Turn Turn Turn c422o

Turn Turn Turn

Mike Berry

Turn Turn Turn

Published by The Conrad Press in the United Kingdom 2021

Tel: +44(0)1227 472 874 www.theconradpress.com [email protected]

ISBN 978-1-839783-06-7

Copyright © Mike Berry, 2021

The moral right of Mike Berry to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.

Typesetting and Cover Design by: Charlotte Mouncey, www.bookstyle.co.uk Cover designed with public domain images courtesy of Museums Victoria: https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1689453 https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1688873 https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/1689515 And aerial view of courtesy of Kodak (Australasia) Pty Ltd

https://collections.museumsvictoria.com.au/items/2062621

The Conrad Press logo was designed by Maria Priestley.

To everything … There is a season … And a time to every purpose under heaven

To my life’s companion, Deirdre Berry

Autumn

May 1920

Last night I dreamt of a time long past. Before the bulldozers. Before the cars. Before the hustle of city life. I saw again the sweeping plains to the edge of the world where the hills rose up towards the sky. I saw the sun glinting on the bluegrey bay, heard the birds singing. Then I woke with the pre-dawn chorus still echoing.

As the grey light crept down the road, other life began to stir. Young Jim from number 32 was out and about, striding stiff legged up the hill towards the local shop that sold many things, including the daily newspaper that he devoured, starting at the sports section at the back, and reading forward until he reached the front page which he read several times before grunting and throwing the paper on the kitchen table in disgust. ‘Bloody useless idiots, wouldn’t know a fact if whacked them in the eyes.’ It was never clear who the idiots were. There were so many. Jim had a very poor view of his fellow man. Local shopkeepers, nosey neighbours, noisy kids, bank tellers, estate agents, used car salesmen, gossipy women, tinkers, rabbitohs, bread carters – and their draught horses – politicians. Above all, politicians. Selfservers, shirkers, stayed nice and safe while sending good men off to war. Wouldn’t know their elbow from their arse, useless in a fight. Cowards, every last one of them. Made a packet along with their business mates while he and his mates slogged through the mud and gore of Northern . Peronne, that bloody fortress town on the Somme where he lost seven mates before the Fifth finally threw the Boche into the foul waters. The only ones he trusted were men like himself who had, against all odds, survived and returned home. Survived! Ha! What did he and his kind come back to? A people that looked the other way when he limped past. A community that silently grieved for those who lay unknown and unloved in the mud and blood of Flanders – and rushed to forget. A boss who refused to give him his old job back. ‘Sorry mate, you just can’t manage the lifting. I’d like to help but times is tough, what with the taxes and the weather.’ What the hell did the weather have to do

with it? No, the boss did all right out of the war. Sitting back and supplying the AIF with bedrolls and canteens. Bloody idiot, no bloody idea! In the house two doors down and opposite from Jim, Elsie was bustling around her kitchen. A sprightly seventy-year-old, Elsie Hubbard had plenty in her cupboard. Enough to regularly take Jim a home-cooked meal. Have to keep the poor man alive, all skin and bones he was when he came home from over there. ‘Over there’ was a vague concept in Elsie’s mind. Vague and altogether unpleasant. So many foreigners, bloodthirsty lot, they were, taking our boys. She had known Jim since he moved to the street with his widowed mother twenty years before. So sad, Mrs. Johnson, barely forty when she died the day before Jim’s thirteenth birthday. Poor lad. Went to live with an uncle until old enough to come back to his mother’s house. A lively, cheerful boy. A bit cheeky but no harm in him and his mates. So proud they all were when they ed up. The whole street came out to wave them off. Tommy, John, Trevor and Billy. Only Jim returned. But not to a joyful reception. Every time a parent saw him, it was a reminder that their son did not come home. So only Elsie, childless spinster, looked after Jim. Elsie stood a little over four foot ten inches and weighed little more than six stone. She had grey-blue rinsed hair courtesy of the local hairdresser Ginny who acted as the distributor of tasty titbits concerning the recent tribulations of her clientele. Elsie presented an incongruous sight when standing next to Young Jim, all six foot and twelve stone, though his war wound caused him to bend forward, even when stationary, somewhat blunting the height and bulk contradiction. His sandy hair contrasted with dark brown eyes, eyes that seemed to be ever vigilant, as if on guard, waiting for the next German attack by men or shells or gas. He had been lucky, if that epithet could ever be bestowed on those who went ‘over there’. He and his rotation had been on respite behind the lines at Ypres when the chlorine gas had first rolled over no man’s land, to burn and terrify unsuspecting diggers. By the time he had returned to the frontline, initial defences against the lethal clouds had been instituted, inadequate as they were. He was saved for later sacrifice. He didn’t even hear the shell that burst though the flimsy wooden ramparts and took half his leg with it. They later told him that they found his boot buried in the chest of another digger who’d been crouching next to him.

Up the road in the other direction the household was stirring. Ted Jenkins was busy finishing his morning ablutions. His wife Betty came into the bathroom, stood back and examined him critically. He was a tall, slim man of average though athletic build, with a full head of dark brown hair, parted on the left and combed back from a wide forehead. An adolescence dominated by sport had instilled both confidence and a competitive drive. His wife was petite, but her small stature belied a spirit of determined mission in life, focused on her husband and only child. ‘You’ve dropped egg all over your tie, you silly man. Here, let me, you’ll only make it worse.’ Betty skilfully wielded a tip of her apron and despatched the offending stain. ‘It’s no good, you’ll have to change it. Another addition to the wash. I don’t know how anyone can be so clumsy.’ ‘Haven’t time, old girl. Can’t miss my train. It’ll have to do.’ Ted grabbed his hat, picked up his lunch carefully packed into a brown paper bag by Betty, and shoved it into his briefcase. With a quick kiss on Betty’s rosy cheek, he leapt out the front door, bounded down the pathway and through the front gate. Without breaking stride, he raced up the road, turned right and slowed to a fast walk. Should be at the train station in time. Wouldn’t do to be late at the office. That bastard Ron Reilly would be only too glad to point up any laxity on his part. In the struggle between them for promotion to level 3 in the state public service, any tactic was in play. By rights of seniority, he, Ted, should be a shoe in. But Ron was clever, assiduously planting doubt in the supervisor’s mind about Ted’s ability to do the job. Pity about that small arithmetic mistake Ron had picked up in my last report on the inventory costs. Got to be more careful, old man. Eternal vigilance. That’s what the new returned serviceman’s league insisted. Can’t let the enemy sneak up on us. He heard the train whistle just as the railway station came into view. Breaking into a run, Ted climbed the steps two at a time and dashed across the over. He arrived on the platform in time to see the engine chug into the station, followed by the soot coloured carriages. Thank God, the old steamers would soon be replaced with electric locomotion. Pretty soon all of Melbourne’s boomtime rail network would be electrified and copping an eyeful of cinders and coming home with filthy hands and coat would soon be but a distant and

distasteful memory. Pondering the wonders of modern technology, he walked along the platform until he found a carriage slightly less crowded and clambered aboard. Wedged between an old man holding a large bag on his lap and an even larger woman who was busily chatting to the lady sitting opposite, Ted leaned back with a sigh and opened the morning paper he’d grabbed from the letter box as he departed the family home. Now for a bit of peace. Back at number 24, Betty had finished clearing away the breakfast remains and turned her attention to her other charge. ‘Patty dear, time to get dressed for school.’ In a small room at the end of a corridor, seven-year-old Patty Jenkins groaned. She put her doll Daisy carefully back into her small pram, laying her on the soft sheet embroidered by Aunty Dot. There followed a well-practiced process of covering Daisy with a second sheet, also courtesy of Aunty Dot, precisely tucked in in the manner Patty had seen her mother carry out daily on the big beds. Finally, a special blanket with fancy crocheted edges was laid on with small, loving hands. Patty stood back and surveyed her handy work with pride. ‘There, Daisy. You be a good girl while I’m at school. If you are, I’ll take you for a long walk when I get home.’ ‘Patty!’ The little girl grabbed her blue and white checked tunic and pulled it over her head. Socks and shoes were quickly added. ‘Come here dear and I’ll do your hair. Have you cleaned your teeth?’ Betty brushed Patty’s long red hair in slow practiced strokes, parted it and expertly wove the two strands into tight plaits. ‘There, you look very nice, just like Anne of Green Gables.’ ‘Oh Mummy, why didn’t you call me Anne,’ Patty sulked. ‘I don’t like being a Patty.’ ‘Patricia is a perfectly good name. Why it’s your Grandmother’s name and you love her.’

Patty had to it to the second part of her mother’s judgment but still reserved her right to dispute the first. Secretly, she was an Anne. Indeed, she rather thought that she’d found her Gilbert in the class ahead of her! ‘Make sure you keep your coat buttoned up, dear.’ Betty wrapped her arms across her chest to keep out the chill wind and watched her daughter skip down the path and out the gate, trailing her school bag behind her. Patty ran the three doors to her best friend Frieda Dunkin’s house and disappeared through the front gate. It was Frieda’s mother Monica’s turn to walk both little girls up the high street to the small primary school that had been recently opened by the Premier in answer to the rapid growth of the new suburb. Betty would, in turn, pick up the girls at going home time and in their excited chatter all the way home. How fortunate she felt. Mother to her precious little girl and married to a wonderful man. She had set her cap – as her spinster Aunt Edith had put it – on Ted the first time she had seen him. Her father had taken her, somewhat against her will, to watch a football game. The local eighteen were playing a team from over the river. She had immediately been struck by the athletic appearance and obvious sporting talent of the centre. She asked her father who the player was. ‘Why that’s Ted Jenkins,’ he replied. ‘They say he’s good enough to play for Richmond one day.’ But, although Ted did play for Richmond seconds for a season and on one occasion was selected to sit on the bench for the senior team, he never made it onto the ground, nor into the army, as it turned out. His sporting career finished abruptly thanks to a broken elbow collected when a ‘specky’ went wrong. By then he was courting Elizabeth Golding. Betty rose, walked to the sideboard and picked up a framed copy of their wedding photo. Ted with his grey double-breasted suit, looking like the up and coming public servant that he had become, she, wearing her mother’s wedding dress and grandmother’s train. The ceremony was held at Ted’s family’s church exactly a year to the day before the assassination of an obscure central European aristocrat set in motion the worst war in history. The reception was held at Ted’s parents’ house, where the young couple lived for the first two years of their marriage. Patty was born a year and a month later. Betty glanced into the mirror above the sideboard, turned a little to the right and wondered, would he marry her today? She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and answered in the affirmative – ‘not bad, even if I do say so myself.’

It was true, Elizabeth Jenkins, nee Golding was a fine-looking woman. Small but not too small, nicely rounded with a fine bone china complexion, she still drew iring glances from strangers in the street, especially men. Her naturally blond hair was regularly and carefully tended by Ginny, and she was skilled with needle and thread, so that she and Patty always looked more fashionable than their ordinary lot in life otherwise decreed. Across from the Jenkins and two down, Ricky Barrett walked from his back door to the single garage perched perilously to the side of the weatherboard house. Neither structure had seen much loving care since before the Great War. Ricky was fifteen, small for his age but just beginning to display that rapid growth spurt that nature provided to bring late bloomers up to maturity. He had jet black hair, carefully brushed back from a wide forehead, leaving a distinctive V-shaped coastline that accentuated his long sallow face, a face that was saved from ugliness by a strong, prominent chin and unnaturally bright green eyes. His was a face that, once seen, was not forgotten. The paint on the garage was peeling, and Ricky had to tug hard to move the door ajar. The hinges complained, almost as loudly as Ricky. ‘Bloody door, why doesn’t the old man get off his arse and fix it.’ His father Barry, as if on cue, stuck his head out of the kitchen door and yelled, ‘Make sure you close the bloody door this time.’ Yeh, Yeh, muttered Ricky to himself, far too shrewd to let his father hear. The old man was a devil when he lost his temper, especially after a trip to the pub with his mates. Ricky had learnt early to avoid head on confrontations with his father, an art he’d acquired from his mother Beryl. Of late though, Ricky was becoming more inclined to speak up, mainly in defence of his mother. He had even managed last week to prevent his father from istering a customary whack to Beryl, but only at the cost of copping one himself. Nevertheless, he could sense the balance shifting, ever so slightly. It won’t be long now, he ruminated grimly. A few months, a year and he’d have it out with the brute. Time was working on his side. Every day he felt stronger. Every binge brought his father one step lower, one step closer to the thrashing that he richly deserved. With that warming thought in mind, Ricky removed the tarp from the old motor bike that he had rescued from the tip and lovingly restored to working though

noisy order. Wheeling it out onto the gravel driveway, he propped it against the house and turned to drag the garage doors shut. He jumped onto the bike, adjusted the throttle and violently kick started the ancient machine. A little choke and two more attempts and the engine roared to life. Easing back on the throttle, he slammed the bike into gear and let out the clutch as he opened the throttle again. The noise was gratifyingly ear-splitting. A dog yowled and Mrs. Brown’s cat dived under the house. By then Ricky was flying down the road quickly approaching its end at the creek. Just before he reached it, he leaned expertly left and guided the machine towards a dirt mound. Opening the throttle further, he sped up the rise and launched himself into the air feeling the familiar exhilaration of flying, before landing on the other side of the creek in a squeal of tyres and a choking cloud of dust. Off along the excuse for a road he sped, dodging in and out of trees and stumps, leaving two local urchins who had witnessed his derring-do open mouthed. ‘That boy will end up in hospital or worse,’ said the mother of one to the mother of the other. ‘Mark my words.’ All this and the sun not up for two hours. So different to the endless past, before the white people came, before the dark people came, before the birds and the animals, when only the land, the ancient land and its spirits prevailed. Before the Dreaming, before the before. So long ago that even I am having difficulty recalling the peace, the all-pervading calm. Now my view is hemmed in by the houses creeping their stealthy path along my piece of earth. Roads are cutting through the ancient landscape, fording the creek, removing the hillocks and flora. Houses and humans dotted irregularly before me cover at least half the spaces that used to form my immediate realm. Like the jawbone of a long extinct animal, gaps – empty spaces – connect the dots. It’s only time, short, short time before the spaces are all gone, mine too.

August 1920

‘O ver here, mate.’ A man with ruddy complexion and massive forearms signals to two younger men. A van with the sign ‘Barlow Master Builder’, painted on one side stood half on and half off the road next to the plane tree that marked the middle of the building allotment. ‘Start at this corner and mark the boundaries.’ I can see two men carrying a strange looking instrument. They place it on the ground. One man retreats and holds a striped pole. His mate peers at it through the instrument, motioning with his hand. The first man, Robbie as I soon learn, makes small adjustments to his stance and stoops to mark a spot on the ground. This goes on for an hour and a half. Several other men the first three, carrying lengths of timber and wheeling bricks. ‘Smoko,’ yells the boss. As if by some invisible signal, they all sit down on upturned buckets and reach into their satchels, pulling out small tins that they prise open. Pieces of fruit, bits of cake and in one case, a can of sardines appear. A couple of men roll and light cigarettes. The youngest of the crew had already stoked an open fire and boiled water in a tin can. Into it he tossed a handful of rich dark leaves. They floated on top of the bubbling brew. The boss stepped forward and with a large dirty cloth wound around his hand, grabbed the handle and lifted the tin. He then stepped backwards, and arm held stiffly quickly twirled the can and its contents in two complete revolutions. Looking into the can he expressed satisfaction. ‘Teas up mates.’ The rich brew was carefully poured into the procession of battered enamel mugs eagerly held towards the proffered vessel. ‘Aarrh, nothing like a good cuppa.’ Several of the men reached into their dilly bags and pulled out tobacco pouches. Cigarettes were rolled, matches struck, and a collective inhale unlocked the nicotine shock that regulated their day like a clock. General murmurs of

appreciation punctuated the peaceful scene with only the distant rumble of lorries and carts along the high street providing a backdrop to the closer and more melodic choir of magpies and the insistent hum of bees going about their work in the open spaces between the nearby houses. Winter is lingering but fighting a losing battle. Spring is pushing, pushing against the dying dance of Jack Frost across the lawns and gardens of Ross Street. Several doors up the street, the first buds are just emerging in Mr. Juliff’s carefully curated front yard. A suggestion of leaves graces the first of the plane trees planted by the Council, part of a plan to add a tree in front of every house in the street. The men ate, smoked and drank until, again by some instinctual response, all rose and began to pack away their cups and containers, and stubbed out the fag ends, tossing them onto the ground to be stamped into the foundations of the house that would rise like the autumn mushrooms festooning what is left of the surrounding countryside. The men stood around the fire warming their hands until the boss tossed a billy can of cold water on the dying embers. For the next few hours, they moved purposefully around the land measuring, marking and hammering stakes into the ground. Lengths of string were produced and tied in no pattern that I could discern ing some of the stakes. This went on all day until the boss yelled ‘Pack up time. Move it. Mind, Robbie and Mack, pack away that theodolite in the shed.’ Until then I had not noticed that a small tin structure had been sunk into the earth at a point behind the majestic gum tree that marked a corner boundary with the house abutting from the street behind me. Obediently, the two men carried the instrument and a series of other implements to the shed and stored them inside. Once they were satisfied that nothing had been left outside, they closed the door and snapped the heavy padlock in place. I could hear them laughing as they walked together up the street. As they left, a group of school children ran down from the opposite direction, laughing and yelling their delight at their regained freedom. They were kicking a rolled-up ball of rags along the dusty, unsealed road. The modern marvel of sealed bitumen was years away from ing the high street. I was then left alone for two hours until the lights newly installed on the high street came on and fathers began to drift home after the day’s labours.

And so, another moment in the endless march of time ed, to be repeated in the following weeks, as bit by bit a structure began to rise on my earth. At the beginning of the fourth week, a man in a suit and hat appeared on site. The boss dropped his hammer and went to greet him. ‘Morning Mr. Gibbs. Welcome to number 37 Ross Street.’ ‘Thank you, Mr. Barlow. Let’s get started. I have several properties to check this morning.’ ‘Right ho. As you can see, the foundations are firmly in place and we’re ready to begin to lay the floor.’ There followed a dual dance in which Mr. Gibbs bent and minutely scrutinised each foundation block. The boss followed close behind occasionally offering quiet comments. Every now and again Mr. Gibbs paused, reached into his waistcoat and took out a tape measure that he used to check the height from the ground. He then consulted a plan held by the boss. ‘Who the hell is this geezer.’ The questioned was uttered by one of the labourers, a stunted Londoner newly arrived from England. ‘Shut up, mate’ whispered another. ‘He’s the man from the state bank. The people buying this house don’t get the money from the bank until he’s satisfied with the job we’re doing. And if they don’t get the money, we don’t get paid. So, belt up and make sure you don’t get in his way. And put that bloody fag out!’ After an hour Mr. Gibbs appeared satisfied and went on his way. ‘Well done lads, he’s happy.’ The boss looked relieved and told the youngster to boil the billy.

November 1920

Mr. Gibbs returned regularly, tape measure and plan in hand, over the next few weeks as a house rose towards the sky. He was a man who looked like he had pressing business elsewhere but one whose iron-clad sense of professional duty required that no stone be left unturned, literally. He was of middling height and build, with a prematurely balding head that looked a little too large for the rest of his body, an embarrassment he hid by wearing a wide-brimmed hat, not at all the style normally chosen by professionals or businessmen. This apparent anomaly he explained as due to doctor’s advice to shield his fair skin from the ravages of the antipodean sun. Towards the end of the month a man and woman with a small child arrived just as the men were finishing smoko. A weak sun shone down just bright enough to cause the man to shade his eyes as he critically surveyed the site. ‘Hello Mrs. Mattingly, Mr. Mattingly. And is this little Brian? What a treasure.’ The men looked at each other, puzzled. They had never heard the boss speaking so gently. Then their curiosity turned to the newcomers. ‘The proud owners,’ said one of the older workers under his breath. ‘Come to see their new home.’ Robert James Mattingly was dressed in a smart city suit with Melbourne Cricket Club cufflinks. He was about forty years old but looked older, thanks to the air of gravitas and self-confidence he habitually radiated to the world. Jet black hair was Brylcreemed back from his forehead in a severe plastered sweep. His wife Vivienne, as I soon learned, was a year younger, a late and unexpected mother of three-year-old Brian, over whom she fussed and fretted, somewhat to the annoyance of the boy’s father. Her quiet and shy demeanour belied a fierce commitment to hearth and home. She was determined to make their new home into the haven of love and peace that had eluded her own disrupted upbringing. Growing up in a violent household from which her father had eventually decamped, leaving her mother to raise two difficult boys and herself, she saw her husband and child as her mission in life and this house as its firm foundation. She was a little shorter than

her husband and wore her brown hair cut short in the modern way. This accentuated her slender neck and directed the eye to her eyes, hazel with grey flecks and to her high cheekbones. She was wearing a long slimline brown skirt and matching short jacket. This made it difficult for her to step up to the front door and over the board placed at shin height to prevent unwanted night-time visitors. Her husband hoisted her onto the hallway floorboards. For the next hour the couple walked around the partly finished house. Even with limited walls and no ceiling they could see the layout and get a sense of what living there would be like. ‘Oh, Bob, It’s lovely. And to think that it’s going to be our very own.’ ‘Yes, ours and the banks, Viv.’ Her husband laughed but was clearly as enamoured as his wife. Only three-year-old treasure seemed underwhelmed. ‘Now Brian, don’t do that, leave that filthy rag alone,’ said his mother. ‘Let the boy alone Viv. He’s only exploring.’ As if granted permission, Brian scuttled away and soon found a discarded can, full of nails and other interesting objects. ‘There’s nothing dangerous on site, Mrs. Mattingly,’ cut in the boss helpfully. ‘Boys will be boys and a bit of dirt won’t hurt.’ Mrs. Mattingly looked doubtful but let it . That was all very well for the builder and Brian’s father, but it would be her who has to clean and mend his clothes and console him if he gets a splinter. However, the visit ed without incident and the trio departed happy. The boss too was in a good mood and let the men off fifteen minutes early. More drinking time, they chortled as they hurried off.

February 1921

‘T his bloody heat will be the death of me, I swear.’ The boss reached into his overalls and withdrew a large, dirty handkerchief. Mopping his brow, he continued, ‘What a summer, hundred in the shade, day after bloody day.’ Mr. Barlow spoke with a slow drawl that betrayed his origins in country Victoria. ‘Going to be a stinker, all right,’ replied one of the men. ‘They say, it’ll be one of the worst bush fire seasons for years.’ The staccato rattle of the speaker likewise betrayed its owner’s origins in Fitzroy, an inner suburb, the first to be developed outside the original city grid after white settlement eighty years before. Fitzroy and Collingwood down the hill had quickly deteriorated into a dumping ground for the rapidly growing city’s population, refuse and night soil. The river ing by Collingwood masqueraded as an open sewer. Diseases, vice and crime proliferated, so that, understandably, those who could afford to looked beyond to the new suburbs further out. The boss paused. Bush fires. Yes, he knew all about bush fires, grew up in East Gippsland, that bloody great expanse of land heading up to New South Wales. Millions of acres of forests, nothing but trees that burnt like hell itself. Bush fires, the reason he’d ended up in Melbourne. His father was a timber worker, a great bull of a man with huge shoulders and an even bigger laugh. Well, one day he went out with his mates to fight the fires. None of them came back. You can’t beat the fires, not when they get a hold in the gullies. The laughter stopped and his mother brought the three boys and Maggie to Melbourne to live with his Nan and Pop. A small tear of memory fought to invade his craggy cheek. ‘You all right, boss.’ He quickly recovered, smearing the rag across his face. ‘’Course I’m all right, just the heat. We’d better get a leg on. The bank man comes tomorrow, and I want sign-off for lock-up.’ Mr. Gibbs duly showed up the next morning. He took extra care this time. Looking, pushing and poking. Measuring and tut-tutting quietly. The boss and his gang stood back, anxiously watching and waiting. If the assessor was

satisfied the bank would release a large payment and the men would receive a small bonus from a cashed-up boss. Mr. Gibbs looked almost disappointed. ‘Well, I’m satisfied.’ Smiles all around. ‘A few small problems – but…’ A collective intake of breath. ‘… easily fixed, you’ll have my report tomorrow. I can’t see any obstacle to releasing the next payment.’ The smiles return. ‘Thank you, Mr. Gibbs, I’m sure the Mattingleys will be delighted when they turn up this arvo to look over their new home.’ Mr. Gibbs nodded and turned to leave; his job now completed. He would only need to return twice more before the final inspection. He hoped the Mattingleys realised what a fine house they were getting, courtesy of the bank and his professional eye. Having ‘a bank house’ was indeed a great thing. None of this speculative rubbish being thrown up in some suburbs, he snorted. Victoria was not founded and built over the last decades to reproduce the hovels of the mother country. Good sturdy, well-constructed abodes. That’s what the citizens of this great nation deserved, especially after the terrible sacrifices of the recent past. Australia had come of age, proved herself to the old world. Sound finance and good Christian morals would help the Mattingly’s – and Gibbs – of the nation build a new Jerusalem of the South. Wasn’t Australia the first to give women the vote? New Zealand too, of course. The valiant Kiwis who had fought so loyally shoulder to shoulder with our diggers in the Great War. Mr. Gibbs, the father of four daughters and lay preacher at his local Methodist chapel, was a great er of women’s suffrage. He tucked his business shirt into his highwaisted tros, checked his braces and adjusted his hat. All in all, he was a satisfied man as he walked quickly up the road to the high street. ‘Well done, boys, on the home stretch now. Soon be able to start the new house across the other side of the big road.’ Mr. Barlow leant back on the work bench and drew deeply on his hand-fashioned fag. Later that day, Elsie was struggling down the road carrying a heavy basket full of veggies from Branigan’s Greengrocer. Her grey hair hung limp and clung to the back of her neck. Beads of sweat tickled the side of her nose as she struggled with her heavy load. Her back and shoulders ached. ‘Hey Jonesey, grab that basket and give the lady a hand.’ ‘The boss pointed to

Elsie who stopped outside the building lot and smiled. ‘Thank you, very much, sir. Very kind of you. It is rather hot.’ ‘No trouble at all Missus, young Jonesey’ll see you right.’ The youngster grinned and ran up to Elsie, relieving her of her load. ‘Jeepers Missus, don’t know how you managed to get this far. It weighs a ton.’ ‘Well, we all have to eat and there’s no one but me to shop. It’s all right normally. But because of the weather, I thought I’d get extra, so I don’t have to shop for the next two days. They say it’s going to stay hot. I guess I overdid it.’ Together they walked the two hundred yards down to Elsie’s house. Young Jones carried the basket through the hallway to the kitchen. He laid it on the table with a thump. ‘Now young man. Sit yourself right down and I’ll get you a nice cool drink and a bit of cake.’ He sat at the table and watched the old lady go to the ice box and take out a bottle of cold water. She took a glass from the pantry and carefully poured a little orange cordial into it. The water was added and stirred. Placing the glass on the table she returned to the pantry and reaching up retrieved a round tin with a bright red bird painted on the front. From it she removed a slice of ginger cake and slipped it onto a small plate that bore the inscription of King Edward VII’s coronation. The plate ed the glass before a delighted labourer. ‘Gee, thanks Missus. But I’d better be quick, or the boss’ will be mad.’ ‘Never you mind, you just enjoy that, young man.’ Elsie unpacked her basket and put the contents into cupboards and ice box. No second invitation was needed. The lad took a long swig from the glass and then a large bite of the cake. Delicious. The kitchen was cool and dim, as if light had long since left. He looked at Elsie and saw a copy of his mother, who had recently died in the great flu epidemic.

‘What is it dear,’ a concerned Elsie touched his shoulder. ‘Nothing Missus, just a bit cold in here after the hot sun. I’d better be getting back to the site before the boss thinks I’ve scarpered.’ He finished the cake and downed the remainder of his drink. ‘Thanks again.’ Elsie watched the young man walk out through the front gate and head up the street. She wondered what lay behind the shudder. People were so complicated. Everyone had his own particular misery. Perhaps her minster at St. James would have the answers, although her faith had been sadly tested in recent years. Towards the end of the afternoon, Bob and Vivienne Mattingly walked down the street with young Brian in tow. ‘I don’t want to see some unfinished house,’ the youngster whined. ‘It’s too hot.’ The sun still had a sting, and the long cool late summer evening was hours away. ‘Don’t you want to see your new bedroom; you’ll have it all to yourself.’ His mother felt slightly uncomfortable due to the small lie and the movement of new life under her dress. Treasure would have to share the new bedroom in time with a new brother or sister. ‘No,’ replied Brian. ‘I want an ice-cream.’ ‘Well, if you’re good we might get you one on the way home. ‘And if you’re not, you’ll get something else to be going on with,’ cut in his father who was struggling in the heat in the business suit he hadn’t had time to change before meeting his wife and son at the railway station. His wife was more sensibly dressed in a wide skirt and sleeveless top. ‘Shush, we’re here,’ said his wife. ‘Hello Mr. Barlow.’ The boss turned and smiled. ‘Gidday Mrs. Mattingly, sir and little Brian too. Come right in, step carefully mind. We still have the front steps to finish off.’ Bob held his wife’s hand as she climbed over a temporary step and followed her

dragging Brian by the other hand. The three stood together in wide entrance hall and gathered their breath. ‘Well folks, I am pleased to say that the bank assessor came today and will sign off to lock up stage.’ ‘That’s wonderful Mr. Barlow, isn’t it Bob?’ Her husband agreed and replied, ‘That’s a weight off my mind, and yours too Mr. Barlow, I’ll wager. ‘Yes sir, always good to get this stage. It’s all downhill from here.’ ‘When do you think we’ll get the final certification and be able to plan movingin?’ Mr. Barlow paused thoughtfully. ‘Well now sir. It doesn’t pay to rush things. We want a clean final inspection and sign off. Don’t want to be told to pull stuff out and redo. I pride myself on getting it right the first time. Measure twice, cut once is my motto.’ In the time-honoured manner of all builders Barlow was keen to avoid being tied down to a definite timetable. Too many contingencies, too many unexpected hold-ups in his game for that! ‘Understood Mr. Barlow, I’m just after an approximation, if things go smoothly.’ The heat, his wife’s expectant look and Brian’s confounded squirming was beginning to get under his skin. Barlow read the signs and sought to make the poor man’s life a bit easier. ‘It’s all running smoothly. My chippie comes tomorrow to measure up the kitchen. The sparkie follows to rough out. Both will be finished by the end of the month.’ In saying this, Mr. Barlow said a small internal prayer. The carpenter was unreliable at best, too fond of the gee gees, but a great craftsman on his day. The electrician was more than competent, when he hadn’t been hitting the bottle. It was vital to schedule their appearances at different times. When they got together, they brought out each other’s worst. Both would end up in the pub on the way to the Caulfield track. Still, that was why he earned his whack. ‘We’ll have the painters in next month.’ ‘Which is my room, Ma?’ Brian had suddenly discovered an interest in his prospective home. He let go his father’s hand and dashed off down the hallway.

‘Be careful Brian,’ his mother called after him. ‘He’ll be fine, Mam. The tools are all put away.’ Reassured, Mrs. Mattingly ed her husband in walking around the house. Now that the roof was on and all the windows in it really did look like a home emerging out of a dusty paddock. ‘Look at the size of the kitchen, Viv. You’ve always wanted one with a view. See that window? That’ll be where the sink will be. Means I’ll have something to look at when I’m doing the washing up.’ Bob’s good humour had returned in spite of the heat and Brian. ‘And you’ll have plenty of natural light when you’re preparing meals and bottling the fruit from the trees I’m going to plant in the back yard.’ Bob’s enthusiasm broke through his habitual reserve. His wife beamed and they both stood in the hall gazing into the kitchen, hand in hand, sharing a look of quiet satisfaction. Mr. Barlow judged it an appropriate time to introduce a ticklish matter. ‘Ahem. As I mentioned last time, the cost of the recent changes you requested have come to a bit more than we thought.’ Bob Mattingly stiffened and returned his attention to the builder. ‘How much more?’ ‘Very little sir,’ Barlow quickly interjected. ‘About twenty quid.’ ‘Twenty! You said ten.’ ‘Yes, my fault, I should have checked with my supplier. The bathroom items you chose and that were signed off by the assessor are in the range. But it’s all right. I informed Mr. Gibbs and he’s sweet, didn’t raise any objections.’ ‘That’s all very well for Mr. Gibbs but I’m the one who has to pay the mortgage off,’ Bob grumbled. ‘I understand but Mrs. Mattingly was insistent on those taps and I always try to please the good ladies.’ Barlow looked at the good lady who obligingly spoke up.

‘Yes, Mr. Barlow and very grateful we are, aren’t we Bob,’ she added with a sharp look at her husband. ‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to lump it,’ replied her husband barely hiding his annoyance. ‘But from now on we’ll have to watch every penny.’ ‘Of course, dear,’ said his wife, though secretly she still held onto her dream of a built-in linen closet in the bathroom, a secret shared with Mr. Barlow. Another day ed into evening. The builders and their clients departed. I was left with the rising moon shining through the trees, the silvery light refracted through the recently installed sash windows. Small imperfections in the glass pane of one of the windows threw a distorted image onto the freshly painted wall reminding me of a kangaroo in flight from the hunters, desperately darting this way and that as lethally hurled spears fell onto the barren earth.

March 1921

The big day had arrived at last. Mr. Gibbs had made his final inspection several days before. The list of rectifications had been addressed to his satisfaction and the bank released the final payment, minus a fraction held back to cover any unexpected problems that might crop up in future years. The council building surveyor had concurred, allowing the Mattinglys, impatiently waiting the moment, to finally organise moving in. Thus, at a little after noon on a hot Autumn day a large lorry laden with the worldly goods of the new homeowners turned slowly into the street and made its way in stately fashion down towards the freshly painted gate of number 37. The lorry was followed by a posse of young boys, shouting and yahooing at the driver. ‘Hey mate, give us a ride.’ The driver replied with a rude sign. Bloody kids, ought to be given a good hiding, cheeky young buggers. The driver was still working off the effects of a long night at the pub and found the attentions of the neighbourhood children more that usually tiresome. He stopped outside the gate, turned the lorry perpendicularly and carefully backed it into the unmade driveway at the side of the house. ‘Careful of the gatepost, mate.’ Bob Mattingly stood behind the reversing vehicle giving hand signals while the driver backed up the driveway. The last thing he wanted now was for a careless truckie to damage the pristine entrance to their new home. In spite of the reserve Bob habitually turned to the world, pride swelled like an overflowing dam. This was a great day. The reversing manoeuvre was managed successfully and Len the lorry driver jumped down and grinned. ‘There you are mister. Now me and Phil here will get to unloading.’ A small man almost unnoticed suddenly appeared at Len’s side, barely reaching his partner’s barrel-like chest. ‘Right-you-are boss.’ He retreated to the back of the lorry and swung open the door. Clambering up on the tray he began ing boxes to Len who carried

them into the house. The comical duo looked like Charlie Chaplin and the big dark oaf that Charlie continually provoked and outwitted in the moving pictures that he took Viv to on their occasional trips to the theatre. Chaplin’s antics were one of the few acts that left the normally taciturn owner of number 37 paralysed with laughter. ‘Careful of that one please Len. It contains my Grandmother’s china, brought it all the way from Devon, she did. Not a chip in all these years.’ Viv Mattingly oversaw the operation with the eye of a seasoned army commander. She too was radiant, triumphant even, and much more open in her delight than her husband. This day represented the final break with her dark and violent past. Their new home would be the haven from which all memory of those terrible, terrible times would be banished forever. For the next two hours Len and Phil unloaded furniture and boxes of all sizes. As quickly as they arrived, Viv organised the efficient unpacking and allocation of their contents to sundry cupboards, drawers and wardrobes. She and Bob worked as hard as the delivery men. Brushing his hand over his forehead, Bob looked up. ‘Here comes that nice Elsie Robbins from across the way.’ ‘Here you are, you must be exhausted. Sit down and have some of my strawberry sponge. Made it to celebrate your homecoming.’ ‘Oh Elsie, how kind of you. It has been a very busy day. Please sit down. Bob, get Elsie’s chair for her. I’ll put the kettle on. Perfect timing, I’ve just washed the crockery. We’ll have it here at the kitchen table. Len, you and your helper come too.’ Viv carried the kettle to the sink and turned on the cold tap. Two taps! At last, hot water when we need it. She placed the kettle on the stove and lit the burner. Taking cups, saucers, plates and cutlery from their recently deposited locations, having previously washed them, she laid them out in military precision on a freshly laundered linen tablecloth. The distant sound of traffic filtered in through the open window, barely heard over the birdsong carried by a hot wind from the north. Just as the kettle began to merrily whistle a terrible thought assailed Viv. ‘Bob, Bob where is treasure?’ So engrossed was she in the business of the move she had completely forgotten about her young son. A wild look, part guilt, part

terror flashed across her face. Her husband looked around, as if he might find his son lurking nearby. ‘I don’t know Viv. Haven’t seen him for a while.’ Viv froze. ‘It’s all right Missus,’ piped up Phil. ‘I saw him out on the road playing with the kids from around here. Climbing the trees, they were, playing at being Tarzan.’ Momentarily assured, a new worry emerged. ‘But Bob, we don’t know the families. Those children may not be suitable.’ ‘Kids are kids Viv. He’ll have to get used to the locals, might as well start now.’ Hardly reassured Viv turned back to the stove. The kettle had boiled, and she now poured the water carefully into the large teapot given to the couple on their wedding day by Uncle Todd and Aunt Jane. The weary group demolished their tea before resuming the tasks of the day. Finally, as the sun began to set, Len and Phil packed up their moving blankets and planks and jumped into the lorry. Carefully tacking down the driveway and out into the street, Len turned the heavy vehicle and drove slowly away, dust and loose stones spitting from large rear wheels. The Mattingleys, including a very dirty young boy, waved them off. ‘Thank God, that’s done Viv. Now for a rest before tea.’ But his wife was still running on overdrive. She continued to sort, unpack and put away. The bath towels fitted perfectly into the cupboard that nice Mr. Barlow had conjured up. No need to worry her husband with the small extra charge. And so, another gap was filled in the land that I had known for as long as time itself. My street was now more than half built over. But here and there vacant blocks of dirt and wispy native grasses beckoned would be home makers like sirens calling to lovelorn sailors. How long before all were swept up in the enveloping tide of suburbia?

Early the next morning Betty said to her husband across the breakfast table, ‘The new people moved into number 37 yesterday. Looks like a husband, wife and little boy. I’ll trot down later and introduce myself, welcome them to the neighbourhood.’ ‘Mmmm,’ muttered her husband, finishing the last of his toast and marmalade. ‘The neighbourly thing to do.’ ‘Mmmm.’ Giving up on getting more from her spouse, Betty began to clear away the breakfast remains. Her husband glanced at his watch, swore under his breath and leapt up from the table. ‘Got to get moving, darling. Where’s my lunch?’ ‘In your briefcase where I put it, Darling.’ But darling was already in the bathroom cleaning his teeth. Have to run all the way to the station today, old man. At precisely 11 am Betty turned in at number 37. She ired the sparkling white paint around the large dual windows adorning the front of the house and the pleasing contrast with the red brick frontage. Looks like a very solid house, should last forever. She walked along the drive to the porch placed at the side of the house rather than the front. I must get Ted to look at that lovely fretwork over the entrance. I’m sure we could do something like that to dress up our rather drab entrance. Viv Mattingly heard the doorbell ring. So nice a sound. She hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron before removing it and thrusting it onto a hook behind the kitchen door. ‘Coming,’ she called. On opening the door, she came face to face with a lady of similar age and one who would in coming years become her greatest friend. ‘Hello, I’m Betty Jenkins from across and up the road. Number 24, the one with the grey roof and roses at the front. My husband Ted is a keen gardener. I’ve come to officially welcome you to the street. I hope you and your family will find it as wonderful as Ted, Patty and I have.’ A slightly out of breath Betty paused.

‘I’m delighted to meet you Mrs. Jenkins. My name is Vivienne Mattingly. I and my husband Bob and son Brian moved in yesterday and are just so happy to be her. Please come in. I was just about to pop the kettle on.’ Twenty minutes later the two women were on first name basis and Betty was busily filling her new neighbour in on the people and peccadillos making up their intimate world. ‘Old Elsie at number 40 was the first in. She and her sister Jean arrived before the war. Jean died of the flu last year. Tragic. It was a mercy that Elsie didn’t follow. But she was already in hospital herself when the terrible fever came on her sister.’ At this point Betty averted her eyes, signalling that Elsie’s ailment was of the secret gynaecological kind. Viv understood. ‘All over in a couple of days. Shook the rest of us to the core, it did. You never knew who’d be next. I kept Patty away from school. We stayed in our home, only went out when we had to get food. It was like being in prison.’ ‘Oh, it must have been terrible Betty. We were living in the country at the time, waiting for Bob to be demobbed. But my cousin lived in Brunswick and her husband died of the disease. I must have another of your wonderful scones. So good of you to bring them.’ And so, the visit ed successfully. The two women soon exchanged detailed character sketches of their husbands, noting accurately and honestly their great strengths and occasional failings, most of the latter which stemmed from an unwillingness to heed the well-meaning advice of their life’s partner. ‘You must bring Bob and Brian to meet my lot on the weekend.’ Betty’s parting invitation was accepted, thus beginning a long and lasting relationship between the two families, one that would survive many ups and downs in the long, long flow of time-to-come.

September 1924

As dawn breaks, I gaze out over the red and grey tiled rooves. There are very few gaps in my street now. Here and there vacant blocks wait for the inevitable arrival of men with picks and shovels and bricks and mortar. The moving van appears regularly, bringing excited families in their wake. Each morning the ritual begins. In the early light, gradually earlier each day, the birds open proceedings. Then the dogs from down the street in, inviting other dogs from surrounding streets to answer. Dogs of all kinds, shapes and sizes. Hairy dogs, dogs with smooth brown skins, yappy dogs, dogs with booming barks. All so different from the lean animals that accompanied the dark people who once roamed the land around. Here and there a harsh voice onishes a household pet to desist, occasionally accompanied by a curse or thrown object. Then, the clip clop of the baker’s van. Stopping at every third house the driver jumps down and grabs a large basket. He is a small wiry man of indeterminate age. No one in the street can a day without his cheery presence. Although he came every day, rain, hail or sun, a man for all seasons, no one if asked would be able to describe him. Might as well try to describe the bark on the trees or explain the mist that mysteriously followed in the wake of his van. Carrying the large cane basket slung over his forearm he traverses the road, running to the door of each house in turn. ‘Breado.’ He waits until the door opens. Sometimes a face appears. More often an arm reaches through a crack ing coins in return for the sweet, warm loaf. ‘Thanks Mr. Chipper. How’s Gladys faring this morning?’ Gladys was the large docile cart horse that just kept on keeping on. Never rushed, never tired, always reliably delivering the bread to my small kingdom. ‘Fine thanks Mrs. P. Had a bit of cholic yesterday – Gladys, I mean – but woke right as rain today. Thankfully, couldn’t do without old Gladys.’ Tommy Chipper lived up to his name. He was always cheerful, unnaturally so. Nothing it seemed could dent his rosy view of the world and his place in it. Up at 3 am every morning, down to the bakery, loaded by 4 am and on the road thirty

minutes later. His run took in my street and the six in the vicinity, one of which was the long High Street. Today he was a little late, having been delayed by a bogged beer wagon delivering to the local hotels. Still, mustn’t complain he grinned, flicking the whip lightly over Glady’s ample rear. ‘Off we go old girl, plenty of hungry mouths to feed.’ As Tommy and Gladys turned into the adjacent street, the milko hove into view. Pulled by two sturdy beasts he made his way in a similar fashion to his predecessor. The milk bottles rattled in his carrier as he leapt the low fences fronting most of the houses. He carefully replaced the empties left out on the doorstep with the requisite number of full bottles, pocketing the coins placed under the former. Back and forth, hurdling expertly. Until, that is, he came to number 25, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Clarke. Local legend, widely shared, had it that one rainy morning during the War that other service deliveryman so vital to the smooth functioning of the community had come to grief jumping the wire fence on his way out. His foot had caught on a loose strand of wire causing him to fall horizontally across the barrier. The unfortunate night soil man was carrying a full pan on his left shoulder, the contents of which covered his prone body and flowed out onto the nature strip. His ankle was broken, and the ambulance men did their best, but couldn’t help ing in the mirth of neighbours who had gathered to see what all the fuss was about. Thereafter the Clarke’s fence was treated with due respect. Today, as always, the milkman opened the wire gate on entering and closed it on leaving. He paid similar respect at the Gardner’s property where a totally uncontrollable bull terrier was prone to attack without warning, having once put an earlier milko in hospital. Now the offending animal was carefully sequestered in the back parlour until well after all deliveries of the day. Age did not weary him. Prevented from mounting a full-frontal attack, he satisfied himself by keeping up a loud snarling bark from the moment he heard the gate swing open until the moment it clanged shut. On this morning, everything started as normal. The early Spring day lingered into the afternoon. But by early evening, while the sun still had a couple of hours to live, our little world changed. Ted Jenkins, daydreaming of the family holiday he and Betty were planning for Christmas, turned into the street. He looked down to see a large number of people gathered outside his house. Some he recognised, others not. Then he saw

two policemen. He froze momentarily before breaking into a run. ‘What is it, what has happened?’ Terrible images sprang up before him. ‘Tell me, why is everyone here.’ Eyes turned away or looked to the ground. ‘What!?’ Ted looked wildly around him. ‘It’s Patty. She’s missing,’ someone ventured. ‘What! Missing?’ Ted pushed past several neighbours milling around and took the porch at a leap. He ran through the door to be greeted by a distraught wife. ‘Oh Ted, Ted. She’s missing. Our little girl is missing,’ whereupon Betty fell forward into her husband’s arms. Ted held his wife and helped her to a chair in the loungeroom. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right, I’m here now darling. Tell me what has happened.’ Ted’s presence had a calming influence, and his wife was able to get the gist of the matter out before collapsing again in tears. As best he could make out, with the help of one of the police officers, Patty had not come home from school at the normal time. Betty had waited for half an hour before rushing up to the school. By the time she reached it the school was mostly empty. By then another mother had arrived at the school also seeking her daughter. It became clear that Patty and her friend, Rebecca, from nearby Valentine Street, had gone off with a stranger. Both mothers were horrified and rushed back to Rebecca’s home, one of the few in the area with a telephone. There they called the local police station. Several officers arrived and two took Betty back to number 24. News quickly spread and by the time Ted arrived, most of the neighbours were out, keen to help. ‘Mr. Jenkins, if I could have a quiet word.’ One of the older officers motioned to the hallway. Leaving his wife with Elsie Robbins, both siting on the sofa, he followed the officer. In the wide hallway they conversed in low tones. ‘I don’t wish to worry you unduly, sir, but we have had reports of a pervert approaching young girls around the railway station. We have a description of him and will be interviewing the school cleaner who got a good look at the man

who left the school with the two girls. I have put in a call to District headquarters to send more officers. Once they arrive, we’ll divide up and scour the neighbourhood. There is still an hour or two left before dark. Someone will have seen something. After all, the school is slap bang in the middle of a built-up area, close to the shopping centre and station.’ ‘But there’s no time, we’ll lose the light. I’m starting to look now. The neighbours will help. We’ll start at the school and go from there.’ Ted’s quiet, rational carapace disintegrated as the full horror of the news sank in. ‘Please sir, we need to do this methodically, no use falling over each other.’ The policeman’s voice was calm but urgent, having been faced with similar emergencies several times during his career. ‘That’s all very well for you to say, but would you be so calm if it was your little girl in the clutches of a maniac?’ While the officer pondered the thought, a commotion from outside drew their attention. ‘That damn motor bike, just what we need. I swear I’ll wring that lad’s neck.’ Ted Jenkins ran his hands through his thinning hair. Over the idling of Ricky’s bike, a yell went up. Cheers and claps greeted Ted’s ears. ‘What the…’ Ted and the policeman rushed outside to see Ricky sitting astride his bike and ten-year-old Patty riding pillion, still clutching his waist. They stood on the porch, rooted to the spot. ‘Patty, darling.’ Ted was brushed aside by Betty who moved like a greyhound to claim her baby. ‘There, there my pet. It’s all right now. You’re home safe with Mum and Dad.’ Ted caught up and held both in his arms. Around them everyone was smiling. People competed to slap a bemused Ricky Barrett on the back. ‘Well done lad, well done.’ ‘You’re a hero mate, a bloody hero.’

Eventually the senior police officer managed to get the family and Ricky back into the house. Ricky’s hair was blown back like a hedge after a windstorm. His old leather jacket hung loose on his spare frame. He glanced anxiously at the two policeman gathered in the hallway, and mentally computed the distance to the front door. Outside the crowd continued to mill around. ‘Always knew the lad was a good’un,’ said one man who had once threatened to put the authorities onto the boy for disturbing the peace. ‘The sort of digger who did us all proud,’ replied another. ‘I’ll never complain about that motor bike again,’ offered a third. Without knowing it, Ricky Barrett had emerged chrysalis-like from his pubescent status of neighbourhood pest to local hero. Ted led Betty, still clutching Patty, to the dining room. The senior officer and Ricky ed them. They sat around the big table. ‘Now lad, tell us – how did you find her?’ The policeman’s direct gaze disconcerted the young man momentarily. ‘Well, you gentlemen can talk all you like. I’m getting this little rabbit into a warm bath and then to bed. She’s exhausted.’ ‘But, Madam, we’ll need to talk to her … ‘Well, that can wait officer. I’m not having my daughter put through any more today.’ With that and a look that brooked no opposition, she whisked Patty up and carried her to the bathroom. The officer turned back to Ricky, who sat fidgeting in his chair. ‘All right lad, tell us what happened.’ Ricky drew a breath and began. ‘When I heard what had happened, I went out on my bike just to see if I could find her. I had no idea where to start, so I went to the school. When I got there the police were talking to someone who worked at the school. I overheard him say that he saw two girls getting into a purple car.’

‘Purple?’ The officer was clearly sceptical. ‘Yes, purple, that’s what he said.’ ‘There aren’t any cars that colour.’ ‘Well, that’s what your mate in blue said.’ ‘Now look here mate, don’t get snarky with me.’ ‘Will you shut up and let him finish,’ cut in Ted. ‘Go on Ricky.’ ‘Well, it happens that I did see a purple Studebaker, left hand drive, lovely car, not many on the road here, out along the boulevard last week. So, I rode out there on the off chance it’d be there.’ ‘Was it?’ both adults leant forward expectedly. ‘No, but on the way back, I ed a tram stop. There was a little girl, sitting on the seat. I thought she must have been waiting for the next tram but there was something about the way she was sitting. All hunched up like. So, I swung the bike around and rode back. As soon as I reached her, I realised it was Patty. I asked what she was doing here, and she just burst into tears. I put her on the back and rode carefully back here. That’s it, really.’ ‘Phew.’ Ted leaned back in his seat and let out a large sigh. ‘You did exactly the right thing lad.’ The policeman smiled and extended his hand. Ricky awkwardly shook it. That was a first. Usually, in his experience, a policeman’s hand was to be avoided. Ted shook himself upright. ‘No Ricky. You did brilliantly. Mrs. Jenkins and I will never forget what you have done today. Never. Anything you need for that bike of yours, just let me know and I’ll get it for you.’ Ricky smiled awkwardly. ‘It’s okay, Mr. Jenkins. I was glad to find Patty safe and bring her home. She’s a bonzer little girl.’

The officer brought the discussion back with a thud. ‘But did you see the other girl, Rebecca Sutherland?’ ‘No, no sign of her. Perhaps Patty knows.’ At that moment there was a pounding on the front door. Ted jumped up, walked quickly to the door and opened it. ‘Mr. Sutherland. Mrs. Sutherland. Please come in.’ ‘I so sorry to disturb you Mr. Jenkins but the police told us that Patty had come home. Is Rebecca with her?’ Mrs. Sutherland’s urgency betrayed her desperation. Their eager smiles fell as Ted told them that Rebecca was not here. They turned to the policeman who had followed Ted to the door. ‘Officer, have you any news?’ ‘Not yet sir but we’ll be working through the night and tomorrow until we find her.’ Betty came into the room. ‘Oh, Mrs. Sutherland, please sit down. Ted bring chairs for them.’ Confusion reigned as both Ted and the officer fought to drag chairs from the kitchen into the dining room. When seated, an agitated mother pleaded, ‘Mrs. Jenkins, does Patty know where our girl is?’ ‘I’m afraid she hasn’t said. Poor dear, I put her straight to bed.’ ‘Well get her up so we can ask her.’ Mr. Sutherland’s voice was unintentionally sharp driven by an urgent fear. Betty bridled. ‘Please don’t tell me what to do in my own house with my own child.’ Mr. Sutherland frowned but said nothing. ‘Be reasonable darling, imagine if it was Patty still missing and Rebecca might be able to tell us what happened.’ Ted spoke gently but persuasively.

‘Yes, yes, Mrs. Jenkins, please let Patty tell us. Rob and I are near crazy with anxiety.’ Betty looked shamefaced. ‘Of course, we must find out. I’ll go and get her. But please let me ask. If you can all stay in the background. She’ll be groggy and still frightened. All go into the loungeroom and we’ll you.’ The small group moved rooms and sat awkwardly, watching the door from the hall. A few minutes later Betty reappeared carrying a very sleepy girl cradling a doll. They sat on a large chair. Betty held the child close. ‘Darling, tell me what happened when you went with the man from school. No, don’t cry. It’s all right. Just tell your dolly Daisy all about your adventure.’ Betty’s voice was gentle and soothing. Quietly, haltingly, Patty began. ‘Well Daisy, Mummy has had a very big adventure. A bad man came to our school and told Becky and I that he had come to take us to Becky’s Dad.’ At this Alan Sutherland jerked upright and went white. ‘I did no such thing.’ ‘Shush,’ said his wife. ‘Go on darling.’ ‘Well Daisy, Becky and I got into this big car. It was a funny colour, not like Grandpa’s. The man said Mr. Sutherland had bought us ice creams at the park. He drove and drove. I suddenly got frightened. I didn’t know where we were. The man stopped the car at a railway crossing as a train crossed. I opened the car door and jumped out. I tried to pull Becky by the arm, but the man shouted and grabbed her and shut the door. He drove away and I was just standing in the middle of the road.’ Patty yawned. ‘Then I saw Ricky ride by. I tried to call him, but my voice wouldn’t work. When I looked up, he was smiling at me. He put me on the back of his motor bike, and we came home. It was very exciting Daisy. But I’m very tired.’

‘She really needs to go back to bed,’ said Betty, beginning to rise. Joy Sutherland intervened. ‘Patty dear, did you see where the man went with Becky?’ ‘No, Mrs. Sutherland, he just drove away.’ Patty began to sob, at which point her mother stood and carried the little girl out of the loungeroom and down the hallway. They lay together in Patty’s bed. ‘There, there darling. You are a very good, brave girl, isn’t she Daisy? The police will soon find Becky and then you’ll be able to take your dolls for a walk.’ But they didn’t. No sign of Rebecca Sutherland was ever found. A large police hunt scoured the area for five miles around. Every railway crossing was targeted. Police throughout the state were warned to look out for a purple American-made car. In the third week after the incident, a man was stopped in a car fitting the description on the Nepean Highway near Seaford. The man was positively identified by three girls as the man who had molested them near the railway station in the weeks before Rebecca’s disappearance. A railway clerk also identified him as being in the vicinity of his station on the day of one of the attacks. But no matter how hard they tried – and some attempts were not strictly by the book – the man steadfastly refused to it that he had abducted Patty and her friend. He was eventually convicted of the lesser charges and imprisoned in Pentridge for three years. Even there, where he was set up and targeted by other prisoners, he continued to claim that he had never seen the two girls. Eventually the matter dropped, and everyone moved onto other matters. Everyone but the Sutherlands and the residents of Ross street. Betty Jenkins could never walk around the block past the Sutherland house, for fear she might run into the grieving mother. Two years later, the Sutherland family sold up and moved interstate. Parents in the neighbourhood and teachers at the school thereafter adopted a much more vigilant watch on all the children. The innocence of my land was lost. Thus, did the years roll by. The gardens grew, as did the English plane trees planted along the street in a neat pattern, one outside each house. Driveways were laid up to newly built garages, into some of which new cars were proudly

installed. Ricky Barrett remained a hero and was offered a position at a local petrol garage where he happily went about learning the auto-mechanics trade at the feet of Con Giovani, an Italian migrant who had arrived before the war and raced motor bikes at the new Phillip Island track. Ricky became his sidecar rider. The street was fully built on except for a block at the end of the road abutting the creek where the local children played out their imaginary battles.

January 1929

The summer heat beat down with a ferocity I’d not experienced since the great drought in the last year of the War. All along the street the trees were drooping. Front gardens were being force fed on a restricted basis as residents battled to eke out their rationed water supply. Back yards were left to fend for themselves. Fruit trees died. Grass turned to dust. Ted Jenkins watched his precious roses wither and die. He was able to save a few but only at the expense of the many. The long nights barely ed a drop in temperature. People slept out on their back verandas. The cicadas kept up a relentless chorus, reminding one and all that summer had many weeks to run. The school holidays ended and the children in the neighbourhood each with satchel and shining morning face creeping like a snail unwillingly to school. But not in the Jenkins household. ‘Well Patty, you’d better get a move on or you’ll be late for school,’ called out her father with a grin. ‘Dad! You know it’s my first day at business college. No more school for Patricia Jenkins.’ She twirled slowly in front of her mother’s full-length mirror, critically inspecting her skirt. Satisfied, she turned to kiss her mother. Her fresh young face expressed the hope of a rising generation, one that would, in time, be called upon to face a great challenge and pay a high price, as great as that imposed on their parents. But today the sun shone on the golden girl of Ross Street. ‘Well dear, it’s a big day. Do be careful, and don’t talk to strange men.’ ‘Oh. Mother, as if I would! Anyway. I’ll have Dad escorting us on the train.’ ‘Only if you get your skates on, girl.’ ‘Got to run, Mum. Bye.’ The two rushed down the path and out the front gate. Standing at her gate four doors up was Frieda, Patty’s best friend. They were both enrolled in secretarial courses at Taylors College in the city. Frieda was a couple of inches taller than Patty and her dark hair was curled to the current fashion contrasting with her

friend’s flaming thatch. She was slightly heavier and forever conscious of not becoming more so. Both girls wore similar short sleeved, light grey dresses with brown gloves and sensible shoes. While not exactly a uniform, the directions given by the college as to what was and was not suitable for the young ladies was taken seriously by the mothers. Their daughters were so caught up in the excitement of being ‘out’ in the world that they happily complied. ‘Come on girls, the trains won’t wait.’ Both girls hurried after Ted, their newly acquired business shoes click-clacking. How wonderful to be grown up at last, thought fifteen-year-old Patty. As Betty Jenkins cleared away the remains of breakfast, she reflected on her daughter’s new life. A tear found its way down the furrow on her cheek. Her baby was going out in the world. Away from her parents. How long would it be before some young man whisked her out of their lives forever? A second tear ed the first. Silly woman. It’s the way of the world. Betty furiously wiped the dish cloth over the bare wooden table. Of course, she must spread her wings. Find a good man, like her Ted. Get married and have children. At the thought of one day becoming a grandmother, the floodgates opened. Tears coursed down her face and fell onto the apron she buried her face in. She sank onto the nearest chair and sobbed, partly in the joy of anticipation, partly in sadness for a lost past. A few minutes later Betty Jenkins rose, went to the bathroom and washed her face. She returned to the kitchen, removed her apron, retrieved her shopping basket and marched out through the door, out of her front gate and up the street headed for the greengrocers. Life goes on. It has always been so. By the time an excited Patty Jenkins returned in the late afternoon, her mother had fully recovered and ed animatedly in the excitement as Patty told her about her first day at College. ‘Now I want to know everything, mind. You got into the train and…’ ‘We only just made it, Mum. Frieda’s heel came off as Dad ran us over the over. But he managed to repair it on the ride into town. Frieda was frantic. She thought everyone would be looking at her and laughing when we got to college. But it was fine, no one noticed. We were all too nervous about starting. It was so different to school. No boys, just Miss Martin.’

‘Who is Miss Martin,’ said her mother. ‘She’s the deputy-Principal, Mum. A bit scary. She had us stand in line as she walked along looking us up and down. Every now and again she picked out a girl and told her to lengthen her skirt or take some make up off. One girl, Mavis, had bright red lipstick. She had to go to the Ladies and rub it off before coming into the classroom. Gosh, I wouldn’t have had the nerve.’ The conversation went on for much longer, with Betty listening and Patty talking. An inward smile suffused the mother’s memory as she recalled her own excitement at first discovering the world beyond her parents’ fence. They were finally interrupted by Ted’s noisy arrival. ‘How’s my little secretary, then?’ ‘Dad! I’ve only just begun.’ But then all had to be retold for his benefit, this time Betty chipping in when Patty left something out. ‘Whew, sounds like a lot happened. Don’t know how any of you will learn to type and whatnot with so much drama.’

