Short Story
Showcase #5
Ern Carne
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Ern Carne
It was a Saturday night in January 1960 that Dulcie did it for the first
time. It sure surprised the others at the weekly dance run by Billy
Ballantyne's Bush Band. Because she was a poor dancer Dulcie usually spent
most of the night sitting on one of the wooden benches that lined the
Rosstown Shire hall. The local lads didn't ask her to dance because of her
large figure and dull personality. If they wanted to talk pig prices it was
a different matter. Dulcie quickly became their high priest because she
worked for her father on his pig farm, the largest in the State. A small
drop in the price of live pigs at the Wednesday sales and they'd sooner
talk than dance anyway. Her friend from school days, Elsie Hayes and Elsie's
boy friend Mike Lawson always picked her up in his old '45 Buick. She liked to
go because she loved the music.
That night, Elsie and Mike arrived without Dulcie. Their friends were
curious and gathered around.
'Where's the belle of the ball?' Sally from the take-away chicken shop
wanted to know. Sally always wanted to know everything.
'You'll never guess what happened.' Elsie's voice clearly showed she was
miffed. 'She rang and told me she didn't need Mike and me to pick her up
tonight.'
'I've got my own bloke calling for me this week,' she told me.
'Who is it, do you know?' It was the tall girl from the poultry farm who
fired the question puzzling all of them.
'I haven't got a clue, I thought all the lads she knows are already here.
She said she wanted it to be a surprise for us all.'
'This would be the first time she's done it, wouldn't it?' It was the
trainee auctioneer from Rosstown Pig Sales who smirked at his own joke.. He
thought being bawdy was to be a big part of his future job. Noticing Elsie's
irritation, he quickly added, 'You know what I mean. Not come with you and
Mike.'
At the farm, getting ready for her big night, Dulcie felt like a teenager
going on her first date. Invitations were scarce for her. Most of the time
she felt socially invisible. It was a sad fact that overtures to Dulcie
were separated by years rather than weeks. The anticipated pleasure of this
night was greater because it was coming at the end of a hard week on the farm.
Her father was away in Melbourne talking to their export agent. A hundred new
Berkshire piglets had needed injections and another hundred eight months
old porkers had been hosed down for market.
Standing in front of her open wardrobe she thought a long time before
deciding what to wear. There was not a lot to choose from. Dulcie had grown
plump like her mother and found it difficult to buy fashionable clothes.
She settled on the pink twinset she had bought at the Victoria Market three
years ago. It looked nice with her white pleated skirt, although she
recalled the last time she wore the skirt the hem was about one inch too
short. Well, that might add a little interest, she thought. She also decided
she would wear, for the first time, her mother's pearls and the silver
dancing shoes she had bought with the twinset. Until now she'd felt too
embarrassed to wear them.
'They'll all reckon I'm bunging on side; I can't dance,' she told her
father when he asked why the shoes didn't get an outing after what they'd
cost.
'I could 'ave bought another sow for that much' he'd grunted.
She closed the wardrobe door and looked at herself in the full length
mirror. She hated the sallow colour of her skin. The art of skilful make-up
was a mystery to her but she decided to use a little pink lipstick tonight.
Her hands were rough and calloused. 'Can't be helped'she muttered as she
massaged them with a soft hand lotion. She wished she could go to one of
those places in the city Elsie told her about where a girl cleans and files your nails
and puts on the polish for you. Her dark brown hair was strong and thick but it lacked
shine and bounce. Not for the first time she wondered whether she should
have it cut short, because she really didn't have the hours to spend washing, drying
and styling the wretched stuff.
As she laid her choice of clothes on the bed, the telephone interrupted
her thoughts. 'Dulcie ,'I've got a problem.' She felt a tingle of excitement hearing the
voice of Bill Simpson. 'I'll have to cancel our date. I've got a distressed client with me and I'
ll have to settle him before I can leave. I'm damned sorry about this.' He
heard a deep intake of breath as Dulcie spoke flatly, 'It's OK, Bill. I >understand your work
must come first.' An angry Dulcie slammed the phone back on its hook.
'Why do men do this to me? Why do they think I'm somebody they can dump with a phone
call? They don't do it to Elsie.' Dulcie rarely became upset but now she pitched the phone
book across the room and choked back a string of obscenities.
