Whisper My Secret

by JB Rowley

  “Let her be, Mum. Nothin’ wrong with going to the pictures.”

  Myrtle had never questioned it when her parents addressed each other as Mum and Dad rather than using each other’s Christian names but whenever she heard Pa Bishop calling his wife Mum it seemed odd. Perhaps it was because Ma Bishop did not address her husband as Dad but usually as John or, on rare occasions when she apparently felt affectionate, love.

  “Nothing wrong? It’s no way for a married woman to behave is it?”

  “You’re making too much of it, Mum.”

  “Hmpf. We shall see about that. I’ll make sure Henry has a talk to that wife of his. I won’t have her giving people cause to gossip about this family.”

  Myrtle heard the rustle of the newspaper again. Pa Bishop had probably feigned discovery of something fascinating to read which would allow him to exit from the conversation. His wife had probably vented all her dissatisfaction by this time, having come up with a plan of action to avenge herself. She would be able to convince her son more readily than her husband that Myrtle was in need of reprimand and would no doubt be smiling inwardly at the thought. Myrtle sighed. With Bertie balanced comfortably on her right hip she hurried past the lounge to her room. It had been such a lovely day. No clouds in the sky and no clouds in her life until she returned to this house. What she had known all along was now crystal clear in her mind. Her mother-in-law was bent on making her life as miserable as possible. She would spend her time paying Myrtle back for the unforgivable sin of trapping her son into marrying beneath himself. And whatever his mother said Henry would swallow as gospel truth; hook, line and sinker. It would not be long before he carried out his mother’s orders.

  Two nights later Myrtle was asleep when Henry returned late from his club with enough Dutch courage to carry out his mother’s mission. Bertie was sleeping peacefully in his cot next to their bed. Henry turned on the lamp and pushed at Myrtle roughly to wake her up. His whisky breath warmed her face as he shouted.

  “Where’d you get the money to go to the pictures?”

  Myrtle rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly. Still foggy from sleep, she didn’t answer immediately. Since hearing her mother-in-law’s conversation she had been tense, waiting for Henry’s attack. Now he had taken her by surprise. He repeated the question.

  “Where’d you get the money? You can’t use Albert’s allowance for yourself, you know.”

  Myrtle was fully awake now.

  “Shh, you’ll wake Bertie up.”

  Belligerence distorted his features.

  “Well?”

  “Mum gave me the money for a Christmas treat.”

  “And you used it to go to the pictures. You’re my wife. You have better things to spend money on than going to the pictures. People will say you’re neglecting the baby if you’re gallivanting around like a schoolgirl.”

  “Mum was looking after Bertie. He usually sleeps in the afternoon anyway.”

  “That’s not the point. You’ll have people talking about us, the way you behave.”

  Bertie began to whimper. Myrtle slipped out of bed brushing Henry aside to reach the cot. But he was determined to drive his point home.

  “Anyway, your mother’s not exactly the perfect babysitter.”

  Myrtle leaned over the cot with her back to him. She felt the tears welling but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her distress. She knew what he was referring to. Her mother would be mortified if she knew others were aware of her drinking habit, but what could she expect in a town the size of Albury. There were no secrets. But Myrtle knew her mother never touched a drop when she was looking after Bertie and as far as she could tell took a drink only once or twice a week now. She was a good woman and a loving grandmother. The drinking was a relatively recent habit, something she had developed to help her cope with grief and pain. Myrtle knew Etti could be trusted implicitly with Bertie. She kept her back turned and said nothing. Henry seemed satisfied; probably convinced his last remark would have hurt her enough to pay her back for her misdemeanour. He returned the room to dusky darkness with a sharp pull of the lamp cord and sealed his command of the situation with a parting order.

  “You just behave yourself in future.”

  She knew that would probably be the end of it. He had carried out his mother’s orders even though he probably didn’t really care enough about what his wife did to be as angry as he pretended to be.

