The Sequin Star (12 page)

11
Happy Valley

On Wednesday, Jem and Claire hurried through their jobs. Jem had invited Rosina and Claire to go with him to visit his family at Happy Valley at La Perouse. Claire was worried about Rosina travelling the long journey by tram, ferry and tram, but Rosina was determined not to miss out. She was still on crutches but swung along more easily now.

The tram pulled up on the main street and the three climbed on board. Jem paid their fares to the uniformed guard. The tram was crowded with lots of people clutching bags of shopping and small children. A man in a patched and faded suit stood up and doffed his hat at Rosina, offering her his seat. She sank gratefully onto the bench while Jem and Claire hung on above her.

At Milsons Point they changed to a small ferry crossing over to Circular Quay.

It was a glorious day. They settled on the bench seats out in the sun. The ferry chugged across the water with the breeze whipping up a fine, sparkling spray, which settled on Claire's face. Looking up, Claire could see the familiar arch of the big, grey bridge. She had often walked across it with friends into the city.

‘Gosh – it's huge,' said Jem. ‘Do you remember, Rosina, when we were in Sydney a year ago, the two halves of the bridge hadn't joined up yet? There was a wide gap in the middle.'

‘Yes, but it looks magnificent now, doesn't it?' replied Rosina, gazing upwards.

‘It's one of the world's greatest engineering marvels,' Jem explained to Claire with pride. ‘It's the largest single-arch bridge in the world and cost well over four million pounds. Those pylons are nearly three hundred feet tall.'

Claire smiled at his enthusiasm. Rosina rolled her eyes.

‘They call it the iron lung,' added Jem. ‘It has kept hundreds of men in work during this depression. For many Sydneysiders, it's a real symbol of hope, defiance and strength.'

‘I've never really thought about it like that before,' Claire confessed. ‘I just thought of it as a bridge.'

Claire glanced across towards the city and had a shock. It was as though she was looking at a different city to the one she had known all her life. There were no shiny glass skyscrapers, no built-up expressways and, most surprisingly, no glossy white sails of the Opera House. Instead, there was a cluster of low-rise buildings along the foreshore, a tangle of wharves and, at Bennelong Point, a square fort-like structure.

‘What's that?' she asked.

Rosina shot her a questioning look. ‘Fort Macquarie tram station.'

At Circular Quay, they jostled through the crowds to the tram station. There were men standing out the front dressed in three-piece suits with hats and ties and cardboard signs tied around their necks, begging for jobs.

Claire read the sign around one man's neck: ‘I want work not charity. Age 37. Fifteen years accounting experience. Returned Serviceman. Family man. I'm a decent man who wants a decent job.' He looked at her with sad, desperate eyes.

Claire glanced away feeling a hollow in the pit of her stomach. She wished she could do something to help him and all the other men who were standing there trying to preserve their hope and dignity.

It was standing room only as the tram jolted and rattled all the way south to La Perouse on the northern shore of Botany Bay.

‘It's not far now,' said Jem.

As the tram rounded a corner, an extraordinary sight greeted them. Sheltered in a gully among the sand dunes were dozens of shanty homes and tents. They were built from sheets of tin, cardboard, scraps of timber and sacks coated with lime and lard to make them weatherproof. Some had bright flower gardens and vegetable plots, others looked forlorn and neglected.

‘Welcome to Happy Valley,' said Jem, waving his hand towards the camp. ‘Population three hundred and thirty-odd – and growing rapidly.'

They jumped off the tram and Jem led the way towards the dunes. Urchins were running and playing everywhere, along with dozens of dogs of many breeds. The boys wore baggy shorts with suspenders and shirts, while the girls wore knee-length dresses. None of them had shoes and most had raggedy, short hair. Claire couldn't believe how thin the children were. Ropes of washing were strung up between shacks. Many huts had a campfire out front.

Several children were gathered around a tap in the middle of the camp. Some had billy carts that were filled with a variety of containers – buckets, kerosene tins and billies. Others had poles across their shoulders with buckets suspended on each side. The children were filling them with water then hauling the carts back to their homes.

‘Jem! Jem!' came a chorus of cries. A gaggle of barefoot children darted towards them. There were six of them, ranging in age from about twelve to four. Several flung their arms around Jem, hugging, wrestling and punching him. Most of them had sandy-blonde hair and a mass of freckles, just like Jem.

‘Kids, these are my friends Rosina and Claire, who work with me in the circus,' said Jem. ‘And these are my brothers and sisters.' He pointed in descending size: ‘Nancy, Tibby, Billie, Freddie, Becky and little Lizzie.'

‘Hello,' said Claire and Rosina. Some of the children looked bashful for a moment and then they started to talk over the top of each other: ‘Jem, tell us a story about the circus. Are you performing in the ring yet? I caught a rabbit last week. Mum's made spiced raisin cake for tea. Can we play cricket? Did you bring us a present? Archie's dog had puppies. Archie's mum says we can have a pup for our very own, but Mum says she doesn't know how we could possibly feed it.'

Jem sank down on his heels and spoke to his youngest sister, a solemn-eyed child who was clutching a doll sewn from rags. ‘Who's this, Lizzie? Did Mum make her for you?'

Lizzie nodded. ‘She's my dolly. She called Lucinda.'

‘Lucinda's a very fine name. Now, would you and Lucinda like a piggyback home?'

Lizzie nodded again so Jem swung her up on his shoulders and carried her through the sandy laneways between the shacks. He tried to answer one question before another was asked.

