by Geoff Lawson
wood smoke as it curled lazily upwards. Once more, I would
like to see the sun rise over wild country and savour the beauty
of it; to hear the call of the morepork as I drifted off to sleep.
To expand my social life I joined the Whanganui
Volunteer Rifles, one of two local troops of the national
volunteer movement. We would parade one Saturday each
month at the Army drill hall and each year there would be a
week-long camp. This brought back memories of my cadet
days at school, which had culminated in my winning of the
South Taranaki Schools Championship in my last year.
Of course, the bulk of our shooting was prone. Rifle
supported on the elbows, body at the correct angle with legs
apart, align sights on target; breathe in and expel, adjust sight
picture, hold and squeeze trigger. It sounds complicated but it
was actually pretty easy. Our rifles were the Martini Enfield; a
single shot that was derived from the earlier Martini Henry.
They were self-cocking and ejecting, making them the fastest
of all single shot rifles to reload.
Our undress uniforms were worn on special occasions and
were a dark navy blue with red cuffs on the jackets, a red stripe
down the outside of the trouser legs and a pill box cap angled
on our heads. Normally though, we wore the usual buff
coloured, daywear uniform of the New Zealand Defence
Forces.
The Volunteer Rifles afforded me some leisure time in an
all-male environment and gave me something else to do
besides working and courting, both of which were inclined to
monopolise my time.
There were no war clouds brewing in the colonies, but
there was considerable debate going on about the political war
of words occurring in South Africa. That old fox Kruger had
stirred up a hornet’s nest over those Uitlanders and some were
predicting more trouble yet. Others said that the British
government had stalled over that business in ’81 and had
created a blot on the name of the Empire. Of course, I knew
nothing about any of that for the business of the present
absorbed all of my energies.
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That all changed when we paraded in June. A vital
conference with Kruger had failed and in response, Britain was
mobilising troops to send to Natal. War in South Africa was
now a possibility and our government wanted a contingent to
be speedily formed. We clustered around the notice board and
there was no shortage of discussion about the probable
outcome. At least half of us were keen to go and I was one, so
over the next two weeks I thought about it long and hard.
This was an unprecedented opportunity for adventure and
I wanted it. Marriage would condemn me to a life of providing
and I would never be younger than I was right now. The only
problem was Rachel; there was no way she was going to be
happy about it. Her unconsummated love could well be the
reason for her haste to marry and I understood how she felt. In
my case though, being able to fulfill her physical needs would
be an honour only God himself could sanction and therefore, I
could wait. Meanwhile, man has other needs besides that of
woman and I signed the necessary forms.
When I finally decided to tell her, Rachel and I were
alone. At first, she seemed to be confused.
“I don’t understand, don’t you want us to be engaged?”
Her face was a study of concern.
“Of course I do, and this is a chance to prove our
commitment to each other. If we are still dead keen to marry
after being apart for a year, your father cannot claim that we
lack commitment in our relationship. Further, once I return, we
can insist that we be engaged straight away and married as
soon as possible. My service to the country and the Empire
will give us the right to expect that. Otherwise, I’ll have no
right to expect anything and this impasse could drag on for two
more years.”
She fixed me with her penetrating gaze and I could see
that she wasn’t convinced. Suddenly, she leaped to her feet.
“Damn you Richard! The whole point of war is that people
die. Do you know why? I’ll tell you! It’s because you are so
damn chivalrous, so full of honour and so damned convinced
of your own invincibility that sooner or later it will get you
killed!”
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I was completely taken by surprise. I had never heard her
swear before and I was at a loss to know how to respond. The
irony of it was that the very qualities she admired me for were
the qualities she now condemned. Her eyes welled up, she
burst into tears and ran from the room. Seconds later her
bedroom door slammed, leaving me sitting in the parlour with
my mouth wide open.
Emily Ellen’s concerned face then appeared before
disappearing in the direction of Rachel’s bedroom.
“Rachel! What’s wrong?” The door must have opened for
I could hear sobs from within before the door closed again. I
would have sat there for at least half an hour, nervous and
wringing my hands, until Emily Ellen reappeared with that
vexed look still on her face.
“I’m sorry, Richard. Rachel is inconsolable. You may as
well go home and come back tomorrow. By then she should
have calmed herself.”
Rising, I walked back to my room and sat on my bed. I
hadn’t expected this. Countless thoughts rolled around in my
head before I recalled one of mother’s warnings – if Rachel
ever had cause to believe I had abandoned her, I would reap a
whirlwind. Was that what I was experiencing now? It certainly
appeared that way. I was so churned up that I eventually fell
asleep with my clothes on.
