TWENTY FOUR
September 1906.Sydney
After Martha had disembarked the ship to
her waiting husband, Florence was left alone on the deck, leaning on the rail
against the slight movements of the vessel, as she watched items of cargo
lifted from front and rear cargo areas. She watched as her friend of seven
weeks met up once more with her husband and smiled as they embraced, then waved
wildly as Martha finally turned to leave the dock area with him. The five
remaining thoroughbred horses which had stayed onboard since Melbourne were
hoisted over the side into the waiting arms of grooms and new owners. Florence
followed their movement as the last one left the ship in a repeat of the
performance she had watched at the dockside in Melbourne. She had decided that
she would not leave the ship until she saw Tommy coming to meet her on the
quayside. From her vantage point above the dockside she would gain an earlier
view of her husband as he made his way along the pier, rather than waiting
amongst the people who crowded below on the dock and who then had to push their
way to the ship to greet their relatives as they disembarked. She would wait
and get the first view of him when he came through the gates of the pier,
providing of course the horses and lorries moving the cargo from ship to shore
permitted.
Mr Cookson came alongside and they stood in
silence watching the activity below them. He carried a sheaf of papers in his
hand and occasionally glanced down at it as crate after crate was lifted on the
derricks from the cargo holds. Florence turned to him,
'Checking everything goes ashore Mr
Cookson?' she asked.
'That’s right. I need to make sure nothing
gets lost. Surprising what does go missing on the short trip from ship to
warehouse.' He grinned ruefully at her then said, 'We’ve got a car coming off
next,' and pointed down into the front hold where a hoist was being secured
around a large wooden pallet on which she could see the top of a motor car. Florence
craned over the rail to see the operation more easily and gasped as the car was
slowly lifted from the hold into the morning air. 'Isn’t it a beauty?' she exclaimed. The car, a bright blue model
with a black canvas roof, rose slowly above the deck and steadied for a moment
before being swung slowly over the side of the ship and down onto the dock
where it was guided into position by two stevedores. There was a feint audible
sound as the pallet came to rest gently on the stone slabs, followed by a
scurrying around as the men unfastened the ropes and chains which had held the
car in position on the pallet.
'What sort is it Mr Cookson?' Florence
asked. Cookson looked down at the papers in his hand.
'It’s a Talbot,' he replied glancing down
at the sheet in his hand. 'Twenty five horse power. Lovely looking motor isn’t
it?'
'It will be fine until it rains though.' Cookson
glanced sideways at her; she grinned back, which earned her a nudge in the side. 'Very funny' he said. 'The roof folds down over
the back seat. It’s that black canvas looking thing at the back.' He pointed
down at the folding roof tucked into the back of the rear seats. 'Imagine
bowling along in that fine thing then Mrs Lowe.'
'Yes. It would be wonderful wouldn’t it?'
Cookson nodded his head.
'Well, I’d better be getting below to
supervise the rest of the cargo.'
'What else is there Mr Cookson?' He paused
for a moment whilst he considered the list in his hand.
'Oh well, we’ve got the usual mixture of
cargo this time.' He read from the manifest in his hand. 'There’s machinery, nails,
clocks and guns, perfume and netting, blacking, brandy, pianolas and
gramophones, sewing machines and stout, mouldings and kalsomine, cream of
tartar, cigarettes and grease and all sorts of other stuff as well. Quite a
haul this time.' Florence stared at him.
'I never realised you would carry so many
things. Are they all coming from England?' Cookson consulted his list again.
'Mm.' He said, 'Most of it. Bit of it's
from South Africa, but the majority is from England. Australia still does a lot
of trade with the home country, even though it's now an independent
federation.' Florence looked at him a little blankly, not understanding what
the term meant, but guessed it was something quite important. She nodded her
head in agreement and turned to look down at the dockside once more. Cookson
tipped his cap to her and turned away to go down the stairs to the lower decks.
Florence glanced up at the skies which were clouding over in a very threatening
way. The bad weather they had apparently so far missed now appeared to be
heading her way.
