Stupid Luck and Happenstance, Thread III
- Thread starter Peabody-Martini
- Start date
He didn't want it, but knew that he could either profit from it, or be destroyed by it.
Yes and no, he tried to avoid it, when he could no longer avoid it, he got out in front of it and guided it where he could.
That was his genius.
Intra family relations, not so much.
A little bit of context from the historical record, from Wikipedia and hardly the complete story. This is a part of the story that Marie Alexandra has stumbled across.
Between 1712 and 1721, approximately 7,000 women were selected for forced immigration. Many were taken from orphanages, city streets, prisons, and hospitals. The passenger lists showed that they were "sent by the King" or "exiled".
Some women selected for forced immigration were chained and marched across France, a display intended to deter potential criminals. During a protest by 150 female prisoners in 1719, six were shot and a dozen were wounded; after a freezing winter, they were still shipped to the settlement. Of the 7,000 women selected, most died on the forced marches or on the sea voyage, and only 1,300 arrived at the colony.
Some of the women were forcibly married to male prisoners also being sent to Louisiana.
Many correction girls were sickly and malnourished; some had venereal diseases and others were dangerous criminals. Settlement administrators complained of women "who are useless and who do nothing but cause disorder". A letter from a settlement administrator in 1721 stated.
Between 1712 and 1721, approximately 7,000 women were selected for forced immigration. Many were taken from orphanages, city streets, prisons, and hospitals. The passenger lists showed that they were "sent by the King" or "exiled".
Some women selected for forced immigration were chained and marched across France, a display intended to deter potential criminals. During a protest by 150 female prisoners in 1719, six were shot and a dozen were wounded; after a freezing winter, they were still shipped to the settlement. Of the 7,000 women selected, most died on the forced marches or on the sea voyage, and only 1,300 arrived at the colony.
Some of the women were forcibly married to male prisoners also being sent to Louisiana.
Many correction girls were sickly and malnourished; some had venereal diseases and others were dangerous criminals. Settlement administrators complained of women "who are useless and who do nothing but cause disorder". A letter from a settlement administrator in 1721 stated.
Part 147, Chapter 2673
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Seventy-Three
7th April 1978
Battleford, Saskatchewan, Canada
Two things happened in quick succession. Word reached Marie Alexandra about Opa von Richthofen. Then Margot found out that Marie had been in contact with her younger half-sister somehow. Marie’s grandmother really didn’t want anyone to know the full details of her early life and background, so to say that Margot had not taken that well was a bit of an understatement. Fortunately Marie wasn’t living under the same roof, but from what she had heard from her grandfather, it had gotten really bad. Margot was really going to lose it when she learned that the subject of Marie’s Senior Thesis was going to be Madeleine Charron and her descendants. That was only going to be after Marie submitted it and would be leaving for Ireland.
Marie tried to get the first available seat back to Europe, but she had been unable to make the arrangements in time to make it to the funeral because she had already booked trips to New Orleans and Saskatchewan over the Easter Holiday for research. Instead she had talked Aunt Ilse briefly on the phone. Ilse had said that she understood that Marie would have been there if it were possible and so did everyone else. In the meantime, she needed to stay in Montreal and get her degree because that is what the old buzzard would have wanted. Marie had smiled at that in despite the situation, Ilse had called Opa “The old buzzard” for years and there was a great deal of affection in it.
It hadn’t been Marie’s intention to have Madeleine be the subject of her thesis. Then she had discovered Madeleine’s grave in the Cemetery of the Poor near the Hôtel-Dieu de Québec. There had been far more to the story than Julie had told her as well. According to the records of the Hospital called the Hostel of God, Madeleine had died there in 1750 at the age of forty-five of Peste Blanche, one of the terms used for Tuberculosis at the time. It noted that she was survived by five children, one of whom would have been Marie’s ancestor. Marie had done the math and realized that Madeleine would have been fourteen or fifteen when she had been one of the “Correction Girls” who had been forcibly exiled to Louisiana. There had been a gap of decades there that Marie had felt needed to be filled in and that had led her to ignore her mother’s advice about not travelling into the United States and had booked a flight to New Orleans with plans to spend the Easter Holiday following what she imagined Madeleine’s journey would have been up the Mississippi River by train to Chicago.
