by JB Rowley
Myrtle knew it was useless to try to explain. Besides she hardly had the energy to listen let alone respond. Henry was sticking to his story and his mother would believe every word he said.
“You’ll be hearing more about this matter. Henry has sent me a sworn affidavit for the court and we have witnesses to testify to your behaviour. You are not a fit mother for those children.”
Myrtle knew Agnes Bishop meant what she said but she found it difficult to believe it was really happening. Sleepless nights left her without the energy to consider the possible consequences. What little energy she did have she used to take care of the children as best as she could. Sometimes Lily came to help at the weekends. Her mother called in to help from time to time. She put on a brave face when they were around. She did not want anyone to think she was a bad mother. But she was afraid of her feelings. Why didn’t she feel the same way about Noel as she felt about Bertie and Audrey? They were all her babies.
One evening as she brushed her hair she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her hand held the brush limply as she went through the motions of her lifelong habit of one hundred strokes. The face staring back at her seemed to be a stranger’s face. Blank eyes. Dull complexion. Haggard. She looked haggard. What is happening to me? She dropped the brush and gripped both sides of her skull tightly with her hands, as if to stop it splitting open. There’s something wrong with me, she thought.
The next day she made an appointment to see the doctor. He could find nothing wrong but she was sure she was sick.
“You’re getting very thin, Myrtle love,” said her mother when she saw her a few days later. “Are you eating properly?”
“Yes, Mum.”
But she didn’t have an appetite. She found it difficult to eat or sleep. I’ve never felt like this before, she thought. She became anxious lest anyone else notice her behaviour. If I am mad they’ll take my children away, she worried. When she got over this madness she knew she would love little Noel just like her other two kids but if people found out she would lose him.
Her home became her refuge from the outside world. On her good days she went out to the shops, putting on a happy face, laughing and joking when she met people she knew in the street. No one would be able to tell how she was feeling inside. On her bad days she stayed at home. It was an effort to do her chores, to take care of the children, to do the housework. Most days she left the housework undone. A little bit of dust won’t hurt anyone, she thought. She didn’t always get the washing done on Mondays. Then she would leave it all until the following Monday or wash out important things and dry them inside. If her mother-in-law saw the clothes on the line during the week she would know Myrtle wasn’t being a good mother, not doing the chores she should be doing. At least she could be grateful her mother-in-law’s visits through the back door had stopped since their last encounter. Her house would not pass Agnes Bishop’s inspection. Her sharp eyes would scrutinise the floor to see when it was last polished, she would sniff the air to see how fresh it smelled and run her finger along the furniture to check for dust. Goodness knows what names she would call Myrtle then.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It was one of Myrtle’s good days. When she felt like this she could not imagine ever feeling down. Gentle spring sunshine beckoned. She decided to take the children to the park. She wanted to enjoy this day to the fullest.
She dressed Audrey in a blue dress. At two years old she was at the stage where her mother could dress her up in pretty clothes. She looked like a little doll with dark hair and eyes contrasting against her white skin. Bertie, though only a year older than his sister already considered himself too grown up for Audrey’s baby ways. Myrtle dressed him in his best overalls. She knew they would be dirtied and crumpled by the time they left the park but she didn’t mind. He was a real boy as her mother often said. He loved climbing trees and running and rolling in the grass.
He tried to pull away as she brushed his hair but she held him firmly. Cupping his chin in her left hand she held his head still and parted his hair down the middle, firmly exposing a straight line of pink skin. Even the cheeky freckles that dotted his nose did not reduce the seriousness of his expression while he tolerated her efforts to make him presentable.
Myrtle lifted the sleeping baby from his cot and wrapped him in a light shawl. You’ll soon be running around with your brother, she thought. He was already taking tentative steps. He sometimes bravely stepped out while Myrtle held him steady. He would clasp her hand tightly, lift his right leg off the ground and push it tentatively forward before dropping it heavily to the ground. Then he would turn to look up at her and laugh with delighted accomplishment. Are you proud of me, Mummy? his shining eyes seemed to say. She would open her eyes wide with proud astonishment and praise him effusively. He would take several more steps before falling back heavily on his bottom with a satisfied grunt.
