The Second Part of Chapter 15: Past and Future

The eleventh of November was a mild and altogether pleasant fall day, as befitted a public ceremony at the war memorial; nobody would be uncomfortable, no matter what they were wearing, and Margaret, who had taken the day off work, was walking with her daughter, Ryan and Patricia to the Remembrance Day service there. As they turned up Elgin Street approaching the memorial, more and more people, all evidently going to the same place, joined them. It was very crowded at the square, and they were only just able to see the memorial, with its allegorical statue of victory and soldiers from their vantage point behind several rows of people. All of them were decently clothed, and Margaret was dressed as though for a funeral, as were numerous other people nearby. This being a clear day, they could make out the high hills in the distance, but they could not see the river flowing in its valley, hemmed in by bluffs on the south side.

Margaret was talking about her mother: “The only connection I have with any sort of war is with my mother. She died ten years ago, and she was eighty-seven, which is getting up there. She used to be a grease monkey, and was working away from the front, doing maintenance on tanks and jeeps and that sort of thing. She had leukemia when she died, but it wasn’t from the disease, thank goodness; she was just stepping out of her townhouse in Yorkville when she slipped on a puddle, fell and cracked her skull open. There was blood everywhere, and when she got to the hospital, they couldn’t revive her due to the massive blood loss. I guess it’s a better way to go than slowly succumbing to cancer, because it was all over in twenty minutes, whereas cancer takes years to kill.”

“Alzheimer’s claimed my dad; it seemed like such a horrible way to go, and at the end, he was constantly confused and muddled, and he was so lonely. It was thirteen years from when we first noticed the symptoms to when he actually died, which was in 1996. It’s a terrible way to go. Now there’s a simple gravestone in a cemetery in Sudbury: Thomas James Miller, 1906-1996.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it; it was a long time ago.”

“If only James were still alive; then I would be able to talk about him in glowing terms about his exploits; but, such is life.” Upon hearing this, Patricia started crying, as her son’s death still troubled and saddened her. She then thought with remorse over all the things she should of done: had James been taught properly to love his vegetables rather than beef, then he might still be alive; had she instilled in him the notion that a fit body was attractive, then he and Clarissa might still be gazing into each other’s eyes, oblivious to the goings on about them. If only, she thought.

After a little pause, Margaret asked, “Where’s Kate?”

“She’s home sick with the flu. She’s strong though, she’ll surely recover,”

Half an hour later, they could hear the bells strike eleven, marking the start of the ceremony. It was a decidedly conventional one as far as Remembrance Days go, but due to their position, they could only hear the occasional word. It seemed to be the mayor who was giving a long-winded speech about the value of the contributions of the armed forces to Canadian security and international goodwill, which had a substantial portion of exaggeration in it, and had numerous platitudes, such as “as Canadians, we value and honour the sacrifices made by our soldiers every day”, or “The contributions made by our troops to society are invaluable”, which although true, sounded trite from overuse.

In an hour, the ceremony, which had been well attended by the citizenry, old veterans, some soldiers and dignitaries, including, Ryan noticed, Catherine Ness, the former Minister of Finance, was finished, and the multitudes dispersed. It was very much like other Remembrance Day ceremonies he had attended, with sombre pomp and ceremony, in atmosphere similar to a funeral. The four of them walked south on Elgin Street until they reached Gladstone where they turned right, all the way conversing about the election that everyone thought was imminent.

“I saw a speech yesterday by the Prime Minister praising the army. He repeated the phrase ‘we love our troops’ numerous times, and at the end I was unbelievably bored. I think it was mostly theatrics; you could see several rows of soldiers standing at attention behind him on the television screen,”

Clarissa added, “Well, that’s to be expected; Catherine Ness dropped hints of an election call very shortly, did you hear her? She said, ‘we hope you keep in mind the sacrifices of our soldiers, and of all those in the public service, in government, who work tirelessly to promote the well-being of Canadians every day’; it’s a bit rich coming from her, considering how it was revealed she hardly does any work in her plum post.”

“There was also that speech by Mopps Sousa three days ago; it wasn’t that good, though.”

“It was actually mildly embarrassing; one would think that you shouldn’t refer to the Boer War with a black soldier standing at your side,”

“He looked uncomfortable,” said Patricia, referring to the soldier, who she thought was being used by Sousa as a prop; she thought the Defence Minister was unnecessarily pompous, and this opinion was reinforced every time he got his speeches mixed up, which happened often.

Banter continued to revolve around speculations of an election, and Margaret was discussing Xavier Nolen; “the former Natural Resources Minister was doing well enough in his post­––nothing flashy, but a decent worker. The problem is definitely what Meach thinks is a retirement scheme; I’m sure there wouldn’t be any fuss had he actually put them on a pension; it would have been perfectly acceptable, but he had to appoint Nolen to the post at Environment Canada, because, I don’t know, of some putative ability; now we all know the real reason to be cronyism. Surely, Meach and his posse must have known they'd be caught; I think it was hubris, and that we would think it was okay. Well, I don’t think it’s okay; just because you have a guaranteed cash flow doesn’t mean you should treat it like a personal piggy bank.”

My, Margaret certainly is bombastic, thought Ryan. I wonder why Clarissa is so much kinder; well, she is in mourning right now, like us, but even before Jim’s death, she was nice and polite, and not even remotely overbearing as her mother is.

Patricia’s mind turned to her son; she wondered where the rumour about him being a pill popper had started; it was to nobody’s benefit, and it was patently false. He had never popped pills in his adolescence, while he was at university, or in his career, even while many of his friends were seeking relief from headaches, as he was simply lucky that way; she had simply never known him to take any Tylenol, Acetaminophen or Ibuprofen.

After Remembrance Day, the weather turned colder; on the eleventh, the temperature had reached fourteen degrees; Saturday was overcast and cold enough for the creeks to freeze over, and small ice floes were accumulating in the three rivers, forming the basis of the ice which started forming on the banks and progressed to the middle of the rivers by the start of December.

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