by JB Rowley
“It’s time you faced up to facts, love,” she said.
She dropped some peas into an enamel dish on the table and flung the empty pod on to a sheet of newspaper spread out next to the dish.
“You don’t have much chance of getting them back.”
Myrtle winced. There was a brutal finality in her mother’s words.
“How can you prove you will be able to provide a better home than Henry?”
Myrtle hadn’t really thought about that. In her mind she knew only that they were her kids and belonged with their mother. It was as simple as that.
“How would you look after them if you did get them? Do you want to be like poor Ethel Parsons? Look what happened to her.”
Ethel Parsons was fifteen when she had a child out of wedlock. She refused to give the baby up for adoption. When her family kicked her out she left Albury and went to Sydney but she couldn’t get a job with a child in tow. Years later someone from Albury met up with her again. Ethel had lived on the streets, they said, sleeping under the bridge with her little daughter alongside homeless old drunks. At night she hardly dared to close her eyes for fear of what might happen. Even if she had felt safe enough to sleep she was kept awake by city sounds and the bodily noises of those around her. By day she roamed the streets, sat in public gardens and scrounged for food. She couldn’t feed the baby properly. The little girl was sickly and near to death when poor Ethel Parsons left her at an orphanage and walked away. She had finally faced up to the fact that she couldn’t provide for her daughter. Ethel had aged beyond her years and looked a wreck.
“Poor Ethel Parsons struggled with one child to provide for. How do you think you’ll fare with three little ones?”
Myrtle shuddered. She felt the warmth of tears under her eyelids. Her mother continued.
“And where will you get the money to fight Henry in the first place? I’d give you every penny if I had any but I don’t.”
“I can work. I’ll do anything.”
Etti sighed deeply.
“You’d be back to where you started, love. Even if I looked after the kids they’d still accuse you of neglecting them and being an unfit mother all over again.”
Myrtle hadn’t stopped to think about the practical issues of having her kids back with her. Her mother brought her down to earth with a thud. She was unable to recreate the fantasy world in her head where everything magically resolved the way she wanted it to. In that fantasy world she had seen herself and her children together, picnicking in the garden and laughing and playing as they always did. The issue of money hadn’t entered her head. She knew her mother was right but a desperate hope still lingered. Surely if she won custody Henry would be ordered to make regular payments? Her mother must have read her mind.
“How do you think you’re going to win custody with Agnes and Henry and Shirley and goodness knows who else as witnesses against you? And do you want all those lies going on the court record? Do you want the whole town repeating what they say about you? What sort of life would your children have then, growing up with people calling their mother a trollop?”
“And now that you’ve taken up with George, well they’re bound to make a case against you. Don’t get me wrong, mind, I think he’s good for you. It’s a chance for you to start again but you know what they’ll say.”
“George and I can have the kids with us,” murmured Myrtle.
“Oh Myrtle,” said her mother sadly. “Have you asked him if he will take responsibility for another man’s children, three of them? And even if he agreed do you really think Henry would let you get away with that? As soon as he found out they’d be down on you like a ton of bricks.”
Etti Webb flung the last of the empty pea pods onto the green pile on the newspaper, softening her voice as she continued.
“Not all children grow up under their own mother’s care you know, Myrtle. Lots of children are adopted out. Their new parents love them just as much as their natural parents.”
Myrtle dragged the knife through the hard white flesh of the potato to separate it from its skin. Her mind seemed almost ready to consider the painful truth but she stubbornly pushed it away. They were her kids. They should be with her. The half peeled potato slipped from her hand. She dropped the knife and ran from the house. Fighting back the tears she kept going until she reached the river. She sat by the water’s edge feeling the warmth of the sun on her body. As she sat there the flow of the water mesmerised her. It was some time before she became conscious of the thoughts in her head. Were her children really better off without her? Their own mother. Was she being selfish by trying to cling to them? She remembered Bertie’s tantrums when she had to leave him on visiting days. Perhaps it would be best if he was given the chance to forget her. They are all young enough to forget, she thought, and besides they would still have their father. Henry and his mother would give them everything they needed. The tears ran. The sun had long gone down when she walked away from the river. Her mother was waiting for her at the door.
“I’m sorry, love. I should have known better.”
“It’s all right, Mum.”
Who else would tell her the truth if her mother didn’t?
Her mother was not in the habit of hugging her daughter but now she put her arms around Myrtle and squeezed her tightly. She released her quickly and patted her hand, the way she used to do when Myrtle woke from a nightmare as a little girl.
“Come to church with me on Sunday, love.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Myrtle could not understand why her mother, who seemed to have lost faith in God since the death of Tom Webb, still attended church regularly. Myrtle was not interested in going to church or seeking comfort in God. It was ridiculous to think there was a bearded old man sitting up in the sky passing judgement on every little thing happening down below. And as for the idea of Him helping her… well, He wouldn’t have let the children be taken from their mother in the first place if He was any sort of god at all. Myrtle hesitated.
