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Foxton
1914–1917
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War was declared between England and Germany on 5th August 1914. New Zealand immediately pledged its support. For months, the rumblings of war echoed through the telegraph wires and around the world to be reported in the papers up and down the country.
Daniel wept as he read the news. Thousands had crowded the steps of parliament to hear the declaration, it said. People had cheered the rousing speeches given by the governor of New Zealand and William Massey, the prime minister, and then sung the national anthem. But there were others, like Daniel, old men and women listening to the declaration who stood, silent, tears tracing their cheeks, so the paper reported.
The irony of his situation was not lost on him. Twelve months earlier, almost to the day, he had sent his last formal application letter, as requested, to the Honourable James Allen, Minister for Defence, seeking his New Zealand War Medal.
After more than three and a half years and many letters back and forth, his application had been granted. The medal, engraved with his name, Daniel Sampson Adin, No. 10 Company, 3rd Waikato Regiment, had arrived at the end of April.
Now, no more than three months later, he was praying that none of his sons would have to go to war. That none of them would experience the horrors he had, or that they would ever have to question their conscience – as he had.
The country he had once called home, and left, was at war. Again. And the country he had fought for and now called home was embroiled in the whole sorry mess.
When will they learn that killing off the innocent sons of a nation will never bring harmony? The families of those who died would grieve forever. The families of those who lived would carry guilt or condemnation, sometimes both, for the rest of their lives. And what about Emma’s people?
“I hoped it would not come to this, Emma.”
“So did I. But our boys won’t go. You know that. We’ve talked about it often enough over the years. It’s not in them.”
“No. That’s one good thing, I suppose. But there’ll be lots who will. Life won’t be easy for those who don’t.”
At day’s end, when William, Henry and Fred came home from work they found Chas, Nell and their three little ones already there. Nellie, now four, and Avis, two, played on the floor with the buttons and spoons Emma had given them. The newest arrival, Charles Edward Adin, now nine months old, sat on his grandmother’s knee playing with the beads of her necklace.
After the round of greetings Daniel said, “Go wash up and sit down. Then we can talk.”
“Amy, dear, make a fresh pot of tea,” said Emma. “And cut up that loaf of bread and put it on the table. There’s meat and cheese in the safe and some tomatoes over there. Are the potatoes cooked yet? Oh, and put out some of that pickle I made last week. Are Clara and Bill coming over, does anyone know?”
“I saw Bill at the butcher’s shop as I passed,” said Henry. “He was just closing up but he never said.”
Daniel sat at the end of the long table, looking at his family with pride. With everyone comfortable chatting with each other and tucking into the food, he turned to William. “How’s the contracting going?”
“Pretty good. I’ve got a lot on. Might have to get me another pair of horses.”
“Good to hear. That means you’ll be too busy for this damned war.”
“They won’t want me anyway. My elbow’s knackered from that accident back in ’07 when I broke my arm. Still can’t straighten the blasted thing properly,” William said, demonstrating. “I can limp a bit, too, if I have to.” He grinned, pulling up his trouser leg to show them. “The scars are still on my leg.”
“Won’t come to that,” said Fred between mouthfuls. His youthful heartiness was a fillip to the disquiet of the others. “It’s the volunteers who are going.”
“At the moment,” said Daniel. “I remember conscription from my day. If they need you, they’ll call for you, and they’ll force you if you don’t go.”
“Times have changed, Pa,” said Chas. “It won’t be like that again. There’ll be lots who won’t want to go. After all, what have the Germans done to us?”
Reaching for some more bread, Henry agreed. “Not everyone thinks of England as the Mother Country. Pass the butter, please? What do we want to go fighting people over there for? Somewhere in Prussia, or ...”
“Where my people come from,” Emma interrupted. “You could end up fighting a cousin you don’t know about, if you went.”
“Not me, Ma,” said Fred. “Not me; you’re Prussian, that makes me Prussian. They can’t make me go.”
“Nor me,” said Henry. “Don’t worry.”
Nevertheless, overwhelmed by the nation’s enthusiasm, thousands of young men did sign up. Soon troopships were seen leaving for destinations many had never heard of. Confidence was high and the oft-quoted mantra, ‘it’ll be over by Christmas’ sustained those left behind.
Daniel continued to follow the news in the papers. He was worried. The editors and writers clearly supported the war, and the continued entreaty for young men to join their comrades in arms was insidious.
* * *
There had been many important dates in Daniel’s life. Some of them he remembered – vividly. Some he didn’t remember at all. But the 23rd November 1914 would be a date etched in his memory for the rest of his life. His beloved firstborn, Lizzie, was dead.
“How can that be?” he asked, his grief erupting into anger as he thumped his fist on the table. The chair toppled over as he stood and paced the kitchen, sweeping the dishes from the table onto the floor.
