by Louise Allan
I stood, we all stood, and clapped. Nora came onto the stage again, a hand on her chest. She shook the adjudicator’s hand, then accepted the trophy, cheque and a bouquet of flowers. Arms laden, she turned to face the audience. Her cheeks glowed and she smiled as everyone continued clapping. Her eyes roved the crowd until they found Grandma. Her chin and lips trembled and her eyes were glassy.
After we sat down, Grandma pulled out her hanky again.
It was a clear night outside and the air carried the warning of a morning frost. Already we could see our breaths. I stood under the streetlight at the bottom of the steps with Grandma and Mrs Barrett to wait for Nora. Grandma slid her fingers into her gloves as people chatted and streamed past us down the steps.
‘I know what you’ve done,’ I said. ‘I saw Nora and Mrs Barrett together at the Dorothea Schwarzkopf concert.’
Mrs Barrett looked up at the mention of her name.
Grandma sighed, her breath puffing in the cold. ‘Oh, Ida. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I was worried you’d let something slip and…I couldn’t risk your mother finding out.’ She finished pulling on her gloves and hitched her handbag into the crook of her arm. ‘And at the time, you and Nora weren’t getting along terribly well.’
‘It’s all right. I understand,’ I said.
‘And I had all that money tucked away doing nothing, when it should have been going to good use. So I paid for Nora to have lessons with Olga.’ She nodded at Mrs Barrett, who smiled. ‘Olga and I used to sing together when we were girls.’ Mrs Barrett nodded again. ‘You see, Ida, I know what it’s like to give up something you love.’ Grandma put her hand to her breastbone. ‘It’s like being buried alive.’ She kept looking at me.
I nodded. I understood why she’d supported Nora and kept it a secret. And although I hadn’t experienced it, I also understood what it would feel like to have to give up a dream.
Then Nora appeared in the light from the doorway and looked about. She wore a grey, woollen coat over her dress, and carried her bouquet and trophy in one arm and her purse in the other. As soon as she spotted Grandma, she hurried down the steps, straight to her. They clasped each other. I stepped away from the three of them, feeling like an intruder.
‘I knew you’d win,’ said Grandma, laughing and patting her back. ‘No one else even came close.’
Then Nora embraced Mrs Barrett. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘It’s been my pleasure, Nora. I knew you could do it. You have what it takes.’ Mrs Barrett smiled.
‘Congratulations, Nora,’ I said, and stepped forward.
Nora turned, and when she saw me, she stiffened. ‘Ida—’
‘You were splendid.’
‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head and frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I saw it in the paper and wanted to come. I wouldn’t have missed it, in fact. I’ve been reading about your success all week.’
Nora nodded, and we stood in silence. Then Grandma shivered and said, ‘We should be going home.’
Grandma took the bouquet of flowers, and they gathered themselves. I watched the three of them head down Tamar Street towards the gasworks, a sprightliness in their step. I’d already turned and started walking in the other direction, back towards High Street and the Godfrey-Smiths’, when I heard my name being called.
Nora was hurrying towards me, her heels clipping the pavement and echoing in the clear air. ‘Would you like to come back to Mrs Barrett’s?’
‘I’d love to.’ I checked my wristwatch. ‘But it’s getting late, and I have to work in the morning. I’m sorry.’ My voice trailed off.
She nodded. ‘I understand. Shall we meet some other time?’
I wanted to hug her. ‘Yes, that would be lovely.’
She nodded, and we both waited.
‘I really am pleased for you,’ I said.
She nodded again. ‘The adjudicator told me to audition for the Melba Scholarship. It’s to study at the Albert Street Conservatorium in Melbourne. It’s worth over a hundred pounds a year.’
‘Oh, Nora. That would be wonderful!’
We arranged to meet the following week, and before going our separate ways, we embraced.
Back at the Godfrey-Smiths’, I lay in bed and thought of Grandma having to give up her music. I thought of Nora, too, at the piano, day after day, playing the same scales and the same pieces over and over until she got them right. I remembered her dressing in Grandma’s frocks and giving us concerts. I remembered her running away from home so she could sing. I remembered, too, my jealousy at Nora’s talent and how it had kept us apart. That night, I resolved that I’d never be jealous of Nora again.
