by Patrick Ford
Bill gently broke the news of Paddy’s death. Susan, watching Jack, saw his face adopt a stunned look before it dissolved in grief. She rushed to the car and wrenched the door open. Jack turned a disbelieving, crumpled face to her and whispered, “It’s Dad. He’s dead. Oh, God, Susan, what do I do now?” He stumbled from the car into her arms. She cradled his head as he sobbed uncontrollably. She stared into the distance, seeing nothing, silent tears running down her cheeks, dripping down to the lush green grass of the rugby field.
Goondiwindi, Qld, Australia—1964
St. Mary’s church filled to overflowing. Patrick Michael Riordan had been a well-known and well-loved member of his community. Hundreds had turned out to pay their respects. Helen looked around. The August sky wept a persistent drizzle, as though the heavens were mourning his passing. Oh, Paddy, she thought, if only you could see how many people loved you. She had never seen so many men crying openly at a funeral. She watched as the casket began its journey from the church. His best friends carried him, his brothers, and Mick, and Ollie, tears streaming; all of them he would have called good mates.
She led her children out of the church, sobbing quietly, Jack stoic, his arm around Susan’s shoulders, and Denni crying inconsolably. By the time they reached the cemetery, the rain had stopped. A few golden rays shone from the western sky, seemingly on to his grave. How appropriate, she thought. All your life you lived by the weather, now at the end, after showing its grief, it is laying out for you a golden pathway to heaven. Go in peace, my darling. Thank you for your love, for my life, for Denni, for Jack. I know you will be looking down on us and on Jack’s little Yankee sheila. I know how much you loved her, too, despite your brief acquaintance.
* * * *
Jack’s little Yankee sheila was proving to be the difference between composure and total breakdown for Jack Riordan. After he’d received the bad news, he’d taken her to the end of the rugby grounds. There, a small stream, surrounded by willow trees, burbled its way across a field. The trees were bare and it was very cold; it was the perfect place to grieve. Susan sat on the ground; Jack collapsed and put his head in her lap. He cried quietly for almost an hour. Word had spread of his bereavement, and his friends began to walk towards him to console him. They turned away as Susan gently shook her head. This grief was too personal for that. She wept with him, until finally he stood, grim-faced. “Well,” he said. “There will be a lot to do now. I must leave right away. My family needs me.” “I am your family too,” said Susan, “You will need me as well.” He looked at her with a love no one could measure.
* * * *
Little girls have a special affinity with their fathers. Denni had this in abundance. She had loved this big tough bushman more than life itself. He had taught her how to ride a horse, how to train dogs, how to love the land, its birds, its animals, and its trees. His big bear hug of protection had brought confidence and security to her. Now he was gone, the main compass point in her life, her lodestone. She could not imagine how she could live now, without him. She stumbled down the church aisle behind her brother. Then she felt a soft and warm hand take hers; it was Susan. She felt drawn to Susan’s side, leaning on her shoulder, sharing the load. You must really love our Jack, she thought, you are our refuge in this stormy sea.
* * * *
As the last light left the evening sky, they all gathered around the fireplace in the homestead. Mick’s wife, Dolly, had prepared a meal for them all, but no one was hungry. They all tried not to look at the empty chair. No one broke the silence. They stared into the fire, at its flickering flames, its glowing coals. Occasionally, a piece of wood broke off with a soft thump and a shower of sparks to join the embers. Helen finally spoke. “My God, he was a stubborn man.” She said, “He would not listen to the doctors nor to me!”
Denni said, “He even gave his life to save that girl in the car. He could not stand by and do nothing. He had to work, Mum. It was part of him; nothing could have stopped him.”
“He was so kind to me, although he barely knew me,” said Susan.
“Jack was his best mate,” said Helen. “If Jack loved you, so would he, unconditionally.”
Slowly, the conversation built up, until they were all talking about Paddy, dredging up fond and amusing memories of him, then the talk petered out. “I think we should rest now, we have a lot to do tomorrow.” said Helen.
