Short and Sweet Part 27

*We need an outside table to prepare the food on,' Elsie told the foreman. He gave her a mock salute and beckoned to two men. They dug holes and stood the ends of some logs in the ground, then nailed rough planks across the top.

*There you are, ladies. Your kitchen table. I'll give you some sandpaper to smooth it down.'

One of the other women asked, *What do we do about bread? Will the shop keep sending more out if we pay for it?'

He laughed, not unkindly. *You'll need to make your own in a camp oven. I'll show you how tomorrow, but it'll only be damper bread, made with bicarbonate of soda. Can't make proper bread till we get our wood stoves.'

The man must have the patience of a saint, because *ask the foreman' rang out all day. How Ted kept smiling, Maggie didn't know, but she reckoned they were lucky to have him. He always had a solution of some sort, even if it wasn't what they were used to.

Ted gave them a quick demonstration of making damper. After the dough was finished he put it in the heavy iron camp oven and pushed it into the ground at the edge of the fire. After sprinkling hot embers on the lid he left it to cook.

Helped by the bigger children, the men worked from daylight to dusk on the huts because everyone was eager to have a proper roof over their heads. The women and smaller children walked out to them at noon with their dinners.

Bill greeted Maggie with a smile, seeming happier now that he had something to do. Peter was working with his father, obviously proud to be with the men.

When the first tin shack was finished, the women inspected it in silence a two rooms each about ten foot square and a bare earth floor. Open gables at each end let in the light and doors were sheets of corrugated iron with wire loops serving as hinges.

Maggie tried to hide her dismay. Her auntie's garden shed had been better built than this!

*I don't call this a house,' Bill muttered.

*Well at least we'll have a room to ourselves and a proper roof for the wet season.' She glanced sideways. His moods were up and down since they'd got here. What had he expected? Luxury? He'd known they had to clear the land and set up the farms from scratch. She sighed. He was a dreamer, not a practical man. Why had she thought he'd change?

It rained the next day and Jenny ran her fingers down the condensation on the tent wall, making patterns. This made it leak and Bill slapped her hard.

Maggie pushed between them, grabbing his raised arm. *How is the child to know about living in tents? She meant no harm.'

Jenny ran outside into the rain, sobbing.

He glared at Maggie. *Don't you dare contradict me in front of the children.'

*Don't you dare hit them, then. I won't have it.'

She was shaken, had thought the sudden rages he'd brought back from the war had stopped. But she wasn't going to let him take out his feelings on their children.

Everyone cheered when the stoves arrived. Maggie, who enjoyed cooking, set herself to learn about using theirs. She'd never made her own bread, because it could be bought more easily at the bread shop, but she'd helped her mother do it when she was a child. Only how did they get yeast out here? Did the shop have some in stock? If so, someone would have to go into town for it, plus some more flour, because they were running low.

Ted heard them discussing the problem. *Why don't a couple of you walk over to the next group? They'll show you how to make potato yeast. I'll go into town and bring back whatever's needed. I'll call in at the next group on the way and tell them to expect you tomorrow.'

*Potato yeast? I've never heard of that.'

*Well, you're about to find out what it is. Don't worry. It makes good bread.'

*I'd have enjoyed a walk into town,' Maggie said wistfully.

*You couldn't carry the flour back, though. We usually buy it in one hundred and fifty pound bags.'

The women gaped at him.

He grinned. *That's how it's sold. And sugar comes in seventy-two pound bags, tinned jam by the case. You've got to keep a good supply of basic stores. You can't be nipping to the shop all the time. It's three miles away and your husband will need to use the horse and cart, which will be arriving soon, by the way.'

Maggie and Betty were chosen to go for a lesson on bread making. As they walked, Betty complained non-stop about the primitive conditions, which were nothing like they'd been led to expect. Maggie bit her tongue. No use complaining. You had to make the best of things.

At the farm an older woman called Jean came out to greet them.

*I've waited to show you how to make the yeast, but it's put me behind in my ch.o.r.es, so let's get on with it. I've usually got my bread in the oven by now. Twice a week I bake.'

She showed them how to pour the water from strained potatoes on to dried hop leaves. Once cool, this was strained again and three dessertspoons each of flour and sugar added to the liquid, together with a starter saved from the previous batch of yeast.

When the bread was cooked, Jean let it cool a little then cut them a thick slice each, spreading it with jam.

Maggie closed her eyes in bliss. *This is wonderful bread.'

*I've made you a loaf each to take back with you and I've put some starter mixture into a jam jar. Should be enough for you all.'

*Thank you so much. Come across and visit us sometime,' Maggie said. *I've always got a cup of tea for a friend.'