What Marie was not prepared for was what she found in New Orleans. It was a story of cruelty on an epic scale. Women who were petty criminals, prostitutes, orphans, or just having the misfortune to be destitute were rounded up mostly in Paris with the intent of sending them to bolster the numbers of colonists in New France. Before that, they were made to do a forced march in chains to Brest during a cold winter in a public display meant to deter would be criminals. It would hardly have been a surprise that many had died along the way during a journey they were ill prepared for, and due to the additional mistreatment they endured that was what happened to the majority of them. Only a relative handful perhaps one out of six made it to Louisiana.
When Marie had been researching this in New Orleans, the Librarian she had worked with had been surprised that she claimed to be a descendant of one of the Correction Girls. Apparently, no one had made such a claim in the past with most people saying that they were descended from the far better regarded Cassette Girls or Pelican Girls as they were called when logic argued against many of those claims. The truth was that Marie saw that the Correction Girls who had survived were like her mother or Aunt Ilse, tough, smart, and iron willed. So she was proud to claim Madeleine as her ancestor. Finding out that Madeleine had run away from a forced marriage to start the journey that would eventually take her to Canada had buttressed her opinion.
By the time Marie had left New Orleans, she had filled several spiral notebooks with her notes, and she realized that she had the makings of the thesis whose subject she had been debating for months. She had learned of Opa von Richthofen had died on the evening news in Chicago and had made the call to Aunt Ilse with great difficulty. Finally, a couple days later she had arrived at Aunt Julie’s house in Battleford, Saskatchewan. She was aware that she had been subjected to intense surveillance right until the instant she had crossed the border into Canada. It was Marie’s fondest hope that whatever bean counters the FBI employed would be suitably aghast at the needless expense. It had also been in Chicago that she had called Opa Blackwood and he had told Marie about what was going on with Margot.
Oddly, it had not just been Julie who was interested in what Marie had found in what she had found in New Orleans. She found herself in Aunt Julie’s kitchen surrounded by people who were introduced as distant cousins, aunts, and uncles. All of them had additional information that Marie would need to find the records in support of and had filled another two spiral notebooks with notes.
7th April 1978
Battleford, Saskatchewan, Canada
Two things happened in quick succession. Word reached Marie Alexandra about Opa von Richthofen. Then Margot found out that Marie had been in contact with her younger half-sister somehow. Marie’s grandmother really didn’t want anyone to know the full details of her early life and background, so to say that Margot had not taken that well was a bit of an understatement. Fortunately Marie wasn’t living under the same roof, but from what she had heard from her grandfather, it had gotten really bad. Margot was really going to lose it when she learned that the subject of Marie’s Senior Thesis was going to be Madeleine Charron and her descendants. That was only going to be after Marie submitted it and would be leaving for Ireland.
Marie tried to get the first available seat back to Europe, but she had been unable to make the arrangements in time to make it to the funeral because she had already booked trips to New Orleans and Saskatchewan over the Easter Holiday for research. Instead she had talked Aunt Ilse briefly on the phone. Ilse had said that she understood that Marie would have been there if it were possible and so did everyone else. In the meantime, she needed to stay in Montreal and get her degree because that is what the old buzzard would have wanted. Marie had smiled at that in despite the situation, Ilse had called Opa “The old buzzard” for years and there was a great deal of affection in it.
It hadn’t been Marie’s intention to have Madeleine be the subject of her thesis. Then she had discovered Madeleine’s grave in the Cemetery of the Poor near the Hôtel-Dieu de Québec. There had been far more to the story than Julie had told her as well. According to the records of the Hospital called the Hostel of God, Madeleine had died there in 1750 at the age of forty-five of Peste Blanche, one of the terms used for Tuberculosis at the time. It noted that she was survived by five children, one of whom would have been Marie’s ancestor. Marie had done the math and realized that Madeleine would have been fourteen or fifteen when she had been one of the “Correction Girls” who had been forcibly exiled to Louisiana. There had been a gap of decades there that Marie had felt needed to be filled in and that had led her to ignore her mother’s advice about not travelling into the United States and had booked a flight to New Orleans with plans to spend the Easter Holiday following what she imagined Madeleine’s journey would have been up the Mississippi River by train to Chicago.
