Short and Sweet (27 page)

She was worried about Bill and his moods. They were getting worse again.

The men were clearing trees now, working in teams. Bill came home exhausted every evening, expecting her to wait on him. But she was working just as hard, doing her housekeeping under difficult conditions and looking after the cow, so she refused to do that, even if it meant the occasional row.

In a day or two the horses and carts would be arriving. That would make the job of clearing the trees easier, surely? Perhaps he’d cheer up then.

They wouldn’t be given their milking cows until more land was cleared and they’d each built a cowshed and dairy where they could separate the cream.

Cream was all the Sunnywest Dairy in Manjimup wanted to buy from them. She couldn’t bear the thought of throwing away the milk from several cows every day, but how could one family use it all?

Nothing seemed to fit here.

It was carpenters they needed at this stage, not farmers. Bill wasn’t good at woodwork, but as long as his crooked structures didn’t fall down, she didn’t mind their appearance too much.

Ted said women settlers usually kept hens for the eggs, but their birds would have to be protected from the dingoes that howled sometimes in the evenings in the forest.

Fortunately Maggie was thriving on the hard work and sunshine. The children were tanned and growing apace.

Only Bill looked pinched and unhappy, was losing weight and was often grumpy. The war had changed him so much. Perhaps he’d feel better when they had their proper farmhouse and everything set up.

She didn’t know how she’d cope with a lifetime of bad temper and moods.

Two weeks later Betty and her husband announced they were leaving. Maggie wasn’t surprised by their decision. She’d heard Betty weeping many a night because the corrugated iron partition between the two rooms offered little privacy.

The young couple sold all their possessions to pay their fares to England, so Maggie bought their sewing machine, which she got 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 modern, with a very efficient foot treadle. She was thrilled with it. She bought one or two other household items as well.

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

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

‘I had a bit of money saved.’

‘
Money saved!
You didn’t tell me about that! Give it to me at once. I’m not having you wasting any more of it. We need every penny for the farm. The money I get from the government for clearing trees won’t cover luxuries like sewing machines. It’ll barely cover necessities. We only get so much per acre.’

‘A sewing machine’s not a luxury. Growing children need clothes and it’s cheaper if I make them.’

He thumped the table. ‘Did you hear what I said? Give me that money at once!’

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 with this, 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. Give me the money and we’ll forget about this.’

Again she hesitated, not wanting to keep arguing, but in the end she shook her head. ‘I worked hard while you were away and I’ve always done odd jobs for neighbours and saved a bit. That money’s mine.’ She saw his fists bunch up again and kept firm hold of the frying pan. ‘I’m not your slave, Bill Spencer; I’m your wife.’

‘The husband is head of the household.’

‘I managed on my own during the war while you were away, and I kept things going when you were ill after you got back. I’ll be an equal partner or nothing.’

Anyway, the women in her family had always managed the family money and managed it well, too. For all his talk of being frugal, Bill sometimes bought things on impulse, justifying the purchase later in his own mind.

He stared at her for a moment longer and when she didn’t back down, he turned and walked away without a word.

She put the frying pan back on the stove and folded her arms across her breast to hide the shaking. After he’d vanished from sight, she drew a long, shuddering breath.

He’d try again to get the money off her, she knew he would. He was stubborn when he wanted something. Well, so was she.

After some thought, she sent Jenny to play with Elsie’s children and quickly made a hiding place for her money in the lining of her sewing box. She stitched up the seam again, packed the embroidery silks back inside, then got on with her chores, feeling more like weeping.

What had got into him?

Part Three

Northcliffe, Western Australia, 1925

L
ife continued to have its ups and down for the Spencer family. They were still living in a temporary shack, all four sharing a room only ten foot square, but when their boxes arrived from England, they had a few comforts at least. The West Australian government might have given land to ex-servicemen and their families from all over the British Isles and settled them in groups to help one another, but they hadn’t provided anything for daily living except the barest necessities.

Even Bill perked up a bit as they unpacked and of course the two children, Jenny and Peter, were bouncing with excitement about rediscovering much-loved toys and books. Unfortunately, they had to pack most things away again till they got their proper house, for lack of space.

The next day was fine, so Maggie heated water on the wood-burning stove, which stood under a lean-to outside the shack. She set the tub on the rough wooden bench Bill had built and rubbed the underclothes against the washboard till they were clean.

Hard work, all this, and would be until they’d cleared the land and got their dairy farm going. But she was young and healthy, and she loved the outdoor life. She could see a wonderful future for them when the dairy farm was up and running.

She looked across at her children, tossing a ball to one another. To see them so brown and healthy made it all worthwhile. If only her husband would realize that.

But as the months passed Bill remained moody, one day playing with the children as he had in the old days, the next day suffering one of the black moods he’d brought back from the war.

Apart from the children, it was the few moments she spent in the forest every fine day that helped Maggie cope. She’d walk a little way along the rough track listening to the birds singing and calling. Or she’d watch the beautiful patterns of light and shadow beneath the tall trees and marvel at the delicate native flowers that were so much smaller than garden flowers.

The beauty fed her soul, gave her strength.

One sunny Sunday afternoon, Maggie suggested the whole family go for a walk.

‘It’s supposed to be a day of rest,’ Bill said, scowling. ‘I’m not doing anything.’

‘But it’s beautiful in the forest. We used to go for walks at home on Sunday afternoons. Why not here? We could go to the next settlement, call in on Jean and her family.’

‘There’s nothing beautiful about those damned trees. The government might be paying me to clear them, but it’s back-breaking work.’

Bill was to get four pounds ten shillings per cleared acre, but had to fell every tree under eighteen inches in diameter, clearing the roots and all the scrub to leave the land in a ploughable condition. He got an additional eight shillings for ringbarking every tree over that size.

