by Di Morrissey
‘What about Hawaiian food? Don’t they eat lots of fruit? Seafood?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Yes, but it’s dressed up with so much decoration, trimmings, sauces and side things like chips – not French fries, crisps. I’m told real Hawaiian food is starchy and fattening. I tried poi and it’s horrible – grey glue.’
Her mother laughed. ‘You’re overreacting. At least you’re not starving. Start a new trend and eat and serve Aussie tucker. Keep it simple, plain meat and salads.’
‘Mum! Meat comes cooked in lots of ways with a zillion sauces and there are a hundred types of salads from waldorf to caesar with honey cream dressing, ranch to roquefort cheese, you name it. Simple and plain doesn’t exist in American cooking,’ wailed Catherine. ‘I’m going to gain weight and be a failure as a hostess.’
‘Then, when in Rome, do as they do or just do your own thing. I’ll send you some Australian cookbooks,’ advised Rosemary. ‘Really, I can’t imagine this is such an important issue. Just watch what others do, look in magazines and cookbooks. If you can read you can cook. You’ll be fine.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Catherine, not feeling all that much better.
She hoped entertaining was far off. Serving Bradley a meal each evening when he was tired, preoccupied and talking about people and plans she knew nothing about didn’t make for a jolly evening. He was polite though, and complimented her on her cooking whether the meal had worked or was a rescued disaster. She began to wonder if she’d ever be up to doing a dinner for six people. She wrote to Mollie who sent back a swift reply – ‘Get a caterer or buy in ready-made on the quiet and tip it into a dish in the oven. Who’s to know?’
Catherine dropped Bradley off at the entrance to the base where two sailors, smartly turned out with impassive faces under their peaked caps, manned the sentry boxes at the gate. She watched them salute and wave Bradley through. As he crossed the emerald lawn in his white uniform, she felt her heartbeat quicken at how handsome and striking he was.
She collected the dry cleaning and some of Mrs Hing’s just-cooked malasadas and returned home to change for her first Wives’ Club meeting, being held at the Goodwins. She put on a pretty aloha print sundress that showed off her tan. On the way to the car she picked up a plumeria flower that had fallen from a tree and tucked it in her hair.
By the time Catherine arrived, feeling slightly flustered as she’d had difficulty finding the right place to park and had taken a short cut and got lost, all the other women were there. The housekeeper greeted her and showed her into the large living room where about twenty women were gathered, standing and holding glasses of juice or cups of coffee. A long buffet table was set with food, beautifully presented on pretty dishes and decorated with slices of fruit, flowers, or radish and carrot rosettes.
Connie Goodwin came forward with a smile. ‘My dear. You made it at last. I was worried you’d got lost. Oh, and you brought something, how nice.’ She took the plastic box of buns from Catherine and handed them to the housekeeper. ‘Put these out – on a platter, please, Amber.’
Catherine glanced at the table. ‘How beautifully laid out the food is. My, I thought it was just morning tea.’
‘Oh, our girls are so talented. Very artistic too.’
It suddenly dawned on Catherine that everyone had taken ‘bring a plate’ rather seriously, vying to outdo each other with elaborate presentations. All presumably homemade. Well, at least she’d taken the buns out of Mrs Hing’s takeaway carton and put them in her own plastic box, even if it wasn’t Tupperware.
‘Come and meet our current club president, and the other members of the committee,’ said Mrs Goodwin steering her towards one group who were wearing ribbons above their name tags. ‘You’ll be given your name tag at our little welcome to the club ceremony,’ she added.
Catherine’s heart sank. She had thought that this was to be an informal morning tea but it had all the hallmarks of a political rally, a class reunion of some private girls’ school and a church supper rolled into one. Catherine had been to a lot of meetings of the Country Women’s Association with her mother and had found them great fun, efficient, practical and welcoming. She now felt she was on show and being studied, assessed, judged and found wanting.
