The Winter Sea

by Morrissey, Di

  ‘Will the voyage home be dangerous?’

  ‘It could be. The sooner we go the better.’

  ‘Joe, I’m so scared. The last war was terrible. It was supposed to be the war that ended all wars, but now it seems that it wasn’t. I’m glad our boys are far away from Europe. Yes, I want to go home.’ She reached across the table to him and they held hands tightly.

  The return journey from Genoa on a much smaller ship was a far cry from the glamorous voyage to Europe, but Joe and Bridie were simply relieved to arrive home safely. As they crossed the Indian Ocean there was talk of submarines, for they had learned that submarines were active in the Atlantic Ocean as soon as war was declared. But all they saw was one American warship, which was neutral, as America was determined to stay out of this European fight. As Bridie told Joe, it was comforting in one way to see it, but worrying in another.

  Silvio met them at the dock in Sydney and drove them home to Whitby Point, filling them in on the news and rumours about the war that were now dominating the radio airwaves, newspapers and public gatherings.

  ‘How are the boys? And Nonna?’ asked Bridie.

  ‘Everyone’s fine. The boys will be pleased to see you.’

  ‘They’re probably just looking forward to the presents we’ve brought them,’ said Bridie lightly.

  Silvio laughed. ‘No, they really missed you,’ he answered and then began to tell Joe what was happening with the business.

  Walking into Whitby Point for the first time after their return, Joe found that all the talk was about the war. People met in clusters to chat about it and in the pub everyone had an opinion about what the next government announcement from the Prime Minister, Mr Menzies, might be. Veterans who remembered the outbreak of the previous war thought that the country was far better prepared this time around.

  ‘But there hasn’t been the mad scramble to enlist,’ said one survivor of the Western Front. ‘People know what they could be in for this time. The Somme was a hard lesson.’

  ‘I wonder if they’ll try to introduce conscription again. Don’t want to send too many of the lads, though. Need some men to stay at home to do the essential work. Can’t expect women to do it,’ said the publican.

  For the next few months life pottered along as normal during what people were calling the ‘Phoney War’.

  But as Bridie said to Joe after dinner one night, ‘I can’t help feeling I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop!’

  Joe nodded. ‘I don’t like the sound of what’s going on over there. Thank goodness our boys are too young to enlist.’

  ‘Ricardo is almost eighteen. Boys his age fought last time, but thank heavens this time they are only taking men who have turned twenty. I just pray it will all be over before Ricardo’s old enough to fight,’ said Bridie, sighing.

  ‘I hope you’re right. I need him here to help me,’ said Joe. ‘He seems to have a good feel for the fishing industry, unlike Pietro, who takes no interest in it at all. Won’t even go out on the boats without a fuss!’

  ‘Joe, dear, Pietro has other interests. He loves the movies and art. He’s in the school play, you know. Is it really necessary that he go into the fishing business if he so dislikes it?’

  Joe looked at her with some surprise. ‘I never considered that. I mean, it’s what we Aquinos do. We follow in the family business. He’s very lucky to have the opportunity! What will happen if all the men are needed for the war? We will need youngsters like Pietro and Carlo to work on the boats.’

  ‘I wish it would all go away, evaporate,’ said Bridie. ‘I just want to get on with our lives without this war hanging over everything.’

  The boys, however, talked about nothing else over dinner.

  ‘I could pass for twenty-one,’ said Ricardo. ‘I could join the militia. I’d have to do three months training. Maybe I should try to get into the regular army.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Joe. ‘You are not yet eighteen and we need you on the boats.’

  ‘I can do what Ricardo does on the boats,’ said Carlo. ‘Why can’t I go fishing? Why do I have to stay at school?’

  Joe looked at his youngest son and spoke kindly but firmly. ‘You are strong for your age and, yes, you are a good worker. But your education is important. The smarter you are, the more you get ahead. School is the most essential thing for you. For all of you.’

  Pietro nudged Carlo. ‘If you did your homework sometimes, you wouldn’t find school so bad.’

