by Gary Seeary
Once we had settled onto the wooden bench seats, Lettie and Elaine next to each other on the angle of two seats chatting away, William on the outside of Elaine facing forward, me looking straight ahead, watching the city disappear. I started to wonder what possibly could have happened in William’s life, to make him turn into the angry young man he was now.
“Trams have only been running directly to Camberwell for about a year, Seb. Did you know that?” William threw in out of the blue. “Before that we had to get off the trolley tram at the Yarra and then get on a new tram to Elaine’s place. It took a lot longer, didn’t it, Lan?”
Elaine nodded, as Lettie jumped in.
“They should put cable-tram dummies out front of these trams, it would work a treat. It’d be a shame if they got rid of them completely, don’t ya think?”
“In winter, it would be a bit fresh in the open air all the way to the city for us Camberwell girls, Lettie,” chuckled Elaine, passing around the bag of dried apricots.
“All the cable-trams will be gone in a year,” William stated clinically. “I talked to a few gripmen the other day. They reckon their days were numbered.”
We were starting to relax with each other, as we passed along a fairly quiet and still foggy Bridge Road in Richmond, before crossing the Yarra into a lot more affluent Hawthorn.
After about twenty minutes into our trip, I said to the others that I had to get off these wooden benches, and have a stretch, or else I wouldn’t be able to move my sore right leg by the time we get to Camberwell.
“I’ll come along with you, Seb. I’m getting a sore behind, myself,” William joined in, jumping up and then following right behind me.
When we reached the front of the tram, well out of earshot of the girls, William came up close to me.
“I was looking for signs of trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” I replied, failing to connect with his comment.
“Before we went to the Regent, I was looking out for our rivals at the university, those pretend Catholics; the Campeins. They’ve threatened to expose the Spanish Aid Committee as a front for the Communist Party. Which it isn’t. The Commies give us money, and lots of it, that’s all. We found out the Campeins were planning to ransack one of our stands in Collins Street, or our storage rooms, just up from the Regent.”
“So, why did you drag me along, just to keep you company while you play your silly games?” I asked bitterly, thinking all his talk about me being inspirational to him was crap.
William was silent for a second, looking at the other passengers and the conductor nearby.
“I need a friend who is not political, simple as that. So many people I know mirror their party’s manifesto, it is so tedious. I need honesty, so I don’t become anyone’s fool,” William whispered.
This bloke doesn’t know who he is. I feel sorry for him more than anything.
“Did anything happen with the Campeins, did they ransack a stand?” I asked, expecting to hear that it was an empty threat from the good Catholics.
“Yesterday, they wrecked our secretary, Janet’s, bookshop. She just sells general books, that’s all. She’s the nicest lady. But she is determined to come to this evening’s soirée, and enjoy herself. Just to spite them. Elaine and I were at her shop early this morning, helping her clean up.”
It shocked me to hear that a group of Catholics would do this. I wouldn’t have believed that this type of thing would happen here.
“I am sorry to hear about your secretary’s bookshop. But maybe, we should get back to the girls,” I suggested, thinking that it might be better if Lettie and I kept away from their circle after today, which may be difficult, now that Lettie and Elaine already looked inseparable.
William grabbed me by the arm and then said genuinely, “Seb, let’s have a good day.”
There were only the conductor and a couple of passengers left on the tram, after we passed the huge Camberwell Junction, Lettie starting to tap her feet on the floor, giving away her nervousness.
When William and Elaine stood up, Lettie and I followed suit.
“Come on, Lettie. I’ll show you how Aggy and I used to get the tram to stop at the closest street to our home. It’s a bit scary. Do you want to have a go?”
Lettie nodded, without saying a word.
“You have to hold on tight to the pole and then step out onto the running board,” Elaine insisted, with a cheeky grin on her face.
As the tram slowed, Elaine opened the sliding door, keeping an eye on the ‘Connie’ at the other end of the tram. Lettie and Elaine stepped onto opposite ends of the running board, holding on tight to the long metal poles. When they were settled, Elaine yelled out, “Make like a star”.
