A Bitter Harvest

by Peter Yeldham

  ‘An awfully nice girl,’ William said, sad for his grandson, who was trying so hard to be matter-of-fact and failing dismally.

  ‘Yes, she was — is,’ Harry corrected himself. ‘Always will be.

  One day she’ll be famous. She’ll have to live overseas. So it might as well end now before — before we get too attached.’

  William put a hand on his shoulder. It was an odd moment to realise it, but Harry was almost the same height.

  ‘Come down and have a drink with me in the library when you feel like it,’ he said. He went to the door.

  ‘I’m truly sorry about Hannah,’ Harry said.

  ‘I’ll explain to her. We’d had a disagreeable incident — some bloody man in the park insulted her. We came back here for tea, and …’ he shrugged, and smiled. ‘I suppose I thought it was a good opportunity for you two to meet.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Never mind. Right people, wrong day. She’ll understand.’

  ‘I’d like to write and apologise. That is if you’ll give me her address, Grandfather.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  ‘Tell me about the park. I don’t know about you, but I’d quite like that drink now.’

  William nodded, and they went downstairs together.

  He had often wondered what it would be like, tried to picture it. Perhaps the love nest — that was the word that always came to his mind, the one the scandal sheets would use — perhaps it was in one of the new blocks of flats being built, which were still rare except around the Darlinghurst area, and considered rather racy. Or perhaps a house on the water. Something rather grand.

  But this secluded small house at the end of the cul-de-sac, this wasn’t grand. Charming, yes. Private, certainly. But not grand. And not the least bit racy. The courtyard was vivid and lively, enhanced with ceramic pots of petunias and a blaze of marigolds. Overhanging the house was the blue canopy of a huge jacaranda in full summer flower. He rang the bell, and after a moment Hannah answered it. She was wearing a long skirt and silk blouse, and for a moment did not seem to recognise him. Then, with a start, she realised who it was.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Hello, Hannah.’ She looked anxious — fearful.

  ‘It’s not your grandfather — nothing’s wrong?’

  Too late he realised that his sudden appearance here might alarm her.

  ‘No, no, he’s fine,’ he assured her. ‘He gave me your address so I could write to apologise for the way I behaved yesterday. Only I felt it would be best if I came in person. I also wrote you a letter too, so it’s not actually deceiving Grandfather. Well, not quite. I hope you don’t mind.’

  He gave her the sealed letter. She glanced at the envelope, her name and address written there, then looked intently at him for so long he was unsure if she was pleased or offended.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you how much like him you are?’

  ‘Lots of people say I look like him.’

  ‘Not only look.’ Hannah laughed, and took his arm. ‘You sound like him and you think like him. You’re an absolute chip off that old block. My dear boy, come in.’

  It was going to be all right. He was glad he’d come here. Later, after he’d elected to have a lemon drink, because it was too hot for tea and too early for wine or beer, and she’d made savouries on thin biscuits, and they’d taken them into the back garden, he felt he could tell Hannah Lockwood almost anything. It was strange, because it was like Gran in that way, only different; she was younger and laughed more easily, but had the same way of listening, so that you said things, and didn’t feel embarrassed.

  He told her about Kate, and how there had been a letter from her that very morning, which undoubtedly came by the same ship as David’s letter, but had been delayed, so that he got the news from her brother first, instead of the way she wanted. He said Kate promised that they’d always be close, but they had never deceived each other, and she thought she was in love with a student from Cambridge — and not that it had anything to do with her feelings, but he actually rowed in the Eights against Oxford — and she’d watched the finish from Hammersmith Bridge. That was not a factor, just an aside so he’d know she hadn’t fallen for a complete dill. But she had fallen for him, and she had to be honest about that — and since the chances of her and Harry meeting again were unlikely, he ought to find someone for himself. She hoped he would, hoped he’d be happy, and hoped especially he’d forgive her.

  ‘And do you forgive her?’ Hannah asked, when he paused for breath.

  ‘I’m trying to,’ he said. ‘I’m really trying. Of course I’ll hope like mad that Oxford wins next year’s boat race, and he catches a crab, loses his oar, falls in, and makes a complete goose of himself.’ She smiled.

