Two

THE COLONEL had had a chalk line drawn on the upper deck, to separate the soldiers from the nurses, but in Meg’s opinion no one with half a pulse would take a jot of notice. She stepped over it to chat with Captain Adams, a frightful dandy but loads of laughs, who’d sat opposite her at dinner last night. They’d barely passed the time of day before Matron stormed up the stairs, ruby-red splotches flaring across her cheeks. Convinced she’d upset her, Meg hastily farewelled Adams and shot behind a bulkhead. Safely concealed, she listened to their conversation.

‘Is something wrong, Matron?’ asked Adams.

‘He thinks we’re using too much water so he’s closed two of our three bathrooms.’

‘Who?’

‘Your colonel! He doesn’t know the first thing about hygiene. Would you believe he reassigned our orderlies to other duties? As of today we’re to clean our own lavatories.’

‘Surely not.’

‘He has no regard for our training or our positions. When I threatened to cable the Minister of Defence, he ordered me to leave.’ Matron lowered her voice. ‘Would you consider intervening on our behalf?’

Adams gave a slight cough. ‘Sorry, I’m no good at that sort of thing.’

No surprise there, Meg thought. She’d already pegged him as more of a good-time boy than a diplomat. As for the colonel, he deserved a big fat boil on his backside and a nurse with a grudge to lance it. She heard Matron sigh. That attitude wouldn’t get back their bathrooms. Matron had to flap her birdlike elbows and put up a fight, defend her territory and that of her nurses. This trip would be no fun with Ramrod Ronnie in charge.

Before she’d signed up, her aunt had suggested she run a private hotel in Queenstown. ‘A nice hairdo, a manicure and a rest brightens up most women. Nothing wrong with a stiff gin either.’ Meg wished there was a glass of the stuff in her hand right now and that she was admiring Lake Wakatipu instead of lurching empty-fisted across the Tasman Sea. But back then she had pictured wealthy women sitting in wicker chairs, tartan blankets over their laps, turnips for brains. She’d said as much to Aunt Maude, who had adjusted her fox fur until two paws straddled her abundant bust. ‘There’s no glamour in war, Meg. You could have a well-paid position at Lake View, plus a routine.’ ‘No thanks,’ she’d replied. ‘I need adventure and this war is my ticket.’

BY THE FIFTH DAY, most of the seasick nurses had recovered sufficiently to join Addie and Meg in the dining saloon. They were no sooner through the door than five or six chaps lounging against the far wall waved at them. Netta picked up a table napkin and shook it vigorously. ‘You’d think we were ripe fruit the way those officers are drooling.’

Addie was imagining herself as a plum falling from a tree into the hands of a licentious officer when two men started arguing over who would accompany Meg to the table. Before long, they were sitting either side of her, like bookends.

‘Being cooped up is terribly hard on us,’ Meg said, flicking a wayward curl behind her ear. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. We’re ready for whatever lies ahead. Aren’t we, Addie?’

Unwilling to agree too enthusiastically, Addie tilted her head slightly to the side. Thinking she would tidy up before dinner, she’d gone to the cabin earlier, only to discover Meg’s belongings strewn over both bunks and the wretched woman using her hairbrush. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, two of us share this space,’ she’d snapped, then snatched her cape off the hook on the back of the door and stormed out, ignoring Meg’s excuses. There would have to be rules: she’d broach the subject after lights out. She carried on nibbling at a piece of fish drenched in white sauce while Meg’s voice echoed around the room.

‘It would make such a difference if we could … you know … keep active.’

The men laughed as a rail-thin adjutant approached Meg. ‘Leave it to me, Sister. I’ll see to your requirements.’

Meg inclined her head towards him. ‘Persuade your colonel to set up a nurses’ canteen too.’

‘One that welcomes guests?’

Meg grinned. ‘If they’re charming and know their place.’

‘Would you trust him?’ Addie whispered to Margaret Rogers, a former district nurse who hailed from Christchurch.

‘Not unless he was bound and gagged.’

Addie stifled a giggle. Margaret had an easy manner and a warm open face. Her lips turned up at the corners, giving the impression that she was always on the verge of smiling. She wore her thick brown hair parted down the middle and piled up in a roll at the back of her head. A good-natured woman, Addie decided, sensible too.

