Love In a Sunburnt Country (3 page)

‘Now, I didn't have any sense of any romance coming out of this,' says Frances.

‘Oh come on,' I say indignantly. ‘You must have.'

‘We liked each other—' says Luke, ‘—but we were living our own lives, having our own adventures.

‘The second week we had to knock off early because of rain and I'd gone home to shear sheep at a stud close to home. So I said to Frances, “I'll pick you up and take you back to Redcliffe, and I'll bring a meal.” So I purchased pork cutlets with bacon wrapped around them, some strawberries, chocolate sauce, some red and white wine and then, for a joke, I went down to the supermarket and bought the cheapest brand ham and pineapple pizza so I could say “Here's tea” and throw the pizza down. And I did.

‘Frances just looked at the pizza and she said “I'm allergic to pork”, because she is. And what was my other option? Pork cutlets.'

Luke also brought a posy of daffodils for Frances, picked from a family garden … but both insist that neither of them saw the other in a romantic light until much later: Frances didn't want a boyfriend or Luke a girlfriend.

‘I kept a diary at the time, and I know when it first dawned on me that we might be seeing more of each other in the future—I wrote that I wasn't sure that this was a good idea, because Luke was going to be away for big blocks of time, and it isn't much fun for the person left behind waiting.'

Over the next three years, with Luke away so much and Frances having done most of the travelling she wanted to do in earlier years, they kept in touch by letter and seeing each other just for a weekend here and there, making an effort to attend the same functions. Luke wrote to Frances from wherever he was working, sending her beautifully detailed descriptions of the parts of the world he was seeing. Frances shows me a photograph that Luke sent her before leaving on one of these trips, and on the back is written: ‘To a special person, thinking of you while in my travels, love Luke'.

On reading that I decide then—disregarding anything Luke and Frances go on to say—that deep in the subconscious of each was something like a holding paddock or special shelf for found treasures. The time wasn't yet right, but each, in the hidden depths of their mind, was considering the other for when it was.

On one of these infrequent meet-ups the penny finally dropped for Luke. They were driving back from a party with a friend, and the ute hit and killed a roo. The young men were about to drive on, when Frances said, horrified at the waste and thinking of the family dogs, ‘Aren't you going to cut its legs off?' Luke could see the merit of this. But his coordination was somewhat impaired and, to his stunned admiration, Frances, in high heels and pretty dress, took the knife from him and swiftly had both legs neatly severed. ‘This girl,' he thought, ‘is a keeper.'

In 2007 Luke went on a shearing trip to the Falklands, and he asked Frances if she would like to come with him. And Frances, who had mortified herself by crying her eyes out when Luke had left the country on a previous occasion, said yes.

At this point they considered the other person their official romantic interest but no-one, they say, would have been able to predict if they would stay together after this. A working holiday like this is often make or break for a new couple. This one made Frances and Luke—but it went well beyond that, showing them what kind of life they wanted to share. They wanted to live in Australia, but they wanted it to remain a journeying life: for it to offer, as travel does, a never-ending, life-enhancing supply of challenge, stimulation and learning. On their return the safe and financially sensible choice was for Luke to keep shearing and Frances to keep classing wool, but that wasn't the decision they made.

‘We didn't want to be stuck in that environment—it doesn't lead to anywhere but another shearing shed. And I wanted a life on the land but, as I said to Frances, I didn't know how to fix a flat tyre.'

‘The manager at Teetulpa Station, who knew what sort of person Luke was and knew what he needed to learn outside the wool industry, offered him a role as overseer,' says Frances. ‘So Luke went from a shearing wage to an ordinary jackeroo wage, which was hard—but the manager taught him how to kill a sheep, to fix a tyre. It was a perfect apprenticeship.'

Luke worked and learned the basics of land management at Teetulpa. Frances worked as a contract cook, coming and going from Teetulpa. When she was there she brought her experience of the land to help Luke out where she could.

