Midsummer's Eve

by Philippa Carr

  It was just getting dark when we arrived. It was a small house of one storey. A woman came to the door as we approached. She must have heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs and the wheels of the buggy. It had not been the most comfortable of rides, particularly the last part when we had travelled at some speed.

  I looked anxiously at Helena. She was pale but that was not unusual.

  “Was it very uncomfortable?” I whispered to her.

  “Well … a little.”

  “We do go at a spanking pace.”

  “But you feel safe with Greg,” she said; and I had to agree with that.

  We were taken in to a room which was already laid for a meal. Steaks were cooking on a big stove in a kitchen where the heat must have been intolerable.

  “I’ve made some dampers,” said our hostess. “They should go down a treat.”

  And we sat down and ate as we were, although Mother, Helena and I would have preferred to wash first. But we were hungry and the food tasted good.

  The woman and her husband—Gladys and Tom Pickory—hovered about us while we ate. They kept refilling the tankards from which we drank beer. We were far more tired than we had realized and I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

  There were only two rooms available. My mother, Helena and I were put in one, my father, Matthew and Greg in the other. We were given some water in which to wash but there was not much of it. However we lay in the one big bed and were soon fast asleep.

  We were to leave at dawn, the procedure being as before so that we could get as far as possible before the intense heat of the day.

  I had a few words with Mrs. Pickory before we left. She said Mr. Donnelly had told her he would endeavour to bring her a party. He had called in on his way to Sydney. “Sometimes he calls in and stays a night on his journeys back and forth. He tells other people about us. We’re working this up into a real little business, thanks to Mr. Donnelly.”

  I noticed how her eyes shone when she spoke of him as though there was something godlike about him. I supposed it was that innate masculinity, that sense of power which appealed to some people. Even Helena had said she felt safe with him.

  Then we were off again. The scenery all around was the same as we had seen before. I could understand how people got lost in what Greg called the outback.

  With customary efficiency he found us a spot to rest and eat just as he had on the previous day and in due course we were on our way to the next house of accommodation; and after that it would be Sealands Creek and Cadorsons.

  We were going along at a fair pace when something happened. My father called: “Look out. The wheel’s coming off.”

  Greg brought the buggy to an abrupt halt. He leaped down and stood for a few seconds looking at the wheel. My father had dismounted.

  “I can see what it is,” said Gregory. “I’ve got tools in the buggy. Wouldn’t travel without them. It’ll take a little time, though.”

  He was looking round him. “There’s a bit of shade over there. Not much. But it will have to do. All right. Ladies out. We’ll get to work.”

  I sat down with Helena and my mother close to a wattle bush. The heat was intense and the flies swarmed round us. As we fought them off I watched the men at work.

  Gregory was giving orders. Of course he would, I thought. But in these circumstances he would know what to do. My father worked with him. Matthew stood by trying to help but I doubted he was much use.

  It was almost two hours before we were able to resume our journey.

  Darkness was descending on us. “We can’t get to that house tonight,” said Gregory.

  “What do you propose?” asked my father. “Go on through the night?”

  “The horses need a rest. There is only one thing for it. We’ll camp. Leave it to me. We’ll look for a spot. I do this journey fairly often to and from Sydney. I think I know where we might stop for a rest … and we’ll be off early in the morning.”

  So that was what we did.

  There were sleeping bags in the buggy—one for each of us women; and there were a few rugs which would serve for the men.

  Gregory said: “We’ll light a fire. That’ll scare off any dingo who might feel like investigating. Come on, everybody.”

  We gathered branches of what he called boree—a kind of wattle which he told us made good firewood, and he produced a tin with a lid and a wire handle.

  “It’s a billycan,” he said, “something a man can’t do without in the outback. It’ll brew us some hot tea in no time. You’ll see.”

  My mother said: “You seem to have taken precautions against any eventuality.”

  “That’s what you learn in the bush, my lady.”

  “We’re certainly grateful for your experience,” added my father. We watched him make tea; from the buggy he produced cups for us to drink out of. They were tin but in spite of that the tea tasted good. We were very thirsty.

  With an air of efficiency Gregory washed the cups and the tin can in the creek and put them back in the buggy.

  “Now a good night’s sleep,” he said, “and we’ll be off at the streak of dawn. We might make Cadorsons by sundown.”

  I lay in my sleeping bag looking up at the foreign sky with its unfamiliar stars. I found the Southern Cross which indicated clearly that I was on the other side of the world and made home seem very far away. I could not help thinking of what I called the cosy years; riding round with my father or Jacco, waiting for Jacco to come home for holidays, wondering what companions he would bring with him. But it had not been all cosy. There had been that Midsummer’s Eve which was something as fearful and horrifying as anything that had ever happened. Rolf … leaping over the fire, Rolf whom before then I had believed to be like one of the knights of the Round Table. Perhaps all men had their weaknesses … Joe with his ambitions and theft of Uncle Peter’s papers; John Milward who hadn’t the courage to face his family; Uncle Peter with his dubious clubs. It was a harsh world.

