Eight Shillings

By Chris Mayfield

Set in Sydney Australia during the 1950's, the Whyte family is torn apart when wife and mother Bernadette dies. Frank Whyte is unable to care for his three small daughters Monica, Ilene and Marion, while he works as an instructer for the Australian Army.
The children are separated and placed in temporary foster care, while Frank tries to organise his life and create a home for them. However circumstances, and people with ulterior motives combine to keep the family apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Mayfield
• Release date: Jul 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466157835

Chris Mayfield

Chris Mayfield is a former Customs Officer who lives in Queensland, Australia. She is inspired by the Australian way of life and finds humour in almost every situation. This leads to a 'little bit of doggerel" as she travels about the countryside.

Book preview

Prologue

2005

If funerals were rated on a scale of one to ten, this one would score a three. The chapel was small, spartan looking with only a single arrangement of artificial flowers in one corner. The coffin, sitting off to the right in the opposite corner on a wheeled trolley, was covered in a heavy brown fabric, obviously an attempt to hide the fact that it was one of those budget things, a chipboard box. The chaplain droned on, reciting the words he could say in his sleep, although he did manage to mention Frank by name on a couple of occasions.

Monica sat rigidly on the wooden pew, taking in the paucity of mourners. It was not surprising really. Frank had outlived most of his friends and colleagues. Those that were left were in nursing homes or had lost their marbles a long time ago. She was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of grief, and fished in her bag for a tissue, just in case. She scratched around inside the bag, seeking the little plastic pack she had placed there earlier. Her hand closed around it, at the same time catching the safety chain of her bracelet on her purse. As she removed the tissues, the purse flew out, spilling its contents on the floor.

Monica stood there stupidly gazing at the coins as they lay upon the carpet. Suddenly, her father was not in the chipboard box at all. It was fifty years ago and he was standing there right in front of her with a crooked smile on his face. Well I suppose you’ll want some pocket money to tide you over, he said jiggling coins in his pocket in an attempt at light heartedness. How much do you think would be a fair sum?

Monica had looked up at him without speaking for a moment, a look of confusion on her face. She seemed to struggle for a moment with some inner torment. Eight shillings, she finally said in a barely audible voice.

Part 1

Bernadette

England 1949

Chapter 1

Bernadette stood in the middle of the living room and stared at the large crates lined up against the wall, each one a clone of the one alongside. She took in the words painted in large letters again and felt a tingle of excitement.

W.O. WHYTE

INGLEBURN MILITARY CAMP

SYDNEY AUSTRALIA

Her feelings of euphoria were abruptly extinguished though, as she assessed her progress and realised she still had a long way to go. Three of the crates were now full with plates, bowls and glasses, all carefully wrapped in newspaper, and cushioned by various items of linen. She had even managed to fit her sewing machine into one of them, thankfully a small table model. However, if the truth would out, she would have carted it on her back right across the Indian Ocean. Looking now at what remained strewn about the floor, she mentally tried to fit it all into the remaining space, and thought ruefully, that some sacrifices would need to be made.

The sound of the front door opening took her attention and she realised with some surprise that Frank was home from work, the fact of which only added to her disquiet. Where had her day disappeared? A moment later, his wiry frame appeared in the doorway.

Hullo my love, he said, a faint smile lurking at the corners of his mouth as he looked around the room. Just as well the Strathaird’s a big ship or we’d be in strife.

She fixed him with her best attempt at a withering look, which only produced a further chuckle from her husband.

Where’s Monica? he asked, stepping over a stack of saucepans.

Asleep thank goodness. I’m sure I could have finished this hours ago if she didn’t try to unpack everything that went in, so she could play in all these wonderful cubby-houses.

Frank quietly opened the bedroom door and peered in at his sleeping four year old. He stood gazing at her a few moments then closed the door again.

Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, he said dryly. When she’s asleep that is.

Look at this, Bernadette said, reaching under a blanket and pulling out a rather large rag doll with a cherubic face, huge blue eyes and a little red button mouth. I bought her a present for the big journey, she said straightening the doll’s red checked dress. She hasn’t seen it yet.

You spoil her dreadfully, he said gruffly. Surely she has enough dolls?

Maybe, but leaving here and leaving Charlie will be a big wrench for her. This might provide a distraction.

Yes, well, where’s my dolly then? Frank said, the double meaning evident in his raised eyebrows.

I’m right over here, Bernadette responded with a mischievous smirk and flicked her hair back. He laughed and reached out for her, but she skipped aside with a chuckle.

