Uncommon Enemy (3 page)

“Join up. Probably, Dad. But I want to finish my degree first.”

“Might be over by then, with any luck.”

“That’s what they said last time. Young men from here scrambled to get to France before the war was over. Thousands of them are still over there – marked by a cross, if they’re lucky. It’s OK, Dad, I will go but the world can wait a few months.”

Stuart and his father rarely spoke at length. However, a looming war, the prospect of enlistment, and the potential effect on Stuart and other family members had brought father and son together later in the evening by the lounge fire. His mother although distressed by the news, had felt it best to leave the two men to discuss the situation.

“It’s inevitable, Dad. Hitler’s not going to stop now - Rhineland, Austria, Sudetenland, and now Poland. He’s got the bit between his teeth and the Poles won’t stop him. Diplomacy and pieces of paper failed once again. We’ll have to fight the bastard to stop him.”

Normally the swear word ‘bastard’ would have brought an instant reprimand. But the immensity of the issues did not warrant it. “Ironic, really,” thought Stuart to himself. “As a student dad still sees me as a grown up schoolboy. Now I’m facing possible military service, I’m regarded as having reached manhood.”

“Your mother’s pretty distressed, son. Her brother James was killed at Passchendale and her two cousins, Dan and Brian never really recovered from their wounds, even though they made it back home. She’s a brave woman but the thought of the same thing happening to her eldest son is very hard for her.” He paused and stared into the fire for a long moment. “And for me, son. And for me.”

It was a rare show of emotion from a man for whom the keeping up of appearances was a central tenet.

“I know, Dad,” responded Stuart, moved by this father’s brief but significant words. “Early days, anyway. We’re not even at war yet.”

“True.” Picking up a poker his father thrust it fiercely into the base of the fire. “In the meantime keep up your studies. And be gentle with your mother.”

Stuart didn’t see Carol for the next few days. He had decided to avoid the eight o’clock ferry as he felt it might cause problems for her. He’d hoped to see her at church on Sunday and was disappointed when one of the young women told him that Carol was home with a heavy cold.

Seating himself in the university library, he reached for his History texts. History, next to Maths, had been his favourite subject from Takapuna Primary where stories of William the Conqueror, Richard the Lionheart and Henry V had stirred his young imagination. His gradual discovery that these men had their flaws did not discourage him as he plunged ever deeper into the complex causes of the historical events that had affected their lives and those of countless numbers of men and women down the centuries. One more essay to go - the role of Kaiser Wilhelm in the events leading up to Germany’s invasion of Belgium and France in World War I. Rather too close to home now. Recently he’d read that in World War I New Zealand had
sent over 100,000 troops overseas and that nearly 20% had been killed on battlefields such as Passchendale and Gallipoli. And now Europe seemed on the brink of repeating the whole frightful scenario.

As well as being one of his main course lecturers Professor Sterling was also in charge of Stuart’s Monday tutorial group. Tutorials were rare at the university, the system preferring to leave students to study on their own. However, Sterling had instituted a tutorial system for his third year History students that had proved to be very popular. Not only did it allow students to raise questions about material presented in lectures but also required them to present topics to the rest of the group for discussion and disputation. That afternoon was the final tutorial before the exams. The topic was the events that led to the start of World War I. It was Stuart’s turn to present his point of view to the other nine students. After much thought he had decided to take the position that the prime responsibility for causing the war was Britain’s due to her intransigent behaviour towards the Germans. At 3 o’clock he and the others assembled in the small classroom and, after a few comments about the forthcoming exams, Professor Sterling invited Stuart to make his presentation.

Reading from his prepared notes, and using the blackboard, Stuart outlined the basis of his argument. The resulting discussion became quite heated as each of the students debated the pros and cons. Stuart felt that he had managed to deal adequately with the counter arguments and although he enjoyed the challenge, was relieved when Sterling concluded the tutorial with a brief summation and a ‘good luck for your exams’. As Stuart began to collect his papers the professor touched him on the shoulder.

