The Winter Sea (31 page)

‘After my appointment with the dentist in Sydney next week, there are a few hours to wait before the train back, so I thought I might take Pietro to the Tivoli. There’s a show based on a Hans Christian Andersen story and Pietro might like to come with me to the matinee. Patrick, would you like to come too? I doubt Carlo or Ricardo would enjoy it, though.’

‘I don’t know, Mum. I like the idea of going to the city with you, but I’m not especially interested in going to the theatre to watch singing and dancing. That’s definitely something for Pietro.’

‘That’s fine, Patrick,’ said Bridie, giving her son a quick hug. ‘Tell you what, next time I go to Sydney, it’ll just be the two of us. Maybe we could go to the zoo or something.’

Shortly afterwards, as Joe was walking along the verandah, he heard shouting coming from Patrick’s bedroom. ‘What is going on?’ he called.

‘Patrick kicked me,’ whined Carlo.

‘Is that true?’ asked Joe. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Carlo said that my mother liked Pietro more than me and that’s why she’s taking him to Sydney.’

‘That’s nonsense. How childish. I wish you two boys would stop your fighting. You both go on and on about stupid matters and upset the rest of us. You need to just grow up, both of you.’

Joe marched off and, as he did, he saw from the corner of his eye Carlo scurrying off to tell Emilia about the fight. Joe knew that she would take his side.

I thought they would grow out of this squabbling by now, but I suppose I’ll have to wait a little longer, he thought to himself.

The following week, when Bridie and Pietro arrived back from Sydney, Joe asked them how they had enjoyed the show.

‘It was wonderful,’ replied Pietro. ‘I just loved it.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Bridie, with a smile. ‘I don’t think he moved for the entire time. It was as though he was transfixed.’

‘It wasn’t just the show, although the dancing and the sets were fantastic. Certainly showed up our poor attempts in Whitby Point. The theatre was wonderful. It had velvet seats, elaborate lights and those carved cupids. The whole thing was magic. I know what I’m going to do now,’ enthused Pietro.

‘Sing? Dance?’ asked Bridie.

‘It doesn’t matter. Just be a part of it all.’

*

Not long afterwards, Joe returned from his boat to find a white-faced Emilia weeping in the kitchen and a policeman standing awkwardly by the front door arguing with Bridie. Joe didn’t recognise the policeman as being one of the local police whom he knew.

‘Mr d’Aquino, the government has issued a summons for Italians to be detained in internment camps for the duration of the war if it is thought that they could pose a threat to the security of Australia,’ the policeman announced.

‘That’s ridiculous! He’s an Australian now. He’s been here for nearly twenty years and he’s a valuable member of this community,’ said Bridie angrily.

‘According to my papers Giuseppe d’Aquino is not an Australian citizen,’ said the policeman.

Joe was shocked. It had never occurred to him that anything like this would happen to him. ‘This is ridiculous. As if I would do anything against this country.’

‘It’s the law, Mr d’Aquino. You have to come with me,’ said the policeman.

Bridie looked at him and said, ‘Joe, you can’t just let them take you. You have to fight this. What will the family do without you? This isn’t at all fair. You know that you love this country. You have done nothing to deserve being locked up. Can’t you stop them?’

‘How do I fight the law? Anyway, it would be pointless to argue with the messenger. I am sure that in time the authorities will realise their mistake and all will be well,’ Joe said quietly. ‘Besides, darling, this is not the place to make a fuss. I don’t want to upset my mother more than necessary.’

Bridie nodded, then she asked the policeman sarcastically, ‘And where are you sending these Italians who call Australia home, work hard, raise their families and are good citizens?’

The man shrugged and looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s war time. The government made a law that enemy aliens must be supervised. It’s my job to enforce it and to take you to Sydney, to Long Bay Gaol. You’ll be interrogated there and if they want to detain you further you’ll be sent to an internment camp, maybe at Hay, although there are some camps in other places. If you’re considered trustworthy, they might let you out during the day to work on nearby farms.’

