It wasn’t as though Wendy was a prude. She’d confessed she wasn’t a virgin, that Bluey and she had been lovers. It seems the Walsh family had a fishing shack on the Tamar she and Bluey would use. They’d go down on their bicycles and spend the weekend together. I couldn’t even invite her home to the island, as now that Gloria was a Catholic she wouldn’t tolerate any hanky-panky in the house. We might have been a pinch of the proverbial but, as far as Gloria was concerned, this didn’t extend to our morals or our table manners.
One Saturday I was in the chemist shop waiting for Wendy. Saturday was a half-day in business, and she was just balancing the cash register when Mr Walsh called me over from the dispensary. ‘Got a moment, Jacko? I’d like to talk to you. Mind if we go out the back?’ he asked. I wondered what could be so private – we’d become pretty good mates and talked freely about things.
I walked around the dispensary counter and into the little storeroom out the back that contained floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with boxes and bottles of chemist stuff. ‘It’s about . . . Wendy,’ he began hesitantly. I waited for him to continue. ‘How do you feel about her, son?’
‘I love her, Mr Walsh.’ I couldn’t think of any other way to put it.
‘To the exclusion of all the other women in your life?’
For a moment I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly. ‘What other women?’ I asked, puzzled.
He looked down at me sternly. ‘Jacko, understand – I love Wendy like a daughter. Almost as much as Anne, my own daughter. We’ve known her family all our married lives. Wendy grew up with our children. Anne went to school with her. I can tell you, she’s a very special young lady.’
‘You don’t have to tell me, Mr Walsh,’ I burst out. ‘I’d do anything for her.’
‘Even give up your womanising?’
‘My what?’ I exclaimed, shocked.
‘Son, you’re free to live your life any way you choose. God knows, after what you’ve been through you deserve a good time. But Wendy is precious to all of us, a very special person and . . .’ He seemed stuck for words to continue.
‘And what?’ I asked, suddenly angry. I knew he was going to tell me a McKenzie wasn’t good enough for her – that I’d better rack off and find a girl suitable for someone of my own class. ‘What are you trying to say, Mr Walsh? That I’m not good enough for her?’
It was his turn to look shocked. ‘No, by no means, Jacko! I, that is, Mrs Walsh and I admire you greatly. I’m sure Dr and Mrs Kalbfell feel the same way about you. All things being equal, you’d make an ideal couple.’
‘But all things are not equal. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?’
‘Jacko, it’s the contraceptives. Two dozen! Nobody buys two dozen at a time unless he has frequent use for them. Now I know you’re a single bloke, but Wendy tells me she’s your first girlfriend since you got back from Korea. How can I believe that? I ask you, if that’s true then why would you want two dozen contraceptives?’
I was grinning before he’d completed the last sentence. ‘I wish what you’d just said was true, Mr Walsh. No, I take that back. I’ll wait for Wendy for as long as it takes. I bought them for Jimmy.’
‘He sent you in to buy them?’ he asked, plainly puzzled and also somewhat alarmed.
‘No, of course not. It was my idea. He didn’t want a bar of it, but I know our island and the effect a six-foot-nine American Negro would have on the island girls.’ I grinned. ‘Or the Launceston ones, for that matter. I knew Jimmy wouldn’t be able to knock them back with a pickaxe handle in both hands – they’d be falling over each other to get to him! So, instead of multiple pregnancies in around nine months’ time, I did what I thought was necessary for the mutual benefit of all parties concerned.’
Mr Walsh laughed heartily. ‘Very sensible, too. I’m truly sorry, Jacko. I like you immensely but I thought you must be some sort of gigolo.’
‘Me?’ I cried, astonished, then hastily added, ‘Mr Walsh, I wouldn’t swap Wendy for every skirt in Ali Baba’s harem.’ Just quietly, not even for Pat Brand, I thought to myself. Then I added, ‘I’ll wait as long as Wendy wants me to.’
He grinned. ‘That’s great, Jacko. I apologise again for the misunderstanding.’
I laughed. ‘In a way it was sort of a compliment, sir.’ I considered asking him if there was any cure for lover’s balls, but thought better of it.