Later, she said, I still have work to do if I am to have these boxes ready on time for collection. She resumed her packing, aware that he was still watching. I shouldn’t have made us go on that picnic yesterday. I lost too much time, she said, bending in to the box to pack a pillowslip around a china teapot.

Well that’s you; spontaneous as ever, gotta have some fun. And it did us good to get out, in the middle of all this chaos.

Yes, well, spontaneous distractions don’t get the work done. Sometimes I wish I was a little more disciplined like you. Nevertheless, she smiled at the memory. She had insisted that they take a picnic lunch, and they had taken off on their bicycles into the nearby countryside, finally spreading a blanket in a field of buttercups. Monica had loved it, and Bernadette could still see her crouching among the little yellow flowers, picking a clumsy collection.

Here Mummy, I picked these for you, she said, holding out the tangled offering, with mangled stalks of varying length sticking out through her fingers. Bernadette had smiled broadly and accepted the offering with exaggerated enthusiasm.

The break had given them some much-needed time for quiet reflection.

It’ll be nice to live in a warm climate again, Bernadette said.

They met in Cairo during the war, and while they were overjoyed at returning to a normal life at Ty Croes on the west coast of Anglesey, readjusting to the English climate had had an adverse effect on her blood circulation, not to mention the strain on her skimpy wardrobe.

A childish shout from the bedroom brought her back from her reminiscing.

I’ll get her, Frank said, walking towards the bedroom. You carry on here.

Right you are then Sar’ Major she quipped and gave him a mock salute. The fact that he was now a Warrant Officer Class 1 made no difference. She still thought the lesser rank rolled off the tongue better.

Frank re-emerged with Monica in tow and together they headed off towards the swing in the front yard. He had accepted the posting to the Royal Australian Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, or ‘RAEME’, as it was referred to, with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

I want the job, but I’m just a bit worried about leaving Charlie behind, he had confided to Bernadette. I mean, even though I’m not much older, I’ve always been the responsible one. I’ve always looked out for Charlie, ever since we were kids, getting into mischief together.

Bernadette understood the wrench of separation from one’s family only too well. Her family were Slovene, living in a war torn country, its citizens either thrown into Nazi concentration camps or fleeing to other countries. She herself had been forced to leave her family behind, and go in search of a better life. She had hated leaving her sister Olga, and then later, Olga had to leave also and go to work in Argentina. It had upset and humiliated their father, who was a proud man, having to send his daughters away, even though he knew he was not to blame. It was the price of war.

Bernadette tried to clear her mind of worrying thoughts and worked feverishly at the packing until Charlie announced his arrival with a loud Hullo all, as he came through the front door and continued on to his bedroom. Charlie was another victim of the war, having been a prisoner in Germany, and although he had fared better than most, he was not as robust as he was before the experience. So when Bernadette had suggested that he come and stay with them, he had jumped at the chance. The three of them had slipped into an easy ritual most nights, with the men watching over Monica, while Bernadette made tea.

Now, in the small kitchen, she listened contentedly while they sprawled on the floor in the adjoining room with a couple of beers, and talked trucks, buses and tanks. They were so much alike in looks and habits. Both were wiry with boyish good looks, though Frank was the taller of the two. In personality, Charlie was slightly more gregarious than his older, more responsible brother was. Frank preferred to keep his cards close to his chest and Bernadette had to prod and coax him for his innermost thoughts.

The main object of their attention now though, was a toy train-set which formed a large circle on the remaining clear patch of carpet. Bernadette had been perplexed when they’d returned home from Rosnygr one afternoon, each with a pile of boxes strapped to his bicycle.

A train-set? she said in total amazement. Why would you buy a train-set?

It’s for Monica, they both insisted, simultaneously, indignantly and with straight-faced solemnity.

After all, Charlie had protested: what little girl wouldn’t be delighted with a train set? It’ll broaden her outlook on life, he said and flashed a cheeky grin."

But Monica’s interest in the generosity they had bestowed upon her, was confined to the miniature cows and horses strategically placed on a patch of green carpet in the middle of the tracks, and she paid scant attention to the train as it rushed around the living room floor.

Yes, they would all miss the loveable rogue, Bernadette thought to herself while she stirred a pot of meat and tomato sauce.

It’s ready, she finally announced. Monica, go and wash your hands please.

Frank and Charlie downed the rest of their beer and came to the table sniffing appreciatively.

Smells good, they said in unison.

Spaghetti a la Pom, she said. No garlic.

Good, said Frank I don’t want any of that ‘Eye-tye’ stuff. Pass the cheese please Charles, he added with a wink at Monica who had just emerged from the bathroom at full gallop, to climb up on her chair. She beamed at him, one of her best angelic smiles, the smile that reduces all dads to puppets.

