“A baby?” Lexie thought it strange she hasn’t seen Charlotte today.
“Aye. Ye have a new sister. Her name is Barbara Avery Campbell.”
“When can we see her?” Florence asks excitedly. “When? When?”
“In a few days. Just be patient. Now bow ye heads and let us pray for ye mother and sister.”
Chapter Nineteen
Upper Hutt 1918 –1919
“Oh Murdo, what is that smell?” Charlotte asks her husband as he enters the kitchen door on his return from work.
The wooden door is ajar as the last of the November sun casts its shadows across the garden at the rear of the house. The fresh aroma of the neighbour’s newly mown grass is overtaken by a strong odour, which reminds Charlotte of the hospital.
“That’s a lovely way to greet ye husband after a hard day at work,” replies Murdo with a chuckle.
“I’m sorry my love but you do have a certain odour to you today.”
“Aye, it’s the disinfectant.”
“Disinfectant? What did you do? Spill a whole bottle of it over your clothes?”
“Nae. We have to spray the shop twice a day. The Minister of Health has issued a decree or we must close the doors.”
“Oh Murdo, is it really that bad? And all when we should be celebrating the armistice.”
“Aye. I read in the paper there have been twelve deaths so far in Wellington from the influenza. They are calling it an epidemic now, closing picture theatres and billiard saloons.”
“What about the schools? Do we need to keep the girls home?”
“Nae, nae at this stage. It’s mainly in the adults at the moment, those who have been in contact with the soldiers returning from overseas. They say it’s them that have brought it all the way from Spain.”
“You are not looking the best yourself Murdo. Are you feeling alright?” Charlotte notices redness to Murdo’s cheeks as if he is carrying a temperature.
“Och Lottie, ye are being lovely to ye husband tonight.” Murdo chuckles again. “First I smell and now I’m nae looking good. I just have a bit of a sniffle, that’s all. I’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Well I think its best we take every precaution. You probably have been in contact with some returned soldiers when you go to Trentham. We do need to be careful, especially with Barbara so young and the other girls. If you are no better in the morning, I think you should visit the chemist and get some of the remedy.”
“Of course me dear,” Murdo concedes knowing it is easier than bending his wife’s way when she has her mind set.
.....
Murdo does not feel any better in the morning. Fortunately it is Saturday and his weekend off, as he struggles to raise his head from the pillow. Charlotte is up and about early. Barbara’s crib still occupies one wall in their bedroom and Charlotte removes their sleeping daughter from the room in order to let Murdo rest and to avoid catching any germs from him should he have the contagious influenza, not merely a cold.
It has been arranged that Charlotte’s parents and brother and sisters are all coming for afternoon tea to celebrate Barbara’s first birthday, but Charlotte is wondering if this is such a good idea. She decides to see how Murdo is feeling at midday and then send Lexie around with a message if he is no better. Meanwhile she passes Barbara to Lexie to look after and gets busy in the kitchen firstly preparing porridge for the girls’ breakfast and making a fresh batch of scones for the afternoon.
Murdo drifts in and out of a fitful sleep. He hugs the bedding tight around himself, unable to feel warm but his brow is a bed of beads of feverish sweat. He senses Charlotte’s presence beside the bed when she comes to check on him late morning but is unable to open his eyes and cannot distinguish the words he hears her say before she ushers the children out of the room and quickly closes the door. The clash of the door into its wooden frame echoes through his throbbing temples.
“Lexie, I need you to run some very important errands,” says Charlotte knowing her husband has more than just a cold. “You need to go down Main Street to the chemist, tell him your father is sick with the influenza and ask for some of the remedy. Tell him I will be in to pay on Monday. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes mam,” replies Lexie sensing the seriousness of the situation.
“Well hurry along then and don’t dilly dally in any other shops. Just straight there and back you hear.”
“Yes mam.” Lexie is half out of the door before she replies.
.....
