The next few paragraphs aroused fury. Robin had apparently had an interview with Robert Duncannon in York, and although he had proudly resisted the Colonel’s offer of help, it seemed he had in some way fallen under his spell. As he rapidly scanned the following pages, Liam cursed his brother for a trusting, gullible child. Incredulous at first, he read to the end, then read it again, slowly, anger mounting with every sentence.
‘… He’s not nearly so bad as you make him out, and was most concerned about you. We talked, man to man, which I thought very decent, considering his position. He told me quite frankly that he had wanted to marry Mother more than anything in the world, but he couldn’t, because he was married already. Georgina’s mother was ill when he married her, a sort of mental illness that was not so bad to start with but got worse, only nobody told him about it. Her family knew, but they just wanted to get rid of her. Then he came to York and met Mother, and later on she went to live with him and his sister in Dublin. Georgina was very little then, and Mother helped to look after her, which is why she thinks such a lot of Mother, and I must say she was very good to her after you went away. We were all so worried and nobody knew what to do for the best. It took her a few weeks to get over it, but I dare say she will be happy now that she knows where you are and that you are safe. Dad, too.
‘I expect the Colonel will be relieved as well, because he blames himself for everything. But he didn’t blame Dad for marrying her, and his main regret was that he couldn’t have married her himself. He said he was still very fond of her, and had never met a finer woman…’
I’ll bet! Liam thought with bitter derision. As simple as that. Nothing about the lies and the grief, the sheer destruction that ill-begotten affair had brought about. And in the next breath Robin was preaching forgiveness. Never, Liam thought. Never, if he lived to be ninety, would he forgive them for what they had done.
He lit a cigarette and smoked furiously for a minute. Slightly calmer, he read on to the end. There was a line or two about Tisha, who wrote to Robin sometimes, and then Georgina was mentioned again. Her name seemed to leap off the page, and he was so starved for news of her that he read the sentence several times, trying to extract every possible meaning from its casual brevity.
‘… her letter arrived by the same post as yours. She is still at the Retreat and working hard, so too busy to write often, but I know she will be as relieved as everyone else when she gets my letter to say you are safe and well...’
So, she had been worried about him. But so, it seemed, had everyone else. And he had managed to upset his mother for several weeks. He suffered unexpected pangs of guilt at that, guilt that he managed to smother in a fresh surge of anger against Robin. The ease with which he had been seduced into sympathy with their mother and Robert Duncannon infuriated him, and it was some time before he could consider that apparent defection with any degree of objectivity.
When he did, it came to him that Robin had always been the one to sympathize – with everybody. There was nothing treacherous about it, it was simply that he could generally be relied upon to see both sides of every problem. Generous, even-tempered and with affection to spare, Robin was usually the peacemaker, the one who would always look for the best in people. It was unfortunate, Liam decided, that because of his goodness he could also be manipulated, especially by those without scruples. Tisha was a past master at that; and so, it seemed, was Robert Duncannon.
Forgiving his brother, trying not to be unduly harsh in his reply, Liam was also consumed by concern. Several weeks had passed since that letter was written, and war seemed more inevitable by the day. With Robin on his mind, Liam was suddenly just as eager as his companions to know the latest news. And that need to know had become a passion which fired everyone he met.
During the last few days, with Austria declaring war on the Balkan state of Serbia, and Russia heaving itself into a threatening position on behalf of its tiny neighbour, it looked as though all the major powers in Europe were on the brink of mobilization. The news took time to arrive, however. On 3rd August they read that Germany had sided with Austria Hungary and declared war on Russia; and two days later, on France. The Germans’ unreasonable demand for free passage through Belgium, in order to attack an innocent neighbour, aroused British passions worldwide. The declaration of war upon Germany was a foregone conclusion.
That declaration, made on 4th August, did not reach Australia until the 6th. Liam had been detailed to go into town that day, and the atmosphere of tension and excitement struck him instantly. There was a great crowd outside the Post Office on Lonsdale Street, and another by the offices of the Journal, where single sheets were being pasted up before they were dry. Shortly after one, the news they were all waiting for came through from Sydney. Britain was at war, and Australia would back her to the hilt. ‘To the last man and the last shilling,’ as one politician declared.
