First contact with Australia - David and Mary

The telephone rang long, insistent. No reason to hang up, plenty of time, nothing else too do ... no other 'phone to ring, no other place to go.

Sat in the canteen lost in the clatter of crockery, listen to the strange, nasal voices, watched the condensation drip from the tin roof of the old nissen hut. Stuck on the walls, various advertisements. 'Vegemite' whatever may have been, Evidently built you up and worked other kinds of miracles taken in sufficient quantities... The inevitable dance at the something hall or other, also a small round pamphlet saying that the Bushwalkers would welcome new members. Hardly too sure what a Bushwalker may have been, little else by way of escape from this tin oven.   Found myself  with precisely one pound to my name ... walking, about the only thing  I could afford.

Perspiration ran down my body in rivulets. Must have taken four showers, still  only early  afternoon. Hung up, waited, dialed again. Finally the 'phone clicked.  A thin, stringent voice.. sounded a long way off.     I  Shouted something about being stuck in a tin shed at the Outer Harbour,  phone sticky in my hand, and that I was quite interested in walking.

"Oh" the voice fading in the cracky line. "Oh, you want Pen."

She went straight on to explain that Pen was in the Flinders, whatever they were and that I must be one of those 'New Australians' ….ringing from out there.

Had to agree with her, “about twelve hours new….”

She laughed, didn't sound too bad, about one hundred years old. … she would speak to her husband. I waited.

"David says would you like us to meet you and give you some food."

….As if some refugee ...  suppose I was. Food always interested me ... not that which they were serving here on behalf of the Australian Government.

Would I meet them at the station ... "which one" ... she laughed "There's only one so you can't get lost."

Went out into the heat along the American style wooden and dust streets. All I needed was the cowboys to come galloping up. Saw a cab, very saggy on the suspension, so much rusty chrome on it.  Jumped in feeling suddenly very flash with my pound.

"Adelaide Station, sport"  in my first attempt at the vernacular.

The road to Adelaide was a long one. Gradually began to realise I would have to get out possibly and walk the rest. But we came to a halt with fifteen and six on the clock. Gave him the odd half crown, putting a face on it. The street, relatively deserted, an empty tram went grinding by.. six cabs on the station rank,  drivers leaning about. Counted four people in front of the station besides myself. The 'South Australian Hotel' opposite the station boasted a brass rail and a spittoon. I…… still waiting for the cowboys ... Instead a Morris ten pulled up… lady jumped out as if she were fourteen.. the hat and dress she wore must have come from the theatrical costumes. She, a little wizened but very agile, quite a hundred years old. The most distinctive thing about her being her skin texture…like  prune… shriveled very badly …. thousands of wrinkles all over the visible pieces of her body. The dress, down to her ankles, the large hat having artificial fruit and flowers on it. Without the slightest hesitation she rushed straight up to me, took my hand and led me back to the car.

"David, this is Peter ... move over now, he will drive us back."

She said that so naturally that I remained silent ..finding myself in the driving seat, she  David sitting up straight in the back. The only thing I had ever driven was a twenty ton scammel, but that was sitting on my fathers lap.

Shoved it hopefully into gear. They, incredibly brave or incredibly polite…perhaps both. Nothing, absolutely nothing, mentioned about my erratic, sweat soaked performance on that Sunday afternoon. Mary babbled on about everything, mostly to do with the garden. David sat well back, stiff suit, stiff high collar and tie. The only thing to save my day being the complete absence of other people and vehicles. Once we made it clear of Rundle Street,  able to drive along the centre of the road in the tram tracks which appeared the safest place to be.

Miraculously made it to Portrush Road, parked outside a  rambling house covered with the typical tin roof, sloping steeply down on every side to make the verandah, Very large block of land, trees, sprouting oranges and lemons . Evidently her biggest concern was the water supply or lack of it. Evidently the trees drank buckets of the stuff each day. David showed me about while Mary put the grub on. Liked his collection of aboriginal weapons, especially the handy club  used to beat the wives. Hardly imagine that they would give a lot of lip with one of those hanging on the wall. Time for the tea ritual, best china,  sandwiches, cakes,  between talk of "did I know so and so who lived in Wandsworth about twenty years ago?".  Gradually became aware of a jagged crack in the wall opposite, more interesting, the very large black spider about the size of a man's hand. Nobody else appeared to take notice of it. Plainly it lived in the wall, simply out for its airing, watching us intently. Drank my tea, shoved cake into my mouth, wiped the sweat off my forehead. Mary following my eyes started to laugh.

"Don't take any notice. It won't hurt you."

Asked about the crack in the wall that ran from  floor to ceiling …caused by a recent earthquake, she said. What a country!

Back to the business of the Bushwalkers. Her daughter Penelope  away walking, but she would ring Lucinda. 

Have never quite worked out which of the two 'phone calls made that day was the most significant in my life. The one I had made to Mary Simpson or the one she made to Lucinda Howard.

Lucinda  not in ...  her sister was.

Mary rather more reserved with the conversation … the person at the other end of the 'phone....  impossible not to overhear this end of the conversation ... Yes ... she finalised ... he will be staying the night .   