There is a long line of people at the counter in the chemist, mostly adults, some bundled up in woollen hats and scarves and looking very ill, others like Lexie obviously fetching medication for family members who are ill. The store is abuzz with chatter as the customers relay stories of those affected by the influenza. Eventually Lexie makes it to the front of the queue, receives the small glass bottle of liquid and written instructions on how it is to be administered, how the patient should be quarantined, symptoms to be observed and when to consult a doctor. Lexie hurries back home again, increasingly worried that her father is in great danger and reminded of her mother’s sickness.
Charlotte has a damp flannel on Murdo’s brow when Lexie enters the bedroom. Murdo is awake but not coherent. There are dark circles under his eyes and his face has a clammy pallor. Lexie is grateful when Charlotte takes control and sends her from the room to check on the others before setting off on another errand to inform her step grandparents of Murdo’s illness and the postponement of afternoon tea. Charlotte quickly reads the instructions and lifts Murdo to a sitting position so he can swallow the correct dose of medicine. She prays that the remedy will work its magic quickly as she settles Murdo back down into the pillows and smoothes the bedding across his chest.
“Rest easy now my love,” she says with a calmness that belies her inner turmoil.
Murdo drifts away. He sees a woman seated on the side of the bed. She does not look like Charlotte. He sees her back view but knows she holds a damp cloth to a man’s brow. The man resembles him but is not him. He is standing away from the bed surrounded by children. They are huddled around a smoky fire in a dimly lit room with a thatched roof. The children are not his but have a familiarity to them. He looks down at his clothes; he wears old patched trousers and a woollen jersey. The clothes are not those of a grown man but a small boy. Murdo recognizes the croft from his childhood. The woman is his mother and the man, his dying father, the children, his brothers and sisters. Silent tears well up in his eyes. He feels desperate to escape the sadness, remembering the impact his father’s death had on his own life. He knows at that point that he must draw strength from deep within. He asks the Lord to help him; he must conquer the illness that has him in his grip. He cannot let history repeat itself and leave his young children without a father. He opens his mouth to speak but his parched throat thwarts any audible words.
“Murdo. Murdo,” calls Charlotte gently. “Here my love, have a wee drink.”
Murdo sips from the glass of water Charlotte holds to his mouth. The cool liquid sooths his throat and his mind returns to the room in New Zealand. A room with cream wallpaper, floral curtains that allow the light and warmth of the summer sun to permeate, soft rugs on a wooden floor and a comfortable bed. A room with photos of his precious children on the wall and his beautiful wife looking fretful as she nurses him. He knows that this is a better place and he will recover. There is no other option.
Murdo manages to lift his heavy eyelids and focus on Charlotte. He raises his hand to gently brush her cheek. Charlotte smiles, she is reassured that already the remedy is having an impact. She soaks the flannel in a bowl of cool water, rings out the excess and replaces it on Murdo’s forehead. Murdo drifts back to sleep.
The special afternoon tea is postponed. Barbara’s birthday passes very quietly. Lexie, Florence and Lorna speak in hushed tones under strict instructions not to wake their sick father. Charlotte is careful to keep the children away from Murdo and keep herself well.
; Over the next week Charlotte notices Murdo’s bouts of fever gradually become less severe and his temperature spikes less frequent. The subdued atmosphere continues in the Campbell household through to the following weekend when Murdo finally leaves the confines of the bedroom. He is weak and needs to build up his strength again but at least he survives the influenza epidemic.
Murdo and Charlotte
Florence, Murdo, Barbara, Lexie, Charlotte and Lorna
Chapter Twenty
Turakina 1923-1928
Lexie swallows her last mouthful, leaving just enough of the golden brown brew for the tea leaves to swirl in a mystical dance and foretell her future as she upends the cup onto her saucer.
“Lexie!” growls Charlotte. “It’s not ladylike to make a mess on your saucer.”
“But they look like New Zealand upside down,” imagines Lexie aloud.
“More likely north,” mutters Charlotte not wanting to give away more knowledge than she should.
“Pardon?” Lexie didn’t quite hear her stepmother’s response.
