Orphans of the Storm (44 page)
Debbie had voiced these fears to Millie as they worked side by side at their bench, and Millie had reminded her of one of the letters from Nancy which she had been allowed to read. ‘She went all that way alone to meet a complete stranger, with a view to the most intimate relationship of all, marriage,’ she said reprovingly. ‘And Andy came thousands of miles from his cattle station to Sydney harbour, just so that she wouldn’t feel alone and afraid. One of the sons might meet you. Is the eldest one married? If so, he could bring his wife.’
The thought that Pete might be married had not occurred to Debbie before and a cold spasm of fear clutched at her heart. Why had she never thought of that? She had seen photographs in the papers of the girls they called the GI brides, crowding aboard the American-bound liners which would take them to their fiancés or husbands. And she had watched the numbers of weddings taking place at register offices and churches of all denominations in her own city. She had found Pete very attractive and guessed that his height and blond good looks would have made him a target for many an eager WAAF on his own station, let alone the girls he must have met at the dances and socials which had grown more frequent as the war neared its end. She stared at Millie, dismay welling up within her, then realised that her friend had noticed nothing, was continuing with her assembly work, eyes down, attention elsewhere. Hastily, Debbie pulled herself together. She could, of course, write to Aunt Nancy this very day, or even telegraph her, but how could she possibly ask the question now uppermost in her mind? It was unthinkable that she should say, baldly: ‘Is your son Pete married or engaged to some young female, or is he still fancy free?’ The very thought of posing such a question brought the hot blood rushing to her cheeks. No, she would rather die than ask such a thing. And anyway, she reminded herself, people change. The man I thought I was in love with may not be the man I shall meet at the Walleroo station; come to that, the young girl Pete took under his wing isn’t the same either. Goodness, I was a child then and now I’m a woman, and Pete, of course, has had four years of horrendous war.
Despite her hopes, it was November before Debbie found herself on board the SS
South Pacific
with her letter to Nancy posted, and those friends who had managed to get to Southampton standing on the quayside waving her off.
South Pacific
with her letter to Nancy posted, and those friends who had managed to get to Southampton standing on the quayside waving her off.
Nancy and Andy were sitting on the veranda, eating their midday meal, when they heard the mailman’s whistle. Andy looked up and grimaced. Outside, the rain was coming down in torrents, but both he and Nancy knew that if they wanted their letters he would have to get the boat out, for during the wet it was impossible for Bullwhip to cross the river. Indeed, he often did not get this far, so the fact that he was blowing his whistle to get their attention was really a cause for rejoicing, since it meant that the letters for which they longed would be in their possession as soon as one of the hands – or Andy himself – could cross the water.
The whistle sounded again and Andy got to his feet. ‘I’ll go myself,’ he said, as Nancy began to ask him which of the men he would send. ‘After all, there might be a letter from one of the lads, telling us when he’s coming home.’
He picked up his wide-brimmed hat and jammed it down over his curls, which were still more blond than white. He did not bother with a waterproof, but Nancy took down her own from where it hung near the screen door and struggled into it as she hurried to catch him up. Thunder rumbled overhead and an occasional spear of lightning darted to earth, and Nancy wished she had stopped to put on her wellingtons for the water was already lapping at the tops of her shoes. Ahead of her she could just make out the river through the driving rain, and she could see what she imagined must be Bullwhip on the further bank. Habit had brought him to where, in the dry, he would have forded the water, and it was a good place for Andy to cross now, since it was more shallow and less dangerous than other parts of the mighty river.
The boat was drawn well up on the bank and securely tethered to a gum tree. By the time Nancy reached him, Andy had untied the craft and was pulling it down towards the water. Nancy seized the oars and Andy looked round. ‘What on earth are you doing here, old girl?’ He had to shout to be heard above the roaring of the river, the pelting of the rain, and the rumbling of the thunder above their heads. ‘I can manage, you know; you go back to the house.’
Nancy snorted and glanced meaningly at the yellow flood water, flecked with foam, tumbling past. The river in flood was an awe-inspiring sight and she thought it would take both of them to get the boat safely across. ‘You row and I’ll steer,’ she shrieked. ‘What’s happened to the rope?’ Usually, a double length of stout rope was slung across the river at this point and tied securely to strong, well-rooted trees on either bank, but today, despite the heavy downfall, Nancy had seen at once that the rope was missing.
