Whisper My Secret

by JB Rowley

  “Jolly well serves you right,” she yelled at his back.

  The crowd stood in stunned silence. No one knew what to say. The ladies present were not amused. According to those who were there at the time, who still retell the story as a significant highlight in the folklore of Albury, the ladies were not at all sympathetic to Minnie. Any sympathy they might have had for her apparently dissipated after her public scolding of Charlie. They expressed their indignation with comments like, “Well! Really!” and “Shameful! Shameful!”

  Since then the word shameful has often been used to pass judgement on more than one of Minnie’s eccentric acts, which increased as she grew older. Myrtle heard her mother make a similar remark one day when she saw Minnie Ha Ha passing their flat. It was just after they moved off the farm. Minnie was riding her bike into town on her regular jaunt to look for empty soft drink bottles. She would collect as many as she could and take them to the factory to claim the refund on them. Her route took her right past their flat. Myrtle and her mother were just turning in at the gate when Minnie came hurtling down the hill on her bicycle. Her hands were free of the handlebars and her feet were high above the pedals. Her legs were spread apart in a grand expression of freedom, her ankle length dress riding up toward her knees. She wore a triumphantly gleeful smile. Her dark hair trailed behind her in the wind like the long mane of a wild brumby.

  “Most unladylike,” Myrtle’s mother muttered, shaking her head. “Shameful! And that hair. She ought to keep it tied.”

  Etti hurried up the path to the front door ushering Myrtle in front of her. Myrtle shared her mother’s shock that day but she grew accustomed to Minnie and sometimes envied her her freedom and boldness.

  Minnie Ha Ha didn’t seem to notice the attention she attracted. She lived in a shed on the edge of the town. The yard was piled up with all sorts of junk she had collected; old prams, bits of bicycles, pieces of old furniture, wheels from old drays. It was almost impossible to find the path to the front door. Myrtle and Lily followed Minnie home one day and hid a short distance from her home to watch her go in. They wanted to see where the path was. Minnie opened the gate, wheeled her bike through, lifted it up over her head, stepped over an old wooden wheel and took a long zigzagging course through the piles of junk with the bicycle held high. On reaching the side gate she lowered the bike to the ground and wheeled it along the side path. Myrtle decided Minnie was smart, putting all the junk in the front yard to make it difficult for people to get to the front door. That way she didn’t have to worry about people bothering her.

  “Maybe her back yard is as neat as a pin,” she said to Lily.

  They were crouched close together behind a large tree trunk, their skirts tucked tightly around their legs in an attempt to remain hidden from view. Lily looked incredulous.

  “Oh Myrtle. Do you really think so?”

  She leaned tentatively around the tree trunk to take another look at Minnie’s home, ducking her head back quickly, fearful that Minnie might be looking through one of the front windows.

  “Well, I think she just puts all that junk there so she can be alone,” explained Myrtle.

  “Alone? Ooh, you mean she really wants to be alone?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought, maybe she does, that’s all.”

  Myrtle smiled at her cousin. She didn’t think Lily would really understand about being alone. Her house was always filled with people. She had probably never been alone. But that was the charm of Lily. She innocently assumed the whole world was the same as her gentle world.

  Minnie Ha Ha hadn’t always lived on the edge of town. When Charlie Young and his high and mighty miss from Melbourne married and moved into David Street Minnie moved from Ettamogah to Albury soon after. She took a room at Annie Riddell’s place right next door to Charlie and his new bride! Generous folk suggested it could have been a coincidence but most people suspected Minnie of plotting to upset the newlyweds. However, Minnie did not pester the couple or do anything wrong. Quite the opposite. She was charmingly polite at every opportunity. She made sure there were many opportunities, greeting Charlie when he went off to work and again when he came home. When Miss (now Mrs) High and Mighty left the house to go shopping Minnie would be at the gate of Annie Riddell’s with a smile and a cheery greeting.

