Margaret

My afternoons forays in Melbourne hardly varied ... catch a tram somewhere, have a meal ... look at the talent and walk back to the ship finally, along the beach ... well, they call it that, the oil and sewerage are not supposed to be noticed.
Never really saw anyone on my meandering, I knew people were about, around me, never fully conscious... one crowd on a beach, same as any other. But for one of these unexplainable quirks that occasionally turn up, opened my eyes fully and tuned myself in. Realised that the beach was crowded, exceptionally hot, the traffic bumper to bumper along the flanking road. All I had on was a sweat shirt and a pair of shorts. Stopped wearing shoes a long time ago. The 'buzz' was very strong, sat down and kept looking.

Finally, into focus amongst the crowd was a girl drying herself with a large coloured towel. A black costume, her back towards me, hair, identical colour of the costume. Stood up to get a better look, waiting for her to turn round, not quite knowing what to expect. Waited a long few minutes before she was dressed, before she turned to pick her way up the beach... Margaret, quite positive, not the slightest mistake, never forgot a face.

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Margaret and her mother were a right win double. Met them on the 'Strathnaver' on my way to Aussie. On discovering that I had only paid ten pounds for my fare and that they had paid the full whack ... and there I was at first 'sitting' eating at their table ... eating the identical food, Imagined that I would be quite dead assuming that looks could kill. Their imagination placed me, no doubt, somewhere in the bowels of the ship, locked up, never to see the light of day, as were, the original, white Australians.

The mother, all skin tight cotton on her well formed body, several rows of pearls round her neck and a large expensive ring on the first three fingers of both hands. The chief steward, with all his experience, had been easy meat ... she had him in her bunk and her beck and call throughout the long voyage.
Margaret, easier proposition. She too 'wanted' unfortunately she had her mother's advice but not the experience, still inclined to let her heart rule ... deciding that I would be the one. For my part, never pretended to be anything other than I was ... the mother visibly put out by her choice, pointing out to her daughter in front of me, that she could easily go up to the 'First Class' during the evening dance, quite sure that she would find far more suitable pickings there.

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All that appeared to have been a very long time ago ... making our farewells on the Adelaide quayside. They were going on to Melbourne ... she 'would write' although she never did.

It had been hot on that frantic afternoon. Imagined that everything would be totally new. Margaret and myself really making plans to meet again ... I would follow her on, or she would return here. The unfamiliar surroundings, the iridescent Sunlight, the crowds, shouting ,,, streamers, banners flying, the slow, dignified departure of the magnificent ship ... waves, cheers, hand claps.

I had gone the full length of the jetty, following the ship, waving to Margaret, standing tearfully at the stern, handkerchief faintly fluttering, watched as the ship went slowly hull down, turning back to find the crowds departed, myself alone.

... "You haven't changed much ... you have lost weight ... why no shoes?" all this as she approached me.

She spoke coolly, as if it were just a short time since that sad farewell. She was quite different. Impregnated with self-confidence, the mother's influence sat distinctly on her. No longer anything 'girlish' about her. No rushing up and throwing her arms about me ... almost strangers. Had the impression that she was not altogether pleased at this upturn from the past. Well dressed, no cheap stuff. The ring on her finger had not come from Woolworth's, carrying her gear in a large, white bag which had an intricate green design woven into the material. That too, hardly came from the corner shop.

Surprisingly, after a short time, she took my arm ...

Yes ... she had a 'boy friend' ... the mother had bought a bungalow at 'Box Hill'. By the sound of it she had moved suburban Surrey, with all its middle class trappings to the outskirts of Melbourne.

She had become very formal. Somehow, could hardly see her standing for my stripping her off, just whenever I felt like it. She would no longer go along with that ... she would never, ever, give anything away, not anymore. She would always have one eye on the odds in her favour.

She suggested over the coffee that I should go home with her ... just to see the mother and the bungalow ... how they were getting on ... all that jazz.

This was said innocently enough. Explained it being okay by me as long as I could get back on board before seven a.m. No problem, a car picked her up each morning at five taking her to work. Wondered what she had found ... cars picking her up ... she said something about working for a radio station.

We caught the train... a very long ride.

Box Hill was just developing. The usual jerry built bungalows stuck in the middle of paddocks ... deep pot holes in dirt roads.

The mother slightly suspicious, not quite believing that the meeting was coincidence. She, herself, did not appear quite so confident, quite so ebullient ... as if there were regrets at finding herself buried so far from England, but that was only my impression.


