The talk flowed unceasingly. They were close friends, a tight-knit group, lacking only his father who was working.
‘So you think to study the law, Heinrich?’ Oscar asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘You get good results in school?’
‘He’s the dux, Oscar. The top of the bush.’
‘The tree, Gerhardt.’
‘Whichever you like,’ said Gerhardt, amid smiles. ‘Tree or bush. He’s bright like you, Oscar. A scholar. Maybe some day a judge.’
‘Little Heinrich,’ Sigrid said, bringing in a fresh tray of cakes, although the table was already full. ‘A judge. I could never imagine such a thing.’
Gerhardt leaned forward. ‘So tell us, Heinrich …’
‘Gerhardt, will you do me a favour?’
‘Any favour, Heinrich. What favour?’
‘Will you call me Harry.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘It’s just that — everyone does — in Sydney.’
‘So tell me — Harry — what does your grandfather, the Senator think? Will there be a war?’
‘No thank you,’ Eva-Maria said sharply.
‘No more wars.’
‘There can’t be a war,’ Oscar declared. ‘Not England and Germany. Out of the question.’
‘We all know you don’t think so,’ Gerhardt told him. ‘And my wife don’t think so. But what does Harry’s grandfather think?’
‘He thinks — like everyone in the East — that it’s inevitable.’
‘No,’ Oscar said firmly, ‘impossible.’ He repeated the now familiar dictum. ‘The Kaiser and the King are cousins. It would be like families fighting.’
Well, families do, Harry thought, but said nothing. He was at loggerheads with his grandfather. Ill at ease with his father. While he and Carl there must have been a time, he imagined, when they were close, but it was too long ago to recall. His brother was aggressively hostile, whenever they were alone.
‘Why did you come back, anyway?’
They had been working together, Carl stripped to the waist and wielding a sledgehammer as they fenced a new piece of land. He was muscular and physically powerful. As Harry struggled to bring the heavy wooden posts to him, Carl had kept berating him.
‘It’s plain as day you think we’re a mob of Schiessers …’
‘Of what?’
‘Hicks and bloody yokels.’
‘What have you got against me, Carl? All I ever get from you is abuse. What is it you object to?’
‘You don’t belong here. Never have.’
‘Even if that’s true — why do you resent me?’ Carl leaned on the newly erected fence post.
‘Because all I ever heard about, all my whole bloody life, was bloody Heinrich. Every time Papa gets a few drinks aboard, he bores the shit out of everyone by talking about you — as if you’re some sort of prodigal son, something special. Whereas you and I know the truth, which is that you don’t give a fuck — about him or any of us.’
Harry remembered it, as he accepted another cup of tea from Sigrid. Families fought all the time. Why should the royal cousins be different? He and Carl could generate enough antagonism to start their own war.
Hannah and William had lunch under the shaded trellis at the back of the Paddington house, while she read the letter he had received that morning. It was from Harry, written and sent four days earlier from the Barossa. He watched her while she carefully read again the single page of neat handwriting.
‘He says he’s enjoying it.’
‘I know he does. But what do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t really know Harry.’
‘You didn’t know Elizabeth. Yet years ago …’
‘That was different.’
Years ago she had interpreted the hidden feelings in his daughter’s letter from Hahndorf that changed all their lives.
‘I’m starting to feel like your tame seer. Every time you’re unsure about a letter, you consult me.’
‘Only twice. And who else can I ask?’
She took his hand, pleased at what he had said, but aware of his concern. She did not want to add to it.
‘He writes that he’s busy helping around the vineyard. That his muscles have finally stopped aching, all the family are well, and he’s met lots of their friends. Why not accept that?’
‘Because it’s a polite obligatory letter, without even a trace of affection. You know it, Hannah, as well as I do.’ She knew it, but had not wanted to say so.
‘He can’t forgive me. For what I’ve done to him.’
‘That’s unfair,’ she said heatedly. ‘You gave him so much.’