Bernadette placed a plate full of food in front of him and wondered in mild frustration if she would ever convert him. She loved to cook the dishes she’d eaten all her life at home in Gorizia on the Yugoslav Italian border, but so far she’d only been able to present bland versions of the real thing. If it wasn’t roast beef and stodgy Yorkshire pud, the English didn’t want to know about it.

That reminds me, said Frank, twirling his fork with one hand and reaching into his top pocket with the other. A letter came for you today. Looks like it could be from your mother.

Bernadette took the letter from his hand and put it in her pocket to read later. She wondered if everything was all right at home. They probably needed more money. She would send more money when she could.

So, any news on your accommodation yet? Charlie asked between mouthfuls.

Looks like we have married quarters allocated to us at Ingleburn. Frank replied. But I don’t know what we’ll do for furniture in the short tem. I think the house is empty.

We’ll be all right, said Bernadette. So long as our boxes arrive, we can make do on the floor until we get sorted out.

It’s the middle of winter over there, he protested, I hope there’s a fire place if we’re to be having picnics on the floor. I suppose it could save us some money, he added dryly and returned to his food.

Winter there will be like summer here, Bernadette laughed.

They finished their meal in comfortable silence, after which, Bernadette put Monica to bed while the men washed up. She sat on the edge of the bed and read a story, in the hope that Monica would fall asleep quickly, but even though she had heard it many times, the antics of Goldilocks still held her attention all the way through.

You missed the baby bear, she wailed at one point when Bernadette turned two pages at once, and Bernadette told herself that one day she would learn not to try to outsmart her child.

It was some time before Bernadette was finally able to turn her attention to her mother’s letter. She took it from her pocket and read it, while at the same time giving furtive little glances to make sure Monica had really gone to sleep. The letters were always the same. She could almost read the words without looking. Since the German occupation, and the infighting amongst the Partisans and the Chetniks, the country had been poor. Things were difficult; they had no money to buy her little sister a new pair of shoes. Could she send some money when she could spare it. When she had been working in Cairo, her money was her own, but now she was reliant on Frank. He was a generous husband and he knew how difficult things were for her family, but he could not go on subsidizing them forever. She resolved to write and tell them so when they were settled in Australia.

Chapter 2

Bernadette lay quietly, listening to Frank’s regular breathing. She had pulled the curtains back the night before to allow the morning’s first light to creep into the room, just in case they both overslept the alarm, and now she could just discern a faint lessening of the blackness outside. Quietly she slipped from the bed and reached for her dressing gown, shoving her feet into slippers as she pulled it on. There were still a few last minute things to attend to before making breakfast, which she wanted to be a bit special. She was pleased the Army was sending a car to take them to the train, but it meant they would be saying goodbye to Charlie at the front gate. A slap up breakfast was called for.

The big wooden boxes had had their lids screwed down, and been taken to the ship the day before. Now they just had two suitcases, packed with the clothes they would need for the trip, which would take six weeks. Bernadette had a moment of anxiety as she thought about the trip. She was not good on boats and suffered dreadfully with seasickness, even in calm seas. She contemplated all of this as she shoved little sticks into the old cooking range to coax the flames into life. She soon had a good fire going, the battered, blackened kettle singing happily to itself and the smell of frying bacon wafting through the air. She could now hear the familiar sounds of a house awakening from its sleep, a toilet flushing, water rushing through pipes and Charlie ‘coughing his lungs up’, as Frank always said.

Eggs are going in the pan now, she called, unnecessarily as it turned out, as they all appeared like magic, honing in on the smells like filings to a magnet. Monica appeared first, still in her dressing gown and slippers, her hair neatly combed to one side. Bernadette tried not to laugh as she noted the frizzed matted mess at the back. Instead, she smiled at her. Today is the day we go on our big trip. Are you excited?

Monica nodded enthusiastically. When will we get there?

Oh, not for a long time. You’ll have lots of sleeps on the boat.

Pondering this piece of information, Monica climbed onto her chair and picked up a piece of toast. Frank and Charlie came through the door together, looking fresh and eager, chatting as though today was just another normal day, which would see both donning hat and coat, and going off to work.

The arrival of a big khaki staff car ended the façade of festivity. Bernadette watched as Frank and Charlie put the suitcases into the boot, and then came back to stand awkwardly by the front gate.

Might get a bit of rain later, Charlie said, looking at the sky, as if thinking it would make it so.

It’ll be good for the garden, Frank responded, following his brother’s gaze. The driver of the staff car stood at a respectful distance, grateful for the opportunity to have a quick smoke. Bernadette fussed over the buttons on Monica’s jacket, waiting.

