Peter Richards
Directives of a Silent Force
For Arthur
with special thanks to my beautiful
– and very patient – wife
Sue
1.
The Davis house in Brandt Street was a modest high-set Brisbane weatherboard cottage built in the late twenties on a smaller block in the near north suburb of Wooloowin. Any architectural merit it may have displayed from the street was dashed by enclosure of the front veranda with fibro at the base and dappled glass louvre windows above. Apart from keeping the house hot in the summer months, the enclosure provided a long narrow room that had no real use except to house a small table and chairs as well as a sofa and a few perpetually dry pot plants. The dining room and living room were mainly enclosed in the centre of the house with small casement windows on the western side. The centre rooms were dark, stuffy and rarely used. Two modest size bedrooms faced east as did the small bathroom.
The remainder of the house comprised a kitchen and breakfast room affair that had clearly been worked-on by an array of amateur tradesmen over the decades. Despite all that, it was a comfortable area – with a large pine table that really could seat eight people. The kitchen and breakfast room area was always referred to as ‘the main room’.
The concrete slab laundry, equipped with a time-honoured cylindrical Lightburn washing machine and a trio of cement tubs, was simply a part of under-the-house.
Jim and Lee Davis bought the house, furnished, in 1972 about eight months after leaving Darwin. It took all their savings and a substantial building society loan.
Though the house was built close to the street on the narrow longish allotment, its back steps were no more than thirty metres from the main northern rail corridor; and diesels rumbled past, at all hours of the day and night, towing cargo and commuters to and from the city. Mercifully, the house was midway between two suburban stations and, by the time the trains reached it, the worst of the engine roaring needed for acceleration had abated.
Jim always referred to himself as a transport man; a driver of trucks, buses, delivery vans - anything really. Though not a tall man, he was wiry and strong. He liked to wear heavy cotton khaki shirts with long sleeves - for Brisbane’s cooler weather - heavy cotton black or navy shorts and brown elastic-sided work boots over khaki woollen socks. His unruly brown hair and beard failed to disguise his well-chiselled, handsome facial features and bright eyes; but the beard also failed to disguise his contact with the tropical sun since childhood. He looked like he was born with crows-feet wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and a dry complexion.
Jim arrived in Brisbane a surprisingly old-looking young man of just twenty-four years.
At the time of the move Lee was nearly twenty. Even though she carried an excess kilogram or two, she was an extremely good-looking girl with a flawless complexion, shiny straight black hair and lovely dark eyes. She was Jim’s height exactly.
Lee’s real given name was Maree, but that was never used. Mischievous kids christened her Lee in early primary school years because of her appearance; and, from that time, the name stuck. Her maternal grandmother was of Malayan Chinese origin and, despite the absence of any other eastern family influences, she came into the world looking quite Eurasian. Interestingly, her brother Tony looked one hundred percent southern European.
Like Jim, Lee left school at about fifteen. She worked wherever she could find work as a shop assistant, factory hand or sometimes as a cleaner. She was an avid reader of novels and newspapers. Few important current affairs items escaped her attention and analysis; and all information of worth was dutifully relayed to Jim in the main room at the finish of each day’s work.
They were both hard workers and both quickly earned employer respect wherever they were signed-on.
In the early Brisbane years, Jim and Lee lived an uncomplicated and happy existence. They only ever argued about momentous issues like which television station to watch and which vegetables should be prepared for dinner; and, just occasionally, about whether or when they should wed. These more serious matrimony tussles could last five minutes but were inevitably terminated by Jim declaring he ‘could easily get a better offer’. And that was the trigger for laughter, truce and reconciliation.
When the Davis couple first moved south, Jim took the decision that he should do a little gardening for a few extra dollars and proceeded to place a classified advertisement in the local paper offering his services. After five days there had been no response to the ad and Jim lost enthusiasm for the project; he’d almost forgotten about it, in fact.
But on the sixth day, at about dinnertime, he got a phone call from a Jean Carter enquiring about gardening help for her place in Dover Terrace, Clayfield. After some propping, he half-heartedly agreed to go to have a look at the job the following Saturday – mainly as a way of stopping Mrs Carter’s persistent chatter on the phone while dinner was being ruined on the stove.
On the Saturday, he looked-up the address in the street directory and decided to walk there to have a closer look at the somewhat more genteel Clayfield area to the south-east of their Brandt Street house. The Carter house was not much more than a kilometre away.
After a full half hour of chatter from Mrs Carter, Jim agreed to take on the job fortnightly on Saturdays. He did so on the basis that the money would come in handy; and that even she couldn’t talk over the noise of a motor mower.
As he was walking down the driveway from Mrs Carter’s front porch, he became aware of someone behind shrubs in the house next-door. As he walked, the person on the other side walked along beside him at about the same speed. A bit unnerved by this, he stopped at the first clearance in the shrubs to get a fix on who was pacing along with him. To his surprise it was an apparently disabled lad who seemed to be in his early teens. The boy said something that he didn’t understand so he knelt down at the cyclone wire fence to sort the matter out.
“G’day there, tiger. What’s your name then?”
The boy answered with a lengthy sentence, not one word of which Jim understood.
“Are you having a good day, son?”
Again there was a difficult response.
Jim stood up and patted the lad on the top of the head.
“I’ve got to be off now! I’ve got some other fish to fry, you know!” he said.
While giving him a friendly farewell ruffle of the hair, a gentle voice from further into the next-door yard caught his attention.
“I see you’ve made friends with my boy David.”
“Well I hope so.” Jim responded.
In a trice, David’s Mum came into view. She was a middle-aged woman with a kind face and a warm smile. She had fairly short thick dark hair with an attractive streak of grey right across the front. She was wearing neat casual cotton slacks, a light neutral coloured cotton shirt and leather sandals.