‘I also took. I took him from his parents. It seemed right when Edith was alive — but now I’m not sure. I don’t think he knows where he fits — where he really belongs.’
‘He’ll make that decision for himself.’
‘I feel guilty,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
He sounded insecure and, for the first time she could recall, dejected. She wanted to console him. It had been a wretched time, the past months; even the strongest have their breaking points, and Hannah knew he was close to it now.
‘I wish I could help, William.’
‘You can. Marry me.’
His words were no surprise. She knew he would ask, but had hoped it would not be so soon. ‘Darling, Willie …’
‘Does that mean yes?’
‘It means — shouldn’t we go on the way we are?’
‘Why?’
‘For one thing, it’s too early for you to remarry.’
‘If you mean public opinion — we know people talk about us already. Marry me and they’d have nothing to gossip about. We’d ruin their malicious tea parties. Doesn’t that idea appeal to you?’ She laughed. She rose from her chair, and he put his arms around her, and felt her body tremble against his. ‘Do you love me?’
‘You know I do.’
‘Then why go on this way, when we could be together in the same house, and share each day? Please say you’ll marry me.’
‘There’s something else.’
‘Nothing else.’
‘There’s your grandson. I doubt if he’ll accept me.’
‘He’ll have to.’
‘I wouldn’t want it like that, William.’
‘Hannah, there’s something you really must understand.’ As she went to speak, he stopped her with a gesture. ‘No, I need to make this quite clear. If I have to live without him, I’ll manage. But I can’t live without you.’
Stefan was pruning the vines. He saw a figure run from the house, and realised he had the book in his hand. Well, it had to come, this moment. He stopped work and waited for Heinrich.
‘Father …’
Stefan said nothing, watching his eldest son almost warily. He didn’t want it to happen, but there was no way it could be avoided.
‘Father, this book of Henry Lawson’s poems — I lent it to you.
The title page is torn out.’
‘Yes,’ Stefan said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a school prize. Why did you do that, Papa?’
‘You tell me something. What did it say — this page?’ There was a brief silence.
‘Dux of the school — Harry Patterson,’ Harry said.
‘And who in the name of God,’ his father demanded, ‘is Harry Patterson?’
‘It must be obvious that I am.’
‘It was not obvious. Not to me. Yes, I knew he called you Henry — then later it became Harry, I knew that. But Patterson — that I did not know.’
‘I always meant to tell you,’ Harry said, feeling guilt, ‘but each time I tried, I couldn’t. I realised you’d be upset.’
‘Yes,’ Stefan replied, ‘I am upset. To disfigure a book, most of all a prize, is not a nice thing to do. But nor is disowning your name. Did your grandfather do that? Was Heinrich Muller too German, even Harry Muller — was it too foreign for him? Did he insist you ob
literate Muller and take his name?’
‘I wanted it, Father. I asked him.’
His father just stared at him and said nothing. For a moment Harry thought he was going to turn and walk away.
‘Please listen to me, Papa. Try to understand.’
‘I’ve tried. I tried not to tear out the page. Dux of the school, I should have been proud. Instead I felt ill and angry. But I tried to understand.’
‘Then listen to me. Please. I had to go to school, Papa. Not here in your quaint German valley — but in the real world, where they’d kick the Christ out of Heinrich Muller, but they accept Harry Patterson. Can’t you understand that?’
His father shook his head, looking sad. ‘I’m not German, Father.’
‘Part of you is.’
‘Only by birth. I wasn’t brought up to be German. I don’t understand them. I’m not sure I even like them …’ It spilled out in a blind rush, it was blurted out before he could prevent himself, then he realised and was appalled. He took a step towards his father, wanting to repair the damage, but Stefan shook his head, like a boxer hurt by one blow too many, and turned away as if from further punishment. Harry heard a movement behind him, spun around and saw his mother’s face.
He had not known, until that moment, she could be so angry.