Margaret glanced towards the end of the table where two staff nurses were talking. ‘Have you spoken to them yet?’

‘No,’ said Addie. ‘Who are they?’

‘The younger slightly plump one with the angelic face is Dora Kennard from Temuka. Her brother joined the army early on and she signed up so she could nurse him if he got hurt. I don’t know anything about her companion other than her name’s Lois Moore and she comes from Ashburton.’

Addie sighed. Lois had untidy hair and her dress needed a decent iron.

BEFORE MEG could check if there was a better prospect in the vicinity, the skinny adjutant whisked her across the sitting room to the gramophone, where he sorted through a pile of records in the cabinet. She fluttered her palm over her heart and swayed when he put Harry Lauder’s ‘She’s the Girl for Me’ on the turntable. Next minute he had his hand pressed against the small of her back.

Thanks to the dance classes she’d taken during the first year of her nursing training, she made all the right moves and she looked the part. She’d only borrowed Addie’s brush because she couldn’t find her own. Another two minutes and Addie would’ve been none the wiser. Besides, Miss Perfect read every night and never asked if the light annoyed her. There had to be give and take.

When the tune ended, Meg pretended to swoon and half a dozen men rushed to catch her. Slipping through their hands, she sprinted over to the gramophone to put on ‘I’ve Something in the Bottle for the Morning’, hoping it might make Addie laugh rather than slink off with Margaret. As Meg reached out to waylay Addie, she felt a button pop off her uniform, revealing a flash of creamy white skin. For an instant, in the ensuing collective intake of male breath, she felt a surge of power but the feeling quickly died away.

BETWEEN COURSES – barley soup followed by roast beef, mashed potatoes and boiled cabbage, then breadcrumb and marmalade pudding – Addie and Margaret toasted King George and Queen Mary. On the other side of the table Meg repeatedly raised her glass and said ‘Cheers’, but Addie ignored her. Eventually Meg got up, came round and went down on one knee. ‘Addie, will you please do me the honour of clinking glasses?’

With everyone watching and laughing, she had to oblige.

Even Iris Hutchison, an older nurse with a prominent fore head and greying hair scraped into a bun, played along. Addie looked around the room. To her left, Helena and Dora were joking with the first officer, who seemed a decent sort of chap, while further along Iris was picking the brains of a medic whose spotty brown face reminded Addie of a morepork. On her right, Lois, Margaret and Netta were organising a card night. Across the table, Meg shrieked at something the adjutant told her.

While they were waiting for coffee, a portly quartermaster arrived with two sets of quoits and a skipping rope. ‘Here you are, Sister Dutton. These will help keep you trim.’

‘You’re a true gentleman,’ Meg said in a honey-coated voice. She immediately grabbed a couple of the quoits and spun them on her wrists while launching into:

Bugle calls! Bugle calls! sounding all the way,
Oh, what fun to ride the seas at 5/6 a day!

To her horror, Addie could hear her mother’s voice in her head: ‘Good manners reflect the moral state of a nation.’ When the catcalls died down, a lanky ginger-haired officer refilled Meg’s glass of cordial, and somewhat skilfully, Addie thought, backed her into a corner.

‘Sister Dutton,’ he said in an admiring tone, ‘you could be on stage.’

‘Then help get me there,’ said Meg, ducking under an arm he’d strategically placed in front of her. From the middle of the room, she sang a few lines from ‘Heroes in New Zealand’ – ‘Carry out the piano boys – put it on the deck’ – and next thing Ginger was apologising for his colonel’s out-of-date attitude and assuring Meg that he could supply whatever she needed.

When Addie got back to their cabin, Meg had cleared her clothes off the bunks and removed her blonde hairs from the hairbrush. That wasn’t the point, though. Meg shouldn’t have taken liberties. Addie pulled on her nightgown and got into bed. She had a new library book but she wasn’t in the mood to read so she turned off the light and waited.

Shortly afterwards Meg tiptoed in. Addie heard her ease the lid off her pot of cold cream, smooth the gloop on her face, then undress and climb into her bunk as quiet as could be. Surprised by her thoughtfulness, Addie decided to wait until morning to raise the subject of cabin rules.

Just as she was nodding off a whisper made its way to her through the darkness.

