Elianne

by Nunn, Judy

  ‘Because it keeps perfect time.’ Venner’s answer was always the same.

  ‘Don’t listen to me, Kate,’ Jeremy now said, ‘I’m a fraud. Nothing will part me from my watch, because quite simply I love it. Change of subject: shall I open the wine?’

  ‘Yes please.’ He isn’t a fraud at all, she thought as she fetched the glasses. He was as passionate as the next man about his causes, and yet prepared to admit he was human. She respected him for his honesty.

  They sat on the sofa and toasted the little house.

  ‘To your new life, Kate,’ he raised his glass.

  ‘To my new life,’ she said.

  They looked into each other’s eyes as they drank.

  ‘Something smells good – what’s for dinner?’

  ‘Chicken casserole. I can cook, you know. Not very many things, but there’s a few dishes I’m quite good at.’

  ‘I don’t doubt the fact.’

  Their eyes were still locked.

  ‘Chicken casserole, roast beef, and mulberry pie,’ she said. ‘Those are the three specialities Cook taught me.’

  ‘Good old Cook.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Not yet. Will it spoil?’

  ‘Not if I turn the oven off.’

  They didn’t bother going upstairs to where her brand-new double bed had been installed that very morning, taking up the entire attic and now draped in a welcoming brightly coloured shawl. They were not impractical, however. They dimmed the lights, ensured the curtains were tightly closed to the outside world and upon his instruction she fetched a towel for them to lie on.

  The ABC was playing a medley of songs from Mary Poppins as they made love on the sofa. He was gentle, and she was ready. She’d been ready for months. It was a kind initiation.

  ‘I thought the first time was meant to be unpleasant,’ she said afterwards as they lay together, Kate revelling in their nakedness and the sharing of bare skin.

  He smiled and trailed his fingers lazily over her breast. ‘Not if you’re a natural.’

  ‘And not if you’ve been made love to by an expert, I suspect.’ She propped on one elbow and studied him accusingly. ‘You’re very experienced, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was nothing boastful in his admission. ‘You were a virgin, Kate, I needed to be gentle.’

  Were, Kate thought, he’d said ‘were’. She looked down at the blood on the towel – not all that much, but enough positive evidence. Victory, her mind declared. It had finally happened.

  ‘Next time will be better,’ he promised.

  She laughed and snuggled herself back into the crook of his arm. The first time had hardly been a disappointment.

  Kate had not thought of Ellie since her return to Sydney; the ledgers were stacked away in the bottom drawer of the sideboard to be addressed at a later date. But she couldn’t help herself now. She couldn’t help recalling Ellie’s candid account of her wedding night and Big Jim’s violent claiming of her virginity. What a pity, she thought, that Ellie had not had a considerate lover like Jeremy.

  They showered together, and then they ate the chicken casserole and drank the wine, after which they went upstairs to the brand-new bed, where they made love again, not so gently this time.

  He stayed the night and they made love a third time the following morning, Kate’s sexual awakening by now well and truly complete. Indeed so abandoned was she that Jeremy, who prided himself on his prowess and who liked to remain in command until the final moment, found he was fighting to maintain control.

  ‘I’ve unleashed a monster,’ he said as they lay back on the bed, chests heaving. ‘You’re insatiable, woman.’

  ‘I know,’ she panted, ‘isn’t it wonderful?’

  Kate Durham and Jeremy Venecourt were in love. The older and more cynical might perhaps have said ‘in lust’, but who cared? Kate and Jeremy certainly didn’t. They were obsessed with each other in every sense of the word. They excited each other, they stimulated each other both sexually and mentally, and if that wasn’t love then what was?

  ‘Let’s join the gang on the Freedom Ride,’ he said one morning as they lay in the rumpled attic bed recovering from their exertions. They’d been lovers for barely a week and it was still close to a fortnight before the new term was due to start. Jeremy hadn’t actually moved into the little Campbell Street house, but he might just as well have; there’d been only two nights when he hadn’t stayed there.