  Thinking of that Midsummer’s Eve brought Digory back to my mind. Where was Digory? Somewhere under these stars? I wondered if he was finding life tolerable. He might be only a few miles away. While we were here I could try to find him. It might be difficult but not insuperable. Perhaps the omniscient Greg could be of use.

  I should be wary of asking favours of him. I felt that might be rather unwise.

  I dozed and woke suddenly to find someone standing over me. I started up. It was Gregory.

  He put his fingers to his lips. “Don’t want to wake the company,” he whispered.

  Floods of relief swept over me. I remembered that my father and mother with Matthew and Helena were within a few yards of me. I felt safe. For a moment, coming out of my sleep, I had thought I was alone with this man … alone out here in this wild country, and the thought terrified me.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  He knelt down beside me. I could see his eyes gleaming in the starlight.

  “All’s well,” he said. “I just came to see how you were.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

  “I’m as comfortable as can be expected.”

  “Not like a nice feather bed, eh?”

  “Indeed no.”

  “Be better when we get to the house. We’ll make you comfortable there. That’s what I aim to do, Annie.”

  “My name is Annora,” I said.

  “Very classy. I like Annie. It’s more friendly.”

  “I do not like it.”

  “Never mind, Annie. You’ll get used to it.”

  I heard my father’s voice. “Anything wrong?”

  “No, no.” Gregory was getting to his feet. “Thought I heard something prowling. Dingo, I reckon. They get a bit bold at night.”

  “It’ll soon be time for getting up,” said my mother.

  “A couple of hours yet,” replied Gregory.

  I watched him move away and I lay there, my body trembling. There was somethin
g about his manner which filled me with apprehension.

  We were ready to continue the journey at dawn. The day seemed very like the previous one, the country more or less the same, too. The land was dry and when we came to a creek Gregory looked at it anxiously to see how much water there was.

  He said: “The greatest curse of this land is drought. Give us rain … just a little of what you get in the Old Country and I can tell you this would then be God’s Own Country.”

  He was quite informative as we rode along, telling us how he had come out as a boy and fallen in love with the place right away.

  “It grows on you, takes a grip of you. It may be that some of you will be affected in this same way,” he warned.

  Just as the sun was beginning to fall before the horizon we arrived at our destination. It was bigger than I had imagined—a rather long low house of one storey. There were several buildings round it which looked like outhouses. We had ridden a long way without seeing any sign of habitation, so I imagined we were fairly isolated.

  Jacco came running out of the house.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it before sundown,” he said.

  He looked different. He wore no coat and his shirt was open at the neck; his face was bronzed; the country was already changing him.

  “It’s lovely to see you, Jacco,” cried my mother. “How are you?”

  “Fine, fine. I’ve had a great time. Come on in. Hello, Greg. Good to see you.”

  Gregory leaped down. “Where’s everyone? They ought to be here. The ladies are exhausted. Maud got anything good brewing?”

  “She has,” said Jacco.

  Several people were coming towards us … men in buckskin trousers and open-necked shirts.

  Jacco said authoritatively: “Wally, see to the horses.”

  A woman came to the door of the house. She stood under the porch watching us. She was tall and rather plump, Junoesque in fact. She had abundant dark hair which, piled up on her head, made her look even taller than she actually was.

  A young girl whom I judged to be about fifteen came out and stood beside her.

  “This is Maud,” said Jacco to me. “She’s a wonderful cook. And Rosa … that’s her little girl.”

  Gregory said: “Let’s get in. Introductions can be made in the morning. What we want now is food and a bed.”

  There was a big room which was a kind of living room and another of the same size which was a kitchen. The rest were bedrooms—five of them, apart from one room which was an office. Several oil lamps were burning in the living room and places were laid at a long wooden table.

  There were steaks and hot bread called dampers, with tankards of ale; and Maud and the young girl waited on us.

  I was too tired that night to take in my new surroundings. All I wanted was to sleep.

  My dreams were jumbled. I was at the Midsummer bonfire and Rolf was there. He stepped out of his robe and he had horns on his head and cloven feet. Then he changed into Gregory and Joe was there saying, “I had to do it, I had to do it.” Then I was alone right out in the scrub and Rolf was coming towards me. Then it was not Rolf but Gregory.

  It was a nightmare and I was glad to wake from it.

  I was soon asleep again and when I awoke it was to find the sun streaming into my bedroom and what had awakened me was a jeering laugh which was immediately followed by another.

  I sat up in bed. Then I remembered. This was the kookaburra, the laughing jackass, of which Gregory had told us. It was the first of many times I was to hear it. But it seemed appropriate that it should awaken me on my first morning here.

  The days were full of new experiences. I seemed to learn such a lot in a short time. Jacco was a mine of information. He had the advantage of having been in the outback much longer and he had eagerly absorbed everything with a fervent admiration.