And she was dressed inappropriately. Despite the sunshine and soft breeze outside, the Goodwin’s home was closed up and air conditioners hummed, sending an icy blast through the rooms. Catherine shivered and saw that the other women were dressed as if they were going to a smart lunch in San Francisco. Jackets, pencil-line skirts, high heels, nylons. Who wore stockings in Hawaii? Smart dresses were accessorised with elegantly knotted scarves or strands of pearls and gold chains. All had been to the hairdresser and their make-up was immaculate. Each woman was clearly trying to impress the others. Catherine felt completely inadequate.
She shook hands and smiled as she was introduced to the committee members. And the awkward newcomer smalltalk began.
‘Yes, that’s right, just married. Met in London. Kauai was lovely. Yes, we’ll be in California for Thanksgiving. His family are delightful. Yes, we hope to be living on the base very soon.’ On it went. When it was her turn to ask questions she asked, ‘What exactly does the Wives’ Club committee do? Does anyone work?’
‘We all work, Catherine. That’s the idea of the committee, to share the workload,’ said Elizabeth, the president.
‘Workload? I meant does anyone have a job? Is anyone employed in Honolulu?’
‘Not that I’m aware,’ said Mrs Goodwin in a tone that implied that if she did know she would not approve. ‘You’ll discover all our committee and the club work very hard, not just for our own community but for those less fortunate around the world. Our country, as I’m sure you are aware, has a social conscience to help little children and their suffering mothers in those countries not as fortunate as our own.’
Catherine held her tongue and nodded approvingly, while trying to think what to say next. She came up with, ‘How long do committee members hold office?’
This was safe ground and there followed a detailed explanation of the voting procedures.
Eventually Mrs Goodwin went to the middle of the room and rang a small bell and there was immediate silence. She said a few words of welcome, called the meeting to order and handed over to the president. The women all sat down on the circle of chairs as Elizabeth consulted her notes and ran through some ‘housekeeping’ about the next meeting, asking for volunteers to put their name down for the school and hospital visits and a proposed outing to tour the Dole pineapple plantation.
‘We now come to some very pleasant business. And that is to welcome our new member – Catherine Connor.’ She beckoned Catherine to stand up and join her, which Catherine did with a nervous smile.
Elizabeth handed Catherine a gold name tag pin with a small ribbon attached. ‘Welcome and wear this badge with pride. As wives of the officers of the United States Navy, whose men so gallantly uphold the American flag, its honour, tradition and all that America stands for, join us in saying the pledge: We pledge to honour our country, its fighting men, those who work and serve in every capacity to make this world a better place. We stand by those who serve. God bless America. All stood with their hands on their hearts and Catherine mumbled along. She vaguely recalled some paperwork in the welcome kit the navy had sent home with Bradley but she hadn’t had the time, or inclination, to study it. Obviously she was supposed to do so and be word perfect with all this.
Elizabeth turned to Catherine. ‘And now we’ll hear from Catherine.’ As Catherine shot her a shocked blank look, she said, ‘Tell us about yourself. Your background, your interests, your hobbies. It doesn’t have to be very long,’ she added in a stage whisper.
Catherine wished even more that she’d paid attention to those briefing papers in the welcome kit. ‘I’m from Australia, from a small country town surrounded by very beautiful countryside,’ she began in a quavering voice. ‘My father’s a solicitor – lawyer – and run
s a small cattle stud called Heatherbrae. I’m an only child, so it’s very hard for my parents having me live so far away but I’ve been brought up to follow my heart . . .’ Here she gave a small smile as there were encouraging smiles on several faces. ‘And Bradley is a wonderful man, very special and so . . . here I am. Oh, I have worked as a secretary, personal assistant, in my father’s office and as a general dogsbody on our property.’
‘Hobbies?’ prompted Elizabeth.
‘Riding. I have a horse, Parker, that I miss very much. I’m still adjusting to being a bride, well, a new wife. I’m not much of a cook, I don’t do any craft or sew, but I’m hoping now I have the time, I might improve my skills,’ she finished quickly, not wanting to appear a handicap to the group.