May 1929

The Jenkins family quickly settled into the new routine. The months rushed by until a tragedy struck the street. On a cool morning in May, a yell echoed through the crisp air. ‘No, no, no! Help, someone help. It’s Elsie.’ By the time Betty Jenkins had thrown off her apron and rushed to the front gate, several women and old Fred Tomkins were running down the road towards Elsie Robbins house. Betty ran after them arriving as young Jim, now in his early thirties, pleaded through tears. ‘What’s happened, Jim?’ Several voices assailed the stricken man. ‘It’s Elsie. I can’t wake her. Please, please do something.’ While several of the older women tried to comfort Jim, Fred and a younger woman, Ruth Johnston, newly moved in at number 16, ran into the house. Ruth was a nurse at the recently opened hospital on the high street. A few minutes later, they returned. Their sombre faces told the tale. ‘I’m very sorry,’ said Ruth, ‘but the old lady has ed away. She must have died in her sleep, sometime last night.’ At this Jim lost all control, thrashing around and swearing at the top of his voice. Several children from the neighbourhood looked on in interest. ‘Somebody, take Jim home.’ Ruth had assumed command and the others too confused and shocked to object tried to lead the grieving man across the road. But he broke free with a curse and stormed off, running up his driveway and into his kitchen, slamming the door behind him. ‘Shouldn’t someone go and see to him,’ said someone. But no one moved, except Ruth who said, in a businesslike manner, ‘Well, I’ll run back home and phone the police and ambulance. It’s best that no

one goes into the house. The police will want to make sure that there are no suspicious circumstances.’ At this, a murmur of concern went around the small gathering. But Ruth confidently asserted, ‘I can tell you now, that lady died of old age, a blessing to go so peacefully.’ With a general sigh of agreement, the group dispersed back to their homes, to stay posted at their front windows to observe the arrival of the authorities. Peaceful or not, Elsie did go. A week later, a small crowd of mourners, mainly from her street, gathered in the draughty hall of St. James on Main Street. Patty and Frieda had been allowed a half-day off on comionate grounds. They walked together to the church. ‘It’s terrible Frieda. Elsie was so nice. It’s just not fair.’ Frieda agreed and added, ‘she never had a mean word for anyone, even helped that strange man across the road, the one who was always angry.’ ‘That’s ’cause of the war, dearest.’ Both girls tried but couldn’t imagine what that awful phrase, so often repeated in the street, really conveyed. Frieda reached into her small green handbag and drew out a packet of filter-tipped cigarettes. ‘Have a fag, my love,’ here she imitated, voice and leer, the young messenger boy at work who had introduced them and most of her class to the evil of smoking. Patty laughed, took one and waited for her friend to light it. With cigarettes in hand both continued up the high street, chatting and taking small puffs, pretending that they found the experience enjoyable and luxuriating in the joy of being grown up. ‘Look out!’ Patty had glimpsed the portly figure of Enid Rumbold rounding the corner. Both girls automatically thrust the cigarettes behind their backs, flicking them into the bushes at the side of the footpath. ‘Good morning girls. I thought you’d be at work by now.’ Mrs. Rumbold was widely reputed to be the most efficient gossip in the entire Northern region of Melbourne. Nothing escaped her eagle eye. This was not good.

‘We’re going to poor Elsie Robbins memorial Mrs. Rumbold.’ ‘Miss Martin gave us permission,’ added Frieda. ‘We’ll be grabbing the train into college after that,’ Patty continued. ‘Yes, a very sad day. Miss Robbins will be sorely missed.’ The girls made their escape. Walking away, Patty said under her breath, ‘hypocritical old bat. She never lost the chance to run down poor Elsie. Did you hear how she called her ‘Miss’. Just because she never married, Mrs. Rumbold treated her as second class. Old Elsie was worth a dozen Mrs. Rumbolds!’ ‘It’s not as if that useless husband of hers is a prize catch,’ added Frieda, laughing. ‘Or her either,’ said Patty and both girls hurried off giggling Mrs. Rumbold turned and watch them walking away. I’m sure I saw cigarettes, she mused. I’ll have to have a good talk with their mothers. Disgusting habit. No young girl would have been seen dead smoking in public in my day. The very idea! I blame all those moving pictures from America. Yes, she would definitely have to warn their parents. For their own good of course. Smoking today, God knows what’s next. Lipstick, short shirts and men! Thank goodness she and Herb brought no children into this wicked world. The minister read a homily and spoke of Elsie’s kindness, a model for us all. As the sad group began to troop out, into the grey afternoon light Barry Barrett, Ricky’s father, said loudly, ‘Who’s that fellow talking to the padre?’ All eyes swung to the short, thin stranger who was earnestly engaged in conversation with the minister. ‘Apparently he’s a relative, nephew or something.’ Ruth the nurse who had taken the lead on the night Elsie’s body had been discovered, spoke softly. The group looked over at the two men in earnest discussion. ‘Organising the burial, I should think,’ she continued. ‘More likely skulking around to pick up what’s left of poor old girl’s

belongings,’ Barry replied, not bothering to lower his voice. Several people shushed him. ‘Have you ever seen that cove in the neighbourhood? Well, have any of you?’ No one spoke. ‘Came running as soon as she shuffled off, though, didn’t he?’ Barry’s observation seemed to many of his neighbours to be accurate. Over the next week the young man made two trips to his late Aunt’s house. The first was in the company of a carter. Together they loaded furniture and boxes onto a large cart pulled by a large horse. The man jumped up beside the driver who flicked the whip over the horse’s rump, causing horse and cart to lurch forward and maintain a steady three miles per hour until they disappeared around the corner. Two days later the nephew was back, this time with a man dressed in a suit who hammered a For Sale sign into the nature strip in front of Elsie’s house. All this time young Jim was nowhere to be seen. Several neighbours called by and knocked on his back door in the days following Elsie’s funeral. But no one answered and no lights issued forth from the silent house during the lengthening nights that followed. His neighbours, the Hegartys, were worried. ‘Gordon, I think we should do something.’ ‘What?’ ‘I don’t know but what if he’s in trouble?’ ‘He’s always in trouble, that one, Joan. He could be anywhere, where would we start?’ The next afternoon, as Gordon settled into his lounge chair, nursing a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he called out to his wife, ‘I saw young Jim today.’ Joan Hegarty came into the lounge wiping her hands on her apron. ‘Where?’ ‘I was walking past the pub near the station. Jim and a couple of his army mates were having an argument on the footpath outside. I said hello and asked how he

was. He just made a rude gesture and his mates fell about laughing. So, I walked on. They were all blind drunk, don’t know how any of them could stand up.’ ‘Oh Gordy, that’s terrible, you could have been injured. They might have done anything.’ Joan had never trusted the morose young man who lived next door to them. ‘Hmph. None of them could have swung a punch to save themselves. When’s dinner?’ Several hours later, in the early hours of a freezing night, Joan woke with a fright. ‘Gordon, what was that?’ ‘What?,’ came the sleepy reply. ‘I heard a noise, from next door, I think. It sounded like a gun shot.’ ‘Rubbish. It’s probably a car backfiring on the high street. Sound travels at night.’ ‘I tell you it wasn’t a car. Go and see what it was. There might be someone trying to break into Jim’s empty house.’ Grumbling, her husband climbed out of bed and pulled on his fawn plaid woollen dressing gown and a pair of well-worn slippers. He reached into his wardrobe and drew out a police baton that he’d souvenired in the aftermath of a mass dispute with police on Melbourne’s docks. ‘Be careful, Gordon.’ His wife, on seeing the baton, began to have doubts about the wisdom of her marital instruction. But before she could reconsider, Gordon had left the bedroom and was opening their front door. She waited anxiously but not for long. Gordon raced back into the house swearing loudly. ‘Jesus Christ, he’s only gone and shot himself.’ ‘Who has?’ said Joan in fright. ‘Young Jim! I found him slumped on his back step, with half a bottle of whisky lying on the ground and half his face blown off. He must have kept his service rifle. It was lying next to the bottle.’

Joan screamed. Several lights nearby snapped on. Running feet were heard coming across the street. ‘What is it?’ someone yelled. Gordon met them at his gate and in hushed tones told them of young Jim’s fate. ‘Bloody hell! Sorry Joan. We better get the police.’ As John from number 18 ran off to phone the police station, another neighbour – by now there were several gathered around Gordon and Joan in their front yard – said wonderingly, ‘That boy charged German machine guns on the Somme and came home. Why the hell would he go and kill himself now? It just doesn’t make sense.’ If there is one thing that I’ve learnt in my long, long stewardship, it’s that the lives of those who through, fleetingly, rarely if ever make sense. A few days later, another small group of mourners sat huddled in the church, listening to the minister lament the ing of Young Jim Pascoe. To the neighbours of Ross Street were added several strangers, some of whom wore remnants of the war they had shared with their deceased mate. The two groups sat separately in the church and did not mingle afterwards in the courtyard. It spoke eloquently of the truth known to young Jim. Anyone who had not been over there could possibly know, could ever share, could ever forget. Tragedy never wants for company. Barely two weeks after young Jim’s memorial, Barry Barrett staggered out of the hotel where he had been drinking with mates and stumbled in front of a Carlton and United Brewery wagon hauled by four large horses. He was crushed under the heavy wagon wheel before bystanders could pull him to safety. There was, as one regular said, some justice in the manner of his demise. ‘The grog was agoin’ to get Barry one way or the other.’ There was no funeral or memorial for the late head of the Barrett clan. Ricky accompanied his mother to the cemetery to lay flowers on the brute’s grave. He went, not out of filial love or even duty, but to his mum and to make sure his father wasn’t coming home again! On a chill early afternoon, he watched as his mother bent down and gently laid the flowers against the newly erected stone. How, he thought, could she weep for

the man who had treated her so badly? Ricky just couldn’t understand, could never know the memories of the early days of their marriage, the laughing young buck who wooed the bright young maiden and the early days before the Great War when the future seemed full of promise. So fixated on their own brief biographies, so confined by their own view of the ing stream of life, none of the residents of Ross Street had the benefit of my long-sighted scan.

July 1929

‘B ye, Mum.’ Patty Jenkins grabbed her gloves and hat and headed out the door. Turning right, she looked ahead and could see her best friend Frieda standing at her gate. ‘Come on lazy bones,’ Frieda called to her friend. ‘We’ll miss the train, and you know how crabby Miss Martin gets when ‘her’ girls turn up late. She really tore into Gwenda the other day, just because she got back from lunch a few minutes after 1:30.’ ‘I think it might have been something to do with Gwenda’s choice of shoes,’ grinned an out of breath Patty. ‘She came in and told us that she had just been to Myer emporium and bought those gorgeous navy-blue half-heels. Miss Martin spent ten minutes telling us how unsuitable they were for business, not to mention the wrong signals they gave to men!’ ‘Yes,’ Frieda laughed ‘and we all dutifully listened. But as soon as we finished for the day, most of us hared over to Myer and put a pair on lay-by. I can’t wait till I’ve paid mine off.’ The two girls happily enthused over their extreme good luck in finding the shoes. Good old Gwenda, that girl can spot a bargain like nobody. ‘Me too. I hope we get them before the winter ball at the Church hall next month. Oops, lookout, there’s the train.’ The two girls picked up speed and rushed over the over in time to catch the red rattler, as the new electric trains were coming to be known.

Back in Ross Street, the younger boys were gathering at the creek for a morning of pitched battle. The weather was cool, and the grey clouds held promise of rain. But it was the last day of the school holidays and each warrior was keen to extract every possible minute of freedom before the inevitable tolling of the school bell on the following day. ‘I’m Tom Mix,’ Brian Mattingly loudly proclaimed, forestalling the efforts of any other boy to claim the coveted role of Western hero. Brian had grown several inches over the previous year and now stood a head taller than the other

boys in the neighbourhood. The rest of his body had yet to catch up with the recent growth spurt. His shock of blond hair was parted like his Western hero but often fell the wrong way much to his annoyance. ‘I’m going to capture the baddies’ stronghold in the Black Mountains. Who wants to be in my gang, I mean posse?’ Tom Mix was Brian’s alter ego. He followed the movie star’s every move and had seen most of his recent films, starting with The Great K and A Train Robbery. The films took some time to get to Melbourne from Hollywood. Most recently he and his mates had been treated to Horseman of the Plains, in which Tom, with the help of Tony the wonder Horse, had saved a damsel in distress. The film had taken barely a year to traverse the Pacific. It was clear that the isolation of our land was fading. This was fine with Brian and his friends, who loved the thought of more adventure films coming to a hall near them. There was even rumour that a local entrepreneur was planning to build a picture theatre in the main street. Apart from his main hero, Brian loved Tarzan. He had recently seen a cutdown version of Tarzan and the Golden Lion and was looking forward to Tarzan the Mighty. But it was to Tom Mix that Brian’s true loyalty lay. No doubt the local absence of tall trees with convenient vines played a part in his preference. ‘Oh, Brian, you’re always Tom,’ Jonnie Jensen from number 40 complained loudly. ‘Yes, ’cause I’ve got the gun.’ That was true. Brian had a holster fashioned from one of his mother’s old handbags attached to one of his father’s belts strung low around his hips. The red of the leather had been rendered a dirty brown by the copious laying on of black shoe polish. A cunningly disguised shoelace strapped the bottom of the holster to the top of his right leg. This made walking difficult, but the effect was worth it. Into the holster was placed a ‘gun’ rudely fashioned from a piece of timber left over on a building site. The weapon was painted black and Brian had managed to carve out a slot at the bottom that he could slip his finger through. The other boys looked at Brian standing with feet apart and right-hand hovering over the holster, very much like the Tom Mix poster at the movie hall. Envy rose from the little group like steam from a kettle. Tom’s height, gun and general air of authority rendered any challenge useless.

‘All right, I’ll be your number one deputy. Piggott, you’re number 2. Thommo and Dinksy you’re in the posse too. The rest of you are baddies.’ Jonnie had assumed the deputy’s privileged role of allocating the parts while Brian nodded approvingly. ‘Come on, let’s go. We’ll count to fifty, then come after you, over there,’ Brian pointed in the direction of a disused shed left over from construction of a storm water drain. ‘One, two, three…’ The baddies skedaddled, running towards and jumping the creek and heading for the shed and bushes that half hid it. ‘We’ll ambush them when they cross the Rio Grande,’ said a small blond boy with round glasses. ‘Good idea, Flea,’ replied a large, fat boy carrying a length of pipe he’d picked up from under his house. ‘This is my rifle. The rest of you find a weapon.’ And so, the battle of good against evil began. ‘Bang, bang, you’re dead Fred,’ Brian blew gently on the end of his six-gun, the way he’d seen Tom Mix do it. ‘No, you missed.’ ‘No, I didn’t. shot you straight through the heart. Tom never misses.’ ‘You just shot my hat off,’ Fred rallied. ‘Bully Boy, get back here. Flea, that bloody dog of yours has run off with my rifle.’ ‘You don’t have a hat, you idiot.’ Brian yelled. It was true. Every boy there would have given a year’s pocket money for a real cowboy hat like the one they’d seen at Mayfair’s toy shop. Each secretly looked to his next birthday and given clear hints to parents. The only present that could trump a hat would be a pearl handled revolver that fired real caps. The more ambitious boys hoped for both. Brian, in particular was desperate for the props, as without them his claim to be Tom Mix would be overtaken by a lucky successor. ‘You missed me but hit Flea’ shot back Fred.

‘Did not,’ said an indignant Flea, who on second thoughts saw some value in sacrifice, partial of course. ‘You just winged me. I’ll get you for that Mix.’ Flea was now enjoying his starring role. ‘Bully boy, good boy, give me the gun.’ The large grey mongrel sat on its haunches with its long tongue hanging out. The stick lay in drool at its feet. Every attempt to retrieve it failed. Bully Boy was having a whale of a time. The fight and arguments went on throughout the day until threatening skies and matching motherly calls prematurely ended the game. ‘All right, we’ll continue the fight to the death on the weekend.’ Brian gathered the troops, and they turned their horses homeward. ‘What’s that?’ said Flea. ‘What’s what?’ Brian and the others peered into the bush where Flea had disappeared. He returned holding a school bag. ‘Looks like someone dropped it.’ ‘I’ll show it to my Dad when he gets home. He’ll know what to do with it,’ said Brian. The others agreed and all trooped up the footpath, turning in at their houses with a last, wishful look at the street. School tomorrow. Brian forgot about the bag until after tea when his mother came into the dining room holding it at a distance between thumb and forefinger. ‘What’s this filthy thing Brian.’ ‘Found it near the creek a couple of streets up. It’s no good, all wore out.’ ‘Worn, Brian.’ ‘That too, Mum,’ said Brian cheekily. But Bob Mattingly was looking at the bag in his wife’s hand with a frown. ‘Show me exactly where you found it Brian.’ ‘But Bob, it’s almost night.’ Viv, as ever worried about Brian’s weak chest. He

had suffered two bouts of bronchitis and one attack of croup during the winter just past. ‘Don’t you see, Viv? It’s an old school bag like the one Patty Jenkins used to take to school. Patty and …’ His wife put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh Bob, do you think…’ ‘I don’t know dear. But I want Brian to show me exactly where he found it. I’ll then take it to the police station. It’s a pity that the officers who came that terrible day are no longer there.’ A confused but warmly dressed Brian was led by his father down the street to the creek and then along the trail to the baddies’ hideout. ‘It was just in there, Dad. We were getting ready to go home when Flea – Patrick, I mean – disappeared and came back holding the old bag. Just there, behind that bush.’ Bob took careful note of the spot, looking around for a landmark to orientate himself. ‘Okay, son, let’s get home. Well done to you and your mates.’ Brian wasn’t sure why he was being praised but saw the opportunity to put in another hint about his birthday in three months’ time. ‘Dad, you know that gun…’ ‘All in good time son, good things come to him who waits.’ Pleased with progress on this front, Brian trotted home happily with his father. Depositing Brian to the routine bath before bedtime, Bob grabbed the bag and walked quickly to the local police station. A young constable was on duty. He was half asleep, looking forward to being relieved at midnight. He gazed at the man who was holding a dirty looking bag and pushing it in his direction across the counter. ‘What is it exactly you are saying sir?’ said the constable holding the bag at arm’s length.

‘I’m saying that five years ago a little girl disappeared from our neighbourhood and this may be her school bag.’ ‘Well, I don’t see what I can do about that. The bag’s ruined. Her family won’t want it, even if we could find them.’ The police officer peering across the high wooden desk was a large rather stupid looking man and one who looked decidedly unhappy at this sudden call to duty. Bob could feel his temperature rising. Forcing himself to speak calmly to the idiot behind the counter, he asked, ‘Is the Sergeant here? If so, I’d like a word with him.’ The constable went into the next room and returned with a middle-aged man smoking a pipe. ‘Sergeant Raymond, sir. What seems to be the problem?’ Ignoring the constable who slouched back against the wall, Bob launched into an explanation. ‘Five years ago, a young girl, Rebecca Sutherland, was abducted from the local primary school. A huge police investigation was launched but no trace of her was ever found. I think this may have been the bag she was carrying that day.’ The Sergeant thought for a moment. ‘Thank you, sir. Leave the bag with me and I will look at the file and consult with the relevant authorities. I’ll be in touch with you in the next day or two.’ This at least was some action, though neither policeman seemed to appreciate the need for urgency and the importance of the matter. Bob returned home and told Viv what had happened. ‘Best we say nothing around here until the police us. We don’t want to raise false hopes. It may just be a bag that someone has tossed away.’ Viv nodded sadly. Poor Mrs. Sutherland. She rose and tiptoed along the corridor to the room where her two darlings were sleeping. She gently bent down and kissed each in turn. She felt the reassuring bulk of her husband behind her. He put his arms around her and whispered softly, ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?’ She nodded silently.

The next week saw the police descend in droves once more. The area along the creek was searched for two miles on each side. But no further indication of Rebecca Sutherland was found. Eventually the activities ceased and quiet returned to the neighbourhood. The feverish speculations unleashed by the sudden reappearance of the police subsided.

‘I’m only sorry that the Sutherlands had their hopes raised about Rebecca and then dashed,’ said Betty Jenkins to her husband one night a few days after the search had wound up. ‘Yes, it’s a shame but necessary all the same. They weren’t able to say whether the bag was Rebecca’s. And with no further lead we’re all still left in the dark. At least, they know that we haven’t forgotten their little girl.’ Ted knocked the remains of his pipe into an ashtray and began absentmindedly refilling the bowl with the sweet tobacco he favoured. He prodded the result with a match, struck it and puffed until satisfied that the pipe was light. He looked around the familiar room. The off white walls wearing the shadow of countless coal fires, the comfortable lounge and matching chairs, the plain grey Axminster well worn, all witnesses to the many years of life in Ross Street. ‘You know, love, I’ve been thinking.’ His wife looked up from her knitting. ‘What, dear?’ ‘Well, now that Patty’s almost independent, we should think about looking around for a new place to live. This house is too big for the both of us.’ ‘What’s brought this on all of a sudden?’ ‘It’s just that there has been so much unhappiness in the street recently. I guess the reminder of Rebecca Sutherland’s disappearance has brought it to the fore, especially after Young Jim’s suicide and Elsie’s death. Maybe we need a fresh start, new vistas.’ Ted leant back in his armchair and blew smoke into the warm room. ‘There has been a lot of unhappiness, it’s true. But this is our home. It’s where we brought our daughter into the world and raised her. She may marry soon and start her own family. They might need to live with us for a while to save for a

house, like we did with your parents. We’ll need the extra room for that.’ Betty secretly hoped that she wouldn’t lose her daughter in the near future, though resigned to the eventual break. It’s as it should be, she conceded. Young people will grow up and make their way. But not yet. ‘Married. Children? She’s not even twenty!’ Clearly the thought had not ed Ted’s mind. ‘I was married by twenty, dear. Have you forgotten?’ ‘Yes, but…’ Ted stopped short. ‘You’re right. Patty certainly has no shortage of irers. But I don’t think she’s ready to pop right now.’ Betty put her knitting down. ‘Now don’t you be smutty Ted Jenkins. She’s your daughter and a very good girl. Yes, she has lots of friends, but she knows how to behave with boys!’ ‘I didn’t mean that. All I said was that she could very well receive a proposal in the near future. I was agreeing with you.’ Ted’s frustration was evident. ‘Good, so we’ll hear no more about moving.’ Betty picked up her knitting. In the click-clacking silence that followed her husband conceded defeat. Had her parents but known it, Patty was thinking along similar lines. She had met a young man at the local dance held every Friday night at the church she attended. He lived in the adjacent suburb and was working for a chartered ant in the city, studying ancy at night. He hoped to qualify for hip of the Chartered Institute in about two years. James Kennedy was a well-built man of medium height, with an easy laugh and impeccable manners. He dressed well and danced divinely. Above all, he was funny. He made Patty laugh. His jokes were witty and not mean. He wore his light brown hair cut short at the back and side and parted on the right. A lazy shock fell over his left eye that he automatically pushed back with his right hand in an authoritative way that Patty found both manly and endearing. He was interested in politics and world affairs and seemed to know an awful lot about the world. He had advanced opinions on social issues like divorce and religion. The only problem was that he was a Catholic. Patty’s family were

determinedly Protestant. James expressed an agnosticism that would not sit well with her parents and would enrage her grandparents. The latter fortunately lived a long way away. Although he did not practice his religion, his parents did. This was not, Patty realised, going to be easy.

August 1929

The winds of winter still whirled around the ankles of Spring with brave early buds striving to raise their little heads. Life had resumed its steady, unspectacular rhythm after the excitement of earlier in the year. A long drab winter had flattened all our spirits. Everyone looked forward to the warmth of summer, nowhere more eagerly than in the Jenkins’ household. ‘I was thinking, Betty…’ ‘About what, dear.’ ‘Christmas. The office closes down from Christmas Eve lunchtime to the second week in January. Why don’t we go to that guesthouse you like on Phillip Island? We can catch the train from Flinders street to Frankston and then a coach to Stony Point. The ferry over to Cowes takes less than an hour. If we leave early, we’ll be there in time for afternoon tea.’ ‘That’s a wonderful idea, Ted. Can we afford it? It won’t be cheap. And we will have to get some new summer clothes.’ Ted’s smile faded. ‘I don’t see why. My outfits from last Summer are fine.’ Betty’s body tensed and she leaned forward as if to reinforce her words. ‘Yes, just like a man. You’d be happy to wear a pair of old shorts and a ragged shirt all holiday. But I’m not going to go looking like an old frump. And I won’t have our daughter embarrassed by those smart young city girls and their latest fashions.’ ‘Well, dear, you’ll have to scrimp a bit from the housekeeping.’ ‘And just what do you think I’ve been doing all year? Every week I put aside a few shillings towards Christmas, as well as keep you and Patty fed and clothed.’ Ted was suitably abashed.

‘I know, darling. You’re a wonderful household manager. I’ll enquire about availability and put a deposit down. It will be a welcome break from the sadness we’ve known this year.’ Betty’s face softened in remembrance. ‘Yes, so sad. Poor Elsie and Jim. Then it will be 1930, a new decade, let’s hope for a bright new future.’ A shiver ed over the street for Betty’s hopes were to be cruelly dashed, along with many others whose lives briefly ed through my domain. Later that week, as if to foresee what was to come, Ted commented to his wife, ‘I was walking home from the train tonight with Bob Mattingly. He works for one of the large Collins Street stock broking firms. He said that very odd things were happening on the stock market.’ ‘Odd? What do you mean?’ The stock market was a world beyond her comprehension. She knew it had something to do with business and was important. It must be important because Bob was so well off. He had just bought a new Ford motor car in which he had taken the two families for drives out into the orchard country and up to the Dandenong hills. ‘I’m not exactly sure but it seems like there is a lot of buying and selling and then periods in which nothing much happens. He seems genuinely worried. I hope it doesn’t signal a slump.’ Betty had little idea of what a ‘slump’ was. She thought it had something to do with the drought. Droughts were a terrible affliction – Betty here ed her biblical studies. Surely God wouldn’t visit more trouble on the farmers. ‘It won’t affect us, will it dear?’ ‘Shouldn’t think so.’ Ted was regretting raising the subject. ‘We’ll still be able to go to Phillip Island, won’t we?’ ‘Yes, yes. I’m sure we will. Don’t worry.’ There was nothing he could do about what might or might not happen. The workings of the wider economy were a mystery to him. He was reassured that many of the colleagues he met in the Public Service seemed to know all about it.

He was happy to leave such matters to them while he got on with his job at Public Works. He already had his eye on his next promotion, having enrolled in night courses at the Workingmen’s College in Latrobe Street to get his surveying certificate. His main competition, Ron Reilly, had blotted his copybook, so badly that he’d found it wise to seek a transfer to another department. No loss there, Ted reflected. ‘I’d better hit the books, old girl. Got an exam coming up before we take off on our holiday.’ He rose and went into the dining room, sat down at the cleared table, sighed and opened his blue-covered technical manual. Betty was left alone in the living room. She attempted to resume her knitting, but a vague sense of unease washed over her. She dropped the sleeve she was working on, rose and went to check that the doors were locked. She peered out of the kitchen window. The street was dark, the moon hidden by low clouds. No lights broke the inky gloom.

September 1929

‘B ob, I heard today that there’s going to be an election.’ Viv Mattingly met her husband at the door with a peck on the cheek and this momentous news that she had gleaned at the greengrocer earlier that day. Bob Mattingly smiled. ‘I was going to surprise you with the news. It appears that the neighbourhood grapevine works faster than the Herald.’ He flashed a copy of the late edition he’d picked up at Flinders Street station on the way home. ‘I’m sure that that nice Mr. Bruce will win, won’t he? ‘Bound to, darling. The opposition leader’s a Catholic. Too many people that bastard Mannix trying to undermine our war effort. It will be a long time before Catholics are trusted again in leadership positions. Anyway, let Labor in and they’ll wreck the economy. We’ve had strife on the docks, unions going out all over. They even had to send the army into Newcastle to break up the strikes. Bruce tried to legislation getting rid of the Commonwealth Arbitration Court and handing industrial relations back to the States – where it belongs,’ added Bob. ‘But the drongos in Canberra knocked it back, so Bruce has called a general election.’ Bob had clearly been following events closely over previous weeks. His wife had not. It was enough that her husband thought all would be well. That Mr. Bruce, such a fine gentleman. The other one – here she had Labor leader James Scullin in mind – was a shopkeeper, if she ed rightly. A few weeks later, the day of the election dawned. The Mattinglys, along with most of their neighbours, trooped dutifully up to the local school to vote, the one that Brian and Patty had attended. This, after all, was what our boys had died to protect, our right to freely choose who governs us. Various attempts were made to induce citizens to vote one way or another. But most of the residents of Ross Street had firmly made up their minds and looked neither left nor right as they entered the hall. When the result was known, there was surprise and not a little consternation in some kitchens and living rooms in the street. Only at number eight where

Carmel and Nino Beretti lived was celebration underway. Recently arrived from Italy to open a shoe shop in the Main Street, they were happy to see one of their co-religionists elected to the highest position in their new land. Their son, Benito, was about Brian’s age. Both boys had just started secondary school. However, the two had little to do with each other. Benito attended the local parish school and had no interest in American movies or the Wild West. He preferred to devote his time to kicking a round soccer ball, a pastime that the other children found bewildering. ‘You can’t even punt it properly,’ said Brian dismissively. ‘It’s a sissy’s game,’ Flea added. ‘If you touch the other player, the ref blows the whistle.’ ‘What!’ interrupted Fred. ‘No hip and shoulder? Syd Coventry wouldn’t be seen dead playing that girl’s game.’ Fred was a diehard Collingwood er, proud of his club’s run of premierships in the Victorian Football League. The residents of Ross Street – young and old – were roughly split fifty-fifty between Collinwood and Richmond apart from two families, including Brian’s, that barracked for Melbourne. Brian was secretly puzzled by his father’s choice of club, something to do with his hip of the Melbourne Cricket Club, though what cricket had to do with football was a continuing mystery. ‘He won’t last long,’ Jonnie ventured. ‘My Dad says dagos never do, here one day, gone the next and you better check the locks on your shed.’ This last offering was a verbatim repetition of his father’s comment to his mother the night before. Benito, as it turned out, was one of the few children to still be living in the street five years later.

October 1929

The celebrations of the Berettis and other Labor ers were short-lived. Scullin had barely introduced his new ministry to the world before Black Thursday sparked the greatest financial panic in history that led to what we later came to call The Great Depression. Ross Street was no different to any other comfortable suburban community. General confusion gave way to consternation to be replaced by a creeping fear that paralysed normal activities. People waited. Waited to be told that the government had the matter in hand. Waited to see if the household head would keep his job. Waited for the sun to burst through the clouds. Waited, waited, waited. And then, ominously, the moving vans began to appear up and down the street. First, the tenants began to disappear, here one day, gone with their meagre belongings the next. When some refused to leave, the sheriff would arrive and pound on the door. He would escort weeping women clutching bewildered children onto the nature strip while angry fathers ranted at the injustices of life. At the Hegarty’s house, Gordon barricaded himself and Joan inside while a group of his docker mates roamed the front of the house. In this case the sheriff withdrew but came back the next day with a dozen policemen and a court injunction against interference. Eventually even Gordon gave up and the steady tidal movement out and in continued. By the year’s end almost half the houses in the street had new families in residence, though many stayed for only a few months before ing the procession. But it wasn’t until the first mortgagee sale at number 21 that fear turned to panic. The Robertsons were a modest family of the middling kind. He ran the local pharmacy at which she worked. They had no children and were in every way the very models of respectability. How had it come to this? No one knew for sure, but rumour had it that respectable Mr. Robertson gambled on the stock exchange. ‘And him a deacon and Lodge member!,’ a scandalised neighbour commented in the aisle of the local greengrocer. ‘You just never know, do you?,’ replied her friend who was suspiciously testing

the freshness of a head of lettuce. ‘I do believe this is past its best. I’m rather worried that standards are falling here.’ ‘It’s the trade slump,’ returned the first customer. ‘Poppycock! The greengrocer is using the hard times as an excuse to gouge his customers. I’m going to start going over to Ravens across the high street.’ What terrified the long term homeowners in my street was the prospect of their bank seizing their houses too. So, they hung on hoping but sensitive to every new development, aware every time a stranger appeared in the street and seemed to take an unnecessary interest in one or more of the houses.

January 1930

It was late in the month. The children were about to return to a new school year. Summer was in full flight. If it hadn’t been for the clinging atmosphere of fear and anxiety, the weekends would have been seen happy parties setting out for picnics at the river or trips to swim in the blue bay. But not this summer. The Jenkins family didn’t go to Phillip Island as planned. Their deposit was lost but, as Ted explained to his disappointed family, at least they saved the rest of the cost. Fortunately, there was also time to cancel several other lay-byes. Patty reflected ruefully on the pretty bathing costume that she would never wear. But she and her mother bore up well. ‘It’s for the best given the terrible state of the world,’ Betty bravely observed. ‘We might be able to go next summer,’ Patty hopefully added. But they and many others were not to enjoy the holiday attractions of Phillip Island for many years to come. Only the little penguins continued their regular commute to the Great Southern Ocean and back. On the one hundred and fifty-second anniversary of the day the First Fleet landed in Sydney Cove Bob Mattingly stepped wearily down from the carriage to the platform. Scarcely aware of what he was doing his legs took him through the gate, past a bored ticket collector and on up the road, to trace the route made familiar by the routine of years. His mind clicked back to the late morning when the call came. He wasn’t surprised. In some ways he had been relieved. The uncertainty was over, the waiting too. Several of his colleagues had heeded the call before him, including his immediate superior. As he had climbed the side stairs to the floor above, he could picture what awaited him, the large wooden door to the senior partner’s office, Miss Jones sitting immediately outside, a permanent fixture these last thirty years, the sentinel guarding her boss’ sanctum. But this time, as he approached her desk, she had looked slightly away, concentrating on the document in front of her. As he walked away from the station, he replayed the scene in his mind.

‘Mr. Proctor is expecting you, Mr. Mattingly. Go right in.’ ‘Thank you, Miss Jones,’ the office niceties were to be observed to the end. He had straightened manfully and knocked with definite but respectful force on the door. ‘Come in – ah Bob, sit down, sit down.’ Mr. Proctor pointed Bob to a large upholstered leather chair set at an oblique angle to its twin. Mr. Proctor walked out from behind his large oak desk and sat facing Bob. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m afraid I have bad news and I felt that it was only right that I deliver it directly to you.’ He paused, to savour the full magnanimity of his nobility. ‘As you know, our business has taken a terrible beating since the disastrous Wall Street catastrophe, the echoes of which have washed up here in Australia’s financial centre. A number of financial houses like ours have, not to put too fine a point on it, gone bust. We have managed to hang on, but only by taking extreme measures, many of which have pained me personally.’ Here it comes, Bob mused, a feeling of being out of his body and looking down on the events from some point on the ceiling twelve feet above his head coursing through his otherwise unfeeling body. ‘As I was saying,’ a small cough brought Bob back to the land of the living, ‘we, my partners and I have suspended operations in the equities trading room. As one of our most experienced and valued traders, I’m afraid that the business is just not there and is unlikely to return soon. So, with heavy heart we, my partners and I,’ Bob thought it a nice touch to share the burden of leadership, ‘have made the difficult decision to let you go.’ There it was. The axe had fallen. ‘Of course, I realise that this must be as painful to you as it is to us.’ Bob doubted it. ‘You have been a faithful and efficient member of our business.’ At least he didn’t say family. ‘You will, of course, receive all your entitlements, including a generous severance allowance.’ Bob wondered how generous but declined to enquire. As if reading his thoughts, Mr. Jones added quickly, ‘of course, given the difficult times, it is not possible to provide the level of

severance that we would prefer, in normal times. We are all in the same boat, I’m afraid. We will all have to tighten our belts in the months to come.’ Mr. Proctor was mentally noting with regret his phone call earlier that morning cancelling the order for a new Plymouth motor car from Detroit. Still sacrifices had to be made. If only he could convince his wife that the customary level of her philanthropic contributions to the artistic culture of Melbourne should be reined in. Bob was also thinking, but not of luxury cars and Ming vases. He was reflecting on the bizarre suggestion that he and the partners were all facing similar sacrifices. ‘Mr. Hamilton of Personnel will arrange your two weeks salary in lieu of notice. No doubt you will wish to clear your desk but there is no rush. Perhaps by the end of the week. Best not to drag matters out, what? Well, I think that covers things, Bob.’ Mr Proctor glanced at his watch, aware that he had three other similar meetings before taking lunch with the Premier at the Melbourne Club. Bob rose and shook Mr. Proctor’s proffered hand. He had no memory of leaving the large office or walking the six flights down to the foyer and out onto the hot, windy footpath. He had wandered down to the river, crossed over Princes Bridge and down onto the path in front of the university boat house. He’d walked along the river for hours, gazing over at the modern colosseum, the Mighty Melbourne Cricket Ground, home of Australian cricket and football, the largest sports stadium in the Southern Hemisphere. How proud he’d been when finally inducted as a new member of the Melbourne Cricket Club, our own MCC to rival the original at Lords in London. He ed all those rushed trips from town to catch the last few overs of the day in the ashes test match of 1928, as well as the many lesser Sheffield Shield matches. He smiled as he recalled seeing the great Jack Hobbs on his final tour of Australia, the new maestro Don Bran and the man who would have been king but for the Don, Victoria’s own Bill Ponsford. Well, that’s all over. He would have to resign his hip now. Unless, somehow, he could find another job. But how many others like himself would be out chasing the same dream. What other talents did he have? He realised, with a start, that he had none. No trade qualifications or skills, no particular talents that would make him stand out in the competitive rush, no personal s with important people. Perhaps his fellow freemasons might help but even there he would be

one mendicant among many. These and similar melancholy thoughts accompanied Bob on this most terrible of days, the day that he came to with the terrible fragility of life as he knew it. And the worst was to come. He had to face his wife and children and confess his failure as a provider, protector and man. With the tread of a man on the final walk to the gallows. Bob turned in at his front gate. Viv had been anxiously watching and waiting his arrival. ‘Bob, where have you been? You’re late. I’ve been worried sick.’ She rushed out onto the path to embrace her husband. Bob only then realised that it was two hours past his normal homecoming time. The lingering summer light had failed to the age of time. ‘What is it?’ On seeing her husband’s face, Viv’s concern ratcheted up. ‘Come inside dear, we need to talk.’ Husband and wife walked arm in arm into the living room. Her heart sank as she felt all strength drain from Bob’s frame. They sat together on the newly covered beige couch. Bob told his story, leaving nothing out until finally he stopped and broke down. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry to have failed you and the children.’ Viv held her broken man close and whispered, ‘It’s not your fault darling. You have done nothing wrong. It’s those devils’ – she had to strive mightily to avoid using the term that first came to mind – ‘who have thrown you over. Those nice gentle folk from Toorak and Kooyong who drive big cars and wear expensive clothes to the ballet and opera. They won’t go without you can be sure of that’ Viv was just getting started. ‘That’s not fair dear, the firm and others like it are cutting back. It’s this blasted slump that no one seems to know what to do about.’ Bob’s normally confident voice was barely above a whisper and he seemed to fade further into his wife’s embrace.

‘That’s just an excuse that the top hats and politicians throw out to hide the fact that they’re all right and they’re willing to sacrifice hard working and honest people like you.’ So, the conversation continued through the long night at number 37 and many other houses throughout the bleak suburban landscape of Marvellous Melbourne as the bright promises of a new decade faded quickly.

Winter

July 1930

Ted Jenkins rose early on this dull winter Saturday. He had volunteered to serve on the Brotherhood of St. Laurence stall at the Preston market. He and other volunteers manned a booth distributing donated food and clothing. It wasn’t much but it was, he told Betty, the least he could do when they were comparatively so well off and others so desperate. Having a secure government job was a sturdy lifeboat in a stormy sea. Ted ed the struggles of his own parents during the great slump in the last decade of the previous century. He had been ten years old when his father lost his job on the railways. His mother had struggled to keep him and his sisters fed. ‘But you are sacrificing too, dear and so am I.’ Betty gently reminded Ted of the many household savings she had managed to trim from the housekeeping. ‘That’s true enough,’ Ted here thought of the first round of salary cuts being pushed through the Public Service with more to come. ‘Our economic experts seem to think that only by cutting the wages of everyone who has a job, will employers be willing to take on more workers and only then will recovery occur. To me it seems like chasing a rat down a drain. The more people lose in their pay packet, the less they have to spend and the less they spend the less bosses can afford to pay their remaining workers, let alone new ones. It’s all above me. I just keep my head down and do my job. At least I now have my certificate.’ Ted had recently completed his night course and was third in line for promotion to the next level in the technical division. This seemed to be the only way his income would return to the level it had once been. Until then he would wait it out, more fortunate than those poor devils elsewhere in the street who had lost everything. A similar thought had crossed Betty’s mind, the telepathic result of long years of marital cohabitation. ‘I was just thinking of the poor Mattinglys.’ ‘Yes, I think of them on that terrible day every time I walk out our gate.’

Six weeks earlier, their neighbour and best friend Bob had broken the news to Viv. ‘The bank’s finally calling in the loan.’ He slumped down in the lounge chair, eyes on the carpet and his heart in his boots. In spite of herculean efforts Bob had not been able to find a regular job in the months since leaving Proctor and Associates. The car, MCC hip and lodge had been sacrificed. Household budgets had been pruned, and small savings made here and there. The meat came less regularly to the plate and Viv had to find enterprising ways of stretching leftovers. Clothes were cleverly repurposed, outings strictly curtailed. Bob’s backyard orchard produced a good season’s harvest. But eventually in spite of all economies, they fell behind on their repayments to the bank. The manager, Mr. Harvey, had been sympathetic but on his last visit he had simply held up his hands in resignation. ‘I’m so sorry Bob but my regional supervisor has insisted. It’s totally out of my hands. The legal department is drawing up the claim for possession.’ Bob had left the manager’s office, head down, and walked sadly home. Viv was not surprised. Another viper in the bosom of her family. Well, let them do their worst. Viv Mattingly was not about to allow her family to go under. They don’t know who they’re dealing with! Three weeks later the moving van backed in at number 37. This time Bob, watching from the front room, couldn’t care less if they knocked over the gate post. The job of loading the boxes and cases took longer than when moving in, the accumulation of almost a decade of memories boxed and lashed down. The family then crowded into the back seat of the motor lorry that headed up the street bound for Bob’s parent’s place in Coburg. A neat cycle back to the early days of his marriage, reflected Bob sourly. Had his life come to this? As the lorry ed, many of his neighbours of a decade came out to wave them off. Betty Jenkins waved until she finally lost sight of her dear friend. Brian saw Flea run to his fence and point his pearl handled cap gun. Bang. Got you Tom. Brian smiled and signalled, howdy pardner. The lorry finally disappeared onto the high street, leaving Flea and the two remaining of the posse staring at the disappearance of their leader. It signified the end of their game. As if to underscore the fact, on the following day builders moved onto the last remaining

vacant block, the Badlands that had seen so many epic battles. Over the next year three families moved in and two out of number 37. First to arrive and leave were the Radleys, Kevin, Joan and their two daughters, Jenny twelve and Heidi, four. Kevin, a thirty year-old unemployed carpenter and his brother Bert from three streets away used to take their ferrets in boxes on the back of their bikes over to the Rosanna hill. There they scouted the hillside until they mentally mapped the dozens of rabbit holes pockmarking the slope like a bad case of teenage acne. Casting a large net over the lower section, the two ferrets were introduced to burrow openings further up the hill. Inevitably, after a few seconds, rabbits hurtled out of the lower burrows to be caught in the netting, desperately trying to avoid the vicious intruders. Eventually the ferrets exited, their mouths dripping the blood and sinews of the slowest and most unlucky inhabitants of the burrow complex. Bert and Kevin grabbed the ferrets by the neck, still twisting and gnashing in their kill frenzy, and stuffed them into their boxes, to rest up before the next invasion. They then methodically went around, each wielding a short, stout club, deftly despatching the rabbits through the soft twine netting. After an afternoon’s harvest, they rode back to Bert’s place with several bags of the dead animals strapped to their bike racks. Back at Bert’s, they expertly skinned and gutted the rabbits, tying them into braces and hanging them over the rail of the back veranda, protected by fine netting to keep the flies and birds away. Over the next few days, they walked their neighbourhoods selling the rabbits for a shilling a brace. Unfortunately, the same practice was taken up by other men out of work. Soon the price fell to sixpence, then twopence. At the same time, the rapacious hunt began to outstrip the notorious fecundity of the prey and daily returns were squeezed at both ends. Bert gave the game away and opted instead to haunt the docks in the hope of picking up the occasional day’s work when a ship came into port. Kevin and Joan decided to gather up their girls and meagre possessions and relocate to live with Joan’s youngest aunt in Ballarat. Their exit was staged over several days, with Kevin leaving last. As he finally closed the front door early one morning and wheeled his bike out of the front gate, the family left with two weeks rent outstanding and an angry landlord who also discovered that some of

the copper piping had departed with his late tenants. Next to appear was a family of British migrants, recently arrived by boat after a rough crossing, during which husband John, wife Wilma and baby Robert had suffered terribly from seasickness. The parents were mightily relieved to finally be on dry land and determined to make a success of their new life in the Antipodes. Robert, however, only ten months old, refused to recover his bonny good health. In spite of a warm Spring and the care of old Dr Givens, the cough contracted at sea simply refused to go away. Eventually, in desperation, his parents began to look further north for a warmer climate. Fortuitously, luck smiled on the family and John was offered a position in a twine factory in Brisbane. Two months after arriving, they were on their way again. The house remained empty for a further two months before a third and, as it turned out, permanent resident arrived. This family proved of great interest to Betty Jenkins, who kept her friend Viv Mattingly fully informed over the ensuing years. Gradually Viv’s anger and sense of loss ebbed away, as life improved and the memory of that dark day of dispossession receded into the misty past.

May 1931

Ted Jenkins raised his glass of foaming Fosters beer. ‘Here’s to you Bob. Best of British in your new job.’ Bob Mattingly smiled and raised his own glass in response. ‘Thanks Ted, to both of you. I don’t know what Viv and I would have done without your friendship and Betty’s since we left Ross Street.’ Both men were leaning against the public bar at the local pub handily situated on Ted’s walk home from the railway station. It was a few minutes before closing and the regular patrons were ordering their last rounds. Ted dropped his eyes, embarrassed as men are when obvious signs of emotion came on show. Bob Mattingly was not one to let his emotions break through his normally taciturn façade. ‘You and Viv are important to Betty and me,’ Ted replied awkwardly. ‘I don’t mind saying, you got a very rough deal from that firm you gave so much to for years. That’s why I’m delighted that you’ve finally had some well-deserved luck. A man with your abilities and integrity shouldn’t be wasted. So, drink up, almost time to go. I’ll get our travellers.’ His friend drank, reflecting on the unexpected but welcome events of the past few days. He had stayed at home that rainy winter’s day, instead of walking around to Simpson’s timber yard where he had manged to secure casual employment. The doorbell had rung, and Viv went to answer it. She returned to the warm loungeroom holding a telegram. ‘I do hope it’s not bad news,’ she said anxiously. Telegrams were infrequent intrusions and in Viv’s experience, generally the harbinger of unpleasant news. During the war, the appearance of the telegraph boy on his bike was a source of dread, even terror, for the inhabitants of Ross Street. Viv handed the envelope to her husband, who sighed as he ripped the top of the envelope and extracted the contents. Surely, things couldn’t get worse. The

message was uncharacteristically long. Must have cost the sender a fortune. ‘What is it, dear?’ Viv’s voice betrayed both impatience and anxiety. ‘It’s from Mr. Proctor,’ replied Bob, looking up wonderingly at his wife. ‘That snake in the grass! What does he want? He’s got a nerve.’ ‘No Viv. No. It’s good news. He wants me to go back to the firm. To a different job but at the same wage. Can you believe it?’ Viv bent down and threw her arms around him. ‘Oh Bob, that’s wonderful.’ Her opinion of Mr. Proctor underwent a rapid change, though she was still not ready to totally remove him from the circle of hell into which he had been cast. ‘What is the job, Bob?’ ‘The practice has moved into a new advisory area, managing mergers and takeovers. There are so many nowadays thanks to the slump. Mr. Proctor thinks that my financial market experience and semi-legal background makes me the obvious addition to the team.’ ‘It’s a great pity that he didn’t think of the team before he sacked you and we lost our house.’ Viv’s initial delight and relief was now tempered by memories of the devastating experience of the last year. ‘Well, that’s behind us now,’ said Bob, looking again at the telegram. ‘He wants me to come into the office tomorrow to sign on and start in earnest next Monday’ Husband and wife clung together, tears flowing. ‘We’re going to make it Viv, we’re going to make it.’ ‘Of course, we are. They’re damn lucky to have you. I must get your suit out of the wardrobe and sponge it down. I’ll iron your white shirt, while you polish your best shoes. You are going to walk into that office with your head held high looking like a prince of commerce.’

Bob’s thoughts returned to the pub. He smiled to himself. It’s a brave man that would take on his wife. Mr. Proctor doesn’t know how lucky he is, living on the other side of the river. Ted Jenkins, returning with two pints caught the smile. ‘What’s so amusing?’ ‘Nothing, just thinking how lucky I am. I wouldn’t have made it without my lovely wife keeping me going.’ ‘Yes, she is a formidable woman and yes, you are a lucky man.’ ‘That I am, mate. That I am.’ Both men laughed and shifted their attention to the newly arrived schooners.

July 1931

‘B etty,’ Ted called out as he came through the front door. He frowned as he rehearsed how he was going to break the news to his wife. ‘In the bedroom, dear. I’m just changing the sheets. Come and give me a hand.’ Ted walked into the bedroom and, coming up behind his wife, hugged her and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Don’t, it tickles.’ ‘Well, close the door and I’ll see if I can do better.’ ‘Don’t be silly, Patty will be home any moment. Grab that side of the sheet.’ Betty smiled to herself. Men. Maybe after all these years there’s life in the old dog. Well, there’s a time and place and this definitely is not it. Still, she was glad that her man still found her attractive enough to chase. After the bed arrangements had been completed to Betty’s satisfaction, both trooped into the loungeroom. Ted sat down on the sofa with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s been a tough week. The Director-General has been rushing around demanding spending cuts throughout the department. It appears that the order has come down from on high that we are all required to cut spending by twenty per cent across the board. Apparently, salaries are included, so it looks like more economies on the home front. I’m afraid. But at least the banks will be forced to cut interest rates on mortgages, so some relief there.’ Ted paused and Betty queried, ‘Why have they done that to us?’ Betty was confused, her tone tentative. ‘Not just us, dear,’ Ted replied soothingly. ‘It’s happening right around the country. All the state Premiers got together with the Commonwealth government and agreed to what they’re calling ‘the Premiers’ Plan’. It’s only in NSW that the government is trying to go its separate way. The blokes in the office say that NSW Premier Lang is a communist and will come to grief.’

‘Well, that’s what he deserves.’ Betty Jenkins didn’t really know what a communist was, but she knew enough to know that communism threatened the family and for Betty, the family was everything. ‘I just wish everything would settle down and we can get on with our lives.’ She shrugged, it was all above her head, all this conflict. Alas, Betty Jenkins’ wish was not to come true. Political turmoil ran through the remainder of the year, as the Labor government split over the Premiers’ plan. Joseph Lyons, a previous Tasmanian Premier, led a few Labor followers onto the crossbenches, precipitating a crisis that resulted in a new grouping, the United Australia Party, comprising the old Conservative party and Labor dissidents, led by Lyons himself. When NSW MPs, following Premier Lang’s direction, ed a vote of no confidence in the denuded federal government, Prime Minster Scullin called a general election at which Labor was soundly thrashed and replaced by the UAP. And all the time, economic conditions grew worse and worse.

October 1931

Ted Jenkins looked up from his newspaper. He had just finished his breakfast. ‘Sir John Monash has died, happened yesterday. Heart attack, apparently.’ ‘Who?,’ said Patty. Betty replied gently, ‘Sir John was Australia’s general in the Great War.’ ‘He was the War’s greatest general,’ Ted was just getting started, his pride in a fellow Victorian obvious. ‘Won the war, he did. Led the Australian army Corp. Ran rings around those hopeless English and French leaders. Bloody useless lot. Butcher Haig, hopeless snob, knew how to make scotch whisky but couldn’t break the Hun’s lines. Monash did that, at the Battle of Hamel and on Mont St. Quentin. Broke the back of the Germans at Peronne, and the war was over a few weeks later.’ ‘Dear, I don’t think Patty is interested in all those terrible things.’ Betty spoke softly as she continued to clear away the breakfast dishes. ‘That’s the problem. Most people aren’t. They wanted to forget, let poor souls like young Jim go to the devil.’ ‘Tell me more, Dad.’ Patty, now in her last term at Taylors, had rarely seen her normally easy-going father more worked up. ‘The war had dragged on for four years, with both sides dug in.’ Ted dropped his newspaper and leant forward, his forearms resting on the white tablecloth. ‘Haig thought he was fighting the Boers, thought you could overpower the enemy by throwing thousands of men at them, a sort of giant pedestrian charge. Of course, the Hun was dug in with machine guns firing across the lines of advancing diggers. Mowed them down, sheer bloody madness.’ Ted paused and shook his head.

‘I don’t know how those young boys kept going. When they weren’t running though no-man’s land, they were being bombed and gassed. Monash worked out how to bring together all the weapons of war and use them in one coordinated thrust. Soldiers, tanks and artillery, all carefully calibrated and coordinated, working together, advancing on enemy trenches. Eventually, success. The Germans were forced to ask for an armistice. At the eleventh hour of the eleventh month, they say the guns fell silent. That’s why we observe a minute’s silence at that hour, on that day. And always will.’ ‘I know, Dad’ Patty eagerly added ‘and we also wear a poppy in remembrance.’ Ted nodded and ploughed on. ‘Sir John didn’t get the credit he richly deserved. The British and French generals were too busy covering their rear ends to it a mere colonial had pulled their chestnuts out of the furnace. And that little rat Billy Hughes was jealous of Monash, wouldn’t promote him to Field Marshal. Too busy clinging onto power.’ ‘What happened to him, Dad? Monash, I mean.’ Patty found herself caught up in her father’s enthusiasm. ‘He went back into his engineering profession. He’s the one who got the State electricity started. We can thank him for our power, as well as our freedom. He also never forgot the diggers, tried to help those who fell on hard times.’ Tears welled in the eyes of both father and daughter. Betty was listening closely, proud of her patriotic husband. ‘Didn’t he also get the Shrine of Remembrance built in town, dear?’ ‘Yes, and not without a struggle there as well. A lot of ex-soldiers built that memorial thanks to the General. We have lost a great man but one who made a wonderful contribution to our young country. Someone you should never forget Patty. ‘No Dad.’ Ted went back to his newspaper. The two women looked at each other and smiled.

February 1932

James Kennedy, now eighteen years old and in proud possession of a driving licence, carefully manoeuvred his father’s brand-new Dodge motor car into the narrow driveway of Number 24. He put the gear into neutral and blew the horn, two short blasts. Seventeen year-old Patty Jenkins, in a fetching black and white dress and sporting a new straw hat, flew out of the front door of the house and ran to the driver’s door. The window was down, and she stuck her head through and gave James a quick kiss on the lips. ‘Oh, James, how dreamy, just like the getaway car in that gangster film we saw at the Regent last week.’ Her enthusiastic blast and dazzling smile made James gasp, before he collected his wits and resumed the persona of man about town. ‘Well, not quite. Don’t think the old man would like that comparison. It’s his pride and joy. I had the devil’s own job talking him into lending it to me. Come on, hop in, or we’ll miss the best part of the day.’ The sun shone down, and the sky was a hazy blue. The temperature had not yet risen to its predicted level. James reversed out and headed up the street, crunching the gears. ‘Sorry, still getting the hang of it.’ Patty sank back into the comfortably upholstered seat, so different to the sparse interior of the other cars she had travelled in. She sighed and reached over to lay her hand on James’ leg. ‘It’s heavenly to be free to go anywhere we like.’ James, distinctly aware of the light pressure of Patty’s small hand, changed down as he steered around onto the main road headed towards the bay. ‘Damn, missed it again. I just can’t match the revs.’ ‘Never mind, you’ll get the knack soon. Dad said it took him months to be confident enough to drive.’ Patty smiled to herself. She knew that her boyfriend was trying to impress her.

‘That’s all right for your father. He doesn’t have to front my father who is paranoid about anyone damaging his new baby.’ Patty smiled outwardly and continued, ‘ Well, he let you drive it, so he must trust you. By the way, where are we headed?’ ‘Thought we’d pop over to St. Kilda beach and have a swim.’ James was secretly looking forward to seeing his loved one in her new swimsuit. His loved one was just as keen to show it to him. The traffic was light that Sunday and less than an hour later James carefully reversed into a parking spot near the large welcoming mouth of Luna Park. He and Patty jumped out and, carrying the basket packed by Betty, towels, picnic rug and bathing bag, walked over to the new sea baths, only recently opened by the Council. They split up to change. Ten minutes later Patty came out of the women’s change rooms and walked towards James who was already setting out their towels on the sand. Both shyly gazed at each other. James was wearing a dark grey one-piece bathing costume that showed off his lithe body and muscular arms. ‘Wow, some outfit Patty.’ Patty stood, flushing a light shade of pink and holding a towel in front of her bright blue one-piece costume, cut high at the thigh and daringly low at the bosom. ‘Do you like it?’ Patty was feeling distinctly embarrassed. She self-consciously pulled the wide brim of her straw hat down over her blue eyes. It had all been fine trying on the bathing suit in Myers Ladies Wear with Frieda for . But now, in the bright sunlight with strangers looking on, she wasn’t so sure. Was it too revealing? However, James’ response was reassuring. ‘Like it! Hell yes!’ Patty grinned and began to set out the paper plates and cups on the red and white rug, spread out on the freshly cut lawn. Cold lamb, half a block of cheddar cheese and loaf of crusty bread followed. Some of Betty’s special chutney completed the fare. Seagulls called noisily to each other. The more adventurous edged their way towards the rug, only to be waved away by Patty.

‘Wonderful, your mother is a peach,’ said James through a mouth full. He poured some of the lemon cordial, already watered down, into two cups and handed one to Patty. Both young people ate and drank heartily, until every scrap of the hamper had been consumed. James sank back with a contented sigh. Patty poked him in the ribs. ‘Look at how white we are. We’d better cover ourselves with coconut oil or we’ll get the most awful burns.’ The next few minutes were taken up with rubbing oil on young limbs. James carefully made sure that Patty’s back was fully protected, and she did likewise for him. They finally lay back and gazed at the blue water lapping the shoreline. ‘We both look like we’re ready to be popped in the oven,’ laughed James. ‘I’m feeling rather well done and you look ready to eat.’ He leaned over and gently kissed Patty on the lips. She pretended resistance and then sighed, returning pressure. Contented, they both flopped back onto their towels, gazing up into the azure sky. ‘You know, we could be anywhere on the planet looking at that sky. I wonder how many young couples are doing exactly what we are right now,’ Patty ventured. ‘Millions, would be my guess but only if they are as lucky as us.’ James turned on his side facing her. ‘I’d like to spend the rest of my life doing just that. Not a care in the world.’ They lay together, hands entwined, not saying anything, as the sun rose higher and higher. Suddenly James sat up. ‘Whew, it’s getting hot. Come on let’s go for a swim.’ ‘Not on your life James Kennedy.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘I’m not going to get my new bathers wet.’ ‘Then why on earth did you buy them?’ Patty gave her boyfriend a withering look.

‘If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.’ ‘Oh.’ James smiled. ‘Well, all right, I’ll go for a quick dip and then we can pack up.’ He ran down the beach, leapt off the sand, ran several yards through the shallows and then dived gracefully into the cool, clear water. Patty, half sitting and shielding her eyes against the glare enjoyed the sight of his lithe young body disappearing beneath the surface to reappear and wave towards her. ‘Come in, the water’s great.’ Patty’s resolve melted. The cool water did look so inviting. Anyway, her new bathers had had the desired effect. She jumped up and ran to the water’s edge. Plunging in, she fell forward and felt the cool fingers of Port Phillip Bay spread over her like a welcoming blanket. Coming up for air she felt James’ arms grab and hoist her into the air with a whoop. Laughing both collapsed back into the water. After catching their breath, Patty put her arms around James’ neck. He looked into her eyes and finally said. ‘Patty Jenkins, I think I love you.’ ‘Only think? I know I love you James Kennedy.’ They both laughed and together swam slowly out towards the pontoon. Clambering up on it, they lay happily stretched out on the cool boards, facing each other, their fingers entwined. Eventually, James raised his head. ‘Looks like it’s time to go. Best to get on the road before the traffic builds up too much. I’m still a bit nervous about driving in heavy traffic. So many idiots on the road. Let’s hope we can get Dad’s car back to him in one piece.’ They both slipped sideways into the water and side stroked back to shore. The sun was sinking, and the birds still circled lazily over the blue bay. The day was well on its way to dusk. The young couple ran for the changing sheds as the cool crept up like an invading enemy. Fifteen minutes later, changed and with the car packed, they were on their way. The trip back was incident free until Patty commented sadly, ‘I wish your mother was a bit kinder to me. She seems to really dislike me.’

