by Di Morrissey
‘Married! Oh, Clem, love, that’s a big step.’ She fiddled with the tablecloth brushing away imaginary crumbs. ‘She’s not, you know, in the family way?’
‘Cripes, no! It’s because, what with Andy dying, she wants us to feel, well, married.’
‘What’s her family say?’
‘She’s telling them tonight. So what do you think? She’s a real nice girl, Mum.’
‘I know that, dear. A good family.’ And that’s half the trouble, she thought. ‘I’m sure Mrs Williams has big plans for those two girls of hers.’
‘We have big plans too, Mum,’ said Clem with some passion. ‘We’re going to move to Sydney, I can get work as a mechanic. Mr Thompson said he’d help me get a job.’
‘Did he now? You have been making plans,’ said Nola dryly. ‘I just want you to be happy, pet. But your father –’
‘What about me?’ Walter appeared in the kitchen and sat by the stove to take off his boots. Phyllis trailed in behind him.
‘Young Clem here wants to get married. He and Elizabeth Williams want to tie the knot before he ships out. Lot of young people are, love.’
‘Ooh, can I be a bridesmaid?’ squealed Phyllis. Her parents ignored her.
‘I don’t want no shotgun weddings in this family,’ snapped Walter Richards.
‘It’s not like that at all. She wants to be married, God forbid anything should happen to him . . .’
‘So she can get his pay allotment I suppose. She’s too good for the likes of him. She’ll never live here with us.’
‘We don’t want to live here, Dad. We want to try our luck in Sydney.’
Walter stood up. ‘Well, seems you’ve made your bed, you lie in it. Don’t you come whining back here when it all goes bust. Kev and Keith and me will manage. And don’t you expect any of this place to be left to you neither.’ He stomped out of the kitchen.
‘So where’s the wedding going to be?’ asked wide-eyed Phyllis.
Nola didn’t answer as she tried to stifle the anger she felt at her husband’s outburst.
‘I simply will not hear of it, Elizabeth. And you can do much, much better than Clem Richards.’ Emily’s mouth snapped into a tight line.
‘He’s a bit of a rough diamond, but he’s a good lad,’ said Harold. ‘He’ll look after Elizabeth.’
‘I can look after myself, Dad. I’ve got a good job, I’ve passed my book-keeping test. And Clem is going to get a job in Sydney with a big engineering company when the war is over.’
‘Well, why not wait till he comes back when peace is declared and do things properly? Nicely,’ added Emily, who was a stickler for doing things in the correct manner.
‘Where’s the ring?’ asked Mollie and retreated at the glare from Elizabeth.
‘Mum’s right. Why, not wait, have a slap-up wedding with all the trimmings when life gets back to normal?’ Harold gave her a pleading look.
‘And what if he doesn’t come back? No one will ever know what we meant to each other,’ exclaimed Elizabeth.
‘Well, if he doesn’t come back, there’s nothing you can do about it. Life goes on.’ Emily rose and picked up her cup of cold tea. ‘I have a headache. Mollie, get me a powder. There’ll be no more discussion about this, young lady.’
The three of them sat in silence at the kitchen table staring at the bright oil cloth with the doily in the centre where the sauce bottles stood in crochet holders beside the sugar bowl and milk jug topped with the beaded covers that Emily had made. Elizabeth put her face in her hands and started to cry.
‘There, there, love. It’s not the end of the world . . .’ began Harold, but his daughter wasn’t listening.
She lifted her stricken face. ‘Dad, please, can’t you talk to her? You got engaged in the war and I bet you would’ve got married had you the chance . . . like we have.’
‘I don’t know about that, but I know how you feel. You want something to hold on to, to remember . . . if the worst happened . . .’ his voice trailed off as he remembered the longing he’d felt for Emily while he was away fighting. He knew she’d wait for him, still be there if he was crippled or blinded.
‘It’s just a piece of paper, Dad. I’m not leaving home, nothing will change. But I’ll have the ring, his name. Please, Dad, it means so much to me.’
‘Yeah, c’mon, Dad, talk Mum round. Or else Elizabeth will rush off and elope or do something stupid,’ said Mollie.
