فصل 02

2

The two male kangaroos – both only 12 months out of the pouch – which will fly to London shortly . . . will eat 12 lb of hay en route. Qantas Empire Airways said yesterday the kangaroos would spend only 63 hours in the air.

Sydney Morning Herald, 4 July 1946

Three weeks to embarkation

Ian darling,

Youll never guess what – Im on! I know you wont believe it, as I hardly can myself, but its true. Daddy had a word with one of his old friends at the Red Cross, who has some friends high up in the RN, and the next thing I had orders saying Ive got a place on the next boat out, even though, strictly speaking, I should be low priority.

I had to tell the other brides back at home that I was going to Perth to see my grandmother, to prevent a riot, but now Im here, holed up at the Wentworth Hotel in Sydney, waiting to nip on board before them.

Darling, I cant wait to see you. Ive missed you so terribly. Mummy says that when weve got our new home sorted she and Daddy will be over ASAP. They are planning to travel on the new Qantas Kangaroo service – did you know you can get to London in only 63 hours flying on a Lancastrian? She has asked me to ask you for your mothers address so she can send on the rest of my things once Im in England. Im sure theyll be better about everything once theyve met your parents. They seem to have visions of me ending up in some mud hut in the middle of an English field somewhere.

So, anyway, darling, here I am practising my signature, and remembering to answer to Mrs, and still getting used to the sight of a wedding band on my finger. It was so disappointing us not having a proper honeymoon, but I really dont mind where it happens, as long as Ill be with you. Ill end now, as Im spending the afternoon at the American Wives Club at Woolloomooloo, finding out what Ill need for the trip. The American Wives get all sorts, unlike us poor British wives. Isnt it a gas, my saying that? Mind you, if I have to listen to one more rendition of When The Boy From Alabama Meets A Girl From Gundagi I think I shall sprout wings and fly to you myself. Take care my love, and write as soon as you have a moment.

Your Avice

In the four years since its inception the American Wives Club had met every two weeks at the elegant white stucco house on the edge of the Royal Botanic Gardens, initially to help girls who had travelled from Perth or Canberra to while away the endless weeks before they were allowed a passage to meet their American husbands. It taught them how to make American patchwork quilts, sing The Star Spangled Banner, and offered a little matronly support to those who were pregnant or nursing, and those who could not decide whether they were paralysed with fear at the thought of the journey or at the idea that they would never make it.

Latterly the club had ceased to be American in character the previous years US War Brides Act had hastened the departure of its twelve thousand newly claimed Australian wives, so the quilts had been replaced by bridge afternoons and advice on how to cope with British food and rationing.

Many of the young brides who now attended were lodged with families in Leichhardt, Darlinghurst or the suburbs. They were in a strange hinterland, their lives in Australia not yet over and those elsewhere not begun, their focus on the minutiae of a future they knew little about and could not control. It was perhaps unsurprising that on the biweekly occasions that they met, there was only one topic of conversation.

A girl I know from Melbourne got to travel over on the Queen Mary in a firstclass cabin, a bespectacled girl was saying. The liner had been held up as the holy grail of transport. Letters were still arriving in Australia with tales of her glory. She said she spent almost all her time toasting herself by the pool. She said there were dinnerdances, party games, everything. And they got the most heavenly dresses made in Ceylon. The only thing was she had to share with some woman and her children. Ugh. Sticky fingers all over her clothes, and up at five thirty in the morning when the baby started to wail.

Children are a blessing, said Mrs Proffit, benignly, as she checked the stitching of a green hat on a brown woollen monkey. Today they were Giftmaking for the Bombedout Children of London. One of the girls had been sent a book called Useful Hints from Odds and Ends by her English motherinlaw, and Mrs Proffit had written out instructions on how to make a necklace from the metal rings for chickens legs, and a bedjacket from old camiknickers for next weeks meeting. Yes, she said, glancing fondly at them all. Youll understand one day. Children are a blessing.

