Gallipoli Street

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  Most of all she dreaded meeting his mother, a woman he seemed to worship. Would she see through her to the frightened little fraud that she was? And what of the issue of her virginity? This Catholic family would be expecting a virginal lady in white and here she was, a soiled dove. She only hoped his mother was as kind and understanding as Pete said she was.

  She didn’t have long to wait. That night they had just settled into the ward at St Vincent’s Hospital, and Theresa sat, pen in hand, writing another telegram for his parents, when there was a knock at the door and a lovely woman in a stylish blue suit and hat entered. Her face broke into a stunning smile that matched her son’s as she rushed forward and gathered him in her arms, tears falling.

  ‘I won’t ask how you knew.’ He laughed as she drew back to study his face and feel his forehead.

  Just then a good-looking man arrived and strode across the room to clasp his son close; he was openly crying, pushing at the tears roughly and apologising. ‘Sorry, mate. Oh God, it’s good to see you.’ He laughed at himself.

  The three of them sat for a moment and Theresa wondered if she should leave when Pete looked over at her. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Theresa,’ he said simply, his voice filled with pride.

  ‘How wonderful to meet you,’ Veronica said, walking over and taking her into her gentle embrace, much to Theresa’s surprise, ‘and how beautiful you are. Like a swan, isn’t she, Jack? Pete raved on for pages about you but now I see words can’t do you justice.’ She smiled warmly, from the heart, and Theresa realised her fears over her future mother-in-law were unfounded. This woman was all goodness, just like her son.

  ‘You’ve cared for our Pete and now here you are, ready to become part of our family. I can’t tell you how grateful we were to get your telegram,’ Jack said, kissing her cheek and placing his arm around his wife as she nodded tearfully. ‘Made such a difference to know you were bringing him home.’

  ‘Yes, so very grateful, dear. What a blessing that you found him again,’ she said, studying her face. ‘You know it’s the strangest thing–’

  Just then there was another knock at the door and Simon’s face appeared, gaunt but far healthier than the last time Theresa and Pete had seen him.

  ‘Hear there’s a thirsty man come back from war.’ He grinned and Pete let out a laugh as Simon entered, holding an older lady’s hand. ‘Nana wouldn’t stay away. Wanted to see the survivor of the perishable heat. Here he is, Nana, I told you I wasn’t the only one.’ Simon shook Pete’s hand as Nana Dwyer kissed him and clucked at Simon.

  ‘Now, now, ’tis a sin to make fun of an old lady. For shame.’ She shook her finger at them, giggling. ‘I was only wanting to see ye for meself, lad. Are ye still feelin’ poorly?’

  ‘Far better than I was, although I still have the fevers,’ he told her.

  Simon let out a low whistle.

  ‘Hush now!’ his grandmother admonished, turning as Simon walked over and kissed Theresa.

  ‘Nana, may I introduce Pete’s fiancée, Theresa? Theresa, this is my grandmother, Mildred Dwyer–’

  But his grandmother had turned white and he leapt forward to catch at her as she pointed at Theresa in shock.

  ‘Saints in heaven…it’s my Rose…’ They all stared at Theresa and Veronica stepped closer, scrutinising her face again.

  ‘Rose…my baby…’ Mildred began to cry, her hand over her mouth, her head shaking from side to side. ‘You’ve come back. But how…?’

  Theresa didn’t know what to do or say. She didn’t know what she had expected, certainly not this, but the poor lady looked so distressed she took her hands gently and spoke as she would to a soldier in shock. ‘Madam, my name is Theresa, after St Therese. You see? I wear her medal, here, about my neck…I’ve had it since I was a little girl. I…I think it was from my mother.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Yes, my mother.’ Mildred searched her face and she felt obliged to explain further.

  ‘She…she and my father died when I was a baby. I came here with my grandmother in 1916, only she died too and I was raised an orphan. I have…no family.’ She felt herself blush as she announced it to the room. ‘My name is Theresa. Theresa Jones.’