Audrey and Bertie interrupted her thoughts, jumping up and down excitedly and chanting in unison.
“We’re going to the park. We’re going to the park.”
They had not been out of the house for several days.
“Come on you two,” said Myrtle.
She tucked Noel into the pram. Near his feet she stored a picnic rug, a white cardigan for Audrey and Bertie’s favourite red jumper that Grandma Et had knitted for him and a thermos of water.
Myrtle glanced at the mail on the hallstand. She hadn’t opened it for days. Nothing important there—although there was an official looking envelope. She vaguely remembered receiving that at the door. Sleep beckoned again but she fought against it this time, wanting to enjoy their day in the park. She had wanted Audrey to ride in the pram with Noel.
“Hop into the pram, Audrey love. You can have a ride with Noel.”
Audrey shook her head.
“Audrey walk, Mummy.”
Myrtle smiled indulgently but Bertie complained.
“Aw, you’re too slow. You’re just a baby.”
Audrey had already learned to stand up to her big brother. She retorted defiantly.
“Audrey big girl.”
She looked quickly up at her mother for confirmation.
“Yes, you are a big girl,” said Myrtle.
“Aw, Mum. She’s too slow.”
“It’s not far to the park, Bertie. Now, take your sister’s hand.”
Bertie pretended not to hear. He walked ahead of his sister. A slight breeze fluttered Myrtle’s skirt. She smelt its cool freshness. How good it was to feel normal. Her sense of exhilaration gave her hope. Perhaps it was all over; her silly moods, the tiredness and tears.
In the park Myrtle spread the picnic rug out under a tree. Bertie ran across the park. Myrtle called after him.
“Don’t go too far, Bertie.”
Lifting Noel from the pram she laid him down on the blanket on his back. He kicked his chubby legs and raised his hands toward her face. She smiled at him and handed him his rattle. He was soon dribbling all over it.
Audrey sat on the rug, facing Myrtle, pulling at the skirt of her mother’s dress. Myrtle suddenly remembered a game her mother had played with her when she was a little girl. She took her daughter’s right hand in hers, palm up. With excited anticipation Audrey looked up eagerly into her mother’s face. Myrtle put her fingers to her lips and whispered, “This is a special game. Just for you and me. Don’t tell Bertie.”
Myrtle treasured memories of the sweet ecstasy she had felt as a child when her father would show her a magic trick. He would wink and put his forefinger to his lips to indicate it was their secret. Don’t tell your mother he would say with a broad grin. She was determined that her children would each have their own secret with Mummy. Bertie’s was the face game. She would lightly touch his eyes and say, ‘What big eyes you have, Bertie. All the better to see me with.’ He would open his eyes as wide as he could. Then she would touch his nose and say, ‘What a strong nose you have, Bertie. All the better to sniff me with.’ Bertie would sniff as loudly as he could
. Finally she would touch his mouth and say, ‘What red lips you have Bertie. All the better to kiss me with.’ She would pretend to lean forward for a kiss then quickly change direction and bend to his round tummy, pull up his shirt and place a slobbering kiss on his bare skin. Bertie squealed and yelled with delight. Today she would show Audrey her Mummy game.
Myrtle took Audrey’s hand and traced her forefinger lightly in a circle on her daughter’s palm. Her touch was ever so light so that it sent tingles through the child’s body. Then she chanted, “Can you keep a secret... Can you keep a secret...? I don’t suppose you can. You mustn’t laugh; you mustn’t smile, but... do the best you can.”
