GLADYS isn’t sure how to respond, or even if a response is required.
GLADYS: Yes, but we—
But NAN elbows her.
INSPECTOR: The Aborigine needs to be absorbed into the community. But how can he be absorbed until he learns to live like us? I will recommend assimilation, in my report. It is a vexed issue, to be sure, but someone must take leadership. First, the housing problem must be fixed… After all, how can the children study in the evenings if there is no electric light?
GLADYS: [unsure] Yes.
INSPECTOR: Yes. I will do all I can. But… in the meantime, you need to rally yourselves. Speak to your local MPs. Form a delegation. Collect petitions. Write letters. Inform yourself. Knowledge is power, ladies.
GLADYS: [hesitantly] Yes. [More assured] Yes.
INSPECTOR: Thank you for the cuppa, Mrs Dear. Mmm… something smells delicious?
NAN DEAR: It’s just damper.
GLADYS: Please help yourself.
INSPECTOR: Marvellous! Quite a treat, fresh damper. Thank you.
NAN DEAR: Yes.
GLADYS: Do come again.
NAN elbows GLADYS. The INSPECTOR exits. GLADYS rubs where NAN elbowed her.
NAN DEAR: [disgusted] ‘Do come again!’
GLADYS: My Lordy, I was nervous.
DOLLY: What is he here for? Why is he checking us out? And who is he?
NAN DEAR: Never you mind.
She is peeking out the window, checking out which way he is going.
DOLLY: Nan, why do you always treat me like a child?
GLADYS: [low] That man, he’s writing a report. About the way we live. For the Government of Victoria.
DOLLY: A report? Like a mark out of one hundred?
GLADYS: Something like that.
DOLLY: Will they build us our own houses, like you’re always on about?
GLADYS: Perhaps.
NAN snorts.
DOLLY: Do you still want me to go over to Aunty Ester’s?
NAN DEAR: [sadly] Probably too late now.
Beat.
DOLLY: Nan? What’s wrong, Nan?
NAN shakes her head and vanishes outside to hide the anxiety she is feeling. GLADYS watches DOLLY watching her.
GLADYS: [falsely bright] So how was school today, Dolly?
DOLLY: Same as every day… Mum! Nancy was talking about a ball that’s coming up. The Miss Mooroopna-Shepparton Ball! Mum?
GLADYS has not been listening. NAN returns and shakes her head at GLADYS’s inquiring look.
GLADYS: Well then, Dolly—haven’t you got sums to do?
DOLLY: Yeah, so I can be a bookkeeper… in the laundry.
DOLLY scoots out of reach but NAN doesn’t even try to smack her. The two older women look at each other, then in the direction DOLLY has gone, worried.
GLADYS: They won’t take her.
NAN DEAR: She’s seventeen. They’d make her work for someone. Like they did you.
GLADYS: I think he was impressed at her schooling.
NAN DEAR: Maybe. And how clean it was?
GLADYS: Definitely. Oh, Mum… But I’d like to see that report of his—I’d like to know what he says about us.
NAN DEAR: [an outburst] And what bloody good would that do?! Daydreams!
Crankily, she thumps the radio to life.
GLADYS: [to herself] They’re not really daydreams…
Because she intends to make them come true.
SCENE SEVEN: THE TURN
Early evening.
DOLLY, out of sight, is singing to the radio. NAN sits in the only chair, cleaning a pair of slingback shoes with white shoe cleaner. She is acutely aware of what is happening around her. GLADYS is fussing around getting ready, and also singing—but a different song.
GLADYS: My white gloves?
NAN DEAR: Tomato box by the bed.
GLADYS: You need a cuppa, Mum? [Louder] Get a wriggle on, Dolly.
NAN DEAR: Full up to pussy’s bow.
DOLLY: Where’s the talcum powder?
NAN DEAR: Trough.
DOLLY: Thanks, Nan. Can I use a little of your lavender water? Thanks. You got your glasses, Nan?
NAN DEAR: Right here, love.
GLADYS: Mum, you sure you don’t want to come to Aunty’s? Did I mention it’s a housing fundraiser?
NAN DEAR: You did. Why else would you make rock cakes all afternoon?
GLADYS: Just six dozen. It’s my little contribution. See, Uncle’s planning to negotiate for Daish’s, in a ‘new deal’. They’ve got in mind Aboriginal housing. They want to call the housing Rumbalara. It means—
NAN DEAR: I know what it means.