  ‘You only like school because of the art classes. You’re a sissy.’

  ‘No, he’s not!’ said Patrick.

  ‘Shut up, Patrick!’ said Carlo, giving Patrick a shove. ‘Keep out of it! No one cares what you think.’

  ‘Carlo, that’s enough!’ roared Joe.

  ‘I’ve offered to help you with your schoolwork, Carlo,’ soothed Bridie. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with being an artist.’

  Joe stood up. ‘Boys, leave the table now. Ricardo, you stay, I want to speak to you.’

  Bridie and Emilia gathered up plates, taking them to the kitchen as the other three boys headed to their rooms.

  Joe poured himself another glass of red wine and put a small amount into Ricardo’s glass.

  ‘Son, you are almost eighteen years old. I understand how you feel, how you want to get out and experience life. But this is not the moment. We don’t know what’s in store and I need to know that I can count on you here, working with me.’

  Ricardo looked pleased at his father’s comments. He lifted his glass of wine. ‘I’ll always stick with you. We have a good life here. I hope it will always stay this way.’

  ‘War will change things. I have seen how people are living and struggling in Italy. You have no idea how well off we are in Australia. Coming here was the best thing I ever did.’

  ‘So you no longer have strong feelings for Italy?’ asked Ricardo.

  ‘I have my memories. But I wouldn’t enjoy life back on the island now. I didn’t like what I saw of Fascism. I don’t want to be told by a dictator what I should think or do. I want to make up my own mind.’

  ‘Maybe this Phoney War will all come to nothing,’ said Ricardo hopefully.

  Joe rose. ‘Somehow, I don’t think so. We can just be glad we’re far from the action.’

  *

  Joe was right. In May 1940 Germany invaded the Low Countries and France; the ‘Phoney War’ ended and the real war began in earnest.

  Shortly afterwards, Bridie was sitting at home in Joe’s small office sorting through bills and receipts, and thinking how pleasant the office was because it was such a sun trap on a cold winter’s day, when Joe appeared at the door.

  ‘This is a nice surprise. What are you doing home at this time?’ Then, on seeing Joe’s face more closely, she asked, ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s just been announced on the radio. Mussolini has declared war on the Allies. He’s thrown his support behind Hitler.’

  ‘Joe, why would he do that?’

  ‘I think Mussolini saw how swiftly Germany overran France and thought that if he waited much longer the war would be over and he’d miss out on a share of the spoils, so he’s joined Hitler. I bet a lot of Italians have no idea what they’re fighting for or why,’ he added.

  ‘Will this have any effect on the Italian community here?’ wondered Bridie.

  ‘Who’s to say? I, for one, wouldn’t dream of going back to fight for a dictator. I love this country. It has given me so much, including you. And our sons are Australian. Maybe I should join up and fight for this country.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Joe, you’re too old to enlist. And you do so much for the community already,’ said Bridie, struggling to keep the alarm out of her voice.

  ‘You’re right, I am a bit old to be fighting and the war is a long way from here. Let’s just keep doing what we do best,’ said Joe, giving her a kiss.

  Life continued in its normal routine at Whitby Point, but there was a lot of discussion about whether
to enlist or not.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll enlist. I have no desire to kill other people’s sons,’ the baker told Bridie.

  ‘Well, my son’s joined up,’ said one of his customers. ‘He thinks that we should fight for England.’

  Patrick, Carlo and Ricardo were all wrapped up in news of the war, listening to the radio, exchanging stories with friends, each reacting in his own way. There was a lot of bravado and talk of bombs and aeroplanes and destroyers, and scorekeeping as to which side had destroyed more than the other. Ricardo put up a map of Europe on his bedroom wall and plotted the German advance using drawing pins. But Pietro told them all that war was stupid and refused to take part in their discussions. He announced that he’d joined the local theatre company, to get away from the incessant talk of war at home, he said.

  Bridie encouraged Pietro, although Joe was uncertain that he wanted his son on the stage.