*I'll do that,' Jean said. *Good luck.'

The two women started to walk back, carrying their loaves and the precious starter.

At an uncleared stretch of forest Betty stopped to look up, seeming near tears. *I don't like these big trees, looming over you.'

Maggie stopped too, ignoring the complaints. She could hear birdsong in the forest, several different birds by the sound of it. One was making a crooning noise, another was going *peep-peep' and there was something which sounded like a crow's cawing. She must ask Ted what the birds were. She enjoyed a few moments listening to the chorus, standing in the dappled light under the high green canopy.

*It gives me the s.h.i.+vers. I don't feel safe.'

*It's different here, that's all,' Maggie said at last. *But I like it much better than grey streets and terraced houses.' She hadn't expected that.

At last all the huts were finished and the Spencers moved in. Even Bill was cheerful that day and the children ran round shouting and calling.

Ted gathered everyone together the next day. *Time to put in your orders for the necessities of life before the winter.' He produced some catalogues. *I'd advise at least one hurricane lamp to light the way outdoors at night.' He went on to advise other purchases, too.

Maggie and Bill went over their list again and again, trying to keep it to the bare minimum. A tin bathtub and wash basin were essential, a couple of buckets, of course, matches, candles, lamps, but they had a lot of other things in their crate waiting in Fremantle to be delivered.

When she saw the prices, Maggie expected Bill to praise her for bringing so many of their smaller household implements, because otherwise they'd have had a much longer list to buy, but he didn't say a word. In fact, he never praised her, though even Ted said she was coping well *for a Pommie'.

She was worried about Bill and his moods. They were getting worse again.

The men were clearing trees now, working in teams. Bill came home exhausted every evening, expecting her to wait on him. But she was working just as hard, doing her housekeeping under difficult conditions and looking after the cow, so she refused to do that, even if it meant the occasional row.

In a day or two the horses and carts would be arriving. That would make the job of clearing the trees easier, surely? Perhaps he'd cheer up then.

They wouldn't be given their milking cows until more land was cleared and they'd each built a cowshed and dairy where they could separate the cream.

Cream was all the Sunnywest Dairy in Manjimup wanted to buy from them. She couldn't bear the thought of throwing away the milk from several cows every day, but how could one family use it all?

Nothing seemed to fit here.

It was carpenters they needed at this stage, not farmers. Bill wasn't good at woodwork, but as long as his crooked structures didn't fall down, she didn't mind their appearance too much.

Ted said women settlers usually kept hens for the eggs, but their birds would have to be protected from the dingoes that howled sometimes in the evenings in the forest.

Fortunately Maggie was thriving on the hard work and suns.h.i.+ne. The children were tanned and growing apace.

Only Bill looked pinched and unhappy, was losing weight and was often grumpy. The war had changed him so much. Perhaps he'd feel better when they had their proper farmhouse and everything set up.

She didn't know how she'd cope with a lifetime of bad temper and moods.

Two weeks later Betty and her husband announced they were leaving. Maggie wasn't surprised by their decision. She'd heard Betty weeping many a night because the corrugated iron part.i.tion between the two rooms offered little privacy.

The young couple sold all their possessions to pay their fares to England, so Maggie bought their sewing machine, which she got at a bargain price because no one else in the group could afford it.

In England she'd always used her mother's machine, which was very old-fas.h.i.+oned, but this one was modern, with a very efficient foot treadle. She was thrilled with it. She bought one or two other household items as well.

Her purchases caused the worst row she'd ever had with Bill.

*How did you pay for that?' he demanded when she proudly showed him her booty.

*I had a bit of money saved.'

*Money saved! You didn't tell me about that! Give it to me at once. I'm not having you wasting any more of it. We need every penny for the farm. The money I get from the government for clearing trees won't cover luxuries like sewing machines. It'll barely cover necessities. We only get so much per acre.'

*A sewing machine's not a luxury. Growing children need clothes and it's cheaper if I make them.'

He thumped the table. *Did you hear what I said? Give me that money at once!'

She hesitated then shook her head. *No. It's my money, not yours, so I'm keeping it.'

For the first time ever, he thumped her. They stared at each other in shock, then rage swelled within her and she picked up the frying pan and brandished it at him.

*If you ever hit me again, Bill Spencer, I'll hit you back with this, even if I have to wait till you're asleep to do it.'

He took a step backwards, letting his clenched fists fall. *I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you, Maggie. Give me the money and we'll forget about this.'

Again she hesitated, not wanting to keep arguing, but in the end she shook her head. *I worked hard while you were away and I've always done odd jobs for neighbours and saved a bit. That money's mine.' She saw his fists bunch up again and kept firm hold of the frying pan. *I'm not your slave, Bill Spencer; I'm your wife.'

