by Judy Nunn
When he’d regained his senses he found himself in a cool, shaded grove beside the river. It was dusk and women were pressing moist leaves upon his face. They fed him a strange mixture from a sea-shell cup and all the time they jabbered and laughed and made obviously ribald comments. He was still naked and they were fascinated by his private parts. But it was good natured, he realised, they were not going to kill him. He did a lot of nodding and smiling back and they liked that, nodding and smiling in return. Dirck gave thanks to God for his deliverance.
That was barely a month ago, and sometimes he wondered whether the black men might have killed him had it not been for the locket. Possibly not, they seemed a peaceable people, but the locket had most certainly made him favoured amongst their leaders. The elders of the tribe sometimes passed it around amongst themselves as they sat together of an evening, treating it with great reverence. And at all other times Gitjil Djandamurra wore it on a length of twine about his neck, the broken chain dangling against his naked chest. It was because of the locket, Dirck was sure, that Gitjil had more or less adopted him, teaching him the ways of his people and the words of their language. He had even named Dirck Koo-ee-lung, which meant porpoise, because he had come to them from out of the sea. And now Dirck was on his way to becoming an accepted member of their society.
The corroboree started at dusk and, as he listened to the haunting sound of the didgeridoo and the clacking of the Aborigines’ sticks mingling with the screeches of the birds winging their way home to roost, Dirck once again gave thanks to God. He didn’t know what was to become of him. He had no plans. The civilised world seemed so far away from this untamed land. How was he ever to return to Holland? But he was grateful to be alive. And he owed his life to Lucretia van den Mylen and her locket, and to these strange black people who had befriended him.
Jock Galloway died in his sleep on Christmas Eve, 1960. Terence’s brother Michael telephoned with the news.
‘Your grandfather died an hour ago,’ Terence bluntly announced to the boys as he returned to the lounge room where Henrietta was reading a book and his sons were sprawled out on the floor playing monopoly.
Neither Malcolm nor Kit was surprised. They’d visited Grandpa Jock once four years previously on a trip to Adelaide. He’d had pneumonia at the time and their mother had insisted they see the old man before his expected demise. To the boys he’d seemed older than Methuselah, and they’d hated the hospital, they couldn’t wait to get out. Then Grandpa Jock had rallied and soldiered on for another four years.
‘So much death lately,’ Henrietta commented more to herself than anyone else.
Terence realised that she was referring to Paul Trewinnard, it was barely a month since the man’s funeral. He felt intensely irritated by her comment.
‘Jesus, Henrietta, stop sounding so tragic. Dad had a good innings, it’s nothing short of a miracle he lasted this long, and Trewinnard should have died years ago, he was a living corpse.’
Henrietta was hardly aware that she’d spoken out loud, she wished she hadn’t. ‘Yes of course, you’re right,’ she said.
Paul had died barely a week after his hospitalisation. He’d willed himself to die, Henrietta was convinced of it, the time had been right and he’d held on for as long as he could. She’d taken Kit out of school for the afternoon to attend the funeral, much to Terence’s annoyance.
‘Why don’t you come too?’ she’d asked, knowing that he wouldn’t and duly thankful when he refused.
Henrietta wore the locket to the funeral. The cherished locket which was the symbol of their love rested out of sight beneath her blouse, but she could feel it as it lay against her skin.
After the funeral, she returned the locket to its hiding place. She kept it under lock and key in a small silver jewellery case hidden amongst her underwear. And she resolved never to look at it again until she was free.
Henrietta had made plans. Her declaration to Paul that she would tell Kit the truth when he came of age had raised the question of her own future. Quite obviously she would no longer be able to remain with Terence after she told him the truth. But by then both her sons would be adults, there would no longer be any reason for her to stay. And she would have the means to support herself with the inheritance left her by her grandmother, who had died many years ago.