‘If your heart is set on it I’ll see what I can do.’ He gave her a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead. ‘Chin up, lass.’
Elizabeth never asked what her father said to her mother but some time later he emerged from their bedroom, put his head in the lounge room where Elizabeth was playing a gentle tune on the piano, gave her a small wave and a thumbs up, then quietly went out the front door for a walk. Elizabeth sighed and began a fresh tune on the piano. She didn’t miss a note of ‘The Last Rose of Summer’, her mother’s favourite.
The wedding was simple and low key although Emily had persuaded Elizabeth to be married in the small Anglican church in Cedartown. Elizabeth wore her smart navy suit with a shallow saucer hat perched to one side with a wisp of veil that drew attention to her eyes. Pinned to her lapel was a double rose corsage with maidenhair fern. Foamy lace edging from her blouse showed at her décolletage and wrists. She carried a bouquet of small pink rosebuds and Emily and Harold also wore a rosebud on their lapels. In a symbolic touch Harold had added the small gold horseshoe that had been his welcome home gift from the community after the Great War. He never wore his service medals and Emily wondered if he still had them. Mollie stood beside her older sister feeling very special in her spotted voile dress, holding a posy of roses.
Walter had borrowed Keith’s suit and Nola wore her Sunday dress with uncomfortable best shoes, gloves and a straw hat decorated with a silk flower. Thommo and Clem looked dashing in their uniforms. During the service the immediate family – Mollie, Phyllis, Keith, Kevin, home on leave, with both sets of parents – sat in the first pew of the church.
Other guests included Thommo’s parents, Frank and Vera; Cynthia; Donald and Mr and Mrs George Forde from Elizabeth’s office. A few curious neighbours who lived next to the church and went to every wedding made up the group.
Afterwards Emily, helped by Mollie, had arranged a light supper in the hall next to the church. Harold had been given a hand of pork which was baked and sliced cold, along with a good salad and boiled potatoes. Harold had also made one of his specials, a triple-decker sponge cake thick with cream and sliced strawberries. They toasted the happy couple in beer and homemade lemonade though Thommo slipped Clem a small bottle of whisky ‘For a snort to keep your strength up, seeing it’s your wedding night.’ They exchanged mischievous grins.
Thommo had also generously given Clem the little diamond ring he’d won. ‘Keep it, mate. Jeez, you can’t take it off her finger once it’s on!’
Emily gave Elizabeth a brooch that had belonged to her mother. ‘Your grandmother gave it to me when I sailed to Australia. Don’t lose it, darling, it’s a little link with our past, and the past is important, it really is in the long haul.’
Elizabeth didn’t really like the ornate marcasite figure of a bird and didn’t want responsibility for a family heirloom. ‘It’s lovely, Mum, but I’ll worry about it all the time. I’ll wear it as something borrowed, and give it back to you.’
It was an evening service to suit the minister who had a heavy schedule around the district giving support to families who had lost sons at war, or were coping with wounded lads. And there were more weddings than usual as couples tied the knot before the young men left for war zones, just like Elizabeth and Clem.
Clem and Elizabeth left the church hall arm in arm under a shower of confetti to drive the short distance to the large Commercial Hotel in Hungerford where Thommo had booked the best room for them. It was a classic country hotel of large proportions, iron lace around the upper balcony, a sweeping staircase of dark wood flank
ed by brass urns planted with ferns. Along the hallway that smelled of beeswax were pictures of Scottish castles, the Lakes District, and the King and Queen.
Their room had a large brass bed, heavy velvet drapes at the window and a washstand with a china jug and bowl. Elizabeth was impressed. Apart from the boarding house at the beach where they holidayed each year and the occasional night when she’d been allowed to stay with her best friend from school, Ruby, who lived out on a farm, she hadn’t had ever stayed anywhere outside Cricklewood.
After the rush and frantic arrangements of the wedding, now finding themselves husband and wife, alone in a strange room together, they felt uneasy and busied themselves putting clothes away, brushing confetti from their hair. When Clem came back from the bathroom and toilet down the end of the hall wearing a dressing gown to find Elizabeth standing in her petticoat, they both looked embarrassed and apologised, before Clem started grinning.
‘Oh, sorry, ma’am, I was looking for Mrs Richards.’