‘Sorry, Addie, I should never have borrowed your brush or used your bunk as a clothes horse.’

Addie lifted her head off the pillow slightly. ‘My little sister Erin was always messing up my room. It really annoyed me. I had to put a lock on the door.’

‘You won’t have to do that here.’ The bunk creaked as Meg changed position. ‘It must be wonderful to have a sister.’

‘Erin can be a pest but I wouldn’t change her. Sometimes you remind me of her. She tells amusing stories too.’

As Adelaide came into view Addie stayed with Iris, whose size made her slow on her feet, and Lois, who seemed overwhelmed, although she waved her handkerchief in the air. Because Father had told her to look out for a six-storey skyscraper that belonged to a physician, Addie stared upwards. She thought he’d been pulling her leg, but there was the Verco Building in front of her, towering above the people on the wharf. There was nothing like it in Invercargill – she really was in a different country.

When the Maheno docked, society ladies, dressed to the nines, took up ringside positions on the quayside. Addie was well down the gangplank before she realised the scent wafting towards her came from their outstretched wrists. Behind this fashionable set, children climbed onto their fathers’ shoulders while their mothers elbowed their way through the crowd to get a decent view. She looked around for Meg, who’d been up near the bow with Helena. They were both behind her, eyes as bright as carriage lamps. She was about to ask if they knew what was going on when a woman thrust a tuck-box at her and crooned in a cultured voice, ‘In appreciation of your sacrifice, Sister.’

Meg roared in Addie’s ear. ‘Don’t you just love the fuss?’

‘Surely all these people aren’t here to see us?’

‘Of course they are, silly.’

THE SHIP was about to take on coal. As far as Meg was concerned, that meant filthy black dust which would ruin her complexion and increase her chances of ending up on the shelf. Luckily, the colonel had ordered all non-essential personnel to catch a train into town.

She snaffled a seat in the middle of the carriage and pulled Addie in beside her as the conductor blew the final whistle. Netta Smith, who’d employed a gang of hairclips to keep her fiery red locks under control and anchor her panama, claimed the opposite seat. Margaret and Helena piled in after her. As the train chugged out of the station, steam and soot smearing the windows, Meg stretched out her legs. One summer, when she was small, Ma had painted stars on her ankles and hugged her when she’d said the brush tickled.

‘Before I signed up, I hadn’t travelled further than Invercargill,’ Addie said.

‘Me neither,’ said Meg. ‘So we’re in the same boat.’

‘Literally.’ Netta waved a hand in the direction of the Maheno.

Meg smiled and tapped the window. ‘Impressive countryside, and the Australian men aren’t bad either.’

Addie coughed. ‘Well, at least they speak English,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t suppose Egyptians do. We could struggle to make ourselves understood. Things might not go smoothly at first.’

Heavens, thought Meg. She plastered a smile on her face and said, ‘Let’s play “Spot the Nattiest Chap” when we reach town.’

‘What if he’s dangerous?’ said Addie. ‘Besides, I’m awfully hot.’

Meg waggled the hem of her own dress at her. ‘Would you sooner walk through town in your petticoat?’ Addie’s eyes widened. ‘Tease and flatter them,’ Meg continued. ‘That always works for me. Who’s game?’

Netta groaned. ‘I’ve better things to do than chase larrikins. There are plants in this place that I can’t identify. I need to track down a botanist.’ She had a marvellous garden at home. They’d seen the pictures.

Helena and Margaret glanced at each other before saying in unison, ‘We’ll come with you, Meg.’

Addie hiccupped and said, ‘I suppose I could as well.’

If it weren’t for her guarded expression, Meg would have given her a hug.

They were five minutes out of the station when three Australian corporals moseyed up, Woodbines dangling from their mouths, thumbs hanging like pegs from khaki pockets. Even their hats were set at a raffish angle. They could be good for a laugh.

‘Nurse, was your photograph in a recent newspaper?’ the tallest chap asked.

Meg flashed him a smile. ‘It could have been.’

His wiry pal shot over to a street-seller and bought her a bunch of bronze chrysanthemums. When she passed a bloom to Margaret, an earwig crawled out of a petal and up her arm. ‘You have an admirer too,’ Meg said.

