Snapshots from Home, page 26
‘But why did Trooper Neill give Barrett Farm as his address?’
Teddy shook his head, unsure.
‘They might live in a humpy camp,’ said Kitty. ‘Plenty of Aboriginal folks live in humpy camps.’
‘Of course!’ said Edie. ‘And they thought if we saw it, we might report Trooper Neill to the War Office for being of non-European descent.’
‘We would never do that. Would we, Teddy?’ Kitty checked with him.
‘Never, Kitty.’
‘And you wouldn’t tell, would you, Miss Stark? This is one of those good lies, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, and I most certainly wouldn’t tell.’
‘It’s brave of his family to agree to be snapped, even knowing it might get Ollie in trouble,’ said Kitty.
‘I wonder at them.’ Edie was thinking of the Aboriginal soldier she’d seen in Guildford. ‘Why would they even want to protect his enlistment? Why would they want Ollie out there, fighting at the front, when they might lose him so easily? He didn’t have to enlist – no one expects Aboriginal men to do it.’ Teddy opened his mouth, then closed it again. ‘Mr Macmillan?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You have an idea though. You don’t normally hold back on speaking your mind.’ As soon as the words were out, Edie wanted to take them back.
Teddy looked over, keeping his gaze steady on hers. She detected something like regret. ‘They get the same pay as white men in the AIF.’
‘Oh. And they’re not usually paid the same as white fellows?’
‘They’re usually slaves. Most Aboriginal workers are slaves.’
‘Cheap labour, not slaves. We’re not an uncivilised nation.’
‘Slaves,’ he said. ‘They work for nothing or the employers keep their wages “safe” for them.’
‘No, that’s not true – they’re paid in food at least, and somewhere to live …’ Edie trailed off. Teddy had his eyes back on the road. ‘Oh, dear Lord, you’re right,’ she breathed. ‘They’re fed and permitted to stay on the farmer’s land, but they’re working for nothing. That’s slavery.’ Kitty’s eyes were wide but Edie was too disturbed to pay much attention. ‘And you were right about them enlisting, too. They sign up to fight for this Commonwealth that’s given them nothing but trouble. And the government has the gall to try to prevent them.’ Edie felt sick.
They drove in silence for some time. Edie could barely sit still. Outrage was rising inside her and she didn’t know where it came from or what it meant. Teddy seemed oblivious, steering his horse around potholes. Kitty was subdued, her hands in her lap, pressed close to Edie’s side.
‘I went to a factory,’ Edie burst out at last, making Kitty start.
Teddy’s head swung around. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s true. What you said. They’re mistreated and miserable. The owners only seem to care about profit. They lock out people who are late to work, even when it’s not their fault. They’re under surveillance all the time. Mr Hammond wants to use a card system …’
Teddy was nodding. ‘That’s what the Great Strike is about. The card system is supposed to speed up workers to their utmost capacity. It pits them against their fellow workers, and against themselves – a system that makes a worker a machine. Another form of slavery.’
In an instant Edie saw through all the cautious conservatism in the newspapers and offended bluster of her father and his friends. The Great Strike made real sense for the first time. ‘The boss stands up and oversees the workers from a balcony built for the purpose, as if they’re criminals sentenced to hard labour,’ she said. ‘They pay the men a pittance and the women even less, while they grow rich from selling things the government needs for the war. And my father wants—’ Edie managed to stop herself.
Kitty’s eyes were round and horrified. Teddy had let the reins go slack and was staring at Edie with an expression she couldn’t decipher.
‘Your father wants …?’
She longed to tell him the horrible truth – that her father was making her leave her teaching post, plotting to marry her off to Digby Hammond, the owner of the very factory she’d just denounced. But this wasn’t something she could say – not in front of Kitty, and certainly not to Teddy Macmillan.
‘My father’s friend owns the factory,’ she said. ‘They make soldiers’ mess kits and – and other metal items needed in the war.’
Kitty recovered enough to ask, ‘Like the soldiers’ tin hats and cigarette cases?’