Elizabeth threw her rolled-up nylons – also procured by Thommo – at him. ‘Never heard of her. Oh, wait a minute.’ She looked at her diamond ring and the plain gold band on her finger. ‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. Must be me!’
Laughing, Clem lunged at her, pushing her onto the bed. ‘Get this stuff off. Let’s see what married life is like.’
In the dining room the next morning they ordered a big breakfast of fruit juice, fresh fruit slices, and bacon and eggs. Elizabeth couldn’t help displaying her left hand on the white linen tablecloth but as the waitress took their order she showed no sign of seeing the rings, or having heard the inevitable kitchen chat about the newlyweds. She didn’t react when Clem said with some emphasis, ‘My wife will have tomatoes with her bacon and eggs, thank you.’ The waitress simply licked the stub of pencil again and made a note.
For Elizabeth it didn’t matter because Clem took her hand and gave it a loving squeeze after he stroked her ring finger.
The waitress was taking away the plates when Thommo arrived with Cynthia and strode across the dining room.
‘Hi ho, newlyweds. Congrats on making it safely through the challenges of the night.’ Cynthia gave him a hard dig in the ribs with her elbow. ‘Rightio, let’s get a move on, a lot to do before you two have to be torn apart.’
The reality of the day hit Elizabeth. Her new husband and Thommo were catching the midday mail train from Cedartown to return to camp up north.
There was quite a crowd on the platform seeing off the dozen or more local boys of the 9th Division. Harold was there in his railway uniform feeling more comfortable than in his suit at the wedding. He came over and shook hands with Thommo and Clem, and smiled at Elizabeth who was clinging to Clem’s arm.
‘Chin up, lass, they’ll be back before you know it,’ he said softly.
‘Atherton, then the jungle, and victory,’ said Clem with bravado, hoping it would cheer up Elizabeth. ‘But who knows, we might get another leave before being shipped out.’
‘Good idea to get you acclimatised to the humidity,’ commented Harold.
‘Where’s Mum?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘Over there on the verandah. Didn’t want to get upset, or see you upset,’ said Harold. ‘Excuse me while I sort out some luggage.’ He went to the luggage trolley loaded with kitbags, boxes and suitcases.
Elizabeth glanced across the road junction to Cricklewood and saw Emily standing on the front verandah. ‘Doesn’t seem right after getting married to have to go back home. Sleep in a room with my little sister,’ she sighed.
‘Was good, last night, eh?’ said Clem putting his arm around her. ‘I’ll remember every minute of it while I’m away.’
‘Me too. Oh, do be careful. Well, as much as you can, I s’pose.’ She turned and buried her face in his chest, feeling the rough prickle of his uniform.
Clem didn’t speak, but held her, at the same time watching the public display of affection and emotion from all the other families. Thommo cracked jokes and did the rounds saying cheerio to everyone while Frank and Vera watched their son, always the joker, with tight, sad smiles.
Clem pulled his box camera from the small haversack slung on his shoulder. ‘Stand over there by the Cedartown sign.’ He snapped the picture of Elizabeth leaning against the wooden platform sign, a wisp of hair blowing round her face as she gave a wistful smile. He took a few pictures of families embracing their boys and, spotting an aged border collie sitting close to a kitbag, he took a picture of the dog guarding his master’s belongings.
The puffing and whistle shriek of the approaching steam train silenced the chatter on the platform. Backpacks, kit bags and suitcases were thrown inside, there was a rush of last goodbyes, kisses and hugs and a dash for seats where windows were flung open and arms and heads crammed out for one last touch of loved ones.
Elizabeth held Clem’s hand as he pushed his head and shoulders out the window to kiss her once more. Thommo hung from the doorway for a final kiss and hug for his parents. Then too swiftly there was the hissing of steam, the blast from the horn, the station master calling ‘All aaaaaboard’, a final slam of doors and the imperceptible inching forward of the train pulling away from the platform.
Shouts and cries, ‘Good luck’, ‘Give the Nips curry, lads’ and ‘God bless’, rang out as handkerchiefs dabbed at eyes and tears ran unchecked down men’s faces as they watched their sons proudly waving, covering the emotion they felt at what could be the last time they’d see their family, or this place.
