We arrived here to find that the British High Command hadn’t sent us enough tents — only about half of what was needed and it will take two weeks for the others to arrive. So some of us bivouac in the open, with our horses. It’s a bit like being out on a run at home, and the lads from the country don’t seem to mind as we’re used to sleeping under the stars. The horses are in good shape. I quite like the desert, it reminds me a bit of home, which means it reminds me of you.
They don’t tell us much, but the rumour is that we’re going to be trained here and then sent on to Europe to fight. But another rumour says Turkey is going to join the Germans and we’ll stay here and guard the Suez Canal. I hope the first and not the second, eh?
Please write to me, Jessie. Have you had a photograph taken yet? I don’t want to forget your dear, sweet face.
I know you will not show this letter to your sister, and you’ll think me cruel, but will you tell me when she has the baby? I will write then and do my duty by her.
I am well and think constantly of my little Tea Leaf. Please write to me!
Yours lovingly,
Jack.
Jessica cries softly. She has lost Jack to Meg in marriage but she hasn’t lost his heart. She vows he will always stay in her own heart, the only man she’ll ever love, no matter what. Jessica looks down at her child sucking away for all he’s worth. ‘We’re not alone, Joey. Jack loves me, and he’ll love you too when he gets back, you’ll see,’ she promises softly.
On the day of the funeral Hester persuades Jessica to leave her baby with Meg, though, at first, Jessica is reluctant to do so.
‘Why can’t I take my baby?’ she asks.
Hester is uncharacteristically patient with her. ‘Jessica, you know why. People have come to think things about you. We must show them that you are well.’ ‘What things? That I’m mad?’
Hester sighs. ‘We’ve discussed it before, child, at the tin hut.’
‘I don’t have to go,’ Jessica says defiantly. ‘I’ve said goodbye to Father my own way.’
‘Yes you do, dear,’ Hester insists, ‘if only to show people that you are well. Besides, Reverend Mathews has to witness the paper, the deeds to the land, remember?’ Hester has a sudden inspiration. ‘If the bank is going to let us carry on, they’ll have to know you’re well again, that the silly rumours are baseless. They won’t let you have the place otherwise.’ Hester smiles. ‘Who better than the vicar to vouch for you?’
‘We could do it after — after the funeral. The vicar could come here.’
‘My dear, people must see you there. See you being your normal old self, know that the rumours about your health are quite untrue.’ Hester purses her lips and pulls her head back. ‘But if they see you with a baby!’ She pauses, then continues, ‘Well! All the tongues will be wagging, won’t they? And you know what they’ll all be thinking.’
‘But they’re gunna know sooner or later!’ Jessica protests. ‘We can’t keep my baby hidden forever.’
Hester is suddenly stern-faced. ‘Jessica, it’s your father’s funeral. We won’t make a mockery of it. Surely you can understand that much, child? This is simply not the time to show your baby.’ Then, as if to mollify her youngest daughter, she adds in a softer tone, ‘With Meg so far gone, it’s not seemly for her to be seen in public, so it will be easy to explain her absence. We’ll simply tell folk she’s feeling a bit poorly, what with her pregnancy and your father’s death, and they’ll understand immediately. She can look after Joey for you.’
Jessica cannot deny that Meg is capable of caring for her baby. Since she’s returned to the homestead, Meg has done a complete about turn and has taken every opportunity to hold the infant and care for him. At first a little apprehensive, she now dotes on Jessica’s child. Despite the sadness of Joe’s death, Meg has been cheerful and busy and ever so helpful, asking to look after Joey whenever she’s given the least opportunity.
And so, finally, Jessica agrees to accompany her mother alone to the funeral.
Despite his silent and often morose character, Joe was popular in the district and there is a big turn-out at the funeral. Hardly a person present cannot testify to some past kindness received from him. They greet Jessica with surprise and delight, for most of them associate her with Joe and are pleased to see her again, offering her their condolences almost as often as they address them to Hester.
Hester has ordered the plainest pine casket from Coffin Nail, the Italian carpenter turned funeral director, knowing Joe wouldn’t want the fuss or the waste of money. Five of the local shearers and Mike Malloy, the foreman at Riverview shearing shed, carry his coffin into the church. The congregation sing ‘Abide With Me’, which they like a lot and sing with gusto as they all know the tune. This is followed by ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’, another favourite and now grown even more popular because of the war. Hester’s heart pounds briefly as she recalls Joe humming the tune after they’d done in old Mrs Baker. In both hymns the verger proves a tremendous success, thumping away at the ageing organ w
ith great enthusiasm.
The vicar then gives his eulogy to the dearly departed.
He’s done his research well and the congregation are soon nodding their heads, quietly agreeing that folk didn’t come any better than Joe Bergman.
The organ starts up again, this time sonorous and funereal in its tone, and the coffin-bearers lead the way out of the church to the small fenced graveyard at the side of St Stephen’s.
Joe is going to join Mrs Baker, the little congregation’s most recent contribution to the heavenly hosts. This is also the resting place of Ada, Winifred and Gwen Thomas, who lie in their Chinese-silk-lined, now handleless, fake mahogany coffins, with their names carved on the lid, just in case St Peter doesn’t know who they are when they arrive at the gates of Paradise. It is at the graveside that the vicar waits to begin the famous ‘dust to dust’ and ‘ashes to ashes’ part of the funeral oration. Jessica smiles quietly to herself, remembering how Joe once remarked, after a funeral they’d attended, that God must have been speaking specifically about the black soil country when he made up that dust to dust and ashes to ashes bit. ‘That’s the whole flamin’ story o’ the plains, everything turns to dust or bloody ashes.’
‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,’ Jessica now hears the Reverend Mathews pronounce in his most pontifical style. But then he suddenly departs from the known text. Instead, he stops and spreads his arms wide in a benevolent gesture, looking at the people gathered around the graveside.
‘How apt this is,’ he says smiling. ‘The Lord has taken away our brother, Joe Bergman, but he has, in return, given us a new life born on Christmas Day, the day the infant Jesus, our Saviour, was born to save the world from sin. A new life to replace the one He hath taken away.’ He pauses and looks about him. ‘You will, on this sad occasion, have missed the charming presence of Hester Bergman’s eldest daughter, Mrs Meg Thomas. This, I am pleased to announce, is because Meg has given birth, on Christmas Day, to a son for Jack and a grandchild for Joe, just hours after he departed so tragically from this mortal coil.’ Pleased with this opportune observation, the Reverend Mathews, M.A. Oxon., smiles beatifically. ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, blessed is the Lord,’ he intones.
‘No!’ Jessica screams. ‘No!’ She turns to Hester and starts to beat at her with her fists. ‘You can’t, you can’t take my baby!’