Blue Smoke (9 page)

She stayed in the bath until the water had grown cool, then dressed in a simple grey suit fastened snugly at the waist with a black belt. Her hair needed a good comb so she let it down, brushed it thoroughly then twisted and refastened it in her customary chignon. As usual she wore little make-up, firmly believing that too much on an older woman served only to accentuate the negative rather than the positive. She applied only a hint of rouge to her cheeks and a light sweep of russet-coloured lipstick that complemented her hair. She added a small black hat, a pair of black heels and matching gloves, picked up her dark tweed coat and decided she was ready.

In the hall she rapped on James’s door and waited impatiently until he opened it. She noted with approval that he’d had a shave and changed into some decent clothes, as opposed to the work shirt and trousers he’d worn all yesterday and last night.

‘Ready?’ she asked.

He stepped out, tugged down the sleeves of his jacket, took a
deep breath and nodded. ‘But ready for what, I’m not sure.’

On the docks a cold, aggressive wind had risen and Tamar had to keep a firm grip on the brim of her hat. The sound and smell of the sea, the screeching of seagulls and the bustle and shouting of stevedores reminded her with a sharp pang of a dock she had once waited on almost sixty years ago, thousands of miles away in a different world.

Owen trotted up the gangway of the
Northern Sun
to wheedle out of someone which passengers had already boarded. Squinting up at him, looking small and wind-buffeted on the ship’s deck, she saw him talking with a crewman, then handing something over. She smiled to herself; compensation for the man’s trouble, no doubt. The crewman disappeared, then returned several minutes later. She and James hurried over to the base of the gangway as Owen came back down.

‘They’re leaving in an hour. The ship carries mostly cargo so there won’t be many passengers. That bloke I just talked to reckons that, according to the purser, no one called Duncan Murdoch has boarded yet.’

James exhaled in relief. ‘Good, we haven’t missed him then.’

‘Missed who?’ came a voice.

The three of them whipped around; behind them stood Duncan, his feet planted wide and a look of grim determination on his handsome young face. He wore a sailor’s black knitted cap over his bright bronze hair, a black jersey and old work pants, and a pair of sturdy boots. Slung over his shoulder was a well-scuffed duffel bag and a heavy coat. He looked a complete ruffian.

Although Tamar almost had another heart attack at his sudden appearance, she still noted that he had grown even taller, surpassing his father’s height by several inches, and had filled out considerably. He’d lost the chubbiness that had dogged him even after his school years, and replaced it with what appeared to be solid muscle.

She stepped up to him, stood on her toes and kissed him on one chilly cheek. ‘Duncan, you’ve grown!’

‘Hello, Gran,’ Duncan said fondly, and nodded amiably at Owen. Then he turned to James and his voice became harsh. ‘What are you doing here?’

In a strained voice that indicated that he was struggling to control his temper, James replied, ‘I was about to ask you the same question.’

‘Well, you obviously have a rough idea. I just saw Uncle Owen coming off the ship. And no, I haven’t boarded yet, but I will, very shortly.’ He turned to Tamar. ‘How did you know I’d be here?’

Before Tamar could speak, James said, ‘Thomas telephoned last night with some story he’d been told by friends of yours about going to Spain to fight in the war. Unfortunately, you’d already left Dunedin by the time he found out, so the only way we could stop you was to come down to Wellington ourselves.’

Duncan looked almost amused, but his eyes narrowed all the same. ‘Stop me?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Why? Why would you want to stop me, and what makes you think you could? I’m twenty-one and I can do what I like now. You’ve no control over me any more,
Dad
.’

James visibly bit back an angry retort. ‘We,
I
, want to stop you because you’ve no idea of what you’re getting yourself into.’

‘I bloody well have. I know
exactly
what’s going in Spain and it has to be stopped. Bloody Nazis and Fascists!’ He spat out the last word and gave his father a dangerously contemptuous look.

