POSTING #66

"Watch Old Joe"

It was the fall of 1963 and I was getting ready to conduct my first Canadian Immigration film show in London--- having just been reassigned from Leeds to London-- when an office colleague tapped me on the shoulder.

"See that guy coming in? We call him Old Joe (not his real name), he's a Canadian who lives here and asks really tough questions."

Joe looked to be in his 60s, tallish, slight, mainly bald with some long wisps of brown hair that could have been used for a 'combed over' look but had been blown askew. He had on a brown trench coat that looked as though it had seen many years and not many dry-cleaners. Under the coat was a rumpled suit and a tired tie.

Tucked under his arm was a folded-up copy of the pink Financial Times.

My colleague added, "Watch old Joe."

The show was being held in Caxton Hall, a much larger auditorium than I had been used to in the north of England, with room for 300 or so people on the main floor and a balcony on three sides.

As I stood on the stage ready to start the show I saw Joe in the balcony, near the stage, just on my right.

I showed two films about Canada, gave my talk and then invited questions.

Joe stood up and boomed out, "Could you comment on the latest gross provincial product figures for Alberta?"

Whew!!

I studied political science at university, not economics, and didn't have a really good handle on the concept of 'gross provincial product'.

And I hadn't seen any recent figures on Alberta.

I thanked Joe for the question and---deciding that honesty was the best policy---said that I hadn't seen the latest figures on Alberta.

But, I went on, it was clear that Alberta had an excellent future. I told about taking a train trip from Edmonton to Calgary and seeing on one side of the train a field with cattle grazing amid machines that were pumping oil from underground wells, while on the other side was an enormous field of ripening wheat.

I mentioned the tar sands in Northern Alberta that reportedly had as much petroleum as Saudi Arabia, but were waiting for a technology to be developed to extract the oil.

Then I took another question.

After the show, Joe came up to me.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you with my question."

"No, it was fine."

"It's just that Alberta is going to boom and these people could do so much better in Canada."

We chatted for a few moments and then I had to excuse myself to talk to a member of the audience who wanted some information on his prospects in Canada.

I met Joe at other film shows. He always asked a tough question that he thought would help us make the point that Canada was a great place to live.

And we always had a chat.

I learned that he spent his days studying the London Metal Market, focusing primarily on the sale and purchase of scrap metal. He explained that virtually everything that happened around the world could affect scrap metal prices---weather, political crises, economic problems, fashions etc. He had to understand what was going on---he said that the ever-present Financial Times was his window on the World.

His knowledge was encyclopedic---I had never met anyone who was so well-informed about what was going on in the world.

As we became better acquainted, he told me that he had an English partner, a wealthy man who used Joe's recommendations about which metals to buy and sell. He implied that the investments had done well, but it was obvious that if they had, he chose not to spend his returns on clothes.

At one point, Pat and I were having a representational dinner for journalists, travel company officials and other people I worked with.

I invited Joe to join us.

He seemed pleased, and I got the impression that he didn't receive many invitations to dinner.

When he arrived at our home, he was dressed just the same as at a film show---sort of 'unkempt genteel'.

At first he was a bit quiet but as the evening progressed he joined in the discussions, and seemed to enjoy himself.

Some time later, he invited us to Orpheus in the Underworld at the Royal Opera Hall in Covent Garden. He said he had invited his business partner and his wife as well, and suggested we have dinner before the performance at 'his club'.

The partner and his wife---in their early 50s---were well polished, 'old-money' people probably from a wealthy community outside of London.

At one point during the dinner, Joe and his partner went off to the washroom. They were an odd looking couple---one immaculately dressed and self-confident, the other a little scruffy and ill at ease. But they seemed to have a good relationship and it was clear that the partner respected Joe's expertise in the metal market.

After they had gone, the partner's wife leaned over to us.

"I suppose Joe has told you that he and my husband are partners. I just wanted to tell you that they are NOT partners. My husband has an investment business and Joe simply provides him with tips from time to time."

It was clear that she didn't have much time for Joe---that he wasn't one of them.

The club was more modest than the famous London clubs like Garrick's but the ambiance and dinner were excellent.

As was the Orpheus.

The seats couldn't have been better, just a few rows from the stage and right in the middle.

Joe obviously enjoyed the music, the singing and the acting. While other members of the audience were applauding with gentle enthusiasm, he expressed his pleasure and appreciation for fine performances by bellowing 'Bravo, Bravo'.

I could see the partner's wife cringing.

We enjoyed the evening but it left us with more questions about Joe.

What was the story on him?

Joe was not very forthcoming about his past but over time I began to piece together some parts of his story.

His family had migrated from Poland to western Canada before World War I. In time, his dad became a successful cattle farmer.

In the late 1930s his father saw an opportunity to export some breeding-stock cattle to Poland. Joe and his dad arrived in Poland in September 1939 with a shipment of cattle, just as Germany was invading the country---and, of course, setting off the Second World War.

Unable to leave Poland, they went to live on a farm with some relatives, hoping that the war would soon be over.

Somehow, British Intelligence agents found out about them and recruited them to spy for Britain.

Unfortunately, they were caught by the Germans and jailed.

I once asked Joe what the jail was like, was it like a prisoner of war camp?

Joe blew up.

"No, no, no! Prisoner of war camps were tough but the jails were unbelievable. There were no Red Cross inspections, no parcels from home.

"No one had any rights. The guards could do anything they wanted to us---and they did."

He wouldn't talk about the brutality of the guards except to say at one time,

"I have looked up the a--hole of humanity".

He added that although he accepted that humanity could be brutal he preferred to focus on the better side of humanity.

For him, he said, that was friendship.

And the friendship he was talking about, he told me, was summed up in this saying: "Friendship never demands, it just gives".

After the war, he settled in London, perhaps with the help of British Intelligence. (I never learned what happened to his father.)

When, in 1966, it came time for us to return to Canada, I gave Joe the news at a film show.

We had a good chat and agreed to stay in touch. He said I could send him letters care of the Canadian High Commission on Trafalgar Square.

I was puzzled why he didn't give me the address of the place where he lived. Was he embarrassed about where he lived? Or was the ex-spy simply being careful, protecting his privacy?

In the end, I didn't write to him.

And I feel guilty.

And frustrated---frustrated that I don't know, and can't tell you, 'The rest of the story' about Joe.

There are so many unanswered questions.

What kind of spying was he doing in Poland? How was he caught by the Germans? Why did he stay in England after the war when his love for Canada was so clear? Had he married? Did he have a family? Where did he live? How could he afford a club and tickets to the opera? What happened to him after 1966 when I left England?

On and on.

Perhaps a reader somewhere will recognize Joe from my descriptions and will be able to tell me (and through me, you) more about this complex man who passionately loved Canada and whose life was so terribly scarred by the war.


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See you next Sunday for Posting #67 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting, or email me at johnpathunter@cs.com.