The Cotton Lass & other stories, page 5
He might have known it was all too good to be true. Women! They were never content. Always had to be changing things. Couldn’t let a man live in peace.
He didn’t mind Em going off with those greenies – well, not much! – or even bringing them home – if she warned him first – but he was dammed if he’d join them himself!
Calling themselves conservationists! They should be called what they were: weirdos. They should be banned! What if the blokes saw him with that fat old biddy in her baggy purple trousers? He shuddered at the mere thought.
And as for him joining a protest march, Em could forget it! His soul shrivelled at the very idea of that. He was not going on a march! Not now, not ever!
He’d told her that several times now, but she still kept trying to persuade him.
He bit into a ham roll that tasted like sawdust. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? Once his Em had her mind really set on something, she usually got her way.
Lucky Stars
Introduction
At one stage there were refugees coming to Australia from Vietnam and other places. I knew what it was like to be a migrant because we came to Australia in 1973 in our early thirties. And I’d met people who’d come here as refugees.
Even when you speak the same language it’s hard to move to another country and culture – well, nearly the same language. There is an Aussie English, just as there is an American English and a South African English.
Simple things trip you up in your new country. I knew one British family who’d been invited to a party and told to ‘bring a plate’ and that’s what they did, literally took along an empty plate. They hadn’t realised everyone shared the catering.
I was upset by parties where all the men congregated at one end of the house and the women at the other. This was a group of young professional people. We’d given many parties back in England and people had always mingled. And danced.
But these were small details compared to what someone from a totally different cultural background, who didn’t speak much, if any, English must feel when going to live in a new country. My heart went out to them, so of course I wrote a story.
This one wasn’t published in print: it was read in a short story segment on the radio. So of course it had to be particularly strict about word count.
Lucky Stars
I walk slowly along the dusty road. Follow the others. Here is the ship at last! Don’t look back! Just go on board quietly!
I keep tight hold of my new passport. I wait long time for it. Very long time. Years pass slowly in a refugee camp.
The sky is dark now. I feel very alone. The others are strangers. I look up. Ah, good! My stars are there, looking down. Far away, but old friends. I talk to them often back in the camp.
The ship is big. It will take us to Australia safely. So many small boats do not get there. Or the people are sent back.
I have a passport now, though. I won’t be sent back.
I walk slowly, move where they tell me, wait and then wait again.
I have one bag. Not heavy. Still, I walk slowly. Like an old person. I’m tired. So tired. Too tired to feel the happiness properly.
I find my cabin. Very small. Four bunks. Clean, but not much space. But then, I have few possessions now.
One person lies in a bottom bunk. Face to the wall. Crying quietly.
Another lies in a top bunk. Face up. Staring at the ceiling. They do not speak to me.
I leave my bag on the other bottom bunk. I go up on deck. But I take my passport. I keep it with me all the time.
Water is dark round the ship. Other people stand by the rails. Most are in groups. A few stand alone.
I walk past them all. I find an empty space. I just stand there. Look up at my stars. Look down at the water.
Waiting. Always waiting. But this time hope waits with me.
Hours later, the ship sails. Middle of the night. I am still on deck. So are many others.
My eyes fill with tears. Even leaving the camp is a loss. Friends are still there.
My family is long gone. All I have left now is myself. But I will not let tears fall. Stop that! You have wept enough, foolish one.
The sea is calm. The ship slides quickly away from port. The land lights grow smaller. Soon they look like little stars. Then they vanish.
I turn away from the ship’s lights. I hide my face in the darkness.
One tear escapes, then another. Cold on my cheeks. I grow angry with myself. Australia will be a good place for me. No more crying, foolish one!
But sad thoughts stay with me. How is my village? My old friends? Is anyone still alive from my family?
More coldness on my cheeks. But it is dark. No one to see the tears. Except the stars.
We travel for days. The ship is clean. The bunks are comfortable. Plenty to eat. I am not very hungry, though.
In the cabin we speak each other’s names now. Very polite, all of us. But we each live under our own shadows.
We do not ask questions. Questions can hurt. We talk of the future. Dreams we share. Sometimes.
The past is done with. The future is a mystery.
The sad one still weeps at night. We leave that poor soul time to weep alone. But there are four of us in the cabin. We cannot always walk the decks. So we hear the weeping sometimes.
On the ship I find a library. Books are a joy to me. But these books are all in English. Hard English. Long words. I can only read slowly. I lose the story. Still, I read the words. Must improve my English. Prepare for my new country.
Some books have pictures. Like a child, I look at the pictures. Pink, happy people. Large houses. Many possessions. Very lucky people. Are you real?
Time is slow to pass. I am used to that. I have been two years in the camp. Long, slow years. I walk round the deck a lot. And most nights, I have the stars. They keep me company.
One day we see small boats. Fishermen. The captain’s voice: ‘Nearly there now. You’ll see the coast of Australia this afternoon.’
The ship sails on. The wake drags behind, heavy with our sorrows.