“Nothing. Please tidy that away and get on with your chores.”
.....
The meaning in the tea leaves becomes apparent the following week. Lexie, Florence and Lorna arrive home after school on the Tuesday to find a truck parked outside. The back of the truck is loaded with furniture. They recognize the dining table and chairs, the oak dresser from their parents’ bedroom and the armchair with its brocade upholstery where their father likes to sit and read the newspaper. A burly man in grey overalls is knotting a large rope looped from side to side over the furniture to secure the load.
Following their curiosity they move around to the rear of the house. Barbara is running around the back yard, twirling her wrists and spinning a rope as she tries to master skipping.
“You aren’t allowed in,” she yells to her half-sisters.
The girls reach the back door to find Charlotte busy mopping the kitchen floor.
“Don’t come in.” Charlotte doesn’t want footprints over the clean floor. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
“Leaving,” repeats Lexie in disbelief. “Where are we going?”
“We’re moving to Turakina. Your father has bought his own bakery.”
“Oh,” is all Lexie can say.
The girls stare open-mouthed at one another. They are unsure whether to be happy or sad about the news. Lexie is the only one who can remember moving. She never liked it before; they seem to leave everything behind – familiar furniture and friendly faces. She doesn’t like change but at least this time they seem to be taking their furniture. Her father doesn’t like her Roman Catholic friends anyway; maybe in Turakina she will make some friends her father does approve of. She tries to remember her geography lessons. Just where is Turakina?
.....
A full moon is high in the sky when they reach their destination and it casts an eerie glow over the double-storey building that is now their home. A central front door opens directly onto the footpath of the main road through Turakina. Murdo removes the large steel key, which has been safely stowed in his coat pocket, its weight instilling a sense of pride, achievement and anticipation that this will be a better place and opens the door to his first purchase of real estate.
The building is bisected by a central staircase. It’s ornately turned banisters and richly toned wood grain give a sense of grandeur. The younger girls take the stairs two at a time, stop momentarily on the landing before continuing their discovery of the house. The furniture has arrived already and been placed in the appropriate rooms. On one side of the staircase is a large sitting room with an open fire place; on the other are three bedrooms. Their parents’ room is at the front of the house with a window overlooking the road. The other two bedrooms each have two single beds – they will no longer all be sharing one room. Perhaps, Lexie thinks, Turakina will not be so bad after all.
.....
Lexie and Florence are allotted the bedroom at the rear of the house. They discover very early the following morning that their room is directly over the kitchen. Murdo is busy baking when bleary-eyed, they wander downstairs toward the noise.
“Aye, ye are just in time lasses. Get yeselves an apron and help me with these loaves,” orders Murdo. “We’ll have to be opening up soon.”
“But it’s still dark Papa,” groans Florence.
“Aye, but trains full of people will soon be offloading and we have an order for 350 loaves of bread to help feed them all.”
“Why are they coming to Turakina?”
“Nae, they aren’t coming here. They are going to Ratana just up the road further,” replies Murdo as he removes another tray of loaves from the large oven.
“Why are they going to Ratana?”
“Ye ask too many questions lassie. Just do what I ask ye so I can get on the road.”
Part of the attractiveness of buying the bakery is the expected business from supplying Ratana, a small Maori village just north of Turakina. Murdo always has an eye for an opportunity and the vendor, Mr Alfred Yarrow, has explained how Maori from miles around flood to Ratana seeking the healing powers of the settlement’s namesake Wiremu Ratana, a self-proclaimed spiritual leader.
.....
The sun is just making its appearance over the tip of the hills to the east when Murdo finishes loading the last of the wire baskets full of loaves into the back of the small truck. He is full of nervous anticipation as he climbs into the driver’s seat. His driving experience is limited and the truck is the first motorised vehicle he has owned. While he passed the turnoff to Ratana the previous week when visiting Hawera, he has never been there and isn’t quite sure where it is. Nor is he sure of the reception he will get when he gets there. He draws a deep breath. The aroma of the freshly baked loaves instils a sense of pride and confidence.
