Jack says this is a good thing as I’ll always be able to travel half-price on the train. I’m not sure this is something to aim for.
Pa said I take after Grandma. She was little but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a terror, he said.
Nurse Penny also brought me a mirror.
Mum’s going to have a fit when she sees my hair. I like it, though.
‘Short is coming into fashion,’ said Nurse Penny as she made me lean over before starting me on 100 strokes. ‘And why would you want to drag all those lovely curls into plaits. It’ll be much easier to look after, believe me.’
You couldn’t see her hair under her cap but I suspected it wasn’t short.
I settled into a routine. First thing each morning, dressed in my new warm pink dressing gown, with little bunnies, for goodness sake, around the collar, my feet in matching warm felt slippers, I’d make my way slowly down the duckboards to the latrine to empty my pot and my bladder. If I’d lasted through the night I’d go a little faster, because I needed to and because I didn’t have to carry a slopping smelly old pot.
On my way back to my room I dropped into the scullery for a jug of hot water to take back with me. It was too cold for a real wash, so I rubbed around the bits that could be seen before putting on one of my new dresses. They didn’t have bunnies on them, thank goodness, but one was pink and the other was pale yellow, which is almost as bad as pink. Both had lots of tucks and frills I could have done without.
Every morning I washed the day before’s bloomers and socks before tipping the basin out over the verandah.
I was ready for breakfast.
Breakfast was with Cook in the kitchen where it was warm and smelt of the bread just out of the oven. There was porridge with a spoonful of honey in it. The milk was fresh and creamy. Sometimes, if you were awake very early in the morning, you’d hear the boy from the nearby farm gently flicking the reins on his horse’s rump and talking to it to help it up the gravelly road outside the hospital. He’d leave a full churn by the gate and take away yesterday’s empty one.
He reminded me of Pa with Bessie as they set off each day on their rounds. Oh, I missed them.
Cook wanted me out of the way once he started properly on the day. Said I got under his feet and the kitchen was nowhere as big as the Savoy’s, which is where he would have been working if they’d kept his job open like they promised.
‘On the sunny side,’ Cook went on to say, ‘it’s a good sight better than most of the kitchens I’ve worked in over the past few years. And I don’t have to worry about moving it all the time, or having it blown up.’
I was agog. That’s a word they use a lot in the penny dreadfuls.
Cook looked at me and made his voice scary,. ‘It was a dark, quiet night and we’d – me and my helpers – gone outside for a quick smoko when, all of a sudden we heard a plane coming over.’ He laughed and changed his voice. ‘Just as well we all scarpered ’cos the blighter managed to drop his bomb right on top of the kitchen tent. Blew up my oven, he did. I’d spent weeks hammering out all the tin cans I could scrounge. I was right miffed, I can tell you.’
Each morning, Cook got me to drop a breakfast tray into Matron’s office before I went back to my room. She always had a piece of fresh buttery bread with a boiled egg sitting in an eggcup with a napkin wrapped around it to keep it warm.
Cook and I timed it so she’d just got back from her early round.
‘Works to a strict timetable,’ he told me when I asked how he knew when she’d be there.
I came back to the kitchen for lunch and for tea. It was the warmest place in the whole camp and I stayed as long as I could before Cook sent me on my way again.
Once, on my way back from the kitchen at the end of the day, a kangaroo – it was small enough that it could have been a wallaby – hopped into the cleared patch outside my room. I watched it as it munched leaves and grass until a bell rang from the kitchen and the kangaroo – or wallaby – jumped away.
Sister Matthews said she’d bet there would be dugites around when the weather heated up. I imagined them slithering over the hard, baked red clay and ironstone pebbles that made it easy to fall over if you weren’t careful. I know this because one Sunday last summer Pa had stood up after breakfast and said, ‘We need a break, Liz (that’s what he calls my mum). Pack up a few sandwiches and we’ll be off to Greenmount.’
