Читать книгу Tales Of The Dandenongs - James Hume-Cook - Страница 4

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WHERE does romance begin? Does it commence with the first meeting of the maid and the man, or in some other way? Who knows! When an official of Australia House, London, persuaded Nellie Moir that she would find plenty of employment in Melbourne—and maybe a husband—was he in any way responsible for what followed? Or was it the word “husband” that led her to leave her place at the Piccadilly Hotel and come to Australia? Who knows!

Nellie was Scotch. Her soft brown hair, rosy cheeks and bonny blue eyes were symbolical of her race. She was born in a quiet little village in Forfarshire. Like many such places in Scotland, its residents were intensely patriotic, and, when the World War started every man deemed it his duty to offer his services to his King and country. Like some other villages also— when the great adventure was over—not a marriageable man was left alive to return to his people. Her father, who was just 40 years of age, was killed at Pozieres, and her sweetheart, Ronald Ross, at a later stage lost his life somewhere near Amiens. Those were sad and sorrowful days for the widows and relatives of the brave and loyal Scots.

When the news of her lover’s death reached Nellie Moir she was—for a while—utterly broken-hearted. Her little haven was desolate, and she felt that hope and happiness had for ever passed away. But it is not in nature that youth should mourn for any length of time, and when she realised that she must now make her own way in life she rallied her forces and soon came to a decision as to what she should do. The War was still raging. If London could not find her work to do there was surely a place for her in one of the munition factories. And so it came about that, on her eighteenth birthday, she bade her mother and friends good-bye and set out for the great metropolis, where, as she had anticipated, she almost immediately obtained a lucrative position in an hotel.

In her new position Nellie found life very different from what it had been in the old home in Scotland. The comparative freedom and gaiety that she had previously enjoyed were changed for closer confinement and a round of work that moved with the clock. The hotel atmosphere, also, was strange and unfamiliar. It took her some time to adjust herself to the necessary routine, and to behave more like a machine than a human being.

Fortunately, throughout the daylight hours she was too busy to think about her lot. After the day’s work was done, however, and more especially on her “night off,” Nellie was often lonely and felt the need of friends. True, there were some “nice folk” amongst the staff of the hotel, but none of them quite filled the place of any of those she had left “at home.” Thrust upon her own resources she found a great amount of pleasure in reading and re-reading the loving letters that Ronald Ross had written her when he was away at the War. In them there were many references to his “Aussie” friend, “Jack Blair from Dandenong, near Melbourne.” From all that was said of him it would seem that “Jack was a real man and a brither.” Moreover, he “was leal and true,” and, when they could “get awa’ thegither,” it was Ronald’s firm intention to “bring him up to Scotland.” But Fate decreed that they should go elsewhere together, and, side by side, they now rest in a little cemetery not far from where they fell.

After spending about two years in the service of the hotel, Nellie became restless. She was just over twenty years of age, and being endowed with an active mind as well as a healthy body, a desire for change—for new experiences, for adventure—permeated her whole being. This surging urge had been prompted—or at least stimulated—by the frequent reading of her dead lover’s letters. Ronald so often mentioned his friend, and the place from which he came, that Nellie conceived the idea of learning something about Australia, and Dandenong in particular. “Dandenong, Dandenong, Dandenong.” The repeated word was like a peal of bells. It made music in her ears. But what was it like? Ronald had said that “it was close to the hills.” Maybe they were like the Scottish hills. How could she find out? Well, it was not long before she learned that Australia House was the place at which the information could be obtained, and, as the War was over, there she went, not once, but several times. Truth to tell, as the result of her first pleasant experience she rather liked talking to the courteous officer who had answered her initial inquiries. He was quite a mine of knowledge. None of her questions puzzled him; all her doubts and fears were skilfully swept away—and, better still, his oft reiterated remark about Australia being “a young land for young people” somehow put hope into her heart, and she eventually resolved to put the matter to the test.

