by Di Morrissey
Thommo was learning a trade with Mr Hinton, the butcher. But the two boys, such close mates, still made time for Sunday excursions together. When they had a free Saturday night they went to one of the local dances or concerts. At first they’d felt shy and awkward around girls, but as they were both handsome and cheerful they soon found they had no trouble attracting attention from the young ladies – even those carefully chaperoned.
The Williams family settled close by. Emily nodded politely. ‘Such a nice day for a picnic, Mrs Richards.’
‘Indeed. My goodness, Mollie is growing up isn’t she?’
Emily glanced at Mollie spreading a rug to sit on. Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Harold had also gone to find his friends. ‘Mollie passed her latest piano examination last week. And your family?’
‘Keeping busy. Always a lot to do on a farm.’
‘Yes. Well, I’d better go to the tea tent, we CWA ladies are on duty,’ said Emily rather pointedly. ‘See you later, I’m sure.’
‘Nice to see you, Mrs Williams. Say hello to Harold. Haven’t seen him since we collected some spare parts for our tractor.’
Emily excused herself, telling Mollie to mind their spot and picnic things as she went to see when she was needed on duty in the tea tent. Emily had little time for Clem’s mother, Nola Richards. The hard-working farm wife had no refinement in Emily’s eyes. And it was a shame Mrs Richards didn’t attend the Country Women’s Association meetings; after all, the whole idea was that women help each other and the Richards had been very glad of the help from the CWA after the last drought.
But Nola Richards was in good spirits and ignored the snub from Emily Williams. She settled back, fanning herself with her cotton hat, to watch the fun and games. Looking round she saw her son Clem with Thommo, inseparable as always, talking in a group under a tree. One of the girls looked to be Elizabeth Williams. Pretty as a picture, but she knew it too.
Eleven-year-old Phyllis came racing towards Nola Richards. ‘Mum, Mum, our Keith and Kev are in the tug-o’-war.’ She yanked at her mother’s arm.
‘Hold your horses. Someone has to watch our things. I can see from here.’
‘No, come close. Cheer them on,’ wailed Phyllis. Then, spotting Mollie, she called, ‘You coming to watch the tug-o’-war, Mollie?’
Mollie smoothed her skirt, sticking out her legs to show off her new socks with the frill around the top. ‘I have to stay here and look after our lunch.’
‘Then watch ours too,’ exclaimed Phyllis and dragged her mother to her feet.
‘Would you mind, Mollie?’
Mollie nodded. ‘Yes, Mrs Richards. I’ll do that.’
Nola walked to Mollie and leant down, patting the bow in her hair. ‘You do look very pretty. Thank you so much.’
Phyllis raced ahead of her mother calling to her big brothers.
‘Look at Mum,’ said Clem, watching from under the tree. ‘She loves all the games. She’d be in the races like a shot.’
Elizabeth gazed at the plump woman in the faded floral frock that barely buttoned across her expansive chest. Mrs Richards had loose curls of hair blowing free under her hat, she looked flushed, and her robust laughter was loud as Phyllis dragged her mother to the starting line.
‘Your mother isn’t going in the sack race, surely?’ Elizabeth said to Clem.
‘She’d give it a go but she’s over the age limit, I reckon.’
‘Good on yer, Mum!’ shouted Phyllis as Nola Richards put an egg in a spoon and ran a few paces to show a youngster how it was done.
‘So what’s happening tonight? Are you going to the fireworks?’ said Elizabeth to the group, but her eyes flicked over at Clem.
‘The Gordon boys are doing the bonfire. They’ve got crackers from the Chinaman,’ said Thommo.
‘That’s kid’s stuff,’ sniffed Elizabeth. She’d grown up next to the Gordon boys who were almost like cousins. She and Mollie were in and out of their house, just as the boys were at home in the Williamses’ backyard or on their back verandah. Emily was strict about not allowing the boys to tramp through the house.
‘There’s supposed to be rockets over the river when it gets dark,’ volunteered Cynthia Joyce, Elizabeth’s friend from the bank. Elizabeth had a job at the local auctioneer and stock and station agency next door to the bank, and the two girls had become friendly and shared lunchtimes in the park.