What Marie was not prepared for was what she found in New Orleans. It was a story of cruelty on an epic scale. Women who were petty criminals, prostitutes, orphans, or just having the misfortune to be destitute were rounded up mostly in Paris with the intent of sending them to bolster the numbers of colonists in New France. Before that, they were made to do a forced march in chains to Brest during a cold winter in a public display meant to deter would be criminals. It would hardly have been a surprise that many had died along the way during a journey they were ill prepared for, and due to the additional mistreatment they endured that was what happened to the majority of them. Only a relative handful perhaps one out of six made it to Louisiana.
When Marie had been researching this in New Orleans, the Librarian she had worked with had been surprised that she claimed to be a descendant of one of the Correction Girls. Apparently, no one had made such a claim in the past with most people saying that they were descended from the far better regarded Cassette Girls or Pelican Girls as they were called when logic argued against many of those claims. The truth was that Marie saw that the Correction Girls who had survived were like her mother or Aunt Ilse, tough, smart, and iron willed. So she was proud to claim Madeleine as her ancestor. Finding out that Madeleine had run away from a forced marriage to start the journey that would eventually take her to Canada had buttressed her opinion.
By the time Marie had left New Orleans, she had filled several spiral notebooks with her notes, and she realized that she had the makings of the thesis whose subject she had been debating for months. She had learned of Opa von Richthofen had died on the evening news in Chicago and had made the call to Aunt Ilse with great difficulty. Finally, a couple days later she had arrived at Aunt Julie’s house in Battleford, Saskatchewan. She was aware that she had been subjected to intense surveillance right until the instant she had crossed the border into Canada. It was Marie’s fondest hope that whatever bean counters the FBI employed would be suitably aghast at the needless expense. It had also been in Chicago that she had called Opa Blackwood and he had told Marie about what was going on with Margot.
Oddly, it had not just been Julie who was interested in what Marie had found in what she had found in New Orleans. She found herself in Aunt Julie’s kitchen surrounded by people who were introduced as distant cousins, aunts, and uncles. All of them had additional information that Marie would need to find the records in support of and had filled another two spiral notebooks with notes.
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I have never so personally identified with Margot as with this last post.
Margot can probably trace a direct line of ancestors back to the FFQ (First Families of Quebec), but what she is really hiding is the main branch that she came from is "The Correction Girls", and God knows how many years Margot spent hiding that fact.
Like Margot, I am a direct descendant of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only Roman Catholic to sign the Declaration of Independance and the Richest Man in America at that time.
He was the biggest individual financial contributor to the cause of Independance, and along with his cousin Daniel Carroll who signed the Constitution of the United States, was fundamental in securing religious freedom in the United States.
I can trace my connection to him through my father's maternal line, and to say the least there was a lot of horse thieves, land swindlers, fraudulent bankers, cattle rustlers, card cheats and the worst thing, dishonest politicians in that line.
My great-grandfather was a Denver Police Officer who during Prohibition, took bribes from bootleggers and had my grandmother and her sisters deliver bootleg liquor throughout Denver in their little red wagons.
Margot can probably trace a direct line of ancestors back to the FFQ (First Families of Quebec), but what she is really hiding is the main branch that she came from is "The Correction Girls", and God knows how many years Margot spent hiding that fact.
Like Margot, I am a direct descendant of Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only Roman Catholic to sign the Declaration of Independance and the Richest Man in America at that time.
He was the biggest individual financial contributor to the cause of Independance, and along with his cousin Daniel Carroll who signed the Constitution of the United States, was fundamental in securing religious freedom in the United States.
I can trace my connection to him through my father's maternal line, and to say the least there was a lot of horse thieves, land swindlers, fraudulent bankers, cattle rustlers, card cheats and the worst thing, dishonest politicians in that line.
My great-grandfather was a Denver Police Officer who during Prohibition, took bribes from bootleggers and had my grandmother and her sisters deliver bootleg liquor throughout Denver in their little red wagons.