  Mildred shook her head, taking the medal in her trembling hand and turning it over.

  ‘I gave this…I gave this t’ her. Two medals. One for her and one for the baby. I sent it t’ ye mother when she…she stayed in France. Before she passed on. We waited for you. We searched. You…you are Elizabeth.’

  ‘My…my name is Theresa,’ she stammered.

  ‘No, my dear.’ Veronica came forward and placed a hand gently on their joined ones. ‘Your name is Elizabeth Chambers, née Dwyer, and this…this is your real grandmother.’

  She raised her gaze to this woman who clutched at her desperately, her eyes shifting to Simon who stood behind. His eyes. They were the same as hers. He was her cousin. The truth came all at once and hit her with force. France.

  ‘EC,’ she breathed. ‘Elizabeth Chambers.’

  Mildred dissolved into tears and took the beautiful girl into her arms.

  The granddaughter she had thought lost to her for all time had been brought back to her by the miracle of the prayers that she had prayed every day since, still wearing the blessing of St Therese sent all those years back. Here to marry Jack’s son.

  The Lord was merciful indeed.

  Forty-five

  Highview

  The jasmine was thick along the verandah at his grandparents’ home and she shielded her eyes from the sun as she took her walk, drinking in its delicious perfume as she went. The white cockatoos glided past, landing on the roof then ambling their way along, looking down at her with curiosity. Much like everyone else, she acknowledged. She looked beyond them, out towards Gallipoli Street. Little wonder this house was named Highview, she thought, standing to take in the scene laid out before her.

  She traced her eyes along the row of jacaranda trees towards his parents’ blue and cream house on the hill, further along the other side of the street to his other grandparents’ house, the Murphys, then finally to her own grandmother’s house, the Dwyers. The house she would have been raised in, if only things had been different. To think she could have known him all her life. This perfect, golden man.

  She sighed, watching him in the distant field on Kelly. His recovery had been fast these past few weeks – too fast if it meant he would soon be sent back. This was due in no small part to the constant production of dishes from Highview’s kitchen, where his two grandmothers, his mother, his aunt and Eileen, their maid, were on a constant mission to fatten him up. So much for the idle rich. These women never stopped!

  She enjoyed their company but found she needed time to herself too, unused to cooking much and even more unused these days to being in a close situation with others on a daily basis, especially women. Even at the hospital or the orphanage she’d taken to her own space when she had spare time, whereas here everyone seemed joined at the hip. She didn’t know the people they talked about or the dishes they made, and had no part in the memories that were laughed at or insights into the personalities examined. It was hard to get used to.

  Not that they excluded her. On the contrary. A more welcoming group of women would be hard to find, especially Pete’s mother, to whom she was growing closer every day. His grandmothers had also been very kind. Both still worked for the local orphanage and seemed to see her as an adopted child they could share, making every effort to ensure her transition into their families was as gentle a landing as possible.

  His cousin May was a wonderful diversion, popping over to scoot her off on her tandem bike every few days and reminding her to have fun, but it wasn’t quite enough. She had only briefly met Katie, who had reminded her enormously of Missy and was currently on her honeymoon with Simon; they were not due back until after Christmas. Their wedding had been a quiet, sudden affair in the end, due to his imminent transfer back to war. Personally Theresa considered that Si
mon had done more than enough for his country already. She didn’t want to lose her only cousin now, not after a whole life spent longing for family.

  The men, likewise, were all lovely, even James, the gangly thirteen-year-old (although he blushed every time she entered a room), and his father was kindness itself. It seemed hard to imagine him as Pete said he’d been after the Great War.

