Thrumming with a kind of inner energy, Tootsie would not permit any kind of higgledy-piggledy playing in the house by the smaller children and they had to go out onto the road toward the main gate where the snakes nested near the mailbox in the spring. Passing this area twice a day would seem to be sufficient in coming and going to school, but they must take their chances if they wanted to play cricket or football, goodness only knew. Tootsie could not and would not abide the noise and untidiness within the house or its surrounds so they played down the road near the gate and survived, thanks to the heavy shovel they took with them.
When the mother of this large tribe, Josie von Hildebrand, had left this mortal coil and gone to join her Maker, Tootsie had been but sixteen. She had an older sister, Rosalie, to whom fell the job of Housekeeper in Chief and carer of Old Jerry and the remaining unmarried children. But during the following few years, Rosalie married a farmer from the next district, thus losing her place in the hierarchy, so Tootsie was free to move one step forward even though she had been covertly the power behind the throne at all times.
Also, the older brother, large, overbearing and often truculent Barnaby married Lorelle Lorenz, a peach-faced little governess, leaving Tootsie outright at the head of the line in the family procession with no one to deny that she was indeed heir to the crown.
With her heart somewhere in the right place and a natural tendency to organize and control as well as a powerful sense of her own importance, this was a masterful place to be. It could almost be said that Tootsie wallowed in it, exerting her hard-won powers by day and by night. Tootsie considered how difficult it was for one to deal with unruly siblings and prepare for one’s own marriage at the same time, which she was attempting to do without any happenings passing by unnoticed in the course of the daily grind.
All this work was very tiring even for someone as capable as Tootsie considered herself to be. Totally exhausted by the time dinner had been consumed and the dishes done, a great wash of fatigue would overwhelm her and she conked out the minute her head hit the pillow every night, especially when she had been courted by her beloved, Bernard. Thunk! Ker-plunk! The head on the duck’s down pillow and it was all over for Tootsie for several blissful hours until the old rooster, Napoleon, sang his happy song to the rising sun and his harem of twenty speckled hens.
As the daughters of a farmer and his wife, none of the three girls had ever gone out to earn their daily bread, having been kept at home to help their mother run the large household. They also had to cater for the men who helped to work the farm, hired hands who came to assist when the occasion arose.
They did not suffer from any broadening of their outlook by living this cloistered existence, all having left school at fourteen to work at home. Expensive boarding school experiences were reserved for the males in the family only. What did women need to know about the world outside their four walls when all were destined to marry as soon as possible and serve their own family day and night in the manner of good farmers’ wives?
So after the passing of their mother, as well as providing copious amounts of food for the workers, the young women had to cook, wash and iron for the large household as well as embroider their fancy work items for their glorious future in their spare time, which was almost non-existent.
The girls never thought seriously about an income as their father provided their food and clothes and Glory Box items. When he was flush after a good harvest or sale of a nice, large bull, he would throw the girls a fiver or so to go out and enjoy themselves in the nearby town of Mount Mee.
The personification of self-righteousness, Tootsie was of the school of thought that dictated it was not so much what a person was but what they had that mattered. She passed this philosophy on to those of her younger siblings who were inclined to take her word as Gospel truth, although some were a little more reckless than this and liked certain people in spite of their lack of worldly goods.
Thus, when the time came for the two eldest siblings to be off on the road to life, the household consisted of Tootsie, the younger girl, Barbara and three younger sons, Phillip, Douglas and Neil. Old Jerry was a man of considerable wisdom who knew what was what and how to run his family more or less by remote control, absenting himself from the farm if and when he felt the urge to go courting, which he often did.
In those pre-mobile telephone days, there was only a telephone party line with five farms connected to a country exchange in Mrs. McGregor’s kitchen at Aubunny, several miles over the paddocks from the von Hildebrand acres. All that good lady had to do was to pick up her accouterment and listen in to whoever was discussing whatever on the party line. She could then inform others of the latest juicy gossip or not, according to her whim.