  Sitting by Bertie’s cot, stroking his warm cheek she listened to the sound of Henry undressing and getting into bed. When his snoring signalled he was asleep she returned to bed. Sleep eluded her. Henry’s harsh words had stirred her conscience. Was she neglecting her baby? Was she a bad wife? Was her family not good enough? Was that why things were not working between her and Henry? She lay on her side, focusing on the outline of Bertie’s cot. Suddenly anger and resentment erupted in her. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It had been an innocent afternoon at the pictures with her cousin, something she hadn’t done for almost two years. Bertie was perfectly happy at her mother’s. She repeated it silently to herself. I haven’t done anything wrong. How dare they; Henry and his mother and anybody else for that matter think they could pass judgement on her and condemn her for doing something perfectly innocent? If she had been doing something wrong that would be different. They were virtually treating her like a criminal yet she had done nothing wrong.

  Myrtle rubbed her hand across her stomach area where the new baby lay sleeping within. From now on if I am not doing anything wrong she decided, I will jolly well do what I want. With that defiant resolve she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A year later Myrtle and Henry moved into the flat she and her mother had once shared. Her mother had moved in with a friend. Mrs Mathews was a widow who was lucky enough to have a big house to live in. The house was empty much of the time when Mrs Mathews travelled interstate to visit relatives. Etti told Myrtle it was an ideal arrangement for both ladies.

  “I’ll look after the house while she’s away and when she is there we’ll be company for each other,” she said. “Besides, this flat will be just the thing for you and Henry and the kids. You can’t stay at the Bishop’s with two children. You’ll be at each other’s throats.”

  Myrtle knew Henry and his mother had probably made no protest against the arrangement because the flat, apart from being owned by Ma Bishop, was close to the Bishop house. With the convenience of the interconnecting gate Henry’s mother was able to maintain a strong presence in her son’s life by taking it upon herself to visit whenever it suited her. She arrived unannounced daily, sometimes twice daily. She doted on Bertie who was the image of his father and getting more so each day. He charmed his grandmother into giving in to his every whim in the same way Henry must have done.

  It was almost Christmas and Myrtle and Henry had now been married for more than two years. She marvelled at how her life had changed in such a short time. Albury was changing too. The town was committed to the Australian war effort. A large military camp had been built at Bonegilla and two divisions were already there.

  It was their regular Sunday evening visit to the Bishop family. Myrtle disliked Sunday tea at her in laws but she knew better than to object. Her new baby, beautiful eight-month-old Audrey was sleeping contentedly in the cot Bertie had once slept in. Bertie gurgled happily in his high chair. Pa Bishop sat in his usual place at the head of the table facing his wife at the other end.

  “I saw them with my own eyes!” Agnes Bishop was saying. “Mary Baxter and Jeanette Thomas going into the Regent with two soldiers.”

  Henry sat silently opposite Myrtle. He would no doubt go out as soon as the meal was finished, thought Myrtle, leaving her to take the kids home alone. Ma Bishop glared down the table at her husband as though he was to blame for the disgraceful social behaviour she had unveiled.

  “Nothing wrong with that, Mum,” said Pa Bishop.

  He reached for the salt shaker and sp
rinkled a generous serving of salt over the roast lamb and vegetables on his plate. He did not often contradict his wife, preferring to ‘keep my silence to keep my peace’ and usually did his best to deflect her anger.

  “Nothing wrong! Well you didn’t see what I saw John Bishop. They were unchaperoned for a start! Mary Baxter was practically throwing herself at one of the soldiers. And they were holding hands! In broad daylight!”

  She executed a brutal assault on an unsuspecting roast potato that quickly fell victim to her vigorous slicing. Then she continued.

  “We know what sorts of carryings on have been taking place in the Regent. It might be daylight outside but it’s dark enough in there for them to get away with anything if you ask me. Really!”

  Pa Bishop did not respond. Recognising the time to retreat he busied himself with squashing a soft lump of roast pumpkin up against the piece of lamb on his fork. He raised it to his mouth with obvious anticipation as his wife continued.