GLADYS: —‘end of the rainbow’. Sounds beaut, doesn’t it, this ‘new deal’? They say the houses’ll have running water…
The lights change for GLADYS’s dream sequence.
A tap appears from nowhere and from it flows blue jewels in an approximation of water. NAN’s words break in and bring the fantasy to an end as the lights change back to reality.
NAN DEAR: But Daish’s is the town tip. They already decided that in ’47.
GLADYS: He’s—we’re—going to have another go at it. I might even go on the committee.
NAN DEAR: You? Don’t ever get too clever, my girl.
GLADYS: Just a thought.
NAN DEAR: You get knocked down when you get too clever.
GLADYS: Yes, Mum. I’ll get you comfy with the radio.
She fiddles with the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER: [voice-over] Ajax foaming cleaner. Because Ajax contains bleach, you’ll stop paying the elbow tax…
NAN DEAR: Honestly, they’re mad about whiteness.
GLADYS belts the radio and it reverts to soothing country and western music.
GLADYS: You got your crochet hook, Mum?
NAN DEAR: Stop fussing.
GLADYS: Dolly, would you like to borrow the girdle? That dress—
DOLLY walks in, looking gorgeous in a very tight-waisted 1950s dress.
NAN DEAR: —that dress never looked like that on you.
GLADYS: A vision! My baby…
She twirls DOLLY around, proud as.
NAN DEAR: She doesn’t look like a baby.
GLADYS: I’m off now, Mum, unless there’s anything…?
NAN shoos her away.
You look beautiful, Dolores. Truly beautiful. [Whispering] Have a lovely time… with Errol.
GLADYS gives DOLLY a peck on the cheek and exits. NAN, once she’s gone, rushes over and gets the latest volume of the encyclopedia to look at. She settles back in her chair and notices that DOLLY is still there.
NAN DEAR: Aren’t you going with her?
DOLLY: [evasive] Ah, no. I’m getting a lift. On account of Aunty’s shoes.
DOLLY puts on earrings and fiddles with her hair.
NAN DEAR: [suspiciously] All this fuss for a little bush concert?
DOLLY: I’m not going to the fundraiser.
NAN DEAR: You’re not? Then where, pray tell?
DOLLY: To a dance. In Shepparton.
NAN DEAR: Your mother know this? Of course—she’s in on it. Who’s going to be at this dance?
DOLLY: The usual.
NAN DEAR: Who’s bringing you home? One of your cousins? At least Gladys would have made sure you were brought home safe.
DOLLY: Errol’s bringing me home.
NAN DEAR: That encyclops boy? That gubba fella?
DOLLY: Mm-mm. Errol Fisher.
NAN DEAR: He’s Errol Fisher? A Fisher?
DOLLY sighs.
He’ll be there?
DOLLY: Everyone’s going to be there! It’s a dance, Nan.
NAN goes into a coughing fit. As DOLLY rushes to get her a glass of water, NAN hides the white shoes.
You right, Nan?
NAN DEAR: I’m chilly.
DOLLY gets NAN a blanket and arranges it over her knees.
You get going, then… My crochet hook?
DOLLY: I’m sure you had it… Here it is! Nan, have
you seen those shoes?
NAN DEAR: Aren’t they under Glad’s bed?
DOLLY disappears then reappears shaking her head.
DOLLY: [panicking] What time is it?
DOLLY finds the shoes under the chair. There’s a truck honking outside and DOLLY rushes to the window. NAN coughs again. DOLLY’s concerned.
NAN DEAR: Parched… But you’d better be off… Go out, kick up your heels, love… Don’t mind me here all alone.
DOLLY fills up her mug from the billy.
DOLLY: You sure?
NAN DEAR: Though I do feel like a serve of swan eggs…
DOLLY: Swan eggs? You’re okay, aren’t you, Nan?
NAN coughs. DOLLY looks from the source of the honking to NAN. The honking is more insistent. The coughing is more wracking. DOLLY opens the door and disappears.
NAN rushes over to the window, then rushes back and settles herself back in her chair. As DOLLY returns inside (waving sadly to the departing truck) NAN looks relieved, then remembers to cough again.
NAN DEAR: Come here, love.
DOLLY dutifully goes over and gives NAN a hug. DOLLY removes her accessories. NAN perks up.
DOLLY: Okay now, Nan?
