by Anna Jacobs
The ceremony seemed unreal to Norah. She repeated the familiar words dutifully, heard Andrew’s deep voice making his responses, and when the curate pronounced them man and wife, she stood frozen in shock as her new husband kissed her cheek.
What had she done?
After it was all over, the two of them took their children back to the house. There was a cake to eat, a fancy one Norah had made herself, and she was glad to see the boys tuck in and accept her offer of a second piece.
‘You’re a good cook,’ Andrew said, also taking a second piece.
‘I like cooking.’
‘Good thing, because Jack here likes eating.’ He ruffled his older son’s hair and smiled down at him.
She wished Andrew would smile at her like that. He was even more good-looking when he smiled.
As the days passed and they settled down together, each acted politely, as to a stranger. The three children were equally wary with one another, and Janie made no attempt to get to know her new stepbrothers, avoiding them as much as possible. And she continued to be sulky with Andrew, not always answering his questions and kindly remarks, which resulted in her being sent to bed early two or three times, and once, when she was downright rude to him, Norah smacked her on the bottom.
One day Norah met Betty Simpson in the street, and the other woman barred her path, looking her up and down with a scornful expression on her face.
‘I can’t think what he sees in you!’ she said by way of a greeting.
‘He sees his wife,’ Norah snapped.
‘You may be his wife, but Andrew will never forget me.’ Betty tossed her head. ‘But I’ve done better than him already. I’m marrying the owner of the cinema next month and I’ll never have to work again. Tell Andrew that from me. And remember it when you’re old and ugly from working your fingers to the bone on a farm.’ With a laugh, she walked off.
Norah watched her go, saw men’s eyes follow her and sighed. She wished men looked at her like that, or at least, that Andrew did, but he showed no signs of being attracted to her and that hurt. She went on with her shopping, enjoying the fact that she was only working part-time now.
She didn’t say a word to her husband about her encounter.
And although the whole town was soon talking about the coming marriage between the balding, middle-aged widower of fifty who owned the cinema and the prettiest girl in town, Andrew said not a word about it to her.
He grew noticeably more distant, though, and frowned a lot.
She was glad of the distraction of more visits to a farm, this time taking the children. She hadn’t had much to do with animals, but the cows seemed docile enough and had beautiful eyes. The farmer’s wife was clearly fond of them and showed Norah how to milk, laughing gently at her ineptitude and standing by her until the milk started flowing.
The dairy was immaculately clean with stone shelves and big bowls for the cream. Norah could imagine herself managing a place like this.
Janie was very quiet during the visit and refused point-blank to go near the cows. The boys were just the opposite, wanting to touch the animals and have a go at milking. Jack didn’t make a bad fist of it, either.
Three weeks later a letter arrived from Australia House by the morning post. Norah wasn’t working at the slipper factory that day, so it lay there on the table until teatime and she was itching to see what it said. But it was addressed to him, so of course she couldn’t open it as she’d have done with her first husband.
‘There’s a letter,’ she said as soon as Andrew came back from work.
He stared at it for a few seconds then tore it open. She noticed the paper shaking as he read it. He didn’t say anything, just covered his face with one hand. Her heart sank. It must be a refusal. What would they do now? He’d regret marrying her, that’s for sure.
But when he raised his head, he was smiling, even if it was a tremulous sort of smile. ‘I’m sorry. I was just – so relieved I couldn’t think straight. I’ve been worrying myself sick about it, but it’s all right. We’ve been accepted for the group settlement scheme.’
She smiled at him. ‘I’m glad.’
‘And because another family had just changed their minds about going, we can leave in early January if we can be ready in time. Here. Read it yourself, then tell me what you think.’
She read it carefully and as she passed it back to Andrew, he grabbed her and danced her round the kitchen, crying, ‘We’re going. We’re really really going!’
She couldn’t help laughing as they circled the kitchen again. ‘You daft ha’porth! Let me go.’
But he didn’t. When he stopped moving, he stared at her. They were pressed so closely together she could hardly breathe. And all the air seemed to leave her lungs as he bent his head and kissed her. Not a gentle kiss, this one, but the kiss of a triumphant male.
As he moved away, he stared at her so strangely she guessed he hadn’t intended that. Was he glad or sorry? She couldn’t tell.
But she was glad. It gave her a small gleam of hope for them as a couple. She didn’t want to hurry things, though. Not yet. But she did want that bit of hope, especially after Betty’s sneers.
Irene and Freddie
3
Irene Dawson finished wiping the dishes after the Sunday family gathering, and dried her hands slowly, gathering her courage together to face what she was sure would be an unpleasant scene. She’d not said anything before, had waited till she got her mother on her own before speaking. But it was even harder to begin than she’d expected.
‘I’ve, um, got something to tell you, Mam.’
‘Oh?’ Her mother swung round, expression suddenly eager. ‘You’re not expecting again?’
Sorrow stabbed through Irene, as it always did when she thought of the baby she’d lost. They’d not even let her see it and the doctor had warned her not to have any more babies for a year or two.
‘No. I told you the doctor said we should wait a bit.’
