Bittersweet (28 page)

A
s 1930 wore on, Charles Burdum got most of the credit for Corunda’s continued relative prosperity. Mayor Nicholas Middlemore and Town Clerk Winfield Treadby, both rather colourless men, wore no laurels on their brows, despite their genuine dedication and occasionally successful efforts to help. As they possessed the sense to see that if they said anything against Charles Burdum, it would be taken as sour grapes, they smiled wordlessly when people sang Charles’s praises to their faces, and voted his way on the Council.

Corunda had two members of parliament, one for the State of New South Wales, and one for the Australian federal government in the new pollie-town of Canberra. Everyone knew that the big cities were the only places that politically mattered; there, Capitalism and Socialism squared off against each other and forced their will upon the hapless voters, who, probably because of the continent’s history of autocratic rule under virtually dictatorial governors, seemed conditioned from the beginning of democratic government to expect broken promises, poor performance, and corruption.

After months of marriage, Kitty knew that Charlie had his heart set on representing Corunda in the federal parliament, but still he hesitated to make his move. In one way the times screamed for a new style of leadership, perhaps even through the workings of a new political party, a party more geared to a wider variety of voters; both Tory and Labor politicians were die-hard, rigid, intransigent, and therefore did not appeal to voters whose thinking was more flexible and whose desires were not catered for by either kind of politician.

He hadn’t understood either that his Englishness would be a colossal handicap in seeking a political career; many Labor men came from more Englishly hidebound backgrounds than he did, but they downplayed their nationality by clinging to the pan-global nature of Socialism. Why was being an English gentleman such a stigma? And how could he understand that the original autocratic rulers on this continent had been English gentlemen, hated and despised to this day?

Dismayed and disappointed, Charles had the intelligence to see that his political aspirations would have to be postponed until he had been in Australia far longer, and that he would have to strive to be considered an Australian, not an Englishman. To get to the country halfway through 1929 and on the eve of the world’s greatest economic disaster did not bode well, no matter how hard he toiled to keep Corunda on its feet, free of a shanty town and holding jobs. For of course he had his enemies, local people whom the Burdum charm and liberality had antagonised;
not all of these people were of scant account, and a few were powerful. Every political meeting he was permitted to attend, he attended; every meeting of the Council saw him present, as well as various social assistance associations.

Whenever possible he brought his wife, whose increasing girth delighted everybody as much as her natural air of wifely affection did. Committed to him now, Kitty was determined to be the right partner for this dynamic, perpetually busy man. When he went to Sydney or Melbourne or Canberra to hear the more important debates in the parliament, or lobby for Corunda in some way, Kitty was there at his side.

So it was a surprise to her to find Charles packing his suitcases midway through August, when the weather was bitterly cold and Corunda city itself powdered with a crystalline white mantle that refused to melt.

“I’m off to the Premiers’ Conference in Melbourne,” he said, inspecting his dinner suit. “Will I need white tie and tails?”

“In Melbourne? Probably. They’re a snobby lot down there,” she said, eyes dancing. “It’s just as well you go to these big city chin-wags occasionally, Charlie — they keep the moths out of your formal clothes. I take it you don’t want me along?”

“Not this time. Too boringly masculine. The Depression has rather put the kybosh on festivities, I notice from the agenda I was sent. What I want to know is why these confabs always take place in Melbourne?” he demanded, packing white tie and tails on top of his dinner suit.

“You must know why the chin-wags always take place in Melbourne, Charlie,” she said, taking over the packing. “
Think!
There are always lots of big-wigs from England present, and they have to sail from England to Australia — ten thousand miles by sea. Perth is out of the question as a meeting venue, and the next port of call is Melbourne. To stay aboard for Sydney means another thousand miles at sea, when they’re absolutely dying to disembark. Now if the aviators flew planes holding hundreds of people, then Sydney would be closer to London than Melbourne. Melbourne would decline. While people have to sail to Australia, Melbourne wins.”

“You’re quite right,” Charles said ruefully. “Melbourne is the first important port of call, which is why Sir Otto Niemeyer will stagger down the gangplank to kiss Melbourne soil rather than sail another thousand miles to Sydney. Clever Kitty!”

