Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘Evie is a caring girl. And very smart. I think she’d be a good nurse.’

  A strangely calculating look came over Miss Bonehill’s face. She said musingly, as if to herself, ‘Of course, she can’t start proper nursing training until she turns eighteen but so many girls have become VADs or army nurses that the civilian hospitals find themselves somewhat reduced at present. I’m sure I could find her work in some capacity at a hospital if she really wanted to do it. I could probably find her a place as a ward maid. Would she stick it out, though? It’s hard work and the discipline is irksome.’ She looked at me. ‘You live in Subiaco, don’t you Miss Fitzgerald?’

  ‘Shenton Park,’ I said warily. Realising what was coming, I stopped her before she could continue. ‘Miss Bonehill, I don’t know that my aunt and I can offer to take in Evie.’

  Johnny turned to look at me and I felt myself flushing, but I wanted to know what the alternatives were before we offered to take the girl.

  ‘Oh, what a pity. Evie is rather a problem for us I’m afraid. I’m loath to recommend a detention centre – they’re rather horrid. But I may have no choice.’

  ‘Surely you won’t put her in prison?’ I said.

  Miss Bonehill ran a hand through her curls. ‘More likely into Heathcote.’ This was a mental institution on the other side of the river.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ I was horrified.

  ‘We have few options for delinquent girls. The receiving depot in Mount Lawley is always at full capacity. We’ve started sending girls to Claremont Mental Asylum or Heathcote. At least Heathcote is in a pretty place overlooking the river, and the inmates there are not incurables.’

  We couldn’t let them send Evie to a mental hospital. My heart was beating so rapidly that I felt a little light-headed. It seemed that we’d be taking in Evie after all, and the thought of being responsible for her was terrifying.

  ‘I suppose we could think about keeping Evie. But

  Miss Bonehill, the magistrate doesn’t know me or my aunt. You don’t know us.’ I could hear my voice rising in desperation.

  ‘Piffle,’ said Boney. ‘Magistrate Schroeder will have no hesitation in granting your aunt temporary custody of Evie.’ Her smile was beatific. ‘It’s a marvellous idea. I really don’t want to send Evie to Heathcote.’

  ‘I have to ask my aunt,’ I said. The woman was a force of nature, like a cyclone, pushing me along willy-nilly.

  ‘You know you’re going to take her,’ said Johnny.

  I looked over towards Aunty May, who was brushing hair away from Evie’s eyes with a motherly gesture that was all too familiar to me.

  ‘Of course we’ll take her,’ I said, my voice resigned.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Miss Bonehill. She glanced across the room. ‘Oh dear, I need to speak to Mrs Bruce. Please excuse me.’ The red feather in her hat bobbed as she headed off.

  ‘Good,’ said Johnny. ‘Evie’s a sweet kid.’ He brushed my cheek gently. ‘And so are you, for taking her on.’

  We walked slowly over to Aunty May and Evie, and I said that Miss Bonehill had asked if Evie could stay with us for a while, otherwise she’d have to go to an institution. Evie stood rigidly in front of us, her blue eyes wide and staring.

  ‘Please,’ she said in a small, timid voice. ‘Please give me a chance. I promise I’ll be good.’

  Aunty May looked at me with steely determination. I smiled in reply, as an acknowledgment of what she’d said the evening before, accepting that we’d be taking the girl. Obviously relieved, she turned to Evie.

  ‘It’s only temporary, Evie,’ she said, adding, ‘at least to start with.’ Evie gave a strangled sob, and wrapped her in a ferocious hug. Aunty May smiled and gently pushed her away. ‘Well, I’d better fix myself up before we face the magistrate,’ she said, and headed off to the ladies’ room, leaving Evie with Johnny and me.

  Miss Bonehill came over to us.

  ‘Hullo, Evie,’ she said. ‘Do you like the idea of staying with Mrs Dillon and Miss Fitzgerald for the time being?’

  I admired Miss Bonehill. It was clear that Evie was her primary interest.