‘Let’s go, it’ll be fun,’ said Elizabeth, then turned to the boys. ‘You both coming to the fireworks?’
The boys looked at each other and shrugged. ‘S’pose so,’ said Clem. ‘I’ll stay the night with you Thommo.’
‘Righto. Hey, they’re starting the ceremony. C’mon.’
The group hurried to where the crowd was gathering at the bandstand to watch the arrival of the special guests. Seated on chairs were the mayor wearing his insignia; Mrs Mallory from the Red Cross Committee; Mr Higgins, the school principal; and Major General Jones who had been a hero in the Great War and was invited to such occasions to wear his medals and present prizes.
Everyone rose as the band played ‘God Save the King’ and then, as the Union Jack was run up the flagpole by the boy scouts, everyone sang ‘Rule Britannia’.
The formal speech fell to the mayor, who had a booming voice and was never at a loss for words. Or, as Harold hissed to Emily, ‘There’s a man that can talk underwater with a mouthful of toffee.’ Emily nudged him as Mollie giggled behind her hand.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, once again we come together to celebrate Empire Day and commemorate the British Empire on whose lands and dominions throughout the world the sun never sets. Storm clouds are gathering in Europe and our empire could well be facing dark days ahead. So let us salute the King and empire and show our patriotism.’
He paused dramatically, and Emily whispered to Harold, ‘Does he mean war might break out?’
‘Let’s pray not. Though if the stories from Europe are accurate, it’s very troubling,’ said Harold.
‘If there’s a stoush, mate, we’ll show them what we’re made of,’ added a man with a strong Scottish accent standing beside Harold.
The mayor went on to thank everyone involved in this fine occasion and called on General Jones to present prizes to students who had turned in the best essays on ‘What the Empire Means to Me’. But Harold wasn’t listening. He glanced around to spot the young men, the Gordon boys, the Richards boys, young Thommo and Clem standing next to Elizabeth and Cynthia. They looked carefree, innocent and happy. As he had once been, when marching off to war seemed a high adventure. Yes, when called upon Australians would rally to support the mother country. But at what cost?
There was another song, three cheers for the King and everyone dispersed to enjoy their picnic hampers or get a sandwich from the CWA stall. Later there was a dancing display by the primary school children, more races, and novelty competitions involving eggs, buckets of water, horseshoes, and cricket bats bashing tennis balls all over the place. Then there was a ‘tired but happy’ exodus of families bound for dinner tables and backyard bonfires, though many began to make their way to the river for the twilight fireworks.
There was a discussion between the Williamses and the Gordons and it was agreed that the older children could stay at the river and walk back home – a fifteen-minute stroll. The younger children were to go home and change, have supper then join in the neighbourhood bonfire in the Gordons’ backyard.
Clem, Thommo, Elizabeth and Cynthia found themselves paired off as they headed down to the river to find a good spot to watch the rockets go off. The girls walked in front, the two mates hung back talking in low voices.
‘Go on, I dare you, Clem.’
‘Nah, too many people around.’
‘You’re scared. A gutless wonder. You and all your talk about girls at the pictures,’ niggled Thommo.
‘What if she says something to her parents? I’ll get shot.’
‘She won’t if she likes it.’
‘What about you and Cynthia? I will if you will,’ declared Clem with sudden firmness.
‘Righto. You’re on.’
‘How am I going to know if you do it? And same for me. The girls won’t kiss if someone else is watching.’
‘Scout’s honour,’ said Thommo holding up three fingers in a mock salute. ‘We tell the truth.’
They emerged from a patch of rainforest onto a wide open grassed area beside the river. ‘Cripes, look at all the people,’ said Clem.
‘Wait till it gets dark. No sweat then.’
They gathered around the Cedartown wharf waiting for the last light to fade so it was dark enough for Mr Holland, the blacksmith, and his handful of helpers to set off the sky rockets from bottles strategically placed along the bank. There’d been a small display of Catherine wheels, jumping jacks, basket bombs and double hungers, while children twirled sparklers and let off strings of tom thumb crackers.