The third fellow had a crooked nose, broken more than once by the look of it. He pulled on the ties of her cape, shimmied up a pole and draped his scarlet prize over the light. ‘My lady of the lamp,’ he shouted, his face ruddy from exertion.

‘What a show-off,’ said Addie in a hushed voice.

When Meg wagged a finger at her, Addie blushed like billy-o. Damn. She’d gone too far again. It was time to send the chaps packing. ‘Off you go before Matron catches us. Bring my cape down first, though. Otherwise I could get into terrible trouble.’

While the cheeky beggar retrieved it, the taller corporal pulled a crumpled paper bag from his jacket pocket and tossed it to her. She peeked inside. Good, they were her favourite toffees. ‘Thanks,’ she shouted as he disappeared with his mates into a hotel across the road. Beckoning to her companions, she nodded towards a poster on the door of an ornate Victorian building. ‘Come on, let’s see what that’s all about.’

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Meg?’ asked Margaret, patting her hair.

‘Not really,’ she said, and tossed the bag to Helena before walking over to Addie, who was running her fingers down the window of a bookshop. ‘Come and get a toffee.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Can’t you decide which title to buy?’

Addie put her gloves back on. ‘I have enough for now.’

There was still warmth in the late afternoon winter sun as they walked back from the station to the ship. No clouds, just an indigo sky, tinged with pink.

Netta was waiting for them at the top of the gangway. ‘What took you so long?’

‘A dashing officer on a balcony who was determined to sing me a medley of show tunes,’ Meg said. No sense in telling a fib unless you made sure it was a beauty. Stories came alive through the decorations you hung on them. Like Christmas trees.

‘Come with us next time, Netta,’ Margaret said.

‘Meg’s the perfect tour guide,’ Helena added. ‘She introduced us to all sorts of attractions: shops, lamps, the locals.’

Everyone laughed, even Addie, which pleased Meg no end. Perhaps they could carry on bunking together.

AFTER THE SERVICE on Sunday, Addie had morning tea in the sitting room with a group of staff nurses and sisters from nearby cabins. Everyone was talking of home. Helena was from Kumara, on the West Coast.

‘It’s smaller than your Riverton, Addie, and Meg’s Tuatapere,’ she said. ‘We have the Southern Alps to the east, and to the west dense bush that runs almost down to the sea. Anyone straying off a track risks getting lost. And it can rain for days.’

‘If you can put up with rain, come south for a visit when this fuss is over,’ Meg said. ‘My aunt and uncle will put you up. They have an enormous house.’

Addie passed Helena a plate of oat biscuits. ‘Yes, please do. We could take you to Monkey Island in Te Waewae Bay. On a clear day, you can see the Solanders. The Maoris have a great story about their formation. They believe a whale called Kiwa bit into the South Island and the crumbs from her mouth fell into the sea.’

Helena sipped her tea thoughtfully as though straining the information through her small white teeth.

The talk then turned to the deserters on board a ship that had come alongside theirs last night. A steward had told Addie that when he’d taken the crew down a billy of tea, they were slicing bread and opening tins of mutton with a bayonet. ‘I wouldn’t want them as my jailers.’

‘It’s a waste to shoot deserters,’ said Margaret. ‘They could roll bandages for us.’

A strand of hair strayed down the nape of her neck and Addie watched her absentmindedly tuck it back into place. ‘They mightn’t be right in the head,’ she said.

‘If they’re not, there’ll be a good reason.’ Meg dropped a slice of lemon into her tea, some of which splashed into her saucer. ‘I suspect they lied about their age, then got cold feet when they realised what they were in for, poor little blighters.’

‘Liars must repent or burn in hell.’ Lois spoke loudly and with an intensity that made Addie squirm in her chair.

Fifteen years ago, while gathering cones with a neighbour’s son, Addie had accidentally lost Father’s torch. The following day the boy found it and took it home, intending to return it when he saw her next. Unfortunately, his older brother thought he’d stolen it and thrashed him. She couldn’t look at either of them for weeks.

Late in July, when they were halfway to Colombo, the weather turned foul. Winds lashed the ship and torrential rain pelted down as the sky darkened to a menacing black. Addie covered her face with the sheet as bolts of lightning flashed through the cabin. She could hear the sea hammering on the wall.

