Gallipoli Street (43 page)

Missy fell into her arms. ‘But I'll miss you,' she sobbed.

‘I'll miss you,' Theresa whispered brokenly, holding her tight. They sobbed together, the pain of separation unbearable, before Theresa finally pulled away, heading out the door. ‘I'll write to you all the time,' she promised, walking backwards to soak up the memory of her dear friend's face one last time before they parted.

‘I love you!' Missy called after her.

‘I love you too!'

Missy watched until Theresa had disappeared from sight then went inside and slumped down onto the bed, not knowing what to do next. Looking down at her hands she realised she was still holding the little box Theresa had given her and, sniffing against her tears, opened it to find the string of pearls inside. Closing it slowly she made a promise to herself.

No matter what happened, she would never, ever sell them.

Beecroft, December 1939

Pete took to the crease, pulling his cap low, watching Wally Collins marking his run-off carefully. Definitely short. Sure enough Wally bowled a short delivery and the crowd let out a cheer as the ball swept the ground for four. He laughed as his little brother James let out a whoop from the stands and his father waved his way, the crowd from Gallipoli Street clapping enthusiastically, taking up half of the pavilion. Even his grandmothers had come for once, along with his mother and Aunt Pattie, and he felt his attention waver momentarily before refocusing and pulling the ball to the left for another two. It was his last game before he left and he'd chosen to rejoin his old team for one final show; he was savouring every minute at his home ground. He'd already retired his cap from the New South Wales team, temporarily he hoped, until he returned from the war. The ball flew to the boundary as Wally scratched his head amid the excited cheers. Pete was determined to enjoy this and put all thoughts of the next few weeks out of his mind. They would come soon enough.

Drinks were called and Pete joined the players as they went over to the pavilion to rowdy applause, laughing as his father and Uncle Iggy instigated a chant: ‘Mu-r-phy!'

‘Over here!' called May, who'd set up refreshments with Katie.

‘What on earth have you been up to now?' He laughed at the sight of her. Her bike trousers and shirt were covered in a large ink-splotched apron.

‘What? I'm preparing food,' she declared, wiping her hands against it. ‘Now hush up or I won't let you have any.'

‘Nice looking cakes,' remarked one of his mates, Larry Naismith, nudging his brother Vince and giving May an appreciative smile as he took a slice. Even in her usual disastrous state, May still got plenty of attention. It took more than a boyish haircut and wild fashion choices to hide a stunning face and figure like hers. She rewarded Larry with a flash of her dimples and he held the cake in mid-air, staring while his brother laughed.

‘Knock it off,' Pete cuffed him. ‘What have we got here, Katie-bird?' His little sister paused as she worked alongside May.

‘Lamingtons, sandwiches and apple tartlets,' she answered, surveying the array of baking they'd laid out on the table. ‘And Anzac biscuits of course.' She smiled at him but he saw the sadness in her eyes.

Pete gave her a wink. ‘Thanks. Hey, move back, you lot. Brothers and cousins first.' He seemed to be pushing back a tide of admirers around the table and a fair share of them were there for Katie too. At sweet sixteen, she was the spitting image of his mother, save her long dark hair, and with her kindness and gentle ways fellas were always falling all over her. Not that she could care less, he noted to himself, watching Katie carefully pour Simon a cup of tea and place it before him. She'd only ever had eyes for their lifelong mate, who was completely oblivious to her feelings. With his head usually stuck in a book, Simon probably wouldn't pick up on the fact unless Katie knocked him over the head with it and, considering she was the most ladylike little miss in Sydney, that didn't seem likely to happen any time soon.

The afternoon wore on and Pete made a century for the team, although the way the Gallipoli Street crowd cheered he felt it might as well have been for New South Wales.

It was a happy convoy of cars that headed for home, Pete driving the old Sunbeam with Simon alongside and his little brother James in the back. May tore along on her motorcycle in front, Katie wedged into the tandem seat alongside. How May talked his sister into riding in that contraption he never knew, although Katie always had followed her about like an adoring puppy.

Pete laughed as Simon and James sang the victory song once more, relishing the journey. It would be last time he would drive the Sunbeam for a long time and he flew her along in a final farewell. The beautiful car was reminiscent of a more affluent time in their parents' lives. Things were certainly better now than a few years back, when they nearly lost everything, but it had been a slow recovery and there certainly wasn't much left over to buy expensive motorcars. Pete didn't care. He loved this old car and looked after it meticulously, knowing that his aunt Pattie had been a bit torn when she'd given it to him for his twenty-first birthday.

They arrived at Highview and made their way along the fence, where a brilliant row of purple flowers stirred from the treetops of the jacarandas. Pete knew they were a living tribute to his uncle Tom and thoughts of war intruded on him once more as they turned into the gate and made their way up the drive.

‘Aunt Pattie!' called James, running towards her. ‘Can we go and check the traps?'

‘I was just waiting for you to arrive to do that very thing!' she replied and they went off together to the creek to check the crayfish traps they'd been working on all week.

James was constantly on the lookout for something to do and Aunt Pattie always had an idea up her sleeve, having spent so many years learning about tools and carpentry from her father in his remarkable shed. His parents often shook their heads at the way the two of them would occupy themselves building carts, designing forts and inventing all manner of contraptions, all destined to be the next, best thing.