Elizabeth sat close to Clem. She’d given her hat to her mother to take home and undone the neat coil of her hair so it fell loose about her shoulders. Clem thought she looked prettier than ever. His hand edged towards hers on the grass.
‘So what’d you think of today?’ he asked quietly.
‘Same as last year. Did your family have a good time?’
‘You bet. Mum doesn’t get out to things too much. Dad’s pretty strict about gallivanting around, as he calls it. Not with me but.’ He casually covered her hand with his.
‘Are you the favourite?’ she teased.
‘Nah. I stand up to him. I sometimes got beltings for it when I was a kid, but I do my share around the farm, so he lets me get away to town when I work at the Liberty.’
‘You don’t like being on the farm?’ asked Elizabeth. She knew most of the boys from farm families would end up farming.
‘I like the idea of city life. Not that I’ve ever been to a real big city. I want to get enough money and work down south,’ said Clem firmly, pleased she hadn’t taken her hand away.
Elizabeth sighed and leaned her shoulder against Clem’s arm. ‘Me too. I hate it here. I’m learning book-keeping and hope to get work in Hungerford next year.’
‘Mr Thompson told me I should go for some training at the motor shop in Hungerford. I’m pretty good with engines,’ said Clem trying not to sound like he was boasting. Elizabeth smelled nice and he was itching to put his arm around her shoulders.
They were silent a minute watching Cynthia and Thommo skylarking with several of their friends.
Then Elizabeth said, ‘What the mayor said, about dark days and all that. My father thinks there could be a war.’
‘Ah, I dunno about that,’ said Clem, a little surprised at her concern. It all seemed a long way from the wharf at Cedartown. ‘Hey, it’s getting darker. Won’t be long before the show starts.’
Elizabeth ignored his remark. ‘Dad says if England goes to war then we’d have to help too. Would you go and fight?’ She turned to look at him and Clem nearly leaned forward to kiss her but thought better of it with so many people around and it not yet really dark.
‘Strewth, yes,’ he enthused, even though it was the first time the idea had been put to him. ‘You bet. Like a shot. Get me off the farm for sure!’
There was a chorus of shouts as the first rocket whizzed into the sky flaring pink and green stars that drifted down towards a reflected display on the river surface. More and more rockets soared up with a chorus of explosions that brought screams of delight from the crowd. And then a wall of spinning, sparkling fireworks hanging on the old wharf shed provided a stunning side-show while more rockets were readied for a grand finale high over the river.
The sudden silence and darkness that came as the show ended was broken by a roar of applause.
The crowd broke up, most keen to get home for more food and backyard fireworks. But there were dawdlers, some older blokes who settled down for a few bottles of beer before calling it a night, and some younger folk who just wanted a bit longer together away from adult scrutiny.
Clem and Elizabeth sat talking about work and future social events until Thommo and Cynthia came up hand in hand. Thommo was waving a red, white and blue balloon he had picked up and he marked their arrival by letting it go, giving a silly salute as it rose into the night sky.
‘You’re a clown,’ giggled Cynthia.
The foursome walked up the dirt road lit by the rising moon and as they came opposite the great stand of the Brush Thommo, on cue as Clem had prompted him, nudged Clem in the back.
‘Hey, dare you to go into the big fig tree. The Abos reckon there’s spirits, ghosts, in there at night.’
‘Yuk. It’s full of flying foxes. And it smells,’ said Cynthia dismissively.
‘The bats are all out hunting. You been in there?’ Clem asked Elizabeth.
To his surprise she said coolly, ‘Of course. Lots of times with my dad. Not at night though.’
‘Go on then, I dare you,’ laughed Cynthia. ‘Bring back a fig leaf!’
‘Or wear it,’ giggled Thommo.
Clem grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. ‘Righto, here we go. Come on, let’s show them.’
Laughing, they took the rough track into the rainforest and almost at once were plunged into darkness under the forest canopy. They paused for a moment to let their eyes adjust.
‘This is spooky,’ whispered Elizabeth, gripping his hand.
From his pocket Clem pulled a small torch that he used to show people to their seats in the picture show. ‘This’ll help, come on.’ They walked as quietly as they could. ‘Those noises, nothing really, just little night animals and stuff,’ he said to reassure them both.
