Chapter 17

From Alden Cramp, "Goodwill from Canada," New Bedford Chronicle, June 23, 1937

"… When Prime Minister King arrives in Berlin in four days, he will carry with him the hopes of all decent Canadians for peace between nations. It is to be hoped that he and Chancellor Hitler, meeting in an atmosphere of friendship and goodwill, will find ways to resolve the differences between Germany and her neighbors. Both unquestionably realize that the kind of friction and misunderstandings that led to the catastrophe of the World War cannot be allowed to arise again. …"

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan June 25, 1937

I have never seen Grace in such a whirlwind of activity. Between her regular work, her arrangements for Dr. Bethune's speaking engagement, and her efforts to get our new chapter of the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion on its feet, she is going full steam ahead. I can't help thinking back to the days when Grace was helping me with the New Bedford war effort during the last war. She has obviously forgotten nothing of what she learned then.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton June 25, 1937

I am uncertain about Max's decision to let Grace use the school auditorium for the rally at which Norman Bethune is to speak. Max assures me that the school board is willing to let him get by with it since the event's purpose is humanitarian. I hope he's right.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring June 30, 1937

… I very much suspect that there will be another battle for us before summer ends. If there is, then I won't be able to write to you until the fighting is over, so don't be alarmed if there is a long interval with no letter from me.

Will was glad to hear that your reading of his letter was so well received by his friends and neighbors in New Bedford. He is grateful for their good wishes and looks forward to the day when he can tell them so personally. Every soldier has a home that he wants to return to or that he dreams of making for himself someday. My home is wherever you are.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring, July 1, 1937

Dr. Bethune's visit to New Bedford on behalf of the new children's homes in Spain was a great success. We even got a sub rosa contribution from Honey. She still doesn't support the Republic but sees nothing wrong in caring for war orphans. Dr. Bethune is one of the most dynamic and charismatic speakers I have ever heard, though up close there is a touch of weariness about him not visible onstage.

A shame Juanita isn't still here to see him. Maisie was thrilled to meet her hero and he was very encouraging of her ambition to become a doctor. He even autographed a photograph of the two of them together and her copy of The Crime on the Road, the pamphlet he wrote about the fascist slaughter of refugees he witnessed on the Malaga to Almeria road.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… Dr. Bethune lived up to his reputation as a Casanova by making a pass at me the first moment we were alone after being introduced. I brushed him off. It didn't take too long for it to sink in that he wasn't going to get anywhere.

From Grace Mainwaring, "Opening Remarks-Bethune Speech and Rally in New Bedford, June 29, 1937"

… "The only peace Franco, Hitler, or Mussolini believe in is the peace of the grave for anyone who opposes their twisted ambitions. The civilians of Guernica can testify to this fact. A little over two months ago, they were bombed, burned, and strafed by Hitler's Condor Legion with Franco's willing consent.

… There is an evil loose in the world. Its name is fascism. Its fuel is madness. Its appetite for power knows no bounds. The man I am here to introduce knows this truth better than most. … ."

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… As I stood at the podium praising Dr. Bethune's achievements as a physician and humanitarian, Van and his comrades were sleeping their last sleep at Albares. Orders had already arrived for them to leave to join the Republican forces preparing for the battle Van expected and feared.

Five days later, they were marching up the rough, scorching valley of the Guaderrama River. Three days after that, they reached a ragged scab of earth, rock, and scrub called Mosquito Ridge. The Fascists were waiting for them with rifles, machine guns, mortars, aircraft and artillery. Soon, the hard, dusty slope would be filled with the hopeless shrieks of the wounded and the obscene stillness of the dead.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton June 30, 1937

Grace and I ran into none other than Alden Cramp today in the lobby of the New Bedford Inn as we were leaving my beauty parlor to have lunch together. Grace couldn't resist asking him about that day's editorial on the rally in the New Bedford Chronicle. Did he really think that she was "the Emma Goldman of New Bedford?"

"Maybe you aren't as outrageous a firebrand as she is," he grudgingly conceded. "At least you weren't advocating free love."

"Even if I believed in it, the rally was about helping orphans ..."

"And getting Canada involved in Europe's business. I don't defend a lot of what Franco is doing, but you and your husband are naïve if you think a Communist regime in Spain would be any better?"

Grace's eyes flashed. "I don't think the Communists are likely to take over even if the Republic wins, but would they be any worse?"