“I’m Sylvia Bentley. You must be the man who’s coming to look after Jean’s garden.”
“Yeah, I’m Jim Davis. I think I’ll be here about once a fortnight to give it a bit of a mow and tidy-up.”
“Jim, I don’t know how your timetable is, but would you be interested in giving our place the once-over every now and again? I’ve got a whole tribe of people here but they’re not too interested in gardening. Grandma, the two girls and David are out of the game and Frank’s always seems too busy with work and things. So that leaves my Jon; and he seems to get just about every other job around the place.”
Jim thought about this for a moment. Something told him not to just say yes; but he had no real reason to say no.
“Well, I could give it a bit of a go for a while Mrs Bentley; but if I get busy with my main work you might need to get someone else. I’m on casual at the moment but you know it could go permanent any time.”
“Firstly, I’d be much happier if you called me Sylvia – Mrs Bentley’s a bit much; and secondly, we could really use a hand even if it’s only for a while.”
They talked for a brief time about the job and the pay and then parted – after David was given another substantial hair ruffle by his new mate.
On returning home, Jim reported his dubious double success to Lee.
“The old girl talks like buggery but the people in the Bentley house next door might be all right. There’s a poor bloody kid there with something really wrong; he can’t talk properly or anything and he just seems to hang about with his mum. Oh, and she had nice leather sandals that you’d like. I might find out where she got them when I go ‘round there next time.”
They celebrated Jim’s occupational success by catching the train to town for Saturday afternoon at the pictures.
The Bentley house was on a standard size block and looked like it was built in the early twenties. Although there was no veranda, there was an abundance of windows all around – lead-lights in the front. It faced north onto the street and was sufficiently elevated to catch most breezes from the north and east. When Jim first made contact, the Bentley’s place was painted white with dark green trim. Unlike most places in the area, it had a terracotta tile roof. As Sylvia was overly partial to trees and shrubs, there was too much greenery in both the back and front yards. They weren’t going to be easy to keep tidy.
Although a very nice house, space was at a premium with the three adults - including Grandma, Sylvia’s mum - and four offspring.
Sylvia’s husband Frank was the only son of an unusual couple who lived mostly in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. His father was an outgoing, fun-loving, hard-drinking newspaper journalist; and his mother, remarkably, was a quiet, severe, authoritarian woman of German birth. Frank shared his early years with no less than six sisters whose individual personalities covered the entire enormous range marked at either extreme by his parents.
Frank escaped this environment at the age of nineteen and somehow drifted to Brisbane, which must have seemed a safe distance at the time. He got a job in a small factory - Harry Winslow & Co, Cabinet Makers and Shop Fitters - in the industrial area near the old Brisbane airport.
Frank did well at Winslow’s from the outset and was made shop supervisor after two years. He was a clear thinker, a hard worker and, most importantly, had the capacity to deliver unequivocal firm direction. His product was always good quality and always delivered on time.
Four years after starting at the factory, he met Harry Winslow’s youngest and prettiest daughter Sylvia. They were a natural team and married within six months of first meeting, despite some resistance by Harry’s wife Lorna - or Grandma. The old man was openly enthusiastic about this partnership. He very much liked and trusted Frank; and, being a pragmatist, probably saw Sylvia’s walk down the aisle as steps towards his financial freedom.
After renting and saving for a while, Frank and Sylvia bought their Dover Terrace house in 1952. Their daughters Marg and Eunice were born in 1953 and 1954 respectively. Their first boy Jon was born in 1957 and their second boy David arrived in 1958.
Grandma joined the Dover Terrace household in 1966 after Winslow’s was gobbled-up by a southern based conglomerate called Weston & Knight and Harry’s subsequent death.
Frank stayed on with Weston & Knight eventually becoming their Queensland Manager.
After initial visits to the Bentley place in the very hot November and December of 1972, Jim had been involved in brief chats with Sylvia who poured him cold Schweppes lime drinks periodically; and immensely long chats with young David who delivered the drinks with great pride. David quickly took a shine to the gardening man and very soon became his self-appointed deputy.
Jim quickly worked out that he could keep the lad entertained by communicating in mature speak; and, to achieve that, he simply imagined that he was talking to Lee. Jim was well satisfied with this arrangement as it helped pass the time quickly and seemed to make David feel very important. And anyway, who could tell, something by way of useful information just may have been filtering through.
By the end of his third visit to the Bentley’s place, Jim knew a bit about Sylvia and David; he’d spoken briefly once with the eldest daughter Marg; and had been involved in two very short conversations about the weather with Grandma. The other occupants of the house remained a complete mystery.
But all that was to change.
A little over a fortnight before Christmas, Jim received an unexpected note in the post from Sylvia inviting him, as well as his ‘wife or friend’, to a Saturday night barbecue around at Dover Terrace. In the note Sylvia explained that she and Frank always had ‘a get-together at Christmas time for a small group from Weston & Knight and neighbourhood friends’.
The decision to attend took no time at all and Lee was given the job of telephoning to accept. She was relieved to get Sylvia first up on the phone and more relieved to be involved in a friendly little conversation about everything and nothing. She, of course, referred to herself as ‘Jim’s wife Lee’ even though technically that wasn’t quite resolved.
Jim must have believed the barbecue to be a very special occasion as he actually wore his yellow shirt, navy slacks and black shoes. Lee wore her best bright check blouse, putty coloured slacks and new sandals, believed to be like Sylvia’s. Jim looked most appropriately dressed and spruce; Lee looked absolutely beautiful.