  Evie had sufficiently recovered to give her a charming smile. ‘Yes, thank you, Miss Bonehill. I really do appreciate what Nell and Mrs Dillon are doing for me. I’ll try very hard to behave properly in future.’

  It was clear that she meant it, but trouble just seemed to follow Evie around.

  Magistrate Schroeder was a bald, Teutonic-looking man, with round glasses perched on his nose. He seemed to have equal quantities of firmness and humour. He preferred informality in the court, so as not to intimidate the children who appeared before him. The morning’s session started with the prosecution of two boys aged twelve and nine years, who pleaded guilty to having stolen and received four bottles of ginger ale valued at three shillings and sixpence. Convictions were not recorded, but the boys were ordered to make restitution.

  The case before Evie’s was that of a seventeen-year-old girl who had been married four weeks ago to an American sailor. She appeared on a charge of having been drunk on Saturday night in the company of several soldiers, none of which was her husband. Magistrate Schroeder was severe with the girl, a pretty brunette, who was smartly and expensively dressed in a blue tailored coat with kid accessories. When she told him that she was only at the nightclub to cele­brate a friend’s birthday, he said, ‘You’ve spun me so many tales in the past few years that I just can’t believe you.’ He told her that her attitude towards her husband was disgraceful, and that the sailor had visited him to see if he could obtain a divorce.

  I thought that it was sad how the girls got married so quickly to men they hardly knew. The Marvel had done a story recently on how, over the past year, an average of two girls a day were applying for leave to marry American servicemen. How could the girls take such a gamble? I wondered. They were marrying men they’d only just met, and would have to leave their families and their homes to follow their husbands halfway around the world when the war ended.

  Next up was Evie. The circumstances of her coming to the attention of the anti-vice squad were read out to the court by Sergeant Smith and duly noted by the magistrate.

  ‘We knew Miss Harris already,’ the sergeant concluded, ‘having had occasion to detain her on the third of June 1943, when she was found at the Carbarita Cabaret in company with English sailors and intoxicated. She was declared by you on the fifth of June to be a “child at risk”. You placed her on probation at that time.’ Sergeant Smith sat down.

  Miss Bonehill stood and told the magistrate about our offer to foster Evie for the time being. She said that her enquiries indicated that my aunt was a respectable widow who lived in Shenton Park and that Evie would have her own bedroom. Miss Bonehill added that she would try to find Evie employment as soon as possible.

  Magistrate Schroeder looked at Miss Bonehill. ‘Have they found the US sailors?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘Enquiries are continuing.’

  ‘Well,’ said Magistrate Schroeder, fixing Evie with a very stern look, ‘you have been busy, haven’t you, Eve? You are a very lucky girl – if not for Mrs Dillon, I would have had no option but to arrange for your detention in a place more secure than the receiving depot. I hope that Mrs Dillon’s trust in you will not be misplaced. Miss Bonehill will attempt to find you gainful employment, and you will give part of any wages you earn to Mrs Dillon for assistance with your food and lodging. Do you understand all that?’

  Evie nodded. ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘I’ll put you on probation and there will not be a conviction recorded, but Eve, you must promise to avoid bad company in future.’

  Evie fixed him with her blue gaze. She looked very serious. ‘Thank you,’ she said tremulously. ‘I promise you’ll never see me here again.’

  The magistrate kept a grave countenance although I thought he was hiding a smile. He nodded.

  ‘Good girl. That’s what I like to hear. Eve Louise H
arris, you shall be placed on probation for two years. I order that you be released to the custody of Mrs Mary Dillon of 27 Violet Grove, Shenton Park. You must report to Miss Bonehill every month and she must certify that you are abiding by the terms of this probation. You must not be found in bad company and you must remain out of trouble. Case other­wise dismissed with costs of one shilling awarded against the defendant. Please see the Clerk of the Court to arrange payment.’

  ohnny took us all to Boans’ cafeteria for a celebratory lunch. Evie ate enough for a regiment, as usual, and Aunty May seemed happy and at peace. So did Johnny. He got on well with Aunty May, treating her with the same mixture of respect and playful teasing that my cousins did. I wondered what his own mother was like.

