Wrong Side of the Fence

By Dor Slinkard

Grace Nobel, at age thirteen, had known little else but frustration and hurdles to jump in her short life. Still, her passion for calling horse races never faltered. It kept her grounded.

 

Throughout the years of missing her father while he was fighting in the Hot Arabian desert. To the melodramatics of her mother. And Grace's

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doreen Anne Slinkard
• Release date: Oct 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9780648539117

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WRONG SIDE OF THE FENCE – Dor Slinkard

Copyright © Doreen Slinkard (2021)

The right of Doreen Slinkard to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

ISBN 9780648539179 (Paperback)

ISBN 9780648539117 (E-Book)

First Published (2021)

CHAPTER 1

Caulfield Racecourse 1940. Victoria, Australia.

At the end of a narrow laneway, an old wooden fence sat precariously, seeming to defy the gale-force winds that sometimes hammered its existence. Still, it managed to separate the outside world from the Caulfield Racecourse. On specific Saturdays and at forty-minute intervals, the racing fraternity would gather in the grandstand to watch the jockeys and their thoroughbred mounts gallop around the track in an exhibition of skill and speed.

Standing on top of a fruit box and watching this spectacle from the wrong side of the fence, was thirteen-year-old Grace Nobel.  Her dad, Tom, stood alongside. And her brother Walter sat in a wheelchair watching the races through a gap in the fence, where Tom had removed the customary palings. Walter could have stood on a box too, but he was a bit wobbly and tended to lose balance when excited.

Each time the field flashed by in a swirl of colour and a thunder of hooves, it fuelled Grace’s dream of becoming a race caller. A few weeks ago, when she had blown out thirteen candles on her birthday cake, she wished fervently that one day, when the war was over, she would have the chance to make her dream a reality.  Grace had inherited her dad’s passion for calling races from an early age, and as she grew, so did her desire. Now, with her elbows propped on the fence, binoculars ready and concentration apt, Grace waited for the barriers to spring open and the charge to begin. With her clear speech and precise reckoning, Grace thought she called every race, as well as her dad, did – and he would confirm this by ruffling her hair, a habit which Grace found both annoying and endearing in equal measure.

What do you reckon, Dad, was my call good? Grace looked expectantly at Tom. I could see the trailer was going to make a winning dash in the home straight, so I kept my eye on him, and I was right!

Don’t get too cocky, Grace. You may miss something important if you only keep your eye on one or two horses. The trick is to train your eye to have a panoramic view.

Walter clapped his hands, repeating, Pan...pan…panoramic. Great w…word, Dad.

Grace wiped a dribble of saliva from Walter’s lips using the piece of cloth that she carried specifically for the job.

Yep, it is Walter, my boy, Tom said, his blue eyes filled with love as he squeezed his son’s shoulder. Well, Tom continued, checking his pocket watch. We’d better go before your Mum gets home from shopping. He pushed the fence palings back in place then swung Walter’s wheelchair around.

But Dad, Grace pleaded, Nelly said she was going to Grandma’s first and that means an extra hour. And she said she’d booked in to have her hair done – Nelly will probably do her shopping after so she can show off her new hair style. Grace gathered up her auburn hair and, piling it up on top of her head, struck a pose. Come on, Dad. Nelly won’t be home until at least four o’clock! Can’t we stay a bit longer? Please? I want to see my favourite horse win!

That old crock? Tom chuckled.

He’s not a crock, Grace protested, "he just had some time off with an injury. You watch. He will win – this is his first start back and he’s in the next race. Please, Dad, stay for one more? Please?" Grace clasped her hands dramatically to her chest.

Okay - but you’ll have to face up to your mother when she sees the lawn hasn’t been mowed. Deal?

I will, I promise. I’ll think of something, Grace assured him happily.

Grace positively glowed when her favourite horse, Singintherain, bolted in, winning by five lengths. She knew her dad disliked boasting, so she refrained from showing her delight at being right – once again – but she couldn’t stop smiling as they headed home.                                         

Each Friday night before a race meeting, the trio would sit at the kitchen table studying the jockeys’ silks, trying to memorize the numbers, names, and colours of the horses: 7 - Harvey Boy, a grey;  10 - Kingdom Come, a chestnut; 3 - Power Pack, a bay, and so on. However, this ritual was never conducted when Nelly was present. Nelly often denounced horseracing and gambling - not that Tom had ever placed a bet. He simply loved the sport and dreamed of calling races professionally.  Luckily, for all concerned, on Friday nights, Nelly played Bridge at a friend’s home.

