By far and away one of North America’s oldest and loveliest cities, Quebec City was situated on the famed St. Lawrence. City posters showed Germans befouling a Roman Catholic church in favour of conscription, though to no avail. Chateau Frontenac, Notre-Dame Basilica, Rue de Saint Jean and Du Petit-Champlain saw scarcely a male maimed or female in mourning. There were so many men about as well. How startlingly different from the rest of the country, thought Aubrey.
Raimbault, Auré’s family’s estate, was located far from the city and well into the country. Ivy clung to its towering dark red brick. The ornate windows, daunting and numerous, seemed to indicate that their master’s secrets were well hidden. The estate did not have the brightness of Pembina but a refined dignity and charm only age can effectuate. Auré’s mother could trace her roots to Les Filles du Roi (The King’s Daughters). From her ancestor’s humble beginnings came textilsts who partnered with merchants who flattered prominent industrialists, one of whose daughters married Lower Canada gentry. His father’s side had acquired their fortune through Rupert’s Land long ago.
Aubrey came to understand her husband more through his family. Pictures abounded of the large and close-knit family. Somber mood found the Richardieux at the Vatican. A guard stood on either side of the group. All the daughters were veiled. Out of jealousy, Aubrey noted Mme. Richardieux’s veil nearly touched the ground. Auré, Philippe, and Seraphin were in tailcoats. Before reaching adulthood, Auré already stood taller than his father. Another picture was of his parents at the inauguration of Pope Pius X. In later years, a picture showed Seraphin and Philippe at an anniversary for the Chevaliers de Colomb (Knights of Columbus Club). Auré was one of the only gentlemen she knew who did not belong to a social club. In one photo, as captain, Philippe beamed in the center of his rowing team. He led the University of Quebec to championship. Numerous pictures were of the girls or their beautiful mother, from which Auré inherited his features. Many pictures were of vacations in locals around the world or of their favourite resort, Muskoka. Apart from ones of Auré as a child, he was not in any other photos. Aubrey was unsure if that was due to his divorce or from lack of attending functions when a kodak was present.
A warm, sunny afternoon found the nanny and René traipsing in from out of doors. They had come from rolling boiling maple syrup in the snow to make toffee. Once René’s layers were unwrapped, Seraphin gifted his grandson a teddy bear. René mistook the stuffed beaver for the wealthy Canadian-born British cabinet minister. Seraphin chuckled at the misunderstanding while his youngest grandchild toddled off with his newfound companion. René immensely enjoyed his time at Raimbault, spoilt as he was. He loved much156 the physical affection from his French relatives, so startlingly at variance with his English upbringing.
The Richardieux knew not a single man, and certainly not a woman, in uniform, nor had they lost a servant to the effort. The men in the family spoke relentlessly of conscription. For liberty, truth, and righteousness157, across all of Quebec, signatures were penned to petitions and meetings opposing conscription were taking place, of which all Auré’s male relations were a part. Ill-treatment found the uncommon soldier. Auré said courage was necessary for a Frenchman to enlist. This was said without any pride. In fact, he seemed to take no pride whatsoever in his military service. Auré seemed to be under such stress that he no longer spoke unless spoken to. The muscle he had lost at the front had yet to fully return, though their chef was doing everything he could to reconcile his master’s tired physique. Since Auré was now safely returned, one would think he would be in higher spirits. But the alarming rate he had aged during his time away was not rescinding from his frame, though months had passed since his return.
One dark evening over supper was the only time Raimbault acknowledged a conversation of war during their stay. The effort was solely referred to as “England’s war.” The patriarch of the family stood at regular height and had dark features, as did all his offspring, excepting his two sons, who were considerably taller than him. Conducting business inter-provincially, Seraphin was impeccably bilingual. His accent was nearly as dashing as his son’s.
He freely served158 numerous courses. Seraphin asked, over the fifth dish, “What was that spring battle, again?”
English Canada, in its third year of the effort, had Welsh rabbit as replacement for meat as a main dish for war dinners, however the protein could hardly pass for meat. Quebec was carrying on as though no war existed, despite the noxious atmosphere in the province from the war.