‘We were there for twelve months, and we'd still be there if Richard [Richard Warwick, Frances's father] hadn't asked us to come back to Holowiliena,' says Luke. ‘He was going through a hard patch after having a motorbike accident.'

It is now time to eat, and Frances and Luke quite deliberately stop the story at the start of dinner.

‘We've got to tell you about the wedding,' says Frances, her face lit by mischief. ‘It's a surprise.'

Having been surprised by the explanation for the suit and the progression of their relationship, I don't really know that I want to be surprised again. Then I think, well, I read a lot of romance and I watch romantic comedies. I decide that I am unlikely to be surprised by their wedding.

We finish eating, and Luke, leaning back from the table and smiling at Dad and me, picks up the tale. There is nothing austere about Luke's face tonight—as he said to me earlier, he loves their story.

A year into living together Luke made up his mind that he wanted to marry Frances and commenced planning. He had obtained and measured Frances's favourite ring and, with the assistance of a good friend who was a jeweller, had the engagement ring ready to go. Next on the list was asking Richard.

‘We were driving out to fix the windmill. And I said to Richard—we're talking about the weather and the sheep, it was a quiet moment—“Do you mind if I marry Frances?” He reached over and shook my hand and said, “Uh, uh … I'd be delighted.” Richard couldn't concentrate for the rest of that day, but nothing more was said.'

Nothing more was said for another month, as it turned out. Then, on the weekend before Luke left for a seven-week shearing contract, he and Frances had gone down to the Clare Valley for a birthday luncheon for Frances's sister.

‘It wasn't very romantic the way I asked her to marry me, waiting for the taxi, sitting out on the lawn. I was a bit nervous about it. I said, “Frances, will you marry me and be the mother of my children?” And she said …'

Dad and I are riveted.

‘She said … “No.”'

Luke pauses, while peals of laughter come from Frances.

‘“No, you're not asking me like that!” She wanted me down on my knee and not sitting on the lawn. I got down on my knee real quick and gave her the ring.

‘The following day Richard and Janne came down, and Richard's sort of looking at me. We were probably looking pretty happy, but we didn't tell them …'

‘We wanted to tell all our parents together. We knew everyone from both families would be together at Christmas and we decided to tell them then,' adds Frances.

‘So I was away shearing and she was away on a mining camp cooking. We weren't really able to be in contact with each other, but we were thinking of each other. The moment I'd finished I was keen to get to the mining camp and see her.'

‘We knew we were spending the rest of our lives together by then,' says Frances.

In this beautiful, close time after weeks apart, at the remote mining camp on Mulyungarie station, they talked about their lives, beginning with getting married. The date was the tenth of December, and Frances was inspired with the idea that they should marry on Christmas Day.

Why not? Both families would be together on that day and attending a service at Luke's family church in a group. Frances's sister was going away from Australia for a year immediately afterwards. Luke's brother was back only for Christmas. Almost everyone important was already going to be present.

I think this idea is delightful. After all, Christmas Day is a wonderful foundation for a wedding! The right food for a celebration is already planned and to hand. Houses are already swept through and made their most beautiful and trees are decked in red, green, silver, gold and fairy lights. People slow down to sing, talk and reflect together and to properly feel the emotions to which we pay scant attention in our daily lives: ethereal joy, belly-deep merriness, the ringing of ritual through the soul. Such days stand out in our lives like polished, lustrous, remarkable jewels—and they are strung on a different kind of thread to the kind we use to link the days making up the rest of our lives. The meanings threaded through a wedding day and Christmas Day are so very much the same—celebrating new life, announcing transformation and connecting with the world.

‘Lovely,' says Dad. I can see he is not surprised by this choice either.

Luke called Pastor Tim, the pastor at his family church, to see if it was possible for them to marry after the Christmas Day service. Sadly it was impossible, said Pastor Tim—well, impossible without a special dispensation from the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages, as thirty days must elapse between application to marry and the wedding itself. But Pastor Tim, who knew them well, offered to write a special letter of support to the Registrar. Frances and Luke (still on Mulyungarie station) needed to collect supporting paperwork: her sister's visa, his brother's plane tickets.