  Apparently Aunty May was thinking along similar lines. ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have, Johnny?’ she asked.

  ‘Four brothers, five sisters. I’m the eldest son, but my sister Patricia is two years older than me.’

  ‘Ten! There are ten in your family?’ I was aghast and sounded it, then I flushed at my rudeness.

  ‘Three brothers – Gene, Barry and Bob – are in the services. Gene was badly wounded at Guadalcanal and he was invalided home to the States recently, but Mom wrote me he’s on the mend now. Barry’s in the army air force doing bombing runs over Europe and Bob’s in the army’s airborne division – the Parachute Infantry Regiment; he’s training in England. Davy’s seventeen, so he’s still at home. Patty’s married and looks after her own family now. Mary is a nurse and is stationed somewhere in the Pacific. She got engaged last month to some guy from California that she met in hospital – she nursed him and they fell hard for each other. Helen is in the women’s army and is in England. Laura has just started college at Berkeley near San Francisco; she’s a smart cookie, like Nell here. Ginny is our baby girl – she’s Evie’s age, and is a lot like her.’

  ‘In what way?’ said Evie, looking up from her milkshake.

  Johnny grinned. ‘Adorable,’ he said and was rewarded with a very nice smile that didn’t have even a hint of flirtatiousness in it.

  ‘Are both of your parents still with us?’ asked Aunty May.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Johnny. ‘They’re still living in the same house in Bridgeport that I grew up in. That’s a suburb of Chicago. We weren’t a wealthy family – well, not wealthy in money terms – but somehow Pop managed to stay in work, even in the height of the Depression, although he had to take reduced hours at the newspaper. We didn’t have much money, but we never seemed to want for much.’

  Aunty May was positively beaming at him. I could almost see the daydreams she was weaving, and I badly wanted to shake her and say, ‘He’s a dreadful flirt who’ll be gone in a week or so. Don’t start imagining a future for me that won’t be happening.’

  Instead, I looked down at my hands and thought that, truth be told, it was me who was shaken. I hadn’t realised just how much alike Johnny and I were. He knew the joys and irritations of a large family, where every penny counted, where everybody had to help, where there was never enough to go around, but usually enough to sustain, even in the Depression. I suspected that, like me, Johnny had known real hunger, the terrible, hollow emptiness in your belly that seemed to consume your every thought and took away all joy, all reason and filled you with black despair. Rob would not. He had grown up as the only child in a wealthy household. He had never been hungry or wanted for anything in his entire life.

  I got up from my chair, quickly and inelegantly.

  ‘Thanks for lunch, Johnny,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to get back to the paper before I see Miss Bonehill.’ I had arranged to meet up with her at three to interview her for the article. She had agreed to discuss the problem of Perth’s ‘uncontrollable girls’ with me.

  Johnny stood also. ‘I’ll see you at the ball tonight, though? I want a dance, even if it’s only a slow shuffle.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

  ‘Swell. I’ll finish my coffee with your aunt and Evie.’

  It was rude of me to leave the table before he had finished, and I got a stern look from Aunty May. I always seemed to be doing the wrong thing around Johnny. Well, that’s just too bad, I thought. It was a difficult path I was treading, and I was doing the best I could. I mumbled my goodbyes and fled.

  Miss Bonehill’s account of what was happening to the lost girls of Perth was sobering stuff. In the course of her job she supervised juvenile delinquent girls on probation and in institutions, arranged treatment of venereal disease cases and gave assistance to unmarried mothers. She visited parks, dance halls and theatres, looking for girls at risk. She knew all about the dangers facing girls who wanted a ‘good time’ in the city. As she spoke I made notes and began to plan the way I would compose my feature about the ‘lost girls’ of Perth.

  I found myself liking Miss Bonehill more and more. She brought real compassion to what must be one of the hardest jobs a woman could have. Her eyes filled with tears when she told me about Leonora York. The girl was just fifteen years old when she died of suffocation and the effects of alcohol in March last year, just after the American servicemen arrived. She came from a loving home, but she only wanted to spend time with the Americans. Leonora went to a hostel room in Fremantle with another girl and two American sailors, downed two large whiskies and a glass of rum then passed out face down on a bed. She never woke up.

