JAMES BACQUE
The following is a short selection from the piece originally published on pages 77-110 of Issue 29.4, and are five are excerpts from a 650 page novel, a March 2006 release, available from Exile Editions.
OUR FATHERS’ WAR
by
James Bacque
Stone Cottage, Georgian Bay, Thursday, August 31, 1939
The children were playing on the lawn in the dark. Red and yellow northern lights spread like an eagle’s wings above them 20 miles wide over Georgian Bay.
Inside Stone Cottage, a determined-looking woman in an evening gown embroidered with a gold dragon was playing the rondo of the Waldstein Sonata, while her son Grant turned pages. Eleanor Giovanelli’s right hand repeated the five-note theme while her left pounded bass counterpoint. ‘It’s like boots stomping ants,’ Grant thought. The boots trudged on, ants running up the bare leg, and he smiled. His mother glanced up at him, feeling happy that he loved her.
Through the open French doors the shouts of the children came, "Look, it’s an eagle." Eleanor Giovanelli finished the rondo and they ran out the door. "It looks just like the German imperial eagle," said her husband Ferdie. He stared up in awe, as he rubbed the thick scar on his neck where German shrapnel had entered, almost killing him at Ypres.
• • •
At ten in the morning of the following day, the big red McLaren drew to a halt under the porte cochère of Stone Cottage. Standing to the right of the dusty car to welcome Dudley and Lady Treloar were Cameron Bannatyne and his wife, Sarah, their three children with their spouses, and five of their grandchildren.
Dudley straightened up with his joints popping, one foot on the running board and gazed over the car at the shining white head of his friend Cameron. Dudley said in a gentle voice, "Ah, there you are," as if he had been searching for Cam-eron for the three hours since Toronto. He took his friend’s hand and smiled with his eyes averted downwards. "I’m so glad to see you, my dear chap."
Dudley had forgotten his wife Flavia who was angrily trying to get out of the right rear door, while managing her wide-brimmed hat which she had just tied on with a lilac bow beneath her chin. Her hand went forth for Dudley’s, whose tweed back was turned towards her, so their manservant O’Shea took her gloved hand.
Flustered at the lack of attention, which seemed to her a lack of welcome, she smiled a generalized queen’s smile over the Bannatynes, then stepped down and said to Sarah Bannatyne, "You must be Sarah."
Sarah said, "I am glad to see you again, Flavia," politely reminding her that they had met in London two years before.
Dudley’s daughter, Victoria Catherine Treloar, followed her mother out of the car, looking around at the huge woods. She noticed a tall brown-haired young man in blue blazer and white shirt open at the neck, gazing up past the trees. She straightened her grey silk travelling dress round her hips with a gesture that her watching mother thought verged on the seductive.
Victoria’s travel ennui disappeared. She stopped thinking about her purpose in life, which had silenced her all the way from Toronto, and smiled at Grant. ‘Oh, handsome,’ she thought, and her resentment against her mother for dragging her onto this trip vanished.
She liked the dark brown hair curled by his tanned temple, his tall straight stance, but she was piqued that he was not interested when his mother introduced her.
She said to Grant, "My friends call me Cat."
Grant said, "I’m very glad to meet Victoria and her Cat." The unfamiliar pronunciation of her name shocked her and made her heart beat faster.
Reichs Chancellery, Berlin, Sunday, September 3, 1939
Paul Schmidt, a balding pudgy man radiating the stink of the quenched pipe in his tweed pocket, hurried through the crowd in the long Marble Gallery leading to Hitler’s study in the Reichs Chancellery on Sunday morning, September 3, carrying his briefcase. Everyone stopped talking.
The dozens of ministers, generals, party officials, were of one mind about the crisis. If the British note in Schmidt’s briefcase were an ultimatum, war was inevitable. If it was conciliatory, Germany would conquer Poland without war in the west. Every-one in the gallery felt the weight of empires pressing on him.
