One Place

by Cara Shaw

  After Calais, the Australian and New Zealand soldiers were sent to join the British Expeditionary Force at Passchendale, Belgium. Here human beings were carelessly slaughtered over the loss and gain of a few yards surrounded by muddy ditches, which the generals – commissioned from the aristocracy, perceived as no more than a game of high stakes. The conflict raged around Ypres which was the main town in Belgium. It was held by the allies who defended it in order to maintain their position of defence against the Germans. Thousands died over small advances near the front; while whole villages fled their homes, farms and businesses, leaving behind hollow shells where explosives had demolished houses and ruined town squares.

  One of these villages was Hollebeke, where Maria had been billeted with two other volunteer nurses upon arriving from Italy. Nearly two years ago she had stepped off the train and walked down the quaint streets, marvelling at the flat low-lying land that was so different from the hilly terrain in her own country. The war had not begun in earnest and Hollebeke, still standing, was quite picturesque, with white painted dwellings and planter boxes fronting the shops which bloomed with daffodils and tulips. Maria had inhaled deeply the fresh wholesome air that blew in from the ocean unimpeded by high-growing trees and mountains. At the time there were few people about and she hurried along nervously, looking for the church that was the landmark for her billet. She found it standing squarely in a pretty overgrown garden, arched timber doors firmly closed. As instructed she followed a path to the rear of the building and found a tiny cottage, which she knew to be a converted gardener’s hut to house the volunteers.

  The door was ajar and she knocked on it tentatively.

  An exhausted looking young woman appeared, and she smiled,

  “Bonjour, vous etes Maria?” she said.

  “Oui,” answered Maria gratefully and the girl ushered her inside.

  “Voudrais vous une cafe?” she inquired.

  “Oui si vous plait!” Maria exclaimed, because of the war she had not had coffee for months, and the girl opened the cast iron door of the wood stove, tossed in some kindling and put a kettle on the hob.

  They chatted for a while. The girl’s name was Yvette and she was French. She had volunteered because her two brothers and her father had joined up, and her conscience would not allow her to stay at home any longer. Her mother had moved in with her aunt, and after that Yvette travelled to Hollebeke to work in the hospital. The other girl who lived there, Jeanette, was on a shift, and Yvette had just come off her eight hours and was about to go to bed. Maria felt uncomfortable; her arrival had prevented this poor young woman from going to sleep.

  “Je suis desole” she said.

  Yvette assured her she was fine, and that Jeanette would explain everything to her when she returned. She retired to a corner of the room where a sheet hung for privacy, and soon fell asleep. Maria looked around the hut – there was not much to see. Three cots had been crammed along the walls, and the wood stove stood in the centre of the room with the flue reaching through the roof. She wandered out to the garden that had been left to grow wild, and watched as a few butterflies flickered among the weeds. She sipped her coffee, and although very mild, it was a nice treat and a change from the weak tea and bitter cocoa she had been drinking at home due to war rations.

  Maria had a reason for being there, she had fled her comfortable family home when she had just turned eighteen, to avoid a marriage that her parents had practically insisted upon. The man in question was a local wine maker, older than she and very well set up. His name was Vito Pallegrini and she had known him since she was a child. Maria had two older brothers – both whom had married well, and as the last in the family she was expected to make a good alliance. She didn’t mind Vito, who was kindly and not even that bad looking, it was just that she did not want to marry him – under any circumstances. The situation had grown difficult when she had begun to avoid his visits and attended the war effort meetings at their local town hall instead.

  One evening after a confrontation with her father, she announced that she had volunteered to be a nurse at the front, and that she was leaving the next day. Her parents were confounded as this was not what they had expected at all. Her mother was secretly proud of her, and her father was profoundly disappointed. There was not much they could do, other than locking her up or disowning her – which was unthinkable to them.

  “You will never find another man like Vito,” her father had shouted, large belly heaving, “There are many young women who would have him just like that,” he snapped his fingers loudly in the air.

  Let them have him she had thought rebelliously, not anticipating at all the grim realities she would have to face as a nurse in a military hospital. Her father, a reasonably well-off wheat farmer, had driven her to the train station in the estate buggy, and waited on the platform with her until the train pulled in. She turned to say good-bye to him and he suddenly enveloped her in a hug, something he had not done since she was twelve years old.

  He pressed three hundred lire into her hand and murmured, “Please be careful cara, our lives would not be the same without you.”

  She began to cry, and wondered if she had made the right choice after all. It was too late now, and she climbed into her carriage and watched her father through the window, who stood very still on the platform while the train rumbled away. Since then two years passed in a frantic blur, Jeanette the other nurse who lived at the billet, left not long after Maria arrived. Maria did meet her eventually, and was rankly shocked at her appearance. She was thin and yellow, with black circles around her eyes. Jeanette had contracted hepatitis from handling the soldiers’ waste, and was leaving to try and recuperate in Switzerland.

  “If I stay here I will die,” she had said quietly to Maria. Jeanette left shortly after and Maria never heard from her again – she never knew if the poor young women had survived or not.