  But there was one among them of whom she felt wary: there was an element of distrust underscoring her words, and the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes. Not that Pattie didn’t believe that she really was Rose’s daughter. Everyone could see the likeness, and the production of her great-aunt’s watch, the photo of her as a baby that matched one Mildred had at home and the initials on her grandmother’s embroidered quilt had been quite enough validation for even the greatest of sceptics. It was something else in Pattie’s manner that made Theresa suspect that she hadn’t quite won her over. Something wasn’t quite right about the older woman’s attitude when it came to her mother, Rose. In fact Pete’s family in general didn’t seem to have a lot to say about her, except that she had saved Veronica’s life after she’d been bitten by a snake one day. She loved that story, feeling it brought her mother’s persona to life for her. A glimpse of who she was, especially since aside from that there was an odd absence of stories. Sometimes it just seemed as if they hadn’t known her all that well. She supposed it was that, or else what they knew they didn’t want to share. Hadn’t they liked her?

  It was this feeling that drove her over to the Dwyers’ house on almost a daily basis to spend time with her clinging, coddling, yet completely adorable grandmother. It felt comforting to have her mother’s photo on the mantel there and her things in her room still. Theresa loved to sit in that room and visit with her mother’s spirit, getting to know her through the traces she left behind. She had fine taste, she decided, discovering drawers of silks and satins and a wardrobe of beautiful dresses, including a gold satin evening dress she was having reworked for the ball at Greenshades in two days’ time. Nana had given her all Rose’s jewellery too, and she played with each piece, imagining a life where such trinkets were commonplace. Now her life, strangely enough.

  Then there was Rose’s ambulance patch, a relic of the war sent home to her parents by a friend. It had been a great joy to discover that her mother had been in the Yeomanry and she found it amazing to think that Rose had been a part of those pioneer times for women tending to the wounded. It made her very proud to be her daughter and tied in even more feelings of belonging to the family, especially when added to the fact that her grandfather had been a doctor. She wished she could have known him. It was a strange feeling indeed to hold the patch her mother had once worn, the same red cross of duty Theresa wore herself. Apparently her grandfather had kept this one in his wallet in memory of his daughter. It was sad to hold it, knowing that, but it was comforting at the same time knowing they both wore it with pride and that she shared this family legacy of medical care.

  But by far her favourite discovery had been a box of photographs, where she found several images of her mother and this new extended family she was trying to understand. She often sat and stared at one taken the day Pete’s uncle Clarkson had arrived with the Sunbeam and the party at Greenshades had gathered around it for a photograph. Her father was in it, to the side, and her mother was pictured standing next to Jack, his arm around her. Funny she wasn’t standing next to her father.

  And then there was one of her mother with her in France, taken by a street photographer, her face pressed up close against her own, her arms protective in their embrace. This was her greatest of treasures and she kept it in a frame by her mother’s bed. She adored that room and would rather have stayed there than in the spare room in the Murphys’ house, as lovely as it was.

  Her mother’s memory felt welcome there. Understood. Loved.

  It was there she headed that morning, determining that she would ask more about her father this time. His personality was proving harder to grasp and she thought about the things she would ask her grandmother today, including how her parents met and where they married. Perhaps she would marry in the same church. She would have to decide where to have it soon. Pete’s rapid recovery meant their time together was growing ever shorter, as was the growing need for complete honesty, but she put that issue aside for today.

  Today was all about Gregory Chambers.

  Except for the Greenshades photo there was only one other single shot of her father, with her mother, leaving on the ship for England. Aside from these, and the knowledge that they had both died in France during the war, she had no other information on him. His face held little of hers but she finally knew where her unusual hair colour had come from, thinking it fortunate she had been wearing her nurse’s cap the day her grandmother recognised her, otherwise she might still have been in the dark about her heritage.

  Her grandmother was beaming when she opened the door, although she immediately fussed before telling her the news. ‘Goodness, child. Ye’ll burn ye nose to freckles in this sun. I’ve a lovely surprise: come in, come in.’

  Theresa entered the cool room, embracing her grandmother fondly. Mildred patted her face. ‘Iggy! She’s here!’

  A tall man entered the foyer and came over slowly, seeming to drink in the sight of his sister’s reincarnation with amazement. He looked a bit like Simon, only older and without glasses, and she stared at his face. He was more like her, she decided, his features much the same as her mother’s, and she marvelled again at this newfound world of belonging somewhere.