No children is more of one, muttered the darkeyed girl next to Avice, accompanying the remark with a rather vulgar nudge.

In other times, Avice would not have spent five minutes with this peculiar mixture of girls – some of whom seemed to have landed straight off some outback station with red dust on their shoes – or, indeed, have wasted so many hours enduring interminable lectures from middleaged spinsters who had seized upon the war as a way to enliven what had probably been dismal lives. But she had been in Sydney for almost ten days now, with her fathers friend, Mr Burton, the only person she knew there, and the Wives Club had become her only point of social contact. She still wasnt sure how to explain Mr Burtons behaviour to her father. She had had to tell the man no less than four times that she was a married woman, and she wasnt entirely sure that as far as he was concerned that made any difference.

There were twelve other young women at todays gathering few had spent more than a week at a time with their husbands, and more than half had not seen them for the best part of a year. The shipment home of troops was a priority the wallflower wives, as they had become known, were not. Some had filed their papers over a year previously and heard little since. At least one, tiring of her dreary lodgings, had given up and gone home. The rest stayed on, fuelled by blind hope, desperation, love or, in most cases, a varying mix of all three.

Avice was the newest member. Listening to their tales of the families with whom they were billeted, she had silently thanked her parents for the opulence of her hotel accommodation. It would all have been so much less exciting if she had been forced to stay with some grumpy old couple. As it was, it became rather less exciting by the day.

If that Mrs Tidworth says to me one more time, Oh dear, hasnt he sent for you yet? I swear Ill swing for her.

She loves it, the old bitch. She did the same to Mary Knight when she stayed there. I reckon she actually wants you to get the telegram saying, Dont come.

Its the youllbesorrys I cant stand.

Not much longer, eh?

Whens the next one due in?

Around three weeks, according to my orders, said the darkeyed girl. Avice thought she might have said her name was Jean, but she was hopeless with names and had forgotten them all immediately shed been introduced. Shed better be as nice as the Queen Mary. She even had a hair salon with heated dryers. Im desperate to get my hair done properly before I see Stan again.

She was a wonderful woman, Queen Mary, said Mrs Proffit, from the end of the table. Such a lady.

Youve got your orders? A freckled girl on the other side of the table was frowning at Jean.

Last week.

But youre low priority. You said you didnt even put in your papers until a month ago.

There was a brief silence. Around the table, several girls exchanged glances, then fixed their eyes on their embroidery. Mrs Proffit looked up she had apparently picked up on the subtle cooling in the atmosphere. Anyone need more thread? she asked, peering over her spectacles.

Yes, well, sometimes you just get lucky, said Jean, and excused herself from the table.

How come she gets on? said the freckled girl, turning to the women on each side of her. Ive been waiting nearly fifteen months, and shes getting on the next boat out. How can that be right? Her voice had sharpened with the injustice of it. Avice made a mental note not to mention her own orders.

Shes carrying, isnt she? muttered another girl.

What?

Jean. Shes in the family way. You know what? The Americans wont let you over once youre past four months.

Whos doing the penguin? said Mrs Proffit. Youll need to keep that black thread for whoevers doing the penguin.

Hang on, said a redhead threading a needle. Her Stan left in November. She said he was on the same ship as my Ernie.

So she cant be in the family way.

Or she is . . . and . . .

Eyes widened and met, accompanied by the odd smirk.

Are you up for a little roo, Sarah dear? Mrs Proffit beamed at the girls and pulled some pieces of fawn felt out of her cloth bag. I do think the little roos are rather sweet, dont you?

Several minutes later Jean returned to her chair, and folded her arms rather combatively. She seemed to realise that she was no longer the topic of conversation and visibly relaxed – although she might have wondered at the sudden industriousness of the toymaking around her.

I met Ian, my husband, at a teadance, said Avice, in an attempt to break the silence. I was part of a young ladies reception committee, and he was the second man I offered a cup of tea to.