  During that two years her innocence completely disappeared, and not only in the filthy cockroach ridden wards. Yvette began bringing men back to the cottage regularly, having lost her sense of propriety after witnessing all kinds of horrors on operating tables and witnessing death around her every day. She craved affection and consolation and to Maria, it was clear what was going on behind the shabby curtain in the ramshackle cottage. Over time Yvette became silent and when her belly began to grow, she packed her bags and left, returning to live with her mother and aunt in France, leaving behind her address, and an invitation to Maria to visit one day. After she went Maria was left all alone, so she scrubbed the cottage from top to bottom and sponged down two of the mattresses and put them out into the garden to bleach in the sun. When they were dry she brought them back in and pushed the cots together to make one bed, and turned the other one around to serve as a lounge. She had lost touch with the agency that had been responsible for finding and billeting the volunteers months earlier. She survived on the meals she was given at the hospital, and the food she was entitled to with the tickets issued to her by the rations officer. She still had some of the money her father had given her, and grateful soldiers would often give her what they had to thank her for her care. Money was next to useless in this upside-down world, and only served for obtaining outrageously priced goods from the black market – that is when they were actually available.

  She had stopped crying after the first six months, finding that to remain detached was the only way she could get through her day. She did everything she was asked to at the hospital, and was careful to keep her person scrupulously clean, washing down every evening with lavender oil and hot water, and scrubbing her hands and nails with old bits of towel and slivers of soap. She followed her mother’s example in this regard, who ran the family-owned wheat farm with military precision. This included looking after the estate animals and maintaining their health. Maria reasoned that this approach was the best way to guard against contracting disease as Jeanette had, and was rigorously discipline
d in her personal hygiene. She drew the line at assisting in the operating theatres, any request that was made to her of this nature was met with a flat no; she was not willing to put herself through it and she left that job to the male orderlies.

  This was how Maria came to be in Ypres, and now a part of her had lost sense of who she really was – and what she was doing in this terrible place. She knew that the most sensible solution would be to return to Italy and live on the estate with her parents; except she was now bound by a strong sense of duty to help the unfortunate victims of war who were wounded and dying. She glanced up at Robbie striding beside her, obviously lost in his thoughts. She had been educated at the local convent until she was fourteen, and it was there that she had learnt English, her French she had picked up firstly from a phrase book, then by listening to others. She had a vague idea where Australia was, although she could not reconcile Robbie’s appearance with the other English soldiers that she had met. The main difference was of course the colour of his skin, which was a dark caramel. His black brows were heavy and his lips very full. His eyes were dark brown; with the longest, blackest eyelashes she had ever seen. He was tall and very thin, and his hands were huge. His black curly hair was like that of the young Italian lads at home, and she had often stroked it when he was asleep in his cot. When she was around him she felt a longing she couldn’t identify, and she felt strongly that she wanted to protect him. She would never have allowed the French doctor to remove him from the hospital and in fact, she felt she would never allow anyone to take him away from her. Robbie, walking beside her, felt quite relaxed, he was comfortable with Maria and he had a sense that he was safe. He wondered about the rest of his regiment, all of which had been absorbed into the British Forces. He wasn’t even sure that anybody knew who or where he was, in the meantime he was aware that he had narrowly escaped something dark and menacing.

  When they approached the church, Robbie was taken aback.

  “You live here?” he asked incredulously.

  “No,” Maria laughed. “Around the back.”

  He followed her down the path and through the door of the cottage that was of course, unlocked.

  “Wait,” she said, and stopped to light the lamp that sat on the table. She then knelt down to retrieve some kindling from a basket and opened the stove door to shove them in. She found a bit of scrap material and soaked it in kerosene and tossed it in with a match.

  “It won’t take long to warm up,” she said, and went over to a box that sat on one of the low shelves next to a sink and pump.

  Robbie looked around the cottage and saw that there was not much to it, a low bed in the corner, table and chairs, a sink with a bench and a timber floor. He sat down on one of the chairs, suddenly tired and watched while Maria bustled about. She took down two plates from a shelf and cut up some apples and cheese, then pumped water into two ceramic mugs over an old sink. She brought the meal over and sat it down on the table.

  “That is all I have I’m afraid,” and she smiled apologetically.

  He looked at her and saw that she was tired, her face was drawn and there were shadows beneath her eyes.

  “It’s just like being at home,” he said, and began to eat.

  When they had finished they sat sipping their water, both trying to calm down after their hasty departure from the hospital.

  “I haven’t thanked you yet Maria,” said Robbie, and he reached over the table and touched her hand. “Thank you.”

  Maria blushed, “I think your feeling may have been right. I do not like that doctor; he is very hard on the patients. There was no reason for him to take you away when others need help so badly.”

  Maria was understating the facts. She thought the doctor’s behaviour towards the patients was despicable; he treated them as subjects rather than people, and was often remiss in giving pain relief. She had seen the way he had looked at Robbie, with a certain fascinated gleam in his eye that she had felt was alarming.