  When the theatre company put on a show, Pietro had a part, singing in the chorus. He asked Bridie to help him rehearse his dance steps and he talked his grandmother into making his costume. He persuaded Emilia to add some extra finishing touches to it, including a feather in his beret, saying that he wanted his costume to have panache.

  Bridie insisted that all the family go and see Pietro’s show. Ricardo and Patrick enjoyed themselves, Carlo made jokes about it, Emilia was scandalised by the amount of makeup Pietro wore on stage and Joe remained entirely non-committal. Pietro told them all that being involved in the theatre, even a small amateur production, was the greatest fun he had ever had, and he could hardly wait until he had another chance to perform.

  A few weeks later, Bridie had to travel to Sydney to see the dentist as she was not very happy with the one in Wollongong and she knew that her teeth needed attention. She spoke to Joe and Patrick about her plans one morning.

  ‘After my appointment with the dentist in Sydney next week, there are a few hours to wait before the train back, so I thought I might take Pietro to the Tivoli. There’s a show based on a Hans Christian Andersen story and Pietro might like to come with me to the matinee. Patrick, would you like to come too? I doubt Carlo or Ricardo would enjoy it, though.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I like the idea of going to the city with you, but I’m not especially interested in going to the theatre to watch singing and dancing. That’s definitely something for Pietro.’

  ‘That’s fine, Patrick,’ said Bridie, giving her son a quick hug. ‘Tell you what, next time I go to Sydney, it’ll just be the two of us. Maybe we could go to the zoo or something.’

  Shortly afterwards, as Joe was walking along the verandah, he heard shouting coming from Patrick’s bedroom. ‘What is going on?’ he called.

  ‘Patrick kicked me,’ whined Carlo.

  ‘Is that true?’ asked Joe. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Carlo said that my mother liked Pietro more than me and that’s why she’s taking him to Sydney.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. How childish. I wish you two boys would stop your fighting. You both go on and on about stupid matters and upset the rest of us. You need to just grow up, both of you.’

  Joe marched off and, as he did, he saw from the corner of his eye Carlo scurrying off to tell Emilia about the fight. Joe knew that she would take his side.

  I thought they would grow out of this squabbling by now, but I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer, he thought to himself.

  The following week, when Bridie and Pietro arrived back from Sydney, Joe asked them how they had enjoyed the show.

  ‘It was wonderful,’ replied Pietro. ‘I just loved it.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Bridie, with a smile. ‘I don’t think he moved for the entire time. It was as though he was transfixed.’

  ‘It wasn’t just the show, although the dancing and the sets were fantastic. Certainly showed up our poor attempts in Whitby Point. The theatre was wonderful. It had velvet seats, elaborate lights and those carved cupids. The whole thing was magic. I know what I’m going to do now,’ enthused Pietro.

  ‘Sing? Dance?’ asked Bridie.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Just be a part of it all.’

  *

  Not long afterwards, Joe returned from his boat to find a white-faced Emilia weeping in the kitchen and a policeman standing awkwardly by the front door arguing with Bridie. Joe didn’t recognise the policeman as being one of the local police whom he knew.

  ‘Mr d’Aquino, the government has issued a summons for Italians to be detained in internment camps for the duration of the war if it is thought that they could pose a threat to the security of Australia,’ the policeman announced.

  ‘That’s ridiculous! He’s an Australian now. He’s been here for nearly twenty years and he’s a valuable member of this community,’ said Bridie angrily.

  ‘According to my papers Giuseppe d’Aquino is not an Australian citizen,’ said the policeman.

  Joe was shocked. It had never occurred to him that anything like this would happen to him. ‘This is ridiculous. As if I would do anything against this country.’

  ‘It’s the law, Mr d’Aquino. You have to come with me,’ said the policeman.

  Bridie looked at him and said, ‘Joe, you can’t just let them take you. You have to fight this. What will the family do without you? This isn’t at all fair. You know that you love this country. You have done nothing to deserve being locked up. Can’t you stop them?’