  ‘So you are found at last…I can’t tell you.’ The emotion shook him as his voice broke. ‘I’m so sorry. She was about your age when I last saw her and you are so much like her…’

  He began to cry and Theresa fell into his arms, both weeping for the loss of a mother she was only just beginning to know and a sister he missed so much. He reached over and caught his mother close as she joined in sobbing. He kissed her grey head and choked out words of comfort.

  ‘There now, Ma. She’s sent you a sign, Theresa no less. Your prayers were answered.’

  Finally they broke apart and Mildred dabbed at her cheeks and left the room, muttering about tea. Iggy sat opposite Theresa, unable to stop staring at her.

  ‘May I…ask you a few things about her? There’s so much I don’t know.’

  He patted her knee and sat back to fill his pipe and calm his nerves, rubbing at his eyes. ‘Ask whatever you want, dearest girl. I am from now, and forever more, your most devoted uncle.’ He smiled happily at her. ‘But first things first: do we call you Elizabeth or Theresa?’

  ‘Theresa.’ She smiled back at him. ‘I can’t imagine myself by any other name now, and seeing as my last name is about to change anyway, I thought I’d otherwise leave things as they are.’

  ‘Right you are. An Elizabeth by any other name is still sweet by me,’ he declared, ‘as was our Rose of course.’ He smiled affectionately, still teary. ‘Now, what burning questions do you have for me?’

  ‘Well first of all…what can you tell me about my father?’

  ‘I knew him of course,’ he said after a pause, nodding slowly, ‘although not very well. They had a somewhat secret courtship in Melbourne before we moved up here. I guess he realised he couldn’t live without her because he turned up out of the blue at Greenshades and announced their engagement the very next day. Came as a bit of a shock, to be honest. Ah, here’s the tea. Thanks, Ma.’

  Mildred set it down and left to fetch the cake.

  ‘But what did he do? What was he like?’ she pressed.

  He thought about that for a moment, sitting back with his cup. ‘He was an importer of cars. Brought that Sunbeam your fiancé drives around in over from England, in fact, for his uncle Clarkson. I suppose you know about him?’ She nodded. Theresa had heard the tragic story of Pattie’s first husband. ‘Gregory was…driven, pardon the pun. A very focused man. Knew what he wanted and went for it.’

 
; ‘I’m a bit like that,’ she admitted.

  ‘Well your mother was too, so you had pretty strong chances there. I imagine it was a very feisty marriage.’

  ‘But they were happy, weren’t they?’

  ‘Enough of all that now. Who wants some cake?’ Mildred interrupted, casting Iggy a warning look.

  ‘Please. I have lived a life without family, wondering all this time who they were and whatever happened to them. Please, tell me, where they happy? Did they love one another?’

  ‘You are like them, aren’t you?’ Iggy smiled, and held up his hand at his anxious mother, leaning forward. ‘Yes, I believe they were happy, for a while. They married at the local church and whisked themselves off to England so fast we didn’t get much time to know him. I supposed they were a good match, but they had a falling out in the end. That’s why she went to France to stay with your great-aunt, and joined the Yeomanry. She only wanted the best for you and felt your father was…too possessive. But you need to know, they loved you, both of them, very, very much, and they would be so proud of the woman you’ve become.’

  She turned that information over in her mind. ‘Was he searching for me? Is that why they tried to hide my identity?’

  ‘Yes, it certainly seems so.’

  ‘I know now that Aunt Joelene had called herself my grandmother and given false names for the voyage but I haven’t understood why. Perhaps she was afraid my father would take me back to England…away from all of you.’

  ‘Yes, I would say that was exactly why. He could be very…stubborn.’

  Her grandmother tutted, cutting the cake. ‘Aye, she had her reasons.’

  ‘What reasons?’

  Iggy looked at his mother but she was pursing her lips so he answered instead. ‘Things only they knew. Leave it be: you cannot blame yourself for the choices of others. Suffice to say they loved you and they both wanted you, and here you are where you belong at last, with us.’