A Distant Dream

by Vivienne Dockerty

  It was one evening, when that particular winter had seen hail stones the size of pebbles raining down upon the poor cattle that grazed in the fields nearby, that the family of Matthew Aldridge, Hannah’s eldest son who had inherited the homestead in 1893 after Bertie had passed on, was sitting in the warmth of the parlour, listening, along with Matthew’s five other children, to Dorcas, his eldest, who was entertaining them with a rousing rendition of Love Divine, All Loves Excelling, a well known hymn by Charles Wesley and a favourite of the time.

  Matthew’s wife, Ellen, had just finished accompanying her daughter on the ebony piano amidst the scene of domestic contentment, when the sound of a child screaming could be heard outside. Matthew rushed to the window in alarm and from it, saw that one of the barns which contained a large haystack, had set alight, and a streak of something white was fleeing across the yard. Not thinking about his own safety, his only purpose being to save the child who had alerted the family with its yells, he dashed through the back door of the dwelling, to find that two of his workers from the farm cottages who had also heard the noise, were already armed with a couple of buckets and were filling them with water from the well.

  There was no sighting of a distressed child, so Matthew rushed into the barn, hoping against hope he could save the little mite if was trapped inside. But the heat drove him back and the family watched with sorrowful eyes at its destruction, as well as a nearby pigpen which had been reduced to cinders. Luckily someone had rescued the pigs, but there was still the fear of finding the ashes of a body inside the barn after the fire had begun to die.

  Heads were counted then scratched with disbelief when it appeared that all members and workers of the Aldridge Farm were present, including the yard cats that had stood around with arched backs as they listened to the barking of the ferocious dog.

  An old man, a grandfather who lived with his family in one of the cottages, said he had seen this kind of thing happen many times. If the hay had been damp, then it might have sweated in the middle of the stack and that could cause a problem and set the fodder alight. It could have been that someone in the village had a grievance, perhaps they saw that the Aldridges’ were doing so well in a time when many people were finding it hard to survive. That suggestion was from a worker, who didn’t dare say that it could be an act of revenge, as Matthew was mean with his money and would question each bill for the goods or repairs to the machinery for the farm.

  So the fate of the child was forgotten as it could have been a frightened bird fleeing across the yard to the undergrowth. The barn and its contents lay in a heap of smouldering ash and Matthew began to reckon up the cost. As to who it was who may have started the fire deliberately, his finger of blame pointed to Pieter Olk, an unsuitable young clodhopper of Dutch descent, who lived with his widowed mother on a small landholding. The ne’er-do-well had set his sights on Dorcas, his eldest and they’d been seen in an embrace at a Sunday school picnic by a villager whose duty it was to inform the farmer of what she had seen.

  Of course the girl had been punished, as Matthew had high hopes of Dorcas marrying into the Woodleigh family, who were making their money by exporting their wool to a Manchester mill. A couple of straps across his daughter’s backside had caused her to reflect on her sins, as Matthew was a great believer in the adage of “spare the rod and spoil the child.”

  It was a source of puzzlement too when Mrs. Olk reported the loss of her only son to the troopers. It was assumed that he had joined the exodus of labour to the gold diggings and hadn’t wanted to upset her with his plan.

  *

  In 1913, work began on the railway that would give a regular service to the city for passengers and transport freight from the area. It looked as if the wealth of the Aldridge family would know no bounds. There were two large houses now built on the land that looked across to the Aldinga Road. A warehouse, stockyards, barns and many outbuildings stood behind, along with a row of farm workers cottages, for the benefit of the men who were employed there.

  The Aldridges had been lucky that in every generation since William and Aubretia had first settled at the place they had called “Meant to Be”, there had been at least one male who the homestead could be passed on to. Most of them had inherited their work ethic from their ancestors. Some had been mean, some had been open handed, but all had, had the fortunes of the “Aldridge Farm” gathered closely to their hearts.

  In this second decade of the twentieth century, there were four boys and three female siblings, the offspring of John and Hilda, Matthew and Ellen’s elder son. One of John’s brothers had died from brucellosis and two had died at the Relief of Mafeking in 1900. They hadn’t needed to get involved in the Boer War in Africa, but had felt they had wanted to serve their queen and country and find excitement in their otherwise boring lives.

  John’s sons were all too young to get involved in this war when it was declared in Europe in 1914. Although sympathetic to the families who were having to say goodbye to a departing loved one, the Aldridges were happy to get involved with any fundraising for the good of the valiant men. They were eagerly awaiting the official opening of Willunga station, which would see their products being marketed far and wide. Already using the transportation of their goods by road and shipping, John had agents waiting in readiness, to go out near and far and clinch more deals.

  But that was until the drought of that summer, which put paid to some of the crop yields. It was very expensive to buy in fresh water and the brook and the creeks on the property had all run dry. John made the best of a bad business by investing in a new type of irrigation that involved lots of tubes being laid on top of the ground. It was thought that when the rains came again that winter, the tanks would be full to their capacity and the tubes would mean a more controlled watering of the land.

