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Sydneys most stirring show last week was the departure for England of HMS Victorious with 700 Australian wives of British servicemen aboard. Hours before the ship sailed the road outside the wharf was dense with relatives and friends . . . Mostly the brides were amazingly young.

The Bulletin, 10 July 1946

Embarkation

Afterwards, she realised she wasnt sure what she had expected perhaps some orderly queue of women, suitcases in hand, making their way past the captain. With a shake of his hand and some discreet, perhaps tearful goodbyes, they would walk up the gangplank on to their big white ship. She would wave until her family were out of sight, call a few lastminute instructions about the feeding of the mare, the whereabouts of Mums good boots for Letty, then finally her love and goodbyes, her voice echoing across the harbour as the ship slowly pulled out to sea. She would be brave, keep her eyes trained on what she was going to, not what she was leaving behind.

What she had not imagined was this the traffic jams all the way to Sydney Harbour, cars snaking in badtempered queues, bumper to bumper under the grey city skies, the crowds of people thronging the entrance to the docks, yelling and waving greetings to people too far away or just too deafened by the noise to answer. The brass band, icecream sellers, lost children. The jostling of a million elbows and stumbling feet, all trying to force their way to the quayside. The hysteria of innumerable young women, clutching parents, bawling griefstricken or giddy with excitement as they attempted to haul baggage and food parcels through the thick crowd towards the huge grey vessel. The air of nervous anticipation, hanging like sea mist over the docks.

Bloody hell! Well never make it at this rate. Murray Donleavy sat behind the wheel of the pickup truck, smoking yet another cigarette, his freckled face set.

Be fine, Dad. Margaret laid a hand on his arm.

Mans driving like an idiot. Look, hes so busy chinwagging he hasnt even noticed theyre moving. Get up there. He slammed his hand on the horn, causing the car in front to judder and stall.

Dad, hes not one of your cows, for Gods sake. Look, its fine. Well be fine. If it gets any worse I can always get out and walk.

She can bat them out the way with her bloody stomach. Daniel, behind her, had been increasingly rude about her lump, as he called it.

Ill bat you out of the way, if you dont mind your language. With the back of my hand. Margaret leant forward to stroke the terrier that sat in the footwell between her feet. Every so often, Maude Gonnes nose would twitch at the unfamiliar scents that came in through the window sea salt, traffic fumes, popcorn and diesel. She was an old dog, halfblind, her nose speckled with saltandpepper flecks of grey, and had been Margarets tenth birthday gift from her mother because, unlike her brothers, she wasnt going to get a gun.

She leant down and pulled her hand basket on to her knee, then checked for the fourteenth time that her papers were in order.

Her father glanced over. Looks like youve got bugger all in that basket. I thought Letty put a few sandwiches in for you.

I must have taken them out when I was fussing with it at home. Sorry – too much on my mind this morning.

Lets hope they feed you on board.

Course theyll feed us, Dad. Especially me.

Theyll need another ship just to carry the food she needs.

Daniel!

Dad, its okay. Her brothers fierce features were half hidden behind his overgrown fringe. He seemed to find it increasingly difficult to look at her. She thought about reaching out a hand to say she understood, that she wouldnt hold this uncharacteristic meanness against him, but she suspected he would repel that too – and now that they were near to saying goodbye, she wasnt sure that she was robust enough to take it.

Letty hadnt wanted him to come, had seen the boys sullenness as a bad omen for the voyage. You dont want a face like that to be the last thing you see of your family, she said, as Daniel slammed the door for the umpteenth time.

Hes all right, Margaret had replied.

Letty had shaken her head and redoubled her efforts on the food parcel. Twentyfive pounds they were allowed and Letty, afraid that Joes mother might not think her new Australian family hospitable enough, had weighed and reweighed until she had utilised every last bit of the allowance.

