The Art of Preserving Love

by Robbi Neal

  ‘He’s so tall and gloriously handsome,’ they sighed.

  ‘If only I could marry him,’ they wished.

  ‘He can only marry a royal, you twit, and a virgin to boot,’ laughed the men.

  So the women contented themselves with being in his presence. If they were close enough to touch him with the tip of a finger they cried, ‘I touched him!’ and fainted, to be carried away by the medics.

  When his railway carriage overturned in Western Australia the Prince emerged leisurely and unscathed from the tangled metal and wood, his cocktail shaker in one hand and the papers he was about to sign in the other. How much more princely could a prince be?

  Gracie wondered if he was her brave Englishman and she was his Cinderella, but he smiled for the cameras, thanked the Australian people for their tremendous sacrifices in the Great War and hopped back on his boat and sailed back to his castle, bruised from all the prodding and red-eyed from all the confetti that had caught in his lashes.

  But the Prince paved the way, he made a track in the ocean for British immigrants to follow. Australia said it needed Sons of the Empire to protect the country in case of another Great War — those bloody Huns could never be trusted. The British wanted a bit of time in some sun, away from constant drizzle, and so the situation suited everyone. The turbine-powered steam ship the Ormonde could bring immigrants from London to Melbourne in the record time of just forty days; when it arrived in port it threw down its gangplank and, like a dam wall breaking, it flooded the nation with eligible Englishmen, any one of whom could be Gracie’s hero. In the past year some of them had found their way to Ballarat and attended the Baptist church. Gracie would feel a tingle of secret excitement wondering if this one was hers with the unruly hair and the cheeky grin, or perhaps that one with the tall straight back as though he never put a foot wrong in life. But none of them were hers. She knew that because the moment she was introduced to them the excitement died like a match going out.

  Gracie was getting dressed for church, and she was doing it quickly because it was chilly. She put on her one-piece silk camisole. She wanted a longline elasticised corset like Edie’s, but Edie said corsets were for older women like her and not for young girls of fifteen like Gracie. She pulled on her white Holeproof stockings that were anything but hole-proof; Edie said she should put her gloves on first and that way her nails wouldn’t tear her stockings but she never remembered to do it. She eased the stockings up over her legs carefully so that she didn’t put a ladder in them. She clipped them at the top to her garter. Then she slipped on her blue shift dress with its long sleeves and white binding that hung to just below her knees and tied the belt which hung loosely on her hips. Then she tied the matching short cape about her shoulders. She reached for her camel mary-jane shoes and sat on the edge of her bed and buttoned the strap at the sides. She stood in front of the mirror and even with the shoes she was still only four feet and eleven inches tall and wished Edie would let her wear a higher heel so she could at least get to five feet. Her friends Mabel and Thelma called her Shrimp. She didn’t mind because she was a shrimp and nothing could be done about it until Edie approved heels, and even then she would still be a shrimp. She brushed her poodle bob hair; she never needed to have her hair finger-waved like Mabel and Thelma did, her abundance of unruly natural curls did all the waving she needed without help. Then she trapped her hair in her camel cloche hat with its little white cotton daisies sewn on the side. Last of all she took her camel velvet cape lined with gold satin from its hook in her wardrobe and she was ready for church. Perhaps today she would find her Englishman?

  Edie waited for her by the front door and Gracie thought Edie always looked so modern. Edie had her hair Dutch bobbed and had tucked it under her green cloche hat which had a large red satin rose sewn onto the side. The rose was beautiful and Gracie was sure it whispered love into Edie’s ear. Gracie would have liked a rose on her hat but Edie had said, ‘Oh dear, you are too young for such loud decoration, you have to let your natural beauty shine. Whereas at my age I need all the distractions I can get.’ Gracie thought Edie was very beautiful no matter what she wore or what age she was. Edie’s stockings were white and her shoes were cream leather pumps with a large red button on the side strap. She wore a green pleated jersey skirt that sat low on her hips and hung midway down her calves.