Bill had heard the hurt in her voice, as though she had been expecting him
to call and put her off. He was right. Dulcie had anticipated he'd try to
dodge the invitation from the day he made the arrangement in the main
street.
He came to Rosstown four months ago to open the only solicitor's office.
Just 27 years old, most weekends he left town for the city in his small red
sports car. Dulcie's father had done some business with him and mentioned
he was a fine young man. 'Just the kind this town needs to get somewhere,' was
his opinion.
On market day, after the pig sales, Dulcie liked to wander down town for a
look at the shops and maybe have a cup of coffee. It was while she was
outside the hardware store examining a new power hose, guaranteed to remove
muck from concrete, that Bill wandered up to her.
'Hullo, I'm Bill Simpson,' he began.
'I know who you are.' Dulcie flashed her pretty smile. Although she was
plain, everyone agreed Dulcie had a pretty smile.
'Do you? That'll make it easier for me. I know you're Dulcie Flynn.
Dulcie, I wanted to ask someone about the local dance. Is it possible for
me to attend as someone's guest?'
'Sure you can. If you'd like to come next Saturday night I can invite you.'
'That'd be terrific. I can call for you and take you home again afterwards
if you like.' Dulcie found it an exciting opportunity to arrive at the dance with her own
man, rather than just crowding Elsie and Mike.
'Sure, if you know where our farm is. I must warn you I'm not a good
dancer.'
'Don't worry about that, we'll get by,' Bill said with a reassuring smile.
'I'll call for you about eight o'clock, OK?'
'I'll be ready. I reckon you'll enjoy the night. We have a great band.'
'Yes, I've heard about it. See you Saturday night then.'
She watched as he strode down the street to his office. Maybe he'll come
but I have my doubts, Dulcie thought.
Now here it was Saturday night and he'd stood her up. Dulcie picked up the
pink twinset and was about to return it to the wardrobe when the telephone
jangled again.
'I hope it's Elsie, maybe she'll still call for me,' she murmured to
herself as she picked up the receiver.
'Dulcie, it's me again, Bill. I've managed to placate my client by promising to give
him all of Monday morning. We'd be a bit late but we could still go to the dance if
you feel like it. I could pick you up about nine.'
For an instant Dulcie was tempted to say 'Get lost, Bill.' But not for long. She accepted quickly.
'Sure, that'll be OK, Bill. I'll be ready then.'
From eight o'clock onwards she continuously checked her watch but that didn't make the time
go any faster. It was ten past nine when she saw lights coming up the drive. She rushed to the
mirror for one last glance to check that everything was as good as she could make it. Then
she hurried out past the pork cool room to the house gate. The fragrance of the David Austin
roses her mother had planted was evocative. The night air was alive with the chirping sound
of cicadas and a sickle of pale moon lit the path. What was it they said about cicadas, she
thought. 'If the cicadas are chirpin', it's a good night for flirtin'; or is it a bad night.?'
I'll remember after tonight, I suppose.
Bill was standing beside the passenger door of his sports car. 'Sorry I kept you waiting, Dulcie.
Not a good start on our first date is it?. I'll try and make up for it. I want every dance,' Bill said
as bent down to open the low door of his car for her. He helped to settle her ample
figure into the small front seat then placed a box of Cadbury's Roses on her lap.
'I hope you like chocolates I couldn't buy any flowers in town.'
'Certainly I like them. My figure proves that.'
On the way to the hall, Bill continued to apologise for his lateness. 'I had a client upset
about a gross overcharge for his telephone. He eventually agreed to leave when I promised
to see him Monday morning.'
Dulcie waved away his apologies. 'I understand, Bill. There's no problem. I guess you have
to be available at all hours when you're starting a new business. Your work sounds very
interesting; certainly cleaner than mucking out a pigsty.'
'Maybe cleaner but I'm not sure it pays as well.' Bill smiled and patted her on the knee. 'I
like your twinset. Pink always looks so good at night. It certainly suits you.' Not sure how
to handle the compliments, Dulcie fidgeted with the box of chocolates.