Margarets dowry thus contained, among other things, Lettys best tinned fruitcake, a bottle of sherry, tinned salmon, beef and asparagus, and a box of jellied fancies that shed put by with the coupons on a visit to Hordern Brothers. She had wanted to pack a dozen eggs, but Margaret had pointed out that even if they survived the car journey to Sydney, after six weeks on board ship they would be less a gift than a health hazard. Its not like the Poms are the only ones whove got rationing, Colm had complained. He was rather partial to Lettys fruitcake.

The nicer we treat them, the better theyre likely to treat Maggie, Letty had said crossly. Then after staring into the middle distance, she had fled the kitchen, dabbing her eyes with a teatowel.

She no longer bothered to set her hair.

Got your papers? They had reached the gates of Woolloomooloo wharf. In his new uniform the officer was stiff with the importance of the day. He leant through the window of the truck, and Margaret pulled her wellthumbed documents out of her basket and handed them to him.

His finger traced the line of names until, apparently satisfied, he waved them on. All brides, Victoria. Number six berth. Youll probably have to drop her by the post. Theres no space to stop.

Cant do that, mate. Look at her.

The officer ducked down to her fathers window then glanced away, scanning the crowds. You might be lucky and find a space over on the left. Follow the signs to the quayside, then head left by the blue pillar.

Cheers, mate.

The man banged twice on the roof of the truck. Try not to run anyone over. Its madness in there.

Do me best. Murray shoved his hat further down on his head, and negotiated his way towards the quayside. Cant promise anything, mind.

The truck growled and whined as Murray steered through the crowd, braking now and then as some stray person fell off the kerb into the road, or swerving round a weeping mother and daughter, clutching each other, oblivious to their surroundings. Too right theyre not like cows, he muttered to himself. Cows have more sense.

He didnt like crowds at the best of times. Despite Woodsides relative proximity to the city, Margaret thought he had probably been to Sydney no more than a handful of times since she was born. Noisy, stinking place, full of sharks. He couldnt walk a straight line, he would complain. All the people had him dodging about just to get from A to B. She didnt much like them herself, but today she felt curiously detached, as if she were an observer, unable to take in the magnitude of what she was about to do.

How we doing for time? he said, as they sat, engine idling, waiting for another crocodile of people to pass, dragging bulging suitcases or recalcitrant children.

Dad, were fine, Ive told you. I could get out and walk from here if you like.

As if Id leave you alone with that lot!

Suddenly she realised he felt a huge responsibility for getting her there that, much as he hated to lose her, he was afraid he would not do right by her this last time. Its only a couple of hundred yards and Im hardly an invalid.

I promised Id see you on to your ship, Maggie. You just sit tight. His jaw had tightened and she wondered absently to whom he had made the promise.

There! Look, Dad! Daniel was rapping on the back window, gesticulating wildly to where an officiallooking car was just leaving a parking space.

Right. Her fathers chin jutted, and he revved the engine, causing the people in front of him to skip out of the way. Get up there, he roared through his window and, within seconds, had wedged the truck into the little space, thwarting several other cars which had edged towards it. There! He turned off the ignition, and as the engine ticked its way to sleep, he turned to his daughter. There, he said again, not quite as firmly.

She reached across and took his hand. I knew youd get me here, she said.

The ship was huge big enough to take up the entire length of the dockside, blocking out the sea and the sky so that only its flat grey surfaces met the crowds who now swarmed up to the barriers, trying frantically to communicate with those already on the water. Big enough to knock Maggies breath clean into the back of her throat.

On its side, gun turrets bulged like balconies, some with cannons still poised or bearing spindly gantries, bent like the necks of elegant birds. On the flight deck, just visible from this far back, aircraft were poised in three formations, their wings folded above them, Corsairs, Fireflies and, possibly, a Walrus. Margaret, imbued by osmosis with her brothers passion for aircraft, could name them all. Hundreds of girls were aboard already, lining the flight deck or sitting astride gun barrels, waving from walkways, their gestures tiny and metronomic against the aircraftcarrier, coats and headscarves tied tight against the brisk sea breeze. A few peered from portholes, mouthing silent messages to those below. It was impossible to hear anything in the overall din, so many signalled in a kind of manic semaphore.

