Freedom's Land

First published in Great Britain in 2008 by Hodder & Stoughton

An Hachette Livre UK company

Copyright © Anna Jacobs 2008

The right of Anna Jacobs to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with 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 without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Epub ISBN 978 1 44471 157 8

Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

This book is dedicated to all the brave, hard-working group settlers who helped build the town of Northcliffe in Western Australia – and also to the people of today’s Northcliffe, who made me welcome, generously sharing information so that I could create this story.

ENGLAND, LATE 1923

Norah

1

N
orah Webster looked up from her machining as the charge hand stopped next to her.

‘You’re wanted at home, lass. Urgent.’

She shoved her chair back and stood up. ‘Do you know why?’

‘The lad didn’t say. I’ll have to dock your pay for the time you’re away from your machine, mind.’

But she wasn’t listening. She grabbed her coat and ran all the way home with it flapping open.

She’d moved back in with her parents after the war when she lost her job as a porter at the railway station to a returned soldier. She was ashamed at having to seek their help, but as a widow, she found it impossible to earn enough to run a house of her own on women’s peacetime wages, let alone provide properly for her eight-year-old daughter Janie. But she consoled herself with the thought that her money helped her parents out, too, so she was still paying her way.

When she got there, Norah saw a group of solemn-faced neighbours gathered near their house. They greeted her in subdued voices but avoided her eyes. Pushing open the front door, she heard her mother’s anguished weeping coming from upstairs and her steps faltered.

She climbed the stairs slowly, stopping in the doorway of the front bedroom, still panting from running home. Her mother was kneeling on the floor by the bed, weeping loudly and unrestrainedly, holding the hand of the still figure lying there. She didn’t even notice her daughter.

Norah went forward and knelt to put an arm round her. No need for anyone to say her father was dead. You couldn’t mistake that look. ‘What happened, Mum?’

Annie clung to her. ‘He dropped dead at work, just keeled over and died, they said. They fetched the doctor straight off, but it was too late, so they brought him home. The first thing I knew was when they knocked on the door. Oh, Norah, he’s gone, left me! How can I bear it?’

More sobs erupted from her and all Norah could do was hold her and let her weep for a while. She looked over the top of her mother’s head at the calm face of her dad. Such a lovely man. So hard to believe he was dead. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t give in to the desire to weep. Someone had to stay strong, do what was necessary and organise the funeral. Her mother was a weak woman, who’d depended on her husband. What would become of her now? What would become of them all?

After a few minutes Norah decided this couldn’t go on and said gently, ‘You have to stop crying now, Mum. We’ve things to do.’

But Annie went into hysterics and couldn’t be calmed. In the end they had to send for the doctor, who gave her something to make her sleep.

Norah sent a neighbour’s lad round to tell her sisters what had happened, and almost as an afterthought, told him to go to the slipper factory afterwards to tell them she’d be taking the rest of the week off to bury her father.

Her sisters arrived and they went to see their father, then wept together. But neither of them was prepared to lay him out, so Norah did it.

By the time her daughter came home from school, she’d done that and made arrangements for the funeral, too. Well, that was easy enough to do, wasn’t it? Her parents had taken out burial insurance a long time ago, paying threepence a week to ensure they had a decent send-off, not a pauper’s funeral. The insurance company only dealt with one funeral firm, who offered a standard service to those insured, so you didn’t get any choice about the details unless you could pay extra.

And they couldn’t. Neither she nor her sisters had any money to spare because times were hard.

Janie fell silent when she heard what had happened and whispered, ‘Like Daddy.’ She cried softly and sadly. She’d been her granddad’s favourite and maybe he’d spoiled her, but they both had so much fun together that Norah hadn’t tried to stop him indulging the fatherless child. She tried to comfort her daughter, but what could you say, really? Death was so final.

After her daughter had sobbed herself to sleep, Norah lay awake for a long time in the back bedroom, lying very still in the double bed they shared, staring bleakly into the darkness. Was it possible to provide for herself, her mother and Janie without her father’s wages?

However carefully she did the sums, it wasn’t. The pennies didn’t stretch that far, with her wages little more than half a man’s. That meant they couldn’t keep this house, or any other.

On the Saturday afternoon of that same week, Andrew Boyd knocked on the door of his fiancée’s house and waited for Betty to answer it. For once, she wasn’t smiling, didn’t invite him in.

For a few moments they stared at one another then he asked the question whose answer he’d already guessed from her expression. ‘Did you read the pamphlet I gave you?’

‘No. I threw it in the fire.’

He was shocked by that. ‘You didn’t think I might want it back?’

‘It was all lies. I don’t know why you believe them.’