  ‘But you felt she was going out of your life, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I howled my eyes out, the day her ship left.’ After a moment he said, ‘I’ve never told anyone else that.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with a good howl.’

  ‘But men — aren’t supposed to cry.’

  ‘The nice ones do,’ Hannah said. ‘Stiff upper lips are all very well, but sometimes they’re attached to vacant faces.’

  ‘Or a Cambridge goose,’ Harry laughed.

  ‘Indeed. On the other hand, if Kate likes him, he’s probably not too bad.’

  ‘I expect you’re right,’ he admitted. ‘In fact I know you are. He’ll probably be the hero of the boat race.’ They both smiled.

  ‘I like your house,’ he said, suddenly. ‘I like you.’

  ‘That’s a nice thing to say, Harry.’

  ‘Can I tell you why I really came to see you today?’

  ‘Not just to bring a letter?’

  ‘I could’ve sent it. But I did want to meet you — and I’m glad I did. I’ve been thinking about you. Rather a lot — ever since my mother mentioned you, the last time I saw her.’

  Hannah blinked. ‘Your mother knew about me?’

  ‘Gran knew. She told Mama.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Hannah said.

  ‘No, please, you mustn’t feel like that. I’m putting this badly, but Mama — well, she said she wished she’d met you.’

  ‘Elizabeth said that?’

  ‘Truly.’

  ‘Good Lord.’ After a moment, she said, ‘We did almost meet once. When she brought you all home — after your Gran’s accident. She came to watch her father in the State House.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘It was one of his great days. He was in tremendous form, determined to impress his daughter in the gallery. I sat a discreet distance away, and watched her. I thought she was the loveliest looking girl I’d ever seen. Is she still beautiful?’

  ‘I think so. Even if she is getting older.’

  ‘My dear, she’s only thirty-six — despite having a grown-up son. One of the few advantages of eloping and having a baby so young.’

  ‘Was it a big scandal?’

  ‘More of a private one. A lot of pain and sadness.’

  ‘No one’s ever told me much.’

  ‘It’s the past, Harry. I hope she’s happy.’

  ‘She and my father seem to be. And my brother Carl, he’s left school and works on the vineyard. And my sister’s at a weekly boarding school. She’s fourteen, and looks like Ma.’

  ‘Lucky girl.’

  ‘Maria and I get on. Carl and I don’t.’ He hesitated. ‘Pa and I don’t, either.’

  She said nothing.

  ‘It’s funny how I seem to be able to tell you things.’

  ‘Now tell me why you really came.’

  ‘It’s a bit personal — and you might think it rude or cheeky.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  ‘I felt you and Grandfather would marry. I told Mama and she said she hoped so. She said it was time he was happy.’

  Hannah thought if she tried to speak she might weep for joy. ‘This is the personal part. Tell me to go if you’re angry. But Gran’s been dead almost a year, and by now — what I mean is �
�� what I’m trying to say is — Hannah, hasn’t he asked you?’

  ‘Oh, my darling boy,’ Hannah said. The tears began to flow, and there was nothing she could do to prevent them.

  ‘I’m a fool. I’ve upset you and made a mess of this.’

  She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘No, you haven’t. You’ll never know how glad I am you came here today. It’s one of the best things that’s ever happened in my entire life.’

  TWENTY SIX

  Elizabeth sat smiling over the letter. What a cheek! He told her everything about his visit to the house in Paddington, pages of it in his swift and scrawling handwriting; even Hannah’s comment on her looks! She tried to remember back to that day, watching her father on his feet in the Parliament, deriding and scorning the Opposition and drawing applause for his own supporters, so passionate about Federation. The King Canute speech, she had always called it in her mind since.

  ‘lf the gentleman, and I use the word with caution … chooses to align with other dullards, dinosaurs and die-hards who wish to emulate King Canute … I suggest this House repair to the nearest beach … to watch the waves of history wash them into obscurity … beware the tide of public opinion … ignore it and it may drown you.’

