by Di Morrissey
One evening Clem had a chat with Mr Thompson as they sat in the lounge room waiting for the call to the tea table.
‘Well, Clem, I suppose you must be thinking beyond the battle to come, or battles probably. It’s good for morale to have some idea of what you’d like to do when you come back, duty done. Something beyond marrying Elizabeth,’ he added with understanding. ‘Maybe have a crack at making it in Sydney?’
Clem wasn’t surprised at the reference to Elizabeth. They hadn’t hidden their deepening relationship from Thommo or his parents. ‘A lot of the country blokes in our unit talk about heading for the big cities when they get discharged. Having some leave in the city with money in our pockets has opened our eyes a bit,’ admitted Clem. ‘Elizabeth definitely wants to get out of here . . . we’ve sort of talked about it,’ he added shyly.
Frank patted his shoulder. ‘You do what you think best. Don’t worry about your dad and the farm.’ Frank Thompson left it at that. He’d heard enough from Thommo to appreciate how tough life was for Clem at the farm because of his father. ‘For now you’ve got a big job ahead of you. We’re very proud of you two.’ He paused, and took Clem’s hand. ‘Keep an eye on my boy for me, Clem. I’m sure he’ll be keeping an eye on you.’ Then Frank turned away and changed the subject.
The Williams’ family party for the young men was a big success. Emily, helped by daughters Mollie and Elizabeth, had made supper and set it out on the long kitchen table. The Gordon boys, two of them with their girlfriends, Elizabeth’s friend Cynthia, Clem and Thommo and several other young couples, were all having their first sundowners of the evening in the back garden or on the back verandah.
In the kitchen Emily and Mrs Gordon fussed with last-minute food preparation and crushed up a block of ice to cool a jug of orangeade, while the men sat on the front verandah enjoying a quiet smoke over a bottle of beer. Emily didn’t allow any strong liquor like whisky in the house, though an occasional glass of sherry was tolerated. She accepted the boys liked their beer and had their ‘little indulgences’. Emily had taken up smoking some years before and while she limited herself she did enjoy the luxury of her Capstan ‘ciggie’ at morning and afternoon tea, then after dinner in the evening.
The boys all smoked. Some rolled their own as it was cheaper but Thommo now flashed around English cigarettes he’d won in a card game. Dressed in their uniforms the young soldiers looked handsome and carefree. Mollie posed them in front of the water tank and took their photo with her box brownie before the sun set.
‘Mollie, take one of me and Elizabeth,’ asked Clem, taking Elizabeth’s hand.
‘Not in front of the tank. We take all our family pictures at the front steps,’ said Elizabeth.
They sat together on the brick flower box beside the steps at the front of Cricklewood. Elizabeth leaned in close to Clem’s shoulder, her arm possessively through his. Clem pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his military-cut hair, smoothing the once luxuriant curls. They both smiled broadly, fresh faced, happy. There was no hint of the shadows yet to come into their lives.
After supper they all crammed into the lounge room, opened the French doors and spilled onto the front verandah for what Emily described as ‘a bit of a concert, a sing song’.
Elizabeth played the piano and Emily accompanied her on the violin she’d brought from England. They all knew ‘Bless ’em All’, ‘Kiss Me Goodnight Sergeant Major’, ‘A Sleepy Lagoon’, ‘Red Red Robin’.
Mid evening, while music sheets were being sorted between songs, Harold called for everyone’s attention, ringing a little brass bell that sat on the mantelpiece.
‘Thank you for your attention, dear friends. Please forgive this little formality but I wanted to express the feelings of myself and my dear wife,’ he gave a nod towards Emily who smiled and fluttered her hand. ‘Feelings that are born of the circumstances reflected in the uniforms being worn here tonight,’ continued Harold. ‘We are very proud that our boys are marching for a just cause.’ There was a burst of applause. Looking at the enthusiastic and eager faces of the young men, Harold tried to smother images of dead comrades and brave soldiers lying in the muddy horror of Flanders. He raised his glass. ‘Would you join me in a toast. To Empire, freedom, democracy and, above all, to victory.’