  ‘How do I fight the law? Anyway, it would be pointless to argue with the messenger. I am sure that in time the authorities will realise their mistake and all will be well,’ Joe said quietly. ‘Besides, darling, this is not the place to make a fuss. I don’t want to upset my mother more than necessary.’

  Bridie nodded, then she asked the policeman sarcastically, ‘And where are you sending these Italians who call Australia home, work hard, raise their families and are good citizens?’

  The man shrugged and looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s war time. The government made a law that enemy aliens must be supervised. It’s my job to enforce it and to take you to Sydney, to Long Bay Gaol. You’ll be interrogated there and if they want to detain you further you’ll be sent to an internment camp, maybe at Hay, although there are some camps in other places. If you’re considered trustworthy, they might let you out during the day to work on nearby farms.’

  Joe knew that it was highly unlikely that the Italian community would resort to sabotage or pose any kind of threat to Australia, but since Italy had allied herself with Germany, the lawmakers in Canberra were shutting down even this remote possibility.

  ‘Maybe there are some Fascist groups making noises and sending goods to Italy for the war effort, but everyone knows they are a minority. They make trouble for everyone,’ Joe said to the policeman but, even as he did, he knew it was pointless to argue.

  ‘Where there’s smoke . . .’ began the policeman.

  Just then Emilia appeared and threw a barrage of urgent questions. When Joe explained to her what was happening, she began wailing again and Bridie gently took her back inside.

  ‘She’s worried that you’ll take her away as well,’ Joe explained.

  ‘No, just you. That’s my orders. Can you pack a bag? I can give you fifteen minutes,’ said the policeman.

  Joe was swamped by a wave of despair. How long would he be away? What would happen to his family, his fishing business? Would the authorities understand that he was absolutely no threat at all to Australia’s interests and let him go?

  When Bridie returned to the verandah, she was very calm. ‘Joe, Nonna and I will help you pack. There is nothing this policeman can do for us. As he said, he has his orders. But I can do something. You are well liked and respected in this town and I am going to fight to get you out and I’ll make sure that the whole town is behind my efforts. I’ll speak to the mayor and other important locals. I’ll start up petitions. I’ll make such a fuss that they’ll have to let you out. Joe, I am sorry that none of the boys are here to say goodbye to you
, but I’ll explain it all to them and I’ll make sure that the business continues to run smoothly while you’re away. I promise you won’t be away for long. Trust me. I love you and I’m not going to let you just disappear into some camp without a fight.’

  Arriving at the internment camp in western New South Wales a week later, Joe was shocked to find himself thrown into a fenced camp containing a barren block of wooden buildings not much better than sheds with bare earth for the floor and only basic facilities. With its turreted watchtower, guards, barbed wire and high walls, Joe felt that this internment camp was no better than a common prison and those in charge treated the inmates with hostility and suspicion. Speaking in Italian was forbidden, the food was atrocious and everyone was bored. The dormitories were overcrowded. The men slept in bunks on sacks stuffed with straw and with only a thin blanket as protection in the cold weather. Tents, housing as many as six men, had to be erected. Newspapers, though severely censored, were permitted – as was sporadic mail.

  When Joe was first arrested, he’d been questioned at length in Long Bay Gaol in Sydney about his political beliefs and his life in Italy.

  ‘Why did you travel back to Italy last year?’

  ‘You fought in the Italian army. Are you preparing to fight in it again?’

  ‘Why have you never taken out Australian citizenship?’

  ‘Does your family in Italy support Mussolini? What do you think about the dictator?’

  ‘Are you a Fascist?’

  Joe thought that the questions were ridiculous. He tried to explain that his trip to Italy was part of a belated honeymoon and had no political purpose. He was sorry that he had not taken out citizenship, but he had not thought it necessary because he felt part of Australia anyway. No, he was not a Fascist, he believed in democratic government. No, he didn’t like Mussolini, and when he fought in the Italian army it was on the side of the Allies.

  But his answers failed to impress. He was told that while he might consider himself to be a model citizen, the Australian government could not take his word for it and he would be interred for the duration of the war.