They had to park some distance from the hall but the music filled the warm, clear night.'Can't
wait to get in there with that toe-tapping music,' Bill said as he helped her from the car.
'They're terrific,' Dulcie agreed as she took his arm and headed for the door. Being over
six feet tall, Bill took long strides. Dulcie almost had to trot to keep up. Bill soon noticed
her problem and shortened his step to match.
The Pride of Erin had just ended and the dancers were still on the floor as the pair reached
the entrance. Elsie had not taken her eyes off the door for more than a few seconds all
evening, eager to see her friend's escort. Now, she grabbed Mike's arm and exclaimed,
'Look who she's with, it's that solicitor bloke.'
All eyes in the hall were now on the new couple. Dulcie was flashing her pretty smile as
she held tightly to the arm of her 'catch.' Her eyes were dreamy and her cheeks coloured.
For the first time, many were seeing a different Dulcie. She had a special glow. The
rugged good looks of Bill Simpson stirred feelings of envy among a lot of the other women.
He was the kind of man who makes any woman with him look proud.
As the music started up again Bill turned to Dulcie. 'This is where we start, honey.'
With his right hand in the middle of her back, and drawing her close, he >guided her every
step. Dulcie's confidence in her own dancing lifted greatly. She liked being held so close,
too. Each time the band struck up again, Bill quickly led Dulcie on to the floor.
There was general surprise among the others to see how quickly she was learning to follow
the steps of a good dancer. During breaks in the music many of the young blokes came
and introduced themselves to Bill. They all knew who he was, but each felt, someday,
it might be worthwhile to know a solicitor socially. The new copper was making life
difficult for anyone caught speeding.
As the last dance was coming to its end, and still cheek to cheek, Bill whispered,
'Let's get going and beat the rush when the music stops.' Dulcie was enjoying this night
like no other she had experienced and was ready to fall in with any proposition Bill made.
Elsie saw them leave and murmured to Mike, 'He's taken her off. I hope she remembers
the things I've told her.'
A puzzled look appeared on Mike's face but he had long ago given up trying to understand
girltalk.
When they reached the farm gate, anxious that the evening should not end just yet,
Dulcie asked, 'Would you like to come in for a coffee? I think I could find a fresh
cream sponge if you feel like a bite.'
'You've guessed my weakness, Dulcie. That's an offer I can't refuse.' Bill was already getting
out of the car. His mind was much further down the track than a cup of coffee. A bit of a fumble
on the couch for a start, but one step at a time, he resolved. They enjoyed coffee together and
then for a while there was silence. This situation was new to Dulcie so she just blurted out.
'You can kiss me if you want to, Bill.' All Bill had to do was move closer and Dulcie did the
rest. Bill had been around this circuit before and knew the track well. He didn't want to waste
time.
'I've got a great idea; let's go to bed,' he said when she broke off a kiss for some necessary air.
For a moment, Dulcie stared into his eyes. She tried to put on a disapproving look, unblinking
and hardly breathing, then she broke into a smile.
'You're a quick worker, aren't you?' She took his hand and led him up the hallway to her
bedroom. 'I only have a single bed,' she said with a nervous giggle.
'It doesn't matter; we'll be more cosy', Bill said as he unlaced his dancing pumps.
Dulcie soon discovered Bill didn't want to go to bed because he was tired. It was at least
two hours later when they finally became disentangled and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Dulcie usually got up about six am to cook her father's bacon and turn on the ABC
weather report. Not this morning. She was still sound asleep when the persistent ringing
of the telephone dragged her awake. Bill stirred beside her. Scrambling at the bottom
of the bed for her night-dress she pulled it over her head as she hurried to the phone.
'Hullo Elsie'
'Yes, I had a wonderful night. I'll never forget it, Elsie. It's true what they say about cicadas,
I know that much now.' There was a pause then, 'I'm sure he did. Hang on a moment and
I'll ask him. He's still here.' Dulcie enjoyed the chance to shock her friend this way.
'Bill darl, Elsie wants to know whether you enjoyed yourself last night.?'