‘Nonsense, she’s just like that. It takes time for her to warm to people. Dad thinks you’re terrific.’ ‘Your father’s very sweet. He always has something nice to say. It’s your mother who is so hard to talk to. Whatever I say, she finds fault with. when I brought those scones I had cooked especially for your parents? The next time I came over to your house she said that they had given her indigestion.’ Patty frowned as she recalled her embarrassment. James could only agree. ‘I’m amazed that she’s so, so…’ ‘Standoffish,’ Patty added. ‘Yes. You’re wonderful, in every way. I just can’t understand why she can’t see it.’ Patty paused before continuing. ‘James, we know what it is. It’s because I’m not a Catholic. She thinks that I’m stealing her boy away and taking him to the devil. She really thinks we’re both headed for hell and she’s doing everything she can to save you.’ The joys of the day had been left far behind as Patty let all her frustrations and fears burst forth. ‘Come on , Patty, I don’t believe any of that guff and neither do you.’ James could see how upset Patty was but could also sympathise with his mother who, he knew, sincerely feared for his soul. ‘But she does.’ Patty turned to look out the window. ‘Why does it all have to be so complicated? Maybe we’re like Romeo and Juliet, doomed to lose each other.’ ‘Jesus, I hope not. I’m hoping for a long life.’ James’ attempt at levity broke the doom. Both laughed. ‘But it is a problem,’ he continued. ‘We’ll just have to deal with it and I’m sure we will. Here we are back at your house, safe and sound.’

James jumped out of the car, went around and opened Patty’s door. They climbed the porch step and crossed to the front door. James bent his head, but their kiss ended abruptly as the door was opened from the inside. ‘Oh, hello Mr. Jenkins. Here we are, back from the beach. I was just about to … er, had a bit of trouble finding the key.’ Ted grinned and replied, ‘Yes, I guessed as much, thought I’d help. Did you enjoy the day?’ ‘I’ll say,’ said James, while Patty pushed past her father clutching the picnic basket and her bathing bag, but not before flashing him a frown. After a pause, Ted said ‘Well, I guess your father will be expecting his car back. Very generous of him to lend it for the day, I must say.’ Taking the hint, James backed off the porch and hopped into the driver’s seat. ‘Thanks sir, I’ll see you soon.’ Of that we can be sure smiled Ted to himself. Some things never change. Only, in his courting days, there were no cars, just plenty of long walks to and from the girl’s house. Still, this had its compensations in the opportunity to hold hands and grab the quick kiss as circumstances presented.

Summer came and went. The bushfires ravaged parts of Victoria again. Early Autumn gave way to rainy May. Life progressed quietly in Ross street, until the next upheaval threatened the lives of Patty and her friend.

May 1932

‘W ill you look at this!’ Ted Jenkins turned the newspaper he was reading towards his wife. Betty looked up from her poached eggs and said, ‘What is it, dear?’ ‘The NSW Governor has gone and sacked the Premier. Can you believe it?’ Ted shook his head in wonder. ‘What? That nice Lord Somers?’ ‘No, no. He is, er was Victoria’s Governor. He went back to England last year. We still haven’t got a new Governor.’ ‘So how could he have sacked our Premier?’ ‘Not our Premier, NSW’s. Jack Lang. ‘ Ted was now sorry he had raised politics with his apolitical spouse. But he swallowed his annoyance and ploughed on. ‘Lang refused to meet NSW’s debt payments to English bond holders who financed that ruddy great bridge. The new Commonwealth government ed a law forcing him to pay up and threatened to take the money to do so themselves. So, Lang withdrew all his state’s money from the state bank and tried to keep things going on a cash basis. He was finally sacked by the Governor, Sir Phillip Game. There’s going to be an election there in a few weeks.’ ‘That’s nice, dear.’ Betty continued eating and listening to the radio concert. Politics bored her senseless. She could never understand why men got so hot under the collar about all that sort of thing. Yelling at each, calling each other names. Why can’t everyone just behave sensibly. Perhaps if women ran things. Viv would certainly call them to order, she thought. Family and the home, that’s what’s important in this life. To this creed Betty Jenkins stuck fast, as committed a partisan as any er of Jack Lang and the rest. Ted grunted and went back to his paper, unaware of his wife’s revolutionary musings. He had followed the proceedings in the state north of the Murray River

with interest. He secretly ired the pugnacious Lang and his willingness to stand up to the might of the British Establishment, while having the average Victorian’s inbuilt contempt for Tasmania, the home of the newly elected Prime Minister. In this he was alone. Almost all of his colleagues had expressed horror at the prospect of a Constitutional breakdown in the established order. ‘Why, how could you trust a man who didn’t pay his debts?’ was the way Harry Roberts put it. ‘Man’s a raving communist,’ was the pithy verdict of another. So, Ted Jenkins kept his thoughts to himself, willing only to share them with his life’s partner, who eventually responded, ‘Well, I expect everything will settle down again dear. Would you me the butter?’

June 1932

Both girls had finished their courses at Taylors, celebrated by their families at a backyard bar-b-que held under threatening skies at number 24. Patty had quickly found employment as a secretary to the local manager of the bank, the very one that had foreclosed on the Mattinglys. Frieda soon after was employed as receptionist-typist at a local real estate agency three doors up from the bank. The two girls thus continued their practice of walking together each morning, but this time, instead of turning down the road towards the station to catch the train to the city, they continued along the main street before turning in at their places of employment. During these walks, young plans and secrets were exchanged. Both looked forward to their coming birthdays when each would turn eighteen. One cold Saturday towards the end of the month, Patty was moping around at home with nothing much to do. She felt tired and listless and rather annoyed with James, who was studying hard for ancy exams which apparently prevented him from visiting his bored girlfriend. Betty was out visiting Viv Mattingly in their new house two suburbs away, in a newly built estate that Viv had excitedly told her friend, had all the latest amenities, including the telephone. Ted was at the MCG watching his beloved Demons play Collingwood. Patty was bored, bored, bored! When the doorbell rang, she groaned and heaved herself off the floor where she was leafing through her mother’s copy of The Australasian. ‘Coming, coming.’ As she opened the door, Frieda flung herself into Patty’s arms. She was crying hysterically. ‘What is it, what’s happened?,’ Patty tried to disentangle herself from the smothering embrace. ‘Has there been an accident?’ ‘Worse!,’ Frieda managed to blurt out before again bursting into tears. Patty led her friend into the lounge room and sat her on the sofa. There she sat, sobbing quietly, clutching at the handkerchief that Patty had thrust into her hand.

Gradually, the steady wail gave way to episodic sobs. Patty sat there holding her hand, waiting for Frieda to recover herself, wondering what on earth could have so upset her friend, terribly afraid that some tragedy had struck her family. ‘When you can, tell me what is the matter? What has caused you so much pain?’ Eventually Frieda looked up from the handkerchief clasped to her face. ‘Oh, Patty, it’s…it’s just too terrible. I’m going to have a baby!’ Patty sat there stunned. Finally, she repeated, ‘A baby?’ ‘Yes. I’m so ashamed, what am I going to tell my parents?’ Frieda blew noisily into the handkerchief and then twisted it tightly, as if clinging onto something solid. ‘A baby?’ Patty was still having difficulty taking in the enormity of the news. ‘When? How did it happen? I mean I know how it happened. How could you let it happen?’ Patty unconsciously recoiled. At this point Frieda dissolved again into tears, wailing ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen. Phil promised it wouldn’t.’ Philip Papdopoulos was one of the younger agents at Frieda’s work. They had been going out together for the previous year. In fact, he had arranged the interview during which Frieda was offered the job. Patty and James had never liked him and his cocky ways but had tried hard to for Frieda’s sake. The four had spent a lot of time together, going to dances, the movies and for day trips to the beach or the Dandenongs, mostly travelling in Philip’s car. He was five years older than the others and adopted a know-it-all attitude that particularly annoyed James. ‘What do you mean dear?’ Patty waited. Frieda had calmed down and was keen to tell all to her closest friend. ‘Well, he said…’ Here she paused, trying to choose her words carefully but finally giving up and blurting out, ‘he said that I wouldn’t get pregnant if he

pulled out in time.’ ‘They all say that, according to Mum. She said you couldn’t trust that method. That’s why Catholic women have so many babies.’ Patty had recovered from her shock and now leant forward eager to her best friend. ‘Your mother told you that?’ Frieda was amazed. ‘My mother has never told me anything about, about things like that. Oh Patty, what am I to do?’ ‘What does Phil say?’ ‘He said that he knew someone who could help. I think he means a doctor or something.’ ‘Frieda, you can’t be thinking of having an abortion.’ Patty couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice. Frieda’s tears returned, flowing down her cheeks like a small stream. ‘I know, I know,’ she wailed. ‘But what else can I do? Who can I turn to?’ ‘Your parents, they will help. I’m sure they will.’ ‘I can’t. I just couldn’t face them.’ ‘Then, we’ll tell my mother.’ Patty sat up straight, grabbed her friend by the hands and stared straight into her eyes. ‘That’s what we’ll do. She’ll know.’ ‘I won’t be able to, Patty. I’m so ashamed.’ ‘Rubbish. It’s settled, then. You go into the bathroom and fix yourself up. I’ll get us a cup of tea and we’ll wait for Mum. She should be home soon.’ When Betty Jenkins opened her front door an hour later, she heard the two girls talking in low voices in the lounge room. She deposited her basket and handbag on the kitchen table and ed them. ‘Hello girls, just back from seeing Viv’s new house, how are you both?’ At this, Frieda burst into a fresh round of tears.

Betty started. ‘Whatever has happened.’ ‘Mum, sit down, we have something to tell you.’ Patty assumed command, while Frieda’s head drooped. Suddenly worried, Betty came into the room and sat down on the armchair facing the sofa. ‘Now what’s all this about, dears? Tell me.’ Patty took the lead and quickly told her mother everything, while Frieda sat with her head low, staring into the carpet. ‘Oh Frieda, you silly girl. No, no, it’s not your fault and you’re not the only one to find yourself in this trouble.’ Betty was appalled but thinking fast. Thank God, it’s not Patty, flashed though her mind. When Patty recounted Philip’s approach to birth control, Betty’s face hardened. That boy needs a good thrashing and he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t receive one at the hands of Frieda’s father. But she said nothing and heard her daughter out. ‘Mum, I think Phil is trying to get Frieda to have an abortion.’ ‘Well, he can forget that. It’s illegal, not to mention dangerous. Frieda is not going to end up in gaol or worse because of that young man’s selfish stupidity. Now let’s work out the best way forward.’ Betty’s no-nonsense approach gave hope to both girls. They looked up expectedly. ‘First things first. Frieda, do you love this young man?’ ‘I… I thought I did, Mrs. Jenkins. I really did, that’s why I… But now I’m not sure. The way he has been acting since I told him, cold like. He doesn’t seem at all interested in the baby, other than getting rid of it.’ Frieda’s voice was faltering and forlorn, raising memories of the little playmate up the street in Betty’s mind. ‘I thought as much. Well, that makes a discreet wedding out of the question. It would only be tying you to a man you don’t love and one who doesn’t love you.’

‘But maybe, in time, they will,’ Patty interrupted, hopefully. ‘I have more knowledge of these things, dear, and I can say that a marriage that starts under a cloud rarely come out into the sunshine.’ ‘But my parents, Mrs. Jenkins, are very conservative. They may insist.’ ‘I’m sure they only want what is best for you and the baby. I’ll talk to them once you have.’ At the thought of telling her parents, Frieda’s distress returned. It was another hour and another round of tea and orange cake before Betty and Patty had calmed her down sufficiently for her to return to her house. Betty had agreed to go with her and help explain the situation, with the cover story that she had accidentally overheard the two girls discussing the matter and felt that she had to bring the matter to them immediately. This was Betty Jenkins’ finest hour. Family and home, all that mattered. On the evening following, Patty sat with her parents at the kitchen table. Betty began, ‘Monica and Gil were very ive. Once over the initial shock. They agreed absolutely that there was no question of either an abortion or forced marriage. But I’m not sure that their solution is either wise or will work.’ ‘What do you mean, Mum?’ ‘Monica spent a couple of hours with me today and told me their plans. Frieda will be sent to her cousin at Beechworth until she gives birth. She, Monica, will be let it be known that she is pregnant, a late, miracle birth. She is only fortyfour, so it’s possible. After she brings the baby home, she will raise it as her own, though in reality she will be the baby’s grandmother.’ ‘But what about Frieda?’ Ted was puzzled. ‘Won’t people wonder where she is over the next few months and why she comes home after the baby’s born. You know how people gossip?’ ‘Yes, and that’s why we all have to get our story straight and stick to it – for Frieda’s sake and the baby’s. We will all say that Frieda is recovering from

Diphtheria, you know there’s been a regular epidemic recently. She has gone to recover her health in the country. She will come home a few months after the baby does. I know, it’s a gamble and raises all sorts of potential future problems, including how Frieda will feel as she watches her child turn into her sibling. But that is what the Dunkins have decided and I for one will them to the hilt.’ Betty glared around the table daring disagreement. But both Patty and her father merely nodded. What a mess, thought Patty gloomily. ‘It’s for the best, I guess,’ said Ted. ‘But what about that wretched boy, Phil?’ ‘He’s been told in no uncertain manner by Gil, to butt out. If he shows his face in the street or ever tries to Frieda, Gil will have him sacked, or worse.’ ‘And, Frieda, is she resigned to all this?’ Ted asked. ‘Poor little thing. She is like a lost lamb, wandering around, ready to do whatever’s asked of her.’ ‘Well, she’s got me and always will have,’ said Patty fiercely. ‘I’ll spend as much time as possible with her in the next ten days until she leaves for Beechworth, then visit her whenever I can to keep her spirits up.’ Thus, did one of nature’s oldest dramas begin to play itself out. How it would end was in the awful, unknowable, uncontrollable future.

October 1932

The Jenkins family was sitting around the kitchen table. Ted glanced at the newspaper while Patty was recounting her recent trip to visit a now very heavily pregnant friend. ‘Mum, Frieda is almost ready. The baby is really active. I felt it kicking. I do wonder what the baby will be. She says she doesn’t care as long as it is healthy, but I think she would really like a little girl. She’s scared but putting on a brave face.’ Patty is fascinated and a little repulsed by her friend’s radically changed body. Her experience of babies has to date all been after the birth, when the darling little thing is safely bound up and gazing up through hazy, unfocussed eyes at doting onlookers. The reality of pregnancy and childbirth were beginning to force themselves upon her in a not altogether pleasing way. ‘She’ll be fine dear, she’s healthy and well rested with all that country air. Girls have been having babies since God first put us on this earth.’ Betty thought back to Patty’s birth. She too had been scared. Ted was worse than useless and best out of it. Fortunately, her two aunts helped her through and old Doctor Givens, the family doctor, was wonderful. Unfortunately, even he couldn’t prevent the complications that resulted in a later consultation in which he sorrowfully told her that she would not be able to have any more children. This had been a blow to she and Ted at the time but eventually both came to accept the fact and made them both even more devoted to their only child.

‘Mum, Mum’ Patty burst into the hall and ran to the kitchen. Excitement preceded her in the force of her yell. ‘What is it darling?’ ‘The baby. Frieda’s baby has arrived. Mrs. Dunkin just told me. A little boy. Oh, I must go up to see her.’

‘Slow down dear. What did Monica say?’ Patty was shifting from one foot to another, so keen was she to get out the great news. ‘Well, last night, about one in the morning, Frieda woke and called out for her aunt Flo. Apparently, her aunt and uncle called for a cab and they all drove to the base hospital. The baby was born very soon after. It all happened so quickly. They barely made it. Mrs. Dunkin is getting ready to catch the train and bus to Beechworth. Can I go with her? Please, Mum, please.’ Betty Jenkins looked at the expectant face of her daughter. ‘If Mrs. Dunkin agrees. But what about your work? How will you explain your absence?’ Patty paused. Her face dropped. ‘Mrs. Dunkin is happy for me to travel with her. But I’m not sure how to let my boss know I need a couple of days off. I can be back at work next Monday as usual.’ ‘Leave that to me dear. I’ll phone Mr. Kennett first thing tomorrow and explain that you have to go to the country for a few days on urgent family matters, which is true, well almost. Now, when is Monica planning to leave?’ ‘She’s getting the train to Spencer Street station to catch the 2:30 pm country train.’ ‘Then we haven’t much time. You run up to let Monica know you’re coming with her. I’ll put some things together for you in my travel case and give you a basket with food and some of my preserves to take to Frieda’s aunt. Now off with you.’ Patty threw her mother a grateful look and raced out of the front door. How lucky she was to have such wonderful parents. I’m coming Frieda, I’m coming. As Betty began sorting and packing her daughter’s clothes, she reflected on the difficult times ahead for Frieda and her family. It would not be easy to keep the baby’s true parentage a secret. But they all owed it to the child to try. The only positive thing to come out of this sorry story was that Patty would see how important it was to keep herself pure. Betty paused and laughed to herself. Pure?

she sounded just like that dreadful Enid Rumbold. Only last week had she overhead the old dragon gossiping to her friends - wasn’t it scandalous that Mrs. Dunkin was pregnant? At her age! Well, she was not going to put up with that rubbish, especially coming from that old biddy. She smiled again as she recalled Enid’s shocked response at Betty’s uninvited contribution to the little group’s gossip session. Mrs. Rumbold had turned to Betty, ‘Oh, Mrs. Jenkins did you know that Mrs. Dunkin is pregnant?’ The eyes of the three ladies danced with venom. ‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful, another young life brought into the world to help rebuilding our country.’ Betty couldn’t resist adding, ‘It’s a great pity that some couples have not been willing to help do the same, especially after so many of our young men never came home. Good on the Dunkins, I say.’ With that Betty had walked away leaving Mrs. Rumbold and her friends staring, open mouthed. ‘Well, really, the nerve of that woman,’ rallied Mrs. Rumbold but her voice lacked the firm conviction and authority of moments earlier, and her friends quickly found reason to be elsewhere.

‘James, he’s just so cute.’ Patty and James were walking arms entwined in the park newly created at the end of Ross Street. She had returned form Beechworth several days before. There was enough heat in the early afternoon sun for the couple to carry their cardigans draped around their shoulders. ‘How is Frieda?’ James was keen to change the subject. For the previous few months his girlfriend had become besotted with the subject of babies. He was beginning to get the distinct impression that she wouldn’t mind having one herself. Although James liked babies and loved the idea of having them with Patty, he knew that they were both too young to get married. He still had two full years of study to go before he was qualified. He and Patty had an unstated but definite understanding that marriage would come, just not yet. With both of them working they would soon be able to save enough for a deposit on a block of land in a newly developing suburb a couple of miles away. ‘Oh, Frieda’s fine. She hasn’t a clue about how to look after a baby and tends to

be a bit teary. But her aunt says that’s normal and she’ll get the hang of it soon. She hasn’t decided yet on a name. If it was my baby I’d have named, and had it christened by now. What do you think of Gilbert for a name?’ ‘Not much, to be honest. I knew a Gilbert at school, a right little shit he was. Used to dob you into the teachers any chance he had.’ Patty looked disappointed but added philosophically, ‘It was just a thought, perhaps we’ll have a girl.’ ‘In due course. In due course,’ James quickly added. Patty grinned and poked him in the ribs, ‘Don’t you want to have a baby with me? I know. I know, in due course!’

December 1932

Patty Jenkins walked into the kitchen and sat down at the kitchen table. Betty was over at the sink drying the large saucepan that had cooked the family’s evening meal. ‘How was work today, dear?’ ‘Oh, all right. A bit boring, actually. Mr. Townsend is away visiting our interstate offices. The pace of work tends to slacken when he’s not there. Fortunately, one or two of the girls and I have plenty to talk about. Jenny is getting married next year, and Helen and I are helping her choose her dress and organise things generally. She’s pretty helpless, but very lucky,’ Patty added wistfully. ‘Don’t fret, your time will come.’ Betty ed how impatient young girls get when they see their friends getting engaged. ‘James is a fine young man, and you will both know when the time is right.’ ‘Yes, but that could be ages. I’ll be nineteen in a few months. Practically an old maid.’ Patty pretended to pout. Betty laughed as she put away the saucepan. ‘Hardly. How is Frieda going, I see you have a letter?’ Patty picked up the letter she had carried in from the letter box and tore open the envelope. Three thin blue pages with small neat writing came into view. Patty started to read out loud. ‘“Dearest Patty, I have decided to stay on in Beechworth and not return home with Mum and baby Roddy. I know that this will be a shock to you and I’m sorry. But I think it’s for the best. I couldn’t face all our friends and other locals. I’d feel like they all knew and were talking behind my back. It will also be best for the baby and Mum and Dad, give them a real chance to become a new family.’” Patty read through the remainder of the letter and came to the last page. ‘Listen to this Mum. Frieda says, “I also have another reason for staying here. I’ve met a very nice young man, John McFadden. He’s a farmer who raises

sheep a few miles out of town. We met at a Saturday night dance here in Beechworth. He’s taller than me and quiet. He doesn’t say a lot, but I know he has a kind heart and seems to like me a lot. I don’t know if anything will come of things, but I’d like to find out. I’ll keep you informed. Give your Mum my love. Stay well. Y.P. Frieda.”’ Patty dropped the letter onto the table. ‘Mum, this is terrible. Frieda’s not coming back. I’ll never see her again.’ ‘Nonsense, dear, of course you will. Beechworth isn’t the end of the world. And Frieda will be back often to see her parents, and new brother, won’t she?’ ‘I’m not so sure, Mum. I thought Frieda was acting quite oddly when I was up there. She hardly spent any time with Roddy. Her aunt seemed to look after him most of the time. I was mad about the baby, couldn’t get enough cuddles. But Frieda’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.’ Betty looked at her daughter’s puzzled face, wondering how much to tell her about the depression that came on some women after they gave birth. ‘Patty, not everyone reacts in the same way. Having a baby is a big event in a woman’s life. It changes everything. Some are more prepared than others to deal with the enormity of the change. Some new mothers take longer to take it all in and...’ here she paused. ‘In this case, there are other complications. Frieda has to come to with the reality that she will not be the child’s mother. It may be a good thing for both her and the child if they separate for a while, at least until life settles down .’ ‘I guess, but it’s going to be very hard for me. Frieda and I have been best friends since primary school. We’ve done everything together. Well, not everything!’ Both women smiled and Patty continued, ‘at least I’ll be able to see little Roddy and help Mrs. Dunkin with him. It’ll be exciting to have a baby in the street.’ And so, a new life came into my domain, and a new interest into Patty Jenkins’ life. Roddy Dunkin would prove to be a dominant presence in the lives of the residents of Ross Street over the next two decades.

January 1933

‘T hat bastard Jardine is at it again.’ Bob Mattingly was sitting on the Jenkins back porch enjoying a cold beer in the late afternoon. ‘Yes, he’s a right scoundrel,’ Ted replied, savouring the amber fluid, or what remained of it. ‘I reckon it’s his background, touch of the Raj about him. Wouldn’t be surprised to find that his mother was Hindu, grew up in Calcutta or some ghastly place like that.’ ‘He’s certainly not fit to grace the cricket field. Struts around like a bloody peacock with that coloured cap. Thinks he’s a cut above the rest of us.’ Ted gazed again at his glass and responded, ‘I wouldn’t mind about his manner, or even his parentage if he wasn’t in the process of destroying the great game. Cricket is a game for gentlemen and Jardine is no gentleman. Win at all costs, that’s him, typical half caste.’ ‘Who is, dear?’ Betty caught the last few words as she and Viv came out onto the back porch. ‘Douglas Jardine, captain of the touring MCC cricket team, trying to recapture the ashes from Bran’s Australian team.’ ‘Is that a problem?’ Betty was sorry she asked. ‘Not’, her husband replied, ‘if he played fair and square. But he’s bending the rules.’ ‘More like throwing away the rule book,’ added Bob disgustedly. He fished around in his shirt pocket and drew out a battered packet of chesterfield cigarettes. ‘What’s he doing?’, said Viv, in spite of being bored stiff by Bob’s fascination with what she thought of as a frivolous pastime for grown men. Her husband paused to light his cigarette before replying heatedly, ‘He’s getting

his bowlers to bowl directly at the batsmen at a fast and dangerous pace. Clusters all the fieldsmen in the batsman’s pocket and down at square leg, just waiting for him to fend one away in self-defence or lash out and hook it down their throat.’ Viv flashed a weary look at Betty. Really, the language was impenetrable, they’ll be talking about silly mid-on and LB-something soon. ‘Can’t the umpires do something about it?’ Betty who had a little more knowledge than Viv, having been schooled by her husband, and a great deal more patient than Viv, sought to divert the topic onto safer grounds. But the two men were not for turning. ‘The umpires are too scared of the cricket establishment to say boo.’ ‘That’s right Ted. I reckon nothing will be done till one of our boys is killed out on the field.’ The two men had been to the first and third days of the second test at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, and their ire at England’s tactics was a little ameliorated by Australia’s victory in that match to square the series at one all. The fact that Australia’s greatest batsman, Don Bran, had returned to the side and scored a century further buoyed their spirits. But the triumph was short lived. Over the next few weeks both watched in increasing indignation as Jardine’s Englishmen won the remaining three tests. The third test in Adelaide became infamous. England’s bowlers, led by the fearsome Harold Larwood, a miner from Northern England, demolished Australian batting by repeatedly bowling at and hitting the bodies of the hapless batsmen. The crowd threatened to riot and the Australian captain’s critical private off-field remarks, leaked to the press, sparked a near diplomatic break between Australia and the mother country. The tactics worked as Bran’s performance was reduced to mortal proportions. The English exited victorious but the Bodyline series, as it had become known, left wounds that would not fully recover for years. Jardine’s victory, however, was short-lived. He was soon after quietly dropped and disappeared from the cricketing scene, leaving an ingrained memory of British arrogance in the minds of His Majesty’s loyal Antipodean subjects.

March 1933

Shauna Hennessy smiled across the table. ‘So glad you dropped in Mrs. Jenkins.’ Both women were sitting in the loungeroom at number 37, a room so familiar to Betty, in spite of the rather eclectic array of furniture and what she thought of as a Bohemian collection of objects placed at random around the room. The large bright blue parasol hanging from the ceiling over one corner faced a stuffed bird of vaguely tropical plumage. From the wall hung a series of sepia-tinged photographs of dancers on a stage. Most arrestingly, a lion-headed rug lay on the floor, with its head raised, mouth open, facing Betty who was perched uneasily on the edge of a large brown couch. She had the familiar feeling of entering Melbourne’s museum tucked at the side and back of the state library in the city. She ed the many trips taken there with Patty during school holidays. She surreptitiously touched wood to ward off the bad luck threatened by an open umbrella inside the house. Shauna saw her looking around the room and commented, ‘Yes, rather an odd collection, some mine, some Liam’s. Collected most of them from show to show in various places where we played. Liam can’t bear to part with any of them. He says they remind him of the good old days, mostly back in Ireland. Of course, he doesn’t have to dust them, just sits there drinking whisky and gazing at them. A harmless enough pastime, I suppose. It’s better than having him out all the time drinking with his mates and chasing women, up to all sorts of shenanigans.’ Betty was fascinated. Shauna Hennessy was like no one she had never met. Tall and graceful, she moved like a cat, her feet barely touching the ground. Her dark black hair was drawn back in a bun fastened high at the back of her head. She wore a bright red and green scarf tied bandana like, reminding Betty of movies about pirates. Her nails were bright red too. Strangest of all, she wore tros! But for all this, Shauna Hennessy was definitely female, and a woman who had turned the heads of most men she met. She didn’t seem at all worried by the fecklessness of her husband and, as she soon found out, that of their children too. The visit to number 37 was long contemplated and repeatedly delayed. Partly her

reticence flowed from the sad memories of her friend’s forced eviction. But she also found it difficult to overcome a sense that this was an alien family, one not quite respectable. Eventually, however, a stronger sense of duty towards new neighbours overcame her reluctance and a chance meeting in the shopping centre had led to Mrs. Hennessy calling on Mrs. Jenkins a couple of weeks earlier. Today, the invitation was reciprocated, and Betty found herself in a room not visited since the Mattingly’s departure. ‘You do have a very, er a very unusual collection of objects. Where, if you don’t mind my asking did you get that beautiful glass figurine?’ Shauna went over to the mantlepiece and took up the exquisite object. ‘It’s Venetian glass. We picked it up just after the war. Liam and I and our oldest, Erin - she was just a tiny tot - were part of a travelling variety troupe. We played in villages and towns through Italy. On one of the days between performances, I took the baby and caught a little boat over to the island where the glass was blown into the most wonderful shapes and colours. We wandered around. I was transfixed by the beauty and artistry of the objects for sale. And at such reasonable prices. I forced Liam to come back with me before the company moved on and persuaded him to buy several pieces. He wasn’t happy, grumbled about throwing good drinking money away on useless bits of glass.’ Betty, beguiled by Shauna’s soft accent, asked, ‘Do you have other pieces like this?’ ‘Not anymore. We had to sell them, bit by bit, as needs arose. Liam was amazed at how much we got for them. But I knew how valuable they were back home. That’s why I insisted we buy them. But I always refused to sell this last one, reminds me of happier times, back in Ireland when my mam and daidí were still alive and when our children were young.’ Betty carefully took the figurine from Shauna’s hand, turned it carefully seeing how the glass captured and refracted the light into rays cast onto the wall. She carefully replaced the precious object back on the shelf. ‘Shauna, it’s magnificent. I can see why you wouldn’t want to part from it. Why, if you don’t mind my asking, did you and Liam decide to come all the way across the world to Melbourne, to leave all your families and friends behind?’

Shocked by her sudden descent into her neighbour’s private life, Betty quickly added,’ Oh, I’m sorry. That’s personal, I have no right to ask.’ ‘Quite all right Betty. I have no trouble talking about old times, rather enjoy it actually.’ Thus, did Betty acquire a new close friend at number 37. It turned out that Liam was not the model citizen and had fallen afoul of the law once too often. ‘We only just made it out of the county ahead of the Garda,’ was the way Shauna put it. ‘We first went to my uncle’s place in Liverpool. Clodagh was a toddler then. We lived with Uncle for several years until his final illness came on. I nursed him until the end.’ Tears welled and began to trickle slowly down Shauna’s rosy cheeks like the river in County Tipperary after which her youngest daughter was named. ‘Uncle left me his house, which we sold and used the money to come to Melbourne. But, of course, houses are much more expensive here and we could never hope to buy again. We’re very lucky to be able to rent such a lovely home. I keep telling Liam this. But he’s got itchy feet, always has had. I’ve finally told him, I’m not moving again, the kids need some stability in their lives. Erin has left school and Callum soon will. They have made friends here and are looking for jobs. I’m determined that Clodagh gets the chance of a good education that I never had. She seems to be the brightest of the three.’ ‘There seems to be a big gap between your eldest two and Clodagh, if I’m not being too indelicate.’ Betty blushed and felt annoyed at her presumption. ‘No, not at all,’ Shauna laughed, her soft Irish lilt, so pleasing to the ear, Betty thought, ‘I was young and giddy in the first years of my marriage. Pregnant and pregnant again before I realised what was happening. But I soon worked it out and was a lot more careful after that, much to the annoyance of our local priest who took an unseemly interest in the shape of my belly.’ ‘Why?’ Betty was intrigued. ‘Because to them, a woman is only good for one thing, to populate the world with good Catholics. I rather enjoyed the irritated look on old Father O’Shannasey’s face when he failed to detect any bump, yet again. Though I

never could quite decide whether that look was one of missionary zeal or lechery.’ Shauna laughed again, and Betty guiltily ed her. Betty nodded and tried but failed to shift the discussion onto safer grounds. ‘I suppose Erin will get married soon, she is only a couple of years younger than my Patty.’ Shauna shook her head. ‘Not if I have anything to say about it. I don’t want her to tie herself to some man before she gets a chance at life. That was my mistake.’ Betty was taken aback at her new friend’s vehemence. ‘Surely she will want to make a home for herself and have children.’ ‘Eventually, but not before she unfolds her wings.’ Betty’s surprise turned to shock as she decoded the hidden meaning. ‘Surely, you don’t want her to ...to be wanton?’ Betty regretted her choice of words as they were uttered. Shauna shrieked with laughter. ‘Wanton? No, just not falling for the first young rascal that utters sweet words and then turns into a brute once he’d had his way. My girls are much too smart to fall for that old chestnut.’ Shauna continued, ‘It’s why I stay well away from the church here. Father Walsh is forever dropping by asking why the children are not coming to Mass and Confession. He’s given up on Liam and me. I tell him that we have lost our faith. He’s horrified, rushes off mumbling that he’ll pray for us. Pray for us, the old hypocrite. I wouldn’t let my girls in a closed room with him in a pink fit. He’s as bad as the lot back in the town I grew up in.’ Now Betty was shocked. ‘Shauna, you don’t mean... I thought that was just antiCatholic rumours you hear around town.’ ‘Men are men whether they wear a frock or not. Anyway, I’ve made sure that my girls know how not to get pregnant until they’re good and ready.’ Shauna’s tone was steely firm leaving Betty in no doubt that her girls would be well prepared to face the world. Once again, she thought, how different their two worlds were. And how protected from the harsh lash of the world her own life had been.

‘You mean contraception?’ Betty barely whispered the word. ‘Of course, I mean contraception and not the rubbish they preach at church. The only rhythm that works involves the man putting on a sheath. I’m sorry, dear, do I shock you?’ Betty’s face had turned a deep shade of red. She had heard of the object that the bolder girls in her earlier life had called ‘French letters’ but had never seen one nor cared to. Both women laughed and Betty valiantly added, ‘I guess I’ve had a very sheltered life.’ ‘Then you’re lucky, I reckon.’ Shauna’s eyes twinkled. The conversation continued in animated fashion until Betty finally tore herself away with a guilty, ‘Look at the time, and I haven’t even put the potatoes on.’ As she walked out of the front gate and headed up the street to her house, she reflected on the remarkable insights gleaned about her new friend, someone whose life and views were so wildly at odds with her own. She thought too about how exciting that life had been compared to her own quiet meander through the years. Quiet yes, but very happy and secure. Still, the image of a dashing young naval officer who had once wooed her sprang unheralded into focus. What I wonder, would my life had been if? But as we all know, ‘if’ is a very big word.

April 1933

The two women were sitting in the front parlour at number 24. They had settled themselves on the settee in front of a low coffee table festooned with tea cake and sporting a large teapot from which they filled their blue patterned teacups. ‘Yes Viv, we finally have a lovely family moving into your old house. Such nice people.’ Viv ed a sharp heart tug at the mention of her lost home, but curiosity overcame her sense of loss. ‘Who are they? Where did they come from?’ ‘From Ireland, County Cork.’ ‘Catholics, I expect,’ commented Viv bitterly. ‘Bob reckons the Church always gets the best land. Just look at St. Patricks, sitting there up on the hill overlooking the city.’ Betty couldn’t quite see the connection but could sense her friend’s anguish and quickly continued, ‘I expect so, though they don’t appear to be on close with the Berettis at number 8. Perhaps the Irish and Italians don’t get on. Anyway, their names are Liam and Shauna Hennessy. They have three children, Erin, Callum and Klodah.’ ‘What was the last one?’ Viv was intrigued, in spite of herself. ‘Klo-dah, but it’s spelt in a very funny way.’ Viv thought for a moment. ‘Poor child. She must get teased terribly about her name. Children can be very cruel. I a girl when I was at school called Hermione. We were very unkind to her, called her ‘Herman’, hid her lunch, blotted her work. Her parents had to take her to another school. I still feel ashamed of my behaviour and sometimes dream of meeting her up at the shops.

In a way, I wish I did, so that I could apologise. I the guilt I and the other girls felt when our teacher told us why she had left the class.’ ‘We’ve all done silly and wicked things, dear. And wished for a chance to make amends. Now, where was I?’ ‘The new people. You were telling me about the Hennessy family.’ ‘Ah, yes. Well, Mrs Hennessy is a ballet teacher, she hopes to start an academy in town teaching local girls. Apparently, she danced before her marriage for the Irish national ballet. At least that’s the story she tells. I’m not so sure.’ ‘Why, dear.’ ‘Well, it’s the fact that her husband is an actor, more a comedian. He appears in shows at the Tivoli theatre in the city.’ Viv Mattingly’s eyebrows shot up. She leant forward eager to hear more. ‘I know.’ Betty lowered her voice. ‘Ted once went to a show there with some office mates. He didn’t tell me till much later.’ Betty’s look said – men! ‘He said the showgirls didn’t leave much to the imagination.’ ‘You think Mrs. Hennessy may have been in the chorus line, then, back in Ireland?’ Betty nodded. ‘But I may be wrong, of course.’ Neither woman thought so and Betty continued. ‘I really don’t understand why they do it, the women I mean. It just degrades them in the eyes of decent men like Ted and Bob.’ ‘They do it to attract men, decent or otherwise. It’s always been so and always will,’ added Viv. ‘Sex. It’s the last thing that dies with a man.’ Both women burst out laughing.

‘Ted.’

‘‘Yes, dear.’ Her husband looked up from the book he was reading. Both were sitting in their cosy front room. The early Autumn sun shone weakly through the set of three sash windows facing north. ‘I’ve become quite friendly with Mrs. Hennessy, Shauna, at the Mattingly’s old house.’ ‘So, I gather. Can’t say I’ve wanted to do likewise with that husband of hers. Drinks like a fish and looks shifty to me. A typical Mick, I’d say.’ Ted’s distrust of Catholics was never far from the surface. Betty nodded to herself. Ted, normally so generous and kind-hearted, had a visceral dislike of the Irish. It stemmed, she thought, from the disloyalty he saw in Ireland’s pro-German stance during the War, personified in Melbourne by the detested Archbishop Daniel Mannix. Ted’s mind was tracking hers. ‘You just can’t trust them. Waited until the Empire had its back to the wall in 1916 and launched a surprise uprising in Dublin. Crushed of course by loyal forces but as soon as they could they started up again and murdered their way to a civil war. The only good thing about that was Irishmen killing Irishmen.’ Ted rubbed his hands together with relish. Betty strove to bring the conversation back on track. ‘Shauna has some rather advanced views.’ Betty chose her words carefully, lowering her voice slightly. ‘Advanced? I suppose you mean she’s a suffragette.’ Ted managed to give the term a semi-humorous slant, ‘Chains herself to fences, knocks off policemen’s hats, that sort of thing.’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ Betty replied loyally. She just thinks that women should have more of the opportunities to contribute to society and develop their talents, as she has herself in her dancing career.’ ‘Career? I thought she was some sort of stripper.’ ‘No dear, she was a legitimate ballerina back in Ireland.’ Patiently Betty fought to get her husband back on track. ‘And, since coming here she has established a very successful dance school. She also gives classes at the girls’ grammar school.’ Betty was losing patience with her husband but more determined than ever to get to the point.

‘Humph,’ came Ted’s unhelpful reply. Undeterred by her husband’s obvious lack of interest Betty pushed on. ‘She thinks that young girls shouldn’t marry early.’ ‘Quite right. Twenty or twenty-one is soon enough.’ Ted returned to his book, picking up the age at which his finger had rested. ‘I rather think Shauna has the view that late twenties are more appropriate or even not marrying at all.’ In saying it Betty realised the truly radical nature of Shauna’s views. Ted jerked his head upward as his book fell to the carpet. ‘What, not marry? Is she mad? How are the poor girls supposed to survive.? Who will provide for them?’ ‘I think she believes that they can provide for themselves.’ Betty was far from convinced about her new friend’s ideas but pushed ahead, testing them against Ted’s unyielding ripostes. ‘Humph.’ But Ted thought further. ‘How are they to have babies and raise a family?’ With this, he settled back in his armchair, convinced that he’d unleashed the killer blow. ‘Shauna thinks that some woman may choose not to have babies at all.’ The conversation was skating onto dangerous grounds. ‘Rubbish. women are made to have babies. It’s all they want, from when they are little girls. Patty? All the dolls, the way she rushes up to any house in the district when the mother brings a new baby home from the hospital. She can’t wait to get that James into her own nest.’ Ted was clearly keen to finish the conversation. However, his wife pushed on. ‘But Ted, Patty is not every girl.’ And, thought Betty, she has had her mother as a model all her life. ‘Some girls may really want the chance to do other things.’ ‘Well, I suppose some could wait until their mid-twenties to marry,’ conceded

Ted. ‘But the dangers grow with every year.’ ‘Dangers? Do you mean that they might not find a husband?’ ‘Yes, especially given the huge loss of men during the war. Mark my words, there’s going to be a whole generation of old maids thanks to the Kaiser. And then there’s the danger of vice.’ Ted looked uncomfortable, as he barely got the word out. ‘Shauna thinks that women should insist that their men use those sheath things.’ Betty blushed as she uttered the words. How had she reached this point? Ted was shocked. ‘What! You and Mrs. Hennessy are discussing such, such intimate things. You are getting on like a house on fire.’ ‘Edward Jenkins, don’t you take that mocking tone with me! I happen to think that Shauna might be talking some sense here. I don’t necessarily agree with all she says, but I do think that women should have more choice in their lives. It hasn’t been a problem for us,’ unfortunately, she thought to herself,’ ‘but some women should have the opportunity to limit the number of children they bring into this world. And for this they need knowledge, how to plan their families.’ Ted gave up all hopes of reading his book. Placing a pipe cleaner to keep his place he laid it aside on the small mahogany side table and looked at his wife. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s sad when you see women ground down by endless pregnancies and the daily struggle to make ends meet. But what about unmarried women? Surely you don’t think that unmarried girls should be able to get contraceptive devices.’ ‘I think nothing of the sort.’ Betty’s face had reddened, and her breath was shorter. ‘All I’m saying is that girls as they become women need to know much more about what pregnancy is and how to avoid accidentally becoming pregnant. And men need to lift their game too. It’s their responsibility to ensure that they don’t get a poor woman in the family way.’ ‘Well darling, you’ll have an uphill battle there. Unscrupulous men have been deceiving women for ages, probably since Adam and Eve were kicked out of Eden.’

‘That’s why I intend to ensure that when Patty marries, she will have the knowledge to control her life. And for that I’ll need to find out more.’ Ted threw his hands up indicating he was out of the game. He was damn glad that it was Betty who would have the job she had laid out for herself. He didn’t think that he could get past first base, so to speak.

August 1933

Betty Jenkins reached out and touched the arm of her friend. Both women were sitting in Shauna Hennessy’s kitchen. A freshy baked sponge cake brought by Betty lay untouched on the wooden table in front of them. The cups of teas sat cooling in front of the women. ‘But, but where has he gone?’ Betty was alluding to the recent disappearance of Liam Hennessy. Shauna shrugged. ‘No idea my dear. But I expect he’ll turn up after he sleeps it off.’ Shauna’s lack of concern for her husband amazed her friend. ‘But Shauna, he may be in trouble, he may need help. Aren’t you worried?’ ‘The only help he needs is in getting off the grog. I’m heartily sick of his shenanigans. He’s hardly ever here even when he is at home. Treats this like a boarding house. Always mooching around for any spare change, so he can hare up to the pub. I have to keep my purse with me at all times.’ Betty was flabbergasted. ‘Surely he doesn’t steal from you!’ ‘Only because I’m too smart for him. When our Erin first came along, I had to hide money in my knickers so as to be able to afford to buy milk for the baby. My milk dried up quickly, you see. Ever since, I’ve made sure that I always have a reserve stash of cash hidden away.’ ‘But surely he regularly gives you your housekeeping.’ Betty’s bright blue eyes widened. Shauna’s pleasant face burst into a wide grin. ‘Housekeeping! You’ve got to be joking. Liam never gave me anything except three babies and the occasional backhander. Everything we have I’ve provided, first on the stage and now through my teaching. And I’ve been able to put a bit aside each week. Not that he knows anything about that, and never will!’

Betty sat back in her chair, pondering for the nth time just how different their lives were. But as she watched her friend, she realised with a start that she ired Shauna more than she ever thought possible. That woman had made a life for herself and her children with no help from a husband, who in fact, was an added burden. ‘Shauna, I do ire your... your pluck. And if there is anything Ted or I can do to help, please say.’ ‘You’re a good friend Betty. I know you mean it. But I think we’ll be fine. I do appreciate your friendship.’ With that, the two women hugged and returned to their morning tea.

Two weeks later Betty Jenkins came into the bathroom as her husband was completing his ablutions. It was a cold Saturday, and both had enjoyed a lazy start to the day. ‘Do you know what that wretch Liam Hennessy has done now?’ Betty’s indignation burned bright. ‘No dear, I don’t. And don’t really want to know. He’s a real bad egg.’ Ted put down his cutthroat razor and gazed into the mirror as he wiped away the remains of a robust lather. ‘What’s the old devil been up to now?’ Betty paused, looking over her husband’s shoulder at her morning face gazing back. My, I looked a mess. Don’t let yourself go girl, else this man that I love will look elsewhere. Pushing a few strands of hair back behind her ear, she continued, ‘He’s up and run away. Hasn’t been seen for more than a fortnight. Shauna seems to think it’s just his normal trip on a bender and that he’ll come crawling back when his money runs out.’ ‘She’s probably right. After all, she’s had enough experience of his ways and must know his character more than anyone else.’ Ted hung his towel back on the

rack and followed his wife out of the bathroom.

But Ted was wrong. And so was Shauna. Liam never came home though he did turn up, in a manner of speaking. A lonely hiker discovered his body wedged against a submerged tree in the Yarra River, upstream from the timber town of Warburton beyond the Dandenong Ranges. He had been dead for more than a week. There were suspicious circumstances, according to the policeman who interviewed the widow in the days following the discovery of the body. But before the rumour mill could begin to grind at full speed, investigations uncovered the string of unpaid gambling debts run up by the deceased. The police appeared satisfied that this was another murder committed by persons unknown as punishment and a warning to other debtors to pay up or else. With that the police lost interest in the matter and the case was closed. Liam’s mortal remains were returned to his family who set about organising a full Requiem Mass. On a rainy Tuesday morning a small group of mourners gathered in the front rows of St. Francis to witness the soul of Liam Hennessy about to be sent on its way to Heaven -- or not. The body was laid out in a closed coffin, with an open bible placed on top. Shauna and her three children sat quietly by themselves in the front row, the widow dressed in a black dress, her face covered by a black lace veil. Erin, the oldest daughter, was also demurely dressed, while the two younger children came in their best outfits. Betty had, with great difficulty, forced Ted to accompany her. Together they sat alone towards the back of the church. Ted wore his best suit and Betty’s dark dress and woollen coat shaded into the gloom of the cavernous space. The vastness of the church seemed to accentuate the smallness of the congregation. ‘Dear god, I never thought I’d ever walk through the doors of a Roman Catholic church,’ Ted grumbled as they had made their way into the dark interior. ‘Shush, dear, we’re here for poor Shauna and the children.’ Father Walsh had greeted them at the church door and having sprinkled holy water on the casket as it was carried into the church, now stood at the front of the mourners and intoned,

‘In life Liam Hennessy cherished the Gospel of Christ.May Christ now greet him with these words of eternal life ‘ ‘Could have fooled me,’ muttered Ted. ‘Shush,’ Betty dug her elbow into her husband’s side. The mourners replied in unison, ‘Come, blessed of my Father! ‘ The priest continued, ‘In baptism Liam Hennessy received the sign of the Cross.’ ‘May he now share in Christ’s victory over sin and death,’ the gathering responded as one. The ceremony dragged on for another hour, during which Ted Jenkins’ side received a fearful battering. As the mourners poured forth from the church into a biting wind, Betty approached her friend. ‘Such a nice respectful ceremony, Shauna. I’m so happy for you and your children.’ Shauna smiled weakly and replied, ‘Yes, I suppose so. Liam would have enjoyed seeing the Priest making pious es over his corpse. He’s probably telling his departed mates about how he pulled the wool over the old man’s eyes. Whereas, I have no doubt that Father Walsh was revelling in sending another unrepentant sinner to hell. I suspect that was the main reason he agreed to conduct the mass.’ Shauna paused. ‘Still, it was important for the children to see their father given a proper send off. Will you and Ted be coming back to number 37 for the wake?’ Later that evening, The Jenkins were talking quietly in their living room, reflecting on the sombre day, hardly leavened by the forced gaiety of some of Liam’s drinking partners at the wake. The festivities were still in full play and the couple could hear the noise echoing up Ross street. ‘What did you make of that performance by the Priest?’ Ted shook his head.

‘Does anyone really believe all that malarkey?’ Ted unknowingly used that good old Irish word, brought to the colonies by immigrants escaping the great Irish potato famine almost a century before. ‘I guess they do, dear.’ Betty was fed up with Ted’s complaints. Anyone would think she’d made him endure some horrible trial. ‘It was only an hour, and for Shauna and the children. Surely that’s not too much of an ask for a neighbour and friend.’ ‘Yes, but it was so, so strange, alien almost, like some ritual from the middle ages.’ Ted couldn’t let it go. ‘ What was with the black cape and all that sprinkling of water? And when they all trudged out to the front and knelt while the priest dished out wafers and drank from the same cup. Bloody unhygienic I call it.’ Ted’s expression did nothing to conceal his disgust. ‘They believe that God changes the wine into Christ’s blood. Shauna explained it. The Anglicans do it too you know.’ ‘Then thank God we’re Methodists, that’s all I can say.’ Betty wasn’t prepared to let Ted get away with the last word. ‘Well, what about your lodge? The Masons have a lot of weird rituals too, all that secret handshake business and wearing an apron. And they’re discriminatory.’ Ted was outraged. ‘What do you mean? Anyone can ...’ ‘As long as they’re not Catholics, Jews or, God forbid, women,’ Betty interrupted. ‘But they don’t want to . They stick to their own.’ Ted was genuinely puzzled. ‘Have you ever asked them. I certainly haven’t been invited.’ Years of seeing Ted dressed in ridiculous clothes waltzing out the door of an evening to attend Lodge added heat to her response. An exasperated Ted replied, ‘Women don’t...’

‘Don’t what?’ ‘They just don’t. They have too much to do looking after the home. And Jews are very... insular. They have their own organisations, and good luck to them. As for Catholics, they wouldn’t embrace our rules. If they did, they would be welcome.’ Betty stopped herself. Ted was a good man but very stuck in his views. He would help anyone in need, Jew or Gentile, Catholic or Protestant, as long as they left him to his comfortable view of the world. Thereafter, Ted picked up his newspaper and the marital discussion of theology lapsed. Betty, relieved, sank back into her armchair and resumed knitting the woollen jacket for Frieda’s baby.

The following day she and Shauna were going over the events of the previous day in the kitchen at number 37. The room was large and square, with a rectangular wooden table placed along one wall opposite a row of cupboards painted cream. The sink stood under the window and a gas stove - that had been her friend Viv’s great pride - on the wall opposite the table. How often had she and Viv sat there chatting and putting the world to right, Betty thought? And now here she was, doing the same with Shauna. A shadow of guilt flashed across her inner eye but was quickly banished. Nothing would replace her friendship with Viv, and here was another friend in trouble, another soul in need of a sympathetic ear. ‘How are you feeling today Shauna?’ Her friend had large dark circles under her green eyes. Her manner was subdued, so unlike the lively companion Betty had become used to. Shauna smiled weakly. ‘I feel very flat my dear. I didn’t have much use for Liam when he was alive but now that he’s gone, I’m aware just how alone I am. We were together for twenty years, some of them good years. He never really got over the independence struggle back in Ireland. His best friend Patrick was killed by the British in an

ambush that Liam only just escaped. It was after that he started drinking heavily. That’s why we ended up travelling so much, to get away, first to Liverpool and then around the world. He was good on stage, so we rarely had trouble getting work. But it was hard on the children. That’s why I’m determined to make our home here, to give them a more stable start. They’ll want to move on soon enough. Erin is already halfway out the door and Callum won’t be far behind. Then, I’ll be alone,’ she sighed before continuing, ‘These last two years have been wonderful, thanks to you and Ted and Patty.’ Shauna paused again as tears began to stream down her face. Betty rose and went around to her friend’s side. ‘That’s it dear, let it come, let it come.’ For several minutes the two women clung together, united in that unspoken bond between middle-aged mothers and widows through the ages. Shauna eventually dried her eyes on her apron, as her beautiful smile lit up her tear-stained face. ‘Well, I do feel better for a good cry. I must look a mess. Pour yourself a cup of Irish breakfast and I’ll be back in a jiff.’ Betty watched as her friend dashed out into the hall and mused, how would she handle Ted’s death?

As so often happens in the short lifespan of mortals, lives eventually resumed their slow steady tread. Children grew, left home, some to never return. Erin followed her mother onto the stage, securing a job with Williamson’s travelling dance troop. She regularly wrote home to Shauna, who kept the Jenkins up to date on where she was and what she was seeing. Patty, now closing in on twenty years of age, was in awe of her younger adventurous neighbour and secretly envied her freedom. But home held its attractions too. She enjoyed her work at the bank and had recently been promoted with a rise in her weekly wage, all of which was immediately deposited in her state savings bank . When the time came, she would make a full contribution to buying that longed for home with James. There was also sweet Roddy Dunkin. Most evenings she went up the road to help Monica feed and bath the little boy, now an active, healthy one-year-old. The only sadness came as she thought of Frieda up in the country. She was only able to

see her on the odd occasion Frieda came down to visit her family and on holiday weekends when she made the long trip up to Beechworth.

February 1935

Patty rushed into the kitchen clutching a letter. ‘Mum, Mum.’ ‘Goodness Patty, what is it?’ ‘It’s Frieda! She’s getting married!’ Patty’s face shone. she could barely stand still. ‘Now just settle down and tell me, slowly.’ Patty flopped down into a chair and placed the letter on the wooden table. She heaved a large sigh, her heart racing and forced herself to take a deep breath. ‘Frieda is going to marry that nice farmer I told you about. They have been going together almost from the time she moved up there. I meet him when I go there. He’s so nice and absolutely dotes on Frieda. Oh, she’s so lucky.’ ‘Well, if anyone deserves such good luck it’s that girl.’ Betty sat down opposite her daughter. ‘Tell me more. What do her parents think? When is the wedding to be? Where?’ Patty scanned further down the page and over onto the next. ‘Her parents have given their blessing and his too. The wedding will be held at the family farm. They’re planning it for September. And wait. I’m to be Frieda’s bridesmaid!’ Betty smiled at her daughter’s delighted face. To think of that little tot she used to pick up after school, about to be married. How did the time fly so quickly? She looked at her daughter’s beaming face. Not long before your turn too dear, she mused. ‘Well, we have plenty of time to organise your dress. We can talk with Monica tomorrow and find out what they are planning and what we can do to help.

Over the next few months, the talk at numbers 24 and 20 revolved almost

entirely around Frieda’s wedding. Early in April the young man came down from Beechworth to meet his prospective in-laws. Patty and her parents, along with a number of other neighbours were invited by Frieda’s mother and father to meet John McFadden. John was a tall, shy man, with an outdoor complexion and forearms like a lumberjack. Ted Jenkins winced as the young man grasped his hand in a vice-like grip. ‘I’m so glad to meet you, Mr. Jenkins, and Mrs. Jenkins too. Frieda has told me all about your family.’ Somewhat taken aback by the effusive welcome, he replied ‘Frieda is very special to us, like a second daughter, so make sure you treat her well.’ ‘Of that you can be sure, sir. My father, brothers and I have been working on getting the cottage on our property fixed up. Frieda and I will move in after the wedding. She is already choosing furnishings. The cottage is small but will be very comfortable and is only half a mile from the main house.’ Ted couldn’t help but be impressed by the young man’s enthusiasm, reinforced by his obvious devotion to his fiancé. Talking later with his wife, he commented, ‘That young man looks like a very good catch by Frieda.’ ‘Yes, and he’s getting a gem too. I just hope it all works out. I know Monica and Gil like him and feel confident that he will be a steadying influence in Frieda’s life. It’s a real chance for her to put behind all the heartbreak and misery and start a new life together.’ Ted nodded but a thought struck him. ‘Do you think John knows about the baby - Roddy I mean?’ Betty paused. ‘I don’t know. But I suspect that he will have to know some time, whether before or after the wedding. It’s a situation fraught with problems, whatever happens.’ Ted shrugged,

‘Glad it’s not our problem.’ Changing the subject, ‘Patty will miss her, now that it’s clear that she won’t ever be moving back to the city.’ ‘She’ll get over it. Childhood friends go their own ways. I haven’t seen mine much since you rushed me to the alter Ted Jenkins.’ Ted grinned. ‘I didn’t notice much resistance old girl. You practically pulled me off my feet.’ Betty punched him playfully on the arm. ‘I’ll have you know that I thought very hard about making such a big decision.’ She paused ‘but I’m so glad I did, you infuriating man.’ Ted leaned over to his wife and kissed her tenderly on the mouth. She sighed and parted her lips slightly. Wordlessly they rose and walked arms around each other to the bedroom. Once there the familiar urgency arose, along with the fumbling. ‘Damn, I still haven’t got the hang of these brassiere things.’ Betty pushed Ted’s hands away and quickly stepped out of her remaining clothes. They fell, onto the made bed. I must wash the linen tomorrow flashed through Betty’s thoughts before she was overtaken by the first flushes of desire. Ted’s practiced hands, lips and tongue gradually raised her to a stunning climax that she strove unsuccessfully to confine by constricting her throat. Damn the neighbours, her final scream burst the banks of suburban decorum. Exhausted, both lay for several minutes, enjoying the post-coital satisfaction of total release. ‘Phew,’ finally ventured Ted. ‘Nice to know there’s life after marriage.’ ‘Don’t you belittle our blessings Ted Jenkins. We should count them.’ ‘I do,’ replied Ted seriously and then added, ‘Maybe we could go again, get the count up, you know.’ Betty laughed, rolled over and pummelled him until he managed to get her arms under control. ‘All right, all right. I submit.’ They lay together quietly until the long shadows of evening began to creep over

the side lawn and approach the entry porch. Betty suddenly sprang out of bed, rushed to the bathroom and returned to begin dressing hurriedly. ‘Patty and James will be back soon from their picnic with Frieda and John. We’re all having dinner together. The two lovebirds head back to Beechworth tomorrow. You’d better get the wood in from the shed. We’ll need a fire tonight.’ Ted, resigned, rose slowly from the bed and pulled his clothes back on. He’d wash later. ‘Make sure you clean yourself up and get decent.’ The voice echoed from the kitchen. ‘Okay dear. I’m just off to get the wood. Then I’ll wash and change.’ Can’t let the youngsters know they’re not the only ones hot to trot, he said quietly to himself. Humming softly, he walked out of the back door and went to do battle with the splintered redgum and redback spiders.

May 1935

Autumn was well on the way out, as the morning temperature fell towards freezing. Winter was fast approaching and promising to be severe. Jack Frost was about, busy destroying carefully tended vegetable gardens. Even the snails stayed stock still, cocooned in their hard, brown shells. The plane trees up and down the street had lost almost all their leaves. Only a few hardy reddish ones clung onto bare branches. The grounds around the trunks were ankle deep in dead leaves that rustled as the chill wind blew the topmost along the street . Each morning, residents could be seen blowing on their hands while they raked leaves into the gutter, where they set light to the neat piles. Smoke issued upward in small bonfires. Ted had already had a ton of wood delivered by Crapper and Sons - ‘Crapper does the biggest tons in town’ boasted the sign on the large cart pulled by the even larger draught horse. The wood now lay neatly stacked in the shed out the back, ready to be dragged into the lounge room to feed the hungry fire. The Crapper delivery had been supplemented by a load of offcuts Ted had salvaged from a demolition site two miles away. Laboriously cut into twelveinch lengths, this would, Ted hoped, get them through the winter without having to pay for a return visit from Crapper and Sons. Ted and most of his fellow customers knew that the ‘Sons’ appellation was imaginary, the dream, unrealised, of William senior, who had three daughters, none of whom had shown any interest in going into the family business and every interest in marrying in order to change their surname. It was towards the middle of the month when the Jenkins family returned from attending Frieda’s wedding. After all the excitement, a flat atmosphere pervaded number 24 Ross Street. Ted was increasingly frustrated by his lack of advancement in a state public service that continued to demand ever more economies and in which those officers senior to him clung onto their positions like limpets. There was no prospect of new positions opening up and failing an unexpected economic recovery or a serious bout of bubonic plague, little would change in the foreseeable future. Patty was moping around, barely able to conjure up the energy to go to work.