Edie couldn’t tear her gaze away from Teddy’s. ‘Yes. And other things that help us fight.’
Comprehension stole over his face.
Kitty let out a long sigh of pent-up breath. ‘I suppose we can’t blame the factory for making things like that. We need those bits and bobs to win. But they should treat their workers better.’
‘I’m sure it’s not just that one factory,’ said Edie. ‘It’s the same for many labourers.’
Teddy took up the reins again. ‘Miss Stark, right at this moment, workers in Victoria and New South Wales are laying down tools in droves to fight for their rights. They’re not willing to take it any more – and there’s talk that workers in Western Australia will join them.’
‘Do the workers here know what’s happening on the eastern coast?’
‘They know. Bosses and the government are closing their nets tighter around the workers every day, and if Billy Hughes gets his way with the conscription matter, many more will be off to fight, whether they want to or not.’
‘But we already voted conscription down last year.’
‘There are rumours he’s planning another referendum.’
‘What? No!’ cried Edie. ‘Once was enough.’
‘What does conscription mean?’ asked Kitty.
‘It’s when the government can force men to enlist and go to war. Mr Macmillan, where did you hear this rumour? Was the source reputable?’
‘It’s no secret. Hughes crowed about it publicly after the election. He said the people had spoken when they voted his Nationalist party in, and the people want to support the mother country.’
‘I know his new party is about patriotism and ties to England but that’s just rhetoric. We’ve already defeated conscription. Surely he’ll respect the decision of the people.’ Teddy did it again – he opened his mouth and then closed it. ‘Spit it out!’ she demanded.
He laughed in surprise and the sound gave her a startling shimmer of happiness. ‘Billy and his cronies in the Nationalist Party want greater control of people’s income to fuel this dirty great beast of a war, and they’ll do whatever they can to force the last few fit men to sign up. Even with our vast losses, they want to send more, and without any change to how the war is being conducted – any stop to the mistakes that have sent so many men to the slaughter. War costs money: you agree with that?’ Edie nodded. ‘And yet the men in power are asking a conscription of workers’ bodies, not of money from the wealthy. How then does the Prime Minister pay for war?’
Edie shook her head, stumped.
‘By taking control of wheat and the shipping trade. By taxing workers extra on their income. By asking poor, hard-working Australians to use their own money to buy war bonds, investing in the very system that makes them poor! Not by getting the rich to cough up, but by making those from even the lowest rungs of society give up their earnings and crops and ships. He even has the gall to urge everyday people to forego little comforts such as tea and sugar. And now he hopes to force them overseas to fight.’
Edie was speechless with dismay – but she couldn’t doubt his words. Once, she would have disagreed, but just a few weeks had shown her so much, now she knew where to look for it. The connection between war, politics and class was before her in ugly clarity. A small noise escaped Kitty and she looked down to find the girl in tears.
‘What’s wrong, dear?’ She pulled Kitty close at the same time Teddy attempted to, which caused a tangle of arms, touches and red-faced apologies.
‘Conscription,’ Kitty sobbed. ‘If Mr Hughes calls everyone to vote again, and they vote the way he wants, he could force Teddy to go to war!’
‘Buck up, bean.’ Her brother put on a show of confidence. ‘No one can make me go. Anyway, I thought you wanted me off winning medals and rescuing orphans?’
His teasing had the desired effect. Kitty forgot her tears so she could argue. ‘Of course I want everyone thinking you a hero. It’s just, people are so ignorant. They don’t see that you’re a hero for standing up for the rights of people and workers and women. They think you’re a shirker not to go to war because they don’t see how weak that would be for you.’
Teddy was silent, clearly touched.
‘Surely Australians won’t vote for conscription this time,’ Edie said. ‘People are more disillusioned than ever. Kitty, I don’t think you should worry.’
Kitty seemed genuinely relieved to hear that. Edie, on the other hand, was concealing her own uneasiness about the conscription vote and what it would mean for a man like Teddy.
