Short and Sweet (28 page)

The big, square kerosene cans came in pairs in wooden crates which could be used for all sorts of purposes. She had one empty crate in the kitchen as a storage cupboard for her household equipment, and as they became available she put others into the bedrooms to store their clothes. She sanded down the wood herself and made little curtains to hide the contents. They looked very nice, considering.

Jenny helped her with the sewing, trying so hard, she ignored the uneven stitches.

Peter turned eleven, already longing to leave school, though he’d have to wait till he was fourteen, like everyone else. He was born to be a farmer, she sometimes thought.

He and his sister would still have to help milk the cows before they went to school, because she couldn’t manage without their help. It was the same for all the groupie children.

Maggie tried to give her two a chance to play each day, but Bill got grumpy if he saw them ‘wasting time’. He got even more grumpy when she still refused to give him her money. She was able to earn a little extra sewing for other women, or doing washing and mending for men who came into the area to help clear more trees for new groups of settlers, or to make roads.

One day Bill came home for his midday meal looking smug and triumphant. ‘I got your money from Mrs Tennerson.’ He patted his pocket.

‘What do you mean,
you
got my money?’

‘I said she could give it to me to pass on to you, and she did.’

Her voice was cool as she held out her hand. ‘Pass it on, then.’

‘I need some extra this week.’

Maggie glared at him. ‘No, you don’t. You’re
stealing
it.’

And they were off into another row. No hiding it from the children these days. No hiding why he needed the extra money, either: to buy drink.

She hated the smell of his breath the nights he went drinking, and he never washed himself properly when drunk. What was the use, he said if she complained. He’d only get filthy the next day.

When things went wrong, none of it was ever his fault.

When things went well, she occasionally caught a glimpse of the old Bill – but less often these days.

Maggie didn’t tell her family in England how badly things were going. There was nothing they could do to help her so why worry them? At least Bill still worked hard, whether he was hung-over or not, but it was with the grim endurance of a man who loathed what he was doing.

What had he expected? Even she had worked out before they came here that cows needed milking twice a day, every day of the year.

And you couldn’t even be a few minutes late with the milking because the man who picked up the cream waited for no one, and it was the cream that earned the money.

Like some of the other groupies, they tried raising pigs on the skim milk that was left, but Bill couldn’t face killing them. The first time his hand shook and he turned pale, flinging the knife away. ‘I can’t do it. It was bad enough killing in the war, in self-defence. But these animals haven’t hurt me.’

She put her arms round him. ‘We can ask Mick to do it. He won’t mind.’

But that upset Bill too, because word got out and the other men teased him.

The children loved the new batch of piglets, and played with them, letting one escape by mistake, shouting with laughter as they chased it round the house. Even Bill watched in amusement, his arm going round Maggie’s shoulders, like in the old days.

Two days later, however, all the piglets escaped and couldn’t be found. She guessed Bill had let them out deliberately or else sold them to get money for drink.

After that he made arrangements to give the skim milk to a man in the next group, in return for some bacon when a pig was killed. They left the milk in old kerosene tins near the gate to be picked up once a day and clean tins were left for the next lot.

The man turned out to be Daniel Marr. He smiled at her, but didn’t have time to stop and chat.

She was proud of making every penny do the work of four and ensuring nothing went to waste. Even the sacks the flour and other groceries came in were used for towels and rough work clothes for the children.

There was only one thing that went to waste in their family, and she bitterly resented it: the money Bill spent on booze. He wouldn’t tell her how much savings they had left, which worried her greatly.

One day Daniel didn’t come to pick up the milk. Bill grumbled. ‘It’s not worth bothering, just for a bit of bacon. We should pour it away.’

But Maggie knew something must have happened to keep Daniel away.

Sure enough, her friend Elsie came that afternoon with the news that Daniel’s wife had died the previous night – just clutched her chest and dropped dead.

‘Oh, no! How’s he going to manage? Those poor little boys, motherless!’

‘The kids have gone to a neighbour’s house for the time being.’ Elsie looked at her sideways. ‘I didn’t think you knew the Marrs.’

