by Lisa Bigelow
The stench from Sam’s ashtray caught in her throat as she lifted piles of papers and heaved them into a basket ready for filing in the morning. He’d been running on coffee and cigarettes for days. The sandwiches and fruit Grace brought him at lunchtime sat untouched. She’d tidy up as soon as he left.
‘Want to get a beer?’ Phil asked Sam. Sam nodded and looked at Grace.
‘You should go home. Nothing more to be done tonight.’
Grace imagined the taste of an ice-cold beer and thought she’d like nothing more herself, but she obviously wasn’t included in the invitation. In fact, she’d never been asked to the pub with the men. The subs on her dad’s paper had always shared a drink with her, first a shandy when she was younger, then a glass of beer from their bottle as she got closer to the legal drinking age.
She knew Sam needed to unwind with the boys, especially after his outburst, but she could have used a bit of company too. The thought of going home to her tiny room with no one to talk to brought a new heaviness to her mood. It was too late to ring anyone; even her landlady would be asleep soon. And Phil was all but ignoring her now. She had no idea what she’d done to annoy him, but she was almost past caring. If he wanted to be aloof, to treat her as nothing more than the person scheduling Sam’s meetings, well he could just go jump in the lake. Her mother had once said that there was no one less attractive than someone who didn’t want to be your friend. That was how she needed to think of Phil.
Grace collected her coat, walked downstairs and waited at the front doors for the tram.
Bruce the doorman stood with his braided cap tilted slightly to one side like an army slouch hat.
‘Nasty business about the Parramatta,’ he said as Gazette trucks trundled out of the loading bay a few yards further along the street. It was dusk and the hessian bags covering the streetlights cast a dull glow. The brownout had increased the number of road accidents and Grace had seen several near misses in the last few weeks as drunks wandered onto the street and were almost collected by cars and trams. It was nearly summer but coal smoke from converted truck engines hung like winter fog.
‘What’s happening with the Sydney?’ Bruce continued. ‘They found her yet?’
‘We haven’t heard anything.’
‘Poor blighters. My wife heard that the Krauts pretended they were going to rescue them, then when they got up close they shot all the survivors in the water.’
Grace pulled her coat tight at the neck. Were the beasts getting ready to invade? Sam said the Brits wouldn’t get there in time to help if the Germans started bombing like they had in London, nearly wiping that huge city off the map. Melbourne would be a much simpler job for them.
Grace looked at the historic buildings along Flinders Street, trying to imagine them all bombed to rubble like she’d seen on the newsreels. Sometimes she thought it was almost enough to keep her away from the pictures. It was strange to watch all that suffering then to sit back and enjoy the films. But beside the newsreels, the movies were still the best part of her week. This weekend she had a new Torchy Blane movie to look forward to. She couldn’t wait. Each new film fuelled her dreams of working as a reporter in a newsroom full of tall and handsome reporters like…Phil. Stop that! But he had been so calm tonight, settling Sam down so quickly, getting him away from his desk. He certainly had a way about him, a quiet authority and confidence that made you feel as though he could steady any situation. REPORTER CALMS STORMY SEAS.
Grace settled into a seat beside the window for her tram ride home. As they reached East Melbourne, a warden patrolled the streets looking for stray house lights. Everything seemed tranquil, but underneath something was not right. The other passengers on the tram were silent or spoke in hushed tones. They seemed to be holding themselves more tightly, taking up less space, as if trying to present a smaller target to the enemy. There were hardly any cars on the road, and few pedestrians. Maybe she was just more sensitive because of her job and the news she’d heard that day, but she felt a tension in her muscles, as though she were ready to spring at any noise. Seeing Sam so wound up today just added to her unease. It was strange. He hadn’t been in the last war; he’d been too young. His friend was on the Sydney, but surely that wasn’t the whole story. Something else was troubling him and Phil, lovely, kind Phil, was the only one who knew what to do. If only he were her friend too. She missed the way he used to smile at her when she first started in the newsroom, as though he thought she was a little bit attractive.