She waved a pile of handkerchiefs under his nose. “I may be a bit swollen around the middle, but I can still help you pack. Your suits, however, I dare not touch. You should be using one of those stand-up cabin trunks that open out and have little sets of drawers in them as well as space to hang suits.”

“I’d look a fool to arrive with a cabin trunk.”

“Rubbish. Sir Otto Thingummy will have several, I imagine.” Kitty drew a breath. “In fact, Charlie, you need a valet.”

“Yes, I do, but classless Corunda would condemn me.”

“It’s another job, though not for a Corundite, alas, even poor Bear. Hire a valet in Melbourne, Charlie, and bugger Corunda!”

“I suppose I could put a cabin trunk in the guard’s van.”

“You could indeed. Where are you staying?”

“Menzies, as usual.”

“Good, it has valets who unpack. Why you, Charlie? You’re not in any parliament.”

“Men in my position always have important enough political friends to linger in the immediate vicinity of conferences, though that’s not why I’m going. I’m personally invited by Sir Otto.”

Kitty sat on the edge of his dressing room chair. “Just who is this Sir Otto? He sounds like a German sausage maker.”

“Sir Otto Niemeyer is one of the governors of the Bank of England, and an old friend of mine from City of London days. More than that I do not know, my glorious Kitty, but I’m dying to find out why he’s made that dreadful voyage.”

“Yes, I see why you’re curious. He’s an extremely important man, so whatever he’s come for must be vital back in England — I mean, four or five weeks in a stiflingly hot cabin, seasickness
and
boredom? I’m sure he’ll be on the highest deck where the wind blows through his cabin, but home it’s not. Of course, he will be port out and starboard home, but the sun is relentless.”

Charles eyed her in amusement. “Anyone would think you’d done the voyage, Kitty. Port out and starboard home?”

“The sun, silly!” she said, dimples showing. “It shines on the starboard side of the ship going to Australia and the port side going home to England, so those in the know always book a cabin on the shadier side. It’s where the word ‘posh’ comes from.”

“My dear, you are a positive mine of information!”

“I don’t know about that, but Sir Otto is a worried man.”

Every good hotel in Melbourne was jam-packed with politicians and the small army of hangers-on they seemed to drag with them like a comet its tail, Charles Burdum thought as he moved into his usual two-room suite at the Menzies Hotel. He liked its clubby atmosphere, the staff who sported touches of red-and-white Menzies tartan, the existence of valets and ladies’ maids, and the excellent cuisine. His prized Miss Cynthia Norman had nipped in ahead of the pack and secured him a Rolls-Royce car and chauffeur for his visit, and Kitty had been right, the cabin trunk worked. It didn’t go against him, either, that he was a generous tipper; Australians, he had discovered very early on, were notoriously grudging tippers.

Dropping Sir Otto’s name as his patron, Charles found himself invited to all kinds of meetings, but that all paled compared to the fact that he dined alone with Sir Otto on his first evening ashore. It seemed Sir Otto had some bones to pick, and had chosen Charles as his primary confidant — not illogical, given the two things Sir Otto had in common with Charles and no one else in Melbourne: their long City of London ties and their Englishness.

“My dear Charles, the City hasn’t been the same since you packed your traps and emigrated,” the Bank of England man said over pre-dinner drinks. Both men wore black tie.

“You exaggerate,” said Charles, smiling. “I was based more in Manchester than in London.”

“Perhaps, but you were close enough to answer our call when needed, as in sticky or intriguing situations. You surely didn’t emigrate over Sybil, my dear fellow?”

“Lord, no!” Charles cried, astonished. “Frankly, I was bored, and it seemed a good moment to take up my antipodean inheritance. How amazing! It seems a lifetime, but it’s really not yet two years ago.” The face went gargoyle. “On the bottom of the globe, Otto, I am convinced the world — and time — turn faster. I am married to a woman who eclipses Sybil as the Hope Diamond does a chunk of glass.”

“You didn’t bring her to Melbourne?”

“No. She’s expecting our child.”