Auré responded, “Vimy Ridge, Sir.”
For Quebec, Vimy Ridge did not mean a great deal, aside from the Van Doos distinguishing themselves at that battle. The province found great pride in taking a stand against the war.
Philippe dined with the family that evening. Philippe shared his time between Quebec City and Montreal. All the members of the Richardieux family could claim great intelligence. Great peace have they which love thy law159, Philippe was a lawyer and oversaw the legal aspects of the family business. A good son, a good brother, and a good fellow160, Philippe was a sound gentleman in countenance. Quite tall, though not so tall as his brother, whom he adored from afar, and with dark blue eyes, he had a dashing frame, though not overly so. One could feel his backbone, and yet he had a gentle disposition about him. An ardent lover of military and history, Philippe was extremely versed in the dominion’s heritage and current war. He greatly enjoyed discussing dominion history, particularly its military history.
Philippe explained further, “The battle for Vimy Ridge is extraordinarily important not only to our military history but to our country in its entirety. For the first time in Canadian history, all provinces and the territory fought together. Our military will also continue to fight together for the remainder of the duration. Every Canadian should have a working knowledge of Vimy Ridge. Every Canadian should be able to explain the generalities of that show. For they say over the three, four days in which that battle took place, our colony became a nation. We took the ridge when no other Allied military was able to do so. In turn, we are starting to think that perhaps Canada is no longer fighting as subordinate to the mother country, but she is fighting at England’s side as more of an equal to England in her own right.”
Philippe added, “In July, Currie was knighted by the King on the very blasted fields of Vimy he led to liberty and under these big white tents. I assume Currie thought that was better than the ceremony taking place at Buckingham Palace. And you have to wonder at how proud Currie must have been to show the King those grounds. The King was naturally taken on a tour of the Vimy area with Currie.”
Seraphin inquired, “Was that the battle where you captured your Victoria Cross?”
“It was at the Somme show.” Auré flushed a bit upon answering. He had not been part of that glorious battle. Aubrey thought nothing could again shock her.
“Do you correspond with any of your mates still?”
“The Somme waz devastating to the Corps — she was well-nigh ruined. Most of the chaps who I waz with are now gone.”
Seraphin said resignedly, “I understand after Vimy, when it was time to choose a new Corps Commander, London did not confer with the Canadian cabinet whatsoever in the agreement procedure? Parliament was enraged.” Seraphin did not understand all war terminology in response to Auré’s conversations.
“The Red Baron…”
“Le Petit Rouge, Monsieur,” Philippe explained.
“What battle is currently raging?”
Seraphin’s youngest son answered, “Passchendaele only ended. Papineau fell.”
“Yes, of course.” Seraphin understood the name. French Canada saw her promising Talbot fall days after the campaign began.
Philippe continued, “With the war frenzy in 1914, he managed to register with the Princess Pat’s. He saw action for a more than a year. He was the one who said the second battle of Ypres was ‘the birth pangs of our nationality.’ Then he became a staff officer and later moved to the War Office Records at our headquarters in France in acknowledgment of his most likely becoming Prime Minister.”
Talbot Papineau was faultlessly bilingual, a scholar, and a brilliant orator and writer. He had been raised in both cultures, being the son of one of Quebec’s most famous families and an aristocratic American mother. The unwed, dashing, charismatic, athletic, thirty-four-year-old lawyer had been suited by many to turn Prime Minister.
“However, he felt wrong by not being with his troops, father. He went back to the front and to the Princess Pat’s as a company commander. He was conceded the rank of acting Major later in summer. At Passchendaele, the regiment spearheaded the assault early the morning of October 30th. He said to another Major, Nevin, with whom Auré is acquainted—”
The elder brother nodded. Auré was uncharacteristically silent during supper. The only time Aubrey would see her husband submissive was in front of Seraphin.
“‘You know, Hughie, this is suicide.’ His last recorded words. A shell tore him in half as he went over the top. His body was never located.”
The Ottawa Citizen printed, Many people who had no personal acquaintance with him regarded him as the one man specifically fitted to lead in the task of reconciling the two races. England’s Daily Mail ran a cover story calling him “A lost hero” for Canada.