Grabbing one of those single, printed sheets as they were handed out, Liam fought his way through the crowd and paused on a street corner to read it. Within seconds half a dozen people were at his elbow, almost tearing the paper from his hands. Their reactions varied from unbounded elation to grim disgust, but most agreed that it was right. Germany should not be allowed to run rough-shod over Europe. With her worldwide interests in conflict with those of the British Empire, where would the aggression stop?
There was a report of a German merchant ship scuttling out of Port Melbourne, shots – ‘the first of the War’ – fired across her bows, and a piece about two German warships, Scharnhorst and Gneisenau, at large in the Pacific. Suddenly, that war in Europe was no longer half a world away. Seized by emotions both violent and unexpected, Liam did not wait for further news. Mounting his horse he rode some distance out along the Stud Road, then stopped to consider his feelings afresh. He would enlist, he could do no other. He could not stand by while others fought to defend his right to live in this earthly paradise; and if in defending Australia he was also helping to defend England, then so he should. It should not be left to boys like Robin. Besides, Liam reasoned, justifying that abrupt change of heart, his self-respect would shrivel to think that his young brother was in the thick of it, while he, Liam, was sitting safe out here.
He thought of Georgina, and wondered whether he would see her again; perhaps he would, if he returned to England.
Sighing, he carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Time to return: all at the Maddox farm would be waiting on the news he brought.
Despite their wholehearted eagerness to support the old country, when faced with the necessity of leaving the farm, most of them felt guilty. While Ewan Maddox stared out at the fallow fields of winter, pondering the difficulties of running his place virtually single-handed, the men finished their supper with unaccustomed speed and sloped off to their quarters to enjoy a freer discussion.
Less eager than the rest, Liam overheard Mrs Maddox’s attempt at reassurance. Murphy would stay, she said; and as for Bert, his teeth were so rotten, an army dentist would faint at the sight of his mouth, never mind sign him up. Let them trail down to Melbourne, she advised her husband, and wait and see who came back.
Hiding a smile, for he was sure she was right, Liam closed the door quietly behind him. In the bunkroom, argument and a certain amount of heart-searching was going on. Even Ned, who declared that he would enlist no matter what, seemed less thrilled by the prospect than he had been only a few days ago. Old Murphy had turned sentimental: with tears in his eyes he said he would miss them, but he would stay to keep the farm going with the boss. Arnie was torn between his eagerness for adventure and loyalty to the people who had given him a home, but being less articulate, could only find expression for his anguish in violent movement. When not pacing the floor or thumping the walls, he would fling himself into his bunk and pound the pillows. Liam felt sorry for him. Full of themselves, Bert and Nobby were going to join up and have a great time, doing a Cook’s tour of Europe while knocking off a few Germans on the way. Li
am had a suspicion that it might not be quite as easy as that.
Then somebody mentioned the elder Maddox brother, managing the place out at Warragul; and Lewis, still at college. What would they do? And if both sons went, what would Ewan Maddox do? The consensus of opinion was that the older one would stay put, while the boss would probably insist his younger son cut short his studies and get himself home where he was needed. After all, somebody had to stay home and keep the country going, so why shouldn’t Lewis get his finger out and do something practical for a change?
‘What if he wants to enlist, like the rest of us?’ Liam asked.
They were nonplussed at that.
If Lewis communicated with his parents over the next few days, nobody heard about it; but they were all astonished when Mary arrived on the Sunday to tell them that she had decided, with half a dozen friends, to volunteer as an army nurse. Ned was overjoyed.
Despite the enthusiasm, for several days there were no facilities for dealing with the mass of men and women eager to do their bit for King and country. Newspapers appealed for patience. Mary had returned within hours to Melbourne, but said she would be home again soon. The men worked badly and found excuses for making frequent trips to town. Mrs Maddox was anxious about everything and her husband on edge. No one heard from Lewis.