“Mr Johnson, I wonder if you would be so kind as to wait behind. I’d like a word.”

As the others collected their books and papers, Stuart sat worrying that he had overstepped the mark with his arguments. He had deliberately chosen to be provocative as he relished a lively debate, but given the current increasing unpopularity of the Germans he was concerned that he was in for a reprimand. As the last student left, Sterling turned to him.

“Now, then, young man – no, stay seated – I was interested by the viewpoint you took in the debate.

“Yes, sir,” replied Stuart, uncertainly.

“The point of view that you took - do you believe it?”

The question caught him by surprise. ‘Believe’ and ‘beliefs’ were words he had heard used every Sunday for years. In the analytical world of academia they were mercifully absent – until now.

“‘Believe’, sir?” he responded cautiously. “I don’t know if belief comes into it. I think it’s a viewpoint for which there is some support------”

“A credible perspective, you mean.”

Wishing they’d had been his words Stuart replied, “Yes, sir. There are also strong arguments for other points, er, perspectives but I decided to take that one.”

“Any particular reason, Mr. Johnson?”

“Well, I knew with the recent news it wouldn’t be a particularly popular perspective and therefore I thought it would be a lark, er, challenge, sir, to defend it. Sorry if you thought it was not appropriate.”

Sterling chuckled. “Appropriate. Good lord, no, young man. Let’s hope we never reach the day when universities start considering the worth of academic disputation on the grounds of ‘appropriateness’.” In fact, Mr. Johnson, I am bound to say that I was impressed by the strength and the logic of the view you expounded. And it certainly provoked a strong reaction.”

“Yes, sir, it did, particularly in the light of what you said to us about the Nazis after yesterday’s lecture.”

“I’m glad you said, ‘Nazis’ and not ‘Germans’. The two are not necessarily synonymous.” He paused and looked directly at Stuart. “Now, young man, yesterday I was informed that I have received a government research grant to undertake a lengthy study of German foreign policy since the end of the last war. Its topicality and the fact that it could be of some political use probably resulted in the unusual speed with which the application was approved. I’m delighted, although I suspect that my findings may not be particularly politically acceptable. However, to undertake funded research at this stage in my career is a great opportunity.”

“Yes, sir. A great opportunity,” echoed Stuart wondering why he was being told.

“Part of the funding allows me to employ a research assistant. I need a free thinker, someone who will not simply follow the political perspectives of the time. Furthermore, I understand from Professor Barnes that you’re performing extremely well in Pure Mathematics.”

Stuart’s eyes widened. “Professor Barnes, sir. Have you been---?”

“Yes,” smiled Sterling. “It’s not entirely unknown for Arts to converse with Science you know.” Seeing Stuart about to speak he held up his hand. “And I’m given further to understand that you have more than a passing interest in cryptology.” Stuart started in surprise. “Why, yes, sir.”

“Splendid. Could be useful in the future. No, no more questions. The pay’s not much but, well, Mr. Johnson, I’d like you to consider it. The position would also enable you to move into postgraduate studies should you wish to continue your studies in the History and Mathematics departments.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir. I mean, well, this is a great honour, I never imagined---.”

“Let’s go up to my study,” smiled Sterling, “and go through the paper work. It spells out the research assistant’s role, remuneration, conditions of employment and all that sort of detail. You can have some time to think it over, of course, but I would like an answer fairly promptly.”

The research assistant’s contract was for one year, but as the grant was a generous one, the likelihood of it lasting a further year
was almost certain. Furthermore, Stuart would be able to enrol into a postgraduate programme as soon as he had completed his bachelor’s degree and the research that he would undertake as Sterling’s assistant could be credited towards his studies. The prospect of completing a master’s degree in two year’s time, with Professor Sterling, and possibly other senior academic staff mentoring him was impossible to turn down. Although the professor offered him time to think it over, Stuart agreed to sign up immediately.