Elaine stuck out her left arm and leg and then stretched out from the tram. Lettie did the same, following Elaine with a scream.
“STOP!”
The tram pulled up sharply, well before the tram stop I could see ahead, but exactly opposite Glyndon Road, where Elaine wanted to stop. The driver and conductor stuck their heads out from the front of the tram, asking what the bloody hell the girls thought they were doing.
The girls were still in fits of laughter when we turned right into Wattle Valley Road, a road which turned out to be something special in itself. I couldn’t believe the large number of elegant houses lining either side of the street; all set on their own, surrounded by green manicured gardens, with what seemed like a new automobile in each driveway. It would take me thirty years, just to afford the car.
Elaine and Lettie went on ahead. Elaine eager to show Lettie her old room, before William and I got there.
“This is not who the Parmenters are, Seb. They’d be the same no matter where they lived,” William explained, while looking at each house, somewhat in awe himself. “This street does have something about it, though.”
This part of Camberwell was like a paradise compared to anywhere I’d lived or even seen before, it made sense for a family to want to raise their children here.
William turned right after a thick hedge, into a driveway, I presumed Elaine’s parents. I was immediately taken aback after clearing the hedge by just how big their property was, as big, if not bigger, than any of the properties I’d seen so far in the street.
A large round lily pond was centred in the front yard, with a small fountain in the middle that poured water into a birdbath, the Parmenter’s enormous pink stone house set perfectly behind it. A high, deep verandah supported by pillars designed in an upwardly swirling pattern, shaded the ground floor. The roof which rose to a point, well above the lower level, had at least four small framed windows jutting out on each side. This was the finest house I’d ever seen in my life.
From somewhere inside the house, I could hear the ‘Charleston’ being played only just louder than yelling and laughing. On the front verandah, William stood in front of a stained-glass double door adorned with native birds and animals, talking to a tall distinguished looking man who wore a bow-tie.
“Seb, come up and meet Mr Parmenter,” William called out.
I suddenly felt weak. This man had done so much in his life, met so many interesting people. I was gripped by nerves, something so unusual for me. I had to steady myself to get up the steps and then over to Mr Parmenter.
“Mr Parmenter, this is my good friend, Seb. He’s originally from the Wimmera, now Carlton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Seb. I met your sister earlier. Our family spent a month camping near Avoca in the Pyrenees ten years ago. A wonderful part of the world. Does your family live nearby?” Mr Parmenter asked, putting out his hand to shake mine.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr Parmenter. We’re on the other side of the hill, near Greens Creek. It is nice country … the kangaroos and rabbits like it,” I said, stupidly.
“I did notice that, Seb. Please call me, Blake. Mr Parmenter is such a mouthful.”
He opened the right-hand side of the stained-glass door, urging us to go in.
; “Let’s see if we can’t get that music turned down a little,” Mr Parmenter shouted, forced to raise his voice, as the ‘Charleston’ made a repeat performance in the background.
The music and chatter grew considerably louder, when we turned into a large room, probably a dining room, a table and chairs pulled to one end. Three middle-aged women were lined up in the centre of the makeshift dance floor, doing their own version of the Charleston, their arms spread over the nearest shoulder, their legs struggling to keep up with the frantic tempo of the tune. William said that the tall lady in the centre was ‘Gran’ Sheriff, the most energetic woman in Melbourne, and a real force to be reckoned with. The skinny lady on her left was Janet Stomms, the lady who had her bookshop ransacked. She was small and I couldn’t believe any God-fearing person could feel good about intimidating this thin, frail-looking lady.
William said the woman on Gran’s right was Enid Parmenter, but I’d already cottoned on to that, Elaine was a spitting image of her, with one point of difference. Despite the dancing and laughing I could see a sadness in her mother’s eyes.