They were met by Sylvia and young David at the front door then taken through the house and down the back steps to the barbecue area where they were introduced to the small group. Present were Grandma, who gave the distinct impression that she’d taken a few drinks on board before setting sail for the party; Alex and Ruth, the Sales Manager from Weston & Knight and his wife; Bruce, the fellow who’d painted the house in March; Christine and Carol, from the office area at Weston & Knight; and another Bruce, the neighbour from over the back fence. And then there were the other family members Marg and Eunice, head of the house Frank and, finally, Jon.
During the time-consuming introductions, David did not leave Jim’s side, holding his left hand and patiently waiting for his chance to have one of their legendary chats.
It was a great night with easy conversation, plenty of cold drinks and really good quality steak and sausages. There was an assortment of crisp green salads and an enormous bowl of potato salad - which was just as well as Jim had an insatiable appetite for potato salad. He loved the stuff!
Jim got on well with Frank who was just as he’d expected – robust and well presented in a very masculine way; just what a real a manager should be like! Jim also got on well with Bruce the painter who seemed to have an endless supply of quality jokes ranging from extremely unclean to disgusting.
Lee had good long conversations with Sylvia and the eldest daughter Marg; who was, of course, about her age. But she had trouble with Eunice who seemed terribly shy.
Although Sylvia and Eunice prepared the food on the table, and Frank and Jim did the cooking, the muscle power behind the evening seemed to be fifteen-year-old Jon. He carried all the crockery and cutlery back and forth, poured drinks, passed food about, scraped the plates and did all manner of peripheral chores to ensure everyone’s comfort. Lee was surprised that a young bloke would do these things, apparently without prompting, and determined that she should find out just what made him tick. He’d been fairly quiet for most of the evening.
At about ten-thirty she decided to join him for cold soft drink.
She re-introduced herself as Lee and thanked him for all his work.
“Well, there wasn’t really very much to it Mrs Davis!” he replied, modestly and quietly.
She was a bit stunned by the ‘Mrs Davis’ but wasn’t exactly sure about correcting him. She sensed that he could be embarrassed if the issue was pursued there and then; so she left it alone.
Despite a jerky start, they proceeded to talk for a long time about his taking-up rowing; his special subject, history; the climate in Darwin; train versus bus transportation in cities; Jim’s job; a recent murder case in Adelaide; the demise of Bill McMahon; and the rise of Gough Whitlam and Lance Barnard. Jon even did a few Gough Whitlam imitations and called her ‘comrade’ which she found most amusing.
At fifteen, he was a clumsy looking boy with long arms and legs and big hands and feet. His nose seemed just a bit large. But he had big brown eyes and his father’s wavy brown hair that naturally bleached and streaked with exposure to sun. In mid-summer in Brisbane, the middle-parted hair looked as if it had been prepared professionally for the stage. But it had not! These were just Jon’s locks!
In a joking fashion, Lee asked him if he was on the payroll for work at the party or just helping his Mum – implying that David may have been a bit of a burden sometimes.
“David gets on with things fairly well.” he responded firmly, “He’s doing okay lately!”
She made a mental note to take care with that subject in the future.
Although Lee couldn’t figure out exactly why, she was a bit taken with Jon. During her unhappy Darwin childhood, and subsequently, she had not met a youngster like this. She developed a feeling that he was special in some way.
There is a curious aspect of life whereby infants, usually fluid in their thought patterns, intuitively make rigid demarcation judgments about age. To a six year old, an eight year old is one of the big kids; and a ten year old is somehow in a completely different society. Some lose this demarcation rigidity as they say farewell to puberty; some take another five, ten or even twenty years for it to abate; and some get comfort in their entire march through life by affixing an age numeric just about every time to just about everyone. Some chop and change during the march and apply age labels selectively to suit particular persons and circumstances.
And, oddly, there seem to be no set factors that determine who’s who with this human numbers game.
Come what may, in December 1972, Lee came to believe that Jon was a very good style of lad; and, on the other side of the coin, Jon came to believe that she was a beautiful, exotic and worldly woman.
A casual observer distanced from any fascination with human age numerics would, of course, have recognised them as belonging to the same generation.
On their slow walk home from the party, Jim and Lee chatted a lot about their new friends and contacts. They were very pleased with how it all went. They were both relieved to find the Bentleys and their friends down-to-earth and congenial company. It was yet another good omen for future success and happiness in their adopted neighbourhood and city.
But it got even better!
In early February 1973, Jim received a call from Frank about the possibility of a permanent driving job with a new parcel delivery company called Spirit. Apparently they were going to be located down near the airport about five or six doors from Frank’s office and factory. This really sounded good; new storage facility, new radio equipment, new leased vans – the lot. Frank gave Jim the name, address and telephone number of the man to contact, and he hopped into the task of applying for a job straight away.
Beryl, the next door neighbour, typed-up the letter Jim and Lee had written, and it was posted off the following day. After a few more days he was called-in to complete a formal application form and to have a chat with recently appointed Spirit supervisor Colin Wills.
Jim filled the formal application very neatly and presented it as requested. It was fine! Jim also did well with the chat part of proceedings with his open honest and friendly style.
He started with Spirit in early April.
By this stage Lee had also found permanent employment with one of the major Brisbane taxi operators. It was distinctly unglamorous work, but kept the dollars coming in. She did mail collection and despatch, some messenger work, some cleaning jobs and mundane clerical and records storage jobs. Lesser employees would have made a welter of this hotch-potch of disconnected unsupervised functions, but Lee put effort into it all because that’s the way she was.
From the outset, Jim and Lee had big plans for their house. Periodically they would sit down in the main room and discuss plans for opening up the veranda, fixing the laundry, re-doing the north-east corner of the house to give them a toilet separate from the bathroom, building a back deck – and many other things. The income stability achieved by mid-1973 gave them heart that some of these things may really be possible despite odd things that were happening to interest rates and the repayment requirements for their home loan. In a very brief time the building society ask had increased dramatically.