“You deserve to hold your head up high and let the whole town see you,” Etti said.
Myrtle didn’t care any more what the town thought of her.
“You want your kids to be proud of you, don’t you? Let everyone see that you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
In the end she agreed to go with her mother that Sunday morning. She held her head high, but she averted her eyes so that she did not have to look at the back of Agnes Bishop in a pew near the front, or the haughty head of Shirley Townsend sitting with her family in the next pew. Throughout the sermon Myrtle was absorbed in thoughts of Bertie, Audrey and Noel. She wished the service were over, wanting the clock to quickly turn to the time when she would visit them later that morning. As the congregation thronged out after the service her mother-in-law’s voice behind her flew ahead to reach the ears of those already descending the steps.
“I don’t care what anyone says, a woman should not wear trousers,” said Agnes Bishop.
“She doesn’t have to speak so loudly,” muttered Etti. Who Agnes was referring to they did not know. None of the women at the church were wearing trousers. But women had taken to wearing trousers since the war began and it was probably Agnes Bishop’s latest bone of contention.
Outside the church her mother stopped at the bottom step to speak to a friend. Myrtle stood to one side. Not wanting to cast her eyes on Agnes Bishop when she came out of the church she positioned herself so that her mother and her friend would block her view. She stiffened when Agnes Bishop’s voice descended the steps.
“Women have forgotten how to behave like ladies. Wearing trousers. Losing their heads to men they hardly know. Swooning over a man just because he wears a uniform. Really! They deserve all they get as far as I am concerned. Men won’t show respect to women who behave like that. Things were different in my day.”
Myrtle saw a look cross her mother’s face. She had seen that look once before, when they went to Agnes’ house to tell her about Myrtle’s preg
nancy. That day she thought her mother was going to hit Agnes. What happened next took Myrtle completely by surprise. Her mother suddenly turned and with one swift motion she stood in Agnes Bishop’s path.
“Things were different in your day were they Agnes? And who do you think you are? The Virgin Mary?”
Etti’s soft voice held a challenging tone.
Myrtle gasped. Agnes Bishop stopped short, catching her husband by surprise so that he almost bumped into her only managing to balance himself on the step behind at the last minute. Agnes drew herself up to her full height and looked down at Etti Webb. Her voice was cool.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, ‘who do you think you are, the Virgin Mary?’ “
“Well really! How extraordinary!”
“Nothing extraordinary about it Agnes. I’m asking you a simple question.”
Agnes moved to step past Etti.
“Come John. We are going home.”
But Etti stood her ground.
“Oh no you don’t. I have taken about all I can take from you. Your hypocritical self-righteousness sickens me. It’s time you faced up to the truth about yourself. The way you have treated my Myrtle. You wouldn’t have dared to had my Tom been alive. Mark my words if he was here to see what you’ve done to his daughter, what you’ve done to his grandchildren, there’s no telling what he’d have done to you.”
“They are my grandchildren too you know. I had a duty to protect them.”
“Duty my foot! You’re an interfering, spiteful old prune and you oughta be ashamed of yourself.”
The congregation, which had by now spilled out from the church, seemed as mesmerised in surprise as Myrtle was. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Shirley Townsend standing close by. All eyes were fixed on the two women in hushed expectation. Agnes Bishop was clearly taken aback by Etti’s outburst but seemed determined to maintain decorum.
“Mrs Webb—recover yourself. This is no way to behave within God’s doorway.”
But Etti Webb seemed just as determined to charge on without restraint.
“God’s doorway! God’s doorway indeed! Who do you think you are Agnes Bishop? Sprouting about standards of behaviour. You’ve robbed my daughter of her children with your malicious mind. She’s been nothing but a doting mother and a faithful wife. It’s thanks to your meddling my grandchildren are missing their mother. What standard of behaviour do you live by when you can deliberately separate a mother from her kids?”
Etti’s face was ablaze with emotion in a way Myrtle had never seen before. She was like a storming tigress protecting her cubs. The crowd was still. They waited. Myrtle waited. With an effort Agnes Bishop maintained her calm demeanour.
“Really Mrs Webb. Your daughter brought it on herself. She can take full responsibility for what’s happened to her children. Full responsibility. She trapped my son in the first place, and then betrayed him…”
Etti Webb interrupted in a low voice seething with anger.
“Trapped him? Indeed! Isn’t that the kettle calling the pot black? You would know all about that, Agnes Mitchell. Wouldn’t you?”
Agnes hesitated. Had she heard the threat in Etti’s voice when she said Agnes Mitchell? Myrtle heard it but she did not know what it meant.
“Really, this is too much,” said Agnes.
She turned to her husband. He stood beside her, turning his hat nervously in his hand. He looked as uncomfortable as a man who finds he has accidentally stumbled into the ladies’ room. Etti would not let her quarry escape.
“You know what I am talking about, Agnes.”
“What indulgence has loosened your tongue so early in the day Etti Webb?” asked Agnes. “There must be some explanation for this disgraceful outburst.”