‘It’s not natural, what you’re doing. If Father Benson knew you were preventing babies, he’d be round here like a shot. I knew nothing good would come of you marrying a heathen. But you wouldn’t be told. No, you had to marry him. You always go your own sweet way, you do.’
Irene bit back her usual argument that Freddie not being a Catholic didn’t make him a heathen. ‘You agreed not to tell the priest.’
‘Only because your da was so worried about you, he made a fuss.’
Irene swallowed a lump that suddenly seemed to be blocking her throat. If it was hard to tell her mam, it was going to be even harder to tell her beloved da.
‘I’m still hoping you’ll come to your senses and let nature take her course, my girl. And I won’t lie to the priest, if he asks, which he will soon. It’s been six months now since you lost the other baby, and he notices these things. I lost two, you know, but I got on with it and had more, which is a wife’s duty, and that’s what you should do.’
Yes, thought Irene. Twelve times you did it and just look at you now. Fat, with bad legs and still with a six-year-old to look after when our Bridget’s nearly thirty.
‘What would doctors be knowing about women anyway?’ her mother said with a toss of her head. Her Irish accent was stronger, as always when something upset her. ‘They’re all men, so they are. You’ve been brooding ever since you lost the baby. You need something to take your mind off it, and what better than a new baby at your breast?’
‘Mam! I’m trying to talk to you about something else.’
‘Well, get on with it, then.’
‘It’s this scheme my Freddie’s seen in the papers. It’s for ex-soldiers, a really good chance it is for them to get their own farms.’
‘You’re never moving away?’
Trust her mother to leap straight to the main point of how it would affect the family.
‘Yes, we are. I’m sorry.’
Silence, then. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Australia. It’s—’ But she
didn’t get chance to finish. Her mother let out a great long wail of anguish, and collapsed on the nearest chair. Her cries were so piercing they brought the rest of the family running till the kitchen was crammed with Irene’s sisters and brothers and cousins, not to mention the children crowding the hallway and trying to peer in.
Irene saw her husband stop in the doorway and shoot her a questioning look. She edged round to join him while her eldest sister calmed their mother down a bit. ‘I’d only just got started,’ she whispered, ‘but as soon as I said the word “Australia”, she had hysterics, so I couldn’t go on.’
Freddie put an arm round her shoulders and watched as his father-in-law abandoned soft words and gave his wife a shake.
‘Calm down, woman, and tell us what’s wrong. Where does it hurt? Shall I be fetching the doctor?’
‘Ask her what’s wrong!’ Mam pointed one shaking hand at Irene. ‘Ask her what she’s doing. She’s going away, leaving us.’ Again she began to wail and sob, refusing to be comforted.
It was half an hour before they got Mam calmed down, after which Da took up his favourite position in front of the fire. ‘Well, Irene. Is it true you’re going to Australia?’
Irene reached for her husband’s hand and Freddie gave hers a quick squeeze as he took over.
‘I’ll tell you about it, Mr Doyle. There’s a scheme been set up for ex-soldiers by the government. If you go out to Australia, they’ll give you a piece of land there and help you set up as a farmer. They’ll lend you money for your fares, the farm machinery, the house, everything, and you can pay it back gradually. So I’ve applied. It’s the best chance I’m ever likely to get.’
There was dead silence in the room, then Da bowed his head. When he raised it, he looked sorrowfully at Irene, who was his favourite, but his words surprised them all, no recriminations, just, ‘Tell us about this scheme, then.’
They listened quietly.
‘Each family is given a block of land, just given it,’ Freddie said.
‘No one gives away land,’ one of Irene’s brothers protested, ‘not unless it’s useless land, anyway.’
‘It’s written in black and white on a government pamphlet, so it must be true. The farm will have a windmill to bring up water and the boundaries will be fenced. Part of the land will be cleared and put down to grass, but we’ll have to clear the rest. There’d be a house and we’d be given six milking cows, a horse and cart, to be paid for gradually.’
Da looked across at Irene, not Freddie. ‘Is it what you really want?’
‘Yes, Da.’
‘But you know nothing about farming, let alone how they do it in Australia.’
‘There’s going to be a foreman for each group who’ll help you get used to how they do things there,’ Freddie said. ‘And I’m a quick learner.’
‘Hmm.’ Da didn’t look convinced.
The younger man put one arm round his wife. ‘There’s something else, Mr Doyle, the main reason for going as far as I’m concerned. We went to see the doctor before we applied. You know what a weak chest Irene has, how ill she gets every winter. He said a warmer climate would be just the thing for her. She nearly died last winter. I don’t want to lose her.’
There was complete silence in the room as everyone waited for Da to pronounce judgement and shrivel Freddie with harsh words, as he could when he was angry.
But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded slowly, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I don’t want to lose her, either. But if I have to, I’d rather it was to Australia than to the pneumonia.’ He held out one hand to Freddie. ‘You’ll look after her?’
‘I will. You know I will.’ The two men shook hands.
‘Aye, no one would deny that you love her,’ Da said in a quiet voice, then slapped one hand down on the table, making them all jump. ‘And if I were younger, I’d be going out there myself, I would so.’