NAN DEAR: So, so.
DOLLY strokes NAN’s hair tenderly.
Perhaps I will go to the concert, a little later on. A few hymns would be lovely. You can walk me over, Dolly. There’ll be a few young ’ens there. Heard there’s a nice Wemba Wemba boy down from Swan Hill…
DOLLY hugs her, disappointed in missing the dance.
DOLLY: We’re probably related to him too, eh, Nan?
NAN DEAR: We’ll find someone for you. Go on, put on your earrings, love.
The lights go down.
SCENE EIGHT: WASHING-DAY BLUES
As the lights come up, NAN is wringing out the whites, then hanging them on the old-fashioned clothes line (no pegs). DOLLY, dragging her feet as she walks home from school, wordlessly plonks down her bag and gives her a hand.
DOLLY: Nan, Robbie wasn’t at school today. Neither was Lionel or Roy.
NAN DEAR: Yes.
DOLLY: It’s ’cause of that inspector, ay, Nan?
NAN DEAR: [harshly] Don’t listen to gossip, Dolores.
DOLLY: Is that why Aunty Ester’s down at the cork trees, drinkin’ with the goo—?
NAN DEAR: Don’t speak ill, girl.
DOLLY: But is it ’cause they took her boys?
NAN shoots her a look of warning.
I want to know. I’m not a child. I’m a woman, Nan.
NAN will not answer. DOLLY turns on the radio.
RADIO ANNOUNCER: [voice-over] And in other news, well-known Melbourne vocalist and teenage idol of thousands, Ernie Sigley, will sing with the Echuca Rhythm Kings orchestra at the inaugural Miss Mooroopna-Shepparton Ball. So, girls, put on your prettiest frocks, and be there… And now here’s Lucky Lennie’s…
DOLLY: The Miss Mooroopna-Shepparton Ball…
There’s longing in her voice. NAN goes to get another load of washing from the kero tin. GLADYS hurries up the track towards them.
GLADYS: Dolly! There’s a trainee program, at the bank, in town. I heard Nancy Woolthorpe’s mother talking about it when I was at the butcher’s.
NAN DEAR: When you’re the last to be served, you hear lots of things.
DOLLY: And?
GLADYS: And? You’ll go for it. If Nancy’s going for it, you can.
DOLLY: What do you want from me, Mum? Do you want me to walk like them, talk like them, wear a twin-set like them? Pretend to be one of them?
GLADYS: Are you finished?
DOLLY: No. And yet we live like this… out here.
NAN DEAR: At least here we sink or swim on our own. Not like the Cummeragunja days, always at the mercy of the manager—
She stops abruptly, a little shamed by her outburst. DOLLY is pleased that NAN has revealed a little info. But GLADYS has something to say.
GLADYS: You ask me what I want. Well, I want what any mother, black, white or brindle, wants for her daughter. That’s all.
GLADYS stares at them defiantly, before she goes into the humpy.
DOLLY: Nan…why don’t we have a normal life?
NAN DEAR: This is normal—
DOLLY: Getting flooded all the time—
NAN DEAR: It’s just the way it is. That’s nature.
DOLLY: But why? It’s like we’re fighting nature all the time. Living on the riverbank—
NAN DEAR: You’re the one who’s fighting. You and your mother. Fighting against how things are.
DOLLY: What’s wrong with that? Papa Dear fights for things to get better.
DOLLY sighs, resigned. They continue to hang up the washing.
It’s not going to rain, is it?
NAN DEAR: Would I be doing this if it was about to rain? [Beat.] All these questions, questions, questions…
DOLLY: Yes, Nan. But how come there’s no answers?
Beat.
NAN DEAR: A ball.
DOLLY is surprised that NAN has revived the topic.
DOLLY: Not just any ball. The Miss Mooroopna-Shepparton Ball.
NAN DEAR: Is it just for Aboriginals?
DOLLY: No.
NAN DEAR: That boy’s not going to be there? That encyclops boy?
DOLLY: Doubt it… [She waits, then buries her face in a white sheet.] ‘Your whites are so white, Mrs Dear.’
NAN DEAR: As if that were the be-all and end-all. As if that were the bloody be-all and end-all. [Beat.] All right.
DOLLY: All right, what?
NAN DEAR: You can go.
DOLLY: I can? To the ball? And enter the competition? Yipee! You’ll make me a new dress, Nan? A really gorgeous one with lots of fabric—pretty fabric.