Land grows on the horizon. Hope grows in us, little by little. Here we can stay. Here we can make new lives, new friends, new homes.
Families smile at one another. Some people stay on deck all night. Watching. Thinking. I stay there too.
Next afternoon we arrive. The ship moves slowly, very slowly now, into the docks. Men in uniforms come on board. Polite men. No shouting.
Nothing else happens. We wait. Hours we wait. Harder to wait patiently now, so close to stepping onto Australia.
Then, at last, a new voice. ‘Will all immigrants please collect their luggage and go on deck.’
We go down to our cabins. We all say goodbye, goodbye, good luck, live long.
I probably wouldn’t see them again. I hoped they would be lucky.
Slowly, slowly, the line of people moves along the deck. Not much talking. What is there to say? All been said many times before.
At last I reach the gangway. I watch the people below me. They step onto Australia. They look round, expect something different. But docks are the same everywhere.
Legs do not move properly after the boat. People stagger along. Follow the pointing hands. Nod. Smile.
I stagger after them. I nod. I try to smile. I can’t.
‘Move along quickly, please! Queue here, please!’
We arrive at customs. So noisy it hurts. Queues everywhere. So many people! So many loud voices.
I wait in line. Patience, foolish one! You cannot hurry these things. Life moves fast or slow, as fate decides. Move with it.
I watch the people around me. The old ones – will they meet their children again? The ones of my age – have they husbands and wives waiting? The children – have they any family to care for them?
Not many are alone, like me.
My turn at last. The customs officer speaks too quickly. ‘Slowly,’ I say to him. ‘Speak slowly, please.’
‘Want an interpreter?’
‘No, thank you. I have some English. Just speak slowly.’
He looks at my passport, then my bag. Not much to show him. I feel shame to bring so little.
‘Anyone coming to meet you?’
‘No. I go to hostel.’ I show him the letter.
‘Right. You go through that door in the corner.’
‘What door?’ I see no door. Too many people in between. Taller than me. I am afraid to get lost. I cannot move. Like a fool, I stand there.
‘Come on! I’ll show you the way. Can’t have you getting lost, can we?’
Such kindness makes me want to weep! I don’t let myself.
We walk across the shed. We pass people from the boat. Some are talking and laughing. They have their families. Their tears are happy ones. How lucky they are!
But I am lucky, too. I am alive. In Australia. At last.
We arrive in the corner. The door is open.
‘There you are, mate! Go through there. See that lady? She’ll help you. Good luck!’
Nice man, the customs officer. Kind. I hope he enjoys long life.
In a camp, you forget how to think for yourself. I walk quickly to the lady. I am glad to leave the loud noise behind. I feel empty inside. And very tired.
The lady is kind, like the man. She gives us cups of tea. Strong. Milk in it. Not very nice – but warm. Something to do.
I sip it slowly. I say, ‘Thank you. It is very good.’ The lady smiles.
‘Welcome to Australia!’ She says it to everyone. Loudly. ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ She tries very hard to make us feel happy. So we smile at her. We nod when she looks at us.
You learn to hide behind a smile. To hide and wait for the time to pass. Our lives are still not our own. Not yet. But we have arrived at last.
Soon we can make a start. Australia. Lucky country.
Later the lady takes us outside. We get into a bus. We each have a seat. No one has to stand. Very comfortable. And quiet. Even the lady stops speaking. So we can stop smiling.
I look out of the window. Night-time now. City centre. Bright lights. Hotels, restaurants, shops. A world I have forgotten. All cities look alike.
But people are different here. So pink, so plump. These people have eaten well all their lives.
Then we leave the city centre. At first many cars on the road. Then not so many. Just houses to see. Warm with lights. Big gardens. Some curtains not drawn.
No fear inside. Just families. Sitting together. Blue lights of televisions. Australia. Like in the pictures we saw in the camp.
Very different from home, these houses, these people. Too different, perhaps?
I shiver. How will I fit in here? How will I find a job – meet friends – make a home? Hard to do that, on your own.
We arrive at the hostel.
The lady gets out first. She starts talking again. ‘This way, everyone! Hurry up, please!’
People get off the bus. I wait. Get off last. Afraid now. The lights are too bright.
I stop for a moment. I look up. Ah! My stars are still there. Many stars, shining down.
I take a deep breath. I smile. New country. But same old friends up there in the sky.
Not that different here, foolish one!
Moving Day
Introduction
This story is based on a real life moving day of our own. Oh, boy, was that a day! My husband and I have moved several times in over fifty years of marriage, but the episode with the moth and cat really happened on one of our moves.
OK, I admit it: I freak out when big fluttery moths come anywhere near me. I know they can’t hurt me. I know I’m being ridiculous. But I simply can’t help shrieking and diving for cover.
And the cat incident was real, too. He stayed with us for several years after that. I’ve usually preferred dogs to cats, but this was a black half-Persian, very beautiful, and he behaved more like a dog – or perhaps we treated him that way and he responded accordingly. Who knows? Animals are as variable as human beings. We all loved him. He used to walk round the garden with us, stop when we stopped, carry on with us.
