Earth, page 15
‘Yes, Mr Snodgrass.’
‘Sorry, Frank, I was forgetting you’ve got a touch of the tar brush yourself so I hear.’
‘So they say, but I don’t – ’
‘Make sure of it then, Frank, because . . . ar . . . they’re cracking down on troublemakers in the towns. Any darkies causin’ trouble are being shipped out to the reserves. Times are different now, Palmer, we’re trying to improve the tone around the streets, trying to smarten things up a bit. The Prince is on his way out to open the Town Hall you understand. Sir William has asked me to show His Highness about so we don’t want no blacks lyin’ about in the streets. So don’t get caught up in any nonsense . . . and you might accept a bit of advice, Palmer, I’d kick that Betty out before then or she’ll have half the camp eating out of your kitchen . . . you understand?’
‘Yes, Mr Snodgrass.’
‘Good man. I’ll be out on dark to see that the roof’s on. See to it, will you.’
‘Yes, Mr Snodgrass . . . good man! Who does he think he is? But don’t say he hasn’t warned you, Frank. There’s trouble brewing.’
‘Frank, you up there?’
‘Yes, Gladys.’
‘I’ve put a wet towel over that soup, Frank, be sure you sniff it when you get home, mind, it’s yesterday’s. She wouldn’t let me give you today’s.’
‘What’s that you say?’
‘I can’t shout, Frank, you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, thanks, Gladys. We appreciate it.’
‘How is she, Frank, Claudie?’
‘Not too good I’m afraid.’
‘In the works is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shame, Frank, a right shame. You got that Betty over your place?’
‘Yes, she’s helping out until Claudie’s on the mend.’
‘Don’t know that I’d let one in my kitchen. She only ever did the washin’ here, you know.’
‘She’s very helpful.’
‘Stella reckons Mrs Campbell says that Augustus is Betty’s own baby. That true?’
‘Don’t know about that, Gladys. We were just doin’ the Christian thing, you know, lookin’ after an orphan.’
‘Dark little thing, isn’t he?’
‘Little bit. Listen, Gladys, I’ve gotta get on with this roof or Snodgrass will be on my tail, he wants it finished before dark.’
‘He’s on everybody’s tail . . . and not just workmen either if you follow my drift, Frank.’
‘I’m with you, Gladys, but look I’m gunna have to start chuckin’ tin around. Thanks for that soup.’
‘Yeah, see ya, Frank. Sniff it remember.’
*
Dear Captain Hindsmith,
I am so pleased your prospects have improved in Geelong. Your letter was most informative of the situation there.
The Prince is on his way to Australia, as I’m sure you are aware, and he will be performing sundry official duties where he will, no doubt, be informed by the gentry about circumstances in the colony.
Our Society has been able to make representations to the Prince’s secretary and have arranged for the Chairman of the Aboriginal Protection Board, Mr Roadknight, to introduce his excellency to Aboriginal people in their usual habitation. The Chairman, Mr Roadknight, is a complete fool, as I’m sure you have ascertained, so our committee were rather hoping you might be able to direct various persons of influence in your acquaintance to ensure that the Prince is introduced to the real situation as it exists in the area of Port Phillip. Perhaps some of your residents at Lovely Banks may be suitable candidates for the Prince to meet.
I will be visiting Australia on behalf of the Society in the not too distant future and will be sure to visit you in Geelong as we have official business there.
Yours most sincerely,
Alwyn Hope
9
Smoke
‘Ah, g’day miss, my name’s Frank Palmer from down Geelong way, I’m lookin’ for my daughter, Gertie, I’ve heard she lives here.’
‘Ar . . . yes. She’s busy at the moment, Mr Palmer, in fact she’s out, but, look, my name’s Belle and I’ll tell her you called.’
‘Well I was really hopin’ to see her. I’ve come all the way to Port Melbourne just to – ’
‘Yes, Mr Palmer, but you see – ’
‘G’day Belle, all the girls inside are they?’
‘Yes, Bill, go straight in . . . I’m sorry Mr Palmer. We’re rather busy . . . and Gertie is out at the moment.’
