by L E Pembroke
Gordon grinned, drew back and said that he thought it was time I was back in the Nurses’ Home. I imagine I looked forlorn; I certainly felt it. He laughed and said that we could see one another the following day. I agreed instantly, although, as I was on day shift, I wouldn’t be able to get away until six the next evening. We agreed to meet near the ambulance entrance at six the next night.
He led me back to the Nurses’ Home entrance. ‘See you tomorrow, darling,’ he said, before turning away and leaving me staring stupefied after him. He had called me ‘darling’. No one had ever called me that.
The following day Gordon was late. I waited fifteen minutes, and I knew I would soon begin to cry with disappointment. I had gone to so much trouble to look my best. All day long I was almost bursting with excitement, even telling some of the patients that when I came off duty I would be going out with my young man. Finally, I turned to go back inside. At the door I stopped to peer once more into the dark and caught a glimpse of a male figure hurrying up the street from the tram stop. I waited. My heart was in my mouth until I saw him clearly.
‘Sorry. Met up with some of the boys, should have taken a cab.’ I could smell beer on his clothing but didn’t mind. He kissed me quickly on the cheek, took my arm and we walked in the direction of the few small shops and rather dingy café close to the hospital. Looking around with disdain, he said he didn’t think it looked much around there and that another time we’d go for a meal in town. So he was thinking about another time! I was giddy with anticipation.
After a quick meal of fatty chips and sausages that in my excitement I barely touched, Gordon led me back to the privacy of the hospital garden. He said how amazing it was that we’d been neighbours all these years and never met. I didn’t think it was amazing because my mother never encouraged me to meet the boys at home, then I came to Sydney. Then he said that perhaps the really surprising thing was that ever since we met yesterday he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me. I almost couldn’t believe his words.
He pulled me close to him. His hand rested softly on my bodice. For me, the feeling was one of delightful shock. He gently brushed his fingers over my hardened nipples. I didn’t even brush his hand aside. It didn’t occur to me to tell him to stop. He bent and kissed me. I was ecstatic. I kissed him in the way he taught me the previous night. I behaved disgracefully. I couldn’t help it. I was an utter fool.
Then he pushed me away. He turned his back on me and walked to the base of a tree. Repeatedly he vomited. After it was over he said, ‘Sorry. Had a heavy day today. The sooner I get to bed, the better. I’ll be in touch.’ Then abruptly he left.
That was the last I saw of Gordon for many months. At first I was certain he would write. But the days and weeks passed with no news. I became increasingly depressed. Almost as soon as we met I began dreaming about the reality of love at first sight and wondering whether my fate was to marry Gordon McCann and live for the rest of my life in the area I knew so well. How pathetic and unsophisticated I was.
A month went by before I accepted the truth. I was a gullible fool. Just as everyone said, Gordon was nothing but a womaniser. I should have realised that. There was nothing for it but simply to go back to what I now thought of as the deadly dull routine of training to be a nurse.
*
Later in the year my father suffered a fatal heart attack, dying at the home of Ruby Walsh. The scandal quickly spread all over town. Rose told me they had a good laugh when they asked, ‘What was old Wal Howard doing at Ruby’s place to give him a heart attack?’
In the train while travelling to my father’s funeral I was absorbed by morbid thoughts of Dad and the dog’s life he led at Bellara. And I thought of Mum, who once might have been a young and happy woman and was now a perpetually angry shrew. I thought about the waste of life and the misery of their marriage, and I wondered about the convention that demanded a woman marry a man simply because they once had intercourse.
Would Gordon be at the funeral? I wondered what he would say when we met. Would he mention or even remember the hours we spent together at Easter?
What a depressing time that was – my father and my self-esteem both gone. I’d never find another boyfriend, that’s one thing I was sure of. If anybody did come along, I’d soon frighten them off because I’d be too eager, just as I was that night with Gordon. I would end up a dried-up termagant, a spinster nursing sister working in a hospital for the rest of my days, and when I retired, curled up in my maiden bed, with only a cat or canary for company. I was determined not to be like all those girls who simply married anybody for their future financial security – terrified they would be left on the shelf. That’s something I would never do.
It wasn’t a large funeral. Because we lived a few miles out of town, Mum decided to have the wake in the church hall: Gordon was there with his brother and his father. I stood with Mother and Tom accepting the sympathy of Dad’s friends and acquaintances and wondering what I would say when Gordon came and said a word to me. He didn’t come. Instead he merely glanced blankly in my direction, then walked to the other end of the hall where Rose Walsh was standing talking to his brother Douglas. I wanted to disappear into a hole in the floor and never come out again. I was mortified by his attitude and by the thought of how quickly I had succumbed to his charms.
CHAPTER 5
War was declared in August 1914. Sydney was abuzz. On the rare occasions I went to town I became caught up in the contagious excitement that filled the minds and hearts of Sydney’s population. On the trams, in the stores, in the streets, everyone was talking about Germany’s invasion of the Low Countries and Britain’s role as their defender. These were first-, second- or third-generation Australians whose forebears had been British. They believed if England was at war it was their duty to support her. I, who was only second-generation Australian, also believed implicitly that we should support England, our ‘mother country’.