A whimper caught in her throat as she longed for someone to hold her and whisper that everything would be all right; that she had nothing to fear from the Germans or anyone else; that she didn’t have to face everything alone.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
28 November 1941
MAE BOILED BABY BOTTLES and mashed potato while William sat at the table feeding Katie. She’d had a string of visitors keeping her company all day—to take her mind off things, they’d all said. But she didn’t want to stop thinking about Harry and imagining him walking through the door, throwing down his duffel bag and sweeping her against his warm, solid chest. She longed to kiss him, to smell his skin, to hear his voice; her mind was full of desire and she didn’t want any other thoughts crowding those images out.
Instead, she was entertaining people non-stop; people who spoke quietly, carefully, as though they were at a funeral. Their sombre words and sympathetic tones were wearing her out. She’d barely slept since that dinner a few nights before. But she still hadn’t heard anything official about Harry or the ship, so she reminded herself every few minutes that there was really nothing to worry about. Obviously they were sitting somewhere out in the ocean with Harry leading the team to fix the broken engine. When they arrived back in port they’d wonder what all the fuss was about. Et didn’t need to close the shop and come over at lunchtime. Albert and William needn’t sit in her kitchen all afternoon. She knew they were worried, that they loved Harry like a son, but she’d run out of things to say and she was getting tired of making the effort. If people wanted to visit, she’d let them take over the speaking for a while.
‘Tell me more about Tom Wilkinson,’ she urged. ‘What was he like?’
William shifted Katie on his lap to get a better angle on her rapidly emptying bottle.
‘Hmph! Bold as brass, he was, as though we were old mates.’
‘Well, you are cousins.’
‘Only by blood, not in spirit, my dear. Not after what he did to your aunt.’
‘Did he ask after her?’
William raised one eyebrow. ‘Oh yes. Completely offhand, like she was just an acquaintance, not the woman he was going to marry. “How’s the family?” he said. “Kate, Et?” I told him Kate had died but that Et was just fine and she’d been busy raising you, we all had.’
‘Did he say anything about Et not being married?’
‘He was pretty disparaging, actually. “What do you mean Et didn’t marry?” he said. “Jeez, never took her for the spinster type. I thought someone’d snap her up real fast.”’
‘No!’ Mae gasped. ‘He didn’t!’
‘I can tell you, I came that close to punching him—like I should have done when he was younger.’
‘How awful! Could he see you were upset?’
‘If he did, he ignored it. Just said, “Well, life goes on, doesn’t it, fellers?” and went straight into prattling on about his five kids.’
The clock on the mantle ticked slow seconds as its hands moved towards five. Katie stirred in William’s arms and whimpered. As Mae stood and reached for the baby, there was a soft knock on the front door. It wasn’t the confident knock of Et or Albert, and Claire would be at home feeding the children. It must be someone from church, Mae surmised, popping past on their way home from the shops.
Handing Katie back to William she walked along the hallway, smoothing her hair again and checking that her blouse was properly tucked into her waistband.
The person at the do
or knocked again, a little harder this time.
‘Coming,’ Mae called.
Opening the door she saw a young boy with a satchel over one shoulder; he couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and thrust his other hand towards her. It took her a moment to realise he was trying to give her an envelope. He’s just a child, she thought. Why is a child delivering the post? And why doesn’t he put it in the letterbox? Then she realised it was Paul, the postman’s son; she knew his family from church. She smiled tentatively, but he said nothing, just continued to proffer the envelope.
Frowning, she looked at it. It was a telegram.
She let out a tiny gasp, then reached for the edge of the door to steady herself.
Silently, Paul pushed the telegram a few inches closer.
She knew she should reach out and take it, but instead she drew back into the dark hallway.
‘Telegram for you, Mrs Parker,’ the boy mumbled. ‘Dad said I had to give it to you in person.’
