Beneath the Southern Cross (49 page)

She met his train at Central Station and, after escaping the swarming crowds on the railway platform, they stood outside trying to hail a taxi. In the teeming rain it was impossible.

‘It's been raining for days,' she yelled above the din and clamour of people yelling for taxis and cars honking their horns, ‘it always does in April.'

But they didn't care. Gene gave up trying to get a cab and they
gave up trying to keep dry. They clung to each other in the pouring rain and kissed and laughed for pure joy. Then Gene shouldered his backpack and they walked through the deluge, his arm around her, rivulets of water cascading from her best felt hat, now soggy and ruined.

They dined that night at the Roosevelt—for old times' sake, he said, and she remembered the night they'd first met, as she peered over the balcony railing at the couples on the dance floor below.

Caroline launched into her attack just after the steaks had arrived. ‘You asked me to marry you, right?' she demanded.

‘And you said yes.' Those compelling brown eyes with their depth of seriousness and theirhint of laughter were mesmerising him. God, but it was wonderful to be with her again.

‘I did,' she affirmed, nodding briskly. ‘After the war, that's what you said.'

‘Correct.'

‘Well I'm reneging on the offer, it's not good enough.'

‘Oh?' He wanted to laugh, she delighted him so.

‘Now, Gene.' The banter was gone. ‘Marry me now.'

He looked down at the steak on his plate, it was suddenly unappetising. How could he tell her what he'd been through? How could he explain that it would happen again before the war was over? Again he'd watched his comrades die and each moment of each day he'd wonder if he was the next in line.

‘Caroline,' he said haltingly, ‘when I go away …'

‘I know.'

‘If I don't come back …'

‘I know that too. Let's risk it, Gene. I'm willing if you are, in fact I'll go mad if we don't.' He looked up from the steak he'd been toying with. Her eyes were begging him. ‘Please,' she said, ‘please marry me.'

‘When?'

‘Now. Right now.' She grinned. ‘You're not enjoying that steak anyway. We'll bash on somepriest's door and make him marry us in the middle of the night with two witnesses we've grabbed off the street, just like they do in the movies.'

He laughed, he couldn't help it. ‘Oh no we won't, we'll do it the proper way.'

‘What way's that?'

‘With my Commanding Officer's permission and your grandmother's blessing.'

A week later Caroline O'Shea married Gene Hamilton in the Registry Office of Births, Deaths and Marriages and their witnesses were Kathleen De Haan and Ada Bird.

Any lingering misgivings Kathleen might have harboured disappeared as she watched them exchange vows. They were so deeply in love it would have been wrong if they'd not married, and she prayed that Gene would return unscathed from the war.

Ada wept throughout the short service. Caroline looked so beautiful and Gene so handsome. Fancy Caroline marrying a Yank, how adventurous of her.

Ada had changed her opinions about the Yanks since she'd met her GI, Pete. Pete wasn't just for good times and presents, Pete was mad about her. He hadn't lost interest when she'd refused to sleep with him. In fact he wanted to marry her, to take her to America after the war and have a big white wedding with his family. Ada hadn't seriously considered marriage, however, he was a Yank after all. But if Caroline was marrying a Yank, then why shouldn't she? She'd always followed Caroline's example, right from when she'd enrolled in Stott's Secretarial College. Marriage to Pete suddenly held a strong appeal, he'd be home on leave in a month, she'd give it some serious thought.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.'

Ada burst into fresh tears as Gene kissed his new bride.

Gene had hired a suite at the Hotel Australia and they barely left the bedroom for the entire week of their honeymoon.

‘What a terrible waste of money,' Caroline said, surveying the spacious sitting room and balcony. So he made love to her then and there on the floor.

‘Shall we try the balcony next?' he said, when she lay sated in his arms, and she gave one of her wicked gurgles of laughter. An hour later he took her back into the bedroom, he wouldn't put it past Caroline to take him up on his suggestion.

Then the week was over and Gene was gone. She didn't ask him where he was going or for how long, she was a soldier's wife now and knew better. And she didn't cry or allow her fear to show. She simply said ‘Godspeed my love.'