“We’ll commence the research once your finals are over. However, in the interim,” concluded the professor, “I will give you the key to the small History Department library. You may find it useful during the final run up to the exams and it will give you time to familiarize yourself with its contents. It’s only for use by staff and postgraduate students so it’s a quiet spot, entirely conducive to concentrated research. Its other great advantage is that has an exterior door, which means we can come or go at any time. It’s downstairs and the second on the right. Here, take good care of the key.”

Moments later a dazed Stuart found himself walking across Albert Park down into Queen Street. Opting to walk rather than catch one of the trams that rattled down to the ferry buildings he made his way slowly towards the bottom of the town contemplating the undreamed of possibilities that had suddenly opened up before him. A postgraduate degree with Professor Sterling as his mentor could lead to a staff position at the university. The prospect was mind numbing. Periodically an academic career had crossed his mind but, aware that the opportunities were limited he’d never seriously considered it as a possibility for himself – until now.

His parents had always been disappointed that he’d not been made dux of Takapuna Grammar School. His marks in all subjects had been high through primary school and on entering grammar he’d particularly relished the various challenges of Mathematics. However, the attractions of the sports arenas and his growing awareness of the young women in his class had resulted in his studies too often taking second place. Although his final Sixth Form marks were high, they weren’t high enough and the title of dux had gone to Paul “Swot” Smithers. Acutely disappointed and angry, his father had insisted on a banking career – “keep the boy on the straight and narrow” he’d overheard him informing his mother. Within a week as a bank teller, he knew that for him it was the first step into a career wasteland. From his meagre wages he’d managed to save sufficient funds and enrolled at university – much to his father’s chagrin.

He smiled. “Wait ’till I tell him and Mum this piece of news.”

As he crossed Wellesley Street he was brought back to reality with a jolt.

“Late City!” cried the Auckland Star newsboy standing in his usual street corner spot. “Read all about it! Allies declare war on Germany! King George speaks to the Empire!”

The Germans! He’d completely forgotten about them. Now they were poised to smash his hopes and dreams at the incubation stage. He bought a paper and scanned the headlines.

“Bastards!” he said aloud and he began to quicken his pace towards the ferry buildings.

“Pardon?” said a familiar voice alongside him.

He looked round and gasped, “Carol! Apologies for my language, but it’s the bloody Germans. They’ve ruined everything don’t you know! But it’s smashing to see you again. Are you catching the ferry? Where’s whatshisname?”

She smiled. “You are in a tizz? ‘Whathisname’, as you call him isn’t here. The Northern Club had a bit of a do on so they asked me to work late. And what about you? Swearing your way down the street. Is it because war’s been declared?”

“Yes, it is, in a way. Look, I’ve just had this most amazing position offered to me and now there’s going to be a war!”

He’d stopped walking and stood facing her, his fist clenched, staring straight ahead. She touched his arm. “Stuart. What is it? Tell me?”

He looked up at the large Civic Theatre clock. “Do you have to catch the next ferry? I’d really like to talk to you about it.”

She hesitated for a moment and then smiled. “Alright. I’ve already telephoned my auntie to say I’m working late. What is it?”

A tram, its bell clanging, rattled by noisily. The newsboy was doing a roaring trade and around him complete strangers were forming discussion groups - their tongues already loosened by the beer consumed at the pubs that had closed an hour earlier at six o’clock.

“It’s too noisy, here. Let’s walk back to the university.”

“OK.” She smiled. She tucked her arm into his as they headed back up Wellesley Street towards Albert Park. As they walked Stuart begun recounting the day’s events in detail. When he reached the part where Professor Sterling had offered the research position to him Carol involuntarily stopped and turned round to face him. “But, Stuart, that’s a wonderful offer isn’t it?”

“Rather. Research assistant positions are very rarely offered to undergraduates. Normally you’d have to have finished your degree, with very good marks. But me, I’ve been offered the position before my finals and,” he paused, “I’ve been given a key to the History library.”

“Is that an honour?”

“I suppose it is. I hardly knew it existed. The key’s only given to lecturers and selected students.”

“Such as you.”

He grinned. Then on impulse he said, “Like to see it?”