We have to jump forward a bit because the next big thing that happens to us is the Sunday morning in late February when Sarah, Morrie and Sophie leave for Melbourne in the Austin 7 to begin the Grand Plan.
Bozo’s made a trailer using two bicycle wheels and several old pine packing cases. Between Bozo’s trailer and the roof rack, which takes three suitcases, one belonging to Sarah as well as two kitchen chairs and a pile of ex-army blankets, they’ve got all their worldly possessions piled in the little car.
In the trailer are three army-disposal canvas stretchers, because we’ve got one for Sarah. Then there’s also a rolledup narrow mattress tied with rope for Sarah because she’s pregnant and Morrie says when her back gets sore she may want to sleep on the floor for better support. A fold-up exarmy map table and three fold-up chairs, some pots and pans and quite a lot of books Morrie’s collected and some of Sarah’s as well. Wedged in the corner is a hurricane lantern and next to it an old second-hand Bakelite wireless Bozo’s found and fixed with a new valve because Morrie reckons he learns his English from the ABC News. The trailer can’t take all that much because the Austin couldn’t pull a heavy load anyway. Bozo’s even got shock absorbers he’s built into it so the bike wheels won’t have to take such a strain when they hit a bump.
Bozo’s tuned the Austin 7, greased and oiled it, cleaned the spark plugs and the carburettor and checked the radiator hose and the radiator itself. The tyres aren’t that good but if they don’t go over 25 mph he reckons they’ll be okay. If they have a breakdown, they can always camp out for the night because the weather in March is still good, nice and cool in the evenings with autumn coming on. It rained last night and it’s a lovely clean clear day, perfect for travelling.
The whole idea is to get going early when there won’t be too much traffic on the road and no big trucks because Sunday’s not a sale day. They are going to try to make the journey in a day, same as we did in the Diamond T. Sophie’s been into Melbourne three times on the train, the last time with Morrie and Sarah. They’ve found a terrace house in Carlton with a rent they reckon they can afford. It’s near the university so they can walk and save money by not taking the tram.
That last time they were at the house, it started to rain pretty hard and the roof didn’t leak except on the back porch. They think the Early Kooka cast-iron gas stove will be okay when they have the gas put back on, because the people next door are an Italian family and have got one the exact same and, although it’s old, it still works like a charm.
Sarah says the lights work because they took a bulb and tried it in all the overhead sockets and every one of them worked except on the porch. The toilet is in the backyard same as us but it’s a flush with a chain you pull, and all the toilet needs is a new seat because someone’s took the seat and there’s just the porcelain.
The bathroom is made of fibro and is at one end of the back porch and has an old green bath, a bit chipped with a deep-brown rust drip from the tap, but no hot water. We’ve never had any hot water so Sarah’s pretty used to cold, but I don’t know how she’s going to go lying in a cold bath, which is different to a shower where you can jump in and out of quickly. Maybe they could boil some water on the stove so her baby won’t freeze to death before it’s born. Sarah says that after a good scrub, a lick of paint and, when they can afford it, a strip or two of lino on the floor, the place will be quite cosy. She’s measured the windows in the front room and the two bedrooms and she’s made curtains using some of Nancy’s yellow-daisy cloth. Nancy’s had this big bolt of cloth for as long as we can remember and, at first, she said she got it from the clothing factory in Wangaratta when they were having a sale. But later she admitted that Tommy had nicked it somewhere. He must have stolen it from some place far away because Nancy’s been advertising it daily for several years. ‘Trust him to nick something that’s in bad taste,’ said Mike. Anyway, the daisy-pattern curtains are our Maloney gift to the new house. ‘It’ll be like Nancy is hanging on the windows,’ Sarah laughs. ‘Our mum, ever-present as always.’
There’s also a fireplace, but it’s been boarded up for donkey’s years and probably doesn’t work, so they’ll have to get a heater for the coming winter. Bozo says no worries, we’ll keep our eye out for people throwing out broken heaters, which is what happens after the first cold snap comes along every year. We get these heaters with broken heater bars but with the reflector and heater unit still in pretty good nick. All it needs is a couple of new bars and heater coil and sometimes a bit of new flex wire and a three-prong, all of which are easy enough to get if you know where to go.
