by Anna Jacobs
He’d expected Mabel to be waiting for him to come home, dammit, had needed her desperately after what he’d gone through.
He shouldn’t have enlisted, really, still felt guilty about that. But after she’d lost the fifth baby, something had snapped inside him and when two of his friends enlisted, he did too in a fit of black misery.
He and Mabel had had such hopes this time that the baby would live. She’d reached six months, longer than ever before, and the baby had quickened, not vigorous like some but giving gentle little kicks and twitches. They’d joked that it must be a girl. Then it’d stopped moving and they’d begun to worry.
One day his brother had come running out to the paddock to fetch him and he’d stood helplessly outside the bedroom as Mabel lost the baby, screaming and sobbing and begging God to save it.
Gil hadn’t believed in God since then.
A boy, it’d been, not a girl. Perfectly formed. But white and still in the bloodied sheet they’d wrapped it in. It had never breathed, had died inside her, they said.
The doctor had tried to stop him looking at it, saying it wasn’t really a child yet. But it was. And it was the only son he was ever likely to have, so he’d looked his fill and named his son John, holding him close until they forced him to let go. It took three of them to do that.
Afterwards, while his cheeks were still wet from weeping, the doctor had told him there was no chance of Mabel ever giving him a child, and if he valued her life, they shouldn’t even try to have another.
They took away the poor limp body, but he’d found where it was and retrieved it from the rubbish tip – that was the best way to think about it, retrieved, not dug up. He’d buried John surreptitiously in the family plot in the church yard, wrapping the poor little body in his mother’s silk shawl and saying prayers over it before covering it up, not really believing them but it seemed wrong not to say the words. Babies that hadn’t gone to full term didn’t count, didn’t get a proper burial, but his son had.
And at least if Gil enlisted, he’d not be able to get her pregnant again.
He’d soon wished he hadn’t, because he hated Army life and missed her horribly. But to his surprise, he’d survived everything the Army threw him into, starting with Gallipoli in April 1915.
He’d never forgotten his first battle or how cold they’d been. He’d wake up shivering sometimes in the night, as he’d shivered during the hours before the landing. And all because some stupid bloody officer, all fancy braid and brass, had given orders to keep greatcoats rolled in packs and roll tunic sleeves up to the elbows so that flashes of white skin would identify their lads.
He still had nightmares about that battle and the good mates he’d lost there.
He had a lot of nightmares after the war. You saw things that you never spoke of to civilians. But you could never forget them. They were etched into your brain with acid.
One day in 1923 an advertisement in the newspaper caught Gil’s eye and he decided to apply for a foreman’s job on this new Group Settlement Scheme the government was setting up. It sounded like a worthwhile project, and he’d be doing something useful for lads who’d fought in the war. The idea of that gave him more hope than anything had for a long time.
Maybe he’d be so busy he’d not slip into his drinking bouts.
Maybe.
They accepted him for the position, but they weren’t starting work yet, so he had to fill in a month or two before he was needed. They offered him temporary work but he decided to spend the time going down south to see the country that was to be settled, working his way by doing odd jobs. He was a handy fellow, if he said so himself, and could always find a way to earn a meal or a night’s shelter.
He was appalled to find how little had been done to prepare for the settlers, raw lads from Britain most of them, by the sounds of it. It wasn’t farming land they were being offered, either; it was forest mostly. Big trees, magnificent some of them, like gods of nature.
Why the hell did the authorities want dairy farming set up there?
He nearly quit the job in sheer disgust, because he didn’t want to be part of something so badly organised that it would be bound to hurt the lads involved.
But something drew him back to Perth on the appointed date. After all, if the scheme was a muddle, they’d need practical fellows like him even more, to help sort it out. He didn’t waste his time complaining, either. When had the authorities ever listened to anything they didn’t want to hear?
A few days before he was due to go south, he shut out the world, opened a bottle of rotgut and pulled out Mabel’s letters.
It was the last time he’d do this, he told himself, definitely the last.
It was two days before he could see or think clearly again.
This time, however, the drinking didn’t bring the oblivion he sought. However much he poured down, he seemed to keep hearing Mabel’s voice. She was angry with him, telling him to shape up, telling him to make something of his life not throw it away.
She’d have gone for him with the poker if she’d found him drunk during their life together. She didn’t believe in boozing, Mabel didn’t.
Well, she might be safely at rest, but he wasn’t. So if he wanted to booze, he damned well would.
5
The Boyds set off for Australia early one morning, well before it was light. The children had been excited the night before, even Janie, getting in the way of the final packing, unable to settle to sleep. Now they were subdued and yawning, which was probably a good thing.
They all walked through the dark frosty streets with their remaining worldly possessions piled on a handcart, pushed by her brother-in-law. Andrew was monosyllabic, the boys were equally silent, but kept very close to him, Norah was fighting a desire to weep and Janie was clinging to her hand.
The journey south seemed interminable. On the train the boys grew restive and Janie wouldn’t leave her mother’s side. She’d stopped sobbing now but her face was white and anxious. She turned away from the boys when they tried to talk to her and she ignored Andrew’s questions.
