by Robbi Neal
The others nodded, suddenly aware of how empty they felt. Lilly’s food might be just the thing to fill the space inside them. They ate until they felt they could go on with life, though it would never be the same life without Theo.
Thirty-One
The Train Trip
Monday, 24 January 1916, when Beth changes course.
Beth put on the black skirt and her white cotton shirt, her stockings and shoes. It was awfully hot and the stockings were already sticking to her legs. She went into the kitchen where The Courier was laid out on the table with Theo’s photo large and clear at the top of the third page. He looked out at them as though he could just step out from the newsprint and walk to his piano, as though at any moment they would hear the notes ring out. But he was stuck under the heading ‘Ballarat and District Heroes’, next to an article headlined ‘Troops Have All Done Splendidly’ and just above an advertisement for the Women’s Peace Army. ‘We war against war’, the women cried out from the page, and their cry was loud in Beth’s ears.
‘I’m going to frame it,’ said Lilly, who was sitting at the table, still in her nightgown, tracing the photo with the lightest touch, hoping it could materialise into her Theo.
Beth turned the paper around and read the advertisement for the Women’s Peace Army, then she got the scissors from the drawer and cut out the photo of Theo and handed it to Lilly and when Lilly was busy filling their bowls with porridge, she cut out the advertisement for the Women’s Peace Army, folded it twice and tucked it in her pocket.
When Lilly sat down Beth got up and walked around the table and wrapped Lilly in her arms.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said quietly. ‘This isn’t my life, this isn’t where I need to be.’
‘When did you decide that?’ asked Lilly.
‘Just now,’ said Beth, as surprised as Lilly. ‘I just decided right now.’
‘When are you leaving?’ asked Lilly.
‘Today — now.’
‘Is there anything I can say to stop you?’ Lilly gently held the photo of Theo as if holding his soul in her hands.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Beth.
‘Why don’t we have a cuppa and some more porridge and think about it?’
Beth saw Lilly wipe the tears from her eyes. Beth had to be strong, so she shook her head. She had to do it now or she might change her mind. Lilly put the photo down and she touched Theo’s newsprint cheek one more time. She stood up and hugged her.
‘You can come back any time. You know that — any time.’
Beth nodded, holding back her tears.
‘People are always leaving me,’ Lilly whispered but Beth didn’t hear her as she was already walking to her room. She dragged her suitcase from under the bed, the same brown suitcase, still tattered at the corners, still with someone else’s name embossed in the worn leather, that she had carried all those years ago when she had trotted along behind Nurse Drake to start work at the Cottingham’s. The case screeched as the studs on the corners dragged along the floorboards. Beth put it on top of her bed and opened it. Lilly stood in the doorway and watched her. Beth knew Lilly was trying not to cry and she could feel her own tears threatening to spill out. She would miss Lilly, but she couldn’t stay here with Theo’s ghost and all the things that hadn’t happened. She hadn’t ever really been Theo’s love, she hadn’t really been married or really been a wife. She hadn’t really been a part of the Cottingham family and she wasn’t really Lilly’s daughter and this wasn’t really her home. She had thought it could be, but she knew now it wasn’t.
Beth folded her three dresses and stacked them on top of each other in the leather case. She put in her winter coat, gloves and scarf. She put in her two nightdresses and thought how all these clothes, the dresses and the nightdresses, had been made for her by Lilly. She put in her stockings, camisoles and her hairbrush. Then finally Beth got her tins of money from where they were stacked inside her wardrobe. In 1910 the currency had changed and Paul had paid her a pound a week instead of a sovereign. She had changed all her saved half sovereigns for shillings at the State Bank of Victoria, ten shillings for each half sovereign. Then each week when Paul gave her the new pound she had it changed into twenty shillings and gave ten to Dottie and kept the other ten in her tin. When she had collected too many shillings she changed them into pound notes because they were easier to store. She had purchased little things here and there over the years, gifts or underwear and stockings, preserving jars, but she never needed much. All her meals had been provided by the Cottinghams and then by Lilly, all her dresses had been Edie’s and then Lilly had sewn clothes for her. So in all that time she had saved and her savings now amounted to two hundred and thirty-five pounds rolled into cigarettes and bound with a string bow. She counted it every Sunday night. It was enough for board, food, clothes, everything she could need for a year at least, longer if she lived frugally. Then she looked at Lilly standing in the doorway, trying to hold in her loss so it didn’t undo her. She was a mother with no children and Beth thought there was nothing sadder or more desolate in the world than a childless mother.
