Dressed in trousers and a singlet, Clarence could see how his body had been affected by five years in prison. Frank’s muscles were tight and lean from hard work, but lacked mass from the poor prison diet. His shoulders carried several criss-crossed welts, probably the result of prison guard discipline, or territorial struggles with inmates.
How do I look to him, Clarence thought before he passed on the news of his mother’s death. The words became a lump that formed in his throat. His emotions were still so raw, so he paused before he continued. His brother lit a smoke—his face did not show a trace of feeling or emotion. Frank took a long drag on his cigarette and then stared at Clarence while he exhaled. He pinched the smouldering end of his smoke between thumb and forefinger—for use a later time—and then stood and turned from Clarence, without a word uttered. He took the few short paces to bang on the steel door that had kept him secure in his cubicle while he received his visitor. Within seconds, a guard unlatched the heavy bolt that barred the door, opened it, and held Frank at gun point, while another guard shackled his hands and feet.
Clarence had witnessed horrors in France he hadn’t thought possible, but he was left aghast by the demeaning way in which Frank was handled by the guards. Within the dark and damp walls of the penitentiary, Clarence’s brother, whom he had last seen as a boy, was being restrained like an animal. All Clarence wanted to do was leave Sydney and get back to Ruth and his home near Gilmurra. But Frank is an animal, he thought, as the guard finished his job with the chains—to society, and uncomfortably, to him. Whether in a gesture to confirm his brother’s opinion, or through an expression of violent grief, Frank unleashed a vicious head-butt to the unarmed guard’s nose. Almost instantly Frank received a powerful blow to the abdomen with the stock of the armed guard’s shotgun, it was followed by a jab with the same weapon to the side of the head as he doubled over in pain.
Knowing it was likely he would never see Frank again; Clarence left his brother as ashamed as when he last saw Archie, only this time he felt a sense of anger that he had been burdened by Frank’s choices. He reassured himself that he didn’t have anything to do with his brother’s derailment. Maybe that was what made him feel guilty. He walked away from the menacing building with its high-bricked walls, thinking at the time he had left the worst behind him. Clarence had failed, and would continue to fail, to acknowledge the one thing that would affect him the most.
Now, Clarence leaned against the bonnet of his truck and waded through his reflections, while he slowly turned a hammer in his hands. His thoughts laboured under the weight of regret and pulled at his being like mud in a murky swamp. Hoisted from the past by a cockatoo’s screech, Clarrie left the shed through the front door. It brought him into open air at the side of the house, and left the spell-binding lemon trees to themselves.
***
Ruth and Clarence had decided to take Emily into town the following Friday. Clarence needed to pick up some fence wire for the creek paddock, and Ruth wanted to show off her baby girl while she got a few items for the kitchen. Her visits to Gilmurra were less frequent since the birth of their second child, so Ruth suggested to Clarrie that they take the chance to have a counter meal at the Royal Hotel. They could fill the afternoon with a stroll before they picked up little Reg from school and Ally from work.
Clarence and Ruth entered the lounge of the hotel with their cumbersome pram and selected a table in the corner.
‘This will be nice, Clarrie,’ said Ruth. ‘We haven’t done this for a long time.’
‘A long time,’ agreed Clarrie. ‘You wouldn’t have fitted through that door before Emily was born.’
‘Thanks very much,’ whispered Ruth. She feigned offence but was happy to see her husband in a playful mood.
‘I saw George Phillips up the street while you were in the store,’ continued Clarrie.
‘The school principal?’
‘Yes, he had a word to me about Reggie.’
Ruth sighed. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Nothing serious really,’ replied Clarence with a grin. ‘Being disruptive… pulled a girl’s pig-tails. Do you think I’m tough enough on him?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Ruth. She looked perplexed, as if the thought of disciplining her child had never crossed her mind. ‘He has a short fuse, I’ll admit that, but isn’t he just like most other boys?’
‘He takes after you in that department, my dear,’ said Clarrie. An accusation made with fondness.
‘Hardly. I never got into trouble.’
‘Exactly. I will go up and order, shall I?’