Three strangers walked across the park.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Myrtle lay in the crisp white sheets of Mrs Mathews’ spare bed fading in and out of sleep. She wanted to wake up but somehow couldn’t. Something had happened but she could not recall what it was. Every time she tried to remember she seemed to fall back into sleep. She struggled with a wisp of a memory, trying to anchor it. Playing a game. What was it? Audrey! Myrtle smiled. Yes she was playing a game with Audrey. She remembered now. Where were they? Trees. Grass. Oh, yes, the park. Now she remembered. She had taken the kids to the park. It was one of her good days and she wanted to enjoy it to the fullest.
In Mrs Mathews’ spare room Myrtle tossed from one side of the narrow bed to the other. She remembered something about a secret. The memory seemed tantalising close, yet elusive. The effort of trying to focus on it wearied her. Sleep. Memories merged into dreams. Audrey. Bertie. Baby Noel.
Images of the children still crowded Myrtle’s mind when she heard her mother’s voice calling her again. She opened her eyes to see Etti’s concerned face. For a moment Myrtle didn’t know where she was. Her eyes scanned the room.
“It’s Mrs Mathews’ place,” said her mother. “I brought you here so I could look after you.”
Suddenly the memory of what happened in the park came flooding back to Myrtle.
“Bertie… The children.”
She tried to sit up. Her mother’s gentle hands pushed her back down on the bed.
“The children are being looked after. They are all right.”
Myrtle yielded to her heavy eyelids and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she saw an image of her mother-in-law’s face, her eyes gleaming with triumph, then she fell into a deep sleep. In the days that followed Etti Webb stayed by her daughter’s side. She encouraged Myrtle to eat, occasionally succeeding in forcing her to drink hot broth. Myrtle was consumed with one thought.
“I want my kids.”
Sometimes sleep was an escape; but often images of the children, alone and crying for their mother interrupted her dreams. Her waking hours were filled with tears. She grew thin and pale. Her mother worried.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together Myrtle. You can visit the children. You want them to see you at your best don’t you?”
“Visit?” said Myrtle. She burst into tears. “They’re my children. They should be at home with me.”
“We can talk about getting them back later,” said Etti Webb. “Right now we have to get you well enough to get out of bed so you can see them. They’re missing you, love.”
At the thought of seeing her children Myrtle began to eat a little. With agonising slowness the sleepless nights crawled by. She sobbed herself to sleep only to wake up again a short time later. In the dark she called the children. She cried out to her father as if willing him to return from the dead. If only he were still alive. He would have protected her and her kids. This horrible nightmare would not be happening.
Lily came to visit her.
“They took my babies, Lily. They said I wasn’t a fit mother.”
“I know,” said Lily, tears in her eyes.
She reached across the table and took her cousin’s hand in hers. Myrtle stared at the laminated tabletop.
“I miss my kids.”
Lily didn’t know what to say. She wanted so much to ease her cousin’s pain.
“All I ever wanted was to be a mother,” sobbed Myrtle. “I’m sorry Lily. This is not fair to you. It’s not your problem.”
“You can cry as much as you like with me, Turtle,” said Lily gently. “I wish I could do something.”
Lily sighed heavily. Myrtle’s shoulders drooped.
“Nobody can do anything. Nobody can get my babies back for me.”
“Can’t Auntie Et do something?”
Myrtle shook her head.
“They’ll think I don’t love them, Lily. They’ll grow up thinking I’m a bad mother.”
“No, Myrtle. You’ve always been a good mother to them.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Slowly Myrtle regained her strength. The day came for her to visit the children at the Children’s Home. They would have to stay there, her mother said, until the question of custody was settled.
When she saw them she felt as though she had stepped into a dream. Her beautiful babies. At last. She wanted to cry and then she wanted to laugh. To laugh and laugh. But she knew she had to control herself. She held out her arms and gathered Audrey and Bertie to her.
“Mummy! Mummy!” cried Audrey.
Bertie snuggled into her. Their familiar aroma filled her senses. She buried her head with theirs.
“Where’s your little brother?” she asked.