I had no idea what it felt like to yearn for something so much you’d give up everything to do it, and part of me wished I did.
Chapter 9
Nora and I met up at a dance a couple of weeks later at St Ailbe’s Hall, on the western side of the city. The hall was decked with streamers and balloons, and a three-piece band played on the stage.
Nora had twisted her hair up in a French roll and wore a strapless gown in sapphire blue with a matching evening jacket. As soon as we entered, the men turned, their eyes drawn to her as if by magnets. She was taller than me—she was taller than everyone, even most of the men. She crossed the hall with her head erect and her eyes straight ahead, seemingly unaware of the spellbound gazes upon her.
Almost as soon as we sat down, a burly fellow began making his way towards us. He was in a hurry, swerving around the tables and bumping people as he passed. He was as big as a boar, his face square and his shoulders as wide as a bridge. His eyes didn’t stray from Nora and when he reached her, he was panting.
‘Nora. It’s Alf, Alf Hill. From school. Do you remember me?’
She tilted her head. Her brow creased as she thought for a moment, and then she nodded. ‘Yes, I think I do.’
I remembered him—that he was a good dancer and that all the girls, myself included, had adored him. I remembered, too, that he’d only ever had eyes for Nora.
‘Would you like to dance?’
She removed her jacket. He led her onto the floor, and placed his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him—one of the few men taller than her—and rested her gloved hand on his shoulder. The music started and the two of them began to skim across the boards, their feet lightly touching the floor before lifting again. It was like watching swans on a lake, gliding towards each other, criss-crossing and drifting apart again. Back and forth, back and forth, their eyes not straying from each other as they coasted around the room.
I was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. When I turned, a small, wiry fellow was smiling down at me. He cleared his throat. ‘Would you like to dance?’
I felt myself blush as I nodded.
His name was Len Bushell and we danced the Pride of Erin. We stepped back and forth, together and apart, and spun around. Every time I glanced at him, he was still gazing up at me. I kept blushing and my legs got in such a lather they became tangled and I stumbled. He caught me and I apologised, but he went on spinning me around as if he hadn’t noticed. When the music stopped, he kept dancing, twirling me under one arm and then the other, whirling me about so fast my feet barely had time to touch the boards. By the time we stopped, smack in the centre of the dance floor, we were the only ones left. I felt dizzy and out of breath, and it wasn’t just from exertion.
He didn’t let me go and we danced the next one and the one after that, and by the end of the evening, I felt like a yacht with the wind in its sails, and I never wanted to stop sailing around that dance floor.
We ate a supper of sandwiches and cream puffs, and pineapples set in jelly.
Nora leant in towards me. ‘Looks like you’ve found yourself a beau.’
I felt myself blush and my hand went to my cheek. ‘And you.’
‘Grandma confessed to Mum last week,’ she said.
I gasped. �
�Is she angry?’
‘Apparently not. She wants to see me again.’
‘She wouldn’t stop you singing now, would she?’
‘No, she wants to apologise.’
‘Oh? That would be a first.’
Nora raised an eyebrow and nodded.
‘Take it while you can get it,’ I said.
I looked forward to the dance the following week, and when Len took me onto the dance floor again and placed his hand in the small of my back, I felt its familiar warmth and my chest stirred.
Len worked as a labourer at the wharf, but his main love was fishing. His older brother, Fred, owned a car and, of a weekend, Fred and Len and their younger brothers and sisters would pile in and drive out to a river or lake.
One day, after we’d been courting a few months, Len took me with them. We went fishing up the Ringarooma River. We turned off along a boggy road, dipping and bobbing in and out of potholes. The bush was so close we could reach out and touch it as we passed, and it reminded me of our family picnics at Ben Craeg when I was a child.
