by Di Morrissey
‘Oh. I’m sorry. That must be hard for you. How do you manage?’ Veronica didn’t want to probe but she couldn’t help feeling curious.
‘Family. Billy’s got more aunties, uncles, doting grandparents, cousins and friends than you can poke a stick at,’ he said with a smile.
‘And he lives with you? Who looks after him when you come away like this?’ asked Veronica.
‘I have a house that is a bit elastic. It stretches to accommodate whoever is around. And my parents live just a few houses away. They moved to Darwin when Janine was killed in a car crash. Billy was just a toddler. He was in the car too. Came through unscathed.’
‘I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.’
‘Yes. It was.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘My family have been wonderful. I don’t think Dad saw his retirement being in Darwin but he loves his grandson, too.’
‘Your mother sounds pretty special,’ said Veronica.
‘She is. She’s had an amazing life when you consider she was born in a blacks’ camp out here.’
‘Strange how life can twist and take unexpected turns,’ said Veronica, thinking of Jamie’s wife. ‘Fate, I suppose.’
‘And luck and perseverance and sheer hard work, like mother becoming a teacher in Melbourne.’
‘You said she is very active politically, as well?’
‘That came later. She was nominated for an award and a magazine journalist wrote a feature on her and she talked about being born out here and that prompted Mum to make the journey back to Brolga Springs. She found it in a terrible state of decay.’
‘That must have upset her. How old were you then?’
‘I was about five, but I have some memories of Mum’s journey because she was so moved, I guess. I hadn’t seen my mother cry before. She came home to Melbourne and started the long painful process of tracing whatever relatives she could find.’
‘How did she go – finding them?’
He gave a slow smile. ‘I’ll let her tell you that story.’
He drove through a stand of eucalypts and stopped. Ahead was a small clearing, several headstones in its centre. Rusting iron stakes and a wall of trees separated this space from the rest of its surroundings. It was a small country, silent in its aloneness. Jamie turned off the engine of the four-wheel drive and they sat quietly for a moment.
He turned to her. ‘Do you want to go and see it?’
‘Yes, will it be okay?’
Jamie smiled. ‘I don’t see anyone around to object.’
As he helped her down from the vehicle the heat slammed down on her and she almost staggered.
He took her elbow. ‘Put your hat on.’
Veronica put on her hat and sunglasses. ‘There’s not a breath of air here.’ She glanced up at the motionless leaves, hanging limply.
The dried leaves and small twigs crunched under their feet.
‘The silence, it’s eerie,’ she said softly.
‘We’re far from anything. In the old days you would’ve heard the echoes from the station, cattle and the people at the camp. But I would prefer to be buried here rather than in a crowded cemetery near a busy highway in a city.’
‘But this place – it feels so lonely, so neglected. Who would ever come here?’ asked Veronica as they walked towards the biggest grave, marked by an elaborate marble headstone and small iron picket fence.
Jamie didn’t answer as she bent over to read the inscription on the bronze plaque:
Here lies Anthony Augustine Johns, 1885–1956
Master of Brolga Springs.
Beloved husband to Annabel. A friend to all.
‘The Best Boss in the Territory.’
Behind shadows standeth God.
Jamie touched her arm and pointed to a smaller, modest white marble plaque beside it, saying. ‘Her ashes were sent up here from Melbourne. Mum said Annabel always wanted to return to Brolga Springs.’
Veronica read aloud;
Annabel Johns, 1890–1964
Mistress of Brolga Springs.
Beloved wife of Anthony Johns.
At peace at last.
‘She had no children. Your mother must have been like a daughter.’
He nodded. ‘Mum’ll tell you the full story. But Mrs Johns sounds like a great woman, I wish I’d known her.’ He glanced at Veronica. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I rang Mum yesterday and told her that you were here and what you were doing. She said she’d be happy to talk to you. She remembers that group coming through, especially the woman who gave her a silver bracelet.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Veronica, feeling rather elated that Colin’s story was coming together.
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Mum still has it.’
