Bungalow on Pelican Way

by Lilly Mirren

  Edith Watson tugged the last rag from her hair and the strand rebounded into a long, blonde ringlet. She smiled at her reflection in the looking glass and turned first to the right, then to the left. Satisfied with what she saw, she smoothed down the skirt of her pale blue cotton dress.

  She wished it could’ve been a light-grey silk gown like the mayor’s wife wore to church last week. But silk wasn’t for farmers’ daughters, as Mother told her when they’d bought the bolt of cotton for her own dress. Her skirts were dotted with small, white flowers and the dress puffed lightly in the sleeves making her look older than her fourteen years. At least she thought so. It cinched tight at the waist, showing off her slim figure, or as Mother said, her hourglass. Though she didn’t see much of an hourglass in her reflection. She was petite with narrow hips and thin limbs and hadn’t changed much in appearance like so many of the other girls her age had. Mother had only sewn her a set of cotton brassiere’s and camibockers to wear under her petticoats a year earlier.

  “Edie, are you ready yet?” Mother’s voice echoed up the narrow staircase.

  “Coming, Mother!”

  She gave her hair one last primp with her fingertips, then hurried downstairs, her black and white Oxfords clacking on the timber boards.

  “We’ll be late for the recital if we don’t get moving. Father says he’ll drive us to town in the truck. Isn’t that a treat?” Mother’s eyes sparkled as she adjusted the pins holding her curls in smooth waves around her face.

  “Mother, you look beautiful.” Edie stopped to stare. She never saw her mother dressed up this way. Even on Sunday mornings Mother wore three-quarter-length cotton or wool dresses to church with sensible coats and shoes that could walk the two miles to town and back, since Father said the horses needed to rest on Sundays too, and he didn’t think it was right to drive the truck when they each had perfectly good legs to carry them.

  “Well, well, there are times to make an effort, and I have to say this is one of them. I haven’t been to a recital in years. You know, I used to play piano at recitals when I lived in Sydney as a young girl. But then I married your father… and well… I’m looking forward to it, I can tell you.” Her cheeks coloured as she fidgeted with the seam of her ankle-length purple cotton gown. With ruching over the sleeveless shoulder straps, drawing into a smooth waistline that showed off Mother’s curves, and a flowing skirt that almost brushed the floor, she looked to Edie like a princess.

  She leaned forward to kiss her mother’s rosy cheek.

  “Come, my darling girl, grab your coat. Let’s see if your father is ready to drive us into town.”

  Her mother wasn’t much for affection or making a fuss. Still, the pink in her cheeks gave away her pleasure at the compliment and the kiss.

  “Bobby! We’re leaving. You know where your tea is, don’t you?”

  Bobby’s head poked around the doorway from the lounge room. He yawned. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Yes,” replied Mother. “Not yeah.”

  Bobby huffed, but not loud enough for Mother to hear. “Yes, I know where tea is, and I know how to heat it up when Father comes in.”

  “Why aren’t you outside helping him with the fence line?” Mother’s brow furrowed.

  “I hurt my foot when I was digging a hole for a fence post earlier.” Bobby’s face crumpled into a grimace that was convincing enough for Mother.

  “Fine. Do you need me to get the first aid?”

  He shook his head. “I’m resting it.”

  “All right. We might be home late, so please, go to bed.”

  When Mother turned away, Bobby pulled a face at Edie who poked out her tongue and crossed her eyes. He giggled softly against the palm of his hand. Then waved. She waved back and followed Mother out the front door as they shrugged into their overcoats.

  When they reached the Red Rose café, people were already lining up at the door. Most arrived on foot, since they lived in town, and nothing in town was very far from anything else. A few pulled up to the café on bicycles and left them leaning against the outside of the café before joining the line to buy a ticket.

  A bubble of excitement welled up inside Edie. She shivered against the chill spring air as a breeze gusted up the street, then died down again just as fast. She’d brought a cardigan with her to wear inside but had no intention of putting it on if she didn’t have to. The dress was new, and she planned to show it off.

  A hand squeezed her arm, followed by a squeal of delight. She spun to face her best friend, Jemima, with a grin.

  “I can’t believe it. You’re actually here, for something other than school and church,” declared Mima in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Shhh Mima…” admonished Edie with a giggle. “Mother will hear you.”

  “I’m serious, it’s like you’re a prisoner out on that farm. I miss having you around. It’s boring, I need you. When are you going to be allowed some independence?” Mima pushed out her lower lip.

  “Well, I’m fourteen now. So, if I ask Mother can I ride the bicycle to town on my own, I think she might let me. I haven’t been game to ask yet. But she agreed to the recital, so you never know.”

  Mima linked her arm through Edie’s as the line began to move forward. They stepped in time together.

  “Hello, Jemima,” said Mother, her tone more school-ma’amish than usual.

  “Hello, Mrs. Watson. How are you on this fine evening?”

  Mother arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “I’m well, thank you, Jemima. How is your mother?”

  “She’s wonderful, thank you. She’s a few people ahead of us in the line.”

  “Oh really? That’s lovely, would the two of you like to sit with us for the show?”

  Mima nodded. “We would love that.”