Beth wondered if she was doing the right thing. How could she leave Lilly? How could she be so cruel? She started to take the clothes out of the case but Lilly said, ‘Go on, love, you can always come back and visit. It’s only a train ride.’
‘You’re right,’ said Beth, ‘you’re right. It’s only a train ride,’ and she put the clothes back in the case.
Beth held a roll of pound notes out to Lilly but Lilly tucked her hands tightly under her arms.
‘No, love, I don’t need your money. You won’t be getting a wage from the Cottinghams any more.’
So why am I leaving? Beth wondered. Because she was twenty-five years old and maybe it was time she looked after herself.
‘Go on — take it. I can get compensation,’ said Beth, ‘for being a war widow. Seventy-eight pounds a year until I remarry.’
But still Lilly held her hands tight under her arms and clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.
‘I don’t need your money. I had a very prudent husband, he was much older than me and he made sure Theo and I would never want for anything when he was gone.’
Beth walked back to the bed to lock up her case and with her back to Lilly she pushed one of the money cigarettes under her pillow for Lilly to find later.
Beth picked up her hat and put it on, she picked up her handbag and her case and kissed Lilly on the cheek and then she threw her arms around her and hugged her tight.
‘Go on, love,’ said Lilly. ‘You can’t stay here with me. It’s no life for a young girl.’
Beth linked her arm in Lilly’s and they walked silently to the gate. Then Beth walked down the street, past Missus Blackmarsh collecting her milk.
‘Where are you headed to, young lady?’ asked Missus Blackmarsh.
‘Away from small town gossip,’ said Beth and she walked on before Missus Blackmarsh could think of an answer. As she walked she could feel Lilly standing and watching her from the letterbox, and so many times she nearly turned back. But who would she be if she did? As she walked past the trees and buildings she had known all her life she didn’t think she was leaving forever, and she reminded herself that this wouldn’t be the last her town would see of her. She would just be a couple of hours away. She walked to Paul’s office in Dana Street to tell him she wouldn’t be coming to work today or any other day. She took a deep breath for courage because so much of her wanted to stay with everything that she knew and the people she loved. When she reached Paul’s office she almost jumped up the front steps and came to a standstill in front of Bert Johnson, who nodded over the counter to her.
‘Is he in his office?’ she asked.
Bert was fifty, too old to join the war. Paul’s six younger clerks had all signed up and gone. They knew Jensen wasn’t coming back; Georgie was, but with most of him missing, and Fred was coming back, too, but his mind wasn’t. The office felt empty to Beth,
as if it was full of ghosts, not people. It had once been a flurry of busyness, constant chatter and bulging files bursting open and paper fluttering through the air like feathers as clerks hurriedly crashed into each other and tried to collect the papers up again before Paul noticed. Now there was only Bert and Archie, and Archie was even older than Bert and sat at a desk yelling down a phone.
‘You’re in luck,’ said Bert. ‘He’s only just arrived and hasn’t got anyone with him.’
She walked through to the back of the office and nodded at Archie on her way past.
Paul looked up from his desk. ‘Beth,’ he said and got up and pulled out a chair for her. His dignity and composure made Beth wish, as she often had, that he was her father.
He took the suitcase and put it in the corner without asking why she had it. He knows I’ll tell him when I’m ready, she thought. Then he took her hat and hung it on the hook next to his own.
She sat firmly in the chair so it could ground her to the earth. He perched on the edge of the desk in front of her and waited.
She realised she was going to have to speak first and said, ‘I’m going to Melbourne.’