In the spring of 1973, the need to discuss home renovations was terminated for an indefinite period by a gremlin who preys on young couples determined to achieve financial stability. Despite some very deft contraception work, Lee learned she was expecting her first child.
This all had a very strange effect on Jim. The night after hearing the happy news, he came home early with a big bunch of yellow and blue flowers and proposed. This, of course, was more of a surprise than the pregnancy for Lee - who none the less accepted immediately and unequivocally.
The following night, Jim again came home early with a big bunch of yellow and blue flowers.
“I’m sorry mate, I meant to bring you some flowers last night.” he blustered.
Lee had a good sense of humour and the quality of this silly performance wasn’t lost on her.
The wedding was attended-to about ten days later as a matter of the utmost secrecy. This was a shame as they had a number of friends who would have liked to be involved. Not one of their friends was involved; indeed, very few of ever found out that the wedding took place at that time.
After a discreet period of time, news of the baby was distributed to workmates, friends and neighbours - including, of course, the gardening connection in Dover Terrace. Although Frank and Sylvia took this in their stride as a fairly normal progression, Jean Carter made special provision for the unborn child. Every fortnight she presented Jim with a gift of toys or knitted articles or food. Jim was particularly grateful for the food. Mrs Carter just happened to be an extremely capable cook who just happened to make a specialty of pastry; and the meat pies transported to Brandt Street were pretty well the best going.
The passage of months brought home to Jim and Lee the need for a bit more thrift and the need for some adjustment of income arrangements. To partly fill the gap that would be left with Lee’s inevitable resignation, they decided to trade their Volkswagen beetle for a small Bedford van so that Jim could do a bit of private work outside Spirit standard hours.
The sultry late summer months were difficult for Lee and she resigned from her taxi company job a bit earlier than originally expected. There were, however, no problems with the pregnancy.
In mid-May 1974, she gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy at the enormous inner-suburban public hospital complex known as the General. It mattered not that there were a number of individually titled hospitals on the Herston site; to Brisbaners, with their peculiar penchant for the mangling or rearrangement of place names, it was all just the General.
Jim and Lee had earlier taken the decision that a baby girl was to be Cheryl and a baby boy was to be Frank – the latter because they liked Frank, not Francis, as a name and it just happened to pay appropriate regard to friend and mentor Frank Bentley. There was no change of heart after the birth. Despite this resolute approach to naming, the little bloke looked so tiny and defenceless in his first few days that everyone intuitively called him Frankie. And, from those first few days, he was never called anything else.
Frankie was a good baby from the outset. He had a hearty appetite and quickly developed sensible sleeping patterns. For the most part he was a cheerful and gregarious.
By the time Frankie was lined up for christening, Lee was expecting her second baby – due in July 1975.
By early 1975, life for the Davis family was becoming just a bit hectic. Jim was doing a forty-hour week with Spirit, about eight extra hours a week in the Bedford and the gardening jobs on most weekends. Despite all that, they were anything but wealthy and sometimes had worries when the big bills came in.
By early 1975, life was also changing for the Dover Terrace connection. Frank was having some problems maintaining profitability at Weston & Knight and was working dreadful hours. On the positive side, however, Marg had become engaged to a nice young man from a property near Armidale and Eunice was about to embark on a teaching career. Jon was approaching his final school year without having had any real academic difficulties and with a near certainty of stroking the first eight. There was some talk that David had made sound progress in a new learning environment, but that wasn’t exactly obvious to outsiders.
Sylvia was managing, as she always did.
Jim and Lee’s second baby – a girl – arrived a little early in June but with minimum difficulty and fuss. She was called Cheryl for her first twenty-four hours at The General; but, for no particular reason, that changed to Ann. She must have looked more like an Ann than a Cheryl. By the time she departed for home, she was Annie.
Jim and Lee survived at Brandt Street despite interest rate peculiarities of the early seventies. They got a deck built at the back of the house; did a major scraping, sanding and painting job on the entire place with help from Bruce the painter; and they managed to build a toilet separate from the little bathroom.
And as for Frankie and Annie – by mid-1978, they were just beautiful and progressing very well.
Frankie had become a fine, freckled fellow with unusual ginger brown hair and a face pretty much like Jim’s. He had become most interested in all things to do with transport – particularly trains. He was a great talker and a happy affectionate child.
Annie was different. At one instant, she looked like both Jim and Lee; then, at another instant, she looked like neither. She had Lee’s darker complexion and hair but she certainly was not a replica of her mum. Though good-natured, she showed early signs of being fairly single minded.
For Jim, the driving for Spirit, private driving jobs and gardening continued.
Around at Dover Terrace, things had changed a fair bit. Frank had slipped from his senior position at Weston & Knight and was now the Queensland second-in-charge reporting to a star from the south – some twelve years his junior. Sylvia was largely housebound with David, whose health had deteriorated markedly since early in the year. And, following a stroke, Grandma was ensconced in a nursing home about half way between their house and the Davis house.
Daughter Marg had married her man from the New England area and was expecting her first baby; and the quiet Eunice, somewhat surprisingly, was successfully teaching at Aspley State School.
As many expected, Jon had done well at secondary school and by mid-1978 was close to completion of his basic Commerce degree at the university at St Lucia. He had continued with his rowing at university till a nagging injury forced him to quit in the final year.
Though not overly tall, Jon gave the impression of being a big man. Years of exercise and training had left an unmistakable legacy. He had also matured to become ruggedly good looking – much like his father. For no sound reason, he was considered to be something of a ladies man.
In truth, Jon had not secured a soul mate amongst his university friends of the opposite sex as he found most of them a bit self-indulgent. And he did very little girl hunting outside that precinct.
