Read Online St. Patrick's Bed (Ashland, 3) by Terence M. Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terence M. Green
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Shack, Outback, Bob Evans.
Then, DAYTON CORP LIMIT.
Bobby Swiss. Adam. Jeanne. Everybody was there with me. My father was there. Even Aidan, my stillborn son.
II
Nanny—my paternal grandmother—was born June 15, 1885. She died December 27, 1974. Her maiden name was Annie Sutton. She was baptized at St. Mary's Church, on Bathurst Street, in Toronto.
Because she lived at Maxwell with my parents, a lot of the trivia of her life fell into my father's hands when she passed away. And now it's fallen into mine. That's how I know her dates, her place of baptism. I've got her birth certificate and her death certificate.
I also came across three postcards from France.
July 28,1917
Dear Father
Just a card to let you know I am well and hope you and mother are in the best of health I received 2 letters from you dated June 24 and July 1 and am glad to hear you are well I will write a letter later on for I know you like to hear from me often so cheer up good days coming when we meet I remain your loving son HMS XXXXXXXXXX
September 13,1917
Dear Mother
Just a card to let you know I am always thinking of you and hope you and father are in the best of health as it don't leave me so bad for I am picking up again I remain your loving son somewhere in france do my bit XXXXXXXXXXXX
September 24,1917
Dear Father
Just a line to let you know I received your letter ok and glad to hear you and mother are well as it leaves me getting on well after the shell shock I got but my nerves are a little shaky yet but will come around alright the Dr. said I remain your son HMS XXXXX
Not exactly French postcards as I understood the term.
Since Dad's death, my cousin Jacquie was the oldest in the family, so I asked her. "Who are they from?"
"Uncle Mike. He was Nanny's brother. He was adopted. He was in the war. He was shell-shocked. He was never right afterward."
All news to me.
"I've got an old picture of Da and Jim, standing outside 222 Berkeley Street in 1918. The house is decorated with streamers and flags. There's a big sign across the top of the veranda that says 'Welcome Home.' It was all for Mike."
"Did Nanny have any other brothers or sisters?"
"No. She was an only child, so Da and her mother adopted Mike. That way they had a boy and a girl."
"Two of them are signed 'HMS.' What's that? His Majesty's Service, because he was a soldier?"
"His name was Henry. Henry Michael Sutton. But he was always Uncle Mike."
Henry Sutton. That was the name of the godfather on the baptismal certificate of Dad's that I'd come across—the one in that brown leather folder that he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. A person to go with the name. A new sprig of foliage on the tree.
"What happened to him? To Mike?"
"He married Agnes after the war. Marie Agnes. Aunt Aggie. They had two boys—Tommy and Jimmy Sutton. Tommy joined the Christian Brothers and became Brother Julian. He died just after World War Two. A urinary tract infection. He was only twenty-four. Jimmy joined the paratroopers. He moved out west. Edmonton, I think. He had a son who became an Anglican minister."
Tributaries, with small rills trickling off. I could hear them, bubbling, like streams down a mountainside.
"During the Depression, Mike couldn't get a job. He used to take a shovel and go line up somewhere downtown with the unemployed, waiting for work. He didn't have the carfare to get there. Nanny used to give him a ticket."
"What happened to him?"
"He died."
"When?"
"I don't know. Agnes died first. He married again."
"Where are they buried?"
"I don't know." A sigh. "I'm sorry, Leo. I haven't thought about them in years. I don't know what happened to any of them."
Da had wanted a son, so he had adopted Mike. My Uncle Jim, like Da, had wanted a son. In my mother's story, he would have even taken me. He had adopted two sons.
Ghosts are real. They don't need our belief. They exist because struggle and failure have value. They slow
Then, DAYTON CORP LIMIT.
Bobby Swiss. Adam. Jeanne. Everybody was there with me. My father was there. Even Aidan, my stillborn son.
II
Nanny—my paternal grandmother—was born June 15, 1885. She died December 27, 1974. Her maiden name was Annie Sutton. She was baptized at St. Mary's Church, on Bathurst Street, in Toronto.
Because she lived at Maxwell with my parents, a lot of the trivia of her life fell into my father's hands when she passed away. And now it's fallen into mine. That's how I know her dates, her place of baptism. I've got her birth certificate and her death certificate.
I also came across three postcards from France.
July 28,1917
Dear Father
Just a card to let you know I am well and hope you and mother are in the best of health I received 2 letters from you dated June 24 and July 1 and am glad to hear you are well I will write a letter later on for I know you like to hear from me often so cheer up good days coming when we meet I remain your loving son HMS XXXXXXXXXX
September 13,1917
Dear Mother
Just a card to let you know I am always thinking of you and hope you and father are in the best of health as it don't leave me so bad for I am picking up again I remain your loving son somewhere in france do my bit XXXXXXXXXXXX
September 24,1917
Dear Father
Just a line to let you know I received your letter ok and glad to hear you and mother are well as it leaves me getting on well after the shell shock I got but my nerves are a little shaky yet but will come around alright the Dr. said I remain your son HMS XXXXX
Not exactly French postcards as I understood the term.
Since Dad's death, my cousin Jacquie was the oldest in the family, so I asked her. "Who are they from?"
"Uncle Mike. He was Nanny's brother. He was adopted. He was in the war. He was shell-shocked. He was never right afterward."
All news to me.
"I've got an old picture of Da and Jim, standing outside 222 Berkeley Street in 1918. The house is decorated with streamers and flags. There's a big sign across the top of the veranda that says 'Welcome Home.' It was all for Mike."
"Did Nanny have any other brothers or sisters?"
"No. She was an only child, so Da and her mother adopted Mike. That way they had a boy and a girl."
"Two of them are signed 'HMS.' What's that? His Majesty's Service, because he was a soldier?"
"His name was Henry. Henry Michael Sutton. But he was always Uncle Mike."
Henry Sutton. That was the name of the godfather on the baptismal certificate of Dad's that I'd come across—the one in that brown leather folder that he kept in the top drawer of his dresser. A person to go with the name. A new sprig of foliage on the tree.
"What happened to him? To Mike?"
"He married Agnes after the war. Marie Agnes. Aunt Aggie. They had two boys—Tommy and Jimmy Sutton. Tommy joined the Christian Brothers and became Brother Julian. He died just after World War Two. A urinary tract infection. He was only twenty-four. Jimmy joined the paratroopers. He moved out west. Edmonton, I think. He had a son who became an Anglican minister."
Tributaries, with small rills trickling off. I could hear them, bubbling, like streams down a mountainside.
"During the Depression, Mike couldn't get a job. He used to take a shovel and go line up somewhere downtown with the unemployed, waiting for work. He didn't have the carfare to get there. Nanny used to give him a ticket."
"What happened to him?"
"He died."
"When?"
"I don't know. Agnes died first. He married again."
"Where are they buried?"
"I don't know." A sigh. "I'm sorry, Leo. I haven't thought about them in years. I don't know what happened to any of them."
Da had wanted a son, so he had adopted Mike. My Uncle Jim, like Da, had wanted a son. In my mother's story, he would have even taken me. He had adopted two sons.
Ghosts are real. They don't need our belief. They exist because struggle and failure have value. They slow
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