‘Good! It’s good we’ve cleared things up,’ he repeated. He reached into his trouser pocket and produced a small bunch of keys. ‘They’re for the fishing shack – the small one is for the shed out the back, where you’ll find all the fishing gear. It’s only ten miles downriver. Wendy knows where it is and we have an extra bicycle you can use.’ Then he reached onto a shelf and gave me a brown-paper package. ‘Have a good time, son.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye’
The letter from the Governor of Tasmania arrived and I guess old Ma Gutherie gave Busta Gut the hurry-up because it had the Government House imprint on the back of the envelope and ‘OHMS’ on the front. Gloria went to the letterbox when she heard his whistle only to find the world’s laziest postie waiting, the letter in his hand. ‘Letter for Jacko, Mrs McKenzie,’ Busta Gut said, handing it to her. Gloria thanked him, took the letter and turned to go when she heard him say, ‘Looks important.’
‘Tell your mum I’m sure she’ll find out soon enough if it is,’ Gloria said, dismissing him.
‘Don’t get too many letters from Government House,’ Busta Gut said, completely missing her sarcasm. ‘See, on the back it says “Government House” – and Jacko’s already received that telegram I brung him from Canberra.’
Gloria flipped the envelope. ‘So?’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘Tell your mother the governor is going to make me a dame.’
Busta Gut looked puzzled. ‘A dame? But you are a dame, Mrs McKenzie. I’m a bloke and you’re a dame,’ he explained carefully.
Gloria, who was a devoted reader of the Women’s Weekly and up on British aristocracy, replied, ‘It’s like being made a sir, only it’s for ladies. I’m gunna be a dame of the British Empire.’
‘A what?’ Busta Gut exclaimed, mystified.
Gloria finally lost patience with him. ‘Tell your mum to mind her own business!’ she said abruptly, turning away and walking up the garden path to the house.
‘I was only askin’,’ Busta Gut whined. ‘Anyway, letters is her business.’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ Gloria said, walking through the front door. ‘Letter from Government House, Jacko,’ she said, trying to conceal her excitement.
‘G’arn – you open it, Mum,’ I said, wanting her to enjoy the moment. Her fingers trembled as she carefully tore the envelope open. ‘Read it to me, Mum.’
She unfolded the single-page letter. ‘Me glasses, where are me glasses?’ she called out, panic-stricken. ‘On the shelf above the stove! Quick, Jacko.’
Gloria’s glasses were always in the same place as she always read in the kitchen, using them for reading recipes, the Queen Island Weekly Gazette and anything else she could lay her hands on, provided it was a magazine or a newspaper. I’d never seen her read a book. ‘All them big words for nothing,’ she’d say, dismissing any book I suggested she’d enjoy. ‘If them words are so important why don’t they use them in the Women’s Weekly, eh?’ It was a good question, but not one I was willing to put to Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan.
I crossed into the kitchen for her glasses and for the millionth time promised myself that come next Christmas time I’d give her new lino. Christmas had just passed and, as usual, it hadn’t happened. Instead, Jimmy and I had clubbed together to buy her a washing machine. She’d always done the washing in the copper in the shed out the back. When she’d completed her first wash on the new machine she’d taken out every single piece of washing and examined it minutely, sniffing each piece, in particular Cory and Steve’s work clothes for the smell of fish. ‘I dun
no, son,’ she said doubtfully, ‘I didn’t hear it boiling and I reckon that tumblin’ business that goes on in there don’t do what the mangle does and it’s going to harm the clothes.’ But, after one or two goes, she was convinced enough to admit that it had changed her life.
I returned with her glasses and told myself she needed a new pair, as these were held together with sticking plaster and the lenses were badly scratched. I reckon she must have had them since she’d been a young bride. There was only one problem – you had to go to Launceston to have your eyes examined, and there was no way Gloria was going to fly in the Douglas DC3. What’s more, the last time she’d been over on the boat the Strait had played up ‘something terrible’ and she’d been sick as a dog all the way there and all the way back. She swore ‘never again’ and, as a consequence, had been island-bound for the past fifteen years.