  When Edie had first shown her the outfit Gracie had said, ‘You could go shorter, you know,’ but Edie said, ‘Not at my age, dear.’ Edie had tucked her cream blouse into the skirt with a belt sitting loosely over her hips.

  From her collar hung a green tie that matched the skirt. Over the blouse and the skirt she was wearing a green woollen cardigan and on the lapel of the cardigan was another beautiful red silk rose that sat near her heart. Oh, she did look so terribly smart, thought Gracie.

  ‘Won’t you be cold out like that?’ she asked. Already the puddles were iced over in the mornings, the water was freezing lumps in the taps and the icy wind turned bare noses blue at the Doveton Street intersection.

  ‘I’ll put a coat over. Where’s Papa?’

  Gracie went to look for him and found him in his bedroom fussing over his tie.

  ‘Oh Papa,’ she said, walking over. She fixed his tie and looked around for his bowler hat. It sat waiting on the bed and she popped it on his head. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you got a new hat? And don’t you think it’s time we got a motor vehicle?’

  ‘Never,’ he said, ‘to both,’ and touched her nose like she was still a little girl. Gracie walked towards the doorway but he didn’t follow.

  ‘What have you forgotten?’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, and picked up his umbrella.

  Back in the hallway she said to Edie, ‘I tried.’

  ‘What did you try?’ asked Paul.

  Edie replied, ‘We need a motor vehicle, Papa, and I need to learn to drive it.’

  ‘We have feet for walking and good men to drive cabs. Besides, do you really think motor vehicles could replace a good honest horse that doesn’t break down? Horses are reliable. I hear these motor vehicles are a constant expense due to regularly not working. Don’t look at me like that, Edie, it’s nothing to do with you being a woman. It’s to do with keeping jobs for cab drivers who do it hard enough already.’

  They took a cab to church so that Paul could prove his point, picking up Lilly on the way.

  Gracie sat in the hard pew next to Edie and ignored her every time she dug her in the ribs because she wasn’t listening to the sermon. She had no interest in what Reverend Whitlock had to say; she preferred to see if there were any new English faces in the congregation. But when Reverend Whitlock’s voice suddenly changed from being low and controlled to high and trembling, Gracie looked up at the pulpit and gave him all her attention. Reverend Whitlock’s sermon was intended for one person in the congregation and that person was her papa sitting on the other side of Edie next to Lilly.

  Reverend Whitlock was looking down on her papa and no one else as the words flew from his mouth like glass arrows that cut through the air and hovered above Paul’s head. Paul’s eyes were dark and his mouth tight. She could see he was furious, but he didn’t seem shocked, and turned and shrugged his shoulders at her. He’d been expecting this. The Reverend thought he was safe behind his pulpit so he pointed his long scrawny finger at Paul and left it lingering in the air. Gracie saw her papa sigh; the Reverend was no more than a nuisance, an insect that wouldn’t go away. Paul folded his arms over his chest, and that was never a good sign. The Reverend railed, he flailed his arms in the air as he wailed about the evil of communism. The new Australian Communist Party was a threat to Australia to equal the Germans, it would lead to a new war, the workers would rise up against the leaders and the only result would be social upheaval. All communists, he said, looking straight at Paul, were servants of Satan. It was the duty of every Christian to hunt out the Reds and banish them from the church and the country.

  Everyone in the congregatio
n knew he meant Paul.

  After the Benediction Gracie sat stunned as the congregation filed out. Maud Blackmarsh walked straight past and accidentally trod on Paul’s foot. Her eyes were dark little slits and she said sorry with not once ounce of regret in her voice and Gracie knew she had done it on purpose. When most of the congregation had gone out onto the porch Gracie stood up.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Paul. ‘Oh dear indeed.’

  They went outside but were left huddled in their little group of four and only a few brave people dared to nod at them or tap Paul on the shoulder and say quietly that they would catch up with him during the week.