There was polite applause. ‘Thank you, Catherine. I’m sure over the coming months we’ll hear more about your homeland and we can all share our favourite recipes and handy tips with you. And, of course, we are all here to support you in any way we can. My goodness, I don’t know where I would have been without my sorority sisters when I first got married,’ trilled Elizabeth.
Catherine decided not to mention that she hadn’t gone to university as it was not as commonplace in Australia as it was in America. The fact that Mollie and half their friends hadn’t gone to university wouldn’t be understood by these women, most of whom had gone to college at eighteen to ‘find a husband’. Few, Catherine discovered, had done anything career-wise with their degrees.
The morning dragged on and at the time appointed on the invitation, they rose to make their goodbyes and thank Mrs Goodwin effusively. The food they’d brought had disappeared and a pile of clean plates, platters and bowls were stacked on the table for their owners to retrieve. The housekeeper stood to one side ready to answer Mrs Goodwin’s sudden demands . . .
‘Amber, fetch some leftover cakes for Mrs Hand’s driver’s family. Amber, where are the brochures for Mrs Gordon? Did everyone get their information sheets? I’m so glad you’ve volunteered for the Christmas craft roster, Catherine,’ she said as Catherine stood in line to bid her hostess farewell.
Catherine had not wanted to volunteer for anything specific, but had become aware that one had to sign up for something and so had put her name on the first sheet handed to her. Craft. She had no craft skills. Well, she’d deal with that later. She just wanted to get out of the freezing house and claustrophobic atmosphere.
Driving home Catherine broke into peals of laughter in the car and wished that Mollie was with her to hear her mimic the president and some of the other women.
Over a drink before dinner she began to regale Bradley with her now hilarious morning, but he stood up and cut her short.
‘Catherine, I don’t find it at all amusing. You’re being childish and quite unappreciative. These women mean well, they are trying to help you fit in, and, remember, their husbands are my work colleagues and fellow officers and, indeed, superiors. If you offend them you harm my professional standing. Please be aware of that.’
‘Oh, come on, Bradley. It was a morning tea party with a bunch of women with nothing but time on their hands trying to feel important,’ she retorted.
‘Catherine, that’s not the right attitude at all. You have to stop being so critical. Have you considered those women probably feel sorry for you? They consider you a country girl from Down Under who has a lot to learn about how things are done in the USA?’
‘What rubbish!’
Bradley sighed. ‘Look, just fit in, be sweet, listen, do what it takes. Don’t rock the boat. It’s my career and the wives play an important role, even when it comes to promotion. This marriage is a partnership. I thought you understood that.’ He spoke in a serious voice as if to an errant child.
Catherine didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wanted to raise her voice and tell him he was being ridiculous. When Bradley had talked about his career, the support of the other wives, the navy community – the navy family – she’d thought in general terms, in the big scheme of things: some social events and if there was a problem, then the other women were there to support you. She hadn’t considered that she would have to play a role in the minutiae of a weekly social club with women whose focus was so narrow.
‘Okay, Bradley. If it means so much to you and my baking cakes and going to craft classes will help your career path then of course, I’ll do whatever you say.’
He gave her a sharp look to see if she was being facetious though her tone was meek. ‘I’m not telling you what to do, Catherine. I’m assuming you will make that call yourself and know what is the correct thing to do.’
She changed the subject and busied herself in the kitchen wondering if they’d just had their first fight.
It was a relief when she had a chance to meet Kiann’e for coffee and the two hours they spent together disappeared in a flash. Catherine told her how wonderful she thought Eleanor and the Palm Grove were and Kiann’e told her more about Eleanor, Abel John, Mouse and the ethos of working for the hotel.
‘Eleanor can be a tyrant in some ways, things just have to be done her way, there is no other. But you can’t deny she’s what makes it work. She took me under her wing and encouraged me and she arranged a job for me at the Moonflower.’
‘I find it strange that a woman from the East Coast should be so steeped in the culture and traditions of Hawaii. How, why did she come to the Islands?’