Caroline knew from the moment she saw Ada's face that Ada was no longer a virgin. Gone was the giggling coquette, she was glowing with womanly fulfilment. ‘You slept with Pete, didn't you?' True to form Caroline jumped straight to the point.

‘Yes.' Ada couldn't wait to admit it, she desperately needed to tell someone, and Caroline was her only possible confidante. She knew that Bev and Enid slept with men, they openly discussed it, and she'd sometimes felt jealous of them, wondering what it would be like. She was nearly twenty-six years old, it was high time she lost her virginity. But, now that it had happened, she couldn't tell Bev and Enid about Pete, they wouldn't understand. ‘Oh Caroline, it was wonderful,' she said. ‘I love him so much, and I know he loves me.'

Any advice Caroline might have been contemplating went out the window. She hugged her friend. ‘I'm happy for you,' she said.

It was obvious to Caroline that Pete loved Ada. Every leave he could get he raced to Sydney to see his Ladybird.

‘Where's my Ladybird?' he'd say, standing at the front door of the Bird house, his arms laden with chocolates and flowers, and little Betsy would run squealing inside.

‘He's here Ada, he's here!'

Eleven-year-old Betsy adored Pete, and Pete adored Betsy, so it was a fair exchange. But then Pete seemed genuinely fond of the whole Bird family, even Norm who, having fallen captive to the American's charm, seemed to remain sober longer when Pete was around. Most people ignored Norm. Pete didn't. Norm liked that.

Caroline, too, couldn't help but like Pete. He was attractive in his own way. A little on the short side and not handsome in the conventional sense, but he had dimples which danced, rather like Ada's, she thought, and a cheeky appeal which was irresistible. Furthermore, he treated Ada like a princess.

‘We're going to be married, Caroline,' Ada announced proudly. ‘We'll be having a ceremony here before we leave for America, will you be my matron of honour?'

‘Of course, I'd be dead snaky if you asked anyone else.'

 

The Allies had invaded northern France. On 8 June, 1944 the Australian press screamed the news and, all over the country, millions listened to the long-awaited announcement by General
Eisenhower, broadcast by the BBC. Surely it was only a matter of time till the war ended. But it dragged on.

Gene was home for Christmas. It had been a whole seven months and Caroline was shocked when she saw him, drawn and haggard. She had read the newspaper reports of the battles in the Pacific, and she had worried continuously, but in his letters he had mentioned nothing of the hardship and she'd hoped that he might have escaped the worst of it. She asked no questions but clung to him tightly, telling him over and over that she loved him, wishing that she could do something to ease his mind.

He didn't speak of his ordeal, but the announcement he made said it all. ‘When the war's over I'm leaving the army,' he told her.

‘Good,' she whispered, holding him close.

They celebrated Christmas as if there were no war. Pete was on leave too, and he and Ada joined Caroline and Gene for the midday feast which Kathleen prepared, the luxuries having been provided by the men. Tinned ham from Gene and, surprisingly, a fresh turkey from Pete.

‘Where the hell did you get that?' Kathleen asked when he'd arrived on Christmas Eve with the bird, wrapped in brown paper, tucked under his arm.

‘Ask me no questions …' and he tapped his nose. So Kathleen didn't. Pete was a resourceful young man and she was only too happy to accept his illicit gift.

Kathleen had slaved all morning over the old wood stove and, as it was a sweltering day, they ate gathered around the small table on the back porch to get away from the heat of the kitchen and take advantage of what little breeze they could.

They toasted each other with the champagne Gene had brought and they scoffed back Kathleen's plum pudding with brandy sauce, and nobody mentioned the war.

Kathleen insisted upon getting the coffee. ‘No, no,' she said refusing Caroline's and Ada's help, ‘you young ones sit and chat.' God knows, they needed to grab every moment they could. ‘The four of you can do the washing up later.'

So they sat and chatted, Pete lighting up one of his cigars and regaling them with plans for the wedding. ‘A big white wedding at the ranch,' he said, ‘all the family'll be there. Ma'll be so proud of my Ladybird.'

Ada sat on his lap, her arm draped around his shoulder. ‘Pete's parents own a ranch in North Carolina,' she explained proudly to Gene. ‘Is that anywhere near Maine?'