Was that all you offered him?

That was Jean. She might have known. From what Ive heard I dont suppose everyones idea of hospitality is quite the same as yours, she retorted. She remembered how she had blushed as she poured he had been staring conspicuously at her ankles – of which she was rather proud.

Petty Officer Ian Stewart Radley. At twentysix, a whole five years older than her, which Avice considered just right, tall and straightbacked with eyes the colour of the sea, a gentlemanly British accent and broad, soft hands that had made her tremble the first time they ever brushed hers – even holding a shortbread finger. He had asked her to dance – even though no one else was on the floor – and with him being a serviceman, she had thought it meanspirited to refuse. What was a quickstep or a Gay Gordons when he was looking death in the face?

Less than four months later they were married, a tasteful ceremony in the Collins Street register office. Her father had been suspicious, had made her mother quiz her – in a discreet womantowoman way, of course – as to whether there was any reason for such a hasty marriage other than Ians imminent departure. Ian had told her father, rather honourably, she thought, that he was happy to wait, if that was what Avices parents wanted, that he would do nothing to upset them, but she had been determined to become Mrs Radley. The war had hastened everything, foreshortened the natural timescale of such things. And she had known, from that first cup of tea, there was no one else in the world she could envisage marrying no one else upon whom she could consider bestowing her many gifts.

But we know nothing about him, dear, her mother had said, wringing her hands.

Hes perfect.

You know thats not what I mean.

What do you need to know? Hes been out there holding the Brisbane line, hasnt he? Doesnt protecting our country, putting his own life at risk twelve thousand miles from his home to save us from the Japs, make him worthy of my hand?

No need to be melodramatic, sweetheart, her father had said.

They had given in, of course. They always did. Her sister Deanna had been furious.

My Johnnie was billeted with my aunt Vi, said another girl. I thought he was gorgeous. I sneaked into his room the second night he was there and that was that.

Best to get in early, said another, to raucous laughter. Stake your claim.

Especially if Jeans around.

Even Jean found that funny.

Now, who wants to practise making one of these lovely necklaces? Mrs Proffit held up an unevenlooking chain of aluminium coils. Im sure its what the bestdressed ladies are wearing in Europe.

Next week itll be how to make couture evening cloaks from horse blankets.

I heard that, Edwina. Mrs Proffit placed the necklace carefully on the table.

Sorry, Mrs P, but if my Johnnie saw me wearing one of those he wouldnt know whether to kiss me or check my rear to see if Id laid an egg.

There was an explosion of laughter, an outburst of barely suppressed hysteria.

Mrs Proffit sighed and laid down her craftwork. Really! It was only to be expected, as embarkation drew closer – but really! These girls could be so wearying.

So, when are you out?

Jeans host family were two streets away from the Wentworth, and the girls had ended up walking back together, dawdling. Despite the air of mutual dislike between them, they were reluctant to sit alone in their rooms for yet another evening.

Avice? When are your orders for?

Avice wondered whether to answer truthfully. She was pretty sure that Jean – immature and coarse as she was – was not the kind of girl she would normally want to associate with, especially if what had been said about her condition was true. But neither was Avice a girl used to selfrestraint, and the effort involved in keeping quiet for an entire afternoon about her own plans had been a strain. Same as you. Three weeks. Whats she called? The Victoria?

Its a bugger, isnt it? Jean lit a cigarette, cupping her hands against the sea breeze. As an afterthought, she offered one to Avice.

Avice wrinkled her nose and declined. What did you say?

Its a bugger. They get the bloody Queen Mary and we get the old tin can.

A car drove past slowly, and two servicemen hung out of the windows, shouting something crude. Jean grinned at them, waving her cigarette, as the car disappeared round the corner.

Avice stood in front of her. Im sorry, I dont understand what you mean.

Didnt you hear Mrs Proffit? The one whos married to the commander?

Avice shook her head.

