A Bitter Harvest

by Peter Yeldham

  ‘The Letters to the Editor, Grandfather. Did you read those?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘You nabbed the paper.’

  Maria looked at Hannah, who smiled.

  ‘When did you send this, Hannah?’

  ‘I took it around by hand yesterday. And posted off copies to The Age, and The Adelaide Advertiser.’

  ‘Copies of what?’ William asked.

  ‘I would like to publicly make known,’ Maria read aloud, her eyes shining, ‘my total support for my step-daughter, Elizabeth Muller, and her attempts to free her husband, Stefan Muller. He is not merely interned, which would be unfair enough, since he is a respected member of the community and a naturalised Australian of many years standing, but is imprisoned without any charge being proved. He has never faced a court or a jury, and his “crime” seems to have been asking the police to give adequate protection to acts of vandalism against his friends. If a plea for law and order is a crime, then I for one should be locked up. And so, I expect, should many decent and right-minded people.

  ‘This case is particularly unfortunate, since Mrs Muller’s son is an infantry captain in the A.I.F in France. Imagine the feelings of a young man who volunteered to fight for his country, being informed that country has now imprisoned his father without a trial. Yours, etc. (Mrs) Hannah Patterson.’

  Maria threw her arms around Hannah and hugged her tightly. ‘I love you,’ she said.

  William blew his nose noisily. ‘Bloody good,’ he said. ‘Bloody marvellous. Well done.’

  An hour later the telephone call came. Mrs Forbes hurried out to the garden, where Hannah was planting out seedlings, and William was clipping the lawn edges.

  ‘It’s Mr James North’s office wishing to speak to you, Senator.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Forbes. Tell them I’m busy at present, and to try again in half an hour. You might explain there are journalists here and I’m unable to speak to anyone.’

  ‘Sir?’ Mrs Forbes looked askance.

  ‘Half an hour, Mrs Forbes. Do you think you could perjure yourself for me?’

  ‘How many journalists, Senator?’

  ‘Rather a lot, I think, don’t you? Shall we say … a crowd?’ Hannah laughed. Mrs Forbes nodded, smiling, and went back into the house to convey the message. William watched her, knowing this was dangerous, but he had no choice. So what, if it was to be made known he had been a villain in the past. Was he so different from many other politicians, or a former Lord Mayor of Sydney? This was for his daughter: he was prepared to be vilified, or indicted if that was necessary.

  The telephone rang again, exactly half an hour later.

  ‘Mr Patterson? The Honourable James North’s parliamentary secretary here. The Minister wonders if you would care to visit him at his office. Say, this afternoon at four?’

  ‘Tell the Honourable Mr North,’ William said, ‘I have no reason to visit him. But if the Minister cares to call on me at four, I’ll give him a drink and hear whatever it is he has to say.’

  He put down the telephone.

  ‘That’ll get his goat. I’m damned if I’m going to call on him. That’s an old ploy, giving him home ground advantage.’

  ‘Besides, you’re far too busy,’ Hannah said. ‘Trimming the edges and weeding the garden with me.’

  He nodded and smiled, hoping she did not sense his fear. The ministerial sedan arrived promptly at four. James North was in formal wear that some parliamentarians were favouring; a stiff collar, morning coat and striped trousers.

  William, in his oldest gardening slacks, open-necked shirt, and favourite cardigan, later said his visitor looked like a pox doctor’s clerk. North, who knew William had purposely not dressed for the occasion, told his wife Patterson looked like some old codger from the potting shed. They shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and William poured drinks, while North admired the portrait of Elizabeth that still hung above the mantelpiece.

  ‘Splendid painting. Grand house this, William. It’s very decent of you to receive me.’

  ‘Always glad to see old friends, James.’

  He handed a somewhat embarrassed North his drink. ‘I regret our last meeting,’ North said.

  ‘Heat of the moment. I’ve forgotten it.’

  ‘I rather doubt it. But it’s generous of you to say so.’

  They raised their glasses to each other, and sipped the drinks.

