Lying on his back, Brendan gestured upwards towards the eternally motionless statue of the soldier above them.
“He and his mates went off thirty-odd years ago to South Africa to fight the Boers. Didn’t do anyone any bloody good. Our chaps thought they were fighting a noble war for Queen and country but wound up fighting farmers like themselves. War solves nothing. Waste of bloody time. Look at the last show.” He accepted the cigarette that Stuart proffered. “Tell you what, mate; if they want me to enlist they’re wasting their bloody time!”
Stuart drew deeply on his cigarette.
“Dunno. Prof. Sterling’s got a point. This is more than just another war. Hitler and his mates are a direct threat to peace and democracy. Yeah, I know,” he went on rapidly, seeing Brendan’s lip begin to curl, “sounds very noble and all that. But at times we have to defend what’s right. If we don’t-------.” He stopped abruptly. “What’s so damned funny? I’m serious!”
Brendan’s look of scorn had slowly metamorphosed into a sly grin, as he directed his gaze over Stuart’s shoulder. Quickly his eyes flicked back to Stuart, his eyebrows lifted and he nodded briefly. Puzzled, Stuart looked round.
“Hullo, Stuart.” Standing on the path was Carol Peterson.
“Carol.” Moving swiftly to his feet he flicked his cigarette away. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a public park.” She smiled. “I sometimes walk along to have lunch here. Do you?”
“Yes.” He returned her smile. “Yes I do.”
“Introduce me, old chap,” murmured Brendan his eyes fixed on Carol.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Carol, this is Brendan. Brendan, Carol.”
“Enchante, m’selle,” murmured Brendan rising to his feet and reaching for her hand.
Stuart recovered himself. “Brendan’s done a French paper. It’s his subtle way of letting you know.”
“Yeah, well it’s better than reading about long dead people!” He gestured flamboyantly. “History is the past, French is the future!”
“Maybe, mate. But I’d rather be in Auckland studying Maths and History than in Paris waiting for the Germans.”
“Wouldn’t worry me,” he responded, slowly letting go of Carol’s hand. “I speak that language even better.”
Seeing Carol gazing at both of them uncertainly, Stuart shrugged. “Sorry, we’re often like this.” His smile was warm. “Do you often come to Albert Park?”
“Yes, like I said.”
“Of course.” He smiled expansively. “Glad you decided to come today. Have you had lunch?”
“I’ve brought my own.” She indicated a brown paper bag. “How about you?”
“Sadly we’ve already eaten, m’selle,” interposed Brendan with an exaggerated Gallic shrug.
“He has, but I haven’t quite finished mine. You’d be welcome to join me.” Emphasizing the last word he gave Brendan a long hard stare as he peeled off his blazer and spread it on the grass. “Here, sit down, Carol.”
“He studies History, you know. Sir Walter Raleigh is one of his favourite characters,” murmured Brendan taking a final drag on his cigarette and making a show of flicking the butt towards the statue of Sir George Grey. He grinned at Stuart and patted the pockets of his blazer.
“Seems I’ve run out of smokes. Lovely to have met you, Carol. A bien tot.” With a slightly mocking bow he headed down the path towards the university’s clock tower.
Carol settled herself on Stuart’s blazer, tucked her slim stockinged legs demurely under the edge of her skirt and deftly removed her high-heeled shoes.
“How did you find me here?” he asked as he settled himself down beside her.
She smiled. “I didn’t actually find you, Stuart-----.”
“No, of course not. What I meant was-----.”
“Well, actually, I sort of found you. I came walking along Princes Street and saw all the university students by the park so I decided to walk through. And then I saw you, and your French friend.”
“Brendan. He’s not French. His father’s German and he speaks that language very well. His main subject is Languages so he’s reasonably fluent in French. Likes to think it improves his chances with the ladies.”
“Does it?”
Stuart shrugged. “You’re a lady. What do you think?”
“He seems very charming.”