On the dockside, groups of men hurried
themselves to move the large number of crates which had been offloaded. Passengers
from the ship threw themselves in greeting at the relatives and friends who had
come to meet them, and there were scenes of tearful reunion before luggage was
collected from the large pile on the dockside, and placed into hansom cabs, or
on the back of carts, or into the boots of large motor cars.
Soon, as the crowd of passengers thinned
out, Florence looked across the port to the buildings of Sydney which she could
see. To her left beyond the limits of the port stood a grand looking building.
She thought it could have been the town hall, or something similar. Warehouses
lined the wharves in front and to left and right of where the ship lay. The
town of Sydney, or was it a city, she wondered, rose gently away from her and
she was able to make out churches and other tall buildings, sticking out from
lines of shops and offices, away in the distance. The shoreline she could see
was scruffy though, full of boxes and people and things that were out of place,
and overhead the sky was still holding a light brown mist from smoke stacks and
chimneys.
Florence paced around the ship waiting for
Tommy to arrive, giving her time to take in some of the greenery which seemed
to grow down to the water’s edge around some of the parts of the port she could
see. It seemed to her to be a very green and pleasant land, other than the
immediate port frontage she could see, reminding her of some hymn or other from
church back home. The words echoed in her head, ‘back home’ she thought, that
was England now. Wonder if I will see England again?
Her eyes worked back from the headlands she
could see to her left, back to the dockside, when she saw a familiar figure
striding out from the gates of the dock to the Persic which lay at the end of
the pier. It could only be her Tommy, after all, apart from Martha who had just
left the ship, she knew no one else in this country. She rose excitedly onto
her tiptoes and waved one hand above her head whilst the other held onto the
deck rail for safety. 'Tommeee!' she called as loud as she could. 'Tommeee!
Tommeee!' Her call did not reach him. It did reach a group of four stevedores
lounging against crates piled on top of one another resting close to the
Persic. The four men turned and looked in the direction where she was waving,
and spotted the object of her calling. One of them cupped his hands to his
mouth and called out,
'Coo – eee, Tomm-eee! Coo - eee, Tomm-eee!'
Florence looked down at the men, who now turned and looked first at her then
away to Tommy who was a little closer, but still out of ear reach of his wife.
'Coo -eee, Tomm-eee!' they called again,
laughing amongst themselves and pointing in the direction the woman on the ship
was pointing. What was left of the crowd of people on the dockside turned first
towards the men calling Coo –eee, and then to Florence on the ship. Florence
blushed furiously at the attention she had drawn to herself, and the men on the
dock continued to issue their Coo – eee call, laughing first at her, then
looking off towards the man in uniform now approaching them. She dropped her
arms to her side and her head drooped beneath her wide brimmed hat. Tommy picked
up the sound of the call from the stevedores. His head lifted and he altered
his path along the dock, turning towards them. The men saw the man in uniform approaching
and rapidly started to busy themselves with their work on the cases at their feet.
Florence took the rail in both her hands and watched as her husband detoured
away from the gangway to the group of four stevedores. She was unable to hear
what he was saying to them, but from the tone and volume of his voice and the
threatening attitude towards them, the four men backed away from the cases and
the angry husband. Dressed in his best uniform of the Royal Navy he served,
Thomas Lowe presented a figure not to be angered or disturbed, and the men had
done just that. They backed away sullenly and said nothing to him. Thomas
turned back to the ship and waved to Florence to come down to the dockside to
be with him. She needed no second beckoning and dashed to the top of the
gangway where Mr Cookson was standing. Making a hasty thanks and farewell she
stepped as quickly as she was able down the sloping wooden pathway and onto the
dock, straight into the arms of Tommy. She had arrived, at last.
They held each other and kissed and laughed
when Thomas accidentally knocked off Florence’s hat in their embrace. He bent
to pick it up off the floor and placed it delicately on her head.
'There you are my dear, organised again' he
said. 'Now come on, let’s get your baggage and we can be off to the place I’ve
found for you for the time being.'
'What do you mean?' she asked.