Part 147, Chapter 2674
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Seventy-Four
10th April 1978
Pusan, Korea
“You’re inability to control your men is not my problem Leutnant” The Luftwaffe Supply Officer said to Erich who wanted more than anything to wipe the smug grin off his face. The man was a Major though, so giving him the ass-kicking he so clearly deserved would result in far more trouble than it was worth.
It was odd, the Marine Infantry had the bad reputation but as Erich had discovered since he had landed in Pusan, it was the Luftwaffe who had caused most of the trouble in the German enclave. This was because while most of the logistics were handled by the Navy, the Luftwaffe’s planes were used to transport items that were both high value and in constant demand. Depending on the situation, they tended to cause one of the things most likely to cause fighting to break out among the ranks of the Marines. Namely, artificial scarcity. When added to an already fraught relationship with the field manual which hadn’t seen enough in the way of updates over the last few years and the result was a massive headache for all involved.
There had been nothing out of the ordinary about the plane that had landed a few days earlier. Just one of the regular flights to and from Kiel or Berlin-Brandenburg that occurred once or twice every single day. This one had been loaded with crates of the “One-Man, 24-hour Combat Ration” packs, or EPa, that the Heer had recently introduced. The Navy was following suit, but the Marine Field Manual regarded them as being the same as the old Iron Rations, which were never to be opened without the express permission of the Company Commander. That had never been really been an issue with the Iron Rations because they had mostly been leftover from the Second World War and had been extremely questionable at best. Typically, outside of a truly desperate situation the only way that anyone ate one of the Iron Rations was on a dare.
The sudden arrival of the waxed paper packages, filled with all sorts of goodies, had resulted in the barracks being in an instant uproar. Those packages contained good food from home in the tins, there was also bread, coffee, and chocolate bars, which had always been rather scarce in the Far East. Trying to tell the Marines to keep those sealed was asking for trouble, so Erich had not even tried to get in the way of that.
As Erich had discovered months earlier, a Marine Officer had to pick his battles carefully. Erich had seen that if he enforced good order with the backing of the Noncoms, most of the men would fall in behind him. Punishing anyone over food because of what were seen as outdated regulations would result in him doing the one thing he couldn’t afford to do, namely giving the entire Platoon a common enemy.
Then word had gotten around that not only was the Luftwaffe sitting on a warehouses of the damned things that were being saved for whatever crisis inevitably hit the Korean Peninsula next, but that afternoon chocolate bars, chewing gum, and tinned food that could have only come from the EPa packs had turned up in the local black market. Oberfeld Muller had told him that this was a situation that he needed to get ahead of before someone did something stupid. And if they were extremely lucky, they would be dealing with the Commanding Officer of the Luftwaffe Detachment before anyone else.
The Oberfeld had also reminded him that he was a Marine Officer, so he needed to act the part sometimes especially when he was dealing with an officious prick. He was an Academy Graduate and an Aristocrat, Erich needed to use those things on behalf of his men.
“You can have it your way Major, but my men are not the ones you need to be worried about” Erich said mildly, tapping his Academy ring on the edge of the man’s desk. He almost never wore the thing, not liking the image of the Ring tapping snob he was pretending to be. “I cannot speak for all of the eleven thousand men you seem intent on pissing off though. Violent men with access to guns and explosives.”
The Major saw the ring on Erich’s hand and saw his manner, and then looked over his shoulder at Oberfeld Muller and Gefreiter Dresdner who were standing behind him. At that moment Erich knew that the Major was doing the fast mental mathematics as it must have dawned on him how screwed he was if someone like Erich wasn’t standing in the way of calamity.
Erich understood how the Marine Infantry were widely regarded by the public and the rest of the Military as a bunch of complete savages. The Officers were considered worse because they did what was necessary to maintain control of said savages. There were also other considerations apparent. The Pusan Enclave was dominated by the Navy and a Luftwaffe Major like this one was extremely far out on the line. That meant that the Marines he encountered were not even a part of the same chain of command. If he got himself stomped then there was a good chance that there would be a lot of official foot-dragging over the matter while his own conduct was examined under a microscope anyway. The Academy ring and Erich’s aristocratic bearing suggested that he was someone connected to the powers that be. Erich also hadn’t noticed anyone other than Luftwaffe personnel around this particular warehouse. With supplies that were coveted, but not particularly valuable, it was common to see muscle around to make sure they went where they were supposed to go and in Pusan that muscle was almost always the Marines.