‘The tree on the further bank has gone,’ Andy roared back. ‘Reckon it weren’t strongly rooted enough to withstand the storm . . . it might even have been struck by lightning. Anyhow, it’s gone. But we can still get across if we’re careful.’
Andy launched the boat and jumped in, then gestured to Nancy to follow suit, seizing one oar as he did so. ‘I’ll pole her across,’ he shouted. ‘You do the same if you can.’
The short crossing, which with the aid of the rope would have taken them perhaps two minutes, now took more like twenty, and despite their most strenuous efforts the boat was carried a good forty yards down the river before they managed to bring her close enough to the opposite bank for Bullwhip to grab the bows. He clung on grimly until Andy jumped out of their small craft and heaved it on to comparatively dry land, then he stood back, grinning with relief and rubbing the wet – and the sweat – off his face with muddy hands. ‘I thought you were goners for a minute there. What’s happened to the rope?’ he said gruffly. ‘I dunno as it’s worth riskin’ your life for a few letters. But then, you cattle folk risk your lives a dozen times a week, I dare say. Do you want to take the McGuire mail while you’re at it? I shan’t be able to get through to them for weeks, mebbe.’
‘Give it to me, Bullwhip,’ Nancy said breathlessly, taking the fat bundle of letters and tucking them into the neck of her once crisp white blouse. ‘Nellie McGuire’s eldest boy was in Burma when Japan surrendered. I know she’s as desperate for news as we are, and since this is the first time you’ve got as far as this for a month, she’ll be downright grateful for any letters at all.’
‘There’s one from her boy . . . no, two, I believe . . . a couple of seed catalogues, some official-looking envelopes, and the rest from relatives in England,’ Bullwhip announced. ‘You’ve got one from your sister, three or four from them lads of yours, an’ two or three from England . . . didn’t recognise the handwriting on one of ’em.’
Nancy saw Andy’s lurking grin appear and could not help smiling herself. Andy had once remarked that Bullwhip was as curious as a woman, and she had countered by saying that she was always grateful that the mailman did not have access to a boiling kettle, or she was sure he would have steamed open all their mail and shamelessly read every word. Now, however, she simply accepted the batch of letters and pushed them into her blouse, thanked Bullwhip, and cautiously climbed back into the boat, which they had pulled along the bank until it was once more level with their embarkation point. Andy jumped down as well, causing the craft to lurch dangerously, then they both seized their oars and began to pole their way back through the raging waters.
In fact, the journey back was easier than the journey out had been, and in a remarkably short time Nancy and Andy were settled once more on the veranda. Nancy divided the mail, placing the McGuires’ in the drawer of the cane table, and spreading their own letters out on the top of it. The boys had already told her that the armed forces would repatriate them, even though Jamie had warned them that since he intended to marry a Canadian girl and to make his home in that country he was unlikely to remain with them for long. Jacko, on the other hand, intended to stay in Australia, though not on the cattle station. He meant to qualify as an accountant – he had always been good at figures – and would take up a post in Sydney as soon as his disembarkation leave had finished.
Pete had not said much about the future. His parents knew that he had been searching for Jess’s daughter whenever he had the opportunity, but Nancy assumed he must have given up by now and would very soon be home. She flicked through the pile of letters. None from Jamie or Jacko, which probably meant they were already on their way, but she seized upon the letter from Pete, opening the envelope so rapidly that she tore the page within and tutted at her own carelessness before beginning to read it aloud.
