My father had a difficult decision to make. He could advance his military career by continuing his assignment in India as a colonel or he could get an honorable discharge and take his wife back to his boyhood home and start a new life.My mother was not too enthusiastic about living in India. She had heard horror stories about the poverty and she didn't want to raise her children there, even though there was a fairly large British, military community there. She had seen enough horror living in London throughout the war. My father too, had the kind of spiritual and emotional exhaustion soldiers get when they have seen too much active duty. So, with a little prodding, he chose to take my mother back to Jersey, the largest of the Channel Islands. Jersey lies thirteen miles off the coast of France in the English Channel but it is completely autonomous, belonging neither to France nor England. His family was well known there, wealthy and respected and his brother was very poplar since he was the island's soccer champion.
They lived very happily in Jersey for several years. My mother loved it. They had a house almost on the beach with marvelous sea views. She had a baby to care for and was content with her life. She loved the island. It is always lushly green, with beautiful vistas. It nestles in a protected bay and is sub-tropical like the French Riviera. The palm trees are a short stubby variety, bougainvillea in brilliant colors spills over every wall and beautiful blooms in rainbow hues thrive everywhere in the moist sea air. I remember the gardens, full of vegetables and fruit, ripe and juicy from the seaweed used as fertilizer. The beaches are clean with golden sands and a favorite with tourists. It was idyllic but my father became restless.
He had been receiving letters from Jack, in Canada, telling him of the opportunities to be had there and inviting him to come over. Jack even offered the hospitality of his home for as long as we needed it. A new adventure, a challenge, exciting prospects; he was up for it. So, he tore us from contentment, prosperity and from the bosom of our large loving family and thrust us into the huge, wild, open spaces of Canada. Coming from a small island, it seemed a very alien place indeed.
Canadians are a very nice people, friendly and sweet. We were welcomed, and spent that summer exploring amazing places and marvelling at the amount of space between towns, between farms, even between houses. We were awed by the wilderness and the abundant wildlife in the north. We were spellbound by the might and the power of Niagara Falls. Nothing prepared us, however, for that first winter, the biting cold , the deep drifts of snow, the white white world.
We became accustomed to our new life. My dad worked so hard to provide a good life for us. My mother worked hard too and gradually they made progress. They built their dream home, provided me with a good education and we all lived the good life. It was too good. My father became ill in his forties. I idolized him . When we learned it was cancer, all the light and joy fled from our lives and we lived every day in dread. He was so young and his prognosis was poor, about four months. The surgeon performed radical surgery, removing a kidney and most of his bladder, but told us not to hope too much for any more time.
Four months passed and my dad got a little stronger and went back to work. We went about our business with heavy hearts and waited. After six months he underwent some tests and examintions and was found to have new tumors forming in his ureter. They were removed and the waiting started again. It was torture. It was like living under an axe, waiting for it to fall. Another six months and two more small tumors. They were removed and again we watched him and waited. It began to tell on all of us . My dad came home drunk, at least twice a week. His buddies would carry him into the house for us and we would put him to bed in silence. My mother became a very silent shadow of a person and I began failing at school.
When the time for the tests came around again, we were so tense and scared, my mother gave me a little glass of her wine so I could sleep. This time, the tests were clear. We could not believe it.We were overjoyed. A year passed, then, another. After five years we were told to relax, he had been cured. He was a cancer survivor. We never took his health for granted again.We knew that at any time the cancer might return. We were all changed by our experience. My dad most of all, he had become an alcoholic......
To be continued.