It was Frank, not being one to stand on ceremony, who finally made the break.

Well, best be going. Don’t want to miss the train. Take care, he said stiffly, giving his brother a quick handshake.

Bernadette put her arms around Charlie in a fond embrace. We’ll write as soon as we’re settled.

Monica looked on in bewilderment. Unsure of what was happening, but sensing the vibes, her bottom lip trembled and she started to cry. Charlie whisked her high in the air.

Now, now, give your old Uncle Charlie a hug and let’s dry those eyes, he said fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. You’re going on a big adventure and look what Mum’s got for you."

On cue, Bernadette produced the doll as if by magic, and its presence worked like a charm. Uncle Charlie, no longer the object of her grief, was quickly relegated to a position of lesser importance in the blink of a glass eye, barely significant enough to receive a wave from the back seat of the car. Fickle child, Bernadette thought, though she was secretly pleased that the ruse had worked.

.Frank and Bernadette said little to each other on the journey to the station, leaving all the conversation to Monica, who was busy explaining to her new companion, whom she had already named Betty that they were going on a big trip with lots of sleeps.

Their train was waiting for them at Holyhead, and they quickly lugged their suitcases on to the platform, searching for the carriage number on their tickets.

"The engine puffed quietly, giving the occasional discordant clank and hissing steam, as if impatient to be on its way. Frank helped Bernadette and Monica up the step and then quickly heaved the heavy suitcases in behind them. He leapt on board then led the way checking the seat numbers.

A young man dressed in slacks and a tweed jacket stood up as they approached. He smiled at Bernadette and Monica who regarded him with a child’s open curiosity. Frank noted the military rucksack, as he made sure his charges were comfortable and returned for the luggage.

Army? he enquired of the young man, when he came back and heaved the suitcases up onto the luggage rack. The young man smiled and nodded in reply.

Jim Laughton, he said and extended his hand.

Frank Whyte. Where you headed Jim?

Australia, he said. Ingleburn Military Camp.

Well stone the crows, Frank laughed. What a coincidence. That’s where we’re headed. What do you do?"

Mechanic. Trucks.

Electricity, said Frank with a grin. This is my wife Bernadette and my daughter Monica.

Jim had a big happy face with a ready smile. Monica took to him immediately and honoured him with an introduction to Betty. Bernadette watched the interaction between the two, ready to rescue the young man if Monica imposed too much on his good nature. But Jim seemed quite comfortable having a conversation with a four year old. After a time though, the rocking of the train put the young Monica to sleep and the three of them chatted amiably in the long hours it took to travel from Anglesey to London. By the time they reached the docks, they were well acquainted.

The SS Strathaird was much larger than Bernadette had imagined. Frank, ever the one for facts and figures, rattled off its vital statistics. Completed in 1932, 22,284 tons, 664feet long and 80 feet wide. It carries about 1100 passengers all up. It used to have three funnels, he finished, peering skywards at what was now a single funnel.

Is all that information supposed to make me feel less sick? Bernadette retorted as she looked up at the big white hull of the ship, and took in the atmosphere of frenetic activity. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry; officials, porters, passengers and visitors alike, all had an air of urgency about them, even though there was still plenty of time.

Eventually they were allowed to board and after a lot more waiting around, they were ushered to their cabins. Frank was in with Jim, and Bernadette and Monica were sharing with another lady, who introduced herself as Sandra, three doors down.

Monica was excited by the hustle and bustle and didn’t seem to notice that her mother and father were separated. She stood in the narrow corridor staring through a grill at bags and boxes of supplies, as they were lowered into the hold. With one eye watching her young daughter through the open cabin door, Bernadette quickly unpacked some of the things they would need for the first couple of days. She had just finished when Frank and Jim arrived, joking and laughing like old friends, seemingly unconcerned about their unusual sleeping arrangements.

Ready for a turn around the deck? It’s not long till we sail now," Frank enquired. Bernadette needed no second bidding. The cabin was stuffy and she was keen to get some fresh air.

On deck, in the late afternoon, the bustling hyperactivity had given way to a strangely quiet air of expectancy. People lined the shore-side railings, standing in a panorama of bright colour. Hundreds and hundreds of paper streamers flew in a twisting colourful mass, tethering ship to shore, person to person, fragile threads of unity. The people on the ground caught each new strip of colour as it was hurled out and down from the families, friends and total strangers high above them. There was laughter and many tears in the simple, but symbolic ceremony of saying farewell. Frank produced a roll of pink paper from his pocket, threw it out into the crowd and handed the end to Monica through the lower rail.