To one side a brass band was playing she could just identify The Maoris Farewell and Bellbottomed Trousers as snatches carried over the noise of the crowd. As they stood, a girl was being helped down the gangplank, crying, brightly coloured paper streamers stuck to her coat. Changed her mind, she heard one of the officers say. Someone take her to the cargo sheds with the others.

Margaret allowed herself to feel the slightest trepidation, and knew how easy it would be to let hysteria engulf her.

Nervous? said her father. He had seen the girl too.

Nope, she said. I just want to see Joe again.

Her answer seemed to satisfy him. Your mum would be proud.

Mum would say I should be wearing something smarter.

That too. He nudged her and she nudged him back, then reached up to adjust her hat.

Any more brides? A Red Cross woman with a clipboard elbowed her way past. Brides, you need to board now. Have your papers ready. As each girl made her way up the gangplank, she was showered with streamers, and cries of Youll be sorry, from the dockers in a tone that might or might not have been jovial.

Her father had taken her trunk to Customs. Now she peered round him to where her youngest brother was standing, eyes averted from her and the ship. Look after that mare for me, Daniel, she said, now having to shout a little. Dont let any of those deadweights anywhere near her. He stared at the ground, refusing to look at her. And keep her in a snaffle as long as you can. Shes not pulling at the moment, and shell go better in the long run if you can keep her mouth soft.

Daniel. Answer your sister. Her father elbowed him.

All right.

She stared at his thin shoulders, at the face resolutely turned from hers, overwhelmed by the urge to hug him, to tell him how much she loved him. But he had found her pregnant form increasingly repellent, had recoiled from contact with her since she had confirmed she was leaving. It was as if he blamed her bump, not Joe, for taking her away.

Shake my hand?

There was a long pause, weighted by the prospect of their fathers opprobrium, then Daniels hand snaked out and took hers in a brief, firm clasp. Then he dropped it. Still he would not look at her.

Ill write you, she said. Youd better bloody reply.

He said nothing.

Her father stepped forward and hugged her tightly. Tell that man of yours hes to look after you, he said, his voice strangled as he spoke into her hair.

Not you too, Dad. She breathed in the mothball smell of his good jacket, and the bovine scent that mingled with hay. Youll be all right, you lot. Letty will look after you better than I ever did.

Well, that wouldnt be hard.

She could hear the effort in his joke, and held him tighter.

I wish – I wish . . .

Dad . . . Her voice held a warning.

Right. He pulled away from her, took several swift glances around him, as if his mind was already elsewhere. He swallowed. Well, wed better let you get on board. Want me to carry your bags?

Ill be fine. She slung the big bag over her shoulder, jamming her hand basket and food parcel under her free arm as she balanced herself. Then she took a deep breath, and made towards the ship.

Her fathers hand shot out. Hang on, girl! Youve got to go through Customs first.

What?

Customs. Look – theyre sending everyone that way before they get on board.

She peered through the jostling crowds to where he was pointing a huge corrugatediron shed across the quayside.

Thats what the Red Cross woman was saying. Everyone through there first.

Two girls were talking to the officers at the doorway. One was gesturing at her bag and laughing.

Her father peered at her. You all right, girl? Youve gone awful pale.

I cant, Dad, she whispered.

I cant hear you, girl. Whats the matter?

Dad, I dont feel good, she said.

Her father stepped forward and took her arm. What is it? Do you need to sit down?

No . . . Its the crowds. Im feeling a bit faint. Tell them theyve got to get me aboard. She closed her eyes. She heard her father bark at Daniel, and him sprinting off.

Several minutes later, two naval officers were standing beside her. Are you all right, madam?

I just need to get aboard.

Right. Have you been—

Look, you can see Im expecting. I feel faint. The babys pressing on my bladder and Im afraid of embarrassing myself. I cant stay in this crowd a minute longer. Desperation had made her tearful, and it embarrassed them, she could tell.

