by Di Morrissey
Kevin appeared in his pyjama bottoms at the door, rubbing his eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Tell them, Kev, about the picnic’
‘Oh yeah. It’s the town community day picnic’
‘A picnic! Why didn’t you say so? That’s different. I like teachers who recommend picnics,’ said Bob with exaggerated enthusiasm. ‘What d’ya reckon, Mum?’
‘Gosh, I’d forgotten. There was something about it in the local rag. We’ll call Mrs Pemberton, she’ll know all about it. So it’s today, eh? If the rain has stopped, I suppose we could go. I’d better get cracking and bake something.’ She flung back the covers and jumped out of bed, pulling her chenille dressing gown over her nightie.
‘There she goes, the mad baker.’ Bob let out a wolf whistle and the children laughed. ‘Go tell Abby and Brian, gang.’
Gwen had a cake in the oven, was dressed, had made the bed and was dishing up bacon and eggs and porridge by the time Bob had spent a little time in peaceful contemplation in the throne room down the back, showered, shaved and emerged in a good pair of slacks and a white shirt.
He looked around his family at the table. ‘We’ll go to the picnic, but we’re going to church first. We haven’t been since we got here and that’s over a month ago. The priest will think us a bunch of heathens.’
‘I haven’t got a dress to wear to mass,’ wailed Colleen.
‘Me neither,’ joined in Shirley.
‘Of course you do,’ said Abby. ‘I ironed those pretty blue and white dresses myself. We don’t have to get too dressed up if we’re going to a picnic afterwards. Where is it anyway?’
‘In the town park. They’re setting up a tent and there’ll be rides and things, I think,’ said Kevin enthusiastically.
‘What a good thing the rain has stopped,’ said Gwen.
‘We needed it, luv, don’t complain,’ said Bob, a typical countryman who’d welcomed the rain after the preceding long dry months.
‘Right, mass then the picnic. As soon as you’ve finished breakfast, make your beds, get cleaned up and into Sunday clothes,’ directed Gwen. ‘Abby, as soon as you’re ready, help me with the sandwiches.’
‘I’d rather do that first, then get dressed. I don’t want food on my clean clothes,’ said Abby, carrying the empty porridge plates to the sink.
When everyone was finally dressed and ready, Betsy was backed out of the shed she shared with stacks of feed, tools and drums of diesel fuel. The picnic food and blankets were stowed in the boot, and the family scrambled noisily for positions on the well-worn leather seats in her soft interior.
‘Don’t crush my dress, Brian.’
‘Here, Shirley, pass him over, he can sit on my lap in the front,’ said Gwen.
‘Doesn’t Kevy look nice.’
‘Don’t call me that. My name’s Kevin.’
‘Kevy, Kevy, Kevyyyy . . .’ sang the twins.
‘Ignore them, mate,’ said Bob, loosening his wool tie as he got behind the wheel. ‘Now, what’s the priest’s name again?’
Betsy behaved beautifully and as they drove, Bob warmed up the McBride choir with a spirited rendition of Faith of Our Father.
All was going well until they came to the dip where the floodway was running a small stream. Bob McBride stopped Betsy and contemplated the flowing water.
‘Ooh, Daddy, how are we going to get across?’ wailed Shirley.
‘Do you want me to get out and test it?’ offered Kevin, keen for adventure.
‘It looks a bit deep, do you think she’ll stall?’ asked Gwen with a worried frown.
‘I don’t think so,’ declared Bob, letting out the clutch and giving Betsy a bit of a rev-up. She sailed valiantly onto the concrete channel and with a cough, an intake of water up the exhaust pipe, she stalled. Dead centre.
‘All right, everybody out.’
‘Daddy! We’ll get wet!’ squealed Colleen.
‘We’ve got our best clothes on,’ echoed Shirley.
‘Well we can’t just sit here,’ said Abby.
‘Why not?’ muttered Kevin.
‘You want us all out?’ Gwen double-checked.
‘Absolutely. We’re not pushing you lot and Betsy. Right, Kev?’
‘No fear,’ said Kevin.
The twins started to cry.
‘That’s enough, you two. Take off your shoes and socks, stick your dress in your undies and wade over. And don’t trip,’ dictated their father.
