Brother Fish (64 page)

There was no way possible the twins would look properly groomed. They were grown men but they were fishermen, which meant they were just naturally untidy. A clean shirt wouldn't last more than a few minutes on either of them – especially Steve, who had an irresistible compulsion to approach and tinker with anything with a grease-covered surface.

On the trip to Hobart, Steve drove and checked everything was hunky-dory with the Kombi engine every time we stopped for more than five minutes. Like, for instance, on one occasion he decided to check the carburettor, even though the Kombi was practically brand-new. ‘Never know with engines, and this one's German and in the back,' he muttered darkly. ‘Don't want to be caught short in the middle of nowhere.' ‘Nowhere' was this dirty great road right down the centre of Tasmania with cars and trucks passing every few minutes. I'm not sure why he mentioned the engine being German and in the back. Maybe, because we'd fought Germany in World War II, he felt the engine might be sabotaged and blow up – a payback by the Germans for us winning the war. Before we'd take off to continue our journey you could count on him having a grease mark somewhere, usually right down the front of a clean white shirt. Gloria would go apeshit, but she shouldn't have wasted the energy to remonstrate with him – nothing helped, and Cory wasn't a lot better. Both of them seemed to be experts on basic untidiness, and specialists in accumulating dirt. Gloria would constantly complain that she spent a fortune on bleach.

I guess I was the same until the army got a hold of me, whereas Jimmy, having been brought up in institutions, was always tidy. Before he went to sleep, he'd ball his socks and place one within each boot so it fitted precisely round the top, preventing any creepy-crawly from entering. I often wondered what kind of dangerous creepy-crawlies might exist in New York City besides cockroaches, which were dirty but basically harmless. Then one day he explained that in Elmira Reformatory a favourite trick among fellow inmates was to put bootmaker's tacks in your boots when you were asleep.

‘But they could still do that,' I'd argued. ‘They'd simply take the sock out, put the tacks in and stuff the sock back into the boot.'

‘I always push dem socks one inch from da top, a-range mah boots toe to toe in one line. Iffen dey not perfek like dat in da mornin', den I know somebody been der wid dem bootmaker tacks.'

‘Why didn't you just turn the boot upside down and shake it before you put it on?' I insisted pedantically.

‘Sure,' he replied. ‘It six o'clock, it a freezin' cold mornin', yoh lie in yo' bed to da last poss-bill minute. Den da second bell go an' yoh got to get yo' ass down to mornin' parade. Yoh ain't got no time to do no shakin' boots, Brother Fish. 'Fore you know you got dem tacks through da sole yo' foot, man.'

They all came down the gangplank, ladies first, Gloria carrying her precious GE electric iron perched on top of a big wicker basket we occasionally used for picnics on the beach. No doubt it contained food for the journey, together with a billy and teapot. Gloria was deeply suspicious of cafes. ‘I'm not paying good money for food you can't eat and tea they have the hide to charge a pound a pot. It's simply iniquitous! Always lukewarm, and tastes like regurgitated dishwater!' Nobody ever pointed out to her that you didn't drink dishwater – this was just one of Gloria's sayings.

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan followed Gloria, carrying a small alligator-skin suitcase and matching hatbox. Even then, in the 1950s, that kind of luggage was a bit old-fashioned and owned only by the very wealthy. Watching her I wondered fleetingly, for the umpteenth time, about her past. Nobody had ever heard her talk about it. She'd simply arrived on the island by boat as a young woman one morning in 1933, and stayed. Sue walked behind her carrying a hatbox and Jimmy's and my dress uniforms in another muslin bag Gloria had run up on her Singer. The twins were the last to disembark. It was late afternoon when we finally reached the boarding house on the outskirts of Stanley.

The journey the following day to Hobart was uneventful. Despite Steve's reservations, the Kombi's high-revving engine whined along with typical German efficiency. With Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan in charge of the AA map of Hobart we had little difficulty finding the boarding house she'd booked, which wasn't far from the Botanical Gardens and Government House.