‘I think she ran away from a broken romance somewhere. She doesn’t like to talk about herself. She married Ed Lang who was older and they were so happy. I know she desperately wanted a child but it didn’t happen, then Ed died so suddenly and everyone thought she’d sell their hotels they’d bought and go back East. But she threw herself into the Palm Grove and it was like she was reborn. It is her life.’
‘She seems very knowledgeable about the old traditions, the history and so on,’ said Catherine. ‘I was fascinated. All I knew about Hawaii was Waikiki Beach and that Captain Cook was killed on the Big Island.’
Kiann’e swirled the last of the coffee in the bottom of her cup. ‘There’s a lot to know. Many of the kids today have no interest in the old days; it’s past history, they say. A few quaint traditions linger that are trotted out for tourists . . . But there’s a lot happening in some quarters,’ said Kiann’e carefully.
‘Like what? I’m really interested,’ said Catherine, aware that Kiann’e was hesitant about going into details.
The dancer smiled. ‘Slowly, slowly. If you’re really interested we can visit a few people, special places. I think you’d appreciate and understand there’s a lot more to learn.’
‘I’d like that, really I would,’ said Catherine eagerly. ‘I need more in my life than craft classes, tea parties and talking to women who are adornments to their husbands’ careers.’
Kiann’e gave a soft laugh. ‘You’re Australian, so you’re a straight shooter, Catherine. I like that. In the coming weeks and months, let’s just tell your husband you’re out with a girlfriend. But really, you and I . . . we’re going on a journey.’ She reached across the table and the two young women clasped hands.
Extract from The Biography of
THE WATERMAN
For the young man, swimming was not just a way of earning a meagre living as a lifeguard. Swimming was a challenge like running, a sport and a pleasure. It became the focus of each day. Something he looked forward to, an earned gift after the boredom of sitting on the beach and fulfilling his lifeguard duties.
When he was running he found himself as much a novelty in the suburbs of Los Angeles as he had back in Red Hawk. Residents didn’t walk about much because the popularity of automobiles was increasing. Sometimes he was regarded with curiosity, but a second glance at the fit and handsome young man, determinedly running at an even steady pace and taking no notice of passing traffic, soon settled any doubts. Sometimes passers-by waved or called a greeting but most ignored him and sped past.
After the barren plains of Red Hawk, the geography
of Los Angeles intrigued him and he never noticed the distances he covered. He came to know the sprawl of the town, areas of adobe houses, farm fields, the west-side mansions, the orchards of the San Fernando Valley and the cluster of buildings and movie studios known as Hollywood.
He discovered small pockets populated by foreign people and in one section, five miles from Hollywood, he discovered a dark-skinned man with heavily accented English who had opened a small shop and baked heavy wholewheat bread for ten cents a loaf. Three loaves of this wonderful bread and a bag of groceries from a local farm shop kept the young man going for nearly a week.
When he was running and swimming the young man came alive. He tested his body, felt every muscle, every fibre, every breath and every heartbeat. His feet and arms moved as a machine, but his mind whirled free as his feet pounded over the miles.
Sometimes he imagined he was zooming over the Rockies like one of the great eagles, or the hawks of his home town. Sometimes he was sliding in snow, skimming over an icy lake, or taking the first spring plunge in a frosty river. And always his fantasy, the movie in his mind, ended with him, upright, standing on a board, riding the waves of Hawaii.
The ocean at Santa Monica was unpredictable and not always suitable for serious swimming so when he heard that the smart new private sports and athletic club was about to open he managed to slip in to watch the extravagant opening ceremony.
He had never seen a building so grand. The beautiful swimming pool was on an upper floor – a first for the city – and decorated in the beaux-arts style with etched coloured-glass windows, chandeliers, lamps in the shape of swans and marble floors. On the ground floor a forty-piece band was playing and waiters in sharp suits passed around food and drinks to the movie stars and other celebrities. He was amazed when he realised that the initial ‘plunge’ into the pool would be taken by the Hawaiian king of swimming and surfing – Duke Kahanamoku, the very man he had seen in that newsreel in Red Hawk.