They pushed towards Schmidt, knowing he could not tell them anything, hoping to read the news in his expression, and careless of their rudeness in blocking his path toward Hitler’s door. Schmidt edged his thick body towards the door. His genial face was frozen stiff.
"What’s the news?" said several of the men.
"Class dismissed," he said. He tapped the briefcase. "Urgent for the Führer," knocked and then walked into Hitler’s office.
Hitler, in army uniform with the German eagle clutching the swastika emblazoned on his left sleeve, was seated behind his enormous desk in whose front were carved drawn swords. The Foreign Minister, Joachim von Ribbentrop, a narrow, foppish man, was standing by the French doors to the garden.
"Ambassador Henderson handed me this a few minutes ago," said Schmidt. "Then he asked for his passports." He offered the ultimatum to Ribbentrop. "It’s in English."
Ribbentrop, who spoke English, nodded to him to translate. Hitler’s nose twitched as he detected the smell of tobacco which he detested.
Schmidt stood at attention and translated in a steady voice: "More than 24 hours have elapsed since an immediate reply was requested to the warning of September first, and since then the attacks on Poland have been intensified. If His Majesty’s Government has not received satisfactory assurances of the cessation of all aggressive action against Poland, and the withdrawal of German troops from that country, by 11 o’clock British Summer Time, from that time a state of war will exist between Great Britain and Germany."
Hitler stared ahead while Schmidt remained at attention, feeling his legs tingle. Hitler glared at Ribbentrop and said savagely, "Now what?"
Ribbentrop, conscious of his role in an historic event, was posing by the window, one hand on his hip, his back straight, as if waiting for the photographer to come in. He replied, "I expect the French will give us a similar ultimatum within the hour."
"It is a two-front war," Hitler said. "All your doing."
He gave Ribbentrop a look of contempt and hatred. There was a long silence. Hitler made a weary gesture, moving his hand across the desk as if to sweep the troubles away with the papers.
"Leave me," he said. The deep lines from his mouth and nose ran down to his jaw, his skin was pale and puffy. He was angry with Ribbentrop and astounded by the British ultimatum, but he could think of nothing except how to cope with the two-front war. He felt in his pocket for the pills which Dr. Morell had given him, to calm his anxieties.
Ribbentrop accosted Schmidt in the gallery. The officers and ministers nearby stopped talking and listened, so Ribbentrop took Schmidt by the arm and led him further down. He said, "You were translating when Bonnet and I talked in Paris in December. Why did you not tell the Führer what Bonnet said about Poland?"
"What did he say?"
"For God’s sake, he said France had no interest in Poland."
"Excuse me, Herr Reichsminister, but I translated nothing of the sort."
Exasperated, Ribbentrop hissed, "Bonnet told me to my face that France was interested only in her colonies and had no interest in eastern Europe." He stared at Schmidt as if daring him to defy his superior.
"Bonnet said France had had no interest in eastern Europe, but he was referring to the past. He said that in the future, France would take a keen interest in affairs in eastern Europe."
Ribbentrop stared at him aghast. "Why did you not tell me this? This is of the greatest importance."
"With the greatest respect, Herr Reichsminister, he told you that himself, in French, which of course you speak so well."
"But you translated," said Ribbentrop, who had forgotten most of the meeting which he now said was crucial.
"I was surprised when you told me to translate for you, but I thought that perhaps you did not want Bonnet to know how much you understood. In any case, that is what I did translate. Perhaps the mistake came because you were listening to Bonnet in French, not my translation in German."
Ribbentrop stared at him with a sick look.
"Now, if you will permit me," Schmidt said, turning with an attempt at military stiffness which his pudgy body could not execute. He went back to the dozen uniformed men waiting at the far end of the vast gallery and said, "The English have handed us an ultimatum. In two hours, a state of war will exist between England and Germany."
Ribbentrop, his face rigid, strode away without saying a word. Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, chief of Military Intelli-gence, said with tears in his eyes to his friend Hans Bernd Gisevius, "This means the end of Germany." Gisevius shuddered.