21
A Clandestine Correspondence
‘Best you stop driving out with him. Not that anyone suspects you of immoral goings-on – as such.’ Miss Raison leaned back in her chair and eyed Edie across the desk. ‘Just that the Macmillan lad’s a bad apple.’
‘He’s not really that—’ Edie attempted.
‘Got in trouble with the law while you were on holidays, you know.’
Edie’s mouth fell open. ‘I didn’t know! What happened?’
‘Let him off with a warning.’ She sniffed. ‘Ought to have given him a spell in the jailhouse. Would have taught him a lesson.’
‘Why did they warn him?’ Edie pressed her.
‘Passing out handbills to the millworkers about the Great Strike. Wrote and published them himself! No one’s forgotten his proselytising on election day back in May, either. Boy’s a menace. Got into a fight, too. Some chaps called out to him from the hotel, Macmillan lad answered back, next thing you know it was fisticuffs in the street!’ She shook her head. ‘Oughtn’t have talked back to them – provocation, I say. Shows what sort Macmillan is.’
Edie digested this news. Teddy had been writing and passing out handbills about worker action? To the workers at the Ellingtons’ flour mill, no less? And he’d back-chatted violent men who harassed him. She was the one who’d challenged him to make handbills or write political literature. What have I done? She found Miss Raison’s sharp eyes upon her and it felt like the woman could see guilt on her face.
‘Best to cut all ties at once,’ said the headmistress. ‘Even with Kitty going along with you, doesn’t look good for you to mix with a chap like that. Don’t use his gallery either. Monger handles film developing now, I believe.’
‘Mr Monger only sends Box Brownies to Perth for developing. He can’t develop the film I use in my camera.’
‘Send your film away for developing then.’
‘The YMCA asks us to develop and sort the photos so they can deliver them to the soldiers without any fuss or mistakes.’
Miss Raison frowned. ‘Learn to do it yourself then. A suitable alternative can be arranged, I’m sure.’
It bothered Edie. Her jaw had grown tight. ‘Perhaps Mr Macmillan has learned his lesson?’
Miss Raison’s eyes sharpened further. ‘Not likely. Ellington very unhappy with him. Handbills encouraged his millworkers to join the Great Strike. Ellington says young Macmillan not welcome in his home any more. Also mentioned he’d seen you in the sulky with him. Suggested it’s not seemly.’ She gave Edie a significant look.
‘It’s a shame,’ Edie couldn’t help saying. ‘It was convenient to have a driver to get me to the more distant locations for my Snapshots from Home League work.’
‘Don’t doubt you’ll find someone more suitable to drive you.’
Her resentment was so strong, Edie almost came straight out and told Miss Raison about her resignation from her teaching post. But she hesitated. That would make it real and final. It was still early in the term; it wouldn’t make any difference if she told Miss Raison now or a week from now. And the ban on Teddy driving her to take portraits had left her irritated enough, without having to confess that her father was a despot.
‘Yes, Miss Raison,’ was all she said.
The headmistress waved a hand in dismissal.
Edie arranged things so she no longer had contact with Teddy Macmillan. Kitty became their go-between, taking the film to the gallery for developing and delivering the photo cards back to Edie.
However, Kitty made her objections known. ‘You’re always so busy these days, Miss Stark. You used to be able to stop and argue with Teddy for an hour at a time when you were getting film developed, but now you always rush back to Mrs Mason’s to prepare your lessons. Why do you have so many lessons to prepare? You don’t have any extra classes or pupils. You’re rather exploiting me, always sending me to run these errands for you now.’
Edie tried to reason with her. ‘That’s what an assistant does.’
‘Well, it’s shoddy, in my opinion. I can see what Teddy means about workers being treated unfairly by the bosses.’ Edie was both amused and cut by this declaration. ‘Teddy notices it too. He asks about you every time – wants to know why you didn’t come in with me and what you said. He looks quite doubtful when I tell him you’re preparing lessons again.’