*The husband is head of the household.'

*I managed on my own during the war while you were away, and I kept things going when you were ill after you got back. I'll be an equal partner or nothing.'

Anyway, the women in her family had always managed the family money and managed it well, too. For all his talk of being frugal, Bill sometimes bought things on impulse, justifying the purchase later in his own mind.

He stared at her for a moment longer and when she didn't back down, he turned and walked away without a word.

She put the frying pan back on the stove and folded her arms across her breast to hide the shaking. After he'd vanished from sight, she drew a long, shuddering breath.

He'd try again to get the money off her, she knew he would. He was stubborn when he wanted something. Well, so was she.

After some thought, she sent Jenny to play with Elsie's children and quickly made a hiding place for her money in the lining of her sewing box. She st.i.tched up the seam again, packed the embroidery silks back inside, then got on with her ch.o.r.es, feeling more like weeping.

What had got into him?

Part Three.

Northcliffe, Western Australia, 1925.

Life continued to have its ups and down for the Spencer family. They were still living in a temporary shack, all four sharing a room only ten foot square, but when their boxes arrived from England, they had a few comforts at least. The West Australian government might have given land to ex-servicemen and their families from all over the British Isles and settled them in groups to help one another, but they hadn't provided anything for daily living except the barest necessities.

Even Bill perked up a bit as they unpacked and of course the two children, Jenny and Peter, were bouncing with excitement about rediscovering much-loved toys and books. Unfortunately, they had to pack most things away again till they got their proper house, for lack of s.p.a.ce.

The next day was fine, so Maggie heated water on the wood-burning stove, which stood under a lean-to outside the shack. She set the tub on the rough wooden bench Bill had built and rubbed the underclothes against the washboard till they were clean.

Hard work, all this, and would be until they'd cleared the land and got their dairy farm going. But she was young and healthy, and she loved the outdoor life. She could see a wonderful future for them when the dairy farm was up and running.

She looked across at her children, tossing a ball to one another. To see them so brown and healthy made it all worthwhile. If only her husband would realize that.

But as the months pa.s.sed Bill remained moody, one day playing with the children as he had in the old days, the next day suffering one of the black moods he'd brought back from the war.

Apart from the children, it was the few moments she spent in the forest every fine day that helped Maggie cope. She'd walk a little way along the rough track listening to the birds singing and calling. Or she'd watch the beautiful patterns of light and shadow beneath the tall trees and marvel at the delicate native flowers that were so much smaller than garden flowers.

The beauty fed her soul, gave her strength.

One sunny Sunday afternoon, Maggie suggested the whole family go for a walk.

*It's supposed to be a day of rest,' Bill said, scowling. *I'm not doing anything.'

*But it's beautiful in the forest. We used to go for walks at home on Sunday afternoons. Why not here? We could go to the next settlement, call in on Jean and her family.'

*There's nothing beautiful about those d.a.m.ned trees. The government might be paying me to clear them, but it's back-breaking work.'

Bill was to get four pounds ten s.h.i.+llings per cleared acre, but had to fell every tree under eighteen inches in diameter, clearing the roots and all the scrub to leave the land in a ploughable condition. He got an additional eight s.h.i.+llings for ringbarking every tree over that size.

Peter had gone to play with a friend, so Maggie took Jenny walking. She taught her daughter an old folk song, which they sang together as they strolled along the track.

When a stranger came into sight, she stopped singing and hesitated. He was tall and looked very strong. Who was he?

Then two little boys came running after him and she felt better. Silly to be worried. Who else could he be out here but another groupie?

Smiling, he touched his hat to her. *Lovely day, isn't it? I'm Daniel Marr.'

She introduced herself and Jenny. *Yes, it is lovely. We're enjoying walking among the trees.'

*I enjoy that too. Say h.e.l.lo, John and Henry.' He smiled at Maggie. *I bring these rascals out every fine Sunday afternoon. It gives my wife a rest. She's expecting a baby in two months.'

*That's nice.' Maggie watched him walk on. She wished she was expecting another child, but no chance of that with Bill still not wanting to touch her. She'd always hoped for a large family, like hers had been. She blinked away a tear at the thought of her brothers and sisters back in England. She and her mother wrote regularly but it wasn't the same, and letters took weeks to go to and fro by s.h.i.+p, so by the time you got an answer, you forgot what questions you'd asked.

After that, she and Daniel Marr met quite often on fine Sundays, stopping to chat for a few minutes while the children played or ran races up and down the track. His wife never came with him and Bill never came with her. It was Daniel who told her the name of a pretty pink flower that smelled so sweet, even the leaves having a faint perfume: crowea.