Barra Creek Page 6

‘And very lovely it looks too,’ said the saleswoman, beaming.

  ‘It would want to after what it cost,’ whispered Pru. They’d cashed in their tickets on the SS Oronsay and were busy making plans. Sally had tried to keep Pru’s spirits up as she waited for an answer to her letter.

  Back in Sydney they’d rented a small garden flat in Mosman and had spent two days trailing around Mark Foys, Farmers, David Jones and Anthony Horderns looking at wedding outfits, formal wear, household items, fine china and glassware, dreaming of the new life opening up for Pru.

  As they went down in the lift at Anthony Horderns, the lift operator slid open the doors on a floor announcing: ‘Children’s wear, toys, baby furniture, infants . . .’

  Pru clutched Sally’s hand. ‘Come on. Let’s look.’

  She picked her way through the aisles of baby items, stopping occasionally to smooth a satin pillow in a basinet, finger a lace net over a cot, pick up a small teddy bear. Sally followed her friend, feeling she was walking away from her in every sense. Their paths were separating, indistinctly but irrefutably. For the first time Sally felt a pang of regret that the SS Oronsay would sail without them. She thought of her suitcase packed with party and travelling clothes, the new diary with barely an entry, there’d been no time. They’d been too busy having fun. She thought of the adventures they would no longer share on their overseas trip. But Sally was happy for Pru, she’d got what she wanted. Sally wondered, had she planned this? But knowing the sweet naivety of her friend, she quickly pushed away such an uncharitable thought.

  The telegram arrived and Sally handed it to Pru and held her breath. Then Pru ripped it open, biting her tongue, scanned the typed message and flung her arms around Sally. ‘He’s arriving on Friday.’

  They filled the flat with vases of flowers, cleaned it well, hoping it would look less shabby, lit candles to soften its dank dimness and set up a table in the small garden. Sally bought a bottle of champagne and a little cake and gave Pru a hug, picked up her bag and blew her a kiss. She got in a taxi to go to the Chapmans and stay the night and thank them for their hospitality. For all they knew, the girls sailed in a few days.

  There was no phone so Sally called out as she walked down the steps at the side of the old house at Mosman to their little flat the following afternoon. The French doors were open and she stepped into the sitting room. ‘Pru? Gavin? Anyone here?’

  There was a muffled noise from Pru’s bedroom. Sally dropped her bag on the sofa bed in the small alcove where she slept. ‘Hi. I’m back.’ She didn’t know what to say in case Gavin was there. The bedroom door was open and Pru was lying curled up on the bed facing the wall. ‘You sleeping? Pru?’

  Pru rolled over and stared at Sally, who took an involuntary step backwards, shocked at how she looked. Her face was grey, her eyes red and swollen. She choked, barely able to speak. Sally rushed to her bedside. ‘God, Pru, what is it? What happened?’ For a crazy moment she thought her friend had been beaten up, she looked so . . . broken.

  Pru pulled up her knees, hugging them to her side, then pointed to the bedside table. Sally reached for the white envelope and winced in pain as she saw the wad of pound notes and the address of a doctor in Bondi.

  ‘Did he come? Did you talk to him?’

  Pru nodded miserably. ‘How could he, Sal? He was awful. Said he didn’t want to know about it, didn’t want to see me again. Ever. That it was my fault. And how did he know it was his anyway . . .’ At this she burst into another fit of hoarse sobbing.

  ‘What a sod,’ exclaimed Sally.

  ‘He did come himself but –’ started Pru.

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that. He’s a selfish bastard, Pru. Better you find out now.’

  ‘What am I going to do, Sal? I can’t have . . . get rid of it.’ She began to wail and Sally shook her by the shoulders.

  ‘Pru, listen to me. You don’t have a choice. You go back home and have it, or have it in secret, but you won’t be able to keep it, you must see that. You’ll ruin your life. It’s not fair to bring a baby into the world and then give it away. What will that kid think for the rest of its life? That you didn’t care about it, that’s what.’

  ‘But I do, Sal. I don’t want to hurt it.’