Animated, excited men clustered in groups outside Sydney hotels, in front of office buildings and on street corners. Would right prevail? The British Expeditionary Force in Belgium was suffering heavy casualties as it tried to avoid encirclement by a superior German force while still remaining in contact with its French allies. ‘Let’s get over there, give us a gun and we’ll show those Huns a thing or two,’ the men threatened.
The newspapers were stridently urging young men to enlist. More and more were appearing in uniform. Would Gordon go to war? No, I shouldn’t think so; he was far too self-centred to take any such risk.
*
In December 1914 I was walking past the Home Sister’s office having just come off duty. My four years at the large training hospital were rapidly drawing to a close. I was to graduate in January and was still uncertain about my future plans.
I glanced in the mail box and saw a telegram addressed to me. It was five months since I’d received the telegram telling of Dad’s death. What else could have happened at home? I quickly tore the envelope open and read the message. I raced to my room, sat down and reread the stunning message: ‘Pre-embarkation leave. Must see you. Need to explain everything. Hope you can make Tuesday same time and place. Love Gordon.’
Chaotic thoughts raced through my mind. Gordon wanted to see me – he’d signed his message ‘Love Gordon’. Vividly I recalled my days and weeks of misery while waiting for word from him, and worse, those terrible nights, tossing in bed desperate for his touch. My temper began to rise. It had been seven months since that night at Easter. How dare he send this telegram? Did he really think that I would be waiting to fall into his arms whenever he appeared? Well, it just shows how little he knows me; as if I would even dream of seeing him again. After all, I did have some pride, and I knew precisely how much he respected me. I decided that at six o’clock next Tuesday evening, I’d be in the nurses’ dining room while he waited outside – hopefully, in the rain.
During the following days I began to revise my decision. Was I being too harsh? Time and time again,
I turned the matter over in my mind. I decided to apply for a late pass, just in case. After all, he did say ‘need to explain everything’. But how could he possibly do that? By telling lies, that’s how; but perhaps there was a genuine reason. The least I could do was to give him the chance to explain. Of course even if I went, I would never allow him to touch me again, not on your life, so really what was the harm? In fact it would be childish not to go.
I decided to go and just stay for a few minutes so that we could have a cup of tea while I made it clear that I was no longer interested. What should I wear? It was a matter of pride only. All I really wanted was the opportunity to tell Gordon how very happy I was; how I never gave him a thought and how socially busy I was. I might even make up a story, say I had a regular boyfriend, even that I was engaged to be married. I vowed I would never let him guess how much I had suffered when he failed to contact me.
After fumbling through my drawers and tiny wardrobe again and again, although there was not much choice, I decided to wear a green silk with lace insertion, my best dress, a little shorter than the others, but then that was the current fashion – to show one’s ankles. I brushed my hair until it gleamed and tied it loosely at the back, allowing loose tendrils to frame my face. Gordon had admired my hair done that way when we first met at the Show. As I examined my image in the mirror I assured myself that of course I wasn’t doing my hair this way to please him – hardly!
I kept him waiting as he had, on that only other occasion, kept me waiting. It was a childish thing to do; I knew that. I had been ready for thirty minutes. In the distance I saw him. It hadn’t been my imagination that he was tallish, slim and not bad looking, and even more so in his uniform. But then I saw him look at his fob watch. I was horrified – was he on the verge of moving off? Ooh no, what would I do? Should I chase him or call out to him: ‘Gordon, wait! I’m here’?
He glanced towards the hospital. Could he see me in the dimness of the close of day? I waved. Bother, I hadn’t wanted to appear at all eager. I watched his almost running stride coming towards me. Already I had forgiven his lack of thought, his callousness. Already I had forgotten those miserable days and nights waiting in vain for a word from him.
He reached me. He took my hands in his. I remember his smarmy words: ‘Genevieve, how kind of you to meet me, under the circumstances.’
‘I’m not one to bear grudges, Gordon. I merely want to wish you good luck before you leave Australia.’ I added that I probably wouldn’t have another opportunity because I would be graduating soon and expected to be married within the year.
Smarmy again, he said he was delighted I was willing to give him some of my valuable time. He wasn’t exactly sure when his unit was leaving Australia but he knew it would be soon. ‘Anyway, let’s not talk about the war. You’re looking especially lovely tonight, Genevieve.’ He took my arm, and we walked towards the hansom cabs lined along the street and waiting for customers. He said he’d made arrangements to have a meal in town, then go onto a vaudeville show.
How quickly I had changed, pathetic creature that I was. Pretending, trying to be aloof had been a stupid idea. I was too happy for pretence. ‘That will be marvellous. I’ve never been to a vaudeville show.’
He asked if my boyfriend had enlisted in the Australian Imperial Force. I felt myself redden, and quickly explained that he was medically unfit. I searched for a credible explanation, and could only think of flat feet.
The theatre was in the centre of town and the café adjacent to it. It was a delightful, warm summer night just before Christmas. When we had finished dinner and the plates had been cleared away, he leant across the small table and took my hands in his. When I look back on that evening, I realise he manipulated me so very easily. He said that he had something very important to explain to me, which was the reason he hadn’t stayed in touch with me.
