by Lisa Bigelow
She only got a few inches on the front page, but it was enough. The evening radio news bulletins would run it too, then the mornings. They’d beaten The Gazette. That suddenly felt like the only thing that mattered. Of course Jacko would hate her even more, but she could live with that.
Grace returned to Melbourne that night. The last two escapees were captured quietly over the weekend.
As tired and happy as she was with her stories, other thoughts kept Grace tossing and turning at night; the smell of soap and nutmeg, the perfectly proportioned chest, that smile, and how wonderful it might feel to kiss those firm lips.
Joy’s questions from the farm also rang in her mind: What if he doesn’t come home? How long are you going to wait?
CHAPTER 37
* * *
August – September 1945
THE MORNING OF AUGUST fifteenth felt strangely different outside the shop. As always on a Wednesday, the main street was lined with trucks parked along one side, leaving just enough space for traffic to ease past. Most shops were open for business, but many of the shopkeepers stood on the footpath, smiling and waving as people streamed towards the train. As the morning wore on, the shops emptied and the shopkeepers pulled their blinds and locked their doors to join the drift into the city to await the announcement. The papers had said it would happen today: the end of the war in the Pacific.
Mae watched the backdrop of activity behind Mim, who worked quickly inside the shop window, decorating a display of mannequins in red, white and blue knitted twin sets. She’d made crepe paper rosettes in the same colours, which she pinned to their lapels and strung as garlands around the window edges. A bit of bunting here and there completed the display, ready for the surrender.
Et stood on the footpath with the sisters from the bakery two doors along. They still looked and sounded awfully German, although they swore they were Austrian. It didn’t matter to most people, who’d feared a Japanese rather than a German invasion in recent years, but it mattered to Mae. She was coolly polite to the sisters but she kept her distance, believing Harry was still imprisoned somewhere by the Germans and their Japanese helpers. The truth would soon come out now that the war was over. Rumours had run rife for weeks about a Japanese surrender, and especially after the US bombings in Nagasaki and Hiroshima. A cruel loss of life, but nothing more than they deserved, she thought. And springtime seemed just right for a peace treaty. A new beginning, new hope. Leaves were budding on the trees and the wattle was already blooming. The sun shone and a cool breeze whipped dresses and ties of the people hurrying past.
‘Mim, that looks wonderful,’ Mae said, turning her attention back to the window display.
‘That does look wonderful, dear,’ Et agreed, walking back into the shop. She resumed folding the cardigans and pullovers on the counter. ‘It’s like a carnival out there, so exciting.’
‘I don’t think we’ll be doing much business today,’ Mae observed.
‘I’ll look after Katie if you want to go into town,’ Mim offered.
‘Thanks, I’m happy here, but you go if you’d like.’
Before Mim had a chance to answer, Pearl Atkinson’s formidable, floral-clad bosom barged through the shop door.
‘Have you heard the news?’ Pearl heaved. ‘They’ve surrendered! It’s all over!’
‘Good morning, Mrs Atkinson,’ Mae said calmly. ‘They’ve been saying things like that for days.’
‘It just came over the wireless. Ten minutes ago. Prime Minister Chifley announced it. Turn it on and listen!’
Pearl always reminded Mae of Henny Penny: The sky is falling, the sky is falling! Rarely did her pronouncements of doom and disaster result in anything but a belly laugh for those privy to them. But today she might have brought good news for once.
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Mae said, making a sash out of the remaining paper and pinning it across the middle mannequin. ‘That will do, I think.’
‘You seem very calm, Mrs Parker. I’d have thought you’d be celebrating, especially after what the Japs did to your poor Mr Parker. H-bombs were too good for them.’
Mae glanced at Mim, who stood near the window with her mouth agape. ‘We’re closing the shop now, Mrs Atkinson. Good day.’ Mae ushered her out onto the street and closed the door behind her.
‘I came to pick up my skirt,’ Pearl yelled through the door.