Joe knew that it was highly unlikely that the Italian community would resort to sabotage or pose any kind of threat to Australia, but since Italy had allied herself with Germany, the lawmakers in Canberra were shutting down even this remote possibility.

‘Maybe there are some Fascist groups making noises and sending goods to Italy for the war effort, but everyone knows they are a minority. They make trouble for everyone,’ Joe said to the policeman but, even as he did, he knew it was pointless to argue.

‘Where there’s smoke . . .’ began the policeman.

Just then Emilia appeared and threw a barrage of urgent questions. When Joe explained to her what was happening, she began wailing again and Bridie gently took her back inside.

‘She’s worried that you’ll take her away as well,’ Joe explained.

‘No, just you. That’s my orders. Can you pack a bag? I can give you fifteen minutes,’ said the policeman.

Joe was swamped by a wave of despair. How long would he be away? What would happen to his family, his fishing business? Would the authorities understand that he was absolutely no threat at all to Australia’s interests and let him go?

When Bridie returned to the verandah, she was very calm. ‘Joe, Nonna and I will help you pack. There is nothing this policeman can do for us. As he said, he has his orders. But I can do something. You are well liked and respected in this town and I am going to fight to get you out and I’ll make sure that the whole town is behind my efforts. I’ll speak to the mayor and other important locals. I’ll start up petitions. I’ll make such a fuss that they’ll have to let you out. Joe, I am sorry that none of the boys are here to say goodbye to you, but I’ll explain it all to them and I’ll make sure that the business continues to run smoothly while you’re away. I promise you won’t be away for long. Trust me. I love you and I’m not going to let you just disappear into some camp without a fight.’

Arriving at the internment camp in western New South Wales a week later, Joe was shocked to find himself thrown into a fenced camp containing a barren block of wooden buildings not much better than sheds with bare earth for the floor and only basic facilities. With its turreted watchtower, guards, barbed wire and high walls, Joe felt that this internment camp was no better than a common prison and those in charge treated the inmates with hostility and suspicion. Speaking in Italian was forbidden, the food was atrocious and everyone was bored. The dormitories were overcrowded. The men slept in bunks on sacks stuffed with straw and with only a thin blanket as protection in the cold weather. Tents, housing as many as six men, had to be erected. Newspapers, though severely censored, were permitted – as was sporadic mail.

When Joe was first arrested, he’d been questioned at length in Long Bay Gaol in Sydney about his political beliefs and his life in Italy.

‘Why did you travel back to Italy last year?’

‘You fought in the Italian army. Are you preparing to fight in it again?’

‘Why have you never taken out Australian citizenship?’

‘Does your family in Italy support Mussolini? What do you think about the dictator?’

‘Are you a Fascist?’

Joe thought that the questions were ridiculous. He tried to explain that his trip to Italy was part of a belated honeymoon and had no political purpose. He was sorry that he had not taken out citizenship, but he had not thought it necessary because he felt part of Australia anyway. No, he was not a Fascist, he believed in democratic government. No, he didn’t like Mussolini, and when he fought in the Italian army it was on the side of the Allies.

But his answers failed to impress. He was told that while he might consider himself to be a model citizen, the Australian government could not take his word for it and he would be interred for the duration of the war.

For the first few weeks at the camp, Joe fretted for his family and his business. He had heard nothing from Bridie and he wondered about her efforts to get him out. Depressed about the whole situation he told himself that there was nothing anyone could do for him and that he would just have to learn to make the best of the situation while the war lasted.

One day he heard that several more Italians were coming to their camp from an overcrowded camp in Queensland. Through the wire fence Joe watched the men file off a dusty bus looking tired and incurious about their new surroundings. Joe was about to turn away, when one of the new internees caught his eye.

‘Antonio! Tony!’ Joe jumped up and down, trying to catch his old friend’s attention.

Tony paused, looking around.

‘It’s me, Joe! Giuseppe!’

Tony spotted him and gave a wave.

When they found each other they embraced, grinning madly, hardly believing the coincidence of being in the same camp.

‘This is the best thing that’s happened to me in a while,’ said Tony, looking older, but very fit and tanned. ‘Do you want a smoke? I guess we have a lot to catch up on.’

