I was helping my mother clear out my grandmother's house after her funeral. We had taken all of her clothes and furniture that we didn't want to the Salvation Army recycle store and were cleaning through in preparation for me to move in. It was her wish that I should live here as I was her favourite and it was convenient for my work.
It was a small by today's standard house, just two bedrooms on one side of the central hallway and the lounge room and kitchen on the other with the bathroom and laundry in the lean-to across the rear. It originally had an outdoor toilet in the back corner of the yard that backed onto a laneway, conveniently placed so that the 'night carter' could remove and replace the pan without entering the yard. It was a typical inner suburban dwelling that had become fashionable over the last decade or so.
It was a single fronted row house in a street of attached houses that, apart from cosmetic differences, were identical, with no front yard to speak of, just enough room to swing open the gate before reaching the two steps leading to the porch. The brick wall at the front had been painted many times over the century or so of the house's lifetime and in places where the paint had peeled the colour changes were visible that reflected the fashion of times past.
My first recollection of this house was when I went as a young girl to see Granny. That was, let me see, fifty years ago and a lot has happened in my life since then, a marriage, not successful, a divorce, two kids who have both moved overseas with their families to further their careers who I speak to occasionally and email often. My work as an architectural draftsperson had changed over the years from doing everything by hand to doing most of it by computer. I was one of the first to become proficient with the CAD design computers and now was in charge of that section of the business. It was my job to consult with the client and senior architect on the concepts and then put them into the computer to produce the finished drawings and, if required, scale models for a 3D representation.
I was successful, I was comfortably well off financially but the only house that I could afford after the divorce was in the outer suburbs an hours drive from the office, so this inherited dwelling was a blessing for me. I could sell my current house and use the money to renovate to my taste, new colour schemes, new kitchen, I don't know how Granny cooked in that old one, new bathroom and new furniture. There was a lot of work to be done and I had decided to draw up plans and redo the kitchen and bathroom before I moved in but to do the rest of the work as an ongoing project, one room at a time.
Work had begun on the kitchen and I called by after work on the first day to check on progress. All of the old cupboards had been stripped out and the floor coverings lifted. Someone had obviously been interested in the old newspaper that had been used as an underlay for the linoleum flooring because there was a pile of papers in the corner of the room. I picked up one of the fragile sheets of yellowed newsprint to find that it dated from the fifties, and reading the page I realised that life must have been tough back then what with food shortages and public transport for the average family because of the shortage of motor vehicles and fuel to run them. On the floor was a tin box with a note attached telling me that this was found in a niche behind one of the cupboards and that they hadn't opened it. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, it was a biscuit tin from Arnott's that had once contained assorted cream biscuits, but it was different from the one that Granny produced when I visited as a child, it was much older.
I took it with me and opened it as I sat drinking my after dinner coffee. I found several old sepia photographs, each of them with the same woman who I recognised as my Granny. What did surprise me was that the man in the photos, even though he was in the Australian Army uniform, he was not the same man as in her wedding photos. My grandfather was a Private when he was sent overseas in the early months of the war while this man was an officer.
What I knew of my grandparents was sketchy; they were both from Katoomba in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. She had come to Sydney just before the war to work in Mark Foys, one of the big department stores at the time. When the war broke out he had enlisted and was stationed at Holsworthy Barracks west of Sydney. They bumped into each other at the Saturday night dance at the Trocadero, a dance hall near the Sydney Town Hall. They spent most of Saturday night together until he had to catch the last train back to barracks and she caught the tram to the boarding house she was staying in at Surrey Hills. They arranged to meet at the 'Troc' the next time he had leave on Saturday night.
They were married a week before he embarked for the battle front in the Middle East and spent his embarkation leave in a small hotel at Kings Cross. The last she saw of Herbert 'Bert' Johnson was his back as he walked up the gangplank onto the troopship. She looked for his face on the deck but he was one of hundreds and she couldn't see him. For a while she got letters from him in which he outlined his plans for them when the war finished and pledging his undying love for her. She wrote to him each week but, apart from his occasional acknowledgment of getting a letter she wasn't sure that he always received them. Then his letters stopped. She heard from the Army that he had been transferred to Singapore at the end of 1941 and had been captured when it fell. She was later to find out that he had been in Changi prison camp for some time before being transferred to the notorious Burma Railway. It was there that he, like so many of his fellow prisoners, died.