William received the urgent telegram the following day. He was in the library, frowning over the increasingly alarmist newspaper reports from Europe, and in particular the stories of Prussian militarist proclamations in Berlin, as well as disturbances in the Balkan states. He looked up as Mrs Forbes entered with the distinctive envelope. Its short, almost terse message, read: HARRY RETURNING HOME TODAY. WILL WRITE. LOVE ELIZABETH.
The train journey was endless. Harry felt sick and ashamed. He could hardly believe he had spoken that way to his father, and wondered what sort of reception awaited him when he arrived home. He had no idea what his mother had said in her telegram. That she had sent one he knew, because she had gone to the telegraph office while he waited on the platform for the train to Adelaide.
It had been a terrible twenty-four hours.
‘I’ll explain as best I can to your grandfather. You don’t belong with us, Harry. I daresay you realise that?’
‘Yes …’ was all he could manage at first, and then, ‘I’m sorry. I did try, Mama.’
She took his hands. She was troubled, and gentle with him.
‘I know you did.’
She sent the telegram, and came back. He waited with his suitcases on the almost empty platform. ‘What am I going to say to Grandfather?’
‘You’ll say you prefer to live in Sydney — with him.’
‘It may not only be with him,’ Harry said.
‘You mean he may marry Hannah?’
He gazed at her in total astonishment. ‘You know about her?’
‘Of course I know about Hannah Lockwood.’
‘But how?’
‘Your grandmother told me.’
‘Gran knew?’
‘Certainly she knew.’
He was completely confused. And shocked. Gran, who told him so much, had never said a word. Adults were so complicated. ‘Have you ever met Hannah?’ he asked.
‘No, but I wish I had. I hope she’s the right person for him.
I do want my father to be happy. It’s time he was.’
‘Was he so unhappy with Gran?’
‘Not entirely. They were unsuited. You kept them together; your living there with them made it possible for them to live with each other, and for that I’m grateful.’ She carefully straightened his tie before she spoke again. ‘Someday, darling, you might write to your father and tell him you’re sorry.’
‘I’ll do it as soon as I’m home.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Do it when you feel sad at what you said, and realise how much you hurt him. Don’t do it unless you mean it. I don’t think either of us want a forced apology. It would be hypocrisy, and I personally would hate that. So would he.’
The train came in. She kissed him goodbye, and waited by the carriage window while he found a seat. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’
‘Safe trip. My love to Papa. Work hard. Be a good lawyer.’ The train hissed steam. He opened his window and waved until she and the station had receded into the distance. He felt the pain his anger towards his father had caused her, and could not suppress the dismaying thought that he might never see her again.
PART FOUR
TWENTY FOUR
The first rocks smashed the window of PASCHKE’S FEINKOST, then others followed, shattering the glass of JOHANN GRAETZ’S DEUTSCHE SCHLACHTERlE. From the darkened street voices shouted, ‘Dirty rotten German bastards.’
‘Filthy fucking huns.’
A hail of stones crashed on the roof tops, fracturing the slates, while others broke windows in the neat houses that faced the main street. Most of the occupants, woken in fear and confusion, were too shocked to hide from this unexpected onslaught. Some were cut by flying glass — elderly Mrs Pabst lost the sight of an eye. In the street, a figure with a brick took aim at Oscar Schmidt’s APOTHEKE, but when lights in the police station went on, indicating that Sergeant’ Delaney was awake, the attacker dropped the missile and ran with the others. As they went past the Lutheran church, one hurled a stone. Stained glass cracked, and the figure of Christ splintered and fragmented.
The war was then two days old.
In the seaside park cymbals crashed and the brass band played a stirring martial tune. Banners were displayed everywhere — one exhorting the nation’s youth to: JOIN UP AND DESTROY THE HUN. Others urged: SAVE CIVILISATION. FIGHT FOR GOD AND COUNTRY. SERVE IN THE WAR TO END ALL WARS.
