The Forgotten Pearl

by Belinda Murrell

  Poppy bent down to stroke Honey, who was asleep on the floor, to hide her discomfiture.

  ‘What about the second sight?’ asked Poppy with a flash of mischief. ‘Do you think we have the Pellar gift of foresight?’

  Cecilia frowned, thinking. She ran her fingers through Poppy’s curly hair. ‘I believe I do have the gift of foresight sometimes,’ she confessed.

  ‘I knew it,’ said Poppy. ‘You felt something about Edward the night Singapore fell, didn’t you?’

  Cecilia paused, then nodded. She took Poppy’s hand in her own.

  ‘Let me foretell your future, my gorgeous girl,’ Cecilia offered, her finger gently tracing the lines on Poppy’s palm.

  Poppy leant forward, fascinated.

  ‘Let me see,’ began Cecilia. ‘The war will be over soon. You will study and learn and work and grow up into a beautiful young woman with the world at your feet. You will fall in love with a handsome young man – dark, no . . . Let me see, fair.’

  Poppy’s heart pounded faster.

  ‘You will marry him, and one day you will have beautiful, mischievous children full of life, like their mother. I’d like to say that you both live happily ever after, like in the fairytales, but of course life will throw happy times and sad times at you. But I know that you will face the hard times with toughness and courage, and you will revel in the happy times with joy and thanksgiving. You will have a good life.’

  Cecilia kissed Poppy’s palm and closed her fingers over the kiss. Poppy sighed, snatching her hand away. ‘You didn’t really see all that,’ she complained. ‘You just made it up.’

  Cecilia laughed again. ‘Well, with all my power as a mother, I wish you a charmed life! Now, I think we should get some sleep – it’s still a long way to Sydney.’

  Cecilia tucked a blanket around Poppy, then herself. Poppy fell asleep to the rhythmic clickety-clack of the train rumbling over the tracks, dreaming of a life full of love and joy.

  16

  Journey’s End

  In the gritty dawn light, the size of Sydney overwhelmed Poppy. Its suburbs seemed to stretch forever. It felt drab, dirty and crowded as the train crawled through the inner-city slums. Poppy’s heart sank. Where was the beautiful Sydney that Maude had raved about? The golden buildings of sandstone, the stunning harbour and gorgeous beaches?

  From Central Station, they changed trains to the north of the city, then lugged their bags down to Circular Quay. The streets were littered with rubbish, the paint of the buildings cracked and peeling. The final leg of the journey was by ferry to Manly, on the north side of the harbour.

  At last, Poppy could see what Maude meant. She sat back, completely exhausted, soaking in the spectacular views of the sparkling blue harbour, the towering grey arch of the Harbour Bridge, the grand waterfront buildings, and then, as they moved away from the city, the picturesque islands, the soaring sandstone cliffs and the grey-green bushland.

  Cecilia had sent a telegram from Melbourne so that, when the ferry pulled into the wharf at Manly, they were greeted by the welcome sight of Bryony, Phoebe and Maude waving madly from the jetty.

  There were hugs, tears and laughter. Everyone helped carry the luggage as they walked up the steep Eastern Hill of Manly to Maude’s Victorian terrace in Addison Road, high above the harbour.

  A huge Moreton Bay fig stood out the front, with massive, spreading branches and tangled roots. The house itself was a substantial two-storey terrace, painted pale cream with a verandah across both levels, trimmed with white lace ironwork. The front garden was cobbled with mossy bricks and surrounded by box hedges. In the centre, a riot of dark-green foliage clung to a sandstone birdbath. Poppy could see a wisteria vine curling over an archway that led around the side of the house.

  ‘Mrs Trehearne, Miss Poppy, welcome to my humble home,’ said Maude proudly, waving them through the brick gateposts.

  ‘It’s beautiful, Maude,’ Poppy replied, gazing up at the graceful old house.

  Maude winked. ‘I told you Manly was beautiful,’ she teased.

  Maude knocked on the ornate front door, using its wrought-iron knocker. Mrs Tibbets opened the door and ushered them in, exclaiming over their long journey and offering them tea and scones.