Hold on tight now and don’t let go.

And so they stood, side by side until at last, a deafening blast echoed above them and, looking down, the group could see the gang plank being dragged in below. The small, dark patch of water between the ship and the dock began to widen. The streamers fluttering in the slight breeze grew taught and finally snapped.

We’re away, Jim breathed quietly, betraying a small tremor of emotion. Bernadette didn’t miss it, and realised in that instant, that this young man was leaving everything behind too, family and friends, maybe even a girlfriend, to venture off on his own. She understood very well, what he was more than likely thinking. Her thoughts flew to Charlie rattling around in their empty home and she looked at Frank, trying to read his face; but as usual, he gave nothing away. Turning to Jim, she said, Will you join us for tea tonight Jim? We eat early though, mainly because of the little one. I hope you don’t mind?

Love to, he responded with a happy smile.

They stood at the railing for a long time watching England disappear as night fell, until Frank broke the silence.

Fancy a beer Jim?

By jeebers, you know, I think I do

The group laughed and as if by some silent agreement, Jim became the missing member of their family.

Chapter 3

The first morning Bernadette was sick, she knew it wasn’t seasickness. The seas were calm and she had lain in her narrow bunk for several minutes, listening to the low hum of the engines, enjoying a rare occasion when Monica was still asleep. It was later as she was getting dressed that she felt the familiar nausea creep over her. When Frank collected her and Monica for breakfast, she whispered her thoughts to him on the way down the passage.

I think I’m pregnant.

She searched his face, reading the look of concern, and knew he was remembering how ill she’d been with Monica, and how heartbroken they had both been when their next child had been still born. Two subsequent pregnancies had also ended in disaster.

Are you OK? You look a bit pale, he ventured, putting an arm protectively round her shoulder.

I think I’ll just have some fruit for breakfast. I don’t think I could stand eggs or bacon.

Jim was already waiting for them at the top of the stairs and Bernadette, knowing she looked a little pasty, attempted a bright smile. She felt so awful, she was sure he would notice, and half expected him to question her. Jim always seemed to be in tune with the people around him. He noticed things about them, whether they were happy or sad, or perhaps suffering a little seasickness; and so she was relieved when he either didn’t notice or just discreetly ignored it.

A few days later, when Bernadette still refused to eat breakfast, he looked sympathetically at her. You’re not well are you, love? Jim called all women ‘love’. Bernadette smiled inwardly at how their roles had changed. She had seen herself as a sort of mother figure up until now, the person who watched over her brood, and suddenly, he looked and sounded almost like a clucky hen, his concern was so visible.

I’ll be ok Jim, she smiled. I’m just pregnant that’s all.

Jim beamed his relief. Oh that’s marvelous news. We’ll have to have a celebratory cup of tea or something.

Or something, came the dry remark from Frank, who was busy cutting up a sausage for Monica, the smell of which, wafted under Bernadette’s nose. Abruptly she stood up, pushing her chair back and grabbing a napkin from the table at the same time.

Excuse me. I need to go

Over the next couple of days, the two men fussed over Bernadette, taking it in turns to look after Monica. The stewards brought tinned fruit to the cabin every morning, while Sandra, their room-mate, tried to give her as much time to rest on her own as she could, disappearing for long walks around the deck on a regular basis. But despite all the care and attention, by the time they reached the Suez Canal, Bernadette had lost her baby. She cried with regret and sorrow for the child she would never know, the child she and Frank had so desperately wanted.

The ship’s doctor was business like but sympathetic at the same time. He said to Frank, Your wife is suffering from anemia; she needs to build up her strength before you try for another baby.

Frank nodded his thanks. It's probably a good thing we are in separate cabins after all, he said wryly. They were quiet for a time after the doctor left, just listening to the faint throb of the ship's engine. Then, in an effort to brighten her spirit, he said: We’ll be in Port Said tomorrow. Do you want to go ashore and have a look around? We could recapture some of our past memories, you know, go into Cairo, catch a trolley bus out to the pyramids, show Monica a Hurdy Gurdy man; or just buy an ice-cream off a cart. He laughed looking for some sign that she was for it, but Bernadette shook her head: It takes too long on the bus and I think the smell would make me ill, she said referring the unforgettable odour of Cairo. But you go with Jim and take Monica if you want to."

No I’m not bothered, Frank replied. I just thought maybe you would like to do it.

Bernadette’s recovery was slow, hampered by bouts of seasickness, and she felt miserable for most of the remainder of the trip, although she had brief periods of respite when they docked at Bombay and Colombo. She stayed with eating tinned pears for breakfast, as they seemed to settle her stomach.

By the time the ship