  ‘Pru, you’re going to hurt a lot more people if you don’t. Go and see the doctor, get it over with. We can still go away together –’

  ‘I can’t, I’ve cashed in the ticket . . .’ She started to cry more heavily as she thought of all the money she’d spent on the wedding dress. ‘I just want to go home.’ She covered her face with her hands, rolled on her back and rocked from side to side.

  Sally stood up and reached for the slip of paper. ‘Right, then. Let’s get this over with. I’m going down to the phone box to make an appointment for you.’

  When she came back Pru was making a pot of tea. They didn’t talk while Sally unpacked her overnight bag.

  Finally Sally spoke as Pru poured the tea. ‘Monday morning. Here’s a list of things you have to bring to the hospital. It’s some small private place. Money too, of course. His secretary was nice, said he’s a top doctor. Doesn’t like to see girls ruin their lives because of a silly mistake, was how she put it.’

  Pru bit her lip. ‘I’ll never love anyone like him. I’ll never find anyone like him again. It’s so unfair.’

  ‘Rubbish. Don’t feel sorry for yourself. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not worth it.’

  *

  Worried about their dwindling funds, Sally and Pru caught a bus to Bondi. They found the address – it was a large double-storey house set back from the street, shielded by a high fence. Sally sat with Pru in the waiting room with several other girls who all avoided looking at each other. Two had their mothers with them, one girl had a boy holding her hand.

  ‘I’ll be all right, Sal, really. I’ve booked the ticket home on Wednesday.’

  ‘Okay. When you’ve gone home I’ll pack up the flat and go to a hotel for a couple of days,’ said Sally.

  ‘Have you decided what to do then?’ asked Pru. ‘What will I tell your parents?’

  ‘Stop fretting about me. I’ll let them know what I’m doing – just as soon as I know.’ She gave a bright smile, trying to cover the turmoil she felt.

  Pru was called in and Sally hugged her quickly, anxious to get away from the sad surroundings.

  Sally was depressed and worried. She rang around some of their new friends and went out to lunch, ending up in a fashionable cafe in Rowe Street. Their group had swelled and she started chatting to a girl who had just come back from working on a station as a cook.

  Sally couldn’t imagine this girl, who’d done a cordon bleu course in France, slinging lamb chops and mashed spuds around for a bunch of stockmen.

  ‘It was huge fun,’ she told Sally. ‘It was a fabulous place, I cooked for the family, formal dining every night. I’m going to Canberra next to work at a diplomat’s residence.’

  ‘How do you find jobs like that?’

  ‘First one I found in The Land newspaper – I wanted to go outback. I registered with Dalgety’s and was recommended to other people, and so it went on. If you have some qualifications and you know, breeding . . . The good families are particular.’

  Sally knew what she meant. She recognised that this girl had a similar background to her own and filed this news away.

  That afternoon Sally went back to the private rooms and collected a shaken, pale and upset Pru. They hailed a taxi and Pru looked out the window at the light rain and said nothing. Sally helped her into her nightie and into bed and brought her a cup of tea.

  ‘They gave me a tablet to sleep. I’ll be all right, Sal. What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m thinking of applying for a job in the outback. Save some money and go OS as planned. Don’t say anything till I know for sure.’

  Pru shook her head. ‘I just want to sleep.’

  ‘Everything is okay?’ asked Sally cautiously.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll be fine. Don’
t worry about me.’

  She held out her hand and Sally squeezed it, fighting back tears.

  ‘Sorry, Sal.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Pru. You rest, and forget this ever happened.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure.’ Tears ran down her cheeks.

  After Sally and Pru had a tearful farewell at the airport Sally packed and cleaned the flat.

  She hailed a taxi. ‘The Australia Hotel, please.’ She’d decided to treat herself for a few days while she planned what to do.

  After settling into her room she strolled up the broad space between the GPO and the buildings that flanked the Cenotaph. An elderly lady at a flower stall was singing bursts of operetta. Sally bought a small posy of lily of the valley, burying her face in its sweet smell. She felt terribly sad for herself as well as Pru. She wondered deep down if they’d ever be as close again.

  At a news stand with a display of magazines and newspapers she stopped and studied the array of Australian and foreign papers. There it was, The Land. She bought a copy and turned into George Street heading for the cosy Repin’s Inn. She ordered raisin toast and a pot of tea, then she browsed through the bible of agricultural, rural news and classified ads.