But who was this in the photos? At the bottom of the tin was a notebook. I opened it and saw that it had been used as a diary. Maybe this can shed some light on the mystery. This much was family history and was confirmed by the early entries in the diary. Where the diary entries differed from family history began in March 1942, a month after the fall of Singapore and was written in Granny's neat handwriting:
* * *
March 16th. Received telegram from Army; 'Regret to inform you that Private Herbert Johnson was taken prisoner by the Japanese in Singapore.' This was a month after Singapore fell, it has taken this long for the news to reach me. Be brave my Bert, I'll wait for you.
Some of the girls here wanted me to go with them to the Cross (Kings Cross) to meet soldiers. I think that they are looking for a good time. I told them that I wouldn't and showed them the telegram. They were all sad at my news but went out any way.
March 17th. Went to work but my supervisor (Mrs. Jennings) told me to go home for the day. I would have preferred to stay but I can understand because I kept crying.
Went home and washed my clothes. Call Mum and Dad and told them about Bert, they were sad for me and said that they would go and talk to the Johnsons.
This afternoon I caught the tram to Bondi and walked along the beach, It was peaceful and I resolved to stay strong and not be too sad for Bert, I know that he'll come back safely to me.
The girls didn't ask me to go with them to the Cross tonight although Betty kept prattling on about this soldier she met last night and how she couldn't wait to see him tonight.
March 18th. Went back to work today. Mrs Jennings told me that she would have liked to let me have the week off but the store manager told her that I was only allowed one day and if I wasn't able to work there were many other girls who would love my job.
Got home from work expecting the girls to want to go to the Cross but Betty was against it because she saw her soldier with another girl and decided that all men were not to be trusted and she didn't want to go anywhere were there would be soldiers. We sat in the sitting room and listened to the music on the wireless. I went to bed at nine and thought of Bert and wondered if he was thinking of me.
There was more of the same so I skimmed through it until I came upon something that caught my attention:
July 6th. An officer came to my counter this morning to buy some perfume for his mother and we got to talking. I told him about Bert and that we'd only been married for a short time before he was shipped overseas and that he was in Singapore when it fell. This man, Major Bennett was very sympathetic and asked me how I was coping. I told him that I had good days and bad days but I was okay. He told me to keep my chin up. He was a nice man and handsome.
There was news when I got home, Betty was pregnant. She had no idea who the father could be and didn't know what to do because she didn't have enough money to have an abortion. The other girls offered advice about how she could be rid of the kid without it costing money but these sounded dangerous.
July 7th. Major Bennett came in again this morning and invited me to have lunch with him. I told him that I couldn't because I was keeping myself for Bert. He told me that was admirable but that I could have lunch and still be true to Bert. I declined. He seemed sad.
Betty has heard of this woman who does the job for the prossies (prostitutes) and didn't charge much. She was going to see her tomorrow. I said that I thought that it was dangerous.
July 8th. Major Bennett came in again this morning. He had spoken to the store manager Mr Foxworth, who said it would be okay for me to have lunch with him. I asked Mrs Jennings who said that she'd been told to allow me an hour for lunch.
Major Bennett seems like a really nice man and he knows just about everyone. We were driven in his staff car to this really fancy restaurant that had obviously never heard of rationing going by the food on the menu, there was stuff there that I have never even heard of like Pate de Foie Gras, that was like fancy liverwurst, served with Melba toast. I had lamb chops but they were nothing like my mother cooked, she stews them but these were grilled and had a sauce poured over them instead of mint jelly. He offered me wine but I said no because I have to go back to work. I had coffee that was unlike any coffee I've ever tasted. I felt really special.
His staff car stopped outside the store and he leant over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I felt as if my face was burning. He said he would see me again tomorrow.
Betty is going to the woman's house on Saturday to get done.
July 9th. Major Bennett was waiting for me outside the store and took me to another fancy restaurant. He has asked me to call him Roger because he says it sounds silly for me to call him Major Bennett now that we are friends. I wonder what Bert would say if he knew.
It was a pleasant meal and he is nice company. He has told me about his family, especially his mother who is doing a good job of looking after the family farm while the men were at war. He told me that his father was killed in the early days in Europe. I felt sad for his loss. I know how he must feel losing family. We didn't talk about what he was doing in the war, or how he could manage to get the free time to take me to lunch. He told me his work was 'hush, hush' and he couldn't talk about it.
He kissed me again when he dropped me back at the store. This time his kiss lasted a little longer than yesterday, and his hand was resting on my thigh. While I felt uncomfortable having his hand there, a thrill went through my body.
