The relocation was as sudden, as unexpected, as merciful, as welcome and as impossible as spring rain in the bush fire season - which never happened. Yet this had happened. They’d anticipated thunder and lightning and high drama and, instead, they’d been rewarded. Actually rewarded. Though the rewards were many, the first were relief and peace of mind - and hope.
On two fronts Anne Preston’s choice to go along with her friends had proved to be wise. Firstly because quality assessment of the tools of war was to be restored. Secondly because the rebels had apparently escaped without censure.
It was a new dawn. She no longer had to rise before the sun to catch the crowded tram and suffer the indignities of the ancient cattle truck. When she walked to the tram stop at eight in the morning the first day, the sun was shining and only a few furry white clouds floated in the washed blue sky. Sparkling raindrops, leftovers from last night’s showers, glistened on the hedges that bordered the footpath. Though it was very cold, winter had not yet taken over and the tantalising sky promised autumn warmth by noon.
As she joined them, each of the group waiting at the tram stop nodded and smiled welcome. Would it be the same every morning? Were they city-bound workers, starting at nine a.m., as she was? Or were they shoppers on their way to the big emporiums? Time would tell. It wasn’t too important. The main thing was that she was actually leaving home nearly an hour later.
The journey, too, was a new experience. At this later hour, because she was no longer the youngest passenger, she did not politely wait until everyone else had boarded the tram. Instead, she hauled herself up the steps and took her place beside women nearer her own age who welcomed her with friendly faces and open smiles. Though all wore warm coats, hats and gloves, few wore stockings and those had been painstakingly darned. For sure, those with bare legs were either saving their best for special occasions, or they had none. On the city-bound tram this was just another small sign that the country was at war.
Unlike the rattling cattle truck with its load of ammunition workers, here there were no young men; the few men were elderly. Most wore stiff suits and shirts and collars and, as each stepped into the inner sections of the tram, he carefully removed his hat, sat it on his lap and folded protective hands around its brim. The other men, sitting in the tram’s open-sided mid-section, were smoking. These, too, were elderly and wore business suits. None were tradesmen, who would already be hard at work.
She missed her father. She missed him seeing her off at the tram stop in the mornings. She missed sitting up late to help him roll his cigarettes. She missed his soft voice and his calm advice. She missed the smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of whistling as he came in from work. She missed her mother’s warm smile as she welcomed him home. Her mother almost never smiled any more. She missed June and she missed the sound of laughter in the house.
There was laughter in the tram. The younger women, regular traveling companions, were sharing gossip. Everything was new and exciting. It was scary. What would it be like at journey’s end? Would she be able to find her way to the new building? What if a stranger spoke to her? Would her friends be there already?
Repressing anxiety, she compelled herself to concentrate on the new sights and sounds around her. More people were crowding into the tram, cars and push-bikes and pedestrians were filling the narrow roadway. Trades people were sweeping the paths outside the single story shops; a few shops were already open. At the corner where she’d only last week alighted to catch the bus to the laboratory, the shop was open and customers were entering. Where was Julian? It felt odd, sitting in the tram and moving on past that corner. It was a sign. Her life, too, was moving away from the corner and its memories.
Forty minutes after boarding it, near the city centre, she left the tram and started for the tall building that housed the new laboratory. An explorer in a new world, she walked the half block through a cement canyon jammed with bustling crowds. Unsmiling strangers, heads bent against the wind that whipped around sharp corners, bumped into her without apology. It was daunting. Here there were no gardens, no birds, no sentries, no low-slung buildings, and no friends.
When she arrived at the front entrance, although it wasn’t far from the centre of the city and the hurrying people, she was standing alone on the footpath. After checking the number high above the tall glass front doors, she entered the empty foyer. It smelt new; the tang of new tiles and fresh paint was intensified by the warmth of the sun on glass. But the tiles and the fresh paint were grey. Even the reflection of the sunlight from the shiny steel doors of the lifts failed to dispel its essential gloom. Her sense of aloneness deepened.
If only she’d arranged to meet someone – Grace, Sophie, anyone. She’d never been alone in the city before, never been alone in a lift. Though she lived less than forty minutes away, she’d only ever been into Melbourne two times in her life; both times with her mother and June. She’d never learned which buttons to push in a lift. Fortunately this one was new and the directions were clear. She pressed a glowing red button, heard the ping of a bell, watched the steel door slide smoothly open, stepped anxiously into the claustrophobic box and watched the door slide shut. Only a whisper of sound and the sinking feeling in her stomach told her it was moving upwards until, gratefully, she again heard the bell ring and saw the doors whisper open at the fourth floor.
Starting across a small carpeted foyer, grey and hushed and without even the relief of reflected sunlight, she again wished herself back in the familiar grounds of the scattered pathways and the manicured gardens. This was too different, too sudden. Who was behind this? Who could possibly expect them to immediately re-adapt to this dramatic contrast? Sure, it was new and modern and clinically pristine and flawless; it was also alarmingly without colour or life or warmth.