On reaching Melbourne, she quickly found her bearings, and, after a few days spent in sightseeing, began to make inquiries as to securing a position at Dandenong. But the registry offices declared that there were no immediate vacancies there, and not caring to wait indefinitely, she accepted the offer of a situation at Healesville. In coming to this decision she was more or less swayed by being told—quite incorrectly—that that township was not far from Dandenong. If she so desired, therefore, there would be no great difficulty in paying a visit to the latter place at any time she chose, This was a state of affairs not altogether out of accord with her plans, for, apart from other reasons, she thought to find some of Jack Blair’s relatives, and, as she hoped, so secure some real friends. As a fact, she did make one such visit, only to find how hopeless was the search for the Blair family in the limited time at her disposal.

The post that Nellie Moir had taken was that of waitress at the leading hotel. In some respects the work was not unlike that to which she had been accustomed in London, The difference was in the people she served, and this applied not merely to the residential guests, but to casual visitors. In the Piccadilly establishment the persons upon whom she waited treated her as a piece of machinery; an automaton. At no time was she ever regarded or addressed as a human being; and whether she was handsome or ill-favoured counted for nothing. All that mattered was her efficiency.

At Healesville it came as a shock to her that she should be called by her Christian name, and that sometimes observations would be made to her about things other than the items on the menu card. It was also a matter for surprise that she should be asked how long was it since she left Scotland; did she like Australia; had she found a sweetheart yet, and other queries of a more or less personal nature. At first she was slow to answer and very reserved. But after a time—as the happy outcome of a good deal of pleasant bantering — the readiness of her replies, and the quaint manner of expressing her thoughts, delighted all her hearers. Little wonder, therefore, that within a very few months half the eligible bachelors of the township were at her feet. From the baker to the billiard marker, and from the postman to the policemen, all fell in love with “Nell,” as she was now called.

And very soon, too—though none as yet knew it—her heart was in the hills. Perhaps it was that, being Scotch, a dweller in the hills had naturally captivated her fancy. But, be that as it may, she also loved them on their own account. And well she might. Life knows no lethargy there. There is always something doing in the hills. Amid the hills the human heart beats stronger and the mind is more alert. Though they seem to brood—to doze—they are none the less awake to all that matters. From every peak and shoulder there is to be seen another view, and, to those that have eyes to see and ears to hear, there is much more to be noted than can be imagined. Their variety is measureless. Within their depths and on their heights it is the unexpected that always happens. Surprise lurks everywhere, and there is no manner of man who cannot be taken unawares!

By comparison the plains are asleep. Where there is action it appears to be listless—slow—observable—avoidable! The cattle and the sheep, aye, even the people, seem to move leisurely, as if time were valueless. But in the hills love and hate and tragedy are swift—unforseen—unavoidable! And for Nellie Moir—who was later on to live at Badger’s Creek— they held in store a time of trial which was not to be without a due reward.

* * * * * * *

The baker was making his usual round, There was nothing strange about the proceeding, but, in this case, the baker himself was delivering the bread, and not the driver of a baker’s cart. The two-fold business of baking the bread and then carrying the loaves round to consumers is not common; but in country districts, where the customers are limited in number, it sometimes has to be done. In such circumstances the owner of the bakery and those who buy his bread are quite frequently on the friendliest terms with each other. Such an interchange as follows may therefore be easily understood:

“Mornin,’ Nell!”

“Morning, Don! . . . Two, please.”

“Bakers’ holiday, to-morrow? No more bread till Friday!”

“Make it three, then! If we run short I can bake some scones!”

“Righto! There they are! . . . Where’s the kiddie?”

“She’s down on the flat with Pat!”

“More ‘pitaties,’ I suppose? Pat’s a whale on spuds! Seems to me he’s always on that flat!”

“Well! It pays! Besides, he’s Irish, and he just loves plantin’ pitaties!”

“Yes! I know! . . By the way, the fires is pretty bad on the other side of the hill. Better watch out for a change of wind. If it comes over the fire’ll run down this gully faster than a frightened racehorse!”

“That’s what Pal thinks! He’s a bit anxious about it. Only this morning he warned me to call to him if the wind changed, or if I smelt smoke or saw the slightest sign of fire!”

“And so he ought to be nervous about it! Also, if I was him I’d get rid o’ that dead tree there! . . .No! I’ll say no more! I know you like to see it when it’s covered with sarsaparilla flowers, but it’s dangerous all the same! So long. See you Friday!”

