The Parting
Annie sat in front of the stove’s warmth, fingering her ivory rosary beads. With the coming of Christmas, she was trying to meditate on the Nativity - one of the Joyful mysteries - but her heart wasn’t in it. Her eyes kept straying to the clock on the mantelpiece. The railway line ran hundred yards from their back door, and the train on passing would give its customary whistle before arriving at Beverley station at eleven o'clock.
On hearing the train, Annie’s body jolted. Her throat constricted with both joy and pain. Imogene and the nibs would be here soon. She slipped the beads into her cardigan pocket promising to finish the rosary later.
She added kindling from a crate on the floor, criss-crossing over the coals. Watched the smoke curl, flames lick, before adding small wood blocks into the stove's wide opened jaws. She lifted the pot of warm vegetable soup off the hob and placed it on the centre plate.
Sidney slept in a single bed in the small alcove off the oblong cloakroom. He'd relinquished his side of the double bed for Imogene and the baby - but only after a prolonged fuss.
Annie felt the full blast of his verbal displeasure.
'George shouldn’t have gone off to the war. Bloody cheek! Leaving the girls and their mother out in the bush with no fence around the house - or locks on the door. It's not as though I begrudge having three more mouths to feed - what with the trapping of rabbits and my vegetable garden. It's the inconvenience of housing the rowdy brats/ and he’d looked at her pointedly. 'And you haven’t been too well, lately.'
The scary episode in the bush must have been the last straw, Annie thought. For a week later, Imogene's letter arrived: An inebriated neighbour, convinced Imogene was hiding his wife, had banged on her door in the middle of the night and threatened her with a gun. Truth was - his wife had left him.
Opening the kitchen door into the cloakroom, she switched on the 25-watt globe where overcoats and jackets hung like shadowy ghosts on conduit railing. And strewn beneath on a narrow table were Sidney's leaf-worn Westerns, and a neat pile of her Messenger magazine with Jesus on the cover.
Annie touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Sid, the train’s come.’
His head left the pillow, his body following, his feet hitting the floor.
She smiled at his skinny trunk and long legs clad in long johns as he thrust bare feet into slippers... grabbed a fabric-worn dressing-gown off its hanger... and made his way to a side door that opened onto the front veranda.
For a long time now she had been unable to keep up with his long stride, so that he’d got into the habit of patiently waiting for her. Together they walked to the end of the veranda, eyes intent on the front gate at the end of the pathway. The night cool air ruffled Annie's grey to black frizzy hair; Sid’s wispy grey - and caressed their bare ankles. The moon was high in the sky and a show of stars twinkled.
A wide veranda took on two-thirds of the house where grape vines and creepers grew to block out the afternoon sun. A heavy dark green creeper (where the occasional stinkbug lurked) protected a French door and window of their bedroom.
Sidney griped. ‘Hope the bugger doesn't forget to meet the train. I paid him handsomely for it.’ Annie’s nose twitched and mouth compressed: it was bugger this and bugger that - and he made no excuses for it. Imogene’s girls were older now, one seven the other nine and she knew for a fact George, their father never swore in front of his girls.
Lights from a vehicle crept slowly up the road to stop level with the house. Sidney and Annie waited until the driver alighted, opened the door for his passengers, removed the suitcases from the boot - and drove off - before opening the gate.
Sidney picked up the suitcases. Annie greeted Imogene with a kiss, before taking the sleepy bundle from Imogene’s arms. Her heart thumped at the nostalgic smell of milk and baby sweat that spoke of another era when life was smoother... happier... and with much expected hope.
Sidney retired to his bunk. He worked as a ganger in the W.A.G.R. and had to be up early before daybreak. Annie set out steaming bowls of soup with snippets of toast. Renee the younger struggled to finish hers, and Marnie the eldest kept asking if they still had Trauby the horse. Annie suggested Imogene get off to bed - and she'd see the girls to their room.
The moment the girls climbed into bed Annie drew their attention to the framed icons on the wall.
'Jesus will be watching over you as you sleep ... so there is nothing to be frightened of... and Mary, Jesus' mother will be guarding the door to keep you safe.’
The girls stared up at the images, and then back at her.
The next morning Annie came face to face with the eleven-month old girl sitting on her mother's knee. The moment the child’s eyes alighted on her, she’d given a squeal of pleasure, fingers and toes working gleefully in unison, dimples and a sweet smile. Annie’s spirit leapt and a warm glow filled her chest: The child was like a ray of sunshine, or the promised pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
For breakfast she served the small family fried bunny rabbit (rarely caught in traps.) And afterwards gave the girls two large carrots for Trauby the horse who stood waiting for them in the paddock next door.