Edie dwelled on this for two days before coming to the conclusion that she must write Teddy a note to explain. Regret seemed to pierce her through every time she thought about what she’d said to him about being a man of action. It wouldn’t do to have him think she was a hypocrite – that she had become uncomfortable about seeing him since he’d taken action.
There were several drafts before she settled on her wording.
Dear Mr Macmillan,
I apologise for my seeming rudeness in sending Kitty to do my errands. My employer has asked me to stop driving out as part of my League work. Although this was previously acceptable to her, she has more lately reconsidered, with the view that it may be perceived as improper, especially among the parents of our pupils and prospective pupils.
I am grateful to you for your continuing service to the League, and for overlooking my absence from your gallery in person. I hope the headmistress’s directive does not cause you
Here, Edie stopped. Cause what? Embarrassment? Contempt? Or worse – pain?
inconvenience. If possible, I’d like to keep on with our arrangement of billing the film developing to the YMCA, but other costs to me.
Yours etc.
Edith Stark
In the morning, Kitty brought her a reply.
Dear Miss Stark,
Thank you for informing me of your employer’s insurmountable disgust with my politics. It gives me no end of satisfaction to think a woman of her reputed one-eyed nationalism finds me unsuitable as a driving companion to one of her employees, even in the pursuit of a wartime comfort for her beloved infantrymen.
I sincerely hope she goes and boils her head.
In the meantime, I would suggest you speak to the Reverend Mr Cummings, who also has a sulky (though much inferior to mine and his horse is a sad-looking underfed creature if ever I saw one) and who may be a more suitable driver for your photographic assignations.
May I also make comment, purely in passing, that a large number of workers at the Fremantle Port are now joining the Great Strike. Adela Pankhurst has also led a march on parliament to protest the food shortage for the working classes. Scabs are said to be taking jobs at the Randwick workshops. Premier Fuller of New South Wales released this conspiracist propaganda:
“This is not a revolt against the Card System, but against the Nationalist Government. I say plainly that they are being led by men who are not only enemies of this Government, but who are friends of the enemies of the Empire who would take away all your privileges, devastate your homes, and make you the servile slaves of the Kaiser, instead of keeping you a free people under the flag of Old England.”
Exaggerated claims and making workers who demand their rights out to be traitorous demons, as usual!
Yours etc.
Teddy Macmillan
PS There’s been a new indigo dye come in. I think you would like it.
‘Why are you writing letters?’ Kitty asked. ‘I can take Teddy a message in words just as well.’
‘I had a photographic question,’ said Edie. ‘I didn’t want any details missed.’
Kitty was offended. ‘I never miss details.’
Edie was dying to write back straight away. But what if Kitty mentioned it to someone? People would think she was corresponding with a political dissident – or worse, they’d think she was conducting some sort of romantic affair. Hussy, came her father’s cold whisper in her ear – but Edie cast it away. There was nothing wrong with discussing the news of the nation or arranging purchases with the proprietor of a business. And anyway, Kitty was unlikely to talk about it much, since she had so few friends. Edie made herself wait a day, then dashed off a reply.
Dear Mr Macmillan,
Thank you for the information in your last. I found it highly interesting. I was told when visiting the Hammond factory that union men encourage the workers to work slowly. Is there any truth to such claims? It’s said they work slowly to provide their mates with jobs, and this was why the card system was required.
I should be grateful to hear your views on this point.
Please send Kitty with the indigo dye and bill it to my account.
Yours etc.
Edith Stark
His answer came the next morning.
Dear Miss Stark,
This is true. The unionists have been known to advise men to work slowly. Slow work is a necessary evil in the current conditions. Workers do it to try to protect their chums and brothers from the indignities of unemployment parades and soup kitchens, as well as themselves.
But there’s another cause of slow work: the tools. Workers are not supplied enough equipment and are slowed down continually by the lack of tools or having to use those not fit for purpose. Sometimes they have to wait hours for tools to become available for them to use. Then spiteful foremen, seeking to ingratiate themselves with the boss, will report that the worker was lazy and inefficient.