‘Really! That’s wonderful to have a tangible link between then and now.’
Veronica walked around the tiny cemetery. ‘Who else is buried here?’
‘A couple of men who were killed in accidents over the years, old Paddy the cook who worked on the station forever and didn’t have any family that anyone knew about and two of the old black stockmen.’
‘They didn’t have any links with their people? No traditional ceremony when they died or anything?’
‘Mum told me they considered Brolga Springs to be their home, so this is where they wanted to be buried. They’d lost their family links.’
‘Colin told me that your mother was good with horses when she was a little girl,’ Veronica said as they completed the circuit of the cemetery.
Jamie nodded enthusiastically. ‘She’s amazing, just has a natural gift with them. Wherever she’s lived she’s managed to keep a horse. She keeps some outside Darwin and spends most weekends working them and riding. She taught Billy to ride,’ he added proudly.
‘What a woman of contrasts. I look forward to meeting her,’ said Veronica, thinking Doris was really a story on her own.
The secrets and stories of those long gone but who rested here, seemed to linger in the whisper of the leaves and the gentle sway of shadows. Who was left to celebrate their lives, to mourn and miss those buried in this lonely place? The solitude of the setting, and the reverence and respect shown by Jamie to them made her pause.
‘I’m glad your mother knows something about this place, the people buried here and what it must have been like when Brolga Springs Homestead was the centre of a bustling cattle station. Now it seems so sad. Let’s go, please.’
Jamie nodded and she turned to him as he held the car door for her. ‘I just feel that I’m intruding,’ she said softly.
He smiled. ‘I understand why you feel that way. There are some places I’d hate to see tramped over by tourists.’
‘Thank you for showing me.’
Driving back to the new homestead they talked about their careers and first jobs.
‘How do you find working for Our Country?’ he asked. ‘It’s one of the better shows on TV.’
‘I agree. And my boss is lovely. Internal politics, egos, and now a new direction for the show keep life interesting.’
He heard the uncertainty in her voice. ‘But?’
Veronica had to laugh and relaxed. ‘They want to change the format and have a front person, not a presenter but a hands-on person who does the stories . . . Which is why Eddie is tailing me. I’m the one. I hate it.’
‘Ah, I understand. Must be a bit restricting.’
‘The good thing is I’m the producer so I can still call the shots. Say,’ she smiled at him, ‘you’re good talent, how about you talk a bit on camera?’
‘Only if I have to, I like my privacy too.’
‘Were you a shy boy at school? What interested you in this job?’
Jamie made Veronica laugh as he recounted how uncomfortable he was when he started university and studied economics. ‘I quickly discovered that I’m an outdoors person and that I’d never be happy in a desk job. My parents were both understanding and Mum suggested that I do an environmental science course. Dad helped me get a posi
tion in the public service in Canberra but breaking down statistics and talking to engineers about problems with river degradation, water flows and salinity drove me crazy. But once I got out and started actually looking at the land, talking to long-time farmers and indigenous custodians I saw a different picture.’
‘It seems strange to talk about water when it’s so dry out here,’ said Veronica, looking around at the raw red rocks, the ochre earth and the plume of orange dust churning behind them.
‘You should be here in the wet season. Tremendous time. Wonderful storms, torrential rain, the rivers flood and the birdlife is spectacular. Only trouble is you can’t drive anywhere.’
‘So what happens to all the water that floods over the land, heads down the rivers?’ asked Veronica. ‘Is it going to waste?’
‘No way. That’s how Mother Nature designed it,’ said Jamie emphatically. ‘The wetlands need it, the ocean needs it. People don’t seem to like wetlands. They like the word but a wetland is a swamp and they don’t like swamps, so they cut them open, dry them out, expose the soil to the air and then any water that touches it turns into acid or evaporates. I feel quite passionate about it. Water is this country’s most precious commodity. Anyone who touches a river, who tries to control any aspect of it, should first understand what a river does. You’ll understand better if you visit Kakadu and see the billabongs and wetlands.’
