The Beleaguered. Lynne Golding

to be with Millie Dale. Millie had been Jim’s sweetheart for over two years. He had loved her for even longer. It was a night to be with those with whom you are close, Father said. He should go to her, of course, and he did.

      Ina left for the McKechnies. They lived on Peel Avenue, just to the south of our house. Mrs. McKechnie had lost her husband four years earlier to a premature heart attack, and just two years later, her son, my friend Archie, died even more prematurely to a mishap in the Etobicoke Creek. Of the three female daughters, Katie was Ina’s particular friend. Father agreed that it would be appropriate for Ina to call on the McKechnies that night. Father always approved of a nice turn in support of a family without a senior male member. Roy and Bill followed in close succession, each determined to visit old friends.

      My young cousins and I, having been forbidden to engage in anything frivolous on that solemn night, looked for distractions. John eventually retreated to his room to work on the construction of a model train. Hannah and I moved through various rooms, listening to our elders. We quickly tired of watching the ladies try to calm Aunt Lil. We noticed that in reality, Aunt Rose and Mother were doing most of the calming. Aunt Charlotte, normally the one to take control of such situations, sat on her own, staring vacantly out the window into the darkness beyond.

      Eventually, we found ourselves on the verandah, watching Father and Uncle William smoke their pipes and listening to their discussion about the war. Though as children we were generally prohibited from participating in such conversations, we were always welcome to listen to them. Father viewed our presence at such times as a means of educating us.

      We sat on the Wellington Street side of the “L”-shaped verandah, the two men occupying the big wooden chairs facing the Wellington Street Bridge and the park beyond it. Hannah and I took the less comfortable chairs across from them, with mine closest to the street. From there I had a good view of our house and Chapel Street that crossed in front of it. Father and Uncle William were discussing whether Colonel Sam, who had earned his military credentials fighting in the Boer War, was likely to accompany the Canadian troops abroad.

      “The current thinking is that he’ll stay here in Canada,” Uncle William said, turning his pipe over in the ashtray before refilling it.

      “It would be better if he went over with the troops,” Father said, his mouth full of smoke. “I can’t say that I’m in favour of our men going to war, but if they do, they would be well served under his command.”

      “Apparently, not everyone thinks so,” said Uncle William. “I hear he caused the British no end of aggravation during the Boer War.”

      As Father and Uncle William continued to discuss war leadership matters and whether one could be a cabinet minister being too far away to attend cabinet meetings, my mind began to wander. How was this war going to affect us? Roy said that Father was too old to enlist, but if Parliament decreed otherwise, would he have to go to war? Would Grandpa? Who would look after us if all the men left? Who would grow our food? Who would fill our furnaces with coal? Who would deliver our milk, our vegetables, or our meat? Who would teach us math and science? Who would lead our church services?

      As I contemplated a manless reality, something caught my eye in the distance. It was Ina. She was walking toward our house along Chapel Street. Her visit with the McKechnies was apparently complete. I was about to announce her return when I saw her look furtively toward our verandah, then, presumably on ascertaining its vacant state, look equally furtively toward the Darlings’ verandah. Seeing the backs of Father and Uncle William and apparently not noticing me looking her way, she ran quickly along Chapel Street, past our house and toward Queen Street beyond. It was clear she did not want to be seen.

      Half an hour later, Mother and Aunt Charlotte joined us on the verandah. Aunt Lil’s agitation had been quelled. She was now settled in Aunt Rose’s back bedroom—the room then absent of any maids. We said goodnight to Hannah as my parents, the elder Turners, who were staying with us in Grandpa’s vacated bedroom, and I left for our home just up the street.

      Neither Ina nor Jim were there when we arrived, spent and tired. Minutes later, I lay in the double-sized bed that Ina and I shared, the drapes and sheers to the long window next to my side of the bed pulled open wide to allow as much cool night air as possible to enter the room. Though I was tired, I could not sleep. My mind was fixated on what Aunt Lil had said and how Father and Uncle William reacted to it. It was all about history. I knew some history. We had studied a number of battles in our history classes. I could think of a few: Culloden, Gettysburg, Waterloo, and Bosworth came to mind. We learned of the atrocities that men of one side inflicted on those of the other; we learned of crops and villages and government buildings burned to the ground; we learned of soldiers hacked to bits; of heads cut off and positioned on stakes; of women and children left to starve; of bridges and roads being destroyed. Was this to be our fate? Father had assured me that if Germany and Britain went to war, the battles would not be fought in Canada. But what if he was wrong? I thought about the courthouse, the registry office and the jail—all government buildings located just down the street from me; the Wellington Street Bridge beyond them; all the men I knew who could be called up for service. Eventually, I thought of their sweet heads.

      Around eleven o’clock, I heard the front door open. A few minutes later, Ina opened the door to our room. “Where were you all this time?” I whispered after she had changed into her cotton nightgown and crawled into our bed. It was a sign of our maturing relationship that when she told me she had been with the McKechnies for the entire evening, I did not expose her. I knew who she had been with. I knew she should not have been with that person. But I was glad she was.

      Chapter 2

      THE FIRST CONTINGENT

      The declaration of hostilities made on August 4th, 1914 epitomized the first days of the war. In Canada, at least, those days chiefly revolved around announcements, promises, and words. The prospect of a war had been known to the federal and provincial governments sufficiently long in advance to allow them following the declaration to make immediate promises, but not long enough it seemed, to allow them to take immediate actions.

      The reality was that while the Canadian government had announced its intention to send twenty thousand troops to the aid of Britain, it had not yet determined the means by which to do so. Canada had a permanent army comprised of three thousand professional soldiers. It had a mobilization plan by which the best volunteers would be selected by such professionals. This, however, was not the plan of Colonel Sam, who did not trust the professional soldiers, or the “regulars,” as they were called. He envisioned the volunteer militia, not the professional army, selecting the fit among the Canadians who volunteered to serve. It was not then known whose vision for the expeditionary force would prevail: that of the professional army or that of Colonel Sam.

      The situation was no different with respect to pledges made of supplies. Within hours of the declaration of hostilities, the government of Canada and the governments of her nine provinces raced to make commitments of goods to Britain. Details regarding how these goods could be acquired and delivered had yet to be determined.

      It was the promises of goods of three of those governments that kept the Turners in Brampton longer than their usual four weeks—a matter that brought pleasure to all of our family members but one. Every additional day spent in Brampton was an agony to Roy, who was fearful of not being in Winnipeg when his militia regiment was mustered.

      * * *

      I rose late the morning of August 5th, my fears of pending doom having led to a poor night’s rest. Aunt Charlotte and Ina were in the dining room when I entered it, discussing the restored condition of Aunt Lil, who had just entrained for Toronto. Father had already left for his dental office. Jim was at the Dale Estate, the internationally known flower grower, where he worked in the summers. Uncle William was at a meeting with Richard Blain, our local Member of Parliament. Mother was upstairs making her bed.

      I had nearly finished eating my cold toast when I heard Mother come down the maid’s stairs and go out the back door. Minutes later, she joined us in the dining room. After wishing me a good morning, she turned to Ina. “I see that you rinsed your dress out this morning. Why did you