“Yes they are both in good health, enjoying retirement back in Auckland. Papa is playing lots of bowls and getting an abundant supply of fruit and veges from his garden.”
Lexie keeps reading.
“He wants us to come and visit. He sees lots of Florence and Lorna’s children but he’s only seen Isla at Barbara’s funeral, and none of the others.”
“Well it’s a long way to go. I’m not sure I could spare the time away from the farm. There is a lot more to do with only the two of us now.” Bill removes his glasses and rubs his eyes and forehead with his hand. “I guess you could take the girls on your own.”
“However would I get there?”
“Drive.”
“But I can’t drive.” Lexie’s preferred means of transport is two wheels and pedal power.
“Well it’s about time you learnt. Jean drives herself to work everyday. I think a lesson on Sunday is in order.”
Lexie tries not to think about the driving. Sunday comes around too soon for her. She watches Bill as they drive to church in his pride and joy – a dark blue Austin 10 and thinks it looks fairly easy. Three pedals, one to go faster, one to slow down or stop and one to change gears. She is the least certain about the clutch. How will she know when to change gears and whether to go up or down with the gear stick. Bill is usually a patient man and she hopes he will be this afternoon.
Sunday dinner is the usual roast meal at Alice’s.
“Are you staying to keep Grandma company this afternoon Isla and Lynn?” asks Alice.
Since Washington’s demise, the girls have been a great comfort to their grandmother, spending most Sunday afternoons with her. After dinner, a ritual visit to Washington’s grave is made and two vases of fresh flowers are arranged, the grave swept or washed, and the old flowers brought home for the compost.
Isla looks at Lynn and they both look at their parents. Staying with their grandmother is expected but going driving is much more fun. They hope they aren’t going to miss out. Bill speaks up on their behalf.
“We’re going for a drive this afternoon Mother. Lexie is going to have a driving lesson.”
“Is it wise to take all the girls?”
“Yes, I think we will head out to Kaupokanui.”
“Yippee!” squeal the girls in delight.
“Can we take our togs please?” asks Lynn.
“Say goodbye to your grandmother first please,” orders Bill.
.....
Four excited girls are soon out of their Sunday best and bundled into the back seat of the car, littlest in the middle and oldest beside the windows, togs and towels clutched under their arms. They chatter and giggle, eagerly anticipating the swim in the sea, wondering what pretty shells, unusual driftwood and other washed up treasures they will find on the beach.
Up front Lexie climbs in behind the large black steering wheel. Her stomach is churning as Bill explains the dials on the dash, the purpose of the pedals and how and when to grip the gear stick.
He has already turned the car around thinking it best not to let her begin her driving by having to reverse.
“Now turn the key clockwise,” he patiently directs. “Quiet girls, your mother needs to concentrate.”
The girls go quiet; they don’t want anything to jeopardize their visit to the beach. The engine starts.
“Now, left foot on the clutch and gearstick into first.”
Lexie follows each instruction.
“Next, right foot on the accelerator and left off the clutch. I’ll let the hand brake off so you don’t have to worry about that.”
The engine revs. The car and all its passengers launch forward as it bunny hops three feet and stalls. The girls burst into laughter as they slip and slide on the soft leather seat.
“Girls be quiet. Never mind Lexie. Just start again.”
Lexie takes a few deep breaths before repeating the process. This time the car lurches off up the road, bunny hops several times but doesn’t stall.
“That’s it. Well done,” says Bill encouragingly.
The car slowly crawls up around the bend, past Belvedere and Bob and Rie’s house. Lexie remembers to breathe, releases her tight grip on the steering wheel just ever so slightly, and increases speed. Bill can hear the revs of the motor building.
“You need to change gears now. Remember, foot off the accelerator, clutch in, change gear from first to second, clutch out, foot back on the accelerator.”
Lexie looks down to make sure she’s got the right pedals and see how to get the gear stick from first to second. She repeats Bill’s instructions in her head, following them step by step – foot off accelerator, clutch in, move gearstick from first to ...