In response James clenched his fists, but when he spoke his voice was still controlled. ‘The fighting, Duncan, I’m talking about the fighting. The fear, the blood, the screaming. Death.’

‘What would you know about that?’

Tamar breathed in sharply — Duncan had just made a very
serious error. This was awful. She stepped between her son and grandson and held her hands up, palms out. ‘Stop it, the pair of you!
Stop
it!’

Owen moved forward as well, nearer to James, just in case. ‘That’s enough, Duncan. Leave it.’

Oblivious to the curious stares of people going past, Tamar continued, angry herself now. ‘Duncan, you don’t know what you’re saying, so shut up.’

‘I do,’ Duncan said with a sneer, all traces of amusement gone. ‘He was sent home because he couldn’t cope. The great and glorious Captain James Murdoch cracked up on the battle field.’

Tamar’s arm snaked up and she grabbed Duncan by the lobe of his right ear, pulling his face down to the same level as hers. ‘I want a word with you.’

Ignoring his cries of ‘Ow, Gran!’, she marched him away so swiftly that his bag and coat slipped off his shoulder and landed in a heap on the ground. When they were far enough away from James and Owen, she turned to face him and finally let go of his ear.

‘Your father might have come home because of shell shock, young man, but it wasn’t the result of cowardice. He shot and killed someone, Duncan, a captain in his own company, because the man was endangering the lives of those around him. Your father went against all military convention, and what was seen to be morally right, and protected his men from certain danger and death the only way he knew how.’

As Duncan’s mouth fell open and he stared at her dumbfounded, Tamar knew that James had never once mentioned any aspect of his horrendous war experiences to his children.

She went on, still angry, ‘And then, when he realised what he’d done, even though it was the only choice he believed he had at the time, he retreated into himself for a long, long time. There was a court martial, during which your father insisted he was guilty, but
he was acquitted, mainly because his men thought so highly of him that they chose not to provide the evidence that could have condemned him. Which is very fortunate for us, because if he’d been found guilty, he would have been shot. You won’t remember because you were too small, but he was in a convalescent home in England for almost a year after that, before he came home to us with an honourable discharge.’ Her tone softened. ‘I know he’s been difficult to live with, and not a particularly good father, and so does he, but get off your high horse, Duncan, and at least recognise your father for what he is. He’s a decent man, despite his problems, and he was a damn good soldier, highly respected, well liked and very, very good at what he did. He knows exactly what he’s talking about when it comes to war, because he was one of the best.’

Duncan gazed at his grandmother for a moment, looked at his boots for a few moments more, then adjusted his cap so that his sore ear was under it once again.

‘Well, how was I supposed to know any of that?’ he said truculently.

‘You weren’t, but you do now. So what are you going to do about it?’

Duncan looked back at his father. ‘I could at least talk to him, I suppose.’

And that’s what he did. Tamar and Owen left father and son on the docks and went in search of a cup of tea. They sat in a steamy-windowed tea shop on Customhouse Quay savouring the warmth and comforting aroma of their drinks until they judged that James and Duncan had had sufficient time to either come to some sort of terms, or batter each other senseless, then retraced their steps to the wharves.

They found Duncan and his father sitting on a wooden seat, deep in conversation. On the
Northern Sun
, the gangway had been
hauled up and the heavy mooring ropes tethering the ship to the dock were being disconnected one by one.

The two men rose.

‘Well?’ Tamar demanded, coming to a standstill in front of them, at least eight inches shorter than either and with her hands jammed aggressively on her hips. Her leg was giving her absolute hell now and she hoped this distressing business had been sorted out once and for all so she could back home and put her feet up for a couple of days.

‘I’ve decided not to go,’ Duncan said evenly.

‘Good, I’m pleased about that.’ Tamar could hear Owen behind her blowing out his cheeks in a release of pent-up tension.

‘Not to Spain, any way,’ Duncan added. ‘I’m going to England.’