‘Look, Belle, I’ve been up here two days and every place I’ve asked at was leadin’ me here, you understand? Gertie’s mum’s real sick, real sick, an’ her little boy is pinin’ for her – ’
‘They’re calling for me, Mr Palmer, we really are – ’
‘Listen, Belle, I’m not a complete galoot. I started off at the Secretarial College where we thought she was and . . . and gradually I’ve gone from one door to the next. I was . . . I was pretty much prepared for the line of trade, Belle, just walkin’ up the street I knew. Listen Belle, I can’t stay away from Gert’s mother for another night, but if you could pass on an urgent message –’
‘Mr Palmer, I’m sorry it’s like this, but Gert’s not too well herself . . . you understand . . . but I’ll make sure she gets – ’
‘Thank you Belle. Tell Gert her mother loves her . . . and her son . . . and her father . . . and even if she’s crook, well, we’d like her home. Here’s a letter . . . and a drawing from young Alf, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course.’
*
‘You awake, Claudie?’
‘Yes, Frank. It’s late.’
‘Yes, my dear, it’s been a long couple of days.’
‘Did you find her.’
‘Well, no. Found where she lives though, nice little place in Port Melbourne. She’s got friends and all. Been very busy and a bit crook herself but . . . but she’s cornin’ good.’
‘But she’s not with you.’
‘No, but when she’s – ’
‘Did you see her at all, Frank?’
‘Well, no, because she’s sick herself see, an’ I passed messages.’
‘Messages.’
‘Her friend, Belle, is a lovely woman Claudie and she promised to pass on the letters an’ things, just as soon –’
‘Frank?’
‘Yes, my dear.’
‘It’ll be too late.’
‘Don’t say that Claudie, Betty just told me you had a nice bowl of – ’
‘Frank, tell me one of your stories. I don’t care if it’s about boats or fish or firewood or even Snodgrass’s roof.’
‘It’s a bit . . . ’
‘Tell me a story, Frank, of us.’
‘You an’ me?’
‘And the kids. Any old story.’
‘Alright, my dear. Well . . . well, I’d have to start, I suppose, with the day I was workin’ up at old Brushfield’s place . . . ’
‘I like that story.’
‘I was only a young man, see, sappy as a wattle stem, I was. I was workin’ on the roof replacin’ bits of tin, an’ Brushfield come out all in a lather an’ told me to get off the roof, coz there was this baby gettin’ born. His baby. He was in such a tizz he just went off an’ left me for hours. But there was nothin’ for it but to sit under the pear tree an’ have a smoke.’
‘Lovely pear tree wasn’t it?’
‘First one in Geelong as far as I know. Anyway, I’m sittin’ there in the sun havin’ a beautiful smoke an’ listenin’ to the wattle birds goin’ clack, shelack an’ rippin’ hell out of the pear flowers, an’ I was wonderin’ if I’d get paid for havin’ a smoke, wonderin’ if I could borrow a fishin’ line to have a go in the Barwon after work . . . an’ that’s when me life changed.’
‘Catch a fish?’
‘Too right I did. Beautiful little slip of a fish. I’d already heard the baby call out and everyone inside sort of crowin’ an’ carryin’ on, an’ you know, I thought, good on ‘em, and then when I looked up them French doors was open an’ this young girl walked into the garden an’ sort of stretched. The nurse it was, she’d been doin’ all the baby bringin’ an she was tuckered out. But by jingo she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.’
‘Was she Frank?’
‘Too right. Look, there are beautiful women everywhere, an’ young men full of groats don’t miss none of ‘em, but you know, when most of ‘em open their mouth you may as well be listenin’ to a scissors grinder, nothin’ but noise, an’ plenty of women have good lookin’ bodies, pretty little faces, but this one, Claudie, you should have seen her. The way she moved wasn’t cheeky, you know, but she couldn’t help it, you could just see the woman of her, an’ when she lifted her arms to fix her hair, her arms were like . . . like real shapely gum sapling branches, the curve of her arm made my stomach cave in like I hadn’t eaten for a week, an’ her face, well it was as beautiful as her arms, but in it, Claudie, you could see the light of . . . what I’d call knowledge . . . and kindness, knowledge with kindness, rare as hens’ spectacles.’
‘And what did you say to her, Frank?’
‘Nothin’. I just stared. I tried to look away, but try as I might I couldn’t turn my head an’ I was thinkin’ that she’d be thinkin’ I was just a rude builder’s boy which I was.’
‘Still are.’
‘But next day I came back to Brushfield’s an’ I told ‘em a lie, told ‘em the nurse left her coat behind, an’ old Brushfield told me where this girl worked, an’ so I walked around to the corner of Ryrie an’ Retreat an’ I waited until this girl had finished inside, an’ when she came out – ’
‘What did you say to her?’
‘Nothin’. I had a fish, beautiful big bream, an’ three lemons, all in a box, an’ a bunch of roses – God I was mad – a bunch of roses I clipped out of old Brushfield’s with me tin snips. They was all baby gooin’, I could have set alight to the place for all they’d – ’
‘What colour were the roses?’
‘Red, so red they were on the way to black. Make ya head spin with their perfume. Like a drug. I was mad with it. Even while I was cuttin’ ‘em I was thinkin’, I’m gunna give ‘em to that girl, an’ I knew, you know, that she might laugh, but funny thing was I didn’t care. If that girl had laughed, I wasn’t gunna walk away like a whipped dog, I was gunna walk away with me head up, because that fish an’ the flowers were for that girl’s beauty.’
‘And did you walk away, Frank?’
‘No, she asked me if I liked to dance.’
‘Did you think she was bold, a bit of a hussy?’
‘No. I couldn’t dance, but I said I could learn, an’ on the way home I learnt another thing, I learnt where she lived. You see, I thought she must have been so rich, that’s why I was afraid she’d laugh at me, but then I saw her house and it was the poorest broken down old shack in the street, but inside that house had grown this beautiful young woman.’
‘And did she teach you to dance?’
‘My word she did. At the Mechanics’ hall. I trod on her feet an’ she never blinked. I was watchin’ her face, an’ she never blinked. I was sweatin’ an’ blushin’ an’ must have smelt like a bear.’
‘You did, Frank, you smelt like a bear.’
‘But she never wrinkled her nose or turned away an’ she taught me to dance. Foxtrot, Pride of Erin, The Lancers, Waltz, she taught me the lot, on an’ on we went, dancin’, dancin’, talkin’ to me all the time she was, one two three, one two three, in that sweet bird’s voice she had.’
‘Bird?’
‘Light as a feather.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘She kissed me.’
‘She kissed you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Didn’t you think that was bold?’
‘It was on the cheek, Claudie, it was a bird’s kiss. I didn’t think it was bold, I thought, it just seemed right. And everything we’ve ever done has just seemed right.’
‘You didn’t think she was a bit bossy?’
‘Well, she knew her own mind an’ she could get a bit insistent every now an’ then, but she was mostly right, so you got to rely on her judgement. That’s how I saw it.’
‘And was she a good mother?’
‘Of course, she was the most loving mother.’
‘But her daughter ran off and went wild and never came back even – ’
‘She was a good mother. Maybe the father was a bit soft. Maybe the father should have taken the jam spoon to the little girl when she was young. Maybe she was just like that, just a bit of a miss. But everyone speaks well of her Claudie, all her friends say she has the most loving heart, which she always did have.’
‘I’d like to see her, Frank, more than anything. Last time we spoke, we were sharp with each other again. I didn’t mean it, Frank.’
‘I know my darlin’ an’ I’m doin my best. It’s just that she’s crook . . . an’ she’s up the country recovering.’
‘With those blackfellows.’
‘Who said anything about blackfellows?’
‘There’s gossip, Frank.’
‘There’s always gossip and it’s always cruel.’
‘I don’t mean to blame the blackfellows, Frank, it’s just that it’s what I’ve been scared about all along. It just never seems to come to any good.’
‘It’s not to do with the black blood, Claudie, it’s to do with how people behave towards others. Of course she made some friends amongst the old people, Claudie, look at her face, look at mine.’
‘And it’s come to no good.’
‘It’s not her fault, Claudie, she’s had bad luck. Maybe she wasn’t sure where she fitted in, that she wasn’t good enough.’
‘That her mother was ashamed of her.’