  He accompanied us round the property—Gregory was with us of course. We met the men who were working there. The place was apparently so large that it took several days to ride round it so of course we could only see a fraction of it. We were, as they said, “in sheep and cattle” and some of these grazed some miles away. There was one man, a jackeroo, who spent his time riding round the property, just to make sure animals were getting the attention they needed and that fences were kept in good repair.

  The men lived in the rather roughly constructed shacks dotted about the place. Some had wives and children, all of whom worked in some capacity on the property. Their attitude amused me. They were in some awe of my father as the owner of the land but at the same time they regarded him with a certain contempt because of his manners and his cultured form of speech. He was an English gentleman—a breed which was not greatly admired in this part of the world. I heard one of them tell Jacco that in time he would grow into a fair dinkum Aussie, which I supposed was just about the highest compliment they could pay an Englishman. It was clear to me that Matthew was utterly despised. He was not practical; he was a dreamer, an idealist—something which there was no call for in this part of the world. As for my mother, Helena and myself, we were women, and by nature of our sex, second-class beings, suitable for one purpose only—to serve their needs in all directions.

  I was most interested in Maud who, in spite of the fact that she was a woman, could keep them in order. I think they applied a special judgement to Maud. She cooked in the great kitchen where, regardless of the heat, there always seemed to be a fire going with pots on it, simmering away.

  She was the widow of one of the men—a man for whom they had had the greatest respect—who had come out originally to have his own farm, and this he had done; but it had been destroyed by a forest fire and he had been left with nothing, and a wife and small daughter to keep. He had found work at Cadorsons and had proved, as Gregory said, a good right-hand man. Unfortunately he had suffered from a chest complaint which was the reason why he had come to Australia in the first place. But the climate could not save him and he had died. Maud was left with ten-year-old Rosa. That was five years ago. I thought she was a fine woman. She hated the coarseness of the men and often chided them for their habits. She guarded Rosa like a dragon and I soon began to understand why; Rosa was young and pretty and there was a scarcity of women on the property; men regarded Rosa with lustful longing.

  Maud had taught Rosa to read fluently and write well. She wanted the best for Rosa.

  My mother was very sympathetic and when we were all together she talked about the possibility of sending Rosa to school. My father said we should wait awhile before suggesting anything impulsively. What we needed first of all was a good midwife for Helena. That should be our primary consideration.

  “There is another matter,” he said. “I think Greg is after buying the property. He’s the sort of man who wants to be in complete control.”

  “He is that already it seems to me,” said my mother.

  “He wants to be known as the master. It’s understandable.”

  “What do you think? Will you sell?”

  “I don’t know. It’s one of the things I want to decide while we are here.”

  “Jacco is very interested in it.”

  “My dear, Jacco’s future is with Cador. Can you see him staying out here forever? Bringing up our grandchildren in this wilderness?”

  “Heaven forbid that he should stay out here,” cried my mother.

  “Of course he wouldn’t want that. He’ll be longing to get home after a while. It’s the novelty with him. He’s seen little of the world. I think I shall probably sell to Greg, although I’ve always liked the idea of having a foot in the country. To see how it has come along since I was last here … well, it is just a miracle. I think there’s a future here. People work. They have to. There aren’t the distractions we get at home. Perhaps that is why they have made such rapid progress.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time to decide.”

  “Yes, Helena’s affair will keep us here for a bit.”

  “I’ll ask Maud about a midwife,
” said my mother. “I’d like her to be here well before the baby’s due. I wonder if there is a doctor.”

  “I shouldn’t think so … not nearer than Sydney.”

  “That’s rather alarming.”

  “We’ll be prepared by the time the baby is due.”

  “It’s something of a responsibility. Poor girl, she seems so listless. What she would have done without Annora, I can’t imagine.”

  “I think she’s looking forward to having the baby now,” I said, “and when it comes that will make all the difference.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” agreed my mother.

  The days slipped by quickly. I scarcely saw anything of Jacco. He was out all day. Matthew was planning to go on a trip farther north. He had spent his days talking to the men and making notes. Several of them were convict labour and he wanted their stories. I often wondered whether the tales the men told him were true because I had seen them with an amused look on their faces when he made notes in his book. They were the sort who would think it a great joke to, as they would say, “Lead him up the garden path.”

  He was a man obsessed with one idea. I imagined he did not concern himself very much with Helena nowadays. At first it had pleased him to have done his knightly deed. Now his thoughts were of a greater achievement.

  He talked continually during meals when we were all gathered round the table.

  “Imagine living on those ships going out!” he cried, hitting the table with his fist. He could be really vehement on this subject which was strange because on all other matters he was such a mild man. “Murderers, footpads put together with those who had stolen a handkerchief or a loaf of bread. Do you know they were kept below for a week after sailing out … shut down below, of course. They had to remove the hatches from time to time or they would have been suffocated. The women made the most of their sex … selling themselves to the marines for a tot of gin. We’ve got to stop this. I’m going to do it. My book is going to be a revelation.”

  I said: “I wonder what happened to Digory and if he survived.”

  Then we talked of Digory and the terrible thing that had happened to his grandmother and how he had been left alone.