He did, however, go out for about eight months with a very nice girl who worked at a floor-covering outlet at Toowong, a girl he met while looking for car mats at the right price. But the little relationship petered-out, leaving Jon alone with a dented ego.
He also had a shorter – and more unusual - relationship with one of Sylvia’s friends, who occasionally needed someone young and strong to help around her Ascot house. Jon reversed out of this steamy affair with great tact and skill, before the household help became a regular requirement. Although he never spoke at home about this latter affair, he had the feeling that Frank and Sylvia may have been aware of his sensible handling of a tricky situation.
The girls came and went, but no one really grabbed his interest.
Though not close friends, the Davis and Bentley families were more than mere neighbours. Jim would sometimes ask Jon to look after the lawns in Dover Terrace if he had too much work on his plate. And Jim, in return, would keep the Bentley’s old Holden in running order so that Jon could get to St Lucia and back most days of the week. Lee and Sylvia would see each other often at the shops. And, of course, there were the annual Christmas parties put on at the Bentley place and occasional other social meetings.
Despite the frequent contact, Jim and Lee had practically no warning of young David Bentley’s worsening illness and fast decline in late July 1978. Despite the best of medical attention, he died in early August after hospitalisation of only four days.
Although there was neighbourhood muttering about freedom and relief and the end of a difficult time for the remainder of the Bentleys, David’s death was an awful tragedy and his funeral at St Mark’s was an awful affair. The Bentleys had lost the youngest and most precious of their tribe and, for that, there was no compensation - just fretting and grief. That the young man was severely disabled may even have accentuated the distress.
But of course, there is no logic to human bonding, which can flourish in the most difficult and unlikely circumstances - irrespective of age or capacity. It’s a process that just follows the directives of a silent force within.
Jim was very distressed by David’s death, as the two of them had become a formidable partnership.
He visited to do the lawns at Dover Terrace the Saturday after the funeral. Though Sylvia didn’t make an appearance, Frank came downstairs with a few cold beers when the job was nearly finished. For the first time, they found that they had very little to talk about, and this distressed Jim even more. It was all very awkward and he vowed that he would be better prepared for conversation when he called again in two weeks.
The Thursday before Jim was next due to visit the Dover Terrace precinct wasn’t greatly unusual, except for heavy rainfall on-and-off during the day. Cool, dry and windy was the norm at that time of the year. Locals always spoke of cold westerlies around RNA Show - or Exhibition, or Ekka - time. Jim had come home at about quarter-to-five in the Bedford, then set out again with his little helper Frankie to deliver parcels to a factory in Virginia, then pick-up a few things at the shop for Lee.
They had been gone a while, but Lee was not concerned as they were both easily distracted when shopping.
At a little after six there was a loud knock at the front door. Lee picked-up Annie then went to see who was visiting. She expected a salesman or a neighbour.
When she opened the door, she clearly saw two uniformed policemen at the top step; but for a crazy moment was relieved that it was not another damned hawker.
“Mrs Davis, is it?” said the senior officer.
“Yes. I’m Lee Davis!” she answered, as the crazy moment evaporated.
“I’m Keith Stone and this is Constable Trevor Williams. I need to confirm that your husband James has been out with your little bloke in a Bedford van.”
Lee didn’t care for the question one bit. Concern was quickly converting to fear.
“Yes. The boys have been out to do a few parcels and some shopping.”
“Mrs Davis, we’re aware that there’s been a traffic incident involving your husband and the little boy up Sandgate Road past Nundah. We believe that there have been injuries and that the ambulance is taking them both to the emergency up at the General.”
Lee knew this was no time for questions and answers. She just knew that she had to move quickly and get to the hospital.
She bolted down the steps with little Annie under her left arm. In no time she was up the steps of the house next door. On the way, she had shouted ‘Beryl’ twice; the second time very loud. Beryl opened the door without Lee needing to knock. She heard the call; something had gone wrong. She knew! Annie was crying.
Lee blurted out something about the boys in an accident; something about giving Annie some toast and tinned fruit; and something about phoning Sylvia Bentley if she needed a help with Annie.
Half way back to her front gate, she remembered about David.
“Beryl. Beryl, don’t ring Sylvia; don’t worry about that! I’ll phone you as soon as I find out what’s going on and let you know. Okay!”
Lee turned her attention to the police officers.
“I haven’t got a car. Can you blokes get me up to the hospital?”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
“I’ll just change my shoes and get my purse. Won’t be a sec!”
The drive to the hospital seemed to take a long time. There was not much talking in the car but there was a constant stream of crackly messages over the police radio.
When they were about a kilometre from the hospital, the traffic conditions worsened.
“Let’s have some lights and noise, Trev. We’ll see if we can’t push through this bloody mess up ahead.”
The wailing siren and flashing lights gave the matter a new sense of urgency; and Lee didn’t care for that either. To that point, the adrenalin had worked and she had functioned by instinct. But slowly now, as they approached the hospital complex, focused thoughts about injury started to filter through.
The police officers escorted Lee to Emergency and made sure that she had found a staff member who could process her initial enquiries. She thanked them, and they walked out slowly; the senior chap looking back a few times as if to make sure she was all right.
She wasn’t!
In a room with a group of about twenty-five people, she was strangely alone and worried sick.
After about fifteen minutes, Lee decided to seek out the nurse who she saw earlier just to see if there was any news. While waiting at the counter, she heard a familiar voice from behind.
“Well, it looks like I’ve found the right place and the right person.”
She turned around to see who’d delivered the sentence. How could she have failed to immediately recognise that voice; it was Frank Bentley.
“Oh Christ, Frank! I didn’t mean for you to get involved with this; you’ve had so many troubles of your own. Did Beryl phone you?”