  As Edie and Mima walked into the ballroom behind the Red Rose café together her pulse quickened. The lights were dim, and people were filing through the rows of seating, looking for a place to sit, smiling, greeting one another, and exclaiming over the chandelier, the plush carpet or the brocade on the deep red curtains that shielded the stage.

  They found their seats on the left side of the room. Only three rows separated them from the front row where the performers sat with the event organisers. Edie and Mima discussed everything they saw. They marvelled over the location of their seats, the beautiful dress worn by one of the performers, the number of people in the audience, and the delight of having an entire Sunday afternoon of music and performance, with the best part being that they were seated together, hand in hand.

  “I can’t believe your father let you come to a recital on a Sunday afternoon,” whispered Mima, as she squeezed Edie’s hand.

  Edie nodded. “I know. I can’t believe it either. But Mother said she wanted to do it, and you know he never tells her no. Not for anything.”

  Mima laughed softly. “Your mother is an impressive woman. One day I’ll have to ask her how she does that.”

  “Do you think you’ll get married someday?” asked Edie, suddenly serious.

  Mima frowned. “Of course I will. Why on earth wouldn’t I get married?”

  “No reason. I’m sure you will. I’m not sure I want to… you know, marry someone.” Edie sighed and tipped her head to one side. “I think instead I’ll train and breed horses, and I’ll become world famous for my amazing Andalusians. Or maybe I’ll be a scientist and discover a cure for something.”

  “Amazing Andalusians? That sounds like a great name for a stud farm.” Mima laughed.

  Mother shushed her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Well, you can train horses, and I’ll get married and have a dozen babies, and whenever I need help with them, I’ll call for you,” decided Mima with a determined nod of her head.

  “Sounds just about perfect to me,” said Edie with another sigh.

  Edie scanned the room. It was practically full, and the large, round clock on the wall showed that the recital would begin in a few minutes.

  S
he recognised most faces in the room. There were kids from school, half the Baptist church was there, as well as her teacher. She frowned. It was strange to see Mrs. Flannigan out of the classroom and wearing her hair in soft waves around her face, rather than in the severe bun she usually sported.

  “Mrs. Flannigan is here,” she hissed.

  Mima’s eyes widened. “What?”

  She spun in her seat to see where Edie was looking, then faced the front with a wrinkled nose. “Ugh. Do you think she can make me write lines if we’re not in school?”

  Edie chuckled. “You do write a lot of lines, that’s for sure.”

  “She finds some excuse to get me to write lines every single day. And it’s really for nothing at all. Sure, I talk… a little bit. But everyone talks. That’s why we have mouths. So we can talk.” Her voice grew louder with each word.

  Mother glared at her, then raised a finger to her lips. When she faced the stage again, Mima rolled her eyes.

  “I think we have mouths for eating and breathing, not only for talking,” said Edie with a giggle.

  “Oh yeah, those things too.” Mima laughed. “But talking is way more important than any of that.”

  Edie looked over the crowd again, noting that everyone had taken a seat now. The chatter died down and people waited expectantly for the first performer to take the stage. Just then, her gaze landed on a familiar face. It was Charlie Jackson, Bobby’s friend. The one who stopped by their house on his bicycle whenever the two of them wanted to go shooting, or swimming in the river, or any of the number of things they got to do together.

  It wasn’t fair how much freedom boys had compared to girls. She’d pointed that out to Mother once and had received the same old speech she always did about how life wasn’t fair, and she shouldn’t expect it to be. It still didn’t explain why Bobby got to do what he liked, and she didn’t.

  Charlie’s eyes connected with hers in that moment, and she got a funny feeling in her stomach. Her heart skipped a beat, and she tried to look away but found she couldn’t.

  He smiled and tipped his head in her direction. He was sixteen years old now and had shot up in the last year. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was taller than Father already.

  She offered a shy smile in return, then spun in her seat to face the front, her heart hammering. His blue eyes and dimpled cheeks gave him a mischievous look, and there was something about the way he stared at her that made her feel as though he could see right through her.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Mima, her forehead creased with concern.

  “Nothing,” Edie replied. She glanced back over her shoulder again and found him still watching her. He smirked and she jerked back to face the stage, her cheeks blazing.

  Mima shot her a suspicious look. “What is going on with you?”

  “Just anxious for the music to start,” sputtered Edie.

  She’d seen and talked to Charlie Jackson dozens of times in her life. Still, something about him had changed. And the way he’d looked at her… the memory of it dragged a shy smile across her lips.

  Two vocal duets, a pianoforte performance, and a sestetto later, Edie was finding it difficult to pay the recital her full attention. She loved listening to music, but people watching was far more fun. She’d spied the mayor’s wife, sporting a signature silk gown, this time in a pale green. She wore a fur stole around her neck, and her hair shone under the chandelier’s golden light as though it had been doused in lanolin or some kind of oil.

  Next, she’d watched as old Mrs. Peterson flirted with one of the young men in the row behind her, her hat tipping dangerously to one side with each attempt. The man’s cheeks from where Edie sat, seemed to have taken on a permanently red hue, which tickled her funny bone. No one but the man seemed to mind, since it was common knowledge that Mrs. Peterson had lost her marbles years earlier.