  Mrs Tibbets boiled the kettle and they all sat down for what must have been the best cup of tea of Poppy’s life. While the girls had chattered and laughed about trivialities all the way up the hill, now their thoughts turned to the calamitous events that had occurred since they had last seen each other.

  ‘Tell us what happened in Darwin?’ asked Phoebe. ‘The newspapers told us nothing. The first reports said that there were hardly any casualties and minimal damage, but that’s not what we’ve heard through gossip. They say the Government tried to cover up the true figures to avoid panic.’

  Cecilia shifted in her seat to ease her aching back and ribs. ‘I don’t think anyone will ever know how many people died,’ she replied, grim-faced. ‘I heard some reports suggesting the death toll might be as high as a thousand people, but I think that’s unlikely. Others estimated that it might have been about three hundred. I don’t know, but it was terrible.’

  Cecilia and Poppy took it in turns to describe that terrible day in Darwin. Poppy struggled to find the words to describe what it had really been like. The girls all wept together when they heard about Daisy, Charlie and Iris. However, when the story was done, Poppy felt better, as though she could now lay the whole horrible experience to rest and move on.

  Then it was Phoebe’s and Bryony’s turn to share their news. Phoebe was still working hard at the hospital and studying at night for her exams. Bryony had successfully joined up with the Australian Women’s Army Service by fibbing about her age and was studying stenography, typing and signals with women from all over Australia. She was now living in the barracks with the other new recruits.

  While they shared their stories, Poppy took a good look at her sisters. She hadn’t seen Phoebe for almost a year and was surprised at how much she’d changed. She was taller and thinner, more mature. Even Bryony had changed in a few, short weeks. They were no longer carefree girls – they were serious, responsible young women.

  ‘Mrs Trehearne, Maude and I are so thrilled that you have come to stay with us,’ said Mrs Tibbets. ‘I want you to know that you are welcome to stay as long as you want. Harold will be stationed in Alice Springs for a while, so there’s plenty of room. Maude and I will enjoy the company.’

  ‘That is so kind of you, Mrs Tibbets, but I must insist that we pay you some housekeeping money and rent,’ replied Cecilia.

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Tibbets firmly. ‘You and Poppy were so kind to us in Darwin – I would be delighted to repay your hospitality.’

  ‘Thank you, but we couldn’t stay here without contributing,’ Cecilia persevered. ‘Otherwise, Poppy and I could stay in a hotel until we find a little flat.’

  Maude flashed Poppy a look of deep alarm.

  Mrs Tibbets gave in gracefully. ‘Well, thank you. That would be a great help.’

  Poppy and Maude exchanged a secret smile of relief.

  After taking a week to recuperate from their strenuous journey, Cecilia made an appointment for Poppy to meet the headmistress of Maude’s school. On Tuesday, they dressed in their smartest clothes, perfectly pressed and starched, and made the journey by tram to Woodfield in North Sydney. Cecilia wore a navy suit, hat, gloves and stockings, despite the late-summer warmth. Poppy wore her white summer dress with short, sheer sleeves, white socks and black Mary Janes. A long, red, puckered scar ran down Poppy’s forearm, an ugly reminder of her ordeal. She rubbed it self-consciously.

  The school term had started weeks before and Poppy was acutely aware that she had only attended the tiny Darwin primary school until sixth class, where many of the children were barefoot and dressed in patched, hand-m
e-down clothes. The teachers had struggled to teach children from a vast range of ethnic backgrounds, many of whom settled their cultural differences with fist fights in the schoolyard. Then Poppy and Bryony had worked at home with a governess. Miss Grey had hated the steamy, hot climate and returned to civilisation after just a few months, leaving the girls’ education somewhat neglected.

  As the tram groaned up the steep hill away from the Spit towards Mosman, Poppy felt sick with nerves, her mind jumbled with thoughts. What if the girls think I’m a country bumpkin? What if I’m so far behind the other girls and I have to repeat with the twelve-year-olds? What if they all think I’m stupid?

  ‘Do I look all right, Mum?’ Poppy asked anxiously, fiddling with her white gloves.