‘What is wrong with that girl?,’ said Ted irritably one morning as he sat at the breakfast table. His wife looked up from her poached egg. ‘I expect she’s mooning around wondering when her turn will come. Frieda’s wedding was exciting for her and she loved the whole experience, the dresses, the ceremony, the wedding breakfast. But I saw her face fall when Frieda, radiant with happiness and dressed in her going away outfit was whisked out the door by John on the way to their honeymoon at Merimbula. She’s impatient for James to formally declare himself.’ ‘Yes, well it’s certainly about time. They’ve been going out for what, three years now. He’s finished his studies and has a good job and is able to a family. Perhaps I should have a little word with him.’ ‘Don’t you even think of doing any such thing Ted Jenkins! Patty would never forgive you.’ Ted was surprised at his wife’s vehement response. ‘Why ever not? I only meant that I would gently ask him what his intentions were, marriage-wise that is.’ ‘Well, don’t! I know what your ‘gently ask’ means. You’ll scare away the lad. Leave them be, it will all work out.’ Patty Jenkins was indeed fretting about what she thought of as ‘her situation’. She didn’t even have Frieda to confess her fears to. From having kind and generous feelings about John McFadden and Frieda, her thoughts turned dark. How was it that Frieda had all the luck? And then, reality caught up. Frieda, her best friend, had suffered terribly, having to deny her child. Feeling ashamed, Patty castigated herself for her uncharitable and selfish thoughts. She made an effort to appear cheerful and helpful around the house. Only in the private confines of her mind did the demon of self-pity burrow away. Nearby, James Kennedy was screwing his courage to the sticking place. It was time. His twenty-first birthday was fast approaching. It would, he thought, be an ideal occasion to also celebrate his engagement to Patty. But first he had to ask her. This, he thought, would be the easy part. She had long given him to understand that she was his, and for years he had looked seriously at no other girl, not even the sexy piece at work who leant provocatively over his desk when

delivering the daily mail. No, it was the prospect of asking Patty’s father for her hand in marriage that terrified him. He wasn’t sure why. Ted was no monster. He had always treated him well, kindly even. And yet, every time he thought about the scene and rehearsed his little speech, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Each day, he promised himself - tomorrow, he’d do it tomorrow. And when tomorrow came around, he’d do it the next day. Two weeks ed in this fashion before, on an unexpectedly sunny Friday, James rose determined that today would be the day. Throughout the workday, James’ resolve held. On stepping from the city train at his station, he jammed his hat on in determination, swung his furled umbrella like a sword, and headed on foot at a brisk pace towards Ross Street. Only on turning into the familiar street did his pace and resolve slacken. Damn it, get hold of yourself Kennedy. What are you, man or mouse? He reached his hand into his left tro pocket and felt the small square box. Tapping the box twice for luck and with the internal challenge stirring his loins, and powering his legs, he charged through the Jenkins front gate and strode to the door. Betty had glimpsed his entry at the gate through the dining room window as she was setting the dinner table and was waiting in the hallway near the front door. At the first knock she opened the door. ‘Oh James, what a pleasant surprise. Do come in out of the cold. Patty’s not home yet. She had some typing to do for her manager before the weekend, but I don’ think she will be long. Come and we’ll have a cup of tea while we wait.’ James was put off by this unexpected welcome. ‘Thanks Mrs. Jenkins but it’s Mr. Jenkins I’ve come to talk to,’ he said awkwardly. ‘He’ll be home soon too. I’m surprised he wasn’t on your train.’ At that moment the man himself appeared in the doorway. ‘James, I thought I saw you jump off the train before it stopped. I yelled out but you went out the gate like Harold Larwood galloping to the crease. It’s good to see you, where have you been lately?’ Ted’s sudden appearance did nothing to quell James’ nerves, but it was now or never.

‘Er, I wondered sir, if I might have a word with you. In private.’ Ted glanced at Betty and raised his eyebrows a shade. She nodded sideways, indicating the lounge room. Ted caught the look. He hung his coat and hat on the rack next to the door and stood his umbrella in the mock elephant’s foot nearby. ‘Well come on lad, let’s make ourselves comfortable near the fire. It’s perishing cold out there.’ Ted’s jovial manner put James at ease and, with a quick smile at Betty, he followed her husband into the lounge room. As Ted settled into his armchair and began to tamp the tobacco in his pipe, his thoughts returned to a similar scene twenty-five years before when he had sat uncomfortably in James’ seat. ‘What’s up, you’re not in any trouble, are you?’ ‘No sir. Nothing like that.’ James sat upright and leant forward. ‘I think you know how much I think of Patty. In fact, I love her, have always loved her. I’m here to ask you and Mrs. Jenkins for your permission to marry her. If you agree I promise to...’ Before James could finish Ted had risen stepped across to James and hauled him out of his perch. ‘Of course, you have our permission - and our blessing. I can think of no one I’d like more for a son than you. And Betty feels the same way.’ As James stood there awkwardly hugging his father-in-law-to-be, a huge wave of relief spread over him. ‘Thank you, sir, thank you. I won’t let you down. I will guard Patty with my life. She means the world to me.’ Betty who had been quietly listening in the hallway, came into the room beaming and hugged both men, tears streaming down her face. They were still locked in an embrace when the object of their t love walked into the room. ‘Hello you three. What’s all the celebration about? Her parents smiled, and Ted

said, ‘I think young James has something to say to you.’ Patty watched as her parents left the room. When she turned back, she found James kneeling down and looking up at her, holding the small square box. Patty’s heart thudded against her chest and her hands went to her face. ‘Patty Florence Jenkins will you please marry me?’ James tried to continue but Patty squealed and threw herself onto his half-prone body. ‘Yes, yes! Mum. Dad. Come in here.’ Patty’s voice sang and her eyes were bright with tears. Betty and Ted, smiling, re-entered the room. ‘Hello, has one of you injured yourself?’ Ted’s eyes twinkled. ‘No, no sir,’ said James, struggling to stand with Patty hanging off his neck. Betty took charge. ‘Well, no need to tell what’s just happened. Congratulations to both of you. Ted, where’s that special bottle?’ While her father went off to fetch the wine, Patty and her mother hugged again and the three of them sat down on the dark floral lounge. Patty had already wrenched open the box and exclaimed. ‘Oh James, it’s beautiful. Look Mum, a diamond in the middle and smaller ones around it.’ She lifted the ring from its soft base and slipped it onto her ring finger. Holding it at various angles, she lifted it to her lips and kissed the stones. ‘I’m never going to take it off!’ Betty ed in her daughter’s enthusiasm and on his return, Ted was enrolled in the mutual iration society. Secretly, Betty’s estimation of her future son-inlaw rose. The ring was splendid. His choice showed both good taste and thoughtfulness. I wonder how much it cost him. It must have taken him ages to save up to buy it. All these thoughts flashed through Betty’s mind as she watched her daughter’s giddy delight. James felt a great sense of relief but at the same time a somewhat flat feeling

stole over him. He had thought so often of this moment and now it had happened and the realisation that this was one of those moments in life, a turning point of no return. What, he thought, would the future hold? As is often fortunate in the lives of mere mortals, the future is beyond human horizons. The arrow of time flies in one direction only. To know the future, one has to get there. And getting there means confronting and overcoming unexpected and unwelcome happenings along the way. Only I, who have a long, long past and an even longer future knows what is in store - eventually - the slow remorseless rundown of the universe as the source of our energy, the glorious sun that earlier peoples wisely worshipped as the giver of life, collapses into itself dragging all of us into that last great, mysterious, all-pervading darkness. But it is the near future that will test our current characters. Winter will fall in its full fury before the first stirrings of a renewing Spring signal the eventual burst into summer again.

July 1935

The day of James’ twenty-first birthday shook off the rain that had made the earlier days that week miserable. A cold wintry sun shone weakly on the residents of Ross street as Patty and her parents sat down to breakfast. Betty looked at her daughter. ‘Well dear, it’s a big day for your intended. Twenty-one. Do you your coming of age, Ted?’ Her husband stopped; his knife held hovering over the butter. ‘I certainly do. My brother woke me by pulling me out of my bed by one foot.’ ‘Why on earth did he do that?’ Patty laughed and nearly choked on her toast. ‘Go easy, girl. I don’t want to have to tell James that his fiancé died of vegemite. To answer your question, my brother Bobby had a warped sense of humour, ask your mother.’ Patty looked at Betty quizzically. ‘Warped is hardly the word. He was and still is an unrepentant practical joker. The first time I sat down to dinner with Ted’s family, he put a sharp object under the seat cover. I jumped and yelled. I was so embarrassed. Bobby roared with laughter. So did your father and his father. Only his mother, God bless her, took my side and tore strips off the boys. I was so relieved. I think it’s what made us firm friends until the day she died. Your father, I need not tell you, got precious little joy from me for the following week.’ ‘Yes, I was really in the doghouse. Had to serve my time before I came back into the sunlight. Fortunately, my charm was irresistible.’ ‘You were lucky, Ted Jenkins - very lucky. Not that it’s stopped you from pushing the limits, mind. Maybe I should have taken the hint and looked elsewhere then and there.’ Patty smiled at the familiar banter between her parents. She hoped that in twenty

years she and James would be as close. She looked around the familiar room, the only kitchen she had known. How long would she continue to be there? What would her own kitchen be like? She looked at her parents. Both seemed as they had always been, rock firm in her life. But time’s blade was beginning to carve its initials into their beloved faces. Her father seemed a little slower of gait, a bit more stooped, greyer in hair and complexion. Her mother’s complexion was a little redder, the skin around her throat a bit slacker. Age will catch us all in its restless, remorseless march. So important, then, to grab youth when we can. That reminded her. ‘Mum, I want to wrap my present for James. I’m going to give it to him this afternoon before the crowd gathers at the civic centre. I thought I’d buy some special paper at the Newsagent by the station when I meet Frieda and John there at noon.’ Patty’s friend and her new husband were arriving that morning and would stay for three days in the small sleepout that Ted had recently built onto the back of the house. She had been looking forward to the big day for weeks and hoped that James would like the stylish wristwatch that she had saved up to buy, the one with a sleek ‘art deco’ look and a real leather band. She had thought long and hard about the inscription engraved on the back, finally deciding on ‘Yours forever, Patty.’ ‘Then better move yourself, Patty. You don’t want to miss our visitors.’ Patty grinned at her father, jumped up from the table and rushed for the bathroom. There was much to do before she would be ready to appear as number one guest at the party. The next hour saw hair scrupulously washed and dried, the curlers applied, and the party dress hung on the back of the bedroom door awaiting a last-minute press later that day. Ted watched his daughter race from the kitchen. ‘That girl is getting scattier every day. It’ll be a good thing when she’s finally married.’ Ted paused as the prospect of life after Patty had left to start her own home hit him. ‘But I’m going to miss her terribly.’ ‘We both will dear. She has been part of our life for virtually all our time together. And a joy always. But it’s time that she and James made their way, just

as we did.’ Betty tore her thoughts away from her daughter’s wedding. ‘I do hope that James’ party goes off without problems.’ ‘Why shouldn’t it?’ Betty thought for a moment before answering. ‘His mother, Jean. She still hasn’t fully accepted that her son is to marry a Protestant. I know that Patty is very nervous around her. It’s not a good start to be at odds with one’s mother-in-law. I was so lucky with your mother. A marriage can be difficult if the son is forced to choose between mother and wife. I don’t care about Jean. In fact, I don’t really like her. But I’m going to damn well try, for our Patty. So, I don’t want any of your Catholic-baiting. Ever!’ ‘You’re right about that. She’s a sour puss, right enough. But I’ll mind my ps and qs, for Patty’s sake. That woman should be pleased. We’ve moved the party at which the engagement of our only daughter is to be announced from our church hall to the Town Hall civic room, just so as not to outrage her ladyship’s religious sensibilities.’ Catching Betty’s warning eye, he continued, ‘Yes, yes, I’m only saying that to you. I won’t say boo at the party.’ Betty was hardly reassured but would have to accept her husband’s vague promise. Nevertheless, he would need close watching. She sighed, rising from the table to begin to clear the dishes.

James and Patty sat close together on the large sofa in front of the fire at number 24. They had kicked off their shoes. James had flung his jacket over the back of his chair and Patty’s carefully removed Irish linen wrap had been draped over the arm of her chair. Frieda and John had excused themselves and headed off to bed. The hardwood log crackled and hissed out the last remaining droplets of water, courtesy of an afternoon shower that snaked onto the front porch and kissed the wood basket by the front door. James leant forward and worried the fire with an old iron poker, then tossed another log onto the angry flame that spat back in spite. The fire licked its way around the newcomer as James settled back and ran his hand over Patty’s slim shoulder, coming to rest on her upper arm.

She sighed and buried her head further into his chest, while taking his hand and placing it over her right breast. She tilted her head back invitingly and he bent over to kiss her. A long, slow, delicious kiss. ‘How does it feel to be a grown up?’ Patty smiled and he was struck as always by the sheer beauty of his loved one. Her blue eyes threw images of the roaring fire, dazzling him. There was a golden fringe bordering her red, red hair. ‘Lucky!’ How had he landed this one? Why did she choose him? There were plenty of others. He saw how other men gathered around her when they were out together. Tonight, at the party, he’d had to fight off several of his mates and one or two men he didn’t know to get a dance! Jesus, it was like a scrum. Through it all Patty just smiled her dazzling smile and rode the room’s iration without showing any signs that she understood the effect she had. And not just on the men. Some of the women there flashed warning signs at their men, while others ed in the innocent laughter. His mother too eventually warmed up to the occasion and made a very gracious speech, singing his praises and welcoming Patty and her family. Only long acquaintance made James aware of the reserve that lingered there, a silent barrier that would forever mark his straying from the flock. Still, that was her problem. He would always put Patty first, Patty and any children they would have together. ‘You’re very quiet, darling.’ Patty sensed deep thoughts in the man to whom she had tied her future. ‘Just thinking about how beautiful you look tonight.’ ‘Nice save, boy.’ ‘I mean it. You look stunning. I could hardly get you away from your irers all night.’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I barely looked at anyone else at the party.’ ‘Well, I can’t say the same for the rest of the room. You were the centre of all eyes.’ James laughed and bent his head to another long kiss. ‘Mmmm,’ Patty responded by pushing her body into his. James shifted slightly and withdrew his hand until he felt the zip at the top of Patty’s dress. She leant

forward a little, and he slowly pulled the zip down until there was room to slip his other hand down the front of her dress. In a move much practiced over recent weeks he gently cupped her left breast and began to caress the warm flesh. Pulling the dress down further, he exposed the breast and bent his mouth to the nipple. Thus far and no further had been the unwritten rule between them. Patty, he knew, would have gone further, trusted him, wanted him. It was he who suggested they wait until they could enjoy each other without furtively looking over their shoulders. He wanted it to be perfect. They heard the car drive into the driveway. Patty’s parents were home. By the time Betty and Ted entered the lounge room, having divested themselves of coats and hats at the front door, both young people were standing holding hands. ‘Thank God, the fire’s going.’ Ted rubbed his hands together as he and Betty warmed themselves before the flames. Ted turned and said heartily, ‘A fine party James. Your parents did a first-rate job. Even had a polite conversation with your mother.’ ‘What Ted means,’ added Betty quickly, ‘was that everyone got on very well, a good sign for the future. Now what about a nice cup of tea.?’ ‘No thanks Betty, I’d better be off home. As penance I promised to attend Mass tomorrow with my mother. That means an early start.’ James was still getting used to calling Patty’s parents by their given names. ‘I’ll walk you to the gate, James.’ Patty was loath to see her lover go. ‘Bye Betty, bye Mister er Ted.’ ‘Goodnight James, Watch the cars on the High street, nearly got clocked by some idiot turning out of our street.’ As the young couple walked out into the hallway and through the front door Betty remarked, ‘Well, that went off well enough. I don’t mind telling you I was nervous all day hoping that there’d be no awkwardness with James’ mother tonight.’ Betty’s body noticeably relaxed.

‘She seemed fine, well, fine for someone with a broom up her back age.’ ‘Your incorrigible Ted Jenkins. Get yourself to bed.’ Betty smiled in spite of herself. Really, what would she do with her man? ‘Who could argue with such an order.’ Laughing they both went off to the bedroom calling out their goodnight to Patty as she came back into the house. Patty locked the door behind her and headed down the age to her bedroom. Not for much longer she thought.

The following morning the house slept late. It was almost ten when the Jenkins, Frieda and John sat down to a hearty breakfast. The sun shone through the kitchen window, as if to bestow its blessing on the forthcoming union. John was wearing a checked shirt tucked into casual tros, his beard neatly trimmed and matching black hair combed back from his broad, honest face that betrayed a strained, puzzled look. ‘Could you the marmalade, John?’ Frieda shot her husband a cool look. He quietly reached over and ed the glass dish to his wife. No words were spoken. Ted looked at Patty and raised his eyebrows slightly. Betty paused in the act of ladling the porridge. Clearly not all was rosy between their guests. Patty tried to lighten the mood. ‘Well, I did enjoy last night. And I think James did too.’ Silence followed until John finally replied awkwardly, ‘Yes, I ‘m sure he did. Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy went to a lot of trouble to make us feel welcome.’ ‘And you certainly took advantage of the welcome.’ Frieda’s intervention was sharp, her mouth set in a severe line, causing the others round the table to stop and stare at the couple. Frieda continued, ‘You spent the night talking to that girl from James’ school, or something. ‘You mean Melissa.’ John replied. ‘And she works with James. She was very interested in how we raise our pigs.’

‘Oh yes, she just loved the pigs, couldn’t get enough of them. And the sheep, she just couldn’t hear enough about them either.’ John’s ears were beginning to turn red. ‘I just don’t know what you’re on about. One of James’ friends is interested in farming. What’s wrong with that?’ ‘Nothing you’d know about.’ Frieda threw down her napkin, stood and rushed from the room. John groaned. ‘I do apologise for this Mrs. Jenkins. I don’t know what’s come over Frieda. She’s so moody these days, seems to find fault in everything I do.’ Patty stood and said, ‘Don’t worry John. I’ll go to her and see if I can help.’ She skipped out of the kitchen and walked down the hallway to the sleepout. Muffled tears floated back to those remaining seated awkwardly at the table. John looked positively miserable. ‘Don’t worry, John, it’s probably just some female thing,’ Ted added helpfully. ‘And what would you know about female things,’ Betty bristled and then continued more gently, ‘but Ted is right, probably Frieda is feeling out of her normal domestic routine. It’s always difficult for new wives to live in other people’s houses, even when she has known us most of her life. Patty will sort it out. Try and finish your porridge before it gets too cold.’ Breakfast was long completed, and the dishes washed and put away before Patty and Frieda ed the others taking advantage of the wan winter sun on the side porch. ‘I’m sorry Mrs. Jenkins for my rude behaviour this morning.’ Frieda’s head was lowered, and she spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Nonsense, dear, come over here and sit in the sunshine. We don’t want to send you back with a cold.’ Frieda sat obediently and John came around and sat beside her.

The rest of the morning was spent in desultory fashion until it was time for the couple to leave to catch the train into the city, there to pick up the Albury train north. Ted backed the car out of the garage and helped John load the suitcases into the boot. The two men got into the front and the two girls sat in the back, holding hands. Betty walked after the reversing car and stood waving at the front gate. ‘Safe trip. Keep in touch, bye. Bye.’ Nothing was said as Ted drove to the nearby station, until just before arriving there, Patty whispered to Frieda, ‘Now what I said and write to me often.’ Frieda just nodded miserably. The car pulled up outside the ticket office. John went to buy the tickets to town while Ted unloaded and carried the two brown cases onto the platform. The two girls stood, arm in arm, talking quietly. Patty was dressed in a mid-length emerald green dress with a wide collar. Frieda’s more sensible travelling clothes were a duller green, with matching hat and gloves. Frieda’s flat shoes were a concession to her long held concern at the height difference with her old friend. ‘Here it comes.’ A flurry of red carriages, grimy with years of service rattled noisily into the platform. A guard in blue uniform carrying a small red flag stepped from the guard’s room and peered up and down the platform. Another guard alighted from the rear carriage and stood still, gazing back at his colleague by the gate. Patty helped Frieda climb into the carriage while the two men heaved the cases into the small compartment. John finally stepped aboard, and Ted banged the heavy door closed and tested the handle. The first guard raised his flag, a signal for the second standing at the rear to raise his. The driver responded and the train lurched forward with a wrenching groan. Patty and Ted walked along following the train as it gathered pace. ‘Bye John, bye Frieda. Write soon.’ They watched until the train rounded the bend out of sight. Back in the car Ted said. ‘Well, that was difficult. I hope you managed to get some sense into that girl.’ ‘Don’t you worry Dad. Everything will be fine. They will work it out.’

With that cryptic comment, discussion ceased and not another word issued forth from Patty Jenkins until later that evening when she was washing the dishes in the kitchen with her mother. ‘Frieda’s pregnant. She found out last week.’ ‘That’s wonderful, isn’t it, dear?’ ‘Well, yes ...and no.’ ‘But surely, it’s what they both want, a family. John must be delighted.’ ‘That’s just it. Frieda hasn’t told him yet.’ Betty put down the large pot she was washing. ‘Not told him. Why ever not?’ ‘She’s scared Mum.’ ‘But she’s healthy and has already given birth to a perfectly healthy child.’ ‘It’s not that. She’s scared that she’ll feel the same way about the new baby that she did about Roddy, sort of detached.’ ‘But this time is quite different. It’s her baby and John’s, conceived in love (and matrimony, thought Betty to herself). She will have time to get to know the baby and will have a loving husband to help her. There won’t be the pressures she was under the first time’ ‘I tried to tell her all this, Mum. But underneath there’s the fear that somehow the truth about Roddy will come out and she’ll have to tell John. I think she’d rather die than face that. She really loves him.’ Patty’s eyes filled with tears. Betty hugged her daughter and said, ‘I’ve seen much more of life that you have, darling. I know Frieda will be fine and that once the news of the new baby is out, everyone will gather around her and make this the wonderful experience that bringing new life into the world is.’ ‘Oh, Mum, I do so hope you are right.’ But later that evening, talking quietly with Ted in the loungeroom, she expressed

the doubts that continued to linger. ‘I didn’t want to worry Patty, but I fear that Roddy’s birth will always throw a shadow over Frieda’s life. It’s no small thing to give birth to and lose a child, especially one that lives with your own parent.’ Ted just nodded, what could anyone do?

August 1935

Patty ran into the loungeroom clutching a letter. ‘You were right Mum. Frieda has told John - about the new baby, I mean - and he’s over the moon. Can’t stop smiling and stopping locals in the street to tell them the glad tidings. Listen to this, “Dear Patty, yesterday I told John that we are going to have a baby and he yelled, picked me up and twirled me around until he suddenly stopped and very gently put me down on a comfortable chair. He didn’t want me to do anything. This is the man who has watched his sheep and cattle bring lambs and calves into the world all his life! He then ran back and forth like a mad thing, bringing me water, cushions for my back and generally making an ass of himself. I finally convinced him that he should go to the big house and tell his parents and brothers the news. He agreed, after covering me with kisses. I’ve never felt so loved. He ran out the door without his hat, jumped on his horse and rode away like the hounds of hell were in hot pursuit.”’ Here Patty paused to catch her breath. By this time, she and her mother had sat down at the table. Patty continued reading, “Fifteen minutes later the whole lot of them rode into the front yard and ran into the house. John’s parents, Bill and Doreen grabbed me and practically squeezed the breath out of me. One of his brothers waltzed me around the room until John forced him to stop. It was bedlam, everyone talking at once. Finally, they all left, and John and I spent the rest of the day just talking and planning our life. Oh, Patty, I’m so happy. Must go now, will write again soon, your pal F.”’ Patty put down the letter and looked at her mother. ‘Whew, what about that, then?’ Betty smiled. ‘I think things will be fine from here.’ ‘Yes,’ Patty replied mentally adding up the months. ‘It will be close, but I think, I hope that Frieda will still be able to be my Matron of honour in December.’ ‘All that will take care of itself. Now we can really begin to concentrate on your wedding arrangements.’

The world turned and the lives of the residents of Ross street continued on their well-trodden paths, as new storm clouds gathered over the lives of men and women. Large forces that would sweep away the plans of Frieda and John and many, many others already lay on the drawing board of history. As I had observed so often, humans lived out their small existences oblivious to what the future has in store, until the future bursts upon their unsuspecting lives throwing up undreamt of problems and opportunities. Winter was about to descend with a deadly chill. But before that became crystal clear, a great day in the lives of two young people dawned.

December 1935

Early in the month Melbourne sweltered through a heat wave that sparked bushfires in the Victorian Alps and Gippsland. Smoke blown from the east created a dim haze over Melbourne. People could taste it, a bitter acrid taste that clung to the back of the throat. Tasmania and parts of New South Wales also experienced the familiar flame of summer. The air reeked of ash and burning tar. The very roads seemed to be belching their protests to the weary residents. As the days of stifling heat followed one another, temperatures rose, and anxieties were stoked at number 24 Ross Street. The wedding day was fast approaching, and the household was operating at full pitch. ‘This damn heat. I can’t believe it! I’m going to boil in this thing.’ Standing in the main bedroom, gazing at her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror, Patty tugged at the neckline of her wedding dress. The precious dress had been slightly shortened and taken in at the waist, Betty’s expert fingers having worked their magic. The long train and veil lay separately on the bed. The aunties and various friends had vied to provide a choice of things borrowed and things blue, things old and things new. ‘Stop yanking your dress, you’ll tear the lace’ Betty Jenkins brushed down the fragile lace collar that lay across her daughter’s shoulder. ‘But it’s so hot.’ Both women were showing signs of fatigue and the sense that time was running out. There was still so much to do. The local Methodist chapel had been booked for the Saturday ceremony four days hence. Patty had insisted on her Minister marrying them there and James had offered no objections. His parents had withdrawn from the field but agreed to attend the ceremony and celebration at the Jenkins’ house afterwards. Mrs. Kennedy had promised to pray for them at St. Francis before the ceremony. The cars for the bride and bridesmaids would be provided at a large discount by Ricky Barrett, now the sole owner of the local garage and manager of a growing car hire business. Ted had organised delivery of the liquid refreshments and

Betty, aided by Shauna and several other ladies in the street, was about to embark on a marathon baking effort. No one would go hungry at the reception. James had been banned from the house on the off chance that he might catch a glimpse of his bride-to-be in her dress, and so doom the union from the start. Frieda was arriving later that day and she and one of Patty’s work friends were to have their bridesmaid’s dresses fitted the next day. Fifteen-year-old Amy Mattingly would be the third bridesmaid and would be ing her colleagues for the final fitting. James had arranged the flowers for the bride and bridesmaids, grumbling quietly to his best man about the cost. ‘Come on dear, hop out of your dress and we’ll hang it safely out of sight. I’m so grateful to your Aunt Sally for lending us her wedding dress. I when she wore it, just before the war, a few weeks before your father and I were married. I confess to being jealous at the time. Sally’s dress was so beautiful. She was a skilled seamstress and had refashioned her mother’s dress that was made in England before they emigrated. The dress was designed by a lady who provided dresses to Queen Victoria! Can you believe it? Sally has carefully kept the dress under wraps ever since and we need to return it in the same condition. To think that all these years later my daughter would wear to her wedding a dress made by the couturier to the Queen of England!’ ‘Well, I guess that the Queen didn’t have to wear the dresses in hundred-degree temperatures.’ But secretly Patty was as thrilled as her mother. She carefully stepped out of the white folds, and gently gathered up the long lace train. Together mother and daughter hung the dress on a satin covered coat hanger and eased on a clean coverall before placing the treasured artefact in the deepest recess of the large mahogany wardrobe, where a slight smell of mothballs and camphor met the nose.

While the women were in the front room, Ted and Bob Mattingly were enjoying a cold beer on the back veranda, mercifully shaded by the branches and leaves of a large nectarine tree. ‘Looks like you’ll have a pretty good crop this year,’ Bob nodded at the tree and the rapidly ripening fruit hanging from overloaded boughs. The sweet smell of summer caught both men, as they drank heartily.

‘We always end up with too many, so feel free to take as many as you like. Normally Betty preserves the ones we can’t eat, and we get them served up stewed and warm with thick cream next winter. But with the wedding and what not, that’s out the window for the moment. The women can think of nothing but this wedding. I must say, I’ll be happy when it’s all done and dusted.’ Ted paused before adding in a more reflective tone. ‘But I will miss our gorgeous girl.’ A vision of four-year-old Patty reaching up for her father as a neighbourhood dog rushed up to greet them rose before him. Ah, so many wonderful days, now past forever. ‘I know what you mean. It’s bedlam at my house.’ Bob missed the change in his friend’s demeanour. ‘Amy is almost potty with excitement at the thought of being a bridesmaid. I must say that Patty is very kind to ask her. She is at that awkward, gangly, giggling stage.’ Ted recovered himself. ‘Patty’s delighted to have her in the wedding party. You know how much she has always liked your children. I’m just glad that we’ve all been able to keep in touch since you moved away from Ross Street.’ Bob wiped sweat from his brow, dabbing a handkerchief at his face and neck. ‘You’ve been good friends to Viv and me Ted, especially in the dark days. You know you can count on us anytime you need to.’ Bob looked down at this glass, his thoughts flashing back to the year of despair. Ted reached over with the bottle and topped up Bob’s drink. Embarrassed, Ted changed the subject. ‘Here, what’s happening with that son of yours? He must be getting ready to leave school.’ ‘Already has, mate. He’s gone and ed the air force. Wants to fly aeroplanes, would you believe? Can’t get enough of them. Rides his bike out to Essendon airport every chance he gets and sits by the outer fence noting down every plane that takes off and lands. He can name everyone. He and a few school mates formed a club. They pool their pocket money to buy and share any book or magazine that has anything to do with flying. He and another mate went and found out how to up and off they went. He had to get my permission. What could I do? He’d have waited a few months and then ed without my tick. However, I’m not very popular with Viv. She’s terrified of flying and is certain he’ll end up crashing into the sea like Kingsford Smith.’

Both men paused and reflected. News had recently come through that Australia’s greatest aviator, Charles Kingsford Smith had died, plunging into the Andaman Sea. Ted replied, ‘It’s not the safest job in the world for sure but you’ve got to hand it to the boy. He always has been a goer.’ ‘True, sometimes too much so. He was always getting into fights on the footie field and in the school yard, usually sticking up for smaller kids like that little fella Flea, the one who used to rush around shooting off cap guns.’ Ted nodded, ‘There’s not much of that nowadays. All the children that used to hare around the neighbourhood have grown up and moved away. The street is pretty quiet, just us old folks pottering around. I guess it won’t be too long before I’m a grandfather. Patty has always wanted to be a mother. I just hope they give themselves a little time to get used to married life before the sleepless nights and cranky mornings come. Marriage is no land of universal milk and honey.’ ‘You can hum that again, mate. Any more beer?’ ‘What are you two up to?’ Betty had silently appeared around the corner. ‘Nothing much, just chewing the fat and putting the world to order. Bob was just saying how much his Amy is looking forward to the big day.’ He lit the citron lamps in a losing battle against the gathering horde of mosquitoes. ‘We’re delighted she agreed to be Patty’s bridesmaid, Bob.’ ‘Agreed! You’d have needed a bullwhip to keep her away.’ The three friends laughed and sat together gently reminiscing over times past, until the evening cool crept up and chased the demon heat from the dying day. Betty stood up and called to the others, ‘Come on let’s get into the house. I’ve got some light supper.’ The three ed Patty at the dining room table. Later, as they cleaned up the last remains of Betty’s meal of canned salmon and salad with her special mayonnaise sauce, Bob remarked, ‘Have you heard that the King is very sick, not expected to

last until Christmas?’ ‘No! I thought he was on the mend.’ Betty was genuinely shocked. King George V had been on the throne for all of her married life. He and Queen Mary were the bedrock of her comfortable world. As King of the United Kingdom and the Dominions, Emperor of all India, the royal couple seemed the permanent basis on which civilisation rested. ‘Only a matter of time, they say.’ Who ‘they’ were was not clear but all three sensed that great events were afoot on the other side of the world. Like the Great Depression and the Great War, it was taken for granted that whatever affected the mother country would inevitably set off tremors in their world. ‘I hope he lives until after Patty’s wedding.’ Betty stopped, suddenly aware of what she was saying. ‘Oh dear, I don’t mean... I only meant.’ ‘I know darling. You only want everything to be perfect for our wonderful girl, not spoiled by a tragic death and all the ceremonial grieving. But whatever happens, we’ll carry on. We may be only commoners, but we are blessed to live under the protection and umbrella of this King and his successor, Edward, whenever that may be.’ Ted comforted his wife but also secretly hoped that the old king would hang on a while longer. By a sixth sense, stoked by years of close friendship, Bob picked up on his friend’s inner thoughts. ‘I hope the son’s up to the job. The King has been a steadying influence for us all through the war and now the uncertainties of the current times. Edward appears to be a bit of a playboy. His dallying with that American widow is definitely not what’s required in our next king.’ The friends mused over the rumours circulating through the gutter press and even appearing in the quality newspapers. ‘Surely, he’ll see sense and buckle down to his duty when the time comes.’ ‘I’m not so sure Ted.’ Bob scratched his chin and pondered how much he should say in mixed company. ‘My apologies Betty, but the story is that Edward is a philanderer, runs around with married women. Apparently, his father is furious with him.’

Betty chuckled, ‘You don’t have to spare my blushes Bob. The ladies at the church are much better informed than most journalists. He’s a bit of a cad but hopefully, as Ted says, he’ll settle down once the full weight of office is his. That American divorcee will be on the first liner back to New York. And good riddance. Then things will get back to normal. But I do feel for good Queen Mary.’

The three friends, and many, many more of the King’s subjects throughout the land and the empire were to be sadly disappointed in the months to come. The old king lingered on into the new year and Edward VIII’s succession buried, for a time, the rumblings that would eventually culminate in a full-blown constitutional crisis and, before the year was out, Abdication! As the storm clouds of war gathered in Europe and the Far East, the certainties of old were teetering for the few millions perched on an age-old land adrift in the Great Southern Ocean. For the first time since 1016, England would have three kings in the same year. But before all that Patty Jenkins became Patty Kennedy.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and sunny. Betty rushed into her daughter’s bedroom and threw back the curtains. ‘Look darling, it’s going to be a beautiful day.’ She smiled at her daughter. Patty yawned, stretched and sat up. She could hear her neighbour Don’s pet magpie warbling away. It seemed to be a good omen. The smell of newly mown grass wafted through the open window. ‘I can’t believe that it’s finally arrived and that by tonight I’ll be Mrs. Patricia Kennedy.’ Sun streamed into the room and lit upon Patty’s upturned face. Her eyes shone and her mother was overtaken by a tidal wave of love tinged with sadness. At that moment, Ted stuck his head in through the bedroom door, ‘By God, James is a lucky man, no doubt about that.’ ‘No Dad, I’m the lucky one. I have you and Mum and now James.’

‘Well girl, you won’t unless you get a move on. Your bridesmaids will be here in less than an hour.’ Patty yelped, leapt out of bed and ran for the bathroom. The next two hours saw the woman of the neighbourhood spring into action. Shauna, Mrs. Moat and Sandra the hairdresser from around the corner went into overdrive, helping Betty organise her daughter’s coming together. The three bridesmaids arrived to add to the logistical challenge. The level of chatter reached a decibel level only slightly below that of an aeroplane taking off. But finally, after a few minor disasters and misplaced accessories, the wedding party was ready. Lined up at the door, Betty went from one to the other, adjusting here, tucking there, primping everywhere. Finally, she checked her own image in the hall mirror, pausing to brush a recalcitrant curl back into place and carefully checking that her petticoat had not fallen into view at calf length. Satisfied, she ushered the party out onto the porch. Ted backed the first of the cars, a sleek black Buick, into the driveway. Ricky Barrett followed in a colour matching Ford. Betty carefully carried the long train over one arm as she guided Patty to the rear door of the Buick, held open by Ted. Both parents eased the bride onto the back seat and Betty spread the ivory lace train over her daughter’s knees, taking care to keep it off the spotless floor. Patty held the bridal bouquet close . Ted and Ricky had spent the previous hour meticulously cleaning and polishing every surface of both cars, inside and out. A white ribbon was neatly attached in the conventional V-pattern to the bonnet of the car and a small kewpie doll in bridal outfit graced the apex. Ted, wearing his formal suit, with carnation buttonhole in place, closed the car door gently and then held the front enger door open for his wife, before walking around and sitting next to Patty in the back seat. While this delicate manoeuvre was occurring, the three bridesmaids were escorted to the car in front. Once settled, the two cars drove sedately out onto the road and headed towards the church a mile away. Mrs. Moat and several other neighbours stood along the footpath and waved at the bridal car as it ed. The well-wishers then rushed to their cars and set out in pursuit, to the many from the neighbourhood already seated in the church awaiting the arrival of the bride. Ricky and Ted had already agreed on the roundabout route they would take. It’s unlucky to be on time, Betty had instructed

them. Better to have the gathered guests and bridegroom wait a bit. As they drove slowly along, with strangers stopping and waving good luck as they ed, Ted reflected on the day long before when he waited impatiently for his bride to arrive. Poor lad, I hope he isn’t too nervous thinking about the speech he’ll have to make on behalf of he and his new wife. ‘What are thinking about, Dad?’ Patty could sense her father deep in thought. ‘Just thinking back to the day that I married your mother and wondering where the time has gone.’ ‘You were married in Healesville, weren’t you?’ Patty was excited and sought to calm her nerves by chatting with her Dad. ‘Yes. Your grandparents had an orchard out there. It was the devil of a job getting there to see your mother. No cars or even buses in those days. Every Saturday I’d walk up to the Maroondah Highway and try to hitch a ride on any ing lorry or cart. It would usually take me half a day to get there. We’d spend the rest of the day walking and talking until it was time for me to head back into town. I’d be lucky if I got home by midnight. Still, it was worth it for those few precious hours.’ Ted’s eyes clouded over with memories that he’d almost forgotten. Patty smiled to herself. Her mother had often talked of those same heady days, the joy of anticipated visits and the pain of parting. Would she and James have such a loving and lasting life together? She was shaken from her dreaming by her father. ‘Well, here’s the church. We’ll wait for a few minutes here, just to let any stragglers beat us inside. Strict instructions from your mother.’ Betty glared across at him front the enger seat, before getting out of the car. She bent her head towards Patty and said, ‘I’ll be in the front row on the left, so proud of you my beautiful one.’ She leaned over and gently kissed her daughter on the cheek, careful not to disturb make-up and hair. Patty smiled her thanks, the butterflies beginning to stir, and watched as her mother walked up to the church door. Other guests arriving stood back in respect and with gracious bow of the head right and left, Betty disappeared into the dark vestibule.

Two hours earlier, James and his best man, school friend Simon, left James’ house, eager to walk the mile and a half to the church. James’ father followed them along the front path and all three paused at the gate. They were each wearing dark suits. James sported a bright blue tie, the object of an earlier row with his mother. ‘Surely you don’t want to look like a - Jean tried to find the right word and finally settled on - lair, do you? All the men will be wearing nice conservative ties. You’ll stand out.’ ‘Exactly what I want to do, Mother. I’m the bridegroom. If I don’t stand out on my wedding day, when else will I? Anyway, I want to accentuate Patty’s beautiful eyes.’ That clinched matters and no more was mentioned. Now standing together at the gate, his father said, ‘Well, son, this is the big day. God Bless.’ As he shook his eldest son by the hand, he slipped a ten-pound note into his top pocket. ‘Thanks Dad. I really appreciate this. I’m sorry things have been tough for you.’ Messages of silent sympathy ed between father and son. ‘Don’t worry about that. Things have a way of working themselves out - in time. Your mother will come around - in time.’ Father and son smiled at each other. As James and Simon continued through the creaking gate, his father returned to the house. The smell of Mrs. Johnson’s freshly baked bread wafted over the next door fence . She came to her front door and called out, ‘Good luck Jamie.’ Only a slight movement of the front curtain betrayed Jean Kennedy’s awareness of the tableau unfolding. Once out onto the main road the two friends began laughing. ‘I don’t believe that you’re actually going to be a married man in about two hours. You’re the first one of us to get caught, mate. No more playing the field for you.’ Simon slapped his friend on the back. ‘Clears the field for the rest of us. Stokesey, Bazza, Davo. Look out girls.’ Simon stood a head shorter than his friend, but small stature belied a big personality, at least in all-male company.

Simon’s bravado caused an inward smile. James recalled the tongue-tied efforts of his friend to chat up girls at school and now in the wider world. And as for Stokesey! He couldn’t get two syllables out in the company of the female sex. God help the girl who ended up with him! But he indulged his friend in banter. ‘Yep, that’s it for James the marauder Kennedy. Roped and hog-tied by the farmer’s daughter. Come on, mate. If we’re late, I’ll be skinned alive by the Jenkins.’ Half an hour later both sat in the front row of the small church. The walk had been more strenuous than he’d imagined. Although not baking, the sun raised a sweat and, as he sat in the cool of the church his skin tuned cold. An involuntary shudder alerted those sitting behind that the groom was nervous. ‘Poor lad,’ whispered an old lady to her friend. ‘Just stage fright,’ her friend whispered back. James heard and the back of his neck turned red. Get a grip you idiot. So nerved he waited impatiently as the church began to slowly fill with family, friends and curious neighbours. One or two older inhabitants, whose Saturdays were often spent attending the weddings of complete strangers slipped in unnoticed and sat at the back, clutching small bags of rice. ‘When the hell are they going to get here?,’ muttered James out of the side of his mouth. Just as the waiting began to be unbearable, Simon dug him in the side. ‘Look!,’ he hissed. James turned to see the mother of the bride enter the church and walk down the aisle, pausing briefly to chat with friends along the way. Finally, she reached the front and smiled at James before taking her seat on the opposite side of the aisle, where Viv Mattingly and Shauna Hennessy were already seated. Their dresses contrasted wildly. Viv’s dress was conservative as were her gloves and shoes, and Shauna was clothed in emerald green with an elaborate lacey fascinator. Two long minutes later the organ sounded the familiar bridal refrain and the gathered guests rose as one. All heads swivelled to the doorway. As the organ continued to play, Frieda followed by the two other bridesmaids appeared out of the sunlight, backlit so that it took time for their shapes to become clear. Following a little behind, father and daughter walked up the aisle. The bride’s face was covered by a veil that did nothing to hide her beaming smile. Arm in

arm the pair moved gracefully towards the Minister dressed in black, standing on a small raised platform just beyond the front row of pews. When they reached the halfway point, the Minister beckoned to James, who stood and moved to his appointed place. Simon and two groomsmen, football friends, stood slightly back and to the right of James, who whispered to his best man, ‘Have you got the ring?’ As Simon nodded, they both turned and watched as the bridesmaids took up their places to his left. The organ struck up again and the murmurs ceased. Patty and Ted walked the remaining steps to them. Patty stood next to James, as Ted stepped back and sideways before sitting next to his wife. Tears were already kissing Betty’s cheeks and Ted roughly brushed away a few of his own. Patty handed her flowers to Frieda. James and Patty touched fingers and turned towards each other smiling. This was worth waiting for! The ceremony went quickly and without a hitch. When the Minister pronounced the couple man and wife, James lifted the veil and gently kissed his bride. Spontaneous applause burst out in the congregation. The Minister, hiding his annoyance at the breach of protocol, gently guided the couple, followed by Ted and Betty, to the small vestry and opened the church . Husband and wife signed, and the age-old act was duly witnessed. James and Patty then walked back into the main church and slowly moved down the aisle, pausing to chat shyly with well-wishers on both sides. As they reentered the sunshine, they stopped and stood at the church entrance. The congregation streamed out around them and stood in the forecourt as the wedding party arranged itself around the bridal couple. Then began the tricky process of capturing the moment on film. A professional photographer had been hired for the occasion, a present from the Mattinglys. He spent a long time positioning each member of the party before taking a bevy of photographs from various distances and angles. Ted finally muttered, ‘Get a move on mate. We’re boiling out here.’ The sun shone down like a doting uncle. The couple glowed golden in its benevolent gaze. Patty and James locked eyes. With a final flourish of his camera, the photographer signalled an end to the formal proceedings. James and Patty, laughing and joking and brushing off rice hurled by enthusiastic onlookers, walked to the waiting Buick. Ricky, sweating from the long wait in a hot car, held the door for Patty, taking care not to catch

her dress as he closed it. He then dashed around and held the door for James. Once both were settled, he jumped into the driver’s seat and threw the big car into gear, following the bridesmaids’ car as both wound their way back to number 24 Ross Street. I watched as the two cars drove down the street. Both young people waved as neighbours who had not been at the church rushed onto the nature strip to offer their salutations. ‘To think,’ said old Mr. Philpot from number 7, ‘It seems like only yesterday that little Patty Jenkins was wheeling her dollies’ pram up and down in front of our house. ‘ Mrs. Philpot sighed, ‘Another one moving away. Pretty soon we’ll be the only ones left. This street has changed in so many ways since we moved in fifty years ago. So many blow-ins now.’ Mr. Philpot merely nodded sadly in agreement. Oh, Mrs. Philpot, if only you knew. Your tenure here is but a spit in time. You too will be gone before many more moons . You and everyone here today.

The wedding breakfast was in full swing when Ted tapped the side of his beer glass with a silver spoon. The people in the crowded hall and dining room pushed to peer into the loungeroom where Ted spoke. The music was turned off. Young children were hushed. ‘Guests, ladies and gentlemen, and those who are neither.’ A wave of laughter spread around the room. Betty whispered to Shauna, ‘I hope he’s not going to try and be funny.’ ‘We are here to celebrate and rejoice in the marriage of my beautiful daughter and James Kennedy. They have been steadfast friends for three years now, so it’s no surprise to any of us that they have now entered on that important and sacred path together. The family is the bedrock of our civilised society. I know that they will make a success of the life they embark upon today. I can only hope and pray that they enjoy the blessings that I have been fortunate enough to receive during my life with Patty’s mother, the person I’m proud to call my life’s partner.’ Ted spoke confidently, without glancing at the notes he’d scribbled onto an old envelope.

At this point a number of handkerchiefs were surreptitiously retrieved form hidden places and applied to tearful eyes. Betty smiled to herself. That man! And then sought her own handkerchief. Ted continued, ‘In James Kennedy we have a fine young man on the threshold of life, with the world opening before him. James, Betty and I welcome you to our family with joy and total confidence that our daughter is in fine hands. Together you two are part of the great hope for our young country. Please raise your glasses and toast the bride and groom. To Patty and James.’ The guests who were not already standing leapt to their feet, ‘To Patty and James.’ Once the hubbub had receded, James rose and stood next to Ted, their backs to the cold fireplace and mantel piece. He turned towards the guests. Never before had he felt so confident, so absolutely sure of himself. ‘On behalf of my wife and myself ‘- general cheers erupted - ‘thank you Ted for your inspiring words. You can be sure that I will do all in my power to make my life with Patty a happy and fruitful one. I hope that in the years to come you will be able to agree that Patty and I have fulfilled that promise. I hope also that our life together will be as successful as yours and Betty’s. It’s my pleasant duty to thank Patty’s wonderful bridesmaids, Amy and Sophie, and her matron of honour and lifetime friend, Frieda. They have been a great help and to my wife (more cheers). Thanks too to my best man Simon and my groomsmen, Bazza and Joey. You look almost civilised in your monkey suits (more laughs). Finally, thanks to you all for your presence and your presents. Please enjoy the hospitality of my wonderful parents-in-law. But not too much, Bazza!’ After the applause subsided, and Simon made a fair fist of replying on behalf of the bridesmaids and told a few jokes, the guests made a space in the middle of the lounge room. Ted placed a long-play record on the player. To a favourite tune of Patty’s, The Skaters’ Waltz, the bridal couple then began a slow waltz around the constricted floor while Betty felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. She quickly dabbed them away as Ted cut in and danced with his daughter, and James came over and took his mother-in-law in a classic dance stance. James’ parents ed in. The three couples carefully moved around each other like planets circling the sun.

Thus, did the evening progress. All went well. Only poor Amy had to be helped home early, having made acquaintance too eagerly with Mrs. Moat’s deliciously dangerous fruit punch. At a little after midnight, Patty and Betty slipped into the front bedroom. Ten minutes later they reappeared, Patty now dressed in her going way outfit, a teal frock with matching shoes and hat. She looked dazzling a fact ed by everyone who turned to stare. ‘Jesus Christ,’ muttered Bazza. ‘What a stunner, the lucky bastard.’ This was as articulate as he had been all evening. Having summed up the general feeling of the room, he returned to a long-term relationship with his beer glass. Patty and James then walked around chatting and shaking hands with each guest. Once this had been accomplished, they walked to the front door with the guests trailing behind. Ted and Betty stood on the side porch waving as the couple climbed into the Buick to be driven by Ricky to the Hotel Australia in the city where they were to spend the first night of their married life, before leaving for a week’s honeymoon at a guest house in the Yarra Valley.

Two weeks later on a sunny Monday morning, Patty lingered at the breakfast table., still dressed in her dressing gown, a wedding present from a distant cousin. The smell of freshly toasted bread hung in the air. Betty sat opposite, both nursing a second cup of tea. Ted and James had left for work half an hour before. Betty picked up a package, carefully wrapped in bright red paper. ‘What’s this, dear?’ Patty reached over and took the package. She read the small card attached at the side. ‘It’s a wedding present from Mr. Jones, my boss - well ex- boss.’ Like her contemporaries, Patty Jenkins had been required to resign on marrying. This is one of the strange rules that humans on my patch seem to think important, though I have no idea why. Perhaps it has something to do with giving birth to the next generation. Patty reads. ‘Dear Miss Jenkins’ -- Mr. Jones is very formal, everyone else at the bank just calls me Patty -- ‘on behalf of the bank I wish to offer my sincere

congratulations on your nuptials and to express the hope of us all at the bank that your married life will be happy and fruitful. I here enclose a small token of my gratitude for the three years and four months that you so diligently assisted our customers. Your happy disposition and cooperative demeanour will be missed. Once again, congratulations and good luck. Sincerely, Tobias Jones, J.P.’ ‘That’s a very generous and sincere testimonial, my darling. Make sure you keep it safe. You never know when a reference from a bank manager will come in handy. No one carries more weight and respect than a bank manager.’ Betty was proud of her daughter’s achievements during her short working career. Now would come another and even more important job, homemaking! ‘I guess so, more than a used car salesman, eh?’ Patty laughed. ‘Though for all Mr. Jones’ respectability, I would rather have the regard and of Ricky Barrett. Ricky is salt of the earth and would help anyone in need.’ Both women thought back to the terrible day so long before when Ricky rode out on his motor bike to rescue a small, frightened little girl, siting all alone at a strange tram stop. Oh, ladies! Just as well you did not live into the next century when the Mr. Jones of the world will seem like a long-buried fossil consigned to the white fellow’s dreaming. In that unrecognisable world to come Mr. Jones would struggle to achieve the respect accorded to the humble Ricky Barretts of the time. ‘What did they give you?’ Betty’s attention turned to the package. Patty carefully unwrapped it and set the object on the table before them. A clock. ‘Very nice, Mum. It figures though. ‘Patty’s eyes shone. ‘Mr. Jones is an absolute stickler about being on time. We had to be on duty from the moment we got in at 8:30 (not 8:31) to the moment we left at 5 p.m. Thirty minutes for lunch and then back in our cages. He tore strips off poor Sophie when she was a few minutes late getting back from buying lipstick for the wedding party. But underneath the severe exterior he’s really a bit of a softy. When Sophie and I started to get a bit teary, he immediately backed off and ushered us back to work with a cheery ‘Well, we’ll say no more about it.’ I do believe there were tears in his eyes when I went into his office on my final day to say goodbye. I have to say that he was absolutely proper in all his dealings with me and the other young woman at the bank, more than I can say for that sleezy chief clerk,

always leaning over too close when he checked our calculations at the day’s final balance. I can still his body odour and cloying after shave.’ Patty gave a small shudder. ‘Well, you won’t ever have to put up with that again,’ Betty said but then decided to let it , confident that her daughter could handle unwanted attentions. And now she had James to protect her. ‘Where are you going to put it, the clock?’ Patty looked around the kitchen. ‘Why not there, on the ledge above the sink? That way we’ll know the time when we are washing up. It’s really quite a nice cheerful clock and I like the sound it makes. And so, the bank clock, as they came to call it, found its place at number 24, happily marking off the days until it finally decamped with its owner to her new home. But that was some time down the road of time. When James and Ted arrived home, they were shown it lodged on its new perch. Each man was required to read the manager’s fulsome testimonial. ‘Well, that’s a most generous send-off Patty, a very pleasing ending to that phase of your life.’ Ted raised his pre-dinner glass of beer and toasted his daughter. ‘Now for the exciting next stage.’ Patty smiled but deep inside, a small pang of regret echoed. She had what she wanted, the man she loved and the promise of a life building a family, just like her parents. But she had enjoyed her three years at the bank, liked dealing day to day with the customers, seeing their smiles, hearing about their issues, consoling wives who found out with a shock that their husbands had unknown to them withdrawn money for the pub or races. She loved the suppressed laughter and gossip with her workmates, carried out under the suspicious eyes of their supervisor, the dreaded chief clerk. All gone now. For a moment Mrs. Patty Kennedy wished herself back to her twelve-year-old self, happy among her dolls, dreams and the fields of Avonlea. Later that week, after the men had left for work, Betty and Patty sat on the back porch. The morning washing flapped gently on the clothesline. They could smell Mrs. Larkins’ newly baked scones cooling on her kitchen windowsill. Two magpies were wandering around the yard eyes down in search of worms and other grubs. A tiny sparrow hopped about keen to coattail on its larger brothers.

The other domestic chores had also been completed. As agreed, the newlyweds were living with Patty’s parents with the aim of accumulating a substantial deposit on their first home. Betty knew that her daughter would soon leave home for good and that, house values being what they were, would need to build or buy some miles away from Ross Street. So, these months were precious to both women, who were now closer in mind and spirit than ever before. They intended to use the time well. ‘Mum, you haven’t mentioned my honeymoon much since we got back.’ ‘I didn’t like to pry, dear. But I know by your happiness that it went well.’ Thus, did the thorny question of sex raise its head. ‘Yes, it was a wonderful time, discovering each other, being as one, as the romantic stories say.’ Both women laughed. ‘By the time we reached the hotel in town that night, we were exhausted but elated. It had all gone so well. I can’t thank you and Dad enough for the wedding and celebration. It couldn’t have gone better. Dear old Dad had organised for a bottle of champagne to be in our room. After that and the whole day we were a bit woozy. We undressed and just stood looking at each other.’ Patty giggled and Betty smiled, ing. ‘We tried to ... do it, but the rubber thing was impossible. James kept dropping it and I was paralysed with laughter. I realised that laughing at your lover is not a good idea, but I couldn’t help it. Eventually James saw the funny side too. We gave up and fell asleep in each other’s arms. I hadn’t realised just how delicious sleeping with someone you love is. We woke late and just stayed in bed. James had put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on our door. We lay kissing and caressing with each other and it just happened. Somehow the tiredness and fumbling of the night before disappeared and we were the only two people on earth. James was gentle -- he later told me that he just let nature take over and ignored all the advice Bazza and a couple of other mates had given him. The rubber magically behaved. It didn’t hurt Mum. I think I was ready! You were right. When we reached our guesthouse the next afternoon, we hardly stirred from the bed for the next few days. When we did go to the breakfast room, I felt all eyes and not a few smiles directed at us. But I didn’t care! I was a married woman now, with a wonderful husband and not a cloud on the horizon.’ How wise nature is. If we could pierce the veil of the future, who would ever be happy again? The dark people who first glimpsed the strange pale creatures and

their animals coming ashore from the great canoes had no conception of what lay before them and their kind. The denizens of Ross street likewise could not know that a few years hence their very existence -- the gentle courtesies of neighbours and strangers, the comfortable routines of commuting and work, the confident expectation of a better new year, would all be swept away to be replaced by a pervasive fear of the alien other. But on this day Patty and her mother grew ever closer together. This would be important for what was to break over the family before the coming decade was out.

March 1936

While Melbourne eked out the final days of a southern summer, Europe woke to the sound of jackboots. ’s leader embarked on his biggest gamble to date. He removed the secrecy surrounding a surreptitious rebuilding of a German army and sent nineteen battalions across the Rhine River to occupy the buffer region with established by the Versailles Peace treaty. Operation Winter Exercis e became the first of a series of increasingly brazen moves by Adolph Hitler that would wrong foot his enemies and lead as if by an iron chain to a new world war. But in this balmy Melbourne Autumn, winter seemed far away. Life in Ross Street rolled on oblivious to the world-changing events on the other side of the globe. Those who did notice sought solace in the shadow of the mother country. ‘What do you make of the little Austrian corporal’s latest adventure?’ Bob Mattingly sat on the Jenkins’ back porch sipping a cold beer. ‘You mean bloody Hitler? Can’t stand the bugger. Struts around like he’s God’s gift to the world. Just a puffed-up house painter the Herald reckons.’ Ted followed world events through the pages of Melbourne’s most popular daily newspaper. ‘I reckon he’s overstepped this time. He can rant and rave all he likes in Berlin, but he’s broken the Treaty and and Britain will soon put him back in his box. Then the German people will see him for what he is -- a nobody with a funny moustache.’ Bob Mattingly, the older man, had a somewhat wider range of vision when it came to life beyond Ross Street, and a less rosy view of the wit of Europe’s statesmen. After all, they had sleepwalked into the Great War. ‘I dunno Ted. The new British PM, what’s-’is-name -- Baldwin, never can the blighter’s name -- is a pretty tame cat. He’s still getting over the strain of tossing our king out the window. I think he wants a quiet life for a while. Anyway, from what a couple of blokes at work say, Britain is nowhere near ready to fight.’ Bob had become increasingly worried about what was happening on the other side of the world, having seen Australian troops being

dragged into two of the mother country’s wars during his adulthood. ‘Well, if this is any clue to what comes next, they better bloody well get ready.’ Ted’s bluster echoed his friend’s thoughts. Unbeknownst to the Ted Jenkins of the world, similar thoughts were at last penetrating the highest reaches of the British military and, less urgently, government. From this moment British rearmament gathered pace. Priority was given to the navy and air force. The army ranked third. Embedded in the British ruling class and intelligentsia was a firm intention of staying out of a land war in Europe, allied to a belief that deserved to take back territory lost at Versailles. For most of Britain’s governing class Soviet communism posed the largest threat to the British empire and their own privileges, and a strong would act as an eastern wall against Stalin’s expansionist designs. If only Mussolini could be won over, the Mediterranean would be secured and Britain’s vital link to India and the Middle East secured. Only a few ed the havoc brought on the world by another corporal from obscure origins over a hundred years before. Like most turning points in history, this one was only evident in the rear view mirror. Once the huffing and puffing had subsided and the French realised that perfidious Albion was not about to help them throw the Germans back across the Rhine, everyone went back to the ordinary business of life. The nervous nellies in Berlin were crushed and Hitler hailed a national hero for restoring German honour, all without firing a bullet.

‘Are you sure?’ Betty peered anxiously at her daughter across the breakfast table. The men had just left for work. There was much activity in getting them out the door. The day had woken cold and wet and both women had been keen to ensure that their husbands had rugged up and taken scarves and umbrellas with them. This was their first quiet moment together. ‘Pretty sure. It’s been almost eight weeks, and I’m never late.’ Patty’s tired voice was tinged with excitement. Mother and daughter sat silently. Each knew what the other was thinking.

‘Do you know when? Betty ventured. ‘I think it was that weekend we had up in Beechworth with Frieda and John. We had the little guesthouse John and his brothers had fixed up near their cottage. James was very...ardent.’ Betty laughed. ‘It’s farm life, all that breeding going on in the paddocks, though I’ve never noticed that men in town are much less ardent. I thought you and James were using birth control.’ ‘We were and did. James used to say proudly -- ‘never fear, Jamie boy is here’.’ This time both women laughed. ‘Just like a man, clueless. But how would you feel if you are pregnant? Are you feeling sick?’ Patty paused thoughtfully. ‘No, I don’t feel any different physically, except for a slight tingling in my nipples. I guess I’m pretty happy about the prospect. You know how I’ve always wanted children. It’s just that this is happening a bit before we expected or planned for.’ ‘How do you think James will react?’ Betty suppressed her mixed feelings of concern and joy. ‘I’m just not sure. That’s what is worrying me. Should I tell him?’ Patty’s voice trembled. Betty could see that her daughter was struggling to deal with the enormity of this newest development. Decisiveness was called for. ‘Not yet. First things first. We need to find out for certain if this is a false alarm. No, no, don’t cry. We’ll go up to see old Doc Givens today. He delivered you into the world and will be thrilled to be the one to deliver your first child.’ Patty dried her eyes on a lace handkerchief. ‘I’ll finish getting dressed and we can set off for the surgery.’ Fifteen minutes later, Betty and Patty turned out of their gate and headed up to

the high street. They could hear the cars and large lorries ing each other as another busy day rolled on. Along the way they ed by Mr. Juliff pottering around his front yard. ‘Morning Mrs. Jenkins, morning Patty, my how lovely you both look this morning.’ His voice cracked, reminding Patty just how old he was. She couldn’t a time when he wasn’t out tending his precious garden. ‘Good morning Mr. Juliff,’ both women replied, ing on up the road. ‘I’ve known the Juliff’s for over twenty years and he still insists on calling me by my surname. And did you see his lawn and garden, not a leaf or blade of grass out of place. It’s his obsession. Woe behold any bird that alights on or, horror, defiles that lawn. But it’s sad, really. The Juliffs have no children, her health wouldn’t stand it. The garden is his child, and he looks after it as lovingly as any parent. You and James are much luckier. You will have real children to raise.’ This made Patty smile and raise her young face to the glorious sun. Noticeably buoyed, Patty turned into the main road headed for the most important meeting of her short life.

Ted and James arrived home together, heatedly discussing the prospects of the ashes cricket series planned to begin later in the year. ‘I reckon England’s on a hiding to nothing. They haven’t got that bloody Larwood knocking the heads off honest batsmen this time. And that bastard Jardine has been banished, too much of an embarrassment to the gentlemen of Lords.’ ‘I dunno Ted. They’re got a pretty handy batting line up. Hammond’s as good as Bran they reckon.’ ‘Rubbish. No one’s as good as the Don.’ Ted paused as the delicious smell of dinner wafted into the hallway from the kitchen. They were still arguing good-naturedly as they entered the loungeroom.