When Joe told him about finding Bridie again and marrying her, Tony slapped his friend joyfully on the back.

‘That’s wonderful news! But it’s sad that you lost your first wife. Still, she gave you three good sons, so things have worked out for you.’

Tony told Joe that he had never got as far north as Innisfail, but had instead worked hard in the cane fields around Ayr.

‘I was very lucky, too. I married an Australian girl and we saved and bought our own cane farm. I tried to find you at one stage, but it is hard to leave the cane fields, there is always so much to do, and you were a long way away in New South Wales. I figured wherever you were, it wouldn’t be too far from the sea. I’ve produced a lot of sugar and two daughters,’ he added proudly. ‘Life was good till this mess happened.’ His face darkened in anger. ‘The police started working their way down the coast from Cairns to Brisbane, rounding up Italians, people like me, even tracking them to the middle of isolated cane fields! But Joe, it’s even worse than that. I found out that some disgruntled folk have sold out their mates for money or to settle a grudge with totally groundless accusations. Don’t know who to trust these days.’

Joe shook his head. ‘Tony, people are in here just because they’re Italian. Doesn’t matter what their political convictions are – Fascists, Communists, neutral. It almost makes you cry when you think of the poor buggers who left Italy to escape Fascism only to end up here.’

‘The guards think we’re all just “eyties” but there seems to be a very mixed bunch in here.’

Joe nodded. ‘People in here come from all parts of Italy and have all sorts of occupations. There are a couple of doctors, a chemist, various engineers, a real estate agent, at least three accountants, people who have their own businesses. I’ve met taxi drivers, cooks, carpenters and a blacksmith. I’m the only fisherman,’ he added with a slight smile.

‘Do you know that I came down here with a man from Piedmont who has a son serving in the Australian army and they still locked him up! Madness!’

‘It’s hard on everyone’s family,’ said Joe. ‘Bridie is very capable, but it won’t be easy trying to run a fishing fleet by herself and my sons should not be raised without a father to guide them.’

‘I have the same concern about Marion and the cane farm. It’s going to be hard to make up the financial loss after this bloody farce,’ said Tony.

Joe had worked long and hard on his fishing boats, believing that his reward for his sweat and honesty would be economic security and political freedom, and this treatment was a hard pill to swallow. All over the camp Joe heard tales about the injustice of the enemy alien internment system from people who wanted to share their stories.

‘My son received notification from Italy that he had to turn up to do his national service or be arrested. He didn’t answer because as far as he’s concerned, Australia is his home. He even went and joined the Australian army. But just before he was due to be shipped overseas, the police arrived demanding to know where he’d been born. When he told them it was Italy he was accused of being a Fascist and interned.’

‘I was rounded up at work and not even allowed to go home to say goodbye to my family or collect some clothes, and I told the police that I became a citizen in 1928 and I am now a subject of His Majesty King George the sixth, but they took no notice!’ another angry man told Joe.

Others told of being taken into custody on a Sunday when it was known they would be at home. Sometimes, Joe was told, houses were searched and if letters from Italy were found they were deemed to be incriminating evidence. A man related how one of his children’s toys was confiscated because it was thought to be a machine for producing Morse code.

Joe had been in the internment camp for several weeks before he finally received a letter from Bridie. It had been censored. The name Whitby Point had been blacked out, which amused Joe. Did the authorities think he would have forgotten where he came from? But there had been little effort made to delete anything else.

My darling Joe,

We all miss you very, very much, but we are coping without you (just). The business is fine. The boys are helping so much. Ricardo is a tower of strength. He knows so much about how the business works and I rely on his advice all the time. You should be very proud of him. Patrick and Carlo have suspended hostilities and come straight from school to the wharf to lend a hand. Even Pietro has pitched in, although he never stops complaining about smelly fish. Still, his heart is in the right place. I don’t know how I would manage without your mother, either. After she got over the shock of your arrest, she completely took over the running of the house. She won’t let me lift a finger and does all the housework and cooking so that I can keep the business going.