A Bitter Harvest

by Peter Yeldham

  ‘And that there are two hospitals actually founded by women in Australia. The Rachel Forster in Sydney, and Queen Victoria Memorial Hospital in Melbourne.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, either.’

  ‘And the doctors there are all women.’

  ‘There seems to be a lot I don’t know.’

  ‘You know a great deal about making wine.’ Maria laughed.

  ‘Was it difficult for these women to become doctors?’

  ‘Very, specially at first. Some were refused admission. They went to Canada to get their degree. It’s still not easy. Still a men’s club. But I’m going to hammer on the doors until they let me in.’

  Stefan thought about it. He smiled.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll help you in any way I can.’

  Elizabeth sat watching them fondly. Stefan, still only in his early forties, and their daughter, in the transition years between leaving childhood and becoming a woman. She knew Maria was his favourite. No one could doubt this, seeing their affectionate rapport, the way she made him relax and smile.

  Months ago she had received a letter from Hannah, suggesting that if the situation got worse, Maria could go to Sydney to complete her education and stay with them. She had replied expressing her gratitude, but saying that of them all, Maria was the one most settled, and very attached to her school. If anything changed, she would gladly accept their offer. They had written regularly since, and she looked forward to the letters. Hannah’s correspondence was very like her own — a series of brief jottings with exclamation marks — and diary-style notes in which the big house opposite the park and all the people in it seemed to come alive.

  Harry, she learned, had done well in his first year of law. The exam results would not be out until after Christmas, but his tutors were pleased and he was confident — which in Hannah’s opinion meant a lot, because he wasn’t the type to arouse false hopes. He was seeing a new girl, a fellow student. Quite pretty! He and Kate no longer wrote. He never mentioned joining up any more and seemed to have come to terms with remaining at university and completing his degree. Thank heaven! There was every chance it would all be well and truly over long before then.

  Hannah also wrote that William was back in the limelight!

  Although still out of parliament, and unlikely to be re-elected, he was an active opponent of a campaign to introduce conscription which the government was trying to introduce by stealth. Had Elizabeth heard of this? It had hardly received any newspaper coverage yet, but a most enormous row was brewing. Ever since Gallipoli and the terrible casualty lists, there had been a big drop in enlistments — way below expectations — and Billy Hughes was in London making lots of promises Australia could not possibly keep. William was gathering information to take on the Prime Minister — whom he called a dangerous Welsh gnome. (But more of this anon!) Hannah had scrawled at the end of her most recent letter, and made Elizabeth smile. Her father was girding up his loins for his own war.

  ‘Elizabeth, did you hear that?’ Stefan’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Yes, I heard. Maria wants to study medicine.’

  ‘Not that. I mean what she just told me, about patients?’ Elizabeth had to admit her mind had been wandering. ‘It seems many people won’t go to women doctors.’

  ‘Why on earth not?’

  ‘Prejudice, Mum. Men get embarrassed at the thought of us examining them. Asking them to take their trousers off.’

  ‘But nurses do the same thing.’

  ‘I know. They don’t mind women emptying bedpans, but don’t want us to be physicians or surgeons. It’s infuriating. What’s more disappointing is that even other women seem to be reluctant. They like the image of the venerable masculine figure in a white coat.’

  ‘Well, darling, we can buy you a white coat,’ Elizabeth said, ‘but I doubt if you’ll ever look venerable. Or masculine. At least I hope not.’

  Maria laughed. ‘Anyway, it’s years off. One and a half more in school, then my medical course. Time for attitudes to change.’

  ‘And if not, you’ll have to help change them — by being as good as, or better than your male colleagues.’

  ‘You bet I will,’ Maria said.

  They left the restaurant early, for they planned to spend the following day driving to Glenelg, to picnic on the beach and swim. Maria was due back in school by six o’clock. Stefan and Elizabeth intended to spend Sunday night at the Gresham, and drive home early on the Monday morning. Now that they had a car, the Barossa was not such a distance. They would be home for lunch. Meanwhile the vineyard was in Carl’s care, and Eva-Maria and Gerhardt were close by if he needed them.