Henrietta was glad now that Terence had been too proud to accept her offer of financial assistance when, the beef market having hit an all-time low, she’d tried to persuade him to use her inheritance. ‘I do not need money from my wife, Henrietta,’ he’d said scathingly. She’d admired him at the time, she remembered, although she’d thought he was being pig-headed. Now she was thankful.
Having planned her future, Henrietta felt a great relief. Knowing that there would one day be an end to the fiasco of her marriage helped ease the ache left by Paul’s death. She’d even gone so far as to transfer funds to an account in another name should Terence try to deprive her of her means of support. It was a positive action which emboldened her. She felt excited at the prospect that one day she would have a life of her own. In the meantime, she lived for her sons, although she dreaded the fact that in barely six weeks Kit and Malcolm would both be leaving for boarding school in Adelaide and she would be left on her own with Terence.
‘Pall Mall, I’ve got you! That’s mine!’ Malcolm yelled triumphantly, Grandpa Jock’s death forgotten in an instant.
‘We must go to the funeral, when is it?’ Henrietta asked.
‘The day after Boxing Day. Why, for God’s sake?’ Terence genuinely couldn’t see the point. ‘Michael and James have everything in hand.’
‘I’m sure your mother would appreciate us being there.’ Henrietta tried not to sound arch. ‘And Charlotte too.’
‘All right, we’ll go.’
Henrietta was surprised by his immediate acquiescence, she had been sure he was going to argue.
Terence had most certainly been prepared for argument. In fact he would have ended up telling her to go to the funeral if she wanted, and to take the boys for all he cared, but come hell or high water he wouldn’t go with them. Then all of a sudden it occurred to him that a trip south would be very much to his advantage, he’d have a good look over the Galloway stud whilst he was down there. Jock’s death may have been most timely. One third of the value of the Galloway stud might prove immensely useful over the next year or so.
Terence had said nothing to Henrietta of the approach by Vesteys to buy Bullalalla cattle station. At first there had been no point, he’d summarily knocked them back, having no interest in their offer. But the beef industry was tough for sole-property owners these days, and many were selling out to the big multi-national companies. And you didn’t get any bigger than Vesteys.
Headed by Lord Vestey, the vast empire had strings of properties and meatworks not only in Australia but in Africa and Latin America; and the Blue Star Line, one of the world’s largest shipping companies, flew the Vestey house flag. Lately Terence had found himself pondering upon their offer, which was certainly generous.
Perhaps now, he thought, with his share of the Galloway stud, it might be to his advantage to sell. With the finances from both properties he would certainly have impressive capital for investment and Darwin businesses were thriving. Rental properties were lucrative, new hotels were planned, there was a boom in the retail business, it was certainly worth consideration.
Terence, surprisingly, had no compunction about leaving the land and his childhood home, the prospect of becoming a powerful businessman was far too attractive. Furthermore, he had no qualms about the fact that the demand for his share of the Galloway stud in cash would probably force his brothers to sell the property. And the ultimate fact that the sale of both Bullalalla cattle station and the Galloway stud would wipe out the dynastic legacy of both his father and his grandfather was a thought which simply didn’t cross his mind. They were his properties and his to do with as he wished.
Kit was excited about the trip to
Adelaide, he’d flown in an aeroplane only once before and it was a huge adventure. Malcolm was far more blasé. He’d flown heaps of times, and when he went to military school in two years’ time, he’d be parachuting from aeroplanes and jumping out of helicopters, just like they did in the pictures. Malcolm would soon be sixteen and he was blasé about a lot of things.
The adventure quickly soured when they reached Adelaide, however, even for Kit.
The boys sat uncomfortably on the hard wooden pews as the priest droned on, both of them wishing they were back home riding their horses.
Henrietta gave a little frown at Kit who was fidgeting, but she felt sorry for them, and she rather wished she hadn’t insisted on their coming. She’d only done so in order to please Margaret, thinking it might comfort the woman to have her grandsons present. But Margaret had barely acknowledged them when they’d arrived at the church.