Their place in Melbourne sounds pretty good when you think about it. Much better than the corrugated-iron garage behind the petrol station that Morrie and Sophie lived in while they were saving every penny. Better even than sharing a bedroom with Nancy or taking over ours with Colleen when Tommy’s in residence. Sarah will have her own room, the whole of one room to herself. She says it will be absolute bliss and it looks out at an old lemon tree in the backyard that’s got millions of bright-yellow lemons on it.
Sophie claims there’s plenty of morning sun in the backyard and enough room for a vegie garden because that’s what the Italians have got and they’re growing tomatoes big as your fist. They might even get a cat.
The whole idea on the day of departure for Melbourne is to get away early so Morrie and Sophie arrive at our place in the Austin 7 just after six o’clock. Bozo takes one look at how Morrie has arranged the gear and makes us unload the lot. Under Bozo’s instructions, we re-pack all their stuff, including what Sarah’s taking. Bozo says it’s a bloody miracle Morrie got across town without everything coming apart.
Then, from about half-past six in the morning, people start to arrive to see Sarah off. It’s not as though we’ve invited anyone, they’ve just come of their own accord, not just the families that live in Bell Street but from all over town, damned if I know how they knew. They’ve just sort of come out of the woodwork, some of Sarah’s girlfriends, but lots of grown-ups as well. Some of the women are even having a bit of a sniffle as they wish Sarah good luck.
Old Alf Darby who always gives us a pot of cream every Christmas has come all the way on the gammy leg he’s got from Gallipoli to bring Sarah a big jar of cream for the journey. Reckon it will be butter by the time they arrive in Melbourne. Some of the women have brought things for the baby; booties, matinee jackets, leggings and caps they’ve knitted themselves. They know Sarah will have all the beautiful posh embroidered garments for her baby but these are the practical things she’ll need day to day for the coming winter. There’s also a giant jar of Vaseline, three big tins of Johnson’s Baby Powder and two dummies and flannels as well as three bars of Pears soap and a pink rattle.
One of the men has brought a sack of potatoes and another a box of Jonathan apples. Allan Gee has come in from Wooragee, with his wife Kath driving, and they’ve brought along a roast leg of lamb from a sheep he’s killed special for Sarah. It’s wrapped in this red-and-whitechecked tea towel. ‘Bit of tucker for the road,’ he says, handing it to Sarah through the window that’s closed, and the leg of lamb bumps into the glass and Mr Gee loses it as it falls to the ground. It’s happened of course because he’s almost totally blind from the Burma Railway and wouldn’t be able to see things like window glass easily. But the tea towel saves it and Kath picks it up and goes round to the other window and, still laughing, hands it to Sarah.
There’s a bit of an embarrassing moment when there’s no room for the spuds but Bozo rips open the bag and distributes the spuds in every nook and cranny he can find in the trailer, which is now pretty close to chockers. Bozo has to let a little air out of the bicycle tyres so they won’t burst from the impact of the load if they hit a sudden and unexpected bump.
Mrs Rika Ray has walked in from Silver Creek and she gives Sarah a jar of light-greenish something which she says is willow bark and other bits ’n’ pieces from her
herb garden. ‘You are promising to be rubbing this on your pretty brow and also your tummy and lower private parts when the labour pains are starting, my dear. If you are wanting, I’m taking the train to be there by your side. I am very, very qualified midwife, Indian style, which is the very best style even if I am saying so myself. My God, in India we have the most practice! Babies are popping out every minute of the day and also the night, there is no rest for the wicked who are running off their feet and smacking baby bottoms to get the crying out!’
It’s not just Sarah whom the town folk have come to farewell but Morrie also, because he’s become popular with a lot of the families who regard him as their own doctor. He’s set that many broken arms and legs and fingers, he’s lanced boils, stitched up every kind of cut, even pulled the odd tooth out and, once, on an outlying farm, he arrived just in time to deliver a baby. They’ve often taken his advice more willingly than if it had come from old Dr Hughes or young Dr Wallis. They all want him to come back to Yankalillee when he re-qualifies. If there is still a deep suspicion of foreigners in the town as we all know there is, it sure doesn’t apply to Morrie and Sophie Suckfizzle, who’ve made their mark in a big way.