'I sure did. Tell her I'm looking forward to many more like it.' Bill Simpson had a self-satisfied
smile. There are some advantages in being the only solicitor in town, he thought. For one
thing, you get to help people make their will. I bet I'm the only bloke in Rosstown,
besides her father, who knows that Dulcie is the sole heir to the largest pig farm in
he State, and the second largest, which her father inherited from his brother last
year. 'Come back to bed, honey, 'he called loud enough for Elsie to hear.
A Memorable Homecoming.©
Ern Carne
It was one of those unbelievable coincidences you are loath to tell anyone
about. A million-to one chance. Sydney Airport Christmas Eve, swarming with
holiday-makers and others struggling to get home for the special day.
The eyes of two women met for a mere split second as the lift door quickly
opened and closed again. Fifteen years had passed but that was not long
enough to take away every detail of the earlier appearance of each woman. In
that fleeting instant each experienced a startled flash of recognition. One
was dressed stylishly in a designer suit and the other in a crumpled T-shirt
but both had the same shock of memory and a clutch of emotion.
The lift moved on and they were separated again; absorbed into the
surrounding crowds. Two women, past their youth, one still slim and elegant,
the other showing the frayed look of many harsh years.
Still shaken by the abrupt brush with her past, Rose Bradley slipped from
the lift at the next floor and headed for a coffee lounge. Dragging her
trolley of matching luggage, her head abuzz and heart pumping overtime, she
wondered if it was all a dream. Surely it wasn't possible that the woman she
saw for an instant was Susie. Wouldn't she still be in Perth, the other side
of the country? But self-delusion was no help. She had seen the startled
recognition and fear in that worn face. She was not mistaken.
I should not have come, Rose reflected, staring at the gooseflesh on her
arms. James had insisted often there was no longer any risk after all this
time. He could be wrong.
The coffee lounge was crowded. Sick with nerves, Rose carried her tray with
just a strong black coffee to a small table where a middle-age lady was
sitting alone.
'Would you mind if I sat with you.'
'Of course not. Sit down. You look as though you need that coffee.'
'Thank you. I've had a bit of a shock.'
'Like to talk to someone with a good ear, a bad memory and who is flying
out of the country in two hours?' Rose managed a weak smile for the lady
with the American accent.
'It's a long story, I wouldn't want to burden anyone with it.'
'Sometime it helps to confide in a stranger.'
'You are very kind. I'm here alone as my husband couldn't get away'.
'I noticed the stickers on your attractive luggage. Have you just come from
London?'
'Yes, I'm on my to Perth. My name's Rose Bradley. I've been away a long
time.. There was some unpleasantness before we left.. My husband is James
Bradley. He's a senior barrister and in 1984 successfully represented a
suburban Council in Perth against a housing co-operative which had fallen
well behind with its rates because of high interest charges. The Council
resumed the land. Some people close to me were hurt. They lost the land on
which they intended to build a new home.'
'That must have been sad for them.'
'Yes, it was but I suffered too. I was blamed even more than my husband who
led the Council's case. I'd left home and headed for Perth when I was
seventeen. I wanted to get an education that would never be available to me
in the country. My second year at Uni. was a study disaster. I was totally
distracted by the good looks and brilliant mind of the Commercial Law
teacher. He was a barrister from Gathercole Giles and Cornwall working
part-time at the Uni. I was living in a city hostel close to the offices of
the law firm. James Bradley would often drop me off in his fully imported
Daimler. He is twelve years older than me but wooed me in a way that made my
life blissful. He proposed to me and said 'Don't worry about your results.
We only need one legal eagle in this family. Let's marry at the end of term?
' He offered a life which was a million years beyond anything I could have
dreamed about in my country town.The beautiful home he bought in Peppermint
Grove had a small Jaguar for me parked in the driveway.
After the land case our luxurious life became a nightmare. Paint was thrown
over the Daimler while it was parked in Hay Street.
Even though we had a silent telephone we continually received threatening
calls. Many of the callers blamed me for the loss of their land.' Almost
choking with emotion Rose dabbed at her eyes with a pink handkerchief and
gazed around the coffee lounge before she could continue. 'The police
arrested a young man for the paint throwing. He was sentenced to a month's
gaol but on the second day he was found hanging in his cell.' Rose again
began to sob quietly. 'It was then James' law firm arranged for us to
transfer to their London office. I have not been back to Perth since. Within
thirty minutes of arriving in Sydney today I was jolted back to those times.