'Well, bit of bad news I’m afraid. I have
to be back onboard tomorrow noon, so I’ve got us a room in a boarding house not
far from the docks.' He paused to look into her eyes which were still brimmed
with tears after her crying with joy and relief when they had first met. 'Don’t
you go worrying yourself. The Navy does things its own way and doesn’t take any
notice of the blokes who serve in her. So,' he paused as he saw her bottom lip
start to quiver then added quickly, 'Now don’t go on crying on me again, it’s
not as bad as you are thinking.' Florence sniffed and wiped her eyes, still
concentrating on him. 'Well, it’s like this. I'm due back onboard at noon
tomorrow, then we sail in the late afternoon. I’ll be away for ten days, we’re
going to New Zealand then back again. So, I’ve got you this room in a boarding
house for two weeks. When I get back we can have a few days together.' Florence
nodded her head silently, trying to take in all he had said. She would be alone
for the next couple of weeks in a city she had never been to before, amongst
people she had never met, and he expected her to be fine with that. Well, she
thought, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I hope.
Thomas located her two pieces of luggage
from the diminished pile by the side of the gangway, took the large one in one
hand and the smaller one in the other.
'Come on, let’s get a move on then' he said.
'Give me the smaller one Tommy, I can
manage that one.' Thomas handed over the smaller case and took her free hand in
his and they started to walk along the pier to the exit from the docks. He
chatted to her as they went, telling her about Sydney, his life so far in the
Royal Navy and his forthcoming trip to New Zealand.
'This is not a bad thing really,' he said, '’Cos
I’m going to be away, it will give you time to find your way about Sydney and
find us somewhere to live. You’ve got two weeks, and I think you’ll find your
way around without too much trouble. Then when I get back we’ll have a couple
of days in the boarding house, then move into the place you find for us.' Florence
nodded her head silently as they walked along the street. 'You’ll like Sydney,
it’s a busy place and there’s a lot to see. There’s a grand botanical gardens
full of flowers and trees and some really strange looking birds like you’ve
never seen before.' Florence nodded her head again in agreement as they walked
quickly along the streets, which Florence was beginning to find to be quite
hot. Perhaps it had something to do with the warm clothes from England she was
wearing. Maybe she should have put on one of her summer dresses which were
packed in the large suitcase Thomas was carrying. Thomas filled in her silence
with comments and descriptions of the buildings and streets they were walking along.
They were walking along the front of Circular Quay towards an area of red brick
warehouses five floors high, and one tall building which had a sign saying it
was a Sailors Mission.
At the end of the quayside they turned away
from the port and into the heart of the city itself, along a short street
called Wharf House Steps, and then on along to a wide grand street.
'This is George Street,' Thomas said. She
looked along its length, or tried to, but her view of the far end of the street
was obscured by other buildings in her view. There was an enormous building on
her right. It was perhaps the largest building she had ever seen. It had large
arch shaped windows along its front and multiple domes on small roofs above
them. It 's red sandstone brick was full of carved shapes and designs she had
never seen before.
'What’s that one called?' she asked,
nodding in its general direction as she struggled along with the case in her
hand.
'That’s the Queen Victoria Building' he
replied. 'Lots of shops in there.' The buildings on George Street looked to be
so warm, she thought. They were made of sandstone and shone in the mid morning
sunlight. Running the length of the centre of the street was a line of tall
lamp posts, but they didn’t carry lamps but electricity cables to power the
electric trams which ran either side along the centre of the street. Small
horse drawn carts and men on bicycles rode up and down the street between the
trams and the shop fronts. One or two motor cars joined noisily in the melee. People
bustled along the street, in and out of shops, or going purposefully from one
tall building to another. Most of the men she saw were dressed smartly in
suits, the women wore full length skirts and flimsy blouses, whilst on top of
their heads were wide brimmed hats to keep the sun away from their faces. Some
carried parasols. All appeared to be
moving with a purpose, few, if any, were dawdling.
'Where are we going Tommy?' Florence panted,
slightly out of breath. The skies which had clouded over had not really lowered
the temperature in any way. She started to feel uncomfortable.
