He breathed long and deep. ‘I want you to know, Flora. I’ve been a widower since Daisy was born.’
She gripped his fingers between hers. It was all she could do in so public a place. She had expected death, but not this way, the cruellest way for a mother to leave her family behind.
His voice was brittle, hoarse. ‘I had almost given up hope of being happy again. I’m such an old man now.’ He chuckled with a sad and self-deprecating laugh. ‘Who would want to have me?’
I would, in a heartbeat. And she almost said it out loud.
‘You have given me hope. I wanted to tell you that before you left. You’ve made me happy and I haven’t been happy in a long time.’
‘I’ve been happy here, too, Charles.’
She let go of his hand, averted her eyes from his. There was so much to say but suddenly she had no words to describe how she felt. How much she had changed since coming to Two Rivers. When her duty was done, when her family was whole again, she might tell him.
But not now.
He cleared his throat. ‘May I write to you?’
‘Please,’ Flora replied. ‘I’d like that very much. As you well know, I only receive letters from my father and my brothers, and Frank not that often, so they’d be most welcome.’
He tipped his hat to her and she stopped herself from reaching over to lay her hand on his bare forearm.
‘Goodbye,’ she said.
‘Bye, Flora,’ he replied.
It was only when a waving Charles became a speck in the distance through the dust-covered window that she let herself sob.
Chapter Eighteen
Lily
‘Lily.’
Lily blinked her eyes open. It still took her a moment or two in the mornings to remember where she was. This wasn’t her bedroom. Davina hadn’t set a cup of tea on the table by her bed. Light was pouring in but Davina hadn’t opened the curtains.
Dark green walls and three other girls standing by her bed in their overalls.
A skitter of nerves jolted her awake and upright. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
Kit rolled her eyes. ‘You need to get up and have breakfast or we’ll all be late for the softball game.’
‘I don’t want to watch any game.’ Lily flopped back down in her bed and covered her eyes with her arm, pushing the inside of her elbow hard against her brow to block out the bright light. One day off a week and she was being bothered about watching a game?
Kit tugged at her arm. ‘We’re not watching the game, Lil. We’re playing it.’
Lily’s eyes were wide open now. ‘I don’t know how to play. I’m not sure I even know what softball is.’
Bernice whipped Lily’s sheets back. ‘I didn’t either but it’s tremendous fun and there’s afternoon tea, too. Everyone comes from miles around and applauds. It’s like being a movie star.’
Edith laughed. ‘Come on, Lily. You’ll have fun. We promise. And it’ll give you something to tell David when you write to him next. I don’t know about you, but I’ve plain run out of ways to talk about picking cherries.’
They were including her, she realised. Perhaps she’d been a little too sensitive about being so different to these girls. When her feet hit the floor, she turned to them. ‘I have to warn you. David tried to teach me to play tennis and I was absolutely hopeless. I can’t promise I’ll be any good at all.’
Kit and Edith held out a hand and when Lily put her hands in theirs, they tugged her to a standing position.
‘It’s a hoot, that’s all. We don’t play for sheep stations or anything.’
Sheep stations? As Lily pulled on her Land Army overalls and tied the laces on her work boots, she reminded herself to ask David what sheep stations were.
The sky above the football oval in the next little town was bright and South Australian–summer blue and it made the leaves on the surrounding gum trees shimmer in its light. When the twenty Playford girls arrived, having walked an hour from the Playford’s orchard in two merry rows like soldiers, they’d been welcomed with rousing applause and whoops from the hundred or so people milling around a small clubroom with a wide verandah. The local ladies had brought along plates of sandwiches and cakes, and sliced lemon floated in the jugs of lemonade.
‘You ready?’ Kit nudged Lily.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’
‘First we play, then we get to eat.’
Lily reached for Kit’s arm and Kit turned back. ‘You all right, Lil? You look like you’re going to be ill.’
‘I meant it when I said I was no good at games. I’m hopelessly uncoordinated. I’m like a newborn baby giraffe, except not as tall. If I’m really terrible we could lose and then I’d let everyone down. Edith and Bernice and Mavis and … even Mrs Holland!’
