Chapter 40

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey - cont.

Van and I met Fr. Fitzroy on our way back to New Bedford. He was on one of the walks he frequently indulged in for his health and to mentally work out an outline for the week's sermon. His pleasantly weathered face lit up when he saw us.

It turned out that he had listened to Van's interview and was eager to ask him a question or two. Van confirmed that the stories of fascist bombings and mass murders of civilians that he had told were true. Also, that he did not approve of the murders of Catholic clergy by supporters of the Republic at the beginning of the war.

Fr. Fitzroy reluctantly admitted that there might be some justice to some of the harsh things that he had said about the Spanish Catholic Church other than the Basque priests who supported the Republic. "I wish I could say that the faithful were always as noble as the faith."

Van smiled sympathetically. Then he told us about his time recovering from his wound in Barcelona General Hospital. "Several of the nurses there were nuns. They weren't allowed to wear their habits but were allowed to continue ministering to the sick. One night, one of them stopped by my bed and murmured a prayer. She spoke so softly that I doubt that Private Puente in the next bed could have heard even if he had been awake. She must have thought I was asleep too. She prayed in Latin anyway. Fortunately, I remembered enough of the Latin Mr. Abcot tried to drum into my head at Groton to follow the sense of it."

Van paused for a moment, lost in concentration. Then he resumed his story. "As nearly as I can remember, she said 'God grant these men healing for their wounds and sicknesses, forgiveness for their sins, and an understanding of their fallen condition that they may know Your infinite love and peace. God grant that there may soon be an end to the killing and the dying and the hate.'"

Fr. Fitzroy bowed his head in silent agreement. Van continued. "'May all of us on both sides of this war show mercy, charity, and forgiveness to one another for we are all Your children. May the bitterness of these times one day be healed. May we all embrace each other in love as the brothers and sisters we are. Blessed be Thy holy name. Amen.'"

"Amen," echoed Fr. Fitzroy with fervent conviction to which I added an amen of my own.

"Perhaps the Spanish Church can still exercise a restraining influence on Franco. Perhaps something approaching the peace that saintly nun prayed for may still be achieved."

Van shook his head. "I wish that were true. Unfortunately, I don't believe there is any mercy or forgiveness in the hearts of the church hierarchy. All they care about is power and revenge."

Fr. Fitzroy looked stricken. "I can't believe that. There must be some spark of Christ's charity and compassion in them. They are His servants."

Van's reply was regretful but firm. "They stopped serving Jesus the moment they made common cause with fascist murderers. They should have opposed them as strongly as they oppose the Republic. Instead, they betrayed their people, their country, and their religion. Even

if they win, perhaps especially if they win, history will damn them for it."

The look on Fr. Fitzroy's face was dark and troubled. "If what you say is true, God will damn them for it unless they repent and seek atonement and His forgiveness. Either way, we should reconcile ourselves to His will. I will pray for my priestly brethren in Spain and for you and your comrades."

Van thanked Fr. Fitzroy sincerely for his goodwill and hoped that he would understand that he had nothing but admiration and respect for the kind of loving, compassionate faith that he and the nun in Barcelona had demonstrated. We said our goodbyes and walked on.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton Apr. 6, 1938

Grace arrived for lunch in a disgruntled mood, more disgruntled than even Van's and her mother's departure for Toronto and the beginning of Van's tour yesterday could explain. I can't say I was surprised to learn that Mrs. Cramp was primarily responsible. That woman has no concept of tact or sensitivity.

She and Grace were discussing possible replacements for the position of news announcer at CRNB when Grace leaves New Bedford to begin a new life with Van. All Rebecca did was exclaim that she would love to be a news announcer someday. She didn't deserve Mrs. Cramp's thoughtless retort. "It's a nice thought, but don't get your hopes too high. You need common sense more than fashion sense for that kind of work."

Grace had to run after Rebecca. After assuring the poor child that she was not stupid and that what she had accomplished at CRNB and at Toppy's dress shop was something to be proud of, she went and told Mrs. Cramp what she thought of her behavior. Mrs. Cramp was uncomprehending. She had the nerve to say that she was only trying to spare Rebecca from the disappointment that comes from false hope.

I say let the poor girl dream. After all, that's what youth is for. Grace doesn't know why she didn't just quit then and there. I do. She's too nice a person to leave anybody in the lurch, even Mrs. Cramp.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty Apr. 6, 1938

Poor Buck Mayhew has been in what Mrs. Bailey would call a state. Oh, he's tried to hide it because he doesn't want to look like a sissy, but there has been no news of his pen pal in the Lincoln Battalion since he returned to the battalion two days before Franco began his offensive. I know that he wishes that his friend's wounds had taken a little more time to heal or that his leave had been longer. It doesn't help that it looks from the news reports like the Lincoln Battalion took the worst of the punishment.

As we left the school yard this afternoon, he asked me for the fourth or fifth time if Grace had heard anything about Private Diaz. As always, I hated to see his face fall as I told him that she had no news of anyone in the Lincolns or the Mac-Paps. This time, instead of just walking away glumly, he looked me in the face and spoke. "I don't understand it. The International Brigades are risking their lives fighting a murdering rat who wants to become a dictator. They're heroes. How can heroes be losing?"

I've seen too many good men and women beaten down by the rough streets of Cabbagetown and broken by the Depression. I wouldn't ever ask a question like that. It deserved an answer anyway. "Sometimes they do. It isn't fair. It isn't right, but sometimes the wrong side has all the aces no matter how much you kick."

Buck clenched both fists. "Then what do you do when someone like Franco comes along? Just roll over and play dead?"

I shrugged. "I suppose you fight anyway. Sometimes something is so wrong that you have to even if you know you're going to get licked."

May Bailey to Grace Mainwaring Apr. 7, 1938

I hope that you and Maisie are doing well by yourselves in New Bedford. I hate to leave the two of you alone, but I am glad that I took the opportunity of Van's departure to visit Bob and his family. I will never forget what Diana did to destroy Bob's marriage to Toppy, but I can't deny that she seems a loving wife to him and has been very kind to Doris.

Doris is much happier and far less disagreeable since Jerry gave that much too attractive secretary a probably undeserved good reference and set her free to seek employment elsewhere. Van assures me that seats are reserved for Bob, Diana, and myself at Massey Hall for tomorrow night's rally to raise funds and support for the Spanish Republic.

I have met with Mr. Cohen in his apartment above his dry goods store and finalized the arrangements you and he discussed when you were in Toronto in February. He and his wife were pleased to meet Van in the flesh after everything they have heard about him from you and their late son. They send their greetings to you and Maisie. Before we left, Mr. Cohen brought out a bottle of kosher wine and insisted that we join him in a traditional Jewish toast to his son's memory.

As we raised our glasses, he spoke two words in what he explained was Hebrew that sounded like le cayeem and mean to life. I am probably mangling the spelling horribly. I looked in Mrs. Cohen's eyes after we drank and saw everything I felt when Jack died.

Rituals of honor to the dead may ease the pain a little, but nothing can make it right for a mother to outlive her child. So many parents in Canada are waiting to hear if their sons in the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion and the Abraham Lincoln Battalion are safe or lost. God be with them in this hour.

Next Week: News from the Ebro. Stand at Caspe. Fleeting gifts.