Recruitment began on 11th August.
Twelve
Those frequent trips into Dandenong paid off. Even while they were planning their journey into Melbourne to enlist, Nobby returned from town with the news that Dandenong was setting up its own facility. But Ewan Maddox dug in his heels. He wanted a week’s notice, and 11th August was a Tuesday, Market Day, so the only trip into town that any of them would be making, was to market with half a dozen young bulls. As far as he was concerned, they were all employed until Thursday evening; after that, they could please themselves.
There was bitter frustration in the bunkroom, and talk of mutiny, but in the end respect won through. There was also the possibility – remote, of course – that not all would be accepted, and those who were not would still need a job at the end of the day.
Thursday night saw a great polishing of boots and shoes, a clearing of precious possessions from individual shelves and hasty packing of clothes. Over an early breakfast next morning they said their goodbyes. Ewan Maddox was brusque, finding urgent business in the barns, but his wife shed a few unexpected tears over each of them. Ella was inconsolable, weeping floods into the washing up and hiding her face in her apron as they set off down the road at first light. Old Murphy hobbled off to the stables.
Subdued at first, the little group was soon singing down the road to Dandenong, spirits soaring with the sunrise. Early morning mist hovered over the paddocks and clung beneath the trees, standing like fog where the creek became marshy near the town. From a distance it looked like a heavenly city, treetops and chimneys and mock-gothic towers sparkling above a white, sunlit cloud; and only as they drew closer did that impression dissolve into the mundane greyness of mist. People were astir, labourers going about their daily business, one or two women waiting outside butchers’ and grocers’ shops, and, unusually for that hour, a group of men shifting and fidgeting on the corner by the Royal Hotel. There were perhaps a dozen or so, all waiting for the temporary recruiting office to open.
Liam recognized one of the blacksmiths, and a clerk from the post office; Ned took up conversation with a couple of hands from a neighbouring property, while Arnie seemed to know everybody. It was a cold, shivering wait, but they exchanged cigarettes and jokes and discussed the endless possibilities of the war, feeling superior every time other young males passed by. Some, including Arnie, were unable to resist a few jeers. Two boys from a local German family slunk by on the other side of the street, but a couple of Irish labourers were more than willing to make a fight of it, the situation saved only by the arrival of the recruiting party and the smart opening of the office.
Two burly sergeants ushered them inside, and while a plump young lieutenant shuffled papers at a trestle desk, the men were pushed into something resembling a line. There were grins and coughs and a few self-conscious sniggers before one of the sergeants addressed them briefly on their reasons for being there. Then the local doctor arrived, followed by a corporal who had obviously been detailed to assist. After a hurried consultation, the doctor went through into the next room, closing the door behind him. Names were taken, then there was another wait. After what seemed an interminable time, each man was called to the trestle desk to answer a detailed series of questions, and after that came a surprisingly thorough medical examination.
If any of them thought they could sweet-talk that elderly local man into falsifying his entries, they were mistaken. The army had laid down some very exacting standards and he was under precise orders, despite his civilian status, to comply. The corporal measured heights and weights, bawling out each measurement as though across a parade ground. Liam watched the doctor wince. Six foot tall, 40 inch chest, weight 176 pounds, age 19 years 10 months, it was all recorded for the army’s benefit. His heart and chest were sound, feet good, genitals normal, eyesight and hearing perfect, and no history of serious illness. His only anxiety was whether enquiry would be made into his means of arrival in the country, but none was. With his signature appended to a form headed, ‘Australian Imperial Force’, Liam was in.
That acceptance was not universal. For various reasons, several were rejected. Bert, despite lying about his age, was turned away; his teeth, as Mrs Maddox had surmised, were his let-down. And little Nobby Clarke was two inches below the statutory requirement of 5 feet 6 inches. Arnie at twenty-two was fit and strong, with just enough schooling to sign his name, and at a stocky 5 feet 10 inches, Ned sailed through all the examinations with ease, to emerge like the victor in a heavyweight contest.