“He obviously thought you were pretty stunning, just like that fellow on the ferry, um…”
“Hamish. Probably.”
“Known him long, I suppose.”
“Yes, quite a while in fact. We met in Wellington. Our families knew each other for years and he and I grew up together. We started going out while I was in the fifth form. His father wanted to relocate the head office of his construction business chain to Auckland and offered Hamish the position of chief accountant. It was an excellent opportunity for advancement so he took it. Came up here about six months ago.”
“So, when did you come to Auckland?”
“Last month.”
“To be with him?”
“Not quite. He kept writing to me, telling me how great Auckland was and practically begging me to join him.”
Carol removed her gloves and took a sandwich from her brown lunch bag. Stuart immediately noted the absence of a ring on the third finger of her left hand. Emboldened by his discovery he continued.
“Does he want to marry you?”
She smiled. “You are a persistent man, aren’t you? But, well, yes, as a matter of fact he does.”
“And you came to Auckland to be with him. To get married?”
“Mixed motives, actually. It was a chance to, well, get away from home, to another city. My older brother Ian had just joined the army. We’d always been very close so with only me at home it wasn’t the same. Mum and Dad don’t get on very well and I wanted a break. They’ve always wanted me to marry Hamish so going to Auckland was a good excuse to leave.”
“And the marriage?”
“Hamish is keen. Mum thinks he’s a good catch. Plenty of money, successful, job with good prospects,” she shrugged, “fairly good looking.”
Stuart stole a glance at his watch. 12.30. Carol probably had to be back at work by 1.00 o’clock and he had an essay due by Friday. Time wasn’t exactly abundant.
“Didn’t mean to be nosey. Just wondering why you didn’t just marry him in Wellington rather than follow him to Auckland and live apart in the same city.”
Momentarily her eyes held his. The fleeting glance was chilling before she looked down at the grass.
“Sorry,” he said, “I’m being far too inquisitive – treating you like a university research item.” Instinctively he took her hand and she made no attempt to withdraw it. “Let’s talk about something else. Where’s your office?”
“The Northern Club. At the end of the street.”
“The Northern Club. That private gentlemen’s establishment. Oh, my.” He tilted his nose upward with mock exaggeration.
“My dear, are you sure you’d be permitted to speak to one such as I?”
Her laughter was spontaneous. Reaching forward she pushed him playfully causing him to fall backwards on the grass. As he was still holding her hand she was pulled forward and fell with her face on his chest. She made no attempt to rise. They lay together for a long moment and then her voice was soft.
“I’m only the office secretary at the Club. Hamish’s dad is a member of an affiliated club and heard that they had a position. It’s OK. They treat me quite well.”
“As long as you exhibit the correct amount of deference,” he murmured his free hand reaching slowly upwards to stroke her long black hair.
“I suppose so. And the Club is near the university.”
“A bonus for both of us.”
“Mmmm.”
They lay together in the warm sun on the grassy bank barely conscious of the noises of the city drifting upwards towards the Park. A mixture of tenderness, sexual stirrings, and conflicting thoughts about Caro
l and her relationship with Hamish filled Stuart’s mind. She’d known him for years, practically engaged to him. He’s then transferred to Auckland. If she’d wanted to break it off that would have been the time. But instead she came too, and obviously still continues the relationship.
A wolf whistle and giggling interrupted his reverie. They both sat up to see three schoolboys from nearby Seddon Memorial Technical College leering from behind a nearby tree.
“She your girlfriend, mister?”
“Whoo, hoo! You must be in love! Whoo hoo!”
Stuart, angry that the boys’ puerile behaviour had shattered the moment, started to get up but Carol reached out and put her hand on his chest.
Carol rose slowly. “I have to go back to work in a minute.”
Her smile calmed him down. “That was lovely. Lunch on the Grass, eh?”
“Yes,” she said, “but not quite in the style of Monet.”
“Oh.” His surprise was genuine. “You know the painting?”