Jack was used to bossing his younger brother around and had expected to do the same with Janie, but she was adroit at avoiding or ignoring him. That baffled and irritated him. Ned ignored her back. He had a happy nature, was still a little boy unlike Jack who was growing up fast and tried always to emulate his father.
Andrew looked exhausted, which was no wonder, because he’d worked well into the night for the past few days, packing and repacking, finding ways to fit as many of their possessions as possible into the wooden crates which he was paying extra to ship out with them. They’d been deposited at the railway station the night before, ready to be loaded on to the train.
When her husband and the children fell asleep, Norah was glad of some time to herself. She stared across at his face. No need to study his features, she knew them by heart now, but she sometimes wondered what was behind the attractive mask. She didn’t feel she knew him much better now than she had when she’d agreed to marry him. Oh, she knew what he liked to eat, that he kept himself very clean, was an extremely hard worker. But what was he thinking? How did he feel about being married to her?
She presumed they’d be sharing a cabin on the ship and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. But he hadn’t said anything about it, so she hadn’t either. That was one area of their lives that neither of them had talked about since he’d suggested they wait to consummate the marriage. But she still remembered that kiss.
After a long, weary day’s travel they arrived at Tilbury and saw the ship they would travel on anchored midstream. They had to go on board by barge, together with a couple of other families. The novelty of this revived the lads considerably, but Janie didn’t like heights and was white-faced and shivering as she clambered on to the ship.
Once on board, they were asked to stand in family groups on deck while their cabin luggage was carried on board, though the wind was cold and it was threatening to rain.
An officer called for silence and introduced the two people beside him as the matron, in charge of women and girls, and the steward in charge of the men and boys.
‘Will the women and girls move to this side of the deck, please,’ Matron said.
Norah exchanged puzzled glances with Andrew, wondering what this was about. One of the younger women clung obstinately to her husband’s hand, insisting she wasn’t leaving his side.
Matron looked at the group and sighed. ‘They didn’t tell you that the women and girls would be sleeping separately from the men and boys, did they?’
There was a burst of indignant protest and when it didn’t stop, the officer roared, ‘Quiet!’
‘Will you be all right?’ Andrew asked in a low voice.
‘Yes, of course.’ Norah moved across the deck with her daughter. Janie had perked up considerably at the news she’d have her mother to herself. Norah was rather sorry about that.
After Matron had ticked off their names on a list and given them cabin numbers, she led the way down to the passenger cabins, where the women were to sleep in fours. The men and boys were to sleep in the hold, it seemed, which had been fitted up with bunks for the trip.
Norah and Janie were the first into their cabin.
‘Can I sleep on the top bunk, Mummy?’
‘Why not?’ She lifted Janie up to try it.
‘I’m glad we’re not with them, aren’t you?’
‘No, I’m not. Families should stay together.’
‘They don’t feel like family to me.’
‘Janie, you have to stop this—’
Just then a young woman came into the cabin and smiled at them shyly, so Norah stopped scolding her daughter, not wanting to air their private business.
‘I’m Irene Dawson.’
‘Norah Web— I mean, Boyd. And this is my daughter, Janie.’
‘Are the other bunks free?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll sleep on this top one, then.’ She set down her suitcase and climbed up, smiling across at Janie.
Another young woman arrived and stared round as if suspicious of what she might find.
‘That bottom bunk is the only one free now.’ Norah pointed to it.
‘Who told the child to take the top one?’ the newcomer asked in a shrill voice.
‘I did.’ Norah replied.
Matron stopped in the doorway just then. ‘Everything all right here?’
‘No, it isn’t!’ the angry young woman snapped. ‘They’ve given the top bunk to a child, and that’s not fair. I’m not sleeping at the bottom.’
‘I’ll take the bottom one, if you like,’ Irene said. ‘I don’t mind.’
Matron looked from one to the other, her expression grimly assessing. ‘Very kind of you to offer, Mrs Dawson, but there’s no need. Mrs Grenville can perfectly well sleep in the bottom bunk.’
‘But I don’t m—’
Matron held up one hand to stop Irene continuing and looked at the complainer. ‘If you want to change to a cabin lower down the ship, without a porthole, Mrs Grenville, you can have your choice of bunks. We work on the principle of first come, first served and we’ve not started assigning those cabins because there are more people yet to arrive. Otherwise, you can stay here and take that last bunk. Decide quickly and be done with this fussing. I’ve got some real problems to sort out.’
The angry woman hesitated then said in an aggrieved voice, ‘I’m not going into a cabin without a porthole. I’d suffocate in one of those.’
‘No one has done so yet. But please yourself.’ Matron hurried away.
Norah introduced herself and the newcomer said grudgingly, ‘I’m Susan Grenville.’
Irene sighed. ‘I didn’t think we’d be separated from our husbands.’
‘It’s a cheat, that’s what it is,’ Susan grumbled. ‘I didn’t want to come anyway, but Bert insisted, and now look where it’s got us. Separated. It’s a bad sign, that is.’