“Good-bye. Don! I’ll keep little Mary with me on Friday so that ye can see her!”

* * * * * * *

Four years prior to the conversation just recorded Donald McIvor, the baker, had asked Nellie Moir, the waitress at the hotel, to marry him. They had been friends from the day she came to Healesville, and he had courted her in his own diffident way. On the occasion indicated — out walking — they had paused beside a giant gum, and there, beneath the shadow of its branches—whilst round about them all the world seemed silvered into stillness by the magic of the moon—Donald put his question.

“No, Don!” she had replied, “I canna be your wife! I like you well. You are ma best friend! But I’m in love with Patrick Heron, and I’ll wed him whenever he wishes.”

Donald was astonished. No hint of such a possibility had ever crossed his mind. He knew Heron well; a fine upstanding, ready-witted fellow full of fun and laughter, and a favourite with everybody But a rival for Nell! That was the last thought to have entered his head, for, as far as he knew, there was nothing whatever between them. In his bewilderment at the unexpected declaration he was almost speechless. All he could say was, “Has he asked you to marry him?”

“No. But he will!” she replied, “And when he does I’ll just say yes!”

“But, Nell, dear, he’s Irish! And you a Protestant! It’s all against your upbringing. How can you do such a thing?”

“A woman’ll do anything for love, Don. And every little bit of me’s in love with Pat. I’d go through fire and water for him, Don. I love him with all my heart!”

For a moment or two Don was silent—dumb. He had played his trump card in appealing to her religious feelings, for, as he had previously discovered, they were fairly strong. He realised at once that there was no other argument he could employ to persuade her out of her resolve. Her words and tone were alike final. His fate was sealed, and he knew it. But his love was greater than his disappointment, and, as he gently took her hand in his, he gravely said, “I hope you’ll be happy with him! Very happy! As for me, I want no one else but you, nor ever will.”

And then a very unexpected thing happened. Although they had never indulged in any endearments, to Don’s surprise she took his face in her hands and warmly kissed him on the lips. The next instant she was gone. But for many a day thereafter the memory of that kiss was a salve to the wound that was hidden in Don’s aching heart.

* * * * * * *

As Donald McIvor had said, the bush was on fire on the other side of the hill from Badger’s Creek. He also knew— though he had not mentioned it to Mrs. Heron—that in spite of strenuous efforts to beat it out the fire fighters had not succeeded in getting it under control. His perturbation of mind was, therefore, greater than could be gathered from his seemingly casual remarks, for, on one well-remembered occasion, he had personally experienced the terrifying and cruel effects of such a conflagration. Only too well he understood and feared the devastating results that might follow from a change of wind, a change which far too often took place before another came, bringing with it the one sure cure for a bush fire—a copious fall of rain.

In the circumstances it was little wonder that Donald McIvor’s senses were keenly alert—even in sleep. So it was that, the morning after leaving the bread at Mrs. Heron’s— before he was properly awake—the pungent smell of burning gum leaves entered his nostrils and woke him with a start. Out of bed he leaped, feeling certain that Badger’s Creek, if not already attacked, was bound to be swept sooner or later, and, whilst dressing as quickly as possible, turned his thoughts to what he must do.

All anxiety for Nell and her little girl—whom he adored —with almost frantic haste he rushed to the stable to saddle his horse. To drive, he knew, would be far too slow, and might even be impossible. There was no time to waste. The utmost speed was required or he might be too late: so, pausing only to saturate a couple of flour bags with water, off he raced upon his self-imposed task.

It was just as he had feared. Fanned by a rising wind the fire was heading in the direction of the creek. From tree to tree the flames leapt on, whilst underneath a hundred twisting. snake-like fires were treacherously and swiftly biting their way through the undergrowth.

In several places, as Don rode on, he glimpsed a scene in which husband, wife and children were grimly fighting to save their little home. His feelings were torn at the imminence of their loss! Yet he dared not stop, for over at Pat’s place the situation might be infinitely worse. So on he kept!

On arrival the sight that met his eyes was appalling. By some inscrutable decree of fate the dead tree had fallen, pinning Pat to the ground. It had crashed down, just as he was running past to join Nell in beating out some wisps of flame that had caught a few tufts of grass a yard or two away. Beside it now, using an axe as best she could, she was striving to lop off the dead arms that, unbroken by the fall, prevented her from rolling the trunk off her husband. Her clothes were burnt and torn; her face was streaming with perspiration; and, in no fit state for such unusual work, between fear and over-exertion her strength was almost spent.