He looked so innocent, so unaware of its meaning, of what it might do to her life, her family. She waited a moment longer then reached out. For a second, the small brown envelope connected the two of them. Then Paul whipped his hand away, thrusting it deep in his pocket, as though he’d been singed.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Parker,’ he said, then turned and ran down the stairs and out the gate, slamming it so hard the catch rattled.
Mae stepped back inside, closed the door and leaned against it. Over the last few days, as much as she’d tried not to, she’d begun to imagine how a telegram might look, what it might say, how she’d manage to open it if it arrived. In all the times Harry had been at sea in the past, she’d barely given a telegram any thought. And this time, well, he was supposed to be far away from the action; he was supposed to be safe. Weak red and blue light streamed through the stained-glass panels above the door. She looked again at the address, making sure the telegram really was meant for her. It was.
She slowly opened the flap on the back of the envelope. It was barely sealed, as though it had been done in a hurry. Her hands quivered as she unfolded the note, the words leaping about on the page, refusing to settle into a coherent sentence. She counted them instead. So few words. Just thirty-six; one for every year of Harry’s life. Then she made herself read.
With deep regret I have to inform you that your husband is missing as a result of enemy action. The Minister for the Navy and the Navy Board desire to express to you their sincere sympathy.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
30 November 1941
THE KETTLE BOILED ON Mae’s stovetop, steam causing condensation to drip from the ceiling into a simmering pot of soup. Neither woman noticed. Claire rocked quietly as her baby Ella slept in her arms. Mae’s hands continued to work furiously at her darning. It was early Sunday evening and although Claire said she needed to get the children home soon, Mae had asked her to stay a little longer, just to listen to the news. She’d longed for peace and quiet just days before, but now she couldn’t face being alone. A second telegram had been delivered that afternoon.
Dear Mrs Parker,
May I, on behalf of the officers and men of the Australian Squadron, offer you my very sincere sympathy in your recent bereavement.
I know full well that in this dark hour, words cannot lessen your sorrow, but I earnestly hope that you may find some comfort in the knowledge that your husband gave his life for his country, fighting in the cause of right.
Yours faithfully,
Mr Norman Makin
Minister for the Navy
Sympathy, bereavement, sorrow, gave his life—it was far too soon for anyone to be saying that.
‘He’s an excellent swimmer,’ Mae said, mostly to herself. ‘An excellent swimmer. Did I tell you he made the navy swimming team three years in a row? Won his races each time. And so fit. He’s a champion tennis player, you know. That’s how we met. So strong and fit.’
Claire patted the baby’s back as she stirred. ‘The kettle’s boiling. Would you like some more tea?’
‘William said he’d heard the German ship was disguised as a Dutch trader. Why would they do that? They should have just backed away when they saw our ship heading towards them. There was no need to attack.’
Claire tried to sound cheerful. ‘Sam says they’re picking up German sailors all along the coast. They’ll find our men any moment now. Just wait and see. You’ll have Harry home safe any day—maybe he’ll even be home for Christmas. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Then we can all celebrate together.’
‘He loves Christmas, especially when it’s hot. That’s where we disagree sometimes, about the heat. He always wants to go to the beach and lie in the sun. I can’t stand the heat, especially in the middle of the day. Sometimes I think I might melt. But I don’t care now. When he comes home we’ll go for as many picnics at the beach as he wants. I’ll never complain again.’
‘Sam likes to sit in the house with all the blinds down when it’s hot outside. In summer, his favourite part of the day is walking to the station in the early morning. He says that’s the only time he can breathe. But it’s hard keeping children inside all day. Once they start walking they just want to run around outside. I’ve got an old tin tub I’ll get out for Nicholas this summer. I’ll put it under a tree and fill it with a few inches of water. He can cool off, then I’ll use the water for the plants, if he hasn’t already splashed it all out. I might even dip my feet in while I’m feeding Ella.’
‘That’s a lovely idea. I’ll get Harry to find something for Katie to play in. I could put a washing basin out the back for her, fill it with cool water. She’d like that. You’ve seen her in the bath. She won’t let me take her out.’