Schmidt, seeing Göbbels’ ferrety face turn aside in aversion as Ribbentrop walked by, felt shivers of fear. ‘How could Ribbentrop have misunderstood? The British have warned us over and over. Surely the Führer realized. But it seems that he did not.’ He heard Hitler’s snarl, ‘Now what?’ and saw Ribbentrop by the window, disaster with his hand on his hip.
‘This is how we are governed,’ Schmidt thought in amazement. ‘By accident. We are governed by criminals and fools.’ He took a pace after Ribbentrop to explain things to him, then turned back towards Hitler’s closed door and stopped. It was too late. The Führer would not back down now. He felt sick, he laughed, and when he said "Auf wiedersehen," to Hess, Göbbels, and the rest, his voice choked with despair.
Washington, Christmas, 1941
On the evening of Wednesday, December 17, 1941, President Roosevelt, wearing his suit but no topcoat, sat outdoors in his wheelchair at the airport watching the landing lights of the DC3 bringing Prime Minister Churchill and Lord Beaver-brook. Rarely did the President go to the airport or railway station to welcome a visitor, but this was their first meeting of wartime.
"Well, Winston," he said, as the Prime Minister advanced across the tarmac in his dark blue Royal Navy uniform, "we are at last in this together."
"Everything has changed but you and I are the same. Firm friends."
"That’s exactly how I feel."
The President asked after Beaverbrook’s asthma.
"I expect it will be much better in this balmy climate," Beaverbrook said, noticing the bags of fatigue under the President’s sad kind eyes.
They rolled slowly in the President’s Packard, windows open, the motorcycle escort well away from them. Men and women walked arm in arm, old people strolled along walking their dogs.
"It was very strange flying to your lighted city," said Churchill. "London has been dark for ages."
The President touched his knee. "Nothing can defeat us now."
• • •
"The first part of our problem," said Harry Hopkins in the President’s bedroom the next morning, "is to keep the Russians in the game till we can get our boys over there to give them a hand."
"Whoa, hold on there," said the President. "I think we must decide our priorities with the Prime Minister. Will it be Japan first, or Germany?"
Harry Hopkins looked at him in dismay. He’d thought that the President had already decided the major enemy was Germany and therefore the first task was to help Russia. But Roosevelt’s Chief of Staff, General George C. Marshall, a grave man, much respected by everyone, nodded in agreement with the President. This was decisive. Marshall rarely spoke, and then usually when the President asked his opinion.
"Let us go and see the Prime Minister," said Roosevelt. "He said to call on him in his bedroom as soon as we were ready."
He rolled his wheelchair down the hallway two doors, where he knocked, said, "Winston?" and heard the reply, "Come in, Franklin." All of them walked in after the President. There stood Churchill, completely naked, his pink bulky body glowing fresh from his bath. Jane Goodwin, his secretary, was standing nearby blushing. Beaverbrook burst out laughing and Churchill said, "The Prime Minister of Great Britain has nothing to conceal from his good friend the President of the United States." He wrapped a silk kimono round his body, then sat down with his cigar at a table strewn with papers, orange juice glasses, and his spectacles, which he now placed on the bridge of his nose. He grinned owlishly round the room. "I was just sending a rocket to Auchinleck to spur him on against Rommel," said Churchill. Goodwin made notes as Churchill finished dictating.
"Now then, gentlemen, to business," he said, and climbed into bed.
Beaverbrook took his place in a chair by the head of the bed. The President rolled up beside him, the others clustered round.
"Priorities," said Churchill.
"That, and the question of payments," said the President. He did not want to discuss payments today because he knew the British were bankrupt. But he had promised Treasury Secretary Henry Morgenthau that he would. "Right, then priorities it is," said Churchill. Roosevelt was silent, humouring Churchill, who always liked to get in the first and last words. Churchill glanced at Hopkins, aware that he had something to say about Russia.