  ‘You mean the SAFA bus?’ Like most, Kate knew of the Student Action for Aborigines group that had been formed at Sydney University the previous year. SAFA had raised funds and chartered a bus for these last two weeks of vacation, the students’ intention being to travel to various country towns on a fact-finding mission.

  ‘Yes.’ Jeremy sat bolt upright. The idea had instant appeal and he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him earlier. ‘That’s what we’ll do. We’ll join up with Charlie and the Freedom Riders.’

  ‘But how can we? The bus left three days ago.’

  ‘We don’t travel in the bus. We follow them in the car.’

  Kate was dubious. SAFA’s Freedom Ride had been a long time in the planning and would receive a great deal of press. At least that was its aim, so she’d heard.

  ‘Won’t we look a bit odd trailing along in a brand-new Holden?’ she said doubtfully. ‘People might think us frivolous.’

  ‘Who cares what we look like and who cares what people think? We’ll be lending our support to the cause, that’s all that matters.’ Jeremy was clearly excited by the prospect.

  ‘But we’re not part of SAFA.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, ‘or at least I was. Hell, I planned half their fundraisers last year. I worked on the itinerary. I helped line up accommodation in local halls for over thirty bloody people. I was going to be on the bus for God’s sake –’

  ‘Then why aren’t you?’

  Her interruption brought him to an abrupt halt. ‘I opted out at the last minute.’

  ‘Why?’ He didn’t reply, but she’d already guessed the answer. ‘Because I was coming back to Sydney, is that it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s precisely it.’ He gave a rueful shrug. ‘So much for commitment, eh?’

  She paused only infinitesimally. ‘A brand-new Holden Premier Sedan won’t be good for your image,’ she said, ‘you’ll be seen as one of the bourgeoisie.’

  He grinned, aware that she’d given in. ‘The Holden’s a bit like the Omega really, isn’t it? For a car like that one’s willing to run the risk of being misconceived by some.’ He jumped out of bed and started pulling on his clothes. ‘Actually, Kate, we can do far more than boost the numbers at SAFA’s protests,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘They intend to conduct a survey into Aboriginal housing and health and population: we can help with the questionnaires, we can –’

  Once again she interrupted. ‘If a specific number of students have had accommodation lined up in advance,’ she said, ‘albeit in local halls, we can’t just barge in unannounced. Where do you propose we stay?’

  ‘We’ll book into motels along the way,’ he replied as he zipped up his jeans.

  ‘Oh yes, and who pays for that?’ He wouldn’t have the audacity to suggest such a thing, surely.

  ‘Our sponsor, of course: sugar daddy’s funds are about to be put to good use.’

  Obviously he would. She stared back in amazement.

  He ignored her as he sat on the edge of the bed, hauling on his sandshoes. ‘Come along, upsadaisy, time to get going.’

  Kate knew she should have taken offence at his peremptory manner, his assumption, the sheer outrageousness of it, but why bother? What was the point in arguing? The madness of his idea held far too much appeal. She opted for dignity instead.

  ‘I am going nowhere until I have had a shower,’ she said.

  After visiting the bank, they fuelled up the Holden, bought a map and headed out of town with Jeremy at the wheel. As they drove, they discussed SAFA’s origins and
its aims, Jeremy filling Kate in on anything she didn’t know.

  Student Action for Aborigines had started out as a general student protest against racial segregation in the United States, but the protest organisers had quickly decided they should look closer to home. A group had been formed in order to expose the racial discrimination that existed in Australia’s own backyard, and third-year Arts student, Charles Perkins, himself Aboriginal, had been elected its president. Inspired by the Freedom Riders of the American Civil Rights Movement, SAFA had mounted a fact-finding mission with the intention of broadcasting to complacent city-dwellers the ugly reality of racism in many rural areas.