The family ate in silence for a small while.
Aubrey enquired, “I do not understand the haunting muck of Passchendaele. Everyone talks endlessly of it. It is only muck and this is war. Surely gentlemen can handle mud if riff-raff cannot.”
Since he understood the mud better than anyone at the table, Auré answered, “In regard to the wallow, the rules change from the glue-like substance normally found in No Man’s Land. The muck at Passchendaele is unlike anything seen before in thickness and adhesiveness. The weather, particularly the rain and winters, are among the most frightful in decades in northern France, coupled with such extraordinary artillery bombardments, which make for a stupendous landscape, quite unseen before. The ghastly, dreadful porridge is so villainous that if one man becomes stuck, four men are required to pull ‘im out. It’s the most disheartening thing to watch a man trying to free himself from the muck. Only if one sees it can one understand how bad it is. If they struggled in the mud they sunk further and to their deaths. The Passchendaele battle was akin to a different world, where lads and wildlife simply vanished in wallow filled craters large enough to devour residences. Although, the porridge did offer one positive: it greatly reduced the explosive impact of shells, or the shells enfolded in the muck or did not go off at all, saving a great deal of our men as they fought or crawled their way forward, inch by bloody inch.”
Philippe added, “It was said nothing could make the Corps ready for what they came upon at Passchendaele. Our longest standing veterans have been in France and Belgium since 1915 or for about thirty months. The ones who came out of that battle said that if they had the choice of doing that battle again or the war in its entirety again to not go through Passchendaele, they would prefer to do the war over. The Canadians were at Passchendaele for maybe five weeks. Others who made it out of that battle said no soldier who saw action there could return to the man he was before. Concerning Passchendaele, when reading soldiers letters, to say one is unnerved is nearly a catastrophic understatement. It feels as though the devil is in the room with one. For instance, on a summer day, when a lone cloud covers the sun and you are momentarily in darkness: this is what you feel when reading about this battle. It is as though the birds know what is being read and cease singing. Everything about you stops and the room becomes entirely quiet. You feel too alone. And this is when they say the devil attacks. You can feel the horridness of the battle, as though you are there with the soldiers standing at the start of the Passchendaele fields, looking out at the landscape. But you do not want to see further than that — meaning, the actual battle, because you intuitively know the battle itself would be too horrid to see — and what you feel is so frightening you would not want anyone else to be at the start of those fields with you. One way the nature of the battle can be proven is that none of our soldiers celebrate the incredible victory. That being said, the British Force and the Anzacs made it possible for us to take it; our army could not have captured it without theirs. But all the lads say the same thing: that Passchendaele is their idea of hell. The 22nd said it was an experience they would rather forget, and they took no pride in capturing it.”
“Another point: Whenever Passchendaele is discussed, the dynamics of the battle, that is to say literally how it was taken, are never explained, unless that is asked for. But concerning all our other battles, especially Vimy, the details are discussed endlessly. It is as though explaining the combat of Passchendaele is an afterthought or seems entirely beside the point when discussing the fray. The only thing spoken of is how bad it was. No one even celebrates that Canada captured it. Have you noticed that, Auré, in regulars’ correspondences to their families and officers’ testimonies to High Command?”
His brother merely nodded; a silent acknowledgement was all that was necessary.
“I can only read their letters for so long before having to stop and be about others. I have never had this happen to me when reading of our other battles, and I have read a few thousand hours of the dominion’s military heritage — that is to say, nearly all of it. One actually has to force oneself to read about Passchendaele, whereas all our other battles are a privilege to read of, no matter how much those frays’ casualties affect you. You literally don’t want to pick up their letters about Passchendaele because then it starts. It’s as though you can hear the moans of the dying and wounded when you have their letters in hand. When you are done reading accounts of the battle, you actually want to leave the room you’re in, and leave the documentation in the room too, so as to remove yourself from the situation. I assume this is the same for everyone who reads about Passchendaele. But, I will say this, the fact that our military earned the most Victoria Crosses in our history in the most horrific battle history will write for warfare — that being Passchendaele — speaks to the integrity of Canadian soldiers. Our boys are the pride of the country. A Victoria Cross could never be downplayed, but the Victoria Crosses earned at Passchendaele should be noted for the environment in which they were earned. And, what Haig said about Vancouver’s advance at the battle — if that’s not praise, I don’t know what is.”