‘England?’

‘Yes,’ James said. ‘To learn to fly with the Royal Air Force.’

The look on Tamar’s face made both James and Duncan burst out laughing, but she didn’t really mind — it was probably the first time they had laughed together in over a decade.

‘Explain, please,’ she asked resignedly.

Duncan did. ‘I was going to fly planes when I got to Spain, with the Brits or the French, or maybe even the Poles. We heard they’re desperately short of pilots.’

Tamar raised her eyebrows enquiringly.

‘It’s all I want to do, Gran. I don’t want to be a doctor, and I’ve been failing miserably at medical school for the last two years. I’ve spent most of my money — well, your money, actually — on flying lessons, and I’m at the stage where I can go up by myself now. Well, almost. So I thought if I could get to Spain I could get in some real flying time.’

Owen said, ‘So this business about wanting to fight the Nazis and the Fascists was all rubbish?’

‘Not at all, I detest them, all of them, especially that absolute
bastard Adolf Hitler. But flying is the way of the future, don’t you see? If there is another war, it will all be about air supremacy and I want to be in on it.’

Tamar waited for either James or Owen to say that there wouldn’t be another war, but neither of them obliged.

Seeing the look on his grandmother’s face, and knowing how much she disliked any talk of war, past or future, Duncan added quickly, ‘But mostly I just want to fly. It’s the most incredible feeling. The sense of freedom is indescribable.’

Tamar said to James, ‘So why does he have to go to England? Why can’t he fly here?’

‘He doesn’t have to, but he wants to. It’s a compromise. In exchange for my supporting his efforts to join the RAF in England, he’s not going to Spain.’

‘That sounds like blackmail to me,’ Tamar said.

Duncan had the good grace to look vaguely embarrassed.

The expression on James’s face suggested he thought it sounded like blackmail too. ‘Yes, well, that’s what we’ve agreed. And I think we all have to admit that the two years at medical school have been a complete waste of time. Although if Duncan ever sprains his ankle leaping out of a cockpit, he’ll be able to apply his own bandage. And he can’t really train here, not comprehensively, not in the sorts of planes he wants to fly. He’d have to join the army to do that and, well, I’m not prepared to support that. There’s a chance he might end up having to serve as an infantryman.’ He paused briefly, then added flatly, ‘Like I did.’

Owen said, ‘Didn’t I read recently that the army’s giving up control of the air arm in favour of a permanent air force? Couldn’t you wait until then?’

‘No,’ Duncan said quickly, ‘I couldn’t.’

There didn’t seem much else to say. The following day Duncan left for Dunedin to remove himself from medical school and collect
the rest of his belongings, and Tamar, James and Owen began the drive back to Napier.

Tamar wasn’t entirely pleased with the compromise, but at least it seemed that James and Duncan had had some sort of a reconciliation. The relationship between father and son hadn’t been this good since Duncan was small boy.

1939–1945

Kenmore, September 1939

K
epa switched the radio off at the end of Prime Minister Michael Savage’s measured and sober declaration, then sat down heavily on the sofa and sighed.

‘That is that, then.’ He plumped a cushion angrily. ‘I suppose they will all be going off again. Christ.’

Across from him Tamar sat with her arms folded defensively over her stomach, her face pale and eyes bright with tears. She looked at him and shook her head wordlessly.

He moved to sit next to her, uncrossed her arms and took her hands in his own. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling. This will be very hard for you, I know.’

Tamar sniffed and dabbed beneath her brimming eyes. She hated crying, especially in front of people, even Kepa. ‘And for you. They’re your grandchildren as well as mine. They’re ours.’

This was true, and Kepa could think of nothing to say that wasn’t trite. War again, a mere two decades after the last, great, worldwide conflict that, according to the politicians, would end all wars. Joseph would not be involved this time, thank God, but his children almost certainly would be.