“Don’t worry about any of that now. I just came along to find out if you needed a bit of company for a while.” he said.
He put his arm around her as they waited to see the nurse at the counter. Lee was very relieved to have him there and she began to feel much more comfortable and in control.
The nurse at the counter had no news so they found a couple of spare seats and sat down with a view to chatting.
They’d not been seated for more than five minutes when a young man sought them out.
“Mrs Davis, I’m Dr Natoli. How are you faring?”
Lee didn’t respond to that; but did introduce Frank.
“We need to talk, so would you both like to come with me to one of the offices over there.” he said, pointing to an area behind the counter.
They followed his lead to a small interview room that was painted a ghastly green colour. Dr Natoli sat at the same side of the desk as Lee and Frank.
In a soft voice, the Doctor delivered his six or seven sentence message about Jim.
Lee caught the first sentence or two, but then had difficulty concentrating. She saw his dark eyes and his thick eyebrows that nearly met above the bridge of his nose. She saw his very white teeth as his lips moved; she knew he was speaking but she was catching only occasional pieces.
The sad tired face, the resolve in delivering the sentences, the key words that she caught - they told all.
Jim had died!
Absurdly, Lee turned to Frank and carefully explained that the Doctor had told her that Jim had died. And Frank nodded in distressed understanding before gathering his wits and setting about his chores.
He took control with apparent ease. He made sensitive initial enquiries about ‘the little fella’, sought comfortable surroundings with a telephone nearby and somehow managed to whistle-up tea and a few sandwiches. And he did his difficult work with gentle authority, never once taking his eye off his special charge.
When he had things in place and settling, he asked Lee if she wanted him to phone Beryl. He was a bit surprised when she said that she’d make the call herself.
“Don’t worry too much if Annie’s not there with her.“ Frank assured her, “Sylvia said something about sending Jon around there to take Annie home to sleep in her own bed in familiar surroundings. My guess is that Beryl’s on stand-by.”
Lee wiped away the tears, took a few deep breaths and set about doing her job. She phoned Beryl and told her story in a relatively composed manner.
After a short time, Lee and Frank were taken to another part of the hospital complex, where little Frankie was being looked after.
This time they met with a Doctor Jensen - a kindly fellow of about Frank’s age. He had a wonderful manner, calm and calming.
The doctor explained that Frankie had internal injuries that would require further examination for definitive diagnosis.
“We’ve got no reason to believe that there’s been any head injury – and that’s a real plus! So, overall, things could be worse! But we’ve got a fair bit of work to do to get a clearer picture of the troubles so that we can work out the best way to go forward. The little fella and the people here have a way to go yet. He’s a strong little one though, isn’t he Lee?”
“He’s always seemed pretty tough to me!” she replied, “Can we go and see him?”
“Of course you can! Do you want to pop in now?”
They went down a long corridor and turned right to the intensive care area. Lee was trying to memorise the directions for next visit. It was such a big confusing place.
They were greeted by a softly spoken, senior nurse who introduced herself as Betty. She explained that she would be looking after Frankie for the night.
Frankie was lying there, quite still, with a crisp white sheet pulled-up to chest height. He was breathing easily enough and wasn’t such a bad colour. Had it not been for the tubes and equipment, he may have been a little boy just having a sleep.
Lee held his hand and talked to him, on and off, for ten minutes or so.
While sitting there next to the bed, she noticed Doctor Jensen and Betty speaking quietly to each other. Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying – and although it was clearly not light conversation – their facial expressions gave no impression of great concern or distress. They just seemed like competent professionals routinely going about their work. And this gave Lee an enhanced sense of hope, bordering on confidence.
When they left intensive care, Lee suggested to Doctor Jensen that she might stay with Frankie for the night.
“Well yes, that’s an option; but it mightn’t be the very best thing to do. Have you got any other little ones at home?”
“Oh yes; there’s Annie!” she responded.
“What do you reckon, Frank?” he asked, frowning ever so slightly as he posed the question.
Frank took the cue and turned to Lee with his verdict.
“I think home would be the best! The medicos can take care of the little bloke - they know what they’re doing - and you can have a bit of proper rest. And there’s Annie to take care of you know!”
“Well okay!” she said “Can you drop me home, Frank?”
Frank put on a somewhat stern face to answer.
“What a stupid bloody question!”
It worked; she smiled. And Doctor Jensen smiled broadly too, surreptitiously nodding his thanks to Frank.
The sky had cleared and it was cold outside. Frank considered suggesting to Lee that she go back inside the hospital to stay warm while he collected the car; but he quickly thought better of that idea. Nothing would be colder for her than being alone. They walked to the car slowly, his arm around her the whole time.
While driving in the car, Lee started to lose some composure. Frank, however, maintained his confident approach assuring her that the Bentleys weren’t about to desert. And, as he chatted on about warmth and support, she seemed to settle a bit.
On arrival home, they went directly to the childrens’ room to make sure that Annie was actually there and asleep in her little bed.
She was there all right, in her bed, warm and sleeping peacefully under her favourite pink and white blanket. And on the polished wooden floor next to the bed – also sleeping peacefully – was one Jon Bentley; in T-shirt and shorts, without any pillow and without any blanket above or beneath.
“Have a look at what your daughter’s dragged into the bedroom. That’s a really strange pair if you ask me!” said Frank.
“God, how can he be asleep there? He must be freezing.” Lee replied.
“Come on out here and I’ll make a cup of tea and tell you about it.”
For Frank, this was a welcome distraction. He didn’t really know how to handle the situation when they returned to Brandt Street. At the best of times he was not too flash with conversation for conversation’s sake; and, right at that time, he was emotionally and physically exhausted.
