The First Snow of Winter

by Fred Allen

  In his rummaging in the back compartment Peter came across a package containing an unopened 40 ounce bottle of Chivas Regal and he took this with him into the front seat. He opened the bottle and took several drinks. He was suddenly very tired. Not only was he exhausted physically but was totally drained emotionally. Marie-Louise’s painful revelations had only represented the second of two devastating blows Peter had suffered in a little more than forty-eight hours.

  At the regimental reunion he had met a former German tank commander and this commander had been invited by the regiment because he had been the commander of the “Hedgehog” involved in the action in which Peter had won the VC. Now referred to as “The Battle of the Old Quarry” it occupied a place of honor in the annals of the regiment. The German veteran had immigrated to Canada after the war and was now living in Toronto. Sometimes, shared hazardous experiences will extend the bond of camaraderie even to former enemies.

  When Peter was introduced to Herr Major(Retired) Conrad, he found that the former German officer had vivid memories of the action at the old quarry. He congratulated Peter on his outstanding gallantry, particularly when he had jumped onto the second tank and dropped two grenades into the turret which Conrad had opened in an attempt to get the heavily damaged APCs out of the path of the tanks. The German officer was severely wounded, and his tank was completely immobilized with all his crew either dead or seriously wounded. Conrad told of watching Peter leap onto the third tank, which was now totally immobilized by the immovable hulk in front of it on the ramp.

  The former German officer told of how he watched Peter drop one grenade into the third tank but then was cut down by a burst of fire from the third APC. Conrad expressed considerable surprise that Peter had survived. They had several drinks together and eventually found themselves alone at the table. Conrad leaned over and said there was something different about Peter’s appearance. Of course it had been nearly nineteen years but then something else occurred to him. “Of course, you’ve let your hair grow in. At the quarry you were completely bald!”

  Peter sat behind the wheel in the station wagon and took another drink from the bottle of Chivas Regal. Now, after all these years, the picture was clear. Unwittingly, Herr Major Conrad had filled in the blanks. He recalled his reaction at the investiture at Buckingham Palace when the detailed citation had been read describing the action and Peter could not remember some of the acts attributed to him in the citation. Now, Peter knew what had really happened during his period of oblivion from the glancing blow to his helmet until he found himself escorting the prisoners carrying Sharkey’s dead body back to the abandoned farm buildings. Until he heard the account as detailed by the German major he had considered the gaps to be just the “fog of battle” following the thump on his helmet that had left him barely conscious.

  Now, he knew that what had actually happened during his blackout at the quarry was that Sharkey had finished the job in neutralizing the German force, had really performed the acts for which Peter had been awarded the VC, and had given his life in doing so. It was now all so obvious and Peter was devastated. Sharkey had given his life, had earned what he had always referred to as the “Big Gong”, and Peter had received the medal, the “latchlifter” and all the percs that went with it. And Sharkey had merely been awarded a “Mention-in-Dispatches” because he died and it was only the VC and Mention-in-Dispatches that could be awarded posthumously.

  Since the war, Peter had often read of the politics of honors and awards. Of many awards that had been dictated by an agenda that did not always depend upon gallantry or valor. Many junior officers identified as “streamers” or promising of a speedy rise through the ranks had promotions accelerated by honors and awards. Battalion Commanders and Company Commanders found that the addition of the letters DSO after their names promised special consideration in rising to the top in the promotion pool. While perhaps he was descending into the depths of cynicism, he thought of how perfect the timing of his award had been. Recruiting was lagging in Canada as were the sales of Victory Bonds. Canada needed a live hero to stimulate the flagging patriotism. Young and handsome would also be very nice and none of this could be achieved with a dead “retread” no matter how distinguished his service had been. Peter’s train of very self-deprecating thought was disrupted by a knock on the wagon door. Through the frost covered window on the passenger side he could make out the face of Jacob Rosenburg. First putting the bottle of Chivas Regal behind the seat, Peter reached over and opened the door.

  “Any problems over there, Mr Rosenburg?” Peter asked.

  “No,no, everything is all right And please, Peter, call me Jacob. I’m still worried about Sara but she has her heart medicine and your daughter is looking after her. Your son Robbie, excuse me, Robert as he wishes to be called, is behind the wheel and I showed him how to start the engine and run it for ten minutes every half-hour or so. And that beautiful baby seems to sleep most of the time. Robert had something to eat, the little one had some baby food heated in the “Hot Pot” but your wife and daughter were not hungry. I brought some Montreal smoked meat and sausage for you. But the main reason I came over was to smoke a cigar. I smoke one cigar a day and at my age it’s my only vice. These are very good Cuban cigars, will you join me?” Jacob passed a box of cigars to Peter, taking one himself, which he put under his nose and breathed deeply through his nose to enjoy the rich aroma of the yet unlit cigar.

  Peter accepted and took a cigar from the box. He enjoyed a good cigar from time to time and this was a habit he had acquired in his travels with the Lieutenant-Governor who was a real cigar aficionado. Peter tested the aroma of the cigar as Jacob had done and could only agree with Jacob that this was indeed a fine cigar. He offered Jacob a drink from the bottle of Chivas Regal but

  Jacob declined advising Peter that he was under strict doctor’s orders to avoid spirits.