There was a roar of approval and a great chorus shouting ‘To victory!’ When everyone had drunk, Emily took her place at the keyboard and in seconds ‘Rule Britannia’ was being sung loudly and passionately. Harold then went around and shook the hand of each of the boys and wished them a safe return.
He had a special word with Thommo, who declared he’d ‘make a bloody good fist of it’.
‘Listen to your officers and save your money, young man. When you get back you could have a tidy packet to get you started in a home or a little business,’ advised Harold.
‘She’ll be right, Mr Williams. And I’ll keep a lookout for Clem,’ he added, wondering if Harold knew about Elizabeth and Clem’s future plans.
‘You rely on your mates in war, that’s for sure,’ said Harold, thinking of his old friend Scooter. ‘Don’t underestimate the enemy – and there are plenty of them. At least you’re better armed and equipped than we were, I reckon.’
Later, Mrs Gordon, Emily and a reluctant Mollie washed up. Mollie went to bed, exhausted by the long day, to read another chapter of Anne’s House of Dreams. The Gordons and their girls, along with other couples, drifted off, and Cynthia was escorted home by Thommo. Finally there was just Clem and Elizabeth sitting beside each other on the back steps.
Emily popped out to say good night. ‘Don’t you two sit up too long. You have to work in the morning, Elizabeth, and Clem, I’m sure you’ll have milking in the morning.’
‘Hopefully for the last time, Mrs W,’ he said, then shut up as Elizabeth dug him in the ribs.
‘Well, goodnight, dears.’ Emily went to her bedroom where Harold was already fast asleep. She was pleased they’d given the boys a good party, one they’d no doubt remember in the dark days that were inevitably ahead. Emily remembered the shocking scenes in the First World War when the troops wounded in France came to London in their tens of thousands, including her own brother. She had already signed up with the Red Cross and hoped Elizabeth would do her bit as well. They had to support all the home-town boys.
Clem held Elizabeth in his arms and kissed her, then whispered, ‘This is too cramped. Let’s get on the couch.’ He led her to the old couch that doubled as a spare bed in the sleep-out section of the verandah screened by lattice and a well-worn and faded canvas blind.
‘Going to miss me?’ he asked pulling her down to his side.
‘Maybe.’
‘You’re a tease, Lizzie Williams.’
‘Don’t call me that. I’ve told you so many times, Clem,’ she said crossly.
‘Sorry. Keep your hair on.’ He silenced her with another kiss, his hands roaming over her body, sliding under her skirt.
Elizabeth stopped his hand with hers.
‘Aw, c’mon, darlin’. I’m going off to war, for gosh sake!’
‘You don’t know that for sure, do you?’
‘Yeah, we got word we’ll be going abroad. Could be the Middle East.’
Elizabeth didn’t answer but slowly lifted her hand and pulled his body to her.
Clem counted it as his first sexual experience. It had been exciting and he felt satisfied and relaxed. Then came the worry.
‘You’re not sorry?’
It was Elizabeth’s first time but the practical girl was now fussing about her underwear and pulling the blanket off to soak in the laundry tub. ‘I’ll tell Mum beer got spilled. Clem, you’d better go. Dad sometimes gets up at night.’
‘Throwing me out, eh?’ He yawned and pulled on his pants.
They hugged goodbye at the front gate.
‘Don’t you tell Thommo what we did,’ she admonished.
‘No. Course not.’ It suddenly hit him. ‘Hey, um, you won’t get pregnant o
r anything . . . ?’
‘Hope not,’ said Elizabeth cheerfully.
But afterwards, as she lay in bed, she realised how little she knew about these things. There was no way she could ask her mother about such matters. Especially now as it would raise immediate suspicion. She’d talk to Cynthia, she had friends in Sydney who were more experienced and knowledgeable. Elizabeth then cast the pregnancy concern to one side and relived the highlights of the evening. She’d enjoyed holding centre stage briefly as she played the piano, the envious glances from the other girls when Clem was so openly demonstrative towards her, and finally their lovemaking. It had been a bit fumbled and awkward trying to be quiet. She began to think of more romantic and exotic scenarios of how it would be next time. What she’d wear, how’d she look and behave. Scenes from films of Rita Hayworth and Joan Crawford came to mind. One day, she and Clem would have a life together as man and wife in their own home, in the city. How exciting it would be.