Lee sat down at the table in the main room and Frank tinkered around with the kettle and cups and began to explain.
“Jon’s a strange one you know. Since he was a baby he’s had strange sleeping habits; he nods off at any old time without any warning at all. It’s really odd! And he’s either a hundred percent asleep or a hundred percent awake; there’s no halfway house with him.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him. Years ago we took him to a specialist on the Terrace for tests, but all that they could tell us was that he’s a strange sleeper.”
Frank paused for a moment to check on his audience and deliver a smile.
“He knows that when he’s asleep he’s really out to it, so what he’s done tonight is plonk himself on the floor there so he’d wake up if Annie cried or tried to get up.”
“But why didn’t he get a blanket or something?” Lee asked.
“It’s not that simple; if he’s going to sleep, he’s going to sleep. He just does it! It only seems to take seconds. He has improved a bit over the years, but even recently I’ve seen him fall asleep during a meal at home.”
Frank had another attempt at a cheerful smile before continuing.
“I’d better give Sylvia a call, if that’s okay. Why don’t you go and try to wake him up. And watch, as soon he does wake-up, he’ll be totally awake; I’ll bet you.”
Lee went off to the bedroom and Frank made his phone call.
Sylvia answered in an instant. Yes, Beryl had kept her informed of what was going on! Yes, Jon knew! Yes, she had put some blankets and pillows in the car! As always, she had it under control.
As Frank hung-up, Jon came out with Lee. He was holding her hand.
“Been doing a bit of guard duty have you son? I was just telling Lee about you going to sleep anywhere and anytime. Why don’t you tell Lee about the time Mum nearly had a fit when you went to sleep in the tree house out in the back yard - while I pay a quick visit to the loo.”
Jon picked-up the story and moved forward nicely with it - even though there was little sense in the tale or in its telling.
But nothing spoken makes sense in those circumstances. It’s all just a desperate attempt to fend off the fretting; it’s all just a desperate attempt to replace the missing voice and stave off death’s silence.
Before many minutes had passed Sylvia pulled-up outside and unloaded her cargo from the boot. Frank took it all upstairs and put it on the veranda. He then went inside for the final time that evening.
“I’m going now for a while but, after we’ve swapped car keys, Sylvia’s going to stay for a bit just to make sure you’re okay.” he said to Lee.
Lee thanked him, Jon continued with some story or other and Frank went down the front steps to swap keys and hand-over to the interchange senior minder. And on the path just near the front gate he was taken into the arms of Harry Winslow’s youngest and prettiest daughter.
“Are you allright, sweetheart?” she asked.
“It’s been a prick of a month, Sylv.”
She agreed with the sentiment and put her hands up to turn his face towards the streetlight to see how tired he looked. She felt the tears and turned his face in the opposite direction to the dark and to any softness her cheek and shoulder could offer.
“Are you up to this, Sylv?” he asked her, after a short time.
“Yeah. I’m okay! And Jon’s here, he’s good! I’ve left some nice things in the fridge on the top shelf for a snack; and there are six cold Fourex if you need a bit of anaesthetic. Don’t drink too many of them or you won’t enjoy going to work tomorrow morning.”
He thought about the final sentence for a few seconds.
“They can do without me tomorrow; in fact, they can go to buggery. This girl is going to need a bit of help for a few days.”
Frank’s capacity for positive prioritisation had not dulled with the passage of years.
There then followed a silly parting ritual that had endured virtually since Frank and Sylvia first met and he started visiting the Winslow’s on occasional Saturday evenings to play cards – mainly poker – with his special girl and whoever else was at home at the time.
“Love ya, Sylv.”
“I’ll double that.” she responded.
“I’ll see ya.” Frank concluded.
Though the youthful excitement once sparked by the parting ritual had long since disappeared, the three lines had lived on to become a symbol of enduring affection and solidarity.
Sylvia went upstairs and Frank drove off in the old Holden.
He didn’t particularly like the idea of her becoming involved in this grizzly business but took comfort from the fact that Lee was now in most capable hands. He determined that he’d be back before too many hours had passed.
Sylvia stayed by Lee’s side through the entire dreadful night, trying to give her comfort and coaxing her to rest.
At about half-past-five in the morning, Sylvia initially took the hospital phone call about little Frankie. She reluctantly handed the phone to Lee for the news.
The nightmare was now complete; Frankie had died about ten minutes earlier!
The ensuing days were little more than a confusing blur for Lee, Sylvia, Frank and, to a lesser degree, Jon and Beryl.
Frank did most of the gritty administrative work, Sylvia did most of the care work, and Jon and Beryl filled in the gaps.
Frank’s most difficult job was coming to grips with his Brandt Street neighbours’ background in his effort to help with notifying family and friends.
Jim, he discovered, had no family connections at all; simply nobody! He was what they used to call a home boy, brought-up in church and government institutions. He never knew a mum or a dad; a brother or a sister. He left school young; did manual work young; and joined the army young. And it was in the army that he learned to drive.
Lee’s background was not much better. She knew nothing of her father and remembered only a little of her mother. She, and her brother Tony, were brought-up by an aunt called Bev – who she adored. Tony, in his late teens, had gone to work on trawlers in the Gulf and Lee had just started doing checkout work in a small grubby Darwin supermarket when Bev died of cancer in 1968. It was in late 1968, and in the shop, that she first met Jim.
Frank, despite his experience with some hard aspects of life, could not get his mind around the strength of this young couple. And he had terrible difficulty dealing with the concept that fate had just cut this most important of families in half. He just couldn’t grasp how they could be singled-out for the special horror.
The double funeral at St Mark’s was attended by many, many more than anyone expected. There were Spirit drivers, drivers from other companies, management types, neighbours, people from the taxi company, people from the offices and factories where Jim delivered, people from shops where he bought groceries – they seemed to come from everywhere.