Though she hadn’t yet even seen inside the laboratory, she felt an irrational chill of premonition. Not so irrational. Her friends had, at least for the present, got away with outrageous behaviour. As a result of the strange meeting with the pompous little man in the administration board room, unseen strings had been pulled and only four days later this grand place was their new working place. It was all too good to be true. There had to be a catch.
If only she could turn back. If only she’d never seen the disturbing world of Julian’s refugee friends. If only she’d never seen ordinary people like Mick planning to break the law. If only Julian had written. If only she’d never learned to be suspicious. If only…
The almost inaudible sound of the descending lift startled her into action. There was no going back. There was no choice. Crossing the carpeted foyer, she tentatively pushed open opaque glass double doors. Amazed, she stepped into a gigantic oblong-shaped room. The entire length of one of the long walls consisted of sealed windows. Starkly contrasting with the gloomy foyer, the whole place vibrated with mesmerising light.
Adjusting her eyes, she saw shining chrome and glittering glass and a high white-painted ceiling and uncluttered white-painted walls and an overwhelming expanse of meticulously planned space. Precisely placed on the polished parquetry floor was what seemed like miles of equipment; slick new benches, comfortable new stools, microscopes, gauges, machines, report pads, pens, pencils, erasers - all ready for immediate use. There were also two huge precision measuring machines she’d never seen the like of before.
Though this was all totally dissimilar to the opulent board room where her friends had made their stand, she was forcefully reminded of it. Here, as there, money seemed not to be a problem. Maybe their work was as important as everyone said it was? Maybe their threats had been justified and acknowledged to be so? Certainly someone was on their side. Someone very important. Someone very important had achieved this astonishing outcome.
Opposite the entrance was a walled-off room wearing the label ‘OFFICE’ on its door. Tiptoeing gingerly down the parquetry she found two doors, one unlabeled, the second wearing the label ‘STAFF’. Opening it, she entered a large window-less room illumin
ated by long overhead strips of lighting. Multi-coloured mats decorated the parquetry floor, the central table and chairs were polished timber, the cushions and comfortable settee upholstered in soft green linen. On one wall were shelves stacked with crockery, another with books. There was a sparkling new sink and a bench on which stood a kettle, a jar of tea, a bottle of coffee essence, milk in a jug and a bowl of sugar. There were no people.
Leaving it, in a vain attempt to muffle the embarrassing tap tap of her high heels on the glamorous timber floor, she crossed to the far corner of the main area and the door marked ‘OFFICE’. Unlike the former office, it had no windows overlooking the laboratory. Watching people in the office was no longer going to be possible.
Hearing no sound from the other side of the door, she knocked.
“Come in!” Grace, alone in the office, welcomed her.
“I thought I’d be late. I didn’t know how long it’d take to get here.”
“You’re not late, Anne. You’re never late.”
“Where is everybody?”
“They’ll be here. First day. Like you, no-one’s sure how the transport runs.”
“I left oodles of time. It was quicker than I expected. It’s so different! I can’t believe it. Wait ’til they see it. They won’t believe it.”
“You’re excited,” Grace laughed.
“Aren’t you? I actually got an extra hour’s sleep!”
“I’m glad you’re first in.” Grace, suddenly serious, sat at the brand new desk by the wide window. “Sit down, Anne. I wanted a word with you.”
Of course, it had to be too good to be true. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Grace quickly reassured. “Nothing. Cheer up, Anne! You look like you’re waiting for the executioner.”
“It’s scary,” she confided. “I know it’s exciting, but it’s scary too. It’s all so different. It’s…”
“Oh, Anne. Stop worrying. It’s beautiful. You’re going to love every minute. Just think – lunch hour you can shop like mad. Look…” Grace waved her to the window. “You can’t open it because of the air conditioning. You can’t even hear much. Just take a look down there.”
Pressing her face against the warm glass she saw the slow flow of traffic far below. She’d never been so high before, not even on their weekend picnic trips to the hills. It was magical. The trams and the cars and the bikes were tiny as children’s toys, the pedestrians animated toothpicks.
“Lost your voice,” Grace teased. “You’re going to have a wonderful time.”
It wasn’t easy to turn away. It would be hard to concentrate. Everything was impossibly perfect. Already, she was planning to explore during her lunch hour. How would she get through the morning?
“There’s something else,” Grace added. “Congratulations are in order.”
“What have you done this time?”
“Not for me, silly. For you. You’ve been promoted.”
“Me?” She turned from the window. “I’ve been promoted?”
“You’ve been promoted. You’ll be on higher pay. Yes!”
“How? I don’t understand? What to?”
“Come with me.” Exiting the office, Grace led the way back down to the staff room.
The tap-tap tap-tapping of two pairs of unsynchronised high heels on the slick floor echoed uneasily in the empty arena. What was the promotion? What was she supposed to do? Why were the others not yet here? Hurrying to keep up with Grace’s long graceful strides, she wished the huge brilliant room was not so intimidating.
“Sorry,” Grace slowed her step. “It’s a habit. Walking too fast.”
