Another break then he continued on.
“We were written up in the New York Times for that. They said we’d got done what the whole British Army and all of those bloody Frogs could never get done. We were all very proud of ourselves for that and they were all very proud of us back here too - very proud. It was a very important time for Canada and we all knew it.”
He looked across at me through a few more tears and tousled my hair and then began again.
“But this one is the most valuable to me, Boy.”
“Why is that Grandpa?” Amid all of his emotion I had finally found almost enough voice to try to engage him with a serious question.
He smiled briefly then whispered, “Because it was the last one.”
I leaned forward to hold his hand and looked him straight in the eye. It was my way of asking him to go on. He reached down to lift up another medal - this one was bronze and star shaped with the word ‘Mons’ inscribed on its face.
“Son, this is the Mons Star. We were given it after the Battle of Mons in Belgium. It was fought through until the last full day of the war, November 10th 1918 when the Canuks freed that city that had been occupied by the Germans since the very first weeks of the war.”
There was another long pause, his eyes closed shut and then came the final capitulation and he openly wept in anguish.
“My best friend died there just two days before the armistice. He was an amazing man and one helluva soldier and I have missed him every day of my life since.”
He began to sob again and we sat there holding hands in a long awkward silence for a few more minutes. When he finally regained his composure he stretched his gnarled hands across and pulled me close to his chest in a long embrace, one that we never repeated again for as long as I ever knew him.
“Thank-you Boy,” he barely mumbled, “I guess it’s been along while since I’ve thought about all that.”
I stood up and reached out my hand offering my best impersonation of an adult. He smiled broadly through his tears and covered my small hand with both of his own.
“That’s OK, Grandpa.” I tried my best to sound older and more confident, “I was very happy to hear your stories.”
He released his grip and I turned to leave and then turned back around to pick up my baseball from the bed. “I almost forgot it,” I smiled.
He returned the smile with a broad grin and wiped the tears away with his handkerchief. I left the room quickly, hurrying to get to my game. Three steps later, I stopped to look back over my shoulder to see him retrieve his pipe from the top of the dresser.
Those few moments alone with my grandfather have remained with me throughout my life. I have always known that I would find a way to record the story of my grandparents and their complete devotion to Canada. I know it to be one of many great stories of people coming here to start their lives in aspiration and hope. Theirs is unique only in its time and place.
So, it is with great pride and the aid of some respectful creative license that I invite you to know their story in “The Remnants”.
* * *
Half-Day Off
The final decree was unmistakable. Three short chimes from the large brass clock that hung above the service stairs reverberated through the upper walls. Each steady stroke proclaimed the certainty of their misfortune. The two exchanged a frozen wide-eyed glance that confirmed their desperation. Their great adventure now appeared hopelessly lost. True to the numerous threats and warnings the great beast suddenly roared to life in the paddock below, tearing and bellowing through the serenity of the morning calm. Clearly only a miracle could save them now.
The answer to their prayers did not hesitate, she charged out from the kitchen door in a thunderstorm of fury. This slender wisp of a woman exploded into action as she dashed forward brandishing a large metal spoon as her own true Excalibur. Ten feet from her target she halted, squared directly to face the beast and launched an opening cannonade of in righteousness indignation.
“You stop right there, Gerald Alton, or you’ll wish the bloody hell you had!”
Her voice penetrated throughout the courtyard with all the ferocity of an irate sergeant major on a parade ground. The pure bluster of her performance slowed the ogre to a stagger just long enough for its master to pause to reconnoiter the situation. Seizing the moment, she raced forward to confront the great green monster and kicked it hard with her heavy wooden heel. The loud clang on the metal fender triggered an immediate angry response.
“Here now, stop that nonsense immediately,” Gerald Alton bellowed as he sprang up from his seat, snapping his goggles back up on to the brim of his cap. “I told those two that I would leave at quarter to the hour precisely and that no delays would be tolerated.”
Her bold defiance came with as much power and fury as the knockout blow she intended. “You’ll set that filthy beast still ‘til they come down or you’ll never have another decent meal in this house again! You’ll be eatin’ scraps and dregs in that livery shed forever, I promise you that!”
Alton paused and stared hard into the eyes of the only woman in the world who could force him to retreat. Lowering his head he exhaled in a long, slow blow. Then he slowly eased back into his seat and set the motor back down to a low rumble as he tugged the throttle to idle. Alton now appeared a man entirely overwhelmed by the burden of defeat.
In truth, this setback would barely cause a ripple amongst his colleagues of the manor. After all, cook was no minor player in this household. In fact Lily Quayle had become a legendary personality of Meaford House. Celebrated throughout the county by the master himself for the magic of her culinary skills, she was also a much beloved and respected character amongst the entire household staff. But her fellow staff also knew that her apparent amiable manner could be quickly triggered by a ferocious Irish temper. Together these two qualities confirmed the duality of Lily’s notoriety. She was revered in the wider world and both loved and feared by her friends at home.
“Now, you just sit quietly and bide your time for a moment, they’ll be along directly.”
“Please, Mrs. Quayle,” poor Alton pleaded. “I have a long list of chores to complete this day and I can’t be held ransom by a pair of young lasses off on a tour of the village shops.”
He thrust his goggles back on to his reddened face and leaned forward ready to resume his mission.
“You’re a far too rigid and impatient man, Mr. Alton. Surely two minutes more won’t ruin your day. Besides, it won’t hurt a crotchety old bachelor to have two lovely young things tucked up there beside you as you make your way down High Street.”
“Enough, Mrs. Quayle. I will dally no longer. I must be off,” Alton threatened as he stretched down again toward the throttle.
“Just before you run off, I’ll ask for yer opinion concerning another most urgent matter.” There was another moment of pause and Alton frowned, rolled his eyes in frustration and slowly leaned back again into his seat.
“I’ve been considering the menu tonight’s dinner, Mr. Alton. Of course the master’s guests will feast on a handsome Beef Wellington but I have not yet decided for the staff. I was curious what would you might say to a lovely braised rabbit?”
Alton jerked his head back so quickly the goggles began to slide back down along the side of his nose. He plucked them back up onto the brim of his cap and turned to her slowly engaging a warm grin that slowly brightened his face.
“Now you’ve done it Lily,” Alton said as he rubbed his chin to consider the matter further “You know very well how much I love your