The Postcard (31 page)

Every day there was something exciting to explore: life boat drill to muster stations, just in case . . . games to play like table tennis, and drill, which the soldier’s teacher did with
the mothers and older children. They raced with bean bags and did jumping jacks and bends. They had relays and sports days. Jessie was good at deck tennis and Elsie joined in, while Desmond wheeled
Dulcie up and down to help her sleep in her go-chair.

There was a cinema for children, and adults later. He saw Donald Duck and Charlie Chaplin, Pluto, Mickey Mouse and the film
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
. Nurses helped mind the
babies to give their mothers a rest, but Desmond was too old for that and did some lessons at a table. He tagged along with Jessie to the tea dancing. Sometimes when the music started the ladies
had to dance with each other but then the PT instructor, Mr Boyd, and some of the soldiers were allowed to dance too. Desmond liked doing the Gay Gordons, singing ‘The Hokey Cokey’, and
skimming along the wooden floor, until he got a splinter in his knee.

The best thing of all was the food. Jessie said she’d never seen so much food in her life. For breakfast there was porridge and cereals and toast and bacon. For lunches there was cold beef
and salad and pies, and then in the evening they started all over again with soup and hot dinners and ice creams and pop to drink.

‘I shall get so fat, Bob won’t recognize me,’ Jessie complained, patting her stomach and laughing.

‘You’re not fat, you’re cuddly,’ said Mr Boyd, and she blushed. Jessie was very pretty with her red hair all coiled up so when she jumped her curls bobbed up and
down.

‘You’ve so many waves in your hair, it’s making me seasick,’ Mr Boyd said. He was a soldier’s policeman and on his way back to somewhere called a girl’s name,
Adelaide. He looked like a big brown bear with arms like Popeye. ‘Tough on the outside and soft as butter inside,’ whispered Jessie to Mrs Jackson when they left the dancing. There was
always a clutch of soldiers waiting to have a dance with them and walk them back to the cabin, but Jessie was having none of them.

‘I’m a respectable married woman,’ she said, waving goodbye to them all. ‘Louis, here, is my young man. He can see me safely home.’

Desmond was proud that she chose him but he liked Big Jim Boyd, who sat with them at mealtimes and always found an extra bun for him while Jessie’s back was turned.

‘Where are you off to, sonny, when you land?’ he asked, but Desmond didn’t know. ‘So what’s yer uncle Bob like?’ he added, and seemed very interested in
Jessie’s family.

Desmond told him about her being his nursemaid.

‘So she’s not your real aunty then?’

Desmond blushed, knowing he’d given the game away. ‘Oh, yes, she’s always been with me, and I was a pageboy at her wedding,’ he added proudly. Telling fibs wasn’t
as easy as grown-ups thought.

Soon the winter chill gave way to warm sunshine, and grey clouds to bright blue skies.

They were spending more and more time with Big Jim. He told them about his beautiful city and how his family built houses. Now he’d travelled the world he wanted to go back to see his
family and settle down. ‘With someone just like your aunty Jessie,’ he winked. ‘Has she got a twin sister somewhere, Louis?’

Desmond looked serious. ‘I don’t think so, have you?’

Jessie turned quite pink in the face. ‘Away with such nonsense. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of Aussie lassies waiting by the docks to snap you up off the ship. He’s just
teasing, Louis, don’t encourage him.’

He didn’t understand grown-ups. They said one thing and did another. Aunt Jessie dressed up in her new dancing frock, tied up her hair in a bunch of curls and joined in the ballroom
dances. Desmond wondered if Sergeant Bob would mind this, but he couldn’t remember what he looked like now. Big Jim was good-looking and he never ruffled his curls and called him girly. He
took time to show him round the ship and talked to him about the kangaroos and wallabies and koala bears in his picture book.

‘Now you remember to cover up your arms and shoulders and put sun cream on your face or your skin’ll peel like bark. Our sun makes you ill if you stay in it too long and we have
forest fires in the summer.’ He seemed worried that they might be going somewhere rough. ‘It’s not all oranges and sunshine. Outback life is tough, with little water and poor
tracks. There are no schools in some places.’ Desmond thought that sounded brilliant, but said nothing. ‘Do you know where you’re heading, Jess?’ he’d kept asking, but
she didn’t know either.