I believe I saw my sister, Susie.'
The American looked passed her upset companion. 'There is another
aboriginal woman staring at your back,' she whispered. Rose suddenly
stiffened. Susie strode towards her. In an embarrassingly loud voice she
exclaimed 'So your back bitch?'
'Susie what are you doing in Sydney?'
'Are you the only one allowed to travel.? I work here at the airport
cleaning bloody toilets, thanks to you and your money-pit. We lost
everything through your god almighty husband, you killed your cousin and we'
d be living in King's park if uncle Clive had not told us to come and live
with him in Redfern.'
'Susie, I'm sorry for what happened but I knew nothing about James' work. I
was stunned when mum went on telly and said she would no longer think of me
as her daughter. Does she still feel that way?'
'She never mentions you. We'll all be happy if we never see you again.'
That Susie hated her sister with a passion showed in her steely brown eyes.
She spat on the floor and turned and stormed out.
The American woman was now quite apprehensive. She was in the middle of a
destructive family argument. She moved across and put an arm around Rose's
shoulder.
'Not a good start to your holiday, dear. It has been a memorable homecoming
for you hasn't it?'
Rose hung her head to wipe away the stinging tears. 'I'm sorry. I lied to
you earlier. I did'nt come here on holiday. James and I had a wretched
argument and I cleared out. I came back to Australia to be with my family.'
The Saga of Granny's Vase
Ern Carne©
A young boy in a small, unstable dug-out was the only one with anything
that tempted Mary to buy. He held aloft the most beautiful vase she had ever
seen. It was coloured a rich cream with the base and neck dissolving into a
pink blush. Around the throat and base of the vase was a raised band like
a gold necklace A string of green shamrocks draped the sides of it.
'How much?' Mary called out. All the boatmen understood this English
phrase. They were very literate about money matters.
'Five shillin,' called the boy with his hands cupped either side of his
mouth to try and be heard above the general hubbub. His dug-out rocked
precariously as he waved the vase above his head.
'I'd love to have that, John. We really haven't anything to remind us of
home. Let's get it and we can always say it's a little bit of Ireland we
brought with us.'
Mary and John Hooley had joined all the other pasengers crowding the ship's
rail. . The 'Limerick Star' had called into Freetown, Sierra Leone for fresh
water, a stop of only four hours. A myriad of little boats scudded around
the large sailing ship. The flotilla of small craft made progress difficult
as the bigger ship approached the wharf. Tiny dinghies, roughly made
outriggers, punts, canoes, and homely dug-outs, splashed about the scene.
Excited passengers crowded the ship's rail to enjoy the spectacle of their
first foreign port. John and Mary, my great-grandparents, were two of the
passengers migrating to Australia,. The dark-skinned occupants of the
motley of small craft, dressed in brightly coloured clothes and all with
gleaming white teeth, were shouting about their wares in a babble of broken
English. Holding above their heads every conceivable objet d'art they yelled
outrageous prices. Wood carvings, pottery, pictures, and brassware
predominated. The overhead screeching of a thousand gulls made bargaining
difficult.
'Darlin', you can buy it if he'll let you have it for three shillings,
See how good you are at horse tradin'. Turn on your Irish charm.' John
couldn't resist Mary anything. Mary squeezed his hand and held up three
fingers to the seller. He shook his head so vigorously Mary thought the boy,
and the vase, were going to end up among the garbage floating in Freetown
Harbour and pervading the air with an obnoxious smell.
Men were standing by the ropes ready to let Limerick Star drift out into
the stream and set sail for the open sea. The short stay was coming to an
end and time was running out for Mary to make her deal. The boy believed he
was about to lose a sale and waved four fingers in the air. 'Shake your head
and turn your back' advised John. This brought a prompt reaction from the
vase seller and the haggling definitely swung Mary's way. Shouting as loudly
as his squeaky falsetto would allow, the boy waved the vase with one hand
and with the other made the three finger signal. 'Tell him to bring it on to
the wharf' John urged. 'He'll have to hurry they're about to let the ropes
go.'