“There might be a chance that we could reach an accommodation” The Major said.
“Glad you figured that out” Erich said with a smile, relieved that the Major had not called his bluff.
10th April 1978
Pusan, Korea
“You’re inability to control your men is not my problem Leutnant” The Luftwaffe Supply Officer said to Erich who wanted more than anything to wipe the smug grin off his face. The man was a Major though, so giving him the ass-kicking he so clearly deserved would result in far more trouble than it was worth.
It was odd, the Marine Infantry had the bad reputation but as Erich had discovered since he had landed in Pusan, it was the Luftwaffe who had caused most of the trouble in the German enclave. This was because while most of the logistics were handled by the Navy, the Luftwaffe’s planes were used to transport items that were both high value and in constant demand. Depending on the situation, they tended to cause one of the things most likely to cause fighting to break out among the ranks of the Marines. Namely, artificial scarcity. When added to an already fraught relationship with the field manual which hadn’t seen enough in the way of updates over the last few years and the result was a massive headache for all involved.
There had been nothing out of the ordinary about the plane that had landed a few days earlier. Just one of the regular flights to and from Kiel or Berlin-Brandenburg that occurred once or twice every single day. This one had been loaded with crates of the “One-Man, 24-hour Combat Ration” packs, or EPa, that the Heer had recently introduced. The Navy was following suit, but the Marine Field Manual regarded them as being the same as the old Iron Rations, which were never to be opened without the express permission of the Company Commander. That had never been really been an issue with the Iron Rations because they had mostly been leftover from the Second World War and had been extremely questionable at best. Typically, outside of a truly desperate situation the only way that anyone ate one of the Iron Rations was on a dare.
The sudden arrival of the waxed paper packages, filled with all sorts of goodies, had resulted in the barracks being in an instant uproar. Those packages contained good food from home in the tins, there was also bread, coffee, and chocolate bars, which had always been rather scarce in the Far East. Trying to tell the Marines to keep those sealed was asking for trouble, so Erich had not even tried to get in the way of that.
As Erich had discovered months earlier, a Marine Officer had to pick his battles carefully. Erich had seen that if he enforced good order with the backing of the Noncoms, most of the men would fall in behind him. Punishing anyone over food because of what were seen as outdated regulations would result in him doing the one thing he couldn’t afford to do, namely giving the entire Platoon a common enemy.
Then word had gotten around that not only was the Luftwaffe sitting on a warehouses of the damned things that were being saved for whatever crisis inevitably hit the Korean Peninsula next, but that afternoon chocolate bars, chewing gum, and tinned food that could have only come from the EPa packs had turned up in the local black market. Oberfeld Muller had told him that this was a situation that he needed to get ahead of before someone did something stupid. And if they were extremely lucky, they would be dealing with the Commanding Officer of the Luftwaffe Detachment before anyone else.
The Oberfeld had also reminded him that he was a Marine Officer, so he needed to act the part sometimes especially when he was dealing with an officious prick. He was an Academy Graduate and an Aristocrat, Erich needed to use those things on behalf of his men.
“You can have it your way Major, but my men are not the ones you need to be worried about” Erich said mildly, tapping his Academy ring on the edge of the man’s desk. He almost never wore the thing, not liking the image of the Ring tapping snob he was pretending to be. “I cannot speak for all of the eleven thousand men you seem intent on pissing off though. Violent men with access to guns and explosives.”
The Major saw the ring on Erich’s hand and saw his manner, and then looked over his shoulder at Oberfeld Muller and Gefreiter Dresdner who were standing behind him. At that moment Erich knew that the Major was doing the fast mental mathematics as it must have dawned on him how screwed he was if someone like Erich wasn’t standing in the way of calamity.