Jack walked with Susan to her room. She looked around. “Wherever are my things,” she wondered aloud.
Helen appeared beside them, then moved in front of them and reached out her hands to stroke both their cheeks. “They are in Jack’s room, darling Susan. I think you will need each other more than ever tonight.”
Meanwhile, not far to the north, off the coastline of a small country in Indochina, the destroyer USS Maddox reported she was under fire. Retaliatory air attacks destroyed oil tanks in two naval bases in a small country to their north, in Indochina. Congress passed the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution. The big man from Texas now had a blank cheque in Indochina.
In the morning, the whole household had a feeling of desolation. After breakfast, Susan left the family to their business discussions and wandered out into the garden. Yesterday’s rain had passed in the night. Some of the early spring bulbs were out. There were daffodils, irises, and hyacinths, shining with beaded moisture in the early sun, and dozens of beautiful roses. Susan took it all in. What a lovely place! She could not even dare to think that this was where she and Jack might live out their lives. She passed a bower of bougainvillea, just beginning to bud, and saw the creek before her. She wandered down to the garden fence. The creek was in spate, swollen by the recent rain. As she watched, Mick came out of the nearby pump shed. “G’day,” he said, “you’d be the little Yankee shelia, wooden ya?”
Mick was not a tall man, but he looked hard and lean. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and stockman’s moleskin trousers. On his feet, he wore the obligatory RM Williams elastic-sided boots, and on his head was a battered Akubra hat. He smiled a friendly smile. “It’s a bugger, ain’t it, about Paddy, I mean?” He was rolling a cigarette.
“Yes,” she said, “I only knew him a little while, but I know he was a wonderful man.”
“Better‘n that. He was a good mate. ‘e saved me from the clink, ‘e did, put me on the straight and narrer. ‘elped me in a brawl, then called orf the wallopers. Give me a bloody good job, too.”
“What will happen to Ballinrobe now?”
“It’ll get bigger and better ‘specially when your young bloke gets ‘ome. If ‘e’s ‘arf as good as his old man, ‘e’ll do me. Me and Ollie ‘ave been talkin’, see. Ollie ‘as been with old Paddy a bloody long time. Loved ‘im like a brother. Nothin’ will go wrong around ‘ere if ‘e’s in charge. Paddy knew ‘e was sick. ‘E give Ollie all the ‘structions before ‘e went. Ollie’ll know what ter do.” He drew on his cigarette and emitted a cloud of blue smoke.
“What about Mrs. Riordan?”
“She’ll be orl right. Me and Ollie’ll look after ‘er. She won’t be goin’ nowhere. She loves this place as much as Paddy did. An’ it’s ‘er garden and ‘ouse and all, see.”
Susan bade him good morning and continued her walk. What is it about these people? she wondered. How can they inspire such fierce loyalty in their workmen? Might it be that Australians treated everybody as equals, perhaps? It seemed that Helen would be well looked after.
* * * *
Inside the homestead, they revisited the details of Paddy’s will. Jack would have Ballinrobe, but he could not assume ownership until his twenty-first birthday. In the meantime, his mother would administer the estate, involving Jack in as much of the management as his studies allowed. There were generous provisions for Denni and her mother.
On one thing, Helen was adamant. Jack must complete his education. Jack wanted to drop out of his course and come home. Helen would not hear of it. “You must respect my wishes, Jack, and those of your father. Yes, he was opposed to uni for you
at first, but he finally realised an education is going to be the only thing to ensure the future of Ballinrobe. Ollie and I can run the place for a few years, with your help during your holidays. I will not be moved on this, son; it is final.”
Jack hesitated. Then that germ of an idea began to wriggle in his brain with great urgency. Finally, the penny dropped for him. “Mum,” he said. “Would you be interested in a compromise?”
“You’re starting to sound like Paddy already,” she said. “What kind of compromise?”
“I will promise to return to uni and finish my degree, if you will grant me one thing.”
Helen looked at his earnest face. “What?”
“I want you to sign my enlistment papers so I can join the University Regiment.”