The cheerfully colourful staff room was a welcome contrast.
“I’ll make the tea.” Grace lit the gas jet and set the kettle on it. “Unless you’ve got used to coffee?”
“Tea. Thank you.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Grace missed nothing.
Perching on one of the new chairs, she impatiently waited for Grace to make the tea.
“To get to business…” Setting the steaming cups on the table, Grace took the opposite chair. “They’ve put on a few extra staff. I guess they have to train reserves, just in case we cause more trouble.”
There had to be a catch. “They’re going to replace us!”
“Of course not,” Grace scolded. “And we aren’t going to complain either.”
“Who would complain about all this?”
“Exactly. There’s new staff because there’s a need for more staff. It’s as simple as that.”
“You said promotion?”
“That’s right, Anne. New staff means you take a step up.”
“Who else is being promoted?”
“How do you mean?”
“Do we all get to take a step up? I don’t see how we can all be promoted.”
“What an interesting idea!” Grace laughed. “A lab dominated by queen bees, and a handful of workers! No, Anne. At present yours is the only promotion.”
What was Grace talking about?
“So congratulations are in order.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s already decided.”
“I can’t! I’m the youngest. You know I’m the youngest. You said yourself, I’m too young.”
“Your age has nothing to do with this.”
“It did before. You said…”
“I suggested we leave you out of the vote. I said it then. It was a cop out. You know that. This is different. You can’t cop out of this.”
It was true, Grace had made things easy for her; the least she could do was listen. “What’s the job? What am I supposed to do?
“You’ll teach the new recruits. You’ll be responsible for overseeing their work and checking their assessments.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Of course you can. You know you can.”
“Face it, Anne. You’re more proficient. You have a special talent for this work.”
“You’re talking about supervising. Like you do. That’s got nothing to do with what you’re talking about.”
“It has! You know it has. You know how much every tiny thing counts.”
“You shouldn’t have recommended me. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“You’ve been here from the start. You’ve earned it.”
“So have the others.”
“It’s too late, Anne. It’s done. Accept it. It’s a fact of your new life here.”
“They’ll hate me.”
“Of course they won’t. They’ll be happy for you.”
“What about Macklin?”
“He’s pleased about it. Very pleased.”
So the girls were right. Grace did have an influence with Macklin.
“It wasn’t just me.” Again, Grace had read her mind. “Mr Macklin doesn’t need me to persuade him you have special ability. He was the one who recommended you higher up. There was no argument. Not at any stage.”
In less than a week! She could hear her father, his voice of warning, slow and careful and sensible. He’d suspect that her promotion was due to her not voting for the strike. Was that what Macklin and his bosses were rewarding? Had they been told she’d not wanted anything to do with it? If so, who could have told him? Grace, of course. But then, what about Joan? She’d initially been dead set against it. She’d actually voted against it. How had it all happened so quickly? What was the truth? Careful. Careful...
Grace emptied her cup, rinsed it and set it on the immaculate sink; she’d presumed there was to be no further argument.
She made up her mind. “It’s kind of you, Grace. All the same, I can’t do it.”
Grace resumed her seat.
“You heard right,” she repeated. “I can’t do it.”
“Can’t do it? Or won’t do it?”
About to again repeat her refusal, she suddenly comprehended what Grace meant. It was a challenge. ‘Won’t do it’ wouldn’t be so very different from voting for a strike. ‘Won’t
do it’ would mean she’d be refusing to obey orders in face of the enemy.
Whereas ‘Can’t do it’ would mean she doubted her own proficiency – which wasn’t the case. She was good at the job. Though she seriously doubted her ability to be the boss of people older than herself, she did not doubt her ability to teach them. That, she could do.
“You do see,” Grace nodded. “You have no choice.”
When she reached for her untouched drink, her hands were shaking.
There was nothing more to be said. Minutes later they heard the approaching sounds of tapping heels. Her friends arrived at irregular intervals, each one cheerfully impressed with the new building. No-one seemed to notice her failure to match their enthusiasm. Why would they? She was almost always comparatively subdued.
As predicted, there’d been no way anyone could accurately calculate how long the trip in would take. Nine a.m. starting time in the city was not a good idea. Apparently most people who worked in the city centre started around nine. Traffic was thick, transport was either unreliable or overcrowded or both, streets were crowded, tempers were frayed, and punctuality was just about impossible. It seemed that as the one who lived furthest out, she’d been the only one to correctly anticipate the length of time required. They’d be on time, or early, tomorrow.
Grace waited until, after inspecting the new facility, everyone was sitting at the table drinking and talking before announcing: “Congratulations are in order. Anne’s been promoted.”
“Great!” Sophie clapped. “It’s about time.”
“More money, Anne!” Lillian applauded. “Wait ’til you’re twentyone. Then you’ll be on the adult wage!”
Everyone was happy for her.
“Is it your birthday?” Margaret questioned.
“It’s got nothing to do with her birthday,” Grace answered. “The promotion is to supervisor.”
Tools of War Page 14