  Cecilia appraised her daughter, noting the carefully brushed curls, usually so unruly, the white Panama hat and spotless gloves. Poppy looked different. She looked more serious, a little thinner, somehow older than she had just a few weeks ago.

  Cecilia stroked Poppy’s forehead with her gloved hand. ‘You look beautiful, darling. The other girls are going to love you.’

  The school was housed in several gracious Federation houses, surrounded by playing fields. Poppy could see girls in navy gym tunics playing cricket on an oval, and another group playing tennis. They all seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves, like the girls Poppy had read about in her English boarding school stories.

  Poppy felt her stomach clench again with nerves as they waited outside the headmistress’s office. A secretary eventually showed them in.

  The office was panelled in dark wood and contained a huge oak desk and shelves crowded with books. Sunshine glowed through the stained-glass window. Gilt-framed oil paintings of former headmistresses gazed down at them from the walls. A red tabby cat lay sleeping on the window seat among the cushions.

  A stern-looking, middle-aged woman sat behind a desk piled with neat towers of paper. She rose to greet them, holding out her hand. She was wearing a grey suit, with her steel-grey hair pulled back into a bun.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Trehearne. Good morning, Poppy. My name is Miss Edith Royston. Welcome to Woodfield.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Royston,’ Cecilia replied, shaking hands. ‘Thank you for seeing us.’

  ‘Hello, Miss Royston,’ added Poppy, also shaking hands.

  ‘A nice, firm handshake,’ Miss Royston noted with approval. ‘If the girls don’t have a good handshake, I usually send them to the back of the line to try again. I believe a firm handshake is a sign of a strong character.’

  She examined Poppy closely. A smile lit up Miss Royston’s somewhat stern face so that she no longer looked so forbidding.

  ‘Your mother tells me that you have recently come from Darwin after the bombing raids, Poppy? It must have been rather frightening.’

  Poppy thought back to her experiences. ‘Yes, I suppose it was, Miss Royston,’ she replied, ‘but at the time we were so busy trying to help the patients at the hospital that we didn’t have much time to think. We were all at the hospital when the Japanese planes arrived, and many of the men couldn’t walk.’

  Miss Royston nodded thoughtfully. ‘We have made numerous preparations for air raids here, including digging slit trenches in the playground and building an air-raid shelter in the cellar,’ she said. ‘However, I would be interested to know if you have any suggestions, Poppy, having experienced Japanese air raids firsthand?’

  Poppy thought back to that terrible day of death and destruction. She saw the image of Daisy and Charlie huddled in the trench, Daisy’s white apron signalling to the Japanese where they were hiding.

  ‘In Darwin, all the nurses were wearing white uniforms, which makes them more visible to the bombers,’ Poppy explained. ‘I noticed that all the girls here wear white shirts and white hats, so you might want to do something about that.’

  Miss Royston frowned, pulling a piece of paper towards her and scribbling down a note. ‘Good point. I’ll make sure the girls are briefed to leave their hats behind if there is an alert, but to take their blazers to cover themselves up.’

  Miss Royston asked Poppy a number of questions about her experiences in Darwin, then smiled warmly. ‘I think you are exactly the sort of young lady we want at our school, Poppy. At Woodfield, we aim to raise young women of spirit and resourcefulness. Strength of character is the one thing that can never be taken away from you. I believe that it is just as important for young women to serve their community and their country as it is for their brothers.’

  Poppy felt a surge of pride at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Miss Royston.’

  The headmistress turned to Cecilia. ‘At Woodfield, we aim to provide the girls with a rigorous education in literature, mathematics, history, French, Latin, natural science, art, music and games. Many of our girls sit their Leaving Certificate examinations and go on to university, and we are very proud of their scholastic achievements.

  ‘I know Poppy has had a patchy education over the last few years, but she seems like a bright girl, so I’m sure if she works hard she will catch up easily. We will put her in second year with the other girls her age and see how she goes.’

  Poppy felt a sense of relief – Miss Royston wasn’t going to make her start in a lower grade.

  ‘I’m sure Poppy will study hard,’ Cecilia concurred. ‘We are very grateful that you are prepared to take her in the middle of the school term.’