This isnt like her, her father was saying, his voice concerned. Shes a strong lass. Never seen her come over faint before.

Weve had a few already, said one of the officers. Its all this commotion. Well get her aboard. Give us your bags, madam.

She let go of her bag and the food parcel, the brown paper now softened with the sweat of her hands.

She going to be okay? You got a doctor aboard? Her father hovered by them, his face drawn.

Yes, sir. Please dont worry. She felt him pause beside her. Sorry, sir. You cant come any further.

One of the officers had reached for her basket. Want me to take this for you?

No, she snapped, pulling it to her. No, thank you, she added, and tried to smile. Its got all my papers and things in it. Be terrible if I lost it.

He grinned at her. Youre probably right, madam. Todays not the day to lose anything.

They had each supported her under an elbow and were now propelling her towards the ship. Unlike the Victoria itself, she noted absently, the gangplank looked tired, its wooden struts half rotten from years of feet and seawater. Bye then, Maggie, her father called.

Dad. Suddenly it seemed too hurried. She wasnt sure if she was ready after all. She tried to blow a kiss with her free hand in an attempt to convey something of what she felt.

Dan? Daniel? Where is he? Her father had spun round to locate the boy. He waved his hand for her to wait, to hang on, but the crowd was pushing against the barrier and he was already being swallowed into it.

I havent said goodbye properly.

Bloody boy. Her father was almost in tears. Dan! I know he wants to say goodbye. Look, dont take any notice of all that—

We should really get you aboard, Madam, said the officer beside her.

She looked at him, then at the Customs shed. Her feet were on the gangplank now. She could feel the pressure of her suitcase on her leg as the officer stood behind her, impatient to move on.

I cant see him, love, Murray called. I dont know where he is.

Tell him its okay, Dad. I understand. She could see that her father was blinking hard.

Youll be sorry! A young navvy, cap pulled low over his head, grinned at her slyly.

You take care, her father yelled. You hear me? You take care of yourself. Then his voice, his face and the top of his battered hat were lost in the mêlée.

The executive officer, or XO as he was known to the men, had tried three times to get his attention. Bloody man kept standing there, bobbing up and down, like a child begging permission to visit the little boys room.

Dobson. Always a little more informal than the occasion deserved. Captain Highfield, already in a foul mood, was determined to ignore him. He turned away, rang down to the Engine Control Room.

The damp was making his leg ache. He rested it briefly by placing his full weight on the other in a lopsided stance unusual to him. He was a stocky man, whose ramrodstraight posture had become ingrained over years of service – and led to countless irreverent imitations below decks.

Hawkins, let me know about the port outer engine. Is it still locked?

Ive got two men down there at the moment, sir. Were hoping to free it up in the next twenty minutes or so.

Captain Highfield exhaled. Do your best, man. Otherwise were going to need another two tugs to get us clear, and thats not going to look too clever today, is it?

Not quite the image we want to give the old colonials when were running off with their daughters.

Bridge, wheelhouse, Coxswain at the wheel.

Very good, Coxswain. Stand by to steer onetwozero. Captain Highfield stood up from the voicepipe.

What?

Dobson hesitated. I . . . was just agreeing with you, sir. Not the kind of image we want to project.

Yes, well, not something you need to worry about, Dobson. What was it you wanted?

From the bridge, the whole harbour was visible the huge, teeming crowds that stretched as far as the dry docks, the bunting strung below, and, one by one, the women who made their way slowly up the gangplank, waving as they came. Highfield had groaned inwardly at every one.

I came to talk to you about the mess report, sir. Were still missing a few.

Captain Highfield glanced at his watch. At this hour? How many?

Dobson consulted his list. At this moment, sir, almost half a dozen.

Bloody hell. Captain Highfield slammed his hand down on the dial. The slipping off was turning into a farce. What on earth were the men doing last night?