Etti’s eyes flashed. Agnes was trying to buy her silence with the veiled reference to her drinking but Etti was not deterred.
“Explanation! Explanation is what you should be giving. You might want to explain why your son was born in Culcairn for one thing.”
Anger flushed scarlet in Agnes’ cheeks.
“Leave my son out of this. What he’s had to put up with no man should endure.”
Etti retorted with whiplash speed.
“What he’s had to put up with! What he’s had to put up with!”
Etti was in full swing and stirred to the heights of her anger. Despite her embarrassment Myrtle felt a twinge of pride. Minnie Ha Ha would approve, she thought. Myrtle imagined Minnie urging her mother on. “Good on ya, Missus.” That’s what she’d probably say. But Etti needed no urging.
“Well I like that! He’s been carrying on like nobody’s business behind his wife’s back for goodness knows how long. That’s what she’s had to put up with.”
Myrtle stole a glance at Shirley Townsend. It gave her a feeling of satisfaction to see that woman’s superior look quickly fade to uncertainty.
“I have better things to do than stand here and listen to your ramblings,” said Agnes.
“Oh rambling am I? I haven’t finished with you yet Agnes. I know why you had your baby in Culcairn. Because he was born in July, not September. And don’t we know who he gets those bushy eyebrows from?”
Myrtle gasped. She glanced quickly at John Bishop. His face paled. He lowered his head and his body slumped. She watched him crumble before her. Suddenly he looked like a very old man. A surge of sympathy rose in her and she wanted to reach out to comfort him. But she hardened her heart. He did nothing to help me, she thought. She looked away wondering if Mr Young and his wife were still in the crowd but not daring to look.
Her mother, hands on her hips, stood glaring at Agnes Bishop. Agnes’ face was flushed almost to a deep purple. Her brown eyes were fixed in a rigid stare. Her posture had collapsed and her elegant suit hung awkwardly on her. She hardly looked like the same person.
Myrtle slipped her arm through her mother’s and led her gently away from the stunned crowd. Her mother’s body, still bubbling with anger, was trembling. Myrtle squeezed her hand
“You really told her, Mum.”
Etti smiled.
“She had it coming, love. She had it coming.”
“Mum, how did you know? About Henry I mean.”
“Ah. One of the nurses at the hospital in Culcairn, she was the daughter of an old friend of mine. All these years I’ve kept quiet. Didn’t tell a soul.”
“Do you think Mr Bishop knew, Mum?”
“I reckon he knew love. But… well… when things are hidden you don’t have to think about them. You can pretend. He would have been happy so long as no one else knew about it. Probably never discussed it with Agnes. But I reckon he probably knew.”
Myrtle felt a new respect and deeper warmth for her mother after that day and the gossips of the town had a new source of excitement.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Myrtle was temporarily distracted from her troubles when George suggested they have a wedding ceremony.
“One day we’ll get married officially, eh?” he said. “In the meantime I want you to know I am yours. It won’t be legal, darling, but it will be permanent.”
They planned a private ceremony. Myrtle was looking forward to it almost as much as she would if it were a real wedding. On the day she took care with her make up and clothes, brushing her hair back from her face and tucking it up at the back. She liked the result. It made her look more mature. For the first time in a very long while she painted her lips. She held her head high and when she met George he smiled and whistled softly.
It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies. They sat together on the picnic rug in the shade of a huge red gum where they had sat for their first picnic. George took a small brown box from the pocket of his army jacket. He opened the lid to reveal a slim band of gold. He asked for her left hand and with a solemn face placed the gold band on her third finger.
“With this ring I thee wed.”
Myrtle blushed. He placed the empty box on the rug and leaned forward to kiss
her.
“I love you, Myrtle. I will always love you. I will never leave you and I will never hurt you. I give you my word.”
His serious face and sincere eyes told her he meant it. He would be her strength and her protector. He would never let anything happen to her or their kids. The brand new ring on her finger shone brightly as she twisted it around.
“I can’t wear it when I go out,” she said sadly.
After all she was still legally married to Henry. It wouldn’t be right to wear another man’s ring; not in public anyway.
“I know,” he said. “But you can wear it in the house and when we are on our picnics. You can wear it then, eh?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll wear it whenever I can.”
“And as soon as I’m out of the army we’ll go to Orbost and you can wear it all the time.”
She nodded, but her smile faded. Going to Orbost would mean leaving the children. She wanted to start a new life with George but… leaving the children. It would be unbearable. George noticed the change in her.
“What’s wrong, darl?”
She didn’t answer. He was thoughtful for a moment.
“Your kids. I’m sorry, darl. I wish I could fix that for yer.”
She looked up at him. She wanted to ask him to take Bertie, Audrey and little Noel. What would he say? Could she ask such a thing of him?
“I wish… I wish we could take the kids with us… to Orbost, I mean.”
His face became serious.
“Well, darl, I have thought about that.”
