Eternal Love

by Max Howell

  “Terry, knowing you, if you set your mind to it I know you will do it.”

  “Listen, son, I set my mind to it years ago, but you need a fair bit of dough, and you do not make enough in this coaching racket. We get chickenfeed, son, chickenfeed. Anyhow, enough of my dreams … you will not let your old coach down in America, will you, son?”

  “You know I will do my best.”

  “I know that, and listen, give my regards to Mark. You two were the best I ever had. Did I ever tell you the time Mark won the Olympic 100?

  “Only about a thousand times, Mr. Somerville. I know every metre of that race.”

  “That is the trouble with the ageing process, son. You keep repeating yourself.” He got out of the chair and shook Murray’s hand. “You and Mark, well, you are the best two I ever had, and it does my old bones good to know I helped Mark, and now Mark is going to help you. You sort of hope you will pass on the torch in life, that it is carried on from one person to another. I feel I can rest happy with you two.”

  “You make it sound like the end of your life.”

  “Of course it is not. But the Baths are coming down, you are off to America, and I figure that the timing is right.”

  “What are you going to do with yourself?”

  “Well, in the winter I plan to watch the Rugby Union. I have always been a fan of the ‘Wicks’, so I do not have too far to go as their grounds are only about one hundred yards away from the Aquarium. I remember the days of Cyril Towers, what a beauty he was, maybe the greatest centre Australia ever produced, and Keith Windon, a pre-war breakaway who could canter with the best. The only one I saw better was his brother Col, who started on the wing for Randwick and finished up as a breakaway, and then there was Arthur Buchan, the best cover defender I ever saw. There was Brian Piper, what a full-back, and ‘Smiler’ Cremin, what hands he had. They just seemed to go and on producing great ones in the Club. The only thing I have ever objected to is when they changed the direction of the field. Imagine changing the direction! I used to love sitting in the stands and watching a try right in front of me, and you could watch the backs straighten up in the old days.

  “And in the summer? Well, I will be off to the Cricket Ground to watch the flannelled fools. Not that there has been much worth watching since Don Bradman, Stan McCabe and Bill O’Reilly. They just do not make them like they used to. The kids are getting too soft, they watch TV instead of getting out and playing. In my day, everyone played. Now, everyone watches. No wonder we are losing games to India, Pakistan and the West Indies.

  “Anyhow, that is what I will be doing. Maybe watch a swimming carnival or two, but that is about all. So tell Mark that if he ever comes back I will be either in the stands at Coogee Oval or on the hill at the Cricket Ground if he wants to see me. So good luck, son, work hard and give my best to Mark.” There was a catch in his voice as he shook Murray’s hand. “Yes … you two were sort of special. So look after yourself, son.”

  “Again, Mr. Somerville, thanks, thanks for everything, and Mum and Dad send their best wishes.”

  “Okay, now get off with you before I bloody well make a fool of myself and start bawling.”

  Murray turned away, surprised to see the eyes of his old coach clouding over. An old softy, that is what he is, but he sure had me scared for years, and as he walked away he wondered when and if he would see him again. It had been over six years since he first went to Terry on his Christmas holidays. It seemed such a long time ago.

  The following day Toch and Faith drove Murray out to Mascot Airport to catch his QANTAS flight to San Francisco, via Fiji and Honolulu. As they drove, Murray looked around with nostalgia at the places where his mother and father had taken him. Although Sydney was not where he was brought up, the city held marvellous memories for him, and he wondered when he would see it again. Would he, like Mark, never come back? He could not envisage that possibility. Australia was the greatest country in the world, and he loved the North Coast of NSW. Byron Bay was his favourite spot, closely followed by Nambucca Heads. He preferred the country to the city, and got almost claustrophobic when he went into the heart of Sydney and felt the people and the cars pressing in on him. So though he was fascinated with Sydney, he liked the solitude that there was at the family property, where he had a sense of belonging. The sight of the cockatoos, galahs and kookaburras would ever be part of his psyche.

  He noticed that his father was very quiet, and his mother sat with him in the back seat and nervously held his hand.

  “Now,” she said, “you have got all you need? Ticket? Passport? Money?”

  “Yes, Mum, I have got everything I need and I even brought paper and pen, so I could write you regularly.”

  “Once a week, and do not forget. You would not want your Mum upset, would you? Otherwise I will have to fly over to tell you a thing or two.”

  “Once a week, Mum, I promise.”

  “And I want to know everything, your swimming, the coach, your school-work, your friends. That way, it will be like us being there with you. Can you see that, son?”

  “Of course I can, Mum. Do not worry, I promise to do my share of writing. The only thing that scares me is that I think I will get homesick. I am going to be lost without you and Dad.”

  “No you will not. That is why I did not let you take a picture of your father and me. We want you to always love us as you do now, but we also want you to be independent of us.”

  “But not taking a photo, Mum, I still think that is pretty silly.”

  “Maybe, but we would rather you have our images in your mind, and it will make you think deeper about us. You will have to force yourself to remember what we look like.”

  “Come on, Mum, you will always look the same to me, though it is true I do not need a photograph of you to remember. You always were the most beautiful girl in Casino.