On the way out of the church, through the tears, Lee saw the large numbers, particularly the Spirit people. She also caught a glimpse of the senior police officer who drove her to the General. He was sitting close to the aisle at the back of the church. The officer’s uniform was immaculate and he wore his military ribbons. She thought his presence very important and she clasped his hand in gratitude during the slow walk out towards the bright sunshine.
Sylvia and Beryl took care of Annie as required. She was very uneasy and cried from time to time during the funeral and its aftermath.
Lee’s brother Tony came from Darwin for the funeral at Frank’s suggestion and expense. But he was sorry that he had gone to such trouble finding him and paying his way. The poor devil was clearly in an advanced state of drug dependence and knew little of what was going on. Frank was concerned, in fact, that his presence did more harm than good.
With the passage of weeks, life settled a little for Lee. She came to accept, and actually draw strength from, her sole responsibility for little Annie. And, with Frank’s help, she got a clearer picture of her financial position after payment of insurances.
Though things could have been worse, she seemed to fall into that unlucky category where there was too much money to allow her to draw meaningful support; and too little money to give her any real comfort about the future. It seemed she was destined to continue life as a hard worker – balancing home and occupational requirements as best she could.
About six weeks after the funeral, Lee made contact with her last employer to see if there was a chance of taxi company work that could dovetail in with her home responsibilities.
On offer was another unusual mix of duties that came to about fourteen hours a week – on one short day and one long day. On the short day she’d be required to help the pay section people with wages for casual company drivers; and on the long day she would need to process pieces of paper referred to in the company as pakas - which were, in fact, taxi fare vouchers used by account customers. The name of the vouchers, it seems, derived from pakapoo chinese lottery tickets which were, at best, difficult to read.
Lee spoke with Beryl, Sylvia and a small local baby-sitting agency about getting appropriate care for Annie and, having done so, decided to take the job.
Beryl was happy to look after Annie for two half days a week, provided someone else could give her a break every six weeks or so. The Bentley family members were happy to do a half day each week, and a bit extra when Beryl needed a break. And the agency seemed to have a few good people on their books if all else failed.
Although the neighbours all agreed to some remuneration for baby-sitting services, they clearly intended leakage of money back to Lee from the outset. As time progressed, this took the form of occasional meals left in Lee’s fridge, new pyjamas for Annie, a replacement saucepan – things that were meaningful but not large enough to cause embarrassment.
On Lee’s long days, Thursdays, she worked about nine hours between midday and ten at night. As this was a quiet day for Jon, he became the main Bentley baby-sitter on the late shift. Though he was more than happy to lend a hand, Eunice’s avoidance of any meaningful involvement irritated him. And, to confuse the issue, Annie didn’t take kindly to him for quite a long time. Jon’s reasonably regular attention to this job was a big ask. He had a busy existence with study and sport and a wide range of friends.
For a time, Lee struggled with the long days. The pakas were inevitably a dreadful mess and, to cap that, there were bookkeeping chores that she simply didn’t grasp. The processing contradicted what she saw on the bank statements; the credits were debits and the debits were credits. It all seemed back to front.
Jon helped with all this as best he could. He bought her a few sensible and practical paperbacks on bookkeeping and sat with her for many hours trying to assist with the job.
Eventually they prevailed and, by Christmas 1978, Lee was working confidently and efficiently with all office functions.
After a time he also made friends with Annie by much the same means that Jim had earlier befriended his brother David – that is, by adopting a more mature stance. The turning point came when he said to her, in exasperation, that they should sit down and have a beer and work some problems out. For reasons nobody understood, it seemed to hold some appeal for her.
He discovered, in fact, that a plastic medicine measure of beer and some sterner grown up chit-chat would fix just about anything. The beer could be beer, ginger ale or ginger beer. Lemonade or red or green drink wasn’t satisfactory.
Having found the key to baby-sitting success, Jon’s visits to Brandt Street ceased to be such a menace. Indeed, he developed new pride in his work when he learned from Lee that he’d been elevated to favourite minder.
Jon did very well in his final exams at the university and, soon after publication of results, started with Kingston’s, Chartered Accountants in Margaret Street. Though he may well have earned a quick placement based on results and presentation, Frank’s friendship with partner Gerard Kelly certainly helped him on his way. Kingston’s were pleased to catch a graduate of this standard and Jon was pleased to be there. It was a sort of branch location of a southern-based firm and, as such, offered potential for job diversity; and a friendly, cooperative atmosphere. They also seemed to be forward-looking with computer technology and that had particular appeal.
Like most graduates, he found some of the work a bit mundane; but he enjoyed just being finished with university for a while. He liked being paid for his efforts and certainly liked having a beer on Friday evenings with people from Kingston’s and some of his pals who had similar jobs elsewhere in the city. He had a new sense of freedom and the dignity that goes with a few dollars in the pocket. In early 1979, Jon’s only real concern was wearing a tie and jacket to work in Brisbane’s humid climate. University garb had much going for it.
On the Brandt Street front nothing changed. He continued with baby-sitting duties for Lee on most Thursday nights.
By the time Jon started work, Lee had regained her equilibrium and was apparently coping pretty well. Without the need to worry about study, he would stay and talk with her - often till quite late – after she came home from work. She was well-read, intelligent, practical. Apart from that, she had that interesting part Asian appearance which set her apart from the pack. It intrigued him; it had always intrigued him!
Jon had been with Kingston’s only five months when a formal announcement was made that the office may be down-sized or closed because of ‘an inability to make inroads into a substantial corporate client base’. Although he was disappointed by this, it was not a matter of great concern. He was not an orphan and there were doubtless other jobs out there if he had to go elsewhere.
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