The truck grinds its way up the steep incline to the north of Turakina at a pace just faster than the locals making their way to Ratana by foot. On reaching the plateau he turns left, back towards the coastline and drives over the undulating countryside for several miles more. Cows bellow and sheep bleat a nonchalant greeting as the truck chugs past. Murdo sees a wooden homestead and behind it a field of canvas tents and knows this must be Ratana.
A circle of women, wrapped in woollen blankets against the chill of the morning, busy themselves preparing potatoes and kumara. Under the shelter of a ramshackle iron roof men dress down the carcasses of bullock, sheep and pigs. A scrawny dog cowers just out of reach, ready to pounce on any morsel thrown his way. Mussel, eels (fresh and smoked), pipi and muttonbird, all donated, are stacked on tables ready to feed the thousands of Maori, young and old, male and female, who gather to listen to the prophecies of Ratana.
Smoke billows from open fires around the encampment. Murdo pulls the truck up beside one of them. A group of men gather around the cast iron billies which hang by hook and chain above the fire. They smell Murdo’s load of bread.
“Haere mai. Tena koe.” A broad-nosed Maori man with a wide grin greets Murdo.
“Hello,” replies Murdo feeling intimidated by the native language but sensing the smile as a positive start. “I have some loaves of bread.”
The Maori turns to those behind him, issues some commands in his native tongue and before long the truck is unloaded, the bread stacked on a table and the baskets returned to Murdo’s truck.
Murdo cannot see any other white men among those present. He has had little contact with Maori previously but he has heard many stories of their discontent with the white man’s government and so treads a cautious retreat when his delivery is complete.
By the time he returns to the bakery Florence and Lorna are just making their way up the road to the primary school. Lexie has already left on the train to attend high school in Marton, looking very smart in her new school’s uniform – a navy gym frock over the top of a white long sleeved blouse, long black stockings and a red blazer trimmed with white cord. There is more baking to be done and the s
hop to open so Murdo does not dwell and gets back to work.
He is just writing the Ratana delivery up in his ledger to be invoiced at the end of the week, when the shop’s doorbell jingles.
“I’ll be right with ye madam. I just need to record the delivery I’ve made to Ratana so I remember what to invoice for.”
“It’s nowt my business to be telling ye what to do but I see ye be new to Turakina. White folks around here don’t give credit to them brown savages. Ye’d best be careful.”
“Oh! Thank ye madam,” replies Murdo, thinking he prefers not to pre-judge anyone by the colour of their skin. “How can I help ye this fine morning?”
“Just a loaf of your freshest bread. Is it newly baked this morning?”
“Certainly madam.” Bread and coins are exchanged and the woman leaves the shop without a thank you or goodbye.
The following morning the routine is the same. Another 350 loaves are baked and delivered up the road to Ratana. The same Maori, who introduces himself as Rangi, is waiting for Murdo’s delivery and arranges for the truck to be unloaded.
“Kia ora,” he says to Murdo when the unloading is completed, the same wide grin conveying his appreciation.
The encampment has grown from the previous day, with several more rows of canvas tents having been erected, their sides flapping in the westerly breeze. Beyond the tents a crowd is gathering on the clearing in front of Ratana’s house awaiting his presence. The chatter of a thousand people, like the buzz of a swarming mass of bees, draws Murdo’s attention. Men, women and children are seated on the ground, a sea of hats – straw and felt, scarves in checks and polka dots and masses of untamed dark curls are visible from Murdo’s viewpoint. A hush falls over the crowd and all eyes are drawn to the man who steps from the house. His mana is immediately apparent, Murdo wants to stay and hear the man’s words but feels he is encroaching on something sacred and quietly leaves.
As his truck slowly chugs its way back down the track Murdo can hear the stirring chant of the karakia being recited by Ratana. The spiritual leader’s evocative voice resounds over the gathering, instilling a sense of peace and harmony in his people.
A Better Place Page 16