Mary decided everything, quite obviously, David,  just another 'Yes' man. All he ever said  was 'Yes Dear'… 'No Dear" the rest of the time  remaining quiet when she was about… mostly, men do. Mary put the receiver down, bustled back into the huge whitewashed room with its ancient furniture, the drapes and the large crack in the wall.

"Well" she said. "You will stay here the night. Soon as the Sun rises we will get up and go out and see what we can find."

Wondered what she meant by that. Really did not feel good about 'up with the dawn' bit, however, resistance to her did not seem really feasible.

 "Perhaps you would like to take a shower?"

Nodded, shirt  firmly stuck to my back. She showed me out the back verandah ,dripping with grapes from a vine  twisting the full length of the house. The shower.. something else, consisting of what looked like a milk churn fixed to the wall. This  filled with newspaper and twigs, then lit, the whole thing promptly started making a noise reminiscent of a doodle bug, equally loud as well. Without any warning scalding water shot out from a spout at the top of the contraption. All very ingenious.

Suddenly dark, none of the long English twilights here ... Mary found me a bed out on the verandah.. so exhausted  the mosquitoes' attack  went unnoticed .

True to her word, Mary woke me to an incredibly brilliant yellow dawn, calm, quite cool…. Still.. no flying insects.

She  dressed down to the ankles. Bare, skinny burnt black wrinkled arms holding two large bags which she gave to me. Still not sure what was expected.  Set off behind her out into the paddocks.. Mary poking and prodding in the scrub, gradually filling  the bags with twigs and anything else  considered useful, even a  white huge bra. This, however, she hooked round the collar of the big black dog that followed her everywhere. Very satisfied with her morning rummaging… enough fuel to last the shower for a few days. Various old pots suitable for her garden and a green cardigan about three sizes too big,  which she draped round her shoulders.

Went back to the house, sent me off into the garden to find some eggs handing me a basket and pointing towards some chicken huts. Breakfast over,  turned to with the watering. Such was the drought, only buckets allowed to be used. She became quite upset when I wanted to ignore this and use the hosepipe, such honesty!   By the time it came round for lunch, I was fairly worn out,  she had me running about that much.

David and Mary in the back of the car, dressed as if going to the Lord Mayor's Ball, both upright, both impervious to my dubious driving.

Once again,  considered myself fortunate  never seeing another vehicle. Again, staying firmly to the tram tracks. Not a long climb up to Kensington Park the streets had even fewer houses, bigger, standing on even larger blocks of land.

The last house in Desaumarez had a very long frontage, a hedge running the full length, a  horse leaning almost through it. Somewhere a clarinet, Brahms.

Through the gates, sitting well back,  a large rambling building,  usual tin roof, overhang forming the verandah.

"You had better go in and give a bang." Mary to me.. quiet for a moment..

Looked at the horse, a big beast which had placed itself firmly blocking the gate of wrought iron. Mary said something about pushing him out of the way.. that it would not bite. I, dubious. Only made it out of the car when the door of the house opened and a girl came out, the fly wire banging behind her.

A big girl, about sixteen, short cropped hair, slacks, yellow blouse, sleeves rolled, a large wrist watch. She shook my hand,  same grip as a man. Femininity evidently out.

Mary and David  not quite so relaxed with this young woman for some reason. She, slightly overpowering, emitting life in strong, sharp signals. Obviously no arguing with her.. a profound sense of being right whatever she said or did, it would be almost fifty years further into my life before meeting such another female.

Felt myself being immediately sucked in, analysed, wondered how long it would take for me to get the rejection signal.

Mary had mentioned something about the girl on the way up,  some kind of prodigy, lost in music, no interest in the opposite sex. Really I had not taken a great deal of notice, being intent on keeping the car on the road,  such a girl would, obviously, not look in my direction. Had met her kind before, in the Albert Hall, Sunday afternoon at the proms, up in the Gods, slumped on the floor, head resting on the pillars. Mostly they had simpered, some,  more than masculine. With my hiking shorts, ruck-sack and cheese sandwich,    I,  a brief curiosity.

Virginia's large eyes missed nothing. She took immediate charge of the situation, getting David to move into the front seat next to myself while she sat with Mary.

 She decided we would like to go to Waterfall Gully. Duly  set off on the long climb to Morialta, the foot of Adelaide Hills, the water falling from a long way up,  picturesque, water in Australia being a attraction anywhere. Parked the car. Evidently the place  some kind of local landmark, people came, sat  in their cars.. just watching.

Virginia having none of that, had to be on the move. Getting out, noticed she had very heavy walking shoes on, none of the high heels to go tripping over in.

Mary and David became smaller and smaller as we worked our way up to the top, evidently only that would do. I would have been quite content to stop where the path did .. Virginia ignored this starting as she had begun, fresh. 

The few cars below looked about the size of match boxes.

Surprisingly Virginia appeared satisfied with my rough and ready attitude. Impressed that I had actually been inside the Albert Hall… did have to put my small piece in, I really had nothing in comparison to her. Only  after she went on continuously regarding music, what was and what was not happening at the 'conservatory'.. did we clamber back down.

Fate must have been rather at its best, playing a twisted hand, when years later, in precisely the same spot, I was to take a rather furtive farewell to the children  she had insisted there would never be any time for.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *