When you go out the kitchen door and through the covered-in verandah where Jack sleeps, there is a grass patch beneath the washing lines. That’s where Jack and Billy and me play rounders. Martha used to play until Jack called her a duffer. Mum was angry with him but Martha is a duffer. She always drops the ball.
Up the back behind the grass is a row of fruit trees and behind them is the chook run and the stable and the shed. Oh, and the old dunny that backs onto the lane, too. Pa uses it now to keep bits and pieces of gardening tools in. We got a new sewered lav last year right next door to the washhouse, so it’s only a short walk out the back, but the washhouse is a big black cavern at night that could have anything hiding in it and that’s why I need Martha to go out with me. When Dad’s back, Mum says, we’ll get a light down to it.
The stable is dark. It smells of horse and dung and leather and straw and oats and chook food. It’s a good smell. An honest smell, says Pa.
In the daytime, a little light finds its way in between the slats of the wall, but I always leave the door to the garden open to let more in, even if Bessie is there. Pa keeps the big double doors into the lane closed unless he’s there himself. There’s a small hole cut into the house-side door for Moggie to go through. He’s the best mouser we’ve ever had, says Pa. And he’s the best purrer. He always sleeps on my bed because Martha is too late to bed for him.
Next to the stables is Dad’s workroom. It’s big and on the side facing the garden one whole section of wall lifts up to make a window. All Dad’s tools are there, hanging on the board in front of their painted outlines. Some are in drawers wrapped in their rags. Pa and Jack clean and oil them every month or so. The jars of glue and varnish have dried up though. Dad is a good carpenter. We have the best table and chairs in the street.
I wonder if Dad still loves the house the way we do, or if he wants something grander now he’s seen what it’s like. I almost asked him.
As for his Mr Aldridge being so good at planning for the future, I think we do too in our own way. Once, on a very hot day, I told Pa it wasn’t worth all the trouble of bucketing down the muck from the stable and the poo from the chook pen and carrying Mum’s scraps and the ashes from the fires to put in his compost. Pa shook his head and explained, ‘We’re planning ahead, Nell. Look at this sand,’ he said, scuffing his boot in it. ‘There’s no goodness in it. Watch.’ And he fetched a little water out of the washhouse and poured it on the ground between the vegie beds. It made little balls in the sand but the water didn’t sink in.
‘See, the sand needs making into soil to give plants something to grow on and to let the water in. Our compost does that. It’s a builder of soils. Every time we add a bit we’re making it better for the future.’
He went on. ‘Have you ever wondered why your Mum’s roses do so well?’ He looked at me. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you have. Not the sort of thing to cross everyone’s mind, I suppose.
‘Well, when your dad decided to do this anniversary rose thing for your Mum, he started to dig a hole for the first one. It wasn’t long before he knew the soil wasn’t right for roses, but he had his heart set on them. That weekend he and I took Bessie up to the hills. She was young and strong then and the distance wasn’t a problem so long as we took it easy. We found a good patch of clay in the foothills and filled up the cart with it. See, Nell, roses like loam and that’s what your Dad got.
‘The next weekend we went to the beach and collected heaps of seaweed and when we got home we spread it over the back lane and washed it down to get rid of the salt.
‘We didn’t dig a hole for the rose. We dug a trench and we filled it with a mixture of the clay, old newspaper, seaweed and compost. It went right across the front by the fence. Your dad put his rose right at the beginning of the trench and Auntie Em gave him roots of Michaelmas daisies from her garden to fill in a bit of it. The rest we covered over with grass knowing that the earth underneath was ready for roses for years to come.’
Now, I reckon that’s planning ahead.
THE RAIN BEGAN AT EASTER. EVERY DAY THE WEST Australian had stories in it about the influenza epidemic in the Eastern States. Pa would read out bits and pieces to Mum while she moved around the kitchen making breakfast. The government, said Pa, were doing all they could to keep it out of the State, but by the start of second term it had somehow crept over the border.
It was cold and wet and kids started wearing boots to school. Mr Brooks thought it was best to take them off in class and put them by the fire to dry out. He put Eddie Baker in charge of moving them around during the day so everyone’s boots had a turn nearest to the fire. Of course, some kids still came barefoot to school, so there weren’t all that many for him to move.
Pa nudged me as the train went through Guildford. ‘See that building over there, Nell. That’s where the old gold-diggers bought their supplies before they made their way up to Coolgardie. We didn’t though. We bought a water condenser in Midland and took it up on a dray. Easier way to make money than digging holes all day.’
I didn’t tell him he’d already told me that when we went up to the park last summer.
Dad chimed in. ‘And if Pa hadn’t been in Coolgardie, Nell, I wouldn’t have met your mum and there’d be no you, Martha or Jack.’
Pa laughed. I didn’t, being steadfast to my purpose.
Dad looked at me. ‘You don’t know how much I missed you all, Nell. I’ve seen sights I never thought I’d see, but home is all I wanted.
‘And finally we were on the way. We left Southampton late in May. The ship wasn’t too bad. Crowded and uncomfortable and smelly; food Tom Warding would have been ashamed of. Nothing we weren’t used to, though. But we were going home, so it didn’t matter all that much. Lots of bonhomie –
‘You see, Nell,’ Dad laughed, looking at me. ‘I’ve picked up some French.’