  Robbie nodded, “It does happen sometimes, people are curious about me. I am an Aboriginal person, my people are not English, we are called the Duradjuri,” he felt a surge of pride rush through him as he said the word, and smiled at her with a flash of his beautiful white teeth.

  “I thought you are Australian…what is it, Aboriginal?” She was very confused.

  “Maria, we are a different group of people to the English. One hundred years ago they came to our country in ships, and saw that our way life was good and that there was plenty to go around. At first we shared everything with them, then they became greedy started killing people and stealing our land.”

  Maria was shocked. “You mean they come and take? Like someone would just take my father’s farm for example?” She could not believe it.

  “Yes that’s right love. Then when my people fought back they rounded us up and put us on what they call missions that were run by priests. Later on everyone wanted to be back on their land, so we ran away and went to live in a camp by the river. That’s where my home is now.”

  Maria couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “But why?” she asked earnestly.

  Robbie decided to tell her the truth. “Because our skin is a different colour; because my people are black,” he gazed past her sadly, suddenly missing everyone at home very badly. He swallowed hard.

  “They did all this because… you have a different skin colour? This cannot be real!” Maria was incredulous.

  “It’s bloody real alright,” said Robbie solemnly.

  “Then why are you here, why you fight for them?” She was angry now, and banged her fist on the table.

  He grinned at her, this pretty young girl getting all fired up, puffing out her chest and defending him.

  “I need a wage Maria, I have to help to provide for my family, and myself, and this was the only way I could get one.”

  “So there is no work for you in the country where you live?” Maria questioned.

  Robbie laughed grimly, “Oh, there’s plenty of work. Just no pay.”

  “No, no Robbie, you must be wrong. To work for someone with no pay is…”

  “Yes Maria I know. It’s slavery,” he said

  She sat in stunned silence. How could this be? She knew that they were immersed in middle of a terrible war, but slavery? In these modern times? She shook her head.

  “Maria,” Robbie leaned towards her.

  “Yes?” replied Maria, very seriously.

  “Love, I’ve got to go to sleep, I’m bloody tired,” and they both laughed.

  “Yes, of course, sleep here,” she showed him the single cot, and he laid down the blanket and kit bag, then he took off his jacket. He sat down on the bed and removed his boots.

  “I’m sorry, it’s just… “ he laid down on the bed and closed his eyes and sighed loudly.

  “No, it’s fine. You rest,” she said. He was already asleep, she placed the blanket over him and a spare. He’ll be warm enough she thought, the room has heated up now, and she too prepared for bed.

  Robbie dreamt long and hard. As soon as he had fallen asleep he had the sensation of falling, and then he was sitting upright next to a campfire. There were people sitting on the ground and they were naked. An older woman with grey curly hair and a beautiful face was busy making something, reaching down to her coolamon now and again for the materials. He looked more closely, it was a necklace or belt, and she was weaving trinkets in and around the fibre. One of the trinkets was a small white cowrie shell, that’s funny he thought, you never find those around here, she must have traded for it. Next to her was a young woman, so slender and pretty he couldn’t take his eyes from her, she was nursing a baby and holding it closely to her breast while she poked at the fire with a stick.

  Two little girls ran around and around the fire, naked, their faces grubby and wreathed in smiles. A man was there also, sitting, and now and then he would reach out
a sneaky hand to snatch at the girls who ran away screaming each time.

  You are a bunyip! bunyip! they shouted.

  The man growled through his long beard, eyes playfully fierce behind his bushy brow. Robbie observed him. He was covered in scarification and when he laughed, he could see that one of his front teeth was missing. His hair, streaked with grey, hung down to his shoulders, his physique – Robbie had never seen anything like it. His body looked as if it was made from rock, and his hard muscles were clearly visible under the thin taught skin.

  His hands were huge – as were his feet, which were gnarled and calloused. He laughed a full belly laugh every time one of the little girls slipped through his grasp, which made his wife – Robbie assumed that’s who she was, giggle helplessly. The older one was immersed in her work, and didn’t pay any attention to the family game. The younger woman poked at the fire again, and Robbie could see that she was roasting yams, something Robbie had eaten only rarely at home. The women sometimes found them, and brought them back to the camp to cook only when they were in season. He was thinking about the sweet taste, when one of the little girls stopped suddenly and looked him straight in the eye. She ran to her father and pointed at him.

  “Spirit here Daddy,” and she climbed into his lap and hid her face in fear. The other little girl also came to sit beside her father, and was very still.

  The man looked in the direction where his daughter had indicated and said, “Don’t worry, an ancestor has come to visit. He probably wants to camp and rest with us for a while,” he stroked the smaller girl’s head. Again he looked in Robbie’s direction, “Welcome to country. Please stay at our camp as long as you like,” and he smiled.

  Robbie felt a wave of peace pass over him, and he did stay, watching while the young mother took the baked yams from the coals, and the family ate them greedily. The older woman rose and left, and the rest of the group curled up together to rest in the warm evening. Robbie too felt his eyes close and he dozed by the fire, relishing the feeling of being part of a family group with his own people.