She looked up. Matron was standing nearby with Noel in her arms swaddled in soft blankets. Myrtle held out her arms for him. She cradled him gently while they all sat together on the couch. Bertie was quiet. Audrey chatted excitedly about new games she had learned to play. Noel slept peacefully.
The time to leave came all too soon. Myrtle looked pleadingly at the nurse when she bent down to take Noel from her arms.
“Putting it off won’t make it any easier, Mrs Bishop,” the nurse said as she gently took the baby from her.
Despite her heartbreak Myrtle kept a smile on her face while she was with the children.
“Mummy will come again soon,” she promised.
Gently Myrtle opened the tight little fingers that gripped her hand. Matron took Audrey from her. Noel was sleeping. Myrtle took one last look at his peaceful little face before the nurse took him away. Matron signalled her to leave without a fuss but Bertie clung to her, his arms clasping her neck desperately. Matron’s assistant, a tall thin woman in a starched white uniform called him firmly.
“Albert, come here.”
Bertie clung more tightly to his mother’s neck. The tall woman called him again and gently loosened his grip. Myrtle stood up. Bertie clutched her skirt, a determined look on his face. Pulling her skirt free she kissed him and promised to visit him again soon.
“Mummy,” he cried. “Mummy.”
“You’d better leave, Mrs Bishop,” said Matron firmly.
Myrtle turned and walked away. It took all her willpower not to look back. Seeing his tear-stained face would have been too much to bear. His screams followed her as she walked along the corridor, down the wide stone steps, along the gravelled path and into the street.
At home her mother tried to reassure her that she would get the children back, but Myrtle knew she was up against formidable odds; her mother-in-law with her money and influence. Myrtle went to her room and closed the door. More than ever she longed for her father. Thoughts of him stirred memories. She remembered how he had often encouraged her to write things down. Spending so many hours on her own at the farm she often took the thick writing pad he had bought for her and buried herself among the bales of hay. Time passed quickly when she wrote. At school teachers often praised her for her writing. She reached for the writing pad and pen on the bedside table. She began to write:
Dear…
Who would she address it to? Perhaps she should leave it blank? No, she needed to make it feel like a real letter. She continued:
Dear Father,
Yes, that felt comfortable. She would tell her father.
I ha
ve to tell somebody.
She stopped, her eyes blurred by tears. The pen fell from her hand. With an effort she picked it up again and resumed writing. Then the words began to flow as if it were they that controlled the pen. Her hand moved quickly and she wrote fluently.
I feel such an empty space inside… in my body… in my heart. I feel it in my soul. I cannot bear it, this mother’s pain.
We were in the park. They went to the house. Someone told them where we were. They took my children away.
Bertie was such a grown up little boy, just three years old. Audrey, my pretty little girl with all that black hair looked like a beautiful doll in her blue dress. I was so proud of her. And Noel, tiny Noel; all wrapped up in the shawl. Just his rosy cheeks peeping through and his big brown eyes looking up at me.
They said I wasn’t a fit mother.
I cannot think of that day in the park. To live it again would be too much. I can’t tell you about that but I can tell you what happened to the little bits of me after they took my babies away.
My body? I became very thin. My bones stuck out. My eyes had dark patches under them. My hair all turned completely grey and you know I am only 22.
Time was different for me. I didn’t know if I was in today, still in yesterday or in tomorrow already. And it didn’t matter. In one week I lived a lifetime—all the stages of the children’s growing up. I saw them change from little ones to the first day at school to high school, to their first love and marriage and their own children. I saw it all flash before me. In my mind I lived through what had been stolen from me. I lived through it all in one week.
I felt nothing. The burning sun and the falling rain felt the same. I saw nothing. If there were flowers in the paddock or a dead sheep I saw the same. I heard nothing. Birds chattering and bulls roaring were the same. I smelt nothing. The scent of jasmine and the moist smell of green cow dung was the same to me.