‘Excellent. Roast lamb for me please, Clarence.’
Clarence waited behind another customer at the small counter that separated the public bar from the lounge area. The barrier allowed Jack Drummond to take meal orders while he kept an eye on the main bar and the impatient drinkers. An unsatisfied thirst was enough reason to tempt the patron to try his luck up the road at the Orient Hotel.
While he waited patiently, Clarrie looked through to the public bar and saw lawyer and returned serviceman, Arthur Atkins. Atkins enjoyed a glass of ale on a Friday afternoon before he sat down to a counter meal with his father James, also a lawyer, and head of their burgeoning law firm. The father and son met every Friday to go over their business, and Clarrie cursed that he had forgotten that fact before he had agreed to Ruth’s request.
Clarence decided to look at the chalkboard menu to avoid contact, but Arthur had already spotted him. The fellow veteran smiled warmly and raised his glass to greet Clarrie, but the former private felt anxious, and returned an inadequate nod and a grin that looked more like a grimace. Not perturbed by the awkward response, Atkins handled the rebuff with grace, as he always had since Clarence and his family had been gladly received into the small community, almost four years ago.
Despite his impoliteness, there was no dislike on Clarence’s part towards the former Lance Corporal. A lesser man than Arthur would be forgiven if he had taken offence and given up on Clarrie long ago, but Atkins had remained compassionate to what he saw in Clarence, solid and unwavering in his politeness. The irony was that Clarence held Atkins in the highest of regard. He had saved Clarence’s life after all, an act that allowed him to return to Australia and reunite with his family. But instead of humbling gratitude, Clarence was beset with guilt each time he laid eyes on Arthur. The charge which Clarrie laid upon himself was never clearly defined, for to assign his reactions to Arthur to a particular event would in turn, make that event real. And there was an understanding deep in Private Miller’s sub-conscious that couldn’t allow that to happen.
Clarence placed his order and sat back at the table with Ruth; he did his best to resist a strong urge to make up an excuse and leave. Ruth noticed the difference in his complexion, and the stiffness to his posture as soon as he sat down. She chose to avoid confrontation and talked merrily about any and every topic she could think of until Clarence rode out whatever had taken hold of him.
***
After a pleasant meal, Clarence and Ruth took a walk, with Emily sound asleep in the pram. They left the main street and walked through the park to the Tilcan River. Its waters glistened under sunlight, filtered through a canopy of majestic gum trees, silky oaks and willows. Dollar birds and Rainbow Bee Eaters called from the safety of the lofty branches; their songs blended with the relaxing sound of the water that raced over ancient rounded stones. Ruth smiled, and thought it the perfect place to be on a warm summer’s afternoon. It was moments like this that gave Ruth confidence in a bright future.
‘Clarrie,’ said Ruth as she reached into a canvas pouch at the rear of the pram to produce a large wrapped parcel.
‘What’s that Ruth?’
‘A present for Reggie.’
‘Do you think he deserves one after what Mr Phillips said?’ replied Clarence.
‘It was a bit of an impulse, and I know we can’t afford impulses,’ confessed Ruth, as she held up her hand in defence, ‘but I have
n’t bought him anything in ages, and… well, I thought it would be nice if you gave it to him.’
Clarence didn’t speak at first. He was struck by the truth in his wife’s statement, and it made his mind trek over images of the last two years. They hadn’t bought him anything; things were tight, but maybe he had been too frugal with his money.
‘Yes, that would be nice, Ruthy. I will give it to him when we get home.’
Clarence gently placed Emily back into her pram, and suggested to Ruth that they should make their way to Reggie’s school if they wanted to be there when classes ended.
***
Young Mathew Adler leapt from the back of the Millers’ truck before it had come to a complete stop outside his family’s front gate, the farm being the one that neighboured the Millers to the north. The energetic lad waved to Reggie and Alice, and then thanked Mr and Mrs Miller, as he began to jog up the road that led to his home.
‘That boy never stops running,’ remarked Ruth to Clarrie. ‘Bye, Mathew, say hello to your mother,’ she shouted after him. But the lad was too far away to hear.