  ‘Ever miss the old days, the State Parliament?’ North asked. ‘Often,’ William said. ‘I haven’t been called a class traitor or a rotten conniving bastard in years.’

  North forced a smile. He glanced again at the portrait. ‘Elizabeth was only seventeen, when we got you elected, Reid and I, remember?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Abroad on her world trip. Hadn’t even met the fellow.’ William said nothing. He waited.

  ‘Look, William — can’t you put a stop to this nonsense?’

  ‘Which nonsense?’

  ‘Come on, man. The newspaper interviews, the damn speeches, your own wife writing a letter of support …’

  ‘You read it?’

  ‘Of course I read it. First bloody thing I saw when I opened today’s paper.’

  ‘If you’re in Melbourne soon, you can read it in The Age.’

  ‘Very amusing.’

  ‘And The Adelaide Advertiser, I’m told, a day or two later.’

  ‘Confound the letter. I came here to talk about Elizabeth. Haven’t you any control over how she behaves?’

  ‘None at all,’ William said. ‘Never did have.’

  ‘I can’t believe you approve. Not even you could approve of the way she’s going on.’

  William smiled, and said, ‘If you must know, I’m proud of her. Immensely proud.’

  ‘Good God!’

  ‘She’s got guts and spirit — and the gift of making people listen. Approve, James? I’m bloody delighted.’

  ‘And I’m shocked,’ North tried to control his anger, ‘at your lack of patriotism.’

  ‘I assure you I’m a patriot. So is my daughter.’

  ‘Be buggered. She’s a ranting and dangerous subversive.’

  ‘I’ll write and tell her. She’ll be flattered.’

  ‘She’s talking treason. Undermining the war effort.’

  ‘Balls,’ William said. ‘In the privacy of this room, do me the courtesy of not treating me like an idiot.’

  ‘I mean it. She’s influencing people,’ North insisted. ‘Women, in particular, are listening to her. They’re the key to the coming referendum on conscription — we can’t afford to lose votes.’ William smiled.

  ‘You know where I stand on that. My daughter’s trying to correct a personal injustice. If she costs you votes in your immoral crusade that the people have already rejected once, that’s a bonus.’ North sighed. He finished his drink.

  ‘The P.M. will be extremely disappointed at your attitude.’

  ‘The little digger? I expect his lilting Welsh snarl was in your ear bright and early, once he saw Hannah’s letter. Told you to get off your arse and meet me, no matter how distasteful the idea. And as you’ve achieved high office obeying your master’s voice — that’s why you’re here and why we’ve had no unpleasant threats like last time.’

  North said stiffly, ‘You misjudge Billy Hughes. He admires you.

  He had hoped to include you in the next Birthday Honours.’ Before William could reply to this, there was a tap on the door and Hannah entered. She smiled at them.

  ‘Mr North, will you stay for dinner?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I’m expected home,’ he added, to make it sound less ungracious.

  ‘Mr North has just told me I’ve chucked away the chance of Knighthood,’ William said. ‘You’ll never be Lady Patterson.’

  ‘I expect we’ll manage. Plain old Mister and Missus is good enough for me.’ She gave a most deliberate dazzling smile at North.

  ‘The government wants an end to this stupidity,’ North said, unable to conceal his irritat
ion. ‘If your daughter agrees to stop, I’ll set up an inquiry into her husband’s case.’

  ‘That won’t satisfy her.’

  ‘Dammit, William, don’t push me too far.’

  ‘I’m not pushing you at all, James. I do wish you’d realise, this is nothing to do with me.’

  ‘What do you mean — nothing?’ North asked heatedly.

  ‘I mean,’ William said, ‘that I have a very independent daughter — and an equally independent wife. What do you expect me to do? Give them orders? That’s not how we live in this family.’

  North glared at him, making an effort to restrain his temper. ‘I want her pledge. No more speeches. No newspapers.’

  They waited, determinedly showing no outward emotion.

  ‘In return …’ he paused. It began to seem to them he would never say it. ‘In return — after a suitable time — the bloody man will be released.’

  ‘A suitable time?’

  ‘A month or two.’