Then he turned back to Pa.
‘– and concerts and games to keep us occupied. Plenty of good fresh air when you were on deck. Not so good inside.
‘The first few weeks were all right. We coaled at Cape Town and were allowed time off the boat for a day to stretch our legs. And we were really warm at last. Though that was soon over as we headed down to the Southern Ocean.
‘It was a long leg home. Funny, that’s when it started to feel as if we’d never get there. It was like we were on a rubber band that kept stretching. Until one day there was a call on the tannoy, “Land, land to port”. We all rushed to the side and there it was. Home. I nearly sat down and cried. And I don’t think I was alone in feeling like that.
‘Most of the men were going on to the East but a handful of us were dropping off at Fremantle. The others were going to have a day in Freo, perhaps go on up to Perth, but we were home. We were so excited our lot didn’t get much sleep.’
We didn’t sleep much either. Though we were all so tired we should have. We seemed to have done nothing but work ever since we knew Dad was on his way home.
Mum had a telegram from Cape Town. Just two words: ‘Orient, Harry’. I thought it was a code like in a detective story but Jack said it was Dad saving money. Pa asked a friend who had a son on the docks who went and looked in the shipping agent’s window. Sure enough, a boat called Orient was coming to Fremantle. They didn’t know exactly when but they said that the ship would telegraph a few days out and to keep an eye on the newspaper. At a guess it would here in a couple of weeks.
Mum started getting ready. She began with Dad’s clothes. Out they came from the boxes of naphthalene she had put them in all those years ago. They ponged and Mum broke her lifetime habit and washed on a Wednesday. That evening she looked them over for holes.
‘You can do the mending after school, Nell,’ she said.
‘Why me? I hate mending.’
‘But you’re good at it. And your eyes are younger than mine.’
‘What about Martha? Why can’t she do it?’
Mum laughed. ‘You know Martha couldn’t sew her way out of a paper bag.
No, Nell, you do it. There’ll be other work for Martha.’
Personally, I think Martha made sure she couldn’t sew just so she could get everyone else to do it for her. I hate sewing. How does Martha get out of it?
But that was that. Luckily there were only a couple of moth holes and a few nibbles on Dad’s trousers. Mum had mended his shirts before she put them away all those years ago nicely folded with tissue paper between. The paper smelled so bad it wasn’t worth keeping.
Then just before we thought Dad was due she told me I could stay home that week and help get the house ready.
‘I can’t,’ I said.
‘What on earth do you mean, you can’t?’ Mum asked.
‘I can’t take time off school. Perhaps in a couple of weeks I could, though.’
Mum turned from the washing-up bowl and stared. ‘But Dad would be home by then. Anyway, why can’t you take time off school? You’re usually only too happy to have an excuse not to go.’
I tried to look serious. ‘I don’t think Mr Brooks would like it.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Mum.
I really didn’t think Mum would go up to school to have a chat with him, but she did. The headmaster called Mr Brooks out of the room and then I saw Mum through the glass in the door chatting and smiling away at both Mr Brooks and Sir. Mr Brooks poked his head around the door and called me out.
‘What wonderful news for you, Nell,’ he said. ‘Of course you can take the week off to help your mother. And why don’t you take off the week after as well, in order to get reacquainted with your dad?’
‘But Sir, I’ll fall behind!’
Mum hrumphed.
‘I doubt it,’ beamed Mr Brooks. ‘You’re well ahead in arithmetic and you’ll catch up quickly once you’re back. Unless you’d prefer me to send some work home so you can keep right up to date!’
And that was the end of my chance of winning the skippy competition. We’d been going for ages, even in the dust before the rain came and settled it. Beth was up to 250 skips without stopping or tripping, but I wasn’t far behind and I knew I could catch her up.
‘How could you?’ I asked Mum when I got home. ‘No one else’s mum comes to the classroom and takes them out of school.’
Mum looked at me. ‘Don’t you ever tell me a fib again, my girl, or I’ll give you something to remember why not. Now tell me why you really didn’t want to stay home.’
‘You’ve made me lose the skippy competition. And that stuck-up Beth Mathers will be the best skipper in the school now,’ I shouted.
‘Nell, a skipping game isn’t nearly as important as Dad.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I answered. ‘Dad’s been away so long he might as well stay away a bit longer. Other dads came home ages ago.’
I didn’t see Mum’s hand swinging toward me. There was a sharp crack, my head jerked back and my face stung.
‘Get out of here. I can’t believe I have a daughter who doesn’t want to see her dad. Go on, outside. And stay out until I think I can bear looking at you.’
I found a corner in the stable. Mum had never hit me like that before. I’d had smacks on my arms and legs and, of course, if I had been really bad the razor strop came out. But never this. I wasn’t a horrible person really. Tears dribbled down my face; then my nose started as well. Horrible, running snot from a horrible person. Of course I cared if Dad came home or not, but we’d been without him for so long I didn’t think it was so much of a wonderful thing that I had to let that Beth Mathers win.