They reached the towering old tree and stopped, staring up through the black maze of branches and loops of aerial roots to the moonlit sky.
‘Dad reckons this was here two hundred years ago,’ said Elizabeth. She turned to look at him and Clem grabbed his chance, leaning over and kissing her quickly.
He wasn’t prepared for Elizabeth to wrap her arms around him and kiss him back but he held her tightly, the beam of torch wavering across the giant buttress roots. They were conscious of nothing but their lips and quickening hearts.
Suddenly there was a loud noise, like someone or something, crashing through the undergrowth near the huge wall-like buttress roots of the tree. Elizabeth screamed and broke away from Clem.
‘S’all right, it’s okay,’ shouted Clem, waving the torch around, but for Elizabeth that only made the scene more grotesque and she screamed again. Clem grabbed her around the shoulders.
‘Was it a ghost?’ Elizabeth was scared.
‘It’s all right, probably a wallaby or something. Let’s get out of here anyway.’ Clem felt shaky, unsure of just what they’d heard.
Soon they were laughing about it with Thommo and Cynthia. It would be a good story to be embellished later.
Elizabeth held on to Clem’s hand all the way to Cynthia’s house and then to Cricklewood. ‘I’d better go round the back,’ she said. ‘See you, Thommo.’
‘Yeah, righto.’ Thommo hung back at the front gate as Clem led Elizabeth through Emily’s front rose garden.
‘Jeez, you took long enough,’ complained Thommo when Clem returned close to ten minutes later. ‘So did ya?’
‘Yeah. She kissed me too. What about you and Cynthia?’
‘Nah. I didn’t feel like it. Not my sort,’ said Thommo dismissively. ‘Girls, they always scream and muck up. So what’re we doing tomorrow then?’ he asked briskly, wanting to move away from the topic of girls.
Clem touched his lips, recalling the surprising softness of Elizabeth’s mouth, and was reluctant to interrupt the surge of delight that he felt sweeping through his whole body. But he forced himself to reply to Thommo. ‘Have to go home and help with the milking and the pigs early tomorrow. Want to play cards tonight? Your call.’
‘S’pose so,’ said Thommo, glad his mate was thinking about things they both liked. ‘Or maybe dominoes, eh?
’
Dani
Dani was absorbed in putting down the foundation of a painting, with a Bartok concerto playing loudly. It was wonderful not to have neighbours so she was surrounding herself with sound. She was trying to capture the sheen on the surface of the river in a particular light, so she was applying the paint in thin layers to give a translucent, film-like quality. As she stood back from the easel she became aware her phone was ringing.
‘Are you working? Am I interrupting?’
‘Roddy! Hello, stranger.’ It had been at least ten days since she’d heard from him.
‘Yeah, sorry about that. I got tied up in a few business deals. Once I get involved I kinda zone out of the real world. Like you when you paint, I guess.’
‘I have answered the phone though,’ retorted Dani. ‘So what’s happening down there in Sydney?’
‘I’m in New Zealand. Quite a few things are moving along. I’ll be back up there next week. Hey, didn’t you mention you know someone on the council there?’
Straight to the chase, thought Dani. ‘Yes, I do. Why?’
‘This project needs some local support –’ he began.
‘Would this project be the Isabella movie,’ cut in Dani, tired of his obfuscation.
Roddy laughed easily. ‘Touche! You’ve spoiled my surprise. Yeah, what do you think, she’s a natural, eh?’
‘Yes. That’s why I’m painting her for the Birimbal development,’ she reminded him.
‘Great, the more the merrier, cross promotion. Who leaked the news?’
‘It’s not public knowledge . . . yet, it was just a rumour. Is it really going to happen?’ Dani hoped Garth would get a good deal for his manuscript if Roddy was serious.
‘Doing my best, babe, talking to the money men, got to get a heavyweight creative interested. Turns out they’re both here in Wellington.’
‘What kind of creative heavyweight?’ she asked.
‘A director, famous old guy. What’s the word – an auteur – that’s it. Russell Franks, ever heard of him?’
