This woman waited 73 years to hear her husband's singing voice

It was a remark over pizza one night. Florence Malone, 93, — Florie to her friends — had a couple of old records that she was anxious to hear again. 

She disappeared into a bedroom and reappeared with two Ziploc bags. Inside were two saucer-sized aluminum discs with red centres. They were scratched and pitted, but you could still see the grooves.

Florie knew her late husband's voice was on them. Gerry Malone died in 2011. He was 91. Florie hadn't heard these recordings in over half a century. There's a direction written on the red centre of the disc: "Only to be played with a wooden needle." Florie didn't have the wooden needle required.

An aluminum recording made by Gerry Malone in 1942. (Francesca Swann/CBC)

Recovering the audio from the aluminum records, unlocked a chapter of Gerry and Florie's early romance that played out at the same time as WWII.

The war interrupted their relationship in a way that they never predicted.

Their romance began in St. John's, Newfoundland in 1938. They met skating behind the old Newfoundland Hotel. "He asked me to skate with him, so I did and then I met him a few times afterwards and we started going out together." 

Gerry was 21 and Florie, 18. A couple of "townies," she lived on Plymouth Road and Gerry on Colonial Street. A peek into the family photo album and there are old photos with crinkled edges of them both with bikes around the bay, wind-blown hair, sitting on the rocks eating a picnic. "We didn't have much in those days." An evening out might consist of attending a school concert or musical.

Florence Malone's suitcase filled with letters from Gerry. (Francesca Swann/CBC)

Newfoundland had not yet joined Canada. The British ruled the island through a commission of government. For Gerry, duty called. "He joined up the first day they were recruiting. His number was 137," Florie recounted. He was part of the legendary 166th Newfoundland Field Regiment, Royal Artillery.

Though they hadn't yet talked of marriage, with Gerry's departure date imminent, they decided to tie the knot. With the blessing of their families, they made the decision to marry six days before walking down the aisle.

"We went to see the priest and he was horrified at the very idea," she said.

The envelope containing the aluminum recordings. (Francesca Swann/CBC)

Despite reservations from the Catholic Church, they married on the morning of Saturday, April 13, 1940 with a mass at St. Joseph's Church in St. John's.

The following day, Florie saw Gerry off at the train station in St. John's. In their hearts, they felt that the war would be over soon. Six months at the most. Previously, Florie's father had served in WWI. "There were planes and everything in the 1940's so everybody though — and even my dad thought — well, it will only last about six months," she said.

But their love and patience was tested beyond anything they expected. They didn't see each other again for five years.

"Gerry was home for our 5th wedding anniversary in April 1945," she said.

Gerry saw action in North Africa and Italy. Florie knew about the danger.

"He had a close call. He was getting ready to get off his uniform, but he couldn't get his belt unbuckled. A piece of metal had hit the buckle on his belt and he couldn't get it open, but if it hadn't hit the metal, it would have gone through him. He was just plain lucky that day," she said.

Gerry and Florence Malone. Gerry Malone passed away in 2011. (Submitted by Malone family)

Starved of each other's company, they poured their lives into correspondence. Florie wrote a kind of journal every night that she sent him in installments three or four times a week. Gerry's letters also arrived three or sometimes four times a week.

The aluminum records are fragile and have not survived in great condition. The material itself is prone to wear and tear. To retrieve the audio from the old aluminum records, it turned out that we didn't need a wooden needle after all as Florie had originally thought.  An antique record collector in St. John's, explained that with advancements in technology, we'd have the best chance at retrieving the sound using a modern turntable with a newer needle on a light arm. It needed to have just enough weight to hold in a groove. The sound from one of the records was impossible to make out — it was possibly Gerry talking quietly to Florie, but on the second record you can hear Gerry's distinctive singing voice. - Francesca Swann

The two aluminum discs were sent in 1942 while Gerry was in training in the south of England. He wasn't sure they'd make it to his wife. "The censors may not let them through. So, it's just a chance you'll get them," he told her.

A day's leave had taken Gerry and his friend Jack Donovan to an amusement park in Salisbury. Gerry had found a booth where people could make their own short records for sixpence. Sixpence was half a day's salary for a serviceman in those days.

Florence and Gerry Malone as a young couple. (Francesca Swann/CBC)

He wrote about the experience: "There was a little booth which you stood in, like a telephone booth and you just stood in front of the machine and put in the sixpence and pulled a lever and a dial-light lit up with a hand moving across it. I felt kinda foolish there talking to myself and I couldn't find anything to say."

With a cassette dub of the old aluminum recording in hand, CBC Producer Francesca Swann went over to Florie's house to play it for her.

Since she'd last heard the recording over fifty years ago, Gerry had serenaded her with many other songs. He had a good ear and could memorize lyrics in different languages. During his service in Italy, he added Italian songs to his repertoire. He was particularly fond of Firenza Sogna (Florence Dreams). Florence was, of course, his wife's real name.

Florie listened carefully to her late husband's voice from the old aluminum record. As he had throughout his life, Gerry was once again serenading her. This time from the past. Gerry's clear voice projected through the crackles and pops of its aluminum bed with his version of Goodnight Dear, Goodnight. Florie smiled, "Yeh, he could sing alright."

Gerry Malone kept singing for the rest of his life. On long family drives across the province and camping trips, Gerry would lead the singing from the front seat. Abdul Abulbul Amir and There were two flies were a couple of family favs. And there would be songs in foreign and exotic languages. Gerry died on August 19, 2011. In his last years, he suffered from debilitating Alzheimer's disease. Though parts of his brain failed, the music inside seemed to beat to its own drum. A couple of months before Gerry died, there was a reunion at the legion in St. John's. Mrs. Malone was outside with a couple of their daughters, when, out of the blue, the sound of Gerry's voice came soaring through sound system. They rushed inside to enjoy one of his last public performances. The accordion player and pianist had struck up a familiar number and, without invitation or hesitation — to the delight of everyone — Gerry was singing for the guests.  He still knew the words to O'Brien's Has No Place to Go. You can see him singing in the video on the left.

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