The record number of Victoria Crosses bestowed to Canada in a single battle would stand more than a century to follow.
A chill was in the air. All were in favour of a change in topic. Philippe cheerily carried on, “You know, of the seemingly endless facts I’ve read about our history, I’ve always remembered the number of Canadian dead at Vimy, down to the single unit. I’ve never had to write this number down. I assume this goes for every Canadian who researches their history. The week before last, we saw action at Cambrai. Alongside the British, our Cavalry Brigade and Newfoundland, who saw action mainly at Masnières and Marcoing, fought with distinction. It seems every time you read about Newfoundland in action, they fight with distinction,” Philippe consented. “The Cambrai smash is considerable to our military history. And Newfoundland will acquire her title of ‘Royal’ in December. Only twice in Empire history has ‘Royal’ been granted to a regiment in wartime: once in the 1600’s and the other time in the 1880’s.”
Auré asked his brother, “‘ave you seen that picture of Borden and the wounded fellow in ‘ospital in France? The wounded is sitting upright in bed speaking to the Prime Minister. Borden is sitting on the edge of the bed. There are a few officers and eh bluebird standing close by, given the chap is speaking to the Prime Minister. The tall windows show light streaming in from eh charming spring day. The photography itself iz lovely. The chap sustained his injuries at Vimy; he is in hospital recovering.”
Philippe replied in the affirmative that he had seen the photo.
Auré continued, “It is surely one of the most beautiful photos in Canadian history. Essentially, it is the country saying to the lads ‘we see you.’ Every Canadian should be able to explain ze significance of that picture.” Auré went on, “There is common appreciation between ze English and French-Canadian units. The French Canadians are deemed to be quite without fear throughout the Corps.”
Seraphin knew of one battalion of the Corps in its entirety: The Van Doos.
He tapped his cigar while stating, “The 22nd is the only battalion (1,000 men) whose official language is French in a four-million-man army. That would infuriate anyone. But, of course, the Empire does not understand this, least of all English Canada. And English Canada can’t even pronounce the word ‘twenty-second’ in French properly, so they gave us a bastardized name, whereas the majority of Francophone soldiers are, because they have to be, fluent in English, and they will spend the whole of the duration—”
“Calling us ignorant,” Seraphin and both sons finished serenely.
Philippe went on, “The 22nd saw her first engagement at Courcelette in fall of last year. It was one of Canada’s finest battles. The Commanding Officer — Auré, you’ve met him.”
“That iz, Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas-Louis Tremblay.”
Courcelette would remain one of Canada’s most glorious battles.
Philippe turned to their father and said, “Every time the 22nd goes into action, it is not solely a battle, but the honour of French Canada on the line as well. Tremblay is said to take this matter to a very serious degree to ensure his men do justice to French Canada.”
Seraphin added, “Given the 22nd is one of the country’s finest battalions, that speaks to the valour of French Canadians: they can fight and be the superior soldiers in another man’s war.”
Philippe explained the 22nd at Courcelette to the table at large. “Really makes one jolly proud. The 20th, 21st, 25th, and 26th were there as well. To start with, the outskirts of Courcelette saw the 2nd and 3rd Divisions advance the morning of September 15th. A creeping barrage was used, though it fell into disarray. She was raised one hundred metres ahead of enemy lines. Therefore, our assaulting first waves became privy to their machine guns. Even so, we were victorious in the attack. A tank aided the 20th and 21st to take the sugar refinery that was a strongpoint on the village’s outer edge. The primary trenches of the town were taken soon afterwards.”
“Then, the 22nd and 25th were ordered from reserves to attack in the evening, at six o’clock. The 26th was with them in buttress. In broad daylight, following only a dainty bombardment and without jumping off starting points, they attacked.”
Aubrey interrupted, “Good gracious me, why?!”