A train rumbled. The bridge creaked. A night bird called. Oh yes, after the war she would leave the country behind . . . with Clem.
Isabella, 1854
Isabella had been living in the cottage at Birimbal some distance from the burnt remains of her mansion while she waited for her home at the river to be completed. She decided to call her new home Riverview as she loved the peaceful vista of the river. She stayed at Birimbal till the last crop of lucerne had been harvested and stored in the remaining barn. There was still some stock on the property including five hundred head of cattle, half of which she had instructed an agency in Sydney to sell. She had been juggling finances with the two properties so had taken a loan from the firm, putting up her cattle as security. Her loan would be paid off from the sale of the cattle.
Most days her company was limited to a stockman and two female native servants, so on hearing approaching horses Isabella went outside to see who her visitors were. Three men dismounted, one she recognised as a gentleman she’d met briefly when he stopped by for a courtesy call a month before. He seemed to be the leader of the three.
‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ She recognised the man in charge.
‘Good morning again, Miss Kelly. I am Charles Skerrett. You graciously extended hospitality to me some time back.’ Although humbly dressed his manner and speech impressed Isabella. He seemed a man who’d been well educated.
‘Well, Mr Skerrett, cool water is the least one can offer a thirsty traveller. What brings you this way?’
‘May I introduce my companions, Mr Millar and Mr Anderson.’ They raised their hats as Skerrett continued, ‘They are accompanying me on business. As you may recall, I have been a magistrate in Melbourne for several years but I moved to Port Macquarie where I have cattle and horses.’
Isabella thought quickly. If Skerrett had a proven record as a magistrate perhaps he could act as one in the valley and solve her contentious dealings with local magistrates.
Charles Skerrett continued, ‘I am looking for a property further north. I’ve heard you are leaving here and so I wish to enquire about a lease.’
‘I am not selling Birimbal, but I could consider a lease. You have family, Mr Skerrett?’
‘Indeed, ma’am. Eight girls and one son.’ He gave a disarming smile. ‘I am travelling through to Sydney to collect power-of-attorney from the firm of Brierly, Dean and Co. and to collect an inheritance of one thousand five hundred pounds that has come my way.’
‘My cottage is small, though I believe the bails close by could be converted to sleeping quarters. They are clean and dry.’ Isabella suddenly thought having Skerrett in residence would not only provide some income but would be a deterrent to anyone with malicious intent. She still firmly believed her grand home had been deliberately set on fire. ‘Do come inside where we can discuss matters in more comfort,’ said Isabella.
Over tea Skerrett and Isabella came to an agreement. He would lease Birimbal for ten pounds a year.
‘And your cattle, Miss Kelly? I am interested in purchasing some.’
‘Well, the cattle I have for sale are listed with an agent in Sydney. If you are in Sydney and wish to contact him, I will give you the name and address.’
Several weeks later Skerrett reappeared and told Isabella he had bought all her cattle from her agent in Sydney.
Isabella was shocked. ‘But I only authorised the agent to sell half of the stock on this property. I planned to take the other two hundred and fifty to Riverview.’
‘They fetched a very good price.’
‘There must be some misunderstanding. Can I see the documentation, Mr Skerrett?’
‘I do not have it as it is in my goods coming from Sydney. However, you can expect a letter from the agent very soon. I can assure you he sold me the entire herd.’
Isabella rose and paced the room to calm the anger Skerrett’s announcement stirred in her. Perhaps she had not been clear enough in her instructions to the Sydney agent and cursed herself for not making a copy of the selling instructions.
‘I understand that you must be concerned at this turn of events, Miss Kelly, but I have gone into a complex financial arrangement in Sydney to pay for this herd. I cannot go back on the sale. So until we have the papers concerning the sale, can we draw up an agreement to allow me to muster the cattle.’
