and then to the USA out of Vancouver, BC, into Seattle, WA, as George Douglas Morris. He married my grandmother in 1926. They had two children together. I descend from his daughter.
I know this is a lot to take in. I would love to communicate with you to learn more about his life in Whanganui, New Zealand, and what happened to his wife and children he left behind. I’ll be happy to share about his life here in Washington State. He died in January 1954.
Thank you for reading my message. I know it has come as probably a shock, just as it did when I learnt about his prior family.
Best regards,
Meri
And so the puzzle had been solved. Thank you so much, Meri.
Or had it?
The facts are now known.
Did they answer all the questions?
The gaps? Might this book, be close to how it all transpired? Only George could have ever, answered that.
Are there any gaps left? George did not leave the train at Marton.
You have now read it.
Are there any questions left to answer? I hope not.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Bruce Spurdle.
Bruce A Spurdle, A Cheat and a Liar