“I beg your pardon, Aubrey, once the first lines were captured, Byng had to query the decision of to carry on or to discontinue then and there. He carried onwards. The second phase was, therefore, hurriedly executed,” Philippe nodded to her. “Both battalions heartened plump casualties. By bayonet, our lads made the Germans fall back to the heart of Courcelette. Dividing into smaller groupings, the 22nd made for the right of the town. Their aim was to cover that half of the town. The 25th took to the left. They agreed to meet in Courcelette’s center. The foe met both battalions, along with defeat, by six-thirty that evening. The assault was carried out in half an hour’s time — engagement jolly well done, I say.”
“Nighttime saw the enemy counterattack four times over. Daybreak found the 22nd’s numbers to be two hundred. On September the 17th, the 26th’s supply team brought either battalion their only meal in three days’ time. They were then made to assault German lines on the outskirts of Courcelette. They staved off numerous counterassaults in order to maintain the village. The fighting went on for three days and three nights. They were encircled by the foe from every possible angle. Nine hundred stood guard the first day. One hundred and eighteen were alive when the smash ended. The 18th relieved the battalions. The Corps garnered three medals for Courcelette. One went to one of ours, from the 22nd, Captain J. Chabelle. He received the Military Cross medal for taking then defending the village from thirteen counterattacks. Corporal A. Fleming of the 26th won the Military Medal. He guided many who took a strongpoint held in the village. By the end of it, only he and one of his mates were left with breath in their bodies. A VC was awarded to the 49th’s Private J. Kerr. Though he had just a rifle for companion, he captured sixty-two enemy and two hundred yards in surplus of trenches. He lived through it; however, all fingers of one hand were blasted away in the process.”
The conversation casually changed. Philippe and his father discussed the hockey organization formed in Montreal just days prior. Called the National Hockey League, the founding teams were the Montreal Canadiens, Ottawa Senators, Montreal Wanderers, and the Toronto Arenas.
Philippe said, “The hockey season is to commence days from the election.”
Seraphin said contemptuously, “I can scarcely believe Borden is allowing females the enfranchisement. Of course, he was always indifferent to suffragism before the war. I hope I do not live to see Quebec grant the vote provincially. Your mother would never vote anyhow.”
Mme. Richardieux nodded in agreement.
Auré said, “The maritimes remain largely indifferent to suffragism. British Columbia extended the vote earlier zis year on April 5th. Ontario granted the vote in April as well, on the 12th. One ought to see the movement on the prairies; it is most remarkable, Sir. Premiers are ‘ighly praising women’s work for ze effort. This coincides with the West’s enlistment rate, higher than the rest of the country, with Ontario included in the west.”
Hoping to garner approval from her father-in-law, Aubrey added, “And others say it is their right not to vote.”
Auré replied without intonation, “Those males should be shown photos of our Bluebirds’ funerals. There is something especially woebegone about women who die in battle. Or see what trench foot looks like. To say eh chap loses a few toes would be quite the understatement. A foot becomes so disfigured it is no longer recognizable as eh foot. It makes one’s stomach turn to look at it. To see a fellow just lying in a hospital bed who has been gassed and the boils or blobs for lack of a better way of describing his wounds, all over him, it makes any woman want to cry just looking at him. It’s obvious he’s in so much pain. Those Canadians should be shown pictures of our volunteer soldiers being executed. They ought to see what the Medical Corps looked like when they returned from ze Mediterranean. Or listen to the gurgling cries of your men while they take their last breaths after being poisoned from phosgene gas. One has to dispel so many litres of liquid from rotten lungs before the gurgling starts. Then you hear shells hit those same men, while they lie in holes waiting to be rescued, from artillery but from friendly fire that falls mistakenly short of enemy lines in an attempt to cover a rescue team to retrieve them. Those in the poor bloody infantry are rarely afforded the privilege of a casket. Mass, shallow graves are ze order of the day, where each lad is merely laid on a stretcher and his body wrapped in the flag. At least some are wrapped in the flag. One can argue that leaving eh scrap is the hardest part, given you are made to collect your mates, or what’s left of their charred flesh, in sandbags, the bottom half of the sandbag always drenched in blood, to carry them to their final resting place. Ma chere, everything I just said happens to our military regularly. What scrap was it, Philippe?” Auré asked, looking to his brother. “A medical officer saw one of ours, a Canadian, running down a road. Both his feet had been blown off as he ran past the officer in considerable shock on his exposed bones and muscles.”
