Matilda's Last Waltz (46 page)

The publican's boy looked far too young to have been called up and she suspected he must have lied about his age as so many others had done. The store-keeper's two sons stood quietly in the shade of the pub verandah, as alike as two fleas on a sheep's back, their yellow heads bent towards each other as they read a newspaper.

Yet it was the women who caught her attention and held it. Their faces were resolutely closed on all emotion. Heads high, they watched as their menfolk gathered in front of the pub. They were too proud to let their weakness show in tears but their eyes betrayed them. Glistening, following every movement of their loved ones as they shuffled past the table to show their letters. Hoping, always hoping, that their man would be turned away. Gone was the parrakeet chatter, the patriotism that had fired gossip and speculation. This was harsh reality, and nothing could have prepared them for it.

Matilda watched it all with growing anger. A line of army trucks stood outside the store in the sweltering heat, engines running, exhausts churning out black smoke as their drivers lounged against the bonnets. They would take away the men and some faceless, nameless soldier would train them to kill others. And if the men were lucky – very lucky – they might bring them back. But war would have changed them, would have killed their spirit, just as it had with Mervyn.

The drivers climbed into their trucks and revved the engines. Fathers shook hands awkwardly with sons, the bloody-minded image of the tough Australian male making them afraid to show the emotions that must have been sweeping through them. And yet the women were obviously finding it even harder.

Matilda could sense their longing to touch and hold loved ones just once more before the trucks took their men away, but their harsh lives had instilled in them an inner core of steel. They were mothers and wives, stalwarts of the outback stations who were expected to remain strong in adversity. Matilda could see how it hurt to keep the tears at bay, how agonising it was for the mothers not to kiss their sons just one last time, and gave up a silent prayer of thanks that she had no menfolk to send. The little silver brooches given to the women as a symbol of their sacrifice were no compensation for this heart-break.

Matilda stepped off the porch and slowly made her way through the crowds to Tom and April. She could see Sean, tall by his father's side, so grown up in his brown uniform and slouch hat, a mirror image of Tom. April was weeping. Slow, silent tears that rolled down her face as she clung to their hands and devoured them with her eyes. The younger boys were strangely still, as though in awe of this momentous occasion, not fully understanding what it might mean to them.

Tom looked over April's head and smiled as Matilda approached. His face was ashen and she could see he was fighting to keep control of his emotions.

She stepped into his embrace and stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. He was the brother she'd never had. His leaving would create an enormous void in her life.

‘Take care of yourself, Tom,' she murmured. ‘And don't worry about April and the boys, I'll watch out for them.'

‘Thanks, Molly.' He cleared his throat. ‘April's going to need you, and I know you'll never let her down.'

One by one he rested his hand on the heads of the other boys, stopping just a little longer over Davey. ‘Look after the women, son. I'm depending on you.'

The sixteen-year-old nodded as he twisted his hat in his hands, but Matilda could see the longing in his eyes as Tom and Sean finally boarded the truck, and knew it wouldn't be long before he joined them.

She put her arm around April's waist as the truck pulled away and the boys chased after it, waving their hats and shouting. All around them women surged forward to get just one more glimpse, but all too soon there was only a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes on the horizon.

‘You're coming back with me, April,' Matilda said firmly. ‘No point in you and the boys going back to an empty house tonight.'

‘What about the stock?' April's eyes were huge in her pinched little face. ‘The rabbits have eaten most of the grass and I need to hand-feed the mob.'

‘You've still got two stockmen to do that, April. They might be too old for war but they're strong and know what they're doing.'

Matilda thought of the two elderly men and thanked God for them. The two properties were suffering enough from the drought and the rabbits, it would have been impossible to keep a constant watch on the two mobs without them. April was going to need a good deal of shoring up if she was to be of any use. There was no point in letting her dwell on her sorrow.