‘That’s nonsense, Claudie.’
‘But she might have thought that. I was a bit stern perhaps.’
‘It’s not her fault, it’s not yours, Claudie, it’s how she’s treated by others, maybe I should have been harder on her meself, maybe I shouldn’t have let her go to the city.’
‘You couldn’t have stopped her.’
‘No, she had her own opinions on that score.’
‘You start mixing with the blacks and things start to go wrong. Maybe it is other people’s fault, how they treat you, the way they look at you, but it hasn’t done us any good has it?’
‘Not down here, but if your God is the Lord, and he treats us all as his own blood, then he should be harshest on those who reject those of his flesh and blood, those who think the only true blood comes from Jerusalem, white, Christian blood.’
‘So that’s what you were thinking in church.’
‘Not in church, Claudie, in bed. They’re your words. They come straight from the Bible you read to me every night of our lives.’
‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘And miss the voice of the bird.’
‘Frank?’
‘Yes, my darlin’.’
‘That was a lovely story.’
‘It’s been a wonderful life.’
‘Hold me, Frank.’
‘I’ll never stop.’
‘Forgive me, Frank.’
‘There’s nothing to forgive. Don’t ever think it, Claudie. I’ve lived with the most beautiful, most loving woman I’ve ever seen.’
‘Who’ll wash your trousers, Frank?’
‘I’ve asked Mrs Ruddock to give me lessons.’
‘I’m sorry, Frank.’
‘Claudie, Claudie, please stop it now, you’ve made a man of me, a father and a grandfather, you’ve put up with who I am, you’ve put up with havin’ no money, you’ve –’
‘Frank?’
‘Yes, Claudie.’
‘I’ve been in love ever since I stepped out of those French windows at Brushfield’s. I consider myself lucky, a lucky woman.’
‘Grandma?’
‘Who’s that? Alf?’
‘Yes Grandma, I was bringin’ up a cup of tea.’
‘Thank you, my dear.’
‘Grandma, I’ll look after Grandpa . . . and the babies.’
‘Yes, Alf, I know you will.’
‘I’ve been lucky too, Grandma.’
‘Come here you two. Let me hold you both. I can still get me arms around both me wife and me grandson.’
‘You smell like a bear, Frank.’
‘An’ you smell like roses.’
‘Brushfield’s roses?’
‘Yes the lovely soft red ones. Make ya head spin. Still make me head spin with the love of ‘em.’
*
‘You stick with me, Alf.’
‘Yes, Grandpa. Grandpa?’
‘Yes, mate.’
‘Will my mother be coming?’
‘Well . . . well, I don’t know, Alf. I wrote to her . . . twice now, and I know she’s very busy, she’s working up near Bendigo . . . and I know she’s trying to get down . . . to see you. . . and to say goodbye to her mother . . . I know she’s having trouble getting transport, see. You know how far Bendigo . . . she’s been sick, I went to her place in Port Melbourne, but she was still unwell.’
‘Yes, Grandpa, I just wanted to know. There’s not many people here, Grandpa.’
‘No, I wasn’t expecting a big crowd, Alf.’
‘There’s Mr and Mrs Tomkins . . . and Mrs Ruddock, and there’s all that mob from the camp . . . all dressed up too.’
‘Yes, be a good lad, Alf, an’ ask them to come over with us. No use standin’ back there near the shed. Good of ‘em to come. Real good.’
‘Here they come anyway, Grandpa, Mr Tomkins is bringin’ ‘em over. Who’s that little man, Grandpa?’
‘I don’t know, Alf, never seen ‘im before. G’day, Arnie, good of you to come.’
‘Real sorry, Frank, terrible thing to happen. The mob from the camp wanted to come, Frank . . . and I’d like you to meet Uncle Reggie Bullock . . . real name Too roo rer.’
‘How do you do, Uncle?’
‘Yueh.’
‘Ar, Frank, Uncle Reg is your uncle . . . you know, real uncle, whitefella way. It’s true, man, he’s got somethin’ for ya he says, but might take a while for ‘im to . . . you know, settle down. He doesn’t speak much English.’
‘What’s he say, Arnie?’
‘What was that, Uncle?’