“Ypres,” Philippe answered. He continued, “Or that one Canadian at Passchendaele who came upon another Canadian who was lying in delirious pain and in the muck. I don’t know how my mates know him, but Gunner Ray LeBrun’s exact words were, ‘I nearly vomited. His insides were spilling out of his stomach and he was holding himself and trying to push this awful stuff back in. When he saw me he said, ‘Finish it for me mate. Put a bullet in me. Go on. I want you to. Finish it!’ He had no gun himself. When I did nothing, he started to swear. He cursed and swore at me and kept on shouting even after I turned and ran.’” Philippe continued, “It always suprises me that the severely wounded, often times, can still talk or move and are perfectly coherent.”
To remind his sons that the language being used was absurd, given ladies were present, Seraphin interrupted, “That is quite enough.”
Auré nodded his apology. “If only those males could spend time at the front, and see what our military goes through, they would not miss another election ze rest of their livez. Lest we forget how great the debt we owe to those who died161, the tombstone’s epitaph of one of my men reads, ‘Sacrificed that we hope was for democracy162.’ Another one of my men’s reads, ‘For God and right, let not a whisper fall that our hero died in vain163.’ In regard to not voting because it is your apparent right not to, mark my words, ma chere, white trash will always say that. Those people are the embarrassment of the country. As eh lady you are taught to listen to a man’s point of view. But women think for themselves.”
Aubrey replied matter of factly, “Well, Peter says he’s not going to apologize for something he didn’t do.”
Philippe answered her simply, “That surely is a coward’s response.”
Auré interrupted, “—laughably pathetic—”
Philippe went on, “That is indeed a pathetic and conceited point of view. That is also incredibly irritating. Irritation implies low quality or a debasing nature. And given the circumstances, that’s the definition of cowardice. Don’t ask yourself whether you were right, meaning you were right and the other person was wrong. ‘Right’ should be a synonym for ‘integrity’ or ‘character.’ What ‘right’ should mean to you is ‘did you act with integrity?’ Can you see how doing nothing under great duress, then giving excuses for or defending neutrality, would tear a country apart, while everyone else is in the trenches? That perspective divides families and causes marriages to end in divorce. Oh, he’s allowed to think that. But to act with integrity, he would certainly have to give a superior answer than that.”
Seraphin looked to Philippe, who stopped speaking at the acknowledgement. Seraphin went on, “The election will surely see British Canada’s dominance fall and, most likely, forever. So, this colony is being ripped apart from the inside and will pay for her nationhood through the slaughter and mud of this war? Well, Quebec will stand steadfast at the side of their ‘Old Chief.’ Conservatives have scarcely had such high approval.”
Late one evening, Seraphin was tending to a church matter. If one could believe so, he was more devout than Auré. The remainders of the manor had gone to sleep. Auré and Aubrey were left alone in one of the dining rooms. Auré actually relented and matters other than religion or work were discussed over a midnight meal. “Late Royal North West Mounted Police, Yukon Division164,” was nearly all Aubrey could get out of Auré as to how he was exonerated in Regina. Auré had known the officer in the Klondike days. Apparently, the man was indebted to her husband because of a hushed scandal owing to gold. After the gold rush, the now-deceased man had risen to a high position in the Mounted Force. He had owed Auré a favour and her husband had used the debt wisely. The affair made Aubrey laugh, and she knew Auré found it amusing, too, though he did not give any indication he did. The pair seemed to be growing quite close to one another recently. She knew he thought her beautiful by the way he looked at her. A few days prior, he took her riding about Raimbault’s expansive property to give her greater context of his upbringing. They had ridden on the same horse. How wonderful if a declaration of love from him would ensue, Aubrey thought. René was fast asleep, his arms around Lord Beaverbrook.