How Do I Love Thee? (36 page)

‘Good night,’ she said into the darkness, but no-one answered even though she could tell Bill wasn’t asleep.

The following morning they drew lots for the blocks of land, after which the foreman walked them around the whole area.

Maggie was delighted to see a couple of tall karri trees near the edge of their block and went over to stroke their straight, smooth trunks. They were so big her arms didn’t reach round them.

‘These two are a couple of hundred years old,’ Ted said.

‘They’ll look pretty near the gate. We can call our farm Two Trees.’

Ted looked up, assessing. ‘You’d better not put the gate right under them. Widow-makers, some call them. They drop branches without warning and the bigger ones weigh over a ton, so can kill people.’

‘I’ll be knocking down every damned tree on the place,’ Bill said. ‘This is a farm, not a bloody park.’

She was fed up with him telling her what to do. ‘Not these two beauties, you won’t. It’ll look horrible without some trees.’

Ted winked at Maggie. ‘Leave them where they are, mate. Giants like those are a bugger to fell and dynamiting the stumps is expensive.’

Bill walked off. Maggie didn’t follow him.

Ted chose a site for the temporary hut, which had to be close to the next block. Smaller families had to share a
hut, though bigger families like Elsie’s got a whole one to themselves.

In the evening they drew lots again as to whose hut would be built first. The Spencers’ name was drawn last of all.

The next day, two men turned up in a truck with a cow in the back, provided by the authorities to help feed the group. They led it carefully down a ramp, then dumped some food for it and left.

‘One of you women will have to feed and milk her,’ Ted said. ‘I’ll show you how. Who wants the job?’

There was dead silence, then Maggie said, ‘I’ll try.’

‘Good for you. Come and meet Dolly.’ Patiently he explained what was needed. He’d no need to tell Maggie to keep everything scrupulously clean. Anyone brought up by her mother would do that automatically. The thought of her mother brought tears to her eyes.

When they’d finished milking, he dipped a clean cup into the foaming, creamy liquid. ‘Here you are, Maggie. You’ve earned first taste.’

She drank a mouthful then shared the rest with her children. Bill had walked off somewhere. ‘It’s lovely.’

Ted smiled. ‘You’ll need to milk her morning and night, then share the milk out between the families. Keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn’t roam too far and clean up after her as well. The cow pats make good fertiliser and they’ll be
your reward for doing this job. Get your kids to pile them up on your block and cover them to keep the flies down.’

Maggie was left alone with her new charge. Dolly had lovely eyes and seemed placid, but was bigger than she’d expected. Everything was bigger in Australia, somehow.

For the next few days the men worked from dawn to dusk and the children worked with them, mostly fetching and carrying or clearing the smaller shrubs and branches.

One or two of the women did the minimum they could get away with, avoiding the dirty chores, so Maggie and her new friend, Elsie, organised a roster. Wood had to be fetched for the communal fire, water hauled up from the creek and food prepared, mostly tinned stuff from giant tins of corned beef or jam. Bread was provided every day by the shop.

‘We need some sort of table,’ Elsie told the foreman.

He and two men rolled some logs across and dug the ends into the ground, then nailed some rough planks across the tops.

‘There’s your kitchen table. I’ll plane it then give you some sandpaper and you can smooth it down.’

Maggie smiled at some women’s surprise. ‘What do we do about bread, Ted? Will the shop keep sending it?’

‘Just for these first two weeks. I’ll show you how to make damper in a camp oven, using bicarbonate of soda. It’s easy.’

The man must have had the patience of a saint, because ‘ask the foreman’ was heard at regular intervals all day. How he 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.

Bill seemed happier now that he had something to do. The gangs of men worked hard building the temporary shacks because everyone was eager to have a proper roof over their heads.

The women inspected the first finished shack in silence. It had two rooms about ten feet square and an earth floor. There were open gables at each end to let in the light and the doors were simply sheets of corrugated iron attached by wire hinges.

Her aunty’s garden shed was better built than this! Maggie thought, trying to hide her dismay from the children. ‘It’ll be lovely to have a room to ourselves and a proper roof, won’t it, much better than a tent?’

The families had to do their own cooking after they moved into the shacks, first on open fires, then on wood
stoves delivered a couple of weeks later and placed temporarily out in the open. Later the stoves would be put into the houses. Maggie, who enjoyed cooking, set herself to learn about cooking on hers, grateful it didn’t seem to rain in summer.

The main problem was bread. Damper didn’t keep well, and now they had stoves they should be able to make proper loaves. She’d always bought her bread from the corner shop, but had seen her mother make it.

She went to consult Ted. ‘We need yeast and more flour. Should we go into town for those?’

‘The group next to yours makes bread with potato yeast. Why don’t a couple of you walk over and get them to show you how to make it? About time you met your neighbours. It’s only a mile or so away. I’ve got to go into town, so I’ll let them know you’re coming and bring back more supplies.’

‘I’d have enjoyed a visit to the shop,’ Maggie said wistfully.

‘You couldn’t carry the flour back. We usually buy it in 150-pound bags.’

‘I thought that was just for the group!’ one woman exclaimed.