‘She’s gone home to see her mother today. You don’t have to worry about her. Look, Lil. Let’s have some fun. It’s for laughs. We all need a laugh, don’t you think?’
Lily understood what Kit meant.
‘Follow me up to the plate. I’ll explain it to you.’
Lily skipped after Kit and listened intently to every word as they watched the rest of the girls in their team throw the ball and catch it over and over.
‘Right. It’s like a diamond. See? That’s home base. And those other three markers out there are first, second and third base. The object is to hit the ball as hard as you can and make it home here. That’s called a home run. You can take it one base at a time, too. That person over there who looks like The Man in the Iron Mask—remember that film with Joan Bennett?’
Lily shook her head.
‘Anyway, she’s like the wicket-keeper in cricket. You do know cricket?’
‘Of course. My father’s a member—’ Lily stopped.
‘Okay. The girl pitching at you is the pitcher. And there’ll be a girl on all of the bases and out in the spaces in between waiting to catch the ball. Got it?’
Lily felt the nerves flip-flopping in her belly. She held a palm there to calm down. ‘Right. Hit the ball and run as fast as I jolly well can.’
Kit laughed. ‘Why didn’t I say it like that? I’ll bat first, so you can watch for a little bit before it’s your turn. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Kit was magnificent. Lily watched on in awe as she swung the bat from behind her shoulder around in a perfect arc, dropping it like a hot potato as soon as she heard the crack of the ball against it, and then sprinting like an Olympian to first base and then second and, while the opposition’s girl was still chasing the ball in the distance, dancing over third base and jumping on the home-base plate when she reached it.
The crowd erupted and so did the Land Army girls. Lily watched on with increasing terror as, one by one, her teammates took their turn at bat, a few being caught out but most making it back for a home run.
It was her turn. Kit handed her the bat. Lily walked to the plate, as she’d seen all the other girls do, and gripped the bat tight. It was heavier than she imagined. She positioned herself side on, swung the bat over her shoulder and waited, her heart in her throat and a throbbing in her head.
She watched the pitcher and her arm and suddenly the ball was sailing towards her and she closed her eyes and swung and … missed. She opened her eyes and looked around, unsure of what had just happened. She turned back to Kit.
‘Does that mean I’m out?’
‘You’ve got two more strikes. Hit it, slugger!’ The Land Army girls were behind her, encouraging her, and she heard ‘You can do this, Lily’ and ‘Eye on the ball, Lily’, and a wag exclaimed, ‘Just like Bradman, Lil’, and she had to swallow a laugh at that preposterous thought.
The pitcher stared her down, swung her arm, Lily swung and … missed again. She had overbalanced and almost toppled off her feet. She felt foolish. David had been so patient with her when he was trying to teach her tennis but she hadn’t been able to run and swing the racquet at the same time.
Hang on, she thought. This is standing in the o
ne spot. This is swinging then running. A surge of confidence puffed up her chest. She took a deep breath.
‘Two strikes,’ announced the lady in the iron mask behind her.
‘Rome wasn’t built in a day, Lil. Keep your eye on the ball,’ Kit shouted.
Her third attempt. The ball flew through the air towards her. Her eyes were on it like a hawk on a mouse. She moved, she swung, and there was a crack and she ran and then the girls shouted, ‘Drop the bat, Lil’, and she did and ran to first base and then second and kept going and the ball seemed to have disappeared and she ran right over third and then as she was coming into home base, she tripped over her feet, stumbled and then fell right on top of the plate.
There was a roar in her ears, and hands slapping her back, and when she lifted her face from the dirt, Kit and Edith and Bernice and Mavis and all the other Land girls were squealing their excitement.
‘You did it!’ Kit said with a gleeful exclamation and Lily was hauled to her feet and hugged over and over and over.
The other team struggled valiantly but couldn’t reach the Land Army team’s score and the girls from Playfords were declared the winners, but both teams were serenaded off the oval with cheers from the locals.
