by Paul Almond
“You see to the Greek, the dance was not a mere pastime; it was intimately connected with his whole life and religion. Through our revived Greek dance here, using those ideals of beauty, freedom, and strength, we seek to be one with the rhythm of the universe.”
Eric shook his head. He’d never heard such fine explanations. More and more, his fellow feeling grew with this talented speaker, one with such aplomb, such charisma and self-confidence.
When her talk ended, the applause grew. Rene curtsied deeply and gracefully. Then she gestured to Mr. Johnson, who had introduced her. Eric paled. Had the moment come? Was he about to meet his Rene face-to-face?
C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N
Harris Johnson came back to the lectern and announced, “Now we are lucky, because Miss Gray has acceded to my request to answer a few questions.”
Thank heaven, a reprieve, Eric breathed. He sat back. The longer she took the better! He truly had stage fright — as well he might after eight long years.
A plump woman got up to pose a question.
Rene came to the lectern to answer, and faced the audiences, whom Eric thought unusually attentive. “Many mothers have remarked that they get quite enough exercise in the house, looking after their children, though today our modern labour-saving devices take away any necessity of physical exertion. Well, you may find yourself sadly overworked, but there are still forms of exercise to help. Co-ordination of mind and movement is all that is required.
“Our secret here is mental and physical relaxation. How few of us today know how to truly relax, either mentally or physically? — A quiet restfulness in mind and body that results in a perfectly poised being.” She smiled as the lady sat down. “Anyone else?”
Several hands shot up, which pleased Eric. The moment had been delayed again.
Rene answered the next question, while Eric’s mind spun with anxiety. “In Victorian days, deportment was taught, yes, but girls were corsetted and hampered by tradition in clothes and bearing. But the weaker the body is, the more it runs your life. In the haste of modernity, we have lost all rhythm. Look at a street crowd rushing for trains and trams, straining and pushing and fretting. Not hard to realize how far we have departed from real natural movements. We all know that a good walk, a swim, or a game, will brush away the cobwebs, make us forget our depression, our pessimism, our little aches and pains, and so feel beautiful and alive.”
Finally, inevitably, Eric heard Harris say, “Time for one last question.” He fidgeted while Rene gracefully replied to another question: “Miss Gray, what exactly would you teach us if we came forward to enroll in your new school? The same thing you’re putting in the school curriculum?”
“Good question. Each newcomer will be evaluated, of course. You see, Ruby Ginner, the recognized authority on the Revived Greek Dance, has evolved with Irene Mawer a set of exercises based on the old laws of natural movement. The body is trained so that every part is made strong, supple, and rhythmic — no one part more than another, so that your body may become an instrument whereon the mind may play. Music cannot be played upon an instrument that’s out of tune.”
Now, thought Eric, now she’ll stop?
Rene paused, and went on, “A woman is as young as she feels. Why not always be young and beautiful? Let us make our bodies truly expressive of the spirit within and release that spontaneous joy in life — which lends colour to our every thought and magnetizes by its very exuberance everyone we meet.”
She curtsied and returned to her corner. But after the applause, several ladies hurried forward to speak to her. Eric couldn’t move. This was it. But how should he approach her? Stay back here, or hurry forward with the others clustered about, talking excitedly, asking her questions? Of course not.
But what if she spotted him back here? He hunched over, putting head in hands partially to hide himself as others, chatting, made their way towards the exit. A couple moved past and stopped to touch him on the shoulder. “Feeling all right, mate? Overwhelmed by her talk, I expect,” laughed the man.
“A very inspiring talk, it was,” said the woman. They could see from the way he looked up, startled, that he was fine.
“Oh yes, very smart, very knowledgeable, no doubt about that!” Eric allowed himself to feel proud of his Rene. His Rene? There you go again, he told himself, as the couple moved on.
He noticed a tall man waiting, smooth attractive face, a dancer’s body, standing apart from the few women questioning their speaker. Oh, so that was it! She did have another male friend. His heart sank.