‘Bob’s family have a farmstead somewhere in South Australia. I hoped it would be like Scotland,’ she sighed. ‘But I guess not. To be honest, we never talked much about
it.’

‘Our country is huge, yours is tiny. I wish you the best of luck in your new life,’ he said one night. ‘I just wish . . .’

Jessie smiled and patted his hand. ‘That’s kind of you to worry about us, but we’re going to be fine, aren’t we, Louie?’

On the last night, Desmond watched them dancing the waltz and he knew Big Jim and Jessie were dancing like sweethearts and wanted to be alone so he wandered off out of sight while they said
their goodbyes. If they did kissy stuff, he didn’t want to see. It would only make him worry what Bob would think if he knew she was kissing another soldier.

Elsie Jackson was in the cabin, trying to settle Dulcie. ‘The little blighter won’t go down.’

‘You could sing her a lullaby. Jessie used to sing them to me.’

‘Go on, maestro, you have a go.’ Mrs Jackson smiled, waiting for him to sing.

‘ “Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing. Onward! the sailors cry . . .” ’ He began, and then stopped, knowing it wasn’t Jessie who’d sung that song but
someone else a long time ago and far away, a lady with a face he couldn’t quite picture.

‘That’s lovely, Louie, carry on. She likes that.’ But he couldn’t because it made him sad.

‘I’ve forgot the rest,’ he said, climbing into his bunk, feeling strange.

Jessie came into the cabin very late and kept the light off while she undressed. He thought he heard her crying in her sleep but perhaps he dreamed it.

Next morning, there was a new bustle and shouts of land, and then they sailed up the Sound into Sydney Harbour, seeing the great bridge before them. Word came from the crew that as they were the
first of the war brides from England, there would be film cameras to greet them and newspapers wanting interviews.

‘Best bib and tucker then,’ said Elsie. ‘Our friends back home can see us land in style. We must put on a show. Imagine us, film stars on Pathé News cementing the bonds
of Empire!’

There was a fussing of putting on make-up, hats and stockings. Dulcie was decked out in a cotton lacy dress and picture bonnet, while he was made to put on his kilt and tie. ‘We must fly
the flag for Scotland,’ Jessie ordered, fixing her grey suit with the tartan lapels.

Big Jim was hovering by the exit doors to say goodbye. He took Desmond aside. ‘Now you take care of your aunty, promise me. She’s a mighty fine woman and I wish her well, but just in
case you ever need a helping hand, here’s my address in Adelaide. If you ever pass my door you’ll be sure of a warm welcome.’ He shook his hand firmly. ‘Pleased to meet you,
young man, and good luck!’

When he released his hand Desmond found inside a pound note and a piece of paper with an address on it. Embarrassed by such riches, he shoved them in his jacket pocket and made his way out into
the sunshine. The crowds were cheering and waving to greet the new arrivals in this bright new world they called Australia Fair.

Aunty Jessie wasn’t keen to be in the photographs so they hung back until all the fuss was over, and then went through all the form-filling and checking papers. Desmond
noticed his name was written in her passport. He had no papers of his own.

Then they pushed their way through men kissing wives and babies. ‘Aw, look at that little kiltie with the curls.’ Someone wanted to take a snapshot but Jessie pulled him away
quickly. It was going to be hard to find anyone in the crush, and it was very warm.

‘Where’s Bob hiding?’ She laughed, but Desmond saw she looked worried.

He tugged at her sleeve. ‘We can find Big Jim. He’ll look after us,’ he offered. Big Jim was their friend.

‘Don’t be silly. And it’s Mr Boyd to you . . . Bob’s here somewhere.’ They searched around in circles. ‘He must have got the telegram.’ Then she
stopped, seeing a woman holding a piece of card on which was written, ‘Welcome, Jessie Kane.’

‘Look! That’s us, over there.’ She rushed across. ‘I’m Jessie . . . where’s Bob?’

A woman in a battered straw hat and baggy cotton dress waved back. ‘You’re here at long last. Welcome, Jessie. You took your time. I’m Bob’s sister, Adie Malone. He sends
his apologies; poor man’s crook again. And who’s this smart fella?’ Adie eyed him up and down with surprise.

‘This is Louie , my nephew. His mother is . . . well, not with us any more. He needed a home so I brought him with me. Bob knows him. He was our pageboy. He’ll be no
bother.’