Thus Mrs. McGregor knew what was going on in the district and in the von Hildebrand family home almost before the inhabitants did themselves and certainly before their neighbors knew. Had she so wished, she could have informed Old Jerry’s children as to his movements, knowing as she did what time he was expecting to fly to the arms of his paramour by courtesy of his old clapped-out Ford, circa 1950.
The father, Old Jerry, the man of the house, was missing for most of the time, gone a-hunting in his round, steel-rimmed glasses with his white hair circling his head like a halo, leaving a bald acreage on top. He was either playing golf, courting a seamstress from the dry cleaner’s in Cedarwood, or bending his elbow at the Perishing Plains Hotel, some miles distant from the farm.
When he came home late at night, (which he may or may not deign to do), he may be bearing a case of fruit or a box of assorted soda. Maybe he could be seen lumping a side of beef for the girls to freeze the next morning if it was still fit for human consumption or cut up for the cattle dogs, if it was rather rank. Maybe he might have a live piglet or lamb trussed up in the boot of the Ford ready for the boys to slaughter after breakfast.
No one ever knew what to expect from Old Jerry. He was full of surprises. One day he brought home a batch of tiny kittens that hadn’t even opened their eyes. Tootsie was ropeable, knowing they would have to be fed with an eyedropper around the clock, but Old Jerry told her that they would be good for catching mice in the barn when they got a little older. Tootsie found that she could never forgive her father for this imposition on her time and energy and carried a grudge for years.
Or perhaps the father would arrive empty handed and the family would have to wait until he was good and ready for a day’s marketing. This event could not usually be depended upon happening until late afternoon after he had slept off the previous night’s activities. Then they could wait for the smaller children to arrive off the school bus once he had a cup of tea and a plateful of bacon and eggs. On arriving in town he could allow his offspring to have a meal at the Mount Mee cafe, ‘The Dewdrop Inn,’ while he spent an hour or two or three with his paramour.
But he was a good father in his own way, (or so he told them all), so preoccupied with his own life that he barely raised his voice to his brood, affectionate in an off-hand manner and never physically violent towards any of them. He would have been highly offended had any of the neighbors or the late Josie’s extended family, the Gessop Brothers Limited, for whom he ran the share farm, thought he was neglecting his youngsters in any way.
It was a case of hitting home base, roaring something indistinct to all in general, seeing that the family wanted for nothing in the line of essentials and then being off for the rest of the day and perhaps the night. When he came home in a state of exhaustion or inebriation, he liked to settle down with his spectacles on the top of his head and snore for a while in his favorite armchair. With his mouth wide open and his dentures in a mug of water beside him on the occasional table, the liver spots on the top of his head were visible for all to see in passing, should they so desire.
Inclined to be a selfish, flawed kind of person, Old Jerry was a likable, sporting kind of chap with a weather-beaten face. It was garnished with facial hair in the style of some two decades previo
usly and a red, bulbous nose of huge proportions. Spare of build and long-boned, he was well known at the Perishing Plains Golf Club for his long and accurate swing, among other things. Some of the golfers referred to him behind his back as ‘Old Jerry Longshanks, ladies’ man personified.’
As well, there was his amazing capacity to hold down more beer than just about any other golfer in the club. He got a lot of mileage out of this as it was cause for many a round to be shouted for him simply to see how far he could go and then drive home to his brood out on the open and desolate Perishing Plains South Road.
Many desperate widows who needed a male to help them through their declining years admired his prowess on the course. However, his heart belonged to Emma Voss who was down on her luck financially, so had to be employed to keep her children as best she could. She could not afford the luxury of playing sport as every red cent had to go towards the maintenance of her family.
Into this complicated and discombobulated milieu came a young woman named Sally, a well-cared for, gently-reared girl who was barely more than a child herself. Totally submissive to housekeeper Tootsie’s bidding, intimidated as she was by Tootsie’s overbearing size and style, she was reacting exactly as Tootsie wished her to, in almost mortal fear and trembling.