At dawn, something crashed onto the floor and woke her. Meg, who was fully dressed and swinging her legs over the side of her bunk, bootlaces tied in double knots, hopped down to pick it up. ‘A jar of my aunt’s apple jelly. Just as well it didn’t break. I need a spoonful of something sweet.’

Addie’s own mouth tasted stale. She would gargle with warm water and salt when she went for her morning wash. The ship was slewing, thumping, creaking. ‘I should get dressed too.’

Meg turned her back and tidied her bedding while Addie pulled on her clothes.

While she was fastening her collar, there was a knock at the door and Matron poked her head in. ‘Harrington, Dutton, go directly to the workroom after breakfast and hem more towels.’ The door had barely shut before Meg was mimicking Matron’s habit of stroking her nose while issuing orders. Addie hoped she wouldn’t start mocking her.

THE DAY their canteen opened Meg edged her way through the crowd to the counter, where she praised the steward who was overseeing the event. He took her order straight away.

‘A vanilla ice cream sets me up for the whole day,’ she said, waving her cone triumphantly in the air.

‘Keep buttering up those blokes,’ Netta said with a grin. ‘Who knows what we’ll find in Egypt.’

‘Camels,’ Meg said, loping about as though she had a hump on her back.

When the laughter died down, Addie asked why the colonel had denied them adequate water then given them a canteen. She had a point, Meg thought. ‘It pays to cosy up to military men, even the fruitcakes.’

Helena picked up a dishcloth and started wiping down a bench. Some nurses enjoyed scrubbing and sluicing but Meg wasn’t one of them. She leant over and pretended to lick Netta’s ice cream.

Netta moved her cone out of reach. ‘You’re incorrigible. Stop it, Meg.’

‘I will when I die. Do any of you think about dying?’ That wasn’t what she’d meant to say. Her mouth still moved faster than her brain.

Helena coughed as if something unsavoury had lodged in the back of her throat. ‘We don’t need to worry. Our boys must, though.’

Addie said, ‘Do you believe in God, Meg?’

‘Not God, other things.’

‘Like what?’

Meg took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped a trace of ice cream from the tip of her nose. Once she had everyone’s attention, she said, ‘People and pleasure.’ She raised her hands in the air like an evangelist. ‘They are my delights. What are yours, Addie?’

‘I had a Presbyterian upbringing.’

‘That explains a lot!’ To Meg’s relief, even Addie smiled.

‘Hypocrites rile me,’ said Netta, ‘praying on Sundays, sinning for the rest of the week. I can’t abide them.’

Addie said, ‘My parents believe we can rise above sin.’

A well-heeled couple wafted into Meg’s mind and plonked themselves down on a snow-white cloud above Riverton, ready to watch common folk perform various depravities. ‘How do they think that happens?’

‘By respecting one’s elders, praying and remaining pure.’

Meg picked up a woven strip of cane and swatted a fly. ‘You really needed to leave home.’

‘I’m here for lots of reasons,’ said Addie. ‘Only some involve my parents.’

Meg waved her ice cream cone over Addie’s head. ‘Any more talk of parents or religion and I’ll turn you into a toad.’

 

We found Meg alone under a Christmas tree that we’d taken over the week before. Her mother had vanished, which made us think she was unwell again. There were no presents in the house, apart from ours. The child’s flannel pyjamas steamed with filth and there were lice crawling through her curls. Maude removed her silk scarf and wrapped it around Meg’s little head. I fetched a bag. There wasn’t much to pack – just a teddy bear we’d given her the previous year. She’d outgrown the jacket and shoes we’d dropped in six months ago when her father was in Invercargill at the yearling sales. He wouldn’t have us on the property after we raised concerns about the child’s care. I wanted to report Meg’s parents to the authorities but Maude thought we should keep it in the family in case they mended their ways. He drinks and Maude’s sister mopes. Some days she never leaves her bed. On others, the fidgets come upon her and she heads for the river. To anoint herself, she says. Maude’s sister isn’t the full ticket. She talks to things we can’t see. Reckons they’re after her. She blames Meg for her troubles because they worsened after her birth. He can’t see beyond the next bottle. Never will. The wee girl nuzzled me like a horse when I scooped her into my arms.