He nodded, and she knew he understood why she had to leave.
‘I need a reference,’ she said.
‘Of course, Beth,’ he said. ‘You won’t have any trouble getting work. I hear that with the shortage of young men, women are being employed in all sorts of jobs now. I might have to employ a young woman myself,’ he smiled. ‘I doubt Archie can hear a word anyone says to him.’
He walked around his desk, pulled a sheet of letterhead from his desk drawer, sat down in his large leather chair and began writing. Beth looked out the stained-glass window and wondered who she would become in Melbourne.
Eventually he said, ‘That should do it,’ and put down his pen and gazed at her.
‘Will you say goodbye to Gracie and Edie for me? I don’t think …’
He came around the desk and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes were kind and fatherly, and she couldn’t stop the tears any longer.
‘You’ve been part of our family, Beth, for twelve years or so. We will miss you and I am sure our paths will cross again,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry, dear.’
‘I’m only going to Melbourne,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just a train ride.’ She swallowed her tears.
‘So it is,’ he said. ‘But a different life and — a different Beth, I suspect.’
He walked back to the desk. ‘It’s dry now,’ and he folded the letter and reached in his drawer for an envelope. He slipped the reference in and handed it to her. Then he took her in his arms and hugged her.
‘Let me know who you become,’ he said.
He picked up her suitcase. ‘Well, come on then. Let’s get you to the station.’ He reached for her hat and put it on her head.
‘Johnson,’ he called as they went past the front counter, ‘I’m just taking Beth here to the station.’
They walked to the station in Lydiard Street and she asked him three times to make sure he said goodbye to Gracie and Edie.
When the train pulled in she hugged Paul again. ‘Tell Edie I’m sorry for everything,’ she whispered and she got on the train before he could answer. She watched from the doorway of the train as she was pulled away and he drifted out of sight until all she could see was the plume of steam from the train clouding over everything in her past. Then she found an empty carriage. She put her case on the seat and shut the door so she could be alone. She sat opposite the case and stared at it. It was all she was. She lifted the window to let a breeze in and opened the envelope to read her reference and a fifty-pound note fell out. She smiled at Paul’s kindness. It was generous, nearly an entire year’s pay. The flock of sheep on the note turned and looked at her and she put them safely away in her bag. Then she put her head out the window and let the wind blow the hair from her face and sting her eyes until they watered. She settled her head against the back of the train seat and half dozed, the occasional jolt banging her head hard against the timber panel at the top of the seat, waking her with a sudden whack. Each time she would rub the back of her head and doze off again until the next jolt.
The train pulled into Spencer Street Station and Beth stood on the platform overwhelmed by the noise and the rush. She hadn’t ever been to Melbourne and she didn’t know which way to go. There were people going in all directions so she followed the largest flow of people and found herself standing on Spencer Street looking up at a street sign that said Collins Street. Men hurried past, sometimes bumping into her and muttering Sorry love, sometimes bumping into her and nearly knocking her off her feet and not apologising at all. A group of twenty or so soldiers in uniform stood on the other side of the road, then together they crossed like a herd of oncoming cattle and she found herself swamped by them as they surrounded her and then moved on without a backward glance. Pedestrians played Russian roulette with the horse-drawn cabs and motor vehicles. Trams rang their bells as they played follow the leader up the street and down again.
Beth felt the heat rising from the asphalt footpaths melting the bottom of her shoes. There was not a tree in sight. Massive advertisements stared at her willing her to buy Velvet soap, Brasso, and Milo cigarettes exclusively for women — a delicate aroma of pureness. The noise lifted out of the footpath, scrambled across the road and bashed hard against her ears. She pulled her hat down harder and wriggled her toes, which were swelling in the heat. She pulled out the folded newspaper advertisement and checked the address. Yes, she was in the right street. Then she checked the numbers of the buildings to see which way they were going and once she was sure she was going in the right direction, she headed off. She lugged the case, changing it from one arm to the other as each arm got tired and she was amazed that not one man came and offered to carry it for her as they would have in Ballarat. She nodded hello to people as they came towards her but no one responded and soon she stopped. She was aching all over by the time she’d walked five blocks and she put the case down and stopped to catch her breath. She was at the number she was looking for.