Before the day ended, Imogene asked her to kindly remove the religious pictures. At Annie's crestfallen face, said:
‘I am sorry mum. They object to having them in their room,' she went on further to explain. ‘The girls were concerned on seeing Jesus and Mary’s hearts, as if caught in barbwire. Especially Renee. She wanted to know if the barbwire was real?’
Annie chose not to accompany the girls to their room again, and pondered if it was God’s plan for her to touch their pagan spirits.
At her mother's happiness at bonding with the baby, Imogene suggested she freely attend to the child's feeding, bathing and dressing. Annie’s joy was so profound and palpable she sang her beloved Irish songs: ‘The Rose of Tralee’ and ‘My Wild Irish Rose’. But the song that really typified her feelings was the song, 'You Are My Sunshine,’ which she never hesitated to sing to the child, with tears running down her face.
She thought she’d enjoy the seven and nine year olds but after two weeks she reasoned they were too wild for her. They chased each other around the kitchen, screaming as the ball bounced along her kitchenette ledge, threatening to dislodge her soup plates. Imogene, horrified at her mother’s obvious agitation, ushered them outside and forbade them to run in the house, which they ultimately forgot.
Annie knew her daughter would oblige her by attending Sunday mass with the girls, but when she suggested the rosary at home, Imogene said no: Church in the bush at present was attending Methodist Sunday school run by a music teacher: the pasting in of biblical saints on sheets provided, and an organ playing ancient hymn favourites.
Imogene dressed her daughters for church: neat and clean, wearing shoes and socks, and hair plaited. The baby was to stay home with their grandfather.
Annie in her white cotton petticoat was about to sit on her bed and pull on her stockings, when she became aware the girls were openly staring at her. A warm glow coursed through her body. She perched on the edge of the bed, and bringing one leg up, picked up a black rolled stocking, and with deft fingers eased over her toes and foot, pulling up and over plump calves and veined legs, and coming to a stop above her knee. Here she folded the top of the stocking over an inch circle of elastic. Repeated the same action for the other leg.
After slipping feet into pointy black shoes, she pulled the floral mid-length frock over her head, teased it over her hips, and buttoned at the bodice.
At the dressing table mirror she combed her curly hair and donned on a burgundy felt hat adorned with a single speckled feather. And tilting it provocatively at the front, pinned a large pearl hatpin into place. Behind her the girls too stared into the mirror at the elegant lady pulling on her gloves, who smiled into their eyes, and picking up her Sunday mass book said,
'Time to go girls.’
It was a mile walk to church.
They took a shortcut alongside the railway track that ran parallel to their house. Imogene strolled with Annie enjoying a chat, while the girls ran on ahead. To bypass the town they crossed the railway bridge. The church was white with a red roof. ‘Your mother and father were the first couple to get married here,' she told the girls proudly.
Sitting in the pew Annie whispered, 'See the little house above the altar with the satin cream curtain... that is where Jesus lives.’ Then she pointed to the sanctuary lamp where oiled burned in a small container. ‘When you come into church for a visit, and that light is burning... you’ll know Jesus is home.’ Marnie looked puzzled and Imogene was heard to slap Renee’s hand and hiss. 'Stop picking your nose.’
Outside in the bright sunshine the girls free at last, chased, played follow the leader - leap frog - and even though a show of panties was most unladylike, Imogene didn't chastise them.
Every afternoon Annie took the opportunity to rest and asked Imogene to keep the girls quiet. If fatigue didn’t assail her she prayed the five decades of the rosary - either the Joyful, the Suffering or the Glorious mysteries.
Joyful referred to the happy times: the first years of marriage, the birth of two boys and two girls ... and the growing up of each curly head.
The Suffering mysteries she saw as life’s struggles and disappointment, the rage of the father, which she could never tame... but the sweet Virgin saw fit that it was just rough waters trying to drown a good family.
Glorious mysteries she saw mostly as futuristic. Answered prayer - or the rescue from dire situations.
Christmas Eve, Sidney told Imogene and Annie to take the kids for a stroll up the road at dusk. With Annie pushing the pram and Imogene dawdling alongside, the girls ran on ahead - and when called back, returned. When all of sudden... in the middle of the road ... coming towards them... a figure.
Annie stopped. Pointed. The girls looked. Looked again.
'It’s Father Christmas,’ Imogene and her mother said in unison.