‘You’ll have to wait till tomorrow,’ Mae called as she shot the bolt, flipped the closed sign then drew the blind. ‘She’ll be back first thing tomorrow unfortunately. Cuppa anyone?’
‘That would be lovely,’ said Et. ‘You put on the kettle, Mim. I’ll do the pot.’
Hateful woman, Mae thought. She couldn’t bear the thought of Pearl discussing Harry, especially on a day like this—and in front of his sister, too.
‘I’ll finish her hem,’ Mae said.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Mim. ‘I can do it.’
‘It’s fine. Besides, it’ll take hours to get around that length of fabric.’
Mae picked up the skirt and began to sew. When she reached the back, she neatly sewed several tiny pins into the seams, covering her handiwork with meticulous invisible stitches.
‘No, you can’t do that,’ Mim laughed, spilling tea into the saucer as she set the cups on the counter.
‘I can and I have. Now Pearl can feel tiny pricks of conscience whenever she sits down—that’s if the pins can penetrate all that padding, of course.’
‘Here’s one from me,’ Mim said, handing a pin to Mae.
‘Why don’t you finish up for the day, go and meet your friends in town? I’ll go to the house and do some cleaning.’
‘I can’t believe you’re so calm about it,’ Mim said as she pulled on her coat and hat. ‘That builder should be shot.’
Mae smiled. ‘It’s fine. He couldn’t get the materials then he ran out of money. I need to dust and sweep out the mess so the fellows William found can sand the floors next week.’
‘I’ll take Katie home with me for the afternoon,’ Et said.
When everyone had gone, Mae felt glad to have a day alone with her thoughts. Bells clanged in the distance; the train was approaching the station to take revellers into town. It would be crowded and stuffy and Mae didn’t mind missing the party. Although there was plenty to celebrate, she felt certain she was exactly where she needed to be, exactly where Harry would find her one day; not today, but soon. Since the war in Europe had ended in May, prisoners were being released from the German camps and slowly making their way home. Depending on where he was, he must surely be on his way back. If he was in the Pacific, it might take longer, but eventually the navy would have to let her know and she could prepare. There was no need to close her eyes to imagine him walking towards her from the train station; she could see it clearly. He could be huddled in an overcoat, his face swamped by a hat, but she’d still know him from the way he walked and the way he swung his duffel. She’d see his jaw first, then his wide, bright grin; he wouldn’t need to say a word, she’d know him anywhere. Everyone would be so surprised—they’d all given up—but she still felt his presence, especially at the house. It wasn’t until she’d started clearing the workers’ rubbish after they walked off the job because the builder hadn’t paid them that she realised she sensed Harry nearby, just like when she used to walk into the cottage and knew he was home before she saw him. She felt closer to him than she had in the four years since she’d seen him last. He was right there beside her, urging her to finish their dream.
Several weeks later, Mae walked along a narrow footpath bordered by long, barracks-style buildings at the new Repatriation Hospital. Men sat on shaded garden seats staring blankly ahead as they dragged heavily on cigarettes and winced with the effort of trying to move their bandaged limbs. Beneath the sounds of warbling magpies and ringing bellbirds several patients sat silent as their visitors talked across and around them, desperate to reconnect with the strangers in the bodies of their loved ones before they to
ok them home. But saddest of all were those men with no visitors; the same fellows sat alone week after week. Mae glanced at the figure of a man behind a cyclone-wire fence, steadying himself with a walking frame, as though he was learning to walk. The sign on the fence said the area was for prisoners but she felt sorry for him, wondering if he was far from home.