Mary nodded her agreement to accept for three shillings and made signs to
indicate he should come up to the beach and on to the wharf. Standing at
the back of his craft with one oar the lad began sculling furiously until
the dug-out grounded on the sand. Grabbing the vase he raced across the
beach and up on to the wharf. The ropes were thrown off the bollards and the
Limerick Star began to drift away. There was now a threatening gap of about
two feet between the vessel and the jetty. Yelling excitedly, the boy
pleaded with Mary to throw the money. As soon as he'd scooped up the coins
the boy shouted to John to be ready to catch the vase. Holding it
horizontally by the top and bottom he began to swing the vase between his
knees and his shoulders. Mary held her breath, convinced that all her
negotiations were going to come to nought. Limerick Star was now four feet
from the mooring.
John leaned over the rail with both arms extended and the boy hurled Mary's
precious ornament. One end of the vase struck John on the forearm and
bounced about one foot into the air. John's second desperate grab seized the
prize and Mary let out a squeal of excitement. 'I thought we'd lost it'
she said with a sigh of relief. So Granny's vase, as my mother always
called it, came into the family's possession and became the centrepiece of
our folklore for generations. The origin of the vase was as well known in
our family as the potato famine. It was first told to me with my Vegemite
and toast, then repeated again when I was a young woman and later again when
I became a wife and home maker. It's not that the vase was very valuable,
although the three shillings paid for it would have been a high price at the
time. Now age alone gave it some intrinsic value as an antique. To us
though, its value was always that 'it belonged to Granny.'
When great grandmother Mary died the vase passed to my Granny. Like Mary
before her, whenever anyone commented on the unusual beauty of the vase she
would smile and say, quite ambiguously, 'The family brought it when we left
our home in Ireland.'
Granny came to live with us when I was only about ten years old. My
mother gave the vase a prominent place in our home and kept it filled with
the latest blooms. Roses, hydrangeas, justicas, daffodils and gladdies all
looked their best when gracing the beautiful vase. Granny would never pass
the display without placing her finger tips on her cherished possession.
It was some consolation that Granny. did not live to see the day when our
house was burgled and the vase stolen. The loss upset my mother terribly.
She felt that a wondrous piece of family tradition had been lost. When I
began working and offered to buy something similar for her she wouldn't hear
of it. Granny's vase could not be replaced. As the years rolled on,
mother's sadness became less obvious and she was able to talk about the vase
and its history without a near collapse. In fact, she began to embellish the
story of the vase. One day I heard her tell a visitor that it was the
original Pride of Erin!
In my later years I became a regular browser around Op. shops. Many times I
saw vases similar to Granny's but knew my mother would not be interested in
a substitute. It was different one day when I saw a vase that was identical
to Granny's and I was prepared to risk upsetting mum. 'How much?' I asked
the volunteer shop assistant as I held up the cream vase with its decoration
of shamrocks.
'I reckon three dollars would be a fair price,' she said with a smile 'What
do you think?'
'I agree. I'll take it.'
Mother was very wary as I tore away the tissue wrapping. She picked up the
vase and began examining it minutely as though looking for Granny's
fingerprints. Suddenly, she gasped and hugged the vase to her chest. 'This
is Granny's vase. You've found Granny's vase. 'Tis a miracle. Where'd
you get it? It's been thirty years since the burglary. I never expected to
see it again.'
'How can you be sure it's Granny's?' I was still sceptical about the
authenticity of the vase.
Mother smiled, and clutching the treasure close to her bosom, confessed to
me, 'Once while putting in some gladdies I touched the bottom against the
tap and caused a small chip. I was upset and feared Granny's Irish paddy
so I bought a small pot of gold paint and touched up the spot. The new paint
was a shade darker than the original and I could always see my repair but
Granny never knew. 'Look here on the bottom, see where the paint is
slightly darker? That's the tell-tale truth. How wonderful to have it
back after thirty years. Now it's back, darling, it will be easier for you
to keep alive the story and family history of this treasure.'
'I know mum, and I'll take great care of it, don't you worry.'
That was almost twenty years ago and I'm sure my mother would come back and
haunt me if she knew I'd just dropped the damned thing and it shattered into
a hundred pieces! I guess I'll have to find somewhere else to keep Granny's
ashes.