'NO! Its granddad,' said Marnie. Spoiling it for Renee who gaped at her in dismay.
Sid's surprise gift hung between two Kurrajong trees: a lovely hammock for Annie. She gingerly climbed in, laid back and gently pulled down on the rope that hung above. The hammock rocked to and fro. Marnie and Renee's eyes gaped with their mouth. Annie said they could have a swing now and again, but to be careful in case they fell out.
Marnie received a reading book and a giant crayon colouring-in-book. Sitting high in the Christmas tree, dressed in a red checked frock was a black Ginny doll for Renee. She had sprigs of black hair on a dark brown head. Her limbs curled gracefully into sitting position.
On seeing the little black doll, the one-year-old eyes danced in merriment, her eager chubby hands reaching out. Renee clutched the doll tighter to her chest.
Annie on seeing the little girl’s yearning face and delight, pressed Renee. ‘Oh go on ... Just a little hold.’
Renee stood uncertain... until her doll was safe in her hands again.
After Christmas dinner, Annie excused herself. She didn't tell Imogene the doctor said she had to take things easier and to rest more. Although she was sure Imogene had her suspicions. But she didn’t want to worry the girl. It was bad enough with George being away at war, and Imogene haunted by the thought of receiving the dreaded telegram.
Annie gave a sigh of relief when the girls went back to school. She and Imogene took to walking to town, pushing the pusher with baby Janice. After housework they spent a time of knitting and sharing.
The child was teething. Her plump cheeks tear-stained as she hiccupped her distress. Imogene had gone to town. Annie was spoon-feeding her in her high chair, and with each spoonful the smooth baked custard oozed out...
Annie thought of the black doll. Surely it wouldn’t hurt - she'd just borrow it for a little while.
‘Look what nanna’s got?' Annie held up the black doll, smiled encouragingly into the child’s face. 'Would you like to hold the little black dolly?'
The child's eyes lit up, and she gave a quick smile, her hands outreaching. Annie only turned away for a second. When she heard the doll hit the floor.
Her daughter on coming home didn’t reprimand her, but tried to glue the clay doll back together before Renee got home.
The door slammed.
‘Done what!’ Mamie’s voice sounded strangled. 'She shouldn’t have done it... the silly old...' At the stinging slap of Imogene’s hand on the child’s face, Annie cringed, but the untimely dagger had already lodged in Annie's heart.
As Renee stared down at her glued black Ginny, her mother bent down and looked beseechingly into her face, 'the doll is not so bad...she's almost new.' Renee turned away, but not before she stared in disbelief at her grandmother...
The horrible truth for Annie was Renee never picked it up again.
Outside her kitchen back door, Sidney had laid sleepers to keep the mud from the door when it rained. Over the years, giant black spiders had multiplied. Annie complained. Sidney said they were harmless. One afternoon while Imogene was out visiting, Annie sought Marnie and Renee’s help. Neither batted an eyelid when she shared her plan:
'When I pour boiling water down the cracks, the spiders will come scrambling up and out - all you have to do is kill them. Go inside and put on your leather school shoes.'
While gripping a frying pan and saucepan, the girls watched Annie pour boiling water from a kettle. True to Annie’s word, the moment she poured, the spiders appeared. The girls darted forward, smashed down with the pans. Screamed in horror if they missed. They leapt forward, sprang backwards, chased or jumped out of the way.
Annie made the girls promise to keep their mouths shut, and gave them sixpence for their trouble.
Although the grapes on the vines had ripened, the children were forbidden free access to them. Sidney's vegetable garden too was banned. So it wasn’t surprising the girls trekked further afield for their amusements: Once they came upon a stretch of water where a crude tin canoe sat on the edge.
‘Come on. Hop in.’ Marnie called, climbing in.' It’s as safe as houses.’ Marnie paddled, the canoe took on water. Marnie yelled 'Get out - quick.’ They waded to shore. They were late getting home, as they had to wait for their clothes to dry, spread out on bush.
Annie was happy that the girls had given Sid a new lease in life. They forever hung around him asking questions, holding on to his hand. She couldn't help feeling a twinge of jealousy when they accompanied him to set traps in the late afternoon, or to check on them early in the morning. That was another pleasure she had lost - and today, he’d suggested, he borrow the rail trolley from work and take the girls for a spin along the railway track.
She remembered, as if it was yesterday, when he was courting her- the sea-saw action - the pushing down and the pulling up - and sending the trike whizzing recklessly along the sliver track. He with a roguish glint in his eye, sporting a moustache, stood with muscular arms and strong deft hands gripping a handle...