‘Here it is,' Jem said to Rosina and Claire.

He paused outside a freshly whitewashed hut surrounded by scrubby trees. At first glance it looked pretty with a riot of orange nasturtiums, red geraniums and purple petunias growing in kerosene tins around the doorway. Then Claire noticed it was patched together with a hotchpotch of materials, with a hessian sack hanging from the doorframe. There were only two windows, neither of which had glass, with timber shutters propped open to let in fresh air.

To the side was a vegetable garden planted in halved fuel drums that contained beans, cabbage, cauliflower, tomatoes, radish, parsley and lettuce. Another pair of drums held rainwater.

‘Mum, Mum,' called Tibby through one of the windows. ‘He's here! Jem's home!'

A faded woman came to the door, wiping her hands on an apron. A huge smile spread across her face and her eyes brimmed with tears.

‘Jem, my dear boy, welcome home,' she said, her voice cracking. ‘Come in, come in.'

She hustled everyone inside, surreptitiously wiping her eyes on the corner of a tea towel. Jem introduced Rosina and Claire.

Claire tried hard not to stare as everyone crowded inside the sand-floor shack. There were two rooms – a sleeping room and a combined kitchen–living room, divided by a wall made of sacks. More flour sacks had been sewn together and thrown on the ground as rugs.

One wall held a fireplace made from an iron fuel drum cut in half. The chimney was a corrugated iron pipe. Hanging over the brick hearth by a metal bar was a huge kettle and a flame-blackened stockpot. A camp oven sat over the glowing coals, releasing an appetising aroma of hot nutmeg and cinnamon. A stack of driftwood sat in an iron bucket on the hearth.

Clothes hung from nails on a timber pole that held up the roof. Furniture had been made from packing crates and scrap timber. There was no electricity. Instead, candles were stuck in glass bottles scattered around the room while a glass kerosene lamp stood in the centre of the table beside a pile of chipped enamel plates and mugs, and a jar of cheery geraniums.

It was very crowded with everyone inside. The sun beating down on the tin roof, together with the cooking fire, made the little hut feel uncomfortably hot. Claire felt a sharp itch on her leg. She looked down and realised that several tiny black insects were hopping on her legs – fleas. She flicked them away quietly but in a moment they were back.

Jem pulled some presents out of his rucksack to distribute among the children: glass marbles, a cricket ball, two tin whistles and a packet of boiled lollies. For his mother, there was food: three apples, a bag of raisins, a large tin of corned beef and another tin of strawberry jam. The children exclaimed at the sight of the presents, chattering with enormous delight.

While the children were taking turns blowing the whistles and rolling marbles down the table, Jem slipped a small calico bag into his mother's hand. ‘And a few shillings to help you out.'

Mrs Bates cupped his face with the palm of her hand. ‘Bless you, Jem. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

Jem flushed. ‘It's nothing, Mum. I just want to know that you and the kids are all right.'

‘Of course, we're fine,' she assured him as she packed the food offerings away on a shelf.

‘I'll have a lot more for you next week when I sell my rabbit skins,' Jem promised.

Mrs Bates sat down on the one proper chair. ‘Thank you. It certainly helps, dearest.'

Nancy made them all a mug of tea, sweetened with condensed milk. Claire sipped on hers slowly.

‘Tell us a story about the circus, Jem,' begged Tibby. ‘You promised you would.'

‘Tell us 'bout the effalants,' demanded Lizzie.

Jem grinned at her mispronunciation. ‘The
elephants
' names are Elsie and Empress. You should see them playing cricket,' Jem enthused. ‘Our Elsie would give the great Don Bradman a run for his money. I think she should be playing for Australia during the England tour.'

Jem stood up and mimed Elsie batting with her trunk.

‘Elsie's favourite thing, though,' Rosina added, ‘is to be cuddled. Elephants are very affectionate.'

‘You've never been kissed,' joked Jem, ‘till you've been kissed by an elephant.'

Mrs Bates laughed out loud, but her laugh soon turned into a deep, hacking cough. She fumbled in her apron pocket for a rag and coughed into it.

‘Here, Mum,' said Nancy, pouring her another cup of tea.

‘Are you sick, Mum?' asked Jem. ‘I
don't like the sound of that cough.'

Mrs Bates shook her head. ‘Just a crumb that went down the wrong way.' She took a few sips of her tea before changing the subject. ‘Why don't we all go down to the beach for a picnic. The kids thought you might like a swim at the bay.'

Jem grinned. ‘Super idea. I haven't swum in the sea for an age.'

Mrs Bates pulled the camp oven off the coals and opened the door. She pulled a cake out and wrapped it in a flour sack to carry to the beach.

The younger children raced ahead to show the way. Rosina was limping, so Claire walked beside her slowly, behind Jem and his mother. She could hear them talking.

‘How is everyone?' asked Jem. ‘Have the kids been well?'

Mrs Bates coughed again into her rag. ‘Mostly well over summer, thank heavens,' replied Mrs Bates when she had recovered her breath. ‘Although the scabies've been bad. In winter it'll be harder.'

She stopped for a moment and leant over.

‘You look a bit thin, Mum. Have you been eating properly?' Jem asked, examining his mother carefully.

‘We do all right,' Mrs Bates assured him. ‘The fishermen sometimes give us a salmon that they can't sell, the dairy donates milk, and of course we have the veggies and whatever I can get with the susso. Everyone shares what they can.'

Jem nodded.

‘And you?' asked his mother, her voice softening. ‘How is the circus treating you?'