'Well, we’re going along George Street for
a bit, then we’ll turn left up the hill onto King Street, then at the top of
King Street we’ll come to Hyde Park.'
'Hyde Park?' she asked, 'Like in London?'
'Well, it’s the same name, but that’s all. It’s
a lovely place though, you’ll like it' he insisted. 'Then I think we’ll catch a
cab to Brougham Street, which is where you’ll be staying ‘til I get back on
shore. I'm not sure if it's in Potts Point or Woolloomooloo.' Florence noted
the strange name but said nothing, concentrating more on where she was being
taken and the growing heat of the day. They walked on for a while until
Florence suddenly stopped and pointed to the roadway.
'Eh look Tommy, the street’s made of wooden
blocks.' Tommy was forced to stop with her and looked at where she was
pointing. She pointed across to the centre of the roadway they were walking
along. The street’s surface was indeed made of interlocking blocks of wood,
most of which were worn smooth and had runnels in them where the carts and
hansom cabs had worn them. She put down her case and bent to peer at them more
closely. 'I’ve never seen anything like them before.' She stood up and smiled
broadly at him, 'And to think, I’ve only been here half an hour!' Thomas
returned her smile and they continued along the hot street, looking in shop
windows and examining quickly the names on brass plates set in the walls
against grand office entrance doors.
The heat started to affect Florence and she
found herself sweating as she had not sweated since leaving the Prospect Mill
in Bolton.
'It’s hot Tommy' she said. 'Can we have a
stop for a bit?'
'In a while love, when we get to the top of
King Street and into Hyde Park, there’s a big fountain there, and a statue of
the old Queen. We can cool off there if you want.' Florence fell into a hot
uncomfortable silence as they walked along the street, coming soon to the place
where they could turn left onto King Street. She looked along the street and in
the distance saw trees.
'Is that the park?' she asked, pointing.
'That’s the start of it. When we get there
you’ll see the barracks right opposite and the park is on the right.' He saw
her face which had reddened in the heat, fall slightly. 'Come on love, not too
far and we can walk most of the way in the shade if we cross over.' They
crossed over the road to take advantage of the shadow cast by the buildings,
all the while Florence looked down at the wooden blocked roadway which intrigued
her. After a walk of nearly twenty minutes, which grew slower and slower as
Florence grew more and more tired, they eventually reached the edge of Hyde
Park. As he had promised, the yellow sandstone of the Hyde Park barracks stood
grandly alone across the road from where they had entered the park. Florence
stopped and looked around the park. Tall majestic trees cast their shade over
the wide walkways, whilst the enormous fountain which gushed clear sparkling
water into the wide round base provided a welcome cooling place.
'Tommy what sort of trees are these? She
asked. 'I've never seen anything like them before. They're massive aren't
they?' They stopped in the middle of the avenue of trees which stretched high
above them, their leaves forming great shaded areas too cool the people of
Sydney. 'They're Fig trees love.' He replied. Florence nodded her head
thoughtfully as they resumed their walk. She stared at the strange birds which
screeched and squawked in the trees. Florence smiled in joy at the view, her
aching feet temporarily forgotten. They meandered along the paths of the park
looking all around them, at a cathedral on the left, and large wrought iron
gates ahead of them. It would take her ages to remember the names of all the trees,
plants and animals just in this park, she thought.
'You were right Tommy,' she said
thoughtfully, 'It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen trees like these before, and
those birds as well.' She pointed to one large black and white bird with a long
curved beak. 'What’s that one called Tommy?' she asked. He paused for a moment
then grinned,
'Oh that one’s called Eustace, and the one
over there is Fred.' He quipped. She dug her fingers into his side as he dodged
to one side to avoid her.
'You know what I mean. What sort of bird is
it?'
'Tell you the truth love, I’ve no idea.
Show me a seagull or an Albatross or a Penguin and I’ll be able to tell you
quick sticks what it is, but land birds, no idea. Sorry.' She nodded her head
as she looked around. This was so beautiful, she thought. I’ve never seen such
beautiful trees or birds or flowers before. What a country, and this is only my
first day here.
