The morning of their departure had been distressing. Maureen, under the thumb of her husband, had sneaked along to the cottage after Joseph had set off to check on a sow that had just given birth to a glut of piglets. She had implored the pair to stay, especially as it was only eight weeks away from Christmas. She said that it was the war that was responsible for Joseph’s quick temper; he would feel very guilty once they had gone away.
“It’s my one chance in life to do something with it” Kathleen answered, enthused now by the thought of her adventure, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it before. Why shouldn’t a woman travel the world, see the sights that might only be dreamt of if she had stayed living her life for the benefit of others? This was providential. With Patrick being ordered to leave the homestead, there was no reason now for her to stay.
“I’ll miss you, Maureen” she murmured, touched by her sister-in-law’s genuine distress at her leaving. “I’ll write. I’ll send postcards from all the places that we go to. I promise that I’ll come back to see you one day.”
“You won’t, I know it,” Maureen said, mopping at her tears with her apron. “You’ll meet a man who’ll sweep you off your feet and you’ll have a ruck of kids with him.”
“As if,” Kathleen said gaily. “But if that happens you will be the first to know. Patrick,” she looked up at the young man who had been in her life and heart for the past ten years, after she had glanced at her gold watch, a present from her late father. “Can you take our bags and wait by the gate for Mr. Evans to collect us? He said he’d be here by half past when I telephoned.”
“Where will you go?” Maureen sniffed, seeing her sister-in-law’s determination, as Patrick set off carrying his small, fibre suitcase which he had been given at the orphanage all those years ago and a large tapestry bag that belonged to Kathleen.
“Well, first we’ll go to the city and spend a few days there having a look around; buy a few clothes in Rundle Street when we have decided on our destination. Warm clothes or light clothes, the world’s our oyster as they say. Oh, I’m so excited. Sorry, Maureen. I will miss you, you know.”
“We’ll all miss you too, Kathleen. I know that the boys have drifted a little now they’re grown, got their own interests and dare I say it, Joseph can be a pig headed swine, but if you change your mind, you can come right back again. It will be easy enough to speak to you now that Joseph has put in the telephone.”
“And have Annie Pilling at the telephone exchange tell everyone in the village of my whereabouts? It’ll be all over Willunga that I’m going to the city today. No, I’ll send you a letter if I’m on my way back home.”
“God speed then, Kathleen. May He watch over you until we meet again.”
Kathleen nodded in agreement, then walked away.
Chapter Seventeen
Arriving in the city a couple of hours later, after riding in a comfortable Holden car in which Mr. Evans made a living as a taxi driver from, they took a room at the South Australian Hotel in North Terrace. It wasn’t an opulent haunt of the rich, but it was adequate for their needs until Kathleen had made the necessary arrangements with the firm of Thomas Cook, once they had decided on a mutual destination of course.
Patrick was eager to return to his birthplace. A fish out of water since he had arrived in this unfamiliar country, he wanted nothing more than to feel the cool of the Irish mist on his face, see the lush and green land in and around the town of Ballina and look across on a clear bright day to the distant Oweninny Hills. Kathleen though was thinking of a holiday, somewhere exotic like Singapore. It was free to visit since the Japanese had been routed after the war and she had the rest of her life, if she wanted to, to trail around the world.
“We could toss for it” Kathleen said, as they sat on one of the beds in the hotel room that she had just paid for. “Heads we go to Ireland and tails we go to Singapore.” She took out a shilling and threw it in the air and closed her eyes in anticipation as it landed on her counterpane.
“Heads” said Patrick gleefully, as he got to it first and whether he had flicked it round to his advantage, no one would ever know. “You’ll like it in my homeland; it’s full of history which goes back to when St. Patrick first put his foot on Irish soil. I’ll show you where I used to live and the beautiful loughs and the Oweninny hills.”
“I’d quite like to visit Dublin, see the Trinity College and look at that Book of Kells.”
“Then you shall do” Patrick’s heart felt full with nostalgia and he began to sing. “I’ll take you home again, Kathleen.”
The next day, after a visit to Thomas Cook where Kathleen had gleaned the information that if she was quick they could catch a ship called the Arcadia, which was returning to Great Britain in a few days’ time, arrangements were made for an overnight train ride to Melbourne on the Overland from Adelaide and an essential visit to John Martin’s department store. The pair returned to the hotel exhausted, laden with bags and two large suitcases in which to carry their new clothes. According to the man in the travel shop, even if they had opted for tourist instead of first class on their voyage across the 12,000 miles to Tilbury, there was an expected standard of apparel that must be worn; evening wear, day wear and swimwear if they wanted to use the pool that was available for the passengers. Patrick, unused to wearing anything other than his working clothes, which were mostly hand-me-downs from John’s sons or homemade courtesy of Kathleen, strutted in front of the mirror like a model on a catwalk. Then Kathleen, staring at herself in the evening gown of lilac satin, decided she needed a more modern hairstyle and a bit of makeup on her face.