Emma was in no state to answer him. Her grief was internal. She could not speak, she could not weep; she sat transfixed, staring into nothing. Even the crashing of china did not disturb her.
Amy, with tears coursing down her cheeks, unsure what to say, began picking up the pieces. The news that Lizzie had died of tubercular peritonitis at the age of thirty-two had shocked them all.
“It gets worse, Pa,” said Chas. “Ted says he has no money. She’ll have to have a pauper’s funeral.”
“God damn the bastard.” Daniel’s rheumy eyes looked at his son, distress written all over his face. Defeated, he slumped into the chair.
Emma rose from her seat and left the room. She returned in a few moments with the photo of Lizzie taken on her wedding day, ten years earlier. She placed it on the dresser where she could see it and sat down again staring at it, her face frozen. The photo remained there for the rest of her life.
“I say we don’t let that happen,” said William. “She’s our sister. Let’s bring her home from Wellington for a decent funeral.”
“I agree,” said Henry.
“I’ll never talk to the bastard again once this is over,” said Fred.
“You won’t have to. But let’s keep calm while we sort this out,” said William. “Leave it me. Henry, take care of Ma.”
True to their word, the brothers organised their sister’s funeral. How they did it, what was said to Ted Howe or what agreement they came to, Daniel didn’t know or care. She was laid to rest in the Foxton cemetery with all her family around her. That was all he cared about.
* * *
By late 1916, the exhortations from certain politicians, civic leaders and newspaper editors for greater sacrifices to be made ‘For the Empire’s Cause’ had reached near fever pitch. Anything that looked or sounded like it might be German was denigrated. Rumours of German spies and conspiracies were rife, and those of German heritage were often abused and harassed in the streets. He was thankful Emma had not been accosted yet, but Daniel worried every time she went out without him.
Daniel found the reports disturbing and conflicting. One report would go on at length criticising the never-ending death toll, as the number of maimed and injured rose sickeningly high. The next condemned the men considered shirkers and cowards for not doing their duty, even though fewer than thirty per cent of eligible men had volunteered. Despite arguments against conscription from the newly formed Labour Party, and with costs rising and military numbers falling, the day came that Daniel feared the most – conscription was introduced.
Before the end of the year, William had received his call-up.
“It’s all right, Ma. Don’t worry. I’m left-handed and this arm doesn’t work like it should. I’ll take the risk. For now. They are sure to find me medically unfit. I can appeal; I can insist on medical examinations; I’ll delay everything as long as I can. I’ll even sign their silly forms, but I’m not going.”
Henry was the next to receive his call-up. The same conversation was had. “I’ll appeal and see what happens. I’ll keep hammering my Prussian heritage. They can’t make me fight family.”
Weeks of worry followed.
In February 1917, William’s appeal was dismissed, and he was ordered to present himself to camp. A few days later, Henry’s appeal was also dismissed. He, too, was ordered to report to camp. Daniel and Emma listened with dismay. They were too shocked to take it all in. The boys argued about the rights and wrongs of the war, the reasons for standing up for their rights, the horrors they had read about. Voices were raised. The table was thumped.
“But what it all boils down to is we’ll be ordered to fight and kill ordinary blokes just like us, whether we like it or not. It’s not right,” said Fred.
Fred’s call-up arrived soon after. The same stubborn determination he’d always demonstrated was not lacking now. “I’m not going,” stated Fred, staring at the summons. “They’ll have to take me there by force.”
“They will arrest you and send you to prison.” Chas was worried.
“Let them. I promised Ma I would not go and fight this bloody war. And I won’t.”
Chas recognised the stubborn lift of the chin. It was an Adin trait. Most of them could be as stubborn as the fence was long when they set their mind to it – especially if an injustice had been done.
“You can’t sit here and wait for them. You’ll have to go somewhere.”
“No. That’s running away. I’m not running. I’m not hiding. I’m just not going.”
Chas shrugged his shoulders. “Please yourself.”
By the end of March, Fred had been arrested. No news came. No letters. Nothing that told Daniel and Emma what had happened to him. Henry, too, disappeared into ‘the system’ along with William. Daniel had never felt such black despair.
Months passed.
Not until September 1917, when William was eventually declared unfit for service after a special medical examination and was discharged, was he able to tell his parents and Chas what had happened to him.
“They kept telling me to parade, forced me into uniform, which I took off every time. Ordered me to report to camp, pick up my gear and such things. I refused, so they threw me in the military gaol at the camp for a night. I’d come out the next day, and they’d order me to put the uniform on again and I refused, again. After four days of this, with only bread and water, they hoped I’d cave in. I was pushed over, shoved against walls, prodded and poked, but I didn’t give in. I kept insisting on a medical. This last time the doctors agreed my arm was useless. Not like those stupid blokes last year who said I was fit. Anyway, it’s all over for me. I’ve done my three weeks or three months, or whatever they said. It felt like years. But now I’m out.”
Daniel wept.