It was never an option for Tom and his children to attend a Caulfield race meeting. Nelly would never allow it. Having been brought up in a God-fearing household, Nelly’s principles were set in stone, having been carved there by her mother. Gambling of any kind is a sin! Grandma would shout. Money is the root of all evil, was another of her favourites - and yet, the old hypocrite worshipped the stuff. Of course, Nelly playing cards was never considered gambling.

Money is never involved. Bridge is purely a game of skill and intellect, Nelly would proclaim righteously, head held high.

Why Tom married Nelly, Grace could never understand. Granted, Nelly had a slim figure and was considered pretty, but Grace had no idea whether this made up for her caustic nature. However, whenever Nelly was happily absorbed in one of her ‘romance novels,’ Grace would see her mother’s stern expression soften, and she would become dreamily preoccupied. Preparing dinner or hanging clothes on the line, Nelly would sing love songs and afterward, she’d hurry back to her novel and sit in her special armchair, the reading lamp with the pink-frilled shade behind. No one else ever dared to sit there.

Grace was happy when her mother read, which was most of the time, and so was Tom. He was her main provider of books and ensured she had an endless supply of Mills and Boon novels or something equally romantic. Whatever he had to do to make Nelly happy, Tom mostly obliged - except for one thing.  When Walter had been born with cerebral palsy, Tom had rejected all the well-intentioned advice and adamantly refused to put him in a home. Tom had fought many battles with Nelly and her parents over this issue. They seemed to think Walter’s condition was a punishment sent to them from God.

Bloody idiots, Tom cursed. God-bothering, hateful bastards! What happened to Christian love and kindness? Tom had prevailed so far, but not with those words. He had argued more cautiously and had won his case to keep Walter at home. While Tom’s ambitions of race calling had been set aside for a job that would provide a more predictable income for his family, he did what he could to encourage his daughter’s ambition and protect his son’s welfare.

*

Nelly stood on the front veranda, hands-on-hips, glaring at the front lawn. The lawn didn’t need mowing - but Nelly was well, Nelly - and everything except her reading Romance Novels ran to a strict timetable. The sheets she washed every Thursday, the furniture polished, and the carpet vacuumed each Friday. On Mondays, without fail, the clothes she washed in the morning she ironed after dinner, while Tom and the children listened to their favourite radio program, Dad and Dave. It was hardly Nelly’s favourite. She failed to see the humour in the struggles of this ill-bred farming family as she called them, despite the vast majority of Australians loving the endearing and straightforward stories which, for half an hour every night, took their minds off their problems.

Where have you been, Tom? Nelly demanded angrily, but not loudly enough that the neighbours might hear. Tom looked to Grace, who swallowed and coughed nervously to buy time before she confronted her mother as she had promised she would.

Well,  it’s like this, Nell – uh, Mum. We went for a walk to the shops, and Walter’s wheelchair got a flat tyre, Grace wiped her brow for effect, and you wouldn’t believe it, we just couldn’t find the right size tube to mend it. She looked squarely at Nelly, who was now tapping her foot, a sure sign she didn’t, for an instant, believe Grace.  We’re in trouble. Well, anyway, Dad thought we’d better just patch it up. And you know what? The garage man had run out of glue, just our luck! So …

Enough of your lies, Grace! I know where you lot have been! Mrs. Album saw you standing at the racetrack fence!

Grace had hidden the binoculars under the rug across Walter’s lap, and with an awkward effort, he pulled them out and waved them triumphantly at Nelly, smiling broadly. You guessed right, Mu…Mum

Oh, shit, said Tom quietly. Now you’ve done it, mate.

Nelly walked back inside after giving an exaggerated huff.