Three young women stopped and smiled at her. They all wore city dresses, shorter than hers and more fashionable. One of the women had red hair tucked up under a sailor hat and a skirt and top cut like a sailor’s outfit. She looked so incredibly modern. The other two had on simple brown skirts and shirts and were wearing French berets. Beth thought she looked so obviously just-off-the-train-from-the-country. They looked at her and smiled as if they knew her and she smiled back as they disappeared into the building. Beth hoped they were headed to the same place she was.
She left her case propped against the building and walked out into the road and looked up. The building was five storeys tall and on each floor had verandahs with ornate bannister railings. She leant back and saw the turret at the top and then someone yelled, ‘Watch out, love!’ and hurtled past with their horse and cart and she quickly got back on the footpath. She checked the number again just to make sure, picked up her case and walked up to the front door, which was guarded by two massive columns. She whispered ‘please’ as she walked through. There was a wide foyer and she looked at the carved timber scroll on the wall listing the building’s occupants in gold lettering. Her destination was on the ground floor and as she walked up the passage she could hear the chatter of women before she got to the open door.
The three women she had seen outside were standing in a circle chatting with two others. The red-haired one saw her and put her teacup down on a nearby table and walked over.
‘Come on,’ she said, linking her arm through Beth’s as though they were sisters, ‘we’re always looking for new members. I was hoping you would be one when I saw you outside. I’m Clara, by the way.’ Beth thought Clara was about ten years older than her, maybe she was thirty-five. Her red hair was defiant and coils of it sprung out from under her cap. She was about Beth’s height and with Clara’s arm linked through hers and Clara leaning into her in such a pleasant way,
surely they could become friends. The room was larger than it appeared from the doorway and was filled with chattering and teacups rattling on saucers and politics being argued. There were trestle tables laid out with teacups, enormous aluminium teapots and milk jugs just like morning tea at church. Beth could do with a cup of tea and Clara poured one for her, putting in too much milk.
‘Cake?’ Clara asked. ‘We’ve got some somewhere. I don’t think anyone’s put it out yet.’
Beth wanted to say that she hadn’t come for cake, she’d come for a new life, to be someone new, but she just said, ‘No thanks.’
A massive green, white and purple silk ribbon ran almost the length of the wall opposite her and above it was a sign that said WOMEN’S POLITICAL ASSOCIATION. On the other wall was a sign that said WOMEN’S PEACE ARMY. Smaller signs were scattered about on the other walls: WOMEN WAR AGAINST WAR, VOTE NO MUM OR THEY’LL TAKE DAD NEXT, EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL WORK.
Beth could feel the women’s need to be listened to. They felt invisible, like her. Like her they wanted to be someone. Beth took a deep breath. A man hammered away on a typewriter in a far corner of the room. He looked over at her, nodded, and went back to his typing. She wondered what sort of women had a man working for them. What sort of man was willing to work for women?
‘He’s our secretary,’ said Clara. ‘We have many men members, more than you might imagine. Some men believe in the emancipation of women and certainly in our current goal of ending this war.’
Beth sipped her milky tea. Clara held out a case filled with gold-tipped ladies cigarettes and Beth took one to be polite. After all, this was going to be a new Beth, so why shouldn’t the new Beth smoke like any sophisticated city girl?
‘And who have you got here, Clara? A new recruit for us?’ Beth thought the woman holding out her hand was older than Clara, maybe in her late forties. She had lovely thick dark hair and even darker eyes. Beth tried to imagine her younger and thought she was probably very pretty when she was young. The woman looked like she had been a housewife all her life, someone who had brought up her family and was now a grandmother. She wasn’t the sort of woman Beth had expected to see here — she seemed too ordinary, too nice. There were no edges to her, her softness made Beth feel at home.