Sounds like there was something of a shindig at one of the drinking clubs, sir. Weve had a few back been caught scrapping, a few who were frankly incapable. One man missed the gangplank and fell into the soup. Lucky we had Jones and Morris on watch, sir, or we might have lost him altogether. And then there are the six still absent.

Highfield stared out of the bridge. Bloody shambles, he said. Those around him knew that the ferocity in his voice did not relate entirely to the missing men. Six hundred flapping girls can make their way aboard on time, but not Englands finest. Bloody embarrassment, the lot of them.

Theres something else. Four of the brides are in with the Red Cross already.

What? Theyve only been on board five minutes.

Didnt listen when we said theyd need to duck through the hatches. Too excited, I suppose. He smacked his forehead, mirroring the most common injury on board ship. Ones a stitches job.

Cant the surgeon see to it?

Ah. Hes – erm – one of those missing.

There was a lengthy silence. The men around him were silent and expectant.

Twenty minutes, Highfield said eventually. Just till we get the port outer engine working again. After that you can tell the mess men to start offloading their belongings. I wont have this ship held up. Not today of all days.

Avice leant on the rail, one hand keeping her new hat in place. Astride a gun turret, Jean was making a spectacle of herself. The darkhaired girl had become hysterical, and after yelling until she was hoarse at anyone who would listen, now had her arms slung over two ratings, as if she were drunk and leaning on them for support. Perhaps she was drunk with that kind of girl little would have surprised Avice. It was why she had been rather careful to disassociate herself the moment they had come aboard half an hour earlier.

She looked down at the pleats on her new suit, satisfied by how superior her outfit was compared with those of the girls around her. Her parents, who had been unable to see her off, had sent a telegram and some money, and her mother had arranged for the suit to be delivered that morning to the hotel. Avice had been worried about what to wear, unsure of the etiquette for such an occasion. Now, with a clear view of at least a hundred other girls, hardly any of whom seemed to have dressed for the occasion, she wondered why she had fretted.

The ship was shabby. Avice had had her picture taken, been interviewed by the Bulletin for its society pages, and someone whom she had been pretty sure was the captain had shaken her hand, but it didnt alter the fact that the Victoria was rusting in places, and bore no more resemblance to the Queen Mary than Jean did to her namesake Jean Harlow. As Avice had made her way up the rickety gangplank, her nostrils had curled at the faint but definite aroma of boiled cabbage, which reinforced the secondclass nature of her transport.

Still, no one could accuse Avice of lack of fibre. Oh, no. She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to think about what she was heading to. In six weeks, she would discover what her new life held. She would get to know his parents, take tea at the Rectory, meet the ladies of the quaint English village where they lived, perhaps the odd duke or duchess. She would be introduced to his friends, those outside the RAF, who had known him as a child. She would begin to make their home.

She would finally be Mrs Ian Radley, rather than just Avice – or, as her mother put it, Oh, Avice . . . – who might be married but, as far as her family was concerned, seemed no more deserving of respect or adult consideration than she had been as a child.

Watch her!

Avice glanced down to the deck below Jean had just slipped off the side of the gun turret. She was hanging, giggling, from the trouser pocket of one of the ratings, her slip and a good deal of leg exposed to anyone who cared to look. She was about to say something, when she realised that the deck was vibrating gently under her feet the engines must have started, not that they could be heard in the din. She looked over the edge and saw, with a start, that the gangplank had been hauled up. There was a swell of noise, and a short distance away a winch was hoisting up several sailors who had apparently missed their opportunity to get aboard by normal means. They were laughing and cheering, covered with lipstick kisses. Possibly even drunk.

Disgraceful, thought Avice, smiling despite herself as they were dumped unceremoniously on the flight deck above. Around them, small tugs bossed and bullied the vast ship, negotiating its slow release from the harbour. The women were chattering excitedly, waving with greater urgency, their voices lifting as each tried to make sure their message was heard over the hubbub.

Mum! a voice below Avice yelled, increasingly hysterically. Mum! Mum!