  One ad jumped out at her: Governess, quality large Gulf cattle station, three children requiring tuition prior to boarding school. Full amenities, gracious surrounds. Apply Dalgety’s, Phillip Street, Sydney.

  She circled the ad and finished her tea and toast.

  Chapter Three

  Sydney, Australia, 1963

  SALLY STUDIED HER REFLECTION in the mirror on the wardrobe door, admiring the three-quarter length leopard-skin coat. She turned the collar up around her neck and thrust her hands deep into its pockets, striking a pose. Here she is striding along the deck at night, the wind whipping the ocean as the liner ploughs through silver waves, clouds scudding over a distant moon. She is alone until she sees the figure of a tall man, standing against the rail, deep in thought. Her steps slow, he turns and later he tells her the sight of her windswept hair, her face glimpsed in the pale moonlight, her body wrapped in the luxuriously soft coat . . . was the instant he fell in love with her.

  Sighing, Sally reefed off the coat. Her big extravagance would not be going to sea or with her to Cape York. She folded it and put it on top of the black and white ball gown her mother had insisted she pack. Her hotel room was smothered in clothes – piled on the bed, heaped on the chair, hanging out of the wardrobe. She then knelt in front of her suitcase and started to pack blouses, skirts, sunfrocks, shorts, sandals and cotton slacks. She held up the blue workman’s jeans she’d just bought at a disposal store, wondering if she’d ever feel comfortable in the stiff denim. They looked great on Elvis, James Dean and Sal Mineo, and perhaps they’d be suitable for riding until she had her jodhpurs sent from New Zealand.

  It had all happened so quickly. She had little money left, even after she and Pru had cashed in their tickets. There was no way she could tell her father she’d spent so much and she didn’t want her mother to know about Pru’s dilemma. She didn’t know how Pru was going to explain to her family or Sally’s why she wasn’t going on the cruise. So Sally had rung about the ad in the paper, gone straight down to Phillip Street to Dalgety’s and been interviewed for the job of governess.

  She had dressed neatly in a tailored skirt, jacket nipped in at the waist, pearl choker and pearl earrings. By the time she ran through her education at one of the best private schools in New Zealand, her parents’ rural background, her skills in secretarial work (she’d fudged a bit on her experience with children), her horsemanship and list of references, the man behind the desk had scribbled some notes, then reached over and shook her hand.

  ‘The job’s yours, Sally. Be ready to fly out on Thursday, okay? It’s a bit of a milk run to get there. I’ll ring through to Mrs Monroe and let her know you’re coming.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to interview me too?’ Sally asked.

  ‘No, that’s my job. The contract is for twelve months. Your pay is sent to an account you nominate, you won’t need much ready cash on you up at Barra Creek. Here are the details, including the wireless phone number. Mail goes in once a week.’

  ‘This all seems a bit rushed,’ said Sally, wondering for a moment if she was doing the right thing. ‘What’s the nearest town?’

  ‘Normanton. You’ll fly TAA to Cloncurry, then you have to hang about for two days till the bush pilot taking the mail up to Cape York and the Gulf arrives. He’ll drop you at the homestead strip; there’ll be someone to meet you then.’ He paused, allowing himself a small grin. ‘Course you could paddle along the Norman River. Barra Creek Station fronts onto a tributary of the Norman.’

  Sally wasn’t taking in the travelling details. ‘What about the boys’ schooling, their curriculum, that sort of thing?’

  ‘All correspondence. You have to get them, and whoever else might need schooling, on the job every day. Don’t worry about the teaching side of it. Supervision is the key. Your qualifications are excellent. You’ll have enough on your hands, I’d reckon.’ He’d seen them come and seen them go, not many young women lasted the distance. One day he’d have to get up to Cape York and see it for himself. He looked at Sally sitting primly in the leather chair. Well, they couldn’t complain he was sending them dross this time. How had Lorna Monroe described the last governess they’d sent? Common and unsavoury. Oh, and a misery guts. ‘Any other questions?’