  “Good morning. Lovely day?”

  The couple did not know how to respond to Minnie. Charlie pretended he didn’t hear. His wife looked uncomfortable. She usually mumbled a muffled polite response, clearly torn between a need to be polite as was fitting for her image of a well brought up young lady from a good family, and a more instinctive desire to jeer and taunt Minnie. Minnie’s vigil of artificial courtesy continued for a couple of years. When the couple failed to conceive Minnie was gleeful. She told anyone who would listen that ‘they got their comeuppence. What goes around comes around. That’s what I always say’.

  Eventually Archie Young and his wife moved out of David Street, moved out of Albury. They kept their new address a closely guarded secret and eventually people in Albury forgot about them. Minnie’s comment at the time was simply, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish’. Minnie had many sayings that she was happy to pass on to anyone that would listen. An unsuspecting passer by might be greeted with, ‘Call a spade a spade, that’s what I say’ or ‘Money doesn’t change the way you are on the inside’.

  Myrtle carried a secret memory of one of Minnie’s sayings. She dared not repeat it to anyone but she smiled whenever she remembered it. One day she met Minnie walking along the road, wheeling her bike with its little cart rattling behind. A brand new Ford motor car pulled up on the other side of the street. A man dressed in a dark suit stepped out and hurried to open the passenger side door. Out stepped a smartly dressed woman wearing the latest modern suit in fuchsia pink with a glamorous fur stole draped casually around her shoulders. A pearl necklace with matching earrings adorned her slim neck and she was wearing a hat that Lily would have described as simply elegant. Minnie glanced at her and then looked right at Myrtle as they passed each other and said, “Her shit smells the same as mine.” Myrtle blushed. That was the sort of language she should not listen to and certainly could never repeat. Just the same she couldn’t get the words out of her mind. The more she thought about them the more she smiled. There were occasions recently when she stared at Ma Bishop’s back and took comfort from those words. In gratitude to Minnie Ha Ha for giving her that comfort she reserved a small place of affection in her heart for the crazy old woman.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As she looked at her sleeping baby and heard Minnie’s bicycle cart rattle along the road she wished Minnie’s life had been happier. The gossips said that Minnie had an illegitimate child locked up in an insane asylum. Poor Minnie. Myrtle couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel to be separated from your own child. She looked down at her baby sleeping peacefully and felt a sudden rush of gratitude. Things might not be perfect in her marriage but at least she had Bertie. She wished Minnie Ha Ha could feel the joy she was feeling now.

  Her mother returned carrying a tray laden with tea things and a plate of buttered scones.

  “Was that Minnie Boucher I heard going by on her bicycle?”

  Myrtle nodded. It was the first time she had heard Minnie’s surname. Her mother shook her head as she placed the tray on a low table. “What’s she doing out at this time of night? Some crazy man will get her is she’s not careful.”

  The threat of a crazy man was a reference to the recent discovery of clothing, believed to be that of the Pyjama Girl, in a lagoon down Howlong Road.

  “That poor girl,” her mother said when she had read out the article in the paper to Myrtle earlier that evening.

  The Border Morning Mail had published a photo of what the police thought the dead girl looked like, hoping someone would recognise her and come forward to identify the body.

  “They still don’t know who she is. It’s been more than four years! She certainly doesn’t look like an
yone from around here. Probably from Sydney. Or Melbourne. More likely some foreigner though I think. Still an’ all her mother must be worried. To have your daughter disappear and not know what happened to her. That poor mother must be going out of her mind with worry.”

  Her mother’s voice brought Myrtle back to the present.

  “The scones are nicer hot, but they’ll do for us as they are, won’t they love?”

  Myrtle nodded. She was pleased that her mother was baking again. She had almost stopped baking in the last few years, taking little interest in a task she previously took great pride in. To whip up a batch of scones or a sponge cake was something she used to do frequently when they were on the farm.