Anyway Dad’s coming home wasn’t as exciting now as the first ones when whole trainloads of soldiers would go steaming by.
Now the soldiers came home in trickles and it wasn’t anything special. But if it was your dad you still got a mention in assembly and the day off.
It would have almost been as good as when Sir told the school about Dad’s medal and said how proud we all were to ‘have a member of the community win a Military Medal’.
It had been in The West Australian that morning. A reporter had come out to see Mum and borrowed Dad’s photo to make up a picture to go with the bit about Dad. Kids came up to me as soon as I got to school.
‘What did he do, your dad? What did he do to get a medal?’
‘He was brave, of course,’ I’d said.
Sir read out the whole reason and I was suddenly very proud of my father. Everyone cheered. May gave me her cake for morning tea, and four girls walked me home at lunch.
Only I wasn’t going to be at school for Sir to wish me a happy reunion, because Mum had made sure I’d already be home.
MUM DIDN’T EVEN GO TO MARTHA’S SCHOOL. ‘Martha’s too busy with school work to take time off,’ she said. Martha was too busy with homework to help much when she got home, too. Martha, in my opinion, is a mummy’s favourite.
‘Leave her alone, Nell,’ Mum said. ‘It’s important she keeps up with her schoolwork. You and I can manage together.’
It’s not fair how Martha gets away with things. I wonder if it’s because Martha looks special. She’s tall and her hair doesn’t frizz. It stays nicely caught behind her neck. But tallness and hair that stays in place is not the only difference between Martha and me. Martha is a brain. Mum says we should be proud because she’s done so well. Now she’s nearly finished and next year she’ll go on to be a teacher-in-training.
Teachers at school are always asking how Martha’s getting on. That’s before they sigh and look at me wondering how two girls from the same family could be so different.
When Martha’s friend, Millie, comes home with her so they can do their homework together, they keep me out of the bedroom and lock the door on me. I can hear them giggling, but when I tell Mum, it’s always the same: ‘Leave them alone, Nell. They’re just growing up.’
Jack helped me make up a song for them:
‘Millie and Martha
Are terrible farters, terrible farters, terrible farters
Millie and Martha are terrible farters
And so say all of us.’
After the fourth time I sang it, Mum grabbed me from behind and dragged me into her bedroom. ‘How could you, Nell! And to a visitor. Now Martha’s friends will think we’ve no manners!’
‘But Mum, it was funny.’
Mum reached behind the door where Dad’s strop hung on a peg. ‘Go on, Nell, get yourself ready. I wish I didn’t have to do this but you never learn.’
I stretched across her bed while she brought the strop down three times on my bum. I don’t bother trying to be brave, I always cry because it hurts so much.
Then I had to go and apologise. I knocked on my own bedroom door.
‘Let her in,’ called Mum from behind me.
Martha and Millie were grinning when they opened the door, but when they saw my face they both turned serious.
‘I’m very sorry I called you rude words,’ I sobbed.
Millie looked worried and said she had to go.
Martha let me in and sat next to me on my bed rubbing my back until I stopped crying.
‘We thought it was very funny,’ she said, ‘until we realised Mum had heard you. Don’t worry about Millie. She won’t tell anyone.’
Now, Martha found me in the stables. She sat down next to me and put her arms around me.
‘Nellie, you know you shouldn’t upset Mum at the moment. She’s been waiting and waiting for Dad all these years and now it’s so close to him being home nothing’s going to stop her having everything perfect for him. It’s what keeps her going.’
Sometimes I don’t like Martha much. It’s hard living with the world’s best daughter, but every so often she’s just what I need.
‘You’ll have another chance at beating Beth Mathers.’
‘No, I won’t. It’s the end of skippy for the year and you told me they don’t skip at high school. So that was my last chance.’
‘But, Nell, is skippy really that important? Do you think the kids who don’t have a father coming home wouldn’
t give it up if they had a choice. What do you think Mary would say?’
She gave me an extra big hug. ‘Come on, Nell, you know you just got caught up in the moment and didn’t think things through.’
Put like that, I had been a little bit silly.
Together we went back into the house and Martha hugged Mum and whispered, ‘She’s really sorry, Mum. I think it’s all been a bit much for her and she just said the first thing that came into her mind.’
That’s not quite right but it is better being in Mum’s good books than not.
MY WEEK OF FORCED DRUDGERY STARTED WITH Monday’s wash day. This was a grand wash. All our normal stuff was sorted, but because it was going to be fine and blowy Mum decided to do the curtains as well. While Martha heated up the porridge for breakfast, Mum had Jack up the ladder getting them down. She must have really made up her mind about the curtains the day before, because I had to cut up an extra bar of soap on Sunday.
The first load of our whites was in before Martha left for school. Mum and me stripped beds and took the bottom sheets out for the next load. Then we took turns poking the washing in the copper.
Last of all the curtains went in. It took both of us to move the steaming wet things from the copper to the tub, and to get them onto the clothesline.
What a day. We finished emptying the copper onto the garden as Pa came home for lunch. He was carrying the newspaper and dropped it on the table for Mum.
War's End Page 6