‘No. Your sugar comes in 72-pound bags, tins of jam come by the case. You’ve got to keep a good supply of basic stores, living out here. You can’t be nipping to the shop all
the time. It’s three miles and your husband will need the horse and cart for the felling. The carts 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. Maggie told herself to be patient. Betty was young and seemed to have been spoiled by doting parents.

The other group was more settled in than theirs, and as she walked along the track Maggie saw that some people were even starting to make gardens. She turned off at the Oghams’ farm, as instructed, and an older woman called Jean came to greet them.

‘I’ve waited to show you how to make the yeast, but it’s put me behind in my chores, so let’s get on with it. I’ve usually got my bread in the oven by now.’

She poured water from strained potatoes onto dried hop leaves. After this had cooled, it was strained again. She added three dessert spoons each of flour and sugar to the liquid, together with a starter saved from the previous batch. They stayed to watch the whole process and waited patiently for the beautifully risen loaves to cook.

When that was done, Jean let the bread cool a little then cut some thick slices, spreading them with jam.

Maggie closed her eyes in bliss as she ate hers. ‘This is the best bread I’ve tasted since we got here.’

‘I’ve made you a loaf each to take back with you and I’ve put some starter mixture into a jar. Good luck.’

On the way back Betty stopped under some tall trees. She looked up, seeming near tears. ‘I don’t like the way those big trees loom over you. I don’t like it here at all.’

Maggie was tired of trying to cheer up her companion. 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 enjoyed listening to the chorus, loved standing in the dappled light under the high green canopy. It seemed to her that Betty was determined to find fault with everything. ‘It’s different here, but I like it. You’ll soon settle down.’

The families had to put in orders for the necessities of life before winter. Ted produced some catalogues. Maggie and Bill went over their list again and again, trying to keep it to the essentials. A tin bathtub was essential and a wash basin, a couple of buckets, of course, and matches, candles and a hurricane lamp. But they already had a lot of smaller
household items in their crate soon to be delivered from Fremantle.

She kept waiting for 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. He was working hard, coming back exhausted every evening, but still, a positive remark wouldn’t have gone amiss. Even Ted had said she was coping well ‘for a Pommie’.

And actually, she was working just as hard as Bill. She had to do her housekeeping under difficult conditions, look after the cow, and in a day or two the horse and cart would arrive. That would make Bill’s job of clearing the block easier, surely?

Their own cows wouldn’t arrive until more land was cleared and the grass that had been seeded had had time to grow. And, of course, Bill had to build a cowshed and a dairy where they could separate the cream, which was all the Sunnywest Dairy in Manjimup wanted to buy from them. The cream would be picked up two or three times a week, more often in hot weather.

It was carpenters they needed at this stage, she thought, not farmers. Bill had never been good with his hands, but as long as his crooked structures didn’t fall down, she didn’t mind what they looked like. If only he’d stop grumbling though. It was wearing her down.

Ted said each family should keep hens for the eggs, but they’d have to be protected from the dingoes that howled sometimes in the evenings in the forest.

Bill said he’d build a pen, but looking after the hens would be her job.

She’d never been so busy in all her life but she continued to feel well. The children were tanned and growing apace.

Only Bill looked pinched and unhappy, was losing weight and was often grumpy.

A couple of weeks later, Betty and her husband announced their intention of leaving. Maggie wasn’t surprised by their decision. She’d heard Betty weeping many a night because the corrugated-iron partition between their two rooms offered little privacy if you spoke above a whisper.

The young couple sold all their possessions because they’d decided to go straight back to England. Betty missed her parents dreadfully and Jack was giving up his dream out of love for her.

Maggie bought Betty’s sewing machine 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-fashioned, but this one was new, with fancy
gold lettering, and she was thrilled with it. She bought one or two other items from Betty as well.

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

‘How did you pay for that lot?’ he demanded when she showed him her booty.

‘I had a bit of money saved.’

‘Money saved! You didn’t tell me! Give it to me at once. I’m not having you wasting any more of it. Can’t you understand that we need it all for the farm? The money I get from the government for clearing and other work won’t cover luxuries. It’ll barely cover necessities.’

‘Growing children need clothes and it’s cheaper if I make them myself.’

He thumped the table. ‘Give me that money at once! Pity we can’t give the things back.’

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, 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. Look, give me the money and I’ll forget about this.’

As if she was in the wrong! she thought indignantly. ‘No. I worked hard while you were away and I’ve always managed to save a bit. That money’s mine and I’m keeping it.’ She saw his fists bunch up again and kept a firm hold of the frying pan. ‘If you take it from me by force, I’ll walk away from this place and from you, if I’ve to beg my way back to Perth. I’m not your slave, Bill Spencer; I’m your wife.’

‘The husband is head of the household.’

‘We women managed our own households during the war and I’ll be an equal partner or nothing.’ Even before the war, the women in her family had always managed the money side of things and managed it well, too. For all his fine words about being frugal, Bill bought things he wanted on impulse, justifying the purchase later—the main reason she’d kept the money from him.

She added more quietly, ‘I’ll work alongside you—work till I drop—but I’m not being treated like a child, with money doled out to me. If I earn extra money, I’m keeping it.’