  ‘It’s not only complacency we’re dealing with,’ Jeremy said, ‘it’s dead bloody ignorance. A lot of Australians think racism doesn’t exist in this country. They see it as belonging to South Africa and the Ku Klux Klan in America. SAFA intends to bring the truth home to the general public. They’ve got the means to do it, what’s more. Darce Cassidy’s a part-time reporter for the ABC and he’s travelling with his recording equipment, Jim Spigelman’s taken his home movie camera, and of course they’ve got their trump card on board with Charlie. If anyone can wake people up to reality, Charlie can. Charlie Perkins is charismatic.’

  Jeremy’s excitement was contagious, and Kate was starting to feel a true part of the cause, even though she supposed she would have to class herself as one of the ignorant.

  How strange, she thought, that I of all people should have seen so little racism in my life. Discrimination against Aboriginal people was no doubt as rife in Queensland as anywhere else, but the protective cocoon of boarding school and life on the plantation had prevented her from witnessing it. Her father did not employ Aboriginal labourers, considering them unreliable, yet she had grown up with black people, the Kanaka workers of Elianne. There were still many Kanakas, descendants of those first arrivals, who lived in the area, some even on the estate. Yet she had never witnessed anything she could call racism. The Kanakas at Elianne had been well housed, well treated, well respected . . .

  Her thoughts were interrupted as a quote of Ellie’s suddenly flashed through her mind. Something about the colonial use of ‘kanaka’ and the fact the word simply meant ‘man’ in the Hawaiian language. It’s ignorant and patronising, and they should know better, Ellie had written. Oh dear, Kate thought, perhaps I’ve been a guilty party without even knowing it. Better keep that to myself.

  Over the ensuing days any flicker of guilt Kate might have experienced disappeared as she witnessed the true face of racism. She was shocked by what she saw, and she was not alone. The towns visited by SAFA were known to be trouble spots, but the student activists had not expected to encounter such blatant segregation practices. Nor had they expected to be met with such open displays of hostility from the local citizens and police. They were all shocked. The only one who appeared to display little surprise was Charlie.

  Kate deeply admired Charles Perkins. A handsome young man with a strong-boned face and an air of command, he confronted the angry hordes with strength and dignity. Charlie was a man with a purpose, and the others followed his lead. They protested and picketed for hours on end at areas where segregation was practised. At swimming pools and parks and pubs, at shops and cafes and clubs, they displayed their SAFA banner with pride and fearlessly stood their ground.

  Recordings were made and footage was filmed. The findings of the Freedom Ride were destined to be beamed into the living rooms of Australia, and they were destined to shock.

  At Walgett, the vice-president of the Returned Service League Club, was captured on tape saying he would never allow an Aborigine to become a club member. Yet, as the accompanying report would state, Aboriginal servicemen had fought for their country in every major conflict Australia had known.

  When a convoy of cars followed the bus out of Walgett and ran it off the road, the drivers and their passengers screaming abuse at the activists, Jim Spigelman filmed the episode with his home movie camera. Darce Cassidy recorded the angry tirade that ensued and then filed a report with the ABC.

  At Mooree swimming pool, hostile hordes gathered in protest when the activists arrived with a number of Aboriginal children from the reserve outside town and insisted they be granted the right to enter the baths. In order to prevent a riot, the authorities eventually relented and the children were allowed in. They were even photographed swimming with Charlie Perkins, and the picture was published in The Australian. But, as it was later reported, the moment SAFA left town the segregation rules were firmly reinstated.

  The Freedom Ride had made headlines even before the bus returned to Sydney. Already the mission had proved a resounding success, and its ongoing effect was to have huge repercussions, raising both public and government awareness and strengthening the campaigns that were to follow.

  ‘I believe I’ve discovered a new activist in our midst,’ Jeremy said as he picked up the bottle and drained the dregs of Chianti into their glasses.

  Back home, seated at the little round dining table and scoffing wine, the two had been ardently discussing the highlights of the trip and the purpose it had served, Kate’s enthusiasm equalling if not surpassing Jeremy’s.

  ‘You have indeed,’ she agreed fervently, ‘if the cause is one like SAFA anyway. I’ve never felt such a sense of purpose. We achieved so much, Jeremy! I mean it was so worthwhile!’