Maggie could feel her cheeks heating up and turned quickly to check the kettle. ‘I’ve met Mr Marr and the boys a few times on my Sunday walks with Jenny. I didn’t realize his wife was that ill.’

‘She’s not been well since the baby, so their neighbours have been helping out. Daniel’s been doing some of the heavy housework, though how he finds the time, I don’t know. Unless he can get a relative to come and help him, he’ll have to leave. A man can’t run a farm without a wife, or look after young children, and if he sends them to live with relatives, he’ll still have to pay money to support them.’

Maggie couldn’t imagine him sending his sons away. Daniel loved his boys, tossed them in the air, teased them. ‘When’s the funeral?’

‘They’re taking her body over to Pemberton on Thursday. It’s more than time we got our own cemetery. I don’t know why it’s taking them so long to arrange it when permission’s already been given for one here.’

Maggie would have gone to the service if it had been local, out of respect, but there was no way she could get into Pemberton, fifteen miles away. ‘I’d better tell Bill. Maybe he’ll drive the skim milk across for a few days till Daniel sorts things out. Those pigs still need to be fed, after all.’

But Bill refused point blank to add another job to his busy days, saying he’d pour away the damned milk rather than do that.

‘Mr Marr’s just lost his wife! Other neighbours are helping.’

‘Well, I’m sorry for him but I’ve enough on my own plate in this godforsaken hole.’

She took her worries to Elsie, who spoke to her husband. That evening two men turned up at the Spencers’ house to make arrangements to pick up the milk for Daniel. They were very stiff with Bill, and Maggie knew they thought less of him for failing to do his bit.

So did she.

When they’d gone he turned on her. ‘What have you been saying to people?’

‘I only mentioned the milk to Elsie.’

He raised one fist and she darted behind the nearest chair, suddenly afraid of the burning anger in his eyes. ‘I’ll leave if you touch me, Bill Spencer! I swear it.’

‘And go where? If you tattle to your friends again about my business, I’ll give you a lesson in how a wife should behave.’ He brandished a clenched fist.

Then he was gone and she knew he would come home drunk.

Only this time he didn’t come home till morning. He’d slept under a tree, he said. It was more peaceful than sharing a bed with her.

He’d probably been too drunk to find his way home. Serve him right if he felt as bad as he looked!

But the incident upset her deeply. She’d never been afraid of him before. And the children must have heard the quarrel.

Part Four

Northcliffe, Western Australia, 1926

A
s the days passed, Elsie kept Maggie informed about how Daniel Marr was getting on after his wife’s death. ‘That man’s a battler if ever I met one. Says he’s not giving up his farm while he can stand upright. He’s paying neighbours to do his baking and washing for him. Me and Mick drove over in the cart to see them and take them a cake. It fair brought tears to my eyes to see those motherless lads doing the housework.’

‘I hope Daniel succeeds.’

‘I can’t see how. A farmer needs a woman to work alongside him.’

There was no sign of her friend on the Sunday walks now and she missed him.

Maggie went to collect the payment for two dresses she’d altered. She did all sorts of little jobs like that to earn her own money. Her husband didn’t like it. Bill didn’t like farming, either. Oh, he’d settled down after a fashion here, cleared the land and put some to grass for their cows. But he did nothing but complain about his new life.

She loved Australia, though. Having grown up in a mill town in Lancashire, she’d not expected that when they emigrated.

‘I gave the money to your husband,’ the woman said.

‘But you promised not to do that!’

‘My husband said I had to. I’m sorry.’

When Bill came back from tree felling that afternoon, they had the worst quarrel ever. She’d worked hard for her ten shillings. After he slammed out of the house, she put her head down on the table and wept – for the man she loved, changed by the war, for the happy family life that was impossible with a drunken father, and for her children, because she didn’t know how to protect them if Bill continued to go downhill.

She watched stony-faced when he went out drinking that night on the money meant for new dress material for little Jenny, who was growing fast. They’d have to wait for that now.

When Bill hadn’t come home by dawn she was both anxious and annoyed. He knew there were animals to be cared for.