  The Gresham was their favourite hotel. It stood on King William Road, overlooking Elder Park, and was a landmark. The foyer was spacious, with brocade furnishings and lamps of etched glass. A large crystal chandelier lit the ornate drawing room, where guests met for coffee, or read newspapers in which their names were likely to be featured. It was a place Stefan could not have contemplated or afforded a few years ago but now, as regular’ visitors, they were known to the staff and management.

  The receptionist gave them their room keys, and wondered if Mr Muller would be kind enough to spare Mr Barrington a moment. He could be found in his office.

  Stefan had discussed the possibility of the hotel placing a forward order on his new vintage, at a discount to be arranged, so he left Elizabeth and Maria to take the lift upstairs, while he went to talk to the manager, doing swift calculations on the price he could offer if the hotel took a thousand bottles of the 1916 claret.

  He knocked on the door, and was asked to sit down.

  ‘It’s really rather awkward,’ Mr Barrington said. ‘I don’t quite know how to put this.’

  He was English, and had been assistant manager of the Hyde Park Hotel in London’s Knightsbridge, before emigrating and taking over as the manager of the Gresham almost ten years ago. He was in his late forties, and believed in cultivating frequent guests, and on several occasions Elizabeth and Stefan had been invited to drinks in his suite. It was there Barrington had first broached the idea of the hotel bulk-buying some of the vineyard’s next harvest.

  ‘If we’re talking about the wine purchase, don’t let it concern you, Mr Barrington. I have extensive orders. And what we don’t sell, I’ll be happy to put down.’

  ‘It’s not about the wine,’ Barrington said, frowning and clearly ill at ease. ‘I had a guest complain.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About you. Your family. Staying here.’

  ‘Complain?’

  ‘It’s the most damnable business, and I’m deeply sorry. I’m placed in the awful position of having to ask you to leave in the morning, and not to stay here in future.’

  Stefan simply stared at him. He could already guess what this was about, and felt numb.

  ‘A guest saw your name in the visitor’s book. He came to me and objected. He said it was a foreign name, and that he’d made enquiries and found out you were German.’

  ‘I’ve never made a secret of it,’ Stefan said. ‘Why should I? After all, I’m a naturalised Australian.’

  ‘I told him you and your wife are regular guests. I’m afraid he became rather unpleasant.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘He insisted on using my telephone to ring our chairman of directors. It seems they’re friends, members of the same club; The chairman instructed me to move you from your room, today. I said it would upset your wife and daughter, and was told it would damage the hotel if it was known we allowed Germans here. I’m to be more careful in future, if I wish to keep my job. I’m ashamed, Mr Muller. At least I managed to insist you be allowed to remain tonight.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Barrington,’ Stefan said.

  ‘It’s a disgrace,’ the manager said. ‘Please give my apologies to your wife and daughter.’

  It was, Stefan thought, like a treacherous icy slope. Just when he took a few paces upward, when the vineyard prospered an
d he could afford small luxuries to compensate her for all the hard years, for the rigour of their penniless days and the cruelty of the Ritter farm, when after all the work and careful saving he could at last redress the balance, repay her for almost twenty years of loyalty and hardship shared, it was as if the ground crumbled beneath his feet and he slid back. The climb, the effort, had all been in vain.

  As he returned to their room he knew the receptionist was watching him, while trying not to give the impression of doing so. Stefan felt angry that by morning they would be the object of gossip and debate. No doubt the staff would take sides. Some might say they weren’t so bad really — for Germans — while others who had served them and accepted their tips would doubtless speak of them as if they were the carriers of a plague.

  He decided not to tell Elizabeth. Why upset and humiliate her? And certainly it was better that Maria did not know.

  ‘Did he want to buy the wine?’

  She was curled up in bed. He started to undress.

  ‘Not this year. Something to do with his board of directors. They’ve contracted with Penfolds.’