  “You’re a fair hand with the scones yourself, love,” her mother said arranging the cups in their saucers.

  She sat down in the armchair opposite Myrtle balancing herself on the edge on the seat in order to reach the tea things. She held the ceramic teapot high above each cup as she poured the tea, her left hand steadying the lid. A good cup of tea needed a long pour she often told Myrtle.

  “You’ll be able to make a batch for me when you have a place of your own.”

  She passed a cup of steaming tea across to her daughter. Myrtle smiled, settling Albert down on the couch beside her, freeing her hands to receive the cup and saucer. A place of her own. Those were magic words. She longed to move out of the Bishop house. She was sure Henry could afford it but the one and only time she had raised the subject he had accused her of being ungrateful.

  “You don’t appreciate all Mother has done for us. We save a decent amount of money being able to live here. Do you realise how much we’d have to pay in rent for a place of our own? Thirty shillings at least. Probably more! I’m not a millionaire you know.”

  “But, I only meant we have our own family now, that’s all.”

  He glared at her and didn’t speak to her for several days after that. She had hoped they would move into their own place when the baby arrived. It seemed like the right time to do it. She felt sure Henry would be more like the Henry she used to know if she could get him away from his mother. She sighed as she reached across and took the cup of steaming tea from her mother.

  “I don’t know when that will be.”

  Her mother offered her the plate of scones. Myrtle took one and placed it on a napkin on her lap.

  “Well, you’re a family now, love. You should have your own home. I can help. I can make curtains for you and cushions and tablecloths.”

  “Thank you, Mum.”

  “You’ll have to speak to that husband of yours, pet.”

  “He doesn’t listen to me.”

  “Well, you’ll have to make him listen to you. You’re his wife after all. It’s time he cut the apron strings.”

  She knew her mother was right but what could she do?

  “Let’s have a game of cards, Mum. Just like we used to with…” She was going to say, “with Father”, but changed it to, “when we were on the farm.”

  Her mother lowered her eyes momentarily. Myrtle knew she was remembering happier times now gone forever. Then she raised herself from the armchair and went across to the dresser opening the top drawer and taking out a pack of playing cards.

  “Well you can change the subject my girl but I’m telling you. Henry pays too much mind to his mother. You’re his wife and the mother of his child. It’s time he faced up to his responsibilities.”

  Myrtle reached out to stroke her baby, feeling somehow comforted by the warmth of his body through the rugs.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  My mother was very good at having babies. I remember the birth of a new child being a cause of a great deal of happiness, especially in my father. He brimmed over with pride for days afterward unable to stop whistling and singing. When the birth of my twin brothers increased his offspring from three to five he was ecstatic. He came home from visiting my mother in the hospital in an especially exuberant mood.

  “It’s a double-yolker!” he yelled.

  He picked me up and held me high above his head.

  “How about that, Brigid? A double-yolker, eh?”

  My mother’s mood after each new arrival was more subdued than my father’s. In hindsight I can understand why. For one thing she had probably laboured hard to produce the child and now I realise that each birth undoubtedly aroused in her painful memories. The responsibility of the children was also very much on her shoulders as my father was away for long hours and indeed sometimes had to sleep out in the bush because his work took him a long distance from home. My mother would be left on her own with us kids, a couple of miles out of town without transport. She had no choice but to deal with any crises as best she could and a crisis occurred not long after the twins arrived.