Unaware that she was echoing the sentiments of thousands,
Tamar exclaimed vehemently, ‘I thought that after the last time they would have learned. I thought it would never happen again.’

Kepa knew she was seeing her son Ian in her mind’s eye, forever twenty years old and lying for eternity in the cold, dense clay of a French field. He released her hands to stroke her fading hair, and kissed her temple softly. She was old now, and so was he. Even together, would they have the heart, or the strength, to see their families through another war?

On 3 September 1939, New Zealand, together with Britain, Australia, France and India, declared war on Germany. It was not really news, because everyone who owned a radio or had access to a news paper was well aware of the events unfolding in Europe, and had at least a vague notion that New Zealand’s defence forces were preparing for war. The new machine guns for the army had been arriving from Britain since April, and the previous month it had been widely reported that a company of New Zealand soldiers had been sent into the Pacific to guard a cable station on Fanning Island. The long period of waiting, in which international crisis had followed international crisis, was finally over.

Seven thousand men volunteered in the first four days, twelve thousand by the end of the first week, and recruitment posters went up everywhere. Almost every organisation in the land pledged support for war in one form or another, and the Public Works Department set about building huge military camps at Burnham, Trentham and Ngaruawahia.

Ordinary people were caught up in the excitement, and some panicked and began to hoard. Staples such as sugar, flour, tea and some tinned goods were bought up so quickly that shop shelves were left empty and grocers found themselves compelled to ration their stocks.

Petrol was also rationed for several weeks, and prices were frozen. But the initial panic passed after a few days, and for many New Zealanders day-to-day life did not change much. The country was at war, but they weren’t in it yet.

Things did change at Kenmore, though. Farmers were affected immediately, and some complained almost as quickly; overnight they were asked to produce more, mainly by extending their hours of work, but at the same time access to farm labour was being whittled away by recruitment campaigns and by the temptation of better money to be earned in war-related work. And, on top of that, the government would be paying set but low prices for farm produce, with no compensation against rising costs. This was a potential blow for the account books at Kenmore, Tamar thought, but probably wasn’t going to lead the family to penury.

Duncan was already in England, of course, flying with the RAF — and Tamar’s heart plummeted in dismay every time she thought of how offhandedly they had allowed him to swan off to become a pilot. Liam had come home from Canterbury Agricultural College, where he’d been studying for the past two years, to enlist in the newly formed Royal New Zealand Air Force — in the hope, Tamar suspected, of meeting up with Duncan over seas; Billy, Joseph’s eldest boy, had signed up with the Maori Battalion; and Drew was thinking about joining the New Zealand Division of the Royal Navy.

Tamar herself had tried desperately to dissuade her grandsons from becoming involved, but her protests fell on deaf ears, as she knew they would. Her sons had not listened to her during the first war — and neither had her daughter — and Joseph had ignored her advice (although she had to admit he’d done it with due consideration for her feelings) when the war had broken out in South Africa decades ago and he’d run off to join up under age.

But Henry would be safe. Henry Murdoch Morgan — almost
three years old now, a delightfully bright, bouncy little boy adored by his parents and sisters and spoiled dreadfully by everyone at Kenmore. Contrary to Doctor Fleming’s concerns about her age, Keely had had an easy time with the birth, and this time was delighting in being a mother. From the moment she’d held her red and wrinkled little son in her arms and gazed into his dark blue eyes, she had been utterly and irretrievably captivated. Tamar had been delighted too, for Keely especially. Although she now loved them dearly, when the twins had been born she’d not been in a fit state to mother them. Now, with this extra, unexpected, arrival, she’d been given another chance.

At least the army would not claim her grand daughters, as none of them were nurses, although there were rumours already — unfounded, Tamar hoped — of women being recruited for various types of war work if necessary. At twenty, Bonnie and Leila were certainly old enough, and at eighteen Ana and Kathleen both soon would be. Joseph and Erin’s youngest son Robert was seventeen and therefore probably safe from conscription, if it was introduced, for a couple of years at least. But surely this new war wouldn’t go on for that long? Surely there simply couldn’t be a repeat of the protracted, dragged-out horrors of the last one?