Well, maybe he would come back another day. Not the time to embarrass her in front of that suitor. He got up and started toward the exit; the room had emptied save for the women talking to Rene, a slim young man, and Mr. Johnson who was moving the lectern to one side.
Eric reached the double doors but paused. He saw the young man follow Johnson and join him to chat happily. So not Rene’s suitor! Good.
He stood in the doorway, undecided, when Rene caught sight of him.
Even at that distance he could see the blood leave her face. She seemed to waver, and one of the women caught hold of her. He saw her excuse herself from them and, almost as if in a daze, start down the centre aisle towards him, staring all the while. He wanted to go forward and take her in his arms, but couldn’t move.
As if in a dream she drifted forward, lithe, graceful, so beautiful. Then she reached him, held out both hands, took his shoulders firmly, and looked him full in the face. “I had to touch you. I thought perhaps you were a ghost.”
***
“We have lots of beer taverns, but I need something stronger!” Rene gave a little laugh as she led the way to a small adjacent café. “I sometimes eat here.”
“Something stronger, for sure!” Eric found himself shaking. No shell shock, just strangely intense feelings. After settling themselves, Rene with her gin and tonic, Eric with a good slug of whiskey, they faced each other across the tiny round table: their hands reached out and held each other.
“When did you get in?”
“The day before yesterday. I came on the Aorangi.”
“Did you? I’ve always wanted to travel on that ship. I hear she’s marvellous.”
“Marvellous indeed.” Eric nodded.
They each took another drink and Rene reached into her purse for a pack of cigarettes. She put one in her mouth and Eric lit it for her. “I must stop this. It’s not good for my dancing.”
She put down the packet and looked hard at Eric. “And so what did you come all this way for, Eric? Have they offered you a good job?”
Eric shook his head, but volunteered no more.
“We’re pretty well half way around the world from the Gaspe.” She smiled. “I’ve often thought about that.”
Eric lifted his eyes. “Often?”
“Oh yes, dear Eric, often.” She nodded, trying to control herself. “So tell me, what did bring you here?”
Eric stared for a moment, and then came out with it. “You.”
He paused, then repeated: “I came all this way... just to find you.”
The tears welled up in her eyes. Out came a handkerchief from her purse and she touched her cheeks. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured.
“It was a most impressive talk. I don’t think I’ve learned as much since my years in Philosophy at Bishop’s University. You sure know a lot about your subject.” He paused. “I’m surprised your man friend didn’t come. Perhaps he’d heard it all before?”
“Thank you. But what friend do you mean?”
“Well, you must have someone special?” He had decided to bring it out into the open. No good letting that awful thought drag him down. If she was already attached, he had to know.
Rene reached out and put her hand on his. “Eric, I have made a great many friends here in Sydney. They’re such wonderful people, the Australians. We get along wonderfully well.” She paused. “But Eric, there is not, and never has been, anyone like you.”
They sat, silent, awkward. Then Eric leaned forward. “Rene ...” He paused. “Rene, will you marry me?”
She looked at him again, struck as she had been on the platform. She stared for what seemed an eternity.
Eric looked down at his hands. What would she say?
“Of course, Eric. Of course I will marry you. And the sooner the better.”
PART THREE: 1927–1930
C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N
“His name?” Rene told him and watched the soft white fingers holding a small black fountain pen trace the letters, Eric Alford, on the form. She heard the next question, “Occupation?”
Rene paused. “Well ...”
Across his desk, the Reverend Clarence Smith looked up and, after a pause, asked gently, “What’s his job?”
“He doesn’t have one. Yet.” Rene saw her Rector’s eyebrows rise. “Well, you see, he’s just arrived.”
“Just?”
“Wednesday or Thursday, I’m not sure. We only met last night.”