  ‘Not a hope. She’d refuse — unless he’s out immediately.’ Again they waited while North inwardly fumed and debated.

  ‘Very well,’ he said finally, ‘within forty-eight hours.’

  ‘She’d want it in writing.’

  ‘You know perfectly well I can’t put it on paper.’

  ‘You’re asking her to trust you?’

  ‘It’s the best I can do.’

  ‘If you renege, James, you’ll have me to reckon with.’

  North stared at him with naked dislike. The deal was done; he had been told to resolve it. There was no longer need for pretence.

  ‘Who the hell are you any longer?’

  ‘A parent — used to dealing with political bastards like you.’

  ‘I’d be extremely careful, William. Or you’ll regret it.’

  ‘You mean once this is over and Hughes is satisfied, I’m fair game?’ William turned to Hannah. ‘He has some material on me, to do with a fraud years ago in Broken Hill.’

  ‘Will he use it?’ Hannah asked, ignoring North. ‘If so, it won’t make any difference to you and me.’

  ‘He’d love to, but he can’t,’ William said, wanting to put his arms around her, but feeling she knew that. To North he said, ‘You see how it is, James. My wife likes me, warts and all. I no longer have a political career for you to ruin. Whereas you’re a Cabinet Minister — with lots to lose. Ever since you threatened me, I decided to protect myself. I have a dossier, with enough dirt to make you an electoral liability. Hughes would unload you so fast you wouldn’t know if you were North — or South.’

  North was livid. ‘Very droll. Let’s have no stupid threats.’

  ‘I entirely agree. This is about Elizabeth.’

  ‘If she accepts — I give you my word. And despite what you may think, I’m not in the habit of breaking it.’

  ‘I’ll talk to her. See what she has to say.’

  ‘I suggest by telephone — and tonight. This has to stop, or we could lose the referendum.’

  ‘Indeed you could,’ William murmured.

  North ignored the remark. He nodded abruptly to Hannah, and went out of the room.

  She made no attempt to accompany him. Mrs Forbes would be there to give him his hat and coat, and observe the courtesies. She was always relieved to see the back of James North, and she knew that this would certainly be the last time.

  William came and put his arm around her. They watched as he was ushered into the ministerial car, and it drove away.

  ‘Have you really got a file on him?’ Hannah asked, as the car passed through the iron gates at the end of the driveway.

  ‘No.’ William grinned. ‘But he doesn’t know that.’

  She laughed and hugged him. Then they went to telephone Elizabeth, who was in James Boorhby’s Adelaide office, waiting to hear from them.

  It was a tumultuous month. The nation had never been so divided. Violence and bitterness grew as the day of the second vote on conscription approached. The hostility between both sides became extreme. Crowds engaged in angry abuse that turned into fights and street riots. There were bonfires; brigades were kept busy, as people burnt leaflets expressing the rival point of view, or set fire to speaker’s platforms. The government resorted to the use of obscure censorship laws to ruthlessly intimidate those advocating the NO vote. Daily there were raids on printers, and pamphlets confiscated. Premises were vandalised; many of the owners were prosecuted and heavy fines forced some to close.

  Almost without exception newspapers campaigned strongly in favour of compulsory military service, and used artists and cartoonists to ridicule those in opposition. Lurid posters and crude caricatures were distributed to libraries, and even given to children in schools.

  Influenced by this stream of propaganda, in which murder and rape were constantly featured, and babies and old women depicted being bayoneted by bestial creatures in German helmets, groups of women stepped up their campaign, harassing men in the streets of almost any age, demanding that they join the army.

  The discord had its lighter moments. In the Sydney Domain at a massed rally against conscription, a vast women’s choir sang:

  I didn’t raise my son to be a soldier

  I brought him up to be my pride and joy,

  Who dares to put a musket to his shoulder,

  To kill some other mother’s darling boy?

  In response, Dame Nellie Melba appealed to all women to vote YES. If Germany won, she asserted, the Kaiser’s first demand would be for the Australian continent to be handed over to him! Certain newspapers rushed to print this, informing their readers the world-famous diva would certainly be in a position to know.