Grace had lost the battle and, conceding defeat, reluctantly retrieved the mower from the shed and furiously proceeded to push it back and forth across the grass. Walter watched intently from the sidelines. His eagerness in wanting to help Grace had him almost bouncing out of his wheelchair. Grace relaxed and laughed, but then thought, He can walk, so why not? Just because that chair makes it easier to get him around, it doesn’t mean he has to spend all his time in it.

Come on, Walter, do you want to have a go? She moved the mower close and helped him stand. Walter was two and a half years older than Grace and handsome - apart from the fine trickle of saliva that seemed to flow continuously from the corner of his mouth. Tall and lean, he was easy to maneuver. Grace held him close to the mower and Walter grabbed the handles while Grace stood behind, kicking his feet to start him off. Walter got the gist and proceeded to push the mower forward - alone. His eagerness had him sometimes struggling with his center of gravity, though not enough to fall. They laughed all the way around until, both out of breath, they stood to view their efforts.

Not exactly straight, Walter, but not bad for your first go! Grace patted him gently on the back.

Tom appeared on the front veranda, a beer in hand and a smile to conquer the world. Walter, my son, you’ve mowed the lawn. Why haven’t you done it before? Tom’s tone was light-hearted, but his pride in his son’s achievement was unmistakable.

Walter let go of the mower handles, gently nudged Grace out of the way, and took three steps towards his dad. Well, nobody’s asked me be…before, Walter said with hardly a stutter - his confidence building. He then wobbled a little before taking another three steps. Tom didn’t move - he needed to see how far Walter could walk unaided. It was something Nelly never encouraged for some obscure reason. Tom’s face was beaming. He was so proud of his son and always had been.

The front door opened and slammed shut. You’ll fall, you stupid boy! Nelly hissed. Get the wheelchair, Grace!

Tom froze like he’d been knifed in the back. Leave him be, Nelly, Tom said evenly.  He has to try, or he’ll feel like a burden all his life. Raising his voice, he called encouragingly, Come on, Walter. You won’t fall, mate. You can do it!

Walter looked from his father’s smiling face across to his mother’s sour expression. She laughed derisively.  Walter’s confidence evaporated, and he fell.

Told you so, Nelly said with a sneer. Now go and pick him up, Tom. He’s already given me a bad back, and I’ll never be the same. The pain is unbearable. She began massaging her back, hoping for a bit of sympathy.

Tom looked at Nelly, his expression stony. Nelly turned away and crossed her arms.

From across the lawn came the sound of applause. Edward Hobbs lived next door and had been a part of Tom’s life since he was a youngster and a part of Nelly’s since she had married Tom.

Well done, Walter, Edward said, smiling over the Photinia hedge. I’ve been watching - just thought I’d ask if you wanted a job mowing my lawn? What do you reckon?

Yes, please, Walter said with a broad smile. He gently pushed Grace away as she tried to help him stand. To everyone’s amazement, he turned on his knees, focused, and lifted himself off the ground. Applause, again from Edward.

It looks to me like you want the job, Walter. It’ll be getting dark soon. How about tomorrow morning, say about ten?

Walter goes to Church tomorrow morning, Edward.  And you must be joking. He can’t mow lawns, don’t be stupid! Nelly said, full of self-righteous indignation.

I just saw for myself, Nelly. I reckon he did a pretty good job, love.

"Don’t call me love! And I’m telling you, Walter will not be mowing your lawn, Edward, and that’s that!" Nelly went inside, slamming the door for effect. Everything Nelly did was for effect.

*

At nine-thirty the following day, Edward knocked on their front door. Grace opened it and smiled. Come in, Edward. Grace loved the older man as she had his wife Sylvia, who’d died suddenly twelve months before.

Good luck with getting Mum to agree to Walter mowing your lawn, Edward, Grace whispered, waving her arm in the direction of the kitchen, where her family was gathered. Tom sat reading the newspaper, Walter was eating his breakfast, and Nelly stood at the sink peeling potatoes, moaning about having to cook a roast every Sunday.

Nelly’s church hat sat askew, messing up her newly permed curls. She pushed it back to wipe her brow and said over her shoulder:

"Walter is going to church Edward. I told you that. Besides, I’ve dressed him in his Sunday Best."

Like hell you did, Grace muttered under her breath, he did it himself.

What was that Grace? Nelly asked sharply.