Abby and Gwen were already taking off their shoes. Gwen pulled off her gloves, pushed them in her handbag, looped it on her shoulder, and lifted up Brian.
‘I’ll take him, luv. Kevin, you go first. Go slowly,’ directed Bob.
Sniffing, Shirley and Colleen took off their white socks, stuffing them down into their patent leather shoes, wiggled around and stuffed the skirts of their spotted muslin dresses into their white cotton undies and gingerly opened the car door. Abby was beside them and helped them down. Taking a hand each, she led them carefully through the knee-deep water as they clutched their prayer book in one hand and hat in the other. As soon as they reached dry land, they quickly fluffed out their skirts, smoothing the wrinkles.
Kevin held out a hand to his mother as she stepped up on the dry road, letting down the bunched skirt of her frock. ‘Good thing I wasn’t wearing nylons, eh, girls?’
Bob McBride deposited Brian on dry ground and turned back to the stranded car. As the somewhat bedraggled family watched, he tried the starter, but to no avail.
‘Righto, Kev,’ Bob called after a few tries, ‘bring your muscles over here. Abby, you get in and steer.’
Abby, who had been treading carefully, her skirt hitched up into the elastic legs of her pants, glanced back at her father and Kevin as she opened the car door. Her attention was momentarily diverted, causing her to miss her footing on the running board. She slipped and fell to her knees, soaking the bottom of her skirt. Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she got behind the wheel.
Father and son put their shoulders to it and slowly pushed Betsy through the short strip of water.
‘Give her a minute or two,’ Bob panted, ‘and we’ll give her another go.’
Gwen opened her handbag and handed him the red packet of Ardath cigarettes. They both lit up while the girls peered at themselves in the tiny square mirror Gwen produced from her bag. Hats were adjusted, hair touched up, Peter Pan collars straightened, dresses smoothed and shoes put back on. The twins paid particular attention to folding over the tops of their socks so the ruffle edging sat just so.
Abby shook out her mud-stained skirt. ‘Not much I can do about this, I guess.’
‘Rinse it out in the bathroom at church,’ suggested Gwen. ‘At least it might get the mud out.’
‘It’ll dry in the sun,’ said Colleen.
‘Right, let’s give her another go,’ said Bob.
Gwen looked anxiously at her small marcasite watch as Bob got behind the wheel. One, two, three turns of the ignition and then, with a burble, she caught and turned over. Everybody cheered, Brian clapped and they all piled back into the car and set off once again.
They were late but the service hadn’t started. They genuflected quickly and shuffled along a rear pew as several people turned to watch the newcomers get settled. Abby followed last and there were a few raised eyebrows at her bedraggled skirt.
Gwen nudged Kevin and showed the girls which page to turn to in their missal. Father O’Leary settled his vestments and Kevin closed his eyes as the long Latin service began.
By the time it came to the sermon, Brian was very bored. He’d been sitting on the floor between their feet, crouched on the hassock. Gwen handed him her rosary beads, which he pulled over his head, playing with the silver cross. With Brian quiet, Gwen settled back to listen to the sermon.
‘Today,’ began Father O’Leary loudly, ‘as we celebrate with God on this day of rest, we can rejoice in the hard work we have done this past week. But while there are those of us who toil honestly a
nd obey the lessons of the Lord, there could be among us, right here, evil at work. The filthy and dangerous idea of Communism, which is a blight on our world today, is spreading. Its seeds are carried into our precious country by those who come from other places and seek to destroy what they have never known or enjoyed. We must guard against this insidious disease. Be watchful of those who espouse the overthrow and change of our democracy and all that our parents and grandparents held dear, fought and died for. Communism will undo our way of life!’ thundered the father, raising his hand and shaking it.
Kevin didn’t understand this talk of the Cold War and Communism and atomic bombs. It all seemed so far away. He stifled a yawn as the priest continued.
‘Communism is the death knell of decency, safety and morality. Stand firm against this threat. Today in many parts of Europe, Catholic families like yours are no longer able to attend the holy mass or pray publicly. We can only pray that the faith of these families can survive the years to come. I beg you all to keep the holy Catholic faith strong in your families. Pray together, stay together. Mother, father, children, kneel down together every night and say the rosary, attend confession and the sacrament together.