  “Our girls are not safe with those soldiers in town. We don’t know anything about them … who their families are. The local boys might not be so bad—a different matter altogether, in fact—but as it is, most of those out at Bonegilla are just ring-ins. I’ll be speaking to Alice Baxter and Vera Thomas. They’ll have something to say when they know what their daughters are up to.”

  She reached for the gravy boat and poured extra gravy over her remaining meat. Myrtle sat quietly opposite Henry.

  “And don’t tell me if Dora Page’s girl hasn’t gone and joined the Victory Vanities, strutting around on stage half dressed in front of all those servicemen.”

  Mary Baxter and Jeanette Thomas were both nice girls Myrtle remembered from school. She couldn’t see anything wrong with singing with the Vanities or going to the pictures and holding hands. It seemed so long ago that they sat in the classroom together. Now they were going to the pictures with handsome soldiers while she… She looked at Henry. He hadn’t changed toward her in the past year. He had seemed very attentive and caring when Audrey was born but that only lasted a short time. Remembering her special bond with her own father Myrtle had hoped their little girl would win her father over and charm him back into the family circle. Her mother used to say the bond between father and daughter was a special one and Audrey was a delightful baby with a sweet disposition. But even she could not melt the heart of Henry Bishop.

  Increasingly exchanges between Myrtle and Henry were heated. He seemed to be always spoiling for a fight and needed only the slightest provocation to begin a quarrel. In the last few months he had started sleeping in the spare room, the back room her mother had used for sewing, complaining that Audrey kept him awake.

  He went out in the evenings more than ever. The children hardly saw him but she made sure Bertie gave him a parting kiss in the mornings whenever she could. The dear little fellow; he had learnt to say Daddy. He ran to the front window when the door closed behind his father, pushing the lace curtain aside to watch his father walk along the front path.

  At the tea table, Henry cleared his throat and hesitated before speaking.

  “Some of those soldiers are not bad blokes, Mum. A lot of them are actually Albury boys you know.”

  His mother pointed her fork at him.

  “That might be so, Henry, but that’s not what I am talking about.”

  Her voice softened slightly as she focused on her son. She lowered her fork.

  “It just stands to reason that with so many soldiers in the town with time on their hands on their leave days and no family in the area, well… They’ll turn the girls’ heads. They’ve got nothing better to do than spend money. They’d have a lot more of that too if so much of it wasn’t washed away at the hotel.”

  “Better be careful what you say about soldiers, Mum. You might see that AIF uniform in this house soon.”

  Myrtle turned her head sharply to look at Henry. He kept his eyes lowered. His father put down his knife and fork and studied his son’s face.

  “What do you mean, Henry?” asked Agnes, turning her gaze on him.

  Henry continued to stare at his food, his knife and fork poised over his half empty plate.

  “I’m going to enlist.”

  Stunned silence followed his words. Agnes stared at him open mouthed.

  “But Henry… They need you at work,” protested his mother. “You can help with the war effort that way.”

  Henry looked slightly uncomfortable. He began to move a piece of lamb around on his plate, swishing it through the gravy.

  “I’ve already handed in my notice, Mum. I’m off to enlist tomorrow afternoon. I have to do my bit you know.”

  Myrtle wondered whether he had handed in his notice willingly. It wouldn’t surprise her if he were enlisting because it was an easy way of getting another job.

  “Good on ya son,” his father said. “That’s the spirit. We’ve all got to do our bit. I might come down and join up with you. I fought in the Great War with the first Australian Imperial Force. I reckon I can do my bit with the second AIF too.”

  Ma Bishop glared at her husband. He carefully kept his eyes averted from hers.

  “You have to pass a medical, Dad.”

  “I’m as strong as an ox. I might not be as young as I used to be but I can make myself useful if there’s a war on.”

  “And what do you think I’m going to do if you get sent to the other side of the world John Bishop. Who’s going to do the pruning and the chores?”