The city of Adelaide was a very busy place, lined with fashionable shops and cafes in a place called Rundle Street. There, a profusion of double storied verandah buildings and a long, wide street saw a multitude of cars and lorries trundling up and down. Kathleen and Patrick, only used to country ways and the one high street in Willunga, stared in wide eyed wonder on that first day, as they ventured forth onto the crowded pavements, where many creeds and foreign tongued people passed them hurriedly by. Nervous of the hustle, they chose to drink a coffee first in a small place called Kindermann’s Cafe. This was a milky tasting beverage that they had never tried before.
With a couple of days to cool their feet, Kathleen decided that they would spend some time looking around the city. With five parks to visit, many churches and a beautiful cathedral to wander around, the hours sped by and it was soon time to board the Overland, or Melbourne Express as the locals called it, late one afternoon. Kathleen dressed in a light weight, calf length dress, brown, peep toe sandals, a long, brown jacket with a half belt and her newly permed hair crushed under a white, pudding basin hat, hailed a taxi to take them and their luggage from the hotel to the Adelaide Terminal. Patrick had never felt so dapper, dressed as he was in a light brown, single breasted suit with a waistcoat, a fine, white, linen shirt, brown polka dotted tie and shiny, brown lace up shoes. His hair was cut neatly into a short back and sides and he carried a three quarter length coat as well as a dark brown trilby, as his head might get hot and sweaty with the city being so warm and humid that day. His heart soared as they were driven along in the taxi. He was on his way home to Ireland and he couldn’t wait to get there.
*
A white hull and superstructure, two masts and a yellow funnel with a red ringed top and boasting seven passenger decks, the ship met their gaze as they stood on Station Pier, looking up in awe at the RMS Arcadia. Built by the John Brown shipyard in Clydebank in 1953, she was on her way back to Tilbury after a three month voyage.
After a good night’s sleep in a roomette, a single sleeper that Kathleen had booked for each of them aboard the mauve liveried compartment train to Melbourne which was pulled by a steam engine from Adelaide, they were looking forward to embarkation. It would be a relaxing sea voyage and, according to the brochure that the travel shop had given Kathleen, there would be lots to see and do on board and exotic places to visit on the way.
Once aboard and after having their papers checked by an official, they were shown to their quarters by a pleasant mannered steward who was rewarded with a tip from Kathleen. Their luggage stowed and with a quick wash to freshen up for each of them, they made their way up the many steps to take a look at the public rooms. The tourist class dining saloon, which was separated from the first class dining saloon by the galley; souvenir shops where dolls, ashtrays, silver spoons all with the ship’s emblem engraved upon them and toiletries and knick knacks could be purchased; a library with a quiet room; a swimming pool, a cinema and places for entertainment were all discovered that afternoon.
It was when they were passing the souvenir shop that Patrick noticed a girl amongst the flurry of a group of young, fluttery beings who walked in front of them, reminding him of the Silkie chickens that he had looked after at Aldridge Farm. Most of the girls had fair or golden hair but this one stood out amongst them with her dark brown tresses and beautiful, deep blue eyes. Judging by the clothes the girls were wearing – shorts, lightweight blouses and plimsolls, they were on their way to check out the sporting facilities on board. She smiled at Patrick as she passed him, showing off pearly, white teeth and dimples. There was something in her eyes that he recognised. Whatever it was, a shifting in some unconscious memory perhaps, was lost as Kathleen asked him if he would like to take a walk upon the upper deck.
*
“Is this seat taken?” asked a man who appeared to be in his late forties, judging by his weather beaten face, the white streaks in his once dark hair and his paunch.
“It appears that there are not enough deck chairs to go around for all of us, so I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, join us. My nephew and I were just saying that everyone’s taking advantage of the sunshine, before the anchor is lifted and we set off on our journey.” Kathleen smiled up at the man and liked his sad but kind eyes.
“Harold Cooper.” The man shook Kathleen’s hand, then sat beside her.
“Kathleen Aldridge and this is my nephew Patrick,” Kathleen replied.
“How do you do, Patrick.” Harold stretched across to where Patrick was leaning over to shake the stranger’s hand. As Harold did so Kathleen could feel his breath on her face, which caused her to shiver in the warmth of the sun. “So, Tilbury. Far to go to your destination when we get there? Oh, sorry, I don’t mean to be nosey, we’ve only just met and I’m being rather forward.”
“No, no, don’t worry.” Kathleen liked the way his face suddenly flushed, obviously embarrassed at asking his question when they had only just met. His accent too was rather charming, easy on the ears for listening to.
“So that isn’t an Australian accent I hear? You’re from England if I’m not mistaken.” Kathleen tried to change the subject, understanding his discomfort.
“Lincolnshire, on the east coast of England. I’ve been working with a cousin. We have a small building company in Melbourne, but my parents, back in Blighty, are elderly and so I felt the need to visit them again.”
“Ah” said Kathleen, ready to continue the conversation by saying that her family had come across from Lincolnshire all those years ago, when William and Aubretia had set sail for the colonies, but it seemed that Harold had said enough and was anxious to leave her.
