jmgoyder

Love story 30 – Getting away

I didn’t understand why Husband-to-be (Anthony) was often so angry with me. Yes, I understood when I stuffed up the grapefruit marmalade, overcooked the roast, and killed the scrambled eggs (“Don’t keep stirring them, Jules, let them set!” he would snap.)

Years later, when he proposed marriage, he admitted that part of his gruffness during this period of time was that he was, indeed, in love with me too, but he was afraid of my youth, my ridiculous innocence and my beautifulness.

Inna’s moods were also unpredictable, because she was beginning to find the ordinary chores of the day too hard (she was in her mid-80s!) but didn’t like having to depend on me, so the dynamics were tricky.

I have a huge grin that has always come naturally to my face so it may well have been that grin that maintained the equilbrium. I don’t know, because, behind that same grin, I was grinding my teeth, and doing a lot of wondering.

On my bicycle, on the way to the farm every morning, I would sing hymns quite loudly but I stopped doing that too when I frightened some guys who were working on the road. Of course I stopped singing as soon as I whizzed past their astonished faces and, after that, I stopped singing altogether.

The sadness of Inna’s impending death, my mother’s grief over the death of Dad, and Anthony’s unpredictable attitude to me, settled onto my shoulders like a mantle that I couldn’t shake off and, eventually, I decided that I should get right away from this family.

Love story 31 – Miscommunication

I applied to do Nursing in Perth and was accepted.

Inna was half proud of me and half upset that I was leaving her.

Anthony didn’t appear to care, although one night when I was sleeping over while he went out, I tucked Inna into her own bed and went into mine in the spare room to read a magazine. I was supposed to wait, you see, until Anthony came home so that I could unlock the back door and let him in (Inna insisted that all doors should be locked).

Eventually I went to sleep and was woken suddenly by a loud tapping on the window to the spare room and, when I opened the blinds, I saw a very merry Anthony who shouted for me to open the back door.

So I got up and crept through the house (I didn’t want Inna to wake up) to the back veranda and let him in.

In the kitchen, he stood next to me against the warm Aga while the kettle boiled. I was very embarrassed because I was wearing a very old, flanelette nightie, but I still, somehow felt undressed.

“So, you’re leaving us again,” he chuckled, leaving me to do the coffee so he could sit down at the big, white kitchen table.

“Yes,” I said, hesitantly, giving him his coffee.

“And you’re going to be a nurse?” he laughed.

I suddenly became indignant and snapped, “You think you’re above me don’t you!”

Anthony replied (and I will never forget his words because he obviously mis-heard mine), “Maybe I am in love with you!”

I left him to have his coffee by himself, and went back to my bed with a little, mystified smile on my face, but, as I was leaving the kiitchen, he wrapped his big arms around me and the resonance of that particular hug lasted several years.

Love story 32 – Mouchoirs

Inna must have done some French lessons during her private schooling as a child because she would never refer to her ever elusive handkerchief as a hanky. Instead, whenever she wanted to blow her nose, she would ask me, “Darling, have to seen my mouchoir?”

Her walking stick was another thing that seemed to have a habit of walking off and having little holdidays in strange places like the corner of the pantry, or under Inna’s bed, or behind the washing machine in the washhouse. But Inna didn’t resort to French for that; instead, she would ask me, “Darling, have you seen my whatchamacallit?”

Once both of these items were found, Inna would often ask me to accompany her out to the fig tree and ask me to fetch the biggest, ripest fig at the very top of the tree. I would try – with her walking stick and a rake, or by shaking the tree, or sometimes by climbing it.

Sometimes Anthony (Husband-to-be) would witness these various treasure hunts and cast a bemused look in our direction. When this happened I felt super-hero abilities to find mouchoirs, walking sticks and figs, grow inside me at an exponential rate.

As many of you know, I separated the love story from this blog and created a new blog in an attempt to separate the past from the present. In some ways, this worked but, in other ways, it didn’t, so I’m now pasting back the chapters in a bit-by-bit way. Apologies to those who have already read the following! For newcomers, you can find the previous chapters in past posts on this blog. I’m sure all of that is as clear as mud – haha!

Love Story 26 – Eating oranges

I gradually put aside my grief over my father’s death, in order to care for Inna who was close to 85 and getting extremely frail.

Husband-to-be, Inna’s son, Anthony, was appreciative of my help but our mutual attraction was like a potent sort of pang between us because (as he told me several years later), I was still only 19 and he had entered his 40s. He respected me and wanted to protect me from himself. Somehow I understood this at the time and I respected his respect I guess.

But there is only so much respect a young girl in love can take. I just wanted him to throw his arms around me, kiss me like in the movies, tell me he loved me. And he didn’t.

Inna would give me big, ripe oranges from their orchard, for my bicycle trip home and I would sometimes turn in from the main road into a dirt track not far from home, put my bike down and eat every single orange.

Love story 27 – Polishing furniture

There was a huge amount of antique furniture in the house, particularly in the old dining room (the most original, ancient and beautiful part of the small farmhouse). There was a big dining room table with old chairs, a massive sideboard, a chiffonier and a grandfather clock.

For a kid like me, who had been moved from Sydney, NSW, to Toronto, Canada, to Papua New Guinea, then to Western Australia, polishing furniture was a totally unfamiliar activity. Nevertheless, I did as Inna told me and, thinking I should be quick, I took the can of polish, slapped it on and rubbed it in as fast as I could.

While I did this, Inna sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and watching me out of the corner of her eye (she was very good at this corner-of-the-eye thing). At one point she got up and put the kettle on the Aga and I took this as a cue.

It was rather a hot day so by the time I had finished polishing, I was more than ready for Inna’s cup of tea time and maybe a timtam, but as I unknelt from the dining room table legs and came into the kitchen, Inna said, “You did that far too quickly, dear, please go back and do it again properly.”

Love story 28 – The beautiful blonde children

Inna’s youngest son (two years younger than Anthony) and wife had four children. They lived across the road from the main farm but they visited often. The eldest girl was 12 and the rest were younger – two girls and two boys, all with white blonde hair, all gorgeous. I absolutely adored them.

The two girls would look at me sometimes, as if I were some sort of alien, and ask me things.

Girl 1: Where do you come from?

Girl 2: How come you don’t know how to make apple pie?

The two boys were a handful. The eldest was a soft, shy child who always wanted to help out, but the 4-year-old was a mischevious brat, who loved to lock me out of the house.

All four children loved Inna’s afternoon snack for them – counter biscuits with butter and peanut butter and the beautiful little brat could not get enough of these mini-sandwiches ….

Boy 1: Can I scrub the shower for you, Julie?

Boy 2: Tricked you again – hahahaha – locked out, Julie!

It would usually take the efforts of Anthony, his brother and, eventually Inna, to convince this 4-year-old to let me into the house again, after which he would scamper off.

Love story 29 – A big love

When we first moved from Sydney, Australia, to Toronto, Canada, I was around eight years old and I had a crush on a kid called Leonard who was in my class at school. Sometimes we would be in the same lift/elevator to our apartments and I would not be able to speak to him because I was afraid the crush would gush out of me.

When we moved to Papua New Guinnea, I had a crush on a man called Tom. It was a very secret crush because he was black and I was white. We left PNG when I was 15 and Tom (secretly) gave me his Seiko watch. I hid this watch for years.

When we moved to Bunbury, Western Australia, I had a crush on Robert during my last year of formal schooling. Robert didn’t have a crush on me, so I got a taste of the whole broken heart thing.

When I met Anthony, I didn’t have a crush, I didn’t have a clue, I didn’t understand then … that I had fallen in love, that it was a big love, that it was a love that would last.