“Oh, Jack, I don’t know. Your father was so opposed to the army.”
“But this is different, Mum. It is not the regular army. It is a training unit to train officers for the reserve. They cannot send me overseas, or to fight. They call them ‘Koalas’ because they cannot be shot or exported. They get paid too, tax-free! In addition, if they bring in the conscription thing the Government is talking about, I would be exempt from that. It’s only part-time, so I wouldn’t be away much.”
Recent talk of a compulsory conscription scheme for twenty year olds had worried more mothers than Helen. For Jack it was a trump card. “All right, if that’s what you really want. Send the papers to me and I’ll sign them.”
Jack said, “I’ve got them with me. You can sign them right away. I’ve been carrying them around in case you and Dad changed your minds.”
“My goodness, Jack Riordan, you are as big a rogue as Paddy was!”
Jack smiled. “Sorry Mum, you shouldn’t lead your best card first up!”
* * * *
That night, Jack and Susan made love with great tenderness. Susan felt some elemental thing stir in her she had not felt before. “I cannot say how much I love you, Jack, my love is endless,” she whispered. He replied in kind.
They slept entwined, complete, as one. In the morning, Jack met with Ollie and his mother on the veranda for tea and scones. They discussed the work plan for the next few months. In a week, shearing would begin. “Ollie, if you and Mick can get everything ready, I will come back on the weekend to give you a hand. Dad said he was going to sell the sheep after shearing; what do you think of that?”
“Sounds like a good move, Boss; the forecast doesn’t look too good for next year. If it turns dry, we don’t want to have them on our hands. They’re already five years old.” Five years was the limit for a wool growing flock. As sheep age, their wool growth declines and their mortality rate rises. Old sheep are not worth owning.
“Tell you what,” said Ollie, “you might want to think about selling them in the wool. It will avoid the shearing costs and save a lot of work. They’re pretty fat too and the meat market is on the rise.”
Jack looked at Helen. “I think it’s a good idea, let’s do that,” she said.
Jack agreed, and they left it to Ollie to arrange. Jack and Susan left next morning. Denni was going to stay with her mother for a while, to help her with all that had to be done about Paddy’s estate. Before he left, Jack had a private talk with Ollie.
“Ollie, we are asking you to take on a lot of responsibility from now on. I hope I can measure up eventually, but for the moment, I am going to need a great deal of help from you. If I get out of order, make sure I get put on the right track, won’t you?”
“Listen here,” said Ollie, “Paddy was more than my boss, he was a bloody good bloke, and he treated me more than fairly, and he knew I was more than an employee. He was my mate; there is no way I will let him down now. So don’t worry about a thing. She’ll be right. I hope you turn out to be as good a bloke and as good a mate, and I think you will. You’re too much like your father for it to be any other way. Now, go and look after your little Yankee shelia, and I’ll look after Ballinrobe.”
Jack had never heard Ollie say so much at one time. It would be a long time before he did it again. Humbled, he set off for Armidale.
Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1964
Marci felt as if her world was coming apart. Jimmy was gone. Susan was spending more and more time with Jack and his family. Sarah was becoming increasingly engrossed with John Starr, and as she neared her eighteenth birthday, she was more and more likely to ignore her mother’s instructions. Marci had confronted her over her suspicions. Sarah, rather defiantly, had admitted that she and John were having a sexual relationship. It was no one’s fault. All over the world, young men and women were throwing off the chains of conservative religion and parental control. The popular music and films, San Francisco, Carnaby Street, and Flower Power were changing society. It would never again be what it had been.
In her fragile mental state, Marci could not handle the pressure. She was in a foreign country, thousands of miles from home—a widow with two children (as she still regarded Susan and Sarah) defiant and immoral daughters and a teenage boy who missed his father and who needed a male confidante. She lived in constant fear her daughters would fall pregnant, that they would abandon her for their lovers and leave her adrift, alone, and far from home.