In a flash Don sprang from his horse and turned its head for home. The next instant, it seemed, he had dashed through the gate—had taken the axe from Nell’s nerveless hands, and— with a short command to look after Mary, who was wrapped in a wet shawl to prevent a spark setting fire to her clothes— started swinging the axe to some purpose. From the extra pain which the jars from the blows caused him, Pat fainted: but in a few minutes he was free. The briefest examination then showed that he was so badly injured as to be utterly helpless.

“We must make him a stretcher!” said Don. “Bring out your rugs and blankets!” And whilst Nell ran to get them he quickly cut a couple of stout saplings, and tearing down the clothes line knotted it from one side to the other in a kind of rough net.

On returning, Nell instantly set about making the improvised stretcher as comfortable as possible, a pillow being added for Pat’s head to rest upon. They then tenderly lifted and laid him thereon, and, placing Mary at his feet, raised their precious freight, and so set out for Healesville.

The way was long, the heat terriffic, and the noise and smoke bewildering. Branches broke and trees crashed. The road was littered with hot and feet-entangling debris. A hundred times they escaped disaster as by a miracle. Despite the need for haste, they were frequently compelled to put their burden down, not only to rest themselves, but to temporarily ease the excruciating pain which the inescapable jolting caused the injured man. On one such occasion a burning limb from a long dead monarch of the bush suddenly snapped and came hurtling down. Don caught it just as it would have struck Nell upon the head. He flung it from him instantly, but not before it had left its searing mark upon his already scorched and bleeding hands. So unexpected was the fall and with such swiftness did it take place, that she had not had time to move. None the less, she saw what Don did, and the grateful flash in her eyes was to him abundant thanks.

As they made their way through the thicker part of the bush upon the higher ground, the smoke and heat became so much more stifling that Heron gasped and struggled for breath. His involuntary efforts caused him the most agonising pain, and he could not withhold a terrifying moan. The sound was so alarming that Nell instantly called upon Don to set their burden down in order that she might see what was the matter with her husband. She feared she knew not what, and her heart almost ceased to beat. But he was still alive, and to lighten his heavy breathing she ripped away a portion of her dress and used it as a fan. The effect was good, for it not only gave him lighter air, but it also served to cool his face.

And Don, though impatient to be moving on for fear of something worse ahead, also gave attention to the injured man’s condition. He first eased his head. Then, taking off his coat, he converted it into a cushion and placed it beneath Heron’s back, hoping to minimise the pain he was bound to suffer as they bore him along. These things quickly done, on again they went, and, always, as the road grew harder to negotiate, Don changed ends. Going up hill he was behind— down hill in front. At the corners he almost bore the whole of the weight upon his lowered hands. On stepping over fallen logs he did the same thing. He was as careful of Nell as he was of her stricken husband, and well she knew it. But that was not the time or place to thank him for his actions. There was but one thing to do—to go on through the fires, desperately fighting every foot of the way!

What a struggle it was. Parched with thirst, their lips blackened and dry, their garments half gone, their arms stiff with the strain of carrying their load, they stumbled and strove towards their goal. But ere they reached the township, burnt and blistered, almost blinded by the heat and smoke, and inexpressibly weary, willing workers flew to their aid. The fight was won!

* * * * * * *

The doctor found that Pat’s back was broken.

That night he died.

* * * * * * *

Five months later Nellie’s second baby was born. When he was but a week old Don, worshipfully kneeling beside her bed. looked from the child to the mother and said. “What are you going to call him?”

“Donald!” she replied.

“Patrick!” he added.

“McIvor!” she concluded, blushing. “For when you ask me to marry you, Don, I’ll not say no!”

And once more Nellie took Donald’s face in her hands, but this time—after she had fervently kissed him, her arms went round his neck, and, as his head lay upon her bosom she softly whispered, “I don’t deserve you, Don! But you’re a good man, leal and brave and true. And although I refused you once I feel that you still love me, and I know now that I love you!”