The Forgotten Pearl (16 page)

The three-thousand kilometre journey from Darwin to Adelaide was to take them a week. It took the whole day just to chug south to the end of the railway line at Larrimah, then they disembarked and joined a convoy of army trucks to take them the next thousand-odd kilometres of rough, unsealed roads to Alice Springs. At least they had a rough bench seat and a canvas canopy to shelter them for the three-day journey. At night, they camped in the bush on
the side of the road.

The red dust billowed up and sifted into everything – eyes, nose, mouth, bags, underwear. Poppy's hair was stiff with dirt. Once along the route, the drivers stopped so they could all splash in the creek to rinse off, but within half an hour of driving they were all as dirty as before.

The soldiers on the convoy were kind and tried to make the journey less tedious – singing songs, playing the mouth organ, telling jokes, organising card games and encouraging Honey to do tricks in exchange for titbits. Many of them were wounded and Cecilia busied herself tending to their injuries.

Poppy just felt numb, like something had died inside her. She wondered if she would ever feel happy again – if she could ever feel truly alive again. The tears brimmed just below the surface, threatening to spill over. Cecilia held her close with her good arm.

At Alice Springs they were billeted at the showground until they could get on a train to Adelaide. It was a slow, painful trip. The constant jolting and hard, wooden benches were agony for Cecilia's fractured ribs. At night they could hear dingoes howling in the desert. There was nothing to see but bleak, vast desert. There was nothing to do but worry about Mark and Edward, Bryony and Phoebe, Maude and Jack, and if they would ever see any of them again.

At last, in Adelaide, Cecilia rented a room and they had a long, hot bath to soak the stench and ingrained dust from their skins. They slept in a real bed for the first time in over a week. Poppy felt the cold, hard stone of fear and grief in the pit of her stomach start to soften. The respite was short-
lived – they were soon on a train again for another journey of more than two thousand kilometres from Adelaide to Sydney, via Melbourne.

On the softer upholstered seats of the overnight train to Sydney, Cecilia finally seemed to relax, no longer braced against the endless jolting, so painful to her fractured ribs. She began to reminisce, sharing stories from Poppy's childhood, then she moved on to stories of her own childhood, growing up on the south-west coast of Cornwall, near Penwith.

As Cecilia told her stories, Poppy felt herself gradually unwind, the fear abating.

‘Did you know that your great-grandmother, Tamsyn Tredennick, was a Pellar?' asked Cecilia. ‘A healer or, as some folk thought, a white witch?'

Poppy was intrigued and sat forward, her green eyes bright with interest.

‘A white witch? I know you always said we come from a long line of Cornish healers, but you've never mentioned witchery before!'

Cecilia smiled and stroked Poppy's hair. ‘In Cornwall, Pellars were the village wise women,' she explained. ‘It was a hereditary occupation, passed down from mother to daughter for centuries. The Pellars would cure illnesses and infertility, heal people and cattle, deliver babies and set broken bones.'

Cecilia gestured to her own fractured elbow nestled in its sling.

‘They were very powerful women,' continued Cecilia. ‘People would make long and difficult journeys to consult the Pellars in our family. However, they were not only healers. They had a reputation for foresight and making divinations, seeing what the future would bring.'

Poppy immediately thought of waking to her mother's screams, of the nightmares of Edward being injured when Singapore fell.
Does Mum have the power of second sight?

‘The Pellars were also believed to have the power to make curses and to lift ill-wishing,' Cecilia told her. ‘One of the skills each daughter learnt from her mother was the skill to make charms. The Pellars would sell small charm bags containing magic powders and written charms. Villagers believed the Pellars had the power to reverse bad luck and even find lost items.'

Poppy laughed. ‘Now that
would
come in handy!' she joked. ‘Did the charms work? I mean, could your grandmother Tamsyn really do magic? Was she really a witch? And if she was a witch, what about you? Did you learn, too?'

Cecilia closed her eyes in concentration. ‘Turn thee into a frog,' she thundered, shooting her finger out at Poppy dramatically. She peered at her daughter, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘No? Well, I guess my cursing techniques are a bit rusty!'

Poppy giggled, pushing her mother's curse finger away.

‘The Pellar power had a lot to do with the magic of suggestion,' Cecilia explained. ‘It's a little like the way an Aboriginal is said to fade away and die if a medicine man points a bone at him. The mind is so powerful that
if people truly believe something, it often comes true. I think my grandmother's charms often worked the same way.'

