Time Apart

This book contains excerpts from four years of letters (1941-1945) between Norah Egener, a young Owen Sound housewife, and her husband, Fred, who was stationed overseas. A Time Apart is published on the fiftieth anniversary of his return.

Joan Barfoot read thousands of pages of their wartime correspondence to find this remarkable love story between two strong individuals. She edited A Time Apart: Letters of Love and War and, in her forword, comments, "There are many, many accounts of events in the Second World War: of battles and speeches, of tactics and traumas, of victories and causes and tragedies. There is not so much about love...". A Time Apart is "...a testament to endurance and commitment and the best honesty two people can manage." In 1941, Norah (25) and Fred Egener (28) had been married five years. They had one child and Norah was pregnant. In June, Fred went overseas. He did not return until June, 1945. Although A Time Apar is a personal record of the loneliness and courage of two Owen Sounders at home and abroad, the experiences described parallel those of thousands of young Canadian families during the second world war.

Rave Reviews

Lest we forget: They also served who remained at home and waited
A time of war, of separation and of love

By Joan Barfoot
Printed in The London Free Press Sunday, November 7, 1999

Right about this time five years ago, I was hunkering down to spend much of the winter with a couple of people from the Second World War. I've looked at Rememberance Day a bit differently since.

The people were Norah and Fred Egener, both of who grew up partly in London but would up living most of their adult lives in my hometown of Owen Sound. Fred because a judge there. Norah because a fairly awesome social, political and cultural force. They had five kids, Fred died in 1988. Norah remains elegant and indomitable.

I spent that winter of 1994-95 deep in their lives because although I'm pretty good at saying no to things I'm relectant to do, Norah is as strict as any judge, and far more charming, at overruling objections. Also, and mainly, though, she was offering me a great gift: every single letter she and Fred exchanged during the Second World War.

Now, generally reading other people's mail is against the law. Generally it's also morally objectionable. So to have access to 400 odd long and intimate letters without breaching any legal or moral codes was a breathtaking opportunity for anyone interesting in how human hearts work.

One result of all this was a book called A Time Apart: Letters of Love and War, an edited version of their correspondance.

The larger result for me was an unparalleled look, not at the usual history fo war, its battles fought, tactics tried, gains and losses counted, but into real and individual lives: among other things how love survives time and distance and silence and utterly seperate experiences, and what can be done to help it survive. And a fresh understanding that sacrifice has many levels and meanings.

Some days the project was eerie, and I felt as if I'd abandoned my own life for theirs. Norah and Fred wrote each other several times a week from 1941 to 1945, and not little notes, either. Their missives might run 20 pages and be packed with daily detail, minute descriptions of whatever setting Fred found himself in, down to the placement of tables and lights: outlines of how Norah had spent the day, what things cost, what goods were rationed or impossible to find, what books she was reading and whose music she listened to.

He spoke of new pals and his longings for her. She spoke of new pals, the changes in their two tiny children and her longings for him. They were lonely for each other, and were often enough battling despair.

They also discussed Canada's conscription debate, Quebec separation, elections and the goals they were formulating for their own lives. They talked about some of the mistakes they were making, confessed frailities.

To have a raw and running account of events from both the home and overseas perspectives is highly unusual. Letters sent from overseas might have been saved by a lot people, but those from home were most often lost to the vicissitudes of troup movements and constantly changing addresses.

Both sides of the Egener correspondence survived only because Fred periodically packaged up the ones he'd received and shipped them back to Norah. Norah stuck the lot, post-war, into the attic.

She rediscovered them after Fred's death, 43 years after his return home.

Many of us born post-war and offered an education in battles and dates, wins and losses, don't go on to imagine what it means when people's real-life events are interrupted, damaged, desired and triumphed over. The personal view is quite different from that found in the history textbooks and most otehr explorations of war. Many of us born post-war and offered and education in battle lines and dates, wins and losses, don't go on to imagine what it means when people's real-life events are interrupted, damaged, desired and triumphed over. We certainly don't get juxtaposed accounts of the vagaries of a soldier's life along-side the mainly unexplored, historically unconsidered deprivations and grit contributed by, mainly, women who did not go overseas.

When Fred Egener shipped out to England in 1941, he was 28, Norah was 25. They had a two-year-old son, and Norah was pregnant with their cecond child, a daughter who would be four years old before Fred met her. For those four years the couple lived on different continents, did different jobs, had different friends, moved through different circumstances and never touched or even heard each other's voice. They had only their letters.

We're used now to the idea of couples separating out of differences, bitterness, loss of love. We're not used to the idea of couples separating despite love.

So on Rememberance Day, which this year is Thursday, I now think not only about the minute or two of silence, or parades, or poppies or particular battles and tragedies. I think about Norah and Fred, all the Norahs and Freds, young and full of ambition and passion for each other and hope, battling in a time of terrible hate to keep their corner of the universe alive with connection, attention and love.

I talked with Norah last week, by the way. Captured by the true power of history, she is now writing her memoirs.

Joan Barfoot is a novelist living in London. Her column appears Sundays.