  Even as Edie let her attention slide from person to person in the rows ahead of her, she resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder again, to see what Charlie was up to. Was he engrossed in the recital, or watching the people in front of him like she was? Watching her, perhaps.

  Her stomach twisted into a knot, and she wriggled in place. Mima shot her a curious look, then peered back down the aisle as though hoping to spot whatever it was that was making Edie so uncomfortable.

  Edie leaned toward Mima, to whisper into her ear, one hand cupped to the side of her friend’s head. “Don’t you think Charles Jackson is looking more handsome than usual?”

  Mima’s mouth curled into a grin. “Ah, that’s who you’re looking at. I was wondering what had you all hot and bothered. And yes, he’s always been attractive, but getting more so every day, I’d say.”

  “Really? Has he always been attractive?” Edie frowned.

  Mima laughed. “You must be the only girl in Bathurst who hasn’t noticed.” Then she hugged Edie’s arm tight. “That’s one of the things I love about you.”

  A woman on stage began an elocution performance, her lips forming round sounds with wide exaggeration and tempting Edie and Mima to giggle uncontrollably which they hid by burrowing their heads together with mouths covered, when the evening’s compere, a rotund man with a bald pate and round spectacles balanced on the bridge of his bulbous nose, paced to the centre of the stage. He took hold of the microphone and tapped it with the end of his finger, interrupting the performance with a nod of his head.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the time is ten past nine, and though we only have a few minutes to go until the end of our programme, I’m afraid I must interrupt.”

  He cleared his throat as two women, dressed in smart, grey suits, carried a small table holding a wireless radio onto the stage. Edie straightened in her seat and sat as high as she could to peer over the audience members in front of her. She glanced at Mother, who looked at her with a frown, then shook her head as if to say she had no more idea of what was going on than Edie.

  The man continued. “In approximately four minutes’ time, the Prime Minister of Australia is to make an important announcement. It is my belief that each of you present tonight would wish to hear this broadcast, and so I have arranged for it to be transmitted through this microphone.”

  The crowd stirred and a murmur rose up, growing louder by the moment. One man from the crowd yelled over the group. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  The compere shushed everyone with a few waves of his hands and shook his head. “Please, everyone, settle down. The broadcast is about to begin, and we don’t want anyone to miss it.”

  He held the microphone down to the radio’s speakers, and the familiar crackle of a radio transmission filled the ballroom. The sound of a radio announcer’s voice crooned in the background. One of the women twisted a knob on the front of the device, and the voice boomed out.

  * * *

  “Here is the Prime Minister of Australia, the Right Honourable, RG Menzies.”

  * * *

  Edie inched farther forward until she sat perched on the lip of her chair, her eyes and ears trained on the radio. She loved hearing the Prime Minister speak. His voice always sent a thrill down her spine and gave her arms goose pimples.

  * * *

  “Fellow Australians, it is my melancholy duty to inform you, officially, that in consequence of a persistence by Germany in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her, and that as a result, Australia is also at war.

  No harder task can fall to the lot of a democratic leader than to make such an announcement.

  Great Britain and France with the cooperation of the British dominions, have struggled to avoid this tragedy. They have, as I firmly believe, been patient. They have kept the door of negotiation open. They have given no cause of aggression. But in the result, their efforts have failed. And we are therefore as a great family of nations, involved in a struggle that we must at all costs win, and that we believe we will win.”

  * * *

  The entire auditorium held its colle
ctive breath as the sombre voice continued, explaining the events of the past few weeks and how there was no other option than the declaration of war.

  By the time Menzies had finished, Edie could hear sobbing in some quarters of the room. A few men stood and paced back and forth, up and down the centre aisle, their hands on their hips, waistcoats showing. Then, as the broadcast came to a close, suddenly everyone was on their feet and making their way toward the exit.

  Edie reached back for Mima’s hand but was disappointed to find she could no longer see her friend.

  Buoyed along by the crowd, she figured resistance would get her nowhere, and let herself be half carried, half pushed along the aisle and out through the doorway. She stumbled and almost fell but clutched onto the back of someone’s jacket to steady herself. She sobbed as panic churned in her gut. She couldn’t lose her balance, she’d be crushed. As she stepped over the threshold and out into the cool night air, she found herself looking into Charlie Jackson’s wide blue eyes. He reached for her hand, covered it with his own and led her away to one side of the group and out of the crowd, pushing ahead of her to clear a path.

  When they reached the café’s stout brick wall she fell against his chest, sorrow sweeping over her.

  “You’re all right now,” he said, patting her back. “We’ll find your mother in a moment.”

  She stared up at his face through a mist of unshed tears. In response, a half grin split his lips and dimples danced in each cheek.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He gave her a nod. “Can’t have you crushed underfoot, can we? Bobby would never let me hear the end of it.”

  She laughed softly and wiped her eyes with the handkerchief she kept in her skirt pocket. “Can you believe it?”

  His smile faded. “What… war?”

  She nodded, still dabbing at her eyes.

  “I guess it was coming,” he said.

  “I guess so.”