‘Malcolm, Kit,’ she’d said, giving them a brusque nod, then she’d offered her cheek for Henrietta to kiss. ‘Thank you for coming, Henrietta,’ she’d said, and she’d turned to Charlotte. ‘Let’s go in.’ She’d paid no further attention to them after that, nor to the rest of her family. Michael and James with their wives and children were equally ignored as Margaret sat, steely-eyed, staring straight ahead throughout the service.
It was Charlotte who most worried Henrietta. It had been only four years since she’d sat companionably with her sister-in-law at Jock’s bedside, but in those four years Charlotte seemed to have aged immeasurably. For a brief moment, when they’d first arrived at the church, Henrietta had thought that Charlotte was Margaret, and during the service as she’d surreptitiously glanced at them seated together, she’d been shocked at their likeness. Margaret looked the same as she always had, a little more weathered perhaps, but the same. Charlotte had lost any vestige of her youth. She had become her mother.
Henrietta sat in the backseat of the car with Charlotte as the cortege left the church for the cemetery.
‘Are you all right, Charlotte?’ she queried gently.
‘Of course.’ Charlotte was annoyed by Henrietta’s solicitude. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘What will you do now that Jock’s gone?’
‘Stay with mother of course. What else is there to do?’
‘You could always come back to Bullalalla. Margaret too.’
‘My mother will never go back to Bullalalla. She told me. She said “without Jock there is no Bullalalla”.’ Charlotte’s tone was antagonistic. ‘Those were her exact words.’
Henrietta knew that the antagonism was not directed at her, but at Terence. ‘Oh Charlotte,’ she urged, ‘that doesn’t mean that you …’
But Charlotte interrupted. ‘Leave it, Henrietta,’ she snapped. After a moment’s pause, she added a little more gently, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She hadn’t either, Henrietta’s intentions were well-meaning enough, but Charlotte wished no interference in her life. ‘I’ll stay with mother. We’ll get a place near the nursing home so that when the time comes …’ She shrugged and looked out the window and there was nothing more to be said.
Henrietta felt very saddened. She had always admired Charlotte. Had Margaret broken her daughter’s spirit, she wondered, or had it been life in the city which had destroyed her? Charlotte most certainly belonged in the outback. It was probably a mixture of both, Henrietta decided, but the fight had gone from Charlotte. The woman had given up.
Terence refused his brothers’ offers to stay with them. Their properties were too far out of town, he maintained, it would be easier to get to the airport the following day if he and Henrietta and the boys stayed the night in an inner-city hotel. He’d booked in advance, it was all arranged. Michael urged him to cancel the reservation and come to the farm for several days so that their respective children could get to know each other.
‘They’re cousins, after all,’ he said.
Henrietta thought it was an excellent idea, but Terence insisted he must get back to Bullalalla, she didn’t for the life of her know why.
She was even more mystified when, the morning after the funeral, he got up at the crack of dawn and announced he wouldn’t be back until mid-afternoon, just before they were due to leave for the airport.
‘I’m going out to the stud to have a look around,’ he said when she insisted upon an answer. ‘And Michael and James don’t need to know.’
Henrietta understood that it was an order for her to keep her mouth shut. Well at least it explained why he’d insisted upon hiring a car. She wondered what he was up to, but she didn’t ponder the matter too long, she and the boys would have a wonderful time on their own in Adelaide.
And they did, Malcolm proudly showing off his knowledge of the city and Kit overawed, he’d never been in a place with so many people. They explored the shops and then they wandered down to the river, where they sat on the grassy banks eating meat pies.
They hired a rowboat, Henrietta watching from the sidelines as Malcolm taught Kit how to row, and laughing as they went around in circles. Once Kit had sufficiently mastered the art, the boys rowed ashore and insisted she get in. So Henrietta sat in the stern of the dinghy whilst her sons rowed her up and down the Torrens River. It was a beautiful day.
Terence was in a very good mood when he returned to collect them from the hotel. Kit was eager to tell his father that he’d learned how to row.
‘Malcolm taught me,’ he said.