  Toch interrupted his driving and interjected jocularly: “Truest words you have ever spoken, son.”

  “I always said you two need to get your eyes tested,” said Faith, laughing.

  “And listen, Dad, in case I don’t get a chance at the airport, thanks for everything … I have really appreciated all you and Mum have done for me.”

  “For a minute I thought you were going to say I was the most beautiful man in Casino.”

  Mark laughed, and thought how nice it was that he could always talk in this relaxed way to his parents. “No I would not go that far,” replied Murray, “but I have never seen anyone ride a horse like you. It was as if you were made to ride a horse.”

  “Maybe because I am as dumb as a horse.”

  “You mean I got my brains from Mum?”

  “Not from me, that is for sure. But enough of this tomfoolery. Here is the airport. I will drop you and your Mum off with the luggage, and go park the car. Just look after yourself, son, that is all that we ask, and if you ever need anything, just call us, and we will do everything that we can.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Soon Murray was flying over the Pacific, his heart sad at leaving Australia and his parents, but excited because a new world was opening up. All his friends were envious that he was going to school in the United States, but he knew, as so many others had before him, that success and failure rested with himself. There was always the Aussie ‘knocker’, who tried to bring everyone down to a level of general mediocrity, and fundamentally hoped Murray would fail. In life, his mother had told him, you had only a few friends, and the supreme test was whether they would stick with you in times of adversity. He had not experienced too much of that himself, for his career was still on the rise, and many Australians had told him the ‘knockers’ only started when you got to the peak of your career. It was a bad aspect of Australian society, part of the convict culture and the mateship phenomenon, part of the egalitarian notion, that you had to pull everyone down to the same level. He once read the ‘Convict Oath.’

  Hand to hand,

  On Earth, in Hell,

  Sick or Well,


  On Sea, on Land,

  On the square, ever.

  …………………….

  Stiff or in Breath,

  Lag or Free,

  You and Me,

  In Life, in Death,

  On the Cross, never.

  This combination of sadness and excitement lasted with him as he waited for a short time in both Fiji and Hawaii. These one-hour stays allowed him to walk around the shops, surveying tourist offerings, but he learned nothing from the stays. Murray had read of the days of sea travel, and considered what it might have been like in those days. He had read much about the Pacific, but he saw nothing of it now. He wondered about the Cook Islands, the Fiji Islands, the Hawaiian Islands, Tahiti … they were all idealistic havens in his mind, but the jet plane was taking him over them, over ‘primitive’ societies that he would have loved to have seen. He saw, for the first time, the drawbacks of the technocratic life. You got there faster, but your experiences were limited. However Murray had never been on a major trip before, and enjoyed talking to people on the plane, and watching the QANTAS personnel go about their duties. He felt a certain amount of pride that Australia had its own airline, and that it was so efficient.

  He was tired as he walked off the plane from San Francisco, and hoped he would be met. He had seen many photographs of Mark Jamieson, but they were all when he was about his own age. He wondered whether he would be able to recognise him, and how American he might have become. He also wondered what he would do if no-one was there to see him.

  As he cleared the enclosed runway, he woke up in a hurry. There were signs everywhere, WELCOME TO THE USA, MURRAY, and WELCOME AUSSIE, and pom pom girls and a small band added to the welcome. A good-looking, grey-haired man stepped forward, and said: “I’m Mark. Welcome to the USA”

  “I just do not know what to say,” stammered Murray.

  “The same thing happened to me when I first arrived in the USA and I never forgot it. So I thought I should return the compliment if I ever got the chance. Now what do you want to call me, coach or Mark? I get both from the swim team.”

  “My Mum and Dad will kill me. I think they would want me to call you Mr Jamieson. But all I have ever heard from Terry is Mark this and Mark that. I have always called you Mark, so if it is not out-of-place I would prefer to do that.”

  “No, that is great. My coach was George Schroth, and I always called him Coach.”

  “Somehow coach sounds too American for me to handle. I will stick with Mark for a time and see how that goes.”

  The swim team came up and introduced themselves, and the band gave out with Californian songs. After that, they all retreated to Mark’s house for a spaghetti dinner. It was a great evening, reminiscent for Mark of his own welcome many years previously. Murray was taken aback by everything, but was secretly pleased and felt immediately at home.

  Mark told Murray that he had just moved into the house they were now in, near his old coach in the Berkeley Hills. “I figured I needed a little more room, and you will now have a bigger study area. It is also a lot more peaceful away from the main campus. Things have got a lot more hectic down there the last few years. There are a lot of high school drop-outs and drug addicts, and they virtually created a new sub-culture around the campus. It is not like the old days, and frankly I felt I would be a lot safer up in the hills.”

  Murray, who was very tired by the time the last one left the party, thanked Mark for the evening. “Well,” said Mark with a smile, “my old coach, as I said, did the same for me and to-morrow I will show you over the campus, and we will go into the pool with the team.”

  Mark, then, passed on the tradition of Berkeley to Murray, who was captivated by it all, and enjoyed it all as Mark had done years before.

  Murray wrote back to his parents as soon as he settled in.