Feeling safely concealed behind her dark glasses and simply dressed in a dark green wool suit, she sensed the men watching as she passed. Elegant restraint was the way Et described Mae’s style; Mae felt her outfit was more like a suit of armour, protecting her against life’s buffeting, especially here. She couldn’t understand why some women allowed themselves to be so open to life’s ebbs and flows. Harry’s mother, for instance; she could certainly do with a little more strengthening. When Mae and Katie had arrived at Elizabeth’s house for lunch earlier that day, Mae was surprised by Elizabeth’s appearance. Her hair was completely white and her back seemed to grow more hunched every week. She no longer needed to bend to hug Katie. Instead, she held her so tightly that the child bent backwards and looked like she might snap in two. Mae brought Katie to visit Elizabeth on Sunday afternoons then left them all to play music and dance for a few hours while she spent precious time alone, walking along the river and reading under a tree. When the new hospital opened nearby, she was glad to take the train further up the line to Heidelberg to be among the returning men. You never knew what you might see or hear.
‘You look so tired, Mae,’ Mim had said over lunch. ‘Why don’t you spend the afternoon with us instead of racing off?’
‘I have to go—I need to read to the men.’
‘Anyone would think you were off to meet someone,’ Mim teased.
‘Of course I’m not; I’m married to Harry,’ Mae said, glancing at Harry’s violin and photograph still sitting on the piano.
‘Mae, I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re entitled to a little happiness. If you have met someone…’
‘I’ll have all the happiness I need when Harry is home.’
Hurrying to the third building along the path, Mae felt a tingle of excitement in her chest. It’s just another Sunday visit, she told herself as she removed her gloves, stepped onto the verandah and walked towards the nurses’ station.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Parker. It’s lovely to see you again. The men are in excellent spirits today,’ Sister Gibson said. ‘It must be the sunshine. It lifts them immensely.’
‘It is a beautiful day,’ Mae agreed. ‘Just beautiful.’
‘We have three new men in Four West; they’ve come from the Pacific. We’ve put them in adjoining beds. One of them is blind, another has lost a leg, the third is badly scarred. I’m sure they’d all love to hear you read.’
Mae held her breath and entered the ward, her heart thumping fast under her ribs. The blinds were set low so the men could rest. Despite the relatively mild day, all the windows were shut tight, their curtains hanging still. The babble of conversation hushed as the patients and their visitors watched her carefully scan each of the new men’s faces.
The first patient she saw was the one missing his leg; tall with brown wavy hair and haunted eyes, he was much younger than Harry. The man turned his head away when she studied his face. The second man’s eyes were covered in dressings, his hands restrained to stop him from ripping away his bandages. His curly hair was sandy blond—nothing like Harry’s straight dark hair. The third man’s face was disfigured by burn scars, his mouth and eyes a sickly blur of pink melted wax. Mae steadied herself against the end of the bed. He was much shorter than Harry, only five foot six or so. Harry was nearly six foot.
‘Don’t worry, love, you’ll find him,’ said the skinny man missing an arm in the next bed.
‘Mr Armstrong, I was looking for you,’ Mae said, smiling quickly. ‘How are you feeling today?’
‘Fair to middling, thanks, Mrs Parker. The doc says I’ll be able to scarper in a few weeks.’
‘And where will you go? Do you have family?’
‘Me sister Bev lives in Ballarat with five rug rats. Hubby died in Libya so I’m gunna mind the kids while she goes out to work.’
‘You’re very lucky having somewhere to go.’
‘I thank the Lord for it every day, ma’am.’
Mae opened her handbag and pulled out a small cloth-covered book. ‘Shall I sit here today, Mr Armstrong?’ ‘I’d be honoured,’ he said, pointing to the chair with his stump. ‘It’s good of you to come again. Most of us don’t get many visitors after the first few weeks.’
‘Your sister sounds terribly busy and it’s such a long way.’
‘That must be it. But you’re good for bothering.’
‘It’s the least I can do. When the hospital advertised for volunteers to read to the men, I was pleased to assist. I love reading, especially the classics. I used to read this to—’
‘To Mr Parker?’
Mae swallowed. ‘Yes. He loved me reading this book aloud. Also Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and Robinson Crusoe. Anything about adventures at sea.’
‘Well then, we’d better get into it. How’s that bloke in the book gettin’ along, findin’ his way home?’
Mae carefully opened the book, removed a hand-embroidered bookmark and began reading Homer’s tale of Odysseus trying to sail home to his wife and son.