It’s just after seven when they’re all packed and ready and we’re about to wave them goodbye, Morrie and Sophie in the front and Sarah in the back seat with a box of groceries, some china dishes, plates and stuff wrapped in towels and protected by three cushions and then the box of apples which couldn’t go anywhere else. Lucky, like I said, the window on the opposite side to Sarah has glass in it and winds up, or the stuff packed up to the ceiling would fall out. Sarah has the leg of lamb resting on her knees because there’s nowhere else to put it and, wrapped in the tea towel, it looks a bit like she’s already had her baby.
There’s an awkward moment when Bozo is cranking the Austin 7 and the engine won’t fire and he’s getting a bit sweaty because the little car is being stubborn and I can feel he’s getting weary in the arm. You can see some of the older men watching are itching to have a go and I don’t want Bozo’s pride to be dented. But then, at the last minute, the engine turns over and there’s a backfire fol lowed by a loud cheer from everyone as the Austin 7 shivers and shakes into life. Compared to the Diamond T, it sounds like Nancy’s Singer sewing machine.
Nancy is crying and Mike has got his arm around her and, just as the Austin 7 is about to pull away, Tommy rushes up and sticks his head through Sarah’s side window, the one that hasn’t got any glass in it, and kisses her. It’s the first time he’s ever done it. I don’t think he’s even touched her since she was a baby, maybe when she was smaller he may have hit her when he was drunk. Now he kisses her on the cheek and I can see Sarah is shocked out of her mind, then she smiles and sticks her arm out the window and grabs Tommy by the back of the neck and pulls him in and gives him a big kiss herself.
I’ve got to admit I’m near crying myself over what Tommy’s done, but also embarrassed, a sort of mix of both things, which I can’t explain. But then I see he’s crying and I’ve never seen that in my whole life, tears running down his cheeks and out both his good eye and his bad one. He’s sniffing and wiping his nose with the back of his hand before he runs up the steps into the house like he’s ashamed of himself, which he shouldn’t be because what he’s done is very nice.
Morrie crunches the gear stick into first and starts to pull away again.
To top it all, we hear the police siren coming towards us. Morrie stops two yards further down the road. Everyone’s gone silent and they look in the direction the siren noise is coming from and pretty soon Big Jack Donovan in the police car draws up and the siren dies with a sort of moan.
‘Oh, shit, what now?’ Mike whispers next to me. The police sergeant has his elbow out the window as he draws to a stop. ‘Mornin’ all!’ he shouts out. Then he grins, ‘The police escort has arrived. Can’t have three VIPs leaving town without an escort, now can we, folks?’
They all clap and shout, ‘Good on ya, Jack!’ Everyone there knows that the trailer is illegal, the Austin 7 is overloaded to buggery and the tyres aren’t roadworthy. They know that Big Jack Donovan could, if he wanted to, throw the book at Morrie Suckfizzle and still be short of pages he needed to fill out.
Big Jack gets out of the car and walks over and squats down beside Morrie and I hear him say quietly, ‘No more than twenty miles an hour, you hear. I’ve alerted the highway patrol to keep a watch out for you, look after you, see you don’t get into trouble. If a policeman hasn’t got the message and tries to get a bit obstreperous, you tell him to give me a call on his radio.’ He rises and pats Morrie lightly on the arm, ‘Safe journey, eh, Morrie.’ He glances quickly at Sarah in the back. ‘Take good care of our girlie.’ But Sarah doesn’t see him because she’s crying and trying not to, but can’t help herself. Sophie’s also sobbing and even old Morrie is doing a bit of a sniff but knows he can’t cry because he has to drive the Austin 7 and he’s talking to a policeman.
With the police car leading, the siren blasting away, people cheering and waving, the little Austin 7, pumping out blue smoke, begins to trundle down Bell Street, the trailer skipping like a little kid behind it. They reach the end of our street and turn right into Dunbar Road, the road that leads directly towards the road to Wangaratta where they will join the highway to Melbourne.
