Locked Out, page 24
‘What have I done?’ Wynnie bemoaned as tears ran from her eyes, as she then tightened her grip on Phillip while turning his head away.
‘You go inside the house with Phillip, while I go to the phone box and ring for the police and an ambulance,’ Flo said.
The police and an ambulance soon arrived to take statements and remove the body respectively. Wynnie and Flo then sat in the kitchen taking tea and a small slice of the remainder of a butter cake that Flo had cooked two days before.
‘I suppose I should go through the old shed to remove Henry’s belongings before having the shed demolished,’ Wynnie muttered as tears again came to her eyes.
‘You don’t have to do it straight away, Wynnie,’ Flo responded.
‘Yes, I do, Mum. Looking at that shed where he spent his last days makes me feel so sad. His body and mind must have been so tormented. I really need to get it out of my sight,’ Wynnie bemoaned before tears began running down her cheeks.
‘I’ll get Billy to come up with me tomorrow to help you clear it out. I’m sure Mr Jones won’t mind pulling it down and removing it once we have finished,’ Flo muttered.
‘Okay, Mum.’ Wynnie sniffled.
The following day, Wynnie, Flo, and Billy stood at the entrance to the old shed and before entering, Flo said, ‘I don’t know how he could have lived like this, Wynnie.’
Wynnie blamed herself for Henry’s death. She felt that he must have drunk himself to death after hearing her and Flo talking about her affair with Warren Wilson. ‘It’s my fault, Mum. He must have felt so alone; none of us tried to help him and I’m sure his eventual death must have occurred after hearing our conversation about me and Warren Wilson,’ Wynnie mumbled.
‘What about you and Warren Wilson?’ Billy quickly said.
‘Nothing for you to worry about, Billy,’ Flo was quick to respond while shooting Wynnie a disconcerting look.
Billy gave Flo a knowing look, word of the affair was, after all, common knowledge throughout the village. He then opened the door to the shed. Covering his nose and reeling his head back from the stench that immediately emanated from the inside of the shed, Billy almost vomited. ‘My God,’ he said as he walked several paces back from the open door.
‘Billy, can you go in and open the two little windows, one at either end of the shed? The one on the left is covered up by boxes. You will have to take them down and place them on the floor before you can get to it,’ Wynnie said.
Billy tied his handkerchief around his face covering his nose and mouth before entering and doing as Wynnie had asked of him; he then came back out and stood next to his mother.
‘Well, this isn’t getting it done. Let’s go in and start,’ Flo said. All three of them then tentatively entered the shed.
As Flo and Billy methodically went through the old boxes and drawers of a lowboy and two chests of drawers, Wynnie, who was stripping the bed, suddenly burst out crying uncontrollably.
Flo rushed to her side. ‘What is it, Wynnie?’
Wynnie could only raise what she held in her hand while bringing her free hand to cover her mouth.
Flo took the small photograph from Wynnie and she too began to cry. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Under his pillow. It’s the photo taken of us at the colliery Christmas picnic day in 1925 when we first met. Poor Henry, he must have felt so alone and miserable.’ Wynnie sobbed.
A week later, the family gathered at the Anglican Church in Greta to see Henry off. His elder brother, Don, spoke about his brother as he remembered him; a happy, easy-going young man who would do anything for anyone. He ended by cursing the colliery owners and government for destroying his brother’s life. Wynnie was too distraught to say anything, so it was left to the Parish Priest to read the eulogy.
‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord… And, now, Lord, what is my hope: truly my hope is even in thee. O spare me a little, that I may recover strength: before I go hence, and be no more seen. There is a natural body and there is a spiritual body. The first man is of the earth, earthy: the second man is the Lord from Heaven, flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; neither doth corruption inherit incorruption, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.’
‘So, when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality; then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto him the soul of our dear Henry here departed.’
The coffin was then carried to the cemetery outside the church and Henry was laid to rest.
At home, Wynnie sat for many hours alone during the days that followed Henry’s funeral while pondering Don’s words over and over in her mind. Tears often filled her eyes as she realised how true it was; working at the pit and her ultimate betrayal eventually killed her husband and left her and their son in a precarious position. With Henry’s death, there would no longer be the small mineworkers’ pension from the Miner’s Federation which barely covered the house payments; most weeks, it didn’t and they were almost always in arrears. ‘What can I do?’ She pondered under her breath. ‘We can’t keep the house now.’
As if she had read Wynnie’s mind, Flo entered through the back door and sat down at the table opposite Wynnie. ‘You will have to sell the house and move in with Billy and me,’ Flo lamented. ‘Hopefully, you will be able to realise more from the sale than is still owed on the house to enable you to pay the Star Bouget fund out.’
Wynnie could do no more than to nod her head as tears again filled her eyes.
The following day, Wynnie contacted a Maitland real estate agent and had her marital cottage placed on the market. She then packed her personal belongings and moved around the block to settle in with her mother and younger brother.
Within weeks, the cottage was sold and after the real estate agent took his commission, it barely yielded enough to pay out the mortgage.
Following the closure of her life with Henry, Wynnie felt a growing desire within her to pick up on her relationship with Warren Wilson.