For twenty minutes they sat on a bench by
the fountain in Hyde Park. The sun beat down on Florence's head through the hat
she wore and for the first time in her life felt she was experiencing a sun she
would never tire of. Eventually Thomas suggested they look for a cab to carry
them on to the house he had found for her. Florence nodded her head silently at
his suggestion, she was tired, the heat had never felt this intense before in
her life. Slowly they walked to the roadway at the edge of the park, Florence
passed the small suitcase from one hand to the other as the tiredness
overwhelmed her. Passing through the imposing wrought iron gates and out onto
College Street which ran along the side of the park Thomas guided her to a line
of cabs standing alongside the pavement, their horses feeding from their nose
bags as they waited for their next trip. One of them flicked its head, a straw
fringe over its eye to help ward off flies. Tommy helped her into the rear of
the first of the cabs and helped the driver load the two cases into the back,
then took his place by her side and sat back when the driver gently whipped the
horse into action. He took her hand in his and turned to smile at her. Florence
slumped back exhausted in the comfortable plush seat and gave him a thin smile.
Her head swivelled as though on a child's toy as she tried to take in all the
sights she was bombarded with, whilst the cab driver wound his way expertly
through the tram, bicycle, car and cart traffic along the roads. She was aware
of houses, offices, churches, and shops,
big shops she had never seen the like of, small parks, and occasional brief
glimpses of water. Water, it seemed to her, at almost every corner of every
road and street, as the cab driver worked his way to the district of
Woolloomooloo. The cab stopped on a hill overlooking almost everything in
Sydney, or so it appeared. The views were incredible in her limited view of the
world. Florence felt that a smile was now destined to be fixed to her face
forever and a day. Even the ugly buildings, and she had not seen many of them,
were better looking, more impressive and cleaner than the buildings in Bolton.
The driver drew the horse to a stop outside
number 60 Brougham Street in Woolloomooloo, the cab lurching back and forwards
as it settled on its springs. Florence sat back in her seat until the vehicle
came to a halt; Thomas jumped down and held out his hand to her. Taken by surprise
at his unheard of gentlemanly behaviour, she smiled shyly and held out her hand
for him to help her down onto the street. As she stood waiting for Thomas to
pay the driver she looked around, up and down the street on which she now found
herself.
It was quite a steep hill and the house
they were standing outside seemed to be half way between the top and bottom of
the street. On the opposite side, set into the pavement, was a line of trees
set about fifty yards apart, which were quite high, and had a silvery grey bark
which appeared to Florence to be flaking, though the trees were obviously
healthy as she could see from the umbrella of green leaves providing cover to
most of the far side of the street. When the cab pulled away Thomas called
gently to her.
'Come on love, this is your new home for
the next two weeks.' Florence turned and looked at the house he was indicating.
It was one of a line of terraced houses, but nothing like the terraced houses
she was accustomed to in Bolton. The house was as wide as the one on Waterloo
Street but built on three floors. The ground floor did not appear to be
accessed by any door. Florence was puzzled at first. A roughly cut stone
staircase extended from the street to the first floor where the front door was
located, and from there, there was a second floor made from neat red brick.
Wrought iron railings were installed on top of the stairs, ending with a gate
similar to the one on the street.
'This looks beautiful Tommy' she said
quietly, picking the small suitcase from the pavement at her feet and following
Thomas up the staircase to the front door of the house. As she climbed the
stairs she noted that above her head was a wooden balcony running the width of
the house which had a wooden rail running along it. 'Look at this,' she said,
pointing to the balcony, her eyes moving from one feature of the house to the
next. 'It’s lovely isn’t it?' Thomas struggled his way up the stairs with her
suitcase, and as he reached the front door it was opened by a woman dressed in
a floral dress. She appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, it
was hard for Florence to tell at first glance. Her hair was short in tight
curls and rapidly going grey. Her eyes were grey and wide, complimenting her
mouth. She smiled at Thomas and Florence and held open the door.
