Tiger Men (62 page)

‘Ah, the lovebirds,’ Oscar said upon their approach. He frowned. ‘I hope your intentions are honourable, Hugh – she is my sister you know.’

Caitie cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Hugh. ‘Should we tell him we’re engaged?’ she asked, and when he stared back at a loss for words she added, ‘We are, aren’t we? Good heavens, a kiss like that is the act of a fiancé, surely.’

Hugh grinned. She was thoroughly outrageous. ‘We’re engaged, Oscar,’ he said.

‘Goodo.’ Oscar ground the butt of his cigarette out with the heel of his army boot.

Caitie took a folded piece of paper from her purse and handed it to her brother. ‘I’ve been asked to give you this,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to do it in front of the family.’

Oscar unfolded the note to discover a photograph of Mary Reilly.

‘I saw her at nine o’clock mass this morning,’ Caitie said. ‘She’d hoped you’d be there so that she could give it to you herself, but I told her you were visiting relatives in Sandy Bay and had to go straight back to camp afterwards. In other words I lied,’ she added accusingly, ‘and in church, what’s more.’

‘Thank you, I’m very grateful.’

‘I do think you might have called on her to say goodbye; she very much hoped that you would.’

‘I have my reasons for avoiding Mary,’ Oscar said, skimming the brief note.
Dearest Oscar, carry this photograph into battle and know that my heart is yours. May the strength of my love protect you always, Mary.
‘I have my reasons, believe me.’ He shoved the note and the photograph into the pocket of his greatcoat. God, how he wished he hadn’t kissed her.

The minutes ticked speedily by and suddenly the guard was sounding the boarding call. Fervent embraces were shared by a number of people on the platform. Who knew when they’d next hold their son or dearest love in their arms again?

Oscar hugged his sister and climbed onto the train, leaving Hugh and Caitie to say their goodbyes.

‘All aboard,’ the guard called.

They shared a last kiss.

‘I was only joking about being engaged,’ Caitie said as they parted.

‘I wasn’t,’ he replied.

‘All aboard,’ the guard called again, and the train started to move off.

Hugh scrambled aboard and stood on the step waving as the train chugged its way out of the station. He kept waving until he could no longer see the fiery glimmer of red beneath her toque.

The Powell cousins and Max Miller returned from the Huon the next day, and after dinner in the Other Ranks mess tent the talk was all about David’s engagement.

‘We haven’t got the ring yet,’ he said, ‘but there was a whopper of a farewell party at Dad’s place on Saturday arvo and we announced it to the whole family. It’s official all right.’

Big Gordie laughed. ‘It’s been official since they were a year old,’ he said to the others, ‘David’s grandfather Quincy reckons he had them promised at their first birthday party.’

‘We’re talking about Jeanie, I take it,’ Wes Balfour said. David’s girl, Jeanie, had cropped up in conversation a number of times.

‘Yep,’ David couldn’t wipe the grin from his face, ‘it sounds a bit soppy I know, but Gordie’s quite right, we’ve been childhood sweethearts for as long as I can remember.’ He fished his wallet from his pocket and took out the photograph that he always carried. ‘That’s her,’ he said passing it around proudly. ‘Jeanie Müller, she’s Max’s sister. We all grew up together.’

Oscar turned to Hugh. ‘Seems to be a trend,’ he commented dryly, ‘mates’ sisters becoming sweethearts.’

‘Just as well she copped the looks in the family,’ Harry said, studying the pretty fair-haired girl in the photograph, ‘it’d be a right bugger if she’d turned out like you, Max.’

Then the ribbing started in earnest, Max taking it good-naturedly as he always did. Short and bull-like in build, he was not particularly prepossessing, it was true, but he was popular with the men and much respected for his sheer physical strength. Max, although a good eight inches shorter than his mate Gordie, was every bit as strong.

The photograph was passed back to David who kissed it flamboyantly before returning it to his wallet, which was a direct cue for Gordie, who reached for his harmonica. Gordie was the musical one and his harmonica had led to many a sing-along over the past weeks.

I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,

Borne like a vapour on the summer air . . .

The moment Gordie played the first note David burst into song, and of course he knew every word of the lyrics. He always maintained that Stephen Foster had written them just for him.

I see her tripping where the bright streams play,

Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.