Mam looked at him, her mouth trembling.
‘We have to think of what’s best for them, not us, darlin’,’ he said gently, pulling her close.
She leaned her head against him, her eyes still leaking tears, but made no further protest. In all the major decisions of family life, Da’s word was law.
Irene was warmed as always by the love between her parents. She felt just the same about Freddie, though sometimes she didn’t understand him, because he could be dreadfully moody, for no reason she could tell.
Pushing her way across the room she linked her father’s other arm. ‘Thanks, Da.’
‘We heard this week that we’ve been accepted on the scheme,’ Freddie said. ‘We have to leave in early January.’
‘That letter you got last week,’ Ma said bitterly. ‘I’d have burned it, I would, if I’d known what it contained.’
‘Now, me lass,’ Da said. ‘None of that.’
She closed her mouth, but it trembled still and tears kept escaping and running down her cheeks. And his.
There were a few people crying that night. They were a close family.
But when they got to bed in the front room, Freddie was exultant. ‘It went well, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I can’t wait to leave.’
She was dreading it. Only now was it sinking in that she’d not be with her family, perhaps never see them again.
After that, it seemed the days flew by, there was so much to do. Freddie and Irene both continued to work as long as they could, because every penny counted. And even though it was winter, she stayed well, thank goodness.
In the evenings, Freddie spent a lot of time talking to Da about farming. Da was always happy to talk about the farm he’d grown up on in Ireland, which he still missed, even after twenty-five years in England. And he took Freddie to the pub to talk to a mate of his, who’d grown up on a dairy farm. It made sense to learn as much as you could, did it not?
Freddie was in a good mood all the time. Irene had never seen him so happy. That made life a lot easier.
Her sisters and mother did a great deal of sewing for her, not only clothes, but household linen, because as her mother said, ‘If you’re going off to some godforsaken country at the other side of the world, you’re going decent.’
Somehow the money was found for these items and no one would say how. Pieces of material would simply appear and be cut up into pillowcases or sheets or underwear. And there were blouses to be embroidered on the long voyage to Australia. Never mind that Irene wasn’t a good needlewoman. She could learn, couldn’t she?
It seemed that there wasn’t a minute to spare and the day of departure came racing towards them.
That day, Mam wept solidly from the time everyone got up and Da’s eyes were bright as he said his final farewell before he left for work.
It was a relief to Irene when she and Freddie got on the train and waved goodbye. She felt torn apart. Half of her wanted to jump out of the train and stay with her family, the other half was excited about this adventure.
As they pulled away from the station, she sat there numbly for a minute or two, feeling exhausted. Then she looked at Freddie and burst into tears, sobbing against his chest, not caring what the other passengers thought, until she’d wept herself dry.
After which, she blew her nose and dredged up a smile for him because he was looking so anxious. ‘We’ll make a fine new life for ourselves in Australia, won’t we, Freddie?’
‘Yes, love, we will. And one day there’ll be enough money for you to come back and visit your family, I promise you.’
She nodded, though she didn’t believe him. People like them didn’t make enough money to travel round the world. People like them struggled to make ends meet. He was always too optimistic about his various schemes. She’d seen it time and time again. But this one was run by the government, so surely you could trust in them not to cheat you.
And not only were she and Freddie going to the ends of the earth, but they were getting themselves into debt to do it, because you had to pay back the price of the far
m equipment and animals. They had precious little saved if things went wrong.
Still, Freddie was young and strong, and she was going to be better in a warm country, she just knew she was. It was a leap into the dark, exciting and terrifying at the same time. But they’d make it work.
AUSTRALIA, 1923
Gil Matthews
4
Life was never the same without Mabel. Gil still missed his wife, even five years after her death. She’d only been twenty-eight at the time, the same age as him. Not a long life, that. So unfair for her to die. If she’d lived in the city, she might still be alive, but they were too far away from help on the farm and she died of a ruptured appendix before they could get her to hospital.
He wasn’t even there to say goodbye to her. He’d been away fighting in Europe, had heard about her death from his brother weeks after she’d died – in a damned letter, two scribbled paragraphs!
The war had ended soon afterwards. If only it’d ended a bit sooner, he’d have been home and maybe he could have done something to help her. He’d learned a lot about first aid in the Army, been on a training course and all. He preferred tending the wounded to killing any day.
They’d told him he was fighting for his country, but he was never quite sure what his country was fighting for. None of it made any sense to him.
He’d turned into a loner since he got demobbed, not wanting any close friends, not going back to the farm, just working here and there, finding ways to fill the time, wondering if it was worth even bothering.
He still had Mabel’s letters, and every now and then he’d feel a desperate need to read them and hear her voice in his head again. Lovely letters they were, written just as she spoke. She’d had a real gift for words and in spite of her anger at him for enlisting, she’d written to him every week while he was overseas, telling him little stories about the farm and the other people in the town.
After he’d read as many of her letters as he could bear, he’d get drunk, not roaring drunk, he didn’t want to be a trouble to anyone or to shame himself publicly. He just drank quietly on his own till he passed out and the pain went away for a while.