‘I’m intending to go there,’ said Veronica firmly, although, as yet, she had no idea how it would fit in with her story. She turned to him. ‘Say, I could do a great documentary on water in the outback, with your help!’ Veronica realised that Jamie was not only charismatic, he was knowledgeable and passionate and would look great on television.
‘But it’s not the story you came to do,’ he reminded her. ‘Another time perhaps.’
When they parted company at the TV station back in Darwin, Jamie handed her a bit of paper.
‘Here’s my phone number and Mum’s and her address. There’s a bit of a party at her place on Saturday for lunch. It’s Mum and Dad’s fortieth wedding anniversary. We’d love you both to come.’ He looked at Eddie who was unloading his camera gear. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but we’d prefer you not to film anything. It’s just a family social occasion, okay? Mum is happy to be interviewed on camera later. But please come anyway.’
‘Fine by me, mate. Anyway, sorry, I can’t make it. I have plans for Saturday,’ said Eddie.
‘Do you want me to pick you up then, Veronica?’ asked Jamie.
‘No, please don’t trouble yourself. I’ll grab a taxi. I’m looking forward to meeting your mother.’
‘Just casual,’ said Jamie and left them with a wave.
‘He knows what he’s talking about. I suggest you take him along if you plan to go to Kakadu,’ said Eddie.
‘Of course. He’s our entrée into off-limit communities and his local knowledge is invaluable.’
‘You going to try and get him on camera?’
‘When it’s appropriate,’ said Veronica.
Eddie gave a wry smile. ‘Be careful, he can charm birds out of trees. Don’t be swayed because he’s good looking and sensitive. He has an agenda too. So keep your journalist smarts sharpened.’
‘Thanks for the advice, Eddie. If you might recall, I’ve never let personal emotions interfere with a story,’ she said tartly.
‘You can say that again,’ said Eddie.
The taxi driver was chatty and cheerful. ‘Yep, I was here during Cyclone Tracy. Now there’s a story that’s never been fully told,’ he said confidentially. He pointed to the new buildings along the waterfront. ‘Look at those complexes and high rises, I don’t know how they’ll stand up to a cyclone. Won’t catch me living in a glass tower, thanks. So you a friend of Doris McIntosh’s, love?’
‘You know her?’ asked Veronica in surprise, as she’d only given him the address, no name.
‘Yeah, she’s a very smart lady. And nice too. A very good ad for her people. They need more like her.’
‘Her people? So she’s more Aboriginal than white? Is that how she’s seen?’ asked Veronica.
‘Well, of course, she’s light skinned, half-caste they used to call them, though that’s not a PC word now. She’s a nice, respectable lady, her husband is a great bloke too, but she’s strong and she speaks out. And good on her, I say.’ He chuckled. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of Doris’s opinion. She calls a spade a bloody shovel.’
The house was how Veronica imagined old tropical homes were, even though she could tell by the slope of the conical roof that it was a new cyclone-proof design. The simple structure with open breezeways, louvre windows and a lush overgrown garden, had an easy-living ambience. Veronica could imagine lazy afternoons in a hammock and she noticed flame torches in the garden for night-time. The garden had been planted with easy maintenance in mind but the drooping coral bougainvilleas and frangipani flowers scattered on the small patch of lawn created a dramatic effect. As she walked up the gravel pathway, Jamie, with a slim young boy following him, came out to meet her.
‘Glad you found us okay.’
‘I didn’t even need to give an address, I should’ve just said take me to Doris McIntosh’s house. The driver knew your mum lived here,’ laughed Veronica.
‘I’m not surprised. Darwin’s not such a big place. Now, Billy, this is Miss Anderson. This is my son, Billy,’ said Jamie proudly as the boy shyly shook Veronica’s hand.
The child was lighter skinned than his father and had huge melting brown eyes and a big smile that turned up at the corners giving his mouth a mischievous twist.
‘Please, call me Veronica. If that’s okay with your dad.’
