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| 'Judy was seven and Andrew four when their mother died.' |
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| Farm transportation - early method, by Gabrielle Bridges. |
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| Their maternal grandmother 'returned to the city, saying nobody could be expected to cope with two half-wild children, an infinity of flies and drought.' |
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| Farm transportation - later method, by Gabrielle Bridges. |
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As she stepped down from the train Judy’s eyes searched for Ruth. She felt foolish replaying a moment thirty years old, but the compulsion was irresistible.
It was Andrew, however, who was waiting for her, dark-eyed, haggard. When he pulled away from her embrace with a muttered ‘I’ll get your bag’, Judy sighed. They’d been close as children.
Her brother drove straight to hospital. The casket was there because the closest funeral parlour was eighty kilometres away. Together they looked down at the craggy face relaxed in death. Judy shivered as childhood memories of an angry giant reverberated deep inside her.
It was hard to believe the old man was gone. No more sarcastic comments, no demands to be picked up from this plane, driven to that station, no grousing about the lack of moral fibre in the younger generation. She shivered again and, putting an arm through Andrew’s, whispered ‘C’mon, I need a drink.’ This time he didn’t pull away.
The locals left them alone at the hotel. Judy was grateful for their tact. She struggled to keep a conversation going with her brother; commonplaces about her job and her children currently staying with a friend, her youngest’s illness which had prevented her from coming before today, the painting she was doing around the house. Andrew nodded occasionally, knuckles white around the glass. Neither of them mentioned their father. She’d often wished they could talk, really connect, but couldn’t find the words to bridge the gap between a divorced city-dwelling teacher and shy bachelor farmer.
Judy remembered him as a quiet, sad-eyed child. Their mother’s ill-health had cast a pall over the whole family and, over the years, their father had spent more and more time away from home on community affairs when not working on the farm. Although only three years older, Judy always tried to shield Andrew from their father’s unpredictable moods and the vagaries of the hired help which came and went with monotonous regularity.
Judy was seven and Andrew four when their mother died. The four older children were sent to boarding school and their maternal grandmother came to stay. The two of them had sighed with relief a year later when she’d returned to the city, saying nobody could be expected to cope with two half-wild children, an infinity of flies and drought.
Then Ruth had come. She kept house and supervised the children’s correspondence lessons in a soft voice made mysterious by a foreign accent. The kitchen became an inviting haven; warm smiles, hot bread fragrant from the oven, a tantalising variety of fresh-baked biscuits. It was Ruth who had offered comfort when her father announced that Judy was going to boarding school. The woman had soothed the girl’s fears, hidden sweets in the suitcase and promised to be at the station waiting when she returned home in the holidays.
However, it was her father who was standing there after that long first term. Judy had only paused to give a dutiful kiss before demanding ‘Where’s Ruth?’
‘She’s left. She’s getting married.’
‘Left? But she said ...’
‘Never mind what she said. She’s gone. Now get in the ute.’
Bewildered, Judy sat silently while her father drove into the town and stopped outside the post office to collect his mail. By the time she saw the familiar figure walking down the street, her cheeks were damp. The girl jumped out of the vehicle and hugged Ruth enthusiastically. She was asking eager questions when her father’s hand grasped her shoulder.
‘Get back in your seat.’ His face was flushed, a vein throbbing on his temple.
Frightened, she obeyed, turning back to see Ruth frozen, hand over her mouth.
Later she had learnt that Ruth had been the sole survivor of a German-Jewish family. The poignancy, and sheer improbability, of such a person ending up in a quiet Australian country town struck her deeply, as well as the fact that someone who’d survived the Holocaust could be so warm, so alive. She found out that Ruth lived in the township with her husband and often thought of trying to visit during school holidays, and later, on her annual duty visits to the farm, but the mystery surrounding her departure always held her back. How she had missed her!
Blinking back hot tears, Judy drained her glass and looked over at Andrew: ‘Where's everybody getting together tonight?’
‘Aunt Marjorie's.’ His face lightened. He’d always been fond of his father’s sister, enjoying her ready humour as much as her generous helpings of food.
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| 'This was the big cousin who had given them unforgettable outings in the year after she had finished school ... ' |
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| With cousin Justine at Aunt Marjorie's farm. Photographer unknown. |
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Twenty kilometres out of town they turned off at the white letter-box beside a stand of peppercorn trees. The long, low farmhouse was visible from the road, with their aunt’s precious standard roses, thickened and gnarled with age, offering a splash of colour in front of the deep verandah.
Dogs barked a greeting. Andrew and Judy followed a dark passage to the kitchen, where the rich fragrance of baking competed with a simmering curry. Their aunt, ample frame encased in a floury apron, gave them rib-crushing hugs, then called out 'Justine!'. Their stocky cousin strode into the room and embraced Judy without saying a word. As the two women stood locked together, tears sprang to Judy's eyes. This was the big cousin who had given them unforgettable outings in the year after she had finished school, for whom she had been a flower girl, but then had then rarely seen following her cousin's move across the border with her new husband.