All of us – Pa, Mum, Martha, Jack and me – walked down to the station, Pa and Jack carrying the laundry basket between them full of food including last night’s leftover steam pudding and two big bunches of grapes just picked from our vines. Folded over the top was the old blanket off Jack’s bed. Just after the train started up Greenmount Pa pointed out the old Blackboy campsite – ‘Your dad trained there before he went over East to finish up.’
We got off at the next stop and walked from the tiny station to the rock pool.
Pa, Mum and Martha fussed around sorting themselves out while Jack and me took our boots off and climbed over the rocks and paddled in the creek down from the pool. Jack was after gilgies but we couldn’t find any, no matter how hard we prodded the edges of the creek and turned over the dead leaves at the bottom. The water was so clear it was hard to tell how deep it was and even though I had my dress bunched up it got a bit wet. ‘More like drenched,’ Mum said when we came back for lunch.
While we were eating our picnic, a snake slithered from the bush behind us. Jack jumped up to chase it off, but Pa stopped him. ‘Let it be,’ he said. ‘This is its place.’
Later, when Jack and me were playing chasey, I skidded on the pebbles and skinned my knee. ‘It’s alright, Nellie,’ Martha said as she washed the blood off in the creek and made sure no dirt was left in the raw bit. ‘It’s only a graze and the stinging will stop soon.’ She looked to see if Mum was listening and whispered, ‘And, look, you’ve given me an excuse to take off my boots and have a paddle too. It’s heavenly, isn’t it?’
She used Pa’s big handkerchief as a bandage and when I put my stockings back on the bandage stayed in place under them.
That’s how I knew about the pebbles. It was Pa who told me they were ironstone, and when I was talking to Nurse Matthews I remembered how close Blackboy Hill was to the park and how the soil would be the same.
So, you see, I know about snakes and hot, hard clay and tiny rolling stones.
SISTER MATTHEWS POPPED HER HEAD AROUND THE door, her large, happy mouth smiling at my good luck to be going home.
‘Your dad’s with Matron signing you out. Everything packed?’
I pointed to the big brown paper bag next to me on the bed. It held my nightdress and Nurse Penny’s sister’s clothes. I was wearing the ones that’d arrived in the post yesterday. My stockings had been darned. Mum must have taken them out of my old work pillowcase and done them herself. Auntie Em had shortened one of Mary’s old frocks for me and taken it in a bit. It felt better than the pink frills. My old boots still pinched, so I was wearing my new ones from Nurse Penny. I know Mum wouldn’t approve of charity but I do if it means being able to walk easy.
‘Let’s be off, then.’
Matron’s offsider met us at the door to the office. ‘For some reason,’ she said to Sister Matthews, ‘Matron has taken Nell’s father down to the cookhouse. They’ve only just left so you’ll probably catch them if you hurry.’
Sister Matthews smiled. ‘I bet I know what they’re up to. No need to hurry, Nell.’
We dawdled down the path, and when we got there she looked at her watch and said, ‘We’ve a few minutes. Why don’t we wait here to let them have a little more time?’
We sat on Cook’s bench outside. It was where he went when he ‘needed some peace and quiet’. Now I know why he had placed it there. You could hear just about everything going on inside. What a sneak.
The clink of china told us Cook was putting cups and saucers on the big table. He must have got out his good set just for Dad.
‘… so grateful it is
over,’ Matron was saying. ‘But then I am proud to have been there. And I wouldn’t have missed France and England for anything. Even under those conditions. Do you remember the colours? The greenness of it all. The rich soils. The carpets of flowers. My father would have given anything for soil like that.
‘I can still remember the glory of watching my first lark spring from the ground and sing all the way to the heavens.’
‘Some claimed you could hear them even over bombardments,’ answered a voice that must have been my dad’s. ‘Can’t see it myself. No self-respecting bird would be anywhere near a battlefield. And if it was silly enough to come over, nothing could be heard over the guns.’
‘It’s a nice story, though,’ said Cook.
‘We needed nice stories,’ agreed Matron. ‘Too many of the other. I spent two years in advance clearing centres. We were shelled a few times and I’ve never been so frightened in my life. The constant booming of the guns wore one down.