I said, Mum,  that Walter would rather stay home and mow Edward’s lawn. She gave Walter a gentle push. Isn’t that right, Walter?

Walter duly nodded, and grabbing another piece of vegemite toast, shoved it in his mouth and chewed enthusiastically.

Slow down, Walter. There’s plenty of time to mow my lawn. Edward teased.

Nelly stopped peeling mid-spud and pointed her knife at Edward.  I told you –

"And I’m telling you, Nelly, Edward interrupted her with authority, Walter would rather do something useful than sit in church all morning listening to that piss-weak preacher."

"How dare you speak like that in my home! Edward, please leave now!" Nelly gestured towards the door, swinging around so quickly her hat toppled to the floor, ruining the drama of the moment. I should use a hat pin, she thought before tearing off her apron and throwing it at Edward. She made a show of bending to pick up her hat, emitting groans of agony. Oh, my poor back!  She straightened up in increments and, after dusting off the hat, placed it awkwardly upon her head. She picked up her handbag from the table, gave a loud harrumph and marched towards the front door.

Tom folded the newspaper carefully and looked at his children, an unreadable emotion playing over his features. Edward looked at him apologetically. I’m sorry, Tom, I can’t help myself sometimes. Jesus, she’d rile the Good Lord Himself, I reckon. Sorry, mate.

Don’t apologize Edward. Just take Walter with you. Let him mow your lawn. Go out the backdoor. Tom nodded at Grace. And Gracie, sweetheart - you go with your mother. Tell her I’ll be along in a minute.

Okay, Dad. Grace hurried to catch Nelly, knowing her mother would be talking to herself, fuming. Sometimes Grace felt sorry for Nelly. Having been brought up by Grandma would be any kid’s worst nightmare.

You must always do the right thing. God is watching you. God sees everything! Her grandmother would preach through lips as tight as a cat’s bum. Doing the right thing meant everything imaginable. From eating carefully to walking down the street with your head held high. How to behave in public, avoid anyone common, have bad manners, or live on the wrong side of the tracks. Her demands would have stifled even the bravest kid. Grace felt lucky to have her Dad. She could not imagine her life without him; if she thought about losing him, Grace felt like she would crumble and break. That went for Walter, too. She loved him just as much as she loved her Dad. But Nelly? Well, Grace’s feelings for her mother were a mix of both love and aversion, not always in equal amounts. Nelly was broken and urgently needed fixing. But the question was, how?

Grace jogged until she caught up. "Mum, please don’t be angry. Look at it this way. We won’t be pestered by all those stickybeak do-gooders asking, Has there been any improvement in Walter, dear? Grace snorted mockingly and went on in her normal voice. Well, what I mean is, if we don’t try and help him do things for himself, he’ll never improve. Grace glanced sideways to catch Nelly’s expression. What do you think, Mum? Shouldn’t we encourage Walter to do things for himself? Then you can tell everyone,  Yes, Walter is getting better all the time, thank you." Grace turned to her mother, waiting for an answer, and was surprised to see a tear trickle down Nelly’s cheek.

I suppose you’re right, Grace. It’s just that Grandma keeps telling me things, terrible things that I know in my heart aren’t true. I’m sure God didn’t send Walter as a punishment. Nelly blew her nose with her embroidered handkerchief and sighed with resignation. I’ve been a good person; I’ve never done a bad deed. Nelly’s conscience quickly reminded her of the night she’d been overcome with passion and let Tom make love to her – before they were married. They were engaged, well, sort of; Nelly had been sure Tom would ask her to marry him, particularly after she had shown him how much she loved him. But the proposal only came eight weeks later when she tearfully told him she was pregnant.

Tom had felt duty-bound to do the honourable thing and marry Nelly. He had done the deed, thinking only of his own satisfaction. Tom had been attracted to Nelly’s prettiness, although he had never been in love with her. As for Nelly, she had adored Tom. But after they were married, Tom didn’t behave like one of the Mills and Boon book heroes, sweeping her off her feet and showering her with compliments. Over time, her heart, like a flower needing rain, withered away until her love had almost died. A little spontaneous show of affection from Tom now and then would have helped revive it. Yes, she had been so sure their love for each other would flourish, if only he could have delivered the romance she so desired.