Erich understood how the Marine Infantry were widely regarded by the public and the rest of the Military as a bunch of complete savages. The Officers were considered worse because they did what was necessary to maintain control of said savages. There were also other considerations apparent. The Pusan Enclave was dominated by the Navy and a Luftwaffe Major like this one was extremely far out on the line. That meant that the Marines he encountered were not even a part of the same chain of command. If he got himself stomped then there was a good chance that there would be a lot of official foot-dragging over the matter while his own conduct was examined under a microscope anyway. The Academy ring and Erich’s aristocratic bearing suggested that he was someone connected to the powers that be. Erich also hadn’t noticed anyone other than Luftwaffe personnel around this particular warehouse. With supplies that were coveted, but not particularly valuable, it was common to see muscle around to make sure they went where they were supposed to go and in Pusan that muscle was almost always the Marines.
“There might be a chance that we could reach an accommodation” The Major said.
“Glad you figured that out” Erich said with a smile, relieved that the Major had not called his bluff.
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That reads like the next stage would be that Erich would have used his Marines to investigate the black market and catch the Luftwaffe personnel in the act.
As an intelligence and initiative exercise of course. That they managed to catch these criminals in the act is just a coincidence...
Kind of stupid luck really... 😏
As an intelligence and initiative exercise of course. That they managed to catch these criminals in the act is just a coincidence...
Kind of stupid luck really... 😏
And if Erich does get caught doing this, just how much trouble do you think he is going to get into? Considering the relationship between the Marineinfanterie der Kaiserlichen Marine and the rest of the Military...
And it would only be happenstance that led Erich's men to "stumble" across said black market activity...
Although the Powers That Be in Pusan will probably be like:
"I am shocked! Shocked! to discover gambling in this establishment!"
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If we go by how the IOTL US Military operates at overseas bases, then the bases themselves are nominally under the command of the host country, in this case Korea.
While the Luftwaffe runs the supply depot, most of the work is done by Korean civilians under the supervision of German civilian personnel and/or contractors who are in turn supervised by Luftwaffe military personnel.
So this means that there is most likely a “Mischner Style” organization that is diverting supplies to the black market and the Luftwaffe OIC is being blackmailed/ bribed to look the other way and accept the “revised” invoices that show that there was less that came in from Germany then the invoices from Germany that there was actually more items that were shipped.
While the Luftwaffe runs the supply depot, most of the work is done by Korean civilians under the supervision of German civilian personnel and/or contractors who are in turn supervised by Luftwaffe military personnel.
So this means that there is most likely a “Mischner Style” organization that is diverting supplies to the black market and the Luftwaffe OIC is being blackmailed/ bribed to look the other way and accept the “revised” invoices that show that there was less that came in from Germany then the invoices from Germany that there was actually more items that were shipped.
The Koreans have their own home grown organizations that have been around far longer than the arrival of the German Imperial Railroad and Otto Mischner with it. That said, what you describe tends to happen pretty much everywhere there is a military operation and the accompanying infrastructure going back to antiquity.
None at all, after all, he is simply keeping his Marines busy and out of trouble. The Marines and their big brother, the Navy, would be more than happy to put one over on the upstart Luftwaffe.
There might be a few local issues, but this won't harm Raeder's career with the Marines or Navy.
Thinking on a bit, I could see the idea of the Marines forming an auxiliary shore patrol going down quite well.
Part 148, Chapter 2675
Chapter Two Thousand Six Hundred Seventy-Five
14th April 1978
Montreal, Canada
Sir Malcolm finding Marie Alexandra busy at that computer of hers on a Friday night wasn’t a surprise. That was where she was found most nights as the University Term was entering its final days. Perhaps if she were the sort of spend a night out of the town, Marie would not be so exasperating at times. Looking around the small studio apartment, Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that Marie had almost perfectly recreated the bedroom she had when she had lived in his house. That too had been a recreation of the bedroom of her parent’s house in Berlin that she had lived in from when she was baby right until she left for University. It was a truly odd quirk of her personality, one that Malcolm wasn’t sure she was aware of.
Like always, Marie went and sat on her bed once she let Malcolm in. Presumably this was to leave the chair at her desk, the only other place to sit in the room, open. From experience, Malcolm knew that would make the angles weird and make it difficult to talk to her. He knew that it was something that she did on purpose whenever there was an intruder in her personal space. It didn’t matter who it was.