The others joined in with the bits they knew and la-la-ed along to the bits they didn’t. Then a bloke at another table produced his guitar and very soon everyone in the ORs mess tent was singing.

The following weekend being the last rostered leave granted, it was the Balfour brothers’ turn to make their family farewells. Unlike the others, Wes and Harry didn’t need to catch the train home, they just walked the mile or so up to Pontville, then a further mile north and they were at the Stanford-Balfour property.

Just like the Powells’ gathering in the Huon, the Balfour boys’ farewell party was a huge family affair conducted in true country fashion. They congregated at midday on Saturday, all four generations of them, and the chosen venue was the old farmhouse so that Donald wouldn’t need to travel. Donald Balfour, now eighty, suffered shockingly from arthritis and was confined to a wheelchair for much of the time. His wife Amy, however, the matriarch of the clan, remained seemingly indestructible. It was Amy herself who cooked the massive baked luncheon that would feed them all. Three legs of lamb just to be on the safe side, she’d decided: her grandsons alone would eat one leg between them.

The families travelled to the farmhouse from their various homes on the property; Constance, the boys’ older sister, with her husband and brood of three; twenty-five-year-old Norman, their elder brother, with his pregnant wife; and of course the boys themselves, who arrived with their mother and father in Edwin’s brand new Model T Ford.

The day soon turned boisterous. The brothers, always quick to egg each other on, insisted upon driving the ‘Tin Lizzie’, as the popular American Model T Fords were nicknamed, and Edwin gave them brief instruction, freely admitting that he’d only just got the hang of the thing himself. Then he stood to one side and watched as his three sons took turns racing the vehicle up and down the quarter-mile drive that led from the house to the main road, seeing who could get it up to the highest speed.

It was Wes’s suggestion that they add another component to the exercise and pit the car against Belle. Belle was a coal-black, four-year-old mare, the prettiest and fastest horse on the property. Harry and Norm agreed that it was an excellent idea and Wes went off to bring her in and saddle her up.

A half-hour later, the entire family gathered in the front garden to watch as Harry called the start of the race.

He raised his hand high in the air. ‘Ready . . .’ he yelled. ‘Set . . . Go!’ and he flagged them away with a wave of his arm.

Norm took off in the Tin Lizzie and Belle leapt into action, Wes riding her at full gallop towards the main gates, Connie’s three small children squealing with excitement and running after them. But over the quarter-mile distance it proved no contest: Belle was the undisputed winner.

They switched places for the return trip – Wes drove and Norm rode – but Belle once again romped home for the win.

‘The car takes too long to build up momentum,’ Wes said as he climbed out in a cloud of dust. ‘We need a longer course. Why don’t we make it a race from the front gates to the bridge at Pontville. It’s your turn, Harry – you want to drive or ride?’

That was when Edwin finally put his foot down. ‘Harry will do neither,’ he said firmly. ‘The car’s not to be raced in the main road. You’ll stay on the property.’

‘Oh, rightio. Where do you reckon then, Norm?’

‘From here to our place,’ Norm suggested, ‘that’s a good mile.’

‘You’re on. What’s your pick Harry, the car or Belle?’

Harry, however, was destined for disappointment. ‘There’ll be no more racing,’ Amy said. ‘Sorry, boys, but I won’t have the roast dinner spoiled. Wes, see to Belle, we eat in half an hour.’

Amy’s word as always was final, and she disappeared inside with the other women to set the table for a luncheon that was already an hour later than she’d intended.

The boys actually weren’t too disheartened. Healthy appetites coupled with the prospect of one of their grandmother’s roast dinners formed a powerful distraction, particularly to Wes and Harry, who’d been living on army food.

They ate and drank for a solid three hours. After several plate loads of lamb and roast vegetables smothered in gravy, the men sat back with their glasses of ale while the women cleared the table, then twenty minutes later they hoed into massive bowls of the rice pudding and custard that Connie had brought along.

‘Crikey, we haven’t eaten like this for a while,’ Harry said.

‘And it’ll be a while before we do again. Make the most of it, I say.’ Wes passed his bowl to Connie for a second serve even though his belly felt about to burst.

After pudding, the women once again cleared the table, and then they served tea, although the men, even Donald, decided to stick with ale, at least for the moment. Norm was about to propose a toast, and you didn’t drink a toast with a cup of tea.

