Redemption - Leon Uris [339]
“I know who Captain Landers is,” Churchill said.
“Give me his life.”
Winston stood and a lot ran through him. “I owe Landers as well,” he whispered. “What must I do?”
“He’s in a safe house in Belfast. As you are aware, ships are now able to travel to New Zealand unescorted and without convoys. Several regular troopships have been partly converted to hold a hospital facility.”
Oh, this woman, this glorious woman. She was playing like a chess master now.
“So, we’ll put him aboard in a hospital cabin,” Winston said.
“First things first,” she answered. “There are tens of thousands of records of killed in action, missing, prisoners that are in turmoil, unaccounted for, a general mess…right?”
“Right, as usual.”
“Find the records of Lieutenant Rory Landers, New Zealand. He enlisted under that name. Make a final entry in the Landers record that he died aboard ship en route to New Zealand after emergency surgery and was buried at sea with full honors.”
Winston understood perfectly.
“But before you do, make a duplicate of the Landers record, only the party’s name will be Rory Larkin. His record should be changed to read that he was evacuated from Gallipoli and taken to the base hospital in Alexandria where he spent several months; was sent back to New Zealand and discharged.”
“So, Landers is dead.”
“And Rory Larkin was never in England or Ireland.”
Damned shame, he thought, that he didn’t have her planning some of the campaigns. “You are entirely correct, Caroline. Thousands of war records will never be unscrambled. As long as I am engaging in something disgraceful, I’m glad it’s for you.”
“Us,” she said.
“Yes, us. Tell me, Caroline, is he one of those Larkins?”
“Yes.”
“I take it he’s a good chap.”
“Aye, mon, that he is.”
91
Weather seems to be the one thing everyone has in common everywhere in the world, hot or cold, good or bad, wet or dry, it comes up first thing every morning and is our last worry at night.
In the South Island we get a pot full of rain so that sunny days…or hours…are revered like a blessing from a saint, although I don’t know if there is a saint assigned to spreading sunshine in the South Island. If there is, he’s doing a lousy job.
Today is a little bit of everything, mist, fleeting darkening clouds, chill, wind, and some nice periods of complete calm and the almighty feeling of sun. I guess weather is pretty much like life itself.
Whatever the elements, I still love most to climb to the crown of my hill over my land by my tree and the best trout stream in New Zealand, which is also mine. From up here the world down there seems understandable and manageable. These days when I meditate I seem to come up with a lot better answers.
The latest on Ireland was explained to me up here. It went like this. Sir Roger Casement was hanged. A few days later the British general in Ireland disappeared and has never been found. The executions stopped and those under death sentence were commuted to prison terms. A year later everyone was freed on amnesty including seventeen hundred republicans from the prisoner of war camp in Wales.
In 1918 the Irish voted in the Sinn Fein Party, which recognized the Republic that was declared at the General Post Office in the Easter Rising of 1916. This compelled the British to sit down and talk things over, but they came kicking and screaming all the way.
Whatever the fate of the conferences, Ireland is bound to get the shaft and no doubt will have to gird up for another round of troubles. Nonetheless, we are moving in the right direction.
As for my family, things are in good order, relatively speaking. There are family quarrels, some sickness, misunderstood children, and all the disasters that befall every family in every lifetime. However, the view from the crown of the hill says that the Larkins have come through in grand fashion. From the moment Rory and I declared our love, I got around to seeing my kids differently.
Like Tommy, for example.