I’m sorry, Grace, I know I always seem angry. I don’t mean to be. I do love you and Walter. Nelly drew a deep breath and straightened her back. Come on, Grace, we’ll be late for Church. Nelly looked over her shoulder. Where’s your father?

He said he’ll be along in a minute, Mum. Grace hooked her arm through Nelly’s to show she appreciated her apology – they were rare. As they walked on, Grace asked her mother a question she knew would take her mind off her worries. "What Mills and Boon are you reading, Mum? When can I read them? I’m sick of the Anne of Green Gables books; they’re a bit boring." Grace had just finished reading National Velvet, which she had adored, but her mother would have had a pink fit if she had known it was about a girl riding in a famous horserace.

Grace, I’m shocked! You won’t be old enough to read romance until you’re at least twenty-one. She squeezed Grace’s hand. But maybe when you’re sixteen, I’ll let you read the tame ones. Nelly giggled, remembering how her mother had never known she’d read them. Nelly had hidden the books in a box at the bottom of her cupboard. She supposed she’d always been a romantic, but where had it gotten her? Her mood suddenly changed. It does you no good being a romantic, Grace. Nelly shook a finger. When things don’t turn out like you dream they will,  you will lose heart and become bitter.

Grace had never heard her mother speak so honestly. What had gotten into her?

I might be young, Mum, but I understand. I dream about being a race…. Grace clamped her lips, realizing what she was about to say. No matter how understanding she seemed right then, Nelly would turn into the Devil if Grace confessed her desire.

What were you about to say, Grace? Nelly asked, now in a somber mood. Her moods changed like the Melbourne weather.

Oh, it was just a joke, Mum. I was going to say a racing car driver, but I thought it’d upset you that you wouldn’t find it funny...

No, not at all. I think it is funny, Grace, because you can’t drive.  Now, where’s your father? Nelly turned around; her brow furrowed as she looked down the road; there was no sign of Tom. I hope he’s all right.

Geez, she’s never said that before. What’s got into her?  Grace pulled her mother’s sleeve, They’ll be along any minute, Mum. Come on. We’ll be late.

CHAPTER 2

Walter had gone with Edward – he was safe. Grace and Nelly, Tom knew, would be sitting in church; this suited his plan to leave quickly, without personal farewells.

As he began to write, first to Nelly and then to the children, his heart ached so badly he wanted to rip up the paper, torn between his commitment to the Army and his love for his children. He took a deep breath and began to write.

Dear Nelly,

I’m sorry to be leaving this way, but I’ve joined the Army.

I felt the need to join the ranks to help keep my family and this country safe. I know one man cannot do it on his own, but together we will conquer the enemy, I’m sure. My cowardice at not being able to tell you face-to-face is not a good start to a fighting career, I know, but this is the hardest thing I’m sure I will ever have to do.

Please believe me when I tell you, my conscience has struggled with my heart for a long time before making this decision.

Take good care.

Your dutiful husband,

Tom

At least his letter to Nelly was honest. However, trying to explain his leaving to Grace and Walter was almost more than he could bear. Tom needed to wipe his eyes many times to stop his falling tears from smudging the ink.

Darling Walter and Grace,

My heart breaks to leave you both.

I have joined the fight to keep those bloody Nazis from our shores. Your love is what will keep me alive, so please, never stop loving me. I can hardly bear to leave you, but I must. I know, Grace, you will always be there for Walter. Don’t let anyone take him away. Edward will help you; I’ve asked him to look out for you both, and he’s on our side, remember that.

I believe in you Walter, keep trying to do the things you want to do, son. You can achieve anything mate. I know you can. Grace, you will make the best race caller this country has ever heard. Keep up the fight, believe in yourself, and don’t let anyone tell you, you can’t because you can. I’m so proud of you both.  Stay strong and believe in the power of good.

Your loving father, Tom.

P.S. Don’t show your mother this letter - hide it or rip it up if you must. I will write as soon as I can.

*

When Grace’s tears had finally abated and her heart had healed enough, she did as Tom had asked. She became more assertive and even more protective of Walter’s independence. However, it took many more months before she could think of her father without tears.

Nelly, at first, had collapsed into a hysterical mess,