To Tamar’s annoyance — or perhaps it was disappointment, she wasn’t sure — neither Joseph, Owen nor James seemed to have made an effort to talk the boys out of their plans to enlist. It was already too late for Duncan, but as veterans themselves she felt they could at least have
tried
to talk some sense into them. One evening, after dinner, she walked over the hill to Joseph’s house — leaning heavily on her stick, as she so often had to these days — to berate him for not doing so.

For company, she took Henry with her. He adored his grandmother and relished every opportunity he could get to have her all to himself, and this fine spring evening was no exception.

They found Joseph sitting in his favourite ratty old wicker chair on the verandah, smoking a cigarette and watching the lengthening shadows as they stretched across the lawn in the wake of the sun setting behind the hills. His artificial leg was propped against a verandah post, and he pushed himself up on his good leg and grabbed his own stick as she approached.

‘No, sit down. God, what a pair of old cripples,’ Tamar grumbled as she carefully negotiated the three steps up to the porch.

Henry scrambled up behind her, wielding his own little ‘Granny’ stick that Owen had made for him. Unfortunately he spent far too much time using it to irritate the farm cats and poking it into places it wasn’t meant to be, but Tamar didn’t have the heart to take it off him.

‘You should have asked Owen to bring you over in the truck,’ Joseph admonished as she hitched up the knees of the trousers she customarily wore at home and sat down opposite him.

‘He’s busy, and any way I wanted to talk to you privately. You can tell him off after I’ve told you off, though. And James.’

‘Oh yes?’ Joseph laughed. ‘What for?’

Tamar frowned at her firstborn son, whom she proudly considered was still an extremely attractive man, despite the silver that was creeping from his temples back through the thick black hair he seldom cut. Very like his father he was, although considerably less arrogant.

‘For not talking to those boys about what they think they’re getting themselves into. And they are only boys, Joseph, they’ve no idea of what really happens on the battle field.’

‘No, probably not. But they’ll find out, like all lads who heed the call of empire and go charging off to war.’

Tamar gave an inelegant snort. ‘I don’t think they actually are heeding the call of empire, are they? Liam wants to go because Duncan’s already there, Drew’s bored and I strongly suspect Billy’s
only keen on going because you did. And his mother. Henry, leave Uncle Joseph’s leg alone. It’s not a toy.’

‘You’re quite possibly right about Billy. But look at us, Mam, look at all of us. We’re a family raised on war. From as far back as John Adams, who might as well have been family, and me in two wars, and James and Owen and Ian and Keely, and even Thomas, who hates conflict of any sort. How could the young ones not be influenced by all that? And it’s not just us. I expect just about every lad in this country has a father or an uncle who served in the last one. It’s what makes us New Zealanders, isn’t it? And Billy’s got a double dose, really. My people have a great warrior tradition, and it’s a matter of mana, you know that. Ask Papa.’

‘I have asked him, and I got almost as little sense out of him as I’m getting from you. But that’s not all of it, is it? There’s more to it than that. Or is it less?’

Joseph knew exactly what his mother meant. Reaching for his tobacco pouch before Henry found it and emptied the contents all over the verandah, he set about rolling another smoke.

‘Mmm, sometimes it is less. Young men everywhere like … no, not like, they
crave
adventure. Sometimes that’s all there is to it. And of course blokes put their hands up to get away from bad marriages, or trouble at home. I met plenty dreading being nailed by nagging wives or the coppers when they finally did get back. But I’ve no doubt that others really feel they have a duty to go, plenty of them, in fact. And on top of all that there’s this need blokes have to prove their manhood, or whatever you want to call it, that they can take everything that’s thrown at them.’

‘What a lot of rubbish!’