Cecilia gave Poppy a hug and said, ‘My grandmother did pass her knowledge on to my mother, but by late last century, people no longer believed in witches and curses in quite the same way. My mama was the village midwife and healer, but by the time I was growing up, science had taken sway. My mother taught me all she knew, but to work as a healer I had to train as a nurse at Penzance, just like Phoebe is doing now in Sydney.'

Poppy gazed out the window at the rolling farmland of New South Wales whizzing past.

‘I just want to say how proud I am of the way you worked in the hospital in Darwin during the bombing,' Cecilia said, her eyes bright with emotion. ‘You were brave, steady and calm. I think you would make a wonderful healer, too, if you want. The Pellar gifts flow in your veins.'

Poppy bent down to stroke Honey, who was asleep on the floor, to hide her discomfiture.

‘What about the second sight?' asked Poppy with a flash of mischief. ‘Do you think we have the Pellar gift of foresight?'

Cecilia frowned, thinking. She ran her fingers through Poppy's curly hair. ‘I believe I do have the gift of foresight sometimes,' she confessed.

‘I knew it,' said Poppy. ‘You felt something about Edward the night Singapore fell, didn't you?'

Cecilia paused, then nodded. She took Poppy's hand in her own.

‘Let me foretell your future, my gorgeous girl,' Cecilia
offered, her finger gently tracing the lines on Poppy's palm.

Poppy leant forward, fascinated.

‘Let me see,' began Cecilia. ‘The war will be over soon. You will study and learn and work and grow up into a beautiful young woman with the world at your feet. You will fall in love with a handsome young man – dark, no . . . Let me see, fair.'

Poppy's heart pounded faster.

‘You will marry him, and one day you will have beautiful, mischievous children full of life, like their mother. I'd like to say that you both live happily ever after, like in the fairytales, but of course life will throw happy times and sad times at you. But I know that you will face the hard times with toughness and courage, and you will revel in the happy times with joy and thanksgiving. You will have a good life.'

Cecilia kissed Poppy's palm and closed her fingers over the kiss. Poppy sighed, snatching her hand away. ‘You didn't really see all that,' she complained. ‘You just made it up.'

Cecilia laughed again. ‘Well, with all my power as a mother, I wish you a charmed life! Now, I think we should get some sleep – it's still a long way to Sydney.'

Cecilia tucked a blanket around Poppy, then herself. Poppy fell asleep to the rhythmic
clickety-clack
of the train rumbling over the tracks, dreaming of a life full of love and joy.

16

Journey's End

In the gritty dawn light, the size of Sydney overwhelmed Poppy. Its suburbs seemed to stretch forever. It felt drab, dirty and crowded as the train crawled through the inner-city slums. Poppy's heart sank. Where was the beautiful Sydney that Maude had raved about? The golden buildings of sandstone, the stunning harbour and gorgeous beaches?

From Central Station, they changed trains to the north of the city, then lugged their bags down to Circular Quay. The streets were littered with rubbish, the paint of the buildings cracked and peeling. The final leg of the journey was by ferry to Manly, on the north side of the harbour.

At last, Poppy could see what Maude meant. She sat back, completely exhausted, soaking in the spectacular views of the sparkling blue harbour, the towering grey arch of the Harbour Bridge, the grand waterfront buildings, and then, as they moved away from the city, the picturesque
islands, the soaring sandstone cliffs and the grey-green bushland.

Cecilia had sent a telegram from Melbourne so that, when the ferry pulled into the wharf at Manly, they were greeted by the welcome sight of Bryony, Phoebe and Maude waving madly from the jetty.

There were hugs, tears and laughter. Everyone helped carry the luggage as they walked up the steep Eastern Hill of Manly to Maude's Victorian terrace in Addison Road, high above the harbour.

A huge Moreton Bay fig stood out the front, with massive, spreading branches and tangled roots. The house itself was a substantial two-storey terrace, painted pale cream with a verandah across both levels, trimmed with white lace ironwork. The front garden was cobbled with mossy bricks and surrounded by box hedges. In the centre, a riot of dark-green foliage clung to a sandstone birdbath. Poppy could see a wisteria vine curling over an archway that led around the side of the house.

‘Mrs Trehearne, Miss Poppy, welcome to my humble home,' said Maude proudly, waving them through the brick gateposts.

‘It's beautiful, Maude,' Poppy replied, gazing up at the graceful old house.