“Watch out!” yells Bill.
Lexie looks up. All she can see is the green of a boxthorn hedge. She panics. She thinks ‘hit the brake,’ but hits the accelerator instead. The car veers off the road, bounces over the grass drain and ploughs into the hedge, coming to an abrupt stop. There is a loud thud as all four girls slam into the backs of the front seats. Lexie screams. The girls scream.
“Grmmph!” curses Bill.
Nerves are shattered, but nobody is hurt – except for the Austin that is. Steam rises from under the bonnet.
“I think I had better buy train tickets to go visit Papa,” concedes Lexie, thinking she will never drive again.
“Yes I think you’d better.”
Chapter Twenty Six
Auckland 1955
“Have you girls got everything?” Bill has driven Lexie and their four daughters to Stratford to catch the early morning railcar to Auckland. The railcar has come through from New Plymouth and stops briefly to collect passengers before continuing north via the main trunk line.
“Yes,” they all squeal in unison unable to conceal their excitement for their first train trip.
Lexie counts, one, two, three, four girls, each with a suitcase, beret on their head and warm jacket buttoned up to the neck. They get their tickets punched, hug their father and climb aboard the first car eager to get a window seat. Isla and Lynn must take one seat with Lexie and the smaller girls in behind on another. The suitcases, now full of clothes instead of schoolbooks, are stashed on the netting racks overhead.
A whistle sounds, the doors to the railcar close and slowly the train pulls away from the platform.
“Wave to your Father.” Lexie waves to Bill. “You won’t see him for a week.”
It will be the longest they have been apart since getting married. It is with a little trepidation that Lexie is making the journey to visit her father and Charlotte in Browns Bay. Such a long way to travel with four girls, and a good five years since Lexie has seen Murdo and Charlotte. Such a lot has happened. She does hope the girls will be on their best behaviour and do their mother proud.
.....
“Ruff, ruff,” barks Toby, bounding up to the back door, his golden fluffy tail curling excitedly. He can hear footsteps and familiar voices outside and wants to greet the visitors.
“Oh do be quiet Toby. I am coming.” Charlotte chastises the dog as if he is an impatient child. She wipes her hands, damp from washing the lunchtime dishes on her apron and opens the back door.
“Hello Lexie. Do come in. Did you have a good trip?” Charlotte opens the door wide and stands aside to allow Lexie and her four girls pass with their suitcases. They put them down in the passage and then follow Charlotte into the dining room.
“Well, what lovely girls. Now let me see – you must be Isla. Lynn. Marion and little Gillian. It’s very nice to meet you all. Oh Murdo isn’t it lovely to have them here.”
“Aye, they be bonnie wee lasses and it be mighty good of ye all to visit ye old grandad and nanna.” Murdo comes inside with the last of the luggage from the boot of the car.
“Make yourself at home Lexie and I’ll make a cuppa. If you like, you children can take Toby outside and give him a run around the back yard. Bill and Barbara are out there somewhere too.”
“Yes N
ana,” reply the girls in unison, already half out the door, itching to stretch their legs.
.....
Bill and Barbara are in the orchard at the bottom of the garden. Grandad Murdo left instructions for all of the apples on the ground to be picked up. He gave them an old apple box to put them in but Bill and Barbara have found another use for it.
“Ah found you!” yells Isla when she discovers her cousins crouched behind the walnut tree.
“Sssh!” Barbara turns to face them with a finger to her lips.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re catching birds,” replies Bill in a half whisper. “See them in the apple tree. They like the apples. When one goes for the apple under the box, I’ll pull this string and it’ll fall down and trap it.”
“Ruff, ruff,” barks Toby as he bounds in to join the fun.
“Oh Toby. You chased them away, you silly dog.”
The children all laugh as the birds – tiny waxeyes and fluttering fantails – scatter for shelter in the upper limbs of the fruit trees.
“Oh well, guess we’d better do what Grandad wanted. He wants to make some apple cider. Then we can play hide and seek.”