  When the railway was officially opened in January of 1915, there was much ado made of the occasion. There were luncheons and speeches made by the great and the good and a sense of excitement felt by young and old alike as they considered their new found mobility. The city beckoned, further education could be gained now at the universities, there was a chance for better wages and more of a social life than just dances at the village hall or having a drink at the many inns that had sprung up in the area. Now the locals could visit their city, which many hadn’t been to before. The Aldridges could send their wares to Adelaide and they would arrive in a couple of hours.

  One afternoon, John was driving to the homestead in his truck, as he came back from a luncheon that had been given in honour of the governor, who had travelled to Willunga by train. He had imbibed a few glasses of a rather delicious, fullbodied red wine, courtesy of a McLaren Vale winery that had supplied the bottles and he was feeling rather full after a satisfying five course meal.

  If he was swerving a little as he ambled along in his newly purchased Ford, it didn’t much matter, as the road was bare except for a flock of seagulls that were circling over something in the distance. His mind was full of the praise that the committee he belonged to had been given for their unstinting supply of comforts to the troops.

  As John entered the entrance to the homestead, his foot fell onto the accelerator and not the brake. Through his windscreen he glimpsed two figures; one was his daughter, Edith and the other a little girl he didn’t know. The little girl, dressed in a white dress with dark, brown hair growing onto her shoulders, seemed in his view to rise above the bonnet of the truck in very slow motion, only to fall back down across it again. Pulling the handbrake on, he threw himself from behind the wheel, as the vehicle lurched to a halt, the tyres making a terrible screeching noise as it did so. His body shaking and eyes filled with tears from his distress, he went to help the injured girl, only to find his daughter shaking like a leaf and being comforted in the arms of his wife, Hilda. Of the girl that he had thought he had run over, there was no sign.

  After being lectured upon the evils of drink and being told that he should be more careful when coming through the
entrance into the busy yard, in case there might be livestock or children too, he declared to his very angry wife that he would sign the pledge and never take a drink again.

  *

  As the Aldridge children grew into maturity, the four fine young men and three dumpling daughters, John was faced with a problem that he had never thought he would have. His eldest son, Samuel, who would be heir to the Aldridge hectares when his father died, decided he didn’t want to follow in his ancestors’ footsteps, rather he wanted to join the army and see the world a bit. His plea to join was echoed by his younger brother Joseph, who was seventeen. Then Albert and Thomas, twins who did everything together, voiced an opinion that living on the farm was boring, so they wanted a more interesting type of life. As they had been tutored at the local Bassett College which had produced a lot of academics over the years, they thought that they would like to continue their studies at a university.

  John felt hurt and angry. In all the generations that had lived on the farm since William and Aubretia, this way of life had run through their very veins and he couldn’t understand his four sons’ objections to it. At first he tried to cajole them, then offered them a wage whereas before their labour on the farm had only attracted pocket money. He tempted them with a bigger say in decisions and offered them their own accommodation. Finally, he swore to cut them off without a penny as one by one – stubborn Samuel, then a strong willed Joseph – left the farm, leaving the twins to reflect on where their futures lay.

  His daughters, he knew, would find husbands when they came of age and would leave the homestead, going off to support their spouse in whatever line of work they were employed in and the twins would eventually go to the city to live. None could have known that there would come a time when John would be grateful for his sons’ lack of interest. When the years of the Depression hit the world’s economy, it caused a severe strain on the finances, with hectares lying fallow and precious fruit dying on the trees.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was after the Second World War that the Aldridges saw a resurgence in the family’s fortunes. Financially that is, as Samuel was to die leading his platoon into battle and Joseph was invalided back to the farm. John and Hilda, getting on in years and now in poor health, but still holding on to what was left of the hectares that hadn’t been sold to a small housing developer who had built a row of plain looking houses on one side of the Aldinga Road, did their best to market the produce from the dairy, the eggs from their poultry and a small variety of vegetables, as the twins had gone onto work as doctors at a hospital in Adelaide and many of their workers had died in the war.

  Joseph, after enlisting early on in the war and losing an arm at Tobruk when a shrapnel wound became infected by gangrene, was still able to operate a threshing machine and drive a tractor once he had made his recovery. With a loan from the local bank, the family had tried to restore their prosperity by planting a hectare or two of grain. It also helped when Joseph, a good looking man and popular amongst the spinsters of the parish that he met whilst attending the Wesleyan church, announced his marriage to Maureen, the daughter of a man who had built an industrial site in the area. It was a depot where large amounts of produce could be stored in two large warehouses before its distribution via road or railway, now that the transportation of goods from Port Willunga had ceased.

  Kathleen, the youngest of John’s three daughters, was to remain a spinster, as many eligible men from the district had enlisted after the announcement on the wireless of the Second World War. Here was their chance to see a bit of the world, even if the returning soldiers of the earlier war had warned of the perils of hasty enlistment, which was bound to end in tragedy.