The swell of pride and joy filled Lily up more than anything in the lunch spread put on by the ladies of the district and, on the walk home, she was allowed to lead the group, marching like a band leader, and someone began to sing and the strains of ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ accompanied them all the way.
That night, after a supper of soup and sandwiches, the girls sat together in the living room, music softly playing from the wireless in the corner, going over the victory.
‘And Lily was trying to warn me about how hopelessly uncoordinated she is.’ Kit slapped her thigh. ‘And look what she did! Her first game and a home run, no less.’
‘She whammed ’em,’ Edith announced as she leapt out of her chair to salute Lily.
‘You’re a star, Lil,’ Bernice laughed.
And as they sipped cups of hot tea and talked about the afternoon all over again, Lily leant back in an armchair, hearing that distinctive crack of ball on bat over and over again, and realised that she hadn’t thought about the war all afternoon.
It was a blessed relief.
Lily starred in two more softball games before the cherry season was over. It didn’t matter to the girls in her team that she was caught out both times; they cheered her anyway. They were the type of people, she realised, who shared in your successes as well as your failures. A strike-out at softball was not the end of the world that she’d imagined it might be and the rest of the team had rallied and they’d won, ending the season as the Norton Summit softball champions.
She’d had more letters from David during those two weeks. In each of them, she’d tried to read between the lines to understand if he was feeling scared but he didn’t give anything away. The food was good, it was hot, the skies were big and blue and seemed to go on forever, he’d said. The lads he was training with were terrific chaps and he’d even come across someone he grew up with, from down the south-east. He was spending much of his time in the skies now, as his training was drawing to a close, and he’d declared with a flourish on the page that he had absolutely fallen in love with flying. There had been a Red Cross ball in Mildura, designed to brighten the spirits of the pilots. ‘There was a group of Land Army girls there,’ David had written, ‘and we danced with them all night. I thought it was our patriotic duty to only dance with the young ladies who were serving their country, too.’
Lily had closed her eyes then, casting her memory back to how it felt to be in David’s arms, dancing with him at the Palais Royal and at smart parties. She couldn’t help the stab of envy that pierced her at the thought that someone else was dancing with her husband. But then she read the next line.
‘Don’t worry, Lily. They were terrific gals, but none so lovely as you. As I was twirling around the dance floor, for as you know I’m a dancer of some renown, all I could think about was you.’
His war had already begun. He wouldn’t be coming home until it was all over.
She had read David’s precious letters every night, until they were packed up in her suitcase, which now stood in a line with every other girl’s in the driveway outside the old house that had hosted them for the past month. The girls were dressed in their official Land Army summer uniforms, their hair neatly at their collars, their hats just so on their heads. Mr George was driving them in small groups into Lenswood to wait for the bus down the hill to Adelaide.
Lily had received instructions via a telephone call to Mr George that she should wait for her mother to come and fetch her. She looked back at the sandstone house that had been her home these past weeks, and then along the eager and excited faces of the girls who had been her colleagues. She might never have met them but for a stubborn determination on her part to do something more practical for the war than raising funds at church stalls and tea parties. Her mother’s work was important, she knew that, but this work felt more real to her than popping pennies and pounds in a tin. She had fought for her freedom to choose this path, and had no doubt that being Mrs David Hogarth had helped. With her husband fully supporting her decision, she had been emboldened to stand up to her parents. All she had to do now was decide where to go next. There was more work to be done. She’d heard the girls talking about it almost every night.
She turned to Kit. ‘Have you finally decided where you’re going next?’
Kit shrugged. ‘I’ve been thinking. Shall I go back to the shearing sheds in the mid-north or maybe pea picking in Moorook?’
Lily swallowed hard. ‘You’ve worked in shearing sheds?’
Kit grinned. ‘Oh yes, and it’s just as tricky as you can imagine.’
‘The swearing?’
Kit winked and began to sing in a voice that was melodic and beautiful. ‘Click go the shears boys, click click click. Wide are the blows and his hands move quick. The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow, and curses the old snagger with a bare-bellied yoe.’