“Apple cider, what does that taste like?” asks Marion.
“Don’t know but he said if we pick up all of the apples then maybe we can try some of his wine.”
“Wine is for grown-ups. We won’t be allowed any,” proclaims Barbara.
“Grandad said we can have a taste, as long as we don’t tell Nana.”
The six children quickly pick up all of the apples from the ground. The birds have already feasted on some of them and others are hosting parties of ants.
Several rounds of paper, scissors and rock establish that Lynn is to count first and the game of hide and seek begins. Everyone scatters in different directions. Isla crouches down beside Grandad Murdo’s corrugated iron garden shed. It is painted a forest green and she is wearing a green cardigan and skirt, which blend in just perfectly. The large tank that captures the rain and provides the house with its water needs, sits on a high wooden stand beside the shed, shading Isla from the summer sun and providing Barbara with her hiding place. Marion and Gillian squat beside the runner beans, which shoot skyward on the netting frame. Gillian doesn’t like to eat them but they do provide good camouflage. Bill climbs up the walnut tree. Its lower limbs are often used as pretend horses. With a sack for a saddle and rope for reins the branches can be made to bounce along at a good trot. Today he ventures higher, up among the leaves and the walnuts still ripening in their shiny green husks. From his vantage point he can see the sails of the yachts in the harbour being buffeted along in the breeze and in the distance to the south is the island his Grandad has told him is called Rangitoto. With a name like that, he imagines the island to be home to a fire-breathing dragon. The game of hide and seek is temporarily forgotten as he pictures himself captain of a small vessel sailing away to do battle with the dragon.
“Ha ha, found you,” yells Lynn from the base of the tree, flanked by the other girls whom she has already found.
“Come on up. You can see for miles up here,” suggests Bill.
“Afternoon tea time.” Murdo calls from the back doorstep; he cannot see the children amongst the garden but knows that food will lure them inside. “Nana’s made pikelets.”
The thought of pikelets with fresh cream and jam has Bill quickly descending the tree and all the children racing back up the lawn.
“Remember to wash your hands,” says Charlotte, “or there will be no pikelets.”
“Wait, don’t start without me, I have to go to the toilet first.” Isla doesn’t want to miss out on her share of the baking.
“Well you can’t use the toilet.”
“Pardon Nana. I need to wee.”
“Well you’ll have to wee on the lawn. The dunny is overworked with everyone here. You must only use it for big jobs. The nightcart man only comes once a week to empty it.”
“Oh,” replies Isla, anxious about weeing on the lawn in broad daylight.
“We can have a competition,” snickers Bill, “see who can kill the grass the quickest.”
“Bill we don’t have that sort of talk thank you,” growls Charlotte but the children grin at one another and silently agree that the race is on.
Lynn and Marion giggle. They were hoping the holiday at Nana and Grandad’s would be fun but they never dreamt it would include going to the toilet on the lawn.
.....
Later that night, Barbara is secretly glad they can wee on the lawn. She picks a spot where the light from the kitchen window casts a safe glow. The orange trumpeted flowers of the creeper that covers the dunny are beautiful in daylight, but she always finds them rather spooky at night, making the little outhouse look alive with a seething mass of tentacles reaching out to grab her.
.....
“Who would like to come fishing with me today?” asks Murdo at the breakfast table the following morning.
Six eager children and an equally excited dog set off down the road, trailing Murdo towards the harbour. With fishing rods, bucket, and sandwiches for lunch they are all equipped. The tide is right and they get a good position at the end of the jetty. Rods are baited and lines are soon dropped into the clear waters of the Hauraki Gulf.
“I’ve got one, I’ve got one!” screams Gillian.
“Quick then, reel it in,” replies Murdo moving to help his granddaughter.
A tiny herring flings its glistening torso from side to side in a desperate attempt to free itself from the hook as it rises gradually from the water.
“Oh, it’s only little, we can’t eat that,” mocks Bill.
“Nae, but we can use it for bait to catch something we can eat,” counters Murdo.
