The prosecutor glanced over to the senior police officers seated behind him. The most senior officer shook his head.
‘No, we have no more witnesses, Your Worship.’
‘Case dismissed.’ The magistrate rose to his feet. ‘Mrs Gallimore, you are free to go.’
*
For Stephen, the visit to the Conti home at Tivoli was the highlight of a less than idyllic honeymoon. True to his word, Enrico showed Stephen the splendor of Rome, and a wide area of countryside surrounding it, from the cockpit of his Word War 1 Fokker D7. And to Stephen’s delight, Enrico allowed him to take the controls of the aircraft on many of the occasions they flew together.
Because of their love of flying and similar political views, Enrico and Stephen enjoyed each other’s company, both in the air and on the ground. They spent so much time together that Eleanor felt neglected and threatened to cut short their visit to Italy if she couldn’t be the centre of her husband’s attention on her own honeymoon.
Stephen and Enrico made a point of being more considerate towards Eleanor for the rest of the visit. The newlyweds were due to fly to Port Said the following week anyway, where they would join the P & O steamer Mooltan bound for Australia. At the airport in Rome the two young aviators vowed not to let their new-found friendship end there.
*
The news of Molly’s victory swept like wildfire and the cottage couldn’t hold the large throng of well-wishers that came by to see her. They spilled onto the pavement in front of the terrace and out into the tiny backyard. Everyone was overjoyed that a neighborhood battler had fought back and won; some even suggested that perhaps there was some justice after all.
By early evening the crowd had dispersed and only Bill, Iris and Joan remained at the cottage. Just after dark, when Emma had fed Christopher and put him down to sleep, Bill said he’d better be getting along. Emma walked outside with him.
‘It was a good day, Emma,’ Bill said. ‘It not often there’s something to celebrate in Redfern.’
Emma took his hand. ‘It’s all thanks to you and Father O’Brien, Bill.’
‘And Sergeant Lockwood. I just hope they don’t make it too hard on him’
‘But what can they do?’
Bill shrugged. ‘From now on, he’ll be given the most unpleasant duties they can find and on the worst possible shifts. Coppers aren’t expected to let the side down. His mates will close ranks against him.’
‘But at least he can live with himself,’ Emma said. ‘He did what he felt he really had to do.’
Bill drew Emma close to him. ‘And what about you, Emma. What is it you feel you have to do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Iris and Joan were telling me about your interest in how the sweatshops work. And Molly said she’s looked after Christopher several times while you went into town looking around the department stores. What is it your planning to do, Emma?’
‘I’ve been thinking about starting to make clothes. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone until I was sure about it.’
‘And are you sure now?’
‘Yes, I am. I’ve worked it all out. I’ve checked and rechecked my figures. Iris and Joan say they make a dozen boy’s shirt a day between them and get paid two shillings. Then the sweatshop charges five shillings a dozen to a contractor who’s getting ten shilling a dozen from the department stores for all he can supply. The same thing happens with women’s blouses, men’s and women’s underwear, suits of clothes, and just about everything else.’
Bill shook his head. ‘I know how it all works. It’s just bloody exploitation by the department stores. The more they buy from the sweatshops the less work the unionized shops get. It forces them to cut wages and sack more workers. The rag trade is a dirty business these days, Emma. You’d do well to stay out of it.’
‘But I could provide jobs and better wages to people like Iris and Joan. And I want to get my family together again under one roof. I can do that if I can get a business off the ground.’ Emma sighed. ‘You know Bill, I haven’t even written to my brothers saying I’m in Sydney, let alone tell them I’ve had a baby.’
‘How can you pay higher wages, make enough money to support your family, and still compete with the sweatshops?’ Bill asked skeptically.
‘By getting rid of the middleman and dealing with the stores direct, for a start. And not all the department stores sell on price only. Some of them like to offer better quality merchandise. After all, there’s more money at the higher end of the market these days.’
‘But then you’ll have to supply your own materials and create your own designs.’
