The Beleaguered. Lynne Golding

the telegraph business, for, being a caring man, he enjoyed knowing the details of the lives of his fellow townsmen. Of course, he regarded the confidentiality of all telegrams as a sacred trust. He would never divulge to others the content of a telegram, a feat that was not particularly difficult to observe when the telegrams pertained to such matters as the purchase and sale of livestock, birthday greetings, holiday reports, and other ordinary matters, which most telegrams did.

      No matter the topic, each such missive, once received, was placed in a manila envelope, addressed to the recipient, sealed, and then handed to one of Mr. Thauburn’s local bicycle-riding delivery boys, each of whom he called “Johnny,” no matter the Christian name conferred on him by the boy’s parents. If an illness or a family emergency prevented one of those boys from completing his delivery or if the destination was too far, Mr. Thauburn took charge of the sealed envelope and personally transported it by foot, horse, coach, or, later, by car.

      Mr. Thauburn was acknowledged as being a fine telegraph master in large part due to two edicts by which he operated his business. The first edict was that no telegram was to be hidden. Mr. Thauburn, not wanting himself or any of his delivery boys to be accused of converting another person’s property as his own, insisted that all telegrams be delivered in plain view—either in the carrier’s hand or bicycle basket. They were never to be stored, even temporarily, in a pocket. The second edict was that all telegrams received during normal business hours were to be dispatched to the recipient promptly upon its receipt—ideally within ten minutes and certainly within thirty.

      Being well aware of the efficiency of Mr. Thauburn’s telegraph office and of his adherence to the second of those two requirements, a person expecting a telegram waited to receive it at his or her home or place of business. Only occasionally would a prospective telegram recipient have the temerity to enter Mr. Thauburn’s premises and inquire as to whether a telegram had been sent to him. If the inquirer purported to be making the inquiry in an effort to save Mr. Thauburn the trouble of having it delivered, he or she would be politely thanked for the inquiry and provided with a reply. But that civil response applied only to a first inquiry. Mr. Thauburn viewed any subsequent inquiry not as a considerate gesture, but at best as an irritation and at worst as an aspersion on his service record.

      “If I had a telegram for you, Mrs. Smith, would it not now be in the course of delivery to you?” This was as polite a response as one might receive for a first inquiry made without a suggestion of trying to save Mr. Thauburn the time of delivering it or as one might receive to any second inquiry. Few in Brampton knew his rejoinder to those who inquired more often than that. But on August 7th, 1914, three days after the hostilities commenced, my cousin Roy became one of them. It did not start that way.

      For three successive days, Roy sent telegrams to his commanding officer in Winnipeg, seeking instructions as to how to proceed. Should he return to Winnipeg immediately? Should he instead proceed directly to Camp Petawawa? Should he wait and return home with his parents departing Toronto on August 16th? Roy’s commanding officer responded to the first telegram sent August 4th with genuine appreciation for being consulted. “Acknowledging with thanks your telegram of yesterday’s date. No orders have yet been received. Unless orders otherwise sent, suggest you return to Winnipeg with family Aug 16.”

      In response to a similar telegram sent by Roy on August 5th, his commanding officer replied in a less appreciative but still friendly manner. “No orders received. Reiterate suggestion of yesterday.”

      The commanding officer’s response to the third telegram, this one sent August 6th, was an order. “Pending further instructions, you are commanded to return to Winnipeg, departing Toronto Aug 16.”

      While the sending of such telegrams began to irritate Roy’s commanding officer, they had no such deleterious effect on Mr. Thauburn, who never objected to sending telegrams. Nor was Mr. Thauburn bothered by the reply telegrams sent by Roy’s commanding officer, since they were delivered to Roy in the ordinary manner at Aunt Rose’s house.

      Circumstances changed on August 7th. That was the day it became known that Colonel Sam’s view of the recruitment of the expeditionary force had prevailed. Earlier that day, telegrams had been sent to the militia commanders across the country, advising them that they would be responsible for the recruitment of the volunteers that would form the Canadian Expeditionary Force. With that information and hanging on to those first few words of his commanding officer’s missive, “pending further orders,” Roy went to the telegraph office to ascertain whether a telegram with such further orders had been received.

      “How many times did you go to the telegraph office today, Roy?” Bill asked him that night as the family gathered on the Darlings’ verandah.

      Roy hesitated before answering. “A few.”

      “A few?” Ina asked incredulously.

      “A few plus a few,” Roy confessed.

      “Six times?” Uncle William asked, clearly startled. “I hope you are not bothering Mr. Thauburn.”

      To Roy’s negative reply, Ina issued a small harrumph. We all looked at her.

      “Do you know something about this, Ina?” Aunt Charlotte asked.

      “No. No,” Ina said, blushing slightly. “It’s just that…well, I can imagine that it could be bothersome to have someone asking the same question of you six times in a day.”

      We couldn’t really blame Roy for being anxious. Though the local armouries were not open for recruitment on August 4th, the day that hostilities were declared, reports abounded of the hundreds of men who encircled armouries across the country that day and the next. With no other way to disperse them, by the night of August 5th, the armouries began opening their doors to applicants. Roy was beside himself at the notion of new recruits being accepted in Winnipeg while he was still in Brampton. Colonel Sam said he would take any man who wished to serve. There were so many men who wished to serve, Roy was afraid that his captain might not need him.

      Uncle William tried to calm him. “The armouries are taking the particulars of these men because they do not know what else to do with them. They are giving them application forms. That is all.”

      “Be patient, Roy,” his mother said. “You’ll hear soon if you should return to Winnipeg early or if you should go directly to Camp Petawawa.” We all thought it would be a shame for Roy to travel twelve hundred miles west from Toronto to Winnipeg, only to take another train east from Winnipeg to Petawawa, a town two hundred and fifty miles northeast of Brampton.

      “I’m not sure the troops will be gathering in Petawawa,” Uncle William said to everyone’s surprise.

      “What?” Roy said. “Why wouldn’t we gather there?” Petawawa was Canada’s largest military camp.

      “The talk is that Colonel Sam has other plans for this new Canadian volunteer force. Apparently, he doesn’t want to use the grounds that have traditionally been used by the regulars. He wants a new training ground for the volunteers before they depart for England. Richard Blain told me about it while we were waiting to commence our meeting today with the local grain dealers.”

      “I continue to be impressed by how much time you spend with our Conservative Member of Parliament,” Father said once again, in a way that made it clear he was really not impressed at all.

      “Colonel Sam has his eye on a site northwest of Quebec City. Sal Cartier or something like that. I’ve never heard of it before.” Far from providing a balm to Roy, the additional information his father imparted only stoked his anxiety.

      “Do you think I should send another telegram?” he asked one and all.

      “No!” we cried in unison. It would have been his fourth in as many days.

      “No, Roy,” his father repeated. “I do not. It will take time to get this Sal Cartier—or whatever it is called—to be prepared. The land has to be cleared. Latrines, plumbing, electricity, and telephone lines have to be installed. Buildings, parade grounds, and rifle ranges have to be constructed. I doubt any troops will be called up before September.” That additional