Margaret, after the initial moments of showing off her find, disappeared into the bathroom. Shouted something about the water always being boiling hot although the heating was switched off. The reason for this being that the builders, in their haste, had only dropped the water pipes a few inches below the ground. All through the day they simply simmered. The longer I sat in the large wicker chair, the more I noticed the minor irritation that had built up. It became apparent that the two women were trying to make the best of the situation, no way back. Everything had been sunk into this move to the other end of the world.

On top of all that hardly thought that it did very much for the mother's ego ... having to work in a cake shop, just to get a few bob together.

Over the tea, 'Ronald' appeared. He looked at Margaret ... looked at me ... possible to see the wheels going round in his head. Conceivably he had just left his office in 'Moorgate', pin striped suit, heavy rimmed glasses ... the lot. Smiled at this apparition. He looked down his long crooked nose at my slouching in the chair as if I had moved in, bare legs stretched out ... none too clean feet on the white carpet.

The mother fused over him. Margaret sat crisp in her dress, revealing bare shoulders ... plunging neckline. She preened herself, savouring the moment ... gently manicured her nails with a long thin file. Going to be slightly interesting ... my reaction to her dragging me out here ... to no man's land, simply to play me off against the tailors dummy. Drank my tea.

"Peter is a sailor, you know."


Ronald peered at me through his glasses. Tried to think where the attraction for Margaret lay ... what her particular game with him was.

"Ronald works in a bank ... he will soon be a manager ... he owns the big house on the corner of the drive."

So that was her game. A silence. Margaret stood up.

"I think I will take Peter for a stroll round the estate."

"It's getting dark" this from Ronald. "I'll come with you ... I need some air after being in the office all day."

Margaret wasn't having that ...

"No, you'll stay and keep mother company ... we won't be long.

We went out in the evening. I could play her game. The bloke was champing at the bit as we left.

"What's the idea?" I said, nodding my head back, towards the house.

"It will do him good to see me going off with someone else for a change. He's getting far too possessive."

"So you are just using me ... is that the reason for dragging me down here?"

"I hadn't really thought of it like that ... "

We strolled into lemon grove that had so far managed to elude the developers. Put my arm round her but she made it quite clear that nothing was doing in that direction, which didn't suit me.
Noticed she had become slightly 'horsey' looking, the nose appeared to have grown much bigger than I remembered it. She was more dominating ... having realised her potential ... playing herself off against the acute woman shortage.

Still thought in the usual way, if I am invited out for a walk in the deserted darkness ... she should expect more than having her hand held, especially, as in this case, there was a previous experience.

Tightened my grip, trying to ease her down.

"No, you don't" her voice suddenly hard and professional. She realised that I wasn't taking much notice and tried the other tack...

"There are snakes ... don't be silly ... " her breath was hard and short. We struggled momentarily. Tripped her and she went down.

"I'll scream" ... she opened her mouth ...

Shoved my hand in to it. Felt the teeth sinking to the bone. Momentarily thought I was dealing with another person... so much aggression ... would not have persisted but the thought of having been used, simply to show off to the squirt ... well, he could have her back when I finished.
"All right ... for Christ sake, don't tear my clothes off." She finally said. "I can manage to get my own knickers off."
She slowly pulled her dress up. Had the impression that she was liking the idea. I stood up ... suddenly cold ...
"What's the matter."

Her voice almost a whisper in the abrupt silence ...
"Here, have my handkerchief and put it round your hand."
Started to walk away but she came quickly after me.
"I'm sorry Peter."
"So am I."

She caught my arm, pulling me back, not wanting me to go any further ... the snakes forgotten.

My head ached suddenly, my hand was oozing blood through her handkerchief.

We went down on the still hot earth, together.

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I arrived back on the 'Mulcra', late.

A few of the gang were hanging over the side watching me go aboard. the usual caustic comments "What's the matter, Blue ... wouldn't she get off your shirt?"

Really they were not quite so bad as they appeared, having moved themselves enough to get their own breakfast from the galley ... anyone else and there would have been an immediate strike.

I turned too, cleaned up the mess, scrubbed out the cabins, and fell down a hatch, hitting the deck surrounded with my bucket, mop and broom. Was fairly lucky, nothing broken, only a damaged wrist. Had it bandaged and forgot about it. But not so the crew. They wanted me to go ashore, sick. At first I thought they were joking. Surprised that I did not want to take advantage of my injury.

That evening, still tired up, the ship deserted, still collecting my 'overtime' decided to turn in early. Hot, no air conditioning. Had the scuttle open - watching from my bunk as it slowly drew level with the top of the jetty on the rising tide. Thought of Margaret and her bank manager, the look he had given me when he saw that her feathers had been ruffled. Thought of the life he was letting himself in with her, once she managed to hook him legally. They deserved each other.

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