'Oh Mr Lowe,' she said gaily, 'Come in,
come in.' She flitted away inside, allowing the door to remain open for them to
walk through directly into a living room. By the time Florence had made her way
into the room the woman was standing in the centre of the room clasping her
hands excitedly to her breast and smiling widely at the couple. She wore a
floral patterned dress of lightweight material which was cinched in at the
waist with a narrow belt of light coloured leather. She appeared not to be
wearing the layers of undergarments to which Florence was accustomed and had on
her feet a pair of worn carpet slippers.
Thomas and Flo entered into the living
room, placed their cases on the floor, and glanced around the room. It was
bright and airy, but small, lived in and cluttered. There was a sofa against
one wall opposite a fireplace and in two of the corners under the window
overlooking the outside staircase and the front street were two chairs,
obviously from the same overstuffed suite as the sofa. A small table stood
between the sofa and the fire. The table was a full size one which appeared to
have been a dining table at one time or another. Florence noticed a staircase
in the right hand corner of the room leading to the upper floor. The door at
the bottom of the stairs was open into the living room, a bit like Waterloo
Street, she thought. The room was overfull with furniture, but inviting and
comfortable. Beyond the living room she saw a kitchen which also doubled as a
dining room, it too had a table, but this one had chairs set around it.
The woman held out her hand to Thomas,
'Captain Lowe' she said, 'How nice to see
you again' then turning to Florence added, 'And with your lovely wife this
time.' Thomas looked at Florence as the two women shook hands. Florence looked
confused.
'It’s Petty Officer Lowe, Mrs French,'
Tommy said 'Not Captain.' He grinned at her. 'Still got a long way to go before
I get to those dizzy heights.' The woman smiled back at him.
'Well, yes, of course it is. And I am Miss
French,' she said turning to face Florence, 'Helena French. You must call me
Helena whilst you are staying here Mrs Lowe.' Florence smiled and nodded at her
thinking that the woman’s first name was unusual and beautiful. 'Right' she
said with purpose, opening up her arms wide to take in all of the room. 'This is your home for as long as you want to
stay here, but I understand you will only be here for the night Mr Lowe.' Thomas
grinned ruefully at her,
'Sorry Helena, only the one night, then I
have to get back on board by noon. We’re sailing late afternoon for New
Zealand.' He turned to Florence and gave her a weak smile, 'Sorry love. That’s
the way the Navy works.' Florence looked down at her case resting on the rag
work rug in the middle of the room. She felt her eyes filling with tears and
lowered her head. Thomas reached out and took her arm gently. 'Don’t worry
love,' he said softly. 'I’m only away for ten days and then I’ll be back here. That
should give you plenty of time to have a look around Sydney and find us
somewhere to live.' Florence lifted her head and murmured her agreement, though
she was still upset at the prospect of having to navigate her way around a
strange city and trying to find a house suitable for them to live in when he
arrived back in port.
Helena clapped her hands together gently and attracted
both of their attentions.
'Right,
time for me to make us a pot of tea whilst you get your things put away in the
front bedroom. Yes?' Thomas nodded his head and picked up the heavier suitcase
from the floor, stepping across to the bottom of the stairs. Florence followed
him with the smaller one and together they struggled and barged their way up the
narrow staircase and into the bedroom at the front of the house. Once there
Florence emptied her case into the chest of drawers which stood against the
wall opposite the door, and close to the double bed
facing the window overlooking the street. She decided to leave the larger of
the two suitcases for later. Fatigue suddenly came over her and she slumped
down on the edge of the bed, Thomas stood close to her perceiving her
disappointment.
'Come on
love, it’s not all that bad,' he said to her gently. Florence nodded her head
and rubbed away tears from her eyes. 'It’s not as though it’s forever is it?'
he said. 'When I get back we can get ourselves organised in a new house and
you’ll be able to get stuff for it, furniture and things.' He waited patiently for
her to respond, and was set back a little when she said,
'It’s not
really what I was expecting Tommy. I thought we would have some time together
before you took off again. I’ve missed you so much, and now I only get the one
night with you.' The tears flowed gently down her cheeks as she sat on the bed
sobbing, trying to hide the noise from Helena who she could hear moving around
in the living room downstairs. From the room below they heard Helena calling.