Even though Tootsie never declared open warfare on Sally, her tone was flat and unpleasant when she spoke to the girl, as Sally was illegitimate, which caused her to be not of the ilk of People Like Us. When she smiled at Sally it was with clenched teeth, a faint and rather wistful smile that told the girl she had little right to be breathing the air of the highly-esteemed von Hildebrand family. Should she speak to the girl it was with the minimal parting of her rosy red lips and little or no eye contact. Sally knew her stocks were not high and that her place on the totem pole was precarious, at best.
Undoubtedly, Tootsie did not approve of Sally and showed this in every possible way. She spoke to her as though from a great height, demonstrating her disapproval without comment by coming along behind her to sweep the floor again, clean the bath again, hang the washing the opposite way up. All these efforts, (perhaps covert enough to distress the girl), were aimed at showing Sally how useless she was. Sally was mortified and wished Tootsie would go to Hell in a hand-basket. Tootsie was not leaving the farm in a hand-basket or not, until she was good and ready. However, riveting as these facts may be, this is not really Sally’s story at all, as you will soon discover for yourself.
Unfortunately, the girl, Sally, had ‘got herself into trouble’ during the long nights she and Phillip had spent alone together, waiting for Old Jerry to come and collect the young man. At least during this time of Phillip’s courting Sally, Old Jerry had eventually gone home each night, knowing Phillip was waiting until all hours for him.
All and sundry in Sally’s home had long gone to bed when the two teenagers were left to their own devices into the wee, small hours. This was while Old Jerry was doing his courting of the good lady in the flat behind the Dry Cleaner’s, and failing to come and collect his son. Much petting occurred, although in those times it was not known by the American expression and was merely described in the broader term of cuddling.
Sally’s mother dared not intervene and drag the girl inside from sitting out in the Hillman Minx with Phillip, leaving the young whippersnapper to freeze to death on his own while he waited for his father. Utterly devoid of sleep during those long nights waiting for Old Jerry to come and collect his son, Sally’s mother knew that nothing good was going to come of this social experiment.
Sally’s mother was worried sick for months about the outcome of all the hours the two youngsters spent alone but she could only warn Sally to try to keep Phillip under control. The wrath of Old Jerry was likely to descend upon her head if she disturbed his long and fruitful hours spent with Emma in the flat behind the Dry Cleaners. Heaven forbid she should ask him to come and collect his son at a reasonable hour.
As we now know, Sally’s mother was a single woman, her finance having been killed during the Second World War, leaving the pregnant woman, Brenda, to fend for herself. To do this, Brenda had worked hard to support herself and her child, taking in boarders or lodgers, if you will.
Tootsie did not approve of either Sally or Brenda, when the whole sorry mess was boiled down to the bone. On being introduced to Brenda, she had called her Miss Peterson in a very pronounced way, pausing before speaking as though her mouth was full of cotton wool soaked in vinegar. ‘Miss’ Peterson, a form of address she would keep up from Alpha unto Omega. Brenda Peterson was a harmless individual whom life had already battered down fairly completely, and it only took the likes of Tootsie von Hildebrand to finish off.
‘It’s a disgrace that Sally Peterson’s marrying into our family,’ Tootsie told Phillip who was listening all agog to what his important sister had to say. Fount of all knowledge, Tootsie made it her business to instill into her brothers and sisters the rights and wrongs of life and how one should conduct one’s self when out in the world.
But she had not succeeded with Phillip who knew it was his God-given right to get Sally up the duff. Tootsie, who considered herself to be the cornerstone of the family, the giver of wisdom and the guidance officer of the von Hildebrand clutch of humans existing out on the Perishing Plains South Road, was ashamed of him. Also, not to mention disappointed in him that he should allow himself to be led astray by a little bit of crumpet, as she had described her intended sister-in-law in her absence. Phillip knew he should be horribly mortified for failing to live up to Tootsie’s standards but at the same time he was totally excited about striking out on his own and getting out from under Tootsie’s hostile glare.