The three women, who ended up overbalancing in their attempt to keep up with the Charleston, fell in a heap on the dining room floor, sitting up to hold each other, while they laughed their heads off. William said he would introduce me to Enid later, when she was more disposed.
“I promised you a beer, Seb, and that’s what you’ll get,” William declared, heading deeper into the house.
William and I pushed on through a mass of guests mingling in a wide corridor, William talking to some, stopping to shake the hands of others. We left the interior of the house through another set of double glazed doors, onto the polished timber floor of the verandah, which seemed to surround the whole house.
On the left side of the verandah, a natural-timber laundry was discretely detached from the house, a concrete trough visible through an open door. Brown bottles sitting above the rim meant they must be on ice.
A small school of drinkers was already forming outside the laundry, when William flicked the top off a frost-covered bottle, pouring the golden amber into two glasses.
“Seb, try this and then tell me you’ve knocked down a better beer than Blake’s home brew. I dare ya,” William bragged, trying hard to make amends for his earlier behaviour.
Truly, a better beer I’d never tasted, and I didn’t think any beer would ever come close to the ones Lettie and I used to sneak from Dad. I’d have to get Lettie to try a glass later.
After we’d polished off the long necked bottle, William and I went for a wander amongst the guests, milling in groups around the oval-shaped backyard lawn, which was overhung with festive lamps tied between native trees and bushes, the sun starting to hide behind the rooftops to the west.
William eased his way into a group of five men, who he described beforehand as ‘influential’, leaving me to hang on the outside like a dag on a sheep. A large, gruff man, who looked like he’d had as many fights as feeds, held the floor.
“Those blood sucking real estate agents,” the man said and then stopped to look around, “I hope there’s none listenin’ in, have finally got their comeuppance in Richmond. I thought those mugs would’ve given up on turfin’ out families who’re havin’ a little trouble on the jobs front. But no, there’s a new breed of mongrel that’ve moved in who’ve forgotten what happened in thirty-one. So, me and the boys from the Unemployed Workers thought we’d take ’em on a bit of a trip down memory lane, ‘cept this time a couple of our watches were out of whack. By the time we’d unloaded a brick or two through some agents’ windows, the coppers were right on our clacker. We only managed to lose ’em, when we split up and bolted like Phar Lap down the pitch-black lanes of Struggletown,” he said with his more than adequate belly heaving up and down as he laughed at his own story.
“The bloke next to him is the Federal Minister, Mick Whiteman. A very good man. His company has done more ‘pro-bonos’ than any other wigs in town,” William whispered, while he had a sweeping look around the gathering, perhaps to look for Elaine.
William had lost me with his ‘wigs’ and ‘pro-bonos’, but I was beginning to understand why Aunty May called the Parmenters ‘Prominent Australians’ if they had friends like Mr Whiteman.
Just in the nick of time, Elaine and Lettie came to the rescue, saving us from the reminiscing of the ‘influential’ group. Elaine reached up and gave William a passionate kiss on the lips, holding him tightly around the waist, right in front of Lettie and me. Lettie looked away, as I did, confronted by the awkward reality that we didn’t have anyone of our own. Lettie and I nodded to each other that it was time we went for a walk, to give these sweethearts a little space, and to see if there was anything to eat at this soirée.
As we passed a group of showy women who had commandeered the far end of the lawn, laughing louder than anyone else in the backyard, Lettie stopped, pulling me to one side.
“Grub,” Lettie whispered, “I’ve seen that girl before — the one with the short black hair — just recent.”
I looked over to see a sour-faced older woman with streaky blonde hair, plastered with tons of make-up, talking to three brightly dressed young women, two with short dark hair, one with long wavy red hair, all under tiny feathered hats, sipping on glasses of champagne.
“Which one. There’s two of ’em?”
“The one next to the old biddy. Do ya see her?”
I took my time to look at this girl. I definitely had seen her somewhere before, as well as the other short-haired girl, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“I know what ya mean, Lett. Don’t know where I’ve seen her though.”