Once they'd even tried capturing a black snake from under the house with a marvellous invention they called the ‘Snake Snatcher' (which Pattie later acknowledged she really hadn't thought all the way through). It caught the snake well enough but made it such a cosy little home it wouldn't come out; and coaxing it was a dangerous undertaking. In the end they'd opened the hatch and left a dead mouse out, though the snake must have had enough by then. The two were seen flying across the paddock, Pattie moving remarkably quickly for a woman in her forties, both yelling ‘Snake's out!' Veronica had been twitchy for the next few days, constantly on the lookout for a non-caught and now very annoyed reptile.

But Pete knew his mother didn't mind. Pattie had a special soft spot for each of them. May was of course her living reminder of Uncle Clarkson, Katie a miniature of Veronica and therefore incapable of ever doing anything wrong, and James was her baby. He'd come along a little before Pattie and Mick had married and, as they were never blessed with children, Pattie seemed to see him as hers, especially as he was so much like her.

He knew all of this because Pattie kept a very special spot in her heart for him too. Pete was her comfort. He'd been born at the very worst time in her life and she seemed to consider him some kind of sign from God that things would get better. He knew whatever happened, Aunt Pattie would be there for him, Peter ‘Clarkson' Murphy, just as she was for all of them.

Pete sighed, trying to break himself out of his reverie. One by one he was saying goodbye to them all in his mind, he knew that, but he was really just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later he was going to have to say goodbye to his parents.

The sun beat down as Pete leant against the car, absorbing Highview one last time. How he would miss it. The verandah needed a fresh coat of paint and the garden was far from the manicured glory he remembered as a child, but his grandparents had kept it well tended. There was an air of grace about the place that welcomed people in. Despite the frayed edges, it radiated the quiet elegance of his grandmother and the hospitality of his grandfather. The latter was already bringing out drinks for the family as they arrived, placing them in the wooden ice tub his aunt Pattie and James had built next to the side table under the parlour window. A little too ambitious and not altogether practical in size (Mick had proven the point one day by lying down inside it) the ice tub was nevertheless a wonder of ingenuity and Pattie and James were inordinately proud of it.

Eileen, along with her husband Nigel, had stayed with them through the lean years and she gave Pete a sad little wave as she laid out plates and arranged sandwiches before turning for inside, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Pete waved back then turned at the sound of footsteps on the drive to see his father Jack walking towards him. Stomach churning, he swung his gaze to the paddock next door and his parents' house, the cream and blue of his childhood home cheerfully set against the green of the rise, and waited.

‘Good game, son. Nice way to finish your season.' His dad walked over and clasped his hand. ‘Not that you can really call four weeks a season. You'd think they'd have the decency to work the war in with our cricket.' He leant against the car with Pete, following his gaze. ‘Saying goodbye to the house?'

‘I can still remember when we first painted it.' He smiled. ‘I thought the paint was blue mud.' They laughed and looked across together at the neighbourhood, the winding road of Gallipoli Street linking the families that had been through so much together and now sat on the precipice of war once again.

‘I feel like I can see my whole life from up here,' Pete said, ‘not that I've done much with it.'

‘Oh I don't know. A law degree, a New South Wales cap…you've hardly been idle.'

‘No, I mean what I've seen. I guess I've lived a pretty sheltered life.' He paused, looking at the road as the Dwyers approached at a distance and took a deep breath, finding the words that were so difficult to say. ‘I tried to pray at mass but I felt like a hypocrite, asking God to forgive me for sins I was about to commit. I…I remember what happened to you, Dad. What if I can't cope with it?' His voice shook slightly and he pulled back his shoulders, trying not to appear weak.

Jack watched him, seeming to contemplate his answer. ‘You know, when I went off to war I had no idea what to expect. I think I figured it would be difficult, you know. You'd have to stuff cannons and capture prisoners. I suppose I knew I'd be shooting at people. But nothing prepared me…' He paused, clearing his throat. ‘Nothing prepared me for the reality.'

‘But you ended up a war
hero
Dad. I just…I don't want to let people down,' Pete admitted.

‘You'd never be doing that, son.'

‘How do you know?' Pete waited, needing the answer.

‘Because you do know what to expect. You won't be ignorant like me. You know you'll be dealing with death and you know it could be for a long time. I didn't. I was completely unprepared, but you're not.'

‘That doesn't necessarily mean I'll be able to handle it.'

‘Well, you're going in with your eyes open and that's a pretty big step towards handling it, don't you think?'

Pete shrugged. ‘I hope so.'

‘I want you to remember something, son,' Jack said, standing in front of him, ‘and this is the best advice I can give you because it isn't mine, it's your mother's. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to see or what you have to do, it is war that forces you to do it. It's not your fault that you have to fight…it's just…'

‘My duty, I know. I'll do my best…I mean I'll do my
duty
. It's not that I'm afraid…'

Jack sighed. ‘'Course you are. So am I…bloody terrified truth be told.'

Pete forced a shaky smile, and Jack held his shoulder for a moment. ‘It's a job, mate. They are sending you in to do a
job
: to stop war coming here.' He gestured out at the homes before them. ‘You didn't cause it, you didn't ask for it and God knows you don't want to do it, but you're going anyway, to protect all of us. That's real bravery. Especially when you know what…well, what I was like for a long while there.'

‘I'm going to have to kill people…'

Jack held his eyes, unflinching. ‘Yes, you are. But that's war. That's the job. Don't confuse it with…well anything else.'

Pete nodded slowly, trying to absorb the weight of his father's words, knowing he would need them. ‘How does it come down to this?'

Jack sighed, leaning back against the car with him once more. ‘I don't know, mate. Maybe if the politicians spent a day in the trenches there wouldn't be any wars.'

They stood side-by-side, watching family and friends come together for one last time, and Pete knew it was a scene he would replay over and again. The last day before it all changed.