It was quite a posh place, with floral carpets and big leather couches in the lounge, the carpet on the stairs held down by those brass runners. Gloria said the lace curtains were good quality. The bathroom for the men was just down the hall, and everyone got their own proper big towel that wasn't worn one bit. That night we all walked to the wharf and had fish and chips, then the ladies went back to the boarding house and the four of us blokes had a couple of beers at a pub. It was all pretty nice, and if I hadn't had the problem of Jimmy not being able to stay in Australia almost constantly on my mind it would have been just about perfect. My leg was better, my family were all with me, except of course for Alf, the girl I loved was on my arm and Jimmy, my best mate, was there to share the occasion. Even having Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan with us gave me a great deal of pleasure. She'd claimed she'd been ‘terribly touched' when I invited her to come along.

By half-past nine the next morning we were ready, the girls dressed to the hilt. Wendy wore a very pretty pink dress she'd worn as one of her outfits for Miss Tasmania, with a pink pillbox hat and white shoes and gloves. She had this wide belt of the same material as her dress and her waist looked as if I could have put my hands around it and still a bit more. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan wore what Gloria later said was ‘a beautifully tailored suit' with a coffee-brown blouse Wendy said was made from guipure lace. She had these brown, pushed-up gloves to her elbows, and a brown straw hat with a pheasant feather sticking out the side. All the ladies looked beaut and seemed very happy with their outfits, which I've discovered is very important as this decides whether they're going to have a good time or not. We were about to go when Gloria started digging in her new bag, a big black leather handbag we'd not seen before, which she said she'd sent away for after seeing it in a catalogue in Mrs Dunne's shop. ‘A spare hanky, I need a spare handkerchief!' she exclaimed. ‘Won't be a mo, back in a tick.'

There'd been no mention of the harmonicas and I'd given the word to Sue, Cory and Steve to leave theirs behind as I'd done myself, just so Gloria couldn't decide to do the dirty on us. In fact, she seemed to be too busy to even think about it. She'd knocked on our door when we were getting ready and asked if we were decent. When she came in she'd sergeant-majored us by inspecting our uniforms to make sure they were spotless. She'd done the same with Cory and Steve and told us they'd complained about wearing ties and jackets. She'd threatened Steve with his life if he touched anything mechanical besides the steering wheel of the Kombi. ‘Give me your room keys,' she'd demanded of Steve and Cory. ‘You're bound to lose them and they'll be safe in my new handbag,' she'd instructed. Then she'd demanded our key, which was attached to a six-inch-by-two-inch plank with the room number on it. ‘Don't want it showing in the pocket of your uniform, Jacko,' she'd reasoned.

Gloria returned from her hanky expedition. ‘I expect I'll have a good howl,' she said, waving a hanky in the air before stuffing it into her handbag. I should have been suspicious then, her waving the hanky like that – Gloria wasn't given to superfluous gestures. But we were running late and I was anxious to get going, for the letter had said to be on time.

But we needn't have worried. Our destination was less than ten minutes away, and soon enough we turned into the road that led to Government House, though only to be brought to an abrupt halt. Everyone had arrived at the same time and there was a long queue of cars and taxis, so we took our place at the end to wait. Suddenly a cop on a motorcycle came up and told Steve to follow him at once, then moved off with his siren blaring. ‘What did I do wrong?' Steve asked. ‘I drove real careful!' We got out of line and followed the cop, passing all the cars as they moved over to the edge of the road to let us get by.
We
haven't even got there and already we're in trouble!
My stomach started to play up as I felt the familiar panic sensation. We arrived at the gates of Government House where two soldiers ran out to swing them open and the motorcycle cop roared in, signalling us to follow. We stopped at a side door of this big sandy-greyish house – ‘palace' would be a better word. The cop did a U-turn, saluted us and roared off.

We looked at each other, totally confused. ‘What now?' asked Gloria.

Wendy started to giggle and I looked at her, surprised. ‘They think this is an ambulance and it's an emergency and we're delivering blood,' she said. ‘It happens in Launceston all the time!'

‘Oh, shit,' I cried. ‘What do we do now?'

‘We act as if nothing unusual has happened and we mind our language, Jack,' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said primly.

‘Hey, Nicole ma'am, dat right. When in doubt, bluff it out. Smile, dat's da style.'