Emma smiled. ‘And that’s exactly what I intend to do, eventually.’
‘It seems to me it would all take a lot of money,’ Bill said. ‘This windfall you’ve had, would it be enough?’
‘I think so.’
‘I suppose it came from Christopher’s father?’
‘Yes it did… indirectly.’
Bill took Emma’s hands in his. ‘I’ve made it a point not to ask you about him. I always thought you’d tell me in your own time. Tell me, Emma. Does he still mean anything to you?’
‘I still feel for him, Bill, if that’s what you mean. But nothing can come of it. I suppose you’ve heard he’s a married man?’
‘Yes, Father O’Brien told me when you first came to the mission. He said you came to Sydney to see the father of the baby. But he named no names.’
‘He couldn’t, I’ve haven’t told anyone who Christopher’s father is.’
‘And I’ll never ask.’ Bill drew Emma closer. ‘But you must know how I feel about you.’
Emma put a hand on Bill’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. ‘Yes, I think I do Bill, and I’m glad you do. But the way things are I’m just not ready to …’
‘I understand, Emma,’ Bill said. ’And I’ll wait as long as I have to.’ He took her hand from his shoulder and kissed it. Then he grinned and said: ‘But in the meantime, let’s take Christopher down to the Botanic Gardens on Sunday to see the Harbor Bridge. It’s all but finished now, you know.’
*
Bill and Emma took a packed lunch with them to the Botanic Gardens. Bill walked around the park like a proud father, pushing Christopher in a little fold-up pram they brought with them from Redfern on the tram. They were just about to call it a day, when they saw an ocean liner steaming into the harbor and decided to stay long enough to watch it pass under the Sydney Harbor Bridge.
Soon they could see the liner’s markings clearly. She was the P & O steamer Mooltan, at the end of her outward voyage from England via Port Said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Emma had worked out her plans for her dressmaking business down to the last detail. She had decided to call her company Sydney Styles. With almost three hundred pounds in her bank account, financing the venture was not the most immediate problem. And with Iris and Joan ready to assist, even to the extent of using their cottage as a workshop, experienced help and premises were not a problem either.
To get Sydney Styles off the ground, Emma knew that she needed orders and all the necessary equipment to fill them. She had carefully itemized the basic equipment requirements, but decided against laying out the money until she was sure she could bring in work. Like Mrs Shapiro in Armidale, she needed ongoing orders from satisfied customers, and because there was no room in her plans for middlemen, the work had to come directly from clothing retailers. Emma planned to accomplish that by offering higher quality garments at a slightly lower price.
Emma knew that to eliminate the middlemen, her business would need to be seen by the clothing stores as a legitimate and reliable supplier to the trade. To create the illusion, Emma ordered business cards for Sydney Styles printed in black ink on white card. Under her name the title 'Manageress' was printed, and below it, the types of work undertaken. Molly's address appeared at the bottom of the card, giving the impression that Sydney Styles operated from commercial premises.
> Even before the ink had dried on the cards, Emma donned her beige suit and, brimming with optimism, walked the streets of Sydney looking for business. After two weeks of persistently calling on large and small clothing retailers, all she had to show for her trouble was growing disillusionment and well-worn shoes. Emma hadn't foreseen how difficult it would be to see the store owners and managers. Only a few retailers would take the time to see a garment maker they'd never heard of and even fewer when they realized it was represented by a young woman. And the ones Emma did manage to see expressed no interest at all in changing from their current suppliers.
'You need to be buying, not selling, if you want to get anyone's attention in the stores these days, Emma,' Molly said philosophically, as she stood at the kitchen sink one night. 'They just don't want to know you unless you've got money to spend.'
Molly's words kept Emma awake in her bed for a long time that night. Perhaps there was a better way of getting people to listen to her. Gradually a plan formed in her mind. It was only when the plan became crystal clear that she finally fell asleep. The next morning Emma got off the tram at Castlereagh Street outside the main entrance to Bowes-Scott department store. It was her first call of the day and with her father's leather wallet in hand, she walked purposely through the main entrance and up to the second floor to a large display of Singer sewing machines.