The day was cloudy and the water was brown and still, occasionally eddying noiselessly around a protruding rock. Len and Fred set up their tackle boxes and tied flies onto their lines. They waded out, flicking their rods back and forth. Downstream, the kids swam, while I stayed on the bank—I’d never learnt to swim—and set up the picnic blanket. When I’d laid out the sandwiches and scones, I sat on a rock by the edge of the river and watched them all dipping and diving and yahooing in the water.
Mavis, Len’s youngest sister, who was seven or eight at the time, had been splashing about in the middle, having fun, but then her head went under. She surfaced, gulped at the air and disappeared again.
‘I’m coming, Mavis,’ I called, running towards the water, pulling my shoes off as I went.
I waded out and the water crept up my calves and then up my thighs. My dress was pulling against my legs and getting heavier, but I kept trawling through the water.
‘I’m comin’…I’m comin’…’
Mavis’s head bobbed up and her arms splashed, then she gulped and disappeared again.
The water was up to my waist, then my chest, and my dress was dragging. I was nearly there. I could almost touch her. If I could stretch another couple of inches. Then the bottom slipped from beneath me and I went under. All I could see was murky water, brown like onion soup. I couldn’t touch the bottom, but I could see the light at the top and Mavis’s legs moving about just in front of me. I reached for them, but I was sinking and they were getting further away. I swept my arms about, straining and stretching and trying to reach her, but my clothes were heavy and dragging me down.
I can’t hold on much longer, I thought. I need to breathe. Both of us are going to drown.
Then Mavis’s head was under the water and coming towards me. Her eyes were wide, staring into mine, and I held out my arms. I was running out of air and I wanted to open my mouth and breathe—I wasn’t sure how much longer I could last. Mavis was close. Her arms swept through the water and she grabbed my hand. We moved upwards through the brown towards the light.
Then it was all light and my head was out of the water and I could breathe. Someone caught my other arm and hauled me towards the bank and laid me down on the stones. I coughed and vomited and couldn’t stop the tears.
‘What sort of stunt were you pulling?’ said Len.
I turned towards him, about to explain that I thought Mavis was drowning and I was running out to save her.
He stood a few feet away, one hand on Mavis’s elbow, shaking her. The water was streaming from the crotch of her knitted bathers, which had stretched down the inside of her legs, and she was crying.
‘Ida nearly drowned,’ he yelled at her. His face was red and he was shaking. I’d never seen him angry before. ‘I should put you over my knee, young lady, so you’ll never pull a stunt like that again.’
Mavis held her face in her hands and her shoulders shook.
‘Len…’ I tried to get up on my elbow, but the stones cut into my arms. I was coughing and panting, too, so I couldn’t get enough voice. ‘Len…’ I tried again, louder.
He turned, still holding Mavis’s elbow.
I shielded my eyes from the sun. ‘Don’t hit her.’
‘She needs to be taught a lesson.’
I took a deep breath. ‘I reckon she’s learnt her lesson. No need to hit her.’
‘But she nearly caused you to drown.’
I sat up properly and leant on one hand. ‘You’ve learnt your lesson, haven’t you Mavis?’ I was still puffing.
Mavis howled. ‘I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know you couldn’t swim.’
‘She was just mucking about, Len.’
He studied Mavis with squinted eyes.
‘Please don’t hit her,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t abide a kid being hit because of me.’
He looked at me and then at Mavis, and he let her go.
I lay back on the stones and closed my eyes, letting the sun warm my face.
Len made a fire to boil the billy and I stood close, drying off and warming up. He slipped a blanket around my shoulders and stood next to me. I felt his arm slide across my back and, because I was slightly taller, it felt awkward. But he was warm, and as I leant into him, I could smell the salty scent of his skin.
‘Ida, I’ve never seen anyone risk their life for a kid, then stick up for them like that,’ he said. A breeze blew and ruffled his hair. His eyes were the colour of chocolate. ‘And that’s the type of woman I’d like as my wife.’
When I next went home, over a lunch of poached eggs on toast, I told Mum and Grandma that I was getting married.
Mum’s face softened like a dawning sky. ‘Oh, Ida. That’s glorious news.’ She came around the table and kissed me. As she sat back down, my hand went to my cheek and touched the spot where her lips had been. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed me. She felt softer and warmer than she looked, and she smelt of Pond’s face cream and hairspray.