She had mixed feelings about these Australian boys (as she saw them). Jack Riordan seemed a nice boy; he had been a good friend to them all after Jimmy’s death, especially to Jimbo. However, she was almost paranoid about the Svengali-like hold she imagined Jack had over Susan. He had turned her against her mother, and it was simply too much to bear. She could not see that it was just a case of two young adults very much in love. As for the Starr boy. Marci was confused. She knew he was like a lap dog in his devotion to Sarah, but she wondered about Sarah’s feelings toward him. She had always regarded her second daughter as a little flighty—she had no reliable guide to her behavior
As September neared its end, Marci Baker was approaching a crisis point in her own mind. She did not know what to do and had no one to help her. She did not seek help, fearing people would think badly about her and the daughters. She feared bringing shame on her. Sophie and her dead Marine visited her mind with increasing regularity.
* * * *
Jack had lost no time in lodging his enlistment papers. At first, he had to undergo a medical examination. This proved to be a perfunctory affair. Then the New England Company Commander, a Major McIntosh, interviewed him. He was asked questions about his interest in military history and his skill at arms. The Major swore him in. As he took the oath to… “well and truly serve our Sovereign Lady the Queen…” he felt his national pride stirring. Finally, he went to the company depot to collect his uniform and equipment. Here he reacquainted himself with CSM Raymond, and the Company Quartermaster Sergeant—a third year student, Staff Sergeant Tom Beresford. An hour later, he emerged from the depot with a kit bag stuffed with his clothing and equipment, and a brand new slouch hat. He was now 120343, Private Riordan.
He and Susan spent as much time together as possible. As often as they could, they met at the Union, and on Saturday nights, after the rugby party, in Jack’s room. Their ardour never flagged. Several times, they had returned to Ballinrobe, where Jack was pleased to see everything was progressing well. The sheep realised a good price, and the land so released made more space for the cattle. The wheat crop was about average, but there had been no rain for some time. Perhaps the drought forecast for 1965 had already started. His mother and Susan got on well together, and she raised no objection as they continued to share a bedroom.
One Sunday in the middle of October, Jack went to the Bakers for supper. He had just completed the weekend bivouac required once a month by the Regiment. It was late, and he did not have time to change, so he went in his uniform. They had been practising contact drills all day and Jack was weary. Marci, he could see, was a little disturbed by this soldier in her sitting room. Since Congress had passed the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution, she was convinced the USA would get embroiled in the war n
ow escalating in Vietnam. She was right. She was terrified it would eventually ensnare Jimbo. She was right again.
The next evening, Susan came to his room. Oh, God, he thought, I will never get over how beautiful she is. Her eyes seemed to be darker and more inviting than ever. She clung to him as they kissed and kissed and kissed. Jack helped her to take off her coat and began to unbutton her blouse, gasping with pleasure as he revealed her beautiful breasts, encased in soft cream lace. Soon she was standing naked before him. Soon he, too, was naked. They looked at each other for a long time, reaching out to touch each other gently, teasingly.
Jack drew her near and gazed into those eyes again. He thought of the first time he had looked into her eyes, that first night at Aunt Lil’s. Once again he thought, I am going to fall into your eyes. I am going to love you forever. I am going to drown in your eyes, and go to heaven.
He eased her down to the bed. Slowly, lovingly, they fondled each other. He marveled at her soft skin, her raven hair, and her perfect breasts, her long and supple legs. Afterwards, and long into the night, they lay in a breathless silence, feeling their sweat cool on their bodies. From time to time, one or the other kissed or fondled, delivering little shivers of ecstasy. They drifted off to sleep. Hours later as daylight approached, they woke and exchanged kisses.
“My darling,” Susan said, “I have something to tell you. I think I may have started a baby.” Jack took a moment to let this news sink in. Then he said, “Are you sure?”
“No, but I missed my last period and I have been throwing up some mornings.”
Jack looked at her, a slow smile spreading over his face. “My God,” he said, “I’m going to be a father!” Susan looked at him, her dark brown eyes wider and deeper than ever. “You mean, you don’t mind?”
“Well, it’s a bit earlier than I planned, but I love it. Our own little one. Oh, Susan, how wonderful!”