‘This is where Odysseus speaks to his dead mother,’ Mae said, trying to project her voice clearly so the whole ward could hear.
‘“And tell me of my father and the son I left behind. Is my kingdom safe in their hands, or was it taken by some other man when it was assumed that I would never return? And what of my good wife? How does she feel and what does she intend to do? Is she still living with her son and keeping our estate safe? Or has the best of her countrymen already married her?”
‘“Of course she is still living in your home,” my royal mother replied. “She has schooled her heart to patience, though her eyes are never free from tears as the slow nights and days pass sorrowfully by. Your fine kingdom has not yet passed into other hands.”’
Mae looked around the hushed ward. All eyes that were still awake were on her. She turned the page and read some more to the shattered men and their families, who at least had each other and time to say whatever was needed. Even after all this time, she would have given anything to have that one night over.
CHAPTER 38
* * *
September 1945
GRACE ENTERED WARD FOUR West at the Repatriation Hospital and smiled as she walked towards Phil, her eyes never leaving his face. She knew that if she let her gaze drift to his stump she’d cry—again. He needs your strength, not your pity, her mother had counselled.
Leaning over to kiss his cheek, she realised she was being too coy, even in front of the other patients. She quickly kissed him on the lips then sat on a wooden chair beside his bed.
‘Hello, my darling. You look well today.’
Phil didn’t say anything. His grim, hollow face barely registered her arrival.
‘Can I get you anything? A drink, or something to eat?’
‘I’m fine. The nurses do everything.’
‘Sam sends his regards. Everyone’s glad you’re back.’
‘In one piece?’
‘Yes, one piece.’ Grace searched his face for any sign that he was pleased to see her. He’d been home for three weeks but he was still too frail to stand. He was barely more than skin stretched over bones. The infection in his leg was improving and the doctor said he might try walking with a crutch in the next few weeks. But sadness flattened his face, his hand gestures, his voice, even the way he breathed; every movement and sound was slow, heavy, sad. He’d said he was glad to see her when he first arrived home a couple of weeks earlier, but his lips barely responded when she kissed him. When she tried to talk about the future, he drew further into himself. Discussing the Japanese surrender was the only thing that sparked a reaction. They should have obliterated the entire country, rid us of t
he whole evil race, he’d said several times, his voice rising.
‘The woman reading has a lovely voice,’ Grace said.
‘She’s here each week, looking for her husband.’
‘Well, now the war’s over, it might happen, you never know.’
‘He was on the Sydney.’
‘Oh. I see.’ A chair scraped but the rest of the ward was silent, listening to the woman read to the man with the missing arm. Armstrong, Phil had said. Ironic.
‘Some people believe the ship was towed to Singapore by the Japs,’ Grace explained. ‘They’re still writing to the paper asking what the government’s hiding.’
Phil winced. Grace wasn’t sure whether that was from pain or the mention of the newspaper. He stared at the woman reading the book.
‘One of the chaps captured after us said there were reports that the Nips towed the ship. I asked one of the Jap guards about it, in Changi.’
Grace willed him to speak more, to hold an actual conversation. His eyes seemed more focused, his mouth firmer. ‘What did you ask him?’
‘I said straight out: “Did you blokes capture the Sydney?” He said, “Yes.” So I asked: “Did some of the crew survive?” He said, “Yes.” Finally I asked him: “Did you capture Luna Park?” Again, he said, “Yes.”’
‘That doesn’t prove anything.’
‘We never came across anyone in the prison who’d met any of the crew after the battle.’
‘But they could have been sent somewhere else. It could take years to find everyone and bring them home.’
‘They should just ask the bloke in the prison ward.’
‘What bloke?’
‘The nurses said the captain of the Kormoran’s here. He had a stroke apparently. He’s having to learn to walk again.’
‘No!’
‘They don’t want anyone to know…’ Phil’s voice trailed off.
‘Especially not the woman reading?’ Grace asked.