“Le Dejeuner sur L’Herbe,” she said slowly and then smiled at him. “I loved art at school but dad said it was an entirely unsuitable career, so I became a secretary.”
“And your mum?”
“She agreed. And in any case, she wanted me to marry Hamish. So a secretarial position was a chance to make a few pounds and fill up my hope chest.”
“And did you?”
By now they were both standing and Carol was brushing his blazer with her hand.
“Did I what?”
“Fill your hope chest.”
“Don’t be silly. I left it in Wellington. Told my mother to fill it for me. Give her something to do instead of bickering with dad.”
A clock sounded a single chime.
“Oh dear. Time for me to go.”
“I’ll walk you along Princes Street.” It was a statement not a question.
“Have you got time?”
“Surely. I’ll be spending all afternoon in the library – I’ve got an essay to finish by Friday.”
She slipped her arm into his. The tall leafy trees on either side of Princes Street cast benign shadows over them as they walked slowly past the historic houses on the west side.
Reluctant to discuss any personal issues raised by the lunchtime experience Stuart began to tell her about his studies. Her questions about university life came quickly and she seemed genuinely interested in his responses. He’d hardly touched the surface when they reached the end of Princes Street and stopped by the Romanesque style Jewish synagogue on the opposite corner.
She glanced across at the ivy-covered walls of the Northern Club. “Must go.” She put her nose in the air mimicking his earlier gesture. “They’re all frightfully punctual in there. I’ll probably walk this way later in the week.” She raised herself on tiptoe and her lips brushed his cheek. “Might see you then. Bye.”
He watched her as she began to cross the street. The slight breeze drifting up from Bowen Ave swirled playfully around the hem of her skirt as she reached the other side and entered the building. She didn’t look back.
Chapter 5
“You lucky bastard! She’s a bloody knockout! Where did you find her? Does she have a sister?” It was later that afternoon that Brendan had confronted him as he walked past the remnants of the old barracks wall in the centre of the campus - completed eighty years earlier to defend a growing Auckland town against a feared attack from Maori tribes in the south.
“Never you mind. But she is gorgeous, I agree. And sorry, mate, but she only mentioned her brother, Ian.” He grinned smugly and shook his head in mock sorrow. “Afraid there’s no sister.”
“Sod it. So where did you meet her?”
Brendan’s series of rapid-fire questions continued as the two young men walked towards the university library. Stuart soon realized that, apart from a delightfully unexpected sojourn on the grass, and a few details about her family and the apparent boyfriend, his knowledge of Carol was superficial. Yet he was sure of one thing, a determination to discover more.
“Hey, chaps. Heard the news?” John D’Arcy, a bespectacled student who was in Stuart’s Stage Three History class, interrupted the discussion.
“The news? You mean Johnson’s new girlfriend?”
“No, you stupid bugger. Adolf Hitler. He’s just sent his army and air force into Poland!”
“Good God. Actually attacked the country outright?”
“Absolutely. The British have issued him with an ultimatum to withdraw his army immediately. Otherwise they’ll declare war. Look!” D’Arcy produced a copy of the Auckland Star. Brendan read the headline aloud. “Allied Ultimatum to Germany. Ambassadors Take Demand to Berlin.”
“Jesus, this means war, for all of us,” muttered Stuart. “So much for our glittering academic careers.”
“Yep! It’ll be off to fight the foe – for you two anyway,” said Brendan.
“Whaddya mean?” D’Arcy looked puzzled. “If it’s war we’ll all have to bloody well go, like last time.”
“We won’t ‘all have to bloody well go’, mate. I’m bloody not. Didn’t do any bloody good last time and it won’t do any bloody good this time. War’s a game for mugs. Let the politicians go. It’s their fault, anyway!”
“Are you a bloody communist or something?” D’Arcy’s face came closer to Brendan’s. “We’ve all got to do our bit to defend ourselves and our country, and the empire, and---.”