“How splendid!” Sir Otto leaned back in his chair. “Do you know why I’m here, Charles?”

“Certainly because of the Depression, but on whose behalf I do not know. I hadn’t thought these bumbling fools intelligent enough to call for expert opinion.”

“As to their being bumbling fools, it seems all governments are comprised of those in the face of this disaster, but no, you are right.
They
did not summon me. I came at the Bank’s behest.”

“What are the Bank of England’s intentions?”

“To persuade the various governments of this continent that they cannot default on their loan repayments, particularly on the repayment of interest.”

The gargoyle look increased; Charles whistled softly. “I have heard the fringe lunatics muttering behind their hands about denying international debt, and some fairly responsible men have muttered about postponing loan interest repayments until local suffering abates, but I didn’t give any of it credence. You’re implying, I think, that a large part of the political establishment is restive about loan repayments?”

“Oh, yes.”

The first course arrived; they ceased to speak of vital subjects while the waiters hovered, then ate in a pleasurable silence that persisted, save for small talk, until the ruby port and Stilton cheese arrived, when the battery of servitors retired, leaving them to private discussion.

“It is clear,” said Sir Otto, “that federation and self-government went to Australian heads. Without the strong veto powers of British governors, and flushed by the demand for wool as well as the continued production of gold, both the federal and various state governments went on a spending spree. Do you realise how much Australian wool was gobbled up by the Great War? Home on the sheep’s back! I daresay no one saw an end to the prosperity back in 1925, whereas all save fools should have.”

“I see,” said Charles slowly. “Pray continue, Otto.”

“The various state governments have done much of the spending over the last decade, mostly, I believe, because the federal government wanted the glory without the administrative work. Taking the gold and other reported mineral deposits into account, it was decided in Canberra that Western Australia should not be permitted to secede, despite its clamourings. This led to Western Australia’s being disproportionately gifted when the federal government disbursed funds.”

Sir Otto put the tips of his fingers together and looked solemnly across them at his intent listener; he was enjoying himself. “By far the biggest spender was the most populous state, New South Wales, which, due to huge financial pressures in Perth and Melbourne, was always short-changed in Canberra. So
New South Wales took out massive loans in the City of London markets to finance an ambitious program of public works. The state is now dangerously close to defaulting. Other states, though less parlous, are also on thin ice, and my colleagues in the Bank fear the federal government could default.”

“You know, Otto, so tell me — how much has been borrowed?” Charles asked, heart sinking.

“Upward of thirty million pounds a year.”

“Ye gods! A crippling interest.”

“But agreed to when the money was borrowed.”

“Yes, of course. Go on, please.”

Sir Otto shrugged. “That’s why I’m here — what a frightful journey to have to make! Months wasted by the time I get back, though I hope to terrify the politicians into behaving. If I can, then my time will have been well spent.”

“What do you think of the country, if you can make any sort of assumption on such short acquaintance? I know some federal people boarded in Fremantle to start the ball rolling.”

Sir Otto’s mouth went down. “I think Australia has an inflated idea of its own importance, first and foremost. Then, it has a living standard for the general populace that is disgracefully high. The working man lives far too well! His wages are too high and his expectations from life unrealistic. In short, he doesn’t know his proper place.”

“I see. What measures will you recommend?”

“Imperatively, that there can be no defaulting on repayment of foreign debt, particularly interest.
Absolute
retrenchment. Every government down to municipal level must immediately cease all
spending on public works — cut its civil service to the bone — reduce the wages and salaries it does pay — and decrease all social benefits, from monetary doles to pensions. The Australian pound is in the throes of devaluation and will eventually, we feel, sit at around thirty per cent less than the pound Sterling. If there must be defaults on interest payments, then let them be on a government’s own bonds, which I understand pay Australian owners nine per cent. Local debt is not at issue, just foreign.”

For a long moment Charles said nothing, just sat frowning at Sir Otto’s fingertips; suddenly he gave a shudder, like a dog shaking off an icy bath. “Oh, Otto! Of smiles there will be none save to speed your passage home, I fear. You are the harbinger of apocalyptic suffering, since it’s already clear that the Great Depression has hit Australia hardest anyway.”