11.2
January 1st – what many consider the day holding the most promise and greatest expectation of a New Year yet to be revealed – holds no comfort for those in mourning. Within days of Christmas Caroline Trevor was no longer able to move downstairs. Maddy had decorated her mothers bedroom with a small tree and on Christmas Eve the family gathered to share gifts. The next morning she had begun to decline, fading in and out due to the illness, her weakened condition due to inability to eat, and the frequent morphia injections that kept her from excessive pain.
The morning of the burial - a fine, crisp sunny day that for January would have otherwise been a welcome recess between bouts of winter weather – was, as some commented, 'a good day for a funeral'. Charles Trevor, in London, could not make the transatlantic crossing in time for the services and even if there were a way for him to travel in hours rather than days, no ships were available for passenger service, all having been assigned to carry troops and supplies. His only presence was the blanket of flowers covering his wives casket. Representatives from the New York Consulate were present out of obligation or agreement, but junior bureaucrats only, those recently posted to New York as higher-ranked officials returned to England or were assigned to Washington. None attending actually knew Mrs. Trevor, few having ever met her husband. Many friends of Steve's parents, none of which he'd seen for years, dutifully arrived dressed in black and grey, some accompanied by young men, Steve's age, in khaki uniform, standing by the side of their parents, appearing uncomfortably sympathetic and helpless. His mothers family; those that introduced themselves as such; were unknown to Steve. On grounds never shared with the children, their father refused to associate with 'that side of the family' and while Maddy had visited some of their mother's relatives while attending school, to Steve they were strangers he never knew existed. Out of respect the Tiernan family sent a wreath, but none attended the funeral. Other than Leo who, feeling out of place both geographically and socially remained in the background, Steve was alone.
"So sorry for your loss, lad."
"Your mother was such a dear..."
"Chin up. That's what you Trevors do."
"His Majesties Government lends its deepest sympathies."
"Your father would have been here if he could. Cursed war."
"If there's anything we can do for you, let us know. That's what family is for!"
"I don't know what to say, pal. Loosin' your mom and James and your gal...Maybe what ya' need is a change 'a scenery, there."
'Canada's New Army...Needs Men Like You'
The poster showed a knight, lance and shield held firmly, on horseback in full charge. Both carefully shaded in white and ivory, the horse had just crested a small hill and this image filled the background so that portions of the horses tail and legs were outside the frame. Drawn slightly smaller but with greater detail, three motorcyclists, each inked in kahki and brown and outfitted in complete British battle kit accompanied the horseman in his advance. The foremost rider had just reached the top of the hill and mirroring the rearing horse, front hooves anxiously pawing at the air, the front wheel of his machine rose as if the machine itself was eager for battle. Along the top of the broadside in bold, black, capital letters was printed 'CANADA'S NEW ARMY'; and at the bottom, beneath the wheels of the ascending motorcyclist and superimposed into the hillside proclaimed: 'NEEDS' - in double-sized type and italicized for emphasis – 'MEN LIKE YOU'.
Positioned on a wall just outside the cemetery gates - as if advertising for future tenants - the advertisement all but called out Steve's name. Here were men with resolve and passion; men working toward a purpose larger than themselves; men not alone. This is what James would have done. Perhaps through atonement or guilt or responsibility Steve could realise what James had sought. And if that led to wound or disfigure or death; maybe that would balance the scale.
By recognized statute, from the mid 1800's it had been illegal for any sovereign nation to solicit or contract for soldiers within the borders of another sovereign nation. Yet the British Empire, through Canada, had since 1915 been actively recruiting for their army within the United States. Officially directed only to British subjects living or working in the US; the criteria soon broadened to include immigrants with a family or family members still residing within the British Empire; those who maintained family, social, or cultural connections with England or any of its Dominions, colonies or protectorates; and ultimately any American who felt a 'close connection' with the British Isles. Realistically, any healthy male between the ages of 18 and 44 who was born within the Empire; or could convince the recruiting officers he was in good health, fell within the required age range and could claim a British city or village as his home town, Canadian recruiters accepted with few questions asked.
There wasn't much to the recruiting station; just two Canadian Army Officers standing behind a tall counter inside a largely barren room in an unremarkable building crowded between a drugstore and a tailor shop. After giving the applicants a good look-over, so as not to waste his time nor the time of any others waiting, one of the officers handed Steve a simple two-page document titled:
'ATTESTATION PAPER Canadian Over-seas Expeditionary Force'.
The CEF required the applicant to affirm 'In what Town, Township or Parish and in what Country were you born; what is your next of kin; and under what address to you maintain your home?'. Without pause Steve indicated he was born in London, England and listed his Father's London address as his own. He assumed no one would make the effort to discover the address is actually that of his fathers St. James Gentleman's Club, and, if a letter or telegram had to be forwarded to his family to tell them their son had been killed, the Club was a good a place as any. If anyone asked about his accent, he'd just say his family moved to Canada when he was a kid. Age?; Do you believe yourself to be medically fit?; Ever belong to a military force or militia?; Are you now or have you ever been married?...yeah, all those questions were quickly answered. 'Trade or Calling?':...Steve realized he had no trade. As for 'calling'... well, that was the question, wasn't it. Realizing the recruitment officers were starting to take notice of his hesitation with such simple questions – a sure sign of a man trying to hide something – he quickly listed: Soldier – motorcyclist – aviator. A soldier, he reasoned, is what he was now; a motorcyclist; well, that's why he joined and he certainly didn't want to end up in the infantry; as for aviator...that, he reasoned, couldn't hurt. Besides, he did have aviation experience. The form held no place to mention successful trades or callings and besides, making the facts fit his purpose made it all the easier to ascribe to the required oath of 'True allegiance to His Majesty King George the Fifth, His Heirs and Successors".
Following a cursory medical exam which confirmed little more than acceptable hearing and eyesight; a healthy heart and lungs; enough natural teeth that would allow a man to eat; and a 'well-formed' physique; with a stamp, imprint and signature – or actually multiple stamps, imprints and signatures as per army regulations, all paperwork must be completed in triplicate - Steve was now a member of His Majesties Corps of Royal Engineers Signals, Motorcycle Despatch. For such a decisive event in a mans life, there was curiously little sense of celebration.