‘But you’d know that,’ said Matron stirring her tea.
‘Yes, we all knew that,’ said Dad.
‘And yet, you know,’ said Matron, ‘I still miss it. We were all so happy when it was over, but then I began to miss the sense of being really useful, of sometimes making a difference. I loved those boys, you know.’
Then she laughed, the first laugh I’d ever heard from her. ‘I don’t miss the lice, though, the cold, the mud, the sheer tiredness. And,’ she added so quietly I almost missed it, ‘the awfulness of it, the thousands that had no chance … You know, when there was a push on, the world seemed to consist of nothing but suffering. I heard the saw all night through my dreams for weeks. And there was a time when I thought I’d smell forever of gas gangrene, or mustard gas.
‘But then there were the days off and they were gifts to be treasured.’
‘Well, Tom, you were one of our treasures,’ said Dad. ‘Those hot canisters arriving in the middle of bombardments while we waited to hop over made all the difference. We always hoped they’d be from your kitchen. Something really special about them.’
‘Herbs,’ replied Cook. ‘If you looked around, just about everywhere there were herbs gone wild. That’s what made the difference. At first I spent most of my off-time searching old gardens and scrounging eggs and whatever I could. After a while I had my own herbs growing in tins, but I still kept an eye out for what was around.’
Sister Matthews looked at her watch and knocked on the door.
Matron waved us in and turned to Dad. ‘I’d like you to meet Matthews. She was in France, too.’
Dad held out his hand, at the same time saying, ‘I bet you’re pleased to be home.’
Sister Matthews smiled. ‘We all are. Though I’m with Matron in missing a lot of it … and trying to forget the worst of it. But I don’t know how you forget that.’
‘I don’t think you can,’ said Dad.
Hearing the soft voice made Dad real again. It was a good voice. But I remembered where I’d heard it before and I wanted to cry.
No one had told me he was almost as tall as Pa, and as thin – thinner perhaps. And his photograph didn’t show that he had straight brownish hair like Martha’s. When he turned to me, his smile worked its way up to his eyes as he stretched his arms out to me. I squinted at him and stood still.
‘Nellie, how are you, love?’
Just a minute earlier I’d made up my mind I wasn’t going to talk to him, so I didn’t answer. And I refused to look at him too.
Matron’s feet in her strong hospital shoes came to stand next to Dad’s old black best shoes. When Dad left, Pa had dubbined them to stop them cracking and he blacked and shined them up every month for the whole time Dad was away. ‘Have to feed leather,’ he said as he brushed away.
‘Have you got everything, Nell?’ Matron said briskly. ‘You’ll miss the train if you don’t get moving.’
‘Ready?’ asked Dad. Like a gentleman with a grown-up lady, he held his hand out to take my paper bag and save me the effort of carrying it.
I hung onto it.
Sister Matthews butted in. ‘It’s a fair walk to the station for Nell and we’ve left it a bit tight. Would you like a lift? It won’t take a moment to organise.’
Dad started to refuse but he must have had a good look at me. ‘I suppose it could be tiring. Thank you, we’d be grateful.’
We waited in silence, Dad and Matron standing quietly, me sitting, until Sister Matthews came back in and announced that the truck was there. Dad unfolded the blanket he was carrying and, using it like a shawl, covered my head and wrapped it around my body.
Matron stepped forward and put her arm around my shoulders. ‘Nell,’ she whispered, ‘you have a dad, a fine dad. You’re lucky. Don’t be silly, now.’
She turned to Dad and out of the corner of my eye I saw her hold out her hand to him and as they shook hands she told him what a great pleasure it had been to meet him and how she hoped all would be well in time. Cook also held out his hand and Dad said quietly, ‘It’s been a privilege to meet you.’ Nurse Matthews looked as if she wanted to hug him but settled for a handshake too.
All four of them smiled and it seemed as if they were really old friends rather than just having met.