‘Good evening ladies,’ said Ted with an exaggerated bow. ‘Ted, the kitchen.’ Betty’s command was urgent, tinged with excitement. ‘Eh?’ ‘I need your help in the kitchen.’ ‘Oh, all right. I’ve just got home and thought I’d get a nice welcome home kiss.’ Betty reached up and kissed him on the lips. ‘Come on. Patty’s got something to say to James and that tap won’t turn off.’ Mystified, Ted followed his wife out into the hall leaving the younger two alone. James looked enquiringly at Patty. ‘Let’s sit here darling.’ James let himself be guided to the large couch. Patty sat down beside him. ‘I’ve been to see Dr Givens today.’ Here she paused and drew a deep breath. ‘‘Are you all right? You’re not ill?’ James’ alarm bells were ringing loudly. He had unintentionally raised his voice. ‘No, no, nothing like that. Darling, we’re going to have a baby. Our baby. Our first born...’ Patty paused and looked inquiringly at her husband. ‘Well, say something.’ James sat as if turned to stone. ‘A baby. Ours?’ ‘Who else’s?’ laughed Patty. ‘But, but ... we can’t be.’ ‘Unless you know more than Dr Givens, we are. Seems you’re not as smart as you claim to be.’ Patty was enjoying herself. Her husband, normally so selfassured was all at sea. Reality was beginning to hit James. He felt it like a blow from the Gods. ‘Our baby. When? What is it?’

‘Whoa boy. Not even the doctor can answer that. He thinks I’m due in midSeptember. As to whether it’s a boy or girl, that we won’t know until then. But how do you feel about the news?’ Here Patty watched anxiously. ‘Feel! I feel bloody marvellous. A baby, us, Patty and James Kennedy. Parents. Whew. Do your parents know?’ He stood up, unable to keep still. At that point Betty and a worded-up Ted came back into the room smiling. ‘Congratulations on the wonderful news,’ Betty beamed. ‘It will be so good to have a baby in the house again after all these years.’ The rest of the evening was spent discussing the myriad matters that new life at number 24 raised. Over the next six months discussion often returned to the event and as the time neared, excitement mounted. But among all matters raised, one took centre stage. The baby’s name. Many names, male and female, were tested among the four. But Patty held her peace. Deep, deep within a voice from her childhood spoke eloquently to her secret self. All would be revealed, in time. Time, like sleep, as the Bard so wisely said, that knits up the ravelled sleave of care.

August 1936

The house was quiet. The Ronaldson’s dog gave a perfunctory bark in the distance as a possum crawled stealthily across its master’s roof. A light wind barely touched the plane trees lining Ross street. A faint Spring light was waxing in the east and far away the rumble of misshapen wheels on Bill Bradbury’s cart oozed into the consciousness of Ted Jenkins. Asleep but half-aware he sat up with a start. ‘What is it, dear.’ Betty half rose in their bed. ‘It’s Patty!’ Both leapt out of bed and rushed for the door. Betty reached it first, just as her daughter fell through the opening. ‘What’s happening?,’ yelled Ted. ‘Mum, I think the baby’s coming. It’s too early, I’m not due yet.’ Patty pointed to her saturated night dress, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘Your waters have broken darling. Nothing to worry about.’ Betty took command. ‘Ted, get the car out, we’re off to the hospital. Come on Patty, let’s get you cleaned up. Ted!! I mean now!’ Ted snapped out of a daze, pulled on his dressing gown and the nearest pair of shoes. He ran through the front door and out to the garage at the side of the house. Dragging open the two heavy wooden doors -- glad I oiled those hinges last week -- he jumped into the driver’s seat and pulled out the choke. The car grumbled into life at the third attempt. Ted sat impatiently as the motor warmed up. He eased the choke back in and put the gears into reverse. The car moved in a careful, much practiced pace back down the drive and halted next to the porch. Betty helped a teary Patty through the front door. Ted had the rear car door open as both women slid onto the back seat. He then ran and fetched Patty’s bag and placed it in the boot. As fortune had had it, the bag had

been packed and ready, though no one expected that it would be needed so soon. The car roared out the front gate and onto the road, barely missing the Ronaldson’s dog that had managed to escape its yard and was now in hot pursuit of the possum that moved from tree to tree down the length of the street. ‘Shit! just missed the mongrel.’ So taken up with her daughter’s immediate needs, Betty Jenkins missed the opportunity to take her husband to task over his language. ‘Mum, it’s too soon,’ Patty wailed. ‘I’m not due for another month!’ ‘It will be fine darling. The baby is strong and so are you.’ She held Patty’s hand tightly. ‘Ted can you drive faster?’ Ted threw the car around the corner and accelerated along a straight section of road. The new traffic light turned red as he sped along the near empty road, earning a syncopated chorus of car horns from the three cars that had arrived at the intersection at the same time. Finally, the small private hospital sprang into Ted’s eyeline. He drove at speed through the front gates and screeched to a halt in front of the steps. Both parents jumped out. Ted grabbed the bag as Betty helped Patty climb the stairs. A tiny nun met them on the doorstep and took Patty’s arm. ‘Come on dear, let’s get you settled.’ Betty and Ted watched helplessly as their future was led away. Another nun dressed in a black habit and white wimple appeared as if out of the ether and beckoned them. ‘You can wait over here. We have sent out for the doctor. Matron is dealing with matters. Your daughter is in very good hands. Matron has delivered more babies than I can count.’ She disappeared as noiselessly as she had arrived. Ted looked around and gestured to two armchairs placed against the reception room wall. ‘Might as well make ourselves comfortable. I think it’s going to be a long wait. What?’

‘Ted Jenkins! Look at your feet.’ Ted looked down. ‘I’ll be...’ He realised that he was wearing one black and one brown shoe. Neither matched the plaid dressing gown that gaped over Ted’s ample girth. Both laughed, breaking the wall of anxiety that oppressed them. Half an hour ed, then another. Just as Ted was about to go searching for the Matron. She walked into the room. ‘Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins, Patty is resting quietly. The doctor has checked her out and she and the baby are fine. I suggest you both go home and get some rest.’ The Matron’s calm, authoritative voice reassured the grandparents-to-be. ‘We don’t expect much to happen over the next day or two, but Patty will need to stay so that the risk of infection is minimised. I’ll phone you as soon as there are any developments.’ ‘Thank you, Matron, I’ll just pop in and say goodbye.’ Betty whisked past before Matron could object. Ted nodded awkwardly. ‘We’re very grateful for your help Matron. We’ll be out of your hair soon.’ Five minutes later they were in the car and heading home. ‘How was she?’ ‘A bit teary but pleased to be in good hands. Goodness!’ ‘What!’ Ted narrowly avoided hitting a car parked too far from the gutter. A mix of worry, relief and exhaustion had slowed his reflexes. Betty’s brain snapped back into gear. ‘James! We have to tell James that Patty is in hospital.’ James Kennedy was at this moment sleeping fitfully in a room full of fellow footballers in a hostel located in a small Western district town two hundred miles from Melbourne. They had just won their annual grudge match against the local team and had celebrated in accustomed style. He had finally managed to throw Bazza out into the hall and was on the verge of blessed sleep. The team coach

barged through the door, yelling. ‘Kennedy, get up, you lazy sod.’ James sat up and jumped over two bodies lying comatose on the floor next to the bed. ‘What, coach, is this doss house on fire? ‘No mate, your missus is having a baby.’ ‘What! You sure this is not one of Bazza’s little jokes?’ ‘‘Course not. I’ve ordered the taxi. The Melbourne train leaves in fifteen minutes. Don’t just stand there like a stunned plubber. Move it!’ James was jolted into action. He didn’t have time to think of the enormity of the news. It was only as the train chugged out of the little local station that his mind cleared, and he began to order his thoughts and emotions. Had the baby arrived? Was Patty all right? Jesus wept. I’m playing football in some shitty backwater and my lovely Patty is all by herself. James’ thoughts were black indeed as he silently urged the train onwards. At every stop along the way he peered out the window willing the engine driver to start again. Finally, after four agonising hours, the longest James had ever spent, the train rumbled into the Spencer Street yards. James jumped from the train before it had stopped and ran for the exit. Leaping the gate, he threw his ticket at the guard who was walking slowly to open it. James tore out into the street searching for a cab. ‘Mate, mate, over here.’ An old black taxi pulled up alongside and James jumped into the front enger seat. ‘Where to...’ ‘My wife’s having a baby, just get me there as quickly as possible.’ ‘Sure mate. But you’re going to have to tell me where this baby is arriving. There’s a lot of it going on around Melbourne.’ The cabbie’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He lit another cigarette from the one he was finishing, before offering

one to James. ‘You might need this, mate.’ James suppressed the urge to whack the smirk off the face grinning back. He declined the offer and replied. ‘Yeh, right, sorry.’ He gave the driver the address and twenty minutes later, after the driver had regaled him with the many emergency runs he’d made to hospitals, including the time he’d almost delivered the baby himself, they arrived at number 24. James leapt out and raced to the door, yelling, ‘Ted, Betty, it’s me.’ The driver raced after him. ‘Hey mate, the fare, you owe me four shillings and sixpence.’ Ted opened the door to a breathless son-in-law and an angry cabbie. James pushed past and went in search of Betty, while Ted paid the cab driver. ‘Nervy fella, ain’t he?’ With that the driver walked back to his taxi, with another anecdote of heroic assistance added to his portfolio. Don’t know what swells’d do without the likes of me, he said self-iringly. James and Betty were deep in conversation when Ted ed them. ‘As I was saying James, all is in hand. Patty is fine. Her waters broke. That’s usually a sign that the baby is close to arriving, but there’s no knowing exactly when.’ Betty spoke soothing words to her anxious son-in-law. ‘But why is she in hospital if the baby isn’t on the way?’ James was having difficulty catching his breath and ordering his thoughts. He hadn’t signed on for this! ‘Just precautions, dear. Honestly Patty is fine. We’ll all go up together this morning to see her and check on what’s happening. She really is in good hands.’ James sank back into the chair, suddenly aware of how tired he was and how his head ached. If ever I catch Bazza and Stokesey, I’ll... The silent threat was left unfinished. Both his in-laws saw his exhausted state.

‘Come on, lad, let’s get you a hot shower and a good cuppa.’ James let Ted led him to the bathroom as Betty ran to the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later a refreshed and freshly dressed father-to-be sat at the familiar table demolishing a bowl of porridge and supping from a large steaming mug. Ted smiled at his wife. Wonderful how resilient the young were.

An hour later, the three walked into the small private hospital. They were shown to a room overlooking a tiny courtyard into which the sun was beginning to seep. A number of hydrangeas were sporting recently emerged leaves within which small buds could just be seen. Within weeks they would burst forth in glorious blue profusion. Patty was sitting up in bed, a white satin bed jacket covering her shoulders. James rushed to her side. ‘Patty darling, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help. How are you feeling?’ Patty smiled weakly. ‘I’m fine darling, all the better for seeing you. How was your trip?’ ‘Oh. don’t worry about the stupid trip, I should have been here instead of keeping the idiots out of the local lock up. Bazza punched a local cocky and was nearly murdered by his mates. But what does the doctor say, about the baby?’ ‘He says all is going well and that I should go into labour in the next day or two. If I don’t, he’ll help things along. I feel a bit of a fraud, rushing in here in the middle of the night, and all.’ ‘That sounds...,’ James searched for the right words, but Betty cut in. ‘It’s all right James. It just means that they’ll give Patty a tablet that will help her cervix dilate.’ ‘What the hell does that mean?’ James looked at Ted whose face said eloquently, ‘haven’t a clue mate.’ They both looked at Betty who rephrased her words. ‘You don’t have to worry. They just make it easier for the baby to be born.’

‘I see,’ both men replied. But they didn’t. ‘Come on Ted, let James have some time alone with Patty before the nuns insist on us leaving.’ They left James sitting close by and holding Patty’s hand. James leant close and whispered, ‘It’ll be fine darling, I know you and the baby, and I will be a real family soon.’ That was all good for James, Patty thought, but I’m the one who’s facing the music. But she smiled, happy that her lover, the father of her soon-to-be born child was with her. A nun poked her head around the door. ‘Time to go Mr. Kennedy and let Mrs. Kennedy get some rest. She has a big day in front of her.’ In spite of the pleading, hospital authority was absolute. Reluctantly James walked backwards out of the room. ‘I’ll be back later darling, I’m so proud of you.’ Patty sighed and slumped back in the bed. This was not how she had long imagined having a baby would be. Ah, Patty, how many others have realised this truth, before and after birth. But again, nature is wiser than mortals. If you knew, how would new generations ever arrive?

The newly installed phone rang incessantly. Ted Jenkins lay still in his bed, trying to work out what the noise was. ‘It’s the telephone Ted!’ ‘Who’d ring at this hour? It must be midnight.’ Ted climbed wearily out of bed, grumbling. Betty was already up and clutching her gown. ‘It might be the hospital, quick, before it stops ringing.’ Betty was still coming to with the novelty of having the outside world entering into their home. The strange and rather ugly telephone hanging on the wall in the entrance hall had been installed specifically

for the purpose of quick communication in the case of medical emergencies. This was Ted’s idea, who rather liked any new gadget, especially one that would prevent him from being despatched at any hour to the public phone outside Wiley’s Grocers whenever the need arose. Ted ran into the hall colliding with James who had come hurriedly from the back bedroom. ‘What is it Ted?’ James’ voice was urgent. ‘Well, let’s see.’ He grabbed the phone from its cradle, cursing as he half dropped it. ‘Yes, yes, this is Mr. Jenkins. Who am I speaking to?’ Ted listened intently while Betty and James stood nervously to one side. Finally, Ted placed the receiver back on its cradle and with a wondering look said, ‘That was the hospital. Patty has had the baby.’ ‘Well?’ Betty and James said in unison. ‘Well, what?’ Ted replied with a twinkle. ‘Is Patty all right? Is the baby all right? Is it a boy or girl?’ James’ voice rose. ‘Yes. Yes, both are doing well,’ Ted replied unconsciously adopting the hospital speak of the sister he’d just spoken to. ‘It’s a little girl!’ Ted’s voice broke as he imparted the vital news. Ted hugged Betty and both gathered James into a relieved hug. ‘A girl! How wonderful. What do you think Grandma, Grandpa.?’ James was literally dancing around the hallway, twirling his mother-in-law in a tight circle. She laughed and James saw the resemblance with her daughter. How beautiful she must have been at Patty’s age. Ted also saw and ed the day of Patty’s birth. He’d been at work, having just come back from lunch. Barely after taking up the technical drawing he was working on, an excited colleague had rushed into the large office that he shared with four other draftsmen.

‘Mate, she’s popped. You’re a bloody Dad.’ As this news was delivered at the top of Johnny Dubba’s vocal range, the rest of the fourth floor found out the news at the same time as Ted. As his colleagues had rushed to congratulate him and several teary office girls kissed him on the cheek, Ted was left feeling numb with the enormity of the news. He felt much the same twenty years later as he watched the star of that day waltzing around with James. ‘When can we see Patty and the baby, my daughter?’ asked James, once he’d calmed down. ‘What? Oh, I forgot to ask.’ ‘Really, Edward, you are the limit, fancy not asking.’ Betty frowned, next time she would overcome her apprehension of the instrument and answer the phone herself. ‘Well, I don’t care,’ said James, ‘I’m going to up there at first light, whatever the rules are.’ The clock over the fireplace struck 3 a. m. ‘Well, I don’t expect we’ll get much sleep now. You two go into the lounge and I’ll bring us a nice cuppa and some cake to keep us going. Ted, stoke the fire.’ Both men obediently trudged into the loungeroom. While Ted worried the embers back into life with a custom handmade bellows constructed from old bicycle inner tubes and a leather bag, James paced up and down. ‘I can’t wait for dawn.’ ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to James,’ said Betty as she entered holding a full tray. ‘Patty will need to rest after giving birth. You men have no idea how exhausting it all is. Now sit and I’ll pour.’ There was no arguing with Betty’s superior knowledge or her imperious tone. There followed several hours of excited talk and speculation. What had the baby weighed? Again, Ted had failed to enquire. Who did she resemble? Would she have hair? This question seemed to surprise James. He had never thought she wouldn’t. If so, what colour would it be? And, most importantly of all, what

would her name be? Here the older couple looked at James, who only shrugged and said, ‘We thought we’d wait until we saw whether it was a girl or boy.’ Then speculation turned to the baby’s future. Where would she go to school? When would she have a little brother or sister? ‘Whoa, steady on there, I’ve only just become a father, and I want to make sure that Patty is fine, and our little family thrives. We have a house to buy before any other big decisions.’ The three chatted on until the fire, despite Ted’s best efforts, finally expired. By then the first dull grey shafts of light had penetrated the darkened room. Betty, James and Ted began to stir from unexpected naps. Sleep, as so often happens, had crept up and tapped them on the shoulder while they slumped in their chairs. ‘Come on let’s get moving,’ said James, keen to dress and set out immediately. ‘James don’t be so impulsive. We can’t go yet, it’s not even properly light. We’ll wash and dress and have some breakfast. It will be a long day for everyone. We all need a solid start. that will give the nuns time to get Patty and the baby ready for visitors.’ Betty was becoming annoyed with the men’s obtuseness. It was up to her to protect her daughter from the over eager attentions of father and her husband. Again, Betty’s will prevailed, though not without grumbling on the part of a very keen son-in-law. Fortunately, it didn’t affect his appetite, and he consumed porridge laced with brown sugar, four pieces of toast, two boiled eggs, two sausages and a large mug of Robur tea, with two teaspoons of white sugar. ‘That feels better,’ said James, putting down his cup and white napkin, and pushing back in his chair. ‘I’m surprised you can move after that little performance,’ said Ted. ‘You can talk, Grandpa. you managed a pretty fair load yourself.’ The mention of Ted’s new status reminded all three of their main task that morning. ‘Come on, you two, let’s get the breakfast things tidied away and then get dressed.’

The three went to work with a spring in their step. An hour later they stood at the front door ready to drive to the hospital to meet the newest and most precious member of the family.

‘What’s she doing here?’ Ted gestured towards James’ mother who waved from the hospital veranda and began walking towards them. Jean Kennedy wore a severe tailored suit, a silk scarf and a very satisfied look. ‘Hello Jean,’ Betty managed to say, swallowing her surprise. ‘Hello Betty, Ted. James you have a beautiful little girl.’ James gave his mother a kiss, eyes shining. ‘I know, isn’t it wonderful. Have you seen her and Patty?’ ‘Yes, darling. They are both fine. Now.’ ‘Now? What do you mean?’ Ted’s tone was menacing. Betty hastened to intervene. ‘Jean, what do you know? We have only received a telephone call saying that all is well.’ Jean drew a breath deciding how to tell the tale of the past few hours. ‘I received a phone call from one of the nuns, Sister Immaculate. We are old friends, and she knew that Patty is James’ wife. As I say, she rang me and urged me to come to the hospital right away, as there had been a complication with the birth.’ At this point , all three froze. ‘Complication, what complication,’ James managed to get out. ‘The baby was born with the cord wrapped around her neck. She was blue, struggling for breath. But the doctor and sister midwife saved her. By the time I arrived the baby was fine, a beautiful colour and lying in the crib next to Patty. I cried with relief.’ Jean wrapped her arms around her chest as she became aware

of the cool morning and her inadequate protection against it. At this point James gave a yell and rushed up the steps and ran through the door into the hospital. Betty and Ted stood stock still, trying to take in all they had heard. Jean continued. ‘But the matron was worried enough to send for Father Walsh in the church across the road. He came quickly and baptised our little darling. Just in case.’ It took a moment before the final ominous words sunk in. ‘You mean that you and your friend have turned my granddaughter into a ruddy Mick?’ Ted’s voice rose and the veins on the side of his neck bulged like an Olympic weightlifter. ‘I’m sure that Sister Immaculate did what she thought in the best interests of the child,’ said Jean primly. ‘Yes, maybe she did but I can promise you that as soon as we can, we’ll be off to our chapel to have her named properly. You Micks won’t be getting your hands on my grandchild.’ Ted unconsciously leant forward. ‘I’m sure that Patty and James will be making that decision, Ted.’ Jean, smug in the knowledge that once baptised the child was Catholic for life, refused to concede an inch. ‘Stop arguing you two. I am only interested in seeing that Patty and the baby are all right.’ With that shot fired across the bows, Betty followed James’ tracks and disappeared into the building. With a final dark glance at Jean, Ted followed quickly. Jean Kennedy turned and continued walking towards the hospital gate, well pleased with her morning’s work.

‘Hello darling, how do you feel?’ Patty gazed sleepily up at her mother standing in the door. James was seated at the side of the bed holding Patty’s hand. ‘Pretty good, Mum. Look at your new granddaughter.’

Betty leaned over the small crib and saw the tiny being sleeping peacefully. She gave an inward start as her mind raced back twenty years to the first time she had laid eyes on Patty. The resemblance was uncanny, except this little one was smaller and somehow more delicate. As if reading her mother’s mind Patty said, ‘She’s so tiny, only weighed five pounds five ounces.’ ‘But the doctor says she’s healthy.’ James interrupted, ‘Of course, she is darling, you’ve done a magnificent job,’ added Betty. By this time Ted had arrived and both grandparents were staring lovingly at the newest member of the family. ‘The doctor said that I’d have to stay in hospital for two weeks while they monitored the baby’s progress and, hopefully, I start feeding her.’ ‘That’s normal dear. We’ll be up every day to keep you company. Come on, Ted, let’s leave James and Patty to get to know their new daughter. I want to have a word with Matron to see what she thinks and what we can do over the next few weeks.’ ‘But I want to ask them about the name,’ Ted whispered. ‘They’ll tell us when they’re ready,’ though Betty had a pretty good idea what it would be. They kissed Patty and James goodbye, took a final adoring look in the crib and walked out of the door. As they left, they heard Patty, whose hand caressed the sleeping bundle, murmur, ‘At last.’

‘Well James, how is our little darling today? Any news on the name front?’ Ted ‘s jocular manner betrayed an impatience to finally know the name by which the new darling of his eye would travel though life. Betty was equally keen to share in the knowledge. James had just returned from his second visit to the hospital that day. ‘We have decided to name her Anne. Anne Elizabeth Kennedy.’

‘Congratulations James, how wonderful.’ Betty’s eyes lit up and a smile curled around her attractive mouth. ‘I didn’t really have much say, as you can imagine. Perhaps if she had been a boy, I’d have got a look-in. But even there....’ James’ voice trailed off and he smiled. ‘Patty is so keen to have her own Anne. She is already planning to get all her Avonlea books out ready to read. The poor kid is going to cop a dose and a half of St. Edward Island.’ ‘Prince Edward Island! You’d better get that right or both of them will be correcting you.’ Betty continued, ‘And what a beautiful name. Anne Elizabeth, the name of the little royal princess!’ ‘Better not mention that to my Irish relatives. Best say that she is named after you, dear mother-in-law.’ ‘I wouldn’t want to put your mother’s back up.’ Not that she doesn’t deserve it thought Betty to herself.

Three weeks later on a sunny Saturday morning, amid much excitement and hectic preparations, new mother and baby came home. The street came out to welcome both back to the warm embrace of Ross Street. Once Anne had been carefully put to bed in the small bassinet Betty had borrowed from the Mattinglys, the four adults sat down to lunch at the kitchen table. Patty gazed around at the familiar room, taking in the cooking smells and the sounds of birds chirping on the side fence outside the window. ‘I’ve been dreaming of this moment ever since Anne’s birth. It’s so good to be back home with my favourite people.’ Patty’s blue eyes danced as she looked from one to the other. ‘We’ve been counting the days too, haven’t we James?’ ‘Sure have, Betty. Don’t know who would make my lunches if you’d stayed cosied up in that that bed any longer Patty.’

Patty’s laugh had a sharp edge. ‘Hardly cosy. There were five other mothers and a very scared mother-to-be within yelling distance. I hardly got a wink’s sleep the last two nights. ’Cause that might also have been because I was so excited about coming home,’ she conceded. ‘Well dear, that’s all behind you. Now we’ll set about getting baby into a routine and you back to bonny good health.’ Betty knew from experience that the next few weeks and even months would bring challenges and problems to number 24, as Patty and James discovered the true meaning of parenthood. But they would cope and eventually thrive, just as she and Ted had. Little Anne had won the lottery of life, born into a loving and secure family in a settled and benign neighbourhood. If only the rest of humanity could say the same. But the storm clouds continued to rumble, close by and on the other side of the world.

‘Did you see how that American coon spat right in the eye of Hitler?’ Bob Mattingly laughed. ‘I’m assuming you mean the American sprinter Jessie Owens. Yes, he blitzed the master race. Not once but four times. Really rubbed their faces in it. Hitler couldn’t bear the shame, hare-tailed it out of the mighty stadium before he had to hand out the medals. Can’t see the Fuhrer hanging gold around Owens’ neck, can you?’ Both men were sitting on the Jenkins’ back veranda, sipping ice cold beers. Ted laughed back. ‘No chance, mate. I’d have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Hitler got back to his Chancellery. I wouldn’t like to be the boss of ’s athletic team. Off to the concentration camp Fritz.’ ‘I reckon it’s cost Hitler some popularity with the great unwashed. He’d really counted on demolishing the foreign competition to hammer home the message of the superiority of the Aryan race.’ As a war veteran Bob still harboured dark thoughts about the German race. Too many mates fell in Flanders for him to ever forget or forgive. Ted nodded and added thoughtfully, ‘Yes but I’m sure his mouthpiece Goebbels will find a way of twisting facts to prove that it really was a triumph for the

master race. He’ll say blacks don’t count, or some such rubbish.’ Ted secretly often had similar thoughts about the people he called ‘Abos’. ‘Maybe all those centuries of being slaves made their grandchildren super fit and fast.’ Bob, who had some knowledge of the recent findings of biology, reflected on his friend’s lack of grasp of the new Darwinian world view, though it chimed with what Bob regarded as the worrying rise of eugenics throughout the world, most virulently expressed by the Nazis. Even in Melbourne, reputable scientists, including one of his Lodge colleagues, the professor of Statistics at the university, Richard Berry, was prone to such thinking. Having travelled somewhat more extensively in his job than Ted, he was suspicious of the easy manner in which some people denigrated others. His friend’s crude racist views worried him but did not cause him to challenge them. Talk then turned to the real battles in Europe. ‘I see that General Franko is massing the African army to invade the mainland.’ Ted looked up. ‘Hardly a surprise. The Reds have taken over the Spanish government. I guess that rubs the Establishment up the wrong way. They say the church runs the place.’ Ted’s distaste for the Catholic Church was on full alert. Bob inwardly winced but continued. ‘This is not going to end well. The dictators are lining up to interfere. At least the British government is sensibly distancing itself from the fray. The last thing they and we want is for the Empire to get dragged into another European war.’ ‘You bet, Bob. I’m not worried about what a bunch of dagos are up to. I’m more worried about the Japs. They’re building a bloody great navy. What’s that for, I ask, if not to sail our way and scoop up whatever territory and resources they can? I used to be worried about the Chinese, now it’s the Japs.’ ‘I think you can rest at ease there, mate. The Royal Navy has its base in Singapore, smack bang between us and Japan. They’re building their ships to wave at the Americans, to stop them thinking they own the Pacific. It’ll all settle down. Anyway, in the Great War the Japs were on our side. I can’t see them cosying up to Hitler. Now Mussolini, he’s another story. A glorified scribbler,

strutting up and down like a clown Caesar.’ The two friends continued on for some time, putting the world to right and finding comfortable places in it for themselves and their families.

December 1936

In spite of the Christmas festivities, Ross street, like so many similar neighbourhoods throughout the Commonwealth of Australia, was still mourning the death of their King of twenty-five years and bewildered by the sudden abdication of his son King Edward VIII, David to his family and friends. Betty Jenkins’ confident prophesy that he ‘would come to his senses’ and forsake his American seductress for duty to the Empire turned out to be one of the many certainties that enveloped her comfortable life to crumble before forces well beyond her comprehension. ‘What is the world coming to? Fancy a King of England refusing to serve his people!’ Betty dropped the bowl onto the kitchen table with a hollow crash, causing her husband to look up suddenly. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ ‘About that wretched boy. I’ve been on about it for the last five minutes and you’ve not heard a word. Really!’ Betty’s face was flushed. ‘Oh, you mean runaway Eddy. That’s what the fellows at the office are calling him. When the boss is out of hearing,’ Ted added. ‘Mr. Pringle is a staunch monarchist and won’t hear a word against any member of the royal family, though even he, I think, was shocked by the Abdication. He’s convinced that it’s some sort of Communist plot to bring down the House of Windsor, can you believe?’ Ted chuckled as he saw in his mind’ eye, his slightly overweight manager jumping from foot to foot as he defended the Royal family. ‘It’s nothing of the kind, just a very spoiled, over-indulged boy who never grew up. Perhaps we’re lucky to see him gone.’ Betty’s colour rose. Ted smiled to himself. He’d never before heard his wife be as critical of the ruling power of the land. ‘Well, he’s gone and good riddance. Perhaps we can now get back to our

ordinary life.’ Ted picked up his morning newspaper and went straight to the sports page. ‘Looks like the Magpies are back in training, pretty early I’d say. Most of the blighters will still be playing cricket.’ ‘I don’t care a fig for the Magpies and whatever game they’re playing. I’m talking about something important, the very basis of our society. I think we’re very lucky to have the good son on the throne now, with his lovely wife and two wonderful daughters ing him.’ Betty’s vehemence surprised her husband, and he gave up trying to follow the train of the journalist’s dissection of the fortunes of his team in the Victorian Football League season. ‘He seems a pretty weak reed if what the fellows at work say. Shy, weak chest can’t string three words together in public. A bit of a liability, I’d say.’ Ted couldn’t help teasing a little, something that often landed him in trouble with his prickly spouse. ‘Your fellows can go hang,,’ Betty fired back. ‘He’s a good man from a fine family. He’ll come through just as his reprobate brother didn’t. There’s always one good pup in the litter.’ Betty’s faith in the sanctity and efficacy of the family was limitless. Although duly reverential to royal rank, she fervently believed that the ruling family of the land was, at heart, pretty much like her family. Years before, when explaining the facts of life to a teenage daughter she had pushed home her message to a wide-eyed Patty with the words -- ‘even the Queen did it.’ Ted rose from the table, certain that he wasn’t going to change the mind of his wife. ‘I’m off to meet Bob. We’ve some duties down at the Lodge, big confab coming up next month.’ With that parting shot he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. Big confab grumbled Betty to herself. All talk that’s all they ever do. Still, it gave her the run of the house and a chance to talk again with Patty. The first few months had been difficult. The joy of bringing home a new baby soon morphed into real concern for the baby’s welfare. Little Anne was a sickly child. One small illness after another had drained Patty’s energy and fuelled her fears. In spite of all she and Ted and James could do, Patty was slowly wasting away. Her natural vivacity and energy were waning like a slow-burning candle. And

matters were not improving, even after Anne’s health began rallying over recent weeks. Instead of being happy that the little girl was thriving, cocooned with love, Patty was now ever on the watch for imagined dangers. What if she catches cold or something worse? At that moment, the object of her concern walked into the kitchen carrying Anne on her hip. ‘Morning Mum.’ In spite of her attempt to appear cheerful, Patty’s eyes had deep shadows that suggested little sleep in recent nights. ‘As it’s Saturday and sunny I thought I’d take Anne for a walk in the pram. James is off at cricket practice and I saw Dad leaving. Do you want to come with us?’ ‘That’s a lovely idea dear. I need to get some wool from Darby’s to finish the little jacket I’m knitting for Annie.’ ‘Mum! You know I don’t like you calling Anne Annie.’ Patty spoke sharply to her mother, who paused, looked up and saw the strain on her daughter’s face. ‘I’m sorry darling. I know. She has been Anne to you since long before her birth. But to me and your father she is little Annie, the spitting image of little Patty. But I’ll try to that’s only for Ted and me. I’ll get my cardigan. You know Melbourne’s weather?’ As Betty went into her bedroom to retrieve her insurance against the city’s notoriously fickle climate, Patty lifted Anne carefully into the large black pram, lent to them by one of Patty’s many Aunts. She carefully smoothed the blanket around the smiling child and adjusted the bonnet to shield the baby’s eyes from the sun. ‘There you are beautiful, let’s go for a nice walk with Grandma.’ Like a summer storm that es, Patty’s spirits lifted as she pushed the pram out through the doorway and onto the drive. Half an hour late the three were sitting in a sunny spot in a small local park. Gum trees ringed the expanse of grass. The light breeze rustled through the sparse branches. A pair of kookaburras sat together on a low branch; their beady eyes locked keenly on the ground. Suddenly, one bird dropped silently to the ground and drove its strong beak into the grass. A quick shake of its over-sized head and a live worm was wrested from the earth to be efficiently devoured with a practiced flick and gulp. Her mate spied another offering nearby and ed in the fun. Satisfied for the moment both birds flew clumsily back to their perch to

await the next course in an endless search for survival. ‘Look at those lovely kookas. They don’t have a care in the world. Wouldn’t it be lovely to just live for the moment and not worry about what’s coming next?’ Patty gave a wistful sigh. ‘I’m not sure that I’d fancy living on worms,’ replied Betty trying to lift Patty’s spirits. ‘But I know what you mean. Just letting life come to you, dealing with the here and now, enjoying God’s blessings. But God gave us big brains and the ability to look ahead, including to our inevitable death. We only have a certain time here on earth and that’s why we need to make every day count. Your job, and James’, is to raise our little darling just as it was my job and your father’s, to bring you into the world and raise you.’ ‘Doesn’t it all seem a bit pointless, Mum? I’m mean if we are just doing the same thing generation after generation.’ Patty’s voice trailed away as she shrugged her shoulders, a sense of hopelessness overtaking he earlier lifted spirits. ‘It’s more than that Patty. We are privileged. We have so much more than other people. So, we have a duty to do our best by others, as well as our family and friends. Ted is helping Melbournians by the work he does, so does James.’ ‘I know, but what are we doing?’ Patty was confused, not quite knowing what she meant, just giving vent to a vague sense of unease. Was this what life was all about? ‘We’re making sure that our men can do the things they can and bringing up the hope for the future.’ Betty spoke more sharply than she intended, annoyed that her daughter couldn’t see the importance of her role in life. ‘Mum, I’m not criticising you and the Aunties and Grandma. I just feel that, as important as family life is, I think I can do something more to contribute, to repay providence for the fortunate life we all have.’ She paused before adding, ‘I’ve decided to do some volunteer work at the local free kindergarten. They have too many children to handle with the paid staff the association can afford, even with financial from some of the churches, including ours.’ Patty’s eyes began to shine as she outlined her recently hatched plan to her mother. ‘That’s very sudden.’ Betty’s surprise showed. ‘When did you decide? ‘

‘I’ve been mulling it over for a week or two. The idea occurred to me when I walked Anne past the kindergarten and saw the children playing in the yard. The two carers were run off their feet. I got talking to one and she mentioned the fact that they were looking for volunteers to help. I asked what this involved, and she suggested I make a time to talk with the coordinator.’ ‘And did you?’ asked Betty eagerly. ‘Yes. Yesterday. Mrs. Dingle -- I know, terrible name, I had to stop myself giggling when she introduced herself. I don’t know how I’ll be able to stop Dad from making fun of her.’ ‘Leave your father to me. Go on.’ ‘Mrs. Dingle said that I could come every Monday and Wednesday morning to help with the children. They are mostly four years old, though there are a few three-year-olds and a couple five and older.’ ‘What did you say, dear.’ Betty was intrigued and rather proud of her daughter’s initiative and courage in fronting someone she hadn’t met. ‘I said, I’d think about it and get back to her after talking with you and James. It would mean leaving our treasure with you on those mornings. How would you feel about that?’ ‘I’d be delighted to have Anne to myself, especially if it helped you to do what you want to do. As long as James agrees, of course. It has to be a decision that you both want. I won’t come between you both. How do you think he’ll react?’ Betty added curiously. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve been holding off speaking to him until I discussed it with you. But I’ll have to raise it tonight. I promised Mrs. Dingle I’d tell her tomorrow.’ The sun had fled behind a large dark cloud suggesting that rain was not too far away. Both women involuntarily shivered. Betty pulled her cardigan close as she and Patty rose. Readjusting the covers Patty looked down at her daughter’s smiling face. ‘Mummy’s going to help look after some other children and Granny’s going to look after you. What do you think of that?’

Anne smiled her new smile which Patty took as a positive sign. Together the three perambulated back to number 24., arriving just as the first large raindrops fell from the darkening skies. Later that evening as Patty sat talking quietly with James in the loungeroom, and her parents remained in the kitchen, the great project was carefully analysed. ‘Are you sure that this is what you want, darling, it won’t be too much for you?’ ‘No James I’ve thought very carefully about it. You know that our family is my first and most important duty and joy. But I think I can do more. I’m young, healthy and have some talents, you know. And Mum said she’s happy to look after Anne on the mornings I’m at the kinder. Oh Jamie, if you could see the children and how happy they are there. Some come from rather unhappy homes. If I can do something to help them, I’d feel that I was really making a positive difference. You know that Frieda is fully involved in the farm and loves it all, as well as looking after John and her baby.’ Patty was leaning forward, an intense frown, anxious about her husband’s reaction. ‘Well, I’m proud of you. It’s exactly what I’d expect from you. Your mother is amazing, and you are her true daughter.’ Secretly James was relieved. He didn’t much like the thought of Patty working. This was not a woman’s role. None of the wives he knew in his parents’ generation had worked outside the home, not did the wives of his two married friends. But he had become increasingly worried by Patty’s state of mind in recent weeks and had felt guilty leaving her each morning to run for the city train. But he also knew that if they were to have the life together, they both wanted and Anne deserved, he had to keep his nose to the grindstone, as his father used to say. He now knew what his father meant and had gained new respect for the man who had so frequently been absent from the home he grew up in. So, it came to that in the first year of motherhood Patty Kennedy nee Jenkins, embarked on what would become an important voyage in her life.

July 1939

Life in Ross Street continued as time flowed in its ceaseless meander to the cold death of the universe. The many small meanings to its inhabitants were lost in the noise of history, particularly the clamour unfolding on the other side of the world. Although many felt a vague anxiety about what might lie ahead, there were jobs to be done, children to raise and, on occasions, joy to be had in the regular, intimate routines of family and neighbourhood. The street continued to change, people but not its character. Mrs. Juliff succumbed at last to an unseasonal flu and Mr. Juliff followed soon after. A young couple moved in, renting from a distant cousin who had inherited the house. Within three months, the garden that had taken half a century to nurture spouted crab grass and paspalum. The plum tree, so carefully pruned, ran riot and the ionfruit vine withered. Neighbours walking by shook their head and expressed the belief that thankfully Mr. and Mrs. Juliff could not see the wreckage. Occasionally someone along the street would vacate, not always happily, as the grip of economic depression refused to fully release its grip. Recent years had been kind to the Jenkins-Kennedys. James had been promoted to audit manager in his practice with the promise of a partnership in due course. His hip of the Chartered Institute was a source of pride to the family. Patty and James had at last become proud owners of their first home, situated three miles away part-way up the slope of one of the hills on which the unemployed had once hunted rabbits. Baby Phillip Edward Kennedy arrived almost two years to the day after his big sister. Anne was a treasured focus of family life when the Kennedy clan visited number 24 and only occasionally put out by the attention showered on her new brother. Patty had taken a break from volunteering at the kindergarten as she devoted her time to the rigours of motherhood. Betty, as always, was a great help to Patty, and Ted continued to follow Collingwood’s steady decline from the glory days. He had reached his career plateau in the public service and quietly accepted his fate, happy in the thought that a pension and a comfortable retirement lay ahead. No more than any of his work mates, friends or neighbours did he glimpse the shoals that lay between him and that safe harbour.

Most surprisingly, James’ mother Jean came around, literally, as the new baby entered their lives. She had made her peace with the fact that her son and grandchildren were on shaky grounds, morally and in the hereafter. But she would do her utmost to help them improve their chances of everlasting salvation by pitching in with good advice and concrete help. With two active and ing mothers, and the experience of childbirth behind her, Patty had far less trouble this time coming to with the realities of motherhood. Only Ted occasionally expressed his well-worn reservations as he observed Jean’s increasing presence in his home. But, by and large, everyone bumped along happily enough.

September 1939

‘F ellow Australians, it is my melancholy duty to inform you officially that in consequence of a persistence by in her invasion of Poland, Great Britain has declared war upon her and that, as a result, Australia is also at war.’ The of the Jenkins-Kennedy family sat dumfounded in the loungeroom at number 24, staring at the HMV radiogram, a newly acquired marvel. On the third day of Spring thousands of other suburban families also sat around radio sets or sought latest editions to find that once more war had arrived to disrupt their lives. ‘What does it mean?’ Patty looked at James in alarm and gathered baby Phillip to her breast. ‘It looks like we are in for it again,’ James answered in a confident tone that belied his anxiety. ‘Hitler’s gone too far this time. and Britain are calling his bluff.’ ‘It’s a pity they didn’t do so before now. The little bastard thought he could get away with it again, just like Czechoslovakia.’ Ted stopped as he saw Patty tears flow. ‘But... but it means the men will have to go off to fight again and last time was so terrible. I just young Jim and all those other boys who didn’t come home. They said it was the war to end all wars, that it couldn’t happen again.’ Patty tried to wipe the tears away with the tip of Philip’s blue embroidered baby rug, a present from Mrs. Moat at number 27. ‘Someone forgot to tell Hitler, I guess,’ James offered. ‘Don’t joke, James.’ Betty spoke sharply. ‘You men will go off all dressed up in your uniforms, singing and telling each other what you’ll do to the enemy. It’s the women who will stay at home worrying if they’ll ever see you again. Don’t cry darling, we’ll get through, just as we did last time.’

James put his arm around his wife and ran his hand over Phillip’s downy head. ‘But you won’t have to fight, will you?’ Patty looked imploringly at her husband. James gazed down at his wife and baby, the little boy he had always wanted. He seemed so small and vulnerable. Undersized like Anne at birth, he had been making up for lost time but was still just so very fragile. A small ring of light brown hair fringed his little head. His face was round and when open his large dark brown eyes stared out giving him a look of wisdom, as if to say – ‘look out world, here I come’. ‘I may have to,’ James replied. ‘Though it’s not clear whether we’ll be sending troops to Europe like last time.’ In spite of the prospect of leaving his family, a frisson of excitement clawed at his innards. This would be a chance to prove himself as a warrior, and a spell in the army would certainly be a break from the routine of chartered ing. But he said nothing to the clutch of anxious faces in the room. ‘But you don’t have to volunteer, you’ve got important work to do at home.’ Patty was searching desperately for a way out. The thought of losing James to a horrible war was beyond comprehension. ‘I don’t suppose ants would be considered vital to the war effort.’ James attempted levity which fell flat. ‘Mine is hardly likely to be a reserved occupation. And if conscription is introduced, then I’d have to go. Anyway, if I’m fit to fight then I should defend our country.’ ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’ Betty turned the conversation to Phillip’s christening, but a pall hung over the household. When the young ones had left to drive home in a ‘new’ second-hand baby Renault that Ricky Barrett had found for them -- the older couple continued their conversation. ‘Do you really think it will come to sending our boys off to war Teddy?’ Betty’s stomach was seething. Ted thought and replied ‘Your guess is as good as mine, precious. But the fellows at work seem pretty glum about it all. Once Chamberlain had given Hitler the ultimatum that would almost certainly be refused, it was only a matter of time. It’s all come on so damn quickly. After they agreed at Munich, I really thought -- hoped, more like it -- that common sense would win out. Wally, our

senior draftsman, reckons we’re in no fit state to send troops anywhere. As usual, the politicians have been too taken up with scoring points off each other and feathering their own nests to worry about getting the army ready.’ Ted slammed his hand down on the side table, making Betty jump. ‘Don’t do that!’ A thought struck Betty. ‘I wonder if young Brian Mattingly will be sent off to fly against the Germans.’ Similar thoughts were being expressed in the Mattingly household. On the day following the declaration of war, Ted and Bob were having a quiet ale in the local pub. ‘Will your boy be involved?’ ‘I fear so, Ted. Viv is desperately worried, and I don’t mind telling you, I’m petrified that he’ll end up being blasted out of the sky. He’s a fully commissioned pilot officer now certified to fly single-engine planes and getting his hours up on twin engine craft.’ ‘Then let’s hope that they have enough of their own young men to beat back the Luftwaffe.’ ‘Amen to that, mate.’ The two men stared into their beers. At almost the same time, Betty was sitting down with Shauna at number 37. ‘Will Callum be affected by the war?’ Betty lifted the sky-blue teacup to her lips and speculatively sipped the hot liquid. ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ replied Shauna, offhandedly. She turned her arresting eyes towards her friend. ‘He was born in the Irish Free State and is not an Australian citizen yet. His father would be spinning if he thought his son was going to fight for the British Empire. But boys will be boys. He and his mates are already boasting that they’re going to bash the Boche. He’s got a lot of his Dad in him, restless like.’ Shauna’s quiet, musical brogue failed to soothe as normal. ‘Ted says that as long as the Japanese stay out of it, the war might just be fought in Europe and could be over soon. No one would want the horror of another

long-drawn out war, like the last one. Perhaps the leaders will work out a peace deal fairly quickly, before Australia gets dragged in.’ Ah, Betty. If only the doves of peace were as skilful as the dogs of war. Once begun, war continues on its own remorseless path, with each combatant digging itself ever deeper into the mire. Easily begun, wars are devilishly difficult to end. So, this one would prove too. But in those early days, hope like the tide rushing in over the sand flats of Northern Cape York spread through Australia’s small, vulnerable population, ‘Have you heard from Erin lately?’ ‘Yes, just the other day. Had a letter from Perth, so far away. The theatre group she’s with took the freighter through the Bite. Erin said it was terribly rough, but she was one of the few not to get seasick. She must have inherited my father’s sea legs. Anyway, they’ve been touring up and down the West coast for three weeks. They set off back to Melbourne next week, thank God! I’ll be very happy to see her. It’s been three months away this time. She has a beau, one of the actors, so I’ll get to run the maternal eye over him for the first time.’ Shauna rubbed her hands together in mock glee, making Betty laugh. ‘Most of the troop have decided to travel by train over the big desert but Erin and her beau have chosen to return the way they went. More romantic I expect.’ Betty nodded, secretly relieved that her daughter was safely married and settled. She didn’t much like the idea of a young woman travelling alone with an actor and a lot of sailors. But Shauna seemed supremely unworried. How different were their lives and views? Still, she counted Shauna as among her closest friends and would hope and pray for the wellbeing of her children. ‘What about Clodagh?’ Betty always found the sound of Shauna’s youngest daughter strange to the ear. ‘Clodagh is doing very well at school I’m pleased to say.’ Betty could read a mother’s pride in her friend’s arresting eyes. ‘She has set her sights on getting to the university to study science, biology actually. As long as she can win a scholarship, I’ll be able to her through the course.’ ‘What a clever girl.’ iration coloured Betty’s response. ‘What does she want

to do after that? She’ll be in her twenties by the time she graduates, probably ready to marry, if she finds the right man, possibly a doctor or lawyer she meets at the university.’ ‘Betty Jenkins,’ scoffed Shauna, ‘you have a one-track mind. I don’t think she’ll be in any great hurry to marry, not if she wants a chance to work as a scientist.’ ‘Do they allow women to be scientists?’ Betty was genuinely surprised. she had never heard of such a thing. ‘Yes. Of course, it’s a very hard road to travel, but there are some according to Clodagh’s science teacher, a Miss Reynolds. She seems very nice and is encouraging Clodagh to aim high.’ ‘Miss Reynolds, an old spinster, I expect.’ ‘Not so old, not much more than Erin. She’s been teaching for about four years, at the girls’ Grammar.’ Shauna sensed both disapproval and regret in her friend’s tone. ‘We would have liked Patty to go to the Girls’ Grammar, but we couldn’t afford to send her at the time. Anyway, Patty was so keen to go to school with Frieda and the other neighbourhood kids. It’s a shame, because like Clodagh, she’s smart and maybe could have gone onto university too. But that’s all water under the bridge and she is very happy with her two children, a loving husband and a new home.’ The conversation drifted off onto the price of vegetables, a wicked sin, and such mundane matters. It was later that night, after dinner, that Betty returned to the issue. ‘Ted, do you think we did the right thing by Patty in sending her to the junior secondary school instead of the Grammar?’ Betty was still ruminating on her conversation with Shauna earlier that day. The couple were lingering at the dining table after polishing off a dessert of strawberries and cream. Ted neatly rolled his crisp white napkin and fed it into the silver holder. He reached behind him and placed it on the sideboard beside Betty’s and a neat row of other napkins that stood in line like well drilled soldiers on parade. Anyone dining at the Jenkins could expect their own freshly

laundered napkin, something Betty was scrupulous in ensuring. ‘I don’t know that we could have done anything else, darling. Patty was dead set on going on with Frieda to the local junior high. Anyway, just as well we didn’t because we would have exhausted all our savings just before that accursed Depression hit and my salary was cut.’ Betty nodded, ing the hard times. ‘Still, perhaps we could have managed. But it’s all last week’s fish wrappings now. And we didn’t do too badly. Look at her family. Two lovely children and a husband who dotes on them all.’ ‘She seems happy enough. I don’t think she wanted to be out in the world like a man, not our little flower.’ Ted’s eyes misted as he thought of the young Patty reaching up to him, eager for his strong hands to grab her and throw her giggling into the air. Betty agreed, though the thought lingered that perhaps Patty might have wished for something more if the opportunity had been presented to her. If so, it would be Patty’s daughter, their adored grandchild, who would have to search out and grasp the nettle. When this bloody war ended! Betty Jenkins seldom swore, even to herself.

December 1941

‘Mr. Vice President, and Mr. Speaker, and of the Senate and House of Representatives: YESTERDAY, December 7, 1941 a date which will live in infamy the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan. The United States was at peace with that Nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its Government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American Island of Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack.’ Ted Jenkins called out to his wife. ‘Betty, come here quickly!’ His voice was loud and urgent. Betty dropped the tea towel and rushed from the kitchen, alarmed at Ted’s tone. ‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Betty called out anxiously as she rushed into the loungeroom. Ted was hunched over the radiogram. ‘The bloody Japs have gone and bombed America.’ He could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ ‘The Japanese navy has bombed the American fleet in Hawaii. Can you believe it?’ Ted ran his hand though his receding hair and stared at his wife. ‘But why?’ Betty was both alarmed and puzzled.

‘I don’t know. It seems crazy. They can’t beat a nation as big and powerful as the United States. But they’ve gone and done it. God knows what it means. But shush, it’s President Roosevelt speaking to the Congress.’ ‘Yesterday the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong: Last night Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands. Last night the Japanese attacked Wake Island. And this morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island. Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our Nation. As Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy I have directed that all measures be taken for our defence. But always will our whole Nation the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory. I believe that I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us. Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory, and our interests are in grave danger. With confidence in our armed forces with the unbounding determination of our people we will gain the inevitable triumph so help us God.’ Betty threw her hands to her head. ‘James will be called up. The Japs are moving towards us. Surely the British will protect us.’ She was terrified, her mind was racing. Ted just sat there staring at his hands. ‘Those bastards. A sneak attack. Just like a bunch of yellow-bellied little shits.’ A century of racist fear and loathing of Asians buried deep in the guts of white Australia burst forth in Ted’s pithy declaration. He then turned to comfort his wife. But throughout the city and country similar thoughts and angers swelled. The mood was a mix of belligerence, fear and uncertainty. Some loudly proclaimed the inevitable and quick defeat of Japan by an enraged America. Others pointed to the invincible Royal Navy in its impregnable base in Singapore. Only those

close to the political and the armed forces leadership knew the lack of readiness of our defence forces and the dire strategic position the country was in, isolated on the wrong side of the world. But for public morale a pretence of bravado was radiated and Australians, all five million, were exhorted to draw in their belts and stand tall. God save the King. On the following day Ted and Bob were quietly downing beers on the back porch. The sun played shadows with the nectarine tree in which a variety of birds sat preening. A light breeze ruffled their feathers and the faint sound of traffic from the high street competed with the syncopated twitter of the ensembled flock. The two wives were inside discussing how they could help in the coming conflict. Earlier that year Flight Lieutenant Brian Mattingly had been transferred to the Royal Air Force, and was based in East Anglia, now flying bombers over . His letters home were welcome signs that, so far, he had survived the ordeal. ‘When did you last get a letter from Brian?’ Ted enquired staring at the receding level in his glass and reaching for the bottle. ‘About a month ago, and then three months before that.’ Bob replied, holding his glass out. ‘It’s difficult getting letters through. We treasure everyone. It’s the telegrams we don’t want to get.’ Bob shuddered. Ted stared into his drink. ‘I just can’t imagine what he must be going through. To think that that little boy who used to tear around this street yelling and firing off cap guns is now in the absolute thick of a real war. He’s a bloody brave man and a hero, mate.’ ‘That he is. Of course, Viv and I are very proud of him. But I’d much prefer him back here with us.’ Bob sighed and drained his glass before continuing. ‘Not just because we want him safe. He wouldn’t be. None of us are now. People fool themselves about the Japanese. They think they’re an inferior race, but they are every bit as fanatical in of their emperor as the Germans are of Hitler.’ ‘But surely, they don’t have the military strength of America and Britain. Ted found it hard to accept that a race of people he had always held in contempt could threaten the English-speaking peoples.

‘Maybe not, but they’re fierce and disciplined fighters. Don’t fall for all that bullshit about their poor eyesight. They occupied Korea before the Great War and invaded China five years ago. And they have a long-term plan to rule the Pacific – which is precisely where we sit. For that they have to neutralise the Americans and persuade them to keep out.’ ‘But they can’t afford to, can they?’ Ted, in normal times had little affection for the yanks but was now turning into one of their biggest fans. Once again, he marvelled at his friend’s knowledge of world affairs. So caught up in his own little universe, bounded by job, family and football, Ted Jenkins realised that he had missed much of what went on in the bigger world around him. ‘We have to hope not. Uncle Sam is all that stands between us and invasion, I fear.’ On that gloomy thought the two men rose and went back inside.

News Years Day 1942

Three year-old Phillip Kennedy sat on the floor of his grandmother’s kitchen. He had three saucepans of different sizes spread around him. From time to time, he would pick one up and study it. He arranged the pots in ascending order of size. Picking up the smallest, he placed it carefully in the largest, sat back and looked at the result. Dissatisfied, he removed the smaller one and placed it back on the floor. On further inspection he grabbed the handle of the second smallest pot and deposited it in the largest. Now happy, he returned to the smallest, and lifted into the second pot. He clapped his hands in self-congratulations. Nearby at the table his mother and grandmother failed to notice the impressive mental feat of their newest family member. Undeterred, Phillip reversed the process and then repeated it. All the while the two women continued their intense conversation, speaking in low urgent voices. ‘He’s determined Mum. Nothing I say seems to make any difference. He’s going to volunteer.’ Betty sighed and reached over to hold her daughter’s hand. ‘It was like this last time, I’m afraid. Wives and sweethearts begging their men not to go. But go they did, most of them. You know poor Mrs. Roberts from around in Valentine Street saw her husband and three of her sons volunteer. None of them came home. No, don’t cry. That was a very different war. I can’t believe that this one will be so long and terrible.’ ‘But Dad didn’t go.’ ‘No. I convinced him not to. And I know, to this day he feels guilty about not doing his bit. He was twenty-seven when the war started and almost thirty when the government began to encourage older family men to volunteer. You were just a toddler and I was not coping very well.’ Betty ed. ‘He wanted to up after the terrible battles on the Somme. He would be stopped in the main street by complete strangers, women usually, and asked why he wasn’t fighting with our boys. Then some busy body sent him a white feather in the post. He didn’t say much but I know that from that day something died in your father. He wasn’t always as intolerant and quick tempered as you know him.’ Betty blinked back the tears of memory.

‘But Dad has always been loving to me and you, always.’ Patty rose to her father’s defence. ‘Yes, he adores us both. But his dark side is there too. He never blamed me, turned his feelings inward. It’s why he never goes near the returned servicemen’s hall or drinks at the pubs they drink at, and why ANZAC Day is such an unhappy time for us.’ Betty’s voice trailed off as her mind stretched back over half a lifetime of military marches and dawn services at the Shrine of Remembrance. Betty paused here. ‘If I had my time over, I would not have insisted he stay home,’ Betty added sadly. Patty began silently crying, dabbing at her face with a white lace handkerchief, careful not to let her son see. Phillip continued stoically stacking pots. ‘So, you think I should not try and get James to stay out of it?’ ‘Only you and James can make that decision, darling. But it may be taken out of your hands, anyway. The war is much closer to us this time and all fit men of James’ age may be conscripted. This time we mightn’t have the luxury of a referendum. Bob Mattingly seems to think it’s inevitable.’ And so, a few months later, Bob’s prophecy came to . All men aged 18 to 35 were called up to Citizen Military Forces, the ‘Chockos’ derided by regular soldiers in the Australian Imperial Force, since they were supposed to melt like chocolate in the heat of battle. In fact, as we later learnt, it was the CMF, the Chockos, who held back the initial advance of the Japanese in the jungles and mountains of New Guinea, giving the hastily organised regulars time to train and engage the enemy. But as the dangerous year of 1942 unwound, James Kennedy, with the of his wife, volunteered for the AIF and went into intense training. During this period Prime Minister John Curtin had defied Winston Churchill and ordered part of the AIF serving in North Africa to return and help defend Australia against a possible Japanese invasion. Within days of the fall of the supposedly impregnable British fortress of Singapore in February with the capture of fifteen thousand Australian prisoners, Japanese planes had bombed Darwin from bases a few hundred miles to the north. Temporary relief then arrived. By the middle of the year, US Navy forces had defeated the Japanese at

the Battles of the Coral Sea and Midway. Thereafter, the threat of invasion receded. Newly minted Sergeant James Kennedy was assigned to the office of the quartermaster-General housed in an old warehouse near Port Melbourne.

August 1942

‘B loody clerk, that’s all I am.’ James slammed his hand down on the kitchen table at number 24 Ross Street. ‘All I do all day is sign shipments in and out. A trained monkey could do my job.’ He, Patty and his in-laws were finishing a Sunday lunch, carefully constructed by Betty from her treasure trove of coupons. The meat was stringy and not very tasty. But she had managed to dress it up with a relish made from the onions grown in her garden. Anne had taken her brother to the local park. James had eaten his lunch on automatic drive, hardly bothering to savour the food as he let his frustrations boil over. ‘I’m sure your work is important for the war effort. We’re all trying to do our bit.’ Betty swallowed her ire at her son-in-law’s bad temper but couldn’t quite keep the anger out of her voice. ‘Important? Maybe but hardly what I expected when I ed up. Some of the lads I worked with are fighting in North Africa and young Brian’s flying bombing raids over , for God’s sake. And here I sit eating a cosy family meal in Melbourne!’ ‘Well, what do you want?,’ exploded Patty, who had heard various versions of this lament over previous weeks and months. ‘I suppose you’d rather be trapped in Tobruk like Benny Jones or languishing in a Jap POW camp like Henry Matters. Maybe you’d be happy in the London Blitz.’ Patty had thrown her napkin down on the table and glared at her husband. Ted put down his dessert spoon sharply. ‘That’s enough you two. You’re making your mother upset.’ Ted’s tone subsided. ‘And for no good reason. James, it’s all a lottery. You did your bit at the right time, put your hand up like thousands of others. Where you all ended up is the luck of the draw. If you’re so keen to do more, why not think about what comes after this stinking war is finished. There’ll be plenty of damaged human beings, if last time is any guide. Think of young Jim.’ There the conversation ended. Patty and James soon said their goodnights and

headed home with their children. Late that evening, after the two children had been fed, bathed and their allotted chapters of Winnie-the-Pooh read to them, the two parents sat holding hands on the settee in the loungeroom. The modern interior, so carefully and joyfully chosen by the new homeowners, contrasted with the comfortable but ageing atmosphere of Patty’s parents’ home. The lounge suite was square and sleek, the material a deep plain green with matching curtains, instead of the old wooden blinds at number 24. The coffee table had the look of an aircraft wing. Unable to afford carpets throughout, the loungeroom floor was polished to a high sheen, partly covered by a square rug with a modern abstract pattern, similar to one Patty had seen in an issue of House and Garden. ‘I’m sorry about today, darling. I guess my frustrations got the better of me. Your parents and you too don’t deserve to cop it.’ James’ shoulders drooped. Patty’s remnant anger melted, and she replied, ‘I know you are unhappy and think you’re not doing enough. But Dad’s right. It’s all in the lap of the gods. The main thing is that you were willing to serve and are doing what is asked of you. Thanks to millions like you, here and overseas, we are safe for now, and please God, for the future. I know you’ll find a way to contribute. We have our whole life to make a positive difference, starting with those angels asleep in the next room.’ James smiled and bent over and kissed Patty gently. ‘You know, I’ve been thinking about what Ted said, about the need to look after our soldiers when they return.’ ‘Oh? What do you mean?’ ‘There’ll be plenty of damaged veterans, men who have witnessed and experienced terrible things, if the reports of what’s happening in Europe and China are true. If we are going to avoid the mental breakdowns and suicides of the last war, we’ll need more doctors and nurses and people specialising in mental health. I think I might retrain in some field that would help.’ ‘But you’re a qualified ant,’ said a perplexed Patty. ‘You’d have to start all over again. And how would we live?’ ‘I honestly don’t know, at this stage. And it’s all a long way off. It’s just an idea, might not come to anything. Right now, we just need to hang together and get through this nightmare.’