“Oh, is that the time?” He glanced at his wristwatch and just after he said it, the ship’s horn started booming. It was time for the crew to mobilise and any visitors to go ashore. “I must dash. Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner.” With that he was gone, leaving her wondering if she had said something wrong.
“Come on Kathleen, let’s watch the ship set off.” Patrick got up from his deckchair, looking forward to the excitement of it all.
Once out into the calm waters of Port Phillip Bay, it was time to dress for dinner and head along to the dining saloon, where they were shown to their table of eight by the maitre d’. He was a pleasant faced man, who looked as though he hailed from one of the Pacific Islands. He was smartly dressed for the occasion with a winged collar, dicky bow tie and black evening clothes. Their companions, four elegantly dressed older ladies and two well-groomed elderly gentlemen were quiet at first, until after their bottle of wine had been poured and sipped and pronounced palatable. Kathleen ordered a glass of juice and a glass of beer for Patrick. It seemed from their companions’ muted conversation that they had embarked at Sydney and had already settled in.
Kathleen pulled up her white, spindle-backed, leather upholstered chair a little more, as their waiter, a fresh faced young man with a ready smile, handed out the menus decorated with acanthus leaves. The Corinthian themed murals on the walls, which had been painted by various artists on commission were the theme for the menu’s illustration.
“What are you having, Patrick?” Kathleen asked in a subdued voice, glad she hadn’t come alone, as up to now, no one had acknowledged their presence, which she thought was rather impolite of them, though she supposed she could have introduced herself and Patrick if she had thought about it.
“The lamb, no starter. I can imagine if we eat too much each day we’ll be fat as pigs when we get there.”
He glowered over to the women who were ordering soup or a selection of knackwurst, salami and mortadella, fillet steak with onions and fried potatoes or a rump steak. All were wearing dresses that accentuated their plumpness and Patrick wondered whether they would fit into them at all at the end of their voyage.
“I’ll have the same, no starter, but I must have some of that pavlova later which is over there on the dessert trolley. I have only ever seen it in a magazine.” Patrick smiled indulgently, Kathleen had always had a sweet tooth.
His ears were drawn to the sound of high pitched giggles from the foyer outside, as the group of girls who had earlier passed them by, presented themselves to claim their reservation, as it was a two sitting dining system there. They swarmed into the saloon, following the maitre d’ who was smiling with good humour, as the girls all dressed in the latest fashion of many layered petticoats under a calf length dress with a nipped in waist, pulled his leg at his assumed pomposity.
All of them wore court shoes and had piled their hair up into fashionable chignons, except the girl who had caught Patrick’s eye and if he had to be honest, had been in his thoughts since spotting her. How that had happened he couldn’t be sure, as he had never been attracted to any girl since reaching puberty and had shunned the offer of introduction to a local girl by one of Joseph’s sons. Perhaps he was shy or perhaps he instinctively didn’t want the complication of finding a wife so early and settling down.
“Patrick.” Kathleen shook his arm, just as the girl glanced over and caught his eye. “Patrick, do you want fried potatoes with the lamb or boiled? The waitress has asked you that question two times?” He watched as the six young women were joined later by a couple of fellows around their own age and felt a twinge of jealousy, as he wished he was sitting there too.
*
The Orpheus Room was full. Each table that surrounded the polished floor of the entertainment area was occupied and Kathleen and Patrick had scanned the daily newsletter that the ship provided for the pleasure of their passengers decided on watching a variety show. There were just about to leave to look for their second option, which was to watch a cowboy film in the cinema.
“Kathleen, over here.” They heard a voice nearby and to their surprise it was Harold Cooper, whom they had met on the upper deck that afternoon smartly dressed in evening clothes.
“A favour for a favour” he said smiling amiably, as he stood to attention beside a small round table that was su
rrounded by four spindle back chairs.
“Oh, thank you” replied Kathleen, suddenly feeling a bit shy now that a man was making an effort to be in her company. “I looked for you at dinner but I couldn’t see you anywhere.”
“I was there” said Harold, frowning as he pulled out a chair for her in a gentlemanly fashion and gestured to Patrick to sit next to her. “I like the way they have a Greek theme throughout the interior, Olympus or Mount Olympus, a heavenly abode for the Greek gods.”
It was then that Kathleen realised that Harold was a first class passenger, as the theme in their dining room was Corinthian. She felt uncomfortable. He must be loaded to have booked First Class. Why had he invited them to sit at his table? There must be plenty of other nobs that could join him instead. She hated ostentation and deplored the fact that class and status still existed in Australia, though not as much as it had before the war. She saw that Patrick felt the same, as he had raised an eyebrow in response to hers.
Too late, the entertainment had begun. A small band started to play the theme tune from Cafe Continental and a scantily clad show girl began to dance.
“What can I order for you?” Harold asked, when during the interval, a waiter came to ask them what they would like to drink.
“Nothing for me” replied Kathleen, wondering if it would be rude of her to make up an excuse so that she and Patrick could make tracks to the exit.
A Distant Dream Page 17