Although she was not happy about the arrangement, Isabella believed her cattle were now Skerrett’s and he could sell, slaughter or breed with them as he wished. She hastily wrote out two copies of a mustering agreement which they both signed and countersigned.
Skerrett and his family arrived the day before Isabella left for Riverview. She was surprised at the bedraggled appearance of Mrs Skerrett and the thin and ragged children. Their belongings appeared to be mostly bedding pulled behind in a dray.
‘Have you not brought supplies with you, Mr Skerrett?’ asked Isabella.
‘The wagon with food and grain supplies was destroyed when it went over a flooded causeway. Those two fellows you met with me were quite careless. I dismissed both of them after the loss. So I would be grateful if we can impose on your store until I can replenish our needs.’
Isabella gave them flour, sugar, wheat and some grain seed. She felt sorry for the group of thin girls huddled around their mother who had a baby in one arm and held the hand of a toddler.
‘I have left some horses here until my man Florian comes from the river to fetch them and other remaining necessities. You can take the milk from the cows,’ offered Isabella.
‘You are a kind lady. Many thanks, Miss Kelly.’ He doffed his hat in a courtly gesture and Isabella wondered how it had happened that such an educated gentleman appeared to be in such strained domestic circumstances. His wife appeared to be totally unsuited to be the partner of a gentleman and magistrate. Skerrett continued, ‘I am unable to muster the cattle as planned, so I suggest we tear up the agreement.’ He produced a paper and tore it into pieces, throwing them into the kitchen fire.
Isabella retrieved her copy of the contract from her writing box and tore it up as well. ‘I hope fortune smiles on you,’ she said as she took her leave.
When she left Birimbal for the river she met her neighbour Mr Andrews on the road.
‘Ah, Miss Kelly, I’ve been meaning to call by and enquire about buying a fat bullock from you.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Andrews, I’ve sold all my cattle to my tenant, Mr Skerrett.’
At Riverview Isabella applied herself to the many tasks of upgrading the property. It was some time before she became concerned at not hearing from the agent in Sydney about the sale of her cattle to Skerrett, so she sent a letter.
The agent’s reply shocked her.
Miss Kelly,
We regret to inform you we have had no dealings with a Mr Charles Skerrett, or that any sale of your cattle has taken place. Certainly no monies have been received. Would you please instruct us in how you wish to proceed in the matter of selling the 250 head of your herd as requested.
Isabella confided in Fl
orian. ‘I fear there is some misunderstanding, at least I hope that’s all it is. I must go to Sydney.’
The meeting with her agent was no more illuminating. He advised her to put an advertisement in the local paper cautioning anyone not to buy cattle or horses with the Kelly brand on them. Isabella returned to Birimbal to confront Charles Skerrett. There she found only Mrs Skerrett and the children. Isabella demanded to know what had happened.
The woman dabbed at her eyes and whined as several children hovered around her skirt. ‘We are in great difficulty. We have little food and my husband ordered a beast to be killed for us to eat. I don’t know about any cattle. He’s gone to see the neighbour Mr Turner.’
Isabella looked at the cringing woman, the dirty and untidy room, the snivelling children. ‘Tell your husband he will face greater difficulties for what he has done,’ she snapped as she turned on her heel.
Isabella took a fresh horse from the few that remained on Birimbal and rode around the hill to the property belonging to Luke Turner. She found Turner’s stockman at the slaughter yards and he told her that the farmer was away. Isabella spotted several hides hanging on the rails and saw they each had her brand on them.
‘Cut out those brands and give them to me,’ she demanded.
The stockman didn’t argue. He knew Isabella Kelly was not a woman to contradict or ignore. The boss could sort it out. He was relieved when Isabella rode off with the pieces of hide hanging from her saddle.
Back at Riverview she told Florian she was charging Skerrett with cattle stealing.
Florian looked at the hides and nodded. ‘He seems to be very sure about where he stands in this matter to sell some of the stock,’ he said in some puzzlement.
‘Or plain treacherous, Florian. And he appeared to be a gentleman. I am not going to the local magistrate, I shall go to Dungog Police.’
‘Miss, please do not travel alone. Take my son Kelly with you. The lad is bright and can help you.’