Meeting up with the two rejects outside, it was hard to find any words of consolation. Hurt, when they had been prepared to give their all, humiliated to find themselves less than what their country expected, Bert and Nobby were like children turned away from the party of the year. There was no point in hanging around. After brusque farewells and exhortations to ‘knock ‘em out’ and ‘give ‘em one for us,’ the two men pushed their way through a thickening crowd to return to the farm.
Relieved by that departure, too full of themselves to contain their elation any longer, the three remaining heroes gave vent to their feelings in an orgy of back-slapping and self-congratulation. Returning inside for further orders, however, they were rapidly deflated. Yes, the army was delighted to have their names, but having enlisted its volunteers, did not quite know what to do with them. Victoria Barracks in Melbourne was packed already, so until a decision was made, would they please go home and report back on Monday?
That was not a contingency for which any of them had planned. For several minutes they stood with the other enlisted men feeling very foolish indeed; having left like gladiators, it seemed they must now return like clowns.
And then Ned started to laugh. ‘Come on,’ he urged, ‘let’s go and get drunk!’
Arnie was in full agreement. At the risk of sounding a kill-joy, Liam remarked gloomily that as they had nowhere else to go but the farm, they really should try to remember Mrs Maddox and her feelings about strong drink. Ned cheerfully accused him of being lily-livered, a point that Liam did not dispute. Although he had never been much of a drinker, he knew that this was one occasion where Dutch courage was required. They headed for their usual bar, Ned’s sense of humour erupting yet again as he spied Bert and Nobby drowning their sorrows in a corner. His laughter was infectious. Within seconds they were all rolling with it, thumping each other’s shoulders and wiping tears from their cheeks. One round led to another, and by mid-afternoon they could hardly stand. It was a very sorry group that eventually made its way back to the Maddox farm that evening.
Fortunately, even Ewan Maddox saw the humour in it, and while his wife scolded and commiserated and saw them all to bed, he hi
d his laughter behind a pipe of tobacco. They could work for their keep over the weekend, he said, hangovers or no. And of course he would consider the two rejects as new hands, they had been good enough for him in the past and would be so again, no matter what the army thought.
Well sober by Monday morning, Liam was able to view the incident with a modicum of gratitude. Leaving on Friday had been wretched, while the farce of their return had injected a much-needed dose of laughter into this second departure. Even Ella was giggling as she kissed them all goodbye. ‘See you tonight!’ she called as they set off again for Dandenong.
But against all expectation they did not return.
The broad thoroughfare between Flinders Street Station and the barracks on St Kilda Road was thronged as though for a national celebration. Melbourne seemed to be out in force, whole families moving along with groups of men and boys, children skipping beside them, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. Paper boys crying the latest war news added to the hubbub, but here and there amongst the crowds were silent, determined, solitary men, their dusty boots and packs signifying far longer and less convenient journeys than the twenty miles Liam had just made by train.
They reminded him of himself eight months ago, and glancing down at his new tweed jacket, the boots freshly polished that morning, he could scarcely credit the difference; nor the weight in his bag. On the road, the only way to travel was lightly; in settling, things gathered, affections as much as material goods, and they seemed heaviest of all.
Beneath the excitement he was conscious of regret, a sadness at leaving the Maddox farm which had intensified with the journey, and a dreadful suspicion that he might never see it again. He glanced up at the girls waving from high windows and flags fluttering in the wind, and thought of the rolling plains and misty blue hills beyond; but he said nothing. The men who had travelled down together on the train were laughing and joking, enjoying a rare sight of the city and the fact that they were part of a spectacle. For them, Dandenong was nothing much, while for him it represented the life he had always wanted. In that moment Liam felt he had been betrayed by his emotions, betrayed by sentimental attachments which he had thought were severed a year ago. With jaundiced eyes he viewed the Dandenong men who had enlisted with him, all, he could swear, at least two inches taller than they had been last week. Most of them were well-built, fit in wind and limb, but a motley collection of characters, nevertheless. With a sinking heart he feared the army was going to be shipboard life all over again.
Liam's Story Page 21