  ‘Oh, well. We won’t hold it against them.’

  ‘He was most apologetic.’

  ‘I like Mr Barrington. And his comfy, lovely old hotel.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Something wrong, Stefan?’

  ‘No, darling.’

  He put on his pyjamas, and went into the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth.

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘after we take Maria back to school, we could really drive home. Provided you don’t mind?’

  ‘I don’t mind. We wouldn’t get back until very late, though.

  I thought the idea of taking an extra day was to give you a holiday?’

  ‘You know me. Can’t keep away from those vines.’

  He felt relieved. He had managed it without her suspecting.

  Now he yawned and kissed her goodnight. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘You, too,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘I’ll dream about our daughter, the doctor.’

  Elizabeth didn’t dream. She lay awake, wondering what had happened, and why he was lying? He was such a bad liar.

  An ambulance had to be sent for, to transport Gerhardt to the police station, for he was unable to walk. The three assailants, one of whom was the corporal, were afterwards to swear they did no more than restrain the prisoner, who was abusive and violent. The soldier who had gone back into the church to keep the congregation from leaving at rifle point said he could hear nothing because of the cries and screams from the man’s wife, who seemed to be hysterical and had to be prevented from trying to assault him by her friends.

  Thomas Hubrich, the pastor, said it was a brutal unprovoked attack by three young army thugs upon a man in his fifties, but the pastor was by then in prison, and his testimony was declared biased and unreliable.

  The young soldier guarding him said the minister was obviously confused or lying, because he, the man’s escort, had seen and heard nothing — apart, of course, from the other prisoner being abusive and violent as his comrades had already stated.

  The congregation had remained for a few minutes in confusion and were told to wait while the soldier went to see if it was safe for them to leave. Eva-Maria led a rush to the door, by which time the detail was driving away on board the ambulance, along with the pastor and the unconscious Gerhardt. The street was otherwise empty and no one had any real idea what had happened.

  Oscar Schmidt took Eva-Maria back to his shop, where he made her take a sedative powder, and he and Sigrid insisted she lie down and rest. He knew the ambulance driver, and promised he would find out where they had taken Gerhardt, and what had really occurred.

  It was dark before Oscar returned, and he was worried. The driver, a Geordie from Tynemouth, was usually friendly. But today, he and his vehicle had been missing until late in the afternoon, and when Oscar finally found him, he was far from pleased to be met by questions. He replied that he had delivered the soldiers, the minister and Gerhardt to the local police station, as ordered by the army corporal.

  ‘How was Gerhardt?’ Oscar asked.

  Upset and abusive, but otherwise unharmed, he was told. ‘Then why did the soldiers need to send for you and the ambulance?’

  The driver took a careful look at Oscar. He said the inspector of the police and the military had both warned him not to discuss this matter. Gerhardt was under arrest, and the incident was covered by the National Security Act. So if Oscar knew what was good for him, he’d shut up and stop asking so many bloody questions, or else they might all be in the shit.

  ‘But why should it be difficult to explain what happened? All I want to know is some news to tell his wife,’ Oscar persisted.

  ‘Tell her not to expect him home,’ the driver said, now considerably less friendly, as he opened a bottle of whisky and made no attempt to offer his visitor a drink.

  Stefan was silent on the drive home, watching the headlights pick out potholes on the road, and the occasional rabbits or kangaroos held perilously mesmerised in the car’s glare. It was the first time they had made the journey at night, and she was still wondering why.

  She knew he was upset. It had been a warm day, glorious sunshine, the beach uncrowded, and Maria so happy and talkative while they picnicked, that his subdued mood had not been so apparent. They had all tried a swim but pronounced the water still too cold, and had gone walking and looking for shellfish instead. Maria had declared it a perfect weekend when she hugged them both at the school gates.

  But it had not been perfect, and Elizabeth knew it. She pretended to doze for a time, allowing him his silence. She could see his face in dark silhouette, eyes fixed on the road, so different from his almost boyish anticipation on the trip down. She would wait for him to tell her. If not, before they went to sleep she would ask.