Norah could see that the woman was a grumbler. It was going to be a long journey.
She found it wearing in many ways, the main one being the way Janie still clung to her like a leech. And since she was used to working and keeping herself busy, Norah found the hours of idleness hard to cope with, in spite of the concerts and clubs and organised activities.
The sight of Irene, struggling to embroider a blouse, led her to start teaching her cabin mate sewing, and other women asked for her help, which led to a sewing group forming. The purser proved to have some material, thread and buttons for sale, and the women set about making garments by hand for themselves or their children.
‘Thanks for doing that, Mrs Boyd,’ Matron said.
‘I couldn’t have done it if there weren’t sewing materials for sale.’
The other woman laughed. ‘There’s usually a sewing group starts up. And our Purser makes good money from his sales, one of the perks of the job. He has a fair idea of what’s needed.’
Andrew grew friendly with a group of older men, some of whom had farming experience. He spent a lot of time talking to them.
Norah would watch him wistfully, wishing he spent half as much time talking to her, really talking, not making polite chitchat. Then she chided herself for being unrealistic. How could they have serious conversations when they were never alone, always surrounded by people?
And when Janie refused to leave her side.
Irene also complained of having little time in private with her husband. ‘There’s always someone nearby so you can’t really have a conversation, let alone a bit of a cuddle.’
Norah would have settled for a private conversation. But when she one day insisted Janie stay with the other children and began to walk round the deck with Andrew, it wasn’t long before another woman came to find her.
‘Your Janie’s upset. She’s crying for you.’
You couldn’t refuse to attend to your child when she was upsetting other people.
Andrew held her hand for a moment before she left him. ‘We’ll have time to talk in Australia, Norah.’
But she wanted to talk now, wanted to spend the lovely balmy nights chatting to him without Janie’s scowls and sighs interrupting them.
The ship docked in Fremantle in early February. It was a searing hot day, because the seasons were the opposite to England here in Australia. The children complained about having to wear their coats, but it was the easiest way to carry them, since each had a bag to carry as well.
Norah saw Andrew’s arms go round his boys’ shoulders and wished he would hold and touch her as easily as he did them. As they stood waiting, she lost herself in her own thoughts. The main one was how glad she was that the voyage was over and she wouldn’t be shut up in a stuffy cabin any longer. And she’d be relieved to see the back of Susan. Irene was a delightful young woman, but Susan had a very sour nature and nothing ever seemed to make her happy.
Norah knew she’d been sharp with her a few times, but give the devil his due, Susan never seemed to hold a grudge about that.
At last they were let off the ship, shuffling down on to dry land, where they were directed towards a huge metal shed. There was laughter as they found it hard to walk properly after so long at sea, then grumbling as they had to stand in queues again, waiting for medical and customs checks.
These didn’t take very long, thank goodness.
After that, the group settlers were gathered together in one corner. A rather podgy young man, who introduced himself as a representative of the Group Settlement Board, began to call out their names in alphabetical order, ticking them off on a list.
‘This seems to be taking a long time,’ Norah said to Andrew with a sigh. ‘I want to see something more of Australia than a big tin shed.’
‘Tired?’
‘Only of having nothing to do. I prefer to keep busy.’
‘Me, too. Ned, come here and stand still!’
She was glad Andrew kept a firm hand on his sons. She didn’t approve of children being all
owed to run wild. No need to tell Janie to stay next to her. She was never more than a few inches away.
The young man and a clerk then gave them back their landing money. Andrew had had to deposit twenty pounds before leaving England, so that they wouldn’t be destitute on arrival. She wasn’t sure how much he had left after that. Money was another thing they hadn’t really had an opportunity to discuss. She’d got some of her own and hadn’t offered it to him, because it made her feel more secure to have something behind her.
And then, at long last, they were escorted outside ‘into Australia’ as Janie called it, and directed to a charabanc, which would take them to the old Immigrants’ Home, where they were to stay until they could go down to their farms. Its top was open to the evening sunshine and she wished the drive had taken longer, because she was fascinated by everything, the little wooden houses with verandas, the strange trees and once, what she thought were parrots flying freely over the house tops, only the driver said they were white-tailed black cockatoos. But that was a sort of parrot, wasn’t it?
So much to learn.
At the Immigrants’ Home men and women were once again separated, which caused much grumbling. Females were to sleep in long dormitories and males outside on the wide verandas, which would be no hardship in such warm weather.
Norah was relieved when Susan was assigned to another dormitory and quickly found herself and Janie beds. Irene, looking a lot rosier than she had at the start of the journey, came to take the next one.
‘Do you mind if I stay near you?’ she asked. ‘I don’t know anyone else here.’
‘Not at all.’ The narrow camp stretchers they were sleeping on were set about four feet apart. Janie sat on the edge of hers with a tired sigh, suddenly losing her energy. ‘Can I go to bed now, Mum?’
‘Not till you’ve eaten, love,’ Norah said.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Well, I am. And you must try to eat something or you’ll be hungry in the middle of the night.’