‘Good on you, boys, well done.’
‘But he can’t feather the oars yet, like they teach us at school,’ Malcolm added.
‘Oh well, when he comes to school next year they’ll teach him, won’t they.’ Terence gave Henrietta a kiss. ‘I’m glad you had a good day.’
Terence had had a good day too. The Galloway stud would fetch an excellent price. Old Jock had been right. ‘Leave it in Gordon’s hands,’ he’d said, ‘he knows horseflesh better than any bloke in the country.’ Well Gordon certainly had, the property was a gold mine. A proper check would need to be done of course, a survey of the property, an accounting of the stock and of the books. In the meantime there was no need to bring up the subject with his brothers, it could all be done on the quiet, Terence’s lawyers would inform Michael and James of his intentions. All in good time.
Henrietta found herself desperately lonely when the boys left for boarding school. She’d anticipated that she would, but the degree of her loneliness was beyond all expectations. She was busy enough, certainly. She was still the bookkeeper for Bullalalla station which involved endless paperwork and meetings with Buff Nelson, Terence being away more than usual on mysterious trips to Adelaide. But she’d been managing the books for so many years that they were hardly a distraction.
Occasionally she went for a ride with Jackie and the other stockmen when they rounded up the steers for the kill. Henrietta enjoyed Jackie’s company, he seemed to have eyes everywhere, and was always eager to share with her his latest observation. They’d be riding side by side in silence and Jackie would suddenly say, ‘Look, missus.’ And soaring majestically far above there would be a wedgetail eagle, wheeling in never-ending circles, its curved wings motionless as it caught the thermal draft. Or he’d pull his horse up to point out a frill-necked lizard which, chameleon-like, was the colour of the parched rock upon which it sat as it basked in the sun. Henrietta found Jackie’s love for life contagious.
Sometimes Henrietta would chat to Nellie in the kitchen, usually about Pearl and her two children—Nellie was a very proud grandmother. Sometimes she’d make the trip into town to see Aggie, but much as Henrietta enjoyed Aggie’s company, she no longer enjoyed Darwin. Darwin reminded her too much of Paul.
For the most part, Henrietta was bored and disinterested, simply marking time until the school holidays.
Terence was aware of her listlessness. She missed the boys, it was obvious. Well, the boys wouldn’t be with them forever. Malcolm would be going to military school in a couple of years, a fine career for
a young man, and Kit would follow suit when his turn came. Henrietta would need to prepare herself for a life without her sons. She was not yet forty, still a comparatively young woman, surely she would welcome a change from her isolated existence at Bullalalla. One evening he tested her out.
‘I had an offer from Vesteys a while back,’ he said, sipping at his Scotch as they sat in the lounge room, Henrietta with her head in a book as usual.
‘Oh yes?’ Henrietta didn’t take much notice. Vesteys were buying up every property they could lay their hands on, it was hardly surprising.
‘What would you say to selling?’
‘Selling what? Bullalalla?’ She sounded incredulous, but at least he’d gained her attention, she’d put down the book.
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Terence.’ He was simply trying to get her attention, she knew her reading annoyed him, but then what was she supposed to do of an evening? Sit silently in his company? They had very little to talk about these days.
‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ the dismissal in her tone annoyed him. ‘The offer’s a good one, why shouldn’t I sell?’ he said belligerently.
He was being purposefully argumentative in order to engage her in a fruitless conversation, she thought. Bullalalla was in his blood, he would never sell. Henrietta refused to play his game.
‘Because Bullalalla is your father’s lifetime work and your sons’ inheritance, that’s why,’ she said, and she returned to her book.
‘My sons’ inheritance?’ Terence scoffed, ‘Malcolm and Kit are going to have military careers, what will they want with a cattle station?’
But Henrietta concentrated on the book, turning a page to signal her indifference, although she wasn’t reading a word. Kit didn’t want to go to military school, he’d told her so. She’d said he wouldn’t have to, that they’d face that bridge when they came to it.