I told her I wanted to get married at Ben Craeg, then I cut into my egg. The yolk oozed over the toast, and I cleared my throat. ‘Nora’s going to audition for the Melba Scholarship.’
‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘So I hear.’ She picked up the bottle of Worcestershire sauce and shook a couple of drops onto her egg.
‘It would be marvellous if she won,’ I said.
‘Yes, yes,’ she said, and picked up her knife and fork. ‘Although I hear it’s dangerous over there, on the mainland.’
‘She can look after herself,’ I said. ‘She’s proven that.’
Mum glanced at me. ‘It’s a lot different over the other side. You’ve just got to read the papers. She could get murdered. Or worse.’ She took a mouthful.
‘She won’t. She’ll be too busy singing.’
Mum finished chewing. ‘Oh well, she’s got to win it first.’ She took another mouthful.
‘She’ll win it,’ said Grandma, and sniffed.
Mum threw down her knife and fork so they clanged on the plate. Grandma and I jumped. ‘I know I don’t have a say in it,’ she said, glancing from one to the other of us. ‘You don’t need to worry that I’ll try to stop her. I won’t. I’ve learnt my lesson. But that doesn’t mean I like it. I don’t like any of it. But, I’ll let her go, if it comes to that.’
I returned to my food. ‘She’ll appreciate it, Mum.’
Mum picked up her knife and fork and resumed her meal, too. She sighed audibly. ‘Well, at least I have a wedding to look forward to.’
On 11th June 1938, the day before my twentieth birthday, Len and I married in the church at Ben Craeg, the same church in which my parents had wed, and next to the cemetery in which my father lay at rest.
I took Mr Godfrey-Smith’s arm and we walked through the door of the church. The building smelt familiar—of wood and dust and candle wax—although the building itself had wearied over the years. The organist played Handel’s Water Music as Nora led u
s down the aisle, past Len’s younger brothers and sisters. Past Dr Godfrey-Smith and the girls, and past Mum and Grandma, who were holding hankies to their noses.
At the altar, Mr Godfrey-Smith took my hand and, before he passed me to Len, he kissed my forehead. I felt his lips through my veil and closed my eyes. For a moment, I felt my father’s presence, giving me his blessing.
The priest married us in the ancient language of the church. He laid his hands upon us and anointed us with oil, and we became joined, husband and wife.
A few months later, Nora won the Melba Scholarship to the Albert Street Conservatorium in Melbourne.
TUESDAY, 8TH NOVEMBER, 1938
LAUNCESTON GIRL WINS MELBA SCHOLARSHIP
MELBOURNE
Launceston girl, Nora Parker, has been awarded the prestigious Melba Scholarship to the Albert Street Conservatorium of Music. The scholarship is worth upward of £100 per year, and is the most valuable scholarship ever made available in Australia for singers. The sole adjudicator, Dr E.A. Lloyd, commented that Miss Parker showed talent and great possibility for further development.
Nora and I caught the train out to Tinsdale to say goodbye to Mum and Grandma. Grandma was blooming with smiles and laughter. She kept waving her arms about as she spoke of the heights to which Nora was destined.
‘You’re on your way, young Nora,’ said Grandma. ‘Nothing can stop you now.’
Mum was quieter. She kept her head down and was fidgety. As we left, she cleared her throat and said, ‘I’m proud of you, Nora.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nora quietly. ‘It means a lot to hear you say that.’
Mum smiled.
‘You might even get to see me on a stage one day,’ said Nora.
‘One step at a time,’ said Mum.
Chapter 10
After we married, Len and I rented a house in Pearson Street, Launceston. It was down the street from the wharf where Len worked, and built on a swamp, so it was like living on jelly—every time a truck rumbled past, the ground wobbled beneath us. The house was weatherboard with steps up to a bull-nosed verandah lined with iron lace and geraniums in pots. Inside there was a narrow hall with two bedrooms either side, then down past the lounge and another bedroom, to the kitchen and bathroom.