‘Rubbish!’ echoed Henry.

Joseph licked the edge of his paper, tamped the cigarette into shape then lit it. Blue smoke drifted up around his head, confusing the moths beginning to congregate around the outside light.

‘Perhaps, but that’s the way it is.’

They were silent for a minute as they watched Henry crawling around, head down, humming tunelessly to himself and looking for insects to investigate.

‘So, you won’t try to talk them out of it?’

Joseph looked at his mother sadly. ‘Believe me, Mam, I have tried. We all have.’

‘Oh. Didn’t you tell them how awful it was?’

‘We did, but it doesn’t mean much to anyone who wasn’t there. And war stories from old soldiers — and military nurses, I might add, because Keely and Erin have said their piece too — don’t mean anything to young blokes champing at the bit to get away and prove themselves. I’m sorry, Mam, we did try.’

Tamar slumped back in her chair dejectedly. Joseph knew she was thinking about Ian, and about the state James had come home in twenty-two years ago, and about his own lost leg. He reached out and put his brown hand over her smaller, time-weathered one.

‘Please try not to worry.’

‘That’s an easy thing to say.’

‘I know it is. I’m worried too.’ Joseph bent down, scooped Henry up and sat him on his knee. ‘Erin and I both are.’

There was a noise behind them and Erin stepped out onto the verandah. In the dim light she looked overly pale and tired. Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she said, ‘Hello, Aunty Tam. Is someone taking my name in vain?’

Henry immediately reached his arms up towards her. ‘Aunty En! Need a bickie!’

Erin took him, balanced him on her hip with practised ease and planted a quick kiss in his ivory white curls.

‘You’re up late, little one. Are you keeping Granny company?’

‘Mmm, an’ I need a bickie.’

‘Oh, all right then, let’s go and see what’s in the tins, shall we?’

Tamar waited until Erin had gone inside before she said, ‘She looks very tired, Joseph. In fact she looks exhausted.’

‘She is. She’s cried herself to sleep for the last four nights. She won’t let on to Billy because she’s said her bit and won’t say any more, but I think she’d give almost anything if he didn’t sign up. But he will, you know. They all will.’

1940

One by one, the boys went away.

Billy went into camp with the Maori Battalion at the Palmerston North showgrounds late in January for three months’ Training, the technicalities of which he took very seriously, especially the weapons training. He didn’t take much else seriously. In his first letter home he described in colourful detail the sight of hundreds of volunteers, accompanied by friends and relatives, arriving at the showgrounds dressed in their Sunday best and carrying banjos, ukuleles and accordions. According to Billy, it gave Major Dittmer, the commander of the battalion, a ‘bloody good fright’, which, also in Billy’s opinion, served the army right for appointing only Pakeha as senior officers. Joseph shook his head in disbelief as he read the letter — it sounded exactly the sort of shambles he’d experienced himself when he’d trained at Avondale in 1914.

Liam also went to Palmerston North, but to Ohakea Air Force Base some distance from the town. There, he was to train as an observer, then probably go on to Britain where he would serve with the RAF, most likely with Bomber Command. The RNZAF had agreed to implement an intensive training programme for Dominion pilots and air crew for the RAF in the event of war, and many New Zealanders were now destined for the UK. Canada was doing the same thing. Liam intended to apply to one of the
New Zealand squadrons in Britain — already making a name for themselves — and in which Duncan was currently flying.

Drew, however, much to his disgust and frustration, was compelled to sit around out at Kenmore for several months kicking his heels while the admiralty sorted out its recruitment procedures. He’d initially gone into town to sign up for the navy, but was told by the local naval authorities that only reservists and yachtsmen/mariners were being accepted. He was neither, and had come home in a foul mood grumbling about ineptitude and ingratitude. In the end, and after several semi-clandestine meetings with like-minded acquaintances over beers in town, he decided to join a group who were planning to make their own way to Britain to join the Royal Navy and left in May.