How a gentle man made a big impact

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Mangawhai local Liz Holsted honours her father every Anzac Day as a man who didn’t need to go to war to fight for his beliefs.

 

LIZ HOLSTED

The dawn light breaks slowly through the clouds. The final notes of the Last Post tremble in the chill morning air. I pull my blanket around me tighter and watch as the flag rises to half-mast.

So much has been said over the years about the men who lost their lives in the trenches of the Great War. One hundred years. It’s being touted as a milestone, something to celebrate, a mark in the sands of time. We hear stories of valour, of deeds done and enemy killed. The newspapers and television have gorged on it, trumpeting another series or story, filling hours and pages with every conceivable detail – except one.

Nothing great about war as far as I can tell. It was a terrible, dismal failure on the part of the commanding officers and a terrible, dismal death for the thousands of young men that were sent to face the cannons and firepower of someone else’s enemy. There are no winners in war.

And what about the young men that didn’t want to be part of this madness? Men who were sent to jail, shot for desertion, mailed white feathers, despised by their erstwhile friends, labelled cowards.

My father, Maurice James Larsen, was a conscientious objector, a “conshie” – spat at with derision and contempt. Conshies were considered to be the lowest form of humanity. But my father was anything but a coward. It took a superhuman effort to stand up for his beliefs in a world that glorified war and whipped up unquestioning patriotism in its young sons, only to leave them abandoned on some faraway field.

As a conscientious objector, Dad was subjected to punishment that was far worse that that meted out to criminals. Not that I ever heard that from Dad. He never talked about it. But then, he never did talk much about himself. He just lived his life quietly by his very strict code of conduct. He was a very gentle man, handsome and softly spoken. I never heard him raise his voice, even in anger, which rather made itself evident in a slow, clipped speech, well thought out words and a look of disappointment. I can honestly say he never stole anything, not even a lolly. He never tried to “get one across you”. Mum was his first and

only love. He never lied, not even a white one. He was a strict disciplinarian, from a very Victorian family where rules were rules, God was revered totally and they lived by the Ten Commandments to the letter. That was the big issue for Dad when others around him were joining up. He quite simply believed the commandment “Thou shalt not kill”. He could not align that belief with killing people in cold blood. He offered to be sent as a medic to the front line – but that was not good enough for the powers above. He was branded a coward.

He was a teacher when World War II broke out. A very good one by all accounts. The sort that changes children’s lives by instilling them with the joy of learning. However, “conshies” were not allowed to remain in the professions. They were bad, unpatriotic people who needed to be ashamed of their convictions. And if they didn’t have the temerity to recognise that for themselves, the State would damn well make them aware of it. Dad lost his teaching job, and a man who could have had such a positive impact on so many young lives, was made to take up a lowly job – making cardboard boxes before progressing to a role as the odd job man at a commercial laundry. It was considered appropriate work for an objector, washing gear for the troops, the real men. Being Dad, he never tried to buck the system. Rather, he worked hard and conscientiously, finishing his working life some forty years later as one of their most valued employees, raised by then to the lofty heights of marketing director with a place on the board. He applied his conscientiousness to his work, just in the same way as he had applied it to the very conscious decision not to go to war.

Years after Dad died, Mum said that he had considered himself one of the lucky ones. He wasn’t imprisoned. He certainly suffered a considerable amount because of his stance, but being Dad, he never complained or discussed it. I am still not sure of the real impact on Dad and Mum, and their new marriage. But I did find a book in Mum’s things many years later after her death, which noted his weekly income and the amount deducted by the State from this because of his “coward” status. Apparently, conscientious objectors were not allowed to earn more than a private in the Army. Never mind that an Army employee had all board and food paid for, and Dad at the time was supporting his new wife who had a life-threatening illness, as well as his live-in mother-in-law. It was just the way it was, and he was not one to complain or try to do things differently. In one of those strange life-twists, Dad was asked to go back to teaching after the war, when the profession was so lacking in good male role models for its new generation, but he didn’t. In a decision so typical of him he decided that the company he was working for, deserved his loyalty.

Living up to his ideals and rules was sometimes very difficult as a young woman. But my sister and I knew what was expected and we knew we were loved by a

very special man who lived by his beliefs and his personal relationship with God. Dad believed he had made the right decision. It was quite simple – Thou Shalt Not Kill. Couldn’t have been clearer really.

He made his impact on the world in other quieter ways, as a truly gracious, gentle, highly principled man. He is remembered by all those whose lives he touched in many walks of life. On Anzac Day, I raise my own flag to my father, and to all those men and women who had such inner strength of belief.

 

World War II conscientious objector Maurice James Larsen – a gracious, gentle, softly spoken and highly principled man. PHOTO/SUPPLIED

 

He quite simply believed the commandment “Thou shalt not kill”.

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