Taped to the wall above Marie’s desk was a complete genealogy going back to the dawn of the Eighteenth Century on Margot’s side of the family. Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that many of the names had marks that denoted if they were Cree and Métis as well as the deep connections to the first families of Quebec. He also understood that if Margot saw this it would make her absolutely apoplectic. It wasn’t a shock though that Marie saw things differently. Where Margot saw something to be ashamed of, hidden away, Marie saw a story of triumphant survival. As she put it, they were a family line that wasn’t meant to survive or even exist for that matter with a Correction Girl at the start who had been sent to New France to dispose of her. Marie had also discovered that they had thousands of distant relatives across Francophone Canada.
There was considerable irony in the fact that Margot’s main complaint all along was that Marie was too German. Now much to her complete mortification, Marie had embraced the portion of her background that was French Canadian and had revealed a whole host of relatives who Margot regarded as problematic. Malcolm also saw evidence that Marie had been researching the Blackwood family, but her being in Ireland next year would facilitate her exploration of her Scottish ancestors if she was still interested. Sir Malcolm had only one request though.
“Would you at least be a bit more discrete Marie?” Malcolm asked, “I know that Margot started this latest battle, but the things you’ve been doing are like lobbing hydrogen bombs. The relatives in Saskatchewan and Manitoba, you posing as a model in an art class, and God only knows what else.”
“The thing about posing as a model, that is something that everyone in the class is encouraged to volunteer for. I am also wearing dresses that expose my ankles, chewing gum, and riding a bicycle” Marie replied. Clearly she wasn’t prepared to live and let live with her grandmother yet. Especially after what had happened last Christmas.
“This is serious Marie” Malcolm said, “You removing yourself from my house didn’t change the fact that you still reflect upon the rest of your family.”
Then Malcolm saw the tiny flagpole with a blue flag with a white infinity symbol on it, presumably a gift from one of her cousins.
“You might also be encountering situations that you might not fully understand out west” Malcolm said.
“You should give me a bit more credit” Marie said, “They really don’t like you very much out there because of your role in the Mounted Police. The truth is that you were a lot like my mother in that regard, you had someone telling to do something and you went about it to the best of your ability. A lot of innocent people got hurt though.”
As soon as Sir Malcolm heard Marie say that he realized a little too late that she was correct about him not giving her enough credit. It was something that Malcolm, along with most people tended to do. Her understanding of politics, not to mention knowing the difference between those who set the policy from those ordered to carry it out. That shouldn’t have been a surprise.
It was incredibly easy to see Marie as a somewhat naïve university student because that was exactly what she presented herself as. The reality was that at the age of twenty-two Marie had traveled widely, was the confidante of the Queen of England and the Kaiserin of Germany, spoke a dozen languages, and was skilled in the art of disguise. The detail that needed to be remembered most of all was that with Marie you only saw what she wanted you to see. There had been incidents where Malcolm had witnessed Marie basically present herself as a completely different person and that had been disconcerting. Especially the time when she had been on the Evening News. Occasionally, he had seen what was hidden behind the artifice and it wasn’t at all what Marie seemed to think it was.
14th April 1978
Montreal, Canada
Sir Malcolm finding Marie Alexandra busy at that computer of hers on a Friday night wasn’t a surprise. That was where she was found most nights as the University Term was entering its final days. Perhaps if she were the sort of spend a night out of the town, Marie would not be so exasperating at times. Looking around the small studio apartment, Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that Marie had almost perfectly recreated the bedroom she had when she had lived in his house. That too had been a recreation of the bedroom of her parent’s house in Berlin that she had lived in from when she was baby right until she left for University. It was a truly odd quirk of her personality, one that Malcolm wasn’t sure she was aware of.
Like always, Marie went and sat on her bed once she let Malcolm in. Presumably this was to leave the chair at her desk, the only other place to sit in the room, open. From experience, Malcolm knew that would make the angles weird and make it difficult to talk to her. He knew that it was something that she did on purpose whenever there was an intruder in her personal space. It didn’t matter who it was.