Hopkins said, "The Russians are in desperate straits right now, worse than when you were there, Max. They have thrown the Germans back from Moscow, but now their spies in the east are saying that the Japanese are about to attack them as well, so they don’t know whether or not they can safely withdraw any more soldiers from Amur and Vladivostok."
Beaverbrook added, "If Vladivostok goes, then all of the wheat that is actually on its way from Vancouver right now will not get there, and there is serious danger of famine in Russia this winter. Also, their production figures have fallen drastically below projections. The relocation behind the Urals is far behind schedule and many factories have been lost."
"How do we know their figures" said Churchill, "when the Russians themselves tell us nothing?"
"Ambassador Davies has very good sources in Russia," said Roosevelt. "They have been completely reliable up till now."
"I think our Russian friends may be embarrassed at their small production compared with ours," said Hopkins. He was always careful to soothe Churchill on the subject of Russia be-cause of the ancient enmity between Churchill and Stalin.
Churchill grunted, "It is most likely that they don’t want us to know how weak they really are, so they will be the more easily able to bluff us." There was a slightly embarrassed pause after that. Churchill went on regardless, "My sources in Russia tell me that some of their soldiers are still wearing footcloths in the snow, because they have no proper boots. Most of their artillery is drawn by horses, or even by the soldiers themselves."
"The German Army moved mainly by horses when they attacked Russia," said Beaverbrook.
"They’re eating them now, I’ll warrant," said Churchill.
Hopkins said, "We have heard from some of our missions to England that the supply situation there is pretty precarious. Goods sometimes lie rusting on the docks in Glasgow and Liverpool for months. Orders from the highest levels are often ignored, and nothing gets done or very little on the factory floor. I wonder what truth there is in these allegations?"
Beaverbrook said in a very determined way, "I am a Canadian. I have often criticized the English. But today they are showing themselves so strong in adversity, so determined, so capable of such brilliant acts of heroism and self-sacrifice that I count it one of the greatest privileges of my life to be allowed to serve under their banner . . ."
Beaverbrook continued, "There are only two kinds of people in the world, those who get things done, and those who get things right. That’s why it’s so hard to get things done right." This got nods of approval and smiles all round, and Beaver-brook, gratified, went on, "But we have tripled aircraft production in three months and will triple it again this next quarter, so something is being done. We are producing at the rate of 18,000 per year now and expect to add to that substantially very soon."
"Well said, Max," said Churchill. "You deserve glory for this."
"Good for you, Max," said the President. "I want you to talk to our Donald Nelson and ginger him up a bit, I’m sure you can do it. Now, gentlemen, the whole purpose of this little exercise that we call the Second World War is to prepare a better world. Much of the shape and atmosphere of the world after the war will be determined by what we do now. Later on I’ll want to discuss our plans for world food relief after victory, and our plan for the United Nations. In the meantime, Missy will give you a paper I have done on the subject."
"Very good, Franklin," said Churchill. "I fully agree."
"But just for now, may I say for the record, my belief is that we must devote much of our new production right now to Uncle Joe. We must get along with him because we can not get along without him. I know he is ruthless when the country’s interests are at stake, but I am told that he is always reasonable. I’m quite confident that we can do business with Uncle Joe now and after the war. Especially will that be so if we treat him with consideration and generosity now."
Churchill said, "Max has referred to his origins and you know that I have frequently boasted of my American mother. However, I was not aware that Joe Stalin is your uncle, Franklin. Surely this information should be classified Most Secret and not be disclosed until after the next presidential elections." There was loud laughter at this.
If you would like to continue with a few more excerpt, please click: Part 2. When you are done, double click on the Browser’s "Back" option to return you to the Contributor’s page for 29.4.
Note: to proceed with the View/Download option, you will need a password, and must have paid the Registration Fee for On-line Browsing and Downloading. For details regarding this, please click: On-line User Registration