Flo quickly noticed a change in Wynnie and warned, ‘I know that you and Henry were not living as man and wife for quite some time, Wynnie, but to protect your ability to remain in this community, you should have nothing to do with Mr Wilson from the corner shop. Now, I mean that, Wynnie; no matter what your relationship with your dead husband was before his death, it would be shameful for you to be seen with another man so soon after, especially the man it was rumoured…no, let’s be honest…the man you were having an affair with.’
Wynnie wiped her hand across her eyes as she peered across the table at her mother, who sat stark-faced staring back. ‘I need someone, Mum,’ she pleaded.
‘You have Phillip, me, and Billy,’ Flo retorted. ‘I’ll tell you now, Wynnie, I won’t be forced out of my home because of any shame brought to my door by your infatuation with Mr bloody Wilson.’
‘I live with you, Mum. I am twenty-five years old and I have a six-year-old son. If I don’t find someone else soon, I’ll be too old and when you pass, God forbid, I will be alone, with a child, destitute and without a place to call home,’ Wynnie responded.
‘You will always have this house to call home…unless you have us run out of town by continuing your shameful relationship with that Warren Wilson. He’s nothing but a womaniser, Wynnie. He has no intention of making an honest woman of you,’ Flo asserted.
‘The house will pass to Billy, Mum. He will have his own family. It’s barely big enough for us, let alone another woman and several kids,’ Wynnie muttered.
‘Billy will take care of you and Phillip if anything happens to me, Wynnie. You won’t be kicked out onto the street,’ Flo retorted.
Wynnie reluctantly kept her distance from Warren for the following three months. But then, one Saturday morning after Billy, Phillip, and Flo left for Maitland to do a spot of shopping, Wynnie got out the English lavender, slipped on a pair of her silk knickers, tied her hair up in a bun, and dressed in her best clothes. All spruced up, she slid her hands down over her smooth hips and made her way along the overgrown nature strip bordering the main road to the front of the corner shop.
As she entered the shop, the little bell overhanging the door tingled and Warren and his new lady friend looked up from where they stood behind the clothes rack next to the big window that fronted the side street, which was the normal approach used by customers. This was their usual canoodling spot as it was out of sight from approaching customers but strategically best placed to give them fair warning before the customers actually entered the shop.
Startled by the tingle of the bell, Warren was first to react, coughing slightly and saying, ‘Yes, Mrs Cameron, I think that shirt will fit your son.’ He then moved away from the clothes rack and casually looked to Wynnie and said, ‘Mrs Evans, how nice to see you. What can I do for you?’
Mrs Cameron was well-known to Wynnie and she could immediately see from her disordered attire and personal demeanour that she too had fallen under the spell of Warren Wilson.
Wynnie quickly looked to Warren who showed no interest. She then turned on her heels and awkwardly departed to rush back home in tears.
When Flo, Phillip, and Billy arrived back home, Wynnie was lying on her bed still dressed in her best and obviously in a state of despair. Flo didn’t question Wynnie over what was bothering her, for it was obvious from her attire that she had been to see Warren; she concluded from her demeanour that she had no further reason to be concerned.
Not long after, Warren’s affair with Mrs Cameron was discovered. In Australia, over the years, men have been brainwashed by women into placing all the blame on the male involved in an illicit affair, thereby regarding the woman involved as an innocent party who was simply taken advantage of, even though it is well accepted that a man cannot have sex with a woman unless the woman says “yes”.
Upon hearing of what his wife had been doing with Warren from the corner shop, Mr Cameron confronted his wife.
She immediately broke down crying and told her husband that, ‘Warren cornered me in his shop and forced himself upon me. He then threatened to tell you if I didn’t go along with it whenever I went to the shop for something I needed.’
Mr Cameron, being a typical Australian male, took her for her word not wanting to believe that she would go behind his back in this way, so he and several of his mates took it upon themselves to give Warren a good beating, even though he protested saying, ‘Your wife pursued me, Cameron.’
To save face following the beating, Cameron and his friends forced Warren to sell up and move away. Wynnie took the whole experience very hard and emotionally withdrew, thereafter devoting her thoughts and time completely to the welfare and future of her son, Phillip.
Chapter 19
Billy’s Demise
In October 1939, Billy was called up by the army and, following basic training, was sent to Britain to fight alongside other Australian and Allied troops trying to deter the Nazi menace threatening peace in Europe.
Flo and Wynnie took Billy’s departure very hard. They had come to depend on him for more than the income he brought into the house. He was more like a big brother to Phillip than an uncle.
‘We haven’t heard from Billy yet, Mum,’ Wynnie said to Flo four months after Billy’s departure.
‘No, and I’m getting quite worried. He said that he would write as soon as they arrived in Britain,’ Flo answered with a look of concern on her face.
‘I wouldn’t be too concerned though, Mum. With the war, I’d imagine that he would be totally occupied with whatever they have him doing and you could imagine him in the big smoke, you know a country boy from Australia in London. Besides that, I’m sure that mail delivery would not be a priority. It would be brought over by ship and you can imagine how dicey that would be,’ Wynnie said trying to reassure herself as much as her mother.