Mae felt a bump against her shoe: Nicholas playing with his train engine under the kitchen table. ‘Do you remember that time we came for a barbecue? Harry loved playing with Nicholas. I know he wanted a boy.’
‘That was such a nice day. Sam can be a bit shy outside of the newspaper, but he has no problem talking to Harry. Easy sort of fellow, he calls him.’
‘Harry mentioned you both in his latest letter. He said how happy he was that you were nearby.’ Mae’s voice quavered.
‘We always will be, Mae. No matter what happens. And we’re praying for the best.’
For a few minutes the women fell silent, listening to the music playing softly on the wireless.
‘Has Harry’s mother been to visit?’ Claire asked.
‘No, she’s sitting vigil at home with dozens of her neighbours. She’s better there. I’m sure she’d find a way to blame me for this if she were here.’
‘It’s hard to believe such a shrew could have raised a man like Harry. He must take after his father.’
‘I never knew his father. That’s something else we share: our fathers are long gone. Although Harry had his for a while at least. It’s hard for any child growing up without a father…’
‘It sounds like he became the father figure in his family after his dad passed away.’
‘Yes, I think that’s why his mother’s so possessive. And his brothers and sister just worship him.’
‘But he has his own family now,’ Claire noted. ‘They can’t expect him to spend all his time with them.’
Mae smiled faintly. ‘He loses track of time when he’s with them, too. One afternoon, he was supposed to be meeting me in town. I was at Flinders Street, waiting and waiting as trains came and went. There was no sign of him. I was worried that he’d had an accident. Then I worried that he wasn’t coming. He’d been a bit fidgety, saying he wanted to go back to sea. Anyway, nearly an hour after we were supposed to meet, I caught a glimpse of him hurrying through the crowd. I was happy to see him but furious that he’d left me waiting for so long, so I slipped away and hid behind a pillar and watched him searching for me. When I thought he’d had enough punishment, I walked over and touched his elbow. He jumped as though I’d given him an electric
shock, and he grabbed me and held me so tight, it was like he was trying not to fall off a cliff.
‘We walked to the gardens after that and he wouldn’t let go of my hand. When we reached our favourite seat beside the lake, he sat me down and before I knew what was happening he’d produced a ring box and he was down on one knee, asking me to marry him.’ Mae’s face shone as she dabbed her eyes with her hanky.
‘And you said yes,’ Claire added, wiping her own eyes.
‘Immediately.’
Mae looked at the diamond on her finger then twisted the ring and closed her fingers so the stone dug into her palm, cutting through the numbness that had settled in her hands.
The music on the wireless faded and the announcer introduced the next piece.
‘This tune is being played by the Footscray High School band. It is dedicated to our brave boys on the HMAS Sydney. May the lord protect their souls.’
Claire reached across the table and held Mae’s hand. Both women sobbed as the band played ‘Abide with Me’.
There was still no mention of the ship on the evening news that followed, so Claire and her children went home.
On her way to bed Mae let her fingers linger on the photograph of Harry and she replaced the candle on the buffet so it burned continuously. She lay down on the bed and stared deep into the flame, imagining his face and willing him home with her thoughts.
You look so handsome in your uniform, my love, just like on our wedding day. You’re trying to be serious, but you can’t help smiling, can you? Always about to grin—well, except when we argue. But even then your smile’s not far away. Some days you complain that your face aches from laughing. Mine too, my love, but only with you.
Mae rolled onto her side and wrapped her arms across her chest. I can still feel the warmth of your arms holding me tight, she told her husband silently. Use those arms, that strength, to cling to a life raft, my love, even after your arms are numb and you’re sure you can’t manage another minute. Keep hanging on, my love, just a bit longer, even if you’re hurt. I can hardly bear to think of you wounded, bleeding, but if it means you’re alive, that’s all right. Everyone’s looking for you, they’ll be there soon. I know you can hear me. I won’t stop talking to you till you’re back here beside me.