Peter had gone to play with a friend, so Maggie took Jenny walking. She taught her daughter an old folk song, which they sang together as they strolled along the track.

When a stranger came into sight, she stopped singing and hesitated. He was tall and looked very strong. Who was he?

Then two little boys came running after him and she felt better. Silly to be worried. Who else could he be out here but another groupie?

Smiling, he touched his hat to her. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it? I’m Daniel Marr.’

She introduced herself and Jenny. ‘Yes, it is lovely. We’re enjoying walking among the trees.’

‘I enjoy that too. Say hello, John and Henry.’ He smiled at Maggie. ‘I bring these rascals out every fine Sunday afternoon. It gives my wife a rest. She’s expecting a baby in two months.’

‘That’s nice.’ Maggie watched him walk on. She wished she was expecting another child, but no chance of that with Bill still not wanting to touch her. She’d always hoped for a large family, like hers had been. She blinked away a tear at the thought of her brothers and sisters back in England. She and her mother wrote regularly but it wasn’t the same, and letters took weeks to go to and fro by ship, so by the time you got an answer, you forgot what questions you’d asked.

After that, she and Daniel Marr met quite often on fine Sundays, stopping to chat for a few minutes while the children played or ran races up and down the track. His wife never came with him and Bill never came with her. It was Daniel who told her the name of a pretty pink flower that smelled so sweet, even the leaves having a faint perfume: crowea.

Daniel wasn’t there one Sunday and she heard later that Mrs Marr had lost the baby. He didn’t come till two weeks later and told her his wife was still weak.

Maggie felt guilty sometimes about how much she looked forward to their meetings. She mentioned the first one to Bill and occasionally said she’d met the man with the two boys again, but didn’t tell him that they met most Sundays and stopped to chat.

They’d done nothing wrong and somehow she’d grown to consider Daniel a friend. Bill wouldn’t understand that a man could be a woman’s friend. Neither would most of her neighbours. But it was so good to have someone to talk to.

At the end of April, the milking cows were sent to their group. The Spencers waited eagerly to see what theirs were like. Bill had built a shelter for milking, crooked like all his constructions, but sturdy enough to keep the rain off. On the other side of it he’d built a dairy out of corrugated iron, where the cream could be separated and the buckets scoured. That would be Maggie’s province.

Mid-afternoon they heard someone approaching down the track. Peter ran out to see if it was the cows and yelled that it was, dancing about in excitement. Maggie sent Jenny to tell her father.

The cows looked tired and dusty, milling around when driven through the rough wire and timber gate. They were a mixed bunch; brown, black and white in colour, and all had full udders.

‘Which ones do you want, missus?’ one of the men asked. ‘This one’s a good little milker. And that black and brown one has a nice nature.’

‘All right. You choose the others for me.’ She watched him shoo six cows into the rough enclosure they’d made from the young trees Bill had felled.

Her husband continued chatting to the men, making no attempt to help with the cows.

Maggie kept control of her temper. ‘Come on, Jenny. Let’s get the poor creatures a drink.’

She sent Peter to lug water up from the creek. He was such a good worker, that boy, a real treasure. They were all looking forward to having a proper rainwater tank when they got their house.

The two men left soon after and Bill walked across to join her. ‘They look a miserable bunch of cows.’

‘That’s because they’re dusty and tired. They’ll soon settle down.’

‘Can I call the little one Alice?’ Jenny asked.

‘You can call them what you want as long as you learn to milk them properly,’ Bill said.

‘Talking of milking, they’ll be uncomfortable. Come on, children. We all have to learn how to milk them.’ Maggie went to get the special buckets.

Strangely enough, it was Bill who wasn’t good with the cows. His heart just wasn’t in it, though he did the work without complaining. She could milk far more quickly and soon Peter could too. Both children loved working with the animals.

Oh, Bill, she thought sometimes. Will you ever be happy again?

A week after the cows arrived Bill went out one evening ‘to see a man’ and came back drunk. She was furious with him, not only for getting into that disgusting condition, but for spending good money on booze, but he was unrepentant.

‘A man has to have a bit of relaxation, or what’s life about? I earn the money. I’ll say how it’s spent.’

She couldn’t think where he’d got hold of the booze, but Elsie said a man in the next group brought it in from Pemberton, selling it at a small profit.

‘Well, I wish he wouldn’t,’ Maggie said.

‘You can’t stop men drinking,’ Elsie said. ‘My husband went out too last night.’

‘Did he come home drunk?’

‘No, he just had a couple of beers.’

‘Bill was very drunk.’

‘Oh. Does he often do that?’

‘Sometimes. Since the war.’

Elsie patted her shoulder. ‘He’ll settle down when we get proper houses to live in.’

Maggie was beginning to wonder about that. Bill worked hard, even tried to be cheerful and loving some days, but he was nothing like the man she’d married.

For better for worse
, she’d vowed as a happy young wife. And they had been happy for a time. Then the war had ruined everything.

At least in England she’d had her family to comfort her. Here she didn’t even tell Elsie how bad it was sometimes.

Northcliffe, Western Australia, Summer, 1925

The first year passed quickly. There was so much to do, Maggie fell into bed exhausted each night. She worried about the children missing their schooling so insisted Peter and Jenny read regularly, swapping books with other families. She even bought a few more books second-hand, something which infuriated Bill, who wasn’t a reader.

She was delighted when she heard that a one-teacher school was going to be built only two miles down the road for this group and the next.

A highlight of the year was moving out of the tin shack. Their new home had four rooms with verandas front and back. It felt empty at first, they had so little furniture, but she was making more herself.