The Rector leaned back in his heavy leather chair, as well he might. Clarrie, as he was known to his parishioners, was not much older than Rene — far too young, in fact, to have been given the substantial parish of St. John’s, Darlington. But then, this clergyman was also substantial: tall, muscular, thin, he had a commanding presence coupled with a warmth that most of his parishioners found exceptional. Rene felt comfortable talking to him.
“I know it sounds dreadful, but it’s not what you think.”
“Rene, over the months that I’ve known you, you are definitely not the sort who leaps into things without a good deal of thought.” His fingers tapped the arms of his chair. “So perhaps, before we publish the banns of marriage, you ought to tell me a bit more.”
Now it was Rene’s turn to lean back. The church office was furnished with two bookcases, a small settee, and had the requisite plaques on the wall illuminating Clarence’s background. “We met during the war. The Mater felt we should contribute to the war effort, so she told Leo and me take the Daimler into London and join volunteer ladies who drove His Majesty’s officers whenever needed. Soon, we were introduced to Colonel John Alford, Eric’s much older brother. Later he headed up the Canadian Chaplaincy Corps.”
“Aha, so Eric is Canadian?”
Rene nodded. “After Eric arrived in England, we chauffeured him and Father John to lunch, and that’s how we met.” She smiled. “Just a young farm lad, really, never been anywhere or seen anything. But... there was something about him...” Rene paused, eyes moistening, “the strength of the farm perhaps. You see, his father, and his father before him, they hewed their fields out of real wilderness on the shores of a coast they call the Gaspe. Those trees, Eric told me, sometimes it took all day just to fell one of them and cut it into logs. Two men, of course, doing the sawing. With all sorts of wild animals around. Imagine!” As she went on to amplify Eric’s background, Rene felt herself relax. Out the leaded windows could be seen a comfortable spread of lawn and a few trees, although they were in the centre of Sydney.
“And when did you last see him, before he arrived?” Clarence asked.
“Eight years ago.”
Clarence frowned in surprise.
“But we wrote.... Though not frequently, in fact.” She shook her head, as if just realizing that.
“Now in all those years, have you had other... attachments?”
Rene shook her head. “Clarrie, for me, there has been no one else.”
“And Eric? If he is as extraordinary as you seem to think, other young ladies... ?”
Rene moistened her lips. “Odd, but I’m quite sure there’s no one else.”
“Well,” Clarence leaned forward, and picked up the pen again, “that settles it, I suppose.” He looked at Rene keenly.
Rene said nothing, thinking hard.
After a good pause, Clarence murmured, “Something you want to tell me, Rene?”
Rene shook her head.
Clarence leaned back again, and folded his hands before him.
“Well, perhaps I should.” But she hardly knew how to begin. “I’m not sure, actually, that I haven’t been rushed into this.” She glanced up to see Clarence barely nod.
“You see, last night, I was so overcome when I saw him — such a shock! Who would ever expect that Eric would come after me like that? I mean, Clarrie, after eight years! He must have something wrong with him to wait eight years, and then make that trip all the way from the east coast of Canada, across its Dominion, and then over the Pacific. And I suppose — well, I couldn’t sleep all last night, wondering. You see ...” she took a deep breath and stared at her fingernails.
Clarence waited, then murmured, “Go on.”
“You see, he has not been entirely well.”
“Meaning?”
Rene shrugged, then made herself continue. “He’s been beset by that dreadful wartime illness they call shell shock. In fact, he’s even been in hospital, I know that because he wrote me from there, just one very short letter. But mostly, he sounds perfectly normal. In his letters, I mean. In fact, I can tell he’s led an unexceptional life. He loves gardening, he tells me —” she went on quickly, “but he’s very strong, courageous, yes, he’s been off in the depths of that untamed wilderness with wild animals, and not a worry. He loves it, in fact. And imagine, he led a Howitzer Brigade through every single one of the horrifying battles those hardy Canadians fought: Ypres, Vimy Ridge, Passchendaele, the Somme... How strong must that make him? It’s just that ...”