  The interior of the wagon was soon blue with the aromatic smoke of the fine cigars.

  Jacob commented that weather conditions were not getting any better and Peter replied that in his opinion things were getting worse. But, he added, that while these early storms could be fierce, they seldom lasted very long. There was just nothing they could do until someone came looking for them. He asked Jacob if his family was expecting him in Fredericton and Jacob replied that they had originally intended to return via the States and planned to visit friends in Bangor but with six boxes of fine Cuban cigars in the trunk, Jacob decided to take the Canadian route.

  “Well,” said Peter, “They’ll be out looking for stranded cars just as soon as conditions permit. So we’ll just have to be patient.”

  Jacob seemed quite content to draw deeply on his cigar but he was obviously drawing on his memory to open the conversation. “You may not realize it, Peter, but I have known you for a long time. You went to high school with our two boys and our darling Esther. I remember you did a science project with Esther and you visited our home and spent several hours discussing your project with Uncle Jadan our family scholar. Do you remember that?”

  “Of course,” replied Peter. “He was a very interesting man.” Peter intentionally did not mention Esther because he knew that mere mention of the beautiful Esther would be painful for Jacob. “But, we may have met even before that.”

  Jacob replied, “Oh, yes I know what you are talking about. That little scam you and your friends worked on the beer bottles where you would wait until I went to the back of a house and then steal bottles from the back of my wagon; then you would sell them back to me on the next street. You will remember that sometimes I would see you and shout at you in Yiddish but only because that was what you wanted and just added to the stories you would tell your friends about the crazy Jew.”

  Peter was mildly surprised. “You knew what we were doing? Why didn’t you do something; tell our parents, tell the police?”

  “No, Peter, we would never do that. There wa
s nothing very serious here; just a bunch of kids making memories; nothing malicious. And one very important thing my people learned during the hundreds of years that we did not have a homeland was that our security was largely dependent upon keeping a very low profile. We always found ourselves strangers in strange lands and the less attention we drew upon ourselves the more secure we would be.”

  Peter remembered his visit to the Rosenburg home in the block on King Street where the Rosenburg family and most other Jewish families lived and conducted their various businesses. Nearly all of them were involved in the collection of various items of scrap, dealing in livestock, of collecting beer bottles that could be returned to the breweries in Saint John for reuse. It was a very busy block and the businesses appeared to prosper although this was never reflected in the outward appearance of their homes.

  When Peter and Esther visited the Rosenburg home to finish their science project, He had been amazed at what he found in the medium sized house. They had entered through the kitchen that appeared to be the center of family activities and delicious aromas were coming from work in progress on the huge cast iron stove. But, it was his visit to Uncle Jadan’s apartment in the basement that impressed Peter the most. The apartment took up the full basement extending the length of the house. It had been fully refurbished and tastefully redecorated. Including the area that was obviously Uncle Jadan’s bedroom, all the walls were lined with bookshelves completely filled with books with an overflow of books in cartons on the floor.

  At one end of the huge room was Uncle Jadan’s office and, as Esther described it, his teaching area. There were a few student type desks, a blackboard and several easels on which books of charts had been mounted but unopened when Peter first saw them.

  Uncle Jadan was at his desk and he greeted Esther affectionately. Peter shook Uncle Jadan’s outstretched hand. It was the first time he had formally met the old gentleman but he had seen him so often walking along the Green, which bordered the river from the Boat Club to the railway bridge. Peter was not a very good judge of ages but was reasonably certain that Uncle Jadan was very close to eighty. Although the family was not Orthodox, Uncle Jadan wore the dark clothes and wide brimmed hat usually associated with that very conservative group. His beard was really remarkable, not only was it very long but carefully maintained and cut absolutely square across the bottom.

  “So, this is Peter,” the old man said in carefully chosen but heavily accented words. “I’ve heard much about you from Esther and the twins (Paul and Martin one year older than Esther). I have also met your father at the City Council. He is a very fine man for whom I have the greatest respect. And now, let us discuss your science project. When my darling Esther first told me about it, I thought you were being just a bit too ambitious. Then, as it happens so often with we old folks, I found that I had underestimated both of you. This is a project that university students would be proud to submit.”

  Peter noticed that Esther was actually beaming in happiness as she heard these words of praise from the old man whom she loved and respected so much. Now Peter understood the academic excellence of Paul, Martin and Esther. This old man was their tutor not only in religious and Yiddish language studies but also in their academic pursuits. The three led all their classes in marks obtained on tests and examinations but were never on prize lists because they seemingly intentionally limited their participation in special projects and field trips to the extent that they never, technically at least, qualified for academic prizes. Esther tried to explain this situation to him by telling him that recognition of the excellence of their efforts from Uncle Jadan was more important than formal academic prizes. Peter now suspected that a better explanation would be what Jacob had described earlier on this very day as a security motivated desire to maintain a low profile.