Desmond saw Jessie gulping and looking nervous as she pushed him forward for inspection. He smiled and held out his hand. Adie’s felt like sandpaper.

‘I don’t know what Bob’ll say about this. Not enough room to swing a cat as it is. Still, he’s here now. Can’t send him back, now, can we?’ She tousled his
hair. ‘Wasted on a boy are these curls. Bob’ll soon get the shears to them. Come on, the truck’s parked up.’

‘Is it nearby?’ Jessie asked.

‘The truck’s round the corner,’ Adie Malone roared. ‘The farm’s four days’ stiff drive so be prepared for a bumpy ride. Let’s find somewhere you can
take off those fancy things. By the time we hit the dirt, they’ll be like rags. Hope you’ve not brought a lot of stuff like that with you.’

Jessie looked at Desmond, trying to smile, but her eyes were wide and worried. ‘Don’t worry, no one’s going to take any sheep shears to your hair. Just you wait and see, Louie,
it’s all going to be fine once we get there.’

Desmond was not convinced. How he wished no one had turned up and they could go home with Big Jim Boyd.

Callie glanced out of the window as the plane landed at the military airbase. Everything was looking grey and dismal. She’d not slept since that visit to Château
Grooten and the news of Ferrand’s death. Nothing had turned out well for them. What good had she done these past three years? What could she report that was of any value to the war effort?
All she’d done was get herself arrested. What she’d experienced in the camp might be useful in bringing criminals to justice but the very thought of those terrible months made her mind
confused and jittery. No one who hadn’t been there would ever understand the horrors.

She was processed in the air terminal and told to expect an interview in London at some later stage. No one seemed interested in her story but she told it as best she could to anyone who would
listen. It appeared the war was past history and her unit was being disbanded. Everyone was getting on with a new fight with their old allies the Russians. She filled in forms for vouchers and was
sent on her way north feeling as if she was of no importance now the war was over. Her uniform was ill-fitting, her hair was unkempt, her skin sallow from her illness. She must look nothing like
her old self. The first thing she did was send a telegram to tell Phee she’d landed. Then she headed off from the bus to the station in Oxford.

It was when she saw her reflection in the washroom mirror that she knew she couldn’t face them seeing the state of her. On impulse, she headed back into the town to find a hairdresser to
put some colour into her grey faded hair. She would’ve liked to find a dress, but with no clothing coupons there was nothing she could do to smarten up.

They’ll have to take me as they find me, she decided. I’ve been in the wars in more ways than one. She sat in a café on the High Street overlooking the golden stone buildings
of the university, feeling numb and listless. What are you doing here wasting precious time? she scolded herself. It was then she recognized that familiar sensation in the pit of her stomach of
fear: fear of being unrecognized, fear of being changed, fear that Desmond wouldn’t know her, that the world she’d left had moved on without her. It was like coming back from the
dead.

Seeing the ruins at Château Grooten had unnerved her, and meeting Karel confirmed to her what she had already sensed in her heart, but this was different. This was coming home.
I want
Dalradnor to be as it always was, a haven, my refuge, unchanged by time. I want all the clocks stopped until I return.
Only then could she pick up where she’d left off when Desmond was
three. All those months in prison she’d clung to images of Dalradnor for her sanity. Now, procrastinating in this café, she wondered how she’d feel when she saw it for real.

Phoebe dressed with care these days in clothes easy to zip or put on by herself. Suspenders and stockings were difficult so she wore knee socks with garters. The winter chill
stiffened her limbs and some of her fingers were useless, but at least she was independent from having to be dressed like a child. Betty came in from the village to fix her hair into a simple
chignon. Today, she wanted to look as normal as possible for her daughter’s return.

Mima prepared the bedroom with care, finding stems of fragrant daphne to scent her table. They lit fires to air the rooms. Burrell would go to the station to meet her train but say nothing.
Caroline must not suspect anything until she was safely home. Phoebe was dreading this encounter and wanted everything perfect to offset the moment when she must tell her the awful news. There was
game casserole warming in the AGA, and Callie’s favourite bramble crumble with custard. Phoebe was trying not to shake but she watched the grandfather clock crawl so slowly around the
afternoon hours. The telegram lay in the hall and now there was nothing to do but wait with dread until she returned.

‘I’m back!’ Callie joked, throwing her service cap through the door. ‘Where’s everybody?’