Jean laughed humourlessly. I dont think its quite hair salons and firstclass cabins for you and me, girl. Our Victoria is a bloody aircraftcarrier.

Avice stared at the girl for a minute, then smiled. It was the kind of smile she reserved at home for the staff when they did something particularly stupid. I think you must be mistaken, Jean. Ladies dont travel on aircraftcarriers. She pursed her lips, as smoke trickled her way. Besides, thered be nowhere to put us all.

You really dont know anything, do you?

Avice fought back irritation at being addressed in this manner by someone who had to be at least five years younger than herself.

Theyve run out of decent transport. Theyre going to stick us on anything to get us over there. I reckon they figure whoever really wants to go will put up with whatever they throw our way.

Are you sure?

Even old Mrs P seemed a bit concerned. Think shes worried about her young ladies arriving in England wearing overalls and covered with fuel. Not quite the impression she wants for Australias finest.

An aircraftcarrier? Avice felt a little wobbly. She reached for a nearby wall and sat down.

Jean seated herself comfortably beside her. Thats what she is. I never bothered to check the name of it. I just assumed . . . Oh, well, theyll have modified it a bit, I should think.

But where will we sleep?

Dunno. On the deck with the planes?

Avices eyes widened.

Strewth, Avice, youre even more gullible than I thought. Jean cackled, stubbed out her cigarette, stood up and began to walk on.

It might have been her imagination but Avice thought she sounded increasingly coarse.

Theyll find some way to fit us on. Got to be better than sticking around here, anyway. Well get a bed and our food, and the Red Cross will look after us.

Oh, I dont think so. Avices face had clouded. She walked briskly. If she rang now she might catch her father before he left for his club.

What do you mean?

I cant possibly travel on something like that. My parents wouldnt have it, for a start. They thought Id be travelling on a liner. You know, one of the ones that had been requisitioned for transport. Thats almost the only reason they let me go.

You take what youre given in times like these, girl. You know that.

Not me, said Avice silently. She was now running towards the hotel. Not a girl whose family owned the biggest radio manufacturer in Melbourne.

Theyll be providing us with engineers uniforms too, just in case they need us to do a little scrubbing down.

I dont think thats very funny, actually.

Youve got to laugh.

Go away, you horrid girl, Avice thought. I wouldnt set foot on the same ship as you for a trip round Sydney Harbour, even if it were the Queen Mary.

Dont worry, Avice. Im sure theyll be able to fix you up with a firstclass berth in the boiler room! She could still hear Jeans unpleasant cackle halfway down the street.

Mummy?

Avice darling, is that you? Wilfred! Its Avice! She could hear her mother yelling down the hallway, could picture her on her telephone seat, the Persian rug on the parquet floor, the everpresent vase of flowers on the table beside her. How are you, sweetheart?

Fine, Mummy. But I need to speak to Daddy.

You dont sound all right. Are you really fine?

Yes.

Has Ian sent any word yet?

Mummy, I need to speak to Daddy. Avice struggled to keep her impatience out of her voice.

You would tell me?

Is that my littlest princess?

Oh, Daddy, thank goodness. Theres a problem.

Her father said nothing.

With the transport.

I spoke to Commander Guild myself. He promised me youd be on the next—

No, thats not it. Hes got me on a boat.

So whats the problem?

She could hear her mother behind her father Its the young man. Ten to one its the young man.

And Deanna Has he told her not to come?

Tell them its nothing to do with Ian. Its the ship.

I dont understand, Princess.

Its an aircraftcarrier.

What?

Maureen, he hissed. Be quiet. I cant hear a word shes saying.

Avice let out a short sigh.

Exactly. Its an aircraftcarrier. Theyre expecting us to sail to England on an aircraftcarrier.

There was a brief silence. They want her to travel on an aircraftcarrier, her father told her mother.

What? An aeroplane?

No, you stupid woman. One of the ships they put the planes on.

A warship?

