Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 24 May 1973
May Manifesto Signed at Aquarius Festival, Nimbin
More than 10,000 people have attended the Aquarius counter-cultural festival organised by the Australian Union of Students at Nimbin on the north coast of NSW. The festival aims to celebrate alternative lifestyles and sustainable living. It has culminated in the ‘May Manifesto’, which summarises the world of peace, love and sustainability the festival embodied and which participants hope to establish more widely . . .
MATILDA
Matilda poured Jed’s cup of tea first, wishing she didn’t have to concentrate these days to keep the hand holding the silver tea strainer firm.
‘So when does this new tea shop open?’ she demanded, a little more peremptorily than usual. Her own weakness always made her stroppy.
‘Scarlett says Leafsong says the renovations will be finished by the end of the year. I don’t know how Scarlett always knows what Leafsong says.’
‘Mime and a good eye. Are you sure you don’t want sugar?’
‘Given it up. Scarlett’s made me promise not to go and see the café till it’s finished.’
‘And yet it is your building. Your first venture into capitalism.’
Jed laughed. ‘Don’t you start calling me a capitalist too!’
‘What is wrong with being a capitalist? We have capital. We use it in good ways.’
‘I trust Sam to make sure the Bluebell is renovated properly.’
‘Ah. So he is in charge.’
‘Just helping.’
Matilda raised an eyebrow. It had taken her two decades to get the gesture correct. She was glad that, at least, was not slipping from her in old age. ‘As I said, Sam will be in charge. That young man who is singularly good at being in charge without others realising it.’
Jed looked surprised. Matilda smiled. It was good to still be able to startle the young.
‘You’re right,’ said Jed slowly.
‘Of course. Scone? Not as good as Leafsong’s. I miss her cooking. Maybe we can persuade her to do deliveries from the café. Have you slept with Sam yet?’
‘Matilda!’ Jed choked on her scone, to Maxi’s delight. When had the Doberperson managed to change the rule of not allowing her into the living room when there were guests? At least there was no danger of scone crumbs being trodden into the carpet. ‘No, I haven’t . . . slept with him. We have gone to the pictures twice since he finished the chook palace. And he’s come to lunch a few times . . .’
‘Nancy says his ute was parked outside your place last Tuesday night.’
‘He was fixing a drip in the hot-water pipes. We asked him to stay for dinner. The gossip around here —’
‘Is meant well, and is usually a blessing. But tell Sam to park around the back, out of sight of the road.’ Matilda changed the subject before Jed became even more defensive. ‘That Cheryl girl is doing a good job at the Gazette.’
‘Yep. And I still don’t want her job. Does everyone in life have to have a deep personal project?’
‘If one wants to be truly fulfilled.’
‘Maybe my deeply personal project is to be a butterfly. A hard-working butterfly.’
‘You do know that Jim thoroughly approves of your not looking for a job? A woman’s place is in the home.’
Jed laughed. ‘Not even my great-uncle’s approval is going to make me take Cheryl’s job. Or any other, just now.’ She put down her teacup. ‘And this particular hard-working butterfly had better get a move on if I’m to help Michael drench the ewes.’
Had the girl realised how much she had given herself away with the word ‘help’? Jed lent a hand to others’ projects, but had none of her own. It worried Matilda, slightly. ‘When I was your age, I wanted to breed the best strain of merinos in New South Wales. And I did it.’
Jed grinned. ‘So that doesn’t need to be done again, by me. Stop nagging me, you darling dragon.’
Matilda smiled at the old name and to hide her growing concern. Oh, she knew women who were happy with no business or professional commitments. They were called housewives, and being a wife and mother, or caring for other relatives or volunteering, was their calling. But Jed seemed to be rejecting that as well. Or — which worried her still more — that business with Nicholas had hurt her more than they had all realised, especially after the traumas of her early life.
She had been so determined to use that brain of hers, until Tommy’s bequest meant she no longer needed that sensible professional career. She’d been an outstanding student — surely she would wither without stimulation.
And there was Sam, eligible, eager, eminently suitable, and with a nicely browned body that gave even Matilda’s heart, still wedded to Tommy, a small flutter. Jed needed children too. You need only watch her face when she held that poor little scrap Gavin to know she’d be deeply fulfilled as a mother. But women could be mothers and much more, these days. What would it take to make this great-granddaughter of hers see it?
‘And tomorrow, and the day after that?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow I’ll be on the bus taking the River View kids for afternoon tea at Parliament House with Nicholas. My diary the next day is entirely clear, but I’m sure something will turn up.’
‘Jed . . .’ The girl looked at her. Matilda rarely used the name. Such a silly name. ‘Did you know I was engaged to someone else before I married Tommy?’
‘No.’ Jed blinked. ‘I thought you’d loved Tommy since you were twelve years old.’
‘I did. He used to bring me jam sandwiches at the factory. Wonderful doorstop sandwiches. I might have starved if not for Tommy’s sandwiches. And he followed me out here. Set up the first water system at Moura. I loved him since the first day I met him. And yet I fell in love with someone else. Falling in love can be different from loving someone. His name was James . . .’
‘What? You named your son for him?’
‘Certainly not. Jim is named for my father. James was . . . the most vivid man I had ever met. In control, always. He died in the Boer War. If he hadn’t, I would have married him, and we would have been deeply, terribly unhappy.’
‘Why?’
Matilda smiled. ‘We were too alike, both wanting to rule. Can you really imagine me with a man who needed to control? Love doesn’t always mean you will be happy together.’
‘What was Tommy doing while you were engaged to James?’
‘He’d left. And broken my heart, a little. Love comes in so many flavours,’ said Matilda lightly. ‘Tommy married his first wife and they were happy, and had your grandmother. And then his wife died, and he came to me again.’
‘When was that?’
‘In 1915. I was alone by then. Old Drinkwater had died, and so had Auntie Love. No, not alone, of course. There were friends all around. It was a good life. I hadn’t even known I needed love till Tommy’s car drove up . . .’
‘Tell me more,’ said Jed softly.
‘But the ewes . . .’
‘Michael and Andy don’t need my help,’ said Jed. ‘And you know it. Tell me about Tommy. About James . . .’
Matilda felt her cheeks grow wet. Stupid, irrational tears. Old-age tears. She hadn’t known she needed to share these stories.
My ghosts, she thought. My darling, beloved ghosts. So many ghosts in ninety-one years. She watched Jed settle back, truly absorbed, as she began to speak.