Her voice was shriller than usual and he wished she’d chosen somewhere more private for this confrontation, but that was Betty all over. She never thought before she acted.

He repeated what he’d been telling her for a while now, only he said it more strongly. ‘It wasn’t lies. It was a chance for us, and a good one, too. You know how I hate my job, hate this town as well. I feel stifled here after going overseas during the war. Other countries are warmer, brighter, more cheerful.’

For a moment he turned his head to scowl at the long row of shabby little houses built up the hill in steps, each dwelling exactly fourteen foot wide. Folk here lived on top of one another. Soldiers had lived together even more closely in the barracks. He longed for space and air and bright sunshine, and the freedom to do as he wanted with his life, to be on his own if he wanted. ‘I’ve tried, Betty. God knows I’ve tried. But I
can’t
settle down here. And why should I when there’s a better alternative?’

She took a step backwards, the tears she seemed able to produce at will running down her face, and said in a voice throbbing with emotion, ‘Not even for me? You said you loved me, Andrew, but you can’t have meant it.’ Pulling out a lace-edged handkerchief, she dabbed delicately at her eyes.

‘I did mean it. You know that. And even if I stayed here, jobs aren’t safe these days.’

‘You’re the charge hand at the foundry. You’ll always have a job. They don’t lay off charge hands.’

‘Don’t be so sure about that. They had to put people on short time at the spinning mill this week and they cancelled a big order at our works. So now
we
have to put our men on short time, too.’

She waved one hand impatiently. ‘It’s always been like that. Full on with work, then short time, and later things start picking up again.’ She pressed one hand to her breast in a theatrical gesture. ‘If you love me, you’ll—’

‘Love won’t make jobs for people. You should read your father’s newspapers instead of wasting your money on that stupid
Picture Show
magazine.’

She abandoned the pose to glare at him. ‘It’s only twopence a week and if you men can go and waste your money watching football matches, I don’t see why I can’t take an interest in the cinema.’

It was an old argument and he shouldn’t have raised it again, but when she started posing and acting like those silly film stars she adored, it really got to him. Especially now. ‘No one will be able to afford to go to football or the cinema if things go on like this. Business is bad all across the north and getting worse. You’d think we’d lost the war, not won it. And anyway, that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t
stand
being shut up inside that damned noisy workshop all day.’

She gave him one of her soulful looks. He’d thought them beautiful when he first met her, but knew now she was playacting half the time, modelling herself on her favourite film stars. It was starting to irritate him, but still he wanted her, couldn’t help himself, she was so soft and pretty.

‘If you insist on going to Australia, I can’t marry you, Andrew.’ She pressed one hand against her breast and bowed her head.

The silence was broken only by the striking of the town hall clock in the distance and a dog responding with a couple of half-hearted barks.

Get it over with,
he told himself.
You know she’ll never change her mind about this.

He could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye, knew she was hoping her dramatic ultimatum would force him to stay. Only he’d told her the simple truth: he couldn’t face staying. Still, it was hard to say the words.

When he’d met her, six months after his wife died, he’d fallen madly in love. Betty was not only pretty, but cheerful and lively. She made him laugh and feel whole again. What man who’d been through the war wouldn’t enjoy the prospect of a rosy, smiling woman like her to brighten his days? It had seemed like a miracle that the prettiest girl in town loved him in return.

But love wasn’t enough, not for him, and he steeled himself to look away from those big blue eyes. ‘So you never even read the pamphlet or tried to find out about what it’s like in Australia. It’s a wonderful country, Betty. A man can make a good life for himself and his family out there. Just think, we’ll own our own land.’

‘What use is that to people like us? It’s farmers they need to work the land. You’re not one – you know nowt about farming,
nowt
! And I’m not going to be a farmer’s wife. Let alone I like living in town, it’s back-breaking work, farming is. Besides, I’ve told you before and I meant it: I’m
not
moving away from my family, not for anything. I’ve brothers and sisters here, Andrew, and my father’s a widower.’

She spoke in broken tones but he could see no tears and there was a watchful look in her eyes. It was as if she’d turned suddenly into a stranger, someone he didn’t know, someone very different from the woman whose kisses drove him mad with longing, the one who snuggled against him in the cinema, warm and soft.

He pushed those memories away. He’d made his decision. It was the only one possible because there were his sons to think of as well as himself. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he took a step backwards.

Her mouth fell open in shock and she stretched one hand out towards him. ‘Andrew, love, don’t do this. You’ll feel better about everything once we’re married, I know you will.’

‘I won’t change my mind, Betty. They’re
giving
land to ex-servicemen out there in Western Australia, just giving it away for the asking. And I’m going to ask for some.’