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Well, I made it, and I cannot tell you how much I have enjoyed it all. The swim team has been marvellous, and has invited me to all kinds of parties, but I rarely go out like that. Mark, I know you will not like me calling him that, but it seemed so natural, well Mark said I have to concentrate on my work, and limit my social engagements. He is quite a fellow, Mum and Dad, he looks younger than he actually is, and is always working at home on his research. His life-style sort of makes me want to follow it.

  I have missed you both terribly, but if I wanted a second father I could not ask for one better than Mark. He is so interested in other people. Nothing is too much for him if I ask for anything. He is understanding, stern and yet very gentle. You would both love him if you met him.

  People on the team have said that he had a love affair with an Australian girl, and she broke it off, and he has never been the same since. She must have been crazy, for he is about the finest person I have ever met, excepting you two, of course. I can now see why Terry thinks so highly of him. He is an exceptional man.

  His house is in the hills at Berkeley, and from my bedroom I can see the Bay area and the lights of San Francisco. It reminds me of Sydney, the time you took me on a night cruise of Sydney Harbour. It has that same majesty. I have my own room and study, and Mark helps me if I have any problems. Sometimes I shudder when I realise how much he knows. I would like to be like him, to know as much as he does. The team love him, though they say he is a real loner. He must have been really hurt way back then.

  It is hard to believe that I am in America, the USA, to be correct, and writing to you. It is a long, long way from Casino. But though it is great here, I would give anything to be sitting on the verandah at home, talking to you both, and watching the kookaburras and the cockatoos land on the trees. You are lucky to be where you are.

  So do not worry about me, everything is honkey-dorey.

  Your loving son,

  Murray.

  When Faith got the letter, Toch was working on the property, and her heart skipped a beat. She had been nervous that somehow her plan might have been unravelled. Murray’s descriptions exceeded her wildest dreams. He and Mark were not only good friends, but Mark was Murray’s role model. She felt a deep satisfaction knowing that they were together, and that Murray felt like he did about Mark. Like a second father - if only Murray knew. She put the letter on the dining room table, so Toch could read it as he came in. She knew that deep down he would be hurt a little, but she knew him well enough to know that he would accept it with grace and courtesy. She was so lucky that she had met Toch. Apart from Mark, he was the finest man she had ever met.

  Toch was a meticulous man, and was invariably on time. It was as if he had an inner alarm clock, and he would come riding up every day at 5 pm, would call out for her, shower and then sit with her on the verandah while he sipped a cold beer and discussed the events of the day. She was a little anxious when he was not home at 5.30 pm as it was starting to get dark. When it turned 6 o’clock she was worried, and rang some neighbours, but no-one had seen him. When it was 7 pm she panicked, and called the Casino Police. They came out and endeavoured to calm her down, suggesting that he might be at someone’s place or had gone to town for a beer with a few of his mates.

  Faith knew better.

  They found his body near a creek a few miles from the house. His horse was standing faithfully by his prostrate form. The injury to his head, which caused the death, was caused by the branch of a tree. The coroner assessed that he must have been galloping in the thick brush, and he was knocked off the horse by a branch he did not see. Perhaps his attention was diverted, and in a split second he was dead. If there was any consolation, his death was swift and relatively painless.

  Faith immediately phoned Murray, and made arrangements for his ticket to come home. It was a sad homecoming, and Faith swept him in her arms as he entered the Casino airport.

  “Are you all right, Mum?” he asked.

  “Yes, I am,” she replied with a sigh. “He was a good man, and I will miss him.”

  “So will I. I do not ever remember you two arguing, Mum.”

>   “No, I do not think we ever did.”

  “And you both did everything you could for me.”

  “That was pretty easy. You were always a perfect son.”

  “So what are the arrangements, Mum?”

  “He is going to be buried on our property, just next to where he died. There will be a service right here, under the shade of the trees that caused his death. He loved the outdoors, was most happy when he was riding over his property, and I think he will be in perfect peace there. The sun will be on his face, he would have liked the thought of that.”

  “And what about you now, Mum?”

  “Oh, I will be all right. Your father was pretty good at insuring himself, and there is more than enough money to live on. As for the property, I am not going to be silly about it, and try to do it all myself. I will hire someone to come in.”

  “No, Mum, I can do it. I can take over Dad’s work.”

  “No you will not. There is simply no way. You are going back to America to get your education. In the years to come you will thank me, believe me.”

  “But I love the property, Mum, just like you and Dad.”

  “I know you do and when I die it is all yours, maybe even before. But you are only young once, and the chance to go to university is rare. So enjoy it and once you finish your first two years of General Education, you can do Agriculture, or Animal Husbandry, an area of study related to farming that would put you way ahead of anybody around here. Can’t you see that, son?”

  “Of course I can, Mum, and I must admit I love it in America. I just want to make sure you will be all right. There are only the two of us now.”

  “I will be all right, Murray, and when you finish at Berkeley we will be together for years and years. But enough of this, let us go home for tea. I have cooked everything you like, leg of lamb, cauliflower, baked potatoes, and apple pie and cream. Let us go, son, you must be pretty tired.”