"Of course, they would. Communism goes against every virtue and ideal we Canadians treasure."

"My husband and I feel the same way about fascism."

"I'm not comfortable with it either. I fought a war against German militarism. However, if Franco wins this war, he's going to be too busy rebuilding Spain to be much of a threat to anyone. Hitler is a tyrant, but he isn't like the Kaiser. He doesn't want to dominate the world. He just wants to end the injustices done to Germany by the Versailles Treaty."

"Haven't you read his book? He wants a Greater Germany stretching from the Rhine to the Ukraine."

"He'd have to go to war with the rest of Europe and win to achieve that. Only a lunatic would try."

"I've watched the footage of his speeches. Have you seen the look in his eyes? I don't think he's entirely sane."

"All that ranting and raving is an act to get his followers worked up. Once his regime is more firmly established, he'll tone down his rhetoric and policies. A lot of sound, responsible people are absolutely sure that he'll settle for a reasonable adjustment of Germany's grievances. He won't risk a European war."

"Maybe, but I can't help being afraid that a lot of sound, responsible people are wrong."

Every time Grace talks about fascism in that grave tone, I get the urge to check the nearest wall to see if a floating hand is writing prophecies of doom on it in blood. Still, I have to agree with Mr. Cramp. Hitler is ruthless and ambitious, but not a madman. He can't be as dangerous as Grace thinks he is.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring, July 1, 1937

… Both Henry and Pritchard came up with interesting fundraising ideas. Pritchard suggested a talent contest and Henry a raffle. Now, Rebecca is saying that she will go to the End of Summer Dance with whoever's idea raises the most money for the Friends of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion.

I'm sure she wishes that New Bedford had a pit full of hungry lions like the one in Leigh Hunt's poem. She could have her two love-smitten beaus jump in after her glove and go to the End of Summer Dance with the one who brings it back to her, sparing only a passing thought for the one who gets eaten. "Not love quoth he, but vanity/ sets love a test like that." I realize that the poor girl is probably starving for attention, living in a household that revolves almost entirely around her mother's illness, but I still think she isn't being fair to anybody.

Robert Bailey to Grace Mainwaring July 10, 1937

… I share your hope that Van and his comrades in the Lincoln Battalion, if part of this new offensive in the Guaderrama River Valley, have encountered no serious obstacles in their advance. I am sure that the Republican generals have learned from their mistakes and will avoid another fiasco like the attack on El Pingarron.

Please, remember that you are not alone. You have family and friends who care for you and are willing to share your troubles. You can always go to Mother or Toppy or Honey if they start to seem too much for you. You can even drop your loving brother another line. I promise not to use it for cigarette paper like I did those pages of your journal back when we were kids.

… I worry about Doris. Some of her snobbier so-called friends are giving her grief because of my resignation from the St. Andrew's Golf Club over their new policy of refusing to admit Jews as members. Some of my snobbier so-called friends have done the same to me or stopped talking to me altogether. One of them suggested that as a Great War veteran I should favor what St. Andrew's is doing because the war was fought "to secure the good things of this country for true Canadians."

I couldn't help thinking of Nate Goldschmidt who I saw lose an eye at Passchendale, of Al Cohen and what he did in that same war, and of what his son, Mackie, risked and lost in this war. If the Great War was fought so that they could be treated like dirt, then a lot of good men died for nothing.

I am beginning to understand why you are so afraid that what Hitler did in Germany could be done here or in America. There are a lot of prejudices lying around for tinder and a lot of unprincipled people who could be inspired by Hitler's success to set either country ablaze. I like to think that Canadians are too reasonable and even-tempered for such tactics to have any effect, but ten years ago I might have said the same about Germans. I might not have said the same about Americans what with the Ku Klux Klan marching in Washington D.C., but none of their homegrown demagogues seem to be as capable or as magnetic as Hitler.

Unfortunately, all Doris is concerned about is how my actions could affect her debut this fall. Personally, I don't think she needs to worry. Her stepmother's parents are still prominent in Toronto society. Their friends, Arthur and Kay Langton, to their credit, have refused to yield to pressure to abandon their sponsorship of her.

She should have at least a modest success. If not, there is nothing to be done. As Mother says, in this life, you have to learn to take the bitter with the sweet. The phrase may be homely to the point of cliché, but, like so many other things I should have listened to when Mother and father tried to teach them to me, it is still true.