  We were swimming in the dam, my two older brothers and me. My mother had been watching us from a distance, sitting in the shade of a gum tree with the babies tucked up in the big pram together. When she called us to go back to the house we laughed, pretending not to hear her, and continued playing, making as much noise as we could. Finally she stood up and approached the river. We three dived deep below the surface. Arriving at the riverbank she called again. The surface of the water was still. Picking up a stick she beat on the water with it and called out. Finally our heads one by one popped out of the water, far over near the opposite bank. At first she did not see us, still beating the water with the stick and calling. Then she heard us. We could not suppress our triumph at having tricked her. We laughed and laughed and splashed the water with our hands in delight. She looked across at us and waved a warning finger, then she too laughed. We swam to her and climbed out of the water, rolling on the grassy bank before putting our clothes on. We walked with her, back toward the pram under the gum tree, laughing and teasing each other as we went. Billy somersaulted sideways with ease through the grass. Then one after the other we spread our hands, flattened our palms toward the ground and somersaulted through the grass, turning over and over again like human wheels. Then Tommy, with palms toward the ground ready to start another cartwheel through the grass stopped suddenly, staring at the ground. A tiger snake curled itself around his leg and sank its venomous fangs into his flesh.

  My mother acted swiftly. She picked up a large stick and struck the snake across the back. The stick broke. The snake released itself from Billy’s leg and made a strike at my mother. She pushed Billy out of harm’s way, leapt away from the snake and picked up another stick. She raised it high in the air and brought it down fiercely on the snake’s head. The mangled snake was still. Tommy lay on the ground holding his leg and crying.

  My mother ran to him and held him close calling instructions to Billy in an urgent tone.

  “Get up to the highway, Billy. Quick. Stop the first car you see.”

  Billy ran across the paddocks, jumping over fences like a pure-bred racehorse. Tommy was crying. I decided to cry too though I was not sure why.

  My mother tried to suck the snake venom out of Tommy’s leg, spitting it out, and sucking again.

  She took off one of his boots and quickly pulled out the laces. She tied a lace tight around Tommy’s leg just below the bite and another one just above it then lifted Tommy up in her arms and ran. I started to follow but she called to me.

  “Stay with the babies. Look after the babies.”

  So I stayed with the babies and watched as she ran through the long grass. Before she reached the fence I saw Billy running toward her, followed by a man. He must have stopped a car. From a distance I watched. At the fence my mother handed Tommy to the man. He carried my brother in his arms and hurried back to the highway, Billy close on his heels.

  I watched my mother walk back toward me, with backward glances over her shoulder. I heard a car start and speed along the road toward the town.

  “Where are they going?” I asked.

  “It’s all right. It’s Mr Andrews. He’s taking Tommy to the doctor. He’ll come back for us later.”

 
Back at the house my mother washed her mouth out with antiseptic. She settled the babies down for their nap and spent the next two hours listening for the sound of a car on the highway. One car passed but it was not the one she was waiting for. Finally Mr Andrews came back. Billy and Tommy were with him. Tommy’s leg had a clean white bandage on it. Mr Andrews carried him into the house.

  “Doctor says he’ll be up and about in no time,” said Mr Andrews. “Thanks to your quick thinking Myrtle.”

  Tommy was up and about the next day, fearlessly racing around the yard and climbing the trees while my mother watched with an anxious look on her face.

  She must have been anxious too, as a first time mother all those years ago in Albury.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “You should have him weaned before he’s a year old,” Agnes Bishop had said, in the tone of one who knows. “It’s not good for the child to be on the breast too long.”

  Whenever she was breastfeeding Myrtle was conscious of her disapproving glance, the tightening of the lips and the shaking of the head. Finally giving in to her mother-in-law when Bertie was seven months old she introduced him to the bottle. She regretted her decision almost immediately, missing the quiet moments with Bertie while he sucked contentedly on her breast. Besides, getting bottles and formula ready was more difficult and time consuming than breast-feeding. However, she was anxious to prove herself a good parent and her own mother seemed to agree with Ma Bishop.

  “Some babies are off the breast by six months,” was all she said when Myrtle asked her advice on breast-feeding.

  The close proximity of her mother’s flat offered Myrtle a refuge from the Christian conservatism and matriarchal domination of the Bishop household. At her mother’s she could relax and enjoy precious time with little Bertie; his happy squeals and inquisitive brown eyes, bringing her treasured moments of joy.