When the girls applauded and cheered, Kit bowed deeply.
‘So it’s true about the language?’
‘You haven’t heard swearing until you’ve seen a shearer get kicked by a sheep. I don’t know if I’ll go back. The blokes don’t like a woman in the shearing sheds. They say it’s bad luck.’
‘Really?’
‘True. The wives aren’t even supposed to go in. But they didn’t have much choice in the end. There aren’t enough blokes left who know shearing. My job was to walk up and down the race branding the sheep after they’d come out of the shed, with some of the worst haircuts I’ve ever seen. Tar streaks on their white bodies where they’d been nicked by the shears. They don’t much like keeping still, the sheep.’
Lily’s mind raced at the idea of such a thing.
‘But I think I might head to Port Noarlunga for the flax.’ ‘What’s flax?’ Lily asked.
‘It makes linen for thread for parachutes and it’s turned into canvas for field hospitals. Pretty darn useful.’
Lily stilled.
Mr George’s truck chugged down into the small valley where their cottage was nestled and pulled up in front of the group of girls. With the motor still running, he opened the door and stepped out. ‘Who’s coming in the first run?’
There was a scramble all round Lily, of hugs and kisses on suntanned cheeks, and tears, promises to write and calls of ‘I hope I don’t see you next year!’
Kit threw her arms around Lily, and Lily held on tight. She was a smashing girl. Lily would miss her terribly.
Linen thread. Field hospitals.
‘You’ve turned out to be a real chum, Lil,’ Kit whispered into her ear.
‘You too, Kit,’ Lily replied, swallowing her own tears.
‘I’ve got your fancy address in Buxton Street. I’ll be sure to write and tell you about all my new adventures.’
Kit grabbe
d her suitcase and hauled it into the back of Mr George’s truck and it took off down the bumpy dirt track towards the main road. As Lily watched it chug up the track and out of the valley, she waved frantically to Kit and the other girls inside. A horn sounded twice. Lily peered into the distance. It was a taxi and her mother was perched in the back seat, the net of her summer hat slowly coming into focus.
Lily breathed deep, preparing herself for the battle. The taxi pulled up and the driver got out to open one of the rear passenger doors. As he loaded her suitcase in the boot of the vehicle, Lily knocked on the window. Her mother wound it down.
‘Mum. How good to see you.’
‘Hello, dear. Time to say goodbye to the girls over there and hop in. You’re coming home.’
Lily’s nerve faltered as she ran to the other girls still waiting for their ride into Lenswood. She was hugged by everyone.
‘All the best, Lil,’ Edith said with a hitch in her throat. ‘It’s been a real hoot sharing a room with you.’
Lily squeezed her hand. ‘All the best for Ern. I’ll be thinking of you both.’
Edith wiped her tears. ‘And for your husband, too. He’ll be in my prayers.’
Bernice wrapped Lily in a huge hug. ‘Go well, young Lil,’ she whispered. ‘David will be safe. I just know it.’
‘Thank you, Bernice. I’m hoping to come back next year if … what I mean is, I hope the war will be over but if it’s not, I’ll see you here next December?’
‘Definitely,’ Bernice said, and she and Edith and all the other girls waved as Lily got inside the taxi and kept waving until it turned a bend in the winding track and they were out of sight.
‘How are you, Lily?’ her mother asked. The driver stopped at the end of the track before he turned onto the main road. Lily looked ahead. A horse and cart was approaching from the other direction, piled high with hay bales, and the driver waited for it to pass.
‘I’m very well, Mum,’ Lily said. ‘How’s everything at home?’
‘I’ve been busier than ever with the Red Cross and the Cheer Up Hut. The Americans are so terribly homesick for Kansas and Minnesota and California. Especially so over Christmas and New Year. Poor boys. There’s nothing they like more than anything resembling a home-cooked meal. They’re so polite, always so “Yes, ma’am” and “No, ma’am”.’
The Land Girls Page 18