  ‘Her parents were devastated,’ said Miss Bonehill. ‘They were a nice couple, with three other children. Leonora was their youngest. It’s a difficult age – the girls think they’re invulnerable, and of course they are not.’ She gave me a tight smile, but there were tears in her eyes. ‘You have no idea how glad I am that you and your aunt have taken Evie. I really don’t know how her story would have played out if you hadn’t.’

  I nodded, my own eyes wet with tears, too.

  She also told me the story of Mabel Norton. I had read about the case in the newspaper reports, but Miss Bonehill knew the details and her quiet sympathy made me look beyond the terrible circumstances to consider the horror that the girl had faced. Mabel had come to Perth from the country at the age of seventeen to work in a hospital as a ward maid. She fell in love with a married man, but when she got into trouble he wouldn’t help her at all. She was too embarrassed to tell her parents or any of her friends, and she gave birth alone in the dark in a dingy hostel. The tiny body was found a day later; the baby had been suffocated. Mabel was unable to explain what happened, because all she could do was cry when anyone asked her about it. The jury refused to convict her of murder, only of concealing a birth, and the judge sentenced her to two years imprisonment in Fremantle Prison.

  ‘She’s fading away in that terrible place,’ said Miss Bonehill. ‘Her mental state is seriously compromised, and I’m very worried about her. We need a crusading journalist to convince the people of Perth to lobby the Justice Minister. We need to try to have her released early.’ She looked at me hopefully.

  I stared back at her, my heart racing. This was something that would really make a difference to a girl who needed help desperately. Could I organise a crusade? It wouldn’t

  be popular in some circles – the child had obviously been murdered – but the circumstances were so tragic.

  ‘I’ve never done anything like that before,’ I said, my uncertainty apparent in my voice. I cleared my throat and started again, this time with more determination. ‘I’ll speak to my editor. If Mabel Norton is in such a bad way then I’ll see what the Marvel can do to help her. I promise I’ll do my best.’

  Miss Bonehill’s smile lit up her face. ‘Nell, if you can get Mabel out of Fremantle Prison I really think you’d save her life.’

  As Miss Bonehill told me more about her work, the more relieved I was that Evie was to stay with me and Aunty May. The dangers faced by a young girl on her own were terrible to consider.

  ‘The girls are often so ignorant of their own bodies,’ she said. ‘It means that they are vulnerable
to abuse by unscrupulous men. Most sexual assaults go unreported, because the

  girl is too scared to tell her parents, or was too drunk to remember what really happened. Because of ignorance, they can’t protect themselves against venereal disease or insist upon the rather unreliable methods we do have to prevent unwanted pregnancy. If they become pregnant then they may be rushed into marriage with boys they hardly know and often don’t like very much by the time they’re dragged to the altar.’

  She shook her head, and the expression in her eyes became bleak. ‘Nell, some girls have died and others have had their health destroyed through botched abortions. But if the girls do go ahead and have the baby, what then? I’ve seen girls screaming with despair as their babies are taken away for adoption, but how can a seventeen-year-old whose parents won’t support her possibly keep her baby? If the government gave unmarried mothers a decent allowance then things might be different, but they can’t live on the pittance that’s provided.’

  I blew out an angry breath. ‘It seems to me that the girls need better education to help keep them out of trouble. But if they do get into trouble we need to support them, not punish them,’ I said. ‘Treating them like evil little Jezebels when they’re often just confused children isn’t helping them at all.’

  Miss Bonehill smiled. ‘I like you, Nell Fitzgerald,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly what I think.’

  Eventually I turned the subject to Miss Bonehill’s own life. Her qualifications were impeccable: she told me she was a double certificate nurse with mothercraft and infant-welfare training.

  ‘I’m the only woman probation officer in the state,’ she said with some pride. ‘I was appointed ten years ago. Juvenile delinquency rates increased rapidly during the Depression and the authorities had no idea how to cope with so many girls before the courts. So they asked me to take on the job.’