'Your tea’s ready when you are' she called. Florence
took a small handkerchief from her bag, dried the tears from her cheeks and
stood up from the bed. Thomas took her in his arms and kissed her on the
forehead gently.
'Come on
love' he said 'Let’s go and sample her tea shall we?' Florence nodded and
together they went downstairs to the living room where Helena had prepared a
teapot and a plate of small homemade biscuits for them.
'Here you
are then, hope you enjoy my biscuits.' She said, noting the blush on Florence’s
face from the tears, but being a discrete person, she made no comment. Thomas
and Florence sank down into the thick overstuffed sofa, Florence’s feet only
just touched the ragwork rug on the floor beneath her. The two of them sat in
silence sipping the cups of tea which Helena had poured for them, whilst she
tried to make light conversation to distract them. In the end she gave up and
the three of them sat in silence. After her second cup Helena rose from the
chair she had occupied in the corner of the room and went out into the kitchen.
As she left the room Florence took Thomas’s hand and squeezed it, looking
sideways at him.
'Sorry
love' she muttered. Thomas returned the look and smiled at her.
'Not to worry
love, we’ll get over it. I think part of the trouble is that you are tired
after the past couple of days excitement of arriving here in Australia and you
are in need of a good nights’ sleep.' Florence nodded her head and grinned at
him.
'Can’t see
us getting much sleep tonight though, can you?' Thomas nudged her in the arm
with his elbow and grinned wickedly back at her.
'That’s
more like my girl' he said. 'We’ll have to see what happens later won’t we?'
.........................................................
What happened later, was that by six o’clock that
evening it was dark, the sun having set just a few minutes earlier, and by
eight o’clock both of them were yawning uncontrollably, and using this as their
excuse, Thomas and Florence went to bed. For the following three hours they
made up for the time they had spent apart from each other, and by eleven they
were lying naked on the bed, the covers having long been roughly thrown onto
the floor, along with their night attire. Thomas was lying on his back with his
right arm crooked around Florence’s neck and shoulders whilst she nuzzled into
his neck. Sweat from their bodies had started to grow cold, as even the light
from the moon disappeared, and the house grew cooler, though the temperature
was still in the high fifties after a daytime temperature high of over ninety
degrees. Florence moved her head slightly and blew a draft of air onto Thomas’s
chest, he twitched slightly but said nothing.
Suddenly almost over the roof of the house, or so it
seemed, came a loud crack of thunder followed immediately by the sound of torrential
rain pouring from the heavens. Florence jumped at the sudden noise and clung to
Thomas. 'It's alright love,' he said, 'Only thunder.' Florence lay quietly in
bed, listening to the sound of the heavy rain banging against the windows and
roof of the building, and slowly the sound had a soporific effect and she
started to fall asleep.
As she was feeling the narcotic of sleep
striking her she suddenly woke with a jerk. 'Tommy' she said quietly. He gave a
low grunt in reply. He was entering that stage of consciousness where he too was
almost asleep. Although he was aware of the world around him he was unwilling
to take any part in it; he simply wanted to drift away into a deep peaceful
sleep.
'Tommy. Are you asleep?' Thomas grunted
again, enough of a grunt for him to tell her that he was perhaps asleep, but
not enough to convince her.
'I was just thinking,' she continued
quietly. 'She’s a bit strange isn’t she, Helena?' Thomas tried in vain to hold
onto the sleep which was trying to engulf him. He had in his mind an image, it
kept slipping away, but he kept on trying to regain it the more it slipped
away. Her voice was coming to him from somewhere far away, and once again he
drifted towards sleep when her voice started speaking again. 'She is strange
though isn’t she?' Florence repeated. He was awake. His brain snapped into
unwelcome consciousness and try as he might, it was impossible to keep hold of
the image he had dwelt on. He had her undivided, but unwelcome attention.