  Uncle Jadan reviewed their near completed project making minor recommendations but with far more praise than criticism. During the review Peter watched Esther through the corner of his eye and she was absolutely radiant listening to Uncle Jadan’s words of praise. The degree of respect shown by the beautiful young girl confirmed everything Peter had heard from Paul and Martin about the extremely high regard the old man enjoyed in the Jewish community.

  Now,as they continued to smoke their cigars in the station wagon, Jacob told him the very interesting story of how Uncle Jadan had arrived in Fredericton. He had been born to prosperous merchants in a large city in the Ukraine. He had distinguished himself in university but expressed a desire to become a Rabbi. As part of his preparation, Jadan had become highly proficient in the preparation of kosher foods and an expert butcher.

  These had been very difficult times for Jews in Russia. Their successes in the arts and business and aroused the envy of many Russians in positions of power who resented these successes achieved in spite of the efforts of the Czar’s ministers. From resentment and envy it was only a short step to discrimination and out-and-out Anti-Semitism. It seemed that the Jews were about to become the target of another pogrom. In this highly charged political environment a totally frustrated Jadan had become an activist. He wrote scathing articles critical of the Russian aristocracy and even the Czar himself and the Czar’s police were ordered to shut him up. This could only mean one thing in turn of the century Russia; Jadan would simply disappear and never be seen alive again.

  The Jewish community was not that happy with Jadan’s actions but was determined to save this very bright young man from the Czar’s prisons. He was secreted into Germany where contact was made with a distant relative in Montreal, Canada, and in a few weeks a very unhappy Jadan was on his way across the Atlantic. His prearranged transportation took him only as far as Saint John and he had barely enough money left to purchase his rail ticket to Montreal. Trouble arose when his meager luggage could not be found and Jadan, quite uncharacteristically, got into a fight with one of the pursers. He was arrested and spent a night in the Saint John City Jail.

  He appeared in court the next morning and a court appointed interpreter advised him, in very broken Russian, that he should plead guilty and accept what would be little more than a tongue lashing from the judge which he would not understand anyway. Jadan just wanted to get out of that damp, stinking cell so he reluctantly agreed. Well, the Judge added just a little more to the tongue-lashing and the fine left Jadan with insufficient funds to pay his rail fare to Montreal.

  At the Saint John Railway Station Jadan had no way to explain his predicament but he knew that one thing was essential; he had to get on that train. So he put his entire worldly wealth on the ticket sales desk and pleaded “Ticket” repeatedly, knowing only that this was an important word in arranging transportation. The clerk gave him a ticket and Jadan achieved his primary objective of getting a seat on the train. But when the train arrived in Fredericton Junction the Conductor checked his ticket and had him escorted off the train.

  As the train left the station, Jadan did the only thing he could think of and started walking after the train. If he couldn’t ride to Montreal, he would walk. Jadan’s sense of direction in his new country left much to be desired. After walking for hours and covering nearly twenty miles Jadan realized he was coming to a large town or city. But it wasn’t Montreal, it was Fredericton. His stamina was finally wearing down. Exhausted, Jadan became frustrated in his efforts to obtain any information that would help him in solving his problem. He was both tired and hungry and when he became more aggressive in hurling questions at everyone he met, he was brought to the attention of the chief of the three man Fredericton Police Department.

  The Chief was reluctant to lock up this strange and uninvited visitor. He had only a limited budget to cover those who became guests of the city and it was barely enough to accommodate the regular town drunks who slept off their over indulgence in the cells under the clock tower of City Hall. Then, the Chief had an idea. He didn’t have many ideas but this one probably changed the course of Jadan’s life. T
he strange visitor repeated time after time a word that could only be interpreted as “Russia” and the Chief knew that there was a Professor of Chemistry at the University of New Brunswick who came from somewhere in Russia. The Chief sent for the seldom used horse drawn “Paddy Wagon” and took Jadan to the building near the university where the Chief knew the Professor had a small apartment. The Professor saw the Paddy Wagon pull up in front of the building and he greeted the Chief with just a little apprehension.

  The Chief found it impossible to introduce the two because he still didn’t know Jadan’s name and he couldn’t pronounce the Professor’s name. Fortunately, the Professor was quite fluent in English so the Chief explained his problem. All he knew about the visitor was that he kept repeating something that sounded like Russia. The Professor addressed Jadan in Russian and Jadan threw his arms around the Professor tears flowing down his cheeks in the tremendous relief that would only come when someone who has been inflicted with the loss of speech can speak again. A torrent of words came from his mouth and the Professor who had not spoken his native tongue in some years was obliged to slow him down. He told the Chief that there was a small room available in the building and he would do his best to see that his compatriot had shelter and food until a final solution could be realized.

  The professor took Jadan up to his small apartment and as soon as Jadan entered the small sitting room it was as if he and the Professor were life long friends. Jadan’s eyes locked on the chess set on the table apparently with a game in progress. He quickly analyzed the game in progress and gave the Professor the three moves for white to Check-mate, and the Professor realized that he was in the presence of a Chess Master.