And the incident with the dressing gown really happened to my husband too on this moving day. We hadn’t realised how visible we’d be in a bedroom that jutted out over a valley. Great views – both ways.
Ah, moving days! There’s nothing like them.
Moving Day
The day started badly. It had been after midnight when they’d finished packing, so they set the alarm to wake them at six. But for some reason it didn’t go off and the removal men had to wake them up.
‘Oh, no! Look at the time! You go and let them in!’ Jemma rolled out of bed and dived for the bathroom.
Grumbling, George dragged on his jeans and padded to the front door.
The removal man grinned. ‘I see you’re ready to go.’
‘I’m afraid we overslept. And the alarm didn’t go off.’
‘Never mind. You’re up now.’ Without asking permission, the man strolled into the house and started surveying the contents as if he owned them.
‘Look, can you just give us half an hour and—?’ George began.
The man shook his head. ‘Nah. ’Fraid not. We’ve got another job to go to afterwards. Late booking. You should have got a proper alarm clock, mate.’
George gritted his teeth. ‘Well, can you start in the living room, then?’
Again, the man shook his head. His grin said he was clearly enjoying his moment of power. ‘We always start with the beds.’
Jemma poked her head into the hallway. ‘Give me two minutes to get dressed. You can start in the spare bedroom. George, show him where to go, then wake the kids!’
Three-year-old Sarah had been sick in the night. George stared at the evidence in disgust, then scooped her out of the bed. ‘Come on, baby, let’s get you washed and dressed.’ Still holding her, he strode next door and woke his son.
Paul promptly burst into tears and started pummelling his pillow. ‘I don’t want to go to a new house!’ He’d said that on and off all day yesterday as he watched them packing the last of his toys. Still sobbing, he dived under the bedclothes.
George lost his patience and pulled the covers off Paul. ‘Get up! Now. And get dressed before you come into the kitchen. The men are here already.’
‘I want my breakfast first. I always have my breakfast first.’
‘Well, today you’re getting dressed first.’
No one could whine as well as Paul, George thought. No one. If they put whining in the Olympics, Paul would win gold every time.
Ten minutes later, he deposited a sweet-smelling daughter in the kitchen and grabbed the piece of toast Jemma thrust at him.
‘I put your clothes on the bed,’ she said.
‘Thanks, love.’
Three hours later, the men carried the last of the furniture out, saying they were going for an early lunch on the way. George found Jemma in tears in the kitchen, with the children clutching her skirts and wailing in sympathy.
‘We’ve been so happy here,’ she sobbed.
George put his arms around her. ‘The house is too small. And you know how thrilled you are with the new one. Come on, love. This isn’t like you.’
Jemma was usually the strong one, the person who sorted other people’s troubles out. There was only one thing in the world she feared and that was moths, the mere sight of which sent her into instant hysterics. The rest of the time, she was the most capable female he’d ever met.
‘Come on! Let’s go,’ he said.
When they arrived at the new house, they ate the burgers and chips they’d bought on the way, then Jemma made beds for the children on the floor of their new bedrooms with the blankets from the car.
‘Have a nap,’ she ordered.
They didn’t even pretend to close their eyes, but they stayed there for a while, at least.
The removal men arrived in a more co-operative mood. Like two young gods, they carried the furniture inside effortlessly, without bumping the walls, seeming happy to move things again, even when Jemma changed her mind about the positioning of the heavy old piano.
By three o’clock they’d accepted a cheque for their services and left.
At some time during the afternoon a black cat entered the house, and when they shooed it outside, it sat at the back door yowling pitifully. It obviously considered this its home.
‘I bet the previous owners abandoned it,’ George said.
‘Well, it can go somewhere else. I haven’t time for a cat.’ As it turned to look at her pleadingly, Jemma shooed it away.
Twice the children were found playing with the cat on the back veranda. Twice more she shooed it away and tried to distract them, before going back to unpacking boxes.
She kissed George on the nose as she passed him. ‘Aren’t the views over the valley fabulous? Soon have the bedrooms sorted for tonight. You go and deal with the boxes in the garage.’
George returned the kiss with enthusiasm and strolled outside, master of all he surveyed. How lovely to have a big double garage and workshop!
After a while, the cat grew tired of sneaking clumsy cuddles with Sarah and came to investigate what George was doing. It spent the rest of the afternoon with him. It was a nice cat. Companionable.
Jemma poked her head in to see how he was going. ‘Not you as well! It’s not staying.’
At six o’clock, they stopped unpacking to feed everyone then get the children ready for bed, something they always tried to do together.
‘No,’ Jemma told Sarah for the fifteenth time, ‘teddy won’t be frightened to sleep in this lovely big room. Look, he can sit on the windowsill.’
Sarah looked unconvinced, but brightened when the cat strolled in. It settled down next to the bed. Delighted, Sarah also lay down.
Jemma rolled her eyes. ‘I’m too tired to argue. We’ll take it to the cat rescue people if it hangs around.’