But an idea planted, like a small seed, lays dormant deep in the ground until the rain comes and the soil nurtures and, finally, the green shoots burst through the topsoil, pushing upwards towards the sun. That day lay years in the future, to await the setting of another sun in the East. Before that happy time, much sorrow and dread crossed the lives of the families of Ross Street, and in particular, the Jenkins and young Kennedys.

‘But where is he Shauna?’ Betty Jenkins held her friend’s hand. Watching anxiously, Shauna had come to the front door of number 37 in tears. They were both sitting in her loungeroom. Shauna was still upset but able to talk. Clutching a wet handkerchief, she began, ‘The police banged on my door at six this morning demanding to know where Callum was. I was barely decently dressed. I tried to find out what they wanted but they just kept demanding to know if he was at home. Two of them, big brutes they were. Got my back up they did. Masons, I expect, probably pillars of the local Lodge. So, I stood my ground and gave them the sharp edge of my tongue. Told them in no uncertain that they could feck away. I mean, what mother would rat on her own child? Taken aback they were, don’t suppose they usually had a mere woman tell them where to get off. Muttered something about coming back with a search warrant before I told them to saunter and slammed the door shut in their faces. I was all hepped up I can tell you.’ Betty was stunned. Shauna was speaking so quickly and had fallen back into her Irish brogue. But there was no mistaking her fervour, nor the strength of her feelings. Betty was awestruck by her friend’s courage in taking on two policeman. For Betty, they represented the guardians of her world. She would no more think of disobeying their orders than leading a march on the government. ‘But do you know where Callum is, dear?’ ‘No idea. He hasn’t been home the past two days. I’m not happy with the crowd he’s hanging around with, a bunch of toughs from the docks where he’s been getting casual work, loading and unloading ships, mainly for the army. I suppose he’s got involved in some racket. He’s been splashing money around like a drunken sailor. Bought me a new dress last week, said I deserved to look pretty again. I boxed his ears but secretly was rather pleased.’

‘What will you do?’ Betty couldn’t envisage anything worse, police chasing her children! ‘Just wait and see when he turns up. There’s nothing much else I can do. It reminds me of all the times I wondered and waited for his father. I just hope he doesn’t do anything stupid.’ Having settled Shauna down and finished her second cup of tea, Betty said her goodbyes and walked back up the street to number 24. Later that evening as they sat in their easy chairs before an open fire, Betty turned to her husband. ‘Ted, Shauna is terribly worried about her son Callum. Two policemen turned up at her door this morning looking for him.’ Betty unconsciously picked up and put down Ted’s ashtray on the side table between them. ‘I don’t wonder. Cheeky little sod, that one. No respect for his elders. He practically ran me down on that motor bike of his last week. I barely managed to jump back onto the footpath. Gave me a cheeky wave as he roared up the street. What’s the lad done?’ ‘Shauna has no idea. He hasn’t been home since the weekend. Shauna thinks that he’s in with a bad lot and may have been stealing.’ Betty’s eyes opened wide. ‘Well, if he has, he’ll end up in Pentridge. Maybe that’ll be a lesson he’ll finally learn. He should have ed up like most of the lads around here. I’m just sorry for Shauna. She doesn’t deserve to go through another family crisis, not after Liam’s death and her oldest running away with that circus performer.’ ‘Actor, dear,’ but here Betty let the matter drop.

October 1942

Patty Kennedy sat in her mother’s kitchen, wringing her hands. Phillip sat next to her eating a bowl of porridge and playing with a doll made from a peg, artfully dressed in a small smock sewn by his grandmother. ‘James’ orders have come through. I’m not allowed to say much but he is being shipped out to somewhere north.’ Patty voice betrayed resigned hopelessness. ‘He’s being sent overseas?’ Betty was astonished. ‘When did this come about, I thought he was working in government stores in the city.’ ‘He still is but he has been transferred to the logistics and payroll section attached to a unit being sent somewhere over there.’ Patty waved her arms in a vague manner. ‘He’s only just been told and is excited. “Going to make a difference”, he says.’ ‘How do you feel about it,’ Betty gently ventured, aware of her daughter’s fragility. ‘Oh, if that’s what he wants, to leave us worrying if we’ll ever see him again’ Patty’s words trailed off. ‘Mum, I’m so scared for him. What will I and the children do if, if...’? ‘Shush, dear. I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s not as if he’ll be up in the front line. He’s an office worker, there to the troops in the field.’ Betty quickly changed the subject and stood up energetically. ‘Come on let’s take Phillip to the park and then walk up to the school and collect Anne. She seems to be enjoying her first year of school.’ Patty brightened up. ‘Yes, she loves it and especially her teacher, Mrs. Rainsford. Come on Phillip, let’s go and get your big sister.’

December 1942

The newspaper article caught Ted Jenkin’s eye as soon as he had found his seat in the carriage on that warm day two weeks before Christmas. The train was packed, the usual commuters jostling with woman on their final Christmas shopping run, though there was but modest cheer in the air, and most would find little to purchase as Australia battened down to endure its first festive season under the very real shadow of invasion. War that had once seemed a long way from home, a terror endured by relatives in the home country, now loomed in the very foreground of the mind. Lurid tales of Japanese atrocities in Korea and China that had been the stuff of sensationalist newspaper coverage was now reappearing in the nightmares of ordinary Australians. Ted craned his neck to read over the shoulder of the man seated next to him. The article reported, in heavily censored form, a statement just released of an army base overrun by the Japanese Imperial Army. No details as to date or place were conveyed, but a list of soldiers, presumed captured or dead, was included at the end of the article. Ted’s eyes froze and a dread such as he had never known washed over him. Sergeant James Kennedy. The name of his son-in-law, the adored husband of his beloved daughter, leapt off the page. He shook his head as if unable to believe what he was seeing. Surely not. Not James. Not the father of his grandchildren. Another thought shook him out of his initial horror. How would he be able to tell Patty? He felt like a footy opponent had just istered a kick to the groin. He groaned and covered his face with his hands. ‘You all right, mate?’ The man next to him dropped his paper and turned towards Ted. ‘Just a bit of a shock, mate. Thanks, but I’m okay now.’ Ted managed to collect himself and looked out the window to divert attention in the carriage away from his grief. Tears welled as he thought of the bright young man who had entered their lives bringing the promise of all the wonderful family times to come. He roughly brushed the first signs of emotion from his cheek and willed the train onward.

On reaching Princes Bridge he rushed from the train and ran up the gangway, elbowing his way through the throng. He pushed through the gate and made for the bank of public telephones standing along the wall next to the station entrance. After fumbling with the pennies in his fob pocket, he carefully dialled. When his boss’ secretary answered he gasped. ‘Robyn, it’s Ted. Tell Frank that I’m ill, coughing up my lungs. Can’t make it in today. I’ll try and phone him later.’ Ted paused. ‘Thanks, you’re a treasure, bye.’ He hung up with what he hoped was a convincing cough and headed at speed for the street. He ran up Swanston Street and turned into Collins. As he ed the Regent theatre, he thought of all the films he and Betty and later Patty had watched together. Jesus, if only he could be back in that innocent life. Five minutes later he burst into Bob Mattingly’s office. ‘Mabel, is Bob in? Can you get him to come?’ At this point the adrenalin that had kicked in on leaving the train evaporated. He collapsed into a client’s chair by the door. Mabel leapt up in alarm. ‘Ted, what’s wrong. You look terrible. Let me get you some water?’ ‘No, no, it’s all right. Just get Bob please.’ Ted took a deep breath to compose himself. Mabel Dougherty had never seen Bob’s friend in such a state. Shelving her concern, she rushed to her boss’ door, knocked, paused and then entered. Seconds later Bob came through the door like Syd Coventry breaking the pack in a Richmond-Collingwood grudge match. ‘What is it, for God’s sake? Mabel says you’re out on your feet.’ Ted’s defences collapsed. He hid his face as the tears fell onto his neatly ironed business suit. Bob was now seriously worried. ‘Mate, mate, what is it? Mabel, get water. Come on Ted, into my office with you.’ Bob lifted his friend from the chair and walked him through the door and sat him down on the small couch. Mabel arrived with the water and set it down on the

low occasional table next to the couch. She then discreetly withdrew and quietly closed the door behind her. ‘Is it Betty? Patty? The children?’ A sudden thought occurred. Had Ted received a diagnosis of some deadly disease? Ted shook his head. ‘It’s James. He’s missing, presumed dead.’ ‘How, where? How do you know?’ Bob ‘s immediate reaction was one of relief. Although he knew and liked James, it was Bob and Betty that he cared for most. ‘I saw a note in this morning’s Herald. Said the Japs had captured an Aussie outpost and included a list of missing diggers. James was one of them. Jesus, how, on earth am I going to tell Patty?’ ‘Hang on a moment. Let’s get as much information as possible before we do anything else. Mabel,’ Bob yelled, and Mabel appeared having not moved far from the dividing door. ‘Please go and get me a copy of the latest edition of the Herald.’ Curious but obedient, his long-time secretary nodded and quickly left the room. While she was gone Bob quizzed his friend on where he thought James may have been posted. ‘We weren’t allowed to know. He received his orders and shipped out, about three weeks ago. We haven’t even had a letter from him yet.’ Mabel returned and handed the newspaper to Bob. ‘Thanks love. Can you cancel the rest of my morning appointments and rearrange the one with Phil till tomorrow? You can send him my monthly report to chew on.’ As she left the office, Bob leafed through the paper until he found the article. He opened the cigarette box on his desk, withdrew one and flipped open his lighter. The cigarette stayed unlit, hanging from his lip as he perused the paper in front of him. ‘This must be it.’ He scanned the . ‘Well, it doesn’t give much away,

does it. But that might be a good sign.’ ‘Good! He’s bloody been captured by those yellow bastards. How can that be good?’ ‘What I mean is that, if there had been... casualties,’ Bob chose his words carefully, ‘they would have said so. All they say is ‘missing presumed captured’. If he’s alive, you’ll hear about it in due course.’ Bob leaned back and finally lit the cigarette he’d been craving. He took a deep drag and felt the familiar buzz. He was going to need a sharp mind to help his friend through today. Ted thought hard. ‘You might have something. At least it’s grounds for hope, and Patty will need every hope she can muster to get through this.’ Another thought struck Ted. ‘Maybe some of the blokes at Lodge might be able to find out more, off the record like.’ The same thought had occurred to Bob, but he was not confident that Ted in his current state was up to the task. ‘Good idea, mate. But why don’t you go home and talk it over with Betty, how to break the news to Patty. There’s no one clueyer than your Betty in such matters. I’ll follow up at the Lodge.’ Ted was torn. He dearly wanted to chase down more information to reassure his family. But he could see the wisdom in his friend’s suggestion. ‘You’re true blue, mate, the best friend a bloke could ever want. All right, I’ll do as you say.’ ‘Good man. I’ll phone you later to tell you both what, if anything, I’ve found out.’ Ted rose, shook hands with Bob and left the room. ‘Bye Mable, thanks for the water. It did the trick.’ He smiled weakly and she smiled back. Now what was all that about, she pondered. No doubt Bob would tell her in his own good time. Ted’s trip home was one of the hardest of his life. Normally, the train after work was a pleasurable one of anticipation, a time to reflect on the achievements of the day and to look forward to being greeted home by Betty and the delicious smell of dinner emanating from the kitchen. Even when he had to stand in a crowd of likeminded men crammed into the rattletrap carriage, rocking and rolling along decades old and decaying tracks, he usually had a happy soul for companionship. But today in the near empty carriage hurtling towards home, hours ahead of schedule, his body clock was awry, resulting in an unpleasant

feeling of nausea. As the familiar stations ed, one after another, he found himself hoping that the train would go slower. It brought back childhood memories of taking the train to town with his mother for his annual check-up with the dentist, Dr. Grindley, a severe man with a surgery chock-full of instruments designed to terrorise young boys. When the train ground to a halt at his station, he had to force himself from his seat and alight before the guard blew his whistle and the train rumbled on its way. The walk home was similarly cheerless and as he turned the familiar corner into Ross Street, his courage almost failed. Betty Jenkins was in the backyard hanging the washing on the line when she heard the gate creak. Who could that be? She wasn’t expecting anyone this morning. She carried the empty washing basket to the back of the house. As she rounded the corner, the sight of her husband caused her heart to jump, in alarm not affection. What, on earth was he doing home at this hour? A catalogue of possible catastrophes flashed though her mind in an instant. ‘Ted, what is it, what’s happened?’ Betty was immediately on the alert, a cavalcade of dire possibilities tumbling through her imagination. Ted rushed to his wife and held her to his chest. ‘It’s James. He and his comrades are missing.’ ‘Missing?’ Betty fought to get her head around the news. ‘Do you mean?’ Here she stopped. ‘I don’t know.’ Ted’s voice was low and uncertain, so different from its normal confident flow. ‘The newspaper just lists his name among several soldiers who may be hiding or captured by the Japs. Bob is trying to find out more. Come on let’s go inside and we can try and work out what to do.’ Betty held Ted’s hand, clothes basket forgotten on the ground, as they walked sadly into the house. Ted stood behind, arms around her in the kitchen as she boiled the kettle. They stayed together that long day, mostly silent, occasionally speaking as a stray thought or hope burst through the all-pervading gloom. In mid-afternoon the phone rang. Ted jumped up to answer it. ‘It’s Bob,’ he called to Betty. She sat nervously; head turned anxiously towards muffled conversation. Eventually Ted said, ‘Thanks mate, I owe you’ and hung

up the phone. ‘Well, anything?’ Betty cried’ hopefully. ‘Not much I’m afraid, though he’s going to keep on digging.’ Ted’s thoughts ed on to the job at hand. ‘Now, what are we going to tell our daughter. We don’t want her finding out from some busybody who happens to see the report in the paper.’ Ted was pacing up and down the room as he spoke. But bad news travels fast. And there is no shortage of busybodies, especially in times of heightened anxiety. Almost before he had uttered these words the phone rang again. Ted answered. Holding the phone away from his head, he whispered, ‘It’s Patty, she knows.’ A sharp pain tore at Betty’s side. She sat down heavily, massaging it gently. Their whole world had changed. Poor Patty, her lovely, lovely daughter. Ted came back and sat, his arm around his wife, both quietly weeping.

Christmas 1942 was a sombre affair in many households around the country, nowhere more than in Ross Street. No news had yet arrived about the fate of Sergeant James Kennedy. Every day started with hope and ended in disappointment and emotional exhaustion. That morning Patty, wearing a bright blue and white sun dress, and her two parents were sitting in the backyard watching the children playing with the hose. Phillip was squirting his sister who screamed as she tried to duck behind the nectarine tree at the end of the garden. Both were in their swimming costumes and wringing wet. The day was pleasantly warm, though as the afternoon progressed the temperature rose. Ted had earlier mowed and the smell of new mown grass wafted on the breeze. ‘Phillip, give your sister a rest. She is wet enough, and so are you’ Patty called out peevishly to her children. ‘Let them be, Patty. They’re having fun.’ ‘That’s all right for you Dad but I’ll be the one up all night dealing with Phillip’s croup. You know what a weak chest he has.’ Patty rarely spoke sharply to her father.

Ted sighed. Whenever would he learn that mothers, all mothers, had a morbid fear of dampness. If he so much as spilled a drop of morning tea on their bed, Betty would have the sheets off and in the copper.

‘Anyone home?’ Bob Mattingly’s voice echoed from the driveway. ‘Oh, hello all and happy Christmas.’ ‘Just us.’ added Viv. ‘Hello you two. Happy Christmas back. Come and us.’ The five old friends greeted each other warmly. Age had not changed them in any obvious way. Whenever together they fell into that easy comradery that indelibly marked close friends. A little greyer, a bit slower getting up from their chairs, that’s all! The two children rushed up and greeted the new arrivals who were almost as familiar to them as their parents and grandparents. Ted pulled two extra chairs from the shed and placed them in an expanded circle around the low outside table on which were arranged the remains of the pudding and several bottles of beer and lemonade. ‘Tuck in.’ ‘Thanks Ted but we’re stuffed. We’ve just finished lunch with our Amy. She’s off with her friends, down to the river for a swim. We thought we’d walk off the fantastic meal that Viv threw together.’ ‘Threw? It took me days to prepare and cook that lot and you threw it down your throat in ten minutes flat. Wonder of it is that you didn’t choke.’ Viv aimed a playful punch that Bob pretended to cower away from. ‘But I do worry about Amy going down to the river. You Bobby Brown? He drowned down by the road bridge last summer.’ Viv shuddered at the thought of the young boy being caught on a submerged tree root and struggling unable to reach the surface, ‘Don’t worry Viv. She’ll have plenty of company and they’ll look after each other.’ Ted reassured her.

‘Bobby had plenty of friends with him too. Didn’t stop him from slipping away. Before anyone realised, he was gone, it was too late.’ ‘You worry too much about that girl, Viv. She’s a grown woman.’ Bob had heard Viv’s concern over the previous hour or two. ‘I can understand Viv’s concern, Bob. I wouldn’t want Anne and Phillip swimming in the river either. In fact. I’m dreading the day when they find out it’s there.’ Patty smiled at Viv, as if to say, you can’t expect men to understand. ‘I guess I am a bit overprotective. Her brother is God knows where fighting this damn war and we don’t know when or if we’ll ever see him again... Oh, dear I’m so sorry.’ Viv reached out to hold Patty’s hand. ‘That was stupid of me. I know how worried you are about James.’ Patty’s face was a mask as she fought to maintain control in front of the children. Ted broke the awkward silence. ‘Anything new you’ve been able to find out, Bob?’ ‘I’m afraid not. But as soon as I do, I’ll be round like a shot to tell you Patty. Till then we hope and pray.’ It was true. Apart from a brief formal letter informing Patty of her husband’s capture, no further news was forthcoming. Much later they were to hear through a fellow Lodge member of Bob’s, someone on General Blamey’s staff, that James had been transported after capture to Changi Prisoner of war camp in Singapore before being sent early in 1943 with a contingent of fellow Australian prisoners under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Edward Dunlop to work on the Thai-Burma Railway. Eventually, in May of that year a letter arrived via the Red Cross, one page crammed with words, written just before his departure from Changi. Darling Patty, I am alive. I’m with a lot of other Aussie lads. We have heard on the grapevine that we’ll be shipped off somewhere to the mainland soon. I’m reasonably well, which I can’t say for some of the boys. Food is in short supply but okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. After all, I have you and the children to come home to. Don’t write to me. I’m pretty sure that our hosts won’t be delivering much mail to us and this may be the only chance I get to write to

you. I have the photo of you and the children with me at all times and that will get me through. You are always in my thoughts. I replay over and over the wonderful times we have had together. You are always in my mind. Please give my love to my parents and yours. Your always man, James. On the morning the letter arrived Patty dropped Anne at school and Phillip at the free kindergarten and rushed around to her parents’ house. She twice read the letter out to Betty and the two began an earnest conversation. ‘What do you think it means, Mum?’ Patty watched her mother closely, hardly bearing to hope. Betty fought to maintain a logical voice. ‘Well, it’s carefully written, probably under the eyes of his guards. So, he couldn’t say anything that might give military information away. He probably only had a short time to write it. But he manages to say what’s important to you and us. He wants to let us know that he’s keeping up his spirits and wants us to do so too.’ ‘But Mum,’ Patty cut in, caught between hope and dread, ‘it also seems like he thinks that this is the last time he can us. You don’t think that he thinks, he thinks’ Patty couldn’t utter the words, but Betty knew their content. ‘Of course not, dear. Look at what he says. He has the very best of reasons to stay alive and well. You and the children. You know James better than anyone. He’s strong and steadfast. He’ll never give up. He’ll find a way to come back to us. We just have to be as strong, to keep going, to be there when he returns. Until then, we’ll never give up hope.’ Betty bravely fought on, desperate to give hope to her only child but deep down fearful that Patty’s intuition was only too likely to prove true. And so, it was. In that dark, cold vacuum of ignorance, Patty and thousands of other wives and parents lived day to day, waiting, waiting, waiting. Included in their number were the Mattinglys. On his seventeenth mission, Flying Officer Brian Mattingly’s bomber did not return from a fifty-strong raid over German occupied territory. A brief letter from the Colonial Office in London informed his parents that he was missing in action. But in this case, there quickly followed a more detailed message that he had safely parachuted to the ground, been captured by Vichy French forces and handed over to the Luftwaffe. He was now in a POW camp in , able to receive and send mail and receive packages

through the Red Cross. In every way, as it turned out, Brian’s captivity was more bearable than that of James. The bond between the old friends of Ross street became even stronger as they endured the heartbreak of those left behind.

September 1943

‘I taly’s surrendered,’ echoed down the phone line. Ted held the phone close to his ear as he strove to hear his friend on the other end of the line. ‘What are you saying, Bob? Can it be true? Italy out, well thank Christ.’ ‘It’s true, mate. Italy’s chucked it in. After tossing that bald bludger out last month, the Itie Generals have seen the writing on the wall and thrown up their hands.’ ‘That’ll means the war will be over soon, at least in Europe.’ Ted’s heart rate rose. ‘Hitler can’t hold out now, what with the Americans taking Italy out and the bloody Russians in the East. Looks like Stalingrad was it for the little bastard.’ ‘Maybe, but ’s war machine is still largely intact, and they have a huge advantage by controlling the Atlantic coast. He’s a slippery bugger, Hitler. You never know what he’s going to do next. But at least he’s lost his main European ally and ’s vulnerable from the south. Africa belongs to the Allies and now Italy. Hopefully it’s just a matter of time. Then we can turn everything on the bloody Japs and wipe out their homeland.’ Bob’s normally measured tone evaporated as he had great hopes that he would soon see his beloved son, home, safe and well. Ted murmured agreement. Inwardly he thought of James. I have long noticed the human capacity for cruelty when driven by greed, fear and, as in Bob’s private moment, relief. It was thus when the pale ones first came to my land and before that when the dark ones fought to establish their precedence over the sacred land. Before that the great beasts fought for food, mates and safety in the land that now has changed in a blink of time to a patchwork of neat streets and houses. Only before the appearance of life, when the great land masses were connected in that deathly silent age, was there peace. But peace will never return until we reach that icy stillness towards which we amble, unconsciously and without understanding.

January 1944

Shauna Hennessy sat wordlessly at the kitchen table. Her hair was unbrushed, her face devoid of makeup and her clothes thrown together without thought. Betty had never seen her looking so defeated. ‘Come on dear, buck up. It’s not that bad. He’ll be out in six months, if he behaves himself.’ Betty was unsure of how the justice system actually worked but fought to find something, some words to reassure her friend. ‘Behaving himself is not Callum’s strong suit. He’s just as likely to get extra for cheeking the turnkeys. His father certainly did in his time in Mountjoy Prison.’ Shauna spoke bitterly. ‘When can you visit him at Pentridge?’ Betty uttered the name of Melbourne’s notorious prison with trepidation. It was a place whose dark Victorian bluestone walls loomed over the suburb of Coburg and which the respectable citizens of the metropolis ed as quickly as they could. Young children were pointed towards its forbidding exterior and the great medieval like wooden doors and threatened with life within if they didn’t mind their parents, teachers and policemen, and if they failed to attend school, finish their homework and house chores, and generally toe the line. Callum Hennessy had not heeded the folk wisdom and had been caught as a runner in a particularly lucrative racket run by the illegal Collingwood bookmaker John Wren. Callum had been too slow when the police, unhappy with the delay in Wren’s sweeteners, raided the Johnson Street tote, just to jog Wren’s memory. As a minnow served up as the necessary sacrifice, Callum was quickly charged, tried and confined to Pentridge at the pleasure of His Majesty. ‘Every second Wednesday,’ replied Shauna sadly. ‘I try to keep his spirits up. In spite of the Irish bravado, he’s dead scared of the toughs in there. Most have no love for Irish Catholics. You’d think the Masons had a special chapter in there, just to terrorise the likes of Callum. Oh, sorry dear, I keep forgetting that Ted’s a Mason. Funny, I don’t think of him as such. He’s always so nice to me and mine.’ ‘Don’t mind Ted. His bark is way worse than his bite. He’s got mates who are

commies, Catholics and candlemakers. Even Jews. He’s a people person. Once he gets to know a real person, he gets on like anything. As long as that fellow thinks Don Bran is the greatest cricketer ever, of course.’ Betty face crinkled in a smile. Shauna laughed and brushed her hair back behind her ear. ‘You’re good medicine for me Betty, always get me laughing. The world never looks quite so bleak when you are laughing, does it?’ Betty nodded but was thinking, if only she could raise a smile or two on her daughter’s face. Shauna saw immediately. ‘How is Patty?’ ‘Coping, just. It’s been months and no word from or about James. I can see the hope fading from her eyes. I’m desperate to keep her spirits up.’ A thought flashed across Shauna’s mind. ‘Betty, why don’t I suggest that Patty come with me when I next visit Callum?’ ‘What good would that do?’ ‘Well, she and Callum have always got on well. I had hoped that Patty and Erin would hit it off, be a bit of a steadying influence on my girl. But Erin had different ideas, as we know. Callum had a bit of a crush on Patty, when he was at that older woman stage.’ Both women chuckled. ‘I think her visiting would be a reminder of what he’s missing and how stupid it is to rot in a gaol cell. And as for Patty, it would give her something and someone else to think about. She could help me and a couple of other prison mothers, as we call ourselves, to get up a group for newly released prisoners. Once they get out it’s important to find them accommodation and activities away from the temptations that got them banged up in the first place.’ The more Betty thought about it, the more sense Shauna’s idea seemed. She raised the matter with Ted that evening. ‘What do you think, dear?’ ‘Sounds a bit daft to me,’ Ted said absently, then looked up and continued ‘Why would a respectable young married woman want to get mixed up with the riffraff from Pentridge? And ‘Ted added after some thought, ‘Isn’t it tempting fate to throw an attractive woman into the path of a group of rogues?’

‘Edward Jenkins, are you suggesting that our daughter would betray her husband, the man who’s fighting for our freedom and who is this very moment prisoner in some horrible hellhole?’ ‘All right, all right. Hold your horses Neddy. Of course, I’m not suggesting any such thing. I was more concerned about her safety.’ ‘She’ll be with Shauna and a group of perfectly respectable mothers.’ Ted decided to quit while not behind. He had a less rosy view of Betty’s friend and Shauna’s family. ‘Well, it’s up to Patty. I’ll whatever she wants to do.’ Mollified but not entirely convinced in her own mind, Betty resumed knitting the endless stream of victory socks for Australian POWs incarcerated in Europe. She hoped Shauna knew what she was doing. Later that week she and Patty were sitting in the loungeroom of number 24, having deposited the children at school. ‘Well, what do you think of Shauna’s idea, dear? You know you don’t have to do it if you feel uneasy about it.’ Patty smiled. ‘I know, mum. But I think it’s a wonderful idea. Everyone I know seems to be incarcerated, James, Brian and now Callum. I’m sure I could bring him some peace of mind and encouragement to get his life back on track. And that goes for other boys who are locked up with him. It must be terrible to lose your freedom, to have no control over your day to day life. I’m in!’ Patty’s smile radiated a liveliness Betty had missed these last few months. Perhaps Shauna was right. This was the first sign of enthusiasm Betty had seen in her daughter since the terrible news had arrived. Perhaps, she thought, it really would give Patty a project to get her teeth into, a diversion until better times came around. Betty fervently believed that better times would arrive. She had immense faith in a benign God but hoped her prayers and the prayers of countless others, on both sides of the conflict, would speed up the deity’s bewildering cosmic plan. It was in this accidental manner that Patty Kennedy and Shauna Hennessy set about establishing and running the ‘Mothers for Rehabilitation’ group.

‘What’s all this about Patty going into Pentridge?’ Bob Mattingly looked quizzically at his friend. He was sitting with Ted on the back veranda of number 24. They were dressed casually in shorts and cotton shirts. The warmth of summer seeped delightfully into their bones. It was one of those days that made a Melbourne winter bearable. ‘She’s dead set on doing it and Betty seems okay with it. I must say, I’m a bit leery of the idea. We’ve seen a good deal more of the seamy side of life that our good women. But they are sure that they can civilise the reprobates. I don’t know why women can’t just stick to their knitting, instead of always trying to improve the world, particularly their husbands. A lot of the world don’t want to be improved.’ Ted knocked his pipe twice on the side of his chair and fetched his tobacco pouch from his shirt pocket. A familiar ritual got the pipe going. ‘Too true, mate.’ Bib replied. ‘But don’t waste your breath trying to stop them when they’ve got a moral head of steam up. Like standing in front of a bloody steam roller. How about a top up?’ After seeing his glass refilled to a foaming rim, Bob continued in more serious vein. ‘Still no word about James, then?’ ‘‘fraid not. It’s been four weeks since we received his short letter. I know you’ve been chasing down your s and for that we are very grateful. It’s just so difficult not knowing for certain.’ Ted slapped his thigh in frustration, causing the foam from his glass to tip over the side and his pipe to go out. ‘I’ll keep poking around, eventually news will filter through. On the brighter side, I’d say we’re pretty well safe from invasion. Curtin bringing the troops home to defend Australia was vital, no thanks to Churchill. Our lads were able to regroup and successfully stop the Japs on Kokoda. Once the US fleet clobbered the Imperial navy at Midway, there was no way for them to threaten New Guinea and northern Australia. It looks like we were lucky, got away with the bombing of Darwin early in the piece.’ ‘I’m not sure our Darwin friends would agree there.’ Ted shrugged. Like most Victorians, Darwin poised on the northern edge of the continent might as well have been in Africa, where it once had been. He knew about the explorers from school days, knew about the ill-fated attempt of Burke and Wills to cross the country from south to north and back again, knew of the final dying place of those left in the party that had set off amid such fanfare from Melbourne months before their lonely ending in the South Australian bush.

‘Maybe not but compared to what I hear has been happening in China and surrounding countries under Japanese occupation, not to mention Nazi occupied Europe, we’ve got off lightly. Macarthur is pulling together allied troops to retake the islands one by one. They say that it will be a bloody campaign and that we may lose a million soldiers before the little yellow devils are beaten to their knees. They worship their Emperor and seem to be poised to die continuing to do so.’ ‘Yeh, well don’t say that to Betty and Patty.’ Ted spoke sharply. ‘They are hoping against hope that the war ends soon, and the POWs will be quickly sent home. But we know from the last time that ending a war is easier said than done and that once it does end, it can take months if not years for the soldiers and others to get back home. Given the chaos, I doubt whether this one will be any different,’ Ted added wearily. ‘What news of Brian?’ ‘He seems all right. It’s been almost a year since his capture. We’ve been able to get letters and parcels through to him via the red Cross. By the way, he thanks Betty for the socks and jumper. It’s been bloody freezing where they are.’ Both men unconsciously shivered in spite of the warm sun filtering through the leaves. ‘He seems to be in good spirits, considering, though it’s hard to tell whether he’s just trying to cheer us up. At least, he’s alive!’ Bob exploded. ‘And the Nazis seem to be treating their prisoners better than the Japs. You know, a couple of years ago I was really considering how I would kill Viv, Amy and myself if the yellow bastards sailed into Port Philip Bay. Can you believe it? I hope Macarthur beats the shit out of them, all the way to the bloody Palace in Tokyo.’ The two friends clinked glasses and continued talking and drinking until the afternoon light faded and their wives called them into dinner.

August 1944

‘S hush, I’m trying to listen to the news.’ Ted craned closer to the radiogram, while Betty paused and sat on the arm of the nearby armchair. He was in his dressing gown, unshaven, oblivious to the time. The distinct BBC voice came through the ether. Allied troops have broken through on the Cherbourg Peninsula and are pushing the German forces back. Combined forces under the command of General George Patton are now into Brittany and expected to mop up enemy resistance over coming days. At home... Ted switched off the radio. ‘We’ve got them! They’re done for now. Their only hope was to bottle up the invasion forces. It’s the beginning of the end, thank God.’ But the beginning is not the end, nor even necessarily close to it. The Teds of the world would continue to haunt their radios for months to come, clutching at every word, every omen pointing to the end. News filtered through as to the failed assassination attempt on Hitler’s life, though little was heard then of the terrible retribution the Führer unleashed on his opponents. Otherwise, the war in Europe rolled on and on. Progress seemed even slower in the Pacific. The endless string of islands, fanatically defended by their Japanese invaders, saw many small battles underway and no clear outcome in sight. American bombers were now reaching and carpet-bombing Japan’s big cities, but the prospects of peace seemed as far away as ever. In our little world, life meandered on, with no pattern, other than the regular commute of the men to work and the women to the shops. Ross Street continued as a caught-in-time snapshot of a world being blown away. Very few women in the street were called into the workforce to fill the gaps left by men in the armed forces. Ivy Messenger from number 45 had volunteered at a canning factory in Footscray but had lasted one day. ‘They were so common, dear, you wouldn’t believe. And the supervisor, dirty old man, thought because the real men were away at war, he had open slather on any woman he took a fancy too. I gave him a good flea in the ear, I can tell you.

And the dirt. I can’t even bear to think about the state of the toilets! How can people live like that?’ And so, the gentility of Ross Street was preserved, and life continued on its welloiled tracks. The huge post-war changes to come in family life, brought about by the returning victors, the burst of economic growth and the flood of non-Anglo migration was not on the horizon as Ivy and her bridge-playing friends strove to maintain the moral fabric of their comfortable pre-war world. Anne Kennedy and two of her friends made a practical contribution to the war effort by roaming the neighbourhood collecting bric-a-brac and holding a rummage sale out the front of number 24. Anne took the proceeds and was photographed at the Town Hall proudly presenting five pounds to Melbourne’s Lord Mayor as a contribution to the war effort. Betty cut the photo out of the Herald and stuck it on the kitchen wall. Ted proudly ed copies around to colleagues at work. For a time, when visiting her grandparents, Anne became the hero of the moment. ‘Well, Callum, I hope you are grateful to Patty for helping you get that job.’ Shauna glared at her son. Callum Hennessy, recently released from His Majesty’s prison Pentridge, gazed distractedly at his mother in the kitchen of number 37. He seemed different, no longer the cheeky kid who had so annoyed the old ladies of Ross Street. Even his appearance was different. Gone was the bother boy outfit that he had assumed during his brief career in illegal gambling, to be replaced by a sober outfit of grey flannel tros, white cotton shirt and brown brogues polished to a high sheen. Patty had taken over the role of searching out jobs for newly released prisoners and Callum was one of her early successes. Ricky Barrett, now a local millionaire and stalwart of Rotary, had taken him on at the new cash and carry store opened the year before. Ricky had early grasped the way retail was moving and made a pre-emptive strike on a vacant corner block near his garage and funeral business. The new building, a miracle of construction during the days of wartime controls on building materials, spoke eloquently of Ricky’s determination, persistence and cunning, not to mention his strategic connections cultivated through the Lodge and Rotary. Ricky’s remorseless commercial success was accurately signalled by the girth of his bespoke tailored tros. The bony tearaway youth who scandalised Ross Street was now one of the district’s pillars of respectability, hitting the scales at an impressive sixteen stone.

And he had never forgotten the little girl whose life he had saved all those years ago. Never married, Ricky Barrett would hold a torch for Patty Jenkins, as he always thought of her, for the rest of his life. ‘Of course, I am Mum.’ Callum’s face lit up. ‘She was great the way she visited me while I was in stir. She’s going to get Woodsey a job when he gets out at Christmas. I’m hoping it’s with Mr. Barrett. I reckon the two of us could really get on well at the new store.’ Ricky’s newest venture was always called ‘the new store’ to distinguish it from Bunter’s drapery and novelty shop two blocks down, a fixture in the shopping centre since before the Great War. Residents were split, rather like the inhabitants of Swift’s satire in which those who cracked their eggs from the big end vehemently derided those who opened from the small end, a sentiment enthusiastically reciprocated. Some people insisted that Bunters was good enough for their parents, and so would do nicely thank you, while casting slights on the characters of those who defected to the new Yankee invention introduced by that upstart Ricky Barrett. Conversely, the daring pioneers of the new retail wave expressed nothing but contempt for their stick-in-the-mud neighbours. This was no temporary divergence of views, but a permanent schism that persisted, even through the generations and the decades to come. Ricky’s innovation would forever be known as ‘the new store’.

Christmas Eve 1944

‘T hat’s wonderful news. When did you find out?’ Betty was genuinely pleased and relieved for her friend. They were both in the kitchen at number 24, Viv helping Betty unpack groceries just purchased from Callum Hennessy at the new store. ‘Last night!’ Viv Mattingly beamed. Years dropped away from her like autumn leaves. ‘A telegram came though, saying that Brian and three other POWs had escaped and made their way through to the advancing American forces. They were flown on to London for medical checks. We’re hoping that he might be able to phone us but of course it’s going to be difficult at such a time. Still, we know he’s safe and he’ll at least be able to write and we to him. Bob, Amy and I are so relieved, after all that waiting... Oh darling, I’m sorry, I know that dear James is still imprisoned.’ ‘It’s fine Viv. Brian’s escape is not going to make our worry for James change, and I’m delighted that the first of our boys is on the path home.’ Although Betty was genuinely happy for the Mattinglys, deep down she reflected on the unfairness of it all. Why had fate shone on her and not us? ‘Well now I’ll direct all my prayers to his safe return. You are a great friend Betty, and you and Patty deserve good news soon.’ After so many years, Viv could sense her friend’s deepest thoughts and fears. But the wait was far from over for both the good friends. Pronounced fit, Brian Mattingly was returned to his base and gradually eased back into rotation as the air war over reached its climax. Once active hostilities ceased, he was moved to the ground to assist in the immediate tasks of occupation in the British zone in conquered . It would be another two years before he finally returned to the bosom of his family, this time with a German wife and baby daughter. James’ fate remained unclear until two months after the Japanese formally surrendered on the decks of the battleship USS Missouri anchored in Tokyo Bay. Nevertheless, Christmas that year was a more joyous affair than the previous five. The Jenkins and Mattingly families met as usual on the night of Christmas

Day, to exchange gifts and, this year, to celebrate Brian’s freedom. He had managed to wangle an international phone call to his parents early that morning. Viv was effervescent with happiness that evening. ‘He sounded so grown up, his voice was different somehow, mature like. He left a boy in search of adventure and now he’ll return a hero.’ ‘Well, war will do that to a man,’ put in Ted. ‘We have to be prepared to accept back someone who has seen things and done things that no person should have to suffer. He’s bound to be changed and not only in voice.’ Ted was proud of the boy he had known since childhood. But hovering as always, never quite banished, was the secret shame that reproofed him for shirking his duty in the earlier war. ‘Well, I don’t care how he is, just having him back in one piece is good enough for me and it’ll be the same when James comes home,’ Bob added. Patty turned away to hide the welling tears. It was all very well for the Mattinglys, they knew their boy was safe. If only this blasted war would finish. Sensing Patty’s distress, her mother added ‘they’ve been saying for years that this is the last wartime Christmas we’ll have. But I really think that this time they’re right. Don’t you Ted?’ ‘I do. I definitely do. The Huns are being forced back day by day on both sides and the Japs are soon going to be swept back into their home Islands. I give them a few months at most.’ As ever, hope trumped reality and the war in the Pacific dragged on through most of 1945. During that agonising time, no word of James Kennedy reached home.

VE Day, May 1945

On the last day of April 1945, twelve years after he proclaimed the birth of the thousand-year Reich, Adolph Hitler shot himself in his Berlin bunker, as the Soviet troops poured into the city to ‘liberate’ it from Nazi hands. Unwilling to suffer the fate of his fellow dictator, Benito Mussolini, he instructed his adjutant to burn the remains of his body and that of his newly wed mistress, in the courtyard of the Chancellery. A week later the military surrender was signed by the remnant of the German Government in Reims, , and signed again a day later in Berlin. Wild celebrations echoed through the allied countries, including Australia. Strangers embraced in the street. The public bars were full. Schools let their excited charges out early and offices, shops and factories turned into large parties. Spontaneous street parades resembled the carnivals of medieval fairs and the staid world of Melbourne city took on the atmosphere of an impromptu Mardi Gras. The sight of austere city aldermen waving wildly to the cheering crowd that gathered outside the Town Hall was not to be repeated until decades later when a small group of English pop stars brought Melbourne’s CBD to a standstill. Such was the general euphoria of the moment, something those who experienced it would never forget nor could ever explain fully to the new generation of children generated like a tidal wave by the return of the soldiers and the inflow of European refugees and migrants.

Days ed. Then weeks. Then months. And still no news of James Kennedy. Four years of anxious uncertainty had reduced his family to the realisation that they may never learn his fate. It was a warm summers day in February the following year, when the boy on his regulation PMG bike pedalled into Ross Street. He stopped, one foot on the ground and looked around. He checked again the address on the yellow coloured envelope. Number 24. There it was a neat double-fronted cottage. He leant his bike against the front fence and walked up the side drive to the entry porch. Betty heard the sharp rap, put down her baking tray and went to answer the door. ‘Yes.’

‘Mrs. Kennedy? I have a telegram for you Missus,’ mumbled the boy. Betty trembled and her legs felt weak. She steadied herself by holding the door and replied, ‘That’s my daughter but I’ll take it.’ The boy looked doubtful, knowing that regulations only allowed him to deliver it into the hands of the person to whom it was addressed. Still, who would know, and this old biddy was unlikely to complain. He ed the official looking envelope to her. Without any other communication, the telegram boy turned and retraced his steps. Climbing onto his bike, he rose slowly back up the street, in no particular hurry to continue his rounds. Not in this bloody heat. At least this one didn’t burst out crying and look at him as if he was the cause of the bad news. Betty watched him in a daze. She quietly closed the door and retreated to the loungeroom. Sitting in her favourite chair, she held the unopened envelope in front of her, said a fervent prayer and opened it. A wave of relief washed through her, such as she had felt twenty years earlier in the same room when Ricky had delivered her missing daughter to her arms. He was alive and safe. She reread the short message twice to make sure that she had not misunderstood its import. Thanking God, she rushed for the phone and with trembling fingers rang Patty’s number, as tears streaming down her furrowed cheeks. Patty answered her phone at the third ring. ‘Hi Mum, what? Slow down. What is it?’ As the message came through, she screamed and fell to the floor. Betty heard the thud and yelled, ‘Patty, Patty!’ After a few agonising moments, Patty’s voice came through the phone. ‘It’s Okay, Mum, I just dropped the phone. Tell me again. Is it really true, is he safe?’ Patty’s voice shook with disbelief. Could it really be true? James safe! ‘Yes darling. That’s what the telegram says. It’s from the army information service.’ Betty’s spirits soared as she tried to convince her daughter of the great news. ‘But what does it say about where he is and,’ the thought occurred to Patty, ‘why did the telegram go to you and not me?’ ‘I don’t know darling. It’s addressed to you but at this address. Possibly some slip up in the paperwork, or maybe it’s the address James used when you were

all living with us after Anne’s birth. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, he’s safe and we know it. The message doesn’t say anything else about where he is and when he’ll be coming home. But we now have our prayers answered and something to go on to find out more. Why don’t you come over here when you pick the children up from school and we’ll have a special family celebration, just the five of us? I must phone your father immediately to give him the wonderful news.’ ‘Thank you so much Mum and thank you, thank you God.’ Patty eased the phone back into its cradle and collapsed onto the chair that had so often been the seat of solace in recent years. This time the torrent of tears spoke of joy, relief and hope, above all hope that her family would once more be complete, that life would be as it once was. Oh, James, James, come home to us. As soon as they had hung up, Betty rang Ted’s office. He was out on an inspection, but his assistant took the message to phone home as soon as possible. ‘Tell him it’s good news, really good news Peter.’ Betty tried to go about her normal household activities but eventually gave up, her mind in a whirl and her tears flowing plentifully. An hour later the phone rang. She grabbed it. ‘Ted is that you. Thank god. It’s James,’ she blurted out. ‘He’s safe. What? Because a government telegram arrived this morning saying so. What? I don’t know why it came here. What does it matter, for God’s sake? He’s alive, James is coming home to us. What? I don’t know when. Will you stop asking me questions I can’t answer? Just get yourself home as quickly as you can. Patty is bringing the children around for dinner. Yes, she’s over the moon. Get something nice to drink in celebration.’ Reinvigorated, Betty went to work in the kitchen. This would be a meal to , a foretaste of that happy day when James again added a sixth member at the dinner table. ‘How wonderful Betty. Now all our precious ones will be home soon.’ Viv Mattingly squeezed the hand of her friend. They had just returned from Sunday service at the chapel, three days after the news had broken, and were about to enjoy a Sunday roast. Ted had managed to scrounge a chicken from one of Ricky Barrett’s suppliers and Bob had supplied the potatoes and cabbage from his garden. The delicious smell wafted through the house. Stewed nectarines laid down last summer would follow. A bottle of rather sweet wine had been retrieved from the top shelf of the pantry and sat opened on the dining table. As

the four friends sat down, the phone rang. Ted rose to answer it. ‘It’s Patty. She’s had more information about James and is on her way around to tell us.’ ‘Oh dear, is it good news Ted?’ Betty’s first reaction on hearing the phone ring was one of anxiety, an automatic response that had never left her. And never would. ‘Hang on, she’s saying something. Yes, yes. All right, we’ll see you soon.’ ‘Well!’ All eyes focused on Ted. ‘Yes, it is good news. He’s in hospital somewhere in Asia recovering. She’ll tell us more when she gets here.’ The four friends had barely finished their dessert, when a breathless Patty arrived at the front door. The children had been left in the care of her neighbour. She rushed into the dining room and began speaking, out of breath. ‘He’s very weak, has been suffering from dysentery and god-knows-what. But he’s responding well.’ Here Patty unconsciously repeated the official-speak of her source. ‘They still don’t know when he’ll be well enough to travel but they expect he’ll board a ship with hundreds of others before Christmas.’ At this point Patty collapsed into her father’s arms. He gently guided her through the dividing door to the loungeroom and sat her down on the couch. He and Betty sat on either side of her, each holding a hand. The Mattinglys followed and sat facing the three in the two big armchairs, leaning forward in their eagerness to hear more. ‘That’s wonderful Patty. It’s simply marvellous news,’ Viv beamed, and Bob added, ‘Yes, he’ll be kicking the ball around the backyard with Phillip before you know it – what?’ Both older women glared at him as they sought to sooth a weeping younger one. ‘Really Bob!’ Viv’s look said you’re hopeless, hopeless. Why did men always want to turn everything into a joke! ‘I only meant...’ ‘Well don’t. Go and do something useful.’

‘Come on mate, best to leave the ladies to themselves. Let’s clean up the dishes.’ Ted led his still mystified friend out of the room. ‘I didn’t mean to.’ ‘I know, I know. There’s simply no getting into the female mind.’

Spring

July 1946

‘I can’t really believe that this is the day. I’m a bit scared. It’s been so long. What will he think of me?’ Patty Kennedy ran her fingers through her hair as she stared at her reflection in Betty’s dressing table mirror. She no longer saw the beautiful young girl that her new husband had proudly led, hand in hand, from the chapel into the glorious sunlight of their future together. Instead, a perfectly presentable thirty-something looked back. Was that a wrinkle, just around the eyes? Had she added a pound or three? She had retrieved her best dress from the back of her wardrobe, not worn since before the war. At least fashions hadn’t changed much. Ricky had come good with two pairs of nylon stockings, one no longer serviceable, laddered in her haste to dress. Still, she turned to survey herself in the full length mirror of Betty’s wardrobe, not too bad. ‘You’re worrying about nothing darling. You look sensational. He’ll fall in love with you all over again.’ ‘Thanks Mum.’ ‘And he hasn’t seen another woman in five years,’ added her father from the doorway. ‘Shut up, Dad,’ said Patty laughing. ‘Well, come on. Time to face the music. The children are already in your car.’ Patty and her parents left the house and climbed into Ted’s old banger, still operational thanks to Ricky’s genius for getting spare parts. The two children sat either side of Patty in the back seat, separated in order to stop their incessant squabbling. ‘Now be good you two. We want your Dad to be proud of you.’ ‘Yes Mummy,’ said ten year-old Anne, adding ‘but he pinched me just before you got into the car.’ ‘Did not’

‘Did so.’ ‘That’s enough!’ Ted’s voice cut through like a chain saw. The children stopped dead in mid bicker. ‘That’s better,’ said their grandfather in a milder tone. ‘Now we’re off to pick up the returning hero.’ He turned back to grab the steering wheel and slipped the floor shift into first gear, reflecting on how like James Phillip looked, no doubting his parentage there. He wisely refrained from sharing this last thought with his wife sitting by his side. The children were unusually quiet during the half-hour trip. Both were trying to conjure memories of a father who had disappeared from their lives five years before. Phillip, in particular, had only a hazy image of a large man who threw him into the air while both laughed and laughed. It was a happy memory. Would he still throw him into the air? Her father appeared to Anne in more definite forms. She ed the hugs, the days both he and she played with her dolls, the stories he read to her at bedtime. Above all, she could still see the loving eyes, the strong arms and the feeling of absolute safety when he was in the room. She also ed the loving, teasing ways of her parents, the way Daddy would come up behind Mummy and reach around hugging her, squeezing until she laughed, half pulled away and turned to wrap her arms around him. Ted drove the car sedately up the road and turned into the high street on its way to Port Melbourne where the ship had docked earlier that morning. There they ed the throng of relatives, excitedly chattering and looking up at the towering bulk of the transport ship, once a luxury liner that had carried well-dressed and well-healed subjects of His Majesty back and forth from the mother country before war severed that umbilical cord. The day was bitterly cold, and an icy wind cut through the gathering like an Antarctic zephyr. The impatient group gathered their coats around themselves, pulled hats down and tightened woollen scarves, while huddling closer and closer like a school of fish trying to protect themselves against marauding sharks. The sound of the ever-present seagulls and the salty smell of low tide assailed the huddled crowd. ‘When will we see Dad,’ a young boy said loudly from somewhere in the middle of the scrum. He was quickly silenced by his mother but had unknowingly

voiced the question of many in the crowd. One elderly woman detached herself and walked towards a small wooden hut situated by the large gate that barred of the public from entering further along the dock. Bored eyes turned to follow her progress. She stopped at the door of the hut and could be seen in earnest conversation with someone out of sight. A few minutes later she returned and was immediately bombarded by questions. What did he say? Are they going to disembark engers soon? When? When? The lady paused, rather pleased with the attention she was suddenly receiving. ‘Well, the guard was not sure, but he did say that the process would be orderly. Those soldiers with serious injuries will be carried off first and taken to various hospitals.’ More questions were hurled at the unfortunate lady. ‘No, no, I don’t know which ones.’ As if choreographed, a small fleet of ambulances drove in convey onto the dock and parked in line, leaving their engines idling. This was taken as a hopeful sign by those whose impatience overcame their fear of how serious the injuries to their loved ones might be. Attention then returned to the lady in question. What next? ‘He said that those carrying lighter injuries would be assisted to leave, and then the rest. That’s all I know.’ Grumbling, the crowd turned back to their own thoughts, leaving the source of their scanty intelligence to return to the anonymity from which she had momentarily been cast. The better prepared reached into hessian bags and withdrew plaid coloured thermos flasks. One or two set their picnic basket down on the cobbled bluestone deck and retrieved sandwiches readymade for the long wait. Betty found her thermos and cups, while silently cursing herself for not bringing victuals. She, Ted and Patty clutched the cups, feeling the warmth beating back the numbness in their fingers. The two children stood there shivering, clutching the plastic cups into which their grandmother had poured hot cocoa, while the remainder of the crowd around them stamped their feet and blew on cupped hands in a losing battle against the cruel wind. As the minutes ticked away and there was no discernible movement on board the ship, patience evaporated like water down a drain, and the first voluble complaints arose from somewhere near the back of the crowd.

Ted Jenkins could bear it no longer. He turned and faced the anonymous source. ‘What the hell do you have to complain about mate. These boys,’ here he pointed up at the ship, ‘have been through hell for years and you can’t wait an hour so they can be properly and safely brought back to us!’ Nobody moved. Nobody said anything. It was as if every person there looked deep into their hearts and knew at once the truth of this stranger’s observation. Everyone but one. A middle-aged woman, dressed in a long fur coat drew herself up and said, ‘Well I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!’ Ted replied, ‘Frankly Madam, I find that hard to believe.’ A wave of laughter drowned out her attempted response. Betty dug her elbow into Ted’s side to prevent further debate but was secretly proud of her man. ‘I was just going to suggest she get her chauffer to stand in for her while she went off for a cocktail in a warm bar,’ Ted whispered in her ear. Betty smiled and huddled closer into his side. ‘Look, there’s movement on board,’ someone shouted. All eyes turned upward. Blurred figures could be glimpsed moving around on the deck. Almost as one, ambulance officers in pairs and carrying stretchers alighted from their vehicles and moved towards the gate. On entering they walked in single file up the gangway and onto the ship. A hush had enveloped the waiting crowd, until a child voiced their common query, ‘Are they bringing them down?’ Not yet, young man, but soon. The procession occurred much as the guard had predicted. The first returnees to be carefully carried down the gangway and then to an ambulance still with its motor turning over, were covered in bandages and blankets. An official accompanying these early arrivals read their surname and rank as they reached the waiting crowd. The wails of recognition signalled both relief at their loved ones’ return and the realisation of the seriousness of their injuries. On being informed of the hospital destination, they rushed for cars and taxis to follow the ambulances. This process took almost an hour, the rhythm determined by the logistical rotation of the available ambulance fleet. As the crowd thinned, the mood of those remaining became noticeably more buoyant. Perhaps their men were not too seriously injured. Finally, Ted shouted, ‘There he is.’

James Michael Kennedy stood uncertainly at the top of the gangway ed by a sailor. He looked down at those waiting below but seemed not to recognise the five people wildly waving back. He slowly walked down onto the dock and staggered slightly as his legs unaccustomed to the firm earth, gave way. He was steadied by the sailor. who walked him slowly towards the waiting ambulance. The official called out, ‘Sergeant James Kennedy,’ and his family rushed over. ‘He is being taken to the Heidelberg repatriation hospital for a full medical check. I suggest you go there and talk to the doctors.’ The sailor then turned and walked back to the ship. Before anyone could respond, James was whisked into the vehicle and driven away. The five stood looking after the disappearing ambulance. As Patty burst into tears her children ed in. Betty tried to soothe all three. Ted shook himself and said, ‘Come on you lot. He’s home. Our boy is home. Let’s get to the Repat pronto?’ There followed a long, frustrating day. The hospital was crowded with new patients and family eager to find out what was happening and when their man would be coming home. By early afternoon Betty took the two children, now starving, home to wait there. Patty and Ted remained. Eventually a stressed doctor walked over to them. ‘Mrs. Kennedy?’ Patty leapt up from her chair. ‘Yes, I’m Patty Kennedy. How is my husband?’ Her legs felt like lead. She could barely stand. There followed a long conversation during which the doctor did most of the talking. Afterwards, a dejected duo drove back to Ross Street. It was late afternoon and Betty had been waiting anxiously while trying not to alarm the children. After asking a couple of times when Daddy was coming home, the two children had retired to the loungeroom to read books and comics. Finally, she heard the car turn into the driveway. She eagerly opened the door as Ted helped his distraught daughter into the hallway. Betty ushered them into the kitchen, and the three sat down at the table. Betty’s heart sank as she looked hopefully at her husband.

‘Well, it’s not too bad.’ Patty tried to interrupt. ‘No Patty, it’s not. James had recovered physically pretty well, though he needs feeding up and exercise. But, mentally, he will need time to readjust. The doctor is confident that he’ll recover fully, that time and our will do the trick.’ ‘But Mum,’ burst out Patty, ‘he didn’t even seem to recognise me. His wife!’ ‘Yes, he did, darling. You could see it in his eyes. He’s dazed, coming to with being back with us. He’s been in hospital in Japan for the past few months and then on a ship. We have to give him time.’ Ted spoke urgently, staring directly at his daughter, willing her to believe. Patty began to look a little brighter. ‘D...do you really think so, Dad?’ ‘I’m absolutely positive.’ Ted hoped he was right. His son-in-law did look a mess. ‘And we’ll visit him every day,’ Betty jumped in, keen to add weight to Ted’s urgings. ‘What about the children? They can’t see their father like this.’ ‘They won’t, dear. We’ll explain that he needs rest for now. When he’s well, we’ll bring him home. What else did the doctors say, Ted?’ ‘To be patient. That was the gist of it.’ ‘Easy for them to say. They haven’t waited and worried every day and night for years.’ Patty spoke with bitterness as she recalled the days of hope and hopelessness that had stolen what remained of her youth and denied her and the children their loving man. Ted sighed and looked at Betty. ‘I think that you and the children should stay with us for the time being, so that we can help. Besides we are much closer to the hospital than you are.’ ‘If you’re sure, Mum. I don’t want to load too much onto you and Dad.’ Patty fought an internal battle. She was a grown woman, a competent person and parent. The last few years had made her so. She should be able to cope herself,

to continue to be in control as she had been these last terrible years. And yet, and yet, to be back in her old house, to feel safe, to rely on those she loved and trusted. Perhaps it would be all right, just for a while, until James is back to his old self. ‘Load?’ Ted interrupted. ‘We’re a family Patty. We share the load, isn’t that so Betty?’ Load? Betty reflected that it would be her that mainly carried it, while Ted was at work. But she said immediately, ‘Of course, it is. Your father is right. You and James have lived with us before and you will again, right up until he is well enough to pick up your old life again.’ ‘Oh, I wish we could. I know how lucky I am to have James back. It’s just that the children and I have been so looking forward to today and it’s all... it’s all.’ Patty’s tears fell silently from her cheek. Her father rose and cradled his precious daughter. If only he could make it all right again. But Ted, Ted, that is not how the world works. Small intimate bouts of happiness are rare, treasures to be savoured and not conjured up out of the chaos of endless time. And it is, as the wise doctor said, only time that will make it right again.

September 1946

‘Y ou must all be over the moon.’ Bob Mattingly placed his half-drunk glass on the bar table. He brushed a fly from his face and hunched over as the chill wind swept in through the hotel door. Faint music from an out of tune bar piano slipped through the cracks in the old wooden door – separating the public bar from the Ladies Lounge. ‘You can hum that again, mate. It’s been a long few months.’ Ted also rested his glass on the table, sticky with the remains of a busy Saturday afternoon’s patronage. The two men had just alighted from the city train, having attended a football game at the Melbourne Cricket Ground. They had exhausted the prospects of their respective teams in the finals series of the competition, though Bob was confident in his prediction of a grand final win by the Melbourne Demons. Fortunately, the impenetrable veil of the future sheltered him from the subsequent heartbreak of a grand final loss to the Essendon Bombers. ‘James came home to us last Wednesday. At last, we are a family together. Last night we had James’ mother around for dinner. I’m beginning to change my mind about her. She’s been a real for Patty and the children over the past few years, and particularly since James’ return. The only sad note was his father’s absence. He died last year and never had the joy of seeing his only son again.’ Bob nodded, starring at his glass. ‘Life’s not always fair. I knew that the first time I laid eyes on young Jim, after the last war.’ He could see the worry etched in Ted’s craggy face. His old friend was ageing and showing it. The past months had taken their toll. He supposed that he too was ageing. He could feel it every time the wind blew from the south, could see it every morning when he shaved. It was odd. He still felt like the young buck who had ardently wooed and won the beautiful Vivienne Stark. Ted nodded in return, ing Jim’s early morning limp past his front gate. ‘I wonder how many young Jims there’ll be this time. Not James if we have anything to do with it!...’ Changing the subject, ‘When does Brian and his new

family arrive?’ ‘In early December, in time for Christmas. I’m hanging out for our first real Christmas celebrations since this whole rotten war began. I’m hoping our families can get together as we used to in the old days.’ ‘Amen, mate.’ The two men downed their drinks, rose and after a quick trip to the gents headed for the door. ‘Jesus, mate these dunnies don’t get any easier to cop. It smells like your bloody Demons have been in here after their post-match celebrations.’ ‘Yeh, our ladies don’t know how lucky they are in not having to ablute in here.’ Ted laughed so hard he had trouble buttoning his flies. ‘I was just picturing Betty’s face if she waltzed in here. She’d have the carbolic and bleach out in a flash.’ ‘If she stayed in here mate there’d be other flashing too.’ The two men reeled laughing out of the gents and headed for the door to the main street.