Adjusting her glasses and clearing her throat, she began to read the letter aloud.
Government House
Hobart
5th January, 1954
Dear Private McKenzie,
I am writing to inform you that His Excellency the Governor has received the Military Medal, which Her Majesty the Queen is graciously pleased to award to you.
I would be grateful if you would let me know whether you would prefer to receive this medal at the next Vice-Regal Ceremony at Government House or whether you would prefer it to be forwarded to you now by registered post.
Would you also be good enough to advise me of any change to your address. At the same time would you confirm your
rank as shown in this letter is correct.
Yours faithfully,
T.M. Mathews
Official Secretary to the Governor of Tasmania
‘That’s good,’ I said, ‘they can post it to us.’
Gloria held the top edge of the letter to her lips, her eyes closed. Now they shot open as a look of horror crossed her face. ‘They can what? What did you say?’ she exclaimed.
‘Mum, I wouldn’t want to go without you,’ I explained.
‘Without me? Nobody’s going nowhere without me.’
‘The boat or the plane, you’ll be sick or afraid to fly. How are we going to get you there?’
Gloria sighed. ‘Some things are worth it. Can’t you see that your medal cancels out Alf’s disgrace ban?’
This was a huge gesture but I thought I might as well have a go at pushing the envelope a bit further. ‘What about our being a pinch of the proverbial?’ I asked, cheekily.
Gloria seemed to be thinking, then she smiled slowly. ‘When you went to Korea I kept this scrapbook. Sue got a five-shilling-a-week rise when she got her second nursing certificate and she ordered The Examiner for me. It came from Launceston every day on the aeroplane. I’d cut out bits about the war and paste them into the scrapbook I called my “War Journal”, though I never wrote nothing in it – but all your letters are there, and other bits’n’pieces, and the terrible telegram telling us you were wounded and missing in action. Then when month after month went by and we didn’t hear from you, I thought you must be dead.’ I could see Gloria’s eyes were teary as she recalled the incident, and now she wiped them on her sleeve. ‘“Well,” I said to Sue and the twins, “Jacko was the only one could’ve got this family out of being a pinch of the proverbial and now it’s too late.” Sue would get real cranky at me, and she’d always say, “You don’t know he’s dead, Mum! We haven’t got another telegram, have we?”’ Gloria smiled. ‘Yeah, mate, I reckon you’ve done it – no more pinch of the proverbial for this family.’ She smiled, and put her hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ve done us proud, Jacko. We’re all gunna go to the governor’s house to get yer medal, even if it kills me.’
‘By boat or plane?’ I asked.
‘By boat! Sick’s better than dead,’ Gloria said quickly.
I wrote back to say we would attend the ceremony when it happened and a reply came back a few weeks later. Fortunately I got to it first as Gloria was out somewhere and everyone else was at work, and Jimmy had gone to see Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan.
Government House
Hobart
25th January, 1954
Dear Sir,
His Excellency the Governor will hold an investiture at Government House, Hobart, at 11 a.m. on 25th of February 1954, and I am, therefore, desired by His Excellency to invite you to be present on this occasion to receive the Military Medal awarded to you.
If you so desire, you may be accompanied by two relatives,
or friends, and it would be appreciated . . .
Shocked out of my tiny mind at this news, I read no further before panicking. Two relatives, or friends. No, no, no! How could that possibly be? Gloria and Sue had already cut out the material from the patterns they’d chosen for their outfits. I’d asked Wendy to come and she was terribly excited, and said it was going to be much better than being crowned Miss Tasmania. Then there was Jimmy – it was unthinkable that he wouldn’t be with us. I’d never live it down if I didn’t invite Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, who was the closest thing we had on the island to posh people and who was bound to know her way around a ceremony like this, pointing things out to us. Finally the twins – they might just understand, and would say they were glad because they wouldn’t have to dress up in a jacket and tie, but secretly they’d be pretty narked. Our disgrace ban and our pinch-of-the-proverbial curse were being lifted at one fell swoop and all I was allowed to invite was two members of my family, or Gloria and Wendy. Oh, Jesus, not Wendy, not without Sue, how was I going to tell them!