‘Her mother’s single, has been since the war,’ pronounced Tootsie, waspish and abrupt. ‘Well, has always been single, for that matter. People Like Us do not have illegitimate children. Nor do we get ourselves into trouble. It’s simply not done by People Like Us. I’m appalled that you’ve allowed yourself to become involved in this shocking and disgraceful business, Phillip, allowing this girl to become pregnant when she is already the product of an illicit union herself. I must say it is a very bad error of judgment on your behalf.’
However, having said all this, the story is not Sally’s or Brenda’s either, as we know, but is simply meant to demonstrate how strongly Tootsie felt about People Like Us and People Not Like Us. Tootsie had well-marked, although decidedly narrow boundaries, and one stepped beyond them at one’s own peril. Fear of rejection kept most of the von Hildebrand offspring in line. Rejection by the formidable Tootsie.
This was simply one of Tootsie’s less endearing traits, of which there were a certain amount. The younger von Hildebrand siblings took note and if they dared to have sexual relations with their intendeds before marriage they were careful not to leave a trail that Tootsie could smell out and follow to find them in a state of embarrassment or disarray.
Being a bit of a killjoy, it didn’t take much to set Tootsie off, as she was a holier-than-thou type of person with the strict moral code of a Sister of Mercy, only without the mercy.
The disgrace of the shot-gun wedding between her brother, Phillip and the said Sally was like a thorn of crowns encircling Tootsie’s heart as she prepared to go righteously to her own marriage bed as a virgin. She had clutched her maidenhood to her bosom for twenty years like a prize of some description which she hoped Bernard would appreciate when he received this lovely gift that she would bestow upon him when the band of gold twinkled on her appropriate finger. And not a moment sooner.
Sex was just a blur going on around her and of no interest to her at all except in the most negative sense of everybody doing it almost willy-nilly. Her father was always out courting, her older brother and sister were getting married, (although not ‘in trouble’, of course). These were merely facts that passed her by as ships in the night.
Prior to their marriages, Arnold and Rosalie were distinctly unlikely to indulge in some form of sexual activity with their inte
ndeds, Tootsie claimed, knowing human nature as thoroughly as she did. She felt it timely to deliver once more a few lessons on morals and behavior to the rest of the clan, should they deign to listen.
And now Phillip was disgracing himself right on her very doorstep, so to speak, if you don’t mind. She sought to give the younger ones further instructions before it was too late, to remind them of the fires of Hell that awaited persons who indulged their baser desires without the magic ring on their hands.
Tootsie quoted passages from the scriptures although she had only darkened the Perishing Plains Methodist Church on several occasions during her lifetime, for the odd wedding or funeral. But at heart, she was a practicing Puritan, having her own little brand of religion running around in her head.
Old Jerry was more or less disgusted at the outcome of Phillip’s visits to Sally, too, not taking any of the blame unto himself for leaving the young couple waiting for hours on end several nights a week, cooped up in the Hillman Minx so that the whole household would not be kept awake.
While Sally and Phillip were away honeymooning, Sally’s friend, Prue, at the Dry Cleaner’s asked when they would be returning.
‘No idea, nor do I care,’ grunted Old Jerry, his eyeballs crisscrossed with red veins like a road map. ‘That pair don’t need a bloody honeymoon anyway,’ he said in disgust laced with no small amount of malevolence. ‘She’s already in the pudding club so I could say they’ve had all the honeymoon they need.’
He inhaled smoke from his cigarette and blew it at Prue’s face in an effort to intimidate her while he waited for his leering reference to her friend to sink in.
As he had finished his little speech concerning her friend, Prue thought he sounded lewd and disgusting to say the least. She turned on her heel and whipped off to collect his dark green blazer from the rear of the shop, plopping it down in front of him in its plastic bag.
Eloquent Silence Page 3