  She laughed aloud, recalling the angry faces of James North and Mr Reid. But most of her attention had been focused on her father. There had been several well-dressed, attractive women there, and one of them must have been Hannah. She turned back to-the letter.

  I felt terrible making her cry like that, but she kept saying she was happy, then bursting into tears again, and finally I don’t know why, but we both started to laugh. She asked me to wait while she went and fixed her face — I said it didn’t need fixing because she’s very attractive, even though she must be almost fifty, and has a lovely sense of humour. Anyway, she went off and came back with a glass of wine each, and said this was the last of the very best vintage, the 1909 Elizabeth that she’d been saving for a special day, and this was it. And so we toasted each other — and Grandfather — and you and Papa for making it.

  I’m sure that Grandpa is going to ask her again any day now to marry him, and it makes me laugh to think I know something he doesn’t- that this time she will say yes. Goodness knows what we will do if he’s become discouraged and doesn’t ask: I told Hannah she’ll have to send him a card on Valentine’s Day! I wish you could meet her, Ma. I know you’d get on together. They’ll be awfully happy if only he’ll pop the question. I’ll send you a telegram when he does. Mr and Mrs Forbes also liked her when she came to the house for afternoon tea, and twice since for lunch — so that’s good.

  I’ve talked all about Hannah, and nothing about you. I worry when I hear about anti-German displays, and people being interned. I do hope you’re not having any trouble over there. But then you’re you, and Pa is naturalised, so there shouldn’t be any difficulty. Only I would like to hear from you that everything is in order and there’s no antagonism, and that Gerhardt and Eva-Maria, and Sigrid and Oscar are all fine. Give father my fondest affection, and tell him Hannah (and also Grandfather) think he is one of the best winemakers in the country.

  Much love to Maria, and to you,

  Harry

  P. S. I think my childish infatuation for Kate Brahm is over, and it seems she has met someone in England. I was upset at first — but we all have to grow up, don’t we?

  She enjoyed the letter. He writes like he talks, she thought:

  I can hear his voice in every line. And he and Hannah — weaving webs for her father. How the world turns and spins. She would like to have shown the letter to Stefan, but was hesitant. It was such a contrast to the polite, almost stilted letter Harry had written to him in apology, almost a year ago. Stefan had said little, but she had been disappointed at the careful formality. It was the one disturbing element in her life, that her eldest son and her husband could find no rapport. And yet, Hannah Lockwood, whom he had almost hated as a threat to his beloved Gran — here they were, friends and confidantes. Edith Patterson would have been quite bemused. Perhaps the woman her mother had become, particularly in her latter years, might have even enjoyed the irony.

  She heard the sound of an approaching motorbike, and came out onto the verandah, thinking it might be Sigrid and Oscar. But it was a single machine with no sidecar. It stopped near the house, and the rider took off his helmet, goggles and protective coat. She saw the stripes on his uniform, as he put on his police cap.

  ‘Sergeant Delaney,’ she said.

  ‘Ma’am.’ He nodded.

  ‘We haven’t seen you in ages.’

  ‘No.’ He seemed ill at ease. ‘Husband about?’

  ‘Yes, he’s just switching on the irrigator.’

  They heard the sound of the petrol-driven pump from a tin shed behind the house. The trenched irrigation hoses Stefan had installed over the years pumped water from the dam, to trickle along the rows and moisten the roots of the vines. It was what had made their harvests so abundant, and had brought them comparative wealth in this quiet part of the valley.

  ‘Stefan!’ she called over the noise of the motor, and he came around the corner of the house and nodded a greeting to Delaney, who did not return it.

  ‘Mr Muller, I’m here on official business.’

  ‘What is it, Sergeant?’

  ‘I’ve got a list somewhere.’ He searched in his pockets and produced a crumpled sheet of paper.

  ‘What list?’

  Stefan was puzzled by the sergeant’s manner. Despite what some people claimed about the police being biased, Stefan had always thought Delaney a decent man.

  ‘List of aliens. Enemy subjects.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Elizabeth said, with incredulity.

  ‘Enemy aliens,’ Delaney repeated, louder, as if she might be infirm and hard of hearing.