  ‘How can the bloody woman sing like an angel and speak like such a fool?’ William demanded, reading it in the Argus.

  ‘How can smart, well-educated editors praise her wisdom?’ His wife laughed, and Maria, busy writing a letter, smiled and thought that Hannah Patterson was the sunniest person she had ever known.

  Dearest Mama and Papa, she wrote, it must be wonderful for Papa to be safe home again …

  Elizabeth was afraid, from the moment she left the river boat and stepped on to the island jetty, that they might change their minds. But Stefan was waiting. He stood defensively between two guards, while McVeigh sat at his desk and smiled, as if they were old friends and this was a welcome visit.

  ‘Mrs Muller,’ he said, ‘the laddie’s ready. Washed and cleaned up and ready for you. All we have to do is sign the release.’

  ‘What release?’

  ‘This piece of paper. Can he read English?’

  ‘Of course he can read. What’s wrong, Stefan?’

  ‘He refuses to sign it. I thought perhaps he was a wee bit thick, or couldn’t understand. Why would he refuse to sign?’

  She ignored him, and asked again: ‘Stefan, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Read it,’ Stefan said. ‘Read the lies they insist I sign.’ McVeigh pushed it across the desk. Elizabeth picked it up. It was a statutory declaration. Short, and crudely drawn up.

  I, Stefan Mulier, herewith acknowledge that while at Langley Island as a prisoner, I have been properly and fairly treated, and have no complaint whatsoever to make against any of the staff of the said camp. I do so swear, this first day of December, nineteen hundred and seventeen, that I was correctly and justly imprisoned on the evidence available, and before God swear not to offend in like manner again.

  ‘Either he signs it, or he stays,’ McVeigh said.

  Stefan almost imperceptibly shook his head. Her eyes pleaded with him. Her mouth framed the word please. She thought of all the nights she had been alone, all the insults she had endured, the speeches spoken, the statements made. Famous and notorious. She was both, and sick to death of being lauded by some and snubbed and abused by others. She had fought and won, and no scrap of paper was going to defeat her now.

  She picked up a pen from the desk, dipped it in the inkwell, and put the statement on the desk in front of him. She was
not going to beg — not in front of McVeigh and the guards — but she had to make him sign. She had to choose her words, so that he would want to attach his signature and not feel humiliated.

  ‘Sign it,’ she said, ‘and we need never see this sadistic creature again.’

  It was a silent journey home. When the river boat docked they disembarked with relief. Their car was parked waiting for them. It had been tacitly understood that there would be no wide press coverage, no exhibition of triumph, but James Boothby had sent a reporter and a photographer, and Elizabeth felt they could not deny him that. Stefan stood beside her while a photo was taken, and said little in response to the reporter’s questions. Elizabeth found herself answering for him. Yes, he was greatly relieved to be released, and was going home to rest. On the matter of his treatment in the camp, he had no comment.

  They left and drove back to the Barossa, arriving in the late afternoon. Carl was waiting to meet them, eager to show his father the vineyard and the ripening grapes. Stefan pleaded tiredness, and Elizabeth became increasingly aware how little he spoke during the evening meal, his replies to Carl and herself almost monosyllabic. Later, in their bedroom, she saw with consternation the physical evidence of his ill-treatment in the prison camp. His body was scarred with the lacerations caused by barbed wire; his back and buttocks bore the ribboned welts of floggings that had gone untreated, and must have meant days and weeks of agony. The skin was permanently marked and ridged with reminders of the brutality he had endured. She saw the soles of his feet, scarred from being forced to walk across the sharp wire. There were fading purpled bruises where he had been hit by fists, and kicked by the boots of the warders.

  ‘Dear God,’ she whispered, and kissed the mutilated flesh as if she could somehow restore it, ‘how did you stand it?’

  ‘Hatred was a help,’ he answered, strangely, and she thought she had misheard. ‘I used to lie awake thinking of how McVeigh would some day be accused of what he allowed to happen in that place. That he would go to prison, and the prison would be full of us …’

  ‘Stefan, don’t darling.’