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5.
WAR YEARS 1940—45 In
August 1940, over Olive's protests, Norman enlisted in the air force to be
trained as a signaller. In A gathering of stones[1]
I imagine the situation between them, told through Bob's eyes. That
week, my father brought home some papers that he put on the table at teatime.
'You can keep your bloody papers,' my
mother shouted, her voice breaking as she fled from the room and slammed the
door of their bedroom. Stricken, I looked at my father. I had never heard my
mother swear before, and I was terribly afraid. Neil began to cry.
'Look after your brother, Bob,' my father
said, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
My brother tried to stop crying, and looked
at me with wide-open eyes. I got up, dished out the evening meal that Mum had
cooked and put it down in front of him. We ate in silence, Neil's eyes never
leaving my face. When we had finished, I cleared the table, washed the dishes,
and left them to drain. I took Neil to the bedroom, and we both undressed for
bed. I could just hear the sound of voices from my parents' bedroom. My
father seemed to be doing most of the talking, and I could not hear my
mother's replies. I put Neil to bed, and then climbed into my own. It was
early for sleep, but I didn't know what else to do.
For many nights, I had heard my parents
talking in the kitchen late at night when I was supposed to be asleep. Again
and again, my mother would say, 'But why, Norman, why?'. My father's reply
was inaudible, but he spoke for what seemed a long time. Then there were
silences, and I thought that they had stopped talking, but then they began
again. Sometimes, I fell asleep and when I awoke the voices were still
wrestling. In the mornings, my mother was sometimes silent and spoke to none
of us, and sometimes was very attentive to my father, getting him a second cup
of tea and touching his shoulder as she gave it to him. His eyes had become
sad and hollow, but his jaw was hard. He still spoke to us tenderly,
especially Neil whom he would take on his knee while he drank his tea. My
brother would sit quietly, looking up at his face, sometimes touching it as if
to enquire, in his three-year-old way, about the hurt in Dad's eyes.
'Mum, what's wrong with you and Dad?' I
ventured to ask one day when we were alone. She paused a long time, as if
searching for the right answer.
'Your father wants to go to the war, Bob.
He wants me to sign some papers so he can go. I don't want to talk about it
right now.' I was dismissed.
Fear scrambled and clawed inside me. I
tried to understand what it would mean for us if Dad went to the war. The war,
which had shaken and broken the other side of the world, had reached down to
touch us, and our safe world was beginning to break apart. Singapore had
fallen, and we were learning about air—raid precautions, and hating the Nips
and the Jerries. My father had spent the previous weekend digging an air-raid
shelter in the backyard of our house, and Mum had made blackout curtains for
our windows. If my father went to fight the Japs, who would be here to protect
us? I remembered that Gramp's brothers had died in the last war, and I
shivered to think what might happen if my Dad never came home. Over the next few years, my own awareness of myself and the world into which I had been born began to form. Now, only trace memories remain. In one of my earliest memories, we are in Melbourne. Norman had been sent to Laverton in Victoria to the signals training school and Olive, Bob and I were living with Norman's Aunt Topsy in Kew. It was the Spring and Summer of 1940-41 but I only recall darkness and cold. I was just 3 years old, and I was sent to the shops on the corner of our street. The corner is quite a busy intersection and, although I was probably no more than a few houses from Aunt Topsy's (and Olive was no doubt watching close at hand), I felt that my world had suddenly expanded, my life no longer confined by walls and fences. Cars and trucks ground down through their gears and accelerated again. I wended my way among the legs of adults to the counter and offered up my money, wrapped in the shopping list. Women smiled down at me, touched my head and made kindly cooing noises. I had taken my first steps out of infancy and found myself reassured by the attention and kindness of strangers. In December 1941 Japan attacked Pearl Harbour and the next year bombs fell on Darwin and Broome. The war was suddenly very close. Norman was posted back to Victor Harbor, and I recall standing at Mt Bracken Castle—converted to a training camp for the Air Force—overlooking the sea. Bob and a friend are high up in the Norfolk Island pine trees and I know I would like to be big enough and brave enough to climb up, but I am scared. I call at them to come down, and soon Olive is there also calling them down. I am reassured by her presence. I sense Dad at a distance. In August of 1943, Norman received a commission as Flight Lieutenant in the Royal Australian Air Force and was posted to New Guinea. I began to hear strange names mentioned — Lae, Port Moresby, Weewak, Goodenough Island—but although my father was absent, the war remained unreal, not touching us in any way obvious to a child. I recall Norman digging an air raid shelter in our back yard in Byron Road, but going into the shelter seemed like a bit of an adventure, not a sign of danger. Olive did not speak a lot of this time of her life so I have to try to reconstruct her experience from my own imagination and from the scraps of the unreliable memory of a child who was 2 years old when the war began and only 8 when it finished. So what follows is an imagined correspondence from Olive to Norman. Bob,
Olive and Neil 1940 June 1940 Dear Norman I'm enclosing a photograph of the three of us I had taken at the studio at Richmond. I'm wearing the brooch you gave me on our wedding anniversary. Neil seems happy enough, although I'm a bit worried about his cough. It doesn't seem to be clearing up as quickly as I'd like. Bob's made some good friends at the school and he's begun to learn the euphonium in the school band. I wish you were here to help him with it. I haven't the faintest idea how it all works. Bob's not too keen on leaving Byron Road and his friends but I hope we'll be able to join you in Melbourne soon. I miss having you here … September 1940 Dear Norman It was good to get your letter yesterday and to know that we can join you. I've heard Steve talk about Edie's sister Topsy, but we've never met. Will she have room for me and the boys? Bob's been in a bit of a mood about the idea of leaving his friends and he wants to bring his euphonium with him. I've said we couldn't get it on the train with all the other suitcases. We had words and I sent him to his room and he's sulking at the moment. Neil's cough seems to have cleared up with the warmer weather. I hope Melbourne's not too damp for him. We had a little party for his third birthday. I wish you could have seen his face when we brought in the cake. I'd made it in the shape of a plane. I'll go down to the station to make the train bookings after the weekend. Will you be able to get leave very often and be with us at Aunt Topsy's? …