‘The rabbits can eat all the grass they want tonight,' Matilda said as she steered the family towards the horses. ‘Come tomorrow, Davey and the boys can go back to Wilga then I'll teach you how to muster the mob and shoot the rabbits. God knows how long this war will last, but we have to make sure Wilga and Churinga keep going until the men get back.'

April looked at her, the tears once again threatening. ‘They will come back, won't they?'

Matilda mounted her horse and gathered up the reins. ‘Of course they will,' she said with more assurance than she felt.

‘How can you be so strong, Matilda? So sure that everything will turn out right?'

‘Because it's necessary,' she replied. ‘To think anything else is defeatist.'

*   *   *

The days and weeks became months and the dividing fences between Churinga and Wilga were torn down. It was easier to keep an eye on the two mobs if they were kept together and would also ensure the grass wasn't over-grazed.

Like Gabriel and the two drovers, Matilda and April patrolled the fields with knives as well as rifles. The drought was taking its toll and dying beasts had to be quickly put out of their misery. A swift cut through the throat was the most humane way, but April found the whole business distressing and it was more often than not left to Matilda to make the final incision.

The land was hard-packed, baked into cracks. Dismal stands of trees drooped over the silver tendrils of grass the rabbits had left and dingos and hawks became more predatory. Mobs of 'roos, wombats and emus invaded the home pastures and had to be shot at or chased off. Water was down to a trickle in the rivers and streams and only the sulphurous bore water could be used to keep the stock alive. Churinga tanks were holding out but every drop of water was jealously guarded for yet another year had passed and still no sign of a break in the drought.

The radio was their only link to the outside world, and it became a ritual that each night one of them would listen to the world news so it could be relayed to the others.

‘Pig Iron' Bob stepped down and John Curtin formed a Labour government. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour and Hong Kong fell. Suddenly the war seemed very close and Matilda and April waited in dread. The great empty plains of Australia were too near to the Asian islands. If the Japanese invaded, there would be nothing to stop them. Australia was bereft of fighting men – they were all in Europe – and the yellow peril was suddenly a very real threat.

Matilda was struggling to crutch cut a squirming ram when she heard the sound of drumming hooves. Shielding her eyes with her arm, she looked up and saw April, hair flying, skirts flapping, her heels urging on the horse as she rode headlong across the pasture. Matilda's pulse thudded dully as she waited. Only bad news would make her ride so fiercely.

She brought the animal to a shuddering halt and slid from his back. ‘It's Davey, Matilda! Oh, my God, it's Davey…'

Matilda unloosed the clutching fingers, grasped her arms and gave her a shake. ‘What's happened to him?'

April was incoherent and Matilda slapped her face. ‘Pull yourself together, April and tell me what the hell's happened to Davey?' she yelled.

The pinched little face froze as the mark of Matilda's hand bloomed on her cheek then she held out a scrap of paper and collapsed in a storm of tears.

Matilda knew what it was even before she read the boyish scrawl and her spirits sank. Davey had run off to war. She looked down at April, the pain of that loss echoing deep within herself, and understood that there were no words that could wipe out this pain. April had finally crumbled. It was, as usual, down to Matilda to be the practical one.

Putting a tight rein on her own fears, she pulled April to her feet and held her until the weeping storm was over. When the sobs had turned to sniffles, and April pulled away to dry her face on her apron. Matilda had put their priorities in order. ‘Have you rung through to the recruiting station?'

April nodded and blew her nose. ‘I tried to get through but there's no one there any more except for a caretaker. The trucks left Dubbo real early this morning.'

‘Did he give you a number to ring? The army can't take him. He's still too young, they must be told.'

April shook her head. ‘The bloke at the recruiting station said that as he was nearly eighteen, it wouldn't much matter. And if he was on one of the trucks this morning, then he's on his way to the training camp and there's nothing anyone can do.'