Elizabeth tried to hold on to Clem and, as the train picked up speed and Thommo’s head poked out beside Clem’s, she started to run to prolong the contact between them for as long as possible, until Clem’s fingertips were wrenched from hers and she stumbled to a stop as the crowded carriages whizzed by.
As the train curved down the track, soldiers still waving and calling from windows, she felt the comforting touch of her father’s hand on her shoulder. ‘He’ll be all right, love. Clem and Thommo, they’ll make it back home, don’t you worry.’
Harold hoped his words rang true. And if the two childhood mates made it through, survived war and returned home, he prayed they would be unscathed, and carry no wounds to their bodies, hearts or minds. He knew, he’d been there and would never forget.
Clem had never imagined so much rain could fall so heavily for so long. It came down in a constant curtain the men couldn’t see through for more than a few yards. The grey–green jungle world around them was blurred, all they could hear was drumming rain sluicing through the bamboo and heavy tropical trees, drenching the ground that was already running and slushy, unable to absorb another drop. The men had been so wet for so long they’d given up trying to remain dry. Now it was a matter of dealing with bugs, leeches, itches, the stings from swarms of mosquitoes, and aching bodies exhausted from creeping and climbing through treacherous trails or unmarked terrain. The occasional crash through the wet trees of an animal or bird stretched nerves. And in the brief moments when the rain unexpectedly and suddenly ceased, the silence was scary. Then there was the drip of sodden leaves, the rivulets of cascading water and the imagined sounds of snakes slithering.
They knew the Japanese were dug in near here, an enclave from which they moved silently and swiftly, ambushing and targeting the Australians from well-hidden positions in trees, in hides on the rise of a ridge, or at the edge of a scarcely defined track. The Japanese moved lightly and silently.
Thommo summed it up. ‘The little bastards seem to treat this bloody jungle like home. Stuff ’em. We’ve had them falling arse over head backwards for months now, why don’t they just give up and go back to climbing Mount Fuji.’
Clem would never feel at home here in New Guinea. Thommo, a few feet away, adapted to and accepted whatever conditions he was in. His inevitably cheerful, ‘Gotta make the best of it eh, cobber?’ sometimes irritated the tired men around him. Only Clem could tell when Thommo was dispirited or worried, for then the jokes would come thick and fast a
nd he’d chatter until someone would snap at him to ‘Bloody shut up’. He knew to shut up when action was likely, when they were playing a deadly cat and mouse game with a ruthless enemy.
As they waited for the signal to move forward Clem wondered just how much longer they’d be wallowing in mud. Their campaign on the north coast of New Guinea near Lae was going well, despite the determined defence of the captured port by the Japanese. Clem and his mates knew the Japanese were in big trouble fighting on two fronts, the coastal enclave and high up in the mountains splitting the great tropical island. On the Kokoda Track the Jap drive towards Port Moresby had been checked and the exhausted remnants of the force were falling back towards Lae. Yeah, Clem told himself with some satisfaction, we’ve got the little slant-eyed bastards on the run. He looked around for Thommo and gave him a thumbs up signal. He and Thommo had worked out a series of small conversational signs at these times of silent lull and one would mime to the other a gesture that recalled fishing down at the river, the time they jumped the train down to the beach, the Empire Night fireworks when Clem had first kissed Elizabeth. It helped pass the time, which to the men seemed to run backwards, especially the sleepless hours awaiting dawn and a possible attack.
The latest downpour eased, mist curled wraith-like through the tangle of vines, the weird shapes of thorny trees and the matted green thicket where giant spiderwebs hung. The patrol leader gave the signal to move out. The Bren gun, oiled and wrapped in a groundsheet, was lifted, the point scout given whispered instructions and, with his Owen gun at the ready, moved ahead.
Thommo exchanged a look with Clem: Better him than me, it said, first man around a bend or through the thicket of bamboo is going to cop it. All remained silent though every man was alert. The dozen men crept forward, crouching and pushing through the jungle that constantly clawed at exposed skin, entangling clothes and equipment.
In the twilight gloom where only a feeble ray of sunlight penetrated, they approached an exposed rise and the patrol leader signalled them to fan out.