Clarence turned his truck around and headed south back to Denman Hill, having made the last of the drop-offs for the afternoon. They had already dropped off Wally Tunstill and his sister Anne, as well as Peter Donaghey, who was in the same grade as Reggie; the Donaghey’s property bordered their own to the south. It was Peter’s father Bill who had taught Ruth to ride when they first arrived. Clarence had been introduced to horses when he was young, but was given a much-needed refresher course while living with Ruth’s relatives in Merriwaa. Bill never said anything to Clarence, but he was in no doubt who was the better rider. ‘Maybe it was my skill as a teacher,’ he would joke with Ruth.
After they cleared the truck of all the purchases made in Gilmurra, Clarence joined his son at the kitchen table. He watched the little boy as he drank a glass of milk; he had the dark hair of his mother but features and eyes like his own. Clarence smiled as the lad swung his legs back and forth; they weren’t quite long enough to reach the floor.
‘Reg,’ said Clarence.
‘Yes, Daddy.’
‘Come with me, mate, I have a surprise.’
Clarence stood up and waited for Reggie to follow.
‘What’s a surprise?’
‘You’ll see,’ laughed Clarrie. ‘It’s in your bedroom.’
Clarrie was aware that Reggie was like him in many ways; he could be quite soft and would often need to be cajoled into trying something new or comforted back to sleep after a nightmare. Ruth had bought the present to help alleviate his broken slumber. But Reg also had splashes of his mother in him; sometimes restless, he found it difficult to sit still for periods of time, which regularly saw him get into trouble in class. He also possessed a temper.
Clarence swooped Reggie up into his arms as they entered the bedroom and sat his son on the bed. He turned to hand him the wrapped package from its hiding spot on top of Reggie’s dresser.
‘A present!’ exclaimed Reg.
‘Yes, mate, open it.’
Reggie tore at the wrapping and pulled out a light brown fluffy bear, with dark brown beady eyes and floppy ears.
‘It’s a grizzly bear,’ said Reg.
‘No, not a grizzly bear,’ laughed his father. ‘This is a very special bear… a happy bear, with magical powers.’
Reggie looked at the bear, then up at his father and back to the bear. He pulled the soft toy close to his own face to peer deeply into its eyes. Clarence responded and put his arm around Reggie’s shoulder.
‘You see, Reggie,’ said Clarence softly. He gently took the bear from his son and placed it on his own lap. He turned to face the intrigued little boy. ‘This bear… his name is Harvey. Harvey the Happy Bear.
Reggie looked at his father with eyes wide open.
‘Harvey has magical powers,’ continued Clarrie, ‘to make you feel happy when you get a little sad or frightened.’
Ruth watched from the hallway and smiled as her husband mesmerised Reggie with his tale, so much like the man she first saw in her family’s bakery.
‘Do you like him?’ asked Clarrie.
Reggie nodded his head and stretched out his arms; Clarrie held the bear out and then withdrew it again.
‘There is a trick though, Reggie,’ said Clarence. ‘Harvey’s magic only works if you hug him. Do you think you can make his magic work?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ whispered Reg. He took the bear from his father and held it close to his chest. His dad was right, thought the little man, as dads always are. Harvey was magic.
‘Daddy,’ said Reg as his father rose to leave the room.
‘Yes mate.’
‘Does Peter have a bear?’
‘I’m not sure, Reg, maybe,’ said Clarence. His heart broke for his son. Does it start this early, when kids worry what other people think? he wondered. Clarence knelt down in front of the boy and said calmly. ‘Do you like the bear?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’
‘Well, I won’t tell Peter or anyone else that you have a bear called Harvey, if you don’t. How’s that sound?’
Reggie smiled in acceptance of his father’s solution, and they went back into the kitchen with Harvey on the pillow at the head of Reginald’s bed.
TWENTY ONE
Denman Hill, March 1924
Clarence and his guest shuffled through the kitchen door; both men were pleased to escape the cold, wind-whipped rain. They removed their oilskin coats and felt hats and placed them on the rack just inside the door. As they chatted away, Clarence and his young companion received a penetrating glance from Ruth; she drew attention to the mud-covered boots still on their feet.