A smiling shop assistant approached her. 'May I help you, madam?'
'Yes, I would like to speak to the manager of this department.' Emma handed the assistant her card.
The assistant looked at the card and smiled apologetically. 'I'm afraid that won't be possible, madam. He really is very busy.'
'Oh, how unfortunate.' Emma feigned disappointment. 'I had hoped to purchase a number of sewing machines this morning.'
The sales assistant took a renewed interest in Emma. 'Perhaps I can help.'
'Are you authorized to arrange a special price for a large order?' Emma asked.
The assistant hesitated. 'Well... no.'
'Then I'll have to slip over to the David Jones store across the street.'
'Oh please wait,' the assistant said. "I'll just take your card to my superior. 'Perhaps he can spare a moment.'
The assistant hurried away. She reappeared almost immediately with an officious-looking little man in a pinstriped suit. 'I'm the manager of this department,' the little man said. 'My assistant tells me you wish to purchase a number of sewing machines.'
'Yes,' Emma said, 'providing we can arrive at a suitable price and reciprocal trade arrangements.'
The department manager looked confused. He glanced down at Emma's card in his hand. 'But Miss McKenna, if your business manufactures garments commercially, surely you would purchase your machines from a wholesaler? The wholesale price would be considerably less than any price we could give you.'
'I am aware of that,' Emma said. 'But sewing machine wholesalers are not in the business of retail clothing, so consequently they are unable to offer the reciprocal trade I mentioned a moment ago.'
The manager still looked confused. 'What exactly do you have in mind, madam?'
'I am ready to pay cash today for six of your best table sewing machines, complete with all the latest attachments and all necessary ancillary equipment. And I am prepared to pay a higher price than I would pay at the wholesalers, providing I receive a reciprocal order from your clothing department. Emma opened her brown leather wallet and drew out a sheet of paper. 'I have taken the liberty of drawing up a pricelist for the manufacture of the standard range of men's shirts and ladies' blouses presently on sale in your stores around the city.'
The department manager took the list from Emma and ran his eyes over it. He shook his head slowly. 'Really, this is most unusual. I'm afraid only our store manager, Mr Postlewaite, could authorize such an arrangement.'
'May I speak with him then?' Emma asked
'I'll see if he is available, Miss McKenna,' the manager said unenthusiastically. He walked away and Emma was beginning to wonder if he was ever coming back when he finally returned with a grey-haired man who introduced himself as Mr Postlewaite, the store manager.
'Our department manager has explained your proposal to me, Miss McKenna,' Postlewaite said congenially. 'He advises me that you wish to make a cash purchase valued at close to two hundred pounds. It is an order we would be very happy to fill. In turn, we are prepared take a provisional order for making standard Bowes-Scott ladies blouses with you at your quoted price, subject only to delivery arrangements and our minimum quality standards.
Emma tried hard to conceal her joy. 'A provisional order, Mr Postlewaite. In what quantity?'
'Shall we say a hundred dozen, Miss McKenna, at nine shillings a dozen.'
*
Stephen and Eleanor made their home in Kirribilli on the north shore of Sydney Harbor, in an old sprawling two storey house which was a wedding gift from Eleanor’s father. Eleanor said it would be ideal for them, far enough away to avoid unannounced visits from family living on the south shore, but with the advantage of the city being so accessible as soon as the harbor bridge was opened. Their Kirribilli address also had the prestige of being within walking distance of the Australian Prime Minister’s official Sydney residence.
Interior decorators had restored all of the eleven rooms in the charming old residence to their original splendor. And just days before the couple returned, each room had been filled with elegant furniture, hand-picked by Eleanor from the Bowes-Scott flagship department store on Castlereagh Street.