‘Instruct the children well in the holy Faith, have them marry within the Faith and it will stay with them forever. Let us now pray for the souls of the heathens, unscrupulous leaders and evildoers that they will see the light and follow the true path of God’s righteousness.’
There was a scrabbling and banging as the congregation knelt to pray. Gwen clasped her hands together and rested her forehead on them on the back of the pew in front. She felt Colleen snuggle closer beside her and knew she was scared. While the ten-year-old hadn’t fully understood what the priest was saying, she knew there was a danger out there that could sneak in and rattle the walls of her safe home. Shirley loved going to church, she loved getting dressed up and collecting the holy pictures and repeating some of the Latin mass. Colleen, however, always found the experience frightening: the threat of punishment, the curses that would come raining down from heaven if she disobeyed God, and always some dire warning from the priest. She put her fingers in her ears and tried to think about the picnic instead.
Abby, who’d been daydreaming, suddenly became aware that the service was over. While her mother untangled the rosary from Brian’s neck, she helped get the twins ready, collecting an assortment of gloves, handkerchiefs, dislodged ribbons and religious cards. The large congregation filed slowly from the church to the accompaniment of an enthusiastic rendition from the organist. There were so many children in the family groups that the aisles soon became jammed with jostling, joking youngsters more committed to having fun pushing and shoving than in making a prompt and decorous exit.
On the neat lawns outside the church, Father O’Leary circulated, shaking hands, patting children on the head and taking jocular care to single out newcomers or infrequent worshippers for special attention.
Bob McBride watched him at work, waiting for the inevitable. ‘Workin’ the mob like a good sheepdog,’ he said to himself, and smiled.
‘Tis good to see you all,’ said the priest as he shook hands with the McBrides, winning a smile from each of the children as he teased them. ‘Of course I understand you’ve had the settlin’ in and shearin’ to keep you busy of late, but I trust we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future,’ he said warmly, making it sound more like an invitation than a recognition of religious backsliding.
‘You know we’ll do our best,’ said Gwen reassuringly.
‘Indeed I do . . . indeed I do . . . Now are you coming to the picnic? I’m in one of the mixed cricket teams you know.’ He winked and lowered his voice, ‘The Church of England minister is on the opposing side.’
‘And whose side is the Lord on then?’ shot back Bob, and got a sharp nudge in the ribs from Gwen.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ replied the priest with a laugh, and moved on to another family group.
At the same time, several blocks away from where the Catholics had their towering red-brick church, a smaller congregation gathered outside the modest white wooden Presbyterian church. They exchanged news on the weather, stock and family, generally in that order of priority. Most were from the land or small businesses.
Phillip Holten took his wife’s arm after a brief and perfunctory round of greetings, and steered her towards the car, only to be confronted by an attractive young woman all florals and smiles.
‘Hi, Mr and Mrs Holten,’ she gushed.
Enid smiled back as she felt Phillip tense. She knew he hated the ‘Hi’ greeting which he believed had been left behind by the American army.
‘Good morning, Cheryl,’ he replied formally. ‘I trust that you are well.’
‘Unbelievable, Mr Holten. Are you coming to the picnic in the park?’
‘No . . . It’s not really what we are accustomed to on a Sunday.’
Over Phillip’s shoulder Cheryl was relieved to see Barney, who was moving slowly through the family groups shaking hands and making small talk. ‘Oh, there’s Barney. See you later, Mr and Mrs Holten.’ And she bounced away.
Barney saw the floral dress coming from out of the corner of his eye and was ready with a smile. Although Barney was somewhat shy himself, he enjoyed the times he chatted to Cheryl.
‘Hello, Cheryl.’
‘Hi, Barney,’ she said. ‘I’m hoping you’re coming to the picnic. I’ve put you down for my team for the mixed cricket.’
‘I thought it was mainly for kids. I had planned to go home with Mum and Dad.’
‘Oh come on, Barney. It’s a charity fundraiser. They’re running a sweep or something on the number of runs scored or whatever . . . Do come, you’ll find a lift home.’