Billy looked to Jamie who nodded. ‘If you say so, Veronica it is. Lead the way. What’ve you brought? There was no need,’ he said, taking the paper carry bag she offered to him.
‘Just some fresh fruit and chocolates.’
‘Ooh, chocolates,’ said Billy.
‘They’re for Nana, not you,’ said Jamie firmly.
Billy skipped ahead calling out, ‘She’s here!’
‘What delightful manners,’ said Veronica. ‘He’s a beautiful boy.’
‘He takes after his mother. Now he’s on his best behaviour of course,’ said Jamie fondly.
She could hear laughter and voices and Jamie led her through the house to a back garden where a large group was gathered. Veronica’s fleeting impression of the house was its coolness, coloured cushions, rugs on polished wooden floors and a great profusion of books, pictures and carvings. A woman came through the door, but with the bright light behind her Veronica couldn’t make out her features, just an erect figure with a halo of backlit curls.
‘Veronica, lovely to meet you, I believe we have a lot to talk about. First off, come and have a cold drink, meet the clan.’ She clasped Veronica’s hand and led her outside.
‘Don’t overwhelm her all at once, Mum.’
‘Only way to get to know our mob, just dive in,’ said Doris.
Veronica felt suddenly rather shy as all eyes turned to her with friendly interest. Doris drew her towards a straight-backed, tall man with a shock of greying hair.
‘This is my husband, Alistair.’
‘Well, Veronica, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Jamie tells us you’re working on a very interesting project.’
Veronica almost smiled at the strong Scottish burr in Alistair McIntosh’s voice. ‘Yes, he’s been so helpful. I nearly fell over when he told me that the little Doris from Brolga Springs that I’d heard about from my source, Colin, was his mother.’
‘We’ll talk about little Doris later,’ said Jamie’s mother, taking Veronica’s hand. ‘Come and meet the family.’
The family consisted of Jamie’s two sisters, Margaret and Janet and their husbands and children. There was also his Aunt Charlotte, who was visiting from Scotland and appeared to be the family matriarch. Then there were a series of cousins and nieces and nephews belonging to bot
h the Scottish and Australian branches of the family that had Veronica quite confused. Between the fair-skinned, red-headed Scots and the mixture of other races on Doris’s side the gathering looked like a melting pot of the UN. But the unifying force was undoubtedly Doris. Children rushed to her, clinging to her as she moved around giving a pat to a head, a tug of an arm, a quick word with a promise to spend more time with them later. She also radiated a firmness and Veronica was sure that Doris would brook no nonsense.
Most of the men congregated around the barbecue, while the children played and the women all seemed to have a job to do organising the food. She watched Jamie move easily among them all, the fondness and humour between them very evident. There was an attractive fenced swimming pool and she wondered why the children weren’t in it until Margaret handed her a fresh lime juice with a sprig of mint and explained, ‘Lunch won’t be long, well that’s the plan at the minute. The children have been told to wait and be sociable before eating, then they can play in the pool.’
The drink was refreshing and Veronica noticed how the children were passing around plates of nibbles. Some of the older girls were setting the long table for the adults and a smaller one near it was set for the youngest children. Several of the children were talking with the adults and from what she could hear, the conversations were about school, football and friends.
Jamie joined her and effortlessly guided her around the group, so she drifted in and out of conversations without feeling awkward. There was a lot of laughter and teasing and she wanted to sit down and spend time with every person present.
‘I just get interested in a conversation and you move me on,’ she whispered to Jamie as he took her over to sit with Aunt Charlotte.
‘That way you can’t get bored,’ he said with a wink. ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping an eye on you and I’ll rescue you when I think you need it.’
‘I can manage just fine, thanks,’ said Veronica.
‘Charlotte is a challenge,’ he warned.
Aunt Charlotte patted a cushion beside her and Veronica sat down on the wicker lounge.
‘So how do you know our Jamie?’ she began.
Veronica sketched out the details of her TV assignment, her scant knowledge of Doris’s story as a child and how she had been told that Jamie would be a very helpful guide.