Dear Ma and Pa,Not long now and I’ll be back on the old homestead, giving you both a huge hug. First thing I’ll do, after I’ve ate the biggest steak you can provide, is to get on board that lanky chestnut stallion and go for a gallop, because I’ve not ridden since I left the Walleroo and I miss the horses almost as much as I miss my family.As you know, I’ve been trying to contact Jess’s daughter – we lost touch after only a couple of meetings back in May ’41 – but no luck so far. I feel kind of responsible for her because she was so alone and such a bonza kid. Liverpool’s a big city and the bomb damage is unbelievable. Folk have moved around a good deal, searching for accommodation, so it’s possible she’s left the area altogether. However, I’ll have one more try before I leave here, which looks like being some time in December, if I’m one of the lucky ones. You see, I suddenly remembered her telling me she worked in a factory assembling radio parts; I’m pretty sure that’s what it was. So next time I go to Liverpool, I won’t just look for Debbie Ryan, but for a wireless assembly factory. If I can’t find her there I guess I’ll give up, but I’m hoping.Must go; there’s a lecture on life in Civvy Street this evening, and I reckon I ought to attend, though my life in the peace is already mapped out, if the Walleroo will have me, that is! Can’t wait to see the old place – and you old folk! – again.Much love,Pete
Nancy laid the letter down and smiled rather mistily at Andy. ‘Old folk indeed!’ she said indignantly. ‘We’re young enough to have run the station with only the hands to help ever since the boys went off to the war. Still, I suppose when you’re in your mid-twenties, someone in their fifties seems as old as the hills. But oh, Andy, it’ll be so good to see them again! Of course, it isn’t done to have favourites – I’m sure we both love all our sons equally – but I’ve always had a soft spot for our Pete. The other two never were interested in the cattle or the station, for that matter never wanted to help with the muster, hankered after city life, shops, theatres and so on. But Pete just wanted to be like you. Do you remember when he was about three, finding him wearing your hat and carrying one of your guns, and heading out across the paddocks? I remember he said he was going to shoot crocs . . .’
Andy laughed with her. ‘Yeah, and when I asked him where he thought he was going, he said he wasn’t too sure because the hat had fallen down over his eyes so he could only see his little gum boots.’ He sighed and reached for the next letter on the pile and handed it to his wife. ‘Go on, you open it. You can read it to me whilst I finish my coffee,’ he added, reaching for his mug.
Nancy took the envelope, a frown creasing her brow. The letter had been sent from England but she did not recognise the handwriting; perhaps one of the boys was hurt and had got someone else to address it for him. Hastily, and with thumping heart, she opened the envelope and spread out the contents. She read the first few lines, her frown gradually clearing, then turned to the last page and smiled with relief. ‘Oh, Andy, you’ll never believe this! It’s from Debbie Ryan, Jess’s daughter; the child that our Pete has been trying to find. Well, by all that’s wonderful . . . oh!’
Just as she spoke the wind changed direction and the rain suddenly swirled on to the veranda, the heavy drops soaking everything they reached and the draught lifting Nancy’s skirt above her knees.
Andy stood up, grabbed the pile of mail and headed for the living room. ‘We’d best read the rest indoors,’ he shouted. Nancy scuttled after him, then exclaimed again as the thunder crashed almost directly overhead, making her flinch and lose her hold for a moment on the letter in her hand. Spitefully, the wind whipped the first page up into the air, and even as Nancy cried out in dismay some trick of the air currents caused the page to swirl beneath the veranda.
‘Oh, oh, oh!’ Nancy shrieked. ‘Can you get it, Andy? It’s gone right under the bloody veranda.’ Andy dumped the mail he was carrying down on the nearest chair and dived outside once more. He paused for a moment, peering at the board beneath his feet, and Nancy jerked his arm and pointed. ‘There! I can just see it through the floor,’ she shouted, raising her voice above the thunder. ‘Oh, Andy, do be careful.’
Andy, however, ignored her warning and dived beneath the veranda. There was a short scuffle, then a grunt and a stream of swear words, some of which made Nancy blink for Andy seldom swore in front of his wife. Then he emerged, with the page in his left hand and something else in his right; something which squirmed and wriggled and lashed about until he threw it on the ground and stamped on its head with one heavy leather boot. Nancy gasped; it was a snake, and she saw at once that Andy had been bitten, for the moment the snake stopped wriggling he held up his arm so that she could see the fang marks and would know what she must do. He came slowly up on to the veranda. Beneath the tan, his face was white, and for a moment Nancy could not think what her next move must be. Then, in a rush, all that she had been told about snake bites came into her mind and she straightened her back, took Andy gently by the hand and helped him into the long cane chair. ‘Stay there and don’t move, don’t sneeze, don’t smile, don’t do anything,’ she said rapidly. ‘I’ll fetch the medical box.’ She flew for the box, calling out to anyone within hearing as she did so. ‘The boss has been bit – a snake. I’ll radio for the doc as soon as I’ve done what I can. Oh, pray heaven that the plane is at Cloncurry and not answering a call in the other direction.’
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