  ‘Why don’t we have morning tea at home this week?’ Gracie suggested, and she peered at the tin Lilly was holding.

  ‘Rock cakes,’ said Lilly.

  So Gracie linked her arm through Paul’s, kissed him on the cheek to show him she was proud of his stance for the poor and whispered in his ear that she wanted to be just like him. Edie and Lilly linked arms on the other side of him so the four of them took up the entire pathway all the way home.

  Edie sat at the table, opposite Gracie and Lilly. They were all watching Paul pace. It was like watching a tennis ball bounce from one end of the court to the other as he went back and forth from the fireplace to the window.

  He waved a rock cake in the air. ‘I wondered how long it would take the Reverend to hear that I am a founding member of the Communist Party,’ he said. ‘Along with Adela Pankhurst and our own Beth. Of course Adela’s baby was at the inaugural meeting too, so I suppose it’s a founding member as well. I bet it was old Maud Blackmarsh who told him. I’m ropeable, you know, not about Reverend Whitlock, I couldn’t give two hoots what that stick-insect has to say. I’m angry about the plight of the returned soldiers, and no amount of preaching from Whitlock is going to help those poor blighters. Of course I joined the Communist Party — what decent man wouldn’t?’

  ‘A lot, it seems,’ said Edie. ‘But I’m sure you and Adela Pankhurst and our own Beth are capable of finding more members — even in Ballarat. For goodness sake sit down and have some tea before it’s cold.’

  ‘He forgets that I am also on the School of Mines Repatriation Committee and the Soldiers Housing Fund.’ Paul took a vicious bite from the rock cake and waved it in the air again and crumbs flew from it and settled on the carpet. He thought for a moment. ‘I’ll certainly be voting for Adela if she stands for parliament. I will, you know. And I think it’s time I started a Ballarat chapter of the Party — then I won’t have to keep taking the train to Melbourne for meetings down there. Perhaps I could get Beth to come up for the first meeting. We need the same here as in Melbourne. We need communal kitchens and free books.’

  Edie felt a rush of resentment come from nowhere and run hot through her veins. She remembered him telling her so vehemently that no daughter of his would work while he could support her. But Adela Pankhurst could stand for parliament and get his support, Beth could help him start Communist Party meetings, but his own daughter couldn’t work or drive a motor vehicle because that would embarrass him.

  ‘Does that mean it’s okay for me to work now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he muttered. ‘Do whatever you like,’ as if it had never been an issue for him.

  ‘Well, I might like a job in your office. Or I might take driving lessons.’ She smiled at Lilly and Gracie and Gracie smiled back. She knew where Edie was going. Yes, thought Edie — that would trip him up.

  But he ignored her and kept pacing.

  ‘Papa, take off your jacket, the room is warm enough with the fire. Sit down and finish your tea,’ said Gracie.

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Lilly. ‘Then we’ll have lunch. I’ve made a blackberry pie for dessert. I made it with those blackberries we picked yesterday.’

  ‘I picked most of them,’ said Gracie.

  ‘You mean you ate most of them,’ laughed Edie.

  Edie was glad her father had a friend in Lilly; she had made him rounder, certainly in the stomach area, but in his mind and soul too. When he was with Lilly, they sat quietly by the fire reading. Paul went into the office three days a week, the other days he often spent with Lilly.

  Paul sighed, took off his jacket and draped it over the back of the chair so it wouldn’t crease, and sat down. Edie knew he would eventually calm down; he never liked to be angry in front of them. He saved it to fight for his causes — causes that needed his anger.

  ‘The war is well and truly over and what are we left with? Have our boys had the spoils of a victory? No, they have not! Instead they’ve walked the streets like lost souls looking for the afterlife!’ Paul flipped a slice of bread onto his plate. Edie winced at the whack of the bread knife as it hit the china plate instead of the bread.