They did this—and they did it all covertly. This was because their other idea was that no-one (except Pastor Tim and Frances's grandfather, who was too unwell to attend but loved to keep the secret) would know.

‘What!' say Dad and I together. We are dumbfounded. We can't imagine a wedding without every close family member pitching in on the cleaning and decorating, without misunderstandings and sortings out, without photographers, music, flowers, special outfits, people flying in, ensuring parking …

‘We didn't want the fuss and bother,' says Luke. ‘We just wanted the day to be celebrated for what it was, the joining of two people.'

Frances's contract finished, and they returned to Holowiliena on 19 December. On the twenty-third they had an interview with the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages in Adelaide.

‘We left Holowiliena for Adelaide not knowing if we could be married or not,' says Frances.

‘We go up to Level Six. The Registrar walks out, and she looks just like a school principal: glasses on her face, severe expression. We think: “This doesn't look good.” And she says, “What are your reasons for getting married?” And we go through them all: the brother, the sister, the no fuss—and then she says, “Why have you left it this late? It's the twenty-third and you want to get married on Christmas Day.” We really thought we'd no chance.

‘And I said, “Well, Luke's been away shearing for two months, and I've been cooking at a mining camp at Mulyungarie.”

‘And the Registrar blinks, her face lights up and she says, “Mulyungarie! I know Mulyungarie! My son worked there as a jackeroo. He was having some trouble and he went up there, he had the best time and he loved it.”' Frances transforms her voice to show the passion and gratitude with which the Registrar spoke.

In that moment they've won her heart. She attempts a return to her previous stern demeanour but she can't quite recapture it: she is too softened by the mention of Mulyungarie and station life, and the time and space they offered for her teenage child to sort himself out. I feel she must have been softened too by the season, the circumstances and the rightness of this pair of lovers.

‘She felt she owed something to Mulyungarie and the bush, and we benefitted. She said: “Well, I'll grant permission—but don't do this again,”' says Luke.

They thank the Registrar profusely and leave with all speed. After all, the clock is ticking. They have less than forty-eight hours until Pastor Tim is to marry them, and every second of this time is going to be needed to pull together their still-secret wedding.

In Adelaide, at the very height of festive season shopping, Frances tries on beautiful wedding dresses from boutiques, but they aren't right. In a cheap little dress shop, for an unnamed amount under a hundred dollars, she finds a cool white frock—perfect. To that she adds a cheap-as-chips tiara. Luke spends rather more on a new pair of jeans, a shirt, a haircut and a twenty-dollar ring. From Adelaide they travel to Luke's home town of Monarto, and continue preparing.

‘People don't notice if you're sneaking around at Christmas time,' says Frances. ‘We'd say, “We've just got to duck out for a couple of hours,” and no-one batted an eyelid.'

‘Our tradition is German,' says Luke. ‘On Christmas Eve we go to church, and open our presents after church. Prior to going to the church I said, “We've got something to tell you. Frances and I are engaged.” And everyone was expecting it. We'd been together for a couple of years. They just said, “Oh yes, yes, congratulations.”'

‘We had planned to say “We're engaged and we're planning to get married in the morning,” it was our full intention, but we just realised—' says Frances.

‘—it wasn't going to work,' says Luke.

‘If we tell them tonight, there's going to be a fuss … everyone would be too excited to sleep. I was worried my mum would be down at 24-hour shopping in Adelaide buying a dress to wear. There'd be questions …'

‘It would put stress into it and take away from Christmas.'

At church they tell family friends they are engaged. It's a small church with a mostly farming congregation, half of them related to Luke.

After a nice family evening the rest of the family goes to sleep—Luke and Frances are sending last-minute text messages to other family and friends apprising them of the wedding tomorrow—with the cat still in the bag.