Clarence nodded. “Many of our brave boys returning home have the same affliction. It occurs so unexpectedly. Ravages anyone it strikes. I do know about it.”
“So I’m wondering, should I leap into a marriage where that selfsame, malady... lies lurking?” Then she looked at Clarence, straight in the eyes. “I think that’s why I came to see you, Clarrie. I’m... well, I’m having severe doubts.”
Clarence nodded to himself, and they both lapsed into silence. Rene looked up, and he met her eyes once again.
“My dear, you mustn’t put all this upon me. The decision is yours.”
Rene nodded sadly.
Then Clarence went on, as if he realized the weakness of that response. “If you have not been romantically inclined to anyone else for eight years...”
“Oh no.”
“... and neither has he, well then... I know you to be a very well grounded person. You’ve built that school — my wife absolutely adores you, she thinks you’re the holy Grail of dancing, she swears by you, and I trust Lyla implicitly. With these qualities, and I’m sure he must have similar ones —”
”Oh yes, he is such a good man. And he has in the past overcome every difficulty. I used to see him after he’d been in that hospital for shell shock cases up in Matlock Bath, and he was fully in balance, yes, he seemed fine. These occurrences, they don’t last, they come and go, so briefly, and yet,” she paused, “so powerfully. They can be devastating.” She nodded to herself. “But then,” she went on brightly, “they are over. Quite gone. All is normal again... For long periods.”
“Well then, surely together, you and Eric, with God’s help, you might as well... get on with it...”
Rene sat up, “Thank you, Clarrie. In fact, now, I don’t even know why I spent all night worrying.” Relieved, and composed once more, Rene watched a smile grow across her Rector’s compassionate features.
***
The next day, Rene brought her new fiancé to worship at the eleven o’clock service in St. John’s Church with its tall beautiful spire. It served Darlinghurst, Woolloomooloo, Potts Point, and so on. There, the two of them heard the Rector read out:
“I publish the Banns of Marriage between Irene Clarice Mulvany Gray, spinster, of this parish, and Major Eric Alford, retired, of the parish of Shigawake in Canada. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy Matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking
.”
It would take two more Sundays for the other Banns, and then, the Saturday afterwards, they had fixed September 18th for their wedding.
After this first service, the couple went to the Rectory for Eric’s favourite, the same dinner of fine roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, vegetables and liberal amounts of traditional gravy. Odd, because the Rector was not British, being the first Aussie to lead his prestigious St. John’s parish.
“Out of all that big congregation, Rene, why are we being offered such a privilege?” Eric asked on the walk over.
Rene paused before answering. She knew enough to keep her secrets. “I think Clarence has rather taken me under his wing. His wife attends my classes. In fact, we’ve become good friends.”
During the festive meal, having read the Abbott book on St. Paul twice during the voyage, Eric engaged the young Rector, not more than a few years older, in serious discussions. Clarence admitted he had only skimmed the book during his studies at St. John’s College in Armidale, a known seat of learning. But Rene could see Clarrie had taken to this companion. With one eye on them, she spent most of the meal talking to Lyla, who wouldn’t stop questioning her about dancing.
Afterwards, Eric was delighted to find himself served Spotted Dick, a custard with raisins that he remembered from lunches in London with his brother Jack.
Monday, Rene’s usual day off, she had spent putting finishing touches to her apartment, for the special dinner when her future husband would see it for the first time. She had bought another little table, a new throw rug, and had run errands for other neglected oddments. She finished up with groceries and a good bottle of scotch, as well as replenishing her gin.
Eric, on the other hand, had spent his time looking for a job: he wanted to surprise Rene that night. Duly at six he rang the bell and down three flights came Rene to let him in. After their first real embrace, a long one capped by a kiss, they climbed to the top of the old converted Georgian mansion, laughing and chatting.