Maude winked. ‘I
told
you Manly was beautiful,' she teased.

Maude knocked on the ornate front door, using its wrought-iron knocker. Mrs Tibbets opened the door and ushered them in, exclaiming over their long journey and offering them tea and scones.

Mrs Tibbets boiled the kettle and they all sat down for what must have been the best cup of tea of Poppy's life. While the girls had chattered and laughed about trivialities all the way up the hill, now their thoughts turned to the calamitous events that had occurred since they had last seen each other.

‘Tell us what happened in Darwin?' asked Phoebe. ‘The newspapers told us nothing. The first reports said that there were hardly any casualties and minimal damage, but that's not what we've heard through gossip. They say the Government tried to cover up the true figures to avoid panic.'

Cecilia shifted in her seat to ease her aching back and ribs. ‘I don't think anyone will ever know how many people died,' she replied, grim-faced. ‘I heard some reports suggesting the death toll might be as high as a thousand people, but I think that's unlikely. Others estimated that it might have been about three hundred. I don't know, but it was terrible.'

Cecilia and Poppy took it in turns to describe that terrible day in Darwin. Poppy struggled to find the words to describe what it had really been like. The girls all wept together when they heard about Daisy, Charlie and Iris. However, when the story was done, Poppy felt better, as though she could now lay the whole horrible experience to rest and move on.

Then it was Phoebe's and Bryony's turn to share their news. Phoebe was still working hard at the hospital and studying at night for her exams. Bryony had successfully joined up with the Australian Women's Army Service by fibbing about her age and was studying stenography,
typing and signals with women from all over Australia. She was now living in the barracks with the other new recruits.

While they shared their stories, Poppy took a good look at her sisters. She hadn't seen Phoebe for almost a year and was surprised at how much she'd changed. She was taller and thinner, more mature. Even Bryony had changed in a few, short weeks. They were no longer carefree girls – they were serious, responsible young women.

‘Mrs Trehearne, Maude and I are so thrilled that you have come to stay with us,' said Mrs Tibbets. ‘I want you to know that you are welcome to stay as long as you want. Harold will be stationed in Alice Springs for a while, so there's plenty of room. Maude and I will enjoy the company.'

‘That is so kind of you, Mrs Tibbets, but I must insist that we pay you some housekeeping money and rent,' replied Cecilia.

‘No,' said Mrs Tibbets firmly. ‘You and Poppy were so kind to us in Darwin – I would be delighted to repay your hospitality.'

‘Thank you, but we couldn't stay here without contributing,' Cecilia persevered. ‘Otherwise, Poppy and I could stay in a hotel until we find a little flat.'

Maude flashed Poppy a look of deep alarm.

Mrs Tibbets gave in gracefully. ‘Well, thank you. That would be a great help.'

Poppy and Maude exchanged a secret smile of relief.

After taking a week to recuperate from their strenuous journey, Cecilia made an appointment for Poppy to meet
the headmistress of Maude's school. On Tuesday, they dressed in their smartest clothes, perfectly pressed and starched, and made the journey by tram to Woodfield in North Sydney. Cecilia wore a navy suit, hat, gloves and stockings, despite the late-summer warmth. Poppy wore her white summer dress with short, sheer sleeves, white socks and black Mary Janes. A long, red, puckered scar ran down Poppy's forearm, an ugly reminder of her ordeal. She rubbed it self-consciously.

The school term had started weeks before and Poppy was acutely aware that she had only attended the tiny Darwin primary school until sixth class, where many of the children were barefoot and dressed in patched, hand-me-down clothes. The teachers had struggled to teach children from a vast range of ethnic backgrounds, many of whom settled their cultural differences with fist fights in the schoolyard. Then Poppy and Bryony had worked at home with a governess. Miss Grey had hated the steamy, hot climate and returned to civilisation after just a few months, leaving the girls' education somewhat neglected.

As the tram groaned up the steep hill away from the Spit towards Mosman, Poppy felt sick with nerves, her mind jumbled with thoughts.
What if the girls think I'm a country bumpkin? What if I'm so far behind the other girls and I have to repeat with the twelve-year-olds? What if they all think I'm stupid?

‘Do I look all right, Mum?' Poppy asked anxiously, fiddling with her white gloves.

Cecilia appraised her daughter, noting the carefully brushed curls, usually so unruly, the white Panama hat and spotless gloves. Poppy looked different. She looked
more serious, a little thinner, somehow older than she had just a few weeks ago.