October 1946

At the first scream, Ted was out of bed and running towards Patty and James’ bedroom. Betty, close behind, ran to comfort Anne and Phillip. These were wellrehearsed moves. Ted entered to find Patty pulling on her gown. Ted looked quickly around the room and saw James cowering under the dressing table. ‘It’s all right James. I’m here darling.’ Patty had dropped to her knees and was stroking his hand. James tried to pull his hand away, but Patty held firm. Ted bent down and gently helped his son-in-law to rise. James stared out from sightless eyes, fast asleep. Together father and daughter eased James back into bed. After untangling the bedclothes, Patty climbed in next to him and pulled the quilt up over them both. Ted paused at the door, blew a kiss to Patty and quietly closed the door after him. This had been a regular ritual over preceding weeks. At first, they had tried to discuss the problem on the morning after. But it soon became clear that James had no recollection of his night terrors. Talking about it only made him anxious. So, they dealt with what Betty called James’ demons, whenever they manifested. The neighbours next door and Rex across the street soon learnt to ignore their arrival. Instead of rushing to the door of number 24 to see how they could help, they turned over and said a prayer for their friends before slipping back to sleep. Age was also etching its presence in Betty’s face and thickening body. The ceaseless worry and sense of duty that had been her constant companion since James went away to war was writ large in body and soul. But come what may she would hold her family together until life returned to normal. Patty, thirty-one years of age and in the full flow of life, was confident that she would bring her husband back to be the joyful lover of their youth. She showed barely any signs of time’s caress. Her slim frame, deep red hair and dazzling blue eyes – so unexpected – still stopped strangers in the street. Frieda’s mother Monica had once told the two girls that the best ten years of a woman’s life was between twenty-nine and thirty. Patty, however, had managed to clear the barrier with ease and had begun her fourth decade without breaking stride. Ted was keeping careful record of the incidence of the terrors, as they had come

to call their unwelcome guest. Once back in bed, he asked Betty how the children were. ‘They’re fine dear. I think they’re used to it now. I just talk quietly to them and sing the lullaby I used to sing when Patty had her childhood nightmares. Funny how life runs in circles.’ ‘I know what you mean. We thought the Great War was the last time people would act like lunatics but here we are again, trying to recover from another bloody one. If there is a God, He has a damn odd way of looking after his flock.’ Betty held back from commenting on her husband’s borderline heresy. She was beginning to have serious doubts herself about the existence of an omnipotent and loving deity. Life used to be so, so predictable. ‘I think these bouts are becoming less frequent. Only three times in the last two weeks. It used to be every second night.’ Ted’s tone was hopeful. ‘I hope you’re right, dear. I do so hope you are.’ Exhausted and in the knowledge that morning would soon arrive with its familiar duties, Betty lent over, kissed her husband and turned off the bedside light. It turned out that Ted’s observation was right. The terrors didn’t disappear entirely, and the family could never predict when one would suddenly and without warning arrive. The sleeping arrangements helped the extended family to cope during this difficult period. Betty and Ted had vacated the large front bedroom for Patty and James, moving into the sleepout that Ted and Bob had constructed when Patty and James were first married. That left Patty’s old bedroom for the children. But what really cemented James’ recovery was a visit from the doctor. And not any old doctor. One Sunday afternoon in late October, a firm knock sounded on the front door of number 24. Patty was in the dining room putting away the table linen, freshly washed and ironed. The linen smelled of starch and the drawer into which it was placed emitted a pleasing suggestion of camphor. As she closed the drawer of the sideboard, the front doorbell rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ she called out. Patty opened the door to see a large elderly man, prematurely stooped, standing on the doorstep. He was well dressed in a dark blue suit and army tie and held a black homburg hat in a very large gloved hand.

‘Mrs. Kennedy?’ ‘Yes, I’m Patty Kennedy. Can I help you.’ ‘My name is Edward Dunlop. I apologise for calling unannounced on a Sunday, but I wonder if I might be able to talk with you and your husband for a few moments.’ The visitor appeared hesitant and a little uncomfortable. It took Patty a few moments before she realised who was standing in front of her. Weary Dunlop, James’ commanding officer of late. She quickly gathered her wits and replied, ‘Not at all Dr Dunlop. Please come in. James is in the back yard chopping wood. I’ll fetch him. But please come in. Dad,’ she called over her shoulder. As the doctor stepped into the entry hall, Ted stuck his head out of the kitchen doorway. Recognising their visitor immediately, the rest of his body followed quickly. ‘Dad, take Dr Dunlop into the loungeroom and I’ll run and get James.’ Patty’s mind raced as she headed out the door. Why had he come? Surprised but delighted to be welcoming a war hero to hearth and home, Ted ushered the doctor into the front room and invited him to sit in the large comfortable chair near the fire that was still in service during the grey, intermittingly rainy Spring day. Ted relieved his guest of hat, coat and umbrella. ‘I do apologise most sincerely for inconveniencing you and your family, Mr. er...’ ‘Jenkins, Ted Jenkins.’ The two men shook hands. ‘And it’s no inconvenience at all doctor. We are honoured to welcome you. It gives me a chance to thank you for your massive contribution to our boys in the hellhole over there, particularly for how you helped my son-in-law.’ ‘Not so massive, I’m afraid.’ Their visitor’s tone expressed an unfathomable sadness. ‘There was only so much one could do in the circumstances. And I had plenty of willing helpers, including your son-in-law. You should be very proud of him.’ ‘Oh, we are, I can ’ At that moment, James burst into the room, followed by Patty.

‘Weary. What are you doing here?’ James’ surprise was complete. Patty had simply told him that they had an important visitor. ‘To see you, old man. ‘ Their visitor turned to Ted and said, ‘I wonder if I might have a few words with James and Mrs. Kennedy.’ Ted took the hint, and left the room, curiosity pricking at his heels. At that moment Betty walked in through the front door shaking her raincoat on the stoop. ‘Betty, quickly come into the kitchen.’ Ted’s voice was low and urgent, raising Betty’s curiosity. ‘We have an important visitor. He’s in the loungeroom talking to James and Patty.’ Once seated at the table, Ted brought his wife up to date. ‘But why is he here? Oh dear, I haven’t dusted the sills and venetians this week.’ ‘Whatever his reason for visiting us, I don’t think it involves checking the standard of our housekeeping. We’ll find out in due course. But having Weary Dunlop in our house, whoever would have thought?’ Ted’s voice had a touch of wonder in it. Wait till he told the lads at work! ‘Well, it must be important to come out on such a cold day. Do you think I might take some tea into them?’ At that moment, Patty pushed her head through the door. ‘Mum, could you get a nice cuppa for Dr Dunlop? And maybe some of your famous orange cake.’ Betty leapt into action. ‘Ted, get the good cups and plate down from the top shelf. No, not those ones. Aunty Edna’s good china.’ Aunty Edna’s large brown teapot was also drafted into service. Betty carefully arranged three cups and side plates on the embroidered tray cloth placed on her best tray. Ted led the way and knocked on the loungeroom door before opening it to let Betty, laden with afternoon tea enter. Ted then returned with a second tray

holding the teapot and a large round cake, cut into slices. Both trays were placed on the low occasional table in front of the seated trio. ‘We could have done with Betty’s spread in Burma, Weary.’ James laughed surprising Ted who had rarely heard his son-in-law laugh since coming home from the war. Such a welcome sound, reminding him of happier times. ‘Aye, that we could have,’ replied Weary. ‘Though I think the richness might have been a bit much, eh?’ Both men laughed and Betty wasn’t sure if she had committed a terrible blunder. Sensing her distress, Dunlop said, ‘Just kidding Mrs. Jenkins. Your repast is most welcome on such an unforgiving day.’ Reassured, Betty withdrew dragging Ted with her. The three stayed in the front room for a further half-hour, until Ted, hovering, heard the loungeroom door creak. He and Betty walked out into the hallway. ‘Thank you again Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, for your forbearance, and that wonderful cake,’ he added with a smile that lit up his perpetually solemn countenance. ‘You’re most welcome, doctor.’ With a quick handshake all around, their visitor disappeared into the gloom, as quickly as he had appeared. Controlling their impatience, the older couple followed the younger two back into the loungeroom. ‘Well Patty, what do you make of that?’ ‘I think it’s a wonderful idea.’ Ted’s impatience had reached its limit. ‘What idea?’ he burst out. ‘Why was Weary Dunlop here?’ ‘Let the children tell us in their own time, dear.’ Betty was as curious as her husband, but a warning sign flagged caution.

‘Well,’ Patty began. ‘Dr Dunlop has been concerned about how some prisoners of war have been faring since their return home. One of his other charges mentioned that James was... having some difficulties in readjusting. So, he looked up our address and came to see if he could offer . He said wonderful things about how much he had valued and relied on James’ during the terrible times in the camp and that it was time for James to get the and gratitude that he deserved. It was so wonderful to hear him say this. I cried, of course.’ Tears began to flow again, this time not confined to Patty. ‘Anyway,’ Patty continued, quickly collecting herself, ‘the thing is that he is organising mutual for those like James who are suffering, most far worse than you, darling.’ Patty turned towards James. ‘He wants James to assist him in this work, just as he did in the camps.’ ‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ said Betty. ‘What do you think, James?’ ‘Well, I’m still a bit dazed.’ James was having difficulty in taking it all in. ‘I haven’t seen Weary since we were liberated, and I was sent off to hospital. I’m not really sure what to think. I guess from what you and Patty have said, I do need help, though I don’t have any recollection of the nightmares, and in the daytime, I don’t think about the bad times at all.’ James was, as ever, unconvinced by what he saw as the imaginary concerns of his family. Patty interrupted, ‘Weary, err Dr Dunlop said that this was what often happened. The mind closes terrible experiences out of our sight. But they creep back in when our defences are down, and we are asleep. He wants James to work with him in helping returned POWs work though their problems and repressed memories. He thinks that this will help James too.’ ‘What do you think, Ted, Betty?’ James looked from one in-law to the other and back at his wife, still unsure. ‘Sounds a bit mumbo-jumbo to me, a bit -- what’s that German bloke. Ted searched his memory. ‘I think you mean Sigmund Freud. And, yes, it does. But Weary seems to think it’s pukka, so I’m willing to give it a try. Betty?’

‘I agree James. Dr Dunlop knows what he’s about. Don’t let Ted put you off . And think of all those poor boys you’ll be helping.’ So, it came to . For the next three years James Kennedy met twice a week with a group of fellow POWs and gradually came back home. During this time, he returned to his practice and two years after that was finally offered a full partnership, enabling him and Patty and the two children, now what would soon be called ‘teenagers’, to move to a larger house on a big block of land in a more salubrious suburb in Melbourne’s expanding Eastern region, out among the orchards and vegetable gardens that fed Melbourne’s exploding population.

December 1946

‘B ran’s back at his best. He and Hassett just crucified the Poms.’ Ted put down his glass and leant back in his chair, a satisfied man. The hot wind ruffled the dense coverage of leaves on the nectarine tree. The two men enjoyed the deep shade and again Ted silently thanked the original house owner who had planted that tree before the Great War. ‘Yep, can’t wait for the Melbourne Test in the New Year. I’ve finally got back my MCC hip, so you’ll be coming to opening day as my guest.’ Bob reflected on the very different feel of the Christmas, the first for seven years without the threat of War blotting out festivities. As if reading his friend’s thoughts, Ted said, ‘Is Brian likely to be home for Christmas, as you’d hoped?’ ‘Afraid not. He’s ferrying big wigs around Europe cleaning up the mess. He says that the allies are still hunting down Nazi war criminals to bring to trial.’ ‘Bloody good thing, too. Hang the lot of them. Those newsreels of the camps. Makes you wonder about so called humanity. And the Japs were even worse, though James says little about his experiences. Thank God they were beaten back before they invaded us. Well, we’re through it now. So, when will Brian finally come home?’ ‘He’s coming in July next year, god willing, with his wife Eva and their daughter, Greta. We’ll finally get to meet our first grandchild! So far we’ve only seen photos. But they won’t be here long. He was offered a job flying for the Dutch airline, KLM. Turned it down for a better one with British Continental Pacific Airlines flying out of Sydney. There’s a rumour that Qantas is going to take it over. That would mean he’d stay in Sydney. Not ideal for us but a damn sight better than Amsterdam. And next year I retire, so Viv and I will be free to travel around a bit. We’ll get up to visit Brian and his family two or three times a year. And they can come to us at Christmas. Eva’s family is a long way away.’ ‘Retire! You?’ Ted paused. ‘How has it gone so quickly? Seems like yesterday we were just starting. and here you are about to put your feet up, while I

continue the daily grind. Another six years!’ ‘Don’t waste a moment, mate. Enjoy the time you have left. Then enjoy a wellearned retirement. It’ll give the four of us the chance to do things that we’ve often talked about. You and I could fish all those places we’ve wanted to, up and down the coast. Viv has often said she’d like to take a ship to Blighty, visit her distant relatives -- assuming they’re still alive. Who knows, we might be able to coincide the trip with an Aussie Ashes tour.’ The two men continued happily swapping possible retirement plans until their wives called them in to dinner. Unfortunately, the future had different plans. Neither friend would ever see the opening ball of a Lord’s test match.

April 1947

‘A merica!’ Betty shook her head in astonishment. ‘Why America?’ She and Shauna Hennessy were sitting in the loungeroom of number 24. Betty mentally noted yet again how elegant her friend was. She absently brushed a stray hair behind her ear, deciding that it was long past time for a trip to the hairdresser. Life had been so hectic these last few months that she had neither time nor energy to think of herself. That would never do, girl. You may not be a Spring chicken but there are standards to be kept up and no man likes to see his wife ‘let herself go’, as her mother often told her. God rest her sainted soul. All this flashed through Betty’s mind in an instant. Shauna was in a buoyant mood, her flawless complexion free of make-up. The weather had turned cold earlier that week and the two women huddled in the loungeroom sitting before a coal briquette fire that radiated a pleasing warmth. As usual, the subject of children had dominated discussion over morning tea. ‘Erin and Rory have decided to go to California to see if they can work in the movies. They think the opportunities for actors in Australia are too limited. Hollywood is where they want to be.’ Shauna smiled at the thought of her daughter’s audacity but was clearly proud of her spirited decision. After all, hadn’t she and Liam come to the other side of the world? Ah, yes Shauna but that hadn’t worked out so well – for Liam. ‘Hollywood!’ Betty was running short on surprise. ‘Won’t it be very hard to get a look in? I mean, there must be hundreds of hopeful actors and actresses trying to get a start there. ‘Thousands, more likely. Yes, I think it’s a long shot. But who am I to argue? I dragged Erin and her siblings across the world in search of a new life. You’re only young once. Anyway, I’d have no way of stopping them even If I wanted to.’ Betty paused and replied. ‘I guess you’re right, but I do think it’s a big gamble. When are they going?’

‘In a couple of months. Rory has a small part in a musical that finishes in June. They have applied for visas -- one of the producers of his show has given a character reference for both of them -- and have the money for the ship saved up. I’m rather proud of them for that. Her father and I could never save enough to get ahead. We only had the money to come out here because of my uncle’s bequest.’ ‘How do you feel about it, Shauna?’ Betty secretly hoped that Patty would never move so far away. ‘I’ll miss her, of course. But I want her to follow her dream, to have the chances I never had. At least, she has Rory to look after her.’ A sudden chill swept over Betty. Was it just that she had never liked the man? Something about his glib manner, and the way he seemed to dominate Erin. But she brushed aside the feeling again, determined not to let Shauna glimpse her misgivings. The talk then turned to the royal wedding in Britain, an event that was dominating the social pages of the magazines and the gatherings in the morning rooms and restaurants of genteel Melbourne society.

Later that evening as they sat in the loungeroom after dinner, Betty and family turned to this most pressing of subjects. ‘I wonder what her dress will be like,’ Patty commented. ‘It’ll probably cost the annual wages of several footmen and other flunkies’, replied Ted. ‘Oh, Dad, you’re so cynical. I know it’s extravagant. But that’s what royalty is. Otherwise, they’d be just like us, ordinary.’ ‘We’re not ordinary,’ James interjected with a laugh. ‘I don’t mean that. I just mean that... stop laughing.’ ‘Stop teasing Patty.’ Betty rose to her daughter’s defence. ‘We know that the British aristocracy is old-fashioned but at least they try to set a high tone. And it’s natural to be interested in the marriage of a beautiful young girl to a dashing

war hero. It won’t just be us women who follow every step. you’ll be dragged into the spectacle too. If there’s one thing the British do well it’s ceremony. You watch.’ ‘And marching bands,’ added Ted mischievously. ‘Dad, you’re impossible!’

August 1947

As winter’s chill set in and Melbourne battened down to weeks of rain and frost, the Mattinglys welcomed home their adventurous son and his new family. Two weeks after their happy reunion, they were all guests of honour at a celebration lunch organised by Betty Jenkins at number 24. Present were a number of longterm residents of Ross Street and nearby, neighbours who well ed the antics of young Brian and his posse of cowboys. Also there to celebrate his exploits and safe return were the two of the gang who had survived the war. Regrettably, Flea was not one of them. He had died in North Africa, stoutly defending Tobruk against the forces of the Desert Fox. ‘Poor old Flea,’ Jonnie Jensen muttered when told of his friend’s fate. We lost touch after basic training. I never heard where he’d been sent.’ ‘Yeh, somehow I’m not surprised he copped it. He was always first to stick his head up in our mock battles.’ Brian stared into the beer glass Ted had handed him. He and Jonnie had withdrawn into a corner of the dining room and were soon ed by Ricky Barrett. ‘Well boys, well done and welcome back. Damned glad to see you both in one piece.’ As he approached, Ricky reflected on the two returned warriors. War had definitely changed them from the young tyros he ed. They both stood there, in the prime of life. War had hardened their bodies and imparted a seriousness that contrasted sharply with Ricky’s memory of the men as boys. ‘Thanks Ricky, glad to be back at all. Jonnie and I were just talking about Flea, you the live wire who never stopped talking.’ ‘I him. He kept pestering me until I gave him a pillion ride on my Triumph. Then I copped a mouthful from his mother and barely avoided the back of his Dad’s hand. Whatever happened to the young rascal?’ ‘Bought it in Africa, I’m afraid.’ Jonnie said softly, ing his friend. ‘Poor little bugger. He had plenty of pluck that one. War takes the good ones too. But’ Ricky’s eyes brightened ‘at least you two were spared.’

‘And Dinksy made it too. Not Thommo and Bazza.’ The eyes of the two younger men met briefly in silent sadness. Ricky murmured his regrets, though struggled to recall either boy. He tried to lighten the atmosphere. ‘What are you both going to do now you’re back?’ Jonnie answered first, used to this question that had been repeatedly fired at him from the moment he had walked down the gangplank of the troop ship at Port Melbourne. ‘I’m going into my Dad’s timber yard. He wants to train me and my brother up to take over from him in a few years. He’s getting on and I think wants a chance to see the country before he shuffles off, his words. He certainly deserves it, worked like a slave since he was thirteen and raised six kids.’ Jonnie ired his father and it showed. Ricky turned to Jonnie’s companion. ‘What about you Brian? I hear you’re going to keep flying. It seems to be in your blood. Ever since you gave up on the cowboys you seemed to be out at Essendon gazing at aeroplanes. Myself, I can’t see the attraction. Dangerous bloody things,’ Ricky said laughing. ‘I like to keep my feet on the ground or at least the pedals of a beautifully tuned motor bike.’ ‘Eva, Greta and I are staying with Mum and Dad at the moment. But in November I’ll be going up to Sydney to start a new job with an airline flying out of Mascot. Once I find us a flat Eva and Greta will me, and we can really start our life out here. The last two years have been very much a case of marking time.’ ‘Won’t your wife be missing her family back in ?’ ‘She does, or at least what’s left of her family. Two of her brothers were killed during the war, one in Russia, the other, in the Atlantic. Hartmut was a U-boat crewman and Uvé, a tank driver. A couple of uncles and a cousin also died, and an aunt was trapped in Berlin when the Russians arrived. It’s best not to go there if you are talking to her.’ Ricky nodded thoughtfully, wished the young men well and then drifted away. ‘Who was that?’ Jonnie inclined hid head towards Ricky’s receding bulk. ‘Ricky Barrett. You , the tearaway who was always scandalising the old women of the street, cheeking every adult he met and roaring up and down

on his noisy motor bike, the one he rescued from the tip and brought back to life.’ ‘You’re joking! The one who found Patty?’ ‘The same.’ ‘He looks a thousand years older and a ton heavier.’ ‘He’s done very well for himself, successful businessman, solid pillar of the community.’ ‘Wonders never cease. I would have put him down as a grade-A chance at a long spell in Pentridge. Goes to show, you never can tell about people.’ ‘What can’t you tell, Jonnie?’ Patty Kennedy had just caught the tail end of the conversation as she moved towards them through the throng crowding the dining room and hallway. ‘Hi, Patty. Jonnie and I were just reflecting on the change in Ricky Barrett’s persona from tearaway youth to solid citizen. He was a few years older than us growing up and we were always a bit scared of him, though very envious of his motorbike.’ Patty laughed. ‘There’s nothing scary about Ricky Barrett. He’s always been a softie.’ ‘He’s always had a soft spot for you Patty. Come to think of it, we all did. Didn’t we Jonnie?’ ‘Sure did, mate.’ ‘Still the charmer, eh, Brian. Just , you’re now a married man, with a daughter. On that note, just look over there at my two with Greta. They adore her.’ Their gazes swung towards the far wall where Anne and Phillip were entertaining a delighted little girl. Phillip was pretending to be a dog and Anne pretending to walk him around the room.

‘She loves the attention, not to mention the good food and absence of bombs.’ Brian reflected on the memories of war gleaned from his wife and wondered again at her resilience and that of their daughter. Gradually the crowd began to thin. Coats were donned, umbrellas retrieved. Brian and his family left after thanking their hosts profusely. ‘So good of you Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins. I’m so glad you had the opportunity to meet and talk with Eva before we move north.’ ‘it was our pleasure Brian. We have heard all about your wife and daughter from your parents of course. It’s wonderful to have you here at last, safe and sound. Make sure you come and see us again before you head off.’ ‘Will do Mrs. J. Come on girls, let’s go. Grandma and Pop will be home later.’ Eva was a slim athletic figure, taller than Brian. But her voice when she spoke seemed better suited to a smaller person, soft and hesitant, though Betty wasn’t sure if that was due to shyness or just her struggle to cope with a new language. She was handsome rather than beautiful. Her auburn hair was knotted tightly into a single plait that hung halfway down her back, reminding Betty of a picture of Heidi in a book she had treasured as a child. Greta was very shy with strangers, not surprising Betty mused, given what that poor child must have been through. She rarely looked adults in the eye, staring at the ground in a way that made Betty want to reach down and gather her into her arms. The four old friends watched as the three climbed into the small Renault threeseater that Ricky had found for Brian the previous week. Later, sitting in the loungeroom, Betty remarked, ‘Eva seems lovely, Viv. And that Greta is an adorable little thing.’ ‘Yes, Bob and I are delighted to have them with us. Greta is really starting to open up. At first, she was very timid and wary. Not surprising. I gather from what little Brian has said that she and Eva survived some of the heaviest bombing in her part of the country before the American troops arrived and restored order, to a degree. Brian told us that many people have been displaced and food is very scarce over there. Now she will sit on my knee while I read her Amy’s story books. She loves any story about animals. I think that she and her parents lived on a farm when she was very young. But we don’t want to delve too much at this stage . The same with Eva. All in good time. ‘

‘I think that’s wise. It must be so difficult for both of them to feel…’ Betty searched for the right word, ‘comfortable in a different culture, especially as our countries have been at war for six years.’ Betty paused and continued, ‘How did she and Brian meet?’ ‘Brian was flying bigwigs around to various meetings. He spent a night in Frankfurt in mid-1946 and they met by chance in a cafe that Eva was working in. Apparently, that was it. Love at first sight, at leastways that’s Brian’s version. He came back to Frankfurt on leave and they were married.’ Betty’s mind was calculating quickly. Viv immediately clocked into her friend’s wavelength. ‘Yes, Greta was born the year before Eva and Brian met.’ ‘What?’ Ted’s attention was drawn away from Bob’s post-mortem of the recent Ashes test series, a goodwill tour by England of Australia that pitched Wally Hammond’s under strength team against an Australian outfit led ruthlessly by Don Bran. ‘Eva’s first husband was killed in East Prussia in late 1944.’ The conversation paused before Ted broke the silence. ‘Phew, we think that we had it tough out here. From what I hear, the chaos that is still going on in Europe, Eva is lucky that Brian happened along. Good luck to them.’ Ted sat back in his chair and took a long drink from his tankard, a recent birthday gift from the grandchildren. ‘That’s why we don’t talk much about the war when Eva is around. The memories are too bad and too raw.’ Bob replied. ‘Understood, isn’t it Ted?’ Betty glared at her husband. ‘What, oh, sure. What’s happening to that girl of yours, Viv?’ Ted was still working out how he felt about having the widow and child of a Nazi soldier in his house. ‘Amy? Bob and I are not sure. She has been very secretive lately.’ ‘Some boy, I expect. It usually is at her age.’ Ted’s knowledge of young women

was far from extensive but, thought Betty, on this occasion he was probably right. Indeed, three weeks later Viv was back at number 24 filling her friend in on the news. ‘Amy is going to America!’ Viv announced the news as she walked in through the front door. ‘America!,’ her friend exclaimed in amazement. ‘Why ever would she do that?’ ‘To marry.’ ‘Marry!! Who?’ ‘An American soldier she met three years ago when he was here with the American navy. Apparently, they’ve been writing to each other all this time. Bob and I knew that this was happening, hard to miss the regular letters with George Washington’s face on the stamps.’ Viv’s matter of fact tone hid an underlying anxiety that Betty picked up on immediately. Betty led her friend through to the loungeroom where they sat and continued. ‘But do you know the man?’ ‘Yes, Amy brought him home to dinner several times. We didn’t think much about it at the time. After all, like all her friends, Amy was always going out to dances and parties with visiting troops. They felt they were doing their patriotic duty, to keep up the morale of the soldiers, though we know, of course, it was the excitement of being young and free.’ ‘And dangerous, another attraction. No doubt many hearts were broken, on both sides, and not a few unwanted babies.’ ‘Fortunately, not in our case. Harry, Harry James, was a most proper escort for our girl.’ ‘Harry James! Isn’t he a band leader?’ ‘Yes, it’s an old joke within his family. He said the sailors on board his ship called him ‘trumpet’. The funny thing was when Amy first introduced him to us,

we heard his name as hairy James. Because of the accent.’ Betty laughed and Viv continued, ‘He was so proper that he wrote a very formal letter to Bob asking his permission to marry Amy. It was the first time we knew it was serious. Harry laid out in detail his situation, his family’s and his plans for providing a home for Amy.’ ‘Good heavens, that must have been a shock.’ Betty tried to put herself in her friend’s position. How would she have reacted? She knew that Ted would have hit the roof. She did vaguely a stocky well-mannered American serviceman who Viv had mentioned in ing. But marriage? Neither thought anything about it at the time. ‘Stunned, dear. It took a while to take it all in. It was clear that this was no surprise to our daughter. No wonder she had been haunting the mailbox for days. Anyway, we talked it through over the next few days and the upshot was that Bob telegrammed back giving our blessing. A proposal came by return telegram and then the phone rang, and it was Harry ringing from Iowa. That’s where he lives, on a farm raising potatoes.’ ‘Potatoes!’ Betty’s capacity for exclamatory surprise was wearing out. ‘So, Amy is going to be a farmer’s wife. Just like Patty’s friend Frieda.’ ‘Yes, strange isn’t it. Two city girls now turned cowgirls. And it was Brian we thought would be the cowboy.’ Both women laughed but Viv was suddenly serious. ‘Bob and I are a worried.’ Viv’s frowned. ‘You hear a lot about war brides and things not working out, once the glamour and excitement fades. And I’m not sure that Amy is marrying for the right reasons.’ ‘What do you mean? Doesn’t she love him?’ ‘She says she does. But she desperately wants to be married. She turned twentyfive last month and says she doesn’t want to become an old maid. All her friends are married. And Patty had two children by the time she was Amy’s age. You know how she idolises your daughter?’ Betty nodded. ‘Yes, I how excited she was to be Patty’s bridesmaid. What will you do?’

‘Not much we can do except her all we can. And when Bob retires, we will catch the ship over to the States and visit her. At least Brian may be able to see her when he starts flying the Pacific next year. Though I have no idea how close Iowa is to San Francisco where his flights end’ ‘When will the wedding take place? And where?’ ‘Around March next year. Bob made it clear that the marriage had to be in Melbourne, and Harry agreed. His parents will travel out with him. Oh dear, I haven’t really met any Americans apart from Harry. I hope I don’t put my foot in it and say something awkward. Bob is much more confident on that score. He has had business dealings with Americans and says they’re much like us. I just hope he’s right.’ Betty expressed sympathetic noises and silently determined to keep Ted on a tight leash. ‘They’re not Catholic or Jewish, are they?’ ‘No, Baptists, I think. Anyway, they are happy to leave the church arrangements to us.’

November 1947

‘W hat an amazing dress. And that coach! I swear it was covered in gold.’ Viv nodded as she sipped her tea. Sitting at Betty’s kitchen table they were rehashing the Cinesound Movietone newsreel of the royal wedding, held at Westminster Cathedral the week before. ‘ What a handsome couple they make.’ Viv leant closer, as if to confide in her friend. ‘I hear that her parents, the King and Queen, were not all that happy with their daughter’s choice of husband.’ ‘Really, why ever not?’ Betty was intrigued and surprised that this snippet of information had so far eluded her. ‘His family,’ Viv added cryptically. ‘His family? What’s wrong with it?’ ‘Too close to the Germans. His sisters are married to Germans. His mother, Princess Alice, married a Greek. And when they were deposed, Phillip became a commoner.’ ‘But the whole family originally came from . And marrying a commoner might just be what we need in the modern age.’ Betty’s heart had been won over by the fairy-tale Princess and her Prince Charming. She would stay faithful to her and, in this, would find herself in sympathy with the vast majority of her fellow countrywomen and men over the succeeding decades. She would remain a staunch monarchist until her last breath. ‘Yes dear, but her grandfather, dear King George V, changed the name of the royal house to Windsor during the Great War to hide the fact that their ancestors were German. I don’t think after that terrible Hitler, anyone wants to be reminded of all that.’ Viv shuddered as the newsreel images of the concentration camps flashed before her, to be quickly banished to the outer edges of consciousness

‘Well, I don’t care.’ Betty said heatedly. ‘I think they are a wonderful young couple, and I will pray that they live long in love together and rule over us until I’m long gone.’ ‘You old romantic, you.’ The two friends laughed, and the conversation moved onto other pressing matters. ‘Now, what’s happening with Amy? The wedding is in February. When is Harry and his family arriving?’ As she spoke Betty lent forward refreshing Viv’s cup of tea. Viv paused before answering. ‘I’m not sure, dear. Things seem to be getting a bit complicated. Harry’s parents are being a bit evasive.’ ‘Evasive, what do you mean? They’re not refusing to attend, surely not?’ ‘No, not exactly. But they are being a bit difficult about the ceremony.’ ‘Difficult, how?’ Betty’s surprise turned to anger on behalf of her friend. ‘They would like to bring their pastor with them to perform a dual service.’ Viv opened her palms and shrugged. ‘Two Ministers? Why? Is it even legal here?’ Betty’s mind whirled on overdrive. ‘How odd.’ ‘Yes, they do seem to be a rather odd family. Their church has split off from the main one in their area and the pastor is what they call, ‘charismatic’. I think that means his services are rather unorthodox. Apparently, its are required to be re-baptised, even adults, and that mean full ducking in a river.’ ‘Good heavens! That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ Betty shuddered at the thought. ‘That’s one way of putting it. Bob calls it ‘balmy’.’ Viv’s voice trailed off, but her distress shouted at Betty. ‘I’m inclined to agree. What will Amy do?’

‘That’s another problem. I think she’s beginning to get cold feet. A long distance secret romance was all very well. But now as the moment rushes towards her, the huge nature of the change in her life can’t be avoided. But all will have to be sorted out soon, as there are so many things to organise and so many people are affected.’ Viv stood up and then sat down immediately. Betty tried to reassure her friend. But the question of Amy’s future hung like a threatening sky over the rim of the Dandenongs in the following days. Things do have a way of being sorted. Just before Christmas, Amy wrote to Harry, calling off their engagement. In spite of long-distance telephone conversations and heartfelt pleas from her suitor, Amy held firm and all arrangements for the wedding were cancelled. Viv offered maternal to her grieving daughter, though guiltily pleased that she would not be losing her child to the New World. The year 1948 duly arrived, promising the beginning of a new era. The just formed United Nations ed the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The states of Israel and North Korea were formed, and Czechoslovakia became a communist state, part of the Soviet Union’s Eastern empire and buffer against the West. The United States and the Soviet Union locked horns in what would prove to be a decades-long Cold War. The Marshall plan was launched, tying Western Europe into the orbit of the American empire and Japan was ruled by Allied occupation, all aimed at containing Soviet expansion. In Australia, the dawn of anti-communist hysteria was emerging, as fear of the yellow peril was trumped by a red scare that would scar Australian politics for a generation. This was the year that set the historic course of the future into the next century, a trajectory that Australia, perched on the southern rim of the globe would be dragged along, increasingly in hock to its American protector. But none of this was in evidence in Ross Street as its inhabitants strove to recreate their comfortable lives, so rudely interrupted by the years of war and the threat of invasion.

July 1948

‘I can’t get a sensible word out of Ted.’ Betty Jenkins was not normally a badtempered woman. She prided herself on her even temper, though God only knew what she had to put up with. That man would be the death of her. Occasionally her frustration boiled over and her husband felt the lash of her displeasure. When he managed to discern the source of her wrath, Ted adopted a somewhat hangdog persona, profusely apologising and creeping around the house. This only served to inflame his wife, who wanted action not words. Why were men so stupid? The final act played out when Ted’s patience snapped and a full-blooded row erupted, so resolving matters in the time-honoured way of the world. Unbeknown to the couple Betty had ed another milestone in her time on Earth. What was politely called ‘’the change of life’ had crept silently into their lives. ‘What’s poor Ted done now?’ Shauna paused in the act of pouring tea for Betty and Viv in the kitchen that had once been Viv’s. It had taken a long time, but Viv could now visit her first house without the feelings of grief and anger flooding back. If not forgiven, the past was now behind her. With her children grown to adulthood, and two moves to better houses consummated, she was able accept that not all went smoothly in life. And with Bob’s retirement a mere year away, she looked forward to years of quiet companionship in old age, with the prospect of regular visits to and from Sydney, as she enjoyed the benefits of being a grandmother to little Greta and, with luck, her brothers and sisters to come. Her pleasant reverie was broken by Betty’s retort. ‘Poor Ted! It’s what he hasn’t done. Anything. He comes home from work, wolfs his dinner down and rushes to the wireless set. There he sits, ear glued as he follows every ball of that blasted test cricket. Apparently, his hero Don Bran and his jolly men are - and I quote - ‘bashing the POMS worse than the Luftwaffe’. He drags himself to bed near dawn and then it’s up and off to work, where I suspect he catches up on lost sleep. It’s been going on for six weeks, mind you. I’m about to put an axe through the wireless.’ Betty mimed the action. Both women laughed and Viv added, ‘It’s going to get worse. The Olympic Games start in London at the end of the month.’

‘Dear God, help me.’ Betty downed her tea and held her cup up to Shauna for more. ‘You haven’t got any arsenic, have you?’ ‘No dear. just good old Lan-choo. Drink up, it solves most problems.’ Having disposed of Ted Jenkins for the time being, discussion moved onto the familiar ground of children. ‘How is Amy holding up?’ Shauna had been away and was only now catching up on the recent bout of marital upheaval. ‘Pretty well, considering. She knows that she did the right thing but is now convinced that she is going to be an old maid. She just mopes around the house. I’ve suggested that she talk to Patty about helping her at the kindergarten. She’s good with young children and gets on wonderfully with Brian and Eva’s little girl.’ ‘I’m sure, she’ll snap out of it, probably as soon as a boy appears on your doorstep.’ ‘Oh Shauna, I do hope you’re right. But what about your brood? We haven’t heard much lately about them.’ Shauna smiled. ‘I’m so proud of Clodagh. You know how she won that university scholarship? Well, she sailed through her course and graduated second top. I think everyone was surprised. Girls are not supposed to do that well in science. Anyway, one of her professors has offered her a job. I know! A real job, in his laboratory. She started last week and comes home full of all the doings. I don’t understand a word, but I can see how excited and happy she is and that’s all I care about.’ ‘You must be very proud of her.’ ‘I am. Very.’ Here Shauna’s face fell. ‘But I’m really worried about Erin.’ ‘Why?’ Betty and Viv both asked. ‘She and Rory have broken up. In Los Angeles.’

‘But why?’ The two visitors lent forward, concerned. Betty reached out and took Shauna’s hand. ‘Apparently he’s become violent towards her. As her career has begun to prosper, his has stalled, in fact gone backwards. The only money coming in is from her acting work. For ages she kept them both alive by working nights at a restaurant but now she is getting enough minor roles in the new television industry to give the waitres. He’s drinking too much and, reading between the lines, hitting her, though she only tells me about the insults he throws at her in public.’ Shauna stopped, unable to continue. ‘What can be done?’ Betty asked urgently. ‘I’ve suggested she come home to Melbourne and offered to send her the money for the boat fare.’ ‘But will she come home?’ Viv’s mind switched to her recent strained history with her daughter’s American intended. ‘I don’t know Viv. I can only hope so before things get really nasty. Her father was an ugly drunk but never hit me, well not seriously. I’ve seen how some of his drinking mates treated their wives and I’ve no wish to see that happen to any daughter of mine.’ ‘And what about Callum?’ Betty changed the subject in an attempt to divert her friend’s distress. Shauna smiled weakly. ‘He’s fine. Doing really well at the new store. Ricky is very pleased with him. Apparently, Callum is a good salesman. Got that from his Da. Liam could sell ice to an Eskimo. He was a great slinger of the blarney. Callum’s found himself a nice girlfriend, Cheryl, works in a local bakery. Nice girl, a bit dull. But as long as Callum likes her, that’s fine with me.’ ‘What about Clodagh, any romantic interests?’ ‘No! She’s besotted by her job. Has her head buried in the technical articles she brings home from the university library. I sometimes wish she’d read Woman’s Weekly or even that scandalous rag, The Truth!’ ‘Are you sure, she’s a pretty little thing?’

‘She only has eyes for her professor, worships him. I have no idea what he thinks of her. Time will tell, I guess.’ ‘Professors are men too.’ The three women shot meaningful glances to each other and then burst out laughing. Betty recovered first. ‘And what about you Shauna Hennessy. Didn’t I see you drive by my house in a posh car last Friday? A rather distinguished looking gentleman driving too.’ Viv lent forward, fascinated. ‘Who was he Shauna, a new beau?’ ‘Well, if you must know, it was Jack.’ ‘Jack who?’ ‘Just Jack. He’s rather private, only recently divorced, rather messy apparently.’ Both women’s curiosity rose sharply. ‘Messy, how?’ ‘He found out that his wife of twenty years had been having an affair with their local vicar.’ ‘No! Go on, what happened?’ ‘When Jack confronted the vicar, he denied it. This infuriated Jack’s wife who stood up in Church the next Sunday and denounced him, right there in front of his flock. Can you imagine?’ Neither of her friends could but tried to. ‘Then what happened, Shauna?’ ‘Well, the Bishop was forced to step in, and all hell broke loose, if you’ll excuse the pun. The vicar was sent off to wherever the Church hides miscreant priests and Jack went to his solicitor. It took more than a year for the case to work its way through the courts. She, his wife, hired her own solicitor and they brought up all sorts of lies about Jack being a bullying and neglectful husband. Anyway, he finally won a decree absolute but between them they had spent half their wealth on lawyers. They’re the only winners in cases like this. Jack had to sell their big house in Kooyong and is now living in a small flat in South Yarra. Where she is, I have no idea, nor does he.’

‘What about the vicar?’ ‘Don’t know, and care less. All I care about is Jack. He’s had a terrible time and deserves better.’ ‘Whew, girl. You’re a dark horse. Good luck to both of you, I say. Don’t you agree, Viv?’ ‘I certainly do. You deserve a good man in your life Shauna. How did you meet?’ ‘Purely by accident. I literally bumped into him in the aisle at the cash and carry. My basket spilled onto the floor and he rushed to help me retrieve the oranges that rolled around and under the shelves. We both stared to apologise at the same time and then stopped and started again and stopped again.’ Shauna’s lovely smile broke out at the recollection and her friends saw clearly the effect it would have had on any recently divorced man this side of the grave. ‘What happened then? You can’t stop there. When did you meet again?’ Viv’s impatience showed. ‘He must have asked Callum who I was. The next day he turned up at the front door with a large bunch of roses to apologise. He came back on the weekend and asked if I would like to go for a drive in the country. Why not, I thought. So, off we went and drove out into the Yarra Valley. We had lunch at the Healesville hotel. He made me laugh, took my mind off my worries. We made it a regular thing, drove all over the place. Gradually he told me what had happened. We just hit it off. That’s it pretty much.’ Shauna stopped, embarrassed at how much she was saying, but was reassured by her friends’ enthusiastic . An hour later, as the two old friends walked arm in arm up the street to number 24, Betty confided, ‘I’m so pleased for Shauna. Her life is finally coming together.’ Viv nodded her agreement and tightened her grip on Betty’s arm as they turned in at the gate. The afternoon light was fast fading, and the last rays of the sun were reflected off the white picket fence. The leafless plane trees lining the street on both sides, standing still like soldiers on parade, bore silent witness to the promise of a bitter winter that year.

‘Mum, are you there?’ Patty Kennedy stood in the hallway of number 24. Her mother suddenly appeared from the bathroom to the rear of the house, holding a bucket and mop. ‘What is it darling? Not one of the children sick?’ ‘No Mum, everyone’s fine. It’s Roddy Dunkin.’ At this point, Patty stopped, unable to continue. Tears sprang silently to her cheeks. Betty led her daughter to the loungeroom and sat down next to her on the sofa. She asked softly, ‘What has happened?’ ‘He’s dead. That little boy that I helped Monica bathe and dress is dead. He was killed in a brawl in Fitzroy, just outside the Champion hotel on Gertrude Street.’ Patty’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. It sounded in her ears like a radio announcer reading the nightly news. Betty reached over and hugged her daughter. ‘What on earth was he doing in Fitzroy? it’s such a dangerous place, full of thieves and crime?’ Betty struggled to imagine the scene. She had never travelled along Gertrude Street and had never seen the Champion hotel, nor had she any intention of ever doing so. However, she had heard such bad things about the district, and Collingwood down the hill, that she could well imagine a young man getting into serious trouble there. But killed! ‘He’s been wild ever since leaving school, Frieda says. Her mother has been at her wits end trying to control him. Phil just shouts at the boy. That did no good at all. And now nothing will. He’s gone.’ At this Patty burst out crying again, this time ed by Betty. The two women wept until Patty finally raised her head and said, ‘The funeral will be Tuesday week. Frieda and John are coming down with their oldest child and will stay with her parents for a week.’ Then silence. Only the wind and rain falling gently against the front windows disturbed their thoughts, and their memories of a cheeky, likeable child who had come unbidden to their lives and left just as unexpectedly. Betty hugged Patty closer and resolved to visit Monica the next day. Such a

waste, she thought. Haven’t we lost enough young lives in recent years?

‘He looked so peaceful, lying there on the cold table. The funeral director was very kind, but nothing could take away the pain I felt at seeing my little boy lying lifeless on that slab. so impersonal. I just wanted to wrap him in my arms and take him home.’ Here Monica stopped, seized by a paroxysm of coughing. Betty Jenkins reached out and took her hand. ‘He almost looked like he was asleep, that he would just wake up and say the whole thing was a bad dream.’ Monica seemed to shrink into her chair. Her greying hair fell lifeless across her forehead, which she made no attempt to brush away. Misery was etched in her pale cheeks. ‘It’s a terrible thing to happen Monica.’ Betty tried desperately to find the words. But what could you say to a woman who was both mother and grandmother to a dead child? For a child was how Betty still thought of Roddy Dunkin, having known him all his short life. So, she just sat there for an hour, silently at one with her neighbour of half a lifetime. It was times like this that neighbours mattered, even if they couldn’t make the world right again. When Monica’s husband arrived home from work, Betty slowly rose, bent over and kissed her friend lightly on the cheek, hugged Phil and quietly left the house by the back door. Later that evening, after dinner, she and Ted were sitting in their loungeroom reflecting on the tragedy that had befallen their friends. ‘How was she, dear?’ Ted had been shocked but not surprised to hear of Roddy’s death. ‘Just like I’d be if, God forbid, we lost one of ours. There wasn’t much I could do today but be there until Phil got home. Why did he go there?’ ‘Roddy? Why does any young man do stupid and dangerous things? He was wild but not a bad kid. Just couldn’t find the right path. Plenty of young men, and girls too, get waylaid before they’re mature enough to make good decisions. I blame it on the war. Loose morals, live-for-today attitude, no respect for the proper ways of doing things.’ Ted saw his wife’s eyebrows go up. ‘Yes, I know we did some stupid things when we were young after the Great War. But we also knew the rules, the things you just didn’t do. Of course, then came the radio,

movies, the cars and the jitterbug! All that jiving around. Now the young are tuning into Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra, not to mention the negro bands.’ Ted was started on his ‘all that’s wrong with the modern world’ diagnosis when his wife interrupted. ‘I hardly think we can blame Louis Armstrong for poor Roddy’s death. Do you know any details, anything about how he died?’ ‘From what I’ve been able to get out of Phil - and I don’t know how much of this Monica knows - apparently Roddy went into the hotel with a few of his mates. They were drinking up at the whites end of the bar.’ ‘But Roddy wasn’t old enough to drink,’ interrupted Betty. ‘Well, that hardly stops the young ones today, not like in our day. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, there was a mob of Abos drinking at the other end of the bar and, as these things go, a bit of an argument arose. I don’t know about what. Neither does Phil. Probably someone tossed around a few choice swearwords and taunts. Then it was on. The whole bar ed in. Furniture was hurled, windows broken. Phil thinks that Roddy tried to stop his mates from tearing the place up but somehow got between an Abo swinging a chair at a white guy swinging a broken glass. The glass slashed Roddy across the face and throat. He bled to death before the police and ambulance men arrived. The coppers are still trying to work out exactly what happened and who started it. But there are so many conflicting s that I doubt we’ll ever know the full truth. Not that it matters. Roddy is dead.’ Ted’s voice caught and he paused to catch breath. As his tale unwound, Betty’s face turned paler and paler. When he recounted the nature of Roddy’s death, she threw both her hands to her head. ‘Oh, poor boy. How ghastly. To die in such a horrible way. Monica, Frieda and Patty definitely don’t need to know the grisly details. We’ll try and help them all through to the funeral next week, and then see what they’ll need.’ They both sat silently as the evening overtook what remained of the day. Each alone with their thoughts, jumping from memories of a bright mischievous boy to the fathomless logic of fate. It could so easily have been one of theirs!

The day of Roddy Dunkin’s funeral was suitably bleak. A cold wind whipped around the calves and ankles of the small number of mourners who gathered in the little church at which the family worshipped. In addition to the residents of numbers 24 and 37, a number of other neighbours and friends from Ross street and the nearby neighbourhoods were well represented. The Reverend Cole had a heavy cold, and his habitually quiet voice was rendered even more unintelligible by that and the scarf wound tightly around his throat. However, the ceremony went smoothly as the Minister guided the flock through the hymns by pointing to their number up on the hymn board on the wall. Roddy’s grandfather gave a short eulogy. Tears were shed. Frieda sat between John and Patty silently weeping, unable to speak. The mourners stood for a final hymn and parting prayer. As they filed slowly out of the church, each pausing to express their respects to Monica and Phil, Ted said quietly to Betty, ‘Pretty low-key service. Poor little bugger, never had a chance.’ Betty could only silently agree. But as I’ve often observed, human tragedy rarely wants for company. Ted Jenkins’ life was to suddenly experience a jolt from which he was never fully to recover.

November 1948

Ted stood stock still, the telephone receiver poised a few inches from his right ear. He didn’t move. His wife came into the hallway carrying plates and cutlery to place on the dining table. Ted slowly and deliberately replaced the receiver. ‘Bob’s dead.’ He stood staring at the receiver. Betty, standing at the dining table dropped the two plates. The cutlery followed. ‘What!!’ ‘That was Viv. Ringing from the hospital. He woke this morning not feeling well. Viv wanted him to see Dr Givens, but he said he’d be fine, just a bit of indigestion. But around three this afternoon, he collapsed. Viv called the ambulance, but it was too late. He was dead when they arrived and couldn’t be revived.’ Ted’s voice sounded alien to him, as if coming from someone else in the room. Betty’s hand went to her forehead. Then collecting her wits, she grabbed her husband’s arm and led him unresisting into the loungeroom. There she eased him into an armchair and sat down at his feet, her arms wrapped around his knees. Ted began to grasp the enormity of the news. Tears silently slid down his cheeks to drip unheeded onto his chest. ‘But he’s only just retired. We were planning a big fishing trip to Mallacoota,’ he said in a daze. In an instant Ted’s long held plans for a companionable retirement collapsed like a jerry-built shed. Betty was the first to come back to the present. ‘Ted, get the car out. We must go to Viv. Now!’ Ted shook himself, trying to regain some sense of reality. He rose and walked to the garage and like an automaton dragged open the doors and climbed into the driver’s seat. By the time he drove the car down the driveway to the side porch Betty was waiting. She slipped into the enger seat and they were off. Dead! Bob? Later that evening they sat. in the loungeroom of number 24. Patty, James and the children had arrived after dinner.

‘Oh Dad, We’re so sorry. I know how close you and Bob were. It’s just so unfair.’ She ran to her father and hugged him. He smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek. Ted nodded, smiled at his daughter but said nothing. She continued. ‘Mum, how are Viv and Amy? Does Brian know? ‘They’re still in shock, dear. As we all are. Amy is almost unhinged by her father’s death. You know how she worshipped him. Viv is coping. I think this was not entirely unexpected. Bob had been having medical problems and some worrying signs for the past few months. Neither he nor Viv said anything to your father and me. Not wanting to worry us, I suppose. It would have been better had they given us some idea. But that’s all by the bye,’ Betty sighed. ‘And Brian?’ Patty gently repeated her question. ‘He’s away on a trip, flying somewhere between Hawaii and San Francisco. Your father has sent telegrams to Honolulu and America. ‘He should bloody-well be here. With his mother. At a time like this!’ Ted’s outburst caused Anne to begin crying softly. Her mother soothed her. ‘It’s all right darling. Grandpa is just very upset about Uncle Bob.’ Ted jumped up and put his arms around his daughter and granddaughter. ‘Hey, hey, don’t mind me. I’m just an old silly.’ ‘But, but’ Anne sobbed, ‘I don’t want you to die, Grandpa.’ At this, young Phillip ed in, his eyes wide. ‘You’re not going to die are you Grandpa?’ ‘No, no,’ Betty said. ‘Your Grandpa is fine. Aren’t you, dear?’ ‘Of course, I am. Fit as a Mallee bull.’ The conversation settled down to fond recollections of the good times until the children left to go home and the elderly couple were left alone. ‘It’s like a bad dream that I keep hoping I’ll wake from.’ Ted tamped his pipe

and fiddled with a match. ‘I know what you mean, dear. When I was sitting with Viv and Amy earlier, I felt as if I was somewhere else. It didn’t seem real. We have had plenty of deaths, like poor Roddy and our neighbours, but nothing that has been as close to us since Patty’s little school friend disappeared. Even when James was a prisoner, we never gave up hope.’ Ted nodded slowly, continuing to work away at his pipe. ‘I guess we’ll have to rethink our future. All those plans up in smoke. I know it’s selfish and that I should be thinking only of Viv and the children. But I can’t help thinking about what we’ve lost. For me, Bob was a rock, the older brother I never had. He was wise and funny and wonderful to be with. And we both got on so well with Viv. All those times.’ Ted stopped, as the images of his best friend rose before him. Ted’s words drifted on. Betty was silent, letting her man gradually come to with his grief. Her thoughts turned to her friend. Would their relationship ever be the same again? The easy confidences, the laughter, the setting the world to order. It would now just be the three of them. Three, an awkward number. And all the time a reminder of an empty chair, a missing member. Shauna might help but now she had Jack. Five was no better than three. Gradually the silence led to yawns and bed. Maybe tomorrow would usher in better times.

Bob Mattingly’s memorial and the celebration of his life was held in the church that had the year before been marked for his daughter’s cancelled wedding. A large number of mourners turned up. The funeral director had to send his underlings scurrying around the church and attached manse to rustle up extra chairs that were placed at each end of the rows of pews. Even so, by the time the sombre music began, dozens of people were standing around the walls and in the large vestibule. The minister rose and walked slowly to the front holding a bible in his right hand. He paused and turned to face the mourners. Dearly beloved we are meeting today to the life of Robert Stanley Mattingly, husband to Vivienne, father to Brian, Amy and Eva and Gramps to Greta. He was also a friend and workmate to many of you and a long-time and highly respected member of this congregation....

The Minister, unknown to the Jenkins-Kennedys, spoke on and on extolling Bob’s contributions to family, church and community. Amy sobbed quietly clutching her mother’s arm. Brian stared ahead, stony faced. Only little Greta smiled as she heard the many nice words said about her Gramps. It would take more than a year before she finally came to realise that he would never tell her stories of the bushrangers ever again. Bob’s boss gave a brief eulogy, praising Bob’s outstanding work at his company. A pity, Ted reflected sourly, that he hadn’t recognised that before he’d thrown him out during the Depression. But Ted kept his thoughts to himself. A senior member of the Lodge then ed onto Viv the formal condolences of that august and secretive organisation. The Masons would have their own private ceremony in honour of their departed brother, in due course. Finally, Ted rose and gave a sincere tribute to his friend of twenty-five years, finishing by simply saying that Bob Mattingly was a friend that you could always count on. Brushing back tears, he resumed his place beside his wife seated directly behind Viv and her family. He leant forward and gently placed his hand on Viv’s shoulder. She half turned her head and patted his hand. The service finished and the mourners filed out, returning to their own worlds of trouble and joy. The Jenkins, Kennedys and a few other close friends followed Brian’s car back to the Mattingly house in Balwyn. There, for the next few hours, they sat on the back veranda gently reminiscing about Bob, as the sun gradually sank into the city skyline to the west. Eventually, as the guests melted away only Ted and Betty remained. Greta bathed and in her striped pyjamas had come out to say goodnight to all. ‘Such a lovely little girl,’ Betty said as Greta tripped off through the back door. ‘Yes. And a miracle that she and her mother survived the War. I really think that it was meant to be, that Brian just happened to be in the right spot at the right time. Now we can give the child the life she deserves. Bob thought the world of her I know he would want me to do whatever I can to make sure it happens.’ Viv’s shoulders signalled a determination so familiar to Betty. If anyone could get through this Viv would. Betty nodded, not then realising that her friend’s vow would soon take her a long way away.

August 1949

In late May winter had swept into Ross Street like an invading army. One day the sun shone, children played in the street and mothers leant over their fences to discuss the great issues of their world. The next day, the temperature plummeted as a wicked southerly stripped any remaining golden leaves from the massed ranks of plane trees. The naked boughs gave silent testimony to the chill months ahead. On a blustery Sunday late in the season the Jenkins and Kennedy families were lingering at the dining table, savouring the results of Betty’s roast beef lunch and stewed nectarines from Betty’s store. The children were excused and rushed into the loungeroom to resume their half-finished game of Monopoly. Phillip was keen to catch his sister on Mayfair, now ing two little green houses. Ted neatly folded his starched white napkin, rolled it and poked it through the sterling silver ring that resided between meals on the polished sideboard behind him. ‘Wow! What a meal,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t think I could put away a single bean after that.’ ‘Yes, Betty, you’ve excelled yourself,’ added James. ‘What I wouldn’t have given for one of your roast potatoes in the camp. We used to dream up our ideal meal. Mine was always roast beef, string beans and potatoes, with lashings of gravy. I wonder how many of the lads got to eat theirs,’ he mused. ‘Not many, I guess.’ ‘I’m happy to oblige, James,’ Betty gushed, keen to bring his mind away from the past. Taking his cue, Ted added, ‘Yes, one thing you can be sure of in this household - no one leaves the table hungry.’ The four laughed and the talk turned to politics. ‘What do you think about the government sending the troops into the coal mines, Dad?’

Prime Minister Ben Chifley had finally, after weeks of strike action by coal miners in NSW, authorised the army to take over the mines and get the coal moving again. Several mine union officials had already been gaoled and union funds seized. New laws prevented people and organisations from providing financial to the miners. ‘I guess it was bound to come to this. The union was holding the community to ransom, blocking coal in the middle of winter, for God’s sake. Of course, it’s all the work of the Commies. They run the miners’ union.’ Ted had no truck with communists. Betty could see the look on her son-in-law’s face. Although agreeing with her husband -- it was wicked to deprive honest folk of warm homes in winter -- she was curious to hear more. ‘What do you think James?’ James paused. He knew how conservative his parents-in-law were. He caught a warning look from his wife out of the corner of his eye. ‘Well, I agree that it was pretty well inevitable but not for the obvious reason. There’s an election later this year and Chifley has to show voters that he’s tough on communists. The other side is hammering Labor on the issue, suggesting that the party is being taken over by the Reds and that Chifley is too weak to prevent their winning.’ ‘But it’s true, the part about the Commies taking over the unions.’ Ted was a staunch er of Chifley and Curtin before him. But he had become increasingly worried by the continual warnings in the press, especially Keith Murdoch’s newspapers, about what was being called ‘the Red menace’. ‘It’s true that the Reds have infiltrated some trade unions, Ted. But Labor is a big Party and Chifley is a brick wall against them. It’s why they hate him so much. It’s Cominform orders to oppose and disrupt the government at every opportunity.’ ‘The what?’ Betty had never heard of Stalin’s international front organisation. ‘It’s Stalin’s vehicle for orchestrating world revolution. But don’t worry, he’s got Buckleys of ever doing so. America didn’t win the War to let the likes of Uncle

Joe take the spoils. But’ James continued, ‘it does mean that social democratic parties in democracies like ours have to be on our guard.’ Here, James indirectly nodded to the fact of his recent decision to the Australian Labor Party, having attended his first branch meeting the week before. ‘Ours?’ Betty’s keen ear caught the implication. ‘James has just ed Labor, Mum,’ Patty proudly interjected. ‘And what do you think of that Patty?’ said Ted, recovering from the surprise announcement. ‘I didn’t think you were interested in politics.’ ‘I’m not, Dad but I think that if James feels he needs to be involved, then I’m with him one hundred percent.’ James smiled at his wife’s ionate , even against the apparent displeasure of her beloved father. ‘It’s all right young lady. Keep your hair on. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all. If that’s what he thinks, then fine by me. I just hope we don’t wake up one day and find the Commies in the Prime Minister’s Lodge.’ ‘Unlikely Ted. Labor will probably be saved from that by all the Catholics in the party. The Pope hates Communists like the devil.’ James chuckled as he saw the look on his father-in-law’s face. Who, I wonder, does he hate more, the Reds or the Micks, he mused? There the matter rested as conversation turned to mundane domestic matters.

Later in the week Betty and Shauna were sitting in Shauna’s front room at number 37. Both were dressed warmly as the grip of winter still clung on tenaciously to spite the approaching march of Spring. A light, drizzling rain was falling and no sound penetrated the curtains drawn against the gloom. ‘Well, dear, how are you bearing up?’ Betty smiled. ‘Well, she only left the day before yesterday, so it’s still sinking in. Of course, I knew that it would happen one day.’

The two friends were discussing Viv Mattingly’s very recent move to Sydney. ‘Why now?’ ‘Eva, Brian’s wife, is expecting their second child early next year. She is having a difficult pregnancy. Apparently, it also occurred with little Greta. With Brian away flying so much of the time Viv decided to move in with them, at least until the baby arrives. After that, she’ll see. But I think that once there, she’ll stay. Having a grandmother close will be a great help to Brian and Eva and will give Viv a chance to start a new life away from all the memories,’ Betty sighed. ‘Cheer up dear. It’s probably for the best. Bob was the centre of her life for so long that it must be terribly hard for her to carry on down here.’ ‘I expect you’re right, Shauna. But it’s terribly hard for me to lose her.’ Betty replied with feeling. ‘Never mind, you’ve got me m’darling.’ ‘Too true. You’re a tonic Shauna Hennessy, that you are.’ Bring me up to date. How are Ted, Patty and family, so?’ ‘Oh, they’re fine. That man of mine is just the same as ever. Sometimes I could kill him, other times I’m just so glad that he’s mine.’ Shauna smiled. ‘But I’m a bit worried about James,’ Betty continued, frowning. ‘James? Surely, he’s fine now. I mean he’s doing so well at his business. What could possibly be wrong?’ Shauna’s surprise was clear. She leaned slightly forward towards her friend, encouraging further confidences. ‘It’s hard to say, Shauna. I sometimes think that in spite of all he has done to put the war behind him, it has never really gone away. Every now and again I catch him drifting away. There’s a sadness in his eyes. He’s normally so energetic and positive, especially with the children and when he’s singing Patty’s successes. But the eyes never lie. It reminds me of my Aunty Agnes. Her beau never returned from Flanders. She led a busy, productive life till the very end. But every now and then you could see the sadness rise up through her beautiful greyblue eyes, and we’d know.’ Betty’s eyes watered; her mind filled with the

memory of an old lady who had been so kind to her growing up. Shauna nodded. ‘It happened too in the old country. The women who had lost husbands, brothers and sons in the civil war fighting for independence from Britain had a particular look, a kind of kinship that the rest of us could never breech.’ Shauna too felt tears welling. For a moment both women sat, silently reflecting on the difficulties that life places before everyone. ‘It’s as if James is running. Running to whatever will keep him from ing. First it was helping other veterans in the groups he helped establish. Then it was the returned Serviceman’s League, where he’s now the secretary-treasurer of the local branch. Most recently he’s ed the Labor Party and is standing as a candidate for our local council.’ ‘Is that such a bad thing?’ Shauna queried. ‘ Not in itself. But he is becoming more vocal in his political views, more radical, precisely at a time that Ted is moving in the opposite direction.’ ‘Oh,’ commented her friend. ‘I thought Ted was a staunch Labor er.’ ‘He was but is now talking about voting for the new Liberal Party at the next election.’ ‘Really! But he hates Menzies. I’ve heard him calling ‘Ming’ a traitor, selling pig iron to the Japanese before the war and then jumping ship to head for Britain when war came. How, on earth can he bring himself to vote for Menzies?’ Shauna shook her head. ‘It’s the communists. And the attempt by Chifley to nationalise the private banks. He thinks that Labor is too close to the unions and that they, the trade unions I mean, are being taken over by the Reds. And he’s worried that our life savings will be in danger if the government gets their hands on the banks.’ This was Betty’s fear as well. All their future plans depended on the small but secure nest egg they had built up over decades. ‘But aren’t you with the State Savings Bank of Victoria? Chifley can’t touch that bank, can he?’ ‘Probably not, but Ted thinks it’s the thin end of the wedge, his words. In any

event, it’s the cause of arguments between him and James. I’m beginning to dread family get togethers, meals especially. There seems to be a direct link between a man’s full stomach and his tendency to spout political nonsense.’ The two women laughed weakly, and the subject lapsed. Don’t fear dear ladies. Many of your fellow citizens felt similarly, felt the need to secure what had been so hard won and so nearly lost in the recent war. Labor was about to embark on a decades-long stint on the Opposition benches of federal parliament.