She got the children up earlier than usual and the three of them set to work. Jenny and Peter would have to go to school late. She needed their help to get the cows milked and the cream separated, because it was pickup day. Even though they all worked hard, they only just got the cream to the gate in time.

There was still no sign of Bill and, after some hesitation, she gave in to Peter’s pleas to let him stay home and do the farm work.

Just before noon someone knocked on the door. Her neighbour Elsie stood there.

‘It’s bad news, love,’ she said gently. ‘Can I come in?’

What next? Maggie thought.

‘Tom Lester found Bill’s body down one of the side tracks. He’d been killed by one of those huge branches. You know how suddenly they can drop.’ Elsie leaned forward to clasp her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, love. The men are bringing his body back.’

Maggie sat there feeling utterly numb. It couldn’t be true. But when she looked at Elsie’s face, she knew it was. ‘I should be crying,’ she said in surprise. Instead her eyes felt burning and dry.

‘Grief affects us all differently.’

‘I can’t seem to take it in.’ And she felt more angry than grief-stricken. How was she to manage the farm without him? ‘The children. Can you fetch them in? I need to tell them before they see . . . anything.’

‘My Mick’s fetching them.’

There were footsteps outside and the children came in.

Elsie stood up. ‘I’ll leave you alone for a bit.’

Maggie waited till the door had shut then took a deep breath and told them.

Jenny burst into tears and flung herself into her mother’s arms.

Peter stared bitterly at the floor. ‘I suppose he was drunk again.’

It was shocking that an eleven-year-old boy should say such a thing of his father, even more shocking that it was true.

‘What are we going to do now?’ he asked in an angry tone. ‘Will we lose our farm?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t had time to think.’ She heard voices in the distance and stood up. ‘They’re bringing him back.’

The men had Bill’s body on a gate, covered up by an old blanket.

‘It was a heavy branch. Best the kids don’t see him,’ one man said gruffly. ‘We should put him somewhere outside, Mrs Spencer.’

She led them to the storage shed, standing with her arms wrapped round herself as they set down the man-sized bundle.

‘Do you want to look at him?’

‘No.’

‘We’ve sent for the doctor to certify his death.’

Elsie came to put an arm round her. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Send one of the children across to fetch me if you need anything, anything at all.’

Peter remained angry, Jenny tearful. In the end, Maggie said, ‘The cows and horse and hens still need looking after. Come on. Best we keep ourselves busy.’

But she couldn’t stop her thoughts buzzing round and round like flies on a piece of meat.

How terrible that Bill should survive the war and then die like this. Would she and the children have to leave the farm? Go back to England? To her surprise, she didn’t want to do that. Somehow, Australia had become home to her now.

It was four hours before the doctor came and pronounced Bill officially dead, scribbling a death certificate and offering his condolences.

That evening some men came round with a rough coffin they’d made. ‘The doc will let them know in Pemberton that we need to bury your husband tomorrow,’ one of them said. ‘And afterwards, we’ll take it in turns to give you a hand for an hour or two each day till you decide what to do. You can’t manage on your own.’

‘Thank you. I’m grateful.’

But she still couldn’t cry, just – couldn’t.

It wasn’t until the night after they’d buried Bill that Maggie wept, muffling her tears in her pillow. She wished so desperately they hadn’t quarrelled the last time they’d been together. She remembered their wedding day, how handsome he’d looked, how much hope they’d both had for the future.

It was impossible to sleep with the worry about what she would do now. Her neighbours were right. She couldn’t run a farm on her own; wasn’t stupid enough to try.

But she couldn’t bear the thought of living in a town again, either, and the kids would hate it after the freedom of life here. Nor did she want to go back to England. She loved the warmer climate in Australia. And she’d made so many friends now that she felt she’d put down roots in Northcliffe, just like those big trees.

When Elsie came across to see her the next day, Maggie poured all her worries out to her friend.

‘No one will mind if you take a week or two to work out what you want to do.’ Elsie hesitated. ‘But if you’re giving up the farm, could you let us know first, please? I don’t want to sound heartless, but my Mick would like to take it over, if that’s allowed. The older boys are big enough to do a man’s work and we have to think of their future.’