Matilda's thoughts whirled but she kept them to herself. There was no point in raising April's hopes that a call to army headquarters would bring back her son, for she doubted the army would waste time looking for yet another underage recruit who had slipped through the net. There had been so many and Davey was only a couple of months short of his birthday, so why postpone the inevitable?

‘You couldn't have stopped him, April. The boy's been on about this ever since Sean went off with his father.'

April's blue eyes were swimming with fresh tears. ‘He's only a boy. I don't want him out there. Tom doesn't say much in his letters, and neither does Sean, but I can read between the lines and the censor's cut-outs. It's carnage, Molly. And I don't want any of my family out there – I want them home with me. Safe, and working the land the way they should be – the way we've always been.'

‘All three of them are old enough to know their own minds, April,' Matilda said carefully. ‘Davey might be young, but he's ridden the paddocks since he was knee high, and is as tough and strong and bloody-minded as all Australians.'

She held her friend close, cradling her head and stroking back her hair. ‘He wanted to fight, you know that, and there was nothing any of us could do to stop him.'

The two women battled the elements and their own inner pain as the war dragged on. Tom and the boys wrote regularly, and Matilda was grateful to April for sharing their letters with her. They were precious to both of them, and although the censor's scissors made them tattered and difficult to read, they were at least confirmation of the men's survival. Bit by bit the two women pieced together the clues and with the help of a very old atlas followed the men.

Tom and Sean were somewhere in North Africa, and Davey, poorly trained and quickly shipped out, was in New Guinea.

Matilda read his letters carefully, and because she had made a point of borrowing books from the travelling library, knew the realities behind the carefully worded scraps of paper to his mother. She kept her knowledge to herself. What was the point of telling April that jungle warfare meant days, maybe weeks, of darkness where a man could never get dry? Damp rotted the skin and mould bloomed on their clothes. Humidity weakened them and mosquitoes brought disease. Venomous snakes and spiders were as deadly as mantraps. The Australian bushmen would find the jungle a very different, far more deadly world than the hot dryness of the one they were used to. Better to let April think her boy was in a comfortable barracks getting three square meals a day.

The summer dragged on and Malaya and the Philippines were invaded. Now it was even more important that they stay in touch with the outside world and every evening they returned to one of the homesteads and listened to the news.

Singapore fell to the Japanese on 8 February 1942. In stunned silence the old men, the young boys and the work-weary women stared at each other in horror. It was only a short hop to mainland New Guinea and the Cape York Peninsula at the ‘top end' in Queensland. Suddenly the war was closing in, their great empty plains an open target now Australia was bereft of her armed forces.

Prime Minister Curtin demanded that Churchill give the Australians the right to defend their country and finally two Australian divisions embarked from North Africa for the long journey home.

‘They're coming back,' April said in wonderment. ‘Tom and Sean are bound to be on that troop ship.'

‘They won't be coming back to the land,' Matilda warned. ‘They'll be needed up at the top end to defend us from the Japs.'

April's face was radiant. ‘But they'll be allowed leave, Molly. Just think, to see them on Wilga again. To hear their voices.' Her spirits suddenly tumbled. ‘But what about Davey? Why can't he come home too?'

Matilda caught the knowing glances that were exchanged between the two elderly drovers and knew what they were thinking. Davey was in the thick of things, his last letter had been weeks old before they'd got it. There was little hope of seeing him again until this was all over.

Matilda sighed and grasped April's hand. ‘It won't be forever,' she said softly. ‘They'll all come home soon.'

But it was not to be. Churchill and Curtin struck a deal, and instead of all the Aussie troops coming home, Australia was sent an American Division instead. Along with the rest of Australia, Matilda and April felt betrayed by the Mother Country. How could so few hope to defend such vast territories, and why should England refuse Aussie soldiers the right to defend their homeland after they had fought England's cause so bravely throughout Europe?

Sick at heart, the women struggled on over the next few months, deriving comfort from one another and the ceaseless round of work. Yet nobody strayed too far from the radio – its news was their only life-line to the outside.