December 1949

But as the year progressed and the election loomed the tension ratcheted up. It was now difficult for a family occasion to without an argument breaking out. So, when the election was finally held in the second week of December it was as if a pressure valve opened in the lives of our families. Robert Gordon Menzies became the first Prime Minister of the Liberal Party of Australia, with a chance to obliterate the memory of the less than stellar record of his first premiership. Labor and James Kennedy could take solace in the fact that they still held a majority in the Senate, while hoping for a quick return to the government benches. Both crumbs were soon whisked away as two years later Menzies was returned with majorities in both Houses on his way to becoming the country’s longest serving Prime Minister. But in the last days of this wartime decade all this lay beyond the veil of the future. On New Year’s Eve, a party was held at number 24. Patty and family were ed by Shauna and Jack. Viv Mattingly had flown down from Sydney especially to be with her old friends. Brian, now a first officer with Qantas Airways, had arranged a staff concession flight for his mother with the new government carrier, Trans Australia Airlines. Although nervous, Viv had been delighted to travel as the ‘mother of aircrew’ and loved the fuss that the cabin crew had made of one of their own. She gasped with pleasure as she stepped out of the cab outside her old friend’s house. All the familiar sights, sounds and smells greeted her senses. Magpie songs, filtered by the fully loaded leaves of the plane trees, were accompanied by the pulsing rhythm of cicadas. She paused to take in the smells and sounds, so familiar, of the unsealed road after the recent ing of the water wagon had laid a carpet of water to keep down the dust. ‘How are you enjoying life in the fast-paced rat race of Sydney, so?,’ asked Shauna, as soon as Viv had taken off her gloves and ed her friends in the loungeroom. Betty thought that her friend looked well. Sydney must agree with her. The sadness was there. But the loneliness was gone.

‘It’s not very fast where I live,’ Viv replied with a grin. ‘In fact, it’s very quiet and sedate in Pymble. A lot of Brian’s colleagues live in that part of Sydney, though I don’t know why. It’s so far from Mascot airport. But the area is nice and leafy and there are some lovely areas around the Pittwater and the Hawksbury River. We often take Greta for picnics at nearby Bobbin Head. We sometimes hire a small boat. Greta loves it. Of course, that’s all on hold until the baby arrives.’ ‘How close?’ Shauna probed. ‘Next month.’ Viv beamed. ‘I can hardly wait. It’s been a long time since I held a baby in my arms. This was my last chance for a while to sneak back here for a visit to see my best friends, you and Betty, and also see my Amy.’ ‘Bless you, love. Give me a hug.’ The two women wrapped their arms around each other. Betty felt a pang of jealously. Viv was her friend first. But the feeling past and she, in turn, hugged both friends. ‘What’s this then, am I missing something?’ Ted Jenkins sat down opposite the women. ‘Just catching up, old boy,’ said Viv. I haven’t seen Betty and Shauna in ever so long. Thanks for inviting me.’ ‘We couldn’t welcome in a new decade without you, old girl. Let’s just hope it’s going to be a better than the last two, first the bloody Depression, then the even more bloody war.’ The third and most recent disaster lay like an underground mine around which both friends side stepped. ‘Amen brother.’ Shauna’s friend Robert Jackson (call me Jack) sat down on the spare cushion next to Shauna. She had finally formally introduced him to her friends. Jack was a stockbroker in the city, working hard to re-establish himself after the trauma of divorce and its financial fallout. ‘I think that this time we finally have a chance at getting a decent run, as long as we keep the soviets in their box. At least the socialists are out of Canberra.’ ‘That’s enough of that Jack!’ Shauna glared at him. ‘Not everyone shares your political views.’

‘Sensible people do.’ ‘I said that’s enough, and I meant it.’ ‘Well, that’s me told. Isn’t she beautiful when she’s angry?’ This was a mistake. Shauna rose and stalked out of the room, leaving Jack and Ted to gaze after her disappearing rear. ‘Women!’ was Ted’s eloquent comment. Jack nodded and then somewhat sheepishly rose and slipped out after Shauna. ‘What was all that about?,’ said Betty moving across to sit down beside her husband. ‘I’m afraid Jack has a lot to learn about women. No wonder he made a mess of his first marriage.’ Ted leant back in his chair. ‘Don’t you think you’re the expert on women Ted Jenkins! if I wasn’t a saint, I’d, I’d’ ‘What? Dump me for that excuse for a man in the greengrocers who kept giving you the eye and a bit of extra in the veg department?’ ‘Well, no,’ Betty said trying not to laugh. ‘But I did have other offers, don’t you forget. That nice Reg Donald who ended up running the big grain store in Ballarat, for one.’ ‘Reg bloody Donald! That weasel. He disappeared pretty fast when I came on the scene. Wasn’t he the one with a limp and a lazy eye?’ ‘Don’t be cruel,’ said Betty enjoying the joust. ‘I’ll have you know that Reg was considered a very good catch, as my Aunty s used to say. He couldn’t help his afflictions.’ At this both burst out laughing. ‘Hello, you two, what’s all the jollity about?’ James Kennedy sat down in the chair opposite.

‘We were just thumbing through Betty’s many eligible bachelors, before she won first prize.’ ‘Sounds like you were the lucky one, Ted.’ ‘And don’t ever forget it.’ With the last word uttered, Betty rose and swept from the room. ‘Women! A poor bloody man can never get the last word.’

Later that evening, after the guests had left, the table and ashtrays cleared and the dishes washed and put away, the Jenkins were sitting in the loungeroom reflecting on the night. ‘How do you think Viv looked, Ted?’ ‘Hard to say. She seemed right enough. But every now and then I caught a sort of sad look, as if she was ing something she and Bob had said or done with us.’ ‘I know exactly what you mean, dear. When we were alone together in the kitchen, she had a quiet weep. We both did. She loves being part of Brian’s family and knows that she is going to be a great help to Eva after the baby arrives. But Sydney is unfamiliar, and she doesn’t really know anyone there outside the family. I’ve suggested that she get involved with a local community or church group.’ ‘Do you think she’ll take your advice?’ ‘I hope so. I really hope so. It’s difficult enough to deal with Bob’s death but to also see Viv struggling is... well just so unfair. I keep thinking of all the wonderful times we had over the years, especially when they lived just down the road. ‘ Ted put his arms around his wife and drew her to him. They stayed like that as images of his best friend flashed through his mind. Finally, he said, ‘Life is funny. You don’t realise when it is happening, but only after it’s gone, when the good time happened. I only know how lucky I am to have shared my life with

you and Patty and the grandkids. I haven’t set the world on fire, done anything great, like Dr Dunlop or General Monash or the Don. But I’ve tried to live a decent life.’ Ted’s eyes misted. ‘You have my darling. We have both been lucky to have found each other early and been through the good times and the bad.’ Here Betty paused. ‘You know, I’m a bit worried about James.’ ‘James? What do you mean?’ Ted was surprised at his wife’s lightening change of topic, so like her. He had always been amazed at the way she could keep several things in her mind at the same time and move from one to the other and back again without missing a beat. ‘He seems very quiet, worn out, not at all his usual bright self.’ ‘He might just be that. Tired. He has a lot on his plate. Running a business, treasurer of the local RSL branch, going into local politics, coaching Phillip’s footy team. What does Patty say?’ ‘She’s worried too. She’s trying to get him to slow down. He still occasionally has terrible nightmares. She wants him to give up the idea of going into politics.’ ‘Well, that would be a good idea.’ Ted responded. ‘But he’s always been a driven man, determined to make his mark. His war experiences only reinforced that part of his character. It’s as if he is running to make up for lost ground. I’m at that stage of life when I know I’ll never make a big splash. I think that first occurred to me when I realised I’d never open the batting for Australia at Lords.’ Ted grinned but there was pain behind the smile. Betty paused before continuing. ‘Patty is afraid that he’s heading for a breakdown. He won’t listen to her. She wondered if you would have a talk with him. Man-to-man.’ ‘Me! I don’t think James would listen to anything I might say. I’m old in his eyes, haven’t been out in the world like him, seen the things he’s seen.’ ‘Don’t sell yourself short, Ted. He thinks the world of you. He didn’t get much from his own father and you know how complicated his relationship is with Jean. Please talk with him. It might help, coming from another man.’

After a little more persuasion, Ted reluctantly agreed. An opportunity arose about a week later. James had returned a set of chisels he’d borrowed from Ted at Christmas. As they were putting the tools back in the garage, Ted invited James to sink a beer in the backyard. The afternoon was fine and his son-in-law thirsty. The evening was light, the sun still had two hours left on its day shift. As they reclined in the striped deck chairs Ted had pulled out from the garage, a delicious smell of dinner wafted past. Sitting in canvas deckchairs on the back lawn, Ted snapped the top of a bottle of Resches bitter and filled two glasses. James blew the froth off the top and took a gulp. ‘What’s this, Ted? Doesn’t taste like your normal beer.’ ‘Viv bought it down with her from Sydney. Apparently, it and Tooths is all they drink up there. Can’t think why.’ Ted looked critically at his glass, wiped the frosty coating so that he could see the dark fluid. ‘It’s not so bad, mate, better than dying of thirst.’ James took another long haul. ‘It’s not bad, after the first bite. How about a top-up?’ They were well into the second bottle before Ted got around to the business at hand. ‘Betty says that you’re planning to stand for the local council,’ Ted asked with what he thought was a nonchalant air. ‘Yeh, some of the boys at the local branch think I’ve got a good chance.’ ‘Why would you want to be on council?’ Ted could think of nothing worse, sitting around a table with a lot of old windbags. ‘I think I’ve got some good ideas about how to improve sporting facilities in the municipality. The state of our main oval is a disgrace. It’s positively dangerous. One of the kids I train ended up in hospital with a broken ankle because of the potholes. And we need new changing sheds there. Don’t get me started on the scouts’ hall.’ James was getting into his policy pitch. ‘That’s going to take a fair bit of your time, isn’t it, what with everything else on your plate?’ Ted continued to play the casual enquirer. But James paused, smiled

and said, ‘Has Patty put you up to this?’ ‘No, of course not.’ Ted hastened to say and then, shamefaced, added, ‘well, not directly.’ ‘Ah Betty has been in your ear. That’s okay Ted. And you can tell her, “job done”. No need for anyone to worry. It’s only local government. It will involve some time and effort, but I think the result will be worth it. I’m keen to give something to our community.’ ‘Mate! You gave years of your life for all of us. You’ve done more than most. We love you and don’t want you to burn out. You have a family and a successful business. You have years and years to go on making your contribution.’ James stopped, for the moment overcome, then smiled. ‘Thanks Ted. I appreciate more than I can ever say how you and Betty have taken me into your family, and how you looked after my brood while I was holidaying in the Pacific. But this is something I feel I have to do. I’m not getting any younger. It’s now or never.’ Ted sat back and stared at the glass in his hand. Clearly James’ mind was made up. And who was he to try and interfere. Would he have listened at James’ age to advice from an older relative? Fat chance!

January 1950

‘M um, I’m at the Repat. James has had a seizure.’ Patty’s voice on the phone was low, controlled. ‘Oh, Patty how terrible. When? Where?’ Betty had rushed in from the garden when she heard the phone ringing. She was still breathing heavily. ‘Can’t talk now. The doctor has just walked in. Can you come and get the children?’ The phone went dead. Betty slowly placed the receiver on its cradle, stepped back and calmed herself. Their fears had been realised. She quickly moved into gear. Grabbing her coat, she rushed out to the garage. After several attempts and not a few arguments with Ted’s tutoring, she had earned her driver’s licence just before Christmas. The heavy doors complained as she heaved them open. Really ! Ted should have oiled the hinges. Putting her annoyance aside, Betty Jenkins jumped into the unfamiliar driver’s seat and began her carefully rehearsed pre-drive routine. Like an airline pilot she checked various dials and gears, loosened the handbrake, placed her foot on the extended clutch and turned the ignition key. Anxiety mounted and she could feel her heart pounding. The motor whirred but failed to catch. Betty’s hands felt clammy. Heeding her husband’s advice, she eased the choke an inch out, waited - ‘don’t flood the bloody thing dear’ - and tried again. This time success! Waiting thirty seconds, she pushed the choke slowly in and gave the accelerator a light tap. Satisfied with the result she moved the gearstick into first and slowly let the clutch out while applying force to the accelerator - ‘match the revs dear, match the revs’. The car lurched forward and stalled. Betty put the gear into neutral and sat back. Steady does it, you can do it girl. At the next attempt the car made it out the front gate before stalling again. Damn! When will I ever get the knack of keeping it going while missing the gatepost? But at the third attempt, all went well. In five minutes, she was carefully guiding the car in through the hospital gate to the visitors’ parking lot.

Betty parked next to a large American car. She paused to catch her breath, quickly checked her appearance in the rear vision mirror and stepped out of the car, grabbing her handbag from the enger seat. The late afternoon had turned chilly and she wrapped her cardigan around her as she hurried in through the main doors. A lone nurse sat behind the desk facing the doors. Betty rushed up to her and said, ‘I’m Betty Jenkins. My son-in-law James Kennedy has just been itted. Could you please direct me to him?’ The nurse checked the front of her. ‘He’s in Room 203, Mrs. Jenkins. Mrs. Kennedy is with him. I believe the doctor is with her.’ Betty thanked her and rushed for the stairs, wondering whether the nurse was referring to Patty or Jean. When she found, knocked on the door and entered the room, only Patty was there, sitting beside James who appeared to be asleep. ‘Mum, thank goodness you’re here.’ Patty rose and threw herself into her mother’s arms. ‘It’s so terrible. James has had some sort of breakdown. The doctors don’t know exactly what’s wrong, but they’ve given him a sedative. Mum, he just lies there. I talk to him, but he doesn’t hear.’ At this Patty burst into tears. Betty walked Patty back to the chair and gently lowered her into it. ‘He’ll be all right won’t he Mum?,’ Patty pleaded. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose him again.’ Patty was trembling as the memory of the long months of James’ recovery thrust forward into the brightly lit, sparsely furnished, clinical room. Betty suppressed her own fears and memories and in a reassuring tone said, ‘Of course, he will darling. He’s in hospital and will get the best medical care. But tell me, where are the children?’ ‘They’re with a nurse in the family area. Poor dears, they don’t know what’s happened to their Dad. Phillip keeps asking will James be able to take him to footy training tomorrow.’ At this point, more tears flowed. ‘Shush, darling,’ Betty bent beside Patty and cradled her head to her breast. I’ll collect them and take them home. They’ll stay with your father and I until all this is behind us. You too my dear. I’ll get them now. Your father will be home by now. He’ll come back right away and help you find out what is happening with the doctors. I’ll bathe, feed and put the children to bed. Don’t you worry,

we’re all on the job now.’ Patty gave her mother a hug and watched forlornly as she left the room. Her gaze then turned back to her husband lying inert beneath the thin hospital blankets.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick. No one here, the car gone. Where have you been!?’ Ted’s concern came out as anger, causing Betty to breakdown in tears. Ted was now really worried. ‘What? Not the children?’ ‘No. It’s James. He’s collapsed and is in hospital. And will you please stop scaring the children. They’ve been through enough today.’ Ted suddenly noticed Anne, fourteen and white-faced and Phillip, twelve, trailing behind Betty. He knelt and put his arms around both. ‘It’s okay, kids. We’ll sort it all out.’ Turning to Betty he said, ‘What can we do?’ ‘I’ve promised that you will go to the hospital and help Patty find out more about what is happening. I’ll feed and get the children to bed. Then bring Patty back with you. They’ll all stay with us until things are clearer. Now go. Patty needs you.’ Ted needed no further spur. He kissed his wife and rushed out to the car in the driveway, its engine still running. He parked the car and ran for the hospital entrance. The same nurse directed him to James’ room. ‘Oh Dad, thank God.’ Patty rose and hugged her father. ‘Have the doctors said anything?’ Ted helped his daughter back into the chair. ‘No, they haven’t been back again. I just sit here watching my husband lie there.’ She stopped, unable to go on. ‘Hush Darling. I’ll go and get some sense out of the blighters.’

Ted rose and rushed out of the door, colliding with a doctor coming along the corridor. ‘Doctor, can you please tell us what’s happening with my son-in-law, James Kennedy?’ At the same moment he spied Jean Kennedy hurrying towards them. Ted had never seen the cool, calm woman so frantic. ‘In here Jean,’ he called. Both parents followed the doctor into the room. Jean paused and gazed at her son lying still beneath the thin blankets. She immediately went over, leaned down and hugged Patty. ‘My dear, he’ll be fine, I know. James has been through much worse. He’s strong and determined. Doctor?’ She looked up at the young man who bent over her son and felt his pulse, drew back his eyelids and quickly shone a dim pocket torch in both eyes. The doctor was clearly weary after a ten-hour stint on duty. He turned to the three expectant faces, addressing Patty. ‘Mrs. Kennedy, your husband is not in any danger, or any pain. Our scans and physical examination have discovered nothing ominous. But he seems to be suffering from complete exhaustion. I’ve looked at his medical history and discussed his case with the senior medical officer. We think that his collapse has come as a result of a long build-up of tension over years of dealing with his terrible wartime experiences.’ ‘But doctor,’ cut in Ted, ‘James has been well for two years now. He has been at work, helping other war veterans, up to his ears in community activities and raising a family.’ ‘There’s much we don’t know about the longer-term effects of deeply traumatic events, sir. Different people react in different ways and over different periods. For some, throwing themselves into multiple activities takes pressure away. But only for a time. Eventually the past catches up.’ A silence crept over the room. Eventually Jean Kennedy said, ‘Doctor, what do you suggest we can do?’ ‘For the moment, I’d prescribe complete rest. We’ll keep him here for the next few days. Then he needs to be looked after and kept away from his normal

pursuits. Hopefully, he’ll gradually come back to where he was. But it will take time and care. Regular check-ups here and possibly consultation with a specialist in trauma recovery will be needed. We just don’t know yet.’ The doctor paused and Ted said, ‘Doctor, is James suffering from some kind of delayed shell shock? We saw a bit of that after the last war.’ ‘Quite possibly, sir. As I say, we know so little about how the mind works in extreme situations. But I do know that in the overwhelming majority of cases, love and care result in full recovery. I do think it wise to leave Mr. Kennedy to rest for now. Come back tomorrow and we can talk some more.’ Patty was reluctant to leave but was eventually persuaded by the other two. ‘Come, dear. The children will need your reassurance.’ Jean’s gentle prod was enough. Patty followed her out of the door into the corridor, clutching her father’s arm. ‘Goodbye darling,’ she called softly back over her shoulder. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’ No reply came. James Kennedy slept for three days. On the fourth he suddenly sat up in bed and stared wildly around him. Patty, who had been vaguely leafing through a fourmonth-old copy of the Women’s Weekly, looked up with a start. ‘James, James. It’s me. You’re awake.’ ‘Of course, I’m awake. But where are we?’ James looked around the unfamiliar surroundings.’ ‘In hospital, darling. You had a breakdown.’ Patty’s eyes shone with relief and joy. ‘Breakdown! Rubbish. I was just discussing my election campaign.’ Here his voice trailed out. Disted memories of faces looking down on him and men in white coats flashed before his eyes. He paused and looked at Patty. ‘Am I really in hospital?’

‘Yes.’ ‘How long have I been here?’ He was still having trouble coming to grips with this strange turn up. ‘This is the fourth day, dear.’ ‘Four days,’ he replied wonderingly. ‘What about the children, my job, the footy team?’ ‘All taken care of my love. Anne and Phillip and I are staying with Mum and Dad. Your partners know that you are in good hands. They sent that fruit bowl and card,’ Patty pointed to the side stand on the other side of James’ bed. ‘And Don, Billy Jones’ father, has taken over the training sessions. So, it appears that you’re not indispensable after all. ‘ Patty laughed for the first time in days. ‘Your only job is to get well. I’ll go and get the doctor and tell him you’re awake.’ She bent over and kissed James full on the lips. He lay there trying to make sense of it all.

It was another three days before he was deemed well enough to be discharged to number 24 Ross Street. After settling James in the front bedroom, Patty ed her parents in the loungeroom. ‘It’s just like when we brought James home here after the war and when we returned from our honeymoon.’ Patty had almost recovered from the shock of her husband’s sudden collapse and reconciled herself to a future step back in time. ‘Funny how life moves in circles. You’ve both been so wonderful to us. Every time we need you, there you are.’ ‘That’s what families are for. When all is said and done, it’s only the family that matters.’ Ted tapped his pipe on the brass ashtray as he imparted the wise words that Betty’s grandfather had uttered at their wedding. ‘It’s always been like that, and always will. You’ll do the same for your children, the way of the world, my sweet one.’ ‘I guess so Dad. James and I will certainly try and live up to your example.’ Patty smiled at both her parents.

‘Now that’s what I’ve been missing, your lovely smile.’ Betty rose and hugged her daughter.

Life at number 24 settled down into the new routine. The old James gradually reemerged. Each evening after dinner, the six sat in the loungeroom. James read chapters to the children from their favourite books. After they went off to bed the adults took turns reading from the novel of the moment borrowed from the local council library. The radio also provided plenty of entertainment. Soap operas and quiz shows entertained the adults, while Phillip listened to Biggles. Anne increasingly came to listen with her parents and grandparents as it gradually dawned on the older of the family that she was no longer a child, but a butterfly emerging, almost ready to fly. One night, James put aside the book he was reading from and said, out of the blue, ‘You know one of the things I wanted to do on Council was increase funds for the library. We need a bigger building and a larger budget to expand our book collection. But that’s all by the bye now.’ ‘You don’t know that darling. First you’ll get back to your work and then who knows?’ ‘You’re always so positive, darling. What made me so lucky?’ But deep down, James knew that his political career was over before it had properly begun. From now he would get better and devote all his efforts to providing a good life for his family. They didn’t deserve any more heartache caused by his past experiences. Betty looked across at Ted and smiled. James was back.

May 1950

Autumn that year was unusually cold. The leaves yellowed and dropped earlier than expected. As Ted made his way to the early morning train his feet crunched over the first frosts that hung like silver icing on Phillip’s birthday cake. James was sufficiently recovered in body and mind to return to work. On that morning, the two men walked together, moving swiftly to keep out the cold. They both wore long overcoats with woollen scarves wrapped around their necks and leather gloves. James was hatless but Ted’s trusty dark grey fedora was pulled down to cover most of his face. ‘That’s wonderful news James.’ Ted put his arm around his son-in-law’s shoulder. The previous evening, Patty and James had broken the big news. ‘Patty’s pregnant.’ ‘How wonderful! A new baby.’ Betty threw her arms around both children, as she still thought of them. ‘When did you find out.’ Smiling, Patty replied, ‘I was pretty certain a couple of weeks ago but yesterday Doc Givens gave me the official word. And I certainly feel well enough. I’ve only just told James.’ ‘Well James, I guess that means you’re also officially back on deck.’ Ted threw a light punch at James’ shoulder. ‘Guess so. Patty always said she wanted four children, but we lost a bit of momentum when I was the guest of his Imperial Majesty. After I returned things just didn’t happen, until out of the blue, wham!’ ‘Yes, this is the most welcome unexpected pregnancy,’ not like Frieda’s, Patty secretly thought. ‘I’m thirty-five, old to give birth I know, but the doctor assures me that I’m healthy and have nothing in my history that would cause problems.’ ‘Thirty-five, that’s nothing dear! Two of my aunts were over forty when they gave birth, one closer to fifty.’ Betty enthused.

Ted managed to get a word in, ‘When is the big event?’ Patty paused to calculate. ‘We think it’ll be in mid-September. Perfect timing, just as the worst of winter is over.’ The evening had ed in splendid anticipation of the new life to come. Eight weeks earlier news of Brian’s baby son had arrived, first by telegram and then by a series of excited phone conversations with Viv. Robert Donald Mattingly weighed in at an impressive nine pounds two ounces. Robert after the grandfather who would never hold him and Donald after the Don. Next morning as both men sat opposite each other in the train James mused, ‘I know Patty is delighted to be pregnant again but...’ ‘But you’re not so sure,’ ventured Ted. ‘It’s not that Ted. I also want another child. And the older two are delighted at the prospect of a baby brother or sister. But it does mean that it’s even more important that I remain well, bringing in the money. Can’t afford another crackup.’ The man in the brown suit and hat sitting diagonally across by the window turned away uneasily in his seat, held his newspaper higher and attempted to withdraw further into the back of his seat to avoid any sign of having caught the conversation. Opposite him, however, Mrs. Gotch committed every word to memory, delighted to be in a position to relay the news to Mrs. Rumbold and their circle at their next morning tea. She must be nearing forty, the very idea! And him a war cripple. Some people have no social responsibility. Oblivious to her interest, the two men continued their quite atypically intimate conversation until Flinders street station hove into view, their words carefully noted by a razor-sharp auditor.

December 1950

As Christmas once more crept up on Ross Street, preparations were in full swing. Betty Jenkins was deep into organising a bumper Christmas lunch. This would be the new baby’s first. Viv and Brian’s family were arriving from Sydney the week before and would the post-lunch festivities, along with Shauna and Jack. The birth of Elizabeth Jean Kennedy was altogether less traumatic than that of her older sister Anne. Both elder siblings were delighted with their new sister, Anne especially, Phillip rather more cautiously. A few weeks prior to Elizabeth’s arrival Patty had asked her older children what they hoped for. Anne opted for a sister. Phillip expressed no gender preference but did say that, if offered the choice, he’d rather have a new puppy. When Patty told her husband, James said, ‘A puppy! God, I hope not.’ Elizabeth Jean arrived with a shock of deep red hair and attitude. On first seeing her, Betty almost fainted. ‘Ted, it’s like the first time I laid eyes on our Patty.’ ‘The spitting image, I reckon,’ was her husband’s reply. ‘Of course, I don’t Patty yelling so much.’ As he spoke, the baby obliged with an earsplitting cry. ‘There, there darling.’ Patty reached down to the crib beside her bed and lifted the precious bundle to her chest. As the bundle eagerly sought the breast, her grandparents and father watched fascinated. So wonderful, the way a baby knows exactly what to do, Betty thought. And Patty, now an experienced mother, so calm and capable. Betty sighed inwardly. How much she would have liked to given Patty brothers or sisters. A maternity nurse came into the room to check on mother and baby and end visiting hour.

Ted leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Well darling, that was the best roast chicken ever. I don’t know how I’m going to fit any Christmas pudding in after that lot.’

‘I expect you’ll find a way, Dad. You always do.’ Patty laughed as she bent over and checked the baby in the bassinet lying next to her chair. ‘Yes, I’ve never seen anyone clear a plate like you Ted,’ added James. ‘Well, waste not is my motto. I’m thinking of all those starving millions in China.’ ‘Thinking of your stomach more likely, mate.’ ‘Actually Dad, you are putting on a bit of weight. It can’t be healthy. You need to watch your diet and exercise more. I want you around so that Elizabeth Jean grows up knowing her Granddad.’ ‘Listen to your daughter, Ted.’ Betty was also becoming worried by her husband’s increasing girth and declining fitness. Always so active, in the past year he had virtually ceased any regular exercise. Even kicking the ball around with Phillip at the park left him out of breath. And he seemed to be drinking more regularly. ‘Well, it’s your fault, dear’ Ted teased. ‘My fault!’ Betty bridled. ‘Yes. You’re such a good cook that I can’t help myself.’ ‘Ever the charmer, eh Ted.’ James laughed as he carefully scooped up the last of the gravy and peas on his plate with his fork. ‘But really the ladies are right. More exercise and less calories. I never thought I’d ever say that after Changi.’ There was an uncomfortable silence at the table, broken by Ted. ‘All right, I’ll only have one serve of pudding. And make sure there’s at least one threepence in it!’ ‘Ah, Granddad, I want the threepences,’ Phillip interjected. This broke the awkward pause and the light banter continued. Early in the afternoon, Shauna and Jack, along with Viv , Brian and family

arrived to in the festivities. The Sydney family had driven down the Hume Highway, stopping overnight at the old Gundagai hotel. They were on their way to a holiday house hired for the New Year in Port Fairy. Brian wanted to show Eva and the children the Great Ocean Road, especially the ‘Twelve Apostles’, that mighty phalanx of rock formations sticking up vertically from the stormy sea in which so many early ships on the way to Melbourne had come to grief. After the table had been cleared and the dishes washed and dried by the men and put away by the women, conversations continued among the guests and hosts clustered in small groups on the back veranda. The afternoon was hot but plentiful shade was provided by the two large fruit trees whose branches spread most of the way across the yard to brush lightly on the green tin roof of the garage. The cicadas, so much a permanent part of Christmas time, kept up their steady rhythmic beat that faded into and out of the consciousness as the long twilight eased the day towards night. Brian and family had excused themselves, as toddler Rob was in need of his afternoon nap. ‘So, what news of Erin, Shauna?’ Viv and Betty had managed to get Shauna to themselves. ‘She’s coming home, thank God. I’ve been pestering her to leave that bastard, sent her the money for the fare. She’s booked on a ship that leaves San Francisco next month. I’m hoping she’ll be home in time for her brother’s wedding.’ Shauna looked at her two friends. They were both beginning to show their age. Viv had put on a lot of weight since Bob’s death and Betty’s clear bright complexion was home to small lines creeping around her eyes and mouth that no amount of the miracle wrinkle cures touted in the women’s magazines seemed able to halt or reverse. Betty and Viv were also each reflecting on their friend’s appearance but from an opposite viewpoint. Shauna seemed ageless. Her face was smooth, her eyes clear and her figure slim and graceful as ever. Her new love must be helping, Viv mused, sadly reflecting that she would never again feel the iration and love of an intimate partner, never know the touch and sensuous pleasure, the reassurance and security of a warm body pushed up against hers in bed. Viv Mattingly was a one-man woman and would remain so for the remainder of her life. Her attention was brought back sharply. ‘You’ll be much more at ease when she gets home. I hate thinking of her alone with that brute all that way from her loved ones. We are all looking forward to

the wedding. , I’m here if you need any help.’ Betty leaned over and patted Shauna’s hand. Shauna smiled and returned the pressure. ‘I know, dear. But all is in hand. Jack has been very generous and is paying for most of the reception. I had no idea weddings were so expensive. Cheryl’s parents have organised the church and cars. I’m going with Gwen, Cheryl’s mother, to help choose the dress. Rather fun. Of course, I’d rather it be with one of my girls but, oh well.’ ‘How about Clodagh? Any beaus?’ ‘No. She’s still as crazy about her job. She’s been promoted to senior assistant and been working all hours at the laboratory with her professor.’ Betty raised her eyebrows and glanced at Viv. Shauna caught the exchange and laughed. ‘Nothing to see there, I’m afraid. I wish there was.’ Careful what you wish for. The ways of people and the twists of fate still surprise even me. The endless time before life was so much simpler. Erin didn’t catch that ship. A telegram arrived in the New Year to inform Shauna that Erin was dead, killed in a rage by her estranged boyfriend. ‘The bastard ran Erin over in the driveway of the house they were renting.,’ Shauna told a shocked Betty. Callum ‘s wedding was postponed and not held until the following year. Before that event, Clodagh ran off with her professor to Oxford University. Shauna never did get to buy a wedding dress for her daughters. Another telegram arrived to tell her that Clodagh and the professor had married at a registry office and were living happily in a large semi on the Woodstock Road. In due course, Shauna and Jack would visit the couple after the birth of Shauna’s first grandson. But on Christmas day 1950, none of this was known.

January 1951

At the other end of the veranda the men were in earnest conversation about the first tour of the English cricket team since the war. ‘They’re a pretty ordinary bunch. Apart from Hutton, of course. Can’t see them giving us much of a run.’ Ted had already carefully scrutinised the composition of the visiting MCC team and found little of merit. ‘But mate, you can’t totally rule them out. What about Compton, and Bedser is a pretty useful bowler.’ James was hoping for a competitive series. ‘They’ve made a pretty good fist of it so far. We won the first test but this one is still in the balance.’ James and Ted had attended the second day of the second test at the Melbourne Cricket Ground and were planning to go again on Boxing Day. ‘Miller and Lindwall will clean ‘em up tomorrow, I reckon. And not even Hutton can read that bugger Iverson.’ Jack added. Betty caught the tail end of the men’s conversation. ‘Not more cricket! What grown men see in that stupid game I’ll never know.’ Viv agreed. ‘At least football is exciting. Something’s happening all the time. But you could brew tea during an over and not miss a ball.’ Ted caught the slur on the sweet game. ‘It’s all about tactics, ladies. And the contest between bat and ball. It takes real courage to stand out in the middle and face someone hurtling a missile at ninety miles an hour at you.’ ‘Daft, I call it. Who wants to do that?’ Viv was not to be put off. ‘Every schoolboy in Australia, that’s who. It’s our national sport. What young boy doesn’t dream about wearing the baggy green? We did,’ said Ted looking around at the other men for . ‘National idiocy, more likely. And schoolboys grow up. Or should!’ ‘I actually quite like going to the football,’ put in Shauna, changing the subject.

‘I used to go to the Gaelic matches back in Ireland with my Dad and brothers. Aussie rules is not so different, just the shape of the ball. Ours is round, so.’ ‘Quite right, Shauna. I think we got the idea for our game from your people who came out from Ireland last century.’ ‘I don’t know, Ted. Some people say the game evolved much earlier, from the Aborigines.’ Jack was getting tired of his host’s know-it-all attitude. ‘What! No way, mate. They didn’t have any time for games, too busy hunting down their next meal. This is a white man’s game.’ Ted was outraged. ‘What do you think of our team’s chances this year?’ James said before Jack could continue what promised to become a heated argument. ‘I reckon the Tigers will be there or thereabouts. They’ve still got Captain Blood captaining them. But Collingwood and Geelong look pretty strong.’ ‘Captain Blood! Who on earth is that?’ Shauna looked mystified. ‘Don’t ask. He’s a great ugly brute who runs around the field belting young boys on the opposition team.’ Betty shuddered. Ted glared at his wife. ‘Jack Dyer is a great player. He pushes the limit, I it. But he never whinges when an opponent beats him to the punch. It’s a man’s game, after all. Teaches men to be men.’ ‘Teaches them to be thugs, more likely.’ Betty returned serve with feeling. ‘What about that ex-footballer who lived near your aunt? He used to regularly beat his wife and children. Your aunt often had to call the police. Of course, they did nothing. More interested in getting his autograph. It went on until she finally took the kids and ran.’ Ted paused. ‘Yes, I agree. He was a complete bastard. Anyone who hits a woman is a mongrel. But you can’t blame the game for a few bad apples.’ ‘I’m not so sure it’s just a few, Ted.’ Jack paused to light a cigarette. ‘I was talking to a major at the Salvation Army a few weeks ago. He said that their busiest time was Saturday night and early Sunday after big games at the MCG. Most cases were fans, but he was surprised at how many players and ex-players

were involved. He was also very critical of the police, said they tended to see it as a purely private affair. It was left to the Salvos to deal with the mess. He told me that he’d been at the home of some very well-known players after they’d bashed their wives and that it had all been hushed up.’ There was silence as the group digested the surprising intelligence. ‘Well, I repeat, any man who hits a woman is a coward, on or off the football field.’ Ted responded in a more subdued tone. ‘Let’s talk about something more uplifting, shall we?’ Betty turned to Eva who had been silently watching and listening, still struggling to take in some of the peculiarly Australian ways and speed of talking. ‘How do you think Greta will like seeing Port Fairy?’ The conversation drifted on until the evening began to creep in under the hanging branches.

Life in Ross Street continued in its quiet meander through time. The seasons came and went and came around again. Our families, increasingly spread but regularly flocking back to Ted and Betty like migratory birds, kept the bonds of consanguinity strong. Australia was once again at war. Young men were being sent to fight with their American and Commonwealth allies in Korea, under the banner of the new United Nations Organisation, successor to the League of Nations that had failed humanity so disastrously before the previous war. But this time the commitment of the nation to the fight was more muted, no longer a deep common sense of outrage and fear fuelling martial spirit. In part this was due to war weariness and an overwhelming desire to get back to ‘normal’ life. But it also heralded the rise of a new fault line in Australia between those who saw in Communism the threat of global domination -- a new generation in a later Asian war pictured the spreading ‘red menace’ as a set of falling dominoes -- and others who simply wanted to get on with their lives. Complicating matters, a large influx of post-war refugees, the victims of the European slaughter and massive displacement, arrived on ships, partly balanced by government efforts to attract the ‘right’ sort of migrants from a Britain still down on its knees. New suburbs were flung out into the semi-rural pastures of Melbourne and other large cities. My land became wedged between the higher density suburbs of the city

and the sprawling urbs in rure.

November 1951

‘I reckon Menzies is on a winner.’ Ted leant back in his chair and glanced at the young man sitting next to his mother in the Jenkins’ loungeroom. ‘What do you think?’ Callum Hennessy, now in his early thirties, nervously shifted in his seat. ‘Well, I don’t really know Mr. Jenkins. I don’t take much interest in politics. Can’t afford to take my eye off the business.’ Callum had recently struck out on his own. His timing had been impeccable. Australia’s new car, the General Motors Holden, had been rolling off the production line at Fishermen’s Bend in Port Melbourne. Demand for the car was insatiable. ‘They reckon they can’t keep up with the customers rushing in the door.’ Callum was happy to shift the conversation away from the dangerous shoals of politics. What was it with the elderly that they had to keep arguing about things no one could do anything about? As long as the government left him alone to build his business, that’s what he cared about. ‘There’s talk of GMH moving to a bigger factory in Dandenong to cope.’ But Ted was not to be put off. ‘You must have a view on the war in Korea and Menzies’ move to ban the communists.’ ‘Well, I don’t like the commies, that’s for sure.’ Callum paused and nervously ran his hand through his hair. ‘Strikes on the docks are bad for business, especially mine. But I don’t think we should be sending our boys over there, who knows how many won’t come back?’ ‘Quite right, Callum.’ James Kennedy caught the tail-end of Callum’s comment. ‘Don’t believe all that garbage about the yellow hordes. They’re not all as one. There are age-old grudges in Asia. The Korean’s hate the Japanese and Chinese, have done for centuries. The various peoples of Indo-China hate everyone, especially the British and French. The quicker we Westerners get out from the whole region and let them work it out for themselves, the better.’ James spoke more sharply than he had intended, as memories so long repressed, crowded in.

He stopped talking. Ted put his beer glass down with a bang on the low table in front of his lounge chair. ‘I don’t agree, James. They’ll be at each other’s throats and then the victors will come for us. We’re pretty isolated down here, just a few Islands between us and them. We need to stop them before they start coming south, again! The British and French are a buffer, and the Americans in Japan. The last thing we want is to be left alone in this part of the world.’ Shauna could see the heat rising and sought to intervene. ‘I don’t think we need to solve the world’s problems tonight, boys,’ she offered in her soft, attractive Irish lilt. Ted sat back. ‘You’re right there, Shauna. Whatever we say or think, will make little difference. The politicians will decide and probably muck it up, as usual.’ At this moment, Betty walked into the room, followed by Jack who had been helping carry the food to the table. ‘What will make little difference?’ ‘Ted was just giving us his thoughts on the state of the world,’ said James with a smile. ‘Oh, he’s been on and on about the commies ever since that damned referendum failed a few weeks ago.’ Betty was fed up with Ted’s obsessive interest in politics. They had all had their vote and most people in three states had voted ‘no’. That was all there was to it. ‘The unions and their commie mates stopped Menzies from winning.’ Ted refused to be put off. ‘I thought you hated Menzies, Ted. Said he was responsible for helping Japan arm before the war.’ James was deliberately goading his father-in-law. ‘Yeh, well, I’ve changed. Ever since he stopped Chifley from nationalising the banks and took a strong stand against communism, he had my vote. Labor’s lost me, you can print that!’

‘ I’m just grateful that your grandsons, Ted, aren’t old enough to be sucked into a politician’s war.’ James was losing patience. And so was Betty. ‘Well, I’m going to the dinner table. And if you don’t want to let the meal that I’ve spent the afternoon preparing to go stone cold, you’ll me.’ She walked out of the room, quickly followed by the others. Patty and the children were already seated and waiting. Baby Elizabeth was strapped into the highchair retrieved from the back shed. A new coat of blue paint gave a touch of colour to the muted browns of the room. The meal was eaten in peace. Conversation returned to the normal channels concerned with children, the weather, the fortunes of Richmond in the season and the shocking price of eggs. Once the dishes had been carried to the kitchen, Betty shooed the others out of the kitchen. ‘Shauna will help me clean up. You lot go and enjoy some time with the children before they have to go home to bed.’ Shauna smiled to herself and took up position beside her friend at the sink, holding a dry tea towel. Clearly, Betty was expecting an update on her personal life. She always enjoyed a good chinwag with her best friend, but after Erin’s death, it always left her a little sad, though the days and weeks since the terrible news was beginning to blunt her grief. Betty was determined to see her friend through the dark days, this time starting obliquely. ‘Jack seems as keen as ever. Have you both given any thought to making things a bit more permanent?’ ‘Not really. Jack has hinted at marriage a few times, but I’ve stopped him. I’m not ready to hitch myself to another man. He’s very good and doesn’t insist the way some men would, feeling threatened by not being the boss. He invites me to come with him on some of his business trips. I go as his personal assistant. We book into separate rooms, though often they just happen to have an interconnecting door.’ Betty laughed. And Shauna flashed a wicked smile. ‘Isn’t that a bit risky? Don’t people wonder?’ ‘Probably. But I don’t care, and we’re careful not to flaunt our relationship in anyone’s face. It’s ‘thank you Mr. Jackson’, ‘you’re welcome, Mrs. Hennessy’. I

don’t suppose we really fool people, but as long as the proprieties are observed no one seems to worry. It’s only the senior partner, Mr. Ferguson who seems to be suspicious.’ ‘In what way?,’ said Betty, her interest aroused. ‘He’s a real strait-laced foosther, as my old gran used to say. He’s a lay preacher or whatever they call them at the Presbyterian church in the city, a real kill-joy. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from looking down the front on my dress when he gets the chance, the old hypocrite.’ Both women lent on the sink laughing. ‘Oh, Shauna, you tell such a good story,’ said Betty grabbing the tea towel and wiping tears from her eyes. ‘And you are always such a tonic for me Betty Jenkins.

February 1952

The Australian summer was in full swing. People were easing themselves into the new year after a hectic holiday period. The children were back at school and mothers of the nation gave a collective sigh and began to get their homes in order. The shock was muted by the anticipation. ‘The King is dead.’ Ted came through the front door just before dinner time. ‘It’s in all the evening papers. He died in bed, a few hours ago.’ It was true. Albert Frederick Arthur George, King of the United Kingdom, the Dominions and the Commonwealth was dead at the age of fifty-seven. Worn out by an office he hadn’t expected or wanted, and suffering from a veritable racing stable of illnesses caused by heavy smoking, his death was not unexpected. In some ways it was amazing that he had held on for so long, hoping to allow his successor a chance to grow a little more before she was thrust onto the throne. He needn’t have bothered. His eldest daughter Elizabeth turned out to be a natural, outlasting a dozen or more Prime Ministers and suring the lengthy reigns of her great-grandmother and earlier namesake. But all this was unknown. Her subjects everywhere saw only a small and seemingly frail slip of a girl, barely grown to maturity, now tasked with the burdens of rule over what was left of a mighty empire. ‘What did you say? Dead?’ Betty followed her husband into the loungeroom where they sat silently together for several minutes, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. Finally, Betty broke the silence. ‘Will she be able to do it?’ The same question was asked in houses and streets throughout the land. King George VI had been a much loved figure in the Dominions, ired for his fortitude and courage during the dark days of war, a symbol of decency and security for His subjects. ‘She’ll have to, dear. It’s what she has been prepared for all her life. And she’ll

have plenty of help. The Duke for one. He’s a Royal Navy man, like her uncle, Lord Louis Mountbatten.’ ‘I suppose you’re right. I couldn’t imagine, when his father died, how he’d manage, especially after that despicable elder brother of his threw up the Crown. But he did, with the help of the Queen. Oh, she’ll now become the dowager, like good Queen Mary all those years ago, God rest her soul.’ As the year wore on, excitement began to grow in anticipation of the Coronation. The royal watchers and popular magazines kept the pot boiling with many an exclusive story purporting to impart secret intelligence as to when, where and how the great deed was to occur. As it turned out, the confident briefings of insiders and self-proclaimed experts proved rash. Fourteen months of meticulous planning intervened before the world was treated to the most sumptuous royal ceremony since the demise of ancient Rome.

June 1952

Winter had arrived with a rush. The south-Westerly wind cut like a sabre though the crowds which stood shivering in the sports grounds ranged throughout the growing city. New suburbs were beginning to burst forth like mushrooms in a hothouse, as the shortages and wartime restrictions were progressively lifted. The building industry boomed, fed by the pent up demand of the avalanche of newly-weds, keen to settle down and start producing the next generation. Labour shortages were solved by the aggressive migration trawling of the Menzies’ government and the flood of refugees arriving from Southern and Eastern Europe. Where once the residents of Ross Street could gaze north and east and see cows grazing in the field, their view was now hemmed in by street after street etched in their image, as far as one could reasonably stroll on a fine summer evening. Summer, however, was a distant memory that evening as the Kennedy and Jenkins families sat down to dinner. Generous helpings of braised steak and mixed vegetables, with gravy and Worcester sauce in gravy boats to choose from were set before hungry group. Ted was reflecting on his fast approaching retirement from the Victorian public service. ‘Forty-two years it will have been. It’s funny, it doesn’t seem that long.’ ‘That’s a pretty fair innings Ted.’ James put down his knife and fork and looked at his father-in-law. ‘You can feel proud of your contribution, mate. Not many can boast of such loyalty and service.’ ‘I don’t know. Somehow, now that it’s coming to an end, you start to think, ‘what have I really done?.’ Ted fiddled with the napkin by his plate. ‘Don’t downplay what you’ve done and what you are Dad. You’re my hero. Without you and Mum we wouldn’t have got through all the hard times, would we, darling?’ Patty spoke urgently and sincerely. ‘Certainly not. You know how we and the children feel about you, Ted.’ James looked directly at the man who had been such a sturdy mooring, and of late, friend, in his life.

‘Oh, I know you and Patty appreciate us. But that’s family. Of course, Betty and I would move the world for you if we could. I’m talking about the bigger world, the world where decisions are made that affect the lives of millions. And on that stage, I haven’t made much, if any, of an impact. Once I leave the office for the last time, that will be it. My job will be quickly refilled, my office occupied by a younger man who will carry on as if I never existed. I’ll run into old colleagues from time to time, on the train, at the pub or the football, but a quick ‘hello and how you doing mate’, and then nothing. I’ve seen it happen to too many of the older fellows in the office. We give them a rousing retirement party. The boss makes a speech, tells a few bad jokes about how they’ll now be annoying the wife at home, presents a watch or some ‘token of gratitude’ and then they’re shown the door. Plenty of promises to keep in touch, never kept. And then, carpet slippers and dressing gown until elevenses.’ Ted was enjoying his melancholy narrative, until ‘Not in my house Edward Jenkins.’ Betty could no longer contain herself. ‘I’ve never heard such rubbish. And from a grown man! You’ve been looking forward to retirement for years. No more rushing for the train, cursing the cold and rain, putting up with incompetent colleagues and unreasonable bosses. And what about all our plans to travel, see a bit of the country, visit Viv and family in Sydney, your cousins in Queensland? You used to talk about driving the Nullarbor to Perth. You’ve always wanted to see the mines at Kalgoorlie.’ ‘Yes Dad, Mum’s right. You’ve tons to look forward to. You’ve both worked all your lives for others. Now it’s your turn.’ Ted was genuinely touched. ‘I don’t deserve you lot. I guess I have been a bit gloomy. And there are a few projects I’ve helped bring to fruition, like the new logistics and procurement system we’ve introduced across departments. We are going to do some travelling. The new Holden was part of the plan. Runs like a German band. Brilliant Aussie craftsmanship.’ Ted was now off on his paean of praise for Australia’s own car. The mood at the table lightened and general chatter returned. But Ted remained very much aware that life as he had known it was rushing towards one of those tipping points. First love, first job, marriage, first child, first house of one’s own, first death of one close. He would turn sixty-five in the middle of next year and work though until Christmas Eve. Then a new life, one less enjoyable than he had hoped without his best friend. But he knew he had many blessings to thank providence

for. If only he could rid himself of the lingering anxiety that time to time sprang unbidden to his conscious mind, often in those deadly quiet hours before dawn when he couldn’t sleep and had to get out of bed and quietly tiptoe to the kitchen to make a cup of hot cocoa.

A few days later Betty and Shauna were chatting in the latter’s kitchen. The sun shone in at the window and threw uneven shadows over the lino floor. ‘I’m worried about Ted, Shauna.’ ‘Why? Not some health problem?’ ‘No, it’s not that. More his state of mind. He’s never really got over Bob’s death. They had so many plans for after they finished working. He’s even losing interest in the cricket, something I’d never have believed possible. Says today’s cricketers are no replacement for Bran, McCabe and Ponsford, whoever the other two are. Some of the old zest has gone out of him. He tries, especially with the grandchildren but I see the sadness in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking.’ Betty sighed as she reached up to put a plate in an overhead cupboard. ‘Do you think he should see a doctor?’ ‘I could never get him anywhere near one, especially someone specialising in mental problems. He has to be at death’s door before he’ll even see our local doctor.’ ‘What about you, dear? You’ve always been the rock of the family, especially for James and Patty.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’m also feeling a bit down, a bit useless. My life has been so taken up with the family. I love Patty’s children to bits and am so grateful that she lives so close. I don’t think I could have coped with them moving interstate, like Viv’s. But I’m not really needed there anymore. I look in the mirror and I can’t see the young me, the girl that Ted fell in love with. I’m getting old, and that’s the truth.’ Betty’s voice trailed off. ‘We all are dear,’ said Shauna, briskly. ‘And Ted still sees the girl he married. He adores you, and always will. You’ve won the lottery of love, my friend. I’m sure

that Ted’s spirit will pick up again with the weather. Now, what do you think about the Coronation? They say that it won’t happen this year. Fancy?’ Betty’s spirit lifted and the two friends began to review all the gossip on matters royal emanating from the popular press.

Shauna was right. Ted did buck up. As the imminent certainty of retirement approached, he consciously set out to enjoy his last days of working life. He was even convivial with the ‘turkeys’ whose incompetence had previously moved him to paroxysms of rage in the safe confines of number 24. His colleagues often remarked to each other as to Ted’s benign presence in the office. His bosses began to reflect on how much they would miss his competence and solid common sense. ‘Good fellow, an absolute rock, can depend on him completely’ were phrases tossed around in the executive dining room. Ted simply smiled and carried on, oblivious to the favourable legacy he was creating. When his retirement party was finally held in the week before Christmas 1953, it was well attended, and the praises sung by the big boss rang loud and true. Betty, feted by the managers and staff in the large meeting room on the executive floor, basked in the honeyed words spoken of the man she had tied her life’s halter to. When it came Ted’s turn to respond, among shouts of ‘speech’, ‘speech’, he was strangely reticent. The jokes he had rehearsed fled from memory. The list of ‘thank-yous’, followed behind. In the end he said simply, ‘it has been an honour to work with you. I thank my wife of more years than I deserve. Good luck to you all.’ After surviving the backslaps and handshakes, he took Betty’s hand and both walked to the old lift, dragged back the iron mesh door and stepped in. Reaching the ground floor, he led his wife out of the door and down the stone steps for the last time. Without looking back, they walked arm in arm down Elizabeth Street to the train station. As the red rattler lurched out of the station, he sighed and said, ‘Well that’s that dear girl.’ Betty shimmied closer to him on the bench seat and held his arm. ‘A new life, darling. What will it bring?’ The following morning, they rose early. After a quick breakfast, a wash in the shower newly installed in their old bathroom, and dressed, Ted picked up a suitcase, packed the day before, and headed for the garage. He dragged open the

double doors and walked to the driver’s side of his beloved Holden, pausing to wipe a black spec from the cream duco. The case was deposited in the boot. By the time he drove along the driveway to the side porch, Betty met him carrying a picnic basket and a thermos. She placed both carefully on the back seat and hopped in the front enger seat. ‘Off Jeeves.’ Ted eased the car out of the driveway and onto the street. Three minutes later they drove past the train station as a city-bound train rolled to a stop at the platform. ‘Look at those poor bastards, off to work.’ With a toot of his horn, he accelerated onto the main road bound for four days at a favourite guest house on Phillip Island.

Life in Ross Street continued, as it did in the other places that their progeny and friends had moved to. The Coronation was held among unimagined splendour, the images of gold coach, Cathedral and slender Monarch flashed around the world by newspaper and newsreel. The excitement in the old colonies of the dominions was intense. It was kept on the boil by the young Queen’s royal visit the year after. Half of Melbourne turned out to see and cheer Her Majesty and her handsome Consort. The popular response was even more rapturous than that accorded to the famous theatre and film couple, Laurence Olivier and Vivienne Leigh, when just after the war they visited Australia and were treated as royalty. But this was the real thing. Prime Minister Bob Menzies was heard to utter the cringe-worthy words, ‘I did but see her ing by, but I shall love her till I die.’ The Korean War stuttered to its inconclusive end, leaving a legacy of fear of communism that lasted throughout what came to be called ‘The Cold War’. Ted Jenkins took to retirement like a miser to his banknotes. His interest in cricket revived, stoked by the English tour Down Under in 1954. He was heard to grudgingly it that Len Hutton was indeed to be rated up there with the best and Typhoon Tyson with the bastard Larwood and the Demon Spofforth . He followed closely that other great sporting contest between mother country and upstart offspring, the race to break the four-minute mile. His dismay at the English miler Roger Bannister getting there first was quickly assuaged by his rival, Melbourne’s own John Landy, breaking Banister’s record a few weeks

later. Dismay again when Bannister beat Landy at the Vancouver Commonwealth and Empire Games. ‘Landy would’ve won if he hadn’t looked the wrong way at the wrong time,’ he would tell anyone who might be interested, and not a few who weren’t. Sport increasingly took over from politics as Ted’s ‘go to’ recreation. The split in the Australian Labor Party over communist influence turned him off entirely, especially when he realised that the Catholic Church was lurking behind the rift. Communists and Catholics, he didn’t care for either. To the extent that he retained any semblance of political feeling, he gravitated into lukewarm for Menzies. But the golden glow on Ted’s horizon was the Olympic Games to be held in Melbourne in 1956. To coincide with the proud boast that this was the first Olympics held in the Southern Hemisphere, television was to be introduced to the nation. The Jenkins had saved assiduously and purchased an HMV television set. This modern marvel of technology arrived two weeks before the Games began. It sat proudly in the front room of number 24. The seventeen inch screen was set within a splendid ‘walnut’ cabinet. The radiogram, previously given pride of place, was shunted to an adjacent wall. The lounge and chairs were positioned to provide the most efficacious view of the screen. Neighbours came from all along Ross Street and those nearby to get their first experience of the invention that would change the time-geography of domesticity and rhythms of family life more completely than any since the coming of the refrigerator and washing machine. But for Ted, ‘the telly’ was to be a complement to real time enjoyment of the Games. He intended to haunt the running track and newly constructed Olympicsized swimming pool constructed next to his beloved Melbourne Cricket Ground. The television was there to catch up on the highlights in the evening, and the following year the footie. As it turned out, his direct spectator participation was cruelly truncated by a severe cold. On a dull day, he was sitting in his favourite lounge chair, tucked up in a rug, with throat muffler in place, watching heats of the woman’s one hundred metres sprint. A tiny blonde Sydney girl, Betty Cuthbert, had just stunned and delighted the crowd with a devastating show of pure speed. Running like a deer with head on one side and mouth open, she blitzed a field of older and

more experienced athletes. Ted smiled contentedly and closed his eyes. Out in the kitchen twenty year old Anne was helping her grandmother prepare the evening meal. Anne was slim like her mother but with Betty’s mother’s lustrous dark hair and brown eyes. As she shelled peas, she chatted non-stop. ‘Nanna, you should have seen the terrible boy my friend Diana was dancing with at the club last night. He had three left feet. Diana’s ankles and shins were black and blue by the time she managed to ditch him.’ Betty smiled to herself, ing how awkward Ted had been on the dance floor, but said out loud. ‘Ditching someone is not very kind, dear. I’m sure he was doing his best.’ Anne paused, ‘I suppose it was a bit unkind, and Diana’s not like that. But he was so bad.’ ‘Perhaps he didn’t know.’ ‘He did, Nanna. Diana told him.’ They laughed, and Betty again reflected on how familiar the scene. It could have been twenty years ago. ‘Go and tell your grandfather that tea will be in about fifteen minutes and that he’s to turn off that damn box so that we can sit down at the table like respectable folk.’ Anne laughed and skipped out of the room. Less than a minute later she ran back into the kitchen, crying. ‘Nanna, Nanna, there’s something wrong with Pop. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t. I shook him and he didn’t move.’ Betty dropped the carving knife and ran, brushing past her granddaughter clutching the door. As she rushed into the loungeroom she stopped. Ted sat slumped, half leaning over, his mouth hanging open. Slowly she walked over and bent down. She gently took his hand. It was cold. Betty’s heart leapt as she fought to control her

grief for Anne’s sake. ‘Is Pop all right? Is he?’ Anne peered in at the door. ‘No darling. He’s gone.’ Anne burst out crying, a long wail punctuated by short breaths, that echoed Betty’s innermost being. But she rose, letting Ted’s hand slip, moving from her past to her future, from the dead to the living. ‘Shush, dear. It’s all right. Your Pop didn’t suffer. He just quietly and gently left us.’ Anne’s sobbing slowly subsided into a series of hiccoughs. ‘That’s right, darling. Do you think that you can stay and keep Pop company while I ring your mother and the doctor?’ Anne nodded silently and sank to the floor at Ted’s feet. She looked at his slippers, the ones she and Phillip had given him on his last birthday. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. At least his feet were warm, she consoled herself. Two hours later, after Patty had said her goodbyes to her father and taken Anne home, and the doctor had certified Ted Jenkins death, Betty sat holding Ted’s hand. Well, my darling, your race is run. Thank you for forty-two years of companionship, for our wonderful daughter, for all the laughter, joy, and angst that made life worth living. I promise that I will keep our family safe until I you. She was still there as the light faded when James arrived with the undertaker. He held his mother-in-law close as the man and his assistant efficiently placed Ted’s absent spirit in the mahogany coffin and lifted it onto a wheeled trolley. The two then wheeled the trolley out onto the driveway along which Ted would never again drive his beloved Holden and loaded it into the back of the black hearse. Three neighbours and Rex from opposite stood forlornly either side of the gate and watched as this practiced performance unfolded. ‘Is it Ted?,’ one whispered. ‘Expect so. He did look bad the other day when he came home from the

swimming.’ The undertaker confirmed their speculation. ‘The gentleman ed away this afternoon.’ James watched as the hearse drove slowly up the street. A number of other neighbours came to their front gate and stood heads bowed. He led Betty back into the loungeroom. Both sat silently for a moment before James said, ‘Patty is home with Anne. They’re trying to Phillip. He’s away with the school football team at a country carnival in Bendigo. We want you to come home with me now. Any arrangements can wait till tomorrow. We want you with us, where you belong and where Ted would want you to be. With the family you and he have created.’ Betty nodded and wordlessly went into her bedroom. Ten minutes later she emerged carrying a small case and her handbag, coat and scarf. James took the case and turned off the lights. Both walked out onto the porch. Betty turned and pulled the front door closed. They walked to his car parked next to the large plane tree to the left of the driveway. James held the car door open and helped Betty into the enger seat. He placed the case in the boot and then ran around and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. Betty looked back at her house. It stood there dark and silent.

Last night I dreamt of a time long past. Before the bulldozers. Before the cars. Before the hustle of city life. I saw again the sweeping plains to the edge of the world where the hills rose up towards the sky. I saw the sun glinting on the bluegrey bay, heard the birds singing. Then I woke with the pre-dawn chorus still echoing.

THE END