Footsteps in the hall attracted Judy's attention. She drew back, brushed her eyes with the back of her hand and turned around in time to see a slightly-built young woman come to the doorway. She stopped, blushing, greeted them both shyly, then hurried away. Judy looked after her curiously. She seemed about twenty-five, younger than her cousins, but somehow familiar. Andrew had obviously recognised her, but it was Aunt Marjorie who answered the unspoken question.
‘That’s Hannah, Ruth Greene’s daughter.’ Her eyes twinkled unexpectedly. ‘She offered to help with the baking.’
Judy ignored the older woman’s amusement, her mind snagging on the family resemblance. Hannah had Ruth’s narrow, fine-boned face, with the same deep brown eyes which had sparkled with life, thirty years ago. She envied the girl for having such a mother.
‘Judy?’
She came back to the kitchen with a start, relieved that tears in her eyes would be considered normal under the circumstances. ‘Yes, Aunty?’
‘Will you do the second reading in church tomorrow?’
Dad had been a bit of a bastard, but he'd had it hard: an alcoholic father, then an invalid wife and raising six children, plus he had worked hard on behalf of the farming community. Yes, she’d help give him a good send-off. ‘Sure. And, Aunty, thanks for organising everything.’
‘No trouble, my dear.’
Their eldest brother, Paddy, a local farmer, walked in, followed soon after by her two sisters. The middle brother arrived half an hour later. People were coming and going the entire evening. By ten o'clock, Judy's head was throbbing and she drew Andrew aside.
‘Can we go home?’
‘Sure.’ He looked relieved.
He drove along the narrow roads in silence. How odd that I still call it ‘home’, Judy mused. I haven’t lived here in over twenty years.
At the front gate, Judy noticed that the drum which served as a mail box had received a coat of blue paint since her last visit. The kilometre-long corrugated track ended in a driveway lined with forest red gums. This widened into a large circle to include the homestead and sheds, a welcome belt of green in the parched brown paddocks. The old homestead sprawled within its gardens; fruit trees out the back, sides lined with pittosporums, oleander, and hardy shrubs.
Judy hesitated at the door to her old bedroom, then pushed it open with her case. The flowered wallpaper and dusty pink carpet were still the same. Nothing had changed, and yet everything. A smile enlivened her drawn face. It would be fun to bring her children here now. Three years earlier, her father had commanded them all to attend a family meeting. Belligerently, he'd announced that the farm was to go to Andrew, and that they would all get a cash settlement from his estate if they didn't challenge the will. The amount astounded Judy. He must have done well off the farm, though, of course, he'd also had a Parliamentary salary for twenty years. No-one had demurred. He'd already helped his eldest son to set up his own farm and the rest of them preferred city life.
Over their tea of cold roast mutton and salad, she tentatively asked Andrew if she could bring the children to stay in the next school holidays.
‘The kids? Of course, Judy. I’d love that.’ His whole face lit up. ‘I haven’t seen much of them.’
‘Sorry about that, but ...’
‘Judy, I understand.’
‘Andrew, how on earth did you put up with him?’
‘The farm ... it’s my life.
She gave a sudden grin. ‘Now you’ve got this place to yourself, you’re quite a catch ... I’ll bet you’ll soon be shelling out for kids’ clothes, medicines and all the rest.’
To her surprise, her brother hurriedly left the table and busied himself filling the kettle. Smile broadening, Judy looked up at her shy brother.
‘What haven’t you told me?’
He shook his head.
She wanted to quiz him further, then remembered the scene in her aunt’s kitchen. Was Hannah the girl? If so, no wonder he’d kept it quiet. Dad had refused to talk about Ruth after she'd left to get married; Judy could imagine his reaction to Ruth’s daughter. Best leave the whole topic alone for now.
‘Well, I’m for bed, Andrew. Goodnight.’
He looked around, disconcerted. ‘Yeah, sure ... goodnight.’
The church was packed the following morning. Andrew and Judy walked self-consciously down the aisle with the others, trying not to stare at the coffin, which bore the folded Australian flag in the centre, flanked by an Akubra hat and a simple sheath of white lilies. Other flags were draped over the ends.
The eulogies seemed to go on forever. Judy was relieved that the speakers kept to the truth: nothing was said about the deceased being a loving father or anything else about him personally, just a record of his farming achievements, contribution to the community and strong religious faith.
When a soloist sang The Lord is My Shepherd, Judy’s eyes smarted unexpectedly. She could feel Andrew trembling, so looped one arm through his, leaning against him for mutual comfort. How strange, she thought, that the old man’s death could shake them so much.
Outside the church, Judy tried to keep an eye on Andrew. He looked shaky. After all, he’d been the one who’d lived with Dad the longest, which meant he’d copped the most flack and, paradoxically, that he’d probably miss him the most. At least now he’d be able to run the farm his own way, without the old man’s carping.
At the cemetery, when they scattered petals from Aunt Marjorie’s roses on the open grave, she felt a sense of relief. This chapter in their lives had ended. He was no longer looming over them.
The wake was held at the local hall. People crowded around them, offering condolences. They accepted the comments politely, but said little.