The morning after they arrived home, Stephen left Eleanor discussing the rearrangement of furniture and household requirements with their housekeeper and caught the ferry to Circular Quay, anxious to report back to his law office just as soon as he could.
Shortly after five o’clock, Stephen left his office to attend a meeting of the New Guard at a disused warehouse in nearby Wooloomooloo.
When he arrived, he was taken by the officer who led the aborted armory raid to a back room where Captain Francis De Groot, the Zone Commander, was conferring with a handful of other officers.
Francis Edward De Groot was a slight, balding antique dealer in his mid-fifties. Of Irish-Dutch extraction, he had served in the British Army during the Great War and migrated to Australia in 1920. A dedicated New Guardsman, fierce anti-Bolshevik, and avowed foe of Premier Lang, De Groot specialized in leading New Guardsmen in violent skirmishes with communists at political rallies around the city.
‘It's good to see you,’ De Groot said when Stephen entered the room. ‘I understand you visited Italy on your honeymoon. You have been fortunate to experience Mr Mussolini’s new Italy first hand.’
Stephen saluted. ‘It was an eye-opener, Commander. What has been accomplished in Italy in such a short time is to be applauded.’
‘With men such as yourself, dedicated to the eradication of communism and good, time-honored Anglo-Saxon virtues, there’s no reason why the New Guard cannot effect similar changes here in Australia,’ De Groot said. He smiled generously and gestured with a wave of his hand to the men assembled in the small room. ‘That is why you have been selected to serve with these gentlemen on my special operations team.’
*
Emma's euphoria over her success at the Bowes-Scott department store was soon clouded by a nagging worry that she might not be able to deliver the goods on time. But Bill somehow managed to quickly cram all the equipment she had bought into Joan and Iris's cottage. When everything was set up and ready to go, there was hardly room to move.
Another worry was that a condition of the provisional order called for the first ten dozen blouses to be sent into the store for quality inspection before any work commenced on the balance. Emma knew if any of the garments failed the test, she could be left with a house full of expensive equipment and no work, so she paid particular attention to every detail of manufacture to ensure the end product was of the highest standard.
When the ten dozen blouses were finish
ed, Emma delivered them personally, then went home to await Postlewaite's comments after the blouses had been inspected by the clothing department manager.
'The quality of the work you have put into these blouses is some of the best we have ever seen in this store, Miss McKenna,' Postlewaite said, when Emma called back the next day. 'Please deliver the balance of the order just as soon as possible. In the meantime, if your prices remain unchanged, I will arrange for regular monthly orders to be placed with you.
*
Despite the mountain of work which now faced Sydney Styles, Emma, Bill and Christopher joined the huge throng of excited revelers flocking into the city on Saturday, March 19, for the official opening of the Sydney Harbor Bridge. Bill insisted they board an early train to get a bird's eye view of the proceedings.
They were standing behind a barricade very close to the ceremonial ribbon when the time neared for Premier Lang and his official party to commence the opening ceremony. Only specially invited state and civic officials, senior police officers, newspaper reporters and a Movietone News team stood any closer.
A military band struck 'God Save the King' and the crowds on the bridge sang loudly. As the strains of the anthem faded, the clatter of hooves signaled the approach of Governor-General Sir Isaac Issacs and the official party, escorted by a contingent of the Australian Light Horse in their distinctive uniforms. Memories of her father filled Emma's mind.
Behind the Light Horse troop came a single rider who didn't appear to be part of the official escort. He was a slight, middle-aged man in a military uniform and had a sabre hanging at his side. But the uniform was not a Light Horse uniform and Emma though that the horse he rode looked more like a racehorse than a waler.
On the roadway behind the rider, six young men in civilian clothes walked in single file beside the barricades restraining the crowds. Emma took them to be plain-clothes policemen. When the last man walked by Emma, she thought he looked familiar, although she couldn't see his face. He was no more than six feet away when he turned his head towards her. Emma thought her heart would stop when she saw his face. It was Stephen.
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