  ‘More than an activist, a zealot perhaps . . .’ He smiled: he’d seen the same heady excitement in many a new recruit. ‘Well, good for you, Kate, we need people who are prepared to commit themselves. There’s too much apathy about.’

  ‘I don’t know how I could have sat on the sidelines until now.’

  ‘All first-year students do – it’s expected. Even the most hardened of campaigners don’t take up the gauntlet until second year.’ Jeremy downed the last of his Chianti and leant in to kiss her.

  She was instantly responsive, the taste of their mouths and the red wine mingling erotically.

  ‘Activism inflames the libido,’ he whispered. ‘I feel the attic beckoning.’

  Kate left her own wine.

  The following morning, Jeremy broached the subject casually, although he’d been giving it some serious thought.

  ‘Back to school in a few days,’ he said as they settled themselves on the sofa with their mugs of instant coffee.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied eagerly, ‘I’m looking forward to second year.’

  ‘You sound excited.’ His tone held a world-weary touch of cynicism.

  ‘Well of course I am. Now that I’ve got my first-year general science out of the way I’ll be starting on the professional Vet course. That’s thrilling.’

  He contemplated a wry comment, but decided against it. He rather envied Kate her devotion to study and her firm choice of career path. Much as he loved all the extra-curricular activities university had to offer, he had no idea where his Arts course would eventually lead him. A rather rudderless existence for an activist, he supposed. But he didn’t pursue that avenue of conversation.

  ‘You know, Kate,’ he said, ‘I’ve been thinking . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ He’d left the sentence hanging. ‘Thinking what?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking that as my toothbrush and spare underpants already live here, perhaps I should move in with them.’

  Kate was struck speechless. She hadn’t expected this.

  ‘What do you say?’ Jeremy continued to play things casually. ‘It’d halve the rent and I’m here most of the time anyway. Seems practical, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s practical, yes,’ she agreed, ‘but I’m not ready, Jeremy. It’s too soon. It’s far too soon.’

  ‘Of course,’ he backpedalled immediately, ‘I expected you to say that.’ He had, but it hadn’t stopped him hoping otherwise. ‘Just thought I’d give it a try.’ He didn’t even know why he wanted to live with her. He’d never wanted to live with a girl before. ‘Probably for the best anyway, a place this size.’ He looked
around the open-plan living room. ‘I’d get in the way of your studies, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Yes you would, I’m afraid.’ She smiled. ‘You’d be a huge distraction and you know it. In fact when term starts, we’re going to have to limit ourselves to weekends.’

  ‘Party-pooper.’

  Kate laughed and they dropped the subject. She was glad he wasn’t hurt that she’d been so immediately dismissive of the idea, but she needed her own space. She needed her own space for reasons other than study, which wouldn’t really be necessary until later in the term anyway. The time had come, she’d decided. She was distanced enough now from her family and Elianne. She must read the ledgers. She must hear Ellie’s own words and learn the truth.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The National Service Scheme, which had been introduced by the Menzies government in November 1964, required all males twenty years of age to register with the Department of Labour and National Service. The young men were then subject to a ballot and if their birth date was drawn and they passed the ensuing medical tests, they were to serve two years in the regular army.

  The government’s principal concern at this stage was the confrontation between Indonesia and the newly formed Federation of Malaysia, a conflict that could potentially affect the border with Papua New Guinea, for which Australia had defence responsibility. The general population believed, however, that the National Service Scheme had been conceived for the sole purpose of supplying troops for Australia’s growing commitment to the war in Vietnam. Conscription was set to become a contentious issue.

  ‘Do you think they’ll send you to Vietnam?’ Hilda asked.

  Neil nodded. ‘More than likely.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  The letter addressed to Neil Francis Durham, Elianne Estate, Bundaberg, Queensland had been dated 10 June 1965. It read:

  You are hereby called up for national service training in the Royal Australian Army. You will present yourself for induction at the Army Training Depot at Singleton, NSW . . .