The men laughed. ‘Not exactly,' Gene said. Ada was a bit giddy maybe, but he couldn't help liking her. Gene felt a contentment he'd not known in months. Caroline was happily cuddled up against him, and the steaming jungles of Saipan and Palau seemed very far away.

Less than five months later the war in Europe was over. On 8 May, 1945, VE day was celebrated throughout Australia, but there was a dampener to the enthusiasm. The war in the Pacific continued. ‘Wait until all the fellows are home and the men of the 8th division swing down Martin Place,' one Sydney digger was quoted as saying. ‘That will be the day!'

 

‘I got your letter,' Tim said. ‘Thanks. I'm sorry I didn't come around earlier, but …' He gave a weary shrug, leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the knuckles of his clasped hands.

‘I knew you'd come when you were ready.'

Tim and Kathleen were sitting on the back porch, Caroline having discreetly made her departure shortly after his arrival.

‘I'm so sorry, Tim,' Caroline had said.

‘Yes. Thank you.' He hadn't hugged her as he always did, and he hadn't called her hisprincess. He hadn't even noticed she was pregnant and, at five months now, she was showing. Caroline knew he needed to be alone with Kathleen.

‘I'm going to the shops, Gran, do you want anything?'

Kathleen had shaken her head and smiled her thanks as she took Tim out onto the porch.

‘Oh Tim,' she now said. ‘Oh Tim.'

She rose from her chair and he felt the coolness of her hands against his cheeks as she gently lifted his head so that their eyes could meet.

In the fleshy folds of her aged face, Kathleen's eyes remained magnificent, and in them was a wealth of love and compassion. Tim felt a tide of emotion rising in him. his wife hadn't looked at him like this. Which wasn't her fault, he knew. He hadn't been able to share his pain with her, and she had the burden of her own sorrow to bear. His remoteness was driving a wedge between them
which was destroying their marriage. But Tim knew that he could share his pain with Kathleen. Kathleen understood.

He put his arms around her waist and sobbed like a baby, his face nestled against her ample bosom as she stroked his hair and said ‘there, there', over and over.

He hadn't been able to cry for the whole four months. His wife had. And he'd felt guilty for not crying with her. He'd said all the right words, or he'd thought he had.

‘It's the risk he ran,' he'd said. ‘He was a soldier, a professional, he died for his country.' But he'd known the words sounded empty.

They'd sounded empty because they were. The endless enquiries Tim had made, without Ruth's knowledge, had been to no avail. It appeared there had been no witnesses to Robert's death, and all Tim could think of was the fear, the sheer terror his son might have known. Did he die in agony? Was he crying like a baby when he died? Had his body been blown to shreds the way Robbie's had been? Had young Robert awakened from the brief and nasty dream of war to see his intestines ripped from his body and his blood spilled in a pool about him? If he had, Tim prayed that there might have been some friend nearby, some friend who might have blown his son's brains out. If he'd been there himself he would have done it. Tim had never regretted sparing Robbie O'Shea the hideousness of his death, and he would not have hesitated to do the same for his son.

It had all come back. The images, vivid and remorseless, would not leave him alone. But they were no longer images of Robbie, they were images of his son. History repeating itself. Not his boy, he prayed. Not Robert. Please God, don't let it have been that way.

And now there was Kathleen, and he could cry. Without words. He could just cry.

‘I'll get us a cup of tea, shall I?' Kathleen asked when his sobs had subsided.

‘Yes.' He felt no embarrassment, and when she brought the tea, he said, ‘So this is what it's like to lose your son in a war.'

‘Yes.'

They held hands for a moment and Tim felt a deep sense of gratitude. The wall he'd built around himself had crumbled, and he knew now that he would be able to give his wife the support she so sorely needed.

‘Kitty's come home,' he said.

‘Good, that'll help.'

‘She's going back to university. Reckons she wants to be a writer and change the world.'

‘She's the sort who could,' Kathleen agreed. She'd not seen Tim's daughter since childhood, but even as a little girl Kitty Kendall had had guts.

They were comfortable in their silence, and then Tim added, ‘I'm going to see Billy tomorrow, he's in Kendle Lodge.'