After refilling their glasses Norm rose to his feet. ‘I’d like to propose a toast to my brothers,’ he said. ‘I wish I was going with you boys, I really do . . .’ It was true, Norm had ached to enlist, but it wouldn’t have been fair. He glanced down at his wife who was eight months pregnant. Beth smiled sympathetically up at her husband, aware of how he envied his brothers their great adventure. ‘Frankly I don’t know how you’ll manage without me,’ Norm continued and everyone laughed, ‘but I’m sure you’ll find a way.’ He dropped the banter. ‘In fact I’m sure you’ll do this family great honour,’ he added seriously. ‘We’re proud of you, Wes and Harry, very, very proud, and we wish you a safe and speedy return.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Wes and Harry,’ he said.

The others all rose to their feet – at a nod from Connie the children did too.

‘To Wes and Harry,’ they chanted.

After that the brothers proceeded to get drunk, all three of them, not staggeringly so, but it seemed only right that they should. Men didn’t go off to war every day of the week.

Night was falling as the families started to wend their way homewards. Wes, however, didn’t accompany Harry and his parents in the Tin Lizzie. Wes didn’t go home at all. He borrowed a torch and set off in the dark for Pontville. His parents made no comment. He was clearly going to visit a woman, as presumably many a young man did before departing for battle, although they wondered just who the woman might be.

Harry didn’t wonder. Harry knew. Wes had been sleeping with the widow on a regular basis for nearly a year now. The widow worked behind the bar at the tavern and she was thirty-nine, nearly twenty years older than Wes. Harry was dead bloody envious. He couldn’t wait to lose his virginity.

The Balfour boys returned to camp late the following afternoon, and just over a week later the big day finally arrived.

On the twentieth of October 1914, a chilly spring Tuesday, the 12th Battalion, along with the 3rd Light Horse Brigade, assembled at dawn. Bulging kitbags slung over one shoulder and rifles over the other, they marched to the railway station at Brighton and boarded a train bound for Hobart. Then, upon arrival at Hobart Station, they marched the half-mile or so through the streets of Wapping and along Old Wharf to the newly-built Ocean Pier. There the entire battalion and the troops of the 3rd Light Horse were embarked on board the
SS Geelong
, a P&O merchantman of 8,000 tons now designated HMAT, His Majesty’s Australian Troopship. The
SS Katuna
, which was docked nearby, took on board the horses of the 3rd Light Horse, artillery pieces and the medical unit. The entire embarkation was completed by ten o’clock in the morning.

Due to military censorship, there had been no announcement that the troops were leaving, but word of mouth spread the news like wildfire and by mid-afternoon, as the hour of departure neared, the docks were packed not only with those from the city and suburbs, but also those who’d travelled from far and wide.

The Balfours had heard the news from their neighbours in Pontville, who had heard it from their neighbours in Brighton, and Edwin and Norm had jumped in the Tin Lizzie and headed for Hobart.

In the Huon, the Powells had heard the news from Simon Hawtrey, who had telephoned the post office in Franklin, and the entire Powell brigade, together with the Müllers, had set off for Hobart aboard the
SS Emma Jane
.

Other families had used whatever means they could to travel to the city and farewell the troops and, as the hours passed, the huge new dock of Ocean Pier became a seething mass of well-wishers.

There was no longer any point keeping the departure a secret so members of the battalion’s brass band struck up an impromptu series of rousing songs to match the occasion.

Aboard the
HMAT Geelong
, men leant from the railings waving to loved ones in the crowd. Those who couldn’t find a vantage point at the rails climbed high in the rigging to seek out the faces they knew, while others climbed up into the lifeboats that were hanging from davits. It seemed the entire ship was festooned with uniforms dangling like ornaments from a Christmas tree.

The Powell boys and Max Miller were glad now that they hadn’t been able to score a possie by the railing. The
Geelong
was docked facing the city so the men were all leaning from the starboard side. From their vantage point up in one of the lifeboats, Gordie, David and Max had a view from the port side as well. They’d spied the Hawtreys in the crowd on the docks early on, which was good, but they couldn’t believe their luck later in the day. They’d heard the honk of a steamer’s horn and there she was right beside them, the
Emma Jane
, with the whole damn tribe of Powells and Müllers aboard. The sight had sent the boys into a frenzy of screaming and waving. ‘Up here, up here,’ they’d yelled, finally catching their families’ attention. Then they’d quickly climbed down and raced over to the port side.