'What?' he said quietly. Florence did not
reply immediately, but thought for a few seconds on what it was she wished to
say. Thomas gratefully tried to fall asleep once more, until she once more
continued.
'I mean she is very nice and all that, but,
she’s a bit crackers isn’t she?' she whispered. Thomas abandoned his attempt to
sleep and flicked open his eyes in the darkness of the room. Shadows came
through the window to his left and played on the wall, so that what breeze
there was moved the curtains gently and silently against the window.
'How do you mean love?' he asked. Florence
turned to her left the more easily to see him, so that she could make out his
outline above her on the pillow.
'Well, she keeps flitting around from one
room to the next, never settles down in one place for any length of time, and,
well, she’s a bit scatty isn’t she?' Thomas drew in a large breath and
Florence’s head moved up and down on his heaving chest. For the life of him he
couldn’t think what Florence meant, maybe it was simply something women said,
he had little or no experience of women, apart from his mother and younger
sister, and now Florence. They were a bit strange as far as he was concerned,
but he still loved her. Better to agree with her then she might go to sleep.
'I suppose you’re right love' he conceded,
hoping that would suffice. It didn't. She traced a finger idly in the hairs on
his chest.
'I mean, when we were downstairs she was in
and out of the kitchen, and then the yard at the back, and then she went to
look out the front door. I couldn’t make out what she was up to. Do you think
she is, well, you know, alright in the head do you think?' Then with a sudden
urgency she hoisted herself up on her elbow so that she was looking directly
over him, into his face. Thomas took in a deep breath in surprise, trying hard
to focus his eyes on the face which now was too close to his face. 'You are listening to me Tommy aren’t you?'
Florence continued. Thomas screwed up his eyes to try and focus on her.
'I’m sure you’re right Flo.' He pulled away
from her a little so he could more easily focus on her and coughed slightly to
clear his throat. 'She’s been here a few years from what I know about her. One
of the other POs onboard told me his wife had stayed here with her a few years
ago, and she thought she were alright.'
'Is that how you come to find her then,
through this friend of yours?'
'Yes. He were in the same situation as we
are, and he told me that Helena French was a good place to stay at. Said she
nattered on a bit, but generally, she were good enough.' He paused, hoping that
would be the end of the conversation, and to some extent it was. Florence
murmured her agreement and then gently slid her hand down his chest, then on
downwards to the top of his legs where she found that the idea which she had
formed in her mind was growing in Tommy’s mind as well. 'Well well well.' She whispered gleefully. 'Not too tired then
are we?' Thomas could do nothing to prevent what was happening, especially as
her hand was now starting to stroke him gently. 'We could always do it again if
you’re not too tired, couldn’t we? After all, it's been a long time since
England and we might get out of practice, mightn't we?' Even in the darkness of
the room Thomas could feel her smiling cheekily at him and rolled her over onto
her back so he could once again feel the soft contours of her shapely body.
'I suppose you’re not going to go to sleep
until we’ve done it again, are you?' he muttered as he started to nibble at her
ear.
'Doubt it' she said, 'But only if you’re up
to it Tommy.'
Later, finally, they lay back on their own
sides of the double bed and Florence reached down to the floor to drag over
them one of the blankets which they had long before cast off them. Thomas
breathed deeply trying to find the image and the sleep which had been refused
him some time earlier. Florence pushed the edge of the blanket over him then
pulled the other edge over her body, snuggling in tight to him.
'I was just thinking,' she said. Thomas
groaned, but said nothing more. 'No, listen, I was just thinking' she
continued. 'Before tonight you could count on the fingers of one hand the
number of times we’ve, well, done it' she said grinning. He could feel her
beautiful body vibrating with suppressed laughter alongside him. 'But now you’d
need to take your shoes and socks off to count the number of times we’ve done
it.' She chuckled and squeezed his chest.
'You have a one track mind young Mrs Lowe,'
he said, returning her grin. 'Now get yourself off to sleep.'
'Night night love.' She said gently and
pecked him on the cheek before settling back to go to sleep.
'Night night' said Tommy, finally able to
relax.
No comments:
Post a Comment