The girl noticed me looking at her but didn’t seem to take any offence.
“I know where, Grub. She’s from the Children’s Hospital. I talked to her yesterday; she’s a volunteer. You should see how good they are with the children,” Lettie said, really excited to see this girl. “Come on, we’ll say hello.”
Lettie was off, leaving me straggling behind, with the sole thought that maybe these girls were quite happy on their own. Lettie fronted up to the group, apologising and then asked the dark-haired girl in question, if she helped out at the Children’s Hospital. The older lady immediately darted the filthiest look in Lettie’s direction.
“Hi!” the dark-haired girl replied, in a high put-on voice. “Yes, of course I do. I could cuddle each and every one of those darlings to death, they are so beautiful. Did we introduce at the hospital, if not, I’m Clarisse, glad to meet you.” The girl bowed, sticking out her white-gloved hand for Lettie to shake, which she did.
“I’m Lettie, remember. What a coincidence to run into you here,” Lettie continued. “I have so much respect for the work you do with the children. I couldn’t do it.”
“I cried for the first week at the Children’s, you know. Now, they give me so much strength. One day I hope to go to Spain to work with the poor and orphaned over there,” Clarisse added, looking around at her friends. “All us girls do volunteer work for the Spanish Aid Committee, that’s why we’re here.”
Then, after a second, “I’m also waiting on news for when I can start my nurse training. I want to go to Spain, so badly.”
I wasn’t sure whether Clarisse was innocently overdoing it or not, but anyone that gives up their time to care for children with polio has my respect.
The older lady pursed her lips, before saying, “Let’s take the girls to get something to drink, Clarisse. More champagne, perhaps?”
I told Lettie after they’d left, that she had to come and try some of Mr Parmenter’s home brew. But, before we could make it to the laundry, we were stopped in our tracks by the clinking of glasses and calls for silence.
Everyone looked over to see Mrs Parmenter standing in the middle of the lantern-lit verandah, waiting quietly for the murmur to die down. Enid turned towards her house, and then waved two people to come forward. A lady and then a man carrying a guitar, stepped onto the v
erandah, their heads held high with dignity. The woman dressed elegantly in a blue dress with a red and gold sash over her heart, the man in black trousers wearing a loose white frilly shirt, with a wide red sash tied tightly around his waist.
Lettie looked at me and said, “Wow!”
“Dear friends, I have two wonderful people that I would love you to meet this evening. They are on a goodwill visit to our fair shores, to show us the beauty of the Catalonian culture of Spain, something which Blake and I can personally testify to. Please make welcome, Señora Camila, and Señor Carlos Onetti.”
Everyone clapped freely, as Carlos set himself on a chair, Camila stepping near the edge of the stairs that led down into the garden. Neither Lettie nor I expecting anything like this.
“Tonight, they will be playing and singing a traditional Catalan lullaby called, El Noi de la Madre, which if Camila and Carlos will permit me, translates as ‘The Mother’s Child’.”
Only the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze could be heard as Carlos began slowly playing his guitar. When his wife started to sing, there was no need to understand the words, everyone knew this mournful song was about a mother’s love for her child. During the song I caught a glimpse of Mrs Parmenter out of the corner of my eye, shaking uncontrollably as she was being held by her husband. I looked away, not wanting to imagine how much worse they would feel if they knew the secret that William and I were keeping.
Carlos and Camila received a huge round of applause at the end of their song, some guests cheering loudly, Long Live Spain … Viva España!
Carlos stood up, bowing with Camila to the cheering crowd, as Enid came over to give Camila a kiss on the cheek, Blake shaking Carlos’ hand.
“We feel so humbled by and appreciative of Carlos and Camila, that they have taken time out of their busy schedule, to play such a beautiful song at our soirée this evening. I know they must now head back into the city, but we hope they can take back with them to their homeland the love and support of the Australian people in their desperate hour of need. No Pasarán!” Blake yelled, raising his right fist in the air to the cheers of all the guests.