The following evening I returned to the Purdue house and
Emily Ellen opened the door.
“I’m terribly sorry Richard, but Rachel doesn’t want to see
you.”
I was rocked. For a minute I just stared, too stunned to
reply. She gave me a pitying look and stepped forward,
hugging me unexpectedly in a compassionate motherly way.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to go to Africa. I
understand why young men want to fight. There is no better
way to prove your worthiness and gain the respect of the older
generation. But understand that Rachel loves you and is afraid
of losing you. I believe we have made a mistake in making you
wait to be engaged, for had you been engaged now I doubt that
you would have felt the need to do this. For that, I am truly
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sorry.” She touched my arm in a gesture of regret. I had no
idea how to respond.
I said ‘good night’ and walked home. Later, I had no recall
of doing that.
Back in my room, I got angry. I brooded. I decided I
would return to Patea at the end of the week. I may as well
spend the last two weeks with my family before going to camp
and in the intervening days, I hoped that I would receive a
conciliat
ory note from Rachel. Something that would indicate
that she might like to talk.
None came. I was gutted.
Emily Ellen stood on the top step; her arms rigidly folded,
and watched Richard’s dejected form slowly disappear. She
shook her head and turned towards the door, then with
measured step retraced her way down the hall to the kitchen.
Rachel was stirring cake mix when she became aware of her
mother’s approach.
Emily Ellen pointedly glared at her.
“That’s the last time I do that for you! You should have
seen his face when I told him you wouldn’t see him. I was a
fool. I should have dragged you out there and made you look
him squarely in the eye so you would see just how smart you
are not, Miss Full-of-yourself. If you really love him, you
would run after him right now and tell him you forgive him, so
why in God’s name won’t you do it – just tell me that!”
Rachel dipped her head; she stirred the cake mix with
increasing intensity.
“What’s the matter darling, cat got your tongue?”
Rachel’s head rose suddenly and her stony expression
increased tenfold as she continued to stir the cake mix at
speed.
“Give me that spoon! Talk to me!” Emily grabbed the
spoon, but Rachel wouldn’t let go. They tugged and pulled as
cake mix blobbed on the bench. Rachel tightened her grip until
Emily had to give up.
“Well! Just look at yourself! What a dismal, sorry ass you
are. You have a lot to learn about relationships my dear –
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you’re the guilty one and if your conscience bothers you, then
it serves you right.”
“Oh for goodness sake! Will you stop nagging? Why must
you forever harp on and on?”
“Oh! Do I harp? That’s because I’m trying to talk sense to
a dumb, unresponsive lump of wood. You are stubborn and
ridiculous. Stubborn! Stubborn! Stubborn!
“So I’m dumb and stubborn? Well, that’s just wonderful!
Where is your sympathy? Where is the support you are
supposed to give me when I’m in need?”
“Don’t blame me for this. All day, I‘ve had to watch you
drag your sorry self around and look at your woeful face; your
sniffling nose and teary eyes – all ‘oh pity me’ and ‘oh…look
how wretched I am’ ad nauseum, blah, blah.” She rolled her
eyes.
Rachel did a pout that would have stopped an avalanche.
“Oh! So I’m the naughty one! Just what do I have to do to
get some sympathy here? Slash my wrists? Cut my throat?
Why are you so horrible?”
“If you weren’t feeling sorry for yourself, you would
know why. Don’t you see that he’s as much a victim as you?
After all, I seem to recall it was you who told me that he did
this to speed up your marriage, which I would like to point out
is precisely what you wanted. We certainly couldn’t show
some old-fashioned forgiveness and understanding here, could
we? Lord heavens no.”
“Forgiveness! God forbid.” Rachel flung the spoon on the
bench, leaving a trail of cake batter across the window while
her wrist struck the rim of the bowl. The bowl wobbled. She
lunged to grab it, but too late. It spun in a flash and flipped,
trailing cake mix as it dropped on the floor, and star-shaped
spatter radiated outwards from what was left of the crumpled
mess.
Silence. Emily put her hands on her hips.
“Well now! Look what your stupidity has come to!”
Rachel screamed in frustration, then ran from the room.
Seconds later, her bedroom door slammed.
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“What was that?” Alistair appeared, concern on his face.
Emily Ellen donned an apron and bent down to begin scraping
up the mess.
“It’s your foolish daughter. Why don’t you stop standing
about gaping and go and talk some sense to her?”