  ‘The plane ticket? Are you sure everything is paid for?’

  ‘The airline ticket will be delivered to your hotel tomorrow morning with some vouchers and a small amount of cash, bus fare to the airport, light meals and so on. Good luck, Sally.’

  She shook his hand, thinking luck she didn’t need, all she wanted was to get out of Sydney. England would always be there. The unknown outback of Queensland’s Gulf country suddenly seemed an exciting prospect.

  Back in her hotel room Sally opened the map she’d bought and scanned the far flung dots on Cape York. Exasperated at not finding Barra Creek she finally folded the map, stuck a safety pin through northwest Queensland and put it in an envelope, taking out the letter she’d written to her parents. She’d kept the letter vague and cheerful. She said she thought Pru had got cold feet and was homesick so instead of going to England on her own, Sally had an interesting job offer through Dalgety’s Rural Agency and was going to Queensland: ‘Where the pin hole is on the map,’ she added at the bottom of the letter. She told them it might be a while before they heard from her as the mail plane only came in once a week.

  The single-engine Cessna thrummed and occasionally bounced over the hot air thermals that rose from the bleached, seemingly empty landscape below them. Sally glanced over at Donald – ‘Call me Donny’ – Simpson, the bush pilot who looked relaxed and cheerful. He caught her looking at him; something he was used to as women couldn’t help finding reasons to stare at his blond movie-star looks. His ‘Yankee’ accent helped too, even though he was Canadian.

  ‘How’re ya doing, Sally? Not sick? Too hot, too cool? We aim to please.’

  ‘When are we going to see something? Anything. Not that anything could live down there, it’s practically desert.’

  ‘That it is, honey. You should see some of the conditions animals survive in, not to mention the white folk. I’m a snow and mountain man myself. Ever seen snow?’

  ‘I’m a Kiwi. We ski every season in the South Island.’

  The pilot was quiet then, wondering how his passenger was going to weather the heat, the isolation, the rough conditions, the people. She was obviously used to a comfortable life. But she was a bright and spunky girl, and from their conversation throughout the day it was obvious she had no idea what she was heading into. Rushed decisions were never the right ones, in his book, despite her cheerful insistence it would be an adventure.

  ‘Sally, I’ve carried a fair few people up and down the Cape, out to the Gulf, it’s never what they expect.’

  ‘You mean it’
s even better than they thought?’ She gave him an impish smile. ‘Hey, I’ll be right.’

  ‘I’m coming back down in a week, I’ll stop in at Barra Creek. If you want to leave with me, let me know.’

  She lifted her chin slightly and peered into the sun-streaked horizon through the plastic windscreen. ‘Thanks, Donny. But I’ll stick it out.’

  ‘You don’t have to, you know. Did Dalgety’s tell you you’re the fifth governess in the past eighteen months at Barra Creek?’

  Sally shook her head. ‘They must’ve been waiting for me to turn up then.’ She looked back at the pilot she now decided looked like Tab Hunter. ‘You wait and see.’

  He ran his hand over his crew cut. ‘Okay. I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other then, eh?’ He gave her a wink.

  Two hours later they landed at a station to deliver mail but all she could see surrounding them was red dirt, a couple of trucks and two Aboriginal men on horseback.

  ‘Do you want to stretch your legs? No ladies room, I’m afraid,’ said Donny.

  Sally stood next to the plane in the shade of the wing as Donny handed over the mail bags and chatted to the stockmen. The men made no move to acknowledge her presence but Sally was aware she was being scrutinised from under low-pulled hats. Donny then lifted something off the front bumper of one of the trucks, walked back to her and handed her a dripping stiff canvas bag with a mouthpiece and wooden handles. ‘Here, have a drink.’

  Sally was surprised at how cool the water was. ‘That’s very refreshing. Thanks. I won’t have too much.’ This outback journey was not conducive to women travellers, she decided.

  Donny threw the outgoing mail bag into the plane. ‘All aboard. Next stop Barra Creek.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ sighed Sally.

  She dozed in the cockpit, her head against the side window until Donny spoke above the engine. ‘Look down there. We’re coming into the river country now.’

  ‘Gosh, it’s green. What’s that silver bit?’