Grace Mainwaring to Robert Bailey, July 12, 1937

… I am grateful to hear that my letters are safe from going up in flames. I may even decide not to tell Mother whose carelessly tossed cigarette accidentally set her laundry basket on fire when you were thirteen and took up smoking to try to be grown up.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry, July 12, 1937

… I had the shock of my life today, thanks to Max and his idea of having his brother-in-law, Joe Callahan, bring his fighters to Bas Lake to train. I was walking down the sidewalk on the town square in front of Archie's pharmacy when I saw a big man taking easy strides towards me from the opposite direction. As he came closer, my heart jumped like a rabbit. I let out a squeal of surprise. My hand raced to my mouth. I could have sworn that it was Van.

The blond hair and powerful build were exactly the same. It was only when the man quickened his pace and I saw his expression of concern as he drew nearer that I realized my mistake.

I recognized him as David Doyle, Joe Callahan's partner and the trainer for the three up-and-coming young fighters he manages. We had met when he and Joe were in New Bedford four years ago. Until seeing him again, I had no idea how close the resemblance between him and Van is. They could be brothers.

David apologized for startling me. He was in town for the first time since arriving at Bas Lake to do an interview at CRNB with Jim Flett. I remembered Jim mentioning it. I asked David how the training camp at George Murphy's place was shaping up.

Apparently, the old barn there makes a good makeshift gym and there is lots of room on the property for roadwork. I was glad to hear that Joe had lined up plenty of interviews for himself, David, and their fighters with papers and radio stations throughout the region. The publicity should finish off the idea that Bas Lake is disease-ridden.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton July 18,1937

… I opened the door to find an obviously distressed Grace standing in the corridor. She was clutching the front section of the New York Times folded open to pg. 7, section L. I started to say hello to Grace, but she cut me off almost immediately. "Is Max here? I need to speak to him?"

I assured her that he was. By that time, my husband had stopped typing and walked over from his desk. I turned my head and looked at him as I heard him stop a pace or two behind me. His expression was a mixture of bafflement and concern. "Grace, what is it?"

Grace strode past me, thrust the newspaper into his face, and pointed to an article.

"Tell me this doesn't mean what I think it means," she demanded fearfully. "Tell me that Van and his comrades weren't sent to be slaughtered in another insane frontal attack.!" She pointed to the headline. "'Americans Show Bravery in Battle.' Look at this!" She pointed at the body of the article. "'In history, the Americans who fought and died on July 9 as on Feb. 27 will provide a great and sorrowful chapter. On July 9, another gallant charge took place like that of the Lincoln Battalion up Pingarron Hill.' That sounds like a headline and article from the last war, the kind that made Passchendale and 2nd Ypres seem like glorious victories-until the casualty notifications came in!"

Max took the article and begin to read carefully. When he was finished, he looked up at Grace and smiled. "It doesn't sound as bad as El Pingarron. The casualties listed aren't light, but for a charge up a hill aren't unreasonable. The reporter was probably trying to make a minor skirmish seem larger and more important than it actually was. Van isn't even on the casualty list. I know the list isn't complete, but I'm sure he's fine."

Grace looked up at him with both hope and uncertainty. "Are you?"

Max's smile became even warmer. "Of course. Any day now you'll get a letter from him complaining about the long, boring march he and his friends just finished. I doubt Mosquito Ridge will rate more than a line or two."

Grace was still not quite her usual eager self when she left, but she did seem somewhat less anxious. After closing the door behind her, I turned to Max. His smile had vanished. The look that replaced it was grim and worried. My heart sank hearing what he said next. "That would have been easier if Grace weren't so smart."

"Max . . .?"

"She's absolutely right. You can't charge straight up a hill fortified by the enemy and not take heavy casualties, and that's if you win. When I was in the Canadian Corps, we took Passchendaele, but thousands of us died in the mud. Van and the Lincoln Battalion failed. The casualties were probably much heavier than the article claims."

Neither of us said anything. I don't think either of us believes for a moment that Grace doesn't know the truth in her heart. She just needed to have someone tell her that this day is one day closer to a joyful reunion with her husband and not one day closer to the worst.

Next Post in two weeks: Mr. and Mrs. Cramp have a proposition for Grace. Word from Spain.