‘Sorry, Ruth, said Clarence, ‘I was just taking them off.’
‘I’m sure you were, Clarrie,’ Ruth replied sarcastically, with a hint of a smile.
‘Sorry, Mrs Miller,’ said the nervous young man, doubled over as he tried to remove his footwear.
Ruth glared at her husband; she tried to remind him of the common courtesy of introducing a person that your wife has never met.
‘Oh,’ said Clarrie, startled. ‘Ruth, this is Norman Clark. Norman, this is my wife Ruth.’
‘Hello, Norman, it’s a pleasure to meet you… and I was only joking about the boots.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ whispered Clarrie.
Norman smiled at Mr Miller’s joke but felt a flush of warmth run to his cheeks. Mrs Miller’s attractive features caught him off-guard. Norman was only twenty years old, and he saw Clarence as being a fair bit older than the eight years that separated them. Norman was naive about what the strain of war and drink can do to a man’s appearance. ‘Hello, Mrs Miller.’
‘That little fellow stuck to his mother’s leg is Reggie,’ continued Clarrie, ‘and the little one on the rug is our Emily, or M, as we call her.’
Norman stood humbly at the door, his hair slightly wet on the ends. It gave him a sort of schoolboy look, and Ruth surmised that he was a decent young man.
‘Come in, Norman, sit down,’ said Ruth warmly. ‘I will make a fresh pot of tea. It looks like you both need it.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Miller, that would be nice, ’said the young man. ‘The rain is needed, but it is unseasonably cold out.’
Ruth began to suggest to Norman that he call her Ruth instead of Mrs Miller, but she stopped herself. She realised that the soothing sound of Mrs, spoken by a visitor, was agreeable; it gave life order and made their house feel like a home.
‘Clark …’ said Ruth slowly, which hinted at the question to come. ‘We are only relatively new here, Norman, so I don’t think I know your family.’
‘Norm’s from Albury, Ruth,’ blurted Clarrie.
‘Really? I’ve never been to Albury but I have heard it is very nice.’
‘In between Albury and Howlong actually,’ said Norman, ‘but I always say Albury, it’s easier.’
‘So, your family has a property?’ asked Ruth while she placed a steam
ing pot of tea on the table. ‘Milk?’
‘Yes please, no sugar thanks. My family has a property, but I am the second youngest of eight, so...’
‘My goodness, eight,’ gasped Ruth.’
‘Yes, six boys and two girls,’ replied Norman. He smiled broadly at the recollection of his family, and thought how at home he felt, in conversation around a kitchen table with the Miller family.
‘Norman came out to give some advice on cropping,’ said Clarrie. ‘Thinks we might be able to increase our yield and have a bit left over to sell after we’ve baled hay and kept some grain to sow.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Ruth. She was enjoying the company of the polite young visitor and the positive effect he seemed to have on Clarence. It was a welcome change from the cantankerous person that had moped around the farm for the last few days, after he had spent a whole day and part of the night at the Royal.
With beer and whiskey in him, Clarence’s manner had been cold and stern when he arrived home. The coldness had quickly turned to heat when he slapped Reg across the back of the ear for the most trivial of matters—an uneaten crust. Young Reggie—hurt and afraid—ran, while his mother remained shamefully silent. The boy’s room had become a refuge. He would hide beneath the cover on his bed and quietly talk to Harvey the bear, a habit that also irritated Clarrie. He now thought his son was too old for soft toys.
‘I am not sure how much help I will be,’ replied Norman modestly.
‘Are you joking, Norm, you’ve been great,’ said Clarrie enthusiastically. ‘I’m glad you persuaded Thomas to let you come out. He’ll have to watch himself, old Tom. Young Norm might take over,’ finished Clarrie, with a prod and a wink to his young friend.
Ruth lifted the teacup to her mouth and paused. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled. ‘I am sure Norman will be of great help to you Clarence,’ said Ruth. Her smile was directed at her husband’s harmless ignorance; the smile became a broad grin.
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