“I’ve already tried that. It doesn’t appear to have done
much good though, does it?”
Emily Ellen stopped wiping and sat back on her haunches.
“This is your fault! If you had allowed them to get engaged
when they wanted to, none of this would have happened,
would it?”
“Oh, so now the lad’s in the clear and I’m the big ogre?
How was I supposed to know a rush of blood would consume
the love of her life; better still, since when have I become a
fortune teller and a mind reader?”
Emily Ellen rolled her eyes. “Don’t you wriggle out of it. I
told you that you were wrong. Did you listen? Hell no, of
course not!” She tossed her arms in the air. “Your wife
couldn’t possibly be right about this, could she? Let them wait
two years or maybe three; or why not four, just for good
measure. Do them good, will it? Well now look what good has
come of it! This is one big, stinking mess and your indifference
to their needs is a prime cause of it.”
Alistair threw up his hands and turned to leave.
“Don’t rush off, I’m not finished! Any fool can see that
Richard is the right one, but that’s not enough for you though,
is it? Oh goodness no, we can’t have that for your daughter. A
peasant in the family would never do. Do you think this
enlistment thing is all his fault? Well, Mr. High-and-mighty,
have you considered the possibility that you make Richard feel
inadequate – that this is about proving that he is worthy
enough to be your daughter’s husband?”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He made to reply, but was cut off
before he could start.
“You didn’t think of that, did you, smart alec? Blame it all
on the lad shall we – after all, who cares what he thinks – no
need to take him seriously – he is, after all, only your
daughter’s plaything!”
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Alistair gave Emily a hard look, then spun around and
tromped outside. He stood, glaring into the night until he
calmed sufficiently to refill his pipe. His ears had stopped
burning but he could still hear Emily Ellen stomping about in
the kitchen, banging cupboard doors. He took a match and
poked it around in the bowl of his pipe before he tipped the
residue out and packed it with fresh tobacco.
It went quiet – he peered through the window. Emily Ellen
was briskly swiping a mop back and forth with excessive
vigour. It was abundantly clear that Rachel’s love life had
everyone in turmoil. He struck the match and drew on the pipe.
Actually, it was always like that. When she was little and
happy, everyone else was happy. When she was sad, everyone
else felt miserable too. She had that effect on people. Now she
was sad and angry, which was already proving to be
interesting.
With his pipe alight, he studied the far horizon. The night
was unusually calm and still. A bright full moon had begun to
rise, while rows of feather-like outer cirrus streaked the sky.
The soft, pale light of the moon illuminated the unusual
patterns among the clouds, giving an extraordinarily peaceful,
otherworldly look to it all. Alistair couldn’t help thinking how
that was in direct contrast to his household at present.
He also realised that Emily Ellen was right about the rest
of it. He hadn’t considered these things, hadn’t made the
connection. He of all people should have known how Richard
felt for once he’d been just like him – he had wanted exactly
the same things for the very same reasons.
It had been easy to ignore. Richard would breeze in and
out and it had been easy not to realise that he didn’t have a real
home. When he returned to his room, there was no fire in the
hearth, no one to cheer him. It was hardly surprising that after
a day of labour, he would want to go home to a woman’s arms,
food on the table and children to tickle and swing on his knee –
the need for a wife and a life; the same need that had driven
humanity since Adam and Eve.
Richard was certainly attentive to Rachel and Emily Ellen.
He exuded a quiet, good-natured charm and was astute in his
own unpretentious way. Willing and helpful, it hadn’t taken
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long for Emily to realise that he could deal with sticking
cupboards, fix doors that rattled on windy days and had even
replaced a window with the ease of a tradesman. His own sons
couldn’t do that. Richard was sincere and engaging; he had
proved he was capable; he would be a good addition to any
family.
His only fault was his job. He could have done better than
groom a horse and stack glass. Alistair realised that he could
have helped with that, but hadn’t. It was also likely that
Richard had volunteered to prove something to Alistair. It was
also understandable that he would have done it to bring their
marriage closer, given Alistair’s intractable stance on the
matter. He felt a sinking sense of culpability – a twinge of
guilt. What if Richard didn’t come back? Whose fault would
that be? He could see that he may not be comfortable with the
answer to that. Emily had been right – it was a stinking mess.
He was also aware that he might not get to see Richard before
he left, and it might already be too late to try and square things
up.
On Friday morning, I began the rather long walk to
Aramoho Railway Station with a suitcase in each hand. On the
way, I detoured past the Purdue house to drop a note to Rachel.
I walked up the familiar path with some trepidation, for this