  It was reading the paper yesterday that had got him riled up in the first place. Edie had seen him turn stony as he read, his brow furrowed. He’d been stewing all night and then Reverend Whitlock had put the icing on the cake, blasted man.

  ‘What has been done to help their repatriation?’ Like a schoolmaster Paul pointed his finger at Edie, who shrugged.

  ‘A fat lot of nothing!’ he answered for her.

  ‘Listen to this, girls, Lilly, just listen!’ Edie liked being called a girl. Now she was thirty-four it was only ever her father who still called her a girl. Paul stood up, got the paper out of the basket and scrambled through the pages for the section he wanted.

  ‘Here, listen to what the politicians are saying about our boys, who only a short while ago were our heroes:

  “The public are shocked to hear accounts of soldiers said to be walking city streets destitute,” said local MP Mister Davies. We at The Courier do not know if there is any proof to this bold statement. “There are some men,” said Mister Davies, “that no amount of effort will help. They are unfortunate beings with neither initiative nor application. Such men go from pillar to post pathetically. There is plenty of work on the land for a returned soldier who has perseverance. But many are nothing more than the worst type of human being, they are sluggards!”

  ‘It’s a fickle society we live in, girls, where one moment you can be a hero and the next,’ he looked at the paper again to remind himself, ‘and the next, a sluggard!’

  Edie returned his gaze with a blank face; she didn’t know what he wanted from her.

  ‘Well, what are we going to do about it?’ he demanded.

  ‘Volunteer for the soup kitchen,’ suggested Edie. She pulled out her notebook and flicked to the last page where she had written:

  Twelfth November Eighteen

  Plan — Learn to drive. Get lessons from Mister Ainsworth.

  Now her father had given her permission for driving lessons. Do anything you want, he’d said, and so she jolly well would, and she’d jolly well buy a nice shiny vehicle as well.

  Monday, 16 May 1921, when Edie runs an errand.

  From 1917 approximately fifteen thousand cars were imported into the country every year. By 1920 a quarter of the vehicles on the roads were motorised and this number would grow every year until 1927 when the motor vehicle overtook the horse. Roads were hurriedly rebuilt to accommodate them and the popularity of the new vehicle with young men gave police an opportunity to come into their own, and they relished their new task of fining any driver they considered to be driving furiously. With the speed limit at fifteen miles an hour the police had plenty of ticket-writing to keep them busy. As the numbers of motor vehicles being purchased grew, the price fell sharply and a new Chevrolet now cost £545 — a handsome sum, still, but not out of reach for the wealthy. Not out of reach, Edie knew, for Paul.

  On Monday afternoon Paul said he was going to pop into the office and see how they were all going. He wouldn’t be doing much, he said, he wasn’t going to interfere in anything, but Edie knew that as long as the business carried his name, he would interfere in everything. Geoffrey Coutts of what was now Cottingham and Coutts would just have to gr
in and bear it.

  Edie was glad he was going to the office because she had her own special errand to run and as soon as he had vanished into the cab she went and told Gracie she would be gone for an hour or so. Edie put on her hat, gloves and coat and walked to Windermere Street, the address on Mister Ainsworth’s business card. Number 305 was a cream-coloured single-fronted cottage with a bay window that looked out onto a neat little front garden of native daisies and boronia. A clambering rose that still had a few golden blooms scattered among its green foliage covered the arch over the front gate, which opened onto a path leading to the tiled patio and leadlight front door. It was a sweet little cottage and she thought a man who kept a cottage as pleasant as this would probably be an organised teacher. Or perhaps there was a Missus Ainsworth who looked after the little garden. She rang the cow bell that hung beside the door and soon she heard footsteps coming up the hallway. She had never forgotten the Victory Day kiss but she hoped he had well and truly forgotten it and wouldn’t mention it if there was a Missus Ainsworth. Men and women were kissing wildly and indiscriminately on that day so surely he wouldn’t remember her.

  The door opened and he stood in front of her. Slowly a smile spread across his face.