  Miss Royston leant forward. ‘Since the war began, our motto has been “business as usual”,’ she explained. ‘We have made the decision not to evacuate the students to the country. The girls have all been working hard to do their bit for the war effort – knitting socks and rugs, raising money for the Woodfield Comforts Fund, rolling bandages, collecting scrap metal for recycling and preparing care packages for soldiers. Poppy, you will be expected to join in with these activities on top of your schoolwork and games.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Royston,’ agreed Poppy. ‘I’ve been doing many of those things in Darwin.’

  Miss Royston handed a typed list to Cecilia. ‘The girls need to wear an identity bracelet and have a survival kit in a calico shoulder bag with them at all times,’ she continued. ‘The kit should contain basic first-aid equipment: a whistle, a tourniquet, earplugs, gas mask, malted milk tablets and a rubber bit to place between your teeth in case of explosions. There is also a comprehensive uniform list that you will be able to buy at David Jones department store in the city.’

  Poppy’s gaze drifted around the room as Miss Royston listed the details of all the things she would need to start school. Her gaze fixed on the ginger tabby cat curled up on the window seat. He stretched and yawned, revealing a pink tongue and needle-sharp teeth. The cat reminded Poppy of Coco back in Darwin.

  ‘His name is Winston Churchill,’ Miss Royston said with a smile. ‘Winston is a great comfort to me.’

  Miss Royston rose, her back ramrod straight. ‘I hope you will be very happy here at Woodfield, Poppy. I’m sure you will make many friends – and make the most of the opportunities we have to offer.

  ‘I regularly remind all my girls that we are going through tough times and none of us knows what the future will hold. It is important to remember that it is not what you get out of life that counts, but what you put into it.’

  Poppy nodded as she rose to her feet, unconsciously standing tall like the headmistress.

  Cecilia and Poppy shook hands once more and followed Miss Royston back to reception. Here, Poppy was shown into an empty classroom where she had to complete a number of examinations to test her proficiency in English, mathematics and general knowledge.

  To her great relief, she learnt that she had performed reasonably well, despite her unorthodox schooling to date.

  Afterwards, Cecilia and Poppy caught a train into the city and walked to David Jones, where she was fitted for her summer
school uniform – a white, short-sleeved poplin shirt, a box-pleated tunic with a belt, stockings, black buckle-up shoes, a straw Panama hat, navy serge blazer, gloves and sports tunic.

  Laden down with boxes and bags, Cecilia led them to the cafe for coffee and a celebratory chocolate milkshake.

  ‘Woodfield seems like a lovely school, Poppy,’ Cecilia commented, sipping her coffee. ‘Miss Royston is a truly inspiring woman. I hope it will be a wonderful opportunity for you, darling.’

  Poppy felt a twinge of excitement mixed with nerves. ‘I hope so, too.’

  17

  Telegram

  March 10, 1942

  Perth

  My dear Cecilia and Poppy,

  I hope this letter finds you well. It seems like such a long time ago, Poppy, that you and I were standing in the sunshine outside the hospital – a moment of peace before the nightmare of the bombing began. Despite the horror of that day, I feel honoured to have been part of that wonderful Darwin Hospital nursing team. Pat Davis wrote and told me that you had finally managed to escape Darwin and should now be in Sydney. I’m now in Perth, working at the hospital here. Our trip from Darwin on the Manunda was slow and nerve-racking, as we expected to be attacked by Japanese planes or subs at any time. The ship was quite badly damaged during the Darwin bombing but managed to sail us safely to Fremantle.

  Sadly, another twenty of our patients died on the journey south and were buried at sea. Still, we were able to save a great many. I feel it was a stroke of extreme good fortune that a fully equipped hospital ship was in harbour when the Japs attacked – many more would have died if we’d tried to evacuate the worst cases by road.

  We had no sooner arrived in Perth and transferred all our patients to hospitals here when we were inundated with more patients from the Japanese attack on Broome. I’m not sure if the newspapers are reporting on it in the eastern states, but it’s a terrible story. On 3 March the Japanese attacked Broome, which was being used as a staging post to evacuate thousands of refugees from the Dutch East Indies by flying boat.