Young men were queuing to enlist. They had been lining up in towns and cities each day since the declaration.
William and Hannah, there by accident to lunch at a favourite restaurant on the Esplanade, could see the lines of volunteers, and hear the comments.
‘It’s on,’ one said. ‘So let’s go over there and get stuck in.’
‘Bloody oath.’
‘Beats working.’
‘Beats staying home with Mum and Dad.’
‘Beats running the bloody farm.’
‘Hope it lasts till we get there.’
‘France, eh? Oo-la-la.’
‘Bewdy.’
‘Where do I sign?’
It was a scene being duplicated all over the country. As events had moved inexorably towards conflict, as Europe’s armies mobilised and the Austrian Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated by a Bosnian student at Sarajevo, Australian newspapers had begun to predict the certainty of war. The first act of aggression was on the morning of August 2nd, when German troops crossed the frontier of the tiny Grand Duchy of Luxembourg to seize its railway station.
This tenuous event was the trigger France and Britain required. Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty, declared the British navy was ready, and at midnight on August 4th, a state of war was proclaimed. Because of the global time difference, Australia’s war began the following morning. No Cabinet decision was required for this. As a part of the British Empire the country had a legal obligation to aid Britain, a fact greeted with wild enthusiasm throughout every State.
Recruitment for a force to be sent overseas began immediately, and eligible men rushed to volunteer. They left their jobs in droves. Some sold their farms or businesses, others arranged for their wives to take over. It was an adventure, the chance of a lifetime, to fight, to wear a uniform and to see the world. Politicians on both sides were unitedly in favour of the war, and some found in its agony their finest hour.
William and Hannah stood and watched as the band music ended. A recruiting officer, smart in tailored uniform, polished shoes and Sam Browne, stepped onto the rotunda to lead the applause of the crowd.
‘Thank you, Bandmaster and members of the military band. We will hear more fine music later, but firstly, Mr James North, your Federal Parliamentary Member for this district and a Cab
inet Minister in our new government, is here to say a few words.’
William was about to move off. Hannah detained him with a gloved hand on his arm. Though the park was crowded, they had a view of North, as he stepped up to shake hands with the officer amid loud applause. William had not seen him for some time. They were of a similar age, in their mid-fifties, but James North was securely in power since the election, and William was in the political wilderness.
‘He’s still quite a good-looking man,’ Hannah murmured, and received an acerbic glance which made her smile.
‘Let’s go to the restaurant. I’m hungry,’ William retorted.
‘Let’s wait a minute, and hear what he has to say.’
‘Hmmph,’ he muttered, but took her arm, conscious as always of the admiring glances she received, and proud to be seen with her. In her late forties, Hannah Lockwood still attracted more than her share of attention.
North was handed a megaphone, which he shunned. He had a strong and powerful voice, and it reached to all sections of the crowd.
‘Friends, allies in this dark hour, young men who will save our nation,’ he began in ringing tones, ‘I bring you a message from our Prime Minister. I have just come from the PM, who said to tell you all: “Keep a good heart — and a stiff upper lip.’”
It brought loud patriotic cheers from the crowd, and a glance of incredulity from William. Hannah squeezed his hand; it was by way of an apology for insisting they remain to listen to such drivel.
James North allowed the applause to reach a crescendo, then quelled it with a gesture. He gazed around him. He’s loving this, William thought. He’s even become a bit better at it. He wondered whether North had noticed them, and knew that even if he had, there would be no acknowledgement.
‘Let me just say this. It is a time for heroes, for our patriotic youth to enlist for the glory of Australia. So step forward, lads. And you older men. We need you all. This is the great moment of your lives, the chance to show the rest of the world our mettle, and to put the fear of God into Kaiser Bill and his filthy German hordes. And above all, remember what Australia promised the mother country — that to defend her — we will fight to the last man, and the last shilling.’
A Bitter Harvest Page 24