The fish continues its struggle, flipping about on the jetty until Murdo wedges it firmly under his foot, removes the hook from its mouth and stuns it with the handle of his knife.
“Oh poor little fishy.” Gillian is not so sure she wants to catch any more.
Murdo baits his rod with the herring and casts into the harbour. Patiently he waits, the line bobbing about in the waves. It twitches, he gives a tug and the line pulls back. Murdo reels the line in a fraction, luring the quarry with the herring. The line is dragged from left to right, the fish trying to steal the bait without snaring itself. Murdo reels the line in some more and he feels the moment the fish latches on. He winds the spindle as fast as he can, reeling the fish higher and higher in the water and closer and closer to the jetty. He lands a gurnard. It thrashes about on the jetty but the battle is futile. Murdo mercifully ends its life and the children proudly gather around to inspect the catch.
“Right, bait up ye lines again,” instructs Murdo. “One more of those and we will have enough for tonight’s dinner.”
Excited by the catch in the bucket, lines are rebaited and cast back into the harbour. Within an hour, there are two more gurnard in the bucket and the fishing party return home with their quarry, presenting it proudly to Charlotte and Lexie.
.....
After a lovely meal of fresh fish the children are off outside again to play.
“Thank ye so much for coming to visit Lexie, and for bringing ye lasses. Ye must be very proud of yeself.”
“Mmm Mmm.” Lexie issues her standard non-committal reply. The reply, neither positive nor negative allows her to ponder whether in fact she is proud of herself. She hasn’t achieved what she had wanted to in life as her dreams of teaching were long ago shattered. But she has good health, is married and raising four girls who are fit and healthy. She guesses she should be proud of that. It seems her stepmother and mother-in-law can always find fault in her but now for the first time she can remember, her father is telling her she should be proud. She straightens her back, lifts her shoulders and smiles. Yes, she is proud of herself, of her resilience and her determination.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Auckland 1955
“Well lads, the
lasses have all gone shopping. It’s just us for the day,” says Murdo with a mischievous grin. “What shall we get up to?”
It’s school holidays again and John and Erica and Bill and Barbara, Florence and Lorna’s children have come to visit again. Charlotte and Florence have taken the girls off to town shopping.
“Aren’t we going to bottle the wine Grandad?”
“Aye, that’s right. Come on, off to the shed we go then.”
The garden shed is Murdo’s domain. The latch on its single wooden door is deliberately out of reach of any children. Even Charlotte doesn’t venture in. There is no electricity to the shed and the only light comes through a small window in the end wall. Dust motes dance in the sun beams as Murdo pushes the door open and hooks it back with a piece of wire.
The boys stare in wonderment. The shelves that span the length of the opposite wall hold bottles and jars in a variety of shapes and sizes, arranged neatly in groups according to their contents. On closer inspection they can see everything is labelled – plums, beetroot, peaches, kumquats, and dated, mostly 1954, but some earlier. The end wall, opposite the window, is home to Murdo’s gardening tools, all cleaned and oiled and replaced on their designated nail ready for use when required. Under the window sits a wooden workbench supported by an old chest of drawers relegated from the house and now serving as a toolbox for screwdrivers, spanners and secateurs.
“Well lads, we need to check this, see if she is ready to be bottled.” Murdo lifts a carboy from the floor in a dark corner of the shed. “Careful, donnae stir up the sediment, we need her to be clear so we can bottle it.”
“Can we have a taste Grandad?”
“Nae Bill. Ye’ll give yeself a belly ache if ye drink this stuff,” says Murdo chuckling. “When we have bottled this, we’ll have a wee taste of one the bottles from my last batch. Just to make sure it’s alright for Nana.”
Murdo has already sterilised a dozen glass bottles and begins siphoning the wine from the carboy, careful not to stir up the sediment sitting in the bottom.
“Ye lads can write the labels. Just write ‘Rhubarb Wine 1955’ in ye best handwriting,” instructs Murdo.
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