July 1942 Dear Norman Thank
goodness you were home on leave last week. I don't know how I would have
managed with Neil's asthma attack. What will I do if it happens again in the
night? I don't suppose there's any chance we could get the phone on? I
don't fancy having to send Bob off the get Dr Scutt in the middle of the
night, but if you're not here I don't know what else I can do. Dad has
suggested that Chrissie could come and stay with us for a bit and I might have
to do that, just to have someone else in the house. I'm feeling a bit wrung
out. I'm not sleeping too well as I jump up at the slightest sound in case
it's Neil. Dr Scutt says I need to have a glass of stout every day to build
me up. It's better having you closer, but Victor Harbor might as well be the
moon when things go wrong. I hope they don't send you further away … Bob,
Norman, Neil and Olive at Byron Road, 1942. February 1943 Dear Norman Neil started school yesterday and Bob started at high school. I wish you'd been here to see Bob cycling off to Unley High in his new school clothes. The rationing has made it hard to get him clothes for high school—he's starting to shoot up, but these are going to have to last him for a while. Neil marched off bravely and all the mothers got up on the seat outside the classroom to peek in at the window. I think this might have been a mistake because he looked up and saw me and I could see he was having to hold back the tears. But he was alright by home time. How soon will you be able to get leave again? …. March 1943 Dear Norman We had a bit of an incident in the street the other day. Some new people have moved into the house at number 4 and the whisper is that he's a conscientious objector. Yesterday, there was a white feather sticking out of their letterbox. It didn't stay there long, but the message is clear. I'm trying to stay positive, but I am getting sick of this damned war! And I'm starting to get frightened with Singapore's gone. Is life ever going to be normal again? April 1943 Dear Norman What should I telling the boys about the war? The other day Bob was quizzing me about the Japs attacking us. I was doing the washing—we have to boil all the hankies and everything now because of the TB, Beth Wright's cousin has come down with it—and every time Neil starts in with an asthma attack, I worry that it might be something worse — and Bob had all these questions about the Japs and their air force and whether it's better than ours. I know those of us on the home front have to keep our spirits up, but I can't help worrying … August 1943 Dear Norman I'm sorry it wasn't much of a weekend for you and I wasn't much of a wife, but with Neil with the whooping cough, I was up and down all night. And Chrissie can be such a trial. She means well, but she's at Bob all the time about something or other. Dr Scutt has given me Parish's Syrup to try to get my energies up and he suggests that I might like to take up smoking to help with my nerves, but I don't much like the idea. And with the rations on cigarettes, how would I get them? The boys think the air raid shelter's a bit of a game and I'm trying to keep them out of it and explain that it's quite serious. We all have to collect rags for the war effort and Bob and his friends have been having fun dragging a cart around the neighbourhood collecting old scrap. They had a bit of a run—in with old Mr Harris who didn't want to hand over anything to them and I had to give Bob a lecture about being too cheeky. I wish that you were nearer to keep him in line and I hope they won't send you further away. It's bad enough seeing you for only a few days every month. I hate the idea of you being away from Australia. December 1943 Dear Norman Do you have to go? Surely there are others they could send. I can't bear to think of you being near the fighting … January 1944 Dear Norman It was hard to hold back the tears as we waved goodbye from the station. The boys know that they have to be brave, that it's 'all hands to the pumps' to win this wretched war. Everyone sends their prayers. Even your dad, who we haven't heard from for a while — he's still out in the bush in the South-east somewhere—wrote to me to tell me to give you his best wishes and to say 'come back safe'. My Dad came to visit and sat with me for a long time chatting over a cup of tea. As you know, he was in the first war. He doesn't talk much about it, but it was good to have him there for comfort. He brought some meat and that's a big help, as the rationing's getting tighter. We're being told to use all the cheap cuts of the meat, but there's only so much you can do tripe, and the flap of mutton. You have to queue for hours sometimes for the coupons, and even then there's not always enough in the shops to get you through the week. Thank goodness for the rabbit-oh. At least we'll never run out of rabbits in Australia! I'm glad we had that week at Bridgewater before you left. To have a whole week away was a bit of a luxury. The boys had a good time—Bob still gets into Neil a bit about mistaking a lizard for a snake and sending them all bolting! …
February 1945 Dear Norman I can't wait to have you back in Australia again. I know It's not over, but there's real hope now isn't there? It's been such a long haul, but things seem to be turning. I'll be one of the first down the station. The boys and I can't wait … September 1945 Dear Norman I can't believe that it's over, and that you'll be home for good. Bob has shot up half a foot and is a young man now. He's getting quite headstrong and needs a father's guiding hand. Neil's doing so well at school. You'd be proud of him. This year's been a better one for his asthma, so let's hope that's on the improve too. We can fill in the air raid shelter – I'm so glad we never had to use it —– and I want to plant flowers, lots of flowers. I'd like to do something I've dreamed off for years and start a florist business from home. What do you think? Oh, Norman, it will be so good to have you home again. Let's not think about this awful war ever again …
Olive at Lois Ramsay's[2] (nee Dickson) wedding, 1945 |