‘Time to go, Nell,’ Dad said, and, eyes down, ignoring his held-out arm, I walked out into the small clearing. The rain had stopped, though the trees still dripped. The sky was a watered-down grey. A truck that had seen better days chugged at the end of the wooden ramp that led down from the cookhouse verandah, little puffs of smoke coming from the pipe at the back. The man behind the wheel leaned over and pushed the door open.
On the short drive – I could have walked it easily – he asked questions across me at Dad. He didn’t seem to mind that the answers were brief: ‘You the bloke that won that medal? Where were you? How long there? Many come home with you?’ Pulling up at the small station sitting alongside the rail track, he delivered his summing up, ‘It was a bugger, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Dad, leaning back into the cab to shake his hand, elbowing me to join him in thanking the man for his kindness in dropping us off, ‘it was.’
WE WENT THROUGH THE GATE ONTO THE PLATFORM and there, as a surprise, was my grandfather sitting on the bench talking to the ticket collector. Both of them stood up. Pa, even though he didn’t stand as straight as the other man, towered over him. Still sun-brown even though it was winter, wrinkles under bright blue eyes and white thin hair on top, he held out his arms, and, as I rushed into them, I caught him looking over my shoulder at Dad.
‘Oh, Nellie,’ Pa said, ‘you don’t know how wonderful it is to see you. Let’s have a look at you.’ And holding me off at the end of his arms he tipped the blanket off my head and looked me up and down. Mum says I look sallow if I’m not well. Well, I must have looked very sallow judging by Pa’s expression. Then, ‘What a scarecrow!’ Pa laughed. ‘And you’ve got a scarecrow’s haircut. Your mum’s going to have her work cut out building you up again. Still, if anyone can, it’s her. Good to see your dad, eh?’
‘No,’ I whispered, burrowing into him again.
‘How can you say that, Nell,’ Pa whispered back, shocked. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say. Your mum’d be most upset to hear you say that.’
Mum?
‘Where is Mum?’ I was still whispering, trying not to catch Dad’s attention.
Pa straightened himself up. ‘We thought it best for me and your dad to come. Your mum’s got things to do at home. You can’t believe how much she’s looking forward to seeing you.’ And he wrapped his arms around me again.
The man clipped our tickets with a comment on the weather and aimed a jolly ‘You must be glad to be heading home?’ at me. Another elbow – this time Pa’s – and another ‘Yes, thank you’. Pa held me tight, listening to Dad over my head.
‘Just like any army hospital really,’ Dad was saying. ‘Bit grim. Nurses were all right though. Matron’s a good sort. She was in France and knew what she w
as about. Told me she’d nursed lots of blokes with the flu and had worked out a few tricks. I reckon she saved Nell.’
‘That’s not right,’ I thought. ‘Dad’s making an excuse for what he did.’
Dad’s soft, gentle voice went on, ‘But the amazing thing was meeting Tom Warding. Fancy the bloke who fed an army cooking in a small hospital outside Perth. I’d heard in France that the staff officers tried to get him to move to their kitchen but he refused. Wouldn’t even go to cook for Billy Hughes when he visited. Said he’d be better off knowing what it was really like.
‘We weren’t the only ones Matron wrote to, you know. She writes to all the families of her patients. Said it worried her in France that there were all those boys damaged or dying and their families didn’t know what was happening to them. She wrote to as many as she could, she said, but there were so many she couldn’t get through them all – even though she sat up each night till two or three in the morning.
‘It’s a bloody cold place, though.’
Pa nodded towards me.
‘Sorry, forgot,’ said Dad. ‘Bound to be cold in the hills this time of year.’
A train clanked up to the small platform in a mist of cloud and soft rain. Dad found an empty carriage and ushered Pa and me inside before he shouted goodbye to the station master, jumped in and slammed the door shut.
It was a heavy door and the sound of it closing was satisfyingly loud.
Pa and Dad cleared their throats at the same time before Dad held up his hand at Pa and faced me.
‘We’re not going to keep this up, Nellie. Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll sort it out.’
Silence.
‘Is it me?’
Silence.
War's End Page 2