  No, this time the war would be over by Christmas, said the new generation, full of fervour. Hadn’t the Boshe been given a bloody nose last time they went to war?

  So Kathleen, a plain faced, plumpish, brown haired girl, became heavily involved in a local branch of the Red Cross and was kept busy in those war years, stolidly knitting socks for the warring warriors, packing up boxes with food for the troops and making an appearance at any of the fundraising events. She worked tirelessly on the homestead, living with her cats in a farm worker’s cottage, which had been kindly donated rent free from her brother, Joseph, now that there was less demand for permanent workers because of modern machinery. She helped Maureen with the children that the couple later produced and attended the local church on Sunday to pray for the welfare of the servicemen.

  Kathleen had a keen interest in genealogy, though at that time she didn’t know it by that name. Most old families then could boast a record of their family tree, with the names of those who had departed for their heavenly reward listed in the family Bible.

  In that quiet time, after she had put her small nephews to bed, she would sit in the homestead parlour, reading her favourite gospels from the big black book, whilst saying a few heartfelt prayers for the valiant young men whom she had known from attending the village school. Most of them had joined the Australian army and were fighting in the Middle East. There were letters and sepia photographs of the Aldridge family in a small, wooden box, with lots of the photos having the names and dates of birth of the forebear written in pencil on the back. An unsmiling family of five stood outside the picket fence of one of the cottages, the girls in their Sunday best pinafores, and standing to attention were well scrubbed boys. Another was a photo of John and Hilda on their wedding day and some with various chubby babies taken throughout the years.

  There was a picture of a farm cart piled high with hay and pulled by two patient looking horses and one of a solitary boy standing on the banks of a river, fishing with a stick. Behind him stood a little girl in a white, old fashioned looking dress watching. That is, it looked like a little girl standing there watching, but it could have been a shadow, as the early cameras were renowned for their cloudiness.

  It was the letter, written on behalf of her Great Grandma Hannah by someone called Bradley, which had always held Kathleen’s interest. It was a sad little letter, asking for forgiveness for not speaking up about the accidental death of a small child called Molly. She assumed that the girl had not been related to Hannah or the Aldridges, according to the lack of an inscription in the family Bible, but had been brought over from Ireland, from a place called County Mayo, along with Great Grandma Hannah. How that could possibly have caused guilt in the dear old lady, Kathleen was at a loss to know, but there again times would have been different in those days and all a bit of a mystery.

  *

  After the cessation of the Second World War, whilst rationing of food and shortages of housing still existed in the ravaged cities and towns of Europe and returning heroes found that their homelands were certainly not fit to live in anymore, many men decided to up-sticks and seek a better life for themselves and their families in a different land. Canada and America were favoured but many chose to migrate to New Zealand and Australia, tempted by the promises of accommodation and jobs.

  In 1947, Calwell’s great immigration drive began in Australia, re-population being the agenda of the post war government there. Once again orphanages and children’s homes across the length and breadth of Great Britain and Southern Ireland, opened their doors to send their unwanted inmates across the seas, to settle in the new country as they had done in the century before. These were children like Patrick, a dark haired, undernourished twelve year old, whose parents had fled to Liverpool from Ireland to escape the slings and arrows of a narrow minded parish priest. A German bomb had fallen on the couple’s rented terrace house in Bootle, leaving a bewildered Patrick lying injured in the rubble, whilst his unfortunate parents left this mortal coil.

  He was sent to work on the Aldridge Farm, Kathleen having chosen him from the wan little group that had appeared in Willunga one day. The children were the product of a committee she had been serving on which had been formed to find a home and some work for the orphans locally, and would help in the re-population of the area in
the future. Patrick, dressed in short, black trousers, a navy blue blazer and wearing a crumpled, grey cap, his knee length socks, one up and one down, clutched tightly to the only possession he had, a small, fibre suitcase which held a change of underwear and pair of striped pyjamas. He was to fulfill the maternal instincts that Kathleen, thanks to Hitler and the war, would have otherwise not had satisfied.

  Inspired by her thoughts of Great Grandma Hannah, who had been Irish as the day was long like Patrick, she took up her new role with relish, teaching the child the rudiments of reading and writing, before sending him off to the village school.

  *

  In all the ups and downs and vagaries of the harvests that the Aldridges had withstood during and after the Depression years, their one constant had been their almond groves. The area had always been suitable for their production, but in the early 1950s, Joseph and his two sons who were nearly adults and Patrick who was treated as one of the family, set about increasing their growth. The demand for wheat had diminished once the world had found its feet again and countries began to work on their own production of the grain.

  One evening Patrick, now more nourished and his once stick- like body growing more muscle with each passing day, walked along to the farm worker’s cottage that he shared with Kathleen. It had been a hard day working as a tree shaker in one of the almond groves and he decided to sit for a moment on the grassy bank of the brook that ran alongside the perimeter of the farm. He had felt the urge to sit with his memories and ponder on the vastness of the oceans that separated Adelaide and Ireland, whilst wondering if he would ever be able go back to his homeland again.