Judy was talking with two cousins when she heard someone speaking with a European accent, exotic in this setting. She looked over to see a small woman with iron-grey hair standing just inside the double doors of the hall. Heart suddenly hammering, Judy hurried over.
‘Ruth?’
‘My dear, I’m so sorry about your father!’ The deep brown eyes were glowing with affection. Judy found both her hands clasped warmly.
‘Thank you, Ruth, and thank you for coming.’
‘Of course I came. I have known your family for so long. I just couldn’t get here earlier. My grand-daughter is sick. I promised her mother that I would call in after the service.’
‘Still looking after everyone!’ Judy looked down, smiling, feeling huge beside this petite woman.
‘Ach! It is no trouble.’
The friendly gaze and the day’s events conspired to loosen Judy’s tongue. She suddenly blurted out, ‘I’ve always remembered you. You were so warm. It meant a lot to me.’
Ruth’s face lit up, but she shook her head from side to side. ‘Child, you will make me cry. Why ... I loved you and little Andrew.’
‘I knew ... I could feel it.’
The two women stood facing each other for a long moment, then Judy’s questions spilled out. ‘What happened? Why did you leave? Why was my father so angry?’
‘He wanted me to marry him, but I loved someone else.’
Judy was stunned. ‘He loved you? I never ... I mean ...’
‘Well, perhaps … he wanted a wife, a mother for his children. After I said no he was very embarrassed. The situation became difficult. I had to leave. You understand?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Judy shook her head in amazement. ‘That never occurred to me.’
‘You were only a child, and it wasn’t my place to tell you something your father wished to keep confidential.’
‘Oh ... I see.’ Memories of those lonely days rose unbidden. Judy stammered ‘I ... I have to go’, squeezed Ruth’s hands and hurried outside, towards the shelter belt of ragged gums.
Judy leant her head against the peeling bark. Deep sobs racked her as the grief of years came surging up. It had all hurt so much! She knuckled her eyes, gulping for air, then, abandoning any attempt at control, let the tears flood over.
Some time later, she heard the sound of a man clearing his throat behind her. Wiping her wet face, she turned to see Andrew, glass in one hand. Relieved, she smiled wanly.
His voice was strained. ‘Ruth just told me about why she left. I don’t remember much about what happened back then, but she was pretty good to us, wasn’t she?’
‘Wonderful.’
He nodded, mouth working. ‘I thought so. My memory is patchy, but, over the last couple of nights, some things have been coming back. It was rough, wasn’t it, Judy?’ There was an appeal in his voice which caused her eyes to brim over again.
‘Yes, very rough.’
He squatted beside the tree. She sat down, leaning back against the tree trunk, careless of her best outfit.
Haltingly at first, Andrew started talking.
‘I see Ruth sometimes when I pick up the papers. There was something about the perfume she uses that bothered me ... just yesterday I realised what it was. I remembered being in her room as a kid, hiding from Dad. And her shawl ... I used to hold it. It smelt of her.’
He hesitated, eyes turning to hers, fearing ridicule. Judy pressed his hand, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.
‘She used to make cinnamon biscuits, didn’t she?’
Judy nodded.
‘One day I’d hidden in the peppercorn tree, after Dad had gone off his head about something. Ruth came out to the tree with those biscuits, like she knew exactly where I was. She talked to me for ages, even though I didn’t answer. Eventually I came down and she hugged me really tight.’
He paused, took a long drink from his glass, then asked ‘Did you hate it as much as I did, when we were sent to boarding school?’
‘Yeah. It was ghastly. Nine is too young to leave home.’ She shook her head, trying to dislodge memories of crying herself to sleep every night.
Andrew’s face was bleak. ‘I missed you so much.’
‘Yeah. Same here. I remember giving you a blanket out of my doll’s pram, for the cubby, before I left.’
His glass trembled. ‘I used to go out there, to our cubby, every day after tea, to say good night to you, wherever you were.’ The back of an unsteady hand hastily wiped his face.
‘You were different when you came back for the holidays, you seemed so much older. Dad always told you to help in the house, while I had to go out in the paddocks with him.’
Judy nodded again, biting her lip.
Andrew continued, voice a little firmer, ‘School was awful, but the agricultural college was okay. I wasn’t too sure about coming back here after that, but there weren’t too many options if I wanted to go on the land. It’ll be better, now.’ He looked straight into her swollen eyes. ‘You got out awfully fast.’
‘Sure did. Headed for the city, married at twenty-one, as soon as I finished my course. It seemed a good idea at the time.’ She smiled ruefully, then noticed a slim woman hovering by the hall doors, looking in their direction. Judy beckoned to her.
Hannah came over hesitantly and murmured her condolences.
‘Thank you, Hannah. Aunt Marjorie has told us what a great help you’ve been. We’d love you to come and visit us, wouldn’t we, Andrew? How about tomorrow?’
The young woman glanced quickly at Andrew, then nodded, flushing.
Judy walked back into the hall with a lighter heart, cherishing the image of brown eyes smiling.
Also see Gabrielle Bridges’ story, The Flag, about the funeral.
Copyright Gabrielle Bridges.
Story posted 6 October, 2003.
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