“Country! Empire! The Germans and the Poles are twelve thousand bloody miles away or hadn’t you noticed? It’s not our war. Let the Europeans get on with it!”
“You’re a bloody conchie! You know what they did to those spineless bastards in the last show? Dragged them out to the front line and tied them to stakes. Bloody good show, too. Cowardly scum!”
“You’re not including me in your ‘cowards’ category are you, mate?” It was now Brendan who moved his face closer to D’Arcy’s. “And in any case, it took a lot of guts for those conscientious objectors to stand up against the mindless war machine that we created. So back off and think on!”
“OK, men, you’ve both made your point,” said Stuart, easing himself between the glowering pair. “I don’t agree with Brendan but he’s right about the courage of the conchies. Anyway, D’Arcy thanks for the information. Hell of a way to end a day.”
“Off you go, D’Arcy!” Brendan grinned with false enthusiasm. “You’ve got exciting news! There’s a war coming! Quick, away and spread the word!” He narrowed his eyes. “With luck someone will decide to shoot the bloody messenger.”
“Listen, you------.”
“D’Arcy! Go!” Stuart seized his shoulders and spun him round in the direction of a nearby group of students. “Tell those men! They need to know your news!”
Chapter 6
“Join up. Probably, Dad. But I want to finish my degree first.”
“Might be over by then, with any luck.”
“That’s what they said last time. Young men from here scrambled to get to France before the war was over. Thousands of them are still over there – marked by a cross, if they’re lucky. It’s OK, Dad, I will go but the world can wait a few months.”
Stuart and his father rarely spoke at length. However, a looming war, the prospect of enlistment, and the potential effect on Stuart and other family members had brought father and son together later in the evening by the lounge fire. His mother although distressed by the news, had felt it best to leave the two men to discuss the situation.
“It’s inevitable, Dad. Hitler’s not going to stop now - Rhineland, Austria, Sudetenland, and now Poland. He’s got the bit between his teeth and the Poles won’t stop him. Diplomacy and pieces of paper failed once again. We’ll have to fight the bastard to stop him.”
Normally the swear word ‘bastard’ would have brought an instant reprimand. But the immensity of the issues did not warrant it. “Ironic, really,” thought Stuart to himself. “As a student dad still sees me as a grown up schoolboy. Now I’m facing pos
sible military service, I’m regarded as having reached manhood.”
“Your mother’s pretty distressed, son. Her brother James was killed at Passchendale and her two cousins, Dan and Brian never really recovered from their wounds, even though they made it back home. She’s a brave woman but the thought of the same thing happening to her eldest son is very hard for her.” He paused and stared into the fire for a long moment. “And for me, son. And for me.”
It was a rare show of emotion from a man for whom the keeping up of appearances was a central tenet.
“I know, Dad,” responded Stuart, moved by this father’s brief but significant words. “Early days, anyway. We’re not even at war yet.”
“True.” Picking up a poker his father thrust it fiercely into the base of the fire. “In the meantime keep up your studies. And be gentle with your mother.”
Stuart didn’t see Carol for the next few days. He had decided to avoid the eight o’clock ferry as he felt it might cause problems for her. He’d hoped to see her at church on Sunday and was disappointed when one of the young women told him that Carol was home with a heavy cold.
Seating himself in the university library, he reached for his History texts. History, next to Maths, had been his favourite subject from Takapuna Primary where stories of William the Conqueror, Richard the Lionheart and Henry V had stirred his young imagination. His gradual discovery that these men had their flaws did not discourage him as he plunged ever deeper into the complex causes of the historical events that had affected their lives and those of countless numbers of men and women down the centuries. One more essay to go - the role of Kaiser Wilhelm in the events leading up to Germany’s invasion of Belgium and France in World War I. Rather too close to home now. Recently he’d read that in World War I New Zealand had sent over 100,000 troops overseas and that nearly 20% had been killed on battlefields such as Passchendale and Gallipoli. And now Europe seemed on the brink of repeating the whole frightful scenario.
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