  Myrtle saw the eager look of anticipation fade from his eyes.

  “You’re needed here.”

  The tone of finality in Agnes’ voice made it clear she considered the matter settled. Pa Bishop shrank back in his chair. Myrtle sympathised with his need to get away. He would surely love to take a break from his wife and experience a little adventure but Agnes Bishop was not going to let him get away with that. And what of Henry? Would his mother persuade him not to enlist? Myrtle wasn’t sure how she felt about Henry going away. Since she didn’t really see that much of him it probably wouldn’t make a great deal of difference to her but she didn’t want the children growing up without knowing their father. As though reading Myrtle’s thoughts Agnes turned on her son.

  “And you Henry. You’ve got two young children who need their father.”

  “It won’t be for long, Mum. All we have to do is knock Hitler off and it’ll all be over.”

  “Just the same, son, I don’t want you going off into the army.”

  Henry resumed eating in silence. Myrtle watched him closely. She could see his mind was made up. Agnes Bishop glared at her son but he refused to meet her gaze. Myrtle watched his mother lower her eyes in defeat. Henry would do just as he pleased and his mother would then somehow make it seem as if she was the one who had decided it. This was her preferred strategy on those few occasions when she failed to persuade him to do as she expected. Her protests might continue for a time but in the end Myrtle knew his mother would support him in whatever he decided.

  And so Henry joined the troops at Bonegilla, allowed home on leave days. Bertie loved to see his father in uniform and delighted in wearing his father’s khaki hat. It fell over his eyes but he saluted solemnly and marched with emphatic steps down the hall. Even on those short leave days Henry didn’t seem interested in spending a lot of time at home. When he wasn’t at his mother’s he was usually at his club.

  To Myrtle’s disappointment having their own home hadn’t really changed anything. Her expectations of an improved relationship with her husband had not been realised. Her hopes that, away from his mother’s influence, the man she had first known would return; that gentle, caressing, caring Henry who used to visit her on those illicit evenings when her mother was out, were in vain. Things only seemed to have worsened. Agnes Bishop used the interconnecting gate as though it was a door in her own house, marching down the back path and through the gate, arriving unannounced and striding through the unlocked back door.

  She wished that Lily liv
ed closer. She was the only real friend Myrtle had now. Other friends had drifted away. Henry discouraged her from inviting her friends around. When they moved into the flat she had thought of arranging dinner parties but Henry wasn’t really interested. Myrtle didn’t pursue the matter. In the back of her mind she could hear Henry’s criticism of her cooking and her skills as a hostess. He would compare her to his very efficient mother. But loyal Lily refused to allow their friendship to fade even though she and her family didn’t live close enough for frequent visits. Lily must have observed the tension between her and Henry but she never spoke ill of Henry or criticised her marriage. Myrtle was grateful for her consideration. Her marriage was not perfect and Henry was not the dashing husband or romantic lover she thought he would be, but he was her husband and the father of her children.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  One day Lily asked Myrtle to join her at the Ritz to act as her chaperone.

  “You’re a matron now Myrtle, so you can be my chaperone,” her cousin said with an impish grin.

  “Well, just see you don’t give me any trouble,” Myrtle replied, joining in the mischievous spirit, “or I shall have you locked in your room for a week with bread and water.”

  “Oohaah,” said Lily, her eyes open wide in mock fear.

  “I’m not going to dance, Lily. I’m just going along to keep you company.”

  When the big night arrived Lily’s flushed face and radiant smile betrayed her excitement. It was the first dance she had attended since the AIF troops had taken up camp at the show ground. Myrtle shared her excitement. She had not been for an evening out since before Audrey was born.

  When they arrived the band was playing, the lights sparkled and the Ritz was full of handsome young men in uniform. Myrtle and Lily stood hesitantly just inside the door. Two soldiers approached them and Lily was soon whisked away onto the dance floor. Myrtle smiled at the second soldier who beckoned her to dance with him.