Someone beside her was praying, then broke off to exclaim to herself I cant believe it! I cant believe it!

The crowd, a sea of Australian flags and the odd Union Jack, frothed and bubbled as people pushed towards the edge of the quay, bobbing above their neighbours to be seen by those aboard. Several placards were held aloft God Speed, Audrey, Good Luck from the Dockyard Workers of Garden Island. She found herself gazing around the port, then at the hills beyond. Is this it? she thought suddenly, her breath catching in her throat. My last view of Australia? Then, with a lurch, the streamers snapped, their cobwebby strands releasing the ship from the rails of the dockside and, with an audible groan, she lurched away from the quay, sinking a few degrees as she slipped anchor.

There was a collective gasp. The engines began to power. A girl shrieked and over the din the band, now clearly visible on the quayside, struck up with Waltzing Matilda.

A few items were hurled from the ships berth and fell short, sending up small splashes of futility. The thin ribbon of blue water widened beneath them, then became an expanse. The ship, as if oblivious to the madness around it, glided, surprisingly quickly, away from the harbour.

Youll be sorry! came a solitary cry, over the music. It sounded like a joke. Youll all be sorry!

It was at this point that the ships passengers descended briefly into silence. Then, breaking it, the first of the girls began to cry.

Murray Donleavy placed his arm round his sobbing son, and sat silently as the crowds melted away, the sound of grieving women becoming more distinct. Finally, only a few huddles of people remained, staring out as the ship gradually merged with the horizon. It was getting chilly and the boy was shivering. He took off his jacket and threw it about Daniels shoulders, then hauled the boy against him for warmth.

Every now and then Daniel raised his head as if he wanted to speak, but was unable to find words and sank back into silent weeping, his face thrust into his hands as if the tears were a cause of shame.

Nothing to be sorry for, boy, he murmured. Its been a tough day.

Theirs was one of the few vehicles remaining, sitting in a sea of muddied streamers and discarded sweet wrappers. Murray walked round to the drivers side of the pickup, then halted when he noticed that his son was standing still and staring at him. You all right now?

Do you think shell hate me, Dad?

Murray moved round and hugged his boy again. Dont be so bloody soft. He ruffled his hair. Shell be banging on about you visiting her before you know it.

In England?

Dont see why not. You keep saving up that rabbit money and youll be able to fly there before you know it. Things are changing fast.

The boy gazed ahead at nothing, transported to a world of richly rewarded pelts and huge aeroplanes. I could fly there, he repeated.

Like I said, boy, you save your money. The rate youre going, youll be able to pay for all of us.

Daniel smiled then, and his fathers heart ached to see him meet another loss so bravely. This must be how it had felt for the women during the war, he observed, as he climbed into the truck. Except that they hadnt known if we were coming back. Take care of her, he told the ship silently. Look after my girl.

They sat in the cab for a few moments, watching people trail out through the dockyard gates, seeing exposed the vast expanses of ground that had been invisible, hidden under human traffic. The wind was picking up now, sending bits of paper scuttling around the quayside, to be dived on by seagulls. He sighed, suddenly conscious of the length of the drive home.

Dad, shes left her sandwiches. Beside him, Daniel held aloft the greaseproofed package that Letty had put together that morning. It was here, on the floor. Shes left her lunch behind.

Murray frowned, trying to remember what his daughter had said about leaving them at home. Oh, well, he thought. She must have been mistaken. Thats women when theyre carrying. All over the place. Noreen had been the same.

Can I have them, Dad? Im starving.

Murray stuck his key into the ignition. Dont see why not. Theyre no use to her now. Tell you what, save one for me.

It had finally begun to rain the grey skies that had threatened to discharge their load all day were spitting against the windscreen. Murray started the truck, and reversed out slowly on to the dockside. Suddenly he hit the brake, sending Daniel shooting forward, his mouthful of sandwich spraying over the dashboard.

Hang on, he said, his face electrified with the memory of an empty basket and his daughters inexplicable hurry to get on board. Wheres the bloody dog?