Avice could almost hear her reeling theatrically in horror. Deanna had started laughing. She would she hadnt forgiven Avice for marrying first.

Youre going to have to get me on to something else, Avice said urgently. Talk to whoever it was who got me on. Tell him I need to travel on something else. Get me on another ship.

You never said anything about an aircraftcarrier! her mother was saying now. She cant travel on one of those. Not with all those planes going off the deck all the time. Itll be dangerous!

Daddy?

They sank the Vyner Brooke, didnt they? her mother clamoured. The Japs might try to sink the aircraftcarrier, like they sank the Vyner Brooke.

Shut up, woman.

Whats the matter? Are you the only girl on board, Princess?

Me? Oh, no, theres six hundred or so wives travelling. Avice frowned. Its just that it will be awful. Theyll have us sleeping on bedrolls and there wont be any facilities. And, Daddy, you should see the kind of girls theyve got me going over with – the language! I can hardly say—

Her mother broke through on to the line. I knew it, Avice. Theyre just not your sort. I really dont think this is a good idea.

Daddy? Can you sort it out?

Her father sighed heavily. Well, its not as easy as that, Princess. I had to pull quite a few strings to get you on board. And most of the brides have gone now, anyway. Im not sure how many more transports there are going to be.

Well, fly me over. Ill go with Qantas.

Its not as easy as that, Avice.

I cant go on that awful ship!

Listen, Avice, I paid a lot of money to get you on to it, you hear me? And Im shelling out a damn sight more to keep you in that ruddy hotel because you didnt fancy naval lodgings. I cant pay out even more for a flight to Blighty just because you dont like the facilities on board the ship.

But, Daddy—

Sweetheart, Id love to help, really, but youve no idea how hard it was to get you on board.

But, Daddy! She stamped her foot and the receptionist glanced at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper I know what youre doing – dont think I dont know why youre refusing to help me.

Her mother broke in, her voice firm. Avice, youre right. I think the ship thing is a very bad idea.

You do? Avice felt a flicker of hope. Her mother understood the importance of travelling comfortably. She knew that things should be done properly. What would Ian think if she turned up looking like a navvy?

Yes. I think you should come home today. Get on a train first thing tomorrow morning.

Home?

The whole thing has just too many ifs and buts. This ship business sounds absolutely awful, you havent heard from Ian in goodness knows how long—

Hes at sea, Mummy.

—and I just think all the signs are against you. Cut your losses, darling, and come home.

What?

You know nothing about this mans family. Nothing. You have no idea if theres even going to be anyone to meet you at the other end. Thats if this warship even gets there. Come home, darling, and well sort it all out from here. Plenty of girls change their minds. You read about them all the time.

Plenty of girls get dumped too, called Deanna.

Im married, Mummy.

And Im sure we can do something about that. I mean, hardly anyone over here even knows.

What?

Well, it was only a little do, wasnt it? We could have it annulled or something.

Avice was incredulous. Annulled? Ugh! Youre both such hypocrites! I know what youre doing. You got me on the rottenest old ship you could find just so I wouldnt want to travel.

Avice—

Well, too bad. Youre not going to make me change my mind about Ian.

The receptionist had given up any pretence of not listening and was agog, leaning over her counter. Avice placed her hand over the receiver and raised her eyebrows at the girl. Embarrassed, she busied herself with some paperwork.

Her father broke back in You there? Avice? He sighed heavily. Look, Ill wire you some money. Leave it a while, if you want. Sit tight at the Wentworth. Well talk about this.

Avice could hear her mother still wittering in the background. Her sister was demanding to know why she was staying at Sydneys best hotel. No, Daddy, she said. Tell Mummy and Deanna Ill be on the damned ship to meet my husband. Ill get there my own way, even if it does mean swimming in diesel fuel and stinking troops, because I love him. I love him. I wont ring again, but you can tell her – tell Mummy Ill wire her at the other end. When Ian – my husband – has met me.