NAN DEAR: Maybe.
DOLLY: Please, Nan.
NAN DEAR: Yes. Yes.
DOLLY dances around NAN.
Haven’t you got something to do instead of getting under people’s feet, girl?
DOLLY: I could get the water?
NAN DEAR: You go and play. While you’re still a child. Git.
DOLLY: Thanks, Nan. A big skirt. And a peplum.
NAN: Peplum?
DOLLY: Like in the picture on the wall. Love you, Nan.
DOLLY hugs her.
NAN DEAR: Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not the House of Biba, you know. Go on, git.
The lights go down.
SCENE NINE: HOME SWEET HOME
As the lights come up, GLADYS is going around the humpy emptying the mouse traps of dead mice and setting new traps, while DOLLY does her homework. A song is heard on the radiogram: ‘I’ll Be Home’ by Pat Boone.
GLADYS: First hint of cold weather and they’re in, like a flash.
DOLLY sings a line from the song.
I made another payment today.
DOLLY glances up and sees another volume of the encyclopedia is on the bookcase.
DOLLY: Up to K. I’ll be nineteen by the time we’re up to Z.
DOLLY goes over and gets down the latest volume and pours over it.
GLADYS: You do think they’re wonderful, though? You’re ‘expanding your possibilities’?
DOLLY: Of course, Mum. Every day I learn something new about the big, wide world. That see-through section with the body—the muscles, and the bones, and the veins—that’s my favourite. I love reading about the gizzards.
GLADYS: My… gizzards. That makes it all worthwhile.
DOLLY: [casually] So you saw…
GLADYS: [equally casual] He inquired after you.
DOLLY: He did?
GLADYS picks up a mouse that is still alive.
GLADYS: I’ll let this one go in the scrub.
DOLLY: So it can just find its way back here?
GLADYS vanishes outside with the mouse and DOLLY, restless, checks out her reflection in a small cracked piece of mirror. GLADYS returns.
[Casually] Errol…?
GLADYS: Oh, yes, he was sorry he missed you the ot
her week. He happened to ask if you were attending this ball coming up. And I said, yes, by coincidence, you were!
DOLLY: So what else did he say?
GLADYS: He asked if he could meet you at your ‘special spot’. Asked. Real polite. Now, don’t mind Nan—it’ll be our little secret. What she won’t know—
DOLLY: —won’t hurt her. Except—Nan already said I could go. She’s making me a dress. With a peplum.
She points to a picture of a peplum on the wall.
GLADYS: [annoyed] Did she just? And why was it her place to give you permission?
DOLLY: Mum!
GLADYS: Well, it’s not right. I’m the mother.
DOLLY: Yes, [exaggerating] Mum. [Dreamily] So we ren-des-vous [rhyming with booze]—
GLADYS: If you spent more time on your French, and less time staring at peplums, you’d know it’s pronounced ‘rendezvous’.
DOLLY: [angrily] You think you know everything—
GLADYS: I don’t—
DOLLY: Too right, you don’t.
GLADYS: [quietly] Don’t speak to me like that.
DOLLY: You going to wash out my mouth with soap? Nan thinks soap and water, and you think that books and school, are the answer to everything.
GLADYS: You’re not too old for a wattle stick across your bare legs.
DOLLY: You’ve never hit me in your life.
DOLLY and GLADYS are locked in a staring match.
It’s me that gets stones thrown at her when I walk down the street. It’s me that gets snide remarks.
GLADYS: You think I haven’t had my fair share? Or Nan? Even Papa Dear—not even he escapes it. Don’t think he doesn’t get put in his place. [Beat.] You have to learn not to let them shame you.
DOLLY: Have you, Mum? Have you learnt not to be shamed by them? [Beat.] I thought not. You’re always telling me to stick up for myself, but when do you, eh?
A long pause. DOLLY exits. NAN enters. GLADYS vents her frustration.
GLADYS: [angrily] Re this ball, why are you saying if she can step out? She’s my daughter. I have brought up three others before her.
NAN DEAR: Boys, Gladys. Girls are a different kettle of fish.
Beat.
GLADYS: I’ll make the decisions regarding Dolores, thank you.
NAN DEAR: Then do it.
GLADYS: I have. She’s going to the ball. And Errol Fisher is walking her home.
NAN DEAR: But—
GLADYS: No.
Rainbow's End Page 4