‘I realise you probably didn’t care at all, but I want you to know that I never stopped thinking about you.’ He quipped that I must have brought out the best in him. He admitted that he’d always been the sort of bloke who went after what he wanted with no thought about anyone else. But he found he couldn’t do that to me because I was too good a person – too special. He said he was certain that my boyfriend was a fine man, and he was not going to intrude in my life.
How I wished I’d never made up that stupid story about having a boyfriend with flat feet. If only he knew how much I had loved him, not anyone else, only him.
After the show we took a cab back to the hospital. He walked with me to the Nursing Home door. And that’s when he made his well-thought-out suggestion. He told me he was going back home to say goodbye to his father and one or two others.
‘I just wondered …’ He hesitated, then he said it. ‘As we’ve had such a marvellous time tonight, Genevieve, how about we do it again? What if, when I return to Sydney, on the Saturday morning train, we spend some time together at the weekend, just a fair dinkum friendly weekend?’ He asked whether my young man would mind too much.
I didn’t want to talk about my so-called young man any more. I had to get my stupid lie cleared up. I explained to Gordon that I hadn’t made up my mind about my future with my young man. It was still too early in our relationship to make any lasting commitment, and anyway I wasn’t totally sure of my feelings.
We stood facing one another, and he took my hand in his. ‘How happy you’ve just made me, Genevieve! I’ve just had another idea. How about we have the whole weekend together? Let’s have dinner on Saturday at the Metropole Hotel. I’ll book a couple of single rooms there for Saturday night. Then we can have all Sunday together. We can take a walk in the gardens, have a spot of lunch, you know, that sort of thing.’
How wonderful he was! How certain I was that I loved him. The thought of being with him for a whole weekend was utterly unbelievable. And at the Metropole! It was Sydney’s most sumptuous hotel, one I’d never entered, only ever walked past on my way to Circular Quay and a ferry trip with my fellow nurses on the harbour.
How could I have been so stupidly naive and so infinitely excited? I explained that I was working a six-to-three-thirty shift on Saturday and wasn’t on duty again until Monday. He said that the Metropole was really something, one of Sydney’s tallest buildings. It was five storeys high and on each floor had at least three or four guest bathrooms.
He behaved impeccably. He kissed me on the cheek, said he would count the hours until the weekend and left me outside the Nurses’ Home. I couldn’t wait until the following day to tell my two best friends, Rachel and Edith. I woke them. They were horrified. What was I thinking about? Good girls didn’t go to hotels with men. Was I stupid? Of course he wouldn’t spend the night in a bedroom on his own when he knew I was only a few yards away. I disagreed vehemently. I was well brought up, and how dare they think I would do such things?
Rachel snorted, ‘I always knew you were naive, but your present attitude is utterly incomprehensible, Genevieve.’
I wasn’t going to change my mind. I was exasperated. ‘It’s just dinner and a walk on Sunday. I don’t know what on earth you are going on about. Gordon is a fine man who would never take advantage of me. Moreover, this is such a marvellous opportunity to see inside the Metropole. I’ve heard it’s the most magnificent hotel in the colonies. You are the ones with an incomprehensible attitude.’
Nothing, I thought, will stop me. I had a feeling about Saturday night, a distinct feeling that Gordon would say he loved me and, if he did, we’d become engaged.
*
He arrived at five o’clock; I was waiting. ‘Every time I see you, Genevieve, you look even prettier.’ He took hold of my small leather case.
‘That’s because I am so happy to be going out with you.’
He assured me he’d had no trouble making the bookings; he had secured two rooms, one on the third floor, one on the fifth, and a table booked in the restaurant for seven o’clock.
We booked in and left my case with the hall porter. Go
rdon took my arm and led me through the mosaic-tiled foyer to an elegantly furnished lounge room where waiters and waitresses were serving pre-dinner drinks.
‘Would you care for a sherry, darling?’
Thank heavens he asked because I was wondering what to order. He ordered a sweet sherry for me and a scotch for himself. The sherry was nice. I thought I might have another but decided against it as I was feeling slightly dizzy by the time I finished it. Of course we never drank at home.
Later, confident in a way I’d never before felt, we entered the dining room. I wore my one best dress again, but that didn’t matter because I thought I noticed admiring glances as the waiter led us to our table. Of course it might have been looks of interest because Gordon was just an enlisted man and not an officer. The large room was crowded with uniformed men accompanied by wives, family or girlfriends. Waiters in evening dress served while waitresses, wearing black dresses, frilly white aprons and dainty, starched caps, cleared away.
I felt as though I were a princess. As Gordon held my chair he bent forward and whispered in my ear that I was the prettiest woman in the dining room. Of course I knew that was not true, but it was nice to be told such a lie.
The waiter came to take the order. I remember my discomfit when Gordon asked, ‘Will you begin with oysters?’
I thought I’d better not; having never eaten oysters, although I’d not admit that. The Bream with Tartar Sauce appealed to me more. He said that he’d like to start with a dozen oysters and he thought a bottle of champagne would be a good idea to celebrate us being together again. ‘You know what they say about champagne and oysters.’