  Stefan intervened. He could see Elizabeth start to fume. ‘Please explain, Sergeant. My name is on this list?’ Delaney became more aggressive.

  ‘Stefan Muller. That’s you, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know it is.’

  ‘It’s a matter of identification. Are you Stefan Muller?’

  ‘You’ve known me for ten years.’

  ‘Well, listen to this.’ He read from an official document. ‘War Precautions Act. All names listed here as enemy subjects are to report to the police station as required, at noon tomorrow.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Elizabeth said angrily.

  ‘It’s official,’ the police sergeant said.

  ‘It’s effrontery. My husband’s naturalised. He’s Australian. The whole idea is absurd.’

  ‘Don’t try to tell me. Argue with the government, Mrs Muller. But until they change their minds, he reports tomorrow.’

  ‘For what purpose?’ Stefan asked.

  ‘To answer questions. To do whatever you’re told to do.’

  ‘But this is stupid,’ Stefan said.

  ‘Look, Muller,’ Delaney was fast losing patience, ‘just be there. Or else you’re in big trouble.’

  They stood numbly, watching him return to his motorcycle.

  He had been the rather pleasant, unimaginative village police sergeant for more than half the time they had lived there. He had assimilated into their community; indeed, they had been one of the first families to go out of their way to make him welcome.

  Now he was informing Stefan he was an enemy.

  The hubbub of bewildered complaints began to quieten, as the two men emerged. By the time they mounted the boxes set up to form a dais, there was silence. The inspector was unknown, new to the district. His uniform was smartly tailored; in contrast to Delaney’s rather ill-fitting tunic and casual appearance, this was a man who gave the impression of neatness and precision. He had sharp, penetrating eyes that surveyed the perplexed and uneasy crowd.

  There was no more room in the yard behind the station.

  Surrounded by high brick walls, it was a place where police vans parked to pick up and discharge pr
isoners, rather than accommodate so many people. The streets of the town were strangely empty; most of the shops closed, their owners and assistants summoned to attend. Pastor Hubrich was there, along with all the teachers from the Lutheran schools. The rest of the crowd were tradesmen, or from farms and vineyards. Their parked horses and carts, sulkies, trucks and automobiles filling the streets gave a false impression of a fete or a market day.

  ‘This is Inspector Lucas,’ Delaney announced. ‘He’ll tell you why you’re here.’

  Lucas’s gaze swept the crowd, as though seeking out any likely malcontents. He was in no hurry, making them wait, and Stefan had the feeling he enjoyed creating the tension. Beside him Gerhardt muttered, and Eva-Maria anxiously whispered to him to be quiet.

  ‘I hope you can all understand English,’ Lucas started, speaking slowly and loudly, ‘because I will say this once. — and once only. You are all registered as enemy aliens.’

  It provoked a storm of protest. Lucas made no attempt to quell it; he waited, surveying them, until it died to a murmur. ‘You are required to swear an oath, not to take up arms against the Commonwealth of Australia or the British Empire. Any person refusing to so swear, will be arrested.’

  ‘Sir!’ Gerhardt Lippert raised his arm.

  ‘No questions,’ the inspector said.

  ‘Surely a mistake has been made,’ Gerhardt persisted, while, Eva-Maria tried to hush him.

  ‘Gerd, halt den Mund!’

  ‘A mistake, sir,’ Gerhardt persisted, ignoring his wife. ‘Half the people here are naturalised.’

  ‘There’s no mistake,’ Lucas replied. ‘But since you’ve raised the matter, let me make it clear. The government has stated this makes not the slightest difference.’

  ‘But naturalised means that we are Australians.’

  ‘Don’t argue with me. You swear the oath, or go to gaol.’ They were made to queue. It was hot in the confined yard.

  There was no shelter from the sun, and most of them were thirsty. The process was deliberately slow, with only Sergeant Delaney and one of his constables administering the oaths. Those sworn were then required to wait, and told in due course they would be advised of their legal standing before being allowed to leave. From time to time Inspector Lucas emerged from the police station to see what progress had been made. Once he was eating a sandwich. Another time he had a drink in his hand, and seemed amused at their resentment.