Phillip Holten opened the car door for his wife and looked questioningly at Barney chatting to the girl. Barney turned and caught his eye.
‘Look, Cheryl, I’ll see. Maybe I’ll come back in to town.’ Barney hurried to the car. As they drew away from the kerb, he raised his hand to Cheryl.
‘Why don’t we drop in on the picnic?’ asked Barney quickly.
‘Whatever for, dear?’ queried his mother.
‘Well, I thought I might go. Cheryl Maddocks has put me in her cricket team.’
‘In what, dear?’
‘Waste of time. And it is Sunday,’ cut in his father.
The traffic entering a side street leading to the park forced them to stop at the intersection. They were sitting in silence when Barney spotted the unmistakable round brown beam of the McBrides’ Betsy in the line of traffic going to the park. He started to smile and peered closer, looking for Abby.
‘Hang on, Dad. I think I’ll get out and walk down to the park. Might just have that game of cricket. I’m sure I’ll get a ride home. Don’t worry about me.’ He opened the back door and quickly got out.
‘You’re not dressed for cricket, dear,’ observed his mother, then added, ‘and I have roast pork for lunch.’
‘I’ll eat it for tea, Mum. See you later.’ He sprinted off, leaving his tight-lipped father to drive home in silence.
Many people had come straight from church to the picnic. Some had casual clothes on but most were still in their Sunday clothes, and it gave the outdoor setting a festive air. Several tents and marquees had been erected and there were pony rides and a small merry-go-round for the children.
The Red Cross ladies were selling soft drinks, cups of tea and homemade pastries. A Legacy stall had a hot plate going for sausage or steak sandwiches or the ever-popular Jaffles. Groups were setting up picnic sites, spreading tablecloths and blankets. The sportsmaster from the school had a loud-hailer and was announcing that the first of the children’s races would be under way before lunch. This would be followed by the mothers’ and fathers’ three-legged race.
Barney bought a creaming soda and a sausage roll and wandered happily about, looking at all the activity. He suddenly came upon the McBrides under the shade of a gumtree in a big sprawl
of tablecloths, blankets and picnic paraphernalia.
Bob McBride hailed him. ‘G’day, Barney.’
‘Hello, everyone,’ said Barney. ‘Looks like you’re settling in for a big day out.’ His eyes met Abby’s and she quickly looked down at her skirt. She was relieved to find that the worst of the damage was hidden. At least the dress had dried out, but it was still stained with mud around the hem.
‘Yeah, it’s a great treat something like this,’ said Bob warmly. ‘Why don’t you join us for a bite? Got masses of tucker. One thing about this mob, we never travel short on rations. Abby, move over and make room for Barney.’
Barney hesitated briefly and was about to accept when Cheryl Maddocks grabbed his arm.
‘Barney,’ she smiled, ‘you’re here to captain my team. You’re absolutely wonderful.’
‘Ah . . . oh . . . hello again, Cheryl. I was just having a yarn. I don’t suppose you know the McBrides. Mr McBride has been helping us with the shearing.’
He turned to the group which had become almost like a tableau, everyone frozen by the sudden arrival of the smartly dressed and bubbly girl. Abby was already on her bare feet following her dad’s example as Barney began introducing each member of the family to Cheryl. She was still standing when Barney said, ‘And this is Abby.’
‘Hi,’ said Cheryl casually, her eyes quickly taking in the state of Abby’s dress. She gave Abby a quick sympathetic smile.
‘Hello,’ said Abby quietly.
Barney also noted the slightly muddied dress, felt her embarrassment and found himself saying, ‘Abby helped out with the shearing as well. She’s a good hand in the shed.’ Abby and Barney exchanged glances. Abby was clearly mortified.
Bob McBride sprang to the rescue. ‘Not this morning though . . . Today she was the heroine of the great Nine Mile Creek flood rescue.’ As Abby sat down, her father gave a greatly exaggerated account of the whole episode that soon had everyone laughing.
When the story was over Cheryl tugged at Barney’s arm. ‘Come on, we’re about to eat and you’re going to need lots of energy for that match. See you all again perhaps. Bye.’