  But an hour later when they arrived home, such concerns were swept aside by the news that Gerhardt Lippert was arrested, almost certainly injured, and Carl had brought Eva-Maria from town, shocked and exhausted, and she was asleep in their spare room.

  Inspector Lucas was enraged. A cold man, he rarely showed emotion, finding a constrained impersonal approach and full control far more effective in his job. In his experience, a frigid appraisal and a quiet manner had always proved more menacing than threats. Now for the first time, certainly since he had taken over this district, he was in a white hot fury, shouting at his subordinates, unable to curb his temper, losing all restraint.

  He had never been so angry.

  A bunch of young imbeciles, half-trained bloody militia had brought real trouble. What had possessed them to kill the wretched man? And why here, of all places, right on his doorstep? For the prisoner had died after the transfer from the ambulance. He had died in one of their police cells, either from the beating he had received, or a heart attack — a discreet post mortem had yet to determine which — and since the death had occurred while he was in custody, it became their mess to clear up.

  He had no choice but to telephone his superintendent in Adelaide, privately, ruining his chief’s Sunday afternoon, and being forced to listen to a long tirade on what might happen if certain of the newspapers unfriendly to the government got hold of this. He was told — quite unnecessarily, he thought — it could be dynamite, and to handle it with the utmost care.

  And he had done so. Or thought he had. The ambulance driver, the army fools, they had all been instructed what to say. By late Sunday night he was able to advise his superior that the immediate crisis had been contained. And now here was his sergeant, telling him some friend of the dead man had come to make enquiries.

  ‘What’s his name?’ he asked.

  ‘Muller. Stefan Muller,’ Delaney said.

  ‘Keep him outside until I’m ready. Tell him I’m busy and have more important matters to deal with. Make him wait.’

  ‘I used to tell him, don’t be a hero,’ Eva-Maria said. ‘Leave it to someone younger.
He never listened. In the church, I try to make him keep quiet. I’m so afraid, Elizabeth. I know they hurt him.’

  Elizabeth thought so too, from all the evidence gathered from talking to Sigrid and Oscar, as well as others at the service, but she tried not to reveal her disquiet.

  ‘Just because they called an ambulance?’

  ‘Why else would they do that? Even Oscar has to admit he thinks it’s strange.’

  ‘Knowing Gerd, he probably refused to move. Sat down and defied them. They didn’t have a truck, so they called for transport …’ It sounded lame, even to herself. Something had happened outside the church, and she hoped Stefan could find out what — without placing himself in danger by antagonising the police. That such a risk could now exist in this country seemed unreal to her.

  ‘You’ll stay with us,’ she said, ‘until we find out more about it. Carl can keep an eye on your farm. Now no arguments, please.’

  ‘Maybe I have to sell the place, if they keep him in a camp.’

  ‘You mustn’t do that.’

  ‘Not if I can help it. Perhaps later on there’s no choice.’

  ‘We’ll lend you money.’

  ‘I can’t accept it.’

  ‘Listen, we’re friends. Best friends, ever since Stefan and I came here. If necessary, I’ll ask my father. He can buy the farm, and lease it back to you for a peppercorn rent. Papa would do that for me, and he can afford it.’

  Eva-Maria had tears in her eyes.

  ‘It would be nice to know, whatever happens, I can keep the farm safe for that stupid hero.’

  ‘I promise you will.’

  ‘Thank you. It would also be good to know I needn’t sell it to those people.’

  ‘What people?’

  ‘Carsons. The dairy farmer,’ Eva-Maria said. ‘Why should you sell to them?’

  ‘When I went to the house to collect my clothes, he came past. He said he and his wife would buy our place.’

  ‘What? Buy it?’

  ‘One hundred pounds, he offered.’

  ‘How dare he,’ Elizabeth said with astonishment and anger. ‘Why, that’s not a quarter of what the land is worth.’