Sue and the twins started to laugh and then Gloria joined in, but I didn't think it was funny. ‘This is a vice-regal occasion!' I reminded everyone. ‘And already we've stuffed it up!'

But my anger didn't help. Wendy tried to restrain her laughter but couldn't, and burst out full throttle, and everyone – even Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan – broke up.

Suddenly a soldier's face appeared at the window. ‘Is there an emergency, sir?' he asked.

I slid the Kombi door back and climbed out. Thank God he was a private, like me. ‘There's been a mistake, mate, we borrowed the Red Cross bus.'

‘What, nicked it?' he asked, concerned.

‘Nah, it's legit,' I said.

He thought for a moment. ‘Bloody clever – beat the queue. Parking's round the back.' He paused. ‘You're Jacko McKenzie, ain't ya?'

‘Yeah,' I replied.

He extended his hand. ‘Put it there, mate. Bloody beauty!'

We were among the first to park, and waited on the lawn admiring the gardens. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan informed us that the governor's house was a fine example of an early-Victorian country house in neo-Gothic style. She pointed to the individually carved sandstone chimney pots and what she called the bas-relief sculptures. ‘The scale detail and the finish of the entrance hall, grand corridor and state rooms as well as their furniture are unequalled in Australia,' she said, as if she was reading it out of a tourist leaflet.

‘Have you been here before?' Cory asked.

‘No, I read up on it before coming. I do so look forward to seeing the ballroom – I believe it's quite magnificent, with its vaulted ceiling, chandeliers and mirrors, and the floors, of course, are of Huon pine.'

‘Like a palace, eh?' Steve said.

‘Well, not exactly. Rather smaller, I'd say, but nothing we need to be ashamed of – quite splendid, really.' Everywhere she pointed Jimmy upped with the fancy camera he'd bought in Japan and took a snapshot.

We were glad we didn't need to be ashamed of the governor's house, because I for one had never been in a place as posh as this. A naval bloke in white dress uniform and gold aiguillettes appeared on the steps. You pronounce it ‘eglets' – the gold cords that decorate his shoulder are reserved for aides-de-camp of governors and generals. I'd never seen them face to face before but I knew they were called ‘scrambled egg' in the army. This naval officer, a lieutenant, came out to greet us, touched his cap and smiled.

‘Good morning, ladies,' he said, then turned to Jimmy and me who stood at attention saluting. He returned the salute. ‘At ease, men. Caps off when you enter Government House, and keep them off. You refer to the governor as “Your Excellency” if he addresses you.' He turned to me. ‘When they announce your name, Private McKenzie, you walk up to His Excellency and come to attention and you give him a nod, like this.' He sort of dropped his chin quickly and then pulled it up again. ‘Got that?' I nodded, demonstrating. ‘Good,' he looked around. ‘It's time to go in, please.' Then he saw Jimmy's camera. ‘No photographs of the ceremony – the official photographer will take a record of it for you,' he said crisply, then turned smartly, saluted the ladies and walked over to another group standing close by. I'd previously noticed that the people who were standing around were in groups of three, some only two, husband and wife. I now realised that the governor had truly made an exception for us. Gloria was right – Ronnie Cross
was
a good bloke.

I turned to Jimmy as we moved towards the entrance, and whispered, ‘Mate, caps off. You don't salute any officers once we're indoors.' I wasn't sure whether this was true of the US Army. Jimmy nodded. ‘Dat make a nice change, Brother Fish.'

I've got to admit, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had been right – the ballroom was a knockout. Huge crystal chandeliers blazed with light and gave the floor a sort of soft-butter shade that kicked back the reflections, so that all the chairs lined up seemed to half-disappear in a shimmer of light. Two huge mirrors up one end on the stage or podium, or whatever it's called, reflected the room back at us to make it look like it went on for yonks.

The dignitaries entered, then others like us followed, and the chairs were soon filled with people chatting quietly. Wendy was sitting next to me not too far from the front and she squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. ‘Are you nervous?' she whispered. I nodded my head. ‘This is where I was crowned Miss Tasmania,' she said. I looked at her, amazed. She'd not said a word to any of us about being there before.