Empire Day
Page 38
Hearing the commotion in the street, Eda Kotowicz came outside. As she stood leaning against her fence, Sala Wajs came over to talk to her, and they stood together in the glow of the bonfire, entranced by the magic of the fireworks.
‘It’s strange how different everything looks now,’ Eda said.
‘Everything is different,’ Sala replied.
Eda glanced at her friend and realised she wasn’t just talking about the street.
A shriek of girlish laughter made them turn around. Hania and Beverley had just released their rockets, which fizzed as they soared to the sky at the same time. They fell at the feet of Ilona, a shy Hungarian girl who had just moved into the Olmanis’s house with her parents. As the newcomer stood alone outside her place watching the fireworks, Hania ran towards her, holding out a lighted sparkler.
‘Don’t be scared,’ she said. ‘Come and join in.’
And taking the girl’s hand, she led her towards the warmth of the blazing bonfire.
When all that was left of the bonfire was a pall of smoke rising from dying embers, and the street was quiet again, Ted leaned on the gate, looked up at the indifferent stars, and felt an aching emptiness.
It seemed as though, in his search for answers, he’d drawn apart a succession of curtains. Each one had let in a tiny chink of light, but now the light had faded.
He was only twenty-three and he was wondering how he’d manage to get through the rest of his life. Looking outside, he saw Pop Wilson, a lone figure in the deserted street, sweeping up the ashes of the bonfire. Despite his heartache, Pop still made sure the children enjoyed their Cracker Night.
Ted’s thoughts wandered to his other neighbours. They were all suffering their own despair. Each of them had secrets, heartaches and disappointments, yet in some mysterious way they’d found the strength to endure and transcend them. It took so much strength to get through even an ordinary life. But perhaps there were no ordinary lives.
He thought about his own disillusionment. But perhaps it hadn’t all been in vain. Perhaps one day, thanks to his investigation, other war criminals who had found sanctuary in Australia would be brought to justice. Perhaps this had been his first step towards finding the width and depth of his life that his father had talked about so long ago.
It was past midnight when he went back inside, but his mind was seething with ideas. Too churned up to sleep, he took out his fountain pen and began to write. Several hours later, when the first rays of light appeared in the night sky, he put down his pen. He’d just written the first chapter of his novel. Wattle Street.
Acknowledgements
I’m indebted to many people who so generously shared their expertise and experience with me. I’m very grateful to Professor Mary Westbrook for sharing her vast knowledge of polio, and for providing me with valuable information. Naomi Penny was kind enough to share her childhood experiences with me.
Peter Kahn of the Tramways Museum refreshed my memory of Sydney’s tram system and supplied valuable details about timetables, routes and fares. Detective-Sergeant Bill Harris filled me in on police work in the 1940s, magicians James Karp and Michael Giblin gave me fascinating demonstrations and explanations of their craft, and Dr Paul Valent has given me some valuable insight into the effects of traumatic experiences.
I’d also like to thank Maggie White, Reference Librarian at the State Library of NSW, and Kimberley O’Sullivan Steward, Archivist at Waverley Library. Thanks also to Gillian Thomas, Bridget Griffen-Foley, Rod Kirkpatrick, Kate Evans, Jolyon Sykes, Liz Pidgeon, Katherine Howell, Kay Whitty, and Malcolm Voyzey, all of whom have helped me to increase my understanding of some aspect of life in Australia during the late 1940s.
I am extremely fortunate in having such a professional team at HarperCollins and I’m grateful to Sue Brockhoff, Jo Butler, and Amanda O’Connell for their patience, understanding and support. A big thank you to my editor, Julia Stiles, for her skill and sensitivity. Linda Funnell encouraged me to write Empire Day after hearing some of my recollections about life in Sydney in the late 1940s. I can’t thank my agent, Selwa Anthony, enough for her remarkable professional acumen, warm friendship, and unfailing support.
Finally my heartfelt gratitude to my late husband, Michael, who sadly passed away before Empire Day was published. He was, as always, my first reader, and his fine literary judgement and perceptive comments have enhanced the novel, just as his sense of humour, generosity of spirit, and belief in me lit up my life.
About the Author
Diane Armstrong is an award-winning author whose novel Nocturne won the Society of Women Writers’ Biennial Fiction Award in 2009. Diane was born in Poland and arrived in Australia in 1948. At the age of seven she decided to become a writer. All Diane’s books have been bestsellers, and have been shortlisted for major literary awards. She has been published in Europe, Israel and the United States. Diane lives in Sydney.
By the same author
Mosaic: A Chronicle of Five Generations
The Voyage of their Life
Winter Journey
Nocturne
Copyright
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in Australia in 2011
This edition published in 2011
by HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty Limited
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Copyright © Diane Armstrong 2011
The right of Diane Armstrong to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
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National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:
Armstrong, Diane, 1939–
Empire day / Diane Armstrong.
ISBN: 978 0 7322 9090 0 (pbk.)
ISBN: 978-0-7304-9774-5 (epub)
A823.4
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Cover images: children by Kurt Hutton