Cecilia stroked Poppy's forehead with her gloved hand. ‘You look beautiful, darling. The other girls are going to love you.'

The school was housed in several gracious Federation houses, surrounded by playing fields. Poppy could see girls in navy gym tunics playing cricket on an oval, and another group playing tennis. They all seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves, like the girls Poppy had read about in her English boarding school stories.

Poppy felt her stomach clench again with nerves as they waited outside the headmistress's office. A secretary eventually showed them in.

The office was panelled in dark wood and contained a huge oak desk and shelves crowded with books. Sunshine glowed through the stained-glass window. Gilt-framed oil paintings of former headmistresses gazed down at them from the walls. A red tabby cat lay sleeping on the window seat among the cushions.

A stern-looking, middle-aged woman sat behind a desk piled with neat towers of paper. She rose to greet them, holding out her hand. She was wearing a grey suit, with her steel-grey hair pulled back into a bun.

‘Good morning, Mrs Trehearne. Good morning, Poppy. My name is Miss Edith Royston. Welcome to Woodfield.'

‘Good morning, Miss Royston,' Cecilia replied, shaking hands. ‘Thank you for seeing us.'

‘Hello, Miss Royston,' added Poppy, also shaking hands.

‘A nice, firm handshake,' Miss Royston noted with approval. ‘If the girls don't have a good handshake, I usually send them to the back of the line to try again. I believe a firm handshake is a sign of a strong character.'

She examined Poppy closely. A smile lit up Miss Royston's somewhat stern face so that she no longer looked so forbidding.

‘Your mother tells me that you have recently come from Darwin after the bombing raids, Poppy? It must have been rather frightening.'

Poppy thought back to her experiences. ‘Yes, I suppose it was, Miss Royston,' she replied, ‘but at the time we were so busy trying to help the patients at the hospital that we didn't have much time to think. We were all at the hospital when the Japanese planes arrived, and many of the men couldn't walk.'

Miss Royston nodded thoughtfully. ‘We have made numerous preparations for air raids here, including digging slit trenches in the playground and building an air-raid shelter in the cellar,' she said. ‘However, I would be interested to know if you have any suggestions, Poppy, having experienced Japanese air raids firsthand?'

Poppy thought back to that terrible day of death and destruction. She saw the image of Daisy and Charlie huddled in the trench, Daisy's white apron signalling to the Japanese where they were hiding.

‘In Darwin, all the nurses were wearing white uniforms, which makes them more visible to the bombers,' Poppy explained. ‘I noticed that all the girls here wear white shirts and white hats, so you might want to do something about that.'

Miss Royston frowned, pulling a piece of paper towards her and scribbling down a note. ‘Good point. I'll make sure the girls are briefed to leave their hats behind if there is an alert, but to take their blazers to cover themselves up.'

Miss Royston asked Poppy a number of questions about her experiences in Darwin, then smiled warmly. ‘I think you are exactly the sort of young lady we want at our school, Poppy. At Woodfield, we aim to raise young women of spirit and resourcefulness. Strength of character is the one thing that can never be taken away from you. I believe that it is just as important for young women to serve their community and their country as it is for their brothers.'

Poppy felt a surge of pride at the compliment. ‘Thank you, Miss Royston.'

The headmistress turned to Cecilia. ‘At Woodfield, we aim to provide the girls with a rigorous education in literature, mathematics, history, French, Latin, natural science, art, music and games. Many of our girls sit their Leaving Certificate examinations and go on to university, and we are very proud of their scholastic achievements.

‘I know Poppy has had a patchy education over the last few years, but she seems like a bright girl, so I'm sure if she works hard she will catch up easily. We will put her in second year with the other girls her age and see how she goes.'

Poppy felt a sense of relief – Miss Royston wasn't going to make her start in a lower grade.

‘I'm sure Poppy will study hard,' Cecilia concurred. ‘We are very grateful that you are prepared to take her in the middle of the school term.'

Miss Royston leant forward. ‘Since the war began, our motto has been “business as usual”,' she explained. ‘We have made the decision not to evacuate the students to the country. The girls have all been working hard to do their bit for the war effort – knitting socks and rugs, raising money for the Woodfield Comforts Fund, rolling bandages, collecting scrap metal for recycling and preparing care packages for soldiers. Poppy, you will be expected to join in with these activities on top of your schoolwork and games.'