I read the rest of the letter with my heart pounding and with a deep sense of despair. For once I’d got something right, and now it was all smashed to smithereens. Gloria certainly wouldn’t go without the family, and going with Wendy and Jimmy alone just wouldn’t be right.
. . . if you and your party could arrive at Government House not later than 10.30 a.m.
If you are unable to be present, would you kindly state whether you desire to have the decoration forwarded to you by registered post? If so, please indicate the full address to which it should be sent.
Yours faithfully,
T.M. Mathews
Official Secretary to the Governor of Tasmania
There you go! I said to myself. They said that bit about posting it in the last letter – that’s how the bastards get out of it. They don’t really want you there, so they trick you like this. I bet if I’d been some high-ranking officer, a major or a colonel, they’d invite my family – probably include cousins, and the whole bloody neighbourhood. ‘Would you kindly let us know, for catering purposes, how many people will be attending?’ That’s what would be in their letter, for sure. Of course, this was immature and indicative of the chip on my shoulder. But I was still a soldier with all the usual enlisted man’s paranoia. I was also confused and resentful and found myself in a predicament I couldn’t solve without hurting a number of people I loved. It just wasn’t bloody fair.
I sat there for at least an hour feeling miserable and sorry for myself. Finally I decided to say nothing to anyone about receiving the second letter and take the bull by the horns and write to the governor and ask him for clemency. I’d read about people doing that, though it was usually for murder and such like crimes.
I got out the blue Croxley pad from the kitchen drawer and uncapped my fountain pen, and then I hit my first problem. How the hell do you
address a governor? I examined the letter I’d just received and then went and got the first letter, which Gloria had had framed and which now stood alongside her other precious possessions on the shelf above the stove. I thought there must be titles and phrasing that were common to both letters; protocol I would need to use. I also thought of consulting Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan. But then, of course, I would have let the cat out of the bag. So finally I just sat down at the kitchen table and wrote.
His Excellency the Governor
Government House
Hobart
28th January, 1
954
Dear Your Excellency,
I am writing to you to beg for your clemency as I find myself in a terrible predicament.
Recently I was awarded the MM, although this was a big surprise as there were lots braver soldiers than me who deserved the honour much more than I did.
Your secretary wrote inviting me to receive the medal from your own hands and I replied saying I’d be honoured on behalf of my family.
Now, here comes the predicament.
The most recent letter I received restricts me to two guests. But that’s not how it works with my family – with us it’s one in, all in. Mum, Sue and the twins, Cory and Steve.
But there’s worse to come, Your Excellency. I’ve already invited my girlfriend, Wendy Kalbfell, who was Miss Tasmania in 1951, and Jimmy Oldcorn, an American who saved my life as a prisoner of war in Korea more than once, and who is visiting our family on the island while recovering from his wounds the same as I am. Finally, there is Miss Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, who you may know, as she is the justice of the peace on the island, the ex-librarian and now runs the Queen Island Weekly Gazette. She taught me everything I know.
My mother and Sue, my sister, have already cut out the material they ordered from McKinlay’s in Launceston for their dresses, and they’ve layby’d their gloves and high-heel shoes.
Please, sir, even if we all stand at the gate and you come out and give me my medal that would be okay, or if you like, we won’t drink any tea or eat any cake if there’s not enough to go around and we won’t hobnob with anyone.
I beg your indulgence.
Yours sincerely,
Private Jacko McKenzie
I admit there are bits in there I could have written differently at the time – or, if you like, in a more sophisticated vein. Even then I was less ingenuous than the letter is made to sound, though how much less I can’t really say. But, if this makes me a phoney, then I don’t apologise. You only get one chance in these things, and if only two guests could accompany me to the investiture then none of us was going. I knew Gloria too well to know she wouldn’t compromise. I could almost hear her saying, ‘Jacko, if that’s all they care about our family they might as well shove your medal in the mail or up their bums as far as I’m concerned. We’re staying put, love.’ I confess I felt exactly the same, only along with my family I included Jimmy and Wendy. And, because I had come to realise how much I owed Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, her as well.
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