Suddenly, with the last wink of the red brake light as the Austin 7 turns at the end of Bell Street, our Maloney world is empty. Our beautiful sister has gone away and our lives have a big hole in them where she’s been torn out of us.
Sarah has been our everything, she’s been the food we ate, the clean clothes we wore, the advice we needed, the comfort when we were sad, the scolding when we were bad, help with our homework, our moral guide and our family pride, the person that made our home hum, our sister and our other mum. No matter what happened, you knew she’d be there and no day could be all bad with her in it. Now she’s gone away. We don’t even know if we can be there when her baby comes.
I feel this big ache that fills my throat and chest and then begins to squeeze out of my eyes and I see dimly that it’s the same with Bozo and Mike, bright tears running down their cheeks, and Nancy’s sobbing and all of our shoulders are shaking and we can’t stop them even if we try.
But suddenly the air above us is filled with a high whine and then a roar and everyone looks up. Coming down out of the cloudless morning sky, like a dive bomber, is the yellow Piper Cub with Mrs Barrington-Stone sitting in the cockpit at the controls.
The Piper Cub skims over our rooftop and, with a roar, rises up into the air and banks in the direction of the highway towards Melbourne. We all see that it’s trailing this long banner, clear and sharp against the clean, rain-washed sky, made up with these cut-out letters:
SARAH M. PROUD OF YOU!
CHAPTER TEN
Now I have to tell you about the brouhaha, which is the name Mrs Barrington-Stone gives to the unfolding of the Grand Plan between Melbourne University and Sarah.
On her enrolment day, 10 March 1956, Sarah turns up with Morrie Suckfizzle at the university. Sarah’s got a bottle-green cotton dress Mike has made for her which he said was the New Look. It has a long skirt almost to Sarah’s ankles and she wears it with white ankle socks and flat shoes. Mike said her tummy spoils the line and it’s the best he could do under the circumstances. It is true, Sarah seems to grow larger every week and Nancy’s theory of twins is being increasingly bandied about although Morrie says it’s highly unlikely.
Morrie’s still got his long black coat and black suit and black hat that’s not like the hats Australians wear, as well as the white shirt with celluloid collar and the black tie that’s a bit frayed around the edges. Morrie wants so badly to be like an Australian but this outfit is his Sunday best and he can’t see that it makes him look like a scruffy little reffo.
The other students, all of them blokes, some of them smoking pipes too, lo
ok more grown up. They must think the two of them look very strange, the young pregnant red head and the funny little reffo, because they can’t take their eyes off the pair of them and there’s a fair amount of giggling going on behind their backs.
Sarah’s feeling pretty embarrassed at being the only girl and her being in the family way to boot. Morrie doesn’t seem to notice that he’s equally the odd person out. He smiles at everyone and chats to Sarah and seems very excited. You’d have to wonder a bit what there is for him to get excited about, seeing he’s got to do most of the hard work to become a doctor all over again and he’s going to have to get a night job as well. Morrie’s passed the foreign doctors’ exam they held last year in September so he can skip first year.
I wasn’t there, of course, but Sarah’s pretty good at remembering things and I’ve listened to Morrie’s version of what happened that first day as well and I think I can put it all together more or less the way it happened.
Professor Marcus Block is sitting in room 18 in Medical Block 22 together with the assistant registrar, Mr Tompkins. There’s sixty students to be interviewed on this day although there are two hundred and forty-eight first-year students in all. They wait in this big hallway with polished lino and white walls, where there are these little alcoves in which there are marble busts on plinths of famous medical men and women, people like Hippocrates, Sir Alexander Fleming, Florence Nightingale, Madame Curie and even Leonardo da Vinci, who I thought was an artist but must also have been a doctor. Along the wall there are benches, though not enough for everyone and Sarah looks embarrassed when two young blokes in almost identical grey suits, white shirts and ties and nicely polished black shoes, one of them smoking a pipe which keeps going out and which he has to keep lighting again, get up and offer her and Morrie their seats.
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