Taped to the wall above Marie’s desk was a complete genealogy going back to the dawn of the Eighteenth Century on Margot’s side of the family. Malcolm couldn’t help but notice that many of the names had marks that denoted if they were Cree and Métis as well as the deep connections to the first families of Quebec. He also understood that if Margot saw this it would make her absolutely apoplectic. It wasn’t a shock though that Marie saw things differently. Where Margot saw something to be ashamed of, hidden away, Marie saw a story of triumphant survival. As she put it, they were a family line that wasn’t meant to survive or even exist for that matter with a Correction Girl at the start who had been sent to New France to dispose of her. Marie had also discovered that they had thousands of distant relatives across Francophone Canada.
There was considerable irony in the fact that Margot’s main complaint all along was that Marie was too German. Now much to her complete mortification, Marie had embraced the portion of her background that was French Canadian and had revealed a whole host of relatives who Margot regarded as problematic. Malcolm also saw evidence that Marie had been researching the Blackwood family, but her being in Ireland next year would facilitate her exploration of her Scottish ancestors if she was still interested. Sir Malcolm had only one request though.
“Would you at least be a bit more discrete Marie?” Malcolm asked, “I know that Margot started this latest battle, but the things you’ve been doing are like lobbing hydrogen bombs. The relatives in Saskatchewan and Manitoba, you posing as a model in an art class, and God only knows what else.”
“The thing about posing as a model, that is something that everyone in the class is encouraged to volunteer for. I am also wearing dresses that expose my ankles, chewing gum, and riding a bicycle” Marie replied. Clearly she wasn’t prepared to live and let live with her grandmother yet. Especially after what had happened last Christmas.
“This is serious Marie” Malcolm said, “You removing yourself from my house didn’t change the fact that you still reflect upon the rest of your family.”
Then Malcolm saw the tiny flagpole with a blue flag with a white infinity symbol on it, presumably a gift from one of her cousins.
“You might also be encountering situations that you might not fully understand out west” Malcolm said.
“You should give me a bit more credit” Marie said, “They really don’t like you very much out there because of your role in the Mounted Police. The truth is that you were a lot like my mother in that regard, you had someone telling to do something and you went about it to the best of your ability. A lot of innocent people got hurt though.”
As soon as Sir Malcolm heard Marie say that he realized a little too late that she was correct about him not giving her enough credit. It was something that Malcolm, along with most people tended to do. Her understanding of politics, not to mention knowing the difference between those who set the policy from those ordered to carry it out. That shouldn’t have been a surprise.
It was incredibly easy to see Marie as a somewhat naïve university student because that was exactly what she presented herself as. The reality was that at the age of twenty-two Marie had traveled widely, was the confidante of the Queen of England and the Kaiserin of Germany, spoke a dozen languages, and was skilled in the art of disguise. The detail that needed to be remembered most of all was that with Marie you only saw what she wanted you to see. There had been incidents where Malcolm had witnessed Marie basically present herself as a completely different person and that had been disconcerting. Especially the time when she had been on the Evening News. Occasionally, he had seen what was hidden behind the artifice and it wasn’t at all what Marie seemed to think it was.
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Marie is going to do very well at her studies at Trinity as a lot of her time is going to be spent on mind-numbing and butt- numbing research,
IOTL Richard Nixion was known as "Iron Butt" from his time he spent at Duke Law School Library.
I predict that Marie's thesis is going to create quite a stir within the Upper Echelons of the FFQ as it will show that many of them have their own less than "respectable" ancestors in their families past, and any attempts to take down Margot socially for her past will just lead to them getting their own families lines exposed.
I also think a more polished version of Marie's thesis will become a minor bestseller in Quebec if ITTL Alex Haley publishes Roots and was made into a miniseries.
IOTL Richard Nixion was known as "Iron Butt" from his time he spent at Duke Law School Library.
I predict that Marie's thesis is going to create quite a stir within the Upper Echelons of the FFQ as it will show that many of them have their own less than "respectable" ancestors in their families past, and any attempts to take down Margot socially for her past will just lead to them getting their own families lines exposed.
I also think a more polished version of Marie's thesis will become a minor bestseller in Quebec if ITTL Alex Haley publishes Roots and was made into a miniseries.
It is even worse than that for anyone who raises a stink. Most of them would have the exact same ancestors and be directly related to Marie to a greater or lesser degree. Genetic studies conducted on various populations have verified all of what Marie found in the paper records in OTL in the last couple decades.