‘I suppose you’re right. Still, I can’t help but worry,’ Flo continued.
Not much more was said about Billy until six days prior to Christmas Day when a parcel was delivered, addressed to Flo from Billy in Britain. The letter accompanying the goodies inside the parcel assured Flo that he was okay and at the time of mailing, he was on leave in London, where he was having a great time.
‘I told you, Mum. Billy let loose in London. Could you imagine?’ Wynnie laughed.
Unbeknownst to Flo and Wynnie, however, Billy had taken a shine to a young woman whom he met one day while travelling on the underground railway. She entered the carriage he was in and because there were no seats available, stood in front of him holding onto the handrail that extended from the top of the carriage to the floor.
Billy looked up and once he caught her eye, he offered her his seat, which she gratefully accepted, and he stood in front of her holding onto the handrail. As the train travelled between stops, they engaged in some light conversation until the train came to a stop where the young lady, Mavis, was due to get off. As she turned to walk towards the door to alight, she looked Billy in the eye and said, ‘This is me. It was nice to meet you.’
To which, Billy asked, ‘Would you care to have dinner with me tonight and a couple of drinks at a pub?’
She immediately agreed to his invitation and told Billy the name of the pub, the Wild Boar Inn, situated just up the road from where she lived, which was renowned for its food.
‘I’ll meet you there at seven o’clock,’ Billy enthusiastically said.
‘Okay,’ Mavis said as she rushed off to alight before the door closed.
That night, Billy turned up at the pub, which was a twenty-minute drive by cab from his barracks and entered the pub. Mavis was there waiting in the foyer. ‘Hi,’ he said as he took her hand in his.
‘It’s nice in here, don’t you think?’ Mavis said.
‘Yes. Hopefully, it’s far enough out of Central London to avoid being bombed,’ Billy responded.
‘Let’s go in and forget about that.’ Mavis chuckled.
They had such a good time that at the end of the night, Billy walked Mavis home, only one block away. ‘Would you like to come in and stay the night? It’s a long way back to your barracks. I have a very comfortable lounge where you could sleep it off before getting an early start back in the morning,’ Mavis suggested.
A very inebriated Billy looked at his watch, it was two-thirty in the morning. ‘Well, if you don’t mind. You know, the neighbours might talk…’
Mavis cut him off, saying, ‘The neighbours won’t care and besides, you won’t get a train, bus or cab at this time in the morning.’
‘Okay,’ Billy simply answered.
Mavis opened her front door and Billy followed her in closing the door behind him.
‘Cup of tea or coffee?’ Mavis asked.
‘Tea would be nice,’ Billy answered.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Mavis said as she walked towards her very small kitchen.
Within days, Billy was spending most of his leave time with Mavis at her small flat and before long, they entered into a sexual relationship. He sent a parcel to his mother soon after.
‘When did he send it?’ Wynnie asked.
‘It was stamped on 22 November,’ Flo replied.
‘Well, that should relieve our fears, Mum. He was safe when he sent this only a few weeks ago. He’s probably still in London living it up,’ Wynnie said with an encouraging smile.
‘I doubt they would get that much leave. But I hope you’re right and he spends Christmas in London with some friends, not on his own,’ a relieved Flo responded.
Although Billy wasn’t spoken of again by Flo or Wynnie, he was always on their mind. Then, while they were having a cuppa around mid-morning on 3 January…a very hot summer’s day…there was a knock on the front door.
‘I’ll go,’ Flo said as she rose from her chair.
From where she remained seated in the kitchen, Wynnie heard a muffled conversation between Flo and whoever had come to the door, followed by the door closing and the slow footsteps of Flo on the lino as she made her way back to the kitchen.
Flo entered the kitchen with tears flowing down her cheeks while looking down at a single piece of paper that she held tightly in her hand. Wynnie rushed to her side and assisted her to walk back to the kitchen table where she sat her down. ‘What is it?’ Wynnie mumbled as she took the paper from Flo’s hand and sat opposite her. ‘My God!’ Wynnie cried as she read the telegram:
We are deeply sorry to inform you that your son, William Spencer, was tragically injured by a Nazi bomb and, unfortunately, later died of those injuries which were incurred while on leave and staying with a friend in London. Please accept our heartfelt condolences. [Australian War Dept.]
Both women couldn’t speak as they sat facing each other with ashen faces and tears freely rolling down their cheeks. Finally, Flo said, ‘I’m going to my room. This is the final straw.’
From that day forward, Flo seemed to lose all interest and died in March 1942. She was buried beside Jo, John, and Henry in the graveyard behind the Anglican Church in Greta. Wynnie and Phillip were the last surviving members of what was once, a happy and well-functioning Hunter Valley coal mining family.
The morning following Flo’s funeral, Wynnie got up to get breakfast for her and Phillip. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on and then went into Phillip’s bedroom to wake him up to get ready for school. However, he wasn’t in his bed. Surprised not to find him there, she went out the back of the cottage to see if he was in the yard and found him up the back speaking to two boys in the laneway at the back of the property.
‘Phillip, come in for breakfast,’ she called out to him.
